LIVING ON THE EDGE
TAYLOR V. DONOVAN
GAY ROMANTIC FICTION
RELEASE DATE: 11-24-17
BLURB
Damián Laporte Ortíz is an expert at leading a
double life. Most people know him as a war veteran and highly decorated cop
working for F.U.R.A., a specialized police unit in Puerto Rico. Others know him
as a crook. His family sees him as an honorable man and an exemplary single
dad. The truth is he’s morally ambiguous and willing to bend rules. His peace
of mind, happiness, long-term relationship, and survival depend on keeping his
worlds apart. It isn’t until his professional career takes a series of
unexpected turns that he’s forced to reconsider his priorities and stance.
Gay rights activist Gael Cisneros Beltrán
dedicates his life to representing the marginalized LGBT community in a place
he otherwise considers to be paradise. Fighting for their rights consumes his
days. Going home to his closeted boyfriend replenishes him at night. Balancing
their needs, goals, and responsibilities is a complicated act, but their
commitment to each other continues to stand.
No challenge is too great to overcome. Nothing
can tear them apart. Not until the past comes knocking and their carefully
built parallel lives finally collide. Now they must decide what matters
more—the common good or their love.
EXCERPT
Leaning closer to Alexis so that he
could be heard over the music without having to yell, Gael asked, “Did Frankie
mention any particulars about the incident he wants to discuss?” He closed his
fan and took his Sidekick phone out
of his small black leather satchel bag. He had no messages, so he sent one to
Frankie telling him to hurry up, all caps and twenty exclamation points.
“No idea, but my bet is another
instance of police brutality, because you know they always feel provoked.” Alexis shook his head, then
his delicate features twisted in rage. “It could be anything from gay guys
merely existing and breathing the same air as the cops, to getting caught
having sex. Sodomy might’ve been decriminalized, but you know some of those
homophobic pricks don’t give a fuck.”
Gael clenched his jaw. “No, they
don’t.”
Corruption, widespread abuse, and
brutality with zero accountability were major problems within the PRPD. Many
cases arose out of illegal searches and arrests, but the matter was much worse
between the gay community and cops, especially during rallies. Gael ought to
know. He’d gotten pepper sprayed, tear-gassed, suppressed from exercising his
rights, “moved out of the way” with excessive force, handcuffed, stomped on,
and tasered more times than he cared to remember. The mostly young, tall,
muscular officers in the Tactical Operations Division, or “la fuerza de
choque,” as everyone called the impact unit, were the worst.
Then there were the cops that
actively accosted gay men at cruising spots. They harassed them, roughed them
up, humiliated them and even arrested them on prostitution and drug possession
charges for heroin and cocaine they’d planted themselves. Civil Liberties
Advocates, the legal association Gael did pro bono work for, had its hands full
with abuse cases against law enforcement officers whose bigotry was sanctioned
by the police department. Literally. A disciplinary rule existed prohibiting
Puerto Rico police officers from associating with lesbians and gay men, and way
too many cops had taken it as their marching orders to eradicate homosexuality
from the island.
For Gael and his colleagues at CLA,
that regulation of the PRPD disciplinary code was a challenge. It violated
First Amendment rights, prevented queer cops from coming out and forming a
local affiliate of the Gay Officers Action League in Puerto Rico, and made gay
and lesbian citizens pariahs to their own police force. Over at CLA, they’d
been working their asses off to get it struck down. If they won their case,
cops would be forced to treat the LGBT community with respect, which would do
wonders for their battered morale. Their day in court couldn’t come soon
enough. Gael hated the Puerto Rico Police Department as a whole.
Eager to find out if he had another
potential case against the PRPD on his hands, he put his phone and fan away,
glanced at his watch, then scanned the red lit club. “What in the world is
taking Frankie so long?”
“Maybe the guy left, and Frankie
went looking for him,” Alexis said into his ear. “I heard he really isn’t into
the Homme crowd. He came tonight for Mr.
Gay, but he usually hangs out at The
Beehive. That’s where Frankie knows him from.”
The Beehive, located across the street
from Homme in the Santurce Arts and
Culture District—aka the Gayborhood—was one of the drag clubs where Frankie
performed four times a month, super popular with the general public. Gael
adored the place. It was fun, top notch, and he was close with all the girls.
In fact, The Beehive’s Queen B’s had
been the first volunteers to work at Puerto
Rico Diverso when Gael started it in 2002 to fight for inclusion and equal
rights. Their outreach program was one of the more effective tools the center
had to get non-queer volunteers and donations. He could never repay them for
their efforts.
“Should we go to The Beehive, then?” Gael asked as his
gaze swept over the dancing crowd, the people waiting by the bar, and the short
hallway leading to the main entrance one more time, then his shoulders
stiffened, and a tingling sensation spread across his back.
He twisted his head right and left
like a man possessed, frantically searching every dark corner of the club for— There. Next to the passageway to the
backroom and the basement, dressed in dark clothes that blended with the
shadows, a baseball cap pulled down low over his face.
Next to him, Alexis asked, “You
okay?”
“I need a moment,” he rasped. “He is here.”
Alexis grinned. “Hooked him good
during that brief conversation yesterday, didn’t you?”
“I hope so.” Gael swallowed hard.
“Have Frankie and his friend wait for me when they come back.”
Mouth dry and heart hammering in his
chest, he made a beeline for the object of his desire, then almost tripped over
his own feet when Damián’s gaze collided with his.
The previous day, when they’d talked
for the first time, Damián was guarded—hyperaware of his surroundings. That
caution was nowhere to be found. Tonight, he was a gay man in his element.
Someone who took up as much space as humanly possible, and knew what he wanted
and how to get it. He oozed confidence, and the expression on his face took
Gael’s breath away.
That was unadulterated hunger and
intent shining in his striking hooded hazel eyes. He looked at Gael as if he
was mentally stripping off his clothes…as if he was thinking something dirty…as
if he was imagining Gael on his knees, lips wrapped around his cock and cheeks
hollow from sucking him off.
Gael readjusted the erection
threatening to rip through his slacks.
Damián licked his lips.
Gael had no idea how a such a simple
gesture could be so quick and filthy at the same time, but his body ignited at
the sight and a shock of desire surged through his veins, making him feel
feverish and a bit out of his mind.
He couldn’t wait a second longer to
get his hands on that man.
He had never needed sexual gratification so badly in his entire life.
He was two steps away from dropping
to his knees and doing what they both so clearly wanted when Damián reached
out, hooked his fingers around Gael’s belt loops, and tugged him flush against
his muscled body.
“It took you almost seven minutes to
realize I was here,” Damián said into his ear in a sultry voice. “You’re off
your game tonight.”
“You’ll have to cut me some slack.”
Gael placed his hands over Damián’s buff chest and swallowed a whimper. He had
hard, slightly rounded, and perfectly contoured pecs under his skin tight long
sleeve shirt, complete with fully erect nipples that poked at Gael’s palms. “I
didn’t want to socialize, so I blocked everyone to avoid sending mixed signals
and keep people from approaching me.”
“Did I interrupt anything
important?” Damián backed into the dark passageway, pulling Gael slowly until
the music wasn’t as loud and they were secluded from curious eyes. “You seemed
to be pretty engrossed in your conversation with your friend.”
“It can wait a few more moments.”
Thankful for their similar heights, Gael aligned his body to Damián’s. “What
are you doing here?”
“Dance with me.” The inner fire
burning in Damián’s eyes made him look primal as he clutched Gael’s hips and
started swaying to the music in the way only natural born dancers could. “I
love this song.”
Gael followed his lead and rhythm in
a daze, his heart beating in tandem with ‘Búscame’s’
bass, the sexiest tune written to date.
Reggaetón
music lyrics were usually steamy but Luca Jay, the Puerto Rican singer and
composer currently caressing everyone with his voice, was a master at combining
emotion and innuendo, and could write sultry songs with his eyes closed. Adding
perreo to the mix made everything ten times sexier, as the steps to the dance
called for total inhibition and lack of restraint, and had the sole purpose of
turning one’s partner on. Gael couldn’t think of a single thing he’d rather be
doing at the moment.
In a husky voice, he asked, “Are you
a B-Unit fan?”
“I am. Yours, too.” Touching his
forehead to Gael’s, he added. “Rabid.”
Gael wasn’t sure what startled him
most—the way his heart swelled at Damián’s words, or the realization that his
reactions to him were beyond his self-control. “Why mine?”
“I can only imagine what it must be
like to fight for the rights of guys that won’t stand with you, but you keep
doing it every day.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating
smile. “And even though I have zero intentions of coming out, I appreciate what
you do for us. In my opinion, you’re the rock star of the local gay rights
movement.”
Gael nodded, his mouth too dry to
speak.
“What are you doing here?” he
repeated seconds later, nuzzling Damián’s smooth cheek and inhaling his woody,
sharp, heady scent. And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he nibbled at
his earlobe and jaw. It was a natural thing to do—almost automatic, as if
somehow, he was convinced he had every right to touch this man any way he
pleased. “Didn’t you say you don’t do Homme
on Saturdays?”
“I don’t, and I can’t stay long.”
Damián thrust his hips forward, giving Gael a taste of the massive bulge in his
pants for the first time. “But I couldn’t wait to see you again.”
Weak in the knees, Gael latched his
arm around Damián’s wide shoulders, holding on for dear life as his emotions
and thoughts spiraled out of control.
What was it about him that made Gael
act like they’d known each other their entire lives? What was this…thing he recognized when he looked into
Damián’s eyes that he didn’t dare to name because it made no sense after only
two brief encounters? Gael didn’t understand the reason for his monster-sized
attraction, and he certainly couldn’t comprehend why he felt like he’d been
swept away and was only noticing now.
He was a logical guy. Shit like this
never happened to him, so why now? What was different from all the other times
he’d hooked up with a guy? What, exactly, was happening?
Was he simply flattered that a hot
closeted guy had broken his own rule just so that he could see him tonight? Was
it chemistry? Lust? And for the love of all that was good and holy, what the
hell was up with the fireworks exploding in his head?
What Was. Happening?
“You look like a deer caught in the
headlights.” Damián’s gaze darted from Gael’s eyes, down to his mouth, and
back. “Did I read you wrong? Are you not interested in seeing where this might
go?”
“You meant it, didn’t you?” Gael
cupped Damián’s cheek with his hand and brushed his thumb over his bottom lip.
“You really want to get to know each other.”
Damián stopped dancing. “Don’t you?”
he whispered, their lips a breath apart, sounding uncertain for the first time.
Gael traced his cheekbones with his
fingertips, connecting the faint freckles he couldn’t see in the dark and
learning the shape of his nose as he said, “Yes.” No hesitation, no two ways
about it. “But I still want you in my bed as soon as possible.”
Taylor V. Donovan is a
compulsive reader and author of m/m romantic suspense. She is optimistically
cynical about the world; lover of history, museums and all things 80s. She is
crazy about fashion, passionate about civil rights and equality for all and
shamelessly indulges in mind-numbing reality television.
When she is not making a living
in the busiest city in the world or telling the stories of gorgeous men hot for
one another, Taylor can be found raising her two daughters and two terribly
misbehaved furry babies in the mountains she calls home.
