Losing Better

Cover by Natasha Snow

About Superpowered Love 4: Losing Better

Superpowered Special Agent Gabriel Genêt's first solo mission is simple enough on the surface. He's supposed to visit Hooperstown, North Carolina, find evidence that Andrew Wynne is operating as a vigilante, and then bring him in.

It's even simpler given that ten years ago, Gabriel spent a summer alternately torturing and hooking up with Andrew as they tried to ignore their parents' embarrassing affair. Of course Andrew, the big puppy dog, will be happy to see his old friend and never suspect a thing. Career-driven, cocky young Agent Genêt can hardly believe his luck.

But simple rapidly turns into complicated, with Gabriel using Andrew's open arms and attraction to him for all it's worth. Gabriel tells himself he doesn't reciprocate, and then that he can control it, but it's too violent for either of them to deny. As he gets closer to the evidence he needs, a heady combination of nostalgia, genuine affection, and even understanding brings Andrew closer to him—dangerously close.


The last of the uneaten food tucked away, I asked, "Where's the coffee?"
"Behind the Coke in there."
I ducked back into the refrigerator and retrieved it, stared at it for a while, uncomprehending, and finally dropped some reasonable-looking amount in the grinder. After a few moments, he said, "Next one's this weekend. You should come."
"Not really a party boy."
I looked over my shoulder. He leaned back against the sink and crossed his arms over his chest, grinning. I asked, "And what is that supposed to mean?"
He laughed, and the wickedness in it reminded me of a bottle of bourbon and a bout of My First Hangover. I might've fucked him that night if we hadn't been too drunk to manage anything but dry humping on the couch—a circumstance I'd regretted almost as much as the bourbon itself the next morning.
I laughed too. "Did you ever consider that I might not still behave like a horny teenager, Andrew?"
"Nope. Wanna know why?"
"You want to tell me, anyhow."
"'Cause I never met a person who didn't. If they were being honest."
"You may be right." If he made this any easier, I might have to feel sorry for him. And what the hell else went into making coffee? Water, beans, and… "Filters?"
"Here, they're kind of hidden." He moved to stand next to me and rifled through the overhead cabin.
The smell of him again, still green but cleaner. Like spicy wood—cedar, maybe. It wasn't a chemical, cologne smell, but the fresh scent of soap and skin. Like most of his kind, even when he wasn't trying, a faint aura of coolness clung to him.
He found a handful of brown paper filters and lowered his arm, then turned. This put us face-to-face, as I'd stolidly maintained my position between him and the fridge. His dark eyelashes fluttered as if he hadn't expected to find me there. "Ah, sorry." Then he cocked his head. "You used to be a lot shorter than me."
I raised my eyebrows, enjoying the slow but insistent electric heating of my blood, the overwhelming sensations of the moment. I lowered my voice so he'd have to lean nearer and said, "Did you ever consider that I might've grown since I was a horny teenager?"
"Actually, yeah. That, I considered." He let go of the filters, resting his hand on the counter, and took the bait. He tilted his head and leaned forward. "Once or twice."
My heart hammered against my rib cage, and my cock, already halfway there, filled out. How fortunate that I'd had practice controlling him in this state. "Andrew."
"Gabriel." One corner of his mouth pulled upward. His breath was cool on my lips, but the scent of wine was warm.
I reached up and flattened my palm against his chest. Cool, yes, but his heartbeat was quick, and it warmed him little by little. I let a faint static charge spiral up from my middle, trip through my arms, and discharge through my fingertips.
His mouth slackened at the tickling sensation. He sighed, lashes drooping low over wide, pale eyes.
I smiled. "Are you about to do something two parts stupid and one part wonderful?"
"Sounds like me, doesn't it?"
I tilted my face slightly upward to match the angle of his but moved no nearer. "Yes."
His lips, almost girlishly pretty even in the hard angles and lines of his face, pressed into mine, barely parted. The scent of wine and him overcame me again, and I opened my mouth. He followed my lead, angling nearer, the fingers of his free hand tucking into my belt loop and tugging downward.
He paused as if trying me, feeling my reaction.
I slid my palm up the hard plane of his chest, let the charge die, and tangled my fingers in his soft, unkempt curls. His mouth warmed under mine, acquiesced. I dipped my tongue into it, and he snaked his other arm around my waist, pulling me against him. I shifted so my hard cock pressed tight against his—God, magnificent—then rolled my hips to thrill us both. He hummed low in his throat and tightened his embrace until I could hardly breathe. I tickled the roof of his mouth, the back of his teeth with my tongue, and then he did the same for me.
A sound built in my throat, involuntary and unexpected, and I struggled to swallow it. A pathetic sound, like a whimper or a moan, the kind that begged for more. Every inch of him all hard and eager for me, and me, wanting it so badly I could taste it. God help me, but I did.
In some part of my mind cordoned off to maintain reason, I realized that this was a bad sign. But there wasn't much I could do about it when he slipped his hand under my shirt and ran his fingers all over my skin, unnaturally cool to send pleasure bumps racing up my side after them. I pulled away to catch my breath, to swallow that pathetic little moan once and for all.
He put his forehead to mine and continued his appreciative caresses. His voice was full of heat and gravel, though I heard the smile in it too. "I didn't cook you dinner so you'd let me kiss you."
"Oh, really?" It was meant to sound flippant. Luckily, breathlessness and flippancy are virtually indistinguishable.
"Really." He kissed my face, and his chest heaved. That, at least, made me feel better as he continued, "I mean, I did have an ulterior motive, but it's far out."
"Let's hear it."

He began disentangling us. Without pulling his hips from mine, he gripped the bottom of my shirt in both fists. Then he grinned, his mouth all red from kissing. "I wanna finish what we started. That day before you left."


Check out the soundtrack at YouTube!
tracykitnreads said...


Gimme gimme gimme

*has grabbyhands syndrome*

tracykitnreads said...

OMG LOL -- I *just* got an email notification about this comment... *giggle*

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