Honor C by C. Zampa
Contemporary M/M Novella
Dreamspinner Press
Available at Publisher
When Honor Castillo convinces himself he isn’t gay, he begins a new life. He ends his affair with his lover, Jorge Villagomez, and marries Rebecca to establish a life with her as a respected San Antonio businessman. They have a son and he tells himself he is happy.
Eleven years later, Jorge returns to San Antonio, and his path crosses with Honor’s once more. The flame of their passion never died, and neither did Jorge’s love for Honor.
When Jorge approaches Honor to design his studio, Honor believes he can walk the line between friendship and lovers. But when a sudden crisis threatens to take Jorge from him forever, Honor must choose between his duty and his heart. Most of all, he’s forced to decide what he’s willing to lose in order to be true to who he really is.
Teaser Excerpt:
There were times I thought I would die from the pain of it and times I often hated myself because of the pain it caused for those I loved.
But if I had the chance to go back, to do it over again, would I still have done the same? Yes. Hell, yes.
—Honor Castillo
San Antonio, Texas, 2001
Honor
I STARED through the slats of the tree house roof at the porch light shimmering on the leaves. The weathered boards were warm and rough on the soles of my bare feet, and the musty smell of the worn wood soothed me, turned me on.
The little wood sanctuary had hosted some of the best memories of my life. In this secret clubhouse, my buddies and I stashed comic books and Playboy magazines. We sneaked cigarettes, turning our little haven into a sort of juvenile male-only nightclub.
It was here I discovered I didn’t go for the chicas in the nudie magazines but instead lusted for the cocks and tight asses of chulos. One hot summer night a million years ago, on the floor of this little dilapidated tree house—crickets going wild in the dark and lightning bugs glittering in the shadows of the trees—I made out with a boy for the first time.
That boy was Jorge Villagomez.
Thin, pale Jorge, who always seemed to be in frail health. Constantly missing school, in and out of the hospital, never having to participate in gym. The boy who carried a little plastic container filled with his medications in his backpack. Although he never spoke of it, not even to me, the undisputed word—from a kid named Julie something-or-other who knew everything—was that Jorge had a heart condition.
Beautiful, ungodly beautiful Jorge. Somehow his fragility made him all the more divine. Unbearably delicate skin complemented with the shiniest, blackest hair I’d ever seen. But it was his eyes that riveted me. Clear, mystical, startling silvery gray. And in the middle of all those ravishing features was the cutest gap-toothed smile. That tiny flaw lent Jorge a smidgen of ordinariness. It almost made him approachable.
Rich, spoiled Jorge. Hell, even his name dripped with privilege. Jorge Villagomez. His parents—of noble Spanish heritage—were San Antonio society, steeped in culture and money.
Fiery, icy, bossy, bitchy, girly, sweet, adorable Jorge. Sickly as he was, feminine as he was, nobody but nobody ever made fun of him. He never endured the bullying most of the weaker kids did. Something in Jorge defied the teasing. His very spirit double-dog dared anyone to make fun of him.
My Jorge.
What that exquisite creature saw in me, I hadn’t a clue. I figured he got some rich boy’s thrill hanging out in my not-so-affluent neighborhood.
But then I figured if a guy like me was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of Jorge’s libido, I shouldn’t ask questions. I’d just smile and roll around in the sexual glow.
If I lived a hundred years, I’d never forget the day he sashayed into my life.
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1 comment:
I've got this queued up on my Kindle--happy anniversary!
vitajex(at)Aol(Dot)com
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