The Hot Floor (27 page)

I wordlessly led the way to my kitchen, trying desperately to convince my body that soaking itself in sweat was not the best plan of action right now. Needless to say, it didn’t bloody well listen to me.

“Wow! Great place you’ve got here. I was too panicked to notice it all yesterday.” Ollie spun around in the middle of the kitchen, peered out over the courtyard garden, then his gaze skittered over my coffeemaker. “Shit, you’ve got an Elektra Micro Casa! These things are fucking beautiful.” He stroked a hand over the brass body. “Looks proper steampunk, that does. Like I said, you’ve got great taste.”

He turned to me, and my mouth dried up. I swallowed hard. “You want a coffee, then?”

Ollie shook his head, a mischievous smile quirking his lips. “Not really. Maybe next time, though.”

He took a step closer, his eyes sparkling, and I started to panic at my body’s instinctive reaction to him. I couldn’t get properly hard when I was bloated with fluid, could I? I was starting to doubt my previous certainty.

“Juice?” I offered. “Soda water?” Anything to take my mind off the way my blood was racing south.

“There is something I’d like to taste,” Ollie said, stepping well into my personal space. I took a step back and ended up trapped against the worktop.

“Yeah?” I croaked, unable to take my eyes off his as he moved right up close until we were practically touching. I could feel the heat radiating off him, and I wanted nothing more than to pull him to me, but my hands seemed to be glued to the worktop.

“Yeah,” Ollie replied, then slipped his arms around my waist and craned up on tiptoe until our lips brushed together.

He’ll bend for them. But they may break over him…

Out of Focus

© 2011 L.A. Witt

For twelve years, Dom lovers Ryan “Angel” Morgan and Dante James have run a successful photography business, and satisfied their need for a submissive with the occasional sizzling three-way. On a wedding job, they both zero in on the bride’s beautiful brother, but as professionals, they keep their attraction on the down-low—for now.

Jordan Steele has no trouble establishing mastery over his stallions. When he hires Angel and Dante to shoot promotional photos for his stable, though, there’s something about them that calls to his inner submissive. After a little flirtation and a photo session that gets almost too hot to handle, Angel and Dante are happy to show him the ropes. And the whip.

Once they break the ice, their sexual chemistry burns hotter than a macro flash. Everyone gets what they need…until emotions come into play. Their power could develop into something permanent, throw everything off balance—leaving one of them the odd man out.

Warning: Contains lots of sarcasm, a double helping of steamy erotic photography, and two dominants having their way with one very enthusiastic submissive.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Out of Focus:

All I’d needed to get nervous was the time it took for Dante to ask if I’d ever considered modeling. Oh, yeah, I was nervous. But I was also intrigued, both with this idea and with them, so I forced the nerves back.

“So, what exactly do I do?”

Ryan adjusted a light. “Whatever we tell you to do.”

“And you can say no to anything,” Dante said.

That eased my nerves a little. They were in charge. All I had to do was listen to them, and there was a way out. I could leave now if I wanted to.

Dante disappeared into the shadows, then returned with an adjustable stool that had a single armrest on one side. He put it in the middle of the muslin.

“We’ll have you start on that,” he said. “It’s usually a little easier to relax when you’re sitting versus standing in the middle of a bare set.”

Relax. Sure. I’ll get
right
on that
.

He gestured at it and smiled. “Have a seat.”

And we’re off
.

I took a seat on the stool, resting my arm on the armrest. With the various bright lights around me, I could barely make out Dante and Ryan’s shadows. Still, I had no trouble keeping track of them as they moved around. Their footsteps and their dark-against-darker shapes made them easy enough to track, especially when the occasional glint of light on Dante’s almost-white hair distinguished his silhouette from Ryan’s, but they also kept talking to me.

“Could you put your shoulders back a little? Good, just like that.”

“Raise your chin a bit, just—yes, perfect.”

“Turn your body about five degrees to your left. Right there, good.”

Being in the middle of the set was weird. Out in the open. Exposed. Only their voices gently guiding me through where to put my hand or how to tilt my head kept me distracted from that vulnerability.

Then Ryan came out of the shadows and gestured for me to stand. “I think that’s enough with the chair.” He took it off the set, and Dante emerged from the darkness.

“Stand with one hip toward the front. Like this.” He stood as he’d indicated, his body facing one side of the set while he looked to the front. I mirrored him, and he nodded. “Good. Just rest your weight on your left foot.” When I did, he nodded again, and a moment later, he and Ryan were back behind the curtain of shadows.

He was right: without the company of a piece of furniture, I was definitely out in the open. Vulnerable, exposed, and not nearly as unnerved as I thought I’d be.

Nothing in the room was loud, but it was anything but quiet. The pop of the flash and the zing when it recycled. The snap of the shutter. My heartbeat. My own slow, uneven breathing.

Snap. Pop. Zing. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Snap. Snap. Snap. Pop. Zing.

“Hook your thumbs in your pockets,” Ryan said. “Just let your arms relax.” I did, wondering if he realized how far out of my vocabulary “relax” was at this point.

“Bring your left shoulder forward a little,” Dante said. “Good, perfect.”

Snap. Pop. Zing
.

It should have been overwhelming taking commands from two people at once, but strangely enough, it wasn’t. They didn’t contradict each other. When one gave a suggestion, the other ran with it.

“Tilt your—” Dante stepped across the edge of the muslin. He pursed his lips, then reached for my shoulder but stopped before touching me. “May I?”

In spite of my nerves, I nodded.

Even through my shirt, the gentle contact of his fingers sent electricity down my spine. He nudged my shoulder back a little.

“Good, right there.” He offered a smile, which did nothing to help me keep my balance. “Don’t move.”

Snap. Pop. Zing. Snap. Pop. Zing.

They kept shooting for a few minutes, offering gentle suggestions. I focused completely on their voices, letting their directions ground me. I was aware of what they told me to do, aware of whether or not I was comfortable doing it, but my body simply…did.

“Squat down and rest your elbows on your knees. Just let your hands fall between, completely relaxed.”

“Turn to the left.”

“Tuck your chin just slightly.”

Snap. Pop. Zing. Snap. Pop. Zing.

“Stand and put your weight on your right heel.”

“Don’t move your head, but look up.”

“Bring your chin toward your left shoulder and look straight ahead.”

Snap. Pop. Zing. Snap. Pop. Zing.

Blood pounded in my ears when Ryan came up to me as Dante had done a few minutes before. And just as Dante had done, he reached for me but stopped before making contact.

“May I?” he asked, fingertips inches from my face.

I’d forgotten how to speak, so I just nodded.

He touched my face, and I closed my eyes as that warm contact pulled all the air out of my lungs. With the gentlest pressure on my jaw, he turned my head
just
a little to the right.

“You okay?” His voice was soft, and his fingers still cupped my jaw.

“Yeah.” I opened my eyes.

Snap. Pop. Zing.

Ryan grimaced and blinked a few times, evidently caught off guard by Dante’s flash. Then he gave me a reassuring smile, and slipped back into the dark foreground.

I continued obeying their instructions, pretending I wasn’t acutely aware of the phantom warmth where Ryan had touched my skin.

After a while, Dante said, “Would you be comfortable losing your shirt?”

I took a breath. Was I? Oh, hell yes I was.

“Jordan?” Ryan said.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” I started unbuttoning my shirt, ignoring all the fluttering in my stomach and the tingling at the base of my spine.

“Wait,” Ryan said.

My hands froze, and I looked up, eyebrows raised.

“Slower,” he said.

I moistened my lips, then continued unbuttoning my shirt, forcing my unsteady hands to work slowly.

Snap. Pop. Zing. Snap. Pop. Zing.

“Good, just like that,” Ryan said softly. His approval sent a rush of…of something through my veins.

Snap. Pop. Zing. Snap. Pop. Zing.

“Take your shirt all the way off.” Dante appeared on the set, hand outstretched.

I obeyed, shrugging off my shirt. Warm air met my skin, making me acutely aware of every inch I made visible to them. Of the fact that I no longer had my shirt to mask the front of my jeans and the effect they had on me.

Dante took my shirt but paused before returning to his place. “Tell us if you get cold, okay?”

I nodded. The lights warmed my skin anyway, but it was the heat from under my skin that was liable to make me break into a sweat. Getting cold wasn’t an issue.

Snap. Pop. Zing. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Snap. Snap. Snap. Pop. Zing.

Fuck, I was half naked. Taking orders, following simple commands that were commands nonetheless. My every move was under the scrutiny of the cameras, illuminated by lights and flashes, and in full unflinching view of
them
. Dante and Ryan. Dante. Ryan. Dante, who’d made me trip over my own feet at the wedding with nothing more than eye contact. Ryan, whose subs called him Angel. Dante, who’d been
right
there; Ryan, who’d silently asked if I wanted some of this, and I did, I did, God damn it, I did.

I was dreaming. I had to be.

“Take off your belt.” Dante’s command was terse, bordering on sharp, and didn’t invite argument. Intellectually, I knew I was free to say no, and I was free to leave if I didn’t want to do this. Not that it mattered. I wanted to.

My shaking hands amplified the jingling of my belt buckle, and the metallic sound echoed in the stillness while Dante and Ryan watched. Waited.

Snap. Pop. Zing. Snap. Pop. Zing.

I imagined them zooming in for close-ups of my hands, and wondered if the camera would pick up how much my hands trembled while I tried to work the simple buckle. I wondered just how visible my hard-on was to the cameras—to them—because I sure as hell couldn’t miss it. I couldn’t decide if that was mortifying or exhilarating.

Then came Ryan’s voice, and with four words, he tilted the scales in favor of the latter:

“Get on your knees.”

The Hot Floor

Josephine Myles

Two plus one equals scorching hot fun.

Dumped by his boyfriend and reduced to living in a grotty bedsit, Josh Carpenter has gotten used to expecting the worst. Now he lives only for his job as a glassblower…and occasional glimpses of his sexy downstairs neighbors, Rai Nakamura and Evan Truman.

Every time he overhears the diminutive academic and the hunky plumber having loud and obviously kinky sex, Josh is overwhelmed with lust…and a longing for a fraction of what they have.

To his amazement, Rai and Evan find his embarrassing tendency to blush utterly charming, and the three men grow closer over the course of the long, hot summer. Despite Rai’s charming flirtation and Evan’s smoldering gaze, Josh is determined never to break his new friends’ loving bonds.

On the night a naked Josh falls—quite literally—into the middle of one of Rai and Evan’s marathon sex sessions, the force of their mutual attraction takes control. But just as Josh dares to hope, he senses a change. Leaving him to wonder if the winds of love are about to blow his way at last…or if history is about to repeat itself.

Warning: Contains one well-endowed stud with a sexy accent, one improbably toppy bottom boy with an unfortunate owl obsession, and one blushing naïf who can’t believe his luck. Also, the occasional indulgence in mathematical spanking and some shameless armpit sex.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.