US Marshall Honeybone is taunted by notes from serial killer Richard Stance. But Stance is supposedly dead, so who is threatening to kill his boyfriend?
Dean Honeybone has made great progress in his recovery from a plane crash in Queensland, Australia. Now in New Orleans with his lover, French chef Jean-Luc Sebastien, Honeybone is scheduled to get back to work except…he's started receiving nasty notes. The sender claims to be watching him. The sender claims to be Richard Stance, the man he was accompanying on the plane to Australia when it crashed.
Unwilling to put his lover at risk, Honeybone wants to send Jean-Luc out of the country, he hopes, to safety and returns to work on a Louisiana murder case. Jean-Luc, unwilling to run, stays in New Orleans, putting a strain on the two men's relationship. Meanwhile, Kaia Pendleton, the little girl Dean rescued in the crash, wants to visit Dean and Jean-Luc as promised. With the crazy letters and calls escalating, Honeybone fears the killer's prophecy of fulfilling his creed.
THIS BOOK IS A PREVIOUS RELEASE
During one fateful night of death and loss, twenty years ago, Mitchell lost almost everything he held dear. Not only were his parents murdered, but his younger brothers were kidnapped and thought lost forever. Since then, Mitchell has not only had to lead the felines in rebuilding their society, but he's had to protect them from future attacks. This leaves little time for his own wants and needs.
Being the second born, wolf shifter Dean, has always lived to serve others. He's never disobeyed orders, even when one of them dictated that he had to give up a man he loved. Broken and alone, Dean vowed never to open his heart to another. Then both of their lives are turned upside down when it's discovered that a rogue wolf from Dean's pack is holding one of Mitchell's lost brothers captive.
Jean-Luc had taught me so much about making love to a man. Sometimes, yes, we fucked like bunnies, sometimes, like now, he wanted it to be a spiritual experience. I could always tell when he was in that mood. His eyes grew smoky and there was a stillness in him I never found in another human being. I just adored every ounce of his high places. He was so Buddha-like it was amazing.
"Take your clothes off, baby." He shut our bedroom door on the world and he walked into the bathroom. I heard the bath taps running. Christ. I knew what was in store for me. Was it possible to die from sensual overload?
I smelled good things. Fig, mint…something else. A dash of chocolate oil. My man was a connoisseur of good eats in the kitchen and in the bedroom. He'd bought kama sutra oils from Europe that stimulated sexual energy. The great thing about them was they entered your pores in the bath in a more subtle way than massaging them into the skin. They came out as your body heat increased during sex and were completely edible. So I got to fuck my man and eat him, too.
He took off his clothes and I admired his naked beauty. We worked off our healthy appetites with a lot of sex and working out. Sex was my preferred method, for sure. His lovely cock started to harden against his thigh and he reached out a hand to me. He allowed me to tongue the ankh tattoo at his hipbone. He pulled away from me as my tongue tried moving to his luscious cock.
Not so fast, mister. I could read his thoughts as clearly as if they were my own. He agitated the oil in the water with his hands, holding them out to me.
I felt better the second I slipped into the satiny liquid.
My gaze feasted on his cock, which was hard now. Damn! Mine was, too. I wanted him for God's sake. I wanted to be in him, guiding his own cock in my hand to glorious ecstasy.
He sat in the water, his cock bobbing to the surface. So did mine, but he ignored it. He focused instead on pouring the warm bath water over my shoulders and back, down my front, lingering across my heart. His hand paused and my heartbeat slowed. "I love your heart," he said, moving his hand away and scooping water over me again.
I loved this ritual. It was my turn next. I'd never focused before on how nice it felt to be bathed by someone, to feel the gentle force of water droplets against my skin. Just as he'd once taught me to take my time exploring the small island on which we'd met, he'd since taught me to savor the final moment of orgasmic bliss. Sometimes the pleasure was so strong, I thought I would die from it. I knew it would be one heck of a way to go, but what I wanted more than anything was to keep this life-force, to keep him with me, for as long as humanly possible.
His hands moved to the underside of my balls. I felt the gentle tug as he stroked all the secret, soft places. He stroked once, twice at my ass hole and I thought I might come right there and then, but then his hands moved down my legs and under my feet. He stopped when my feet rested in his palms.
It was now my turn. I used to try and race through these rituals of Jean-Luc's, until he showed me the astonishing, sacred fulfillment we could both achieve by focusing on being in the moment.
I loved the feel of his skin, the muscles underneath. I wanted a million years, a thousand children with him. When I reached his feet and our gazes met, I don't think our cocks had ever been harder.