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Author Charlie Richards

Giving love and imagination free reign

Now Available at eXtasy Books!

Lifting Techniques

Carry Me: Book Four

When life gives you lemons, sometimes it's not enough to make lemonade...instead, make margaritas.

Detective Ryan Straton is known as the happy-go-lucky playboy of the precinct, the consummate bachelor of the department. At a Halloween party, he enjoys admiring the eye-candy, including a lovely lady--who he learns is Doctor Morgan Pruitt--dressed as Marilyn Monroe. When Ryan stumbles across Morgan getting backed into a corner by a trio of men, he plays hero and rescues her. He's shocked to be offered a blowjob in thanks, but quickly gets on board when the woman proves just how adept she is with her hands...and her mouth.

When the deed is done, Ryan discovers that Morgan isn't a woman, and he's just received the best blowjob of his life from a man. As he's done with every woman he's bedded for almost a decade, he plans to move on and forget about Morgan. Except, Ryan finds himself dreaming about his red lips and slender, agile hands. Getting advice from his friends--treat him like a woman who'd caught his eye: love 'em and leave 'em--Ryan wonders if it would be that easy. Once he's had Morgan, would that end his obsession? Or would it only feed it?

Excerpt - Lifting Techniques

The excerpt below contain explicit adult language and sexual content.

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age.

If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

    Morgan gaped at the bearded Viking for all of two seconds, then he tried to yank away from Dolan. It had been Pierre, the farmer, who’d come on to him, convinced him to spend a little alone time together. As horny as Morgan had been from just watching the Viking’s tight ass as he’d walked away, a hand job had sounded damn fantastic.

Unfortunately, Morgan hadn’t anticipated that alone time wouldn’t be so alone…and when he’d spotted Dolan, he knew he’d been in for trouble.

As soon as they’d walked out of the elevator, Pierre had led Morgan around the corner and down a side aisle. Morgan had been happy to head toward the dark corner, looking forward to relieving the ache in his balls. If he planned to imagine the Viking’s face while getting off, well, that was on him.

Then, Morgan had spotted the other figures in the dark, Dolan—the construction worker—and the fireman, who he didn’t know. He’d tried to stop, but Pierre had gripped his upper arm and led him forward. Morgan hated being led like that, but the man’s grip had been too strong.

Now, here was the Viking, acting as his personal hero. Morgan didn’t know who he was or why he was there, but he hoped to capitalize on it. That is, if Dolan would release his arm.

“Let go,” Morgan insisted, jerking his arm.

Dolan sneered. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere til you suck my dick. I’ve been thinkin’ about shovin’ my cock down your throat ever since you offered, himbo.”

His face heating in a flush, Morgan peered at the Viking through his lashes, wondering if the slur would register to the man.

Instead of sending him running, though, it seemed to inflame the Viking’s rage. His dark brows drew together and his thin lips twisted into a scowl. “That isn’t any way to talk to a lady,” he snarled.

The Viking hadn’t even finished speaking when he struck out, slamming a right hook into the farmer’s face. As the man fell, the Viking crouched low and swept his leg out, knocking the fireman’s feet out from under him.

Dolan responded by pulling a knife and pressing it to Morgan’s throat. “Get lost, hombre,” he snarled.

Morgan’s heart pounded in his chest at the feel of the cold steel pressed against his throat. Fear slithered though his veins. He’d tried to save plenty of patients with knife wounds, self-inflicted and otherwise. With how close Dolan held the blade to his carotid artery, he didn’t have much hope of surviving too deep a slice.

Still crouching, the Viking reached under the cuff of his right pant leg. He pulled a small revolver from a hidden holster. Straightening, the Viking pointed the weapon at Dolan. “I’ll give you three seconds to release Marilyn and for you and your friends to clear out. Otherwise, I start shooting.”

“You gonna shoot us right here in the middle of a parking garage, Viking?” Pierre asked incredulously, rising to his feet.

“Yep,” the Viking replied, sounding deadly calm. When he twisted his torso a bit, the faux fur vest shifted, revealing a badge attached to his belt. “I’m an imaginative guy,” he drawled. “I’m pretty sure I can come up with a good story about ya’ll attacking us when we were walking to my car.”

The men glanced between each other. They evidently came to a quick decision.

Dolan lowered the knife from Morgan’s neck and released him. At the same time, he shoved Morgan’s back. Morgan stumbled forward, struggling to catch his balance on the high heels. Vacantly, he registered that Pierre and the firefighter—whose name he’d never heard—rushed past him. Dolan took an extra second to slam his elbow into Morgan’s side as he passed.

Morgan would have gone down had the Viking not stepped forward and caught him. The stranger wrapped his left arm around his waist and pulled him close to his body. Instinctively, Morgan settled his hands on the man’s chest. This time, he shivered at the feel of the firm, hard body beneath his fingertips.

Then, Morgan felt the hard pressure of the gun at the small of his back. He stiffened. Was this guy really a cop? Had he just jumped from the frying pan into the fire?

“Easy, darling,” the Viking crooned. “You’re safe now. Nothing will happen to you.”

Morgan became aware of how the man’s other hand gently rubbed up and down his spine between his shoulder blades. Realizing the man tried to soothe him, he sucked in a slow breath, attempting to calm his racing pulse. The spicy scent of the other man’s cologne mingled with what must have been his natural earthy scent.

Humming, Morgan couldn’t resist taking another deep whiff. Very nice!

His hero chuckled softly, then asked, “You doing okay, then, Miss Monroe?”

Remembering who he was dressed up as and the Viking’s assumption, Morgan grew bold. He lifted his head away from his chest and peered up at the man from beneath his mascara thickened lashes. “I am,” he murmured throatily. “Thanks to you, Hero.”

“Hero?” the Viking replied, his lips curving into a grin.

“Uh huh.”

“Doesn’t the hero normally get a kiss after rescuing the damsel in distress?”

Smiling coyly at his hero’s playful tone, Morgan murmured, “I think that can be arranged.”