Shit.
“I don’t want that,” I say, “but I also…you’re so young and I don’t want to fuck this up and I’m worried that I’m pressing on the gas too hard for you.”
“No,” she murmurs. “You’re not.”
“But it’s okay to take things slow, I mean, that’s kind of what we talked about at the gallery—”
“I’m in love with you,” she says abruptly.
There’s nothing but static and sparks in my brain, and an expansive hot glow igniting in my chest. “What?” I manage.
“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, 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 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.