Page 72 of Role Play
Ash
It’s still not right,” I barked, pointing at the paddling table in the center of the room. Tomorrow we were filming a scene in Leo’s playroom—his BDSM dungeon. But Leo’s character is meticulous. Completely in control. And that stupid paddling table looked like it was a fucking gymnastic coach’s tool for teaching balance. The room was beige and beachy looking. Which could work for some Dominants’ personalities. But not Leo. He wouldn’t have a beige playroom. He wouldn’t have a beachy playroom. This aesthetic just wasn’tworking.
“What if I move it over here?” Helene, our set designer asked, pointing to the corner of the soundstage.
I shook my head. “It’s not where it is. It’s the design of it. I just feel like it’s not what wediscussed.”
“What are you talking about? This isexactlywhat we discussed,” she said, her accented voice raising an octave. “Lush. Clean. Openenvironment.”
Shit. Our meeting must have left too much open to interpretation. I looked around through a different set of eyes and, technically, she was right. Her version of the playroom wasn’t completely off from the words I used. “But what about the vision boards I sent you? I asked for deep reds and browns and mahogany and velvet. Not turquoise and white with mother of pearl inlays.” I ran my hand over the white painted paddling table. Then with a sigh, I clamped one of my hands onto my hips and used the other to rub my eyes. I opened them to be met with Lucy’s velvety brown eyes across the room. She looked quickly away, her cheeks turning pink. I couldn’t help my smile despite the frustrating evening. Who blushes from eye contact after you’ve seen each othernaked?
It was endearing as hell and I was captivated by the way she moved. She stretched onto tiptoes, hanging a few wardrobe pieces on hooks by the faux wall—lush, silk robes and a tuxedo shirt Jude would put on in the middle of the scene tomorrow. Her soft curves were dusted in a blue hue because of the low-lit work lights. As her black glasses slipped down the bridge of her tiny, button nose, she caught them, pushing them back up with her finger. I wanted that finger pushed between my lips. I wanted to suck it before forcing her to plunge it back inside her pussy. I wanted to nip her flesh and watch it turn coral. I wanted to see her ride her own hands, grind against my mouth. I wanted to take those perfect, petal pinklips—
I groaned as my cock twitched. Since when did this happen? Since when did I not have control over my dick like some sort of horny seventeen year old? Since when did the sight of mundane tasks like hanging costumes make me harder than a fucking leadpipe?
I used to make you hard when I folded laundry, Brie’s voice said in my head. I closed my eyes, if for no other reason than to stop staring atLucy.
That was different, I thought.We were in love. You could have been picking your nose and I still would have thought you were the sexiest thing to walk theEarth.
Nothing. No response to that. White hot pain sliced through my chest. I clenched my fists, wanting to cause pain. Push what I was feeling outward. Make someone else take on this plight of hurt and burning in my place. As if making my submissive cry out as I smacked her ass would somehow make my inner painsubside.
I swallowed hard. A black tar of hatred filling my gut—I hated myself. Who I’d become after Brie died. Would Brie have ever loved me just as I am today? Yeah, I’d liked spanking her back in the day. I had enjoyed binding her hands and being in control. We’d even enjoyed sadomasochism together. But I hadn’tneededit. Not until she died had I felt an incessant need to Dominate. To cause pain. To be in control. And that was the key difference. The Dominant I’d been before was because I enjoyed it and she did, too. But I hadn’t needed it like I did now; I hadn’t been addicted to it in the same way. Was I really any different than an alcoholic or a heroin addict at thispoint?
I touched Brie’s ring, tight on my pinky after a long day’s work, and opened my eyes. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out, seeing the reminder I had set for myself to fix next week’s schedule. Shit, it was already past eleven. My poor crew was going to hate me if I kept working them eighteen hour days. Granted, I had sent most of the team home at nine, but Jon, Helene and I had stayed to prep tomorrow’s set. “Let’s call it a night,” Isaid.
They exchanged glances before Helene answered, “But it’s notdone—”
“I know, I know. We’ll finish in the morning. We’ll have time while Jude and Marly are in makeup.” I sighed and looked around. Even if we worked through the night, I didn’t know if we could change this set enough to fit Leo’spersonality.
Helene didn’t wait for me to say it twice. She rushed for her bag near the door and was gone in moments. Jon shrugged and headed for the door, pausing when I didn’t follow him. “Aren’t youcoming?”
I stood there, still staring at the set. “I’ll be right behind you. Don’t worry, I’ll lockup.”
Jon, nodded, then was out the door as well. I crossed onto the set, circling the paddling bench. Would Leo ever use one of these? It was bulky, hard to move, and almost medieval in its design, colors aside. While Leo’s character was sophisticated. Worldly. This thing was anything but that. He enjoyed paddling, but he loved the assertion of Dominance… not the pain itself. I had approved the pieces individually, of course. But seeing them all together wasn’t working. “This is all wrong,” I said to myself, shaking myhead.
“What’s allwrong?”
Lucy. I looked up to find her standing inside the closed door of the soundstage. A stack of fabrics were draped over her slender arms, the tips of her painted fingernails peeking out from beneath the folds of satin andsilk.
I swallowed, gesturing to the paddling bench. “The whole room I think. But definitelythis.”
“What is that, anyway?” She scrunched her nose, crossing to me. “It looks like a workbench for a carpenter or something. Except… white.” My lungs tightened as she grew closer. She set the fabrics down on the table in the corner and her shoulder brushed mine as she dragged her fingertips across the white-paintedpine.
I closed my eyes, remembering her naked body beneath me. I could still taste her sweet honey on my tongue. Could still feel the way her little body writhed under the clenching hold I had on her hands. I could still feel the hammering of her nervous pulse as I slid inside her wet core the first time. Whatever this hold was that she had on me? I needed to breakit.
I needed to sever that cord that tethered us. We could still be BDSM partners. At least short term. But this heart fucking? That needed to stop. Making love was reserved for one woman only—Brie. And she was gone. Lightening doesn’t striketwice.
I can’t believe I told Lucy about Brie. Even though I only said one thing, one statement about her death—it was more than I had revealed to anyone other than Jude. I thought about Brie all the time. I just didn’t see the need to talk abouther.
Lucy was changing me. And I wasn’t so sure that it was for thebetter.
I needed tofuckfuck Lucy, not heart fuck her. Show hermyBDSM. The brutality and subsequent pleasure that comes from the recedingpain.
“Well,” I said, gripping her hips and pulling her behind the bench. “It’s a paddling bench. And I’d be happy to show you how to useit.”
“We’re still atwork.”
“We’re at work. But we’re notworking.”
