Stinger (A Sign of Love Novel)(10)

Meow!

I suddenly realized Carson was pulling me up to a standing position, and I followed him willingly, our lips never once breaking contact. He walked us backwards to the wall and when my back hit solid surface, he pressed up against me, a growl coming up his chest. He let go of me and I heard both of his hands hit the wall next to either side of my head as he caged me in. He kept working my mouth, licking and sucking my tongue as he pressed into me again, groaning once more. The sounds he was making and the feel of the wall against me, anchoring me, cleared the lust fog just a little. Oh my God, this was crazy. What was I doing? A couple minutes before, we had both been tearing each other apart–how did this happen? Sure he was great at what he was doing with his mouth and his body but that was because he was a professional! Oh my God! He's a professional! He's good at this because he does it a lot. As in a lot, a lot. Again, what in the hell was I doing? I opened my eyes and seeing his face millimeters from mine, his eyes closed and his long lashes fanned over his cheeks, brought me fully back to reality. I made a strangled sound in my throat and tore my mouth off of his, turning my head and putting both my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me. He stepped back, looking dazed, and we both stared into each other's eyes, panting.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he finally said.

"For what?" I asked, angrily, "the insults or the kissing?"

"The insults. Not sorry for the kissing."

I blinked. And damn it if, even though I was still angry, more so at myself now, a part of me wanted to dive right back in to the kissing part.

I shook my head slightly, clearing away the last of the fog. We're in an elevator. He's a porn star. We just told each other a secret, and then viciously threw it right back.

I laughed a small, humorless laugh and looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. I looked back down at Carson and he was staring at me, a look of confusion on his face. He raised one eyebrow. "What's funny?"

I turned and sat down, banging the back of my head against the wall lightly. He came over and sat against the back wall of the elevator, directly to my right, drawing his knees up and resting his forearms on them again.

I groaned. "Us. We're awful people. We each shared a secret, and then used it against each other within five minutes flat." I shook my head and looked over at him. "I'm sorry too."

He took a deep breath and looked down for a minute before bringing those beautiful hazel eyes back to me. "No, that was me. I made the rules and then I attacked you instead of playing by them graciously. I was a sore loser." He looked truly repentant.

I pursed my lips and tilted my head, surprised at his response. I shook my head slightly again. "That game had high stakes." I paused. "How about if we just talk for a little bit?"

A grin spread over his face, that little dimple showing itself, and the true beauty of him momentarily stunned me. I tilted my head. "Why aren't you a model or an actor or something? You have the looks for it."

He chuckled. "I know."

I laughed. "Modest, too, aren't ya?"

"I don't need to be modest. I didn't do anything to earn this face. It just is what it is."

I snorted. "Just when I was kinda starting to like you again."

"Does you liking me translate into more kissing?" He grinned again, shooting me that devastating smile.

"No. Now tell me why you don't model instead of… what you're doing."

"Let people primp me and put make-up on me for hours and then pose in front of them? God, that sounds a thousand times worse than porn. Shit."

"Worse than porn? So you don't like doing it then?"

He stared at me for a minute and I could see his wheels turning, but with what, I didn't know. Finally he said, "Truthfully, no, I don't like doing porn."

"Why?" I asked quietly.

"Because I like to f*ck the way I want to f*ck. I don't like being told what to do or moved around like a chess piece in bed. Part of the high of sex for a man is the chase. There's no chase in porn. And before you get mad, I'm not trying to push your buttons with that wording. I'm just being honest. I don't find it enjoyable. I mean beyond–"

"Right," I interrupted, "sex is like pizza and all that." I studied him for a minute. "How'd you get into it?" I finally asked.

He sighed. "Well, like I said, I kinda grew up in the business. My mom used to bring me on set with her. Not that I watched. I stayed in the dressing room, but I knew what she was doing out there and it sucked. Pun intended." He grinned, but I didn't. I just felt sad.

He stared at me for a minute, his eyes narrowing briefly. I thought he might not continue, but then he began speaking again, "Anyway, my mom had always had a little bit of a drug problem and when I was fourteen, it got pretty bad. I went to live with my grandma in Massachusetts until my mom got clean, and then I came back to Los Angeles."

"That's where you're from?"

"Yeah. The City of Angels." He raised his eyebrows, looking away thoughtfully for a second before continuing. "Once I turned eighteen, several of the producers I knew started asking me to make a film. They said it'd get big-time attention. The son of one of the biggest stars of porn, now doing films himself. I said no for a while. I wasn't interested. When my granny died, she left me a little bit of money. Not a lot, but enough to travel around Europe for a couple years. When I came back, I worked at some menial jobs for a while–doing nothing, partying. Finally, six months ago, I was contacted by one of those same producers who now worked for a company that's a little more 'soft core.' I figured, why the f*ck not? What was the big difference between that and what I was doing with women I didn't know on the weekends?"