About Secrets, Skin and Leather
by Sean Michael
ISBN: 978-1-934166-54-3, 1-934166-54-5
146 pages
/ 60000 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc, paperback
Scott Daley is a high-powered executive by day, but by night he plays on the fetish scene. He keeps his two lives scrupulously separate, not wanting his clients to have any idea what he gets up to. Afraid it might ruin him, Dal keeps the wild child firmly in the closet.
So when Dillon, a distant business associate, sees Dal at a club one night, things take a dangerous, and exciting turn. Dillon invites him to what he thinks is a business meeting, but it turns into a weekend of debauchery that sets off a torrid affair. Meeting whenever they can, high-powered Dillon and ambitious Dal explore all of the ways they can love each other, living just enough on the edge to get a thrill.
And maybe get caught. When things go sour, Dal hits the road, running as far away as he can, trying to figure out how to minimize the damage to his life and his career. Dillon isn't quite ready to let him go, though, and sets out to get Dal back. Can Dillon convince Dal that some secrets are worth letting out of the bag?
Sean Michael creates an exciting world where business meets pleasure and all of the games have high stakes in this steamy novel. Wrap it up and take it home!
Review
CB Potts, author of Tuesdays Rubies and editor of Play Ball, writes:
Review of Secrets, Skin, and Leather
Sometimes we keep our secrets close to the vest, keeping them under wraps for fear of discovery. Other times, we put them on parade -- almost hoping to be found out.
That's the situation Scott Daly is facing. By day, an uptight -- some would say prudish -- financial advisor. By night, Daly becomes Dal, and the three piece suits are traded for leather corsets. Tight leather corsets.
Who discovers this? Only Dillon Walsh, super rich and twice as good looking. He's instantly drawn to Dal -- even when he appeared as the uptight bank executive.
What follows? Hot sex, tons of hot sex, in exotic locations, with a running side of scrumptiously described food that will leave you hungry in more ways than one. Michael explores fetish territory with a knowing eye, with a keen grasp of sensory detail and an understanding of the nuances of corsetry.
Not to mention an almost encyclopediac knowledge of toys...
Conflict comes, late but poignant. The couple faces a challenge that threatens to tear them apart -- for Dal, happy with Dillon, refuses to sacrifice his lover's good name when his dual nature is discovered. There's just one problem: he forgot to clue Dillon in on that decision.
A substantial read, very well written, engaging sensory details and as always, masterfully executed erotic elements -- Michael turns in another top notch performance.
Sample
Dillon leaned back against the bar, a whiskey, neat, in his hand.
He'd been to the Golden Scabbard once or twice before. When he was bored, when the suits at work got to be too much and he needed to be out with people who knew how to have fun, how to let go.
The Scabbard hosted a wide variety of people, and in just a glance he took in goth boys and transvestites, leather-daddies with their boytoys, punks, sluts.
His own outfit of tight leather pants and a T-shirt was tame here, but it let him more or less blend in and just enjoy the view.
And what a view he had. The man he was looking at was stunning, wearing a pair of skin-tight, tissue-paper-thin jeans and a black leather cincher around his waist. The man's eyes were kohled, nipples rouged and hard.
Dillon's cock, at half mast since he'd walked in, slowly started to fill, pushing against the leather ties that held his pants closed.
He took a mouthful of his drink, eyes scanning the rest of the room in a slow perusal before coming back to the sexy minx in the cincher. The man was lean, broad shoulders tightening down into a perfect, tiny ass. A perfect, tiny ass that shook to the music like it was made for it.
Groaning, Dillon dropped his hand to his thigh, working hard to keep from sliding it along his prick.
His prick. That he could imagine plowing into that perfect little ass.
He started working out his game plan to make it happen.
Someone came up, kissed Mr. Perfect Ass good and hard before continuing on, leaving the group of men dancing together laughing and hooting. Oh, yeah, he wanted a piece of that. A nice, long, hard fuck.
He finished his whiskey and put the glass back on the bar, still watching, focused now. There was something familiar about the shape of Perfect Ass' jaw... Dark spiky hair, bright light blue eyes, lush laughing mouth -- where had he seen that face?
He ordered another drink, trying to work it out before he went to make his move and secure his entertainment for the night.
Come on, Dillon, look past the kohl, figure it out...
It was the way the light fell, shadowing the bright eyes and making the smiling face suddenly sharp-edged, stern.
Jesus Christ.
It was Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass Proper Boy from the merger meeting he'd ditched earlier in the day.
No fucking way.