Make Me Your Secret

Sapphic Celebrity Romance
by Aurora North

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Pairing: FF (Sapphic)
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Second Chance, Celebrity Romance, Secret Relationship, Forced Proximity, Small Town Return, Praise Kink, Coming Out

She left me for Hollywood. Now she wants me in her bed — and out of the pictures.

Five years ago, Laura King left Savannah for Hollywood and left Mia Bennett behind — no explanation, no goodbye, just silence from a woman Mia had been sleeping with in secret while working as her assistant.

Now Laura is an A-list actress returning to Savannah for a six-week prestige film shoot. And Mia is no longer the assistant who waited for calls. She’s a successful editorial photographer with her own studio, her own clients, and no interest in being pulled back into Laura’s orbit.

Until one private portrait session ends in Laura’s hotel suite. Until their clothes don’t survive the session. Until the woman Mia swore she was over proves impossible to get out of her system.

Mia has one rule: she will not be Laura’s secret again.

Laura’s studio-appointed publicist has a different rule: Laura’s image stays straight, available, and awards-friendly. A fake-dating arrangement with her male co-star is already drafted.

The clock is the six-week shoot. The stakes are a career-defining film versus the woman Laura destroyed to build it. And the question isn’t whether Laura wants Mia — it’s whether she’ll burn the closet down to keep her.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ Celebrity x former assistant sapphic romance
✅ Second chance with real accountability and earned forgiveness
✅ Photography as foreplay (the camera is a love language)
✅ Praise kink, light dominance, and strap-on scenes
✅ “I will not be your secret again” energy (🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ — graphic, explicit, emotional)
✅ Small-town Savannah setting with summer heat on every page
✅ A cat named Tony who judges everyone
✅ HEA guaranteed

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⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic FF scenes including strap-on use), strong language, panic attacks, media scrutiny, and themes of public vs. private identity. Intended for readers 18+.

📖 Read Chapter One Free

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Chapter One: The Photographer They Hired

The contract landed on my desk at 9:47 on a Tuesday morning, sandwiched between a coffee ring and a cat who believed every flat surface in the studio belonged to him.

“Move, Tony.”

Tony didn’t move. Tony never moved. Tony was a twelve-pound rescue tabby with the emotional range of a brick wall and the territorial instincts of a warlord. I picked him up, set him on the floor, and watched him jump immediately back onto the desk and settle directly on top of the contract.

“Mia.” Dana appeared in the doorway of my office, holding her phone against her chest like she was trying to smother it. “We need to talk about the Monarch Pictures job.”

“I’m reading it.” I tugged the corner of the contract out from under Tony’s ass. “Or trying to.”

“You haven’t read it.”

“I literally just said—”

“You haven’t read page three.”

Something in her voice made me stop. Dana Ross did not do ominous. Dana did spreadsheets, calendar management, and occasionally, when I forgot to eat before a twelve-hour wedding shoot, aggressive sandwich delivery. She did not stand in doorways with her phone pressed against her sternum and her mouth set in a line that suggested someone had died or was about to.

I flipped to page three.

The production was a prestige drama called The Return—six-week shoot in Savannah, awards-season release, substantial budget. Monarch Pictures wanted an independent local photographer for behind-the-scenes stills, social media content, and talent portraits. The rate was generous. The credit was excellent. The kind of contract I’d spent five years clawing my way toward, one wedding and one restaurant menu and one tourism brochure at a time.

The lead actress and executive producer was Laura King.

I read the name twice. Not because I didn’t recognize it—I’d have recognized it carved into wet concrete or scrawled on a bathroom wall—but because my brain needed a second pass to confirm that reality was, in fact, this stupid.

“When did this come in?” My voice sounded normal. That was a triumph of engineering.

“Last night. Alex Romero’s office sent it directly. She’s directing.”

“I know who Alex Romero is.”

“I know you know. I also know you haven’t spoken her name out loud in approximately four years.”

I closed the contract. Opened it again. Tony batted at the corner.

“It’s a good job,” I said.

“It’s an incredible job.”

“The rate is above market.”

“Significantly.”

“And we could use the credit for the portfolio expansion.”

“We could.”

Dana waited. She was very good at waiting. She’d been very good at waiting five years ago, when I’d shown up at her apartment at two in the morning with mascara on my chin and a severance check in my pocket and no explanation for why the woman I’d been sleeping with had stopped returning my calls. Dana had waited then, too. She’d made tea and sat on the kitchen floor with me and waited until I was ready to say the words she left and then she’d said okay and then she’d said what do you need and then she’d helped me book my first solo job three days later.

Dana had earned the right to stand in my doorway and watch my face.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were about to.”

“I was about to ask whether you want me to decline the contract or whether you want to read it first and then decline the contract.”

I looked at her. “Who says I’m declining?”

Dana’s eyebrows did something complicated. “Mia.”

“It’s a Monarch Pictures production with a prestige director and a rate that would fund the studio expansion for six months. The fact that the lead actress is—” I stopped. Drew a breath through my nose. “The fact that I have a professional history with the talent doesn’t change the quality of the opportunity.”

“A professional history,” Dana repeated, very carefully, like she was handling something fragile and possibly explosive.

“Yes.”

“You were her assistant.”

“I was.”

“And her photographer.”

“Unofficially.”

“And her—”

“Dana.”

“I’m just making sure we’re using the same definition of professional history.“

I shoved the contract into my bag, dislodging Tony, who yowled and launched himself to the floor with the injured dignity of a deposed monarch. “Set up the production meeting. I’ll review the scope tonight.”

Dana didn’t move from the doorway. “You’re sure.”

“She doesn’t get to be the reason I turn down good work. Not anymore.”

Dana held my gaze for another three seconds—long enough to make her opinion clear, short enough to respect mine—and then she nodded and disappeared back to her desk. I heard her pick up the phone. I heard her say yes, she’s available in the crisp, professional voice she used when she was furious and didn’t want anyone to know.

I sat in my chair and stared at the wall where my best client work hung—a tourism campaign for Visit Savannah, an editorial spread for a Charleston food magazine, a fashion shoot for a local designer that had gotten picked up by a regional style blog and tripled my inquiry rate overnight. Five years of work. Five years of early mornings and bad lighting and invoices that went unpaid and clients who called me the girl with the camera until I made them stop. Five years of building a name that had nothing to do with Laura King.

Tony jumped back onto the desk and sat on my keyboard.

“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”

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The Darkroom — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon

Mia photographs Laura in the darkroom under red safelight. What starts as a private portrait session becomes the filthiest, most intimate scene in the series — with the camera still running. Red light, developing fluid, and two women who’ve stopped hiding from each other and from themselves.

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