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Banished gangster Benito Martell is living on the edge. An explosive hook-up in a club gifts him the relief he craves, but nothing about his life is ever so simple. Complications abound, and before long, he’s falling for the only man who can save his family from eviction.

Recovering addict Mickey Larwood has worked hard to leave his past behind. He can’t look back, not even for the beautiful Benito, the last soul on earth he expected to steal his heart—a soul who’s knee-deep in the underworld Mickey has run hundreds of miles to escape.

Benito can deny it all he wants, but Mickey can smell trouble a mile off.

And Benito is trouble with a capital T. As his desperate lies unravel, so does the fledgling love that’s grown between them. If Benito wants deliverance from his old life and a future with Mickey, old ghosts need to die.

If they don’t kill him first.

Deliverance is an angsty standalone MM romance novel, with second chances, found family, friends-to-lovers, and buckets of hurt/comfort themed loveliness. Trigger warnings for addiction and childhood trauma.

 

Benito sat up slightly, bringing himself closer. He licked his lips and stilled Mickey’s hand on his belly.

Then he kissed Mickey again with none of the fire of before but all of the heat. Slow. Sweet. Sweeping his tongue through Mickey’s mouth before he pulled back.

It was as mind-shaking as any climax. Mickey blinked, counting heartbeats as they thudded against his ribcage. His path solidified, and it was his turn to lean forward and capture just one more kiss. A longer one that went on and on until they were stretched out side by side, kissing and kissing and kissing.

Mickey couldn’t begin to make sense of it. And he couldn’t stop. Only the desperate need for more oxygen drove them apart.

Panting, Mickey sprawled onto his back. Benito stayed where he was, propped on his elbow, eyes still heavy. He looked like he needed a nap, and Mickey wasn’t averse to the idea, especially if it meant fucking again when they woke up. The fact that it was a school night and he had an early start seemed to have deserted him.

He didn’t fucking care.

Benito didn’t seem in a hurry to move either. He was quiet, though, gaze drifting from Mickey to the big bay window. “It’s nice here. Just a street with six houses. It’s like a fucking toy town or something.”

“I know, right? One shop and a Chinese takeaway. Keeps me out of trouble. I can’t handle the big estates.”

“Too posh?”

A sharp laugh bubbled from Mickey’s chest. “Do I sound fucking posh?”

“Dunno. You’re northern. Could be a billionaire for all I know.”

“In this house? Your perception of wealth is fucked up.”

Something flickered in Benito’s dark gaze, something familiar, though Mickey couldn’t say why.

Benito sat up, scanning the room for his clothes. Mickey itched to tug him back down but stayed where he was, watching as Benito got up and dressed.

The scar disappeared beneath Benito’s T-shirt. Without the distractions of bare skin and wild sex, curiosity bloomed in Mickey’s gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but Benito spun to face him first.

“I know you’re not rich. You don’t have that vibe.”

Mickey raised a brow. “What vibe? Content and successful?”

“You’re not a wanker,” Benito clarified. “Even though this house could be a front. You could have a wife in a three-bed semi somewhere.”

Mickey snorted, amusement cutting through a sudden wrench of guilt. “I don’t have a wife. Or a second house.”

Benito tilted his head, gaze shrewd. “What is it, then? Girlfriend?”

“What? No. What makes you think it’s anything?”

“Dunno. You suddenly look like you’re gonna throw up. It’s not a good look on you.”

Mickey shrugged. “Regrets are a funny thing. How you move past something, then it comes back years later and punches you in the face again.”

Benito came back to the bed. “How many years later?”

“A few.”

“What? Like, five? Ten?”

“More like two.”

“What did you do that was so bad?”

Mickey stopped himself shrugging again and forced himself to meet Benito’s gaze. “I never had a wife or a secret house, but I had a girlfriend . . . for a long time. She never knew this about me. No one did.”

Benito sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that Mickey could’ve dragged him on top of him, but the fire between them had simmered down. “Does anyone who matters know now?”

Mickey laughed softly. “Define who fucking matters? Turns out it’s not a lot.”

Benito’s dark eyes swam with something too deep for a conversation between casual hook-ups. He took a breath, then shook his head. “Never is. You have to dig hard to find out, though, or it fucking flays you alive, man.”

“Or it keeps you alive. Took me a while to see that.”

Affinity flowed between them, undefined but shiny. And fleeting. Benito ripped his gaze away and bent over, searching for his socks. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to go deep. Tell me to go fuck myself if I do it again.”

“I don’t want you to fuck yourself, mate. I’m here for that.”

Benito smirked and retrieved his socks from the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on, close to Mickey’s legs. “Sweet. I’m going to take you up on it as long as the offer’s still open.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Benito finished dressing and laid a scorching palm on Mickey’s bare ankle. “Might not be around for a while, though. I’ve got some shit to do.”

“Work?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you do?”

Benito squeezed Mickey’s ankle, then pulled his hand back, leaving Mickey reeling from the simple touch. “This and that. You know how it is.”

Not anymore. The words bubbled in Mickey’s throat, but he swallowed them down. Idiot. He’s probably a personal trainer. Or a bodyguard. Or a—

Benito stood before Mickey’s brain could generate any other occupations Benito’s ridiculous body would come in useful for. His immaculate Yeezy trainers were abandoned on the landing. He padded to the doorway and stamped into them.

Mickey forced himself upright and grabbed his drawstring trousers from the floor, but Benito shook his head. “Don’t get up. I’ll see myself out unless you’re worried about me rinsing your yard on my way out.”

“I’m not, but you should know I don’t have jack shit, so you’d be disappointed.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

Benito turned away, the low light casting his face in shadow. He moved across the landing towards the stairs.

Mickey watched him go, still clutching his trousers. It made sense to stay where he was. The front door would lock behind Benito. There was no need to follow him, dressed or otherwise. But his nerves jangled. It felt wrong.

Unfinished.

Mickey scrambled off the bed and yanked his pyjamas on as Benito’s footsteps faded on the stairs. He dashed after him, skidding to a stop on the ancient floorboards in the hallway.

Benito turned, thick brows raised. “You really did think I was gonna nick something?”

“Fuck no. Why have you decided I think you’re scum? You have way better clothes than me. And—” Mickey pushed past Benito and opened the front door. A black SUV was parked on the kerb next to Mickey’s Ford Focus. “Yup. Better car too. Trust me, mate. It’s me that’s scum.”

Benito blinked as the humour in Mickey’s rant expired before he was done.

Mickey shook his head, clearing the fog that remained from the firepit they’d left upstairs. “That came out wrong.”

Benito stepped towards him until he was close enough to pry the door from Mickey’s hand and push it shut, trapping them both inside. He backed Mickey against it, caging him like Mickey had done to him more than once. “You’re intense,” he said. “I like that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s real. We don’t have to know everything about each other to get off on that.”

Mickey’s heart hammered as much as it had when he’d had his dick buried deep inside Benito. “You think we know enough to justify that I want to kiss the fuck out of you, then push you to your knees and shove my dick in your mouth?”

Benito pressed closer, his rough lips an inch from Mickey’s. “I wanted all that the moment I saw you. We don’t have to know shit to make it a reality.”

“No?”

“No.” Benito punctuated the single syllable with the hard kisses they’d perfected already. But with their clothes on, it felt different.

The desperation was harsher.

Sharper.

Mickey let it skewer him, surrendering to it as Benito took what he wanted. Maybe he’d suck Mickey’s dick; maybe he wouldn’t.

Right now, his kiss was enough.

 

Garrett Leigh is an award-winning British writer and book designer.

Garrett’s debut novel, Slide, won Best Bisexual Debut at the 2014 Rainbow Book Awards, and her polyamorous novel, Misfits was a finalist in the 2016 LAMBDA awards.

When not writing, Garrett can generally be found procrastinating on Twitter, cooking up a storm, or sitting on her behind doing as little as possible, all the while shouting at her menagerie of children and animals and attempting to tame her unruly and wonderful FOX.

Garrett is also an award winning cover artist, taking the silver medal at the Benjamin Franklin Book Awards in 2016. She designs for various publishing houses and independent authors at blackjazzdesign.com, and co-owns the specialist stock site moonstockphotography.com with renowned LGBTQA+ photographer Dan Burgess.

Website: http://www.garrettleigh.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/garrettleighauthor/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Garrett_Leigh

Along with a giveaway to win a backlist ebook there’s still 3 days left to enter the Goodreads Giveaways for paperbacks of Redemption and Deliverance. These are open to US and Canada residents only unfortunately due to Goodreads restrictions but there will be a chance to win copies in my Facebook Group, Garrett’s Den over the next couple of weeks.