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  • Michelle Frost

First Look at Dissent

Hello all! We're exactly one month out from the release of Dissent, Iron Heretics MC #4, and I thought I'd share a little nibble from the first chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter One


Eight Years Ago

This was probably the stupidest thing I’d ever done. The soles of my boots stuck to the grimy alley pavement as the man in front of me set his hands on my chest and pushed. Jagged brick edges caught at my clothes, scraping the skin of my back beneath the thin layer of my t-shirt.

“Easy, man.” I chuckled. “I’m a sure thing.”

He leveled the same black eyed glare that had drawn me to him inside the bar and reached for my belt. The jangle of the buckle coming free was loud in the alley’s quiet. As soon as my pants were undone, he reached for his own with one hand while slipping the other beneath the fabric of my briefs. Hot, calloused fingers wrapped around me and squeezed. My breath caught in my throat at the first stroke.

Still holding his gaze, I reached for him. The taut skin of his stomach met my questing fingers. I brushed down through the trail of soft hair there until I found the thicker curls surrounding the base of him. I hummed in appreciation once I had him in my grip, hot and hard and already leaking at the head.

“Hungry for it, huh?” I asked, voice coming out low and more hoarse than I’d anticipated. He was still working me over, slowly stroking with a squeeze around the head at every pass.

“Shit,” I gasped, letting my head fall back against the brick and mimicking his grip with my own hand. That pushed a grunt out of him.

He leaned closer, nearly pressing our chests together as he pushed his nose against the side of my neck. He set his teeth there, and I bared my throat.

He growled—literally growled—and squeezed harder. Tucking my chin, I nudged at his face until I could brush my lips over his. Everything stopped. With his hand frozen on my aching dick, he lifted his head and held my eyes again. I swallowed hard, not sure if that tiny kiss was going to get me punched in the face, when he lifted the hand he’d braced against the brick beside my shoulder and placed it on my throat. He didn’t squeeze, but the weight of it, of him, sent a shudder through me. A hard breath poured out of me into the small space between us. His fingers pressed against my flesh while the dark depths of his eyes stared into mine. In that moment, I might have let him do anything to me. My body went lax.

He moved like a viper strike. His lips descended on mine in a hungry, demanding rush. That hand on my throat held me captive—pressed against the sharp points of the brick digging into my back and the fiery onslaught at my front. His grip on my cock renewed its urgency, squeezing and stroking me until I was gasping into his mouth. With bites and licks, he owned my lips and tongue, sucking on the latter until my entire body convulsed and I erupted over the iron grip of his fist.

“Jesus Christ,” I panted, breathless and trembling.

Without missing a beat, he pulled his hand from my pants and slipped it into his, knocking his own jeans farther down his hips until the full girthy length of him was exposed. The hand still pinning me by the throat slid down, grabbed the edge of my shirt, and hiked it up until the material was bunched beneath my armpits.

He stroked himself, fast and hard, and came with a growl only seconds later. Ribbons of his cum splattered against the clenching muscles of my stomach, and I shuddered all over again.

For a moment, he leaned more of his weight on me, the hand still fisted in my shirt pressing me against the brick. Then, he stood up straight, wiped the hand covered in the sticky mess of mine and his cum all against the clean skin of my side, and tucked himself away. I didn’t realize I’d been standing there staring until he lifted those eyes to mine again, and the smallest smirk pulled up one corner of his mouth. As soon as he finished buckling his belt, he reached for mine, gently pulling my briefs back up and fastening up my pants and belt. He stepped in close, using both hands to ease my shirt back down my torso.

“What’s your name?” I asked, my words coming out a whisper. I could feel his breath against my lips, feel the wet mess we’d created all along my skin, still feel his hand digging into the flesh of my throat.


With one last tug on the hem of my shirt and nip of my bottom lip, he turned around and walked out of the alley.

Preorder available on Amazon.

Copyright © 2021 Michelle Frost. All rights reserved. Subject to change.

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