I wish I’d talked to Devi before we dove into the scene’s particulars; but once we started blocking and running through what we wanted to do sex-wise, there didn’t seem to be a good time to say, “Oh hey, just so you know, I think it’s best if we act strictly professional right now.”
So I don’t say anything. On one hand, it feels good, natural even, to set up the cameras and block the scene like she’s just another girl and not my girlfriend. But on the other hand, it feels jarring and bizarre, like waking up to find your house has blown sideways but everything is still perfectly in place. It’s hard to stop fiddling with the camera settings when I know exactly how glowing that bronze skin can be in just the right conditions, it’s hard to think about what sex positions will translate best on the screen when I know which positions she actually likes the best.
But I manage. It’s a mental workout for sure, and there are times before we start that I catch her looking at me quizzically, as if she can tell something is off. I’ll explain it all afterwards, I think. After we shoot the scene like this, she’ll be able to see how much easier it is. How much better.
Today’s scene is the last we’ll shoot for this season of Star-Crossed, and I decided to do something a little more intimate than normal. No separate location, no public fooling around. Marieke and I agreed that we should leave the Logan and Devi characters in a happy, loving place, just like you’d leave characters at the end of a romantic comedy. In love for perpetuity.
Of course, we’ll shake things up with the second season of Star-Crossed, and I smile to myself, remembering I still have to tell Devi about that too. Marieke and I brainstormed some serious sexy, steamy, twisted shit, and I bet my girl will love it.
“What are you smiling about?” Devi asks. She’s perched on the edge of the massively fluffy rug I’ve dragged in from my office, wearing nothing but brightly colored knee socks. The white fluff of the rug is such a stark contrast to her Persian skin that I stop what I’m doing and just stare at her for a minute.
My Cassiopeia.
My queen.
She tilts her head at me, the loose braid sliding tantalizingly over one perfect, full tit, and all I want to do is drop to my knees next to her and kiss her until the stars come out. Have I done that yet? Just kissed her for hours? Made out until we’ve both forgotten our names, our lives, our histories?
I almost do it. I even get so far as taking a step toward her until I remember, no—that’s a boyfriend thing. A boyfriend thought. Logan the porn star loves kissing and will definitely kiss the shit out of her once the camera starts rolling, but it will be kissing for the camera, kissing to make an amazing scene.
Later, I promise myself. Later, we will have the kissing just for us. Kissing without a goal or without a time limit…God, the thought makes me hard and excited and warm and melty all at once. How do people handle all of these feelings all at once? How do people stand being in love?
How could I have ever thought that I had been in love before?
This—this—is love.
And I have to protect it at all costs, starting right now.
“I’m just smiling because this is going to be a badass scene,” I finally answer Devi’s question. “Are you ready?”
She nods. And I press record.
All in all, it’s possibly one of the best scenes I’ve ever filmed, maybe even ever participated in. We start with her in those knee socks on the rug, grinding on a pillow while I murmur the dirtiest things I can think of, and after she comes against the pillow, her naked stomach visibly tightening, I unzip my jeans and walk over to her, feeding my thick erection through her lips.
Everything is light and bright, with the afternoon sun streaming in and the white furniture and rug, and everything is perfectly staged and seamless. The blowjob transitions to a sixty-nine, the sixty-nine transitions into condom-sheathed fucking, first doggy-style, and then spooning from behind—one of the best filming positions because I can show off her jiggling tits and taut stomach and * all at once. And then after she comes a second time and then a third, I pull out, yank off the condom, and then jack myself off onto her stomach. The scene ends with me turning her head back to me for a long, deep kiss while she draws idle circles in the mess on her stomach.
After the kiss lasts what I think would be the right amount of time for a romantic sort of fade to black, I break it off and hop up to turn off the camera. And then I grab a box of baby wipes I keep in one of those ottoman storage cubes (along with lube, condoms and other things I need on hand but also hidden discreetly in case of a surprise Mom and Dad Visit) and trot over to Devi, zipping up my jeans with one hand as I do.