Wrong place, right time.
Carter O’Conner exemplifies the term wrong place, wrong time when he gets between a hitman and that hitman’s prey. Sure he’s the next to die, he steels himself, refusing to give the killer the satisfaction of seeing his fear, even though he’s shaking like a leaf on the inside.
Antony Rosetta can’t ignore the man’s interesting reaction. Accustomed to begging and pleading, he respects the male escort’s strength… and struggles to forget the man after he walks away. As the weeks pass, his fantasies propel him to search for Carter and see what makes the man tick.
Carter doesn’t want to head out on another assignment but, after weeks of denial, he’s nowhere closer to paying his tuition bill. Accepting the address from his handler, he winds up before the hitman, afraid he’ll face death after all. Instead, he confronts a passion too much for him to handle.
Can these two broken men become whole in each other’s arms?
Warnings: MM, Gay, Anal Sex, Bondage, Paddling, Spanking, BDSM, Forced Seduction, Exhibitionism, and Extreme Scenes of Violence and Murder
The slider skidded open and a dark form emerged through the billowing curtains. A man stood in the opening, a handgun hanging from one hand.
The sounds of the city exploded, the open door letting it all rush in to him, the cold air cold. Not that he truly felt it.
Carter backed away more, until his ass met wall. He stood there trembling, knowing he’d traded one killer for another. The man walked over to what was left of Enzo, checked for a pulse, and then rose back to his feet. He lifted the gun and put three more shots into the body, each one making Carter jump with fear.
And then the killer turned back to Carter, his expression unreadable. A cold sliver of fear crossed him, but it soon faded. He wasn’t sure why… there was everything to fear.
The guy towered well over Carter, he could tell even from across the room. His body was thick, but in a way that suggested hard muscle hid under his clothes.
He was dark and dangerous.
His skin was deeply tanned, his hair and stubble black as the night he’d emerged from. His clothes were black as well, covering him from shoulder to feet. Even his hands were covered in dark gloves.
His eyes, they weren’t dark. They were the color of caramel and, when the light hit them, they shone with a brilliance that made Carter’s stomach twist in something besides fear. But the fear was too great for him to fully register the sensation in that moment. Later, when he was recollecting on this moment and trying to burn the man’s face into his brain, he’d think about those eyes and how beautiful they were. He saw a cold detachment there. Yet, when the killer stared at him, emotion swirled in the depths. Carter felt a kinship to this man somehow. He recognized the emotion. He saw it when he looked in the mirror.
How much he craved to look into those eyes as the man slid deep into his body over and over again, forcing his own solitude away.
But he wouldn’t recall pondering all that until later. All he thought about in the here and now was the fact he was about to die. His heart thundered in his ears and he felt his knees wobbling under him, but he did everything in his power to hide his body’s responses.
The killer drew something from his pocket. A switchblade opened as his long legs ate up the floor. Carter sucked in a breath and watched the light shine along the knife, knowing it was about to plunge into his chest.
Or his neck, slicing open his throat. He’d feel the warm curtain of blood coating him any second. And then it would all be over. A pointless existence. Another tragic case where no one would miss the poor, dead whore.
The killer stopped when his body was millimeters from touching Carter. He lifted the knife and Carter steeled himself… only to watch as the man shoved the blade into the wall. He dug the blade in a few times… before extracting the bullet that had taken Enzo’s life.
He showed it to Carter, looking somewhat proud. Whether that was meant to scare him, Carter didn’t know. When the knife flicked closed, he startled. The killer shoved the bullet, and then the knife, into his pocket.
Carter looked down to the gun still held in the man’s other hand and saw his own cock—red, angry, and rock hard—lightly pressing against the man’s thigh. His strong thigh. The desire to rock his hips and enjoy the friction of the tight black denim encasing those thighs hit him out of nowhere. He hadn’t been able to get it up for his john, but there he was stone hard and ready for a killer. What the fuck is wrong with me?
About the author
International bestselling gay erotic romance author Kelex lives in the MidAtlantic with a twenty-something kidult and two semi-loveable masses of fur who are often found snarling at the mailman or UPS driver—or pooping on the brand new carpet.
She writes under various pen names all over the erotica and erotic romance map.
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