A Season for Change Preview!

My next book is about a tax accountant who is vying to be made partner, who begins an illicit workplace romance with his tax intern Max, a secret aspiring musician. It’s a high-heat May/December romance that features a character introduced in “Brave for You.”

I shared another NSFW 600-700 words of this scene with my newsletter subscribers, but here is a small little snippet for those of you who are just browsing. For more, subscribe to my newsletter! (Subscribe form also in the sidebar!)

—-

“You’re drunk,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if the words were meant for Max or for himself, because he could feel himself responding to Max’s gaze. It was the alcohol, of course it was the alcohol, but it was also because Max was young and beautiful and talented in a way that Stephen could never touch and—here’s the important part—Max seemed to want him.

“Shit,” Max muttered, tilted his head back and hitting it softly against the fridge. “Yes. Not so drunk that I’m not mortified, though.”

There was self-deprecating humor in his words, but also a fair bit of self-disgust. Stephen found himself abandoning the counter that he’d been hanging onto and closing the small distance between them. There were alarm bells ringing in his head, but he shut them off, so that all he could hear was the rush of air coming from Max’s mouth as he exhaled. Stephen moved in slowly, giving Max—and himself—plenty of time to back out. He planted his hands, palms down, on either side of Max’s face against the refrigerator door. He leaned in, until he could smell the last drink Max had on his breath, citrusy-sweet. Max’s eyes were dark and liquid, his breath coming fast. Stephen’s breathing seemed to keep up with it; he could feel his dick stiffening in his trousers, pressing at his underwear. “You like intense?” he asked, his words almost a growl.

Max shook his head. “Not that. I like you intense. I like almost everything about you.”

He gasped, a soft “Oh, god,” escaping him as Stephen leaned in even closer so that his crotch rubbed against Max’s very obvious hard-on. Stephen’s lips touched the edge of one ear, the tip of his nose grazing the side of Max’s face as he turned to whisper.

“Is this all right?”

A quick nod; Max was giving his consent to whatever this was. Stephen had no fucking idea what he was doing, whether it even counted as consent when they were both still under the influence of all the fucking drinks Stephen had bought. He couldn’t make himself give a damn; Max’s body felt good against his, and Max’s worshipful eyes as he complimented Stephen on his coffee-making posture, or whatever the hell that was, were intoxicating in their own right.

“Unzip your pants,” he said, still in the whisper. He felt Max’s body freeze for a held breath, and then Max whimpered softly, the sound like a cry of pain, and reached down. Stephen heard the purr of his zipper sliding open, the small thwack of the button disengaging, and felt his own arousal grow.

“What—” Max started, then paused, as if he needed to think about what words came next. “What’re we doing?”