Boiling Point out!

Denny's friend Drake is a hard core top in the BDSM world, while Cain's friend Jeren is a graphic artist who does horror books and lives on cigarettes and coffee with the occasional whiskey thrown in. They couldn't be more different. Still, Denny and Cain (Cherry Sours, Licorice Whips) think their friends would be great together and they set them up at a dinner party.

Now that they've met, will Drake and Jeren prove Denny and Cain right? And could they burn hotter for each other than even their friends know?

You can buy it here.

There's an excerpt here.


Drake stood and started undoing the buttons on his shirt. Jeren stared, lips parted the barest bit. He moved slowly, letting Jeren look, anticipate. He was built, he knew it, but it was something new to be looked at like he was special. He shrugged the shirt off, let it drop to the floor.

"You're ripped."

"You like what you see?"

Jeren nodded, licked his lips again. "You could be my next hero."

"I could be your hero." He could turn Jeren's world inside out.

"I'm already lost, but I swear to let you win out over evil in a book."

"You're not lost forever."

Jeren's eyes met his, the loss in them rocking him to the core. He went over and cupped Jeren's face.

"I... I was drawing you."

"You can draw me later." He leaned in and pressed their lips together.

Jeren gasped, eyes flashing up to his, the shock evident behind the wire frames. He held Jeren's gaze and pushed his tongue into the man's mouth. Coffee. Cigarettes. Beer. Pain. Need. Hunger. He pushed deeper, eager for more of the true flavor of Jeren. Jeren's fingers wrapped around his waist, those lips opening wider.

He slid his hands back, cupping Jeren's head. Under the messy hair, the man's skull was almost delicate, his hands surrounding it. He moaned softly, played Jeren's tongue with his own. He felt the kiss deep in his balls, heard Jeren's moan in his fucking soul. Oh, fuck yes.

He let one hand slide down along Jeren's back, headed straight for that sweet little ass. His fingers brushed across something odd, stiff, and Jeren backed away, shook his head. "I was drawing you."

"Not yet. What's under the t-shirt?"

"I. Nothing. Nothing." Jeren kept backing away. "You weren't supposed to kiss me."

"But I did." He took a few steps, closing the distance between them again.

"Yeah. I. It was a bad idea." Jeren was breathing faster.

"My kissing you?" He shook his head. "No, it was a very good idea." He got right into Jeren's space and cupped the man's head again, tilted it slightly back.

"Please don't. I can't."

"You can. You did." He leaned in and covered Jeren's lips again.

He tried to bring their bodies together, but Jeren kept a hair's width of space between them. Growling a little, he moved forward, backing Jeren toward the wall. Jeren moved, tried to part their lips, but he wouldn't cooperate. He just kept backing Jeren up, knowing they'd eventually hit wall.

Jeren's ass hit the wall first, which got him a quick armful of boy before Jeren tried to pull away. There was nowhere for Jeren to go, though, and Drake pressed his advantage, pushing up against Jeren. Long and lean -- Jeren was covered by him, the man's midsection oddly hard, the barest bit unnatural.

He slid his hand around Jeren's waist, thumb stroking the bottom of the hard bit.

"Don't."

A corset. That explained the tiny waist, the amazing way that ass was offered to the world.