Book Name: Underground: Special Teams
Author Name: Sean Michael
Publisher: Torquere Press
Cover Artist: Kris Norris
When Hunter Simms goes undercover at an underground BDSM party, the last thing he expects to see is SWAT’s leading shooter Keifer Magnessen bound, gagged, plugged and very naked. He is immediately drawn to Keifer, and wants to get to know his fellow cop better. Much better.
With such a high stress job, Keifer needs to give up control on his down time in order to decompress, but it’s a secret he holds close to his vest. So, when Hunter walks into his chosen place to submit, he tries to cut and run. Lucky for him, Hunter is shrewd, persistent and quite possibly just the Dom that Keifer needs.
Can these two strong men find a way to make their personal lives mesh?
About the Author: Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to "Chicago."A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
Underground: Special Teams
By Sean Michael
Hunt let Keifer sleep. That was a good chunk of Keif's problem, he was sure. And it was one of those vicious cycle things. So he let Keifer sleep until morning. He figured twelve hours was more than enough for anyone.
Moving close to his sleeping lover, he kissed Keif softly.
Keifer's eyes popped open. "I. Oh, God. Hey."
"Hey. Easy there." He put his hand on that magnificent belly, stroking.
"I... Hey." Keifer shook his head. "Man. I slept."
Smiling, Hunter nodded. "You did. And slept and slept."
"Don't apologize. It was the goal, yes?"
"Yes, sir," Hunt suggested.
Keifer actually grinned, the look surprising, charming. "Yes, sir." He got a little salute.
Someone was feeling better.
"Are you hungry? I'm going to make pancakes." No cold pizza for them.
"Make pancakes? Here?"
Okay, that was adorable.
"Yes, boy. Pancakes. Here. I even tested your stove." He leaned in like he was telling a secret. "It actually works."
"Dude. Really?" Keifer played along. "Did you make sure the manual wasn't still in the oven?"
"Nope. Let's hope we didn't burn the place down."
Keifer laughed. "I would notice."
Grinning, he kept the tease going. "You sure?"
"Smoke. Fire. Alarms. Yeah, I'd notice."
"Well, I had to be sure -- you are in SWAT, after all..."
"Don't make me beat your ass."
"You could try."
"I could most likely do more than try, but that would be rude."
"No way." He was lying, though. No matter that he was bigger, Keifer could beat his ass to shit in a knock down drag 'em out fight.
Keifer grinned at him again -- the second time in as many minutes. Hunt was impressed. A little sleep went a long way.
"You can make the orange juice while I do the pancakes," Hunter suggested.
"Totally. There's a jug in the fridge."
"I saw. There's also actual oranges in the fridge, and it tastes way better fresh."
"Okay. Sure. I have to piss first."
"You're allowed. I'll take the sleeve off here. Leave it off for breakfast." Air that pretty cock out.
"I hadn't even noticed you put it back on."
He wasn't at all surprised to hear that. "You were sleeping pretty hard."
"Yeah, I was dead to the world." Keifer bared his body. "I really need to go."
Hunter admired the fit lines as he undid the leather ties on the sheath, then slowly drew it off. Keifer rolled up, belly hard as nails, and padded into the bathroom.
Hunter stretched and got up, debating on putting his leathers back on. He didn't want anything exposed while he cooked. There was an apron in the kitchen, though.
"There's shorts, if you want them," Keifer told Hunt as he came back in, went to a drawer, and pulled out some soft shorts. They'd be huge on Keif, but they looked like they'd fit him. Barely.
"Why have you got enormous shorts in your drawer?" Hunter tried not to be all growly and shit over that.
"When I broke my thigh, I needed something easy to get on."
"You broke your fucking thigh? How did you manage that?"
"I was chasing a perp across a roof and fell three stories."
"Son of a bitch, that must have hurt." And why wasn't he surprised to find out Keifer had done something like that?
"Yeah." Keifer turned, the scar silvery and broad. "That's where the bone popped out."
"Fuck." He shook his head. "Come on. Kitchen. You can tell me how long it took you to recover."
"I was out for two weeks, then riding a desk and physio for another four."
"Six weeks, that's it?" Hunter chuckled. "You, my friend, are an overachiever."
What was Keifer running from?
"You know how fast the team can replace you, man?"
"There's no way they wouldn't have held a spot for you." Keifer was the top man on that team.
"No one hold spots, man. No one."
"You telling me there's no one who'd snap you the hell up?" He grabbed a bowl out of the cupboard, the ingredients.
"I didn't say that. At some point they'll retire me and want me to train." Keifer looked like that would be a nightmare or something.
"So what is it about your job that you love so much?"
"It's what I'm good at. I was made for this, so I do it."
"There's more to you than being a sniper, Keif."
Keifer just grunted.
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