Wounded Inked Book 1

By Sky McCoy

When a soldier receives a letter from an admirer, he thinks it's a woman, and he becomes infatuated with the person because his wife had sent him a dear john letter when he became wounded in combat. This is book one in a three book series. This book contains straight to gay, gay for you, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, and fake boyfriend with HFN and HEA in final book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sky McCoy
• Release date: Jan 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005676100

Sky McCoy

Hi, my name is Sky McCoy and I write gay M/M romantic fiction. My books are steamy, erotic, romantic, with lots of angst and drama men may face if they are in love. I write about love between men because I believe in the "Freedom to Love." If you are gay or straight, you may enjoy reading my books because "Love is Love."

Book preview

Prologue

Tony

I’d just received a letter I had been anxiously waiting for. Just when I’d given up and I knew I had to get some sleep, because of the mission in front of me, and because my men needed me more tomorrow than ever before, I got this ray of hope through the letter I held doggedly in my hand. I wanted to take the time to sit and read it, savor every word, every phrase, and every time Sergeant appeared on the paper.

My men called me Sergeant, but it meant something different to them. I was their leader, I was their mentor, I was the one who would teach them and bring them home.

We were marines and we left no one on the battlefield, no one behind, and especially not our hearts, because our hearts were with the ones we loved. My heart had been shattered early on when I received what they called a Dear John letter. With every letter coming through the mail, from a special unknown woman, my heart began to come together.

I needed a clear head more now than I’d ever needed one before, because this would be my last mission.   

My squad had to travel into this town, relieve another squad of marines, and I wouldn’t be able to receive mail or my care package, therefore, receiving this letter now meant so much to me. After I read it, I placed it next to my heart, because it would be the final one for a month or more.   

The first words of that letter caught my eyes and I turned, looking to the side as if I was a squirrel hiding a precious acorn that would last until winter when I’d need something to sustain me. That something was this letter I held tightly, keeping the wind and the sand, or the helicopters bringing in supplies from dislodging it from my fist.

Lights strung everywhere provided what I needed to see the words scrawled carefully on

the paper. Repeating the words with a smile, I murmured to myself as I read, I’ll give you a kiss. It’s my secret to you, because if you were here beside me, my lips would whisper in your ear, I love you. 

Holy fuck! Did she just write that? My cock twitched and I moaned, looking around to see if anyone had heard me. With all the noise, how could they? I rationalized. Fuck me, but my cock hadn’t responded to anything in months. Let alone words on a paper.

There was no way I could feel something for somebody I’ve never met. I didn’t understand what could be going on with me. Maybe I’ve been out here too long, and I’ll feel different once I get home.

That’s it, I murmured into the air looking around to see if I’d been caught talking to myself. When I glanced behind me to see a platoon working at unloading food supplies and water, I strolled over to get some privacy. Good luck with that, I thought.    

Instead I walked, I held the letter against my Cammie, my combat uniform, near my covered beating chest. What the fuck? What do I do now? I wondered, looking out into the mountains of sand.

These letters had progressed from friendly chats to I love you? It’s not that I don’t enjoy hearing those words, but what’s brought that on?

Maybe the person at the end of those letter was getting as deeply involved as I was just by communicating like this. I tried to stop the letters by not writing or sending an email. However, this was what I needed to rescue me from my lonely broken existence.

My only bright spot before was the men in my squad. To say I lived for those letters was an understatement. With the first letter I received, I didn’t know what to think. Maybe they had the wrong Anthony Paesano, however, when I continued receiving more, and with each successive letter I was reeled in, and like a child waiting for candy, if I didn’t get my sugar fix I’d become downhearted, dispirited, but thank God for my men.

Nevertheless, those letters came in like clockwork and became my life. Through the letters I could live outside of this hellish place, dream, and forget that I no longer had a wife to go home to.  

I’d given up expecting any calls from Serina, or an email, or text, and I knew what that meant, but I didn’t want to face it. Facing that my marriage was over, the fear of what I’d do now would be like being afraid that I wouldn’t make it out of here. I couldn’t entertain that idea, because that would show in my expressions, and my men would pick up on that right away. It wouldn’t be good for my men or me. 

Sergeant, you got one of those hot letters from your pen pal? They knew, because no one operated in a vacuum out here.   

Holly had become more of a pen pal to me, and now the men were aware that when I got her letters my tone and disposition were different when we weren’t on the battlefield. I should have written her back, but I never did. The way I was feeling before, it was as if I was cheating on my wife. Now that was a joke. Me cheating on her, when in reality she was cheating on me.

The last time I was home, my brother Lucas said that he saw my wife out dancing and drinking with a guy we knew from high school. I dismissed it, because what the hell was I to do? I’d been away for so long and I didn’t want to ruin my homecoming arguing about her doing something so minor as dancing or taking a drink. I didn’t listen, because I didn’t have any control out here. You couldn’t control anything when you were as far as I was from Serina, so what the fuck did it do for me to get myself upset over little things. You had to trust that you’d done your best, and then to hell with the rest.  

It was like when you fell out of love with someone. When you had a broken egg and you couldn’t put it back together. You had to get rid of it, or it would stink up everything.

Yeah, Sergeant. You promised on our last mission that you’d read the letters to us, a private chimed in, and took me out of my thoughts. Did I want to share these special moments with my men now that I couldn’t bear to part with the words on the paper?

I’ll let you read the text next time.  

We don’t want to read a text. Fuck a text. The private, knowing that he’d overstepped his bounds, looked around to the men for affirmation which he got. Anyone can send a text, but you have to be a certain type to write and send a love letter.

Sergeant never said it was a love letter. It’s just a letter from a friend. Love letters are written by—  

Yeah, we know. You have to be gay, or a woman to write those kinds of letters. It’s just someone who is lonely and needs a friend, private first class Lopez added, looking around for affirmation. And the men broke into a loud roar.

None of that. Some of our best soldiers are gay. I had to warn them. You never know who will have your back when you need them. I may have used the wrong word, because I saw the men trading glances and others raising eyebrows. Since this is the only entertainment we have tonight before we go on our mission, I don’t think Holly would mind if I read you her letter.

My men sat around me, all of them in their early twenties, and a few eighteen. They waited for me to pull out the letter which I’d tucked inside my jacket.

My dear Sergeant,

I’ll give you a kiss. It’s my secret to you, because if you were here beside me, my lips would whisper in your ear, I love you.

I refused to read the part where she said she loved me, because somehow that had been more intimate then all the letters before this one. I continued reading out loud.  

I hope I’m not bothering you by writing so often. I know I should wait until you write me, but I miss you so much even though I know I’ve never seen you, and you’ve never seen me. If you were to look into my eyes, and if I got the privilege of peeking into yours, I’d know your soul, because that’s where the soul lives, in our eyes.

My eyes are green, Sergeant, what color are yours? Send me a picture of you when you get a chance. I haven’t sent one of me, because I know you’re married, and I don’t want to confuse you or distract you, but I’d like to say that I would want to meet you one day if only to be friends, and have a drink. Maybe go out dancing. Perhaps then we would know if our pulse beats from our hearts, then maybe our eyes would tell if we could only be friends, or something much more."

Your dear friend for now,  

Holly 

The men in my squad sat back, and said in unison, Woah. And then a long silence crept in, but whistles and cat calls eventually filled the night. I stood, Get some sleep men. This may not be a dangerous mission, but you damn sure have to keep your guard up, one misstep could be our last.

The realization that one wrong move and I might not make it home became more worrisome to me now more than ever, because of those damn wonderful letters. I knew I had to clear my head and forget the letter and the woman behind it, and carry on for the sake of my men. They needed me and depended on me to get them through this final mission, and there was no way I could let them down.   

I had to remember my own words, because now I had a reason to make it back home.

I’d been in a fog with all that had happened between me and Serina. However, now that fog had lifted, and the one person who raised my hopes for the future had written me this perfect letter, and God help me, I wanted to know her better. All I knew about her was she lived in Tucson, had green eyes, her name was Holly, and she could write a letter that made my heart soar and my mind take notice.

Holly had brought me from my lowest point to my highest where I wanted to live long enough to give her an intimate message which couldn’t be delivered by text, email, or a letter, but with a kiss.  

Chapter 1

Parker 

Ireally wasn’t into that Daddy stuff, but it appeared that all I ever ran across were men who were older than me, who wanted to either spank my ass, or they needed a Daddy themselves where I’d spank them, or tell them what to do, and how to live.

I had problems figuring out how to live myself, so what the fuck could I tell a man in his forties who had probably seen more cocks than I had, fondled more balls than I cared to, and been around the world more times than I could count right here in this room.   

Now I knew that wasn’t what some thought that living was all about, but for a young gay man in his twenties, that was all some of us lived for was to find that right cock, and at the beginning and ending of that cock would be our life partner.

Maybe I hadn’t lived enough and met the right person, but then I’d traveled to other countries, stayed drunk night and day fucking a willing ass, gone on adventures in Pamplona, Spain, where I ran with the bulls. Got jerked off in the stands watching a bullfight in Madrid, and had an orgasm when the bull tore into the ass of a handsome bullfighter wearing a suit of lights and waving a cape.

After that memorable time of doing nothing but getting drunk and fucking my life away literally and physically, I arrived home in Phoenix to be confronted by my father. What a fucking bummer. I’d gotten tired of my father barking orders at me, controlling my every move. That was when I knew then I didn’t want, or need a Daddy.

I couldn’t stand for anyone to tell me anything, and maybe that was being stupid, arrogant, or narcissistic, but I was sheltered, and it was all my parents’ fault. They waited until I was twenty-four to start ordering me around.

I’d been on a quest to find myself since I was fifteen and perhaps I’d stepped over a line, and my father had to intervene at this late stage in my life. You’d think he would have done something earlier, but no, he was the understanding and doting father until I took it too far, and then he stood over me one morning just as I was waking up, and having my morning jack off.  

I want you out of here. I’d awakened to growling and a sour expression, turned over, and placed my pillow over my head. I thought if I ignored him, he’d leave like before. Big mistake. There he was standing over my bed with my cock wrapped tightly in my fist with me snuggled under the covers, having this wonderful dream about fucking this handsome dude in Venice.

With the pillow over my head, I didn’t hear every curse word he’d hurled at me disturbing my wonderful daydream. However, I could imagine what he’d said. It was the same lately. What the fuck are you going to do, Parker? Lie there and play with yourself.  

I rolled over, wiped my eyes, cupped my breath to smell the alcohol from the night before, and glanced up at him. When my bloodshot eyes locked with his, I could swear he had daggers in them. What’s the matter? I questioned, ready to make a run to the restroom when he pushed me back, and I fell against the mattress. Each time he was like this, there was no getting away from him.  

Parker. What do you mean what’s the matter? Look around you. You have pizza boxes everywhere, beer bottles, and your jockstrap stinking up the house.

But, dad—

Don’t but dad me. Your mother has indulged you in every possible way, and you’ve turned into a spoiled, self-indulgent, narcissistic gay man. At least he didn’t call me the F word and that said a lot about his character for now, but the day was still young.  

I had to give it to my parents. It took character to raise a gay teen and not be ashamed when I’d walk around with purple hair, rings in my nose and ears, tattoos, and piercings where only a few were privy to see. I guess I did wear my tight black designer jeans and tees just to piss him off.

Nevertheless, I think I might have pushed my dad too far, because I’d never seen his eyes shine the way they were now. Fathers with gay sons had to endure a lot from friends and family, and my father was the best, but something drove him over the edge, and I think it was the twenty-four-year-old me. Yes, I took responsibility for that.

At least, I never tried to kill myself when I was a teen just to announce that I was gay. Now that would have sent him down a deep hole he’d never recover from. But at twenty-four, no longer a teenager, he’d probably wait a few minutes, light up a cigar, have a smoke, and then call 911 and send me away if I recovered, just to get a moment’s rest.

My father stared at me. I’m straight. How did this happen? Why me? 

It was a straight man’s thing, I supposed, to ask those questions and to feel the way he did. And my father, bless his soul, was straight as an arrow. He wanted his son to go hiking, camping, and shooting with him, or just get interested in his business was all that he required from me, and that was too much. How was I going to live up to that shit? I couldn’t. Who could at my age, when there were so many things for a young man to do with his time, like sucking cock, or getting his ass rimmed.

My father had one shot at getting a son who loved that outdoor shit, because I was an only child, and he got that wrong, and now he wanted someone to pay, and it was my turn. 

My mother could handle more than my father. For a mother that was different. Mothers loved their boys the way fathers should, but didn’t when they found out that they were gay and proud of it.  

I think if my father had been born in a different time that he’d probably be more accepting of the idea that men and women didn’t want to be defined as either straight or gay. He was born too early, and I was born too late for him to be the son he needed. That was probably why it was a bridge too far to discover that his only son was gay, and he had no interest in taking over his housing construction business, or going hiking, camping, and all that other shit he had planned for me.  

Look, dad—

No. You look. I’ve spoiled your ass since you were a child. I don’t blame your mother for you being gay. I blame myself. Oh fuck, where was this going? "I should have made you go to the army or enroll