“You’re going to smell like a dude, I’m sorry,” I apologize as I start washing her.
“No,” she corrects me. “I’ll smell like you.”
The way she says it, like it’s the best possible thing I could give her, twists my heart. I quickly look back down to the washcloth so she doesn’t see how much this affects me, paying extra attention to non-sexual places like her hands and feet. Even so, being this close to her body, watching the water pour over her breasts and hips and ass, is doing uncomfortable things to my jeans. I wait until I go get shampoo and conditioner to surreptitiously adjust myself—not easy in soaking wet denim, but I manage.
I take my time washing her hair, massaging her scalp and rubbing the tresses clean between my fingertips. I love you, I think, wishing she could feel the words radiating off my body. I love you so much.
But of course I don’t say them, knowing now is not the time, not with whatever is hanging over her like a dark cloud. I rinse her off, wrap her in a giant fluffy towel and carry her to my bed.
I go to shuck my wet jeans and grab another pair when she finally speaks again. “No, don’t put another pair on. Come here.”
“Cass, it doesn’t have to—”
“I know,” she says firmly. “I know what you’re trying not to do, but it’s what I want.”
Somewhere inside of me, I know I should protest more, but I can’t. Not only because of how aroused I am after washing her body, but because the warm confidence in her voice is undeniable. I strip off the wet jeans and walk towards the bed, crawling up next to her. She reaches immediately for my cock but I grab her hand.
“I know I look horny as fuck right now—and I am—but Cass, if something… really bad…happened today, I need to know about it.” I don’t use the r word, but it hangs in the air between us nonetheless.
She takes a minute to answer, struggling for words. “I wasn’t—it’s not—” She swallows and looks down at my hand, large and strong, wrapped around her wrist. I quickly let go.
“I want to know what happened, but I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. We can just be here. But I’m not comfortable doing anything more until I’m sure that I’m not taking advantage of you.”
Devi groans loudly and suddenly, flopping onto her back. “I wish you wouldn’t be so goddamned circumspect. I want you; I need you. Only you can make me feel better in the way I need.”
“Then you have to tell me why.”
She blinks up at the ceiling. “As long as you touch me while I’m talking.”
“Cass…”
“It doesn’t have to be sex. But Logan, I need to remember what it feels like to be touched by the person I’ve chosen to give my body to. I need a man to touch me in the way I like and want, because I don’t want today to make me forget.”
In a flash, I understand. I mean, not entirely, because I’ve never been touched in a way I didn’t have control of, and because I’m a man, I’ll probably never be powerless in that way. But her plea is so deeply human, so deeply vulnerable, and I can’t deny her. I can’t deny her anything, when it comes down to it.
I roll and crawl over her, resting my body weight on my knees and forearms, letting our naked chests and stomachs touch and my stiff cock press into her lower belly. I kiss her neck and her shoulders and jaw, and I feel her melt into my touch and let go of her last remaining shreds of control. She starts crying again, slow and silent tears, and she keeps crying as I drop kisses everywhere, light lips-only kisses, and gradually, haltingly, the story emerges. She tells me about the set, about her discomfort with the director and with Bruce.
And then when she gets to the part where Bruce cornered her in the office, my open hands clench into fists, and I turn my face away so she can’t see my expression. Because all I can think about is murder. Castration and murder and then castration again. Double castration.
She finishes and then reaches for my face, gently turning me so that I’m forced to meet her eyes. “What are you thinking?” she asks, uncertain and vulnerable.
My heart breaks, but I’m honest. “About how I want to hang Bruce Madden and LaRue Hagen from the Hollywood sign.”
She presses her lips together in what might be a smile. “It would be too difficult to get up there with two bodies in tow.”
“Not for a determined man.”
She sighs underneath me, and I stroke her hair away from her face. “I don’t know what to say, Devi. Except I’m so desperately furious and heartbroken for you. I wish I could have been there to protect you!”
“I wish that, too,” she murmurs, but then she falls silent, as if she’s troubled.
I hesitate, but then I say it anyway. “Devi, why didn’t you tell me about the scene? I have never lied about the work I’m doing. It makes me worry that we aren’t on the same page…?” My voice lifts in a question at the end, betraying all of my unfounded fears.
She glances away, new tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I didn’t mean to lie to you. But telling you about it—it would have meant having a talk with myself that I didn’t know I was ready to have. And it’s all so stupid because now I’ve ruined everything.”
I’m not sure what she means by the first thing, but I can help with the last. “Please don’t worry about the fallout. As long as I’m around, you will have work if you want it, I swear. And I will personally see to it that Bruce Madden is destroyed. That fucker won’t get away with this. Neither will LaRue.”
Another sigh. “Even you would be hard-pressed to take on LaRue. And thank you for the offer of work, but I also want to work on my own terms, you know? That’s important to me. As it is, I’m not sure how much I want to work at all…” she trails off.
I’m confused. “Like, not work while you sort all this out? Or leave porn? Because this was shitty and horrible, but you know that there are safe places to work. You’ve been working in them for three years. And you’re so fucking amazing at it! Don’t let an asshole like Bruce drive you away from something you love to do and something you fucking rock at doing.”
“It’s not…” She takes a breath. “It’s not that I feel driven away, Logan. But there’s something else, something I haven’t told you, and I don’t know what it means for me or my work yet.”
I’m listening, but she doesn’t continue talking. She seems to shut down, something in her eyes shuttering closed and her mouth pressing together.
“You can tell me anything,” I say, leaning down to kiss the delicate skin near her ear. “Anything. Devi, please. You asked me not to shut you out…don’t shut me out. Tell me.”
Her voice is cautious. Logical. “I don’t think I’m ready to tell you. I haven’t thought it through yet.”
“You don’t have to have a thesis paper written about it, babe. If we’re going to try this boyfriend-girlfriend thing, part of that is talking with one another about things that might be messy or hard. It’s okay if you haven’t gotten it all figured out yet. I want to hear about it because I care about you, and I—”
I stop myself right before I say it. Not the time, Romeo, I remind myself. This is not the place for my tendency to jump into shit heart first, head later. Devi is too precious for my usual messy, full-throttle approach to love.
But something I say seems to unfreeze her. Her lips part and her eyelashes flutter and all of a sudden her chin starts trembling.
“What were you going to say?” she whispers.
I shake my head. “It’s not important.”
“Is that true?” she asks. “Or are you just saying it’s not important because you don’t want to talk about it? You just talked about shutting each other out, but you’re doing it too!”
Shit. Why do I keep fucking this up?
“I don’t want that,” I say, “but I also…you’re so young and I don’t want to fuck this up and I’m worried that I’m pressing on the gas too hard for you.”
“No,” she murmurs. “You’re not.”
“But it’s okay to ta
ke things slow, I mean, that’s kind of what we talked about at the gallery—”
“I’m in love with you,” she says abruptly.
There’s nothing but static and sparks in my brain, and an expansive hot glow igniting in my chest. “What?” I manage.
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’ve been in love with you for a while, but this morning, it became completely clear. I’m so much in love with you, that even the thought of coming for another man, of him touching me where you touched me, it bothered me. Scratched at me. I almost walked away from that set before I even entered, because I realized that I didn’t want to make that kind of porn without you.”
She doesn’t deliver this news to me as if celebrating a huge revelation or confiding a hope. She shares this like she’s confessing a sin to me, a weakness, and then I realize why—she doesn’t know I love her back. She thinks she’s being the irrational one because she’s normally so incredibly rational, and I’ve done too good a job hiding my feelings from her. She must think that she’s gone too far, and that’s making her insecure and nervous about telling me these things.
“I know that sounds like something the worst, clingiest girlfriend on earth would say,” she continues. “I know it sounds prudish or narrow-minded or something, but the whole experience, the way Madden handled me and LaRue dismissed me, it made me realize that not only are you the man I feel safest with shooting porn, but you’re the man who makes me want to shoot porn. If any man is going to touch me, I want it to be you. I don’t want to settle for anything less. But I also understand how completely out of line this is emotionally, and how unwelcome it might be to you, and if you want me to go, I understand.”
In fact, she even starts to roll out from under me, as if to leave. But I keep her caged against the bed, and I lean down and claim her mouth with a rumbling growl in my chest.
“You’re mine,” I say against her mouth. “You belong to me and you’re not going anywhere.”
She pulls back a little, her brows furrowed in worry. “You’re not grossed out by what I said?”
“Devi, I’m desperately in love with you too. Maybe I have been since the day we met. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to scare you or overwhelm you.” I move my hand so my thumb can trace her bottom lip. “But you said it first, my brave girl. You said it first, so I know that I haven’t pushed you into it or that you’re lying to make me feel better. You really love me, don’t you?”
She nods, those gold-brown eyes huge and limpid. “I do,” she whispers.
“Thank fucking God,” I breathe, my thumb pulling her lip down just a tad. My erection, which abated while she described Madden’s assault, stirs back to hot life against her stomach. “I love you so fucking much.”
I move my mouth against hers, and she kisses me back hungrily for a minute, her hands sliding up my torso and staying warm and firm against my chest, but then she breaks off the kiss. “Logan, I need…”
“Anything, Cass. Name anything.”
“I just—” she blinks up at me, and her eyes are wet with new tears, her face open with hope and pain. “Is this real? You’re not saying this for Star-Crossed?”
“Do you see any cameras in here?” I ask roughly.
“No, but—”
I crush my mouth to hers, cutting her off. “This is real,” I growl in between kisses. “It’s just you and me in this bed, and I’m going to show you exactly how fucking real it is.”
A tear spills out of one eye and traces down her temple. I catch it with my lips before it reaches her hairline. She reaches down and then I feel her hands cradle my swollen cock. I let out a low groan.
“Please make me forget about Bruce,” she begs. “Show me you love me.”
“My brave girl,” I say, brushing her hair away from her face. “So brave on the set and then so brave with me.” It’s her bravery that drives me down, moving backwards until I can settle between her thighs and begin nuzzling the soft skin there. I want to lavish her with piles of money and jewelry; I want to buy her a new house and a new car. I want to give her something—anything—that shows her how fucking grateful and torn up with happiness I am. Not just that she loves me, but that she told me first, because every other step forward in our relationship has been me, me coaxing and me leading, and her cautiously thinking things through before she says yes.
But not today.
Today, she plunged in and bared her soul, with no guarantee that I felt the same, and without her usual safety net of logic and analysis. And seeing my Devi all reckless and unsettled because of me—then she has to love me. She must. She must feel the same turbulent, all-consuming pull that I do, and that makes me so desperate to thank her, to touch her, to show her exactly how fucking much I love her back.
Since I can’t give her piles of money, I’m determined to worship her body to show her my adoration instead. The moment my lips brush against the soft, neatly trimmed curls just above her clit, she shivers and widens her legs.
I settle in, sliding my arms under her thighs and then curling my hands over the top to keep her legs spread as widely as I want. And then I dive in, running my tongue everywhere and tasting everything and stopping at nothing to make her squirm and whimper. She smells like clean water and my body wash, but when I spread her open even further and let my tongue trace circles inside her entrance, I taste a sweetness that is hers and hers alone.
She writhes on the bed, her hands reaching for my hair, and it’s one of my favorite things about eating a girl out—maybe my favorite thing—feeling her fingers curl into my hair and pull, feeling her hands on the back of my head while her hips lift to rub her pussy against my face.
In my porno career, I’ve shot a few scenes where I’ve been playfully tied up, but they’ve never been anything but the loosest shadow of submission. But when I’m between a woman’s legs like this, heels digging into my back and hands rough and forcing around my head, I think I understand the appeal. Because while I may be the one on my belly, from my vantage, I’m the one with all the power. I’m looking up over the rise of Devi’s public bone and up the slope of her stomach to her face, which is currently scrunched up in abject pleasure, and I’m the one doing that. Maybe her hands are the ones tugging and she’s the one urging—harder, faster, inside, please lick me inside—but it’s my mouth, my tongue, my skills. I’m the one unraveling her, and that makes me feel more powerful than I’ve ever felt with a crop in my hand.
I’m not saying I want to give up the crop, mind you. But this is just as amazing.
I look up at her again, still sucking and licking, and I watch her as I move my hand from under her thigh to find her seam. I stroke everywhere—her ass, her thighs, her entrance—but it’s when I finally slide a finger inside of her that I see her start to truly come apart. This morning, she was coming for Kendi, and now she’s coming for me, and I just think that’s fucking beautiful, like some sort of cunt-licking circle of life, but then I wonder for a minute if she feels a difference between me and Kendi. If not in her cunt, in her heart or her mind—because it’s got to be different, right? When someone you love touches you?
I’ll make it feel different, I vow. I’ll make it so that she has no doubt that I love her, that her body learns ways to respond to me and only to me. I want to own her fantasies, I want her to think of me whenever she closes her eyes on a set. Whenever another actress fucks Devi with her tongue, I want Devi to imagine my mouth, and whenever she’s fucking herself with a dildo, I want it to be my cock she dreams of.
Devi tugs me up over her, and I oblige, wiping my mouth with my arm as I settle back on top of her.
“What is it, Cass?”
Her gaze meets mine, the pupils so dilated that her eyes are pools of black. “I love you,” she whispers, searching my face. “I love you and I wanted to say it again. I wanted to make sure it was still real—you loving me too.”
Her honesty breaks my heart. “Never doubt that for a fucking second. It’s alway
s real.” And I lean down to kiss her and she kisses me back hungrily, licking and sucking her own taste off my mouth, which makes my cock so fucking hard that I can feel it leaving a wet spot against her belly. I love her and I want to fuck her until she can’t walk. I want to know her soul and I want to tie her down and fuck her for days at a time. I want to worship her like a temple slave and I want to come in her so hard and so often that she’s reminded of me every time she walks. It’s taking everything I have not to stab my cock into her right now, to keep my mind present when my body and heart are so singularly united in the goal of fusing myself to her.
I’m shuddering with restraint, my muscles literally fighting against themselves, when she whispers, “Please.”
“Are you sure?” I force myself to ask. “Just because we’ve shared things doesn’t mean we have to…” I’m so hard that I can barely breathe and my voice is stuttering and raspy. “We don’t have to today.”
“I meant what I said,” she tells me with those dark eyes. “About needing your touch.” She closes her eyes for a minute. “Show me it’s real,” she begs. “Fuck me like it’s real.”
“Okay,” I say hoarsely. “Gimme a minute.” I reach for my bedside table, where I keep a small glass jar of condoms, but then she stops me.
“No,” she says earnestly. “Bare. I want you bare.”
I look down at her. “Are you sure?” I ask. I’m tested every two weeks, and I know that she is too, but it’s still a big leap of trust. “I know you’re clean, baby girl, and I know you’re on the pill, but it’s a big step, and we’re just getting started. We have lots of time for big steps.”
She shakes her head. “I want it—you. All of you. Nothing between us.”
I’m braced up on my hands and I hang my head for a minute, trying to catch my breath and decide if I can say no to this. I don’t want to and there’s no logical reason to, but this feels big. The special kind of big that only Devi and film make me feel, and it fucking terrifies me.
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