Porn Star

Her lips are parted ever so slightly, and they tremble now as she searches for a response, and oh my God, I am going to devour her mouth if I watch it any longer. With a quick glance around us, I grab her hand and pull her in between two of the zodiac canvases, and suddenly the noise dims a little and we are by ourselves, sandwiched between canvas and exposed brick. I lead her a little farther around the outer edge of the exhibit, until we’re near the back of the gallery space. Here, the narrow gaps between the canvases are covered with a cluster of gauzy fabric panels and the comparative dearth of lights in this corner gives an extra shroud of shadows. In other words, though only a few inches of fabric, canvas and paint separate us from the other people in the gallery, it won’t be easy to be seen, unless somebody took the trouble to look at the six-inch gap between the floor and the bottom of the canvas, but I honestly doubt that will happen.

Once we’re sufficiently hidden, I take her cup of wine and set it down a nearby ledge with mine, and drop my bag to the floor. Devi looks like she’s used this interval to compose herself somewhat.

“It can’t be a real date if we’re filming it,” she says, her chin rising slightly. “This is amazing, Logan, don’t get me wrong. No man has ever done anything like this with me. But once we turn on the camera, it’s different. You have to see that. Even if it’s not solely performative, it can’t be completely genuine.”

I’m already shaking my head. “I don’t think there has to be barrier between art and life. I don’t think capturing a moment makes it any less authentic.”

She gives me a sad smile. “But when that moment’s being captured to make money? When that moment is being made for sale? How can that not retroactively affect the moment itself?”

A tiny voice inside of me wonders if she has a point, but I push it aside. I want to prove to her that we can have it all—the realness and the camera—and that all it takes is a shift in perspective. After all, wasn’t that what she was trying to explain to me about The Hanged Man? Perspective?

I step closer to her. “Will you let me try to convince you?”

“Convince me of what?”

I lean forward and brace myself against the wall with my forearms, caging her between the wall and me. “Let me turn on the camera,” I say, using the tip of my nose to trace the line of her jaw. She shudders and goose bumps erupt everywhere on her skin. “Let me film us doing our thing tonight and show you how real it can be.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to film,” she says. I take her earlobe between my teeth and she lets out a soft groan. “I just…”

“I know what you’re saying,” I breathe into her ear. “And what I’m saying is I want you to be open to the idea of it feeling real. I want you to forget about the camera while I’m touching you.”

“I can’t,” she protests faintly.

“I think you can. At least let me try to help you?”

She sighs, half resignation, half pleasure because my mouth is now on her neck. “Okay,” she relents. “I’ll try to forget about the camera tonight.”

I give her neck one last nip and then straighten up, reaching for my bag.

“Wait, now?” she asks, sounding horrified. “While there’re still people here?”

I give her an evil grin. “Are you being modest, Devi Dare?”

“There’s a difference between modest and law-abiding,” she shoots back.

Undeterred, I dig out the camera and turn it on, setting it on the ledge so it’s aimed at our corner. While I adjust the settings to compensate for the dim light, Devi lists off all the reasons it’s a bad idea to film right now.

“We could get caught. We could get thrown out. We could get arrested. They’ll find out you didn’t have the right permits and you could get fined. Even Vida could get in trouble.”

Satisfied that the camera is set up well, I walk towards her and slowly back her into the wall. Her voice falters and her words trail off as my stomach touches hers, and then she gasps as my hips move forward and I press my growing erection into her.

“I’m not ignoring your concerns,” I tell her, sliding one hand around her waist and the other up her neck to hold the side of her face. “But I want you to trust me. Let me take on your concerns, and I promise to take care of you. I’ll be responsible for you—for us—and I’ll make sure we don’t get caught.”

I feel her hesitate, and even though I want nothing more than to seal my lips over hers and kiss the resistance right out of her, I have to know whether or not this is an actual limit for her.

I use my hand to guide her face so that she’s looking at me. “Devi, it’s okay if this is a boundary. Being in public. All you have to do is tell me.”

She worries at her bottom lip with her teeth, and then she finally shakes her head. “As long as you listen for anyone…”

“I give you my solemn vow.”

“...then I guess it’s okay.”

“You guess? I need more than that, Cass.”

She takes a breath. “I’m sure it’s okay.”

“I don’t know how much better that is.” I’m full hard now, and all I want is to start, but I have to know that she feels safe and comfortable. Otherwise, no dice. “It seems like you’re uncertain...do you want to try it and then if you need to stop, we can stop?”

Her forehead wrinkles. “Like with using a safe word?”

“Right, but you can just snap your fingers if you’d like.” I’ve found that many girls struggle to vocalize their limits, even with permission, and sometimes things like snapping fingers are easier.

“Okay. I’ll snap my fingers if I want to stop. But I don’t think I’ll need to.” She gives me a small smile. “I trust you.”

“Thank God,” I exhale. “I didn’t know how much longer I could keep from kissing you.”

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