We slowly pull apart and her eyes gradually open, though they’re still half-hooded with arousal and unsatisfied need.
“Jesus Christ,” she breathes. “You really know how to kiss a girl.”
I try not to preen, but I do a little. “I know,” I say, flashing her a grin.
“I mean it. I could die now and be happy. Here Lies Devi Dare, Murdered by a Kiss.”
I honestly think I could die right now too and be just as happy, and I tell her that. And then I add, “But mine would say: Here Lies Logan O’Toole, and then there’d be like seven eggplant emojis underneath it.”
She laughs, a floating, happy sound that does nothing to help the squeezing in my chest or the ache in my groin. I am so wrecked by this girl, which means I’m so very thoroughly fucked right now.
Totally fucked.
I lean forward and brace my hands against her door, one hand on either side of her head so that she’s trapped without me even touching her, and then I bring my face down to hers and give her the smallest, lightest kiss possible—just a brush of lips really.
She shivers, her breathing quickening.
“I’ll see you soon,” I murmur against her lips. “I promise.”
“Okay,” she murmurs back, and I straighten, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear as I do. “Goodnight, Logan.”
“Goodnight, Devi.”
And even though it’s physically painful to do it, I turn away and leave her on her front porch. It’s only when I get back into the Shelby and start the car that I notice the camera’s record light still flashing, and also realize that it was aimed at the rear window, which would have given it a direct view of Devi’s porch.
I pick up the camera and rewind through the footage, a huge smile splitting my face as I realize that the entire moment—the first chaste kiss and then me chasing after her—were perfectly captured on camera. A little distant maybe, a little out-of-focus through the window, but it just adds to the reality of the moment, cinema verité style.
The smile doesn’t leave my face the entire drive home. I kissed a girl I really like and I filmed an awesome scene. What could be better than that?
9
I can still feel the power of that kiss the next day. And the next night too.
The day after that, I swear my lips are still swollen, and my legs feel like they’re going to give out every time I think about Logan’s mouth invading mine while his body pressed against me with such obvious, raw desire. I would have invited him up—hell, I would have let him fuck me against my door—and I almost did.
But. The show.
There’s a contract, and while it doesn’t say anything that would prohibit fucking against my door after filming the first episode, there are stipulations that suggest that it wouldn’t be in the best interest of the project. And this project is so important to Logan. He spent several days hammering out the details via my agent, and I’m happy with the resulting arrangement. There will be seven episodes in total, each roughly forty to sixty minutes in length, and progressing in sexual and romantic activity. The story of a young L.A. couple will be unscripted and improvised, but the director/screenwriter/cameraman (aka Logan) will explain briefly where and how far he’d like each scene to go at the beginning of each shoot. And if I have any objections, I am to bring them up then.
The series, which is to be filmed in its entirety before airing on Vida Gine’s website, will eventually earn the label of hardcore porn—unless the scenes don’t naturally reach that. And they will, if Logan or I have anything to say about it. There will be little to no kink or fetish, and all sexual activity is to be exclusively between the two of us. The usual safety clauses were written in to protect both of us (but mostly me—women in the industry are generally the victims of nonconsensual assault), and we each submitted and approved each other’s limit lists. Mine detailed the fluids I considered acceptable, his specified no tickling, particularly of his feet. Apparently when tickled, Logan O’Toole cries.
When I read that last bit of information, I immediately had to text him. I never fantasized about tickling you. And now it’s all I can think about.
His response had been, At least you’re thinking about me.
Was I ever not?
So, with the flirting and the texting, and the way he looked at me throughout our date with hungry eyes, I was already pretty certain he wanted me. Even when he almost let me walk away, I knew it was only himself getting in the way.
And then that kiss…
Damn, that kiss. It was unreal because it was so real. It wasn’t acting or performing. It wasn’t a show of any sort, even though the rest of the night had been all about the series, all about the camera. Our dynamics and dialogue at the park dictated by that little red light. But then I’d gotten out of the car and left, and he chased after me without the camera in his hand. The scene was over, but he wanted my lips just as much as I wanted his, and so he’d left the camera behind and claimed me for his own. Not for Vida or Lelie or for art, but for Logan.