by Rosie Danan
He grimaced. “I never knew people cared about my personal life.”
“You kidding? You two were like the Brad and Jen of adult entertainment. I thought I’d give a speech at your wedding.”
“What?”
“Forget it. Hey, where are you living now that the old lady kicked you out?”
Josh took a halfhearted bite of his burger. “Found some sublet on Craigslist. Came fully loaded. The only downside is now I’ve got a socialite for a roommate.”
“Yikes. That’s the last thing we need. Look, they said if you want the big dollars, you gotta start doing more of the hardcore stuff. That’s where Black Hat sees the best margins. They want you working in their new extreme division. They’re businessmen who don’t give a damn about your morals. You want more money, you’re gonna have to compromise.”
Josh’s appetite deserted him. He liked sex as much as the next guy. Hell, maybe more, all things considered. But he’d set boundaries when he entered this business and he wasn’t going to abandon them. “It’s never gonna happen.”
Bennie threw up his hands. “I get it. It’s no skin off my nose if you wanna stick to the basics. Take the five thousand and invest it.” He eyed Josh’s burger with more than a hint of interest.
“Come on. Some of the stuff they get up to in that division makes my skin crawl. You should have seen the waivers they tried to make Naomi sign.” Under the table, Josh’s hands balled into fists. “Let them loop in some other sap to do scenes with the misguided Midwestern chicks they con into contracts. It’s not gonna be me. They can keep me from working for anyone else, but that contract doesn’t stop me from spending the next year sitting on my ass eating bonbons. I’ve hit my performance quota.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you don’t have to approve.” Bennie rolled up his sleeves. “You know how it is nowadays. No one wants to pay for porn anymore. Not the kind of stuff that’s easy to get for free from amateurs on the Internet. Black Hat wants to invest in a specialized audience. One that’s willing to pay for exclusive content. This is the way of the future. You can’t coast on those dimples forever. Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to ask yourself, do you wanna make real money or not?”
As realization washed over him, Josh’s face turned to granite. “How much did they offer you to convince me?”
Bennie shook his head. “You don’t wanna know.”
Josh extracted himself from the booth.
“Stop it. Don’t be like that,” Bennie said, groaning as if Josh were a child throwing a tantrum. He pointed a French fry at the stack of papers with the offer. “Five K is not nothing.”
Josh pulled enough bills out of his wallet to cover the burger he hadn’t eaten, and an extra twenty to make it up to the waitress for his abrupt dismissal. “Don’t take that,” he said, pointing at the money and practically growling.
Bennie shouted at Josh’s back as he walked out the door, all trace of composure gone. “You wanna walk away? Let me give you a clue, Darling, fucking is the only thing you’re good at, and you’re not as good at fucking as you think. Give me a call when you wake the hell up!”
chapter six
DO NOT GOOGLE your porn star roommate. No good can come of it.
Clara repeated the mantra every time the quiet of the empty house gave her dangerous ideas.
The knowledge that Josh starred in explicit videos had infected her brain. A contagion with only one cure.
No matter how hard she tried to distract herself, or how many “concentrate” playlists she made, her mind kept floating back to Josh and his great big . . . occupation.
Josh in a skimpy pizza delivery uniform. Josh as a sexy mailman with an extra-large package. The endless possibilities tormented her. She knew porn came in all shapes and sizes. Which kind of videos did Josh make? She could hardly have peppered Jill for details. Porn wasn’t exactly the type of topic one could comfortably discuss with a family member, even an up until recently estranged one, at length.
But despite her overactive imagination, she couldn’t imagine a man that playful as sexy enough to sell.
She supposed Josh did have his moments.
Having dedicated most of her adult life to a field of academia favored by introverts, Clara knew a lot of men who shied away from eye contact. The guys in her doctoral program at Columbia could stare at a painting of a wild orgy for hours but only managed to talk to her left ear at the bar afterward.
Josh didn’t suffer from any such aversion. Holding his stare for too long made her dizzy. Did nature or nurture make him electric?
Even with all the windows open to tempt any trace of cross breeze, and the lights off, she couldn’t get cool. Her bedroom was worse. A blistering inferno without the benefit of a ceiling fan. Everett had neglected to mention the house’s lack of air-conditioning when he offered her free rent. She’d changed into an old cotton nightgown that evoked comforting memories of wistfully journaling in her girlhood bedroom, even if it didn’t quite fit her the same way it had when she was twelve.
She stared at the ceiling and tried to blow a long strand of damp hair off her forehead. Clara mentally recited the reasons that finding out any more information about Josh’s professional prowess would ruin her life.
One, seeing him naked would make it impossible for her to ever speak to him again without spasming into a tornado of awkwardness. Which meant, by extension, she could no longer ask him to reach things off the top shelf of the kitchen cabinets. She’d already stored several bottles of expensive shampoo up there.
Two, she might see something completely reprehensible, forcing her to confront him on the basis of her feminist morals. Those types of interventions had high price tags in terms of both time and energy.
Three, what if he had a weird penis? She supposed he probably didn’t, otherwise they likely wouldn’t have cast him. Did they have some kind of checklist for porn-ready genitalia?
Her mind crept back to unbidden curiosity, shunning all ideas of alternate entertainment, food, or sleep.
Fine. A quick, cursory search. In and out.
Like his dick.
Oh lord.
Josh had left a note on the fridge. Dinner meeting after work. Home late.
It was only seven. Plenty of time for a quick information-gathering session. By the time her roommate returned, she’d have slaked her curiosity and put on some sleep shorts.
Clara swung her legs off the sofa and padded across the carpet on bare feet, unconsciously tiptoeing. She grabbed her trusty laptop from its resting place on her desk and carried it back to the living room.
Imagining herself as a secret agent, hunting for information in enemy territory with bated breath, she flopped back down stomach-first on the sofa and tucked one ankle behind the other. Opening a private browsing window, she typed in Josh Darling.
Pretending her mission served a higher purpose, like perhaps defending national security, made it easier to click on the first link she found, an article about how Josh stood out among the fabric of the porn industry.
Is Josh Darling evolving porn? In an industry that famously caters to the male gaze, Darling has quietly stolen scenes for almost two years with his signature smolder and his reputation for prioritizing his female co-star’s pleasure. Unlike mainstream media portrayals of female desire, Josh Darling is not afraid to get up close and personal with the clitoris. Industry insiders clamor to work with him, and audiences will do the (increasingly) unthinkable to watch him: pay.
His boy-next-door looks may appear unassuming, but his magnetism defies definition, especially when he plays opposite his fiery on-again-off-again girlfriend, Naomi Grant. Executives for Black Hat Studios, who hold Darling’s exclusive contract, widely credit the smokestack duo with bringing in female audiences across age groups. While Miss Grant’s long-limbed grace rivets, to watch Josh Darling perform is to witness a
master perfecting his craft. In the age of lukewarm hookups and rampant dick pics, Darling gives women a reason to believe sex is still worth getting out of bed.
Clara couldn’t help noticing that the article linked to a video.
Her fingers tingled against the keyboard, and her heartbeat kicked up like a sprinter’s before a race. How sad was it that just thinking about watching this content was more exciting than the past six months of her sex life?
For God’s sake, woman, it’s just a little porn.
With a quick glance behind her at the closed front door, she hit play.
The video opened with a pretty redhead swimming in what looked like a small community pool. Her statuesque body sported a perfect golden tan that glistened as she completed expert butterfly strokes.
Clara hadn’t expected the woman in the video to look so lovely. The camera traveled appreciatively over her body underwater, panning across her tight red suit—Clara rolled her eyes—before pulling back to reveal none other than Josh, roommate and apparent porn heartthrob, in a lifeguard’s uniform, complete with a sunscreen-covered nose and aviators, perched atop a guard’s chair high above the water.
Even though she knew what to expect, the sight of him caused a hitch in her breath. As she watched, he arranged his long limbs casually across the chair as he intently watched the swimmer’s strokes.
Clara saw immediately why women liked watching him. Unlike stereotypical male porn stars, he didn’t sport unnatural muscles. He carried his slim but toned frame with an ease that she supposed must come with having the kind of penis that qualified you as a porn star.
Her eyes snagged on his face. Even hidden behind sunglasses, she could feel the pull of his eyes, currently directed at his co-star. They dared you to jump and promised to catch you. Apparently, he could turn the smolder on and off at will.
The gorgeous girl’s swimming faltered, her pretend “drowning” a transparent play for the lifeguard’s attention.
Without missing a beat, Josh whipped off his T-shirt and glasses and dove in for a quick rescue. Once he pulled the damsel to safety and had her laid out on a nearby lounge chair, he began resuscitation efforts that looked quite different from what Clara had learned as a camp counselor.
As Josh set to work divesting the revived athlete of her swimsuit, Clara paid special attention to the way he performed—although the word performed didn’t quite fit.
Josh and his co-star didn’t look like two actors getting paid. Now that the pretense of the “plot” had ended, they seemed merely like two people who really had the hots for each other.
Clara fanned herself with her hand, having grasped why this video in particular had caught the eye of the article’s reporter.
Lifeguard Josh somehow conveyed with alarming dexterity that he found his co-star simultaneously the sexiest woman he had ever seen and also his best friend. The undercurrent of trust and intimacy made Clara want to look away almost as much as it made her want to press her thighs together.
The enthusiasm with which he explored that woman’s body seemed impossibly sexy. Like he couldn’t get enough of her. And if her wails of pleasure acted as any indication, the feeling was mutual. Clara couldn’t help but compare the on-screen enactment to her own decidedly less enthusiastic experiences.
She had a problem. Josh repositioned on screen. A huge problem.
Either Josh Darling had transcended her current definition of intercourse or someone needed to alert the Academy that he was the best actor in the world.
chapter seven
JOSH OPENED HIS front door to find a spectacular ass pointed right at him.
The ass in question, he noted with surprise, belonged to his uptight roommate. Unsuspecting of his admiring review, Clara lounged on the sofa watching something on her computer. The thin nightgown she wore rode up her thighs, treating him to a barely obstructed view of her legs and sweet ass peeking out of pale pink cotton panties.
He bit down hard on his fist to avoid groaning.
Closing his eyes, he said a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in. Lord, give me the strength to not fuck my roommate.
His rough grunt filled the room.
Except he hadn’t made a sound.
Josh’s eyes snapped open. Because he’d honed that grunt into his calling card. Used it countless times to indicate to co-stars and audiences alike that he’d hit his stride. That noise meant his body wavered dangerously close to nirvana, that a few more deep strokes would make him see stars.
That grunt meant Clara was watching porn. His porn.
Josh’s chest expanded with pride. Well well well, Miss Wheaton.
Obviously, he knew people watched the videos he made. He made them for that purpose. But he’d never walked in on someone viewing his work before. And the fact that his stuff might fuel the naughty dreams of a girl like Clara? Maybe he hadn’t wasted the last two years of his life after all.
Josh watched his own ass clench as he got closer and closer to his on-screen crescendo. Clara’s head tilted to follow the trajectory of his body as he maneuvered his partner into a particularly impressive final position.
Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the door frame, basking in this moment of unexpected glory. After locking this image away for a rainy day, he finally announced his presence by dropping his duffel bag on the floor.
Clara responded to the soft thud as if someone had fired a gun in the living room. She slammed her computer shut and bolted off the couch, pulling her nightgown toward her knees to no avail in the process.
“I thought you weren’t going to be home until later,” she blurted out, squirming like a fish caught on a line.
Words caught in his throat. From the front, her pajamas turned positively sinful. Clara’s impressive tits strained against the well-worn fabric, and he made direct eye contact with her hard nipples. Everything about her read as wanton. Fuck. Did that little wiggle signal guilt or was she simply that horny?
Pink swatches stained her cheeks, and her bee-stung lips parted as she tried to catch her breath.
“My meeting ended abruptly. What were you watching?” He feigned ignorance. He knew he should walk away from this terrible temptation—knew no good could come from lingering in this room and imagining what he might have found had he walked in ten minutes later. But as her face transitioned from pink to crimson, and her gaze bore holes into the carpet, he couldn’t resist the urge to push her buttons.
“Oh, it was a video about . . . um . . . meditation.” She bobbed her head as reinforcement to her statement.
Josh let his gaze travel over her body in a way that he knew she’d notice. “Yeah?” he asked, testing the truth of her words. “Must have been pretty exciting.”
She crossed her arms.
“You’re flushed.”
Clara finally managed to stop her head from bobbing and instead bit into her bottom lip, drawing his attention back to her lush mouth. “Well, it is exercise for the mind.” Her pitch climbed with each word.
Josh cradled his chin in his hand, stroking his jaw. “Awful loud for meditation.”
“You’re right. I’m a terrible liar.” Clara straightened her shoulders as if steeling herself for battle. “I can’t believe I couldn’t come up with anything better than meditation. People assume I can think on my feet because I was All-State in debate, but it really is a very different skill set.” She hung her head. “Anyways, that’s not the point. The point is,” she continued with incredible gravity in her voice, “I was watching pornography.” She brought a hand up to cover her eyes as she completed her confession. “I was watching your pornography. But I swear I wasn’t doing anything untoward.”
Thank God. His dick wouldn’t have survived walking in on that visual.
“I was curious! I’ve never met anyone who . . .” She gestured at her closed computer.
; His chuckle reverberated low in his throat. “Why am I not surprised that you’ve never met an adult performer?”
“Oh. Is that the, um, preferred vernacular?”
“I guess it depends who I’m talking to.” He stopped to consider, sinking onto the sofa. People didn’t usually ask for his opinion on the matter. “I can’t speak for everyone, but if I’m with someone from the industry, I’m more likely to say performer. Porn star is the term I hear most often in a cultural context, and I’m fine with it as a more universal shorthand, even if it does feel a little goofy to apply it to myself.”
Clara eyed the couch wearily for a moment before joining him.
He’d meant to make this more comfortable for both of them by taking a seat. Not scare her further with his proximity. Josh reached out a hand to reassure her with a gentle pat on the arm, but pulled back at the last moment and tossed her the blanket hanging off the back of the sofa instead.
His life revolved around touching strangers. It was no wonder he had all these instincts to offer Clara physical comfort. He had to keep reminding himself that they hardly knew each other. Josh never worried that his job affected his mental state, but maybe he should.
He didn’t bat an eyelash at licking a strange woman’s pussy ten minutes after meeting her, so why did the idea of patting Clara’s forearm give him a thrill?
“Any other questions?” No one ever had only one when it came to his job. Better to get the inevitable inquisition over with now.
Clara wrapped the throw around her shoulders and Josh mourned the loss of the view.
“Yes. Sorry. What’s your name? Your real name, I mean.”
At least that one was easy. “It’s Josh. Joshua Conners.”
“Don’t tell me ‘Darling’ is your middle name?”
He shook his head ruefully. “Plenty of people spend a lot of time and energy coming up with a fake name when they go into porn, but I fell into mine. My first day on set, we had this crazy British director. The guy wore a beret unironically. Anyway, I walked up and introduced myself. He asked me my name, and I told him. I didn’t know any better.”