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Call Me Sugar – An MMF Menage Erotic Romance

A romance forbidden…
A lifestyle frowned upon and considered sin and damnation…
My name is Keith Ryker. I’m a cattle rancher and sole owner to Ryker Ranch in Springhill, Texas. For fifteen years, I’ve loved a man, but longed for a woman. I’ve broken every rule imaginable, acted out reprehensible, frowned upon, unmentionable wrong-doings that people in these parts of West Texas would look down upon as sin and damnation. But by all that is holy and hallowed, in all truth, I don’t give a damn. I wouldn’t change a thing.

Excerpt:
Lust breathes inside me. My body is hard, aching steel as I crunch on ice, deliberately, vulgarly, well aware that he’s fighting like hell not to cringe at the one thing that drives him mad. One can almost hear a pin drop as he remains stationary, speaking to me in a silence that’s so powerful, so calming and soothing, that it’s almost meditative.
Naked, bowing with hands clasped behind him, he kneels, respectfully, deathly still like a man praying at the altar. Cramps ricochet through the nape of his neck. Goose bumps blanket his back. Teeth stave off chattering as cold licks his face, his lips turning purple as the fifty-five-degree room spreads chills straight through his bones like a raging wintery blast.
Despite the crispness of the temperature, the burning pain shooting up his neck like blistering flames, or the hard floor bruising his bare knees, he’s exactly where he wants to be, where he needs to be. Respecting, yielding, his mind conceding to the biting anguish, the discomfort, the torment.
Like a garden gargoyle, he stoops before me, surrendering, waiting, patient and devoted, for the pangs, the cramps, and the stiffness to all fade away into sheer bliss and searing elation. My body trembles and aches with dark wicked desire as I swallow the last drops of a Crown and Coke, place the tumbler aside, then lower my hands around his windpipe. There’s still no whimper of a sound when I know he yearns to speak. There’s not an inch of movement when I’m certain everything hurts. This is all because these aches, these pains, are like a welcoming hospitality to me, to him, to us, and what’s to come. Placing more force around his neck, I look down to see him beautifully hot and swollen, his tip dribbling clear arousal.
“Look at me,” I command in a menacing whisper. “Tell me what you need, boy.”
When I lessen my grip, he replies hoarsely. “To hand you everything. To give you my body. To submit only to you.”
My cock aches at the hunger in the piercing blue of his eyes, the urgency to leave his pretty thighs veiled in my marks spreading through me like billowing hot wildfire. His body is my temple—to use, to own, to take, take, and take again.
He’s salvation, redemption, deliverance, an indulgence that’s sweet, rich, and delectable.
And too good to only savor once.

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