Two-Man Advantage (Players of LA #3) by Leigh Carman
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Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words is happy to host Leigh Carman today on her Two-Man Advantage tour. She’s brought along an exclusive excerpt for everyone to enjoy!
A hockey star skating on the edge of a catastrophe.
A PR specialist so adept, he’s called “the Fixer.”
Working together will be the biggest challenge of both their careers.
The LA Vikings hockey team is fed up the violent outbursts of its huge, intimidating enforcer, Viktor Novak. Hounded by a homophobic and domineering father, Viktor takes out his frustrations by spilling blood—on and off the ice. Now he has one last chance to clean up his image, or his career is over.
That’s where Bowen Miller comes in.
Bo has taken on the hardest cases and succeeded—by micromanaging every aspect of a client’s life—at the expense of his own happiness. But in the stubborn, hot mess that is Viktor, Bo might have met his match—both in and out of the bedroom. One man is out of control, and one controls everything. But when sex and attraction come into play, those roles are open to negotiation.
Vik and Bo’s first encounter
When Vik doesn’t move, I take a closer look. I know what I’m seeing; I just don’t believe it. No fucking way. His lightly stubbled face is flushed, nostrils flaring wide. His light blue irises are nearly gone, eclipsed by enormous dark pupils. Vik’s full red lips are slick, and I can see the restraint in his clenched jaw, his twitching muscles, all of them jumping as he fights his primal urges.
He wants me. Viktor Novak wants me.
“That picture in your office,” Vik says, his voice a low, seductive rumble that vibrates straight to my cock. “The one of the football player, Van Archer.”
Now I’m the one who tenses up, once again ready for a fight with the exhausting Viktor Novak. Maybe what I’m reading as desire on Vik’s face is actually hostility. Maybe I’m only seeing what I want to see when in reality, there’s nothing there.
“What about it?”
“He is,” I answer, bracing myself for an almighty argument.
Vik nods. He begins to say something, and then his mouth snaps shut as he hesitates. More curious than cautious, Vik presses on. “Are you?”
“Does it matter?” I snap, every one of my defenses at the ready. It’s no secret I’m gay. I don’t hide my sexuality, but I don’t announce it when I meet people either. If Vik wants to come at me, he’s going to get a knockdown, drag-out fight.
Vik shifts closer, splaying an immense hand on the stone countertop on either side of my waist. Intimidated by his sheer size and proximity, the fight drains out of me, and I lean back, the unforgiving granite pressing painfully into the base of my spine, making me acutely aware that this man has the ability to hurt me quite seriously any time he chooses. The fact that he could so easily dominate me physically unexpectedly turns me on so much my dick is suddenly harder than the granite surface I’m trapped against.
What the hell? I dominate, I don’t submit. So why am I rock hard and leaking like a faucet at the thought of Vik overpowering me?
“It matters to me,” Vik murmurs, his gaze dropping to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
The way Vik answers allows me to exhale, letting go of some of my fear. My initial assumption was correct. The man before me isn’t angry, he’s… hopeful.
I inhale a shaky breath and swallow. “Yes. I’m gay.”
For the briefest of seconds, Vik’s gaze widens, and a spark of desire flashes in his bright blue eyes. Then so many things happen at once, I have no time to process it all. Vik’s heavy lids drop to half-mast and he closes the remaining space between us, pressing the hot, hard length of his body against mine. Two strong, masculine hands grip either side of my head, fingers long enough to curl around the base of my skull, and Viktor Novak, star hockey player and noted brawler, lowers his face to mine and kisses me.
Sensory overload hits, and I’m frozen in place. Hot skin covered in tattoos, the faint taste of mint toothpaste, the warm scent of Viktor, the feel of his rough hands on my clean-shaven face—all of it combines to render me completely useless as his lips move over mine. It’s only when Viktor boldly thrusts his stiff cock against my groin, grinding it against my own rigid length as he simultaneously swipes his tongue across my mouth, that I wake up and get with the program.
Vik slides that wet tongue over my lips again, more insistent this time, and I can’t help but groan, opening my mouth as heat builds at the base of my spine. Vik takes advantage of my parted lips, immediately plunging his velvet tongue deep into my mouth. I release the countertop and wrap my hands around his backside, grabbing two big handfuls of those spectacular, rock-hard glutes, and tug him closer, smashing our erections together.
“Oh fuck,” Vik breathes against my lips. Those two little words nearly have me coming in my pants. I’ve never been so out of control in my life. The threads of reality unravel around me, spinning away as raw instinct takes over my conscious behavior. No twink hookup has ever incited this type of reaction from me. I’m wanton, willing, and completely uninhibited. Out of control. It’s frightening yet… freeing.
Viktor’s hands leave my skin, and I whimper from the loss of contact, leaning forward to chase that delicious mouth. When Vik’s thick fingers begin pawing desperately at my clothes, shoving the custom-fitted jacket down my arms to land on the floor then moving to unbutton my shirt, I realize his intentions. In a flash, I begin to eagerly assist Vik in shedding my clothes, yanking my silk tie loose and sliding it off my neck.
Halfway through undoing my dress shirt, Vik growls and loses patience with the dozen tiny pearl buttons. With one swift tug, he tears open the front of my shirt, buttons pinging off the kitchen cabinets and skittering across the hardwood floors. My cuffs are still fastened by a pair of platinum cuff links, so now my shirt is inside out, hanging from my wrists, and I can’t get my hands free. Vik either doesn’t notice or could care less. In the blink of an eye, he has my slacks unzipped, shoves his hand in, and takes my aching cock in his scorching hot palm.
“Jesus, Vik,” I rasp, my chest heaving. The touch of his hand on my dick is blistering hot and so fucking good, but much too brief. Vik lets go of my cock, and I panic. “What? Why are you—?”
My question dies in a strangled moan as I watch Vik shove down his own sweats and underwear, not even bothering to pull them all the way off. Instead he hooks them under his huge, tight sac, lines up our cocks, and wraps a calloused hand around both of our rigid lengths. Vik squeezes them together and my eyes roll back in my head. I struggle to free my arms, desperate to touch this man and his gorgeous, thick cock. Vik lets out a low growl when I fight the fabric binding my hands. His eyes flash, and quick as a whip, he reaches behind me, grabs the remains of my shirt, and twists it around his free hand until my wrists are tightly bound at the base of my spine, trapped by a pair of cuff links.
I want to struggle, to shout and kick until I can get my hands free. To demand my freedom so I can take charge of the encounter. But Vik ignores any effort I make to unbind my hands. He gives me a dark, lust-filled look and waits until I stop fighting and calm down. Once I’m still, Vik keeps his eyes locked on mine and spits obscenely into his palm before lowering it to stroke our cocks in tandem. At that moment, any fight left in me dies, superseded by the unbelievable pleasure of Viktor’s talented hand and the feel of his sculpted body against mine. It’s uncomfortable to give in to someone, to willingly let Vik overpower me, and part of me is still freaking out. My sexual partners are always smaller than me for a reason. I just can’t let go of that damn need to control everything and everyone. It’s my experience that when you have no power, you get hurt.
“Let it go,” Vik whispers as if reading my mind, all the while continuing to stare into my eyes as his hand speeds up between us. The friction of Vik’s slick, rough palm, the sensation of his smooth cock rubbing against mine, is sublime. But with the nagging need to free my hands still plaguing me, I can’t enjoy his talented touch to the fullest.
“I see your brain working to figure out how to take charge,” Vik says. He gives me a dark look, those sensual lips curling into a wicked smirk. “You can’t take control here, Bowen. I won’t let you. You can’t get away either. I have you at my mercy.” He leans in to growl in my ear. “I can do anything I want to you.” Vik’s husky, dominating voice reverberates through my body, making my cock impossibly harder. “Let go and enjoy the ride, Bowen, because I plan on blowing your goddamn mind.”
To find out what happens next, check out Two-Man Advantage
About the Author
Leigh Carman is the pen name for the M/M romances written by bestselling Contemporary romance writer, Heather C. Leigh.
She lived outside Atlanta for 15 years and recently moved to Houston with her husband, 2 kids, and French bulldog.
She is leaving explicit directions in her will for her friends to discreetly scatter her ashes around Fenway Park. Then they are to sit back, watch a game with a beer and a Fenway frank and have a wicked good time.