Page 68 of The Casting Couch

I didn’t blink.“If you don’t pick me, I’m walking.Right now.I’ll leave and never come back.”

Her jaw tightened.Her eyes searched mine, probably looking for a crack, a moment of bluff.

But there wasn’t one.

She sighed like I’d just ruined her birthday and nodded once.“Fine.”

We walked back together, her heels clicking faster this time.She stopped in front of the circle of men and raised both arms.

“Okay, gentlemen.Let’s disrobe.”

Robes dropped like dominos.I kept mine on a second longer, not because I was shy, but because I only wanted one person looking at me.

Bradley.

And when I finally pulled mine off, I stared right at him.And he looked back.His robe was still on, clutched at the neck.His eyes trailed down my chest, then back up.

But he didn’t look away.

Laura turned to him and rolled her eyes.

“Jesus, Blake.Take off the robe.It’s not a quinceañera.”

He swallowed.Stood up.

The robe slipped off his shoulders.

And for a second, just a second, everything went quiet in my head.

Because yeah, the guy had been hot since day one.But this was different.This was real.Bradley wasn’t posing.He wasn’t acting.He was standing there, shaking slightly, chest rising and falling, every muscle tense.Every nerve on fire.

And he was staring at me.

“Get in position, Nico,” Laura snapped.

Bradley knelt on the floor, exhaling like someone had just punched him in the gut.

I walked over, slow, deliberate, and lowered myself behind him, wrapping my arms around his chest.

Bradley leaned back into me without resistance.

The room was quiet, heavy with anticipation and the soft rustling of robes being kicked aside.And then, like some deranged fairy godmother, Nessa burst through the door with a gallon-sized jug of lube clasped in both arms like she was bringing sacred wine to a Roman orgy.

“Showtime, boys!”she called, grinning like a lunatic.“Let’s make it glossy!”

She went from man to man like an oil-slicked Oprah.“You get lube, and YOU get lube…” Pumping generous dollops into every eager palm, giving the men little pep talks like a deranged soccer coach.“There ya go, sweetie.Don’t be shy with it.Pretend you’re icing a cake.”

Evan got extra.Of course.

The men formed a circle around us, stroking casually, confidently, like this was Tuesday at the office and we were just in the break room about to sing “Happy Birthday.”

I didn’t move.My arms stayed locked around Bradley’s chest, holding him tighter than necessary.

If anyone was going to enjoy him today—it was going to be me.

Laura raised her hand, then called toward the back: “Music, please!”

Liam, perched behind the camera, frowned.“We’re playing music for a cumshot circle?”

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