I, Porn Star (I #1) (20 page)

That brief
exhibition of a darker character lurking in the shadows scared the crap out of
me. My instincts warned me to tread carefully with Q. I ignore that warning at
my own peril.

I linger in the
bath until the water turns cool. The temptation to warm it up again and linger
for a while longer is strong. But I’m worn out and can’t risk falling asleep in
the bath.

Although…he might
be watching. And what, he’ll come save me? What if watching me drown in the bath
is part of this bizarre deal?

The macabre
thought and the full knowledge that Q has me twisting in a quagmire of
confusion sends me out of the bath.

My eye on the
prize is what I need to concentrate on. I’ve made it through performance one.

Only nine more to
go.

Despite that
thought planted firmly in my mind, I still stagger to a stop when I re-enter
the bedroom.

Because sitting
on the bed is a small open case.

Inside it, ten
stacks of ten thousand dollars arranged neatly in the case.

Performance one.

One hundred
thousand dollars.

For sex with a
man whose face I still haven’t seen.

***

Q

I watch her sleep
from one of the large monitors gracing my living room. I wonder if she always
sleeps in the nude or if she’s choosing to do so tonight because she’s sore. I
resisted the temptation to turn on the monitor in her bedroom until the need
got too strong to deny. The reason for resisting in the first place escaped me
the moment I flipped the switch. Wait. No. It was because I was torn between
either watching her, or waking her up and summoning her back to the bedroom in
the south wing.

Tonight was…

I take a sip of
whiskey as I contemplate, but an accurate description fails to yield to me.

I can’t describe
how tonight went.

One thing is
painfully evident though.
 
I’ll be
repeating the experience tomorrow, whether she’s sore or not. Because, fuck it,
she’s as addictive as the black hole I’ve spent the last ten years feeding.

I relax in the
armchair, wrap my hand around the raging hard on that shows no signs of abating
and squeeze myself.

What the fuck?
The volcanic arousal that engulfs me is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
Hell, the last time I staged a performance, I was forced to resort to a little
blue pill halfway through the week, such was my lack of pleasure in the whole
thing. I get the distinct feeling I won’t be needing any such enhancer this
time around. Unless it is to ensure the pleasure already fully present achieves
its maximum benefit.

Twenty-four hours
buried fully inside her. The idea isn’t without its enticing merits.

I toss the idea
in my mind as I watch her toss and turn.

She’s not resting
comfortably. I want to think it’s because she still feels my presence between
her legs—
Jesus
, she was
ridiculously small—but I caught her expression when she walked out of the
bathroom and saw the first installment of her payment.

Like the
confirmation of the one million dollar pay out during her second interview, she
didn’t react predictably to the sight of the money. Her predecessor had leapt
with joy, tossed a handful of the bills in the air and then quickly darted
around, scrambling them up before, God forbid, they disappeared.

Lucky merely shut
the case, looked around the room for a secure place and ended up shoving it on
the high shelf in her dressing room. She totally missed the typed note on top
of the first stack, recommending she put the money in the bedroom safe and
instructions for using the safe.

Whatever she
needs the money for, it isn’t for personal satisfaction. Or perhaps it is deeply
personal?

I step away from examining
that unpredictable reaction and return to what happened in the south wing
bedroom. To certain facets that need analysis.

Purely on a
pleasure scale—because there’s no other parameter for me to
measure—fucking her was a singularly gratifying experience. She’s
reminded me again how much I like to fuck. How much I enjoy that sweet place
between a woman’s legs. And that’s a tick in her favor. Hell for a minute, I
might even manage to let myself indulge.

The next few weeks
will be bearable because of it. The reminder of why I’m doing this does very
little to cool my jets. I’m still as hard as fuck, growing harder with each
passing second. She turns again, murmurs in her sleep. She tucks one hand
beneath her cheek and other between her thighs. The one part innocent, one part
filthy action sends me to my feet. I toss back the rest of the drink and slam
the glass down.

I should turn the
monitor off.

Same as I
should’ve stopped myself from issuing that ultimatum back in my office about
her coming back to me.

But the
compulsion now, as it was then, is total.

I want to storm
through the dozen rooms separating us. I want to wake her up. I want to pound
into her until I’m drowning in her cum, then come inside her over and over until
we’re eyeball deep in filth.

Then I want to
start all over again.

The possibility
that I’ll damage her irreparably is high—Q has already decided against
taking his shrink’s advice—there will be no saving Lucky from him. As for
Quinn… I mentally shrug. My cracks have gaped wider in the forty-eight hours
since I talked to Adriana Nathanson, so the risk to Lucky is greater.

Adriana was
right. My father’s presence in the city has triggered an escalation of the
darkness inside me. Enough for me to contemplate whether I should remain here
for the entire time I need with Lucky or try and handle a few more birds with
one stone.

For one thing,
Delilah has redoubled her efforts where I’m concerned. She needs to be dealt
with. Ignoring her for much longer means risking the potential to blow this
thing wide open.

Maxwell also
needs to be handled. He’s still not thrilled about the Miami situation. He’s
going to be even more pissed when he realizes I’ve given away two more of his
precious properties. And although my consenting to participate in his campaign
has slowed down the flames racing towards the inevitable nuclear meltdown, the
end result hasn’t altered. He may be Governor of New York City, a post that is
demanding at the best of times, but he’s also a Blackwood. Keeping a finger on
the pulse of the empire he’s no longer king of, but holds a good portion of, is
a must. Especially when he’s making secret moves to regain that kingdom for
when he’s no longer governor.

It’s not a great
time to be out of New York. But I have a little leeway.

My gaze returns
to the monitor and I walk closer. She’s turned again, lying on her front, the
spill of caramel blonde hair brushing her delicate spine.

My cock throbs
harder.

Three days.

No. Four.

I need four
uninterrupted days with my firecracker. Minimum.

Then I’ll take
the short break I need to ensure my enemies remain in my crosshairs.

23

CLOSE UP

I wake up sore.
No surprises there.

My legs shake
when I try to walk from bed to bathroom. The bath I had last night went a ways
to soothing the throbbing between my legs, but it wasn’t a miracle cure by any
stretch. There are faint red marks on my inner thighs and around my waist. I
wince as I pee and touching my swollen lips brings back a flood of erotic
memories of what Q did to me last night. What he plans to do to me today.

The orgasms he
drew so effortlessly from me. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind to put
together the sequence of fake moans and groans leading to fake orgasms I
mastered back at the Villa.

This was supposed
to be a technical exercise. A clinical exchange of body for money. But I knew
the moment he touched me that he had the ability to make it something else.

It’s that
something else that lingers on my mind when I dress in yoga pants and a Lycra
tank and head outside to the designated exercise area. I’m a few minutes
earlier than the appointed nine o’clock work out, so I walk to the end of the
sun splashed terrace and eye the high wall signaling the end of the wing. A
similar wall rises up on the other side of the great room, but there’s a huge
garden, and pool, and a gate that leads down a steep path to a jetty
overhanging the water. I haven’t ventured down the garden yet, but from the
high position of the house, I can see the craggy rocks against which the waves
pound.

The walls do an
effective job in obscuring just how big this place it. I also haven’t found a
door that leads outside besides the ones that bring me to the garden. Which
means my only escape, should I need one, is via the water.

I’m a gilded,
well-fed, diamond-wearing prisoner, with absolutely no clue where I am.

In some ways I’m
reassured that if I don’t know where I am, neither will Clayton or my father.
But I know that’s a pipe dream that has no sustenance in reality, but for a
moment I let it wash away a little of the fear that clings perpetually to me.

I stop pondering
the wall and let the view of the water soothe me. I have my first hundred
thousand. Nine more days like last night and then I can allow myself to think
of the possibility of a future.

Maybe in New
York.

Maybe Quinn
Blackwood.

I startle when I
realize I haven’t thought much about him since arriving here. It’s almost as if
when I’m with Q, I stop thinking about enigmatic CEO with the wastelands of
hell in his eyes. And when I’m with Quinn, the man with the hypnotically sexy
mechanical voice ceases to exist. I don’t deny that they both have profound,
albeit different, effects on me. But one is a finite means to an end.

While the other…

I settle on the
top step and fold my hands across my knees. To be honest, I don’t know what
Quinn Blackwood is. Or whether he’s even anything to me.

But
you want to find ou
t…

“There you are.
You ready to get limber?”

I startle and
glance up at Fred…or Freddie. Or was it Eddie? Fitness Trainer. Here to prepare
my body for another night of fucking. My face reddens as I nod.

If he sees my
reaction, he chooses not to comment. He nods approvingly at my half-finished
bottle of water, and we get started.

After we’re done
I head back in. Stephanie’s laying out breakfast in the kitchen and I wolf down
a plate of bacon, eggs and hash browns, topped off with a glass of juice. She’s
stacking groceries in the fridge when I finish but stops and intercepts me as I
head to the sink with my plate. For some reason my head snaps up to the camera
above the fridge.

It’s blinking
red. I hand over my plate without protest. As I turn to leave, Stephanie’s
voice stops me. “I’ll be up in an hour to help you get ready.”

My eyes widen.
“In an hour? I thought I wouldn’t be needed until tonight.”

“My brief is to
get you ready by noon,” Stephanie replies.

My gaze returns
to the camera. It continues to blink. I feel him watching me. “I see.”

I leave the
kitchen and head up the sweeping stairs with my heart rate uncomfortably higher
than it was twenty minutes ago. One hour. Then I’ll be in that room with him
again.

The nerves that
climb up my spine should be because I’ll be stepping back into the unknown. But
I recognize part of the emotion as excitement. In the hallway leading to my
bedroom, another camera blinks at me. My steps slow to a stop. I want to say
something, but I can’t think of anything to say that won’t betray the slow
sizzle burning in my pelvis. Like the cameras back in the Midtown penthouse,
these burn into me.

I swallow and
lower my gaze. As I enter my room, I swear I can almost hear him purr, “One
hour, Lucky.”

***

I retrace my
steps to locked double doors. This time, my outfit is a black lace slip with a
matching thong. No garters or other undergarments. My finger and toenails are
painted red to match the red soled black heels on my feet, and between my
breasts hangs a blood red ruby on a gold chain. The stone is twice the size of
my thumb. I’m almost too scared to look at it or even touch it.

With my hair worn
up and the absence of a robe today, I feel exposed as I walk through the dark
corridor and enter the foyer of Q’s wing. I wonder if this is a clever ploy to
put me at a disadvantage. I snort beneath my breath.

Was I ever at an
advantage?

I pause between
the sweeping stairs, same as I did yesterday.

“Right staircase.
Turn left at the top.”

That voice
haunted my dreams last night. It made me do things that drew emotions so
strong, I woke up covered in sweat and shame. Which led to worse dreams. About
Clayton. About Ridge. My Father. Ma. Death. Destruction.

My mind and body
are far from rested as I climb the stairs. But thoughts of respite evaporate
from my mind, when halfway up the stairs a camera swings into view.

It’s suspended on
a pulley, the lens trained on me.

Without the robe
I know it can pick up every inch of my exposed skin. The combination of cool
air and blatant focus ripens my sensitive nipples. They peak to attention
beneath the lace and with each moment, chafe with a shamefully delicious
friction that makes me bite the inside of my lip.

I’ve barely made
it to the top of the stairs and I’m aroused. My fingers curl around the wooden
bannister to steady myself.

“Pick up the
pace, firecracker.”

I’m not sure how
I feel about that nickname. On the one hand, it has a hint of take-no-prisoners
that appeals to me, but on the other, I can’t help but think he’s mocking me,
toying with me the way a cat toys with a mouse.

I reach the top
and turn left. Sunlight pours through tall cathedral-like windows on either
side of me. I want to stop and look through them, get my bearings. But I know
he won’t like that. I content myself with a quick peek out the right window,
but all I see is water. Frustration trickles into the cocktail mix of emotions.
And then I arrive in front of another set of doors, and two emotions reign
supreme.

Trepidation.

Excitement.

I enter. Unlike
the one we used last night, this room has no windows. But the decor is equally
bold and masculine, stripes of navy and ochre dominating the large space.
Again, the focal point is the bed, with cameras trained around the four posts
bracing its king-size majesty.

There’s no seat
at the end of the waist-high bed, only the blindfold and the pair of
gold-colored ropes.

He’s going to tie
me up again.

The thought
should fill me with strong misgivings. Perhaps even a flat refusal. But even
though I know he’s watching, listening, I don’t speak.

I walk to the middle
of the room and rest my hands on the bed.

“Good afternoon,
Lucky.”

I shiver at the
formal greeting. We both know his civility is a guise. But guise or not, now I
know the savagely demanding male attached to it, that voice is extremely
effective in setting my pulse alight. “Hi.”

“The blindfold,
please. Then place your hands back on the bed.”

I pick it up with
shaky fingers and secure it around my head. The clasps click into place and my
world turns black.

He doesn’t mess
around this time. I hear him enter almost immediately. The whine of the camera
follows, drawing closer with each passing second. The moment the door snicks shut,
strong, shackling arms imprison me.

My breath leaves
my lungs when his hot, hard body imprints against mine. He’s naked, and the erection
he’s sporting is monumental against my back, the hands that find my breasts,
rough and demanding.

“Missed these.”
He teases urgent thumbs over the stiff lace-covered peaks, then catches them
between his fingers and squeezes. The continuous tug at my nipples sends arrows
of lust straight between my legs. In under a minute, liquid heat floods me. It
scents the air and he growls deep in his throat.

One hand leaves
my breast, pulls up the slip and slides into my panties. “Missed this beautiful
pussy more. So fucking wet.” His finger finds my clit, and mercilessly flicks.

I hear the camera
track his movement. The shame the mechanical sound induces is ever-present, but
the blanket of arousal is growing thicker. My moan, when he slips one finger
inside me, is raw and unguarded.

“Are you sore?”
he demands, his voice a charged vibration above me. “Don’t lie.”

“Yes, I am.”

The answer seems
to please him. His cock jerks against the small of my back. “Would you like me
to be gentle with you, Lucky?”

Another shiver racks
me as my mind tears in different directions. I should say yes, ask him to go
easy on me. But I sense that wouldn’t please him.

The fact that I
want to please him rips my mind into further pieces. The pressure between my
legs intensifies. I gasp. My fingers curl into the silk sheets. “Answer me,
firecracker.” The thick finger that plunges into me sends me to my tip toes.

“Your body. Your
pussy.”

A loud breath
explodes from him. I sense his approval in the caress of my breast and the
fingers that massage my pussy. “Yes,” he purrs. “So fucking right.”

He releases me
abruptly, and I nearly groan at the absence of his finger inside me. The slip
is tugged up and off my body. The thong goes the opposite route, and I’m left
naked but for my heels and blindfold.

His tip finds my
entrance and my breath strangles to nothing.

“
My
body
.”

He penetrates me
with a thrust so raw and rough, my feet leave the ground. I scream and my fists
claw at the sheets.

“
My
pussy
.”

I get a repeat of
the same. I scream harder. By the third thrust, he’s crammed me full. Fuller
than he managed yesterday if his groan of triumph is any indication. “Love that
you’re taking more of me, baby.” He fucks me in sure, long strokes for a full minute,
before he bends over my shaking body. “By the time the weekend’s over you’ll
take all of me, won’t you,
my little firecracker
?” He punctuates the
last three words with harsh animal thrusts.

“Oh!” I struggle
to find my stolen breath. “Yes.”

“And why would
you do that, Lucky?”

“Your body…your
pussy.”

Those four words
send him crazy. My feet don’t touch the ground again. One thick arm circles my
waist and I’m lifted off the floor. His rough instruction to wrap my legs
around his muscular thighs secures my position before he proceeds to rip me
apart from the inside. Every thrust hits my end with a sharp intensity that
drives the little breath I manage to catch straight back out of my lungs. He
works me like an expert conductor, delivering pure, unadulterated ecstasy
straight into my blood stream.

I almost forget
to ask him for permission. My internal muscles tense and quiver, the
anticipation of pleasure almost unbearable.

It’s his shout,
followed by the thick, “Fuck!” that warns me that I can’t come without his say
so.

“M—may…I?”
My brain and my tongue can barely form the words.

“What was that,
beautiful?” he growls above me.

“Come…please, may
I…Q?” Every atom of my being is poised and ready. My channel is tightening
harder, the need the come almost preventing his thrusts.

“My God, you feel
incredible!”

“
Pleeeeeeaaaase!”

I won’t last one
more second. I know it. I don’t know what my punishment will be if I go against
his wishes. I suck in a desperate breath and hold it, knowing I’m about to damn
myself. My mouth goes slack and I prepare to let go.

“
Yes
,” he
grates out, his voice a primitive roar that bursts me wide open.