Good Boy by Celia Jordan

Author:Celia Jordan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: erotica, priest, erotic romance, bdsm, gay erotica, spanking, mentor, authoritarian, gay bdsm, crossgeneration

Justin and Father Burke's story continues in Sinner, available now!

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“Looks like you're all in,” Dan observed.

Conner hesitated, then glanced at me and steeled himself. “I can put my shirt up too,” he decided.

“Fifty,” Boezman said.

“What?” Conner burst out. “Alex's was worth two hundred!”

“I don't already have one of his,” Boezman pointed out, and Conner flushed beet red.

I did a slow double take, but he wouldn't meet my eye. “Fine then,” he spat. “How about my shorts? I know you don't have none of those.”

The older man nodded graciously. “Reckon, oh, three hundred.”

“Make it five,” Conner insisted.

Boezman just shrugged and downed his whiskey. “Sure, whatever.”

He's playing you, I thought, desperately. Don't forget you're just bluffing!

Too late. Conner was already emptying his pockets, blood rushing through his brain where good sense should've been.

To my surprise, Boezman folded, chuckling. But Dan met the bet, and by the last flop is was obvious he was sitting on something grand. It turned out to be three of a kind, beating out Dan's last-second pair. I shook my head, dismayed, then stopped myself. Conner'd just made the exact same mistake I had. I could only sigh when he took the fifty against his shirt, pulling it off to round out the last bet. His big body seemed to throw off heat, like the shirt had just been holding it in this whole time.

It cost him more than the shirt, though, when the cards finally came out. He jerked to his feet and ripped at the belt on his shorts, all but tearing them off, and threw them at Dan. “Take 'em,” he spat.

I went to pass him some of my winnings but Boezman stopped me. “He's not out yet,” he promised. “Plenty of other things left to go.”

I glanced at Conner and my eye caught. He had a thing for expensive underwear, and tonight apparently was no exception. He was sporting some kind of jockstrap, a tight bit of black fabric with straps that contoured the curves of his ass perfectly. The pouch in front cradled his package, shaft pulled up to the side just under the elastic of the waistband, long enough almost to reach his hip.

I wasn't the only one staring. Conner stood defiantly and slammed back his whiskey, a few drops of it spilling against the tangle of dark hair on his muscular chest, ignoring the looks.

He flopped back in his chair and started clawing his sandals off. One more round like this and he'd have nothing left to bet with.

Dan shook his head and busied himself filling our glasses. It was tempting to just drink it all immediately, but I held off. It wouldn't be smart to get drunk here.

Conner had different ideas. He knocked back another and growled, throwing his sandals up on the table. “How much.”

“Oh,” Boezman's voice was dismissive.

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