Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
The words were out before I could stop them. “Do you want kids?”
He blinked. “Well, I’d like to have sex with you first, if I’m being honest. In fact, to have kids, we need to have sex.”
I slapped his chest, and he bent his head, nuzzling my neck. “Someday I want kids, Mila. With the right person. Someday I would like to lead a normal, healthy lifestyle without all this craziness,” he murmured in my ear. “Someday I want a home, a wife, and to know where I belong.”
I clutched at his shoulders and held him close. His words felt sad. Reflective. As if they were an unattainable dream for him.
“Why?” he whispered.
“I was wondering.”
“Can you tell me why you were wondering that question?”
“It was one of several I was thinking about.”
“You want to share the others?”
“Not right now.”
“Okay, Shortcake.” I felt his lips press against my temple. “When you’re ready, ask away.”
“Why is tomorrow a closed set?”
“Oh, ah…” He trailed off, then chuckled. “I can’t believe I have to say this to you. Tomorrow is the scene where Roxie and Duncan throw down in the garage. Amber always has as few people around as possible so we’re more comfortable.”
It was my turn to say it. “Oh, ah…right. I’ll stay away, then.”
He chuckled. “It’s part of the job, Mila. You wrote the scene. You should know it has to be filmed.”
“I guess I never thought of it on the screen. Or that I would know the man acting out that part.”
“Remember that word. Acting.”
“How do you do that?” I asked. “I mean, you’re almost naked and Lacey is so pretty and you kiss her. You don’t get, ah, turned on?”
He stepped back and cupped my face, kissing me. “I am usually too busy worrying that my modesty pouch will slip or how hot the lights are. Or if I remembered to eat a mint. Or worried she didn’t. Sometimes I’m so busy thinking about the choreography we practiced so it looks natural, I forget my lines and we have to do it again. Or she does. We rehearse this shit so much, trust me, Mila. There is nothing romantic about it. It’s a scene. We act. Neither of us enjoys it or gets cranked up over it.”
“Ah.”
“Now, if you were playing Roxie, we’d have a big problem.” He pulled me close, lifting me so I had to wrap my legs around him. His stare was dark and intense. He flexed his hips. “A big one, baby. I’d probably get so into the scene I’d fuck you raw, the way Duncan fucks Roxie. I wouldn’t be able to stop even if we were being watched.”
I whimpered and he bent, covering my mouth with his. He slid his tongue inside and kissed me deeply. Hard. Wet. Passionate. He kissed me until I was breathless. Until my chest was heaving, my body shaking, and I wanted him to show me how he would fuck me. I felt his cock pressed between us. His breathing was ragged, his voice raspy, and his hands clutched me possessively.
Then the gate opened, and we broke apart. He swam to the edge of the pool in the shadows, and I slid back to the deep end.
A staff member called out his greeting and filled up the towel rack, taking the empty basket with him.
Nick and I stared at each other across the water. “I should go and get some sleep,” he said, his sentence coming out more like a question.
“Yes, I guess so.”
There was no mistaking his disappointment. “What’s going on, Shortcake?” he asked. “Something spook you? MJ frighten you off?”
“No. I just know you have an early call.”
“I would happily give up the whole night for you.”
“I know.”
“Is it the fact that you’re headed home soon? The shine has faded from our illicit little meetings?”
“Don’t say that.”
He smiled and climbed from the pool, grabbing a towel and drying himself off. He pulled up his shorts and grabbed his shoes and shirt, draping the damp towel around his shoulders.
He stopped by the gate.
“You didn’t deny it, though.”
The click of the gate shutting behind him sounded like a gunshot.
Yet I didn’t stop him.
The next day seemed endless. I stayed away from the set, not wanting to watch the sex scene being filmed. Despite what Nick had said, the thought of watching him touch Lacey—even acting as though he was enjoying himself with her—was too overwhelming. I did more research on bipolar disorder, shocked to discover the high divorce rate when one of the partners had the condition. I read about genetics, noting some theories that the disorder was thought to be inherited from the mother. Another site stated it was believed bipolar disorder could skip a generation. I researched the differences between Bipolar I and Bipolar II. Many of them talked about how to deal with episodes, how the condition could trigger overly aggressive sexual appetites, deep depressions, angry outbursts, or, in the case of Bipolar II, the patient was almost euphoric, hardly requiring sleep, yet upbeat and energetic all the time. There were so many theories, thoughts, and interpretations. The information was vast, and after a while, I had to shut down my computer. It was overwhelming. The one definitive thing I found was there seemed to be varying degrees of how the disorder affected each individual. Some were high-functioning. Others suffered terribly. Medication, therapy, and support were all essential interventions.