Perhaps it was the fresh feeling after a shower, as Lyman lay down, he could clearly smell the faint fragrance of Eva's body wash, along with a very, very peculiar... scent?
Her hair strands brushed against his face, almost imperceptibly touching his skin, causing a slight itch.
He slowly leaned in, but before he could go any further, Eva turned around. "Oh dear, my hair got caught."
She looked a bit silly, lifting her head slightly and adjusting her hair.
Lyman curved his lips, feeling the timing was just right. He didn't hesitate any longer; he stretched his arm, encircling Eva.
Slightly lifting himself, his head began to approach, his face enlarging in her eyes until it was right in front of her, then their lips met.
As the saying goes, foreplay is important.
After a bout of entanglement, Eva clung tightly to him, using her comfortable posture. Her arms encircled his neck as her tongue engaged in a playful chase.
In the confined space, they played and frolicked.
Such actions were already familiar to them, but actually engaging in them still made their bodies burn with heat, sweat forming, breaths becoming irregular and hurried.
Lyman's hand slowly moved towards her waist, gently untying the straps of her sleep dress.
His fingers separated the fabric, and the dress slid off to the sides. He straightened up, examining her.
Eva's skin was fair and soft, bathed in a gentle orange halo that added a touch of allure. Her skin seemed to have been blessed with a warm radiance.
Starting from her dainty and delicate toes, moving upward to slightly meatier thighs, full hips, and then the chest that was too soft and smooth to grip with one hand. Further up, her collarbone, delicate cheeks, and deep eyes.
"Let me take care of that." Eva was calmly composed, even wanting to accelerate the pace.
Lyman helped her remove her clothing, tossing the nightgown aside, and then propped himself up on his elbows.
Eva also sat up, helping him remove his pajamas, then lying on top of him, unfastening his trousers.
"Oh, all set."
The two of them were now completely naked. Lyman took a deep breath, mentally and physically preparing himself for the final prelude before the battle.
Just as he was about to take action, Eva poked him with her finger. "You lie down, and let me be on top."
Lyman complied since he had no choice, lying down obediently.
Eva propped herself up on the bed, slowly turning over and straddling him.
Once she was stable, seated on his waist, her posture exuding elegance, it seemed she really enjoyed the feeling of being in control from this position.
"Don't move, let me take charge."
Lyman was about to shift his body, but Eva noticed immediately. She hurriedly added, "You stay still, and let me do it."
With all supplies in place and favorable conditions met, it was time to open fire.
To the tune of a majestic march, Eva slightly lifted her hips, positioned herself correctly, and began to sit down on him.
"Hiss..."
Whether it was discomfort or enjoyment, it was hard to tell.
But one thing was for sure, Lyman was thoroughly enjoying it.
Although her body trembled slightly, she maintained a steady rhythm, confidently moving back and forth, a sight that made people admire her resilience: she was indeed as tough as a man.
After a while, she softly placed her hands on Lyman's chest, no longer pretending to be strong. She quickly said, "You take over."
Indeed, was it possible that even in such a situation, a woman wanted to switch roles and be in charge?
Lyman was briefly speechless, but seeing how she reclined in a lazy manner after sitting down, he had no choice but to sit up and hug her smooth back.
With a sudden movement of his waist, he flipped her over like flipping a pancake. As she lay beneath him, he pressed down forcefully. "Had enough of showing off?"
"I'll do it next time." Eva clearly wasn't convinced.
Lyman didn't bother arguing with her. With one hand fondling her majestic peaks, the other lightly gripping her thigh, he exerted his strength in his waist, and once again, he plunged in.
Speaking of which, this plunge was like a dragon, swift and fierce, like a heavenly demon descending from the sky. It truly was the incarnation of a god of war on Earth.
She panted gently, her waist arching in coordination with his movements.
Rampaging until they reached a point of exhilarating exhaustion, the two of them became entrapped in that peculiar sensation.
By the time the great battle concluded, the war drums ceased, and it was already the late hours of the night.
"Goodnight, sweet dreams."
...
In the early hours of dawn, rain began to fall upon the realm of Cannes. By the following morning, it had finally ceased.
Sunlight pierced through the clouds, evaporating the moisture suspended in the air, as the heat grew stagnant.
Within a room, the large blue curtains shielded the windows.
Yet, traces of light seeped through, casting an orange hue. Under the soft glow, the two figures lay, half-covered by the sheets, nestled together.
Ah, they had fallen asleep without turning off the lights last night, their bodies bare.
Eva rested her head on Lyman's arm, her face nestled in the curve of his neck. Her hand reached across, settling on his back, and her legs, far from still, entwined around his waist.
Suddenly, within the realm of dreams, she felt something pressing against her uncomfortably. Shifting her position, she released her legs from their entanglement.
This slight movement caused Lyman to awaken.
Observing Eva's audacious sleeping posture, he couldn't help but chuckle.
French frames, much like those of Westerners, bore a slightly robust structure. Thus, if one gained a little weight, it gave an impression of ample shoulders and a round waist.
Yet, with proper control, it could be like Eva's figure now—just enough fleshiness to be visually appealing and pleasing to the touch.
Though awake, he had no inclination to rise from bed.
Gazing upward, eyes fixed on the ceiling, he relished the leisurely passage of time.
While lost in this reverie, his most sensitive region was suddenly gripped.
Lowering his gaze, he realized that Eva seemed to be stirring from her slumber, though her awareness remained foggy.
After a brief blink, he noticed Lyman right beside her. Quickly, he withdrew his hand. "It's yours, pressing into me."
She grumbled softly, then slowly sat up, preparing to get out of bed.
Today held important matters; the Cannes Film Festival was coming to a close.
Time wasn't pressing, though. After they both finished their morning routines and changed into their formal attire for the closing ceremony, they headed out.
Casually grabbing a bite to eat, when 5 o'clock in the afternoon arrived, the final screening concluded, and the preparations for the event began.
Though the closing ceremony garnered less attention than the opening, it was evident that those filmmakers already nominated for awards were particularly zealous.
In the waiting area by the red carpet, a group of people discreetly sized each other up. Their emotions, while tinged with nervousness, were predominantly filled with delight.
The transformation of their spirits was quite intriguing. Initially, they had come for various reasons—for dreams, ambitions, recognition—but by the end, except for those who had left early, those who remained were driven by one ultimate purpose: to win an award.
Reality, it seemed, was often like this...
Lyman's film crew was scheduled to be the second to step onto the stage, yet they were in no hurry.
Engaging in occasional chatter, Tom Cruise was especially ebullient, brimming with confidence. The entirety of Cannes was abuzz about his stellar performance in "The Bad Guy." For someone like him, who lacked nothing in wealth but yearned for reputation, this was the ultimate satisfaction.
He was well aware of how all of this came about, subtly complimenting Lyman in his words and tones.
Not offering compliments was not an option; he had tasted the sweetness and was well aware of Lyman's prowess in training actors. Tom Cruise was even contemplating the possibility of further collaborations.
In a moment, it was their turn.
Tom Cruise, accompanied by his companion—Sofía Vergara, a model who dabbled in the fashion circle—stepped onto the red carpet ahead. Following closely were Lyman and Eva.
"Ian!"
Leading the way, Tom Cruise occasionally waved to the audience on either side, and besides his name being called, there were even shouts of his character's name from the film.
It seemed that he was truly acclaimed by everyone.
Upon reaching the interview area, the official host quickly stopped Lyman, ready to ask questions.
Being a local, naturally, he would receive greater attention from his own people.
"Your film, "Miscreant", has been nominated for five major awards. Do you have the confidence to win these awards?"
"Confidence? Of course, I have confidence. However, it ultimately depends on whether the judges of the jury like this film or not. My saying it doesn't count."
"Many people are saying that Tom's performance in it was splendid. As the director, do you have any thoughts on that?"
"He put in a lot of effort and performed excellently. Excellence is a given; there's nothing more to say."
"Can you evaluate..."
The host was truly enthusiastic, bombarding Lyman with questions. Fortunately, the next group of crews arrived, providing Lyman with an opportunity to slip away.
Walking towards the movie palace with Eva, suddenly, the voices from the audience seats behind grew louder, and many people were calling out the same name, "Nicole, Nicole!"
Lyman turned his head to look. The European artistic community held this esteemed female star in high regard. She was adorned in a light red gown, elegantly traversing the red carpet.
Her film nominated this year was called "Dogville", depicting the storyline where, well, a beauty in a place known as Dogville turns into a... emm, yeah.
That is, the character who ends up tethered by a dog leash, catering to the village's desires, ultimately met a fate of being butchered by the father who indulged in the group scene for the movie's conclusion.
To be honest, the core of the concept was more Italian than French, yet it ended up being a Danish director's work.
This, indeed... was exceptional.
"She really has an allure," Eva remarked beside him, her face tinged with envy.
"Don't imitate her," Lyman couldn't help but say.
Undressing on screen, after the first time, becomes labeled.
Regardless of others' approval or not, whether they're sacrificing for art or not, it's inevitable.
Of course, in the European and American artistic realms, it seems that a female star not disrobing is hardly considered an actress at all. This tradition is one that compels them to act this way.
Not stripping, not baring it all, yet expecting to secure roles—that's like wishful thinking.
Lyman was rather contemptuous of this. At times, it felt like the entertainment industry was a male-dominated preserve, where no one cared whether those female stars were willing or not. As long as the standards were there, someone would always undress.
Over time, it became the norm, which is quite ridiculous.
With the environment being like this, one couldn't help but feel it was pitiable and lamentable.
Such a rule-driven mechanism thrived in the chaotic world of the arts. Looking at the movies produced in recent years in Europe and America, this trend was becoming increasingly evident, and it was unclear where it would ultimately lead.