Page 52

“James?”
Closing my eyes, I said, “I’ll call you back.”
“James, listen, I—”
Disconnecting the call, I turned on “do not disturb” on my phone and read.
The article from a local tabloid-style site about the rich and famous in and around Texas, was short. The writer had done a bang-up job of painting broad strokes with her words.
The two pictures posted in the article added vivid stripes of color to an already passionate image.
FIFTY SHADES MAX
Flicking back to the article’s title, I read the byline and subtitle repeatedly, hoping to find some clue who had taken the pictures.
There was nothing.
The article itself offered no clues either.
James Maximus, also known as simply Maximus, a Houston heartthrob, and mega-millionaire, was spotted at a local Den OF SIN. Spell that in all caps, ladies, because The Black Star is no place for nice Texas girls. Ms. Tina Siegler, one of Houston’s fine business owners, is definitely not a nice Texas girl, nor is she ashamed of it.
Below the block of text was a picture of Tina and me, taken by an accomplished photographer. The focus sharpened on Tina, her back to my chest, and my hand cupping her right breast, while the other club-goers were just a blurry suggestion in the background.
I wasn’t particularly recognizable, only some of my face showing as I kissed Tina’s shoulder.
But Tina?
Despite having her eyes closed in sensual pleasure, it was clear.
Anybody who knew her would recognize her in that picture.
For anybody who isn’t aware, The Black Star is…well, we’ve given it many names. Den of Sin. Pleasure Palace. Fetish Club. Dark Dungeon. To be specific, The Black Star is an exclusive club for the rich. The Star’s motto seems to be WHATEVER YOU WANT GOES! Or should we say…comes?
Look at the following picture and see what you think.
Jaw clenched tight enough to send pain shooting up into my skull, and I scrolled down to the picture. Fuck.
“Who the hell are you?” I muttered, wondering how somebody could have gotten this angle. Photography wasn’t allowed at the club for obvious reasons. That meant little, since anybody with a phone could snag a somewhat decent picture these days. However, this picture was taken in my private booth. Only a few angles would allow for such a shot.
Blood boiling, I stared at the image. Tina’s head slumped slightly, but not so much that the viewer couldn’t see her parted lips or the way I had my hand up her skirt.
The shot was so provocative and well-done, I could practically hear her moaning, and could imagine the shudders of her body as she climaxed.
Sure, I had firsthand knowledge, but nobody would miss what was going on.
For more details on this delicious story, hop over to HOT IN HOUSTON, one of our favorite bloggers. There’s more to share, and some of those pictures are absolutely yummy.
I hurled the phone in the passenger seat and climbed out of the car, no longer able to stay still.
Fuck!
I almost shouted to the empty expanse of sky overhead. Grabbing the shreds of my control with a brutal fist, I paced back and forth until the anger ebbed. Part of me wanted to get back in the car, peel off in a squeal of tires and burning rubber, but that would not solve shit.
I wasn’t the only one being dragged into this.
Back in the car, I grabbed my phone and clicked on the HOT IN HOUSTON link.
MAXIMUS, I’LL KNEEL FOR YOU!