Beyond Romance: I’m not your lover – #MMRomance #ScienceFiction #MFRWHooks

Welcome to this week’s MFRW Book Hooks blog hop. I’m continuing to mark Black History Month by featuring excerpts from my books that have Black characters.

The H-Gene is a dystopian near-future MM erotic romance. One of my heroes, Rafe, is a Black man from the ghettos of Los Angeles. Absorbed in the romance plot, I didn’t really think about it at the time, but Rafe’s back story is all too common in a society where justice is definitely not color blind.

Blurb

When love is forbidden, the whole world’s a prison.

After a gay plague killed millions and sparked brutal riots, the Guardians locked up all H-positive men in remote quarantine camps – including Dylan Moore. H-negative guard Rafe Cowell blames the lust he feels watching prisoner 3218 on loneliness and isolation. When he finally meets the young queer, he discovers that Dylan is brilliant, brave, sexy as hell — and claims to be in love with Rafe.

The Hook

“Hey! Rafe?” Dylan stroked his palm over the close-cut nap covering Rafe’s skull. “Are you all right?”

The guard raised his eyes. Anguish twisted his handsome features. “What the fuck have I done?” He shook his head. “I’m no better than you, you disgusting little fag.”

Alarm bells rang in Dylan’s mind. A bit of guilt, a little fear, that was useful. Too much would spoil things. He stroked Rafe’s arm gently and was encouraged when the man didn’t pull away. “Didn’t it feel good?”

“Yeah. Too good.”

“It felt good to me too. It was what I needed. Thank you. It’s been years since anyone made love to me.”

“You mean fucked you?” The scorn in Rafe’s voice made Dylan smile secretly.

“No, that’s not what I mean. My partner was killed by the Plague—seven years ago. I haven’t had another lover since. Not until you.”

“I’m not your lover,” Rafe snorted. Still, he didn’t stop Dylan from touching him. “But I might be your executioner. Nobody cares if some perv dies. I should kill you right now, for polluting me. Contaminating me.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Dylan. He pressed his lips briefly to Rafe’s cheek. The other man did not resist. “That’s all propaganda, dreamed up by the Guardians. Anyway, have you ever killed anyone?”

“No,” said Rafe, his voice barely audible. He eased himself onto the bench next to Dylan. “Even though they said I did.”

Dylan wondered whether he could use this revelation to his advantage. “Who said?”

“The judges. I told them I had nothing to do with the hit, but they didn’t believe me. They sent me here to this God-forsaken place to rot.”

All the guard’s pain, loneliness and frustration were naked in his voice. Dylan felt a pang of guilt. This guy deserved a better deal. He didn’t need another betrayal.

Dylan pushed the thoughts away. He mustn’t weaken now, when everything was going so well. “I know how you feel. I’m stuck here, too, you know. I’ve been here since I was seventeen. Robbed of my youth. My life. Unless there’s some change, I’ll still be here when I’m seventy.”

Rafe looked troubled. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry. But they had to do something…”

“Something to satisfy the mob’s cries for blood?”

“It was terrible.”

“I know. I was there. I watched Miguel die and the city burn. Do you really believe that I’m responsible? Me and all the other poor souls incarcerated here?”

Rafe shook his head slowly, but Dylan had the feeling this wasn’t in answer to his question.

“Anyway, you don’t need to worry. You’re not going to catch the Plague, not from me. And nobody is going to find out about us, trust me.” Dylan paused, wondering how much of the truth he should share. “I have another controller. I can arrange things so that we can be together again. Soon.”

“I don’t want us to be together, damn it!” Rafe bolted up from the seat. He towered over Dylan, fists clenched as though he wanted to smash them into Dylan’s face.