Chapter Two
Joel
“Cut!” Leighton, our director, shouted. It was time for a break. We’d been shooting all day, and I was starving. But at least I didn’t fuck up my lines, so we only did a few retakes here and there.
We had been shooting for about a week, and everything was going smoothly.
For the most part this story would feature just me, the lone warrior, battling his way across time and space to rescue the love of my life. A woman who picked up a book in which I was trapped. As she read my story, I would be getting closer and closer to her. Then in the end, I would almost die, if she didn’t confess her love to me. A fictional character, in her eyes, but she still falls in love, regardless, thus freeing me from the book and into her life.
The movie was based on a bestselling book. People fell for the story, saying it was like The Never Ending Story, except for adults. When I auditioned for this role, I had read the book, and truly embodied the character, Luc. He was strong, cunning, and loved the owner of the book with all his being. Truly an interesting story.
I walked over to the catering table and jumped right in with a plate. Leighton came over to talk to me. I listened to what he said about shooting the scene we just did a different way, but when Alessandra walked by, everything the director said went in but never registered.
She was into me. I could tell by the blush on her cheeks, and the way her eyes lit up when we bantered. It was like foreplay, in a way, for us. Every time I had to get my makeup touched up, she would try to ignore me, and I would try to rile her up. She and I had been going back and forth with each other since that first day. Nothing extravagant—a little conversation here, a little wink there, and then she would roll her eyes, and shut down all my attempts to seduce her.
“Ten more minutes, then we go back in,” Leighton said and then walked away. Wish I had heard more of what he’d said instead of entertaining myself by thinking about foreplay with Alessandra.
God, even her name was like foreplay to me. It sounded sexual, perfect for the temptress who was eating a carrot at this very moment.
I had no shame in my body that I mentally replaced that carrot with my dick in my imagination. Her lips wrapped around it gently before she nibbled her little piece off. My dick was with my head in this moment. Both of us wanted those lips on my cock.
When her lips lifted into a smirk, I knew I had been caught. Lifting my eyes up to hers, I saw that little crazy glint in them. She licked the carrot seductively, and I swear I even heard a little moan. My lips parted, and my dick was standing up, like a damn dog ready for his treat.
Then she bit the shit out of the carrot.
“Fuck!” I groaned, swearing I could feel that bite on my dick. Without thinking, I covered my crotch in protection. Evil woman.
She laughed, tossing the remains of the poor carrot away and headed toward my chair so she could touch up my face before we started back up. She played dirty; good thing I found that undeniably sexy about her. I just prayed that she only liked to use a tiny bit of teeth while she played with my dick.
After I finished my plate, I washed my hands and went over to drop into my chair for her touch-ups.
Neither one of us said anything, mostly because I was still imagining her biting my cock.
“You doing all right there, Cowboy Casanova?” she asked as she went to work.
“I’m not a cowboy,” I grumped, but it seemed she was sticking with this nickname since it was the song she sang back at the bar.
“But you are a casanova. Bet you’ve slept with a bunch of women here, haven’t you?” She was wrong about that, but I didn’t feel like correcting her. She had this notion in her head that I was a huge manwhore. I did have sex, lots of it. But I wasn’t a manwhore like she was thinking. And even though I wanted her more than anything, I never mixed business and pleasure. I had a reputation for professionalism. You could ask anyone in Hollywood—they would tell you that I never slept with my coworkers, something most actors and actresses couldn’t say.
Don’t shit where you work. It was the easiest way to fuck up a movie. The lover gets angry and makes your life miserable. No, thank you. But everything was different with her. I wanted to screw her into an orgasm coma for sure, but I also wanted to make her banana pancakes in the morning, wash her hair in my shower, and rub her feet after the long days of her standing on set. I actually liked being in relationships. I wasn’t a serial dater, but when I found someone I could spend time with other than just sex, I would.
Alessandra just wasn’t getting it.
“All right. Go get dirty.” She shooed me towards the muddy set ahead of me. I was about to go crawling through the mud, on the run from a creature that was trying to eat me after having escaped his prison.
The scene was easy enough, and when the day was done, I went back to my trailer and took a long shower.
Continuing my little routine since I first saw Alessandra, my hand wrapped around my cock and I began to stroke myself. Instead of imagining her lips around my cock—because carrot— I thought of her hands pressed up against the glass of the shower while I grabbed her perfectly tanned tits in my head, fucking her so hard that her screams could be heard outside the trailer.
She’d ruined my daydreams of her mouth on my cock forever. Only the real-life sight would erase the damage she did.
Her pussy would be tight, and would suck me in with every thrust. Her screams would be music to my ears; when I pulled out and flipped her around, her eyes would be wild with want. My hands would lift her up by that round, apple-shaped ass of hers, and I’d be back in her before she even tried to beg me for it.
Those nails of hers would be digging into my back, and her hot breath would be on my lips. Knowing her, she would probably bite my lip, or something that would cause a slight tinge of pain, but would also be my undoing.
Cum shot out from my cock, then began spiraling down the drain.
“Fucking hell.” My orgasm was strong, and I felt my knees start to buckle. My other hand shot out to hold myself up on the glass.
