Mia Sheridan - Stinger

"No, and it's not your fault you have a pretty little mouth, but maybe if you crawl over here, we can both use our God-given assets to make the next few hours go by a little faster." I raised my eyebrows.

She stared at me, her cheeks flushing. "That's why you do that. You pull that sex-on-a-stick, asshole mask on to hide the fact that you're ashamed of who you are."

I laughed out loud. "There's my little Dr. Phil again. Tell me, where did you get your clinical psychology degree from? Oh, that's right. The University of Bullshit. Tell me this, Buttercup, are you as good at diagnosing yourself? Do you realize that that perfect princess gig you have going on is all an attempt to make up for the fact that you believe you should have been the one to die instead of your brother? But guess what? Your brother did die. And all the perfect princess crap in the world won't change that."

She sucked in a loud gasp, her eyes filling with hurt. I immediately felt like shit. "You bastard! " she hissed, getting up on her knees and "walking" on them toward me, anger almost instantly replacing the hurt I had first seen flash in her eyes.

I got up on my knees too, the bastard comment making my chest tight. She had used my own word against me and I didn't like the way that felt. "Prude," I hissed back.

"Man-whore!"

"Oh, real inventive, Ice queen!"

We met in the middle of the elevator, both on our knees, her neck bent to stare up at me, rage etched across her features. I knew my expression said the same thing.

"Piece of ass!"

"Sell out."

She balled her fists up and straightened both of her arms at her side, making a frustrated, angry growling sound. I leaned in slightly, daring her to hit me.

And suddenly we were kissing. Hard core, angry kissing, our hands everywhere, groping and grabbing. And damn it if she didn't taste like sunshine and everything sweet and fresh this world had to offer.

Grace

We groped at each other's bodies, moaning and panting and practically crazed with anger and lust. Or was it just anger? No, no, anger didn't feel this good. My body was on fire, every nerve ending zinging with the need to be touched by Carson. Oh God, I was being touched by Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer! No! Yes! Yes! Yes! Three yes's to one no. Majority rules! God, he tasted so good. He tasted minty and like something that was just him. After one small taste, I was already craving it, sweeping my tongue around his mouth trying to get as much of it as I could, desperate with hunger for it. For him. He seemed just as desperate to taste me as his tongue tangled with mine, and his hands grabbed my ass and pulled me up hard against his erection. Oh God, he was big. Really big. And I was rubbing on him like some crazed cat in heat. A crazed cat in heat that had gotten a hold of some crack. Or catnip… or whatever notched up the level of a crazed cat in heat. That was me.

Meow!

I suddenly realized Carson was pulling me up to a standing position, and I followed him willingly, our lips never once breaking contact. He walked us backwards to the wall and when my back hit solid surface, he pressed up against me, a growl coming up his chest. He let go of me and I heard both of his hands hit the wall next to either side of my head as he caged me in. He kept working my mouth, licking and sucking my tongue as he pressed into me again, groaning once more. The sounds he was making and the feel of the wall against me, anchoring me, cleared the lust fog just a little. Oh my God, this was crazy. What was I doing? A couple minutes before, we had both been tearing each other apart–how did this happen? Sure he was great at what he was doing with his mouth and his body but that was because he was a professional! Oh my God! He's a professional! He's good at this because he does it a lot . As in a lot , a lot. Again, what in the hell was I doing? I opened my eyes and seeing his face millimeters from mine, his eyes closed and his long lashes fanned over his cheeks, brought me fully back to reality. I made a strangled sound in my throat and tore my mouth off of his, turning my head and putting both my hands against his chest, pushing him away from me. He stepped back, looking dazed, and we both stared into each other's eyes, panting.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he finally said.

"For what?" I asked, angrily, "the insults or the kissing?"

"The insults. Not sorry for the kissing."

I blinked. And damn it if, even though I was still angry, more so at myself now, a part of me wanted to dive right back in to the kissing part.

I shook my head slightly, clearing away the last of the fog. We're in an elevator. He's a porn star. We just told each other a secret, and then viciously threw it right back.

I laughed a small, humorless laugh and looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. I looked back down at Carson and he was staring at me, a look of confusion on his face. He raised one eyebrow. "What's funny?"

I turned and sat down, banging the back of my head against the wall lightly. He came over and sat against the back wall of the elevator, directly to my right, drawing his knees up and resting his forearms on them again.

I groaned. "Us. We're awful people. We each shared a secret, and then used it against each other within five minutes flat." I shook my head and looked over at him. "I'm sorry too."

He took a deep breath and looked down for a minute before bringing those beautiful hazel eyes back to me. "No, that was me. I made the rules and then I attacked you instead of playing by them graciously. I was a sore loser." He looked truly repentant.

I pursed my lips and tilted my head, surprised at his response. I shook my head slightly again. "That game had high stakes." I paused. "How about if we just talk for a little bit?"

A grin spread over his face, that little dimple showing itself, and the true beauty of him momentarily stunned me. I tilted my head. "Why aren't you a model or an actor or something? You have the looks for it."

He chuckled. "I know."

I laughed. "Modest, too, aren't ya?"

"I don't need to be modest. I didn't do anything to earn this face. It just is what it is."

I snorted. "Just when I was kinda starting to like you again."

"Does you liking me translate into more kissing?" He grinned again, shooting me that devastating smile.

"No. Now tell me why you don't model instead of… what you're doing."

"Let people primp me and put make-up on me for hours and then pose in front of them? God, that sounds a thousand times worse than porn. Shit."

"Worse than porn? So you don't like doing it then?"

He stared at me for a minute and I could see his wheels turning, but with what, I didn't know. Finally he said, "Truthfully, no, I don't like doing porn."

"Why?" I asked quietly.

"Because I like to fuck the way I want to fuck. I don't like being told what to do or moved around like a chess piece in bed. Part of the high of sex for a man is the chase. There's no chase in porn. And before you get mad, I'm not trying to push your buttons with that wording. I'm just being honest. I don't find it enjoyable. I mean beyond–"

"Right," I interrupted, "sex is like pizza and all that." I studied him for a minute. "How'd you get into it?" I finally asked.

He sighed. "Well, like I said, I kinda grew up in the business. My mom used to bring me on set with her. Not that I watched. I stayed in the dressing room, but I knew what she was doing out there and it sucked. Pun intended." He grinned, but I didn't. I just felt sad.

He stared at me for a minute, his eyes narrowing briefly. I thought he might not continue, but then he began speaking again, "Anyway, my mom had always had a little bit of a drug problem and when I was fourteen, it got pretty bad. I went to live with my grandma in Massachusetts until my mom got clean, and then I came back to Los Angeles."