Chapter Three

Back at the hotel, Charles took the car straight through to the underground car park, at a speed much greater than the one insisted by the hotel. It was necessary, though; plenty of fans were gathered outside, waiting for a glimpse of their beloved pop star hero. Some of them had been uncanny, doing detective work that fell short of obsessive stalking. Others had simply been lucky in choosing the right place. There were plenty of other die-hard fans scattered around the city, shivering in the February cold and holding placards, hoping with all their heart that a large car with blacked-out windows would stream into the parking lot of the hotel they were standing outside of, but most were disappointed.

In the parking lot, it had already been arranged for hotel security to stand guard and ensure that Dax was shielded from the screaming fans. Despite the large, bulky guys on hand as he got out of the car, there was no mistaking the screeches of girls and, unsurprisingly, the harsh, bright lights of paparazzi camera flashes. One after another popped in his face as they held their cameras over the hands of the large security guards, pushing past them as hard as they could.

They knew how to work the guards, who weren’t allowed to touch their cameras, no matter how much they may have wanted to grab them and toss them onto the floor. The paparazzi clicked hundreds of photographs, not caring that ninety percent would be useless; they’d look over the images later on their computers, sending the best ones to papers who’d pay them handsomely for the best shots of the most famous pop star of the moment.

Leaving his beer in the car, Dax was hurried through the parking lot to the elevator. His life was in Rocky’s hands, and the bulky security guard, untouched by the beer he’d swilled in the car, engaged all his senses, looking around, shielding Dax as much as possible with his huge frame, and checking the elevator before he stepped inside.

Both the screaming fans and the unrelenting photographers called out at Dax for him to turn around, to wave, to smile. They begged him for a few words about his time in the UK, and when he’d be back. Dax couldn’t remember a time, particularly in the last five years, that someone didn’t want a piece of him. Sometimes, he’d wave and smile, others he’d even stop for autographs and selfies. Tonight, though, he shut out the noise and the lights, getting into the elevator as fast as possible.

It shot him and the team up to the penthouse suite. Finally back to safety and quiet, Dax breathed a sigh of relief. Rocky immediately set about checking the room, as Dax collapsed onto the sofa. Kelly made calls to his manager, Grant, and to his agent. She held up a takeout menu. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving,” said Dax. “What’s the pizza like in this city?”

He put his hand in the pocket of his pants and brought his cell phone out again. He re-opened the app, and once more began to browse the beautiful bodies in the photographs before him. He wanted a bath, another drink, and some food. But he also wanted sex. And he was going to get it.

“I think I’ll head out into the city and grab something to eat,” he said.

Kelly wasn’t pleased. “It’s not safe,” she said. “Everyone knows who you are.”

“I can get away with it,” Dax said. “It’s winter. I can put on a hat and have a scarf around my face. I need some fresh air.”

There were glances between Kelly and Rocky, along with other members of the entourage who’d been following in another car behind theirs, and who had joined them in the hotel room. They were all of the same mind, but there was very little they could do to stop a thirty-two year old multi-millionaire who was within his rights to make his own decisions.

It was nearly midnight when Dax lay in the huge, claw-footed bath, nearly buried by a mound of suds. One arm was out of the bath, holding his cell phone. The other was under the water, slowly stroking his stiffening cock.

He flicked through more photographs, until one in particular caught his eye. The guy in the picture had messy blond hair and dark-rimmed glasses. His mouth was shaped into a shy smile. He looked to be no more than twenty-five, and Dax wanted to know more. He was seeing the picture because the guy was online, and less than two miles away. He fired over a message. What are you up to?

The reply came back within seconds. The guy was sorry, but he didn’t reply to messages without photographs. Dax knew this, and he explained. I’m not one for revealing my face over the internet, he said, leaving the recipient to draw his own conclusions. But for a taster, he stood up in the bath, and took a picture of himself from the neck down, revealing his beautiful, sculpted body, complete with soapsuds.

The response was immediate. The cute blond, whose name, he said, was Andy, was impressed. He wanted to know where Dax was. Dax was both honest and dishonest in his reply. He gave the name of the hotel, and explained he was in the city on business. By now, the excitement was beginning to build, and his cock was rock hard. He stroked it, trying to stop himself, because he didn’t want the night to be over before it had even begun. He snapped a few more pictures of his cock in his hand, and sent them to Andy, who obliged him by sending some return pictures.

Dax couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight of Andy’s cock, thick and hard. He saw from the guy’s surroundings that Andy was lying on a bed, the duvet a pale blue. The room he was in was dimly lit. He asked Andy where it was. My apartment, came the reply. Dax asked if he lived alone, but the answer was no. Andy had two roommates, both of whom were home, one of whom was straight. They never brought people back for sex, as was the agreement between all three of them. Andy asked if he could come to Dax’s hotel room, instead.

It was a tempting offer. There was nothing stopping Dax from bringing the guy up to his room, because the others would soon vacate the place at his command. But it was far too risky. There was every chance that he’d be exposed within seconds, and with cell phones able to record far too much, his cover would be blown within seconds.

Internet forums, papers and online gossip video channels had been abuzz with talk of Dax Monroe’s sexuality for many years. Occasionally, a guy would surface on one of these mediums, bragging about the night he’d been asked back to Dax’s dressing room after a concert, where he’d been pushed onto his knees and presented with Dax’s big, delicious dick. He’d either be believed, or shot down. Dax had learned long ago not to peruse these places on the Internet, because he couldn’t deal with the spurious gossip. After all, it was often true.

He remembered reading an online thread about how Dax Monroe had met a guy at the after-party of an awards ceremony, and how the two of them had fucked in an alleyway, surrounded by trashcans. He read the whole thread, including the comments where responders joked that the writer was a fantasist, living in a world of make-believe. Dax’s thumbs had itched to reply.

Because the guy spoke the truth. Dax really had fucked a hot man, whose name he’d never asked, behind the huge green trash bins at the back of the most prestigious Los Angeles hotel, where both the award ceremony and the after-party was held. Dax walked away that night with three awards, and the elation of the evening meant a hard, fast fuck, where he’d fired his seed into the waiter’s ass within thirty seconds of entry.

Dax hadn’t been all that selfish, though: he’d sucked the guy’s dick for the next ten minutes, until he knew the guy was about to blow, and he’d removed his cock from his mouth just in time, so that the guy fired onto the wall behind them. The last thing he needed was to go back inside with cum on his tuxedo.

There were times when the gossip was so ridiculously untrue that it made him laugh, but there were others when he realized he’d gone too far. Images he’d taken while naked in another hotel room had included not only his cock but a very expensive watch on his wrist, one that he’d been snapped purchasing only days before, the images of which had appeared in a number of gossip columns. Other selfies he’d sent to prospective hook-ups had included a little too much of his face, and these too had made their way onto social media sites.

Gay guys were convinced he was one of them, but the women who adored him insisted that any rumors about him being other than a red-blooded straight guy were nothing but spurious lies. They insisted the pictures of his cock had been digitally altered to include his face, something that was easily done these days. As for the expensive watch, weren’t there plenty of other people who wore them, both real and fake?

But Dax Monroe’s image was vital to his success, and he’d worked hard at remaining as squeaky-clean as possible. Once the rumor mill turned a little too fast when fueled by stories of gay hook-ups, a meeting with his manager had confirmed that the mill had to be halted immediately. As was the case with the cocaine scandal, the subject of Dax Monroe’s sexuality quickly took a more palatable turn. He was snapped, none too accidentally, with one hot model after another, and even a famous actress or two.

These were, of course, all manufactured by his team. The appearance of too many photographs and stories had resulted in Dax being very honest with those closest to him, but he’d steadfastly promised to remain single. In the meantime, there were several “meetings” set up with famous beauties, in hotels and bars, where they’d meet for nothing more than a casual drink, only for one of the team to put in a call to a couple of photographers who’d soon be on their way.

There was no doubt that most, if not all, of the huge tabloids knew the truth. For every photograph that made it out into the open, there were five or even ten more quickly shut down with legal injunctions or cash payments made to the owner of such photographs. Dax Monroe had on his payroll a large number of very experienced lawyers whose entire business was keeping his image the cleanest it could possibly be.

The tabloids themselves knew that they could sell just as many papers of Dax with the hottest model of the moment than as they could with a scandal involving the hot pop star with another man. Especially, of course, if the one story that exposed him meant the annihilation of his career, which would then result in fewer stories altogether. For now, keeping Dax on the straight and narrow benefitted everyone, not least the fans who were fed the image they wanted.

But Dax Monroe was human. And he wanted sex. For now, he was willing to engage in a little risk in order to hook up with his latest target: a hot twenty-four-year-old named Andy, who was only two miles away, and was already describing the things he wanted to do to him. Dax put his plan into action.