Danger Games: Volume 1
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2012 by A. D. Cooper
Published by Caffeinated Owl Press
Cover Design by A. D. Cooper
Edited by Katie Cramer
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This is an original work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, alive or dead, or real events is purely coincidental and unintentional. The material found herein contains graphical depictions of sexually explicit situations and is intended for mature audiences only.
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Table of Contents
Excerpt from Fucking the Big Bad Wolf (Gay Erotic Fairy Tales #1)
Excerpt from Orgy Next Door (Gay Erotic Encounters #1)
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Introduction: Dangerously Sexy
The “Danger Games” series could probably be considered my debut work, since “Killer Liaison” was the first book I published even though the rest came later. It has since grown into a trilogy with more titles down the line. Michael and Damien are two of my favorite creations. The idea came about when I was doodling one day and somehow my train of thought brought up the movie Mr. and Mrs. Smith. And then, I thought, “What would happen if instead of a man and a woman, we have two men who begin dating but have no idea that each other were spies?” After that, the boys were born.
Thank you for purchasing story. I really hope you enjoy it. Drop me a line sometime, I’d love to hear about what you think of the book.
Happy Smutting,
Addy
Part I: Killer Liaison
The French doors to the balcony were wide open, the chilled evening breeze blowing in then out, making the sheer drapes dance as the sound of men moaning seeped through in waves.
A large bed took up most of the elegantly decorated room, and on the bed were two bodies. A man, lean with a lightly tanned and well-toned body, was crouched over another, moaning as his head bobbed up and down, the fat, dark cock sliding between his lips easily.
“Yeah, that’s it. Make it good, boy.”
Boy?
It was a good thing that the recumbent man couldn’t see his face, because Michael couldn’t help rolling his eyes in disgust as he did his best to relax his gag-reflex. His rent boy cover wouldn’t be very convincing if he started gagging right now.
He loved cock as much as the next gay guy, don’t get him wrong, but his target, the one that was currently trying to get at his dark hair with ugly sausage fingers… let’s just say he could do a hell of a lot better.
If only he got to pick his targets.
And, thankfully, this was only a target.
Michael spared a look at the man he’d been servicing. The large black man, from the file he was given, was a warlord from one of the war-torn regions of Africa. The fat bastard tortured and killed god knows how many innocent people, and was into drug and human trafficking, gunrunning, blood diamonds, the whole shebang. Normally, no one would bat an eye at what these warlords did—that was, until they began working with the terrorists.
Of course, no one dared to touch the bastard out in the open, which was where Michael came in.
The target had an airtight security force that traveled with him at all times, and was never left alone. Ever. Many had tried, but no one had gotten close. Until now.
What most people didn’t know was that his target had a thing for men—particularly good-looking men from high-end escort businesses. He’d come to Monte Carlo two to three times a year, stay for a week at a time, and indulge in his dirty little secret.
Michael made a sound of protest when his target grabbed a hand full of his lustrous dark hair and pulled him off of the cock he’d been sucking.
“Up,” his target ordered with accented English before tossing him a tube of lube. “I want to watch you fuck yourself on your fingers.”
That’s it—fuck this shit, Michael swore to himself as he moved up to straddle the man’s hips. He wasn’t going to wait around any longer; he had a job to do. He had no intention of really fucking the bastard anyway, so might as well get it over with, sooner rather than later.
Holding his hands behind his back pretending to obey his target’s orders, Michael slipped a specially designed jet injector out of the leather cuff he’d worn as part of his costume. The injector had been loaded with a concentrated dose of a drug that mimicked the effects of a massive heart attack.
It wasn’t his favorite method of killing a person, but it was an effective one. One that left no evidence whatsoever—not even a puncture mark. No one would know that his target had been targeted for assassination, not unless someone looked closely.
Which they wouldn’t, because he’d just done everyone a favor.
He moved up further, straddling the man’s chest and leaned forward. With a quick hand to cover his targets’ mouth, he jabbed the injector to his target’s neck, right over the jugular vein.
* * *
Michael stood at the back of the elevator, his eyes closed and not too gently knocking the back of his head against the mirrored interior.
His target had been paranoid enough to book the top floor of the hotel, with an ocean view that gave snipers no vantage points. The man was beyond careful. The only thing his target had forgotten to do—an amateur mistake, really—was to have people secure the room below. Michael had slipped into the unoccupied room easily with a duplicate maid’s key and left his gear there for when he was done.
It hadn’t taken long for the toxin to work its magic. He feigned panic and alerted the guards, waiting for the chaos to start before slipping away unnoticed onto the balcony below, leaving no evidence behind. No one would miss him—he was just an escort who’d panicked and ran when a client had a heart attack during sex, after all.
Everything had gone according to plan, except for one tiny problem.
His cock, still mostly hard and rigid, was trapped in the dark denim he’d changed into, and it was becoming unbearable. He mentally cursed at Doyle, who insisted that he take one of his “special formula” pills, “just in case you actually have to perform,” the man said. Doyle must’ve done something to change the formulation because it had lasted a lot longer than he’d expected it to.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He needed to get off, and he needed to do it soon. He’d always preferred a warm body to his own right hand, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. Right hand it is then, Michael sighed. He wanted to kill Doyle but then he’d have to go find another tech, and the agency probably wouldn’t be too happy about that.
The elevator dinged, making him open his eyes and look forward.
Oh hell, all he needed now was people in the same metal box of doom trying to strike up a conversation. What did he do this time to piss off the man upstairs?
The doors opened and a man walked in. At least he was pleasant to look at, Michael thought to himself. His companion was about his height and similar build as he was. Short, dark blonde hair that was just long enough to run fingers through sat messily above a clean-shaven face, with a pair of grey eyes hidden behind long lashes and full lips that barely hid a smirk. The man was very good looking, and Michael really wouldn’t mind talking to him if he hadn’t been so keyed up and frustrated already.
“Man, you look like hell,” the stranger said after taking one look at him.
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. He really didn’t want to answer the guy but it’d be impolite not to, and Michael Smith had never been known to be impolite. “Yeah, long day.”
“You look like you could use a drink. Or three.” The other man smiled and perfect pearl white teeth flashed in the harsh light of the elevator. “Come on, I’m heading to the bar myself. Let me buy you a drink? If you’re done for the day, that is.”
Michael arched a brow and looked at the man more intently. Was this guy coming on to him? He blinked.
“Sure,” Michael said after a moment. His cock was still uncomfortably hard, but if he played his cards right, he wouldn’t be alone tonight. That was incentive enough to go along.
“By the way, name’s Damien.” The other man held out his hand. “Damien Smith.”
Michael shook his head and laughed before accepting the handshake. “Michael. Michael Smith.”
* * *
“Here’s to a long day’s work.” Damien held up his glass as he settled deeper into the soft cushion of the armchair, sighing out an appreciative moan. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Michael said, holding up his own drink in salute before bringing it in for a sip. He let the single malt roll on his tongue, tasting the hint of smoke and salt before letting it slide down his throat. “Nice choice.”
“On company dime? Of course.” Damien laughed. “So, Michael, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m in international banking,” Michael answered. That wasn’t a lie, per se. Michael Smith, investment banker, had been the identity his agency gave him when he first started. His old identity, as far as he knew, had been completely erased from records—it was like that person never existed.
Damien smirked. “That must’ve been one hell of a client to make you look like you did in the elevator.”
Michael could tell that Damien didn’t quite believe him. It didn’t matter; they’d probably never meet again after tonight.
“You could say that.” Michael smirked, shifting in his seat to get comfortable, but ended up biting his tongue to stifle a moan as the smooth fabric of his pants rubbed against his hard-on. Hiding his discomfort with another sip of his drink, he took a deep breath to try and calm himself. “What about you? What brings you to Monte Carlo?”
“Photographer.” Damien pointed to the shoulder bag he was carrying. “I’m on assignment.”
“You don’t look like a photographer.” Michael arched an eyebrow, unconvinced, as he eyed the man sitting across the table from him. He hadn’t noticed it in the elevator because of the lighting, but the man was rather muscular despite his lanky build—the kind of bulk that could only have come from years of combat training. He should know—he went through the same thing. “You look more like you’ve served a few tours somewhere.”
Damien laughed. “Well, I’ve covered a few foreign conflicts in the past when I was just starting out. The guys in the unit I was attached to taught me a few things and it stuck.”
Michael nodded, still not quite convinced. The way the man handled himself was nothing like any photographer he’d ever met, motions economical and fluid. Doyle made fun of his paranoia but Michael would rather be safe than sorry. Occupational hazard.
Slowly, one drink turned into three, and while Michael could hold his own, he was starting to feel happily buzzed. Buzzed enough to seriously consider doing something about the hard-on he was still sporting.
“Listen,” Michael whispered, hooking a finger telling Damien to lean closer until they were practically breathing the same air. “I’ve got a room down the street at the Soleil. What do you say we head over there and have some real fun?”
Damien grinned as he waved a waitress to their table. “I thought you’d never ask.”
* * *
Damien had been waiting for that question since he got on that elevator earlier. He’d been casing the hotel for a job these past two days, and man, he needed a break—he needed something to do to relax him for the main event tomorrow.
And that, for him, meant sex.
Others tanned on the beaches, drove fast cars, threw cash away at the casinos, but for Damien? It was all about sex.
Monte Carlo was great for that, full of beautiful people with perfect bodies and willing attitudes. Maybe it was arrogant of him but he considered himself good looking. Some sweet talk and a few drinks were usually all he needed to score his next conquest—men or women, he wasn’t picky.
He’d learned to be careful though. Many of these willing, perfect, beautiful people were also married or otherwise committed to other not so willing, less than perfect, average-looking people. Never a good idea to fool around with a married anything.
It wasn’t just about the act of having sex, but everything that led up to it as well. The lingering look from across a room, the unconscious use of seductive tone of voice, the pungent scent of someone becoming aroused… It was this push and pull, ebb and flow, give and take that people called foreplay that he lived for, though he preferred the term dynamics.
Call him a Hedonist, but he’d rather live for his own pleasures and desires, and dance to his own beat than anyone else’s. He’d been there, living the strictly ordered life of a Marine sniper, a wife, a house and a dog. Yeah, like that worked out so well for him. He came home from a tour in Somalia only to find that his wife had drained his account and ran off with another man. Never again.
No, he wasn’t a commitment-phobe. He just didn’t think that it was worth his while to chase the unattainable. Once was more than enough. Considering his current occupation, it was probably a good thing.
Living for the job and the conquests along the way. It wasn’t a bad life, really.
And if he sometimes woke in the middle of the night cold and lonely… well, no one had to know about that, did they?
Damien let his eyes wander up and down Michael’s lean but muscular form once again as they waited for the waitress to return with their bill. The man was slightly bulkier than he was, wide shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist in a perfect inverted triangle that most men envied. The expensive designer shirt hung smoothly over toned muscles without pulling or stretching, and the equally expensive denim wrapped perfectly over his taut ass and thighs.
What really drew Damien in wasn’t just Michael’s body, but his eyes—the brilliant cobalt blue hidden under wavy dark hair, now that the gel he’d used had lost its hold on some of the wild mane. Those sharp eyes spoke of strength—a kind of explosive power that the rugged flesh could barely contain.
No, Damien had no clue who this man was, but Michael was no banker as he’d wanted Damien to believe. If Damien had to guess, he’d say that Michael was in a similar line of work as he was, and it was entirely possible that they’d unknowingly crossed paths at one point or another in the past.
It didn’t matter though. It was just for one night. It was just stress relief. They’d probably never see each other again. What could go wrong, right?
He could tell that Michael was hard enough to burst right there in that elevator. The bulge was pretty noticeable, and Damien liked what he saw. It was obvious that the man was trying very hard to ignore that erection, and the tiny speck of lust flashing past cobalt blue eyes when he invited him for a drink had been unmistakable.
Damien’s grin widened as he tossed his credit card to the waitress, watching Michael shift in his seat once again, his face harden into marble as he tried to ignore the maddening sensations his movements had caused.
Thinking about the rigid cock that belonged to the man sitting across from him sent blood rushing down to Damien’s own dick.
“Come on,” he said, finally, settling the bill. “Let’s get out of here.”
He watched Michael rise and turn toward the exit before coming up behind him, standing close enough so that his hardening erection brushed over the taut flesh wrapped in denim. He felt the man flinch, and because he liked playing the bastard, he whispered, “Time to make you scream.”
* * *
Michael was doing okay.
Well, he had been, or so he thought. Right up until the point when Damien came up behind him, invading his personal space like he owned it. He shivered—and damn near moaned—when he felt hard flesh brush against his ass.
He still didn’t know exactly who Damien was and a small part of his rational brain was still screaming at him to stop, but the rest of him had stopped listening. Damien’s identity no longer mattered to him. All that was important right then and there was to feed that desire and lust that had been doing a slow burn in the pit of his stomach for the entire evening through the three drinks they had.
The Soleil was only a five-minute walk away, but it was five minutes too long.
They kept a brisk pace, strolling out of the lobby and headed north on the boulevard towards their destination. Neither of them spoke as they walked, their shoulders bumping against one another occasionally. The sexual tension hanging between them was pulling tight enough to snap at any time.
As soon as they were in the elevator, Michael pinned Damien to the mirrored wall with the entire weight of his body. He leaned in and took a sniff, breathing in the clean masculine scent, mixed in with a bit sweat, musk and something he couldn’t quite identify—God, the man smelled good enough to eat. He moaned appreciatively when Damien gripped his neck and pulled him in for a kiss as Damien’s other hand roamed south, palming and kneading his ass. The blonde man pressed his hips forward to grind against Michael as he kissed him with bruising force.
Michael found himself lost in the power the other man exuded, even if Damien was the one pinned to the wall at the moment. He didn’t even realize that they’d arrived at his floor until Damien pushed at him.
“Which room?” Stumbling out of the elevator, Damien growled low into Michael’s ear as he wrapped his arms around Michael’s torso from behind.
Michael’s breathing hitched as Damien’s left hand found his right nipple through his shirt. “Fifteen-oh-six… end of the hall… on the right…” he barely managed to sputter out the words through Damien’s sweet torture as the blonde man’s fingers rubbed and teased that nipple into a hard nub.
“Mmm…” Michael whined at the loss when Damien’s hand stopped and moved back to his waist. The sensations those talented fingers were creating were maddening, and he couldn’t care less about where they were, just as long as Damien kept playing with him.
The man behind him kissed his neck and laughed, and he could feel the deep, dark voice rumble and vibrate against his back. “Come on,” Damien whispered again, right into his ear, and prodded him gently towards right. “Move.”
They moved in tandem, Damien’s hands still on Michael’s waist, and made their way to Michael’s room.
Once inside, Michael found himself pressed up against the wall as soon as the door was closed, his head hitting the plaster with a dull thud. He struggled but Damien pressed in closer, his mouth finding Michael’s, and began nibbling gently at his lower lip.
“Hmm… been wanting to do this all night,” Damien growled before his lips were back covering Michael’s, his tongue forcing its way into Michael’s mouth.
Michael had had a lot of lovers in the past, most of them, like himself, had been as alpha as they came, but none had been as dominating as Damien. His subconscious slowly became aware of the fact and it gave him a charge that had been missing in his sex life for far too long. He could feel his arousal build even higher with Damien licking every inch inside his mouth, their tongues dueling for dominance.
They were both panting heavily when Damien finally pulled back, and began kissing and nipping his way down Michael’s throat. Damien’s agile tongue licked and flicked over the bit of skin just below the jaw, which he’d found to be one of Michael’s hotspots. “Fuck!” Michael gasped as Damien sucked gently on that area.
Determined not to lose, Michael wrestled one hand free from Damien’s grip and ran it up from his companion’s firm ass towards the small of his back, fingers stroking and massaging.
God, he needed to touch skin—wanted to feel those hard, toned muscles under his hands. Michael pushed Damien back, and before the man could protest, his hands were on Damien’s chest, deft fingers working the shirt buttons open one by one, his fingers trailing down the hard abs, until he reached the belt. Damien, as he’d imagined, was all muscle underneath the thin veil of clothing. Pulling the shirttails out of Damien’s dress pants, Michael slipped his hands under the shirt and pushed it off, all the while locking his gaze with Damien.
Apparently Damien was thinking the same thing, as he pulled Michael in for a long, deep kiss while working open Michael’s shirt and removing it. Michael groaned into the kiss.
More. He needed more.
Toeing his shoes off and stepping closer, Michael could feel Damien’s erection rubbing against his.
That. That right there was what he wanted.
Michael grinned and, before Damien realized what his intentions were, dropped to his knees and worked those pesky belt and dress pants out of the way.
* * *
The way Michael undressed him was possibly one of the most erotic things Damien had encountered in a long time, though he wasn’t sure why. It was just removing yet another barrier between them, and yet Damien could feel himself getting impossibly hard.
If he had to guess, it was because of the heated gaze from Michael’s piercing blue eyes, looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive, the lust burning in a roaring fire behind the blue.
Unable to resist, Damien reached out and pulled Michael in by the neck for another kiss, deep and wet as his other hand worked open the Michael’s shirt and removed it with efficiency. He moaned in surprise when Michael sank down before him and worked his pants open, and he couldn’t quite stifle the groan that escaped his throat when Michael began nuzzling his strained dick through black boxer briefs.
“Like what you see?” Damien asked huskily, though he wasn’t quite sure how he managed to speak, let alone coherently. “Go on, have a taste.”
Michael looked up at him with a smirk as he slowly drew Damien’s cock out from the black shorts, all the while staring up at the blonde man. He licked his lips then broke out into a grin when Damien’s cock twitched in his hand in response.
The way he stood in the middle of the room with his shoes still on, shirt and pants pooling at his ankle and his fully erect dick and balls hanging out the top of his half-lowered shorts should make him feel ridiculous, but all Damien could focus on was the hot mouth that was blowing warm, moist breath on his cock. He ran a hand through Michael’s hair down to his cheek as Michael’s hands found their way to his ass. “Do it,” he ordered.
And then the hot mouth was on him, holding the top of his head with kiss-swollen lips. The rough pad of Michael’s tongue swept over the tip at the same time as he applied just a bit of suction to the head. “Fuck!” cried Damien at the maddening sensations the kneeling man created.
He gasped out as Michael’s head sank down, lips brushing past the bulge of his head and all the way down. Michael bobbed his head slowly, letting his tongue massage the underside of the blonde man’s cock, and worked to relax his gag reflex so he could take Damien down as far as possible.
Damien had guessed that Michael would be experienced, but he didn’t expect the man to be a pro. “Jesus…” the curse died in his throat as a groan when Michael chuckled around his dick, the vibration caused by the laughter sending a pulse up his spine and drawing all the blood down to his groin.
He could only imagine how incredible it would be to have his cock shoved all the way up that firm ass still wrapped in denim.
* * *
Michael liked what he saw: the stiff, hard flesh stretching the black cotton just waiting for him. The scent of the man was much stronger now, muskier and earthier. He grinned up at Damien as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of the other man’s cotton shorts, pulling it down slowly to reveal his prize. He couldn’t help licking his lips when he saw the veined shaft, and his grin widened when he saw Damien’s cock twitch in response.
Damien was at least a good seven inches long, cut and thicker than normal, but it wasn’t going to stop Michael. He leaned in close for a better look, watching as pre-cum oozed out of the head, making it gleam in the dim light of the room.
“Do it,” he heard the blonde man say, demandingly as a hand carded through his hair and moved to thumb his cheek.
Michael didn’t need to be told twice. His lips were around the erect flesh immediately, his tongue working to lick off the pre-cum that was taunting him, the pungent flavor of the other man exploding in his mouth.
Did he mention he loved cock?
Then, with his lips tight around the hot steel wrapped in velvet, he pushed his head down to swallow as much as Damien into his mouth as he could, before pulling up, then worked his way down further, letting his throat adjust.
He wound his fingers over Damien’s muscular ass, squeezing the taut flesh for leverage. Damien had both hands on his head now gripping his hair tight enough to borderline pain, but it just gave him an extra charge—he liked watching his partners lose it as he sucked them down. Michael laughed when Damien cursed loudly when he took Damien all the way down to the base, the blunt head in his throat.
The hands in his hair tightened, and Michael whined at the pain and the loss as Damien pulled his mouth away from his cock.
“The hell, man?” Michael asked, annoyed. He smacked his lips to savor the flavor of the other man and watched as the other man’s eyes went dark.
Damien didn’t say a word as he pulled Michael up to standing, then he kissed him again, with more force than necessary, tasting himself on Michael’s tongue before he palmed Michael’s cock through the denim and squeezed. “That’s mine,” Damien demanded then whispered in Michael’s ear before pushing him away. “Now get naked and spread yourself out on the bed.”
Fuck! Michael felt his knees go weak—he’d blame it on kneeling for so long but he knew that wasn’t it. He breathed in deep to collect himself then moved quickly, stripping himself out of his jeans and socks before throwing himself onto the bed.
* * *
Damien pulled on Michael’s hair to make him stop, without realizing that he was hurting the man. He wanted to feel himself balls deep in that ass, and he wasn’t going to let Michael finish him off before he’d had the chance—he had no doubt that given the opportunity Michael could suck his brain out through his dick.
He watched as Michael stripped himself off then followed suit, only stopping to grab the packets of condom and lube out of his pocket. Michael stared with darkened eyes fixed on his erection, bouncing with each step as he prowled towards the bed.
Damien climbed onto the bed, slipping one knee between Michael’s legs, hovering over the man’s muscular frame. He spared a quick glance at Michael’s cock, longer but not as thick as his own, lying full and stiff against chiseled abs. His hands ran up from Michael’s thigh, feeling the muscle twitch and move under smooth, tanned skin. He let his thumb rub against Michael’s nipples as he dipped his head down to the crook of Michael’s shoulder. He scraped his teeth over the supple skin before flicking his tongue over each spot.
“Touch me,” Damien said, rearing back. He slicked his fingers with lube before leaning down again to lap and nip at the other man’s nipples. Michael’s hands found their way to his cock and flank, and began to stroke him as his fingers circled Michael’s entrance.
The other man made a soft sound when Damien dipped one finger in without resistance. Michael continued to stroke him but brought one hand up to his face, forcing him down for a kiss as Damien added another finger.
“God, will you just get on with it?!” Michael cried out, ripping his lips away from Damien’s. “Fuck me already!”
Damien laughed. “Aren’t you a pushy bottom.”