You. Always you.: A Gay Romance by M.E. ➱ Release Tour with Giveaway

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: You. Always you.

Author: M.E.

Publisher: Perin

Cover Artist: M.E.

Release Date: September 15, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance

Trope/s: Mild age play, Daddy Kink, Power play, hurt/comfort

Themes: Toxic relationship, manipulation, humor,

erotic, heartache, Open (Happy) End

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 44 000 words/ 180 pages

It is a standalone story.

Goodreads

Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

A seductively toxic gay romance

Blurb

Whatever happened in your past, did not happen. And I am your only future.
I am obsessed with you; you’re obsessed with me.

You hurt me to comfort me.

You break me to put me back together.

And I do the same to you.

I am addicted to you; you’re addicted to me.

You told me this would be a bad idea.

You warned me of the heartache.

And I did it anyway.

I like you; you like me.

When I see you, my sun rises.

When I see you, it is summer in Berlin.

When I see you, I can still hear us laugh.

But I wasn’t gonna go, and you weren’t gonna stay.

I wonder if your heart aches when you see me.

I wonder if your sun rises when you see me.

I wonder if you smile …

And if you do, will you stay?

Or will I go?

You. Always You. is a steamy 44k vignette about a toxic love story between two men. It features elements of romance, humor, hurt/comfort, a dash of violence, mild age play, and Daddy play. Approach with caution. You’ve been warned.

Excerpt

My little puppy

I frown down at you while you stare up at me with your big, dark puppy eyes. “What are you still doing up? It’s past eleven.”

“I was waiting for you, Daddy.”

I smirk, like I’d fall for that. “You know the rules.”

“No, really!” Suddenly, your voice sounds almost childish. You’ve turned little right in front of me. You push your laptop carelessly off to the side and blink up at me. “I was waiting for you, Daddy.” You jump up to stand, hands going for my shirt.

I shake my head, “Uh-uh.” I know your games, your excuses. You’ve been watching something on your laptop and lost track of time. It’s always the same … the longer you stay up, the longer you’ll sleep in. Or not sleep at all. It’s not good for you, which is why we have the 10 p.m. bedtime rule.

“Daddy,” you whine, fingers curling in my shirt to pull at me. You can tell that I’m disappointed, yet you lie once more, “I was waiting for you. I cannot sleep without my Daddy …”

I stand still, watch your well-practiced innocent act play across your face and then reach down to unclasp your fingers from my shirt. “Take off my sweater.” Your eyes grow wide as I say that. I usually love seeing my clothes on you. Especially when we’re around other people. “Take it off.”

“But—”

“Now,” I growl, snapping my fingers as if that would make you move faster. It doesn’t.

Instead, you keep arguing. “I’ll be cold!”

“I said … Take. It. Off.”

“Why …?” you mumble as you finger the seam of the long sweater; it’s black and warm.

“You don’t deserve it.” I can hear the whine emanate from your throat, spilling past your lips. I could spank you. I could forbid you to watch any movies next weekend, but instead, I choose this. It’s a greater punishment for you to shed something that so clearly marks you as mine. “I’m taking it back.”

“No, no, you cannot do that!” You lunge forward again, tugging at my shirt while I stand above you like a statue. Tall and imposing. “You gave it to me, Daddy. It was a gift.”

“I take it back.” A pained sound escapes your lips, unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. Your bottom lip quivers and your eyes turn glossy. It pains you, deeply. But it also angers you, I can feel it simmer below the surface.

“Fine,” you snap.

“Fine what?” I probe as you take a step back, still not taking off my sweater. In fact, you cross your arms like a petulant child.

“I watched something on Netflix because I didn’t want to go to sleep,” you admit, mumbling every word; it’s almost adorable. But mostly amusing.

“There you go,” I say and sit down on the couch while you still stand beside it. You turn back to look at me over your shoulder, arms still crossed.

“I am keeping the sweater,” you announce; it makes me chuckle. I am already thinking about how I can punish you. This is always the best part. Punishing my little puppy.

“You lied to me. Liars must be punished.” Shuffling on your feet, you move to face me completely, the sleeves of my sweater covering your hands because you pulled them all the way down.

“But-but I confessed ...”

I arch an eyebrow and shake my head at you, “Not good enough.” A few moments tick by before I tell you to kneel. You kneel. I order you to take off my shoes, you do that too.

I always enjoy watching you down there, between my feet, placing my shoes neatly below the coffee table. Like I’ve trained you to do. The first time you’d just tossed them aside. Bad little puppy. No more sloppiness.