Lana's Point of View
I let my jaw go slack as Chase's thick cock slides deeper into my throat, his fingers tangled roughly in my hair. The studio lights beat down mercilessly, highlighting the sweat glistening on his chiseled abs as he thrusts forward.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans, tightening his grip until my scalp stings. "Take it all, baby."
I gag violently as he hits the back of my throat, tears streaming down my face, ruining the careful makeup job they spent an hour perfecting. Not that it matters. The "sloppy facefuck" aesthetic is exactly what this director wants. My mascara runs in black rivulets down my cheeks as Chase pulls back slightly, giving me just enough time to gasp before he rams forward again.
But I'm not really here. My body's on autopilot while my mind drifts miles away, wondering where Adam is right now. What he's doing. If he's thinking about me at all.
Chase's cock pulses against my tongue as he picks up speed, the veins bulging as he approaches his climax. "God, you're so fucking hot," he pants, his hips jerking erratically. "I'm gonna cum down your pretty throat."
I make the appropriate moaning sounds, vibrating around his shaft, but inside I'm hollow. Empty. It's been almost a month since I hired Vince, and still nothing. Not a single lead on Adam's whereabouts.
The weight of Chase's dick on my tongue feels like nothing compared to the heaviness in my chest. Adam loved when I'd take his entire cock, his eyes wide with awe and adoration, not glazed with lust like Chase's. With Adam, it felt like worship. This is just...work.
"Swallow it all," Chase growls, his cock twitching as he starts to cum, hot spurts hitting the back of my throat. I dutifully gulp it down, performing my role perfectly even as my mind screams Adam's name.
The director calls cut as Chase pulls out, his semen mixed with my saliva dripping obscenely down my chin. Someone hands me a towel while the crew prepares to break everything down.
"You okay?" asks the production assistant, a young woman with kind eyes who's new to the industry. "You seemed... somewhere else."
"I'm fine," I lie, wiping my face. "Just focused."
Every scene feels more mechanical than the last, like I'm just a doll going through programmed motions. The lights dim as I shuffle toward my dressing room, desperate to wash the taste of Chase from my mouth.
As I reach for the doorknob, heavy footsteps approach from behind.
"Hey, wait up," Chase calls, his voice echoing in the hallway.
I turn, forcing my face into a neutral expression as he jogs toward me, still shirtless, his perfect abs glistening under the dim hallway lights. He runs a hand through his short dark hair, flashing that cocky smile that probably melts most women's hearts but leaves mine cold as ice.
"That was incredible," he says, leaning one arm against the wall beside my dressing room door, boxing me in. "Seriously, best blowjob I've ever had. The way you took all of me..." He whistles low. "I think we've got something special going on between us. Real chemistry."
I stare at him, feeling nothing but contempt as his eyes roam over my body. The audacity of this man, thinking I'd care about his approval when the only man whose opinion matters is somewhere out there with that red-headed witch.
"Fuck off, Chase," I say flatly, not bothering to soften my tone.
His confident smile falters. "What?"
"I said fuck off." I push past him, shoving my shoulder against his chest hard enough to make him step back. "We don't have chemistry. We have a paycheck. That's it."
I slam my dressing room door behind me, locking it before collapsing into my makeup chair. My reflection stares back at me, mascara still streaking my cheeks despite my attempts to wipe it clean. I look haunted. Hollow.
My phone buzzes on the vanity, and I snatch it up, heart racing with hope that it might be Vince with news. Instead, it's a text from George, the owner of the studio.
"Great scene today. Leo's replacement is working out well. Projected numbers are great."
I toss the phone aside without responding. Leo. Another fucking pig.
The makeup wipes feel rough against my skin as I scrub away the remnants of the scene, revealing the face beneath, the real Lana. Adam's Lana. Not the porn star who deep-throats strangers for a living.
My phone buzzes again as I'm mid-scrub with another wipe. I sigh heavily, assuming it's just George with more "encouraging" feedback about how well I performed with my mouth full of Chase's mediocrity. I glance down at the screen, ready to ignore it.
Vince Holloway.
My heart leaps into my throat so violently I nearly choke. I fumble for the phone, dropping it twice before finally managing to swipe the screen with trembling fingers.
"Vince?" I gasp, not even trying to hide the desperation in my voice. "Did you find him?"
"Ms. Blake," his gruff voice comes through, all business as usual. "I believe I've located your boyfriend."
I spring to my feet, knocking over bottles of makeup and hairspray. My legs go weak, and I have to grab the edge of the vanity to steady myself.
"Where?" I demand, my voice cracking. "Where is he? Is he okay? Is he with her?"
"Well, I'm sure you saw yesterday Morgan's location finally leaked thanks to those photos uploaded on Instagram," Vince says, his voice maintaining that professional detachment that both reassures and infuriates me.
My heart hammers against my ribcage. "What photos?"
"Some teenagers spotted her at South Coast Plaza. Posted pictures of her having dinner with a man. Your Adam."
I sink back into my chair, my legs giving out completely. "I didn't see them. I've been busy."
"Doing a little searching through property records, I found one of her shell corporations was used to buy a little property about fifteen years ago in Laguna Beach," Vince continues. "I've staked out the place for a bit and can confirm the man you're looking for is staying with Morgan Quinn."
My fingers clutch the phone so tightly my knuckles turn white. After weeks of nothing, of helplessness and desperation, I finally have something concrete. Adam is in Laguna Beach. With her.
"Does Adam look safe?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "How is his hand? Is he..." I swallow hard, forcing the words out. "Is he afraid of her?"
There's a pause on the line, and I can almost picture Vince considering his words carefully, weighing what to tell me.
"He appears physically well," Vince finally says. "His hand is still bandaged, but he's using it more freely. As for whether he's afraid..." Another pause. "Ms. Blake, I observed them for nearly twenty-four hours from a few houses, but hey appear to be in a consensual relationship. He doesn't seem to be under duress."
It stings like an antiseptic on a fresh wound, but I can't say I'm surprised. Of course, they look like a couple. Morgan's the ultimate predator, she studied him for months through that Discord account, learning exactly which buttons to push, which insecurities to exploit.
"Does he seem..." I swallow hard, forcing the question past the lump in my throat. "Does he seem happy with her?"
Vince's silence stretches so long I check my phone to make sure we haven't been disconnected. Finally, I hear him clear his throat.
"Ms. Blake, I'm not qualified to make that assessment."
Something in his careful tone makes my spine straighten. I grip the phone tighter, pressing it against my ear until it hurts.
"Vince, please. I need to know what you saw." My voice drops to a whisper. "I can handle it. Just tell me."
Another long pause. I can hear him breathing, weighing his words.
"Look, they're in a very physical relationship from what I can see," Vince finally says, his voice clinical but gentle. "I even caught them having sex outside on the beach. Middle of the night, but still pretty brazen."
My stomach lurches violently. I clamp my hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit as vivid images flood my mind, Morgan's pale body illuminated by moonlight, Adam's hands on her skin, their bodies moving together on the sand while waves crash nearby.
"Ms. Blake? Are you still there?" Vince's voice sounds distant through the roaring in my ears.
"Did he, "I choke on the words, forcing myself to continue. "Did he look like he was enjoying it?"
"I didn't exactly stick around for the finale," Vince says dryly. "But from what I observed, your boyfriend appeared to be a very... willing participant."
I close my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks, mixing with the remnants of mascara still there from the shoot. The taste of Chase's cum still lingers in my mouth, making the nausea worse.
"I appreciate your honesty," I manage, my voice hollow.
"Ms. Blake, I need to ask, what exactly are your intentions here?" Vince's tone shifts, more cautious now. "Because if you're planning something drastic, I can't be part of that."
My eyes drift to the gun case sitting in my purse, visible from where I'm sitting. The weight of it has become familiar over these past weeks of practice.
"I just want to talk to him," I say, the lie slipping easily from my lips. "Make sure he knows what kind of person she really is."
Vince sighs heavily and gives me the address.
I scribble the address on a makeup remover wipe, my hand trembling so badly the numbers are barely legible.
"Thank you, Vince," I whisper, meaning it more than he could possibly understand. "I'll transfer the final payment today."
"Ms. Blake," he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. This can't be easy to hear."
I hang up and stare at the address, my hands trembling so hard I almost drop the phone. Without thinking, I punch the location into Google Maps, my heart racing as the estimated travel time appears: 1 hour 23 minutes with current traffic.
"I'm coming, Adam," I whisper, grabbing my purse and rushing toward the shower attached to my dressing room so I can wash away the pornstar.