Blog Tour, Exclusive Excerpt & Giveaway:
Matchstick Men by Adira August
Hunt&Cam4Ever, Book 1
Sometimes it’s the cop who needs to hit the floor.
SEX, GAMES & MURDER ~ Want to play? It was munch night at the most elite underground BDSM club in the Rockies. Relaxed and informal, highlighted by the weekly Matchstick Challenge game.
Detective Sergeant Hunter Dane, reigning champion, looked forward to a relaxing evening to start his 3 days off. A few beers on the deck. An interlude with a sweet sub. Stumping a challenger with a new puzzle. Home early for a decent night’s sleep.
Some people are SO deadly serious about their games. Now Hunt has a fresh body and a new puzzle to solve in twenty-four hours if he wants to find a killer.
A police procedural with a liberal dose of M/M hotness. Which means our fave full-metal Dom shows up to collect on Hunter’s offer of his … coffer. So to speak. There are puzzles for the reader and mysteries to be solved. Based on characters introduced in the short story On His Knees. For adults.
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Once inside the club, I couldn’t deny what I was looking for. Who. The realization shallowed my breathing.
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- It was a summer evening, the sun half set. I was making my way to the door with a drink to find a deck chair and keep an eye on whoever came up the stairs. Decide what I wanted after sunset.
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- The door opened before I could touch it. A young man backlit by the setting sun. Golden. Idealized male beauty wrapped in an invisible cloak of incredible power. Careless of it. He scanned me and smiled. It was the kind of moment that called for locked gazes. Instead, he happily looked me over like I was a pastry display and he was deciding which succulent treat to select.
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- Camden Snow was fresh from deep powder and Olympic triumph. Exuding health and vitality and bonhomie and danger. And I wanted to give him everything simply because he existed. And looked at me.
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- He reached out and put a hand on the side of my neck, his thumb skating lightly along my jawline and down, across my larynx. My insides turned to water.
Don’t pick me. Please.
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- His eyes narrowed a little as if he’d heard. His hand tightened — scarcely, definitely — and withdrew.
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- “Kneel for me when you’re ready,” he said.
- And was gone.
FOR TWO YEARS Cam’s sporadic appearances caused club-wide speculation. Cam demanded all. No negotiations. No safewords. He didn’t want compliance or submission. He accepted only complete surrender. So I’d never knelt for Camden Snow, though often hungry for the release only another man could bring me—the safety of control that excited and humiliated me—the pain I feared and longed for. But I knew what I wanted and what I didn’t. I had limits. Hard limits. Cam was limitless.When he was in the club, I’d find his weighted gaze on me when I entered. Passing him was like wading through a forcefield. TONIGHT, AS ALWAYS, he was already aware of me, waiting for me to find him. Surrounded by admirers, men and a few women. He smiled at me. This time I didn’t look away. Cam stopped smiling. His gaze slid down my pecs and abs like a strong, warm palm. I felt myself opening to him right there, half-blocking the way of people coming in behind me. My body turning more fully toward him, my arms falling loosely, palms up. Cam’s chin came up, his head back, his gaze direct. You know my terms. A frisson of fear spiked adrenaline through my system. Part of me tightened in preparation to flee—other parts in preparation for something else. I could still walk past him. We opened the door with a pry bar. Another bedroom. A single closet. A messy bed. Huge pictures on the wall, like rock band posters … Cam remained relaxed in the curve of the banquette. His arms stretched along the back with his legs extended and crossed at the ankle spoke a relentless patience I was helpless to contend with. … but these were pictures of screaming faces and ripped-open bodies. He’d slept here; his victims’ torment brought him peace. Those nearby quieted, aware of the by-play between Cam and myself. Anticipating. Knowing he did what he wanted in private or public. Merciless. He tilted his head. Well? The closet door squeaked as I pulled it open … The last thing I needed was mercy. I dropped to my knees.
An epic love story. A murder came a few days later sparking an unlikely romance and investigative partnership. The Hunt&Cam4Ever series now spans 7 books and counting.
I knelt in a pool of quiet, sounds oddly distorted. The murmurs, moans and clinking of glasses muffled by the bodies of those standing around me. Please come and get me. What if he didn’t? What if he left me here all night? Left me to be a handy coat rack by the door? He could. I’d given him the right to humiliate me. I shut it all out. The chuntering of onlookers. The growing pain in my knees and thighs and the small of my back. Familiar. I breathed. Slowly. Fully. I felt him approach. Like the bow of a ship moving through deep water, he pressed the air. The toes of his gray suede athletic shoes came into view. He stopped, feet apart. One slightly ahead of the other. Braced. Combat stance. Fingertips under my chin, he raised me to my feet. He fondled my balls through the soft, loose cloth of my cargoes. Eyes unwavering on mine. He tilted his head, fingers exploring. Weighing. My dick was hot glass. The crowd shifted to get a better angle on the action. They liked me, as much as a group of kink-seekers could. But they longed for my humiliation—the man with the gun, with authority — implicit, if not expressed. They yearned to see me grovel. Cam continued his leisurely explorations. Massaging, stroking, rolling. With his other hand he unbuckled my belt and lowered my zipper, carefully holding it away from me. Or trying to, as my erection shouldered through the opening. He stepped in and caught me, wrapping his hand — calloused by the torque of a million ski pole grips — around my shaft. Fingers tightened. Not tight enough. More powerful for that. I swallowed a moan. He flipped open my pants button, and his fingers insinuated themselves under my sac. Two big hands surrounded me, fingers working me, to make me hot and tight and hard and wired. Eyes still on mine, he slid one foot back, pulled me off-balance to not quite falling. His hands tightened. Held me steady by my throbbing shaft and a handful of testicles. He began long, slow strokes. My hands went numb; my legs shook. He sucked the lobe of my ear between his teeth and bit down, steadily increasing the pressure until I whimpered at the pain. Yes, please. Oh, yes. Cam stepped back from me so suddenly I stumbled. My erection, red and wet, stuck up for the perusal of the crowd. My pants slid down, caught by my ass in back, hanging open in front. My slickened cock, cooled by the air, drooped under the weight of avid scrutiny for the entertainment of the collective. Cam turned his back on me and walked away. He picked up his drink from the coffee table and took a long pull. Exchanged a few words with a minion. Laughed. He looked from me to the audience openly gaping at my limp member. His lips curved in a satisfied little smirk. My dick twitched and, to my horror, I felt myself lengthen again under his enjoyment of my mortification.
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