Dangerous Seduction: A Gay Romance Mystery (Part Two)

By Lucas Loveless

This begins right where Dangerous Seduction Part One ended.

Roderick Anderson is still in hiding. He knows who framed him; now, he just has to find out why. But when he finally gets Denver Tretton alone, can he or Denver resist the tidal wave of sexual attraction they have for each other? Or will they have the most explosive sex they’ve ever had?

Gilmar races to find proof of Roderick’s innocence, but his digging only brings him deeper into the secrets of the crime. And Detective Leo is beginning to catch on that Gilmar is working for Roderick behind his back. Will Detective Leo be able to save his new lover from the danger he’s in, or will it be too late?

This is the second and final part of Dangerous Seduction. It contains language and sexual material intended for mature readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucas Loveless
• Release date: Mar 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005247386

Book preview

DANGEROUS SEDUCTION

A GAY ROMANCE MYSTERY

PART TWO

WRITTEN BY LUCAS LOVELESS

CHAPTER ONE

DENVER

I’m not a nice man. I don’t think I’ve ever been a nice man. I’m selfish; I’ve got a pretty big ego matched only by my huge sex-drive.

My name is Denver Carravagio, and I like to think of myself as a jack of all trades.

My last trade of course was tricking the great and powerful Roderick Anderson into letting me into his office to steal his files and frame the son of a bitch for murder. And do I regret it? In all honesty, yes I do. When I had been paid to seduce Anderson I had taken the money and assumed that he was just another douche bag millionaire business man who used anyone he wanted and didn’t care who he hurt, kind of like me. Though after doing some digging into his past and what made him the way he was, I couldn’t help but feel the twinge of shame as I tricked him.

I didn’t even mean to fuck him that night, but there was just something about him, something so… well I felt connected to the guy in a way that I never have with another man, and maybe its because me and Roderick Anderson are so similar. But after we fucked, and then after I drugged his drink and left him there – after I cut my arm to spread blood over his office desk and floor, and after I stole his files and corrupted the copies that he had for his secretary, I felt something I have never really felt before in my life… regret. And it’s a terrible fucking feeling.

Nonetheless, life goes on, and I’m used to doing things I’m not supposed to and then carrying on with my business.

I stand there on stage in front of a crowd of drunk and horny men, nearly naked; I’m only wearing a black jockstrap and leaving the rest of my fit physique for their hungry eyes. Around my forearm is a bandage from having cut myself to bleed and frame Roderick Anderson. I turn around and start shaking my ass to the bass beat coming from the club speakers. I hear them cheer and roar and shout things that I can’t understand through the blur of the crowd. It doesn’t really affect me anymore or make we want to dance harder. I’ve been stripping for years now and some time ago the excitement and adrenaline rush wore off. Shaking my ass, bending over and showing my hole to these fuckers, occasionally whipping my cock out to the fucking helicopter all over again – all these things are pretty much second nature to me now. I’m just going through the motions.

I spot a man waving a stack of ten-dollar bills at the edge of the stage. I lick my lips on cue and then get down onto my hands and knees. The crowd loves it when I’m like this, ass up and hole exposed. I crawl across the stage slowly and seductively until I reach the man with the money. Then I lean up, staying on my knees, and I gyrate in front of the motherfucker while he tucks all those beautiful ten-dollar bills into the band of my jockstrap.

After a ten-minute dance I’m done on stage, and my jockstrap is packed full of ones, tens, and a few twenties. The money is always good here at the Banana Hammock Strip Club, a stupid fucking name I know.

I walk to the back and into the dressing room. I take out all the cash and put it in a red backpack in my locker. There are a few other guys in there, all wearing some stupid outfit that shows pretty much everything except their dicks. We don’t talk to each other; I hardly speak a word to the other guys. We don’t need to. There’s no team routine or anything like that – and for the most part these guys come and go faster than bad relationships. I’m the only guy who’s been here this long, and I’m okay