Hollywood Confidential

by Mel Curtis

  He didn’t let up. One orgasm wasn’t enough. He worked Portia until she was a mindless, horny princess who came again.

  A condom. A change of position.

  He sat on the edge of the bed facing the sunset. Sheathed, he lifted her into his lap and impaled her in one quick stroke.

  Portia tensed.

  Damn. His princess was one of those – a woman who preferred fellatio over intercourse.

  “Relax.” He kept his hips still and nuzzled the back of her neck, slipping his hands around those amazing breasts. Her skin was soft and supple from the oil. He worked his palms over and around, across her flesh. His dick twerked inside her, demanding more, demanding release. “Watch the sunset, Princess. It’s beautiful, like you.”

  Slowly, she relaxed, moaning softly as he tugged her nipples.

  “Take me for a ride, Princess.” With his hands on her hips, he encouraged her to move up and down.

  When she had the pace, he found her plump folds with one hand. His fingers went pussy-diving and discovered her clit. He pressed the go-button.

  She convulsed upward. He thrust higher, adrenaline and lust testing his control, shaking his limbs.

  He pressed his palm against her pelvis, bringing her down hard. She took him deep, arching, groaning. Blue didn’t cut her any slack. He pumped her back up and pressed her back down again. She may have been on top, but he controlled this ride.

  Up and down. Deep and deeper.

  Blue felt the pressure build, felt his balls lock and load. He was on fire, fucking her hard and wet, fast and breathless. He wanted to stay in this zone forever, where her body was his. But he knew he couldn’t hold it much longer.

  He bit into her shoulder, excited, horny, angry it was about to end.

  His fingers curled into her plump folds.

  She screamed.

  He came off the bed, lifting her with him, legs shaking as he exploded with the hot, spiky fire of orgasm.

  In Hollywood, some women are desperate to keep men. Some women consult with Senge Tenzing at Wicked Tantric to improve their sexual performance. Jenny Quick is a poor little rich girl, looking for love in all the wrong places with all the wrong tools. She’s convinced being a sex goddess will help her keep Blue in her bed.

  Jenny Quick had a problem.

  She was dating the hottest hunk in Hollywood, a guy who discarded women like other men discarded used condoms. She had to stay inventive in the bedroom if she was going to keep Blue Rule.

  Which was why she’d signed up for sex classes at Wicked Tantric and had been attending religiously for weeks.

  She’d taken Hot & Naked Yoga. All she’d gotten was naked and sweaty. And not because she had hot thoughts. She’d spent most of the time trying to covertly compare her assets to the other women in the room.

  She’d never be the thinnest, but her boobs were bigger than everyone else’s. She favored pelvic landing strips, but it seemed full front to back waxes were trending. And when did her areolas become so big and brown? She needed to find some pink make-up that didn’t taste like make-up. She wanted to turn Blue on, not destroy the mood when he stopped to ask her why she was putting make-up on her tits.

  After weeks on the wait list, today was her first one-on-one session with Senge Tenzing. His sex advice was rumored to be fantastic. She’d been told to wear a wrap dress with nothing underneath. That meant her boobs sagged and she slouched on the way in, hoping none of the paparazzi would realize she was braless, pantiless and desperate.

  Senge wore a white cotton sleeveless shirt and burgundy wrap-around pants. His skin was the warm brown of a crisp chocolate chip cookie. From his head to his feet, his body was as waxed and hairless as the women in her previous classes.

  He ushered her into a small room with large orange pillows on the floor. “From this point on, I will make you comfortable.” He arranged the pillows in the corner farthest from the door and against the walls. “Sit. Sit back.” He watched her sit the same way Daddy’s decorator watched workers hang expensive art. “No, no, no.” He hurried to crouch before her. “You must sit as if your lover is looking.” He bent her knees and spread her legs.

  She felt a breeze on her privates and tugged her skirt down.

  “No, no, no.” He swatted her hand. “We unwrap.”

  A shaft of alarm rang through her, followed by the adrenaline of fear. Was he that kind of guy? “I don’t understand.”

  “You.” Senge scowled. “Open your dress. Expose your magic to the air.” He gestured to her vagina, as if she needed cue cards to figure out that magic equaled vagina.

  Had the women in Hollywood led her astray? “But I–”

  “You are here to learn how to release your chakras, no?”

  She didn’t know what chakras were. “I’m here to learn how to have better sex.” Not that she was a slouch in that department. She had skills.

  He sighed. “You are here to please a man, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Open yourself.” He produced a white tube and small mirror from his pants pocket. “You have been using your body all wrong. Your breasts are the focus of a man’s attention. You need to center yourself where your thought is.”

  She nodded. This was good advice. Really good. If a bit confusing. “What…thought?”

  He sighed again. “Of joining with the one you love. Of grabbing on tight and never letting go.” He handed her the small white tube and mirror.

  She nodded, taking the items from him. This time she understood. She was going to win Blue’s love with her vajayjay. She studied the things he’d given her.

  Senge slapped her hand lightly. “There will be no test later. Do not read labels.” His high pitched voice rumbled. “Apply it to your sex.” When she didn’t move quickly enough, he knelt between her legs and swatted her bare inner thigh. “Apply! Apply!”

  Jenny experienced a burst of heat, despite there being a strange little man between her legs. Or maybe because of it.

  She should be grossed out. She should be closing her knees together. She didn’t. She squirted the white cream on her fingers. It smelled like mint. She paused to sniff it.

  “Apply! Apply!” Senge slapped her inner thigh again.

  Jenny covered her nub and channel under his watchful stare.

  “Your opening.” He sounded annoyed. “Circle your opening with it.”

  Holy crap. “Are we going to have sex?”

  “Not we.” His forehead rose where his eyebrows should have been. “You are going to learn how to please yourself.”

  “I know how to climax.” Even now, the cream was making her warm. “I’m here to learn how to do dirty, sexy things to my man.”

  “That is the next lesson. First you must prove to me you can reach great heights on your own.”

  “I’m going to fly solo? With you watching?”

  “Yes.” He made a move along gesture with one hand. “Now.”

  “But…” She was a Texas girl. She may have diddled herself, but only in the privacy of her bed or shower. If a hot guy was in the vicinity, he had the honors.

  “How can you direct a man to give you pleasure if you don’t know how to pleasure yourself?”

  “Oh.” That made sense. Jenny moved her hand over her lower lips, but hovered without touching herself. Where to start?

  Senge scowled. “It is worse than I thought. We begin with the basics.” He held up a peace sign. “Place your fingers on your mound and stroke ten times.” He brought his fingers together. “And then stroke ten more times.”

  The cream was heating. Her peace sign touch had her throbbing. Senge’s watching had her throbbing.

  “Faster,” he urged.

  She moved faster at his command.

  “Deeper,” he urged.

  She deepened her touch.

  “Pound,” he urged.

  She tapped her nub.

  “Polish,” he urged.

  She rubbed her nub.

  “Circle,” he urged.


  She circled her nub.

  She was hot and juicy and exhausted, aching for release and dick, preferably Blue’s. How did other guys spend so much time down there without cramping their fingers or tongue? She wanted to shout at Senge to take over and eat her to completion. She wanted to run out and find Blue or a dildo and fuck something silly.

  “Ah.” Senge had been peering between her legs and presumably the ooze of her juices. “I see. I see. Spread your lips.” He flashed the peace sign. “Now flick your nub from below. Flick it hard, like you want your lover to do with his tongue.”

  Jenny followed his instructions. She wasn’t gentle. She touched herself with the urgency and need that men sometimes touched her with. A wave of tingly warmth shot through her.

  “Don’t stop,” Senge commanded. “Continue. A little to the left.”

  Jenny adjusted. It was like being perfectly tuned. She closed her eyes and roared to the finish line, arching up off the pillows and giving a little cry of surprise.

  She felt powerful. She felt alive. She felt like she could make any man a fantastic lover.

  “And now,” Senge said, his voice sounding far away. “We do it again.”

  Hollywood women were right. This man was worth every penny.

  Admittedly, Blue is something of a man-whore before his book begins. It’s not until his exes, including Kaya, Portia, and Jenny, want revenge for their broken hearts that he has to face who he is and who he wants to be. Enter Maddy Polk, a reality TV producer interested in helping Blue out of his hot mess, only to realize he’s her kind of hot mess.

  His garage was empty except for the Cayenne. White walls. No tools. Why didn’t that surprise her? He wasn’t the type to putter around the house. Any puttering he did would be at the country club. Or in bed.

  Blue returned. Towering above the car, he stared down at her through the windshield, looking like a poster for her fantasies. Brooding, muscular, hot.

  He opened her door, lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

  Me Tarzan. You Jane.

  “Hey, wait.” Maddy’s nose banged against his back, as her Tarzan fetish met up with reality. “Isn’t this supposed to be about me and what I want?”

  “No.” He shouldered open the door and carried her into the living room–comfortable looking beige couches, a beige Lazy boy, beige carpet and a big yellow blanket on the floor.

  “What? Your bed wasn’t made?”

  Blue laid her on the blanket. “I rented this furnished when Kaya and her Avengers trashed my Malibu condo.”

  Okay, the fantasy of a black leather sofa and fur-lined handcuffs was out. But she couldn’t let him think she was okay with a yellow blanket. “What? No fire? No candles?”

  “Too cliché.” He unbuttoned his shirt as he left the room. “Don’t move.”

  “Where’s my tequila? At least give a girl some liquid courage.”

  The picture over the fireplace was a wave crashing into a rocky shore. Now that was cliché.

  Something popped. Glasses clinked.

  If there wasn’t tequila, champagne would have to do. Maddy raised up on her elbows and craned her neck to see into the kitchen.

  Blue appeared in the doorway holding a bottle of Dom Perignon and two champagne flutes. His shirt was gone, revealing some very chiseled muscle, including the top of an intriguing, hairy V, the bottom of which was covered by his waistband. “You moved.”

  “So?”

  “It’s not allowed. My rules.”

  “Blue’s Rules.” She snorted, vestiges of tequila still in her system. “Blue’s Rules of Attraction.”

  “So now we need a punishment.” Blue knelt at her side, depositing the champagne and glasses on a nearby coffee table. He poured golden liquid into a glass and offered it to her.

  It was dry and cold, not near as inhibition erasing as tequila.

  Blue sat at Maddy’s feet, slipped off one of her flats and started giving her a foot rub.

  Heaven.

  She gulped her champagne and lay back down.

  After a few glorious minutes, Blue gave the other foot the same treatment. But the entire time, he was stroking her with his eyes.

  Her body felt liquid. “I like the way you punish.”

  “That wasn’t the punishment. This is. Hold still.” He began to unbutton her white blouse. He peeled it carefully aside, revealing her plain white bra.

  Why was it that Maddy never had on the right bra when sex was at hand?

  And then Blue took a flute of champagne and poured it slowly over each of her white cotton covered breasts.

  The liquid seeped through the material and onto her skin. Cold. Sticky. He placed his lips over her breast, gently suckling champagne through the thin layers of fabric, pulling her nipple into his mouth, warming her up. And all the while, he held her gaze with his own. Daring her not to hide from the passion that was building between them.

  “Oh, my.” It was good to have a task master. She reached for Blue’s waistband, but he brushed her hand away.

  His mouth left her while he busied himself with undoing the side zipper of her black skirt, dragging the material over her hips and down her thighs. Every touch making her want him, all of him, however he wanted to give himself to her.

  Blue removed her panties next.

  “Now let’s find some of those crevices.” He poured champagne over her belly button.

  Champagne dripped around her waist. He licked her clean. Her skin tingled with the need to be touched. She arched her back, begging for what she knew was coming next.

  But instead of pouring champagne over the triangular thatch of hair between her legs, he took a sip, studying her body before lowering his mouth to one wet bra cup and squirting the still cold champagne out of his mouth through the fabric and onto her nipple.

  Maddy gasped.

  Another sip. Lips placed on her other breast. Another cold burst of liquid heaven. Her back was sticky with bubbly. Air came in ragged gasps. She arched again. A plea for release.

  His hand on her pelvic bone guided her back to the blanket.

  “This is punishment,” she murmured.

  Blue smiled wickedly, idly stroking her thigh as he took another sip of champagne. And then he parted her legs, kneeled between them, leaned down, and spread her apart with his fingers. His lips so warm. The sticky liquid so cold. A stream, stroking, soaking, putting pressure on a spot that sent her climaxing, had her grabbing his shoulders, dragging him to her for a kiss where she warmed his tongue with her own.

  She rolled him on his back, straddling him. “You. Are. Overdressed.” She gave him the same slow treatment he’d given her. A leisurely pulled zipper. The slow glide of trousers over bare skin. Boxers removed with roving hands. Until he lay beneath her in all his chiseled glory.

  “Condom,” he said weakly, gesturing to his pants.

  “In a minute,” she said tartly, reaching for the champagne.

  One thing about writing sex for Blue–he was so skilled in bed he didn’t struggle to get on the same page as his lovers. Here’s round two between him and Maddy.

  There was always a moment after incredible sex with an intriguing woman where Blue felt that restlessness, that niggle of thought urging him to get up, pull his pants on and leave.

  But Maddy had been lying in his arms on the living room floor with her hand stroking his chest for twenty minutes. The niggle hadn’t come.

  Before he could ponder why, she spoke. “I thought when women were with the infamous Blue Rule they got to choose how and when. There’ll be no more domination on your part.”

  Blue nipped her gently on the shoulder. “You probably came here with some plan about having quick missionary sex, and getting me out of your system.”

  Her eyes widened. “The savant speaks.”

  “I have plans for you, Maddy.” Blue stood, scooped her up, and carried her to the heated lap pool that lined his back patio, depositing her in the far end. The summer night was clear and w
arm. The moon overhead not covered by incoming fog. He turned on the filter. The current began to flow slowly. He rolled a condom into place. And then he lowered himself into the water and drew Maddy into his arms. She smelled of champagne, flowery shampoo and sex. Forced by the current, his body pressed against hers as he slid inside her and against the wall. “I have a few things I want to try before we check off your missionary fantasy.”

  Maddy make enticing sounds as he started to slide and glide. “There is nothing wrong with soft sheets and horizontal sex.”

  “I’m not giving you what you want.” He spun her around until his back was against the hard tile, her body pressing against him from the strength of the lap pool current. She took advantage of the water’s flow, folding her legs on either side of his hips, flattening her soft breasts against him.

  Maddy’s breasts. Maddy’s hips. Him inside of Maddy. Both of them moving with the greediness of need.

  She was perfect. They were perfect. How had he not known this woman existed? How could he let her go come morning?

  The thought would have scared him if the tension between them wasn’t building, buzzing through him with brain numbing speed. He thrust deeper, pulling her hips closer, until her cry of release sent him over the edge. Together, they drifted to the bottom of the shallow lap pool.

  He pulled her to the surface, gasping for air. And still he wasn’t done with her. “Damn, this could go on all night.” He was already half ready for more. It had to be the long period of celibacy.

  “Come on.” Blue tugged Maddy toward the narrow steps. “I’m pruning.”

  “I hope not. If this is my Cinderella moment and I have to go back to being a pumpkin in the morning, I want the full-on, Blue Rule treatment.” She climbed out of the water, her body filled out and supple, not the stiff thinness of a woman who starved herself to fit into a pair of size zero jeans. “Look at those stars. We must be close to the ocean.”

  Blue followed her out of the water.

  She reached for him, efficiently ridding him of the condom. “Nervous yet? Want to switch to something more predictable, like the missionary?”

  “Nope.”