Chapter 32 #2
“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… She must know 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 labeled Christine 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 the fuck that was.”
She might as well be made of stone with how little she reacts. “I thought you wanted me to avoid you.”
I throw my arms up in frustration. “I do!”
Her voice drops to a low, dangerous hiss. “Then why are you yelling at me for going to my dressing room so you can do whatever the fuck it is you’ve decided isn’t possible when I’m around?!”
“Because I—” I’m panting, raw and breathless. “Because you can’t use your alpha powers on me just because I’m an om—” Shit, that was close. There are still too many ears around here. I shake my head. “You can’t just order me around like that!”
She tilts her head, predatory. “Oh, so you’d have been able to get through the shoot otherwise?”
“Yes!”
“Really?” she demands, incredulous.
I can’t get a full breath down. Fuck, it’s hot in here. “Well—that’s beside the point.”
“Is it? I thought you wanted to get this over with as painlessly as possible.”
“I do!”
Her eyes narrow. “Then why the fuck are you here yelling at me for helping you?!”
“Because I don’t need your help! I don’t need—I don’t need some alpha to manage me. Least of all some cocky, entitled bitch of a princess like you—”
Her hand circles my neck as her growl rattles down my spine, and I go limp. Heat floods my brain, making my breath shudder.
“You fucking brat.” She pulls me into the dressing room, shutting the door and pinning my back against it. “You’re begging to be managed…”
All I can do is whimper, breathing hard against the pressure on my neck.
“I’m going to make you say it this time,” she growls against my ear.
My spine arches, head tipping back, as violent tingling drips from her voice.
I tremble in her grasp. “S-say what…”
“Go on. Tell me why you came here to yell at me. Tell me what you really want. Surely you can’t be entirely oblivious…”
“I…” My mind is blank and hazy.
Her hand tightens, and she slams me back against the door again. My cock throbs so hard, I nearly climax right then.
“Say it,” she hisses.
“Please… god, please fuck me.”
In a surge of muscle and heat, her mouth closes around mine, tongue pressing in with that taste of salt and coconut. My body comes to life as I moan into her lips, trembling and pawing at my costume.
She palms my cock, and my scream might have reached the hall if not for her mouth muffling it.
“Oh, you’re already so hard for me,” she purrs. “You’d have a lot of explaining to do if you came in your costume…”
“D-don’t—” My eyes roll back as I shudder, and orgasmic sparks radiate from her touch. “I’m so close…”
A cruel chuckle slides down my neck. “Well, you’re even more pathetic than I thought. Playing so hard to get when you’re smart enough to know what you need…”
Christine unzips the back of my bodysuit, yanking it down off my arms and hips. It stays tangled around my wrists and knees, but that doesn’t interfere with her plans as she pushes me backwards over the makeup table, sending brushes and palettes scattering.
She hooks her claws around the edge of my briefs, leaving streaks of pain behind as she tugs them down, freeing my cock to throb in the air.