I, Porn Star (I #1) (25 page)

I exhale harshly,
my thoughts veering down a road I should leave alone. But the hunger for
secrets claws through me. I want to know who Lucky is, what makes Elly tick. I
need to know why she’s here beneath me, and why the potential of a million
dollars makes her look fearful rather than ecstatic. Why she, a chance face and
body in a sea of faces and bodies, has this effect on me.

I want to know
everything about this creature.

I decide then,
that’s a job for Quinn, not Q.

“I’m going to get
a pink diamond for this pussy.” My fingers drift over her lips, eliciting a
shudder from her oversensitive body. I rest my touch at the hood of her clit.
“Same size, same color as your beautiful clit. I’ll rest it right here.” I ease
my caress and she moans through another shiver.

“I don’t like
piercings.”

My mouth
twitches. “Neither do I. I’ll work something out.” I step back and adjust her
on the table so her head isn’t hanging anymore. Bending forward, I place a kiss
on her flat belly. “Stay.”

I zip myself up
and head to the bathroom next door. I grab a couple of towels, run them under
warm water and return to the dining room. Lucky is lying on her side, her lips
caught in her teeth as she suppresses a moan.

The sight of her
rings all my sexual bells. Loud and hard. Already, I want to fuck her again. I
hit the remote to stop the filming and clean her up.

“Q?” Her voice is
soft and languid.

“Hmm?”

“Can I take the
vibrator out?”

My body is still
recovering from my orgasm. I should give her time to recover too. “No. Not
yet.”
Told you I’m not nice
. “But
I’ll decrease the vibration.”

I lower the
setting and she stops shuddering. “Thank you.”

I stare down at
her. My cock is waking up again. I want to fuck her ass, like right now. But
her soft body on the hard table also jars. “Would you like me to make you
comfortable, Lucky?”

Her nod slides
her silky hair over the table. “Yes, please.”

I look around.
Tonight’s shoot was set to happen in here. But I can improvise a little.
Sliding my hands under her, I pick her up, carry her into the living room and
place her on the sofa. There are no lit lamps in here, but there’s enough light
spilling from the dining room that I catch her shiver, despite the ambient
temperature.

“Are you cold?”

She shrugs. “A
little.”

The robe she was
instructed to leave outside the dining room door is on the floor. I retrieve it
and drape it over her shoulders.

“Would you like a
drink?”

She swallows and
a tiny moan falls from her lips. “Umm…Q?”

“Yes?”

“The…the
vibrator—”

“It stays,
firecracker. So does the plug. Drink?”

She nods.

I pour myself a
whiskey in the dining room and fix her a light alcohol-based cocktail. From the
way she reacted to the champagne on the plane, I can tell she’s a relative
lightweight. I don’t want her drunk for the next session.

When she senses
me coming toward her, she holds out her hand. She’s mastering adjusting to the
deprivation of sight. Were I of the inclination or if I had the time, I would
enjoy training her into my little slave. A smile twitches my lips and I choose
to keep that morsel away from my firecracker as I place the drink in her hand.

I retreat to the
end of the living room and take the armchair by the darkened fireplace.

She takes a sip
of her drink, licks her lips. After a moment of silence, her hand drifts up to
touch her blindfold.

My release has
taken the edge of my savage anger, so I change tactics again.

“Do you still
want to see me, Lucky?”

Her body stills.
She’s probably trying to work out if it is a trick question. “This isn’t a
you-can-see-me-but-then-I’ll-have-to-kill-you scenario, is it?” she ventures
tentatively. There’s a throb of anticipation, but there are also many terrible
emotions in that question.

“No. It’s far
less lethal than that.”

“Then, if you
don’t mind.”

I mind. And yet
the alien need to
give
needles me. Enough so I remain silent, sipping my
drink while I contemplate the emotion. The last person who triggered a need
such as this was—

My thoughts screech
to a halt. My inhalation is sharp and ragged enough to make her twitch.

“Umm, we don’t
have to do this if you don’t—”

“Take off the
blindfold, Lucky.”

I’m aware my
voice is a frozen lake she risks falling into if she’s not careful.

“Q—”

“Last chance. The
offer expires with your next breath.”

The breath in
question catches, locks in her lungs as she contemplates the icy danger beneath
her feet. Seconds tick by. Her free hand slowly creeps up to the back of her
head.

I’m curiously
anticipatory. Hell, my pulse is elevated in a non-sexual way, another peculiar
first.

She releases the
catch and draws the blindfold away from her face. Her beautiful green eyes
blink and I realize I’ve missed seeing them. Not that I can see them to my
satisfaction in the near dark room.

The moment her
sight acclimatizes, she finds me. I know she only has the faintest impression
of me, that my black pants will be near invisible, my unbuttoned white shirt
marginally so. All the same sensation crawls over my sprawled body as her gaze
pierces me in the dark.

“Lucky.”

She exhales in a
burst of air, as if my saying her name has set her free. “Hi. Nice to meet
you.”

I smirk cruelly.
“Is it?”

Her laugh is a
touch nervous, and her gaze searches harder in the dark. “Definitely. I was beginning
to think you were a figment of my imagination.”

“Do all your
imaginary men fuck you the way I do?”

The glass wobbles
in her hand. Her gaze lowers and I imagine I see her face redden. But she
doesn’t answer. I’m mildly stunned by the searing need to know.

“Answer me,
firecracker.”

Her lids rise.
“You’re my first imaginary man.”

Unsatisfactory.
And yet not. I want to applaud the clever answer. I also want to punish her for
it. “You’re no longer wearing the blindfold. Do you not believe that I’m flesh
and blood?”

“I know you’re in
the room with me. But your face…your voice… You’re still a mystery.”

“There’s a price
to pay for being too curious. Are you willing to risk it?”

A shiver passes
through her. I’m not sure whether it’s the effect of the device still wedged
between her legs, or my answer. Either way, it’s vaguely stimulating, this game
we’re playing.

She takes a large
sip of her drink, licks her lips before lowering the glass. “No. But I think
you are.”

Kitten-strength
talons of surprise hook into me. Their presence isn’t disturbing, but they’ve
grabbed my attention. “Is that an attempt to reverse-psych me, sweet thing?”

She shakes her
head. “No. I’m just going on what I feel.”

“And what is it
exactly you
feel
?”

“You’re…getting
off on this. Your privacy is extremely important to you, but so is the danger.
You can probably go through this without letting me see you, but I don’t think
you’ll be totally satisfied with that.”

“Why do you think
that is?”

A shrug lifts one
shoulder. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that I don’t take risks unless I
have to. So whatever secret you’re keeping, it’s safe with me. I…don’t think
the price you’re talking about includes hurting me—”

“You willing to
bet the farm on that?”

One corner of her
plump mouth lifts. I want to kiss it. Why haven’t I kissed her yet?

“I don’t have a
farm to bet. And you could probably prove me wrong. Are you going to?” Her jaw
is thrust out in challenge.

My mouth
twitches. So small. So fierce. “No, firecracker. Physical abuse doesn’t turn me
on.”

She exhales.
“Then, yes, I want to see you, and you have my word I won’t tell anyone.”

I reach for the
controls that I always have to hand. My finger finds the appropriate button and
tiny beams of yellow light overhead transform the room from near darkness to
twilight gloom.

Leaning forward,
I place my elbows on my knees and capture her gaze.

“Can you see me
now?”

29

TILT

Lucky

Imagination is a
wonderful, peculiar thing.

It makes up shit
and furiously fills gaps to feed itself. From the first time I crossed paths
with Q, I’ve imagined him in many ways. A god. A monster. A disfigured psycho.
A withered octogenarian desperately clinging to the back door of the Playboy
Mansion—okay, maybe not that. But my thoughts have veered between a few
extremes.

None of them
prepare me for my first sight of Q.

He’s…beautiful.
Roman statue, fallen angel, prince of darkness, beautiful. And that is just
from seeing his body.

Because, of
course, his face is covered. I knew he wore a mask the first time he fucked me.
And with all his talk of risks, my instincts told me a man like him wouldn’t
reveal himself on a whim.

But even more
than the visually stunning magnificence of his body, it’s the mask that
commands my attention. It covers ninety-five per cent of his face, a
masterpiece of bronze, gold and black metal that looks like it’s a living,
breathing part of him. There are subtle inbuilt ridges that disguise the true
shape of his face and jaw, and the only parts of his face visible are his eyes,
and the inch wide slashes that extend from beneath his cheekbones down to his
mouth.

His full, sexy
mouth.

Between my legs,
the vibrator and butt plug make their presence felt. A shiver twitches through
me. I’ve only ever used a plug once. A version much smaller than the one currently
residing in me. And even though the size is a fraction of Q’s cock, the feeling
of fullness is overwhelming. I’m trying not to imagine what it will be like to
have the man across the room from me inside my back passage.
 

The man with the
ripped body and dark blond hair.

Dark blond.

For some reason
that makes me frown. In every version of my imaginary guy, his hair was dark.
Brown or black. But I’m not distracted from the splendor of him for very long.
I already know he’s tall from our severe height disparity. But his body is
sleek and rangy, his open shirt giving me a glimpse of a thick chest and
hairless torso. Without seeing his face, I can’t guess his age accurately, but
I can tell he’s young, either late twenties or early thirties.

“Lucky.”

My pulse jumps,
along with my gaze, falls to his lips. Lips I haven’t yet had the privilege of
kissing. My mind reluctantly lets go of images of kissing and devices, knowing
what the thick murmur of my name means this time. “Y…yes. I see you. Even
without the,” I indicate his mask, “I don’t have to imagine you. Thank you.”

He doesn’t move.
Or acknowledge my response. Not for a full minute.

When my nerves
get the better of me, I glance around.

“Where are we?” I
ask. Something tells me to keep my voice soft, to not disturb the peace.

Nevertheless, he
tenses. His head tilts like he’s weighing the pros and cons of divulging our
location. “South Carolina,” he responds.

“Oh, okay.”

“You seem
relieved. Did you think I’d taken you to the ends of the earth?”

I attempt a
smile, but my mind is grappling with how he’s still doing that with his voice.
Is there some sort of implant? “Something like that.”

“The end of the
earth is beautiful this time of year.”

“I’m sure it is.
But I need…I prefer to stay put for now.”

I sense him
pondering my small slip, prodding at it like a predator prods its prey.

“To most people,
a million dollars is literally a life-changing sum; the means to achieve a
bigger and better lifestyle. That almost always means a geographical
relocation. For you, I’m assuming an upgrade from homeless shelter to something
else?”

I’m not expecting
the direct volley of opinion. My mouth drops open a second before I collect
myself beneath eyes of indeterminate color probing me. “Something else, yes.
Not ends of the earth something else, though.”

Again he doesn’t
respond immediately. His eyes remain pinned on me for another minute.

“Finish your
drink and come here, Lucky.”

He’s bored with
talking. I feel his hunger rippling towards me, tearing the ground beneath my
feet open like a devastating earthquake.

In direct
response, my pussy and butt hole clench hard enough to make me moan.

He hears it.
Exhales sharply. “Now, firecracker.”

I raise the glass
and drain the sweet, tangy cocktail. The faint taste of rum and strawberries
lingers, but the buzz in my veins as I drop the robe and rise shakily to my
feet has nothing to do with alcohol. I’m still slippery from my earlier orgasms.
The vibrator threatens to slip out. I slide my fingers between the fringe of
the body chain and in between my legs to hold it in place.

“Fuck,” Q curses
under his breath.

He tracks my slow
approach with dark, sizzling eyes. They’re a dark grey or hazel, I can’t tell.
Every few steps I take, he hits a button on the remote and the room grows
darker. By the time I’m three feet from him, I can hardly see him. But I hear
his rough breathing, see his gleaming eyes.

Up close the mask
is even more magnificent. I want to touch it, feel its beauty beneath my
fingers.

He reads me like
a book. “You want to touch me, Lucky?”

“Yes. Can I?”

He contemplates
me for a stretch. Then he nods. I take a cautious step forward because my
instincts are clanging with enough force to tilt my world on its axis. He
warned me about risks. I don’t know why touching him feels like I’m risking my
very life.

I reach out and
cup his jaw. The metal is hard and smooth, but not as cold as the first time
against my back. It warms beneath my fingers as I caress upward. Over his nose,
cheekbone, forehead. His breath washes over my wrist and I shiver. I should
step back from the force threatening to consume me.

I step forward.
His eyes unpin me, track greedily over my body. I sense more than see his hand
lift. Warm fingers trail from my throat to my breast then lower to flick my nipple.

My full body
shudder makes him exhale roughly again. My fingers sneak up and curl through
his vibrant hair. When my nails lightly scrape his scalp he hisses under his
breath.

His hand leaves
my nipple, drags over my skin to capture the one between my legs. He stares at
my glistening fingers for a second before he draws them into his mouth.

Between one
breath and the next, he’s licking my essence, groaning as his mouth pulls
hungrily at my digits. His long legs part, and he draws me in between them. Before
I can give in to the burgeoning wish to touch him, he circles my wrists, draws
them behind my back and imprisons them with one hand.

Disappointment
blossoms through me, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. His mouth and tongue
are working insane magic on my skin. Teeth nip the sensitive skin above my
navel. Hot kisses, rough teeth, jagged breath. The smoky cedar scent of him.
Everything about Q is a heady enough experience that I’m not left wanting for
long. His wicked tongue licks up the slope of my breast and flicks incessantly
over one nipple. When my knees start to buckle, he flicks the vibrator to a
higher setting and grabs a hold of my hip.

Then he keeps me there,
trapped between his legs, trapped on the precipice of bliss as my body catches fire.

My vision loses
focus and I burn inside and out. My legs give out, but he’s there, propping me
up with effortless strength, never for a second letting up on what he’s doing
to me.

“It’s too much,
Q! Please…Oh God, I’m coming!” Did he give me blanket permission to come? I
can’t remember. But I know I won’t be able to stop myself this time. “
I’m
coming!
”
I warn and plead again.

He doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t berate me. His guttural groan wraps hot around my nipple, and he pulls
hard and relentlessly at my flesh.

I surrender to
the explosive force ripping up from my toes. White-hot convulsions rip through
me, clenching deep in my pussy and around the plug in my ass. I’m vaguely aware
I’m falling. I’m going to crash hard, but I don’t care. This feeling is too
incredible to worry about where I land.

I bump against
something hard. His body. He grunts but doesn’t let go. The hand on my hip
releases me and I hear a hurried fumbling. My vision is still shot to shit and
I’m still caught under waves of pleasure. I gasp when the vibrator is tugged
out of my pussy. He releases my wrists and tugs me forward to place my hands on
the armchair on either side of his head. Rough hands lift me over his lap and
his thick head breaches my core. Dark eyes stare up at me, absorb my every
breath as he forces my hips down to receive him.

Another scream
rips through the room.

The plug in my
ass leaves very little room for him. I’m full. Crammed tighter than I’ve ever
been, sending the pleasure pain dichotomy to optimum levels. My eyes water and
I can’t breathe.

My senses reel in
silent, stunned wonder. Suddenly, I’m conflicted by how much I like being
fucked by him. I’m a whore. I’m not supposed to enjoy this.

But I love it. Oh
God, how much to do I love what’s happening to me right now?

Q, attuned to me
with frighteningly sharp acuity, probes me deeper with his eyes.

“Good?”

“
Yes!
”
My response ends in another scream as
he withdraws and crams me full again.

“More?” he
demands with his electric voice.

“Uh huh.”

The grip on my
hips tightens. I’m sure I’ll have a few bruises to show in the morning.

He gives me more.
And somewhere in between being fucked to death and pure ecstasy, I become aware
that something is missing. Something vital, that pertains to my whole reason
for being here.

The whine of the
cameras.

We’re in near
total darkness. He’s not filming this.

So this is for
him alone?

The thought
pleases me way more than it should. It makes me grip the chair tighter, clench
my pussy and slam harder into him.

“
Motherfucker
,”
he growls. His voice is so thick it’s barely coherent.

A smile curves my
lips, almost of its own accord. I feel him shudder beneath me, and I grind into
him, harder than before. The move resonates deep inside me, the thickness of
him hitting me in a spot that makes color explode across my vision.

“Pleased with
yourself, are you, my little firecracker?” he drawls after another deep groan.

The sound draws
my gaze to his throat, then up to his lips. I want to kiss him. The need pounds
me so bad my lips tingle. I lick my tongue across my mouth. “Hmm.” I lower my
head, desperate for a taste.

He draws back
from me. The move is subtle, but definitive. It causes actual pain to resonate
inside me.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I push the
sensation away, close my eyes and concentrate on other pleasures.

“You don’t want
to see me anymore, Lucky?” he taunts. “You don’t like what you see?”

On the contrary,
I like it too much. I shake my head. “It’s not that.”

“Open your eyes,”
he commands. “You may not want to see me, but I want to see you.”

There’s an odd
timbre to his words. A thin layer of cruelty underpinned by…vulnerability. My
eyes pop open. His stare is bold and carnal, his dark eyes at odds with his
tone.

“I want to see
you,” I murmur. My gaze drops to his hard torso. “Touch you.”

“Fuck me?”

My head jerks up
and down. “Yes.”

His hands release
my hips, fall to his sides. “Fuck me,” he commands. His eyes have taken on a
different gleam. “Earn your money. Make me glad I picked you.”

My breath catches
at the savage cruelty behind his words. The pain that lances me is deeper,
sharper. I don’t know why his words have this power over me, but tears sting my
eyes. I blink them away, struggle to regain common sense.

Because he’s
right, after all. I’m here to fuck him for a million dollars. Just because the
camera isn’t recording us doesn’t mean anything about this is different. I
belong to him until I’ve earned my money.

So I fuck him.
Stroke his hard, thick length with increasing pumps until I’m bouncing in a
frenzied, relentless rhythm. I don’t stop when lust and pain rip through me. I
don’t stop when he bares gritted teeth like a shark ready to devour me.

I don’t stop when
he reaches around and tugs on the plug, drawing a tortured scream from me. Even
when I start to come hard, harder than before…even when he shouts and digs his
fingers into my hips once more and his cock ripples along my clenching channel,
I don’t stop.