“Yes,” she said as she appeared from what I could only guess was the bathroom on the other side of the living room. She was dressed in a white cotton robe. Her dark brown hair fell down in loose waves over her shoulder. The dark pink lipstick and light eye shadow, Blair’s signature, made her look less sweet—as I had always known her—and more sexual.

The director took a step forward “Amelia, if you feel uncomfortable at any time…”

“I’ll use the safe word?” she replied.

“Amelia. Seriously,” I said to her.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Guys, thank you, I got it. Okay. Let’s start. With any luck, we can get these down with one take.”

“Alright, everyone, places,” said the director.

Pulling off my shirt and throwing it to Austin, I offered her my hand, which she didn’t take. Instead, she held her head up high, the smile never once leaving her face as she walked toward the bedroom. She had that same confidence this morning when she delivered one of the best monologues I’d heard in a long time. Even the scriptwriter couldn’t complain. She only wondered why the hell she hadn’t thought of it herself.

“This is scene twelve, Damon ties Blair,” the director stated as someone handed me the red rope.

“I hoped you practiced,” she said, undoing the belt of her robe. With one small action, it fell to the ground.

Jesus….I cannot do this. Instinctively, I stepped in front of her, blocking her body with mine. It would only work until we started, but still.

“So is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ on the practicing?” she questioned casually. However, my eyes were glued to her breasts, remembering how perfectly they fit into my hands just a few days ago. “Noah?”

“Yeah…I’ve done it before,” I replied. Shit. I hadn’t meant to tell her that.

Biting her lip, she nodded, and I could see her chest rise anxiously. Closing the distance between her and myself, I cupped her cheek.

“No one else in the room but us, right?” she whispered.

“Yeah, no one but us…” I agreed.

“Amelia, once we start, just follow the guidelines from the stage directors,” the director shouted, and I was tempted to beat the shit out of him.

“Ignore him and follow my lead, okay?” I told her.

“So just keep doing what I’ve been doing?” she asked, snickering.

Placing my hands on her shoulders, slowly I turned her around. “BDSM isn’t about pain. It’s about pleasure. None of this is to hurt you or make you feel scared. But it is going to feel odd at first. The more you trust me, the better it will feel.”

“Action.”

Any restraint I had died with that one word.

“What am I going to do with you, Blair?” I whispered, kneeling beside her, brushing her hair to the side, and kissing the nape of her neck.

“Why ask questions you already know the answer to?”

Dropping to her knees and placing her hand behind her back like the script instructed, I took a step back, breathing in through my nose, trying to calm myself down—but it was hopeless. The curve of her back, her ass, everything about her made me hard.

Holding her wrist in place, I fed the rope between both of her arms, ignoring the camera that panned in to focus on every moment. Her body arched forward the higher I went, securing the knots as I worked.

“Ah…” she gasped, but I didn’t stop.

Amelia and Blair both knew their safe words.

Amelia

I’d never felt anything like this in my whole life.

My skin was as hot as fire, and I couldn’t stop moaning.

I couldn’t move. My arms and chest were bound, but it was more than that: it felt as though my whole body was competently under his firm control.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now,” he said, relaxed in the chair before me. In one hand was a glass of champagne, and in the other was a leather riding-crop. Rising to his feet, he downed the drink, threw the glass to the side, and held my neck. Lifting my chin, he kissed me hard. I could taste the champagne on his tongue, and I wanted more.

“Ah!” I gasped when he beat my nipple.

“Don’t be greedy,” he teased.

“Again,” I begged biting my lip.

He forced me to stare into his eyes, smirked, and said, “No.”

“Master, please—”

Slap. It stung, but it also felt amazing.

“Who gives the orders here?” he asked.

“You.”

“Who?” he demanded again.

“You!”

Like a wolf around a sheep, he circled me, his whip gliding over my skin in between the ties of the rope. When he got to my nipples again, slap.

I was so wet, so horny, I wanted to cry out in frustration.

With one gentle push, I was on my side, watching as he stared down me hungrily, his whip gently—almost like a feather—working up from my toes, legs, and thighs. Then he rounded the curve of my ass.

Slap.

“Master—”

“Shh…” was his only reply as the whip found its way between my thighs. “Spread your legs.”

I followed his order. Anything he wanted in that moment, he could have had.

“Look how wet you are, Blair.”

Slap.

“Oh!” I gasped as pleasure ripped through my body so forcefully that I clenched my legs shut.

“I’m not done yet. Open them,” he demanded, but I couldn’t. “It’s only going to hurt you more, baby, to go against me. Open. Them.”

I did.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

He didn’t stop his assault on my pussy, and I couldn’t bring myself to stop him. It was so fucking good. Shamelessly, I spread my legs even wider, wiggling with need on the carpet.

“Why do you torture me, Blair?” he whispered, kneeling between my legs. “I can’t hold back any longer.”

Excited, I couldn’t wait to feel him inside me. However, that never came. He was above me, and I could feel his hard-on pressed up against me with only his boxers to separate us. He thrust forward, his eyes never leaving mine. We were acting. I had forgotten so quickly. Even hearing him call me “Blair” didn’t bring back reality. It was the fact that he couldn’t actually fuck me. I was annoyed, but I couldn’t let it show on my face.

Damn it! Screw Damon. I wanted Noah, now.

Noah

I’d never experienced as much torture in my whole life as I did this evening.

The moment our shoot ended, I was only strong enough to grab her robe and put it over her before leaving. I didn’t care what the director or anyone had to say. I needed to fuck.

And as if God had heard my prayers, my phone buzzed.

“Your room ten minutes.” 

Chapter Eight

Noah

Did she say ten minutes or ten fucking years?

It had been an hour since she texted me, and she was either playing the world’s cruelest joke or someone got in her way. With Amelia, I could never tell.

“Noah?”

You would have thought I was a damn rocket with how quickly I was out of my bed and in the front of my suite. She stood there in a skirt and a t-shirt, holding the red rope in one hand and the whip in the other. Her blue eyes were covered in only one thing…lust.

“Do it again,” she demanded.

Was this heaven or hell? I had no idea, but I was glad to be there.

“I can’t.” It was all I could get out before rushing to her, bringing her lips to mine. I kissed her hard and passionately, knowing full well this time nothing would stop us. And she kissed me back.

Amelia

The fire I felt before came back with a vengeance. I texted him, planning to run to him right after. However, the director cornered me to talk about the most irrelevant things on the planet, like making sure to make eye contact with the camera and trying to keep my moaning softer. I wanted to ask him if anyone had ever whipped his pussy. There was no soft anything in that scene. But again, it was irrelevant, because his lips were on mine now. Not Damon and Blair, but Noah and Amelia.