And then she’s gone, out the slider and over the railing.
I hold a sheet to myself, yanking it off the bed as I follow her. I stop short at the railing, catching myself against the metal as she rolls into a smooth landing ten feet below. She looks up at me and sweeps her hair into her helmet. Then she straddles her bike and takes off down the street.
Though I have the sheet in front of me, I realize I’m still otherwise naked, and I jolt back into my room.
As I slowly get my body to cooperate so I can get dressed for the day, I realize I…missChristine.
And that scares the shit out of me.
Just one more day.
One more day, and then I’m on a plane, away from Christine, getting my shit back together.
One more day, and then I’m free.
The last dayon set is always bittersweet. It’s a time to think back on the shoot, to reminisce about memories made, to trade hometowns and industry contracts and promise you’ll work together again whether that has any chance of happening or not.
At least, it usually is. As I wait for the day to start, I shift uncomfortably, trying and failing to find an angle that doesn’tpinch my half-hard cock against my briefs. All I can really think about is howhornyI am.
God, do peoplelivethis way?
This morning’s… session plus my suppressant dose holds until lunchtime—but only barely. I ended up trapped outside between two vans, costume pulled down off my torso in a desperate attempt to cool off, still sweating buckets despite the chill air.
As I tremble there, leaning heavily against a van door, a spike of anxiety lances through me.
What if she doesn’t find me? What if she doesn’t want me?
As if on cue, Christine appears, leaving me no time to process those thoughts as her arms cage me to the side of the van and her hand sinks under my waistband.
She waits until the last possible second before she drops to her knees and catches the first spurt of my cum on her tongue.
I shake and fall against the van in front of me, barely able to hold myself upright. Whispered obscenities pour from my lips as Christine takes me into her throat, draining me.
When I finally sigh with relief, she tugs my costume roughly back into place, then plants a wet kiss on my cheek.
I throw an annoyed glare after her, and she tosses a smirk over her shoulder as she heads into the studio.
Cool metal meets my cheek as I lean against the van. Fuck, I need to get a handle on these hormones.
After a couple more hours of filming, I duck into Christine’s dressing room on instinct. I’m lucky she’s the only one there, and that she wastes no time pushing me back onto the bathroom counter and taking me deep down her throat.
Just as I finally relax, still dizzy with the afterglow, Christine closes me in the bathroom and greets Lisa, her makeup artist. As my senses return, I slip back into my costume and hide behind the shower curtain, just in case.
Once the chatter beyond the door quiets, I count out a full minute, then slip out through the empty room. That warm buzz doesn’t quite clear, and it leaves me sweating all afternoon.
With my brain foggy, it’s impossible for me to overthink the day’s foot falls and rolls, and the warmth keeps me limber, so at least there’s that.
There’s something new, though. A… restlessness. It feels like I’m in thewrongplace, even though that doesn’t make any sense. I need togosomewhere, but I don’t know where. I have a strange urge to go to Christine’s dressing room, gather all her clothes together, and roll in the pile.
As Christine and Haley hit a break between takes, I follow Christine’s PA to the actress’s side while the rigging team adjusts the cameras.
Christine takes a swig from the water bottle her PA just handed her, then glances at me, brow raised.
“Got a note for me?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”
She waves at her PA. “Give us a sec.”
