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Author Charlie Richards

Giving love and imagination free reign

Now Available at eXtasy Books!

Pack Strap Carry

Carry Me: Book Nine

When a successful lawyer meets the man of his dreams, he discovers the differences in their stations isn't the only thing he must overcome.

Patrick Dolcet is hired by a friend of an ex to represent him when he enters a custody battle with his self-centered, bigoted ex-wife. While stopping at the client's place for a consultation, he comes across a man who pushes every last one of his buttons. Brand Erdogan is big, brawny, and has a friendly smile. Patrick isn't certain if the attraction is mutual, and Brand seems reluctant to start anything...for a few reasons. The man doesn't consider himself gay, or even bisexual. On top of that, Brand thinks Patrick--a successful custody lawyer--is way out of his league. With a little help from a friend, Brand agrees to join him for dinner...and then another. Even though their actions are discrete, word still gets out. When pictures of Patrick and Brand in a compromising position threaten not only his client's case but his job, Patrick has to figure out his priorities...and so does Brand. Will the chance at love be enough to keep Brand at Patrick's side? Or will one too many obstacles tear their possible future apart?

Excerpt - Pack Strap Carry

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.

    Glancing over his shoulder, Brand spotted the smirk curving Patrick’s lips. Not only was there a sparkle in the man’s eyes, but he noticed that Vance’s guest was staring at his ass.


Brand pretended not to notice. While he’d accepted a blow job from a guy a few times, he didn’t consider himself gay…or even bisexual. Hell, his dick didn’t know the difference between a man’s mouth or a woman’s.

What would this guy’s mouth feel like on my dick?

Damn. Definitely been too long.

Shutting down that line of thinking, Brand focused on the food. He placed the dish on the counter, then opened the cupboard to his left. After grabbing three plates and setting them on the counter, too, he pulled a spatula from a canister, then began serving a couple of enchiladas on each plate.

“Uh, are you the boyfriend, then?” Patrick asked from where he leaned against the table.

As Brand barked a laugh and shook his head, Vance stated, “No. Most definitely not.”

“Aww…what?” Brand teased while putting the first plate into the microwave. Turning back to face his friend, he waggled his brows. “Am I not your type, hot stuff?”

Vance rolled his eyes. “You know that you’re not.” He grabbed a couple more mugs and held one up. “Want some coffee, Patrick? Or water, beer, wine.” Pointing at the sideboard, Vance added, “Or maybe something stronger so you can tolerate Brand’s poor attempts at humor?”

Brand heard the microwave beep, so focused on switching out the food. “You just hate that I’m funnier than you.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Vance responded, his tone dry. “And my boyfriend is named Jimmy. Jimmy Gibson.”

“Jimmy Gibson?” Patrick repeated, recognition filling his words. “The bartender at The Red Door?”

After starting the microwave again, Brand glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Vance’s huge grin. “Yep. That’s my man,” Vance claimed, clearly pleased with himself.

For an instant, Brand actually felt a pang of…something. Jealousy, he realized, much to his chagrin. He felt no attraction to either man, but there was a small part of him that wanted what Vance and Jimmy had found together.

Damn. When did I start feeling like this?

While Brand shoved the last plate into the microwave to heat, he tried to figure out the answer to that question. The sensation had to have been creeping up on him for a while—maybe even years before when he’d watched Laramie and Trace fall for each other.

When Brand began placing the dishes onto the table, he realized he’d missed part of the conversation. Vance and Patrick had already sat down at the table. Both men had cups of coffee cradled between their palms, and Patrick was outlining the paperwork needed for Vance to move forward with his plans.

“Thank you, Brand,” Vance murmured as he leaned back and accepted the plate. Then his hazel eyes twinkled with mischief as he stated, “You’re gonna make someone a fine wife someday.”

Brand growled, glaring at him. “Funny.” Gripping the edge of Vance’s plate, he began to pull it away from him. “I’ll just put this back.”

Vance grabbed his fork and whapped the back of it against Brand’s knuckles. “Hands off,” he ordered.

“Owe, damn it,” Brand grumbled, releasing the plate. “Ass.”

“Thief,” Vance immediately countered.

“Jerk,” Brand quipped back.

Vance smirked. “Mooch.”

Brand narrowed his eyes. “Pussy-whipped.”

Laughing, Vance shook his head. “Dick-whipped.”

Barking a laugh, Brand lifted his hands in surrender. “You win.”

Vance grinned back at him. “Yep.”

Brand grabbed his own coffee and settled at the table with the others. Picking up his fork, Brand glanced between the men—doing his best not to allow his focus to linger on Patrick. He scooped up a healthy mouthful and shoved it into his mouth.

Groaning softly, Brand relished the creamy, cheesy flavor bursting over his tongue. As soon as he swallowed, he ate another bite. He chewed and swallowed that one just as fast.

As Brand ate that bite, he realized the other men were staring at him. After he’d swallowed, he glanced between them. Vance’s lips were curved in amusement, and Patrick stared at him with a wide-eyed look.

“What?” Brand lifted a napkin to his mouth. “I got something on my face?”

Vance chuckled as he shook his head. “No. Just always entertaining to see how much you love eating my food.”

Brand pointed his fork at the chicken enchiladas. “Can you blame me? This shit is amazing!” He slid his fork into his enchilada again. “I can’t cook for shit, so…mmm,” he hummed as he took another bite.

“You like Italian?” Patrick asked as he slid the tines of his fork into his own food.

Glancing Patrick’s way, Vance dipped his chin in a nod. “Yeah, love it,” he replied after he’d swallowed his bite of food. “Why?”

Patrick narrowed his eyes a little, and he held Brand’s gaze. “I make an amazing chicken parmesan. You want to try it?”

Brand sucked down his surprised gasp as he took in the hungry gleam in Patrick’s gray eyes. The move also caused a piece of food to go down his throat the wrong way. Choking roughly, he pounded the fist of his free hand on his chest as his eyes watered.

After a few seconds, Brand managed to draw in a rough breath. He coughed it right back out again. Grabbing his coffee mug, he carefully took a sip, then another.

“Wow, I didn’t realize offering to make dinner for a hot guy would cause such alarm,” Patrick commented in a mild tone. He swept his gaze up and down Brand’s body a couple of times before adding, “Surely you get asked out all the time, Brand.”

Brand began slowly shaking his head as he continued to try to get his breath. Not trusting himself to speak, he could only stare wide-eyed at the man. Seeing the way Patrick arched his slender eyebrow in disbelief, Brand opened his mouth, then shut it again.

This handsome lawyer just asked me out on a date? Why the hell would he do that?