Joam is a varnal, a shape-shifter endowed with otherworldly sexual powers. Until recently a virgin, all Joam wants to do is drive his new lover Blake, a former hustler, wild. But the hotter things get between them, the more out of control Joam’s varnal powers become. The next thing he knows, he’s shifting without warning and drawing dangerous quantities of sexual energy from Blake, leaving his soul mate in a blissful, comatose state for days. Terrified that he will kill Blake, Joam withdraws, but Blake misunderstands the reason for this sudden distance, and fears that Joam rejects him for his past. Meanwhile, all is not as it seems at the quiet farmhouse retreat where the two have found refuge after a traumatic experience in Joam’s hometown. If Joam and Blake don’t break out of their intoxicating cycle of sexual denial and excess in time, it may be too late for both of them.
Joam walked into the bathroom to find Blake bent over the tub, adjusting the water temperature. He was naked, his chest crusted with cum, his tight, round bubble butt sticking up in the air. The sight alone made him stir, despite the fact that he'd just come moments ago.
Joam couldn't resist. As one part of his mind marveled at his boldness, he walked up behind Blake, gripped his hips, and rested his quickly swelling cock in the crevice of his ass. Blake chuckled and pushed back, rubbing himself playfully up and down Joam's shaft for a few seconds before standing up, turning on the shower, and stepping in.
The steaming water immediately plastered his wavy blond hair to his head and ran in rivulets down his broad forehead, upturned nose, and cleft chin. It turned the blond thicket on his chest to a sodden mat and ran in streams down his washboard abs, over his tumescent cock, and down his beautiful, sculpted thighs. Blake blew water out of his face and held out a washcloth. “Wash my back?”
Joam took a step forward, then stopped. “Don't you want me to stand guard?”
Was it the hot water that made Blake's face flush pink? “No. I'm sorry for being such a worrywart. The door's locked. It'll be fine.”
Joam didn't need to be asked again. He stepped into the hot spray. It took all the control he had not to plaster himself to Blake's warm, wet back and hump himself to completion between the man's firm, muscular ass cheeks. He took a deep breath and fought for calm even as his cock twitched.
He soaped up the washcloth and ran it over Blake's beautiful, sculpted back. Blake was half a head shorter than him, his body compact and robust, his chest, arms, thighs, all of him, seemed hewn out of oak. There wasn't a trace of fat on him, but he was anything but scrawny. Physically, he was everything Joam could have ever dreamed of, but there was so much more.
Blake had had several opportunities to flee the trouble in Beulah. It was none of his affair. He'd just been passing through and happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the fact that he barely knew Joam was no deterrent to him. He'd stayed and risked his life to help Joam. Joam had been in love with Blake since the moment Joam had suggested exchanging car repairs for sex, and Blake had described the arrangement as “lovely,” but if he hadn't been, then Blake's generosity as a friend and as a lover would have smitten him anyway.
And because of that generosity, Blake had almost been raped by Walsh, had almost been killed by Higgs. It was because of Joam that he was now on the run, fleeing for his life and, most likely, from the law. Joam had not forgotten the fact that Higgs was dead, that his body would be found, and that he and Blake would be the prime suspects.
They needed to ditch Higgs's Lincoln and find new transportation, but he didn't want to think about that right now. Joam ran his hands up and down Blake's back and leaned forward, kissing him between the shoulder blades.
All he really wanted to do was make love to Blake, but there, too, he held back. He knew Blake loved him. When he'd been in varnal form, he'd sensed Blake's feelings as if they were his own. And when he'd made love to Blake as a varnal, he'd unconsciously drained energy from Blake, without even meaning to. He worried about that. From what they'd just done and from their first night together, Joam knew that he couldn't drain Blake so long as he was in human form. But Joam really didn't know anything about his varnal abilities. Could he change accidentally? Was he putting Blake at risk just by being with him?
Blake turned and took the washcloth from him. “Your turn,” he said, making no effort to avoid contact as he switched positions with Joam. Now Joam stood under the warm spray. The water pressure was fantastic compared to the crappy little shower he'd used in the back of Higgs's garage. How long had it been since he'd had the luxury of hot water and lots of it?
Too long, and no point dwelling on it. Especially when Blake was rubbing the soapy washcloth over his chest, circling his nipples, and thrusting his hips forward so that their cocks touched. God! Sparks of delight ran from his nipples to his cock and back again, coalescing in the pit of his stomach.
Blake ran the sudsy cloth down Joam's chest and over his belly. He swirled it around Joam's navel and then moved down farther. The texture of the rough terrycloth and the slippery soap on the sensitive skin of Joam's cock and balls made him gasp and grow instantly erect. Blake abandoned the washcloth, running his slick, soapy fingers up and down the shaft. Water ran over Joam's face and into his mouth as he threw his head back in ecstasy. He grabbed the side of the stall for balance as Blake stroked him over and over again. And then the hand was gone, and Blake turned him so the water rinsed off the soap.
Disoriented, Joam reached for Blake, seeking more contact—a hug, a kiss, anything—but Blake was turning him again and getting to his knees. The next thing Joam knew, his cock was enveloped in the hot wetness of Blake's mouth, his lips and tongue working his cock into a frenzy.
Joam leaned back against the tile under the showerhead and watched the water stream over Blake's head and down his back. He remembered leaning against the cold metal of the little shower stall in the back of Higgs's garage, the tepid water trickling over his body as he jerked off to a fantasy in his mind. So much had changed in such a short time.
Joam reached down and ran his fingers through Blake's hair as he thrust his hips, driving forward into the heat and the suction. Blake was his fantasy boy come to life. Joam was a varnal; there was no changing that. Somehow, he'd find a way to stay with Blake and keep him safe at the same time.
copyright © 2008 by Jessica Freely