Under My Skin M L Rhodes

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

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Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

CONTENTS

Also By M. L. Rhodes
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
M. L. Rhodes
Amber Quill's Rewards Program

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Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

UNDER MY SKIN

M. L. RHODES

* * * *

Amber Quill Press, LLC

www.amberquill.com

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

Also By M. L. Rhodes

After Hours

Always

The Bodyguard

The Bounty Hunter

Couplings

The Draegan Lords

Falling

Hearts & Bones

Heat

Lords of Kellesborne

Magic

Masks

Never Let Go

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

Night Shadows

Out of My Mind

The Professor's Secret Passion

Souls Deep

Take It On Faith

True Of Heart

Vertigo

Well Hung

[Back to Table of Contents]

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

CHAPTER 1

When the rock music in the shop next door to his cranked

up a notch and the wall behind him began pulsating, every
muscle in Sebastian Keller's neck tensed.

"I swear I'm going kill him," he muttered under his breath.
"Kilian. Kilian? You mean Saint Kilian? No, no, no. He was

Irish. Violet and I are going to Scotland this year, not
Ireland."

Momentarily taken aback as he tried to follow his loyal,

geriatric customer's train of thought, Sebastian peered at the
old man. Then he sighed when he saw Mr. Palchesky wasn't
wearing his hearing aide today.

"I know, Mr. Palchesky," he said, pitching his voice

louder—both so the old gentleman could hear him better, and
so he could hear himself over the reverberating racket from
the neighboring shop. "I didn't say Kilian, I said ... Never
mind. Let's get you rung up, shall we?"

He reached across the oak counter and pulled the stack of

books about Scotland toward him. Scotland: The Complete
Travel Guide, The Most Beautiful Places to Visit in Scotland, A
Pictorial History of Scotland, Scottish Castles.

"Do you think I should get a book on Scottish pubs, too?"

Mr. Palchesky asked with a breathless huff as he pushed up
his streaked bifocals. "Or do you suppose that would just set
Violet off on one of her terrors about my heart and my diet?"
A look of horror crossed the old man's face. "You don't
suppose she's going to try to force me to eat fresh vegetables

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by M. L. Rhodes

and bran flakes on this trip like she does at home, do you?
Surely she'll give it a rest while we're on vacation."

Sebastian smiled. He knew Mrs. Palchesky well. The couple

had been regular customers at Sebastian's store—Great
Escapes Travel Book Shop—for almost five years. He hated to
be the bearer of bad tidings, but he was certain Violet
Palchesky would, indeed, try to keep her husband on the
straight and narrow. Ever since his heart attack last fall, she'd
laid down the law with him and, much to Mr. Palchesky's
consternation, monitored every particle of food and drink that
went in his mouth.

"She loves you and just wants you to be healthy."
"Wealthy? Well, it's a little late for that. If she wanted

wealthy she should have married that stooge Walter
Haversham her parents loved so much."

The music ratcheted up another decibel.
"Healthy, Mr. Palchesky," Sebastian repeated, practically

shouting, even as he cursed the owner of the shop next door,
who could obviously care less about Sebastian's customers
and business.

"Forty years I spent working for the Metropolitan St. Louis

Sewer District," Mr. Palchesky continued, as if Sebastian
hadn't spoken at all, "and it's been a good life. We haven't
lived in any mansions, mind you, but we've been comfortable,
and my pension allows us to do some traveling now. If she
wanted wealthy, she ought to have spoken up sooner. 'Course
if she quit spending so dad-blamed much money buying
trinkets in every shop she comes across, we'd have a far sight
more money than we do." The old gentleman shook his head.

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

And so did Sebastian, giving up on trying to have a real

conversation. His head was beginning to throb from the beat
of the drums and the screech of guitar riffs. He picked up the
cane left by one of his customers a few days ago and banged
it against the wall hard enough it made the papers tacked to
the bulletin board nearby flutter.

The music, of course, didn't let up. "Damn it."
Noticing Mr. Palchesky's rheumy gaze moving with concern

between the cane in Sebastian's hands and the wall,
Sebastian leaned the stick against a shelf and pasted a smile
on his face. He slid the old gentleman's books into a bag and,
after Mr. Palchesky had scratched his name across the bottom
of the receipt, handed him his credit card and purchases.

"Thanks, Mr. Palchesky, and give Mrs. Palchesky my love."
"Yes, I will." He looked to the wall behind Sebastian again,

shaking his head. "And you ought to call an exterminator to
come check that out," he wheezed. "Sounds like you might
have a rat problem, son. Can hear 'em in there."

Sebastian gritted his teeth. "Oh, it's not rats. But it is a

problem I plan to take care of in short order," he assured his
customer.

The blaring music, and the clientele traipsing in and out of

the place next door was bad enough, but the last thing he
needed was for Mr. P to spread the word to all his and Mrs.
P's jet-setting senior-citizen friends that Great Escapes had
rats. Sebastian couldn't afford to lose any business—no
matter the reason.

"Well, good. That's good." Mr. Palchesky clutched his sack

of books and tottered to the door.

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

Sebastian took several long-legged strides to get ahead of

him and pushed the door open for the portly older man. The
bell hanging from the top jingled, and warm spring sunshine
poured down on Sebastian. He stood for a moment savoring
it, trying to let it coax him out of his bad mood.

But the sight of Mr. Palchesky making his way, huffing and

puffing, at a slow shuffle down the sidewalk in front of the
strip mall to Sebastian's right—past Great Escapes, past
Sugar Plum Bakery, past the children's consignment store
called Oh, Baby Baby, before finally reaching his Buick
Lucerne parked in front of Dr. Dean's optometry office at the
end of the building—brought on a new surge of annoyance. As
had been the case recently, the few parking spots in front of
Great Escapes were filled. And certainly not with vehicles
belonging to Sebastian's customers, since Mr. P had been the
only one in the store.

With a dark expression, Sebastian looked to his left, at the

tattoo studio that, in his opinion, was a complete mismatch
with the other businesses in the Green Meadows strip mall.

Six years Sebastian's book store had been in this location

and, up until last month, he'd loved it. But when Bernice
Truman—known as "Bunny" to her family, friends, and
customers—had decided to retire and close her store, Lamb
Fluff Knitting, so she could spend more time with her
grandchildren, the shop next door had been vacated.

For all of one night.
The business owners in the mall had held a tearful

goodbye party for Bunny on her final day, and the very next
morning hammering and drilling had begun inside the empty

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

space. The windows had been papered over, however, so no
one could tell what was going on inside. That had been a
Saturday. Sebastian's store was closed on Sundays and
Mondays, but he'd been curious all weekend what type of
business would be moving in next to him. When he'd arrived
Tuesday morning, the flashing red and black neon sign in the
window had announced to him and everyone up and down the
street that Rad Tattoos had arrived.

Sebastian remembered sitting in his car and staring at the

blinking sign with a sick knot of dismay in his stomach. He'd
had it ever since.

Of all the businesses that could have replaced Bunny's

knitting shop, why a tattoo studio? The type of customers
who gave their patronage to the stores here were a vastly
different crowd from the type who populated places like tattoo
shops. So far Sebastian hadn't noticed a marked decrease in
sales at his store, but he'd had more than one customer ask
him about the loud music, hadn't missed the gawking stares
his customers had given some of the clientele next door, and
now the parking situation compounded the problem. Many of
his customers were senior citizens, and it infuriated Sebastian
that they had to walk so far to get to his store because Rad
Tattoos' clients were hogging more than their fair share of
spots.

He was certain it was just a matter of time before his

customers decided braving the colorful carnival next door
wasn't worth it, then they'd take their business over to the
book superstore out by the interstate. The thought made him
both sick to his stomach and furious. And it was all the fault

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

of the insufferable tenant next door—Dylan Radamacher, the
owner of Rad Tattoos.

Like oil and water, Sebastian Keller and the Dylan

Radamachers of the world didn't mix. He'd learned that lesson
the hard way and was still trying to clean up the mess from it,
which was why he needed every penny he earned from Great
Escapes. He'd been wrung through the wringer before by
someone of the same ilk as the tattoo artist, and he damn
well wasn't going to allow a repeat performance.

Steeling himself, he took a deep breath, set his shoulders,

and marched to the door of the tattoo studio.

Unlike the pleasant, jingling bell on his door, this one let

out an electronic ding-dong when he entered. One he could
barely hear over the drumming, screaming music ... if one
could call it music.

The place was packed, as usual. Two middle-aged,

bearded bikers perused the framed tattoo designs lining all
the available wall space. And pale, dark-clothed bodies
lounged on the leather couch and sat on the floor around it in
the waiting area.

The bikers gave him brief, raised-eyebrow glances before

resuming their study of a collection of skull art.

At the same time, the group of six or seven dyed-black

heads in the waiting area turned his way, and although he
couldn't even see all the young people's eyes from the over-
the-face emo hairstyles, he felt them staring at him.

He shifted, uncomfortable, feeling like a conservative,

uptight sore thumb in this place in his khakis, white button-
down shirt, and loafers. And it really ticked him off because

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

wasn't he the one dressed like a normal person? Why should
he feel uncomfortable? Good God, he couldn't even tell
whether he was looking at boys or girls, teens or twenty-
somethings in the tight T-shirts and skinny-jeans on the even
skinnier bodies.

None of them said a word to him ... just gaped like he was

a strange bird in their nest, then turned back to their cell
phones and continued texting, their fingers flying as they
pushed buttons. Heaven forbid they might have actual real
verbal conversations with one another.

He fricking hated feeling like the bastard stepchild, yet

every time he set foot in this place that's exactly how he felt.
Like he didn't belong here.

And who was he kidding. He didn't.
He grumbled under his breath and went to the glass-

topped wood counter that served as a half-wall between the
waiting room and the tattoo and piercing studio itself. A
colorful batik curtain had been drawn to close off an alcove of
the studio, and Sebastian knew it was probably because the
tattoo artist was working on a sensitive piece of someone's
anatomy that required privacy.

Two people occupied another alcove, however, this one

with the curtain open. Sebastian recognized one of them, the
young man. His name was Ander. Rad Tattoos was a full-
service studio that not only did tattoos, but piercing as well,
and Ander was the piercer. He was a walking billboard for his
work, with lip, brows, nose, and chin displaying assorted
metal.

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

The girl with him, who'd just risen from a chair and

approached the counter with Ander, had several brow
piercings, and her lower lip looked red and swollen with a
shiny metal ball protruding from it. Obviously her newest
addition.

Ander glanced at Sebastian and nodded, but then

studiously ignored him as he shouted instructions on aftercare
to the girl and rang her up. As cash changed hands, both of
them had their heads bouncing to the beat of the music.

Having to wait annoyed Sebastian, but he'd been in retail

long enough to appreciate that customers came first, so he
managed to keep his mouth shut and resign himself to
glaring. But only just.

When the girl finally meandered back over to the couch to

accept hugs from everyone, the piercer called out, "Saffron,
you're up next."

"Uh ... excuse me," Sebastian growled, leaning on the

counter, putting himself in Ander's face.

"Oh, yeah. You."
"Oh, yeah. Me. Is he here?"
Ander rolled his heavily lined eyes beneath his dark,

raggedly-cut hair. "He's busy. He's with a client."

"You tell him to unbusy himself. I need to talk to him. And

for God's sake, turn down the music! Everyone in St. Charles
can hear it."

"Cool, dude. That'd be awesome."
"No, not cool, dude. Go get him. I want to talk to him."
Another eye roll. But Ander shuffled toward the curtained

alcove, his too-tight jeans hugging his thin legs and ass in a

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

display no doubt meant to turn someone on. It did nothing for
Sebastian. He preferred masculine men. Always had.

"Hey, Rad. Dude," Ander shouted, as he peered around the

curtain. "It's him again. Says he needs to see you. I told him
you were busy."

Sebastian heard a low response, but couldn't make out the

words. However, Ander turned away from the curtain, gave
Sebastian a petulant stare, flounced over to the stereo
system built into one of the wall cabinets, and cranked down
the music several notches.

Finally! Sebastian's ears sighed in relief.
Then he heard laughter from behind the curtain—a

woman's and the deep, gritty rumble of a man's that sent a
surge of heat through his veins and managed to tick him off
all at the same time.

He heard the squeak of a rolling stool, saw the wheels of it

move toward the thin opening Ander had left between the
curtains, and then a muscular, black-T-shirt-covered shoulder
pushed through and widened the opening enough for
Sebastian to make out a pair of tanned female legs clad in
shorts perched in the reclining tattoo chair beyond the artist's
shoulder.

He noticed them only momentarily, though, as the man on

the stool turned and Sebastian's attention became riveted by
the full-on view of defined pecs, deltoids, and biceps
accentuated by the tight, dark T-shirt, and the faded denim
blue jeans that clung all-too-lovingly to muscular thighs and a
prominent package. He had to give himself a mental shake

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

before he could tear his gaze away from all that ... well, all
that.

No more than a second or two at the most could have

passed, but when he finally looked up into the ruggedly
handsome face framed by short, spiked hair the color of rich
brown mahogany, he found the artist's hazel eyes twinkling.

"Sebastian," the man said, with a barely restrained grin

teasing at his lips.

Pissed at himself for being caught ogling—no, not for being

caught at it, for ogling at all, when the man made him so
damned mad—it was all Sebastian could do to get out a
grumpy, "Dylan."

"Sorry about the music, man. I had Ander turn it down.

Look, I can't really talk right now." He gestured with his
black-latex-gloved hand holding the tattoo machine toward
the woman and the chair mostly hidden behind the curtain.
"I've got to finish Babs here, then I have another
appointment coming in at three."

"Tell him to come on back here and talk to you now," the

woman said, her tone husky like someone who'd either
smoked too many cigarettes or was a sultry phone-sex
operator. "I don't care if he sees my tits. Especially if he's
cute."

A set of blood-red fingernails curled around the edge of the

curtain and pulled it back just enough Sebastian could finally
see the woman—bleach-blonde hair, tight red tank top with
the word "Bi-atch" across it in sparkly writing, and one too-
large-and-firm-to-be-real breast spilling out of it with a half-

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

colored fairy on it. The woman was probably in her forties but
had the weathered, ridden-hard look of someone much older.

"Oh, yeah," she said as she eyed Sebastian up and down.

"Honey, you're not just cute, you look good enough to lick up.
I love a man who's all pressed and scholarly. Gives me all
sorts of hot teacher fantasies. Hell, not only can you look at
my tits, you can touch 'em anytime you want."

Heat crept up Sebastian's cheeks. When Dylan chuckled, it

only made it worse.

"And here I thought I was the only man you let touch

them," Dylan said in a seductive, teasing voice that made
Sebastian's cock twitch even though the words weren't
directed at him.

Damn it. He had to stop this right now. The man was a

pain in his ass, part of a world Sebastian wasn't interested in
having anything to do with, and probably straight anyway.
Enough was enough.

"This obviously isn't a good time," Sebastian murmured.

"Just keep the music down. I do actually have customers, you
know? Not everyone wants to hear the shrieking noise you
guys play."

"Oooh, and he's even hotter when he gets all bossy," Babs

purred. "I just bet there's a tiger lurking beneath that Mr.
College Professor exterior. Has he let you put any of your art
on him yet?" she asked Dylan.

Again Dylan's eyes sparkled when he looked at Sebastian,

but for the first time Sebastian saw something else in his
gaze that went above and beyond teasing. Something that

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

made his stomach flip-flop and an ache of longing thrum in
his balls.

"No, he hasn't let me touch him ... yet. What do you say,

Sebastian?" he asked in a husky voice as his gaze seared into
Sebastian. "You going to let me tattoo you sometime?"

The words, so much more than a simple question, and the

look in Dylan's eyes sent slow, seductive ripples of lust
through Sebastian. He almost forgot to breath. Almost forgot
a lot of things. Until the woman's laughter brought him back
to reality.

Fighting to regain control of himself and the situation, he

shook his head to clear his thoughts. "In your dreams," he
muttered.

He'd come over here to have it out with Dylan about the

parking situation, but it suddenly felt as it were a hundred
degrees in the shop. With the woman eying him and licking
her full, ruby lips like he was a double-chocolate dessert she
couldn't wait to devour, and Dylan's flaming gaze still
scorching him like a sexual blow torch, he decided to cut his
losses while he could. Before he embarrassed himself.

He spun around and stalked out of the place, the woman's

throaty laughter ringing in his ears.

Sebastian didn't stop until he stood in front of his own

shop's door. The post-lunch-hour, mid-afternoon shopping lull
had hit, and aside from the tattoo place, the strip mall was
quiet. He paused with his hand on the glass and, noting
through the large window that no customers had wandered in
while he was in the tattoo studio, rested his forehead against
the cool smooth surface.

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

He dragged in a deep breath, smelling the scent of newly

mown grass out in the median mixed with the damp, earthy
smell of spring, the faint aroma of baking bread at Sugar
Plum Bakery, Italian spice from the pizzeria across the street,
and an underlying hint of car exhaust. All familiar and
comforting smells that, ordinarily, would have calmed him.
But today they did nothing to quell the thudding in his chest
that was part anger and part the same, damned breathless
rush of attraction he felt whenever he was in close proximity
to Dylan Radamacher. Except this time it was all magnified a
hundredfold.

What the hell had just happened in there? He'd had brief

encounters with Dylan several times now, but the look Dylan
had given him just now was all new, and one Sebastian had
never expected to see coming from him. That had been no
innocent straight man gaze.

Holy crap. Sebastian's skin tingled, his palms were sweaty,

and the ache that had begun in his balls spread to his cock.

Which only made him madder. At himself.
"God damn it," he muttered, dragging a hand through his

hair. "I can't do this."

"Trouble in paradise?" a teasing female voice said behind

him.

Dylan turned to find Joanie Bevins, who owned the bakery

next door, standing nearby on the sidewalk, holding out a
covered paper coffee cup. A white-toothed grin glinted in her
pixie-like café au lait face that was accentuated by curly dark
hair drawn back into a ponytail. Just a year older than
Sebastian, Joanie had started her bakery here around the

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by M. L. Rhodes

same time Sebastian had opened his store. They'd hit it off
from the moment they met and been friends ever since.

"Here, I brought you a midday caffeine pick-me-up. I

wasn't expecting to find you out here, though."

Sebastian took the offered cup, thinking as he did that he

probably needed something cold—icy cold—rather than hot.
"Thanks. Tell me, do I have a sign taped to my forehead that
says 'Geek' or 'Book Nerd'? Am I that obvious?"

"Uh-oh. Let me guess ... Rad Tattoos again?"
"The man infuriates me." And turns me on like nobody's

business, which is a bad, bad thing.

Joanie wiped her hands on her apron and her grin

widened. "You know what they say? The more you fight with
someone and the more you think you hate them, the more it
means you were destined to be together."

"Oh, for God's sake," Sebastian growled, then lowered his

voice when the two bikers emerged from the tattoo studio
and headed toward the Harleys parked side-by-side. "You're
supposed to be my friend and ally. I can't believe you just
said that."

"What do you expect me to say? Every time you have a

run-in with him you're all fired up afterward."

"Yeah, because he's arrogant and rude." And hot as

proverbial, sinful hell.

"And the fact the man is sex-on-a-stick has nothing at all

to do with it? For Pete's sake, Bastian, even grouchy ol' Irene
at the reception desk at Dr. Dean's gets damp panties over
him. No way are you telling me you're immune."

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"I am immune." God, what a liar. "I mean, I'm not denying

the man's attractive, but when I look at him, all I see is..." He
grimaced.

"He doesn't look anything like Beck."
"No, but he's the same type." Sebastian sighed and leaned

against the brick wall between Great Escapes and the bakery.
Memories of Beck dashed cold water on Sebastian's lust in a
way nothing else could have.

Joanie leaned next to him. "Beck was an asshole. But that

doesn't mean all guys who ride motorcycles and have tattoos
are assholes."

"It's not just that. It's the attitude. It's the crowd he hangs

with. And he's already proven over and over he's only
interested in himself." All good reminders of why he needed
to stay far away from Dylan when it came to this growing
attraction he'd developed for the man. "Do you know how
many times I've already had to go over there and complain
about the music? And the parking situation's out of control.
But every time I darken his doorway I can feel him and that
Ander laughing at me like I'm some conservative prick come
to spoil the fun."

Joanie patted his arm and her brown eyes filled with

sympathy. "I'm sorry. I knew you'd been having problems
with them, but I didn't realize you were feeling that way. I
can't really hear the music in the bakery, and so far I haven't
had any customer complaints about the parking. But maybe if
I go over there and back you up, Dylan'll pay attention. If it's
both of us."

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Sebastian shook his head. "No. Thanks, but no. The last

thing I need is to have him thinking I have to have a girl
stand up for me."

"Hey! There's nothing wrong with girls standing up for

anything."

"I don't mean it that way and you know it. I'm all for girl

power. But if you go over there and say something when you
haven't before, he's going to know it's because of me and
then I'll just be a bigger laughing stock."

"Well, what do you want to do then? I hate seeing you this

way." She wrapped an arm around his waist and rested her
cheek on his arm as she looked up at him and blinked. "I miss
my happy, sweetie pie snookums Sebastian." She gave him a
pouty face that drew a soft huff of laughter from him. Joanie
could always make him smile.

"Oh, God," he groaned. "Remind me never to take you out

drinking again. Every stupid name you've ever come up with
for me originated over tequila. Don't ever call me that in
public or I'll have to hurt you."

She snickered. "I'm saving it up as blackmail fodder, in

case you ever decide to tell anyone what I did on my birthday
last year."

"I can see the newspaper headline now: Upstanding Baker

Caught With Her P—"

"Shut up!" Joanie slapped his arm, laughing. "I swear, if

you say another word I'll go to Mr. Rad Tattoos right now and
tell him all kinds of juicy things I know about you! Like how
you like to jer—"

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"Don't you dare say that out loud. I should never have told

you that!" Sebastian covered her mouth with his hand to stifle
her as the door of the tattoo studio opened again.

The swarm of emos poured out.
At the same time, a white Cadillac drove into one of the

parking spots vacated by the bikers who'd left earlier, and
Joanie pulled away. "Gotta run. That's Mrs. Silverthorn here
to pick up the cake for her granddaughter's wedding shower."
She gave Sebastian a smile and a peck on the cheek. Then
sobered for a rare moment. "Maybe you and Dylan should
find a time to talk this stuff out after business hours, when
neither of you has to worry about customers and without that
snooty Ander hanging around."

The knot he'd almost forgotten about in his gut dropped

into place once again. "I don't know if it can be talked out."

"Well, you can't keep on feeling the way you feel about

him. Something's gotta give. Better to try to talk it through
before it escalates. So just think about it, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," he said grudgingly. "I'll think about it."
Joanie's smile returned. "Good. Okay, gotta go." She

turned to face the sophisticated, older woman with short gray
hair. "Hi, Mrs. Silverthorn! Come on in. I've got the cake
ready for you."

Sebastian watched them disappear into the bakery, then

turned to enter his own store.

It would probably help to be able to talk to Dylan without

an audience. His cheeks stung again with embarrassment at
how the woman Babs had spoken to him. And Ander really
was a pain.

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But the question was ... could he trust himself to be alone

with Dylan Radamacher and not make an ass of himself?
Every time he saw the man his veins ran hot and his dick
perked up. And after that blatant sexual look earlier ... He'd
been almost positive Dylan was straight, based on the way he
flirted with his female customers. Sebastian had seen him
walking them to their cars, and giving them hugs and kisses
when they arrived and left, standing in plain sight out on the
sidewalk in front of Sebastian's store windows.

Talk about mixed messages.
And yet ... Sebastian's body just didn't seem to care if the

man was straight or gay. One look at that beautiful, buff
build, the mischievous glint in Dylan's eyes, and a husky
syllable or two out of his mouth and Sebastian was on fire.
Hell, he wasn't in to piercings, but for reasons he couldn't
fathom, he even found the silver hoops Dylan wore in each
ear a turn-on.

Damn it, this had to stop!
The tattoo artist was just wrong, period. Everything he

stood for was wrong.

God, was he ever going to learn?
Sebastian had a history of falling for the absolute worst

wrong guys. In high school his first big crush had been on the
captain of the football team, who'd also been president of the
debate club. His name was Lee, and after months of
Sebastian having a fairly pathetic case of hero worship for
him, following a debate one afternoon, he and Lee had been
alone in a classroom and Lee had cornered him and kissed
him. Sebastian had been floored by the move and had gone

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home dreaming of much, much more. But the next day at
school Lee hadn't given him the time of day and from then on
had ignored him completely as he dated anything with
breasts, then boasted about his conquests to all who'd listen.

The next man to snag Sebastian's attention in a big way

had been in college. Horst, the soccer player, with his rippling
muscles and porn star physique. He'd been Sebastian's first
real love—or so Sebastian had thought, for the four months
they'd slept together during junior year. It wasn't until
pictures had surfaced on the Internet of a party that had
taken place during an away soccer game at another
university. Horst, along with several of his teammates, had
been caught on film having an orgy with dozens of other
collegiate men and women that could have rivaled any
professional skin flick. Sebastian had finally seen Horst's true
colors. It turned out the orgies were commonplace during
away games, and when Sebastian had confronted Horst, the
athlete had admitted he'd only hooked up with Sebastian
because he'd needed his help to pass math and history—
Sebastian's fortes.

That had been enough to scare him away from

relationships for a good long time. Until he'd met Beck at his
cousin Murphy's wedding. Beck had been a friend of a friend,
and just like with Horst, Sebastian's libido had gotten the best
of him. Several champagne cocktails later, he'd found himself
wedged into the tiny bathroom at the Elk's lodge getting a
hand job from the blond, tattooed biker. He'd been too drunk
to remember much about it, except that Beck had had a
compelling way of convincing Sebastian he couldn't live

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by M. L. Rhodes

without him. They'd begun seeing each other almost every
night.

They came from different backgrounds, walked in two

different worlds, which had sometimes been difficult to juggle.
Sebastian hadn't exactly fit in with the tattooed biker crowd,
and Sebastian's books and intellectual pursuits had pretty
much been lost on Beck. But the fact they'd both owned their
own businesses had given them some commonalities.
Sebastian's bookstore had been open and bringing in a nice
profit for a while, and Beck had run a motorcycle repair shop.

They'd managed to make their odd pairing work and

everything had been good for a while ... until Beck lost his
apartment. He'd told Sebastian it was because the building
owner had decided to renovate and everyone had to move
out. It wasn't until long after the fact, as Sebastian had been
forced to sift through the tangled web of lies Beck had told
him, that he'd discovered Beck had been kicked out of his
apartment because he hadn't paid rent in months. But at the
time Sebastian had been clueless and he'd gladly invited his
boyfriend to move in with him.

That's when things had begun to go downhill. Beck's

business seemed continually fraught with problems—none of
them of his own making, of course, so he said. The first time
Sebastian had bailed him out to the tune of several thousand
dollars, it had been shortly after Beck had moved in with him
and the glow of love was still fresh. Sebastian hadn't thought
twice about it, sure Beck's business would pick up and just
glad he was able to help his boyfriend. The next time, a

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by M. L. Rhodes

couple of months later, he'd been a little more concerned, but
had still been sickeningly amenable.

As the problems continued, though, things had

degenerated on the home front as well. Their sexual
encounters had tapered off to almost nil. And when they had
happened, they'd been quickies, with Beck having places to
go and things to do immediately afterward. He'd spent most
of time hanging with his buddies at their favorite bar or
working on his "special project" motorcycle that had nothing
to with his business and everything to do with building a bike
Beck wanted for himself. He'd often stay out all night, rolling
in the next morning about the time Sebastian would be
leaving for work. After a few months of that, and Sebastian
always being the one to pay the rent, as well as managing to
cough up money for whatever Beck's next scheme was to
save his motorcycle shop, Sebastian had begun to seriously
consider ending it. Still, he'd wanted to believe in Beck, kept
remembering the first few months they'd been together when
everything had been good. Each time they'd fight and Beck
would promise things would be better, Sebastian had caved in
and hung on, hoping for the best.

Until he'd come home one Friday after work fifteen months

ago to find his apartment completely cleaned out, his bank
account emptied—which was his own fault because he'd
agreed to a joint account with Beck a few months after they
moved in together—every credit card he had run up to the
max, and Beck long gone. The only things the man had left
behind had been Sebastian's clothes, bed, couch, and
kitchenware. And his books, of course. Beck had never had

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by M. L. Rhodes

any interest in anything so dull as books. He'd also left a
letter saying, in a nutshell, thanks for the room, board, and
money, but since I've drained you dry, it's time to move on to
the next sucker.

The memory of that letter still made Sebastian's gut churn.
He'd been a fool. A gullible fool. And he had no one to

blame but himself.

Which was why no matter how sexy Dylan Radamacher

might be, or how Sebastian's body responded to him, he was
damn well not going to trust someone like that ever again.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

CHAPTER 2

Dylan finished wiping down the chair, his stool, and the

counters with disinfectant, then stretched to work the kinks
out of his back from being bent over clients so much of the
day.

His three o'clock session had run longer than planned

because it was the thirty-something woman's first tattoo and
she'd been a nervous wreck. Not one of the terrified "I have
to get out of here now" types—he could usually tell right away
if someone was going to bail or stick it out—but she'd been
tense enough he'd had to make a point of chatting with her a
lot to put her at ease, and stopping often to give her breaks.
She'd told him all about her two sons, her husband's job, her
own burgeoning business as a caterer. Dylan had learned a
long time ago, when he first started doing tattoos, working
alongside his mentor, that being a good tattooist was part
artistry and part being both a decent conversationalist and a
good listener. In his newest client's case, the talking had
achieved the desired effect. The butterfly and flowers on the
woman's lower back had turned out nicely, and she'd been
thrilled with the final piece. But it had been almost seven
o'clock before they'd finished.

Then he'd had to make a couple of calls to set up

interviews. His business was growing so well he'd decided to
bring an additional artist into the shop to work with him. His
schedule these days was always booked weeks in advance,
and it was getting tougher and tougher to fit everyone in as

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by M. L. Rhodes

fast as he'd like. The options were to take no more new
clients, give up his Sunday and Monday weekends and start
working one or both of those days, or hire someone to help
him. There'd really only been one solution, as far as he was
concerned. And now that he was in a bigger space, he had
room for someone else.

The shop was blessedly quiet with everyone gone and

Ander's alternative rock music turned off. Dylan savored the
peace as he shut off lights. At moments like this he could
appreciate his next door neighbor's issue with the music. He
was going to have to make a point of laying down the law
with Ander about it. Ander was an enthusiastic kid, and good
at what he did, and for the most part Dylan was willing to let
him have some leeway. But they weren't in the tiny,
converted, free-standing house any longer where he'd started
Rad Tattoos seven years ago and where Ander had come to
work for him ten months ago. Business had been very good
and it had been time to move into a bigger, nicer place. But
Ander was going to have to learn they shared the building
with other stores now and playing nice with the other kids in
the sandbox was important.

Other kids...
He grinned as he thought of how frazzled Sebastian Keller

had been this afternoon. He really was sorry the poor guy
kept having to come over or bang on the wall because of the
noise, and it didn't bring him any joy to keep antagonizing
him. But, damn, Babs was right. Sebastian was cute as hell
when he was ticked off. Even cuter when he was flustered, as

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by M. L. Rhodes

he had been right before he'd blushed ten kinds of red and
made his quick escape today.

The truth was, Dylan had pretty much had his eye on the

man from the first time he'd seen him. Who wouldn't?
Sebastian's classic, all-American good looks made him stand
out in any crowd, appealing to women and men alike, though
he had a sneaking suspicion Sebastian didn't realize that
about himself.

It wasn't just his looks, though. His warm brown eyes, with

their intelligence and a hint of vulnerability, and a mouth that
made Dylan crazy just thinking about kissing it and wondering
what other talents it might have, only added to his appeal.
And, God, you just had to love a man who could smile and
have the patience of Job with all the senior citizens and
families with kids who went in and out of his store all day.

Joanie at the bakery had told him many travel agents in

the St. Louis metro area recommended Great Escapes Travel
Book Shop to their clients. Never once had Dylan seen
Sebastian be anything but friendly and easy-going with his
customers ... and he would know because he'd spent far too
much time inventing excuses to walk his own customers to
and from their vehicles and hang out talking to them on the
sidewalk that ran in front of the stores just so he could watch
Sebastian through the windows.

"You really need to get a life, Rad," he said to himself,

shaking his head. Thirty years old and he was crushing on the
guy next door like he was a teenager. How sad was that?

Not as sad as it was yesterday or the day before or the

week before that.

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by M. L. Rhodes

True, he thought with a grin. Because up until this

afternoon he'd figured his secret fantasies about Sebastian
were going to have to stay tucked away for all time and no
one would be the wiser. He hadn't been sure, but he'd been
afraid Sebastian was straight.

Then today, like a glorious revelation, he'd seen the light.

No straight man would have been checking him out like
Sebastian had done this afternoon. And once Dylan had
caught the man at it and then seen the embarrassment on his
face because he knew Dylan had caught him, there'd been no
shutting off the flow of secret pleasure. He'd been careful, up
to that point, not to ever let on he was attracted to Sebastian.
But that slow perusal Sebastian had given him had
encouraged Dylan to let him know the interest was mutual.

Of course, that didn't mean anything would come of it. For

some reason Sebastian didn't like him. He'd checked Dylan
out, no doubt, but there was something about him or his shop
that rubbed Sebastian the wrong way. And damned if he
could figure out what it was. Yeah, Ander had gotten carried
away with the music a few times, but every time Sebastian
had complained Dylan had responded and apologized. It was
more like the guy just hated the whole idea of Dylan being
here. Maybe he hated tattoo artists, or tattoos, or was some
kind of conservative morality squad who thought the entire
counterculture should be cleaned up. Or maybe he was close
to the nice old lady who used to have the knitting shop in this
space and he resented that she was gone and Dylan was in
her portion of the building.

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by M. L. Rhodes

Shit. Who knew. Whatever was behind it, it was too bad

because he had a feeling Babs was right and somewhere
underneath that serious, pressed and polished exterior, a
tiger lurked, just waiting to be freed.

He switched off the red and black neon sign in the window,

pulled on his jacket, grabbed his helmet, and pushed through
the front door into the darkening night.

As he did every night when he locked up, he savored the

satisfaction of knowing his business was doing well enough
he'd been able to upgrade to this location in this part of town.
He'd come a long way from the poor kid from Poplar Bluff
who'd worn hand me down clothes from a church shelter and
held down three paper routes to help his mom put food on
the table.

He turned to head for his motorcycle ... and saw lights still

on at Great Escapes. Stepping closer, he peered in the
window. The back of Sebastian's light brown, neatly trimmed
hair in the rear of the store caught his attention and caused a
tremor of awareness deep within Dylan. It looked like
Sebastian was sitting at a desk, head bent over something he
was working on in the storeroom.

He hesitated for all of two seconds, then without giving

himself a chance to think it through and reject the idea,
walked to the glass door, which displayed a black and white
"Closed" sign, and rapped on it with his knuckles.

From this position he could no longer see the man, but he

watched for his tall figure to appear in the back room
doorway ... and wasn't disappointed when, seconds later,
that's exactly what happened.

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by M. L. Rhodes

"Sorry, I'm closed," Sebastian called, his voice muffled

through the glass.

Dylan stepped backward until he stood in the light from

the overhang of the building to be sure Sebastian could see it
was him. Of course, given the way the man reacted to him
sometimes, it might be better if Sebastian didn't realize it was
him.

He saw Sebastian pause halfway to the door as he crossed

through the store—no doubt he'd just recognized Dylan.
Dylan couldn't make out the look on his face since the lights
in the front of the store had been turned off and he was
backlit by the yellow glow from the storeroom.

Finally, though, he came to the door. The lock squeaked

when Sebastian turned it, and the door opened with a jingle
of the bell hanging from the top. Sebastian peered out at him,
his expression a mixture of irritation and something else
Dylan couldn't quite read.

"I was leaving and saw your light on," Dylan said.

"Working late?"

"Doing some month-end accounting. You?"
"I had to set up some interviews for a job opening I have

at the shop, and my afternoon appointment ran long. Soccer
mom's first tattoo, so we took it slow and easy."

Sebastian gave him an odd look. "You tattoo soccer

moms?"

"Oh, yeah. Probably more than you might think. Soccer

moms, grandmas, doctors, lawyers, teachers. I even have a
sweet little old lady who reminds me of Bunny who used to
own the yarn shop here. Her name's Clarabelle. She loves

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by M. L. Rhodes

flowers—used to run one of the big greenhouses in St. Louis
that supplied florists. She retired years ago. She comes in
every month and has me add one more tiny little daisy to the
chain we're doing around her wrist. She bakes good cookies,
too. Always brings me a batch when she comes in."

Sebastian stared at him, and if Dylan wasn't mistaken, the

man looked like Dylan had just thoroughly stunned him.
Surely he didn't think only bikers and sailors and goths wore
ink now, did he?

"I ... I guess I didn't realize your clientele was so diverse,"

Sebastian murmured. Then he shook his head as if reeling
himself back to the moment. "Did you need something?"

Yeah, you. The words had been on the tip of Dylan's

tongue before he realized it. He bit them back. "I want to
apologize for Babs this afternoon. She's been one of my
clients for a long time and she's a flirt and a tease and
sometimes doesn't really know when to close her mouth. I
hope she didn't offend you."

Sebastian's eyebrows pulled together for just a moment as

if he were surprised by the apology. Then he seemed to
gather himself and shrugged. "Nah. It's okay."

"Sorry, too, about the music. I'll have a talk with Ander

tomorrow. He gets enthusiastic and, to be honest, when I'm
right there working in it, he turns it up so gradually
throughout the day I don't really notice until it's blasting. I'll
make sure he keeps it down."

The surprised expression was back on Sebastian's face

again. "Okay. Thanks."

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by M. L. Rhodes

Sucking it up, Dylan blurted out what he really wanted to

say. "We haven't had a chance to get to know each other very
well yet. If you're close to finishing up for the night and you
don't have other plans, do you want to go get a drink
somewhere?"

He saw the quick rise and fall of the other man's chest

beneath his white shirt. Sebastian's brows drew together
again and his hesitation was almost tangible.

Dylan held his breath, hoping, but was afraid he was about

to be rejected.

"I..." Sebastian swallowed. His eyes looked troubled. And

yet, Dylan swore he could feel the other man's pulse racing.
Then Sebastian nodded slowly. "Okay, sure."

Elation surged through Dylan. "Okay."
"Let me go shut down the computer and turn off the light

in the back room."

He returned in less than a minute and, as he stepped

through the doorway, then turned to lock the door, Dylan
knew he should back up and give the man some room. Yet
the lure of standing close enough to feel the heat of
Sebastian's body was too much to resist. He didn't miss the
fact Sebastian wasn't exactly rushing to get away either.
Another pulse of excitement shot through his veins at that
realization.

Finally, though, he stepped away and Sebastian faced him.
"So where do you want to go?"
"I know a place," Dylan said. "Good beer and food."
"Okay, I'll follow you."

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by M. L. Rhodes

They crossed the small parking lot where, ironically,

Dylan's Suzuki sportbike sat parked only two spaces away
from Sebastian's Passat.

"I sort of had you pegged for a Harley-Davidson guy,"

Sebastian said. "I was surprised to see you riding a crotch
rocket."

Dylan grinned. The spring weather, up until this past week,

had sucked—rainy, cold, and miserable—so he'd been driving
his older soft-top Jeep Wrangler and had only gotten his bike
out of the garage a few days ago. "Harleys are great, but
there's just something awesome about sportbikes. Not the
most comfortable ride for long distances, but fun to zip
around town on. I've got a spare helmet in my shop. You
want to ride with me?" He still had the passenger seat on the
bike from when he'd let a friend and his wife ride it last fall.

Sebastian shook his head. "No, I don't." From his tone and

the look on his face you would have thought Dylan had just
asked him if he wanted to stick his hand in the sewer.

His reaction caused a flare of annoyance in Dylan. "What's

the matter? Scared?"

The moment it came out of his mouth he cringed inwardly.

What the hell was he doing? He'd finally gotten a chance to
spend some time alone with Sebastian, without work or Ander
or customers milling around, and had even managed to keep
things on an even keel, with Sebastian in a reserved but
decent mood and not outright hostile toward him like usual ...
and then he had ruin it because he was getting huffy over an
imagined insult to his motorcycle.

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by M. L. Rhodes

Sebastian's body had tensed and his eyes snapped with

anger at Dylan's taunt.

Before he could speak, Dylan held up a hand. "I'm sorry,

that was uncalled for. You have every right to say no. I
realize motorcycles aren't for everyone and I apologize. You
drive and I'll ride and ... I'll just meet you there." He shut up,
afraid he was babbling.

He saw Sebastian's jaw clench in the sodium vapor glow

from the street light. Then he took a deep breath. "No."

Dylan's pulse hitched. "You don't want to go anymore?"

Shit. He'd really fucked this up.

Another deep breath and some of Sebastian's tension

seemed to escape with the air. "Yes, I'll go. No, I'm not
scared. I've ridden motorcycles before." He gave Dylan a
pointed look that said in no uncertain terms he wasn't a wuss
and didn't appreciate Dylan implying he was one. "Go ahead
and get the helmet. I'll ride with you."

Dylan's eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure? You don't have

to. I won't be offended."

"I'm sure. Just ... get it." He turned to unlock his car and

as Dylan watched, pulled a leather bomber jacket from out of
the back seat.

Dylan wondered what had caused this turnaround, but

decided he'd ponder the hows and whys later. Right now, he'd
just be glad Sebastian was still willing to go at all. He ran to
grab his spare helmet before Sebastian changed his mind.

By the time he returned, Sebastian had donned the brown

leather jacket, and most of the remaining tension around him

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by M. L. Rhodes

had faded. Dylan's breath caught at just how fucking sexy the
man was.

He handed the helmet to him, then picked his own up off

the seat and put it on. He swung a leg over the bike and
cranked it, letting the power rumble through him. But that
was nothing compared to the feel of Sebastian mounting the
bike behind him, his body hard and warm and masculine. His
arms crept tentatively around Dylan's waist as Dylan leaned
forward and grasped the hand grips.

"Hang on," he warned Sebastian. "This thing packs a

punch when I accelerate."

When they got out on the road and picked up speed,

Sebastian leaned closer and closer, tucking in like a natural
until he was draped over the top of Dylan, their bodies flush,
his hard thighs cradling Dylan's ass, moving as one with
Dylan and the bike.

Oh, shit. Dylan gulped. What had he been thinking? With

this kind of intimate contact, by the time they reached the
bar, he was going to be so hot and horny there was no way
he could hide it. Hell, maybe he didn't want to hide it.

He let the speed and adrenaline course through him like a

junkie high on crack. Except this was infinitely better. He
began to wish they could bypass the bar completely and just
ride on into the night like this. But eventually the blinking
green lights on the shamrock-shaped sign came into view and
Dylan turned into the crowded parking lot of O'Keefe's.

How he managed to get off the bike he had no idea. He

had a raging hard-on and didn't see any relief from it anytime
soon. In spite of the mild day, the night air was cool, but

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

Dylan yanked off his jacket anyway to carry it in front of him
to hide the problem. He couldn't bring himself to look at
Sebastian to see if he was having the same issue. He was
afraid Sebastian wasn't, and if he wasn't, Dylan didn't want to
know it because then he'd feel like a fool for having such an
intense reaction to a man who didn't desire him back.

A live Irish band played on the small stage, and the place

was packed—of course, it was Friday night. Dylan hadn't
thought of that when he'd suggested coming here. They
managed to get two seats together at the bar by sheer luck
when a couple rose to leave just as he and Sebastian
happened to be standing right next to them. They slid onto
stools set so close together their shoulders and thighs
brushed.

When they were seated, he finally let himself look and

discovered Sebastian had his jacket off also. In the split
second before he draped it across his lap, Dylan caught sight
of the firm bulge at his groin beneath the khaki fabric. It
wasn't until that moment, when relief and a heady buzz filled
him, that he realized just how much he'd wanted Sebastian to
be feeling what he was feeling, and how disappointed he
would have been if he wasn't.

"So the bike ride was good?" he said, barely able to hold

back a grin.

Sebastian turned his head to look at him and, much to

Dylan's astonishment, because it had never before been
directed at him, a slow smile curved the man's lips and lit his
eyes. "Yeah. It was good."

"Better than a Harley?"

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by M. L. Rhodes

Sebastian shifted on his stool as if he were rearranging

and having trouble finding a comfortable position. Dylan was
right there with him in the same predicament.

"Better. It was ... a rush. I can see why you like it."
"Oh, yeah." I liked it even better with you on behind me.

He pressed his thigh a little closer to Sebastian's, and
experienced a flare of heat in his already throbbing groin
when Sebastian pressed back.

Their gazes met and held. The loud din around them made

it hard to hear when they spoke, but right now, no words
were necessary. There was no mistaking the interest
conveyed in the warmth of Sebastian's eyes.

He looked more relaxed than Dylan had ever seen him—

had ever seen him when they were together, he clarified. This
was the easy-going man he'd watched with his customers,
had seen laughing and talking to Joanie from the bakery, yet
he'd never had the chance to experience it himself. He liked
it. A lot.

But when the bartender, Frankie, approached and called

Dylan by name, it was as if a spell had been broken. For
some reason, Sebastian tensed up again and pulled away, his
body suddenly radiating a clear "stay back" signal. As he and
Frankie shook hands and said hello, Dylan felt Sebastian's
irritated gaze on them. What was up with that? Was it
because Frankie's bald pate and exposed arms jutting from
the sleeves of his T-shirt sported heavy tattoos? Or because
multiple earrings lined the curve of each of his ears? Or was it
because Sebastian was jealous at Frankie's familiarity with
him?

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by M. L. Rhodes

Wishful thinking on the last one, he was certain.
No, it was something else. They were right back to the

same attitude Sebastian always displayed when he came into
Dylan's shop.

"Who's your friend?" Frankie asked.
"This is Sebastian Keller. He runs the store next door to

mine. Sebastian, Frankie Lynch, an old friend."

Sebastian shook hands with the other man and made the

appropriate and polite conversation, but Dylan felt tension
crackling from him.

They ordered beer and hot wings, and after Frankie had

popped the tops off the bottles and set them on the polished
bar in front of them, then bustled away, Dylan glanced at
Sebastian, wondering how to get back to where they were
before Frankie had interrupted.

"Sorry about this place. I wasn't expecting it to be this

crowded. Not an ideal location to talk." Dylan almost had to
shout to be heard over the music, voices, and laughter
around them. It seemed they'd traded in the distractions at
work for more of the same in even greater volume here.

Sebastian shrugged. Without looking at Dylan, and holding

his beer bottle at the neck between long fingers, he took a
swig from it.

Dylan drank from his as well, then, frustration boiling

inside him, he set it down and faced Sebastian.

"If I've done something to piss you off I'm sorry. It seems

like from the moment you met me I've rubbed you the wrong
way. I'd be glad to try to fix whatever the problem is, but I
can't do that if I don't know what I've done."

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by M. L. Rhodes

Sebastian's fingers tightened around the bottle. He took

another swallow. Then he set the bottle on the bar, aligning it
exactly center of the cardboard coaster. "I appreciate ... this."
Still not looking at Dylan, he swept a hand around to indicate
the bar and setting. "What you're trying to do here, giving us
a chance to get to know each other. But this just isn't going
to work." He dug in his back pocket for his wallet, pulled out
some bills and tossed them on the bar, then stood.

Pulse pounding, seeing his shot at having something with

Sebastian besides the occasional hostile encounter at work
about to slip away, he put a hand on Sebastian's arm to stop
him. "Don't go. Stay. Please. Or if you want, we can go
somewhere else. Somewhere quieter where we can really
talk."

Sebastian gazed down at him, the troubled look he'd worn

earlier in the night once again on his face. Like he was torn
and vulnerable.

Dylan wanted to reach up, smooth the troubled lines

between his eyes, cup his cheek, and kiss the man to make it
better.

Something shifted in his chest at that realization. Damn it,

he really cared why Sebastian didn't want to give him a
chance. This wasn't just some pick-up with the ultimate goal
being a good fuck for the night. In spite of his prickly
personality, Dylan really liked this guy. Liked everything he'd
seen about him as he'd watched him with other people. He
wanted Sebastian to act with him like he acted with everyone
else, wanted to have that sexy smile focused on him, wanted

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to see laughter and desire in his eyes directed at him. He
wanted Sebastian to like him as much as he liked Sebastian.

"I just..." Sebastian sighed. "I just don't think us getting to

know each other better is a good idea."

Dylan slid his fingers through Sebastian's, and didn't miss

the way Sebastian's curled instinctively around them rather
than pulling away. "Why?"

"You're not my type, Dylan. I really want to l—" He

stopped himself and, breathing hard, looked up at the wall
above the bar. His eyes looked misery-filled, and it made
Dylan's gut ache. "Look," Sebastian said, tugging his fingers
free and shoving his arms into his jacket, "it's not you, okay?
It's me. It's my problem. I just can't do this. I'm sorry."

He turned and edged his way through the crowd.
Dylan yanked out his own wallet, added more bills to those

Sebastian had put on the bar, grabbed his jacket, and
followed.

He'd heard Sebastian's words. Heard them loud and clear

and hated the rejection in them. But he couldn't fully mesh
the words with the pain and obvious longing in the man's
eyes.

"Sebastian, wait," he called, just outside the entrance.
Sebastian stalked along the side of the building and

disappeared into the lit alley that ran beside it. Dylan jogged
after him and caught up to him shortly after he turned the
corner. Sebastian had his cell phone out, pushing buttons.

"Stop, okay?" Dylan grabbed his arm and swung him

around.

"I'm going to call a cab."

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Dylan plucked the phone out of his hand, snapped it shut,

and tucked it into Sebastian's jacket pocket.

"What are you doing?" Sebastian said, his voice laced with

annoyance, but mostly with what sounded like tired
resignation.

"Talk to me. Tell me what's going on here."
"I already told you ... you're not my type."
"I don't believe that."
Sebastian shot him a glare, but again it was half-hearted

with something else buried beneath it. "It doesn't matter
whether you believe it. It's the truth."

"I saw how you looked at me earlier today, how you

looked at me inside just now. It's not the truth. Who hurt
you?"

Sebastian took a step backward, his eyes wide. "Wh-at?"
"Whoever or whatever made you suspicious of my 'type,'

as you call it, was an ass."

"There's ... It's..."
"You know what I think?" Dylan asked, moving closer.
Sebastian, his gaze riveted to Dylan's, took another step

backward, but the wall loomed behind him and he had
nowhere else to go. He shook his head.

Dylan brushed his thumb over the man's lower lip, that

kissable, bitable lip, and watched a subtle shudder run
through Sebastian's body. "I think you don't hate me as much
as you let on."

Sebastian swallowed hard. "I never said I hated you. I

don't hate you. I want to..."

"You want to what?"

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by M. L. Rhodes

"Damn it, I want to like you. But..."
Dylan thumbed his lip again, and the softest of moans

escaped the man—so soft he bet Sebastian didn't even
realized it had happened.

"Then give me a chance. Don't judge me by the same

standards as someone or something that has nothing to do
with me when you don't even really know me yet. I'm my
own person, not a 'type.' If, after you've gotten to know me
better, outside of work, away from whatever it is about my
shop that turns you off, and you genuinely don't like me, fine.
But don't write me off without taking the time to find out who
I really am."

"Why can't you let you this go? Why do you care?"
Dylan eased closer. "Because I like you."
"You don't know me either."
"You can learn a lot about a man by how he runs his

business, how he treats his customers and friends. I like what
I know of you, Sebastian. And I think it's pretty clear we have
chemistry. What are you afraid of?"

Sebastian closed his eyes. Opened them. A slow, ragged

breath slid past his lips. "Myself."

"Why?"
"Because I have a history of..." He shook his head.

"Because I have a history of making bad decisions for the
wrong reasons."

"Then give me a chance to be the right reason. The right

decision."

Sebastian stared at him, his gaze turbulent. They were

standing so close now Dylan saw the rise and fall of

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by M. L. Rhodes

Sebastian's chest, heard his rapid breathing. He wanted the
man so damned badly it hurt.

"God. This so isn't a good idea," Sebastian whispered,

even as his hands reached out and grabbed palmfuls of
Dylan's jacket.

Dylan's heart pounded. "Let me prove to you it is," he

said, breathing in Sebastian's clean, spicy scent and growing
drunk on it. "Jesus, you have the sexiest damn mouth I've
ever seen." Then he pressed Sebastian up against the brick
wall and kissed him.

Sebastian didn't fight, didn't resist. Instead his body

leaned into Dylan's with such easy familiarity it felt as if
they'd always been lovers. One of his hands curled around
Dylan's neck and he kissed back, his mouth opening, his
tongue tangling with Dylan's with a needy hunger that rivaled
Dylan's own.

Dylan explored every warm crevice of Sebastian's lips and

mouth, finding them to be everything he'd hoped and more.
"I've been having fantasies about your mouth for weeks," he
confessed, sucking on, then nibbling Sebastian's full lower lip.

Sebastian pulled back slightly, eyes wide. "You have?"
"Oh, yeah. Every time I'd see you smile at one of your

customers or hear you laugh at something, I wanted to kiss
you until you couldn't breathe."

"How would you know what I was doing with my

customers?"

"How do you think? Why the hell else would I have been

inventing every excuse in the book to stand outside on the
sidewalk?"

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by M. L. Rhodes

Sebastian gaped at him. "So you could see me through the

windows? I thought ... I thought you were straight, always
out there hugging on your female clients, flirting with them,
walking them to their cars."

"Believe me, the thoughts going through my head were far

from straight. I haven't thought about anyone but you since I
moved in next door to you."

"Oh, God."
"Oh, God?"
"I haven't thought of anyone but you either," he admitted.
"Fuck." He gave Sebastian a heated, appreciative gaze and

then their lips met again with such raw desire Dylan thought
he might implode

Sebastian's free hand slid around Dylan's waist to his back,

then down into the waistband of his jeans. The sensation of
his palm cupping the skin and muscle of his ass wrenched a
low moan from Dylan's throat. And another when Sebastian
guided Dylan's groin against his own.

There was no hiding anything now, no playing pretend, as

the hard ridge of Sebastian's erection ground against Dylan's
in a bold, sensual motion that left Dylan shaking.

He pulled at Sebastian's shirt, tugging it free of his pants,

and stroked his hands up underneath it, learning and relishing
the terrain, tracing his fingertips over hard muscle and into
the valleys. He found the flat nub of a nipple and scraped his
fingernails over it, then squeezed.

Sebastian groaned into his mouth and dug his cock harder

into Dylan's groin.

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"Christ," Dylan gasped, pulling his mouth free to catch his

breath and fight the urge to rip off all Sebastian's clothes and
go down on him here and now. "I want to feel all of you, want
to touch and taste you. But I'll be damned if I'm going to do it
out here, like this is some kind of cheap hook-up. I want way
more than that."

Sebastian continued sucking on Dylan's neck while still

rolling his groin against Dylan's.

"Jesus ... Bastian..." Dylan panted, afraid if Sebastian

didn't stop soon he was going to shoot his load in his jeans.
He had better plans than that. "I don't live too far from here.
Come home with me?" It wasn't just a question. It was a
plea.

Sebastian paused, pulled back to look at him, lust swirling

in his gaze, and nodded. "Okay."

"Thank God. Let's go." He grabbed Sebastian by the hand

and couldn't get to the bike in the parking lot fast enough.

They shared more kisses before they finally got the

helmets on. Then Dylan had to force himself to take several
deep breaths and calm down before he straddled the
motorcycle.

Concentrate. It's not far.
Concentration was tough to come by, however, because

the moment Sebastian climbed onto the bike behind him, one
hand curved around his waist, slid up under his jacket and T-
shirt, and long fingers stroked the bare skin of his stomach.
The other hand settled over his crotch, rubbing his boner and
cradling his balls.

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"Shit," Dylan muttered, breathing hard. He said a quick

prayer of thanks that his house really was close or else this
could get insane real fast.

As they flew through the night, one fact became crystal

clear to him. He'd wanted to see the other man's inner tiger
unleashed, and if this was a hint of it, he suspected no one
would ever satisfy him again but Sebastian Keller.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

CHAPTER 3

Dylan's neighborhood surprised Sebastian. Even through

his haze of lust he could see it was made up of older houses,
but all of them tidy and well-kept, on decent-sized lots, with
big oaks and elms lining the wide, peaceful street.

What did you expect? Run-down hovels with junk cars

sitting around?

He was embarrassed to admit he had expected that very

thing. Like the type of neighborhood Beck's dearest and best
buddies had lived in.

He's not Beck.
No, he wasn't. Dylan was proving to be an enigma.

Sebastian had thought he'd pegged the man, but kept finding
surprises at every turn. Spending time with him was like
riding a speeding, looping rollercoaster, in the dark, with no
idea what might come next ... if it would be a gut-wrenching
plunge, an upside down spiral, or just an exhilarating race
around curves. But all of it was terrifying and at the same
time thrilling beyond compare.

God, I'm in so much trouble.
And yet, pressed against Dylan's back, the rumble of the

bike between his thighs, his cock hard and aching for release,
and the taste of Dylan's kisses still on his lips, he couldn't
dredge up even a small desire to be anywhere but here.

He was a fool. He knew he was. But stupid as it may have

been, he'd chosen to get on this thrill ride. And though he

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by M. L. Rhodes

suspected in the end he'd pay for it, he was going to enjoy it
for the brief while it lasted.

Dylan turned into the driveway of a brick-front, covered-

porch two-story. The garage door slid up—the remote must
have been in the pocket of his jacket—and Dylan pulled the
bike into the garage next to the dark green Jeep Wrangler
Sebastian had also seen him drive. The door closed behind
them as Dylan shut off the bike.

They sat for a moment in the dim light from the garage

door opener, not moving, the sexual tension so thick
Sebastian almost couldn't breathe. He pulled off his helmet.

Dylan did the same, then wrenched his body around

partway and dragged Sebastian into a kiss that conveyed
every bit of the hunger and built-up need that surged in
Sebastian.

"I didn't think we were ever going to get here," Dylan

murmured against his lips.

"Me either." Sebastian stood, swung his leg off the bike,

and set his helmet on the worktable behind him. When Dylan
dismounted, Sebastian grabbed him by a belt loop and pulled
him close, then planted another kiss on him. As the heat and
seductive taste of Dylan's tongue curled with his, Sebastian
worked open Dylan's belt buckle, popped open the button of
his jeans, and slid down the zipper.

In a smooth motion, he pushed Dylan's jeans and briefs

down to his thighs. His erection sprang free, hot and stiff and
eager. Without pause, Sebastian dropped to his knees,
wrapped his hand around the base of the thick shaft, and
licked across the damp head of it, savoring Dylan's essence,

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by M. L. Rhodes

the way the skin stretched like hot satin over the spongy
crown, his warm aroused scent. Then not willing to wait a
second longer, he guided that beautiful cock into the depths
of his mouth.

"Shit," Dylan gasped. "Oh, shit!" His fingers dug into

Sebastian's hair. His eyes closed. His breathing came out in
stuttered huffs.

Sebastian loved to give head. Always had. There was

something about a cock in his mouth, the taste, the smell, the
sensation of sleek, wet skin as he worked it over that did it
for him. But as he listened to Dylan's heavy breathing, felt
the vibration of Dylan's need and the way his fingers flexed
against his scalp, he realized he'd never wanted to give
anyone pleasure more than he did this man. He wasn't sure
why. Probably the same reason he'd gotten on the motorcycle
with Dylan tonight—a need to show him he was more than
what he seemed.

All his life he'd suffered over the stereotype of being the

"smart guy." In high school, college, even now it continued,
as evidenced by Babs today. He'd tried to fight it, tried to
hide it. He'd shed glasses for contacts in high school, and
after he'd opened Great Escapes and pulled a decent profit
that first year, he'd gotten LASIK done. He'd banished geeky
clothes from his wardrobe as soon as he'd been out on his
own, and made a point of shopping at nicer men's stores. And
yet, despite the improved external appearance, the smart guy
label continued to stick. He didn't know what it was about him
that broadcasted it, but he couldn't seem to escape it.
"Pressed and scholarly," Babs had called him.

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by M. L. Rhodes

Certainly there were far worse things in life than being

smart. But here, tonight, with Dylan, he felt compelled to
prove to the man—and maybe to himself as well—that smart
guys could be just as good in bed, maybe better, than anyone
else. The next time he went into Dylan's tattoo shop, instead
of laughing because Sebastian blushed over some horny
woman's come-on, he wanted Dylan to remember this
moment, when he'd dropped to his knees in Dylan's garage
and boldly sucked his cock until Dylan's eyes rolled back in
his head.

Sebastian eased Dylan's dick in and out of his mouth a few

times, then licked over and around its plump crown, delving
his tongue into the generous slit, lapping up the drop of pre-
cum that had beaded there. He traced the underside of the
ridge, and fluttered his tongue against the sensitive sweet
spot, before finally closing his mouth over just the head and
sucking on it.

While his mouth was busy, his hands slid up and down

Dylan's hips, squeezed his muscular butt, then one crept
lower to roll his heavy balls.

Dylan's grunting moans and softly whispered expletives

indicated he was more than appreciative of Sebastian's
attention.

But when Sebastian sucked the full length of his generous

shaft into his mouth again, then slid it out, back in, out, and
in, Dylan's trembling grew more pronounced.

When Sebastian took him deeper still, opening his throat

and swallowing the head all the way, Dylan tensed. His

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by M. L. Rhodes

muscles locked, his head tilted backward, and a ragged groan
tore from him. "Oh ... fucking ... God, that's good!"

Sebastian looked up at him, his mouth and throat full of

Dylan's cock.

Dylan's gaze met his, swirling with a strange, desperate

intensity that made Sebastian's balls ache and his chest
tighten.

"Jesus, Sebastian," he whispered, pumping into

Sebastian's mouth in almost dazed movements, as if he didn't
even realize he was doing it.

Sebastian hollowed his cheeks and sucked him, leading

him with a hand on his ass.

He watched another slow shudder wrack through Dylan's

body.

Then Dylan's hips began to move on their own, his fingers

dug into Sebastian's skull, holding his head and guiding him.
With grunts punctuating each movement, he bobbed
Sebastian's head on his dick and fucked his mouth with
uncontrolled abandon.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Sebastian silently urged Dylan on, loving

that he could make him lose control like this. Loving the
sense of power and liberation for himself that came with it.
He hummed in the back of his throat, offering even more
sensation.

"Can't ... last," Dylan panted.
Sebastian suspected that was Dylan's way of letting him

know if he wanted to pull back, the time was approaching.
But Sebastian had no intention of pulling back. Not with this
man.

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by M. L. Rhodes

"Oh, God..." Dylan's balls drew up tight, his muscles

tensed.

Sebastian pressed a slick finger up against the tight

entrance of Dylan's ass, then into it. Dylan's sphincter
clamped around it as he thrust deep.

"Shit!" Dylan convulsed. Hot jizz shot into Sebastian's

mouth, coating his tongue, sliding down his throat.

Satisfaction roared through Sebastian. He swallowed every

drop of salty-sweet cum, and breathed in Dylan's sexy,
addictive scent.

When he finally let Dylan's cock slip free of his mouth, he

licked it clean with gentle strokes, then kissed the tip. He sat
back on his heels and looked up at the tattoo artist, smiling.

Dylan's gaze was still churning with that same intensity, as

if Sebastian had just given him a revelation of spiritual
proportions. But what stole Sebastian's breath was the
tenderness behind it.

Never in his life had he seen that in a man's eyes. Not for

him. Never for him. But what shocked him most was who was
looking at him that way.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. Dylan

Radamacher was ... God, he was supposed to be something
else. Not this. Not the kind of man who looked at Sebastian in
a way no one else ever had ... full of steamy appreciation and
acceptance.

Isn't that what you wanted? To prove to him you were

more?

Yes, but ... But he hadn't expected Dylan to be the one

who actually got it.

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by M. L. Rhodes

A knot formed in his throat and a confusing ache throbbed

in his chest.

As if he sensed Sebastian's conflict, Dylan held out his

hand. When Sebastian took it, Dylan pulled him to his feet
and into his arms. "Kiss me." Dylan's voice was soft and
hoarse.

Sebastian did, unable to resist that voice, those eyes.

Dylan's mouth moved against his with the same hot but
gentle passion that had been in his eyes.

"Let's go inside," Dylan whispered against his mouth. "I

want to take you to bed."

"I want that, too," Sebastian confessed, though he knew

he should probably be leaving instead, before this got messier
and more complicated. But just like he hadn't been able to
leave outside the bar, he couldn't do it now either.

Dylan pulled his jeans back up but didn't bother fastening

them, then wrapped his fingers through Sebastian's and led
him toward the door into the house. He had his keys in his
hand, and Sebastian noticed his hand shook as he unlocked
the door and opened it.

Once inside, darkness surrounded them. A light burned

somewhere else in the depths of the house, but where they
stood—the kitchen, he thought—the darkness was a cloak of
seduction, stealing Sebastian's confusion and any final second
thoughts, and offering up erotic possibilities instead.

Dylan seemed to feel it also, since he didn't switch on any

lights. Instead, he shrugged off his jacket, let it fall to the
floor, then helped Sebastian out of his as well.

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by M. L. Rhodes

Their lips met again. Gentle hands slid up under

Sebastian's shirt to caress and stroke, paused to open a few
buttons, stroked again, unbuttoned some more, and then,
spreading his shirt, pushed it back over his shoulders and
down his arms until it fell with a whispered rustle of fabric to
the floor.

Sebastian found the hem of Dylan's T-shirt and tugged the

soft fabric up and over his head, giving him free access to the
hot skin and sculpted muscle that had mesmerized him for
weeks. Dylan's abs, pecs, shoulders, and arms were ripped
but not bulky, which Sebastian found a huge turn on—sexy
and masculine without being overwhelming.

Their hands roamed while their mouths never paused in

their slow, sensual entanglement.

Dylan's hard body moved closer, filling Sebastian's

personal space and, Christ, he smelled good. Musk and amber
and sandalwood all rolled together, along with a lingering hint
of cum from the blow job in the garage. The scent swirled
through Sebastian's senses, making him lightheaded.

Dylan's lips pulled away from his and traveled down his

neck to his collar bone, to his chest, kissing, licking, nipping,
then latching onto one of Sebastian's nipples and drawing on
it in slow, biting pulls that quickly brought Sebastian to the
point of writhing frenzy.

Suddenly, Dylan pulled away and straightened. He turned

Sebastian around to face the door they'd come through. He
lifted Sebastian's right arm and placed it above his head,
against the doorframe, then dragged his palm back down
along it as his lips nuzzled the sensitive spot on the back of

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by M. L. Rhodes

Sebastian's neck. He did the same with Sebastian's left arm,
leaving him spread like a willing sacrifice.

His hands slid around Sebastian's waist, caressed his abs,

then worked open his pants. When they were parted, and
Dylan's hand brushed over his swollen dick, encased inside
the tight cotton of his briefs, then squeezed his sac, it pulled
a needy moan from Sebastian.

"Good?" Dylan asked, his voice as hot as his hand.
"Yes..." Sebastian could barely breathe.
"Damn, you're hung."
He pushed down Sebastian's pants and briefs until they

caught at his knees, then palmed his cock. His hand moved
over Sebastian's dick with a practiced motion that felt better
than anything Sebastian had experienced in a long time. Sure
as hell better than touching himself, which had been the
extent of his sexual excitement for the last year and a half.

He felt Dylan sink to his knees behind him. But the warm

breath against his ass still caught him off guard, and he
moaned again when the wet, firm tip of a tongue touched the
top of his crack, then slowly ran its length.

"So fucking sexy," Dylan murmured, his voice low and

husky. "I want to learn every inch of you. Want to touch and
taste every inch of you."

A tremor ran through Sebastian at the sound, at the way

Dylan's palm traced the line of his spine, skimming over every
vertebra, then lingering at its base.

"Dylan," he huffed, his voice coming out as a plea.
Dylan tugged off Sebastian's shoes and socks, then eased

his pants and briefs down the rest of the way. Sebastian

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by M. L. Rhodes

stepped out of them. He trembled at the knowledge he was
now nude and completely exposed to the other man. Dylan's
heated palms, still so damned gentle it made Sebastian's balls
ache, skimmed up his calves, the backs of his knees, his
thighs.

A hand eased between his legs to tug at his balls, and then

the warm, damp breath was back, brushing over the skin of
his ass.

"Yes," Sebastian whispered, his ass clenching in

anticipation just a second before the hot, wet thrust of
Dylan's tongue moved against his crack again. He jerked in
response, having no control over his body's reaction. The
hand at his balls held him in place with a firm tug that was
both pleasure and pain in the best possible way. Dylan's free
hand spread Sebastian's ass cheeks, and the lusty tongue
found the erotic center of Sebastian's core. Sensation surged
through him, churning in his bowels, tingling in his limbs.

Dylan rimmed circles around his hole, then licked into it.
"Oh, God!" Sebastian jerked again.
Again, the hand at his balls held him steady, sending a

dull, pleasurable ache through them and up into his stiff dick.

Sebastian's fingers curved around the doorframe with a

tight, desperate grip. The wood bit into them, but he held on
tightly, not sure he'd be able to stay standing otherwise, as
Dylan delved into him in earnest, his tongue doing libidinous,
mind-bending things that robbed him of all ability to think.

"Unnnh! God, Dylan!" He thrust his ass backward to meet

Dylan's mouth again and again.

"Damn ... Damn, please ... I need ... I need to come."

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by M. L. Rhodes

But the fingers squeezing his nuts wouldn't allow it.
And then everything stopped ... except for the vise around

his balls. That tightened.

Sebastian cried out in frustration. "God! Please!"
Dylan's free hand caressed his ass, then slid up his spine

and down again in slow motion. Aroused to the point of
blissful agony, even that gentle touch set Sebastian's nerve
endings on fire.

"Do you like to fuck or be fucked?" Dylan asked, his voice

low, and thick with unmistakable desire.

"Both," Sebastian gasped. "I like both."
"Jesus," Dylan whispered. "You just keep saying and doing

everything right. Where the hell have you been all my life?"

Sebastian's chest tightened. Sex had always just been sex

in the past. Even with Beck. He'd never had anyone talk like
this to him before and didn't know how to respond.

"I'm going to let you go, but don't you dare come."
Sebastian gave a strangled groan.
"Promise me," Dylan said, his tone firm in a way that only

made Sebastian more desperate for release.

Sebastian nodded.
"I mean it."
"I promise," Sebastian growled, barely hanging on.
When Dylan's fingers uncurled from his balls, it took every

ounce of control Sebastian possessed to breathe deeply and
not touch himself for relief. He rested his forehead against the
cool wood door and closed his eyes, concentrating.

He heard Dylan moving behind him. Heard a thunk, then

another that sounded like boots hitting the floor. That was

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by M. L. Rhodes

followed by the clink of a loose belt buckle and the rustle of
denim. More rustling of fabric and a soft thump from
something small and leathery-sounding falling to the ground.
A wallet?

Then a warm palm smoothed up and over his chest, and

the bulge of Dylan's erection pressed against his backside, no
longer encased in his jeans but bare and hot and pulsing.

"Still want to come?"
"God, yes." Another growl. Sebastian couldn't help himself.

It was taking everything he had to stay put.

Dylan kissed his neck and rocked his groin against

Sebastian's ass.

"Dylan," Sebastian begged. "I can't take this much longer."
"I know. Neither can I." He stroked his palms up

Sebastian's arms to his hands, then pried Sebastian's fingers
free from the wood and laced his own through them.

Sebastian ground his ass back against Dylan's dick. "I

want to see you."

Dylan released one of his hands and Sebastian felt him

reach out, heard him patting it along the wall. The yellow
glow of a single bulb came on over the sink Sebastian could
see out of his peripheral vision, bathing them in just enough
light to see by, but not enough to blind them after being in
the dark so long.

He heard Dylan hiss softly, then his hands slid down

Sebastian's back in an erotic caress. "You are so damned
sexy."

Sebastian turned in his arms and drank in the sight of

him—all sleek skin and hard muscle, but softened by that

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by M. L. Rhodes

same appealing gentleness that twisted Sebastian's insides
into knots. "So are you."

Dylan cupped his head and pulled him into an open

mouthed kiss. Then his hands moved to Sebastian's dick, one
of them holding it in place, while the other rolled a condom
onto it. His gaze glittered with open desire, but also pleading.

"I want you in me, Bastian. I want to feel you inside me as

deep as you can go." His husky voice curled through
Sebastian like a ribbon of flame.

"Christ." That's what he wanted, too. He wanted to plow

into Dylan's incredible body and plunder it to its very core,
then wanted Dylan to do the same to him.

He lowered his mouth over Dylan's and, with a hand on

Dylan's lower back, pulled his buff frame against the full
length of his own body. Sebastian was only an inch or so
taller and their bodies aligned almost perfectly, with their
groins at the same level. But he couldn't stay like that for
long because even with the condom desensitizing him a little,
he was still far too close to the edge to trust himself not to
come. And he wanted to be inside Dylan when that happened.

"I need you. Now." He turned Dylan and pushed him

toward the ceramic tiled countertop island a few steps away,
then pressed him down until his chest rested on it, but his
package was still easily accessible.

Dylan shuddered. "Do it," he said, his voice cracking.
But the sight displayed in front of him sidetracked

Sebastian for a few moments. With appreciative hands, he
stroked his palms over Dylan's back, admiring what he
couldn't deny was truly exceptional artwork inked into the

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man's skin—a swirl of Celtic knot work, sea gods and
goddesses, and mystical sea creatures in flowing colors. This
was nothing like the crude and lewd tattoos Beck and his
friends had sported. This was a visual feast that pulled
Sebastian in and mesmerized him.

"Beautiful," he said softly, tracing the tail of a sea dragon

where it followed the contours of Dylan's lower back, sculpted
ass, then ended in a curl over his right hip. Whoever had
done the piece had been a master, somehow capturing
Dylan's strength and his spirit in the art.

Dylan trembled beneath Sebastian's touch.
Damn, he wanted this man like he'd never wanted anyone

else.

He knelt, spread the globes of Dylan's ass apart, and licked

over his quivering pucker.

"Oh, God..." Dylan moaned softly.
Sebastian delved into him with urgency, spearing him

open, getting him as wet and slick as possible. When Dylan's
ass surged back against him, and his soft, panting moans
brought a new level of ache to Sebastian's cock and balls, he
pushed a finger into Dylan, who bucked against Sebastian's
hand, then pressed back onto it with a shudder.

Sebastian gave him another, moving them both in a slow

circular motion, stretching the tight ring of muscle, then
probing deeper. He gave Dylan's prostate a gentle nudge,
eliciting another, louder moan from the man, and a soul-deep
shudder.

"Sebastian ... shit ... please. Want you in me now."

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Shaking with need, Sebastian pulled his fingers free and

stood. With one hand against Dylan's ass and the other
wrapped around his own dick, he guided the tip to Dylan's
slippery, pulsating hole. The condom Dylan had put on him
was well lubed, so between that and the saliva, when he
pressed inward, his crown breached the tight opening with
almost no friction.

"Oh, fuck," Dylan gasped, breathing hard.
Sebastian closed his eyes, fighting his body's desperate

urge to come right now as Dylan's tight, hot passage bore
down on his cockhead. It felt so fricking good. He hadn't been
inside someone in so damned long he'd forgotten how good it
could be. And yet, even when he had been the top, he didn't
remember the pleasure ever being this intense, this powerful.
Dylan's body fit him so damned well. Too well. He could get
used to this far too easily.

Dylan's hips shifted. Sebastian grasped them and held him

still. "Don't move," he begged, his voice hoarse.

Dylan instantly stilled, but he was panting hard and

Sebastian felt his muscles trembling as he, too, struggled to
rein in his primitive urges.

Sebastian took a deep breath. And another. Then, finally,

when he felt he had himself under control enough he thought
he could last a while, he pushed inward, watching in lust-filled
awe as Dylan's body swallowed his cock inch by inch until it
disappeared completely and Sebastian's balls nestled against
Dylan's.

"Oh, God, Bastian, you feel fucking amazing."

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"So do you." He leaned down over Dylan, sinking deeper,

and buried his face in the other man's neck, breathing in his
scent.

One of Dylan's arms snaked up around Sebastian's neck,

his head turned, and he pulled Sebastian into an erotically
charged, tongue-thrusting kiss that left Sebastian shaking.

"Do you want it slow or hard?" he asked, as he eased out

partway, then pushed back into Dylan, feeling every inch of
the man's blazing core stroking his cock. He really was in
trouble. It would be way, way too easy to get used to this, to
feel Dylan's sinfully sensual body surrounding him every
night.

"Both," Dylan gasped.
Sebastian pulled out and drove in again. Then again.
"Yeah ... oh, God, yeah. Just like that." Dylan's ass pushed

back to meet Sebastian on each stroke.

Sebastian gave up all vestiges of control at that point,

letting the blinding urge to plunder take over. The need to fill
Dylan full and hard and deep consumed him and he let it,
savoring every sensation as he thrust into the man over and
over.

His balls ached, and when tingling arcs of energy built

inside them and sizzled up into his cock, he knew he wasn't
going to be able to go much longer. Dylan was just too hot,
too tight, too goddamned sexy.

He reached around and ensconced Dylan's turgid shaft in

his palm, squeezing it, then stroking it with a firm, steady
motion. He wanted to get Dylan off again and feel his orgasm
shuddering through him as he rode him to the edge. Dylan let

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out a series of breathless moans as Sebastian built a rhythm,
working Dylan's cock and plowing into his ass at the same
time.

"Fuck ... fuck."
The moans became guttural cries. He bucked against

Sebastian. And then, with powerful surges into Sebastian's
hand, molten cream exploded from his slit, coating
Sebastian's fingers, dripping onto the floor.

Heady with the scents and sounds of Dylan's submission,

Sebastian's own release hit him seconds later. He thrust hard
and deep into Dylan's clenching passage one final time, and
was lost in ecstasy.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

CHAPTER 4

Something fuzzy and rumbling rubbed against Dylan's

calves.

Sebastian's also, it seemed, startling him. "Damn!" When

Sebastian jumped, his softening cock slid out of Dylan, much
to Dylan's regret. He was going to have to make a point of
getting it back in as soon as possible.

Chuckling, he rose up on his elbows to peer down at the

big yellow tabby coming by for another pass at their legs,
rubbing and arching her back. "Sebastian, meet Hennessy.
Hennessy, Sebastian."

The cat jumped up onto the island—where she knew good

and well she wasn't supposed to be—and bumped against
Dylan's hand, demanding attention. He scratched her chin,
and Sebastian stroked a hand along her back.

"You have a cat named Hennessy?" He laughed softly ... a

sound so awesome to hear, heat scudded through Dylan's
veins.

"Yep, I do."
"I have a cat, too," he said, as he pulled off the used

condom and threw it in the trashcan next to the counter.

"Oh, yeah?" A cat person. Damn, was there anything about

the man not to like?

"Yeah, a Maine coon named Morgan. Short for Captain

Morgan."

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Dylan pushed himself up and turned to face Sebastian, a

grin on his face. "Are you telling me we both have cats named
after booze?"

"Apparently so."
"God, what does that say about us?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe that we were drunk when we named

them?"

"Or we wanted to be."
More soft laughter spilled from Sebastian, and Dylan's

pulse raced in pleasure.

He burrowed a hand into the hair at the back of

Sebastian's neck and tugged him into a kiss. "You have the
sexiest smile."

A faint blush slid up Sebastian's cheeks, which just made

him even more appealing. A fucking amazing lover, looks and
a body to die for, and a sweet personality to round it out. The
man was a keeper.

As he realized the truth of that thought, a tremor of

something new and unexpected stirred in Dylan. Sebastian
was someone he could see himself with for a while. Maybe a
really long while. And that wasn't something he was used to.

It wasn't that he was a one-night stand kind of guy

because he wasn't at all. He actually wanted to know and like
someone before he slept with him. He'd been friends with
virtually all his lovers over the years—still was friends with
many of them. He was all for having fun and mutual pleasure
and companionship, but he'd never pretended with any of
them that he was interested in a full let's-fall-in-love-and-
move-in-together relationship. It had always worked out well

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because the vast majority of them hadn't been looking for
that either. It made it easy and clean to get together for a
good time, then go home to his own house at the end of the
night, or send them home to theirs, and not meet up again
until it was mutually convenient. No clingy expectations, no
hurt feelings on anyone's part.

His mom worried over it on his behalf, afraid he'd never

find someone "special." She said it was probably her fault
because, after Dylan's dad had split on them when Dylan was
a baby, she'd never really trusted anyone again. She'd had
"friends" from time to time, but none of them lasting. She
was afraid her intimacy issues had rubbed off on him.

Maybe she was right. Hell, it's not like he'd had any role

models for happily ever after. Even his mentor in the tattoo
business, Mick, had had a revolving door of lovers during the
years Dylan had worked with him.

If he were being brutally honest with himself, he had

wondered on occasion what it might be like to have someone
to come home to each night, someone to talk to over dinner,
to be there in the dark, lonely hours when he woke up and
couldn't sleep. Someone special to share holidays and
vacations with. When he'd had those thoughts, though, he'd
always told himself the trade-off of freedom was worth it.

But was it? At the end of the day, when he left Rad Tattoos

and his clients behind, and it was just him and Hennessey, he
wasn't sure.

And for some reason, being around Sebastian was making

him wonder all over again. He could easily see himself
spending more time with Sebastian. Like twenty-four/seven

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time. He certainly had no interest in sending Sebastian home
tonight. Wanted, in fact, in the worst way, to sleep with him
and wake up next to him in the morning so he could see him
first thing, kiss him, and lose himself in the man's body and
sweet smile all over again. He couldn't think of a better way
to start the day. When he stretched his imagination out to the
next day, the next week, and even longer than that, the
thought of having Sebastian in his bed and life felt
surprisingly good and didn't cause the anxiety it might have
in the past.

He was getting ahead of himself here, though, and the

thought sobered him.

Before he could even think about anything longer-term

than right now, first he had to gain Sebastian's trust. The
man was here with him tonight, but he wasn't sure Sebastian
trusted him. Dylan got the sense Sebastian was somehow
waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something hung over him
like one of those dark clouds that followed cartoon characters
around, waiting to rain on them. Dylan felt like he had to
tread with caution because he was certain someone at some
time had hurt Sebastian, and the man was skittish. Which
meant if he felt threatened in any way, he was going to bail.
He'd almost done it earlier tonight until Dylan had convinced
him otherwise.

What are you going to do if he does bail? You're starting to

care about him, but he might not feel the same about you.

How would he feel? He'd seen how devastated his mother

was for years and years, and how hard it had been for her
when his dad had taken a long walk and never come back.

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He'd been the one, even as a little boy, who'd brought her
tissues more nights than not when he'd caught her crying as
she did dishes or whenever she looked at the picture that sat
on her bedside table. He'd grown up with a strong sense that
all you got when you cared too much was pain. And he'd
never wanted to go through that himself, so he'd lived his life
in a manner that avoided it.

Damn it. Maybe he did have intimacy issues over his dad's

desertion.

The question was ... did he keep letting that fear dictate

his life, letting what had happened with his parents hold him
back forever? Or did he have what it took to put himself out
there and try to find something else? Something more.

He just knew when he looked at Sebastian Keller, for the

first ever he thought he might be willing to take the risk.

"We never made it to the bed," Sebastian said in a quiet

voice, pulling Dylan back to the here and now. He wore a
troubled expression on his handsome face.

Troubled why? Dillon wondered. He slid his arms around

Sebastian's waist and kissed him again. "Not yet, no. But the
night's still young. I have plans for your sexy ass yet tonight."

A flicker of surprise lit Sebastian's eyes.
That caught Dylan off guard. Did Sebastian think that now

that they'd had sex, Dylan would expect him to pick up his
clothes and get out? Was that the type of men he was used
to? Hell, in spite of his preference to keep things simple and
un-messy, Dylan would never have expected that of any of
his lovers. It came back to the genuine liking and friendship
thing. He'd never treated any of his former lovers like they

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by M. L. Rhodes

were tricks. It disgusted him to think someone might have
treated Sebastian that way.

An urge rose in him to not only take Sebastian to bed and

show him all over again just how amazing they were together
in a physical sense, but also show him they could have more
than that if Sebastian was willing to trust him.

"You know what else is sexy? This." He lowered his gaze

and then his fingers to the area just inside Sebastian's
hipbone on the right side. "This was ... unexpected." Dylan
looked up at him and grinned.

A self-conscious smile curved Sebastian's lips. "What, did

you think I hated tattoos or tattoo artists or something?"

"The thought had crossed my mind a time or two."
He winced. "I'm sorry."
Dylan stroked his hip, then knelt and studied the artwork.

"Don't be. Just tell me about it."

"It was my present to myself when I finished college. My

big wild moment, I guess you could say. I was a history
major and my favorite area of study was Egypt. I actually
specialized in it when I went to grad school. My tattoo is of
Thoth, who was the god of knowledge, writing, magic."

"It's a nice piece. You had a good artist. And it fits you."
"You think?"
"I do."
"It's small," he said almost apologetically.
"There's nothing wrong with small. It's not about the size,

it's about whether a tattoo makes someone feel good, about
the importance of its meaning to the wearer. Think about my

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by M. L. Rhodes

little old lady with her tiny daisy chain on her wrist. It fits her
personality, her life experience, and makes her happy."

He rose, pulled open the refrigerator, and lifted out two

bottles of beer. He opened them and handed one to
Sebastian, who took it with a quick smile of thanks.

"What about yours?" Sebastian asked. "I always wondered

why you don't have your arms completely covered like so
many tattoo artists do. But then I saw your back. It's really,
really beautiful."

Dylan smiled. "Thanks. I may get there with my arms and

other spots eventually, but I tend to not be in a rush when it
comes to tattoos because they are so personal and
meaningful, and, more importantly, so permanent. I'm
selective and only put ink on my body that I've thought about
carefully. All but my first one. This one." He brushed a hand
over the tribal cross on his left bicep. "I got it when I was
eighteen and it was more about being cool than anything
else."

He chuckled, remembering how hot shit he'd felt both as

he'd been getting it done and flaunting it around afterward. "I
don't regret it, though, because it was kind of a rite of
passage for me. It's what introduced me to the world of body
art and set me on the path I've been on ever since."

Sebastian leaned back against the counter, clearly at ease

in his nude state—and a damned fine sight it was, too. He
lifted his beer to take a drink, and listened to Dylan with what
appeared to be genuine interest. "And your back?"

"My mentor, Mick, did it over the period of a year or so. My

heritage on my mom's side is Welsh—my grandmother was

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by M. L. Rhodes

born and raised in Wales and moved to the States right
before she had my mom. My name, Dylan, is actually Welsh
and it means 'son of the sea.'"

"Hence the Celtic knot work and the sea beings."
"Yep."
"Does your family live here in the area?"
"It's just my mom and I. My dad took off when I was a

baby. I never knew him. We were pretty poor. My mom
worked hard to keep a roof over our heads and she never
remarried. I think the thing with my dad pretty much scared
her off from it. And, no, she doesn't live here in St. Louis.
She's in Poplar Bluff. That's where I grew up."

"How'd you end up in St. Louis?"
"I followed my mentor up here right after high school. He

was opening a shop and took me on as an apprentice."

"You've been tattooing a long time then."
Dylan nodded. "Twelve years. I worked with Mick for five,

then opened my own place seven years ago. The business has
been good to me. I was able to put myself through college on
what I made working with Mick."

"You've been to college?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to seem so

surprised."

Sebastian looked shame-faced. "I'm sorry. God, that was

... That sounded awful, but I really didn't mean it to. I'm
sorry."

Damn, he was so cute when he was flustered. Dylan

smiled. "It's okay. Quit apologizing all the time. And, yes, I've

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by M. L. Rhodes

been to college. I have a bachelor's degree in business. What
about you and your family? Are you from this area?"

"Yeah. My parents got divorced when I was eight but my

mom remarried only a couple of years later. Her new
husband—" He laughed softly. "Well, he's hardly new at this
point. They've been married nineteen years ... way longer
than she and my dad were married. But anyway, her
husband, Bill, is a good guy. He makes her happy."

"So you're pretty close to them then? And your dad?"
"My mom and Bill, yeah, pretty much. They live in East St.

Louis. I have two teenage step-sisters also, who are fun. We
try to get together at least once a month. My dad on the
other hand ... not so much. He's made it clear he doesn't 'get'
me, so it's not real comfortable being around him. He's
convinced I'm gay because my mom raised me with too light
a hand and I didn't have a male influence in my life."

Dylan frowned at the explanation. "Not that it has anything

to do with anything because the whole 'strong male role
model' theory of gayness is bullshit, but you said your mom
remarried. You would have been like, what, ten? Didn't you
have Bill in your life?"

"My point exactly. I did and do. But that doesn't matter to

my dad. He means I didn't have his male influence in my life.
It bugs the shit out of him that my mom and Bill have always
accepted me for who I am. I'm sure he thinks if I'd been
living with him he would have been able to send me off to
military school or something and have these 'unnatural' urges
beaten out of me." He shrugged. "Now you see why I don't
spend much time with him."

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by M. L. Rhodes

"I get that." Dylan nodded and took a drink from his

bottle. "You mentioned you'd gone to grad school. Masters?
PhD?"

"I was working on my masters. I almost had it finished."
"Was?"
Troubled lines creased Sebastian's forehead. "I ran out of

money," he said in a quiet voice.

Dylan sensed there was more to the story, but decided not

to push since it obviously made Sebastian uncomfortable. But
he couldn't deny he was powerfully curious. Sebastian was a
smart man, ran what appeared to be a thriving business. He
couldn't picture him as the type to "run out of money" without
a damned big reason.

"So you'll go back eventually."
"Yeah, maybe. Probably."
Dylan leaned close and kissed his neck. "I think smart men

are incredibly sexy."

He'd meant it as a total compliment, but for some reason

the comment brought another frown to Sebastian's face.

"What is it?" Dylan wished he could get Sebastian to open

up and talk to him so he could understand the man better.

Sebastian shrugged and took a deep breath. "It's nothing.

It's just a ... thing. It's stupid."

"There's nothing stupid about something that bothers

you."

"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."

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"Let's just say the whole 'smart man' thing hasn't always

worked out so well for me when it comes to ... well, to
situations like this."

"Situations like this?"
"I told you, you wouldn't understand. Guys like you don't

have to worry about it."

"Guys like me? Are we back to the 'type' thing again? And

are you implying I'm not a smart man?" He was trying really
hard not to let the burn of irritation in his gut rise to the
surface.

"No. No! That's not what I mean at all. Never mind. This

isn't a good conversation to have. Forget I brought it up."

Dylan took a deep breath, trying to keep from giving in to

anger, and trying to look at it from Sebastian's perspective as
best he could when he wasn't even sure what the man was
getting at.

Trying a different approach, and keeping his voice as calm

and even as possible, he said, "What is it about you being a
smart guy that bothers you. Do you think people treat you
differently?"

Sebastian sighed. "I know they do. And I wasn't implying

you aren't smart. You just ... you wear it differently than I do.
You're good-looking, sexy as all get out with your hot body
and your tattoos, and it's obvious everyone likes you. I
suspect you could have any lover you wanted—in fact I'd
stake my life that you've never had a shortage of them.
Whereas I seem to radiate some kind of energy that tells
everyone, 'Look at me, I may not wear a pocket protector,
but I'm still a geek.'" He gave Dylan an angry glare not unlike

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the ones he'd flamed him with over the past few weeks each
time he'd come into Rad Tattoos to lodge a complaint. "Most
potential lovers don't really find that a turn-on."

Dylan stared at him.
Jesus, what had happened to the man to make him think

such a thing? Someone at some point in time had done a real
number on Sebastian to lower his self-confidence like this,
and it pissed Dylan off in a big way. Had someone given him
shit for being brainy and well-educated? Told him he wasn't
good-looking or sexy? Whoever it was had been an asshole of
the first order. Yeah, Sebastian came across as being a
pulled-together intelligent man, bookish even at times, but
there was nothing remotely geeky about him. And it sure as
shit wasn't a turn-off.

"Look," he said, taking the two steps that separated him

from Sebastian and pulling the man's beautiful body against
him. "I can't presume to know what's happened in your life to
make you doubt yourself or your appeal. But I sure as hell
can show you that I don't agree. I damn well can't even look
at you without this happening." He grasped Sebastian's hand
and brought it to his groin, where his dick was already getting
stiff again.

A soft, surprised gasp escaped Sebastian's full, parted lips,

and his eyes glazed over. His fingers curled around Dylan's
girth and squeezed lightly.

"Your intelligence doesn't turn me off in any way." He

kissed Sebastian's stubbled jaw line, his neck, bit at his
earlobe. "I told you, I think it's sexy as hell. You're sexy as
hell," he breathed into his ear. "So fucking sexy you're all I've

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been able to think about for weeks. So fucking sexy I could
barely walk when we got to the bar tonight because I had a
hard-on the size of Texas from having you pressed up against
my back as we rode."

"I had the same problem," Sebastian whispered, his voice

shaky with what sounded like barely restrained desire.

"Oh, I know." He rolled his groin against Sebastian's. "Just

like the one you have now."

He brushed another kiss over Sebastian's lips, and rubbed

his palms up and over the man's sleek chest, intentionally
dragging his thumbs over the copper-colored nipples. "I'm
thinking with a drawer full of condoms and a bottle of lube in
the nightstand, my bed is exactly where we need to go right
now so I can show you in as many ways as possible just how
damned hot and delicious you are."

Sebastian's eyes closed and he let out a soft huff of breath

as he nodded. "I won't say no to that idea."

"Good. Let's take food to bed with us," Dylan said. "We

never ate anything at the bar and you're going to need your
strength."

Sebastian's eyelids fluttered open to reveal a heat that

seared straight to Dylan's groin. "As long as we don't have to
go anywhere to get it and it doesn't involve having to take
time to cook it."

Dylan grinned. "My thoughts exactly. Do you do Chinese? I

have leftover take-out from last night."

"Perfect."
"A man of my own heart." Dylan let Sebastian go, and

missed his heat the moment he did. He scooped Hennessy off

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the counter and set her on the floor, washed his hands, then
opened the refrigerator again. He grabbed two cardboard
cartons that contained leftover Kung Pao beef and sesame
chicken, and stuck them in the microwave. "Grab some
chopsticks out of that crock on the counter. Unless you'd
rather have a fork, in which case left-hand drawer."

Sebastian plucked two wrapped packages of wooden

chopsticks out of the container, then picked up their beer
bottles.

When the microwave dinged, Dylan retrieved the now-

warm cartons.

"Lead the way," Sebastian said, stepping aside to let Dylan

pass him.

"Damn, and I was hoping I'd get to follow you so I could

ogle your ass."

Sebastian shrugged, but a smiled teased at his lips. "Your

house. You know where the bedroom is."

"Excuses, excuses."
In his bedroom, Dylan flipped on the light on the table

next to the bed and turned on his Mp3 player in its docking
station. The last playlist he'd listened to was still up on it—a
mix of rock, pop, and even a few country songs.

When the first song began playing—a country ballad—

Sebastian gave him an odd look.

"What?"
"This isn't what you listen to in your shop."
"That stuff?" Dylan rolled his eyes. "That's Ander's music.

Some of it's okay, and I don't mind it overall, but it's not what
I listen to in my own time. What do you listen to?"

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"A little bit of everything except..."
Dylan laughed. "Except Ander's music."
They sat on the bed, Dylan leaning back against the dark

wood headboard, propped up with pillows, and Sebastian
cross-legged facing him. Chinese leftovers had never tasted
so good, nor had the view been so spectacular. Sebastian had
started with the Kung Pao beef, and Dylan the chicken, but
somewhere along the line they began feeding each other
bites.

When a drop of Kung Pao sauce fell on Sebastian's thigh,

Dylan leaned down and licked it off. He let his tongue linger,
swirling against Sebastian's warm, lightly furred skin.

He heard Sebastian's breath catch. Saw his half-erect cock

twitch.

When he lifted his head, their eyes locked. He reached into

the carton Sebastian held, picked up a piece of—he didn't
even know what because he couldn't tear his gaze from
Sebastian's—and dropped it.

Sebastian gave a low hiss and his eyes flamed.
Dylan looked down and discovered he'd unintentionally had

perfect aim. The bit of water chestnut had landed on
Sebastian's thick and quickly hardening dick.

Oh, yeah.
He took the carton from Sebastian, set it on the bed, and

with a hand on his chest, pushed the man back onto the
mattress.

Sebastian spread his legs and Dylan crawled between

them.

"You look good enough to eat," Dylan said with a smile.

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"What are you going to do about it?" The come-hither look

in Sebastian's eyes sent blood rushing to Dylan's cock.

"I'm going to eat, of course." He lowered his face to the

man's groin, where, somehow, the bit of food still managed to
cling midway down Sebastian's shaft in spite of the fact his
shaft was now at full attention, jutting from its nest of dark
curls.

Watching Sebastian the whole time, and getting seriously

turned on over the fact Sebastian was watching him as well,
he slowly licked up the turgid length of Sebastian's cock,
snagging the water chestnut, feeling the spicy bite of the
sauce on his tongue again. Then he licked again, from base to
tip of Sebastian's rod, ending with a swirl of tongue directly
over the prominent head.

Sebastian gave a slow shudder of pleasure.
Inspired, Dylan dipped two fingers into the nearby carton,

this time not interested in the meat and vegetables, but
rather in scooping up the sauce itself. He brought his dripping
fingers back to Sebastian's dick and smeared the goo all over
it, taking his time to paint it on everything.

Another hiss from Sebastian had Dylan looking up at him.

This time Sebastian's eyes were squeezed close. "Damn. It's
tingling. Damn!"

No surprise. The Kung Pao was made with chili peppers.

Dylan grinned.

Sebastian's hips lifted off the bed and his breathing grew

erratic.

"Jesus, you're hot," Dylan told him.
"No, my dick is hot," Sebastian gasped.

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"Oh, hell yeah. And I want it." He started with the head,

since that would be the most sensitive part of Sebastian's
anatomy and probably wouldn't be able to take the burn as
long as the rest. He laved his tongue over it in slow sweeps,
not surprised to find droplets of cum seeping from the slit to
mix with the sauce.

"Shit, you taste good." Spicy, salty, and to-die-for sexy.
A low moan was his only response, as Sebastian continued

to quiver. Even his legs shook. He slid his feet up on the bed
until his knees were bent.

Dylan licked some more, lapping up the sauce from all

over now, delving into every crevice, over every millimeter, to
get it all. By the time he'd finished, Sebastian's hips were
thrusting up against his mouth, asking, begging, demanding
he suck him off.

"Is this what you want?" He opened his mouth and

suctioned Sebastian's hard, eager length into it.

"Yes! Oh, God, yes."
Dylan smiled around his mouthful of cock, then devoted all

his attention to bringing Sebastian ultimate pleasure.

But when Sebastian was close to coming, Dylan pulled off

him.

Sebastian groaned his protest. His eyes fluttered open and

he stared in unfulfilled agony at Dylan.

He stroked a soothing hand over Sebastian's thigh. "Don't

worry, I'm not going to make you wait long."

"Fuck!"

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Another grin split Dylan's face. He'd never heard Sebastian

use that particular expletive before. Obviously he'd gotten to
the man. "Hold that thought."

He crawled over to the nightstand, yanked open the

drawer, and pulled out a condom and a bottle of lube. With as
quick a motion as he could manage, considering his hands
were shaking, he ripped open the package, rolled the rubber
down onto his erection, then crawled back to his waiting
lover.

Sebastian watched his every move. When Dylan opened

the lube and squirted a generous amount on his cock, then
more onto his fingers, Sebastian pulled his legs up, giving him
easier access. Dylan eased his slicked fingers into Sebastian's
anus, stretching and coating him all at the same time, loving
the look of raw eroticism on his face.

There was no way he'd ever get tired of this man.
Unable to wait any longer, he poised the tip of his cock

against Sebastian's hole and pushed.

They both cried out as Dylan sank to the hilt. He knew he

probably should have taken it more slowly since it was the
first time he'd topped Sebastian, but his body surged with
heat and powerful need, and from the expression on
Sebastian's face, he'd been pretty damn sure Sebastian
wasn't going to complain.

Giving himself a minute to get used to the blissful,

squeezing pressure, he held himself in place, feeling
Sebastian's pulse in the tight muscles that gripped him.

But he couldn't stay still long. It was too good. With a low

groan, he surged into motion, sliding out, then plowing back

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into Sebastian's welcoming body over and over. He alternated
between slow, steady strokes, and short, hard jabs.
Sebastian's breathless moans on each of his thrusts filled
Dylan's senses, making him crazier and more turned on, until
everything else around him, around them, disappeared and
all he knew was the merging of their bodies, the scent of sex
and man, the sweet pressure of Sebastian's muscles bearing
down on him, and the sight and sounds of the man beneath
him.

When Sebastian reached for his own cock to get himself

off, Dylan pushed his hand away and took over the task
himself, wanting to give Sebastian all the pleasure he possibly
could.

Sebastian let him, sliding his hands up Dylan's arms

instead, gripping his shoulders in strong fingers, and giving
himself up to Dylan's care.

They came almost in unison, Sebastian's cock spewing

loads of cream onto his stomach, Dylan's hand, and groin.
And Dylan spasming deep inside Sebastian, filling the condom
with generous bursts of cum.

Dylan pulled out, then collapsed on top of Sebastian,

burying his face in the man's neck.

"That was..." Sebastian's voice was husky, breathless.
"Fucking incredible," Dylan finished for him.
Sebastian's fingers burrowed into Dylan's hair and he

pulled Dylan's head up so they were face to face. Sebastian's
eyes still shimmered with passion. "Yeah. It was." He lifted
his head and planted a blistering kiss on Dylan's mouth. So

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by M. L. Rhodes

blistering and packed with unspoken desire, it almost made
Dylan dizzy.

They kissed and caressed for a long time. Eventually they

got up and took a shower, where more kissing and fondling
led to other things, and it was much, much later before they
turned out the lights and slid between the covers of Dylan's
bed, spent.

As Dylan drifted off to sleep with Sebastian's sensuous

body pressed up behind him, his arm draped around Dylan,
and his thumb brushing slow, aimless circles around one of
his nipples, he knew he didn't want this to end. He'd fallen
hard for Sebastian. It was time to trust and take the risk.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

CHAPTER 5

Sebastian woke in the dark, disoriented. He lifted his wrist

and peered at the luminescent numbers on his watch—a little
after four-thirty in the morning. Knowing he wasn't in his own
bed, he lay still, trying to place where he was and how he'd
gotten here ... and what the hard heat was scorching into his
side and draped over his legs.

The soft, even sounds of breathing came to him in the

silence. Then a clean, soapy scent.

Which brought back a rush of images of a shower, and

soap-slicked, insistent hands working over and into his body
in ways that made him tremble just to think about them.

Dylan.
Oh, God. He dragged in a deep breath. He'd gone to bed

with Dylan Radamacher.

No, not just the bed ... the garage, the kitchen, the

bathroom.

Christ.
And every second of it had been amazing. Beyond

amazing.

He tried to catch his breath as his heart raced away with

him.

Then he shook his head as the truth hit him. It hadn't just

been the sex that was great.

He'd known from the day he'd met the man that Dylan was

sexy. He radiated sex appeal like a furnace radiated heat. But
he was a lot of other things Sebastian had never expected

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him to be—intelligent, funny, gentle, a good conversationalist.
Dylan had surprised him at every turn, saying the right
things, turning his fears inside out and upside down, making
him think and feel and think again about the difference
between how Beck had treated him and how Dylan treated
him. He'd admitted things to Dylan he would never
intentionally have told anyone else—certainly not a lover.

He couldn't fricking believe he'd told Dylan his frustrations

about being labeled a smart guy, and had pretty much
admitted that he was less than confident in his ability to
attract lovers. He cringed when he thought back on it. He'd
made himself look like a complete ass.

And yet ... instead of grabbing his clothes and running,

which he'd had the strong urge to do, somehow Dylan had
turned the tables on his embarrassment and anger, and made
him hot and horny again, made him smile, and even laugh.
Not only had he stayed for the next round, he'd ended up
staying the night because Dylan had looked at him with those
compelling eyes and, in his low, husky, bone-melting voice,
asked him to.

But what happened now?
He lay there on his back, listening to Dylan's breathing,

savoring the sensation of the man's groin scorching his hip,
his arm around Sebastian's waist, and one muscular leg
thrown over the top of his. It felt good. He felt good. So good
he could stay like this for a month. A year. Forever.

Yet it also scared the hell out of him.
Sebastian had been here before, the moment of decision

after giving in to a passionate night of sex. The moment

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by M. L. Rhodes

where he, traditionally, had let his other head do the thinking
instead of the one that contained his brain. The one where his
decisions had netted him nothing but pain, humiliation, and a
solid résumé of being used.

Horst, Beck ... they'd both sweet-talked and seduced him.

Both had led him to believe they liked him and wanted to be
with him. Both had used him for their own selfish purposes.
And Sebastian had no one to blame but himself. At this point
in those relationships—the infamous morning after—he'd had
a choice to stay or to go. To walk away with his head held
high, satisfied from a good night of sex, or stick it out for the
hope of more—more sex, more companionship, and maybe
even something beyond that. He'd chosen to stay and hope
for more. Both times he'd been burned.

With Dylan, though ... With Dylan it just somehow felt

different. He didn't know why, couldn't put his finger on it.

Or maybe he just wanted it to feel different. Because,

damn it, in spite of how he knew he should feel, he liked the
man. Liked him a lot. Maybe even more than a lot.

You barely know him. How do you know everything that

happened between you last night wasn't pretend on his part?
How do you know he wasn't on his best behavior to win you
over simply for a great night of fucking? He wouldn't be the
first guy who'd sweet-talked a potential lover into his bed.

He didn't want to believe that. The way Dylan had looked

at him last night ... how could someone fake that?

People can and do.
But that didn't mean Dylan had. He wasn't who Sebastian

had thought he was. He'd tried to lump Dylan into the same

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by M. L. Rhodes

category as Beck, and there were some similarities, yes.
Business owners, part of the counterculture ... but Sebastian
could no longer think of any other places where the two
men's lives merged. Dylan's business seemed to be booming
and had been in operation for seven years. He was financially
secure enough he'd been able to move to the bigger location
next to Sebastian's store. He owned his own house. Nothing
about him led Sebastian to believe he needed to use
Sebastian's brains or his finances for his own ulterior motives.

How could he trust his own judgment, though?
God, Sebastian hated the knot in his stomach. He so

wanted to believe. But, then, he always had with the other
guys, too. Had wanted to believe, had believed, then paid the
price.

Give me a chance to be the right reason. The right

decision.

That's what Dylan had told him last night at the bar.
So maybe ... maybe that's what he needed to do. Maybe

he needed to give Dylan a chance. More of a chance than just
one night. Maybe Sebastian just needed to take this one day
at a time, try to keep an open mind, and see how it went.

The decision gave him a small sense of peace, or, if not

peace, at least a sense that he had a plan, a direction to
head. It didn't have to be all or nothing—leave now or stay
forever. One day at a time was good.

He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep. But after

several minutes he knew it wasn't going to happen. His mind
still spun.

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by M. L. Rhodes

Finally, he gently untangled his legs from Dylan's, and

slipped out from under his arm and the covers. He padded
through the house to the kitchen, thinking maybe a drink of
water would help. Or he could call a cab and go home.

That's not what he wanted, though. What he really wanted

was to go back to bed, kiss Dylan awake, then bury himself
inside the man and ride him hard and deep until neither of
them could breathe.

Heat flooded through him at that thought.
One day at a time. It was a new day. No time like the

present to seek a little reassurance.

With a half-smile, he decided to do just that.
But as he crossed through the kitchen, he saw the light on

in the den—the light that had been on when he and Dylan had
come in tonight. He sidetracked to peer through the doorway
out of curiosity. It looked like Dylan used the room as an
office and art studio. Fascinated by the framed pieces on the
walls, he entered to study them more closely.

Some of the pictures were paintings with fantasy themes,

but most were done using other media—pastels, pencil, ink. A
desk and computer sat against one wall, and a drawing table
scattered with papers and half-finished pieces sat against
another. This was probably where Dylan drew up custom
designs for tattoos.

He spied a handful of photographs sitting on top of the

hutch on the desk, and stepped closer to look at them. The
first was of Dylan with a woman who could only be his
mother—their facial structure and hair color were identical.
Dylan looked about the same age he was now, so it couldn't

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

have been made too long ago. His mom was of medium build,
with long hair, and an almost Bohemian look about her. They
were both smiling—genuine smiles, not fake "say cheese" for
the camera smiles—and it tugged a smile from Sebastian as
well. He wasn't even sure why, except it somehow gave him a
stronger connection to Dylan to see him so obviously happy
with his mother. Beck had never had any pictures of his
family, or if he did, he'd never shared them. He'd never
talked about them either, except to imply his family had been
dysfunctional as hell and he seldom saw them or talked to
them.

The next photo was of an older, balding, tattooed man

standing in front of a Harley. That caused a twinge of old pain
in Sebastian, making him think of Beck and his damned
Harley. Sebastian wondered who the man was and why Dylan
would have him in a place of honor next to his mom.

But then something else drew his attention. A yellowed

newspaper clipping—an obituary—tacked onto the bulletin
board next to the desk. The man in the faded, blurry photo
was the same as the one in the photo on the desk. Mick
Parsons. Dylan had said his mentor's name, the man who'd
done the beautiful art on his back, was Mick. The date of his
death was listed as seven years previously. The same year
Dylan had said he'd started his own shop. Mick had died in a
car accident.

Damn. Dylan hadn't said as much, but from the way he'd

spoken of Mick, Sebastian got the impression Mick had been
the father figure Dylan had never had, as well as his mentor
and friend. What a tragic loss.

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

When he turned to leave, a framed drawing hanging on the

wall directly over the drafting table caught his eye and, like a
tractor beam, pulled him in.

As he stared at it, his heart fell into the pit of his stomach.
"Oh, God."
The pen and ink drawing had been rendered in bold,

almost campy lines and showed the front of the strip mall
where Great Escapes and Rad Tattoos were located. He
recognized it by the shape of the building, the windows, the
landscaping, as well as the sign that jutted up from the
parking lot at the edge of the picture proclaiming it as Green
Meadows. But unlike the current layout of the mall, in this
picture Sebastian's store, Joanie's bakery, Oh, Baby Baby,
and Dr. Dean's optometry office were all gone. Rad Tattoos
took up the entire building.

Beneath the drawing, in neat, bold handwriting, were the

words:

Today Suite E, tomorrow the Green Meadows strip mall,

next week ... the world!

Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair, reading the

words over and over again until they were branded in his
mind.

Fury, and then hurt surged through him like a firestorm

followed by a dark, icy tidal wave, leaving him charred, cold
and shaking.

Today Suite E. That was the space where Rad Tattoos was

currently located. Suite D was Sebastian's store. Which, in
Dylan's grand expansion plan, would need to be the first one
to go.

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by M. L. Rhodes

No wonder Dylan had been so nice to him, had slept with

him. He was using him, sweetening him up in order to get his
space. That was probably also the reason he'd let Ander crank
the music as loud as he wanted unless Sebastian complained.
And why he never seemed to notice or care that his
customers were hogging all the parking spaces. He'd probably
been trying to make problems for Sebastian, cause him to
lose business until, eventually, he'd move out. But then
yesterday, when Sebastian had gone into Rad Tattoos and
Dylan had caught him eyeballing him, making it clear he
found Dylan attractive, Dylan had pounced on the opportunity
to take a more direct attack, like a wildcat stalking its prey.
Sebastian might as well have offered himself up as a sacrifice.

"Damn it ... God damn it."
He suddenly remembered something Dylan had said to him

yesterday evening. Sebastian hadn't really picked up on it at
the time, but now it was like a slap in the face it was so
obvious. Dylan had said one of the reasons he'd worked late
last night was because he'd been setting up some interviews
for a job opening he had.

Expanding meant he'd need other tattooists. The man

wasn't wasting any time.

Sebastian had to get out here. Now.
Numb with hurt, and with fury—almost as much at himself

as at Dylan—he staggered back to the kitchen to find his
clothes. He dragged them on, stabbed his arms into his
jacket, and let himself out the front door into the chilly, damp
dark morning.

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by M. L. Rhodes

He didn't know where he was going. He just had to be

away. As far away from Dylan Radamacher as he could get.

* * * *

It took all Sebastian's chutzpah, helped along with a dash

of righteous fury, to dress for work, get in his car, and drive
the mile to his store later that morning.

When he'd left Dylan's, he'd walked several blocks to a

convenience store and called a cab to come get him. The
cabbie had dropped him off at his car. By the time Sebastian
got home, the first pink tinge of sunrise lit the horizon.

He'd taken a hot shower, trying to wash away the

memories of Dylan's touch, his scent, his kisses. But the
shower reminded him of the one he'd shared with Dylan last
night, and every swipe of his soapy hand over his body made
it tingle to life until his cock was hard and his balls ached.

They weren't the only places on him that ached either. It

had been a long time since he'd been penetrated, but last
night Dylan had fucked him twice. Once in the bed, and then
again in the shower. This morning his ass felt stretched and
tender. But damn it, as much as he wanted to use that to
hate Dylan more, instead, as he washed, each time his hand
drew near his opening, all he could think of was how damned
good it had been, how Dylan's dick had impaled him over and
over like a piston custom-made for his body, and how he'd
loved it, cried out, begged for more. No matter what his mind
said, his body wanted it still. And so, damn it, did his
traitorous heart.

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by M. L. Rhodes

Finally, hoping to find some relief from the torturous

thoughts, he wrapped a hand around his cock and jerked
himself off with no mercy. As he shot thick, ropy streams of
cream against the shower wall, he shouted out his hurt and
indignation along with his climax.

It hadn't helped a damn thing.
He hadn't been able to eat breakfast, hadn't even been

able to choke down a cup of coffee.

When he arrived at his store just a few minutes before

opening time, he saw Ander's old black beater in the lot, but
neither Dylan's bike nor his Jeep. Rad Tattoos opened the
same time Great Escapes did. Maybe Dylan was playing hooky
today. Did he know what Sebastian had seen in his den, know
that's why he'd left this morning? Or did he think Sebastian
had just decided to head home early and that when he saw
him today everything would be cool?

He scowled at the black and red neon sign Ander must

have turned on.

As he unlocked the door of Great Escapes and entered, his

cell phone rang. Sebastian plucked it from his belt, then
almost dropped it when he saw Dylan's name on the caller ID.

How had the man gotten his cell number? Then he

remembered the mini-directory Joanie kept updated and
distributed to all the business owners at the mall so if they
ever needed to get in touch with one another they'd have
easy access to the information. It had his store number and
his cell number on it.

He stared at his phone as a combination of nerves and

churning anger swept through him.

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He couldn't bring himself to answer, couldn't talk to the

man right now.

The ringing stopped. A few second later, his phone beeped

to indicate he had a message.

No, damn it. He had nothing to say to Dylan and didn't

want to hear anything he had to say either. Not right now.
Not when his insides were tied in knots over Dylan's betrayal
and his own conflicting feelings about it. He hated the man for
how he'd played him, and yet couldn't stop thinking about
him. A bad, bad combination. The last thing he needed was to
hear Dylan's voice.

He slid the phone back into its case, burning with

resentment, and went about his morning chores, turning on
lights, flipping the sign on the door to "Open," booting up the
computer system.

As the morning wore on and he dealt with a moderate

stream of customers, he tried hard not to watch the parking
lot for one of Dylan's vehicles to appear, but did anyway.
Constantly. And hated himself for caring. He rationalized that
it was better to know when Dylan had come in so he'd be
prepared to face him if Dylan wanted to see him.

Why wasn't the man here anyway? If Sebastian had had

the balls to come in and risk facing him, then Dylan should be
able to do the same instead if playing some hiding game. Or
maybe he wasn't hiding. Maybe he'd decided to take a long
weekend and was joyriding on his motorcycle, or any number
of other things that involved him off having fun while
Sebastian was here angry, betrayed, and working.

Just like it had been with Beck.

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Around one-thirty in the afternoon his cell rang again.
He hesitated and almost didn't reach for it, but then

realized it could be anyone.

It wasn't "anyone." It was Dylan again.
God, why did it suddenly feel like he couldn't breathe?
Deciding he couldn't put himself through this torture any

more if Dylan decided to keep trying to reach him, he
thumbed off the phone.

The store phone jangled seconds later.
"No! Damn it. I don't want to talk to you today!" But he

crossed from the shelves, where he'd been organizing books,
to the counter to look at the caller ID anyway.

He wasn't sure if it was relief or some kind of sick

disappointment that flooded him when he saw it wasn't Dylan
at all. It was Sugar Plum Bakery.

Sebastian picked up the phone. "Great Escapes Travel

Book Shop," he said automatically, his voice sounding hoarse
to his own ears.

"Hey, handsome!" Joanie's bubbly tone cut across the line,

carrying with it the first sense of normalcy Sebastian had felt
all day.

"Hey."
"Do you have any customers right now?"
"No. A couple planning their honeymoon to Jamaica just

left." And he'd been glad to see them go. The sight of their
hand-holding, smooching, and goo-goo eyes at each other
had gotten to him. Nothing like that had ever bothered him
before. But each time the guy had leaned toward the woman,
looking into her eyes, and brushed his lips over hers, all

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100

Sebastian had been able to think about was how Dylan had
looked, and felt, and tasted when he'd done the same thing
several times last night.

"Oh, good. I made your fave—caramel macchiato—but just

as I was about to bring it over, Mr. and Mrs. Johns came in
for pastries and they decided to stay and eat one here with a
cup of coffee. So I can't leave. Come over and get it and chat
with me. I'm bored."

Sebastian wasn't in a "chatty" mood. But just hearing

Joanie's voice over the phone had helped ease a tiny fraction
of his unrest, and it was better than staying here alone. He
was counting the hours until six o'clock, closing time, when
he could lock up, go home, and not have to be next door to
Rad Tattoos.

When he opened the door at Sugar Plum Bakery, the

aroma of baking bread and cakes filled his nostrils, and his
stomach rumbled for the first time all day. The bakery was
awash in afternoon sunlight, which lightened the already
sunny-yellow walls. The baked goods display case ran the
length of one wall, then Joanie had a few small tables for
customers, like the older couple sitting near the register, who
wanted to get a coffee or have a piece of cake.

Joanie grinned when he entered and waved him to the

table at the front window where they usually sat. It gave him
a direct view of his store's doorway so he'd know if he had a
customer.

She plunked a cup and a paper plate with a Danish on it

down in front of him, then slid into the chair across from him.

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101

"I just made them," she said, indicating the pastry. "Cherry,
your favorite."

He gave her a grateful nod, picked up the plastic fork, and

sliced off a bite.

As he chewed, Joanie frowned at him. "Are you okay? You

look a little pale and under the weather." She reached across
the table and felt his forehead.

"For God's sake, I'm not five," he grumbled. "I don't need

you to see if I'm feverish."

"Oooh, grouchy today. Someone woke up on the wrong

side of the bed."

No, someone woke up in the wrong bed period. He winced

at the memory, wishing the torturous thoughts of what he
and Dylan had done last night would go away.

"So, I guess your friend's not here today."
"Friend?"
"Dylan. I wonder where he is."
Oh, God. He'd come over here to escape Dylan. He did not

need this from Joanie. "Don't know. Don't care."

"Ander came in for a latte this morning and said Dylan was

taking a few personal days, that something had come up."

"Yeah, I'll just bet. Coward." He muttered the last word

under his breath.

Joanie stared at him, her dark brows drawn together.
"Whatever it is, it must be kind of serious because Ander

said a contractor was supposed to come into the shop today
to discuss some renovation work, but Dylan had Ander
reschedule it for next week."

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102

"Renova—Oh, shit." Sebastian's heart pounded so hard

and heavily it was like a death knell.

"Boy, you're really in a mood. I'm serious, hon, are you

okay? Did something happen between you and Dylan
yesterday? Did you have another fight or something?"

His stomach suddenly so queasy he thought he might be

sick, Sebastian laid down the fork. "I'd better get back to
work," he mumbled. "Sorry, I'm not really hungry, but thanks
anyway." He rose.

Joanie stood, too, but put a hand on his arm. "Sebastian,

this isn't like you. I haven't seen you this upset since Beck—"
Her eyes widened. "Oh, God, Beck didn't come back to town,
did he?"

Sebastian's heart pumped a double beat at the horrifying

thought. "No. No!"

"Then what is it? It's got something to do with Dylan,

doesn't it? Him not showing up today, you calling him a
coward. You two—" Another round of wide eyes, but this time
shock filled her brown orbs rather than fear. "Holy crap. You
two did the dirty, didn't you?"

"Joanie!" He couldn't believe his best friend would be

asking him that here in public with the older couple sitting
only a few yards away. Although her description of it wasn't
far off. He did feel dirty.

"Oh, my God ... you did. But what happened? You two

should be so perfect for each other. I've been hoping for a
while."

He almost choked. "You what?"

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103

"Well, it was kind of obvious how you felt about him. I told

you, every time you'd go into his shop you'd come out all
agitated. And while I know the music thing probably has been
obnoxious, and I know Ander can be a snit sometimes, you
just seemed more worked up than ... well, than necessary.
And don't even give me that look. I'm not ragging on you,
just stating the facts. And then there was Dylan always out
on the sidewalk, talking to his clients, except every two
seconds he'd be looking in your windows watching you. Which
made it pretty obvious he was interested in you, too."

Not interested in me. Interested in my space. "I can't talk

about this, Joanie. I can't."

He couldn't bring himself to fill her in on Dylan's expansion

plans either. He was still too raw. He'd wait until next week,
when he'd had the weekend to be away from here and cool
off some—if that were possible—then he'd talk to Joanie, Dr.
Dean, and Heather and Kylie who ran Oh, Baby Baby. Maybe
between them they could come up with a plan to get Dylan
Radamacher and Rad Tattoos out of their hair before he could
cause any more trouble, or make any progress with his plans
to take over the world. Their world, anyway.

"Sebastian, I'm really worried about you."
He tried to put on a brave face for her and kissed her on

the top of the head. "I'll be all right. I really do need to get
back to my store, though."

"Okay. But whatever happened, just like I've been saying

all along, you guys need to talk it out."

He waved to her and escaped.
Seemed like he'd been doing that a lot today. Escaping.

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104

* * * *

When he got home from the store Saturday night, his

townhome felt dark and cold—pretty much mirroring
Sebastian's mood. Even Morgan seemed out of sorts, only
coming out of his favorite closet hidey-hole to eat when
Sebastian gave him some of his favorite canned food, then
disappearing again as if he were as disgusted with Sebastian
as Sebastian was with himself.

He couldn't sleep Saturday night. Couldn't sleep well,

anyway. Every time he closed his eyes and dozed off, graphic
dreams of his and Dylan's encounters blazed through his
head. He kept waking up with a hard-on and the memory of
Dylan's mouth on it, or licking into his ass with hot, sexy
precision, or thrusting into him and bringing him to one
dizzying orgasm after another.

He staggered out of bed late for him, not until almost ten

o'clock Sunday morning, exhausted, aching, and stretched
thin, like someone had put him on the rack.

He wandered through his townhome in a daze, trying to

act normal, do whatever he would usually do on a weekend,
then gave up and went for a long, hard bicycle ride along the
Katy Trail, hoping the exertion would clear his mind and tire
him out enough he'd be able to sleep better Sunday night.

But as he rode, his mind worked overtime, replaying

everything Dylan had told him and reviewing all the facts as
he knew them, trying to find a way that the drawing on
Dylan's wall wasn't what it appeared. Trying to find a way to

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105

mesh it with the damned tender way he'd looked at
Sebastian, had touched him.

Beck, Horst ... none of the men he'd ever slept with had

looked at him the way Dylan had. He kept coming back to
wondering how someone could fake that. Or why. He would
have gone to bed with Dylan even without that look. He'd
already gone home with him, had given him head in the
garage before he'd seen it. Dylan hadn't had to pretend like
he cared.

And that's what hurt worst of all.
When he got home, he found his cell phone. Turned it on.

Held his finger over the button that would dial his voice mail.

But the drawing of the mall with Rad Tattoos as the single

store reared its ugly head once again, filling the screen in his
mind's eye with the vision of it hanging there, like a proud
goal, above Dylan's drafting table where he'd be able to see it
as he worked. And then all the other bits and pieces
followed—the music, the parking, the renovations he'd had
Ander reschedule, the hiring of a new person or people.

Disgusted, he hit the off button and tossed his cell onto

the kitchen counter.

He would talk to Dylan. But in person. He wanted straight

answers, deserved straight answers, and the phone wasn't
the way to get them. It was too easy to deceive over the
phone. Better to look him in the eye.

Yeah, and where did that get you before?

[Back to Table of Contents]

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by M. L. Rhodes

106

CHAPTER 6

Drained, and more than a little worried, Dylan pulled up in

front of Sebastian's two-story townhome Monday afternoon.
It had been a really crappy few days for many reasons, but
Sebastian's total phone silence had weighed on Dylan almost
as much as worrying about his mom's health.

When he'd awakened on Saturday morning and found

Sebastian gone from the bed, and ultimately, gone from the
house, his stomach had taken a nosedive. He'd tried not to
read too much into it, though. Maybe he'd just wanted to go
home and get ready for work, since both their stores had
Saturday business hours. Except he'd ridden with Dylan the
night before, which meant he would have had to take a cab or
catch a bus back to his car or his house. And why do that
when he could've just woken Dylan and asked him to give
him a ride home?

Still ... he'd wanted so badly to believe everything was

okay, so he'd showered and dressed to go into the shop,
trying to keep an upbeat attitude, knowing at least he'd get to
see Sebastian in a short while.

Then the phone call had come, and he'd been on the road

to Poplar Bluff within minutes. He'd tried to get in touch with
Sebastian to tell him what had happened and that he had to
be away for a few days, but had gotten his voice mail.
Wishing he could speak to Sebastian in person, but not
wanting to leave him hanging as to where he'd disappeared
to, he'd left a message. And then, for the first time ever, he'd

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bitten the bullet and spoken from his heart. Maybe talking to
Sebastian's voice mail hadn't been the best way to do it, but
he'd wanted to get it out in the open.

He'd left his cell number and asked Sebastian to call him

when he had a few minutes to talk.

But Sebastian hadn't called. Not Saturday, not Sunday, not

today. Dylan had tried several times to reach him, but
Sebastian had never picked up, and he'd been stuck with
leaving messages. He'd tried not to call too often, tried not to
pressure Sebastian in case he'd pulled back and needed
space. But after three days of silence, following on the heels
of Sebastian's stealthy departure from his house, Dylan's
spirits about the status of their relationship were pretty low.
He'd known Sebastian might bail, had tried to prepare himself
for it, but the truth was, if that's what was happening ... it
hurt.

Whatever was going on, he couldn't continue not knowing

any longer. If Sebastian wanted to run, it was better to find
out now.

He knocked and waited.
When the door opened, a long moment stretched out

where Sebastian stared at him, looking part shocked to see
him and part some other swirling emotion that made Dylan's
chest ache with relief. But then those emotions were
swallowed by something else, something both cold and hot,
and unmistakably angry.

"What are you doing here?"
"I just got back in town. I wanted to see you." And, damn,

Sebastian was a sight for sore eyes. Dressed in faded jeans, a

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gray V-neck T-shirt, and barefoot, with his hair tousled liked
he'd been running his hands through it, it took all Dylan's
self-control not to drag the man against him and kiss the hell
out of him. But Sebastian's "stay back" wall was up at full
strength, and Dylan was afraid if he tried to force it, this
conversation would be over before it started.

"How'd you even know where I lived?"
What was going on? Why was Sebastian so damned

angry—it billowed off him in waves. And yet, beneath it,
Dylan sensed a healthy dose of hurt also. He recognized it all
too well because he'd been feeling the same way. But why
was Sebastian hurt? "I looked you up on the Internet. You
didn't return my phone calls. Did you get my messages?"

Guilt flickered through Sebastian's brown eyes. "I didn't

listen to them," he whispered.

A stab of pain hit Dylan square in the chest. "Why?"
Sebastian swallowed hard and looked over Dylan's

shoulder as if he didn't want to make eye contact. "I didn't
want to hear what you had to say."

Jesus. The man cut him to the bone. Trying to pull air into

his squeezing lungs, Dylan managed to get out a strangled, "I
don't understand."

Sebastian's eyes closed, then they fluttered open when he

shook his head. Finally, he turned his gaze back to Dylan.
"Let's just ... God. Let's just not play games, okay? I can't do
any more games. You know why."

"No. I don't. What's going on?"
"I saw the drawing. The one in your den."

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"Which drawing? I have dozens of drawings in there. That's

what I do for a living."

"God, you're making this so hard. Frankly, I'm shocked

you had the nerve to come over here at all. I saw the drawing
of the mall ... Green Meadows. I know what you're planning
to do and it sucks. I don't appreciate being played, and none
of the other store owners will either. All of our stores were
there before yours, long before yours. So let me make this as
clear for you as I can ... if you expect me to pack up my
books and move out of my space, you can go straight to hell.
Great Escapes is staying and you're just going to have to deal
with me."

Dylan felt like he'd been blindsided by a Mac truck.
"What are you talking about? A drawing? My plans?"
Sebastian's hands clenched into fists at his side and a dark

red flush slid up his cheeks. Dylan had never seen him so
angry. "Your plan to run the rest of us out of our locations so
you can take over the whole strip mall for Rad Tattoos. 'Today
Suite E, tomorrow the Green Meadows strip mall ... '"

"What the fuck? Are you talking about the picture hanging

by my drawing table?"

"The one and only. Since your secret's out now, I guess

you won't have to worry about fucking me anymore. That'll
probably be a relief for you—not having to go to bed with the
geek and pretend you like him."

Dylan stared at him, stunned, furious, and hurt to the core

at Sebastian's accusations.

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He started to open his mouth to speak, but the truth was,

he was stunned into silence and didn't even know how to
start defending himself from something so outrageous.

"Was I so bad you couldn't even face me and you had to

go off and hide this weekend?" Sebastian's voice was hoarse.
The words sounded as if they'd been torn from his gut.

Even amidst his own hurt, he heard Sebastian's. But the

man's accusations still hung in the air between them,
poisoning everything, causing too many conflicting emotions
inside Dylan for him to be able to sort them all out.

"You know what?" He finally found his voice, but it was

choked. "At this point I don't know if I want to even bother to
give you explanations. I've been tried, judged, and sentenced
in my absence without even being given a chance to clear
things up. But because, in spite of what you clearly think of
me, I'm an honorable man, I'll share with you one thing and
one thing only. I did not draw the picture on my wall. It was
drawn by my friend Matt Landon, who has a regular,
syndicated comic strip in newspapers across the country.
Look him up on the Internet if you need proof. He drew the
picture as a gift for me when I moved my shop into the mall.
It was a joke because, hey, he draws a comic strip, so he's a
funny kind of guy."

He paused and shook his head, as a new surge of crap

rolled through him. "And as far as where I was this weekend,
maybe if you'd taken a little less time to be an asshole and a
little more to be a decent person you would have listened to
my phone messages!"

Now Sebastian looked stunned.

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But Dylan didn't care. His chest ached so badly he thought

he might pass out from lack of air to his lungs, and the rest of
him was numb.

"All I asked for was a chance, Sebastian. But if you're that

desperate to find fault with me, that desperate to find reasons
why you can't be with me, then I can't compete with
whatever it was in your past that made you this way. I
wanted..." His voice caught and he couldn't finish. "Never
mind. It doesn't matter anymore. Just forget it. Forget
everything."

He turned his back on Sebastian and walked away.
He made it to his Jeep, started the engine, fastened his

seat belt and drove away without once looking back at the
man still standing on the porch.

But as he turned the corner, the shaking hit. He pulled

over on the side of the road and dropped his forehead to the
steering wheel as the anger and hurt and heartache tore
through him. In what had already been a shitty day, losing
Sebastian, especially like this, had been the capper.

The one time in all his life he'd decided to open his heart to

someone and it had come to this.

Risk-taking was highly overrated.

* * * *

Sebastian had been standing at his kitchen counter, but as

the words on his voice mail in Dylan's quiet, husky voice crept
through the line, he sank to a crouch, his back against the
cabinets. His breathing came out in soft huffs and his heart
felt close to exploding.

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He pressed the button to replay the messages, and closed

his eyes as shame rippled through him. There were three
messages in all. But it was the first in particular that tore him
inside out...

"Hi, it's Dylan. I just got a call that my mom has had a

heart attack. I'm on my way to Poplar Bluff and I may be
gone a few days. I don't really know any details yet, but I'm
not going to lie and say I'm not scared because ... she's my
mom, you know? I am scared."

There was a pause and Sebastian could almost feel Dylan's

churning emotions in the silence. Then, "Bastian, I hope
everything's okay. I missed you this morning and there was
no note or anything. I'm not good at this because, the truth
is, I've never been with anyone before who I've wanted to say
this to. But ... well ... last night was amazing. You're
amazing. I really hope you'll keep giving me a chance to show
you that whatever might have happened in your past, I am
the right decision. I want to be your right decision, if you'll let
me."

Another pause. "Well, I'd better go. If you have a few

minutes and you want to talk, call me, okay? It would be
really nice to hear your voice."

The second message was shorter, left on Saturday night,

with Dylan saying his mom was stable but they were running
tests on her and he was at the hospital with her. Sebastian
could hear the hospital public address system in the
background. Dylan again said he hoped everything was okay
with Sebastian.

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The third, left last night, also got to Sebastian big-time.

Dylan had sounded so uncertain because he hadn't heard
from him. He'd said he'd probably come home on Monday and
asked if he could come see Sebastian.

The last part of it caused Sebastian's chest to heave. "I've

never told anyone this before, but ... I miss you. I've been
thinking about you constantly, wondering where you are and
what you're doing, thinking about that sweet, sexy smile of
yours, the sound of your voice, and how your eyes get all
dark and come-hither when you climax. Call me, please? Even
if it's just for a seconds. And if this is all too much for you, tell
me, okay? I've never done this before, never felt like this, so
I don't know if I'm coming on too strong or not enough, or
maybe you just want me to go away. But, God, I hope it's not
that. Okay, so, you know how to reach me."

Sebastian pushed the off button and stared down at the

phone. Then he tossed it on the floor and let his head fall
back against the cupboard.

There was no mistaking that in each message Dylan had

been putting himself out there, reaching out. Sebastian didn't
believe for a second any of it was faked. Not when he put the
words and the quiet emotion together with the look of utter
hurt on Dylan's face when he'd been here and Sebastian had
leveled his accusations at him and told him to go to hell.

God. He was a fool. Always had been, but this time for a

very different reason.

This time he'd pushed away the good one.
He'd already checked out Dylan's story about the artist

who'd drawn the picture. Matt Landon was, indeed, a real

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person. The name had sounded vaguely familiar to Sebastian,
and he'd realized why when he'd Googled him. He read the
man's comic strip in the paper every Sunday morning. But
what had really made Sebastian feel like the asshole he was,
was when he looked at the cartoon drawings and the words
and realized the picture on Dylan's wall had the same style,
and the distinctive handwriting on it exactly matched the
words on the comic strip.

Dylan was right. Sebastian had tried him, judged him, and

labeled him a deceiving bastard without ever giving him a
chance to defend himself or explain. Is that the kind of person
he'd let himself become? Had he let Beck's manipulations and
betrayal turn him into a bitter, jaded man who'd rather search
out every fault—real or imagined—and pass judgment rather
than listen, learn, and talk things through? Apparently he
had.

Disgust at himself filled Sebastian. He was better than

that. What Beck had done had hurt, yeah. It had torn him up
and his last words in the letter he'd left had been the final
blow, stealing the last remnants of Sebastian's pride. And
wasn't that exactly what Beck had wanted to do? Of course it
was. And he'd played right into it. Basically, he'd let Beck win.

He still had questions about Dylan, but he had a gut

feeling the answers were going to be much less sinister than
he'd imagined. But whatever the case might be, he'd damn
well give the man a chance to answer them, even if afterward
Dylan never wanted to see him again.

The knot in his gut gave a sickening lurch at that thought.

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He hoped it wasn't too late. But if it was, just like with all

the rest of his screw ups, he'd have no one to blame but
himself.

Knowing what he had to do, he stood, shoved his feet into

a pair of running shoes, and grabbed his car keys.

A half-hour later, as he drove down Dylan's street and

pulled up to the curb in front of his house he was struck again
at how comfortable Dylan's neighborhood was. Most of the
trees had already fully leafed out, and their huge branches
reached out over the yards and the street with welcome.
Unlike the cold emptiness of Sebastian's townhome, which
had never really been home again after Beck had gutted it,
Dylan's house, yard, and neighborhood felt warm and
inviting.

He climbed the few steps up the porch to the door and,

seeing no door bell, knocked, not certain how Dylan would
react to seeing him.

When Dylan didn't come to the door, Sebastian hesitated,

not sure whether to knock again or not. Maybe Dylan hadn't
heard him, but maybe he had and just didn't want to answer.

Or maybe he wasn't home at all.
He lifted his hand and rapped again, louder this time. But

when he still got no response, his stomach churned with
anxiety.

"Please don't shut me out," he whispered.
He stepped off the porch, uncertain what to do. The

garage door had no windows, so he had no way of knowing if
Dylan's bike and SUV were in it. Then he spied the gate at the

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side of the house that led to the privacy-fenced backyard and
saw it was unlatched and open halfway.

Again, though, he hesitated. If Dylan was inside and didn't

want to see him, what would he think if he saw Sebastian
boldly roaming his backyard uninvited?

It doesn't really matter, does it? He hates you already

anyway after the way you treated him.

With a heavy sigh, he stepped through the gate and into

the well-shaded backyard. The warm spring weather
continued to hold, but it was cool in the shade. Sebastian was
glad he'd taken the time to pull on a sweatshirt before he'd
left home.

His heart lurched when he saw Dylan sitting on the top

step of the low, redwood deck, his head resting on his folded
arms atop his knees. The late afternoon sun shone down on
him, capturing the burnished highlights in his hair.

He looked ... exhausted.
He had every right to be. He'd driven to Poplar Bluff and

back, which was a good two or three hours each way, he was
worried about his mom, probably hadn't gotten a lot of rest
while he was gone, and then he'd come to see Sebastian,
who'd torn him a new asshole for something he hadn't ever
done and accused him of being a world-class son of a bitch.

Sebastian grimaced, knowing Dylan had every right to kick

his ass right back to the curb. Almost wanting to kick himself
back.

Dylan didn't move as he approached, and it wasn't until

Sebastian sank down on the step next to him that he realized

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Dylan's eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and
even. Asleep.

But what tore at Sebastian's heart was the tear that had

slid down the man's cheek and dried there.

In sleep, Dylan's face had a vulnerability to it that

Sebastian had never seen on him awake. Under the sexy,
outgoing, mischievous skin he usually wore in public, a
gentle, tender man and lover dwelled. Sebastian had seen it,
felt it in every fiber of his being, yet he'd been so damned
quick to sweep that aside and assume the worst when he'd
seen that stupid picture. Dylan was right ... he probably had
been desperate to find reasons why he couldn't be with
Dylan. Because being with Dylan meant opening himself up
again to trust. And that had scared the hell out of him.

He'd so fucked this up.
A stuttered sigh shook Dylan's shoulders, and everything

in Sebastian wanted to reach out to him, smooth a hand over
Dylan's hair, offer comfort. But he didn't. He didn't want to
wake him, and he'd pretty much shot to hell his right to touch
the man.

When Dylan's eyelids fluttered open and his gaze locked

with Sebastian's, Sebastian's breathing stalled out. Hurt
flared in the hazel orbs, but not the fury or disgust Sebastian
had expected to see, that he deserved to see.

Dylan lifted his head and rubbed his eyes and face, then

his gaze slid back to Sebastian. "Hey," he said, his voice too
quiet.

"Hey. I knocked, but then I saw the gate unlatched..."
Dylan nodded.

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Sebastian took a deep breath, trying to pull air into his

tight lungs, knowing the time had come. "I'm such an ass."

Dylan studied him for a few seconds, then nodded. "Yeah."
Sebastian nodded, too, squeezing his eyes closed, knowing

he deserved that and more. "I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry.
How's your mom?"

"She's doing okay. She has a weak heart. Always has.

She's been on medication to control everything for years, so
they're not sure what happened, but they're doing tests and
working it out."

"I'm sorry she's in the hospital."
"So am I. I love that woman." His voice cracked, and it

sent a wave of tenderness through Sebastian. How could you
not love a man who cared for his mother?

"You were right about everything you said earlier. I

jumped to conclusions I never should have."

"When you saw the drawing, why didn't you just wake me

up and ask about it?"

"I don't know. I saw it and I thought the worst and then I

just wanted to get out. And from there, several things came
up that seemed to corroborate it, which made it even easier
to believe."

"What things?"
"You said you were doing some interviews to hire someone

new. If you expanded, you'd need more tattooists."

"I am hiring someone else. Because I just did expand ...

from the tiny house where I used to have my shop, to where
I am next door to you. My schedule is booked weeks in
advance now and my only options were to not take any new

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clients, give up my weekends and start working seven days a
week, or find another artist to help me. Hiring someone was
the only choice I could make. But I have plenty of room for
him or her in my existing space."

Sebastian gazed out at the hammock stretched between

two trees in the yard.

"What else?" Dylan prodded.
"Ander told Joanie that you had some renovations

scheduled, that a contractor was supposed come to this
week."

"That's right. There are parking spaces behind our building

that aren't being used because no customers want to park
back there and have to walk all the way around, especially in
the winter. Those spaces are going to waste right now, while
the front lot's congested. So I got approval from the building
owner to have my back storeroom door converted into a
second customer entrance. That way some of my customers
can park in back and free up space in the front for the other
stores."

Sebastian stared at him, his heart thudding. "You noticed

the parking issues?"

Dylan's dark brows drew together. "Of course I noticed."
"I thought..." Sebastian shook his head. Another check-

mark in Sebastian's stupid assumptions column.

"You thought I hadn't," Dylan said with a sigh. "That's part

of what you've been so mad about at the store, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Sebastian whispered. Could he sink any lower?

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"Why didn't you say something? I could have told you

about the door and the spaces in back two weeks ago. That's
when I started working on getting approval for it."

"I did try to talk to you about it. That's why I went to see

you on Friday, but then with Babs and ... everything, it wasn't
the right time." He lowered his face into his hands and dug
his palms into his eyes.

"Can I ask you a question?" Dylan asked, his voice sending

rippling jolts of energy through Sebastian without even trying.

"Anything. At this point, I've screwed up so much, the

least I can do is be honest with you."

"Who was he?"
Sebastian didn't have to ask what he meant. "His name

was Beck. I dated him for a while, then we lived together for
about a year."

"Let me guess ... tattooed, rode a motorcycle?"
"Yes. And he was a manipulative, lying thief. He basically

used me to pay his bills and bail himself and his business out
of trouble, then when he'd sucked me dry, he took off. Along
with all the money in my bank account, my credit cards, and
anything of value in the house."

"Jesus."
"And, yeah, before you say anything, I'm supposed to be

this smart guy, right? Except if I'm so smart, why did I let
him get away with the bullshit he pulled? Why didn't I see it
coming and get the hell out? Why did he—" He winced and
swallowed back the hot lump of emotion that filled his throat.

Dylan's hand settled on the back of his neck, startling him.

He'd never expected the man to touch him, to want to touch

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him again, and the feel of his fingers brushing at the fine hair
at the nape of his neck humbled him. And turned him on.
God, he was a mess.

"What else happened with him?"
Sebastian closed his eyes, fighting the ugly memory of

that stupid letter.

"I came home from work fifteen months ago and found out

what he'd done, that he was gone. He left me a letter."

Dylan's fingers continued to stroke his neck in a smooth,

gentle motion that felt so good Sebastian wanted to curl up
next to Dylan, with Dylan's arms around him, and sleep for a
week. Well, maybe not only sleep.

"That's ballsy. What did it say?"
"Basically, thanks for being such a convenient sucker.

And..."

"And?"
He tried to breathe through it, not let it bother him, just

like he'd tried to do so many times in the past. But he never
managed it. "And ... 'Surely you didn't think I actually liked
fucking you, did you? A geek like you? I had to ... '"
Sebastian swallowed hard and fought the sting of tears,
hating himself for being so weak, for letting Beck get to him.
"'I had to pretend every time I was with you. Then my friends
and I ... we'd laugh about it later.'"

A sob shook Sebastian's shoulders and in spite of his best

intentions, the damned tears slipped free.

Dylan pulled him into his arms. "That fucking low-life

bastard," he growled against Sebastian's ear, holding him
close.

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Sebastian leaned into him, and Dylan pressed his lips to

Sebastian's temple, then tilted his chin and lowered his mouth
to his in a fierce, yet gentle kiss that turned Sebastian's heart
inside out.

"You listen to me," Dylan continued, the look on his face as

fierce as his kiss had been. "He was an asshole working you
to get a reaction. He wanted you to feel like shit because
that's what people like him do. But it was all a lie." He folded
Sebastian back in his arms. "All a lie. Don't you dare believe
anything he said."

"I know. I finally figured that out, but..."
Dylan was holding his face again, cradling it between his

palms, brushing the dampness off his cheeks with gentle
swipes of his thumbs. "No buts. The fucker's gone from your
life now, right?"

"Long gone."
"Good. So right here, right now today, we're going to take

his filthy words and dump them. Forever. And then..." Lines
furrowed Dylan's forehead and his eyes filled with an emotion
that turned everything inside Sebastian to liquid heat. "And
then, if you're willing ... maybe you can let me help you make
new memories?"

"What are you saying?" Sebastian asked, hardly daring to

breathe.

"I'm saying ... I still want to be your right decision."
"But ... the way I've treated you. The things I said to you

earlier today."

"I didn't love it. But I do understand it now. And isn't that

part of having a relationship? Talking it out? Forgiving?"

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Sebastian's heart pounded. "You want a relationship? With

me?"

"Yeah. I do."
Dylan's voice was confident, and his expression ... his

expression made Sebastian's blood roar in his veins.

Dylan leaned closer, filling the space between them with

his heady scent. "You're the only lover I've ever had who's
ever made me want more, Sebastian. I'm willing to take it as
slow as you want. But I promise, I'm not him. I would never
intentionally hurt you." His voice hitched and his eyes
shimmered with a breath-stealing mixture of tenderness and
raw desire. "God, how could I ever hurt you when all I ever
want to do is this?"

His lips captured Sebastian's and, as the kiss deepened,

the last of Sebastian's fears slid away into the balmy
afternoon air. Relief and another warm, swirling emotion
pooled in his belly, then worked their way up to his thudding
heart.

"Take me to bed. Please."
"Jesus, I thought you'd never ask."
Dylan pulled him up and toward the house, through the

French doors, and began stripping him the moment they were
inside. Sebastian did the same with him until they were nude.
And then they were pressed together, hands eager, mouths
hungry.

Drunk with passion and ... yes, damn it, with love,

Sebastian wasn't sure how they made their way to the
bedroom. But suddenly the bed was pressing against the back
of his knees. Then Dylan was pushing him backward into the

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tangle of soft pillows and covers, spreading his legs, and
leaning over him like some gorgeous, hazel-eyed Adonis.

With an appreciative smile, Sebastian admired Dylan's

beautiful bobbing dick, and remembered all over again how
damned good it felt thrusting deep inside him.

"I knew the moment I met you that you were going to get

under my skin."

Dylan's grin was pure sexual sunlight. "Oh, baby, you have

no idea..."

[Back to Table of Contents]

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M. L. Rhodes

Award-winning and bestselling author M. L. Rhodes has

been writing for a living for nearly thirteen years. Along with
the erotic romance fiction she currently writes for Amber Quill
Press, she's also published everything from poetry, to
magazine articles, to traditional romance, to steamy romantic
suspense novels. In her fiction works, her characterization
and emotional storytelling have received high critical acclaim
from such places as Romantic Times Magazine, The Romance
Studio, and JERR and have garnered her numerous awards in
the writing industry.

In her gay romances, she enjoys pairing together strong,

independent heroes who are open to exploring both their
sexuality and their emotions. Men fall in love with one
another every day, and M. L. believes in celebrating that.

If you'd like to keep up with what's going on in M. L.'s

world and find out about her new and upcoming releases, surf
on over to her web site at www.mlrhodeswriting.com. She
also loves hearing from readers. You can reach her at
ML@mlrhodeswriting.com.

* * * *

Don't miss True Of Heart

(Book I of The Draegan Lords), by M. L. Rhodes,

available at AmberAllure.com!

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126

A hundred years ago, the high sorcerer of Velensperia

launched a swift and deadly attack against the draegans—a
race of dragon shapeshifters who'd always lived in harmony
with the humans. The draegans were all but destroyed, with
the few who remained scattered and in hiding. Now, a group
of them have united and begun to fight back. Their leader,
Keiran Hareldson, seeks to free his people from the cruel
repression the high sorcerer's reign has imposed on them.

Gaige Rizik is captain of the sorcerer's High Guard, and

known for his lethal ability to hunt down his prey with no
remorse. His orders are to infiltrate the draegan rebels' camp,
learn their plans, and identify their leader so he can be
destroyed. But when Gaige joins the rebels, posing as a
human sympathizer to the draegans' cause, he discovers the
shapeshifters aren't the bloodthirsty beasts he's been led to
believe, and their leader is a passionately captivating man
who only wants what's best for his people. Keiran sparks
powerful emotions in Gaige, tearing down his walls of steely
control, and stirring a longing in him he can't deny.

Torn between his duty to the high sorcerer and his growing

feelings not only for Keiran, but for the draegan way of life,
Gaige knows he's damned no matter which side he chooses.
In a world of lies, deception, and dark secrets, one false move
will bring destruction to all he's begun to hold dear. With the
fate of so many lives on his shoulders, Gaige's only hope is to
follow his heart ... and pray it's true enough to save them all.

* * * *

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

127

Don't miss Dangerous To Love, by Chevon Gael,

available at AmberHeat.com!

A mother will do anything to protect her children from

harm—even break the law, if necessary. Tara Morgan is that
mother. A desperate woman in a desperate situation. She
won't let anything get in her way. Certainly not macho
Mountie Brett Sinclair. And it doesn't matter a damn how
good he kisses!

A half-naked woman asleep by the side of the road. An ex-

lingerie model turned designer. Every man's fantasy. A
damsel in distress. P.C. Sinclair's luck just changed. Or did it?

She's a mobster's ex on the run. Now she's in his house.

In the next bedroom. What red-blooded male wouldn't want
her? But is she too dangerous to love?

* * * *

Don't miss Soul Obsession by Amy Wolff-Sorter,

available at AmberQuill.com!

A story blazing with reluctant passion, bitter betrayal,

ghostly retribution and the battle for a man's very soul...

A brilliant businessman...
Daniel Grogan is at the top of his game as he prepares to

marry a wealthy socialite. But something goes wrong on his
wedding day and his path takes a crazy turn toward strange

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

128

visions of mountains and oceans, and a growing obsession
about a woman he's never met face to face.

A rebellious rabbi...
Peggy Witwater entered the rabbinate to serve her people.

When congregational politics deal her a vicious blow, she
fights the tide of change while trying to help Daniel; not
realizing her actions could ignite her own deeply buried
obsessions.

Passion and vengeance from beyond the grave...
As the two are drawn toward one another, they fall under

the shadow of a vengeful spirit who will stop at nothing to
claim Daniel. To win the battle for his soul, Daniel must
acknowledge past wrongs, or risk falling into an eternal—and
fatal—enchantment.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

129

Amber Quill's Rewards Program

For every ten books bought, receive one free!

Visit all three of Amber Quill's web sites

for our very latest releases!!

* * * *

AMBER HEAT EROTICA

Gimme Fever!!

Steamy, sensual genre fiction...

www.AmberHeat.com

* * * *

AMBER ALLURE

Where love is blind to gender...

www.AmberAllure.com

* * * *

Under My Skin

by M. L. Rhodes

130

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC

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