- Author: Lynn Lorenz
- Series: Rougaroux Social Club
- Genre:LGBTTQ, Shapeshifters
- Cover Artist: April Martinez
- Prev Book:Rougaroux Social Club 2: Bayou's End
After spending a hot, no-holds-barred sex-filled weekend at a hotel with a man he only knows as Mark, werewolf Bobby Cotteau isn’t sure but he thinks he’s found a new mate. Problem is he never got his lover’s real name. Or his phone number, or even where he lives. But that’s not Bobby’s only problem.
Mark is Professor Mark Bradford, and he’s spent his career as a zoologist trying to prove there are wolves living in the swamps around St. Jerome. If he can do this, he’ll make a name for himself, restore his reputation and maybe even name them after his father, who was killed by a wolf during a camping trip in the swamp with a teenaged Mark. But after a weekend of the best sex of his life, Mark’s fallen hard for Bobby, but without the man’s real name, he has no hopes of ever seeing him again. And the longer they’re apart, the more desperate he is to find Bobby. It’s like he’s under some kind of spell.
Meanwhile, at the Rougaroux Social Club’s yearly Rugarou Festival, which Bobby is in charge of, everything is falling apart. The forecast is for storms, the Virgin Mary has appeared a tree on the festival grounds at the church, pilgrims are swarming, and beer is being sold... and his new mate is about to expose Bobby’s pack to the world.
Former sheriff. Former pack alpha. Former husband.
Most would say at his age, his life was pretty much over. But for Bobby, in a weird way, this was just the beginning of a life he’d postponed for over twenty-five years. All his reasons were gone, and he had gone way past the time to get started on a new life, or at least trying to find his new life, because if he didn’t…
The door opened, and he darted his gaze to it as someone came in. Bobby checked to see if he knew him. Shit, maybe Lake Charles was too close to home. Maybe he was just too jumpy. Maybe he was so horny the need to fuck had built inside him until jerking off, no matter to what vision, wasn’t doing it for him.
He hadn’t done much sexually since he’d discovered his yearning for men some thirty-odd years ago, before he found his mate, Carol, and married her. Times were different back then. There was no out and proud. And as a werewolf, raised in a traditional Catholic-churchgoing family, being gay was not an option.
But Carol, whom he’d truly loved, had died three years ago, taken from him by a stroke that had left her brain-dead. Giving the order to take her off the breathing tube should have been hard, but he knew she would never have wanted to live that way, or wanted him to drag out her ending. She would have worried about him and the toll her death would take on him. He pushed the thoughts of her last moments out of his head—of the nurse removing the breathing tube, of the sound of the monitor signaling her death—before the sorrow of her loss crushed him.
He took another sip, letting the whiskey slide down his throat. What was past was past, and now he had a chance to have what he’d hungered for almost all his life—freedom from the demands of his pack to mate, freedom to follow his desires.
Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. The words to the old song ran around in his head. What did he have to lose?
Before the answers slammed into him, he pushed the question from his mind and returned his glass to its coaster on the bar as he glanced around. The bar was dark, the whiskey cheap, and the men… Well, they were fine as frog’s hair.
Damn, there were some sweet young guys here, probably college students, and didn’t that just make him feel like an old letch? Most of them could be his son, if he’d had kids. He wondered if they were staying at one of the Lake Charles casinos’ hotels or if they just came here to dance and look for men to have sex with.
Dancing was out. He could Cajun dance of course. No self-respecting Cajun could call himself Cajun if he didn’t know how to swing, waltz, and two-step, but the kind of dancing they did in here involved more body motion than he thought he could ever manage, forget about looking good while doing it. And did they really call this music?
All he wanted was a brief hookup; at least he thought that’s what they called it now. He’d done some surfing on the Internet, watched some gay porn, and a few of those sites where the cameras were on and people would do just about anything for those who watched.
It all felt dirty to him. Nasty, and not in a good way.
Nothing took the place of a warm body, the feel of someone beneath him, the heat of being inside someone, and he missed it. He missed Carol. They’d been mates and best friends for over twenty years, and part of his soul had been ripped from him when she died.
He’d been a gay man whose wolf wanted a woman as a mate, and as he’d known all his life, the wolf wants what the wolf wants and won’t be denied. Fine, he’d accepted that and married, been faithful, desired and loved her as his mate. Now the time had come for the wolf to shut the fuck up and let the man have want he wanted.
Just something quick and dirty. Just first names. No promises. No declarations.
He had a hotel room here at the casino on the lake; all he needed was to work up the courage to approach one of these guys, hook up, and go upstairs where they could hit the sheets.
He took another gulp, swallowing the rest of the warm whiskey, and put his glass down. Time to shit or get off the pot, but he just couldn’t get past the age thing. He had more gray in his hair than blond these days, and his face had that weathered look from being outside all the time. He still had a good body for a man his age. The sheriff’s department’s exercise room saw to that, along with genetics. Werewolves tended to stay lean and trim; their metabolisms burned fast and hot and they stayed active, even into old age. Not that he was that old. Wasn’t fifty the new forty?
But any of those young guys, they’d blow him off for sure. Unless he offered money, and he’d be damned if he was going to buy a fuck. He hadn’t come to that, not yet.
Bobby had just about decided to call it a night and go to his room to jack off to cable porn, when the bartender strolled over, put another whiskey down in front of him, and gave him a big smile.
“I didn’t order this,” Bobby said, giving the bartender a raised eyebrow.
“No, but the gentleman over there”—he turned and pointed—“sent it.” He winked and walked off.
Bobby’s gaze tracked the direction of the point and landed on a man who looked to be in his forties, sitting at a table in the corner. The guy gave him a small wave and lifted his drink.
Bobby picked his up and raised it in return. Now this was more like it. Someone nearer his own age.
So what was he going to do about it?
He hesitated. Then he got off his bar stool and maneuvered his way to the table.
DAMN THE MAN looked finer the closer he got to Mark’s table. Tall, wide shoulders, slender hips, powerful thighs. Glints of silver in his hair picked up the occasional strobing lights from the dance floor as he picked his way around it. The guy walked with the loose gait of a man in control, in power, and he oozed something downright animal.
It pushed all Mark’s buttons and sent a shiver down his spine. He couldn’t take his eyes from the man, not for an instant, or he’d miss the sheer beauty of this creature.
“Have a seat.” He kicked out a chair and nodded. “My name is Mark.” He restrained from saying Professor Mark Bradford, managing to keep it inside.
The man sat. “Thanks for the drink. I’m Bobby.” He folded his large hands around the glass, sat back, and looked Mark up and down. The heat from his gaze burned Mark’s dick up, making his hole quiver in anticipation.
“Hello, Bobby.” Mark lifted his drink in a toast. “Here’s to hotel bars.”
Bobby grinned and raised his glass. “And to hotel rooms.”
They drank, never breaking their gazes. Bobby’s eyes were blue, light but with a dark edge to the iris. Nice. Sexy laugh lines shot out from the corners of his eyes, and his skin was tanned, but Mark could tell it was from being outside, not a tanning booth or sprayed on. Still, something about the man looked off, as if he wasn’t at peak condition. Bobby’s clothing hung a bit loosely, as if he’d lost weight. It didn’t set off alarm bells, but hey, Mark chalked it up to age. Bobby had to be around fifty, and to Mark’s forty-two, that was just perfect. Twinks were problems, and he’d learned when he turned forty they were expensive problems he didn’t need or want. And don’t even mention the drama.
Mark asked, “You have one here?”
“A room?” Bobby looked around. For the first time his nerves showed. “Yeah, I have a room. You?”
“No. I live in Lafayette.” Mark shrugged. No sense lying about it. He was here for a party, and if he were damned lucky, this man would take him upstairs and fuck his brains out. All. Night. Long.
“You came here just looking for a hookup?”
“Yeah. Is that a problem?” Mark arched an eyebrow upward.
“No, not a problem.” Bobby shook his head. His eyes looked hungry, predatory, and that just kicked Mark’s arousal up a notch. Would he be as rough as Mark wanted?
“Let’s talk rules.” Mark wanted to be sure they were on the same page.
“Yeah. No last names. No personal info, like family or jobs. No promises, and no expectations.”
“Okay.” Bobby nodded. “I can do that.”
“Good.” Mark finished his scotch. “Ready?”
Bobby barked a laugh. “Wow. You cut right to the chase, don’t you?”
“Why waste time?” Mark leered.
“Right. Time better spent…” Bobby let it hang there.
Mark leaned forward and put his hand on Bobby’s thigh. A small flinch, but nothing more than that. “Time better spent with your cock in my ass.”
Bobby blushed. Fucking adorable. Mark’s dick jerked at the pink staining the older man’s cheeks. “Did I shock you?”
Bobby nodded. “A little, yeah.”
“Sorry, but I’ll have to warn you. I love to talk dirty. And I love dirty talk.” He stood, and Bobby followed suit. Mark moved in closer. “Talk dirty to me, Bobby.” He ran his hand up the man’s arm, feeling hard muscles under the loose cotton shirt all the way up to his shoulder. Damn.
Bobby leaned in and whispered in a whiskey-deep voice, “Get your ass in gear before I lead you all the way to my room with my hand on your dick.”
Mark groaned as his cock stiffened in his jeans. “Ass in gear. Got it.” He headed out the door with Bobby trailing close behind him.
BOBBY HAD TO be out of his mind. They’d said not much between them and barely got names, and now he was taking a stranger to his hotel room. Well, isn’t that what he came here for—hotel-room sex with a stranger?
He admired the tight ass clad in dark blue jeans, the pale gray T-shirt, and the cowboy boots. He hadn’t noticed the boots before. Huh. Mark was about four inches shorter, so that had to put the man at about six foot. Also nice.
Mark’s hair was dark, but there was an odd streak of gray on one side of his head as if lightning had struck him and left its mark. It was attractive and made Bobby want to ask if he’d always had it or if something had caused it. Made him want to run his fingers through it to see if the texture was different from the rest of Mark’s hair.
But this was hotel sex, and Mark had set the rules. And Bobby had agreed to them. Nothing personal except how you liked to be fucked.
They reached the elevators, and Bobby pressed the button, trying to hide his nerves. The doors opened, and he stepped in with Mark on his heels. Thank God, the car was empty. He was sure if anyone looked at him they would be able to see his intentions as clear as day on his face.
Bobby watched as Mark leaned against the wall of the elevator as it rose and gazed up at Bobby with a smoldering look under long lashes. Something deep inside Bobby ignited long-dormant desires. He kept his distance, to keep from throwing Mark against the wall and tasting him.
They stared at each other as the elevator rose; each floor dinged its way past until it stopped and both men had to peel themselves off the walls. Bobby caught Mark by the arm and yanked him out, then led him to the door of his room. He pushed Mark against the wall, while he got out his key card and inserted it. As soon as the light blinked green, Bobby opened it and stepped back.
“Come on in.”
Mark gave him a sexy as hell grin as he passed Bobby and Bobby thanked God he’d straightened up the room before going downstairs in hopes of getting lucky.
The door clicked shut and Mark crowded him in the small space of the entry, nearly backing him into the door.
Oh hell no. The alpha in Bobby surged to the front, refusing to give up control.
Bobby grabbed Mark’s upper arms and turned him, shoving him against the door of the room, pinning him there without much effort.
Mark smiled up at him, and Bobby froze.
This was the part where he was supposed to fall on Mark like a ravening wolf, devour him, fuck him against the door.
So why wasn’t he?
This was the first man he’d been with in decades. Christ. Bobby’s mouth went dry, and his throat closed, and for some stupid, ridiculous, unknown reason, tears burned his eyes.
Bobby leaned down, closed his eyes, buried his face in Mark’s neck, and inhaled until his lungs could hold no more.
Man. Sweat. Aftershave.
The scent went straight to his cock, hardening it until it strained against the metal zipper of his best jeans, aching with the sudden rush of blood. Bobby’s head swam, and his knees almost went out from under him. This wasn’t what he’d planned, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
Copyright © Lynn Lorenz
- Hooray for Bobby! Review by Melissa
- Well worth the wait Review by Ethan
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