With trembling hands, I forced myself to scan the article. Oh my god, I was on national news, dubbed “The Trinity Whore.” Plus, they had slipped in my real name, Melanie Jones, and given away my address. I’d been doxed. The floor came rushing up at me as I collapsed into a heap.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Saxon
We flew her out as soon as we found out. Our sister had been victimized by someone, although it’s still a mystery who.
“Wasn’t me boss, nuh uh,” said Ralph over the phone. I could almost see him chewing his cud, he was so fucking gross. But he had a point.
“Why would I endanger my living?” he asked. “You pay me good money to scout girls, I fuckin’ love this job, why would I throw it away?”
“Because, you fucking asshole, journalists pay for scandal, it makes or breaks their careers,” I snarled. “Did some fucking reporter come by the Donkey Club looking for a scoop?”
I could hear him chewing.
“Naw,” he drawled. “Naw, nothing outta the ordinary.”’
“Well nothing better have happened,” I raged into the headset. “You lost control over those videos and now a little girl is destroyed!”
“What the fuck?” ground out Ralph. “She was lookin’ to be a porn star, this is a step in the right direction.”
I stopped to consider his words. There was some truth to that, to be sure. Many a reality TV career was launched on the back of an illicit sex tape, but Melanie wasn’t a Pam Anderson or Kim Kardashian. She was a sweet co-ed, trying to earn money for tuition. She was smart and resourceful, not total hos like those women.
“Listen,” I said wearily. “We’re keeping an eye on you. DON’T FUCKING LET ANYONE INTO YOUR OFFICE!” I roared into the phone.
“Got it, boss, got it,” Ralph mumbled, before hanging up.
But I wasn’t so sure that he got it. We’d dispatched a PI in New York to trail that skeezeball, figure out what the fuck had happened with Melly’s tape. In the meantime, I’d encouraged her to fly out to LA.
“Listen baby, it’s bad, I know,” I soothed. “Why don’t you come and hang with us? Stryke and I miss you, and you were going to come back anyways.”
“I know I was, as soon as exams were over, but Saxon,” she cried, “what do I do about right now? Everybody looks at me when I walk by now, I’m a pariah,” she sobbed tearfully into the phone.
My heart broke. How hard it must have been for an eighteen year-old girl to realize that her college career and future job prospects had probably just been flushed down the toilet. That’s what the adult entertainment industry does. Good-bye to a white collar job. These days, with social media and all that whatnot, Melanie would likely never be able to escape the claws of her past.
I was floored. I didn’t know how to comfort her except to say, “Come to Los Angeles honey. Everything will be better here.”
And feeling hopeless, our baby agreed, due to arrive in a few days.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Melanie
The firestorm had only intensified, raging hotter as word spread that I had a double life as a porn star. Lauren and I had stopped by a bar one night to grab some dinner and as soon as we walked in a girl eyed us and went over to her friends, looking over at me as they spoke in hushed tones.
I felt so awful.
“Lauren,” I whispered. “This is embarrassing. Those people,” I whispered shame-faced, “they’re talking about me.”
“Do you want to go?” she whispered back. “We don’t have to stay.”
But it would be like this no matter where we went. So instead I held my head up and walked through the restaurant, sliding into a booth by the window.
That was a huge mistake. Everyone in the restaurant literally craned their heads to get a look at me. Plus, passerby could see me through the big window as they walked outside, doing double takes when they realized who I was. One guy even stopped in his tracks, pointing me out to his friends before laughing nastily.
Then there were the comments themselves. When our burgers came, the waitress asked silkily, “You’re so skinny when you’re naked, where do all those calories go?”
I cringed inside. In the video I’d been a healthy, curvy woman but I’d lost weight recently due to stress. My figure was now like a rail because I was unable to eat, unable to focus on anything but the tragedy of my life. It made me feel ugly.
Even more upsetting, it seemed that comments about my body were fair game now, even if they were disguised at compliments. Just the other day a woman I didn’t even know said, “Love that outfit, the color suits your bush down there.”
I’d stood stock still, my face burning, unable to even put together a response. The woman had merely sniggered before running off with her friends, leaving me dying inside, wanting to go home.
But where was home now? My life has gone completely to shit ever since the news hit the papers, and my mom’s a mess, her distress making her helpless.
“Melly,” Noreen cried into the phone. “Why did you do it? You know I have some money saved, I could have helped you with tuition.”
“No, Ma,” I said quietly. “Don’t you remember our last conversation? With Sam in the Army now, you asked if there was some way I could get a part time job, remember?”
“But Melly,” sobbed my mom. “I didn’t mean for you to go into the adult entertainment industry. I never meant for you to sell your body, it’s now how I raised you,” she choked.
I felt really sad. “I know Ma, you did the best you could. But I didn’t want to burden you, and forty-six thousand a year is way more than we can afford. I didn’t see any other way.”
“Oh Melly,” sobbed my mom again. “What are we going to do?”
I didn’t say anything. There were no answers after all, and it was all I could do to try and survive day to day.
I want to say that I was strong, that I soldiered on stolidly, putting on a brave face by going to class, doing homework, and being productive. But the truth is after a week of torture, I applied for and was granted academic leave from Trinity. Again, another blow to my dreams. I’m not sure when or how I’m going to finish my degree now, and without a degree, how am I going to get a job, especially with my porn background?
Plus, I’ve been inundated by interview requests of the wrong kind. Journalists ask the most intrusive, degrading questions, and it’s almost as if nothing is off-limits anymore.
“Do you think you’re being exploited?”
“What is it like being the face of teenage promiscuity?”
“Can I take a look at your ID myself? I just want to verify your age for the paper.”
The questions babbled on in my head even after I left the scene. To be honest, I’m thinking about giving a candid interview just to correct some of the falsehoods. People immediately think that I was abused as a child, molested, locked in dark closets for long hours. How do I explain that my mom worked hard to raise me right, and the porn is in no way a reflection of her parenting skills?
God, I was exhausted just thinking about it. So very, very tired. Sometimes I feel Melanie fading into the distance and my porn star persona slowly taking over, overshadowing everything that I used to be. People call me “Trinity” occasionally, and I find myself answering questions as her.
“Trinity, what do you think about double-teaming? Do you think women are abused when they do double penetration?”
I was fatigued but at the same time so angry, it’s hard to explain. On the one hand, I was ashamed that I’d gone down the adult entertainment path, but on the other, my subconscious knew that I had to own it. After all, anyone who’s ever watched X-rated stuff knows that there are performers who love DP. The girls are usually squealing as they’re sandwiched, savoring the double-stuff in their cunny and ass. So my reply was direct and straightforward.
“No, women in porn agree to a scene beforehand,” I said firmly. “No producer would spring DP on an actress. Remember, she gets paid a bonus for taking tw
o, so there’s no surprise, it’s all built into the script.”
“A script?” laughed the reporter disbelieving. “There are no lines in the film.”
I kept my face resolute. What a jerk-off. But it wasn’t over yet.
“Trinity,” asked another reporter. “Are you making enough to cover your tuition now? Forty-six thousand a year is a lot.”
That was the other big angle to the story. How increasing student debt burdens had forced an Ivy League student to sell her body. And I wasn’t sure what to say in response to this question because it was basically true.
I decided to dodge instead.
“I’m sorry,” I said sweetly. “But my financial situation is none of your business. Besides, it’s rude to ask someone’s salary,” I said. “How would you like it if I asked how much you made?”
“Seventy-five thousand,” he sniggered, not missing a beat. “After taxes. So how about it? Answer the question, honey bun, you know we’ll find out anyways.”
“No can do,” I replied sweetly. “But I’ll let you know the next time I have a new release.”
Because I was thinking of taking control of the narrative. Things had spun so out of control, all the lies and rumors about me building up, making me feel sad but also violated and outraged. I needed to regain control of my life and maybe the solution was to throw myself into the lion’s den. After all, I was already at its edges. Why not go all the way?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Stryke
I wanted my sister home asap. She was flying in this afternoon and we couldn’t get her in our arms soon enough.
The maelstrom has been fucking incredible. Melanie’s been profiled in Vanity Fair, Rolling Stone, all those publications focusing on the salacious parts of her story, painting her as a “porn star” when in fact, she’s never performed professionally. It was all because of that leaked audition tape.
But celebrity is cruel. The press has taken to calling her “Trinity” and her answers have been getting sassier and more confident. She’s saying things like, “Women own their bodies and if they want to make a little money, why not?” Holy cow. What had become of our innocent little girl?
When Melanie showed up at our doorstep, Saxon and I were on her in a second, helping her in, settling her on the couch. She looked tired and I was again reminded of her relative youth. In the magazine profiles she’d been doused in make-up, her hair blown-out straight so that she looked at least twenty-five. Here, out of the public glare she was eighteen again, our little sister to be protected and cherished.
“Baby,” said Saxon, “how have you been holding up?”
“Brother,” she sighed, leaning her head against his bicep. “Not good,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry, I ended up taking leave from school and they said they couldn’t refund tuition for this semester, not even part of it,” she continued sadly.
I kissed her head.
“Don’t even worry about the refund,” I rumbled. “We don’t care about the lost tuition. The more important question is, how are you?”
She closed her eyes as if letting herself rest for the first time in two weeks, breathing shallowly, tears gathering beneath her eyelids.
“Brothers,” she said sadly. “Am I done for? Will I always be Trinity now, and not Melanie? Because you know that’s how I’m publicly known.”
We didn’t know what to say. The truth was yeah, she was probably barred from gainful employment forever more, the best she could do was probably as a waitress or working retail. Because what respectable corporation would hire a former porno star? Background checks these days are crazy rigorous.
But we didn’t want to get into it just now. We wanted her to feel better, to become whole again, after the messed-up turn in her life.
“Honey,” I said, smoothing her hair back. “Why don’t you get some rest, you must be tired after the long flight. We’ll talk about it after dinner.”
And I saw that she was nodding off already, weary and slumped, the stress and tension melting from her slender frame for the first time in weeks. Slowly, Saxon picked her up and we deposited her on the big bed in our room, her small form dwarfed by the huge circular mattress.
Once the door was closed, Sax turned to me.
“Fuck brother,” he growled. “She’s so tiny, she’s lost weight for sure. Any update on who did this?”
I sighed. The truth was painfully simple and heartbreaking.
“Her roommate,” I said. “A girl named Lauren. Melly thinks they’re best friends, but Lauren videotaped the audition on her cell and sold it,” I said.
“Well, let’s fuck her up then,” growled my brother, and I nodded. The bitch was in for it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Melanie
I woke with a start. Where was I? Suddenly it all came rushing back. After withdrawing from Trinity, I flew to LA, back to the safety of my brothers’ arms. I’d been feeling nauseous, the stress taking a toll on my body, making me jumpy yet curiously sleepy at the same time.
But Saxon and Stryke had been kind, touching in their care and attention.
“Sister,” Sax had said that first night. “Don’t worry about us, just get some rest.”
And Stryke agreed, both brothers stroking my body until I fell asleep, their big forms looming yet reassuring on each side, cradling me between their warmth.
Now that I was fully awake though, I contemplated my situation. I hadn’t made a single dollar for my brothers and instead had cost them forty-six thousand, none of which I could pay back. I felt like I owed them something.
But they merely shushed me.
“It’s no trouble sister,” said Sax, giving me a kiss. “Don’t even worry your pretty little head.”
“Besides,” added Stryke. “What are brothers for?”
And with that, I’d leaned into their embrace, so happy that my mother had married their dad and that I’d met these supportive, generous men. I had a feeling I could never return their kindness and was eternally grateful for their loving.
“Brothers,” I whispered. “I want to do something for you.”
“Hmm?” asked Stryke, distracted. He was stroking my breast, watching with fascination as my nips hardened under my t-shirt, listening with only one ear.
“I want to do a double vaginal penetration,” I whispered shyly. “Both of you in my pussy.”
That got their attention.
“Sister, are you sure?” asked Sax, his hands momentarily still on my body. “It’s not for every woman,” he warned.
“I know,” I replied. “But I want to because it would feel good … and I love you,” I confided.
There, it was out. As the days had passed, I’d realized that my steps were my source of comfort and support, my rocks to lean on, my lighthouse in these stormy times. What had begun as a sleazy opportunity to make porn had become something completely different … love.
And my brothers growled in appreciation.
“Sister,” they rumbled. “We feel the same about you,” they said as their hands urgently ran over my body. “We were so worried about you. We want you to stay and never leave.”
And with that declaration, we threw ourselves into the lovemaking full-force. It was more satisfying and demanding than any sex I’d ever had. Our kisses were furious and ravenous, searching and taking with only the determination and depth that lovers can muster. I ran my tongue across theirs, tasting first one brother, than the other, as I desperately reacquainted myself with their bodies and their cocks.
I knelt between their naked forms, my hands gripping the two twelve-inch dongs, my little fists full with the straining, hard lengths. God, it felt so good, the shafts pulsing in my palms, veins bulging while the tips dripped.
Hungrily, I licked Saxon’s glans, tasting his man milk before switching over to Stryke, slurping gently at the wet head. Their semen was salty and sweet, Saxon’s more musky and strong, while Stryke had a tangy, creamy feel.
I jammed their cocks into my
mouth, greedy for both, trying to take as much possible at once. It was difficult and erotic, my cheeks bulging with the donkey dongs, stuffed to the brim as I drooled and mewled, hungry for man meat.
But my brothers only chuckled and ground their hips against my face.
“Don’t worry, sister,” they rumbled, running their hands through my hair. “There’s plenty more.”
And with that, Stryke picked me up and tossed me onto the big bed. I squealed, my auburn hair flying, cunny already dripping wet from the hot blue gazes latched to my body. Stryke dove between my legs as Sax nipped at my breasts, each man ravenous for more.
With a groan, Stryke licked my cunt from anus to clit, diving in deep between those creamy folds, tracing every nook and cranny of my vagina with his tongue. He lightly tapped the little hole where his dick would go, testing it before beginning a rub on my clit, sensitizing those nerves, watching raptly as cream flowed from my channel.
“Oh fuck, I’ve gotta taste,” he growled, and dove back in between my thighs, lapping up my female juices, letting them course down his throat.
Closer: A Blind Date Bad Boy Romance Page 27
