Los Angeles Bad Boys: The Complete Series: Cold Hard Cash, Hollywood Holden, Saint Jude

by Frankie Love

  "I don't want to fight right now,'" I say truthfully, knowing if we start that fight, this entire fantasy will end.

  Poof. Up in smoke.

  For now, I want to keep this precious flame alive.

  "Good. Then stop talking and let me fuck you."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Holden

  She stands before me, completely undressed, her tits so full, her nipples erect. I watch as she reaches for the pins in her hair, letting her hair down, shaking her head slowly as her tresses fall, her eyes filled with desire. For me.

  I won't waste this moment.

  I undress–tug off my tie, discard my shirt, drop my pants.

  My cock is fucking solid. I step toward her, my eyes on her perfect pussy, and take her hand, setting it on my rod, guiding her as she strokes me up and down, as if she’s practiced, but knowing she has only done this once before.

  I've been with enough women to know that there are the haves and the have nots when it comes to being good in the sack. Bex? She's a fucking natural.

  She wraps her soft-skinned hand around my length, moving with a gentle rhythm, licking her lips the whole time, as if whetting her appetite. I hope she's fucking starved for my cock.

  God knows I'm dying for a taste of her sweet pussy again.

  I kneel before her, my arms wrapping around her waist, squeezing her ass cheeks and easing her gap apart, kissing her mound. My tongue teases her folds, already hot as hell for her to warm up.

  But just one lick of her perfection and I know this girl is more than ready to enjoy herself.

  "You're so wet, baby."

  Her hands run through my hair, and she whimpers above me.

  Good. I'm gonna make this girl gush before the night is through. Pussy juice is going to coat my mouth, and I'm going to lick her little cunt until she's worn out.

  I stand, pick her up in my arms, and carry her to the bed. "Holden," she laughs. "You're gonna drop me."

  "Yeah, I am, right in the center of this bed."

  I set her down, spreading her knees, and press my mouth back against her pussy, wanting more of her, all of her. I lick her up and down, ass to clit, over and over, and her knees buckle ever so slightly, but I ease them back down.

  "Relax, baby," I tell her. I like using that term of endearment, because I know how shitty I was to her for so fucking long, and now I just want to be good to her.

  Take care of her. Make her happy.

  Starting with her pussy.

  I roll my tongue in tight circles over her clit, then press my mouth closer against her folds, sucking against her, and she grabs the sheets beneath her. That brings a huge fucking smile to my face, and I reward her moans by holding her thighs down, opening her up more.

  I press my tongue deeper into her pussy, rolling against her hot flesh, tasting every sweet drop of nectar she releases. I cup one hand around her breast, plucking her hard nipple as my face grinds against her dripping gap.

  "Holden, oh God, you're making me ... insane," she pants, a hand pulling at my hair. I lap against her—fast, faster, faster—causing her legs to tremble and buckle against me.

  So I slow, knowing it will make her insane. I ease my tongue from her and kiss against her hood softly, sprinkling kisses all over her soft pussy, then press a finger in her again, remembering how wet she got when I did this last week.

  "I can't breathe, Holden. It's too much."

  "Shhh," I tell her, pressing her open wider with my hand, using a finger to press against her until she writhes beneath me. She's sopping wet, and I fucking love it. I move in and out, and my cock is so fucking hard, wanting to get in her warmth.

  But I need to ease her tight pussy open first. My cock will break her if I don't take care to ease her perfect body against mine.

  She squirts against my hand, her release so fast with my fingers pressing inside her, fluttering against her pleasure point. I pull out my finger, licking it slowly so she can see me.

  "You taste so fucking good."

  Then I can't help it.

  I press my mouth back on her pussy, sucking her hard, up and down her gorgeous slit, until her thighs squeeze tight against my ears, her entire body pulsing as she orgasms. My mouth against her, her thighs against me, and I swear to God, if her pussy was the last thing I saw before I died, I'd go a happy man.

  I move above her on the bed. Her skin is slick with sweat and pleasure, and I feel like a fucking man to get this girl off so well.

  Now, my cock needs her. Bad.

  "What the hell was that?" she asks, her eyes dreamy, her body nearly satiated.

  "That was you getting off."

  "And you?" she asks. "How do you want to get off?"

  I bite my lip at this girl with her innocent nature mixed with her desire to be uninhibited. I have no problem helping her shed any of her skin.

  "Ride me, baby," I tell her. "Ride my cock."

  She raises her eyes, and I know she likes the idea. Bexley never hid her emotions well unless she was on stage.

  I fall on my back, watching as she climbs on top of me. My hands slap against her creamy thighs as she straddles me.

  Her tits—fucking hell. I reach for them, massaging those perfect globes in my hands, sitting up slightly so I can suck her nipple, roll my tongue over the tight bud that causes her to whimper again.

  "I need your cock," she tells me plainly, in a way none of the girls I've brought to this bed before ever would. "I've been dreaming of it all week."

  I grab a condom from the bedside table, and roll it onto my thickness. Her eyes are on my cock as I do, seeming enchanted with the way the latex covers my hard rod.

  I lay back down, and she holds my cock with one hand, using her other to press against her dripping entrance and lubricate my cock with her pussy juice, like she's done this a hundred fucking times.

  I swear I could come right then and there, shoot my release across her gorgeous tits. Instead, she raises onto her knees, then slowly sits down on my throbbing cock. She holds my shaft as she guides herself against me, and her other hand runs through her hair. Her head is thrown back, her back arching, with her tits displayed in all their splendor.

  "You're so fucking hot," I tell her, not having any more words but hoping these are enough.

  "You’re so fucking big."

  I laugh, so rarely having heard Bexley use the F word. It's sexy as hell.

  "Your fingers were nice, and so was your mouth—but Holden, your cock fills me up so ... so...." She rocks against me, her hips swerving in a circle, and stops mid-sentence.

  "I fill you up how?" I ask, teasing her, my hands on her waist.

  "You feel me up completely."

  "Good."

  "Mmhhhmm," she moans, her eyes closed. "Oh, yes, baby."

  Her use of the word baby gets me fucking harder than I've ever been before, and I thrust against her like an animal, realizing that I fucking need this woman in a way I've never known was real.

  "Oh, yeah," she purrs, her hands grabbing my chest, bracing herself as her pussy pours against my groin, and she rolls harder against me, over and over, as she presses deep against me, getting off in every sense of the word. "Oh, my God, yes, yes, yes."

  She orgasms against me, and I can't wait anymore.

  I pull her off me, quickly ease her onto all fours, and then press my raging cock into her pussy from behind, grabbing hold of her tits as I plow into her perfect cunt, letting my cock fill her entirely, my come exploding from the tip of my rod.

  I squeeze her hips as I finish. She’s gasping in the aftershocks of the torrential orgasm. This girl was drenched up and down, licked dry, and fucked silly.

  Pulling from her, I take off the condom, hating that we had anything between us at all.

  She turns and faces me, her eyes filled with lust, filled with the knowledge of what she and I are capable of. Filled with ideas of how we might fuck next.

  Good. Because Bexley and me, we're just getting started.

&nbs
p; Chapter Sixteen

  Bexley

  The next morning, I shower while Holden is in the kitchen making coffee.

  My legs are sore, my pussy completely worn, and my heart? It's warming up to possibility.

  In the bathroom, though, I admit that it's disheartening to see an entire shelf of women's hair product options, and in the adjoining walk-in closet I can't help but notice the shelf of women's clothes, mostly athletic wear, but also plenty of panties. For what, exactly?

  Still, I dress, pushing the knowledge of Holden's conquests—past and present—from my mind. Well, I let myself dwell on his latest conquest: me. Because, oh my heck, I can't believe I have lived twenty-two years not having a man take control of my body that way.

  Regardless, I can't help pulling out the drawer in his bedside table before walking out of his room. My curiosity is piqued with the teeny-tiny thongs. Has Holden changed at all in these last four years?

  In the drawer I find a baggie of pot. A pipe. A lighter. Pursing my lips, I shut the drawer. It's not my place to assess his life choices. I’m here for him, not his habits.

  Walking into the kitchen in jeans and a tank top, I smile, looking at Holden in his low slung jeans, with his washboard abs and perfect white-toothed grin.

  "Hey, beautiful," he says. "Do you still drink it black?"

  I nod. "Some things never change."

  "Some things change an awful lot."

  I sit on a barstool, and Holden offers me a warm croissant and hands me a steaming cup of coffee.

  "Where did you get these? I was in the bathroom for like fifteen minutes."

  "I have an on-call cook, but today my assistant Lindy delivered them, per my request."

  I break off a piece of the flaky goodness, raising an eyebrow. "Someone delivers you breakfast every day?"

  He shrugs. "I'm kind of a big deal."

  "Barf."

  He smiles, peeling a banana.

  "You're not having one?" I ask, pointing to the buttery morsel of heaven.

  "I'm on an eating plan. No carbs before noon."

  I laugh. "Holden, you're in amazing shape."

  "Because I don't eat breakfast pastries."

  "Way to make me feel like a beached whale."

  "Fine," he acquiesces, "I'll have one. I just don't want my trainer to yell at me. You know I have a thing with being a people pleaser."

  "Right," I laugh. "You've always had such a hard time doing what you wanted."

  "Well, maybe we're just different kinds of people pleasers. If I remember correctly, I pleased you pretty well last night."

  "That's true." I smile again, and it's quiet for a moment as the memory of last night washes over me. "Is it weird that we picked up like this? After not talking for so long?"

  "I missed you. I wanted to call you a thousand times," he tells me. "But you were pretty clear at graduation."

  "I shouldn't have said those things," I tell him. "I didn't mean them."

  "You meant them then."

  My words were very clear, and so undeniable. It had started simply enough. I told him that I was sorry, but I was going to Northern California University and not moving to LA with him.

  I had kept this from him for two months, because I knew that the moment I told him I had agreed to my parents' post-high school plan, we would never recover.

  And I was right.

  In response, he called me a disappointment.

  I called him selfish.

  He called me a dick tease.

  I called him a man-whore.

  He called me a sell-out.

  I called him a pothead.

  He called me a straight-laced prude.

  I called him my ex-best friend.

  He called me a bitch.

  I called him out for cutting class, for screwing girls during passing period, and for never thinking I was worth changing any of his behavior for.

  I told him not to call me ever again, because by then my face was streaked in tears, and his mom was watching, and my parents were shocked, and I was crushed.

  I’d led him to believe that after Tolling High, he and I could start a crazy life together where no one could put boundaries on me. On us.

  And I had loved dreaming of that possibility with him. How could I not like that fantasy? I had spent eighteen years in my parents’ shadow. I had never really, completely let go and given in.

  But Holden made it seem like together we could. That I could actually let go after high school, and that he would break my fall. That we could take over Hollywood, one audition at a time.

  I let him believe it was more than a daydream.

  Meanwhile, I dutifully mailed in college applications, got accepted with scholarships, and made my parents beam with pride.

  And I put off the inevitable.

  So I ended whatever sexually-wrought relationship we shared. I had to end it. Because the idea of keeping in touch with him, and hearing how he was doing in LA, without me, would have killed my resolve.

  And then, as only Holden could, he started taking over Hollywood in a way no one could have scripted. He was the golden boy, with a thousand-watt smile and charisma that could crack the coldest director in LA.

  He was brave, and it paid off.

  "I didn't know anything back then, Holden, at graduation. And I'm sorry. For all the things I said."

  "I'm sorry, too, for … you know, never stepping up and telling you exactly how I felt."

  "How did you feel, Holden, back then?"

  He shakes his head, bites his bottom lip. "Mostly? I thought you were way too fucking good for me."

  "Maybe now you're too good for me," I tell him. "I mean, look at this place." I wave my hand around at him. "You’re this entire movie star. This man who’s bigger than life. Certainly bigger than a drama teacher at Tolling High."

  He juts out his chin. "You're better than that, too, you know."

  I shake my head, confused. "Better than what?"

  "Being a drama teacher. I mean, you’re an amazing actress."

  "Was. I retired," I joke.

  "Whatever. You're telling me if you were offered a role with a major studio, you'd turn it down?"

  I roll my eyes. "Holden, I have my whole life figured out. I don't want to be an actress anymore."

  "Bullshit."

  "Don't." I shake my head at him. "Don't belittle my choices."

  "It’s a choice you made four years ago out of fear, Bexley. I'm not belittling anything; I'm only speaking the truth."

  "Stop it. You're going to ruin any good thing we have here—you realize that, don't you?"

  "Why, because I'm telling you things you don't want to hear?"

  "No, because you're judging my choices." I storm off to his bedroom, him trailing me. I want to get my things. I want to go. Now. "And you know what, Holden? It's such bullshit. I'm not judging you. You're still the exact same guy as you've always been. Smoking pot, fucking strangers, and pretending with me."

  He slams his hand against the door. "Dammit, Bexley. I'm not pretending with you at all. I’m putting myself out there, completely. You're the one who's fake, who's acting like the life you chose is the one you fucking want. You’re the same, not me. I've grown up."

  "Sure you have, Holden. Keep telling yourself that."

  He punches a wall, and I get out my phone, my hands shaking, and call a cab as I leave his house.

  "You aren't seriously leaving my house in a taxi."

  "Yes, Holden, I am. And I've said it before, but I never thought I'd say it again: don't come after me."

  When we were teenagers, I never directly asked Holden to change for me. And I won't do it now, either. If he and I were ever to work, that would have to be his own doing.

  I walk to the street, waiting for the taxi. I don’t look back, because I don't know what would be worse—him standing there wanting me to come back inside, or him not there at all.

  I get in the cab, knowing that, deep down, Holden and I both have a lot o
f growing up to do.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Holden

  My knuckles are bloody from the wall collision, and I pace my house trying to sort out what the fuck just happened.

  The moment she's gone, I know that I need her back. But damn it, beyond the needing, I know I'm right about her. And, shit—I need her to understand that I'll give up all the pot and women. She’s the girl that can tame me. The only woman I want to share my wild side with.

  It's always been her.

  Of course, a few nights with me in sexed-out bliss isn't going to convince her that I'm actually the stand-up guy she wants. I need her to know I’m committed to seeing this thing through. God knows, I was never man enough when I was younger.

  I've changed, even if that change started the moment I saw her in the parking lot, last week, four years after we screamed our good-byes.

  I want to call her, but her words were so fucking clear. She ended things before they began.

  Because, once again, she got too fucking scared.

  I drop the phone on the counter, looking in the freezer for ice for my knuckles.

  Then I pour a cup of coffee and start making a fucking plan.

  "First of all Holden, did you look at the scripts?" Trenton asks me the following morning. We're in his office and I'm throwing a dart at the target mounted on his wall. Bullseye.

  "I looked at them. But it's a tough call. Either a superhero or a cowboy." I smirk. "That's really the best you got for me?"

  Trenton guffaws. "These are the best scripts anywhere right now. You should be grateful to have an option outside the Johnny Jumper franchise."

  "Give me some time. That's not what I came here for anyway."

  Trenton pulls the darts from the target, looking at me, quizzically. "Why are you here?"

  "It's about a girl."

  Trenton laughs again. "Damn it. With you, Holden, it's always about a girl."

  "No. This time it's about the girl. And I need a favor."

  Jude, Cassius, Rachel, and Evangeline meet me for dinner at TropiCALI later in the week. We're getting cocktails as I fill them in on my plan.