Page 42 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

When we’re focused on work, set on a scene, clued into a moment—we do not want to be disturbed. Not by the backdoor opening, a phone ringing, an actor sneezing, a pencil rolling across the studio floor—not a damn thing. And if anyone makes a noise or lives too loudly in my workspace while I’m in the zone, I’m an utter prick. Lance, too. Though to be fair, he drifts toward continually grouchy most of the time.

Brielle is the same. She’s annoyed I’m asking about the phone because right now, when she’s in the zone, directing a scene she got to plot and plan. She doesn’t care about the phone or my questions. The world could be burning down around Crave, right outside this building, and she would not care.

Her mind is here, on that set, with those actors and this script she clutches on her thighs.

Goddamn it if that doesn’t make me hard. If her salty demeanor and snippy retort makes me hard, and she’s directingall day,I’m going to be a goddamn mess tonight.

I glance over at Lance, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, and know that at least I’ll have company in my misery.

She calls cut and slides off the chair, drifting onto the set with orders tumbling out of her, arm moving around the space as she points things out. She’s a natural, but I can’t focus on that just yet. Lance’s eyes pierce me so I turn my head. “What?”

“Dinner tonight.” His foot taps against the concrete floor.An anxious Lance always makes such a pliable and willing pup.My hard cock aches beneath my fly as I blink back at him.

“Be more specific.”

He rolls eyes, and I’ll make him pay for that later. A chill runs through me at the fact that after an agonizing year, I no longer have to miss him. We’re together again, with her,thanks to her.

He feeds a hand through his hair, clearly trying to temper his agitation. I have to hide my smirk in my curled knuckles. “Tonight, the three of us need to have dinner and talk.”

I don’t disagree. Last week when they came to my house, we…played. It felt like goddamn heaven. Being with both of them, all of us equally sharing ourselves with one another. I slept so soundly that night, but when I woke up, I felt immediate unease.

Because she enjoyed herself, there’s no debate there. But we also haven’t been completely honest with her, either. And I’m terrified that we’ve found our missing piece, a piece we didn’t even know we needed until her, and we’ll lose her before we even make her ours.

“I agree.”

He pinches his blue eyes on me, the wooden chair creaking as he leans toward me. “We need to tell her.”

I nod. “I know.”

He drags his palm down the lower half of his face, twisting his gaze to watch her move through the set, between the actors, guiding and directing.

Like a damn natural.

“We need to spend more time together, too. Outside of here,” he says, glancing around the space. I know what he means. And again, I don’t disagree.

“I agree.”

“I want to go to her place tonight, not yours or mine. I want to see how and where she lives,” Lance decides, and I know him like the back of my hand. I know him as well as I know every vein and bump on my cock. He wants to go to her place and look for signs of a boyfriend. Because he’s convinced himself that the ringing phone is some man she’s kept hidden, and that we’re just for sowing wild oats or whatever.

I don’t think so, though. I don’t know who is calling her, and I can’t deny my jealousy, but nothing about Brielle gives offplayervibes. I don’t believe it, but it is important, before we become too connected and sold on this dynamic, that we know.

I nod. “Tonight we tell her and find out if she’s got someone else in her life,” I say, finally verbalizing the thought we’ve been passing back and forth with our eyes all day.

He nods and we fall silent as she returns, passing a suspicious glare our way. “You were talking about me,” she says as she settles into her seat. “Because you stopped talking when I got back. So what were you saying?” she prods, nodding toward the set. “You don’t agree with my blocking? Because Cohen said–”

“It’s not about Crave,” I stammer.

“Dinner,” Lance says, not taking his eyes off Otis and Uma on set. “Your place, tonight, the three of us. Text the address. We’ll be over at 8.”

Her blonde hair swings as she twists her head between the two of us. “I don’t get asked, huh? I’m told?”

I watch as his hand comes down on her thigh for not more than ten seconds, but in that time he grabs her tightly before bringing his hand back to his lap. “Tonight, you’re told, not asked.”

She rolls her eyes, flush crawling up her cheeks. But she likes that answer, and my hard-on likes hers.

We watch the scene, or more so, I think Lance and myself watch her. We can’t take our eyes off her as she works, getting to her feet to pull Otis back half of an inch, toeing on set to whisper soft guidance to Uma.

To ease my erection, I focus on dinner, and what I can pick up on the way to her house… or apartment. I don’t even know. I focus on the run I’ll take after work—solely to burn energy—and the hot shower that will follow. I focus on anything but her, because if I do, I’ll get carried away.

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