Facebook banned the original cover (below). Evidently, navels are too hot for them!
Replay Book 11: Wanted by Nia Farrell
Length 25,502 words. Release date September 1, 2018.
Free with Kindle Unlimited
Amazon Universal link https://mybook.to/RB11
Amazon US https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FXJ7395
Jeremy Randall is a graphic novelist whose Iron Domination Series inspired The Steamroom addition at Replay BDSM theme resort. While he’s written BDSM, he’s only researched it, never experienced it. His first visit to Replay coincides with Wild West weekend, where he’ll portray a gunslinger. He hopes to be dominating subs before the weekend is through.
Jeremy signs a contract agreeing to train as submissive, but he’s in for a shock when Courtney Reynolds isn’t the latex-clad Domme that he envisioned. The Dominant assigned to guide him through the weekend is eight years older, experienced, and gay.
Cast in the role of Sheriff Reynolds, Court seems Jeremy’s opposite but he takes the role of training him seriously. Court believes that Jeremy is naturally submissive, and he agrees with the resort psychiatrist that Jeremy might be bisexual. Court falls hard and fast for the beautiful, talented, conflicted young man. He has one weekend to free Jeremy from a lifetime of misperceptions and help him discover his true nature. When Sunday comes, will he be able to let him go?
This book is a first time MM BDSM erotic romance. If kink and a sexual relationship between an older man and a younger man offend you, please keep looking for your next read. Written for Aged 18+.
By the time they returned to Jericho, Jeremy’s shirt was soaked through with sweat and he knew that he’d never done justice when describing the aches of a horseback rider.
“Saddle-sore?” The sheriff eyed him closely.
“A bit, Sir,” Jeremy said tightly, grimacing when he swung his right leg down and cleared his left boot from the stirrup.
Sheriff Reynolds rubbed his face in his hands. “Okay. Then we’re headed to the bathhouse. We need to get that soreness worked out if you’re going to be much good tonight.”
Tonight. Jesus, he didn’t want to think about tonight.
Working out the soreness, though…
That, he could handle.
Jeremy followed Sir Courtney out of the livery and fell into step behind him, keeping his eyes on the broad shoulders and the muscled width of his back. He was grateful that the Dom kept his pace to a lazy amble. Despite his soreness, he managed to keep up with him, at least.
A scantily clad attendant greeted them when they stepped inside the bathhouse. “How can I help you, Sir?”
The sheriff sliced a quick glance at him. “The boy needs a bath and a rubdown. Is there a private room available? First time here,” he explained.
First time anywhere, Jeremy silently corrected him, grateful to be spared a public display. The Dom and the concierge spoke longer, keeping their voices low and their conversation between the two of them. When they finished, she showed them to a room upstairs and opened the door for them to step inside.
Two old-fashioned tubs were filled with steaming water, just like in the movies. A table between them held small bars of soap, washcloths, and towels. Pitchers of clear rinse water sat within reach on the board floor.
Sheriff Reynolds hung his hat on the wall rack. Jeremy stood with his feet rooted in place, feeling as fidgety as a freshman athlete in the varsity shower room.
The Dom gave him a longsuffering look and nodded at the tubs. “Strip and get in,” he ordered. Pulling off his tie and shrugging off his sack coat, he hung them on the wall hooks and reached for the buttons of his vest.
The sheriff was stripping.
The gay sheriff was getting naked.
There were two tubs, Jeremy told himself. Nothing was going to happen—especially nothing without consent, and he hadn’t agreed to anything yet.
Except for what was in the contract.
God, he was so fucked.
Jeremy snatched up the bath towel and began drying himself off, turning his back to them so that his front was out of view. Did the boy not know that the sight of his virgin ass was almost as hot as his seven-inch cock?
Court managed to not roll his eyes. Ignoring his own rod for the moment, he wrapped the towel around his hips and sat in an empty spindle-back chair. If he’d had time and toys, he would have bound Jeremy to it for a session of sensory play.
Later, he promised himself.
His priority right now was getting Jeremy to open up, to finally experience the feelings that he was used to suppressing and allow things to unfold naturally.
Jeremy wrapped the towel around his trim waist. Inhaling deeply, he squared his shoulders with a grudging acceptance, marched across the floor, and got on the massage table. Reaching beneath his stomach, he adjusted himself, put his arms at his sides, and settled in for his session.
He had a beautiful body. His fair skin was even lovelier, glistening with oil, his supple flesh yielding to Quentin’s talented hands. When the masseuse had worked the aches and knots from his backside, he told Jeremy to turn over.
The boy was still hard.
Court waited until Quentin was nearly done to rise from his chair and go stand at the table near Jeremy’s head.
“What are your safewords?”
Jeremy craned his neck. His alarmed hazel gaze clashed with Court’s. Seeing the heat in his eyes, he whispered, “Oh, God.”
Court shook his head. “Not oh God. Safewords need to be things that you would never say during a session. If you can’t think of anything, we’ll use the stoplight system. Green to go, yellow to slow, red to stop. Now, one more time. What are your safewords?”
“Shit,” he murmured.
Court grabbed his wrists and pinned them to the table. “Safewords,” he rumbled. “You won’t like what happens if I have to ask for them again.”
“All right! Sir!” he bleated, remembering to address him as his Dominant for the weekend. “Yellow to slow and red to stop.”
Court gave a slight nod of approval. The boy was nervous to the point of panic, judging from his pulse and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “It’s alright, son. One more time. Give us your safewords.”
“Yellow to slow and red to stop, Sir.”
“Good boy. Now, do you remember the story I told you? Do you remember what happened on my eighteenth birthday? I’d been wearing blinders. I didn’t see it coming. It was a complete surprise because I hadn’t opened myself to the possibilities. It took my coach and a kiss and a mindfucking blowjob to break free. All I needed was someone who could guide me. It would have happened eventually. I’ll always be grateful that it was Paul and not some predator bent on taking and not giving. I’d like to be that person for you. Let me show you what you’ve been missing. I’ll give you permission to let go. Allow you to break free. I want you to let Quentin finish you. Just his hands, his fingers, stroking your cock. You’re so hard, it hurts, I can tell. Just a few strokes, and he’ll pull you right over the edge and ease that terrible ache. You have your safeword to use if you absolutely need it, but you won’t. Not for this.”
He hoped like fuck not. There was nothing in his background that indicated triggers. The boy wasn’t fighting his hold on his wrists.
Jeremy’s breath hissed when Quentin pulled down the sheet, exposing his genitals. Wrapping an oil-slick hand around his shaft, Quentin started pumping his arm, slowly at first, gradually building in speed and intensity as he jacked him off.
“That’s it,” Court crooned. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Having someone else’s fingers on you, touching you, stroking you, milking your cock?”
Jeremy bit his lip and moaned.
Court growled at the sight of it. “So fucking sexy. I want that lip,” he grated. “Those teeth. That tongue. That mouth. I want to lick the pre-cum from your slit, suck your balls, and tongue your ass. When you’re more than wet enough to take me, I’m going to fist your hair and sink my length inside of you. Inch. By. Fucking. Inch.”
“Fuck!” Jeremy bucked, spewing thick ropes of cum that landed like lifelines on his chest. Court kept his wrists pinned until Quentin had cleaned him off with the washcloth that he’d used in his bath.
The moment he let go, Jeremy jackknifed up and tried to scramble off the table.
Court caught his arm and held it. “Slow down, son. Safety first. I want you healthy enough to play.”
“To fuck, you mean,” he grumbled.
“You’d best be careful, boy. You’re only adding to the count when you disrespect me.”
Breaking eye contact, Jeremy bit his lip and swallowed what he really wanted to say. “Sir,” he said tightly. “You want me healthy enough to fuck, Sir.”
Court dropped his hand and crossed his arms. Lowering his chin, he flailed him with a cutting look. “Don’t ever put words in my mouth, boy,” he said, keeping his voice calm and even. “I meant what I said. I want you healthy enough to play. You’ll have to earn my cock, and so far, that hasn’t happened.”
Jeremy eyed him warily. Court had yet to win his trust, and nothing much was going to happen without it.
“Get dressed,” he said. Ripping off his towel, he let Jeremy see just how much self-control he had. His cock was so hard, he was sorely tempted to have Quentin finish him, too. “I’m taking you home.”