Tag Archives: Blue-collar

Little Favor – by @Adira_August #MMROMANCE #EROTICA #BDSM #Hunt&Cam4EverSeries #ExclusiveRelease #Interview #MikeMerisi #Rafflecopter #ShortStory

INTERVIEW: Mike Merisi from Dancing Men – Hunt&Cam4Ever Series.

OJ: Hi Mike, welcome to OJ He Say! Thanks for stopping by for a bit.
Mike: That’s okay. Beats proofreading an operations manual.
OJ: I’m so happy for you about Little Favor. It’s awesome when someone finds ‘the other’. Tell me, what first drew you to Cal. I mean, obviously his looks and personality, but did you see something special that rang your bells?
Mike: Dane said these could get personal. … Uh … I guess it was how he handled it all. Those construction guys are big. Tough. But they all respect Cal. Cal is the most together dude I ever met. I guess smart and practical are sexy to me.
OJ: Have you heard from your ex, Kenneth? It sounds as if he could have been a problem.
Mike: Nah. He hooked up with another kid. Metro State freshman, if I remember. He turns 30 this year. I’m expecting a breakdown.
OJ: In Little Favor we find out how you came to get your appointment to the Denver Police and that you’d wanted this all your life. Care to tell us why police?
Mike: The challenge. Always changing, never know what you’re going to do at work. Same kind of call, way different actions. To be good at it, it demands everything, all the time.
You get to fuck with bullies and you’re supposed to. Make cases work in court. Screw over defense attorneys. I miss the street already and it’s only been a month. But working with Dane and everybody… amazing. I learned so much, already. Jesus, Camden goddamned Snow? You don’t get to see him ski, here, do you? Never watched him own a whole mountain. Smart son of a bitch, sweet as cajeta. [shrugs] I don’t know if they’ll even keep the unit together for long.
OJ: So, where did you learn your Spanish?
Mike: At home, like most people. We’re Spanish, Basque, on my mom’s side. Jasone de Arraioz. They came with Juan de Oñate in the 1500s. My ancestors traded all up and down the Front Range with the Navajo, Zuni. [grins] Tried to make ‘em all Catholic. Mom met my dad in high school; it was like Tony and Maria the way Papa tells it. The Sharks and the Jets, only nobody died.
OJ: I must admit, after reading Little Favor I really enjoyed your ‘moments’ with Cal, so incredibly hot! Tell us, what is it that he brings out in you? What’s that ‘spark’?
Mike: You should talk to Cal. The only way I let August write about it is that no one would read it where we live. The whole story is about the spark.
OJ: You know, you were his first, ever. Did it worry you, or…?
Mike: At the time, I thought about it. Like that day after I left, I mean. You know, it was my first time, too, in a way. Cal always knew exactly what he wanted, he just never thought he’d get it. I found out what I wanted right there. With him.
I kinda shocked myself. And then I promised … well… you know, you read the story. I was a kid last time I did that and it was only a couple times and, you know how there’s all the awkward slipping around and … Anyway … I had to … not get so carried away, so he’d be okay. So, yeah, I thought about it. But after that night—man, he was amazing—I never worried at all.
OJ: Sounds like he always wanted to have what you always wanted give.
Mike: I guess. For me, Cal was yes in a world of no.
OJ: Well, thanks so much for stopping by. I must admit that I’ve wanted to meet the young, quiet, sharp Mike Merisi ever since I met him in Dancing Men. And now, on to Little Favor.

Little Favor
written by
Adira August
Featuring a character from the
Hunter Dane Investigation novels
Matchstick Men and
Dancing Men.

Copyright © 2017 Adira August
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents
are either wholly sprung from the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously.

GET READY …

“How is it when I say ‘Go away and don’t come back,’ you hear ‘Come on over and shove your dick up my ass’?”
Mike Merisi buttoned his top button and watched himself tie his tie in the dresser mirror. He needed a haircut. Maybe if he got out of here in a few minutes …
“There’s no reason to be hostile, I simply said we could try again.” The voice came from the cell Mike had set on the dresser top.
“And why,” Mike muttered as he slid the knot home, “Did I put my phone on speaker instead of mute?”
“I can hear you.”
“It was a good run. Almost two years. It’s over. Let go,” Mike told his former lover, loading his pockets from the dresser top. “We can remain … pleasant to each other.”
“I have feelings, Michael. I’m not ready to let go.”
Mike shrugged into his coat. Car keys. Breath mints. Check.
“It’s Monday morning. You cruised around all weekend and couldn’t connect. You’re horny as an old man’s bunion so you called me looking for a convenient hole to fall into.”
“Michael! How can you be so crass?” Wounded outrage. A Kenneth Special.

MICHAEL ANGELO MERISI had been an inexperienced nineteen when he met Kenneth. The tall blond, twenty-five, seemed urbane and sophisticated. He took what remained of Mike’s virginity and coached him in the finer aspects of sucking cock, choosing wine and knowing what to wear, and where to wear it.
But Mike was always the thrustee, never allowed to satisfy his growing need to push inside Kenneth’s admittedly fine ass. Mike’s vague dissatisfaction turned to resentment that hardened into an ultimatum: take it by turns or give me back my door key.
“You can’t understand, Michael, I’m a natural Dominant. I simply couldn’t.” Kenneth started the Keurig and selected a flavor enhancer.
“Manipulative, self-centered and anal-retentive do not a Dominant make,” Mike had informed him, arms crossed over his chest.
Watching Kenneth measure a precise amount of hazelnut-mocha into his cup, Mike knew he did not want Kenneth to give a huge sigh and say “fine.” In fact, Mike didn’t want Kenneth at all.
It wasn’t that Mike believed himself such a catch; he was the most average guy he knew. His northern Italian heritage didn’t leave him with the smoldering dark coloring of his southern cousins. His hair was a warm brown, his eyes a lighter shade of same. Medium-toned skin, his face more round than long—he did not stand out in a crowd.
Five feet, nine and a half inches of average build. Though he’d begun working out and his shoulders had begun to stretch his shirt. He was almost six inches when serviceably erect. Not sausage fat or pencil-dicked, just a penis that worked well. Average.
High-cheekboned Kenneth was seven inches. Six feet as well as six-packed.
Pretentious, long-suffering fussbudget.
“Leave your key on the counter,” Mike had told him, and gone to shower.

THREE WEEKS LATER, Kenneth still couldn’t seem to lose his number.
“I have to go to work,” Mike told him, grabbing his cell off the dresser. “I’m hanging up, don’t make a drama out if it.”
He dropped the cell into his inside breast pocket, grabbed his laptop case from a chair and was out the door.
Today, he had important things to do.

MIKE TOSSED HIS laptop case into the passenger seat wondering again if he was heartless. He hadn’t felt a second of hesitation hanging up on Kenneth. In fact, he felt … buoyant.
Maybe it was the working out. In the last weeks he’d had to move up a shirt size. His suit pants tightened around his thighs when he strode along. He just felt damned good.
His cell chimed as he put the key into the ignition. Mike steeled himself, but it wasn’t Kenneth.
“Nora. Let me guess, tower two collapsed and he’s running late.”
“Almost,” the lilting soprano of Cal Derricksen’s assistant came back. “Electrical inspectors. I have to push you back an hour.”
“It’s all good. I’ll grab coffee, get a haircut, and be bright-eyed and well-groomed when he’s ready for me.”
“You can be half-asleep and shaggy-haired as long as you have the competitive bid analysis for parking lots and landscaping.”
“Hang on,” Mike said. “I thought ventilation and water systems was today.”
“What! Are you shitting me?” Absolute panic.
“Yes, I am,” he said pulling out of the lot. “Gotta go, no cell allowed while driving.” He clicked off, grinning.
He really liked Nora. In her late forties, she combined the best qualities of supermom and meth-head piranha. She took care of her boss by tearing strips of flesh from anyone who failed, disappointed or opposed him.
Mike understood.
Calvin W. Derricksen was all sharp intelligence and total control. He was a human dynamo in tan side-pocket chinos and a light blue denim work shirt. His navy tie always loosened, a brushed silver tie clip held the end out of his way. A black poplin jacket hung on the back of his executive desk chair.
He wore brown leather slip-ons with white socks. A pair of scarred work boots waited near his desk. In under two minutes, he could be in them, jacket on, tie up, and out the door. His sudden exits from his office to the big construction site were common.
Cal dressed the same way every day. He said it saved time not thinking about irrelevant crap when he had so many critical things to keep track of. Like making sure a building he built didn’t fall down with the occupants inside.
But as demanding as Cal was as a site manager, as focused and no-nonsense, he ran out without bothering with boots or coat when one of his crew was injured. Cal laughed and lifted heavy loads and sometimes drank beer with his guys. That’s what he called them: “My guys.”
Once, after one of Cal’s dashes from the office, Mike spotted him a half-hour later through the window wall, leaning against an upright. He was laughing with one of the workers while standing on a girder, ten stories up.
It was hot. So was Cal’s wavy black hair, warm hazel eyes, dusky rose slash of a mouth and tight round buttcheeks. The soft fabric of his pants stretching over his ass as he reached across his drafting table’s wide, slanted top didn’t hurt, either.
Mike Merisi had a hell of a crush.

TAKING HIS COFFEE into Cut Lass, Mike relaxed in the salon’s waiting area and thumbed through a style book.
Ten minutes later, Valeria settled him at her station. Val was a blue-streaked, caramel-skinned, seriously ambitious Guatemalan import. Most of her family worked in her shop. Mike understood the struggle starting a family business. His father and Uncle Leo launched Construction Accounting Consultants from Leo’s garage. Mike did Val’s books for free and in return, she cut his hair. He was a generous tipper.
“Saw you lookin’ through the book,” she said. “Now you grinnin’ like my nephew with a fistful of wiggle worms. You get some news?”
Mike fished a business envelope from his pocket. The letter had come yesterday; the paper already softened from many rereads.
“Greetings from the City and County of Denver. Dear Mister Merisi,” she read out. “We are pleased to offer you an appointment to the position of police officer …”
Val whooped and threw her arms around his neck. “About time, man, you been after this for like, a year!”
“I start at the academy in a few weeks,” he said, unable to suppress the grin that split his face.
After civil service testing, background checking and psychological evaluationing, he’d been found fit to hold people’s lives in his hands. To be trusted with a deadly weapon and the decision to use that weapon. He and thirty others had emerged from the pack of almost two thousand who’d sat the Civil Service exam. Mike Merisi was one month from realizing his dream.
“New life, Val. I need new hair.”
“How ‘bout a low taper fade,” she asked, running her fingers through his medium length locks. “This is good. Thick. Not too big a change, but sharp.”
“Let’s go wild. How about a mid?” He took his letter back and put it safely in his breast pocket.
“You got it. You gonna be edgy. Hot. You gonna be the Man, you know? Officer Muh-ree-see.”
She helped him off with his suit coat and shook out the cutting cape.

LAPTOP CASE OVER his shoulder, Mike grabbed the clear document tube of parking lot schematics from the trunk. He took the six steps to the 12-story building’s entrance in two long strides. Cool air met warm skin where his hair was newly shorn. It felt pleasantly sensual.
Pausing in front of the doors, he yanked off his tie and shoved it into his pocket. Opened the top two buttons of his shirt.
Mike made his way through the building’s unfinished lobby, heel sounds dulled on the exposed concrete. Hammer strikes, power saw teeth on metal and men’s shouts echoed off unfinished walls.
One car was in service in the six-car elevator bay. Inside, the walls hung with protective canvas, Mike pushed twelve. The powerful upward surge of the car triggered a familiar flow of warmth, like electric pinpoints. His pants tightened at the crotch. He smiled at himself. Anticipation makes you horny.
Mike had caught subtle glances of interest across the desk from Cal Derricksen during several of their meetings. He was sure there’d been some hand on crotch dick-shifting under the desk. But he’d waited for Cal to make the first move; he was the client and a very important one. To Mike’s disappointment, Derricksen had never given him any encouragement.
Maybe he had his own Kenneth at home. But Cal’s hesitation could have to do with his stature. As much of a powerhouse as Cal Derrickson was, he couldn’t be more than 5’5.” At most. A really hot guy who probably bought his shirts in the boy’s department. That was okay with Mike.
What he intended doing with Cal, did not require height. Or a shirt.
Mike had already decided to ask him out when the job was over. But since the letter, today was the day. For the next few weeks his brother Andrew would come with him so Mike could orient him to the work and Cal. And Nora. Then Mike would be off to the police academy and Drew would take over.
If Mike was going to make a move, it had to be today. And today, he was primed for it.

CALVIN WILCOX DERRICKSEN held the phone to his ear with his right hand and the top of his head on with his left, clutching a handful of wavy dark hair. He paced in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, listening to nonsense.
Outside, a construction crane set an enormous I-beam delicately in place on the twelfth story of the building next to this one. A twin of the one he stood in.
“You can’t just drop two more stories on top, Denkler, you know how that changes the dead load? … Tell you what, call a civil engineer and get him to explain it to you. … Yeah, well, he’ll be polite.”
He tossed the phone onto his desk.
Mike Merisi was leaning against the door jamb, grinning at him. Oh, man, what’s the kid done to himself? He looked older. Harder, somehow. Hotter.
Thankfully, Cal was behind his desk, the top level with his waist. Cal Derricksen’s pants never tightened. They just rubbed the end of his willy. Irritating.
Merisi came off the door and took a couple steps toward him, eyes locked, grin fading. Willy wept.
Cal felt the old familiar tensions—of his stomach, where the anger lay. His throat, where the sadness hid.
“You want to put your shit down over there and bring me the plans?” Cal asked. Terse. He pointed to a conversation area, complete with sofa and chairs. His office was the only finished space in the building. It served as a showpiece for prospective tenants.
Merisi paused and cocked his head, as if considering Cal’s directions. Cal’s heart pounded in his ears. What if he doesn’t do it? What if he … says something?
The accounting consultant Cal called “kid” in his mind, seemed not at all kidlike standing tall and strong and calm. Mike nodded and turned away.
Hurrying out from behind his desk to the drafting table, Cal pulled himself into place on the tall chair. He always did it like this, before a visitor came in or while they were distracted. He hated anyone seeing him clamber up, like a child at the grown-ups table.
Once settled, glasses in place and willy subsided, Cal was ready. At thirty, he was one of the youngest high rise construction managers around. This was his domain. His world, his expertise. And if the crushing responsibility sometimes seemed like it would do just that, no one around him could tell.
He cleared papers from the slanted top of the drafting table. “Let’s go,”—he glanced over his shoulder—“I…”
Mike Merisi closed the office door and walked toward him.
He wasn’t carrying the tube.

GET SET …

Michael! What are you doing?
Whatever the hell I want, for once.
Cal had licked his lips when he saw Mike in the doorway. His face flushed; his eyes got big. He’d shifted his hips behind the desk.
I should have gotten this haircut a long time ago. Mike Merisi might only be twenty-one, but he knew when a guy responded to him. He’d turned his back to close the door, knowing Cal would escape to his drafting table. On the tall chair, he was close to Mike’s height.
No escape, today. Determined, Mike had started across the room and Cal had looked back. Mike fixed his gaze on Cal’s. Held him.
Jesus, I’m making him look at me. He looks turned on and … scared? Oh, man, that’s hot.
Cal’s lips parted; a pulse throbbed at the side of his neck. Every one of his responses made Mike feel taller. Denser, somehow. His cock wasn’t tingling; he was hard and hot and tight. Mike stopped thinking about what he was doing and went with it.
He halted two steps from Cal, seemingly mesmerized by Mike’s hand pushing under his own waistband. Cal’s eyes followed as Mike adjusted himself, lingering a second for one hard squeeze.
“Oh, God,” Cal breathed. He didn’t look away until Mike took his hand out and placed it flat on the tilted top of the drafting table. He put the other hand on the back of Cal’s chair.
Cal’s eyes darted around, from Mike’s hands, to the door, to the window. Back to the almost vertical ridgeline next to Mike’s zipper. Anywhere but on Mike’s face.
“Look at me, Cal.”
The little man made a high sound in his throat and Mike’s gut clenched and heated. He swivelled the chair Cal perched on, so the site manager faced him.
Cal looked up. And Mike Merisi knew then what Cal wanted. His obedience wouldn’t surprise Mike again. “Are you with anyone?” His voice was hoarse.
Cal shook his head. He wriggled slightly in the chair.
“Hold still.” Mike only had to lean forward to be between Cal’s knees. He stared pointedly at Cal’s crotch.
A small dark spot. “You’re wet for me,” he said. It was what straight guys said to girls, but he knew, somehow, it would excite Cal, who choked on an intake of breath. Yes.
“Nor- Nora might come in,” Cal said.
Mike smirked, still looking between Cal’s legs. “She might. Probably will.” Oddly, he didn’t see a bulge. But the spot was unmistakable. He caught Cal’s eyes again. “I don’t think she’ll stay long.”
“Goddammit it,” Cal said softly, shifting in the chair. Mike’s cock jerked. He reached out to cover Cal’s erection with his palm, to squeeze and knead and-
“No!” Cal shoved back from the table, twisting, and almost toppled over. “Stop it, leave me a—”
Mike’s tongue obliterated the rest of the word. He held Cal by a fist in his hair, tilting his head back. A light dusting of stubble grazed his fingertips, digging in above Cal’s jaw, keeping his mouth open.
But Mike didn’t ravage him; he probed. Tasting, feeling. Finally.
A small hot tongue, tentative, stroked back along Mike’s. He held Cal’s face between his hands, thumbs sliding along lips, tips dipping into the dark, wet warmth.
Cal trembled and moaned and clutched at Mike’s sleeve, pulling instead of pushing away. For a few seconds. Then he put two hands flat on Mike’s chest and pushed. Hard.
“Time out,” he said. It wasn’t a request.
Mike pulled back, but not away. “Nora went to the printer’s and then to lunch. The door’s locked.” He smiled. “I had planned to say – something – you know. But … you are so goddamned sexy.”
Cal shook his head and blew out a breath. He had his hands over his crotch.
“It can’t just …. happen,” Cal said. “There’re things to discuss.”
“I know. I have stuff in my bag. Condoms.” He didn’t mention the lube or the wipes. “But I couldn’t wait to touch you.” He slid a palm over Cal’s upper arm, well-muscled from years of working around construction sites.
“Conversation,” Cal said firmly, pushing Mike’s hand back toward him. “A lot of conversation. There are things for you to know.”
What would he have to know that took so much talking? Mike considered. Cal was small for a man, but well-proportioned. He couldn’t be …
“Cal, are you trans?”
Cal shook his head, turning the chair away. He moved to his desk, motioning Mike toward the visitor’s chair. “Please,” he said.
Mike complied as thoughts of HIV and genital warts flashed through his mind.
Cal sat with his elbows on the desktop, hands clasped. It felt for all the world like Mike was in front of the teacher’s desk about to be lectured on getting his homework in on time.
“In terms of … endowment,” Cal began. “Nature has shown me little favor.”
Endowment. Little favor?
….. Oh. “Okay. Is there more or is that what I had to know?
Cal blew out a breath. “I don’t think you understand how … unfavored I am.”
“I’ll find out for myself, shortly,” Mike smirked. He cocked his head. “What’s your position on anal?”
Cal started. “I haven’t—I haven’t had much experience.”
“Much?”
“Any.”
“I’ll change that.” Mike’s wilted cock perked up when the flush revisited Cal’s cheeks and his eyes widened. “I was thinking I’d top. You good with that?”
Cal licked his lips. He was good with it. “Now?” His voice was thick. Yes.
Mike stood up. “We’ll see. First”—he moved around the desk behind Cal, hands flat on the desktop next to his elbows, lips brushing Cal’s ear—“I’m going to touch you.”
He was rewarded with a low moan. “Stand up, you’re in my seat.”
Mike grabbed the arms of the chair and pulled it slowly back from the desk. Looking down, he saw the tiny wet spot on Cal’s pants had been joined by a short streak. Not a larger spot. A streak. As if his leaking slit was dragged across the inside of his pants.
Very little favor, then.
Cal didn’t stand up. But he didn’t refuse.

THIS WON’T WORK, you know that.
Cal Derricksen fought to regain his equilibrium. His few forays into sexual congress had not ended well. While Cal hadn’t experienced deliberate cruelty since high school, the looks, the embarrassed for him but polite excuses, were somehow worse.
Pity was worse.
And he really liked Mike Merisi. Sweet, smart, shrewd. A hell of a work ethic. He smelled good. He dressed professionally, he usually unbuttoned his collar. It was the notch, the shadow, the faint sprinkle of hair that promised more. His fine hands and dry humor.
“What’s your position on anal?”
Cal wanted to chuckle at the wordplay, but his pain was too acute, knowing it would never happen. And he’d never suspected the streak of dominance. It undid him. Toppled his wall of sensible reserve.
Damn it. Godfuckingdammit all to hell.
His father says he’s leaving. That’s why he’s doing this. It’s the last time. Get it over with. Make sure you get the schematics and figures before he walks out.
Cal Derricksen stood up.
He felt Mike slide into the seat behind him. His chair was set at maximum height, of course. When Mike spread his legs and rolled the chair up to the back of Cal’s legs, his knees pressed firmly into Cal’s hips on either side.
Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, warm breath moved over his ear. “Shoes off.” Cal shivered and his insides clenched.
He toed off his loafers, kicking them further into the well of the desk. Mike leaned into him and he felt the expansion of Mike’s chest against his back with every intake of breath.
He feels wonderful. Tears pricked at his eyes at the imminent loss of the strength and comfort of another man’s body against his own.
“Jesus you feel good,” Mike breathed, hands gliding over Cal’s chest and abdomen. He opened Cal’s belt and pants, pulling him closer. Mike’s right hand slid down, over Cal’s plain white jockeys. His left, flat on Cal’s stomach, kept him close, a sweet restraint.
Cal felt a tear track down his face. Mike’s fingers found his three-and-a-quarter inches poking out a stretched leg hole. Felt him, seeking the rest. There was no “rest.” The fingers tightened around him. His willy felt like it would split open. His chest felt empty. Dead.
“Jesus, Cal,” Mike said, a bit of wonder in his low, tight voice.
Here it comes …
“You could etch glass with this thing. Or melt it.”
What?
Then there were only Mike’s hands, sliding under, tearing his pants off, lifting turning. Mike stood and laid Cal on his back on the desk, pushing his thighs apart, staring down between his legs.
“You’re perfect.”

MOVING HIS PALMS over Cal’s strong thighs and onto his abdomen, Mike kept his eyes on the small, succulent prize. The shiny red glans sat on a solid stalk of turgid flesh, a narrow vein snaking along briefly to dive underneath. Cal’s sac was compact and dark red, the mounds of his balls offset. It was all in proportion, framed by a halo of dark curls.
“Perfect,” Mike said again, hands moving to each side, and down, he laid his thumbs on each side of the thickened root. Dear God, what I could do.
Reaching down, he lifted Cal’s legs. “Feet on the edge of the desk.” Cal complied; Mike opened his knees. “Give me your wrists.”
Mike extended his hands along the outsides of Cal’s thighs and manacled each wrist with his fingers. He pulled Cal toward him, shins pressing into Mike’s biceps, his perfect package inches from Mike’s mouth.
“I’m going to suck you off. Right here. Now.” Mike tried to sound controlled, but his urgent need to ravage this man tightened his throat and the words came out a growl.
Cal’s deep brown eyes grew larger. “Why?”
Mike surged up and over, hands over hands, holding them down next to Cal’s head. Body over body, driving him into the surface of the desk. He loomed over the man beneath him and glared fiercely into his face.
“Because I want you more than I ever wanted anyone. Because I’m going to make you feel so good you’ll fight to get away from the pleasure and need to come so bad you’ll feel like you’ll lose your mind if you don’t. And I’ll love the way you’ll struggle and plead. And because you want me to, little man. You want me to, don’t you?”
Cal’s head moved in a bare nod of acquiescence.
“Say it,” Mike snapped.
Cal shuddered and moaned. “I want you to,” Cal whispered, eyes bright with humiliation and need.
For a nanosecond Mike wondered at himself. But he knew with more certainty every second, at every response. Like coming home to a place he hadn’t known he missed. He was the one who gave and withheld, drove and shattered.
He was the one who owned.
“Don’t move.”
Mike undid himself and brought his aching length out into the air. He wrapped both hands around, the head disappearing and squeezed. Wait. Wait until you’re in his mouth. Precum gushed through his fingers at the thought.
Mike knew he could come in a couple strokes at the sight of Cal laid out before him. Legs still drawn up, knees open, shaft tight back in the thatch of hair. Stomach fluttering with each ragged breath in anticipation of Mike’s touch.
And just above the desk edge, a tight pink star beckoned.
“Oh, fuck yeah,” he whispered. He tucked himself inside his boxers, finding a dry spot.
Taking Cal’s wrists firmly in hand, Mike Merisi lowered his head.

GO!

Cal’s three-and-a-quarter inches of stiff, searing flesh fit completely inside Mike Merisi’s mouth. It startled him and thrilled him—oh, what he would be able to do with his tongue to this straining, fiery stalk.
Mike pressed upward with the rougher back of his tongue and stroked the frenulum and delta, over and over. The cock in his mouth leaked and Cal cried out some garbled version of “Oh my God.”
Jesus, I might come on myself. Sucking off Call was the most incredibly exciting thing Mike had ever done to a man. He’d never had a whole dick in his mouth at once, ever. Kenneth was a log he’d taught himself not to choke on. And while his lover getting off in his mouth was something of a turn-on, there wasn’t much in it for Mike but an aching jaw.
But this … He backed off before he made Cal shoot. Slipping his tongue over the top, he lodged Cal in the soft underflesh.
Cal squirmed, struggling to thrust, but Mike gripped him hard, keeping his legs folded. By changing the angle of his body, Mike completely controlled how much Cal could move hips. And right now, that amount was zero.
Mike scraped the short stalk with his teeth and polished the burning head against the silky, softness under his tongue. Mike tasted the precum that welled up. With a feral cry, Cal’s head jerked back, but Mike’s hold kept his back flat and he shook with the effort to escape the very thing he sought.
Cal Derricksen was a strong man, but Mike Merisi had him locked down.
“Oh. Fuck. Oh. Fuck.” Cal panted so hard Mike feared he’d hyperventilate. He pulled up, keeping the suction on until the head of Cal’s dick slipped out and rested on his lower lip. He teased the slit with the tip of his tongue. Cal’s every breath a harsh rasp.
“You need to get a grip on yourself, little dude. I’m just getting started.”
“Mike, oh God, Mike, I’m – I’ll come if you do keep doing that.”
“You always come this fast?” He ran his nose along the sides of Cal’s swollen prick, again hidden in the thatch of pubic hair. He inhaled Cal’s musky scent, felt his hips flex, as if seeking Mike’s mouth, again.
“Well?” Mike asked, the word muffled by flesh and hair and skin and lust.
“No one ever did this to me before. I mean … oh, fu- uh – they…”
“Tell me,” Mike ordered, running his chin up and down Cal’s length, knowing he’d be prickly by now, an erotic rasp.
“Uh … uh … oh God … start … they’d start and … Jesus, please … stop—they’d stop when they saw me.”
That made Mike stop. He’s a fucking virgin. He rested his forehead on Cal’s abdomen, the muscles tight with arousal, rising and falling with each breath. No one’s touched him? Entered him? … The next thought was immediate, primal … mine.
Mike Merisi raked his eyes over the panting, suffering, needing man. A savage need to torment, delight, invade, imprint himself on every one of Cal Derricksen’s raw nerve endings possessed him.
He lifted enough to catch Cal’s eyes, glimmering with his arousal. “Then you’d better think about ice storms, because you don’t come until I let you and I’m about to make up for lost time.”
Cal’s eyes widened with uncertainty and anticipation.
Mike moved down further and sucked lightly on Cal’s ballsack, also smaller than normal, hot and tight.
He stroked the short raphe with the tip of his tongue. Pressing hard, following the seam up and into Cal’s sac, teasing his nuts apart, he sucked each in turn, between his teeth. Trapped, Mike teased his prize with his tongue while Releasing. Repeating.
Cal Derricksen struggled and keened, wept and finally howled. Mike’s cock jerked hard, flash fire raced along a web of nerves to his hole, to his spine. His fucking toes tingled.
He revelled in the ease with which he could access every bit of Cal’s most closely-guarded shame. Hardening the tip of his tongue, he traveled the short distance down and probed the center of Cal’s hole.
“No – no – that – ah – not – oh … fuck … oh … God …”
With every cry and increasingly frantic movement, Mike gloried in his power to make Cal insane with need and desperate for release. This was his domain.
Moving up, he sucked the purple head and rubbed it back and forth between the slick silken inside his lips and the washboard of his front teeth.
Mike dropped his jaw as Kenneth had taught him and took all of Cal into his mouth, cock and balls and a flood of precum.
Mike’s tongue was folded against the curves and ridges in his mouth and he could only move it slightly, but with every press and slide Cal writhed against him, seeming torn between driving deeper or escaping the unbearable pleasure. His whole body trembled and the table vibrated and swirled his tongue underneath Cal’s balls and felt the vibrations of his cries through his lips.
The totality of Mike’s control over the movements and feelings of the man under him, drove him to the pinnacle of excitement and depths of lust. He flashed on restraints and spreader bars and his fingers in Cal’s ass as he lay over the desk, clawing at plans and papers …
And with a cry of “Oh, my God,” that sounded more like a sob, Cal went suddenly limp. “Please,” he begged in a whisper. “Oh, please. Mike, I have to, please …”
Please.
Mike came abruptly back from what felt like an altered state. Jesus, it’s his first time.
He repositioned Cal against the roof of his mouth and stroked with his tongue, as he had at the beginning. Relaxing his grip slightly, moving a little, encouraging Cal to pump.
He let go of one wrist and moved Cal’s hand until fingers clutched at his hair, allowing Cal more control.
Freeing his own throbbing cock, Mike jacked himself while Cal rocked and wept, chasing his orgasm. Mike held him tightly in his mouth, relishing Cal’s deepest thrusts. He felt every one in his own body, as if Cal’s straining dick plunged into the spreading mass of heat and need behind Mike’s balls.
He tightened his grip on himself in the sticky-slickness of precum, riding the rush to his own orgasm. With a rasping groan, Cal pumped cum down Mike’s welcoming throat. Once .. twice … three spurts of warm salty fluid. A surprisingly large amount for so small a package. That triggered Mike and all went dim and silent for a few moments as his orgasm overwhelmed him. Hard, so hard. Like the cum was a solid thing rammed through his dick, and his balls would float away from the relief.
He released Cal and sat back, catching his breath. How did he not think to put a wad of tissues in his suit coat pocket?

CAL LAY BONELESS, arms thrown wide, legs over the edge of the desk, his feet on Mike Merisi’s knees. You still have your shirt and tie on. And your socks. One of his hands was lying on the keyboard of his open laptop. He Ready for a porn video.
His willy was cold, after the warm wet, in the office air. Balls, too. Fuck, what he’d done with my balls … Instinctively he wanted to close his legs, cover himself with his hands. He didn’t have the strength. And Mike might not approve.
Cal couldn’t manage to process what had just happened. Feelings he’d never imagined existed. Exhilarating, torturous arousal. Wondrous humiliation. A joyous sense of utter powerlessness. Worked into mindless frenzy and total surrender—to his accounting consultant.
It was all perfect.
Almost. You almost couldn’t come. He’d been so worried he’d come too fast. But when Mike took pity on him, helped him, it was like chasing a ball bearing inside a water balloon. It kept slipping away. This is what you get after a lifetime of wanking willy.
It was when he heard Mike panting, jerking his own shaft, doing only inches away what Cal had imagined watching him do so many times, that Cal found his release.
Now what?
As if in answer, two warm hands ran over his thighs. Used him to push on, to stand up. Mike’s face came into view. “Hang on,” he said.
He retrieved Cal’s pants, shook them out and laid them on the table top. Mike leaned over and cocked an eyebrow.
“Glad you liked it, but you have to stand up, now. I have my own pants to deal with.” He grinned.
After Mike got his briefs off and folded up in his pocket and his pants back on—after Cal made himself neat and slipped into his shoes—Mike perched on the edge of the chair.
“I was going to invite you to dinner,” he said.
“What?”
“That was my big bold plan. Last day just us together. I was going to say let’s have dinner.” He pulled Cal close and draped his forearms over Cal’s shoulders. “But then you gave me that superheated eye-laser thing when I came in and shit, I just had to-” He shook his head.
Cal’s face had gone still. “And what about now? What do you want, now?”
Mike searched Cal’s face. “I want you to tell me you’re okay. You made me crazy. I – maybe got a little carried away.”
Cal felt his face heat. “You were – it was …”
Mike grinned. “Good?” Cal nodded. “Dinner later?”
That’s it? Now we have dinner? “It doesn’t bother you?”
“It’s killing me, I want to fuck you over the desk right now. But we need to have our meeting because Sandusky recommends a parking garage. Fact is, the numbers are in his favor.”
What? “Nonono. We never even considered another structure,” Cal said, looking around. “The numbers say yes? Where’re the figures?”
Mike crossed his arms pulling Cal close and kissed him. Mouth and tongue and shoulders and whiskers. Cal let go again, his arms went around Mike, and he kissed him back. It was every kiss he’d ever dreamed of, hot and romantic, slow and strong. It was the kiss he thought he’d never receive, never give.
Mike disengaged, and smiled. “I’ll get the plans. Meet you back here in a sec—your chair.” He slid off to retrieve the plastic tube.
“Wait!” Cal said.
Mike hesitated.
“I meant my willy. The way it is. It doesn’t bother you?” Cal’s breath caught as Mike’s eyes went immediately dark. He reached between Cal’s legs and cupped him with firm authority.
Cal whimpered, stretching and filling. Again.
Mike took him between his thumb and two fingers, rolling and stroking him through the fabric. “Bother me? Yes, it most certainly bothers me.”
Mike’s voice, again suffused with lust, seemed to stroke Cal along with his fingers.
“It will bother me through the meeting and for the rest of my the day and every minute of our dinner. After which, we’ll come back here. Because the very thought of this”—he gave willy a hard squeeze—“will be bothering me so very much.
“I’ll bend you over that desk in the dark and you can watch the city lights while I open you and stretch you and slick this very bothersome little dick with lube. I’ll tease little willy until you beg me to fuck you and I swear Calvin Derricksen, when I finally let you come, you will scream.”
Cal felt the pulse pounding in neck. “Oh.”
“Nature,” Mike told him, “Did me a hell of a little favor.”

TWITTER: @Adira_August
FACEBOOK: Adira August Author
Matchstick Men
Dancing Men

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Keep in touch OJ He Say!

Architect of Love by John Charles

Architect of Love
Architect of Love
Rating: 4 stars

BLURB

He could work miracles with His Hands

Lance Bartner loved working with his hands, made his living refinishing furniture. Nights out were for fun with friends and the occasional hook-up. Though the L word had never been spoken, he would have enjoyed a relationship had the right man crossed his path. But who would want a laborer like Lance? He wasn’t college educated, didn’t live in a fancy loft condo, didn’t drive a Lexus, and didn’t even own a suit. Forrest Dentren, was an architect and city planner who had become a local name when his design for the Monroe City Center was chosen as one of the top three contenders. Well educated, extremely well built, and as both men and women put it, just plain hot. Some said he was married to his job, others said he was too picky, many said he didn’t want to share the spotlight.

One hot, uninhibited sex-filled night

When Forrest broke his routine and went clubbing on a weeknight, he spotted Lance. The attraction was immediate from both sides of the dance floor. They both felt it. A few drinks later, still feeling it, they left for Lance’s apartment.

It was never supposed to turn into anything more than one hot fuck

Two people from opposite ends of the world, no roadmap, not directions, no ideas how to make it work.

Architect of Love

You know, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I started reading Architect of Love as I’d never read a John Charles book, however the blurb called out to me, so what the heck. Right? What I got was a really hot and enjoyable book that caught be flat footed.

Lance and Forrest’s story is truly a gay romance novel of two disparate men that find each other and that I found myself cheering for. Well worth it and just in time for the holidays.

THE CHARACTERS

Forrest Dentren:

“The tall blond kicked the door closed with his foot as he pinned the shorter, more muscular man against the wall. One hand held the shorter man’s hands above his head, the other a handful of his shirt.

“Lance is a pretty name for such a muscular guy. Why’d your mother name you that?” His face was mere inches from Lance’s. They breathed the same air as they stared into the other man’s eyes.”

Forrest Dentren, is a successful architect that’s starting to make a name and reputation for himself and his company. A dedicated workaholic, he only allows himself two nights a week for his fun: Friday and Saturday nights, as he can stay out late and not have his fun interfere with his work. On a whim, he goes out on a weeknight and meets Forrest Dentren.

Lance Bartner:

“Suddenly as if on attack, Lance twisted in the taller man’s arms. He forced Forrest around and pressed him against the wall where his back had lain seconds prior. “How does it feel now?” he whispered unable to voice anything louder. “You want more? Can you handle it or are the trees too big, Forrest?”

Forrest could feel Lance’s long, calloused fingers holding his wrists. Short, muscular legs stood outside his encasing him. The hand pushing against his chest caused his heartbeat to sound and feel harder and louder. It was his turn to hyperventilate. “I can take anything you throw at me. Care to try something else or is this all you’ve got?””

Hot, sexy, muscular, furry Lance Bartner is a blue-collar guy, a successful furniture restorer and refinisher. A man that’s used to working with his hands. When he meets Forrest at the local watering hole an unexpected spark is ignited. Unexpected because Forrest is not his usual type. At all.

THE STORY

This is truly a gay MM Romance book. It’s a love story of two men, completely different characters, different physically and in social standing, that have a magnetic attraction for each other. It’s on how they handle these differences, and accept each other that forms this very enjoyable read.

Forrest is starting to hit the big time with his career and his company, coming in a close second in the city’s contest for a new city center. He’s just starting to hit the limelight when he meets Lance. Lance isn’t used to the limelight, he’s more used to his regular blue-collar friends and life, so it is his angst towards a future with Forrest the forms the dynamic for the story, and what a fun to read story this is.

THE WRITING

This is solid, well executed writing that’s been very well edited. The sex scenes in this book are off the scale, intensely hot and the character development is spot on. The writing flows smoothly. The reader doesn’t experience any WTF double takes and the characters deliver at the precisely correct time. Well done. I look forward to the next book by this author.

DISCLAIMER

I would like to thank John Charles with providing an Advance Review Copy to OJ He Say! in exchange for an honest review.

THE AUTHOR

As a youngster, I not only had trouble reading, I couldn’t string two sentences together. Reading was a chore, but I had to read for school and work. In my sophomore year of college, with the help of my aunt and several courses I learned to get past my, until then undiagnosed, dyslexia. After that, reading actually started to become fun. Now I read constantly.
My desire to become an author developed through the years as my own children grew. We read books every night. When they were little I read to them. As they grew, and learned how to read, they read to me.
We congregated on the couch, or on one of their beds, and read stories together. It was fun, crazy, and sometimes frustrating. There were times when schedules made group reading difficult, but individual sessions were managed most nights.
During those years of family growth, I developed the desire to write my own books. Initially I thought about writing children’s books – and developed outlines for a couple of them. As my children grew and began reading different genres, my desires changed, too.
Then I discovered the gay themed mystery – I couldn’t get enough.
I started writing gay (male/male) themed novels, using my pen name John Charles and never looked back. I find developing a character that is passionate about his life and the life of his lover is a turn on to many readers as well as to me. So I try to develop that passion in my books and endeavor to make each character special.
The plots in my novels come from real life situations. I have always believed that real life is more interesting than anything a person could make up. I listen, keep my eyes open, and let the world give me the ideas that make my stories believable and interesting.
I find myself enjoying writing more than anything I’ve ever done in my life.

Copyright © 2016 John Charles
978-1-882598-14-4

Keep in touch OJ He Say!