The footage was a masterpiece—pure, kinetic energy captured in 4K. Even Sasha looked impressed, and she was a woman who had seen everything. As we wrapped the review, Lana stood up, her movements fluid and satisfied, ignoring the ghost of her husband lingering in the shadows of the room.
She walked me toward the foyer, her hand trailing playfully along my arm. "That was… enlightening, Druski," she murmured, her voice a low purr. "But I think the cameras missed the best parts. We should definitely do another scene. And if we can't do it for the fans, we can always shoot a private one. Just you, me, and no script."
I looked at her, remembering the way she'd tasted—rich, complex, and intoxicating, like a vintage wine that only got better with age. "A private session? I was thinking the same thing. Maybe a hotel next time, though. Somewhere your husband won't be lurking in the hallway like a haunted house attraction."
