THE SOLDIER

I find her clit and circle it with my tongue, then use my finger to rub it as I move up to suck her nipple. “How do you want to come, little flower?” I ask as I leave one nipple to suck the other. “On my fingers? On my tongue?” I don’t usually leave these choices up to her-that’s part of our game, but today I want to be the one to serve. Hearing her crying this morning ripped a hole in the fabric with which I’ve woven this fantasy of ours. The need to fix what I’ve done, to heal what’s torn is more important to me than anything. Today, I only want to pleasure my beautiful slave, to make her feel good.

“On your cock, Master.”

“You need me inside you?”

“Yes, please?”

I delay my own pleasure, stroking and kissing every inch of her skin before I finally free my rock hard erection and give her what she needs. What we both need.

When it’s over, I shower her with more kisses, then get a damp washcloth to clean her up. “Feel better, little flower?”

“Yes. Much better.”

“Good. Let’s get you ready for your meeting at the studio. Can I drive you there? What can I do to help?”

She climbs off the bed and accepts the clothing I hand her, piece by piece from the floor. “Are you staying the night?”

I hesitate, my phone with Ravil’s text smoking up my phone. I need to square things away with him-find out his terms for letting me move. Then I can be with Kayla full time. We won’t have the violence of ripping apart and stitching ourselves back together week after week. “I’ll see if I can. I will stay until after your meeting for certain. I know there’s a late flight out of here.”

“Yay,” she says softly, pulling on the designer jeans and pretty shirt.

“Now, what about food?” I tip my head to the door. “May I take you out?”

Her smile could light a stadium at night. “Yes. We’ll have to keep it short, but that would be perfect. Then you could drop me off at the studio.”

Ravil can wait. Right now, all that matters is Kayla.

Kayla

A young, beautiful studio assistant with huge black-framed glasses and a high ponytail picks me up from the front lobby and escorts me back through the giant building that must be at least eight thousand square feet. The director of Bad Boys is Lottie James, a gorgeous African American woman who radiates both warmth and power.

“It’s such an honor to meet you. Thank you so much for this opportunity,” I gush. “I cannot tell you how big a fan I am of the show. Huge. I’m sorry-I was going to try to bury the fangirl tonight.”

Ms. James gives me a broad smile. “No, please.” She beckons with both hands. “Tell me more. I love this show, too.”

“Well, you’re doing everything right. It’s smart, it’s sexy, it’s fun. The fact that it’s already a cult favorite speaks volumes.”

“I was kidding, but thank you.” Lottie winks at me. “I like you already, Kayla. Okay, Jenny will give you a tour and introduce you to the cast. They are all coming off a long day of filming, so don’t take it personally if they don’t stay for more than a minute.” She breezes out, leaving me with Jenny.

“Thank you. I won’t. Again, I’m thrilled to meet you,” I call to her departing back.

Jenny shows me around the space, pointing out the different sets and the dressing rooms and makeup. I meet the costume crew, the tech crew, and finally each of the actors.

Ms. James was right, no one has a lot of time for me, but everyone is friendly and welcoming. A half hour later, I’m back outside in the parking lot, waiting for Pavel to pick me up. It all seems too easy. Too perfect.

I should have known that nothing in this industry works like that.

I should have known that pretty little not-special actors like me don’t get handed parts out like it’s a high school musical.

“Looking forward to seeing you on set,” the lead bad boy actor, Brad Lowell says as he walks out with two of the other actors.

“Thank you so much!” I call out.

“So what part is she playing again?” Ryanna Jones asks him as they walk away.

“I don’t know. I guess they created a part for her. She’s Blake Ensign’s niece or something.”

Blake Ensign’s niece.

Oh God.

Oh my fucking God.

I didn’t get this part. It wasn’t my fantastic audition or my post-play openness or my talent that got me here.

It was Pavel’s fists.

Or his gun.

God, I don’t even know what he did to get me this part.

Tears blur my eyes as I start speed-walking in my heels and skinny jeans out of the parking lot. I don’t know where I’m going, all I know is that I need to leave. I can’t be here when Pavel arrives. I don’t want to be anywhere near him or this studio at this moment.

I wish the pavement would crack open and swallow me down.

I sense rather than see a car pull up beside me.

“Kayla.” Pavel’s deep voice holds alarm.

When I keep walking, the tires screech. I still don’t look. I can’t do this right now.

I just. Can’t.

A door slams and then Pavel catches me around the waist. “Hold up. Kayla, what happened?” There’s a dangerous edge to his voice, but I know by now it’s not for me.

I turn and try to shove at his chest. “You happened!” I shout then look around, realizing that making a scene in the parking lot is not going to win me any more points around here. I turn and try to walk away again, but Pavel catches me again, pulling me by the waist until my back hits his front.