Dirty Hand: Perfect Hands, #6

By Nora Phoenix

George has needs, a lot of them, and so far, he hasn't found a man who can meet them.

 

When muggers attack him, he gets help from Jack, a six-foot-four, built-like-a-tree lumberjack. That chance encounter leads to the hottest night George has ever had.

 

But in the morning, he gets the surprise of his life. Jack might be a beast in bed, but he also has a nurturing side. A Daddy side.

 

George doesn't need a Daddy, but he's very interested in continuing to see Jack, so he agrees to experiment with him. Can't hurt, right?

 

But what happens when two weeks later, Jack has a job to return to…and neither one of them wants to let go?

 

Dirty Hand is a high heat novella (25k words) featuring a boy who doesn't think he needs a Daddy and a Daddy who's finally met his match. With an age gap, plenty of steam, and a happily ever after, this is a quick, dirty, highly satisfying read. Please mind the trigger warning for assault and a homophobic slur in the first chapter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nora Phoenix
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223354482

Book preview

1

George had never understood the term nauseatingly happy before that night. How could seeing two people in love make you nauseous? Well, now he knew.

He was beyond excited that Gale, one of his best friends since high school and a Daddy, had found his forever man in Saxton, a super cute redhead, who also happened to be a little. No one could argue against the utter perfection of the union of Gale and Saxton—an unconventional Daddy with an unconventional boy. All good, and he was happy for them.

But every time he saw them together, watched the way they were tuned in to each other, observed the radiant joy and contentment simply because they were in the same room, it made him painfully aware of what was missing in his own life. Hence the nauseating part.

Not that he wanted a Daddy. Hell no. Granted, it was kinda hot to see Gale take care of Saxton, and he envied the boy for not having to worry about a damn thing, since his Daddy did all the worrying for him, but George wasn’t the type for a Daddy. Or maybe he should say that no Daddy would ever want him. They wanted sweet boys they could spoil, and George was…not sweet. Oh, he could be, but underneath his cute exterior beat a slutty heart. He’d take a good hard fuck any day over sitting on someone’s lap and being spoon-fed pasta, as Gale had done to Saxton too many times to count.

Besides, the kind of men he was attracted to—think lumberjack bear with a big cock—weren’t the Daddy type. More the bend over and take my dick until you choke on it kind. Which was seriously hot, no kidding, but it didn’t fit the Daddy will take care of you vibe.

He’d be perfectly happy if he could find a guy who wanted to keep him. Or who he wanted to see more than once. Getting a good dicking was nice and all, and it certainly scratched that itch for a few days, but as Shania Twain had famously declared: That wouldn’t keep him warm in the middle of the night. What the fuck was wrong with him that he couldn’t find a boyfriend like every other gay man he knew?

It stung in a way that made his throat close up, his heart ache, and his stomach swirl uncomfortably. If not for the fact that AJ and Lexi, his other two best friends, were still single as well, he would've been absolutely despondent by now. As it was, a heavy blanket of melancholy and deep yearning for someone of his own had covered him on the drive home from a lovely dinner at Gale and Saxton's house.

By the way, that house? Total envy as well. The damn thing had a pool, for fuck’s sake. Gale had mentioned once that Saxton came from money, lots of money, but that it wasn't something they wanted to talk about, and that had been that. Had to be nice to be able to afford things like that rather than his shitty apartment in a questionable neighborhood that had been described as up and coming in the listing. Up and coming for drug dealers maybe.

And as if things weren't sucky enough, he couldn't find a parking spot on his own street and had to park two blocks away. In itself already an annoyance, but even more so just after midnight. Yes, they had partied hard…playing board games and drinking virgin cocktails AJ had made—no beer for George when he was driving. They were so wild. Not.

It had been a hot day, and the humid air hung oppressively, clinging to George's skin. He'd better crank the AC up high if he wanted to get some sleep. His apartment on the third floor got blistering hot throughout the summer, as the sun shone into the living room from noon till sundown. And without central air, his window units worked overtime to keep the temperature bearable. One day, he’d be able to afford a nicer place…with AC.

A dark figure detached itself from the shadows between two of the buildings, stepping on the sidewalk in front of him, and George came to a sudden stop. Fuck. He'd never even seen him. Young, white, covered in tattoos and wearing all black, this guy was clearly up to no good. George was about to say something when a noise behind him had him spinning around. Dammit, the guy had an accomplice. He took a deep breath.

What do you want? he managed, proud when it came out level.

Your wallet.

The guy in front of him flipped open a knife. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Okay. I'm gonna reach slowly for my back pocket, okay?

The guy behind him stepped closer, and George's heart skipped a beat. Was he going to walk away unharmed from this? He carefully pulled his billfold from his back pocket, then held it out to the guy in front of him. The thug made a grunting noise, and with a swift move, the guy who had been behind George snatched it.

For a few seconds, George stayed frozen as the second guy rifled through his wallet. Asshole's got only twenty bucks in cash, the guy complained.

Then he'd better get us some more.

More? How? I never carry much cash.

That's why they have ATMs.

They were going to force him to walk over to an ATM and get more cash? Dude, the nearest one is, like, a ten-minute walk.

We'll take your car, then.

Oh, fuck no. He wasn’t getting in a car with these two. The situation appeared bleak already, but he wasn't stupid enough to offer them transportation to another location, probably one where no one would be able to see what they did to him. What car? Did you see me park? I didn't think so.

He was counting on them not having followed him from where he’d parked the car. Surely, in the still of the night, he would've heard that.

What, you just taking a stroll here at night?

George thought quickly. No, man. I was visiting a friend who lives two blocks away. I don't have a car.

The guy scoffed. Everybody's got a car.

Mine's in the shop. Busted radiator. I'm picking it up in two days.

He held his breath. Would they believe him? It might not be a skill to brag about, but he’d always been good at spinning tales.

Then you’ll have to take us to your house. I'm sure we’ll find some shit we can fence there.

Fuck. Yeah, he'd admitted to living here. That had been stupid. I'm afraid I can't do that.

The words were out before he realized it, but once he'd said them, determination settled inside him. Here, out on the street, he still had some measure of safety. After all, this was a residential neighborhood, and if he made enough noise, someone had to come running. At least, he hoped so. But once inside his house? No one would hear.

No? Let's see if we can convince you.

A subtle nod at the guy behind him, and George was lifted off the ground, a strong arm clamped around his neck. Crap. The guy had at least a hundred pounds on him and a couple of inches. Why did George have to be the classic twink? As long as they were standing, George didn't have a chance against him.

In a move that would've made his jujitsu professor proud, he held on to the arm around his neck, then turned slightly sideways, putting his foot behind the guy's legs and pulled. They went down hard, but the guy who’d attacked him was at the bottom, so he took the brunt of the fall. His grip on George loosened, and George took advantage to peel the arm off his neck, spin it, and pin the guy to the ground.

When he looked up, the guy with the knife was charging. Shit!

Help! Someone call 911!

He'd barely gotten the words out when the knife came at his face, and he let go of the man on the ground and rolled away, evading the stabbing move. That had been way too close. He scrambled to his feet, but a kick to his shoulder had him stumbling backward on the concrete. He managed to partially absorb the impact of his fall by