Chapter 29 Josh
Josh
‘Big day today.’ Thor, who plays Georgiana’s cousin Robert, looks at me in the mirror we share in the hair and makeup trailer. ‘You ready, big guy?’
I shrug. ‘Don’t. I’m trying not to think about it.’
Thor peers down at the side lying on the counter. ‘Dominic and Georgiana: Wedding Night. Exciting stuff.’
‘You’re a dick.’
‘Seriously, though, mate. You okay?’
‘I’ll be fine. It’s just another sex scene. It’s not like I haven’t done a million.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not every day you have to do a sex scene with someone you’ve actually shagged, is it? Someone who hates your guts.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘Or maybe it is. Knowing your track record, I wouldn’t be surprised.’
He’s not wrong. I’ve screwed a couple of my co-stars before, back in the day, but it’s always been casual.
Not like Elle. She barely looked at me off-camera yesterday after our little episode in her suite.
A fully clothed conversation over camomile tea got me hotter than I can remember being in a long time.
Unfortunately, it’s had the opposite effect on her. She’s freezing me out.
‘I have nothing but respect for Elle,’ I say now. ‘And it’s not like there won’t be at least half a dozen other people breathing down our necks, even on a closed set. Intimate it will not be. We’ll be fine.’
‘Good man.’ He slaps me on the shoulder. ‘She’s fucking beautiful, though, isn’t she? Mind if I have a crack at her? Thought I’d ask her out for a drink. Or maybe invite her for a drink in my room. Probably more discreet.’ He winks at me in the mirror.
Thor has a lot of groupies waiting outside the studios each day.
More than me, even. He was in a big soap over here called Eastenders and I can tell women would consider him good-looking.
He told me he used to be a professional footballer before an injury forced him to go into modelling and acting.
I personally wouldn’t go for his overly groomed, head-to-toe-Gucci-with-matching-fanny-pack look if I was a chick, but he’ll be a big star next season when his romantic storyline takes the lead.
A hunch tells me he’s not Elle’s type, but what do I know?
I can’t be sure of anything with her. A wave of nausea washes over me as I contemplate this guy hitting on her, and her allowing it.
But it’s none of my fucking business. She made that clear.
I fucked up and I lost all rights to her.
I’m not her keeper and I can’t get in the way of her life. Her happiness.
I give him a tight smile. ‘Go for it, man. She’s awesome.’
He shakes out his hand in triumph, and I flinch.
‘Nice one. Thanks, mate. And good luck today, yeah?’
I’ll need it.
Obviously, we’ve prepped and prepped for this scene.
Not only did we do a full run-through with Kate yesterday, blocking out every move, but we had an insanely detailed conversation with Kate and the costume department around what Elle will be wearing under her dress, because over the course of Dominic and Georgiana’s wedding night, I’ll be taking off layer after layer, unfolding her like a precious flower.
Dominic specifically makes a point of dismissing Georgiana’s maid, telling her he wishes to undress his wife himself.
I’m totally with Dominic. He’s finally getting access to the girl of his dreams: he wants to unwrap his fucking wedding present himself.
And the removal of all those layers is the best kind of foreplay. It’s hot.
What’s even hotter, and pretty shocking to me, is that these well-bred ladies didn’t wear panties. No, sir. Drawers were considered racy, and under these gowns and petticoats and corsets and stockings and shifts, these ladies were bare.
When Hilary, one of the set costumers, told us that, I had to look down at my script.
Holy fuck. Elle, dressed up in all her tantalising layers under a beautiful gown, and she’s bare?
Come on. I’m a dude. I had to slide my chair further under the table in the trailer where the meeting was happening, because I was worried I’d disgrace myself.
And I’m worried I’ll disgrace myself today. I’ve never had that misfortune, but I’ve never had to undress Elle Hart on camera, and since the other night, my thoughts about her have ratcheted up to the point that I can’t get her out of my head.
Elle won’t be the only one exposed today.
I’m ready to shed my jacket and waistcoat and pants and drawers and shirt, leaving me butt-naked except for my Hibue—a flesh-coloured, stick-on thong that makes me look like a fucking Ken doll.
Alyssa has been insistent that this show will portray the female gaze as much as the male gaze.
I’ve been working out like crazy in the hotel gym every evening, but I’m nervous as hell.
Getting naked in front of an ex who despises you, on camera, when your body is five years older than last time she saw it, is a fucking nightmare scenario.
Still, I know Elle must be dreading it as much as me.
We just need to get through this intact.
We’re breaking up the beginning part of the scene—where Dominic undresses Georgiana and himself—into a tonne of segments, mainly close-ups, so it will be pretty mechanical, and there aren’t many lines for us to say aside from Dominic’s compliments to Georgiana and his words of encouragement.
He’s not a total douche: he’s seriously into this woman and he wants it to be good for her, too. Their wedding night is as much about educating her and getting her on board as it is about him smashing that pristine surface of hers and claiming her as his own.
The first few hours of shooting go pretty well.
Kate’s there every step of the way. At this stage of the process, it’s less about making sure we’re comfortable and more about imbuing each moment, each step in the choreography, with as much intimacy and sensuality and anticipation as we can.
There’s a lot of set-up, as Abigail wants this beautifully lit.
As she puts it, our skin should glow, and our eyes should shine, and the fabric of our clothing should tantalise at every step.
I step behind Elle and unfasten the silk-covered buttons down the back of her dress, focusing on what fiddly little fuckers they are, rather than the glimpses of her corset underneath.
I slide her dress off of her, my fingers lovingly following its progress down her arms.
I sweep her hair reverently over her shoulder and run my lips along her skin from one corset strap to the other as she bows her head and trembles.
I turn her around so I can tip her chin up and kiss her and tell her she’s beautiful, she’s mine.
The wardrobe department explained they’d opted not to use a shift, or chemise, sacrificing historical accuracy for aesthetics.
She’s just in her corset and a slim silk petticoat, but that thing has her tits trussed up and practically in my face, and they look fan-fucking-tastic.
I bend and press my lips to the curve at the top of her breast, and Elle gasps and holds onto my upper arm. Just like we agreed.
But I’m not being fair to Elle, because I’m not acting. As Dominic removes Georgiana’s clothing and discovers her body—worships it—so I’m reacquainting myself with the body of the woman I love, the body I haven’t had a chance to worship in five years.
After lunch (light on my part, because I gotta get naked soon and show off my hard-earned six-pack), we’re down to the tough stuff.
Kate explained yesterday she would have Elle and me gaze into each other’s eyes for a few minutes before we film the action on Dominic’s massive four-poster bed, ‘to establish intimacy and trust.’ I think I’m more nervous about that than getting my butt out.
Once Elle and I have our marks, I lean in towards her ear.
‘Hey. I just want you to know I’m pretty nervous. This kinda thing isn’t fun for anybody. Okay? So if you wanna stop at any time, just say it. I’ll back you up, one hundred percent.’
Her eyes dart away and back like she’s trying to work out if I’m serious. ‘Okay.’ She nods. ‘Thanks. But we’ll be fine. Let’s just try to get through it in as few takes as possible.’
‘Amen to that. I bet you’ve never been so desperate to shake my hand.’
At my sad little joke, she smiles, and her face loses some of its tension.
‘You’re not wrong.’
Dominic’s been a busy boy; he’s gotten Georgiana’s petticoat off (dropping to his knees and kissing her stomach while he slid it over her ass and let it slither to the ground), so Elle’s gonna be bare-assed on the bed in just her half-corset and stockings from this point on.
I’m sure she has her Shibue on (the female version of a Hibue.
Cute, huh?), but right now everything’s covered up in a big fluffy robe she’s clinging to like it’s a security blanket.
Don’t worry, I’m joining her in bare-assed heaven.
Later I’ll get dressed again so they can shoot Dominic doing his Magic Mike performance just for Georgiana, tugging his shirt off over his head and unbuttoning his pants, because Alyssa wants a wide shot of me from the back later, butt-naked, and also close-ups of my abs.
But right now, we’re doing medium shots, which will involve the back of my body and Elle under me.
I pace and avoid watching as they get Elle on the bed, take her robe off, and mess around with the lighting.
Once they’re happy with it, Dan calls me over.
It’s a closed set, but there’s still Abigail, Alyssa, Kate, Dan, cameras, sound and the assistant script supervisor for continuity purposes. Cosy.
I’m up next, and I disrobe and carefully get up on the bed. It’s been specially built, so it’s pretty sturdy. None of us wants to be the one to break a priceless antique with going too hard on the fake fucking. The set is warm, but I couldn’t be more conscious that I’m butt-naked.
Elle and I are studiously avoiding looking at each other below the neck, which unfortunately means our eyes are trained on each other’s faces.
An accidental downward glance as I was getting on the bed tells me her tits are practically falling out of her corset, but she’s pretty fucking naked from the waist down.
Last time we were in this position was in my bed in St. Michaels and we were both making a lot more noise.
Don’t think like that. Don’t think like that.
It helps that everyone’s fussing around us.
One of the makeup artists applies some shimmery body powder to my shoulders, back and butt with a huge, fluffy brush, which makes Elle snicker and breaks the tension a little.
And Kate’s there, providing encouragement and reassurance and reminders in a low voice.
When we’re in position (which is full-on missionary, this being a Regency-era wedding night with a bride who’s new to this shit), Kate steps a little closer and lowers her voice even more.
‘Remember we agreed yesterday that you two would hold eye contact for a minute or two, to establish that necessary level of trust? Let’s take a moment to do that now. I’ll let you know when a minute is up, but feel free to hold it for longer, if you like.’
And so I brace on my forearms to avoid collapsing on Elle, and I gaze down at the love of my life, who’s pretty much naked beneath me with her knees bent either side of my hips and a group of people around us.
And she looks up at me, and we take a minute.
I drink her in. I marvel at the clear whites of her eyes, at the specks of turquoise and silver in her irises, at the unknowable messages they’re transmitting to her incredible brain as she soaks me up too.
This woman is a miracle; she’s a mystery, and having this moment with her, where everyone else fades away, is such a head-fuck. I can’t help but be drawn in, and I know I’ll give a better performance because of it, but it’s a false intimacy. A cruel blow masquerading as a gift.
‘One minute done,’ Kate whispers, and Elle blinks and turns away from me, exhaling and breaking the spell. Okay then.
‘Well done,’ Kate tells us, before stepping back so Abigail can give us one last briefing before the cameras roll.
And then we’re rolling, and while the camera’s trained on Elle, I deliver my lines to her.
I thrust against her, and her legs wrap around my ass, and her hand comes up to grip my back, and I don’t break eye contact for a second as I tell her I’m sorry it hurts, and she bites down on her lip, and her tits heave, and I increase my pace, and I swear there are tears in her eyes, but desire too, and she arches her back and grinds herself hard against me, and it happens, as if in slow motion.
‘You’re utterly perfect, you know.’
I can just about grit out my line as the ache builds in my balls, and streaks down my thighs, and my dick begins to strain unmistakably against my fucking man-thong, and holy fuck.
I’m getting hard, and my skin slicks with sweat as the realisation kicks in that this is all going horribly, terribly wrong.
And Elle feels it too; she must, because her eyes widen with a question even as she continues to go through the motions we’ve choreographed.
And I can’t. I can’t.
I pull back in a panic and jump off the bed, bent over to hide my arousal.
‘I need a minute.’ My voice is strangled.
Kate looks at Abigail.
‘Take a break,’ Abigail orders. ‘Take thirty.’
I grab my robe. And I fucking run.