0616_ 9781460397404_FierceAndFabulous_Web

Fierce & Fabulous

M/M Romance – Available Now from Carina Press

The first book in a scorching new male/male series by Elizabeth Varlet. Behind the Sassy Boyz’s seductive smiles and sinful dance moves are desires that will leave readers breathless.

Fitch Donovan never thought a lap dance could change his life, but from the moment the gorgeous dancer’s lips touch his, his world comes screeching to a halt. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t shake the desire that rocks him to his core. He’s longed for this passion all his life—he just never dreamed he’d find it with another man.

Sharing a soul-shaking kiss with a straight boy is the kind of drama Ansel Becke just doesn’t need. Spotlights aren’t made for two and Ansel prefers to keep things on a one-night-only basis. So when Fitch shows up asking for an encore, Ansel knows he should send his gorgeous ass packing.

Though Ansel tries to pretend that what’s between him and Fitch is far from fabulous, there’s something about the big, burly contractor that makes Ansel’s world sparkle in a way no amount of glitter ever could. And Fitch will do whatever it takes to convince Ansel that when the thing you need most in the world falls right into your lap, you’d be a fool to let it go.

This book is approximately 82,000 words

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Chapter One


A gay bar.

Of course it was a gay bar.

He should have known. Because only his sister would choose to celebrate her twenty-first birthday party in a gay bar.

Fitch sighed and scratched his jaw. Why couldn’t it have been a lesbian bar? They had those, right?

Then again, he wouldn’t have gotten any enjoyment in one of those either. Meg had ruined the whole lesbian-fantasy thing when she’d come out at fourteen. There was no pleasure in imagining two hot chicks doing nasty, beautiful things to each other when one of them kept morphing into your sister.

Fitch barely suppressed a shudder at the thought, but no one noticed. Not Meg or her friends, who were all too busy drinking and laughing and shouting over the thundering music to notice how uncomfortable he was.

A straight man in a gay club in New York City. He wasn’t the first, obviously, but he felt like it. He hunched over the Coke he’d been nursing for the past half hour and tried his best to ignore the interested stares he was getting. If his buddies could see him now they’d shit their pants laughing and then volunteer to kick some ass with him just as a matter of loyalty. As if he needed to protect his delicate manly sensibilities by resorting to physical violence.

He sighed.

No, he’d just have to suffer in silence.

The place was so dark it should have been impossible to catch anyone’s eye, but the rainbow laser light-beams moved in time with the strobe’s beat to create a disconcerting kaleidoscope effect that provided just enough light and just enough headache-inducing delirium for him to feel kind of trippy even though he was stone-cold sober.

Another sip of warm Coke didn’t help. And neither did the shadows or the uncomfortable hunch.

He couldn’t have stood out more if he’d had a blinking neon sign over his head.

The Vibe. If he’d been smart he would have said no as soon as Meg mentioned the name of the place. Then again, he’d never been able to say no to his baby sister. She was a devil with sweet eyes and he’d been devoted to her ever since she was born. Even if all she ever did was torture him.

“If you don’t cheer up I’m going to tell Mom,” Meg bellowed into his ear.

He looked up just in time to see her school her smile into a frown. Her hazel eyes reflected the rainbow lights and glittered back at him with an overly glossy veneer. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips twitched just enough to make him laugh. She’d always been a terrible liar.

“You are such a brat,” he said.

“Shut up, you love me.” Her giggle was slightly crazed.

“You’re drunk.”

She smiled and nudged his shoulder with her own. “I’m twenty-one, big bro! That’s the whole point.”

On his twenty-first he’d gone overboard with the Jack Daniel’s and ended up puking his guts out two hours into the party. The hangover had put him off the stuff for years. The way Meg was headed she’d be having a similar experience and the idea made everything else worth it.

“Sure, just remember that when Tara is holding your hair back and you’re worshiping the porcelain god.”

She pffted at him and turned to kiss Tara.

Jesus, she hadn’t even warned him. She really was a brat.

To avoid watching his baby sister make out, he turned toward the crowded dance floor. So much skin, so many grinding masculine bodies moving to the pop hit-slash-techno beat like the music put them into some kind of trance. Either the DJ was a wizard or the dancers were all caught in a lust frenzy. And the DJ was no wizard.

He rubbed his temple and considered heading to the bar to refresh his Coke, but the last time he’d done that he’d been hit on by three guys, all of them half-naked and young. Too young. And none of them had taken his “Sorry, I’m straight” as anything but a challenge. Better to just avoid the situation and hope the waiter would come by soon.

The music faded and the DJ’s voice came through the speakers. “And now it’s time for a treat. Put your hands together for the hottest show in New York City. Give it up, for the Sassy Boyz!”

Beside him, Meg squealed as the rest of the club erupted into cheers and turned to face a stage he hadn’t even noticed. The intro music started and the curtains slowly rose.

“Oh my God, they’re doing Jessie J’s ‘Do It Like A Dude’! I saw a clip of this one on YouTube, it’s awesome,” his sister exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Jesus, you’d think you were at a Beyoncé concert instead of a drag show.” He shook his head at her.

Across the table her friend leaned forward. “It’s not a drag show. They’re not queens.”

The volume of the music rose again and every light but the ones on the stage went dark.

He’d expected big hair, big makeup, and outrageous costumes. Something artificial. Not four slim females wearing baggy jeans, loose T-shirts, high heels, and baseball caps pulled low enough to cover their eyes. He definitely hadn’t expected the bright red lipstick or the silky long hair. These were definitely not drag queens.

As soon as the lyrics started, the dancers began their aggressive, syncopated moves. They thrust their hips, popped their chests, and flexed their biceps in stereotypical macho fashion, grabbing their crotches and adjusting their caps to match the suggestive lyrics.

And if that weren’t statement enough, they topped it all off by shooting the middle finger to the audience while stomping their high heels.

The dancers were so hot, especially the tallest one with long blond hair. Yeah, she was really fucking sexy. A night with her would be jerk-off fuel for years to come.

Especially considering those fuck-me heels.

Fitch’s pulse grew heavy with each hard hit of the drums, each reverberating thrum from the bass. He spread his legs and smoothed his jeans over his thighs to create more room for his growing hard-on, because watching the dance was like looking into the eyes of someone sucking your cock.

So fucking good.

When the bridge came, they lowered to the floor to perform a grinding, thrusting move that simulated sex so effectively it was almost like he could feel it. He gripped his knees until his knuckles whitened, and breathed through his mouth.

Just as the first song started to fade, another beat took over. The dancers moved to the back of the stage, where four chairs now stood, and began a slow striptease.

With every piece of clothing they removed, the crowd grew more and more wild and Fitch’s heartbeat grew more erratic. They flung their hats off and flipped their hair while rolling their hips, bringing to mind all kinds of ways he could touch and kiss and lick just so the tall blonde in the front would repeat that sexy little thrust.

Across the table, Meg whistled and her friends cheered just as loud. It was all he could do not to join in too, because the girls onstage were now bent over and sliding the denim over their gorgeous, leather-covered asses.

Holy fucking Christ.

He swallowed and reached for his glass with a shaking hand, forgetting it was already empty. He had no choice but to let his mouth go dry because there was no way he was tearing his eyes away from the stage. Not while they were still up there, and especially not while they were stripping.

Finally, they sat just as the new song began.

Meg must have recognized the song because she cheered again even louder right before she, and everyone else at the table, sang the lyrics at the top of their lungs.

“Booooots and Boys.”

With the first word, the dancers extended their legs to reveal knee-high sex-kitten boots. And on the second—fuck.

He stared, heart thudding so hard in his chest he thought it might fly out, leaving a giant gaping hole.

The dancers stood facing the audience, and the crowd’s decibel level skyrocketed. They were nearly naked, wearing only those damn boots and tight leather shorts. But that wasn’t why he couldn’t breathe.

They were guys.

Guys in heels and makeup.

Like a slap to the face he realized what he was seeing and how slow he’d been to assume they were female dancers. For fuck’s sake, they were in a gay bar. Of course they were guys.

And still he was unable to tear his eyes off the blond in the front. Not a fucking girl. The guy’s chest was flat as a pancake, unless you counted the extremely well-developed pecs—which Fitch didn’t.

Christ! He was still hard.

How could he still be hard?

And why the fuck was his heart beating so goddamn fast? He reached for his empty glass again, eyes still glued to the stage, before remembering it was empty and cursing.

Good lord, the guy’s long legs were suddenly the hottest fucking thing he had ever seen. And God help him, that mouth. He couldn’t tell if it was the smoking-red lipstick or the crazy little smirk, but that mouth. It was killing him.

They danced, matching the music with their provocative energy, their feminine swishes, shaking their hips and flicking their hair. Strutting like models on a catwalk.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. They’d gone from uber-masculine to realistically feminine within five minutes, and he was a massive ball of throbbing nerves cemented to his seat. He’d never, in his twenty-nine years, ever thought another guy was attractive, but his goddamn cock seemed to believe the long-legged blond was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He took a deep breath and smoothed out the denim around his thighs.

No, this was just the effects of his six-week-long dry spell. He hadn’t gotten laid since Sara dumped him. Plus, the energy of the place was crazy sexual. Christ, sex was in the air and he wouldn’t be surprised if there were men fucking in the shadows.

“I gotta piss. Be right back,” he shouted to Meg. He pushed through the densely packed sea of bodies before she could respond. He needed air. He needed to get a fucking grip on himself. Figuratively, of course, though he was tempted to jerk one out in the stall just to ease the ache.

Once in the bathroom he splashed cold water on his face and took a deep breath.

If there was one thing he knew for certain, he was not attracted to men.

He definitely wasn’t gay.