I, Porn Star (I #1) (24 page)

He laughs. “The
only way you’re going to stop me, little girl, is to shoot me.”

My mind blanks.

I lift the gun.

I shoot.

***

I stare down at
the money.

I remind myself
again why I’m doing this.

My beautiful,
innocent sister. The only one who matters in all this.

I’m doing it so
Clayton doesn’t turn another daughter into a whore.

Yes, Clayton
Getty is
my
biological father
.
Finding out I was his and not Earl’s is partly why he spared Earl’s life.

But he’s also the
man who took bids from strangers as to who would be the first man to defile his
seventeen-year-old daughter.

I shot Ridge
Mathews to keep him from going after my sister. I’m going to offer Clayton
Getty one million dollars to forget Petra exists.

If he doesn’t
accept, I will shoot him too. Because there’s no way I’m allowing him to do to
Petra what he’s done to me.

PART
THREE

QUINN

27

THE MARISLASIS

The first time I
heard the term I was twelve years old.

The
Greater Good
.

The definition
seemed strange to me.

How could
sacrificing what you want in favor of what someone else wanted be a good thing?
It’s possible it was the first time I realized something was wrong with me.

I was a spoiled,
pampered, only child. The male offspring of two powerhouse dynasties who could
make grown men cower before me from the moment I realized what true power was.
Sacrifice wasn’t in my vocabulary. Neither were words like
reasonable
or
considerate
.

One particular
word that was totally alien to me was
sharing
.

I didn’t share.
Period. The fact that I had to share my mother with my father was a huge
problem for me from the day I was born. Learning to swallow that bitter pill on
a daily basis was enough of a sacrifice in my opinion.

So imagine my
surprise when I realized this
sharing
nonsense was truly a thing. That
people actually participated in it. Of their own free will.

But even then, I
was jarringly aware that what he was asking of her that night didn’t seem
right.

Mothers and
fathers were supposed to love each other.
Only
each other. Right?

So seeing him
lead her down the hallway to the guest suite was disturbing enough. Odder still
was the super skimpy nightie she wore. Mama’s nighties were always long and
flowing, with a robe over it with a train that made her look like a queen.

Not tonight,
though. Tonight she looked like one of those girls in the cheap magazines Wesley,
my driver, hides beneath the car seat when he sees me coming. The idiot doesn’t
know I have my own, superior, collection thanks to Armand, our gardener.

But I digress.

Mama. Looking
un-queen like. In the part of the house that’s far away from the bedroom suite
she shares with my father.

I should be in
bed. But I’m rarely able to sleep when we have guests. For one thing, everyone
wants a piece of Mama, and sometimes my annoyance at having to work for her
attention keeps me up at night. She’s mine and mine alone.

Her sole
attention is what makes my world turn.

Call it what you
will…some fucked up Oedipal Complex? Yeah, I know what it means. I looked it up
after I heard some asshole joke about it in reference to me and Mama when we
were at the country club the other day. Maybe that’s what I have. There’s
nothing remotely sexual about the connection I have with my mother, but who
cares what other people think? All I know is that I’m never happier than when
she’s smiling at me. Hugging me. Laughing at the jokes I meticulously scour
books, TV shows and magazines to find and tell her. Watching her face blossom
with happiness when she sees me is like seeing the sun come out after a
horrible thunderstorm.

I hate those.
Thunderstorms. I also hate it when she’s not smiling.

Tonight, she’s
not smiling. She crying.

The sound
triggers a series of memories. I frown when I realize I’ve heard it before. The
sound of her crying. I never thought much about it because I always assumed it
was Mrs. Harper, our overly emotional housekeeper who cries at a drop of a hat,
especially when she’s with Mama. The few times I heard the crying, it would
turn out to be Mrs. Harper, not Mama. Mama would always smile a happy smile
when she saw me.

But tonight her
cheeks are wet. Her shoulders are hunched over as Maxwell, my father, leads her
down the hallway to the double doors of the guest suite.

Captain
Harrington’s suite.

My concern for
her makes me leave my hiding place behind the huge grandfather clock in the
guest wing. I creep closer along the wall, making sure to stay in the shadows.
My heart bangs against my ribs in fear and confusion as Mama holds her fist
against her mouth.

“You agreed,
Adele. You don’t want to let me down, do you?”

Mama shakes her
head.

Maxwell nods in
satisfaction and kisses her gently on the forehead. His gentleness with her
makes my anger with him abate a touch. But my heart is still racing, my brain
utterly perplexed at what is happening.

“Remember the end
goal. Remember this is for the greater good.”

A sob catches in
her throat. I’m ready to lunge out of my hiding place when Maxwell turns the
door handle and pushes it open. Mama stumbles forward, her high heels catching
on the carpet. She turns and looks at Maxwell. Her face looks…pleading, her
eyes great pools of distress. His jaw tenses and he jerks his chin at her.

“The greater
good, Adele.”

Why is he saying
that? From my hiding place I can tell what’s going on is the opposite of good.
Mama is crying. That’s
bad
.

I have to save
her.

I step out. Then
immediately shrink back when I see the two men coming silently down the hall.
They’re Captain Harrington’s assistants; they arrived with the Captain and are
staying for the weekend at our plantation mansion in South Carolina. They both
give me the creeps, the big, muscly one especially.

Maxwell sees them
and steps back from the doorway. They’re both dressed in their pajamas and one
of them is holding something in his hand. Like the video camera Mama got me for
my last birthday. They enter and shut the door without speaking to him.

I plaster myself
against the wall as Maxwell walks past me and returns to his bedroom. My gaze
swings back to the guest suite door.

Mama is in there,
doing something. Something she doesn’t want to do. Something that makes her cry.

And she’s doing
it for
the greater good
.

I stay in my
hiding place for hours and hours, the three words playing in my head.
Eventually, my eyelids begin to droop. I want to go knock on the door, see if
Mama’s all right. But my feet won’t obey me. They want to run in the other
direction, back to my room. I don’t let them. Because I don’t want to leave
Mama in that room.

Mrs. Harper finds
me in my hiding place at sunrise. She hassles me back to bed. I want to ask all
the questions bursting through my mind.

But the old biddy
is crying again, sniffing into that damn white handkerchief she always has
tucked in her pocket.

She promises me
pancakes for breakfast, as if she’s offering me some rare, magnificent treat.
It’s stupid, because I’m Quinn Blackwood. If I want pancakes, I’ll have
pancakes. She has zero power over the delivery or withholding of pancakes. What
I want her to do is to return to that room and get Mama. I’d do it myself but I
can barely keep my eyes open. But Mama can’t stay in that room no matter what
she agreed.

Because from
where I’m standing, it’s very clear that the greater good sucks.

28

BOOM SHOT

The sound of her
footfalls pulls me from the Blackwood plantation mansion hallway to the
present. The only greater good in my immediate future is what I’m planning to
do to her in this room.

The larger plan
is already taken care of.

My gaze moves
over the items on the table. Half of the toys I thought I’d need I’ve
discarded. Pure, undiluted chemistry has taken care of the need for extra
stimulants. We still have several days to cover, and those items could well
come in handy.

For now, Lucky’s
body is enough. Just the thought of her supple form and I’m hard as a fucking
rock.

I turn from the
French windows from where I’ve been staring across the water at the Blackwood
mansion. I haven’t set foot in that place in years. For a second, I think of
Mrs. Harper. And her disgustingly addictive pancakes.

Footsteps draw
near, and my thoughts scatter.

The room I’m in
is dark. But the dining room is staged and lit to my specification. She enters,
and the inferno in my groin rages higher.

The body chain
circles her neck and drapes her figure to perfection. The gold chain fringes
that fall over her breasts play peekaboo with her aroused nipples. Lower,
another chain circles her waist, with a fringe over her pussy. With each
movement beneath the lights, her body glows and highlights her perfection. I
grit my teeth against the pounding in my cock.

Added to the edge
riding me, I grapple to find control. So I force myself to stay put, take
several beats before joining her. I stride closer to the doors dividing us and
watch as she picks up the note next to her place setting.

Barely an hour
ago, I thought tonight would go differently. She wanted to ‘see’ me. I arranged
to make it possible. But that was before memories set my blackness on edge. I
shouldn’t care about the effect I have on Lucky. But I remember Elly’s reaction
the first time she looked into my eyes. I was calm then and she was barely able
to look at me.

I’m not calm now.

My hooded gaze
tracks Lucky’s movement as she leans forward and lifts the dome off the first
‘dish’. She’s disappointed to see the blindfold. The twinge in my chest
suggests I care about her disappointment.

Curious.

I finger the
control in my hand, debate for a second, then press the play button. Her head
snaps up at the sound of the familiar music.

And she smiles.

Her fingers
caress the piece of silk in her hand, but she doesn’t move to put it on. My
rigid cock protests at the delay.

“Is there a
reason for your inactivity, Lucky?” I drawl.

She startles,
then a trace of hurt crosses her face. She quickly blinks it away. “Hi to you,
too.”

“The blindfold,
please,” I insist.

She tenses for a
second. Then she moves the dish away as instructed and climbs onto the table.
She settles on her knees, the dangerously sexy stilettos tucked against her bare
ass. Raising her hands, she secures the blindfold in place and rests her hands
palm up on her thighs.

I open the French
doors, enter the room and take my place at the head of the long banquet table.

“Good evening,
Lucky. You look stunning.”

She catches her
inner lip between her teeth before she answers. “Thank you. Wish I could see
you so I can return the compliment.”

The ploy almost
makes me smile. “The night is still young. I could change my mind before we’re
through.”

“I…hope you do.”

That little telltale
of her wants jars me in an unfamiliar way. A way it makes me
want…again…absurdly…to offer her what she desires.

I change the
subject. “How were your preparations this afternoon?”

Heat flares into
her cheeks but she doesn’t turn away in embarrassment. “They were…different.”

“How do you
feel?”

She grimaces.
“Can we talk about something else besides my butt, please?”

“No, Lucky.
Your…butt is the focal point of tonight’s entertainment.”

Her lips purse
and she looks away for a second. “Are you okay?”

The unexpected
questions jars. “Am I
okay
?”

She nods. “You
sound a little…off.”

I laugh. “A
curious conclusion.”

“Scoff all you
want. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just…I don’t want to
spend the evening wondering if you’re all right. That’s all.”

“I’m…” I stop
when I realize I’m not in the mood to lie. Nor am I willing to have my thoughts
recorded on camera. This part will need to be edited out, anyway. “Your concern
is noted.”

Another trace of
hurt passes over her face. I ignore it and focus on the space between us. She’s
too far away.

“Come to me,
Lucky. Don’t be afraid, I’ll guide you.”

She takes a
breath, then reaches forward. When her palms connect with the surface of the
table, she tentatively crawls forward. The chains sway against her body,
offering me a view of her beautiful, pink-tipped tits.

Behind the fly of
my black pants, my cock engorges and throbs painfully. I squeeze the base to
alleviate some of the pressure, and will her closer.

“The second dish
is in front of you. Stop…now.”

She pauses and
gingerly reaches forward. Her fingers brush the silver dome and she lifts the
lid and sets it behind her. Searching, she finds her gift and picks it up. Her
head cocks to one side as she investigates. Then her breath hitches.

“Do you know what
you’re holding, firecracker?” I murmur.

“Yes, I think
so.”

“Turn it on.”

She adjusts her
hold and twists the gadget to its first setting. A low hum joins the music.

“Open your legs.
Put it in.”

Her lips part on
a single pant. Slowly, her knees slide apart on the table. Watching Lucky slide
the silver vibrator between her legs, her hips jerking and a full-body shiver
gripping her as electricity hits her sensitive folds, is beyond sexy. The
cameras are picking up her every move, and I know this is a shot I’ll be
replaying for a long time.

“Close your legs.
Move a little to your right, and come forward. Don’t let it fall out.”

Another shiver as
she traps the vibrator between her pussy lips. Lifting and setting the dinner
plate behind her, she crawls forward once more. Her movements are inhibited by
the gadget between her legs, and her breath catches whenever the vibrations hit
her right.

She’s two thirds
of the way to me. I want to surge to my feet, move the last dish out of the way
and penetrate her hard, the way I did the second time yesterday. I can’t afford
to get carried away. As much as I love fucking her, this production is for a
specific purpose. The enjoyment of it, though surprisingly mind-altering, can’t
outweigh the end goal.

Her crawl has
brought her close enough for me to hear her agitated breathing over the music.
Her nipples are hard points and her arms tremble as she stretches forward. The
last dish is set in front of me. With admirable accuracy, she finds and lifts
the dome.

Her fingers
search over the gadget and hot color flares into her cheeks.

“Would you like
me to help you with it?”

She swallows hard
and shakes her head.

“Make it wet,” I
instruct, curbing my disappointment and contenting myself with watching her
lick the black butt plug from tip to base.

I shift in my
seat and lower my zipper to ease the tight pressure. My cock springs out. I
grip it hard, pump it a couple of time, and bite back a groan. I lean forward
and move the dishes out of the way, then subside back into my chair. “Turn
around. I want to see you put it in.”
 

Her nostrils
quiver in reaction to my command, but she shifts around on her knees until
she’s facing away from me. Her hair is hanging in a wavy curtain down her back,
the soft lines of her figure flaring to curvy hips, making me itch to get my
hands on her once more. My breath locks in my throat as she leans forward on
one hand. She widens her stance and I see her perfect little cunt framed around
the vibrator.

She starts to
edge the butt plug towards her puckered entrance. I surge to my feet and seize
her wrist. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take care of this part.”

Her breath falls
out. She releases the plug and braces both hands on the table.

I set the plug
down, unable to resist touching her beautiful skin. My finger traces the
delicate line of her spine from nape to tail bone, my blood thrumming at her
minute shivers. I palm her ass and squeeze the firm globes, knead her until she
moans. I want to reach for her tits, but I’m already leaking, and I’m yet to go
anywhere near her back passage. I hook my hand on the underside of her ass and
caress her clit with my thumb. Another loud moan rips from her throat.

I flick the
vibrator to the second setting and her back arches as pleasure curls through
her. “Oooh…”

“Do you like
that, firecracker?”

“Hmm…yes.”

Wetness coats my
thumb. I trace it up to her butt hole and spread it around. She tenses slightly
but relaxes when I don’t apply pressure. I take my time, apply moisture between
the two holes. I resist for as long as I can stand, then spread her wide and
taste her.

A tiny scream
unfurls from her as I rim her with my tongue. I want more of that sound, so I pile
on the pleasure. Readjusting my stance, I slip one hand under and between her
legs to massage her pussy as I lick her puckered hole. Her whole body shakes.

“Oh God…Q,” she
pants.

“Come for me when
you’re ready, sweet thing. No permission needed tonight.”

My words seem to
open up a wider avenue of pleasure for her. Her body softens even more, her
pussy grows wetter and I’m offered her heady deliciousness on a plate.

“Jesus, you’re
unbelievable.”

I tune into her
breathing, the jerky roll of her hips, the spasming of her hands on the table.
I pick up the plug when I manage to fit the tip of my tongue in her tight
channel.

When I feel her
on the edge, I give her clit a few hard taps. Her head snaps up, and she gives
a loud scream as she climaxes. I ease back and place the plug against her hole.
The moment her ride starts to slow, I push it in. She bucks wildly against the
pressure, then screams again as it slides home and another orgasm catches the
tail wind of the first.

She gushes
against my hand, and I nearly lose my mind. I drop my head between her
shoulders, momentarily regretting the presence of my mask, and absorb her
shudders through the metal barrier.

When she quiets,
I remove my hand, coat my dick with her slickness, and arrange her face up on
the table. Her breathing is still labored, but I’m done waiting. I pull her
forward so her head hangs over the table, and move the chains aside to free her
breasts. My stance widens to fit her head between my legs, and I trap her
beautiful globes in my hand and slide my cock between her breasts.

 
The feeling is exquisite enough to make
me pause for a teeth-clenching breath. My reeling senses puzzle what it is
about her that fires me up so high. I’ve fucked more women than I can count.
Each one, bar one or two, was a pleasure filled experience. I love pussy. Have
done since my very first taste.

Lucky is
something else. I sensed the anomaly the moment she lifted her gaze to the
camera that first day.

I take a beat to
ponder why.

Is it because she
is the denouement in this fucked up play? The crowning glory in what I intend
to be a rousing victory? Or is she, like my fucked up self, a version of her
own anomaly, created to blend with mine?

She knocks my
hands, and thoughts, out of the way, and cups her breasts around my cock. I
want to berate her impatience, for the control-taking. But I’m too fucking
turned on by the move. I stare down at her petite, perfect figure, her creamy
skin against my darker one. The sight is unbelievably engrossing enough to draw
a tight groan from my throat. I slide my hands down her sides to circle her
waist. Using the leverage I pump myself harder, faster. Her moan tells me she
loves it. I keep up the pace, feel my balls tighten in readiness for the wild
ride to my black bliss. Her hips start to pump, the vibrator still doing its
job. I slide one hand between her legs and she’s soaked. My eyes fight the urge
to roll as the rush grows more intense. I want to see her body; addicted to her
every movement. Her thighs clamp around my hand and she jerks.

“Q!”

“Yes, baby. Let
it fly.”

She lets go and
the sounds from her throat are the headiest I’ve ever heard. It connects
straight to my balls. I pump hard once, twice, then grab her hands and lift
them away. Her beautiful breasts are exposed to me. I stagger back, vision
blurred, and blow my load all over her tits. The force of the orgasm weakens my
legs. I brace one hand on the table and continue to spurt over her body. The
sight of my semen on her skin does something to my brain. I want to stain her
in it, make it so she’ll never be free of me.