Saturday, July 27, 2013

My Sexy Saturday {9} - His Just Desserts

This is  the first time I've partipated in this, but once I read last week's version over at Sexy Erotic Xciting, I had to give it a whirl.  So my contribution is coming from an upcoming m/m release from Decadent.  His Just Desserts will be coming out August 2nd but I thought this would be a good place for the world to meet Sean and his sexy chef Isaiah.   I hope you enjoy it. :D  Now I'm off to go and visit the rest of the blogs on the linky. 

   Growing up in a foster  home in  a small Midwest
   town,  Sean  Whitcomb  planned  from the day he
   turned  sixteen  to  somehow escape. And he does 
   to  the  big  city of Des Moines at a lawyer’s firm. 
   Now up for a shot at a partnership, Sean needs to 
   deliver the  goods,  and  it's  not  what  he  thinks. 
   No, it's family style meal for the founding partners 
   and their spouses. Which causes Sean a major iss-
   ue,   because not only is he single gay man, but he
   can’t cook to save  his  life and his boss is expect-
   ing  a home cooked meal – complete with a family 
   or there will be no partnership offer.

   In desperation, Sean turns to  the  man  he left be-
   hind  in   his  pursuit  of  the  golden  ring,  Isaiah 
   Waterston.  Not only is Isaiah  hot enough  to still
   turn Sean’s crank but he’s also a world class chef 
   at one of the  hottest eateries in  town.  Now all he 
   has to do  is convince the man he’d  left  behind to 
   give him a single night of his time, prepare a mouth
   -watering meal and  pretend to be  his  lover  for a
   few  hours.  Sounds  easy right?  Well,  it  is  until 
   Isaiah attaches his own stipulations – he wants an 
   entire weekend  with Sean at his mercy.

Seven Paragraphs: 

“Baby? Everyone is gone, and they told me to tell you again how great the meal was….”
He came to a sudden stop when he spotted the dining room table. Gone were the ivory linen tablecloth, silver candlesticks, and ornate flower arrangement he’d used at Isaiah’s insistence. In their place, a plastic tablecloth, a steaming teapot, several silver bowls, a couple of towels, a razor, shaving mug and a…basting brush awaited him.
“Strip, Counselor.” Isaiah appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, his suit jacket gone, his tie poking out of his slacks pocket. His ivory silk shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled up to expose his dark, muscled forearms. Sean wanted to moan and did when the other man crossed his arms. “I want you naked like thirty seconds ago, and I’m not waiting. Either you do it, or I will.”
He didn’t protest. He obeyed. Despite his recent solo session with his fist, he shook with need. He kicked off his loafers then unbuckled his belt. Yanking it free of his slacks, he let it clatter to the floor. Fumbling to open the tab at his waist, he jerked down his zipper. When his pants pooled around his ankles, he freed the tail of his dress shirt. No doubt a sight to see in his socks, tighty-whities, and dark blue shirt as he kicked the pants away, he couldn’t care less. Struggling with his tie, he managed to loosen it enough to rip it over his head, still tied. He would have tossed it to the floor with the rest of his clothing, but Isaiah stopped him.
“No. Give it here.” He held out his hand.
Without contemplating what would happen if he did as requested, Sean tossed the wadded up material to him. Slipping the shirt’s buttons through their holes, he held Isaiah’s gaze. When the chef arched an eyebrow at him, he tore at the material, ripping off the buttons in his rush. His desire to give up his control consumed him.
Soon he stood in nothing but his socks and underwear. He looked to Isaiah for direction.
“All of it, Counselor. I didn’t stutter.” The prominent bulge in the front of his slacks assured him Isaiah found the play arousing.

©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

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