Vegas

By Romeo Preminger

Twenty-nine-year-old sales rep Dan is unlucky with love, but lucky with sex since he got cut and made up for lost time growing up as a skinny gay kid who got pushed around. All-American, Texan stud Bryce Landon is on Dan's A-list of hook-up buddies, but the guy's vibe is different when they get together at MDM-Con in Vegas this year. Does Bryce want something more?

Dan can't do that. He's been burned by closeted, married guys before. While Dan sidesteps Bryce at the convention, he meets a smoking hot, local Daddy-type named Garth. Now he's caught between two guys who'd like to tame his wild ways. It's not a bad place to be, but can he give love a try with a dude who's got drama written all over him or take a chance with an older man who buried his boyfriend of nine years?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Romeo Preminger
• Release date: Jul 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9780578497051

Romeo Preminger

Thanks so much for checking out my page. I go by Romeo because I'm holding down a not-so-steamy day job while writing steamy gay stories. So I have to be a bit cagey in my bio, but I do love interacting with readers.I’ve been fascinated by the psychology and emotionality of gay relationships ever since I had my first crush as a teenager, and I think the truth is love and attraction can be a hot mess. When two men get together, it’s triumphant, transcendent, and life-affirming while also scalding, stupefying and even enraging at times. That’s the kind of relationships I write about because the journey to happily-ever-after isn’t all pretty, and when it comes to love stories, the more drama the better, right?I write three series that each have their own flavor and texture in addition to standalone high heat level romances. Guilty Pleasures Editions is a branded series of high octane romantic thrillers. The Arizona series is a Southern gothic set in the 1980s and 1990s. Last, Storytime Editions are retold fairytales with lots of humor and graphic sex.Otherwise, what I can say about myself is that I’m married to a great guy, and I believe in happily-ever-after. Scratch me a little, and I might tell you more!

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Romeo Preminger

Vegas

Copyright © 2019 by Romeo Preminger

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

First edition

ISBN: 978-0-578-49705-1

Cover art by Juan Padrón

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

About the author

Also by Romeo Preminger

One

BRYCE LANDON is pretty much the last guy you’d expect to have a submissive kink. He’s six-foot two with thick, toffee blond hair and cornflower blue eyes, a big, beefy, square-jawed guy who looks like a former all-star college quarterback. The guy’s from Dallas, Texas. He wears a platinum wedding band, and when he first introduced himself to me two years back at the summer trade show in Vegas, he mentioned he’s got a little lady back home and two kids. He probably drives a minivan, goes to NASCAR races, and votes Republican.

Yet here he is, kneeling on the floor of my hotel room in his tighty-whities, waiting for me to make him suck my cock.

I stand in front of him, slowly unbutton my Oxford shirt, and then I grab a fistful of his hair and rub his face into the crotch of my slacks.

Yeah, you like that, don’t you, fag-boy?

We’ve been doing this for two years, and the good ol’ cowboy still gives me a charge. It’s like turning the tables on the dumb jocks who used to make my life hell back in my suburban school outside of Pittsburgh. I was a shy weakling back then, praying most days to make it through gym class without some douchebag calling me out and backing me into a locker. But I filled out in college and threw myself into weight training, getting cut, so I could stand up to pumped up assholes and to make up for lost time getting laid.

I do all right at twenty-nine years old, and every now and then I strike it rich with a straight guy like Bryce. The day we met, I told him I was single, left it at that, and he laid on his Texas charm and offered to buy me a drink at the hotel bar. That turned into five, maybe six Jack and Cokes, and then we went stumbling up to my room where he pried at my clothes, begging me to fuck him. It’s become a twice-a-year thing at the Vegas trade shows, and a whole lot more interesting than talking shop for three days with the other medical supply salesmen.

I’m hard, smothering Bryce’s face with my crotch. He likes it rough, likes to play out a scene. I wrench his head back, force him to look at me, give him a glare like he’s my pansy, about to get it good. Yeah, you want that cock, don’t you?

Please, mister. You got me wrong. I ain’t no fairy.

This is all part of our sexy game. I give him a clip across the jaw, raise my voice. Shut your whining trap. I gotta knock you out to shut you up? I caught you looking at me down at the lobby. You’ve got cocksucker written all over your face. Now get to sucking, boy.

Bryce plays it timid, unbuckling my belt, unbuttoning my slacks, gently stripping them down my legs like he’s taking them off for alterations, though I can see the good ol’ boy is sporting wood in his cotton briefs. I’ve got my theories about the dude. Maybe he’s wanted dick all his life but settled into marrying a woman, raising a family, because that’s what’s expected of him. Maybe he’s a true bisexual, and this is all a don’t ask, don’t tell agreement with the little lady so he can get off the way he needs to every now and then, no strings attached. I never asked him because I’m not sure I want to know. I like to think it’s the latter. Smoking hot as Bryce is, it bothers me sometimes thinking about being part of the reason he cheats on his family back home.

He leaves me in my boxer briefs, hanging his head, darkening in the face.

I gotta do it for you? I bark at him. How you gonna suck me like that?

His voice trembles. Please mister. I never… Dude’s a fine actor. I grasp his chin, capture his quivering gaze. Never what? I say. Never sucked dick? You think I’m fucking stupid? I rub my finger over his lips. That mouth’s been on more jock than a ten-dollar whore. I stretch his gob open with my hand, give him a dirty sneer. Yeah, you suck dick like a prison bitch, don’t you? Can’t get enough of it. I force two fingers inside his warm, wet mouth, slide them in and out. How’d you like your wife and kids to see their daddy doing this?

Bryce garbles in a panic, eyes wide with fear, shaking his head. I pull my fingers out of him. Please, he says breathlessly. I swear, I ain’t no queer.

I give him another clip on the face. The snap of his skin on my palm gets a rush going through my body, makes my nipples pinch up tight. I widen my stance, roll my hips forward. Take it out, I tell him.

He lightly takes hold of the waistband of my briefs. Sweat beads on his forehead beneath his tidily groomed, sandy hair. He looks up at me one last time, pleading with his pretty blue eyes. I give him a mean stare. The hot thing about Bryce is as many times as we’ve been through this routine, he plays it more reluctant, tempting my anger, the more we do it. He slides my underwear down my thighs to my knees, and my cock springs out, straining for his attention.

His small voice: You won’t tell nobody, mister?

Suck it, I tell him. I grab him by the scruff of the neck, grind my cock against his lips, his nose, his cheeks. Goddamn pansy, I sneer at him. I oughta take a picture of you with my dick all over your face. Blow it up on a billboard for all the world to see. Now open up that trap before I crack your skull and rape your filthy mouth.

He holds me in his quavering hand and takes some swallows of my cockhead. That feels nice, but it’s just a tease. I clamp his face with both of my hands, choke him full of me. We both know you can do better than that. C’mon boy. Suck it right.

Bryce whines and coughs a little, but it’s not long before he gets into a rhythm, pulling on my dick like the expert skin flute-player he is. He makes his mouth a hot, wet socket. I breathe into that sweet sensation, guide him with my hand pulling up a fistful of his hair.

Aw, that’s right. Use that fag-boy mouth. I pull him off of me, push his head down. Suck my balls, I tell him. He rolls his tongue out like a dog, laps at me. Yeah, you love that junk, don’t you, pervert? Bryce nods his head, averts my stare, sucks at both of my nuts. I guide my cock back into his mouth, take some punches of slobbering gob.

I clop him on the shoulder. Get up. He looks up at me in fear. I give him a shove toward the hotel bed. Get up on there.

Bryce climbs halfway onto the bed, looks over his shoulder. Wh-what you gonna do to me?

I wrangle him up so he’s laying over the mattress with his ass hanging off the edge. Cowboy’s such a pretty sight. Broad, powerful shoulders. Thick, hairy legs. Meaty buns popping in his briefs. I yank down those tighty-whities, pull them off his feet, get a good look at his sweet ass, all pale and smooth in contrast to his sun-tanned torso and legs. Bryce must wear a speedo to get that kind of tan line, which makes me wonder more about how straight he is.

I give his ass a feel, thirsting for it. Bryce gasps and wriggles away from my touch. I pin him down by the hips. What you doing, getting all coy? I tell him. You been asking for this all day, haven’t ya?

NO. Please, Bryce cries. You got it all wrong. I only—

I stifle his voice, clawing into his humid crack, making him seize up and shudder. You only what? I ask him. I dig a finger around, pluck at his dampened fuckhole. Only got caught cruisin’ for dick? I taunt him. What you think was gonna happen? Swishin’ around. Staring at me all hungry for it?

Bryce whimpers. Please, mister. You can’t tell nobody.

I stab my finger into him dry, feel his heat, his racing pulse. Tell nobody what? That you been sucking cock? Letting guys finger your dirty hole?

You want money? he begs. I’ll give it to you.

I wanna punish you, I tell him. I pull out of him and crack my hand across his ass. Bryce howls, buckles. I spank him again, eyes widening at the sight of the rosy streaks across his bottom. A flood of arousal overwhelms me, and I wallop his can over and over, watching him jump and writhe, snarl out high-pitched gasps, getting so turned on he can’t help himself from grinding his crotch into the mattress.

I scoop my hand under him, pull back his swollen cock and balls. What’s this? Popping a boner while I spank you? Knew you liked it. You dirty little pervert.

C-c-can’t help it.

I thumb around his cockhead, slide over the pre-cum leaking from his slit. Aw. Got the fag-boy all wet. Got him all excited. I lean over his steamy body, slide my hands under his chest. Bet your titties are hard too. I clasp his budded nipples, give them a tweak, make his chin shrink into his neck, a tortured laugh squeal out of his throat. My mouth finds his ear, and I croon: Nothing left to do but fuck the piggy.

Bryce shrugs his head away from me, clenching his eyes shut, burning up in the face. I bear down on him, skin-to-skin, inhale his musky cologne, his fresh deodorant hazing up from his armpits. I rub my chest against his back, groove my erection between his cheeks. Bryce would let me fuck him raw. It’s goddamn tempting. But I’m not taking chances catching something from whoever might be fucking him back in Dallas.

I climb off of him and pad over to the bathroom, where I grab a condom and my bottle of lube from my valise, get a bathcap on my fella. When I come back, Bryce is still laying over the side of the bed like a good bottom. The sweat from his head, his chest has soaked the bedspread. His buns are still throbbing pink.

I stride up behind him, finger some lube into his hole, get him all breathy and twitchy. Gonna make that pussy nice for me? I taunt him.

Please, mister, he whines. You had your fun. How ‘bout letting me go?

I swat his bottom hard, shout at him: You think this is fun? Teaching you a lesson? You making me do this to you, pussy-boy. Gotta fuck the faggot out of you so you don’t keep wagging your ass around like a girl.

I cuff his wrists behind him the way he likes, kick out his ankles so I can nestle in tight between his legs. I use my free hand to point my cock into his snatch, and Christ, if the fool doesn’t holler bloody murder when I split him open even though he’s had it at least half a dozen times before, and that’s just from me.

Aw, look at that. Pussy takes dick real good. I give him some jabs, watch his butt bounce, his shoulders clench. You like that? I menace him.

His mouth hangs open, groaning.

I tighten my hands around his wrists, shout at him: I didn’t hear you. You like that, pussy-boy? You like being fucked like a girl?

Bryce stammers, Yes sir.

Damn straight you do. I pound him harder. Don’t know no better, using that filthy asshole like a cunt. I get my knees up on the bed and fuck him leapfrog-style, clamping his shoulders, drilling him hard and deep. Yeah, you love getting that pussy popped. Making you my woman, boy. Look at that. You like it too much. Gets you moaning like a whore.

Cowboy sure can make a ruckus. He loves that boning, being held down, broken in, huffing out spit through his breaths. I pull out of him, strip off the condom, wrestle him onto his back and beat off in his face. My hips arch and I seize up, shooting a jet of spunk across his cheek. Another one on his panting lips. A third dribbling on his chin. I point my cock into his mouth. Now clean me off like a good slut, I tell him. Bryce sucks and laps at me, suddenly happy to oblige. I pull my cock out of him and wipe it all over his cum-spackled face. My heart is racing. Sure is nice dominating the Texas stud.

Bryce catches his breath, lights up with a grin. Viva Las Vegas,