Maggie Blackbird

The MFRW Steam hop is a monthly event hosted by Marketing for Romance Writers as part of the MFRW Authors Blog. Focused on authors who write spicy or erotic fiction, it’s a chance for readers who are looking for books with erotic content to jump from one author to another, using the list of links at the bottom of the MFRW Post.

For my post, I am sharing an excerpt between Joseph “Slade” Indian and Gavin Pemmican from Tied Up with a Bow.

He’s got the perfect Christmas present for the community’s chief—vengeance wrapped in a shiny box with a red bow on top.

Joseph Slade Indian isn’t angry. He’s pissed. Pissed that the man who threw over his love for glory and money is back, and now leads their Ojibway community as the new chief. Holding the pain deep in his chest, Slade knows how he’ll celebrate the most miserable day of the year—opening a gift of recompense after being dumped by the one man he dared to love.

Gavin Pemmican is full of regret. He knows he made a big mistake leaving Slade for a materialistic dream of power and prestige. No longer the poor bullied misfit but an educated lawyer, he’s ready to put his skills to the biggest case of his life by brazenly challenging Slade in the kangaroo court of sexual torture he’s daring to stick Gavin in—and win back the only man he’s ever loved.

Genre(s):  Multicultural, m/m contemporary romance, adult, LGBT, erotic.
Heat Rating: Level 4
Publication Date:  November 29, 2019
Publisher:  eXtasy Books

PURCHASE AT EXTASY BOOKS

Slade rested his palm on the smooth round tip of the mop handle. Gavin had been in the can for a good fifteen minutes now. What the heck was he doing in there? Making a mess to humiliate Slade by having to clean up the john, and stay even later than he already was?

He strangled the mop handle. As much as he despised admitting the truth to himself, Gavin wasn’t a geeky teenaged punk anymore. Glasses gone, and probably replaced with contacts or laser surgery. Perfect veneers filling the former gap between his two front teeth. Acne scars magically gone. Straight black hair brushing the collar of his shirt in wisps of fringes almost dusting his intense cheekbones, and a side part on top with bangs falling in the lightest of spikes to his perfectly groomed, ebony brows that had once been thicker than a bear’s rump.

Slade licked his lips. Sleek legs shifting one in front of the other. Black shoes coming down heel first and toes second. Gavin, who once couldn’t stop tripping over his two left feet, now strutted around the band office like a buck in season.

The bathroom door opened. Gavin eased into the hallway. He clutched a white napkin. He stood sideways, his sports coat laid over the crook in his arm. His lean muscles filled out his navy-blue shirt. Yep, someone had been hitting the gym. Gavin had probably hired a personal trainer when he’d lived in Winnipeg. His pants, not too tight and not too loose, snuggled his legs that had once been skinny but now filled out the plush gray material.

Gavin swiveled on his black shoe, glancing over his shoulder. No, not a glance. His heavy-lidded eyes burned into Slade. Searing him until his mouth dried.

The napkin fell to the floor.

Reality slapped Slade’s face cold, and fire crackled in his veins. Who did this asshole think he was, blatantly tossing garbage around while he stood watching?

Gavin kept gazing at him while he shifted one leg over the other. The sound of his heels clicking against the floor echoed off the walls.

Slade gritted his teeth. Was Gavin daring him to get mad, going to throw around his newfound power if Slade told the high and mighty chief to bend the hell over and pick that damned napkin off the floor?

Gavin’s dark eyed gaze continued to cut into Slade, as if sharing a secret. There wasn’t a hint of smug satisfaction. Only a potent, seductive invitation.

A man had needs. Slade swallowed. And he wasn’t about to get laid on the rez, no matter if the population clocked in at eight hundred members.

With one final lingering peek, Gavin disappeared inside his office.

Slade’s breathing hitched. The lightness in his chest twisted until his lungs clenched. He ought to leave the napkin on the floor and find out what Gavin had to say about that. Slade set the mop handle aside. If he ignored the trash, the band manager would call him out.

He trounced to the washroom door and leaned down, swiping up the napkin, but the plush material melting into his palm didn’t resemble a napkin. Then what the…? He turned the garment over. His throat clamped shut. Underwear. He was holding Gavin’s underwear. And the hip-cut shorts weren’t the kind a guy bought at Bargain Bob’s for the cost-saving price of five for ten dollars. This wasn’t cotton or silk, either. Something else.

His spine twitched.

He craned his neck to the open door leading to Gavin’s office.

Slade squashed the light fabric in his hand. When he released his grip, the underwear expanded slightly.

The tips of his fingers burned as he pinched the shorts and spread out the briefs from corner to corner. His stomach constricted. A mere few seconds ago, Gavin had removed his pants to slip out of this baby. He’d exposed his cock. Exposed his balls. Exposed his ass.

Slade clenched his eyes shut. He loathed the vision, but it appeared anyway—fingers flirting with a button, the zrup of a zipper being lowered, stiff cock shoved against the flimsy material of the shorts, and long legs easing out of the gray pants.

Had the thought of stripping from his underwear excited Gavin? Had he left his excitement on his underwear?

Slade drew the shorts to his face, burying his nose in the rich material. As the heavy aroma concealed in a man’s pubes claimed his nostrils, his knees shook. Gavin’s scent. Thick with musk. Powerful with sweat.

But Slade had protected the ungrateful bastard from the bullies, and in response, received a kick to the gut. He’d given away his heart, and in return, received a knife to his back. He was a janitor, making an honest living, while Gavin had resided in a penthouse in Winnipeg.

Slade lowered his head. His ears burned. His face burned. The hate he’d stuffed away, the memories he’d buried, the love he’d once offered reared up, as if he’d kicked over the mop bucket and everything he fought to exercise from his soul was spilling across the floor instead of water.

Gavin Pemmican didn’t deserve a second chance, especially for Christmas. He deserved to open a gift of punishment. And that was what Slade would give the jerk.

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