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“I like kissing,” Christian says, so softly that I’m not sure the camera’s mic will pick it up.
The words hit me right in the gut. They’re like a spark to dry kindling and I’m suddenly burning up. My cock is as hard as steel and my hole quivers with the need to be filled. My mouth has gone dry and the only thing that can quench my thirst is one of those kisses Christian apparently likes so much.
“Kissing, huh?” I say, staring at Christian’s mouth.
“Yeah, kissing.”
My gaze trails down Christian’s body. His wide shoulders, his muscular chest, his flat stomach, and finally his groin where his cock is a massive bulge in his jeans. It strikes me all of a sudden: this is Chris Preacher. The man who’s been the object of my dreams for so many years. He’s in my apartment. On my bed. I’m going to have his cock in me, his body on top of me. I’m going to know what it’s like to kiss him, to taste him.
I reach for him, slowly, like he might vanish if I move too quickly. I trail my fingers down the same path my eyes took, feather-light, just in case this isn’t real. Christian moves toward me. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I’m caught in Christian’s stare, in the way he’s devouring me with his eyes. He lifts a single finger to my chin and that’s all it takes to keep me exactly where he wants me. Then he proceeds to kiss the life out of me. And fuck, it would be a good way to die.
His tongue darts in and out, teasing, caressing, barely there before it plunges so deep, I have no choice but to suck on it. I groan into it. I’ve never been kissed like this before. I didn’t know it was possible to get kissed like this. Like my mouth is getting fucked by Christian’s tongue and all I can do is sit there and take it and moan for more.
Christian presses me onto my back and my hands immediately go to his waist, pulling him down on me. Our cocks meet through layers of jeans and underwear and sweats, which is a shame, but probably for the best. I’m so primed right now that if we were skin to skin, I’d most likely come and the shoot would be over and no one wants that.
I break off the kiss, panting for air, struggling to keep my wits about me. It’s so much. It’s overwhelming. This is only supposed to be a performance, but it feels like so much more. It feels all-consuming.
Christian trails kisses along my jaw and up to my ear. He catches the small silver ball of my earring with his teeth. He tugs and it’s like there’s a string connecting my ear directly to my dick. I jerk under Christian, my hips pushing up to find something to grind against. He pins me with his body, one thigh wedged high against my crotch, then sneaks his arms under me, practically lifting me off the bed to press us closer to each other.
He’s everywhere—above me and below me and I’m drowning in him. We need to slow down. We need to draw this out. Or it’s going to be the shortest damn video I ever post.
I push against Christian’s shoulders and he sits up, giving me some room to breathe. It only lasts for the second it takes for him to strip off his t-shirt, revealing that wide expanse of carefully contoured muscle and two intricate sleeves of tattoos.
Oh god, so much for trying to breathe. He’s gorgeous. Like, really fucking gorgeous. It’s a thousand times better in person than it is on the screen or in a photograph. It makes me weak in the knees and if I wasn’t already flat on my back, the vision of Christian, kneeling there, would send me down.
I push myself up so I can touch him, so I can prove to myself that I’m not hallucinating. I run my palms over the bumps of Christian’s abs, over the mounds of his chest. I lean forward to take one of his dusty nipples into my mouth. His skin is taut under my tongue, his muscle jumps under my lips. Christian’s fingers weave into my hair as his head falls back with a groan.
I somehow remember to sneak a glance toward the camera, where the view screen is flipped around so I can check our framing without having to get out of bed. What I see stuns me. Christian looks like he’s lost in pleasure. Eyes closed, mouth open, back slightly arched to put himself on full display. I’m below him, lips and tongue worshiping every inch of skin I can reach, hands around the narrow of his waist, holding him to me.
The framing is perfect. We’re perfect together.
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