Page 70 of The Casting Couch

A snort escaped him.

“You okay?”I asked, still moving my hand.

His body curled back into mine like a vine reaching for sunlight.

“I—I think so,” he said, but it came out breathy.Borderline hysterical.

“Hey,” I added, mouth brushing his ear, “if you want me to describe what Evan’s orgasm face probably looks like, it’s just his regular face but smugger—”

Bradley burst out laughing.

Like full-bodied, belly-shaking laughter.

“CUT!”Laura yelled, slamming her clipboard down.“Nico!Stop telling jokes!”

I froze mid-stroke, trying not to laugh myself.

“Sorry!”I called out.

Laura glared.“He’s supposed to be moaning, not giggling like he’s at a slumber party!”

Bradley was still wheezing softly in my arms, chest rising and falling under my touch.

I couldn’t help smiling.

“Action!”she snapped again.

And just like that, we were back in it.

Only now, I was the one shaking.

Because holding him like this?

It didn’t feel like a performance anymore.

It felt like possession.

Like I’d kill anyone who got too close.

Like I didn’t want to let him go when the cameras stopped rolling.

One guy near the front suddenly lurched forward with a strangled gasp and blurted, “Shit, sorry!I’m not usually this fast, but…”

His cock twitched and spurt!The first blast hit Bradley dead center on the forehead like a perverse baptism.

Bradley flinched, blinking fast, and I swear to God, something primal uncoiled in my gut.

I tightened my arm around him.

If I hadn’t been holding him in place, I probably would’ve launched myself at the guy and tackled him into the lighting rig.Not because of the shot itself—this was the job—but because of the tone.The eagerness.The casual disrespect.Like Bradley was just a warm surface to aim at.

I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Don’t move,” I growled.“You’re mine.”

Then I turned his head gently, just enough so I could kiss him.

It wasn’t a quick peck.It was slow.Deep.Hungry.

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