Porn Stars Fall In Love Too

by Roxy Harte

  She takes me by the hand and leads me along a secluded boardwalk. Tucked between pines, she pulls me into her arms and I sob against her mouth, “I want you.”

  She steps back from me. “I want you.”

  “I don’t know how I’m ever going to go back to Tokyo without you.”

  “Don’t go without me,” she says. “Take me with you.”

  My lips part, but I can’t form a single thought, let alone words.

  “I love you, Simone Sinclair. I want to be part of your life, I want to be part of your children’s lives. No more running.”

  I back away, not ready to trust words. How many times have we done this dance? One step forward, two steps back? I put my back to her, looking out over the trail, still not believing that she is here, let alone what she just said. I can’t believe it. Won’t believe it. She’s left me too many times...we’ve had too many false starts.

  Just like with Simon.

  At least I’ve made peace with my relationship with Simon now. Friends. Partners. Not friends with benefits. Not anymore. I said no to that. And survived. Maybe Geri and I can work on being just friends again.

  She touches my arm before molding in behind me, her arms going around my baby bump. “I said too much, didn’t I? I’ve scared you off.” She lays her head on my shoulder. “I don’t want to scare you off. We can take our time. Start out slow.”

  My mind spins. I want her, as much now as ever before. I whisper, “Slow would be good.”

  “Maybe we can start with dinner tonight?”

  I nod, holding my breath, dizzy and scared. “How long can you stay?”

  She turns me to face her. “As long as you want.”

  I smile doubtfully. “Gaia Eco-tours can do without you that long?”

  “As a matter of fact, Gaia Eco-tours North America has a very capable staff overseeing operations while I am touring Asia and setting up my Gaia international headquarters. I’ve been scoping out Hong Kong real estate, but Japan is growing on me.”

  I’m shocked and I’m certain my expression relays that, because she chuckles. I manage to say, “Wow,” but then I’m left speechless.

  “I’ve missed you,” she says. “And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to win your trust.”

  I notice that she doesn’t say love. She doesn’t have to. Love is a foregone conclusion. I love her. She loves me. We just both come with a lot of emotional baggage that has made the moments up until now...messy.

  She kneels in front of me, putting her hands around my baby bump. “Twins.” She looks at me with wonder before kissing my belly. She takes my left hand and kisses it. “I know it’s too early for a ring. I know it’s too early to tell you that I want you to be my wife. But I want you to know that that is the level of commitment I am willing to give you.”

  She bows her head. “I’ve been such a jerk to you.”

  Standing, still holding my hand, she promises, “I know it is going to take time for you to actually start believing that I want a life with you, but that really is what I want more than anything else in the world. That includes celebrity appearances, because you are the woman I want to spend my life with. Simone

  Sinclair. I’ve just been too big of an idiot to admit it.”

  I start to cry, silent tears sliding over my cheeks. Damn hormones.

  “I don’t want the word forever to scare you, but that’s what I’m thinking.”

  I nod, crying. “I think forever sounds about perfect, but right this second, I’ll be happy with dinner.”

  “I love you, Simone Sinclair.”

  Author’s Note

  I’m so thankful for my generous and dedicated readers, who have continued to support and encourage me over the years. Without you, The Chronicles of Surrender wouldn’t have had a second life twenty years later, dusted off, updated (honestly, I kind of miss the phone booths) and fully revised with even more heat! Hell, without you, I may have never gotten off the couch and fought so hard for remission from the symptoms of my psoriatic arthritis.

  Thank you

  I’m often asked, how can I help you? First, keep doing what you are doing! Keep emailing and messaging me to encourage me on pain days, because I still have them, tell me about yourself and your pets, let me know who your favorite characters are. Then, if you loved a book, recommend it to your friends! Like and review the book on Amazon and Goodreads. Follow me for updates on social media sites, share my new book details, talk about the story on your social media page, and if you are a reviewer, please kindly review and send me the link so I can share your feelings and your review site with my readers.

  Connect with Roxy online:

  Facebook: Roxy Harte and also Roxy Harte VIP Team

  Twitter: Roxy_Harte

  Instagram: roxy_harte_erotica

  Fetlife: Roxy_Harte

  Also drop me a line me at roxyharte@gmail.com

  Sign up for Roxy’s Newsletter for news, contests, and upcoming releases here.

  More Roxy Harte

  Chronicles of Surrender Coming Soon!

  SACRED SECRETS

  SACRED REVELATIONS

  UNHOLY PROMISES

  ECHO OF REDEMPTION

  CRIES OF PENANCE

  VOW OF SILENCE

  The Van Zant Siblings Series:

  Alexandra

  SURVIVING THE BIG MISTAKES

  CONSEQUENCES OF THE BIG MISTAKES

  LEARNING FROM THE BIG MISTAKES

  SHIBARI PRESENCE

  HEALING FROM THE BIG MISTAKES

  REVELATIONS FROM THE BIG MISTAKES

  Jessica

  LEARNING TO BREATHE

  LEARNING TO BREATHE AGAIN

  Little Bedtime Stories Series:

  Julian and Liam

  A LITTLE INDULGENCE

  A LITTLE IN DANGER

  A LITTLE KINKY ADVENTURE - Coming Soon!

  Stand Alone Novels:

  LOVERS

  Recent Release

  ♥

  LOVERS

  ROXY HARTE

  Just who is sleeping with whom?

  Love, lust, hate, revenge, heartbreak and triumph abound for four men and five women experiencing the joys and trials of polyamorous life, Los Angeles style. They’re not above wading into each other’s drama, wallowing in each other’s misery, offering unsolicited advice or swapping romantic partners. The sex is hot, the lust hotter and the jealousy scathing in this tale of personal evolution where everyone has a stake in who ends up sleeping with whom.

  Now available at Amazon ... Kindle Unlimited

  Coming Soon

  Sacred Secrets

  ROXY HARTE

  Book one in the Chronicles of Surrender series.

  She sold herself for rough play and career-making story—not murder!

  Celia Brentwood, fetish reporter for San Francisco’s Inappropriate Voices, agrees to auction herself off as a BDSM slave for thirty days. She plans to write a first-person exposé, but after she’s purchased by Garrett Lawrence, the most eligible gay bachelor in town, her story becomes an insider peek at the man whose lover was brutally murdered five years before.

  Garrett still mourns the loss of his beloved, but the past is hard to let go when it’s stalking him. The killer is obsessed with Garrett, and becomes incensed when his target claims a slave. When Celia’s ruse is discovered and Garrett sends her away, the killer decides she’s the perfect route to his prey.

  Thomás Stephanopoulos, one of Garrett’s closest friends and confidants, recognizes something special in Celia, a darkness that mirrors his own. After Garrett abandons her, will she accept the lure of self-discovery, he dangles before her?

  Keep Reading... Chapter One begins on next page...

  SACRED SECRETS

  Chapter One

  Celia

  ♥

  LEWD LARRY’S SLAVE AUCTION TONIGHT.

  The plastic banner, rippling in the cool night air, glares at me as we exit the taxi, taunting me with my reason for being here. I�
��m a reporter for Inappropriate Voices, an underground BDSM weekly tabloid, and tonight, for better or worse, I’m taking on a covert assignment—to be a sex slave. Not even my co-workers are aware of the truth. For a contractual period of thirty days, I’ll be in the hands of a dominant. This is not my business as usual. Seriously. I’m the kind of person voted most likely never to be involved in anything remotely associated with the kinks I’ll be expected to take part in.

  It is Friday night and I should be home watching TV with Monet, my luxurious Maine Coon. She is tortoise-shell brown with long fur and a thick tail wider than my arm. I miss her green eyes and the sound of her purr already, but I know she is safe with my friend and coworker Charlie. He loves cats. I know she will be fine, but I feel like crying. She will wonder where I am. I should be there with her, not here on this fool’s errand.

  Fuck!

  Honking horns and squealing tires make me even more frantic.

  Heart racing, palms sweating. Ohmygod, I think I’m going to be sick. I can’t do this! I shouldn’t be here! A girl like me does not do this! Not ever. Under any circumstances! My father is a Pentecostal preacher for crying out loud. Granted, we’re estranged, but still—my point stands. “I’m going home.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Celia. You’re not going anywhere.” Doug Mitchell, my boss and for tonight’s venture Master Jake Maddow, gives me his most judgy glance. He is playing a role just as I am. We both have to be believable to pull this assignment off. My boss is calm, cool, and nowhere near to having a complete breakdown, but then he isn’t the one being auctioned tonight, is he?

  “Don’t be nervous, sweetheart. Look at this as a vacation. Granted, a very exotic vacation, but you’ll have a blast. Believe me when I say this is going to give you a whole new outlook on life.”

  Yeah, that’s kind of what I’m counting on.

  Doug smiles and turns back to the crowd, humming. I want to kick him in the shin for being so relaxed. It isn’t Doug who keeps me moving forward. No, truly, the only thing keeping me from running and screaming into the night is a raw determination to overcome my insecurities and steer the direction of my life the complete opposite of the moral compass ingrained upon me at a young age by my father.

  So, I will not entertain the unreasonable fears, swirling through my brain, including those that insist I will fall into the hands of an ancient, impotent man... an affirmed sadist...or God, a crazed serial killer. I’ll do my job well and with any luck, I will uncover a scandal, which proves to be the biggest story of the year. If I fail...oh God, if I fail, my dream job may be history.

  Traffic in the tightly crowded streets is off the charts, parking limited, and the crowd—Jesus! I’ve never seen so many people all swarming toward one building! It’s like a scene straight out of a zombie apocalypse B-movie, except everyone is wearing really revealing clothing and laughing, joyfully! So, not zombies, no apocalypse. It’s just my own personal reality blowing up as we walk toward Lewd Larry’s, a bizarre hybrid that straddles being the hottest nightclub in town and a BDSM sex club.

  No actual sexual play takes place on the first or second floors, open to the public; however, the scene is set for a sexually charged uninhibited night of fun. To set the stage, nearly naked “slaves” dance in gold cages, professional dominants perform nightly public scenes, and the wait staff are all trained theatrically to perform their duties with a mysteriously sexual je ne sais quoi that keeps the crowds coming back night after night.

  For the wealthy kink community, a very exclusive members’ only sex club dominates the third and fourth floor. With any luck, I’ll be able to really peel back the layers to discover how much of this annual event is fantasy and how much is hard-core BDSM.

  The towering brick building, which retains its character as a 1900’s industrial warehouse, despite being renovated to include a three-story steel and glass addition on top of the existing structure and adding an adjacent tower expansion filled with luxury office spaces, residential lofts and apartments. Not too far from Folsom St, it sits in a part of town quickly becoming an artists’ haven and entertainment hotspot that draws from a broad range of demographics. In preparing for this role, I discovered Garrett Lawrence, the owner of Lewd Larry’s, is responsible for much of that growth, buying up crumbling properties over the last decade, renovating and restoring them to their former glory and then some. If all the hype surrounding the man, he is a true Renaissance man, and altruistic savior of societies outcasts, regardless of how their eccentricities present. He has a passion for creating a thriving safe haven for like souls. The detailed neighborhood residential and commercial redevelopment plan for the blocks around his nightclub that he submitted to the city was considered controversial for about a minute, before it passed unanimously. As a reporter, I’d love to dig into that story because from my vantage point I know there is more not being said than has been revealed.

  Searchlights atop the roof create a dizzying light show in the dark sky.

  The night is cooler than normal for late spring in the Bay Area, though the afternoon was warmer than average. The combination creates a thick, white fog rolling in from the Pacific. I shiver, wrapping myself in my bare arms, though the temperature is only partly to blame.

  A thick ribbon of people extends around the block. A second line of people gain quicker entrance by presenting VIP passes. A camera’s strobe leads my eye farther around the block to the celebrity entrance. Limos drop this month’s glamorous and famous at a red carpet bracketed by the media. Lewd Larry’s annual event is a very big deal, which supports many charities near and dear to the hearts of many of Hollywood’s biggest and brightest. The paparazzi know better than to challenge their strictly enforced boundaries at the risqué venue, confirming at least one rumor: the club’s owner is dominant to his bones. Mr. Lawrence tightly controls the optics, protects the anonymity of the members, and guards the reputation of his club.

  Doug jerks my chain to follow him to a fourth line, the shortest of all.

  Okay, breathe.

  I take a big deep cleansing breath. Inhale. Slow and easy. Deep. Deeper. And hold. I remind myself this is going to be a fun, safe adventure. I know all the applicants, both submissive and dominant, were vetted just as thoroughly as I was, each applicant required to pass physical and psychological evaluations. There was also an in-depth background check. The forms I completed—guaranteeing my privacy, and now filled with all my deepest darkest secrets—are locked in an encrypted file inside a third party’s computer at an undisclosed location. With an eye toward safety, the professional dominants and all service staff are required to complete a rigorous training program and to attain a coveted Dungeon Monitor position, additional classes to achieve proficiency in all types of play are required to be certified to be competent by a Lewd Larry’s instructor.

  Rules are in place to guarantee safe, sane, and consensual fun.

  Exhale. Blow it out. Hard and fast. Expel the fear.

  Everything is going to be fine.

  Strangely, a foghorn rising above the traffic helps calm me more just as we reach the door. Doug presents our preregistered auction slip. A beefy security guard wearing a skintight black t-shirt that strains around his muscular frame points us toward our final destination. He winks at me and I smile before it occurs to me that he knows why I’m here. I blush insanely. Of course he knows. Everyone here knows. Looking over my shoulder, I realize he turned his attention to the next couple as soon as we passed. The back of his shirt glares SECURITY in neon yellow, as if any of us would have a doubt.

  I stumble twice and Doug gives me an exasperated glance. With a glare toward my feet, I blame the patent leather platform T-strap, closed toe sandals with six inch heels and narrow ankle straps. My eyes slowly adjust to the dim light. I stop and stare at the wall to wall crowd. It’s so different than the night of our covert visit to get a feel for the place. This area was a dance floor surrounded by comfortable seating areas and anchored by bars. That night seemed ta
me by comparison—mostly couples, both straight and gay.

  Tonight, every weirdo on the planet has shown up dressed for the occasion. Leather and latex compete for attention with sparkling sequins. There are even a few cowboy hats floating above the crowd. Worse are the suits, executives out for a thrill. However, we do not even slow to mingle on our way to check in.

  Thinking being pre-registered meant I was all set to be auctioned was a mistake. I watch the couples in front of me get processed. Read this, sign that, smile for your photograph. Blah, blah, blah...

  “Wait! What’s happening?” Two skimpily clad nurses, complete with white stockings and tiny caps propped on their heads have come around to the side of the table. Gaping, I turn away from the guy in front of me who starts urinating into a specimen bottle. I reach for Doug, needing stability and reassurance. “Nothing was said about...about...that!”

  I gesture madly but Doug rolls his eyes. I look over my shoulder to discover the man has again covered his genitals, though, the thong he is wearing leaves nothing to the imagination. He sits and the other nurse gloves up to draw blood. I try to understand it, justify it. I lean into Doug, not believing this is happening. “That cannot be sanitary. Or legal! This is all for show, right? For the ones who chose medical play as a kink on the intake forms?”

  A woman behind the table announces, “Next!” and looks directly at me.

  Oh, hell, no—

  I feel the jerk of the chain, but the next thing I’m conscious of is being on my knees and pain slicing across my hip. I stare at Doug not believing he just struck me with the chain. I look down, rubbing my insulted flesh. Welts! When I look up again, a man is holding Doug’s wrist and reiterating the rules, “...all slaves have to be mark-free. You don’t want to damage the goods now, do you?”