Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : A. J. Llewellyn
Word Count :23288
Publication Date :2020-07-24
Series : #
Heat Level :
- Product Code: 978-1-55487-947-2
Antonio, a California seminarian meets the man of his dreams during a walking tour of Spain. Little does he know…handsome Zeb is a storm demon.
Each year thousands of people make a spiritual journey called The Camino, an ancient walk through Europe, crisscrossing through France, Portugal and Spain. For two very different men, the trip has special dangers and, attractions. Antonio is one step away from becoming a transitional deacon, the final step before becoming a priest, but feels his new-found desire for other men violates his chosen vocation.
His nighttime dreams reveal a man he is passionate about, but to his amazement, he looks just like Zeb, a very handsome, mysterious man who is questioning things in his own life. How can Antonio be in love with someone who worships evil? And why is Zeb walking the path of The Camino?
This book was previously published.
Antonio knelt on the floor a few feet away from the naked man who reclined in his leather-bound wooden chair, watching him. The man touched his cock with a languid hand. He smiled, beckoning Antonio who was mesmerized by the gorgeous man’s long, tapered fingers, white even teeth and long, flowing hair.
Desire seemed to flare in the man’s eyes, his gestures suddenly impatient. Antonio knew that yes, he wanted Antonio to suck him. Candles flickering around them, the only sound Antonio could hear was their increasingly short, sharp breaths.
Antonio held his breath. He loved the sound of the man’s mounting passion.
“Do you want me to blindfold you?” the man asked as Antonio crawled toward him. It was difficult with his hands bound behind him, but all he cared about was getting his mouth around the cock bobbing in front of him.
“No. I want to look at you.”
The man shook his glossy brown hair, his eyes darkening with lust as he looked down at Antonio. He scurried across the last remaining inches of floor space, earning a smile from the man in the chair.
Just an inch away now, Antonio held his mouth open. He was close enough to drink in the finer details of the gorgeous man’s dusting of chest hair. The man scooted forward just a little in his huge, kingly chair, anxious for the cock to mouth contact.
Antonio had thought he might want to be blindfolded since he was so shy about being naked, and with another man, but was surprised to find being bound was enough. He wanted to be able to watch the man’s reactions as he sucked him. He licked his lips. He couldn’t wait.
He reached the edge of the leather seat. The smell of leather and warm, manly skin went straight through him and to Antonio’s cock.
The man before him moaned, bit his lip, jutting his hard cock forward until it touched Antonio’s now wet mouth. He allowed his cock to slide across the full, lush lips. They looked deeply into each other’s eyes.
“Open,” the man whispered, and Antonio did as he was bid, sucking in the biggest cock he’d ever seen in his life. Raising himself a little higher on his knees, he worked hard to suck as much of the cock into his mouth as he could. He blinked. He thought he might choke but the man whispered words of lust, sweet words of encouragement.
Antonio could taste the bittersweet syrup from the other man’s cock. He was aware of his own cock hardening. It was such delicious torture not to be able to touch it. Not that he needed to. He always came, especially when the man lifted his cock away from Antonio’s mouth and begged for him to tongue his ass. It never failed. Antonio closed his eyes, his mouth descending to the other man’s special, private place and--
Antonio opened his eyes. A wave of sadness washed over him, even as he experienced such savage relief from masturbation. Fear consumed him momentarily as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Where was he? Oh, yes, Mount Calvary at St. Mary’s Benedictine Monastery and Retreat House.
He held onto his softening shaft to prolong the euphoric feeling, careful not to brush the sensitive head. He remembered to breathe, then smiled. Wow. The fantasy of the man in the chair always ignited his passions. He longed to delve deeper into pleasuring his nameless, faceless lover but he could never get that far. The newly discovered bliss of self-gratification had come with myriad emotions. Being bound in his fantasy absolved Antonio of responsibility for his actions. In his mind, anyway. It also fueled his fire more and more he found.
Completely unsuitable thoughts and behavior for a man destined for the priesthood, Antonio realized. He had denied himself for so long, but at the age of twenty-four, it had come as a shock, and a blessing. He released his cock and turned over on the small bed.
His room was large and contained mostly functional, but comfortable items and yet it still seemed a lot more luxurious than his usual quarters at St. John’s Seminary in Camarillo. The vase of thick branches of rosemary entwined with lavender roses, on his bureau, gave the room a heavenly smell as well as a touch of warmth.
Antonio lay with his arm under his head, listening to the sounds of the unfamiliar monastery. All was still and quiet as it was supposed to be. Restless, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stared out of the window of his private quarters.
He wondered if anyone ever broke the vow of silence of Mount Calvary. It was almost eight p.m. Soon it would be sunset, and the official Great Silence would descend over the property like a heavy blanket until the following morning. Already he chafed. Silence! All he ever got was silence. And austerity. Why had Monsignor Loftus suggested a sabbatical here when Antonio longed to talk and talk, and for good measure, talk?
He stared at the lush grounds with their unusual trees, the beautifully tended gardens and surrounding them, the magnificent mountains of Santa Barbara. He could hear the ocean waves crashing at the foot of the cliffs. Yes, it was stunning. This was supposed to be a brief respite before returning to St. John’s Seminary, but he’d known the second he’d arrived here that this life wasn’t for him. The old Monsignor had been smart in directing him to Mount Calvary. The life of a priest would mean a lot of silence. A lot of contemplation.
He’d already told the Monsignor in a phone conversation that morning that he needed more time. The Monsignor had agreed, suggesting he take a month off. He’d even thrown out the idea of The Camino.