30. Chapter 30
30
Sophie
Present-Sophie is a little frustrated with Past-Sophie for scheduling a collab just hours after flying across the country. But Present-Sophie isn’t a little bitch, so once Miles helps me get my luggage into my room, he kisses me on the cheek and tells me to let him know when I’m done–like we’re some sort of normal couple and I’m going into a big meeting. It’s sickeningly cute.
I take a quick selfie and send it to Brody, then unpack my things. It’s my process when traveling. As soon as I arrive in a new hotel room, I hang up costumes or dresses as needed, place other clothing and my toys in drawers, unpack my toiletries, and set the nighttime supplies on a towel on one side of the sink and the morning supplies on a towel on the other side of the sink. The towels are a new development in my process. After my experience with a less-than-clean collab and his sink crusted with soap scum and beard trimmings, I’ve become a little paranoid about cleanliness.
When I’m happy with the layout, I hop in the shower.
A text comes through while I’m finishing my makeup.
I type out a quick response and set the phone next to my makeup bag. The nerves are back. Miles was the last new person I worked with and I highly doubt this experience with Steven is going to end up the same way. I don’t need three boyfriends. That’s just too much.
I pass the rest of the wait setting up my tripod and ring light, making sure I have the right angle, though I know we’ll move things around when he arrives. I pull out the maid costume for the scene we planned out. I didn’t realize the room I booked would have a gigantic shower and a huge tub with jets, so we may end up changing the blocking we talked about.
The knock on my door makes me jump, but I right myself, pulling my robe sash a little tighter around my waist. I take a deep breath and then let it out quickly. Plastering a smile on my face, I swing the door open.
“I certainly hope you’re Steven,” I tease, knowing full well that he is. I recognize the tattoos on his tan skin. What is it with me and tattoos lately?
“Only if you’re Honey,” he replies with a sheepish grin. His brown eyes are warm and beneath the thick, dark beard, I can see a smile on his full lips. He’s hesitant to move when I step back to let him in, but I know this little awkward dance well.
“Come on in.” I wave my hand and he slips past me.
Steven brought a carry-on similar to mine with all his gear.
“I haven’t been to this hotel before.” He looks around the room and nods. “It’s nice. That bed looks comfy.”
“I haven’t tested it out yet,” I chuckle. “Oh and check out the tub.” I jerk my thumb toward the bathroom and Steven pokes his head in to take a peek.
“Oh fuck!”
“I know,” I giggle.
“Maybe if you have time later this weekend, we could use that for a scene.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think I do.”
“Well, that’s a bummer.” He glances around, as if unsure how to get things started. “Glad you could make it. Miami is expensive.”
“Yeah, I’m lucky. A friend of mine is actually right next door.” I hook my thumb toward the wall I share with Miles. “Lance Kixxx?”
“I haven’t heard of him. Based out in LA like you?”
“Yeah, we’ve worked together a few times.” And we’re dating. Oh, and we had a threesome with his roommate. Who I’m also dating .
“Nice.” He nods and smiles and I just know he hates the small talk as much as I do.
We take several minutes to cover the legal stuff. Once that’s done, Steven takes out his phone and prepares to snap a few selfies with me. We both grin widely and he throws an arm around my shoulders, holding up a peace sign for the camera.
“Send those to me?” I ask as he sets his phone down.
“I’ll include it with all the footage.” He nods and sets about pulling his tripod and lighting rig from his bag. His is a little different than mine, a large, removable rectangle of individual lights instead of a ring light.
When he pulls out the restraints, I take a deep breath. We talked about this. I gave my consent–enthusiastically, too. The paddle makes me tingle and I’m not entirely sure it’s a good tingle, but I gave my consent for this too. Steven asked for it every step of the way, with every act we discussed. He doesn’t see my expression falter and, by the time he meets my gaze again, the smile is plastered on my lips once more.
“So, I think we’ll start with you pretending to make the bed,” he says, rehashing what we’ve already agreed to. “Bending over so we can see that gorgeous ass.” He winks. “I’ll come out of the bathroom in just a towel and you can apologize and all that. We’ll do the whole ‘I have something you can clean’ thing and then we’ll get you tied up. Sound good?”
“Yep.” I nod and we make sure the tripods are in place so that the phone cameras won’t catch each other.
It’s the flurry of movement before we start filming that calms my nerves. This is familiar. This is comfortable. I know how to do this . While Steven finishes setting up, I change into the maid costume. It’s a short, polyester dress that doesn’t even cover my ass. It came with a thong, but that’s pointless since it would be swallowed by my cheeks immediately.
We start recording and get to work. I bend over with my butt facing the cameras, pretending to pull the white comforter higher on the bed and fluffing the pillows. Caught first on my camera and then on his, Steven walks into view, a towel around his waist. He pauses for a moment, staring at my ass while I move.
He startles me when he clears his throat and I turn to face him, still holding a pillow to my chest. The man is chiseled. It’s the first time I’m seeing him shirtless in person and I have to remember we’re filming to keep myself from staring.
I stammer an apology, saying I knocked but no one answered. The scene moves along, starting with oral. When we have several minutes of me on my knees in front of him, he suggests a punishment for coming into his room and disturbing him.
This is the part I’m least excited about. He peels off my little dress for the camera and orders me onto the bed. My heart is pumping and it’s not from the usual adrenaline of a scene. Steven slowly circles the bed, holding the leather restraints.
This is fine.
When I lay down, he cuffs my wrists, the faux fur on the inside of the cuffs protecting my soft skin from the edges of the leather.
This is fine .
Outwardly, I’m smiling wickedly, watching everything he does. On the inside, I’m beginning to panic.
“Roll over,” Steven growls. “Ass in the air, pretty little maid.”
I do as he says, sticking my backside up while I keep my chest on the bed. I slide my hands between my legs as close to my feet as possible without cutting off my air supply. Steven goes about attaching a metal rod to the chain linking my wrists. He then cuffs my ankles and attaches them to the same rod. It forces my knees up and my hands down, opening me up to him entirely.
This is fine.
I take deep breaths, steadying myself as I wait for the real test. To emphasize this punishment for the cameras, Steven sets a couple of leather toys on the bed next to me–a long black paddle with the word ‘SLUT’ cut into it so that red leather shows from beneath and a whip. The whip is small with soft strips of thin leather less than a foot long. It can still do some damage, though.
This is fine .
Steven slides a hand over my ass and up my back, leaning down next to my ear.
“Are you ok?” he whispers.
“Green,” I confirm, using the traffic light system we discussed.
Steven nods and then slides his hand back down my body.
“Naughty little maids,” he says slowly, “get punished for coming in without permission.”
He picks up the paddle and immediately smacks my ass. I know he’s only using half his strength, but it still hurts and I cry out. A cold shiver of dread shocks my system along with the pain .
This is fine.
WHACK!
I cry out again. He smoothes the area with his hand before hitting me in a different spot.
WHACK!
This is fine.
“Taking your punishment so well.”
WHACK!
WHACK!
WHACK!
Every connection forces another scream from me and I’m thankful that at least one of my neighbors won’t question it.
WHACK!
My hands are trembling and I’m having trouble breathing. This is fine.
WHACK!
I can’t breathe. This is fine.
WHACK!
Tears begin to prick the backs of my eyes. This is fine.
WHACK!
I can’t breathe. This is fine.
WHACK!
Those stupid, traitorous tears spill over. This is fine.
WHACK!
Fuck, I can’t breathe. This is so not fine .
WHACK!
“RED!” I scream. The word dissolves into a sob.
Somewhere in the back of my consciousness, I hear Steven drop the paddle and his hands immediately find the fastenings of my restraints, first releasing my wrists, then rolling me over before continuing to undo everything.
“Are you ok?” His voice is full of concern.
I try to stammer a response, but I can’t and the tears begin to fall. He hurries to free me and then steps back, unsure what to do. I’m spiraling, sitting up and scooting up the bed, trying to slow my breathing and stop the tears. In a feeble and pointless attempt to cover myself, I pull a pillow across my chest and smother my face with it, as if it’ll help force the memories of Caleb from my mind.
“What can I do?” Steven’s voice drifts through the fog, but all I can do is shake my head in response.
My chest is tight, my breath comes in short bursts.
His footsteps indicate he’s walking away from me before returning to my side moments later. I feel the bed dip with his weight as he sits on the edge and places a hand on my shin. I don’t shrink from his touch.
“Honey, drink some water.”
When I raise my head, still trembling, still having trouble finding air, he’s holding out a fresh bottle of water. He lifts his hand from my shin and twists the lid off. I can’t grab it. My arms are locked around the pillow and I can’t seem to loosen my grip.
“I c-can’t.” I can barely make out the words. My jaw is beginning to lock up, the tremors are so bad.
Steven sets the water down and speaks in a calming voice.
“Ok, Sophie.” Using my real name clears the fog just the tiniest bit. “Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” He lifts his hands with a demonstrated inhale and lowers them on an exhale.
I try. Really, I do. My breathing is staggered, chaotic. My heart rate is still too fast. I need him to leave, but I can’t tell him that. He’s being so fucking nice.
“Breathe,” Steven repeats.
“I’ll-” I have to stop and clear my throat. It takes everything in me to control my voice long enough to speak. “I’ll be ok,” I choke.
“If you need quiet, I can leave.” He’s not hurt at all, just concerned for my well-being. “Just nod, you don’t have to speak.”
I force myself to nod, tears still streaming from my eyes. I can’t stop trembling, my jaw is officially locked. This hasn’t happened in months. Even the notes and the kicked-in door weren’t enough to do this to me. It took pain to bring those memories back. Real pain. I hate that Caleb can still do this shit to me. That he turned me into a victim.
Victim.
I fucking hate that word.
I stuff my head back into the pillow while Steven packs up his gear, feeling guilty in addition to the overwhelming physical symptoms that are finally beginning to dissipate. My heart is slowing, my chest doesn’t feel quite so tight. The tears are still flowing, though.
I vaguely hear the words Steven says before leaving, but I can’t process them. The sound of the door opening and closing doesn’t make me feel any better, although at least now this embarrassment is only for myself. When there’s a knock on my door moments later, I groan inwardly. I can’t get up. I can’t move. Then the door opens and my head pops up, the fear outweighing the panic.
“Sophie?” Miles’ voice is soft.
Steven’s last words make a little more sense. When Miles sees my tear-streaked face, he hurries to the bed but doesn’t touch me. I can’t take my eyes off of him, but I can’t speak either.
“What do you need?” He asks the same question and I still don’t have an answer. When I don’t respond, he asks another. “Can I touch you?”
I force myself to nod. I want his arms around me. I really do. I just can’t voice the need.
Miles’ movements are achingly slow and I want to scream at him to move faster, but my mouth won’t open. He crawls to my opposite side where there’s more room and wraps his arm around my shoulders, easing me into him. I let myself be enveloped by his warmth, feeling my muscles finally starting to relax as my legs stretch out.
Instead of speaking, urging me to open up, he holds me in complete silence. Tears continue to leak from my eyes, the fucking traitors, but my breathing is returning to normal. The slow rise and fall of Miles’ chest beneath my cheek seems to help me focus. My jaw begins to relax. I’m still holding the pillow between us, half sitting, but turned to my side.
I know he wants to ask what happened, but I’m thankful he resists that urge. He places a kiss on the top of my head and breathes deep. The heat of his exhale makes me shudder in the chill room.
“Can I take the pillow?” he asks softly, careful not to break the calm that seems to have settled over me. I nod and he slowly pulls the squashed pillow from my arms. Once it’s gone, they drop, empty. “Come here, you’re freezing.”
He pulls me closer while scooting toward me and we lay like that for several minutes. Maybe it’s an hour. I have no idea how much time has passed when my stomach growls. I haven’t eaten since the layover in Denver.
“I’d offer to order room service, but it would end up on your bill,” Miles chuckles.
“Think they have good pizza in Florida?” My voice is so small, but being able to speak at all is a step.
“Probably not, but it’s worth a try.”
While we wait for the pizza–a local place Miles found online–he offers to help me get dressed, but I protest.
“Will you just let me take care of you?” He presses his lips together, but his eyes are soft. “I just want to be able to give you whatever it is you need. Even if all you want is for me to walk right back out that door.”
“I don’t want that,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to leave.”
I direct him to where I put my pajamas–t-shirts and a couple of pairs of shorts.
Crouching by the bed, Miles helps me swing my legs over the side and prepares one of the leg holes of the shorts. He slips it over my foot and then repeats the process with the other. He pulls them up and when the shorts are past my knees, he grabs one of my hands to help me stand. I take over from there, but then he has my t-shirt. He pulls it over my head, sliding it slowly down my body. When it’s in place, he gathers my hair and pulls it through. The whole process is bizarrely intimate, dressing me after an embarrassing panic attack. I can’t say I hate it, though. He lets me sit back down on the bed when we’re finished.
“Drink some water.” Miles nods at the bottle on the bedside table that Steven left for me.
The trembling in my hand hasn’t ceased, unlike my other symptoms, but it’s steady enough not to spill the water as I lift it to my lips. It’s refreshing. I probably haven’t hydrated enough today, especially given the air travel.
“Good girl.” He winks and the corner of his mouth lifts.
“That’s Brody’s line.” A breath of laughter escapes my nose. I’m starting to feel like myself again.
“There’s my girl.” Miles finds the remote on the coffee table in front of the sofa and rejoins me on the bed. “Let’s find something trashy to watch on TV, huh?”
“As long as it’s funny.”
“Comedy. Got it.” He half-salutes at me and turns on the TV. Immediately, the hotel menu pops up. “Well, that’s not funny,” he mutters, flipping the channel. “News. Never funny.” Flip. “More news. More news. Weather. Funny?” He pauses, studying the screen. “Nope.” He keeps going until I catch a glimpse of Brendan Fraser on the screen in his classic Rick O’Connell ensemble.
“Stop! Go back!”
Miles returns, knowing exactly what made me shout .
“The Mummy,” he muses. “Comedy, action, romance.” He moves his eyebrows suggestively and I giggle. “Good choice. Responsible for the bi awakening of a generation.”
We haven’t missed much. The main characters are on the riverboat, about to be attacked. That means my favorite exchange is coming up.
Miles glances at his phone.
“Hey, the pizza is almost here. You ok if I go down and get it?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Hey, O’Connell!”