You Do What You Have to Do
When a one-night stand turns bad and someone shoots the other man involved, Micky Payne ends up with the man's wallet--a wallet two prostitution gangs want to get their hands on.
Robin Sutton comes to the rescue, saving Micky from being captured after Micky has gone into hiding. Robin--working for a private group bent on stopping criminals--is undercover in one of the gangs as the leader's boy-toy. He offers Micky a safe place to hide out--Robin's well-secured home.
Soon they team up to destroy the two gangs. In the process, Micky learns Robin's mantra--You do what you have to--is indeed true if they are going to survive...and learn to love each other in the process.
Excerpt - Rated R
"Very nice," the man--he'd told Micky his name was John--said, his gaze raking over Micky's naked body. John was sprawled on the bed, his cock standing at attention as if waiting to be worshiped.
Micky was not at all averse to doing just that, so he crawled onto the bed, ending up between John's legs. "Condom?" Micky asked. Seconds later, John handed him one. Micky sheathed John's impressive cock before taking it into his mouth. He'd been told by several men he was very good at giving head and set out to prove it--sucking, licking and swallowing until John was moaning deeply and thrusting, fucking Micky's mouth.
Micky pulled away finally, not wanting things to end too quickly. After all, he had needs of his own. He wanted John screwing him until they both came.
John obviously got the message. He sat up, taking a container of lube from the nightstand drawer. "On your knees, hands on the headboard," he ordered.
Micky quickly complied, glancing over his shoulder to watch John lube three fingers and his sheathed cock. When John pushed one finger through Micky's tight ring of muscle, Micky winced at the brief, sharp ache. Then John's finger found Micky's gland and all was forgiven as John stroked it, flooding Micky with waves of need. Even the intrusion of a second then a third finger, stretching his entrance painfully, didn't override the pleasure John was engendering in him.
Too soon, in Micky's estimation, John removed his fingers. Gripping Micky's hips, he pushed his thick cock into Micky's channel. Micky yelped and for a second tried to pull away from the intrusion.
"Easy now," John murmured, rubbing Micky's back until he relaxed. Then John thrust in farther, inch by inch, obviously not wanting to hurt Micky more than was necessary. Soon John's cock was fully engulfed.
Micky squeezed his eyes shut, riding the pain, waiting for the pleasure. That came soon enough as John began to fuck him. Each thrust was harder and faster, but the man obviously knew what he was doing, being certain to brush over Micky's gland every time. Soon Micky was pushing back, taking John's cock in all the way. They found their rhythm and pleasure became ecstasy. At least for Micky, and from the groans he heard, he presumed for John as well.
Many minutes later, despite his best efforts to keep things going, Micky's balls tightened, his channel clenched and he came, spewing cum across the sheets while he shouted in pure delight as his orgasm flooded through him. He was only aware that John had come soon afterward when the man collapsed across Micky's back, sending them both prone onto the bed.
"Not bad. Not bad at all," John said a bit later, pulling out. He ruffled Micky's hair then got up, going into the bathroom. Micky heard water running and soon John was back, saying, as he picked up his jeans, "Your turn. There's a clean washcloth and towel on the rack by the sink."
Micky nodded, easing off the sticky sheets, realizing his chest was equally as gummy. He went into the bathroom, closing the door, and took his time washing up and taking a leak. He was about to return to the bedroom when he thought he heard a door open. He frowned, wondering if John had forgotten to tell him something. Like he had a housemate--or live-in lover.
This could be real awkward if that's the case.
Micky waited, hoping whoever was there would leave. Then there were two sharp reports. At first Micky thought it was a car backfiring. For a moment there was silence, then a door slammed, followed quickly by a groan and the sound--if Micky didn't miss his guess--of a window opening. Cautiously he opened the bathroom door, wondering what was going on.
It took him only a second to realize it hadn't been backfires that he'd heard. There was a large, reddish stain on the bed sheets and a trail of what he knew had to be blood leading to the window. The sill was bloody, and when Micky crept over and peered out, he saw more blood on the ground beneath him, but no sign of John.
Shaking like a leaf, Micky backed away, turning to look at the closed bedroom door. What if the guy comes back? What if he knew I was here and comes back to shoot me as well? No. If he'd known, he'd have tried to kill me then and there. Right?
Convincing himself that was true, Micky quickly gathered up his clothes and began to dress. As he did, he noticed something lying on the floor just under the armchair where John's clothes had ended up when he'd undressed, less than an hour earlier. Now, all that was on the chair was a shirt. John's shoes were still next to the dresser where he'd kicked them off. More curious than frightened at the moment, Micky picked up the object. It was a wallet. John's wallet, he was certain. He opened it and stared at the driver's license behind the plastic window. The face was John's. The name wasn't.