Today I am so pleased to welcome L.A. Witt to Joyfully Jay. L.A. has come to share an exclusive excerpt from her latest release, The Master Will Appear. She has also brought along a great giveaway Please join me in giving her a big welcome!
I’d seriously expected Mikhail to get the hell out of the fencing club as soon as he was out of the shower, but he didn’t. Which made me wonder if I was the one who was supposed to take off and bring the awkwardness down to a bearable level.
It was tempting, too. I wasn’t sure I could face him now. Not as my coach. Not as anything. Not until we’d acknowledged what had happened. Or almost happened.
No, it wasn’t an almost. It definitely happened. We’d gotten so damn close. Close enough I could be absolutely sure I hadn’t misread him—the attraction was definitely mutual. Question was, what did we do with it? And why did he bolt?
I wasn’t going to loiter around the locker room all day, though. Confused, disappointed, turned on, excited—I gathered my things and started out of the bay of lockers.
And walked right into Mikhail.
“Oh!” I halted. “Um…”
He jumped too, like he’d forgotten I was even here. Or something. But as we locked eyes, his features hardened again. Defenses going up. Not enough to completely mask the uneasiness in his expression, though.
“So.” Mikhail squared his shoulders and looked me right in the eye. “Your lessons.”
Lessons? That’s what you want to discuss right now?
“Next week?” He set his jaw. “Same time?”
I swallowed. “You tell me.”
We locked eyes for a long, painfully uncomfortable moment.
I could see the maybe this isn’t a good idea in his posture and his expression, and panic hit me in the gut. If one of us called this off now, there was almost no chance we’d cross paths again.
He was the first to break eye contact, shifting his gaze away as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Same time next week. I’ll be here if—”
“You backed off.”
He looked at me again, visibly startled. “Huh?”
“Earlier when we…” I tried not to fidget, but I was too restless to stand still. “Why?”
His expression was impossible to read. A little irritation, maybe? Some fear, if that was possible? Voice flat, he said, “If I hadn’t, would you have backed off?”
“Um.” Not a chance. No fucking way. “I…”
“One of us had to.”
“But why? Why couldn’t—”
“You’re my student,” he said. “We can’t—”
“Yeah, I am. And maybe I think you can teach me a thing or two.”
Mikhail’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Teach you?”
I fought the urge to draw back from his scrutiny and nodded.
“So…” He watched me for a few seconds. “First you want me to teach you how to fence. Now you want me to teach you how to fuck?”
I shifted my weight. “I want to be good at fencing. And now you’ve got me curious about how a guy like you fucks.”
“What does that mean?”
“I just…get the feeling that sex with you wouldn’t be the same as it’s been with guys like me.”
“So what is a guy like you?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“And you do a lot to avoid them.” He stepped closer, and I fought the urge to retreat. “I don’t just fuck every guy who comes along.”
I gulped. “Do you teach every inexperienced fencer who comes along?”
“If I think there’s potential and he just needs discipline?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Then yes.”
“Does the same apply to your bed?”
“I don’t have to be attracted to someone to fence with them.”
“Are you attracted to me?” The second I asked the question, I regretted it. Mikhail was exactly the kind of guy who’d be blunt and honest, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear him say no.
Instead, he shrugged. “I could be.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re just like your fencing skill.” He gave me a painfully slow down-up glance. “A lot of potential. But discipline?” He pursed his lips. “Not so sure.”
I tried not to squirm as he kept looking at me. “Since when does sex include discipline?”
Mikhail’s stern expression changed to a sharky grin that made all the fine hairs on my body stand on end. “If I’m involved in it, then I assure you, sex involves discipline.” He paused, and I shivered. Then he added. “Still interested?”
Heart thumping, I nodded.
The stern expression returned, and he growled, “I asked you a question.”
“Yes!” I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’m still interested.”
Mikhail came closer. He was in my space now, and I prayed for the restraint to stand my ground.
“I get the feeling,” he said in a quiet voice, “that whether or not you should do something doesn’t always play into whether or not you do.”
“People have made that accusation, yes.”
“So you’re reckless.”
“No.” I swallowed. “I just prefer a shot at falling on my face instead of taking people at their word when they say I will.”
That didn’t seem to be the response he’d expected. He watched me. Studied me. Then he brought his hand up to my face. The heat of his skin made mine tingle even before he touched me, and when he did, the warmth of his callused palm sent a shiver right through me.
“So you like a challenge.” His almost-whisper drew me in closer to hear him. “Funny—so do I.”
“Yeah?” I didn’t know what else to say. I sure as shit didn’t know what to do. He was touching me, he was looking at me, and we were crossing so many lines all at once that I couldn’t keep track of anything.
Mikhail ran his thumb along my lower lip. “How willing are you to suck my cock?”
The question sent a jolt of electricity right through me. He was so fucking direct!
“I’m…” I swallowed. “Not opposed to the idea.”
“Not opposed?” His eyes narrowed as the sharky grin returned. Then he lowered his hand and pressed it against my hardening dick. “I get the impression you like the idea.”
Mikhail kneaded me through my jeans, and I lost my breath.
“You were saying?” he prodded.
I cleared my throat. “I really like the idea. Yes.”
“Mmhmm.” His thumb ran along my cock. “So I if I told you to get on your knees right here in the locker room, and don’t get up until I get off…” He squeezed a little more, just enough that I couldn’t help moaning. “What would you do?”
I could barely breathe. “I’d…get on my knees and…and…”
“Get on your knees.” His hand was suddenly gone. “And don’t get up until I get off.”
Before he’d even finished speaking, I was on my knees.
Dr. Mikhail “Misha” Budnikov takes one look at fellow fencer Ryan O’Connor and instantly knows his type. The undisciplined hothead is all ego with no finesse and even less control. In short, Misha’s pet peeves personified. To put the arrogant kid in check, Misha challenges him to a sparring match, which he predictably wins.
Not so predictably, Ryan asks him to be a mentor and show him how to fence. Startled by the moment of humility, Misha agrees.
What begins as fencing lessons becomes something much hotter, and before they know it, Misha is giving Ryan an entirely different kind of education. Dominance, submission, pain, pleasure—at the hands of an older, experienced man, a whole new world is opening up for Ryan.
As the trust deepens and their bond strengthens, though, Ryan retreats because that sham called love left him jaded long ago. Cynical beyond his years, he’s not letting his guard down, least of all for a thrice-divorced man twice his age.
Now Misha has to find a way to crack through those defenses…or accept defeat and walk away from the submissive who might just be the love of his life.
L.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn’t lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut…
- Website: http://www.gallagherwitt.com
- E-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org
- Twitter: @GallagherWitt
- Blog: http://gallagherwitt.blogspot.com
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