All Chapters of FILTHY SHADES OF GAY: A Collection Of Raw MM Erotica : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

001 **Mikel’s pov** I exhaled heavily. “Man, holidays next week and my parents are jetting off to some family reunion in the Bahamas. House empty, fridge empty, me just… rotting on the couch for two whole weeks. Sounds like a blast, right?” Jace, my best friend leaned back in his chair, that easy grin splitting his face, but my mind was already somewhere else after I asked him that question—somewhere dangerous. He had no clue. No one did. I was the shy one with girls, the guy who “just hadn’t met the right one yet.” The truth burned hotter than the coffee I hadn’t touched: I’d known since I was nineteen exactly who made my blood run thick and my cock ache. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was reading me. “Dude, come stay at mine. Dad’s being asking about you, and he’s always cooking like he’s feeding an army. Mom’s on another business trip—Paris or Milan or wherever rich people disappear to—so it’ll just be us guys. You, me, Dad. What do you say?” My heart did

My heart slammed against my ribs so violently I felt it in my throat. I stood naked, cock bobbing heavy and leaking between my thighs, I spun toward the sound, fists clenching so hard my nails carved half-moons into my palms. Sweat prickled across my bare chest. Jace? His mom? Fuck, what if— “Relax, boy.” Marius’s voice rolled over me, low and amused, like velvet dragged across my skin. He didn’t even glance at the door. “I locked it the second Jace left. You think I’d let anyone intrude on our special lessons?” The word lessons sent a fresh pulse straight to my dick. I exhaled shakily, shoulders dropping, but my fists stayed tight. A small smile tugged at my lips despite the terror still fizzing in my veins. Marius crossed the room in three strides, every muscle in his back flexing. His palm cracked across my bare ass, sharp, stinging heat blooming instantly across the cheek. I gasped, the smack echoing through the quiet house, my cock jerking hard at the sudden burn. He o

I’d been married to Emily, my wife, for eight years, but nothing could kill the dark, constant ache I felt for her younger stepbrother, Liam. It started six years ago at a family cookout—Liam had just turned eighteen, all lean swimmer’s muscle, sun-bleached dark hair falling into hazel eyes that held a lazy, knowing spark. No blood relation to Emily, thank God, but he was family. Still, I couldn’t stop staring: the way his wet swim trunks clung to thick thighs and the heavy outline of his cock, the easy flex of his biceps when he tossed a football, the low rasp of his laugh that hit me straight in the balls. Night after night I’d lock myself in the bathroom, fist wrapped tight around my dick, picturing him on his knees, those full lips stretched around me, and come so hard I’d see stars—then drown in guilt. Emily was everything—warm, funny, loyal—but Liam was the poison I craved. When he called last week from college saying he needed a place to crash for three weeks of break, Emily li

**Ethan's Pov** I woke up earlier than I should have, pale gray dawn light creeping through the curtains of my childhood bedroom. Today was supposed to be the day. In seven hours I’d stand at the altar in a crisp black tux, take Mia’s hand, and promise forever in front of everyone who mattered. My stomach twisted—not nerves, exactly, but something darker, heavier. Something that had been growing for months. His name was Daniel. Mom’s fiancé. Forty-two, broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper hair, the kind of quiet, commanding presence that shrank rooms when he walked in. He’d moved in six months ago after Mom accepted his proposal, and from the first night I’d caught him watching me across the dinner table—eyes lingering on the line of my throat when I swallowed wine, on the way my shirt clung to my chest when I leaned forward—I’d known we were already in trouble. I told myself it was nothing. A harmless fantasy. But fantasies don’t leave you leaking and aching at three a.m. Fantasies do

**Rowan's pov**The lecture hall cleared in a slow shuffle of zippers and footsteps. I stayed in my seat, paper crushed in my fist until the edges tore. Red ink slashed across the top: 58. Fail. My knuckles blanched white around the crumpled sheet. Every citation was correct, every argument tight. This wasn’t grading. This was deliberate.I waited until the last backpack disappeared through the door. The room fell silent except for the faint buzz of fluorescent tubes overhead. I stood, chair scraping loud against the floor, and walked to Prof. Vale’s office at the back. The door stood half open. I pushed it wider.Prof. Vale sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie loosened one notch. He didn’t look up from the stack of papers he was marking. The room smelled of old books, black coffee, and the faint cedar of his cologne. My pulse thudded in my ears. I closed the door behind me. The lock engaged with a soft snick.“Professor.” My voice came out thinner than I wanted. “T