So, a week or two ago, I shared the cover for the upcoming M/M romance Complexity by author Harper Miller. Well, today, I have an exclusive sneak peek! Actually, this is Part II of a cool blog hop sorta thing. Part I can be found over at Romance Novels In Color. Peep the peek below:
© Harper Miller 2016
When It Hurts So Bad (cont.)
Here I am, trying to put myself into a box, and it pisses me off. Why does it have to be either-or? Why do I need to put a label on who I am? I know how I feel. I still enjoy women, but when I’m with him, I . . . I don’t want anyone else. No other women, no other men. Just him.
I crave him. Seeing him with Armand shouldn’t have rattled me, but it did.
It was a just another Wednesday on set. Those early starts made waking up a bitch. Filming wasn’t scheduled to begin until nine, but I wasn’t there for that anyway. I was hired to put the film’s star through hell. The good thing about a six a.m. private training session is that I could get my daily workout in and get paid for it. I beat my own ass that day in a grueling shoulder, chest, and ab workout, and still had time for a decent shower before I headed back to my studio and my other clients. I took my time getting changed, luxuriating in a trailer that was doper than most of the hotels I’d been in. My mini-vacation was over, so I headed to grab something from Craft Services before I made my way across town when I saw him hanging out with the crew laughing and shooting the shit. No biggie. He was a friendly guy, but what bothered me was the full-on flirt session he was having with the costume designer.
A frown formed on my face as I watched Armand sidle up and paw all over him and even go so far as to brush wet hair from his face. I wanted to slug the guy for touching what was mine, but that’s the thing: He wasn’t mine. I had no say in who flirted with him. I had no say in who touched him. I wanted to think it didn’t mean anything, since Armand had a hard-on for anything attractive with a cock, but seeing him get groped like that, even playfully, made me wanna deliver a beatdown. Weren’t there sexual harassment laws in place to prevent that type of shit? No part of costume designing was involved in what was happening.
I was almost willing to overlook it and quit being paranoid. But when our gazes met, it was like he was tryna make me jealous with this Armand shit. There were tons of people around—there’s always somebody lurking who makes it their business to be in everybody’s business—so it wasn’t like I was about to flirt and say some inappropriate shit around all those nosy motherfuckers. I knew better than to fraternize like that in public, but I wondered if he was testing me to see how I would react. Why bother tryna make me jealous? We were nothing to each other but distractions. Sexual distractions.
Right. This . . . whatever it is . . . ain’t nothin’ but a sexual distraction. Maybe if I say that shit enough, I might actually believe it.
So much has changed in six months. We’ve grown closer, more—I don’t know—intimate? Does that even make sense? And now . . . now, my feelings are coming to a head. Heh, head. What I wouldn’t give right now to feel his lips wrapped around my dick. I miss his mouth milking me dry, like my seed was some sort of prize and he was desperate to win top honors.
We both fooled ourselves into believing we could have sex and nothin’ but bomb-ass orgasms would come from it. “Fuck buddies” sounds like a cool arrangement, right? Wrong.
What makes this not just a friends-with-benefits deal is that neither of us ever addressed the 800-pound gorilla in the room: exclusivity. We never talked about it, never brought it up. Whenever one of us headed in that direction, the other found a detour.
He didn’t know it then, and probably doesn’t know it now, but I haven’t hooked up with anyone else since we started fucking. I mean, he might have figured that out. When I wasn’t working or spending time with friends and family, I was with him. There wasn’t time for me to fool around with other people even if I wanted to. But the thing is, I didn’t want to. I wanted to spend whatever free time I had with him. He never asked me outright if I was seeing anyone else, but I think he’d wanna know if I was, right? Well, my guess is he would wanna know. I dunno.
*Disclaimer* This is a novella. Not a short story, novelette, or novel. This tale features an M/M pairing. If gay erotica/erotic romance is not your cup of tea and you are offended by same-sex relationships or crass language, you should bypass this story. Content is intended for a mature audience, 18+.
Complexity is the fourth installment in The Kinky Connect Chronicles. The Kinky Connect Chronicles are short erotic stories/novelettes all wrapped up in neat little bows. These stories are standalones. No cliffhangers in the lot!
– Don’t forget to peep Part I at Romance Novels In Color!
And…Connect with author Harper Miller. She er’where in these social media skreets…