Mattress Testers Wanted

Mattress Testers Wanted

Marie Reynard

Content warnings : unprotected sex (between porn stars in a paranormal world)

Chapter One

Storm

“ M attress tester?” Storm asked, staring at his agent in disbelief. “They want me to pretend to be some idiot who shows up to a new job, thinking all he’ll have to do is sleep, only to discover that wasn’t remotely what he was hired for?”

Daniel snorted. “What do you expect? This is MateHub, not fine cinema.”

He had a point. It wasn’t even close to the most ridiculous thing Storm had done. After the countless times he’d been pizza delivery drivers, plumbers, pool boys, landlords, and stepbrothers, he shouldn’t have been surprised by this latest level of… inspiration? Sure, he’d go with that.

When one worked for the internet’s most popular paranormal adult entertainment site, they couldn’t be too shocked by the roles they were hired to play. Thankfully he’d never had to trip, fall, and land on someone’s knot.

“Who’d it be with?”

“Ryder Tempest.” Daniel’s dark eyes glittered, already anticipating Storm’s response.

Storm groaned. Ryder was in his late twenties—a few years older than Storm—and had been working for MateHub for about twice as long. He seemed professional and his scenes were hot, but that didn’t mean Storm was eager to film with him. “A mage? Are you serious? Come on.”

“Apparently the fans decided your weather-related names mean you simply must do a scene together. I believe the initial thread on the forums that spawned the whole campaign was titled, ‘MateHub’s Most Egregious Crime: No Storm/Tempest Scenes. Yes/Yes?’ They’re also amused by the idea of ‘Ryder’s on the Storm.’ They’ve even changed the lyrics to the song.”

That did sound like something MateHub fans would do.

“But I’ll end up reeking of magic for days.” Storm couldn’t keep the whiny note out of his voice. While he hadn’t worked with Ryder specifically, he’d done scenes with other mages. The abrasive odor of their magic had lingered on his skin after they’d finished filming. It had made him want to scrub himself clean, though that never helped. The scent of magic ruined everything .

“Do you want it or not? I’m sure I can find another wolf shifter who’d be willing, even if the fans haven’t come up with a theme song for the pairing yet. They’re resourceful, and there’s a bunch of songs with rider in the title. It won’t take them long to create new lyrics.”

“I’ll do it,” Storm grumbled. “But I’m not going to enjoy it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Daniel grinned at him. “Always love to see my stars enthusiastic about their scenes. I’ll get the paperwork ready for you to sign.”

Storm shook his head. Whatever. At least he’d be getting paid a decent amount. For some reason, the fans loved a good wolf shifter-mage pairing. It was easy for them. They couldn’t smell magic through their screens.

“So what’s he do?” Storm asked.

“He usually bottoms.”

“No. Not that. His magic talent.”

“From the videos I’ve seen, he’s quite flexible.”

Storm sent Daniel a flat look.

“His lack of gag reflex?”

Storm’s expression got even flatter. Daniel was too clever to make that shit believable, but the fox shifter didn’t appear repentant.

“I’ve heard he has foresight,” he said. “Beyond that, I don’t know.”

Storm perked up. “Really? Can he predict my future?”

“You’d have to ask him. The only talents I care about are the ones that get high view counts, and as far as MateHub goes, no one’s getting off to some mage reading tea leaves.” Daniel paused, cocking his head. “Unless he can do it while bouncing on a dick, I suppose.”

“Maybe don’t give the MateHub writers that idea?”

“What, you don’t want to get offered a scene where you have to fuck a mage to have your fortune told?”

“If that’s it, fine. But they’d probably have it set up like one of those fortune-telling machines, except instead of inserting a coin, I’d need to insert my dick.”

The corner of Daniel’s lips twitched, but he didn’t comment. He leaned back in his plush leather office chair, his sharp gaze sweeping over Storm. “Speaking of the crazier things MateHub has asked its stars to do. Given any more thought to doing a bonding contract? The money would make this look like pocket change.”

MateHub had started encouraging its canine shifter stars to enter temporary mating bonds so they could knot their co-stars. Fans were insatiable when it came to the scenes.

“I’ll stick to pretending for now.”

As ludicrous as it was to moan about someone clenching so hot and tight on his knot when nothing of the sort was happening, bonding a person he had no feelings for didn’t sit right with him. Fucking people on camera was one thing; bonding was meant to be special.

While those contracts all but guaranteed stardom—with a sizable… swell in viewership—they weren’t for Storm.

“Up to you. But if you change your mind, MateHub would make it more than worth your while.”

“I’m good. Besides, they’d likely want me to bond a mage. Can you imagine that? Smelling like magic constantly for three months, doing a dozen or more scenes with that scent invading your senses?” He grimaced. “No thanks.”

Daniel scoffed. “You’d survive.”

Storm didn’t bother arguing. One-off scenes with mages were more than enough for him.

Chapter Two

Ryder

R yder leaned against a pile of mattresses and watched Tristan work his magic. Literally. Swirling yellow tattoos lit up on Tristan’s outstretched arms, and a faint yellow glow kindled in his irises.

The studio began to transform.

Three beds were already set up in a row, and more would be switched out after they’d used those, but that wasn’t nearly enough for the MateHub writers. Their artistic vision demanded more.

Even though Ryder sensed what Tristan was doing, his eyes refused to focus as reality blurred and the walls seemed to shimmer and melt away. The space before them appeared to open up, stretching out endlessly in a strange parody of a mattress showroom.

Beds popped up one by one in the illusion. Dozens of them, hundreds of them. They came in all shapes and sizes, from singles to kings, from dorm-room bunks to Japanese-style futon mattresses that lay on the floor. Some were fit for royalty, with large canopies arching over them; others were rickety frames that might be found discarded on the side of a road. Soft ambient lighting flooded the place, while bright spotlights showcased the latest models.

Ryder clapped as Tristan lowered his hands. No one cast illusions quite like him. Ryder couldn’t do them for shit, but Tristan’s never failed to impress. He was easily the best mage Ryder had ever met when it came to glamours. Other mages aside, very few people would understand the skill that went into his spells. It was insanely difficult to create a believable illusion. Too often, it fell into the uncanny valley—something not right about it that caused a person’s brain to reject what they were seeing.

But this? This looked real. Ryder could imagine someone walking straight into the now-invisible walls if they weren’t aware magic had concealed them.

Tristan surveyed his handiwork, nodding to himself.

“Nice,” Ryder said.

“How much do you want to bet the viewers won’t even notice?”

“A coffee from the break room?”

“Glad my work’s appreciated.” Tristan’s dry tone carried a hint of amusement.

“Hey, if you’re wanting some appreciation, I’m sure they’d let you?—”

“Never gonna happen. I’m good on my side of the camera, thanks. I’ll leave the moaning about getting pretend-knotted to you.”

“Oh, but it’s so big and hot and pulsing .” Ryder writhed with each word, his back arching, his gaze half-lidded. “And it’s filling me so full and?—”

“Save it for the cameras. I still can’t believe you want anything to do with wolf shifters. Most of them are obnoxious bastards.”

“Yeah, man, why would anyone get involved with a wolf shifter?” He snaked his hand out and wrapped it around Tristan’s wrist.

Shadows flickered through his mind—electric sparks that brought bits and pieces of the future with them. Yellow tattoos unfurling over a muscular chest, the whir of an espresso machine, the soft brush of fur against his skin .

Yep. It was still there.

Tristan yanked his arm away and scowled at him. “Stop that. Don’t even. I don’t want to hear it.”

Ryder laughed. “You aren’t curious about?—”

“Nope. Not interested. And if you’re tempted to tell me against my express wishes, let me remind you I know a spell that will make you feel like your asshole is itchy.” He gave Ryder a vicious smile. “For the rest of your life.”

Ryder had no doubt that he did.

“It wouldn’t matter if I told you. It’s not destiny, just a possibility. Fate doesn’t exist. You always have a choice. Maybe the universe gives you a nudge, but you make the final decision.”

“And if you make the wrong one, I can predict the future too,” Tristan said with a deadly sort of cheerfulness. “Ten years from now. It’s a pleasant day. You’re walking down the street… and your asshole itches like crazy.”

While the future wasn’t certain, Tristan’s wrath was, and Ryder would rather not risk it, especially with how crap he was at breaking curses.

“But seriously. Most of MateHub’s top stars are wolf shifters. That’s where the money is. If I refused to do scenes with them, I’d barely have any work. Besides, they’re hot. Just because mages and shifters generally don’t get along, doesn’t mean I can’t let a few fuck me.”

Tristan’s gaze tracked movement behind Ryder’s back, and Ryder turned to see Storm Swell entering the studio with a smooth, predatory grace. His jeans and t-shirt fit his tall frame tight enough to hint at all the muscle beneath.

Obnoxious bastards or not, wolf shifters were ridiculously attractive, and Storm was no exception, from his strong jaw and high cheekbones to his broad shoulders and spectacular ass. His black hair was closely shaved, and the deep, rich umber of his skin glowed under the studio lights, accentuating his striking features.

Storm must have felt them watching him because he glanced over, his wolf flashing in his dark eyes. He nodded, then strolled toward his dressing room.

Ryder suppressed a shiver of arousal. Yeah, letting someone who looked like that fuck him was not exactly the hardship Tristan made it out to be.

“Well, I better go get myself prepared for this supremely absurd scene.”

“Enjoy that pretend knot,” Tristan said wryly, his attention returning to his illusion as he tweaked a few of the beds.

“Always do.”

Ryder headed to his own dressing room. Because obviously, the naive character he’d be playing—a straight guy who’d shown up without realizing what his new employer was expecting—would also arrive perfectly cleaned out and waxed for porn close-ups. They truly did strive for realism at MateHub, and no one could say otherwise. Not even in his last scene, when he, an avid sex doll collector, had enchanted his toys to come to life and gang-bang him. If that wasn’t realism at its finest, he didn’t know what was.

Chapter Three

Storm

T he set reeked of magic, like it always did when Tristan cast his illusions. Two mages in one place were too many as far as Storm’s nose was concerned.

He walked over to where the director, Brandt, was standing with Ryder and eyed up his new co-star along the way. Storm had to admit that he was hot for a mage. Although not much shorter than Storm, he looked almost petite next to Brandt’s massive grizzly shifter frame. His black hair fell in waves that brushed his shoulders, setting off his golden tan skin and the sharp angles of his features. His gray eyes were framed by thick, well-shaped brows, and his lips were full and pouty enough that Storm was already imagining them wrapped around his cock. Wardrobe had dressed Ryder in charcoal slacks and a white-collared shirt that had seen better days, but still managed to highlight the lean lines of his body—a more subtle, refined style than the skintight, threadbare t-shirt and jeans they’d given Storm to wear.

“Storm,” he said, holding out his hand when he reached them. Normally he avoided touching mages to keep the scent of their magic off his skin, but considering everything he was about to do to Ryder, shaking hands was the least of his worries.

“Ryder.” He slipped his hand into Storm’s.

The moment their skin touched, magic buzzed against Storm’s palm, and he inhaled sharply, catching a hint of Ryder’s scent under the more familiar stench of Tristan’s magic.

Ryder’s eyes narrowed, and he frowned at their hands before glancing up at Storm, confusion written in the furrow of his brow.

They released their grip, but the tingle of magic remained on Storm’s skin. Huh. He’d never felt anything like that before. It wasn’t unpleasant though. Magic prickled along his palm. He flexed his fingers and noticed Ryder doing the same.

“If you’ve memorized your parts,” Brandt said, “let’s start the interview.”

Rhys, their main cameraman, filmed them as Brandt asked them questions—a few standard ones about how excited they were to film their first scene together and a number that had been submitted by fans in MateHub’s official forum.

“The fans have been requesting you two do a scene for months. Have you seen the song lyrics they wrote for you?”

“I thought them changing the original lyric to ‘like a shifter about to bone’ was particularly inspired,” Ryder said.

Storm repressed a snort. That was one word for it. “The creativity of MateHub fans truly knows no bounds.”

Ryder chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I’ve always been impressed by the MateHub forum anniversary celebration. The games they invent.” He shook his head. “Like ‘Whose Dick Is This?’ I’ve sucked half those dicks and couldn’t tell you who is who when the image is so tightly cropped, but the fans immediately recognize them and can usually guess which scene they’re from.”

That wasn’t even the craziest game they played.

“I can’t get over that interactive constellation map they made to show who has done scenes with whom and how many of them.”

“Oh man.” Ryder grinned at him. “I lost a few hours of my life to that thing, clicking on names to see who they were connected to. Your Taken by Storm series got you quite a few connections.”

“And they’ll need to add another after this.” Storm leered at Ryder. For the cameras. Mainly. Ryder smirked back.

“Perfect,” Brandt said. “That’s a great note to end on. Let’s get to the establishing shots.”

As they walked toward their marks on set, Ryder’s expression grew sly. “Okay, real talk. I love the fans, but they can get intense.”

“Are you saying the fan art of our cocks isn’t normal?” Storm asked, deadpan.

“I mean, who wouldn’t want to live in a world where strangers on the internet spend their free time lovingly drawing highly accurate depictions of their genitalia?”

“That is a question I ask myself daily.”

“Truthfully, though? MateHub fans are the best, even with their terrifyingly encyclopedic knowledge of every MateHub scene ever.”

There was no doubt about that in Storm’s mind. “You’ve gotta appreciate the fact that, unlike some other fans, they’ve never rioted when their favorite doesn’t come first.”

Ryder huffed out a laugh, then froze, side-eyeing Storm. He opened his mouth, about to speak, but Brandt interrupted.

“Okay, Storm, Ryder, remember you’re straight, broke, and desperate for this job. Let’s get this setup filmed.”

Ah, yes. The part most viewers wouldn’t bother watching.

Storm was playing a down-on-his-luck construction worker who’d answered a classified ad looking for mattress testers. A totally straight, absolutely heterosexual, one hundred percent normie breeder who had never in his life considered the possibility of sex with another man. Because he was straight. So very straight. The straightest of straights.

Storm couldn’t relate, but then, that was why MateHub paid him as much as they did. His acting skills. Well, that, and his cock. He was willing to acknowledge the latter was more impressive than the former.

MateHub had hired Kodiak Timber to do a cameo as their supervisor. They’d decked the bear shifter out in a white lab coat, and he held a clipboard to record whatever vital data one obtained from observing two people vigorously… testing mattresses.

The setup involved Kodiak greeting them for their first day at work.

“I hope you’re up for this.” The innuendo behind his words was as thick as the man himself. “It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.”

Storm and Ryder nodded like the good little workers they were.

“Given how hard the times are, there must have been a lot of stiff competition to fill these positions,” Storm said solemnly. “But let me assure you that I will rise to the occasion and stay on top of the work you want me to do.”

“And don’t worry,” Ryder added. “No matter how big the load, I can handle whatever comes my way.”

Kodiak continued talking as he led them to the testing location. “I value employees who have the right tools for the job and can go deep, drilling down and pounding out the work. Our new beds hit the market next month, and a lot is riding on this release. It’ll be tight, but we’ve got to squeeze this in.”

“It might take all night, but I’ll give you everything you want. I’m eager to thrust myself into the job ahead.” Storm bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snickering.

Ryder shot him a glance, amusement shining in his eyes.

Ah, the beautiful poetry of MateHub scripts. Shakespeare could eat his heart out—though perhaps the heart was not the most appropriate anatomy to be eating out when it came to MateHub.

They stopped in front of the first bed.

“Well, get to it. You’ll be needing this.” Kodiak pulled a comically large bottle of lube out of the pocket of his lab coat and tossed it on the bed, where it bounced twice.

Storm screwed his face up in flustered bewilderment. “Why would we need that ?”

Kodiak shrugged. “If you want to do it dry, it’s your asses, not mine.”

“ What? ” Storm squeaked in unison with Ryder.

The look Kodiak gave them was unimpressed. “Did you honestly think we were offering you two hundred dollars an hour to… sleep ?” He snorted. “We have to ensure our beds hold up to the most strenuous of fuckings before they go on the market. They’ve got to be durable enough to handle a shifter, but also soft enough for post-knotting comfort.”

Storm’s jaw dropped. “You expect me to… to… sleep with him ? But I’m straight !” He looked at Ryder, his gaze sliding over that tight, lithe body. Fuck, he was going to be fun to play with.

“Storm.” Brandt’s booming voice barged into the scene. “You’re supposed to be straight. Try that again without eye-fucking Ryder in the process.”

Oh, right. Storm shook himself.

He repeated the line, clutching his chest in horror, then ad-libbed, “And he’s a… a man !”

The corner of Ryder’s mouth twitched.

“Well observed,” Kodiak said. “Do you want the money or not? We can call the next two applicants on our list if you don’t.”

Storm nearly chuckled at the parallels to his conversation with Daniel. Instead, he and Ryder sized each other up, grimacing as they came to the realization that, while this wasn’t the job they’d thought they’d be doing, times—and a few other things—were indeed hard, so they should probably fill any position they were being offered.

“Cut!” Brandt said. “Perfect. Let’s move on to the coin toss to decide who gets head and who gets tail.”

Ryder’s shoulders shook almost imperceptibly as he suppressed a laugh, and Storm couldn’t have agreed more. Where did the MateHub writers come up with this shit?

S torm eyed Ryder, and they both started to undress.

As he pulled his shirt over his head, Ryder’s gaze was on him, trailing over the defined muscles of his abs.

Did he like that? Storm smirked at him and popped the button on his jeans before easing his zipper down. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband to shimmy them off. Ryder wet his lips and began to unbutton his shirt, slowly, teasingly, revealing sun-kissed skin with every button.

“Cut!” Brandt yelled. “No, no, no. Straight guys do not give stripteases to other straight guys! This should be awkward! Take it from the top!”

Storm sighed and put his shirt on so he could remove it again, keeping his movements jerky and fumbling until they were standing there, naked, hands covering their dicks.

“What are you waiting for?” Kodiak’s tone was gruff and no-nonsense. “Get to work.”

Ryder hesitated. He glanced at the bed, then at Storm.

“You aren’t backing out on me now, are you?” Storm gritted out. “I need this money, man.”

“No. I just…” Ryder looked downright bashful, not meeting his eye. It was adorable. “I’ve never… you know… with someone I haven’t…”

“Someone you haven’t?”

Ryder rushed to say his next line. “Someone I haven’t kissed.”

Storm’s character, in all his extremely heterosexual wisdom, decided the most obvious solution to this problem was to kiss his coworker. As straight guys were wont to do.

One hand still covering his dick—mostly covering… okay, partially covering—Storm reached out with the other and threaded his fingers through Ryder’s long hair, then yanked him close. Their mouths met in an ungraceful clash of lips and teeth.

Storm inhaled, and Ryder’s scent flooded his senses—the flicker of lightning over water, a trace of sea salt carried by the breeze. His wolf surged forward, a rumble building in his chest. Electricity sparked on his skin, and he angled Ryder’s head to deepen the kiss, delving into his mouth. Ryder opened for him, their tongues tangling, their bodies moving closer, pressing together as they?—

“Try that again,” Brandt called out.

Storm jerked away from Ryder. They blinked owlishly at each other. That had been… unexpected. He’d never filmed with a mage who didn’t make his nose itch. Ryder’s magic hung around him, a mantle that draped over him, unseen but tangible. For once, it was a unique perfume, not the harsh reek Storm had expected. He wouldn’t even mind if this scent lingered on him after the scene.

“And no growling, Storm,” Brandt added. “Straight guys don’t growl possessively when they kiss their male coworkers!”

Storm supposed that was true.

They stepped apart, only for Storm to tug Ryder into another kiss. Their mouths crashed together, and before he could stop himself, Storm was licking at the crease of Ryder’s lips. Fuck, his wolf liked the way Ryder tasted, liked how easily Ryder welcomed him in, liked the little gasp he let out as Storm took control of the kiss, angling his head to give him perfect access to?—

“No!” Brandt sounded exasperated. “You are awkward strangers! Awkward, straight strangers. That’s what we’re aiming for in these shots. And I don’t want either of you to get any harder than you already are.”

Storm’s gaze landed on Ryder’s dick, which had perked up since they’d begun filming. His own cock pulsed at the idea of what they were about to do, at the thought of Ryder hot and hard under him, clenching around him. At this rate, his hand wouldn’t even be partially covering his dick.

Brandt sighed. “Just get this over with, or we’ll have to wait for you to cool off before we restart filming, and we can’t afford that delay.”

Right. Awkward. Storm could do that.

He pulled Ryder forward by his hair again, forcing himself to ignore his wolf’s demands as he mashed his lips against Ryder’s, no finesse or skill involved.

It’d be awkward if he cupped the back of Ryder’s head and tilted it, right? If they slotted their mouths together and teased with their tongues. If he nipped at Ryder’s lips and?—

“Cut,” Brandt said, sighing again. “Fine. That’s good enough.”

Storm knew that sigh. That was the ‘no one understands my artistic vision’ sigh, but he wasn’t going to argue with Brandt when he’d declared it was time to move on, especially considering what came next.

They had beds to test, and for the first time, Storm was looking forward to filming with a mage.

Chapter Four

Ryder

A s they waited off set while the cameras were being rearranged for the shots of them testing the beds, Ryder shook his hand out again. There’d been a zap of shifter energy when they’d first touched that hadn’t fully faded. It was unlike anything he’d experienced before.

But that hadn’t been the weirdest part.

“So,” Storm said casually, “I heard you can tell the future?”

Now, that? That was the weird part.

“Yeah. I get glimpses of people’s futures when I touch them, but it’s more of an impression of what’s likely to happen than a clear image of something that will actually occur.”

It wasn’t the most useful of magical skills. He couldn’t make a living from it. No one would pay him to tell them he saw scuffed shoes, the jingle of newly cut keys, and the color green in their future. Or possibly not, depending on their life choices.

He could have used it to swindle humans if he wanted to, but that carried no appeal.

Useless skill or not, Storm’s eyes lit up. “Seriously? What’d you see for me?”

“Uhh…”

“That bad?”

“No, it’s just…” Ryder held his hand poised over Storm’s muscular chest. “May I?”

Storm shrugged. “Go for it. You’ll be touching a lot more than that in a few minutes here.”

And he was very much looking forward to that, but first…

Ryder placed his hand firmly against Storm’s chest, his golden skin contrasting with Storm’s dark brown.

But there was nothing.

Well, not nothing . Storm’s shifter energy stirred under Ryder’s palm, making his skin tingle, but no glimpses of the future transferred with the touch.

Just like when they’d shaken hands. Just like the kisses they’d shared.

Why wasn’t he getting any flashes of a potential future from Storm?

He’d always thought of it as a bit like static electricity. The first time he touched someone, there was a shock. That was when he saw the most, and then it lessened. If he hadn’t touched them for a while or if something significant had changed their electrical charge, so to speak, he’d get another large shock. It occasionally made meeting new people awkward, but after that, it was fine—a quirk he’d had to adjust to, especially when he was filming.

But with Storm, there was nothing. Not even the vaguest spark of possibility.

Maybe he needed to… unplug and try again? He removed his hand and rubbed his palms together before deliberately placing it back on Storm’s chest.

Still nothing.

He frowned and glanced around the studio, ignoring Storm’s confused expression. Tristan was lounging off to the side in case his illusions required adjustments. Ryder marched over to him, putting his hand on Tristan’s bare forearm.

Soft fur, rich coffee, glowing tattoos .

Tristan knocked his arm away. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Do I need to remind you that?—”

Ryder walked off, staring at his hand. Okay, strange.

As he passed Rhys, he snuck out a hand and brushed it against the cameraman’s buff arm.

Mountains of dirty diapers, sleepless nights, tiny little feet .

“ Oh .” He froze. That was new. “Congrats on the baby.”

Rhys beamed at him. “We were waiting until tomorrow to make the announcement. It’ll officially be twelve weeks.”

In the round of cheers and back-slapping that followed, Ryder returned to where Storm was watching him with bemusement.

He put his hand on Storm’s chest again.

Nothing.

He pressed harder, then bounced it against the distractingly firm muscles of Storm’s pecs.

Still nothing.

What the hell? This had never happened before.

He peered at Storm. “I can’t see your future.”

Storm’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean? I don’t have a future? Am I going to die soon?”

“If you were, I’d get a sense of foreboding or finality at least, and I’m not getting that. I’m not getting anything .”

“I thought you said you see people’s futures when you touch them?”

“For everyone else, I do.”

“You see everyone’s future but mine?”

“Yeah.”

That word hung between them, and Ryder tried to puzzle out what was happening.

Wait. No. He didn’t see everyone’s. There was another person whose future he’d never seen, but there was a logical explanation for that, one that didn’t apply to Storm.

“Okay!” Brandt’s voice sliced through the celebratory noise in the studio. “Places! We’ve got a montage to film.”

Right. They had a job to do. Ryder pushed the strangeness of being unable to see Storm’s future aside and focused on their scene.

They stepped onto the set, standing beside the first bed as Brandt called action.

This bed had a sleek, modern design with a minimalist frame made of dark wood on low-profile legs, giving it a sturdy, elegant appearance. Crisp white sheets were neatly tucked around it.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Kodiak said. “For this medium-firm mattress, we’re testing to make sure it’s at the optimal height for a blow job.”

Storm huffed before grumbling, “Fine. But I’m straight, so I’m not going to enjoy it.”

He threw himself down to sit on the edge of the bed. His arms were crossed over his chest, but his legs were nice and wide so Ryder could settle between them. For all his protesting, his dick was having a harder time staying in character as Ryder knelt before him.

Ryder meekly wrapped his hand around Storm’s thick shaft, his parted lips hovering over the tip peeking out of its foreskin. He glanced up at Storm and saw the amber flare of his wolf in his eyes. Their gazes locked, and heat rushed through Ryder.

How well would Storm be able to keep up this feigned indifference, pretending this wasn’t exactly what he wanted, that he wasn’t enjoying every second he was in Ryder’s mouth? Ryder suppressed a wicked grin, opting instead for a timid lick that made Storm’s jaw clench at the tease.

After a few more licks that had Storm’s abs jumping, Ryder stretched his mouth open as wide as it would go, exaggerating the movement as he leaned down to take Storm in.

Storm’s arms shot out, his hands fisting in Ryder’s hair to stop him. “Teeth! Teeth!” he squeaked, the note of panic in his voice too real to be acting.

“ Oh .” Ryder made his eyes big and innocent. “Sorry. Is this not how I’m supposed to do it?”

Storm scowled at him. “Lips, not teeth. It’s not a chew toy.”

Ryder fought back his amusement, but when he lowered his head, his teeth were safely behind his lips. Inch by inch, he took Storm deeper, pulling off a few times like he couldn’t figure out how to handle Storm’s dick as it thickened to full hardness.

His character was a fast learner though, because as soon as he’d managed to suck Storm all the way down, he got the off-camera signal to do things properly.

He smoothed his hands up the inside of Storm’s thighs, pushing them farther apart, loving the ripple of energy against his palms, how it seemed to dance under his touch. He’d never understood when mages said shifter energy was appealing, but now he absolutely did. It sang to him, luring him in with its sweet siren song. He wanted to draw it into himself, to channel it, to see what he could do with that power.

Ryder hummed around the head of Storm’s cock, his hand stroking the shaft with a deftness that would never pass as amateur. He swirled his tongue, sucking and licking with purpose until Storm let out a choked-off moan.

So much for being straight. He’d smirk about making Storm break character so quickly, but his mouth was already occupied.

Kodiak muttered to himself, taking notes on his clipboard and leaning in to inspect Ryder’s work. He nodded and looked at Storm. “Check the bed is the right height for you to thrust into his mouth.”

Storm didn’t need to be told twice. He tangled his fingers in Ryder’s hair as he fucked his face, setting a quick rhythm that had Ryder’s hands gripping his thighs.

Damn, this was good. How long would Storm last like this? Could he fuck Ryder’s mouth until his jaw ached? Would he return the favor after he came down Ryder’s throat?

Unfortunately, they didn’t get to find out during this scene.

“Cut!” Brandt called. “On to the second bed!”

Storm groaned as Ryder let him slip from his lips.

Mouth finally free, Ryder smirked up at him. “This bed really is ideal for a blow job.”

“Let’s see if you’re so smug after the next bed.”

Given the position they’d be in, Ryder was more than confident he would be.

Chapter Five

Storm

R yder’s ass was sticking up in the air on a queen-size bed with a light oak frame and a tall headboard upholstered in royal blue velvet. Storm stared at Kodiak with trepidation, unsure how any of this would test whether or not their plush pillow-top mattresses would be truly comfortable for someone to “bury their face in as they tried to muffle their cries of ecstasy.”

Kodiak made a ‘get on with it’ gesture, and Storm gulped audibly as he spread Ryder’s ass cheeks and leaned forward, hesitantly poking his tongue out to lap at Ryder’s hole.

The effort it took not to do more than that was herculean because, fuck, Ryder was delicious. Storm wanted to eat him out for days, feast on him until they were both wet and sloppy and he’d be able to slip right in.

But this damn scene didn’t require that. Instead, he had to inexpertly poke about for a minute before he got Brandt’s go-ahead and his skills suddenly and dramatically improved.

He delved deeper, rimming Ryder with purpose, flicking and stroking and teasing, fucking into Ryder, feeling him shake as he tried not to writhe on Storm’s tongue, as he moaned and arched his back, as his body begged so sweetly for more.

Storm had just settled in for a proper feast when his new least favorite word rang through the studio.

“Cut! That was great. Bring in the next bed!”

Brandt had the worst timing.

Storm and Ryder groaned in unison. This sex montage could burn in the deepest, fieriest pits of hell as far as Storm was concerned, and they’d barely begun to film it.

They climbed off the bed, and Storm noted with pride that Ryder’s legs weren’t entirely steady as they stepped away. The crew hurried to switch out the beds.

“Storm,” Brandt said, “get yourself ready.”

After getting a taste of Ryder, Storm was more than ready, but it was always best to follow the director’s orders. He spat in his hand and wrapped it around his shaft. Ryder’s eyes tracked the movement; he didn’t pretend to avert his gaze, and that was perfectly fine with Storm. Arousal buzzed through him just like Ryder’s magic had buzzed against his skin. He dragged his fist over his length, keeping his pace unhurried and leisurely, rolling his foreskin up and down with each motion.

Ryder’s fingers flexed, and Storm could practically feel his need to touch himself, to copy Storm’s strokes, to jerk off together. But the next shot didn’t call for Ryder to be fully hard, so he had to stand there and watch.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

But then Ryder shook himself and looked up at Storm with narrowed eyes.

“What did you mean by ‘unlike some other fans’?”

The question was so random that it had Storm’s hand faltering. “What?”

“After the interview, you said MateHub fans never riot. Was that a swipe at soccer fans?”

“Uh… yeah? Obviously.”

“What do you have against soccer fans?”

“Well, the riots, for one thing. You don’t see football fans doing that shit.” …Often.

“Right. Which is why they grease up the light poles in Philadelphia. The lack of potential riots.”

“Are you saying you don’t like a good greased pole?” He gave himself a nice, long stroke to emphasize the question.

Ryder’s gaze flicked down, but he shook himself again.

Before he could respond, Brandt directed them to take their places on the new bed—a twin on a matte black metal frame.

Ryder slid onto it, leaning back on his hands, his legs wide enough apart for Storm to kneel between them. He picked up the lube and squeezed some onto his fingers. “Don’t tell me you think American football is better than soccer.”

Storm watched Ryder’s fingers working in and out of his hole—a little extra stretching, making sure he was nice and lubed up. He grabbed the bottle to slick himself up as well. “Of course it’s better.”

“Not in a million years.” Ryder scoffed. “Football games are so long.”

“Hate to break it to you, but if you’re not a fan of long things, you aren’t going to enjoy the rest of this scene.”

Ryder snorted.

“Okay, okay,” Brandt said. “If you’re ready, let’s go.”

They cleaned their hands on the wipes the crew passed them, and the scene began.

Ryder stayed propped up, Storm still between his legs, as they stared at Kodiak.

“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 was perfect . 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?”

Storm gave Ryder’s lithe body a once-over, his gaze catching on the hand jerking his cock, keeping himself hard. When Ryder noticed his attention, he slowed his strokes, gliding his foreskin forward before easing it back, twisting his fingers over the exposed head, and thrusting into his fist.

He never would have imagined thinking about a mage this way, but yeah, it absolutely was an offer.

“I’m not sure,” he said instead. “I do like to know my men can handle a pounding.”

“And I like mine to have the stamina for a full ninety minutes.”

Brandt clapped his hands together, interrupting their conversation. “Alright! This is the second to last bed, so Storm is about to knot you, Ryder.”

Storm forced himself to look away from Ryder and at the bed the crew had set up. It was another queen, but this time, it was a waterbed with a retro flair. Its low frame was crafted from glossy wood with a rich espresso finish. As they climbed onto it, the mattress sloshed, undulating with each shift of their weight.

This was a first. He’d never fucked someone on a waterbed before, even if it would be just for a few minutes.

The cameras rolled, and Kodiak droned on about the durability of reinforced vinyl covers and the unique floating sensation provided by the water. Storm was too busy pulling Ryder against him to care. The cool mattress offered a counterpoint to Ryder’s hot body. Sinking into him was a blissful relief.

Ryder arched up against him, his tone breathy as he cried out, “Oh god, yes ! I can feel your knot throbbing. Give it to me! Give me your knot!”

Regardless of that being cheesy porn dialog, Storm’s wolf surged forward, growling at the idea of knotting Ryder. The base of his dick pulsed, his jaw ached with the instinct to drop fangs, and his claws sprouted. Ryder clung to him, eagerly meeting his movements, and Storm dug his fingers into the?—

A gurgle of water spurted up from under his claws. Storm jerked back, snatching Ryder into his arms and scrambling off the rapidly leaking bed. He stood, Ryder still on his cock, and groaned as gravity kindly drove him deeper into Ryder’s ass.

Brandt and the crew scurried around for towels or buckets or anything that would stop the water.

With a heavy sigh, Tristan strolled over, leveling Storm with an unimpressed glare. He placed his hand against the bed, and his eyes glowed yellow. A barrier flashed into place around the mattress, trapping most of the water inside. “You thought claws and a waterbed were a good combination?”

Storm hadn’t been thinking at all, if he were being honest, but that didn’t seem like the best thing to say to Tristan.

“You gonna set me down?” Ryder asked, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver along Storm’s spine.

Did he have to? The prospect of keeping Ryder in his arms, warming his dick as they waited for the crew to clean up, was too appealing. But he inhaled deeply, drawing in Ryder’s intoxicating scent, then reluctantly lifted him up and off his cock and set him on the ground, no matter how much the untamed side of himself grumbled about the decision.

The crew took their sweet time switching out the beds, and okay, fine, part of that was Storm’s fault. He shouldn’t expect an instant changeover when mopping was involved. He’d have felt bad about that, but every ounce of his willpower was being spent on not bending Ryder over any of the discarded beds, cameras be damned. His wolf was sick of waiting, sick of the starts and stops, and it knew Ryder was too, knew he was done with small talk and banter, knew he was ready for them to do this properly.

With another co-star, Storm’s erection might have flagged during this delay, but all he could think about was what came next. The montage over, the buildup done. Time for the final bed—an imposing king-sized monstrosity with a thick mattress, satin sheets, and a frame carved from dark walnut.

By some miracle, he restrained himself until Brandt called action. The script said they should wait for Kodiak’s instructions, but Storm had had enough of that. He grabbed Ryder and tossed him onto the bed, stalking after him. Ryder smirked and scooted up the mattress to settle against the pillows, tugging Storm down, wrapping his legs around him, and urging him inside.

Storm slid in, forgetting about the cameras, the crew, the money, the scene. Forgetting everything but Ryder’s body under him, clinging to him, moving with him. The sudden, overwhelming need to bite and claim rushed through his veins.

This . This was what he was meant to do, and now that there would be no more interruptions, he intended to do precisely that.

Chapter Six

Ryder

R yder moaned as Storm slammed into him. Finally . After the endless stops and starts, this was exactly what he’d been craving all damn day. They no longer needed to hold themselves back. This time, they’d fuck until they came, and Ryder was so ready for it.

Storm fucked like a force of nature. The sensations he was wringing from Ryder’s body threatened to swallow him whole. Heat radiated off his skin, his powerful muscles coiled with tension, flexing as he pounded into Ryder, a feral growl building in his chest. Their gazes locked, and Storm’s wolf flashed in his eyes, ravenous and greedy, before Storm captured Ryder’s mouth in an electric kiss.

There was some commotion off to the side, Brandt saying something about angles and positions, but Ryder didn’t care. They weren’t stopping again.

Storm wrenched his mouth away from Ryder’s, then scraped sharp teeth against his neck, inhaling deeply and rumbling like he’d never smelled anything better.

“You want my knot?” he asked.

“ Yes ,” Ryder breathed out. That wasn’t his line, but it got the point across.

“You want me to bite you, bond you, knot you?”

“ Fuck yes .” Ryder surprised himself with how vehemently and quickly his reply came. He’d never had any desire to get knotted for real before, but with Storm murmuring filthy words that the mics probably weren’t picking up into his ear, he wanted nothing more.

“You’re going to feel so good,” Storm growled. “I’ll fill you so full, you’ll never want anyone but me in you ever again.”

Ryder shuddered, then gasped, clawing along Storm’s broad shoulders as Storm bit down on the juncture of his neck, just shy of breaking skin, and for one lust-crazed moment, sense fled Ryder’s brain. He wanted that. Wanted Storm to bite harder, to bond him.

Magic sparked at his fingertips, a hair away from uncontrolled, and his tattoos glittered to life, shimmering aqua on his arms. They’d never done that during a scene before, but then his magic had never reacted to a shifter like this. He’d never felt this effortless transfer of magic and energy between himself and another, never felt anything this good, this right.

Power swirled around them. It crackled in the air, a potent mix.

Storm nipped at his ear. “I’m going to make you mine.” He pulled back and looked at Ryder, his gaze hooded, his pupils blown. “Can’t wait to see you come on my knot.”

It was part of the scene, Ryder knew that, but it also sounded like a promise, and with Storm’s dark eyes boring into him, it was so easy to imagine, to picture Storm stretching him open.

He clenched at the thought.

Storm’s hips stuttered, and he came with a howl, releasing deep in Ryder. He kept Ryder tight against him with one hand and gripped his cock with the other, jerking him off until his body was bowing off the bed.

Pleasure coursed through Ryder. His moans caught in his throat, and he spilled over Storm’s fingers. Then they collapsed onto the mattress, Storm holding their hips snug against each other.

“Fuck, you feel amazing.” Ryder sighed, not acting in the slightest.

Storm brushed his lips against Ryder’s, a rumble vibrating in his chest as he licked his way into Ryder’s mouth. They traded languid kisses, pretending to be tied together.

It felt more real than it should have, and Ryder found he wouldn’t have minded if it were.

“You see anything in my future yet?” Storm asked in a whisper low enough that only Ryder could hear.

Ryder snaked his hand between them and placed it over Storm’s heart. With as much as they were already touching, he didn’t need the extra contact, but feeling that gradually slowing rhythm under his palm was too tempting to resist.

Still nothing. He shook his head.

“This has never happened before?”

“Actually, there’s one person whose future I’ve never seen.”

“Whose?”

“My own.”

Maybe there was a reason he couldn’t see Storm’s future after all. How his magic responded to Storm’s energy—so different from any other shifter—certainly seemed to say as much.

Storm leaned in to kiss him again, his lips ghosting over Ryder’s.

“That’s long enough,” Brandt announced. “You can pull out now, Storm.”

They froze, the bubble they’d been in popping.

Right.

This was a scene, and they needed to finish it up.

Storm pulled away, his soft dick sliding out. Rhys swooped in with his camera to get the obligatory shot of come leaking out of Ryder’s ass, but Ryder kept glancing at Storm.

His eyes were drawn to him as they stood, slipped on their robes, and headed to their separate dressing rooms.

Ryder might not believe in destiny or fate or anything of the sort, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious to find out what his blank future held.

Chapter Seven

Storm

O nce he was back in his dressing room, Storm inhaled deeply. Ryder’s scent was a heady perfume on his skin, mingling with his own—lightning and sea salt meeting a heavy downpour and cypress resin, swirling together to form a clear picture in his mind. A stormy coastal night, lightning flickering over the water at the edge of a forest. He let its perfection fill his lungs, then sighed it out. How much better would Ryder smell if they’d done this for real?

His wolf had wanted that—to claim Ryder, to knot him. It didn’t care if those lines had just been the script talking. Ryder had sounded like he’d meant it. He’d smelled like it, too. But things were never quite that easy.

Storm hopped into the shower and rinsed himself clean, loath to scrub off Ryder’s scent—a definite first when it came to filming with a mage, and it wasn’t difficult to guess why.

Bonded couples weren’t entirely unheard of at MateHub anymore, and while he wasn’t as big a star as Richard Knotz, he did share an agent with him. If Daniel could negotiate a post-bonding contract that allowed Richard to film exclusively with his mate, he might be able to do the same for Storm.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He couldn’t decide that on his own.

He toweled himself dry, got dressed, and exited his dressing room.

On his way to the elevator, Ryder fell into step with him. Storm hit the call button, and they waited, stealing glances at each other out of the corner of their eyes.

“Have you ever even been to a soccer match?” Ryder asked as they stepped into the elevator.

“Have you been to a football game?”

Ryder passed over his phone. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Playoffs start next week. I already have tickets. Just need someone to go with me.”

Storm entered his name and number into Ryder’s contacts. “Fine, but I’m not going to enjoy it.”

“We’ll see about that.” Ryder leaned in to whisper in his ear. “And if it’s too terrible for you, I do have a mattress that could use some testing afterward.”

“Funny you should mention that. So do I.” Storm curled a hand around Ryder’s hip and tugged him closer.

Ryder grinned, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I think we’ve got some more work to do.”

Yes, they did. They might need to test their beds repeatedly to ensure they were up to standards. It’d be another hard job, but somehow, they’d suffer through.

The elevator arrived at the first floor, and they headed out of the MateHub building together.

Maybe filming with certain mages wasn’t so bad after all.