Hi everyone. Hank Edwards here, bringing you some fun and heat to help get you through Monday. I'm currently camped out in front of the TV with the laptop, watching "Hope Springs," the movie with Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones and Steve Carrell. If you haven't seen it, I recommend it. It's all about Meryl and Tommy Lee, a couple married for 31 years, who visit an intensive couples therapist to try and recover the intimacy in their marriage.
The movie got me thinking about how lucky I am to have a partner I have fun with, someone I'm in love with, and who makes me feel like the most important person in the world.
And it also made me think about my hard headed, and hard loving, mystery solving couple, FBI agent Aaron Pearce and former station chef / cater cook Mark Beecher. The guys are coming back for a third adventure, something sure to rev your engines and get your heart racing. Sex, suspense, and danger in a tropical locale. Get ready for the third book of the newly named Up to Trouble series, Roughed Up, available from Loose Id on May 7. Read some of the first chapter below, and be sure to mark your calendars!
Up to Trouble 3
By Hank Edwards
The sand felt good beneath Mark’s head. The cool, fine grains provided a stark contrast to the scratch of Pearce’s stubble that pleasantly scraped Mark’s lips as they kissed. Soft, persistent waves rolled up on the beach several yards away, and somewhere even farther off—back at the hotel bar, most likely—a woman’s loud, drunken laugh floated on the breeze. An hour ago they had watched the sun set from a small table in the hotel bar while eating shrimp and downing drink specials. Finally Pearce had suggested a moonlit walk on the beach, and Mark had happily agreed.
“You taste like mango,” Pearce said between kisses.
“Those margaritas you kept pushing on me,” Mark replied.
“I seem to remember you placing those orders,” Pearce murmured, then pushed his tongue into Mark’s mouth in a slow, sensual kiss. He pressed a wide, warm palm against Mark’s erection, still trapped within his board shorts, and they moaned together.
Pearce ducked his head to put his lips right next to Mark’s ear and whispered, “Want you.” He followed that up by corkscrewing his tongue into the sensitive canal.
“Me too,” Mark said around a gasp. “God, I love when you do that.”
Pearce slipped his hand up the leg of Mark’s shorts to grope his balls and his throbbing, needy cock.
Mark pulled away and smiled in nervous surprise at Pearce before turning to look up and down the beach. “You want to do it here?”
Pearce looked around the beach as well, then grinned like a mischievous college frat boy when he met Mark’s gaze again. “There’s no one around. Besides, we’re on an island vacation; it’s a rule that we have to have sex on the beach at some point.”
“Oh, is that a rule?” Mark chuckled. “I guess I missed hearing that when we checked in.”
“I definitely heard it.” Pearce kissed him. “I think the woman said it two times at least.” Another kiss.
“In different positions.”
Mark felt a little light-headed, mostly from the mango margaritas he’d drunk at the hotel bar, but also from the persuasion of Pearce’s kisses. Goddamn, but Pearce could kiss. He found a shred of resistance left and pulled back to say, “You know Barbados has strict laws against homosexual acts.”
“Yeah?” Pearce grumbled. “So did my prom date’s brother, but he blew me behind the school.”
Mark shook his head. “What does that have to do with anything we’re discussing?”
“God, you’re so wet,” Pearce whispered, smearing the precum around the head of Mark’s cock with his index finger, his lips just brushing Mark’s. “Let’s flip-flop right here. You fuck me, and then I’ll fuck you.” Another kiss, stronger, hungrier. “I want your cock in my ass. I want to feel your cum drip down my thigh while we walk back to the room.”
Mark’s cock jumped in Pearce’s fist at the image he planted in his head.
“You’re killing me,” he said.
“Come on. It’s our first vacation together.”
Mark smiled up at him. “You mean your trip to Detroit at the beginning of the year wasn’t a vacation?”
Pearce pulled his hand from Mark’s shorts, grabbed him by the shoulder, and rolled them both over so Mark now lay on top.
“No,” Pearce said and held Mark’s head between his hands, eyes shifting as he studied Mark’s face. “I think it was fate.”
Fuck. Pearce really knew how to get to him. When the man said romantic things like that, Mark melted. And Pearce knew it, the bastard.
“You are such a liar,” Mark said and kissed him hard.
“Not at all,” Pearce managed before their tongues tangled together.
Pearce lifted his hips and reached down to slide off his shorts. He hadn’t worn underwear since they’d arrived—neither of them had—and the hot, solid length of his cock pressed against Mark’s hip. Mark reached down to take hold of it, squeezed it, and then lifted his hips so Pearce could slip off his shorts as well.
The ocean breeze on his bare ass excited Mark, but he was still nervous and broke their kiss to rise up and peer each way along the beach. No one in sight. Did people on Barbados just sit in bars and drink at night? No one walked the beach?
“And you claimed you’d never had sex in public before.” Pearce stroked Mark’s cock. “You’re hard as rock.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
Pearce grinned up at him before unbuttoning Mark’s camp shirt. “Bet you say that to all the FBI agents you fuck.”
Mark shrugged out of his shirt, then lowered his head to take Pearce’s dick between his lips. His familiar taste—a mix of sweat, soap, and that special spice that was uniquely Aaron Pearce—surged along his tongue. Mark paused, his mouth filled with Pearce’s cock and the ocean breeze trailing over his bare skin. The waves continued their sonorous rolls, and the quiet strains of a reggae band floated from somewhere down the beach.
Like the preview? Click on over to my author page at Loose Id on May 7 and grab a copy for yourself.