Crawl in Bed With Dorian and Jansen

Crawling Into Bed With Dorian Grant and Jansen aka Sweetheat
And a Good Book Sin & Seduction

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Dorian:  Egyptian cotton
Jansen:  Like… a bazillion thread-count or something that costs more than most people’s mortgage
Dorian:  Nothin’s too good for his sweet ass

So I see. Aren't y'all just cute? What are you wearing?
Dorian & Jansen:  Nothing

Then I am woefully overdressed...What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Dorian *as he grabs Jansen's ass*:  I’m snackin’ on him
Jansen *wags his brows and makes kissy faces at Lee while he whispers to Dorian*:  But we could share him, right? He’s kinda hot.

Sorry guys, I am taken. If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Dorian & Jansen:  Lube
Jansen *mumbles about Dorian's stupid gun*

*quirks brow* Gun? Is that a euphemism? No? We'll leave that drawer shut then. Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
Jansen *thumbing toward Dorian*:  I would curl around him
Dorian:  And I would be in control of the covers

Oh..good thing I brougth my sweats then, I can't stand being cold. Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Jansen:  You can put your cold anything right between us, sexy
Dorian *gives Jansen a droll stare*:  Hey. Hey, now. Ya might wanna make sure I’m willin’ to share.
Jansen:  Are you?
Dorian *looks at Lee*:  Mmm… Let me check out that bod.

Um...y'all are trying to get me in trouble!
Dorian:  I’m Game! 

It's a look but no touch policy in our household. What are we reading?
Sin & Seduction

Dorian Grant is king of the New Orleans underworld, but he isn’t mafia and doesn’t appreciate the assumption. He’s simply a crude businessman anyone in his right mind would think twice about screwing over. Life in the Big Easy is all about sin, and violent, short-tempered Dorian has committed them all. 

But not all New Orleans sins leave a bad taste in the mouth, as Dorian discovers the night a man stage-named Sweet Heat dances into his life at a club called Sin and Seduction. Dorian was expecting a hot lay. He damn sure wasn’t looking for a relationship, and certainly not with someone like Jansen, who turns Dorian’s grimly organized world upside down. 

Now Dorian finds himself pressuring Jansen to quit his job because he can’t stand the thought of other men touching what’s his. Of course, Jansen wants a little quid pro quo—after all, Dorian’s job is dangerous. Jansen just doesn’t realize how dangerous until it’s too late.

“You be careful, you fool,” Jason yelled out to the fading image of his best friend disappearing in a blaze of golden-thonged glory.

Jansen hightailed it up to Mr. Grant’s booth. He hit the top floor landing panting. The ecstasy had already done a number on him. His skin tingled. Pupils dilated to hell. He wanted to touch anything and everything he could. He wanted to be touched by anyone and everyone. He needed to be stimulated, needed… to be fucked.

Not good.

The guy in the black-on-black Armani suit had a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label turned up to the sky. He reeked of money and power and things Jansen had never experienced in his life.

He’d hit the jackpot.

“Mr. Grant?”

The big man leaned forward, looked down Jansen’s body, spotted the bulge between his legs, then let his eyes wander back up. In a firm, commanding, more than manly voice, Mr. Grant said, “Come here.”

Jansen’s body stiffened. A jolt of something dangerous and intoxicating shot through him, and he felt a little tingle of thrill ripple down his spine. Absently, he moved closer to the booth. As soon as he was within an arm’s length, Mr. Grant reached out and hooked his fingers around the tiny golden band of Jansen’s thong. He pulled Jansen forward, so close his crotch was inches from the man’s face.

“Dance for me, boy.” The words left Mr. Grant’s mouth in a drunken growl.

Sounds from the club below roared up toward the private booth on the balcony overlooking the joint. Bass pulsed. Lights flashed blue and red and green. Sweat glistened on Jansen’s body. He straddled the stranger’s legs, pressed his barely covered, thick length against Mr. Grant’s groin. He could feel the hard press of the stranger’s shaft even with Armani slacks between them. Jansen gyrated, ground harder against his thighs.

Mr. Grant’s head rolled back as he gripped Jansen’s hips so hard the sudden stabbing pain of fingertips biting into muscle made Jansen hiss. He shook it off, fought to keep this… thing with Grant going strong. Jansen pressed his lips to Grant’s throat, kissing his flesh, sucking his neck. The stranger wrapped his hand around the back of Jansen’s neck and pulled him down until his ear met Grant’s mouth.

Grant said, “I’m gonna fuck ya tonight.”

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To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955