Because he lied to me. Whatever I thought Corey and I had together… Clearly, we definitely do not.
Chapter 23
Corey
Warm lips trail my jaw, down my neck, to my chest. My hand is wrapped tightly around a ponytail, and I bite my lip. Expert fingers deftly undo the button on my jeans and a slender hand sneaks in to stroke my cock—
“What the fuck, Corey!”
Sabrina’s shrill voice snaps me out of my zone. Opening my eyes, I look at where she kneels before me, and I have to suppress the urge to shudder.
“Cut!” Mark’s voice calls from behind the camera set up opposite the room. At his call, a few production assistants scatter onto the set. A few attend to me and Sabrina, while the others adjust things about the room that don’t even need adjusting. One of the PAs slips a robe over Sabrina’s naked body, but she doesn’t pull it closed to cover herself.
Sabrina is glaring at me when Mark makes his way over to us. She doesn’t rise from her knees as she looks at him and says, “He’s fucking soft. I can’t work with this, Mark.”
I lean back on my elbows and fight the urge to lie down and cover my face with my hands. Being soft on set, for a scene like this, is humiliating. Even more so, given the fact that I popped a pill an hour earlier.
Mark gives me a questioning look, and before he can even open his mouth to ask, I grumble, “Yeah, I did.”
“Ha!” Sabrina goes to stand, placing her hand over my dick and pressing down hard for leverage.
“Goddammit, Rina!”
“That was uncalled for,” Mark says, rubbing her arm in a show of reassurance. “Why don’t we all take fifteen and come back to this? I’ll talk to him.” He’s speaking to Sabrina as if I’m not here, which is incredibly annoying.
Sabrina, robe still wide open, her lithe body and fake, perky tits fully on display, hisses, “You know you’re a washed up asshole when even the little blue pill can’t help you.”
She stalks off the set, and I lean back, like I wanted to do in the first place. I put my hands over my face and lie down.
I’m not sure how I made it through shooting the scenes today, but I managed. The entire set is beginning to suffer from the tension between me and Sabrina. Being under the scrutiny of a cast and crew who have come to look up to me, given my seniority and title on the film, has been stressful, to say the least.
This shit, what I do for a living, most of the time it’s fun. It’s fun to mess around, let loose, and embrace sexual expression. But this? With Sabrina? It’s fucking torture.
It didn’t help the scene we just finished required me to fuck her six ways from Sunday. Mouth, pussy, ass, tits—I had to fuck her every which way. The penultimate scene in the film, so the pressure for it to appear as authentic as possible was high.
Earlier, during one of the many breaks I had to take just to get through the fucking day, Bridget called to “check in.” That’s usually code for “shit’s hitting the fan and someone’s called to report your behavior.” The person in question being Mark.
“Corey, this is it. This is your last film. And it’s a big fucking investment, not just for the end of your career, but the future of Neon Nights Media,” Bridget had said.
“I’m aware,” I responded harshly.
“If the pills aren’t helping, why don’t you try asking your girlfriend for some pics?”
The blood drained from my face at the suggestion, and it took everything in me not to snap at the one person who is—usually—supportive and on my side. “Bridget,” I said, trying to even out my tone but failing miserably. “Do not ever,eversuggest that I jerk off to pictures of my girlfriend and then go fuck my ex.”
“Jesus Christ, Corey, I’m trying to help you here. And you’re notfuckingyour ex, you’re working with her. That’s what you do. That’swhat you’ve done on every film before this one,” Bridget said, managing to keep her tone deliberate, but in check. “You have two more days left of this shoot. So, please, for the love of god, figure your shit out. You’re almost done.”
Bridget hung up after that, and it had taken everything in me not to throw my phone at the wall. She’s not wrong—this is my job. This is what I’ve done for twenty long fucking years. But suggesting I think of Bex and then… No. I couldn’t do that. I won’t do that, not to Bex.
The reality is the guilt of withholding information from Bex—all right, fucking lying to her—about my job and what’s happening with this movie, it’s slamming into me daily. There were so many opportunities to be honest with her, and I made excuses at each one. I deserve this feeling right now.
“Fuck,” I grumble, slamming the door shut on my Range Rover. I’m just glad it’s over. I’m home, and I cannot wait to video chat with Bex.
I take the world’s hottest and longest shower, scrubbing extra hard wherever Sabrina had her mouth. It’s not til I’m drying off that I notice a hickey—an actual fucking hickey—on my neck. I haven’t had one of those in years, especially since we established a strict “no marking” rule on the set of my films a long time ago.
Staring at myself in the mirror, it’s impossible to miss the mark on my neck. I have a feeling Rina did this intentionally, and fuck if I’m not seething with rage toward her right now.
My first thought is if I have any concealer in these bathroom drawers to cover it. My second thought beat the shit out of the first thought.
