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(The Game, #8)
Publication date: September 23rd 2022
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance
The Game Series • Book 8 • Standalone • Group Play • Submissive Daddy • Humiliation
Buckle in for a liquid hot romance where a young man with a plan takes on his aunt’s ex-husband through a wild week of kinky fun and dreams of a happily ever after.
I was on the right path, at long last. The divorce proceedings were going well, we managed to keep things somewhat civil for the sake of our daughter, and I could finally be the man I’d suppressed for decades.
I was gay. And evidently very much into BDSM.
So this was the perfect time to explore, have fun, meet new people, make friends who were actually friends and not the husbands of my wife’s uppity circle of gossip peddlers. I was happy. I was off to a great start, distancing myself from the family I’d once married into.
Then my ex-wife’s favorite nephew came to town on a business trip and wanted to have dinner with me. Obviously, I should have declined. The young man had always put me on edge with his charisma and assertiveness. But surely, I could survive one dinner with Jackson Dune.
The day after was another matter. When we ended up going to the gym together and he showed his true colors. His true, filthy, dominant, addictive, inappropriate colors.
“Do you like to watch, Uncle Franklin?”
The Game Series is a BDSM series where romance meets the reality of kink. Sometimes we fall for someone we don’t match with, sometimes vanilla business gets in the way of kinky pleasure, and sometimes we have to compromise and push ourselves to overcome trauma and insecurities. No matter what, one thing is certain. This is not a perfect world—and maybe that’s why the happily ever after feels so good.
“Flip the camera—let me see in the mirror,” Tate said.
I eyed the corner of the screen and pressed the right button, flipping the camera. The display suddenly showed a full picture of what I was wearing.
“You make Hugo Boss look next-level hot.” His voice was warm with approval, which eased a pinch of my nerves. “You’ve got this, Franklin. You have nothing to be nervous about. It’s your nephew, not the devil.”
I swallowed uncomfortably and adjusted my tie. “They may very well be the same individual.”
He chuckled and threw himself onto the couch—next to Kingsley, I noticed. They were dressed for an evening at home. Apparently they’d been hungover earlier today.
Kingsley leaned closer and smiled faintly. “Hey, pet. Lookin ’sharp.”
Heat bled onto my cheeks. “Thank you, Handler.”
They absolutely loved that I was forty-seven years old and still blushed like a schoolboy. They certainly took advantage of the trait often enough. Kingsley said he got off on the contrasts of a man who looked like he owned the world but submitted like a cock-hungry whore.
I was that cock-hungry whore.
I wasn’t sure I agreed with his assessment of how I looked, but I understood the draw of contrasts. Kingsley and Tate were full of those too. Kingsley, the Master who could make me fall to my knees with a single look, who always wore jeans and tees and hoodies, who didn’t feel the need to assert himself to others; he just was. Then Tate, his Master’s property. The love of Kingsley’s life. My daughter’s teacher, who’d fooled me for months by wearing preppy cashmere sweaters, gingham button-downs, chinos, and glasses. Never a hair out of place. But when all that came off, he was a tattooed masochist and switch.
Tate had introduced me to BDSM not that long ago. They’d granted me the privilege of joining them for occasional playtime. And Tate was…pure filth. A sadistic little Dominant who called me Daddy before rubbing my face in my own come.
Kingsley cleared his throat as I flipped the screen again. “So explain something to me. You see this kid once or twice a year, but now you’re suddenly nervous?”
To be fair, I was always uncomfortable when seeing Jack.
And Tate had no issue telling his Master just that.
“To this degree?” Kingsley pressed.
“Well, no,” I admitted. After flicking off the lights in the bedroom, I aimed for the living room, where I had liquid courage on a cart next to the couch. “Things have changed. I’m supposed to be Uncle Franklin, the boring, straitlaced, predictable man who’s married to his aunt.”
While Tate smirked, Kingsley scraped his teeth across his bottom lip and took on a pensive expression.
“Screw who you’re supposed to be to him,” he murmured. “Who’s he supposed to be to you?”
I frowned. “You lost me. He’s my nephew, of course.”
Believe me. He’s my nephew.
Kingsley cocked a brow.
Tate was highly entertained, and he crawled up on Kingsley’s lap and rested his elbow on Kingsley’s shoulder. “I mean, you kinda indicated something else last week when you told me about his visit.”
I scowled at him, then poured myself a whiskey. I had twenty minutes before my car service was due.
“I did nothing of the sort,” I insisted. “I merely pointed out that since the last time I saw him, I’ve stopped being in denial about who I am—about what I am—and I’m worried I’ll see him in a different light.”
“As I said…” Tate drawled. “So are you bringing condoms?”
“For heaven’s sake!” I stared at him in disbelief. He was not helpful.
Kingsley’s eyes flashed with amusement. “I take it he ticks all the Dom boxes, then?”
God, I shouldn’t have accepted Tate’s call in the first place. They were making things worse. Much, much worse. Because they were saying out loud what I dreaded the most. I didn’t want Jack and BDSM in the same sentence.
But…yes. That was my fear.
I took a generous sip of my drink and relished the burn as it slid down my throat.
“Is he gay?” Tate wondered.
I winced and inclined my head.
Jack had always been out, so to speak. When he’d reached the age most boys declared their love for girls, he’d said he’d liked boys “way more.” By fourteen, he’d had at least two boyfriends.
“I think I’ve envied him on some level,” I admitted. “I never knew why, but now…”
I could put two and two together.
Homosexuality hadn’t existed in my world, not until I started college. My parents had come from nothing in Nowhere, Kentucky. Then my father had managed to get through school while working two jobs, and he’d made a life for us. They’d moved to DC right before I was born. He’d started his own practice. Mother had been a housewife. Not particularly religious, but traditional, nonetheless. Not to mention very strict and demanding. They’d wanted their idea of a bright future for me. Scholarships, private school, a fine degree. Wife, children, a nice house.
I’d had my first intimate dream about another man when I was in high school, but it’d been about a teacher I hadn’t liked, so I’d chalked it up to a horrendous nightmare. I’d been so incredibly angry and embarrassed by my physical reactions.
Not long after, I’d asked Samantha out on a date.
“I’ve done so many things wrong,” I said.
That softened something in Tate’s eyes. “It gave you Lily.”
That was true. I certainly had no regrets, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t feel bitter and ashamed at times.
“It’s time to look forward, pet,” Kingsley murmured. “You’re building something new.”
I nodded once and took another sip of my drink. He was right. I was finally on the right path.
I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.
There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.
Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.
I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.
Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.
I’m a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.