He kept his tongue on my clit until the sensation was too great, and I pushed his head away. He rose on the bed, positioning himself between my legs. I felt the weight of his erection against my sex.
Max’s mouth went right for my breasts, first sucking on my left nipple, then my right, alternating between the two. He moved his hips, rubbing the plump crown of his penis against me. His tongue licked and flicked across my nipples, until finally he took one between his tongue and his upper teeth, a feeling I loved so much it made me arch my back involuntarily.
“Offense or defense?” he breathed.
It was a running joke between us — who would be on top to start? Offense was top, defense was bottom.
“Is it my turn to choose?” I asked. “Because right now I don’t care — ”
And just like that, having given him the faintest green light, he plunged the tip of his cock into me, then stopped. He slipped it out a little, then pushed back in.
“I love teasing you,” he said.
“You love trying to make me beg for it.”
Max didn’t say anything. He just kept up that taunting motion.
This too was part of the offense-defense thing we had — seeing who could hold out the longest.
I usually won this part of the battle, because Max always made me come before sex. Sometimes with his mouth, other times with his hand, and sometimes he even did it in this position using just the teasing glide of his rigid length across my wet folds.
Today, though, Max was going to win. After letting me shave him, and after that sheet-clawing orgasm he’d just given me, I wanted him inside me.
“Fuck me,” I said, reached out and putting my hand on his clenched ass, pulling him into me.
He slid in with one smooth thrust.
His head dipped and his lips sealed around mine. He groaned low in his throat as he drove his cock into me to the hilt. I threw my head back and his mouth went right for my throat.
Max then got up on his knees, placing his hand under me on the small of my back, lifting me slightly. It gave him a different angle of entry and he fucked me deep and hard until I felt his cock throbbing — not the kind he controlled, but the kind I always felt as his body geared up for orgasm.
I reached up and placed my palm flat on his stomach. I loved feeling the way his muscles contracted as he moved in and out of me.
The need. The desire. The power. Everything about his intense maleness while he fucked me sent my nearly helpless body right to the edge of orgasm again.
As I clenched around him, his own throbbing increased. I felt the first hot spurt of his come jetting out of his cock, then more, more, our skin-on-skin becoming warmer and slick, until we were both spent.
FOUR
I had a lot to prove to Max. Not in a personal way, but in a professional one. He had given me a ton of responsibility, trust, and indeed power at OliviMax, and I intended to exceed his expectations.
It was just as much proving something to myself. I knew it had taken a ton of guts to come all the way to L.A. to work in show business. While I didn’t have dreams as lofty as those of the countless aspiring actors out there, they were still my dreams and I wanted to realize them.
Max liked to call me his “dream girl.” I liked to think he gave me my dream job. And now that I had it, I wanted to make it happen in an even bigger way.
So, without becoming a taskmaster bitch of a manager, I found some middle ground between that and being a weak “yes girl” to the people I had to deal with.
I didn’t care if they knew I was the live-in girlfriend of Max Dalton. In fact, I felt no hesitation whatsoever about people knowing that about me and making my job easier. But one thing I didn’t do was play that card on my own. It spoke for itself, and as I learned more about the business and became better at my job, I would soon not have to rely on that at all — I’d be my own woman.
. . . . .
Being around him more and more, I noticed that Max kept a journal. He didn’t keep it on his laptop or iPad, but rather a leather-bound book. Once, when I asked him why he didn’t do it digitally and sync it up with his phone and laptop so he could add to it whenever he wanted no matter where he was, he said he still liked to write longhand sometimes. It was more personal, he told me, and since the journal was where he recorded his most personal thoughts, it was the perfect opportunity to uncap a pen and put real ink on paper.
Trust me, I was tempted to look in his journal at times, but I respected his space. Plus, Max was never one to keep his feelings from me, so I figured I knew everything anyway.
That is, until he started getting quiet just a few weeks before I would be leaving to go to Ohio for Christmas.
We were in his office at OliviMax, on a conference call with the agent who repped Troy McKenzie, the actor Max wanted for the leading role in the new film.
“He hasn’t read the script yet,” the agent said.
“It’s been two weeks,” Max said. “That’s more than enough time.”
“He’s been really busy.”
Usually during this type of call, if I was there at all, I didn’t say much, if anything. But this time I did, seeing how frustrated Max was.
“Listen,” I said to the agent, “Forty-eight hours. That’s plenty of time for Troy to read the script. The offer’s on the table and we’re not going to sit around and wait for him to pick up the pages. Give us a yes or no within two days or he’ll never get another offer from us. Ever.”
I could feel my pulse pounding in my neck. I was so worked up, not just out of anger or frustration, but at the thrill of using the power Max had given me for this job.
I looked up at Max, whose eyes were wide, and I watched a grin slowly overtake his face. He leaned forward, closer to the phone and said, “Gotta go, Ben. Talk to you in two days.” Max ended the call.
We were sitting on the couch. Max was holding a script, and I was sitting next to him. When the call from Ben had come in, I had been flipping through some headshots of various people we were thinking about auditioning for supporting roles for the new film.
I looked at Max. “Surprised?”
“That’s part of it.” He put his script to the side, took the photos from my hand and put them on the coffee table. Then pulled me closer to him, turning me onto my back and lowering me so he was cradling me in his arms. He bent his head down and gave me a long kiss. “The way you walk around here, the way you were on the phone just now,” he said, “like you own this damn town.”
I felt my face start to blush. “I’m sorry — ”