Authors: Kate Dawes
I moved a hand down between my legs to my now-wet folds.
“That’s it. So sexy,” Max said in a low, gravelly voice.
I watched as the muscles in his chest and arms flexed as he stroked himself. He had become even more wet himself—at one point he gripped his cock just below the head and large bead of precum emerged, running over the back of his fingers. He spread it around the head and all over his shaft.
His upper body wasn’t the only part of him flexing. His muscular thighs were tight, the lines of the muscles clearly visible. Same with his calves.
I worked my hand faster, using the tip of my forefinger to make circular motions around my engorged clit.
Damn. I wanted to straddle him and ride him until we both exploded. But I knew I’d get my chance to do that, hopefully many times. And this mutual exhibitionist/voyeuristic getting off was definitely breaking down a boundary that he clearly knew I had.
“Come with me, Olivia.”
It didn’t take much more encouragement than that. I felt the orgasm building in me, quickly, and I shut my eyes.
“Watch me,” he said. “I want you to watch me come while I watch you come.”
I opened my eyes and locked them with his.
Just in time, too, because the first spurts of come were jetting out of his cock, landing on his belly. Then more, some ending up on his thighs, and also his chest where it pooled for a moment, then ran down his chest in a stream.
My breathing was loud. I couldn’t help it. I was so close.
“Come for me,” he encouraged—
demanded
—again.
And I did as he said.
SEVEN
“You didn’t think that was odd, did you?”
I looked at him. “No. It was…”
“It was what?”
I smiled. “It was hot as hell, is what it was.”
We had cleaned up, got dressed, and were snuggling in a window seat together.
“You know,” Max said, “we probably flew over your old neck of the woods while we were doing that.”
It was an odd thought: flying over my old hometown, my parents down there somewhere, while I was thousands of feet in the air above them, having a mutual masturbation experience with a hot, rich guy who liked me.
I pinched his nipple through his shirt. “Don’t make me think about that.”
“Sorry,” he said, laughing, and pushing my hand away. My head was on his chest and I loved hearing that deep rumble within him.
An hour later we landed at JFK airport. Max had arranged for a limo to be waiting for us, and soon we were in the heart of New York City. It was close to 2 a.m. local time, but to us it felt like only 11 p.m.
As we drove through the city, I looked out the window, trying to peer up at the huge buildings. LA isn’t exactly a small town, but to me it was nothing like NYC. The streets were still fairly crowded with people. I figured most of them were going from one bar or club to another.
We got to the hotel, crashed, and I slept soundly until around nine the next morning. The only light in the room was soft and bluish, a thin ray streaming in through the window. From what I could see, it was cloudy, but not raining. I lay there for a few minutes just looking at Max. His shirt was off and the white sheet was bunched around his waist. He was on his back with one arm behind his head.
It’s a bit much to call someone perfect, and I’m not naïve enough to think that of anyone. But this situation couldn’t be more perfect. I was with a beautiful man who had a heart of gold. He had protected me when I could have been in danger that night when Chris showed up. He had whisked me off for an amazing weekend getaway in Napa, and now here we were in New York City, which promised to be just as amazing.
I thought about what we did on the plane. What a turn-on it was. How Max had done something so private in front of me, and how he had gotten me to do the same. I’d never let my walls down that much. Never shared something to intimate—so fucking hot!—with someone before.
When Max finally woke up, we lay there together on the cool sheets, with our bodies providing a soft warmth. I could have stayed like that all day, maybe all weekend, but Max was eager to get me out in the city and show me around.
We had brunch at an outside French café. We went to the Museum of Modern Art, walked past Radio City Music Hall, took a stroll through Central Park, and had a late lunch at a small Italian place, in the basement of a building, completely tourist free. It was just like the NYC Italian restaurants I’d seen in so many movies about mobsters. I didn’t see anyone who looked suspiciously like they stepped off the set of
The Godfather
or
Goodfellas
. At one point I started to say something about that, but Max gave me a wide-eyed look that told me to wait until we were out of the place.
Later, back at the hotel, Max said he wanted to take me to a Broadway show.
“Seriously?” I think my voice went up an octave or two, making me sound like a kid who’d been promised something.
Max laughed. “Get dressed.”
“I didn’t bring anything nice.”
He walked over to the armoire, opened the two doors, and showed me a gorgeous white dress.
“I ordered this for you yesterday.”
“I was with you. How did you get it in here without me noticing?”
Max grabbed the hanger, removed the dress, and walked over to me. “I had them bring it up here. I’m just glad you weren’t curious enough to look in there at some point.”
“It’s beautiful.”
I leaned in to kiss him. “Come on. Let’s take a quick shower and get dressed or we’ll be late.”
We had a hard time taking a quick shower together. Max lathered me up, spending quite a bit of unequal time on my breasts. I commented on it and he plead guilty.
I gave him the same treatment, only mine was probably more cruel: I had him hard as a rock by the time we were rinsing off.
“I want to fuck you right now,” he said.
With my hand wrapped around his fully erect cock, I shook my head. “Later.”
“Tease.”
I was smiling as he kissed me. “If I tease you now, maybe we’ll get back here later and you can fuck me senseless.”
“You shouldn’t challenge me,” he said.
But he took the challenge, and held off. A part of me wanted him to pick me up, take me to the bed and do me hard and fast. But I was sure it would happen later.
The dress fit perfectly. With Max in his tux, we looked like we were going to dinner at the White House or Buckingham Palace.
The limo ride was short. Lucky for us. What little time we had in the car was spent teasing each other more. I almost suggested to Max that we skip the Broadway play and just ride around NYC, having sex in the limo. I don’t know what got into me at some point in the day, but I was as horny as I could remember being in a long time.
The limo pulled to a stop. I hadn’t even been looking around, so I didn’t notice where Max was actually bringing me.
Hundreds of people were gathered beneath the marquee. Flashbulbs were going off like bursts of lightning. The path from the curb to the entrance of the building was a red carpet.
“Sorry,” Max said. “I lied about the play.”
I looked up at the marquee, saw the movie name, and in large letters: “PREMIER TONIGHT!”
Max took my hand in his. “I thought I’d surprise you by taking you to your first red carpet movie premier.”
Wow.
I’d had high hopes for seeing my first Broadway play, but this was even better.
Before I could process it all, the limo door was opened by a guy in a tux. Max stepped out, taking me by the hand and helping me out after him.
“Just keep up with me,” he said, and started down the red carpet.
My eyes were flitting from left to right, looking at all the paparazzi and onlookers. They of course had no idea who I was, so all the camera flashes must have been for Max. But then I remembered he told me wasn’t “that kind” of famous. He wasn’t of great interest to the entertainment press. As successful as he was, he was known among them, but he was no Steven Spielberg or Quentin Tarantino in terms of fame in the public eye. And, from all that he’d confessed about being sick of the business, he was glad it was that way.
The frenzy of cameras wasn’t as great as it was for the couple ahead of us and when I got inside I realized why. It was Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban. There were other stars milling around in the lobby, and Max introduced me to a few of them, including Kiefer Sutherland. I had to pretend that I knew what they were talking about when Max brought up something about the show
24
, but I’m not sure Mr. Sutherland cared either way.
Mostly, my head was buzzing as I scanned the lobby and spotted other famous people I’d only previously seen on TV. At one point, when I saw Morgan Freeman, I squeezed Max’s hand so tightly he asked if I needed to use the bathroom or something.
“No!” I said, hitting his arm. And more quietly, I said, “Look who’s over there.”
“Olivia,” Max said, without a hint of condescension in his voice, “if you’re going to work in this business you’re going to have to get used to seeing famous faces. In fact, it would do you some good to learn how to be cordial without letting them know you’re impressed. Trust me.”
He knew what he was talking about. He wouldn’t have made it this far in the business if he didn’t. Plus, I saw him put that advice into action the rest of the time we spend in the lobby drinking champagne and mingling. I stayed with Max the entire time. Or, more accurately, he tethered me to himself with a firm lock on my hand. I guess he didn’t want me wandering off and making a fan-girl fool of myself. Again, he knew what he was doing.
“Do you know all these people?” I asked later, after the movie, as we attended the after-party in the grand lobby.
“Some.”
“Even the ones you haven’t worked with.”
He sipped from his White Russian. “You meet people lots of different ways. By the way, I’d like to compliment you on leaving your phone in your purse all night. That shows a lot of self-control.”
I squinted my eyes at him. “Maybe I’ll whip it out now and start snapping pictures.”
Max leaned toward me, his lips against my ear. “Maybe I’ll whip something else out and fuck you right here.”
He pulled away, keeping eye contact with me, and taking another sip of his drink.
I took a few steps toward the middle of the room. “How about right here?”
Max’s hand went to his belt buckle. “If you say so…”
I burst out laughing. A little too loud, it turns out, because I attracted the attention of a few people around us. Luckily it was no one famous. I stepped toward Max and threw my arms around his neck. “Will you
please
take me back to our room and fuck me?”
EIGHT
“I thought you said elevator sex was cliché.”
“This isn’t sex,” Max said. “And I can’t resist you, so cliché or not, we’re going to do this.”
I had my back against the wall of the hotel’s elevator car. Max had both hands against the wall, over my shoulders, caging me.
“Touch me,” he said.
My palm glided down the front of his shirt. I felt his hard chest and stomach beneath my hand.
My heart started beating faster as my hand reached his belt buckle. It was still fastened and I wondered if I should undo it, but as I explored a little farther, I realized that he had simply unzipped.
His erection was pointing upward a little, as if waiting to greet me.
I felt the soft, fleshy head of it. First with my palm. Then I closed a few fingertips around it. The tip was wet. Max was extremely turned on.
He was sucking on one of my nipples as I touched him and he said, “That feels amazing,” through a breathy sigh. “ What are you thinking?” he asked.
I had to remember to breathe. I kept holding my breath, not even aware of it. I took in some air and said, “I can’t believe what I’m doing.”
“Holding a big cock in your hand?”
“More than that,” I said.
“Standing here with your tits out, getting your nipples sucked?”
His hot talk was turning me on. Hearing him describe what we were doing in such a blunt way got me even more excited. I said, “You’re so hard.”
“Because of you.”
He kissed me fully, our hot and wet mouths meeting, our tongues sliding along each other’s with incredible passion.
I took him into my hand, trying to wrap my fingers around his hard-on as much as I could. He was long and thick. I stroked him from the base, up the length of his shaft, to the tip, then back down again. He was as hard as I could imagine a guy getting. The skin was warm and soft, almost velvety, especially around the tip.
A drop of semen gathered at the tip and it got on my hand, serving as a lubricant as I stroked him.
“We should leave,” I said, as reality and logic suddenly snapped me out of the haze I’d been in for the last several minutes.
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
“What?” I was baffled at the risk he was willing to take. “They’re going to find us here. Someone is.”
“That makes it better, doesn’t it? Besides, I haven’t felt all of you yet.”
“Max, I’m serious.”
“I know you are,” he said. “You’re also wet.”
I was. I could feel it. I was wet and hot and my inner thighs were almost tingling.
He started kissing my neck, one of my weaknesses. I was very aroused and it was made more vivid by the risk we were taking and by the fear of getting caught in the elevator.
I felt Max’s cock getting harder as I stroked him faster. I felt it pulsating in my hand. I felt it pumping. Then I felt his hot come on my thigh, running down my leg.
When he started to spurt he pulled his hand out of my underwear and put it on the wall, so both hands were on either side of my head. He leaned on the wall as he had his orgasm. He moved his hips back and forth, as though he were fucking my hand, and then I felt his semen spurting out and then more, and more.
“Fuck,” he said through a heavy breath.
I was totally embarrassed. Which is what I knew he wanted. When he finally did finish, he moved back a little, put his cock back into his pants and zipped up.