ETHAN

Too close.

That had been too damn close for my comfort.

Even now after Emma had been dragged from my lap and shoved down a hall out of view, she still called to me with the fire behind her eyes and responsive body. I could feel the tension of her muscles against me, could scent the hint of sex that was wet between her legs. And as I leaned back against a pillow, I grit my teeth to feel the strain of my cock against the thin material of my slacks.

She was everything to me and nothing at all. Beguiling me while seducing me, she was still so blind to how simple it had been for her to ruffle my feathers, to draw a reaction from me that I hadn't given any woman since I left reality behind to live among the sewer rats in this lifestyle of pain without remorse.

And oh how close I had come to giving in to the want inside me for a feral woman that didn't know how simple it had been to seduce.

It was with great restraint that I'd pushed the button on that remote calling the guard. She would have let me ride her if I'd wanted, would have let me flip her over on her stomach, pull her t-shirt up her body and sink myself inside.

I'd lied to her tonight much like I'd lied to her on that stage after finishing her first film. Hatred can cause the body to react. It can force blood through the veins, shuttling it to all the sensitive places. It can force a woman into submission when it was mixed with toxic want.

Emma hated me, there was no doubt about that, but in her body, that hatred became a living, breathing need so untamable that she would happily scream from pleasure as well as pure rage. She was the type of woman who would gladly rip out my throat while kissing me, her nails digging into my skin while her teeth came down to bite on my lip, a growl emanating from somewhere deep inside that she didn't even know existed.

She was feral and raw, volatile and so damn passionate that it didn't matter what emotion she was feeling, it would still pour out of her in such blinding, brilliant colors that any person standing in her vicinity would be doused in dark rainbows and sucked into the void of her pure agony.

My heart bled for truth because truth was too violent to hide behind beautiful masks, and it was why my heart ached for a woman who was too damn wild to be constrained by falsehoods.

Emma was only the actress when she was hiding from herself. It was a mask she'd been made to wear by a civilized society and the polite mannerisms shoved down every person's throat. But to remove the plastic wrapping and reveal the raw material inside, you would come away with a woman so fiery that she would burn your hands just to touch her.

That is what I knew of her that she still couldn't see in herself, and that is what I planned to bring out of her the next time I set her in front of my cameras. That is the stark truth of her life that I wanted her to witness when I played the film back for her, and God help me, that is the part of her that I had to fight not to tame with my body.

I would destroy that part of her if I allowed myself to taste it because that fire couldn't exist when a woman was seduced to drop to her knees. Because despite how much I wanted her - or how much she wanted me - we were too closely connected by the same untamed pulse of life that flowed in our bodies.

Like two skilled warriors meeting in battle, we would cancel each other out, both walking away so injured that we'd never fight the same again.

I couldn't allow that to happen to her, so I'd hit that button calling the guard instead of pulling her tight to my chest and warning her of all the things I would do to her body regardless of whether she hated me or not.

It hadn't been easy. She'd almost broken me with the tease of finger sliding delicately up the line of my cock. I'd almost broken her by ripping the shirt from her body and pulling her warm heat down the length of it just so I could watch the emotions roll across her face in absolute wonder.

Too close. That had been too fucking close. And I had been left to feel the pain of it.

Slamming my palm down on the couch, I shoved myself into a seated position, my upper torso bending down over my knees as I breathed out all the frustration teeming inside me.

I wasn't a man without needs, but I had an iron resolve - especially when it came to a woman like Emma and what I knew she could do for my art. Because, in the end, my vision was all that could matter.

I'd known my entire life that I would go into directing. There'd been no question of that as I failed science, history, and mathematics. All the classes that were useless to me in the grand scheme of things. I'd only paid attention in literature and art, in English and other specialized classes that I knew would enhance my prowess and skill behind a camera.

As excited as I'd been about starting my career, the years worked hard to disillusion me to the field. What I'd imagined would be raw clay for me to sculpt and shape into whatever my mind could conjure had become a chore I had to suffer each day I directed more liars to cry their fake tears and deliver bullshit lines that meant nothing in the long run.

I'd offered new stories, new visions, new ways of looking at the world around us, and the producers had shaken their fat heads, crossed their arms over their chests, and told me they preferred I recreate something that had already been done.

All for the almighty dollar.

All because society demanded the opiate of fantasy in order to appease their fruitless and boring lives.

While my career had been skyrocketing and awards had been shoved down my throat, I had been dying inside at the injustice of what it meant to be an artist in modern times. People didn't care for tragedy anymore, all they wanted was the happy ending that helped them sleep through the night.

But we don't live in a world where the good guys always win and the bad guys are sent back under their rocks to lick their wounds. And that made every film that I directed because I'd been left without a choice a giant, despicable lie.

That was, until I'd been approached by a man hiding in shadow, an email sent to me that was untraceable but oh so seductive.

How would you like to direct whatever you want? The actual occurrence of true horror and helplessness that can't be found in the films you so tirelessly vomit out?

It was like he had reached into my heart and head to extract every painful thought that had been silenced inside me. Who knows how many directors he'd written this message to before me? What I did know is that I had been the one who responded.

It was very shortly thereafter that I disappeared from Hollywood and had flown to the studio to begin a new underground career. I know this particular building will be burned to the ground in another year, and we'll pick up our operation and move it somewhere else. These films aren't exactly legal in any country where we make them. But until then, this will be my home, a hidden place away from the rules and regulations placed on my form of art.

Art shouldn't have rules, it should be allowed to become a living, breathing entity all on its own, recording and reflecting the world that existed at the time it was made.

The first few months had been a dream. Sure, I had to check my own sense of morality at the door for what we were doing. I had to pretend not to know what the films were used for. But I was willing to do that to finally brush my hand down the soft cheek of my vision.

I'd been in love those first couple months. But then, like any repetitive thing that becomes tiresome and routine, I'd started losing heart in this endeavor.

Until Emma came along.

I knew at first sight that she would be a new beginning. I knew that she would be the one who took the oxygen from the air and breathed new life into my aching lungs. I knew my heart would race for the first time in what felt like eternity.

I hadn't been wrong.

And there was so much left inside her to explore and extrapolate.

So, for now, the contact I'd allowed with a muse like no other had been far too close for a true artist's comfort.