Page 23 of Burn the Script

He shrugged. “Not really. There’s one I liked about a rookie detective who spends a lot of time with his shirt off. The eye candy was nice, but the acting wasn’t anything to write home about.”

My grin was instant and wicked. I invaded his space, and he scooted backward until he ran out of sofa and I was on top of him, nestled between his thighs. “Have you watched my entire filmography, Miguel?”

His haughty chin jutted in the air. “I had to know if you were cheating and using any of those lines to seduce me.”

Humming, I mentally scrolled through the scripts I’d memorized over the years, settling on one from a romantic drama. My voice dropped to a sexy rasp when I said, “Make no mistake, when I seduce you, your body will leave you no choice but to surrender.”

“That one’s really bad.” He laughed, but judging by the way his cock swelled, he wasn’t unaffected.

Another line came to mind, one that hit closer to our truth. “The day I first saw you standing barefoot on the shore, I knew I was looking at my future.” My hips were grinding, and we were both hard.

“Ch-cheater.”

“One more.” I pressed my lips to his ear. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Miguel’s laughter cut off, and he pulled back to look at me. “You’re being serious.”

“Dead serious.”

My only attempt at a relationship ended before it started. A year after I moved to LA, a guy I liked found someone whose star was rising faster than mine. The rejection served as a hard lesson in being used for my status, and I was glad to have learned it early on. I was also relieved my agent at the time was a stickler for NDAs because that guy would’ve talked.

Once I landed my first major movie role, relationships fell to the bottom of my priorities list. Besides, no one I met had been worth risking my career for, until Miguel.

“Are you asking me to commit so I’ll finally have sex with you?” He slid a finger beneath his collar. Because I had him pinned to the couch, his fidgeting options were limited.

“I’m asking because I want us to be exclusive.”

“Like I would even consider being with anyone else.” Miguel punctuated the statement with an eye roll, and something greedy and possessive slithered under my skin. It fled when he added, “But…”

“But what?”

A lock of hair tickled my eyebrow. He brushed it aside, letting his fingertip graze my hairline, a ghost of a touch, and the tickle shot to my dick.

“We don’t make sense, Graham.”

“I think we make perfect sense.”

“That theory hasn’t been fully tested.” His voice took on a timid quality, becoming quieter, like it did any time we had conversations that made him uncomfortable. “We get along, and I’m obviously attracted to you, but what if we’re not compatible in bed? It could be the dealbreaker.”

“If you want to test theories, all you have to do is ask.” I toyed with the top button of his shirt. Both of us were still hard, and I gave a little thrust to remind him of that fact. “Are you in?”

Wariness lingered in his gaze, but he bit his bottom lip and nodded. I unfastened the button at his collar, followed by the next one and the next as I kissed my way down his neck and chest. A mole on his sternum earned a hello from my tongue, and my nose appreciated the coarse hair on his pecs. Once I reached his stomach, I glanced up. His eyes held tension at the corners, and his mouth resembled a thin slash of discomfort.

I crawled up his body and dropped gentle kisses around those perfect, peachy lips. “If you’re not ready, we can wait.”

“It’s not that.” He ran his hands along my bare shoulders and down my arms, coaxing a shiver. Any touch from him lit me up. “You’re you, confident and fit with those ridiculous abs, and I’m⁠—”

“Gorgeous? Yummy?”

Turning away, he spoke to the navy walls, dim lights, and black-and-white film on the screen. “I’m me, squishy and shapeless and boring.”

Braced on a forearm, I grabbed his smooth jaw and brought our mouths together, thrusting my tongue while rolling my hips. Letting my body convey the admiration and attraction my heart felt for him. Before long, he was moving with me, one hand buried in my hair and the other clinging to my ass. We were locked in—hips, lips, and firm grips—and almost forgot to breathe.

The grinding slowed and stretched. Each torturous drag of my cock along his heightened the friction and my need.

“Graham.” My name was a warning and a prayer coasting on his exhale as my wandering lips found the pulse in his neck.

“Feel how hard I am for you. I’m dying to get on my knees for you.”