drive?”
Not that anyone could hear her, but shouting at other drivers eased the tension, although if Lennie happened to be in the car, it made him crazy. “One of these days someone’s gonna get out their car and shoot your ass,” he was always warning her.
“Yeah, sure,” she would reply. “I dare them to.”
At which point Lennie would shake his head. In his eyes there was no taming Lucky Santangelo. She walked her own path, and that’s exactly the way he liked her.
Chapter 2
Movie star Billy Melina was over six feet tall, tanned, with shaggy, bleached-by-the-sun hair, and a body straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. At twenty-eight Billy was in spectacular shape, with sharply defined abs that rippled as the star-struck young girl kneeling in front of him bobbed her head up and down, servicing him with sticky lips and a busy tongue.
“Suck it!” Billy commanded, pressing his hands down on top of her head. “Suck it, suck it hard!”
She was doing the best she could. What more did he expect?
“Aarghh …” He let out a long, agonized groan. “That’s it, sweet thing, that’s it! I’m coming … I’m coming.”
The girl attempted to pull away.
“No! No!” Billy yelled, pressing down even harder on the back of her head. “ Swallow it, suck it all down.” He groaned again, then mumbled, “Go, baby. Go. That’s it! Yeeeah!”
For a moment there was silence while the girl tried to decide if it was now okay to release his massive dick from the confines of her mouth.
He decided for her, pulling away with a sudden jerk, immediately stuffing himself back into his tight white Calvins and pulling up his jeans.
They were standing next to the pool in Billy’s Hollywood Hills house—a house that the Realtor had assured him had once been rented by Charlie Sheen. A house that had costhim three million dollars, and who the fuck had ever thought he would be able to afford to buy such a house?
Certainly not his old man, Ed, who’d laughed in his face when Billy had informed him, eight years ago, that he was off to Hollywood to become a famous actor. Certainly not his alcoholic stepmother, Millie, whose parting words had been, “Good riddance, Billy boy. Doncha bother comin’ back anytime soon.”
He’d shown them, hadn’t he? Oh yeah, he’d certainly shown them. He was Billy Melina. Hot-shot twenty-something movie star. Yeah—a freakin’ movie star . He was on a very exclusive list of young actors who had the clout to open a movie. DiCaprio, Depp, Pitt—although Brad wasn’t so young anymore. And then there was Billy Melina.
Yeah! Get off on that , old Ed and Millie pissface.
The girl, clad in denim cut-offs and a skimpy yellow tank, got off her knees and stood up. “Was that okay?” she asked matter-of-factly, as if she’d just served him an omelette.
“Sweet,” he replied, wondering how fast he could get rid of her.
Earlier in the day he’d picked her up at Tower Records on Sunset. When the girl had spotted him, she’d sidled over and requested his autograph. He’d noticed her nipples, pushing to escape her barely-there tank top. Then he’d noticed her legs, long and tanned. Her face was pretty—nothing special, but he was feeling major horny, and since his call to the set was not until three that afternoon, he’d invited her up to his house for lunch and a fast blow job. Not that he’d actually mentioned that a blow job was part of the deal—but they’d both known what would happen.
Quivering with excitement, she’d jumped in her truck and followed his sleek Maserati up the winding streets to his house, barely keeping up in her beat-up old truck with a broken taillight—a truck similar to the one he’d driven to Hollywood eight years earlier with two hundred bucks in his pocket and no prospects.
“Hey,” he suggested as they stood beside the pool. “Howabout I give you an autographed picture so you can tell your friends you met me?”
“That’d be
Not that anyone could hear her, but shouting at other drivers eased the tension, although if Lennie happened to be in the car, it made him crazy. “One of these days someone’s gonna get out their car and shoot your ass,” he was always warning her.
“Yeah, sure,” she would reply. “I dare them to.”
At which point Lennie would shake his head. In his eyes there was no taming Lucky Santangelo. She walked her own path, and that’s exactly the way he liked her.
Chapter 2
Movie star Billy Melina was over six feet tall, tanned, with shaggy, bleached-by-the-sun hair, and a body straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. At twenty-eight Billy was in spectacular shape, with sharply defined abs that rippled as the star-struck young girl kneeling in front of him bobbed her head up and down, servicing him with sticky lips and a busy tongue.
“Suck it!” Billy commanded, pressing his hands down on top of her head. “Suck it, suck it hard!”
She was doing the best she could. What more did he expect?
“Aarghh …” He let out a long, agonized groan. “That’s it, sweet thing, that’s it! I’m coming … I’m coming.”
The girl attempted to pull away.
“No! No!” Billy yelled, pressing down even harder on the back of her head. “ Swallow it, suck it all down.” He groaned again, then mumbled, “Go, baby. Go. That’s it! Yeeeah!”
For a moment there was silence while the girl tried to decide if it was now okay to release his massive dick from the confines of her mouth.
He decided for her, pulling away with a sudden jerk, immediately stuffing himself back into his tight white Calvins and pulling up his jeans.
They were standing next to the pool in Billy’s Hollywood Hills house—a house that the Realtor had assured him had once been rented by Charlie Sheen. A house that had costhim three million dollars, and who the fuck had ever thought he would be able to afford to buy such a house?
Certainly not his old man, Ed, who’d laughed in his face when Billy had informed him, eight years ago, that he was off to Hollywood to become a famous actor. Certainly not his alcoholic stepmother, Millie, whose parting words had been, “Good riddance, Billy boy. Doncha bother comin’ back anytime soon.”
He’d shown them, hadn’t he? Oh yeah, he’d certainly shown them. He was Billy Melina. Hot-shot twenty-something movie star. Yeah—a freakin’ movie star . He was on a very exclusive list of young actors who had the clout to open a movie. DiCaprio, Depp, Pitt—although Brad wasn’t so young anymore. And then there was Billy Melina.
Yeah! Get off on that , old Ed and Millie pissface.
The girl, clad in denim cut-offs and a skimpy yellow tank, got off her knees and stood up. “Was that okay?” she asked matter-of-factly, as if she’d just served him an omelette.
“Sweet,” he replied, wondering how fast he could get rid of her.
Earlier in the day he’d picked her up at Tower Records on Sunset. When the girl had spotted him, she’d sidled over and requested his autograph. He’d noticed her nipples, pushing to escape her barely-there tank top. Then he’d noticed her legs, long and tanned. Her face was pretty—nothing special, but he was feeling major horny, and since his call to the set was not until three that afternoon, he’d invited her up to his house for lunch and a fast blow job. Not that he’d actually mentioned that a blow job was part of the deal—but they’d both known what would happen.
Quivering with excitement, she’d jumped in her truck and followed his sleek Maserati up the winding streets to his house, barely keeping up in her beat-up old truck with a broken taillight—a truck similar to the one he’d driven to Hollywood eight years earlier with two hundred bucks in his pocket and no prospects.
“Hey,” he suggested as they stood beside the pool. “Howabout I give you an autographed picture so you can tell your friends you met me?”
“That’d be
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