Page 85 of Method Acting

I was so close, reaching the point of no return. I couldn’t hold it back now. I was too far gone. Too lost to the ecstasy, and I drove up into him with a strangled cry as my orgasm ripped through me, and I came into the condom.

He gripped my ass and kept pulling me in, deeper, rocking his hips to take it. Every pulse, every spurt.

“Oh fuck, yes,” he said, and I realized through my hazy brain that he was stroking himself. I tried to pull out but he stopped me. “Stay inside me. I’m so close.”

So I took over his ministrations, drove my sensitive cock in harder, and his whole body clenched, his back arched, and he threw his head back as he came, shooting a stream of come onto his abs.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he groaned, collapsing and twitching, then laughing. “Fuck.”

I pulled out of him then, and he shuddered at the loss. I discarded the condom and he grabbed me blindly, pulling me in for a cuddle.

Which I was beginning to like.

We lay in each other’s arms, panting, our chests heaving.

I really wasn’t sure what that was or why it felt so different with him. It wasn’t just sex. It was mind-blowing and better than anything I’d ever experienced with anyone else.

My orgasm-addled brain tried to connect the dots but came up with nothing.

It was better because it just was. No reason necessary.

No. It was better because it was with Chase Soria and you’ve wanted him for years, and he’s fucking gorgeous and you like him, and he took your dick like a champion. And you like him.

And you like him.

I frowned at the stupid voice in my head—that was clearly just on some euphoric orgasm high—and told it to shut up and mind its own damn business.

“I should get something to clean you up,” I mumbled.

He tightened his arms around me. “No,” he whined, his eyes still closed. “Sleep.”

So I gave up fighting it and closed my eyes with a sigh, and all of a sudden, sleep sounded like a really good idea.

“Wake up.” Someone shook my shoulder. “Waaaaaake up, sexy sleepyhead.”

I cracked one eye open. It was Chase, of course, his face far too close to mine, his eyes bright and his smile wide, even in the dark.

“What is it?” I asked, confused.

“I’m hungry.”

I’m hungry . . .

I repeated that over and over in my head a few times. Still couldn’t get it to make much sense. “What?”

“I’m hungry.”

“What are you telling me for?” I was annoyed now. “What time is it?”

“Dunno. Midnight, probably. Maybe one.”

Jesus H. Christ.

“What the hell did you wake me up for? I was having the best sleep ever.”

“Because I’m hungry. And you were having the best sleep ever because we had the best sex ever.”

I remembered . . . how I sank inside him . . . his face when he came.

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