Free The Princess and the Porn Star by Lauren Gallagher

while shaking his own ass. “Improvise, man.”
    “Okay, sure,” I said, trying not to gag. Thank God, he stopped.
    “We’ve got to walk that fine line,” he said. “Push the envelope. I don’t want the two of you getting it on up there, but make it look like you want to.”
    That shouldn’t be too difficult at this point…
    “I want it to look organic and natural,” he said. “Like you really want her, you know? Do whatever comes to mind, long as it’s not over the top.”
    “Not over the top,” I said with a nod. “Sure. Got it.”
    Does a hard-on count as over the top? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a foregone conclusion.
    The distinct sound of high heels on a hard floor sent a shiver through me. Yeah. Foregone conclusion. I took a breath, held it and turned around.
    Rachel stepped into the room, and no, it wasn’t going to be difficult to convince the cameras I wanted her. For that matter, I suddenly didn’t need any caffeine.
    She had on the white dress. Exactly the same as the black one except for the color, and she was steady and confident on those terrifying heels. Hair down and perfectly styled. Makeup flawlessly highlighting her eyes, lips and cheekbones. Good God, she was gorgeous.
    Her eyes met mine, and though she was every inch Olivia Taylor, the brief, shy smile was all Rachel and all mine. Another shiver.
    I was about to go up and say hello, but then Jim stepped into the gap between us, waving his clipboard. “All right, let’s get this show rolling! Places! Let’s go!”
    Rachel and I exchanged glances. Sympathetic grins. Shrugs. Then we headed up onto the stage to that tiny tape square.
    “Buck, you’re behind her,” Jim shouted. “Hands on her waist, just like we rehearsed.”
    You really think I’d forgotten?
    I slid my hands over her waist. Distantly, I was aware of Jim ordering someone to start the music, but most of my senses zoomed in on a soft creaking sound. The soft creaking sound of leather that was my only warning before Olivia’s body was pressed up against mine.
    She turned her head slightly and murmured, “This all right?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Long as you’re—”
    The music started. Showtime.
    Moving together like this was far easier than it was yesterday. There were no walls, no barriers except the thin leather. I didn’t have to consciously move; she danced, and my body followed.
    It was also insanely arousing. I tried distracting myself with the unsexiest thoughts possible. Baseball. Taxes. The grueling last hour of an all-day porno shoot. Olivia Taylor in my hands and skintight leather and— fuck . No amount of mental diversion did a damned bit of good, and there was no way she didn’t know. With her ass pressed up to my body like this, she had to feel my hard-on. Especially with the way she moved against me. Ground against me. When I pulled her hips toward me and pressed harder, her back arched off my chest, but it wasn’t to get away from me this time. Holy hell.
    She reached back and slid her hands down the sides of my thighs.
    Whatever walls she’d put up before, they’d crumbled, and there was nothing between us except two paper-thin layers of leather. The tempo accelerated, and Olivia’s hips followed suit. I held on to her now without any pretense of trying to keep some distance between us, and we danced like we’d just met in a club. No cameras, no crew, just the two of us dancing like everyone else on a crowded floor had vanished, leaving us to our feverish, fluid movement, the kind of movement that led to your place or mine? by the end of the night. No one had to tell me to lean in and almost kiss her neck, and as her hair teased my skin and her scent teased my nose, the only challenge now was not kissing her skin, because almost wasn’t enough. Take after take, the song played, and we did this over and over and over again. Like the most torturous kind of foreplay imaginable: right on the brink of going too far, and no possible way