Morgan's Point of View
I gently close the bedroom door, taking one last look at Adam's sleeping form. The morning light filters through the beach house curtains, casting a golden glow across his face. He looks so peaceful, so vulnerable, nothing like the anxious, wounded man I brought here yesterday.
Last night didn't go according to plan. After dinner, I'd led him to my bedroom with very specific intentions. I'd laid out my favorite silk sheets, set up candles, even wore that black lace number that's brought men to their knees. But the moment Adam's head hit the pillow, he was out cold. The pain medication, combined with the emotional exhaustion of the day, had knocked him out completely.
I couldn't even be mad. He looked so damn adorable, curled up on his side, careful even in sleep to keep his bandaged hand elevated. I'd just watched him for a while, memorizing the rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, the slight part of his lips.
I hope he's fucking me in his dreams.
I pad down the hallway to the kitchen, my bare feet silent against the cool hardwood floors. The ocean view greets me through the wall of windows, waves crashing against the shore in hypnotic rhythm. I brew myself a cup of coffee and settle onto the couch, pulling out my phone.
Time to handle some unfinished business.
I scroll through my contacts until I find the number I need. Uncle George. The family black sheep who made it big in the adult entertainment industry and never looked back. The man who gave me my start and, more importantly, the man who controls Lana's career.
He answers on the third ring, his voice gruff with sleep. "Morgan? It's fucking seven in the morning."
"Good morning to you too, Uncle George," I say, taking a sip of my coffee. "I need a favor."
A heavy sigh crackles through the speaker. "Of course you do. You never call just to say hello."
"I'm hurt," I say, feigning offense. "Can't a niece check in on her favorite uncle?"
"Cut the shit, Morgan," he grumbles, and I hear rustling fabric as he presumably sits up in bed. "What do you want?"
I run my finger along the rim of my coffee mug, choosing my words carefully. "It's about Lana Blake."
"Ah," he says, understanding immediately. "The girl whose boyfriend you stole."
"I didn't steal him," I snap, then quickly compose myself. "Adam left her of his own accord. I simply... provided an alternative."
George snorts. "Right. And I'm sure you had nothing to do with that scene she did with Leo."
I remain silent, letting him draw his own conclusions.
"So what about her?" he finally asks.
"I want her career destroyed," I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Give her the worst scenes you have. The really degrading stuff. Water sports, humiliation, scat. Break her down until she quits the industry altogether."
There's a long pause on the other end of the line. I can almost picture George pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed in resignation.
"I can't do that, Morgan," he says finally, his voice heavy. "After her scene with Leo went viral, her market value skyrocketed."
I grip my coffee mug so tightly I'm surprised it doesn't shatter. "So what? You're her boss. Just assign her the scenes anyway."
"It's not that simple," George sighs. "Since you retired, she's become our most valuable asset. The studios are practically begging for her. If I start mistreating her now, I'm not sure what she'd do."
"There has to be something you can do," I insist, unable to keep the desperation from my voice. "Please, Uncle George."
His voice softens slightly. "Look, kid, I know how important this is to you. I've always tried to help when I could, but this time my hands are tied. The board would have my head if I deliberately tanked our biggest star."
I close my eyes, disappointment washing over me. Despite the industry he works in, despite the questionable morality of his business practices, George has always been there for me. The only family member who didn't turn his back when I chose my career path. The only one who sent birthday cards, who checked in, who actually gave a damn.
"I understand," I say finally, the fight draining out of me. "It was worth asking."
"Maybe in a year, we can revisit this," George says, his tone apologetic. "Most stars in her position don't hang on to the top spot for longer than that usually. The industry moves fast."
I scoff, running my fingers through my hair in frustration. "I doubt it. Look at Mia Khalifa, she only did porn for a few months, and to this day, she's still one of the most searched stars online."
"Fair point," George concedes with a sigh. "But every situation is different."
A thought occurs to me. "Is she doing any more scenes with Leo soon? That partnership seemed... lucrative." I try to keep my voice neutral, but I'm thinking about how seeing Lana with Leo again would upset Adam, reopen those wounds I've been so carefully tending.
"Actually, no," George replies, and I can hear the confusion in his voice. "Leo retired after that last scene. Completely out of the blue. No one can get in touch with him."
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. Another complication I hadn't anticipated.
"Look, I'm sorry I can't help more right now," George says. "You know I would if I could."
"Thanks anyway, Uncle," I say, keeping my voice light despite my disappointment. "I appreciate you listening."
We exchange quick goodbyes and hang up. I set my phone down on the coffee table with more force than necessary, frustration coursing through me. I take a deep breath, trying to center myself as I gaze out at the ocean.
The waves crash against the shore with rhythmic persistence, reminding me that even the strongest obstacles eventually erode under consistent pressure. That's what I need, patience and persistence.
A soft noise from the bedroom catches my attention. Adam is awake. I quickly compose my features, erasing any trace of the conversation with George, and head toward the kitchen. By the time Adam emerges, I'll have breakfast started, the perfect girlfriend preparing a meal for her injured boyfriend.
I pull ingredients from the refrigerator, humming softly to myself. If I can't destroy Lana's career right away, I'll have to focus on strengthening my hold on Adam instead. Make him so completely mine that even if he sees her again, even if she tries to worm her way back into his life, he'll choose me without hesitation.
The bedroom door creaks open behind me. I turn, a warm smile already in place as Adam appears in the doorway, his hair adorably mussed from sleep, his bandaged hand-held carefully against his chest.
"Good morning, baby," I purr, making sure to stretch languidly as I turn to face him fully. "Did you sleep well?"
I notice Adam's eyes widen slightly, his gaze traveling down my body before quickly darting away. A delicious blush spreads across his cheeks as he takes in my appearance, the black silk robe hanging open to reveal glimpses of skin underneath.
I see he is still having trouble with the robe. Cute.
I've never bothered tying it closed. This is how I've always dressed when alone.
"I, uh..." he stammers, his uninjured hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Should I give you some privacy to get dressed?"
I laugh softly, making no move to close my robe. "Adam, after what we did on my couch back home, I think we're well past the point of modesty, don't you?" I turn back to the stove, letting him get a full view of my silhouette against the morning light. "Besides, this is how I always dress when I'm relaxing at home. I was just being nice, tying it before. You'll have to get used to it if we're going to be lovers."
I can practically feel his eyes on me, tracing the curve of my spine, the swell of my hips. His breathing has changed, become slightly shallower. Good.
"Coffee?" I offer, glancing over my shoulder to catch him quickly, averting his gaze again. His blush has deepened, spreading down his neck in that adorable way that makes me want to devour him.
"Please," he manages, carefully lowering himself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island. He's still being so cautious with his injured hand, holding it close to his body like a wounded bird.
I pour him a cup, sliding it across the counter before leaning forward on my elbows. The position gives him a perfect view down my robe, and I watch with satisfaction as his eyes flicker down, then back up to my face, guilt and desire warring in his expression.
I smile at his obvious struggle, enjoying how his eyes keep darting away from my body, only to be drawn back. This dance of desire and restraint is delicious, but I'm ready for more. With deliberate slowness, I push the shoulders of my robe off. The silk slides apart, and I let it fall off me completely, pooling around my feet like black water.
Adam freezes, coffee cup halfway to his lips, his eyes widening in shock.
"Morgan…"
I cross the kitchen in three quick strides. Before he can finish his sentence, I grasp his chin between my thumb and forefinger, forcing his gaze up to meet mine.
"Adam," I say, my voice firm but not unkind, "I want you to look at my body." I tilt his face down slightly, making him see all of me. "I want you to love all of me."
His throat bobs as he swallows hard. "Love?" he whispers, the word hanging between us like a question mark.
The vulnerability in his voice sends a thrill through me. I can see the conflict in his eyes, desire battling with something deeper, something that scares him.
"Yes, love," I repeat, loosening my grip on his chin to stroke his cheek. "Isn't that what you want? Someone who accepts all of you? Someone who wants all of you in return?"
I step closer, positioning myself between his knees as he sits on the barstool. His uninjured hand trembles slightly as it hovers near my hip, not quite touching.
"I… I'm not sure I'm ready for that word," he admits, his voice barely audible over the crash of waves outside. "After Lana, I just..."
My entire body goes rigid at the mention of her name. Something snaps inside me, a tight coil of jealousy unraveling into white-hot rage.
"Don't say her name," I hiss, my fingers digging into his cheek harder than intended. "Not here. Not when I'm standing naked in front of you."
Adam flinches, his eyes widening at my sudden shift in demeanor. I can see the confusion, the hint of fear in his expression, but I can't stop the words pouring from my lips.
"Focus on me, Adam. Only me." My voice trembles with an intensity that surprises even me. "I don't want you to love me like you loved her. I want you to love me better."
I crash my lips against his, swallowing whatever response he might have had. The kiss is desperate, possessive, my teeth grazing his lower lip as I pour every ounce of my obsession into it. When I finally pull back, we're both breathless.
"I want you to accept my love," I whisper against his mouth, my voice softening as I regain control. "All of it. Even the parts that scare you."
His uninjured hand has found my waist, fingers pressing into my bare skin like he's afraid I might disappear. The touch grounds me, pulls me back from the edge of something dangerous.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, forcing a small laugh as I stroke his hair. "That was... intense. I just hate hearing about your ex when we're trying to build something new."
Adam's eyes search mine, and I can see him processing my outburst, filing it away. I need to be more careful. The possessiveness I feel for him is all-consuming, but I can't let it show so nakedly. Not yet.
"No, it's okay. You're right. I shouldn't bring her up anymore. I need to start moving on."