I, Porn Star (I #1) (27 page)

Her head jerks up
off the pillow. “No! Please, Quinn. I’m wet. I promise.”

I stretch out
beside her and trail my fingers over her cheek. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m not
offended. It’s been a while for both of us. Why don’t we let Derek and Kyle
have a go at that sweet pussy? And I can just…bask in your beauty.”

I don’t need to
signal the twins. They’re already buried between her legs. They take turns
licking and flogging her pussy. When her eyes begin to roll, I hook my fingers
beneath the choker and pull. Her whole body jerks. I take turns pulling and
releasing. She climaxes in under a minute. I continue stroking her cheek as
Kyle puts on a condom. Before she’s fully recovered, he penetrates her.

“No,” she moans
weakly. “I want you, Quinn.”

“You’ll have me.
First we need to reward the boys for their beautiful work on you, don’t you
think?”

She nods
grudgingly, then inhales sharply as the thrusts get harder, rougher. Derek
climbs higher up the bed and plays with her nipples. When they’re erect, he
clips tiny pegs to the peaks. Then he goes to work with the flogger. A scream
rips through her throat with each strike.

“Am I losing you,
sweetheart?”

She shakes her
head vigorously, her gaze struggling to stay on mine.

“Good.” I lean in
closer, brush my nose against her cheek. She turns her head and nuzzles me.
“Where does Maxwell think you are tonight?” I ask.

“At…a Women
Librarian focus group in Midtown.”

I laugh. “How
very naughty of you, abandoning the women like that. And where is the governor
tonight?” I press.

She shudders and
moans before answering, “Fundraiser for veterans at the Lincoln Center.”

“And here you
are, his precious gem, getting your rocks off behind his back,” I taunt.

Her gaze starts
to harden, and I catch the glimpse of the Delilah who didn’t blink twice about committing
a felony in order to take out a rival. A series of merciless thrusts from Kyle
dissolves the look. “I make a better governor’s wife when I’m well satisfied.”
She turns her head and meets Kyle’s gaze. “Harder!”

He complies. Her
head rears back, and she screams as another orgasm flays her. The twins switch
places. Derek is the rougher of the two. Before she has time to recover, he
takes control of her.

When she catches
her breath a little, her gaze seeks mine. She wants to protest my
non-involvement, but she’s enjoying herself too much. When Kyle pulls roughly
at the nipple pegs, she groans deep and surrenders to the hedonistic pleasure.

An hour later, she’s
bathed in sweat. Her screams roll into each other.

When she climaxes
for the forth time, I turn away, suppress a shudder.

Bask myself in
darkness and purpose.

“Quinn, you…I
need you,” she slurs, her multiple orgasms making her near delirious.

I stand, pull
down my pants and boxers down enough to take out my semi-hard cock. I re-mount
the bed and position myself between her thighs. Derek and Kyle are taking turns
kissing and flogging her tits and midriff. She’s trying to see me, but they’re
in her way. I play with her soaked pussy for a while then reach for the toy I
need. She moans deliriously as I cram her full with the dildo. It does its job
superbly, but it’s the ever-tightening choker Kyle is working that gives her
the auto-erotic experience she craves. This time when she comes, she passes
out.

I hop off the
bed, and zip up my pants.

“Don’t untie her
until I’m gone.”

“She’s gonna be
pissed,” Kyle says.

“I’m sure you can
handle her. If she’s extra work, let me know. I’ll see that you’re compensated.”

I take off the
watch and lay it face down on the bedside table so the inscription underneath
is visible.

From Delilah to Maxwell. Fidelity and Love.
Everlasting.

The twins grin at
each other as I redress and leave.

My stomach rolls
hard against the iron clench I have on it as I rush out of the brownstone and
head towards my car. The seething bile bubbling up inside me rises with each
step. I get to the Mustang just as it surges up my throat.

Bending over, I
vomit on the sidewalk.

31

AXIS OF ACTION

I find the
nearest bodega, grab the first bottle of water I see and tear off the lid. I
slap a twenty on the counter and rush back out. In the nearby alley, I rinse my
mouth and spit it out. Rinse and repeat until the bottle is empty. I still
taste bile and disgust.

Whiskey. I need
whiskey.

Or Lucky.

My mind spins at
the second thought. I slow it the fuck down and swipe my hand across my mouth.

No
, not Lucky.
Whiskey
.

The more
expensive the better. And I know just where to get it.

I slide back behind
the wheel, slam the door shut and stomp my foot on the gas. I arrive at
XYNYC
half an hour later. The crowd is healthy, especially for a Thursday night. Axel
runs the place on a tiered membership system. Platinum members get in on
Fridays and Saturdays. Sundays are for gold members. The remaining days are
free for all, but with a keen eye on who he lets in the door.

The paparazzi are
camped outside as usual. I flick them the finger, guaranteeing them a front
tabloid exclusive and make my way inside. I wade through fourth-generation
trustfundistas
to the bar, ignoring the
sly camera phones pointed my way.

The bartender
catches my eye and immediately heads my way. “Macallan. Triple. Neat.”

He brings me the
drink and I swallow it in one go. I indicate the glass for another. When he
fills it, I take a smaller mouthful, breathe through the burn, and will it to
deaden my insides. Only a hint of the numbness returns. I finish the drink and
am contemplating a new one, when Axel joins me at the bar.

“You know there’s
a better blend reserved for you in your VIP room, right?” he says.

I slam the glass
on the counter. “Too far,” I rasp.

Axel is the same
height and build as me, so his speculative grey eyes meet mine full on. The
shit we’ve both endured means there’s also no fear or hesitation in his eyes as
he stars into my soulless ones. After a minute, he looks away. A few women
dance close, try to catch his eye. He ignores them and after a minute looks
back at me. “That bad, huh?”

I grit my teeth
and breathe deep. “Worse.”

“Need any help?”

I shake my head.
“It’s done. I have what I need.”

He nods again,
but I sense his distraction. When his gaze tracks across the room, I follow it
to the woman standing alone at the place reserved for Axel’s guests. She’s
leaning against the railing, glass of champagne in one hand. At first sight,
she seems to be just one of the many beautiful women enjoying
XYNYC
’s
exclusive atmosphere. But at second
glance, I sense her tension, even from across the room. I look past her to the
two club bodyguards on either side of the lounge, blocking her exit. “If you
need anything else, let me know,” Axel says, without taking his eyes off her.

I glance at him.
“Looks like you have your hands full with your own situation that needs taking
care off.”

“Yeah,” he
growls. “Fucking tell me about it.”

I look back at
the woman. She looks familiar, but my brain is too wired to accommodate
anything other than the need to dig myself deeper into my abyss, wipe the last
two hours from my immediate memory.

“Thanks for the
taking care of the other situation,” I say.

He shrugs. “My
guy at the DOH says they’ve had a hard on for that chain of motels for a while.
Greasing the right palm just…
encouraged
them to bump it to the top of
their list. All it needed was a phone call and a few of my bodyguards to get
the place evacuated.” He flicks a glance at me before the woman commands his
attention once more. “Did the right person end up where they needed to be?”

I nod. “Yes.” The
thought of Lucky suddenly makes my skin itch in a better way, but the underlying
disgust remains from my encounter with Delilah. “You still keep the apartment
upstairs, right?”

Axel drags his
gaze from the woman. “Yeah, I do.”

“Can I hit your
shower?” I ask, aware that my voice is bleeding pure black void.

His eyes narrow.
“Sure. Take as much time as you need. Change of clothes in the closet too. I’ll
get one of the girls to bring up a bottle.”

I jerk out a nod
and head for the side of the bar. I slam my hand against the
Authorized
Personnel Only
door and head for the small elevator tucked in the back. The
apartment belongs to the club, so technically it’s half mine, but since Axel
spends most of his time in
XYNYC
, he uses it more than I do.

My clothes come
off long before I make it to the shower. I turn the temperature to scalding,
scrub myself three times in quick succession. It barely makes a dent. Bile
rises again and I throw up. With a hint of unfamiliar desperation, I wrench the
knob to freezing cold. The ice settles me and I welcome the shivers that race
over my skin.

I’m not sure how
long I stand with my hands braced on the shower wall. The knock on the door
forces me to switch off the water. Snapping a towel around my waist, I wrench
the door open.

The female
bartender, dressed in a tight sleeveless black dress stares back at me with
wide blue eyes. Both her arms are covered in elaborate ink, and her blue-black
hair is cut in drastically sharp angles. She’s pretty, in a pixie sort of way.

“Yes?” I hiss.

Her sharp inhale
doesn’t stop her gaze flicking over my body. “Uh, Axel sent me up with a
bottle. I knocked on the door a few times, but you didn’t answer…”

I walk past her
into the bedroom. The
Macallan M
is
sitting on the silver tray next to an ice bucket and a glass. I pick it up, pull
out the cork with my teeth and take a long swig. I turn around. She’s still
standing in the bathroom doorway, her eyes telegraphing a look I’m all too
familiar with.

Striding to the
bedroom door, I kick it hard enough to slam it into the wall. “Thanks for the
delivery, sweetheart. Be sure to tell Axel to give you a nice tip from me. But
sadly, there’s nothing else on offer tonight.”

She rearranges
her features from disappointment to nonchalance, and walks out with her chin in
the air. I take another swig, slam the bottle down and head for the closet. I’m
tugging a black Tee over the borrowed jeans when I hear the ping of a text.

I leave the
bedroom and hunt for my discarded clothes. I find the phone on the floor next
to the coffee table in the living room and swipe it awake.

The text message
produces a reaction that makes me question whether the heart I thought was dead
is actually still alive, somewhere in the seething mass of emptiness inside me.

I take a step
back and sink into the sofa. Then I read the message again.

You’re
in my head, too
.

***

I shouldn’t do
it.

The session with
Delilah tonight has thrown a bracing perspective on my intended goals. Or
rather my goal
posts
. They need shifting. Fast. Or I risk every plan
I’ve put into place over the last ten years unraveling.

Maxwell
unofficially announced his intention to run for a second term this morning,
partly necessitating my return from South Carolina on Tuesday. I stood next to
him and Delilah, dutiful son and stepson and applauded after his speech at the
governor’s mansion in Albany.

The time and
place I have etched on my mind is months away. All I need to do is bide my
time.

So I shouldn’t do
this. Shouldn’t draw Lucky further into this soulless circus. My cracks are
wide open, unassailable crevasses. She has no idea what she’s risking if she
allows me to see her again.

But… I’m Quinn
Blackwood. Selflessness is an alien concept.

I want her.
I…need her. She’s mine. Thinking about her makes my body itch for a completely
different reason. Besides, contractually, for another seven fucks, she belongs
to me.

I own her.

So I dial the
number.

The ringing
echoes six times, then clicks.

I hear her
breathing, but she doesn’t say anything. Not for several seconds. “Uh…hello?”
The acute trepidation in her voice reminds me that I’m not the only one with
secrets in this game. Whatever demons she’s battling consume her just as mine
do.

Common ground
feels…good.

“Elly.” Saying
her name soothes another layer of the hell circle.

She exhales
softly in surprise. “Quinn? I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“You prefer me to
remain in your head?”

“I…no. I mean,
all your texts were sent in the middle of the night. I thought I wouldn’t hear
from you till later. Not that I expected to hear from you, of course. I mean…”
She stumbles to a halt.

I’m lying back on
the sofa without realizing I’ve moved. My hand is resting on my, thankfully, no
longer roiling stomach. The blackness is still churning, but I no longer want
to crawl out of my skin. “Midnight is twenty minutes away. We can continue this
conversation then. Will I still be in your head?”

“Umm, maybe,” she
answers. I catch a ghost of a smile in her voice. Or it could be in my razed
imagination.

“Maybe is not
good for me. Keep talking. I prefer not take the chance that I might not be
come midnight.”

“Do you like me
in your head, Quinn?” she asked softly.

My teeth grit for
a second. “More than is good for you.”

A short
inhalation. “Why isn’t it good for me?”

I simply laugh.

“Do I amuse you?”
Her sexy voice is stiff with growing affront.

“You do a lot of
things to me, Elly, and you know it. Isn’t that why you responded to my text?
Isn’t that why you’re at the end of the phone right now, when your instincts
scream at you to run?”

“I don’t know
what you’re talking about,” she replies. “Why am I in your head?” she blurts.

Because
I spent far too many nights when I wasn’t fucking you, watching you sleep.
Wanting to drag you into my cracks.

“Because you see
me. You know you should be afraid, but you don’t run.”

“Quinn…are you okay?”

Same question,
different version of the woman whose last name I don’t even know.

“Tell me your
name.”

This time the
inhalation is sharper. “What?”

“What’s Elly
short for?”

She stays silent
for a long time. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she eventually says.

“For you to tell
me your name? You don’t think you can trust me?”

She laughs. “The
guy who tells me to run? What do you think?”

“I think you
shouldn’t trust me. But I want to know anyway. Eleanor.”

“No.”

“Eloise. Ella.
Arabella. Petronella. Mariella.”

“No.”

“Hmm, I’m running
out of options. Elephant.”

Her husky laugh
washes over me. “Wow. Elephant. Really?”

“Tell me. Is Elly
even your name?”

Her laughter
stops. “Yes,” she says.

“And it’s short
for?”

“Why do you want
to know, Quinn?” Her voice is just above a murmur.

“I want to see
you.”

“No, you don’t.
You want me to run.”

I let my eyes
drift shut. “I want both.”

“That’s
impossible.”

“That word
doesn’t exist for me.”
Never has, never will
.

“It does for me.”

“Then you
shouldn’t have called.”

“I can hang up
now.”

“You called. That
door is shut. There’s no going back from that.”

“And the only way
forward is?”

An alien need
pounds through me. “Let me see you. Are you done with your
thing
?”

She hesitates a
beat. “No. Not yet.” Her voice has changed. There’s reluctance in there. And
excitement.

My cock stirs.
“You owe me, Elly.”

She breathes out
again. “I know, but this thing I’m doing…it’s complicated.”

“Complicated is
if you’re shackled to a wall in a dungeon in an underground castle somewhere in
the South China Sea. Are you?”

“No, not
exactly.”

“You’re shackled
to a wall in a dungeon in New York?”

“I’m not shackled
anywhere. But I’m locked
into
something.”

“Something that
prevents you from having dinner with me?”

She gasps. “You
want to take me out?”

“I want. You
sound surprised.”

“Well, I’ve never
been…” She stops. Seconds tick by. “I can’t go to dinner with you, Quinn.”