Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
MYLO
Bella walks me back to the wardrobe trailer, which saves me the questions for now.
“You sure I’m okay to change out?” I ask as we pause out front.
“I’m sure,” Bella says, with a firmness in her voice hinting she won’t be deferring to Lana today. “Lana’s down by the beach workshopping the script, so keep an eye out for some scheduling changes.”
“Yeah, cool.”
“You’re sure you’re good?”
“I’m sure.”
Bella hesitates. “Mylo, just because… if things were the other way around…”
It’s the first time I’ve seen her this uncertain. I catch her drift.
I quiet my voice, willing it to be as steady as possible. “It was just a kiss, Bella. I’m fine. It was a… heat of the moment thing. On both sides. Just showbiz.”
Bella finally seems to believe me, expression softening. “If you’re lying to me, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
I crack a smile. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Bella chuckles and cuffs me on my good shoulder. “You should go back to the hotel early today.”
“Actually, do you think I could hang with the crew? I’ll ice on schedule, I promise. Cooped up in my hotel room, I’m gonna be miserable.”
“Alright. But if I catch you using that shoulder, you’re gonna be in trouble.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”
Bella brushes the lingering dirt off my costume. It’s motherly fussing, and I know she’d go full mother bear for me. I appreciate that more than I know how to articulate.
“Thank you, Bella. I really mean it.”
She gives my costume one last brush and offers a soft smile. “Alright, kid. Off you go.”
I offer a casual salute and step up into the wardrobe trailer, bracing for impact.
News travels fast on a movie set, and while Christine’s A-lister aura will spare her from any interrogation, I have no such privilege.
As Kristen, Keysha, and Sharon greet me, they’re already holding back smiles.
“So, how’d shooting go?” Keysha asks, too casually.
I shrug. “Oh, y’know, a totally and completely normal day.”
Sharon is far less patient. “Mylo, I’m dying, you gotta tell us everything!”
The afternoon is a blur, and it’s better that way. I keep my answers short. No, we’re not an item. No, I had no idea this was going to happen. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. But hey, it seems to fit the story. Yeah, she’s an alright kisser. Would I do it again? I’ll do whatever Lana tells me.
By the time I make it to the stunt team to help set up for tomorrow, it’s a running joke.
I get whoops and wolf whistles, teasing nods and congratulations.
I take it on the chin like I always do, laughing along.
It’s nice to lose myself in hanging out with the crew: hauling gear around (with my good arm), breaking for snacks and a game of cards, watching the background stunt performers practice partial burns.
It’s a nice distraction from the question pinging endlessly around my mind: what the fuck just happened?
For better and for worse, Bella’s the only one to take that pause, the only one to consider that being grabbed and kissed by an A-lister on set might not be an unmitigated good.
If I’d somehow been able to get this far as an out omega, it would be a disaster.
But as it stands, I meant what I said to Bella.
It’s just a kiss. As far as the world is concerned, I’m a male beta, and while that means most people can’t really conceive of me not consenting to a kiss like that, it also means I’m immune to a lot of the shit that women and omegas usually get.
No one’s going to call me a slut; nobody’s going to accuse me of trying to sleep my way to the top; there’s not a contingent of predators waiting to pounce on a whiff of vulnerability.
The crew will cheer the chance to make out with a hot movie star and not expect me to have any deeper feelings about it.
Which is good, because I don’t.
As the day rolls toward evening, I help clean and stack crash mats. A whiff of sea salt sends my chest hot and tight, heart thudding.
Christine, Lana, Haley, and the writers approach the trailers from the far side, returning from the beach and dispersing.
Christine disappears into her trailer, sparing me another dose of her scent.
She leaves behind an odd staleness that makes my nose itch.
Later, the catering truck arrives with dinner, and the crew heads that way. I help stack the last of the crash mats and linger as the others head in.
“I’m gonna catch Andy before dinner,” I tell them, and they promise to save me a spot.
But when I stride away from the catering truck and toward the rest of the trailers, it’s not Andy I’m heading for.
Christine still hasn’t emerged from her trailer.
I test the door, and when it’s unlocked, I step in. My eyes and mouth water, and nausea churns in my core. Fuck, this place stinks of her scent.
She sits at the trailer’s table wearing a t-shirt and yoga pants and looks up as I enter.
“Mylo.” Surprise flickers across her face—or a convincing facsimile of it, at least. I don’t know anymore.
I close the door behind me and lean against it, crossing my arms. My shoulder complains, but I ignore it.
My gaze doesn’t falter. “You want to fucking explain yourself?”
“Mylo, I—”
“Actually, you know what? I don’t want to fucking hear it. I’ll do what I need to do for the cameras. What I have to do to keep my job. Do you know what that’s like? How much fucking leverage you throw around, without a care for who it crashes into or whose life it ruins?”
“Mylo, please just let me—”
“Let you what, lie to me again? Show off those Oscar-winning skills? You’re a damn good actor, I’ll give you that.
I actually thought—” I push off the door, taking a step toward her, rage boiling in my veins.
The trailer feels like a hundred degrees and sweat beads on my skin, but I don’t care. “I actually. Thought. You cared.”
Christine pushes to her feet, and as she towers above me, my heart twists in my chest.
“I’ll let you say a lot of crap to me right now, but don’t you dare say I don’t care—”
“I dare to say whatever the fuck I want! You’re not some magical being we’re all blessed to be in the presence of! I don’t care how much Lana wants to suck your dick, but you almost killed me today, okay? I told you it was fucking dangerous, but you didn’t listen.”
“Please, Mylo—” Christine steps closer, jaw tight, but I hold my ground, even as my head tips back to meet her eyes.
“I know you always need the spotlight, but what the actual fuck were you thinking? Anything for Lana to call you a ‘genius,’ though. And moving that fight to today, was that your idea too? You must have some kind of sick plan, because what kind of person—”
Christine grabs my face. “Mylo!”
Her hands burn my cheeks—why is everything so hot?!
For the second time, I’m stunned into silence.
Our shaking breath mingles between us.
Her eyes search mine, and her shaking hand sweeps around to grasp my hair. The other slides down, settling on my good shoulder.
She leans down, breath tracing over my ear and dripping across my skin, sending a tingling spreading from the base of my neck, which her grip lays bare.
Her lips brush the skin there, then her nose slides into my hair, and she takes a deep breath.
I tremble in her grasp, mind utterly still.
As her lips drift to the shell of my ear, her voice sends me violently shuddering.
“Mylo… you’re not a beta, are you?”
I grasp for rational thought, for some way to deflect or deny, but it’s useless. I just breathe, eyes rolling back, body rippling with heat.
And then my body betrays me as a quiet, plaintive whimper of need tightens in my throat.
Christine’s hands tighten and her fangs graze my skin, replaced by her hot tongue sliding up my jaw, her mouth closing over mine.
My arms snake around her neck, pulling her closer.
She releases my hair, reaches down, and lifts me, pinning me to the wall so our heads are at the same height. That thunderstorm scent fills the trailer, fills my head, fills my every cell.
Her hips slide between my legs and pleasure bursts from the contact. I lose track of up and down as everything becomes tingling, floating heat. I can’t hold back the moans and whimpers in my throat, and each spurs her on harder, sends her growling and grasping and rocking her hips against me.
Her hands wrap my ass, and her bruising, unforgiving grip is pure relief. She pulls me tight against her chest, and the wall disappears.
Stumbling footfalls carry me through the trailer to the bed at the rear. The mattress crashes into my back, releasing a cloud of her scent as her kiss pins me.
My hands slide up under her shirt, over the muscles of her abs, across her firm breasts. Fuck, she’s not wearing a bra.
As my palms graze her nipples, she moans into me, hips grinding between my legs.
My back arches at the surge of pleasure, mind swirling with dizzy heat.
Christine catches my hands and pins them above my head, then shifts to straddle my hips.
Her cunt is blazing hot through the thin fabric of her yoga pants. The throbbing heat that’s been spreading through my body focuses to that point of contact, and I realize just how hard my cock is, straining against my boxers and running shorts.
Christine drags her cunt along my bulge, and my body shakes violently. Fuck, I’m already on the edge.
She devours my panting moans, and pleasure unravels from my core.
Oh, fuck. I climax, and my cock pulses with wet heat, soaking the fabric between us.
Christine doesn’t slow, and when I expect to lapse into sensitivity, my pleasure only redoubles, winding toward climax again.
Her teeth catch my lip again, biting until I yelp, sending her hips twitching into me. Her fangs graze further, nipping my jaw as her growls soften to moans.
The sound alone could make me burst, and with her grinding against me, I stand no chance, spilling a second time. But still, there’s no relief; if anything, I need more.
My head tips back and I catch my breath, gasping for air as her teeth drift lower. Her hot tongue slides across the base of my neck again, and I whimper, arching into her.