Tricky is now for sale through Noble Romance. It’s a modern romance between a male prostitute named Brody who has to deal with how to handle ex-lover John, who after five years of marriage, has sought Brody out to rekindle their affair. Brody has to deal with how John broke his heart and how to reconcile him with the life he’s built for himself.
Read an excerpt after the jump.
We were two steps into my professional bedroom when John slammed the door behind us. He flung me against the mirrored closet doors in the entry hall, forcing me to look at myself. My face was flattened against the glass, distorting my high cheekbones. My breath steamed the surface. I was flushed, wild-eyed, even a bit scared. I heard John tugging at his pants, the telltale zip and clang of metal. I reached for my own pants, pushing them off my hips. As I felt him against me again, I moaned. I couldn’t help it. It was heaven to have him so close.
His smell. His boyish smell was now the expensive cologne of a man, but this close, the layers of scent could be distinguished. He still used the same soap, the same toothpaste. I hadn’t been this close to him since that night we had almost completed the circle; that night where I could’ve had him and kept him instead of it all ending in tears. His movements were rougher than before but also more practiced. I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and the smell of a flavored lubricant permeated the air. I wondered if fruity lubricant was what she preferred. I closed my eyes like they could shut out the thoughts. That was unnecessary, because I lost all sense of fear as he pushed into me. He didn’t wait for me to relax, but made room for himself inside by steadily feeding me the blunt head of his cock. It wasn’t polite, but it was good. Sex with John was different, more real. I could feel my body respond to him, open for him and welcome him. It still hurt; even after all those I’d been with, there was always that physical twinge of pain until we were both so turned on that pain and pleasure were hard to tell apart. But I wanted this to hurt. I needed to be hyper-aware of who was fucking me.
I’d played enough rape scenes to know that you don’t turn for a kiss, but the urge to taste him overwhelmed my professionalism. Our lips met and he held me so tightly, I was sure he was going to break my ribs. I loved it. I loved being held so close, like he’d never, ever let go.
I’d never wanted him to let go. I wanted to go with him, to wherever his father would send him to be a straight boy. I would be there, sharing every minute of his life, because he had the other half of my heart and without him I was only half of a person. I couldn’t bear being parted. I thought we both felt that way.
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