Rose loved her job, never more so than when she fancied the pants of the man she was working with. No lube needed, today. Just one look at Boner Dawson had meant the flimsy knickers he was now tearing off her with his teeth had been soaked through.
What’s more he seemed to know exactly what effect he had on her. Before their director had even managed to make the usual introductions—as if Boner needed introducing—famous didn’t describe him, he’d pinned her in place with the intensity of his gaze.
His reputation didn’t do him justice. Known for his superior strength and never ending stamina, nothing could have prepared her for the sheer presence of this man.
There was something so earthy and downright animalistic about the way his nostrils had flared, when he’d spotted her. Head down, he’d stalked toward her like a hunter intent on his prey, and like the trapped deer she was, recognition had slammed into her, stolen her breath and her very will to do anything but submit.
The humans watching them had no idea what played out in front of the rolling camera, but Rose knew. This would be her last shoot.
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