Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 2: Mason

by Alexis Adaire

  “Yes. Harder.”

  As I beg, he begins to ferociously hammer into me. I hear Mason’s first moan — a low, hungry growl dripping with raw need. I can tell he’s very close to coming and I begin to think I can possibly get there with him. As the assault on my pussy continues unabated, my body drifts closer and closer to that point of no return.

  I see a strange look in Mason’s eyes. “Goddamit, I can’t hold back,” he laments, not easing the pounding he’s giving me.

  “Come in me,” I plead. His look tells me I need to be sure, that if he continues he’ll be incapable of stopping. I don’t care; I desperately need to feel him orgasm inside of me. “Do it. Give it to me.”

  He lasts only a few seconds, then I feel him swell as he groans loudly and slams his hips against me. His cock drives into me again and again as he unloads his desire deep inside me. My brain can barely comprehend the intensity of the moment as I feel the warm liquid inside me and suddenly find myself on the verge of my own orgasm.

  Mason releases my wrists and starts to slow his thrusts when I nearly scream, “Don’t stop!”

  Still hard, he renews his onslaught. I wrap my legs around his waist and grab his strong shoulders with both hands as I explode in a torrent of pure physical rapture. I scream way too loudly, my body molding itself to his as tightly as possible as the spasms flow through every muscle. It seems to last forever and doesn’t let up until I feel tears welling.

  That’s right, the massive release of pent-up stress also sends tears trickling down my face. Great. Our first time in a proper bed and I’m crying.

  Mason smiles down on me, his brow beaded with tiny droplets of sweat, then he lowers his face to mine and sweetly, tenderly kisses my tears away.

  I must be in heaven. I never want to leave this bed.

  27

  Mason

  Of course the sex in our oddly appropriate Honeymoon Suite was incredible. Claire and I don’t seem to be capable of anything but memorable sex.

  As her shattered nerves calm down from the intense orgasm, I pick up the room phone long enough to order a bottle of Dom Pérignon from room service, then lie next to her and gently stroke her hair. Of course I can’t be happy with just her hair, seeing as how her naked body is on display, and I trace a finger softly across her collarbone, slowly moving to her nipples, then finally down over her stomach to stroke her inner thighs.

  Room service arrives to halt my reverie, and we slip on robes then grab the bottle and flutes and head to the terrace. Steam rises from a huge Jacuzzi hot tub encased in a marble frame. Since the terrace is private, we slip off our robes and slippers and climb in naked, easing our bodies into the steamy water.

  “We’re going to kill each other if we keep having sex like that,” Claire says as I hand her a glass of Champagne.

  “What a way to go, though,” I say, my muscles relaxing in the hot jets.

  She smiles. “You make me feel sexy and dirty at the same time. I love that sensation.”

  “I bring out your inner slut.”

  “My inner slut…” She thinks for a moment. “Yes, you do. When we’re together, I want to be so, so dirty. And when we’re not, I think the sluttiest thoughts about the next time we will be.”

  I drape an arm over her shoulder and plant a kiss on the crown of her head. “Then it’s official: You’re my business partner and my slut.”

  Claire laughs softly. “I’ll make sure to put that on my business card.”

  She nestles into me, and I realize how utterly content I feel.

  “I’d like to propose our first order of business for the new agency,” I say.

  “And what would that be?”

  “I move that we both take the rest of the week off and hole up in this suite to iron out the details of the merger. We’ll just stay naked and have anything we need brought to us.”

  Claire purrs against my neck. “Mmm… I second the motion.”

  “The motion passes,” I say. “See how easy that was? We’re going to be awesome together.”

  “I concur with your assessment, partner.” She laughs, then her tone becomes pensive. “Are we overlooking anything?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She looks up at me and says, “You know, the merger – is there anything we’re forgetting? Any obstacles we haven’t considered yet?”

  Even freshly fucked with steam-trashed hair, she’s still phenomenally gorgeous. I’m indeed a lucky man.

  “Actually, there’s one very important thing that needs to be settled before we proceed.”

  Claire gives me a puzzled look.

  “The bet. I still say I won, and that you need to be my sex slave for a week.”

  “Aren’t I already your sex slave at this point?” she coos, obviously feeling the effects of the Champagne.

  “Mostly. But I want total commitment on this. You need to serve me.” She knows I’m teasing.

  “I’ll tell you what,” she says, “if you’ll admit that it doesn’t matter who won the fucking bet, I will agree to be your sex slave.”

  I pretend to consider it carefully, then say, “Okay, that works for me.”

  “In Fiji.”

  “What?” I don’t think I heard her correctly.

  “In Fiji, they have those hotels with little huts over the water. Take me there and I’ll do anything you tell me to sexually.”

  I smile at her little ruse. “You’ll already do anything I tell you to sexually.”

  She sighs contentedly. “I know, but I mean anything. I’ll enthusiastically make your your dirtiest fantasies real because I’ve always wanted to go to Fiji.”

  “It’s a deal. Remember what you did that night in your office?”

  “Which part?”

  “The way you took control and told me what to do.”

  “Mmm… yes.”

  “Maybe we could work in some of that as well,” I say.

  Claire grins at me. “Definitely. Doing that with you was so hot.” Then she playfully adds, “You’d better watch yourself, Mr. Stark. You might end up falling in love.”

  Before I can wrap my brain around that profound thought, she climbs out of the hot tub, her glistening wet body almost unbearably sexy. She dashes inside naked and returns with a blanket wrapped around her.

  “What are you up to?” I ask.

  She gestures for me to get out, and holds open the blanket for me. Once I’m in the warm little cocoon, she slides her feet into her slippers, and I do likewise.

  “Come see,” she says. “I want to show you something.”

  She walks me to the edge of the terrace. We stand there in the cool night air under our blanket, her in front of me and my arms engulfing her. I feel her slippery wet ass touching my cock and know it won’t be long before I have to take her back inside and ravage her again.

  Silently the two of us look out over the lights of Hollywood. When I first came to this city a decade ago, my goal was simple: I wanted to be one of the most powerful people in the entertainment industry. This merger will put me there, but even better, it will give me someone to share the experience with, because I know Claire shares that same unrestrained ambition.

  “We’ll need a name, you know,” Claire says. “For the agency.”

  I quietly shush her. “Not now. I’m kind of having a moment.”

  We watch the lights of the city for a while and I think about what a perfect fit she and I are. As if she read my mind, Claire says, “You and I as a team will be glorious, Mason. A force to be reckoned with.”

  I couldn’t have said it better myself. I nuzzle her ear, whispering. “Yes. A juggernaut.”

  “A behemoth.”

  “A leviathan,” I say.

  “Hmm…” She thinks for a second, then says, “Leviathan Talent. For the name. What do you think?”

  Damn, that’s right on the nose. Elegant and intimidating.

  “It’s perfect,” I say. “Leviathan Talent it is.”

  This merger feel
s like it was inevitable. Claire and I are already great agents; teamed up, we’ll be unstoppable.

  “Hold the blanket,” I say. I have a sudden need to feel my woman’s body, to claim my territory. I move my hands down, cupping her breasts and caressing them. When she feels my cock stiffening against her ass, she presses backward and sensuously gyrates, massaging me until I’m again erect.

  “You should fuck me right here, Mason. From behind.”

  Still holding the blanket with both hands, she bends at the waist and leans forward to the rail. I take her tight body by the hips and easily slide into her wetness. I push all the way in, surveying the lights below us as I begin to thrust.

  “Hollywood won’t know what hit it,” she says.

  “Shhh… don’t talk business while I’m fucking you.”

  Claire was wrong about one thing: I’m not in danger of falling in love. I’ve already fallen.

  I suspect she has, too. As I take her, right there on the terrace under a sky filled with stars, I can’t help but think about the extraordinary future we have before us.

  Together we are going to conquer this fucking town.

  More in this series

  The Hollywood Bad Boys Club

  is a four-part series.

  Available now

  Book 1: Drake

  Book 2: Mason

  Coming soon

  Book 3: Marcus

  Book 4: Link

  Thanks for reading!

  I hope you enjoyed

  Hollywood Bad Boys Club, Book 2: Mason

  as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Now please consider doing two things:

  1. Leave an honest review or rating on Amazon.

  2. Join my e-mail list. You'll get a FREE book,

  plus updates whenever I publish something new.

  Alexis

  “Sleeping With the Enemy” - Free Sample

  Enjoy this free sample from Alexis Adaire’s thrilling full-length erotic romance-suspense novel, Sleeping With the Enemy…

  Chapter 1

  After only twenty minutes, I already knew this Dante guy wasn’t boyfriend material. Perfect — I only needed him for a couple of hours of sex anyway.

  Little did I know at the time that Dante Gutierrez would irrevocably change my future, far beyond the next few hours. Hell, I’d just met him. In retrospect, it’s bizarre how one tiny decision, made for reasons having to do purely with physical pleasure, ended up altering the trajectory of my entire life. At that moment, though, the only future I was thinking about was the rest of my night, which held a small amount of promise if I could get Dante to invite me back to his place for a bit of naked fun.

  “So what do you do for a living, Anna?” He leaned toward me on his bar stool, probing me with his piercing blue eyes, violating me with the obviously nasty thoughts percolating just behind them.

  His tanned face and short razor stubble made those baby blues stand out. He had a dark complexion and longish dark brown hair that he had to keep brushing back from his face, a move I paradoxically found both ridiculous and sexy. I’d met Dante over a game of pool, which I suspected he let me win when he scratched on the eight-ball.

  “I’m with the Secret Service,” I said, arching an eyebrow playfully. “I protect the president.”

  Dante laughed skeptically and raised his beer bottle, clinking it against mine. “Here’s to secrets then,” he said.

  He might not have found it so funny if he’d known how close that was to the truth. I actually was a government agent, kind of. As a member of the CIA’s Office of Technical Service I helped support the exciting careers of international spies. My duties included providing “physical cover” for agents on assignments — wigs, makeup, clothing. A select few people in OTS were asked to travel overseas where an on-site disguise technician was needed to give in-field assistance to agents. I, however, was among the ninety-five percent of CIA employees chained to a desk at headquarters in Langley, an unincorporated area of McLean, Virginia, across the Potomac from Washington, DC.

  I compensated for that by finding adventure and excitement elsewhere, like looking for a one-night stand on a Friday night at Dave’s Hardtail, a dive bar outside of Leesburg, VA. The bar was half an hour from my home in Reston — far enough so that I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew. Besides, the place catered mostly to bikers, so there was little chance anyone from the office would be there.

  I had driven out right after work and stopped at a gas station along the way to change, slipping out of my slacks and button-front blouse into something more suitable for a biker bar. Sitting at the bar with Dante, my curves pushed at the seams of the tight Levi’s and my big now-braless breasts stood out in the black Harley tank top.

  “How about you?” I asked. “What kind of work do you do?”

  I continued to look him over — a habit I picked up from my job, which was to make sure agents blended in with the locals. He was gorgeous, possibly Latino. Something was amiss, though; his fingernails were finely manicured, his black leather boots a little too pristine. I supposed he could be a lobbyist slumming it, but something seemed fishy. Or maybe it was just my CIA training running amok. Regardless, my curiosity was piqued.

  “I’m an attorney,” Dante replied.

  “Ooh, a lawyer — how exciting.” I rolled my eyes facetiously. “Come on, lie if you have to. Impress me.”

  His black jeans sat snugly on his fit frame. Close to forty years old, I guessed. A dark gray T-shirt and a suspiciously distressed black leather vest completed the look. He had a large black tattoo on his right bicep, though I couldn’t make out the design in the dim light of the bar.

  “I really am an attorney. I’m also a hitman for a Mexican drug cartel.”

  Now I was the one who laughed. Then I saw in his eyes that he wasn’t completely lying. Exaggerating, maybe, but not totally straying from the truth. This guy was into something crooked, I could smell it on him.

  And here’s the weird thing: I was turned on by it.

  For years I had listened to stories about undercover CIA agents finding ways to extract vital information from unsuspecting bad guys. While Dante spoke, I began to see an opportunity to get in on the action. If he were indeed up to something, I wanted to be the one who brought him down. I would have gone home with him just for the anonymous sex, but this new instinct about him emboldened me to make sure it happened.

  A normal woman might have been scared at the idea of going home with this stranger, but growing up with an Army sniper for a dad had left me with an adventurous streak that occasionally got me in trouble when I was a teen. Despite my predilection for one-night stands, my life had been far too boring in recent years. Not only did I feel confident I could handle this situation, I desperately needed the thrill.

  As we continued our light flirting, I imagined Dante’s nakedness against mine. It was almost as if I could feel the sense of danger between my legs. Working my way into that position would undoubtedly help me learn more about him.

  “I don’t believe you’re a hitman,” I said. Exaggerating my buzz, I leaned into Dante and said, “Let’s see if you kiss like one.”

  His hand reached behind my neck and pulled me roughly towards him, my lips landing against his. I felt his tongue slide into my mouth, searching for mine. Dante’s other hand found my hip and squeezed gently as he tested my willingness via his kiss. His grip on my neck was strong as he played with me, gently biting my lower lip before finally releasing me. Not the best kisser, but he was assertive, and I liked that — required it, actually — in a man.

  “Definitely not a hitman,” I said.

  “How can you be so sure?” Dante asked playfully.

  “You didn’t kill me,” I responded. “You only made me horny.”

  He stared into my eyes and I knew I had him.

  “Did I?” he asked.

  “Do you live nearby?” I countered.

  Okay, so I’ve always been a sucker for bad boys. As a chubb
y seventeen-year-old on the base where my family lived at the time, I lost my virginity to a young Army grunt who repaid me for my generosity by referring me to his thirty-year-old major. I continued to have sex with both of those scoundrels until we moved again a few months later. Over the years I’d gained a degree of self-confidence, but I never could shake my fascination with dangerous men. I would’ve gone home with Dante regardless, but the possibility that I was putting myself in a risky situation had me excited in more ways than one.

  I hadn’t had a long-term relationship since I started with the Agency. Some of the people there do it, but I didn’t think it would be fair to any potential boyfriends. There were just too many long workdays and too much overtime requested on weekends. Instead, my thing was regular one-night stands once a month or so. Biker bars were perfect, because bikers were uncomplicated. Their “hump it and dump it” philosophy just happened to mesh perfectly with my needs.

  Dante lived five minutes from the bar, and before I knew it he had me pressed against the front door of his luxury apartment, his thigh between my legs as he kissed me again, this time harder. I felt the warmth spread in my lower belly, my brain simultaneously wondering why an attorney would live in an apartment instead of a house. Was he new to the area? I couldn’t dwell on the question too long, though, because Dante took my coat off and dropped it in the snow in front of his apartment, then removed my T-shirt, exposing my breasts to anyone who might have been looking. The freezing February air gave me goosebumps instantly as he lowered his head and took a nipple between his lips. If Dante was testing me to see how sexually adventurous I was, that’s one test I would have no trouble passing.

  Seconds later we tumbled into bed, leaving a trail of clothing along the way. As a shirtless Dante started to slide my panties off, I excused myself to go to the bathroom first, grabbing my purse as I went. After locking the door, I pulled out my phone and found an app that Zainul, my co-worker in OTS, had given me months earlier to test for him. It was a hacker app he had written and named RouterSniff. I clicked on it and searched for the strongest WiFi signal, which was coming from a router named 1BadMofo. It was so much stronger than the other signals the app discovered that I felt certain it was Dante’s. I chose that router to sniff and set the phone on the bathroom counter.