“Hey,” murmured Jasmine, looking up at me. “It’s okay.”
It’s okay for you. For you, this is just another job and I’m just some guy, just a friend; for me….
I closed my eyes for a second and tried to focus. Isabel. She’s Isabel. Not Jasmine. I’ve seduced her and we’re back at her apartment and—
I leaned down. I saw her eyes close a second before mine did. Our lips brushed once, twice and then—
God, I was kissing her again and it was even better than at her apartment, or up against the locker. It got better every time. I was addicted to her, to that soft, sweet feminine scent of her, to the press of her lips against mine. We kept it to no tongues and I thought that would make it less hot, but if anything it made it hotter. We were teasing each other, nibbling on the most sensitive parts without ever venturing inside. I sucked her lower lip and she moaned, biting me lightly in return, her breath fluttering against me.
“Good,” said Dixon, and he sounded genuinely pleased. “Wow, you two can really turn it on!”
I opened my eyes and Jasmine and I stared at one another. She was wearing the same expression of helpless lust I probably was, the breath shuddering through her. Except, in her case, I knew it was faked. God, how did she do that? How did she fake it so well?
“Okay,” said Dixon. “Now for the sex.”
***
An hour later, I was standing in my dressing room, naked except for a pair of black jockey shorts and some flesh-colored briefs beneath them. I had my arms out to the sides and I was staring fixedly at the wall. I was doing all this because a friendly, fifty-something woman was dabbing at my abs with a powder puff, putting on body make-up.
This is without a doubt the most embarrassed I’ve ever been, I thought. Even worse than the time I thought Jasmine was a hooker. Out of my comfort zone didn’t even begin to describe it.
When she declared me done, she handed me a robe and bustled out. And then it was time to go to the set.
It hit me that everyone at the station was going to see this scene, when the pilot aired. Maybe the show will be axed, I thought hopefully. And then remembered I couldn’t hope for that, because this was Jasmine’s big break. I had to hope that the show was a huge hit. Emmy awards. That even my dad would hear of it.
I winced and stepped into the corridor.
Jasmine was just coming out of her dressing room, also dressed in a robe. We would have looked as if we were at a spa, if it hadn’t been for our deathly white faces. Without her heels, the size difference between us was even bigger, the top of her head barely up to my chin.
“Hi,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Then, “Um. Are you…” I waved at her body.
“Am I naked under this?” She sounded as light and breezy as if she was discussing what she was going to eat for lunch, her voice a stark contrast to her pale face. “Almost. Bra and panties, but you’ll be stripping those off me. Then I have what’s basically a giant sticking plaster over my privates. And pasties.”
“Pasties?”
“On the nips.”
I am discussing Jasmine’s nipples. I am standing here next to Jasmine almost naked and discussing her nipples. I nodded, trying to be as cool and professional as she was. “Right. On the nips.” I looked down at myself. “I’m in shorts. And, like, briefs, underneath.”
And then I ran out of things to say and we were left just staring at each other. I looked down the corridor, toward the set. “Um…” Don’t blush. Don’t blush. Guys don’t blush. “So...we’ll be pretty much….”
“Naked,” said Jasmine helpfully.
“And I’ll be kind of….”
“On top of me,” said Jasmine. “Between my thighs.”
She’s doing this deliberately. She has to be doing it deliberately. When I was a cop, I’d faced down gang members and psychos...but a woman a good head shorter than me had me in pieces. “Look, I know what you said about...you don’t feel that way about me.”
She nodded and looked at me seriously for a second.
“But...I might...I mean, I might...you know…” I sighed. “I mean, I’m trying to be cool and an actor and everything, but I might still get—”
She looked right at my groin. “Hard.”
I nodded quickly. “Yes—”
“Stiff.”
“Yes—”
“Engorged.”
“Goddammit, would you stop it! Yes! Hard! And—”
She was laughing.
I stared at her, exasperated. “How are you laughing? Aren’t you nervous?! Isn’t this awkward for you?”
And then she stopped laughing and looked at me, and I saw it. She was just as scared as me. The joking was just her way of getting through it.
She took a deep breath. “It’s fine,” she said. “If you get...you know. Rampant.”
I nodded. And I realized she was right: joking and fooling about were the only way we were going to get through this. She needed to know I was okay, that I wouldn’t freak out in there. So I forced myself to sound light and easy and said, “Are you ready? I mean...this is a big step in our relationship.”
She cracked a smile, and her eyes said thank you. “Are you ready?” she asked. “Are you ready for the full Jasmine experience?”
“Oh, really? You’re that good?”
“I’ve been known to give lessons. Come on.”
And, leading me by the hand, she towed me toward the set.
***
Because it was a nude scene, they’d kept it to only the essential crew. Pretty much just us and Dixon. And four camera operators. And the sound guy and his assistant. And the make-up artist. And the clapperboard operator. And another ten people watching the monitors just off set.
“Okay,” said Dixon, giving us an enthusiastic smile. “Let’s go for it.”
I really liked Dixon. But I still wanted to slam him up against the wall and ask if he wanted to get his clothes off.
When I looked round, Jasmine was sliding off her robe. God, she managed to even do that sexily, a sort of slow-motion slither of fabric down her back, baring her perfect body. They’d put her in an expensive-looking dark green bra and pants set that set off her auburn hair.
Her breasts. I couldn’t take my eyes off her breasts. I’d spent the best part of a year imagining what they’d look like in a bra, getting glimpses of cleavage in her summer dresses and scoop-neck tops. And suddenly it was as if we’d been catapulted into an actual relationship and we were halfway to the bedroom, shedding clothes. God, she was perfect.
Only...this wasn’t a date. This was a job and I had to somehow keep it together even as her looks overloaded my brain.
The panties showed off her long, shapely legs, elegant and classic. She looked like one of those marble statues from ancient Rome, all curving breast and flaring hip. I’d seen her friends, Natasha and Clarissa, the ballerinas, plenty of times and sure, they were hot. But give me Jasmine’s body any day.
“Ryan?” Dixon’s voice. I realized that I was staring. I realized I’d been staring for quite a long time. I quickly shed my robe, figuring that if I did it fast, it wouldn’t be so bad.
It was bad. I could feel everyone looking but trying not to look. I’m comfortable with my body. I mean, as comfortable as any guy is. I have no problem stripping off at the beach or at the pool. But this was different—this was people examining me for imperfections. Judging me.
“Okay, let’s get into it. Starting with Isabel astride Tony.”
I swallowed and nodded to Jasmine. She stepped a little closer to me. With both of us in bare feet, she was so much shorter—she really had to look up to meet my eyes. Then she was taking a running step forward, jumping—
I caught my breath as she nestled against me, wrapping her arms around my back. God, the warm press of her breasts—
Keep it professional.
Her groin was snug against my abs, grinding against them a little as she shifted her weight. My naked skin and her naked
sex, separated by only a flimsy layer of fabric and a sticking plaster. We gazed into each other’s eyes and I saw it again—how scared she was.
The cameras rolled.
“Give me that look of passion,” said Dixon. “Intensity. You’re going to fuck the hell out of this woman and you both know it.”
Jasmine’s gaze flicked to him for a split-second. When it returned to me, she closed her eyes for a moment, then reopened them into a heavy-lidded, come get me stare that almost made me moan in need. How could she do that? How could she just fake it like that, when I knew she thought of me as just a friend?
I let a little of my lust spill out, my hands tightening on her back. God, the feel of her skin, soft and smooth and creamy white. I finally had my hands on her...and yet I had to hold back. It was the ultimate torture.
“Okay, to your mark and then lay her down on the bed,” called Dixon.
There were going to dub music over the top of the scene, so Dixon could call instructions to us the whole time—great. And there were chalk marks on the floor to remind us exactly where to get onto the bed. It wasn’t like sex. It was like following a complicated dance. I shuffled forward.
“Begin,” said Dixon.
Chapter 33
Jasmine
Seconds earlier
“Give me that look of passion,” said Dixon from across the room. “Intensity. You’re going to fuck the hell out of this woman and you both know it.”
Oh, thank God. I let my eyes close, as if I was summoning up the look. In reality, I could finally relax and let my real feelings show through. When I opened my eyes, I just looked at Ryan with a hint of what was strumming through my body and I knew that’d be more than enough. I was desperately trying to keep my eyes on his, when all I wanted to do was rake my gaze down that gorgeous, full chest. He was even bigger than I’d visualized—and I’d done a lot of visualizing, both awake and in my dreams. Gloriously full, broad pecs, then kind you want to rest your head on, and wide shoulders. Muscles that didn’t look pumped up or inflated, just big. Big enough that just pressing up against him immediately made me feel protected, even though I wasn’t some slender little thing. I wanted to stay there forever.
And lower down, my groin was rubbing against the washboard of his abs, the heat of him throbbing through the panties and the sticking plaster. My arms were wrapped around his back and it was gloriously firm and thick with muscle. My legs were wrapped around his lower back and I could feel his ass, pert and perfect, just beneath. He was the hottest man I’d ever touched, and I had to pretend I was only pretending to be turned on.
It was the ultimate torture.
“Okay, to your mark and then lay her down on the bed,” called Dixon.
I kept my eyes on Ryan’s as he walked me over to the bed. Every step made his abs stroke my groin through the panties, firm ridges of muscle softly caressing my folds. I wanted to groan, but it was too early. I clamped it down inside, trapping it, feeling my breath quicken.
“Begin,” said Dixon.
Ryan slowly leaned forward and lowered me, just as we’d rehearsed. I stared into his eyes the whole time, trusting that the bed would be there beneath me, and then I felt the soft press of the sheets against my back.
“Open your legs,” said Dixon.
I unwound my legs from around Ryan’s waist and let the soles of my feet brush the bed, then stepped them apart so he could come in close. Ryan was still between my thighs, so he blocked the camera’s view of what would otherwise be a fairly obscene shot. That was the whole point—the audience would see me open my legs without actually seeing anything. Very clever. Except I could feel myself opening up beneath my panties. My breathing grew labored.
Ryan slid his hands under my body and I arched my back, knowing what was coming next. God, his face was no more than a foot from mine, staring down at me in lust. Real lust, as real as mine.
I felt my bra unclip. I sank back down onto the bed as he stripped it off my shoulders and started to pull it away from me. It was suddenly very difficult to breathe. I couldn’t let myself look down. I couldn’t think about baring my boobs in front of all these people. I had to just keep looking into those gorgeous, deep blue eyes—
The bra came off and Ryan tossed it aside. I could feel the throbbing nakedness of my chest. Don’t look, don’t look. I didn’t want to think about how bare I now was.
And then I saw Ryan’s eyes glide down my body and a deep, hot wave rushed through me. He was looking at me. He was staring right down at my breasts.
I looked down and went lightheaded. I was basically topless. The pasties—which the camera operators would carefully make sure were just out of shot—only just covered my nipples and areolae. Ryan was gazing down at my almost-naked breasts.
I could feel my breathing go deeper, heavier. I could feel my chest moving with it as I responded to his gaze. He had his hands planted either side of me, now, arms as thick and solid as tree trunks. And then he was moving, staying bent over as he stepped backward. His face was still only a foot from me, and now it was moving down, past my breasts, over my naked stomach. I could feel his breath tickle my navel.
His hands touched me properly for the first time. Just a tiny touch on my hips as his fingers grasped the waistband of my panties. But it sent electric ripples right to my groin and arcing up into my brain, making me twist a little on the bed in response. And then the panties were sliding down….
We’d rehearsed the move about a million times. He’d pull, I’d lift my hips off the bed like some sort of Pilates exercise, then close my legs as he stepped back and bend my knees. It would be shot from the side, so all the audience would see would be my bare legs and the wisp of fabric sliding down them. But it wasn’t the audience I was worried about.
Please let the sticking plaster stay in place. Please let the sticking plaster stay in place. If it got stuck to the panties, he was going to accidentally strip me completely nude down there. And then he’d be—
Gazing right at me. Naked.
With another actor, the thought would have been mortifying. With Ryan....there was actually a hot throb of arousal at that thought. A rogue part of me actually wanted it to happen...before I clamped down hard on that thought. If it happened, we’d both lose control.
The panties slid down...by themselves, thank God. I closed and bent my legs and Ryan slid the garment expertly down and off, tossing it aside. It was almost impossible not to get caught up in the fantasy—that this was Ryan, not Tony, and I was Jasmine, not Isabel, and we were in my apartment and he was stripping my clothes off before he—
Focus!
Ryan was moving in close again. And this time, as his massive body hulked over me and he pressed tight in between my legs, there was even less between us. It felt like there was nothing at all. I had to keep telling myself that the sticking plaster was there, that he wasn’t really rubbing right up against my sex, because it sure as hell felt like it. I could feel my face starting to redden, my breathing strained, now. He’d reached my face. He was coming down for the kiss…
And then our lips met and all rational thought ceased. We were just barely touching, grazing our lips together as if tasting each other. His tongue licked at my upper lip in just the right way and I let out a moan I hadn’t meant to—a sudden, quick Oh! up into his mouth. And then his lips were brushing mine again, working around to my lower lip, and I tilted my head back against the bed, desire crackling through me, making me forget about the filming and the acting and my past and everything else. He was kissing me. Ryan was kissing me. And dealing with it hadn’t got any easier over time, after my apartment and then the locker room. The previous kisses had been just enough to get me hooked and now I was a helpless addict. I licked his lower lip and he gave a low growl that made me melt into the bed. Then he was nibbling on my lower lip, tugging it just a little between his teeth and I wanted to scream and howl, it felt so good. I could feel my arms moving on the sheets, sweeping around on each side of me and
then coming up so that I could tangle my hands in his hair. We didn’t rehearse that.
At last he broke the kiss and stood up and I let my hands flop back to the bed either side of my head, utterly entranced. God, that kiss!
It dimly occurred to me that we were now moving on to the sex. I could hear the camera operators moving around to get new angles. Ryan was off the bed, looking at my nearly-naked body. And then he was shoving his shorts down his thighs. A rush of images—thickly-muscled thighs, his toned ass and—
My head span. The flesh-colored briefs were...disturbing. It was like looking at a Ken doll, with a smooth pubis. And, as I finally glanced down at my own body, I drew in my breath as I realized I looked the same. The sticking plaster covered my mons completely, leaving just flesh-colored smoothness. At least we matched.
One difference, though. He wouldn’t be able to tell that I was getting turned on. But the briefs he was wearing hid the sight—not the shape. He put one knee on the bed, the weight of his muscled body making it sink and creak a little, and moved in closer and, as he lowered himself between my thighs—yep.
I could feel the hardness of him against me, throbbing and ready. And big. Oh God…
“Okay,” said Dixon, jolting me out of my reverie. I’d almost forgotten he was there. “Now look like you’re touching her breasts.”
I glimpsed a camera behind Ryan. Most of me was hidden beneath him. The audience would see him reach down and fondle my breasts, but he wouldn’t actually touch them. His hands would mime the movements just above them.
All of a few millimeters above them.
I lay there, my breath heaving through my nostrils, as I watched those huge hands pretend to stroke and cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing as if across my nipples. I could feel myself responding just as if he was actually doing it. His palms were so close to my skin I could feel the heat from him soaking into me. All I wanted to do was to arch my back and thrust myself up into his hands, but I had to stay there, flat on the bed, and watch.
I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter. His cock was hard against my thigh, now, heavy and throbbing with heat.
Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3) Page 21
