Porn Star(89)

“Thanks for the warning. Now explain yourself.”

Raven/Julie lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I was just trying to gauge interest in a joint project. We talked about doing one when I was over at your house, remember? I figured why not toss it around publicly? See how our fans react?”

My jaw is clenched so tightly my head hurts. “You talked about doing a scene together. I refused, if you recall.”

I can practically hear the one-shouldered shrug on the other side of the call. “You were upset and not thinking clearly. I figured once you saw how much traction a joint scene would get, you’d see that it’s a good idea after all. And now that it’s announced, you don’t want to disappoint all your fans, do you?”

At the last moment, I decide not to take the highway and turn onto Venice Boulevard, driving a little faster and more aggressively than necessary. “You aren’t going to force my hand by doing this. My answer hasn’t changed. It’s still no.”

“You’ve changed,” she accuses. “You used to put the business first. Now all of a sudden you’re too good for it?”

“Don’t try that tactic. Even you don’t believe it’s true.”

“Then it’s that girl, isn’t it?”

There’s something raw and exposed underneath her bravado, and suddenly my nausea is replaced with something heavier, something tired. Is that what all this boils down to? Jealousy over Devi?

“You’re the one who left me, remember? Why do you care who I’m with?”

There’s a pause, and I wonder what she’s thinking, what her face looks like. It’s funny to think that she used to be the closest person in the world to me, but now there’s this insurmountable wedge between us, a wedge so large that I have no idea what she’s thinking and feeling right now. And then I remember what she said, that it was my career that was the wedge that drove her away from me, and my stomach knots in fear. I press down harder on the gas pedal, desperate to see Devi as soon as possible.

“She’s too young for you,” Raven says. “You should have seen her on LaRue’s set, Logan. She looked terrified.”

“She is none of your business,” I say firmly. “And neither am I. I’m done with this—all of it. I’ll let you deal with explaining to everyone that there’s no project.”

“Think about what you’re doing,” she chastises. “Throwing away an opportunity for what? A girl?”

“No.” I stop myself from saying all the angry things that beg to be said, all the threats I want to make if she ever bothers Devi again. Instead I just say, “It’s over between us, Julie. Emotionally and professionally. And I’d appreciate it if you could respect that.”

And then I hang up, because I’m driving past the airport and getting close to Devi’s apartment, and also because I don’t think I can keep my temper under control if I talk to Raven a second longer. I turn onto Grand Avenue, trying to process everything that’s happened, but unable to focus on anything other than my quest to find Devi.

My Devi. It makes me ache to think of her feeling lonely or unsure or scared on LaRue’s set, and I wish that I could have been there, by her side. She is so young, so very young, and maybe I haven’t been careful enough of that.

She seemed so certain this morning, so confident, grinning at me in my dungeon as she examined all the toys arrayed around the room. But there was something unsettled in her eyes, a question there that I couldn’t find the right words to answer.

The question haunted me. It had settled under my skin and pricked at me as I finished setting up the scene, as Bambi disrobed and we ran through her no list. I felt Devi’s eyes burning into me as the cameras turned on, as I slid my hands around Bambi’s face and kissed her before pushing her down to her knees. Bambi is beautiful and Latina, with darker coloring like Devi, and so it was easy for me to imagine Devi on her knees in front of me, easy to recall that just a couple hours ago, I’d been buried inside her *.

But here’s the f*cked up thing, the thing I don’t know how to deal with. I didn’t have to imagine Devi to get hard, to enjoy the feeling of pushing past Bambi’s plush lips into her wet mouth. My mind drifted between Devi and Bambi as Bambi sucked me off, fantasizing about what Devi was thinking and feeling right then. Was she as turned on as I was when I watched her and Kendi? Was she squirming and wet in her chair, wishing I’d pull her over to me and relieve the building ache in her cunt?

It had made me so hard to think about her watching me, to think about dragging her over to the table and making her kiss Bambi while I took turns f*cking them both. I’d wondered if Devi was even touching herself watching me, crossing her legs to squeeze against her * or rubbing herself over her dress. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it, in the best possible way.

But when I glanced over at her to catch her eye, the chair was empty.

Devi was gone.

I panicked. I worried. I even got a little pissed off. And here’s the even more f*cked up thing—I didn’t stop f*cking Bambi. In fact, I f*cked her harder, faster, forced more orgasms out of her than I normally would have, because I felt that question nipping at my heels, chasing and grabbing at me.

I felt dirty, not in a sexy way, but in the way that I actually felt like there was grime inside my mind, the kind of scum that builds up on shower doors and on the edges of stagnant ponds. I felt ashamed, and yet I also felt angry and unfairly accused of something, even though no accusation had actually been thrown at me. So what if I was f*cking Bambi? It was my f*cking job!