Devi looks uncertain, sad. I tug on her shoulder until she rolls onto her back and I can cup her face with one hand.
“We need to make some boundaries, Cass. What are we okay with and what are we not okay with? What will we keep special just for each other?”
She gives a small, fragile shrug and my heart aches. “I’ve never done this before, Logan,” she says. “I’ve never been with a porn star. And I’ve certainly never been with one of the most famous porn stars in the world.”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” I reassure her, stroking her hair back from her face. “We have so much time, Devi. We’ll get it figured out.”
“Yeah,” she says, but her voice is full of doubt.
“Want to hear a joke?” I ask, trying to cheer her up, cajole her back to her normal sunny self.
“I guess.”
“Why does Santa Claus have such a big sack?”
She shrugs again.
I grin. “He only comes once a year!”
No reaction.
“Okay, okay, not my best work. How about this: what’s the difference between a lentil and a chick pea?”
“What?”
I wait a beat to let the punch line fall with maximum effect. “I wouldn’t pay a hundred dollars to have a lentil on my chest.”
Devi’s eyes widen and then she starts snort-laughing, slapping my bare chest hard. “You’re disgusting!”
But she’s smiling again. I resist the urge to preen.
She’s still giggling a little. “Okay, I have one for you. What’s the difference between jam and jelly?”
I play along. “What?”
“I can’t jelly my cock up your ass.”
I burst out laughing. “Why, Devi Dare, you dirty woman.”
“You have no idea.”
She grabs for my ass, and we start wrestling and laughing, both of us naked and still a little emotional, and then the wrestling turns to grinding and the laughing turns to kissing, and you know what?
Suddenly my cock isn’t so drowsy anymore.
17
I wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains, a rough thumb brushing across my nipple, and soft kisses on my shoulder. I’m immediately wet—or I’m still wet from all the sex we had the night before—and I could easily part my legs and make room for his already hard cock to slip inside me. But I don’t.
Instead, I pretend I’m still asleep. Because even though I’m the type of person to usually roll out of bed with a smile on my face, today I need a few minutes. I need to wake up enough to be sure none of this was a dream. I need a moment to process what we did, what we said. How we feel.
He loves me.
He told me he loved me, and I don’t even question it. I know he does. I felt it in the way he ravaged me. I felt it in his lips and with his tongue and in the orgasms he drew from the deepest parts of my body, orgasms that ripped and tore through every muscle, every cell, every bit of energy that makes up my soul.
He loves me. And though that love can’t undo or erase the incident that occurred on Hagen’s set, it does make surviving it better. Easier.
Logan moves his mouth up my neck to my ear. He nips my lobe—hard—and I squeal.
His arms fold around me, and he pulls my backside into his body. “I knew you were awake. Were you faking because you’re too tired for me?”
“Never,” I mumble, turning into him to press my mouth along the curve of his jaw. “I was just thinking.”
“About how much I love you?” He buries his face in my bosom and does something with his tongue along the skin between my breasts and oh my God I had no idea that was such an erogenous zone for me.
“Actually…” I gasp as he pinches a nipple between his fingers. “Yeah, I was.”
He lifts his gaze back to mine, and it’s serious now. “I do, you know. Love you.”
I nod. “I know.”
“And you really do love me. Don’t you? So much.” He’s teasing, pulling the words from me for fun, but I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes that says he really wants to hear it too. Like, maybe he’s as much in awe of the newly discovered shared emotion as I am.
So I’m serious when I answer him. “So much.”
And then, when the way he looks at me becomes so hot I begin to melt underneath him, I tease him back. “Do I need to prove it?” I wiggle my hips, rubbing against his hard-on, working us both up.
“Yeah, I think that’s what you’re going to have to do.” There’s a hint of mischief in his tone that disappears when he adds, “Hold on just a sec.” He stretches past me, reaching for something, so I peer over my shoulder to see what it is and spot his camera on the nightstand.
I sigh audibly with disappointment. I hoped last night would linger into this morning, that we’d still be “Logan and Devi” instead of “the show.”
But instead of grabbing the handheld, Logan hits a button on his bedside clock.
I’m relieved, and I quickly school my features to hide my initial reaction. Unfortunately, I’m too late.
“I’d set my alarm,” he explains. “What did you think…?” He looks from me to the nightstand, trying to determine what had upset me. His eyes land on the only other item on the table. “You thought I was going for my camera.”
My silence is his answer.
“Ah, I see.” He pulls away, suddenly distant.
“I just…I haven’t showered. Or anything.” I know I sound like I’m making excuses, because I am, and I’m one of those people that’s too transparent to lie. So I shake off the pretext and admit the truth. “I wanted it to be just us.”