Porn Star(54)

And then I drop down to my knees, my palms sliding up the back of her thighs to her rump. I inch the hem of her skirt up until she’s mostly uncovered and then I spread her cheeks to see a thin strip of lace covering her *. She’s wearing a thong, as white as fresh snow, and I get the most maddening glimpses of what that lace is hiding—tiny curlicues of glistening pink, small semi-circles of smooth bronze.

Without hesitation, I bury my face there, the flat of my tongue running over the lace to press against her clit. She gasps above me, her legs widening to grant me better access, and I oblige her unspoken request, repeating the motion over her clit and then moving my tongue to her entrance, she and I together thoroughly soaking the lace all the way through. I can taste her through the fabric, and the taste is a perfect balance of sweet and female, a taste that triggers all of my most primal, male impulses.

I hook a finger in her thong and pull it aside, and the moment my tongue makes unfettered contact with her cunt, she sucks in a breath and raises up on her tiptoes. Finger still holding the thong aside, I lick from her clit to the small button of firm flesh between her cheeks, and I repeat the process several times, until I can sense her breathing speeding up. Then I add a finger, then two, curling them against the sensitive front wall of her * as I bite and suck on her ass.

She’s breathing hard now, her thighs tense, and I abandon her entrance and start rubbing her clit fast and hard. She throws her head back, her fingers turning into claws against the brick, and then I withdraw. Completely.

She spins around, dazed and angry. “Don’t stop,” she pants, and I shrug with one shoulder. I bring my fingers to my mouth to suck her taste off them, and her eyes narrow. I do a little internal victory dance when she doesn’t glance at the camera once as she steps forward. I knew that to distract her from the filming would mean making her focus only on me, and making her angry and needy seemed like the best way to do that. Looks like I’ve succeeded.

“Finish me off,” she says in a furious plea.

“But you’re so cute when you’re angry.”

“Don’t f*ck with me—finish f*cking me.”

“What about,” I offer mischievously, “you give me head, and then I’ll think about finishing you off.”

“You bastard. I can finish myself off.” She pulls up her dress and then moves her hand underneath her thong, slumping against the wall when she finds her clit with her fingers. God, I’m so f*cking glad I’m filming this, even if she’s forgotten.

I stare at her hungrily, watching her fingers move under the lace and her nipples bead and strain against her dress. I don’t have to look down to see that my dick is practically sobbing at me to do something; I can feel the wet spot growing on the inside of my jeans.

But still I wait, wait until her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are closed, when her orgasm is imminent, and then I grab her wrist and pull her hand away from her *. Her eyes snap open and an expression of beautiful, incandescent rage lights her face. Behind us, I hear the gallery music change into a soft melody, which makes the footsteps on the gallery hardwoods and the animated chatter seem even closer, like any minute people could push through the fabric and find us.

I f*cking love that.

Devi, however, looks like love is nowhere near what she’s feeling, and she tries to wrench her wrist away from me. When I don’t let her, she tries to push her other hand down to her cunt, and I don’t let her do that either, sandwiching her body between mine and the wall and leaving no room for her to touch herself.

“Fuck,” she groans, trying to squirm against me, and I grin.

“You seem like you want something,” I say cheerfully.

“Fuck you.”

“Hmm,” I respond, slowly guiding her hand to her mouth. She doesn’t resist, letting me push her fingers past her lips to touch her tongue. She licks her own taste off her fingertips in curling, deliberate licks, like a cat, and I watch her tongue obsessively. Fuck, I can’t wait until it’s on my cock.

“I think that you might want something,” I repeat, my eyes still on her mouth. “And you know else what I think?”

She raises an eyebrow at me but not very high. Her eyes are glazed with lust and her pulse pounds hard in her throat, and I think she’s at the edge of coherent thought right now.

“I think that thing you want would feel even better with my mouth than with your fingers.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and to demonstrate my point, I carefully suck one of her fingers into my mouth, nibbling and licking.

She moans quietly.

“Don’t you want me to use my mouth? Put my mouth on your pretty *?”

She nods.

“I want to do that too. At least, I think I do. Maybe you should convince me.”

As soon as I say it, I have a quick moment of clear-headed panic. Even though we planned tonight’s scene to be a blowjob, I think I’ve done a pretty effective job of disorienting her and pulling her out of the typical scene mentality. Which was what I wanted, obviously, but I also need to make sure she isn’t so dazed that I’m coercing her into anything.

I lean forward, my lips moving against her ear. “Remember, you can snap your fingers at any time, okay?”

“I know,” she murmurs back and when I move my head to look at her, her eyes are clear and lucid.

Perfect.