“Don’t,” I murmur, an attempt at cutting him off, but the word gets caught and mangled in my throat.
“I’m so sorry,” he finishes, clearly not getting the message.
I can’t have this conversation right now—I can’t. I’ll never get through the next scene.
“Talk later?” I say, my voice breaking.
He swallows, nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Talk later.”
All at once, the sunbeam disappears from our window, and it’s like we’ve teleported to some moonlit midnight. I realize, with a start, howquiet it is on set, how empty: only Bryan is still around, and a single cameraperson—a woman named Jules.
“Liv, Ransom, are we ready?” Bryan calls. At least he’s been too busy clearing the set to listen to our every word; if he’d been listening, he wouldn’t be asking.
I close my eyes, push down the surge of emotion that rushed in during the short break.Five, four, three, I count in my head, trying to find the line where I end and Honor begins.
By the time I reachone, I’ve found it. Only barely, but I can do this.
“Ready,” I say, because Ransom still hasn’t answered yet.
“Ready,” he finally echoes, only the barest trace of an edge left in his voice.
There are no words in this scene; it will be a hard cut directly on the heels of another scene we’ve already shot. While we once had free rein to let the scene evolve naturally—within certain bounds, given that our audience isn’t X-rated, or even R-rated—this time around, our every move has been pre-choreographed by an intimacy coordinator; it’s Jules’s job to film all the right angles without us even realizing she’s there. The final version of the episode will have music, but for now, it’s silent—borderlinetoosilent.
“Rolling in five,” Bryan says, counting us in to the scene.
Ransom’s eyes go from spark to fire in two seconds flat. The hunger there feels so, so real—my body can’t tell the difference, and suddenly it feels like I’m slipping on ashes, hurtling headlong toward the flames. He slides one hand into my hair and pulls me close, closer—
His lips find mine, tentative at first, and then they’re ravenous. I match his hunger and then some, letting the moment take over, fury fusing with passion until they’re indistinguishable. His legs tangle with mine under the covers; no one will see just how close we are in this moment, no one will know there’s not an inch of space between us. The heat of his skin, his strong body pressed up against mine: he feelsgood.
Ifeel good.
His fingers graze my stomach as he slips them under the hem of my camisole. He pulls the soft silk up and over my head, expertly keepingall the necessary parts of me covered under the thick duvet, where the cameras can’t see. Only my silk shorts and his boxers are between us now, a barrier that’s simultaneously so little and so much—I kiss him deeper, my hands curling into his hair so hard it might hurt.
He pulls me in tighter. My hands find their way down to his shoulders, to the strong, solid muscles of his lats, to the cut, carved lines of his stomach that earned him every role he’s taken since the last time we did a scene like this.
I’m not hating this.
Not even a little.
I force my mind into silence, trying my best to soak up the kisses he’s now trailing down my neck, the hand at the small of my back. He’s straying a bit from the choreographed plan, but not in a bad way; it’s all very, very good. The duvet is low enough now that the audience will have a good glimpse of skin—all those hours over the years with my personal trainer will finally pay off—and a chill rips through me, possibly related to the lack of duvet, probably not.
On instinct, we both pull back at the same time, searching each other’s eyes—his spark like I’ve never seen before, not even by the pool in his backyard. My heart cracks sharply at the memory, but I push it down. I can’t deal, not now. Not yet. He tilts his head close to mine, one hand buried in my hair in a way that will flatter us both on camera, his hair soft against my forehead.
I want to do so much more.
Iwantso much more.
“Aaaaaaandcut!” Bryan shouts excitedly. “That was perfect, golden, I love it. Yes.”
The moment comes crashing down around us, but we stay still, locked together until my heart cracks a little more, too much to ignore this time. It’s all too much.
I fumble around for my discarded camisole, feeling flustered when I don’t find it immediately. After what feels like an eternity, Jules hands it to me with a kind smile—it’s not her job description at all, but with a closed set, no one else but Bryan is around to help.
“Thanks,” I manage, my voice muffled as I slip the silky materialover my head. And then, half to Ransom and half to Bryan, “I have to go.”
Where, I’m not sure yet—my trailer? Home? Back in time, before everything got so royally fractured? I have to go, and it doesn’t matter where. I just can’t bear to stay.
I can’t get the shoot out of my head.
