I, Porn Star (I #1) by Zara Cox Read Free Book Online Page A

guess, as long as you
don’t draw blood.”
    “Noted.”
    Her gaze flickers
for a second, then she does what I’ve wanted her to do since she walked in. She
stares straight into the camera. She’s better composed now than she was in my
executive restaurant on Friday. She’s had time to prepare for this meeting
whereas then, her reaction to me was raw and unfettered.
    I muse over the
possibilities as I stare back at her.
    Eventually, the
question spills out, “So, I’ve got the gig?”
    I pause for a
long minute. “Yes, Lucky, you have the gig.”
    The sharp breath
she takes is curious. Her expression isn’t one of happiness or the ecstasy of
gluttony satisfied. It’s overwhelming relief that stems from abated terror,
like a person snatched back from the jaws of certain death.
    Her whole body
trembles with the release of the paralyzing feeling. Her lower lip quivers, but
she kills the telltale action by catching it between her teeth and gnawing on
it.
    “Thank you.”
    “Don’t thank me
just yet, Lucky. There’s a reason I’m paying you a million dollars for your
time. You will be fucked with, and not always in ways you’ll find…pleasant.”
    Her fingers find
her hair again. “But, you won’t hurt me, physically?”
    “Not
intentionally, no.”
    She clears her
throat. Decision made. “You chose me, and I don’t intend to fail.”
Determination born of self-preservation.
    Against my will,
pique digs in a little deeper.
    “No. You won’t. I
won’t allow it.”
    Her lashes sweep
down for a moment as she gathers herself. “What happens next?”
    “Next you get
prepped.”
    “Prepped?”
    “A minor ground
rule, Lucky. Don’t make me repeat myself. Don’t ask for explanations for things
that are out of your control. A million dollars buys me unlimited access to
your body and a button on your lip, barring further ground rules to be hammered
out. Is that clear?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. That said,
you have questions. I’ll allow a few. Make them count.”
    I sit back and
sip the whiskey at my elbow. She doesn’t instantly launch into questions. She
takes her time, considers. I approve of that.
    “Am I going to
meet you before we start?”
    “No.”
    “But aren’t you
worried we might not be compatible?”
    I recall the
flicker I felt when she served me on Friday. She almost succeeded in piercing
the outer layer of the seething blackness with her unexpected presence. At her
initial interview, I overestimated what a wall of bricks and glass could
achieve. Sensing her close in the restaurant, looking into her eyes afterward,
I’m almost certain the flicker turned into a daring little spark. “I’m not
worried.”
    Cynicism twists
over her face. “You sound very sure about that.”
    “I have a cock,
you have a cunt. We’re compatible.”
    Her nostrils
flutter at the uncouth words, which surprises me in light of the hardened look
I’ve glimpsed in her eyes.
    “Does my language
offend you?”
    She shakes her
head. “I’ve heard worse.”
    I slot the info
away, for what purpose, I don’t know. “Glad to hear it. Do you have any other
questions?”
    Green eyes probe
the camera lens. “What…umm, do you have a name?”
    “I do.”
    She waits a beat,
then I get the cocky eyebrow again. “Are you going to tell me?”
    “No.”
    She frowns. “Then
what should I call you?”
    “What would you
like to call me?”
    Her head tilts.
“Mechanical Man?”
    “That won’t
suit.”
    “I’m not great
with terms of endearment.”
    “I don’t require one.”
    Exasperation filters
through. “So you want me to call you nothing?”
    “If you could
pick a name or an initial for me, what would it be?”
    She stares into
the camera for a few seconds, then her gaze drops. The corner of her lower lip
twitches, as if she’s worrying her flesh from the inside. Her fingers still in
her hair, her breathing alters and a light flush drifts over her skin.
    “What are you
thinking about, Lucky?” I