Porn Star(32)

Devi Dare gasps into my mouth, and I step into her, my hands roaming aggressively from her neck to her tits and then finally down to her ass, where I scoop her up effortlessly. She wraps her legs around my waist, and I push her hard against the door, both of us groaning the moment my erection finally presses against the spot where she wants me the most. And then I part her lips with mine and finally, finally taste her; her kiss the same sweet flavor I remember from three years ago, with just a dash of champagne added in.

Her hands are in my hair, pulling hard, and the next thing I know, she’s yanking my head to the side and biting my neck like a vampire, leaving a trail of deep fire from my collarbone to my jaw. If I was hard before, I’m like granite now, my cock trying to bore a hole through my jeans.

I return the favor and move to her neck, biting and sucking until she’s grinding on my cock so hard I know I’ll have friction burns later, although I would pay that price and so much more to have her pinned up against a door again. She’s saying my name over and over, Logan, Logan, Logan, and for the briefest second, I wish she knew my real name (and then I’m glad she doesn’t because it’s a stupid, terrible name.)

I find her mouth again, and I take my time with this kiss, etching every detail and sensation into my memory. The softness of her lips, the wet satin of her tongue, the way she gasps for air when we part. Her fingers in my hair and her heels digging into my back, and everywhere, all around me, is her cinnamon smell and the feeling of her hair brushing my skin. I’ve f*cked hundreds of women, literally hundreds, and never, ever have I shared a kiss like this, never have I felt like a woman was pulling my soul out of my body through my mouth, like a woman could know my entire mind just by pressing her lips to mine.

But that’s what I feel now, like Devi has magnetized something inside of me, and now every atom in my body is pulling itself to her, an ionized attraction that can’t be fought, can’t be helped, can only be witnessed.

And so I witness myself right now, my hand palming one perfect breast, my shirt rucked up to my chest while her fingertips run eager, desperate trails up my abs. And that’s when I realize that she’s just as caught up as I am in this. That’s when I realize that she’s as hungry, as needy, as turned on, and the thought drags the caveman out from hiding. I rock my hips against her again and her thighs tighten and she cries out, her eyes fluttering shut.

I could make her come like this. Hell, I could come like this, like a teenage boy, rutting into her fully clothed, grunting and panting. And I’m so far gone that I almost give in, my balls throbbing for release, my mind aching to see her face when she comes.

I don’t know where I summon the control to stop, to gently lower her to her feet and to plant one last, lingering kiss on her mouth, but I know it comes first and foremost from my reluctance to use her, to push her. This kiss was already so outside the bounds of what’s okay, professionally and emotionally, and even though I finally feel like I can touch her without Raven’s vengeful ghost haunting my thoughts, I don’t want to go from zero to sixty in one night. That’s the problem with my job sometimes. I’m so used to quotidian, workaday sex that I’ve forgotten how to take it slow. Yes, in a scene I may take my time...for a couple of hours. But I haven’t taken days or weeks to build up to sex since—well, since high school.

I want to make sure Devi is comfortable with this—with us—before we go any further. And I want to make sure that, if she is okay with it, I make every second of this thing as mind-blowing and delicious as possible.

We slowly pull apart and her eyes gradually open, though they’re still half-hooded with arousal and unsatisfied need.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathes. “You really know how to kiss a girl.”

I try not to preen, but I do a little. “I know,” I say, flashing her a grin.

“I mean it. I could die now and be happy. Here Lies Devi Dare, Murdered by a Kiss.”

I honestly think I could die right now too and be just as happy, and I tell her that. And then I add, “But mine would say: Here Lies Logan O’Toole, and then there’d be like seven eggplant emojis underneath it.”

She laughs, a floating, happy sound that does nothing to help the squeezing in my chest or the ache in my groin. I am so wrecked by this girl, which means I’m so very thoroughly f*cked right now.

Totally f*cked.

I lean forward and brace my hands against her door, one hand on either side of her head so that she’s trapped without me even touching her, and then I bring my face down to hers and give her the smallest, lightest kiss possible—just a brush of lips really.

She shivers, her breathing quickening.

“I’ll see you soon,” I murmur against her lips. “I promise.”

“Okay,” she murmurs back, and I straighten, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as I do. “Goodnight, Logan.”

“Goodnight, Devi.”

And even though it’s physically painful to do it, I turn away and leave her on her front porch. It’s only when I get back into the Shelby and start the car that I notice the camera’s record light still flashing, and also realize that it was aimed at the rear window, which would have given it a direct view of Devi’s porch.

I pick up the camera and rewind through the footage, a huge smile splitting my face as I realize that the entire moment—the first chaste kiss and then me chasing after her—were perfectly captured on camera. A little distant maybe, a little out-of-focus through the window, but it just adds to the reality of the moment, cinema verité style.