Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 43856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
As a sought-after film intimacy coordinator, Rae has spent years choreographing passion on screen while her own love life has faded into the background. This year, she’s planning to change things. And it starts with taking herself out on a solo date at New York’s most exclusive, $5,000-a-plate restaurant, where every bite is a masterpiece and every sip of champagne tastes like wealth.But she never expected him. A devastatingly handsome, French enigma, watching her with unfiltered hunger. Dangerous in the way powerful men are. Possessive in the way that ruins lives and makes women drip with hunger.
As Rae surrenders to a world of culinary pleasure, she’s left wondering will this only be a fun solo date or will she become a delicious course on his menu?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
Sex Choreography
Rae
Tension buzzed throughout the movie set as we all prepared for the film’s first sex scene.
Okay. Let’s make sure everything is on point.
The set was an absolute masterpiece, designed to mirror the opulent and dangerous world of Blood and Vows—the viral mafia romance novel that had captivated millions of women and sparked fanfics, memes, and even custom playlists.
Expecting this to be a blockbuster hit, the production team had spared no expense, pouring what felt like half the movie’s enormous budget into this one room to ensure it would look as breathtakingly seductive as fans had imagined.
Just another day making two impossibly gorgeous humans pretend to have the kind of sex regular people can only dream about.
I grinned.
Totally normal.
The bedroom was drenched in decadence.
Rich, dark velvet covered the walls.
The centerpiece of the space was this massive bed, draped in blood-red silk sheets that shimmered under this massive chandelier.
A fireplace dominated one wall, its flames simulated for safety but no less mesmerizing.
Above it hung a painting of a dark, stormy ocean, the kind of thing you’d expect to find in a villain’s lair. On the mantle, gold chalices and an antique pistol sat side by side, little touches that felt ripped straight from the book.
To the left of the bed was a small table set for two, complete with crystal glasses and a decanter of what looked like whiskey. And not just any whiskey—there was a label I couldn’t quite make out, but I’d overheard the props team gushing about it being some insanely rare vintage that had cost a ridiculous amount of money, even though no one would ever actually drink it.
But it was the little details that really made the set sing. A knife glinted on the bedside table, encrusted with tiny rubies. Next to it was a single, wilting white rose, its petals blackened at the edges.
This scene is going to be insane.
I didn’t even want to know how much they spent to make the room smell perfect, but it worked. It felt like stepping into the pages of the book itself—a place where passion and violence intertwined.
“Let’s see.” I walked around, checking everything one last time. “Anything else?”
My assistant, Gisselle followed behind me. “I believe we have everything double checked, Rae.”
“Perfect.”
She looked at me. “What time do you leave for your trip?”
I checked my watch. “I’m out of here in four hours.”
“Rae, I hope you have an amazing time.”
“Me too.” My eyes landed on the ropes coiled neatly on the side table.
They looked innocuous enough—soft, silk-blend ropes dyed a deep crimson to match the set’s color palette—but I knew better than to trust appearances. This wasn’t my first time working on a scene that involved restraints, and I’d learned early in my career that safety always had to come first.
The last thing anyone needed was for Ava Laurent, the biggest star on the planet, to pass out—or worse—because someone didn’t test the equipment properly.
Picking up the ropes, I ran my fingers along their length, and gave them a few experimental tugs, testing their strength and flexibility.
Next, I tied a simple loop around my wrist, snug but not tight, to see how it felt.
No pinching.
No constriction.
Good.
I undid the knot. “Gisselle, do we have a pair of scissors in my kit for just in case?”
“We do, and I added another pair just in case.”
“Excellent.”
Having my career-defining project remembered as "Actress Dies Filming Mafia Romance Sex Scene" wasn't exactly what I had in mind for today.
I scanned the space, super excited.
We were about to film the infamous scene where the hero had just killed the heroine’s kidnappers and carried her—still trembling and bloody—back to this very room.
The scene fans had dissected a thousand times, theorizing over every line, every breath.
This wasn’t just a scene.
This was the moment.
And if we didn’t nail it, the internet was going to tear us apart.
I took my coffee from Gisselle. “Let Marco know that we’re ready.”
With a nod from Gisselle, the director Marco rose from his chair with the script clutched tightly in his hand.
Gripping my coffee, I headed off to the side.
The cameras hummed steadily.
The main camera guy, Santana rolled the dolly into position with a soft creak, muttering something about the “magic angle” for the perfect shot.
I took a sip of my coffee, wishing I’d told Gissele to add an extra pump of caramel syrup.
And right on cue, Ava Laurent strolled in.
The moment I spotted Ava, I was reminded of how impossibly perfect she looked. The kind of perfect that didn’t just come from youth but from being crafted by the European gods themselves.
Even though the make-up artist had splattered her with fake drops of blood and a few strategic smudges on her face, her long, platinum-blond hair cascaded down her back like liquid sunlight, and those icy blue eyes were so sharp they could probably cut glass.