"Gotta admit, I had my doubts about you when I saw the pink bubble bath." Dan squirted pastel gel into the ramie mitt and slid it over my shoulders. Scented steam rose from the granite floor of the large shower stall.
"Mm. That feels good." I bent my head, and he smoothed the mitt down the nape of my neck. "It's not bubble bath. It's shampoo slash shower gel. There's a difference."
"You'd know. I've never seen so many grooming aids in one bathroom." The rough cotton felt good on my wet skin, and Dan applied just the right amount of pressure. I relaxed--only recognizing at that moment how wound up I'd been.
"Tools of the trade," I informed him. "I'm a commodity. I'm in business, and I am my product."
"That attitude and a pair of tight jeans will get you arrested on Hollywood Boulevard."
"They tell me attitude is everything."
He pulled me back against his wet, hard body. I arched my neck for his kiss and his mouth closed on mine, warm and male, and with a hint of the tart-sweetness of crabapple. Our tongues slid together, twined. My heart started that heavy slow beat that matched the throb in my groin.
"You are so beautiful..."
"I bet you say that to all th--" His hands slid over my slick body, flicking my nipples. I moaned into his mouth, words failing me. If felt so good. Everything he did felt good. He never made a wrong move; that was the advantage of having so much experience. Of course, that kind of expertise was a little intimidating sometimes.
Putting my hands over his, I held them against my chest. He palmed the nipples, back and forth, just the right amount of teasing abrasion.
I turned to face him--wrapped my arms around him.
Smoothing the mitt over my ass, Dan gave one cheek a playful squeeze before sweeping the mitt up my spine. My dick came up like a divining rod, nudging his already hard thickness. Heart pounding, I pressed against him, wanting more, wanting closer. I was surprised the shower drops didn't sizzle on my skin; I was so hot for him. Dan shook off the mitt and his hands closed on my ass, urging me closer. I groaned, feeling for his cock.
"Yeah, Sean, just like that," he muttered.
His fingers slid down the crevice between my butt cheeks, intimate and familiar, finding the mouth of the secret passage. He delicately circled my opening, then slipped the tip of one finger inside: a sweet and slow piercing. I caught my breath.
Just a fingertip, like the press of a button--a button I badly wanted him to push. That weird clawing ache started in my belly. I made a sound in the back of my throat; even I wasn't sure what I meant.
Dan's kiss gentled. He kissed the underside of my jaw, his finger simply holding its place, like a book he meant to read later.
Let go, I instructed myself, impatiently. What the hell is the hold up? You want him. He wants you. Act, if you have to.
Act like ... a porn star.
I found his mouth, kissed him back hard, surging up against him. I could feel his surprise. His mouth covered mine hungrily. He pushed his finger into me deeply; I started, my foot slipping out from under me in the sudsy warm water.
)
Paul Hammond is dead. That's what tough and sexy LAPD Detective Daniel Moran tells his lover, Hollywood actor Sean Fairchild--and Sean wants to believe him, but what about those threatening postcards in Hammond's handwriting? The last thing Sean needs is someone doubting him. But then, what does Sean really know about his new boyfriend? Dan is a dark horse--and maybe Sean is betting too much on this relationship. He can't afford to take foolish chances. It not just Sean's career at stake or his relationship or even his sanity--it's his life. [Publisher's note: this book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: m/m homoerotic sex practices.]
