Playing It Safe
by Amy Andrews
Series: Sydney Smoke Rugby, #7
Genre: Contemporary Sports Romance
Publisher: Entangled: Brazen
Release Date: September 6, 2021
Donovan Bane loves playing rugby for the Sydney Smoke. And if that means he has to keep his sexuality a secret, that’s a sacrifice he’s prepared to make. At least until after he retires, anyway. He doesn’t want to be the first pro rugby player in Australia to officially come out while still playing. The team doesn’t need the media shit storm and he’d rather be known for his footy skills. Which means no dating, no relationships, no sex. Nothing but playing ball.
Until one man suddenly changes everything…
Beckett Stanton is out and proud—and not looking for a guy who isn’t. Been there, done that, complete disaster. Unfortunately, on the first day of his new job working for the Sydney Smoke, he locks eyes with Donovan Bane and he’s a goner. Big, gruff, and athletic isn’t usually Beck’s type, but for some reason this man is ticking all his boxes. And it’s clear the feeling is mutual. It’s also clear that Donovan is not out, and doesn’t plan to be anytime soon. Still, Beck can’t resist being the man to show Donovan everything he’s been missing.
For the first time, Donovan doesn’t play it safe and allows himself to indulge in things with Beck he knows he can’t have. But when their relationship gets serious, he knows he has to choose between the career he loves and the man he loves, because how can he possibly have both?
Beck didn’t think there was a gay man alive capable of not checking out Donovan Bane’s ass as he climbed the massive Japanese maple tree that seemed to take up the entire front yard of his neighbour’s property. He sure as shit did. It might have been raining and dark, but Mrs. Connor had handed him a torch and told him to light Donovan’s way, and who was he to disappoint a sweet, little old lady?
Was it his fault that the powerful beam managed to spotlight the climbing man to perfection, allowing him to ogle all that magnificence? It was hard not to, what with the cling of those very wet shorts showcasing glutes that were so round and taut Beck actually salivated at the thought of sinking his teeth into them. And then there was the back view of his thick legs, hamstrings and calves working in beautiful tandem.
Yes, indeed—Donovan was one very big boy.
God knew, Beck was no sapling. At six-foot-two and a hundred kilos, he was broad-chested with well-defined abs. And quads and calves (thanks to cycling) that most would consider big. But compared to Donovan, who probably had him by thirty kilos or so and was just plain thick through the chest and abs and legs, Beck was positively lean.
For a guy built like a tank, he was surprisingly agile, though, his step light as he powered upward toward the cat. If it had been any other tree, Beck might have worried that the branches would break under the strain of supporting such a huge frame, but the big limbs were solid and gnarled with age, barely giving at all beneath Donovan’s weight.
“He’s such a good boy to me,” Mrs. Connor said affectionately, projecting her crackly voice over the noise of the rain.
They were standing under the overhang of the roof that extended out from the front door to form a porch. There was no light, other than the outward beam of the torch, but it kept them relatively dry in the inclement weather. “I’m very lucky to have him as a neighbour.”
Lucky to have that kind of eye candy on call night and day? Hell yes, she was. “Good neighbours are a godsend,” Beck replied, smiling down at the woman, who beamed back, clearly thrilled they were on the same wavelength.
Beck was great with grandmothers. Flirting and grandmothers.
And blowjobs.
Because it was difficult to be getting such a glorious view of Donovan’s back and not think about the front. About how much he’d like to take what he was sure would be a very impressive erection in his mouth and blow both Donovan’s cock and his mind. Had he ever had a blowjob by a man before? Just because he’d never admitted out loud he was gay to a guy before didn’t mean he didn’t have an arrangement with some discrete dude or service, perhaps, for the purpose of sexual release.
Although Beck hoped not. Because he couldn’t deny, the idea of him being Donovan’s first was fast becoming an obsession. Sure, closeted guys were off Beck’s relationship radar, but potentially introducing this guy to the delights of another man’s body was firmly on his sexy-times radar.
Not that such thoughts were exactly respectable, standing next to a woman who’d proudly told him she was eighty-six and a great-grandmother six times over. Beck filed those thoughts under spank bank and ordered the horny little devil that had been riding his shoulder since Monday to shut up.
“He’s nearly there,” Mrs. Connor said.
Her hand fluttered absently near her throat as she watched Donovan inch closer to her very bedraggled cat. Wally’s fur was soaked and clinging to his body like Donovan’s shorts were clinging to his ass. Except beneath the fur the cat was impressively skinny, and beneath those shorts, Donovan was impressively not.
Even through the shroud of pissing rain, the cat was visibly trembling as Donovan reached out his hand. It didn’t move from its spot, however, and Beck watched as Donovan inched a little closer, sliding his arm around the cat’s middle and lifting. Wally, though, was not having any of it as he clung to the branch for grim death, protesting the intervention with hissing and a meow loud enough to be heard over the rain. But Donovan persisted, and eventually, the cat unfurled his claws.
“Oh…he did it!” Mrs. Connor exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Beck smiled. “He did.” And he thanked the universe that he’d been here to witness the Donovan Bane, pro rugby god, in the role of cat rescuer.
Was it his fault that the powerful beam managed to spotlight the climbing man to perfection, allowing him to ogle all that magnificence? It was hard not to, what with the cling of those very wet shorts showcasing glutes that were so round and taut Beck actually salivated at the thought of sinking his teeth into them. And then there was the back view of his thick legs, hamstrings and calves working in beautiful tandem.
Yes, indeed—Donovan was one very big boy.
God knew, Beck was no sapling. At six-foot-two and a hundred kilos, he was broad-chested with well-defined abs. And quads and calves (thanks to cycling) that most would consider big. But compared to Donovan, who probably had him by thirty kilos or so and was just plain thick through the chest and abs and legs, Beck was positively lean.
For a guy built like a tank, he was surprisingly agile, though, his step light as he powered upward toward the cat. If it had been any other tree, Beck might have worried that the branches would break under the strain of supporting such a huge frame, but the big limbs were solid and gnarled with age, barely giving at all beneath Donovan’s weight.
“He’s such a good boy to me,” Mrs. Connor said affectionately, projecting her crackly voice over the noise of the rain.
They were standing under the overhang of the roof that extended out from the front door to form a porch. There was no light, other than the outward beam of the torch, but it kept them relatively dry in the inclement weather. “I’m very lucky to have him as a neighbour.”
Lucky to have that kind of eye candy on call night and day? Hell yes, she was. “Good neighbours are a godsend,” Beck replied, smiling down at the woman, who beamed back, clearly thrilled they were on the same wavelength.
Beck was great with grandmothers. Flirting and grandmothers.
And blowjobs.
Because it was difficult to be getting such a glorious view of Donovan’s back and not think about the front. About how much he’d like to take what he was sure would be a very impressive erection in his mouth and blow both Donovan’s cock and his mind. Had he ever had a blowjob by a man before? Just because he’d never admitted out loud he was gay to a guy before didn’t mean he didn’t have an arrangement with some discrete dude or service, perhaps, for the purpose of sexual release.
Although Beck hoped not. Because he couldn’t deny, the idea of him being Donovan’s first was fast becoming an obsession. Sure, closeted guys were off Beck’s relationship radar, but potentially introducing this guy to the delights of another man’s body was firmly on his sexy-times radar.
Not that such thoughts were exactly respectable, standing next to a woman who’d proudly told him she was eighty-six and a great-grandmother six times over. Beck filed those thoughts under spank bank and ordered the horny little devil that had been riding his shoulder since Monday to shut up.
“He’s nearly there,” Mrs. Connor said.
Her hand fluttered absently near her throat as she watched Donovan inch closer to her very bedraggled cat. Wally’s fur was soaked and clinging to his body like Donovan’s shorts were clinging to his ass. Except beneath the fur the cat was impressively skinny, and beneath those shorts, Donovan was impressively not.
Even through the shroud of pissing rain, the cat was visibly trembling as Donovan reached out his hand. It didn’t move from its spot, however, and Beck watched as Donovan inched a little closer, sliding his arm around the cat’s middle and lifting. Wally, though, was not having any of it as he clung to the branch for grim death, protesting the intervention with hissing and a meow loud enough to be heard over the rain. But Donovan persisted, and eventually, the cat unfurled his claws.
“Oh…he did it!” Mrs. Connor exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Beck smiled. “He did.” And he thanked the universe that he’d been here to witness the Donovan Bane, pro rugby god, in the role of cat rescuer.
Amy is an award-winning, USA Today best-selling, double RITA nominated, Aussie author who has written seventy plus contemporary romances in both the traditional and digital markets. Her books bring all the feels from sass, quirk and laughter to emotional grit and panty-melting heat.
At sixteen she met a guy she knew she was going to marry and several years later she did. They have two grown kids who have flown the coop for distant shores which enables their travel fetish.
She loves good books and great booze although she'll take mediocre booze if there's nothing else. For many, many years she was a registered nurse which means she knows things. Anatomical things. And she's not afraid to use them!
She's just taken a sea change and gets to create stories whilst overlooking the mighty Pacific Ocean.
To keep up with her new releases you can join her mailing list here - http://www.amyandrews.com.au/newsletter.html
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