Sweet Summer Sweat by Clare London

Sweet Summer Sweat by Clare London

Author:Clare London [London, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jocular Press
Published: 2016-09-17T23:00:00+00:00


Scot woke much later. At least, he guessed the time as always. The light outside the motel window had faded from bright golden to a lush, warm indigo. Shit, had he slept the whole afternoon away? Groggily, he reached out across the bed, but Jerry wasn’t there beside him. Where was he? He hadn’t seen him since the scenes in the kitchen.

And had he really seen them?

Scot yawned, stretching languorously in the warm room. He was naked and laid out on the top of the covers. And such dreams…! He’d dreamed of Connor Maxwell, together with Oliver. Provocative dreams, sensual dreams. Were they real, too? He wanted to smile, though he felt so lethargic it was almost too much effort. His body felt soft, hot and heavy. And highly aroused. He ran a hand over his naked thigh, curious, feeling gentle little creases in his skin from lying on the crumpled sheet. The ceiling fan limped around above him, erratic as always, the slight breeze stroking his bare chest. He felt as if he’d been here, in this position, at this moment, for days… for ever. His muscles were sore and a little cramped, and when he glanced down at his hands, he saw brick dust still lingering between his fingers.

The memories of what he’d somehow seen through the wall—experienced?—brought a physical clench to his groin, and he flushed. It had been so vivid! The sight of Jerry burying himself in Vincent’s mouth until he came with a cry, spilling into the man’s willing throat. Memories of ecstasy and unbearable excitement—and now guilt.

=not yours=

Apparently, Jerry hadn’t bothered about how Scot would feel. And what about the way he’d looked at Vincent? Full of a raw need that was far beyond the teasing lust he showed to Scot. Shouldn’t Jerry be the one feeling guilty? Scot glanced over at the chair, wondering where his clothes were. He remembered running from the yard, but not getting back to the room and crashing out. He shook his head, trying to clear it. Things so often felt misted and confused nowadays, more than could be accounted for by the heat.

Where was Jerry? How many places could a guy hide at this godforsaken motel?

=He’s with us, where he wants to be=

Something moved at the corner of Scot’s vision—a shadow at the dusty window, what may have been a dark head passing by. Vincent? Connor?

“The courtyard,” Vincent had said to Jerry. He had offered more: whatever Jerry wanted. From him.

Scot sat up abruptly, reaching for his shorts. He dragged them on over his hips, without bothering with underwear, then rolled off the bed and left the room.


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