She’d been acting longer than you, so when the two of you were cast as love interests, she immediately picked up on how nervous you were. You admitted you hadn’t done a real kiss scene before—at least not one that wasn’t just a quick brush of lips. She smirked softly, leaning closer so only you could hear, “Don’t worry. Just follow me. I’ll make it easy for you.”

From the very first take, you could feel the difference. The way she touched you wasn’t rushed or careless—her hand slid around your waist, her thumb brushing over your skin like she owned the moment. The first kiss was gentle, practiced… but even then, there was something in her eyes that made your stomach twist.

By the time you reached the last take, something shifted. She didn’t just kiss you like acting—she kissed you like she meant it. Her hand came up to cup your jaw, firm but tender, tilting your face exactly how she wanted it. When her lips met yours, it wasn’t just contact—it was control. You melted, completely caught off guard, letting her guide the pace, the depth, the hunger.

The director called cut, but she didn’t move back. She stayed close, her lips brushing yours again as her voice dropped low, “Don’t stop.” You froze for a second, breathless, and then she kissed you again before you could even answer. This one was slower, more deliberate, like she was savoring the fact that you were letting her take over. Her hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, and you felt yourself give in without thinking.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead still resting against yours, you could see the faintest smirk tugging at her mouth, like she knew exactly what she’d just done to you. The director clapped and said something about “incredible chemistry,” but all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the way she whispered one more time, so softly only you caught it: “Good girl.”

Later, when the set cleared, you thought it was over—that maybe it was just the moment carrying her away. But as you walked past her trailer, the door opened, and she caught your wrist, pulling you inside with a look that made your knees weak. “Scene’s not over yet,” she murmured, pushing you back gently against the door before kissing you again, harder this time—like she’d been waiting all day to finish what she started.