Page 1 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

prologue

It’s the longest nineteen minutes of my life.

augustus

…TWO YEARSAGO

“Not here,” I gasp, my lips sliding from his as we grind our bodies together, his back hitting the wall with a thud. A picture rattles, then crashes to the floor as the lamp on the side table wobbles. “My house,now.”

The stage door flies open, the glow of early evening spilling across our feet.

“Augustus Moore?” A gruff voice calls, searching for me in the open, nearly dark studio.

I tug the hem of my shirt and sift a hand through my hair, stealing one last look at him before rounding the set toward the door. “I’m Augustus. The delivery was scheduled for two hours ago. You’re lucky I’m still here.”

The man, with greasy dark hair wearing a faded blue sweat-soaked button up shirt with an embroidered name badge, shrugs as he drags a loaded dolly in after him. “We’re behind today.”

“Clearly.”

“Where do you want it?” he asks as he drives his pinky nail between his two front teeth, presumably picking food out. Disgusting.

I tip my head toward the set. “There.”

Mark, so says the embroidered nameplate on his chest, moves past me with the dolly, a hand on top of the boxes. Breathing still somewhat labored, Lance comes around the corner, startling the delivery man.

“Pardon,” he says, ducking his head as he shimmies between us. Heading toward the door, I’m hot on his heels, taking him by the wrist before he can get too far.

“What’s the matter? Are you leaving?”

His icy blue eyes drop to the place where I’m holding him, wandering over my chest on their way back to my face. “Is this a bad idea?” he asks, but his tongue traces his bottom lip, eyes dropping to my mouth for a hot second, telling me all I need to know.

“No,” I respond, though in truth, workplace relationships are never smart. I’ve never, in all my years of directing, crossed that line. I don’t mind if actors date one another, but for me, it’s always been a personal rule to stay in my lane.

I’ve never had the urge to break that rule until now. Untilhim.

Just holding his wrist and tasting his kiss on my tongue has my cock hard. Thank God for dim studio lights or Mark would’ve had an eyeful.

“It’s the best idea I’ve ever had,” I add quietly, something knocking around my chest as his lips lift in a small, conciliatory smile.

“Okie dokie,” Mark says, passing me a delivery order to sign. He tears off the top sheet, stuffing it in his metal clipboard as he hands me a pink carbon copy. His beady eyes flick to my hold on Lance’s wrist before rising to my face.

“Goodbye,” I deadpan, squeezing Lance a bit tighter. The delivery man leaves, and though we’re next to the door and close to getting out of here and stopping before I make a mistake, I’m weak. Something about him makes me throw my cares into the wind, break every guideline I’ve ever set for myself.

I don’t know why I’m willing to promise him anything but I am. I’m fucking mad for him, I’d do anything I could to be with him. He makes me insane in the most intense ways.

Jesus listen to me.

Fuck it. I don’t care. I’m chasing the madness.

With my thoughts muddled and my chest booming, I crash my mouth to his, moaning when his tongue slides against mine. I’ve never wanted to kiss like this, keep our lips sealed, breathing in his exhale, swallowing down every breathy fucking moan he gives me. Only when his palms come to my pecs and push me back do we finally take a breath.

“Your house,” he utters, chest heaving as much as mine. I fucking like that; I like that he wants me with the same shattering intensity that I want him. That’s hot. And new. I don’t think anyone has ever wanted me this way; with wide eyes, gasping breaths, and hands all over me.

“Follow me,” I breathe out, dragging my hand over my mouth, then through my hair and down my torso, searching for a morsel of composure. Lance passes me, waiting on the cement steps outside as I flip off the lights and key in the code to lock the door.

I use all my fucking discipline to walk past him, stomping through the parking lot toward my car.

“Wait–” Lance’s voice crashes into my back, and I turn to face him. I love how uncharacteristically disheveled he looks, and so does my cock. “If we get separated,” he says, still kind of breathless. I place my hand over my heart, finding I’m still breathing hard, too. He passes me his phone, the parking lot light reflecting on the screen. My fingertips graze his palm as I take it, and a fiery current moves up my arm. I can’t wait to feel that palm on my bare body. Inputting my number, I quickly pass it back.

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