The Wrong Number Sext: BDSM Stories, #5

By A.E. LeMercier

AN EROTIC, SMUT-FILLED GAY ROMANCE. Someone's been giving out Tristan Chase's phone number to brush off dates, annoyingly. But this time the unsolicited selfie he's received is really goddamn beautiful, and Tristan's just left his abusive ex... what harm could it do to reply?

Soon Tristan finds himself falling hard for sweet, caring Leander Morgan, who's not only handsome but apparently loaded. But when Tristan comes clean about his kinkier tastes, will Leander rise to the occasion, or brush Tristan off like a wrong number?

"The Wrong Number Sext" is first introduction of Tristan and Leander to BDSM stories: a 21,000 word kinky m/m BDSM love story full of steamy, illicit encounters, naughty schoolboy role-play, spankings, and finding your unexpected Kinkily Ever After. Read as a titillating stand-alone, or as volume 5 of BDSM Stories series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.E. LeMercier
• Release date: Apr 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224303663

A.E. LeMercier

A Canadian Author of 10+ years, LeMercier specializes in queer erotica. Racy, raunchy and kinky stories explore the many flavors of fetish, fantasy encounters, and the joy of a good romp in the sack. She currently lives in the Bay Area with her ridiculously talented hot wife and their beautiful neurotic cat with attachment issues.

Book preview

Chapter 1 - The Fight

I got my grant approved . The words spilled from Tristan’s mouth before he’d even closed the apartment door. When he received no response he looked towards the dining room table to find his fiancée frowning at his laptop screen. Justin?

I heard you. That’s great, honey. That’s why you’re home so late?

Yeah. Sorry. Tristan hung up his jacket, trying not to frown himself. He was well used to Justin’s mood swings and knew how to deal with them. He’d just hoped that he wouldn’t have to do so tonight when all he wanted to do was celebrate the success of half a year’s work. I was going over the research team with the director. We’re going to start interviewing for a few specialties on Monday, I think. Have you eaten?

No. I was waiting for you.

Well, that explained the grumpiness. Tristan forced a wide smile. Okay. Sorry, hon. I’ll throw something together right now.

He turned the stove on and grabbed a pasta meal out of the freezer, knowing it wouldn’t take too long to cook. He tried to keep up the conversation as he puttered around the kitchen. How were things today? Are the prelims going well?

They’re fine.

Anything interesting coming out of it yet?

Nothing conclusive.

But it’s going okay? You seem kind of stressed.

That’s fine. Hey, I need to get this done. Can you just cook?

Tristan swallowed down a surge of frustration and stopped trying. The day had been amazing, and there were so many things he wanted to talk about, but he knew he wouldn’t get anything out of Justin tonight. Normally on nights like tonight when Justin was being difficult he’d call his childhood best friend, but Rhett was on a well-deserved vacation in London, staying with some guy he’d made friends with on the internet, of all places. He wouldn’t be back until Sunday morning.

They ate in relative silence, with Justin paying more attention to his laptop than anything else despite Tristan’s attempts at conversation. Despite knowing that he shouldn’t get upset, Tristan’s frustration finally bubbled over.

Look, I’m sorry about whatever’s stressing you out, but either tell me about it and get it off your chest or stop taking it out on me.

Justin’s lips thinned. I’m fine, okay? Just let me deal with things in my own way.

Well, you’re obviously not dealing with things.

Then maybe you should stop prying. Look, I may not be as successful as you, Mr. Project Lead, but I have work to do too.

His unexpected words stung. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Justin sighed, shutting the lid of his laptop and taking both their empty plates to the dishwasher. Nothing. Never mind.

It’s obviously not nothing. I’m sorry if your project is stressing you out, but this grant is a big thing for me. You know how hard I’ve worked.

Justin finally stepped into him, wrapping his arms around his waist. I know. I’m sorry. Look, it’s not you, okay? I’m just having a hard time dealing with the fact that my sub is more successful than me.

Tristan felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, and he stepped back instinctively. I’m your fiancée. What we do in the bedroom has nothing to do with work.

Justin didn’t try to stop him from pulling away, but his lips pursed in annoyance as he sighed. But it kind of does, you know? I’m supposed to take care of you. I’m the man in the relationship.

Excuse me?! Tristan felt a flare of anger and forced himself to bite down the knee-jerk reaction to lash out. Hon, I feel kind of attacked by that statement, but I don’t think it’s what you meant. You taking care of me means loving me and supporting me, right? And we’re both men in this relationship... that’s kind of why we’re gay?

Justin rolled his eyes. Yeah of course, but come on. You know I’ve always worn the pants. Look, I’m happy you got your grant, okay? I am. I’m happy for you. It’s just a blow to my ego that my sub is going to have his own lab and be leading a team before I am.

Tristan tried to breathe slowly to push away the red that was clouding his vision. It was always frustrating when Justin got these ideas, and he usually just went with them so as not to cause a fuss. But it had never been about something this important before. I can’t believe you’re saying that.

Justin took a step back, shoulders rising. What, you didn’t even think about how I’d feel about this? Fuck, Tristan. Stop being so inconsiderate.

"I’m being inconsiderate? The threads of Tristan’s self-control snapped. Are you fucking kidding me, Justin? This is the most important thing that’s happened to me in a long time and you can’t even be happy for me? How dare you make this about you!"

Tristan expected argument. What he got was worse. Justin’s eyes narrowed, and he stalked towards him, making Tristan take a nervous step back into the kitchen counter. You’re being insolent. Am I going to have to spank it out of you?

Tristan stared up at him incredulously, feeling a nervous shudder at his mannerisms. How can you honestly think I’m up for playtime when you’re being like this?

Justin's response did nothing to dissuade him. "You think this is about playtime? You’re still mine, Tristan. And if you gave a fuck about me you’d be on your knees right now showing me."

Tristan gave a hard, incredulous laugh. There’s no way in hell I’m blowing you right now.

He watched his lover’s expression harden. Justin reached down to curl his fingers around Tristan’s wrist, squeezing slowly and deliberately, the force sending a spike of fear through him. No, that’s not how it works, my little slut. I call the shots here, not you. You either get on your knees right now and make this up to me, or I’m going to tie you to the bed and beat your ass so hard that you’re going to cry when I fuck you.

It was hard not to panic at the expression in Justin’s eyes and the coldness of his words. They'd had too many fights with these kinds of ultimatums. Tristan knew how this was going to go if he stuck around. Hell no. Cotton candy. I’m not playing with you.

Justin gave a hard, barked laugh. You're really going to safe word out on me? I’m the one who knows how to take care of you. You made a promise to me -

I’m not playing with you! Tristan wrenched his wrist out of his grasp and shoved him away, turning for