Double Take: A Leading Man Romance

by Harley Rayne

  His eyes haven’t moved from the gaze of the camera, and I’m caught in them again suddenly. He speaks again, and this time, he’s beyond urging. It’s a command. His hand around his shaft finally picks up a little speed, but there’s no less authority in his movements. “Touch yourself, baby. Come on. Touch your pussy. Lemme see how wet you are.”

  I stun myself, but I have no other choice but to obey. The towel strains to come undone as I widen my legs and my hand slips down to my sex. I make to part my folds with two fingers, but they’re too wet and I can’t get a grip. It takes me by surprise, but it only makes me want more. I’m quivering, my inner walls gripping, needing intrusion, needing more, needing him…

  Brett growls with pleasure, and the rumble of his voice has me pressing two fingers inside of myself. He still hasn’t broken eye contact.

  “Stay with me,” he demands. “My pace, baby. Fuck yourself. I wanna see that sweet wet pussy.”

  I start to lose control. I feel like I’m cheating somehow, but keeping his pace is just too damn slow and I can’t help but pump my fingers in and out of myself faster than he strokes himself. My hips rock, and I mercilessly struggle to hold back. I need to stay with him, for reasons I can’t possibly understand. I don’t want to come until he does.

  My heart is pounding in my chest as his pace picks up -- finally! -- and he’s soon jerking himself so fast that I can hear the slap of his fist against his abdomen. He’s now moaning with every other thrust, starting to come apart a little bit himself, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so aroused in my life. I’m soaking my fingers, drenching the couch beneath me, my fingers like pistons firing at a wild pace, coming undone as he does.

  His entire body is glistening with sweat, and the effort is hard and concerted. His breath suspends for a few moments, and he finally grunts, “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come… come on, come with me… come fucking hard for me… now!”

  I obey, and I reach my crest as Brett does. He spurts beads of hot, white come onto his abdomen. I let out a cry so loud that it almost surprises me as I come around my fingers hard, wave after wave undulating against them. It lasts for longer than I expect, as if waiting for Brett to finish, too. He does, squeezing every drop that he can from his engorged head.

  “Oh fuck,” he murmurs, the aftermath settling. My trembling slows, and I feel sated as he adds, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

  The video comes to an abrupt end, and I’m left with knocking knees and a soaked hand, which I wipe haphazardly against my towel. I quickly close my laptop as though I can block out what happened, and pretend as though I wasn’t getting off to Brett Buckhurst like every other woman in the world.

  Chapter Six: Brett

  It’s early, but I’m on set just after Rob, in preparation. I’ve got to hand it to the guy: he’s devoted to his craft.

  Today is the day I’ve been dreading since I first got the script rewrites. Today, we film a pivotal sex scene.

  It sounds like it would be right up my alley, but it isn’t, for a few reasons.

  First of all, it’s a rough scene. I fuck rough all the time, that’s not the problem. But in porn, there’s freedom. There are safe words and ways to make sure no one is actually hurt, but I don’t have to be worried about my pacing. In film, any bruise can cause a lawsuit. I’ve been warned about this from day one.

  Second of all, the mood around the set is going to shift. I know that. It shifted when I was handed the rewrites in the first place. Everyone is wondering what I’m going to do, how I’m going to handle it. Everyone is either anxious, or they’re excited, and there’s absolutely no in between here.

  It’s fine, really, but I get the distinct feeling that they’re pandering to my usual audience, and that’s the whole thing I was trying to avoid in the first place.

  I’m in my trailer, rewrites in one hand, fork in the other, digging into a Tupperware of cold chicken, shredded, no seasoning. It doesn’t taste like anything at all, and I eat it slowly while I concentrate.

  Scratch that. While I try to concentrate.

  I’m having trouble. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Kylie, and it’s driving me insane. I don’t do this. I don’t get it bad for women who judge my career. I don’t get it bad for women period. I am forward and upfront with what I want, but I have an unconscionable need for some reason to understand her. I have a desperate need for her to accept me for who I’ve been for the last ten years.

  When we talked yesterday, she was strong. Firm in her convictions. She judged me, I’m sure, for my little session with Karen. I can’t blame her for that one. Fuck, I judge me for my session with Karen.

  I can’t call it weakness. Karen is one of the hottest women on set. What I can call it is reckless. But I hadn’t questioned the decision at all until Kylie gave me that look. The look that read, I’m sure, somehow, you’re better than that.

  I’m thinking about our conversation, and the blush that rose to her cheeks when I brought up my porn career. I’m thinking about the way she looked so longingly at Rob, and how I felt a small hint of jealousy for reasons I can’t possibly understand.

  But most of all, I’m thinking about her eyes, and the way there’s something so driven behind them, like she could take over the world if she just took a few steps forward.

  I’m considering it all when there’s a knock on the trailer door, and Kylie’s voice is behind it. “They need you on set in ten.”

  People are not afraid to come into my trailer normally. She must be gun-shy from the other day. I almost feel guilty for making her worry that, if she pushes her way in without notice, she’ll undoubtedly see something she doesn’t want to.

  I’m on my feet before I can stop myself, script tossed to the couch, bowl still in hand, and I open the door quickly, hoping to catch her. I do. She’s only started retreating.

  “Kylie!” I call it out quickly before I can stop myself, hopping from my trailer, skipping the four steps it takes to reach the pavement.

  She stops and turns, but her head is lowered. She can’t make eye contact with me for some reason, and my heart sinks. My eyebrows knit tightly together, and I cant my head, holding out the Tupperware. “You want chicken?”

  Kylie glances at the bowl briefly but not at me, and answers, “Do you ever eat anything other than cold meat?”

  I shake my head, but realize she doesn’t see the movement. “No, not really. It’s how I stay lean.”

  “Jesus.” She almost looks apologetic, though her eyes only make it to my shoulder. “Eat a burger every now and then. You’re lean enough.”

  I’m about to make a comment when she jumps in again with, “Right, well, I’m needed on set.”

  I can feel a tug in the pit of my stomach. What the fuck is happening to me? I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this desperate for approval from one particular person. I am stronger than this, and it’s irresponsible of me to fall for a girl I barely know.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, allowing her to exit. I don’t know why I’m so disappointed that she’s leaving as swiftly as she can. My eyes linger and take in her body, and I feel an ache that makes me want her even more. It goes beyond fucking. I imagine myself kissing her. I can almost feel her sweet nipples between my lips. I can almost sense the warmth of her body and the wet folds of her pussy. I want her right now, more than I’ve wanted anyone in a long time. And it happened so goddamn fast.

  Yeah, okay, so I’ve got it bad.

  She retreats quickly, and I take a few steps back, easing to sit on the steps of my trailer. How could I let this happen?

  Chapter Seven: Kylie

  My nerves are pumping as I approach Brett’s trailer. When I saw Rob today on set, it was like coming home at the end of a long day. But he calls me “kid,” sends me off to get the talent, and he’s back to his job, saving the film world, one shot at a time.

  It isn’t like me to be nervous around people I don’t even like. It ma
kes sense to be so star-struck over Rob. There’s something so aloof and grandiose about him, from the way he tussles his hair, to the way he squints when he watches playback. He’s absolutely reckless, barreling forward with no sense of control whatsoever. Full force, no prisoners.

  But what I saw last night from Brett was a quiet constraint, knowing that he was holding back for the right moment. I thought he would be the kind to throw caution to the wind, but he’s confused me.

  I knock on the door and almost invite myself in, but there’s a concern there, a worry that I’ll see him with Karen again, or someone else. I can’t imagine how someone as gorgeous as he is doesn’t have someone there at all times. It’s almost scary to me, and I’m caught between wanting to explain myself and wanting to run in the other direction.

  I give him his call time, remind him how much time he has left, and make to get the hell out of there. But it’s like he lunged for the door because it opens before I can pretend like I didn’t hear it, and he calls my name.

  I turn, but I can’t look in his eyes. I’m terrified of what I’ll see there. Last night, I rubbed and fingered myself looking into those eyes until I came, harder than I have in a while. But I had reminded myself as I climbed into bed that it wasn’t for me. It was a video made for anyone who wanted to get off.

  I’m not aware of the conversation at all. I’m on autopilot. I watch the food he offers (the man is more health-conscious than anyone I’ve ever met), then I watch the tug of his clothing.

  Except now I know what’s beneath it. I know the curves and sharp edges of his muscles. I know how broad his shoulders are. I know the length and girth of his cock. I’d gotten off like I wanted it more than I’d wanted anything before.

  I make a swift exit as soon as I can, refusing to admit to myself that there’s anything other than a wild exploration behind my curiosity.

  Chapter Eight: Kylie

  Of course, of all days, today is the day we’re filming a sex scene. I already know what Brett looks like when he’s close to coming, and I wonder if he’s going to wear that same expression. I wonder how many other people in the room will know.

  Today, my job is to stick close to Rob and supervise the script. Our very own script supervisor had one of her fits about the small paycheck and she stormed out again. She’ll be back. It’s not the first time she’s done this. But for now, I’m happy for the temporary promotion.

  Makeup and hair is done. The set is cleared except for the bare minimum: Rob, Nate, Keith, me, and wardrobe. Brett and our actress, Melanie, are set in the bedroom. These rewrites are awkward.

  Not awkward because it isn’t good writing; it’s fine. It’s awkward because everyone in the room knows the gratuitousness of the scene, even Rob, I think. It’s the first time I’ve seen him try to hurry through filming.

  He checks on Melanie and gives her a few words of encouragement, but she’s already taken a few shots of whiskey to help loosen her up. This whole thing is a disaster waiting to happen.

  Meanwhile, Brett opens his robe a little to adjust his cock-sock (it’s a modesty thing I didn’t know he’d take advantage of), then closes it again and tightens the belt. He turns to say something to Melanie, but she looks nervous out of her mind so he abandons the idea and settles with his hands clasped in front of him.

  It’s Melanie’s first film. I don’t blame her for her nerves.

  Rob lays an encouraging hand on her knee and I’m watching him, rapt. He tells her that, if she’s at all uncomfortable, they’ll shoot from a different angle. She can keep the pasties on. It’s all going to be very tasteful. But it’s a tawdry sex scene in a small indie film with a porn star in the leading male role… it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why this scene was written in the first place.

  Melanie has clearly decided that it’s time to get on with it. She nods and waves off the latest offer of whiskey from our wardrobe mistress, then peels off her robe. Brett follows suit, taking her lead.

  I keep my head buried in the script, as minimal as the dialogue is, and concentrate instead on the blocking. As it should be, it’s spelled out entirely. There’s no guesswork in who moves where and who does what. It’s more for the dignity of the actor and actress than anything else.

  Rob steps behind Keith, taking his place next to me, and my heart is immediately pounding. “Everyone settle.” A hush falls over the set and, though his eyes are fixated on the actors, he goes through the motions. “Camera ready?”

  Keith announces, “Camera rolling.”

  Rob confirms, “Sound ready?”

  Nate checks the boom mike and answers, “Sound ready.”

  “Boom in, slate in.”

  “Speed.”

  Our wardrobe mistress, with the robes draped over her arm, steps in front of the camera with the clapperboard, announcing, “Marker,” as she brings the slate down. She steps out of the way, and for a moment, there’s utter silence.

  Breath is suspended. No one knows how the scene will come to life. I’m not even sure Rob does. I look up, turning my attention to him, and he’s slumping his shoulders a little, like he wants to get as small as possible and prevent distractions.

  And finally, with hawk eyes and a set jaw, he demands, “Action.”

  I can’t watch. The entire thing has made me frantically uncomfortable, and I’m cursing myself for my moment of weakness last night. I follow along in the script as Brett and Melanie do their best with the dialogue.

  Make me yours.

  You already are.

  Do it anyway.

  Melanie’s words are slurred slightly, but it makes her seem hazy and sex-crazed instead of drunk. Somehow, it works, but then again, women like Melanie make everything work. She’s beautiful and talented, even when she has to drink to deal with her nerves.

  I can hear the rustle of fabric, and based on the script, I know Brett has crawled onto the bed with Melanie. I hear the soft suction of a kiss and a moan that seems muffled, and I know his lips have stayed on hers.

  Rob is soft when he speaks, so as not to break the magic of the moment, but does murmur, “That was good, do that again.”

  And Brett, the consummate professional, does. He lets out a moan, a little more deliberate this time, and I can’t help it. My thighs squeeze together tightly as the sound settles throughout my body. I can immediately recall the way he sounded when he jerked off, and it’s like I’m watching it again. I’m caught in the feeling and the longing, and I just want more.

  My eyes settle on Rob again, and he looks back at me. I’m almost embarrassed that he’s caught me watching him, but he smiles instead, and the sight of it sends a shockwave through my body. I’m speechless and I’m breathless, and the mood in the room is so horribly erotic that I almost feel weak.

  And suddenly, I do feel weak.

  Dizzy.

  Everything is spinning, and two thoughts come to mind. I should have had a bite of that chicken and God, Rob’s eyes are blue.

  As soon as Rob’s eyebrows knit with concern, everything goes black.

  Chapter Nine: Brett

  Lori is pissed.

  It’s becoming an uncomfortable habit with her. She likes to call me several times a day now to complain. I find myself in her office once again, explaining that I had to be on set for most of the day and couldn’t yield to her fucking phone calls.

  “How much longer do you have to film?”

  I don’t have a good answer for her. My leg is crossed, my ankle resting on the opposite thigh, foot jumping quickly along it. I’m anxious. And I don’t have time for this.

  “I don’t know, Lor. A week? A month?” I’m contracted until the movie is done, and though it’s projected to last for a few more weeks, there’s really no telling with something like this.

  And I want to check on Kylie.

  I was sucking on Melanie’s neck when Kylie went down. I heard a thud, then Rob exclaim, “Oh shit,” before Keith -- ever th
e douchebag -- asked, “Do I keep rolling?”

  I rushed to her, but at that point, Rob already had her in his arms. I backed off, but now she’s all I can think about. I’m doing everything in my power to end this conversation with Lori, but she’s looking both impatient and predatory.

  “Tell the director you need an estimate on how long this is going to take.”

  At this point, I would have promised Lori that I’d feed her pugs breakfast in bed for a month. I nod. “Yeah, sure.”

  That deflates Lori a little, because she takes in a deep breath, and exhales it even slower. “I hate being this woman,” she says, even though she clearly loves it, “but I have a business to run. I need you back out in the field, you know? I need more dripping panties and coming-of-agers who want a little something broad on the side, you know?”

  I nod again, resorting to the shut up and listen approach. “I get it. This is tough, me not being able to film. It’s hard for me, too.” It isn’t. “It’s out of my comfort zone.” That’s true, at least.

  Lori lets out a sigh as though I’ve just confessed to knowing the world’s greatest secrets and reaches forward over her desk for my hand. I give it to her, and squeeze. “Thank you,” she says. “I was going absolutely fucking crazy thinking you were over this.”

  I shake my head and answer, “A contract is a contract.” Maybe it’s not quite what she wants to hear, but it’s the best that I can do under short notice and utter duress. “But listen. I have to go.”

  I’ve calmed Lori down a little and she relaxes back into her seat, letting my hand free. “Call me tomorrow when you know.”

  “You’ll know as soon as I do,” I answer, and I head for home.

  Chapter Ten: Kylie

  I wake up in a car.

  I’m tired, I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel like I’ve been knocked over the head with a tire iron. I hear a voice say, “We’re almost there. It’s okay,” and the sound is comforting enough that I ease back to sleep.