by Jet Mykles
HEAVEN SENT 3:
HELL
Jet Mykles
®
www.loose-id.com
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * * *
This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable (homoerotic sex).
Heaven Sent 3: Hell
Jet Mykles
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © April 2007 by Jet Mykles
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59632-440-4
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Raven McKnight
Cover Artist: P. L. Nunn
Dedication
Alvin, JL, Ally, Willa, Luisa, Kim, Maura, Raven, Nik and, most especially, Katrin. You all got me through this when I wasn’t all that sure it’d really happen.
Also for my very patient musician boyfriend who helped to supply the appropriate mindset for a certain guitarist.
Prologue
Earlier this year ...
He clutched the headboard, sweat sticking his curly black hair to his face. He had his forearms wedged between his head and the heavy wood to avoid getting his skull cracked as his body rocked helplessly, driven to insanity by Luc pounding into his ass. His breathing caught on a moan as the orgasm started in his spine, pulsing, rolling, burning Almost there.
Luc groaned, hands on his hips tensing in a familiar way, almost there as well. Luc fell forward, arms sliding around his torso to clutch him close, back to chest. He turned his head aside, struggling to breathe, and some of Luc’s blazing auburn hair fell over his cheek.
“God,” he gasped.
Luc slammed hard, angled just so.
“Fuck yeah!” he shouted, tossing his head back into Luc’s shoulder and bracing against the headboard as the redhead loosed the pleasure that burst from his spine. It tunneled down his groin and shot through his cock into the sweaty, rumpled white sheets beneath him.
His spent muscles shook, ready to collapse, as Luc barreled into him, chasing his own orgasm. Luc’s groan turned into an almost sob, and if he hadn’t been listening for it, he wouldn’t have heard the name “Reese” sigh past Luc’s lips as he came.
Brent’s watery knees didn’t stand a chance of bracing them both as Luc’s dead weight collapsed heavily on his back. He went down to the mattress in a huff beneath the heavier man, face buried in the pillows and belly on the wet spot of his own making.
Lifting his head, Brent licked dry lips. “I heard that.”
Luc grunted. He rolled off Brent to sit up against the headboard. Harsh lamplight failed to diminish the elegant planes of his chin and throat as he threw his head back, sable eyes closed. Sweat glistened on his pale, bare skin. Brent waited, but there was no answer. After a moment, Luc sighed, then busied himself with removing the condom, tying it off and depositing it into the wastebasket on his side of the bed.
Brent sighed, pushing to his side, facing Luc as the redhead sat back against the headboard with a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand. “So Are you going to talk to him at the wedding?”
Luc grimaced, plucking two cylinders from the pack. He placed both at his lips and cradled the lighter before him. “I doubt he wants to see me”
Brent accepted when Luc, without looking, handed him one. “You don’t know that.” He groaned, gingerly pushing his sticky, aching body to sit up. Damn! If nothing else, Luc certainly could fuck like a demon.
“No. I don’t.”
“You could probably call Reegan and ask her.”
“Oh, fuck no. I don’t even know if he told her about it.”
“Mmm, true.” Brent sucked in smoke, staring at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, enjoying the after-tingle of sex as they spoke. “From what I remember, the kid was aching for you.”
“That was six years ago.”
“So?”
“So he’s probably got a boyfriend or something,” Luc muttered, moodily staring at the slowly burning ember at the end of his cigarette.
Brent turned toward the nightstand and the mostly full ashtray. Damn, have I had that many tonight? “So you break them up. Or, hell, you at least find out if there’s still something there. We should take Garth’s offer and go to the bachelor party. Maybe you can see him there.” When Luc didn’t respond, Brent sighed. “So you just gonna keep fucking me every time you want to pretend you’re fucking him?”
Luc growled but didn’t look at him. “You complaining?”
“Not entirely.” He ran a hand through the smeared spunk on his belly. He’d have to go wash up soon. He’d finish his smoke first. “I’m used to being a stand-in.”
Luc sighed, running his hand through his hair. “God, man, I thought we talked about this ...”
Brent waved a hand in the air, turning to bend his knees over his side of the rumpled bed. “Take it easy. We did. Experimentation and all that”
“Speaking of which, when’s the last time you experimented?”
Brent snorted, stabbing out his cigarette in the full ashtray. “What does it matter? I’m not the horn dog here.”
“I’m not a horn dog.”
“Give me a break.”
When no comeback sounded, Brent peered over his shoulder. Luc was staring at the teetering tower of ash that balanced atop the filter he held before him. Obviously Luc’s thoughts had moved on.
Brent sighed. “So we go home, you see him, and you get him back.” He stood “How hard is that?”
Luc nabbed his ashtray and abandoned the burned cylinder. “Damn it, Brent. I shoved him away.”
Brent had to watch. It was a rare thing to see Lucas Sloane as anything but self-assured. Even Brent, his best friend, had only seen it once or twice in the twenty-odd years they’d known each other. It must be love. “That was years ago.” He turned toward the bathroom. “You’re a big rock star now. How could he resist you?”
Luc laughed mirthlessly behind him.
Brent sighed, knowing he wasn’t really good at this. He turned at the door. A sweaty lock of his silky black hair fell over his left eye. “Joke, man. Joke. So you use the wedding as an excuse to go back, and you apologize. If he’s receptive, you fuck him into next year.” He shrugged, tossing his head to clear hair from his face. “What’s so hard about that?”
“What if he doesn’t want me?”
Brent snorted. “You turn on the Lucas Sloane charm. How could the poor guy resist?”
Luc gave him an evil smile. Brent had always known the man was gorgeous, and only rarely did Luc not get what he wanted. That charm and attitude had helped to get Heaven Sent where they were today. The same would get him the man h
e loved. Reese didn’t stand a chance.
Chapter One
Now ...
Brent stepped up beside Luc, dangling a tumbler of Jack Daniels over the railing. “I don’t believe it.”
Luc started, twisting his head toward Brent. He frowned. “What?”
“The mighty Lucas Sloane has fallen.” Brent waved a hand to indicate the full dance floor beneath them as well as the packed balconies along the walls of the nightclub “See before you a sea of sensuality with warm Italian bodies ripe for the plucking, and the magnificent Lucas Sloane is standing here in the corner nursing his drink.”
Luc glared. “Fuck you.”
Brent chuckled, raising his drink to his lips. “Nope. Can’t do that anymore. Reese would mind.”
“Reese would mind if I partook of this so-called sea of sensuality.”
“Indeed he would.” Brent smacked his lips, enjoying the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. “Not to mention the fact that I would rat your sorry ass out in a heartbeat.”
“Gee. Thanks, buddy.”
“Don’t mention it.”
They stood for a while, watching the crowd below. Bright, multicolor lights flashed in tune to the throbbing techno beat that spurred the mass of humanity on the dance floor below. Brent tried in vain to find Darien among the sea of bodies. Heaven Sent’s drummer was down there somewhere, but Brent couldn’t pick out his dark blond head.
Joke as he might, he was actually impressed with Luc’s resistance. A year ago, Luc wouldn’t have been caught dead alone on a balcony. He would have at least had a lover or a prospective lover with him, female or male. But here he stood, on his own, Brent’s threat to rat him out aside. Brent now had no doubts that Luc was in love. His behavior since his week reuniting with Reese and fucking him silly had confirmed that. For the two months in Italy that followed that fateful week, if Luc hadn’t been talking music, he’d been talking Reese. The mere possibility that he might have ruined his chance with Reese had made him nearly unbearable outside of work. Brent, Johnnie, Darien, and their producer, Paul, had begun to lay odds on how long it’d take him to bring up Reese in any given conversation. They had practically sent Luc back to the States after Reese, just to get a little peace. Brent just hoped that now, after Reese had spent a month in Italy with them, Luc wouldn’t go back to mooning just because his lover had returned Stateside.
“So,” Luc began, swirling his glass to clink the ice, “forget me. What about you?”
Brent adjusted the dark sunglasses he wore despite the fact it was evening and they were in a nightclub. “What about me?”
“Why aren’t you partaking of the sea of sensuality?”
Brent shrugged. “Not in the mood.”
Luc snorted. “When was the last time you were in the mood?”
That would be the last time with you, Brent thought, but didn’t say. Luc didn’t need to know that. “I’m not the horn dog here.”
Luc snorted. “You should pick yourself up a nice little piece of ass and get laid. I’ll even take you to a late breakfast in the morning so you can brag about it. I need to get some kind of thrill with Reese gone, even if it is vicarious. Let’s see ...” He tucked errant auburn locks behind his ear and looked around. The two of them stood in the balcony VIP section, away from the press of most of the crowd. The others in the section with them weren’t at all interested in the conversation between the two rock stars. “What’s your poison? Male or female?”
“Neither.”
“C’mon, Brent.” Luc waved toward the bar below, plainly visible as it was lit with striking blue. “There’s a curvy little number down there almost wearing a black dress. She’s been looking up here a few times.”
Brent turned to put his empty tumbler on a table behind them. “You noticed?” He slid an ashtray closer to where they stood.
Luc rolled his eyes. “I’m taken, not blind.”
Brent dug in his shirt pocket for his Camels, refusing to look toward the bar. “Regardless, she’s probably looking at you, not the skinny guitar player.”
“You don’t know that.”
Brent snorted, tapping a cylinder from the pack.
Undeterred, Luc gestured with his long chin. “Hey, how about the guy in the mesh shirt? He’s got jeans on with see-through pockets in the back.”
Brent flipped open his Zippo and lit up. “Just the description of the clothing means no.”
“You like ’em flashy.”
“There’s flashy and there’s tacky.”
Brent checked his watch, pleased to find that it was almost ten. The show they’d come to watch would start any moment now, halting the need for conversation.
Luc proceeded to point out more choice members of both sexes. Brent actually looked at a few. He had to admire his friend’s taste. All said objects of scrutiny were beautiful. But Brent really wasn’t interested and tried to convey that. He just wasn’t into picking up someone who just wanted to sleep with “the rock star,” and he knew better than to think that he could find someone interested for any other reason.
“Brent?”
“Hmm?”
“When was the last time you had sex?”
“Hey, there’s Darien.” Brent brought his fingers up to his mouth and whistled through the thundering music. With any luck, Luc would think he hadn’t heard him.
The notes he whistled were distinctive and loud, and Darien actually heard. He lifted his head and waved, then went back to concentrating on getting up the spiral staircase to the second level.
“Brent?”
Brent turned back to Luc, his oldest and best friend. He’d known this man longer than anyone outside his family and trusted him more than anyone. He tilted his head down so he could look over the rims of his glasses into Luc’s sable eyes and let his gaze go stone cold. “Drop it.”
Luc’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to ask, Brent knew. He wanted to push. But as well as Brent knew Luc, Luc also knew Brent. When he was paying attention, Luc almost knew him better than he knew himself. Luc should know by the tone alone that Brent was done discussing it.
The redhead shrugged and turned back to the railing, digging into a pocket for his own pack of Camels. “You think they’ll ever start this show?”
Brent handed his Zippo over without being asked. “You know those damn musicians. Can’t count on ’em to be on time for anything.”
Darien bounded up to them. Paul Thrombone, the producer for Heaven Sent’s latest album, was right behind him. Paul was about Darien’s height, therefore shorter than either Brent or Luc. His short, snowy blond hair was gelled back from his face, and he wore a flashy dark orange blazer over a white button-down and artfully torn jeans. The roots of Darien’s straight blond hair were wet with sweat from dancing, and dark patches marked the collar and underarms of his gold silk shirt. Wide brown eyes matched his grin as he landed at the railing. “This place rocks. You guys shoulda come down.”
Luc smiled. “You get lucky?”
Darien’s grin turned into a smirk. He grabbed the railing and leaned back, swinging slightly side to side, like a kid. “The night is young, my friend. I’m sticking around after the show.”
Luc turned back to Brent. “See? Maybe you should stick around.”
Brent flicked his still-lit cigarette at him.
“Hey!” Luc shouted, jumping back. He brushed off the gleaming white of his shirt, glaring at Brent. “What the fuck?”
“Shut your damn trap.”
Darien frowned from one to the other. “What gives?”
“Signori e signore,” an announcer’s voice cut into the fading lines of the dance track. The lights began to dim.
Luc and Brent still stared at each other.
The announcer proceeded to say more in Italian. Luc, Darien, and Brent didn’t care enough to get a translation from either Paul or one of the bodyguards who hovered toward the back of the balcony. The further dimming lights told them the performance was starting.
; “Hey, guys?” Darien asked.
Luc stubbed his own cigarette out in the ashtray.
Brent stomped out the cigarette on the floor, then turned to the railing. Luc could just butt the hell out of his love life -- or lack thereof -- for once.
Luc turned to the rail as well, leaving Darien between them, with Paul, silent and watchful, on Brent’s other side.
The drummer frowned, then heaved an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Fuck both of you.”
Brent disregarded him, seething. Luc may be his oldest and best friend, but it also meant that Luc knew exactly how to piss him off.
Was it Luc’s business who Brent had slept with last? Even if it was him? He’d just jump to all sorts of wrong conclusions if he found that out. He’d likely think that Brent was mooning over him, which simply wasn’t true. Brent hadn’t slept with anyone else because he hadn’t put forth the effort to find anyone. It was actually a normal thing for Brent. He’d only slept with Luc because Luc had pressed the point, and, well, Brent had been curious and receptive. It’s not like they’d been exclusive, although Luc had done far more experimenting than Brent. But now Luc was all Reese’s, and he wished them well. Truly. But Luc might not see it that way, at least not at first. No one would. Which was why Brent just didn’t want to talk about it, damn it!
The lights went out. The announcer spoke up, but Brent only recognized the name of the performer they’d come to see through the Italian: Heller Witting. Yet more people packed onto the already crowded dance floor, facing the stage in anticipation as a soft electronic pulse filled the air. This was Heller’s niche, and he was quite popular in it across Europe. He played sets in dance clubs in lieu of a disc jockey and, from all accounts, kept people dancing sometimes for hours.
Brent was too far away for his eyes to adjust enough and allow him to see the performer walk onstage. He had to wait until the lights trickled up, synchronized with a wobbling piano passage. The first thing Brent noticed was the hair. He reached up to tip his glasses down, just to make sure that he saw the color he thought he saw. He did. The figure that stood behind racks of keyboards had a wavy mop of short, vivid lavender hair. Lavender. Like an Easter egg. He was enough in profile that Brent could see a thin, long tail of darker purple extending from the nape of his neck down the back of his shiny, sleeveless white overcoat. He looked small and young, but he took command of the racks of keyboards like a pro.