I, Porn Star (I #1)

by Zara Cox

  He’s delusional.

  “We’re whores. I’d die before I let you or Clay lay a finger on her!”

  “It’s not really up to you, princess. I’ve seen pictures of her. You’re fucking stunning. But your sister…she’s something else. She could own this place.” The light in his eyes sickens me to my soul.

  I struggle against the hand pressing me down. But he restrains me easily. Slowly, he bends down. My legs flail as I try to find purchase. His mouth lands on mine and he moans. Against my belly, I feel the thick ridge of his erection.

  I fight harder, but he raises his head and laughs. “I’m going to have you tonight, little girl. Tonight and every night until your sister gets here. Then I’m going to have her too.”

  The thick roar that erupts from my throat blinds me for a second. But it’s not just the roar. Smoke drifts into the air and enters my lungs as I search blindly for something, anything to defend myself with. My fingers find the thick ashtray made of solid glass. I grab and swing.

  Ridge staggers off me. Rage fills his eyes. I scramble off the table and race away from him. He lurches toward me, retribution and lust burning in his face.

  Fear threatens to paralyze me, but I can’t afford to let it. I search the room and my gaze lands on the open safe.

  Inside it is a black, gleaming piece. Clay’s gun.

  I grab hold of it. Point it at him. “Stop. Please.”

  He laughs. “The only way you’re going to stop me, little girl, is to shoot me.”

  My mind blanks.

  I lift the gun.

  I shoot.

  ***

  I stare down at the money.

  I remind myself again why I’m doing this.

  My beautiful, innocent sister. The only one who matters in all this.

  I’m doing it so Clayton doesn’t turn another daughter into a whore.

  Yes, Clayton Getty is my biological father. Finding out I was his and not Earl’s is partly why he spared Earl’s life.

  But he’s also the man who took bids from strangers as to who would be the first man to defile his seventeen-year-old daughter.

  I shot Ridge Mathews to keep him from going after my sister. I’m going to offer Clayton Getty one million dollars to forget Petra exists.

  If he doesn’t accept, I will shoot him too. Because there’s no way I’m allowing him to do to Petra what he’s done to me.

  PART THREE

  QUINN

  27

  THE MARISLASIS

  The first time I heard the term I was twelve years old.

  The Greater Good.

  The definition seemed strange to me.

  How could sacrificing what you want in favor of what someone else wanted be a good thing? It’s possible it was the first time I realized something was wrong with me.

  I was a spoiled, pampered, only child. The male offspring of two powerhouse dynasties who could make grown men cower before me from the moment I realized what true power was. Sacrifice wasn’t in my vocabulary. Neither were words like reasonable or considerate.

  One particular word that was totally alien to me was sharing.

  I didn’t share. Period. The fact that I had to share my mother with my father was a huge problem for me from the day I was born. Learning to swallow that bitter pill on a daily basis was enough of a sacrifice in my opinion.

  So imagine my surprise when I realized this sharing nonsense was truly a thing. That people actually participated in it. Of their own free will.

  But even then, I was jarringly aware that what he was asking of her that night didn’t seem right.

  Mothers and fathers were supposed to love each other. Only each other. Right?

  So seeing him lead her down the hallway to the guest suite was disturbing enough. Odder still was the super skimpy nightie she wore. Mama’s nighties were always long and flowing, with a robe over it with a train that made her look like a queen.

  Not tonight, though. Tonight she looked like one of those girls in the cheap magazines Wesley, my driver, hides beneath the car seat when he sees me coming. The idiot doesn’t know I have my own, superior, collection thanks to Armand, our gardener.

  But I digress.

  Mama. Looking un-queen like. In the part of the house that’s far away from the bedroom suite she shares with my father.

  I should be in bed. But I’m rarely able to sleep when we have guests. For one thing, everyone wants a piece of Mama, and sometimes my annoyance at having to work for her attention keeps me up at night. She’s mine and mine alone.

  Her sole attention is what makes my world turn.

  Call it what you will…some fucked up Oedipal Complex? Yeah, I know what it means. I looked it up after I heard some asshole joke about it in reference to me and Mama when we were at the country club the other day. Maybe that’s what I have. There’s nothing remotely sexual about the connection I have with my mother, but who cares what other people think? All I know is that I’m never happier than when she’s smiling at me. Hugging me. Laughing at the jokes I meticulously scour books, TV shows and magazines to find and tell her. Watching her face blossom with happiness when she sees me is like seeing the sun come out after a horrible thunderstorm.

  I hate those. Thunderstorms. I also hate it when she’s not smiling.

  Tonight, she’s not smiling. She crying.

  The sound triggers a series of memories. I frown when I realize I’ve heard it before. The sound of her crying. I never thought much about it because I always assumed it was Mrs. Harper, our overly emotional housekeeper who cries at a drop of a hat, especially when she’s with Mama. The few times I heard the crying, it would turn out to be Mrs. Harper, not Mama. Mama would always smile a happy smile when she saw me.

  But tonight her cheeks are wet. Her shoulders are hunched over as Maxwell, my father, leads her down the hallway to the double doors of the guest suite.

  Captain Harrington’s suite.

  My concern for her makes me leave my hiding place behind the huge grandfather clock in the guest wing. I creep closer along the wall, making sure to stay in the shadows. My heart bangs against my ribs in fear and confusion as Mama holds her fist against her mouth.

  “You agreed, Adele. You don’t want to let me down, do you?”

  Mama shakes her head.

  Maxwell nods in satisfaction and kisses her gently on the forehead. His gentleness with her makes my anger with him abate a touch. But my heart is still racing, my brain utterly perplexed at what is happening.

  “Remember the end goal. Remember this is for the greater good.”

  A sob catches in her throat. I’m ready to lunge out of my hiding place when Maxwell turns the door handle and pushes it open. Mama stumbles forward, her high heels catching on the carpet. She turns and looks at Maxwell. Her face looks…pleading, her eyes great pools of distress. His jaw tenses and he jerks his chin at her.

  “The greater good, Adele.”

  Why is he saying that? From my hiding place I can tell what’s going on is the opposite of good. Mama is crying. That’s bad.

  I have to save her.

  I step out. Then immediately shrink back when I see the two men coming silently down the hall. They’re Captain Harrington’s assistants; they arrived with the Captain and are staying for the weekend at our plantation mansion in South Carolina. They both give me the creeps, the big, muscly one especially.

  Maxwell sees them and steps back from the doorway. They’re both dressed in their pajamas and one of them is holding something in his hand. Like the video camera Mama got me for my last birthday. They enter and shut the door without speaking to him.

  I plaster myself against the wall as Maxwell walks past me and returns to his bedroom. My gaze swings back to the guest suite door.

  Mama is in there, doing something. Something she doesn’t want to do. Something that makes her cry.

  And she’s doing it for the greater good.

  I stay in my hiding place for hours and hours, the three words pla
ying in my head. Eventually, my eyelids begin to droop. I want to go knock on the door, see if Mama’s all right. But my feet won’t obey me. They want to run in the other direction, back to my room. I don’t let them. Because I don’t want to leave Mama in that room.

  Mrs. Harper finds me in my hiding place at sunrise. She hassles me back to bed. I want to ask all the questions bursting through my mind.

  But the old biddy is crying again, sniffing into that damn white handkerchief she always has tucked in her pocket.

  She promises me pancakes for breakfast, as if she’s offering me some rare, magnificent treat. It’s stupid, because I’m Quinn Blackwood. If I want pancakes, I’ll have pancakes. She has zero power over the delivery or withholding of pancakes. What I want her to do is to return to that room and get Mama. I’d do it myself but I can barely keep my eyes open. But Mama can’t stay in that room no matter what she agreed.

  Because from where I’m standing, it’s very clear that the greater good sucks.

  28

  BOOM SHOT

  The sound of her footfalls pulls me from the Blackwood plantation mansion hallway to the present. The only greater good in my immediate future is what I’m planning to do to her in this room.

  The larger plan is already taken care of.

  My gaze moves over the items on the table. Half of the toys I thought I’d need I’ve discarded. Pure, undiluted chemistry has taken care of the need for extra stimulants. We still have several days to cover, and those items could well come in handy.

  For now, Lucky’s body is enough. Just the thought of her supple form and I’m hard as a fucking rock.

  I turn from the French windows from where I’ve been staring across the water at the Blackwood mansion. I haven’t set foot in that place in years. For a second, I think of Mrs. Harper. And her disgustingly addictive pancakes.

  Footsteps draw near, and my thoughts scatter.

  The room I’m in is dark. But the dining room is staged and lit to my specification. She enters, and the inferno in my groin rages higher.

  The body chain circles her neck and drapes her figure to perfection. The gold chain fringes that fall over her breasts play peekaboo with her aroused nipples. Lower, another chain circles her waist, with a fringe over her pussy. With each movement beneath the lights, her body glows and highlights her perfection. I grit my teeth against the pounding in my cock.

  Added to the edge riding me, I grapple to find control. So I force myself to stay put, take several beats before joining her. I stride closer to the doors dividing us and watch as she picks up the note next to her place setting.

  Barely an hour ago, I thought tonight would go differently. She wanted to ‘see’ me. I arranged to make it possible. But that was before memories set my blackness on edge. I shouldn’t care about the effect I have on Lucky. But I remember Elly’s reaction the first time she looked into my eyes. I was calm then and she was barely able to look at me.

  I’m not calm now.

  My hooded gaze tracks Lucky’s movement as she leans forward and lifts the dome off the first ‘dish’. She’s disappointed to see the blindfold. The twinge in my chest suggests I care about her disappointment.

  Curious.

  I finger the control in my hand, debate for a second, then press the play button. Her head snaps up at the sound of the familiar music.

  And she smiles.

  Her fingers caress the piece of silk in her hand, but she doesn’t move to put it on. My rigid cock protests at the delay.

  “Is there a reason for your inactivity, Lucky?” I drawl.

  She startles, then a trace of hurt crosses her face. She quickly blinks it away. “Hi to you, too.”

  “The blindfold, please,” I insist.

  She tenses for a second. Then she moves the dish away as instructed and climbs onto the table. She settles on her knees, the dangerously sexy stilettos tucked against her bare ass. Raising her hands, she secures the blindfold in place and rests her hands palm up on her thighs.

  I open the French doors, enter the room and take my place at the head of the long banquet table.

  “Good evening, Lucky. You look stunning.”

  She catches her inner lip between her teeth before she answers. “Thank you. Wish I could see you so I can return the compliment.”

  The ploy almost makes me smile. “The night is still young. I could change my mind before we’re through.”

  “I…hope you do.”

  That little telltale of her wants jars me in an unfamiliar way. A way it makes me want…again…absurdly…to offer her what she desires.

  I change the subject. “How were your preparations this afternoon?”

  Heat flares into her cheeks but she doesn’t turn away in embarrassment. “They were…different.”

  “How do you feel?”

  She grimaces. “Can we talk about something else besides my butt, please?”

  “No, Lucky. Your…butt is the focal point of tonight’s entertainment.”

  Her lips purse and she looks away for a second. “Are you okay?”

  The unexpected questions jars. “Am I okay?”

  She nods. “You sound a little…off.”

  I laugh. “A curious conclusion.”

  “Scoff all you want. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m just…I don’t want to spend the evening wondering if you’re all right. That’s all.”

  “I’m…” I stop when I realize I’m not in the mood to lie. Nor am I willing to have my thoughts recorded on camera. This part will need to be edited out, anyway. “Your concern is noted.”

  Another trace of hurt passes over her face. I ignore it and focus on the space between us. She’s too far away.

  “Come to me, Lucky. Don’t be afraid, I’ll guide you.”

  She takes a breath, then reaches forward. When her palms connect with the surface of the table, she tentatively crawls forward. The chains sway against her body, offering me a view of her beautiful, pink-tipped tits.

  Behind the fly of my black pants, my cock engorges and throbs painfully. I squeeze the base to alleviate some of the pressure, and will her closer.

  “The second dish is in front of you. Stop…now.”

  She pauses and gingerly reaches forward. Her fingers brush the silver dome and she lifts the lid and sets it behind her. Searching, she finds her gift and picks it up. Her head cocks to one side as she investigates. Then her breath hitches.

  “Do you know what you’re holding, firecracker?” I murmur.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Turn it on.”

  She adjusts her hold and twists the gadget to its first setting. A low hum joins the music.

  “Open your legs. Put it in.”

  Her lips part on a single pant. Slowly, her knees slide apart on the table. Watching Lucky slide the silver vibrator between her legs, her hips jerking and a full-body shiver gripping her as electricity hits her sensitive folds, is beyond sexy. The cameras are picking up her every move, and I know this is a shot I’ll be replaying for a long time.

  “Close your legs. Move a little to your right, and come forward. Don’t let it fall out.”

  Another shiver as she traps the vibrator between her pussy lips. Lifting and setting the dinner plate behind her, she crawls forward once more. Her movements are inhibited by the gadget between her legs, and her breath catches whenever the vibrations hit her right.

  She’s two thirds of the way to me. I want to surge to my feet, move the last dish out of the way and penetrate her hard, the way I did the second time yesterday. I can’t afford to get carried away. As much as I love fucking her, this production is for a specific purpose. The enjoyment of it, though surprisingly mind-altering, can’t outweigh the end goal.

  Her crawl has brought her close enough for me to hear her agitated breathing over the music. Her nipples are hard points and her arms tremble as she stretches forward. The last dish is set in front of me. With admirable accuracy, she finds and lifts the dome.
/>
  Her fingers search over the gadget and hot color flares into her cheeks.

  “Would you like me to help you with it?”

  She swallows hard and shakes her head.

  “Make it wet,” I instruct, curbing my disappointment and contenting myself with watching her lick the black butt plug from tip to base.

  I shift in my seat and lower my zipper to ease the tight pressure. My cock springs out. I grip it hard, pump it a couple of time, and bite back a groan. I lean forward and move the dishes out of the way, then subside back into my chair. “Turn around. I want to see you put it in.”

  Her nostrils quiver in reaction to my command, but she shifts around on her knees until she’s facing away from me. Her hair is hanging in a wavy curtain down her back, the soft lines of her figure flaring to curvy hips, making me itch to get my hands on her once more. My breath locks in my throat as she leans forward on one hand. She widens her stance and I see her perfect little cunt framed around the vibrator.

  She starts to edge the butt plug towards her puckered entrance. I surge to my feet and seize her wrist. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take care of this part.”

  Her breath falls out. She releases the plug and braces both hands on the table.

  I set the plug down, unable to resist touching her beautiful skin. My finger traces the delicate line of her spine from nape to tail bone, my blood thrumming at her minute shivers. I palm her ass and squeeze the firm globes, knead her until she moans. I want to reach for her tits, but I’m already leaking, and I’m yet to go anywhere near her back passage. I hook my hand on the underside of her ass and caress her clit with my thumb. Another loud moan rips from her throat.

  I flick the vibrator to the second setting and her back arches as pleasure curls through her. “Oooh…”

  “Do you like that, firecracker?”

  “Hmm…yes.”

  Wetness coats my thumb. I trace it up to her butt hole and spread it around. She tenses slightly but relaxes when I don’t apply pressure. I take my time, apply moisture between the two holes. I resist for as long as I can stand, then spread her wide and taste her.