Gayday! Gayday!
Title: Gayday! Gayday!Series: G-A-Y - Book 11.
Genre: Male/Male, BDSM, Erotic Romance
Length: Lust Bite (15,000 words)
Publisher: Total-e-bound
Release Date: September 2010 - Available Now
Buy Link
Blurb:
A gayday signal—as Rip happily explains to his rather straight friend—is just like a mayday signal, except in this case, the distress flag going up is decidedly rainbow coloured.
When Rip needs a friend to rescue him from his date by pretending to be his disgruntled master, it’s obvious that another sub isn’t going to be up to the job. He needs a dominant, and a straight one will do in a pinch.
Slade isn’t thrilled about being woken up in the middle of the night and asked to rescue his bratty little friend, but he can’t bring himself to leave a sub to the mercy of an unknown dominant either. And, even if most of his previous lovers have been women, he can’t quite resist the temptation to show Rip how he would act if he really were catching his sub flirting with another dominant.
Who knew a straight dominant could have so much fun playing white knight to a gay submissive?
And a quick excerpt:
“Gayday! Gayday!”
Slade Pearson stared at his mobile for a few seconds before peering past it to the clock on his bedside table. Two am.
“Rip, is that you?” Slade rolled his eyes at himself. Bloody stupid question. Of course it was Rip. Who the hell else would phone him that time in the morning? “What do you want?”
“Gayday!” his friend repeated, in the same urgent little whisper as before.
Slade dropped his head back on the pillow and pushed a hand through his hair as he waited for his friend to start making sense. If Rip was in his usual form, it could take a while.
“Gayday—you know, like a mayday signal, except the distress flag I’m sending up is rainbow coloured,” Rip finally explained, his voice still hushed, as if he was afraid he might be overheard.
“You mean you’re drunk and want me to play taxi?” Slade translated. “Forget it.”
“I mean he’s a damn sight more psychotic than I expected, and I need you to come and rescue me.”
“What?” Slade half sat up, his blankets pooling around his waist as he realised his friend didn’t just sound tipsy, he also sounded nervous as hell.
“I’m kind of on a date,” Rip confessed. “And I really need someone to break it up.”
“In the complete knowledge that I’m going to regret asking—how exactly do you expect me to do that?”
“Pretend you’re my master?” Rip suggested.
Slade groaned as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Don’t you know anyone else who could—?”
“All the gay men I know are subs like me. A submissive’s not going to cut it with this guy. I need a dom. A straight one will do. You don’t have to screw me, Slade, just come and get me?” A few seconds of silence buzzed through the phone. “Please?”
Slade pushed his blankets away and kicked his legs over the side of the bed with a long suffering sigh. “Fine. I’m on my way.”
He pinned the mobile between his ear and his shoulder as he pulled his jeans and boots on. By the time he grabbed up his shirt, Rip had whispered his location into the phone and hurriedly hung up as he heard his date coming back.
Now that he knew exactly where Rip had been calling him from, Slade found himself quickening his stride as he made his way to his car.
The idea of a bratty little sub like Rip in a club like Black’s was…he shook his head as he drove out of the car park. The little fool was going to get himself whipped, and not in the way he’d probably enjoy.
As Slade pulled up outside the club a few minutes later, he’d never been so glad to live so close to the best kinky club in the area. But a quick glance at his watch still showed Rip had already been on his own in there for far too long.
Slade marched straight into the main room of the club, scanning the shadowy gloom for any sign of his friend as he went. Pretend to be his boyfriend catching him cheating…it was a bloody stupid idea, but as he stormed through the various public areas and failed to catch sight the sub, he soon found himself furious enough to pull off the act all too convincingly.
Images flashed through his head of all the many and varied things that could be happening to the stupid little fool. His hand clenched into a fist at his side.
There!
Slade stopped. His friend knelt, apparently unharmed, on a black leather cushion on the other side of the room. The dominant ran his eyes over the smaller man’s body. His posture was wrong. He looked wary beneath the usual mop of blond hair. But there wasn’t a mark on him. Slade’s fist unfurled as he forced himself to push his anger aside.
Tearing his eyes away from the submissive, he turned his attention to the dominant sitting in the chair above him. Slade bit back a curse as he recognised Hewett.
The part of Slade that had mentally been calling his friend all the names under the sun for dragging him out of his bed for nothing fell silent. It was hard to blame him for realising he was out of his depth with Hewett—he was right.
As Slade strode towards them, Rip glanced up. Slade saw the relief flash across the younger man’s gaze. It should probably have made him feel sorry for his friend. It didn’t. Rip might not fool around with the hardcore end of the lifestyle, but he knew enough about it not to get himself involved with someone like Hewett.
Rip’s expression wavered as he seemed to sense just how furious Slade was with him. He shuffled a little further back on his cushion. Big blue eyes opened very wide as Slade failed to stop at the edge of the little collection of seats and simply call him to heel.
Slade kept going until he loomed right above the kneeling sub. A hand on the back of the smaller man’s tight black t-shirt pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, but Slade kept him upright as he turned his attention to the other dominant.
He nodded politely to the older man. “Hewett.”
The dominant’s lips twitched into a half surprised, half amused smile as he looked from Slade, to Rip, and back to Slade again. “Pearson. It’s been a while.”
“You know him—?” Rip stopped himself short as Slade glared at him.
“Yours?” Hewett asked.
Slade took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. To play the bloody stupid game, or not to play the bloody stupid game…“It’s early days,” he said in the end. “He’s still at the bratty stage.