Fierce & Fabulous

By Elizabeth Varlet

The first in a scorching new male/male romance where the Sassy Boyz’s seductive smiles and sinful dance moves leave everyone breathless.

Fitch Donovan never thought a lap dance could change his life, but from the moment the gorgeous dancer’s lips touch his, his world comes screeching to a halt. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t shake the desire that rocks him to his core. He’s longed for this passion all his life—he just never dreamed he’d find it with another man.

Sharing a soul-shaking kiss with a straight boy is the kind of drama Ansel Becke just doesn’t need. Spotlights aren’t made for two and Ansel prefers to keep things on a one-night-only basis. So when Fitch shows up asking for an encore, Ansel knows he should send his gorgeous ass packing.

Though Ansel tries to pretend that what’s between him and Fitch is far from fabulous, there’s something about the big, burly contractor that makes Ansel’s world sparkle in a way no amount of glitter ever could. And Fitch will do whatever it takes to convince Ansel that when the thing you need most in the world falls right into your lap, you’d be a fool to let it go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jun 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781460397404

Book preview

Chapter One

A gay bar.

Of course it was a gay bar.

He should have known. Because only his sister would choose to celebrate her twenty-first birthday party in a gay bar.

Fitch sighed and scratched his jaw. Why couldn’t it have been a lesbian bar? They had those, right?

Then again, he wouldn’t have gotten any enjoyment in one of those either. Meg had ruined the whole lesbian-fantasy thing when she’d come out at fourteen. There was no pleasure in imagining two hot chicks doing nasty, beautiful things to each other when one of them kept morphing into your sister.

Fitch barely suppressed a shudder at the thought, but no one noticed. Not Meg or her friends, who were all too busy drinking and laughing and shouting over the thundering music to notice how uncomfortable he was.

A straight man in a gay club in New York City. He wasn’t the first, obviously, but he felt like it. He hunched over the Coke he’d been nursing for the past half hour and tried his best to ignore the interested stares he was getting. If his buddies could see him now they’d shit their pants laughing and then volunteer to kick some ass with him just as a matter of loyalty. As if he needed to protect his delicate manly sensibilities by resorting to physical violence.

He sighed.

No, he’d just have to suffer in silence.

The place was so dark it should have been impossible to catch anyone’s eye, but the rainbow laser light-beams moved in time with the strobe’s beat to create a disconcerting kaleidoscope effect that provided just enough light and just enough headache-inducing delirium for him to feel kind of trippy even though he was stone-cold sober.

Another sip of warm Coke didn’t help. And neither did the shadows or the uncomfortable hunch.

He couldn’t have stood out more if he’d had a blinking neon sign over his head.

The Vibe. If he’d been smart he would have said no as soon as Meg mentioned the name of the place. Then again, he’d never been able to say no to his baby sister. She was a devil with sweet eyes and he’d been devoted to her ever since she was born. Even if all she ever did was torture him.

If you don’t cheer up I’m going to tell Mom, Meg bellowed into his ear.

He looked up just in time to see her school her smile into a frown. Her hazel eyes reflected the rainbow lights and glittered back at him with an overly glossy veneer. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips twitched just enough to make him laugh. She’d always been a terrible liar.

You are such a brat, he said.

Shut up, you love me. Her giggle was slightly crazed.

You’re drunk.

She smiled and nudged his shoulder with her own. I’m twenty-one, big bro! That’s the whole point.

On his twenty-first he’d gone overboard with the Jack Daniel’s and ended up puking his guts out two hours into the party. The hangover had put him off the stuff for years. The way Meg was headed she’d be having a similar experience and the idea made everything else worth it.

Sure, just remember that when Tara is holding your hair back and you’re worshiping the porcelain god.

She pffted at him and turned to kiss Tara.

Jesus, she hadn’t even warned him. She really was a brat.

To avoid watching his baby sister make out, he turned toward the crowded dance floor. So much skin, so many grinding masculine bodies moving to the pop hit-slash-techno beat like the music put them into some kind of trance. Either the DJ was a wizard or the dancers were all caught in a lust frenzy. And the DJ was no wizard.

He rubbed his temple and considered heading to the bar to refresh his Coke, but the last time he’d done that he’d been hit on by three guys, all of them half-naked and young. Too young. And none of them had taken his Sorry, I’m straight as anything but a challenge. Better to just avoid the situation and hope the waiter would come by soon.

The music faded and the DJ’s voice came through the speakers. And now it’s time for a treat. Put your hands together for the hottest show in New York City. Give it up, for the Sassy Boyz!

Beside him, Meg squealed as the rest of the club erupted into cheers and turned to face a stage he hadn’t even noticed. The intro music started and the curtains slowly rose.

Oh my God, they’re doing Jessie J’s ‘Do It Like A Dude’! I saw a clip of this one on YouTube, it’s awesome, his sister exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat.

Jesus, you’d think you were at a Beyoncé concert instead of a drag show. He shook his head at her.

Across the table her friend leaned forward. It’s not a drag show. They’re not queens.

The volume of the music rose again and every light but the ones on the stage went dark.

He’d expected big hair, big makeup, and outrageous costumes. Something artificial. Not four slim females wearing baggy jeans, loose T-shirts, high heels, and baseball caps pulled low enough to cover their eyes. He definitely hadn’t expected the bright red lipstick or the silky long hair. These were definitely not drag queens.

As soon as the lyrics started, the dancers began their aggressive, syncopated moves. They thrust their hips, popped their chests, and flexed their biceps in stereotypical macho fashion, grabbing their crotches and adjusting their caps to match the suggestive lyrics.

And if that weren’t statement enough, they topped it all off by shooting the middle finger to the audience while stomping their high heels.

The dancers were so hot, especially the tallest one with long blond hair. Yeah, she was really fucking sexy. A night with her would be jerk-off fuel for years to come.

Especially considering those fuck-me heels.

Fitch’s pulse grew heavy with each hard hit of the drums, each reverberating thrum from the bass. He spread his legs and smoothed his jeans over his thighs to create more room for his growing hard-on, because watching the dance was like looking into the eyes of someone sucking your cock.

So fucking good.

When the bridge came, they lowered to the floor to perform a grinding, thrusting move that simulated sex so effectively it was almost like he could feel it. He gripped his knees until his knuckles whitened, and breathed through his mouth.

Just as the first song started to fade, another beat took over. The dancers moved to the back of the stage, where four chairs now stood, and began a slow striptease.

With every piece of clothing they removed, the crowd grew more and more wild and Fitch’s heartbeat grew more erratic. They flung their hats off and flipped their hair while rolling their hips, bringing to mind all kinds of ways he could touch and kiss and lick just so the tall blonde in the front would repeat that sexy little thrust.

Across the table, Meg whistled and her friends cheered just as loud. It was all he could do not to join in too, because the girls onstage were now bent over and sliding the denim over their gorgeous, leather-covered asses.

Holy fucking Christ.

He swallowed and reached for his glass with a shaking hand, forgetting it was already empty. He had no choice but to let his mouth go dry because there was no way he was tearing his eyes away from the stage. Not while they were still up there, and especially not while they were stripping.

Finally, they sat just as the new song began.

Meg must have recognized the song because she cheered again even louder right before she, and everyone else at the table, sang the lyrics at the top of their lungs.

Booooots and Boys.

With the first word, the dancers extended their legs to reveal knee-high sex-kitten boots. And on the second—fuck.

He stared, heart thudding so hard in his chest he thought it might fly out, leaving a giant gaping hole.

The dancers stood facing the audience, and the crowd’s decibel level skyrocketed. They were nearly naked, wearing only those damn boots and tight leather shorts. But that wasn’t why he couldn’t breathe.

They were guys.

Guys in heels and makeup.

Like a slap to the face he realized what he was seeing and how slow he’d been to assume they were female dancers. For fuck’s sake, they were in a gay bar. Of course they were guys.

And still he was unable to tear his eyes off the blond in the front. Not a fucking girl. The guy’s chest was flat as a pancake, unless you counted the extremely well-developed pecs—which Fitch didn’t.

Christ! He was still hard.

How could he still be hard?

And why the fuck was his heart beating so goddamn fast? He reached for his empty glass again, eyes still glued to the stage, before remembering it was empty and cursing.

Good lord, the guy’s long legs were suddenly the hottest fucking thing he had ever seen. And God help him, that mouth. He couldn’t tell if it was the smoking-red lipstick or the crazy little smirk, but that mouth. It was killing him.

They danced, matching the music with their provocative energy, their feminine swishes, shaking their hips and flicking their hair. Strutting like models on a catwalk.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. They’d gone from uber-masculine to realistically feminine within five minutes, and he was a massive ball of throbbing nerves cemented to his seat. He’d never, in his twenty-nine years, ever thought another guy was attractive, but his goddamn cock seemed to believe the long-legged blond was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He took a deep breath and smoothed out the denim around his thighs.

No, this was just the effects of his six-week-long dry spell. He hadn’t gotten laid since Sara dumped him. Plus, the energy of the place was crazy sexual. Christ, sex was in the air and he wouldn’t be surprised if there were men fucking in the shadows.

I gotta piss. Be right back, he shouted to Meg. He pushed through the densely packed sea of bodies before she could respond. He needed air. He needed to get a fucking grip on himself. Figuratively, of course, though he was tempted to jerk one out in the stall just to ease the ache.

Once in the bathroom he splashed cold water on his face and took a deep breath.

If there was one thing he knew for certain, he was not attracted to men.

He definitely wasn’t gay.

Chapter Two

Ansel hit the last pose as the spotlights blinked off. His heart pounded against his rib cage, his skin glistened with sweat. They’d only danced for ten minutes, but they’d timed everything just right. The crowd loved their routine.

He took a deep breath and broke position. God, it was a rush to be onstage, to feel the caress of hundreds of eyes watching you. His whole body buzzed with the excitement of the moment. He grabbed Tam’s hand as they moved backstage and gave him a squeeze.

Good job, honey, he whispered.

Thanks. I think the spin kicks and the second eight-count worked better. Don’t you?

It was fucking brilliant, Tam. Z rushed past, pulling off the black gloves he’d worn during the second half of the dance.

Out front, the DJ’s voice came over the speakers. Don’t worry, Queens and Kings, the Sassy Boyz will be heading out to work the crowd in a few minutes. So get your dollar bills ready because, trust me, you want to see what those boys can do up close and personal.

Lirim snorted as he sat in one of the metal chairs in the dressing room and began pulling off his boots. He wishes.

Or not, Ansel said.

You didn’t. Really? Z stood naked now, wiping himself down with a towel. His light olive skin was smooth and taut over the hard muscles developed by dancing.

Dag, the DJ, wasn’t so bad. He’d only been working at the club for a couple of weeks, and yeah, okay, he was kind of a douchebag if you let him open his mouth, but the guy had a great ass and Ansel didn’t get to top very often.

He folded his arms across his chest. It was a slow night.

Slut. Tam grinned as he pulled off the tiny leather shorts.

Says the genius who choreographs the dirty routines we dance every night. I think there is something twisted in your little brain.

Tam ducked his head. His light brown hair fell like a curtain to hide his face from the rest of them. Even after years together, he still struggled to speak his mind, but Ansel didn’t let the lack of reply bother him.

He flipped his hair and cocked his hip. Let’s hurry up, I need a drink—or two hundred. And damn, I want to get laid.

What else is new? Z asked, pulling on his black G-string. It was always black with Azariah. Just don’t get so wasted tonight that I have to drag your ass all the way to your apartment again. That was hell on my best pair of heels.

Shut up, Z.

I’m just saying you still owe me for that cab ride.

Didn’t you go home with that jock last night? Lirim asked. Dressed in colorful briefs, flashy cuffs around his slim biceps, and multi-colored thigh-high stockings, he looked like the gay version of Rainbow Brite.

I tried, but he got a palm full of balls instead of the pretty pussy he expected, and flipped out.

God, Ansel. You’re going to end up in the hospital pulling stunts like that. Tam shook his head.

Been there, done that. They knew about most of his past, about Ray—maybe not all the gritty details—but the hospital was not foreign territory. Besides, he’d befriended an ex-Navy SEAL and knew all kinds of ways to protect himself these days.

This one was too shocked to get violent, but it did mean I had to jerk off alone. That’s never as satisfying.

He finished getting changed, reapplied his makeup to match his new outfit, rubbed some body glitter on his chest, and spritzed himself with the sample bottle of Flowerbomb he’d gotten from the Sephora counter.

He wore a pair of lacy black short-shorts that highlighted the bulge between his legs and made his ass look divine. He chose the same knee-high black leather boots he’d worn onstage and decided to go shirtless under a mesh shrug that made his pecs pop. He studied himself in the mirror beside Z, Lirim, and Tam.

They all looked fucking sexy. Maybe to some, confusing as hell. But that’s what they were all about. He smacked his ruby-red lips, fluffed his hair, and adjusted his package.

Ready to work, bitches? Lirim asked.

They won’t know what hit ‘em.

Damn straight.

Well, not straight, Tam said.

Bent. Really, really bent, Ansel said, and they all laughed.

Yes, pushing the boundaries was what he lived for.

He wanted to twist the fuck out of normal and leave the world baffled in his wake.

Chapter Three

Thursday nights at The Vibe were usually pretty quiet and though the dance floor and bar were crowded, it wasn’t as packed as it would be on the weekend. Ansel took note of a few potential sex partners. He didn’t usually pick up guys at work because it was a little tacky and besides, everyone who watched him perform already knew what he had between his legs. Where was the fun in that?

Last night he’d gone home with a jock. He’d been wearing his pretty purple suede, four-inch Jessica Simpson rip-offs and matching eye shadow. When the guys on the court whistled their appreciation, he wasn’t surprised. It happened all the time.

With his feminine features and liberal use of nail polish and makeup, people always assumed he was a girl. It wasn’t his job to convince them of his gender, one way or the other. Was it his fault people let their assumptions get them into trouble? It’s not like he was going to wear a sign on his head that said Warning. Cock Attached.

He wore what he liked and to hell with what other people thought. Though, okay, maybe he did add a little swish to his walk when cute guys were watching.

Still, maybe tonight he’d settle for something quick and easy.

Or maybe not...

Lirim, Z, and Tam branched off to work the room and earn their cash, but he headed to the bar. He was so sober, he was trembling as he leaned against the brass edge and smiled at the bartender.

What can I get you, beautiful? Terry winked.

How about a double shot for now? Just need to loosen up a bit. He had to shout over the music, but Terry was well practiced at taking his order.

You got it, dollface.

Terry was in his mid-forties, balding, and pudgy around the middle. He’d worked at the club for twenty years. The Vibe was his second home and he was a spectacular bartender, sweet and nonthreatening. Not so pretty to look at, which meant he wasn’t competition. The customers wouldn’t choose him over the dancers always on offer. Terry poured the double shot of dark whiskey and served it with a friendly smile.

Thanks, hun. Ansel tossed the contents back in a practiced swallow. It was the good shit. Terry always gave him the good shit. The warmth bloomed in his chest, and his arm steadied as the alcohol made its way into his bloodstream.

Letting the tranquility wash over him, he scanned the room for his first trick of the night. The strobe lights and beams swirled with dizzying effect, reflecting off glass and bared skin as the pulse of bass throbbed just like a heart, vibrating every surface. This was his church, and he reveled in the steady familiar pounding. One of his regulars was in the usual spot, but Ansel didn’t acknowledge him. He liked to make them wait. The jealousy always led to bigger tips.

Across the room Tam was grinding the lap of a happy woman with a bridal veil on her head, her blush almost as red as his own lipstick. Bridal showers were great. Brides were so much fun to tease. Near the center of the room, on the edge of the dance floor, a gaggle of girls was waving money in his direction. Their bright laughing faces were inviting and harmless, so he headed their way.

Evening, ladies, he purred loudly so they could hear him as he approached their table. The girl in the middle had her dark hair cut in an attractive bob, and she wore one of those fake tiaras you got from the dollar store. Only hers had a giant pink 21 perched in the middle.

Oh my God, you’re so pretty, even up close, one of the girls said.

He smiled and batted his eyelashes. She hadn’t meant her comment to be a backhanded insult, so he swallowed the retort on the tip of his tongue. Throwing shade at the customers was a bad idea. Plus, these girls looked fun and a little too naive to understand his particular brand of sarcasm.

Aw, aren’t you sweet.

There was one empty chair, so he spun it to the side and draped himself over it, crossing his legs in a dainty move he’d long ago perfected. Are you girls having fun tonight? One quick sweep of the group and he pinned them down—birthday party, a few lesbians, all over twenty-one but none over twenty-five. Lesbians and birthday parties were almost as much fun as bridal showers.

It’s awesome. You guys were so good.

Thanks, sugar. I love your necklace, where’d you get it? He nodded at the long silver chain with a black bow tie at the end.

As expected, the girl smiled and touched the piece. Thanks, um. I think it was at a kiosk in the mall.

Oh cool, Manhattan? Tourists then? No one shopped at the Mall unless they didn’t know any better.

The girl scrunched her face. No, Hudson. We’re from the other side of the river.

Jersey girls? What are you doing all the way out here?

At this, the birthday girl laughed. To see the Sassy Boyz, of course. You’re famous.

He warmed at their attention. I hadn’t realized our reputation reached so far. I’m flattered. He batted his lashes and waved a hand in a girlish gesture that made the group laugh. He joined them. They were fun and easygoing, but as much as he’d love to sit and gossip with them all night, he needed to pay his rent.

So who wants to go first? He slipped the bills off the table and surreptitiously counted them before tucking the pile into the waist of his shorts.

They all giggled. The birthday girl’s eyes darted up to focus on something behind Ansel.

Hey, big bro, she said.

Meg. The deep timbre shivered down Ansel’s spine.

The warning was so clear in that one single syllable. But the birthday girl didn’t seem to care. Her smile widened, and she looked into Ansel’s eyes with sly calculation.

He’s first.

Ansel lifted himself out of the chair in what he hoped was a tantalizing motion and flicked his hair over his shoulder as he spun to face the newcomer.

His breath hitched. Damn, the guy was hot.

A big bear with a strong, square, scruffy jaw and deep-set dark eyes. Older, maybe thirty, but sexy in a way that would only increase with age. He was tall, maybe even taller than Ansel—when he wasn’t wearing heels. He had big shoulders and arms and was clearly fit. He had on a worn blue T-shirt that clung to his upper body and made Ansel’s mouth water.

Most clearly of all, he was not happy about the situation. His mouth was a grim line as he stared down at his sister.

Hello, handsome, Ansel said, trying to draw his attention. Why don’t you sit down? He gestured to the empty chair.

Their eyes met and his heart stalled.

Normally he loved the thrill of reeling in the straight ones, of never knowing if you’d end up flat on your ass or bent over moaning. But he suddenly felt like he’d just collided with the most dangerous man in the world—and he didn’t like it one bit.

In fact, he was fighting the urge to run for cover. Then the man glanced at Ansel’s mouth and his nostrils flared.

Holy hell.

The temptation to flee morphed into one hot ball of fuck-me-now, and Ansel almost stumbled back with the force of it. Before he could do or say anything, the stranger clenched his jaw and looked back at his sister.

No. The stranger’s voice was deep and gravelly like sandpaper, and it sent goose bumps over Ansel’s skin.

Come on, Fitch. It will be fun, and it’s my birthday, Meg said.

Damn it, Meg.

Seriously, it’s just a lap dance. It’s not like I’m asking you to kill a puppy.

A lap dance—from a guy.

At his tone, both Ansel’s and Meg’s eyebrows lifted almost like they were connected by some invisible string.

What, are you suddenly homophobic? Is my only brother a bigot and I somehow missed it for the last seven years?

Fitch turned a bright shade of red and rubbed his palms over his scruffy jaw. No, Jesus. I just, ah, fuck.

It’s not a big deal, she countered. When I came out, you said—

Yeah, yeah, okay. Doesn’t have a damn thing to do with this situation, though. He sighed and pushed a hand through the mess of dark hair atop his head.

It’s just a dance, for fun. Please? Meg continued begging.

Christ, you’re going to make a good lawyer.

At his words, Meg grinned. Love you too.

Tall, Dark, and Grumpy finally sat in the empty chair, but he didn’t relax. His shoulders remained tense as boulders and he gripped the bottom of the chair so hard his knuckles whitened. Ansel almost laughed because, seriously, the guy acted like he was going to the fucking guillotine. It’s not like Ansel had special powers of persuasion to turn straight men gay—at least not if they didn’t secretly want to be turned. And it wasn’t like he’d bite—unless asked.

Was he really so frightening? This guy could probably lift him over his head and toss him away like a rag doll.

He took a step closer. The man’s eyes locked on to his boot and followed his leg up, up, pausing at his crotch for a fraction of a second, then rising until their eyes locked. Then Fitch’s tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip, and laughing was the last thing on Ansel’s mind.

Maybe the guy wasn’t afraid of him. Maybe Fitch was afraid of himself.

Wasn’t that interesting?

Ansel smirked. Holding eye contact, he gave Dag the signal. The music changed to a familiar thudding cadence and Britney’s breathy moan. He let himself sway to the new beat, moving his hips and raising his arms to lift his hair off the back of his neck.

High-pitched giggles reminded him where he was and he winked at the girls. They were whispering and holding their phones, no doubt recording the whole thing to torture Fitch later. Ansel kind of felt sorry for the guy. After all, he was clearly at the club because of his sister and had been manipulated into a situation which made him uncomfortable.

His displeasure wasn’t because he was a bigot. There was no animosity in his eyes. No, it was something else.

Ansel stepped closer and rubbed a palm down Fitch’s arm.

I’m going to give you the best damn lap dance you’ve ever had, he said low enough so the witnesses couldn’t hear him over the music.

Grumpy’s nostrils flared again. I’ve never had one before.

Ansel couldn’t hide his surprise. Really? A big handsome guy like you?

Fitch shrugged, but the movement didn’t loosen him up at all. In fact, the closer Ansel got, the stiffer