DirtyInterludes (3 page)

She shook her head. “I don’t want to. I think I made a
mistake.”

Shit. Dan was going to hit the roof. “Did you sign a contract?”

She nibbled her lower lip and nodded. That made it worse.
Contracts generally made sure a person couldn’t up and leave mid-production. If
she didn’t like it, they’d simply do shots without her face or from behind her
and edit out her crying. Damn it, he hated this part of his job. Vane was an
asshole sometimes.

“Look, we have to finish this. If you can get it together
for just this scene I’ll see what I can swing to get you out.”

Tears filled her eyes and she cried as if something had
died. And maybe that was true. Something had died. It was her innocence. Max
waited patiently, his cock still hard from the Viagra he’d popped. He cast a
bored stare over the barn and noticed the horse in the next stall over.
Considering the horse was an extra to give the shoot an “authentic” feel, he
wondered what that animal was thinking. Animals fucked for no other reason but
to procreate. Thanks to Animal Planet, Max knew it wasn’t all roses for them
either.

The sobbing became little sniffles, and he looked at Venus.
In the years since he’d started he’d seen this time and time again. The first
time he’d fucked a girl who cried beneath him, he’d pulled out and looked to
the crew for help. No one said anything and the director had insisted they
finish the scene. He’d lost his erection and couldn’t fuck a piece of dough,
let alone the girl. Foolishly he’d thought it was their out. How the hell could
he screw a girl who clearly didn’t want to go on? Apparently he could. After
his contract was shoved in his face both he and Rochelle had to finish the
scene. With the help of Viagra, he managed to pull through for the shot and
then promptly vomited on the floor. Years had passed since then and he still
remembered how she looked and the sounds she made. That gut-wrenching misery of
hurting someone he had no intention of hurting.

Months of binge drinking and self-hatred followed, but he
eventually learned to separate himself from who he was and what he did as an
occupation. Max was starkly aware that the industry had changed him. He’d never
be that naïve young man again. He’d seen and done too much. Scenes like the one
he was involved in now didn’t distress him as much as they used to. Now it was
a fact of life. Some women were just going to cry the minute you stuck your
dick in them.

Venus dropped her hands and sucked in a ragged breath. Her
eyes were puffy and she would probably need some time to work on her appearance
before resuming.

“Feeling better?” he asked gently.

She swallowed, lips trembling at the sides.

“You think you can muscle through the rest of this?”

Her nod was reluctant at best. She didn’t want to, but she
would. Hiding his grimace behind a friendly smile, he patted her knee and
withdrew when she winced. “Hey, it’s just me. Nothing bad is going to happen.
If you need a break, just tap my shoulder and we’ll stop. I’ll try and make
this as easy on you as I can.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes and instead found something over
his shoulder really interesting.

Max stood, clutching the hat to his aching dick. “I’m just
going to get the boys and we can do this. The quicker done, the quicker you can
get out of here.”

“Okay.”

“Right.” Max hurried to the door and waved to the crew
outside. “She’s ready.”

Granted, he knew she was far from it. But this was a
business and time was money. Max returned to Venus’ side. They might be able to
start from where they left off, to save all the messing about. As the men
entered the room and set up, Max settled on his knees and pushed all his
reluctance aside. He didn’t want to upset her further.

He cupped her chin so she looked him in the face. “Close
your eyes if you need, all right? Imagine something else. You think you can do
that?”

She nodded and settled back into the hay.

Max positioned himself above her and a strange darkness
expanded in his chest. Sweat rolled down his back and muscles in his arms
trembled and he shook off the trepidation. Max stared at single stalk of hay
then tried to count as many as he could. This wasn’t going to be easy on
anyone, least of all Venus.

“Action!”

Venus whimpered and Max froze. Prickles chased up his spine
and the thought of continuing turned his stomach. He was of two minds, caught
between the professional in him reasoning out the importance of finishing the
scene and his worn conscience rearing its head after years of silence. Then he
made a fatal mistake. He looked at Venus. Her chin trembled as her eyes filled
with tears once again. The misery there struck his gut like a bullet and he
jerked away from her. Thorns of unease pressed over his skin at the way she
stared at him with a mixture of relief and hatred. He couldn’t go on. Not like
this and not with her. He wanted to reach for her and tell her he wasn’t going
to touch her like that anymore, but before he could, Venus scrambled to her
feet and took off, the barn door rattling shut behind her.

“What the hell?” Dan’s arms spread with dismay, his brows
lowered in anger.

Rubbing sweat off his forehead, Max exhaled harshly. The
self-hatred coiled in the shadows, implanting itself deep within. It wasn’t
something he deserved to carry, but it was there. Alive and waiting. Everyone
knew to an extent what they were getting into when they started. If not, they
discovered it soon enough. Work was work no matter the occupation. Standing,
Max wiped stray pieces of straw off his ass and grimaced.

Dan sauntered up to him. “She’s not coming back, is she?”

Max removed his chaps and yanked on his jeans. “Nope.”

Dan glowered. “Why didn’t you finish the scene, damn it?”

“Because I didn’t fucking want to, okay?”

“You’re off your game, man,” Dan said, his voice thick with
disapproval. “Vane’s not going to like that.”

“Vane can shove it.”

“Hey, this was vanilla. We didn’t throw her into the deep
end.”

Max rubbed the back of his head. Yeah, he knew that. It was
a simple single-partner, kink-free shoot. But it wasn’t for Venus. Dan picked
up an article of clothing Venus left behind. The headdress. It’d be used again.
Probably when he went on to do the “captive” scene. “Shit. There’s no hope for
it now. Take a break and we’ll set up over at the paddock and see you there in
thirty.”

Max nodded. Didn’t need much by way of props. After all,
they all spent most of their time with their clothes off.

The rest of the day finished without a hitch. The more
experienced women were used for the heavier scenes and Max was glad for the
lack of tears and welcomed the false enthusiasm. Once finished, he settled
against the bonnet of his Lexus IS 250, the silver body gleaming in the dusk.
One foot crossed in front of the other, he watched the crew pack the truck. For
all intents and purposes, they functioned like any production crew. They
operated with professional integrity, passively observing people getting it on.
All except for one. The guy was probably no older than twenty. If Max had to
guess, he’d peg him for a newbie. He didn’t do much but hold the boom mike and
get wood. As the kid approached, Max pushed off his car. The boom-boy’s head
tipped to the ground and he began to veer away from him.

The kid probably expected some joke to come his way. The
crew was quick to give him some shit for it. Male bonding and all. “Hey,
boom-boy.”

The guy eyed him warily as he approached. “Yes?”

Max smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. Man, was he all
bone? “You did good today.”

He blinked at him as though he’d socked him one. “Huh?”

“We’re both men here. So you saw some tits and got a boner.
It happens.”

Pink bloomed over his cheeks and he kicked at the grass.

Max shook the guy’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you something. See
all those guys over there?” He pointed to the rest of the crew. “They all got
hard-ons for the girls the first couple of weeks. And I’m willing to bet they
rubbed some out the first chance they got.”

Thin lips quirked upward. “Think so?”

“I know so. And you know what? Each one of them got flack when
they started out.”

The guy chuckled, a small nervous sound. “Really?”

“Yeah. Think nothing of it. See you at work next time?”

“Sure.” He smiled.

“Good.”

Max returned to his car and gunned the engine, a smile on
his lips. That weight in his chest eased a bit more. At least he helped someone
through their first day. Pity it wasn’t Venus. He drove home, the exertions of
the day starting to pull on him. The sun had long since set by the time he
parked in the driveway. He glanced over his shoulder at Bridget’s house. Lights
were out and the gnomes gleamed as the streetlight hit them. He briefly thought
of placing some naked gnomes in her yard, but rejected the idea. He’d wait for
her next move and see if it was worth playing along.

Inside, he grabbed a drink before catching a shower and
settling in bed. It felt as if he’d only shut his eyes when the classical music
vibrated through his walls. He blinked at the ceiling. His head was pounding.
Hang on…were those drums? A clash followed the
boom boom boom
beats.
There was no mistaking that. Max rolled over and thrust a pillow over his head
but the music penetrated the flimsy down. Damn that partition wall. It didn’t
muffle a thing. He swore he could even hear a triangle in there somewhere.

With a grumble, he kicked off the sheets and trudged down
the stairs to escape the music. But it followed him into the living room, the
walls vibrating with it. Disgruntlement gave way to amusement. This was
Bridget’s response? Sound warfare? It was pretty lame, but he’d have to give
her credit for having the gonads to even do something. Chuckling, he exited his
house and waited for a break in the music before he knocked on her door.

The music ended with several offbeat notes that made him
frown. Bridget opened the door, looking flushed and self-satisfied. Damn. He
imagined she’d look like that after a good, long fucking. Tendrils of hair had
come free from her bun and caressed her neck. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

Max grinned at her owlish attempt to appear innocent. “I’m
sure you are. Moving those speakers through the house? I thought you’d be a bit
more inventive. What with me being a classless imbecile and all.”

“You don’t have to be smart when all you do is have
intercourse and play dirty tricks.”

He tapped his nose. “You got me pegged. It’s all I do. Fuck
people.”

She winced. “Don’t use that word.”

Max felt instantly contrite, but he covered it with a sneer.
“Offended your sensibilities, have I? Do you find everything offensive?”

“No. Just everything you do.”

Leaning against the doorframe, he chucked her under the
chin. “You really shouldn’t complain so much. If you’re honest with yourself,
I’d say you desperately want that orgasm.”

“How dare you? You know nothing about me.”

“Why else would you choose to play the cello? I haven’t seen
you play it but I bet you look hot. Your legs spread and that beast of a thing
between your thighs.”

Her nose scrunched. “Trust you to make something beautiful
become lewd.”

“Sex is a beautiful thing. You should try it some time.”

Someone giggled behind the door and Max’s eyes narrowed.
“Have you got people here?”

“None of your business.”

Max shoved the door open and stared, mouth agape, at the
mini orchestra in her living room, on her stairs and he’d bet in her room. Holy
hell, he’d give it to her. He was impressed. “Wow, that’s—”

Bridget shuffled around him, her arms akimbo. “You have no
right to storm into my house.”

“I thought you’d just planted some speakers, but to involve
your friends in our little war is…unexpected.”

“I’m not so petty as to be drawn into your games. We’re
practicing.”

Max laughed, enjoying her little passive-aggressive act.
“Babe, you’re playing. But I’ll tell you what, the next time you want to hold
an impromptu symphony, I’ll buy a ticket.”

He tipped his head at one of the women and gave her a wink
when she snickered. Sauntering back to the door he paused, hand on the frame.
“By the way, nice try. But you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Bridget almost hurled her bow at the door the moment it
shut.

“Is that him?”

Bridget glanced at Stephanie and the oboe on her lap. “Yes.”

“Wow, you didn’t say he was hot.”

“Irrelevant. He has taken to making my life a living hell.”

“He is welcome to come live next to me and make my life hell
then.”

Bridget rolled her eyes. Sure, Max was good to look at, but
that was all. What would she want with someone who had absolutely no substance?
“You can have him.”

Alex, the principal violinist, leaned against the stair
banister and overlooked the tiny version of the orchestra squashed into her
living room. “I don’t think he was too impressed with your attempt to upset
him.”

Biting back a snide remark, she thumbed the end of her bow.
“I haven’t ever had to retaliate before. What do you suggest I do?”

Alex’s lips tipped upward. “Play dirty.”

Alex was a tall Dutch man with gentle blue eyes. What did he
know about playing dirty?

“I have three brothers. I think I have some ideas,” he said
as though reading her thoughts.

“All right, I’m listening.”

Chapter Three

Cello music vibrated on the air. Seamlessly her fingers
massaged the notes, lip tucked between her teeth. The curve of the cello
pressed against the underside of her breast. She pulled the bow over the
strings, swaying to the gentle cadence. Head dipped, her lips parted as the
notes smoothed out into a mournfully yearning melody. Her fingers glided over
each chord progression, drawing out the sensual play. Fingers stiffened and
eased over each change, her bow thrusting back and forth. Cool air caressed the
back of her thighs and her nether region tingled. Bridget’s eyes snapped open
as she panted, the cello music dying in an abrupt anti-climax.

She trembled. From the music, but also something else.
Desire. Max’s reference to her cello had defiled her. Fingers clenched around
the neck of the cello, she blew out a cleansing breath. She knew Edgar’s music
was sensual and beautiful, but she never felt the eroticism of it. In her mind
she felt it as unrequited love, but now it felt like a play about sex. The way
a man would tease a woman. Please her with every stroke of his hands. Touch her
in ways that would bring her to climax.

The tips of her fingers were sensitive from working the
notes. She shook them out, trying to expel the tension inside. She gathered her
composure, bow steady on the strings, and started again, this time her own
composition. Something that’d been floating in her head for the last couple of
days. The chords sang and she kept her focus on her bedroom wall. The bow slid
along the strings, a cadence filling the room. As she moved through the opus,
her unerring gaze settled on the bed. She imagined Max in there. Touching her
in ways she’d secretly imagined.

Her breathing became unsteady. Her nipples peaked as the
smooth wood brushed over them. Teasing her. Fingers raced over the notes. Ignoring
the pulse of need, she plucked the strings and rocked back in silence, in her
head listening to the imaginary orchestra behind her.

She eased her bow along the strings again. The cello
caressed her thigh, reminding her of a man’s touch. Conjuring Max, with his
knowing eyes and “I’ll make you scream with pleasure” body. Secretly she wanted
that. She wanted him to touch her in ways she’d only dreamed. To kiss his
dragon tattoo and taste his skin. Trail her fingers over his abs and grab his
backside while he made love to her. Unconsciously her legs parted farther, the
cool air touching the edge of her moist panties.

She arched into the phantom caress. His hot palm cupping her
breast and teasing her nipples. Every stroke set her on fire.

She dropped a note, the dissonant sound thrusting her from
her fantasy.

Blinking, she held back a whimper caught between despair and
dismay. She ached with the need for release. The fabric of the loose skirt
brushed along her upper thigh. Her nerves were on high alert as they sent a hot
wave of awareness through to her womb. The bow fell to the floor, but she
didn’t care. She sought out the place where she ached, touching herself through
the cotton. With nimble fingers she found her clitoris and circled it, sending
the first arcs of delight through her. A gasp caught in a whimper burst from
her. Like the strings on her cello, she manipulated each movement to give her
ecstasy. The pad of her finger pressed over the bundle of nerves and she rocked
it back and forth. Pleasure exploded in little allegros. Expressive. Joyful.
Beautiful. The smell of honey, wax and musk infused her senses. Her hand fisted
over the fingerboard, the strings biting into her palm. Knees tightened around
the body of her cello as she masturbated.

She flung her head back as her sensitive nipple raked along
the upper bout of her cello. Thrusting aside her panties, she circled her clit
once, twice, before pushing two fingers into her vagina. A decadent thrill ran
through her and pinged like strings plucked on the cello. Eyes squeezed shut,
she pumped her fingers slowly, finding that sweet spot deep inside her. Her
body vibrated with bliss and she rocked into her touch. The discordant twang of
strings and a broken sound of her restlessness cut through the air. The heel of
her palm pressed against the crown of her sex and rubbed the hood.

A concerto of glorious pleasure rose in waves and she teased
herself to acute awareness. Every slide of her fingers deep inside her made her
mewl with delight. Rotund balls of decadent need rose with each stroke of her
palm against her clit. She pulled the cello toward herself, wanting to feel the
hard, cool edges against her hot skin. Her free hand skated along the strings
in an unconscious glissando. She wanted to scream. Wanted to come apart with
Max showing her what type of orgasm he could give her. Damn him. She thrust
harder, his name a song in her head. Her canal quivered as tingles raced along
her skin. Desperate for that release, she circled her palm against her pussy as
her fingers rocked to and fro over the G-spot hidden deep inside. She
mindlessly opened her legs a fraction as an orgasm coiled, ready to come apart.
Her thighs gripped her cello as she exploded in a crescendo of wonder and she
cried out, bowing into her cello.

Forehead pressed against the side of the cello’s
fingerboard, she panted. Easing her fingers from her wet vagina, she twitched
as need shot through her. Moving the cello aside, she stood and rested the
instrument on the chair. Picking up her bow, she tried to ignore the way her
fingers trembled. In her en suite she stared at her flushed face and
experienced a spike of embarrassment. Washing her hands, she tried to forget
how sexual she felt while she played. How she’d become someone completely
different all because of the taunts of one man.

She pressed her hands against the basin and glared at
herself. She knew why. Bridget was the stereotypical band geek. And Max the bad
boy. Everything about him screamed, “Come and be naughty with me.”

Washing her face, she abandoned her practice, unable to face
neither her cello, nor the feelings Max evoked. Keys in hand, she marched down
the stairs and stepped outside. The house next door remained silent and she
sighed with relief as she settled in her car and drove away. She pulled into
the mall, in her bag a list of items she wanted for her wine-tasting
get-together she planned for the cello line. A type of bonding.

Ticking off items on her list she finally stopped into the
wine shop to pick up several nice pinot noirs and dessert wines. She eyed the
Riesling. The crisp apple and lime taste went well with pork dinners, but she
didn’t want to cook. She preferred something that complemented fruit or
cheeses. She settled on a Chardonnay and turned away only to run into another
person. Her apology was swallowed by his and apprehension skittered down her
spine. She knew the sound of that voice. She turned her head until she looked
into Max’s mocking face. Shock ran cold inside.

“Fancy running into you here.” He looked down at the bottle
in her hand, a dark brow raised. “Chardonnay, 2008. Good year.”

Her fingers tightened over the neck. She was convinced he
was making fun of her somehow.

“Did you choose that all on your own?”

Yes she did, but she wasn’t about to tell him.

Lines crinkled around his eyes. “Cat got your tongue?”

“You like to make fun of me, don’t you?”

Brows curved together in a perfect look of confusion. “Why
would I do that?”

She scoffed. “When haven’t you? For your information, I know
a bit about wine. I host wine-tasting parties every last Sunday of a month. I
do
know my way around a bottle.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure you do.”

“I’m sure you’re much happier with beer or something equally
uninteresting.”

“Well, you haven’t had a good beer then.”

She made a face, recalling the bitter yeast taste of her
first and only beer.

“Besides, a man can appreciate the variety in life.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said, her voice dripping with
disdain.

“Jealous, babe?”

“Hardly. Unlike you, I have a discerning amount of taste.”

His hand dropped over his heart. “Ouch. I’d much rather be
classless than have a stick shoved up my—”

“Stop right there. I don’t have to stand here and listen to
you insult me.”

“Like you didn’t do the same to me?”

Rather than respond, she cast him a “you’re a bug beneath my
heel” look and stepped around him.

“How’s the cello going?”

Her steps faltered and his chuckle sent heat across her
face. Marching to the counter, she tried to ignore his laughter and the
knowledge that he had gotten to her yet again. Perhaps she would follow through
with Alex’s suggestion.

* * * * *

Max leaned back, enjoying a cold beer, and smirked. He’d
gone into the liquor store to pick up his special order of Founders Breakfast
Stout, but had spotted Bridget trawling the wines and thought in a moment of
charity to help her out. He shook his head at the random thought. She didn’t
appear to want his company. In fact, the way her face lost color and her lips
parted, he’d assumed she was embarrassed. He’d bet his bottom dollar his sexual
innuendos were getting to her.

Kicking his feet up, he flicked his stereo on with a remote
and jazz rolled through the air. Settling comfortably into his lounge, he
thought of new ways to tempt her. To bring that delicious flush to her face.
Something hitched in his chest and he dismissed it as an air bubble, even as a
voice in his head warned him of his interest in Bridget. Last night at work,
Max found his concentration split between the work at hand and Bridget. He’d
never thought of another woman while he was, well, fucking another. Sure, he’d
thought of stuff he had to do, like future shoots or tasks he wanted to finish
in the week. But to think of Bridget while boning a woman freaked him out a
little.

He mentioned it to Bryce. That was his mistake. The bastard
laughed his ass off. No sympathy there. He had to sort it out on his own. It
didn’t help matters when he saw her at the liquor store. Serendipity or fate
laughing at him, who knew? Either way, she wasn’t happy to see him and all he
thought about was her mouth. Those luscious lips that usually spat vitriol at
him. He was fucked up if he wanted to kiss that sour mouth, but the fact
remained he did.

Could it be? He was starting to like their little fights. He
grunted a sound of disbelief. He’d been witness to more messed-up things than
this. Swallowing the last of his beer, he welcomed that buzz in the back of his
mind, willing the events of today to blur.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the smooth jazz, sinking
into the relaxing hum. A knock on his door brought his head up and his interest
perked. Had Bridget come to complain about something? He grinned eagerly. All
but leaping over his lounge, he hurried to the door and slid to a stop. Hand on
the doorframe, he expelled a harsh breath and settled his agitated nerves.
Bending his head from side to side to ease the tightness in his shoulders, he
shook out the remaining tension and adopted an air of nonchalance as he swung
the door open.

His eagerness faded to disappointment at the stranger on his
doorstep. The tall woman had on so much makeup she probably needed a paint
scraper to get that stuff off. Lips red as a cherry parted in a smile. Dark
hair and almond-shaped eyes indicated an Asian ethnicity. She exuded sexuality
and the tight black dress didn’t hide anything. Slim, athletic frame and pert
tits. A brow raised in interest. Well maybe he should hear her out.

“Can I help you?”

“I was told to come here and show you a good time.”

Max rubbed the back of his head. “Look, I don’t know what
you were told but I’m not interested.”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t have to pay. I was hired
anonymously to give you a striptease.”

Bryce. What was he on about? With a shrug, he stepped back
and she sashayed in, a waft of floral perfume hitting him in the face. His
nostrils pinched as he closed the door, the cloying scent filling up any clean
air left in his vicinity.

She stood in the middle of his living room, hands on her
hips. “Is it just you?”

“Uh, yes.”

She bit her lower lip, then pranced around the lounge, her
impossibly high heels clipping on the tiles. “Do you mind if I bring in someone
else?”

Max shrugged. Two women? Why the hell not? “Sure.”

She left the house, the door open and blowing in the cool
night air. Momentary confusion gave way to impatience and he picked up his
beer. He took a swig and promptly coughed at the sight of a massive dude in his
doorway. What the fuck?

Wiping the beer off his chin, he blinked at the pinch of
tears. “What is he for?” he croaked.

The woman patted the bear on the shoulder. “Just to watch.
Don’t worry.”

Max blinked. Kinky. Nothing new to him. “Want a beer?”

The bald-headed monster didn’t make a sound. Just folded his
guns and grunted. Max would give anything to know what he thought, but the
sunglasses kinda made that hard.

“You want to do it here?”

Max hesitated at the reluctance pressing in his stomach. A
churning that told him of his discomfort. He walked farther into the living
room, determined not to let Bridget get between him and a woman again. He took
her hand and kissed the top. “I’ll do it anywhere you want.”

She smiled. “We can just do it here. Do you mind if I put on
some different music?”

Max nodded in the direction of his stereo. “Sure.”

She sauntered over to the radio, hand fluttering in an
overly feminine movement. Something wasn’t quite right here. “So where do you
want me?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder, an impish curve to her lips.
“Just on the chair will do.”

Max turned his head to find a chair from his dining table
had been moved to the center of his living room, with the guy standing behind
it. He approached the seat and tipped his chin. “Hey.”