About Drawing Straws, Complete Series
Author: Sean Michael
Word Count: 52100
Page Count (pdf): 228
ISBN: 978-1-988377-79-7
Price: 4.99
Pairing: M/M/M/M
Series: Drawing Straws
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary
Date Published: October 2018
Publisher: Sean Michael
Heat Rating: 
File Types available: pdf, mobi, epub
Summary:
Damon, Erik, Joe, and Tork graduated together from the police academy. Though they’ve found their niches in different departments, they’ve kept a tradition alive that brings them together four times a year. The four men meet at Erik’s secluded cabin for a long weekend and draw straws for which of them is going to be the sub.
It’s all fun and games until one of them becomes gravely ill. It will test their bonds along with their resolve and their commitment to each other.
Do these four men have what it takes to be more than just friends with benefits? Find out in this compilation of the four Drawing Straws stories.
Erik, Joe, Tork and Damon were previously published individually by Resplendence Publishing.
Excerpt:
William Torkvinenndan, Tork to pretty much everyone, made the final turn on the world’s tiniest fucking dirt road to Erik’s cabin. It would have been easier if he’d been able to leave on time, but as it was, he’d nearly had to cancel altogether, so the fact that it was now dark was a small price to pay.
While being head of the new intradepartmental unit was quite the coup, it also came with added responsibilities, added stress. And while that made it a little trickier to get the time off, it also meant he needed this weekend more than ever.
The road got a little better as the cabin came in sight, or at least the warm and welcoming light from the windows came into sight.
Three cars were already parked, and he wasn’t surprised—he was the last one here. Pulling into the only spot left, he turned the engine off, grabbed his bag, and headed up the stairs to the empty front porch. The front door was unlocked and he went in. He could see down the hall to the kitchen.
There was music coming from the back porch through the open backdoor, the smoke from the grill and scent of cooking meat making his mouth water. He tossed his bag into the front room, plugged his phone in next to the other three and turned off the ringer.
For the next three days, he belonged to the men currently in the back of the house.
He headed that way, listening to their voices as he made his way down the hall. Out on the deck, Erik stood in front of the grill, the light making him look a little like a Nordic god. Not that Tork would tell the bastard. Erik knew exactly how good he looked.
In the kitchen, Damon chopped vegetables while singing, his lithe body dancing to the driving beat. Joe was sitting at the table, working on a bottle of some freaky juice or other. The man found the weirdest food.
Tork couldn’t have stopped the grin that broke out, even if he’d wanted to, and God knew, he didn’t want to. “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.”
“Oooh. Mr. Department Head remembered it was our weekend.” Damon winked at him, eyes black as holes, but full of life.
Tork flipped the man off companionably. “Just for that—you get the last kiss.”
He went to Joe first, tilting his lover’s head back and taking a good, hard kiss. Fuck, the man tasted good beneath the sweet of his juice. And nobody tongue-fucked like a cop. Nobody.
Their lips parted, Joe giving him a shit-eating grin. Smirking at Damon, Tork went out onto the deck to wrap his arms around Erik’s waist and dropped a kiss on his exposed neck.
“Hey, babe.” The big man leaned into him, trusting him to hold all that weight. “Glad you could come out. It’s not the same without you.”
“Wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
They’d been getting together four times a year ever since they’d graduated. This was the closest thing he had to family.
“Meat smells good.” Tork’s hand lingered on Erik’s ass, then he finally went to Damon.
Damon was still chopping salad veggies, still singing, and brandished the knife at him when he came over. “Nope. No kisses for you. Shoo.”
“Your loss.” Tork knew he was a great kisser.
“Dude, you’re not even going to push a little? You suck.”
Laughing, Tork grabbed Damon’s arm, twisting it just enough to disarm him, before tugging him close and pressing their lips together. Damon pushed up against him, hips rocking, dancing, and that hot, hungry little tongue lapping against his own.
He could feel Damon’s sizeable cock pressing against his hip. Damn, but Damon always was a needy fuck. There was a reason he liked saving this hello kiss for last, and somehow, Damon always gave him the perfect excuse.
Smart, hot, hung, and eager—Damon was the total package.
They kissed until Joe tossed a roll at them, winging it off his shoulder.
“Don’t waste those, Joe,” complained Damon. “We bought them from the bakery on third.”
Tork just laughed. Fuck, he did enjoy these guys.
Erik brought the steaks in, putting them down on the big kitchen table. “Two mid-rares, a rare, and a well-done.”
“Mine’s the rare.” Tork helped Damon bring over the salad, and they all sat down around the table.
Erik and Joe got the mid-rares and Damon settled with the well-done. The food was good, the company equally so, and Tork settled into the place, into being here instead of back in the city, dealing with stress and shit and everything else.
They talked shop for a bit—they were all cops, after all—the guys teasing Tork about his promotion before turning on Erik and his unending attempt to balance cleaning up the street and his habit of befriending gang members.
When their steaks were finished, there was apple pie with ice cream, and the conversation drifted to their lack of personal relationships and how it was impossible to keep anything going when you were a cop.
And then it was time.
Time for them to draw straws and see who picked the short one. See who was going to be the sub for the weekend.