Uninvited Love

Dark Captive: Manlove was a best-seller on Amazon in the LGBT Anthology Category and also an ARe best-seller.

Get it here from Evernight

Or here on Amazon

My story in Dark Captive is “Uninvited Love”

Sal Hughes, a college student and occasional prostitute who’s “between homes”, just wants enough cash to buy a pack of cigarettes and a latte. When he meets a new client, the man’s raw sex-appeal and aggression tempt Sal to break his own rules. Just being close to Vade Chadrah threatens Sal’s hard-earned independence and now if Sal can’t escape, he’ll lose himself completely in the other man’s desire.

Selection from “Uninvited Love”

Big Spender’s cock slipped slowly past his lips as Sal’s face tilted up. The man’s panting breath clouded the air. “I want to take you to my house.”
The standard script ran, “You can’t afford me,” but Sal had never seen a hundred dollars so effortlessly change hands. So he repeated. “I only give head.”
“How much?”
Sal had boundaries, limits to what he would do for cash. “No.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like to be told “no” but he wouldn’t stop now not in the middle of a blow job. “Go on.”
Sal obeyed. He left the finesse and swallowed Big Spender’s cock. He bobbed and sucked as deep and fast as he could. Until the man groaned with lust and gloved fingers tightened in Sal’s hair.
Big Spender jerked him closer and pumped his hips forward. Sal gripped the man’s thighs to steady himself as the man fucked his face—beg his pardon, irummated. He kept his lips tight and his throat hollow, but generally kept out of the man’s way.
Cum flooded his mouth, spicier than most. Sal swallowed, breathless when the deluge stopped.
Big Spender wasn’t so solemn now. “I want to take you home.”
His insistence thrilled and frightened Sal. Most of the men who wandered down here couldn’t compare to Big Spender’s appeal. Nice face, great body, and that intensity was a turn-on.
Sal had never been so tempted to break his rule.
“Sorry. I only give head.” Tempted, not convinced.
Big Spender zipped up and fixed his coat. When Sal stood and rubbed the grit from his knees, the man extended a personal business card. His name—Vade Chadrah—and his cell number.
“For when you change your mind.”
Later that night, sitting in the shelter, with his hands around a cardboard cup and a fresh pack of cigarettes in his jacket, Sal stared at the card. Not even “if” but “when.”

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