Sakura Kiss

Book One in the Seasonal Love series

Memories of a brutal attack have left Armas afraid—of people, of intimacy, of admitting his sexuality. But shortly after arriving in Tokyo on business, he ventures out for a drink … and wakes up in the morning in a strange hotel room after a night he can only vaguely remember, though all his memories are surprisingly sweet. In a panic he flees, determined to leave the whole night behind him and get back to a life that is comfortable, familiar. His plans are ruined when his one night stand proves to be the CEO of the company that has brought him to Tokyo, and a man determined to help Armas overcome the dark in which he’s living.


Excerpt

(c) T. T. Kove

Soft lips were kissing him, tender fingers running over his body, caressing him. Black, slanted eyes were gazing down on him and a warm, hard, tan body pressed against him, rocking with him in slow, careful thrusts.

He slid his arms around the man’s shoulders, holding on to him as the pleasure built. His eyes closed and small moans escaped his throat.

Then suddenly it all changed. His eyes flew wide open and it wasn’t black, slanted eyes staring down on him anymore, but angry, narrowed blue ones. He was unceremoniously flipped over on his stomach and his hands tied tightly to the bedpost. He tried to scream but a rolled up headscarf was stuffed into his mouth and tied to the back of his head.

Tears escaped his eyes as his thighs were parted and the older boy thrust violently into him. He screamed against the cloth in his mouth, but only muffled sounds could actually be heard. And they were nothing compared to the sound of the older boy’s flesh slapping against his bum.

He buried his face in the pillow and cried. He tried to pull loose of the bands around his wrists, but they were tied too tightly. The older boy hit him between the shoulders with a blunt item when he saw.

Tears rolled from his eyes, wetting the pillow. He was hit again, and again he tried to scream, but the cloth kept all sounds from being heard. Just as it always did…

Armas’ eyes shot wide open and he sat up in bed with a start. “Ohh!” He gasped as pain shot up the small of his back and through his head, and he doubled over on his side for a moment to wait for it to subside.

The covers pooled around his waist, and he looked down on himself. He was naked. A hand went back to cover his tailbone as he glanced around the room with wide eyes. It was a hotel room. And he was in a double bed, where the covers on both sides were rumpled.

His head throbbed painfully, and as he shifted and felt the pain in his bottom, memories from the night before came back to him. Drinking at a bar in Tokyo’s famous gay district, meeting a striking Japanese man dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, and then … leaving with the man, kissing him, and … “Oh no,” he whimpered. He’d slept with him. And not only that, but he’d bottomed. Was I willing? Did I really sleep with him by my own free will? Or was I … Armas couldn’t even think it.

The sound of the shower registered, and he glanced at the partially closed door leading into the bathroom. Someone was in there, probably the guy from last night. The guy with the black, slanted eyes, who had made love to him so gently … Definitely willing then, he thought, but that didn’t help. Panic rose and he jumped out of bed, not caring about the pain in his back as he scrambled to gather his clothes and get dressed.

He patted his pockets, made sure that he had his wallet, and then left the room. He didn’t care that the door slammed after him; the man would know he’d left when he got out of the shower anyway.

Tears were threatening as he emerged out on the sidewalk. A taxi stood just outside the hotel, and a man was exiting it. Armas hurried over so that it wouldn’t leave. He had to get back to his own hotel.

He managed to keep the tears at bay until he entered his hotel room, considerably smaller and cheaper than the one he’d just left.

“No,” he whispered, falling to his knees in the middle of the floor. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth.

He hadn’t been in Tokyo more than a week and the memories he’d tried escaping from were coming back. Memories from that year, with that person … “No, no, no,” he whimpered, trying to keep the dreaded memories at bay, but he didn’t succeed; they came anyway. “I did not like it,” he murmured, shaking his head as the tears started trickling. “I didn’t.”

Better memories, memories from the previous night came back, of the tender love-making with the Japanese man. It hadn’t hurt at all, and he’d liked it. He’d liked it a lot, so much that he’d practically wrapped himself around the man.

“No,” he whispered in anguish. “I don’t want to be gay. I don’t want him to be right.”

He cried until there weren’t any tears left, and then he picked himself up off the floor and hurried to take his anti-depressants. After looking at the clock, and seeing that it was time to start getting ready for work, he went into the bathroom to shower.

He stood naked in front of the mirror and looked down at himself. He still had some dried semen on his abdomen, and he scratched at it. Then he turned around and spread his butt cheeks for a quick check. He ran his index finger down the crack and circled it over his hole. It felt tender, but it didn’t hurt. He was just very sore. But then I haven’t bottomed for a man since … him. It’s bound to be sore. He was going to be walking funny all day, most likely.

Tears threatened again at the thought of him, but he pushed the thoughts away and went into the shower. The shock of the cold water hitting him drove any lingering thoughts of his horrid year in middle school from his mind, and when it turned warm; he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the water cascading down on him, washing away all traces of semen and smell of sex and man.

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