Porn Star by Laurelin Paige
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I’ve been in love with you for a while, but this morning, it became completely clear. I’m so much in love with you, that even the thought of coming for another man, of him touching me where you touched me, it bothered me. Scratched at me. I almost walked away from that set before I even entered, because I realized that I didn’t want to make that kind of porn without you.”
She doesn’t deliver this news to me as if celebrating a huge revelation or confiding a hope. She shares this like she’s confessing a sin to me, a weakness, and then I realize why—she doesn’t know I love her back. She thinks she’s being the irrational one because she’s normally so incredibly rational, and I’ve done too good a job hiding my feelings from her. She must think that she’s gone too far, and that’s making her insecure and nervous about telling me these things.
“I know that sounds like something the worst, clingiest girlfriend on earth would say,” she continues. “I know it sounds prudish or narrow-minded or something, but the whole experience, the way Madden handled me and LaRue dismissed me, it made me realize that not only are you the man I feel safest with shooting porn, but you’re the man who makes me want to shoot porn. If any man is going to touch me, I want it to be you. I don’t want to settle for anything less. But I also understand how completely out of line this is emotionally, and how unwelcome it might be to you, and if you want me to go, I understand.”
In fact, she even starts to roll out from under me, as if to leave. But I keep her caged against the bed, and I lean down and claim her mouth with a rumbling growl in my chest.
“You’re mine,” I say against her mouth. “You belong to me and you’re not going anywhere.”
She pulls back a little, her brows furrowed in worry. “You’re not grossed out by what I said?”
“Devi, I’m desperately in love with you too. Maybe I have been since the day we met. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to scare you or overwhelm you.” I move my hand so my thumb can trace her bottom lip. “But you said it first, my brave girl. You said it first, so I know that I haven’t pushed you into it or that you’re lying to make me feel better. You really love me, don’t you?”
She nods, those gold-brown eyes huge and limpid. “I do,” she whispers.
“Thank fucking God,” I breathe, my thumb pulling her lip down just a tad. My erection, which abated while she described Madden’s assault, stirs back to hot life against her stomach. “I love you so fucking much.”
I move my mouth against hers, and she kisses me back hungrily for a minute, her hands sliding up my torso and staying warm and firm against my chest, but then she breaks off the kiss. “Logan, I need…”
“Anything, Cass. Name anything.”
“I just—” she blinks up at me, and her eyes are wet with new tears, her face open with hope and pain. “Is this real? You’re not saying this for Star-Crossed?”
“Do you see any cameras in here?” I ask roughly.
“No, but—”
I crush my mouth to hers, cutting her off. “This is real,” I growl in between kisses. “It’s just you and me in this bed, and I’m going to show you exactly how fucking real it is.”
A tear spills out of one eye and traces down her temple. I catch it with my lips before it reaches her hairline. She reaches down and then I feel her hands cradle my swollen cock. I let out a low groan.
“Please make me forget about Bruce,” she begs. “Show me you love me.”
“My brave girl,” I say, brushing her hair away from her face. “So brave on the set and then so brave with me.” It’s her bravery that drives me down, moving backwards until I can settle between her thighs and begin nuzzling the soft skin there. I want to lavish her with piles of money and jewelry; I want to buy her a new house and a new car. I want to give her something—anything—that shows her how fucking grateful and torn up with happiness I am. Not just that she loves me, but that she told me first, because every other step forward in our relationship has been me, me coaxing and me leading, and her cautiously thinking things through before she says yes.
But not today.
Today, she plunged in and bared her soul, with no guarantee that I felt the same, and without her usual safety net of logic and analysis. And seeing my Devi all reckless and unsettled because of me—then she has to love me. She must. She must feel the same turbulent, all-consuming pull that I do, and that makes me so desperate to thank her, to touch her, to show her exactly how fucking much I love her back.
Since I can’t give her piles of money, I’m determined to worship her body to show her my adoration instead. The moment my lips brush against the soft, neatly trimmed curls just above her clit, she shivers and widens her legs.
I settle in, sliding my arms under her thighs and then curling my hands over the top to keep her legs spread as widely as I want. And then I dive in, running my tongue everywhere and tasting everything and stopping at nothing to make her squirm and whimper. She smells like clean water and my body wash, but when I spread her open even further and let my tongue trace circles inside her entrance, I taste a sweetness that is hers and hers alone.
She writhes on the bed, her hands reaching for my hair, and it’s one of my favorite things about eating a girl out—maybe my favorite thing—feeling her fingers curl into my hair and pull, feeling her hands on the back of my head while her hips lift to rub her pussy against my face.
In my porno career, I’ve shot a few scenes where I’ve been playfully tied up, but they’ve never been anything but the loosest shadow of submission. But when I’m between a woman’s legs like this, heels digging into my back and hands rough and forcing around my head, I think I understand the appeal. Because while I may be the one on my belly, from my vantage, I’m the one with all the power. I’m looking up over the rise of Devi’s public bone and up the slope of her stomach to her face, which is currently scrunched up in abject pleasure, and I’m the one doing that. Maybe her hands are the ones tugging and she’s the one urging—harder, faster, inside, please lick me inside—but it’s my mouth, my tongue, my skills. I’m the one unraveling her, and that makes me feel more powerful than I’ve ever felt with a crop in my hand.
I’m not saying I want to give up the crop, mind you. But this is just as amazing.
I look up at her again, still sucking and licking, and I watch her as I move my hand from under her thigh to find her seam. I stroke everywhere—her ass, her thighs, her entrance—but it’s when I finally slide a finger inside of her that I see her start to truly come apart. This morning, she was coming for Kendi, and now she’s coming for me, and I just think that’s fucking beautiful, like some sort of cunt-licking circle of life, but then I wonder for a minute if she feels a difference between me and Kendi. If not in her cunt, in her heart or her mind—because it’s got to be different, right? When someone you love touches you?
I’ll make it feel different, I vow. I’ll make it so that she has no doubt that I love her, that her body learns ways to respond to me and only to me. I want to own her fantasies, I want her to think of me whenever she closes her eyes on a set. Whenever another actress fucks Devi with her tongue, I want Devi to imagine my mouth, and whenever she’s fucking herself with a dildo, I want it to be my cock she dreams of.
Devi tugs me up over her, and I oblige, wiping my mouth with my arm as I settle back on top of her.
“What is it, Cass?”
Her gaze meets mine, the pupils so dilated that her eyes are pools of black. “I love you,” she whispers, searching my face. “I love you and I wanted to say it again. I wanted to make sure it was still real—you loving me too.”
Her honesty breaks my heart. “Never doubt that for a fucking second. It’s always real.” And I lean down to kiss her and she kisses me back hungrily, licking and sucking her own taste off my mouth, which makes my cock so fucking hard that I can feel it leaving a wet spot against her belly. I love her and I want to fuck her until she can’t walk. I want to know her so
I’m shuddering with restraint, my muscles literally fighting against themselves, when she whispers, “Please.”
“Are you sure?” I force myself to ask. “Just because we’ve shared things doesn’t mean we have to…” I’m so hard that I can barely breathe and my voice is stuttering and raspy. “We don’t have to today.”
“I meant what I said,” she tells me with those dark eyes. “About needing your touch.” She closes her eyes for a minute. “Show me it’s real,” she begs. “Fuck me like it’s real.”
“Okay,” I say hoarsely. “Gimme a minute.” I reach for my bedside table, where I keep a small glass jar of condoms, but then she stops me.
“No,” she says earnestly. “Bare. I want you bare.”
I look down at her. “Are you sure?” I ask. I’m tested every two weeks, and I know that she is too, but it’s still a big leap of trust. “I know you’re clean, baby girl, and I know you’re on the pill, but it’s a big step, and we’re just getting started. We have lots of time for big steps.”
She shakes her head. “I want it—you. All of you. Nothing between us.”
I’m braced up on my hands and I hang my head for a minute, trying to catch my breath and decide if I can say no to this. I don’t want to and there’s no logical reason to, but this feels big. The special kind of big that only Devi and film make me feel, and it fucking terrifies me.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “Devi, being with you bare, with no barriers and no cameras…I’m scared. Whatever is between us, it’s so real that it hurts.”
“I’m scared too,” she says. “But I’m with you. If we fall, we fall together.”
If we fall, we fall together.
My heart pounds with both relief and terror at the same time, and I dive back down to capture her mouth in a searing kiss. “God, I love you,” I say fiercely. “So fucking much.”
“Do it, Logan,” she breathes. “Please. Need it. Need you.”
I inch just a tiny bit lower, and—with our eyes locked on each other’s the entire time—I reach down and take myself in my hand and guide the swollen crown to her wet entrance. I only push inside to the flared edge of my helmet and then I stop. I take another deep breath, almost unable to bear how tight her pussy is around my crest. It squeezes me, it fists my crown better than any real fist ever could, and I almost want to stay like this forever, with her wet and begging, and me rendering both of us practically insensate and nonverbal with just the barest penetration.
And then I slide in deeper.
Her thighs tremble and her hands dig into my back, and I feel my cock stretching her so tight, forcing its girth deeper into her wet, soft warmth, until I’m nestled all the way. I’m in between her legs, our pelvises flush together, our stomachs touching and my chest brushing against her stiff, dark nipples. I lower myself to my forearms and I kiss her again, not moving inside of her yet, letting her adjust and letting myself cool down before I embarrass myself and explode like a teenage boy before making Devi come.
We kiss long and slow, and she moves soft and sighing underneath me, until she’s practically glowing with happiness, until she’s moving herself against me and wearing the kind of open, warm expression that radiates pure love.
She’s rubbing her clit as she undulates under me, and I see a dark flush rising up her chest and cheeks and I know it will be any second now, and sure enough—despite the fact that I’m not moving at all—she’s grinding herself to orgasm underneath me, the balls of her feet moving against the sheet as she searches out friction and depth.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I murmur to her, watching her face blush as she works herself on my thickness, watching those fleeting sex smiles chase themselves on and off her lips as she approaches the edge. It occurs to me that I haven’t fucked a woman in missionary position in I don’t know how long, because it’s not a great position to film with. I prefer the positions where the viewers can see my dick and the pretty, pink pussy it’s fucking, and missionary hides so much of the good stuff.
Except it feels fucking incredible—for me and for her—and there’s something else. I forgot how intimate it is. Our skin is touching everywhere, everywhere, our thighs sliding together, our stomachs, our arms and our lips. I’m so close to her and I can see her every expression, her every unspoken thought, and I know she can see mine. There is nothing between us—no condom, no camera, no invisible walls of denial or fear. There’s only us moving together as one, an intimacy so deep and feverish that I almost feel outside of myself, like my soul really is leaving my body to search out Devi’s.
It’s the closest I’ve ever felt to any woman, ever.
But right as she begins to peak, I have this uncomfortable thought, this thought out of nowhere, that this is the best it’s ever going to be. That I’m going to look back at this moment one day and realize that it was when we were the closest, the most uncomplicated, the most in love. And I realize I think that because there’s no camera on us right now, no camera to capture this moment forever. It makes the moment feel so fragile, like it could vanish at any moment, and how do people bear this? This feeling like love and ecstasy are slipping through their fingers? With a camera, I could hold on to it, freeze it in time. But without one, there’s nothing protecting this moment from being swept into oblivion.
And then a dawning realization of oblivion comes as she shatters around me, as she cries out and flexes and shudders with waves of release.
I want all these moments. I want only these moments. Because the only way to hold on to them is to hold on to her, and the way I want to hold on to her is something like I’ve never felt before. I want to give her all of me, all the time, always, and what the fuck does that mean? Does that mean I don’t want to fuck other women? That’s ridiculous, of course, but the answer is right underneath me, coming down from her orgasm glassy-eyed and breathless.
I think I might only want Devi.
I think I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone else before.
I think I want to give her all of me. All of me. Meaning I don’t give myself to anyone else.
Because that’s one thing that the economics of porn can’t erase—you are sharing yourself, endlessly, over and over again. Private slices of yourself, and I want Devi to have all my slices, all the parts of me that I have to share.
A ball of panic clenches in my stomach, because I don’t know how to digest any of this. I try to push it all aside, but as I start rolling my hips into hers, I catch sight of my camera on my bedside table. It’s dark and unseeing now, but its presence soothes me and worries me all at once. Who is Logan O’Toole, really? And what does he want?
I bury my face in Devi’s neck, smelling her skin and my body wash and the slightest note of cinnamon, and I may not know all of the answers to those questions yet, but I know that all those answers start with the same woman.
“Did it feel good to come on my dick, baby?” I ask her, still rolling in and out, nice and easy.
“Yes,” she says dazedly. “So good.”
I move up onto my hands, nudging her legs open wider. I watch her as she watches me, her eyes on where we’re joined as I start pumping in and out, the thick ridges and veins of my cock glistening from her pussy. Her gaze transforms from contented to hungry, and I look down too, loving the sight of my cock stretching out her hole, of her legs open for me and just for me.
But no, that thought brings back the unanswerable questions, and so I instead focus on the fucking, picking up the pace and jabbing into her faster and faster, until I’m grunting and she’s gasping. Color is high in her cheeks, and I feel my balls tighten at the thought of comin
So I slow down and change my strokes from short stabs to long, deep thrusts. I go so deep that I feel her cervix, and she lets out a half gasp, half moan.
“You like that?”
She closes her eyes and nods. “You’re so big,” she says in a tight whisper. “Even after I came. I thought it might be less tight, but I feel so full…”
“Such a brave girl,” I reassure Devi in a low, deep purr. “Such a brave girl to take such a big cock.”
She flushes under the praise, looking so bashfully proud and young that I have to duck my head and bite her shoulder to keep from looking at her face, because I’ll come in an instant if she keeps wearing that look.
“It’s the biggest cock you’ve ever felt inside you, isn’t it? Tell me how big it is. Tell me how big I feel inside you.” To punctuate my words, I thrust in deep, loving how tight her cunt feels around me, like a slick, hot vise.
Her eyelashes flutter when I hit that deep spot, and she moans. “It feels like you’re splitting me in half,” she says in a strangled voice. “I can feel you everywhere.”
I guide her legs up so that her ankles are hooked past my shoulders, and then I lean forward on my arms, driving down into her cunt. I can get so deep in this position, and I use it to my advantage, stroking and rubbing that special spot.
“Fuck,” she groans, turning her head from side to side. “Logan, oh my God.”
“I’m gonna make you come so hard, Cass.”
“Logan, I—I don’t think I can—oh God, oh God, oh God--”
“Look at me, baby. Just keep watching me, okay?”
She’s trembling hard, and I can feel the hard tip of my cock massaging her cervix, kissing up against it over and over again, and I pull out just enough to drag the wide, crest against her g-spot before I push back in to press against her cervix. Her head is tossing, her thighs shaking against me, and I can tell she’s fighting it off because it feels too big, too intense.