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.
No comments:
Post a Comment