Chapter 4: The Point of No Return

The studio wall was cool against Claire's back, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Zane's body pressed against her. His forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing hard from the kiss that had shattered every professional boundary they'd maintained.

"We should..." Zane started, but his hands were still framing her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones in a gesture that was anything but professional.

"Keep going," Claire finished, her voice barely above a whisper. "The scene isn't over."

She could see the war playing out in his green eyes—desire battling with professionalism, want wrestling with propriety. But the way his body was pressed against hers, the hard evidence of his arousal pressing into her hip, told her which side was winning.

"Claire," he said, her name rough on his lips. "If we do this..."

"We're already doing it," she pointed out, and it was true. They'd crossed the line the moment he'd pressed her against the wall. Everything else was just semantics.

Zane's hands slid from her face to her shoulders, then down to her waist, and Claire felt her breath catch. Through the thin fabric of her blouse, his touch burned like a brand.

"The next part of the scene," he said, his voice taking on that commanding edge that had been driving her crazy for days. "Jack doesn't just kiss Fiona."

"No," Claire agreed, consulting the script that had somehow ended up on the floor. "He touches her. Everywhere."

"And she lets him," Zane continued, his hands sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing just under the curve of her breasts. "She wants him to."

Claire's head fell back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed as sensation raced through her. "She's been waiting for this."

"So has he." Zane's mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear, and Claire couldn't suppress the soft moan that escaped her. "He's been imagining this moment for weeks."

The microphone was still recording, capturing every whispered word, every catch of breath. They were creating the most authentic intimate scene either of them had ever performed, and it was happening in real time, with real desire, real need.

"What happens next?" Claire asked, though she already knew. She'd read the script, had highlighted the passage in question. But hearing it in Zane's voice, feeling his body against hers, made it feel like uncharted territory.

"He tells her he wants to taste her," Zane said, his lips moving against her throat. "He wants to make her fall apart with his mouth."

Claire's hands fisted in his shirt, anchoring herself as heat pooled low in her belly. "And what does she say?"

"She says yes," Zane answered, pulling back to look at her. His eyes were dark with desire, pupils blown wide. "She says please."

The word hung between them, loaded with meaning. They both knew what came next in the script. The scene where Jack dropped to his knees and used his mouth to drive Fiona wild. The most explicit scene they'd recorded so far.

"We don't have to," Zane said quietly, but his hands were still on her waist, still holding her against the wall. "We could just... voice it. Like we planned."

Claire stared at him, seeing the same hunger in his eyes that was coursing through her own body. They'd already gone further than either of them had intended. They'd already crossed lines that couldn't be uncrossed.

"Is that what you want?" she asked. "To just voice it?"

Zane's jaw clenched, and she could see the internal struggle playing out across his features. "What I want," he said slowly, "is to do exactly what Jack does in this scene. To you. Right here, right now."

The confession hung in the air between them, raw and honest. Claire felt her pulse spike, felt the last of her resistance crumble.

"The scene says Fiona helps him," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "She guides him."

"She takes control," Zane agreed, his voice rough with barely contained desire.

Claire reached up, her fingers threading through his dark hair. "She tells him exactly what she wants."

"What do you want, Claire?" The question was soft, but it carried the weight of everything they'd been building toward.

Claire looked at him—really looked at him. At the man who'd been driving her crazy for days with his voice, his talent, his quiet intensity. At the professional mask that had finally slipped away to reveal the desire underneath.

"I want you to stop being so careful," she said, her voice gaining strength. "I want you to stop thinking about what we should do and just... do what we want to do."

Something shifted in Zane's expression, the last of his restraint cracking. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," Claire said, and meant it. "I want this. I want you."

The admission was like a dam breaking. Zane's mouth crashed down on hers, and this time there was nothing tentative about the kiss. It was hungry, desperate, full of days of accumulated want finally given free rein.

Claire kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands tangling in his hair, her body arching against his. She could feel his arousal pressed against her, hard and insistent, and the knowledge that she affected him this much was intoxicating.

When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing hard. "Tell me what you want," he said against her lips.

Claire looked at him, seeing her own desire reflected in his eyes. The script called for Jack to drop to his knees, to use his mouth on Fiona until she screamed his name. But this wasn't about the script anymore. This was about them.

"I want you to follow the scene," she said, her voice soft but clear. "All of it."

Zane's eyes darkened. "Claire..."

"I want you to make me come," she said, the words bold and sure. "I want to feel your mouth on me. I want to fall apart for you."

The effect of her words was immediate. Zane groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. "Fuck, Claire. The things you do to me."

"Show me," she challenged, her hands sliding down to his chest. "Show me what I do to you."

Zane's hands moved to the hem of her blouse, fingers playing with the fabric. "If we do this, there's no going back."

"I don't want to go back," Claire said, and she meant it. Whatever this was between them, whatever it meant for their professional relationship, she was tired of pretending it didn't exist.

"Neither do I," Zane admitted, his hands sliding under her blouse to touch bare skin. The contact sent electricity racing through her, and Claire couldn't suppress the soft moan that escaped her.

The sound seemed to snap something in Zane. His mouth found hers again, but this time the kiss was different—hungrier, more possessive. His hands roamed her body with new confidence, mapping curves and planes through the thin fabric of her clothes.

When his fingers found the button of her jeans, Claire's breath caught. They were really doing this. In the studio, with the microphone still recording, they were about to cross the final line.

"Yes," she whispered against his mouth, answering the question he hadn't asked.

Zane's hands stilled for a moment, and he pulled back to look at her. The intensity in his gaze made her feel like she was burning from the inside out.

"I've wanted this since the first day," he confessed, his voice rough with honesty. "Since the moment I heard you laugh at something in the script. I've been going crazy trying to stay professional."

"So have I," Claire admitted. "Every time you used that voice, every time you looked at me like you wanted to devour me... I've been thinking about this."

"Thinking about what?" Zane asked, his hands moving to her waist, thumbs tracing circles on her hip bones.

"About you touching me," Claire said, boldness replacing her earlier hesitation. "About what it would feel like to have your hands on my body, your mouth on my skin."

Zane groaned, his control visibly fraying. "Claire, if you keep talking like that..."

"What?" she challenged, feeling powerful in a way she hadn't expected. "What will you do?"

Instead of answering, Zane dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding up her legs to rest on her thighs. The position was exactly what the script called for, but the reality of it—seeing him kneeling before her, looking up at her with eyes dark with desire—was more overwhelming than any fiction.

"I'm going to make you come," he said, his voice rough with promise. "I'm going to use my mouth on you until you can't think straight."

Claire's hands fisted in his hair, her body already responding to his words. "Please," she whispered, the word torn from her throat.

"Please what?" Zane asked, his hands moving to the button of her jeans.

Claire looked down at him, seeing the hunger in his eyes, feeling the weight of the moment. This was it—the point of no return. After this, everything would be different.

"Do it," she said, her voice clear and sure. "Make me yours."

The words were barely out of her mouth before Zane was moving, his hands working at her jeans with practiced efficiency. And as the fabric slid down her legs, as she felt the cool air of the studio against her heated skin, Claire knew there was no going back.

They were about to create something real, something raw, something that would be captured forever by the waiting microphone. And she couldn't wait.