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Trust Me

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I stared blankly at the line in my script. I had been going over the same scene, alone in my trailer, for the past 40 minutes. I wasn’t retaining a thing, and my mind was all over the place with memories of a sleepless night. I read it again, and stared into my vanity mirror. What the fuck, Balfe. It was a single sentence. 

 

“I’ve asked Brianna–”

 

My mind blanked again. I picked up my phone and saw an unread message.

 

Dusty Rose: Christ, if Matthew doesn’t stop crying. He screams every time we sit him on Sleepy.

 

Without acknowledging Sam’s message, I typed my own.

 

Come to my trailer when you’re done with the scene. I’m distracted and need to talk through something with you. Maybe running the lines together will help. 

 

Dusty Rose: K. I have 20 minutes or so for a reset.

 

I closed my eyes and fluffed out my flat wig hair. Shit, I was tired and could use a pick me up. Where was that PA with the fucking coffee? I folded my legs up indian style, closing in on myself in the salon chair I was sitting in in front of the mirror. I arched my back, stretching my arms high out over my head and rolled my head around. It was going to be a long night. 

 

I folded my arms on my head, closed my eyes, and ran through the line again. 

 

“I’ve asked Brianna to draw some portraits for us. Of all of them, especially Jemmy.”

 

I was taken out of my reverie by the sound of an elephant wearing boots, stomping and scraping, as the screen door slammed shut behind me.

 

“Is really it necessary to make that much noise?” I said without moving or opening my eyes.

 

“It rained a bit. Would ye prefer I left the muddy boots on?” 

 

I opened my eyes and chuckled at the sight of Sam stumbling around and pulling the heavy boots off in one tug, nearly losing his balance. 

 

“What’s the deal? What are we rehearsing? I’m not sure if I’m in the headspace to go over that last block again at the moment.”

 

I gave him a weak smile. “It’s silly really, but it’s just the short scene before the window. My mind’s been elsewhere and I need someone to keep me in the moment.”

 

He walked over to where I was sitting and propped against the counter, facing me. Looking over, he picked up the script and analyzed the page I was on. He raised his eyes to look at me, brows hitting the ceiling.

 

“Ye have two lines?”

 

“.... yes,” I hesitated, lifting my chin up a bit.

 

“Where is Caitríona and what did ye do with her?” He gave me an incredulous look, tilting his head to the side.

 

I rolled my eyes and let out a small snicker.

 

“What’s going on up there?” He said, and swatted the side of my head with the script.

 

I sighed and covered my eyes with my arms once more, afraid that I had reached the point of exhaustion where I may actually shed tears. 

 

“Hey. Balfe.” A more serious tone this time, I thought. 

 

Letting out another big sigh, I let my arms fall to the arms of the chair, and steeled my expression. His face softened while he waited for an answer. 

 

“There’s just… a lot going on at home. A lot going on here. A lot to prep for and scenes I'm nervous about. I didn’t sleep well. My mind is racing and I’m having a hard time focusing.”

 

He gave me a sympathetic smile, which morphed into a more serious “Jamie look.” I always found it funny how he could switch Jamie on and off like that. 

 

“That’s a braw notion, Sassenach.”

 

He smiled at me and lifted one eyebrow.

 

“I remembered you for 20 years, Mo Chridhe. No pictures at all, hm. But it does help.” He gave a smirk, no doubt at the confidence he had in delivering a well-practiced line. 

 

He lifted my hand and pressed it to his lips, lingering for a moment. Sam or Jamie now? We held eye contact, and for a moment, my mind was clear and everything stood still. His expression was soft and warm. The bloody man was always so concerned with how I was feeling. So in tune. Always my calm center, and always making sure I was okay– even if he was mostly to blame for the turbulence at home. But he didn’t need to know that.

 

“What are you doing?” I said, scoffing, then trying (and failing) to yank my hand away.

 

He held his grip and tugged at my hand, as he took a step back, and pulled me to my feet. He pulled me close with his hands on my hips and I stood there, looking up at him, frozen, unsure what to do. And then his hands went lower, cupping my ass and lifting me. Before I knew what was happening I was being placed on the counter with him standing close between my legs. He stood still for a moment, giving me time to move, or push him away. I felt myself fighting to give into another moment that felt rather intimate, considering our current dynamic. 

 

He ran a soothing hand up and down my back, while the other ran up the outside of my leg. Finger tips ever so lightly tracing from ankle to the back of my knee, until they stopped, disappearing under my robe and on top of my thigh. He leaned in, laying his palm flat on the top of my thigh, and spreading his fingertips dangerously close to where I wanted them. His lips hovered closely to my ear and his breath was hot, tickling and raising the baby hairs on my skin.

 

“Onions.”

 

I let out a cackle. This was not where I thought things were going.

 

“Garlic. Mmm. Something hot,” he continued. “Hm... peppercorns, aye. Cloves.”

 

I pulled back, giving him a questioning look. He wiggled his eyebrows and answered by placing a soft kiss on the skin underneath my left ear.

 

“Are we still running lines?” I asked, as I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath.

 

“Aren’t we?

 

I pulled back and swatted at him. “Don’t do that.”

 

He grinned like a devil.

 

“Sam–” shaking my head, I moved to get down from the counter. “Your driver will be back here any moment.”

 

He placed a hand on the low part of my stomach to stop me and lowered his head to meet my eyes. “Trust me?”

 

I hesitated as I felt the fingertips inch closer to the inside of my leg. His hand was now completely under my robe. I felt his thumb brush down and stroke my thigh lazily. As he placed his other hand on my lower back and pulled me aflush with him, wedging my legs further apart.

 

I looked him dead in the eye, holding eye contact to the point where it was nearly uncomfortable, but he didn’t break. He held my gaze as the hand on my thigh began to move towards my center. He dipped a single, dexterous finger into my wetness, sliding it upwards and swirling around the swelling nub with the lightest pressure. My mouth fell open and his reaction mirrored mine, as I sucked in a heavy breath of air. I heard him let out a low whimper, as a second finger joined in, this time pressing further. I relished in the feel of him moving torturously slow, and struggled to keep our eyes locked. 

 

My lids lowered and he planted a hand at the base of my hair, tugging hard enough to cause me to open my eyes further. 

 

“Let me make you feel good,” he breathed into my mouth, but all I could manage was a sob.

 

I held his eyes once again, as I watched him drop to his knees, one at a time, and hike my leg over his shoulder. He dragged his tongue up the inside of my knee, pausing to look at me for a moment, then continued up, before he placed his hot mouth over my center and ran his tongue bottom to top.

 

Sam picked up his pace, urgently swirling, licking, and sucking. Moving to the spot that he had carefully practiced so many times before, sending me into my undoing. I threw my head backwards, slamming it in the cabinet hanging above and letting out an ungodly moan. 

 

His hand flew up to silence me and I dipped his fingers into my mouth, sucking and following his pace. I heard him growl and let out a low “fuck” myself, as bright spots began to appear, and I couldn’t focus on anything but my completion. 

 

Looking up at me, he spread me open with his fingers and suddenly the pressure of his tongue was too much. I reeled forward as my hand jumped to the top of his head and my fingers dug into his hair, but I wasn’t sure if I was stopping him or pulling him closer. He flicked his tongue over me, once, twice, and I launched forward again. 

 

“Let go, Cait,” he breathed. And I did, feeling all the tension leave my body.

 

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there on the counter, with my eyes closed and resting my head against the cabinets. When I did finally open my eyes, rather regretfully, I was alone and my phone was buzzing across the table at the end of the trailer. I hopped down and padded over to it.

 

How do we keep ending up here? I thought to myself, running a hand over my face and through my hair. So much for clearing your fucking mind, Balfe.

 

Dusty Rose: You knocked out for a bit and I’m due back on set. PA is bringing that coffee.

 

Thank you, I replied.

 

I watched the three dots appear on the iMessage screen; then disappear. They appeared again, this time staying on the screen for what felt like a lifetime… 

 

I heard a knock and turned to open the door to see Kerry, my makeup artist.

 

“Hey, Caitríona! Ready to get into makeup?” 

 

I gave her a warm smile and nodded.

 

I looked down at my phone again. His reply never came through.