At the thought of her skin against mine, another hard throb runs through my cock.
Fuck.
Gabriel shows me to my mark, and I keep my eyes low, avoiding Christine’s gaze.
I canfeelher proximity—literally feel it, like heat from a fire, making the side closest to her tingle and boil.
I’m vaguely aware of Lana calling, “Action!”
My body doesn’t move. Why would I listen to Lana?
Lana isn’t my alpha.
“Melinoë.”
It doesn’t matter what word: her voice calls me, and my gaze snaps up to hers. That icy azure jolts through me, waking every nerve.
I’m supposed to be doing something. Fuck, what am I supposed to be doing?
“If you want the Thunder Stone so bad,” Christine/Electra says, “thencome and get it.”
At that singular command, my body springs into action. Even with the camera lenses glinting around us like eyes and the boom mike hovering above Christine’s head, the film set seems like a distant reality.
I follow my alpha’s command, trying in earnest to steal that sparkly little prop. It’s her turn to tease and tempt, leading me around the small space.
I lunge at her, and she throws me across a desk, sending papers scattering. On instinct, I duck and roll under it, taking cover as I make another pass.
Her movements prompt my muscle memory, and I fall back into the choreography we’ve practiced. There’s a freshness to her scent: approval. This is what my alpha wants from me.
Finally, she stops, leaving herself wide open. I lunge in, lightning-quick?—
And find her hands gripping my upper arms, easily holding me in place, the Thunder Stone out of reach.
“Lana called ‘cut,’” she murmurs. “You can stop now.”
I freeze, staring up into those endless blue eyes.
“Relax, Mylo.”
I exhale, shoulders relaxing.
Christine releases me, and I lean toward her touch. Her hand lingers on my shoulder, keeping me steady.
“Listen to Lana,” she says.
The director’s voice pulls back into my field of awareness.
“Electric! I like where this is going. Let’s run that back. Camera A, take that angle a bit wider before coming in.”
Soon, Lana calls action again.
Christine and I step into the flow, and everything else melts away, leaving only her and me and this dance.
The second take flows into the third, the fourth, the fifth.
Christine’s presence grounds me, but my restlessness slowly builds, vision blurring from the outside in, heat rising into my mind.
I don’t know how many takes it’s been when Lana calls, “Cut,” and I wobble. Christine steadies me, and I lean against her arm, taking a deep breath of her scent.
