In the Ring
Boxer #1
By Rie Warren
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: December 5, 2016
Available on Kindle Unlimited
Special Limited Price $0.99
The biggest
fight of his life isn’t . . . In the Ring.
The bright
lights. The roaring crowd. The chance at a championship belt. The not-so-little
secret Liam Shaughnessy—the Bonny Bruiser—is fighting to keep tucked far away.
Liam got the
pussy pounded out of him on the mean streets of Cin-city—the other Sin City.
The oldest in a Catholic clan where his da never pulled any punches, he went
from geek boy to the golden boy of the boxing world care of his fists. Liam’s
on the fast track to having it all . . . all except the one man he wants.
Michael
Fairweather makes pretending to be hetero goddamn difficult for Liam. The man
is blond and beautiful and just so happens to be Liam’s trainer. With a
penchant for doing shirtless yoga, giving midnight massages to loosen Liam’s
muscles, and sometimes even taking it out in the ring with him. To say Liam has
porn-style fantasies about Michael is an understatement.
Michael’s out
and proud. Liam’s only proud of what he can do in the ring. He can’t risk his
career, least of all for someone unavailable. Michael has a lover. Liam has the
lies he lives every day. And when his money-grubbing manager gets involved as
the title win approaches, Liam doesn’t know what hit him.
Fight to win.
Fight with honor. It won’t be easy, but that’s okay. Nothing worth fighting for
ever is.
“Stars: Five,a
great read, full of real issues and a perfect HEA..” - Jeannie Zelos book
reviews “
Smart. Gritty.
Dirty. Kind of fabulous.” - Reader Review
“. this, by far,
is the absolute hottest M/M book I have ever devoured.” - Romance Ever
After Book Blog
“You boys ’bout
done?” the ref called over.
I breathed long
and deep, peering through damp hair at Michael.
He shook his
head. “Nah.”
The total body
torment went on and on. Neither of us cried mercy. If he was pissed off, so was
I. I just wasn’t sure what I’d done to make him go all pow-pow-pow on me. I
didn’t really much care. The scent of his clean perspiration was as much of an
aphrodisiac as the visual of his sweating body.
I blocked a
vicious jab to my face. “You’re being a dick.”
He spun away
before my fist connected with his stomach. “Back atcha.”
If he wanted me,
he sure had a funny way of showing it. Killing someone via sheer bodily torture
didn’t usually lead to love scenes or make-out sessions. Anya was way the fuck
off the mark there.
“What’s your
beef, bro?” I gasped after a particularly stinging punch.
“I think you
should be more discreet.” He whipped his head out of the way just as my left
hook whistled past.
“Huh?”
“With Anya. And
the other women. Or all the women, if you really like Anya.”
“Kidding me?”
He jogged in
front of me on his feet. Left, right, left, right. “Nope.”
“This is about
Anya?”
“Yep.”
“Bull and shit.”
I kicked his legs out from under him and followed him down to the mat.
I didn’t cock my
fist to beat his face, but only because it was too pretty to injure.
I restrained his
massive thighs with my knees. “You’re beginning to sound like Dev.”
“Call! That move
is not allowed,” the ringside ref shouted.
“’S’okay. We’re
not playing by the rules here, are we, Michael?”
“Nope.” His hips
bucked up, and his crotch hit my growing hardness.
Holy shit.
I aligned my
torso with his. Lowering myself another inch over him, I imagined Mikey bare
and begging beneath me, our cocks thrusting together.
“Dev’s a slick
Mick.” His chest pumped up and he tried to push me off him.
“He’s not even a
true Mick and PS. that’s an insult to my Irish upbringing, preppy
motherfucker.” I pushed down on his shoulders.
“Get up, you big
bastard.” With no warning at all Michael spanked my ass hard.
A resounding
smack rang through the air.
His eyes
widened.
Mine almost
rolled back in my head.
That was so hot.
I’d never imagined him slapping my ass before.
I pumped against
him once then reared back in horror.
Finally the
pinched-sphincter expression he’d worn all day relaxed. He licked his lips in a
slow motion move I wanted to repeat with my tongue on his mouth.
“Come on, man.
Let’s hit the showers.” He bucked against me one more time, and I swear to fuck
there was an extra, slow-grinding motion to his hips.
“What?” I
croaked.
“You stink, you
fucker. Get off me so we can get showered up.”
Oh yay. Because both of us getting naked with water
and suds is a great idea. You’ll drop the bar of soap between my legs and stoop
down to scoop it up . .
I inhaled and
closed my eyes, soaking in the feel of Michael touching me, so close. He moved
away, leaving me with a cold wash of air in his wake. Around the corner, a
shower turned on, and when I looked again, Michael was gone. His discarded
clothes sat on the bench in front of me.
I hated this
feeling, this vulnerability and insecurity inside. Everyone expected me to
climb higher, do better, be bigger—never weak. I wanted to be less than what I
was for just one minute. More than I was, in someone else’s eyes.
I padded naked
to the showers. There before me was Michael, back-to, soaping up. Foam ran down
his traps, delts, glutes, quads.
Michael spun
around. Suds, chest, cock, balls. “You checking me out?”
“I’ll go.” I
turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm.
“Don’t.” He
slinked forward, and every effort I’d put into shutting this unwanted thing
down melted away as his hand curled around my bicep.
My body was on
fire for him. “Michael—”
“Don’t,” he
repeated, running a hand down my bare chest.
My heart
skipped, and my cock surged. Sensation weakened me, the sheer sexiness of his
wet touch swirled inside my tummy, gripped my groin like a fist.
I stepped
inside, under the hot rain of multiple showerheads. My erection leaped to my
belly, big, hard, unmistakable. Diamond droplets of water slid off Michael’s
hair, dripped into his eyes, and ran down his chest. Down below, the torrent
gathered in his curly golden pubes that circled the base of a shaft that
reached upward. Pink, wrapped in pulsing veins, the entire picture of his cock
was so much sexier than any man I’d ever fucked or any porn I’d ever watched.
“You are gorgeous,
you know that, right?” Michael stood so close his heat clung to my skin.
“I . . .”
Tilting my chin,
he brushed his knuckles against the black stubble on my jaw. “Liam, are you
just curious—or gay? Because this”—his fingertips drifted down my abs which
jumped on contact—“is really dangerous.”
My skin burned
from his touch. Heat scorched down to my cock. “No.”
“No what?” He
reached low.
His thumb rubbed
just beneath the flared head of my dick.
I shook my head,
then nodded, trying to get closer to his reddened lips. To feel them on mine.
“No, you’re not
gay? No, you’re not curious?” His tongue darted to my earlobe.
My hands clamped
onto his biceps.
“No? You’re in
denial?” His thick whisper trailed along my neck.
I wrapped one
hand around his hip, slick and wet, and the other into his hair. “Kiss me if
you wanna find out.”
Michael gasped.
His lips parted and found mine. Not like a girl. Nothing near a woman. Stubble,
rough mouth, harsh groans, all man. But for all the force our bodies contained
and all the months of desire coursing through me, our first kiss was sultry,
liquid, languid.
“Ahhh.” I
leaned away to look at him.
Rie is the
badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a
breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning
with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun,
hot, and southern-sexy series.
A Yankee
transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her
college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame.
Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other
love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a
wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her
work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.
You can connect
with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website https://www.riewarren.com.
She is represented by Saritza Hernandez, Corvisiero Literary Agency. http://www.corvisieroagency.com/Saritza_Hernandez.html.
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