I Think I've Had Enough

Chapter 91:It's Not That We're ScaredIt's Just That It's Delicate

In a dimly lit corner just out of frame, Patrick sat in a production chair. The crew scurried around him.  It felt as though they were in slow motion and they sped out of control. It was all very distant. His mind swirled once again with what had been. A decade of love scenes danced with emotion.

The director called cut but Patrick didn't stop kissing Ellen's neck, "I might be in trouble if this water was actually warm," he whispered.

"You're still miked," the sound guy warned him quickly.

Ellen's light hearted laughter broke out suddenly. Although he was sitting, it was that very laugh that made him weak in the knees. He could feel the emotion tingle inside of him. How could she possibly make a 15-hour day feel like 15 minutes?

He ran his hand down her smooth warm arm and wondered if they had turned off the mic yet. "And now?" he asked.

"Still miked," he shouted.

"Damn," Patrick laughed too. "It's these candles." He smelled her skin for a moment as she started to pull away from him.

"You are something else," her Boston accent slipping out. Ellen stood up. Her long legs and toned butt nearly in his face.

He tried to sensor his thoughts but failed immediately. He cleared the discomfort from his throat as he watched the crew wrap a robe around her.

"Patrick," Ellen's voice startled him, "You okay?"

Patrick looked up at her hoping his eyes didn't give away too much. He smiled, "Yes," and then, "A little nervous."

"Nervous?" Ellen was surprised, "It's not like you haven't seen me naked."

"Naked?" he asked coming apart at the seams. "I hadn't thought of that... I mean-," he stuttered, "It's just been a long time."

Interrupting them, "We are going to take this scene from entering the room. So, Samantha, pulling him through the door landing here on your mark in the middle of the room and then you know how it plays out."

"Ready or not," Ellen smiled as the crew settled into place.

"And action," the director yelled.

Ellen pulled Patrick through the door, forcefully closing it behind her. "Samantha," he spoke his line, "what are you doing."

"Tell me you haven't been thinking about doing this all night and I'll leave," Ellen spoke her line as she pulled them to their mark. She fiddled with the zipper on the front of her dress.

Patrick eyes hovered over her hand and then followed her zipper down the front of her golden gown and the tiny figure that filled it. She was simply perfect. He didn't speak. His eyes told the story. His whole body pulsed as she unzipped the front of her dress. He swallowed hard, admiring her lacey lingerie for a moment. He was so consumed by his own thoughts and feelings that he couldn't even remember his character's name.

He kissed her face and she felt her nerves tingle. Their tongues waring as he lifted her and carried her to the bed. She pulled at his pants, a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she remembered the way he had described the script. "Cut," the call of the director bursting their fantasy bubble. "Alright, lose the clothes,"

Ellen could feel that her breath was heavy in her chest, "I get what you mean now." He turned away as she slipped beneath the sheets. Patrick followed quickly. He placed himself on top of her. Filming a sex scene was rarely romantic but for some reason this time everything felt sensual. She wanted him, and given the option, would take him, here, now, in front of everyone. He tried not to look down at her, he peaked for a moment. His own lips smiling against his will. "Jesus," he looked back up at the ceiling, "I'm not sure I can do this."