Page 16 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

“Holy fuck,” Jackson growls. He rails me hard, one final, magnificently brutal thrust sending us sprawling forward together, and crashing to the floor.

Still reeling, not entirely retuned from my venture into subspace, I lay trapped beneath him, a mangled, fucked, and exhausted pile of once humanity. Slickness smears under my cheek—cold as the floor—and I shudder internally. I feel every bit the dirty piece of trash of my fantasies. Used, abused, and left lying in a pool of my own cum like a whore. Fuck, yeah!

“Did that do it for you, baby?” comes a husky whisper in my ear.

A smile betrays me, and I sigh, nodding. Not capable of giving voice to anything remotely coherent in my current state.

“You’re welcome,” says Jackson. “You did so well, baby. You’re a good slave.”

The praise sings through my soul, warming my heart and fulfilling every secret and debauched desire I’ve ever dreamed of in a scene. And as Jackson pulls out, leaving me leaking all over myself and the floor, I let go, falling down the dark and endless rabbit hole of fuck-crazed exhaustion.

Lurid red lights flash behind my eyes as I give in, plummeting through oblivion like a star falling from the heavens. We’re going to have one hell of a party tonight. For the first time ever, The Dungeon and The Red Bastille are going to join forces, and Los Angeles will hear us raving and fucking until the sun rises over the city of lost and damned angels. And we’ll be there, together among it all—proud as fuck—announcing our deliciously deviant enemies-to-lovers union to the world! No fucks given.

The End

www.evernightpublishing.com/faedra-rose

BROKEN

L.J. Longo

Copyright © 2024

Chapter One

“Hey, bartender, give me a quick blow.”

The bar mirror reflects me and liquor. Between my bright-blue hair and the bottles, it’s like a warning sign of forbidden pleasure. I’d just come from a jog, but even in my running shorts and sweaty graphic tee, I’m the damn finest man in East Quay, Galway City’s finest gay bar and male revue. Even when it isn’t empty as a church.

Paul stares in astonishment. Like a knocked-over scarecrow. “W…what? Chard, no.”

“I was kidding.” Shit, did he think I meant it? “Unless you wanna do it.”

Paul will always do in a pinch.

“Did you forget I have a boyfriend again?”

Used to do in a pinch. Before the boyfriend. I’d met the guy once and rate him a low six. Paul could do better, because Paul could do me. Let’s not get too carried away, gym bunny. He doesn’t like you.

I ignore the nasty voice in my head and tease. “Give your boy toy a call. Maybe he’s down for a threesome.”

“Knock it off, Jeremy.”

Once the “Mr. Paul Thayer voice” comes out, I swivel away and survey my empty playground. Older gay couple happily eating an early dinner in the booth. A coven of lesbians crowding a high-top. In a few hours, this will be wall-to-wall bodies, and it’s not bragging to say I’ll have my pick.

“You’re antsy today. You taking your meds?”

“I am.” The jittering energy in my muscles means I’m due for an episode. Maybe I can outrun it. “Guess I better hit the gym.”

“Were you skipping leg day again?”

“Dude!” I spin on the stool, earnest and offended. “Some lines you just don’t cross.”

He’s about to defend himself, when our boss emerges from the back with a crate of clean tumblers. Judith Churm lost any fucks she’d given about gender to the first round of grunge and when she enters the room, you sit up and pay attention.

“Hey, Chard. You on for the teaser tonight?”

“Sure am.”

---