Superpowered Special Agent Gabriel Genêt's first solo mission: go to Hooperstown, North Carolina, find evidence that Andrew Wynne is operating as a vigilante, then bring him in. Ten years ago, Gabriel spent a summer alternately torturing and hooking up with Andrew as they tried to ignore their parents' embarrassing affair. Of course Andrew, the big puppy dog, will be happy to see his old friend and never suspect a thing. Career-driven, cocky young Agent Genêt can hardly believe his luck.
A covert game of betrayals ensues. Things start out complicated, with Gabriel using Andrew's open arms and attraction to him for all it's worth. Gabriel tells himself he doesn't reciprocate, and then that he can control it, but it's too violent for either of them to deny. As he gets closer to the evidence he needs, a heady combination of nostalgia, genuine affection, and even understanding brings Andrew closer to him. Dangerously close, in every sense.
The stakes are much higher than just their livelihoods. Gabriel begins to fear it'll come down to a choice between everything he's ever believed in, wanted, and stood for--and the only love he's ever known.
http://www.kateyhawthorne.com/p/losing-better_27.html
Just as I was emerging from the bathroom, he
knocked. With
slow, measured steps, I made my way to the door. I put on my
best
you-owe-me-an-explanation face and opened it, already forming
the words,
“Hello, Andr—”
He threw both arms around me and kissed me
hard before I
even got a good look at him. He closed in, letting the weighted
door slam shut
behind him, pulling me close and forcing me to take a step back
at the same
time.
My lips crushed against his; his front teeth
clacked against
mine. He only turned his head and dived deeper, forcing me
backward again so
that I grabbed at the back of his shirt for support. I didn’t
need to; his arms
were strong and steady, his purpose assured. His tongue flicked
into my mouth.
Then he sucked me into his, tasting of wine and something like
Andrew without
the sweet tea. I kissed back, clutching at his shirt, sliding
myself into the
perfect position against his hard body, his cock stiffening
behind his fly, his
heart pounding through his chest into mine.
Where he ended and I began.
He took one arm from around me to tug my
shirt out of my
pants, began undoing buttons.
I pulled away, gasping for air, for that
seemingly defunct
place in my brain that had once enshrined wisdom and good sense.
There was no
point. I didn’t want this for the right reasons. I wanted this
for all the
reasons I shouldn’t.
“Andrew, what have
you been up to?”
He jerked at my shirt, sending buttons
flying.
“You—”
He pushed me against the wall, smashed his
lips into mine
bruisingly hard, his hands slithering under my open shirt. Cold
and soft,
waking up my skin so that every hair from between my legs to the
back of my
neck stood straight. He closed the kiss off by biting down on my
lower lip,
then muttered, “Stop it.”
“Stop—”
“Stop playing this game where you find ways
not to touch me,
Gabriel. It’s not fun anymore.” He kissed me again, and one of
my hands found
its way into his hair, tangling up with his curls and pulling
them tight. He
sighed into my mouth; his hips rocked, pinning me against the
wall and making
my cock thump urgently against his leg.
I made a desperate attempt to silently scream
myself into
stopping. I couldn’t call off the game, though, not now. My free
hand worked at
his shirt without my permission.
He smelled like outdoors. Like real grass,
not the false
green of his sweat. He was cold, so cold, under there—
“Fuck, when you’re close it’s like—” He
stuttered, pulling
back just enough to look me in the eye. “Like I never wanted
anything like I
want to touch you.” He cupped my face with an icy-cold hand,
tilting it upward.
“Like…like I’d do almost anything if…”
My heart beat so hard my ribs were sore.
Between that and
the metallic ache in my chest—could he feel it?
I didn’t want to know, yet something wild and
stupid in me
said there was a chance. A chance that it didn’t have to happen
like this. That
he would see reason, or at least see me,
and it would make a difference. So I asked, “If?”
He sighed and put his forehead against mine,
the entire
delicious weight of his body pinning me to the wall. “I need
you. You know it.”
I opened my mouth to say that I knew no such
thing, but he
got his hands between us and undid my fly in a series of yanks
and jerks that
left me speechless. It was for the best as I was in no state to
lie
convincingly, anyhow.
He said, “You fucking know it now, so the
game’s over.”
He was unequivocally out of his mind, then.
Brilliant.
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