I’ve already finished eating, but Raven asked if she could have the rest of my pancakes.
“I didn’t eat dinner,” she says between bites, “and I burned a shit-ton of calories tonight.”
She leans toward me and says softly across the table, “Who knew fucking a hero was such hard work?”
Her smile is adorable, and I could get lost in those big brown eyes. I have yet to find anything I dislike about Raven and can’t help but wonder why she isn’t already taken. I don’t want to ask her if she’s got a boyfriend, because she might get the idea that I’m interested—and I’m definitely not. I try to come up with another way of asking instead.
“How long has it been?”
She just put a bite in her mouth and can’t talk, but her brow crinkles.
“Since you got laid,” I clarify.
Raven swallows and looks at me for a second, then sticks another syrupy bite on her fork and brings it to her lips, pausing.
“Eight months, almost to the day. But who’s counting?” Into her mouth goes the bite. She smiles as she chews, then points the empty fork at me and raises her eyebrows.
When I don’t respond, she swallows again, then asks, “How about you? How long has it been?”
“Four days.”
Her expression says she thinks I’m joking, but she thinks for a second and her smile disappears. “Oh, my God. The Oscars. That studio woman you were working for, the pretty one in the silver dress.”
I nod. “I don’t normally mix business and sex, but that was a strange night. She insisted.”
Raven stares at me momentarily, then sets her fork on her plate.
“Well, I’m glad I was able to help you break such a long drought.”
The snarkiness in her voice doesn’t disguise her hurt, although I don’t really understand it because she didn’t even know I existed at that point.
“Don’t ask a question if you don’t wanna know the answer,” I tell her.
“Whatever,” she counters as she pushes her plate away. “It’s not my business.”
We wait in silence as I get the waitress’s attention and signal for the check.
On the ride back to her shop, a cop going the opposite direction does a quick U-turn and turns on his lights and siren. When I pull over, he gets out of his car and approaches the bike.
“Sir, I stopped you because under California law, you’re supposed to be wearing… hey, you’re that big ninja from the Oscars, aren’t you?”
“That’s me.”
“Ramirez, right? Damn, that was a brave thing to do. You ruined that guy’s arm. Rescued Logan Kenner’s kid, too.”
“I was just doing my job,” I tell him. “You cops know all about that.”
“Well, you saved the day. Get off the road as soon as you can, or get another helmet, all right?” He pats me hard on the shoulder, then nods at Raven and says, “You two have a wonderful day.”
I give Raven a little smirk, then we’re on our way again.
We reach the shop and I take her around back. She climbs off the bike, removing the helmet and handing it to me. She’s still in a strange mood because I admitted to fucking Jackie.
“So, I guess I’ll see you when you’re ready for your next tattoo, then,” she says.
I hear it as a question; she wants to know if I’ll call her. I ignore it instead.
“Thanks for the free work. Magnificent stuff, Raven. You’re a true artist, one of the best who’s ever worked on me.”
“Don’t mention it,” she says.
“The tattoo wasn’t bad, either.”
A smile creeps across her lips. She leans forward and we kiss, and it’s just as hot and intense as the others. Kissing Raven is a small sex act on its own.
Then she steps back and I put on my helmet and drive off without looking back.
On the ride home, it occurs to me that I’m faced with my usual dilemma. Some chick turns out to be an excellent fuck, and I have to decide whether it’s worth it to see her again. A great sex partner is a rare thing, and some people can do the whole friends-with-benefits things. I’m not one of those people, though. I have few friends, and not a one of them gets benefits.
And a relationship is out of the question, so I try to avoid even starting down that path.
I crash on my bed and sleep until noon. The first thing I think about when I wake up is Raven’s jet black hair and her shiny, sweaty red body, undulating above me while she rode my hard-on as if it were the only thing in the world that mattered to her in that moment.
I already sense this won’t be an easy decision.
The next day I catch a Lakers game with Mason and Claire. Drake is in Vancouver shooting a movie, and Allie tagged along. Drake has four season tickets courtside along the baseline, and I considered asking Raven if she wanted to go, then decided it would be a bad idea. If I see her again, it’ll be to fuck her, not to date her. Still, I can’t help thinking she’d be fun to take to something like this.
The Lakers are a rejuvenated team this season, and Marcus has taken his game to a whole new level. I don’t know if it’s Rashida’s influence, or maybe his father’s death, but he finally seems to have seen the light and taken more of a leadership role. Their record reflects it, as they’re currently sitting in fourth place in the NBA’s Western Conference and seem to be headed to the playoffs again. All I know is that Mason says Marcus’s Q-Rating has gone up significantly. The value of his Nike endorsement contract, which is tied to that Q-Rating, has already increased to two hundred million dollars over the next ten years. It could still go higher, too. That shrewd deal orchestrated by Mason and Claire are making Marcus a very wealthy man.
Marcus is absolutely beasting it tonight and nearly has a triple double by halftime, which doesn’t happen often in pro basketball. It’s a pleasure to watch his fluid motion and incredible agility, and he seems to always know exactly where his teammates are on the court. From midway through the first quarter, it’s apparent the Charlotte Hornets have no chance to win this game.
Mason and I spend the breaks in the action during the first half talking about this goddamn reality show he wants me to do. I promise to go for the audition and see where it leads, but I’m hoping they lose interest after my little bit of fame wears off. He’s fired up about it. He’s already booked me on Jimmy Kimmel’s talk show for next Monday night, and that’s about as much TV as I care to do. I’ll be nervous as hell for that.
At halftime, Claire excuses herself to use the restroom.
“Did Drake tell you about that tattoo thing he saw on TV?” Mason asks when Claire’s gone. “Some chick wants to give you free tattoos at her shop.”
“Yeah, I already took them up on it. Got a new piece done two nights ago.”
“What’d you get? Show me.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I tell him. “Not in public.”
He looks surprised. “You didn’t.”
“My dick? No fucking way, dude. It’s way up on my thigh, though. Right here.” I point to the area where Raven inked me.
“Doesn’t that shit hurt?”
Mason doesn’t have any ink. “Nah. Tickles.”
“Did the owner do the tattoo? Drake said she was a sexy little thing.”
“Yeah, she did the piece herself. Since I had to take off my pants, I insisted that she did, too. Stood there for more than two hours in her panties as she tattooed me.”
“You’re kidding,” he says. “Pics or it didn’t happen.”
“Didn’t think to take a pic. Swear to God, though, and they were Hello Kitty panties.”
“No shit.” I can see in his eyes that Mason’s intrigued now.
“When she finished the tattoo, I took her to Firewater for drinks, then we went back to her shop and I fucked her on the tattoo table.”
He breaks into a grin.
“Of course you did,” he says, then raises his plastic beer cup to me. “Nice work, my friend. Was she any good?”
&n
bsp; This is the way all of us in the Hollywood Bad Boys Club used to talk, trading details about the women we slept with. Now that the other three guys all have girlfriends, I think they live the single life vicariously through me.
“She was fucking incredible,” I say. “Best pussy I’ve had in ages. She’s a fun chick, man. Attractive, funny, just freaky enough. Slammin’ body, too.”
“The offer was for lifetime tattoos, right? Anytime you want them? Is the sex part of the deal every time?”
I smirk at him. “Probably. But I doubt I’ll go back again.”
“Why the hell not? Get a free tattoo, then get laid afterward. Doesn’t sound bad.”
“You know me, man. I don’t need any entanglements.”
“Yeah, I guess. Sounds to me like you really like her, though.”
I shrug and we’re both silent for a few seconds, then he says, “Maybe you could just drop by occasionally for a tiny tattoo and a blowjob.”
I’m still laughing when Claire returns.
The Lakers return to the court for their practice shots before the second half and Marcus fist bumps all three of us. It’s his little ritual, fist-bumping whoever’s using Drake’s tickets that night. One of his teammates, the Lakers’ shooting guard, Demarius Crawford, comes walking up.
“Dude, you’re that Oscars hero guy. You know him, Marcus?”
Marcus introduces us, then I see the other Lakers walking up one by one, until there’s a small crowd around me. They all recognize me, and say they were impressed by my work, especially the mangling of that guy’s arm. When they go back to their practice shots, I see other spectators looking over at me. People know these four seats belong to Drake because the cameras always get a shot of him during the game telecast on nights that he’s here. I see a few glimmers of recognition when they realize where they’ve seen this huge bald dude before.
After the game, I go home and sit on my patio, looking at the three or four stars in the sky that manage to shine through the lights of nighttime Los Angeles. I’ve been thinking about Raven all fucking day and it’s beginning to irritate me. It must be because she was such a great fuck, and part of me knows that most sex isn’t anywhere near as good as the sex we had in her shop. I’d love to get this chick into an actual bed and see what she can do.
So, that’s the decision I come to. I'll fuck Raven again at least once, and maybe even more if she's cool with keeping it casual. I make plans to wait a few more days before I call her up. I’ll invite her to come here to my place.
No tattoo this time, just sex.
Happy with my carefully reasoned decision, I call it a night and go to bed.
In the morning, I wake up with a raging boner and realize I’m incredibly horny. I get as far as lunch before I decide to text Raven and ask her if she wants to get together tonight.
I may not need a relationship, but at the moment I need somewhere fun to put my hard-on.
14
Raven
I’m running the hard-core trail at Runyon Canyon early Saturday afternoon. Halfway up the hill, my music drops out momentarily and I hear the screeching cat sound that I’ve designated as my incoming text tone. It’s really pretty funny, but never fails to scare the crap out of me when I’m wearing earbuds.
I remove my phone from its pocket in my armband and glance at the screen. The text is from Link. I don’t know if I’m surprised to hear from him or not; I didn’t get that he was the dating kind, but on the other hand, he really seemed to enjoy our sex.
Pulling to the side of the trail, all sweaty with my heart pumping hard, I open the text.
hey, wanna come to my place tonight for round 2?
Hmm… No date? No dinner? Just come over and fuck?
I look at the tall buildings in downtown Los Angeles in the distance.
Really? Is that what this is going to be, then?
I wasn’t expecting flowers, considering what a closed book Link appears to be, but come on, the pretense of romance would be nice.
I re-read the text again. If this is going to be purely physical, am I okay with that?
I suppose I am. I’ve been sex-starved for a while now, and what I experienced with Link two nights ago was intensely satisfying on a physical level. Those two strong orgasms left me relaxed with a brightened mood yesterday and today. I’m curious what would happen now that we’re not total strangers and know each other’s bodies a little. My body tingles just at the thought of being naked with him.
Sure, I’ll fuck him again. I had no plans for tonight anyway.
But I’m not going to make it too easy for him. Not this easy, at least.
I send a response.
OK, on one condition: Take me to Firewater for drinks first.
His reply is quick.
sure
A second later, I hear the cat as another text arrives.
but why?
What the fuck? Is this guy serious? The same guy who fucked two women last week wants to just skip the appetizers and jump right into the entree?
I toy with the idea of saying something like “because that’s the kind of thing gentleman do” or “to make you work for the right to put your dick in me.” Ultimately, I decide the truth might have more impact.
So we can both pretend I'm not so eager to get into your bed.
I hit “send” and wait. The cat screeches again.
lol, sounds good. text me ur address and ill pick u up at 8.
I text him my address, then replace the phone in my armband and continue up the hill.
Well, I guess that’s settled. Yes, he can fuck me again, but only after he shows a minimum amount of respect by getting me liquored up first. Such is the life of a single woman in Los Angeles.
Back at home, Phanes and Nyx greet me by getting underfoot, nearly making me trip. That’s all I need, to show up for a sex date with a broken nose or black eye. I towel the sweat off my body, then make a protein-powder smoothie to replenish my energy. Since I have no plans until eight, I set my alarm for six and take a three-hour nap.
When I wake up, I soak in a rose-scented hot bath, trying to relax while my mind keeps alternating between what took place in my studio two nights ago and what might take place later tonight. After the embarrassment of the other night, I went for a wax yesterday, so that’s not a concern. I’m smooth as can be and ready for some serious sex. I can’t wait to feel his mouth against me now.
As I try to decide what to wear, I think about how to approach Link tonight. Should I pretend to be a little timid this time and let him take the initiative throughout the night? In my experience, most guys prefer it that way, but he seemed to enjoy it when I was on top of him and took control for a while.
I check the time: seven forty-five. He’ll be here soon and I’m standing in my bedroom stark naked, still rifling through my closet. I grab a shirt off its hanger, then go to my dresser and dig to the bottom of my underwear drawer until I find the bra-and-panties set that I bought three months ago, but have never had the occasion to wear. They’re gorgeous black lacy things, very sexy and just sheer enough to make things interesting. More importantly, they look amazing on me, and while I’m wearing them any body image issues I have seem to melt away. I look like a fucking supermodel in these—or at least a supermodel who doesn’t shy away from eating pizza once a week.
I quickly slip them on and look in my full-length mirror.
Yep, these were definitely an excellent purchase. I spray on some perfume and put on the shirt, a long-sleeved dark gray silk button-front number, and I wear it untucked. Tonight, I’m pairing it with light gray jeans and black heels. It’s a pretty dressy look for me, and with the top button being right between my breasts, it’s also racier than I’m used to wearing. At work and at home, I’m a T-shirt and jeans type. But Link has already seen that side of me. This me is elegant and casually sexy.
While I wait for him to show up, I come to a decision that, rather than present some false version of me as a timid girl who
wants to be told what to do in bed, I’m just going to be myself. That “self” happens to be a woman who loves to be as aggressive as men during sex, who likes pushed boundaries and blurred lines. I consider myself a badass in and out of bed, so why should I be any different tonight? If Link doesn’t like that, it’s his loss.
Nyx lifts her head off my lap when she hears a motorcycle engine. A few seconds later, there’s a knock on the door and she jumps out of my lap and scampers under the couch. I have butterflies again as I go to the door. Taking a deep breath, I open it to find the frame completely filled by Link’s giant form. One corner of his mouth comes up in a semi-smile.
“Hey, you.”
Not exactly a man of many words. He didn’t bother to dress up at all; black jeans and a tight heather gray T-shirt, pretty much the same as the last time I saw him. I don’t mind, because it looks sexy on him and shows off his incredible physique. It’ll feel special to be seen on this man’s arm.
“Hey yourself,” I say. “Wanna come in for minute?”
He steps into my living room, stopping long enough to bend down and plant a kiss on my cheek. Phanes jumps off a chair and runs into the bedroom, a frightened white-furred streak.
“I’d have figured you for a black cat,” Link says.
“There are two of them. The black one is under the couch. They’re both kind of psycho at times.”
“No doubt.”
What does he mean by that? He glances around the apartment.
Hollywood Bad Boys Club, Book 4: Link Page 10