I could tell she was nervous. Her breathing was uneven, and her hands kept twitching at her sides. I didn’t even remember her name. Not that I cared much at this point. She had walked in this morning with the same red hair, the same blue eyes, and the same unsure little smile. And my brain just short-circuited. I called her Lana without thinking.
I managed to cover it up fast. Told her I liked calling the girls in my movies by their characters’ names. Said the script’s main character was named Lana, so it was easier for me to stay in the scene. She’d nodded, smiled like she understood. She bought it, but only because she was naïve. She wanted to become a porn star, and she’d (sadly) do anything to reach some sort of stardom in this industry.
The truth was a hell of a lot worse. I’d written that script because of the real Lana. Every line, every movement, every shot was built around her. I told myself it was about creativity, about turning something personal into something cinematic. But I knew what it really was.
I was obsessed with her, and I hated to admit it because I was never obsessed with any woman. Despite being around them every hour of the day.
I tried to tell myself that I was simply attracted to her innocence. To how different she was from the women I usually hung around with. She was like a breath of fresh air. One that was forbidden, which only made me more attracted to her. And that attraction soon turned into curiosity. Then it got to the point where I couldn’t go a full day without thinking about her. Her voice. Her quiet confidence. The way she tried to keep a distance but still lingered in every corner of this house.
So I wrote her into a story. I gave her a character. And now I was standing here, staring at a stranger who looked like her, about to pretend she was the real thing, because I couldn’t have the real one.
It wasn’t art anymore. It was a way to deal with wanting something I couldn’t touch.
“I really like the script,” she said, smiling in that shy, uncertain way people do when they’re testing how far they can go with a compliment. “I also like the play on words. You know,my character’s name being Lana, and your character liking anal. It’s genius.”
She gave a nervous little laugh after that, and I could tell she was just trying to fill the silence. She was trying to connect with me.
“It’s not genius,” I said flatly. Because it wasn’t. It was lazy wordplay that I hadn’t even thought twice about. I’d only kept it because it reminded me ofher.
Lana’s screenplay,While She Slept, was genius. It was emotional and honest, and it had more depth than anything I had ever written.
Lana had poured her whole heart into that one story.
The girl kept talking anyway. “Well, I really like your writing, and I’ve always loved what you did with your projects. They’re so much more personal than others. You’re about the people, not just about the—”
She stopped there, realizing she didn’t know what word to use. Money. Sex. Fame. Whatever she was afraid of saying out loud. Her hesitation made me stare at her longer than I should have.
She wanted to impress me, that much was clear. But all I could think about was how wrong she was. She didn’t know me. Not the real me.
“Take that off,” I said, my tone leaving no room for hesitation.
She obeyed right away and got rid of her satin robe. That kind of response was what I liked to see. I didn’t keep her here to talk or prove I was some good guy in a dark industry. I kept her here to fuck her, and to pretend she was Lana. It was a sick thing to admit, even to myself. But it was the truth. Lana had been crawling through my head for days, and this was the closest I’d ever get to touching her. To knowing what she’d feel like under me.
“You know how I found out about you?” she asked, voice uncertain but eager. Her eyes stayed on me as her robe slipped to the floor. Naked now, she stood with her hair falling over her tits, her hands shifting awkwardly in front of her stomach. “I was at an audition a few months ago, and the girl next to me mentioned you. She said she’d worked with you once. Well, almost worked with you. But even though she didn’t get the part, she couldn’t stop saying how good the experience was. She said you were respectful. That you cared about your actors. That stuck with me. It made me want to work with you.”
She smiled nervously, like she wanted me to appreciate what she was saying. And maybe part of me did. But mostly, I just wanted her to stop talking. The more she spoke, the more I thought about how wrong she was. She didn’t know why I had picked her. She didn’t know that the only reason she was standing here now was because she looked like someone else.
I forced myself to breathe before I answered. “There are too many people in this business who don’t care about anyone but themselves,” I said. “They make the whole industry look like shit. I’m not one of them. I just want to fuck, make money, and work with people who can actually handle what this job takes.”
She nodded, agreeing with everything I said, even though she probably didn’t understand half of it. Her eyes were still fixed on me, wide and waiting, like she thought there was something meaningful about this moment. There wasn’t. I didn’t need her thoughts or her admiration. I needed to get off. I needed to see if using her would be enough to quiet the constant ache that had been building in my chest for days.
“On your knees,” I ordered.
She moved without hesitation, sinking to the floor in front of me. I tugged down my sweatpants and boxers, letting them fall to the ground, then pulled off my shirt and tossed it aside.
When I stepped closer, she tilted her head up, waiting for direction. Her hands rested on her thighs. Her lips were parted, and her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts. She was nervous, but she wanted to do well. I could see it all over her face.
I reached down and cupped her jaw, feeling the tension there. Her skin was cold and soft, and I brushed my thumb along her chin, then traced the edge of her bottom lip. “I want you to suck my cock,” I said, keeping my tone even and controlled. “Do it slowly and keep your eyes on me. You understand that?”
She nodded quickly. “Yes.”
My jaw flexed. I didn’t like it when they forgot the rules. “What did I tell you earlier about how to respond?”
Her eyes widened a little more, realizing her mistake. She swallowed hard, voice catching before she spoke. “To call you sir.”
“Good girl,” I said, keeping my voice steady, even though I was starting to be annoyed. “Then go ahead and answer me again.”
“Yes, sir.”
