Temptation on The Edge.
Angel’s POV
For two damn days, I hadn’t gotten a proper moment’s rest. Just a handful of short breaks after seven grueling hours of shooting, and even those were barely enough to scarf down a bite.
The makeup crew swooped in every time, eating up half the break to prep me for the next scene, leaving my stomach growling and my energy drained.
I was starving, my eyes heavy from lack of sleep, barely able to stay open.
Glancing around, I saw the other actors moving through the set like they were immune to the exhaustion, chatting and laughing as if we hadn’t been grinding for days.
How the hell were they so unfazed?
I tried to force my eyes to stay open, but it was a losing battle. With a heavy sigh, I slouched deeper into my chair, my body begging for a break.
Of course, that’s when Hunter decided to bark for our attention, his voice cutting through my haze.
Four hours later, Roselyn finally called it a wrap, and I could’ve wept with relief. Rolling my eyes, too tired to care, I let my body slide off the chair and collapse onto the cold tiles, the coolness against my skin a small mercy after the endless day.
Raul’s Point Of View
The moment she collapsed onto the cold tile floor, I knew.
She was past her limit.
Two fucking days of relentless shooting. There was barely any rest. No proper meals. And yet, she hadn’t complained once—not out loud. But I saw it. In the way her shoulders slouched. In the subtle tremble of her fingers. In her heavy-lidded eyes that struggled to stay open.
Four hours later, Roselyn finally called it a wrap, and I swear I saw relief flood her face. She rolled her eyes, too tired to care, and slumped to the cold tiles, her body giving out.
My chest tightened at the sight.
I could tell she was beyond exhausted the moment she hit the floor. So many times, she’d called my name, her eyes locking with mine, pleading for a break she never voiced.
I knew what she wanted, but until she learned to demand it, I wouldn’t give in. She needed to find that strength.
But now—fuck. She looked like she was going to pass out.
I moved toward her, crouching down to her level.
“Angel,” I called softly, my palm brushing her soft, warm skin. Her body was stiff, tense under my touch.
She turned her head slowly, struggling to stand.
“M-Mr. D’Amano, I-I’m sorry, I….”
“What are you apologizing for, Caramella?” I raised a brow, watching her blink rapidly, her stance wobbly, unsteady. She opened her mouth to speak, but her knees buckled. And then lost consciousness.
I caught her just in time, her full weight collapsing against me like she finally let herself break.
“Angel,” I called, voice laced with concern now.
Everyone turned to stare, but I didn’t give a fuck about what they could be speculating .
“My key,” I said sharply, and Danielle rushed over with it.
“Bring our things to the car,” I ordered, scooping her into my arms.
Her weight felt fragile, precious, as I carried her out, Danielle trailing behind.
I settled her in the backseat of my car, her body curled against the leather, and tossed our things in the front. I didn’t take her to my house. Bringing her there meant Catalina, and I wasn’t in the mood for another mental drama tonight.
Instead, I drove to my condo, a quiet sanctuary where I could have her to myself.
In my room, I laid her gently on the bed and slipped off her shoes, revealing her small, delicate feet, toenails painted a rich brown that matched her golden-brown skin like she was born dipped in honey.
I sat on the edge of the bed, unable to tear my eyes away from the angel sprawled across my sheets.
Finally, she was here, in my space, on my bed. Not in the way I fantasized, not yet—but fuck, just seeing her there stirred something dark and dangerous in me.
Her light pink lips rested in a soft, neutral line, her naturally arched brows relaxed. Her brown skin, untouched by the sinful thoughts racing through my mind, seemed to glow under the soft lamplight. Her curls were in a messy bun, but a few strands had escaped, curling around her cheeks, framing her like a goddess I wasn’t worthy of—but would worship anyway.
She breathed so quietly, her full, round breasts rising and falling in rhythm, hypnotic in their motion. The faint chocolate scent of her skin filled the room, invading my senses, pulling me deeper into her orbit.
My gaze drifted to her curvy hips. Her waist, impossibly narrow. Her body, fuck, it was curved like temptation itself. A jolt of desire hit me hard. I wanted nothing more than to grip them, to feel her move against me, to lose myself in her.
Memories of her body pressed against mine at the studio flooded back—her ass flush against me, her soft lips tasting like bubble gum, molding perfectly to mine.
I could still feel the curve of her waist in my hands, the echo of her low moan vibrating against my mouth.
My dick twitched, hardening at the thought, and I cursed under my breath. If I stayed here any longer, staring at her like this, I’d do something reckless.
With a frustrated groan, I forced myself to stand and headed for a cold shower, hoping it would douse the fire she’d ignited before I lost control completely.