The Other Book Read online

  The Other Book

  Roe Horvat

  Beaten Track

  www.beatentrackpublishing.com

  The Other Book

  First published 2019 by Beaten Track Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 Roe Horvat

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  ISBN: 978 1 78645 304 4

  Beaten Track Publishing,

  Burscough, Lancashire.

  www.beatentrackpublishing.com

  It was supposed to be just sex… Famous last words.

  Tyler doesn’t overthink pleasure and avoids complications. He knows it might be stupid to get involved with his closeted boss, but the temptation is too great. At first, the cold and beautiful Joel Sandstrom seems to loathe Tyler’s guts.

  Except one late night at the office, his reasons become clear…and his control breaks.

  Every time they touch, Joel’s stony face comes alive, harsh lines smooth out, and for a minute, he looks serene. Happy, even. Just sex—dirty, intense, spectacular sex.

  During their covert encounters, Tyler discovers the power he has over the lonesome man, and it’s a heady feeling. What if he could set Joel free and give him peace of mind? When Tyler realizes how much Joel needs him, he doesn’t regret breaking his own rules.

  Contents

  Warning

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  By the Author

  Beaten Track Publishing

  Warning

  The following text is a gay erotic love story with a prevalence of sexual content. The book contains explicit scenes, adult language, same-sex intercourse, and sexual interactions between more than two partners.

  Potentially triggering content: death of a parent, homophobia.

  Intended for adult readers only.

  Acknowledgements

  I owe my deepest gratitude to every kind, generous person who invested their energy into beta-reading, editing and proofreading this story, and who listened to my whines with endless patience. I wouldn’t get anywhere without you. Each and every one of you who reads, writes, publishes, promotes, and supports LGBTQ+ stories, thank you!

  Author’s Note

  Dear reader,

  Once published, my words are out of my hands. I can’t control how they will be received. Still, my wish is for The Other Book to be read without expectations shaped by my previous work. As the title makes clear, this book is other, and I contemplated using a separate pen name for it. However, doing so would defy the purpose.

  See, I don’t think publishing erotic content should come with any kind of stigma. Writing erotic romance has been an enriching and entertaining experience for me; publishing it is an act of resistance. I refuse to condone societal rules and laws which keep people from loving whom they love or prohibit them from experiencing physical pleasure.

  During the period of my life when I was supposed to explore my sexuality, I didn’t have access to reasonable sex education, diverse erotic literature or quality pornography. More often than not, purely physical pleasure—especially outside of a monogamous heterosexual relationship—was something to fear, avoid and despise. I didn’t have any accepting community to help me realize who I was and what I liked.

  Sex dismantles our defenses. It makes us extremely vulnerable. That’s why unquestionable consent is the most important requirement. What I wish I’d known earlier in life was the need for inner consent: I choose this because it’s what I genuinely want. Forcing myself into intimacy I didn’t enjoy has been one of the most deteriorating experiences of my life. Many years later, erotic literature helped me recognize myself as a transgender man and find new joy in the physical aspects of love.

  I value the freedom I now have to express my sexuality, to explore and enjoy. I firmly believe that by embracing the physical pleasures in life, we utilize the amazing capacity our bodies have without causing any harm. I also believe all sexual intercourse must be consensual at all times. Even though some might claim “it’s only fiction,” this piece of fiction was written to be enjoyed and not to aggravate. Therefore, I choose not to depict any sexual interactions which do not happen with full consent of all parties concerned.

  Far too many people are shamed for their sexuality even though they are not harming anyone. If there is one person out there who feels as liberated by reading this story as I felt writing it, I have succeeded.

  Love

  Roe

  1

  Joel Sandstrom must have had a wide range of facial expressions, judging by the lines around his mouth and eyes. Around me, he wore only two. There was the usual I hate your guts but can’t do anything about it face. And then there was the rare dick in my mouth face. Esthetically, I could appreciate both of those expressions, even though I preferred when he wore the other one.

  “I have plans for the weekend. I can’t go,” I said, staring at expression number one. Joel was impassive, the strain in his muscles subtle, and his eyes narrowed infinitesimally. I guessed all anyone else saw was calm resolve. Not me. I knew every angle of his cheekbones, every blemish on his forehead, every tiny hair in his blond, aristocratically arched eyebrows. On the inside, Joel was irate.

  He stared back. “It’s either you or Matt. Matt hasn’t had a weekend off in three weeks.” He spoke in a low voice, a highly professional leader. But I recognized all his tells. Elbows on the table, the fingers of his right hand tugged at the edge of his left sleeve. A small muscle pulsed in his cheek.

  Next to me, Tina shifted in her seat. Matt, sitting on the opposite side of the large, oval conference table, dropped his gaze so far down he was staring at his crotch. Coward. The other six people in the room seemed to stop breathing. Joel had me. If I continued saying no, I’d be the asshole.

  I almost wanted to do it, to challenge him in his power play, but it would only end up in arrogant prick-waving. Done it before, got the scars of embarrassment etched forever in my long-term memory.

  I stood up, and the chair screeched on the wooden floor. “In that case, I have to finish the intro for Mercury.”

  “We meet here on Saturday at six-thirty in the morning,” Joel added to my retreating back.

  I dodged under the doorframe. I’d already hit my head there twice—after my first two meetings with Joel. I’d always considered my exaggerated height a liability. In the old converted warehouse where Sandstrom Studios & Advertising resided, it was even more of a challenge to avoid concussion.

  “Well, fuck you, Joel,” I mouthed into the empty hall.

  Weekend ruined. I’d miss my best friend’s brother’s engagement party, and a night at Christoffer’s pool house with his partner’s dance troupe colleagues. There had been a potential foursome with ripped, bendy dancers in that bright, alternative future—now lost forever.

  Instead, I’d spend Saturday running up and down a golf course with a camera on my shoulder and my obsessive, cold bastard of a boss behind my back.

  “I’m sorry,” Matt mumbled as he walked past my booth a few minutes later.

  I waved him off. I understood—he had a family. I only lost a night ou
t drinking and a glamorous fuck fest. There would be other opportunities for hangovers and dalliances. It was Joel’s attitude that pissed me off the most.

  ***

  Three hours later, the office had emptied out, but I was still tweaking the last details on the intro, rendering what had to be a sixteenth version of the fifty-second video. I stretched my legs under the desk and leaned back, watching the blue stripe grow at snail speed. The late-evening sun was blazing into the windows in the opposite brick wall, making the dust glitter in the air, and I was still stuck here in the dark. The isolated booth for video and sound editing was an unpleasant place to stay for more than a few hours at a time. I let the door stand wide open, so I wouldn’t feel like I was being kept prisoner in a dungeon.

  I barely heard him—he was a sneaky fucker, always quiet like a cat. There was only a rustle of his suit jacket as he leaned on the doorframe. He didn’t say anything; we didn’t talk unless we had to.

  Choosing to torture him some more, I didn’t look his way. His aftershave drifted into the soundproof booth and surrounded me, tying me like rope. I let him wait for two more minutes as I watched the video finish rendering. I could make it for two minutes. Probably not longer, though. I saved the project and logged off. He waited, unmoving.

  I stood and looked at him.

  Joel’s cheeks were flushed, his inhumanly beautiful features tense, cold blue eyes pinned on me. I could see from the strain around his jaw how he grit his teeth. His nostrils flared.

  I took a step toward the door, and he pushed off the frame, blocking my exit.

  “Either you get out of my way or you get on your knees,” I said.

  His gorgeous, stone-cold face didn’t show any emotion, but his blown pupils grew obvious in his light-colored eyes. His gaze never leaving mine, Joel shut the door behind him and slowly sank onto his knees in front of me.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  He did as he was told, looking up at me with defiance. And hunger.

  He had his perfect golden hair combed back, his expensive suit molded to his perfect lean body, his perfect, chiseled face close to my groin, and his perfect pink mouth…

  I was hard already. Painfully so. My dick, trapped in my jeans, ached as I stared at Joel’s mouth, full and plush, the golden stubble surrounding it…it was too much. Too puffy and too pink, too much beauty, way too much eroticism, just over the top in every detail. How did he even exist outside of Photoshop? How could anyone handle this man for more than a few minutes?

  Joel’s tongue appeared between his lips, his eyes dropping to my fly. I stepped closer—like a lemming to a cliff.

  “Open.”

  I couldn’t wait anymore. I grabbed his hair and yanked his head forward, rocking and circling my hips so that his fucking perfect, puffy lips dragged over the coarse material of my jeans. I didn’t feel much through the thick fabric, but the visual was exquisite. Joel’s open mouth slid over my hard bulge, and his pupils grew so large the black almost eclipsed the blue. Pink spots appeared around his mouth where his skin scraped against the zipper.

  I pulled his face away and saw him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The tendons in his neck strained as he fought my grip, but his hands stayed behind his back. During the next five minutes, I would pay him back for all his bullshit until he choked on it.

  I unzipped one-handed and took my hard cock out, stroking it, rolling my foreskin back with my fingers. Joel watched, mouth open. He tried to lean closer, but I held him by his hair.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. His chest heaved.

  Watching intently, I let the tip of my cock trace his upper lip. A faint whimper escaped his mouth. I did it again, and he darted his tongue out, barely catching my slit before I moved away again, chuckling at his eagerness.

  “Oh, Joel, you cock-hungry slut,” I said as I caught his head between my hands and slid home, pushing deep into his mouth, his hot tongue gliding down the underside until I hit the back of his throat. His eyes rolled up, and his body sagged with relief.

  For the shit he pulled today, I should jerk off on his expensive suit, not letting him touch me, and then I should walk away. But fuck, I loved watching his lips tighten around my dick just as I hated when he spoke with that gorgeous mouth. I pulled out a little and pushed back in, making him moan. His voice vibrated along my dick.

  The next time, I slid as far as I could, staying deep and watching him struggle. He gasped for breath when I retreated, and I thrust back in, barely letting him inhale.

  He still didn’t move his arms, keeping them behind his back as I’d told him to.

  I fucked his throat, and he took it. He even chased after my cock when I wanted to let him breathe for a few seconds. Jesus. He was in a mood today.

  “Easy,” I said, and he immediately obeyed, licking along my shaft, his eyes shut, his usually frowning forehead smooth for once. Swirling his tongue around the tip, he hummed. I rewarded him by thrusting deep again. He gagged and then swallowed, thin silvery blue irises shining up at me as his eyes watered. The frenzy was already there. I knew that look. I remembered the first time I saw it two months ago. It was what made me come to him again and again. These glimpses of the wild creature inside the clean-cut man made me want to unravel him, lure the beast out and see what it could do when set free.

  “Jerk yourself off,” I told him, and he pulled out his cock, never stopping the rhythmic movement of his mouth over mine. He sucked harder and moaned louder. He never lasted long when I fucked his throat.

  I caught him by his hair again to slow him down and pulled him off me to watch his hand fly over his dick before I let him suck me again. I let go of the restraint and focused on the suction, the wetness and warmth, on the glide of his tongue. I watched the corners of his mouth, his hollowed cheeks, his now-red lips stretched around my erection.

  Joel was the first guy who could take me to the root. He had porn-star cock-sucking skills. Which was reason number one why I let this become a regular thing. He was a size queen, and I—being freakishly tall and in proportion—well, Joel Sandstrom struck gold. Reasons number two…and three…and four—I loved these covert blow jobs, I loved the risk, the secrecy, and yes, I even enjoyed the twisted mind-fuckery of our lust-hate relationship. We clashed at work all the time, and because we were both sick idiots, it turned us on. I loved to make him beg—I even enjoyed watching his discomfort around me after we got off with each other. One day, I might grow up and date a nice guy. This was not the day.

  Joel was whimpering now, his forehead damp and body straining as he jerked himself off.

  “You ready?”

  He moaned his agreement. Spreading my fingers and holding his temples, I started fucking his mouth in earnest, hard jabs into his throat, not caring about his breathing. He tensed and choked, and I knew he was coming. Joel was a freak, a fucking Incubus.

  His broken shout of joy between my hard thrusts was what made me finish. My balls drew up painfully and my thighs tensed as I threw my head back and groaned my pleasure, my come pouring into his throat. He struggled to swallow around my pulsing cock, and my whole body tingled with ecstasy.

  I let him lick me clean. Only when I started to soften did he let go.

  He leaned back, gaze dropping. He pulled a tissue out of his suit pocket and cleaned his hand delicately, not looking up at me anymore. Then he stood and straightened his jacket, his face the impassive mask I knew so well. Except there were those dark spots around his reddened mouth. Not perfect any longer.

  I zipped up, stepped around him, and left the office without a word.

  ***

  The first time it happened, I had been working for Joel for three weeks. It was my second time at Sandstrom Studios, and I was surprised to be called in again after the boss made it obvious last year he loathed my guts. But the money was good and the projects interesting, so I took it again. I could handle one schmuck in a suit for a few months, no problem. Looking back, I was quite bigheaded thinking I could handl
e Joel Sandstrom. But hindsight and all of that…

  It was late—I usually came to the office around ten or eleven if I could get away with it. I wasn’t employed—I worked there freelance for a limited time only—and Joel knew if he pressured me on my working hours, I could leave in mere minutes. He needed me, and I’d never missed a deadline.

  I wasn’t a morning person. My most productive times were late afternoon and evenings, when the converted warehouse turned quiet and most people had gone home to their partners and families.

  Joel worked late too, but he was there in the mornings as well. I wondered if he had a life outside of this building. Probably not. Maybe he just had a garage somewhere where he stood for a few hours in the middle of every night to recharge, an electric cable plugged into his perfect, robot ass.

  That night, I was putting my last used coffee cup in the dishwasher when he emerged from his office, without his suit jacket this time, his pristine white shirt wrinkled and open around his neck. He looked rough—more than usual—overworked and distracted. He didn’t seem to notice me as he walked to the sink, staring at a paper in his left hand; he used his right to fill a glass of water.

  I closed the dishwasher, and he looked at me, so obviously annoyed, I couldn’t keep my anger inside any longer. I leaned back, my ass against the counter, and folded my arms, staring at him.

  He sipped his water and was about to turn away.

  “What’s your problem?” I asked.

  “What?” He swirled around, honest confusion on his face.

  “You asked me to work for you. Again. Yet you don’t seem to appreciate my work or my presence here. What is the problem?”

  He pursed his lips, eyes flitting around the room. I knew he was thinking hard for a way out of the conversation. I wouldn’t let him.

  “Right now, my problem is your lack of professionalism,” he finally said, his calmness forced, stretched thin. He looked pointedly at my hot-pink T-shirt, which featured the sign “Plastic is Fantastic” and a Ken doll holding a vaguely dildo-like object. I raised my eyebrows. There had been no client meetings that day. Who cared what I wore?