Porn Star (32 page)

His eyes fall—nervous maybe? He digs in his back pocket. “I don’t know if it’s worth getting your hopes up over. But as for what I’m doing here,” he pulls out his wallet and flips it open, “I came to pay a tuition bill.”

Understanding settles in, and my heart literally sinks.  “I don’t need you to pay my tuition bill, thank you. I’m doing fine on my own.”

I wonder if he talked to my mother or if he just decided to come do this on a whim of his own. I’m not sure how he ever got the notion that I would want this, as if he owed me. As if I were his whore. I’m pissed and my eyes are stinging, and how the hell is it still possible for him to hurt me like this?

But then he says, “Not your tuition, Queen Cass. Mine.”

My throat goes dry. “What?”

“Yeah, see,” he runs a hand through his hair, and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from doing anything rash like, oh, molest him in a public space. “It took me a little while to get all the details sorted out, but I’ve wrapped up all of my prior obligations and sold a portion of my production studios to Vida. And as of about three days ago, I’m officially a student at UT Austin.” His expression is somehow both bold and boyish. “In other words, you are looking at a man who is no longer a porn star.”

In a flash, all sense of propriety goes out the window and I’m crawling over the counter to leap into Logan’s arms.

And then we’re kissing, greedily, desperately, our mouths clashing awkwardly with eagerness. My ass is still on the counter, but I wrap my legs around his waist, and his hands thread possessively through my hair, and I can’t even think because my feelings are so
big
and consuming.

“You’re crying,” he whispers when I pull away to catch my breath.

“I can’t help it. You enrolled in school for me.” I watch my thumb sweep across his jawline, too overwhelmed to look him in the eye.

“Hey.” With two fingers, Logan pushes my chin up to meet his gaze. “I enrolled in school for
me
. I rented out my house and am living in a one-bedroom in Texas for
you
. Got it?”

Even better.
I’m grinning, but I rein it in to give him a look of mock seriousness. “Got it.”

He swipes away my tears with the back of his finger then wraps a hand behind my neck. “Awfully convenient that the same school you chose has a fairly decent film program, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Convenient. That’s what that was.” I like the idea of fate and everything, but I’m not one to rely on it alone. So I nudged the universe a little. Can you blame me?

“You knew I’d follow you here, didn’t you?”

My mind flashes to that Tarot’s star card, the card that I’ve held close for all these months. “I didn’t know. I hoped.”

Logan pulls back to study me. “Why didn’t you say that’s what you wanted?”

“I couldn’t ask you to give up your world for me. You would have resented me forever. You had to choose that for yourself.” I’m so proud that he has, that he’s thought about this and stayed true to his feelings while taking planned, logical steps that are good for him and his future.

“Hanged man has to hang himself?”
God, I love him.

“You got it.” Then, because it seems like maybe I should be sure he really has chosen what I think he has, that he’s really okay with it, I ask, “So you’re completely out of the porn business?”

“Not completely.” He continues to search my face while he talks, perhaps looking for my approval. “I’m still producing long distance. Tanner’s holding down the fort. I’ll probably do some directing now and then.”

“But no more performing?”

He shakes his head, and it sounds like a promise when he says, “No more performing.”

I’m relieved. And, strangely, a little something else. “No more Logan O’Toole films. That’s almost disappointing.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates through me. “Maybe, I could come out of retirement for a film or two. But I’ll only star with one woman.” His voice gets low and serious. “I’ll only ever perform again with you, Devi.”

I reach up to capture his mouth with mine, kissing him in approval.

But he breaks away after only a few seconds, pulling back with a somber expression.  “I’m sorry, babe. Really sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t quit before. I know that it hurt you…” He trails off, I think, because this apology is hard for him.

I know he needs to say this, but I need him to know I already know. “I get it. You didn’t mean to hurt me. You were doing your job. A job that you loved.”

“I didn’t really love it anymore when I didn’t have you.”

Seriously, my ovaries just imploded. Sensitive Logan is
so freaking hot
.

He cradles my face against his hand. “And, besides hurting you, it hurt me. I was in love with you. Even before you left, I knew that loving you changed things. That it
should
change things. I knew that every time I was with someone who wasn’t you, I was betraying that emotion, cheapening the moments we shared with these false imitations. I promise I figured it out pretty fast after you left. I’m just sorry it wasn’t sooner.”

And I’d thought I was done with the waterworks. “I’m not going to lie,” I sniffle, “I’ve been miserable without you. But I think you were probably worth the wait.”

He answers with another kiss, one I can feel in between my thighs, and our hands start roving, and if not for the polite clearing of a throat behind me, it’s quite possible that our display of affection might have moved from PG-13 to rated R.

Who am I kidding? Rated R would be tame for us.

Like we did when we were caught at the art gallery, Logan and I freeze while Jake, the throat-clearer, opens the drawer on the other side of the counter. “Don’t mind me. I just came out for a deposit slip.”

I turn and give him an apologetic smile. He returns it with a look that says
we’re-good-but-you-better-believe-I’m-asking-for-details
before going back to his paperback.

We laugh in unison.

Then, reluctantly, I say, “While I’d like to keep making out with you, I am on the clock. My new job doesn’t encourage heavy petting like my last one did.”

“Good. I’d be fiercely jealous if it did.” He kisses me once more, chastely, then swats my ass. “Now get back to your side of the counter so I can calm down before I walk out of here. I still need to pay my tuition, too.”

“Oh yeah. Let’s do that.” I unwrap my legs from him and scoot back to my place. “Do you have an invoice?”

“I didn’t bring it with me. Can you look it up?”

“Of course.” I turn to my computer screen, about to type in his name when I remember that I don’t
know
it. Not his
real
name.

He’s one step ahead of me. “Last name, Johnson.”

“Johnson? But that’s—”
a great porn name
, I start to say, but he cuts me off.

“First name, Dwayne.”

I’d always known he was embarrassed by his real name, and I always thought I’d be considerate and respectful when I finally learned what it was, but I can’t help myself. I laugh. “Your name is
Dwayne Johnson
? Like, The Rock?”

“I’m changing it legally, I swear.”

“Do I have to call you Dwayne now?” I’m still laughing as I pull up his account. “Because I just don’t know if I can—” I have to pause until I can gather myself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I’m not really sorry. Not at all. “I’ll get used to it. I promise.”

“You can just keep calling me Logan, thank you very much.”

“Uh huh. We’ll see.” It’s too good to not to use it for as long as it’s entertaining. And I have a feeling it will be entertaining for quite some time—at least to me.

It’s only a few minutes before I’ve swiped Logan’s credit card, applied the payment to his account, and stamped his receipt
Paid in Full
. Purposefully, I brush my fingers against his as I hand him the printout. I shiver from the spark of electricity that passes through us.

So maybe we’re no longer pornographic performers, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still have the chemistry.

Logan folds his receipt and stuffs it in his pocket with his wallet. “What time are you out of here?”

“Four-thirty.” I glance at the clock on the wall.
A whole hour from now.

Logan/Dwayne nods.

A beat passes, and I can tell that he’s as unsure of what happens next as I am. As reluctant to leave as I am to let him.

After a minute, he pops the question. “Dinner later?”

“We both know what you’re really asking. And the answer is yes.”

He backs away from the counter, his eyes still on me. “Hope you’re hungry. Because I have quite an appetite.”

“I remember. I think about it a lot, actually.”

He groans. “You’re killing me, Cass.” He pauses at the door to adjust himself. “I love you,” he mouths.

And I know he does. Maybe even as much as I love him. But I’m not Cass right now. I’m not Layla, and he’s not Majnun. We aren’t star-crossed lovers who wish for each other across the sky. I’m Devi, and he’s Logan (er, Dwayne), and what we have is real and grounded.

I blow him a kiss, and even though I wish he weren’t leaving, I’m confident that we’ll have plenty of time to make up for the time we spent apart.

When he’s gone, Jake appears almost instantly. “Who on earth was that fine piece of manhood?”

“My boyfriend,” I answer like it’s no big deal that I’m dating the most amazing guy in the world. “His name is Dwayne.” Somehow I manage to not laugh this time.

“Lucky, lucky girl.” Jake lets out a dreamy sigh. Then he leans in and whispers, “I hope you don’t mind me telling you this, but Dwayne looks exactly like this—don’t judge me for knowing this—a porn star. Logan O’Toole. He’s over-the-top sexy. Totally to die for.”

I bite back my smile. “Oh really?”

“Can you imagine what that would be like? Dating a guy who does porn for a living?” Jake practically swoons at the idea. “The things a man like that could do!”

I shrug my shoulder dismissively. “Plenty, I’m sure.”

I don’t tell him that I’m more than sure of what a man like that can do. Or that I don’t have to imagine what it would be like. I don’t tell him that a porn star boyfriend is only hot for about five minutes. I don’t tell him that Logan O’Toole is much more than just a sex symbol or a status or a “fine piece of manhood.”

I let Jake keep his fantasy. He and the rest of the world can have
Logan O’Toole
. I get to have the real thing.

“
D
wayne
, no!  Someone will see.”

“I better not need to remind you,” I say, pressing Devi up against the outside wall of the Frank Erwin Center, “that my legal name is actually Logan now.”

“I thought Dwayne would get your attention more,” she says but her voice fades into a distracted mumble as I finally manage to slide my hands up her billowing graduation gown and start thumbing at her nipples through her dress.  Austin doesn’t get freezing in December, but it’s definitely colder than it would be in L.A., and Devi’s got the goose bumps and stiff nipples to prove it.

I’m determined to warm her up.  

“Logan, stop,” she giggles as I started nibbling on her neck.  I hear people walking and talking behind me as they leave the ceremony and go off to find their cars, but I don’t care.  I’ve been desperate to touch my sexy graduate all morning, and I not only had to sit through one graduation ceremony but
two
, and now that we’ve finally escaped the crowd and our parents, I can’t wait a minute longer.

“I can’t stop,” I breathed in her ear.  “You’re too fucking sexy right now.”

“In my giant black graduation robe?”

“Don’t forget the hat, Cass.”

She finally succeeds in pushing my hands down and creating enough space between us that she can straighten the aforementioned hat and smooth down the robe.  “You need to wait until we’re home,” she scolds.  “We both got accepted into graduate programs here, remember?  We will still have to look these professors in the eye next fall, which will be a little awkward if they see you drilling me right after the commencement ceremony.”

“Fine,” I sigh.  And even though my entire groin aches, I help her readjust her garb and I don’t even fuss once.  I do pull her close and growl in her ear, “You better be ready when we walk through that door, though.  I’ve waited too long to have you already.”

With a quick look around us, Devi takes my hand and guides it under her gown.  She’s not wearing any underwear and so there’s no barrier between my fingers and her flesh.  She’s so wet right now, so slick, and I groan at the thought of pushing myself inside there.  “I’m very
ready
for you,” she says.  “I’d let you fuck me right now if I wasn’t worried my faculty advisor would see.”

“Like he’s hasn’t watched every single one of our scenes already,” I grumble.  But I stop teasing her wet folds and step away, grateful my own graduation gown hides my insistent erection.  “Home, Cass.  Now.”

T
he drive
to our little Travis Heights bungalow is mercifully swift, and I have Devi out of the car and against our front door in almost no time at all.  It makes me smile against her mouth as I think of all the times we’ve come home this way over the last four years, practically undressing each other before we could even unlock the door.  Especially that first year—the transition from fucking for hours every day to listening to lectures on introductory physics and early American lit was torture.  Most days I had to text Devi and hunt her down on campus in order to fuck her in a conveniently empty bathroom or in an abandoned corner of the library, and even when I started to acclimate to a porn-civilian’s life, I still found myself craving her almost constantly.  I left porn in order to be with her, but now that I was here, I found that spending time together was harder than ever.  We were both busy with classes and homework, and we no longer had long stretches of our day that we could devote to marathon sex sessions. It didn’t take me long to figure out that the only way I could live with that is if we instead devoted long sessions of our nights to making love.  

Which we did.  Very happily.

There were other strange parts about my new life.  For one thing, although I knew my classmates would be a decade younger than me, I definitely didn’t expect them all to recognize Logan O’Toole on sight.  I still get covert high-fives from the boys and lots of batted eyelashes from the girls, and at least once a day, I get some person asking me for sex advice or an autograph or a date.  The date offers are the hardest to deal with, not because I’m even the littlest bit tempted to date anyone other than Devi, but because I’m so laughably
not
tempted that it’s hard to be kind when I explain to these girls that I’m not interested.  I’m sure they’re all nice and smart, but I left a life populated by the dirtiest, prettiest women imaginable to be with Devi; I’m certainly not going to be lured away by a psych major from North Dakota.

The thing is, when I fell in love with Devi, I realized what it is to look up at the stars, and once you’ve seen the stars, it’s impossible to unsee them, to go back to staring at the ground.  Devi sometimes says the same thing to me, or at least I think it’s the same thing—something about different kinds of milk—but the gist is similar.  There’s something that happens when you meet someone you love, something alchemical and chaotic and wonderful.  That doesn’t mean it’s been easy—there have been growing pains for both of us transitioning out of porn, there have been fights about money and sex and jealousy.  There have been times when loving each other—choosing each other over and over again—means repeated sacrifice and the occasional bout of suffering.

The reward, though, is worth it.  Every fucking time.

Like right now, when Devi’s burning a path along my jaw with scorching, desperate kisses and I’ve finally managed to unlock the door and we both tumble into the house. She looks at me with a naughty gleam in her eye and asks, “Want to get the camera?”

“Hell yes, I do,” I groan and peel my body away from hers to grab the handheld.  I knew when I left L.A. that I never wanted to perform in any scenes that weren’t with Devi, and I wasn’t sure how interested she would be in ever getting in front of a camera with me again, given all that had happened.  But that very first night we were together after I came to Austin she begged me to take dirty pictures of her, and then
Star-Crossed
blew up so big that Vida was begging us for something like it, anything, and that evolved into us having a long-running series under the auspices of Vida’s company.  It’s turned into one of her biggest moneymakers and the most successful thing I’ve ever done. In a strange twist of fate, Devi and I are more famous for porn than we were when we did it all the time.  People are hungry for what we show, I guess—real chemistry, real pleasure, real affection and respect.  Sometimes we post edited and cohesive scenes, sometimes we just put up raw footage, and sometimes we have live sessions for people to watch—but it’s only ever with the two of us.  

Just the way we like it.

And whenever I think that I miss my old life, whenever I hear about Tanner’s fancy cinematography jobs, or whenever I see Raven winning industry award after industry award, I remind myself of those final days at home, when I was so miserable and itchy in my own skin that I could hardly stand to be alive anymore.  I’m happy for Tanner and I’m even weirdly happy for Raven, because even if I don’t always like her, she works hard and she’s earned every bit of her success.  But I know that life, that world, could have never made me happy in the end, not like it does for them.

My happiness is right here in front me, teasingly unzipping her gown, and suddenly I don’t have the patience to finish the more elaborate camera set-up I had in mind.  I put the handheld on a tripod, plug in a few cords and click a few buttons, and then the feed is going straight to our website, live for anybody who’s on there now but also archived for later.

I unzip my own robe but leave it on, and while I’m at it, I also unbutton my slacks and free my dick, which after a full morning of craving and wanting, is thick and dark.  I sit in a chair in front of the camera and pat my thigh with one hand while I stroke my cock with the other.

“Come to Logan, baby,” I say, and she doesn’t hesitate, pushing her robe off her shoulders and tugging off her dress as she comes closer.  All that’s left on her body is her high heels and her graduation cap, and this is pretty much one of the biggest fantasies I’ve had since high school.  I’m praying right now that I can last long enough to do it justice.

Devi effortlessly straddles me on the chair and then she’s slowly lowering herself onto my waiting erection.  She’s already so fucking wet for me, but even so, it’s a tight fit and her mouth parts in a gasp when the flared edge of my crown finally breaches her entrance.

“Such a good girl putting it inside you,” I praise her.  “Such a good girl.”

Her cheeks and lips are dark-rose with her characteristic sex blush, and her pupils are wide with lust.  She slides down another inch, and my toes are curling in my shoes, she’s so fucking tight around me, and then with another one of her adorable gasps, she’s fully impaled on me.  

I lean back a little, admiring the way her plump little clit rubs against me, admiring the way that greedy pussy starts moving and grinding down on me right away.  We both watch for a minute, our eyes on the place where we’re joined, where the thick base of my cock stretches her folds.

“Bounce on it,” I tell her.  “Make it feel good.”

She eagerly obeys, bracing her knees on the sides of my thighs and then working herself up and down in fast, hard strokes.  My head drops backward to rest against the back of the chair, and I hear my graduation cap fall to the floor.  I don’t care.  Instead, I lace my hands behind my neck and watch Devi work, her tits bouncing and her stomach tight and her eyes closed in bliss.  And when I feel my balls drawing up, I grab her hips and stop her, changing her movements from the fast strokes to the slow, grinding rolls that I know will get her off.  Within seconds, she’s falling apart on top of me, the tassel from her cap swinging as her head drops forward and her body shakes.

“That’s it,” I murmur to her.  “Give it all to me.”

And she does, her fingernails digging into my biceps as the quivering accelerates, peaks, and then finally, finally subsides.  After she comes down, I start thrusting up underneath her again, but she stops me with a smile and a hand on my chest.  

“One minute,” she says.  “I want to give you a graduation present.”

I groan.  “I love presents, babe, but is now really the time?”

But she’s already climbing off me, walking into the kitchen, leaving my cock still hard and aching.  But then she returns with a medium-sized tube, and my face splits into a grin.  That’s lube, and I think I know where this is going, and I love graduation day!  I should really try to graduate more often.

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,