Free BlackMoon Reaper by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Phelan shouted. “I wasn’t alive to find out!”
    Fontabeau patted his mount as the animal shied at Phelan’s angry outburst. The
    horse skittered sideways, tried to rear, but the gunman kept the beast’s hooves on the
    ground.
    “She loves to set temptation before us, doesn’t she?” the gunman asked.
    “Temptation she knows we can’t resist.”
    Phelan wanted to jam his hand through his hair—a habit he had when he was
    irritated—but didn’t want to dislodge the bandana. Instead, he scraped his palm over
    the lower portion of his face and cursed.
    “I get so tired of Her messing in my life!” he snarled.
    “We all do, but the alternative would be our ceasing to exist here on this world and
    I am really beginning to like Terra.” He snorted. “Sure beats being a punching bag on
    Moddoilid .”
    Phelan knew next to nothing about the pleasure planet whose name meant
    whoredom in the old language. What he did know was enough to make a cold shiver
    run down his spine.
    “That must have been awful,” he said.
    “I have the mental and physical scars to prove just how awful,” the gunman said.
    “I’m sorry,” Phelan said.
    “It wasn’t all bad. I like sex—probably a lot more than I should—and it made most
    of it bearable. I like men and I like women, and I knew long ago it took both to keep me
    happy, to satisfy me. But I’m lonely, Phelan,” he said. “Why be lonely, why spend your
    life alone, when you don’t have to?”
    “I don’t think—” Phelan began, but Fontabeau shook his head, moved closer.
    “Aye, Phelan. Don’t think,” came the command.
    Phelan backed away. “No,” he said, putting up a staying hand. “You’re offering
    something I don’t want.”
    Fontabeau’s handsome face turned hard. “Or maybe it’s something you’re ashamed
    to admit you want?”
    Phelan shook his head. “I loved Truian. I truly did, but I felt something for her
    brother too. Looking back on it now, I realize it wasn’t love. It was simple curiosity. We
    were skinny-dipping in the river, tussling like boys will then he put his hand on my
    cock. At first I shoved him away, thinking he’d grabbed me by mistake, but when he
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    did it again, my cock got hard as a fucking rock. He was rubbing me, tugging at me. I
    liked what he was doing. It felt good. When he dove beneath the water and took me
    into his mouth, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. It felt as good as when Truian
    did it to me.” He looked up at Fontabeau. “When I left that river I was confused. How
    could I take such pleasure from both of them?”
    “It’s easy,” Fontabeau said in a harsh voice. “Pleasure is pleasure. You take it from
    wherever it’s offered. It doesn’t matter if it’s from a female or a male.”
    The Reaper shook his head. “I used to believe that,” Phelan said. “That kind of
    thinking is what put me here.”
    The gunman stiffened. “You think it wrong? Degenerate?”
    “No, I don’t. Love is love. It matters not if it is between a man and woman or
    between two men or two women. The heart knows what it wants the same as the body
    does.”
    “I want you,” Fontabeau said stubbornly. “Tell me you don’t want me.”
    “For an hour’s pleasure?” Phelan countered. “Sure, we could do that, but it
    wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t mean anything.” He searched the gunman’s
    eyes. “You are looking for a mate and that isn’t me, Beau.”
    “How do you know it isn’t?” Fontabeau pressed.
    “I just do,” Phelan said. He laid his palm over his heart. “I don’t feel it here. If I
    don’t feel it here, I know it isn’t right for me.”
    “Maybe it will come later,” the gunman insisted. “Let me—”
    “Beau, I’ve never been tempted before so I didn’t know how I’d deal with it when I
    was. Didn’t know which way I would go. I do now. It isn’t a man I want or need to
    make me happy.”
    “You want to find a woman,” Fontabeau said