Author Charlie Richards
Now Available at eXtasy Books!
Carry Me: Book One
Carl Lewis has little joy in his life. He's just struggled through a painful divorce, has partial custody over his two kids, and is learning to rearrange his schedule so work as a detective is no longer first. It's not easy. Then he meets his new neighbor, Vincent Androse, an openly gay firefighter who just went through a bad break-up of his own. He gives the man a hand moving furniture, and they strike up a friendship that starts to fill holes in Carl's life he didn't even know were there.
Vincent moves to get away from his cheating ex-boyfriend, Lonnie. His new house is big and empty, and he finds himself enjoying the Friday night BBQs with his new friend, Carl, even with the man's kids there. When Lonnie shows up, begging for him to come back, again, and refuses to leave, Carl steps in, pretending to be the new boyfriend. Vincent discovers Carl can kiss--really kiss, and he starts wanting things the straight cop can't give him. Can he?
Excerpt - Fireman's Carry
The excerpt below contain explicit adult language and sexual content.
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Carl didn’t notice the moving van right away. He was too busy trying to wrap his mind around the events of the last eight months…his wife leaving, the lengthy divorce, the settlement, child support, and shared custody. The creak of Carl’s porch steps finally brought him out of his reverie. His head snapped up, taking in the stranger moving toward him.
The man stood maybe a couple inches over six feet, had broad shoulders, and appeared muscular without looking like a body builder. The strong legs and arms were easily discernible in the form-fitting, faded and worn blue jeans and black George Strait t-shirt he wore. The man’s short, wavy brown hair flopped across his sweat glistened forehead. Carl’s cop instincts took all the information in with a glance.
“Good morning,” the man greeted, stopping five feet away from where Carl sat on his porch swing.
“If you say so,” Carl replied, cringing internally at his surly tone. Seeing the man’s dark brows shoot up, he sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually an ass.” He rose, moved the bottle of Budweiser to his left hand, and held out his right. “Carl Lewis. What can I do for you?”
“Nice to meet you, Carl. Vincent Androse.” He nodded to the beer Carl held. “I guess the morning must have been rough. It’s not even noon yet.” After a second, his brows ratcheted up a notch. “Unless this is normal for you.” Vincent shook his head and chuckled. “I’m sorry. I’m not making a very good first impression. Lonnie always said I let my mouth run away with me.”
A chatterbox. Interesting. Not too many men that looked like this one suffered from that particular affliction. Carl held up a hand, stopping Vincent’s stream of nonsense. “No, I don’t normally start this early in the morning, but I’ve already dealt with an angry ex-wife today. Now, can I help you with something? You’re not selling anything are you?” Vincent didn’t look like a salesman, but what the hell did he know?
“No! Of course not,” Vincent assured him quickly. “I’m moving in across the street.” He shoved a hand through his dark curls and cringed. “My buddy just bailed on me. The U-Haul truck is due back in three hours, and I need to be at the fire house right after that. I wouldn’t normally do this, but I’m in a bit of a bind. Is there any way I could talk you into helping me for half an hour? I only have a couple big things.”
Carl took a lazy pull on his beer, thinking maybe this man’s morning wasn’t so hot either. “What the hell. I’ve heard a little physical activity is good for relieving stress.”
Vincent let out a relieved, if somewhat strained laugh, and Carl smiled for the first time since Rhonda had called that morning. “I owe you one, Carl. I’ll buy you a case to make it up to you.”
Draining the last of his beer and setting it on the porch rail, Carl shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, following his new neighbor down the porch steps and across the street. “That’s what cops are for, right? To protect and serve?”
“A cop, huh?” Vincent replied, his tone deepening, probably since he was no longer stressed out by having to ask a complete stranger for a favor. “How long?”
“Fourteen years. And technically, I made detective nearly five years ago.” He followed Vincent up the truck’s ramp and into the cavernous box hold. “You’re a fireman?” he asked, picking up one end of a deep brown leather couch. Vincent grunted, nodding curtly as he hefted the other end. “Fucking hell, man. No wonder your buddy bailed. Your couch weighs a damn ton!” he growled out through clenched teeth.
Vincent’s chuckle sounded strained again, but this time from exertion. “Yeah, when it was bought, weight wasn’t going through the mind. The comfort more than makes up for the weight, though.”
“It better,” he grunted back.
Once down the ramp, they spun the couch so Vincent walked backwards. Tilting it at an angle, they maneuvered it through the door. Fortunately, Vincent wanted it in the front room. They settled it perpendicular to the fireplace with the back to the front window. Carl turned and dropped onto the heavy piece of furniture, checking Vincent’s claim.
Vincent smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
He stretched his legs out, leaned his head against the back, and let out a sigh. “Not bad,” Carl had to admit. He grinned at the ceiling. “My wife took most of the furniture. Where’d you get this? Something similar would be nice.”
“Uh, I’m not sure actually,” Vincent said, frowning.
“Well, if you remember, let me know,” Carl said, pushing to his feet.
The fireman shook his head. “It’s not that,” he said. Carl paused, cocking his head in interest. Vincent opened his mouth once, then snapped it shut.
Carl frowned. “It’s not hot, is it? You didn’t steal it, did you?” He wouldn’t have thought that about a fireman, but…
Vincent laughed nervously. “No. My boyfriend brought it home while going through a western phase. I’m not sure where he got it, but it ended up in our study after he got tired of it.”
His boyfriend? What… Oh!
Adult Excerpt - Fireman's Carry
Getting his pulse sort of under control, Vincent headed back to the living room. Too bad he couldn’t get his erection under control, too. Carl had the remote in one hand and when he walked in, he hit the play button for the Blue Ray. “Thanks,” he said, reaching for the bottle.
Instead of taking the bottle, though, Carl gripped Vincent’s wrist and pulled him forward. Hitting the edge of the couch, he lost his balance and began to fall toward the man. Carl’s free hand gripped Vincent’s hip and guided him to land on his lap. Vincent stared in shock as he straddled Carl’s thighs. Heat infused his cheeks as he realized there was no way his friend could miss his erection now. “What—”
“We don’t need these quite yet, I think,” Carl said softly. The grip on his wrist released, taking both beers in one hand and setting them on the end table. When Vincent moved to stand, the hand on his hip tightened, stilling him. “Stay,” the detective commanded.
Uncomprehending, Vincent froze as Carl slid his hand around to cup his ass. A slight squeeze had him letting out a shocked gasp.
“Yup, just as fine as I thought,” Carl murmured, more to himself than to Vincent. The hand that moved to grip the nape of his neck was cold from the beer bottles, sending a shiver through Vincent. Carl tugged him closer, his hazel eyes searching his face. “You good?” he murmured.
“What are you doing?” Vincent whispered. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that this was actually happening—and it was being instigated by Carl!
“I need to know,” Carl replied softly, drawing him closer, still.
“Know what?” He didn’t resist – I should really be resisting – but instead, Vincent brought his hands up and settled them on Carl’s shoulders.
“If it’s as good as I’ve been remembering every night.”
Before he could wonder at the statement, Carl’s lips closed over Vincent’s, taking slow sweet mastery, urging his jaw to open, giving him access to thrust his tongue in deep. Vincent couldn’t stop his moan as he tentatively stroked Carl’s tongue with his own. The man nipped and sucked, nibbled and licked, exploring his mouth and lips.
Carl groaned. “Oh, God. I was wrong.” Before Vincent could draw back in shock, thinking Carl hadn’t enjoyed the kiss nearly as much as he’d thought, the man continued. “This is so much better.”
The hand on Vincent’s ass tightened, drawing him more firmly against Carl’s body. An equally hard shaft rubbed against his own, sending delicious shock waves through his balls and thighs from the pressure. “You’re hard!” Vincent gasped in shock, as Carl’s hand encouraged him to rock against him again.
“You’re fucking sexy,” Carl whispered. “Your hard muscles rippling as you play basketball, teasing me with your sweat-slicked skin when you take off your shirt. It took everything in me not to lick it off you.” His sentence ended in a growly groan as he captured Vincent’s lips again, this time in a dominating claiming of his mouth.
Vincent’s brain short-circuited. He wants me! Carl wants me! he kept repeating to himself on an endless loop. He could do little but hang on for the ride as his body’s needs took control.
Rocking against the man beneath him, Vincent rubbed his hard on against Carl’s. Carl growled into the kiss and bucked against him. The other man’s fingers dug almost painfully into Vincent’s hip as he controlled the rhythm of their movements, just like he controlled the kiss with his hand on Vincent’s neck and the thrusting of his tongue. Vincent felt like Carl was in full control, even though Vincent was on top.
Suddenly, Carl groaned into the kiss, then wrenched his lips away. His breathing came in ragged pants and his body shuddered under Vincent. Vincent stared at Carl’s shocked expression, the other man’s pupils blown wide with lust.
“Holy shit,” Carl moaned. “Gonna come.”
Vincent froze for all of two seconds. “Not yet,” he ordered, his words coming out a lusty growl.
He slipped from Carl’s lap and grappled with the man’s jeans. If this was the one chance he’d experience this with Carl, he wanted to taste the man. A moan from his soon-to-be lover had him glancing up, his own balls pulling tight just from the look of heat and lust on Carl’s face. Vincent’s hands continued to work and he pulled the button free and slid the zipper down. The flaps immediately parted, shoved aside by the strength of Carl’s pulsing erection.
“Lift,” he ordered, and Carl obeyed.
Sucking in an appreciative breath as he worked Carl’s jeans and briefs down his hips, Vincent watched Carl’s engorged shaft be revealed. He ran a finger up the pale skin, tracing the thick vein, pausing to massage the sensitive bundle of nerves just under the angry red cap. Pre-cum oozed steadily from the wide slit, telling Vincent just how near the edge Carl really was.