Aaron carried her to the bathroom without a word, her body completely boneless against his chest.
He set her down gently on the edge of the marble counter and turned on the water for the oversized soaking tub, letting it fill with hot steam.
While the tub filled, he moved back to her, his hands gentle now—completely different from moments before.
He brushed her sweat-dampened hair from her forehead, his touch tender.
“You’re okay?” he asked softly, his voice stripped of its edge.
She nodded, unable to speak, her whole body still trembling from the intensity.
He kissed her forehead, then carried her into the hot water.
She sank in with a gasp, the heat welcoming her exhausted muscles.
He stepped in after her and began to wash her—his movements careful, reverent.
His hands moved across her shoulders, her back, her arms, cleaning away the evidence of what they’d just done.
He was focused on taking care of her, his touch gentle as he washed between her thighs, as he cleaned every part of her body.
It was intimate in a completely different way—no dominance, just care.
But as his hands moved over her skin, as she felt him close to her, Nicole’s arousal began to rebuild.
The tenderness of his touch, the intimacy of the moment, was doing something to her.
She reached down and gripped his hardening cock beneath the water, stroking it slowly.
Aaron’s breath caught.
“Nicole—”
“Shh,” she whispered, and shifted to straddle him in the warm water.
Her movements were deliberate, controlled.
She stroked him under the water, watching his expression shift from surprise to need.
His hands found her waist, but instead of staying passive, they moved to her hips, then up to caress her breasts beneath the water.
His fingers found her nipples, stroking them gently, and she gasped at the sensation.
He was reciprocating her touch—his hands moving across her body with reverence, even as she stroked his growing arousal.
She positioned him between her thighs and began to rock against him, his cock sliding between her wet folds without penetrating.
The water made everything slick, everything easy, and she moved slowly, deliberately, her eyes locked on his.
His breathing became heavier, his hands moving down her back, across her ass, stroking and caressing.
One hand slipped between her thighs from behind, his fingers finding her clit and stroking it gently as she moved against him, matching her rhythm.
“That’s it,” he whispered, and his touch was tender but present, actively pleasuring her even as she led.
She moved faster, her hips rocking against him, her movements deliberate and sensual.
The water splashed around them, and his cock was hard and heavy between her thighs, sliding against her with each movement.
His fingers continued their gentle circles on her clit, adding another layer of sensation.
“Come for me,” she whispered, and increased her pace slightly.
His breathing became ragged, his hand pressing slightly firmer against her clit as he felt his own orgasm building.
He was giving her pleasure even as she gave him his, both of them connected, both of them feeling.
His orgasm built quickly, and when it came, it was with a groan, his cock pulsing between her thighs as he came, his release warm in the hot water.
She felt him pulse against her, felt the evidence of his pleasure.
But his hand didn’t stop.
His fingers continued to stroke her clit, building her toward her own release.
The sensation of him coming between her thighs, combined with his gentle touch, pushed her over the edge.
She came with a soft cry, her body shuddering in the warm water, squirting as his fingers worked her through it.
He held her close, his free hand on her back, supporting her as her orgasm washed through her.
They stayed wrapped together in the steaming tub, breathing hard, completely connected, no words, no performance, just two people completely undone and completely together.
“Aaron,” she murmured, the unease bleeding into her voice.
“Weinstein tonight…
the way he looked at me.
It felt heavy.”
Aaron opened his eyes.
The easy warmth between them vanished, replaced by a sudden, cold calculation.
He pulled her tighter against his chest.
“Harvey’s a predator.
Trust your gut.”
She turned her head to look at him.
“Listen to me,” Aaron said, his tone entirely professional, entirely deadly.
“No private meetings.
Ever.
If he pitches a script reading in his hotel suite, you walk the other way.
Clear?”
Nicole nodded, a slight shiver breaking through the scalding water.
Aaron rested his chin against her wet hair, his jaw tight.
Harvey was a menace, but he was a menace with a lethal eye for cinema.
The fact that the Miramax boss had honed in on both Sex, Lies, and Videotape and Cinema Paradiso so early meant he was about to have a stranglehold on the indie market.
“It’s terrifying,” Nicole said quietly, letting her head drop back against his shoulder.
“Getting a foothold in this industry feels impossible.”
Aaron’s expression smoothed out.
He pressed a warm kiss to her wet shoulder, his hands tracing the slick curve of her waist under the water to pull her flush against him.
“It is.
That’s why you have me.”
His voice dropped, low and absolute.
“I navigate the politics.
I manage the monsters.
You just focus on the camera.”
Nicole let out a slow breath, the tension finally washing out of her shoulders as she melted completely against his chest.
On the evening of May 23rd, the Palais des Festivals crackled with electricity.
The Cannes closing ceremony was the epicenter of the film world, and Aaron watched quietly from the orchestra as history cemented itself.
Steven Soderbergh, a twenty-six-year-old kid from Louisiana, stunned the room by taking the Palme d’Or for Sex, Lies, and Videotape.
James Spader walked away with Best Actor.
Meryl Streep took Best Actress for A Cry in the Dark, and Emir Kusturica claimed Best Director.
Then, exactly as Aaron had banked on, Giuseppe Tornatore was called to the stage.
Cinema Paradiso claimed the Grand Jury Prize.
Aaron smiled thinly in the dark.
The North American asking price had just doubled.
Miramax didn’t celebrate quietly.
They threw a multi-million-dollar victory lap on a massive yacht anchored in the port.
Champagne flowed continuously, reflecting the flashbulbs of the wealthy elite against the Mediterranean night.
“Steven,” Aaron said, raising a glass as he and Nicole intercepted the director on the upper deck.
“You did it.”
Soderbergh looked shell-shocked, vibrating with adrenaline.
He grabbed Aaron’s hand in a vice grip.
“Christ, Aaron.
Thank you.
I would’ve drowned in this circus without you.”
“Enjoy the view,” Aaron said, patting his shoulder.
“It’s your night.”
As a swarm of foreign press dragged Soderbergh away, Aaron slipped a hand to the small of Nicole’s back.
“How was Campion?” he asked, leaning in close over the heavy bass of the music.
He’d orchestrated the introduction to the New Zealand director days ago.
“Amazing,” Nicole smiled, her eyes lit with genuine ambition.
“We clicked immediately.
I know we’re going to work together.”
Aaron nodded.
Jane Campion had no interest in the Hollywood yet, but a good agent planted seeds years before the harvest.
When she was ready, Nicole would be her first call.
He leaned in, kissing her cheek.
“I need to find Gabriele Carosi and the Cristaldi team.
Time to close the distribution deal.
Give me ten minutes.”
“Go,” Nicole said.
Aaron slipped into the crowd.
Nicole turned to grab a fresh flute of champagne from a waiter, but a heavy shadow fell over her before she could take a sip.
“Ms.
Kidman.”
Nicole locked her posture into elegant neutrality and turned.
“Mr.
Weinstein.”
Harvey smiled, though his eyes remained entirely cold.
“You know Meryl Streep?
A Cry in the Dark.
Miramax had a hand in that win tonight.”
“I’m aware,” Nicole replied smoothly.
“Her performance was brilliant.”
Harvey took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze dropping shamelessly down her dress.
“You’re fresh from Australia.
Hollywood’s a different animal.
Vicious.
A new girl doesn’t survive without the right vehicle to show what she can do.”
Nicole didn’t blink, refusing to give him an inch.
“And what does the right vehicle look like, Mr.
Weinstein?”
“Ha.
Didn’t your CAA golden boy explain the ecosystem?” Harvey stepped into her personal space, looming.
“You’re gorgeous.
Great body.
A little tall, but workable.
Miramax is developing a slate of prestige pictures.
We should collaborate.”
“Collaborate,” Nicole repeated, her voice turning to ice.
Harvey’s smile turned predatory.
“Art films.
Prestige.
Meryl is the gold standard, right?
Nicole…
I can call you Nicole?”
“Of course.”
“It’s not easy breaking into the promised land,” Harvey murmured, dropping his voice into a conspiratorial register.
“No risk, no reward.
It’s all about opportunity, Nicole.
You just have to ask yourself what you’re willing to do to get it.”
“Harvey.” The voice sliced through the heavy air—low, sharp, and entirely devoid of warmth.
Aaron materialized between them, his arm wrapping firmly around Nicole’s waist, pulling her tight against his side.
“Are you pitching my client a role, or just killing time?”
Nicole let out a silent breath, anchoring herself to Aaron’s heat.
Harvey masked the flash of irritation with a booming laugh, raising his glass.
“Aaron!
Hell of a night for you.
Two films, two massive wins.
Cheers.”
“Productive week,” Aaron agreed, his voice flat.
He kept his arm securely around Nicole, his dark eyes locked dead on the Miramax boss.
“I just left Giuseppe Tornatore and the Cristaldi reps.”
Harvey dropped the leering act in a heartbeat, instantly replaced by the calculating studio boss.
“Oh?”
“North American rights for Cinema Paradiso are a flat buyout,” Aaron stated, taking a casual sip of his drink.
“Four million.”
Harvey stared at him, his face reddening with his jaw pulled tight.
“You’re out of your mind.
Two million, tops.”
“Theatrical, home video, and broadcast,” Aaron countered smoothly, a sharp smile touching his lips.
“Four million for the Grand Jury Prize is a bargain.”
“It’s extortion,” Harvey snapped.
“Two million gets you a dial tone,” Aaron said, his voice dropping to a cold whisper.
“Samuel Goldwyn is circling.
New Line is flush with Elm Street cash and looking to launch an arthouse label to compete with you.
They want a prestige anchor.
If you want it, Harvey, open the checkbook.”
Harvey’s jaw clenched.
He couldn’t stomach the thought of a rival label launching with a Cannes winner.
The negotiation turned into a brutal, whispered dogfight over the thumping bass of the party, the tension crackling violently between them.
When Aaron finally extended his hand, the deal was done.
Miramax officially purchased the North American distribution rights for Cinema Paradiso for 3.2 million dollars.
____________________________________________________________________
Thank you so much for reading!
Peace out,
Lucent