by Clara Leigh
Oops, guess I didn’t pull that punch quite as I should have. The flinch is certainly real. Tyler’s gaze slides over to Jace, but our director knows a good thing when he sees it. You can’t beat a bit of realism. He doesn’t cut. He keeps us rolling. And what do you know, the ache in my fist properly anchors me in the role that I realise I’d only superficially adopted before. By the time I grab hold of Flicka and coil myself around her like I’m a fucking snake squeezing its prey, me and my character are wholly one.
He’s a bastard. I can be a bastard. And we do both share a passionate interest in getting our grubby mitts on Flicka Caine’s scrumptiously hot body. Wow! The electricity that zaps between us when we make contact tingles throughout my skin and starts an ache in my groin. I know she feels it too. I can see it in her eyes right as I reel her in.
I wrap my arms around Flicka’s body and pull her tight against me as the stage direction demands. She smells and feels so fucking good. The best bit is that the camera is rolling, which means anything I do right now isn’t going to be attributed to me, only to my character. That means I can legitimately enjoy my little jack-off fantasy without risking pissing off the director or anyone else.
So yeah, maybe I ad lib a couple of lines, and deliver them in a husky growl, but the fact Jace doesn’t yell “cut” tells me they fit seamlessly into his vision.
More importantly though, I feel what they do to my co-star. Her whole body tenses. Her breath stalls inside her chest and her nipples punch up against the stretchy fabric of her shirt. Damn, what I wouldn’t give to be able to lean down and suck one right into my mouth. I don’t even care that there are several layers of fabric between me and her precious flesh. And as to the numerous people watching, I’m so used to blanking out their presence, they completely fail to dial down my ardour.
The rough bit of this scene is going to be walking away once we’re done.
Then again, this is likely going to take a couple of takes. I’m too much a pro to deliberately fumble my lines, but Christ is it tempting, and boy, does my cock like the way her arse nestles against it.
-13-
Felicity Caine
I’m still trying to get a grip on all the crazy emotions Dare’s arrival on set has caused. I feel both pissed and irrational. I know all I have to do is maintain a bit of distance between us, but it’s not so easy when my girly bits are so fantastically pleased to see him and I can’t get the image of him crushing me against the side of the director’s trailer and fingering my clit out of my head.
It doesn’t matter how much I deny it, there’s something about this man that acts like catnip. I want to rub up against him until I’m drunk on his pheromones. Instead, I’m obliged to keep him at arm’s length.
He’s been present less than an hour, and I’m already near-deranged. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get through the next eight to twelve weeks. I honestly thought I could handle this until he arrived.
I go to the set straight from wardrobe. I might look coiffed and serene on the surface, but underneath I’m a seething mass of contradictions. What’s worse is that the first scene we’re filming together turns out to be an intense physical showdown that’s all about getting up close and personal.
The atmosphere inside the derelict warehouse is electric as we start filming. We’re thrown into hellish world of relentless noise and violence that’s as intoxicating as Dare is every inch the suave, sophisticated bastard I expect him to be. No one should have this much charisma and charm. God, he really knows how to work the camera to show him at his best. Me, I’m used to playing my part and letting the tech crew worry about the rest. There are things I could learn from him.
There are things I’m desperate to learn from him.
Probably, I ought to be afraid when he turns his devilish smile on me, but I tell myself this is all an act. He’s following stage directions, is all.
The truth is that I’m dazzled and it’s only because I’ve ingrained every line of the script into my memory that I manage to deliver the appropriate lines in the right places.
Things get even worse when he touches me. The script mentions him grabbing me and holding me captive. I guess I’ve been wilfully blanking out what that actually means.
Our scrappy fight is distinctly reminiscent of foreplay—or at least my limited knowledge of foreplay. I might not have gone all the way, but I’ve made out. Dim the lights; kill the gunfire, and all the frenetic activity becomes decidedly sexual. More importantly, it’s near impossible not to react to it. There’s a reason why women the world over love this man, and why he has the reputation he does, and right now I’m at ground zero of all that beastly charm and his 1000 megawatt smile.
The bastard's totally in charge of the situation, exactly as if this confrontation was real, and not just a bit of cinematic wizardry.
He manipulates everything, dictates the way the whole encounter goes, right down to how and when I fall into his arms and get my nose crushed against his chest.
Damn does he ever smell good!
Arousal makes my nipples protrude.
The script demands that I fight him, but while I tear at his grip, it’s not getting free of him that occupies my thoughts. Instead, I picture ripping the ludicrously expensive suit they’ve dressed him in from his back, shirt too, so that I can drink down the solid, ink embellished muscle beneath. I know he has tattoos, I’ve seen several glimpses of them. Now I want to see the full effect.
“I know honey, I’m all wound up and hungry for you too,” he says. I’m not sure that’s part of the script, but we keep on rolling. Tyler’s scowl deepens, and not, I suspect, because the script says his partner is about to get taken hostage, but because he’s decided that Dare is his actual rival, not just his movie rival. It’s so stupid, I want to tell him. Tyler never had a chance, and Dare is forbidden.
I probably shouldn’t be enjoying this taste of him nearly so much. I wriggle and squirm, endeavouring to free myself, knowing that he’s never going to release his grasp.
“Let go!”
“Not on your fucking life.”
I make as if I’m about to bite him, and he spins me around, crushing my back to his torso. He splays one large hand across my throat, while he levels the gun he’s carrying at my head.
I swear this scene didn’t read as being nearly this intense.
“Go,” I tell Tyler, as he tries to figure out a way to rescue me. “I’ll be fine. I can handle it.”
He doesn’t want to go. He knows he’s outmanoeuvred, but there’s no real choice. Tyler has to back off. He has to leave me. Has to believe I’m lost. This scene comes towards the end of the movie. It’s the point when everything goes kaput and there doesn’t seem to be any way for Tyler’s character to beat this bastard.
“Don’t worry, I’ll look after her,” Dare taunts Tyler, and the way he says it just fires me up even further. My back arches, and I rub back against him like a cat in heat, only without the purr as I’m supposed to be alarmed over the fact I’ve been taken hostage by an egotistical maniac.
Alarm bells are certainly ringing in my head, but not over the things they should be.
Honestly, I don’t want to be rescued. I want to stay right here and let Dare Wilde claim me.
He can do me right here on set with the cameras rolling, and when Chinchilla mount a cavalry charge in response, I can swear it was all stage direction and totally part of the script.
This is my chance to drink my fill of him. To touch and taste without the threat of legal ramifications.
“I won’t leave you,” Tyler blurts. “I won’t.”
“You have to. If you don’t, you’re going to get us both killed.”
“Listen to her, mate. She’s seeing things more clearly than you. This is the price you pay when you come wading into my territory and start sticking your nose into places it doesn’t belong.”
“Leave her out of this. You’re gripe isn’t with her. It’s with me.”
“Which
is exactly why I’ll be holding on to her, just to make sure you don’t try any other crap. She’ll be safe, as long as you’re not interfering.”
“I can’t let you do this.”
“Did I not make myself plain? I’m not giving you a choice. Walk away now, or I will put a bullet through her head.”
An involuntary shiver rolls along my spine. The hand across my throat tightens, and I whimper.
“Katee, I’m so sorry,” Tyler sobs. He doesn’t want to leave. I know he doesn’t want to leave. He actually manages to produce a lone tear. I’m not sure what to think about that.
“Go. I’ll be fine.”
“She will be. More than fine,” Dare promises, grinding his hips against my arse.
Holy shit! I make another whimper, this one wholly genuine.
“Katee.”
“Go. Really go.” Go, because I need this scene to end before I come from sheer excitement. I’m going to need a cold shower after this. I actually need one right now, because I feel him. I feel Dare—every long hard inch of him trapped against my backside.
I almost fluff the rest of my lines. They come out as an ungodly splutter. It’s so hard to concentrate when that thing, that unmentionable—probably ought to be objectionable, but totally isn’t—thing is branding me with its promise. What I wouldn’t give right now for the ability to snap my fingers and make his slacks and my panties disappear. It’s nearly impossible not to think about where exactly I’d like him to slide that thick hard pole. I wish we weren’t in the middle of this studio, and that twenty odd other people weren’t on the periphery watching and recording our actions from every damned angle imaginable. I want to feel that thing he’s taunting me with in the raw. I want its heat and rigidity pressed against my bare skin. I want Dare Wilde to take me for a long, hot ride.
Of course nobody is going to tolerate that. My agent and the Chinchilla bosses went kooky enough over the mere suggestion that there might be something between us. They stamped so hard on that rumour, several weeks on it’s almost as if the awards’ night kiss never happened, at least as far as the public are concerned. If they thought for a minute that things were sexual between us, the chair of the corporation would probably spontaneously combust.
I smile grimly at the knowledge that they don’t know about our 4A.M. booty call, and that they can’t do a damned thing about the woody he has wedged against my arse.
What ought to happen now is that I politely insist on a pause and mention to the director that Mr. Wilde isn’t exactly behaving himself. Sensible girl, Felicity knows that’s the best plan when it comes to my future well-being. Too bad wild girl, Flicka, doesn’t agree. Flicka’s all for finding out how good it feels to get screwed by him.
I don’t say I thing.
Hence, it becomes our secret that he gets hard when he’s restraining me.
We do five takes in total before Jace announces he has everything he wants and we’ll be moving on to a different scene set in the same location. To say I’m wet by the end is a bit like describing the Atlantic Ocean as a pond.
***
The moment Jace calls it, I leg it back to my trailer. I have about five minutes before someone comes to find me. The next scene we’re due to shoot involves a costume change, and probably another visit to the make-up chair. Right now, much as I try to think about what comes next, my mind refuses to focus. I pace the length of my mobile cabin trying to find my centre. It’s no good. I’m too wet between the thighs. Clean panties will help with that. I rifle though my belongings and find a pair that is little more than a scrap of lace and Lycra. They’re not ideal under the circumstances, but at least they’re fresh, and better that than people getting a whiff of how ripe I am. With that in mind, maybe a little bit of a clean-up wouldn’t go amiss. I head into the teeny bathroom, find a washcloth, and press the warm, wet flannel between my legs. Damn, that’s nice.
I don’t mean to do anything other than make myself presentable, but my clit is swollen as are my lips. The swish of the cloth across them is far too pleasant.
Besides, I need this little time out if I’m going to be around him all day. There’s only so much manhandling a girl can take before she breaks, and I’m not looking to have the first orgasm he gives me burned onto celluloid.
I need Dare Wilde to walk in here and offer to use his mouth for something besides dazzling smiles.
It’s not hard to imagine. I’m well practiced after several weeks, and I wasn’t inexpert before our meeting. I brace myself against the basin, one hand acting as an anchor to keep me upright, while the other sees to my need.
The cloth provides a bit of lovely extra stimulation. It makes the frantic back and forth sweep a little bit rougher than using my fingertips alone. I work myself quickly, eyes closed while I picture him slowly unbuttoning his starched, white shirt, until it hangs open, providing me with the perfect view of his ink-inscribed abs. The view gets even better when he tackles his fly, and it’s no longer just his six-pack I’m free to ogle.
He’s perfect. Hard and as desperate for me as I am for him.
Silvery beads leak from the little eye on the tip of his cock. I want to kiss him there, nearly as much as I want to feel his tongue on my swollen sex. I want to take as much of his shaft into my mouth as I’m able. I want to suck him, lick him, rub myself up against him, hold his fuzz covered balls in my hands while he fucks me until there are tears running down my cheeks.
I want it hard. I want him to dictate. Tell me I’m a good girl… That I’m his, and how he’s going to make me explode.
“Miss Caine.” A fist raps against the external door of the trailer. “You’re needed on set. Jace is waiting for you.”
“Just a minute.” I hit the flush on the loo to disguise the swishing noise of the damp cloth against my private parts. I’m nearly there. My nipples are poked up hard like two temples, my insides are deliciously squirmy and there’s a heavy sensation coalescing in my groin. Just a few more seconds… I’m right on the cusp, my orgasm so close to realisation that I can taste it.
“Wardrobe are waiting on you, Ms. Caine.”
“Be right there… I’m coming… I’m coming, okay…”
Except I’m not. I’m chasing a horizon that keeps slipping further into the distance. I’m too frantic for the prize, and hence it doesn’t matter how much I fumble around trying to pinpoint it, that brilliant burst of relief eludes me.
“Flicka? What’s up in there?”
Holy shit! This time it’s Tyler doing the door pounding. “Get your ass out of there.”
I’ve no choice but to stumble outside, flushed and uncomfortable.
“Sorry, call of nature. I’m set now. Where do they want us? Which scene is it we’re doing next?”
Tyler pushes himself away from the wall of the trailer. “Get the hell with it, Flicka. We’re making a feature film, and you’re acting like it’s a school play.”
“I just needed a minute.”
“You didn’t need to walk all the way back to your trailer to take a pee.”
“I had lady’s business to attend to.” I didn’t, at least not of the variety I’m hoping to embarrass him into silence with.
“I think you could be better prepared.” He rolls his eyes heavenward. “Let’s go. You’re delaying everything, and Jace is worried about the lighting.”
I fall into step and keep my head down. Back on set, I can’t look at Dare without feeling my temperature rise. I wish I could tell him how much I’d love to take him up on his offer, but it’s impossible.
-14-
Felicity Caine
By nine o’clock, when Jace's calls it for the night, I’m so twisted up with need that I can barely walk unaided. Luckily, as the day’s been so action-orientated, everyone assumes I’m just feeling the strain, an explanation that I happily roll with, claiming I’m going to take myself off to do some stretches and have a soak before I fall into bed for the night.
No one points out that you can’t p
roperly soak in a shower, and as the spray is more of a trickle than a downpour, I can’t pretend it’ll work as an ersatz massage device.
A rigorous pounding of my muscles isn’t the sort of massage I’m desperate for right now anyway. It’s more of a slow, sensual glide of hands against my aching, bare flesh that I require, possibly followed by the smooth, hot press of a certain person’s dick finding its way into my pussy.
I’m giving in to hyperbole here, because I don’t actually know whether I’d enjoy having his cock inside me. It might just hurt like hell and make me wish I’d chosen a career as a nun instead of an actor. The fact that the general public get so worked up about sex suggests that’s probably not the case, as does the fact that fantasy plus some finger-wiggling against my clit can get me off in next to no time these days.
Back in my trailer, I fire off a super quick text to Flo just to let her know that I’ve made it through another day. I don’t mention Dare at all, because I know that’ll result in questions and right now I can’t face a grilling, or worse, more suggestions as to how and where I might like him to fuck me. I’m still not one hundred per cent on where my sister stands with regard to my relationship with Dare. Her opinion swings back and forth on the subject as wildly as mine does. I guess we’re both caught in the same net, neither willing to cut our way out due to the monumental drop below. Hitting the ground is absolutely going to hurt.
Of course, that doesn’t change how maddeningly excited his actions have left me. Hiding in my trailer might be the sanest choice, but it’s not where I want to be. That would be in Dare’s face, letting him know what’s acceptable, so that I’m not forced to endure days of his tormenting. I should tell him to grow up and behave, warn him to keep his hands and his cock to himself. There are laws about molesting co-workers.
Except, I totally want him to keep putting his hands all over me and rubbing his cock against my arse and he knows it.