The
Secret of
Obedience
Blurb
Can a jock find love with a hot little hipster?
Opposites attract, but secrets divide.
Ronnie
Durand is a country boy who transfers to the University of Washington after two
years at Central. He'll have to give up playing football, though finishing his
education at a major university in Seattle - and being out and proud without
having to look over his shoulder - makes the sacrifice worthwhile.
But
finding friends at a huge school is tough, especially when the hottest guy
Ronnie meets makes him doubt his own sanity.
Sang's
been on his own a long time. He's only a couple steps away from living on the
street, and he's got dreams so big they don't leave space for a steady
boyfriend. Then he meets Ronnie, who just might be strong enough to break
through his barriers....as long as Sang lets him in on one big secret.
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Excerpt
No one sees me…
My bike's parked right in front of the
club. "Are we going far?" I ask.
"Four or five blocks."
I hand him the helmet. "Get
on."
He slides the helmet on, and I help him
tighten the buckles. He chitters a laugh, making the moment silly and a little
awkward. I straddle the bike, and when he climbs on behind me it turns me on so
bad I almost come again. Damn. I want to be stretched out in a
bed with Sang, both of us naked, with a box of condoms and a Costco-sized
bottle of lube.
With nudges and hand signals, he guides
me to a big brick apartment building about a quarter mile away. I park, and he
springs off, leaving me with a sharp shiver at the loss of his heat. By the
time I get the bike locked up, he's on the front door phone.
"I need your bed, chica."
"I'm in it." The voice is
muffled, most likely female, and laughing rather than annoyed.
"Then your couch."
The phone clicks and goes to dial tone,
and the door buzzes. I follow Sang through the lobby, where the dark burgundy
carpet could be original to the 1940s. We jog up a couple flights of stairs and
down a hall to an open apartment door.
"Go." He hustles me in, then
throws the deadbolt and taps on a closed door to our right. "Thanks,
baby."
An indistinct bleat answers him, likely
from the location of the occupied bed. The rest of the apartment is one room
with a kitchenette in the corner. It's dark except for the streetlights
outside, but Sang knows where to find candles and a match. We're quiet,
wordless, working with borrowed solitude. Compared with the thrash of the
nightclub and the sleazy bathroom stall, I'll take it.
I dump my jacket and helmet on the
dining table. Sang sets two candles on the tiny bookcase, hauls me over to the
couch, and pushes me down. I'm laughing, because for a little guy, he's bossy
as hell. Then he straddles me, and I want to kiss him without pissing him off.
I drag him close and nuzzle his neck, tasting, testing, planting not-kisses in
a hot line down his throat. He sighs, and I take it as permission to keep
going.
His pants are stretch leggings, so it
doesn't take much to get them worked down over his hips to free his dick. It's
so elegant, tapered and smooth. I want to suck on it again, to bring him off
and make him sputter in Korean or Chinese or whatever language he babbled in
last time. If he wanted me to, I'd fuck him, but he'd have to ask. I'm not
really much for butt sex. If a guy's into it, I'll do what he wants, but my own
preference is for hands and mouths, everything slick with spit and lube. I like
messy sex. And kissing. I really like kissing.
I stroke him, rubbing my thumb over the
head of his dick, and he flops against me like I've disconnected his spinal
cord. The room smells of smoke and roses, and he's fumbling at my zipper, those
delicate hands all trembling and raw, so I reach in and help. My hand's big
enough to wrap around both of us, the heat of his thrust enough to drive both
of us crazy. His lace shirt is tangling in my fingers and around our shafts, so
I undo the buttons and shove it off his shoulders. My black silk is already
kinda trashed, but he does the same for me, exposing my chest.
Our thrusting goes from eager to urgent
to needy, his heavy-lidded gaze trapping me. His climax hits like a rocket,
like fireworks going off in a black July sky. I follow, but it's more of a
tease, dragged out, slow and seductive until I can't breathe and I arch off the
couch. Sang crawls up my chest, hanging on, laying open-mouthed kisses over my
ear, down my jaw.
If I'm lucky, this night will never
end.
"We need to go soon."
His whisper hits me like a slap.
"I'd bring you back to my dorm," I say, "but I haven't
given my roommate the homophobia quiz yet."
He raises up and smirks at me. "I
don't like him already."
I run a hand over his shoulder,
smoothing his ruffled feathers. My calloused fingertips catch in the lace, and
I wonder how something so old fits like it was made for him.
"What are you studying in that big
school, anyway?" His question is tentative, cautious.
"Exercise science or maybe
business. I haven't chosen a major yet." I pause, giving him a chance to
ask a follow-up question. When he doesn't I step up. "What about you? What
are you studying at that big school?"
He grimaces and shakes his head.
"Nothing. I'm not at your school."
"Oh, it's my school now?"
He pats my cheek. "Yes. Your
school."
"I see you every day in World History."
"No one sees me.” His lower lip
softens, and he catches it with the tips of his teeth. “They see the clothes.”
He reaches for the lace blouse, shaking it out and tossing it over his
shoulders. “They see a girl or a scenester or a queer.” He stands, shakes his
junk back into his stretchy pants, does a little hootchie dance to organize
things. “No one sees me. Not even my
family.”
Old pain erodes his effervescence,
showing through the cracks like basalt under soil. I'm stretched over the
couch, on display, my shirt open and my dick hanging out of my jeans. He covers
my eyes with his hand, but I knock it away.
“I think you look real good. I’d like
to see a lot more of you.”
Which sounds really kind of lame and
try-hard, but this is what I came to Seattle for, too. Adventure.
Maybe even romance, the kind I can show off in public.
“I want to,” he says.
For a moment he shows me his profile,
private, thoughtful, and I give him some space to go on.
“And if I was going to see someone,” he
continues with more laughter in his tone, “he’d be a lot like you.”
“So let’s do it.”
I should probably feel bad when he
doesn’t respond, but the back-to-back orgasms catch up with me. I tip my head
back and close my eyes, fighting sleep. Sang’s rummaging around the apartment.
Haven't a clue why he’s lying about school and why he won’t take me up on my
offer, but after two evenings he's an itch I won't be able to scratch on my
own, so I let it go. Country boys are known for their determination.
Bio
I
write romance: m/f, m/m, and v/h, where the h is for human and the v is for
vampire … or sometimes demon … I lean more towards funny than angst. When I’m
not writing I take care of tiny premature babies or teenagers, depending on
whether I’m at home or at work. My husband is a soul of patience, my dog’s
cuteness is legendary, and we share the homestead with three ferrets. Who steal
things. Because they’re brats.
I can be found on-line at all hours of the day and night at my
website & blog (www.liv-rancourt.blogspot.com), on
Facebook (www.facebook.com/liv.rancourt), or on Twitter (www.twitter.com/LivRancourt). For
sneak peeks and previews and other assorted freebies, go HERE to
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Come find me. We’ll have fun!
