Gay Fiction/ Western
A prison break…a past they can't forget…a passion they can't deny.
The Civil War has devastated a Nation.
Grayson Drake, Special Agent for a covert spy agency, must assume the identity of a physician in order to break Corporal Marx Wellbourne out of Elmira prison─better known as Hellmira to prisoners housed there.
Corporal Wellbourne is a Confederate military strategist with an Eidetic memory. He has memorized every strategic battle plan the Confederacy hopes to implement in upcoming battles.
Drake’s orders state he is to return Wellbourne to Richmond, VA, where the generals of the Confederate Army can extract the battle plans entombed in his brain.
After Grayson is allowed entry into Wellbourne’s prison cell, he discovers not only is Wellbourne courting death from malaria and pneumonia, he recognizes him as a man he fell in love from afar several years ago.
Grayson must come up with a plan to rescue Wellbourne and then keep him alive while a brigade of soldiers, led by the villainous warden, Britton Darkmore is in hot pursuit.
Will they live through the long hard ride back to Richmond?
* * *
“This is one of those stories that twists your gut into knots. The angst, the passion, the betrayal. A must read for lovers of gay historical romance with substance, high risk tension, suspense and heart pounding sex.”
“This was such a great book! The character dynamics between Gray and Marx kept me on my toes and the chemistry was steamy hot. Definitely on my re-read shelf.”
- 1 To Be Read list
Heat Level: 4
Romantic Content: 4
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 26-35
Protagonist 2 Age: 26-35
Tropes: Alpha Character, Rescue, Slow Burning Love, Trapped Together, Unrequited Love
Word Count: 29,000
Setting: Western/Civil War/Spies
Languages Available: English
Excerpt From Long Hard Ride:
By the time Gray led them into the private grove, Marx had started to nod off again. Tremors wracked his body and sweat streamed from his forehead. Lightheaded, he wobbled in the saddle and did his best to stay mounted. He heard his own groan when his shoulder hit the hard ground seconds later.
“Shit, why didn’t you say something, Wellbourne?”
“Marx. First names, remember?”
Strong arms plucked him from the ground and carried him to the copse of long- needled pines several rods away. Gray laid him down under the branches and put a canteen to his lips. “How long since you took water?”
He shook his head. “Don’t recall. Get me whiskey.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the malaria?”
“You wouldn’t have busted me out of prison.” His mind drifted and he struggled to keep the words on his tongue. “If I ramble, stuff a rag in my mouth.”READ MORE
“Don’t worry; I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
Too fucking bad, that. He wanted Gray to take advantage of him, had wanted it almost from the first moment the man walked into his cell, spectacles and all. The rugged, stunning creature called to him like wretched flies on cow dung. Oh, God, I’m thinking out of my head. Please don’t let me spill my guts in my confusion. Marx curled into a fetal position, the spasm and chills unbearable.
“Hold on, I’ll get the quinine and opium.”
“No whiskey right now.”
Footsteps drifted away from him and returned moments later. “So cold, so damn cold. Build a fire.”
“I hate to keep saying no, but we can’t have a fire. Soldiers will smell that a mile off.” Gray put the bottle to his lips. “Quinine, drink. You should have told me you had malaria, could have saved us a lot of trouble.”
Marx choked the quinine down and held his hand up with a dismissive wave. “No opium.”
Another bottle came to his lips. “Just drink it. You need rest.”
He shook his head. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, for Christ sake, I’m not going to question you, promise.”
“No opium,” he repeated and pinched his lips.
Marx moaned; the alternating fever and chills rendering him defenseless. He couldn’t remember when he’d been so cold and hot all at once. Maybe this time he’d die and wouldn’t have to worry about the maps anymore.
Didn’t those fools in Virginia know the South was doomed from the beginning? The Confederate Army couldn’t compete with the Union’s continual supply of weapons and ammo, the endless manufacturing of both. The one thing the South had in their favor—courage, valor beyond question, and if he told Gray what he wanted to hear. . . . He didn’t want to think about that, think about anything. So tired, weak and cold, he wanted to die.
Someone was removing his shirt. “Don’t put me in the box again . . . don’t! Won’t do you any good. Just kill me.”
“You're talking out of your head. No one’s putting you in the box. You need warmth.”
A warm body laid down beside him, skin on skin, naked chest to naked back. Snuggled against a muscular body, Marx thought his wishes about dying had come true. He imagined Gray’s big hands running over his trembling flesh. No, he wasn’t delirious. The man worked fast, rubbed his clammy flesh with long, hard strokes, fanning the faint embers of warmth to life.
He wanted more, longed to feel his strong body pounding into him. How he yearned to have his tongue licking every inch of his skin and his mouth wrapped around his cock. A breath snagged in his throat, from the malaria or the thought of Gray touching him, he didn’t know.
Would he be a demanding lover or languid and tender, driving him mad before he fucked him long and hard? Marx could be both, had done both, played the part of take- charge lover and a submissive partner. That’s what he craved from the man called Gray, a long, hard ride. Oh, Christ, what was happening to him? If he didn’t shut off his thoughts, he’d turn to Gray in a moment and beg.