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EXCERPT:
Wyatt stood naked in the middle of the elegant living room. Facing away from the door, he clasped his hands behind his back and aligned his feet with his shoulders in the present position.
The door clicked open and he stilled. He stared down at his feet, as Rafael walked past him into the bedroom. A few moments later, he returned. Wyatt followed his progress without lifting his head. His white shirt was unbuttoned, his feet bare. He hungered to taste the alluring strip of warm brown skin revealed by the open shirt.
Rafael began a slow circle around Wyatt, crowding into his personal space. Damn, he smells good.
His scent—cinnamon and sandalwood. Achingly familiar. Wyatt fought the urge to fidget during the inspection, cataloguing his imperfections like his “farmer’s tan,” his face and arms bronzed by the sun, the rest of him pale. He bore scars from years of ranching, including a long, jagged mark that wrapped
around his thigh—what would Rafael think of those? Hands once smooth were now rough and calloused.
Jesus, I have big feet. Size fourteen. What did he ever see in me? With all those hot young subs in the dungeon drooling over him, trying to catch his attention, why me?
At a sharp sting across his left butt cheek, he flinched in surprise.
“Do not question your appeal. You are stunning. A real man.”
The words cleared his head and bolstered his confidence. “Sorry, Sir.”
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Wyatt stood naked in the middle of the elegant living room. Facing away from the door, he clasped his hands behind his back and aligned his feet with his shoulders in the present position.
The door clicked open and he stilled. He stared down at his feet, as Rafael walked past him into the bedroom. A few moments later, he returned. Wyatt followed his progress without lifting his head. His white shirt was unbuttoned, his feet bare. He hungered to taste the alluring strip of warm brown skin revealed by the open shirt.
Rafael began a slow circle around Wyatt, crowding into his personal space. Damn, he smells good.
His scent—cinnamon and sandalwood. Achingly familiar. Wyatt fought the urge to fidget during the inspection, cataloguing his imperfections like his “farmer’s tan,” his face and arms bronzed by the sun, the rest of him pale. He bore scars from years of ranching, including a long, jagged mark that wrapped
around his thigh—what would Rafael think of those? Hands once smooth were now rough and calloused.
Jesus, I have big feet. Size fourteen. What did he ever see in me? With all those hot young subs in the dungeon drooling over him, trying to catch his attention, why me?
At a sharp sting across his left butt cheek, he flinched in surprise.
“Do not question your appeal. You are stunning. A real man.”
The words cleared his head and bolstered his confidence. “Sorry, Sir.”
CLICK BELOW TO VISIT THE OTHER AUTHORS
