Warning: This book contains male homoerotica.
A mutilated corpse, a powerful family intent on stonewalling the police instead of mourning the loss of their son, a sex-for-hire scheme that began as a lark and then turns deadly--all combine to plunge Detective Jake Westerby into a shadowy world of lust and drugs on the leafy campus of Cascade University. Jake's sexual prowess has caused him grief in his personal life, but makes it easy for him to infiltrate an organization that provides male escorts and drugs to wealthy men willing to pay a premium for discretion. When his identity is exposed by a treacherous cop, Jake is slated to be the killer's next victim. Only fellow detective Paul Mazurek can rescue Jake--and only then if he can pull off an audacious impersonation. Can Paul save the man he loves so that their passion for one another can ignite and come into the open?
When Paul pushed open the door, he could see nothing amiss. Just a few guys dressed pretty much like himself in faded Levi's and tight white T-shirts, standing around, drinking beer and shooting pool. Paul let his eyes adjust to the gloom, then walked over to the bar and ordered a beer.
"Sure thing, big guy," the bartender had said, winking at Paul as he handed him a frosty longneck. Paul held out a five, then watched apprehensively as the young redhead ignored the bill, reaching instead for the thick mass of Paul's right triceps. "You," the man whispered, his voice dripping lust, "are a fucking fox. You tangle with me, I'll do anything you want. Anything."
"Th…thanks," Paul sputtered, dropping the five on the counter and disengaging his arm. The redhead smelled vaguely of new-cut grass. Paul felt a slight stirring in his groin, not a feeling he encouraged when he was on official police business. He walked across the smoky room and leaned against the wall beside the cigarette machine to watch and wait.
It took him about ten minutes to figure out the doors. The one on the right was the toilet--men went in, did their business, came back out. It was the one on the left, he decided, that would lead to pay-dirt. Eight men went in, none came out. He took a deep breath, then pushed open the door on the left.
At first it was so dark Paul had the feeling that somebody had thrown a sack over his head. Hell, he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. He didn't need to see to know what was going on, however. A pair of ears and a moderately sensitive nose told him all he needed to know. The place reeked of sex, a commingling of sweat, saliva, come, and the musk that rises off a horny male's balls. Paul had smelled it before, on his own body, in his own bedroom, in locker rooms at the departmental gym--but never as concentrated as this. This was the essence of lust. Paul started getting aroused in spite of himself.
As he stood there, pupils dilating, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, shapes began to emerge from the deep shadows. In the far corner, one man knelt before another, making little gurgling noises as a long, veiny cock slid deep into his throat. Next to them, another man, bent at the waist, muttered a seemingly endless stream of profane instructions to the leather-clad man whose hard cock pistoned in and out of his sweat-slicked ass. Everywhere Paul looked it was the same--men taking raunchy pleasure in one another's bodies, celebrating the triumph of desire in a veritable banquet of flesh.
What finally caught his attention and blotted everything else from view was the tableau that writhed beneath the room's sole dim light source. There were four of them, three clustered around one. The three were nondescript, hairy where men tend to be hairy, well-enough endowed for late-night romps in darkened backrooms. The fourth was of another order entirely. Paul sensed that in a single, jolting heartbeat.
That one was spread-eagle over piled-up boxes, his long legs draped over the shoulders of the man fucking him. The force of the relentless thrusting jarred him, made the muscles in his shoulders knot against the impact. His mouth was open, lips glistening with spittle, nursing another man's rigid cock.
A third man, facing Paul, knelt like a pagan priest at an altar, worshipping the supine man's rigid cock. He came up for air, baring a long tapering cylinder of flesh, pale skinned, dark veined, throbbing mightily in the stale, sex-heavy air. Fat, hairless balls were drawn up against the gleaming shaft. The cocksucker licked the bulging curve of the man's thigh, took a deep breath, went down on him again.
The man at the center of all this frenzied action spat out the cock he had been sucking and swept the hair out of his eyes in a gesture that was strangely familiar to Paul. The man's biceps swelled enticingly, doming in a perfect hemisphere. As Paul studied the chiseled profile, he felt a flutter of recognition in his gut. No, it couldn't be! Then the man turned his face full to Paul and there was no longer any doubt. His young partner, Jake Westerby, stared blindly at him, lips parted, eyes drooping in ecstasy. Paul stood transfixed as the unmistakable sounds and smells of orgasm assailed him. Jake's skin flushed, a deep blush that radiated from his groin, staining his belly and chest. His cheeks reddened as well, and the strong column of his neck. The waves of sexual gratification could be clearly charted against the landscape of his nakedness as Jake spewed his seed over the kneeling man's sweat-streaked face.