A Life in Hollywood Ch. 14 - Scarlett Johansson and Elizabeth Olsen Part 1 (Avengers: Age of Ultron) (Patreon)

A Life in Hollywood

Chapter 14 - Scarlett Johansson and Elizabeth Olsen Part 1 (Avengers: Age of Ultron)

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The set of Avengers: Age of Ultron felt like stepping into a different league. Bigger stages, more cranes, more noise, more money riding on every take. Osiah Morse moved through it with the same quiet focus he’d had on the first film, but now the lanyard around his neck said 2nd 2nd AD instead of Production Assistant. The difference was real.

He spotted Benjamin Davis near the monitors, the cinematographer nursing a coffee while checking a playback. Osiah walked over and gave him a nod.

“Ben.”

Davis turned, eyebrows lifting in recognition. A slow grin spread across his face. “Morse. Look at you. They finally gave you some real keys.”

“Still feels like I’m herding cats most days,” Osiah said, shaking the man’s hand firmly. “But yeah. Bigger chair, bigger headset. Thanks for that, by the way. Your vouch back on the first one opened doors I didn’t even know existed. And everything since.”

Davis waved it off, but there was real satisfaction in his eyes. “You earned it. I just told them the truth—you showed up on time, you didn’t bitch, and you actually paid attention. That already put you ahead of half the PAs I’ve worked with. Plus, I remembered you from that bar you used to work at in college. Always poured a clean drink, never watered it down even when the place was packed. Figured a guy who could handle drunk film students on a Friday night could handle this circus.”

Osiah chuckled, the memory hitting him quick. “Those were simpler nights. No exploding robots. Just trying to keep the undergrads from starting fights over the last pitcher.”

Davis laughed. “Exactly. And you did it without breaking a sweat. Same energy here. I told the line producer, ‘Give the kid a shot. He’ll keep the background from eating the frame and still have time to fix a light that’s flickering.’ They listened.”

They stood there for a minute, the controlled chaos of the set humming around them—grips shouting adjustments, extras getting positioned, the low whine of a camera rig moving into place. Osiah glanced at the monitor, watching the playback Davis had been reviewing. It was a wide establishing shot, the kind that made the budget feel worth every dollar.

“Looks solid,” Osiah said.

“It will be once we nail the extras’ movement. They keep drifting left on the third beat.” Davis took another sip of coffee, then set the cup down. “You know how it is. Everyone wants to look cool, so they lean into the hero instead of reacting like normal people would.”

“I’ll tighten it up,” Osiah said simply. “I’ve got a couple of the background captains who listen. We’ll run a quick reset before the next take.”

Davis nodded, respect clear in his expression. “Appreciate it. Most 2nd 2nds just yell into the walkie. You actually talk to them like humans. Makes a difference.”

Osiah shrugged, but the compliment landed. “Just doing the job. You vouched for me when I was nobody. Least I can do is not fuck it up now that I’ve got the title.”

The older man clapped him on the shoulder again, the gesture solid and genuine. “You’re not fucking it up. You’re making it look easy. That’s rarer than you think in this town.”

They talked for a few more minutes—catching up on recent gigs, swapping quick stories about nightmare locations and nightmare producers. Davis mentioned a brutal night shoot in Prague on another project where the rain machines froze solid. Osiah countered with a story from a low-budget horror flick he’d worked right after the first Avengers, where the director had insisted on practical blood that smelled like rotting meat by hour fourteen.

“Those were simpler nights,” Osiah repeated with a half-smile. “No exploding robots. Just trying to keep the fake gore from clotting in the hoses.”

Davis barked a laugh. “Give it time. We’ll get there. Ultron’s got enough explosions for both of us.”

“Copy that.”

Davis got called back to the camera rig, something about a lens change. Osiah watched him go, feeling a quiet gratitude settle in his chest. Not many people in this town stuck their neck out without expecting something in return. Ben had—back when Osiah was just another PA running cables and fetching coffee. He’d told the right people that the kid with the busted knee and the steady hands worked well under pressure, knew how to keep a set moving without drama. That recommendation had snowballed. First into more PA gigs, then into this. It mattered.

Osiah adjusted his headset and turned back toward the extras. The set stretched out around him—massive green screens, towering practical sets dressed as Sokovian streets, cranes looming overhead like mechanical dinosaurs. The air smelled of ozone from the rigs, fresh paint, and the faint metallic tang of the pyrotechnics team testing charges off in the distance. This was bigger than the first Avengers. Sharper. More money, more eyes, more pressure. But the core felt the same: keep the machine running smooth so the actors could do their thing and the camera could catch it.

He moved through the background actors with the same calm authority he’d built over the years. A quick word here, a hand on a shoulder there, repositioning someone who’d drifted too far into the hero’s sightline.

“You’re not tourists,” he told a cluster of them, voice low but carrying. “You live here. This is your street. When the debris starts flying and the heroes show up, you’re annoyed more than scared. This shit interrupts your day. Sell that. Eyes on each other, not on the camera.”

One of the younger extras nodded quickly, adjusting his jacket. Osiah gave him an approving nod and kept moving. He spotted a woman in the back row looking lost and stepped over.

“Mark’s two feet left,” he said, pointing. “You’re trying to get to the market stall. Keep it natural—don’t rush. You’ve got kids waiting at home. This chaos is the last thing you need.”

She smiled gratefully. “Thanks. First big set like this.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said. “Just breathe and react like a person.”

He stepped back, scanning the whole group with a practiced eye. The difference in his role hit him again. A few years ago he’d been the one fetching water and taping cables. Now he was the one making sure the whole machine didn’t grind because someone stepped wrong. It felt good. Solid.

His walkie crackled. “Osiah, we need a reset on the civilian block. They’re bunching again.”

“On it,” he replied, already moving.

As he worked, the scale of the production settled over him. This wasn’t just another job. It was the big leagues, and he was no longer on the periphery. He had keys. Real ones. And people like Ben Davis had helped him earn them.

He allowed himself one small, private smile before the next reset call came through.

He was still standing there when a familiar voice cut through the ambient noise behind him.

“Well, well. Look who climbed the ladder.”

Osiah turned.

Scarlett Johansson stood a few feet away in her updated Black Widow tactical suit. The fabric hugged every line of her body—strong shoulders, narrow waist, the full swell of her tits, and the powerful curve of her ass that the suit did nothing to hide. The material was tighter than he remembered, stretched smooth over the firm roundness of her ass and the heavy weight of her breasts, leaving very little to the imagination. Her red hair was pulled back tight into a practical ponytail, but a few strands had already escaped, framing her face in soft wisps. She looked every bit the global superstar she had become, confident and untouchable under the harsh set lights. But the look in her eyes when they met his was pure Scarlett—the same direct, hungry glint that had pulled him into her trailer years ago on the first Avengers shoot.

“Scarlett,” he said, keeping his voice even, professional.

She stepped closer, close enough that he caught the faint scent of her skin under the stage makeup—warm, clean, with a hint of the vanilla lotion she still favored. Her eyes flicked over him slowly, taking in the headset, the clipboard, the way he carried himself now with real authority.

“Heard you were running part of the show now. 2nd 2nd AD. Impressive.”

“Someone’s gotta keep the background from tripping over the heroes,” he replied, tone steady.

Her mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. “And someone’s gotta keep me from getting too stiff between takes.” Her gaze drifted down his body deliberately, lingering at his chest and lower, before sliding back up to his face. The heat in her eyes was unmistakable. “Got a minute? There’s a storage closet behind Stage 3 that’s not being used right now. Plenty of spare Quinjet parts if you want something to brace me against.”

Osiah’s jaw tightened. Heat stirred low in his gut, immediate and familiar. “You don’t waste time.”

“Never did with you.” She turned on her heel without another word, giving him a deliberate, unhurried view of that powerful ass as she walked away. The tactical pants clung to every curve, the fabric stretching taut with each step. “Come on, Magic Man. I’ve been thinking about this since I heard you were back.”

He followed.

The closet was dim and cluttered with crates of spare parts and metal rigging stacked against the walls. The second the door clicked shut behind them, Scarlett was on him—mouth hungry and demanding, her hands already tugging at his belt with impatient fingers. She kissed him hard, tongue sliding against his, a low sound of need vibrating in her throat.

Osiah spun her around fast, pressing her front against a tall metal shelf lined with Quinjet panels and coiled cables. Her palms slapped flat against the cool surface for balance. She arched her back instinctively, pushing her ass back toward him.

“Fuck, I missed this,” she breathed, voice already rough.

He didn’t waste time talking. His hands went to her hips, yanking the tactical pants down just enough to free that perfect, firm ass. The material bunched around her thighs, leaving her exposed. He brought his palm down in a sharp, possessive crack across one cheek. The sound echoed in the small space. Scarlett gasped, a shiver running through her, and pushed back harder against him, silently asking for more.

He freed his cock, already rock-hard and heavy. He dragged the thick head through her folds, feeling how soaked she was—hot, slick, ready. She was dripping for him.

“No teasing,” she ordered, voice low and rough with need. “Just fuck me.”

He didn’t argue. One powerful thrust buried him to the hilt inside her tight, wet cunt. Scarlett’s head fell forward, a choked moan escaping her lips as her walls clenched hard around his thick length. The sudden stretch made her thighs tremble.

Osiah set a hard, steady rhythm right away—deep, driving strokes that slammed into her with controlled force. Each thrust made her full tits press and drag against the cold metal shelf through the top of her suit, the heavy flesh squishing and shifting with the impact. The wet slap of flesh meeting flesh filled the cramped closet, loud and obscene. Her ass rippled visibly every time his hips smacked against it, the firm cheeks bouncing and jiggling from the power of his thrusts.

“God—yes—harder,” she panted, pushing back to meet him, greedy for every inch.

He gave it to her. One hand stayed gripped tight on her hip, fingers digging into soft skin, while the other reached around to maul her tit through the tactical fabric. He squeezed the soft, heavy mound roughly, feeling the weight fill his palm, then found her hard nipple and rolled it between his fingers, pinching just enough to make her gasp. Her ass continued to ripple and bounce with every deep stroke, the meeting of their bodies growing wetter and louder as her juices coated his cock and dripped down her thighs.

Scarlett came fast—her first orgasm ripping through her without warning. Her cunt fluttered and squeezed around him like a vice, pulsing in strong, rhythmic waves. A sharp cry tore from her throat before she could muffle it against her arm. Her whole body shook, back arching harder, tits dragging messily against the shelf as the pleasure hit her hard.

Osiah didn’t slow down. He kept pounding into her through every spasm, hips snapping forward with relentless force, chasing his own release. The tight, fluttering heat of her cunt felt too good. When his own climax hit, he buried himself as deep as he could go and groaned low in his chest, flooding her with thick, hot spurts of cum. He ground against her ass, milking every pulse, filling her until he felt some of it already starting to leak out around his cock.

They stayed locked together for a long moment, breathing hard, her body still trembling with aftershocks. The air in the closet was thick with the smell of sex—musky, warm, and raw.

They barely caught their breath before he pulled out, the wet sound of his cock slipping free from her cum-filled cunt loud in the cramped closet. Scarlett whimpered at the sudden emptiness, a thick trickle of his load already starting to leak down her inner thigh. Osiah spun her around without a word, his hands strong and sure as he lifted her onto a lower crate stacked against the wall. Her back hit the edge as he hooked her legs over his shoulders, folding her nearly in half.

He sank back inside her in one smooth, deep stroke. This new angle let him hit even deeper, the thick head of his cock grinding right against that sensitive spot inside her. Scarlett’s eyes rolled back, her mouth falling open in a silent, broken gasp as the overwhelming fullness hit her all over again. Her tits bounced heavily with every thrust, the full, soft mounds jiggling and slapping together inside the half-open tactical top, nipples stiff and dark from earlier attention.

Osiah set a brutal rhythm, hips snapping forward hard, the wet slap of flesh echoing off the metal walls. Her cunt was slick and messy from his first load, making every thrust louder and filthier. He watched her face the whole time—eyes glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed dark.

“Again,” he growled, voice low and dark, thick with command. “Give me another.”

Scarlett’s body obeyed before her mind could catch up. Her second orgasm ripped through her fast and hard, her cunt pulsing and fluttering wildly around his thick cock. She cried out, the sound raw and desperate, her legs shaking over his shoulders as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Her tits bounced even more violently with the force of it, heavy and hypnotic.

He didn’t let up. He kept fucking her through every spasm, deep and relentless, drawing the orgasm out until she was trembling and gasping. Then she came a third time—harder, her whole body locking up, cunt clamping down on him like a vice as fresh slick gushed around his shaft. Her tits heaved with each ragged breath, sweat glistening on her skin.

Osiah followed right after. With a low, guttural groan he buried himself to the hilt, hips grinding tight against her ass as he emptied himself again. Thick, hot spurts flooded her deep, mixing with the mess already inside her. He kept grinding slowly, milking every last drop, feeling her walls twitch and squeeze around him as if trying to pull him even deeper.

Finally, he let her legs down, easing them off his shoulders. They stayed pressed together for a long moment, his cock still buried inside her, both of them breathing hard. Sweat cooled on their skin, the air thick with the raw, musky smell of sex—her arousal, his cum, and the faint vanilla of her skin.

Scarlett’s fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, her touch light but possessive. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, conspiratorial and dripping with intent.

“I want Elizabeth to join us.”

Osiah stilled, his body going tense against hers.

She felt it immediately and smiled against his neck, lips brushing his skin. “Don’t look so surprised. She’s been playing the sweet, innocent little witch, but I see the way she watches people. Always so polite, so wide-eyed. I want you to seduce her. Break that pretty little act. Fuck her until she can’t think straight. Then bring her to me. To us.”

He pulled back just enough to look down at her, searching her face. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” Her eyes gleamed with dark excitement, pupils blown wide. “Imagine it. Those big innocent eyes of hers when you finally push inside her for the first time. The way she’ll try to stay quiet at first, biting her lip, pretending she’s not dying for it… then breaking, begging for more. I want to watch you fuck her. I want to taste her on your cock right after you’ve ruined her.”

Osiah let out a low breath, half laugh, half disbelief. His hand slid down her side, palm gliding over sweat-slick skin. “You’re a bad fucking girl, Scarlett.”

She grinned, completely unrepentant, her cunt giving a lazy squeeze around his softening cock still buried inside her. “Romain has no idea. He calls me every night, voice all concerned, asking if the stunts are too much. Thinking I’m just tired and sore from work.” She rocked her hips slowly against him, grinding in a filthy little circle that made his cock twitch inside her. “Meanwhile I’m getting railed by the guy who knows exactly how to make me cum until I can’t walk straight. I’ll tell him I’m just sore from training. He’ll believe every word. Pathetic, right? But it makes me so fucking wet knowing I’m lying to him while your cum is still dripping out of me, running down my thighs.”

Osiah’s hand slid down to grip her ass hard, fingers digging deep into the firm, rounded flesh, squeezing possessively. “Careful. Keep talking like that and we won’t make it back to set.”

Scarlett laughed softly, the sound low and throaty, her inner walls fluttering around him again as if the words themselves turned her on. “Why? You worried someone will hear how much I love getting fucked by my old production assistant? How wet I get just thinking about you bending me over between takes?” She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear, voice dropping to a filthy whisper. “I’ve been thinking about this cock since the first Avengers. The way you stretched me open that day in my trailer… the way you made me cum so hard I couldn’t feel my legs. And now you’re back, running part of the show like you own it. Makes me want to drop to my knees right here and taste myself on you again. Think about it. Elizabeth. Sweet, soft-spoken Liz. Always so composed. I want you to ruin her for anyone else. Slowly. Make her addicted to this cock. Make her crave it. Then we play with her together—both of us.”

He didn’t answer right away. The idea sat heavy in his chest—part reluctance, part dark curiosity. He wasn’t in the habit of chasing every beautiful woman on set just because he could. He’d never needed to. But Scarlett’s words had planted something dangerous, something that lingered.

They cleaned up quickly, using whatever wipes and paper towels were scattered around the closet. Scarlett straightened her suit, fixed her hair, and gave him one last wicked smile before slipping out first. Osiah waited a minute, then followed, adjusting his headset and wiping the last traces of sweat from his face.

He got back to work like nothing had happened—voice calm on the walkie, movements steady as he directed the next reset for the extras.

***

The rest of the afternoon was pure 2nd 2nd AD chaos—coordinating background movement for a big street scene, making sure extras hit their marks without blocking the heroes. Osiah moved through the crowd with calm authority, headset clipped to his belt, clipboard in hand. The set was loud: generators humming, grips shouting adjustments, the occasional crackle of walkie traffic. He cut through it all without raising his voice.

“Background, reset on my mark,” he said steadily into the walkie, then stepped directly into the group of fifty-plus extras dressed as Sokovian civilians. “You’re not watching a movie. You live here. When the debris starts flying and the heroes show up, you’re annoyed. This is your street, your day ruined. Eyes on each other, not on the camera. Let’s sell it.”

He adjusted positions one by one—nudging a man two feet left so he wouldn’t cross into Ruffalo’s sightline, tapping a woman on the shoulder to turn her body slightly. “Good. Keep that frustration in your shoulders. You’ve got groceries to get home to.”

A few extras nodded, visibly relaxing under his calm direction. Others straightened up, taking the note seriously. Osiah didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. His presence carried enough weight now that people listened.

Nearby, Elizabeth Olsen was rehearsing a short beat with Mark Ruffalo. She carried herself with quiet focus—soft voice, thoughtful eyes, head tilted slightly as she listened to direction. But when she slipped into Wanda mode, something sharper emerged underneath: a steeliness in her posture, a subtle tension in her hands as she practiced the small energy flick. Her movements were precise, controlled, but there was an emotional weight to them that made the power feel lived-in rather than performed.

When the take wrapped and the director called for a reset, Osiah stepped in to handle the background. As he passed Elizabeth, he kept his voice low enough not to carry across the set.

“Nice work,” he said. “That subtle hand movement with the energy—you made it feel real. Not just magic. Like it costs you something.”

She looked up, surprised, then offered a small, genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Thanks. It’s trickier than it looks. Trying to make it feel like it’s pulling from somewhere personal instead of just waving my hand around.” She paused, studying him for a second. “You’re the new 2nd 2nd, right? Osiah?”

“That’s me.”

“I’ve heard good things. People say you actually know what you’re doing. Not just moving bodies around, but making the whole thing feel smoother.”

He gave a slight shrug, nothing showy. “Just trying to keep the circus from burning down. If the background behaves, the heroes can actually do their job.”

She laughed softly, a warm, quiet sound that cut through the set noise for a moment. There was something open and curious in her expression—like she was really seeing him, not just another crew guy with a headset. Her eyes lingered on his face, then flicked briefly to his hands before returning. “Well, keep it up. Makes my job easier when the background actually behaves instead of staring at the camera or wandering into frame.”

Their eyes held for a beat longer than necessary. Not awkward, but charged. Osiah felt it—the subtle shift in the air between them. Elizabeth’s cheeks colored just slightly before she looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Elizabeth, we’re ready for you,” an AD called from the monitor area.

She gave Osiah one last small smile. “See you around.”

He watched her go, the sway of her hips subtle under her costume, that quiet focus returning as she stepped back into position. Scarlett’s earlier words echoed in the back of his mind, low and insistent. The image of Elizabeth on her knees, wide-eyed and breaking, flickered unbidden. He pushed it down. Not here. Not now.

The afternoon dragged on with more resets, more adjustments, more quiet corrections. Osiah stayed in motion—clearing sightlines, calming a nervous extra who kept flinching at the practical sparks, repositioning a group so the camera could catch the right reactions without anyone blocking Ruffalo or Olsen. His voice stayed even on the walkie, his movements efficient. The chaos felt manageable under his hands.

The day finally wrapped late, the sun long gone, the set lights casting long shadows across the massive stage. Osiah was near the edge of the street set, wrapping up his notes on the call sheet and marking times for the background actors, when he noticed Elizabeth walking slowly along the perimeter. Her eyes scanned the ground, steps careful and deliberate. She looked distracted, a little frustrated, lips pressed into a thin line as she searched for something small.

He filed it away—the way her shoulders carried tension, the focused furrow in her brow, the quiet determination in her movements. Something to remember.

***

Elizabeth kept searching the edges of the set long after most of the crew had started packing up. The pin was small—a simple silver butterfly her mother had given her when she was ten. It had been on her jacket earlier during rehearsal, clipped near the collar. Now it was gone, and the thought of losing it gnawed at her like a quiet ache she couldn’t shake. It wasn’t expensive, but it was one of the few things she still carried from home that felt personal, untouched by the industry.

She crouched near a stack of equipment crates, the rough concrete cold against her knees as she scanned the floor under the harsh work lights. Shadows stretched long and jagged between the rigs and coiled cables. Her fingers brushed over dust and small bits of tape, heart sinking a little more with every empty inch.

That’s when she heard it.

A low, rhythmic sound. Flesh meeting flesh. Heavy breathing. A woman’s voice, breathy and strained, trying to stay quiet but failing.

Elizabeth froze, her hand still hovering above the ground. The noises were unmistakable—wet, steady slaps mixed with soft, desperate gasps. Curiosity pulled her forward before common sense could stop her. She rose slowly, heart hammering, and moved behind a tall lighting rig, careful to keep her footsteps silent on the concrete.

She peeked around the corner.

Scarlett Johansson was bent over a sturdy equipment table, her tactical pants yanked down around her thighs, leaving her ass completely bare. The firm, rounded cheeks rippled and bounced with every hard thrust, the pale skin already flushed pink from repeated impact. Her Black Widow top was still zipped up most of the way, but the front had been pulled open enough that her full tits spilled out, heavy and swaying wildly back and forth with the force of the fucking. The soft, pale flesh jiggled heavily, the weight of her breasts making them slap together lightly with each powerful stroke. Her nipples were hard and dark, stiff peaks that caught the dim overhead light every time her body rocked forward.

Her left arm was pulled back sharply, wrist gripped tight in a strong hand, forcing her back into a deep, exaggerated arch that made her spine curve and her ass push out even more invitingly. Her right hand held a phone to her ear, knuckles white around the device as she struggled to keep her voice steady.

“Yeah… baby, I’m just… finishing up some stunt rehearsal,” Scarlett panted into the phone, her voice shaky and uneven, each word broken by the relentless rhythm of the thrusts. “It’s intense tonight. Really working me hard.”

Behind her, Osiah drove into her with deep, possessive strokes. His hips slapped against her ass with a loud, wet smack that echoed sharply in the quiet corner of the set. His thick cock disappeared completely inside her with every thrust, stretching her visibly, her slick lips clinging tightly to his shaft. He pulled back slowly, glistening with her arousal, only to slam home again, burying himself to the hilt. His free hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her back onto him, controlling the pace completely.

Scarlett’s tits swung wildly with every impact, the heavy mounds bouncing and jiggling hypnotically. Her nipples brushed against the edge of the table on the forward strokes, sending visible shivers through her body.

Elizabeth’s mouth went dry. She should have backed away immediately. Instead, she stayed rooted in place, eyes wide, a sudden rush of heat flooding between her legs and making her clit throb. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Osiah lean forward slightly, changing the angle, driving even deeper. Scarlett let out a choked moan that she quickly tried to turn into a cough for whoever was on the phone.

“Romain… it’s just… the choreography is brutal today,” Scarlett managed, voice breathy and strained, each word interrupted by the wet slap of Osiah’s hips. “I’m so worked up… can barely think straight.”

Osiah’s hand left her hip for a moment and slid up to maul one of her swaying tits roughly. His fingers sank deep into the soft, heavy flesh, squeezing and kneading with possessive force. He pinched her nipple hard, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Scarlett gasped sharply, the sound turning into a broken whimper.

“Fuck… yes,” she breathed, then quickly recovered for the phone. “No, I’m fine, baby. Just… pushed myself a little too hard on that last sequence.”

Osiah leaned in closer, his chest pressing against her arched back, mouth right beside her ear. His voice was low, dark, and filthy—loud enough for Elizabeth to hear every word.

“Tell him how wet your cunt is right now,” he growled, still pounding into her with deep, steady strokes. “Tell him you’re dripping down your thighs while another man’s cock is stretching you open. Tell him exactly how full you feel with me buried inside you.”

Scarlett whimpered, her walls clenching visibly around his thick shaft. “I’m… really worked up, baby,” she gasped into the phone, her voice cracking. “Can’t wait to get back to the hotel and… take care of it. I’m so fucking wet right now… like I’m soaked through.”

Osiah’s hand tightened on her tit, pinching her nipple harder. “Good girl. Keep talking to him while I fuck this greedy little pussy. Tell him how much you love getting railed like a slut behind his back.”

Elizabeth felt her own pulse throb violently between her thighs. She pressed her legs together instinctively, but it only made the growing ache worse. Her eyes stayed locked on the raw scene—the way Osiah’s thick cock stretched Scarlett open, the shiny slick coating his shaft every time he pulled back, the way her tits bounced and jiggled uncontrollably with each thrust, the deep arch in her back as he held her arm pinned.

Scarlett’s voice cracked again on the phone. “Yeah… I’ll be sore tomorrow… but it feels so good when I finally let go…”

Osiah growled something low and dirty against her ear. “That’s right. Tell him how much you love getting your cunt ruined while you pretend everything’s normal. Tell him you’re clenching around me right now, milking every inch.”

Scarlett pushed back harder onto his cock, her ass cheeks spreading and rippling with every deep thrust. Her tits swung heavily, the soft flesh slapping together lightly as her body rocked forward and back. “Mmm… the choreography is really stretching me tonight,” she moaned softly into the phone, barely holding it together. “Feels so deep… I can barely take it… God, it’s so intense.”

Osiah’s hips snapped forward harder, the wet slap growing louder and filthier. “You’re taking every inch like a good little slut,” he muttered, voice rough with lust. “Your fiancé has no idea his perfect girlfriend is bent over getting fucked raw on set. Keep moaning for him while I fill this tight cunt. Tell him how close you are to cumming on another man’s cock.”

Scarlett’s head fell forward slightly, a broken whimper escaping as another powerful thrust drove into her. Her tits bounced wildly, nipples dragging against the table’s edge. “I’m… gonna be so sore tomorrow, baby. But it’s worth it… feels incredible…”

Elizabeth’s hand trembled against the lighting rig. The raw, filthy dialogue mixed with the obscene sounds was too much. She could see everything in vivid detail—the way Osiah’s thick cock disappeared completely inside Scarlett’s dripping pussy, the way her walls clung to him, the heavy bounce of her tits, the red marks forming on her hip and ass from his grip. Her own cunt was soaked, throbbing with need, her clit aching for touch.

Osiah changed the angle again, grinding deep and slow for a moment, making Scarlett’s back arch even more. “Tell him you’re clenching around me right now,” he ordered quietly, voice dark and commanding. “Tell him how full you feel with my cock stretching you open. Tell him you’re going to be leaking my cum all night.”

Scarlett’s voice came out shaky and breathy. “God… I feel so full tonight… like I can barely handle it… I’m shaking…”

“That’s my good girl,” Osiah praised, his hand mauling her tit again, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. “Now cum for me while you talk to your man. Let me feel that pussy squeeze my cock. Cum like the dirty little cheater you are.”

Scarlett’s body started to tremble. Her moans grew harder to hide. “Romain… I think I need to… wrap this up soon… I’m getting really close to… finishing…”

Her orgasm hit hard. Her cunt clenched visibly around Osiah’s thick cock, pulsing in strong, rhythmic waves as she came with a choked cry she tried to muffle. “Romain—fuck—I’m… I’m close to finishing the scene!” Her tits shook violently, ass rippling as her hips bucked back against him. Osiah kept thrusting through it, drawing out every spasm, his own low groan mixing with her broken gasps.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he growled, voice rough with lust. “Your cunt is milking my cock like it never wants to let go. Keep cumming. Let your fiancé hear how good it feels to get properly fucked while he thinks you’re just tired from stunts.”

Scarlett’s voice cracked into another broken moan as fresh waves rolled through her. “It feels… so intense tonight… I’m shaking… can barely stand…”

Osiah’s hand mauling her tit tightened, pinching her nipple hard again. “That’s because you’re getting railed like a slut. Your pussy is dripping all over me. Tell him you’re going to be sore for days because of how hard you’re getting fucked. Tell him you love it.”

Scarlett tried to speak, but another spasm hit her, turning her words into a whimper. “I’ll… I’ll be so sore tomorrow, baby… but it’s worth it…”

Elizabeth stayed frozen, her own cunt throbbing in time with every thrust she witnessed. The dirty talk, the wet sounds, the sight of Scarlett’s body being used so completely—it was all too much. Her thighs were slick, her clit aching, and she had to fight the overwhelming urge to touch herself right there.

Elizabeth’s own hand had slipped inside her sweatpants without her realizing. Her fingers pushed past the waistband and found her soaked panties, then slid beneath the thin fabric to rub slow, desperate circles over her swollen clit. She was dripping—her folds slick and hot, the wetness coating her fingertips instantly. Her eyes stayed glued to the raw scene in front of her, unable to look away. Every brutal thrust, every heavy bounce of Scarlett’s tits, every ripple and jiggle of that firm ass as Osiah drove into her made Elizabeth’s own cunt clench around nothing. Her breathing grew shallow and ragged, matching the rhythm she was watching.

She rubbed faster, biting her lower lip hard to keep any sound from escaping. The shame burned in her cheeks, but it only made the heat between her legs worse. She was soaked, her panties ruined, her fingers slippery as they circled her sensitive nub again and again. The sight of Osiah claiming Scarlett so completely—hair pulled, tits mauling, cock buried deep—sent fresh waves of arousal crashing through her. Her thighs trembled, knees weakening as she leaned heavier against the lighting rig for support.

Scarlett was still moaning softly into the phone, trying and failing to sound normal while Osiah continued to fuck her through the aftershocks, his thick cock stretching her messy cunt with every deep stroke.

“Fuck… yes, just like that,” Osiah growled low against Scarlett’s ear, his voice carrying just far enough for Elizabeth to hear every filthy word. “Tell him how your pussy is dripping for me right now. Tell him you’re getting fucked so deep you can barely speak. Tell him you’re clenching around a real cock while he thinks you’re just tired from stunts.”

Scarlett whimpered, her walls visibly fluttering around his shaft. “Romain… the rehearsal is still going,” she panted into the phone, voice cracking on every syllable. “It’s… it’s really intense tonight. I’m so worked up… can barely think straight. The choreography is stretching me in ways I didn’t expect… God, it’s so deep. I can feel every single inch, baby… it’s like my whole body is on fire right now.”

Osiah’s hand came down in a sharp smack on her ass, the crack loud in the quiet corner. Scarlett jolted, her ass rippling from the impact as she pushed back harder onto his cock.

“Good girl. Keep lying to him while I wreck this greedy cunt. Tell him how full you feel with me buried balls-deep.”

Elizabeth’s fingers moved quicker, pressure building fast in her core. She slipped two fingers inside herself, curling them desperately as the wet, filthy sounds of the fucking echoed in her ears—obscene squelching mixed with the sharp slap of Osiah’s hips against Scarlett’s ass. Her own cunt clenched around her fingers, dripping down her wrist.

Scarlett gasped into the phone, voice shaky but trying desperately to sound casual. “Romain… yeah, the rehearsal is still going strong. It’s intense tonight… the choreography is really pushing my limits. I’m working so hard, baby… every move is stretching me in ways I didn’t expect. God, it’s so deep… I can feel it everywhere.”

Osiah pulled out slowly, the thick length of his cock sliding free from Scarlett’s dripping cunt with a wet, obscene sound. A thick trickle of his cum immediately followed, running down her inner thigh in a slow, pearly stream. Scarlett whimpered at the sudden emptiness, her hips twitching back instinctively as if trying to chase him.

“Romain… oh god, the rehearsal just wrapped but my body is still buzzing,” she panted into the phone, voice shaky and breathless. “They really pushed me hard tonight… every move went so deep. I can feel it lingering… like my muscles are still stretching even now. I’m going to be so sore tomorrow, baby… but it felt incredible.”

Without a word, he spun her around, hands gripping her waist with easy strength, and lifted her onto the sturdy equipment table. Her ass hit the edge as he hooked her legs over his arms, spreading her wide and folding her nearly in half.

He drove back in with one smooth, powerful stroke, burying every thick inch to the hilt. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper, the broad head of his cock pressing right against her cervix with every grind. Scarlett’s eyes rolled back, her mouth falling open in silent, gasping moans as the overwhelming fullness hit her all over again. Her full tits bounced wildly between them, heavy and unrestrained, the soft flesh jiggling and slapping together with every deep thrust. Her nipples were dark, stiff peaks, already hypersensitive from earlier abuse.

“Fuck… Romain, they changed some of the lifts at the last minute,” Scarlett gasped into the phone, her voice cracking as Osiah bottomed out. “It’s like they’re testing how much I can take… every deep push is hitting spots I didn’t even know I had. I’m so full right now… it’s almost too much, but I love it.”

Osiah fucked her in long, grinding strokes—pulling back until just the head stretched her open, then slamming home again, hips rolling to stir his cock deep inside her messy cunt. The wet, filthy squelch of her soaked pussy taking him filled the small space, mixed with the soft slap of her tits bouncing against her chest.

“Again,” he ordered quietly, voice low and dark against her ear. “Cum on my cock while you talk to him. Let him hear how good it feels to get properly fucked. Tell him your pussy is clenching so hard you can barely breathe.”

Scarlett somehow kept the phone call going, her voice breaking and cracking with every thrust. “Yeah… baby, the rehearsal is still going… it’s so intense…” She gasped sharply as Osiah ground deep, another orgasm ripping through her without mercy. Her body seized up, legs trembling violently over his arms, cunt clamping down hard around his thick shaft in rhythmic, pulsing waves. Her tits heaved and bounced wildly as she came, a choked cry slipping out before she turned it into a shaky laugh for the phone. “I’m… I’m fine, just pushed myself a little hard tonight… the moves are really deep, you know? I can feel it everywhere… stretching me so wide I can barely catch my breath… God, Romain, it’s like my whole body is being pulled apart in the best way… I’m shaking from how intense it is…”

Osiah followed shortly after. With a low, guttural groan he buried himself to the root, hips grinding tight against her ass as he emptied himself again. Thick, hot spurts flooded her deep, mixing with the mess already inside her. He kept rolling his hips slowly, milking every last drop into her spasming cunt while her walls fluttered and squeezed around him.

“Feel that?” he growled softly, voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s me filling you up again. Your pussy is so full of my cum you’re going to be leaking for hours. Tell him you can’t wait to get home and ‘relax’ while my load drips out of you all night.”

Scarlett’s voice was wrecked. “I’ll… I’ll call you when I’m done… promise… yeah, I love you too… I’m just really sore from all the stretching tonight… the choreography really worked me over, baby… I’m going to need a long, hot shower when I get back… but I’ll be thinking about you the whole time… God, it feels so warm and full inside me right now…”

They switched once more. Osiah pulled out, flipped her over, and positioned Scarlett on her knees on the table, ass up high, face pressed down against the cool surface. He took her from behind again, slower this time, deliberate and deep, making her feel every single inch as he sank back into her cum-filled pussy. Her tits dragged heavily against the table with every thrust, sensitive nipples rubbing against the rough texture, sending fresh sparks of overstimulation through her body. Her ass rippled softly as he fucked her with long, possessive strokes, the wet sounds softer now but no less filthy.

“God, you’re such a dirty little slut,” Osiah murmured, his voice low and rough as he watched his cock disappear between her cheeks. “Taking my load while you whisper sweet nothings to your fiancé. Push that ass back for me—show me how much you love it. Tell him how good it feels to get fucked like this.”

Scarlett whimpered, her hips rocking back to meet him. “Mmm… it feels so good… I’m so full… the rehearsal really worked me over tonight, baby. I’ll be walking funny tomorrow, but it’s worth it… every deep push is making me so sensitive… it’s like the moves are still going even after we wrapped… I’m going to be sore for days from how hard they pushed me tonight… but God, it feels amazing when it all comes together like this…”

Elizabeth came quietly behind the rig. Her thighs shook violently, knees buckling as the orgasm crashed through her. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, stifling any sound as pleasure pulsed hot and sharp between her legs. Her fingers were soaked, buried deep in her own dripping cunt, rubbing frantically through the climax while her eyes stayed glued to the scene. Wave after wave rolled through her, leaving her trembling and breathless, her free hand gripping the lighting rig for support as her cunt spasmed around her fingers.

Elizabeth came quietly behind the rig. Her thighs shook violently, knees buckling as the orgasm crashed through her. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, stifling any sound as pleasure pulsed hot and sharp between her legs. Her fingers were soaked, buried deep in her own dripping cunt, rubbing frantically through the climax while her eyes stayed glued to the scene. Wave after wave rolled through her, leaving her trembling and breathless, her free hand gripping the lighting rig for support as her cunt spasmed around her fingers.

She watched until they finally finished. Scarlett whispered filthy little promises into the phone between soft moans—“Can’t wait to feel your hands on me when i get back… I’m going to be so sore tomorrow…”—while Osiah’s thick cum leaked steadily down her thighs in slow, creamy trails, dripping onto the table beneath her.

When it was over, Elizabeth slipped away on unsteady legs. Her face burned with shame and lingering arousal, her mind reeling, heart still pounding wildly in her chest. Every step felt shaky, her soaked panties clinging uncomfortably between her thighs as the images replayed behind her eyes.

***

The next morning Osiah was back in full 2nd 2nd AD mode. He moved through the extras with calm authority, positioning them for a wide street shot involving floating debris and panicked civilians. The set was alive with the usual controlled chaos—grips adjusting practical rigs for flying rubble, the low hum of fans ready to simulate wind, and the distant clatter of equipment being moved into place. Osiah cut through it all like he belonged there, headset on, voice steady on the walkie.

“Remember—you’re not screaming in terror,” he told a cluster of background actors gathered near a fake storefront. “You’re annoyed. This is your city. These superheroes keep wrecking your commute. You’ve got places to be, kids to pick up, coffee getting cold. Sell the frustration. Eyes on each other, muttered complaints, maybe a glare at the sky. Let’s make it feel real.”

One of the older extras nodded, adjusting his jacket with a grumble that already sounded convincing. Osiah gave a small approving nod and moved on, adjusting a few marks with quick gestures—tapping a woman’s shoulder to shift her two feet left, nudging a man’s stance so he wouldn’t block the camera’s sightline on Elizabeth’s upcoming beat. He gave quiet notes as he went: “Less panic, more irritation,” “Good, keep that shoulder tension,” “You’re late for work, not running from a monster.” The extras responded immediately, their movements tightening up under his direction. He kept the whole machine moving without raising his voice once.

Elizabeth was nearby, rehearsing a short reaction beat off to the side. She stood with quiet focus, listening to the director’s last notes, her hands making small, controlled gestures as she practiced the subtle energy flick for Wanda. When the take wrapped and the crew called for reset, Osiah walked past her at a measured pace and nodded.

“Morning. You good?”

She startled slightly, her head snapping up. A faint flush crept across her cheeks almost instantly. “Yeah. Fine. Just… didn’t sleep great.”

He studied her for a second, taking in the details. She looked distracted, eyes flicking away too quickly, landing on the ground, then his chest, then away again. Her thighs pressed together just a little tighter than normal, a subtle shift in her stance that betrayed the tension running through her body. He knew exactly why. The memory of last night was written all over her— the way her breathing hitched, the faint pink still lingering on her neck.

“Need anything adjusted before the next setup?” he asked, voice even and professional, giving nothing away.

“No, I’m okay.” Her voice came out a touch higher than usual, a little breathless at the edges. She kept stealing glances—at his hands, remembering how they had gripped Scarlett’s hip and pulled her hair; at his waist, where the memory of what hung behind his zipper refused to fade; then forcing her eyes back up to his face. Heat was already building low in her belly again, a slow, insistent throb that made her cunt clench involuntarily. The images from the night before kept flashing behind her eyes: Scarlett bent over, tits swaying heavily, ass rippling with every deep thrust, the wet slap of flesh, the way Osiah had driven into her so possessively while she tried to talk to her fiancé. Elizabeth’s nipples tightened against her bra, and she had to fight the urge to press her thighs together harder.

Osiah noticed every little tell—the flush, the quick glances, the way her breathing wasn’t quite steady. He didn’t push. Not yet. Scarlett’s words were still echoing in the back of his head, dark and insistent, but he wasn’t rushing this. He could have cornered her right there, used the state she is in on set to pull her aside, but that wasn’t how he wanted it. Slow was better. Let the tension build on its own. Let her come to him with that wide-eyed curiosity still burning.

“Alright. Holler if you need anything,” he said simply, his tone calm and casual, as if he hadn’t just caught her reliving every filthy detail of what she’d witnessed. He gave her one last steady look, then moved on to the next group of extras, already calling out quiet adjustments to their positioning.

Elizabeth stood there for a moment longer, heart racing, the heat between her legs refusing to settle. She forced herself to turn back toward the rehearsal area, but her mind stayed stuck on him—on the calm authority in his voice, the strength in those hands, and the raw memory of how completely he had taken Scarlett while she moaned into the phone.

Elizabeth watched him go, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang. Her pulse wouldn’t settle. It thrummed loud in her ears, a steady, insistent beat that matched the low throb building between her legs. Every time she looked at him now she saw the way he’d gripped Scarlett’s hips last night—fingers digging in deep, leaving marks on pale skin. She saw the thick, veined length of his cock disappearing inside her, stretching her open with every brutal thrust. She saw the raw power in his hips as he drove forward, Scarlett’s ass rippling and bouncing, her heavy tits swinging wildly with each impact.

Her cunt throbbed at the memory, a sudden, slick pulse that made her clench involuntarily. Fresh wetness soaked into her panties. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to ignore how sensitive her nipples felt against the thin fabric of her bra—tight, aching peaks that brushed with every breath and sent little sparks straight down to her core.

The day continued like that—Osiah doing his job with quiet competence, occasionally crossing paths with Elizabeth. Each brief interaction left her more flustered. He would pass by to reset extras, voice calm and even as he gave directions, but there was an undercurrent now. Something knowing in his eyes whenever they met hers. A subtle weight to his gaze that made her stomach tighten and her thighs press together.

He didn’t leer. He didn’t smirk. He was polite, professional, asking simple questions about positioning or if she needed water. But every time he spoke, she heard the echo of his low growl from the night before—“Again. Cum on my cock while you talk to him.” Every time his hands moved—gesturing to an extra, adjusting a mark—she remembered those same hands mauling Scarlett’s tits, pinching her nipples, pulling her hair back hard while he fucked her deep.

By late afternoon they were shooting a sequence with practical debris rigs. The set was alive with the whine of wires and the hiss of compressed air as fake rubble floated and tumbled through the frame. Elizabeth was in position, reacting to the chaos around her, body tense as she channeled Wanda’s controlled power. Her foot caught wrong on a taped mark during a quick pivot. The twist was sharp and sudden. Pain shot up her leg like fire.

She went down with a sharp cry, clutching her ankle as her knee buckled.

“Cut!” the AD called immediately, the word cutting through the set noise.

Osiah was there in seconds, clearing space with calm authority. “Give her room. Medic’s on the way but let’s not crowd her.” His voice carried without shouting, parting the small cluster of crew and extras like a quiet wave. He knelt beside her on the concrete, close enough that she caught the clean scent of his skin mixed with the faint smell of set dust.

“Let me see.”

Elizabeth winced but nodded, teeth gritted against the throbbing pain. He gently took her ankle in both hands, his fingers surprisingly warm and careful as they probed the joint. The pain was sharp at first, a bright spike that made her hiss through her teeth. Then it eased—almost immediately—under his touch. His thumbs worked in slow, firm circles, finding the exact spots that needed pressure, working the swelling down with precise, practiced movements. The throbbing dulled to a manageable ache, the fire cooling into something bearable.

“Sprain,” he said quietly, voice low and steady, meant only for her. “Not bad, but you’re done for today. Take the weight off it.”

Elizabeth stared at him, breathing shallow and quick. His hands on her skin felt electric, the warmth of his palms sinking straight through her sock and into her flesh. The memory of last night flashed again—those same hands mauling Scarlett’s tits, squeezing the soft, heavy mounds roughly, fingers sinking deep before pinching her nipples hard. Those hands gripping Scarlett’s hair, yanking her head back while he drove into her from behind, claiming her completely. Heat flooded her core despite the pain in her ankle, a fresh rush of slick warmth making her cunt ache.

“Thank you,” she managed, her voice a little breathless. “It already feels better.”

“Good.” He helped her up carefully, one strong arm supporting her weight so she didn’t have to put pressure on the injured ankle. His touch was firm but gentle, nothing like the rough possession she had witnessed the night before, yet her body reacted anyway—nipples tightening further, thighs pressing together as another pulse of unwanted arousal throbbed through her. “We’ll get you to the medical tent. The take was solid before you went down, so you’ve got three or four days off. Rest it.”

He kept his arm around her as they moved slowly toward the medical tent, his steps measured to match hers. Elizabeth leaned into him more than she needed to, the solid warmth of his body beside her making it impossible to ignore how aware she was of him now. Every shift of his hand on her waist sent her mind spiraling back to the closet—the wet slap of flesh, Scarlett’s broken moans into the phone, the way Osiah had fucked her so deep and hard while she tried to sound normal for her fiancé.

She swallowed hard, face still flushed, the dull pain in her ankle doing nothing to dull the heat pooling low in her belly.

In the tent, while the medic wrapped her ankle, Elizabeth kept glancing at Osiah. He stayed nearby, leaning against a folding table with his arms crossed, making sure everything was handled without hovering. The medic worked efficiently, winding the elastic bandage around her swollen joint with practiced turns, but Elizabeth’s attention kept drifting. Every time she looked at him, the images from last night flooded back unbidden—the way his hips had snapped forward, the wet slap of skin, Scarlett’s tits bouncing heavily as she tried to keep her voice steady on the phone.

Osiah’s presence filled the small medical tent. He wasn’t doing anything dramatic, just standing there in his headset and black crew shirt, but the calm authority he carried made the space feel smaller. His eyes met hers occasionally, steady and unreadable, yet she swore she saw something darker flicker beneath the surface every time their gazes locked.

When the medic stepped out for a moment to grab more supplies, the tent fell quiet except for the distant hum of the set outside. Elizabeth’s heart pounded. The words tumbled out before she could stop herself, her voice soft and rushed.

“Would you… want to get dinner sometime? Just… as thanks. For this. And for keeping things running so smoothly.”

Her face burned the second the words left her mouth, heat rushing up her neck and across her cheeks in a fierce blush. She wasn’t even sure what she was doing. She had seen him fucking Scarlett—seen his thick cock stretching her open, seen Scarlett’s ass rippling with every deep thrust while she moaned into the phone to her fiancé. And yet here she was, asking him to dinner like some nervous schoolgirl. Her ankle throbbed dully, but it was nothing compared to the slick, aching heat building between her legs again just from being this close to him.

Osiah looked at her, calm on the surface, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something possessive and knowing that made her stomach tighten. He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched for a heartbeat, heavy with everything unsaid.

Before he could respond, the tent flap opened with a soft rustle.

Scarlett stepped in, still in partial costume, the tactical top unzipped just enough to show a hint of cleavage. A knowing little smirk already played on her lips, her eyes sharp and amused as they took in the scene.

“Heard you took a tumble,” she said, voice warm and concerned on the surface, but her eyes held that wicked glint. “You okay, Liz?”

Elizabeth nodded quickly, too quickly, her blush deepening. “Yeah. Just a sprain. Osiah helped a lot.”

Scarlett’s gaze slid slowly to him, lingering for a moment, then back to Elizabeth. The smirk deepened, turning almost predatory. “He’s good with his hands. Very good.” She let the words hang in the air, heavy and loaded, the double meaning unmistakable. “We’re very good friends, Osiah and I. Old friends from the first film.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks went even redder, the heat spreading down her neck. She suddenly felt exposed, as if Scarlett could see straight through her—could see the way her cunt was still throbbing from the memories of last night, the way her nipples were tight against her bra just from Osiah’s proximity.

Scarlett leaned in and gave Elizabeth’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, her touch light but deliberate. Her fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary. “Rest up. Heal quick. And enjoy dinner.” Her eyes flicked to Osiah again, full of wicked amusement, the unspoken claim loud and clear in the air between them. “You two have fun.”

She left with that same smirk curling her lips, the tent flap falling shut behind her with a soft whisper. The scent of her perfume lingered for a moment—warm vanilla mixed with something sharper.

Elizabeth swallowed hard, heart racing so fast she could feel it in her throat. Her mouth felt dry. She looked back at Osiah, unsure what the hell she had just walked into. The invitation she had blurted out now felt loaded with layers she didn’t fully understand. Scarlett’s words hung in the tent like smoke—very good friends—and the way she had said “enjoy dinner” carried an undercurrent that made Elizabeth’s stomach flutter with a confusing mix of nerves and heat.

Osiah’s expression remained calm, but that darker flicker was still there in his eyes when he finally spoke, his voice low and even.

“Dinner sounds good.”

Elizabeth could only nod, her pulse still thundering, the dull ache in her ankle nothing compared to the slick, insistent throb between her thighs and the whirlwind of questions spinning in her head.