I'm happy to have Author J.R. Gray on my blog today.
About Clouded Hell:
I survive on avoidance. Physical pain to avoid the
mental. Disposable flesh to avoid relationships. Work to avoid attachment. My
club became my empire of avoidance. Inside the ring millions are won and lost.
The fight is confined to breaths, actions and reactions, fists and pain. Rules
don’t exist. Only my opponent exists.
I’d been avoiding my needs for far too long when
Remi stumbles into the Inferno and I’m hungry. The promise of a submissive with
no attachment is far too tempting. I can’t resist him. He was only supposed to
be a distraction, but I know I'll never get over him. There isn't a chance in
this clouded hell.
If I hadn't seen the video of the
fight, I wouldn't have believed it. I clicked the button on my laptop to rewind
it, to see the way his body moved. I gripped myself through my shorts and
glanced over at Kai. He was busy inking a full back piece, and I doubted he'd
even take a break for another hour. He couldn't see me from where I sat. It
would be so easy.
I trailed my fingers over the places
Dante had left marks. I could almost taste them, even if the bruises had faded.
I'd looked at them in the mirror over my bed and fucked my hand every night
since I'd left. I groaned as I slipped my hand into my shorts.
I squeezed my shaft, digging my nails
into the sensitive skin. I had to bite back a hiss of pain. Kai could easily
walk out and see me. The rooms in the shop were three-quarter walls to divide
the space with wide open doorways. Maybe I wanted to be caught. I kicked my
feet out, watching a bead of sweat drip down Dante's neck. When he threw a
punch his muscles tightened, and it took me back to him swinging his belt. The
sound of his fist hitting flesh was close, so close, to the way the leather
sounded against mine.
I shouldn't be imagining him touching
me, but it was impossible not to. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted him to
mark me with them. I was hit with the sudden realization he'd been acting when
he was in the ring with me. He hadn't even gone at half speed. He was a monster
when he fought. It took every ounce of self-control I had to keep from getting
up and into my Jeep to drive to the airport.
I used my free hand to unbutton my
shorts and slide down my zipper, freeing my cock.
About J.R. Gray:
When not staying up
all night writing, J.R. Gray can be found at the gym where it's half assumed he
is a permanent resident to fulfill his self-inflicted masochism. A dominant and
a pilot, Gray finds it hard to be in the passenger seat of any car. He
frequently interrupts real life, including normal sleep patterns and
conversations, to jot down notes or plot bunnies. Commas are the bane of his
existence even though it's been fully acknowledged they are necessary, they
continue to baffle and bewilder. If Gray wasn't writing…well, that's not
possible. The buildup of untold stories would haunt Gray into an early grave,
insanity or both. The idea of haunting has always appealed to him. J.R. Gray is
genderqueer and prefers he/him pronouns.