I am very pleased to welcome Eva LeFoy as a Tuesday Treater.
Please Note this is an 18+ post by continuing to read you acknowledge you are 18 or over.
This is a *hot* read and part of my upcoming Bear series.
Hope you like it!
Breaching the Lieutenant by Eva Lefoy
My latest release is a MM military erotica. It involves a former U.S. Army Sergeant who was discharged for his sexual preferences during Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Let’s just say nobody had to ask him… he made his gayness known! But though he battled for his rights, the Army didn’t see eye to eye with him.
His lover is a gay-reluctant 2nd Lieutenant who hasn’t *quite* come out to himself yet. Will he or won’t he after he spends some time with the former Sergeant and has his defenses quite handily breached? And if he does, what does that mean for his future?
Keeping in mind the U.S. Army is probably always going to be a tough place to be gay, is it worth it for these men to be openly gay, or is their career more important than their sexuality? I don’t envy their choice.
This is a short, explicit read and I guarantee you’ll never think of a mechanic’s shop the same way again!
Breaching the Lieutenant
Second Lieutenant Mark Oates has a lot to learn, both about the U.S. Army and about himself. When a senior officer confronts Oates about his latent homosexual tendencies, he’s backed into a corner and only one man can help him out. Trouble is, can he trust him not to ruin his career plans?
Gunnar Evans was dishonorably discharged from the Army during Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell for his openly gay sexuality. He fought the system and lost, but continues to help the young officers sent to his door discover their hidden desires. When gorgeous hunk Lt. Oates arrives, he knows he must breach the lieutenant’s defenses in order to show him the pleasure he deserves. But once he gains access, he may never want to let him go.
Includes: Gay first time reluctant, risky sex
In the following excerpt, 2nd Lt. Oates stumbles into former Sergeant Evans’ mechanic shop and they meet for the very first time.
Oates stood outside the ramshackle mechanic’s garage he’d been directed to, and wondered if he had the wrong place. The outside screamed Sanford and Son, not retired army sergeant, and was in bad need of a fresh coat of paint. Still, he toed the door open and eased his way inside. Tools were stacked everywhere and dust seemed to cling to most surfaces. This couldn’t be the right place. He should go. “Uh, hello?”
No answer, but a clang resounded.
“Hello? Is anybody here?”
He’d just turned to leave when a man’s voice called out. “Over here!” Another clang. Metal on metal this time. Someone swore.
Frowning, Oates sped his steps. Was someone hurt? His eyesight struggled to adjust to the sudden shift from sunlight to inner dimness. If he tripped over something, his body might never be found.
“Stupid son of a bitch!”
Oates followed the voice, careful not to disturb the tenuous towers of clutter. He thought he recognized a drill-sergeant tone in the curse. “Sir?”
He rounded the corner. A thick pair of legs stuck out from under a Volvo. Mark shook his head sadly. Volvos were a bitch to work on, no wonder the man was crabby. “Sergeant Evans? Is that you?”
Jean-clad legs scooted out first, then a crotch, then a naked, well-defined stomach with a definite eight pack. Oates caught his breath and tried not to look any closer, besides he’d seen this a million times in the barracks. A half-dressed man was nothing new. But the wide, dark bronzed chest that appeared next made him gasp. Thick rings pierced both nipples and Mark’s crotch tightened at the sight. Jesus. That’s fucking hot. He shifted from foot to foot, trying to get a little air between his legs, but the man’s bulging biceps gave him no respite. Good lord, this man was ripped. A head popped out, a flash of silver at the temples on an otherwise perfect close-cut crop. The man fixed a stare on him, and Mark straightened his back, damn near giving a full salute despite the fact he outranked the former sergeant.
“Who wants to know?”
“Uh, Second Lieutenant Oates, sir.” He did his best to look apologetic, but his nerves were a tangled mess. The man’s muscles bunched and rippled as his made his way up from the dolly. Black smudges of grease here and there only added to the manly allure of the canvas in front of him. Damn, but his cock surged at the sight of the mechanic’s full stature. This was no man he’d ever seen before. This man’s body was perfection.
The mechanic wiped off a wrench and tossed it in the toolbox without moving his penetrating gaze. “Oates?”
“Yes, sir. Major Henderson sent me. Sir.”
One of Evans’ eyebrows rose. “He did, did he?”
“Yes, sir. Said you could help me with a little problem I’m having.” Damn, was that a twinkle in Evans’ eyes?
“Oh? What’s that?”
Oates shifted uncomfortably. He felt silly asking this mountain of macho man in front of him for help, but if he didn’t, he’d never make Captain. Henderson would be sure to ride him on this. He ducked his head, and rubbed the rising burn on the back of his neck. “Uh, he said I needed a valve adjusted, and you were just the man to do it.”
“Oh, did he now?”
The most gorgeous, most muscled chest he’d ever seen in his life came to stand mere inches from his own. Looking closer at it, he could see the little stray grey hairs strewn across it like confetti from tanned brown nipple to tanned brown nipple. The piercings called to him, demanding he sample them with his tongue. Oh, fuck. I’m so screwed if he sees how hard I’m getting. Swallowing, he collected himself and lifted his head.
Evans rocked back on his heels and Oates fought the urge to reach out and bring that gorgeous manly chest closer again.
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Smashwords Buy Link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/423152
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Author Bio and Contact:
Eva Lefoy writes and reads all kinds of romance, and is a certified Trekkie. She’s also terribly addicted to chocolate, tea, and hiking. One of these days, she’ll figure out the meaning of life, quit her job, and go travel the galaxy. Until then, she’s writing down all her dirty thoughts for the sake of future explorers.