down the rest of the crew.
I find Rob in one of the bedrooms and I find my footing again. He’s alone, pacing the length of it, and I can see the wheels in his head turning. I’m pretty sure a stampede could come through the room and Rob wouldn’t flinch at all.
But he notices me. Somehow, within all of his reverie, he notices me. My heart skips a beat. I’m not sure how, because he doesn’t even look up, but he does reach back and wave his hand as though he’s beckoning me over. “Hey, kid, come here for a second.”
I’m clutching a notepad with a dozen coffee orders on it, but his voice could find me in a minefield. I go, thumb rubbing over what I’ve written, suddenly nervous. I say nothing. I’m afraid to interrupt his creative flow.
He turns his head towards me a little without actually making eye contact, as though he’s trying to be polite but too far into his own thoughts to actually follow through on it. “Get on the bed.”
I freeze. My face blanches. My pussy gives a single throb. “Sorry?”
“Get on the bed. I need to see something.”
My eyes dart to the door quickly, then back to the bed, as I’m given the impression that no one says no to him. I’m not going to be the first. He has a process. I’m the one, at the moment, who can help him. I click my pen closed as I crawl onto the bed and look back at him awkwardly. I’m no model, definitely no porn star, and I don’t know how to present myself. “Like this?”
Rob is taking me in, his eyes swallowing my body, but he’s seeing me through a keen director’s gaze. I’m aware of this. It does nothing to quell the need inside of me.
“Up a little higher, on your back, but push up on your elbows.”
I crawl as he directs, the mandala designs on the duvet giving way under my palms and knees. I try to move slowly, even try to throw in a little sensual flare as I make my limbs elongate like a leopard, but my commitment to holding onto the pen and the notepad prevent any real sexiness. I roll over as he directs, pushing up on my elbows, and I watch him for signs that I’m doing the right thing.
I receive one in the form of a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He steps forward to the edge of the bed and leans in, and my breath catches as I wonder if he’s going to join me. I imagine him shrugging off his jacket and crawling between my legs, pushing them apart with his own. I picture his weight on me as he lays over me, and the scratch of his stubble along my neck when he kisses me. He reaches out, and I am helplessly caught and ruthlessly desperate for him.
But he takes the notepad and the pen and rises again, giving them a hapless toss behind him. The scene reverts; Rob’s eyes take in the image of me without seeing the girl herself, and I’m caught wanting more again.
I clear my throat as though I can banish all torrid thoughts from my mind. “Brett’s back on set.”
“Mmhm.” But Rob’s not listening. Not really. He’s reading my form, and he raises a hand, motioning with it. “Part your legs a little. Knees up a bit, and part your legs.”
I am breathless again. He has an intoxicating presence, and I’ve felt it for as long as I’ve been in the same room with him. I’ve watched dozens of interviews and an hour long Q&A from Sundance, and now, I’m his framed muse. My stomach clenches in wanting, and I can’t tell if it’s for food or for him.
He says, “Good. Good, kid… like that,” and I’m delirious. Rob’s head tilts as he considers my position, then his lips press together in something of a smile. “That is so fucking sexy. Exactly what I want.”
My mouth goes dry as he offers me a hand to help me scoot out of bed. I know he’s talking about the image as a whole. He’s seeing the final product in his mind. He’s positioning his actress for the shot, not me for his devious purposes, but I can’t help the fact that I’m trembling when my palm slips into his.
He notices. Of course he notices. He’s
I find Rob in one of the bedrooms and I find my footing again. He’s alone, pacing the length of it, and I can see the wheels in his head turning. I’m pretty sure a stampede could come through the room and Rob wouldn’t flinch at all.
But he notices me. Somehow, within all of his reverie, he notices me. My heart skips a beat. I’m not sure how, because he doesn’t even look up, but he does reach back and wave his hand as though he’s beckoning me over. “Hey, kid, come here for a second.”
I’m clutching a notepad with a dozen coffee orders on it, but his voice could find me in a minefield. I go, thumb rubbing over what I’ve written, suddenly nervous. I say nothing. I’m afraid to interrupt his creative flow.
He turns his head towards me a little without actually making eye contact, as though he’s trying to be polite but too far into his own thoughts to actually follow through on it. “Get on the bed.”
I freeze. My face blanches. My pussy gives a single throb. “Sorry?”
“Get on the bed. I need to see something.”
My eyes dart to the door quickly, then back to the bed, as I’m given the impression that no one says no to him. I’m not going to be the first. He has a process. I’m the one, at the moment, who can help him. I click my pen closed as I crawl onto the bed and look back at him awkwardly. I’m no model, definitely no porn star, and I don’t know how to present myself. “Like this?”
Rob is taking me in, his eyes swallowing my body, but he’s seeing me through a keen director’s gaze. I’m aware of this. It does nothing to quell the need inside of me.
“Up a little higher, on your back, but push up on your elbows.”
I crawl as he directs, the mandala designs on the duvet giving way under my palms and knees. I try to move slowly, even try to throw in a little sensual flare as I make my limbs elongate like a leopard, but my commitment to holding onto the pen and the notepad prevent any real sexiness. I roll over as he directs, pushing up on my elbows, and I watch him for signs that I’m doing the right thing.
I receive one in the form of a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He steps forward to the edge of the bed and leans in, and my breath catches as I wonder if he’s going to join me. I imagine him shrugging off his jacket and crawling between my legs, pushing them apart with his own. I picture his weight on me as he lays over me, and the scratch of his stubble along my neck when he kisses me. He reaches out, and I am helplessly caught and ruthlessly desperate for him.
But he takes the notepad and the pen and rises again, giving them a hapless toss behind him. The scene reverts; Rob’s eyes take in the image of me without seeing the girl herself, and I’m caught wanting more again.
I clear my throat as though I can banish all torrid thoughts from my mind. “Brett’s back on set.”
“Mmhm.” But Rob’s not listening. Not really. He’s reading my form, and he raises a hand, motioning with it. “Part your legs a little. Knees up a bit, and part your legs.”
I am breathless again. He has an intoxicating presence, and I’ve felt it for as long as I’ve been in the same room with him. I’ve watched dozens of interviews and an hour long Q&A from Sundance, and now, I’m his framed muse. My stomach clenches in wanting, and I can’t tell if it’s for food or for him.
He says, “Good. Good, kid… like that,” and I’m delirious. Rob’s head tilts as he considers my position, then his lips press together in something of a smile. “That is so fucking sexy. Exactly what I want.”
My mouth goes dry as he offers me a hand to help me scoot out of bed. I know he’s talking about the image as a whole. He’s seeing the final product in his mind. He’s positioning his actress for the shot, not me for his devious purposes, but I can’t help the fact that I’m trembling when my palm slips into his.
He notices. Of course he notices. He’s
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