Hello, everyone! I am Remmy Duchene, writer of interracial manlove—sometimes erotic, sometimes sensual, sometimes sweet—depends on my muse for that particular story.
I have been blessed to grace this blog before and here I am again. This time I’d like to talk about my newest offering—or rather, one of my newest offerings Lost In You which is book 3 in my intoXication series. This story follows Ko, who we met in Faded Into You and is Thaddeus’ best friend. This Japanese hottie is not only wealthy, he’s lonely and is under pressure to carry on his father’s legacy in running a popular men’s clothing brand, Hansamu.
Then there’s Jackson Stark, nephew to Darius Stark (from book 1 in the series). It’s been a few years now and Jackson is all grown up. He’s successful—working as a dancer, par time model and video game guru at his uncle’s company. He isn’t really looking for love but he’s not going to turn his back on it either.
Both men have their issues with their attraction. And both of them will have to learn that age is nothing but a number and desire is just as important as everything else in a relationship.
This story is a little bit of a May December relationship. Jackson is a bit younger than Ko. My hope for you when you read this story is to have something fun and flirty with enough angst to keep you entertained after a long day.
Lust is better together.
Although Jackson Stark wanted to get into dancing full time, he promised his father and Uncle Darius Stark that he would go to university first. After fast-tracking through his program while auditioning for small roles, he gets a job working at Darius’ video game company as a game designer. When Jackson gets the chance to be the face of a men’s line, he sees it as something else to add to his resume. Then he meets his boss, Ko, and everything he’s heard about love turns out to be true—it’s a giant pain in the ass.
Ko Takao never saw himself as a business mogul. After his father’s death, Ko inherits Hansamu, a clothing company that caters to the man who loves looking dashing. From handmade suits to loungewear, they are at the top of their game and Ko is looking to keep it that way by finding the perfect face to front the label. When Thaddeus suggests Jackson Stark, Ko can’t imagine it—then he lays eyes on the young stud again and all his reservations, along with his self-control, go right out of the window.
When his trip came to an end, India left him more than a little better—physically anyway. Emotionally he was still a bit off. He returned to Bathsheba earlier than he’d told everyone and merely hid out at his place. It was partly because he had an appointment and him partly needing to be alone to breathe and grieve.
The first morning he woke up feeling as if he had been run over by a garbage truck. The jetlag mixed with the messed-up time zone and the alcohol from the plane left him drained. Ko toyed with the idea of hitting the gym but settled for going on a run. The way his body was, he knew he’d wind up dropping a ten-pound weight on his foot or something. The run didn’t last very long, half an hour and he was back. That had been a horrible idea, too. Maybe Ravinder was right—he needed to give his body time to heal before he started pushing again.
But it was never that easy—it couldn’t be. Ko had to maintain Hansamu and find a way to not get buried under his father’s shadow, even in death.
Once he was dressed, Ko stopped long enough to brew some coffee, take a couple of sips, then gathered his keys and wallet and headed out of the door. Thaddeus had given him the heads-up to one of Jackson Stark’s shoots and Ko had managed to talk the photographer into letting him watch. It was homework—not because he was super curious about what Jackson looked like while the cameras were flashing. The fact that seeing Jackson’s pictures aroused him had absolutely nothing to do with anything.
But even as he sped through the rain-damp streets, he couldn’t make himself believe those lies. The photo shoot was at one of Bathsheba’s prized historical houses. Back in the day, Burnham had been a plantation house—slavery, owners, the whole nine. But the owner had found Christianity and after years of a tarnished reputation, he had begun fighting for slavery to be outlawed and had used Burnham house as a refuge for slaves seeking freedom. Ko had read all about it on his flight over from India—it wasn’t as if he’d had anything else to do.
The pictures did Burnham house no justice. The large structure stood as a testament of time before him as the gates swung wide to admit his car. He slowed to a crawl, keeping his eyes on the property, from the gargoyles on the highest parts of the roof, to the rounded windows and almost ancient walls. The staircase leading up to the massive wooden door was grand and made of stones. Ko wondered how they had managed to move those back then.
Finally, he got himself together and followed the signs to the parking and eased in between a motorcycle and a silver BMW. After quick check of his face in the car mirror, he eased from the vehicle and closed the door while glancing around. Apparently, he couldn’t enter through a back door so he hurried around the side. He jogged up to the front door and had to brace his feet to pull it open. Once he was inside, the wonder didn’t end. But he was a man on a mission. He finally found the location of the shoot and stood in the back to see what was happening. In the center of the large room was a single chair—like a throne of sorts. The photographer was fiddling with her camera as Jackson entered from a side door. The two talked for a little, then Jackson removed his robe and stood perfectly sculpted, facing the throne. The photographer gave a few instructions and the shoot began.
“More intensity in the eyes,” the photographer barked.
Is that even possible? It already feels as if when he looks at me, I’m liable to implode.
“Good!” she hollered. “That’s it. That’s it!”
Ko was drawn by the change in Jackson’s body. Suddenly he wasn’t just Jackson anymore but a king—neck elongated, shoulders straight and strong. Every movement seemed like something a man of power would take. Ko leaned his back into the wall, folded his arms across his chest. Jackson rose from the throne and took a step down. He made his way to the foot of the steps, then turned as if he was going back to his seat.
“Beautiful!” the photographer called. “Straighten your back just a tad—yes! Yes!”
Ko couldn’t breathe. Jackson had a nice ass.
“Lift your chin a bit,” she continued. “Perfect! Now, go to the top. Stand beside the throne, and remember, Your Highness—this is your land!”
That seemed to be the motivation Jackson needed to turn it up a notch. He did as the photographer instructed and the shots that came afterward, Ko knew were spectacular. Then his gaze locked with Jackson’s and Ko figured if he hadn’t been propped against something he would have toppled over. For that moment, breath wasn’t important. The connection he had with the model was all the life support he required.
“I’m Idris Elba and you want to do me!” the photographer hollered.
“Yes!” she cheered. “Wonderful!”
In that short time, Ko had done so many deliciously naughty things in his mind to Jackson. In his head, Ko had his young lover tied to the banister at his home and drove into his body from behind like a beast in heat. He had grabbed the rail on either side of Jackson then slammed forward until Jackson was shouting. He had Jackson bent over the hood of a car, leaning against his office desk, spread wide in the sand on a beach somewhere. In that short instant, all the delectably devilish sins one could commit were carried out.
“Okay, we need you to change,” the photographer said and Ko could have strangled her with his bare hands.
The hold Jackson had over him broke and he gasped softly before staggering out of the door again. There was no way he could talk to Tasha and Jackson about his plans then. Confusion and arousal mingled inside his head and stormed through his body. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a shiver trailed through him. Ko’s heart hammered so loudly, he swore everyone could hear it.
He’d gone too long without a lover. That was the only explanation that made any sense. All the years he’d spent hiding from love, pushing lust away and burying it beneath the obligation to please his father, the need to fulfill all his other obligations, were coming back to haunt him. All he wanted to do was go home to some heated lube, porn and his hand.
After a good self-work session, he’d be right as rain.
About the Author
Multi-published Remmy Duchene was born in St. Anns, Jamaica and moved to Canada at a young age. When not working or writing, Remmy loves dabbling in photography, travelling and spending time with friends and family.