Chapter 9
Chapter nine
I’m running the same way I am every time I have this dream.
I used to think that knowing it was just a dream would make it somehow less terrifying, but I still feel every bit of anxiety and adrenaline.
I always run, and I never make it in time.
It’s the same script—a rival family bypassing my security, or infiltrating my inner ranks, always able to get to my loved ones.
It’s always Kat or Dad they’ve killed, and I run and run, but I’m always too late.
I race up the staircase of a house I don’t recognize, classically designed but with pops of color throughout and a bouquet of sunflowers on the entryway table.
I expect to find a body just like usual, but instead, a man in a mask is holding someone hostage.
I’d know the back of that head anywhere…
Sunshine. Before I can even say anything or try to jerk myself awake, the intruder spins her around to face me.
I see the tears streaking down her face first, before realizing she’s holding something. A tiny bundle wrapped in a yellow blanket. I scrunch my eyes shut as I hear a wail, and a gunshot rings out just as a hand on my leg wrenches me back into reality…
“Sasha!”
I blink rapidly, seeing Sunshine’s concerned face. Her wrist is in my hand, and I loosen my grip as I become more aware of my surroundings. Finally, I let go and flop back down on the couch, breathing heavily.
Somehow, she senses that this isn’t the time to start blabbing and allows me to equilibrate before speaking softly.
“I was going to make you a cup of coffee, but the spaceship espresso machine you bought isn’t what I call intuitive.”
Right. Coffee. I take one more deep breath before standing, thankful that my nightmare has killed my normal morning erection and that I’m wearing boxers today. Making coffee is the perfect task to get my mind off the first truly awful dream I’ve had since leaving home.
I run my fingers through my hair on the way to the kitchen, determined to shake off the night. As I begin setting things up to make her a latte and me an espresso, I take the opportunity to drink her in.
She’s worried. About me. And it’s fucking cute instead of annoying, for some goddamn reason.
What is annoying, though, is the fact that she’s wearing a suspiciously oversized flannel and pajama pants.
Not only is she too covered but I’m also considering demanding to know whose flannel it is.
An ex? A current boyfriend? Fuck, how have I gotten so comfortable living with this woman I know hardly anything about?
Before steam can pour figuratively from my ears, I turn to finish off her latte with steamed milk and hand it to her.
When she does a happy shimmy at her first taste, I can’t help myself.
“I thought we made good progress last night. Was I wrong?”
She gives me a questioning look, and I make a show of turning in toward her as I prep the machine for my drink, flexing my abs more than necessary and giving her a glimpse of my no-longer-completely-soft cock.
“I mean, I’m here, committed to our work assignment from our boss, showing you what I’m working with so we can avoid any awkwardness on set. And instead of having more time to familiarize myself with you this morning, you’ve covered yourself from head to toe. That hardly seems fair.”
I sip my drink as she blushes, and I’m frustrated again at the flannel.
I want to follow that blush all the way down.
Before she has time to respond, her phone rings, and she scurries off to answer it.
I’m left with my drink and my confusion about my nightmare.
I’ve never dreamed of a woman other than Kat, and certainly not one holding a baby.
The implication is heady, even if the ending of the dream wasn’t a happy one.
Why on earth would my subconscious go there?
Trying to put the morning behind me, I stop to pick up the packet for today’s scene and freeze when I remember what we’re filming.
The wedding.
Even with the lap dance scene under our belts, filming Blanche and Henry Jr.’s wedding feels like the most intimate thing we’ve done.
The scene is just the two of us, and the set is not what I was expecting.
As Blanche explained to me earlier, we’re to depict how she felt during the ceremony, not the actual location.
Instead of the small church where she and Henry were wed, I’m standing in a cocoon of soft fabric draped from the ceiling.
Flameless candles flicker at varying heights beyond the curtains, and soft spotlights will highlight our faces for the camera without overpowering the delicate ambience.
Music swells, and one side of the cocoon opens, revealing the long aisle lined with candles.
I have to hold in a laugh as Lucy takes my breath away.
I know she has to be fighting for her life, and I barely hold myself together.
The dress she’s in is hideous. I thought I had seen the poofiest wedding dress in existence at Kat’s first wedding, but this one takes the cake.
I’m not sure how she’ll even fit in the cocoon with me, but that’s Blanche’s problem, not mine.
Tears come to my eyes as I bite my cheek to keep from laughing, and by the time she arrives at the altar, I’ve managed to pull myself together.
Looking at her up close, I see that she’s wearing only light makeup and her hair falls in waves underneath her voluminous veil.
Her eyes shine with emotion, and I wink at her to see if I can get her to laugh first.
“Cut!”
Blanche scurries over with the crew to reposition us under the lights and make sure there’s not a hair out of place before moving on to the next stage of the scene.
I expected reciting the vows to be tedious, but luckily, Lucy is up first. She gives such a convincing performance that I’m able to ride her coattails and growl out Henry’s minimalistic vows without difficulty. Finally, it’s time for the kiss.
“It’s still early in the day, so no pressure, you two. We’ve got plenty of time to re-shoot this one, and there’s no need to worry about getting it perfect early on! I’m sure you’ll find your rhythm, and in the worst-case scenario, we’ll stop for lunch and then come back.”
Okay, good to know Blanche has faith in us.
“Action!”
Knowing that there will be no further cue to kiss the bride, I step forward immediately, crowding Lucy and pulling her flush against me.
I use one hand to hold her tightly by her waist while the other cradles her jaw, my thumb brushing tenderly against her bottom lip.
Time seems to slow as I count her freckles before dragging my gaze down to the lip I’m teasing.
I meet her eyes again, bending to her and feeling the soft puff of air that escapes as her lips part.
With a feather-light brush, I tease her twice before pulling her bottom lip with a gentle suck.
I chance one more look at her and find her pupils black with lust, and I’m gone, unable to do anything except bury my hands in her hair and own her.
She opens for me immediately, as if part of her understands that her kisses belong to me now, and she wants to welcome me home.
It's an undefinable passion. Not love or lust, or anything that can be described so simply. This need, that has me holding her face as if I can burrow into her brain the way she’s taken over mine, is all I can feel.
I force her backward as I ravish her mouth, knowing that she’ll have swollen lips when I pull back.
The idea of physical evidence that I’ve been on her makes me desperate.
Her foot catches the bottom of one of the swaths of fabric that surround us, pulling it down and tightening the cocoon we’re in.
I can’t stop consuming her, grabbing anywhere that I think might hold the key to her skin so I can unlock her and climb inside.
I settle for bracketing her throat, and she whimpers as I squeeze.
I fixate on the idea of taking her air permanently, nobody else ever having a chance to be in her orbit at all.
She sways slightly, so I pull back a touch, just in time to hear Blanche yell, “Cut,” and exclaim her pleasure at the scene. Our shroud is pulled back, and we blink into the light as the overheads are turned back on.
“Darlings, I have never seen such a display. The passion, the obsession! And pulling down the fabric! We were lucky with the backlighting, but it’s so sensual. Inspired, really, and to think, I was originally going to have that gaudy, awful church as the setting…”
She trails off, realizing that neither Lucy nor I is paying her any attention.
We’re still caught in each other’s gaze, her lips red and swollen, my chest heaving.
Blanche’s eyes dart back and forth, and I see her unfortunate understanding of the situation before turning on my heel and leaving the room.
Whatever she thinks she sees, she’s wrong. It’s acting.
After an unsatisfying shower, I find Lucy sipping tea on the couch, watching…
“Curling?”
She squeaks and spills her tea into her lap, shrieking and popping up off the couch to try to escape the hot liquid.
I’m to her in a flash, pulling her pants down and assessing the damage.
Her thigh is a little red where the liquid first hit, but no blistering, so I think she’ll be okay.
As okay as she can be with her ass pressed against my rapidly hardening dick and no underwear on.
“Commando? Really, Sunshine?”
Scoffing, she pushes me back and moves to the bedroom.
“I was covered by my pajama pants until you ripped them off!”
She rummages around before coming back out dressed again in my favorite thin sleep shorts, arms crossed and resembling a pouty toddler.
“Whatever. I’m glad you’re out because Blanche sent over this.” She hands me a manila envelope, looking at it like it might be poisonous. Knowing Blanche, it could be.