Delicious Sinn

Blurb

Two men, born with a Montana-bred sense of adventure. Neither stays, both leave to make their fortune. Each walked a different line, made different choices. Both ended up in Seattle. One a jaded and scarred rocker with no dreams left; the other a young photo journalist who has a gift for dealing with wild things.

Both men have secrets. But one night's chance encounter in a Seattle nightclub, will likely change their lives forever....

Excerpt

Will took another sip of his beer, leaned against the bar, and watched the dancers gyrating on the dance floor. His sights were fixed to the tall blond with the wild, naturally curly hair, more wave than tight curl. There was an intensity about him. His black T-shirt, darkened and drenched with sweat, clung to his tightly-packed chest. Black leather pants settled close to lean hips, hugged his richly-muscled thighs, enhancing every nuance of swivel, screw, and thrust. Every flex of his tight ass as he whirled on the dance floor, drew hungry, covetous eyes from more than one corner of the nightclub.

Will was a patient man, perhaps more so than most. He'd waited this long, a few more hours wouldn't hurt. The cold draft soothed his parched throat. His gaze circled the club, studied the occupants, then returned to the dance floor. Laced leather thongs encircled the rocker's bulging biceps, slender whips of leather trailed free lashing, swinging with the heavy metal rhythm. A grin crossed the blond's features as a Medusa’s Thorn tune blasted through the room; the blond's voice--as lead vocalist screamed the lyrics. Sinn Midnite, up and coming rhythm guitarist, lead singer, songwriter.

Fuck me, beat me, you'll never keep me. A strong bass and gut-pounding drumbeat pulsed and throbbed through the nightclub igniting the dancers.

The blond surged forward and cupped a hand around the nape of his dance partner, yanked him forward and ground his mouth against his partner's lips. The shorter, younger man was engulfed by the more assertive, tall blond. A thin reed blown, claimed, and tossed about by the fierce tornado; it gobbled him up with little compassion. Lust - dance lust - blood lust. Crushing force. The music screamed, it jarred, it incited.

No way to break me, no way to destroy me. It'll be me killing you first.

Blinding yellow and red lights strobed across the dancers. Will remained intrigued by the potent foreplay occurring on the dance floor. The smaller man with the straggly purple and black hair was no match for the more dominant blond. The younger man easily gave way beneath the dynamic dark energy of the rocker. Will surmised there was no way for him not to break beneath the driving onslaught. The possession would be fast and it would be final.

The blond knew exactly how to play him. Or would have, if he hadn't lacked self-control. On stage, Sinn's angry forceful immersion into music worked for him. Here, that very same passion worked against him. An instrumental genius, most certainly. But here, with this instrument in his hand--this instrument of opportunity required a steadier hand than his--a very different sort of skill.