Porter (Dick Dynasty #1) (2 page)

With him being the youngest of us, I couldn’t help but feel a little pang of pride at the name he’d made for himself. Parker had his own niche carved out in the more extreme circles of the industry, but Preston’s, dare I say ‘versatility’, gave him a much wider market to work with—and the kid had worked it like a pro.

“Ryder! Get your hard-on in here and do your fucking job!” Dick’s voice carried through the house.

The young thing bobbing on my knob pulled her head back with a pop and a smile as she wiped her mouth. Her big green eyes beamed up at me and I couldn’t help but smile back at her, “Thanks, Kelly.”

“My pleasure, but my name’s not Kelly.” She pushed herself to her feet and sauntered off toward the God-awful living room to wait for her next call to duty.

I tucked my hard-on back into my jeans and made my way to the bedroom where we were filming.

Get your shit together, Porter. It’s go time.

I took my position between Blondie’s thighs and waited for my cue.

“Action!” Dick’s eyes were glued to his camera, ready for a show.

Blondie’s hands came back to my chest and she resumed her half-assed attempt at pushing me away. I palmed one of her tits, hard enough that it’d probably bruise, and pinned her to the wall as I rolled on a rubber with my other hand.

“Your box is about to be serviced, as requested,” I nearly choked on the cheesy line as I rammed my now-solid nine and a half inches into her as far as it would go.

“Ouch! Fuck!” she cried as I drilled into her again and again. It was the first believable thing that had come out of her mouth since the moment I walked into the house.

The drawers of the desk started to shake open as I slammed her into the wall again and again. Both hands were now kneading at her fake tits through the slip of silk she wore. At the rate I was going, the thing was probably going to end up on the floor in the next few thrusts, so I chose to be proactive about it and rip it off, leaving it wrapped around her arms and pinning her wrists behind her.

“Flip her around,” Dick instructed.

I grabbed a fist full of her bleached hair as I pulled out and used it to spin her so that she was facing the wall. I straightened my arm, pressing her face into the gleaming surface of the desk, and slammed back into her from behind. The top of her head pounded into the wall in time to the thrust of my hips and I made sure to grunt every now and then so that it looked good for the cameras.

I’m sure she was howling like a bitch in heat, but I was more concerned with the laundry list of shit I had to get done. I didn’t hear any of it.

“Get her on her back on the floor.”

Once again making use of the handle I had turned her hair into, I jerked her backwards, eliciting another sharp cry, and she all but fell to the floor to avoid further forceful handling.

I mechanically followed Dick’s directions, straddled her right thigh, and threw her left calf over my shoulder.

I’m not sure how long we were in that position or how much rug burn ended up on her back, but Dick finally gave me the green light to finish and my mind came tumbling back to the business at hand.

“On her tits,” he demanded.

I pulled the condom off with a snap and fisted my moneymaker; pumping myself toward the single moment they paid me for.

As my balls drew up close to my body, I pressed the fingertips of my left hand into the inside of my inner thigh and tried my best to block out the moaning, writhing mass of silicone and over-used flesh on the floor between my knees.

I felt my abs tighten and the familiar warmth spread throughout my body as the messy spray of come shot out of my dick and rained down on her tits, face, hair, and the floor around her.

She practically screamed in ecstasy, faking her orgasm to make Dick happy, and I shook off the remainder of my climax into her open mouth.

“That’s a wrap, people!”

I pushed myself to my feet, grabbed my jeans off the floor, and walked to the bathroom to wash the rancid smell of her perfume and any of her stray juices off me.

“Money in the bank,” I assured my reflection.

I wiped the lube from the condom off with the hand towel next to the sink, splashed some water on my face, and stepped back into my jeans.

“I’ll be waiting for my check, Dick!” I yelled as I walked through the front door.

He might have shouted something back to me, but I took a deep breath of the warm southern California air and climbed in my Land Rover, blocking him out.

It was time to party with my brothers and that always turned out to be a shit show.

It’s gonna be a long night.

I typed my destination into the built-in GPS and backed out of the driveway.

I needed to shop. There’s nothing a new pair of Diesel’s and a new beanie can’t fix in my experience.

Except for maybe bad casting.

“I’m a casting director for one of the largest agencies in Los Angeles County, Becks,” I huffed out a frustrated sigh as I slammed my Audi A5 into park beside the curb, “a premier party for a fucking porno flick is the
last
place I want to be tonight!”

My best friend and long-time Devil’s Advocate, Rebecca Sloan, growled into the phone, “Holly, I would give up my new set of tits—which I paid a pretty penny for, mind you—to have been invited to that party! And by Roman Ruff none-the-less!”

I felt my eyes roll around in their sockets, “Becks, his name is Preston. That nom de plume is heinous.”

“I don’t care what you call him, sweetheart. The boy is hot, he’s loaded, he’s hung, and most importantly, he’s got two exceptionally good-looking brothers. I’d prefer Ryder, but I’ll settle for Ryan if I have to. Your mission, should you choose to accept it or not, is to hook your best friend up. And since your buddy Preston happens to swing both ways, try and find yourself in bed with
two
really hot guys tonight so you can tell me about it all tomorrow.”

The line went dead before I could protest any further.

I couldn’t believe that I, Holly Nash, was about to walk into a premier party for a porn movie.

“What the hell is wrong with my life?” I asked my steering wheel as I pulled on the door handle. I swung my legs out of the car until my too-tall Jimmy Choos touched down on the asphalt.

I allowed the door to slam shut behind me and mashed the button on my key fob until the yellow lights flashed and my car chirped its acknowledgment, confirming the doors were locked.

I stared up the long drive lined with outrageously expensive cars and squared my shoulders. It wasn’t like I’d never been to a premier party before. This was bound to be more of the same high-and-mighty my-dick’s-bigger-than-yours hob knobbing that went on at any other industry function, only this time, the party-goers might actually be comparing their dicks.

Scenes from ‘
Eyes Wide Shut
’ flashed through my mind as I made the long trek up to the well-secluded mid-century mansion and it was all I could do to keep myself from turning around and bolting back to my car.

“You don’t have to stay the whole time,” I kept telling myself. “Just make an appearance, say hi to Preston, and get the hell out.”

By the time I reached the six steps that led up to the columned front porch, I had miraculously managed to pull myself together. I tossed the long brown curls, which cascaded halfway down my back, over my shoulder, adjusted the silver necklace that hung low into the deep cut of my cleavage, and tucked my Michael Kors clutch under my arm. I was ready to make my entrance.

The door swung open before I could even reach the solid brass knocker.

“Holly!” Preston cried, throwing his arms out for a hug and kissing me on each cheek, “I’m
so
glad you were able to make it!”

“I wouldn’t miss celebrating you for the world, Princess,” I said with a smile.

Well shit.

With my say-hi-and-bolt plan ruined at the front door, I had to improvise. I needed to figure out how in the hell I was going to escape the night without getting roped into a gangbang with dudes in satin robes and scary masquerade masks.

Preston hooked his wrist through my arm and pulled me inside before I could come up with a reasonable excuse to drop dead on the veranda.

Tapeworm? Maybe I could just tell him I had a tapeworm and needed to go home because I forgot my medication. I wasn’t entirely sure a tapeworm could be medicated though.

I could always take the hit to my ego and just claim explosive diarrhea. Nobody wants a guest with irritable bowels, right?

“I have a few people I want you to meet before I set you loose to explore on your own!” Preston’s bubbling excitement pulled me away from my mental checklist of communicable diseases. I couldn’t bail on him. He was too damn cute to crush.

“Lead the way,” I acquiesced with a smile.

“Do you want a drink first? We’ve got a full bar. Granted, you might have to fight your way through my idiot brothers to get to it, but it’ll help calm your nerves a little.”

“What nerves?” My voice was about three octaves higher than normal and I felt a flush creep into my cheeks. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Let me guess,” he put a finger to his chin and feigned contemplation, “You were fully expecting to walk in on some kind of massive orgy with projectors on every wall boldly broadcasting yours truly ramrodding some slut with fake tits while taking a dick down my throat, right?”

“What? No! I… You… It’s not…” My tongue chose that moment to betray me as I continued to stumble over my words, unsure what I was supposed to say to that.

“Honey,” he put a hand on my shoulder with a laugh, “you don’t need to worry about that. My days of seedy release parties are
long
gone. I mean, I invite my
mother
to these things! I can’t really have smut plastered all over my walls with her wandering around, can I?”

I could only raise an eyebrow at him as my eyes went to the full-frontal billboard-sized print hanging on the wall over his shoulder.

“Don’t even!” Preston put a hand over my eyes, “
That
is art. You’re comparing apples and oranges, my dear.”

I bit my lip to stifle the giggle threatening to bubble out of my throat.

“You’re insufferable, Holly Nash. Now
I
need a drink!”

He took my arm captive once again and dragged me through the thick crowd without so much as bumping into another person. People called his name to get his attention as we passed, but he was a man on a mission and just waved them off with a smile.

“Oh good,” he smiled over his shoulder, “my brothers seem to have taken a break from harassing my poor bartender. Marco!”

The gorgeous Latino hunk behind the bar turned from the glasses he was drying and beamed a mega-watt smile at the man whose grip still held my elbow.

“I was starting to think you’d never come back for me!” the bartender wailed.

Ugh. The good ones are always gay.

“Oh, honey, you know I could never leave you!” Preston leaned over the bar and planted a scorching kiss on him, tugging me halfway on top of the gleaming polished oak surface.

“Preston, with a piece of ass like
that
on your arm, I know you could leave me in a heartbeat. Who’s the señorita bonita?”

I blushed before I could help myself as Preston gently trailed a finger along my jawline and down my neck to my collarbone, “This delicious little morsel is Holly Nash. I picked her up on a corner out in WeHo last weekend. Doesn’t she clean up nice?”

“Preston, she’s got about as much potential as a hooker as I do the Pope. Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. Let’s stick to things you know, honey. What can I get you and your pretty lady to drink?”

Knowing that something with an absurd amount of alcohol and sugar was about to be forced upon me, I choked back the urge to groan in protest and waited for Preston to spew a complicated list of ingredients at the bartender.

“Vodka martini. Dirty. Give us the goose.”

Marco winked at Preston with a smirk and turned to mix our drinks, leaving me slightly awed that I wouldn’t have to choke down some fruity concoction of juice and too many alcohols to count.

“Preston,” I tried my best to look worried, “have you given up on drinking yourself to diabetes already? No Mai-Tai Ocean Breeze Sunrise?”

“The night is young, my dear!”

Marco placed two tall martini glasses brimming with olive brine and vodka on the counter and smiled, “Never-you-mind the secret ingredient.”

Preston threw down a tip, snatched the glasses off the bar, and threw an arm over my shoulder, guiding me away before I could ask any questions.

“Do I even want to know what he meant by ‘special ingredient’?” I eyed the glass next to my face warily.

“Like the man said, never-you-mind,” he released me from his grasp and handed me my drink before lifting his own in a toast, “To my penis. May it continue to make me enough money to pay for these parties!”

I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I touched my glass to his and took my first sip of the cloudy, salty drink. Thankfully, I detected nothing but the sharp bite of vodka and the bitter, but satisfying, zest of olive brine.