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“You know at first I didn’t think so either.” She pulls back, the heat in her eyes tempered with a dangerous tenderness. My dick is already impossibly stiff, pressing into the warm cove between her legs where she straddles me. “I’m not.” I keep my hands at her waist because if I touch her ass, it’s over. “You are so beautiful,” she says, leaning forward to rub her cheek against mine. Her fingers wander to my jaw, scraping through the bristly beginnings of my beard. I shudder, and she pauses smiling, repeating the simple caress. She scrapes the neat crescents of her nails over my ears. Stop.” She sets the bowls on the couch to our left and right, freeing her hands to reach back up and caress my nape, run her fingers over the coarse waves of hair I’ve let grow while we’ve been shooting. “I’ve dreamt of you touching me,” she says, her breath scented with apples and spice and want. I hold her in place and draw her close again, my hands palming the tight, slim line of her back, rolling from her shoulder blades past the delicate cage of her ribs to the dramatic indent from waist to hip. Every inch separating us is excruciating. She starts sliding off, but I can’t let her do that. “You think I’ll say you made me do it? I would never do that, Canon. “What does that have to do with it?” She pulls back, concern knitting her thick, sleek brows. I take a deep breath that brushes my chest against the generous curves of her breasts, the contact robbing my brain of thoughts for a second. “What would be a good idea?” she asks, so close now her lips skim the words over my mouth. The short skirt rides up as she spreads her thighs to bracket mine. “It’s not the best idea,” I say, my voice low, raspy, nearly unrecognizable.
She carefully climbs onto the couch, over my knees. To a life that, aside from the stories I tell, the movies I make, is pretty empty, too. I swallow deeply, wrestling with my own longings. “I want to kiss you,” she whispers over my lips.

Desire clouds the clear brown, long-lashed eyes that bore into mine.

We’re inches from the inevitable, and she’s the only one who could stop us now. Our noses touch and panting breaths wrestle between our lips. When she leans closer, aligning our faces, I don’t pull back or push her away. I’m ahead in this game and should cut my losses.

I’ve managed to keep the promise to myself.