Saturday, September 24, 2016

Dirty Boy is coming...No Pun Intended...Read an excerpt

Dear Beautiful People,

Usually, so far into the year, I would have at least four releases out. Chemo affected my thoughts more than I realized, One would never know by Misfit, lol, clocking in at over 200,000 words. Now, just over a month later, I'm releasing Dirty Boy. These two books feel like a great accomplishment, almost as good as my first release. Writing is ingrained in me. That was never more evident than when I wanted to craft a story but couldn't get the words together in my head. My brain felt cloudy and crowded. I thought I'd never be able to write again. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Dirty Boy is intended to be the start of a new series. I have two additional books planned. Unlike the Death Dweller novels, the Dirty Series will be completely standalone. In 2017, I intend to finally release more Phoenix Rising books, too. That's another reason I want to hold off on the Death Dwellers Next Generation Series. I have to see to characters from other series and I have to write the books for covers that are already created. :-)

Now, I invite you to take a sneak peek at Dirty Boy.


 Love, Kat



 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 buffaloes 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.”
If this was their usual style of handling contract negotiations, they’d be fucking bankrupt.
Ryker stalked away before any other arguments arose.
Beyond annoyed at fuck-up after fuck-up, Max walked to the chair where his board shorts lay over the back and put them on. “He seemed a little hesitant.”
“Ryker’s hopped up. As long as she’s clean, do you have any objections?”
“Contracts, maybe? Payment discussions. Chemistry between us.”
“We’re all set up for today. Compensation is due to the crew. There’s a shit load of food.”
As if they hurt for money, but Eric was all about the bottom line. Not much else mattered. Not their father, Winston, and his collections of wives. Not the day or the time. Nothing but money.
Max didn’t care about the money. This had always been about the business. If he never worked anywhere, he already had money to burn. They all did. He simply enjoyed his work. He enjoyed women.
If this new girl agreed and her paperwork was in order, they’d shoot today. Maybe not anything for their movie, but some task could get scratched off the to-do list.
Righting the table Eric had kicked over, Max scooped up the items that had fallen off the top.
“What the holy fuck?” Eric gasped. “You’ve turned into a fucking comedian, Ryker. What the hell is she doing here?”
Not much shocked any of them, Eric least of all. At twenty-seven, he was as jaded as Max. That meant he wouldn’t be pleased with whatever or whoever he faced when he turned around.
Steeling himself, he tossed the condoms and other stuff aside. Some things slid right back to the floor, but he ignored them and spun around, registering her brown hair first. Long and thick, it gleamed under the harsh lights. She had perfect arches for eyebrows, a small nose, and a lush mouth, made for sucking and fucking. One he’d tasted and enjoyed. She was exquisite, and her flawless ivory skin only made her more outstanding. But it was her green eyes he’d never forget. They’d pierced through Max the first time he’d met Story and they did so now.
He glowered at her, remembering her innocence. Her compliance. Remembering Kayleigh. Simon. Babs. He’d always suspected she’d been nothing but a gold digger. The criminality of she and her mother was a proven fact. Now, her unflinching regard captivated him and annoyed the fuck out of him.
After all that had gone down with the stolen money and his father’s broken heart, Story’s presence infuriated him.
“Is this your idea of a fucking joke, Story?” Eric fumed. He enjoyed intimidation. “Get the fuck out, you miserable little cunt, and don’t come back.”
Ryker winced.
A brief flash of hurt tore across Story’s face before she stiffened her shoulders. “Hello, Fuckheads 1 and 2,” she greeted, pinning each of them with a glare, her bright green eyes frosting as she focused on Max the longest.
He saw a question and a plea on her face, so he turned away.
“As for you, Fuckhead 2,” she continued, nodding to Eric, “does it look like I’m joking? I sent in my info fair and square.”
“I’m sure your mother taught you a few tricks of a whore’s life.” Eric didn’t give Story a chance to respond before he rounded on Ryker. “You got fucking jokes, huh, asshole?”
“Dude, I swear I didn’t recognize Story.”
The way Story’s mouth pursed and her shoulders stiffened told Max that Ryker wasn’t speaking the truth. But addicts were thieves and liars, Ryker being amongst the worst.
“Her pictures were kind of blurry. Besides, my mouth was watering over her tits. And a detail I thought worked well.”
“Which is?” Max spoke for the first time since she’d walked in, wearing sneakers, a Hello Kitty T-shirt, and a pair of shorts. She did have some nice tits, not overly large but high and round. Sensuous lips. Thick eyelashes. He’d always thought the camera would love her. Based on her face and her body, she had a real shot in the industry. Best of all, Max wanted to fuck her. His dick had wanted her for a very long time. He could have her, use her as she and her mother had used their father, thus slaking his need for her and avenging Winston. But he wouldn’t make this easy. “What is interesting enough that I shouldn’t throw her out immediately?”
Amusement lit Ryker’s eyes, and he smirked at her before answering on her behalf. “She needs her V-card punched in.”
Biting down on her lip, Story blushed, adding to her beauty as always. He didn’t know if he wanted to fuck that mouth of hers first or taste it again.
He’d have to tweak the script to accommodate her virginity, if she told the truth. “You’ve never fucked?” he asked, studying her carefully. It would be poetic justice to convince her to do this movie and then keep her money as she and her mother had stolen theirs. “This isn’t a joke, correct?”
Sadness, anger, and hurt flashed across her face. Dark circles ringed her eyes as if she hadn’t rested well in days. He shoved aside how seeing her sweet face brought him back to a time when he still had a heart to give. He latched onto his sense of vindication. Only recently had they managed to pull their father away from the bottle after Babs and Story betrayed him. Max had always known she was a golddigger-in-training. “Story?” he prodded.
Misery marred her features. “No joke,” she pushed out.
He exchanged a glance with Eric, then shrugged, not wanting to show his eagerness to fuck her. To touch her.
“Fuck it. We roll in fifteen. Clean up the set. Let’s get moving, people.” Eric turned toward the bed and motioned for someone to repair the covers, still ruffled from Max’s failed fuck with Greta and the blonde. “Clothes off, Story. This will be good. Hopefully, you’ll bleed so that we can capture it.”
“Wait.” Story rushed behind Eric and grabbed his arm. Wide-eyed and vulnerable, her gaze flickered from him to Max. “You want to film me being deflowered?”
Eric snatched away from her grasp. “Take it or leave it.”
“I-I thought we’d do it in private. I don’t want to be deflowered onscreen.”
Story had always captivated Max. From the moment he’d seen her in her Hello Kitty bathing suit in that deserted room at his father’s house. Now, the panic in her voice affected him. He didn’t like it at all. She’d come to them. Either she’d abide by their dictates or she could leave.
“If you don’t want to do it, then get the fuck out of here,” Eric told her sharply, beating Max to the ultimatum.
Scowling, she marched to Ryker. “Please purchase my return ticket and drive me back to the airport.”
“We pay one way.” Reminding himself that she didn’t matter, that she represented all he’d lost, Max leaned against the wall, folded his arms and crossed one foot over his ankle. Her virginity wore on his patience. He fucking hated first-timers in any hole. The extra prep. The occasional tears. Fuck his life, but this day was shaping up to be a fucking bust. This being Story’s first time also played on his conscience and stoked his desire. “We also don’t pay for transportation, unless you’re signed on with us.”
“I signed,” she whispered at the same time Ryder said, “She signed. That’s what took so long. We were in a bind, so I offered a standard contract.”
For her to sign without knowing any particulars meant she was desperate. Her position put her at Max’s mercy.
“If you don’t undress, that’s a breach of fucking contract,” Eric explained, as angry with Babs and Story for forging their Dad’s name on checks. They were lucky Dad had cared so much about that money-grubbing bitch. She and Story both should’ve fucking gone to jail.
“I don’t want my first sexual experience captured on camera.”
“Take it or leave it,” Max said coolly, decrying his thought to listen to what she had to say. Hear what drove her to this point.
But what good would it do? She’d tell him what she thought he’d want to hear and gain the advantage to play him.
She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, tears moistened them. “I want to go home,” she said before Max did something stupid.
Like gave into his urge to help her. Ask her what music she had in her playlist now.
“I don’t have the money for a return flight.”
The wrong fucking thing for her to say.
“Money, huh?” Max sneered, his intentions disintegrating. “How about I fuck you until I think you’ve settled the damn debt you and your mother incurred when you embezzled our fucking money?” As she grappled in speechless shock, he glared at Ryker. “Didn’t you see her fucking name before you got her out here, asshole?”
“Fuck, all I’ve heard about is Babs. I didn’t remember her last name, and I’ve met Story…what…? Once or twice?”
Much less than Max, who had been the only one who’d visited their father in the presence of their most recent stepmother and her daughter.
Eric gestured to her. “How many fucking Storys do you know?”
Ryker was lying. Max knew it. Story was unforgettable for so many different reasons.
Irked, he stepped closer to her, his intention intimidation. Wisps of hair framed her face and an elusive pink stained her cheeks.
Max might’ve used women, but while they were in his company he always showed them a good time, got them off, and protected them, so Story’s look of resignation touched something in him. A tiny something, since he still wanted her to suffer for her many crimes. But this was Story. She’d always been sweet and sassy. Special.
Her stomach growled, and her cheeks reddened a little more.
“Are you hungry?” he questioned in a soft, deadly tone, disliking her for making him soften a fraction. “I’d think you’d still have money left over to dine in five-star restaurants. But then your mother always was a spendthrift. I suppose you took after her in more than just looks.”
“What money, Max? I’ve done nothing, especially embezzle anything from your company.”
Anger at her supposed ignorance settled into him, allowing him to ignore the confusion that seemed very real.
Ryker tapped her shoulder. “When did you last eat?”
She combed her fingers through her hair. “Last night, after work, I ate my noodles,” she mumbled.
“Noodles?” Ryker echoed.
Glancing at him over her shoulder, Story nodded. “Ramen.”
“No more than you deserve,” Eric spat.
Growling in frustration, she balled her hands into fists. “Look, douche fuck, I don’t know what Mom did. One day she was with Winston and the next day he’d kicked her out. This is the first I’m hearing about an embezzlement. Although, if that’s true, it explains why he suddenly pulled all support and my mom had to take out credit cards that happen to have my name on them to make ends meet.”
Ahh. Her words clarified what compelled her to answer their ad. Debt. She was twenty now, so she should’ve been two years into college for her teaching certification. Attending a university could be expensive.
Too bad for her. Lucky for him. The misery, sadness, and instances of resentment he’d witnessed in her today all made sense now.
Her stomach growled again, and she lowered her lashes.
Mind racing, Max strolled to the same chair he’d laid his pants on and snatched his shirt, covering his chest. He swore disappointment skated across her features.
“You flew out here well aware of your maidenhead,” he pointed out. She was still a virgin. The realization sank in that Story had never fucked. He wanted to feel nothing but disgust but he was more intrigued and a lot anticipatory. Being Story’s first lover appealed to him more than it should have. However, he’d been her first kiss and her first slow dance partner. Being her first fuck seemed logical and kept up with the theme. Had she been turning eighteen the night of her dinner, instead of sixteen, he would’ve fucked her then. Getting inside of her was better late than never. “You signed the paperwork without telling anyone you’ve never fucked.”
“Ryker knew,” she said defensively, licking the lips he wanted to taste. “When he asked about my experience, I told him the truth.”
“Really?” Just as Max suspected. Ryker knew more than he’d admitted. “What did he say to that?”
“At first, he told me you’d be interested in the knowledge. Once I sent him my ID, he said Richard Head would deflower me.”
He glared at her. “That’s me, and you know it.”
 “With this being your company, I would’ve thought you were behind the scenes only, until I saw you.”
He grinned. “Saw me?”
“Onscreen.”
“Fucking.”
She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“I serve in several capacities here.” After all, this had been his brainchild once the studio he’d been with released him. Photos of Kayleigh beaten and bruised had surfaced. Fingers were pointed at him. Accusations hurled. He’d been painted as a wife-beater and murderer, even with his father’s and brother’s statements. Gradually, the scandal had blown over and Max was determined to reclaim the career he’d lost. In spite of Kayleigh. To spite her. “You’ll be starring with me.”
“I see.”
Enthused, disappointed, or disgusted, Max couldn’t tell. She kept her poker face, so he’d keep his. He’d push aside thoughts of the hell he’d gone through to focus on her. He wouldn’t show how much the idea of having her excited him. “Will you reconsider walking out the door? You did sign the contract. If Ryker said Richard Head would fuck you, that meant onscreen.”
“I need money to stay in school, Max. To survive. I’ll keep to the contract if you amend it. My issue is filming me having sex for the first time.”
Max wouldn’t waste his time coaxing her to fuck onscreen. He’d have to talk to her too long, feel that spark between them that shouldn’t have been there in the first place, considering her age. “I’ll feed you and send you back to Dallas if you fuck me.”
Her mouth formed an ‘o’, but those very expressive eyes gave her away. They flickered to Max’s mouth, then down his body, her curiosity heightening his awareness of her.
 His cock started stiffening, so he upped the ante. “If you honor your three-month contract, you can stay with me. In my bed. Fuck buddies. No strings attached. We’ll both be fucking others in front of the camera. There’s no room for jealousy.” None at all. At the first sign, he bailed. Nor was their room for lies.
Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, tempting Max to the edge. “I’d still have to do the deflowering scene?”
Max nodded.
“With you?”
“With me,” he confirmed. Virgins had never been his thing. But, fuck it. Pussy was pussy, this was business, and he wanted to fuck. That was the easiest way to explain his eagerness. Harder to define was his odd combination of desire, nostalgia, a bit of protectiveness and the overwhelming possession that outweighed his anger toward her.
“Will you hurt me on purpose?”
Unappreciative of her quiet question, he narrowed his eyes. Despite his surfacing belligerence, she didn’t back down. She stared at him, trying to take his measure, her mistrust pissing him off. She didn’t get the right to be mistrustful.
“You’re either fucking me, or you aren’t,” he answered.
No woman had to the right to mistrust him. Ever again.





















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