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“Fuck,” I hissed, sliding my warm fingers around the head of my dick just the way I liked it. “Fucking fuck.”
I imagined one of our kisses morphing into a slow striptease. Dawson would undo one button at a time on my shirt, dropping kisses down my chest until he landed on his knees in front of me. He’d look up at me with half-lidded eyes full of promising heat.
“Do it,” I whispered into the tiny room. Thankfully, my roommates each had noisy box fans to block out the city sounds in their rooms because apparently I couldn’t keep from verbalizing my humiliating obsession with my castmate.
Fantasy Dawson yanked open my belt, teased down my zipper, and leaned forward to inhale the front of my boxer briefs. I groaned and pulled at my balls. It felt so good to finally let go and allow myself to imagine it. Dawson Priest on his knees for me.
His mouth was hot and wet, talented and hungry. My heart hammered as I frantically tried to determine how quickly this was going to end. “Fucking fuck,” I shouted before banging my fist against the headboard.
“Come for me,” imaginary Dawson grumbled. “Come down my throat. Gag me. Choke me with your cock.”
“Ahh!” I threw my head back with a wail as my balls finally called it quits and released. Oxygen sawed in and out of my lungs as I struggled to breathe through the long orgasm.
Fucking Christ. If simply imagining sex with Dawson Priest made me come harder than ever, I couldn’t imagine what the real thing would be like.
And I’d never find out.
Because Dawson Priest could barely look at me. And tomorrow’s interviews were going to be a disaster.
4
DAWSON
I couldn’t sleep. In addition to not being able to get my mind off a certain man, someone on the other side of the wall was having headboard-banging sex. His low groan went straight to my dick.
Kissing Jem tonight—and having him kiss me back—had made me feel out of control. I wanted to throttle him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to take whatever the hell he was going through and carry the burden of it for him.
But I also knew how he felt about me. He’d made it abundantly clear from early on that he had a chip on his shoulder about formally trained actors with fancy resumes. Even when I’d tried to talk to him in the past, he’d only given me short responses before finding the first excuse to bolt. That was fine. At least… it had been fine. But now we were going to have to present a united front in tomorrow’s interviews.
I finally fell asleep with the echoes of my unknown neighbor’s sexy groan in my ears and the image of a feisty, argumentative Jem in my head.
When I woke up, I felt almost hungover from the shorter-than-usual night’s sleep. Morning radio shows weren’t great for a stage actor’s schedule, so I stopped at the nearest coffee shop for the largest cup of caffeine I could find before making my way to the tall tower building that housed the radio station.
Even though I was early, Jem was already waiting for me in the lobby. He had a kelly green scarf around his neck that set off his bright eyes and cheeks still pink from the cold air outside.
“Hey,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward around him. “You doing okay?”
His forehead crinkled. “Um, yeah? You?”
I cleared my throat. “Peachy. Ready for the interview?”
We approached the security desk together so I could get my visitor’s badge.
“What do you think they’re going to ask us?” he asked. “Media interviews aren’t my strong suit.”
I nodded my thanks to the security attendant before slipping the lanyard with the badge over my head. “Their biggest hope is that we’re entertaining. They want ratings. They want their listeners to stay on their channel.”
“You probably took a class for this shit,” he grumbled. “Probably learned the ‘right way’ of doing it.”
I glanced over at him, expecting to see his annoyance and signs of that chip on his shoulder. Instead, I noticed his nerves.
“Hey, hey,” I said, reaching out and grasping his biceps to stop his progress toward the elevator. He stopped and glanced up at me in question. “We have a few minutes. Let’s sit down, okay?”
He sighed but followed me back to the bench he’d been sitting on when I’d found him. Jem’s jaw was tight as if he was anticipating me being a know-it-all asshole.
“Look,” I said softly, “I know this can be intimidating because it intimidates me too. But I learned some tips from a friend of mine who’s been doing this a lot longer.”
“I don’t believe this intimidates you too.”
I let out a laugh. “How the hell would you know what does or doesn’t intimidate me when you barely speak to me? You barely know me.”
