Title: Exodus 20:3
Author: Freydis Moon
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 02/01/2022
Length: 21800
Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, PNR/fantasy, horror, romance, Latine, transgender, D/s power play, construction worker, angel, suspense
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Description
Religious eroticism and queer emancipation meet in a claustrophobic monster-romance about divinity, sexuality, and freedom.
When Diego López is guilted by his mother into taking a low-key construction job in New Mexico, he doesn’t expect to be the only helping hand at Catedral de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. But the church is abandoned, decrepit, and off the beaten path, and the only other person for miles is its handsome caretaker, Ariel Azevedo.
Together, Diego and Ariel refurbish the old church, sharing stories of their heritage, experiences, and desires. But as the long days turn into longer nights, Diego begins to see past Ariel’s human mirage and finds himself falling into lust—and maybe something else—with one of God’s first creations.
Exodus 20:3
Freydis Moon © 2022
All Rights Reserved
At two o’clock, Diego pulled on his joggers, grabbed his pack of smokes, and tiptoed through the church. The air was mild outside, clinging stubbornly to heat, and the white moon glowed above the desert. Stars formed a patchwork across the clear sky, suspended in the blackness like dew on a spider’s web.
Diego leaned against the side of the church and lit his cigarette. Smoke filled his lungs, prodding at his tightly wound muscles and lessening the anxiety worming under his skin. The world felt dreamy and unordinary. Fuckin’ upside down. He tipped his head against the building and exhaled. He was tired enough to close his eyes, to drift as he let the church take his weight, nursing a cigarette and listening to footsteps creak on the unfinished floor inside. A door opened. Dirt and pebbles crunched.
Ariel sighed, a relieved noise. “Those’re bad for you.”
Diego opened his eyes. He couldn’t parse this particular reality. Couldn’t peel back the layers and decide if he was trapped in a dream or awake and exhausted. He flicked his gaze around Ariel’s angular face. Beautiful, same as most Brazilian men. Wild though. As if he actively tried to blend in. Diego understood cloaking and masking in his depths, knew the range and restraint it took to perform as something palatable, something redeemable. He lolled his head against the wood paneling and sent smoke into the air.
“Am I awake?” Diego asked.
Ariel stepped closer. “You tell me.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then you must be dreaming.”
He finished his cigarette and flicked it. Orange embers skipped across the dirt. “And if I am?”
“It’s your dream. You dictate what happens next.”
“Do you think we’re seen here?”
“By who?”
God. Diego didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Tension ratcheted, and the night thickened, gorgeous and expansive and deserted, a space carved out for them, for this, for whatever they’d started together. His throat worked around a swallow. He stretched out his hand and looped his finger around Ariel’s knuckle. Anticipated a collision. Crashing; combusting. But Ariel eased toward him, crossed the minuscule space in a single step as if his boots hadn’t touched the ground, like his body had transferred from there to here. Near enough to taste his breath, to watch his chest stutter and his eyelids droop. You dictate what happens next. In the distance, a coyote yipped. Closer, Diego loosened the reins on his self-control and framed Ariel’s face in his palms.
“Do you see me?” Diego asked.
At that, Ariel’s mouth curved. “Sí, querido. Te veo.”
Do you want me? Diego wasn’t brave enough to ask. Instead, he stood on his tiptoes and pulled Ariel into a clumsy kiss. He hadn’t expected resistance—not in his own goddamn dream—but Ariel shied away, their lips disconnecting with a soft, familiar sound. The first thing Diego thought to do was apologize. He couldn’t move, though, couldn’t speak. Fear turned him to stone. He pressed himself backward, sealing his spine against the church, and blinked, inhaled shakily through his nose. When he finally convinced his body to react, Ariel swooped toward him again and seized his mouth in a deeper, harder kiss.
Like lightning, Diego López was emancipated, freed completely. He gasped between Ariel’s parted lips, tasted mint and copper on his tongue, felt a strong grip cuffing his waist, his ribcage, his waist, his ribcage, both at once. He inched his fingers into Ariel’s dark hair and clung to him. Head spinning, heart running, he kissed greedily, like it was his last meal, like he’d been teased with something worth taking. Swallowed raspy, encouraging moans sent into his mouth on hard-won breath, exhaled like a blessing. A nip at Ariel’s lip earned a harder grip—yes—and a thigh wedged between his legs—yes. He thumbed at Ariel’s cheekbone, his temple, and brushed across smooth, featherlike material—skin, not skin—speared through with bone or needle. Opening his mouth for another hungry kiss, Diego tracked a palm skirting his sternum, fingernails scraping his side, knuckles tracing his joggers, a palm resting heavy on his lower back. Impossible, he thought, and then, nothing is impossible in a dream.
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Freydís Moon (they/them) is a biracial nonbinary writer and diviner. When they aren’t writing or divining, Freydís is usually trying their hand at a recommended recipe, practicing a new language, or browsing their local bookstore.
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