Rough Hard Smooth & Tender

Some do it rough. Some like it gentle. Jase can go both ways.

An urgent call comes for Rider when he's unavailable, and it's up to Jase to fill in. While BDSM isn't normally his thing, Jase is confident he can handle whatever Ryker Hirsch can subject him to. Yet maybe Jase isn't as tough as he thinks he is...

A blend of smooth touches and firm grips, of brutal poundings and gentle caresses, "Rough Hard Smooth & Tender" explores more of Jase's past, woven through a sexy tale of rough and kinky sex. (Word Count: 6577)

~~~~~ EXCERPT:

We had my hair fixed up: layered and windblown, with feathery ends. Got a change of clothes too... tight T-shirts and slacks, some nice chains as accessories. We spent hours at the store picking things out, giving me a new look that would advertise me as being in the scene. “Elegant prettyboy” would suit me well, Tayson said. Not many people could pull it off. He even thought about me getting an ear pierced (that never went through), and a buddy of his helped make a customized cologne for me. Jasmine extract for beauty, orange blossom for sweetness, and a couple drops of clove oil for spice. Two dabs on each side of the neck, and I'd be turning heads.

It sounds strange to say it, but Tayson just didn't seem like the pimping type. Even with what he was planning for me, I just couldn't see it in the guy. I knew he had connections, and young men would often drop by with envelopes full of cash. In retrospect it would've been so easy to grab one of those and make a run for it, but the thought never came to mind.

Tayson always favored simple but elegant open shirts, especially in his apartment. He also took care of himself with a whole regimen of skin and haircare products. One day he casually mentioned that he was off to see a client... and that's when it clicked. After all, bored and lonely upper-middle-class housewives need lovin' too.

He never said much when he came home from work though. It wasn't that he was tired or anything... he still had the energy to fix up a quick meal and browse the net a bit before showering and going to bed. Tayson was just a man of few words when he wasn't talking business.

Maybe it should've seemed strange when he wouldn't say two words to me. He'd walk through the door, hair unkempt and shirt slightly ruffled. There wasn't a “how was your day?” or anything like that. Maybe he'd give me a smile and a pat on the head, like I was a stray cat he'd been keeping and nothing more. Occasionally he'd lean down and give me a kiss on the forehead, like I was a little brother.

I was okay with that.

Afternoon naps were a nice luxury on weekends. A couple times I'd rouse from my sleep, and he'd be on the couch next to me puffing on a clove cigarette. If Tayson noticed I'd woken up he would've just stayed until he finished his smoke, but I found that if I pretended that I was still asleep he'd take his sweet time. Sometimes (on rare occasions) I'd feel his fingertips brushing my hair. My heart would skip a beat then.

One night, I quietly I slipped into his room.