by Harley Rayne
“I do, too, Kylie, believe me.”
He keeps saying my name as though he wants to keep reminding me that I’m the one he’s talking to. There’s no one else on his mind or in his universe at the moment except for me.
“Are you…” I clear my throat and try again. “Are you touching yourself, too?”
“Yeah,” he answers, gruff. “I’ve got my cock in one hand and the phone in the other. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been this fucking hard. I’m going slow, though. I want to draw this out with you.”
“How would we…” I trail off, not quite knowing how to ask. I don’t have to figure it out. He figures it out for me.
“How would we fuck?”
“Mhm…”
“It’s cheating to say however you want, but that’s the truth. But if I had my say, I’d have you on top of me, straddling me. I’d have my hands on your hips, guiding them. But you’d get confidence pretty quickly and set the rhythm. I’d be able -- fuck -- I’d be able to feel your pussy clench, I’d see your tits move with each of our movements…”
I picture myself on top of him the way he describes. I’ve always been a little self-conscious being on top, but he makes me want to try. I whimper again, and I add a finger so I have two pumping in and out of me.
It’s like he knows because he says, “Fuck yourself faster… moan for me.”
I do both, one the result of the other. I hear his breath pick up, and soon he’s panting, and we’re both completely and utterly lost to one another. He loses speech, and so do I, and our breaths fall in unison.
He hums and I can hear the pace of his strokes in it, disjointed and fast. I pick up my pace to match, and let out little whimpers so he knows.
“Faster,” I plead, as though he’s here and fucking me, instead of the insufficient substitute of my fingers. I’m empowered when he responds. I know he does, because I can hear the slapping sound of his fist hitting his skin. The grunts of his effort nearly drive me over the edge.
“I’m getting close,” he warns, and his voice has lost all of the measured control I’ve heard in his films.
“Me too…” I’m gasping as I piston my fingers in and out of myself, hard and fast. I feel that hot coil warming in the pit of my stomach, spreading out, my whole body tensing, breath suspending.
Suddenly, Brett demands, “Come for me, Kylie… come hard!”
I cry out, “Brett! Oh god…” as my orgasm crashes over me. It hits me violently, my hips bucking up to meet my fingers, my back arching up. I’m crying out, unaware of the sounds, my stomach clenching, my pussy tightening and releasing around my fingers in elongated throbs.
Brett lets out a loud groan of his own, unyielding in his own stone-hard orgasm. I can imagine him thrusting into his hand, hard, and I think back to what it looks like when he comes.
The thought itself makes me shudder with excitement and anticipation. I’m absolutely outside of myself right now.
There’s a strange sort of sobriety that hits me as I start to come down from the orgasm, but it’s not as painful as I thought it would be. Brett doesn’t seem to think so at all. He’s chuckling under his breath.
“Holy shit. You made me come all over myself,” he says, back to groggy now that he’s spent himself.
“Yeah,” I say, and I’m going to leave it there. But I add, at the last moment, “My sheets are soaked. So are my fingers.”
“I wish I could lick them clean.”
My body shudders at his words as I draw my fingers out of my sensitive pussy. “That might not be a good idea.”
“Why not?” He seems slightly concerned.
“Because.” There’s humor in my voice at least. “I might not ever let you out of my bed again. You’d have to live there forever, and just do my bidding 24/7.”
Brett laughs and there’s some relief in his voice. “I think I could live with that.”
“How would we eat?” I ask dramatically, even though there’s a sleepy edge to my tone now. I roll over onto my side completely, fully intending to rise in a few moments to clean myself up.
“You know better than to ask me that kind of question.” There’s teasing in his tone, and I let out a breath of a laugh. Brett seems as sleepy as I do.
“You aren’t married, right?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Good,” I say, another edge of humor in my voice. “I apparently go for that type now.”
“You’re safe with me,” he says, and I can tell how sleepy he is.
“We should probably get some sleep,” I finally murmur, even though that’s the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to leave this moment. I want to live in it a little while longer, to hold onto the magic of it before it dissipates completely.
Brett hums once, considering it, then finally addresses the elephant in the room. “Is this going to be okay on set tomorrow? It’s fine with me, but I want to make sure you’re okay with it, too.”
I clear my throat, nodding along. “Yeah, I’ll be great. This was good. I needed it.”
“Me, too.”
Leave it to Brett to make me feel like a queen, even when I’ve just done something as tawdry as phone sex. There’s a first time for everything I guess. “Okay. Well… goodnight, I guess.”
“Good morning,” he answers, but he’s already half asleep again. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“I’ll see you in a few.”
I don’t make it out of bed. I fall asleep almost immediately. And while I should probably feel dirty, I don’t. I feel satisfied, thanks to Brett.
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Brett
I hadn’t expected last night to happen. I wake up the next morning to the sound of my phone alarm -- I keep one set for every morning for occasions just like this -- and I’m still on the couch with a half-finished glass of scotch on the floor next to me.
I groan as I rub the sleep from my eyes, and somehow manage to climb to my feet and stumble into the bathroom to get ready for the day.
I piss, brush my teeth, manage a rinse-off shower, and rake a brush through my hair, but that’s as much as I have to give. I take the bus instead of driving today; I’m worried I’ll fall asleep at the wheel.
When I arrive, everything is in full swing, and I’m thrown into the fray of it. Kylie is hard at work as well. We catch glances and toss knowing smiles at each other all day, but our work generally doesn’t intersect.
I do find her, however, when the crew is resetting the cameras for a new angle. She’s taking pictures of everything on the set. The rest of the crew is distracted with their own jobs, so I take the opportunity to steal a few moments with her.
“Sleep well?” I ask. There are bags under her eyes, obvious even through her glasses, but I know they mirror mine. It also does nothing to hide that grin that takes over at the question.
“Barely slept,” she answers, and gives me a playful look. No thanks to you.
Rob is coaching Melanie on the scene on the other side of the room, so I lean in and lower my voice to Kylie. “Look who’s in rare form today.”
Kylie rolls her eyes dramatically and lets out a breath. “Can you believe that? I used to think it was so charming, and so professional. Now I see what’s behind it. He’s brilliant, but that’s disgusting. I’m seriously having trouble even looking at him.”
“Two more days,” I remind her, and she looks at me, smiles, and nods.
“Two more days.”
Those two more days go quickly.
I barely have time to think, much less develop anything with Kylie. Lori has texted me every hour on the hour with exclamation points and emoticons, and even Rob seems to be chipper. I’ve seen him try to talk to Kylie over the past few days, but she always finds a way to exit.
She’s handling this with far more grace than I would.
As far as Rob is concerned, I’m the only person who knows about his wife, save for the makeup artist, b
ut she’s been on films with him for years.
Rob calls for the Martini Shot for the last time, and we start the final take of the final scene on the final day. Melanie and I give it everything. The crew is rapt. By the time Rob proclaims, “It’s a wrap!” everyone is a little bit emotional.
It’s been one hell of a flurry of a few weeks but it’s done now, and I realize with some terrifying sense of chagrin that it means going to be back to my old life again. Back to meaningless porn and meaningless work.
Kylie comes up behind me, pinching my sides as she does. She looks fucking deliriously happy, and I can’t help but narrow my eyebrows at that.
“Watch this,” she proclaims, and I oblige, my eyes following her every movement.
The crew is shaking Rob’s hand, and clapping each other on the back. It’s a veritable Cinco de fucking Mayo over here. But my eyes are on Kylie. She gives me an excited grin as she turns and goes, and intercepts Rob’s conversation with Keith. I can hear her from here. I’m relatively certain that everyone can.
“Hey, so,” she starts, and his attention is fully on her. Now that the movie is over, he feels that he doesn’t have to hide, so he presses some flyaway hair from her forehead and strokes her cheek with his thumb. To Kylie’s immense credit, she doesn’t even flinch. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it to the wrap party.”
Rob looks concerned by that, and a little disappointed. “What’s another few hours? Kid, you’ve worked so hard. Come on, celebrate.”
Now I’m intrigued. I step closer. So does the rest of the crew.
“Yeah,” she says, sounding a little innocently reluctant. “But, like… here’s the thing.” Kylie’s hand finds Rob’s wrist and she rubs it up and down, like she’s trying to soothe the man.
I can already feel the smile edging the corners of my mouth before she delivers the kill-shot.
“I’m pretty sure your wife is going to be there, and I honestly don’t think I want to handle dealing with her. Especially since I didn’t know about her, and she clearly has no idea about me.”
Kylie shrugs, and Rob looks like he was punched in the gut. I glance around, and Melanie’s mouth is open, though she’s clearly laughing through it. Even Karen looks caught off-guard and impressed. I look back at Kylie, who’s giving Rob the opportunity to explain.
He just fumbles with words. “She’s… it’s… divorce is… kid, come on, seriously. It’s not…”
She interrupts him by plucking his hand from her face and letting it drop. “Yeah, it’s really creepy when you call me kid. You’re thirty. Grow up.”
She turns on her heels to leave, but as soon as her face is to me and her back is to him, she looks elated and proud. I give her an approving laugh, and she squeezes my arm as she passes.
Rob, meanwhile, has recovered slightly, and he calls after her, “Kylie! You won’t work for me again! Don’t be a bitch! You’re not a good enough director for that!”
Okay. That is the last straw for me. I close the distance between Rob and me, and I lower my voice. Everyone could hear Kylie, but no one but Rob is going to hear me. “Hey. Watch your mouth. I work in porn, and I’ve never seen a dick as big as you are.”
Rob scoffs, starts to walk away, but I grab his shoulder to keep him in place. I’m about three times his size in bulk, and he realizes that quickly, looking up at me expectantly stubborn. “What? Do you have anything else?”
“Yeah,” I add, practically growling. “If you go near her again, outside of a film premiere or a film set, my reputation can fuck itself, because I will help her bury your cock in the sand.” I lighten up at that, stepping away from him, releasing him. “Thanks for this opportunity. It’s been real.”
I peel off completely and return to my trailer to gather the few things that I kept in it. My heart is pounding in my chest. I could not be prouder of Kylie, or more relieved for her.
She’s on my trailer steps, waiting for me.
“Hey,” she says, and she rises slowly.
“Hey yourself.” We stand in front of one another, and for a moment, all we do is breathe. She’s smiling just a little and so do I. There’s a strange familiar fondness that feels almost like we’ve been looking at one another like this every day for years.
“I did it.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You did.”
She lets out a laugh and takes down her messy bun, only to pull it back tighter. It’s a nervous habit, I can tell. “I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. A director sleeping with a production assistant? It’s classic porn fodder.”
I nod, considering. “Yeah, I may have made that film already, actually.”
She’s silent again for a bit, and we study one another. Her eyes are darting over my beard, my lips. I’m watching the way her eyes move. “So what’s next?” she asks. “Do you go back to porn?”
I hesitate at the question. “I have to,” I say, and I hope it tells the full story. In case it doesn’t, I add, “I’m under contract.”
“That’s right,” she says, but she’s been clearly thinking about it for a little while. I suppose she hoped the answer would be different somehow. I swallow hard. She’s blocking my way into my trailer, but I don’t want to ask her to move anyway. I don’t know how to close this door. I don’t want to.
But being with me, really being with me, would be a mistake. She deserves more. She always has. She deserves someone who can be hers entirely. She deserves someone who has a job that lets him come home to her every night and not smell like other women.
It doesn’t stop the fact that I want her.
“Call me if you need more help with your screenplay,” I tell her, because it seems about as good of an exit as any. I’m biding my time with it, but it’s going to happen sooner rather than later.
“I will.” Kylie finally catches the hint and steps away from the trailer steps. “So this is… I guess this is it.”
I’m reluctant, but I nod and lean in, pressing a small kiss to the side of her face. “I’m always here if you need me.”
It feels like a breakup. It feels more like a breakup than her actual breakup with Rob minutes earlier. My gut is twisting, and there’s a lump in my throat I can’t quite swallow. I’m not ready to let go. But it’s for the best. Still, I linger.
It’s Kylie who finally takes the stand once again. “Okay, well, I’ll see you.” She’s holding it together well, but I can tell she’s upset. I’d rather that be now than later, when she realizes she can’t handle being in a relationship with someone she has to share. She’s too young. She has far more she has to do.
Kylie walks away, heading towards her car, and I pile my things into an oversized gym bag. When I leave the trailer and seek out my own car I realize that I’ve just experienced the best relationship of my life, maybe the best I would ever have, and she wasn’t even mine. “Fuck.”
Chapter Thirty: Kylie
There are tears in my eyes by the time I reach my car. It’s funny how I could go from liberated to devastated in such a short time.
I don’t know what I was expecting from this whole thing, but somewhere along the line, Brett changed my mind. He changed it about everything, and I could do nothing but ride the tide with him. I didn’t realize I was falling for him until I was there on his trailer steps, waiting.
I know why he ended things and told me to go home, as diplomatic as he was about it. I understand why he wanted me at arm’s length. He thinks he’s doing me a favor. He thinks he’s saving me somehow. He isn’t. And I don’t know how else to tell him that.
Am I thrilled at his career choice? No, but he made that decision before he ever met me, and for genuine reasons. He wants to get out now, but he’s under contract. He’s a noble man, even if he pretends that he isn’t. A man who is willing to pull himself out of the life he settled for is a man who is worth having.
I’m tearing up the entire drive home. My radio is tuned to classic rock a
nd I sing along loudly, but it only makes things worse. “White Wedding” almost ends me.
When I get home, I stand in my doorway for a long while, staring inside. It seems foreign now, like my tiny place has only been there to preserve the memory of the most insane month of my life so far. I can picture Rob in my kitchen and in my bed. I see Brett on my sofa. My laptop is lying on my duvet, and I know I still have a document pulled up with the terminology Brett gave me.
I finally shuffle inside and kick the door closed behind me. I shower, but the motions are methodical, like it’s a chore to wash off the experience. I let myself cry here, where I can’t tell what are tears and what’s water pelting from the shower, but when I turn off the nozzle, I force myself to stop.
Somehow, it works.
It hardens me somehow. I dry off and climb into bed still wrapped in the towel. I know what’s waiting on my laptop when I open it, but I have to do it anyway. I swallow hard as I minimize the document, and hover around the X button at the top of the web browser that reveals itself next.
Brett. He’s staring at me in all of his glory. But the expression is nothing compared to the look of longing we exchanged outside of his trailer an hour ago. I study him for a moment here, comparing the look of him now with what I saw, and I have a stark realization: he loves me, too.
I open my e-mail as quickly as I can, and click into the search bar.
Contact Sheet The Room Brett Buckhurst
An e-mail attachment symbol pops up next to an e-mail from Rob, and I open it quickly, click on the extension, and scroll until I see the address. I save it on my Waze app, and I’m up within moments, scrambling for clothes and my glasses.
I don’t even realize that I’ve put my shirt on inside out until I’m in my car, and by that time, it’s too late. I’m taken through neighborhoods, around back ways, until I reach the building. I find street parking as fast as I can, and I run past a doorman who looks reluctant to let me by. I can imagine why. I look insane.
