The Princess and the Porn Star Page 12

  From my chair directly across from him, I narrowed my eyes. “That ‘garbage’ was Risen Star’s idea.”

  “And not all ideas are good ones,” he retorted.

  “Maybe not,” Craig said, “but it’s out there, and we need to subtly but definitively shift Olivia’s image from what was presented in the video to something more palatable and enticing to the fans.”

  Subtly but definitively? Isn’t that an oxymoron, you moron?

  “How far do we go, though?” Lucinda asked. “This skanky image is obviously not working, but we can still go with something moderately sexy. So how far do we tone her down from what’s in that video?” She didn’t even try to hide the disgust in her voice.

  “Well,” Darryl said, “she’s outgrown the bubblegum-princess image from before.”

  “No one would buy that image anymore anyway,” Lucinda said. “Not after the rehab stints and the reality show disasters. We’d be insulting the collective intelligence of Olivia’s fans if we tried to pass her off as that girl again.”

  Craig laughed dryly and shook his head. “No, that brand won’t work.” He looked at me and smirked as he added, “We need a new image, because the old one is definitely out.”

  Lucinda tapped her nails sharply on the back of a file folder. “Then what image do we use?”

  “Maybe something that’s still grown-up and sexy,” Craig said, “but not so revealing or outwardly sexual.”

  I breathed slowly and evenly, mentally retreating to a happy place for a moment, if only to keep from beating everyone in this room—aside from Quinn—with a chair. I didn’t want to visibly squirm, but under the table, I rubbed one foot against the other hard enough to aggravate my tender ankle. At least that was something to focus on. I couldn’t remember the last time a conversation had made me feel so disgusting. Why they’d even dragged me in here, I had no idea.

  From across the table, Quinn shot me a sympathetic look. His lips were taut, and behind his glasses, deep crevices formed between his eyebrows. He knew better than to comment in here, but he would definitely have something to say afterward.

  I tried to take mental stock of everything that would happen as a result of this meeting. Relearning all the choreography didn’t worry me too much. The backup dancers followed specific steps, but with few exceptions, I more or less improvised on the stage. Though I did feel for the dancers; they’d been rehearsing for months, and now they had to change everything on super-short notice. Hopefully the modifications would be fairly minor. Just making some of the moves less provocative, without redoing the numbers from the top.

  But what about Lee?

  I chewed my thumbnail. If the bigwigs found out I was seeing him, they’d have kittens.

  Seeing him? We’d slept together. Twice. We weren’t exactly naming our kids or picking out rings. Fact was, we barely knew each other. The thought of breaking it off didn’t thrill me, and I’d certainly have been disappointed to see him go, but it wouldn’t crush me like I was ending a long-term, emotionally invested relationship.

  “Rachel,” Craig said, jerking me the rest of the way out of my happy place, “do you have any thoughts on the matter?”

  I rubbed the ball of my foot against the arch of the other. Wringing my hands, I cleared my throat and said, “You’re the marketing experts.”

  Craig drummed his fingers on the polished table. “We need something, folks. Come on. Let’s hear some more ideas. We don’t have a lot of time, and we need to shift gears quickly.”

  Everyone talked over the top of each other, throwing out ideas for reshaping my image, and it all blurred together into one giant murmur of collective disapproval. Of criticism. Like they were breaking down and reshaping my entire identity. Me.

  “We’ll need to re-costume everyone for the tour,” Lucinda said. “That’s going to be costly and time-consuming, especially—”

  “Get it done.” Craig waved a hand. “Keep it within a reasonable budget, but at this rate, we’re going to lose too much money on ticket and album sales if Olivia’s image isn’t cleaned up. Do what you have to do.”

  By the time they’d finished brainstorming a thousand and one ways to delouse the image they’d created and make me look less like a whore, we’d been in the conference room for the better part of two hours. I’d memorized everything from the grains in the table to the foul bouquet of attention-grabbing colognes that each would have been fine on their own but combined were nauseating.

  And my skin wanted to turn itself inside out.

  That feeling didn’t go away after the meeting was adjourned and I walked out with Rich on one side and Quinn on the other.

  I glanced at Rich. “So, what happened to a powerful vixen who’s in charge of her sexuality?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a not very apologetic shrug. “Apparently the audience wants sexy, not sexual. So we need to rein that back in and tone it down.”

  I didn’t have to look at Quinn to know he rolled his eyes just then. The man could roll his eyes in a pitch-black room and everyone present would feel it. Couldn’t say I blamed him right then.

  Rich went into his office, and Quinn and I continued down the hall. Once I was sure we were out of earshot of anyone with their finger on the Activate Morality Clause button, I said, “Ugh, those jackasses make me feel so… filthy.”

  Quinn snorted. “Sweetheart, they make me feel filthy.”

  “You are filthy, Quinn.”

  “Yeah, but in the adorable and endearing kind of way.”

  “Is it possible to be adorably and endearingly filthy?”

  “Probably not,” he said. “But technically it’s also impossible to be as breathtakingly awesome as I am, and yet”—he gestured at himself—“here I am.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “You’re such a dork.”

  “I am.” Then Quinn scowled. “This is such bullshit. They make it sound like this was all your idea, and now they have to clean up your mess.”

  “I know. I don’t get it either.” I brought my water bottle to my lips and muttered. “Wonder what they’d say if they heard about me and Lee.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt they’d be too thrilled to hear about the adventures of you and Donkey Schlong.”

  I choked on my drink. “Damn you, Quinn.”

  “What?” He waved a hand. “Babe, I’ve seen what that man is packing. I’m surprised he didn’t split you in half.”

  A pleasant shiver radiated from the base of my spine at the memory of that first deep thrust.

  Quinn snickered. “So I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re going to do it again?”

  “I’m planning on it.” I paused, biting my lip. “Or should I say, I want to do it.”

  He scowled again. “Except you’re Risen Star’s bitch for the foreseeable future, m’dear.”

  I said nothing.

  Quinn went on, “Whatever you decide to do, make the decision quick. If the media gets it in their heads that you guys are playing hide the sausage, it’s all they’re going to talk about until the end of time.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I sighed.

  Didn’t matter what the media or Risen Star thought about the issue. Didn’t matter how I’d felt about Buck Harder in the beginning. The fact was, I wanted Lee again. I needed him again. I had to have him again.

  Soon.

  Chapter Ten

  Lee

  After Rachel’s morning meeting with the record bigwigs, she came by my condo. She was in cargo shorts and a T-shirt today with her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Totally casual; the Norma Jean to her Marilyn Monroe. I could see that quickly becoming my favorite look on her in very short order.

  In spite of the way she was dressed, she looked anything but casual. Wound up. Tense. Someplace else in her mind. I was almost afraid to ask, especially since I had a feeling I already knew.

  I gestured toward the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”

  “Yeah, sure.” She smiled. “Water is fine.”r />
  I led her into the kitchen and took a couple of bottles out of the refrigerator. We drank in silence, and the tension in her shoulders was in no danger of evaporating on its own, so I finally said, “Something wrong?”

  “Yeah.” She tapped the side of her water bottle against the counter’s edge. “The tabloids…”

  I sighed. Figured as much. “Yeah, I saw.”

  “Kind of funny.” She laughed without a single shred of genuine humor. “They mold me into a whore, wonder why I’m not happy about it, and then the blame falls on me when the public balks.”

  “That what the meeting was about this morning?”

  Rachel nodded. “They’re revamping my entire image before the tour starts.”

  “Isn’t that, like, soon?”

  “Way too soon for a complete costume and choreography change, yes.”

  “But they’re going to do it anyway.”

  Another nod. She sighed and absently tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear.

  I set my water bottle on the counter and stepped toward her, but she tensed, so I retraced the step. “Something wrong? I mean, besides…costume and choreography changes?”

  Rachel exhaled hard. She kept her eyes down. “When I re-signed with Risen Star this year, they were reluctant. Really reluctant. To the point my contract came with a morality clause.” She looked at me through her lashes. “Which basically says they can drop me without warning if I do anything that they deem detrimental to their image.”

  “Such as being seen with a porn star.”

  Gnawing her lower lip, she nodded. “Yeah.” She reached up to rub the back of her neck. “I’m sorry, Lee. I don’t…I don’t want you to think I’m embarrassed of you. I’m not.” She held my gaze. “But I’ve…I’ve already blown one shot at this career. I can’t take the chance of losing it again, so if we do this, we have to keep it quiet.”

  It took all I had not to release a relieved breath. Keeping it quiet was a hell of a lot better than calling it quits. “I’m fine with that. Believe me, I understand.”

  And finally, she smiled a little. “Are you sure?”

  I came toward her again, and this time she didn’t back away or tense. As I wrapped my arm around her waist, I said, “We already agreed to keep it on the down-low, and I’m still perfectly okay with that.”

  “Which is easier said than done with the stalkerazzi swarming around.” She put her hand over mine on her side. “And now that they’ve got a reason to, believe me, they will swarm.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said. “And it doesn’t help that we’re both at points in our careers where a relationship just isn’t feasible. You’re going to be touring. I’m… Hell, I’m fucking women in front of cameras.”

  Rachel’s lips tightened, but beyond that, she didn’t respond outwardly to my comment. Instead, she met my eyes. “So, what do you suggest?”

  “We keep it simple. We fuck when we feel like it, and there’s no hard feelings if one of us isn’t around or doesn’t want to fuck.”

  “Friends with benefits, then?”

  I smiled. “Exactly.” But my smile didn’t last. “I know the media and Risen Star would have heart failure,” I said, trailing my fingers down the side of her throat, “but knowing what I do for a living, are you okay with this?”

  Rachel shivered, pressing against me and arching her neck into my fingers. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. As long as—” A gasp cut her off.

  “As long as, what?” I leaned down to kiss where my fingers had been touching. “Ask me anything.”

  “With, with what you do…” It was hard to tell if she was out of breath or just having a hard time formulating the question. “This, what we’re doing, it’ll be a headache. The secrecy, the—” Another gasp when I nipped the side of her neck. “Is it worth it for you?”

  I raised my head and met her eyes. “Worth it? You’d better believe it. Why wouldn’t—” The penny dropped. “You mean is casual sex worth it for someone who’s getting paid to have sex anyway?”

  Color bloomed in her cheeks. “Something like that that.”

  “Oh, Rachel.” I held her gaze as I ran my fingertips down the front of her blouse, grinning when she shivered again. “It’s so, so different with you.”

  “Is…is it?”

  “Mm-hmm. It can be hot and fun on the set, and it can be dull and boring in the bedroom.” I lightly ran my thumbnail around her nipple through her clothes, grinning when she bit her lip. “Or it can be the other way around.” Holding her gaze, I said, “But good or bad, it’s always different in the bedroom than on the set.”

  “How so?”

  “On-set, I’m performing for the camera.” I watched my finger make light circles around the outline of her erect nipple. “In bed, it’s all for the woman I’m with.” I leaned down and traced the same path with the tip of my tongue. “Nobody matters but her.”

  Rachel moaned and wriggled against me.

  “And I don’t give a damn who’s watching,” I whispered. “Because all I’m watching is the woman I’m with.” I slid my fingers into her hair. “And you’d better believe, every time I’ve fucked you”—I barely kept myself from shivering when she did—“I was definitely watching you.” When I closed my fingers around her hair, she pulled in a hiss of breath and closed her eyes.

  Rachel licked her lips and looked up at me. “Did you like what you saw?”

  “Ooh, yeah.” I leaned in as if to kiss her but stopped just short of touching my lips to hers. “In fact, I think I might like to see it again.”

  “Would you?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Then we should get upstairs.”

  “Right now.”

  “Agreed.”

  We couldn’t get upstairs and out of our clothes fast enough. I barely had the presence of mind to avoid tearing anything, and I was quickly getting close to not caring if I did.

  Movement caught my eye, and when I turned my head, I realized it was our reflection in the full-length mirror. My hand cupped her breast, and the sight as much as the warm, soft touch made me even harder.

  I turned her around and made her face the mirrored closet doors. “You asked if I liked what I saw,” I growled in her ear. “This is what I saw.”

  Rachel whimpered, and her back arched off my chest.

  I kissed behind her ear. “And you’d better believe I liked it.” The woman against me breathed faster as the one in the mirror moistened her lips. I nipped her neck, and she bit her lip. “I loved it. Every fucking second.”

  She whimpered again, reaching back just like she had on the set of her video and sliding her hands over the sides of my thighs.

  “Get on your knees,” I growled into her ear.

  Whether it was conscious effort or just a submissive reflex, Rachel’s knees buckled. I eased her to the floor and, before I joined her, went to the nightstand for a condom. Then I knelt behind her. She leaned back, and we kissed over her shoulder. I slid my hand around her throat. Rachel ground her ass against my erection, and I couldn’t take any more.

  With a hand between her shoulder blades, I pushed her down onto her arms.

  “Stay just like that.” As I tore open the condom, she looked at the mirror, her ponytail dropping over one shoulder. Her hair was bound with a loose holder, and I slid it free. “Don’t think you’ll need that.”

  She bit her lip again, and our eyes met in the mirror as some of her hair tumbled down the sides of her face, the rest pooling on her back and shoulders. Goddammit, now she looked even more spectacular. Disheveled. Primal. I had to be inside her right now.

  I put the condom on as quickly as I could and positioned myself behind her again. She moaned, leaning back against me, but I held her hip in one hand and grabbed her hair in the other. I jerked her head back and shivered when she yelped.

  “Look at yourself,” I said, already panting. “Look, Rachel.”

  She opened her eyes. Blinked a few times. Then held
her own gaze in the mirror, heavy-lidded eyes locked on heavy-lidded eyes.

  And that was when I forced myself inside her.

  “Oh God…” Her arms shook under her. She looked into my eyes, her own, mine again.

  “Like what you see, baby?” I growled, struggling to keep my voice somewhat even. “Like watching me fuck you?”

  She whimpered an affirmative and struggled to keep her eyes open. I tightened my grip on her hair, and she gasped, eyes widening.

  “Fuck me,” she begged. “God, Lee, don’t just—”

  I slammed into her again. Again. Fuck, again. Rachel moaned and rocked back against me, her voice jumping to a yelp every time I thrust into her, and there I pleaded with myself—ordered myself—to last, because this had to go on. Fucking her like this, watching her like this, was too damned hot to be over quickly.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed. “That’s…”

  “Touch yourself,” I ordered.

  Without a second of hesitation, Rachel shifted onto one arm. Her other hand disappeared beneath her. A second later, her pussy tightened around my cock. I groaned, letting go of her hair and gripping her hips, and kept thrusting as deep inside her as I could.

  I’d seen myself on video more times than I could count, watched myself fuck more women than I could remember, but nothing—nothing—was as hot as watching myself with Rachel. Holy hell.

  “That’s it, baby,” I said through gritted teeth. “Make yourself come.”

  Her head fell forward. A sound that was as helpless as it was primal escaped her, and her whole body shuddered. She cried out and dropped onto her forearm. Oh Jesus, she was impossibly tight, squeezing my cock harder every time I forced myself into her.

  She lifted her head, and this time, unruly dark hair fell over her eyes, over her parted lips. Stripper heels, tight leather, and semi-choreographed dance moves were one thing, but on her hands and knees with her hair falling over her face and her eyes on fire as she took me again and again and again, she’d never looked so animalistic and raw, so beautifully sexual and uninhibited.

  I closed my eyes and fucked her as hard as I could, not holding back any more as my orgasm started to close in.