With the barrier ointment applied, Jon hefted the bucket of plaster-soaked bandages up to a low table next to the chair and gave it a swirl. The mixture was already beginning to stiffen; that would help it adhere as he bound it on. Speaking of beginning to stiffen... his eyes roamed along Hannah's arm to her shoulder, and down the subtle, supple curves of her body, though they flicked up to hers as she spoke. The looks was perhaps just a little too fast for the laid back, cocky attitude he projected.<br/><br/>So. She had privacy issues, boundaries unrelated to her apparent eager consent to being strapped and groped. Jon could understand that; working in Hollywood you saw the vultures of the paparazzi circling, even if they weren't over your own head. Besides, he knew the one in chains called the shot just as much, if not more, than the one with the whip. The man smirked at the barrage of numbers. “Sure, I can remember that.” He couldn't. But it was just a matter of buying the director's film-school-freshman intern who was working as a personal assistant a case of beer for a glance at the director's phone. He'd have Tate's number on file.<br/><br/>Jon lifted a dripping white bandage from the bucket, letting most of the loose plaster trickle off before draping it over her slender wrist and wrapping it tight around the joint. He let her bask in the same silence she'd offered before as he began methodically immobilising her forearm. Once the first layer of bandages was in place, he replied: “Yeah. Some for business. Some for pleasure. Some for both.” His eyes snapped up for a quick, devilish glance into hers, and he stretched back to yank the covering off the device he'd been working on.<br/><br/>It was like (http://www.loverider.co.uk/love-rider-sex-machine-97-p.asp) some odd cross between a stool, a rocking horse and some work-out contraption they hawked on TV in the dead of night. Sleek black powder-coated metal, soft leather cushions split rather suggestively, and a mechanism to turn back and forth motion into a reciprocating thrust.<em>Sans phallus</em>, looked at with innocent eyes one might find a harmless excuse for it... but neither of them were exactly innocent, Jon thought.