Summary:
Micah “Pup” Slayde knows he wants Tackett Austin the moment he lays eyes on him in the Guards of Folsom. Micah wants to have purpose, to be taken care of, and to take care of his Dom—wants to trust him completely, live for him, belong to him. To become his everything. Micah is sure Tackett is the one. The problem is, in order to be the perfect sub, he needs to stay focused, and that’s not easy for Micah, who suffers from what he refers to as a “broken brain". Focus and adult Attention Deficit Disorder (Adult ADD) rarely coexist.
Ever since Ty Callahan and Blake Henderson’s collaring ceremony, Tackett’s been thinking too much about his own loneliness. Even though Ty introduces Micah and urges Tackett to give him a try, Tackett isn’t so easily convinced. He’s spent his life pursuing a successful business career, and the subs he dominates almost never enjoy the kiss of his leather twice. Twenty years Micah’s senior, Tackett has no interest in taking on and taming such a young and naughty sub—but it’s difficult to resist such an adorable pup when he begs.
Summary:
Following the death of their sub, the former owners of the Guards of Folsom, Robert “Bobby” Alcott and Rig Beckworth, were left to pick up the pieces as best they could. After seven years, these two Doms are ready to move on and find the boy who will complete them. Their painful past comes crashing back when they meet Mason Howard, a submissive who just weeks ago lost his Doms in a car accident.
Reeling from overwhelming grief that’s complicated by a severe social anxiety disorder, Mason can barely leave his home. When Rig and Bobby find him, he’s hit rock bottom, believing life is no longer worth living. Bobby and Rig set out to prove the younger man wrong. Fate has brought the three men together, but they’ll have to face fear and loss head on before they can all truly live again.
Summary:
Grant Maxwell, aka Max, wakes to find his coffeepot has died in the night. Not one who can start his day without his favorite brew, he heads to the local coffee shop. Max finds something even more appealing than caffeine in the form of a twenty-six-year-old hottie Aiden James. For the first time in his life, well-established, confident and respected Dom Max finds himself sputtering and unsure in the face of Aiden’s charms.
Aiden lives with three roommates, works a dead-end job, and isn’t sure where his life is heading, that is, until he meets Max. Max introduces him to a foreign yet intriguing lifestyle, and they soon discover they have something more than mutual attraction in common.
A shared kink is one thing, but Aiden’s past vanilla sexual experiences as well as his fear of losing himself in Max may keep Aiden from experiencing his fantasy. Max has an obstacle of his own to overcome. He must somehow figure out how to help Aiden explore his submissive side when, for the first time in his life, he’s head over heels in love.
Summary:
Life has been known by a series of constants: Violence, anger, drugs, sex, death, heartbreak, pain, fear and the most common, hunger; Always hunger. Not the kind that can be satisfied with food, but the kind born of circumstance. The kind that not only claws within a gut, but settles into a heart, consumes a mind. Deeper—Encircles, penetrates the soul. Hunger for something more, something better, safer. Always just out of grasp—Craving—Starved.
It’s part of me.
Who I am.
Born of blood and violence, hunger is my fate.
Yet, the slightest things can change the directions of a life. An unplanned circumstance, random act—a connection—a chance event, like a lightning strike, fate is trumped.
Jamie is my lightning strike.
Tek Cain
Tek Cain was cultivated from birth to lead the motorcycle gang, Crimson Eight. Jamie Ryan, his best friend, is destined to be his second. But forbidden desires have them questioning everything they know, and an undeniable bond makes them want more than their supposed brotherhood can provide. Their love could get them killed, but they are bound to each other—from the cradle to the grave.
Summary:
Beyond Duty: Book Two
A Guards of Folsom Story
Gunther Duchene aka “Gunny” and Macalister Jones aka “Mac” have overcome the obstacles of coming out and retiring from serving more than twenty years as Marines. Their exit ceremony is behind them, their wedding vows are made, and now it's time for the honeymoon. What better way to kick off their marriage than enjoying the retirement gift Mac gave Gunny? With the leather pants and collar packed, it's off to New York City and the Guards of Folsom club to celebrate—BDSM style.
Pup
Prologue
“GOD have mercy on his soul.”
God? There was no God, and there sure as hell wouldn’t be any mercy bestowed on Charles Robert Jones. Mason wiped angrily at the tears on his cheeks with his sleeve and glared at the priest who had come to say a last prayer for the dearly departed.
Neither the pastor nor the prayer had been Mason’s idea, nor would Charles have wanted it. No one seemed to care what he or Charles wanted. To the few family members who were in attendance—two sisters, an aunt, and a couple of cousins—Mason Howard didn’t exist. He wasn’t allowed to sit amongst them, relegated to stand at the back and away from the casket—wouldn’t want to upset the family with his presence. In fact, Charles’s older sister Maria had even gone as far as to call Mason and say, “We think it’d be best if you not attend.”
Mason hadn’t even dignified her with an answer, just hit the end button on his phone and threw it across the room. He responded to the request by not only showing up at the funeral home each day—he had been the first to arrive at the cemetery, which was another thing Charles wouldn’t have wanted. Mason shouldn’t be here; none of them should. Charles had made it perfectly clear that he wanted to be cremated and his ashes scattered over the land he had lived on and loved with Mason and Gregory. Again, Mason hadn’t gotten a say in it and apparently neither had Charles; the black casket about to be lowered into the ground was proof.
Charles’s family had finally been able to contain him in a shiny box, the kind they could understand. The box, the setting, the words, none of it was who Charles Robert Jones was. Now some man—a messenger of a God long dead to Mason—was trying to redeem a soul condemned—possessed by sin.
Mason had tried to tell both Maria and Charles’s other sister Carol what Charles’s last wishes were, but they’d refused to listen to him. He’d fought as hard as he could for Charles, but he’d failed. He had no legal rights. He didn’t get any say in what happened to the man he knew better than all of them. It didn’t matter that he’d been the only person, present company included, who had shared the man’s life every single day for the last twelve years.
That wasn’t true. There had been one other person.
Mason tipped his head back, looking up at the changing sky with tear-filled eyes. His chest tightened so painfully it stole his breath. Oh God, Gregory, he cried silently. Look what they are doing to him.
In the distance a bolt of lightning cracked, splitting the horizon. The clouds churned, gray swirling billows overtaking the robin’s-egg blue of an otherwise peaceful summer sky. As if even the heavens were manifesting Mason’s anger, bearing witness to Gregory’s defeat, and reflecting the sorrow of Charles’s soul trapped in that pine box.
At least Gregory had been cremated as had been his wish. His ashes sat on the kitchen table of their seaside home, waiting to be set free. Mason choked on a sob as it hit him in the center of his very being. He was putting one lover in the cold hard ground alone and abandoning the other to the winds, when their earthly remains should have been intermingled forever.
The creaking of a winch pulled Mason from his musings just in time to hear the priest say, “Unite us together again in one family, to sing your praise forever and ever. Amen.”
The choked sound of sobbing from Charles’s family inflamed Mason as much as the priest’s hollow words did. These people with their bullshit of being together again in one family, the fake tears, caused rage to claw at Mason’s chest, bile to rise up in his throat, and he trembled with the power of it. He wanted to scream at the injustice of it, to howl, Me! I’m his family. Me, who loves him unconditionally for who and what he was. He’s mine! He belongs to me and Gregory. We’re his family.
Click. Click. Click.
Mason covered his ears, the agonized screaming in his head not enough to drown out the maddening sounds of the gears turning. Each click took Charles farther and farther away. Soon he’d be out of reach, gone forever.
Click. Click. Click.
Stop them. You fucking coward, stop them. Do it. Do it NOW!
Mason’s fingers curled in hair, setting off sparks of pain on each side of his skull, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His heart hammered in his chest, the adrenaline surged through his system, and he couldn’t breathe.
As the familiar signs of a panic attack coursed through him, Mason sank to the ground against his will, his knees giving out as he gasped for breath. The pain in his head, the screaming inside it, the shiny black casket, the click, click, click of the winch, Gregory, Charles, all of it pressed down on him, and his chest clenched, throat constricted, he couldn’t fucking breathe.
Focus. Breathe.
Somewhere in his haze-filled brain, he knew what he had to do. He had to relax, breathe, and focus. It would pass, and if it didn’t, if he couldn’t relax enough to get air into his lungs, his body would shut down and override his fucked-up head. Waking up from a panic-induced sleep sucked; the screaming headache would leave him dazed for hours. He’d lived through hundreds, thousands of these attacks throughout his life; he just needed to focus, listen for the soothing sound of Gregory’s voice, the calming touch of Charles’s hands, because without them to pull him back from the edge….
Dead.
Mason tried to open his eyes to stop the haunting images that blinked in his head, flashing like a strobe light. Twisted wreckage— Mangled bodies— Blood.
NO!
They would come for him. Gregory would talk him down. Charles would touch him and soothe him, and the three of them would snuggle together afterward. Mason couldn’t do it without them.
They wouldn’t leave him.
Ever.
They had promised him when they put the collar around his neck. He would forever belong to them, and Gregory and Charles had vowed they wouldn’t ever leave him.
Open your eyes, boy. Focus right here. Open your eyes and look at me.
At the sound of Gregory’s authoritative voice, Mason’s eyes flew open, the edges of his vision dark. Mason blinked, trying to do as he was told, but everything was blurry and his eyes closed of their own accord. “Sir,” he managed to wheeze out. “Help—”
Mason’s entire body trembled, and his oxygen-deficient lungs caused an agonizing burn to spread through him, but he wouldn’t fail his master. Mason pushed the pain down into the pit of his churning gut, rose above the misery. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Gregory.
Mason’s eyes fluttered open, and before him stood a figure dressed all in black, its pale fingers curled into a fist. It all came rushing back in a flash, every agonizing detail—his pain, his loss, his new reality. Maria’s dark eyes bore into him accusingly as she opened her hand and let the dirt fall into the grave.
Darkness surrounded him like giant arms, welcoming him into its embrace, and Mason gave himself over to it. He felt himself floating away, the pain fading too. His last conscious thought: Please don’t let me wake this time.
Tag Team
Prologue
“GOD have mercy on his soul.”
God? There was no God, and there sure as hell wouldn’t be any mercy bestowed on Charles Robert Jones. Mason wiped angrily at the tears on his cheeks with his sleeve and glared at the priest who had come to say a last prayer for the dearly departed.
Neither the pastor nor the prayer had been Mason’s idea, nor would Charles have wanted it. No one seemed to care what he or Charles wanted. To the few family members who were in attendance—two sisters, an aunt, and a couple of cousins—Mason Howard didn’t exist. He wasn’t allowed to sit amongst them, relegated to stand at the back and away from the casket—wouldn’t want to upset the family with his presence. In fact, Charles’s older sister Maria had even gone as far as to call Mason and say, “We think it’d be best if you not attend.”
Mason hadn’t even dignified her with an answer, just hit the end button on his phone and threw it across the room. He responded to the request by not only showing up at the funeral home each day—he had been the first to arrive at the cemetery, which was another thing Charles wouldn’t have wanted. Mason shouldn’t be here; none of them should. Charles had made it perfectly clear that he wanted to be cremated and his ashes scattered over the land he had lived on and loved with Mason and Gregory. Again, Mason hadn’t gotten a say in it and apparently neither had Charles; the black casket about to be lowered into the ground was proof.
Charles’s family had finally been able to contain him in a shiny box, the kind they could understand. The box, the setting, the words, none of it was who Charles Robert Jones was. Now some man—a messenger of a God long dead to Mason—was trying to redeem a soul condemned—possessed by sin.
Mason had tried to tell both Maria and Charles’s other sister Carol what Charles’s last wishes were, but they’d refused to listen to him. He’d fought as hard as he could for Charles, but he’d failed. He had no legal rights. He didn’t get any say in what happened to the man he knew better than all of them. It didn’t matter that he’d been the only person, present company included, who had shared the man’s life every single day for the last twelve years.
That wasn’t true. There had been one other person.
Mason tipped his head back, looking up at the changing sky with tear-filled eyes. His chest tightened so painfully it stole his breath. Oh God, Gregory, he cried silently. Look what they are doing to him.
In the distance a bolt of lightning cracked, splitting the horizon. The clouds churned, gray swirling billows overtaking the robin’s-egg blue of an otherwise peaceful summer sky. As if even the heavens were manifesting Mason’s anger, bearing witness to Gregory’s defeat, and reflecting the sorrow of Charles’s soul trapped in that pine box.
At least Gregory had been cremated as had been his wish. His ashes sat on the kitchen table of their seaside home, waiting to be set free. Mason choked on a sob as it hit him in the center of his very being. He was putting one lover in the cold hard ground alone and abandoning the other to the winds, when their earthly remains should have been intermingled forever.
The creaking of a winch pulled Mason from his musings just in time to hear the priest say, “Unite us together again in one family, to sing your praise forever and ever. Amen.”
The choked sound of sobbing from Charles’s family inflamed Mason as much as the priest’s hollow words did. These people with their bullshit of being together again in one family, the fake tears, caused rage to claw at Mason’s chest, bile to rise up in his throat, and he trembled with the power of it. He wanted to scream at the injustice of it, to howl, Me! I’m his family. Me, who loves him unconditionally for who and what he was. He’s mine! He belongs to me and Gregory. We’re his family.
Click. Click. Click.
Mason covered his ears, the agonized screaming in his head not enough to drown out the maddening sounds of the gears turning. Each click took Charles farther and farther away. Soon he’d be out of reach, gone forever.
Click. Click. Click.
Stop them. You fucking coward, stop them. Do it. Do it NOW!
Mason’s fingers curled in hair, setting off sparks of pain on each side of his skull, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His heart hammered in his chest, the adrenaline surged through his system, and he couldn’t breathe.
As the familiar signs of a panic attack coursed through him, Mason sank to the ground against his will, his knees giving out as he gasped for breath. The pain in his head, the screaming inside it, the shiny black casket, the click, click, click of the winch, Gregory, Charles, all of it pressed down on him, and his chest clenched, throat constricted, he couldn’t fucking breathe.
Focus. Breathe.
Somewhere in his haze-filled brain, he knew what he had to do. He had to relax, breathe, and focus. It would pass, and if it didn’t, if he couldn’t relax enough to get air into his lungs, his body would shut down and override his fucked-up head. Waking up from a panic-induced sleep sucked; the screaming headache would leave him dazed for hours. He’d lived through hundreds, thousands of these attacks throughout his life; he just needed to focus, listen for the soothing sound of Gregory’s voice, the calming touch of Charles’s hands, because without them to pull him back from the edge….
Dead.
Mason tried to open his eyes to stop the haunting images that blinked in his head, flashing like a strobe light. Twisted wreckage— Mangled bodies— Blood.
NO!
They would come for him. Gregory would talk him down. Charles would touch him and soothe him, and the three of them would snuggle together afterward. Mason couldn’t do it without them.
They wouldn’t leave him.
Ever.
They had promised him when they put the collar around his neck. He would forever belong to them, and Gregory and Charles had vowed they wouldn’t ever leave him.
Open your eyes, boy. Focus right here. Open your eyes and look at me.
At the sound of Gregory’s authoritative voice, Mason’s eyes flew open, the edges of his vision dark. Mason blinked, trying to do as he was told, but everything was blurry and his eyes closed of their own accord. “Sir,” he managed to wheeze out. “Help—”
Mason’s entire body trembled, and his oxygen-deficient lungs caused an agonizing burn to spread through him, but he wouldn’t fail his master. Mason pushed the pain down into the pit of his churning gut, rose above the misery. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Gregory.
Mason’s eyes fluttered open, and before him stood a figure dressed all in black, its pale fingers curled into a fist. It all came rushing back in a flash, every agonizing detail—his pain, his loss, his new reality. Maria’s dark eyes bore into him accusingly as she opened her hand and let the dirt fall into the grave.
Darkness surrounded him like giant arms, welcoming him into its embrace, and Mason gave himself over to it. He felt himself floating away, the pain fading too. His last conscious thought: Please don’t let me wake this time.
Pony
Chapter 1
IN THE five years since Grant Maxwell, known to his friends as Max, opened his practice, not once had he ditched on a client. He supposed he should feel bad for rescheduling Mrs. Taylor. But her psychopathic and narcissistic issues would just have to wait another day. Max had a brown-haired, green-eyed hottie he hoped to be counseling this morning.
A week ago Max had awoken to find that his coffeepot had passed away quietly in the night. Not one who could start his day without the magical brew—at least not without putting others at risk—he’d headed for the local coffee shop. When Max spotted the gorgeous man—Aiden, according to his nametag—behind the counter, any irritation due to the inconvenience drained away. Also gone was the normally confident, somewhat cocky man, and in his place, a timorous man was left sputtering, barely able to order a coffee, black.
And what the hell had that been about? Better question—why in the hell did his limbs tremble and his heart race like a goddamn madman as he stood in line once again?
Max rolled his neck and then straightened his tie before smoothing down the front of his charcoal-gray Armani suit. A suit he normally only wore for special occasions. This is getting ridiculous. Four days, he’d stood waiting for his coffee feeling like a school kid about to get his first kiss. The other two days he was like a kid who Santa forgot on Christmas morn when Aiden hadn’t been at work.
Well, not today.
I’m an attractive, confident man.
I’m intelligent, educated.
I have a PhD in psychology with a thriving private practice.
I’m a goddamn Dom, for fuck’s sake.
“Good morning, sir. What can I get for you?” Aiden asked politely. His smile was broad, showing off two rows of perfectly white, straight teeth behind full lips.
Sweet lips.
Lickable.
Max’s pulse sped as he imagined that sexy mouth swollen from passionate kisses.
Would look fucking amazing around my—
“Sir?”
Max ripped his gaze away from Aiden’s mouth and looked up. The beautiful pale-green eyes did little to help Max get his thoughts or his libido under control. Christ, get your shit together. You’re losing it. Max smothered a curse and squared his shoulders.
“Large black coffee, please,” he said huskily.
Aiden cocked his head and appeared to study Max. Max forced himself not to squirm under the man’s scrutiny, but it wasn’t easy. After a long drawn-out moment, Aiden smiled, and Max had a funny feeling the man knew exactly what Max had been thinking.
Max watched Aiden as he grabbed a large cup and moved to the coffee machine. Max took a moment to appreciate the handsome man. Aiden was the same six foot height as Max, and they were similar in build. Both broad chested with thick, muscular arms; height and body style were where the similarities ended.
Where Max’s hair and eyes were dark brown, Aiden had light-brown hair with streaks of blond, and his eyes were such a pale shade of green, they looked almost translucent. Aiden also had a softness, an almost delicate look to his features, unlike Max’s square jaw and larger, crooked nose. Aiden, in a word, was beautiful, not in a feminine sense—as there was nothing female-like about Aiden—but in a truly beautiful masculine sense. It was a look that caused Max’s breath to hitch and his pulse go into overdrive whenever he looked at the man. It also didn’t hurt that Aiden had the hottest, roundest, most drool-worthy ass, the sight of which caused blood to rush to Max’s groin.
“Will that be all, sir?” Aiden asked, and from the shy smile on his face and the hint of color in his cheeks, the man had a good idea of the effect he was having on Max.
“Max,” he said, taking the cup and letting his finger slide along the back of Aiden’s hand. “Call me Max.”
Aiden’s smile grew. “Will that be all, Max?”
Spurred on by the sweet grin, Max found his courage. He pulled his wallet out and dropped a few bills on the counter and slid them toward Aiden, holding his gaze. “Have dinner with me.” He meant to ask, but his nerves mingled with his arousal made it come out as more of an order. His strained voice had just a hint of growl in it.
Aiden’s eyes went wide and then narrowed. Max quickly added, “Please?”
“Young man, do you mind playing the dating game after hours? You’re holding up the line.”
Max turned to find a portly elderly woman with a disapproving expression on her face glaring up at him. Behind her a long line had formed.
“Sorry,” Max murmured. “Guess I found my courage at the wrong time,” he told her with a wink.
Max retrieved a business card from his wallet and added it to the pile of bills. “Just think about it,” he said and turned and strolled out of the coffee shop without waiting for an answer.
Fifteen minutes later, as Max stepped into his office building, his cell vibrated. Retrieving it from the inside pocket of his suit coat, he studied the display. A huge smile broke out and he pumped his fist when he read, I’d love to.
AIDEN AGREED to meet him at a local diner a couple of blocks over from the coffee shop. Max would have preferred something fancier, wanting to impress the man by wining and dining him, but he’d take what he could get. For now.
Max spent way too much time in front of the mirror primping and fussing and an aggravatingly long time deciding what to wear. Christ, the green-eyed beauty did things to him, unsettling things, things no one had ever brought out in Max before. He found his interest piqued, not only for the chemistry he’d felt sizzling between him and Aiden, but also his need to discover where this new lack of confidence was coming from. Max hated being out of control and so damn indecisive. The new feelings were completely foreign and not at all something he was accustomed to.
Finally he chose a pair of tan chinos, a white dress shirt, and a thin purple knit pullover and stood in front of the large bathroom mirror giving himself one last once-over. Max told himself the outfit had nothing to do with the way the white brought out the olive tone of his skin, dark hair, and eyes, nor how the tight-fitting sweater showed off his muscular chest and arms. He wasn’t vain, dammit. Well, maybe a little. He smirked at his reflection and headed out.
Max arrived at the fifties-style diner a half hour early and strategically placed himself in one of the red vinyl booths in the corner. From his vantage point, he could watch Aiden arrive, giving Max a moment to control his reaction to the sexy man, but the setting would also afford them a little privacy.
Aiden stepped through the doors wearing a pair of worn jeans with holes in both knees and a gray Henley. The clothing was nothing special, shabby really, but in that instant, Max knew he’d need more than a minute to school his features. Because, holy shit, the man could wear a garbage bag and send Max’s libido into overdrive.
A large smile crossed Aiden’s face when he spotted Max, and Max couldn’t help but return it. He gave himself the few seconds it took Aiden to cross the diner to take a few deep, calming breaths, but the minute Aiden slid into the booth and the scent of his cologne hit Max, it was for naught. Max was anything but calm.
“Hi,” Aiden said shyly. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Max shifted in his seat, thankful for the table screening his crotch. The thought stopped him short. He’d never been bashful or apologetic for his reaction to an attractive man, yet for some reason Max couldn’t quite identify, his physical reaction wasn’t the first thing he wanted Aiden to notice.
“It’s my pleasure. Thank you for accepting,” Max said. He was relieved when his voice didn’t give away any of the nervousness churning in his gut. “I had hoped to impress you with a little more”—Max scanned the area—“opulent surroundings.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Aiden laughed. “I like it here. They have great food, and the cook is my roommate.”
“Ah! So if the freaky coffee-shop stalker turns out to be a psychopath, you can call for backup?”
“Yup,” Aiden said unapologetically. “The dishwasher is another of my roommates.”
“Damn,” Max murmured and looked at Aiden pointedly. “That throws a wrench in my plans.”
Aiden laughed. “Planned on kidnapping me and having your wicked way with me?”
“No,” Max said coolly. He leaned back in his seat and raked his eyes over Aiden. “I’d hoped you’d come along peacefully.”
“Is that so?” Aiden’s laugh took on a nervous lilt and died all together when Max continued to stare at him, keeping his features neutral.
“Hey, Aiden. Get you and your friend here something to drink?” asked a young, brunette girl who was staring at Max suspiciously.
“Hi, Carina. I’ll have a Coke.”
Carina nodded but didn’t take her eyes off Max. Max had to fight the urge to chuckle at her posturing. She was five foot nothing and maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. The way she stood, back ramrod straight and a challenging look in her hazel eyes, she reminded Max of a little Chihuahua about to fight a Rottweiler for a bone. Interesting.
“I’ll have the same,” Max replied pleasantly and gave her his best disarming smile.
Carina’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded and moved away.
“Your friend seems to be a little possessive,” Max commented, turning his attention back to Aiden. “Let me guess, another roommate?”
“Nah. Carina and I dated a couple of times. She wanted more, I didn’t.” Aiden shrugged and picked up his menu. “She’s good people though, even if a little crazy.”
“Dated?”
“Yup,” Aiden said easily without looking up from his menu. “If you like fish and chips, they have some of the best in town here.”
“Aiden?” Max said cautiously.
“Hmm?” he asked, looking up and meeting Max’s gaze.
“You do realize I invited you to dinner because I was attracted to you?”
Aiden smiled and waved a hand dismissively. “Oh yeah, the way you looked at me at the coffee shop, you made it pretty obvious. Which, I gotta say, from someone as good-looking as you? That’s a hell of a compliment. So thank you.”
“And would it be too presumptuous of me to assume the attraction was mutual?” Max’s gut fluttered. Shit! Had he read Aiden wrong? Considering how crazy Aiden had made Max lately, it wouldn’t surprise him if he’d acted rashly or considered Aiden’s acceptance to dinner incorrectly.
Aiden set his menu aside, a frown marring his brow as he said, “Hmm, I thought I too was being pretty obvious in my… appreciation of your physique.”
Max puzzled Aiden’s answer and glanced to where Carina was drawing up glasses of cola.
“Oh, I get it,” Aiden chuckled. “Yes, I dated Carina, yes, I like women, but I also like men. Gender isn’t an issue with me when it comes to attraction.”
Max’s grin grew as relief flooded him. He hadn’t totally read Aiden wrong. He’d do well to pay more attention to this beautiful, intriguing man. Max had a sneaking suspicion young Aiden would keep him on his toes.
“So have you dated many men?” Max asked.
Aiden’s cheeks colored and a shy smile pulled at his lips. “Uh, no. But I haven’t dated that many women either.”
“Interesting.”
“Uh oh, that sounds ominous.”
“What sounds ominous?” Carina asked, shooting a glare in Max’s direction as she set down their drinks.
“Nothing.” Aiden grinned. “And stop glaring at my date. Grant Maxwell, meet Carina Owens. Carina, Grant Maxwell.”
Max held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Carina. And please call me Max.”
Carina stuck her tongue out at Aiden, who simply laughed, and then she stared at Max’s hand briefly before she shook it. “Nice to meet you too, Max,” she said with a sigh. “Are you two ready to order?”
They both ordered the fish and chips, and Carina left—this time without shooting daggers at Max with her eyes. Although, Max could tell it hadn’t been without difficulty.
Max reached across the table and laid his hand on top of Aiden’s, the urge to touch huge. “I can see why she dislikes me. I’d be quite jealous of her if she had you,” he said charmingly.
“Are you the possessive type, Max?”
Max stroked his thumb across the soft skin of Aiden’s hand, Max’s heart quickening with the simple touch. “I can be,” he replied honestly. “Do you like to be possessed? Dominated?”
Aiden swallowed hard. Max’s eyes were drawn to the way Aiden’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and his pulse quickened further. Aiden held Max’s gaze, both unease and desire swirling in the pale-green pools. Even if there was some excitement, the last thing Max wanted was to upset Aiden or make him feel uncomfortable in any way. He’d sort those two conflicting emotions he’d seen in the timid man later.
Max leaned back and picked up his cola, taking a small sip before changing the subject. “Tell me about yourself. Your accent suggests Midwest?”
Aiden seemed to relax with the new direction the conversation was taking, and he smiled. He played with his straw, staring down at the bubbling soda as he spoke. “Yeah, I’m from Indiana, born and raised. I always hate being asked about myself. I never know where to start or what someone would deem interesting.” He shrugged as he looked up. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about growing up on a dairy farm.”
“Actually I’d love to hear about it,” Max assured him. “Growing up in the city, it was one of my dreams as a small child, to live on a farm.”
“Isn’t that always the way of it? Always wanting what we don’t have. I always wanted to live in the city. I hated shoveling cow shit and the never-ending chores.”
“And what do you think of our fair city now?”
Aiden continued to play with his straw, stabbing at the ice cubes in his glass. He really was the most adorable man Max had ever laid eyes on, and that increased significantly when Aiden appeared timid or shy. It called to his more dominant nature. Aiden tripped all Max’s attraction triggers, both physically and mentally.
“Well,” Aiden said softly. “To be quite honest, it’s a bit overwhelming. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying the hell out of living here, but…. It’s just different, is all.”
“Yes, it can be a little overwhelming,” Max chuckled. “How long have you been here?”
“About four months. Ah, thanks Carina. This looks great!” Aiden said sweetly when she set his fish and chips down in front of him.
“You’re welcome. Anything else I can get you two?” she asked as she set Max’s plate in front of him.
They both thanked her and told her they needed nothing else at the moment. A comfortable silence fell over them as they added lemon to their meals and dug in. Aiden was right, the fish was excellent, but watching Aiden eat was even better. He was a sensualist, enjoying his meal with relish, licking his fingers, humming his delight as he chewed. Christ, what would it be like to have a man like Aiden in his bed?
Max had shared the company of many men, but a true sensualist was a rarity. So many men he’d been with were always rushing to the finish line, the orgasmic prize their goal. They often forgot to enjoy the journey. Yes, he could force subs to go slow, but he couldn’t force them to truly take pleasure from the journey itself. It seemed even sex mimicked the rat race of the city. Everyone always in a hurry. Rush, rush, rush.
“Tell me about your family. How do they feel about you moving here?”
Aiden wiped his mouth and swallowed the mouthful of food before answering. And manners too, Max sighed to himself.
“It’s my mom and dad, two older brothers and one younger. We all did dairy farming, as does most of my extended family.” Aiden shrugged. “I think they’re okay with me moving here. They want me to be happy. My two older brothers love the farm so they’ll be taking it over when Mom and Dad can’t run it anymore. It will be in good hands.”
“And your younger brother?”
“He’s like me, in more ways than one,” Aiden chuckled. “He wasn’t into dairy farming either. He lives with his husband in Oklahoma now.”
“Interesting.”
“Uh oh! There is that ominous word again,” Aiden said with a scowl.
“Hard habit to break.” Max pushed his empty plate aside and reached out and once again placed his hand over Aiden’s. “Forgive me?”
Aiden studied their hands for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. After a few more long beats of silence, he turned his hand over and entwined their fingers. “I’ll forgive you if you’ll take me for ice cream,” he said with a broad grin.
“Let me guess, another roommate works at the ice cream parlor?”
“No, but I do have one that hands out popsicles in a clown suit,” Aiden laughed.
“Wow! Seriously? How many roommates do you have?” Max asked incredulously.
“Just the three. I never realized how expensive living in New York City would be.”
“Ridiculously so,” Max agreed.
“So about that ice cream?”
“It—”
“And we talk about you instead,” Aiden interrupted.
Max frowned and pretended to consider Aiden’s offer. In reality Max would agree to just about any damn thing for the chance to spend more time with Aiden. With his free hand Max tapped his fingers on the tabletop. He finally relented when Aiden began to shift in his
Roped
Summer of Innocence
GUNNER CAIN pulled his arm back, aimed carefully toward the window on the second floor, and let the pebble fly. He waited. Hiding in the shadows of the bushes that surrounded the Cape Cod-style home, Gunner felt his heart hammering in his chest, seconds were like hours. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. If he were caught sneaking out of the house again, his stepdad would put a boot in his ass sideways. Worse, they were going to miss all the action. Gunner shifted from foot to foot and the muscle in his cheek twitched, the nervousness and excitement not allowing him to hold still.
With a huff, Gunner reached down and grabbed a handful of small rocks, pulled his arm back and—
The window opened and a head full of shaggy brown hair popped out followed by the scowling face of his best friend, James Ryan. Most everyone called him James, Jim, Jimmy, or Junior, but Gunner called him Jamie. Gunner was the only one allowed to call him Jamie.
“Gunner?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, tossing the rocks to the ground and wiping the dirt on his jeans. “It’s me. Get your ass down here.”
“No way,” Jamie said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t sit down for a week the last time I let you talk me into sneaking out.”
Damn, his friend could be dramatic as a bunch of sissy girls. “It was only a day, you pansy ass,” he hissed. Gunner rolled his eyes. He’d had his own difficulties with sitting after his stepdad had been done tearing up his ass with a belt, but he wasn’t going to let that deter him. “Now get down here. I want to show you something.”
“What?”
Gunner didn’t answer, simply crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot with impatience. Jamie hesitated, his expression unsure, but Gunner had no doubt Jamie would come. And he better hurry it up or they were going to miss the show.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Jamie glanced behind him and then whispered, “I’ll meet you on the back porch.”
Gunner smiled and moved back into the shadows. He made his way around the side of the house, being careful not to bump into the garbage cans, and peeked around the corner. Satisfied the coast was clear, he moved to the porch and waited.
With only a small squeak from the hinges of the screen door, Jamie stepped out onto the porch in a white T-shirt, running shorts, and tennis shoes in hand. He gave Gunner an exasperated look but jumped off the porch, avoiding the steps—the stairs creaked too loudly.
“If we get caught, I’m gonna beat you silly,” Jamie grumbled and then bent to put on his shoes.
Gunner ruffled Jamie’s unruly curls. “We’re not going to get caught. You worry too much.”
Jamie slapped at him, but Gunner pulled his hand out of reach—spinning away. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing at the disbelieving look and glare Jamie threw his way.
“That’s what you said last time,” Jamie complained quietly.
As soon as Jamie finished tying his sneakers, Gunner grabbed Jamie’s shirt and yanked—“C’mon”—and took off running.
Gunner raced across the backyard, Jamie right on his heels. They jumped over the short fence separating Jamie’s yard from the neighbor’s. They didn’t have to worry about trespassing. The few houses that were in this rural area of Chatom, California, belonged to club members—Gunner’s stepdad and president of the local chapter of the Crimson VIII motorcycle club, Rocco Lundy, ruled with an iron fist—and outsiders were not welcome.
Gunner didn’t slow down—confident Jamie would keep up—until the clubhouse was in sight. From the outside it looked like any country hick bar: weathered clapboard exterior, neon flashing beer signs in the heavily tinted windows, gravel parking lot out front filled with trucks, muscle cars, and Harleys—lots of Harleys. It was the dealings that went down within the walls, the action taking place out back secured by a system rivaling Fort Knox that made this place different. It was a place Gunner Cain, as an only child, would someday rule, just as his grandpa, father, and now stepfather had.
They stopped next to the back end of a rusted Ford truck, keeping their heads low. Gunner was breathing harshly, sweat running down his forehead. He wiped it away with his forearm. Gunner gave Jamie a once-over. He was panting hard too, the neon lights from the club causing the perspiration on his brow to glisten in a multitude of colors. He looked okay, wide-eyed, nervous, unsure, but okay. Satisfied, Gunner nodded to himself. Jamie was his responsibility, one day standing at Gunner’s side as his right-hand man. It was his job to protect Jamie, and also to make sure the guy had a little fun. Jamie could be a little bit of a worrywart.
Gunner put a finger to his lips, reminding Jamie to stay quiet, and then gave a curt nod in the direction they were to go. They kept low to the ground and crouched behind vehicles as they made their way through the parking lot and around to the far side of the club. Toward the back was a lone window—Gunner’s goal.
Crouched beneath the window, Gunner pointed to it and then placed his lips close to Jamie’s ear. “Sully is gearing up for a show.”
Sully, whose real name was Claude, got his nickname from the fact his mission in life since he’d been a kid was to soil or stain every woman who crossed his path. Within the club, sex was open, few things considered taboo, but Sully took it to the extreme. He was one sick and perverted bastard.
Jamie turned his head, their noses practically touching, and glared at Gunner. “You got me out of bed for this?” he hissed.
“Don’t you want to know what to do when you bang your first bitch?”
“Sure, but not from Sully. The guy is seriously nasty,” Jamie whispered. His nose wrinkled in obvious disgust.
“You gotta learn it all, Jamie,” Gunner informed him. “Gotta know what the bitches like and don’t like.”
Hands gripping the windowsill, Gunner rose up just enough to peer into the small hole he’d made in the black vinyl that covered the glass. What he saw in the gloomy bedroom beyond caused his eyes to widen in shock. Naked bodies, male and female, were all tangled together in a jumbled mess of parts. It reminded him of a nest of worms all slithering, wrapped around each other, making it difficult to distinguish where one body ended and another began. The only difference was this mass had arms and legs, faces. One guy was thrusting hard against a big squishy butt, another had his dick between big tits, thrusting hard as he gripped the girl’s hair, still another had his head between a girl’s legs. Tongues, lips, fingers, private parts, it was…. Gunner wasn’t sure what he felt, but mostly confusion.
“Take a look at this and tell me what you think,” he told Jamie, moving over to give him room.
His best friend hesitated but did as Gunner asked. It was too dark to see the expression on Jamie’s face to tell what he thought of the sight, plus Jamie had his eye to the window, his head turned away, so it wouldn’t have mattered if there had been a light. Jamie didn’t leave him curious for long.
“Eww! It looks like a big nest of freaky snakes with limbs,” Jamie complained.
“Lower your voice,” Gunner scolded in a whisper. But Jamie’s comment was so close to what Gunner had initially thought it made him grin.
Gunner turned back to the wall and slid down. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. Jamie sat next to him in the same position. Neither of them spoke for a few moments. They’d watched some of the other club members banging women before. Cole, Rocco’s first lieutenant, was well known for his do-it-anywhere-any-time attitude and cared little for who was around or watching. Gunner and Jamie had done their best to hide the giggles by covering their bright red faces with their hands, but usually ended up in another room laughing hysterically.
However, the scene they’d just witnessed was neither funny nor boner inspiring. He glanced over to his friend, but with the position he was in, Gunner couldn’t tell if Jamie had one.
Gunner leaned closer to Jamie’s ear and whispered, “Did you pop a boner?”
Jamie shook his head vigorously.
“No tingles or nothing?” Gunner asked.
“Nothing,” Jamie admitted. “I don’t want to have to do that. It was….”
“Weird?”
“I was going to say gross,” Jamie countered.
The distaste in Jamie’s tone made Gunner snicker. “That’s Sully for ya.”
They both went silent, heads leaned together. Gunner had been thinking about sex a lot lately. Well, maybe not the sweaty grunting kind of stuff—Jamie was right, that was kind of gross. But Gunner liked the idea of touching and kissing. There were always a lot of chicks around the club. They made themselves available to the members, and Gunner had no doubt one day they’d make themselves available to him and Jamie. Rocco had drilled into Gunner’s head since he was little, though: in whatever he does, he could never show weakness to those he leads.
Gunner had no confidence when it came to the chicks. They kind of…. Well, grossed him out too. He didn’t like the thick stench of overly sweet perfume that clung to them, the paint on their faces, and especially the greasy bright red lips he would one day have to press his to. Gunner shuddered in revulsion.
A leader is always confident.
“You know,” Gunner said, breaking the silence. “We should practice.”
“Practice what?” Jamie asked.
“You know….” Gunner shrugged.
“That in there?” Jamie squeaked, stabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “No way!”
“Shh,” Gunner reminded his friend. “Not that, but maybe we should start with… I don’t know… the kissing?” he suggested hesitantly. “We’re going to be thirteen next month. It’s time we start thinking about this.”
“I know how to kiss,” Jamie huffed.
“Really?”
Jamie nodded.
“Kissing your grandma doesn’t count, you dork,” Gunner snorted and shoved at Jamie with his shoulder. “I’m talking about real kissing. You know, with a chick. Use your tongue. You gotta practice.”
“Who we gonna get to let us practice on them?”
Gunner thought about Jamie’s question for a bit. They didn’t know any girls close to their own age. Being homeschooled, they were around adults mostly. Sully had a couple of girls who came to the club every now and then, but they were little kids. Gunner couldn’t think of anyone except….
Decision made, he turned to his friend. “We’re gonna have to practice on each other.”
“What?” Jamie gasped.
“We gotta,” Gunner insisted. “Ain’t nobody else, and no way in hell am I going to have a chick know more than me. We’re men, Jamie. We gotta take charge. Can’t do that if we don’t know what we’re doing.”
Jamie stared at him. In the darkness it was hard to read the expression on Jamie’s face, but Gunner knew his friend well enough to know he was thinking about it. Jamie always thought about everything—worried too much, analyzed and reasoned shit out. He rarely did anything on impulse. That’s why Jamie needed Gunner so much, to make sure he did spontaneous, silly stuff once in a while. It was also Gunner’s job—no, his duty—to make sure Jamie was ready to stand next to him when Gunner became president.
With that thought in his head, urging him, Gunner grabbed Jamie’s face in both his hands and smashed their mouths together. Jamie tensed but didn’t pull away. Encouraged, Gunner tilted his head back and forth, their lips rubbing together. He liked the way Jamie’s mouth felt against his: warm, soft. Tentatively, Gunner stuck his tongue out, tasted a hint of the mint gum Jamie was always chewing, and Gunner liked it. He wanted to taste more and pushed his tongue past Jamie’s lips.
Jamie didn’t really kiss Gunner back, he stayed tense, but he opened his mouth, allowed Gunner to kiss him with lips and tongue. Damn. Gunner had no idea what the hell he was doing, but he liked it, liked the taste and feel of Jamie’s mouth. He liked the way it made him all tingly inside, as if butterflies had taken flight in his belly and were flying all through his body, their wings tickling him from inside.
Gunner explored Jamie’s mouth, licked his teeth and gums, and when he swiped the tip of his tongue against the roof of Jamie’s mouth, his friend shuddered and made a small sound he’d never heard Jamie make. The taste of Jamie’s wet and warm mouth, the appealing sound coming from his friend, the tingling in his belly, all mingled into heat that raced down Gunner’s body, settled beneath the waistband of his jeans and….
Gunner jerked back, gasping. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, pumped blood so fast through his system he could hear it roar in his ears. “I, uh… I….” Gunner licked his lips, could still taste Jamie and the heat increased. “I…. We….” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “We gotta get home,” he blurted and jumped to his feet, doing his best to shield his body from his friend. “Let’s go!”
Keeping his back to Jamie, Gunner led them back through the parking lot, dodging cars and keeping in the shadows. He wanted to run, but somehow he managed to hold himself back. He was aware of Jamie behind him, had to get his friend home. Slow, quiet, careful, he kept repeating over and over in his head. No way did he want to get caught now. How would he explain…?
Slow, quiet, careful.
The second they made it to the tree line, Gunner broke out into a dead run, dodging small bushes and trees, feet pounding against the forest floor, conscious of the familiar presence behind him. Jamie’s house came into view. Gunner scanned it as he ran, no lights on inside, quiet. He hopped the small fence, landed in Jamie’s yard, and slowed near the porch, but didn’t turn around.
“See you tomorrow,” he tossed quietly over his shoulder and disappeared around the side of the house, escaped to the cover of darkness with a relieved sigh.
Gunner had done his job; he’d gotten Jamie back home without being spotted, his friend safe. To his greater satisfaction, he’d done it without giving away the giant boner he’d popped from kissing Jamie.
Gunner ran his hands over his face and then looked around him to make sure no one could see before looking down his body. Nope, he wasn’t dreaming. Holy hell! A boner? A goddamn boner from kissing Jamie?
Author Bio:
It's been an amazing journey since DSP first contracted Lorcan's Desire in January 2011. I've published 2 free reads with the M/M Romance group, my back list is growing, met some great people and have made some amazing friends.
I'm still in shock that I'm listed among the many talented authors at Dreamspinner Press! The little voice in the back of my head is screaming, "You are so out of your league."
Shhhhh I won't tell them if you don't :)
You can call me Jo, everyone does :)
iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY / PINTEREST / ARe
EMAIL: sjdpeterson@gmail.com
Pup
ITUNES / AUDIBLE / GOOGLE PLAY / ARe
Tag Team
ITUNES / ARe / DREAMSPINNER / GOODREADS TBR
Pony
AMAZON US / AMAZON UK / B&N / GOOGLE PLAY
Roped
Mauled
