Page 10 of Too Many Beds

“This is our twin model,” he said, “but we want to ensure there’s room for two people and any activities they may wish to do.”

They nodded, both swallowing hard before turning to face each other. Though they were supposed to appear nervous, anticipation hung between them. Storm took himself in hand and lined up, nudging against Ryder’s entrance before slowly pushing into his tight heat.

Goddamn, that was good.

Ryder hissed like he was in pain, but his eyes were full of banked desire, urging Storm on.

Storm sank into him, inch by inch, at a glacial pace that was testing his sanity, though it would look amazing for the close-up Rhys was filming. Ryder’s body welcomed him in, clenching around him as Storm sheathed himself completely.

He paused for a beat, and they both drew in a breath, then he withdrew before doing it again. He managed a few more maddeningly slow thrusts, his world narrowing to the wild thundering of his heart, the enticing flutter of magic under his palms where he gripped Ryder’s hips, the raw hunger in Ryder’s shaky gasps.

“No,” Kodiak said, reminding Storm that other people were there. “These beds must be thoroughly tested. If you can’t fuck him harder than that, we’ll have to get someone else in to do it.”

Storm growled, his hips snapping forward. Ryder moaned, and Storm glared at Kodiak. See? There was no need for that. He was more than capable of fucking Ryder as hard as necessary.

He pounded into Ryder, their skin slapping together in a primal rhythm. Ryder’s hands grasped the sheets, his body trembling, his muscles taut.

This wasn’t just good; it wasperfect. Storm could fuck him like this until they were both dripping with sweat, until the intense energy building between them was impossible to contain, until?—

“Cut!” Brandt yelled.

Storm froze, blinking at Ryder, his fingers digging into skin, and he realized how close his claws were to sprouting. Ryder’s expression held a hint of disorientated surprise that mirrored his own.

Oops. He’d gotten carried away there.

“Sorry about that.” He carefully withdrew, though his dick throbbed in protest. His wolf was equally unhappy. They had Ryder under them, spread open for them. His scent was so fucking heady. Why would they do something foolish like stop?

But he got up and helped Ryder to his unsteady feet.

Ryder waved off his apology. “What you should be sorry for is liking such a boring sport.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints about length a minute ago.”

“Come on. Over three hours of stops and starts and hardly any action in between? That’s your idea of fun? Wouldn’t you rather go for a solid ninety minutes with very few interruptions?”

Storm eyed the crew as they switched out the twin for a daybed—to test the comfort of sitting positions and give the fans a few shots of Ryder indeed being on the Storm.

Ryder had a point. Continuous action wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

That didn’t mean Storm had to admit it.

“At least in football, everyone can take a pounding. Ninety minutes of limply flopping about at the slightest touch isn’t doing anyone any good.”

“I might be willing to accept that argument from a rugby fan, but football? Please. All that protection? Pass. If I’m getting slammed into, I want to feel it.”

Storm leered at him. “I can guarantee you will.”

Except that was easier said than done when they had a dozen beds to film in, each with its own form of awkward fumbling before they were allowed to show their true skills. Kodiak continued to take notes and give them helpful instructions like “harder” and “switch positions.” The moment they started to enjoy themselves on any given bed, Brandt would order another brought in to test whatever ridiculous factor had been deemed important by the MateHub writers. Every time he called cut, Storm had to suppress an irritated snarl. Normally, he could tolerate the stopping and starting that came with filming porn, but today, it was nothing but a frustrating tease.

One bed squeaked like a dog toy with every thrust of his hips, and the accompanying spike in the scent of magic told him he had Tristan to thank for the sound effects. The next bed had a mattress as soft as concrete, and the one after that had to have been made from quicksand with how it sucked them in. They flailed around, attempting to build any sort of rhythm, only to be engulfed farther into the mattress’s pillowy embrace. They didn’t need to pretend to be inexperienced amateurs; the mattress was doing it for them. Yet another collapsed under their combined weight as soon as Storm put force behind his thrusts. Kodiak shook his head disapprovingly and scribbled more notes.

Storm and Ryder helped each other up from the wreckage, unable to keep from laughing.

“This isn’t the craziest scene I’ve filmed,” Ryder said, “but I’ve never broken a bed before.”

“You should try it off camera sometime.”

“Is that an offer?”

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