Biting her lip in an expression of naughtiness so delicious that I want to devour it, Devi spreads some of the thick, clear lube on my cock. It’s cold and I give a little shiver until she curls her strong fingers around my length and gives me a few tight, slow strokes.
“God, I fucking love you,” I say hoarsely.
“And I love you. Now finger me.”
Those should be our wedding vows, right there.
I spread a dab of the lubricant on my forefinger and do as I’m told, teasing the pleated rim between her cheeks, rubbing and pressing and gradually coaxing it open for me. And after I can easily work a second finger in and out, she crawls back on the chair and positions herself so that my tip presses against her back entrance. I watch her face as she guides my cock into her ass, the intense concentration as my crown passes through the tight rings of muscle at the beginning, the gut-deep pleasure-pain as she lowers herself farther down. Her channel is a tight, hot furnace around me, and the moment she finally buries me and her perfect ass comes to rest on my thighs, I decide I'm in heaven.
She opens her eyes. Goose bumps pepper her skin and a small sheen of sweat glows on her face and chest. We do the occasional anal scene for our series with Vida and sometimes anal just for ourselves, but it's not such a frequent occurrence that Devi’s blithely expert at it. Instead, she squirms and groans trying to find just the right angle to ride me, she sweats and shivers every time she moves her ass up and down my cock. It's a constant negotiation between pleasure and pain, and the moment she wins and hones in on the pleasure, she becomes luminescent and beautiful and wild.
I reach up and stroke her face, moving my hands to her hair where I pluck out the bobby pins holding her graduation cap in place. And then I take her hat off and toss it to the floor. (The high heels I let her keep on, for obvious reasons.)
My hands are everywhere, gentle and soothing, rubbing her tense thighs and caressing the full teardrops of her breasts and cradling her flushed face. “Logan,” she says, and it’s not so much a word as an exhalation, as a prayer.
“Devi,” I exhale back. “Come here.”
I help her lean forward into me, her naked chest pressed against the white button-down I wore under my graduation robe, and then I tip her face up to mine and kiss her. Rubbing her back and smoothing her hair, stroking her arms and legs, I languorously explore her mouth, give her the kind of slow, luxurious kisses that a queen like my Cass deserves.
And out of all the dirty things we do, out of all the rough, kinky sex we have, this right here is my favorite. The kind of sex that combines dirty and deep, raunch and romance. I know it seems like a contradiction, or maybe even an impossibility, that anal sex could be romantic, but it’s an act that requires so much more patience and so much more communication than almost anything else I can think of. It forces you to slow down and look your partner in the face, examine how they’re feeling and what they’re thinking. To be done right, it requires an incredible amount of trust, and what could possibly be more romantic than that?
My lips slide over hers and our tongues press and twist together. Our breathing unites and our heartbeats pound the same heavy, hot rhythm, and we move together, rising and falling, pushing and pulling. I reach between us and start kneading her clit with the pad of my thumb, and that’s how we come—together—kissing and grinding and panting. And when my climax stabs through my balls like a hot knife of ecstasy, when I feel the deep contractions of her own orgasm squeezing my dick, I hold her tight and breathe her name against her lips,
Devi
Devi
Devi,
until we both come down, until I feel her body ease and slump against mine, until my cock stops pulsing inside of her. I lift her off my dick and place her back on my lap. It occurs to me that I’m probably going to have to change into a new pair of slacks for dinner, but I don’t care.
“That was a hell of a present, Cass,” I murmur into her hair.
Her face is pressed against my chest, and I can both feel and hear her happy humming deep in her throat.
“Are you purring, little kitten?”
She nods lazily, still humming.
I glance at the clock—five in the evening. We’re supposed to meet our parents for a big family dinner at seven, which is when I planned on giving Devi her graduation present. But her present to me was so amazing, and honestly, I’d give anything to this naked goddess curled up on my lap right now.
“I have something else to make you purr,” I say, standing up and resettling her on the chair. She looks perfect, her hair mussed and her lips swollen, wearing nothing but her heels. I button myself back up and jog over to the small alcove that serves as my office, where I open a filing cabinet and pull out a little box I stashed behind all the files.
I also leave the camera running. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for years, and I want to capture every naked, sex-rumpled second of it.
My hands start to shake and my pulse starts to race, my heart somehow hammering a frantic beat in my chest and choking my throat all at once. But I manage to walk over to the chair and hand her the box as casually as possible, given the circumstances.
She smiles up at me. “Logan, this better not be expensive.”
“I only had to pawn off like half of our sex toys to buy it, it’s fine.”
She laughs and turns her attention back to the package, which is a small square box with a massive bow on top. She unties the giant silk ribbon and it falls into her lap in sinuous loops. And then she opens the lid to see what’s inside.
A ring box.
The moment it hits her, her eyes snap up to me, but I’m already on one knee in front of her.
“Devi Daryani,” I say, my voice trembling a little, “I love you more than Manjun loved Layla. I love you more than I love anything else in this life. I know you wanted to wait until we were completely done with school to move forward, but Devi, I can’t wait another second. I want to be your husband. I want you to be my wife. I want to be loving you and giving you orgasms until we’re too frail to get out of our beds in the nursing home.”
She blinks those long eyelashes rapidly, tears shimmering in her amber eyes.
“Will you marry me?” I ask, realizing I hadn’t actually said the words yet. “Will you let me be your husband?”
She takes a deep, choking breath and opens up the box. I see the reflection of the diamond in her eyes. For the first time, my vague fears crystalize into an extremely concrete and immediate terror that she’ll say no. That she wants to wait or that she doesn’t want to ever get married or, worse, that she doesn’t love me enough to bind herself to me.
“Please marry me, Devi,” I say anxiously. “Please say yes.”
She eases the ring out of its box and then she looks up, those tears finally spilling over and tracing streaks down her face.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I’ll marry you.”
My chest expands into that hugely dizzying big feeling, and I collapse in relief, my head falling onto her lap. “Thank God,” I mumble into the silken skin of her thighs. “I would have died if you said no.”
She runs her fingers through my hair. “As if anyone could say no to you.”
“You did once,” I remind her, nuzzling her thighs.
She parts them for me, half instinct and half banked desire from earlier. “But you had to know that I was still yours, even when I left,” she says.
I kiss my way up her thigh to her pussy, giving her clit a gentle, lingering nibble. “I didn’t know,” I say, pausing in between words to taste her. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“I think I was yours from the moment I first saw you,” she admits, shivering as my tongue finds a sensitive spot. “And that’s why I wanted you to be all mine.”
“Forever,” I say, pulling back for a minute. I take the ring and slide it onto her finger, the vintage rose gold and princess diamond beautiful and brilliant against her skin. And then I move my hand to the nape of he
r neck and pull her into a long kiss. Our lips move together and my ring sparkles on her hand, and the world is stunning—magnificent and mysterious and big.
Big and real.
And then Devi is pulling away, using her hand with its new ring to find the thick bulge in my slacks. “Fuck me like a porn star, Logan O’Toole.”
I look over my shoulder at the camera and give it a wink.
Time to get to work.
* * *
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About This Book
It's probably no secret to our fans that Laurelin Paige and I love porn. Tumblr porn, classy porn, kinky porn, whatever. And when we started talking about writing a book set in the porn world, we knew we wanted to be clear about two things: firstly, how sexy, fun, and surprisingly progressive the industry can be, and secondly, how deep cultures of assault, racism, misogyny and de facto coercion still run. Porn, like any other industry—film, publishing, music—is a huge world with both amazing and terrible parts, and so we wanted to make sure we highlighted both.
Pornography right now is grappling with huge issues of consent, performer safety, and piracy, and has been for much longer than Laurelin and I have been researching for our story, and it would do a disservice to the very layered and complicated world of porn if we concocted an airbrushed fantasy without addressing the very real issues that threaten performers and producers today. We hope that we've written a story that showcases a realistic portrayal of porn, and we hope that after you read this, you'll be inspired to consume smut more consciously...and more voraciously.
--Sierra and Laurelin
Acknowledgments
To our agent, Rebecca Friedman (and friend and cheerleader and soul healer), and everyone at Rebecca Friedman Literary, especially Kimberly Brower. And to our foreign agents at Bookcase Literary Agency, Flavia Viotti and Meire Deis.
To our publicist, Jenn Watson (we don’t know how you manage us most days), and the entire team at Social Butterfly PR, especially Shannon from Shanoff Formats and Hilary Suppes. To Kylie McDermott for our cover reveal and Shayna Snyder at Shayna’s Spicy Reads for our excerpt reveal.
To Sara Eirew for a cover that we flove, and to Nancy Smay for finding all our mistakes and correcting them.
To our assistants, Melissa Gaston, Candi Kane, and Sarah Piechuta - we would literally be nowhere (online) without you.
To Kayti McGee and Melanie Harlow for loving us, trapped farts and all. To Julie Murphy who shares our love of (and frustration with) porn. To the women of the Order.
To the authors in our community who inspire and sustain us, especially Lola Darling, Lauren Blakely, Katy Evans, Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, C.D. Reiss, and Kristy Bromberg.
To the readers who met Devi and Logan first and helped to make their story better - Jen McCoy, Liz Berry, Vox Libris, Roxie Madar, Jodi Marie Maliszewski, and the Peen Queens.
To the readers who supported this book as well as the ones before, especially to Laurelin’s Lovelies, the lambs in Sierra Simone's reader group, and the Hudson Pierce! Fixed Trilogy group. Our words would be pointless without people to read them. We write for you.
To our husbands and families - we’re always amazed when we survive the birth of a book and even more amazed to find you’re all still around when we’ve done so. We actually do love you more than our characters. Thank you for getting that even when we don’t show it.
To our Creator - thank you our gifts and talents. We hope we always strive to be worthy of all you’ve given us.
One
Hot Cop Bonus Scene
The Wedding Night
LIVIA
“Chase! Put me down.” I’d struggle more, but it’s hard in my wedding dress. Plus, right now I’m clinging onto his neck for dear life because the man is truly crazy.
My husband--I’ve only been allowed to use that term for the last seven hours--has one arm tucked under my knees and is bracing my torso against the doorframe while he uses his other arm to try to get the hotel key to work.
“No way,” he says, determined. “I’m carrying you over this threshold.”
“But I’m a whale! Look, you’re struggling.” Okay, I’m not exactly a whale. Maybe a hippopotamus? Adult size Livia weight plus five months worth of fetus times two must equate to some sort of enormous wild animal. All I know is that it’s hard enough for me to drag myself around these days. It’s embarrassing enough that he has to see my added mass. So much worse that he’s trying to carry it as well.
“I’m struggling because of the damn hotel door, not because of you, kitten. I can’t get the fucking thing to--” His sentence breaks off as the door (finally) opens, and we nearly tumble into the room.
Chase rights himself before we fall to the ground. “We did it! We’re in the room!” He sets me down but immediately wraps his arms around me, pulling me in as close as my protruding belly will allow. “Welcome to the honeymoon, Mrs. Kelly.”
We’re only an hour out of town at a bed and breakfast in Weston, but it’s all we need. A few days away. A few days alone.
“Mmm. Mrs. Kelly…” I let the name linger on my tongue. I’ve said it so many times in practice, but saying it out loud for real, hearing it said… “I’d never imagined my name could sound so beautiful.”
Chase’s brows dart up in surprise. “Can you say things like that and not get your feminist card revoked?”
“Shut up,” I say, laughing. “There’s no card. And yes. I can. Feminism is about women having choices.”
“Oh, yes. Choices.” I swear he hasn’t stopped grinning since he put the ring on my finger this afternoon. I love seeing him so happy. I did this. I made this man this happy.
Just like he’s made me so happy too.
I brush my lips along his whiskered jaw. “I don’t want to talk about feminism right now.”
“You don’t?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk at all.”
He cups my face and looks me in the eyes. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to this? I can help you undress and tuck you into that bed, and it will still be the best wedding night in the history of man.”
I nearly cry at the mere suggestion. I mean, it’s sweet. Really sweet. And probably a difficult thing for him to offer considering how thick his erection already feels against my belly.
Sweet as it is, I’m not about to cry because I’m touched.
I’m about to cry because I’m so damn frustrated.
Here’s the thing--I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I got freaking married today. Wedding days are hard on any bride, and I’m growing, not one, but two humans inside me.
But the minute Chase set me on the floor and said Welcome to the honeymoon, I perked right on up. I’ve been waiting for this. I even took a nap on the hour car ride up to Weston just so I’d have more energy for this. Chase and I have been so busy preparing for today’s event that we haven’t had much chance to be together, especially with my mother and family in town. It’s been eleven days since he’s been inside me, and I’m desperate. I’m a horny bride, and if I don’t get some soon, I swear to god I’m going to explode.
“Chase, I need to fuck you.” My voice cracks. “I really need to fuck you.”
“Thank god,” he whispers before his mouth comes crashing down on mine. He’s desperate for me too. Greedy. The growl in the back of his throat as he devours me gives him away. He wraps his hands in my hair that has long fallen from it’s up-do. We’re glued to each other, content to feast like this for the moment.
When he starts to pull away, I clutch onto the lapels of his tux.
“Let me help you get undressed, Liv,” he says against my lips, coaxing me to relinquish my hold on him.
I let go, reluctantly. Dazed and dizzy from his kiss, something tickles the back of my brain. Something about an interruption. “What abou
t our bags?”
“The doorman brought them up while I was getting you from the car.” As though reading my thoughts, he goes to the door and puts the Do Not Disturb sign out. “It’s just us, babe.”
In response, I turn so the back of my wedding gown is facing him and then peek over my shoulder with a sly smile. “Then what are you waiting for, Officer?”
He doesn’t hesitate. In seconds he has the bow on the back of my dress undone. The material that hugged me tightly loosens a bit around my body. I start to gather the stretchy lacy gown to pull it over my head, excited that he’s about to discover my secret, but Chase stops me, turning me back around to face him.
“Sit.” He pats the end of the bed.
I stare at him curiously. He’s so handsome in his tux. He’s always hot, always sexy. Always my favorite thing to look at, but today it’s different. I’ve never seen him dressed up so formal and, yeah, I’m emotional lately so maybe it’s because it’s our wedding day, but every time I look at him I have to remind myself to breathe. He’s just breathtaking. And mine. And I love him more than anything in the world except maybe the lives growing inside me. I can’t separate him from them. They’re all mine. We’re all together. For real, now.
It’s a lot to take in sometimes. Like right now. And I need to sit as he’s suggested so I do.
With his eyes on mine, he kneels down and takes one foot in his hand, removing the ballet slipper that I exchanged my heels for after the ceremony. He repeats with the other foot. Then he trails one hand up the inside of my calf, burning my skin with his fingers.
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