by Jane Galaxy
Table of Contents
Title Page
Contents
Also by JANE GALAXY
HARDER THAN STEEL
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
DON'T MISS
Landmarks
Cover
Also by JANE GALAXY
Colder than Ice (Super Stars, #2)
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HARDER THAN STEEL
SUPER STARS, #1
JANE GALAXY
Chapter One
JAX WAS HYPER aware of the two lightly bronzed halves of Georgina’s ass bouncing gently from where she was kneeling on the floor, running her soft tongue in a hypnotic pattern over the firm crown of his cock, around, then down the thick bulging ridge along the underside, over and over, her breath warm and wet, her eyes darting up to watch him to see if he liked it.
Jax liked it.
A hoarse moan, crackling with effort, came from the back of his throat. Georgina flipped her long waves of hair over one shoulder before gently stretching her rounded lips over his tip and sliding onto him. The taut slick of her mouth was almost enough—his balls drew up, startling them both, and her moan, already savoring victory, burned along his pulsing shaft. She paused, the full globes of her breasts rising and falling with a few breaths, as if it were too much, too big, too long. She was a decent enough actress, and Jax felt everything tighten and grow hotter the deeper he slid. He resisted the urge to put his hand on the back of her head; behaving himself was a crucial form of social lubricant.
All of this was.
He looked down at himself to see how much was left to go and then at her, moving his cheek into a sardonic half-smile. Her shoulders bobbed up ever so slightly.
“Pretty sure asking for outside help is an automatic disqualification for a gold medal,” Jax said. Georgina flicked an eyebrow at him and found the strength, tenacity, and courage to take the last bit, take him whole, looking up at him from beneath her thick eyelashes. She held it, just to prove she could, and released him all at once with a thick pop, his cock still solid and straining, now a slightly deeper shade of wine beneath the carefully tanned and glistening skin.
Georgina rose from her knees in a series of chosen moves, sauntered over to the edge of the bed, and lay back.
“This is a team sport,” she purred. Her knees came up at smooth angles. Everything about her body was sharp and soft at the same time, her hips like silk waves. She tanned nude to make sure that her whole body, her whole self, was an uninterrupted stretch of light gold. He appreciated her commitment to the look. No surprises or hidden disappointments, no faint pale marks to indicate something as ordinary as bikini bottoms. He pictured her lying on a private deck in Malibu next to an infinity pool with her thighs spread open to the sun, dark pink pussy lips shining a bit as a breeze off the ocean caressed and stroked her clit invisibly.
“I got you wet, I think you should return the favor.” She rolled her hips for effect under his slight squint while he imagined Malibu. Jax couldn’t quite see her enclosed on a table of white tubes and blue light, losing and then repositioning her grip on open ass cheeks, waiting for the tanning lamps to click off. It was borderline rude to imagine her doing something so ordinary.
“Pass you the baton, you mean.” There was that sardonic wit; even with an erection curving out from him, he could remember how to deliver a decent punchline. It was why they paid him the big bucks, after all. Jax nodded with a totally straight face, the innocent one that gave everyone permission to laugh, and waited for a smile.
Instead, Georgina pressed her shoulder blades into the bed, raised her hips into the air, and held the position. Body by Athletic Fucking. Moving closer, not quite feeling the soles of his feet on the floor, he could see that the top of her dark thong made a bridge between her hip bones, the fabric just barely cupping her arching pubic mound before disappearing between slim thighs. Now there was a fun new mental image to stash for future reference. He couldn’t look away. It made him want to press in, soften his mouth around her, and slowly, agonizingly fuck her with his tongue, just to prove he could give as well as he got.
He leaned into the end of the bed and ran his thumb around the curve of her navel, then pressed just enough to feel a slight suction, watching the lines of her stomach dip and rise, sands shifting in anticipation. His fingers kept moving down, dragging the thin elastic bands of her thong with them. The fabric moved slowly, teasing the skin and seeming to catch on the plastic-smooth mound, then bared the cleft in her pussy. The sun shone harder now through the loft windows, and her skin glowed with an unreal perfection.
She had been breathing harder for all this, and threw her head back into the sheets to punctuate her exposure with a throaty gasp and moan, still with her shoulders back and hips raised in a plank. The thong dropped to her ankles, and she kept them together, as though bound and restrained, while bowing her knees outward even farther.
He dipped the edge of his cock—just the tip, and he had to concentrate on how it slowly sunk into her and disappeared to stop himself from laughing—and let her gasp of excitement roll towards him before he drew back, stunning her into uncertain silence right until he dragged the length of his ridged shaft along the wet seam, inspiring her to a shriek that ended with a squeal meant to scold him for teasing her.
Disappearing again, this time he let gravity take over, sliding deeper into her pussy and feeling the familiar grooves and slick curves while her body rearranged for him, massaging and releasing him in little bursts. He fucked her a little, just enough to rewet himself all the way to the base of his shaft, but not enough yet to make a ball-smacking sound against her ass. He built up toward that, keeping the rhythm a mystery, first slow and continuous and then short and tight.
The moans from the blonde on the bed came first in time with his thrusts, but she quickly lost trying to match him and eventually her mouth relaxed into a plump ring. Her ankles drew up tight to her ass and her fingers drummed harder into the sheets, clenching.
He was about to come when she cried out too loud, jarring him.
“Let me,” she said, and in one smooth motion dislodged herself with a slick noise, flipped over onto her hands and knees, and rolled her hips, diving back onto him seamlessly. She pumped in a wave, arching her back to raise her ass. He didn’t have to do anything but put one fist on each ass cheek and watch her thrust and close around him. Malibu, three time zones away, was nice this time of year, and then he dimly thought it was nice all the time, nice enough for women to tan their pussies and let the ocean spray make their clits tingle as it evaporated.
He felt the smooth muscles around him clench and undulate, and Jax thought to pull out just as he let go. His core—Sexiest Superhero Abs in America Voted By You!—tightened for a moment before the two of them broke apart, her shriek still hanging in the air. The net effect of this was that Georgina wiggled around on the bed, still on hands and knees, until her lower half was pointed at the wall panel mirror nearby. She flipped her hair and gazed over her shoulder to assess herself, her hole blushing cherry red, before looking up at him.
&nb
sp; “I didn’t think you were into creampie,” she said with a sly look. Jax did what he always did when he couldn’t think of a reply, and shrugged.
It wasn’t until Georgina came back out of the bathroom down the hall and Jax had tugged the thin cotton shirt with “DIRK MASTERSON IS MY PORN STAR NAME” written on it over his head that he remembered he was supposed to be doing something. His latest film, Steel Knight, a superhero blockbuster, had premiered to strong reviews and an even stronger opening weekend. It had already been a long day. Off the LAX flight at noon and into JFK; his driver Victor had gotten stuck in traffic, so he read misspelled mean tweets about himself out loud. They’d gotten a good time-wasting laugh out of that. Then he’d played Mini Mansions until his phone died, finally made it into the city, gotten himself and Vic burgers and milkshakes to celebrate, and then Georgina had met him in the front hall of his apartment on her knees wearing a flower crown—for some reason—and a microscopic thong—
After Dark With Malcolm Clark taped at five, and he was the first guest. It was like a disembodied voice announced it over a PA that had been installed while he was away.
What time was it now?
Jax found his phone and swiped his thumb to check the clock. There was enough time left to slow his panicking pulse somewhat, but his team had already started firing off texts, sending pictures of final wardrobe decisions. He’d once had the thought that being in a group text with these people was some way for them to keep tabs on him without seeming like they were nagging. It didn’t take long, though, to realize that when he showed up on so many gossip blogs, the people who picked out his clothes and had planned his hairstyles for the next two years saw a better return on investment when his name was visible—it didn’t really matter how or why.
“We should get linner,” said Georgina from behind him. He spun around to find her flicking her thumb across her phone. “Order Seamless, or something. I want jicama stir-fry.” She began typing, and Jax wondered aimlessly if he’d ever noticed whether her personality was any different when they weren’t having sex. Georgina Ashlar was an Instagram celebrity with cameos in a few vehicle-level summer flicks, but there was something about the way she posed and moved and vocalized that made him think she had decided as a teenager that the road to true fame involved pornography, and she’d never gotten past the idea of sex being a performance, even with no cameras.
“I have to go to a taping,” he said. She looked at him with a slight frown and tilt of her head, like he’d just said he had to go to Mars, or Utah. “People—my people, if we want to get smug about it—are going to start showing up soon to spend their time making me look just as disheveled as I do right now, but with expensive… gels or cravats, probably.”
Georgina’s arms slid around his neck. “You don’t need them. Let me fuck more volume into that thick hair and pick out something gorgeous and expensive. When everyone asks, tell them you got a new stylist.” All world problems solved, she flashed her palms up in an easy ta-da gesture with a grin and slid back down onto the sheets to check her phone, double-tapped hearts and faves flowing from her fingertips.
Jax stayed where he was at the foot of the bed. There was still time, but maybe not as much as he’d counted on. Wardrobe tended to show up early. He brushed his fingertips together lightly.
“They are going to be here soon,” he enunciated clearly. “And I am afraid, my dear,” he leaned over to grasp her foot and playfully pull her toward him to soften the blow, “That you have to make yourself scarce.”
“You said we’d spend an afternoon together!” She pulled herself up to run her hands over his biceps. “You promised me, Jax.”
“Yes, but you were naked at the time, and it doesn’t really seem fair to hold me to a promise in circumstances like that,” he pointed out. She swatted him lightly across the arm, then caressed him. “Besides, I have interviews, and there’s that dual press junket next week. Maybe I’ll see you there.”
Georgina was looking at him more acutely now. When she dropped the sex kitten act, there was a resilience to her that he found encouraging, like hearing about someone small and strong winning against all odds. He leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead.
“It’s not the same in public,” she said with a sigh, and went to get fully dressed. Jax wandered over to the windows to notice that his view had changed yet again. New York was in real flux these days—going up next door were either luxury condos or an office complex. The sun glinted off glass on the street below. When he’d left for Los Angeles, there had been the rubble of a warehouse that had probably once made pickle jar lids; now there were sidewalk sheds and signs with fantasy graphics of completed structures. Light flickered at him again, and Jax squinted carefully down to the street.
Someone with a very large camera was photographing him from the sidewalk.
“Oh shitting fuck Christ,” he whispered, and looked around to see if Georgina had heard him. She was smiling down into her phone, one index finger playing across her lips in an aesthetically-pleasing pose. “You need to leave,” he said, and gathered up her purse.
“Wha—”
“Now, preferably. We need to get moving.”
“What the hell, Jax?!”
“Listen to me,” he said. Georgina curled her lip and looked down her nose at where he’d set his palms on her shoulders. “There’s paparazzi downstairs.”
Her face twitched into eager surprise, disgust forgotten. “How many?”
“Just one. But they give off a pheromone, and soon it’ll attract others,” he said. She made to move over to the windows, but he held her wrist. “They’ve already seen me.” He felt his hand tug. “Georgina.” That seemed to bring her around to slightly-disappointed sanity.
“Ugh, fine. I can call a car if you tell me where the back door to this place is.”
“There isn’t one. And don’t call a car,” he said, pushing her phone out of her face to look at her. “That’s like a pap magnet.”
“Which is why you take a back way. There’s always a celebrity exit—loading dock, alley entrance, anything?”
“I’d bet good money on the alley door being blocked because of the construction.” The landlords on places like these were more concerned about getting the right color light from Edison bulbs than basic safety regulations. He shook his head in disbelief. “But you need to go now, before there’s a crowd. Walk just a block, or take a taxi.”
“God, you’re no fun when you’re jetlagged, you know that? I know how papping works.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’d like to go light with the tabloids this week.” Jax looked at her significantly.
“You know, there’s no such thing as bad press,” Georgina told him on the service elevator, once they were dressed and had managed to get down the hallway to the service elevator without meeting anyone. “You’re lucky you get this kind of attention, people wanting to know what you’re doing every minute. As if you couldn’t just take a picture of yourself. It’s gotta be this huge production—someone has to actually get in a car or ride the subway to go to your location and report back on what you’re doing. It’s almost vintage, isn’t it?”
He pushed open the metal doors onto the stretch of asphalt between buildings. No one was passing on the distant sidewalk except the usual dog walkers and flocks of tourists in screen-printed t-shirt uniforms, and for a moment Jax felt foolish for an abundance of paranoia. They came up nearly to the street and stood in the shade of a sidewalk shed.
“Maybe it’ll be—”
Through the jolt of pneumatic screw guns and a low grinding hum of heavy equipment, Jax distinctly heard with a chill the horrifying sound of a shutter clicking on a digital SLR.
“Hey, Henry!”
Fuuuuuuck. Fuck.
Henry Jackson “Jax” Butler closed his eyes for just a moment, hoping Georgina had dosed him with LSD. Or peyote. But not ayahuasca, he hoped. Worst Comic-Con ever. The cloying sing-song voice sounded like a delighted friend see
ing him for the first time in a while, and Georgina turned to face it.
“Do you know her?”
Jax turned and raised both fists out in front of him, middle fingers jutting up nonchalantly. The woman with the camera bent her knee slightly to get a better shot of him flipping her off.
“Aww, it’s you!” he said in a mock-enthusiastic voice as he recognized her face—olive skin, dark eyes, hair pulled back into a ponytail. The one girl who could find him anywhere and always create a shitty way to get him into the tabloids. “My least favorite pap of them all! Having a good summer? How’s the life-ruining business going? You know, maybe it’s just me—I feel like our connection is so one-sided, we never talk, does that ever worry you?”
The paparazz—well, it was probably paparazza, now that he thought about it, not that anyone would ever use that word, but there were very few women paparazzi out there, it was one of those markets men seemed to dominate—she lowered the camera to her side and cocked her hip, scrunching up her mouth and looking wickedly thoughtful.
“Nah, my conscience is pretty clean. Mostly because I’m not an accomplice to... whatever this is.” The girl waggled her finger at them and cocked her head to one side, gazing at Georgina’s face intently to try to place her.
Ah, shit.
“Go,” said Jax, and gave Georgina a light push. The camera whipped back up to capture his hand on her shoulder blade.
“Isn’t that your co-star’s girlfriend?”
Only then did Georgina seem to remember that she was Jax’s co-star’s girlfriend, and disappeared along the building.
“Still the worst, Reyes, you know that?” he called out to her. She focused the camera again, and caught him looking overhead suddenly, squinting at something near the fire escapes. “Is that—?” He pointed to it, floating upward on a breeze like a lost balloon. “Is that your clean little conscience?” His hand reached out to grasp empty air. “Oh, it’s getting away, there it goes. Say goodbye, Reyes, better make it a full break. No regrets.”
