Bradley's Whistle (P.ornstars of Romance #2)

by Kirsty Dallas

  Bradley was dressed as a gladiator, a heavy leather pleated skirt sitting low on his hips and hanging to mid-thigh, and oh how delicious those strong, muscular thighs were. His feet were covered in leather boots to his calves, and that was it. The rest of his spectacular body was naked. I felt a deep-seated, quite perverted need to run my hands down that strong smooth chest and those beautiful abs that resembled the rippled swell on the ocean. I pressed my tongue against the back of my teeth as I imagined following the happy-trail to paradise beneath his navel, which led a path to the gladiator skirt . . . and beyond. When my horny eye balls finally did their third lap of his perfect body, it was to find Bradley staring at me. The look on his face made my nipples pebble, and I fought the need to cross my arms over my chest. His expression was probably much like the shocked awe of a teenage boy’s first porn experience. He was blatantly checking me out, but it didn’t bother me. In fact, I felt a little thrill at his unabashed exploration. When his lusty gaze met mine, he licked his lips. LICKED HIS FREAKING LIPS! A little nervous, I shuffled and realized I had never been in this kind of situation before. I’d never been nervous under the scrutiny of a man before, but here and now, with Bradley looking at me like I was candy on a stick, I was anxious.

  “Alright, enough eye fucking. Let’s make margaritas!” Casey sang loudly.

  I felt the heat rush to my face and was grateful to see the darkening of Bradley’s cheeks, too. While Lionel and Casey made drinks—cocktails for them and a mocktail for me since I didn’t drink alcohol—Bradley and I sat across from one and other in the living area. I looked his way and quickly averted my gaze; he had failed to remember he was wearing a skirt. I fought a smile while trying to catch a discreet glance of his grey boxer briefs once more.

  “Bradley, sit like a lady,” Casey snapped as he handed me my drink. I could have slapped the man, and the twinkle in his eyes suggested he knew I wanted to.

  Bradley shoved his skirt down to regain his modesty, and soon we were all sitting in the living room, in what was most likely the most awkward Fancy Dress Friday I had ever been to. Lionel finished setting up Loaded Questions, and Bradley’s brow rose.

  “Board games,” he muttered.

  Casey, Lionel, and I all pinned him with a stare.

  “It’s fun. Relax, you might just enjoy yourself,” Lionel said with no heat in his tone.

  Bradley pulled out his cell phone and began thumbing off a message to someone.

  “No cell phones allowed during game time,” whispered Lionel.

  “Settle down, Kernel Clink, the game hasn’t started yet,” said Casey with a chuckle.

  “I was supposed to meet some friends. I just want to let them know I won’t be there.”

  “Oh, maybe we can all go out later?” I said, perking up. A night out sounded fun.

  Bradley glanced at me before sliding his cell phone across the coffee table. He took a long drink from his whiskey before shaking his head. “It’s not really . . . lady friendly . . . or gay friendly.”

  I arched a brow his way, and I was pretty sure Lionel and Casey did, too.

  “Bradley, did you join a Freemason’s Lodge?” Casey asked.

  “What’s a Freemason’s Lodge? Do they have something against women and gays?” I demanded, getting ready to defend the rights of all women and homosexuals across the Lord’s fine Earth.

  “It’s a boy’s club, and as far I’m concerned, they must have something against us because they don’t allow women or gays to become members.”

  “That’s not true; most modern lodges are happy to accept homosexual members.”

  “You joined a cult?” I asked, outraged.

  “They are not a cult, and no, I haven’t joined a Freemason’s Lodge,” Bradley sighed. “I was supposed to meet some friends at The Lovely Lounge, which is a strip club.” He quickly busied himself by pouring another drink.

  “It’s a strip club . . . where women strip . . . and women aren’t welcome?” I asked, puzzled.

  “I just didn’t think any of you would be comfortable going to a strip club,” Bradley said with irritation.

  “I like strip clubs. I’ve been to plenty. I have nothing against them or the women who strip there. Heck,” I said laughing, “I’m a porn star for goodness sake.” I didn’t miss the stiffening in Bradley’s posture, nor the scowl he wore as he returned to the couch.

  “And I love strip clubs. They attract man candy, and I’m more than happy to do a little eyeball grazing.” Lionel slapped Casey on the back of the head. “Oh, come on, baby, you love to graze, too. We both look, and then touch each other . . . a lot!”

  “Can we get started?” Lionel asked impatiently.

  Casey gave him a regal wave of his hand. “By all means.”

  “Thank you. Shortest player goes first.”

  They all looked at me, and I rolled my eyes. I shook the dice, blew on them—for good luck—then threw them across the coffee table. My board piece was moved, then Lionel handed me a card, and I read it out loud.

  “What do you do in private that others would find disgusting?”

  “Just today?” Casey asked, a serious expression on his face.

  “Any day,” I answered.

  The boys were quick to begin scribbling down their answers on their note pads, then Lionel, because he was Lord Board-Game Almighty, read the three answers out loud. The object of the game was to guess which player wrote which answer.

  “First answer, I pick my nose; second answer, I have my pie hole bleached—”

  I burst out laughing, sending a spray of mocktail over the coffee table. Lionel was quick to wipe up the mess while I continued rolling all over the couch in hysterics. When I finally gained some resemblance of control, I sat up to see all the boys smiling at me, even Bradley.

  Lionel continued, “Third answer, I try to pee gross stuff off public toilet bowls.”

  I was giggling again, but I was pretty sure I had this.

  “Lionel, you pick your nose; Casey does the anal bleaching—and Casey, TMI!—Bradley uses his pee as an industrial cleaner.”

  They each nodded, and I jumped up and did a little happy dance before it was Lionel’s turn to roll.

  “When bad things happen in three’s, what good thing can erase all of them?”

  We all took a little longer to write down our answers, and I ended up getting Casey to do mine as my writing hand was currently wrapped in its rainbow cast décor. Bradley read the answers back to Lionel. For a man who didn’t seem too enthusiastic about playing board games, he was pretty keen to participate.

  “Answer number one . . .” I shivered at the deep masculine tone of his voice. “A day at the spa; answer number two, dancing; number three, a blow job.”

  I’m pretty sure my sudden grin in Bradley’s direction gave away his answer.

  “Shocking,” Casey murmured.

  Lionel ticked them all off correctly, and then it was Bradley’s turn to roll the dice and ask a question.

  “What player has the nicest feature, and what is that feature?”

  Casey snickered beside me, and even Lionel managed a cheeky grin. Casey, once again, helped me write my answer, and then he read them back to Bradley.

  “Answer number one, Casey’s bleached ass; answer number two, Lionel’s big hands; and answer number three, Bradley’s dimpled smile.”

  Casey and Lionel sighed in unison. Bradley gave me a wicked wink that seemed to be connected to my lady bits because a pulse hit me right between the thighs.

  “Lionel did the ass one, Casey did the hand one, and my pussycat likes my smile.” He smiled, and yeah, it was totally hot.

  “Bum-Bummmm,” Casey sang in some ridiculous attempt at an incorrect sound. “Yes, Lionel adores my ass, that is a known fact, but my little poppet has a thing for my man’s hands, which I am okay with, because his hands are a gift from the gods. You should try a shoulder rub sometime, Bradley. Once you’ve gone Lionel, you’ll never go back, and I personally think your
smile could raise cocks all around the world, if only you used it more.”

  I giggled, Lionel snorted, and Bradley just stared at him.

  “I always thought it was my ass women liked,” he whispered finally.

  “Oh, you have one fine ass,” I said. When all three men looked at me, I realized I had actually said it out loud. I refused to be embarrassed by my slip. “What? He totally does.” Casey and Lionel just watched me with goofy grins, and when I braved up enough to glance at Bradley, he looked smug.

  “What other features do you like?” he asked with his arms crossed over his chest, drawing my gaze to his well-defined biceps.

  Hmmmm, would I start there? Or perhaps with those strong thighs, or maybe his calves, they were hot, too, or his feet. Hell, I was a foot person, and it was usually the first place I started. Mangy feet or toes were a deal breaker for me. I suddenly wondered what Bradley’s feet looked like. Did he have corns? Were they wide? Flat? Hairy? Oh, gosh! Did he have hammertoe? He seemed so aesthetically perfect he had to have a fault, and knowing my luck, it would be his feet.

  Casey’s fingers snapped in front of my face. “Okay, creeper, if you are going to ogle, it’s best done discreetly.”

  Fortunately, the guys resumed the game, and we fell into an easy cadence of laughter and gasps. I suddenly had a much better insight into all the men. Lionel was far more sensitive than he let on; Casey had no shame, which I was aware of already, and he was fiercely loyal to Lionel; their affection for each other had me more than a little jealous. And Bradley, well, I was beginning to see why he was Decker Steele’s best friend. Behind his scowly persona was a man who liked to have fun and was far more playful than he let on. He was confident, but not arrogant, which I’ll admit had been my first impression. He actually had a few sweet moments that were totally sigh-worthy.

  The game had long since fallen to the wayside, and we were laughing at childhood stories when a loud knock at the door interrupted our Fancy Dress Friday fun. The way they were downing alcohol had them giggling like a gaggle of schoolgirls. If the boys weren’t careful, they’d be spending the next morning praying to the porcelain throne. Being the only sober one in the room, I answered the door.

  “Oh, hello,” said a cultured, native voice coming from a woman who looked as equally cultured. She was taller than me with long dark hair and beautiful almond shaped eyes. She was wearing a dress that hugged her stunning body but still looked elegant and regal. Her eyes floated up and down my Wonder Woman costume, and her brow furrowed. “Is Emerson here?” Her demeanor quickly turned snotty, and I wondered if this was Bradley’s girlfriend. And who the hell was Emerson? I glanced over my shoulder and just about face palmed when I realized she was referring to Bradley.

  “He is. Come on in, we’re just having a few drinks.” I stepped back, and she sauntered into the apartment like she owned the place.

  “Davinda?” came Bradley’s startled voice from across the room.

  Her eyes zeroed in on his half-dressed body, and I suddenly felt a resounding urge to scratch the woman’s eyes out.

  “I didn’t realize you had company,” Davina said, glancing at me with a very Bradley-like scowl that bordered on condescending.

  Okay, we obviously had issues because I didn’t like her, and I liked everyone—except Kasper—and she didn’t like me, and I was adorable, everyone liked me!—well, except Kasper.

  “I have friends from the US staying with me for a while,” Bradley said, staring at Davina as though she were a puzzle he was trying to figure out. “This is Lionel and his partner, Casey who anal bleaches,” Bradley added with a chuckle. “And this is Wiska. This is my secretary, Davina.”

  Davina, the secretary, I thought with an eye roll. I knew exactly what sort of filing went down in Bradley’s office, and it sure as hell wasn’t the paper, hard copy kind.

  She nodded politely to Casey and Lionel before turning her catty gaze on me. “You seem familiar,” she mused, once again taking in my costume.

  I stuck a hand on one jutted out hip and smiled. “Do you watch porn?”

  I’d always wanted to say that and found immense satisfaction in the righteous indignation Davina strived for while she blushed profusely, which told me straight away she did, in fact, watch porn. Lionel and Casey snorted with laughter; however, Bradley’s expression was anything but amused.

  “I was at The Lovely Lounge and saw that you weren’t there. I thought I’d stop by to check on you and make sure everything was alright,” Davina purred, ignoring me completely.

  “Wow, a secretary that goes above and beyond. That’s impressive, Bradley. You should give her a raise,” I said with as much sarcasm as possible.

  I immediately realized how snotty I sounded, and for what reason? Because I thought her boss was a hottie? Because Lady Jealousy wanted to poke her head out and blow this prudish cow a raspberry? Didn’t matter because Bradley was nothing more than a friend, if that. Besides, my pussy was on pause, indefinitely.

  “Can I get you a drink, Davina? We have margaritas, whiskey, wine, beer, orange juice, Coke, water . . . or mocktails.” I swung my attitude from shitty to sweet in a heartbeat. It took some serious acting skills, because I still erred on the side of dislike for this woman, but I still nailed the charming hostess like a pro.

  “Davina, what are you doing here?” asked Bradley as he leaned against the kitchen counter, looking all kinds of jump-worthy in that damn leather skirt! Davina thought so as well; I could tell by the way she talked to his pecs.

  “Like I said, I was at The Lovely . . .”

  “And why were you there?”

  “Wine,” Davina said, giving me a pointed look while ignoring Bradley’s question.

  I poured her a drink and watched as she stepped into Bradley’s body. Invading one’s bubble much! Damn, jealousy was a bitch, and it had been too long since the emotion had turned my veins green. It made me feel sick.

  “You said no to dinner, Emerson, but you didn’t say you would be adverse to my company . . .” Her long, red tipped claws ran along the exposed ridges of those stalker worthy abs, and I shoved the drink across the counter.

  “Can I get you another, Bradley?” I asked in a sickly sweet voice.

  “Bradley?” Davina asked with a perfectly arched brow.

  “Ignore them. It’s a personal joke,” he muttered. “And, yes, more drink, lots and lots of drink.”

  I poured him a whiskey and shoved it none too carefully in his direction. “Drink up, sunshine!” I sang with way too much enthusiasm, and hid a grin as Bradley stepped away from the bubble invading hussy.

  Eventually, we ended up back in the living room, with Davina, much to my disdain, and the boys continued to irrigate their already inebriated bodies. After a few more drinks, Davina had wedged herself back into Bradley’s personal space, and the fact he didn’t push her away irked me. I snorted. What kind of a lame-ass word was irk? I could do better than irk. It vexed me, sent arrows of irritation and repugnant hate into the bowels of my gut. Maybe if she had been sweet with an obvious kindness, it wouldn’t have bothered me on such a level, but I knew women like Davina; there was one on every street corner. I laughed out loud, and everyone turned to look my way, like sharks scenting fresh blood in the room. Davina’s heavily lashed, brown eyes took me in, again. Dang it, now I was in her laser beams.

  “So, Wiska, what kind of a name is that?” she sneered.

  “Ukrainian,” Bradley answered, gifting me a sexy smile.

  Awww, I felt all warm and tingly in my lady bits.

  “And you live in the US?”

  I took a deep breath and swallowed the sarcasm I usually relied on when I was uncomfortable. “Yes, I do. I live in New York.”

  “Oh, how urban.”

  My smile fell. What the hell did she mean by that?

  “And did you come to the UK just to visit Emerson?”

  “She’s attracted unwanted media attention,” Bradley said without thinking.

 
; This time there was no warm and tingly. No, this time there was a surge of I-wanna-slap-you-silly anger. I sure as hell didn’t want this condescending butt-munch to know my embarrassing New York oopsie.

  “Which is Wiska’s business, nobody else’s.” Lionel inserted himself into the conversation with ease, and I gave him a grateful smile in return.

  “You’re an actress? Have you starred in anything I might have seen?” Davina asked, shocked.

  “Like I said, do you watch porn?”

  She grinned, but it disappeared when I didn’t reciprocate the gesture. After all, I was deadly freaking serious.

  “You’re a porn star?” She practically spat the words out.

  “Uh-huh, that I am, ma’am.” I gave her a courtly tip of the head and smiled.

  Her lip curled, and I readied myself for the verbal vomit. It wasn’t the first time someone had this reaction to my profession. There were usually three groups that people fell into when they learned what I did: one, shocked but didn’t care enough to ask questions; two, shocked and eagerly asked lots of questions; or three, appalled. Davina was clearly a number three, and with the snarky attitude she had turned on for the night, I assumed I was now going to get an earful. So, she wanted to argue? Well, the bitch could bring it. I was ready—I even had my CAPS LOCK ON!

  “So you fuck, for money? Like a prostitute?”

  “I had hoped you might shock her enough to say something intelligent,” Casey whispered in my ear, his arm carefully draped around the couch at my back as if ready to protect me from her verbal sting.

  I hadn’t been in the industry very long, but I could handle snot-nosed prudes like Davina. While her words might have stung deep down, I knew how to bury that pain and hold my chin high.

  “I fuck, on camera, for money . . . a lot of money,” I calmly replied.

  “So, you are a prostitute who allows people to film her. How morally charming.”

  “Compared to a woman who bends over her boss’s desk and allows him to fuck her, I think you have virtue and morality about covered.”

  “Wiska, that’s enough,” murmured Bradley.