Chapter 5
THE OSCARS OF PORN
Graham
Ah—fuck… the things I did for her.
Not in a million years did I think I’d be stuffed in this fucking monkey suit playing bodyguard at what was probably the second largest adult video award ceremony in the country. Or that there was the slightest possibility that I’d share the bedroom with another man for her.
But there I was, on the streets of Downtown Boston, dressed like I had more money than I could count and contemplating whether or not risking bumping dicks with another man was worth it just to be with her.
I parked the Shelby in a parking garage a block over and made my way to the entrance of the casino. Workers had already rolled out the black carpet, set up the velvet ropes, and made sure everyone knew there was a porn award ceremony happening tonight.
The glass doors banged open, and a woman in a glittering pantsuit stormed through, clipboard clutched tight under her arm.
“Tony! Hey, yo, Tony!” she barked, heels clicking like gunfire on marble.
“That van better be gone in sixty seconds or less! Markowitz, Devereaux, and Chenille are rolling up in ten, and you know they don’t do blocked entrances. ”
The carpet was already a battlefield—paparazzi circling like vultures, staking their corners with tripods and light stands, media crews jostling elbows, testing angles. Everyone waited, hungry, vibrating, cameras twitching in their hands, ready to explode the second the first limo pulled up.
“Hey, you. Big guy.” The woman zeroed in on me, sequins flashing as she jabbed her clipboard my direction. “You workin’ tonight?” She flicked her eyes down the entire length of my body and back up to my eyes again.
“I’m security for Devereaux’s girl.” God, I hated the way that tasted in my mouth.
“Great. Then make yourself useful until they show. See those yahoos over there?” She angled her clipboard toward a pack of fresh-faced paparazzi jostling for turf. “That’s The Hollywood Reporter’s section. Move ‘em.”
I just stared at her.
“What—those muscles just for decoration?” She clapped once, sharp. “Now!”
Christ.
I shooed them away like the good little enforcer I was. Didn't even have to say much. Just stood there and let the suit do the talking.
“Look alive, people!” the woman yelled. “It’s show time.”
The first limo hissed to a stop, and out came Hunter—smug and polished.
Then Maggie’s leg. Long and curvy. Followed by her hips in lace that made my jaw lock.
I tugged at my tie, not out of nerves, but to keep from tearing the damn thing off.
I slid into place behind them, close enough to keep watch.
Katie floated out next, Derek at her side. He caught my eye, and I shot him a nod.
“Where’d you have that hiding?” Maggie turned to me with an impressed smirk and smoothed my lapel.
“Got it just for tonight.”
“You look very nice,” she said, raising her brow and giving a nod while a rosy pink dusted her cheeks.
I eyed her dress, and my mouth went dry.
My dick took notice too. It was nothing but a dare, strips of lace clinging to the right places, obscene by design, flattering the parts I tried so hard to forget about.
Even from across the carpet, I could see the shadow of her nipples, and it pulled at something in me.
It was a porn awards show after all—of course she would be dressed to invite the eyes that paid her bills.
But I couldn’t help it. I wanted every one of them off of her.
I wanted to yank her into the nearest service door, press her against the cold brick, and prove to her—loud and ugly—that she was mine and I was never letting her go.
“Thanks.” My hands tugged at my coat, a useless attempt to hide the bulge pressing against the zipper. “You’re beautiful as always.” I smirked and straightened my tie. “But if you need reassurance, there’s about eight…” I looked to the back of my mind, measuring. “No… nine inches ready to testify.”
She chuckled and tried to play it off, but her hand slipped back and caught mine, a quick squeeze before she turned to Hunter.
Yeah—no softening this dick tonight. Hopefully, it doesn’t distract me from the real reason I was here: to protect her.
She drifted ahead of me, hips swaying slow and deliberate, Hunter at her side. They paused every few feet for the cameras, and I followed, swallowing the urge to drag her into the shadows.
Hunter steered us inside the casino’s ballroom, straight to a reserved table off to the right of the runway jutting into the center. Black name cards sat in crystal holders like tiny trophies.
The room was ridiculous. Vaulted ceilings, black and gold everywhere, crystal chandeliers dripping like frozen waterfalls, mirrors catching every glint of light. It was all shimmer and shine, elegance turned up to eleven. I snorted under my breath.
Shit… it was impressive.
The ballroom filled quickly with beautiful people—porn stars, agents, CEOs, the whole circus. Not exactly what I expected for my bingo card for the year. But hey—I wasn’t complaining.
I kept my eye on Maggie as she and Hunter moved table to table. Hunter did as he said and “schmoozed” the crowd. Maggie was uncomfortable as fuck, stiff as hell, shoulders practically raised to her ears. She kept glancing to doorways, curtains, bathrooms—instinctual escape routes.
God, I hated the way he paraded her around like some trophy he stole, forcing her to smile, demanding conversation when the only thing they offered were jealous glances, judgmental stares, and camera bulbs flashing inches away.
She angled her body to me, her usual warmth cooling into a “get me out of here” vibe.
“Drop your shoulders, princess,” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.
“And quit tugging at that lace. Keep it up and the whole damn dress will fall off, and I won’t be able to control myself.
You’ve already got me rock hard in a suit that’s too tight for that kind of growth.
Do you really want me to have to explain to my tailor why the crotch is blown out of $1400 worth of ego and blind hope I purchased an two hours ago?
She froze, eyes wide, cheeks redder than a tomato, but when she looked at me, I could see her guard lower as she covered her mouth and giggled.
I pointed my finger at her hand, commanding it down. “None of that. Remember what I said about that beautiful smile? No hiding it.”
Her shoulders finally relaxed, and she mouthed “Thank you,” as Hunter pulled her to the next group of women hoping for a business deal.
I nodded and joined Derek at the open bar.
“Old Fashioned. Don’t fuck it up with ice.” I leaned back on both elbows, a smirk tugging at my mouth as my eyes stayed locked on Maggie two tables over.
“Thanks for keeping an eye on her while I was gone,” I said to Derek.
“Yeah… well… I want to castrate you for that douchebag move.” He didn’t drink. Instead, he stabbed at the ice with the little black straw—probably imagining it was me. “You do realize the only reason she is with him is because of you. And you know she—” He lowered his voice. “Cursed him, right?”
“Yes.” I took a sip of my drink. Not perfect, but it’ll do. “I know. I’m not mad at her for doing it. She needed a comfort none of us could give her.”
“I found her with her wrists slit.”
My drink froze halfway to my mouth. Heat climbed to my jaw. My hand went numb on the glass. “What?”
Derek’s voice went flat. “You broke her, man. I found her bleeding, and ever since things haven’t been the same. Hunter’s not cutting it, and I can’t fill the hole you left.”
Fuck.
My gaze locked on Maggie. Katie had slid in beside her, and just like that she loosened even more—smiling, shoulders down, laughing—thriving.
“I shouldn’t have come back.”
Derek didn’t blink, just shoved me. “No. You shouldn’t have left, you asshole.”
I drained the rest of my drink in one quick swig, the burn doing nothing to scorch out my regrets. “Another,” I said, the glass hitting the bar harder than I meant.
Derek placed his hand on my shoulder. “Enough. You’ve got a job to do. Remember?”
My mouth twisted. “Yeah, and in order to do it… I need another.”
Maggie
Everything about this evening was completely out of my comfort zone—the people, the stupid strip of lace Hunter made me wear as a dress, the fact that Katie and I were getting an award for a video we'd made one drunk night when we were both feeling lonely, when the only comfort we found was each other. What was even worse was that it was all because of the fucking curse I placed on Hunter. Without it, I wouldn’t be here.
Hunter's watch beeped—signaling something he was supposed to do with the awards.
“Dinner time, mo chróí.” He kissed the top of my head. “Take Katie to our table. I’ll be over in a moment.” And with that, he made his way through the crowd to the stage.
I took Katie by the hand, pulling her away from the other alt girls looking to make it in the camgirl scene.
“You heard the man. Let’s go, Kates.”
I flagged Graham and Derek with a two-fingered “get over here!” and plunked myself down at our table. Katie to my right, Graham to my left, and Derek beside him.
I reached down and rubbed my foot just as Graham sat. “Ugh, these shoes are killing me.”
He smirked at the stilettos. “Yeah, well—altitude sickness is a bitch.”
I squinted at him. “What?”
He rolled his eyes and swallowed his drink with a grunt. “Not worth it if you can’t walk.”
“I can walk just fine.”
Hunter tapped the microphone to get the guests’ attention and laid on his Irish accent extra thick. “Alright, you beautiful pleasure demons, dinner will be served in a few minutes, so if we could all find our seats that’d be great. Oh, and uh… save the moaning for after dessert.”
The room lit up with chuckles and snorts as I watched Hunter exit the stage, but instead of joining us, he continued putting on the show, floating from table to table, rubbing elbows with the biggest and best of the industry.