I, Porn Star (I #1) (30 page)

He squeezes my
hand then lets go. The valet opens my door, and I join Quinn in front of the
restaurant. He passes the keys to the valet and slides his hand around my
waist.

We enter the split-level
restaurant and are led upstairs by a smartly dressed maître d’ who addresses
Quinn by name, tells him how honored he is to have him revisit after so long.
Quinn’s nod is curt, enough to dissuade further conversation.

The smoky
mirrored ceilings and grey marble decor bleeds class and exclusivity. There are
about a dozen tables on the second floor. We’re led to the table in the middle,
which involves passing several tables with diners who obviously know Quinn
Blackwood. Ergo, he gets respectful nods and smiles and I get the,
who the
fuck is she
looks. One particularly potent one makes me miss my step.
Quinn’s hand tightens on my waist.

When we reach the
table, he helps me with my jacket, which he hands to a waiter, then pulls out
my chair and leans close behind me. “Stop looking so wide-eyed and beautifully
lost. It pushes my manic button.”

My whole body is
caught in a tremor as I settle into my seat. When he sits down, I glance at him
and grimace.

“Sorry, I—”

“Please don’t say
you can’t help it.” He arranges his wine and water glasses a short distance
away from his plate. “That’s worse.”

I purse my lips,
aware that the words flowing from him are almost an afterthought to whatever is
going on behind his eyes. And something’s going on. Something so dark and deep,
I’m too scared to even look directly at him for too long.

I toy with my
water glass and on a wild whim, nod when the
sommelier
arrives with a
chilled bottle of wine. I have a feeling I’ll need the rare alcohol boost to
survive the evening.

“You never told
me how old you are.”

He takes a large
sip of wine and his eyes hook into me. The outer ring of jagged black around
his iris seems to be eating up the blue. “Old enough. Maybe even too old.”

“What does that
mean?”

He just shrugs.

I set my glass
down. “I’m sorry if I broached a touchy subject. You should have stopped me if
you didn’t want me to ask.”

“You wanted to
see beneath the layer. Don’t blame me if you don’t like what you see.”

“Is this how your
dates normally go?”

“This isn’t a
normal date.”

For some reason
alien to me, I try harder. “Tell me how your other dates go, just for the hell
of it.”

“A fuck for a
starter, a fuck for the main and a fuck for dessert,” he murmurs, loud enough
for me to hear, low enough not to be overheard.

Heat surges
through me. “So I’m the exception to the rule?”

“None of them
were in my head.
Ever
,” he says in that damn, even, sinister voice.

I’m more than a
little alarmed. “Quinn—”

“I want to remain
civil. For you. Don’t ask me why. So tell me something that doesn’t make me
think of all the terrible and fantastic things I want to do your body, Elyse.
Tell me now.”

“What do you want
to know?”

“Will you be
coming back to work for me at Blackwood?”

My breath
hitches. “Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“You don’t think
I was good at my job?”

“You were great
at it. But I have bigger plans for you than the need for you to serve me food.”

“You have plans
for me?”

His gaze drops
from my eyes to my mouth. “I want you, Elyse. My time is limited, but I want to
keep
seeing you.”

“I…don’t know if
that will be possible.”

His jaw hardens
for a second. Then he frowns and shakes his head. “What will it take? State
your terms.”

For the second
time in a very short half hour, my jaw threatens to drop. People like Quinn
Blackwood don’t ask people like me those questions. I think of all the things I
did in my life prior to five weeks ago, what I’ve done since. No way in hell
are we compatible on any polling system.

“You don’t want
me,” I say. The words hurt.

“Those are
useless words.”

I open my mouth,
to say what, I don’t know. The waiter approaches with menus. The food is French
fusion. The menu is in French. I have no idea what I’m looking at. My gaze
rises, collides with Quinn’s.

“She’ll have the
herb and truffle risotto to start, and the braised lamb with potatoes. I’ll
have the same.”

I hand my menu to
the waiter with a smile. When he departs, I glance at Quinn. “Thanks.”

He nods. “You
were saying?”

“I’m not from New
York. Maybe you’ve already guessed that. I ended up here because…my choices
were limited. Those choices mean I can’t start anything with you.”

“You already
have.”

The naked truth
shames me a little. “Maybe. But it can’t last.”

“Give me a time
frame to work with.”

“What?”

“We’re both
constrained by time. I want to know how long you can give me.”

I frown. “Are you
going somewhere?”

His gaze sweeps
down. “Something like that.”

“Oh. Umm…maybe a
couple of weeks?” The regret that pounds me with those words staggers me.

He leans forward
in his chair, bringing the towering force of nature with him. “So what we
initially agreed on? No more?” His spectacular eyes devour my face.

“That’s all I
have,” I say.

He slowly sits
back. “I’ll take it.”

I tremble in my
seat, wondering what I’ve let myself in for. Then I remember Q. “I may not be
available all the time.”

“Neither will I.”

I stare at him,
teeming with questions. Question I can’t ask because I don’t want to answer any
of his. Our food arrives. We eat mostly in silence, both focusing our turbulent
emotions on food. Once the plates are cleared away, I glance at him. His eyes
are still churning with demonic hell. “Why do you want me, Quinn?” I blurt,
repeating the question boring a hole inside me.

None of this
makes sense. Not really. Not when you take the time to think it through
rationally.

The fingers
resting on the table straighten out till his palm is flat. Then his finger
starts to bounce. “Maybe I want a little…relief.”

Something cracks
inside me. Because I get that. I reach out, lay my hand on top of his. His
finger stills. “Okay. I’ll be your relief. It’s okay, Quinn.”

“You don’t know
what you’re letting yourself in for.”

I sigh. “Make up
your mind. You want me to stay or you don’t.”

He exhales
sharply. For a moment he looks…lost. “I do.” He glances down at our hands. Then
back up. “Are you done eating? Do you want dessert?”

“Yes. No.”

He pulls his hand
from beneath mine, takes out his wallet and throws a few hundred-dollar bills
on the table. “Let’s get out of here.”

Outside, I turn
to him. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you
back.”

Disappointment swells
high. I want to spend more time with him. I want to start being his relief.
Like right now.

But Q is waiting.
And little slut that I am, I need what he gives me too. So I nod, and get in
Quinn’s car.

It’s a quarter to
ten when we get back to the loft. Quinn walks me to the door, his hand linked
tightly with mine. I key in the outer code and he walks inside with me. We walk
down the hallway in silence, and he waits till I open my front door. I turn to
him.

Suddenly, his
fingers are spearing into my hair. He’s thrusting me against the wall. I have a
nanosecond to gasp before his firm, delicious mouth is on mine. He roughly
parts my lips with his tongue, then he’s invading me.
Oh
God
. Quinn Blackwood tastes
amazing. I moan deep as my fantasy becomes a reality. He kisses my mouth the
way his eyes devour me: with single-minded, near demonic intent. He brazenly
licks the inside of my mouth, then bites my lower lip hard before soothing it
with his tongue. My clutch falls to the floor along with my jacket. Urgent
hands scramble for purchase on his hard, hot body. It lands somewhere on his
chest, and I cling on for dear life. When my gasps turn to desperate pleas for
air, he pulls back, stares down at me and slowly pushes his thumb into my
mouth. I don’t know whether to bite or suck. So I do both.

His breath hisses
out. After a minute, he yanks his digit out. Then he’s back to kissing me. My
fingers find his hair. I pull and scrape as my panties grow stupidly,
shamelessly wet. His hands move roughly over my body, searching, imprinting,
but his mouth never leaves mine. It’s as if he’s starved for it and doesn’t
intend to let up until he’s engorged.

My need to
breathe becomes increasingly frantic, and I gulp in desperate lungfuls when he
lets up. He rests his forehead against mine, rocks his hips into mine. The
thick outline of his cock makes me struggle not to salivate like a hormonal
teenager. But I can’t stop my hips from rocking forward too, from cradling him
for a mad minute against my pelvis.

He groans. “God,
I want to fuck you till you break. I may not be the right person to put you
back together, but I want to do it anyway.”

I lift my gaze
and am immediately annihilated by piercing silver blue pools of hell.

“I can’t,” I
breathe into his mouth.

He kisses the words
away, but doesn’t protest.

I can’t have sex
with him while I’m fucking Q. Even if I could get away with it, it feels wrong.
But the temptation is there.
God, how I’m
tempted
. Because if he fucks half as good as he kisses, I’m in for a wild
ride. I lick my lips and attempt to step back. His grip tightens, and he growls
under his breath.

“Not yet.”

“Quinn…”

“Don’t go yet,
Elyse. One more minute.”

His ragged plea
makes me melt back against the wall. “Okay.”

This time his
kisses are gentler. Like he’s feeding his depleted soul instead of the demons
riding him. We stay like that for a long time, his mouth sipping and nipping at
mine.

Eventually he
tears himself away with a harsh curse. He stares at me with a thousand
horrifying emotions seething in his eyes.

Then he walks away
without a backward glance.

34

SCENE 3 - VIAGRA
NIGHTS

PART TWO

“She’s on her
way.”

“How long?”

“Depending on
traffic, half an hour.”

“You’re angry
with me.”

Fionnella sighs.
“I don’t know what I am. But I do want to know what the hell you’re playing at.
She wanted to stay at the loft. That was perfect. Why take her out? And why
Juniere’s
for God’s sake? Maxwell and Delilah could’ve been there.”

“They weren’t.”

“Would you even
have noticed if they were?”

My jaw grits.
“Yes.”

“Quinn, we’ve
come too far for you to hit the self-destruct button prematurely when we’re
this close.”

I grip the phone
tighter. “I need her, Nella.”

“What about her?
Paying her for a job she undertook with her eyes wide open is one thing.
This…whatever you’re doing on the side with her… I can’t talk you out of it, I
know. But her baggage is as heavy as yours. Take a moment before you drag both
of you down.”

“It’s too late.”

She sighs again. “How
did I know you’d say that?”

“Because it’s
always been too late.”

“Quinn…” she
stops and exhales. “Don’t take her to
Juniere’s
again.”

I turn away from
the Fifth Avenue view and rest my back against the cool glass. I hadn’t meant
to take Elyse to Mama’s favorite restaurant or sit at her favorite table. That
it happened at all is a puzzle I’m grappling with. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she
responds.

“What about the
Clay situation?”

“I’m on it. I
should have something for you by Saturday.”

Fionnella is
normally quicker than that, but I know what day tomorrow is.

“Want some
company tomorrow?” I offer.

“No. But thanks.”
Her voice is bleak and cold with long suppressed grief. “You know I prefer to
do the drive on my own,” she adds roughly.

The drive to
Maine. To the grave where Michael, her son, is buried. It’s the anniversary of
his death tomorrow.

Michael Smith was
my age when Adriana Nathanson got her claws into him. A two-tour Marine
suffering from acute PTSD, the good doctor had fucked with his mind, while
fucking him every chance she got.

I met Fionnella
Smith on the last day her son was alive. She accompanied him to Dr. Nathanson’s
office because she was worried about his treatment. A chance meeting by the
water cooler. A desperate confession of her fears for her son. My biting advice
to take Michael and run. An email from her a month later that Michael had
committed suicide. My own confessions of what those who were supposed to love
her had done to Mama.

Those events
brought about this unlikely partnership. I may be fucked up beyond repair, but
I’m not fucking this up for her.

“Call me when you
get back,” I say.

“I will.”

She hangs up, and
I turn, lean my head against the glass. I want to blank my mind, but the voices
won’t stop. Neither does the raw hunger that’s been plaguing me since I walked
away from Elyse. Dinner was a bad idea. It opened me up to…a lot. I said
things…
felt
things I can’t take back. Like telling her about Kiawah
Island. She’ll only needs a quick internet search to connect the dots and find
out that where Q took her and where Quinn was born are two properties within
the same estate.

Maybe I want her
to make the connection? Maybe I’m tired of giving her one persona without the
other. Of fucking her without showing my face.

And that kiss.
Fuck, that kiss.

I groan, lift the
glass of whiskey and take a sip. My cock is harder than fuck. But my mind
hasn’t stopped reeling through events. Her hand on mine on the table. The
sympathy in her eyes. The unexpected jolting of that charred lump in my chest. And
this relief that I suddenly want? What the fuck is that about?

How can I want respite
now when it’s all coming to an end anyway?

I drain the glass
and toss it away, not caring where it lands. I press both hand against the
glass and breathe, searching for a center I know isn’t there.

I’m grateful when
the concierge’s buzzer sounds. “Your guest has arrived, sir. Shall I send her
up?”

“Yes,” I croak.

She’s here. The
sharp edges of my lust glisten, readying itself to cleave. I step back from the
window, go to the far side of the living room where the mask is waiting on the
cocktail bar. Next to it is a solitary blue pill. I swallow the pill and put on
the mask. The voice distorter goes in my mouth and I adjust the lighting. The
cameras are already rolling.

I open the door
and wait for the elevator to arrive. This apartment is by far one of the most
expensive of my New York portfolio. It’s also a Blackwood Estate apartment.
Once going back to South Carolina became unviable, I chose this apartment.

The elevator
arrives and I see she’s heeded my instruction. The weather is cool enough for
her to get away with a light coat covering her body. But I’m more interested in
what she has on underneath. Or what she hasn’t.

“Lucky.”

Her head jerks in
my direction, the blindfold I asked her to wear in the elevator firmly in
place.

“Hello, Q,” she
responds huskily.

I step forward to
stop the doors from shutting and toy with the idea of sliding my fingers
through hers like I did earlier this evening. Would she recognize Quinn’s
touch?

A part of me
wants her to; the part of me that confessed to needing her to Fionnella. The
part I haven’t been able to block out effectively since.

Another part of
me wants the game to continue forever.

I catch hold of
her wrist. Her perfume, the same one she wore to dinner, wraps around me as I
walk her into the apartment.

The moment the
door shuts, I come up behind her, slide my arms around her waist to untie the coat.
I release the single button and the coat slides off her shoulders.

She’s naked,
except for the lace topped stockings, the diamond necklace and her heels. I cup
her shoulders and she shivers.

“Did you enjoy
your naked-under-the-coat ride across town, Lucky?” I growl in her ear.

“A little bit,”
she mutters.

“And when you
talked to the concierge downstairs? Did you blush?”

She bites her
inner lip and her nostrils flare. “Possibly.”

I turn her
around, my movements a little rougher than I can control.

Her mouth.
Holy fuck
, her mouth. Still swollen from
my rough kisses a couple of hours ago.

I pass a rough
thumb over her bruised lower lip, the need to experience the kiss again making
my cock throb painfully. I silently despise Quinn for taking what I can’t have.

Shit. I’m jealous
of myself. That’s how fucked up I am. The fact that I’m dying to kiss her
again, but can’t in case she recognizes me, makes me want to lash out and
cuddle her the same time. Jesus. I don’t know what the fuck I want.

“Come here,” I
growl, walking backwards. “Follow the sound of my voice.”

She comes immediately.
As I walk deeper into the living room, I can tell she’s aroused, already
panting lightly. I clench my teeth against a moan and the need to take her,
like right fucking now.

The apartment is
a minimalist’s dream of space and glass. The only significant pieces of
furniture are the extra large, L-shaped white designer sofa and the floating
fireplace. The soaring glass windows offer a stunning view of the city. The
strategic lighting offers a modicum of privacy, but it’s not total. Anyone with
a powerful set of binoculars can witness what’s happening in here.

I lead her to the
sofa and I sit down, spread my legs. “Stop.”

She halts, her
hands twitching at her side. “You haven’t had the privilege of sucking my cock
yet, have you?” I rasp.

Her panting increases
a notch. “You know I haven’t,” she mutters.

“Would you like
to?” Why am I asking when I should be commanding?

The answer ceases
to matter when her head bobs and her tongue darts out to coat her upper lip.
“Yes.”

“Get on your
knees. Slowly.”

Her descent is
smooth, measured. Her tits bounce lightly when she rocks forward onto her
knees. My mouth dries as I gorge myself on her stunning beauty.

“Come to me,
Lucky.”

She prowls
forward and positions herself between my thighs with unerring accuracy. Her hands
lift, pause. “Can I touch you?” she asks softly.

“
Fuck, yes
.”

My forceful
answer brings a hint of a smile to her luscious mouth.

“Does it amuse
you, firecracker? To know how much I’m becoming addicted to your touch?”

Her smile widens
and her small hands find the inside of my thighs. “Not amuse, no. But I…like
it.”

I catch her hands
in mine and drag them to the fastening of my pants. “Take me out. See how much
you like sucking me, too.”

Her fingers go to
work. The moment she has me in her hands, her whole body tightens. She gasps
softly and I watch her areolas break out in goose bumps.

“Something
wrong?” I ask redundantly.

She swallows.
“You’re so big. So hard.”

“I’ve been inside
you. You know how big I am.”

She shakes her
head as her hands tentatively explore me. I bite back a groan and take a deep
breath. “This is different. Oh God, you took the Viagra?”

Despite the
tortured pressure in my balls, my mouth twitches. “Did you think I was joking?”

Heat rushes up
her neck into her smooth cheeks. “I wasn’t sure.”

I grunt. “Now you
know. You’re going to have me like this, all night. Jack me, Lucky. Don’t stop
until I tell you to.”

Her hands close
over me and work me up and down. The expert little flick of her wrists intensifies
the pressure in my balls. Her lips part and her breath emerges in tiny, erotic
puffs.

I move my gaze
from her mouth before I go insane. “Tell me. Did you enjoy your date?”

Her movements
halt for a nanosecond before she resumes her task. “You sure you want to talk
about that?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s
not…appropriate.”

“By whose
definition?”

Her mouth purses
and she concedes the argument. “It was good.”

My gaze fixates
on her hands. I grit my teeth as her thumb catches a drop of pre-cum and
spreads it down the underside of my cock. “Just good?” I grate.

“Okay, it was
better than good.”

“Do you like him,
Lucky? This guy you’re seeing behind my back?”

“It’s not behind
your back. And…yes, I like him.”

I allow myself a
smile. The sensation of it feels strange but I let it linger, and something
lightens in my chest. Her hands tighten around my cock and the smile turns into
a groan.

“Are you trying
to distract me, firecracker?”

“Yes.”

“You’re doing a
superb job,” I growl. “Jack it harder.”

Her grip firms
and my vision blurs. My head slams back into the seat, and I can’t help the
muted roar that rips through my throat.

I’m about a
minute, tops, from coming. “Mouth, baby. I want your
mouth
.”

 
Her soft lips close around my thick head,
and my hips buck in wild response. Once I’m wet with her saliva, she attempts
to take more of me. She works me in like a champ, her tongue circling and
flicking like little flames of torture. In moments, she takes me to another
plane.

Fuck, she’s
perfect.

As sensation
reels through me, I crack open a strange new door, and I contemplate what my
life would’ve been like had I not been set on this path. Would I have found
happiness with a woman like Elyse ‘Lucky’ Gilbert? Filled her cute little womb
with my babies and let her shower them in love? She’s capable of it. Tonight I
witnessed her compassion for Quinn. Watched her soft eyes drench with sympathy
for his insanity.

The picture
grows. Its vividness threatens the obsidian foundations of my destiny. Enough
to trigger a thick vein of desperation, which in turn triggers anger.

I buck harder
into her mouth. She gags and tries to raise her head. I plunge my fingers into
her hair and hold her still. “Take it!”

I tense in
anticipation of her refusal. Instead, she takes a deep, noisy breath through
her nose. Then opens her throat.

“
Fuck!
Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Fire shoots
through my balls, and I explode down her gorgeous throat. I come like a
torrent, my curses ripping through the room as I buck like a fucking demented
thoroughbred.