Eric bent to kiss him, tasting his own salty precome on the man’s tongue, playing with the little metal nub that had given him such pleasure. A finger slid into him, and Eric’s knees gave out.

  Dwayne laughed again, a rich, booming sound that sent a flare of happiness through Eric. He guided Eric over to lie flat on his back on the couch and grinned down on him. Eric was putty in his hands as Dwayne spread his legs, propping one on the back of the couch and pushing the other up against his chest.

  Eric twisted, felt around under his back for a condom, and handed it to Dwayne. “Hurry up.”

  “Bossy.”

  “Want you in me,” Eric said, glaring at him impatiently, well aware his speech faculties were rapidly decaying with every thrust of Dwayne’s fingers.

  Dwayne’s hard and fast motions slowed, steadying him. “You sure about this?”

  Eric nodded.

  “There are things….” Dwayne’s brows furrowed. He gasped in a deep breath. “Lots of shit, Eric.”

  “One tattoo at a time, remember?” Eric reached and took the unopened condom from Dwayne. He tore it open and held it up. “You put it on one of us and hurry the fuck up. Don’t care which, but there will be fucking tonight.”

  This time Dwayne didn’t laugh, didn’t grin, but the troubled look eased slightly.

  “What is it?”

  Dwayne shook his head and took the condom. “Nothing. Silly—”

  Eric grabbed his wrist, held him tight and strained halfway up to get his attention. “What?”

  “Nothing!” He shook off Eric’s hand, pushed him back down to loom over him. “I’m not used to being given a choice, all right?” He sounded almost angry. The bridge of his nose wrinkled and his brows drew down.

  Eric reached up to cup his face. Almost immediately, he calmed, gentled, though the frown didn’t leave his face. “Well get used to it. And make your fucking choice already because, hello! Naked cocks everywhere and a whole fucking lot of talking going on!”

  Dwayne stared at him.

  “What?”

  “You.” Dwayne shook his head. “You’re something else, sweetcheeks.”

  “Sweetcheeks? Really?”

  There was an eyeblink of a pause before Dwayne burst into laughter, that fine, full-bodied sound that sent Eric ass-over-teakettle soaring inside. He grinned and settled with his hands behind his head. “You done yet?”

  Eventually Dwayne calmed. All the tension seemed to have left him, and he sat back on his heels to apply the condom, to himself, much to Eric’s relief. This whole thing was proving hard enough with Dwayne on top. He didn’t think he was up to doing things the other way round and dealing with all the emotional baggage attached to that scenario yet.

  In contrast to getting to this point, Dwayne’s possession of Eric was smooth and simple. He took his time, easing his way with a concentrated effort of kissing and touching that distracted Eric from how long it had really been since he’d been on the receiving end, then reminding him how good it could be with every long, deliberately torturous thrust. Eric was out of his mind with need by the time Dwayne started to pick up his pace.

  “You want it faster?” he asked, his voice broken over the quick panting of his breath.

  “Yes!” Eric lifted his head and slammed it back down onto the couch. “Fuck! Yes! Jes—fuck! Dwayne….” He rocked his own hips in an effort to convey what he couldn’t manage with his incoherent babbling. That earned him an almighty smack on the side of his ass that left him gasping and gulping for breath but still as a stone.

  “Fucking. Asshole,” he breathed as the heat of the sting wended up his spine and coiled in his gut. Experimentally, he rocked again. Another smack, not quite as hard but accompanied by a devastating thrust over his prostate, and heat exploded through him and tore a wordless cry from his throat. Once more, then twice had his eyes watering, his entire body on fire. The final contact of Dwayne’s searing palm against his flesh and he shot his load hard. His head swam. White exploded behind his eyes, and his own voice and pulse roared in his ears.

  Above him, Dwayne trembled. Eric blinked up into eyes wide with lust and fierce need. Eric fumbled at the backs of his knees, drawing them close to his chest, making himself available to the pounding Dwayne was fast building toward. The constant crashing of Dwayne’s pelvic bone into his body made him ache. He’d be bruised for sure. The zinging pleasure of Dwayne’s cock hitting his gland was almost too much after the intensity of his orgasm. Dwayne drove him right up to the edge of too much.

  “Oh, fuck!” Dwayne held him down to take the last punishing thrust and held him there. The final stillness as Dwayne’s cock throbbed inside him was a kind of bliss all its own, and Eric found he was gripping the edges of the couch cushions with grim determination. He watched Dwayne’s tense features slacken, felt his iron grip loosen until Dwayne finally opened his eyes. He had a positively blissful look on his face, and Eric knew it was worth it.

  Dwayne slumped a bit, gently rocked a few times before pulling out and lifting Eric’s leg over his head. He set it down so Eric was lying on his side, almost facing the back of the couch.

  “Damn.” Dwayne ran a smooth palm over Eric’s ass where the skin still tingled.

  “It’s all right.” Eric strained to see the skin, as flaming red as it felt. He trailed his fingers over it. “That’s what happens to a white ass when you smack it silly.” He grinned. “Now you know.”

  Dwayne leaned down, kissed the enflamed skin, and got off the couch. “Don’t move.”

  “Okay….”

  Eric watched him hurry off, tied condom in hand. The toilet flushed. A moment later, water ran in the bathroom, and Dwayne came back with washcloths and a towel. One, soothingly cool, he laid over Eric’s ass, and the other he used to clean the spunk off his belly and chest. Once he was dried off, Eric hauled himself to sitting.

  “Let’s get this thing pulled out before I pass out.”

  Together they got the pull-out bed set up, and Eric collapsed across it on his stomach.

  Dwayne stood beside it, watching him.

  “What?”

  He glanced around, found one of his socks, and snatched it up. “I should—”

  “Lie the fuck down here and tend to my poor swollen sweet cheeks,” Eric growled at him.

  “You want me to stay?”

  Eric frowned and rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Easter?” Dwayne said, perching on the edge of the mattress. All kinds of reservations and what-ifs ran through that one word. The metal mechanisms had to be digging uncomfortably into tender parts, and Eric moved over, offering him more than half the bed.

  “You afraid I won’t take you home to meet Mommy and Daddy?”

  “I ain’t afraid of shit,” Dwayne shot back, the bravado sounding false now Eric had truly seen behind it.

  “Don’t worry.” Eric patted the mattress beside him. “I won’t mention the black thing if you don’t.”

  Dwayne shook his head, but a crooked grin formed, reminding Eric how very gorgeous he really was. “You are a fucking ass, Sinclair.”

  “Admit it. You love that about me.”

  Dwayne snarled at him, but he did crawl up beside him and push his legs under the sheets.

  Eric gave him his best self-satisfied smirk and rolled over to press his glowing ass against the curve of Dwayne’s body. Warmth and strength enfolded him, and he laced his fingers with those of the hand Dwayne dropped in front of his chest. “Thanks for staying.”

  Dwayne kissed his neck, just under his ear. “Thanks for asking, sweetcheeks.”

  Epilogue

  “AUNTIE MAY?” Dwayne called out as he stepped through the front door of the little house in which Angel had grown up.

  “Hey, Mom!” Angel dropped his overnight bag and picked up his mother in a bear hug.

  General mayhem burst out as May Griffith greeted her son and nephew, exclaimed loudly over the diamond Marianne showed off, and ushered them all into her warm, aromatic kitchen.

  Eric couldn’t decipher all the smells, but he did catch the scents of rhubarb pie and jambalaya, two of his favorite dishes. Not much had changed from what he remembered since the last time he’d been here. The house seemed smaller, but it always did when compared to the place in his memories. He hadn’t visited with Angel much throughout their four years of university, and he suddenly wished he had. The warm welcome of the place far outstripped the cool, ordered visits with his own parents.

  “Well, Eric Sinclair.” May grabbed his hand and pulled him into the center of the room last, gripping him by both arms so she could stand back to look at him. “It’s about time you showed your face round here.”

  Eric laughed. “Hi, Miss May.” He leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’m glad Dwayne invited me to come visit.”

  She raised her right eyebrow and peered past Eric to look first at her son, then at her nephew. “Mmm. Do tell.”

  “Uh….” Eric glanced at Dwayne, who sat back in his chair, hands up, palms out, head shaking.

  “They’re fucking, Ma,” Angel said, lifting the lid of the cookie jar and peering inside.

  “Angel Griffith, you watch your mouth, boy.” She slapped him across the back of his head, and he grinned. “Go wash up. Your daddy will be home any minute. Dwayne, Marianne, take those bags upstairs, please. You don’t need me to sort out the rooms.”

  Eric flashed a panicked look at Dwayne, who just shrugged, grabbed their bag, and hurried up the stairs.

  “Sit down, Eric.”

  May busied herself with filling the teapot and setting out mugs.

  Eric sat.

  “There are some things you need to know, Eric.” He knew she was all business. She’d dropped the heavy lilt, and her voice was no-nonsense serious. “About my Dwayne.”

  Eric smiled at her possessiveness. “Yes, ma’am.” He watched her busywork, knowing well from his youth with Angel it was her way of keeping calm when she talked about things that upset her.

  “He’s had a hard, hard time, Eric. People around here, they’ll tell you things.”

  Eric couldn’t stand to watch her frantic wiping and cleaning. “They can’t tell me anything I don’t already know,” he assured her. “That he’s a good, decent person.”

  “He’s been in jail.” She said it fast, the words like sharp little daggers she was plunging into her own heart. She stopped working suddenly, leaning with both hands on the counter, her head bowed. “It was a mistake. It should never have happened. It—”

  “I know.” Eric jumped up and went to her, taking her by the shoulders and gently turning her around. He wrapped her into a tight hug and could feel how she was shaking. “I know. They told me all about it.”

  Impatient, she pushed him away. “Sit.” She waved at the chair he’d vacated, dabbed at her eyes, and sat down across from him. “It was hard on him, Eric. Hard.” She gripped his hands tight, and his fingers ground together. “Things happened.”

  He nodded. “I know. He told me that too. Told me a lot.” Carefully extricating himself from her bruising grip, he reached over and tucked a graying bit of hair behind her ear. “Maybe more than he’d ever tell you. Please don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.”

  “He can’t….” She drew herself up and looked him in the eye. “He can’t have his heart broken again. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do.” Eric smiled, warmed by her protectiveness. She’d always been good to him, treated him like her own, held him and calmed him down when he was too angry at his own family to think straight. He’d gotten through his teenage years because this woman had cared for him immensely. For her to read him the riot act over Dwayne spoke to how much she loved her nephew, and it only made Eric love her more for being there for both of them.

  “I’m not going to break his heart. I love him.”

  “You better,” she said through clenched teeth. “You are never too big for a good smack. You treat him right.”

  Eric grinned. “I will. I promise.”

  A shuffling in the doorway at the bottom of the stairs made him look up. Dwayne stood there staring at him. “Take good care of me, my ass,” he growled. “White boy can’t even cook.” He shook himself and strode into the kitchen to snatch the rumbling kettle off the burner just before it whistled.

  “Dwayne Sayer,” May started.

  “I know, I know. Watch my mouth.” He started pouring water into the teapot. “Could we all be any cheesier? Hey!” he shouted up the stairs. “Who wants tea?”

  There was thumping overhead, a squeal, and a moment later Angel came pounding down the stairs with Marianne, her hand clasped firmly in his. Eric sat back in his chair and looked around the crowded kitchen, glad he’d come home for the Easter break.

  Dwayne settled in the chair behind him, pulled around so Eric’s chair was between his legs. He leaned his chin on Eric’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Love you too, sweetcheeks.”

  Pink heat flushed up Eric’s neck, and he turned his head in time to receive a peck on the cheek. Cheesy or not, he was happy.

  More from Jaime Samms

  With so many fences between them and happily ever after, two men wonder if it’s worth opening the gate.

  Ten years ago Eddie Crane, an actor on the rise, loved his costar and dreamed of the day they could be together. But his love, with his submissive nature, couldn’t handle fame, and before Eddie could help him, he died in a car accident—with Eddie at the wheel.

  Now, guilt-ridden, Eddie buries himself in bad decisions and prays that a stunt—on or off camera—will go wrong.

  Teenaged fantasies about the actor on his wall distracted Arthur Pike from real life—his dead father, runaway mother, gruff grandparents, and his unrequited love for his cousin’s straight husband. Now grown and off the farm, Pike is a horse stuntman hired to teach a reluctant Eddie to ride.

  Pike is drawn to Eddie’s dominant nature despite the sadness clinging to the actor. Eddie let one lover down, but in Pike’s submissiveness, he sees the possibility for redemption.

  Growing up in foster care has left Kerry Grey with little self-esteem or hope for his future. A college dropout, Kerry scrapes by on a part-time job at a garden nursery. His friendship with his boss and working with the plants are the only high points in Kerry’s life. He’s been dating the man who bullied him at school, but when his boyfriend abandons him at a party, Kerry wanders down the beach to drown his sorrows in a bottle of scotch.

  Malcolm Holmes and Charlie Stone have been together for fifteen years. Despite Charlie’s willingness to accept Malcolm’s unspoken domination in bed, something is missing from their relationship. Early one morning, they rescue a passed out Kerry from being washed away by the tide and Charlie immediately senses a kindred spirit in the lost younger man. When Kerry’s roommate kicks him out, Malcolm and Charlie invite him into their home. As Charlie and Kerry bond over Charlie’s garden, Malcolm sees Kerry may be just who they have been looking for to complete their lives. All they have to do is show Kerry, and each other, that Kerry’s submissive tendencies will fit their dynamic.

  But someone is sabotaging Kerry at every turn. As he struggles to discover the culprit, he fears for the safety of his new friends. If Malcolm and Charlie cannot help, their lifelong search for their perfect third may not end with the happily ever after they imagined.

  Dance, Love, Live: Book One

  Dusty has finally landed a job he thinks he’ll be able to keep long-term, even with his broken brain and bum knee. He didn’t anticipate that cleaning a dance studio would reawaken his yearning to dance—even though he is no longer capable—or that meeting the studio’s director would rouse his dormant libido. Or his sleeping heart.

  Conrad thinks his life is finally complete with his successful dance studio and a steady stream of students. When Dusty arrives, he rediscovers his thirst for a man who will let him hand over control and give him the undivided attention he’s never had. The trouble is, Dusty isn’t sure he’s worthy of the studio director’s submission.

  To make their relationship work, Dusty will have to trust his ability to dominate the powerful and beautiful dancer, and Conrad will have to stop talking long enough to hear Dusty’s promises.

  Singer Coby Kennedy and his drummer twin, Bruce, have a band called Patchwork Heaven. They have been rising steadily up the country music charts, but unfortunately, that rise has attracted unwanted attention. Faced with anonymous letters, sinister gifts, and the wanton destruction of their personal space, they hire The Detail, a specialized security firm. Coby never anticipated Gregor, The Detail’s owner and his personal guard, would be quite so intriguing.

  As the stalker gets closer and more violent and questions pile up, Gregor fears his past might get in the way of him finding who is threatening his client when he becomes suspect number one. Even though Coby is convinced Gregor is not behind the threat, Gregor is not sure he’s the right man to keep Coby safe, either from the stalker, or from his own interest in the singer.

  After a disastrous five years away at college, Joe returns to his aunt’s farm and finds his childhood sweetheart Cameron eager to rekindle their relationship. Joe has a hard time confessing that he didn’t come home until now because he’s only just managed to leave Andre, his controlling boyfriend, and has a harder time renewing his submissive role in his affair with Cam. Cam thinks he has to find a way to remind Joe how to be strong. But what Cam doesn’t realize is that Joe is strong, strong enough to leave behind a life of shame—though he’s terrified his past will catch up to him. Joe must confront his ex and take back his own life, on his own terms, before he’s able to give Cam everything they both desire.

  JAIME SAMMS has been published since the fall of 2008, although she’s been writing for herself far longer. Often asked what’s so fascinating about stories where men fall in love with other men, she’s never come up with a clear answer. Just that these are the stories that she loves to read, so it seemed to make sense if she was going to write, they would also be the stories she wrote.

 

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