Chapter 4
Corey
“ B ingo,” I murmur, retreating to my chair and taking a long sip of my beer.
Bex is floored; I can understand that. That beautiful mouth of hers hangs open, and I can think of a few different ways I’d like to fill it.
As the silence drags on, I nudge her with my knee. “Say something.”
She shakes her head, then reaches for her beer and sips. And sips. And, well, at this point, she’s chugging it, gracefully somehow, which makes me laugh .
“That bad, huh?”
Bex finishes her beer and slams the glass down on the bartop. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “No, not… no, it’s not, really.”
I’m still laughing as I say, “Sure, sure.”
“No, it’s really not,” she stammers, heat flooding her cheeks. That blush is making me wonder what other parts of her get pretty and red like that when she’s embarrassed, or nervous… or turned on. My cock twitches and internally I shout at it— you’re a professional, for fuck’s sake . “It just explains why I didn’t recognize you, that’s all.”
“Not your thing, huh?”
“Porn?” She shrugs and looks down at her hands, now twisting nervously in her lap. “I’d be lying if I said I’ve never watched it, I just…”
“Don’t have a favorite actor?”
“Right, I don’t watch enough to have a favorite,” she mumbles.
Reaching out, I put two fingers under her chin, tilting her head to look back at me. “Eyes on me.” She bites her lip, and fuck, at this point I’ve been semi-hard for hours. It’s painful. “You’ve got such beautiful eyes,” I murmur. “Let me see them when you speak to me.”
I’m turning on my dominant side. I know I am, but it’s a natural instinct with her. Bex is ranging from straightforward and bratty to shy and nervous, and I’m feeling desperate to find a comfortable balance with her.
Women are generally pretty easy for me to read. I’ve been in close to 1,000 adult films over the course of my career, so while I know how to handle women in front of the camera, I’ve also gotten close to them off camera. Not that kind of close, but friendly, conversational—probably the opposite of everything people think happens on the set of an adult film. Most of the time, we’re relaxing and playing card games when we’re not shooting, albeit some of us are wearing robes and nothing else underneath. It’s more of a professional workplace than people would expect.
As badly as I want to learn more about her in this line of questioning, I drop my fingers from her chin and slide back into my seat. Everyone thinks they can fuck a porn star—and I mean everyone. We’re easy targets, because the assumption is that we fuck all the time. And we can fuck whoever we want to as well, because they’ll obviously be into our bodies and our experience. It’s a load of shit, and my goal here tonight is not to fuck Bex.
I wasn’t being facetious or misleading when I said I wanted to get to know her. There’s something about her that sparked my interest in the Regency Room, and I’m nothing if not determined to know her as a person first. And then, yeah, we’ll probably fuck, but that’s not the priority tonight.
“Where are you from, Bex?” I ask, signaling the bartender back over to refill Bex’s drink.
“Another beer?” the bartender—Janie, her faded name tag seems to read—asks Bex.
“Actually, can we get two tequila shots with limes? And then I’ll take a Corona,” Bex says quickly. She gives me a guilty look. “Think I need something stronger,” she says, laughing softly.
“Why? Because of what I do for a living?” I know that’s why, but I want her to say it. I want to know what she’s thinking, what she’s seeing when she looks at me.
Janie deposits our shots and Bex’s beer and hustles away to serve a new group who rolled up to the other side of the bar.
Bex passes me the salt shaker and shrugs. “Honestly, it doesn’t bother me… too much,” she says. “But it’s intimidating as hell. I’m sure you can understand that. ”
Nodding, I say, “Yeah, I get that. I don’t really act anymore. It’s mostly directing or producing.” As I say the words, I feel a twinge of guilt. It’s a bit misleading, since I haven’t completely given up acting, but it has been a few months. “That’s just work to me, though. Do you talk to your dates about the work you do at the casino, serving drinks?”
“Is this a date?” she asks with a coy smirk before raising her hand to her lips, slipping her tongue out and wetting the small space on the top of her hand, between her thumb and pointer finger. She doesn’t take her eyes off me the entire time, and it’s hot as fuck. I’m glad I’m sitting down. Otherwise, she’d see proof of how she’s making me feel via the bulge in my pants.
I lift the salt shaker and deposit some on her hand, then lick the same spot on my hand. She runs her tongue along her lower lip while she watches me—damn, I really wasn’t planning on fucking her tonight, but she’s challenging my thoughts with every passing minute.
We raise our shots toward each other, tapping them.
Before we toss them back, I smirk and say, “Sugar, this can be whatever you want it to be.”
Her eyes widen as we toss back our shots, not taking our eyes off each other until we’re reaching for our limes.
“Fuck,” I say, biting into my lime. It’s been a bit since I’ve done a tequila shot like that—there’s a reason I prefer the smokey burn of bourbon.
Glancing at Bex, she’s taken her shot like a pro. She sucks on her lime with a smile on her face and, for the second time tonight, I wonder what those lips would feel like wrapped around my cock. Those brilliant green eyes staring up at me, filled with whatever spark is filling them right now. I wonder if she’s imagining the same thing .
A drip of lime juice trails down from her lip, down her chin—she sets her lime in the shot glass and reaches up to wipe it away.
“May I?” I ask huskily, unable to hold myself back from what I’m about to do, moving forward in my seat toward her.
She nods her consent, and I can see it there; the hunger in her eyes is matching mine. I cup her jaw with my left hand, and she tilts her head into my palm. Bringing my lips closer to hers, I see her eyes widen–with shock or delight, I’m not sure—but she leans into me slightly and that’s all I need.
Flicking my tongue out against the soft skin of her face, I slowly lick up the trail of lime juice. She whimpers softly, then gasps as I slowly trail my tongue over the juice until I reach her lips. I pull away, still cupping her jaw.
Bex inhales sharply, panting—I feel my heart beating about the same as hers.
“Holy fuck,” I growl.
“Same,” Bex says, catching her breath. We stare at each other for a beat before I drop my hand, and she takes a sip of her beer.
I know what I was thinking, that I didn’t want to fuck her tonight, but the second she let out that whimper, I could sense my plans changing. Our plans are changing, because I see it in her eyes too.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat. “Back to the questions. Where are you from?”
Bex stares at me for a moment, then laughs. Her laugh is gorgeous, just like her, and as she puts a hand to her chest, I feel a wave of warmth roll over me. A matching smile spreads across my face and, as she stops laughing and lowers her hand, she says, “I’ve been all over. Came from Chicago by way of California, but I’ve been living in Vegas for the last few years.” She tilts her head at me. “What about you? ”
“Somewhat the same,” I say. “Grew up in Montana, joined the Marines for a bit, then settled out in Los Angeles.”
“Marines, huh? I didn’t realize former Marines could be porn stars,” she says, smirking.
Leaning in, I lower my voice and say, “I’m not actually sure there are rules about it, to be honest.”
“Mmmm,” she responds, and I can see the wheels in her head turning again.
We talk for another hour, back and forth with questions. The questions are mostly basic, but it’s far from boring. Hearing about her favorite book or why she misses Autumn in Chicago has me captivated.
As Janie is sliding us another round, a voice booms to my right, followed by a strong thump on my back. I turn sharply, ready to snap at a drunk asshole, but I break out into a grin as I see one of my favorite scene partners sidling up.
“Well, if it isn’t Frank-fucking-Moro!”
Ritchie Goode is towering next to me, motioning for me to stand so he can give me a hug. He’s an industry friend I made when I first started out and have kept in semi-touch with over the last few decades. Ritchie has the classic adult film star look—short, dark hair with a handlebar mustache; he doesn’t give a shit about being discreet.
“Jesus, Ritchie, a little warning next time?” I ask, laughing as I stand up, the two of us embracing. “I was about to throw a punch.”
“Ah, you always liked it a bit rough, eh?” He laughs as we part, but he keeps his arm swung around my shoulder. “How you been? Ready for your big ‘I’m old as fuck’ award in a few months?”
Glancing quickly over at Bex, I see she’s trying to give me time for this private convo. She’s got her phone out and is scrolling through social media .
“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be good times,” I say, patting his chest, but he still doesn’t release me. He’s staring at Bex now.
“And who is this gorgeous doll?” Ritchie says, removing his hand from my shoulders and reaching a hand out toward Bex.
She politely sets her phone down and gives him a small smile. I can sense she’s nervous or uncomfortable, especially since everything about Ritchie—from his mustache to his bulky frame—screams porn star, but she extends her hand, anyway. “I’m Bex,” she says in a small voice that I haven’t yet heard—and I kind of hate it, like she’s trying to make herself smaller.
Ritchie takes her hand and drops a kiss to the same spot where Bex just licked salt off. For some reason, I feel my blood pressure ticking up.
“Lovely to meet you, Bex. I’m Ritchie, and since this guy probably won’t tell you, he and I used to be the best tag team in the business,” Ritchie says, releasing her hand and jerking his thumb toward me. I’m thankful he doesn’t ask how we know each other—he probably just assumes she’s another woman I’ve picked up somewhere, and quite honestly, she is. But this feels like more than that, and I don’t feel like trying to explain, mostly because I can’t explain it myself yet.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “Fucking ages ago, man. Not even sure you should still be bragging about that.”
“Bitch, of course I’m gonna brag about that! I can count on one hand the number of awards I’ve won at this thing, and three of those were team awards with you, you fucker!” Ritchie slaps my chest, laughing again.
“‘Tag team?” Bex asks quietly. She looks innocent as fuck when she asks this, and I feel a smack of reality slap me hard. Bex is innocent and, as much as that’s a turn on for me, it’s also so far outside of my sphere of “normal” that our incompatibility seems laughable .
Wait, compatibility? When did my subconscious start plotting out anything longer than a night or two with this woman?
Ritchie pauses and shares a glance with me before he boasts, “Yeah, tag team. Nobody could fuck a woman better than the two of us.”