Hot Cop Boxed Set

by Paige, Laurelin

  “That’s beautiful,” she says quietly.

  “You’re beautiful.” And then I’m going to say it—all the stuff I planned on saying—and explain to her how we’ll keep our relationship safe and just for us, but then she turns. My cock slides out of her and I can’t help the sad groan that I make.

  She smiles and bites her lip. “How about we start our scene now?” And all my other thoughts go out the window.

  * * *

  It feels weird to go back to making “just porn” with Devi. And maybe even go back is the wrong way to look at it, since it was never just porn with her. It was always something more; it was always blended with how deeply we felt for each other.

  I wish I’d talked to Devi before we dove into the scene’s particulars; but once we started blocking and running through what we wanted to do sex-wise, there didn’t seem to be a good time to say, “Oh hey, just so you know, I think it’s best if we act strictly professional right now.”

  So I don’t say anything. On one hand, it feels good, natural even, to set up the cameras and block the scene like she’s just another girl and not my girlfriend. But on the other hand, it feels jarring and bizarre, like waking up to find your house has blown sideways but everything is still perfectly in place. It’s hard to stop fiddling with the camera settings when I know exactly how glowing that bronze skin can be in just the right conditions, it’s hard to think about what sex positions will translate best on the screen when I know which positions she actually likes the best.

  But I manage. It’s a mental workout for sure, and there are times before we start that I catch her looking at me quizzically, as if she can tell something is off. I’ll explain it all afterwards, I think. After we shoot the scene like this, she’ll be able to see how much easier it is. How much better.

  Today’s scene is the last we’ll shoot for this season of Star-Crossed, and I decided to do something a little more intimate than normal. No separate location, no public fooling around. Marieke and I agreed that we should leave the Logan and Devi characters in a happy, loving place, just like you’d leave characters at the end of a romantic comedy. In love for perpetuity.

  Of course, we’ll shake things up with the second season of Star-Crossed, and I smile to myself, remembering I still have to tell Devi about that too. Marieke and I brainstormed some serious sexy, steamy, twisted shit, and I bet my girl will love it.

  “What are you smiling about?” Devi asks. She’s perched on the edge of the massively fluffy rug I’ve dragged in from my office, wearing nothing but brightly colored knee socks. The white fluff of the rug is such a stark contrast to her Persian skin that I stop what I’m doing and just stare at her for a minute.

  My Cassiopeia.

  My queen.

  She tilts her head at me, the loose braid sliding tantalizingly over one perfect, full tit, and all I want to do is drop to my knees next to her and kiss her until the stars come out. Have I done that yet? Just kissed her for hours? Made out until we’ve both forgotten our names, our lives, our histories?

  I almost do it. I even get so far as taking a step toward her until I remember, no—that’s a boyfriend thing. A boyfriend thought. Logan the porn star loves kissing and will definitely kiss the shit out of her once the camera starts rolling, but it will be kissing for the camera, kissing to make an amazing scene.

  Later, I promise myself. Later, we will have the kissing just for us. Kissing without a goal or without a time limit…God, the thought makes me hard and excited and warm and melty all at once. How do people handle all of these feelings all at once? How do people stand being in love?

  How could I have ever thought that I had been in love before?

  This—this—is love.

  And I have to protect it at all costs, starting right now.

  “I’m just smiling because this is going to be a badass scene,” I finally answer Devi’s question. “Are you ready?”

  She nods. And I press record.

  All in all, it’s possibly one of the best scenes I’ve ever filmed, maybe even ever participated in. We start with her in those knee socks on the rug, grinding on a pillow while I murmur the dirtiest things I can think of, and after she comes against the pillow, her naked stomach visibly tightening, I unzip my jeans and walk over to her, feeding my thick erection through her lips.

  Everything is light and bright, with the afternoon sun streaming in and the white furniture and rug, and everything is perfectly staged and seamless. The blowjob transitions to a sixty-nine, the sixty-nine transitions into condom-sheathed fucking, first doggy-style, and then spooning from behind—one of the best filming positions because I can show off her jiggling tits and taut stomach and pussy all at once. And then after she comes a second time and then a third, I pull out, yank off the condom, and then jack myself off onto her stomach. The scene ends with me turning her head back to me for a long, deep kiss while she draws idle circles in the mess on her stomach.

  After the kiss lasts what I think would be the right amount of time for a romantic sort of fade to black, I break it off and hop up to turn off the camera. And then I grab a box of baby wipes I keep in one of those ottoman storage cubes (along with lube, condoms and other things I need on hand but also hidden discreetly in case of a surprise Mom and Dad Visit) and trot over to Devi, zipping up my jeans with one hand as I do.

  Weirdly, she doesn’t look at me as she starts scrubbing at the mess I’ve made on her stomach. I’m suddenly aware of how quiet it is in here and also how dim—the September afternoon has started to bleed into evening outside, the first pinpricks of starlight piercing the thick sky above my skylight.

  I turn on a lamp, and then start breaking down the tripods to put back in my office, watching Devi out of the corner of my eye the whole time. She seems pensive, methodical, as she finishes cleaning up and gets to her feet.

  “Are you okay?” I ask as she returns from throwing away the used baby wipes. She’s still naked, still in those girlish knee socks with that immensely tuggable braid, and it’s so hard for me to focus on anything other than dragging her back to bed. I promised myself that I’d get boyfriend time after we made it through this scene, and now we’ve made it, and I just want to wrap myself up in her and never let go, but something doesn’t feel right. But I can fix that—I’ll talk to her, and apologize and explain everything, and then it will be better.

  Then kissing until the sun comes up.

  “Yeah,” she says, “everything is okay.” And I can tell that she’s not exactly lying, but that she’s not giving me the whole answer either. And just as I’m about to launch into the speech I should have given her hours ago when she showed up at my door, she asks, “So this was really the last scene we’ll shoot for Star-Crossed?”

  And then her distance makes sense, because she and I haven’t talked explicitly about the future of the series, and I’m so relieved because I get to tell her all the exciting stuff that Marieke and I dreamed up. And she’ll be a central part of it, and I know she’ll love that we get to keep working together like this.

  I button up my jeans and flop down on the couch, patting the space next to me. She obliges, sitting down, but she sits a couple feet away from me, her legs tucked under her and one arm wrapped around the back of the couch, as if she’s bracing herself.

  “So I know you know that Marieke and Vida are thrilled with Star-Crossed and how it’s turned out, and we all think it’s going to be fucking huge when it debuts in November. They want to do a second season, and I do too. The only real question is if you’d be on board for that.”

  Her face lights up—but just a little. “Thank you for asking,” she says softly, hesitantly. “I think I’d like that. I’ll have to think about it though.”

  It’s not a contract signature, but almost.

  I grin. “Excellent! Marieke and I are thinking we could start filming in another month or so, just as soon as we line up the other performers.”

  Her eyebrows rise. “Other performers?” she asks
.

  I nod enthusiastically. “So just like this season set up ‘Logan and Devi’ as a couple, this next season will follow another couple. But get this—” I’m so excited I can barely sit still “—we’ll be in it too, and there will be a much more complicated dynamic. Threesomes and foursomes and maybe even the illusion of cheating—nothing too seedy, of course, since we want this to be couples-friendly—but edgy enough that there’s that illicit thrill, you know?”

  Devi looks away, chewing on her bottom lip, and I notice that her hand is gripping the back of the couch. “So we’ll be having sex with other people?”

  I scoot closer. “Yeah, but we’ll still have sex together too. And sometimes it will be combined scenes. I think this has the potential to be incredibly hot and something really different, you know? Like The Affair, but porn.”

  She searches my face. “You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?”

  I blink. She’s not angry or upset, but there’s something strange in her tone. Strange and cautious, and I’m reminded of everything I still need to say.

  But first, “Yes, I’m super excited,” I say. I take her free hand because I just can’t help it, I want to touch her and feel connected to her. “I love this project. It’s porn at its best, you know? Forbidden and hot and a little emotional, a little artistic.”

  I hear my voice—energetic and full of optimism. Loud in the quiet, dark living room. I lower it as I gesture to the rug and to the camera equipment on the floor. “Don’t we have the best job ever, Devi? The best life? We get to fuck for a living. We get to feel good and make other people feel good for money. And yes, sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes the money is thin and the jobs aren’t great. But how many people get to love what they do for a living? How many people get to work their dream job? And Star-Crossed is exactly the kind of thing I want my dream job to be.”

  I can see her turning this over in her mind, and it encourages me to be the logical, compartmentalizing guy I need to be right now. “Hey,” I say, catching her chin with my finger and meeting her eyes. “I need to say some stuff.”

  I can see her wrestle with something, and God, I wish I knew what she’s wrestling with. “Okay,” she agrees after a minute. “I think that might be good.”

  I lick my lips. I spent a good three years of my life constantly apologizing to a girlfriend who I was never political or intellectual enough for, and so you’d think I’d be good at it by now. But instead I’m insanely nervous. I have to get this right. If I get it wrong, if I lose Devi…

  I’ll lose everything.

  But that won’t happen, I tell myself. I’ve got it all figured out now.

  “So,” I start clumsily. “I, um. I’ve been doing some thinking since yesterday. And part of it was about how smart you are, how logical and careful you are. And I’m not naturally that way, I guess. I’m more of a ‘chips all in’ kind of guy, more of a lover than a thinker. And I’m…”

  Devi is staring at me, and I realize I’m babbling. I cast around for the clearest way to say what I want to say.

  “I think we should stop mixing our love life and our careers.”

  Her lips part. “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “I think we shouldn’t be boyfriend and girlfriend on the camera. I think we should just act like two performers. And then have our personal life completely separate. And that way it won’t be like it was when I fucked Bambi yesterday—because I know that hurt you, and because it hurt you, it hurt me too. We’ll be able to keep working, keep making porn with other people with zero weirdness, which is what we both want. Right?”

  There’s no answer. Even her dark gold eyes are still and frozen.

  “Devi, right?” I repeat.

  Still no answer. My pulse starts to thud in my neck as the silence stretches out, and then I feel my stomach begin to twist as I realize that maybe all of the assumptions I’ve taken for granted about Devi and me, and what we both want, have been very, very wrong.

  Twenty

  I stare at him, silent. There are things to say—lots of things—but I’m not sure where to begin when I’m not even sure to whom I’m talking at the moment.

  The Logan who greeted me today, who fucked me with his clothes still on because he was so eager to be inside me, who whispered I love you as I came—that Logan is not the Logan who had sex with me on camera for the bulk of the last two hours. I don’t know this version of Logan. He’s cold and clinical, and though he was still able to make my body respond to his every whim, he is not the man I’m in love with.

  And this bullshit about adding more couples to Star-Crossed?

  Hell no.

  I mean, this show has been one of the special things we’ve shared, the thing that has just been ours. And he wants to open that up to others?

  I don’t understand.

  I’m not sure I want to understand.

  I gather my clothes as I gather my thoughts, mulling over everything he’s said, trying to figure out how I feel and what to say.

  My lack of response seems to make Logan sweat. “Let me back up.” He stands over me as I start to dress. “I think I understand why you left the set yesterday and I know how to fix it.”

  “By being an icy, distant asshole?” My tone has bite, but I manage to keep the volume level.

  He laughs awkwardly. “No, no. I should have explained beforehand. I’m sure I came off that way because you didn’t get where I was coming from. See, I realized I haven’t thought about us in the right way. I'm learning that from you—you are so good at using your head. And I always do this, I always jump in heart first.”

  I pull my T-shirt on, then turn to face him. “I still don’t get where you’re coming from, Logan.”

  “I’m saying I was wrong to try to make it real. The show, I mean. I know it will be good art, but it was bad for us.”

  I stop, one leg in my skirt, the other in mid-air. My heart thunders in my ears, and there’s a bitter taste in my mouth. “You regret that our relationship is real?” He can’t mean that, can he? Because if he does…

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I regret that I let the real parts cross over into the work parts and now, of course, the lines are blurred. I didn’t see that this would be a problem, but I get it now. Right now, you think when I’m touching someone else that it’s the same as when I’m touching you. Because of the camera. But it’s different, and the way to prove that to you is to take away the camera from the real us. Then you’ll be able to see what’s the job and what’s not.”

  I step the rest of the way into my skirt and pull it up to my waist, suddenly needing very much to be dressed. “So, in other words, anything that happens with the camera on us would be just for the job?”

  “Exactly. They’ll be like the scenes I have with any other woman. We should even be formal about it and go through the do’s and don’ts each time. I’ll wear a condom like the law requires. Just like every other shoot. Then you’ll be the only woman I’m with when the camera’s off.”

  He isn’t saying anything that terrible. Not really. It’s logical. It makes sense. He’s thinking about the business in much the way I always have.

  Still.

  It sounds terrible. It feels terrible, and, while I’m not quite sure how to refute him, I know I don’t agree.

  I offer the first thing that comes to my lips. “A lot of our most amazing moments together have happened on set. Lots of very real moments. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you on camera.”

  “I know, I know.” He steps toward me and puts a hand on each of my upper arms. Something about the gesture makes me feel the difference in our ages—makes me feel like he feels the difference. Like he thinks he has the better handle on the situation because he’s older.

  When he speaks next, it just gets worse. “I’m not discounting anything that’s happened before, babe. I’m trying to fix things for the future. So that we can keep doing the jobs that we love. And it makes sense, doesn’t it? We are
n’t the first co-workers who’ve fallen for each other. How do other people do it? I’m sure they have to draw similar lines.”

  “But most other people’s jobs don’t require getting naked.”

  “And that’s why we have to make what we do at our jobs different than what we do at home. As much as possible. We need to make things clear. Keep things separate.”

  Separate.

  He says it so easily, so matter-of-factly, that I feel like a jerk for not being able to comply. Or like I’m naive. It’s the same way I felt when Raven confronted me. Am I really that ignorant?

  Maybe we’re both that ignorant. Because this solution of his is not a solution I can get on board with.

  Maybe this relationship isn’t one I can get on board with either.

  Don’t jump to conclusions, Devi. Talk it out. “Is this really what you want, Logan?”

  He shrugs. “I think it’s what’s best. For us. It will make things easier. It will make it possible for us to keep seeing each other.”

  I run both of my hands over my forehead, as if I could sort out my thoughts if I just rubbed hard enough.

  Logan drops his hands and bends down to meet my eyes. “Devi? Tell me what you’re thinking, will you?”

  I can’t. Because the air suddenly feels heavy and the walls seem like they’re pressing down, and what I’m thinking is that I need to run. Which isn’t like me at all.

  “Air,” I say. “I just…I need some fresh air.”