I, Porn Star (I #1) (26 page)

Not until I’m
wrung completely dry.

Not until my
vision churns through an ocean of color then flames out in a sea of glistening
black.

Then everything
falls away.

I wake up in a
different room. Face down on a bed.

The blindfold is
back on my face and my ass is in the air, supported by pillows.

The plug is still
in place.

The cameras are
back.

Q is hunched over
me.

My heart lurches.

His fingers tug
intermittently at the plug. Every few seconds, he licks my pussy, my taint, the
puckered skin of my hole.

I imagined I had
nothing left to give. Unbelievably, I grow wet. When I moan, he pauses.

“You’re awake.”
His voice throbs with dark anticipation.

I remember how
our last session ended, and I fight the hurt that scrambles up towards my
heart.

He reminded me
that I was a whore. Big deal. I’d fuck an army of Qs to save Petra.

“Yes,” I reply,
bleeding my voice dry of emotion.

I sense a shift
in the air. He’s displeased. Big
fucking
deal. I refuse to be an emotional mess for him to play with. He wants a whore,
he’s getting one.

“Are you going to
fuck my ass, Q?” I purr. “I want you to so bad, baby.”

The grip on my
ass tightens. I choose not to heed the warning. I push back against his hand.
“Take it, big man. You own it.”

The hard smack
comes out of the blue. The sound ricocheting around the room adds to the sting
on my flaming ass. Behind the blindfold my eyes water. I bite my lip and turn
my gasp into a moan. “Hmm…more. Your naughty little firecracker wants more.”

He spanks me
again, harder than before. Twice on both cheeks. My ass hurts like a bitch. But
the good thing is the hurt in my ass has overshadowed the foolish hurt in my
heart.

So I continue. I
throw every filthy, evocative sexual cliché I can at him. The smacks keep
coming. I get wetter. His exhalations grow darker with fury.

“Yes, Big Daddy.
Make me scream for it.”

With a vicious
growl, he pulls the plug from my ass. A dribble of warm oil lands on my
stinging flesh, between my legs. His fingers caress lube into my hole.

Then he’s there.

One fist plants
next to my head as he looms over me.

His hot, whiskey
and mint breath washes over my face. “Shut the fuck up. Now. Or this won’t go
well for you,” he blazes in my ear, low enough that I know he doesn’t want the
camera to pick up his words.

“Why, Q? I
thought you wanted a whore? Am I doing it wrong?” I whisper back.

His breath hisses
as he pushes against me. His control is on the edge.

I’m dancing with
fire. But I can’t seem to pull back. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll be your
good little whore. It’s my true area of expertise.”

He freezes for a
flaming second. I’m forever grateful I don’t have my sight.

When he pushes
inside my ass, my scream is for the pleasure, the pain, and the colossal admission
of what I am that I’ve just detonated at his feet.

His low, long
grunt is filled with fury, lust and a red-hot retribution. I barely have time
to absorb the impact of his full, rough invasion before he’s coming back at me.
The lube helps ease his way, but he’s huge. And he’s locked in his own
all-consuming vortex, his strokes harder, his hips pumping mercilessly into me.

“This what you
want, Lucky?” I hear the dark relish in his voice. And my sphincter clenches
shamelessly around him. “It is, isn’t it, you filthy little thing?”

Oh
God!
Despite the blindfold,
I squeeze my eyes tight, praying it will block out the greed and shame flaying
me. My mouth drops open on breathless pants, my hips rising of their own accord
to meet his terrible invasion.

A series of
epithets fly from his lips. “
Jesus…Oh, fuck. Motherfucker!
”

My empty pussy
creams shamelessly with each helpless curse. I raise myself onto my elbows and
his masked face slips into the crook of my neck. Q fucks me deep and long and
hard. He slows down long enough for me to slide into a screaming orgasm, then
picks up the punishing pace.

I lie beneath him
and take every greedy second of it.

Time ceases to
matter. We’re caught in a cycle of wrath and cruelty and sex.

He’s unleashed
his darkness, and I’m the sex-hypnotized recipient of all of it. Even after he
roars his climax, he keeps going, keeps flaying me.

I probably pass
out again. At some point my mind ceases to be my own. Like my body, my brain
waves are absorbed by him…into him.

When I collapse,
he catches my head and turns it sideways so I don’t suffocate. But he doesn’t
stop. He never stops. Not until my vision turns black again.

The second time I
wake up, I’m in my own bed in my wing of the mansion.

Bright light
filters through the gap in the curtains. I blink for a few dazed seconds, then
raise the covers to glance down at myself.

My hips, thighs
and breasts are covered in dark pink bruises. My ass feels like it’s gone ten
rounds with Godzilla, and I can barely lift my legs.

But I’m filled
with a deep sense of satisfaction. Almost as if…as if I’ve never been more
sated in my life.

I’m absorbing the
disturbing revelation when Stephanie knocks and enters the room, carrying a
breakfast tray. It’s heaped with all my favorites—bacon, eggs, waffles
heaped with whipped cream and strawberries, and a bowl of diced fruit.

She sets it down
on my lap with a smile. “Did you sleep well? You were pretty out of it last
night.”

My face flames
and I pretend to be absorbed in pouring a glass of orange juice. “Yeah,” I
murmur.

She crosses to
the curtains and throws them open. Then returns to me.

“The boss
mentioned you might be a little stiff. Would you like a light massage when
you’re done with breakfast?”

My cheeks burn
hotter, and I shake my head. “I’m okay.”

She nods. “I’ll
go and run you a bath.”

I force the food
down a throat clogged with embarrassment and when she returns to take the tray
away, I catch her eye. There’s no point beating about the bush.

“So what’s on the
agenda for today?” Sodomy? Deep throating? A
soupçon
of Shibari, perhaps? I find myself holding my breath.

Stephanie smiles.
“Nothing.”

“I…what?”

“Nothing. The
boss has left.”

I’m totally
unprepared for the breath stealing pummeling that attacks my insides. “He’s
left
?”

She nods.
“Fionnella will be in touch at some point today with further instructions.
Until then, you’re free to just chill.”

She sails out
with another smile.

I pull the sheet
up to my chest, acutely aware that the light has just gone out of my day.

And bracingly
aware too, that this feeling is totally, fucking,
wrong
.

***

The soothing bath
turns out to be anything but. I’m on tenterhooks, wondering why Q has left.
Wondering if I crossed a line last night with my over-the-top porn star narrative.
Wondering why, if that was the case, he left twenty stacks of ten thousand
dollars instead of ten. Would he pay me double if I displeased him? Why would
he pay me double at all? Was it his way of telling me to fuck off?

My mind churns
relentlessly until it propels me out of the bath. I dry myself and throw on the
first thing that comes to hand—a cream, butter soft pantsuit that feels
heavenly against my still sensitive skin.

I leave my suite
and as I walk down the hallway, my gaze locks on the cameras above my head. No
blinking red lights.

Downstairs, I
pace restlessly through the living room, kitchen, out to the terrace and back
again. It suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t used my phone since I got here.
Haven’t needed to. I press the home button. Nothing happens. I race back
upstairs and plug it onto the charger.

Excruciating
minutes pass before the wheels stops spinning and it powers on. I startle as
three pings announce emails.

My finger
trembles as I slide it across the screen.

I haven’t missed
a call from Fionnella.

But I’ve missed
three calls from Quinn Blackwood.

Each one sent at
some point in the middle of every night since last Friday.

Each call is
followed by a text one minute later.

Each text bears
the same message.

You’re
in my head
.

30

THE MARTINI SHOT

“Is it done?”

“Yes. She’s on
her way back. The plane lands at Teterboro in half an hour.”

“Good. And the
apartment?”

“The tech guys
are setting up as we speak. They’ll have to work through the night.”

“I want it done
by morning, Fionnella. Double their pay if you have to.”

“I already did.
And added a little sweetener on top because of the back-to-back work on the
other project.”

I tuck the phone
against my neck and do up the buttons of my black shirt. “You have my undying
gratitude. You know that, of course.”

She sighs. “I
would prefer waking up without more grey hairs than I go to sleep with. And
please don’t tell me it suits me. No woman likes to hear that,” she says
crisply.

“Wouldn’t dream
of it. Not that I don’t think it though.”

She chuckles.
“You were always too smooth for your own good. Knew it right from the moment I
met you.”

We both pause a
couple of beats, the circumstances of our meeting temporarily stalling
conversation. I have no doubt my life would be on the same course without
meeting Fionnella Smith. But I’m aware the path I’ve taken has been less…lonely
with her on board.

“We’re almost
there, Nella,” I murmur.

Her breath catches
on a hook of suppressed pain. Then she clears her throat briskly. “Yes. Okay.”

I snap out my
sleeve before I start to fold it back onto my forearm. “So, did you meet any
resistance?”

“You mean was she
full of her usual twenty questions?”

“Hmm.”

“Of course, she
was. You just had to confuse the hell out of the girl by paying her double for
one night, didn’t you? Why the hell would you do that?”

Because I was rough with her. Because I
loved every second of taking her ass. Because
she was so fucking tight
my cock still bears strangle marks.

“Was it not well
received?”

“Was the bubonic
plague well received? You’d think you’d sent her a case of anthrax instead of
an extra hundred grand. She wants to know why, and I don’t think she’ll let it
go. I spent the better part of an hour yesterday fielding her questions. So you
better find a damn good reason for going off script.”

My blood thrums
through my veins at the thought of going head to head with my firecracker.
“I’ll take care of it.”

Fionnella
exhales. “Thanks.” The response is a touch weary. She’s been waiting as long as
I have for this to end. If I had a functioning heart, it would go out to her.
All I can promise is the retribution that has been over a decade in coming.
“I’ll be in touch when the place is all set.”

I hang up and
finish dressing. The all-black attire cements my mood, and I firmly place the
past weekend’s activities in a compartmentalized box by the time I gun the
engine of my rarely used, nondescript Ford Mustang out of the underground garage
and onto the street.

The brownstone in
Brooklyn is another one I own, along with the identical unoccupied properties
on either side of it. But these ones don’t come under the Blackwood umbrella.
They’re untraceable purchases, procured through two-dozen shell companies. I
drive past the houses and park at the end of the street. I would’ve preferred to
park on another block altogether but I can’t risk being recognized.

I wait until I’m
sure there’s no one around, and climb the steps to the brownstone. I let myself
in and lock the door behind me. Unlike most of my other properties, this house
is fully decorated. Artistic Tiffany floor lamps light the wide hallway, but
the custom designed living room and kitchen are dark.

Music strains
through the house from the single bedroom upstairs. I had the upstairs of the
house modified to a specific layout, one that announced the space as fit for
only one purpose.

The giving of
pleasure.

I stride up the
stairs in measured steps. Sultry laughter designed to entice weaves through the
air as I enter the empty bedroom. The bed, the center of attention in the vast
space, is emperor-sized, custom built to accommodate multiple partners. Bespoke
sheets and linens drape the bed and weave around the four posts, expertly
intertwined with soft lighting. In one corner, a spank bench waits decadently
next to an elevated silver bucket holding three bottles of vintage champagne. I
take it all in with dark satisfaction, sliding my hands into my pockets as I
cross the room to lean in the bathroom doorway.

She’s the center
of attention even in the extra large Jacuzzi bathtub. One foot is extended out
of the water, clutched in the large hands of the man in front of her as she
enjoys her foot massage. Behind her another man rubs her shoulders in smooth,
firm circles. He must be the teller of the jokes, because her head is tilted
back, her hungry eyes moving over his as she listens to his low, deep droning.

He delivers the
punch line. She laughs. Then moans her approval at the foot rub before taking a
sip of her champagne.

Foot rub guy’s
gaze cuts to me, silently announcing my presence.

Delilah turns and
gasps in delight when she sees me. “Oh, Quinn! I’m so happy you’re here. I
thought you weren’t going to show.” She sets her glass on a nearby vanity and
stretches out both hands to me.

I walk further
into the bathroom but ignore her outstretched hands.

“Are you having
fun?” I ask.

Her eyes flash at
the snub, but her smile stays in place as she relaxes against the man beef
behind her and strokes his jaw. “Derek and Kyle have done a great job of
keeping me company. But seriously, Quinn, do we have to meet all the way in
Brooklyn
?”
Her pout is artificial and irritating.

And her statement
is rich considering she was born and bred in Queens.

“A small price to
pay for all of this, don’t you think?” I drawl.

She rolls her
eyes and proffers her other foot to Derek. Or is it Kyle? I never stopped long
enough to work out which twin was which. “I hate it when you go all practical
on me. You’re here now, baby. That’s all that matters.” Her gaze locks hard on
me, before she conducts a ravenous survey of my body. “Are you going to join
us?”

I stroll to the
vanity and lean, crossed legged against it. “Sorry, sweetheart. I had a shower
half an hour ago.”

“Hmm…shame.” Her
gaze climbs up and rests on my hair. “Interesting color. You revising a boy
band phase?”

I slide my hand
through the dirty blond strands I haven’t had time to alter. “I never had a boy
band phase. But yes…I’m experimenting.”

Her eyes lock on
mine again and she licks her lips. “My favorite word…
experimenting
.”

My skin wants to
crawl away from my body. But even it knows what’s at stake, so it stays put.

I straighten and
start undoing my shirt. “When you’re done frolicking in the bath, I’ll be in
the bedroom.” I walk back out, return to the bedroom. I hear her instructing
Derek…or Kyle…to help her out.

I tug my shirt
off and toss it into a chair. Shoes and socks come off next. My pants stay on,
though. As does the vintage Patek Philippe watch on my wrist. It has a special
significance in the Maxwell/Delilah game.

I ignore the low,
excited laughter behind me and crawl onto the bed. Lounging in the midst of a
dozen pillows against the massive headboard, I fold my arms and wait for her to
come out.

It’s a
production, of course.

She’s beautiful.
She’s powerful. As wife of the incumbent governor, she commands the greatest
city in the world. But Delilah Blackwood has danced in the palm of my hand
since the day we met. That’s not to say I don’t give her fair due.

She walks out
with the strut of a regal queen. The Chinese silk robe is untied, and drapes to
the floor. She’s naked underneath it, of course. The jet black hair that was
pinned up in the bath is now flowing over her slim shoulders. She walks three
steps in front of the identical twins, who follow, buff slaves, towels draped
around their waists. Her grey eyes grow dark, a feverishly carnal gleam stoking
the depths as her gaze runs over my body. She licks her lower lip and I can
tell she’s a breath away from panting like the bitch she is.

When she stops at
the bottom of the bed, each twin helps her slide the robe off her shoulders. At
thirty-five her body is still youthful enough to not require the attention of a
surgeon’s knife. And yet her boobs hold an unnatural perk.

I move my gaze
from her tits and watch her run her hands over her thighs.

“I’ve missed you
so much, Quinn.”

“Then what the
fuck are you doing all the way over there?” I drawl.

Her please smile
lights up her whole face. She hitches a knee onto the bed and crawls sinuously
toward me. When she reaches my legs, she runs both hands up my inner calves and
thighs. I lounge back against the headboard and allow the caress. Her fingers
tremble as they approach my cock. She’s highly turned on but also nervous. She
doesn’t know which version of Quinn she’s going to get. Her gaze darts up at me
as she struggles to overcome the nerves.

“God, you look so
serious,” she half laughs.

“This is serious
business, my sweet,” I reply.

The endearment
eases her tension a touch, like it’s designed to. She grows bolder and cups me
through my pants. I’m chubby enough to please her. Her smile widens. Her stare
returns to my crotch and her mouth falls open as she gets caught up in
increasing my girth. I look up and nod subtly at the twins.

They drop their
towels and get on the bed. Delilah jerks a little in delight when twin hands
caress her body. But she doesn’t pay them much attention. It’s me she wants. Me
she’s dying to fuck.

I unfold my arms,
giving her silent consent. Her hand leaves my cock and inches up my torso. Her
touch on my bare skin makes my gut clench hard.

“My God, Quinn,
you have no idea how much I’ve needed this, darling.”

She crawls closer
and replaces her hands with her mouth. Her tongue licks greedily at my flesh,
then her teeth join in the fun. She’s growing frenzied by the minute. Behind
her, one twin trails a flogger down her back as the other works a hand between
her thighs. Her eyes drift shut and she shivers in anticipation. I nod at the
flogger bearer and he brings it down hard across her back, then repeats it
every five seconds. Delilah’s guttural moans are pure bitch in heat. The
pungent scent of her arousal coats the air, and her teeth sink into my pecs as
her excitement escalates. She kisses her way up my body to my neck. When she
opens her mouth over my pulse, I grab her by the throat. Her pulse beats a
frenzied tattoo against my fingers.

“Hickies will get
you no cock,” I warn. My voice is a blade of ice.

She shivers and
strains against my hold. “Kiss me, please.”

“All in good
time.”

She pouts and
grabs my face in both hands. Her thumb drifts over my lower lip, the ravenous
look in her eyes all-consuming as she jerks through the flogging. “God, you’re
so sexy, Quinn. I…think I’m falling in love with you.”

I lift one
eyebrow. “The sex is
that
good?”

Her expression
dims. “You know it’s not just the sex. I care about you.”

I believe her.
After all, who wouldn’t care about an heir to an unimaginable fortune with a
huge experienced cock to boot? She cares enough to have aided and abetted
Maxwell in his endeavors, while spreading her legs for younger men whenever his
back was turned.

“I know you do,
darling. Thank you,” I murmur.

Her face softens,
right before she moans as another strike lashes across her back. I let go of
her neck and her mouth strains for mine.

In a swift move,
I catch her around the waist and flip her beneath me. She gasps in delight and
curls her legs around my waist. I reach behind me and snap my fingers. A
leather choker is slapped into my palm. I slide it up her skin and she shivers.

“Is that for me,
baby?” she asks sultrily.

“
Everything
in this room is for you. You’re a queen. You deserve it.” I loop the choker
around her throat and tie it tight. Her breath truncates and her pupils dilate.

Easy.
So
fucking easy
.

Another snap of
my fingers and I receive the ropes. In under a minute she’s secured to the bed.
I trail my hand from her throat to her tits. I toy with each globe before
sliding lower. Her eyes stay on me, hungry, greedier with each passing second.
I slip past the triangle of groomed hair at her crotch and touch her leathery
clit.

“Oh, yes!”

I play with her
for a minute, then remove my touch. “Not wet enough. Clearly you’re not as
pleased to see me as I thought you were.” I remove myself and perch on the side
of the bed.