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“You're not even pretending to be reasonable anymore.”

“Nope.”

He hands me my tea.

“Drink.”

I stare.

“Excuse me?”

“Drink your tea.”

I laugh.

“Yes, sir.”

His eyes darken.

“Dammit, Rusty, I’m supposed to be working but now all I can think of is hearing you call me sir when we’re in bed tonight,” he growls, and his eyes get even darker.

Heat immediately floods my cheeks.

“Oh my God.”

“Exactly.”

He drops a hard, quick kiss on my mouth, and it’s not nearly enough. Less is already setting me away from him when I notice some stagehands passing through the corridor.

I can’t even move yet, but he’s watching me, licking his plump lips even as his face slips back into his professional façade.

“Go do your thing, Sweetheart. I’ll be right here.”

Less returns to his post by the door like some giant tattooed gargoyle. Meanwhile, my heart is beating so loudly, I wonder if anyone else can hear it.

Honestly? It's absurd.

Objectively, this is the most relaxed and desired I’ve ever felt. He just leaves me floored every single time.

I know he wants more. He wants commitment, a promise—he wants the words.

And yeah, I’ve been scared to take the plunge. You know what they say.

Once burned equals twice shy.

But the truth?

I am so completely in love with Less. I can’t imagine being without him, and I know—I know—I don’t want to be with anyone else.

He is it for me. My everything. And he always seems to know exactly what I need.

But before I can tell him—because yeah, I need to be concentrating on my role, but instead I’m concentrating on him—Brielle bursts into the hallway to my dressing room carrying approximately six costumes.

“Oh, thank God you're here!”

“Morning, Bri.”

She stops dead.