Excerpt Day: A Kinky Orgasm by Amanda Young

[reviews_and_ramblings]

Bottom's Up: A Kinky Orgasm by Amanda Young
Release Date: May 24, 2009
Publisher: Amber Allure
ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-524-9 (Electronic)
Publisher Link: http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/KinkyOrgasm.html

Blurb: Briar Henley can’t believe his good fortune when Truman Lee strolls into his little bar and orders the house specialty—a kinky orgasm. Briar serves up the creamy, alcoholic drink with more than an ounce of curiosity. Why would a straight jock be in a gay bar? After a little flirting, Briar doesn’t much care why Truman is there. All grown up, Truman looks better than ever. Briar can’t help but react to the pull he’s felt for the other man since high school. Painful memories of the insatiable crush he harbored for the homophobic jock makes Briar yearn for a little payback of the intimate persuasion. Only Briar is in for a surprise of his own. Truman isn’t in town for a visit. He’s home to stay. And he wants Briar for a lot more than his fancy beverages...

Excerpt:

“Hey, Rabbit, can I get another drink over here?”

Briar Henley pulled a frosty bottle from the cooler. Beer in hand, he strode over to where Ben Kingsley sat huddled at the end of the bar closest to the bathrooms. The old man had been a regular at Henley’s Pub since it had belonged to Briar’s grandpa back in the day, making him damn near family rather than just another old alcoholic. For that reason alone, Briar ignored the hated nickname from his childhood and graced the man with a smile as he slid the longneck across the gleaming mahogany surface of the countertop. “It’s almost closing time, buddy. You have a way home tonight?”

Ben glanced up, his rheumy blue eyes glazed. “You’re a good boy, Briar. It’s a shame you’re one of those people. You should find a nice girl to straighten you out and settle down. Pass on the family name like your pa would’ve wanted.”

Briar sighed. It seemed as if they had this same conversation every night. “Thanks for the tip, Ben. I’ll take it under advisement.” Just as soon as hell freezes over, and I stop liking dick. “Is Sally Jean going to pick you up, or am I calling you a cab again tonight?”

Ben took a long slug of his drink and set it down, his hands hovering around the glass bottle. “You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

“Nope. You can do what you want, but you’re not going to get slammed here and then drink and drive. That would put my ass on the line, and it’s too pretty to be thrown to the horny wolves behind bars.”

Ben snorted as the bell above the door chimed. Briar turned toward the sound, expecting to see Ben’s daughter crossing the threshold. Instead, Briar gaped as the focus of more than one wet dream strolled into his humble little establishment. With his broad shoulders pulled straight and his head held high, the newcomer strode to the opposite side of the counter from Ben and took a seat on one of the stools closest to the door.

It’d been more than a decade since Briar had set eyes on Truman Lee. The other man had gone off to college on a football scholarship, while Briar had stayed behind to care for his ailing father. After his father passed away, Briar had taken night classes in business management and eventually reopened the family bar as he knew his father would’ve wanted.

Since he and the jock had been on opposite ends of the food chain in school, Briar pretended he didn’t recognize the other man. Better that than make an ass of himself by pointing out their affiliation only to have Truman feign remembrance.

Truthfully, Briar hoped Truman didn’t recall the skinny little outcast he used to be. High school was hard on almost everyone, but it’d been a particular rollercoaster for a scrawny, big-mouthed kid in southwestern Virginia. His piss-poor attitude had gotten his ass kicked more than once. Truman, on the other hand, had been a typical athletic meathead. With his stocky, muscular body and boy-next-door good looks, Truman had been every girl’s— and one lonely gay boy’s—idea of a walking wet dream. Thank God no one had ever found the yearbook photo of Truman that Briar had hidden under his mattress. He would have died of shame.

Briar snapped out of his fit of nostalgia and crossed to where Truman sat waiting. He schooled his features into the polite mask of someone who was used to working with the public. “Welcome to Henley’s. What can I get for you?”

Truman smiled at Briar, showing off the twin dimples in his lean cheeks. “I heard you make the best Kinky Orgasms this side of the Mason-Dixon line.”

“Is that so?”

Truman nodded.

Briar wanted to preen in response to the compliment, but he held it in. Apparently the bartending refresher courses were worth the price of admission after all. “I suppose whether or not they’re the best would depend on how you like them made. Would you rather have the drink mixed with strawberries or creamy vanilla ice cream?”

Truman’s nostrils flared. “Oh, I definitely want it creamy.”

“All right.” Briar swallowed over the frog in his throat. His imagination had to be creating the lustful way Truman eyed him. The man was as straight as an arrow…he’d banged half the cheerleading squad when they were in school. “One Kinky Orgasm, hold the strawberries, coming up.”

He could feel Truman’s gaze on his back as he set about getting the ingredients he needed. The attention didn’t help convince his cock of Truman’s hetero status. Briar’s unruly prick didn’t give a plug nickel about things like straight or gay. It knew what it liked, and Truman fit the bill nicely.

Briar found himself wishing Truman had packed on a little weight or gone bald. But while the other man’s dark hair was cut severely short on the sides, there was an inch or two of longer growth on top. Briar couldn’t even delude himself into thinking the short style was due to a hideous bare spot on the crown of Truman’s big head. The other man’s midnight black locks were as thick and lustrous as ever. Dammit.

Indeed, the years had been kind to Truman…he looked better than ever. Briar confirmed as much by sneaking peeks at the other man as he fixed the drink, pouring equal amounts of amaretto, coffee liqueur, and Irish cream into a highball glass. The man had filled out in all the right places, his wide shoulders stretching the limits of the salmon polo shirt. Although the bottom half of the man wasn’t visible, Briar imagined it was just as impressive as the upper portion. Given how tall Truman was, his legs were probably long and muscular. Briar could easily picture the way Truman’s ass and thighs would flex and release as he pumped his load into some lucky woman. Speaking of women, there was no wedding ring on his left hand. But that didn’t mean the man wasn’t married…a lot of men refused to wear jewelry.

After topping the drink with a single scoop of creamy vanilla goodness, Briar slid it across the counter to Truman. “That’ll be seven fifty.”

Truman handed over a ten-dollar bill and picked up his drink. He took a sip, his eyelids sliding to half-mast. “Damn, that’s good. Keep the change, man.”

Briar added the cash to the register, his mind calculating approximately how much he’d taken in that day. Not enough to cover the electricity, much less his time and energy. He really needed to rethink opening on Mondays.

“Not very crowded in here, is it?”

“Nah, weekdays are slow, and it’s almost closing time.”

“Really?” Truman asked, glancing down at the gold-toned watch on his thick wrist. “But it’s only ten o’clock.”

“There isn’t much use staying open when we’re this dead.” Briar glanced around the small pub, satisfaction rising inside him. Although the business was a hand-me-down and would never make him rich, he was proud of it and the changes he’d implemented over the years. He’d updated the menu, adding greasy, deep-fried finger foods and specialty drinks for the expanding college crowd. Making allowances for time and money, the décor had subtly changed over the last five years. While he’d chosen to keep the rustic ambience of the wood paneling and long, mahogany bar, Briar had reupholstered the dozen booths with a deep, forest green fabric and added accessories of the same shade here and there throughout the room. Henley’s would always be a small town pub, but it belonged to him.

“I understand why you wouldn’t want to keep longer hours. You don’t want to work for free.” Truman sipped his drink, leaving an adorable milk mustache clinging to his upper lip.

The bell over the door chimed again, tugging Briar’s attention away from Truman. Ben’s daughter, Sally Jean, breezed inside with a wave and a smile, her warm gaze turning concerned as it landed on her father.

With a mumbled “excuse me,” Briar left Truman to his drink and met Sally Jean as she reached Ben’s side. Placing her hand on Ben’s shoulder, she began the sometimes arduous task of trying to cajole her father into coming home with as little fuss as possible.

As usual, Ben was being stubborn. “I’m not ready to leave yet, girl. Quit trying to boss me around.”

“Dad…” Sally Jean sighed. “I’ve had a long day, and I’m ready to go home. If you want a ride, you need to come with me now. I’m not going to sit around and wait for you all night.”

Knowing how loud Ben could get when he put his mind to it, Briar butted into the conversation with the hope of diffusing the argument before it began. “You might as well head on home with Sally Jean, Ben. I’m getting ready to close up for the night anyway.”

“Fine.” Ben took a long swallow of his beer and then slammed the nearly empty bottle down on the counter. “Go ahead and gang up on me. See if I care.”

Briar hid his amusement as Ben stomped toward the exit. The man could be a stubborn old cuss, but he was all right. No matter how pissed off he was when he left, he’d be back the following night. Briar could almost set his watch by the man’s habits.

Truman walked by Briar, catching his attention. The pressed khaki pants the other man wore hugged his lean hips and cupped his package like a lover’s hand. Even after a brief glimpse of Truman’s bulge, Briar was left wondering whether or not the other man stuffed his boxers. The swell behind Truman’s fly seemed too large to be real.

Briar turned his head to follow Truman’s progress to the bathroom, wanting a peek at the other man’s backside. He licked his lips, checking out the firm mounds. His ass isn’t half bad either.
“Hello.” Sally Jean waved a hand in front of Briar. “Earth to Briar.”

Briar jumped. While he’d been ogling Truman’s ass, he’d forgotten Sally Jean was even there. “Sorry, hon. I was in la la land there for a minute. What’s up?”

“Hey, I don’t blame you for staring. Don’t tell my husband I said so, but that is one seriously fine man that just went by. Is he single?” Sally Jean grinned. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t need to know. Before I leave, I just wanted to remind you that I’ll be in to settle up Dad’s account next week.”

“I know you will. Thanks for the reminder, though.” Most of the small businesses, Henley’s included, still ran tabs for the locals and allowed people to pay when they could. In Ben’s case, his daughter and son-in-law had taken over his finances after his most recent stroke, paying off his various accounts when his pension check arrived at the beginning of each month.

Briar walked Sally Jean out, waved to Ben, and turned the sign on the door from “open” to “closed.” He turned off all but one of the exterior lights, pulled down the window blinds, and returned to the bar to wait out his last customer. Suppressing a yawn, he picked up the rag he’d discarded earlier and started wiping down the counter. It’d been a long day, and he was more than ready to call it a night. As soon as Truman left, he was going to close out the register and retire to the little apartment he kept above the bar.

At least tonight I’ll have some new material stored up in my spank bank. He and his hand were going to have a good ole time before he drifted off to sleep.

Contrarily, he wondered when his right hand had become the norm instead of his former fallback for release—going to clubs after he closed the pub. Now, he was more comfortable with porn and dreams of meeting the elusive Mr. Right. Judging by the way he’d responded to Truman, that was going to have to change very soon. Maybe I’ll drive to Roanoke and hit The Park on Friday. Even if he struck out on meeting someone special, he’d be able to dance and cut loose for a little while.