CAUTION: Male/Male Scene Ahead (male/male – PG 13)
This is from Faking Perfection, coming out through DreamSpinner Press. Garth is a Priest and this book will be the first in the Men of the Cloth series.
The man held Garth’s face, a solid warm palm on either side. His fingers touched the top whirls of his ears. His thumb stroked Garth’s bottom lip. Shadows hid the man’s face dipping his eye sockets, jaw, throat into blackness where the planes were merely lit to charcoal gray obscurity. No features, no facial landmarks to distinguish this man from any of the other guests.
Garth knew what was coming. It was impossible not to as preciously as he was held and as rigid as the anonymous cock was which insistently pressed his. He knew he should pull away, yet curling his fingers through the man’s empty belt loops came far too naturally.
It was hot, forbidden to acknowledge and accept the invasion of tall, lean muscle into his space, to feel the way the man had difficulty catching his breath and the quick thrum of his heart when their chests met.
Garth dragged his hands up the man’s sides, enjoyed the firm ridges of honed flesh through thin cotton, the hills and valleys of ribcage, and the strangled groan his touch elicited in another human being. It had been so long since he’d been touched. It was the only rationalization Garth latched on to, his explanation for why he didn’t pull away.
He was going to hell, for sure.
The man wasted no time, sweeping his head down until his hair brushed Garth’s forehead. It should have prepared him, yet there existed no preparation for the tangled sensations of male lips and Garth’s guilty pleasure at being tasted in the darkness. He humored himself with pretending he hadn’t sought the kiss, that he hadn’t encouraged it until it was brought upon him under the cover of night. The truth beat at the door of his conscience, calling him out for a liar.
Garth wanted this kiss.
The man must have felt his initial hesitation, because he pulled back to allow Garth room, perhaps. The cooler night air touching Garth’s fevered, moist lips proved too much of a loss for him to ignore. With a guttural groan of his own, he pulled the man back, lifted his face to him and committed an irreversible moment to tactile memory.
A familiar face flashed behind Garth’s eyelids as he imagined that man and this, joined into the one who was kissing him. And that was the truth of his fall from grace. If it could be anyone, he’d want that man. Imagination spurred his desire and desire to action.
He slid his hands over the man’s chest, curled them into his shoulders, traced his throat with curious fingers, and finally clasped him closer still with hands on either side of his face in a mirrored, urgent embrace.
“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” the man whispered against Garth’s lips.
Questions stumbled through his mind. None found a voice. He’d assumed he’d been mistaken for someone else. But this man suggested he’d known who Garth was and had sought him out for the brief encounter.
Dread seeped around the edges of bliss. Knowing who he was, and kissing him anyway, meant there would always be someone who knew he’d slipped up. Yet Garth didn’t want the moment to end and there wouldn’t be another like it. He knew for a fact this experience was singular, because he couldn’t let it happen again.
Warm lips slid across his. If he’d be condemned, then he’d make the most of this moment. Temptation scattered his fears to the night. Garth parted his mouth, daring to touch the tip of his tongue to the other man’s. His quest met the hard edge of teeth and the man chuckled. Garth retreated, chagrined for trying to take too much when the kiss he’d been offered gave flight to a lifetime of fantasies he’d never pursue.
“Don’t you dare chicken out on me, now,” the man whispered, gruffly.
His fingers cradled the back of Garth’s head as he kissed in earnest. There was no escaping the forceful molding of his lips or the thrust of the man’s tongue as he penetrated Garth’s mouth with seductive purpose.
Garth’s knees went weak. Trying to regain his balance, he changed his hold to clasp the man’s shoulders. His world spun. Even closing his eyes didn’t keep the spinning sensation at bay. He wanted. Oh God, he wanted.
The kiss ended and his shadowed seducer pressed his cheek against Garth’s. “I meant to take that slower. Forgive me?”
Hysterical laughter stuttered from Garth’s chest. Forgiveness? How could the fallen offer forgiveness to anyone? Forgiveness? How could Garth ask for forgiveness when he had no illusion that he didn’t want this? There was no forgiveness without repentance and with sick dread Garth realized he’d never repent. Repentance meant moving on and this stranger, wearing another man’s image in Garth’s mind, had effectively captured him for the rest of time.
Hell would welcome him with open arms.
That was Naughty….You can find Mia Watts other works below.