Role Play (Silhouette Studios)

by Katana Collins

  I had expected to see his expression darken. But instead, a smile creased his pouty lips and wrinkled his fair blue eyes. My mouth went suddenly dry and I fought the urge to take a step back from him under that scrutinizing glare. Oh, I was going to get it later. Next time we were alone, I’d pay for that one. And if I was being honest with myself, that might be why I said it. A delighted shiver tumbled down my spine.

  “Shorty, this has nothing to do with your career goals. You can be both a powerful woman inside these walls and a naughty little sub who loves the biting pain of a good ass spanking in the bedroom.” He paused, standing over me and drew in a long, slow inhale, his lips curving into a wicked smile. Leaning down, he ran his tongue across my bottom lip and I shuddered, parting my lips, offering them to him. “Good girl, Shorty.”

  Did I say my mouth was dry? Yeah. Now, it was the freaking Sahara in there. Because all moisture in my body had flooded between my legs, likely leaving me dangerously dehydrated. Note to self: keep water bottle on hand around Ash.

  He didn’t kiss me, though. Almost like he wouldn’t give me the satisfaction. “But inside these walls I am not a naughty submissive,” I said, my voice trembling.

  “The scent of your lips says differently,” he said. And even though he wasn’t smiling, there was a subtle, smug curve of his lips.

  “I am a costume design assistant,” I continued, unsure of who I was trying to convince right now—him or me. “I’m your costume design assistant—”

  “You’re Jon’s and Kelly’s now. Not mine.”

  “Either way, you’re still a higher position at this company. So, yeah. Within these walls I’m going to exercise my right to keep my legs closed.”

  Another smile twitched on his lips. What the hell was his deal? What was his end game here?

  “But you still would like to continue outside of the studio, yes?”

  I froze. Hell yeah, I wanted to continue. But after this morning… the way he stopped us as we were about to have sex, did he want to continue? Was he looking for an out? Anxiety and insecurity battled in my chest.

  He tilted his head, his eyes softening. “It’s not a trick question, Shorty. You can answer no if you’ve changed your mind. Without consequence.”

  “Have you changed your mind?” I asked, my voice more squeaky than I intended.

  “No,” he answered quickly. Almost without thinking.

  “Oh.” Well… that was reassuring. And a little unexpected. He was all over the place. “Then… can I ask you why you pulled away from me this morning?”

  Emotion sparked in his eyes and he licked his lips before answering. “Because I haven’t shared my bed with a woman since my wife died five years ago.”

  Well… shit. That was the honesty I’d been craving. Had been secretly begging him for. And if there was ever a decent reason to pull away… well, that was a pretty good one.

  “Now, your turn,” he said. “Would you like us to continue our relationship outside of the office?”

  “Yes. I want to continue our relationship. But… and I hate admitting this… when you pull away from me emotionally, it triggers my insecurities.” I didn’t add that those insecurities were brought on from my abandonment issues and my mother. “It’s hard for me when you do that without explanation.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Understandable. I’ll try harder to communicate with you.” Then, turning, he grabbed some papers from his desk handing them to me.

  “Silhouette Studios Consent Waiver,” I read the top bolded font. “I thought we tabled this for now.” I said, waving them around, my fist clenched, wrinkling the paper between my blanching knuckles.

  “We tabled it last night,” he said, his voice calm, but firm. “And now it needs to be brought up again. For your safety here in the work place. And my safety, we need to sign these. Even if after signing, we simply hold onto them or give a copy to a trusted friend who also works here. We don’t have to file them with HR if you don’t want to, but at least we would both have a copy in the event that something goes wrong. Not signing at all is a bad call.”

  “And how do I know you won’t go to Mr. Blair behind my back again? How do I know you won’t file them without me knowing?”

  Ash tilted his head at me. “Though we haven’t known each other long, I would hope you’d know I would never do that. I went to Rich today to find out more information about the situation so to honor your wishes and still protect both of us. I wasn’t trying to go behind your back.”

  He was right. It was the smart choice. The rational choice. But Uncle Richard’s words from the hall sat in my gut like bad Chinese, rumbling and roiling around in there as I digested them. Ash was broken. And Uncle Rich had made it painfully clear he didn’t want me anywhere near the man.

  “Sign, Shorty,” he whispered, holding out the pen toward me. I felt like Eve being coaxed to take a bite of the apple.

  My phone buzzed in my back pocket, snapping me out of it. With a quick glance, I saw it was Kelly.

  Where the fuck are you? Lunch ended ten minutes ago!

  “Goddammit,” I muttered, shoving my phone back in my pocket. “Now I’m late. Because you shoved stupid submissive paperwork beneath my nose during work hours.” I snatched the pen out of his hand and threw it across the room. It hit a cherry wood bar table in the corner, but the sound of pen on wood wasn’t all that satisfying. I wish I had thrown something bigger. Heavier. Like… my shoe. Yeah, that would have felt good as it slammed into the wall with a gratifying thump. But then I would have been shoeless. Shoeless Luce.

  Ash’s gaze darkened. Those blue eyes deepened like an ocean just before the storm and his mouth, which had been smirking playfully set into a hard line. “You’ll regret that,” he said. “Once we’re beyond these walls.”

  “Like hell I will,” I said and stomped to the door. And I meant it—because whether it was the fact that I had stood my ground or the fact that I knew I’d enjoy his punishment for throwing the pen later. I didn’t regret it. Not for one damn second.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ash

  It’s still not right,” I barked, pointing at the paddling table in the center of the room. Tomorrow we were filming a scene in Leo’s playroom—his BDSM dungeon. But Leo’s character is meticulous. Completely in control. And that stupid paddling table looked like it was a fucking gymnastic coach’s tool for teaching balance. The room was beige and beachy looking. Which could work for some Dominants’ personalities. But not Leo. He wouldn’t have a beige playroom. He wouldn’t have a beachy playroom. This aesthetic just wasn’t working.

  “What if I move it over here?” Helene, our set designer asked, pointing to the corner of the sound stage.

  I shook my head. “It’s not where it is. It’s the design of it. I just feel like it’s not what we discussed.”

  “What are you talking about? This is exactly what we discussed,” she said, her accented voice raising an octave. “Lush. Clean. Open environment.”

  Shit. Our meeting must have left too much open to interpretation. I looked around through a different set of eyes and, technically, she was right. Her version of the playroom wasn’t completely off from the words I used. “But what about the vision boards I sent you? I asked for deep reds and browns and mahogany and velvet. Not turquoise and white with mother of pearl inlays.” I ran my hand over the white painted paddling table. Then with a sigh, I clamped one of my hands onto my hips and used the other to rub my eyes. I opened them to be met with Lucy’s velvety brown eyes across the room. She looked quickly away, her cheeks turning pink. I couldn’t help my smile despite the frustrating evening. Who blushes from eye contact after you’ve seen each other naked?

  It was endearing as hell and I was captivated by the way she moved. She stretched onto tiptoes, hanging a few wardrobe pieces on hooks by the faux wall—lush, silk robes and a tuxedo shirt Jude would put on in the middle of the scene tomorrow. Her soft curves were dusted in a blue hue because of the low-lit work lig
hts. As her black glasses slipped down the bridge of her tiny, button nose, she caught them, pushing them back up with her finger. I wanted that finger pushed between my lips. I wanted to suck it before forcing her to plunge it back inside her pussy. I wanted to nip her flesh and watch it turn coral. I wanted to see her ride her own hands, grind against my mouth. I wanted to take those perfect, petal pink lips—

  I groaned as my cock twitched. Since when did this happen? Since when did I not have control over my dick like some sort of horny seventeen year old? Since when did the sight of mundane tasks like hanging costumes make me harder than a fucking lead pipe?

  I used to make you hard when I folded laundry, Brie’s voice said in my head. I closed my eyes, if for no other reason than to stop staring at Lucy.

  That was different, I thought. We were in love. You could have been picking your nose and I still would have thought you were the sexiest thing to walk the Earth.

  Nothing. No response to that. White hot pain sliced through my chest. I clenched my fists, wanting to cause pain. Push what I was feeling outward. Make someone else take on this plight of hurt and burning in my place. As if making my submissive cry out as I smacked her ass would somehow make my inner pain subside.

  I swallowed hard. A black tar of hatred filling my gut—I hated myself. Who I’d become after Brie died. Would Brie have ever loved me just as I am today? Yeah, I’d liked spanking her back in the day. I had enjoyed binding her hands and being in control. We’d even enjoyed sadomasochism together. But I hadn’t needed it. Not until she died had I felt an incessant need to Dominate. To cause pain. To be in control. And that was the key difference. The Dominant I’d been before was because I enjoyed it and she did, too. But I hadn’t needed it like I did now; I hadn’t been addicted to it in the same way. Was I really any different than an alcoholic or a heroin addict at this point?

  I touched Brie’s ring, tight on my pinky after a long day’s work, and opened my eyes. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out, seeing the reminder I had set for myself to fix next week’s schedule. Shit, it was already past eleven. My poor crew was going to hate me if I kept working them eighteen hour days. Granted, I had sent most of the team home at nine, but Jon, Helene and I had stayed to prep tomorrow’s set. “Let’s call it a night,” I said.

  They exchanged glances before Helene answered, “But it’s not done—”

  “I know, I know. We’ll finish in the morning. We’ll have time while Jude and Marly are in makeup.” I sighed and looked around. Even if we worked through the night, I didn’t know if we could change this set enough to fit Leo’s personality.

  Helene didn’t wait for me to say it twice. She rushed for her bag near the door and was gone in moments. Jon shrugged and headed for the door, pausing when I didn’t follow him. “Aren’t you coming?”

  I stood there, still staring at the set. “I’ll be right behind you. Don’t worry, I’ll lock up.”

  Jon, nodded, then was out the door as well. I crossed onto the set, circling the paddling bench. Would Leo ever use one of these? It was bulky, hard to move, and almost medieval in its design, colors aside. While Leo’s character was sophisticated. Worldly. This thing was anything but that. He enjoyed paddling, but he loved the assertion of Dominance… not the pain itself. I had approved the pieces individually, of course. But seeing them all together wasn’t working. “This is all wrong,” I said to myself, shaking my head.

  “What’s all wrong?”

  Lucy. I looked up to find her standing inside the closed door of the soundstage. A stack of fabrics were draped over her slender arms, the tips of her painted fingernails peeking out from beneath the folds of satin and silk.

  I swallowed, gesturing to the paddling bench. “The whole room I think. But definitely this.”

  “What is that, anyway?” She scrunched her nose, crossing to me. “It looks like a workbench for a carpenter or something. Except… white.” My lungs tightened as she grew closer. She set the fabrics down on the table in the corner and her shoulder brushed mine as she dragged her fingertips across the white-painted pine.

  I closed my eyes, remembering her naked body beneath me. I could still taste her sweet honey on my tongue. Could still feel the way her little body writhed under the clenching hold I had on her hands. I could still feel the hammering of her nervous pulse as I slid inside her wet core the first time. Whatever this hold was that she had on me? I needed to break it.

  I needed to sever that cord that tethered us. We could still be BDSM partners. At least short term. But this heart fucking? That needed to stop. Making love was reserved for one woman only—Brie. And she was gone. Lightening doesn’t strike twice.

  I can’t believe I told Lucy about Brie. Even though I only said one thing, one statement about her death—it was more than I had revealed to anyone other than Jude. I thought about Brie all the time. I just didn’t see the need to talk about her.

  Lucy was changing me. And I wasn’t so sure that it was for the better.

  I needed to fuck fuck Lucy, not heart fuck her. Show her my BDSM. The brutality and subsequent pleasure that comes from the receding pain.

  “Well,” I said, gripping her hips and pulling her behind the bench. “It’s a paddling bench. And I’d be happy to show you how to use it.”

  “We’re still at work.”

  “We’re at work. But we’re not working.”

  “Pot-ay-to, pot-ah-to,” she sang, then eyed me carefully. “I thought you weren’t going to come within arm’s reach of me until I signed that consent contract.”

  My throat constricted, airflow becoming thicker, harder to swallow. Yeah, that was the plan. Until I saw her. Now the plan was to have her anyway I could.

  As much as I liked to pretend I was in control, around Lucy, I was spiraling out of control fast. And I hated it. I fucking hated it.

  A coy smile lifted the corners of her mouth and she circled the almost-finished set Helene, Jon, and I had been building.

  “Is Kelly still here?” I asked.

  She shook her head no. “She went home hours ago. I had to finish the costume prep for tomorrow. I just finished steaming Jude’s suit.” She glanced down at the paddling bench. “Or at least I was. But it’s clear you need help with this thing.”

  My brows crumpled. “What do you think it needs?”

  She held up two hands. “Okay, look… I know I’m new at BDSM and all, but this looks weird painted white. I don’t actually mind the pearl inlay if it was set against a darker wood or fabric. It just doesn’t seem very … ‘Leo’ to me.”

  Exactly my thoughts, too. I’d been working on that very issue. “But what can I do? It’s not like we have time to repaint the walls or build a new paddling table.”

  She shrugged. “We don’t have time to repaint or rebuild, but we might be able to bring in elements that are more fitting to Leo so that it’s not so jarring.”

  “Like what?”

  She leaned back, examining it through narrowed eyes and nibbled the corner of her bottom lip. I wanted to nibble that bottom lip. Then, she blinked behind her glasses and circled the bench, staring intently. “It’s too… breezy. Leo is sensual. He’s lush and sexy and the room is too bland and sterile for Leo’s personality. We could bring in that room divider that you cut from Leo’s bedroom. It’s large and cherrywood with intricate carvings. It’ll add contrast to the room.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I said, my lips twitching. Such a great idea, maybe I should have thought of it myself.

  “And there are large burgundy curtains in the costume department. They’ll be perfect to frame the windows.”

  “Perfect,” I echoed.

  “And…” she dragged the word out longer and tapped her finger to her button nose. She straightened, rolling her shoulders back and I could practically see the lightbulb turn on in her mind.

  “And what?” I prodded. I was having ideas of my own, but I loved watching hers. I loved seeing the spark of creativity and the fire inside of Lucy
.

  She dashed for the fabrics she had carried up, clutching a deep red velvet, a mauve silk, black silk, and a green damask satin. In a whir of fabric and ruching and safety pins, she bent around the paddle bench, working. I watched her in awe, blinking as she safety-pinned each fabric carefully in place, then stepped back to admire her work. She folded her arms, smiling, and gave a single sharp nod. “That’s better. Softens it. Makes it sexier. The pearl inlays still stand out but blend better in the fabrics. And look…” She stepped forward, grabbing onto two silk scarves at either end, “you can use these to restrain Holly during the scenes. Amp up the control factor by binding her wrists. The silk is way sexier than those leather straps the bench came with.”

  I eyed her carefully, stepping closer and running my hands along the fabrics. It was… it was perfect. The different colors and textures worked together magically. Helene’s vision was beautiful, it just didn’t resonate with me, which was my fault for not checking the bigger picture earlier. Lucy, on the other hand, understood me on a deeper level. A level that maybe no one else could. “I have that large reclaimed wood art installation in my office. It would work great against that wall.”

  “And I bet we could find a large, dark shelving unit to fill in the other space,” she added. “It could be where Jude has his toys organized.”

  I stepped back, taking the room in with the new ideas in mind. “It’s so much better. And easy, inexpensive fixes that will keep us within budget.”

  Lucy bent, tugging at the fabrics now pinned to the paddling bench. “I’ll have to stitch these together tomorrow morning before filming, but for now, you get the idea.”

  “You don’t have to do anything. Helene and her assistant will.” I walked around the back of the bench and scraped a hand over my stubble, the texture rough like Velcro. “If the camera is here,” I said, pointing the other direction, “then we won’t actually see the paddling. But we could do a close up of her face, of the paddling, Leo’s face… then maybe a wide shot of the whole room.” I nodded, confirming my thoughts. That was going to be gorgeous. Elegant, even. I didn’t even mind the beige walls as much if we darkened the room with accessories.