Dirty Boy (7 page)

Max closed his eyes and threw his head back, sucking in a breath as the girl wrapped her lips around his cock. He pumped into her mouth, grunting at the pleasure racing along his nerve endings.

“Fuck! No. Stop the fucking scene! It’s not working without Greta. Get her the fuck on the set.”

As he expected at the sound of his brother’s voice, the new girl pulled away, leaving Max’s dick hard and hurting. He’d need to learn her name, and would have already, if he wasn’t so pissed the fuck off. 

If Greta didn’t appear soon, Max would either jerk off, have Vista, their fluffer, suck him off, or take this girl to his office and fuck her.

Resting his head on the pillow, Max closed his eyes, while Eric, the director and executive producer in their company, pointed out a problem with one of the set lights. Day one of filming Dirty Boys Studio’s latest movie had met with pitfall after pitfall. With his money on the line as they expanded the company, to include scouting talent, Max couldn’t afford failure.

He hoped this wasn’t a fucking omen.

“Look at this. It’s so funny.” The girl waved her cell phone in front of him.

She was one of the women they’d added to their roster, a relative unknown they intended to prime for stardom. So far, he liked what he saw. Ryker had chosen well.

He grabbed her phone and glanced at the screen. “What am I looking at?”

Leaning toward him, she tapped a red fingernail against the screen. “Funny videos.”

After watching a YouTuber ask a bot sexually explicit questions and finding it somewhat amusing, he allowed her to show him a video on outrageous laws around the world. No getting goldfish drunk. No milking another man’s cow. No shooting buffalo from second story windows. No killing a sick person by fright.

She giggled, and he laughed along with her, content with her brand of amusement to pass the time between takes. He didn’t have to think about the problems of the production, his errant ex, or the money his soon-to-be-history-stepmother embezzled from his father.

He
definitely
didn’t want to think of Babs. Then, he’d remember Story. He’d remember the last time he’d acted like a friend toward her on her sixteenth birthday. The last time he’d felt a semblance of normalcy. Each of her subsequent birthdays, he spent drunk and buried in a woman. That date would forever mark one week to his son’s horrific death.

Max glowered, pushing the girl’s hand away, no longer interested in videos. Barely interested in life. Not that anyone knew. He was a master at hiding his grief.

His youngest brother, Ryker, swiped a hand across his sweaty forehead, his skin flushed.
Coming down from a high
. It could always be the set lights, but Max knew Ryker well enough to correctly identify the problem.

Maybe, he should use blow like his kid brother. It might help him to feel as if he enjoyed life. Then again, one cokehead in the family was enough.

“Ready?” Eric called, ten minutes later.

By now, Max and his costar had tuned each other out. She played a game on her phone while he checked bank accounts on the mobile app.

“What the fuck do you think?” he growled, glaring at his dickhead of a younger brother and throwing his phone aside.

“I’m ready,” his bedmate imparted, forgetting her game and sweeping a longing glance over his cock.

She had a minor role in the new film. Her voluptuous body had captured Max’s attention the moment she’d walked onto the set. The sight of her Botoxed lips twitched his cock, and he’d welcomed them around his length.

“Are you ready?” she purred.

“I’ve been ready. The question is, is
she
fucking ready?”

She
being his ex-girlfriend, Greta. That bitch understood her actions when she traipsed in here with a pussy dripping with cum. He’d tried to get through the scene. Not only did he fucking
hate
her, but her disgusting grossness also prevented his getting off, so Eric had cut and Max explained the problem.

Ignoring her screaming, kicking and cursing the day he’d been born, he’d dragged Greta into a long, hot shower and washed her off himself. He’d watched as she douched. By the end, he’d cussed his goddamned self for ever taking their onscreen fucking
off
-screen.

“I’m calling her,” Ryker announced, scowling a moment later. “It went to voicemail. I’ll go and check on her.”

“Do that,” Max snapped, going over in his head the movie roles yet to be cast. He should’ve waited, but considering the acrimony between him and Greta, he’d felt not going ahead now would’ve been a mistake.

They needed Greta in this ménage scene.

“Let’s take a break.”

At Eric’s direction, the girl slanted a glance at him and Max smirked. Technically, they were still on the set. Fucking her wouldn’t break his new rule of no personal relationships with costars. He’d had two. While he remained friends with the first one, Greta was turning out to be a different story.

Eric thumped the side of his head, reading his face. “No time for a fuck. Check on Greta.”

“Ryker is seeing to her.”

“Fuck! That’s not good enough. The only thing she wants is to fucking talk to
you
.”

Max turned to the girl, almost wishing she was the female lead. But she was blonde and not dark-haired, tall and not short. He flicked his fingers over her taut nipple.

He loved the female body.

“If we fall behind schedule today, we might never catch up,” Eric pointed out. “Stop being an unreasonable asshole and get Greta on this fucking set.”

“Go,” he said to the girl whose name he still didn’t know.

“Yeah, go for the day,” Eric told her and turned to Max once she’d scampered off with a disappointed frown. “Max, asshole, you shouldn’t have gotten another chick here on the days Greta did her scenes.”

“We’re done, Eric. Over. She knew I’d be fucking her and another woman. If she didn’t want to work with me, she should’ve walked the fuck away.”

Instead of sabotaging the scene once the cameras rolled again after her shower. She’d gone fucking silent and kept her face devoid of expression, withholding her most famous and outstanding qualities.

Eric thrust his hands through his hair, then threw them in the air. “What the fuck does she have to lose by not showing up? She’s retiring.”

Exactly the problem. She wanted him to retire with her and live happily-ever-after. “Breach of fucking contract can make her lose a lot.”

“Which she knows you won’t be bothered with, because you can’t wait to see the back of her, Max.”

Right. But he fucking hated,
detested, despised
that she’d found a way to steal the upper hand.

Rule number two in his professional and private life: he was
always
in control.

“We’ve waited two fucking hours for her to get her act together. She either comes now or else.”

Once they’d decided to shoot another scene and called in the other girl, Greta had stormed off the set. To appease Max, they’d sent the fluffer, that girl with the magical mouth on set to keep him up and ready if the actress he was fucking couldn’t get the job done herself.

Greta could get his dick to rise. Max just wanted to spend as little amount of time with her as possible. If he were ready to come this time around, he’d have five minutes, tops, in her company until their next scene.

“She coming or what?” Jay, their cameraman, called. “Ryker’s taking forever.”

“Time is money,” Eric grumbled, looking to Max to repair the damages he’d created.

Max scowled in the direction of the door Greta had gone through. It was the place the female actresses used as their dressing room. They had a successful outfit. Dirty Boys shot and produced scenes and movies, but they also acquired talent and hired them out to other adult film companies. When they’d just been starting out, Max was the only male actor on Dirty Boys’ roster. He hadn’t complained. Who would? He’d fucked a girl or two a day and made money doing it.

When he and Greta Gabeaux met at a party, they’d clicked. She’d been a big star herself with fake DDs, dark hair, pale skin, and own-the-world attitude. Max had wanted her. For two years, it had worked. They fucked other people on-screen and each other off-screen. They’d taken it a step further and decided to fuck
each other
on-screen, too, and that’s when it went to shit.

Greta expected Max to no longer shoot with other women and retire when she did. When she’d gotten physically abusive with the fluffer, enough had been enough. Unfortunately, her contract wouldn’t expire for another month, and their fans were clamoring for a few more scenes with them together.

“Max.” Ryker peeped in from the hallway door and held out a folded sheet of paper. “Greta cut out, but she left this letter for you to read.”

Her tactics angered Max. No one outmaneuvered him. No. One. She was leaving their production in a lurch, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Worst things had happened. He’d shut down production for a month, rewrite the script, and recast the lead.

FUCK, Greta!

Ryker flapped the letter in the air.

“Tear it up,” Max ordered. He had no intentions of ever looking at whatever she’d fucking written. She’d left the goddamn building. No way,
no motherfucking way,
would he chase her. “We’ve lost a fucking day. Or ten.”

“Fucking hell.” Eric kicked a table holding condoms, cock rings, and anal plugs then caught sight of Vista. He stared at the fluffer. She fit the description of their lead female. Her information was on file, including her monthly health check. “Undress and spread your legs. We have a goddamn movie scene to shoot. It won’t be the threesome, but it’ll be enough. When we hire the new lead, we’ll edit your face and tits out.”

Vista blinked. “Ummm, I’m not looking to do anything in front of the camera.”

Ryker stepped fully into the room and shoved the letter in the pocket of his jeans. His reddened eyes and constant sniffing indicated he was heavily into snorting coke once again. Acquiring new talent was his division. He was also the production manager. “There’s a girl in the office. Come to meet with you, Max. She’s tested clean, and she’s over eighteen.”

“Let me guess. A walk-in?” Max asked.

“Nope.” Ryker shifted his eyes away, always a sign he lied completely or embellished slightly.

“Where’d you find her?” Max pressed. His brother looked for girls in a variety of methods. He preferred the ones sent by the talent agencies.

“She answered one of my ads. Once I saw her and talked to her, I flew her out here for you to talk to her.”

Eric clapped his hands. “Chop, chop. We’ve wasted enough time. Show her in.”

Max shot to his feet, unconcerned with his nudity. He’d been talking ass-naked for five fucking minutes. Why bother with clothes now? “Wait a damn minute. I need to see this girl. She needs to read through the script.” He needed to see her health records. He needed to discuss money with her. Have her sign the contracts. There was a laundry list to be seen to before he fucked her.

“Max, think about,” Eric wheedled. “At the least, we can shoot a faceless fuck scene. Or a trailer for the website. You’re home all summer with no scheduled appearances at tradeshows or conferences, to shoot the movies, and get the new girls settled in. I’m sure we can use this girl in some way today if Ryker likes her.”

“Let me meet her first.” Although Ryker had never steered them wrong.

Ryker rocked back on his heels and licked his lip piercing. “You should know she’s—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Eric interrupted, already on edge thanks to today’s bad luck. “You’re our talent coordinator. You think she’s good enough to fly her the fuck out here. Time’s money. Get her.”

Ryker tried again. “Eric—”

“Go! Get her signed or not. I don’t care. Offer her three grand for today.”

“Wait a fucking minute,” Max protested. “I’m not paying an untried girl three fucking thousand dollars.”

“Today, you’re shelling out that payday or we lose ten.”