Page 60 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

“Look at me,” Lance says, his voice cutting through the noise in my head. I bring my chin from my knees, where I had it stacked for the last minute, and look up at him. He looks exhausted but happy—happier than I’ve ever seen him. Even happier than he looks after an incredible day on set where no one annoyed him. The way his eyes hold mine, the way his spine is full of strength and his features don’t waver—I feel the truth rolling off of him in waves, the blunt honesty, the vulnerable and private reality—“You are what has been missing. There is no question.”

Aug’s hand slips beneath the bubbled surface to grab my thigh, and I turn my head to face him. “There is no question.”

twenty-four

I need servicing. I’m grouchy

augustus

“When I wantyou to walk across the set and disrupt a scene that took Cohen forty-five minutes to prepare lighting for, I’ll let you know. Until then, step the hell back and sit down before you find yourself sitting on the steps of the goddamn studio in the rain!” My temples pound as my scathing words bounce around the set, knocking into every single actor and set hand. Wide, fearful eyes blink back at me or at their shoes, and you could hear a pin drop as I cross the space to the hall, turning my head as I call for a ten minute break. I head into my office with the slam of the door behind me.

A moment later, the door quietly creaks open and closed as I hold my temples in my hands over my desk, trying to control my breathing. Her soft hand slides down the collar of my shirt, stroking the back of my neck and shoulders.

“Was that maybe an overreaction?” Brielle asks, her voice gentle. Some days, if she’s soft when I’m sharp, it pisses me off and it ends in rows. Arguing and shouting about scenes on the edge of the set, looking to Lance to take sides. Other days, like today, it’s quite obvious why I’m agitated and so when she comes to me soft and amiable, it soothes me. I roll my neck as she rubs, and love how her flowery scent wraps around us when she’s this close. On the days we don’t get to be near each other, I hate that I’m left to find her scent in the hallway or in the office. That I don’t have a private little stash of it on me somewhere to dive into when I need to be reminded that though the day is hard, the night will be wonderful.

Except right now, that’s the problem. There have beennowonderful nights in the last week. Not since the night where Lance and I had Brielle as our submissive together. To be fortunate enough to fall in love with someone smart and talented is one miraculous thing, but then when that person thrives in the kink space that you do? Jesus, I knew I was lucky when I found Lance.

But now we have Brielle.

I’ll admit, and I’m sure Lance would, too—Brielle seemed like a great way to bridge the divide in our relationship. A way for Lance to get what he needs while allowing the two of us to have fun while coming together again, literally and figuratively of course.

I think after the first evening we spent with her we both realized this was no temporary Band-Aid. Things felt right with her. With us. The three of us. And I won’t lie—I’ve never been an advocate of polyamorous relationships because in my heart I’ve always believed one person will end up hurt. How can three people each love two people equally?

I’m learning about love from Brielle, despite the fact she never signed up to teach me. I didn’t know I had anything to learn, anyway, after all, I'm the director, the teacher, the educator.

I tip my face up to hers. “I need servicing. I’m grouchy.”

She strokes her hand down my cheek, laughing. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Lance comes in a moment later, not bothering to close the door gently the way Brielle did. “The set hand is crying,” he says, letting a monumental sigh free as he flops down in his desk chair.

I purse my lips, tipping my head to the side. “He is not.”

Lance snorts, smirking at me as he pats his leg. Brielle click-clacks across the office in her houndstooth pumps, settling on his knee with a sparkle in her eyes. She smiles at me as his hands come to her hips, then roam down her voluptuous thighs. “Tonight,” he promises both of us. “Tonight, or else the set hand will quit at this rate.”

Tonight.

Finally.

We’d been unable to see each other all week because the three of our schedules didn’t align. Brielle’s best friend Winnie had some sort of crisis where she wouldn’t tell Brielle what was wrong, but was devastated and depressed. So Brielle spent two nights with her, watching old rom-coms and eating ice cream and, in general, being a wonderful best friend.

Two of the other evenings were night shoots—and we were separated. Lance went with Cohen and some of the crew down to the pier to film opening and closing shots, and I was at the studio with her.

I considered taking her to the office and collaring her, and commanding her to speak at my feet. Fuck, I’m hard just envisioning her little whimpers as she sits on her knees for me. But we haven’t discussed our operations yet. Are we allowed to play, just two of us, if the other is away? I don’t know. And I know one thing for sure—I’m never making assumptions again. I’m not losing love twice.

By the time Thursday rolled around, we were too tired to give it a go. Brielle had been working her ass off while also trying to be there for Winnie, and Lance had been running around the city for the last three days trying to make sure Crave’s new intro and outro were just right. I’m thirty eight. Lance is thirty-four. We want to fuck, but we need sleep.

But tonight, we’re all free. We’re all able to be together. And I can’t fucking wait. All we have to do is get through the remaining four hours of the day.

Lance’s chair squeaks as he jerks to sitting suddenly, causing Brielle to startle to her feet. She smooths her hands down her slacks—she’s wearing these fitted dark slacks today and I thought I’d hate anything that replaced the pencil skirt, but it turns out, her ass in those slacks has meadjusting myself. “You changed the second shot?”

Oh Christ. I snatch today’s schedule from the center of my keyboard and find the two o’clock call time. Taking in a few lines of detail, my eyes follow a crossed out change with a small set of initials next to it.BP. Brielle changed his plan, and signed off on it.

I read through the information blacked out by Brielle, made darker and more challenging to read by the fact that I’m reading a photocopy, and then scan Brielle’s changes.

Lance had Uma, Maxi and Lucy in a dry shower scene, where we cut every minute and dump water on them, and add the spray sound after. It’s tricky to do scenes with water in low-dialogue films. Your moans compete with water, and water can be loud. Not to mention, shine, glow, dewiness—women’s makeup is time consuming and fickle and a stray drop of water that’s a degree too warm can melt it all away.

Brielle, however, thought the water should stay on, and that we should hamper the noise by placing towels at the women’s feet to absorb sound. That the scene loses all of the Crave energy if we fake it.

---