Chapter 7 #2
What he didn’t say was that Jacob’s voice had followed him all the way home, threading through his head until it drowned out everything else. He hated that he could still hear it now, with Emma’s fingers laced through his own.
She squeezed his hand. “You’re allowed to be flustered sometimes.”
He looked at her, suddenly ashamed of the heaviness sitting in his chest and the chaotic thoughts running through his mind. “I love you,” he said quietly, voice almost raw. “You know that, right?”
“I do.” Her smile was full of warmth.
He looked down at their hands, still joined. Still real. He clung tighter, because even if his thoughts were a mess and Jacob’s shadow trailed him into every quiet corner, this—Emma, their life, this solidity—still mattered more than anything. It had to. Especially with tomorrow pressing closer.
* * *
The whiteboard on the wall read PHYSICAL COMFORT MAP, the kind of thing that should’ve looked like a rehearsal aid but struck Liam more like a BDSM checklist.
The Intimacy Coordinator stood at the front of the room, clipboard in hand, smile calm and unshakable.
She carried the kind of presence that said I have seen everything and will not flinch.
“Today is about identifying comfort levels,” she said, voice neutral.
“We’ll talk through what the scenes are meant to express—lust, love, tension—then explore physical touch, proximity and kissing.
The goal is respect, clarity, and communication.
You’ll be doing a lot of this during filming. Boundaries matter.”
Liam nodded like he wasn’t already halfway into a breakdown.
Jacob stood across the room, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He wore something dark, like he was trying to blend into the shadows, but nothing about Jacob would ever blend.
“Let’s talk about touch,” the IC said, tapping the whiteboard. “Hands, face, torso, hips. If anything’s off-limits, now’s the time to say so.”
Liam nodded automatically, even though his brain was stuck somewhere between hips and torso. The talk was clinical and professional. On paper it was easy. In practice every word sank into Liam’s skin.
“Let’s discuss kissing next,” she said, eyes flicking between them. “For this project, realism is part of the brief. Which means, in many scenes, it will need to look like a real, open-mouth kiss. Tongue included.”
Liam’s stomach pulled tight. He glanced at Jacob, searching for some reaction, but his face was a wall—every defense intact, nothing slipping through.
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have choices,” she went on gently. “We choreograph everything in advance, but we do need to establish your comfort levels for this as well, because camera angles can’t fake intimacy forever.”
She looked at Jacob, then at Liam. “It’s your choice. Are you comfortable using tongue, or would you prefer to simulate it for the camera?”
Neither moved.
Liam’s throat went dry. He’d never cheated a scene before, never settled for anything that looked less than real.
That was what the audience deserved, what the story deserved.
He told himself that was why his answer was already forming, why he couldn’t bring himself to choose the easy way out.
Still, a thought pricked sharp at the back of his mind—is that the reason or is it because you want to taste him again?
He cleared his throat. “I mean… fake kisses kinda always look fake.”
Jacob’s voice followed. “The viewer sees everything.”
It wasn’t just agreement; it was fact. Liam felt a flash of something sharp in his chest. It was decided, there’d be no pretending. The kiss was inevitable, and when it came, it would be real.
“Okay, let’s start with breath and proximity,” the IC said. “No touch yet. Just energy. Eye contact. Focus. Let’s get you two comfortable with being close.”
Jacob stepped forward. So did Liam. Ten inches between them, maybe less. Jacob smelled like something dark and expensive. He wasn’t even looking at Liam yet, and still his pulse stuttered in his throat.
“Eye contact,” the IC prompted. “Let it land. Let it stay.”
Jacob lifted his gaze, and the space between them tightened, the rest of the room dissolving until there was nothing left but the weight of those blue eyes on him.
Liam’s heartbeat hammered, because Jacob wasn’t the cold wall he had braced for.
His gaze was alive with something he couldn’t name—danger tangled with temptation, daring Liam to hold and not flinch.
“Sync your breath,” the coordinator said softly.
Liam tried. Inhale. Exhale. Jacob’s breathing was maddeningly even, as if he had endless control, while Liam’s lungs stuttered along like they’d forgotten their purpose.
“Get as close as possible without touching,” the coordinator instructed.
They moved, and the distance collapsed until there was no space left, nothing that mattered.
There was only Jacob—heat bleeding across the inches between them.
Liam’s body betrayed him in every way; knees weakening, stomach twisting tight, hands twitching like they didn’t know where to go.
He wasn’t being touched, but his body behaved as if he already were, every nerve pulling taut, every beat of silence between them heavy enough to feel.
“Okay, let’s move on to contact if you’re comfortable,” the IC said. “Arms and shoulders first. Keep it light and speak up if anything feels wrong. The goal is to learn your comfort levels and stay within them.”
Jacob moved before Liam could react, fingers brushing his shoulder, sliding down the length of his arm with deliberate care. Nothing theatrical, nothing out of place—and still it felt like a live wire sparking through his skin. Liam held still, terrified the twitch of his body might give him away.
His turn. He lifted his hand, fingers grazing over the curve of Jacob’s shoulder before settling there, palm firm against muscle that flexed subtly beneath the fabric.
He could feel the heat of him even through his shirt, solid and steady in a way that made his stomach tighten.
His fingers twitched with the urge to slide higher, to trace the line of Jacob’s neck, to learn the shape of him the way his eyes already had.
The restraint it took to stop himself felt impossible, every second a sharp reminder that this was supposed to be pretend, and he was already losing the act.
“Move to the jaw if you’re comfortable,” the coordinator prompted.
Jacob’s hand hovered, hesitating only a heartbeat before he let it settle at Liam’s jaw. His palm cupped the line of it, thumb brushing across his cheekbone, and the world dropped out beneath him. His breath hitched audibly.
“Is this okay?” Jacob asked, the question directed only at him.
Liam nodded. Lie. Not fine. Not fine at all.
He lifted his own hand, tentative, letting it rest at the base of Jacob’s neck.
His thumb grazed the ridge of his throat, and Jacob stilled—watching him intently.
Liam could hear the blood rushing in his ears.
His hand shook where it rested, thumb still grazing the warm line of his throat, too aware of the pulse beneath.
He startled at the coordinator’s voice, yanking him back from the moment with Jacob. “Very good,” she said gently, as if she couldn’t feel the crackling air. “Let’s pause here.”
Jacob’s hand dropped from his jaw, Liam’s slid reluctantly from his throat, and they both stepped back on command. Distance returned, but it didn’t feel like distance at all—not with Jacob still watching him, gaze now locked on his mouth.
“Check in with yourselves,” the IC continued, clipboard steady in her hand. “Did anything feel uncomfortable? Too much? Anything we need to adjust before moving forward?”
Liam shook his head automatically, though he couldn’t have repeated a single word she’d said. His pulse still beat wild, his skin hot where Jacob’s fingers had been.
“Fine,” Jacob said, eyes still fixed on Liam.
The coordinator continued talking. Liam heard the words, but only distantly, like they were being spoken from underwater. Jacob still hadn’t looked away, gaze dragging over Liam’s face.
“Next, we’ll start with kissing,” the IC said, calm and professional. “We’ll begin with something simple—short, closed-mouth, no tongue. Then, if you’re both okay with it, we’ll progress to the open-mouth choreography. Still comfortable?”
Jacob’s eyes found their way back to his. His voice was certain. “Comfortable.”
“You okay, Liam?” the IC asked gently.
“Great,” he said—voice way too loud and bright.
The coordinator smiled faintly, jotting something on her clipboard. “All right. Let’s start with a five-second kiss, closed mouth.”
Liam barely had time to brace before Jacob leaned in and sealed their mouths together.
His lips were warm, firm, and maddeningly controlled—pressing just enough to map the shape of Liam’s lips without giving him more.
Stubble grazed his skin as Jacob tilted his head a fraction, angling their mouths.
The simple adjustment sent a shiver racing down his spine.
Jacob pulled back at exactly five seconds, no more, no less, composure intact. Liam almost exhaled in relief—almost—because every nerve ending in his mouth was still tingling.
“If you’re both still comfortable,” the coordinator said, calm as ever, “we’ll move straight to the full version. Ten seconds. Open mouth. Tongue included. We’ll discuss it afterward, then we’ll finish for today and you won’t kiss again until shooting.”
No one spoke. They both just nodded.
The kiss began the way it was meant to—slow, measured, tongues brushing in careful passes that could almost be mistaken for professional. He told himself he could keep it clinical, keep it controlled.
He couldn’t.
His mouth betrayed him. He sucked on Jacob’s tongue, instinctive and reckless. The sound that slipped free was worse—a needy moan spilling out before he could stop it. Heat rushed through him, so fierce it made his whole body tremble with the force of it.
Shame followed instantly, because Christ, what was he doing?
Moaning into a kiss that was supposed to be nothing more than choreography.
And yet even as the humiliation burned through him, the need wouldn’t let go.
It pressed harder, curled deeper, until he was clinging to Jacob like that slip had set something free inside him.
Jacob didn’t pull away. He reacted. His grip on Liam’s jaw tightened, thumb pressing harder into his cheek.
His tongue pushed deeper, the slow, deliberate control giving way to something far less restrained.
Liam gasped into it, the sound swallowed between their mouths, as his fingers fisted tighter in Jacob’s shirt, desperate to keep him close.
Jacob pressed forward, chest to chest now, heat pouring off him. The kiss deepened until Liam could barely think past the ache and the way his body betrayed him with every helpless sound.
It should have ended. Ten seconds, no more.
The IC’s voice had faded into nothing. The world itself narrowed down to the ruthless press of Jacob’s mouth, and the steady grip of his hands holding him in place.
He moaned again—shameless this time—and Jacob answered with a low noise of his own, something rough and dark that made Liam’s body come alive.
Jacob pulled back slowly, like he was forcing himself, breath dragging hot across Liam’s swollen lips.
He couldn’t seem to move or unclench his hands from Jacob’s shirt.
He couldn’t look anywhere but at Jacob’s blown pupils and the heavy lids that made him look wrecked in a way Liam had never seen before.
The room was silent, but then the IC cleared her throat softly. “Good,” she said, her voice too careful, almost unsteady. “That’s… good. We’ll end here for today.”
Jacob tried to shift back, but couldn’t. Liam’s fists were still knotted tight in his shirt, holding him there like his body hadn’t caught up to the end.
Jacob’s gaze dropped pointedly to Liam’s hands. He felt the weight of it immediately. Heat crawled up his neck, mortification burning hot. Slowly, stiffly, he forced his fingers to unclench, the fabric slipping free as if he were peeling himself away from something he couldn’t bear to lose.
Jacob stepped back at last, composure sliding neatly into place until there was no trace of the man who’d just had his mouth on him. His armor back where it belonged.
Liam stood with his chest still heaving and the taste of Jacob on his tongue. He stared at the space between them, stupidly aware of how warm his hands still felt. For one reckless second he wanted to drag him back—just to feel that heat again.