It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt from The Financier and the Sweetheart, Campo Royale #4, releasing in February 2023.
Please do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
“Have you ever thought of sexing it up a bit more during that song?”
Leroy, covered with a sheen of sweat, hit me with a scathing look. He’d been working on his lip sync routine for hours now without a break. We were both anxious and exhausted. Him physically and me mentally.
“When did you become an expert on drag performances?” He asked with so much sass I could barely keep a snort of amusement from bursting out. Leroy had certainly grown into a fiery man. I didn’t recall the eighteen year old Leroy being quite this cheeky but I loved it.
He wiped at his face with a towel. “Don’t be playing Tony Stark.”
I gave him a wink then padded across my hotel room to throw open the sliding door and step outside. The air was thick and humid, the heat still lingering in the cityscape. I walked to the rail, leaned on it, arms locked at the elbows, and drank in Dallas at night.
“So was that it?” Leroy asked from the doorway. I glanced over my shoulder and felt a punch of lust right in the balls. He was wearing tights, high heels, and a n olive tank top with a green toad on the front. His skin was shimmery, slick, and sensual. “Did you finally reach the end of your patience with this whole thing? Walking off is what you do best.”
“I’m not going anywhere, “I assured him then returned my attention to Big D down below. “I thought that we might have needed a break. You’ve been at it for hours now. Would you like to break for a late snack?”
“How on earth do you think I can sex up a song like ‘I Hear A Symphony’ anyway?”
I shrugged. “Maybe you should do something different then. It’s a wonderful song but it’s not strong enough to win you the production talent section. You’ve got to go bigger. This isn’t the Campo, sweetling.” I heard his intake of breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to use that phrase.”
“I should hope not.”
I grimaced at the flub. That term of endearment was not planned. It had just tumbled out unbidden. I turned from Dallas to look at the biggest and brightest star of the night. Or any night in my humble opinion.