Porn Star

by Lola Cherry

  “We’d like to take you outside while we search the premises.” He gestures with his head toward the door before adding,

  “It’s a precautionary measure.”

  We walk down to the driveway. He leaves me with another guard, whilst he and a third man go back in the house to sweep the rooms. I’m so intent on trying to keep myself together I don’t even hear the footsteps crunching in the gravel behind me, as I stand and look down at my feet. Luckily the guard does, and he whips around and points his gun at the intruder.

  I have to blink a couple of times before I realize who it is.

  “Hey, I live next door.” Carter raises his hands in surprised surrender. “Is everything okay?”

  He’s wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a ratty old T-shirt, a baseball cap pulled down low on his head. His dark hair peeps out below. In the soft glow of the moon he looks like any normal neighbor.

  Unless you happen to be a porn addict.

  Luckily, the guard shows no recognition, and I let out a low whistle. Carter walks around to stand in front of me, putting his hand out to cup my chin before he raises my face to look at him.

  “Are you okay, Princess?” His soft concern brings tears to my eyes, and I realize I’m really not okay. Not okay at all.

  I start crying as soon as he pulls me against him. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me in tight.

  “It’s okay, baby, don’t cry,” he murmurs into my messy hair. I’m turning into a snot fest, and I can feel my tears moistening his T-shirt as his hands rub circles against my back.

  Eventually, the other two guards come out and signal the all clear, making me sign three separate documents and take their emergency card before they leave. I watch as they climb back into their huge SUV and swing out of the driveway, and I guess they’re on their way to another call.

  Carter is still holding me tightly, and I find myself nuzzling his particularly impressive chest. My eyes are closed and I’ve stopped crying, but I’m not sure I’m ready for him to let me go yet. It just feels so…

  …nice.

  I didn’t even know porn stars had the ability to snuggle.

  “Do you want me to walk you back inside?” he asks. I feel a sudden thrill shoot through me. It’s quickly replaced by fear when I realize I have to spend the night, alone, in a big house where I no longer feel safe.

  I shake my head and feel myself start to tremble as I look at the wide open door. “I’m not sure I can go back in yet.”

  “You’re really not dressed for the outdoors,” Carter points out. He rubs my arms through the silky material of my robe.

  “Let’s go switch the alarm back on, and you can come over to my place. It won’t seem so scary in the morning.”

  I look up at him and see his blue-green eyes staring down at me. The corners are wrinkled in a concerned frown. I realize it’s the first time we’ve seen each other up close, and in person he’s even better looking. His eyelashes almost touch his high cheekbones every time he blinks. His full lips are dark red under the dull glow of the moon.

  I nod in agreement. After we lock up the house, Carter grabs at my hand to lead me down my own driveway before we walk up his. Pulling his house-key out of his pocket, he slides it into the lock and turns it, pushing open the door to reveal the entranceway of his bungalow.

  As I stand under the peeling white lintel, I feel like I’m the fly and he’s the spider inviting me into his parlor. Yet, without a moment’s hesitation, I step inside. I don’t know what shocks me more, the fact it is pristinely clean, tidy and ordered, or the realization it’s the antithesis of what I expected a pornstar’s house to be. I was expecting tiger-skin rugs and huge mirrors, maybe a bar in the corner lit up with blue strip-lighting, with a naked blonde permanently propping up a barstool.

  Instead it just looks … normal. I’m almost disappointed.

  Carter keeps his hand firmly wrapped around mine as I scan his open-plan living area. When I attempt to extricate myself from his grasp he just holds on tighter. I move my gaze from our hands to his face, and my heart stutters again at his expression. The softness is gone, replaced by a hard, predatory stare. I remember back to Maisie’s words—about the way he fucks women with his eyes, and I realize exactly what she’s talking about.

  It’s like I’m the only girl in the room, and he can’t live without me. I don’t want him to either. I feel the urge to throw myself at his feet, beg him to fuck me fifty ways till Sunday, and then do it all over again.

  To calm down, I remind myself he’s a porn star. A guy who gets off at least once a day—probably more—inside numerous different women. The distaste this causes rises up through my throat until it chokes me. It’s a mixture of jealousy and disgust, and neither emotion makes me feel good as he continues to fuck me with his eyes.

  “Where am I going to sleep?” I finally manage to pull my hand away, and feeling exposed, I cross my hands in front of my gaping robe, trying to cover my chest.

  “I’ve only got one bed.” He takes off his baseball cap and rubs his hair. “I wasn’t planning on guests.”

  His bedroom is located off the hallway. He pushes the door open to reveal an average-sized room, with white walls and honey-colored wooden floors. In the center is a huge king-size bed, with a leather headboard and a massive TV screen rising up from the end.

  It’s the ultimate bachelor pad.

  “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asks, throwing his cap on top of a chest of drawers. I start to blush as I wonder exactly what movie he is offering, and his lips pull up into a huge grin.

  “I didn’t mean that sort of movie, but if you really want to …” His amusement is obvious. I quickly shake my head, my eyes wide at the implication. I start to wonder how far things are going to go, and can feel the slickness forming between my thighs.

  I shouldn’t want him.

  But I do.

  Taking off my robe, I end up sitting on the far side of his bed, my knees tucked under my chin, and my arms linked around them as if I’m trying to make myself as small as possible. Like the guy he is, Carter sprawls out across the duvet, his left arm behind his head. His right arm stretches across the headboard until it is almost touching me.

  I move slightly toward his outstretched fingers, hoping to feel them against my bare arm. My chest rises and falls with my rapid breaths, and I can’t even pay attention to the shitty late night TV we are watching. All I can think about is him.

  “So what are you studying?” Carter’s eyes are focused on the TV as he speaks. It takes a moment to realize he’s asking me a question. “I’m majoring in Psych. I’m taking the senior honors program.” The very tip of his finger starts to move against my upper arm, causing goose bumps to pepper my skin. I hold myself very still, trying not to shiver as he draws little circles across my flesh.

  “Sounds interesting; I wonder if you could analyze me.”

  My lips twitch, and I turn my head to look at him. He turns until he is on his side, staring up at my face. His expression is somber and dark. Although I open my mouth to respond, I can’t say anything at all.

  My breath hitches under the intensity of his stare. His fingers are firmer now, and they move across my shoulder to the sensitive skin at the bottom of my neck. It’s like my body is on fire. I’m covered by a light sheen of perspiration as his hands move ever closer to my breasts. If he doesn’t touch them soon, I’m going to die of frustration.

  “When I watched you touching yourself the other night, I nearly came right away.” He dips his finger into the valley between my breasts, and I lie down on the mattress to give him better access. “All I could think about was how I wanted to suck your nipples and rub my tongue against them, until you begged me to start touching your pussy.”

  His voice is so low I have to strain to hear it, and I find myself edging closer still, our faces only inches away from each other as he continues to speak.

  “You looked so beautiful when you came, Princess. Your lips were so plump;
all I wanted to do was push my cock between them until you swallowed me whole.”

  Carter feathers his palms against my straining peaks, and I arch my body to increase the pressure. My shorts rub against me in the most delicious way. An involuntary groan escaping from my lips, making his eyes flash wickedly. He dips his head to my chest, his mouth hovering above one breast while his hand barely touches the other.

  My areolas are dark against the thin, white material of my tank. He only has to move an inch before his lips are touching me, his tongue snaking out to moisten the fabric. He sucks my nipple into his mouth, never once stopping his tongue from caressing, and my face drops in response to the sensation. My hips start to rock against thin air, and more than ever I need something hard to grind against, the frustration of my body vocalizing into a long drawn out “Pleeeaaassseee.”

  My begging makes him smile against my breast.

  He reaches out to capture my hand. “No, don’t touch yourself.” He bangs my wrist back onto the mattress. His other hand releases my breast and grabs my right wrist, and he pushes both my arms over my head, holding on to them tightly. The position makes my breasts point to the ceiling. Using only his teeth, he pulls my tank above my tits until they are exposed to the warm air.

  I’m still bucking on the bed, desperate for friction, as pleasure spreads across my body. My skin tingles as Carter pulls at my exposed nipples. He spends long minutes licking, sucking and grazing his teeth across them until I’m so hypersensitive I feel like I’m about to explode.

  When I start to plead, he takes both my wrists in one hand and puts the other across my mouth, growling at me to shut up. I quieten enough for him to loosen his grasp. His hand dips under the waistband of my shorts, his finger brushing against me, and he can tell exactly how desperate he’s made me.

  “You’re so fucking wet,” he moans against my breast, turning his body so his rock-hard cock pushes against my hip. I wriggle a little, trying to gain more friction against his hand. Hooking his leg across mine, he pins me down until I can hardly move.

  Just as I think I’m going to explode from anticipation, his fingers find my clit. He only manages to rub three circles around it before I start to come, my screams surprising me with their intensity.

  He prolongs my pleasure by pushing his fingers into my pussy, curling them against the sensitive spot halfway up. His thumb rubs softly against me, never once stopping despite the strong tremors wracking through my body. My breath comes in harsh pants, and my back arches so high I feel like I’m floating above the mattress.

  It’s a minute or two later before I gain enough control of myself to stop gasping and allow my eyelids to flutter open. When I do, he’s still lying next to me, staring at me through narrowed eyes as he palms his own cock. I can see the rigid outline clearly through the fabric of his shorts. I reach my hand out and trace the length of him with an outstretched finger.

  Carter gasps and bucks a little, and I suddenly feel powerful, like Salome dancing the Seven Veils. More than anything I want to make him come, and hear him moan my name as I show him exactly what this college-princess is made of.

  He rolls onto his back, his eyes heavy-lidded as I continue to tease him. As I push my hand under the waistband of his shorts, his mouth falls open, his full bottom lip sticking out, and he begins to gasp. His cock is as hard as steel; the soft skin stretched over it is velvet against my palm. I circle my hands around him, unable to make my fingers and my thumb meet.

  “Move your hand up and down,” he whispers, thrusting his hips up once to underline his point. With a slow twist of my wrist, I drag my palm up, my thumb swirling around the head, feeling the wetness of his pre-cum coat his sensitive skin.

  I move down again, creating a steady rhythm, and his hips gently rotate as I hold him tighter, feeling every inch of his cock with each pass of my hand.

  His moans crescendo as my pressure increases. He shouts out my name and his cum shoots across his stomach, his back arching as he pushes his cock against my palm.

  Like before, Carter’s expression is one of beauty. I realize, despite having made each other come twice, not once have our lips touched. It’s as if a kiss is more intimate than any act of sex. When I release him, his still-hard cock slaps back onto his stomach. I curl my legs beneath me, still watching him through wide eyes as a final ribbon of cum spurts across his skin.

  Then I start to wonder what the hell just happened.

  Chapter 4

  I wake up to the bright sun streaming through voile curtains, and embarrassment streaming through my veins. Carter is still asleep next to me, naked as the day he is born, lying flat on his back with everything in sight. And I mean everything.

  I take a moment to admire him in all his slumbering glory. His stomach is tight, with muscled abs that lead down to narrow hips. He’s perfectly groomed down there, as you might expect, but what surprises me most of all is a black script tattoo inked on the soft skin of his inner thigh. I trace the script with my eyes, following the curved letters and the dark ink.

  ‘Whatever people say I am, that’s what I’m not’.

  I don’t know what’s more surprising; the fact I have never seen this tattoo in his movies, despite careful scrutiny of every scene, or that he’s taken a quote from one of my favorite bands, the Arctic Monkeys. Either way, it adds another layer of intrigue to this man I really don’t know at all.

  “Hey.” He rolls over and catches my eye. I blush and quickly raise my gaze up from his crotch area. The smirk playing at his lips tells me he knows exactly what I was looking at.

  “Hi.”

  “You okay?”

  I nod. “Yep, fine.” I turn my wrist and take a glance at an imaginary watch. “I guess I’d better go. I’ve got a lot to do today.”

  He’s still smiling. “Oh yeah?” Slowly, slowly, he drags his eyes down from my face, lingering on my chest, my stomach, my thighs. I swear I can feel my skin burn.

  “I … uh … need to meet my friend. Zach. My friend’s name is Zach.” I sound like a loon. “I promised we’d meet for breakfast.”

  “Okay.” The corners of his eyes crinkle at my embarrassment. “Do you want me to walk you back to your place? Take a look around?” Oh God, does he have to be so chivalrous? I think I’d prefer it if he was the cocky asshole I first met. At least that way I’d be able to flounce home with some pride. Because I have no pride. I am a prideless, cheap, dirty ho.

  “I’m fine.” I scramble around for my clothes. When I put them on, I blush harder, remembering all I was wearing last night were some skimpy pajamas and a silk robe. Now I have to walk home just wearing that. From a porn star’s house.

  There isn’t a doubt in my mind that the whole neighborhood will witness it. I’ll be the talk of the street.

  “Well, call me if you need anything.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t have your number.”

  He smirks again. “Are you asking me for my number? Because if you want to see me again, all you have to do is say the word.”

  And there he is; Cocky Carter. I’m almost pleased to see him. Because it means I can roll my eyes and walk out of his bedroom with my head held high. And I do, right up until the moment I trip over his t-shirt and land on my ass.

  I hate Zach Folsom. He’s a Lycra wearing, back stabbing, good-looking asshole. When I called him for an emergency chat, he decided we would be having it at his spin class, surrounded by beautiful model-like LA gym bunnies, and being shouted at by a trainer who is more dictator than motivator. Every time I look at him, it’s through narrowed eyes. Because nobody should look that good in spandex.

  “So the alarm went off …” Zach prompts between sprints.

  “And then Carter turned up.”

  “Carter Grant.”

  “Yup.” It comes out as a gasp, because I’m finding it hard to talk. I’m almost hunched over the handlebars, wishing I was anywhere but here.

  “And then he took you back to his place?”


  The instructor shouts out and everybody stands up out of their seats, cranking up the gears. It’s like they’re hypnotized or something. The Stepford Cyclists.

  “He did.”

  “Oh, my God; did you fuck the porn star?”

  Ten perfectly coiffed, blonde streaked heads turn around to stare at me. If I wasn’t so red-faced from exertion, I’d probably blush.

  “I didn’t fuck him.” I say it through gritted teeth. “We might have fooled around a little.”

  Zach raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “How much is a little? Because I’ve seen those movies, and nothing on Carter Grant can be described as small.”

  Everybody is still staring at me. The trainer shouts out an instruction, and they turn back to look at him. I can almost smell their regret.

  “Can we stop talking about the size of Carter Grant’s dick, please, and concentrate on my dilemma?”

  Zach grins. “What dilemma? So you had some fun with a porn star. It’s about time you stopped being holier-than-thou.”

  “I’m not holier-than-thou.” I say it, then realize that I’m definitely holier than Zach. Though that isn’t hard. “I just like things well-ordered.”

  “Oh, come on. Every boyfriend you’ve had has treated you like some kind of princess.”

  Ugh, there’s that word again. I don’t think I’m a princess. I work hard; I make my own way as much as I can. Though it’s true that boys tend to treat me with a certain reverence. I’m not sure how that’s my fault.

  Suddenly, the music changes tempo and we’re sprinting again. I can’t even breathe let alone talk. It takes me five minutes to recover. Eventually, when we’re in the warm down, I can finally get the words out.

  “I should never have let him touch me. I should never have touched him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s a porn star. That’s so disgusting.” From the expression on the faces of the women next to me, they’re in total agreement.

  “More disgusting than sleeping with a playboy? A guy who’s had multiple partners?”