Is it possible to find the heart’s home twice in a lifetime?Six years ago, Sawyer Burroughs’s life fell apart. His soul mate and husband of four years died of cancer, and he fell into depression… and a bottle. It’s taken six years, but he’s turned his life around and is ready to start again on the other side of the country.
In his new apartment, he’s welcomed by his young and carefree neighbor, Derek, from across the hall. Derek is eager to make Sawyer feel welcome and even offers him a place to stay when Sawyer arrives ahead of his furniture.
The upstairs neighbors are just as friendly, and soon Sawyer finds a place with the friends-with-benefits threesome. He’s not the shy, vanilla lover they think he is, though, and he’s hiding more than a pair of nipple rings. As it happens, the guys have kinky secrets of their own, but for four men to make a BDSM relationship last, they’ll have to figure some things out.
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Cat gives this one 3 Meows with a 4 Purr heat index...
Sawyer lost his husband to cancer 6 years ago. He fell into drinking and finally pulled his life together. Now being clean he chose to sell everything and move cross country into an apartment that has 4 other tenants. He finds them friendly. Friends with benefits friendly. Derek his across the hall neighbor wastes no time in welcoming him.
I knew this one was going to be sexy by the blurb and reading lots by this author I expected lots of explicit sex scenes. That was delivered. I would have liked more story. The book was good, very sexy, but just wasn’t what I was expecting from the blurb.
Excerpt...
SAWYER OPENED the door to his new place and stared around at the empty space. He’d rented the place sight unseen, and he had to admit it looked small without any furniture. Even with furniture it was going to be smaller than the house back… the old house. He took a deep breath.
Okay. Okay, this was going to be home now. He’d sold everything he didn’t need, he’d sold the house, and he’d packed up his SUV and moved across country to Halifax.
A new house. A new start. A new life.
He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. He was a grown man with cash and a good freelance job writing for catalogs with a side gig of writing greeting cards. Change was good. Scary, but good. Right? Right. He took another deep breath and squared his shoulders.
Sawyer opened the windows to let the air in; then he went to explore—he had a nice living area, an eat-in kitchen that was plenty big enough to cook in, a master, and a tiny second bedroom for an office. The leasing agent said it was the smallest apartment of the four, but it suited him, and the price was reasonable.
The building was an old house converted into four apartments. The bones of the place were lovely. He just hoped the other tenants didn’t throw too many loud parties. Gosh, that was such an old-man thing to think, wasn’t it?
Of course, he was a widower, a recovering alcoholic, and a bit of a hermit. Which made him sound ancient. But it was the mileage not the years, wasn’t it?
He supposed he should do something about getting the stuff in his van into the apartment. At least a chair so he had somewhere to sit. He had a couple of lawn chairs, a foldout cot, his laptop, his books, and his kitchen stuff with him. The rest he was going to have to buy. Now that he was here without anything, it was tempting to second-guess the decision to sell everything, but his reasoning had been sound. He was starting anew, and that included leaving behind the things he’d shared with James and actually starting fresh.
A knock sounded at the door, startling him out of his thoughts.
A prolific author, Sean Michael takes notes dictated by the men who live in his head and shares their stories. Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the Kama Sutra by channeling the long-lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to Chicago. A long-time writer of complicated haiku, Sean is currently attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate-spinning and soap-carving sex toys. Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark. To learn more about Sean, please visit Sean's website.
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