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 — ”
He put a finger over my lips. “No.” He shook his head. “It’s fucking hot.”
A smile grew across my face. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” He kissed me again, and his left hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, up my stomach, and pushed my bra up over my left breast. He rolled and tugged my nipple as his tongue swept through my mouth.
I watched his face as he pulled away from my lips. His eyes moved down my body, to where his hand was under my blouse, then he looked at my legs, then back up to my eyes. “If I could keep you like this forever, I would. Of course, I’d have to rearrange your position so I could have my way with you.”
“You can already do that.”
My breath hitched in my throat as he played a little rougher with my nipple, something I absolutely loved — the gentle touch of his soft writer’s fingertips, contrasted by a pinch of an ache as he squeezed harder, then back to the tender rolling.
Max said, “I know I can do that, but not like I want to. I want to be inside you 24/7, Liv, never letting you go. I crave you.”
My heart beat faster and I had to take a deep breath. Hearing words like that from the man I loved made me want to shut off the world. And, truthfully, I don’t think I’d care if I ever laid eyes on another human being for the rest of my life.
“I can’t have you like that,” he continued, “and it kills me.”
Something occurred to me and I needed to ask him. It wasn’t the best time, but there really was no good time to do it. “How much of this has to do with that night?”
His jaw clenched and I could see the muscles in his face tighten. He didn’t say anything.
“I know you don’t want to keep talking about it and God knows I don’t either, but, really….if you — ”
“I don’t know,” he said, cutting me off mid-sentence. “I see you differently now.”
I squirmed as he increased the pressure on my nipple. “How so?”
“You like that.” He grinned.
I nodded.
“Good.” He shifted to the other breast, and went back to the slow, easy rolling motion, giving some much desired attention to my other nipple. “The way you are here, at work, this professional side of you — ”
“Yeah,” I laughed, “real professional, lying here getting fondled by my boss.”
Max just smiled. “We talked about that.”
Several weeks ago I had made a joke about him harassing me at work, saying I’d actually like that. Max knew where I was coming from, but at the same time made it very clear that nothing would be going on in the office when other people were present, and he drew a very bright line there.
I whimpered as he drew my nipple to a hard peak.
“So,” he said, “I didn’t think it was possible, but I find myself even more attracted to you now.”
“Because of how I am here?”
He nodded. “You’re so in control. It makes me want you to give up that control to me. Or, actually, I’d rather take it from you.”
I was getting wet listening to his words, and I could feel him growing harder underneath me.
Max didn’t have even the slightest bit of modesty when it came to sex. He knew what he wanted. He would tell me what he wanted. He would tell me how I made him feel with my body. But I knew he was talking about something different.
And he explained: “I can’t protect you from the world. I can’t own you around the clock. But I can make you safe most of the time, and I can make your gorgeous body all mine. Make you come when I want. Have you make me come whenever I want.”
It sounded a lot like how our relationship had been from the start, but there was something different about what he was saying, something he was implying but, unlike his usual directness, he wasn’t telling me right away.
“Yeah?” was what I said, my way of asking him to explain.
He leaned down and kissed me on the mouth, letting his tongue trace around the edges of my lips. “You’ll see….”
“So you’re not going to tell me?”
He shook his head. “I want to have fun with this. You’ll enjoy it. Trust me.”
I didn’t have to wait long to find out what he had in store for me. It reminded me of the way he told me months ago, shortly after first meeting him, that the next time we saw each other he would make it a surprise. And did he ever.
After leaving our offices that day a little early, we went home to get ready to have some friends over for a cookout.
These were Max’s friends who he hadn’t spent much time with over the last several months, and I had encouraged him to get in touch with them. He’d been spending nearly all of his free time with me, first nursing me back to health, then getting into the swing of the new production company.
I didn’t want him to keep doing that at the expense of not spending time with his friends. Plus, I hadn’t met anyone socially since moving to LA and I was eager to have something like that in my life as well.
Max had two best friends. Anthony, a reality TV producer who, from afar, could pass for a young Jack Nicholson, complete with the omnipresent sunglasses. And then there was Carl, an entertainment lawyer, and the type of guy you might not be surprised to find out that he ironed his socks.
Each was married, and I immediately took a liking to their wives.
Anthony’s wife Monica was a booker for
The Tonight Show
. If Lisa Rinna ever needed a body double, Monica would be perfect. Carl’s wife Loralei was an immigration attorney, and someone who could never sneak up on you thanks to the fact that her wrists were always heavily festooned with loud, jangling bracelets.
These were real powerhouse couples, and for a short time I was a bit unnerved by that fact, but had to keep reminding myself that Max and I were very much the same, only without the married part.
Max and the guys did the cooking on the large built-in brick BBQ grill in our yard, while Monica, Loralei and I sipped appletinis by the pool. Doing something like this in December back home in Ohio would be impossible, but southern California gave us relatively comfortable nights, and on this night Max had also fired up the outdoor heaters just in case.
Loralei and Monica didn’t exactly cross-examine me, but they were very interested in getting to know the woman who was taking up so much of Max’s time these days.
I had a moment of worry when I started to talk about the night Chris came to my apartment and attacked me. They didn’t know anything about it, so obviously Max hadn’t told anyone. After filling them in on the details I asked them to keep it to themselves that I had told them.
“Of course,” Monica said, touching my arm to reassure me.
Loralei nodded in agreement. “Carl tells me everything, and he hasn’t said the first word about all of that so I guess he doesn’t know, either.”
“Same with Anthony,” Monica added.
I said, “Thanks, I really appreciate it,” but didn’t go into why I was grateful for their discretion.
Max undoubtedly didn’t want anyone to know that he hadn’t been there to protect me. The only person he’d talked to about it was me. I felt badly for him again, even though it had been a while since he had even hinted at the episode and I was pretty sure he was over it.
As we ate around the large marble table that was built into the patio under the overhang, Anthony and Carl shared some stories about Max, clearly one of those “guy things” meant to embarrass their friend in front of his new girlfriend.
Carl was more of a quiet type, while Anthony was the real talker, and Carl simply filled in a few details along the way.
Anthony told of the time Max was casting for a film and almost decided to hire an actress who wasn’t an actress at all, but rather an actor who had undergone an extremely convincing sex change.
“Not that I wouldn’t have hired her,” Max said. “She was good. It’s just that when the story broke, I knew everyone would focus on that instead of the film, and we just couldn’t do that.”
“Where is she now?” I asked.
Anthony said, “Doing Internet porn.”
Monica shot her eyes at him. “And you know this…how?”
“Research.” He shrugged. “It might make for a good reality show. And, I should add in my defense, if it does sell, you’ll have that house in Acapulco you always wanted.”
Monica said, “Good answer,” then she laughed, giving everyone else the green light to join in, and I followed hesitantly, a stark reminder that I was the new member of this group of longtime friends. It would clearly take some getting used to, but I liked all of them, and most of all I liked that they provided a new lens through which I saw Max.
He was a great conversationalist, that much I knew, but he was the same with a group of people. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that he was a writer and therefore, a natural storyteller.
Throughout the evening, I noticed Max looking at me the same way he’d been looking at me lately in the office.
I would catch him staring. He would have a look of intense concentration in his facial expression, especially in his eyes, the way they were virtually scanning my body from head to toe.
There was an unmistakable possessiveness to his gaze. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that from time to time I felt like a gazelle being watched by a lion. The only difference: I had no intention of being the type of prey that runs. I wanted him to catch me.
Later that night, after everyone had left, that’s exactly what happened.
And the next day, too. I’m not sure why I hadn’t been expecting it, considering the way Max had eyed me all night, and especially in light of how aggressive he had been in the bed later on.
While Max had rocked my world that night, it was nothing like how things progressed the next day at the office.
Two people, both members of the production team, were busily handling their work. We sometimes had upwards of ten people there, but it was getting close to lunch and all but the remaining two had left.
Max came into my office and closed the door behind him.
“Are we ordering in?” I asked.
Earlier, we had discussed going out to eat, but it looked like he wanted to stay in. I just had no idea why, at the moment.
“I already have,” he said. “It should be here shortly.”
“Good. I’m starving.” I was looking down at my desk again, going over the storyboards. “Some of these don’t match up with the script.”
He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t look up to see why.
“Did you change some of these?” I asked.
“You don’t have to do that, Liv.”
“I know, but I started to look at them and the changes…I don’t know. They’re not right.”
Max was the epitome of perfectionism when it came to making sure the script was right and all the actors had the final shooting version. But he didn’t seem to care at the moment, which I found strange.
I looked up.
As he came around to my side of the desk, it was one of those times when the sight of his physique struck me as though I were seeing him for the first time. The way his casual, untucked, dark blue shirt clung to his shoulders and muscular arms. The way the buttons begged to be unfastened to reveal his smooth, firm chest. The way his beige linen slacks hung perfectly from his waist….
Max held out a hand and I took it, rising at his urging.
He pulled me into his arms, kissing me in a teasing way, nipping at my lips and finally taking my tongue into his mouth and sucking on it.
When his lips moved to my neck, I said, “I thought last night would have been enough to tide you over until at least tonight.”
“Not even close,” he said, his breath hot on my throat. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Would it matter if I said yes?”
“No,” he said.
He held me tightly, possessively, and turned me around to face the window. Outside, people walked down the sidewalk just feet from my window, separated only by a short hedgerow of shrubbery, and the faintly tinted window of my office. It wasn’t completely darkened, so passersby could see in if they looked hard enough.
The bustling crowds of people on their way to lunch or meetings or sight-seeing moved quickly down the sidewalk, not appearing to have the slightest hint of what was going on behind that tinted window, but if someone stopped and looked for more than a few seconds, they would easily be able to make out my hands pressed to the glass, probably my face, and maybe Max standing behind me, too.
“I think they can see,” I said.
Max lifted my skirt but didn’t say anything.
“Max…”
I felt his erection straining against his linen pants, pressed against my ass.
“Relax,” he said in a stern whisper. “I’ve got this.”
I trusted him, and honestly, the proximity to people walking by added more than a little extra thrill.
Max’s fingers slipped beneath the elastic on the leg-hole of my panties. He pulled them to the side, while simultaneously using one finger to brush over my sex, slipping through the folds, upwards, making a quick touch-and-go on my clit, sending a jolt of need through my body.
With both hands, he held onto my hips and pulled me back toward him. I wore heels, but still needed to get on my tip-toes a little as he lined up to enter me.
The head of his excited cock notched at my opening of my pussy.
And he pushed in with a long stroke.
I gasped and my eyelids fluttered in response, then I refocused on the view in front of me — people dressed for work, tourists dressed for a day of exploring, a postal worker carrying a large bag, a woman jogging by with a dog, families, individuals…a cross-section of people strolling by as I stood there impaled on Max’s magnificent erection.
“I can’t stay out of you, Olivia.”
I breathed heavily as he fucked me, deep and slow.
With one hand he bunched my hair in his fist, turning my head to the side. He craned his neck to reach me, and his tongue plunged into my mouth, sweeping through my mouth, a move he synchronized with each thrust of his hips, shoving inside me.
He was doing me harder than usual, his lust surely spiked as high as I’d ever experienced it.
“Max,” I said through a long exhale. “Fuck me just like that. Don’t stop.”
His voice like course gravel, he said, “I would never stop if I didn’t have to, Liv.”
“Oh, God,” I sighed, feeling the warmth of the first spurts of his come.
Max buried his face in my hair against the back of my head.
I reached up, behind me, and held onto the side of his face.
He kept pumping his hips as he pumped his semen into me.
“I’m going to come,” I said. “Make me come, please.”
Max kept going, not losing his erection at all after coming.
My legs got weak. Max noticed. He wrapped one arm around my waist and lifted me off the floor a few inches, turning us both around.
I hated the feeling of his cock slipping out of me, but it was only for a moment.
He hovered over me as he lay me on the desk. He worked my panties down my legs.
“I’m going to make you come all over my cock, Liv.”
I opened my eyes and they locked onto his burning gaze as he stared back at me, picking up the pace, driving into me so hard.
He wrapped my panties around both of my wrists, then pushed my arms up over my head. With one hand, he held my bound wrists in place, trapping me as he wanted me.
His hips got into a steady rhythm for a few moments, his free hand lowering down to my sex, as he massaged my clit with his thumb.
Then, a knock at the door.
“Olivia?” It was the voice of Kristen, my assistant. “Your lunch is here.”
A smile spread across Max’s face.
I was breathing heavily, almost gasping for air.
Max fucked me harder.
“Better answer her,” he said.
“A minute!” I said. It was all I was able to get out.
“Okay,” she said, barely audible to me now from the other side of the door, but also because my heart was beating so fast and hard it was the loudest noise I was picking up.
As Max thumbed my clit in circles, my stomach muscles started to contract and relax, and one of the most intense orgasms of my life began.
The clenching tightened around his cock as I arched my back and moaned.
Max came again. It was the first time I had ever had that happen with any guy, let alone Max, and now I knew an entirely new side of his potent virility.