Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Fuck… The simple clack of his footsteps in the background stir life into my dick. Silvio’s familiar. Comforting. I know what’s coming. Literally. My nails dig impatiently into my palms as we ride the lift, eager to touch him.
I can’t wait.
“I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” I say into his neck as I pin him against the glass wall of the lift. I grab at his crotch, feel how excited he is. “So fucking hard.”
I can almost feel Silvio closing around me already. Just what I need to get my mind off long days, swollen eyes, and married electricians.
Pressure on my waist makes me jerk awake the next morning. The spasm disturbs the body next to me, and when Silvio hitches his leg further over my middle, I remember I didn’t fall asleep alone. Mmm. He feels nice. Smells good, too. I’ve missed company.
“Silv…” My eyes drift closed again while I say his name. Ow… My eye stings, like I’ve just rubbed sand under the lid.
Silvio doesn’t answer, so I speak a little firmer. “Hey, Silvio. We need to get up. I gotta get to work.”
A tired groan moves up his throat, then his leg moves down, knee rubbing over my dick.
Shit. Felt good.
“Want to go again before we leave?” he mumbles sleepily, his fingers wandering along my thigh before settling on my balls.
There really isn’t time. Yet…I’m suddenly on top of him, my lips on his, ignoring our morning breath and the fact one of my eyelids won’t open properly, while reaching for a condom. “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions, Silv…”
The production team plunges into chaos upon my arrival, making me wish I’d stayed in bed with Silvio. Apparently, I ‘ain’t even good for shootin’ a dead man layin’ face down’ according to Jerome. It’s a relatively mild-mannered response compared to his reaction twenty-minutes later, when the medic - a new member of the team who’s clearly green to our industry - tells him my eye should calm down in a couple of days.
“Couple of days? Couple of fuckin’ days! You got a couple million dollars to go with that couple o’ fuckin’ days to cover the cost of this studio, huh?”
The medic keeps his mouth shut, which is probably a wise choice.
Jerome shakes his head, slams a clipboard onto a table, and walks away muttering, “Couple of fucking days.”
“I’ll get you some drops,” I’m told by the medic once Jerome is out of earshot. We can still hear him, though. I think everybody this side of Europe can as the tempestuous AD barks orders at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his vicinity.
The medic looks nervous, his shoulders flinching with every yell that comes from Jerome’s direction.
“Dinnae worry yourself,” I tell him. “You dinnae need to be fluent in the phonetic alphabet to see he’s a Charlie Uniform November Tango. Good at his job, though. You’ll get used to it.”
He smiles awkwardly, as if he’s afraid to agree, as if I’m testing his loyalty. “It’s conjunctivitis, but I don’t think it’s reached the stage where it needs antibiotics. I think it’s been caused by an irritation. Maybe an eyelash, or your prosthetic. Either way, you’ll probably see a dramatic difference even by tomorrow.”
“Thanks a lot…sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Nick.”
“Nick,” I repeat with a smile. “Thank you, Nick.”
I haven’t been told to leave, so I make my way to my dressing room where I’ll hang around until I hear what the new plan is. Personally, I don’t think my eye is anything Anya can’t fix with her magic brushes. It was worse before I washed my face this morning, but now it’s just a little red. Tad puffy, perhaps, but nothing remarkable. Maybe Jerome will fish his head out of his arse soon, or Alexa will give him a dressing down. I’m sure we can rework the scenes, cheat the shots, play with angles. If only Jerome had a friend like Silvio. A good shag would unruffle the cranky old bastard.
To my surprise, the next knock on my door belongs to Andy and not a runner calling me through to wardrobe. I jump to my feet, throw my arms around him and receive the familiar whiff of stale tobacco. “Wasnae expecting you,” I say.
Pulling away, Andy says, “Yara’s away on another of her spa weekends. You know I get bored in that big house all by myself.”
“I know the feeling. Jerome’s banished me to the naughty step.”
Andy swipes invisible dust off the chaise on the other side of the room before taking a seat. “I heard. Have you been washing your hands, kid? You should never touch your eyes without—”
“Course I wash my bloody hands! Fuck sake, Andy.” I swear if I didn’t love this man like a father, he’d end up chewing my fist sometimes.
He raises his hands, surrenders. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know you’re off the naughty step.”