STORY EXCERPT

“First time?”

Ricky Chambers smiled at the older man in the faded ball cap and weeks’ worth of salt and pepper stubble, which complemented his chiseled features.

“That obvious?” he asked. His voice was just loud enough to be heard over the bumping bass of the house music that had lured the rest of the club’s barely legal patrons out onto the thriving dance floor in the next room.

The statuesque stranger nodded down at the Sunshine State logo stretched across Ricky’s T-shirt, orange and yellow—his school colors. “Most regulars don’t wear college tees out to the club.”

Ricky blushed, though one could hardly tell in the erotic smoky purple-and-green-neon haze of Eclipse, the only gay bar within fifty miles of his hometown of Citrus Bay, Florida. “Sorry, I came straight from finals this afternoon, so…”

The silver fox in the gray hoodie beamed as if Ricky had just uttered some secret code word. “Ooooh, college boy, huh?”

“Junior year,” Ricky rushed to explain. He winced in advance, already breaking the few ground rules he’d created for himself on the three-hour drive home from college. Namely, no personal details beyond the most basic, such as he was a male person of indiscriminate age and of human origin. Still, he was eager to prove he belonged there, was legal, could buy a drink, and everything else that might appeal to a middle-aged hottie like the sleek, sexy stranger leaning against the dimly lit wall by his table.

“Funny,” mused Silver Fox from slightly above, standing at the corner of the bar where Ricky had wedged himself earlier in the evening. “You look more like a freshman.” He nodded at the drink in front of Ricky, a mostly untouched fruity concoction he’d ordered simply because there was a picture of it on the bar and he was too nervous to bug the aloof bartender about the nightly specials. “I bet they ID’d the hell out of you when you ordered that monstrosity.”

“Not really.” Ricky frowned. “The bartender barely looked up at me.”

Silver Fox glanced over Ricky’s shoulder at the bartender in question. “Who, Jerome? He’s just like that.”

“Like what? Rude and dismissive?” Ricky couldn’t help huffing. He knew he wasn’t the juiciest piece of ass in the club, but a cute enough young guy with a deer-in-headlights look on his face? Ricky had hoped he’d get more of a response than a grunt and a boat drink out of the exchange.

Silver Fox didn’t seem to mind. “He might call it playing hard to get but, yeah, nailed it.”

“Hope he’s not a friend of yours?”

“Jerome? A friend of mine?” Silver Fox glanced toward the dance floor, where young, thin, sexy bodies writhed beneath an explosion of moonbeams overhead. “They’re more his type, obviously.”

Ricky followed his gaze to the dance floor and the shirtless young men covered in glitter and light, shimmering chest to chest and groin to groin, confident and beautiful and free in ways Ricky would never be.

Obviously.

“No wonder he ignored me.” Ricky sighed, glancing back at the sexy stranger in the indiscriminate outfit that made him look both anonymous and irresistible.

“Rule number one, kid,” Silver Fox murmured, sinking into the barstool across from him without being asked. “Never hit on the bartender your first night in the club.”

“I’m not a kid,” Ricky insisted, sounding exactly like one as he huffed and pouted and stirred his fruity drink. “But…thanks?”

Silver Fox extended a hand. Long fingers. Manicured nails. Expensive watch glistening in the neon lights above them, all of these things at odds with his carefully curated undercover-FBI-agent aesthetic. “If you don’t want to be called kid, kid, then…we can introduce ourselves?”

Ricky took the hand, enjoying the stranger’s firm, masculine grip and giving it back just as forcefully. “I’m Scott,” he lied. Through his teeth. Straight-faced. Just the way he’d practiced using his fake name a dozen times or more on the way to Eclipse that night. “And you are?”

“Frank,” the sexy stranger blurted out, avoiding Ricky’s eyes so obviously he might have just dropped something on the floor. “You can call me…Frank.”

“Frank.” Ricky rolled the name around on his tongue. The fake name seemed just as bland and generic as the stranger’s undercover-FBI-agent wardrobe: ballcap pulled low over his brow, hoodie zipped up tight, not a thing to indicate who he was or what he did, or, for that matter, what he might look like underneath. “Is that…your real name?”

“Is Scott yours?” Frank teased. His outfit might have hidden most of his features, but Fake Frank couldn’t hide his mile-a-minute wit and stronger-than-steel sarcasm.

Ricky dug both.

Obviously.

“Does it matter?” Ricky blurted out.

Frank grinned, a soft, serenely confident shimmer in his eye. “Not tonight, I suppose.”

Ricky gulped. “I just…”

“It’s okay.” Frank sighed, as if tired of the charade himself. “I didn’t drive thirty miles just to hand over my driver’s license and stock portfolio full of personal information, you know?”

Ricky merely nodded, reaching for his drink before stopping himself. He didn’t need it anymore. The mere act of talking to a sexy stranger, in a club throbbing with light and shadows, music and sweat, was far more thrilling than mere alcohol. “So what did you drive thirty miles to do, Frank?”

Frank chuckled, breaking his buttoned-up, unflustered, no nonsense attitude for the first time since he’d sauntered over to Ricky’s end of the bar moments earlier. “Good question,” he murmured after a hearty chuckle. “Why did you?”

Ricky rolled his eyes. “You tell me yours,” he murmured, wriggling in his seat as anticipation gurgled in his long overdue loins. “And I’ll tell you mine.”

Frank snorted, a slight gleam sizzling in the glint of his eyes beneath the brim of his ball cap. “Cheeky fucker.”

“Not usually,” Ricky admitted with a crooked grin. He nodded toward the dance floor full of bodies that seemed to be writhing in time, like a wave of sleek, smooth, sexy flesh. “But when in Rome, right?”

Frank glanced at the throbbing dancers before promptly ignoring them. “Is this your first time?” he asked, struggling to be heard over the house music. “Not here, per se, but in a club like this?”

Ricky nodded. “I didn’t really need the distraction back at school,” he confessed. “Stay out late enough, and hang around in the right places, and every club could be a gay club, you know?”

“And here?” Fake Frank pressed. “You needed a distraction because…?”

“Back at school, everyone’s just like me?”

“What?” Frank teased. “Sex on a stick?”

“Stop,” Ricky murmured, glancing down at his faded blue jeans and grungy sneakers. He felt more than underdressed. He felt utterly, absolutely out of place.

“Sorry, too much?”

“No, it’s just…I’m not used to talking to men, you know?”

ADULT EXCERPT

“Why?” Ricky teased, wriggling the slacks off Fake Frank’s hips and down his long, athletic legs. They were vaguely hairy, making Ricky drool to think what his pubic thatch might look like, bushy and manly around the base of his—probably—thick, girthy cock. “Your friend here seems to like the new me.”

As if on cue, Ricky watched the cock in question leap and dance beneath the fingertips he feathered up the length of the obvious shaft, pressed tight against the thin, almost sheer material of Fake Frank’s stylish, like the rest of his outfit, briefs.

“Fuck, baby, that’s…Jesus.”

Ricky’s fingers trailed the underbelly of his lover’s shaft until they stopped at the quarter-size stain of precum dotting the material just beneath the waistband “How long’s it been, baby?” Ricky teased, doubling down on Fake Frank’s term of endearment. After all, it was way better than kid.

“Too long,” the silver fox in question groaned, pressing his straining cock into Ricky’s all-too-eager grip. It was firm and fleshy and, at six inches or less, just the right size for an admitted novice like himself. “Jesus, baby, that’s…unh!”

Ricky dragged the briefs down, his lover’s cock springing forth in all its thick, veiny glory. While his left hand dragged the briefs lower, then lower still, Ricky’s right hand gripped the shaft unceremoniously, too eager to feel the thick, fleshy heat to resist.

“Here,” he murmured, dragging Fake Frank over to the closest bed.

“Jesus, the door?”

“Fine.” Ricky chuckled as he tossed Fake Frank onto the edge of the bed. “I’ll shut it just so…”

He kicked at the door with his foot, swinging it gently over until just a crack in the seam remained. Fake Frank sat at the edge of the bed, pants around his ankles, torso bare and gleaming in the dim light from the bathroom. He moved to take it off, but Ricky stopped him with an almost commanding, “No!”

“No?”

“I mean it’s kind of sexier this way,” Ricky insisted, sinking to his knees between his lover’s thighs. “You, too horny to get all the way undressed. and me, taking care of that hog between your legs before we can even catch our breath.”

Fake Frank peered back at him, a hand on either side of his hips as he sat at the very edge of the bed. “And you? Too busy to take off so much as a sock?”

“It can be sexy this way, too,” Ricky insisted, hands slithering up his lover’s thighs inch by inch. “Me all dressed, servicing my sexy, older lover.”

Fake Frank guffawed, heartily. So heartily his perfect little cock danced atop his firm, flat belly, smearing precum like icing across his gently defined, gym-toned abs. “Does that…turn you on? Older men, I mean?”

“I never really thought about it until I met you, Frank,” Ricky admitted to them both at the same time. “I wasn’t looking for it, but now that I’ve found it? Found you? Yeah, it actually does.”

His lover nodded, licking his lips and swallowing audibly in the dead quiet room. Ricky admired the stranger’s chiseled physique, clearly honed by regular visits to the gym.

“And you?” he asked as one hand gently inched toward that girthy shaft, riddled with veins that glistened in the bathroom light, each one a separate road map to horny, private bliss. “Do I? Turn you on?”

“Fuck!” Fake Frank spat as Ricky took him in hand at last. “A sexy college boy between my legs? His pretty hand all over my hard cock? This is so fucking good I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, actually.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, baby,” Ricky murmured, the velvet heft of his lover’s shaft wet and pliant in his tender grip. “Just sit back and let me jerk you off.”

Fake Frank grunted once more, doing just that and gently thrusting as Ricky stroked him as luxuriously as he saw fit. His lover watched with eager eyes, biting his lower lip as if not to embarrass himself with the lusty sounds that threatened to emerge. He needn’t have worried. His perfect cock did the talking for him, throbbing and leaking, thrusting and quivering as Ricky kept his languidly teasing pace as a constant. He knew from experience how to make things last, to please his lover best by teasing him the longest.

“You sure just hands is okay?” Ricky teased even as Fake Frank began to writhe and squirm atop the squeaking mattress beneath him, pants pinning his ankles together and limiting his range of motion in a most delightful way. “My mouth is right here.”