by Lane Hart
“Uh! Uh, God, Linc!” She moans and shakes in my arms when she comes again like it’s the best fuckin’ orgasm of her life. I cover her mouth with mine since she’s so loud it has to be obvious to everyone around us what’s going on. Nothin’ to see here people, just a gorgeous porn star comin’ for me. Twice. Shit, is this really happening? I have to be dreamin’ because there’s no way the sexy woman from my wildest fantasies just collapsed in my arms after I finger fucked her in a strip club full of men.
“Oh, wow,” Eve whispers, pullin’ her lips away and lookin’ up at me through droopin’, hazy blue eyes. “That was…” I wait for the adjective she’ll use to describe it. Amazin’? Incredible? Mind-blowin’? “Embarrassing.”
Embarrassing is the word she decides to go with? Well fuck. I immediately slip my fingers out of her miniscule bottoms, barely resistin’ the urge to stick them in my mouth and lick her arousal from them just to taste her.
“Sorry,” I mutter insincerely. I’m not sorry, even if she is uncomfortable now that it’s all over. I’ll replay those few previous minutes in my mind probably until the day I die, because for me it was mind-blowin’.
When she removes her arms from the tight grip around my neck, I reluctantly lower her until both of her red high heels touch the ground again.
“I, um, I better go,” she says softly with her eyes lowered to the roll of cash still clutched in her fist.
“Right.” I try and likely fail to hide my disappointment that she’s up and leavin’ after we just did...that. “Well, thanks for one hell of a night,” I tell her honestly. “It’s definitely one I’ll never forget.”
She finally looks up at me with a stunnin’ smile lightin’ up her beautiful face before she says, “Me, either. Thank you, Linc Abrams." She slides out from underneath me and walks away, leavin’ me with the incredible view of her gorgeous ass in nothin’ but that white thong, the left cheek still bearin’ the redness from where my hand just gripped it.
I may be hurtin’ with the worst case of blue balls in the history of mankind, but that was by far the best four thousand dollars I've ever spent. Unfortnately, I’m pretty sure it’s gonna take a helluva lot more than AA meetings to help me with my addiction. Just seein’ her wasn’t enough. I needed to touch her, and from the second I tasted her lips on mine the gateway was opened to a much more dangerous obsession. Bein’ hooked on porn was nothin’ compared to bein’ addicted to the touch of an angel. I’m already goin’ through the brutal withdrawals. My twitchin’ hands are restless wantin’ to caress her smooth skin. I’m so damn irritable I could gouge the eyes out of every fucker in the buildin’, and the thought of never seein’ Eve again makes me want to vomit.
Chapter Four
Claire
Holy shit.
The huge, goofy ass smile stays on my face the whole time I'm changing into dry panties, jeans, and sweater backstage, and then riding in the passenger seat with James driving us back to the hotel.
"Linc Abrams is a fucking loaded gravy train. You need to do whatever it takes to ride him," the bastard interrupts the quiet darkness.
"No," I say automatically. The kiss, and ah, make out session that ended with me coming in front of a room full of people temporarily pushed aside the guilt I have about how much money Linc gave me. Oddly enough, James didn't even ask for a cut after Linc flattened him like a pancake against the wall and almost made him piss his pants. Even if I hadn't already started falling for the incredible man, seeing him scare James would've sealed the deal.
Linc was not only gentle and sincere with me, but he was so freaking hot. I can still feel the imprint of the pad of his thumbs on my hips and lower on my still throbbing clit. I taste his lingering beer flavor on my lips, which is not at all unpleasant. And that comforting smell of his, pine and vanilla, reminding me of happy childhood Christmases before I stopped believing in the magic, still lingers on my skin. I dread having to shower and wash it off.
I can't help but keep replaying that amazing kiss over and over again. I've never kissed anyone like that before, or gotten that turned on from just a kiss. Linc wanted me, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. No, actually, Linc wanted your sister, I remind the silly girl inside me with her head still in the clouds. He doesn’t even know my name. A rush of melancholy washes over me at that realization.
As soon as the lighted hotel sign comes into view, my good mood deflates even more. I need to check on Mandy, and see if I can get her to eat or drink something other than drugs and alcohol. James parks his black Scion right next to my ancient, white Accord in front of the one level hotel and then we both get out to head inside. I pull out the spare room key from my purse, but quickly see it's unnecessary since the door opens when I simply turn and push the knob. Dammit, Mandy! She should know better, especially in a shady part of town like we're in overrun with panhandlers and prostitutes walking the streets, desperate enough to do anything including murder you for a dollar. The sound of police sirens is like a constant soundtrack blaring in the background.
I take two steps inside the mildew smelling room before my eyes land on the first bed and it becomes perfectly obvious that Mandy’s not alone.
"Get off of her you stupid son of a bitch!" I exclaim and lunge for Bobby Manus, the piece of shit. He’s on top of Mandy, fucking her with his clothes still on while she lies on her stomach underneath him, and she doesn’t seem the least bit responsive.
James yanks me backwards with his arm banded around my waist, preventing my attack. I try to fight my way free, elbowing him in the stomach, but his hold tightens, now with both arms locked around me, pinning my arms down against the sides of my body.
"Almost...done," Bobby, the asshole, says to us over his shoulder.
“Oh my God,” I mutter in disgust. With three more thrusts he comes to a stop and lets out a groan. I want to throw up, and if James doesn’t ease up on my stomach I just might.
Even though the two are technically supposed to be together, James doesn't give a shit about Mandy or who she fucks as long as she keeps making him money. His ultimate loyalty is to the big bossman, just like Bobby's. Both are Vito Scarfone's goons who only care about making him happy and even richer, doing whatever it takes to make that happen.
Bobby climbs off the bed and turns around to face me and James as he zips his dick back up in his jeans. I try really hard to ignore the bulge I feel pressed against my backside from the front of James's pants.
"What?" Bobby asks with a sardonic grin. "She said she didn't have any money for me, so she told me I could fuck her for an extension."
"You're a day early!" I scream at him as my eyes worriedly go back to the bed. Mandy is still flat on her stomach. When she moves, brushing the hair out of her face before she rolls to her back I’m finally able to exhale the breath of relief I was holding.
"And she's three months late on repaying Scarfone the thirty-five thousand she owes him," the asshole replies.
"Thirty-five?" I ask. "What's the extra five for?"
"Interest and an eight-ball," he says with a shrug of indifference. Fuck! We'll never pay them off at this rate if they keep adding interest, and if Mandy doesn't stop digging a deeper hole for a few stupid hits of cocaine.
"Sorry, sissy," Mandy mutters, and I relax even more hearing her voice, knowing she was at least somewhat coherent while he fucked her.
"Don't worry about the money. Claire here not only pulled it off tonight, but she racked up!" James says from where he still stands behind me, finally releasing his hold on my arms. "Who would've guessed that Linc Abrams is a huge Eve Kelly fan?"
"No shit! Linc Abrams?" Bobby ask with a grin. "The MMA legend?"
"Uh-huh," James answers. "Paid three grand for a private lap dance."
The gorgeous blond man is a freaking fighting legend? No wonder he has so much money, but it's crazy how modest he seemed about it. And of course James failed to mention the thousand dollars of our money that he's keeping for himself.
Mandy g
iggles. "Claire actually gave a guy a lap dance?" she asks, knowing my ineptness at dancing and my adamant refusal to get undressed for any amount of money.
"She did," James confirms. "Got that dude all strung out. I think there's an enormous cash cow just waiting to happen."
"No," I say yet again. I'm not doing anything to help him swindle even more money from Linc. He's too sweet of a guy, and I refuse to keep lying to him about who I am, even if I do want to see him again
"If we could get him to agree to do a movie..." James says like he didn't hear me.
"You'd make bank!" Bobby finishes.
"He wouldn't ever agree to do a movie," I tell them to dissuade that shitty idea.
"Oh, I bet he would, and I bet you'd want to be his co-star," James says with a smirk.
"Hell no," I respond right away, taking a seat on the foot of the empty queen bed.
"Well, then I'm sure Mandy wouldn't mind fucking the famous fighter, would you, Mandy?" James asks, climbing in bed next to her and wrapping an arm around her waist. Thinking of her with Linc causes the acid in my stomach to burn as it starts making its way up my throat. He can't be serious!
"Is he hot?" my sister asks, looking back and forth between us.
James snorts in response. "Claire seemed to think so. She fucking dry humped him in front of everyone in the club before we left."
"Claire!" Mandy exclaims in surprise before reaching beside the bed for her pack of Marlboro's and a lighter sitting on the nightstand. "Were you just trying to get a better tip or did you really like him?"
Ignoring her question, I instead yell at her. "Dammit, Mandy! I thought you were gonna quit." Although, I've heard that word a million times from both my sister's and my brother's mouths. I quit the business. I quit smoking. I'm gonna quit drinking. I swear I quit all the drugs.
"So you liked him, huh?" Now she ignores my comment, stupidly lighting up a cigarette despite the fact that our own mother died of lung cancer.
"He was nice-"
"While this girl talk is riveting, give me the money so I can get the fuck back to Durham," Bobby interrupts.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out the thick roll of hundreds. My heart sinks since it would be so nice to get to keep such an incredible amount of money instead of always forfeiting it over to these assholes. Not only could we stop eating off the dollar menu, but we would get ahead on rent and utilities. Mandy could buy the black, knee-high boots and new cell phone she's been wanting. I could get the heat in my car fixed and buy oils instead of watercolors, and canvas instead of paper to paint on. One day, maybe, whenever this shit is all finally paid off.
I place the five thousand I got from the club and three thousand from Linc into Bobby’s dirty, outstretched hand. He counts each of the bills, and then says, "Only twenty-seven thousand to go, if you get it paid off by next week."
That's never gonna happen, but at least it's a decent size dent.
As soon as Bobby leaves, I kick James out and start running a bath for Mandy to get the nasty smell of sex with an asshole off of her. She stumbles so much that I have to put an arm around her waist to help her get the few feet away to the bathroom. After she's submerged in the warm water, I put the lid down on the toilet and sit next to her just to make sure she doesn't pass out and drown. Sure enough, within minutes, she starts sliding lower and lower with her eyes closed like she's asleep. It doesn't take long for her chin to hit the water.
"Mandy!"
She startles awake, her arms and legs splashing water all over me and the bathroom floor when she shouts, "Fuck! Why are you yelling at me?"
"You fell asleep."
"So?" she says, tilting her head to the side to look over at me.
"So, do you want to drown?" I ask.
Mandy looks down at her palms as she lifts them and lets the water run through her fingers. "If I did, I could finally escape this fucked up life."
My chest constricts, hearing my little sister make such a flippant comment about something as serious as suicide. "Don't say that shit, Mandy. It's your life, and you are the only one who can make it better. We could get you into another rehab program. You could stop making the movies-"
"And what would I do instead?" she asks. "Waitress for two dollars an hour plus tips?"
"Hey, it may not be an ideal job, but at least I get to keep my dignity and self-respect when I go home at night," I reply defensively as I get to my feet and cross my arms over my chest.
"I lost all of my dignity and self-respect a looong time ago," she says sadly. "Probably right around the time I let the world watch me suck a man's dick while getting fucked in the ass."
I wince at her gross and way too explicit description. "You don't have to always be Eve Kelly. You can be Mandy Reed and do anything else you want," I tell her. Even as I say this I know it's not exactly true. People are always approaching me, thinking I'm her because we look so much alike and they've seen the pornos. Since it's not in fact me in the movies, I always act like I don't know what the hell they're talking about and simply walk away. Easier for me to do than her, I'm sure. It'll be hard for Mandy to get away from the image, but she can do it if she really wants to.
…
Tossing and turning with too many thoughts of money, a sexy man named after a video game character, and all of Mandy and Mason’s problems bouncing around inside my head, I don’t get much sleep that night. Instead I mostly lay there and listen to Mandy snoring, wishing our life had turned out differently and then feeling stupid knowing that wishing for things isn’t worth a shit.
The next morning, Mandy and I check out of the hotel and I drive the two of us back to Durham. We could've easily made the half hour drive last night, but the strip club was paying for the shitty hotel that's nicer than our apartment, since they have no idea that Eve Kelly lives just a few miles away. We’ve been in North Carolina for a little over four years, ever since Mandy signed with Scarfone's porn production company whose headquarters is just out in the suburbs of the city.
My sister is slightly more coherent today than she was last night. When we stop at the IHOP, I'm shocked after she actually eats most of her stack of pancakes and drinks straight orange juice with no alcohol for the first time probably since we were kids.
In our small, rundown, two-bedroom apartment, I leave her alone and shut myself in my room, relieved that the whole ordeal at the club is over and done with, no one the wiser to our substitute porn star scheme. Even though I try to force myself to stop thinking about Linc Abrams, I can’t. Not only was he the hottest man I've ever laid eyes on, but in those few short minutes, he treated me better than anyone else ever has. And he thought I was a slutty porn star that fucked men on camera for money! That didn't seem to matter to him. Or maybe it did. Is that why he paid so much money for the private dance? Was he hoping to get more than a dance? No, I don't think so. If that's what he wanted, he would've been more aggressive and not so sweet.
Now that he's on my mind I feel guilty; guilty for lying about who I am and guilty for accepting his ridiculous amount of money. Well, there's one small thing I can do to alleviate some of the guilt. I take my empty glass to the bathroom and fill it up with water, then sit down at the little wooden desk in the corner of my bedroom. Spreading the thick paper out in front of me, I tap the handle of the brush to my lips, trying to decide what to paint. Usually I just close my eyes and…see the scene. I haven't traveled much, mostly just from Ohio to North Carolina, and once to the beach, but my imagination usually pulls its own small piece of nature from somewhere and directs me on what to create.
As expected, the perfect scene instantly unfolds in my mind; a calm, green tinged lake surrounded with weeping willows, their long, sad-looking limbs draped over the ripples that hit the muddy shore. With a sun…is the sun setting or rising? Definitely setting above the tree line, reflecting the orangish tint onto the surface of the water. There's a small dock with a little boy sitting alone, his bare feet dangling over the calm waves w
ith a fishing pole in his hands. His back is to me, which is good because I'm terrible at painting people's faces. He has blond hair and is in need of a cut since it's curling up all cute around the collar of his army green t-shirt. There's something about him that's sad, but maybe that's just because the little guy is out there all alone.
When I finally finish and hang the twelve by sixteen picture on the clothesline strung across my room to dry it's dark outside my bedroom window and my shoulders ache from being hunched over the desk for so long. Overall, I think it's one of my better scenes. So...peaceful, capturing nature's simplistic beauty in a profound and sentimental way, at least that’s how it makes me feel. Just like the other paintings hanging around my room, it's nothing fancy and nothing technical since I've never had anything more than art classes in high school, but it's the best I can do and I enjoy painting more than anything. Now to figure out how to get it to Linc once it has time to dry.
I remember that he mentioned something to me about a place called Havoc, so I type the word into Google on my phone since I don’t have a computer. Two results come up, one location in Maryland and one in Cary, North Carolina. It has to be the second one so I jot down the address on a scrap of paper.
A part of me really wants to deliver it to him in person just to see him again, but on the other hand, there's no reason to remind myself how incredible he looks or how incredibly sweet he is. Or how he has a magic touch that can light up my body like the Fourth of July. I'm not who he thinks I am, and a guy like him wouldn't want a nobody like me. Especially not after he finds out I lied to him.
Chapter Five
Linc
"Seriously, Kyle, how many licks will it take before you listen to me? You’ve gotta keep your hands up!" I tell the eighteen-year-old lightweight fighter after his sparrin’ partner, Luke, nails him in the face yet again. While I miss trainin’, coachin’ isn’t all that bad. Well, except for when these bastards ignore the shit I tell them every fuckin’ day.