She’s tall, with the kind of legs I can easily picture squeezing around my waist and thighs, the kind that I’d want to get lost between. She fidgets with the end of the gray sweater hugging her br**sts and chews on her lip again. I’ve got an urge to drag her back to me and do both for her.
Pull her down with me on the floor and take her right here, right now, in this secluded little corridor.
“Can I have my panties back?” Sienna asks. “Please?” I chuckle, but extend my hand out to her.
Snatching the underwear to her chest, she takes a deep breath and tilts her head to one side so that her ponytail falls over her left shoulder. There’s so much shit that I should be worried about. My best friend and sister, whatever the f**k it is that Sinjin is wired up on today, my ex-wife who just sent her first text for the day—Call me now, Sam had written in all caps.
Yet I’m standing here, wanting to drag my hands through the tall redhead’s hair. Wanting her to say my name in that uncertain whisper as I wind my hands through it.
Sienna glances sideways at the wall, but I don’t drop my gaze. I can’t resist thinking about her this flushed after I’ve been inside of her. After a long moment, she takes a deep breath, glances up at me and says, “I’m sorry for running in to you.”
And though I don’t want this woman apologizing to me, I feel my dick respond to the plea in her voice. I shrug. “Shit happens.” I step aside, gesturing in the direction she was heading before she mowed me down. I need to get her away from me. For her sake, she needs to get the hell away from me. “I’ll let you get back to whatever the f**k it is you’re doing with . . . leather panties.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs. Even though she’s smiling as she brushes past me, her curves rubbing up against my body, I can hear her teeth softly clacking against each other.
“Don’t grind your teeth,” I order, each word more rough than the last.
I don’t expect her to listen. I expect her to keep walking, or even to turn around and tell me to go finger-blast myself. Instead, she turns to me slowly, her long hair swinging around her shoulders to tease the f**k out of me. Her lips part, teeth part and she whispers, “Yes . . . Mr. Wolfe.”
And that’s the precise moment when she’s no longer the wardrobe girl with the tight body who won’t be anything to me but a brief encounter within a few minutes. Sienna is the woman I’ll have tied to my bed and covered with sweat, rocking her, in the next couple days.
***
Two hours later Sienna is still on my mind, even as I lip synch about me being all over someone else, about me f**king a one night stand until she can’t stand up straight and then doing it again the next night and the night after that. As if to remind me of my task at hand, the blonde actress crawls slowly across the bed, making little moaning noises from the back of her throat. When she reaches me, she pulls her mouth up the front of my body, stopping at my zipper for an excruciating moment before coming to her knees and raking her hands across my chest. Just as discussed, I roll her over, straddling her, and lean my body down until my mouth is right next to the side of her face.
“You’re wasting your f**king time,” I say, my muscles tight, smile stiff. When I pull back slightly, she looks up at me with big, screw-me eyes, and hooks her leg around my waist.
“More feeling!” someone shouts to our right, and the blonde writhes beneath me.
When I go still, she murmurs, “What do you mean by that, Lucas?”
I look up at the camera closest to my face and give it a dark look before I coldly reply, “Meaning I’ve got no plan to take you home after we’re done here. Meaning that once I’m through with you today, I’ll never see you again.”
“I don’t think you mean that. I know all about you.”
She doesn’t know me from the camera guy, but when I push away from her and stalk off of the bed, she’s still giving me that look that would normally result in an hour of her bent over my dressing room couch and me pounding into her body until I release all my frustrations. Not today. Not when I’m still thinking of Red.
McBride, the same director who’s worked a dozen of my videos—throws his hands up in frustration. “What the f**k, Lucas?” he demands.
“I hate her costume. Send for me after she’s changed.”
One of McBride’s assistants is already speaking into an earpiece as I leave the set, so I’m not surprised when I skim past Sienna on my way out. She’s wearing that same frazzled expression from earlier, her face flushed and her hair flying behind her in a ponytail. I want to see it loose. I want to see every part of her unbound, as I bind her to me. She shifts, and I get a good look at what she’s holding—two hangers of lacy lingerie.
And she’s grinding her teeth. When our gazes snap together, and I feel that energy from earlier crack between the two of us like lightning, she pauses, stops working her teeth back and forth.
She’s the one I want in my dressing room with me.
Even though I personally don’t give a f**k about what brand of jeans and what tee shirt they make me wear in this goddamn video, I shout over my shoulder, “Send someone to go over wardrobe for the take tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
Sienna
Lucas Wolfe is staring me down again—that same gaze that undressed me, unraveled me, earlier. He doesn’t say anything to me directly, but I can feel his eyes following my every move, even as I take the change of costume to Amber, who’s talking to the director.