“Ready for the next one?” Christine asks.
“I can’t,” I whisper, fingers tightening around her. I can’t think past the sound of my heartbeat rushing through my ears, pulsing in my core.
“Do it again,” Christine orders.
The warmth of her presence turns to hot claws, and my instincts grind against each other as they struggle to obey.
My brow furrows as I look up at her, betrayed.
Her expression is unyielding.
“Action!”
Christine’s command pulls me through the motions, clumsier now, slipping as my focus unravels. Moving my muscles brings that feverish ache, and pain spreads from my joints.
I stumble as the take ends, trembling while I wait for the next to begin. “Christine…”
“Again.”
My body obeys, and my movements go wide with frustration, then surge through sudden desperate bursts. At the end of the take, I pant hard, soaked with sweat.
Surely there’s some way to get through to her… Shemustknow what I need. My cock pinches painfully with every move.
“Tee,please…”
There’s the briefest flicker in her stony gaze, then it’s gone. “One more time, Mylo.”
I whimper quietly at the pain, taking my mark. This last one is a total blur, accomplished through sheer adrenaline and stubbornness, frantic to obey my alpha, desperate to achieve some release for all this aching heat.
I don’t stop because Lana called ‘cut’ so much as I’m lucky she already had when I teeter, catching myself with hands on my knees, feverish and nauseous.
As soon as I can straighten, I turn hopeful eyes toward Christine. Now, surely, now I can?—
“Stay here,” she says firmly, and that alpha command roots me in place. She walks away, heading toward the dressing rooms.
I whine, low in my throat, too quiet for anyone else to hear—but her ear swivels back toward me.
Then it turns firmly forward, and she disappears into the hall.
The air system whirs to life, startling me as it drains the residual smoke from the set and pulls away Christine’s scent with it.
Only the slightest hint lingers, and my head slowly clears.
“Break time!” Alejandro calls. The crew heads over toward craft services.
All that lingering heat coalesces into rage, and with new clarity I clench my jaw and stride for the dressing rooms.
My fist bangs against the door labeledChristine Evansworth.
“I know you’re in there,” I say. Her scent slips around the edges of the door. “Open up?—”
I grab the door and twist the handle, finding it unlocked. I push it open at the same time Christine pulls, and the force sends me stumbling into her chest. My cheek lands against the soft curve of her breast, only the thin fabric of a dressing robe between my skin and hers.
I sputter and straighten, finding my balance again.
“What do you want?” Christine asks, tone flat.
“What do you mean, ‘what do you want’?! I don’t know, a ‘hello’! An explanation? You’re avoiding me and then you’re back and then—whatever thefuckthat was.”
