It's an easy week. Too easy.

I work with Harkness on scenes with the Senator most days. Ali Evers earns his trust, discovers secret leads on the trafficking cartel he's working with, and, of course, falls even deeper in love with her broody, spank-happy billionaire foil.

But I haven't filmed the next parts with Luke yet. He's nowhere to be found around the studio, which should be a relief.

It isn't. Actually, his absence leaves me unsettled, and I can't for the life of me understand why.

The next scenes are going to be horrible, and I think we both know it. I've looked over the final script. He's due to strip me naked, haul me into bed, and take my virginity in the hottest scene the family friendly groups doing the film's ratings will allow.

It's worse than reliving what we had, and lost. In character, Miles Black is supposed to knock me up.

I should be relieved he's gone. But a restless part of me just wants to get on with it, get it the hell over, and move onto the final action scenes so we can do our wrap up, and never have to see each other again.

I'm coming home from coffee with my agent, Bebe, when I see the small manila folder slid under my door. Seeing his crabbed, familiar writing in a black pen hits me in the gut. There's no name on it, but I'd know his handwriting anywhere.

READ IT, the words scratched on the front say. My fingers tremble when I slit the edge with a knife. I catch myself, annoyed with my nerves, and slam the utensil on the counter.

Christ. It shouldn't be this bad. I'm shaking like a junkie who's just picked up her latest fix after swearing off a bad trip.

It's not such a terrible analogy. For me, Lucus Shaw is that bad trip. And whatever he's trying to say in this letter promises nothing but another walk through the seventh circle of emotional hell.

I could ignore it. Rip the thing up, throw it in the trash, and forget about it until we see each other again for our baby making torture on camera.

Yeah, and maybe I'll become stronger than a heavyweight boxer with special forces training tomorrow. Sighing, I pull out the contents. It's a single sheet, surprisingly.

Robbi,

You're killing me, and we have to talk. I know I walked out on you at the wine bar. I know I did wrong. I know you think I'm enjoying it every time we get naked, kiss, or pretend we're in love for the screen.

Guess what? Everything you know is fucking wrong.

We have to come to terms about the past. If we don't, somebody's going to walk from this film before it's done, and it'll probably be me.

I told you the first time we saw each other after our break you were strong. You've only proven it the last few weeks we've worked together. I'm man enough to say it. Admit you're maybe a little stronger than I am when we're out there on the set, living the lie the script says.

I know you've got your limits, though. Know you let your pain out privately, drain the wound when you're alone in the shower, fucking your fingers and screaming my name like you've missed me more than life itself.

I can't continue playing games, and neither can you. We have to get our shit together.

We met when you heard me asking my dead mother if she still bled for me, wherever she is.

Next time we meet, I want us bleeding together. Let it the fuck out. However angry, dark, and therapeutic it needs to be.

I'm taking my plane on a joy ride over Lake Michigan tomorrow evening. I hope you'll show up. There's no better way to re-connect and find your basic humanity than when you're freed from gravity. Let's talk.

Yours, L.

I'm done.

Done, done, done, done, and done with his crap. The paper crumples, tears, and screams in my hands with a noise like the world I've known coming apart.

I toss it across the room before I hold my hands over my face. Dramatic? Yes, and I don't fucking care.

I'm giving him another chance to make this right when the outcome couldn't be clearer. Letting him drag me into another heart-to-heart thousands of feet in the air will end in ruin for the plane or my emotions.

I'll do my job. I'll smile for the cameras and put my lips on his when I need to. Yes, I'll even rub my clit behind closed doors and howl his name through clenched teeth if that's what it takes to keep my sanity.

Luke won't break me. I'm not giving him the chance.

* * *

Okay, I lied. It's less than twenty-four hours later, and the chase is on.

I'm in my car, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white while I'm flooring it to the airport. The one thing that will make me feel like an even bigger fool than racing to see him against my better judgment is if he's already airborne.

The dream last night changed my mind. I re-lived the past. Woke up in a cold sweat, wide awake after seeing Luke next to me our first and only night together.

How gorgeous he was laying there, a rare smile on his lips, his strong arm around me. I laid there late in the morning, an hour after he'd fallen asleep, just listening to his heartbeat with my ear against his massive chest.

We'd made each other happy, once.

Why did it stop? Why, five years later, do we bring ourselves nothing except endless pain and frustration?

If the dream wasn't enough to make me re-think my visceral reaction to his letter, the questions are. They suffocate my heart because I can't answer them.

Maybe I'm about to make the second biggest mistake of my life, getting in his plane. But I'd rather land on solid ground again in a mess of tears than wonder without answers.

It takes half an hour to get through the airport, out to the private section of the tarmac he's given me. I'm over ten minutes off the takeoff time he listed. I don't know whether he's taken off yet or not.

At first, I don't recognize him standing next to the big silver jet. When the sunlight hits his eyes, turning ocean blue to sky, I'm not sure how I ever missed him.

He's breathtaking in pilot mode. His leather bombardier jacket hugs his wide shoulders, billowing softly in the breeze, just like the dark crop of hair framing his strong face.

My heart skips a beat, and I hate it. The dream last night has nothing on seeing Lucus Shaw in the flesh again when he's at his finest.

He's standing next to the plane, waiting past his takeoff time. If I didn't know better, I'd say he almost looks disappointed. He thinks he's delayed his flight in vain, waiting for a no show.

I hesitate, waiting for him to turn and start heading up the short staircase to the plane's cockpit before I shove the glass door open.

Last chance to back out with your ego intact. No, it's not even an option.

“Wait!” I call, running several yards, waving.

He turns around just in time. “Robbi?”

My smile vanishes about as quickly as the surprise on his face. The fact that I'm climbing up the stairs means it's really happening, and I'm not sure either of us expected it.

“Glad you could make it,” he says, stopping when we're both on the top step. “Even if you're so late I was two minutes from leaving without you.”

“I'm here to talk, Luke. Talk, just like you said in the letter. Don't pull anything that makes me regret it.”

It's only talk. A negotiation seeking an understanding.

It doesn't mean we're hunting second chances.

“Come on. I'll help you get strapped in,” he says, taking my hand and leading me inside. When he pushes the metal door shut and turns the heavy lock, it's just him and I, free from the rest of the world.

* * *

I've never been in a cockpit before. It's bigger than I expected, a small passenger plane with a cabin behind us, leather seats, a bar, and a very noticeable bed. Passion makes him fly the damned thing himself when he's rich enough to afford a pilot.

The décor is about as tacky as his personal style. Black designed to look textured like marble, gold flourishes cutting through the darkness, adding its color.

I'm in the co-pilot's seat, but there's nothing fancy about it. It's much closer quarters than I imagined. His hand brushes mine while he works the controls. The plane rolls smoothly down the runway, picks up speed, and brings us high into the sky.

I'm enjoying the ride so much while we rise I almost forget why I'm here. I remember as soon as he gives me his famous look, kissing the skies above Lake Michigan.

It's time, his eyes say, before he speaks. “You hate me for what happened, and you should.”

Ouch. So much for easing into it. I clear my throat, taking an extra second to think before I ruin the wild blue yonder up here with a shit storm.

“Luke, it's not like that. I don't know if I hate you. There were times when I was sure I did. But if I really hated you, deep down, we wouldn't be taking this flight. I wouldn't be doing this movie.”

“Five years to sort it out, and you still don't know?” He sounds incredulous.

“It's not like we had sex scenes the whole time to figure it out! We kept our distance. We forgot. Before this movie, forgetting was just fine. Wounds healed and formed scars. Ideally, I'd have kept it that way.”

“I ripped them open, didn't I?” He puts his hands on the yoke in front of him, slowly executing a turn. I look down, avoiding his eyes, watching the sunlight glisten on the lake below. “Believe me, babe, I know how it feels. There are a few things you tore to hell, too.”

“Me?” It comes out harsher than it should. God, if he's brought me up here to dump the blame on my head, I swear I'm going to use his skin as a parachute. “Like what?”

“Discipline. Control. Sanity. I'm losing them one-by-one every day we're on the set, Robbi. You've got me so hot and bothered I should be a steamed fucking clam. I told you in the letter, someone's going to walk if we can't get the tension in check. We need to keep it professional if we're finishing this film.”

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Sensitive. I'm sorry I got you so twisted up you went peeping tom on my dressing room the other day.”

His smirk is showing. I think I'm about to prove to the F.A.A. spontaneous human combustion can bring down a plane. “Technically, it's not peeping if I only used my ears. I never set foot in your room once, Robbi.”

“Technically, I think you're a huge asshole. You're not helping anything. Why are we even here?”

He doesn't say anything. Then he reaches for one of the levers on the plane, pulls it hard, and sends us careening toward the spotty clouds covering the sparkling water.

I'm screaming. “Are you out of your mind?!”

The plane turns. I'm not sure why the sky looks so different until I realize we're upside-fucking-down.

“Why are we here, Robbi?” he asks, repeating my question with an eerie calm. “Because I'm done playing games. I'm done pretending there isn't this insane love-hate spark between us that's more exasperating than this stupid trick I learned at an air show will ever be. I'm sick – sick to my gut – acting all the damned time, even when I'm not reading off a script. I can't stand not knowing what's real, where our character's lines end and the truth between us begins.”

I'm hyperventilating. His heavy hand comes down on my arm and squeezes. Then he moves it down along my forearm, pushing his fingers through mine. “Open your eyes,” he says.

I do, and everything is right with the world. The sky is where it should be, and so is the water. Now that my life isn't flashing before my eyes anymore, I'm pissed.

“Asshole, why?” I say, tightening the grip I have on his hand, digging my fingernails into his palm so hard I hope they cut.

“Because I want you mad. Anger means honesty. Every time we sit down and try to sort this out, we end up papering over it until it all boils over next time. We both walk away in a rage, and that can't continue. It's not doing us any favors. Up here, there's no walking away.”

That's it. I'm trapped in the sky with a manipulative lunatic. I hate how he's right, even when his sanity is questionable. I shove his hand away, balling my hands together on my lap. Fine, I'll play along because there's nothing else that'll make him land this stupid plane.

“Okay, okay. You want mad?” My fists clench, digging into my thighs. “I'm tired of being jerked around after what you and your fucked up family did to mine, Lucus. What your father did to my mom, it wasn't your fault, but you let it ruin us. You walked away. You decided I wasn't good enough, or I was too much trouble after you'd had your fun. You tossed me away. How the fuck am I supposed to ever get over it? I mean, really? Especially when I have to re-live the best of us acting in this stupid movie?”

When my voice dies and the echo stops, I realize I'm shouting. Good God.

It's outrageous what he does to me. No man should call to my baser senses, slip beneath my skin, and stir rage and want in equal measure. No man should throw them together, amuse himself with the chemical reactions I can't hide storming in my blood.

I tell myself I'm not his toy. I'm not here for his amusement. I wish I knew why I decided to take him up on this stupid offer.

“I tried to protect you, Robbi. Pushed you away because you deserved better than being tied down to the fucked up drama.” He speaks slowly, his eerie calm holding. “Hurt like hell, if you want to know the truth. So did confronting my old man. I went to him as soon as we got off the phone. I was ready to kill him if he really did what your mom said.”

I don't even know what to say to that. My eyes study him, trying to figure out what he's after, but I think I'm actually getting the truth. Can I handle it?

“My father was no saint. I'm not defending his bullshit. The man drank himself stupid, he went through women like expensive scotch, and he almost wrote off our whole family fortune to a huge gold digger before he left this planet. But he told me he never blackmailed her, never forced Ericka into doing those things. He said she came willingly. There was no arrangement he trapped her in.”

There it is. The biggest question of my life, reaching up and slapping me across the face. I want to rush to my mom's defense, but remembering how dad reacted, refusing to speak to her after the divorce, leaves just enough doubt.

“That's crap!” I'm shaking when I spit it out. “You can't tell me it's that easy, believing what he said after all these years? You said it yourself – the man was nuts. Both our fathers were. Both unreliable.”

Luke doesn't say anything for about a minute. “I don't know what to believe. I just regret the damage it's done. Whatever happened between our folks, we're the ones who suffered.”

I'm about to sink my teeth into him again, but the bastard has a point. “So? It's not like it could've gone down any other way. There's no coming back from everything that happened. We suffered for them, sure, and they hurt us both. But you're the one who ruined us. You let me go for good.”

“Did I?” he says, pausing just long enough to roil my thoughts. “I let you go, true, which was a huge fucking mistake. Nobody ever told me it was for good.”

“No!” I say it so quickly I almost bite my tongue. “No, Luke. This isn't happening again. It's impossible. We're done. No mending fences.”

“If you're so sure it's impossible, then you're right to ask why we're wasting our time sailing the skies. I might as well turn this thing around and take us down. I'm better off hashing out how I'll tell Pierce to find a replacement for Mr. Black.”

My heart catches in my throat. He can't be serious about quitting...can he? “Come on. This shouldn't mess with your career, or mine. You're right about one thing – we don't need to be enemies.”

I don't know why, but thinking about getting naked for a new actor playing Miles fills me with dread. Much more than the fear welling up when I think about doing those scenes with the man next to me.

“I'm a Shaw, Robbi. You're forgetting I've got the greatest consolation prize in the world if I walk. I blow my chance at fame, at art, at anything, I'm still living out the rest of my days as a no name billionaire. That's nothing to whine about. It also gives me a whole hell of a lot of freedom.”

“No. It isn't fair. Money or not, you've worked just as hard as me to get here. These chances only come up once in a lifetime if you blow them. You know how unforgiving this industry can be. Besides, our faces are already showing up all over the place. If you quit, we'll have half a million of Frieze's fanatics beating down the studio doors tomorrow. You're their Miles. They love you.”

“I'd rather face a mob of angry women than more shit between you and me. I know how to deal with pissing people off. Rarely did anything else growing up. Fixing deep hurt, putting a muzzle on this desire we're pretending doesn't exist...that's a hell of a lot more complicated. Where the fuck do I begin?”

Damn you, I think. I'm softening the longer I stare at his tragic face. He's trying so hard to keep it in, to betray nothing, but the mask of calm he's wearing tells too much. “By knowing this helped.”

He looks at me intently. “What do you mean?”

“This talk. It felt...good, I guess, to let it all out. We don't have to hate each other or die inside every time Pierce tells us to perform some new torture. I can't deny there's a part of me that's still attracted to you, Luke.” I pause, knowing full well I'm risking inflating his ego bigger than it already is. “But I can deal with that. It's the other tension surrounding the past that's so fucking difficult, but believe it or not, I think we've made some progress today. I understand where you're coming from, and maybe you get me a little better, too.”

He smiles, pulling the shades down over his eyes. “You're right. If we keep this up, we'll get by without more awkward moments where I hear what you do in the shower.

My cheeks burn. “Can we please stop talking about that?”

“Sure. I'd much rather find out what's real, anyway, if I'm going to be honest.” He takes us lower, around the Chicago skyline's edge. I see the Shaw Glass Tower below, the one Hayden owns, another landmark in the city's imperial majesty.

“What do you mean, what's real?” I ask. “You're so vague.”

“Don't worry about it, little bird. We figured ourselves out a long time ago, when we had something. By the time this movie's done, I think we'll do it again. We'll both walk away wiser when we find out where we really stand.” Hearing him use the old nickname makes tears nip at the corners of my eyes, and they're not all sad ones.

“Luke, what are you talking about? Where we stand on what?” I turn away, suppressing the outburst, looking out over the place that's promising me a second chance.

“Everything,” he says. “Everything that matters.”

Second chances. If that's what he's offering in his own cryptic way, then I've got a lot of thinking to do.

* * *

Later, at my apartment, I'm decompressing from the fucked up flight.

I left the ground convinced I hated his guts. Now...I'm not sure what I believe.

It doesn't get any easier when my phone lights up while I'm drifting off on the couch, thoroughly exhausted after today's insanity. It's mom. I almost let it go to voicemail before I take the call at the last second.

We had a quick late night dinner at a place downtown the other evening. She said she was going to get around to checking out the promos for the movie this week. I guess she's calling to give me her opinion. Part of me is actually curious what she thinks.

“Robin, what the hell do you think you're doing?” Her voice is hurt. Angry, and trying not to show it.

So much for sleep. “What's wrong?” I say, a weight in my stomach telling me I already know.

“I saw the posters. The trailer today. God. Lucus Shaw, baby? Have you lost your mind?”

Shit. Panic takes the floor out under me. I scoot to the edge of the couch and double over slightly, trying to clear my head, come up with answers I don't have myself.

“It's purely professional,” I say weakly. “Look, when I took the part, I didn't know he'd been cast to play Miles Black. He's been...okay to me. So far.”

At least if I can call 'okay' being lifted above Lake Michigan for a brutal self reflection.

“It's too late to turn back anyway, mom. We're almost halfway through.” I sniff, trying not to let my nerves weaken me. She's staying eerily silent on the other end. “I can't back out without ruining my career.”

“I want to talk to your agent,” she says, shifting into the no nonsense tone I heard as a little girl.

“Excuse me?”

“Bebe, isn't it? Put her on the phone. I'm getting you out of this. I don't care how much time or money it takes.”

“No, you're not,” I say, standing as anger's heats my blood. “I'm not a kid anymore, mom. You don't have to tell me for the millionth time about all the evil things that went down between you and Frank Shaw.”

“You think this is about that evil bastard and me? Like I don't remember how I pulled you away from him the day we left that horrible house? I know you two had sex.”

Even after all these years, lying about the obvious, the shameful truth heats my face. Burns it hotter than ever because sex with him has been on my mind more than it should be.

“That's all in the past, mom. You don't have to come running to protect me. I'm a grown woman. I know what I'm doing in my industry. There's no way I'm ever letting Luke do anything you'd have to worry –“

“The past is the present if you're telling me you're not stepping down. Every day you're with him, you're in danger, honey. Has he touched you? How many head games has he already played?” She's frantic.

A sickening knot pulls tight in my stomach. I regret what happened in the plane today, when I almost decided to shake the past. Whenever I hear mom's voice, I'm reminded what kind of evil stamp the Shaws left on our lives, a monstrous shadow she'll never get to leave.

“It's kind of a romance film,” I say, downplaying the erotic part. “Obviously, there's physical contact. We work off the script. We're professionals. I never let him do anything that isn't written down. Our director, Pierce, has the highest standards. He'd never allow any funny business either, mom.” The last part is a lie – probably. But I don't know what else to say to win her trust.

“I don't care about his damned standards, Robbi. What about mine? I want you out of this, before it's too late. There just has to be another way you can make your mark in Hollywood.”

I pause, trying and failing to find words to make her understand, that won't piss her off. There are none. “Well, there isn't, mom. I'm finishing what I've started. I'm not backing down because we're supposed to consider every minute with a Shaw a dance with the devil. I'll wrap up my scenes with Luke, see him at the award ceremonies if we're that lucky, and never deal with him again. Easy.”

“Easy?” She pauses, sniffing back what have to be angry tears. Way to make me feel guiltier. “Easy was how your father and I had it before we ever took jobs with the Shaws. I'm telling you, that place was cursed. Not with black magic, but with human evil I've tried my entire life to keep away from you.”

She pauses. I should take advantage of the gap in the conversation to reassure her, tell her the past isn't repeating itself, but I have no proof.

I have no fucking proof...do I? For all I know, Luke could be setting me up for my next great fall, especially if he's even half as bad as his father.

“Keep working with him, then. Don't listen to me. I'll let you get burned, Robin Marie, and if you continue on with a man like him, you absolutely will.”

The phone clicks dead. I throw it on the couch, crashing down on the opposite side with my face in my hands.

There's no winning this. No understanding it. No truce, and no peace.

Every time I've found my escape from being hopelessly fucked, I'm hurled back into the same battlefield. Caught between the love, the hate, and the man who leaves me a broken mess over ninety percent of the times we interact.

I don't know when the stalemate will ever end, but it has to be soon.

* * *

“I never should've sent you alone, Ali. I'm going to kill him.” Miles Black scoops me up in his strong, heavily inked arms. His fingers gingerly touch the fake bruises and scratches on my skin, injuries my character sustained running from Senator Bluhd's guards with the files from his office.

“I never should've sent you alone,” he says again.

“I had to,” I say tearfully. “Please, sir, don't blame yourself.”

He stops just before we're in the bathroom with the massive windows overlooking the summer beauty outside. His eyes bore into mine, but it's not a fictional billionaire looking at me. It's the real one, the man I loved. “Miles. No more of that sir and sado crap tonight. I'm cleaning you up, baby, and then we're making love. What you've deserved from the start.”

No, not Miles Black, but Luke. There's a heart wrenching note to his tone far greater than the script calls for. For a second, I'm worried Pierce is going to butt in, and make us re-do it.

It's like I can feel his inner anguish as he carries me into the bathroom, unclasps my robe, and guides me gently into the shower. My face heats against the wall. I'm grateful Ali doesn't have to watch him undress because I think right now I'd blow it.

I don't look at him until he steps into the shower, naked with me, reaching to turn the nozzle while his other arm goes around me. “This ends here. No more pulling you into my world, my danger, my pain. You're not my secretary anymore, Ali. You were never meant to be my spy. You're going to be my wife and the mother of our children.”

The shower hisses to life. I'm not sure whether my heart or my pussy melt faster as I lean into him, hazy warmth flowing around him, brushing his rock hard cock with my ass.

Of course, we're both wearing skin-tinted body shorts from the waist down. But it leaves nothing to the imagination when he comes in close, moving his hardness against me, grabbing the silk cloth off the little hook next to us.

He washes me while the shower beats down on our skin like frothy tears. Thank God, too, because I can't hold in all the emotion. It slips out through the cracks in my heart, beckoned by this stupid scene that means more than Pierce will ever know.

The shower's steady beat hides my real tears. The soft growl spilling from his throat hides the moan that leaves my lips when they open, excitement and sadness oozing out of me in equal measure.

His hand lays the washcloth against my thigh. He glides it around slowly, moving his fingers between my legs, pushing against the fabric the CGI will touch to naked glory later.

There's no need for him to use as much pressure as he does. No professional reason, I should say. The desire, the touch, the possessive flick of his strength...that's all Lucus Shaw, and I'm ashamed to say I love it.

I want to turn around and kiss him right now. But the script says Ali is too tired for that, too broken after escaping her near beating from the guards. I'm also scared for what's coming next, when he's done cleaning me.

Luke's hand keeps moving. His touch is electric, fierce, so damned real I don't have to fake anything when the shower's beat grows to a shrill crescendo in my ears.

I'm coming on his hands through my panties. He's loving it, devouring me a little more at a time as my breath comes out in desperate huffs, jaw clenched tight, trying not to cry out his name and ruin the entire scene.

When the hot, swift fire sweeping through me recedes, I flatten myself against the wall, trembling a little more than I should for the scene. Luke turns off the water. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he leads me gently through the opening in the thick glass door, wrapping me in a towel as he wipes the last water droplets from my face.

“God, you're beautiful.” He says his line, but it's so much more than words crafted by a dialogue editor.

It's honest, heartfelt, and no, his eyes don't lie. Neither do his fingers when they sweep over me again, more softly than before, tucking my wet hair back against my head. Then his face moves in.

My eyes go wide because he's not supposed to do this. There's no kiss written into this scene, and I don't know why the hell he's risking going off script. Oh, crap. He wants us to do it again, doesn't he?

I'm frozen. There's no room to do anything except play along. If the improv with his needy lips doesn't completely offend Pierce's perfectionism, then throwing a fit over it certainly will.

I kiss him as Robbi. Not Ali. Slinging my arm around his neck, pulling him in closer, sharing a beautiful moment that's either going to get us praised or yelled at.

When he breaks away, his eyes glow the same way they do when he smirks. Amazingly, Pierce hasn't screamed at us yet. The cameras keep rolling. I'm smiling, and not because I have to, when he lifts me into his arms, carrying my naked body to the huge bed just outside his master bathroom.

He never breaks eye contact as he lays me down. I don't realize how hard I'm breathing until my breasts go plush against his chest. Both my aching nipples sizzle when they touch his skin, willing slaves to the screaming falcon inked on his breast.

“Is this what you want, baby girl?”

Ali, I try to tell him subliminally, knowing he's going off script again. You were supposed to say Ali.

I don't know what's real anymore. A hundred death defying drops in his plane won't tell me, won't tell either of us, more than his kiss.

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice shaking as I mouth Ali's lines. “I want it all, Miles. Give me a baby.”

Give me the children you promised years ago, Luke.

I'm begging. Shamefully, relentlessly, openly begging him in my touch, my kiss, my every caress.

I keep waiting for Pierce to scream 'cut' through his megaphone any second now. Especially when Luke's hand drifts between my legs while he's taking my bottom lip with his teeth, pulling my mouth open for his tongue.

None of this is in the script. We're playing with the most exquisite fire possible.

His fingers go down, dipping into my panties, and pull. He shifts his legs, making sure his body blocks what's really happening. My bare, wet pussy rubs his cock through a single thin layer of fabric when his hips roll forward. He makes me feel his ridge, his hardness, his furious desire racing through every insatiable inch of him.

“Fuck me,” I moan, a silent whisper I'm praying the cameras can't see.

My hips betray me for the final time, lifting up, grinding into him. My eyes shut before the hot red flush taking over my body swarms through my blood.

I fake another orgasm on his thrusting hips, just like the script calls for, but barely. If it wasn't for the last razor-thin layer of his underwear between us, he'd be inside me, and then I'd be coming on him for real.

The cameras wouldn't stop us.

Neither would the pain. Or the past. Or my mother's horror. Not even my own fucking shame.

He watches me intently as I fake my O. His forehead presses mine, and he's growling. Probably because he knows I haven't given it up for real.

His cock rubs violently against my pussy, dry humping me into submission. Sex is taking over. I can't remember what's supposed to be in the script anymore as he takes my hands, throws them above my head, and pins them down.

“Come for me, babe,” he whispers, lowering his voice just enough for the part that comes next. “I said come, little bird. Do it. Right. Fucking. Now.”

My heart might be drowning in a moral dilemma I'll never resolve. But my body hears his command perfectly, and it obeys without question.

My pussy convulses. He grinds his cock into my clit so hard it lifts me off the bed, my arms slung over his neck, legs locked onto his. I'm rocking, losing, surrendering to his latest gift of white hot ecstasy.

The last thing I see before the pleasure becomes blinding is Luke's intense eyes burying me alive. He stares down, all love and blue fire, his pupils pinpricks because he's struggling to hold back his own release.

My fingernails dig into his skin. My whimper becomes a scream. There's no fade to black, just white hot lust hurling colorful stars across my field of vision. I'm swallowed up in the thunder booming in his throat, the soft, crisp creak of the bed beneath us, my own sweat becoming lava as it runs down my skin.

He'll kill me, this man. That is, if there's anything left to kill and destroy after coming like this on the set, in front of the voyeuristic cameras, and then for a billion people if this scene makes it to the final cut.

Could I be the first mainstream actress to win an award for best orgasm?

His breath brings me home to earth, and so does another sound. It's Pierce, coming toward the bed, saying something I can't fully make out yet. Luke runs his fingers through my slick blonde hair one more time as he rears up, rolling off the bed and sitting to hide his erection. He throws a sheet over my legs just in time to hide the swollen mess between my legs. My thigh brushes the wet spot I've left on the sheets.

“My God, boys and girls. Haven't seen passion like that on this set since I did Make Me, Woman.” He extends a hand.

Luke takes it, smiles, and sucks in a deep breath before he answers. He still hasn't replenished his oxygen. “We've been practicing in our off hours. Seriously an honor, Mr. Rogan. I'm aware I took some liberties that weren't in the script –“

“Lucus, you shined. Take all the creative license you want when we get to the final sex scene at the end of the film, if you'd like, as long as you leave the story to me.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way. Robbi?” He turns, reaching for my hand to give it a squeeze, urging me to say something.

I hate having to remember how to form words after the most savage, orgasmic loving of my life. “I gave it my best. I'm glad it paid off.”

Pierce grins. “Lovely lady, there's going to be a whole new category at the awards for best sex scene by the time we're through.”

My stomach crawls into itself a little. I'd honestly much rather be remembered for something else.

Good motivation, at least. The big finale is coming up, where Miles takes down the Senator, exposes his human trafficking to the world, and rescues me once more. Mustering the same passion in the action scenes as the sort I've just had between the sheets shouldn't be hard – especially with Luke by my side, looking at me the way he is now, one eyebrow askew as he waits for me to crawl naked from the sheets.

I wait for Pierce to disappear before I make sure my panties are pulled up. Then I slink away, stopping near the hallway as a whole new ache begins between my legs. Luke stands, moving to the side, waiting with his eyes on me while the production crew swoops in to clean up the set.

My teeth pluck my lower lip. I wonder if it's time to breach the last boundary between us. His look makes the decision, every part of me tingling as his gaze traces my curves, starting at my legs and moving over my bare breasts, across my neck, along my cheek.

I can't stop my fingers shaking when I lift my hand, fist forward, beckoning him with a single finger. Come to me already, you irresistible bastard. Make me come undone. No more cat and mouse.

He almost pushes several men out of the way as he makes a straight line for me. There's no cat in his stern footsteps, but a falcon swooping in on its prey, hungry and determined.

When he reaches me, he grabs my hand with a jerk so tense it drops my jaw. “Your room, or mine?” he growls.

“There's less crap on your dresser,” I say, knowing how much makeup, lotion, and empty water bottles are all over mine.

“Who said I'd need a horizontal surface? If you're lucky, I won't fuck you through the nearest wall when I spank your clit with my balls for teasing me on set.”

Holy shit. “Um, me, teasing? Like you're not the one who started this?”

“Like your nipples haven't been calling to my mouth from the second I ripped open your robe?” He reaches up, grabs my breast. I'm almost jumping out of my skin, swatting at his hand. “Luke! Not here. People.”

“Fine. Let's do it your way. One crappy studio wall between us and the world, and it will be rocking.”

I'm smiling, doing my damnedest not to blush as he leads me out, unsure whose skin feels hotter to the touch. This is about how much he compromises, and as much as my body will tolerate.

I'm in heat. I'd never admit it and inflate his ego more, but if he wasn't leading me away, I'd be leaping in his arms, without even caring who sees us.

* * *

He isn't kidding about the wall.

As soon as we're in his room and the door slams shut, Luke hoists me up, backs me into the nearest corner, and kisses me into submission.

Those lips...holy shit. Even after all these years and so little experience cut short, he knows me.

He knows my body, reads it, and reminds me who it's always belonged to.

His kiss comes sultry when it should, rough when it needs to, and always, always hard. His teeth, his tongue, his entire mouth owns mine, while his thick hands slide down my body. Who knew foreplay could be equal parts torture and delight?

I want him in me. Hell, I need it.

My hand reaches between his legs, tugs on his boxers, and I swear there's fire beaming out my eyes when they lock on his. “Fuck me, Luke. Now.”

He smiles, moves his hand between my legs, and slips his fingers into my panties. Lightning zips through me when he brushes my clit, cups my sopping wet pussy, bringing the touch I've craved for years.

“You think I've waited all this time to hear those words, and let you give the orders?” He kisses my neck, teasing and furious, working his way down.

I'm about to tell him he can walk the hell out if he isn't going to get inside me in the next sixty seconds. But then his mouth pulls my nipple into it, clenches down with his teeth, and I can't think about my pride at all.

If these are second chances, count me in.

If it means more steaming kisses, more of his body pressed against mine, more of those aggressive hands owning every inch of me, then I'm done fighting.

I arch my back, pushing my hips into him as he sinks down. When he spreads my legs, he looks up with a you are in fucking trouble intensity causing muscles I didn't know I had to tense in anticipation.

“Ride my tongue, babe. Show me how bad you missed it the last five years if you want me inside you tonight.”

He's as crazy as this ultimatum. But there's nothing insane about how I melt into him when he flicks his tongue through my folds, pushing my legs apart with his huge arms. He buries his face, tasting me like a starving man, smothering my clit in desperate licks calling to my thighs.

They quiver. They clench. They take the rest of me down with them when release comes embarrassingly fast.

I'm coming on this gorgeous asshole's face for the first time in half a decade.

Did I say asshole? No, angel. I'm not sure how they're different anymore.

I tip my face to the ceiling, push my desperate hands into the walls for support, and scream.

It's all coming out. The hate, the pain, the loss, and the sorrow. The urge to get it right this time, to love him the way we should've loved before.

Mostly, the animal need to have him rise up, slam his hips into mine, and hate fuck me into next year. Going off script lit a fire that isn't dying anytime soon. Not before I take every seething inch of him, skin-to-skin, and bring him off deep inside me.

Ali's the one with baby fever, according to the movie's plot. He doesn't know I've got it for real, a hundred times worse, and the pulse between my legs throbs with wicked intent every time I think about leaking his come.

“Fuck me, Luke,” I whimper. “Please!”

He comes up wearing a full smile. I taste my cream on his next kiss, and he delights in it. “Just like old times. How the hell did we survive without this?”

His full, naked hardness rubs against my slit. He pivots, pushing it between my swollen lips, rubbing his tip so close to my entrance I'll cry if he's not in me in the next twenty seconds.

His hand comes up, cups my cheek, and his eyes drink in my torture. “There are two nights I'll always remember, Robbi. One was when I took your cherry all those years ago. The other's tonight, when we start fucking like we're meant to.”

“Please,” I whisper again, the only word I'm able to form in my fuck-me-or-fuck-you state.

“You're on the pill or something?” he asks, a question he really should have brought up earlier.

I nod. “Good girl,” he says. It's a phrase Miles says a lot throughout the film during the bondage scenes, but it's all too fitting here.

His hips fall back, and then they come forward, colliding with mine. It's not a moan coming out of me when he's finally in.

More like a whimper running on pure adrenaline, years of deprivation obliterated in one thrust.

Luke fucks into me with a manic energy. It's a friction I've missed, nasty and real, his hips pummeling mine so hard every time my butt slams into the wall.

It's sex, no holds barred. My legs shift open wider. His hands wander, lower down my sides, until his fingers dig into my ass so hard it's bound to leave bruises.

I do my fair share of damage, too. My fingernails scratch, raking his arms, needling the wild ink stamped on him like a warning.

Consider every last warning ignored, now that we're skin-on-skin. His eyes drill into mine, and I meet his gaze, holding my eyes open when pleasure tries to force them shut.

“Harder,” I pant. Yes, I'm aware I'm asking for fire, but it's been so cold for so fucking long, I don't even care.

Luke brings one hand up, grabbing me by the throat. He holds it there gently, just like our very first night, a reminder he's always been savior and destroyer in equal measure.

It takes my pussy several minutes just to get used to accommodating his big cock again. It's been years since a man stretched me like this. But my cunt opens willingly, more every time he thrusts his passion to the hilt, taking the hot pink flesh that's always been his, and his alone.

Fucking other men after him did nothing except teach me disappointment. Now, my master is back. The man who's always owned my body, down to the chemical level.

This isn't Ali running her lines, spitting make believe phrases like master, sir, or please. It's me, Robin, and everything we're doing is real.

The walls shake when he picks up speed, bringing his hips into me faster. He's grunting when his forehead touches mine, warm with a sheen of sweat. We're fucking eye-to-eye, and if the friction sending my pussy into flames doesn't send me over the edge alone, his look does.

“Come for me, babe,” he says, his eyes growing brighter blue with every word. “Come. Need you to remember what it's like to be sore.”

I'm drowning in his dense blue gaze when my eyes start rolling, and then I'm seeing nothing but stars. My pussy hugs his bare cock so tight I think I'm going to pass out. Orgasm carries me to heaven, and he fucks me straight through it.

It's a machine sculpted like a man doing the fucking, hammering his cock into me, and I'm his willing receptacle. My fingers clench his shoulders for dear life, and I realize I'm screaming halfway through it.

“Oh, Luke – fuck!”

He silences me with another kiss, growling his pleasure into my mouth. It's the only time his cock slows when I'm coming down from the bliss, trying to find my balance again, ready to take his thrusts as long as necessary before he goes crashing over with me.

“There's my little bird,” he says through several thrusts. I'm in a half-moan when he pulls out of me, and I think I give him the most hateful look of my life. He smiles. “Now that you've found your wings again, I want to take you straight into the storm. Turn around, and put your hands over your head.”

I don't hesitate more than a second before I obey. One O alone won't satisfy the rampant itch deep inside me. I think I'd do the unspeakable right now to have him back inside me, finishing what we've begun.

Luke takes my wrists in one hand as soon as they're over my head, holding them together in his iron grip. His cock's head flicks against my pussy lips before he shoves it in, making me gasp.

“One,” he rumbles, right before his hand crashes against my ass.

I whimper, jerk, and flatten myself against the wall. It's sudden, unexpected, and stings like hell. But damn if it doesn't make my pussy burn hotter when he pins me down, grinding his cock into me, blowing warm breath against my neck to complete the full body burn he's intent on bringing.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, while I can still get it out, before pleasure makes it impossible.

“I had your sweet little ass owned on the set. Now I want it off the clock, Robbi. I want it for real. Want to fuck and spank you so hard the last five years without me are nothing but a bad memory.”

He's a bastard, using a bastard's logic. An irrational spark runs through my blood when I wonder how many times I'll come while his palm cracks across my ass.

Yes, I'm a slut for his crude, threatening style.

I was his virgin once, wasn't I? Hard to believe I'm becoming his willing whore, one violent O at a time.

I'm ready now, I tell myself. Do your worst, Lucus Shaw.

Sex can't fix everything that went haywire. I'm not even sure it's fixing it now, even though I'm enjoying the hell out of having him inside me, his abs crashing into my ass, every merciless thrust carrying me a little closer to completion, closer to him giving it up.

“Two.” It comes out between his teeth in an angry rush. His palm crashes down across my right cheek, and he wastes no time moving to the left, tanning both with the same sharp force. “Three! How you holding up, baby girl? You high on it yet?”

High? I don't know where the fuck I am. I'm leaving my body and then some, drifting into a new kind of ecstasy at a frightening pace. My hips just know they need more. So they tilt back into him while I push my hands against the wall.

“God. Don't. Stop.” I whisper the three words I manage to get out, wondering if he can hear them.

The wall shakes more with our thrusts, harder because I'm leaning into it. These cheap dividers thrown up by the studio really are crap. I have a flash of the embarrassment we'll never live down if the entire thing caves in while we're naked like this.

But when he brings the fourth strike down on my ass, I don't care if our sex gets broadcast to the entire world. “Shit, yes!”

I'm screaming. I'm on the verge. Blood roars so thick and hot through my ears I don't even hear it when he yells out four!

“With me this time,” I whimper, closing my eyes as his cock slows its thrusts to a delicious grind. “Please, Luke. With me.”

“I've never seen a woman jonesing so hard for my come. You'd better not be fucking around,” he says, fisting my hair into a ponytail, pulling it tight so my ear comes to his lips. “I'm coming soon, Robbi, whenever you give me another O. If you think I was playing back there on the set, pretending I wanted to give Ali a baby, think again. One of these days, I will knock you up, and you'll beg for it.”

My ovaries blaze so numb with heat I can't feel them anymore. “Please!” I'm begging, and it's far more crazed than anything Pierce or Isabella Frieze ever wrote for Bare.

I'm not going to get more specific. I'll let him read the notes in my plea when I start to chant it, until he fucks me so hard I can't.

“Please, please, please, Luke. Please.”

My ass shifts into him, my pussy more desperate by the second, eager to wring every drop of magma hot seed from his balls. The asshole never gives up control.

He slows his strokes, just enough to bring me to the edge, leaving my legs a shaking mess. I'm too deep in the zone to even squeak another plea.

“Robbi?” He pulls my face to his by the hair, breathing heavy. “Before we come together, there's something you forgot.”

I remember just as his palm sweeps over my ass, shattering the calm on both cheeks. Five.

Five strokes of lightning for five years apart.

And then a dozen thrusts, his cock digging into me so hard it lifts me up, slams me into the wall, and carries me to paradise.

Coming! Sweet surrender, down to my soul. Every part of me comes swiftly, comes hard, comes apart on his take-no-prisoners thrusts.

My pussy takes every stroke he gives, coiling tighter around his length harder every time, leaving me breathless. Muscles turn to stone, spasm, and find their delicious release. The fierce blows he delivered hurt at the time, but now they've brought me something else.

A warmth surrounds me. It's like my whole body glows as I sink in scalding ecstasy, lost in him, this time, never coming back.

I'm not alone in my rapture. A second later, Luke tenses, throws himself into me one more time, and holds his cock deep in my twitching walls as he swells. “Fucking hell! Yeah, baby, yeah.”

Yeah. Every syllable comes with a sharper intensity. He's been holding it as long as me, for five hellish years, and now it's coming out.

He holds me down, jerks my hair in his fist, grunting as he comes ropes into me. This is what it's like to be filled with fire, another first for a girl who's never had a man without a condom before.

Call me addicted. My mouth hangs open in a lonely, shaking O while the same rough pleasure courses through us.

We're joined. Fused. Slaves to the flesh, the seed, the lightning rending our muscles to steel.

I don't know when the fever breaks. Probably after him because his grip eventually loosens. I have just enough energy to turn around, falling forward into his arms.

His lips brush mine with a sweeter, softer power like a fire down to its embers, always threatening to start again. His hands kiss my skin while his lips are busy, reaching to my backside. He rubs my ass, gentle as Miles Black in the aftercare scenes from the script, but there's nothing movie-like about it.

This is real life. This is real love. This is the man I've missed, coming home, telling me with more than just words he isn't ever leaving again.

“Love you, Robbi. Never stopped once in all these years.”

I press my face to his chest, looking up, loving the soft mischief in his eyes when they're calmer, but no less intense. “I love you, too. Were you serious about what you said in the moment? About knocking me up?”

He smiles. “Someday, little bird. We've got our whole lives ahead, now that everything's right with the world.”

Is it?

Mom's furious expression runs through my mind. I'll catch hell if, and when, she finds out there's more between Luke and me than work. Especially when I swore up and down it was just professional.

“What's wrong? Talk to me.” He runs his thumb gently along my cheek, reading me with a keen insight nobody else will ever have.

“There are still some things I have to take care of before it's smooth sailing. Nothing that can't be fixed with time.” I stop to lean on my toes, planting another kiss on his lips. “We're on the right path, Luke, thanks to you.”

“Good. Glad you're following my lead again because I think it's past time we got the hell out of here.”

He's right. I don't have to listen hard to hear the production crew walking past, laughing and chattering among themselves as another day on the set wraps up, one more reminder how thin these walls can be.

“Your place, or mine?” I say, gathering my clothes.

“Mine. Got it a little while longer before we're done with Chicago and they want us back in L.A. for wrap up. I'd like us to give the bed in the place I'm staying a work out it'll remember.”

Yes, sir. I'm humming to myself as I wash up, fix my regular makeup, and walk out with him. It isn't a perfect look by any means, but it's enough to hide the sex crazed mess we'd become just minutes ago.

We're in the parking lot, heading to our cars, when I decide to take his arm. He walks me to my vehicle and makes sure I'm inside it with a smile on my face before he heads for his.

It's been an eternity since I felt right. Now, I finally do.

If the rest of the world will just stay out of our way, we'll find our shortcut through the ugliness, the hurt, the turmoil that's drowned out our happiness for far too long.

No, it won't be easy. But as long as I'm sharing Luke's bed, his arm, and his patented smirk, we'll make it across the finish line to the future we deserve, baby fever and all.