Liam sighed deeply as I licked long strokes up and down his dick. I buried my nose in his pubic hair, the rough bristles brushing against my nostrils, and inhaled. I loved Liam’s scent. I took one of his big, hairy balls in my mouth and sucked it, then released it and repeated with the other.
“Stop teasing,” he panted. “Suck me.”
I looked up into his light green eyes and smiled to see the need in them. He was incredibly handsome, from his laughing eyes to his square cheekbones to the light stubble on his chin. Sometimes I looked at him and couldn’t believe how lucky I was that this Greek god come to life was my boyfriend.
I wrapped my hand around the base of his dick and felt his sweat and precum lubricate it. As I sucked and licked and teased the sensitive head, my hand slid up and down on his shaft. Heat rose from his skin, and beads of sweat made glowing tracks down his chest.
He tugged down my shorts and boxers as he rolled me over onto my back, looming above me on his powerful forearms so that I could see every muscle in his naked body rippling. It was one of my favorite positions, though hell, almost every position that involved me and Liam naked was a favorite. He scooted up so that his dick was level with my mouth, and began doing push-ups.
Down his dick came into my mouth, driving into my throat. Then he pulled back as he rose above. Down and up, down and up. I grabbed his round, muscular butt cheeks, holding him so that his dick stayed in my mouth, only letting go when I needed to catch my breath.
Feeling his raw power over me was the greatest aphrodisiac. My own dick was stiff and leaking, so hard it was almost painful. Liam shuddered, moaned, and then came in my mouth, the salty fluid dripping down my throat.
Then he lowered his body onto mine. Maybe that was my favorite position—feeling all his weight on me, the heat rising from his body. He rubbed his belly against my dick, the pressure of his smooth skin grinding against my erection, bringing me off so fast, I couldn’t keep up with my own feelings as the passion of my orgasm swept through me. A fire boiled up in my gut and then exploded. I clenched my eyes shut and saw fireworks against my lids. I felt and smelled Liam so close to me that it was like we were one person.
We lay there, enjoying each other’s bodies, the Tunisian heat already drying the sweat from our skin. We had pushed the furniture around in the living room to make this impromptu workout area, though sometimes, when it was cooler, we also worked out in the courtyard behind the house, giving the men at the Bar Mamounia across the way a private show.
I was just about to suggest a joint shower when the phone rang. Liam rolled off me and motioned to the iPhone, which sat on the desk, vibrating and rocking to the tune of “Who Let the Dogs Out” by the Baha Men.
“My little secretary,” he said as I scrambled up.
“Bigger than you.” I did have the bigger dick, though just by an inch, and we had measured each other many times before we finally agreed. What can I say, there’s a lot of free-floating testosterone in our relationship, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
At six-four, Liam was three inches taller than I was, with broad shoulders and ropy muscles in his arms and legs. His hair was a light blondish brown, cropped short; mine was darker and shaggier. I had a Mediterranean complexion that was a natural olive, while Liam’s skin was deeply tanned from hours in the sun.
“McCullough Protection Associates,” I said after noticing the call was a local one from Tunis, from a number I didn’t recognize.
The man began speaking quickly in Arabic. I’m good with languages, and I’d started taking Arabic lessons already, but he was much too fast for me. “One moment, please,” I interrupted him in Arabic. I’d learned that much, along with “You are speaking too quickly for me” and “Please hold on.”
“You’ve got to take this one,” I said, handing the phone to Liam. “Too much Arabic.”
“I have to do everything,” he said theatrically, then took the phone from me. “Aywa,” he said. That meant yes. “Aywa. Aywa. Mumkin.” The last meant “maybe” or “I’ll see.”
“You want to go to Djerba?” he asked me, holding his hand over the phone. “Bodyguard work?”
Djerba is an island off the coast of Tunisia, renowned for its beaches. “Aywa,” I said. “You bet.”
He motioned for a pen and paper, which I handed to him, as well as his reading glasses. He looked so sexy there, sitting naked on the rubber mat, a tiny bubble of leftover come dribbling from the top of his soft dick. The half-round reading glasses were an incongruous touch for such a big, strong, handsome man. I could only stare at him and think how lucky I was.
He slipped me a piece of paper with the name “Karif Al-Fulan” and the word “Google.” I grabbed my shorts and was about to pull them on when Liam tapped me on the shoulder and shook his head.
Rather than pull a chair up to the simple wooden desk and sit, I stood by the computer, presenting my ass to Liam, and started typing. The top link was to the French-language Tunisian newspaper La Presse. My French had always been pretty good, and since moving to Tunis, I had been getting a lot of practice speaking and reading the language, which was the country’s second. I scanned the article and said, “Holy shit,” as Liam hung up the phone.
“Who is this guy?” he asked, pulling his glasses off and leaning back against the sofa.
“Pop singer. He won the Eurovision song contest a couple of years ago.”
“I thought I recognized the name. What’s the article say?”
“He came out of the closet two days ago. This morning an imam in Cairo issued a fatwa on him.”
Most Westerners, familiar only with Salman Rushdie, thought a fatwa was a death sentence, but for the most part it meant a clerical ruling. In this case, Karif Al-Fulan had been deemed unclean because of his sexual identity. Faithful Muslims were instructed to destroy his records and abstain from listening to his music or attending his concerts.
I read the article out loud, translating relevant parts for Liam, whose French was not as good as mine. I shifted the computer monitor so he could see the picture of Al-Fulan that accompanied the article.
He had a long face, with hazel eyes and skin the color of a very light café Americano, the kind with lots of milk. His black hair draped in sexy curls over his forehead, and he had the hint of a five-o’clock shadow.
As I read and translated, our dog, Hayam, rose from where she had been sleeping and nosed up against Liam’s legs, hoping for a treat. He reached down to scratch behind her ears.
Through the open windows, we heard the sounds of a motorcycle gunning down the street and men laughing in the Bar Mamounia. The air smelled like curry and car exhaust. “Who is it that wants to hire us?” I asked when I was finished.
“Al-Fulan’s manager. He called Roberto – you’ve met him, the Italian guy who handles security at a bunch of nightclubs. He offered the job to Roberto, but the job’s too big for him. All he knows how to do is hire bouncers.”
Liam preened; after finishing his military service with the US Navy SEALs, he had moved to Tunis and set himself up as a private bodyguard. He had built a clientele slowly, protecting prominent people from kidnapping, assault, assassination, stalking, and so on. He was obviously pleased to get the referral from Roberto.
“What’s in Djerba?”
“Private villa owned by the record company. Al-Fulan has gotten some death threats, and he’s retreating there. The manager wants someone to keep an eye on him.”
Liam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the sofa, his dick nestled in the thatch of his pubic hair. “You sure you’re ready to take on a client like this?” he asked. “It’s a big job, living in, being on the alert 24-7. If you’re not, I can find somebody else to help out, and you can hold down the fort here.”
Like I was going to let Liam go off to a private villa with a good-looking gay guy like Karif Al-Fulan. I trusted him—but I still wondered sometimes at the fate that had brought him to me when he was so gorgeous, with a body b
uilt for sex. He laughed at my insecurity, telling me that he loved me and thought I was handsome and that I was the only guy for him. But I still worried.
“I’m in,” I said. “How soon do we leave?”
Liam stood up. “This afternoon. We’re meeting Al-Fulan and his manager at the Hotel Africa at three. They’re chartering a plane to take us to Djerba.” He smiled. “Game on.”
Dancing with the Tide is available wherever ebooks are sold. And if you enjoyed this book, or others in the series I hope you’ll post your review wherever you find your books. Informative reviews help other readers discover authors and books they’d like to read. Thanks!
Table of Contents
1 – The Bar Mamounia
2 - Two Glasses of Vieux Magon
3 – Out of the Dating Pool
4 – The Hotel Africa
5 – Silver Knife
6 – Liam’s House
7 – Hidden Numbers
8 – A Trip to the Medina
9 - Looking for Liam
10 – A Game of Shkouba
11 – Mme. Habiba Abboud, B.A.
12 – Making Lemonade
13 – Spicy
14 – A Night Together
15 – Departure
16 – El Jem
17 – Bus Ride
18 – Matmata
19 – Hidden Dangers
20 – Checkpoint
21 – Ksar Ouled Soltane
22 – Hookah Hookup
23 – Leaving Tataouine
24 – Motorcycle Matters
25 – Wipeout
26 – The Camel Market
27 – Going for a Ride
28 – Momo
29 – The Caravan
30 – Through the Night
31 - Meeting with Ibrahim
32 – Aidan Makes a Suggestion
33 – A Traitor Revealed
34 – The Desert by Moonlight
35 – The Tagant School
36 – Dropped off the Face of the Earth
37 – Aidan’s Plan
38 – Taking Risks
39 – Deployment Plan
40 – The Bullhorn
41 – Evacuation
42 – Return to Tunis
43 – An Unexpected Visitor
Dancing with the Tide – 1 – Game On
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Also by Neil S. Plakcy
Angus Green
The Next One Will Kill You
Nobody Rides for Free
Survival is a Dying Art
Fun, Sexy Erotica
Mr. Surfer and Other Gay Erotica
Golden Retriever Mysteries
In Dog We Trust
The Kingdom of Dog
Dog Helps Those
Dog Bless You
Whom Dog Hath Joined
Dog Have Mercy
Honest to Dog
Dog is in the Details
Dog Knows
Have Body, Will Guard
Three Wrong Turns in the Desert
Dancing with the Tide
Teach Me Tonight
Olives for the Stranger
Under the Waterfall
Finding Freddie Venus
Standalone
Pledge Class and Other College Boy Erotica
Photo Booth
Creeling the Bridegrooom
The Outhouse Gang
Watch for more at Neil S. Plakcy’s site.
About the Author
Neil Plakcy is the author of over thirty romance and mystery novels. He lives in South Florida with his partner and two rambunctious golden retrievers. His website is www.mahubooks.com.
Read more at Neil S. Plakcy’s site.
Three Wrong Turns in the Desert Page 26
