I, Porn Star (I #1) (31 page)

She swallows
every single drop, a sultry little smile of triumph teasing her lips.

I don’t have the
energy to call her on it. Instead, I bask in it as she gently massages my
balls. I take five to catch my breath, then pat my thighs. “Come here, baby.”

Lucky rises and
climbs onto my lap. I’m still erect, and my cock rests between her pussy lips when
she spreads her legs on either side of me. Her hips circle in cute little jerks
as she fights the need to plunge down and fill her snug cunt with my cock.

“Stay,” I warn.

She whimpers, but
her hands rise to rest on my shoulders. Her fingers play with the hair on my
nape as I take turns licking and sucking her beautiful nipples. Her wetness
soaks the head of my cock, but she doesn’t go beyond teasing herself with my
tip.

“My little
firecracker, you’re so good,” I murmur against her skin. “Do you want to be
rewarded for being my excellent little slave?”

“I’m not your…”
She stops. I look up to catch her biting her lip. “Yes,” she blurts.

I laugh. Another
titanium string anchoring me to my blackness snaps free. My laughter strangles.

What
the fuck is going on?

“Stand up. Turn
ninety degrees to your left and walk forward in a straight line. Slowly.”

She tenses at my
hard tone, but she does as she’s told. I get off the sofa and kick off my
pants. My dick is rock hard again. The sight of her, black stockings caressing
her legs, swaying sinuously on those heels, turns me harder still.

I prowl after
her. “Hands out in front of you now.”

She reaches out,
touches the cool glass wall. I stop behind her. She’s so fucking small. I want
to protect and possess. I want to absorb her into me and make her fly at the
same time.

I shut off my
increasingly disturbing thoughts and plant my hands on either side of hers. Our
bodies are so close I feel the soft heat vibrating off her. I want to bask in
it so bad, my vision blurs. “You know where you are?”

She shakes her
head. Her hair is styled up. I lean forward and bite lightly at her nape.

“You’re in front
of a glass wall. The light is dimmed, but the glass is still see through. We’re
on the thirtieth floor, but anyone who’s really looking can see you. What do
you think about that, firecracker?” I whisper in her ear.

Her throat moves.
“I…I don’t care.”

My cock jumps,
slapping her lightly on the ass. “Why don’t you care?”

“Because I just
want you to fuck me,” she replies shakily.

“So you don’t
mind who sees me cramming that tight little pussy?”

She moans, a soft
and needy sound that makes my cock slap her again. “Your body. Your pussy.
However you want it.”

A red haze
blankets me. “
Jesus
. Where the fuck
did you come from?” The raw question burns my throat. Another million alien
sensations lance me as I place my hands over hers.

I don’t even need
to tell her to part her legs, pout her sexy rump toward me. I bend my knees
long enough for my cock to find her entrance. An upward thrust sends her to her
toes. Her scream is fucking ambrosia. She turns her head and places her cheek
against the glass. And I fuck her long and hard and deep until she comes and
collapses into my arms.

I carry her sweet
weight to the rug before the fireplace. Wait for her to catch her breath. Then
I take her ass.

The living room
becomes our dirty little playground long after the horizon tinges grey and
orange.

She’s almost
comatose when I slide into her pussy once more. Her back to my front, I wrap
both arms around her shoulders and waist. Trap her to me. I revel in her
shudders as I rock in and out of her slick channel.

Words fill my
head, rattle around, gather speed. Before I know it, they’re spilling out.

“I would keep
you, Lucky. If I didn’t need to do this. If my life wasn’t a fucked up
wasteland, I would keep you. Make you mine forever.”

She trembles at
my words. I fuck her some more, absorb her weary little cries. She begins to
unravel. Her inner clenches are as potent as her first orgasm, milk me just as
firmly.

“I’m coming for
you, firecracker. Coming so fucking hard…”

Her breath
hitches, like she’s catching back a sob.

As release grips
me in its relentless talons, I touch my fingers to the blindfold, over her
gorgeous eyes. They come away damp. She’s crying.

My own eyes sting
with the torment of suddenly, for the first time in my life, wanting something
I can’t have. Something I’m not worthy of.

And I don’t know
what to do with all these fucking feelings.

PART
FOUR

ELYSE

35

WALK & TALK

I
would keep you
.

Make
you mine forever
.

The words pound
through my head. The anguish, the bewilderment lacing in his tone continues to
haunt me two days later. I haven’t heard from Q since the early hours of Friday,
when I awoke in the penthouse alone. Fionnella tells me he’s tied up with other
matters and that until I hear from him, my time is my own. To be honest, I’m
grateful for the reprieve. The combination of marathon sex and ragged emotions
has left me in a state of shock.

Thursday night
was the most intense night of my life. Every single moment was overwhelming.
And deeply personal. So much so, I barely noticed the cameras. And when I
remembered they existed, I didn’t care. In hindsight I realize what’s happened.

Sex with Q has
stopped being a transaction and turned into something else. Something more. I’m
falling for him. Probably already have.

The enormity of
that revelation has turned me into a half-zombie. I haven’t left the loft. I
miss him, want that damned black box to light up. At the same time, I’m scared
that he will get in touch. Because on Friday, after I managed to find the
energy to walk and leave the apartment, I came home to find three hundred
thousand dollars on my dresser. I’m now two hundred thousand shy of my goal.
Two more ‘normal’ sessions. Or one intense fuck away from never seeing Q again.

The anguish that knowledge
brings terrifies the shit out of me.

To take my mind
off my terror, I do something equally terrifying.

I begin to make
plans on how to contact Clay once I have the money.

I can’t just show
up back at Getty Falls and expect him to forgive and forget. I also need to
find a way to make him accept that the million dollars is better than
attempting to wrestle Petra’s whereabouts from me.

Handling Clay
Getty will be a delicate task. He didn’t rise to his position of power by
letting people like me get away with wronging him. And by destroying his prized
possession, I’ve placed myself in the prime position of number one enemy.

I pace the loft
for a couple of hours before I summon the courage to flip on the wi-fi to
connect to the Internet.

A quick search of
the Fresno newspapers tells me very little about what’s happening in Getty
Falls. I don’t refine my search because I once heard Lolita mention something
about a geo-locator on websites that track searches. I have no clue how many
people search Getty Falls, but I don’t want to take the risk of shining a
spotlight on myself.

What I do is hit
Twitter and search for the Getty Falls Sheriff’s Office page. On the main page
is a short bio and picture of the sheriff with his shit-eating smile. I scroll
down and read through the feed.

Acting
Sheriff Daniels responds to a burglar alarm…suspect apprehended.

Two days prior to
that…
Acting Sheriff Daniels and Officer Pratt respond to reports of a
domestic altercation
.

I go back as far
as I can to when the sheriff was last on duty. I hold my breath when I find
what I’m looking for.

Sheriff
Clayton Getty on a temporary leave of absence to deal with private matters.
Deputy Rick Daniels will act as Sheriff.

Officers
attend the funeral of Ridge Mathews
.
My breath catches and I click on the attached link. …
Sheriff Getty confirmed his death was a
tragic accident
.

God, Clay covered
it up. My heart continues to race as I scroll back up and stare at Clayton
Getty’s picture in the bio.

Yes, my
biological father isn’t just a third-generation brothel landlord, he’s also a
corrupt sheriff in charge of law enforcement at Getty Falls. And he took a
leave of absence the day after I burned his whorehouse down and skipped town.

I’m staring at
his picture when a retweet pops into the feed.

Person
of interest sought in Getty Falls fire. Elyse Gilbert, 5”4’ has been missing
since the fire. If seen, contact Sheriffs Dept
. There’s a link beneath the message along with my picture. The
phone clatters to the ground as ice drenches me from head to toe. My heart
bangs against my ribs and I struggle to breathe.

I scramble for
the phone again. I turn off the wi-fi and jump up from the sofa. But the truth
is inescapable. If I needed confirmation that Clayton was coming after me, I
have it.

But would he have
put my name and picture up on social media if he knew where I was? Does the
fishing expedition mean he’s lost my trail? I force the fear aside and try to
think things through properly. Since quitting my job at Blackwood Tower, I’ve
been off the radar for a week. Even if he knows I’m in New York, my not using
public transportation right now may be working to keep him from finding me.

All the same, I
need to bring this to a head sooner rather than later. Every day he wastes time
trying to find me and doesn’t means his attention might shift to locating
Petra.

I glance at the
phone, debate whether to call Fionnella to tease out a more specific date for
when I’ll next see Q.

The phone
vibrates just then, making me jump.

Quinn.

My heart leaps
for a different reason. Hands shaking, I answer the phone.

“Hi.”

“What’s wrong?”
The coarse rasp of his voice holds a layer of concern.

I suck in a deep
breath. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me,
Elyse.” Steel layers over concern.

I rub my forehead
in agitation. “I did something. And it’s catching up to me.”

“Are you in
danger?”

I squeeze my eyes
shut for a second. “I’m trying my best not to be.”

“And how are you
doing that?” he fires back.

How can I tell
him that I’m selling my body to pay off the pimp whose empire I destroyed? “I’m
still trying to work that out.”

Quinn stays
silent for a minute. “Would you consider my help?”

My heart flutters
like mad. “Thanks, but no.”

“You would offer
me relief, but won’t take help in return?” he rasps.

The differences
between us charges up like an invisible wall. I’m not sure exactly what his
issues are, but mine will land me murder and arson charges should they ever get
out. “This…it’s not the same. You advised me to run not too long ago. I think
it’s only fair that I tell you to do the same.”

“Why?”

I rub harder.
“I’d hate for you to be caught up in my shit, Quinn.”

“Too late.” The
way he says it, soft, deadly, like a coiled, poisonous snake fat with venom,
just itching to sink its lethal fangs into something.

I shiver despite
the ambient temperature. “It’s not—”

“We can table
this discussion for another time, but don’t waste more words on this. I want to
see you today.”

I should say no.
I
should
. I should stay
inside, hide from Clay.

A broken piece of
me picks itself up off the floor, stabs at the fear. “Okay. I’m not sure what
kind of company I’ll be though.”

“Leave your mood
to me. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

He hangs up,
leaving me with yet another head full of questions.

I don’t call
Fionnella. And I slap a
to be continued
sticker on my puzzling feelings
about Q and shove it to the back of my mind.

But there’s one
call I’ve been putting off. I dig out my backpack, pull out the picture of Ma
and I and turn over the frame. The alphanumeric code I wrote translates to a
phone number, and I dial it with shaking hands.

“Hello?” A
tentative voice answers.

“It’s me. Elyse.”

“Oh, it’s so good
to hear your voice. We’ve been so worried! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mrs.
Ringwald.”

Her laughter is
tinged with relief. “I told you, call me Doris.”

“Doris…is she
there?”

“Of course. Hold
on.”

The phone
clatters softly, then it’s picked up again.

“Elyse?”

My heart leaps
and tears burn. “Petra. How…how’s things?”

“Good. Well, good
with a
heavy
dose of boring,” she amends.

I laugh. And it
feels so good. “The farm not keeping you busy?”

“I love the
horses. The home-schooling, not so much.” She lowers her voice. “Doris likes to
repeat the same lesson over and over, like I’m thick or something.”

I grin at the eye
roll in her words, then I sober up.

“Don’t give her a
hard time, okay? This is all new to her, too.”

Petra sighs. “I
know. I think her and Paul are thinking of swapping. Hopefully he’s better at
the teaching thing.” She pauses for a few heartbeats. “Am I going to see you
soon?”

My heart lurches.
“I won’t lie to you, Petra. I don’t know. For now, it’s best I stay away.”

I’ve met my
beautiful baby sister only once. A year ago when Clayton started asking
questions, I took steps to track her down and warn her adoptive parents about
the threat he posed. Paul and Doris Ringwald took the warning seriously and
relocated from Nevada to Idaho. My second warning call two months ago forced
them to head north to a farmhouse outside Vancouver. It helps me sleep better
at night to know they’re as invested in her safety as I am.

“Are you sure we
can come back when I turn eighteen?” Petra presses.

“Yes.” Clayton
would no longer have any rights to claim her then. “So please hold on a little
longer, okay?”

Another sigh.
“Okay.”

“I’ll call when I
can. I promise.”

She passes me
back to her adoptive parents and I reassure them that everything’s okay before
I hang up.

Once my heart
resettles, my thoughts return to Quinn.

What exactly does
leave your mood to me
, mean? And where is he taking me this time?

I take a long
scented bath, puzzle over the questions a little more, then abandon them. Quinn
is electrifying cryptic. And autocratically hard-headed.

Almost as much
as—

The sponge I’m
running over my arm pauses. I frown.

Am I in danger of
blurring the lines by comparing the two men in my life? They aren’t that alike.
Both are seriously alpha, sure. But Q doesn’t ask. He takes. Whereas Quinn asks
persistently until he gets what he wants.

My frown clears
for a minute, then returns.

But they both set
me on fire, and I fear more exposure will only make things worse. Except I’m
not in a hurry to walk away from either.

I try to shut my
thoughts off as I zip up my sleeveless black jumpsuit and strappy heels. On a
self-comforting whim, I dig into my backpack and bring out a small jewelry box.
Inside nestles a delicate silver chain with a heart locket given to Ma by her
father for her sweet sixteenth. It’s the only thing I kept from Ma’s belongings
beside the picture and I intend to give it to Petra. But I can’t resist wearing
it now, to feel closer to the mother I lost and the sister I’ve turned my life
inside out to protect.

Quinn rings the
buzzer at eight. This time, he comes to the door.

Those eyes dig
into me, and I make sure to keep my smile carefully pinned into place. I make
no effort to resist when he cups my nape and tilts my head up to kiss me.
Somewhere between the bath and getting dressed, I decided to take this evening
as it comes. I’ll give him as much of my truth as I can without endangering my
sister. What he does with that information will be his problem.

For now…the kiss.
God, I love the way he kisses.

I’m moaning like a
whore in church by the time he lifts his head.

“I’ve fucking
missed doing that.”

I laugh. “Me
too.”

He doesn’t smile
exactly, but I can tell my response pleases him. “You ready?”

I nod. The
weather has turned warmer in the last couple of days, so I bring a wrap with my
clutch.

We head to a
nightclub—
XYNYC
—in SoHo. Even before we reach the valet
parking area, the paparazzi are upon us. They shout Quinn’s name, fire
questions about who I am and what we are to each other. Lights blind me and I
stumble when I get out of the car.

Quinn tries to
protect me from the more aggressive of the paps and that sparks an even greater
frenzy. By the time we stumble through the VIP entrance, I’ve swung from
easygoing about our date to regret.

“Sorry about
that.” Quinn’s jaw tightens and he gauges my reaction carefully once we’re
inside. “They normally keep their distance.”