Stiff Assignment

Stiff Assignment Daimon Alburn has one last chance to redeem himself. His undercover assignment is none other than the very flashy and insanely rich, Jefferson Bartel. In no uncertain terms can he fail. If he does, it means his career. Daimon will have to use his sexual arsenal to worm his way into Jefferson's life and bed. According to all reports, his best weapon is between his legs. Jefferson is a multimillionaire with rumored links to the mob. His tastes run toward handsome, well-built younger men and he goes through his boy toys like a snake sheds its skin. When he sees a rugged dark stranger surfing near his home on the beach, his instincts tell him danger, but his body screams sex! An accident presents an opportunity for Daimon to find the information he needs to either nail Jefferson Bartel to the cross or redeem him. What Daimon finds out is more than he bargains for, while his heart opens up to the man that is his assignment. Will Daimon lose his heart to this handsome older man or will it be broken along with his soul?

Sensuality Rating: SCORCHING Genre: Contemporary Alternative M/M Length: Novella (18,700 words)

STIFF ASSIGNMENT

Skylar Sinclair

EROTIC ROMANCE

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

ABOUT THIS E-BOOK: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. STIFF ASSIGNMENT Copyright © 2007 by Skylar Sinclair ISBN: 1-933563-63-X First E-book Publication: August 2007 Cover design by Skylar Sinclair All cover art and logo copyright © 2007 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

STIFF ASSIGNMENT SKYLAR SINCLAIR Copyright © 2007

Chapter 1 “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Daimon slapped the folder down hard on his commanding officer’s desk. “What do you think I am? A whore?” Chief Aims picked up the folder, walked around his desk, leaned on the edge, and crossed his ankles facing Daimon. “Son, you are this close to getting kicked out of this special undercover unit.” He emphasized his point by holding up his index finger and thumb in front of his face, showing little room between them. “Not to make fun of you, but you do like dick and you are the best qualified to take on this case.” Setting the folder back in front of Daimon, he pushed away from the desk and sat back down. “Either you pick that damn folder back up and do your job or you get the fuck out of my office. I have work to do. What will it be?” By his tone and staunch expression, Daimon knew his chief meant business. “Do I have to sleep with the guy? I mean, exactly how far am I expected to go here in the name of duty?” “You will go as far as needed. If you have to blow the guy every morning before breakfast, so be it. If you have to grab your ankles and hum God Bless

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America while he jacks-up your ass, then do it. Have I made myself clear enough for you?” Daimon couldn’t believe he’d have to do this to keep his job. “You know this is sexual harassment, don’t you?” “Boy, this is a special unit and there are no rules where we’re concerned. We don’t even exist—get it? Now what will it be? I don’t have time to hold your fucking hand. Either you do it, or you don’t. Your choice. You have to prove yourself worthy of staying in this unit, and I don’t need to remind you why now, do I?” Slumping back into his chair, Daimon threw open the folder. His jaw clenched in frustration. Freaking-A. How could he have known Keith, the man he met at a fundraising party, was the Mayor’s son? He failed to mention that tiny detail while Daimon plowed his ass like a dirt field. Christ, he was an obvious homosexual. It wasn’t like Daimon turned him gay. Plus, Keith came onto him at that fateful party the Mayor held at his house. Daimon had moonlighted to earn extra money working security detail for the affair. From the moment their eyes connected across the large expanse of the ballroom, the sizzling attraction between them was instantaneous and brutally sexual. Before the night ended and after the party, they found themselves in the gazebo off from the main house—Daimon with his pants around his ankles, Keith bent over the railing—laboring and pumping in savage thrusts into his hot ass. The guy started wailing, screaming he was cumming. Keith came all right, and so did his father while circling the corner just in time to see his son blow his load and Daimon humping him like a dog in heat. The look on the Mayor’s face was pure rage, but Daimon was too close to the edge to stop as his own orgasm rushed through him, zinging his nuts like a bolt of lightening. He cringed every time he thought back on the night, but shit, he was off duty by that time, and the man was well over twenty-one. What a fucking fiasco. Refocusing and training his eyes back to the white pages inside the folder, he took a good look at the information in the file about the subject he would be getting to know. Real well. Personal –

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Name: Jefferson Bartel Age: 50 Height: 6’ 2” Weight: 210 lbs Occupation: Entrepreneur Holdings: Teplar Steel Corporation, Wayward Airlines, Renear Clothing, United Glass Works, Mutual Insurance Corporation, Quizion Electric Company… The list went on and on. Daimon whistled through his teeth. “Jefferson has his fingers in a mess of pies. What exactly am I going to be trying to find on this guy, anyway?” Leaning back in his big leather chair, his boss gestured at the file. “Our sources tell us that he is tied into the New York Mafia. With his kind of financial leverage and power, if he is involved with them, it could really take a bite out of their operation to nail this bastard to the wall.” Turning the page exposed a recent picture taken of Jefferson. The air left Daimon’s lungs. Before him was the most distinguished older man he’d ever seen. Sharply chiseled, clean-shaven features, with high cheekbones and shadowy hallows. Full lips sculptured by the gods, parted in an arrogant smile, revealing strong white teeth. Staring right at him were the lightest blue eyes—the kind that looked straight into a man’s soul, stealing his heart. Pure white hair swept back off his face to fall thickly down to his shoulders. Eyebrows like raven’s wings crowned over dark eyelashes. Fine feathery lines bracketed his eyes and mouth. For a fifty-year-old man, he didn’t look like someone who would crawl into bed with the mafia. He seemed more suited as a spokesperson for Ralf Lauren or Gucci—elegant and sophisticated, smothered in raw power. His looks brought to mind satin sheets, champagne bubbling in brilliant crystal goblets, sliding hands that flowed over muscled flesh, cupping, seeking, conquering… Aims snapped his fingers loudly. “Daimon…Daimon, are you all right? You have that same look the guys get when a new Playboy hits the office. You’re giving me the creeps. Save it for later, would you?” He jerked his head up and mentally shook himself. Having gotten lost admiring the suspect, his new assignment, and the man he was going to nail to the wall. Shit! He needed to get this one right or he’d be out on his ass. No time for

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drifting. No fucking up this one. “Is this a recent photo?” His voice audibly gruff, lowered in desire he hadn’t gotten fully under control. Aims reached across the desk and pulled the folder out of Daimon’s hands, turning it around so he could look at the picture. “Taken a week ago as he was leaving his home.” “How exactly do I infiltrate this man’s inner circle? Get close to him? From what I have read, he has bodyguards with him twenty-four-seven.” Leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his desk, his unpleasant smile didn’t endear him to Daimon. What was going through his chief’s mind? He loathed finding out and knew he wouldn’t like what came next. “Well, you are in luck there. It seems that Mr. Bartel has recently broken up with his latest paramour. From his MO, he never waits long before having another hunk grace his arm, a real Casanova if you know what I mean.” Yeah, he knew, and for some damn reason that made his insides knot up and his heart beat just a tad bit faster. “Being gay doesn’t mean Bartel will take the bait?” His sarcasm was wasted on his superior. “The beauty is, you are just what the doctor ordered, you could say. He dates only younger men. He likes them big, strong, handsome, and the clincher…hung.” Daimon did a quick double take. “Hung. How the hell would you know that?” “Word has it you have a beer can with balls hanging between your legs.” Aims couldn’t keep a straight face. “What? Do you think that is the only thing I know?” “What is that suppose to mean?” Now Daimon was starting to get pissed. “Are you having me watched or what?” “Chill your jets. You have been with us what…eight months now? And you take showers and piss here for God’s sake. Who wouldn’t notice a slab of meat that big? And yes, you are still in your probation period with this unit, so you have no secrets as far as we are concerned. So get over it.” “Fine. Got it. You’ve still not told me how I’m to meet Jefferson. Even if I have everything he looks for in his next boy toy, what could possibly get me close enough to have him notice me?”

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As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted asking. There was a look of bedevilment in his chief’s eyes that spoke loud and clear, “You are so fucked.” “When Mr. Bartel is trolling for a new piece of ass, he hangs at the beach more than usual. He has one of those big houses there. So you, my friend, need to learn to surf and look damn good doing it. You have a week to get ready. He is due back from a so-called business trip in New York any day now, from what our sources have told us. You do know how to swim, right?” Fuck, yeah, I know how to swim, you smart-ass. “Yes, sir, I do.” Pushing back his chair, Aims pulled out a drawer and retrieved a large manila envelope, tossing it across his desk toward Daimon. “Inside is a copy of what is in the folder you just read, plus some shit the profile unit put together. Also, your new ID, credit cards—and what surfer dude couldn’t do without a hot set of wheels—an old Mustang.” “Is that it?” Don’t you want to keep poking me with the proverbial stick of yours? What, no gay slang coming my way? “Can I go now?” Aims opened the jar sitting on his desk and popped a hard candy in his mouth, sucking it loudly. “Damn, I love sucking on these. Want one?” I have something for you to suck on, you old fart. “No, thanks.” “Yeah, we are done. Don’t screw this assignment up. You get in good with Bartel. Hear tell he treats his playthings like royalty.” “I’ll do my best, Chief.” Daimon stood up with the envelope in hand and got just to the doorway before Aims throw him a parting shot. “I hope you look good in a Speedo,” Aims said, winking at Daimon as he sucked loudly on the candy. He should have seen that one coming. The man just couldn’t leave well enough alone. This sadist really got off making others miserable as hell. He really didn’t need this shit. Halting for only a moment, he took a deep breath, bit his goddamn tongue, and kept walking. Laughter followed in his wake. “Damn straight I look good in a Speedo, lard ass,” he said under his breath.

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Chapter 2 His fourth day in a row on the beach and not a sign of Jefferson anywhere, maybe they didn’t really know the habits of this man like they thought. The only things Daimon had gotten for his efforts were a sunburn, chaffed crotch, and enough swallowed saltwater to never need salt in his food again. Along with that, the pretty boys on the beach made him feel old. While he was only in his midthirties, they were in their twenties with all smooth muscles, tight asses, and not a wrinkle on them. Though, he was no slouch in the looks department—he got his own share of sly glances—it wasn’t the time or the place for anything but business. He ached all over, hurting in places he didn’t know he had after only a few days of this fucking assignment. The Gortex wetsuit he wore to surf in was so freakin’ uncomfortable. How the hell do other guys wear this shit? Going commando under the suit left his boys all chummed-up. He constantly wanted to adjust his large bugle, rubbing against the material. It was way too harsh on a guy’s jewels. He was way too big to hang free without some type of support. If Bartel didn’t show soon, his dick would be rubbed raw. His balls were already swollen. Having to parade around like a trick pony and his boys suffering for it, pissed him off, but what choice did he have? He loved his job. At least he did until he screwed up. If he fucked up this last chance to redeem himself, he could kiss his job goodbye. Body rocking with the swells of the ocean, a hand shielding his eyes from the sun, he peered out over the dark waters for that last good wave. A sapphiredyed ocean, with white caps churning and rolling along the surface as he floated on his board. Leaning forward, his forearms corded and rippled beneath his skin. His strong thighs draped over either side of the board, disappearing into the

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lapping blue abyss below. Tangy air filled his lungs and the cries of the seagulls echoed from above. Floating far beyond the shore opted Daimon time to observe Jefferson’s home on the beach. Built above a seawall of concrete and rock, it towered up three stories—a grand creation of gleaming steel and glass. He had to admit, he loved the man’s style—strong and bold, modern and imposing. Was Jefferson anything like the outer façade? What was it about his picture that made him infatuated? He was the bad guy and Daimon needed to remember that. The gentle swaying rhythm of the ocean created the perfect catalyst to let his mind drift as he fantasized. Standing in trails of foamy water washing across the sand, he gazed downward, eyes locking with Bartel’s pale blue orbs. The carnal heat radiating from them licked a fiery path along Daimon’s nerve endings upped his blood to a temperature never reached before. Kneeling at his feet, Jefferson’s arresting features highlighted by the moon above caused his heart to race. Strong capable hands squeezed his clenching ass. In slow motion, he watched as Bartel’s lips parted and his hot breath ruffled the pubic hair at his groin. Leaning forward, he nuzzled Daimon’s balls, taking first one and then the other, rolling them around on his tongue as he savored each like sweet confections. Jefferson’s hot moisture mouth and wicked tongue made him squelch a howl of unadulterated pleasure. Neither man broke eye contact. The other man’s eyes darkened with scorching sexual awareness. It left little doubt he enjoyed what he was doing to Daimon, pleasuring him with his mouth, teasing and tormenting him over and over again until he had trouble taking air into his lungs. Then his dream man spoke to him in a voice of liquid heat, low and smoldering. “I see your desire pooling at the head of your cock.” With his fingertip, he gentle drew it across the weeping slit, slipping his tongue out between his parted lips, using it to pull his cum tipped finger into his mouth, moaning. “Nectar of the gods. Rich and creamy.” Running his wet finger up Daimon’s veined shaft, he circled the underside of the head, licked his bottom lip and his eyes slit in hunger. “Your body is made for a man’s pleasure, and to take a man’s pleasure.” Bartel’s low, sexy voice

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caused Daimon’s body to tighten further. Jefferson’s other hand wandered into the crack of his ass, flirting along its crease to slowly work his finger between his cheeks, ending up pressed against the sensitive pucker portal. Daimon’s mind screamed to be penetrated. His eyes dilated, turning the raging color of the turbulent blue sea before them, his respiration, shallow and low, chest muscles expanding, and contracting in anticipation. “Do you want my mouth sucking you off as I finger fuck your ass?” Jefferson’s image asked him. “Yes. Oh God, yes,” Daimon heard himself say out loud. With one hand wrapped tightly around Daimon’s rigid cock and the other knuckle-deep in his ass, Jefferson opened his mouth wide to slide his cock all the way to the back of his throat. The moment the head of his erection hit the back of Bartel’s tongue, the finger near his entrance pierced him deeply, issuing a surprised cry of painful pleasure from Daimon’s lips. As Jefferson’s head bobbed and his cheeks hollowed with each pull of his mouth, he worked his finger in perfect time—in and out, harder, faster. Fiery tendrils of desire sizzled down Daimon’s spine, growing in power as his dream man’s mouth and finger took him higher and higher toward climax. As his orgasm began to break lose, he was jolted out of his sexual fantasy by voices calling out from around him. “Killer wave, dudes.” “’Bout fucking time.” “Riding my way to heaven, man,” another surfer shouted. Blinking a couple of times, Daimon came to his senses with an unbearable woody. Gathering up his wits, he got his head back into the game. A huge wave was rolling in, time to get back into character—surfer dude. Lying forward on his board, he paddled from where he’d been floating toward his target area. As he got in position, he managed to maneuver his body into a standing position, balancing on top of the board. His powerful legs parted, one foot in front of the other, slightly bent at the knees, the best ride of his life in four days shot him through the tunnel of water. Pure adrenaline ran through his vein and his confidence soared. Reaching out, he ran his fingers along the wall of water beside him. Suddenly, becoming unbalanced, rocking his arms to stop his impending fall, his board went out from beneath his feet and the huge partition of water

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swallowed him whole. Saltwater invaded his eyes, nose, and mouth. Daimon, being an experienced swimmer, let the water tumble him, going with it until a hard whack at the back of his head plunged him into complete and utter darkness. **** Down the beach, watching from a bedroom window of his three-story home, Jefferson Bartel had been keeping close tabs on the handsome new surfer. For the last four days, from the moment he’d strolled onto the beach, board under his arm, Jefferson had been mesmerized by his dark and deadly looks. He exuded confidence like a second skin. Everything about the man shouted “Predator, beware.” Yet, he couldn’t help himself from gazing down upon him daily, hour after hour, as if it would somehow appease his curiosity. All it did was make him want the man that much more. He was used to being in the public eye. People found him fascinating. Now the tables were turned and he couldn’t keep his eyes off this man. The image burned vividly into his brain—exposed skin glistened golden brown, shaggy wet strands of black hair molded to his head and neck. His startling blue-green eyes were heightened by damp, spiky black lashes, with thick winged eyebrows arched overtop. Pulling away from the scope, Jefferson stood motionless before the large window, starring at his own reflection. He dressed casually in jeans, a cashmere pullover sweater, and Italian leather slip-on shoes. His long white hair was pulled back off his face in a ponytail that hung over his left shoulder. With his hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight and tall, he stared out at the magnificent view through bulletproof glass, as the ocean’s watery tendrils washed ashore, only to recede back gifting the shoreline with kelp and other assorted bits and pieces from its depths. He’d made many enemies over the years in his business dealings and he couldn’t be cautious enough. The first floor of his home housed his security team, the second floor was used for entertaining, and the third floor housed his private quarters and office. Jefferson never took anything for granted and protected himself well. He’d not gotten to be in the powerful position today by being a

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pussy. Many toes got stepped on along the way. Many individuals got chewed up and spit out. It was business—not personal—to him. But lately, he’d grown bored. Life didn’t hold his attention for any real length of time. He needed a new distraction. Dark and delicious down on the beach might be just the answer. Turning away from the window, he walked into his office in the next room, opening up a humidor sitting on his desk. The rich aroma of Cuban cigars filled the air. Picking one out, he quickly cut and wet the end, then lit it, taking shallow, short puffs. Fingers of gray smoke swirled around his head. No longer satisfied to just look from afar, he needed to know the man’s name. He had one of his informants working to remedy that. Nothing happened in his world that he didn’t know about. Jefferson had connections all over. Being filthy rich, he was used to being in control of everything, especially his emotions. For some ungodly reason, this guy triggered sexual interest that went beyond the norm. What about this stranger piqued his interest? He’d been around the block a few times, and he was gay—not that he wasn’t manly. It was that innate sense one gay man had for knowing when another man was as well. His instincts also told him to beware, but his cock roared to life by the sight of the man sitting on his board, body undulating with the waves. His skin golden and glistening, droplets streaked down a body made for the pleasure of another man. His face sculpted in sinful angles and a square jaw line left unshaven gave him a ‘just fucked’ look. A hard compact body gave the impression of a man not quick or stealth in movement, yet the dark stranger moved like a panther, agile and deadly fast as he mastered his board. Jefferson could visualize his tongue drifting into the folds and creases he knew were hidden beneath his wetsuit, following the thin line of dark hair to paradise. His cock pulsed and protested behind the zipper of his jeans. “Christ,” he muttered in frustration. Setting the cigar down in a crystal ashtray on his desk, he leaned down, pushing the button on his phone. “Yes, Mr. Bartel?” a voice answered from the speaker box.

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Jefferson rolled back his office chair from under the desk, settling into the rich soft leather, elbows on the armrests, fingers steeped in thought for a moment before replying. “Send one of the men to keep an eye on the new guy down on the beach. I don’t think I have to point him out to you, do I?” “No, Mr. Bartel. I know exactly who you are referring to.” “Good. Also, let me know as soon as you get the information I requested. I needed it yesterday. Am I making myself clear?” “Absolutely, Mr. Bartel. I will personally get right on it. Is there anything else, sir?” You can bring him to me naked and hard on a silver platter. “No, that will be all. Thank you, Roger.” He pushed the button, ending the call. Unfolding his large frame up out of the chair, much too antsy to sit, he reclaimed his smoldering cigar, pinching it between his teeth. An evil grin creased his face. “Well, handsome, it is time to get up close and personal, don’t you think?” he spoke around his cigar. His debonair features hardened in desire and his body clenched in anticipation as he headed out of the house and down to the beach.

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Chapter 3 Coming to was a freakin’ nightmare. No sooner had he shook hands with the conscious world, when the need to breath had him gasping, rolling to his side—not too gracefully, either—and throwing up on the grainy sand. Saltwater spewed out of his mouth and nose, leaving what felt like his insides all over the ground. His lungs burned as if two hundred pounds of weight had been dropped on his chest. Holy...shit…who let fly a grenade in his head? Daimon pulled back his eyelids in a hard squint. Shards of sunlight pierced his eyes and the intensity of the pain caused him to groan. He couldn’t get his eyes to focus on any one thing. His mind whirled, unable to stay centered. What the hell happened? Warm compassionate hands helped support his head and prop up his shoulder while his body violently expelled the saltwater he’d swallowed. Spasm after spasm racked his body until only dry heaves remained. With care, he was turned onto his back. Something soft was placed under his head to keep if off the sand and cushion it. It felt like heaven against the pounding pain that made even the ends of his hair hurt. A baritone voice very close soothed him, breaking through his pain, “Easy now, I’ve got you.” That same voice barked-out to someone, “You did call the paramedics?” “Yes, sir.” Fear washed over Daimon in a tidal wave, snapping him out of his fog. Being taken to the hospital could blow his cover. Struggling to sit up, he couldn’t get his body to work right. His muscles were like jelly and he fell back. The same male was close enough to Daimon’s face that he could feel his warm breath brush across his cheek. “Don’t move. We have help coming.” His lungs burned with each breath as he spoke in short bursts, “No hospitals. Won’t go…tough guy. Just fine.” He tried to smile around his pain. The

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effort to speak zapped him of what little strength he had. Squinting to clear his vision, he zeroed in on the person—the man—whose gentle hands held him and whose voice flowed over him in a layer of comfort. A long fall of snow-white hair hung over one broad shoulder and pale piercing eyes nailed him to the spot, causing him to gasp. Dark as night eyebrows were flattened, and deep lines played along his forehead, giving Daimon the impression he cared about him—worried about him. It made a small smile tip his lips as he gazed into the face of a concerned Jefferson Bartel. That kind of an emotion was completely foreign to him. He’d been raised by parents too wrapped up in their own lives to give a little boy the kind love he craved, and that neglect carried over into his adult life. When he’d revealed his sexual orientation to them, they totally shut him out, not speaking to him again. It broke his already fragile heart. From that time on, Daimon never got emotionally involved with another person, looking at life laced with cynicism. This new, unfamiliar feeling welled up inside of him, rocking him to the core. How could just a look from Bartel make him feel this way—almost loved? The knock on the head must have really scrambled his brain. After his stint of literally blowing out his sinuses, the man’s cologne engulfed his senses. It smelled powdery sweet, yet definitely male, mellowed by a good cigar, not that he could have afforded anything but Tiparillos. Not on his salary, but he did know the difference. Working uncover, having dealt with men who bought only the very best, though illegal means, with dirty money. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stop his shaky hand from rising to stroke the back of his knuckles down the side of Jefferson’s face. “Thank you…” Daimon’s hoarse voice trailed off and his hand dropped back down into the wet sand as unconsciousness took him under. **** Kneeling beside the younger man, Jefferson watched him struggle to breathe and then fall back unconscious. He let the past few frantic minutes run back through the recesses of his mind like a bad dream.

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The memory of kicking off his loafers, running full out spraying sand in his wake until he came up on a group of people. Shouldering his way though the spectators, he dropped to his knee, sinking into the soft sand, laying a finger on the unconscious man’s neck that was cold and wet, checking for a pulse. Nothing…shit! He took quick action, not thinking twice, putting one hand under the man’s neck to arch it up. And with the other, he pulled down his limp jaw, opening his mouth, creating an airway for his puffs of air to travel into the oxygen-deprived lungs. As his lips locked over the other man’s, they were ice cold. A few fast bursts of air from his mouth caused the unconscious man’s chest to rise and fall, then he did chest compressions. Jefferson did this a few more times, then sat back to see if the man would breathe on his own. For what seemed like forever—yet only seconds passed—the man’s chest rose on its own in shallow short grasps, saltwater trickled out of the corners of his mouth. The man’s eyelids fluttered, revealing startling blue-green eyes. Deep grooves formed on his handsome face as if in terrible pain. Sitting back on his haunches, head bent down, Jefferson let out a staggering breath. Thank God the man was breathing. Jefferson hated feeling helpless. As he watched, the man flung himself to his side as he violently wretched, expelling the saltwater he’d swallowed. All he could do at this point was make sure the man’s neck and back were supported, keeping him on his side. Finally, he stopped throwing up and Jefferson rolled him onto his back. Someone handed him a beach towel. He rolled it up and placed it under the younger man’s head. Color returned to the stranger’s face. His lips no longer held a blue tinge. The color had come back into his pale face as oxygen enriched his blood. The stranger tried to speak, so Jefferson leaned closer to his face. Then the man did something unexpected. A small smile softened his face and he reached up with a shaky hand running his knuckles down the side of Jefferson’s face. He could barely hear him as his warm breath flowed along the skin of his check, but he thought the stranger said, “Thank you.” The man’s hand fell back down to his side and his face went slack, but his chest rose and fell in a steady cadence,

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reassuring Bartel that he was still breathing, and simply passed out from sheer exhaustion. Pulling back, he studied the man lying in the pool of sand, grains clinging to his wet skin and hair, and his heart reached out to him. Jefferson wanted to protect him, hold him in his arms, and tell him everything would be okay. He didn’t know the man from Adam and still those feelings welled up inside him, touching his hardened heart like a shaft of sunshine warming him. Speaking over his shoulder, he ordered his employee standing directly behind him with, “Go get the Hummer and blankets. We need to move him off the beach…now!” “Yes, sir,” his employee briskly replied, immediately following his boss’s orders, running toward the house just a ways up the beach. Jefferson couldn’t stop his hand from brushing off the drying grains of sand from the younger man’s face. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right now,” he spoke under his breath, rubbing off any lingering sand that clung to his hands as he stood up, waiting for his employee to return. But would it be? A total stranger had captured his attention like no other man had before and he didn’t even know his name. He didn’t like not being able to categorize his feelings, since he usually had them all neatly partitioned in their appropriate places. This put him on unfamiliar ground. By the same token, after observing the handsome stranger for the last four days out on the beach, Jefferson knew he was regimented, always arriving precisely at the same time each morning, carefully handling his surfboard and always slathering on tons of sunscreen. Alert and meticulous. Dark and delicious. He carried himself with an innate confidence only someone sure of himself had. Everything about him screamed he wasn’t just another carefree surfer. Yet, he wanted to ignore those warnings as if they were no more than pesky flies, swatting them back, trying not to dwell on them. That wasn’t like him, either. He dealt with things head-on. Taking control. Taking charge. The sound of a vehicle brought Jefferson out of his personal musing. He would be more comfortable back at home and out of the public eye. He needed time to think. He needed time alone with this intriguing man.

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Chapter 4 A rigid tongue, hot and wet, danced around the opening of his anus, pleasing and teasing him. A moan deep in Daimon’s throat bubbled up to slip from his lips, muffled in the hollow of a fluffy pillow. Firm hands pulled his ass cheeks apart and a face buried full on into his crease. Long strands of hair ghosted along his flesh, tantalizing him. He ground his cock into the softness of the mattress, only to push back toward the wicked tongue lavishing his asshole. As he did, the stiff tongue cleaved his channel, past the tight ring of muscles to delve deep into him. He felt it pushing in as far as it could go, torturing the clenching walls, tongue-fucking him, until he withered beneath its constant attack and retreat. Those same hands that had gripped his ass now roamed a fraction at a time over the dimples in his lower back, down around the flare of his hips to hold him in place as that scorching tongue licked, bathing him in hedonistic delirium. When he was on the brink of an orgasm, the tongue pulled out of his ass, following the line of his crack and up over his back to draw wet erotic designs in his flesh. The heaviness of a warm body and firm lips made their way up to his neck. A deep voice, threaded in arousal, whispered in his ear, “You taste like heaven. I need to be inside that tight ass of yours.” Daimon’s hips rolled and pumped as the sinful words washed over him. Strong hands pulled up his hips, placing his ass in the air, his legs spread wide to open himself up to the man kneeling behind him. He felt cool lubricant drizzling down into the cleft of his ass. A finger invaded him, working the slippery substance deep inside. A second finger was inserted, scissoring and stretching, readying him for something much greater—much larger. Anticipation of having a hard cock driven into his ass rode up his spine in sizzling licks. His own prick ached and his balls felt strangled with tension,

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begging for release. The head of a cock nudged at his fisted opening, splitting apart his anus in a wave of agonizing pleasure. Daimon cried out, “Oh…God…yessss.” In shallow thrusts, a thick, rigid cock tunneled its way deeper and deeper inside of his grasping ass. Sweat dripped from his hairline onto his forehead as the pressure of being filled increased. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see strands of long white hair as they fell in silky ribbons by his shoulder. A hand reached around and grabbed his chin, pulling it back and to the side. A pair of lips slanted over his, open-mouthed, hot and moist on his. The tongue glided across his lower lip, as his lover’s hushed words blew along his lips. “Look at me, Daimon. See who is fucking your tempting ass.” He opened his eyes slowly, eyelashes brushing the cheek of his lover. Daimon moved his head back to focus on the man’s face over his shoulder. In a flash, his dream changed. No longer sexually intense as before, now Jefferson stood in front of him, stiff with anger. “You lied to me, betrayed me,” he shouted at Daimon. “You tricked me, used me.” After those last words, Bartel turned his back on him and walked away, leaving behind not the man that Daimon was, but a scared little boy. The same little boy who had never gotten over being neglected by his parents, and now desperately seeking it from the handsome man before him. Daimon hopelessly pleaded with Jefferson. “You have got to believe me. I never meant to hurt you. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.” He could hear the desperation growing in his voice as he pleaded over and over again with Jefferson. “I only wanted you to love, want me. Stop! Stop! Stop! Don’t leave me!” **** Jefferson must’ve fallen asleep sitting in the chair he’d pulled up next to the bed to watch over the younger man. Low moans and whimpers woke him. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he squinted in the mellowed dimness shading the room. Under the covers, the man from the beach lay on his stomach, thrashing and humping the mattress, as if in a fit of a sexual thrall. What was he dreaming about? Was he dreaming of being taken from behind as someone used his body,

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the aggressor’s balls digging into the flesh of his backside? Or did someone have his lips locked around his cock sucking him loving him with his mouth? The thought of another man taking his pleasure from what he wanted set his teeth on edge, making Jefferson’s ability to think rationally fly right out the fucking window. He’d never had this kind of possessiveness for another man— raw and all-consuming. Burning through his blood like a wild fire set with kerosene. Fiery hot and uncontrollable once started, scorching everything in its path. Watching his erotic movements under the covers and twisting them around his body had Jefferson’s cock fighting to join in the fray. The bulge was pushing up against the front of his jeans, rock hard. Abruptly, the heady moans became sorrowful sounds and garbled pleads that melted away his sleepiness. The man’s distress reverberated through Jefferson, pulling him up from the chair. He grabbed the thrashing man up in his arms, trying to comfort and calm him. Whispering soothing words, “I’ve got you. You are safe. Easy…easy. It was only a dream. The man responded by throwing his arms around Bartel’s neck, fisting his hands into his shirt. Ragged breaths ruffled the fine hairs around Jefferson’s ear. A stubbled cheek rasped along his smooth skin. Stroking his hair, Bartel let the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, and his low voice reassure the scared man that he was safe. They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms until the man went limp, and the even cadence of his breathing alerted Jefferson he’d fallen back to sleep. A timid knock at the bedroom door had Bartel gently untangling his arms from around the sleeping man, laying him back onto the bed and rearranging the tangled sheets to cover him up. Whoever was knocking must have something important to tell him. His employees knew better than to disturb him otherwise. He glanced down at the stranger. With his face relaxed in sleep, his full lips parted. His tousled disarray made him seem angelical—harmless, but after watching him so closely for the last few days, Jefferson knew better than to let his deceptive appearance fool him. The man had a razor-honed body with the grace of a trained predator. And no matter what, he wasn’t innocuous. Jefferson knew it in his bones. He knew it like he knew the sun would rise again tomorrow. He just…knew it.

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Opening the bedroom door carefully and without a noise, he slipped through and closed it behind him. Standing on the other side, one of his employees held a large plain manila envelope in his hands. “You’re not going to like this.” He handed it over to Jefferson. He cocked one eyebrow and pulled it out of his employee grasp. Jefferson turned away, setting a course for his office just down the hall. He shot over his shoulder. “Thank you for the information. If I need anything else, I will let you know.” He was finally going to know the identity of the sexy stranger sleeping in his guestroom. What was inside the envelope that he wouldn’t like? How bad could the information be?

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Chapter 5 Taking a deep breath through his nose, traces of rich leather, wood, and clean sheets were the first things he noticed, much different from the smells of his bedroom. Daimon came awake in gradual increments. Though he did have clean sheets, his home was entirely decorated in a bachelor’s motif—whatever the hell was cheap or free. These sheets were soft and thick rubbing against his bare skin. Wait a minute…bare skin. He was butt-ass naked. His eyes popped open. All of his survival instincts went on high alert. Where the hell was he? There was a dull ache behind his eyes and his chest burned like a mother. Then it hit him. Oh…yeah…crashed and burned surfing. He remembered falling, getting the shit knocked out of the back of his head, then nothing, until this moment, waking up in a strange place. Damn, he hated not remembering. Turning his head on the pillow, he glanced around the room. Through jagged shafts of light coming through heavy brocade curtains, Daimon could make out heavily carved furniture in dark woods and one wall lined in an intricately designed oriental pattern, probably the closet doors. Not that he’d know oriental from continental if it bit him in the ass. It just had that kind of feeling to it. One thing he did know was this room screamed expensive and good taste. Gingerly, making sure everything was in working order, he pulled himself into a sitting position. Leaning on one hand, running the other down the back of his scalp, he grimaced as his hand brushed over a sore spot at the back of his head. “Nice going, surfer dude.” That was going to smart for a while. “Good thing you have a hard head.” At the end of the bed, a blue silk robe lay draped across his feet. Looking out over the side, a pair of matching slippers sat on the floor. Not thinking twice,

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he slipped his feet off the bed and onto the floor. Plush carpeting gave way beneath his feet, warm and deep in texture. Dark and manly like the rest of the room. Standing up, he rose steadily. “So far, so good.” Reaching down, he picked up the robe and slipped it on. Its silkiness glided along his arms and down his body in a shroud of shiny blue material to his ankles. Cinching up the belt around the waist, he worked his feet into the slippers, almost damn near a perfect fit. He could get used to extravagances of this sort. And they say crime doesn’t pay…fuck if it didn’t. Time to find out exactly where the hell he’d ended up. Pretty sure he knew, but it was better to be safe than sorry in his field of work. First and foremost, he needed to find a bathroom. Daimon’s bladder was about to burst and as he ran his tongue along the front of his teeth, they felt hairy. His only option other than the one door, left the carved panels as a source for the bathroom, he hoped. Sure enough, one side slid back to show a walk-in closet and the other a black and gray marble bathroom. Waiting on the side of the sink was a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash. That done, he made his way to the door, his hand froze on the doorknob. He figured he’d made it into Jefferson’s home, but what he’d do next, he really didn’t know? He shook his head. “Nothing like the present to find that out.” A deep breath later, he ventured out into the hallway. He looked both ways. To his left was a large single door at the end of the hall. To his right, massive double doors opened wide, exposing yards of creamy gold-veined tiles. Sunlight streamed out through the open doorway of the room. Tiny particles danced in its stray beams from the outsized window beyond. It came across as more inviting than the closed door at the other end, and something told him that was where he needed to go. What the hell, where else could he go dressed in a damn silk robe and slippers anyway? Stopping at the threshold of the door, he hesitated. Why? Timid, him— never. His position as an undercover agent meant major balls and nerves of steel. Shaking off whatever the hell had him stalling, Daimon straightened his shoulders, letting his confident stride carry him on into the entryway where crystal wall scones flickered, casting soft shadows in his path

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At an archway to his left, out of the corner of his eye, a wealth of long white hair snared his attention. A bombardment of images zinged out of control through the recesses of this mind. His breath caught in his throat. Jefferson knelt over him on the wet sand, concern painted on his face when he’d rolled over, exhausted and in pain. He remembered vaguely caressing Bartel’s face before everything went black. Again, those same unexpected feelings crept along his skin, tearing into him in rapid succession—concern for him, caring for him regardless of who he was. “How are you feeling this morning?” A deep voice startled him out of his melee of thoughts that were clinging to him like a wet dream, sensual and uncontrollable. Daimon noticed Jefferson addressed him with his back toward him, hands clasped behind his back, standing tall and proud, staring out of a large window overlooking the ocean. Daimon wandered further into the room now curious as a cat. “How did you know it was me?” Jefferson turned around and faced him. His light blue eyes nailed his feet to the floor. “My slippers that you’re wearing made a slight swooshing sound across the tiles when you walked in. Also, the only two people in my private living quarters are you and I. Easy enough deduction.” He cracked a sly smile. Daimon cleared his throat. The sight of Jefferson up close and personal threw him. “I feel pretty good, actually. Though, I have a good sized bump on the back of my head.” “Come in, I won’t bite.” Jefferson gestured to a spot next to him at the window. For just a second, he paused, taking in the full appearance of the elegant man standing before him. Even dressed casually in jeans, polo shirt, and leather slip on shoes, Daimon wouldn’t mistake him for anything less then he was—a well-dressed predator. Oddly, he found that sexy and alluring, something he never would’ve before. The playing field was different with this man. Why? ****

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Jefferson’s senses came alive the moment he heard the sound of someone walking into his living quarters. His body automatically responded by tightening up, stings of arousal sizzled up and down his spine, his cock hardening to the point of pain. At his age, he thought he was over such things as a crush, but damn if it didn’t seem that way with Daimon. When he turned around, he about swallowed his tongue. The sapphire blue robe flowed around Daimon letting brief peeks of muscled thigh show as he walked toward him. The intimacy of the man wearing his personal things made Jefferson want to purr in pleasure. Once he was right next to him, he noticed the wary look in his eyes. Good. He loved nothing better than a game of cat and mouse, and he was up for a chase. “You look good in my robe.” But you’d look better on me. Daimon ran both hands down the front of the robe. “Thank you for the loan. Can you fill me in on exactly what happened? Things are still fuzzy.” It was time to show his hand. “Well, how you landed here is simple…Daimon.” He drew-out his name. “Though I am sure you would have preferred a less painful way of meeting me.” Jefferson watched Daimon’s reaction to his words. It was swift. He backed up a step as if on guard. His body stiffened. “So you know then?” Daimon’s tone was neutral, not giving a thing away. “Now what?” Great, just the way he liked it, straight to the point. This man showed nothing in his facial expressions. He was a fighter, a true warrior. That inspired admiration in Jefferson. No matter what, this man was a worthy opponent. One he would love sparing with in and out of bed. It was time for the kill. “I had you checked out. I know all about your assignment to uncover whether I have ties to the mafia. I even know your favorite food—Mexican.” Looking down at the floor, Daimon expelled a breath. “Then I guess the jig is up and nothing more needs to be said.” As he turned away, Jefferson made his move. He wasn’t going to wait another minute wondering how this man would feel wrapped in his arms, his lips opening and willing beneath his. Fuck the reasons why Daimon was here. Jefferson didn’t care. The burning desire to run his lips and hands all over the man overrode all reasoning, all cares.

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**** The moment Daimon took his eyes off Jefferson, the man moved faster than anything he’d ever seen. Before he could blink, he found himself pressed up against the glass of the window. Its hard cold surface unforgiving, causing his skin to chill upon contact, but his blood boiled as Jefferson penned him from the front, grinding his body in a solid mass into Daimon’s. A moist open mouth covered his, in a kiss that had his balls in knots. In a gasp of surprise, a hot tongue immediately invaded his mouth, flavored of coffee and sexual heat. Fingers curled into his hair, holding his head as Jefferson consumed him with his mouth. Teeth clinked and tongues naturally intertwined, slipping and sliding in a decadent dance. Any common sense Daimon might’ve had went right out the door, down the street, around the corner, and just kept going. In its place, desire reared up, flowing in illicit waves of liquid heat through his blood. His cock hardened enough to pound nails. He couldn’t stop the urge to roll his hips and spread his legs, letting Jefferson slide up between them. They were now crotch-to-crotch, hardness mated to hardness. Daimon felt Jefferson shudder, groaning into his mouth. He answered back with one of his own, deep from within his throat. He did manage to pull away from Jefferson’s demanding kiss long enough to speak. “What the hell are we doing? I…fuck…this is nuts. You are the bad guy and I am the cop—the good guy.” His words seemed hollow and thin to his ears. “This shouldn’t be happening.” Who the hell am I kidding? I’ll sleep with this man even if it kills me, and it damn well might. Jefferson stood stock-still for a moment, his pale eyes searing and direct as they stared unwavering at Daimon’s. “Who says I’m the bad guy? What if I can prove to you I’m not? What then?” He ran his fingertips over a stray strand of hair next to Daimon’s face, then pushed it back behind his ear in a very affection manner. “I will make you a deal. Give me a week to prove my innocence, and you give me a week of your body. That was what you agreed upon when you took this assignment, right?” Why did that make sense to him when it shouldn’t? Daimon knew the right thing would be to leave, and more than likely lose his job in the process.

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And the way things were going, he would anyway. Damned if he did. Damned if he didn’t. Something way down in his soul told him the man was being truthful. Call it gut instinct. It felt so real, so right, he could almost taste it. The same man suspected of sleeping with the mafia. The same man he’d desired since the moment he’d looked down at his picture in the file. The same man he knew without a shadow of a doubt, he’d sleep with and not think twice. “This has to be the most insane thing I have even done, but I trust you. I don’t know why the fuck I should, but I do.” “You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.” Jefferson raised an eyebrow in challenge, never taking his roving hands off Daimon’s silk clad body. “That sounds like a challenge to me.” “It is, and you seem up for it. Jefferson chuckled, glancing downward to Daimon stiff prick. “Daimon, you strike me as the kind of man who wouldn’t back down from a challenge. Think of this as one of the biggest challenges of your life.” “I am, but I have a job to do, too. If I do this and I find you are dirty, I will have to report you. You understand that, right?” Daimon said, his gaze never wavering from Jefferson’s. “You are the type to not mince words and I respect that. Straightforward and direct, not scared off easily. That’s how I like men I deal with.” Daimon could feel the vibrations of Jefferson’s low ebbed words rumbling through him. “And you, Jefferson, are not exactly what I thought you’d be. Then again, maybe you are. Only time will tell. There is something going on between us that I can’t deny.” Even as Daimon said those words, they scared the hell out of him. What if these feelings were more than just lust? Could he risk, not only losing his job, but getting his heart broken into pieces over Jefferson? “With you, I cannot control myself. It makes me slightly uncomfortable. But what puzzles me is why you don’t seem angry that I deceived you.” That did really throw Daimon. Why wasn’t Jefferson angry over his deception? “Daimon, in my world, I have learned to read people very well. I’ve had to survive by my instincts most of my life. I use my brains first before my heart, though with you, I am finding that hard to do. And I am man enough to admit that. I can’t fault you for doing your job. You deceived me for a good reason, not

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personal, but business that I understand more than you will ever know. Plus, I have nothing to hide from you or your agency.” He skimmed his hand down the side of Daimon’s neck, venturing until he stopped over his heart, then pressed firmly. “I know a good heart, and that you have. I know by the clear look in your eyes, and I have to tell you that you’d never make a good poker play. I can read your expressions like an open book. “I am not sure that is a compliment or not,” Daimon chuckled. “It’s refreshing in my business. Never stop being exactly who you are. Being true to yourself may be all you have someday. Take it from a man that has been around the block a few times.” Jefferson winked. “You are full of surprises, Jefferson. I never figured you’d be so deep.” “Get to know me, Daimon. Find out the true man I am. Will you take that next step into my world? Are you willing, Daimon?” He seemed nervous as he waited for Daimon to answer him. Sweat gathered on his upper lip and his eyes moved continually over Daimon’s features. As if what he’d say in the next moment meant the world to him. “Yes. I don’t know why, but I am willing to give this thing between us a shot.” Daimon sure hoped he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew with this man. What would he do if after everything, Jefferson did turn out to be the man the agency thought he was? Could he do his job, turn him in? God, he hoped he could in the end if that were true. Whatever happened, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Jefferson growled out, “Good.” That was the only notice before Jefferson had him in a lip lock that could only be described as jungle fucking hot. Their mouths worked in perfect synchronization. As one tongue lunged, the other would parley back, wrapping around sucking it deep within its warm slick cavern. Lips meshed and melded as two halves coming together to form a single sensitive organ. Even their breathing had become one, harsh and raspy in primal lust. Sparks ignited under Daimon’s fingertips as his hands roamed over the backside of the muscled frame held tightly in arms of banded steel. This attraction between them, a fiery white heat that flashed unchecked, overrode any sense of right or wrong. Taking on a life of its own, possessing Daimon in its devouring

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element of pure lust, his mind shutdown and his body took over. He couldn’t fight it and gave himself over to it completely. **** Jefferson’s instincts had gone totally primal. The silky slink of Daimon’s body hard against his fired-up his blood, causing every cell in his body to roar for sexual release. To feel the tight muscles of his anus swallowing his cock until he couldn’t tell where Daimon’s body started and his stopped excited him. He’d revel in controlling the younger man’s body. Hearing Daimon’s cries of pleasure that only he could give him, gave him an overwhelming sense of male prowess at the thought Before anything else, he had to see the gorgeous body hidden under his robe. Wedging his hand between their bodies, he worked the tie loose, letting the ends slither down between them. His hand followed the warmth radiating from beneath its blue shimmer, in-between the front of the robe. Releasing Daimon’s lips, he took a step back. “I need to see all of you.” With sure hands, he gripped the two halves of the robe, watching the shiny material glide down off his shoulders, pooling in a wash of blue on the floor around Daimon’s feet. Standing in all his naked maleness, Jefferson’s eyes drank in Daimon’s powerful build. Muscles stacked in folds under tanned skin lined Daimon’s shoulders down to his defined calves. A black mat of short thick hair covered the upper portion of his chest, then dwindled down to a fine line to the thickest cock Jefferson had ever seen in his fifty years of life. There is a god in heaven. His mouth started to water and his lungs threatened to burst from the shear anticipation of having the monster dipped between his lips, taking it in the best he could. He wasn’t sure he would be able to swallow all of it, but damn if he wouldn’t try. Not letting another second pass, Jefferson dropped down on his knees, eye level with Daimon’s luscious hard-on. At this range, he could see all the network of veins that ran along the stretched flesh toward the large purplish mushroom head. It wept in droplets from the tiny slit at its tip and he licked his lips in anticipation of tasting Daimon’s seed. Leaning forward, he wrapped his fingers

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around the rock-hard shaft. Even with his big hands, his fingertips barely met. His other hand strayed to grip the hard curve of Daimon’s ass. He stared up and whispered, “My God, you are fucking amazing. Unlike anything I could have dreamed.” Daimon’s eyes were almost black with arousal and his breathing harsh. His body was rigid from head to toes. Jefferson knew this man wanted his cock lathed in the heat of his mouth to be worshiped with the roughness of a swirling tongue, taken by a man who knew exactly what he wanted and needed to come roaring into his mouth. Arousal rode Jefferson hard. His cock bucked in a violent response, wanting to feel the shelter of scalding heat surrounding it. To driving his hardiness into the clenching heat of Daimon’s velvety depths, gripping his cock in pulsing beats he knew existed. “Daimon, don’t take your eyes off me. I want you to watch me as I pleasure you. I want you to see me take you with my mouth.” Daimon’s only acknowledgement he’d saw was a slight nod of his head. Jefferson opened his mouth, then opened it wider as his tongue led the way to paradise. His jaws protested, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was having Daimon’s cock as far in his mouth as he could take it. The smooth veined slide of hot flesh teased his lips. Jefferson’s taste buds exploded as seed met tongue, hardness encountered the fury of his clamping lips. A loud moan slipped from Daimon’s lips. “Shit! Your mouth is hot and wet.” He managed to take half of Daimon’s length down the back of this throat. He couldn’t stop his own moan of pleasure that hummed past his lips. First, he swirled his tongue around the underside of the head, igniting the sensitive nerves that lay beneath the tight skin. He knew it would drive him wild and it did. Daimon started to rock his hips, pushing his crotch further into Jefferson’s throat, lacing his fingers into the thickness of his hair. Hallowing his cheeks, he worked his way up and down, bobbing and sucking in racking pulls, letting his saliva smooth the action of his lips locked tight around the younger man’s hard mass and wide width. Daimon’s breathing became ragged as his chest worked in heaving gasps. Daimon never broke eye contact. His face flushed with intense desire as he clenched his teeth. Jefferson knew it took all he had to hold back his orgasm, by the tight lines forming around his mouth, a dead giveaway of his struggling

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control over his mounting arousal. Good at giving head, Jefferson prided himself on bringing his lover in a raging gush with his mouth and tongue. The silence of the room filled with the erotic sounds of wet sucking, harsh breathing, and male moans and groans. Saliva dripped down the grooves of Jefferson’s mouth and onto his hand firmly wrapped around the base as he sucked and swallowed Daimon’s cock over and over again. Strong hips bumped and thrashed wildly into his mouth. Jefferson could sense by the tightening of his body that Daimon was ready to come. Slicing his finger between the cleft of his ass, he pierced the puckered opening, then taking his cock as far to the back of his throat, he brought him over the pinnacle of release. Daimon’s yell of completion ripped through the air. A rush of liquid-hot semen flooded his mouth, and he delighted in its salty tang, swallowing it in deep gulps. Jefferson held him tightly to his face until the last spasms could be felt. He kissed the crease between Daimon’s leg and groin and then sat back on his hunches. “Fuck, you taste like heaven dipped in salt.” **** Daimon leaned against the glass, looking as if it was the only thing holding him up, as he took deep breathes. “I…” He ran his tongue over his lips. “I have never lost control so easily. I feel like a schoolboy who can’t control himself. That was amazing.” Jefferson looked him in the eye. “We’ve just gotten started. Turn around and put your hands face down on the glass and don’t move a muscle or turn back around, no matter what.” By Jefferson’s tone, one that meant business, Daimon casually turned his ass to him and did exactly what he was told. He could hear sounds of clothing being removed, shoes hitting the floor, a drawer being opened and shut. The shock of skin on skin made him shiver in arousal as Jefferson’s hard body pressed up against him from behind. A hot breath blew by his ear. “I want you to experience me fucking your ass with only your senses of touch and hearing. Close your eyes, let your mind and body take over. Feel with your mind.”

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The thought of not seeing what Jefferson was going to do to him skyrocket his excitement to the point that nothing matter but the friction and fullness of Bartel’s cock. He hardened quickly as images of Jefferson pumping into him, shiny with lube. He felt strong hands part his crease, as cool liquid ran down between. A finger eased into his ass. In and out in a steady rhythm until a second finger joined into the play. They pulled out only to be replaced by something much bigger, prodding his opening. Daimon couldn’t help but gasp as his entrance slowly broke open and the searing pleasure sent sparks down his legs and into his balls. It seemed like forever until finally all of Jefferson was deep within his body and flesh melted onto flesh. His anus burned and clenched around the intrusion, gripping and releasing, as the tissue flowed and expanded to take all of what Bartel had to give. Pulling back, Jefferson lunged his hips forward. Daimon’s loud cry seemed to only excite Jefferson further as he rode his ass harder, deeper. Slick sound of slapping flesh filled his senses. His body screamed and bucked back to meet each thrust, begging for more. “Fuck, don’t you dare stop,” Daimon begged. Eyes squeezed shut, head flung back. Jefferson nipped at his earlobe. “I don’t plan to. Your ass is burning me alive. I don’t think I can hold off much longer.” It was all Daimon could do to keep his wet palms from slipping down the glass window. A warm hand reached around and grabbed his dick, pumping in time with each thrust into his flaring hot sheath. Harsh breathes rustled the hairs at the back of his neck, sweat dripped down the nape of his neck, mixing with the man’s at his back. With each mighty push into his body, it rubbed against the nerves of his prostate, causing his insides to quiver. He could feel each groove and notch that ran the length of Jefferson’s cock as it unmercifully plunged in and out of his backside. In a profusion of colors that clouded his vision, his orgasm shot through his body. His cum splattered on the window, raining down the glass in a river of white seed. Jefferson was right behind him, muffling his roar against the flesh of his back, pumping his ass full until it dripped down his crack and the back of his

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thighs. Neither man spoke, basking in the glow of male heat that now surrounded them in its comforting arms.

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Chapter 6 Scrolling down the very last document he had to look at, Daimon stopped, settling back in his chair to roll his head—neck bones cracked in rapid-fire succession—and stretched the tight muscles in his shoulders and back. The tension bled back to tolerable, but he could feel a headache coming on fast. He’d been hard at it for the last week and a half, and so far, he’d found nothing in Jefferson’s meticulously kept records that jumped out screaming “illegal,” though the man sure treaded on that fine line of the law, never quite stepping over it, but damn close. There was no doubt how Jefferson had made so many enemies. In one year, the man had bought out twelve different companies by buying up their stocks and having the controlling shares, virtually taking over the companies. Most, he dismantled and sold off in pieces. Hundreds lost their jobs. Nevertheless, he also bought companies that were sure to go under and turned them around, improving the work environment for the employees, giving them better health insurance and higher wages. Daimon wasn’t sure just how he picked which ones to tear apart and which ones to save, but the man had the Midas touch, that was for damn sure. Everything Jefferson bought and sold made a profit for him. Jefferson had been good for his word, giving him full access to all his business dealings over the last year. And it had taken until now to get through that year’s different documents and files. Yeah, he could go back a couple more years, but the likelihood they’d all come out this straightforward and squeaky clean enough you could wipe your ass with it. The man, if nothing else, was a freak about complete paper trails. Jefferson must pay out of the nose to his accountants. No evidence whatsoever had showed up linking him to the mafia in any of the files he’d gone through. His agency was chasing the wrong tail as far as he was concerned.

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The pressure of broad hands curling around the top of his shoulder and a warm breath behind his ear curled his toes and sent arousal whirling up his spine. “Almost done, handsome? I have a surprise for you,” Jefferson spoke behind him. He’d never understand how a man of Jefferson’s size could move as quietly as he did. Usually, the only indication was the distinct cologne Bartel wore, just before feeling a grazing of fingertips along his thigh or a soft kiss dropped on his neck. The man could start a fire in his blood with just a look from those piercing azure eyes of his, slightly hooded with his hot intent clearing reflecting out at him. Jefferson had totally ruined him for any other man, as far as he was concerned. And for some reason he couldn’t define, it didn’t bother him. “Your surprises are going to be the death of me I swear. I have never known any man with the sexual appetite that you have. Not to mention the stamina. Have you always been this way or is it just my breathtakingly good looks that keep you coming back?” Daimon joked, turning his head to meet the firm seeking lips that could leave him sexually distraught, as he melted into their open depths. Tongues slipped across parted lips to meet in the middle, then tangled in wet heat. A hand fingered into his hair, fisting around the loose curls, holding him tight against Jefferson’s mouth. In a movement of agility, he managed to pull himself up out of the chair and twist his body around—without even breaking physical contact with those delicious lips—weaving his arms about his lover’s neck, thick strands of his hair caught-up in his arms. The taste of hazelnut coffee exploded on his tongue. A loud male groan bubbled up deep within his throat, expressing his appreciation of Jefferson’s oral capability. He was an exquisite kisser. Just thinking about where those lips and wicked tongue had been over the course of their time together made his balls draw-up and his cock weep in avid anticipation of more to come. The lines of Jefferson’s tall lean frame contoured and fused with his, an imitation of melting iron camouflaged in searing male flesh. An aggressive and all consuming need had Daimon snaking a leg around his lover’s hip, giving him leverage to rub and glide his own hardness against the commanding bulge that called for his immediate attention. Whiskers abraded his cheeks, as their kiss became deep untamed flashes of male sparring—mutual domination. Daimon could only think of getting Bartel out of his clothes, bare skin to bare skin.

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He pulled back, breaking off the passionate kiss, and was left starring into the incandescent paleness of Jefferson’s eyes that drank him down. Eyes that could make his legs weak and his body liquefy from a mere glance. Eyes that now reflected back at him and left him breathless. “Why is it that every time you touch me, I burst into flames and want you even more? The need I feel inside me is like nothing else I have experienced before and I am not sure how to handle it.” Jefferson used both hands to cup his face, drawing Daimon’s complete attention to masculine features, highlighted by a long cloud of silky white hair. “I feel that same way, too, but I know how special that feeling is. I have never in my long life desired a man as I do you. It is something that I know in my heart will not fade in time but grow stronger. I’ve known from the moment I saw you down on the beach you were different, we’d be different together. Let me keep showing you how good we are together.” He emphasized his words by intimately touching spots on Daimon’s body and lingering over them as he spoke. “Do you realize how beautiful you are when your passion moves through your body? What just watching you does to me?” Daimon watched in fascination as his lover’s broad hand moved down in a graceful sweep to grasp his jean-clad hip. “Do you know that when you are aroused, your hips shift in a side to side motion and the muscles that line your ass flex and bend?” Next, Jefferson hand brushed around to the juncture between Daimon’s legs. “I am totally hypnotized when your cock goes from flaccid to steel covered in silky flesh as it raises along the trail of hair up your stomach. The evidence of your desire unmistakable by the cum dripping from the head of your cock as I lick your balls.” With each explicit word Jefferson spoke low and deep, it sharpened his libido, leaving Daimon in an utter state of sexual desperation, wanting to rip his lover’s clothes off his body, fucking him and sucking him until nothing else mattered, but here and right now. Through the hand lingering on the side of his face, he could feel Jefferson’s heart beat as the point of his wrist rested under his chin. It beat in a similar rapid rhythm, matching his that pounded against the cage of his ribs. Grabbing a handful of Bartel’s hair, he proceeded to ravish his mouth. He took deep, sensuous pulls of Jefferson’s tongue into his mouth, and nipped at his full lips, growling as the animalistic impulses fired through him in unending

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waves. Strong hands massaged his ass, hauling him against the hard planes of Bartel’s body. Daimon could feel the stiff outline of Jefferson’s cock lining up with his own infuriated wet erection, leaving behind wet traces of his arousal on the front of his jeans. With firm resolve, he knew what he wanted to do next. Using his body to maneuver, he backed Jefferson up to the office chair he’d been setting in earlier. He kept moving him—focusing his lips, tongue, and hands on the big man in his arms—until the back of his lover’s legs hit the leather chair. With one last soulful deep kiss, he wretched his lips away and pushed Jefferson down into the seat. **** Jefferson gazed down as Daimon knelt between his splayed legs. Desire burned hot within the blue-green irises starring back at him. Excitement gnawed at his insides and his cock twitched as his young lover licked his lips wet with his tongue, leaving a shiny path in its wake. Urgently, Daimon unbuttoned, then unzipped his pants. Jefferson could see his hands shaking as he reached for him. To have Daimon so aroused cranked his soaring need ever that much higher. He raised his hips up off the seat of the chair to aid in their removal, as his pants and boxers slipped down his body and off, leaving him with only his shirt and socks. Hungry eyes devoured his prick and a moist breath bathed his hardiness. A wet tongue snaked out and rimmed his cock, stopping to dip into the slit at the very tip. His hips jerked up off the chair and his breath caught in his chest. He watched with baited breath as Daimon locked gazes with him. “You have the most beautiful cock, long, full, and perfectly shaped to be sucked.” He emphasized his words, letting his fingertips glide down the fiery shaft to stop at the base nestled in a mass of dark curls. “You taste hot and salty.” He lowered his gaze and buried his face between Jefferson’s legs, worshipping his heavy balls, slowly savoring the globes in lingering licks, pulling them one at a time into his mouth, rolling them gently around inside his moist depth, lavishing them, loving them until Jefferson thought he’d explode from the immense pleasure. He growled out, “If you don’t stop, I will cum. Holy hell!”

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Releasing his hold, he blew a lingering breath over Jefferson’s wet balls, which caused them to tighten further and form bumps on the surrounding skin. Damn that man had a wicked mouth and tongue. He liked nothing better than having his balls loved in the manner that Daimon did so very well. The man knew every erogenous zone to worry over and torture, knew just how much pressure to extract, knew just the right stroke and lick to have him yelling out at the top of his lungs for mercy. Just as he was doing so very well right now. And yes, he was working his way up to a mightily roaring orgasm at the rate his lover pleasured him. Once again, Jefferson couldn’t take his eyes off Daimon as he lowered his mouth, tongue peeking out to lick the drop of cum pooling at the tip of his cock. Ever so slowly, the mushroom head disappeared, being swallowed inch by thick inch into his young lover’s luscious hot mouth, until it was all tightly encased in wet suctioned heat. He could feel the small dangles at the back of Daimon’s throat as the tip of his cock bumped against them with each deep-throated bob of his head. The only sound that filtered through his head was that of wet suckling and heightened moans and groans, filling the room in male fervor. Pressure built-up at the heart of his cock and his seed boiled for release. His hips danced in a hedonistic rhythm to the suck and swallow of his cock. With each up and down motion, his hips followed without thought—natural and primal. He ground his teeth trying to stave off his orgasm. “Fuck, I am going to come. I can’t hold on much longer,” Jefferson growled, his voice hoarse with desire. His muscles were locking together, becoming rigid as his release loomed near. Eyes closed and head thrown back, ember ignited and his orgasm broke, shooting from his cock into the waiting throat of his lover. Jefferson roared aloud. Daimon swallowed every last drop, even the pearly specks that dotted his lips, licking them off in slow sensual swipes. Jefferson’s body again shuttered as he watched his lover’s unselfish acts. Leaning down, he gathered his kneeling lover onto his lap. Within his arms, he shared a ravishing kiss with him. He could taste his own saltiness upon Daimon’s tongue and within the recesses of his mouth. It pleased him immensely to share this intimate moment together. It all felt so very right to him. Daimon felt so very right to him. Now if all went well, maybe he could keep them right where

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they should always be— together. Nothing would please him more than a permanent relationship. Someone he could finally be himself with. Someone he would be entrusting with his deepest, darkest secret. And, he hoped he’d made the right decision in doing so. Whatever happened, he’d have to live with the consequences of that decision. This was the first time he let his heart make the choice instead of his head. His faith now lay solely in the hands of his lover after tomorrow.

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Chapter 7 Daimon stared out the tinted window of the long stretch limousine he and Jefferson rode in. It came to a stop before a long sleek Learjet that gleamed in the morning light parked out on the tarmac. He still didn’t feel quite comfortable with all the immense wealth that his lover had, though Jefferson took it all with a nonchalant air. The driver got out and opened the door for Bartel to exit the car and Daimon followed right behind. Out in the sunlight, Jefferson’s white hair, left free to fall around his wide shoulders, glistened. He couldn’t tell what the man was thinking behind the dark shades he wore, but his brilliant smile put Daimon at ease. They hadn’t talked during the entire ride over and he didn’t have a clue where they were headed, only that it was a surprise. A surprise…yeah. He’d had a hell of a lot of those since meeting him. Jefferson himself was a complete contradiction. Nothing about him was what it seemed, at least not what truly lay beneath the surface. He turned out to be someone Daimon could really love, but that would be too much to hope for. Jefferson was his case—his assignment—not a possible permanent fixture in his life. The man went through boyfriends like he smoked his cigars, which were often. What the hell appeal could he hold for the man after the lust factor wore off? Together, the two men made their way to the stairs folded down from the side of the plane. The brilliant white of the Learjet sat in stark contrast upon the inky sea of tarmac, which stretched out in either direction before the plane, shooting off making different runways. It reminded him of an asphalt maze with drawn lines. Pausing on the first step, Daimon looked up at Jefferson who had stopped at the entrance of the jet and turned to look down at him. “Are you coming?” Jefferson asked, holding out his hand to him.

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Daimon couldn’t help but chuckle. “With you, always.” Bartel raised one dark eyebrow and smirked. “I meant are you going to get in this damn plane or will I have to carry you up inside.” “I don’t know. That might not be such a bad idea, really. It—” He stopped as he noticed Jefferson coming back down the steps. The man meant every word he said, and carrying him up the steps of the plane, no idle threat, either. Daimon held up his hand to ward the man off. “Whoa, hold your horses, I am on my way.” Jefferson climbed back up the stairs and waited for him just inside the doorway of the plane with an expression of self-satisfaction written plainly on his face. He just shook his head at the older man. Bartel was an arrogant bastard, but truthfully, so was he at times. “So where exactly are we jetting off to anyway?” Daimon asked as he passed the open doorway. He stopped dead in his tracks as the interior of the plane came into view. Everything inside this jet screamed and smelled of ‘luxury’ and way out of his league. Taking his arm without answering him, Bartel led him away from the doorway, past a row of cream-colored leather captain’s chairs, and lead him to a leather couch that faced a small rectangle table. The wood of the table matched the wood grain paneling that lined the interior of the plane. From an open panel towards the front of the jet, Daimon could see a smartly dressed woman in a black skirt, white blouse, and black pumps, hair neatly pulled back in a bun, working in a galley-type kitchen. Just passed that was the open doorway of the cockpit. An instrument panel and two seats filled that area to the point that was all he could really see through the small doorway. “Sit down and relax. Once we get in the air, we can talk. For now, just enjoy the atmosphere.” Jefferson said to him as he too relaxed back on the leather couch. “I have to say these are the most comfortable furnishings I have ever owned.” The woman from the galley walked out and greeted them, “Hello, Mr. Bartel. It is good to see you again. We should be landing in JFK in a little over two hours after takeoff.” “Hello, Maggie. You look lovely as always. I would like you to meet a good friend of mine that will be traveling with me today, Daimon Burns.”

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“Hello, Mr. Burns. I will be your hostess for this flight. As soon as we get airborne and are at a cruising altitude, I will be serving breakfast. We will be having eggs benedict, fresh fruit, and coffee.” “Nice to meet you too, Maggie,” Daimon said with hesitation, not knowing what else to say. This was the first time he’d ever been in a private jet and the whole thing a little overwhelming for him. He felt like a fish out of water. The powerful, sleek jet was just like its owner who sat by his side, cool as a cucumber. He had to give it to Jefferson, the man did everything first class. As Maggie walked back into the galley, Daimon leaned over and whispered under his breath, “I noticed that we are without your men.” Bartel replied in the same manner, quiet and low, “Actually, we didn’t, they’re the ones flying this baby.” Daimon’s eyes cut to the front of the plane through the two openings, he could just make out the shoulders of two men. Damn how could he have missed them? Since his time with Jefferson, he’d let his instincts and training go to the wayside, instead, letting his lover pretty much overshadow all aspects of his life for the last week and a half. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and start keeping a better eye on the things going on around him, not just for Bartel’s safety but also his own. The man had enemies. There was no getting around that. The sound of a voice over an intercom snapped him out of his internalizing. “Mr. Bartel, if you and your guest would be so kind as to buckle up until we hit cruising altitude. Once we do, it will be safe to move around the cabin of the plane at your leisure. Thank you.” **** Jefferson could tell Daimon was uncomfortable once they had entered the plane by the way he kept fooling with his hair, brushing it back with his fingers and then down to tug at the collar of his shirt. He’d do this at repeated intervals. His eyes moved constantly, watching his surroundings like an animal looking for an escape. As the plane taxed down the runway, he put his arm around his young lover’s shoulders, pulling him close against his side. He leaned over and placed a kiss on his neck. Daimon’s hair smelled clean and manly just the way he liked it.

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He smelled that same way all over his body. Even his cock had that appealing aroma. “You smell good and look edible this morning. How about we forego breakfast and I eat you instead?” he whispered seductively into the ear of his lover. Daimon turned his eyes on him. Their intense turquoise color relayed that his suggestion was being considered. “I’d like nothing better, but I don’t think I could relax enough to enjoy it knowing only a few feet away and within complete earshot, there are three people. You know I am not quiet when you are going down on me. Especially not when I come.” “Ahhh…how well I know that.” Jefferson’s voice had dropped an octave as the memories of the masculine sounds that Daimon made when he was being pleasured came to mind. The way his noises grew in intensity as his orgasm neared, his body bowed, eyes closed, lips parted as his breathing heightened. His skin would flush out and his balls would draw up hard as a rock just before Daimon’s creamy seed filled his waiting mouth. Damn, he was hornier than hell and his cock was begging for release. Glancing up into his younger lover’s face, Daimon’s eyes were glued to his crotch. “Look what you do to me,” he said, reaching over and placing Daimon’s hand over the bulge at the front of his pants. “I get harder faster with you than any other man I have ever known. I can almost come just thinking of you.” Before he could say another thing, the doorway between the cabin and the galley opened. Daimon guiltily jerked his hand away from Jefferson’s crouch. He could swear the younger man was actually blushing. “Breakfast is served, gentlemen,” Maggie announced as she set the small table before them with fine china, silverware, and crystal drinking glasses. The food smelled delicious. “Thank you. It all looks wonderful as usual, Maggie, you’ve outdone yourself.” Jefferson pointed to the buckle and both he and Daimon made quick work of unbuckling themselves and moving into the two captain’s chairs on either end of the small table as Maggie served their breakfasts.

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Chapter 8 He’d never been to New York City and what a cultural shock it was. Daimon watched through tinted windows in yet another limousine that picked them up once they landed. They slowly passed by high-rise after high-rise, tall columns of glass and steel shot up for what seemed like miles, reaching up high enough to brush the clouds in the sky. People powering down the sidewalks and across the streets, taxis were like yellow bugs darting in and out of the traffic. New York also had its own unique smell, he noticed. The concentration of food, concrete, metal, and a slight undertone of pollution was not bad, just different, much like the city itself. A hand rested high on his thigh, broad and tanned and smattered with short dark hairs that thickened as they moved up past the large-boned wrist. There really wasn’t any part of Jefferson that didn’t turn him on. He was a complete package. If only they hadn’t met in the way that they did, maybe, just maybe things would’ve been different for them. But he wasn’t sure where this relationship was going, other than two weeks of fantastic sex. Daimon couldn’t stop his heart from speeding up whenever Jefferson entered a room or whispered intimate words to him. He could slowly feel himself slipping into love with him each day they spent together, yet still unsure how his lover truly felt about him. After everything was said and done, and Daimon ended up clearing his name, would Jefferson still want him? Then he wondered where they were going? Why had Bartel flown them to New York? Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Jefferson gazing intently out the passenger’s window of the limo. He wondered what the man was thinking about? Did he experience the same emotional connection he did? Surely not—not a man like Jefferson Bartel who could buy and sell just about anything and anyone. Daimon had trouble controlling the emotions whirling around in his head.

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The hand on his thigh tightened and he turned toward Jefferson. “We are here. Are you all right?” The older man asked him. “Sure, just trying to take it all in. I had no idea New York City was so busy or so big. I am amazed they can function with the masses of cars and people that populate this city. Plus, I am curious what you had to keep secret until now.” Jefferson leaned over and lightly kissed him on the lips. “The wait is over. All I ask is that no matter what, you keep an open mind.” Daimon was a little taken back by his comment, but nevertheless, he did trust him. He’d done nothing but give him every opportunity to delve into his business dealings without holding back. “I have always considered myself to be fair-minded and believe it or not, I do trust that you wouldn’t do anything that would put me in a compromising position.” He smiled at Daimon as his spoke, “That means more to me than you will ever know. Come on. Let me share one last piece of my life.” What did he mean by that? Where was he taking him? What did Jefferson want to show him? The answer seemed to lie inside of a fancy high-rise building the limo had parked in front. The building’s doorman came up to the car, opening the door on Jefferson’s side of the car. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Bartel.” the doorman said. “It is nice to be here again, Thomas,” Jefferson replied as he unfolded himself out of the car, and waited patiently for Daimon to get out. With the door already open, they entered the building. The first thing to strike Daimon was all the gold-veined marble on the floors and walls. Tall golden sculptured columns stood at different points of the spacious lobby of the building. Plants and flowers were sprinkled throughout, giving the stark color of the room a bit of panache. Jefferson strolled right up to a set of stainless steel doors and pushed at the button that indicated the very top floor—penthouse. They both stepped in and turned as the double doors shut. Within seconds, they reached the top floor and exited the elevator. There was only one door on this floor and Bartel rung the doorbell. A petite woman, with a mass of dark hair spilling down her back and dressed to the nines in a hot pink pantsuit, answered the door. “Jefferson, it has

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been a long time, come in, come in. And who is this handsome devil you have brought with you?” Her genuine smile and open personality put Daimon at ease instantly. She had an easygoing air about her that belied her cool outer appearance. They all walked into the beautifully appointed foyer, and Daimon could hear muted voices off to their right. Jefferson leaned down and gave her a chasten kiss on the cheek. “It is always a pleasure to see you, Marcella.” He snaked his arm around Daimon’s waist and squeezed him close to his side. “This is my good friend Daimon Burns. Daimon, this is Marcella D’antoni, an old and dear friend.” Marcella gestured for them to follow her as she made her way directly to a large living room, her high heels clinking on the marble floor in tandem to her dainty stride. In the living room sat a man about Jefferson’s age and a young girl—at least that was how she first appeared to Daimon—but as he drew nearer, and she looked up at them, he could see her large rounded face and sloped eyes. She was mentally handicapped and much older than he first thought. They looked to be coloring on sheets of paper. Crayons were spread out on the table in swatches of every vibrant colors. “Joey, Jenny, look who has stopped by with a friend,” Marcella said as she walked into the room. “This is my husband Joey and our daughter Jenny, Daimon.” Daimon nodded his head. “Hello. It is a pleasure to meet you both.” Jenny jumped up from the table filled with crayons and paper, running in gangly steps toward Jefferson, throwing her arms around his middle. “Uncy Jennery, I’ve missed ow.” Her words pronounced in a child-like manner, hard to understand. “Com it down and colar wif me.” Jefferson’s face softened so quickly, it took Daimon by surprise. He’d never seen that kind of expression on him before. It was a look of complete love, intense and deeply abiding, as he gathered her up and swung her around in his arms. “I have missed you too, little munchkin. The girl squealed with laughter. Her pale blue eyes looked up at Jefferson with adoration and her lopsided smile stole Daimon’s heart. He turned back toward the father, and the man was smiling, too. His dark brown eyes glowed with love for his daughter.

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The girl then turned those liquid-blue eyes on him. “Ow want to colar wif me, too?” Then the realization slammed into Daimon like a freight train…pale blue eyes, eyes the exact coloring of Jefferson’s. She was his daughter, not theirs. He couldn’t have been more shocked if they’d set his hair on fire. Was this the mafia connection the agency thought he had in New York? If so, they were way off here. Something about Daimon’s demeanor must have tipped Jefferson off, because when he locked eyes with the older man, Jefferson nodded his head ‘yes’ as if acknowledging her as his. So this was his surprise. **** Before he knew it, their time at the D’antonis’ was over, and they were saying their goodbyes and getting back into the limo bound for the airport. Once safely ensconced within the interior of the limousine, Daimon faced Jefferson, dying to know the whole story. “So, want to tell me about Jenny now?” Bartel’s face held that same softhearted expression as earlier when he started to talk about Jenny. In his hands, Jefferson held a drawing she’d given him. It was of him. His long white hair and vivid blue eyes scribbled onto the paper. In its simplistic way, it was striking, and he held it up for Daimon to see as he spoke, “She always has something for me, whether it’s a drawing or something she’s bought for me. Isn’t she a beautiful young lady?” “Yes, that she is,” Daimon replied. “Why did you take me to meet her today, Jefferson?” Carefully setting down the drawing between them, he looked him straight in the eyes and reached over touching Daimon’s face with the back of his knuckles. “I wanted to share something with you I never shared with another person. The only people who know the truth about Jenny are the D’antonis and my parents who are now both gone.” Daimon felt his emotions welled up inside him as they settled behind his now teary eyes. “Why, then, did you share this information with me?” Is it because you love me and trust me? He wanted desperately to believe Jefferson

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might harbor those feelings for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it outright. “I wanted to show you because I trust you. I have faith enough in you to expose a very important piece of my life to you.” Jefferson paused briefly, as if thinking carefully about what he wanted to say next. “And after today, I hope you trust me, too. Do you, Daimon?” “Jefferson, I’m still a little shocked over this bombshell, but yes, I truly believe you are an honest man. Though I have to say you are still arrogant as all hell.” He halfheartedly chuckled. “We were the best of friends back in high school, Marcella, Joey and I. Back then, being gay was like having the plague. I was the high school jock and Marcella and I were dating. By the time I realized I could never be with a woman again, Marcella was pregnant. Joey, being the great guy that he is, stepped up to the plate and they were married and have been ever since. They have taken great care of Jenny for me and let me see her whenever I want. They keep her safe from my enemies and that means the world to me. I will be forever indebted to them both for the care they give her. The love they both have for Jenny let’s me know I truly did the right thing those many long years ago. She is one of the most precious aspects in my life and I will do whatever I can to keep her safe.” Jefferson took a breath, then went on. “By letting you in on my secret, I am showing you my weakness. One I hope you will not betray to another living soul now that you know.” “That’s your supposed mafia connection, isn’t it?” Daimon asked. “Marcella’s brother is the one with the connection, but I have no dealings with him. So, yes, I would have to say that is correct. But you can never expose the truth. I would rather they believed the worst of me than know about Jenny.” “Jefferson, I would never reveal your secret, I swear to you. I am humbled that you would entrust me with it in the first place.” Daimon removed the drawing from between them, setting it on the opposite seat. He moved closer to his lover, leaning in to say, “She is a wonderful young lady and she looks a lot like you with those unique blue eyes that are so reflective of your own. Does she have your temper, I wonder?”

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“You have never seen my temper, but if you stay with me, I am sure it, too, will rear its mighty head now and again,” Jefferson teased as he gave him a passionate kiss on the lips. “Really, what I want to say is if you give me a chance, let me fully into your heart, I am willing to do almost anything for you. For the first time in my life, I am feeling love for a man who makes my hands shake and my senses spin. I am trying to tell you, I am in love with you, Daimon.” He was speechless. Could he have heard him correctly? “Did you just say you loved me?” Daimon asked breathlessly. “Yes, that is exactly what I am saying.” “Why would I differ from all the other men that have breezed through your life?” Jefferson’s brows drew down in a frown. “Until I met you, I never wanted a man permanently in my life. I figured it would always be that way, and then I met you. You make me feel differently, desire more out of a relationship. You complement and complete me in ways I never thought another man could.” Jefferson paused as if thinking what to say next. “I have shared my most inner secret with you, not because I had too, but because I wanted to? I would lay my life down for Jenny and I have put you in that same category today. What more can I do to show you my feelings? What more can I say that will convince you of how I feel about you?” The last bit of reserve cracked and crumbled apart around Daimon’s heart, and he felt awash in an emotional tide that roared through his body. “You cannot do anymore than what you have done. I have gone against and broken every rule concerning you and what the hell is one more if you think about it.” Daimon laughed, but tears burned the back of his eyes as he did. Taking a deep breath, he shored up his emotions. “I hope you can give me a job, ’cause it looks like I might be out of one after this.” “Whatever happens, we will be in this together, come hell or high water, Daimon.” Jefferson smiled, snaking his arms around him, pulling him into the depths of his warm embrace. Then he whispered against his lips before dipping his head for a full-out kiss. “Have you ever had sex in a plane before?” Daimon pulled back to stare into his eyes. “No. Why?”

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“Then let me be the first to introduce you to the wonders of the Mile High Club when we get back to the plane.” Desire flared-up Daimon’s spine at the thought of being taken by Jefferson miles up in the sky. This had turned out to be the best surprise anyone had ever given him. No one had ever entrusted him with so much, just because he loved him that much to do so. No matter what the future held for him, he now had the power of love to back him up. Something he’d never had before now. Daimon wouldn’t kid himself; Jefferson wasn’t a pushover, then again, neither was he. Time to let go, he’s looking forward to the future with the man who had captured his heart. For the first time, he didn’t feel empty inside, he felt loved. And damn, it felt freakin’ great!

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Epilogue Nine months later Atlantic City, New Jersey The casino floor below hustled and bustled as men and women rushed around putting the finishing touches in place before the grand opening of Bartelburns Casino in twenty-four hours. Reflections on the other side of a oneway mirror high above showed two totally different looking men, yet the intense expression of affection on both their faces were identical. Jefferson, the taller of the two men, had long pale hair that snowed down around his broad shoulders, reaching to the middle of his chest. Translucent blue eyes stared intently at Daimon standing in front of him. Jefferson had his arms around him, holding his hips tight to his front as he ground his cock into the firm backside of his lover. Daimon watched the wandering lips and wicked tongue of Jefferson’s, as it baked a moist trail down the skin of his neck. “I can’t believe we really pulled this off in such a short time.” Daimon panted, leaning his head sideways as Jefferson’s stinging love bites nibbled down his neck beneath the collar of his shirt. Jefferson ceased his love play that made Daimon’s legs weak with desire to lock eyes with his in the glass. His face held firm lines of contemplation. “Do you miss it? Being an undercover agent? The thrill that your job gave you?” Daimon looked intently at his lover’s watery image in the glass. His voice held only honest affirmation. “No. Not for one single minute have I missed that part of my old life. My life is with you now, you wily bastard.” Daimon reached back behind him to squeeze Jefferson’s ass cheek in a sign of endearment. “I know we really didn’t talk much about what happened the day I confronted my commanding officer with what I had learned about you.” He reached to swipe a

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stray lock of hair out of his eyes. “Aims was pissed that I didn’t have the goods on you. They just knew that you were guilty as sin and I would get you nailed. With the evidence you gave me, I put all their accusations to rest. That thoroughly pissed Aims off to no end.” “You know me, telling it like it is. You do walk a fine, blurry line between legal and illegal. You know it and I know it too, but it’s just enough on this side of right to appease the cop in me. That part, I will never let go of. I need that in my life. It kept me balanced when I needed it the most.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “As I walked out the door, Aims had to get that last little dig in.” “What did he say?” Jefferson asked. “The usual.” “Ah. He called you a fag.” “Yep, that’s pretty close. Like I didn’t know it already. It just made me laugh, which pissed old Aims off royally. The look on his face when I handed over my badge and gun was priceless, too.” “Is he a little homophobic?” Jefferson swished his manly wrist in a very feminine motion, as if clearing the air of smoke. “Very. He couldn’t understand why I didn’t eat pussy like the rest of the ‘guys.’ Hell, I think women are the most beautiful creatures God ever created, but that is just not how I rub. Aims is too tight-assed to consider how I might feel.” Daimon turned around in Jefferson’s arms to face him. Chest to chest, male hardness to male hardness, just the way he craved it, needed it. The heat between them like a freak of natural, so intensely magnified. Something that only came once in a lifetime and they both knew it. “Since we are clearing the air, why weren’t you totally pissed that I would have slept with you to get what I wanted? Honesty, tell me.” Standing so close to Jefferson, he could see the fine dark eyelashes that shadowed his eyes. Eyes that were now clear pools of aquamarine heated brighter by passion. Thick eyebrows arched in the middle, giving him a rakish look. The crinkling around his eyes and mouth gave his face depth, a stamp of a man in his prime. Daimon would never tire of looking at this man’s beautiful face, aged with perfection, smoldering and sexy clad in elegance, and such a contrast to him. Nevertheless, they meshed together as if made from the same mold at different times, slightly off, maybe

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different in coloring and size, but the insides fit perfectly. Something most people dream of and they had it, a relationship that worked. A love developed out of genuine respect, love that was purely animalistic and primal. These combinations created the ultimate marriage of two men. Jefferson tipped his head and a knowing smile split his face. “From the first day I saw you on the beach, I wanted you. You became an obsession for me. When you got hurt and you weren’t breathing that day, I experienced a rush of feelings that reminded me that I was missing something in my life. That something was you. I knew it in my bones. I cared for you not knowing your name. And the peculiarity of it, I was okay with that.” He stroked a hand down Daimon’s back. “When I found out who you were and why you were in my life to begin with, it didn’t matter to me. I wanted you and I was going to have you. I was beyond the point of caring how you came to me, just that you were there and I took advantage any way I could. And you know I get what I want, always.” “You are such an arrogant bastard, but that is just one of the things I find fascinating about you, well, that and your body. Not bad for an old fart.” Daimon joked. “I may be older, but I can keep up with you any day.” Jefferson reached down to the large bulge in the front of Daimon’s pants, it filled, overflowing in his hands. “And I can’t get enough of this.” He gently grabbed Daimon’s hard cock. Daimon rotated his hips and purred in pleasure. “Don’t stop. God that feels good.” “I want you to know I respected you for doing what you had too to succeed. You have a fire in you I recognized in myself. I planned to use every dirty trick I knew to keep you, you know.” “I turned out a lot easier than you thought, huh?” “Not easier. You know what you desired and you took it. Just as I am going to take from you now.” Jefferson’s lips slatted down over his. His tongue slipped between the fleshy seams, delving deep and hot into Daimon’s mouth. He let his tongue work its magic over and over again, changing the angle of his lips, creating fiery sparks of passion that always flowed unchecked between them.

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Pulling back, Jefferson whispered hoarsely into his mouth, “Thank you for being in my life. Here’s to the future of Bartelburns Casino. Without your expertise in security, I couldn’t have done it.” “Stop talking and kiss me,” Daimon growled. Jefferson did just that, kissing him with a fervor that detonated his senses. Daimon groaned into the kiss, swallowing his emotions down, giving over everything he had to the man he loved. A man he greatly respected and who meant everything to him. Their passions consuming them as their kiss burned beyond the point of scalding hot.

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THE END WWW.SKYLARSINCLAIR.COM

By Skylar Sinclair

REARING HEAT by Skylar Sinclair [Paranormal/ Shape-shifter] Nothing is sexier than horseplay when it involves shifters and unbridled passion. Take one golden filly and a black stud and you have Rearing Heat! "A passionate romance story filled with sizzling hot and creative sex. Silver Star Award"—Just Erotic Romance Reviews, "Ms. Sinclair certainly knows how to heat up a chilled room. 5 Roses" —My Book Cravings, "Not only were the human couplings torrid but in their shape-shifter form they were equally sensual and realistically erotic." — ParaNormalRomance

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