DirtyInterludes (2 page)

“You never know, Bryce. Vane won’t care what your reasons
are. If you fuck up, he’ll boot your ass.”

Bryce scoffed. “Tell you a secret. This stuff helps me fuck
longer and harder. Vane won’t care if I’m giving the best performance he has
ever seen for the cameras.”

“What’s in that cocktail? Viagra?”

Bryce held a finger to his lips as though it were a
well-kept secret. “Some. Who cares?”

Concern tightened in his chest. Max stepped forward, his
chin tipped downward. “Are you sure you’re all right, man?”

Bryce recoiled. “Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I
be?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? You’re high. At work. That’s a pretty
big signal right there.”

Bryce glowered, his eyes bright from drugs and fury. “I got
it all under control. What’s wrong with taking the edge off anyway?”

Max knew when to back off, and this was one of those times.
“Whatever. I’m gonna head out anyway. I got things waiting for me at home.”

“Besides your irate neighbor?”

“Yeah,” Max said on a grin. “Besides that.”

He left the room, his bare feet cold against the concrete.
The wide hall echoed with people talking and laughing in the break room, but
thankfully all other activities within the building were muffled by the
soundproofed walls. As he turned the corner, he almost ran into Demi. Her pert
little face reminded him of a pixie, but he knew her small frame and innocent
aura hid the heart of a dominatrix.

“How was the new girl?”

Max shrugged. What was there to say? “Enthusiastic.”

Demi grinned. “Oh fun.”

A brow cocked up. “You hoping to work with her?”

She shrugged one shoulder in nonchalance, but he could tell
by the glimmer in her eyes she was thinking about it. “I thought I might bring
it up to Vane. I’m thinking a rough remake of the story
The Snow Queen
.
With me as the snow queen, her as Gerda and you as Kay.”

Max hadn’t heard of
The Snow Queen
but knew Vane
loved to take fairytales and give them an erotic twist. Vane’s creativity and
demand for perfection were perhaps the difference between Dungeon Films and the
other production companies out there. Vane ran this place like a Hollywood
studio. Although most things were improvised in the moment, the bones of the
action and serious plot points had to be maintained. “I don’t know, I’m kind of
run down at the moment.”

Black manicured brows lowered. “I’m sure Vane won’t
authorize it now. I have to write up the script for it first.”

Max grinned. Demi was an ideas woman. “You know I don’t do
submissive work, Dem.”

She ran a red-tipped nail over his chest. “Who said anything
about you being a bottom?”

Max chuckled. “Come on, Demi, you and I both know you love
to dominate and subbing just doesn’t rock my boat.”

A devilish smile raised her lips. “You won’t know unless you
try it.”

Sure he wouldn’t know, and he’d like to keep it that way. He
thumbed behind him. “Ask Bryce, he’s up for anything.”

She pouted prettily. “I would like it better if I could pop
your cherry.”

Despite the industry he worked in, his ass cheeks still
clenched together at the thought. “I bet you would. But there are plenty of
guys who would love to let you try them on. Why not ask them?”

She rolled her eyes. “I want fresh meat. I want a challenge
and you might ‘play’ Dom from time to time, but I know inside you’re wanting
something else.”

Max shrugged. He couldn’t refute her words. His tastes, as
far as the industry was concerned, were vanilla. Vane wanted different types of
Dominants to fit into his stable and Max fit right into the “Player” Dominant.
He liked to play at it from time to time, but it wasn’t him. He liked his sex
playful with a touch of spice. But a submissive he was not.

“You’re asking the wrong person, Demi.”

She winked at him as he stepped around her. “I’ll catch you yet,
little rabbit,” she said to his receding back.

* * * * *

Bridget’s eyes stung with grit as she stared at the music
sheet, the notes seeming to blur together. In the background drums rumbled,
indicating the beginnings of a crescendo. She cringed as she missed the
conductor’s next phrase and fell a fraction behind. It was enough to throw off
the entire cello section. A discordant tune rippled over the air in the theater
and the wind section faltered. The conductor’s lips thinned with disapproval
before he lowered his baton. The principal second peered at her in query and a
little bit of glee. It was no secret Gillian wanted her seat.

Cheerleaders had nothing on “the band”. It was cutthroat and
somewhat backstabby. It was all her neighbor’s fault. Others dropped their
instruments to peer around. If it weren’t for Gillian’s pointed stare, she
might’ve passed their notice. After all, she never made mistakes. She’d
practiced until her fingertips bled to get this seat and she wasn’t about to
let it go.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

The conductor heaved a sigh full of grievance at her stuff
up. She felt it like a rap to the knuckles and it stung. Again everyone
prepared to begin and Bridget struggled to focus. The scores became nothing but
bugs moving across the page and she shook her head to clear it. Grit hurt her
all-too-dry eyes. The opening began and she ran the bow over the strings, the
D-minor moving like a subtle wave across a lake. Seamless movement saw her move
up the pace and she leaned into the music, her focus sharp as she followed the
tempo.

The winds started their piece and she eased back, bow
against the edge of her cello. Sweat coated her forehead and she dabbed it away
with the back of her hand. Fuzz gathered in her head and she blinked furiously
against the growing blur. Shifting in her seat, she prepared for the next set
and rested her bow against the strings. Her fingers danced over the strings,
producing long, smooth notes with every pull of the bow.

Confident she could do it justice, she leaned into the
music, bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Her fingers slipped off, the small
error enough to shock her as her bow screamed across the odd note. She pulled
back to gather herself but it was too late. It was the fourth mistake on her
part today and the other musicians cast her irate stares. Some made
commiserating sounds, but their eyes screamed frustration.

“What is going on with you?” Gillian snapped.

“Nothing.” She wiped at the sweat on her brow and exhaled
through stiff lips. If she didn’t get her act together she’d have more to worry
about than her neighbor’s lack of manners.

“Well it must be something. Your lack of focus is messing up
the piece and we’ve got to get this right.”

Bridget would rather drink vinegar than apologize. Not to
Gillian, who’d like to highlight her failure as a fixed chair. Although it was
a relatively new job, Bridget wasn’t about to fail. “I’m fine.”

Huffing, Gillian rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You better not
mess up again.”

Bridget held her tongue, her fingers clenched over her bow.

The rest of practice went along much the same way. She made
less obvious hiccups, but mistakes were mistakes no matter how she looked at
it, and they didn’t go unnoticed by other cellists. Gillian was quick to
whisper her “concerns” to others in the group as they packed up and Bridget was
starkly aware of their censure.

The clasps to her case snapped shut, loud in the tense
auditorium. William stepped down from his podium and made a beeline toward her.
Anxiety tightened in her stomach as she straightened.
Show no fear.
Her
smile felt brittle as she thrust her shoulders back, waiting for the fateful
words.

“You were off today.”

Relief sluiced through her even as she nodded sagely. “Yes.
I think I’m nervous.”

Brows dropped. “Nerves aside, I appointed you as principal
for your work ethic. You were a little late today—”

“I can explain.”

“Explain all you want, but this isn’t school. You can’t just
show up late and not suffer the consequences. This is your first warning.”

Hands clasped before her, Bridget nodded, humbled. “I
promise to do better next time.”

Smarting like a child sent to time-out, she finished packing
and hurried from the building as if the ghost of her humiliation couldn’t
pierce the boundaries of her car. She drove home, all the while recalling every
missed chord and cringing. The closer she drew toward her house, the more her
annoyance climbed. It was clear to her that she wouldn’t have made those errors
if she’d been able to sleep. She wouldn’t have overslept and she wouldn’t have
set the day off on a bad foot.

As she drove down her street a shirtless man running down
the sidewalk caught her eye. The woman in her appreciated every ripple of
muscle and the way sweat glistened on his back. It was cold out, but it didn’t
seem to matter to him. Muscled arms pumped with each steady stride. Broad,
tanned shoulders and a baseball cap turned backward instantly put him in the
bad-boy category and she hoped his face matched the rest of his body. As she
passed him by, she glanced into the rearview and almost braked hard. Max. She
cursed as his name blazed through her head. She’d promised herself she’d never
utter his name, but the shock of feeling that attraction made her forget how
much she hated him. Fuming, she stepped on the gas and tires shrieked into her
driveway.

The car door slammed shut and she marched toward him as he
slowed down to stretch on his lawn.

“You.” She pointed an accusing finger at him.

Black brows shot up, then he rolled his eyes, arms
outstretched as though to say “save me from this crazy lady”. But she wasn’t
crazy, she was mad. She shook with it. If there was a tsunami on the east
coast, the devastation was nothing compared to the ruination he was making in
her life.

“Do you understand what your lack of manners has done to
me?”

He dropped his hands onto his hips, chest heaving. “No, but
I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“Because of you I might lose my chair.”

“Well, buy another one. Not my problem.”

He bent to stretch his hamstring while she sputtered.

“I don’t mean a
chair
chair, you imbecile. I mean my
seat as the principal in an orchestra. Oh why do I expect you to understand?
You’re nothing but a classless baboon.”

He straightened and brushed his chin with his thumb and
index finger. “A baboon? I haven’t heard that one before.”

“Neanderthal.”

He gunned a finger at her. “Now, that I’ve heard. You really
know how to pull those insults, don’t you?”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yeah right, look, babe—”

“Don’t call me babe.”

“I don’t know why you’re making me out to be the villain in
your little piece of reality. But whatever magical way you’ve managed to
convince yourself that I put your job at risk is bullshit. The onus is on you.”

“No it’s not. Because of
you
and that woman I didn’t
sleep and I couldn’t concentrate.”

He threw up a hand and walked way, but not before saying,
“You need to get laid.”

Bridget stiffened. “What did you say?”

He paused and angled his head. “I didn’t stutter. I said,
you should get laid. Loosen whatever’s got your panties in a wad.”

“Oh and I suppose you’re offering up your services,” she
scoffed.

“Hell no.”

Ouch. That stung. It really did. She covered her
embarrassment with a tilt of her chin. “Well, at least on that we’re in
agreement.”

She stalked away to retrieve her cello, all the way thinking
up better insults to throw at him next time he upset her world, which to be
honest at this point was going to be a regular thing.

Max stretched his hip flexor and admired the way her ass
looked in those dress pants as she bent over to pull out her massive
instrument. For all her bluster, he’d have to give it to her. She was one hot
piece. She had an impressive set of curves. A tight butt with breasts that’d
bring a man to his knees. Nice honey-brown hair that’d look good in his fists.
Whoa, where’d that thought come from? He’d gotten his rocks off plenty today
and shouldn’t be thinking about sex. Least of all with his uptight, highbrow
neighbor. He shuddered at the thought.

She grunted somewhat prettily as she pulled the cello from
the trunk and carried it toward the house. She trudged through the minefield of
gnomes and stopped on her porch. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, he
smirked, the move greeted with such a dramatic sniff of disdain it made him
chuckle. Pity her face was always set in a look of constant disapproval. It
made him wonder if she drank vinegar before she stepped out of her house. As
the door closed, Max stood and wiped the dirt off his knees. He’d hoped the run
had burned off the restless energy, but after his encounter with sourpuss, he
wondered if it was enough.

He grabbed a towel as he entered his home and threw off his
cap. The sweat cooled on his skin and he grimaced as the cold penetrated his
flesh. Sweater pulled on, he retrieved a drink from the fridge and knocked it
back before settling on the lounge. The leather cooled his skin and he closed
his eyes, willing sleep to come.

That wonderful drone started and he slipped deeper into
oblivion. The drone went up a pitch then down. Then stopped. What the hell? Max
snuggled deeper into the cushions and the drone started again, but this time he
recognized it as music. Cello music. Groaning, he rolled over and pressed his
hands over his ears. He couldn’t go in his room, it was too damn cold, what
without a window and all. And now Bridget was playing her damn music.

Huh, so much for getting some shuteye.

Chapter Two

Bridget tried to stifle a yawn. About her the café buzzed
with activity and she just wanted to kick off her shoes, lie down on the sofa
and go to sleep. Today was supposed to be a celebratory dinner over her role as
principal. Instead, she slouched over her pudding, unable to enjoy the sugary
goodness. She’d been a little off in practice, but it was a marked improvement
from yesterday. If the conductor’s fierce expression was any indication, she needed
to pick up her game. Gillian had already started to plant the seeds of doubt
but Bridget wasn’t going to give up without a fight. For the last two nights,
Bridget barely slept a wink. If she’d gotten a good night’s sleep she wouldn’t
have made those mistakes. She knew where to place the blame. Right at Max’s
feet. She spent last night practicing until her fingers hurt and when she did
go to bed, she practiced with air cello until she passed out. Which wasn’t much
before dawn.

“I hate that man,” Bridget grumbled, pushing aside a blob of
cream with her spoon.

Cathy peered at her, brown eyes alight with confusion.
“Huh?”

Deciding the pudding had seen better days, Bridget thrust
the plate aside. “My neighbor. I hate him. He kept me up ’til all hours the
other night.”

Cathy paused mid-chew. “What?”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “He had some woman next door
screaming her head off. I couldn’t sleep. I was so angry I broke his window
with P. Diddy Gnomes.”

Cathy’s blonde brows shot upward. “You love P. Diddy.”

Bridget folded her arms. “I know. I just didn’t think and
now he’s holding Gnomes hostage.”

“That bastard.”

If it were anyone else, Bridget might’ve thought she was
teasing her. But not Cathy. Their love of garden ornaments had brought the two
together. Cathy had moved to Los Angeles a few months ago and they met by
happenstance. It was kismet. Bridget finally had someone who understood her
obsession for gnomes.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to go over there and ask for my
gnome back. He’d probably take a hammer to it just to get back at me.”

“Why not break into his house and get it then?”

“Cathy
.
”

She blinked at her owlishly. “What? It’s not like he doesn’t
deserve it.”

“But it’s breaking the law,” she whispered.

“Psshh. You already broke his window. Criminal.”

Bridget laughed. “All right you have me there. Maybe I’m a
late bloomer and only starting to rebel now.”

Cathy held up her coffee mug. “Here’s to anarchy.”

“Anarchy.”

Bridget sipped her coffee and pondered if she had the
courage to do something like that. “Besides, even if I were to do it, I don’t
know when he’s home or not. He works some odd hours.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes he is home, others he isn’t. There
isn’t any real pattern to it. I think he might be self-employed or something.
If I wanted to get P. Diddy Gnomes back, I’d have to know when he’d be out.”

Cathy mock-gasped. “I can’t believe you’re going to go
through with it.”

“I’m not.” Cathy eyed her dubiously. “
I’m not.
I just
thought if I did, I probably wouldn’t know when to do it.”

Cathy sighed. “I can’t believe I have to give you tips.
Haven’t you seen a heist movie? You do it at night and wear black. Oh and don’t
get caught.”

“Ha ha,” she grumbled.

“You know, if you really want to do something wild, we could
hold him hostage and do all sorts of things to him.”

Bridget giggled, imagining Max tied up and slave to her
whims. The sliver of lust that snaked through her killed her amusement. She
really shouldn’t fantasize about him in any form or fashion. “As tempting as it
is, I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought it was all foreplay.”

“Being tied up?”

“By two women. That man is a sex maniac. All he ever talks
about is sex.”

Cathy paused, cup suspended by her lips. “He talks dirty to
you?”

Bridget grimaced. “I wouldn’t call it that. He likes to tell
me how lacking I am in the…sex department.”

Cathy’s lips stiffened and the cup hit the table with a
clunk. “He made
advances
on you?”

Bridget waved a hand, worry spiking over her friend’s sudden
defense. “No, never. More like giving me the brush-off. Enlightening me that
I’d never have a chance with him. As if I would want to.”

“Oh.”

That one word, a deflated breath, pretty much summed up her
day. Deflated. “Enough about me, I want to hear about you. How are you and
Mitch?”

A grimace flitted over her friend’s face before it cleared.
“We’re doing good. Good.”

Something about her tone made Bridget think things weren’t
completely true. “Are you sure?”

Cathy stiffened. “Yes. I said we were, didn’t I?”

Sensing the door to that conversation sealed tight, Bridget
moved on to other things. Still she couldn’t shake her friend’s words. She’d
moved here, as far as she knew, with her boyfriend for a fresh start. Finishing
her coffee, Bridget yawned.

“I’m tired. I think I might go home.”

Cathy grabbed her hand, her brows drawn low with concern.
“Hey, I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

Bridget smiled. “It’s okay. I think we could all do with
some sleep and maybe pampering.”

Cathy eased back with a sigh. “Yeah.”

After making her goodbyes, Bridget returned to her car and
drove home, all the while her thoughts wandering back to the mistakes she made
during practice. Each missed note, each unsteady key change made her cringe.

As she pulled into her driveway she noticed several crates
on her front porch. She retrieved her cello from the back of her car and placed
it by the stairs. Carefully she studied the wooden boxes. They weren’t big and
reminded her of specially delivered boxes of wine she’d ordered several years
ago for her housewarming. Frowning, she tried to remember if she’d purchased
wine of late, but her sluggish mind refused to cooperate.

She stood over a crate and checked the address. No, it was
right and even had her name on it. Curious, she opened the door and placed her
cello inside and went in search of a pry bar. Lugging one of the boxes inside,
she marveled at the weight. It wasn’t too heavy, which made her think it was
perhaps wine. Kneeling in the entryway, she loosened the lid. It came apart
with a subtle squeak and her mouth dropped open as she recognized the pointed
little hats that belonged to garden gnomes. Hand pressed to her chest, she
released a sound of joy. She didn’t remember ordering gnomes, but to have
more…she certainly wasn’t about to wonder about the sender. Paper rustled as
she grasped on to one and pulled it out.

Then immediately dropped it.

The thing fell with a dull
thunk
by her foot and
rocked to and fro as though to shake its head at her and leer. A naked gnome.
Stomach churning, she tore at the packaging and pulled out one naked gnome
after another. No, it wasn’t a mistake. Each box had various types of
statuettes, each naked in some form or fashion. Some cheekily flashed their
backsides, while others stood fully exposed with nothing but a daisy to conceal
their genitals. Some had no coverage at all.

An angry sob burst from her mouth and she flipped the lids
over, trying to find who sent her such a crude “gift”. An envelope was
sticky-taped to the back of one and she pulled out the note.

To replace the one you threw through my window. Enjoy.

Snatching up a gnome, she marched across the lawn and
pounded on the door. He’d better be home or she was going to break all his
windows with every single gnome he sent her. The house remained dark and she
pounded on the door until her hand hurt.

Light in the entranceway flicked on and she stepped back,
breathing hard, her anger climbing by the second. The door opened and for a
moment she lost all thought process. Shaggy black locks framed his face, black
fuzz on his cheeks made him look deliciously rumpled. He wore nothing but
boxers, the heel of his hand rubbing at his eye. He dropped his arm and sighed.
“You come here just to stare or what?”

Fury snapped back into place and she hurled the gnome at
him. He juggled with it before it settled in his hands. He grinned. “I see you
got my package.”

“Are you some type of pervert? Oh forget that. Of course you
are. How dare you send this to me.”

He blinked in mock surprise. “What? I thought you liked
gnomes.”

“They’re
naked
. Don’t act innocent. I know what
you’re trying to do.”

“And what would that be?”

“You’re trying to intimidate me.”

Max chuckled. “To what purpose? If I know anything about you
already, you don’t get intimidated easily. You threw one of these damn things
through my window.”

“Is this what this is about? Because I broke a window? Just
give me the bill and take these back. “

“Nah. I don’t think I will. This is more fun.”

“I’ll throw them all out.”

“Then don’t be surprised when you find them on your front
lawn for all to see.”

Shock sucked the oxygen from her lungs. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.”

She glared at him, imagining how hard she’d have to throw a
gnome to knock him on his backside. “You think this is some type of joke?”

“Well, I think it’s pretty funny.”

“You’re an ass.”

He shrugged. “Right. Well, if we’re done here.”

The door shut in her face. Bridget stared in shock. He
didn’t just…? She banged on the unforgiving wood, rage giving strength to each
knock. After a few moments, Max opened the door. “What?”

“I want my gnome back.”

He thrust out the naked thing and she took an involuntary
step back.

“No. I want P. Diddy Gnomes.”

“P. Diddy…? You
name
these things?”

Bridget tipped her chin up, refusing to feel embarrassed. “I
want him back.”

He clicked his tongue. “I don’t think I will. He’s making a
pretty good doorstop.”

“He doesn’t belong to you!”

Max shook his head, a laugh rumbling from his chest. “Well,
babe, you should’ve thought of that before you tried to clock me with it.”

He slammed the door on her and this time it was accompanied
by the turning of a lock.
“This isn’t over
.
”

Behind the door she heard his laughter and she promised
revenge.

Max tossed the naked gnome in his hand, laughing at the
reaction he received. Just as he’d predicted. Bridget was so uptight she needed
a good laugh. Sure he’d been mad about the window for all of a day, but in
hindsight he couldn’t help but chuckle. Nothing like getting cock-blocked by a
garden gnome.

In his room, he put the naked gnome next to P. Diddy Gnomes
and patted their cheeks. They looked good as a pair. P. Diddy should be
thanking him. What guy didn’t like a naked gal with pert tits like this one?
Chuckling, he rubbed his head. He needed more sleep. In fact, he’d been having
a really hot dream before he woke to Bridget pounding on his door. Who’d
thought she’d look sexy when flustered? The way her eyes shone and that flushed
look.

Sighing, Max flung himself on the bed, arms stretched across
the king-sized mattress, and shut his eyes. A grin pulled on his lips. He knew
she’d make good on her promise and he looked forward to what she’d do to top
his naked gnome escapade.

* * * * *

Sweat slithered down his back as he thrust hard into the
girl beneath him. She gasped out a breath—one caught between a sob and a
whimper. He knew that sound and it wasn’t the one women made when they neared
an orgasm. Pushing up on his hands, he looked down at her tear-streaked face
and trembling chin.

“Shit,” he mumbled.

“Cut!”

The moment he pulled out of Venus, she sat up and curled her
knees into her body, long black hair touching her toes. Max grimaced at the
pain shooting through his cock. Nothing like pulling out just before you’re
about to blow your wad.

Dan, a potbellied man with a moustache who looked more like
a sleaze than a former porn actor-turned-director, turned to the cameramen.
“Take five, everyone.”

As the men exited the barn, Dan moved to approach, but Max
threw up a hand. “I got this.”

Dan’s weaselly eyes narrowed on the girl. “You sure?”

Dan might be a good director and a hell of a guy, but he
didn’t like it when chicks messed with his reel. He wouldn’t be as forgiving as
Max. Probably make the situation worse, and that couldn’t happen.

“Yeah.”

After a brief hesitation, Dan stomped off, the barn door
banging shut behind him. Max sucked in a calming breath. The scent of livestock
and fresh hay filled his senses, reminding him they were on borrowed time. On
location, every hour cost Dungeon money. One glance at Venus’ shuddering
shoulders told him there was no rushing this.

A piece of hay dug into Max’s ass and he shifted. The chaps
he wore felt slick on his skin and he wanted to swap them for a pair of jeans.
But the shot required chaps, hat and nothing else. He snatched the cowboy hat
off his head and settled it over his lap. Didn’t want to scare the girl more,
after all.

“I’m sorry,” she said on a hiccup.

“Hey, it’s all right. The first time is always the hardest.”

She looked at him then with her big doe eyes. “Was it that
way for you?”

Max thought about it for a second. “Yeah. I was shit
scared.”

Venus sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Did you
feel…?”

“Dirty?”

She nodded.

Max rubbed his chin. He was a guy. He didn’t feel dirty for
having sex. Sex hang-ups mainly were a female thing. Granted he’d seen a lot of
self-hatred from men too. “What you’re feeling is normal. I’ve seen it happen
before. Cry it all out and see if you want to go again.”