Monday 8 February 2016

Pumping Iron

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TITLE – Pumping Iron SERIES – Bad Boyfriends Series #2 AUTHOR – Nya Rawlyns GENRE – Gay suspense, gay fiction, gay romance PUBLICATION DATE – August 11, 2014 LENGTH (Pages/# Words) – 169/55122 PUBLISHER – PubRight COVER ARTIST – Dreams2Media

Pumping Iron - Cover


Book 2 in the Bad Boyfriends Series
What does it take to bring a slow simmer to a rolling boil?
Sean Rourke is hiding in plain sight as a Bad Boyfriends A-list escort, hoping to dodge the bullet from a few career missteps.
Mike Douglas’ financial backing and very special negotiating skills have him partnering not-so-silently at Bad Boyfriends, as well as running a training center for athletes and gym rats.
Eying each other at a distance is all they’ve allowed themselves until a joint special project at a seaside retreat in the Hamptons, entertaining a wily Boston attorney, shows them exactly how well they fit together, in more ways than simply business as usual.



Sequestered at a beach house in the Hamptons, charged with keeping Lovett Junior occupied while his law firm does damage control over Junior’s peccadillos, Mike and Sean find it difficult to grab some private time. 
Oblivious to everything but the craving for his taste, I surrendered as he took my mouth, tracing it with his tongue, probing. My hand hung helpless, useless, in a vise grip that numbed sensation and replaced it with such intense focus on my cock and my mouth, there was nothing left but him sweeping inside, crushing and bruising as he invaded my senses. 
The first sharp nip released an intense flood of copper-iron. Sean swished it away, then assaulted the bruise with another and another until he withdrew, leaving me passive, struggling for air.
I murmured, “Sean?” 
He stood. I couldn’t. Not yet. 
Whispering, “We have company,” Sean nodded in the direction of the dunes behind us.
Holding out a hand, he helped me up. We locked gazes, his almost a challenge. Then with a rueful grin, he said, “I have sand in my shorts.” 
I looked down, leering. “Looks like a sand dune to me. You might want to do something about that.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“A contest.”
I was going to make him pay in spades for turning me into a quivering blob of jelly, right there in the open, lancing my heart with that fucking display of dominance. Reaching over to hook a forefinger in the waistband of his bathing suit, I tugged him closer and laid out the terms, keeping them clean and simple.
“First one back gets to top.”
He growled, “Bite me,” and took off like a shot, with me a few steps behind.


Writer, editor and hopeless romantic.
Nya Rawlyns has lived on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, ridden more than 1000 miles in trail competitions on horseback, and been owned by two Newfoundlands. She is staff for a herd of cats and a herd of horses. She never met a potato chip she didn't like and she lifts weights - which is probably fortuitous as she really likes potato chips. But mostly she loves happy endings, even when she has to make them up.


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