Page 55 of A Simple Love

17

OLIVER

She was on my mind all day.

Kassie.

Images, thoughts, feelings, sensations drifted through my mind during takes, while I sat in my chair, watching the action, staring but not seeing, lost in my own thoughts.

Thoughts of her.

The way she looked as she orgasmed. The sounds she made. The way her body felt wrapped around mine. How it felt to be inside her again. So right. So perfect.

It felt like coming home. Belonging.

I shook my head at those words.

But everything I had remembered, every memory I kept hidden in the deepest recesses of my heart, was now forefront, brought to life once again and entangled with the reality of last night.

I had only stayed because she asked me to. I had liked the fact that she needed me. No one really needed me these days. I was a useful commodity. But not a person.

Kassie, though, needed my presence. Chose my arms and comfort to ease her distress. And I liked holding her. I hated her story, and a small part of me wished her tormentor were still alive so I could find him and beat the shit out of him. However, the truth was he was better off dead. Kassie knew she was safe from him—that he could never again bother her—and that was far more important.

When she had pleaded with me to be with her, my only hesitation had been in her pain. But once she assured me that she was okay, there was nothing I wanted more. I had been wanting her for days.

The fact of the matter was, I had never truly stopped wanting her. She was always there in the back of my mind. The one I let get away. The woman I secretly longed for but kept buried in my memories instead of acknowledging my feelings.

And her confession blew me out of the water. I had been her only lover. This beautiful, sexy woman had only ever slept with me. I felt like the possessive alpha type she teased me of being. Something inside me roared in absolute satisfaction that I had been her first, her only, to know her that way. To love her body.

The caveman in me was still lifting his arm, brandishing his club, and grunting mine into the night sky. Or whatever word they used in caveman days. I thought they all basically sounded the same.

I chuckled and shook my head, stopping my random thoughts.

I focused on Davis directing the shot, clearly frustrated when it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Cut!” he yelled again, running his hand through his hair in vexation. He studied the screen. “This isn’t right.”

“Try it from this angle,” I offered, before I could stop myself.

His head shot up. “What?”

“The lighting is great from here. I think the clouds are moving differently than you originally thought.”

I held my breath, expecting him to snap and tell me off. Inform me he was the director, not me. But he stood and moved behind me, studying the angle.

“It would play well off the shadows and create that somber effect you’re looking for in this scene,” I said quietly. “It’s too bright right now, I think?”

“Fucking right, it would,” he said, slapping my shoulder. “All right, everyone. Let’s move the marks. Reset.” He headed to the spot I pointed out. “Oliver,” he called. “Move your chair, but don’t leave. I might need your eyes again.”

I did as he instructed, feeling oddly proud. Not many directors would listen to me or take my advice. Frankly, I wouldn’t offer it to most of them, knowing I’d be shut down. I was only an actor. Davis, however, was not your normal director. And he made me feel as if I weren’t simply an actor. I appreciated that.

Not long after, the scene was filmed and in the can. Davis sat back, pleased. “Good catch,” he muttered. “You have an excellent eye.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe you should think about a future in something other than acting. I’ve noticed the way you absorb knowledge. You ask great questions, and your instincts are sharp.”

“Funny, someone else suggested that lately as well.”