I, Porn Star (I #1) (28 page)

“On account of
those shackles?”

“Something like
that.”

My hand travels
down to lie on the bulge in my pants. Just hearing her voice makes me hard. “I
want to see you.”

She sighs.
“Maybe…I can come to your office. Have lunch…?”

“No.”

“Right. Okay.”
She sounds hurt.

“No, because I’m
not there. And lunch is too short. I want dinner with you.”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t say no to
me, Elly.” I harden my voice, give her a glimpse of my obsidian heart. “I don’t
like it.”

Her breath
catches. Silence thrums. “Can you give me half a day? I can’t promise anything,
Quinn, but maybe I can work something out?”

Despite the cruel
game I’m playing, I’m intrigued. “I can do that.”

“Okay.”

We don’t speak
for a minute, but the silence is easier. “Tell me,” I encourage.

“No. You sound
better.”

My laughter takes
me by surprise. “Better?”

“Yes.
Less…anguished.”

Laughter ceases.
I open my eyes, stare blankly at the white ceiling. “That’s a shame.”

A huff of
surprise. “You’re sorry you’re feeling better?”

“I’m sorry you
believe me to be anything but what I am.”

“I…don’t know
what that means.”

“Sure, you do,” I
respond. “You see me, Elly. Don’t you?”

“I see that you’re
in pain,” she whispers. “That for some reason you’re locked into the suffering
and choose to stay in it.”

My breath doesn’t
catch. My dead heart doesn’t skip a beat. Truth is truth. Truth from Elly
is…something else. But I’m not going to examine it right now. “Yes,” I respond
simply.

“Why?”

“Ask me why I
need breath to exist.”

“Quinn…” Her
voice drifts away together with, I suspect, her attempt to understand. “I’m so
sorry,” she eventually says.

Then
my breath catches. Because in that moment,
right then, I’m ablaze with the need to wrap myself in that sympathy, devour it
until there’s nothing left.

“Call me
tomorrow. Early. And, Elly?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll need a
yes.”

I hang up and
quickly redial.

“Fionnella, is
the apartment ready?”

A deep sigh. “No,
you said you wanted it done by morning. Twelve twenty-eight am is
not
morning.”

“Technically—”

“No. It’s not.” I
hear muffled sounds, probably her sitting up in bed. “What’s gotten into you,
Quinn?”

Ghosts dance on
the ceiling. I squeeze my eyes shut once more. “We need to bring the schedule
forward.”

She doesn’t pause
a beat. “By how much?”

“Weeks, not
months.”

“I can make it
happen. But are you sure?” There’s cautious optimism in her voice. But also
palpable relief. The end is in sight.

“I’m sure. It’s
time.”

“Does this have
anything to do with Lucky?”

“Will it matter?”

“Not to me. But
will you let it matter to you? Or is that question already redundant?”

“You see too
much.”

“Isn’t that why
we’re in this thing together? We saw too much,
felt
too much. And we
paid the price. Is that what’s happening with Lucky? Is she—?”

“About the
apartment—”

“No. Morning is
morning. I’m going back to bed. And Quinn.”

I remain silent.

“You better not
do anything stupid.”

I hang up and
stand. I root around for my car keys and wallet, then shove the discarded
clothes in the trash.

The Mustang isn’t
as fast as my DB9, but it still gets me back to my apartment in under half an
hour. I go to the second bedroom reserved for Q and pick up the things I need.

The DB9 has me
outside the Hell’s Kitchen loft in record time.

I key in the
code, disable the alarm and let myself in. A single lamp softly illuminates the
living and kitchen area, but upstairs is shrouded in darkness. I adjust the mask,
make sure the needle thin wire of the voice distorter is tucked inside my
cheek.

On silent feet, I
walk up the stairs.

Tomorrow, I’ll
have Elly. Tonight, I need Lucky.

***

Lucky

I’m dreaming that
stupid dream again. The one where happiness mocks me with its sheer fucking
brilliance. I want to shove it out of the way, skip to the terrifying bits and
just be done with it. But no, the death by happiness continues its fucked up
play by play.

Quinn’s smile.

His voice.

His laughter.

I
want you, Elly
.

You
see me, don’t you?

I begin to reach
out. And my wish is granted. His face catches fire. Begins to turn to ash right
before my very eyes. I want to recoil, but that means letting him go. I don’t
want to let go. I try to cling, but my hand comes away with the blackest soot.

Soot. Everywhere.
Climbing up my body, invading my mouth, my ears. My nostrils. I can’t breathe.

I jerk awake with
a silent scream.

Then realize the
dream isn’t over.

He’s found me.
He’s in the room with me.

A louder scream
as I launch out of bed. My shin smacks painfully into the bedside table as I
scramble backwards.

“Don’t hurt me!
Please don’t hurt me, Clay. We…let’s work something out.”

“Lucky—”

“I have money!
Four hundred thousand dollars. It’s yours. I can get more. Just give me some
time—”
Wait
. The voice. The smoked cedar aftershave. “
Q
?
” I squeak.

“Lucky.”

The adrenaline
high releases me with a gorging whoosh. I stagger from the relief, my hand
pressing against my chest to calm my hammering heart. Then the implication of
the last minute pounds into me. “
What the fuck is wrong with you?
”

I lurch towards
the bed again, intent on throwing some light, literally and figuratively on
this situation.

“Stay,” he
commands with a low, deep voice.

“No, I won’t
fucking stay! I’m not your goddamn dog. You can’t creep into my bedroom and
scare the living shit out of me, then tell me to
stay
.”

“My bedroom. My
body. My pussy.”

“
My
sanity. My terror. My fucking cardiac arrest!
”

“Do you want me
to leave?”

“Would you, if I
said
hell
yes?”

“No.”

“Then why bother
asking?”

“To make you feel
calmer.”

I dig shaking
fingers through my hair. “Jesus.”

“Get back into
bed, Lucky.”

“Why?”

“So I can make
you feel better.”

My breath
shudders out as other sensations replace fear and anger. The bombshell I
dropped will need addressing. But right now, I see his hulking shape against
the wall in the darkness, and I can’t think beyond the fact that
he’s here
.

He must sense my
shifting mood, my building excitement. He detaches himself from the wall. “The
bed. Now.”

I haltingly
retrace my steps, slide between the still warm sheets. I can’t turn on the
lights without permission, so I watch the shadow disrobe. A minute after I get
in, he gets into bed with me. One large hand grabs my hips and pulls me into
his body.

He’s fully
aroused, his cock a solid column between us. I catch the gleam of his beautiful
mask as he begins to explore my body.

Fear recedes.

Lust builds.

My sigh contains
more than a hint of contentment as he parts my legs and kisses his way down my
body. He reaches his destination, throws my legs over his shoulder and precedes
to make out with my pussy.

The extreme
emotions have me careening towards orgasm in three minutes flat. He licks me clean
and prowls up by body. His thick cock finds my core and he rams deep and hard
inside me.

“Oh!”

“Feel better?”
his electronic voice demands.

“Maybe.”

He rams hard
again and strokes in and out a few times. “How about now?”

My hands reach
out, tentatively caress his muscular arms. When he doesn’t stop me, I glide my
hands up to his broad shoulders. “Y…yes!”

He fucks me till
every last shred of fear evaporates. Bending low, I think he’s going to kiss
me. Finally. But he leans against my cheek.

“I frightened
you. I’m sorry.”

“I…it’s okay.”

“My body. My
pussy.”

Laughter startles
out of me, despite the climax bearing down on me. “Yeah, champ. I haven’t
forgotten.”

He grunts in
satisfaction. Fucks me deep. Deeper than ever before. My body is a teeming morass
of sensation. But a thought impinges.

“Q?”

“Hmm?”

“No cameras?”

“No. Not tonight.
This is for you…for me…for
us
.”

Well, shit if
that doesn’t make my treacherous body sing. Shit if that doesn’t make me come
harder than I’ve come in my life.

32

SCENE 2 - VIAGRA
NIGHTS

PART ONE

Lucky

“Can I have a
friend over?”

Fionnella looks
up from her clipboard. “A
friend
?” She says the word like it’s an STD.

I nod, calmly
spoon another mouthful of cereal into my mouth.

“Male or female?”
she asks from across the kitchen isle.

“Does it matter?”

She sets the
clipboard down. “Don’t be naive, Lucky.”

“Fine. Forget I
asked.”

“No, I won’t
forget it. Where did you meet this
friend
?”

“What makes you
think they’re not someone I’ve known my whole life?”

Her stare is
direct and cynical. “Are they?”

I shrug. “It’s no
big deal if you don’t want me to bring anyone here.”

She plays with
her pen for a minute. “It’s not up to me. You asked. I’ll run it upstairs, see
of there are objections to you having a
male
friend over.”

I bite the snappy
comeback off my tongue and swallow it. I’ve been a little cranky since I woke
up and found Q gone and another hundred thousand sitting on the dresser. In the
space of five days, I’ve made more money than I know I’ll make at any other point
in my life. I don’t even care about the stigma attached to how I came by it.

No, what’s got me
cranky is the way my heart feels…bruised each time I think of Q. How can I have
such weighty feelings for a faceless stranger? The way I felt two days ago in
South Carolina, when I woke up and Stephanie told me he’d left, disturbed the
hell out of me. Those feelings doubled this morning when I woke up to an empty
bed. How can his absence leave me with a hollow feeling inside when I don’t
even know what he looks like, what his real name is?

What baffles me
even more is that I have similar feelings towards Quinn, the man who’s barely
touched me, never mind fucked me.

A part of me
admits the feelings are attachment borne out of the circumstances I find myself
in. Quinn, Fionnella and Q are the only people I’ve had the most prolonged
contact with in the past five, harrowing weeks. Out of those three, one is becoming
a friend, one is fucking me and the other is mind-fucking me. And in some weird
way, I’m getting addicted to the friendship and both brands of fucking.

My mind skates
over the conversation with Quinn last night, and the desire to see him again
intensifies. So instead of telling Fionnella once again to forget I asked, I
look at her, smile and say, “That would be great. Thanks.”

She gives me a
peculiar smile in return, and goes back to her clipboard. “Your weight is much
improved. How do you feel generally?”

“Great.”

She ticks a box,
then looks at me. Her eyes are speculative. “Anything on your mind you want to
talk about?”

I tense. “Not
particularly, no.”

Did Q mention
Clay to her? If so, what is she going to do about it? What
can
she do about it? The fact that
she’s here, conducting her routine check-in suggests nothing has changed. But
then, what do I know?

“When will I be
returning to South Carolina?” I ask, trying to read her face.

She gives nothing
away. “You won’t be.”

My breath catches
and I lose my appetite. “Is…something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s
wrong. The boss has commitments in the city, so there’s been a change of venue,
that’s all.”

Relief eases
through me. “Oh, right.” I stare around the loft, but I can’t see any obvious
changes to the layout. “Will he be meeting me here from now on?”

“No.”

“He was here last
night.”

A flicker of
something crosses her face, but it’s gone almost instantly. “It’s his place,
Lucky. He can come and go as he pleases. Just as you can. No need to stay
cooped up in here all day.” Her gaze probes mine, and I’m thinking she does
know what I let slip last night.

I get up from the
counter, take my bowl to the sink to avoid looking at her. “I don’t like the
cold. No need to go out if I don’t have to.”

“It’s not that
cold today. Besides, you have warm clothes. I can organize a car service for
you if you want.”

I pour the
uneaten cereal down the garbage disposal and turn on the tap. “No, thanks. I’m
good.”

“Are you?”

My spine tenses
ten times harder than before. I grab a sponge and scrub the bowl. “I’m not sure
I know what you mean.”

She stays silent
for a short spell. Then sighs. “Okay, Lucky. Have it your way.” I’m not sure
why there’s a hint of sadness in that response.

I look over my
shoulder, but she’s gathering her things, shoving them into her giant bag. She
looks at me as she hitches the strap over her shoulder. Her smile is back. Only
this time, after witnessing a few variations of it, I can spot the cracks.

There’s tightly
furled grief. Icily controlled anger. Determination.

My gaze stays on
her as she makes her way to the door. I want to say something, but I don’t.
We’re all, in our own way, locked in compartmentalized codes of silence we dare
not breach.

She opens the
door, but pauses. “Your next appointment is tonight, but I suspect the boss
will be in touch sooner than that. Enjoy your day.”

True to form, the
moment I emerge from the shower twenty minutes later, I see the blinking green
light on top of the dresser. I’m not exactly sure how the box moved from the
living room into the bedroom, but I’ve stopped questioning the way things work
in Q’s world. He probably has invisible elves hiding in the closet.

The thought is
both disturbing and funny, and I chuckle as I switch the gadget on.

“Something
funny?”

“Just bemused at
the workings of your world.”

“Elaborate.”

My towel still
wrapped around me, I hop into bed and sit cross-legged with the gadget in front
of me. His voice emanates from speakers around the loft, but I feel our
connection through the box. “Your little black box moved upstairs. I was
debating whether leprechauns were at play or just modern technology.”

“It’s always been
there. I just moved it into your line of sight.”

“Oh, right.”

“How are you this
morning, Lucky?”

The question is
couched in civility, but for some reason, I shiver. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want to
try that again?”

“I’m
fine
,”
I stress. “You scared me last night, that’s all.”

“Your distress
has been addressed. The content of your response hasn’t.”

“And it won’t be.
That’s my business, Q. Please leave it alone.”

“Fionnella tells
me you won’t leave the loft.”

“Fionnella needs
to mind her own business too,” I respond, suddenly feeling decidedly less
friendly toward my maternal minder. “Whether I go out or not should be my
choice, surely?”

“Of course, but
the reason you won’t isn’t the cold, is it, firecracker? California maybe the
sunshine state, but it gets just as cold there sometimes, doesn’t it?”

My gut clenches
in shock. “What…how do you know?”

“Wild guess.
Which you just confirmed.”

I don’t believe
him. I lift shaking hands to my mouth and swallow hard. “Please…Q, leave this
alone.” My voice is a naked plea.

But of course, he
doesn’t. “Who is Clay?”

“He’s nobody!
Forget the name.”

“Why is he after
you, Lucky?”

I launch off the
bed, my agitated feet pacing away from the black box, as if I can escape him.
“Are you even listening to me? I don’t want to talk about it!”

“You belong to
me. You’re in danger from this individual. Tell me what I need to know, or I’ll
takes steps to find out on my own.”

I freeze in the
middle of the room. “
God, no!
Please don’t do that. Promise me you won’t
do that, Q?”

He counters
immediately. “I’ll give you my word, if you tell me what I need to know.”

I lick my lips,
wrestle down the correct words that’ll satisfy him and keep Petra and me safe
at the same time. “He’s someone I owe money to, okay? I put some distance
between us because I didn’t have the money to pay him.”

“That’s why you
came to me.”

I nod, remember
he can’t see me, and clear my throat. “Yes.”

“How much?”

Too damn much.
“About a million dollars.”

“You’re not sure
how much you owe him?”

“I’m…I’m hoping
he’ll accept a million dollars.”

“What if he
doesn’t?” he counters, his voice growing harsher with each question.

“Then it’ll be my
problem.”

“Wrong answer,
firecracker.”

I throw my hands
up. “Why? Why is it a wrong answer? How is any of this your problem? And don’t
say it’s because I belong to you. Our time together is finite. Once we’re done,
I walk away. You won’t need to think about me, or take on this…this
crusade
you don’t want to keep out of. What, are you bored with your own life?” My
chest heaves as I resume pacing. “Because I’m sure there are a thousand other
things you could interest yourself with besides me. Especially when I don’t
want you to be bothered!”

“You’re right. I
can be in a million other places, doing a million other things. But here I am.”

That does
something dangerous to my foolish, hopeful, heart. “Because I fascinate you?
Because I’m your little lapdog you can command to
stay
, and I will?”

“The former is
true. You fascinate me. The latter you respond to because you want to. I doubt
I can
make
you do anything you
don’t want to, firecracker.”

I hop back on the
bed, and stare hard at the black box. “I’ve told you what you wanted to know.
Do I have your word that you’ll leave it alone?”

“I’ll think about
it. Take off your towel.”

“I…
what
?
How do you know—
you can see me
?”
My gaze darts around the room.

“Yes.”

I jerk upright
onto my knees. “You said there were no cameras in here,” I snap.

“There weren’t
until you mistook me for someone who wants to physically harm you.”

My brain staggers
beneath the weight of what he’s saying. “But, I haven’t left the loft since
last night. How did you get a camera in here?”

“Accept that I’m
extremely resourceful, Lucky, and take off the towel.”

I shake my head,
my gaze still searching the room. When I don’t find it, I glare at the box.
“Where is it?”

“Why do you want
to know?”

“Because I want
to find it and rip the damn thing out.”

“Why?”

“Are you
seriously asking me that?”

“You’re still
distressed,” he observes coolly.

My breath puffs
out in disbelief. “I wasn’t when I came out of the shower.”

He doesn’t say
anything. Not for a good minute.

Exasperated, I
look around the room again. “What, you don’t like me pointing out that you’re
the cause of my distress?”

“No. I regret
that I’m not there to…see to it.”

The brief
hesitation in his words convinces me he doesn’t mean soothing my distress in
the normal,
comforting
way. The thought of
how
he would comfort me makes my heart skip a few beats. Not
enough to abandon the totally fucked up set of situations he’s ramming down my
throat right now.

“Q—”

“Take off the
towel, Lucky. I prefer not to ask again.”

“I prefer that
you give me your word that you won’t do anything about Clay.”

“You have my
word.”

I exhale in
relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I stay seated,
stare at the box for another ten seconds. Then I slowly lift my arms and let
the towel fall loose into my lap.

His breathing
alters. “Fuck, you have the most perfect tits, firecracker. I can fuck them all
day, you know that?”

My breath shortens
and my fingers slide into my hair just to give me something to do with my
hands. “You’d need a couple of pills of Viagra for that,” I joke.

He pauses a beat.
“Hmm, it’s not an unappealing idea.”

I freeze in
place. “What? You take Viagra?”

“Not normally.
But I would with you, to minimize the recovery periods in between fucking you.
The thought of giving it to you, making you come continuously all day and all
night blows my fucking mind.”