The Devil's Heel (A Gay Fiction Pirate Novella) EROTICA
About The Devil's Heel
WARNING: This book has explicit language and strong sexual content.
A Homoerotic Pirate Novella
Five years ago Drew Hibbard dismissed Rogan Brockport from his life. Now, they meet again at the Governor’s Ball and Rogan will know the reason for the abrupt, unexplained cut. After Rogan saves Drew’s life during a pirate raid, he kidnaps him and the perfect opportunity to extract answers from Drew is finally at hand.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED The Devil’s Heel
Copyright © 2012 Keta Diablo
Cover Art by Fantasia Frog Designs
Passage From the Book
Drew clutched the fluted glass in his hand when Rogan Brockport descended the winding staircase. His knees went weak, his throat dry. The intensity in the man’s gaze as he crossed the room both terrified and thrilled him.
Rogan’s rich, sable hair, tied at his nape, touched his broad shoulders and accentuated the slight widow’s peak at his forehead. A long coat of iridescent gray with burgundy and gold trim and cuffs overlaid a silk black shirt and hugged his muscular torso. Knickers of the same gleaming gray fabric clung to his thighs like second skin and met a pair of black, high-top leather boots. Drew’s eyes were drawn to the long, flowing white jabot with gold brooch around Rogan's neck . . . before his gaze settled on the man’s handsome face.
Rumors abounded in Hampton about the rogue, scandalous accounts detailing the vicious life he led at sea. The vulgar repartee bore testament to the dark side of Rogan Brockport—a ruthless mercenary who delighted in filching booty from the lowest order of men sailing the coast. Some said the difference between a mercenary and a pirate was thinner than a blade of grass. Others said the name of the man’s three-masted frigate—The Devil’s Heel—suited the man’s persona.
A brief moment of guilt assailed Drew. If the accounts were true, this dark side of Rogan they spoke of materialized after his own marriage to Claudia.
Good, God, Rogan's steps grew more purposeful as he advanced. He cut a path through the crowd, his dark brown eyes locked on his with a look that said he knew what was under his fine attire.
Run, Drew, run!
His feet felt nailed to the floor.
Who would believe that after all this time he still craved Rogan’s touch, heard his voice in his dreams? During his marriage to Claudia, he’d lie in bed at night and imagine Rogan beside him, licking him, touching him, and yes, thrusting into him until his world shattered.
Oh, Claudia knew when they married the union would never be consummated. He’d been upfront and open with her from the onset, and she with him. She’d married him to uphold her social standing in the community, and he’d married her to soothe his wounded pride and broken heart. He loved Claudia in his own way, and she him. In many ways, theirs was the perfect match.
If not for Rogan Brockport.
Oh, God, in another minute he’d be standing before him. Too late to run now. Well, he wouldn’t sate his maddening hunger beneath the man again. He’d rather die alone and destitute than to submit to the cold-hearted bastard.
Fallon’s voice drew him from his licentious musings. “I’m off to sample the fare at the buffet table. Shall I bring you something?”
Drew shook his head and stifled an impulse to ask him to stay. Even Rogan wouldn’t cause a scene in the crowded room, and Drew would love the opportunity to put the guttersnipe in his place once and for all. He braced for the unpleasant encounter mere moments away.
Rogan offered his hand with a smirk, his intent, no doubt, to remind him of what his virile masculinity had always done to him. “Ah, Drew, widowhood becomes you. I’ve never seen you look better.”
The stinging retort died somewhere in his throat. He saw only the beautiful physicality of the man and Rogan had only shaken his hand.
Rogan locked eyes with his. “Rather neglectful of Fallon to leave you to the she-cats, wouldn’t you say?”
Finding his tongue, Drew lifted his chin. “There’s only one beast in my line of vision, Rogan, and I can’t imagine whatever would possess the cunning creature to sniff me out.”
“Touché,” he whispered in that sensual voice that made Drew shiver with need.
He turned his head and scanned the crowd. “Whatever you want, be quick about it.”
“I want you, Drew, and I don’t intend to be quick about it.”
Even as Drew turned to look at him again, hot blood rushed through his veins. “We have nothing to discuss, so be about your business and leave.”
“Oh, come now.” Rogan smiled. “For old times’ sake, have a drink with me.”
He’d forgotten how that sinfully gorgeous mouth could turn him to pulp. “I have no intention of drinking with you, Brockport.” He allowed his words to linger. “Ever again.”
Rogan leaned in, his low words a whisper of warning. “I’m certain you don’t relish a scene the very first night of your reemergence into society.”
He stood so close, his distinct scent of sandalwood and pure man wafted around Drew, causing the muscles in his lower belly to throb and his cock to stiffen. Without conscious thought, his gaze ran the length of Rogan’s powerful body and settled on the expanding bulge in his breeches.
Christ, help him; he had to get away from the man.
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