Swole

  Swole: Powerhouse

  By Golden Czermak

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. All Rights Reserved.

  In accordance with the United States Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, or sharing of any part of this work without the permission of the copyright holder is unlawful theft of the author’s intellectual property.

  CONTENT ADVISORY: This is novel is written for mature readers. It contains adult themes, coarse language, sexual situations, male-male encounters, and nudity.

  DEDICATION

  To my readers, thank you for seeing the potential in me. We’re still at the very start of a long journey, but it’s easier with those whose company we value.

  To Trent Cassidy, what can I say to you other than, “let’s go out for hot dogs sometime.”

  About Golden Czermak

  In the beginning, Golden worked the standard corporate rat race, completing college with a chemical engineering degree before starting a small photography company on the side.

  Since then, the FuriousFotog brand grew into an internationally recognized one, being published in both domestic and international magazines, on websites, and trade/e-book book covers (even appearing on some himself).

  Having been in the industry since 2012, Golden has interfaced and networked with countless other authors, clients, and photographers to license and create over 500 romance book cover images, diversifying into commercial work as well.

  He published his debut novel, Homeward Bound (Journeyman 1) in June 2016, completing the six-book series in January 2017.

  Websites:

  http://www.goldenczermak.com/

  http://www.onefuriousfotog.com/

  Other Works by Golden Czermak

  FANTASY, PARANORMAL, SCI-FI

  The Journeyman Series:

  Homeward Bound (Journeyman Series One)

  Seal of Solomon (Journeyman Series Two)

  Made to Suffer (Journeyman Series Three)

  The Devil’s Highway (Journeyman Series Four)

  Then Hell Followed (Journeyman Series Five)

  Running on Empty (Journeyman Series Six)

  The Steam Tycoon

  The Secret Life of Cooper Bennett

  Manifest

  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE & EROTICA

  The Agency Series:

  Cade

  The Swole Series:

  Swole: Chest Day

  Swole: Leg Day

  Swole: Wet Wednesday

  Swole: Triple Drop Sets

  Swole: Flex Friday

  ANTHOLOGIES

  The Frat Chronicles (“The Uncanny Huntsman”)

  Chapter 1

  Fill ‘er Up

  The early morning landscape along I-95 was settled deep in fog, dark except for the lights of a ‘69 Charger racing northbound on the lonely highway. The sound of scorching rubber against road was buried beneath the roar of the car’s engine. Its driver – the over confident and always cocky Trent Cassidy – did his best to shrug off fatigue, kept awake by an energetic mix of electronic dance music that shook the rear-view mirror as much as the heart buried inside his burly chest.

  The twenty-five-year-old was no stranger to solo road trips, especially in the days before being self-employed. As both a gym owner and a personal trainer, his time was often sucked away faster than a trick could bring a bevy of dicks to climax at an orgy. While the bass beat against his skull, the tremors brought back memories of unplanned, high octane journeys to anywhere. Often there was no need for a GPS either; raging hormones and the hardness in his pants good enough of a compass to find his way to – and into – his destination.

  Those were the good days.

  Sadly, this particular trip had seen none of that. Miami was six hours back south from wherever he was in rural Georgia. The last few days in the Magic City more for work than pleasure. Trent had plans to expand his gym – aptly if not obnoxiously named Swole – into a franchise, and after a motivating spring break just one week earlier, he decided what the hell and went for it.

  Not that Swole wasn’t already a successful business in the coastal college town of Logan, South Carolina (after all, adding students to the beach gets you lots of vanity that needs cardio and iron as part of a balanced breakfast), but the effort of balancing the trio of operational-time, trainee-time, and Trent-time was becoming a huge challenge. Expanding the business by means of franchising the name might mean more work up front, but it would mean extra income, and it’d let Trent hire more staff. That would, in turn, let him focus on more extra-curricular activities.

  So, after a few calls to cash in some long overdue favors (and one unexpected IOU still waiting for him back in town), Trent was scheduled with the famous Palmers Agency of Miami. There he was able to score not only high-quality marketing materials, but a much-needed update to his modeling portfolio.

  That photographer… Trent recalled, suddenly reminded of Cannon Palmer’s handsome features and rugged hairstyle, not to mention the man’s skillful ways of cock-blocking Trent’s advances the entire time. He was pretty hot but damn, elusive as hell…

  Something about the challenge drove Trent insane, and he moved a hand from the steering wheel down to the top of his blue jeans. His thick fingers gently tapped on the button.

  Just think of what you could have done with that one, big guy.

  Trent’s bulge grew in response. Something wanted out. Now.

  Not one to make the best part of him wait, Trent unbuttoned his tight jeans then teased the zipper down. He shifted in the seat, easing the denim to mid-thigh before settling back into a more comfortable position. He was exposed, the tip of his semi-soft dick was glistening. Trent watched it continue to grow, heavy and throbbing. It hung downward, rubbing against the seat as its size filled the gap between his crotch and the steering wheel.

  “Damn son,” he muttered, impressed with himself. With a smirk he grabbed hold and gave himself three slow pulls from base to tip.

  He was now full, setting his cock right in the six o’clock position over the bottom part of the wheel. It draped over nicely.

  Time to ride hard…

  Placing both hands on the steering wheel (at ten and two), he started grinding his hips, all while thinking of Cannon’s elusive ass.

  When we next see each other, boyo, you aren’t going to get away so easily.

  Trent let out a groan. “Fuck yeah.” His mouth fell open, upper lip curling as his tongue peeked out between his teeth. With each shove, his dick continued to push hard against the wheel, decorating the interior with light splashes of precum. “Take it, Palmer, take it!”

  Trent pressed down on the gas, the engine thundering over the EDM beats. His thrusting pace quickened, the splashing flourished, and before long he was racing toward the finish line.

  “Oh yeah… fuck… yeah…”

  Then something unexpected happened; a feeling came over him just like in those good old days. A large, green square came speeding out of the fog, the sign for Exit Fourteen looming bright overhead like a beacon.

  What’s this? Trent thought, and when he paused his thick meat tumbled to the right as if to say you need to go that way.

  Looking at the dash clock then the fuel gauge, Trent agreed; it was just past one and the needle was hovering on E. Leaving at seven the night before seemed like such a great idea at the time (the trip was only ten hours long), but that was before the neon lights faded and gallons of crack caffeine wore off. Weariness replaced both, so a quick fuck then some shut-eye sounded like just what the doctor ordered.

  “Woodbine, eh?” Trent said gruffly as the exit got closer. “Seems as good a place as any.”

  Flicking on
the turn signal, Trent guided the vehicle off the highway and onto the tree-lined exit. His southern compass, still out and proud, was leading him toward a new destination, and he couldn’t wait to see who the lucky guy was.

  The area went from modern to backwoods quickly, the fog thinning along GA-25 as if to show Trent how much.

  “Huh,” he said quietly, turning his head from side to side. He hadn’t slowed down, cautiously examining the dense overgrowth for signs of anything interesting (or dangerous). Nothing leapt out as abnormal, though a rusty Amana fridge and stained twin mattress speeding by did cause Trent to raise an eyebrow. “Now, if the banjos start playing…”

  He was talking to his still-raging hard-on (not unsurprising for Trent at all), but before he could continue chastising himself, a sliver of civilization appeared out of the darkness. It was a small service station, standing alone at a deserted intersection up ahead.

  The Bedell Guzzler? Well, that’s an appropriate name, Trent thought, chuckling. Lucky for him, the lights were still on inside the aged building. Through its grimy windows, illuminated by the flicker of fluorescent lamps, he could make out the slim figure of a man busy restocking shelves. And Bingo was his name-o.

  Trent adjusted the brim of his snapback, a focused gleam filling his eyes. He made his way for the pumps, but by the time he got there all that sparkle was gone – shooed away by the fluttering edges of a paper sign. CASH ONLY was scrawled on it (and those handwritten block letters were the ones chuckling now).

  “Who the hell still uses actual cash?” Trent scoffed; he had more lint in his wallet than green.

  Scowling toward the store, Trent scrutinized the clerk. He was holding a box of potato chips and was slightly younger than Trent, perhaps a result of that baby-smooth face combined with a high and tight cut. He was certainly smaller than Trent, too, and…

  Suddenly, the man’s steely eyes locked with Trent’s; they were filled with curiosity if not a little fear.

  The corner of Trent’s mouth curled upward. He turned off the engine and popped the driver’s door open. The guy was approaching carefully as Trent emerged, sure to take his sweet time tucking his cock away. It was still hard when he started to pull up his jeans.

  “C-can I h-help you?” the guy stammered. The innocence in his southern accent was heavy.

  Trent’s jeans were rounding the curves of his ass when he replied, “I think so, my man. Maybe in more ways than one.”

  “I… I can t-try to oblige.”

  Aw shit, Trent thought. This one’s a keeper.

  He shut the door with a bump from his hip, turning with his pronounced bulge in view. Spinning his cap, a tuft of hair flopped out of the now-forward closure. He leaned, thick forearms on the car roof while his back and biceps did their best to stretch his over-small tee to its limits. The air itself was warm compared to the coolness of the car, a gentle breeze tempering the humidity but not Trent’s game.

  “What’s your name, man?”

  “T-Tony,” the guy replied, still shaky. “Sorry, it’s j-just that there aren’t many people like you around here.”

  “Trent’s the name, and thankfully there’s not many like me anywhere.”

  Tony smiled; his face brightened ten times.

  “So, look, Tonio, I’m going to cut to the chase.” Trent grabbed hold of the pump’s handle, pulled it free, and drew the nozzle low. When it was inches from his crotch, his eyes narrowed. “You got me in a bit of a bind here. Something needs filling… and I have plenty of plastic, but no cash.”

  Unlike Trent, Tony’s eyes were wide, fixed on the ribbed nozzle. “S-sorry about that. T-the boss is cheap when it c-comes to updates. When it comes to pretty m-much anything, in fact.”

  “Yeah, the 1900s are such a cool time to be stuck in.”

  Tony laughed anxiously, still staring. “I… I might be able to help out with that, though.”

  Trent had an inkling to tell him “eyes up,” but decided to toy with the boy instead.

  “You like what you see?”

  Tony stayed silent at first, eventually nodding. Sheepishly, his eyes followed the veins in Trent’s arms, stopping midway. It was obvious he’d had these kinds of thoughts before – sexual ones about other men – but out in the boonies Trent imagined there weren’t many outlets for that kind of thing.

  “Y-yeah,” Tony replied coyly. “Your arms are amazing… they’re like as big as my head!”

  Trent bit his lip. Gotcha the expression said. “Look,” he continued. “I have an offer that I think’ll benefit us both. I’ve been on the road for a bit, so if you cover my gas and tell me where to get some sleep around here, I’ll let you…”

  Trent didn’t need to finish his sentence before Tony was replying. “There’s not much around here, save the Sunnyside Lodge. It’s just north of here a little way. Couple minutes, max.”

  “Are you suggesting a no-tell motel, Tonio?” Trent prodded. “Sounds good to me. Deal.”

  Tony looked content. Stepping closer, he extended a hand towards Trent’s upper arm. Apprehensive, he stopped, then recoiled.

  “Ain’t nobody gonna know if that’s your hang up man,” Trent reassured. “I don’t know anyone here and they sure as shit don’t know me. You on the other hand are going to be one lucky fellow tonight… or this morning. Whatever the hell it is.”

  Tony seemed assured, continuing to reach for Trent’s arm. His soft hand cupped Trent’s biceps. He squeezed, and Trent flexed.

  “Damn…” Tony whispered.

  Trent noticed Tony’s shorts were loose, but the front was tenting. Stepping toward the gas cap, Trent’s bulk pushed Tony along. “Can you get that for me?”

  “Huh? Oh, s-sure.”

  Tony flipped the tank open and Trent guided the nozzle into the hole. He added a nice, firm push at the end. Trent was now extremely close; he could smell Suave in Tony’s hair and hints of Dial soap on his skin (he’d know that scent from the gym’s showers any day).

  Hearing Tony let out a shuddering moan, Trent asked, “Holding up?” He began rubbing the back of Tony’s head.

  Tony didn’t reply with words, though his hand still massaged Trent’s biceps while his lips found the scruffy part of Trent’s neck. Moving his free hand down to Trent’s jeans, it struggled to fully grab hold.

  “Holy shit you’re big everywhere,” Tony groaned.

  “You ever been with a dude?”

  “N-not anyone like you before…”

  “Likely not after, either, boyo,” Trent replied confidently before thrusting Tony’s back against the car. The young man’s hands were trembling as Trent slithered one of his own down those loose shorts.

  “Why hello there,” Trent whispered, inhaling more of Tony’s aroma as he found his cock. He slid his hand up and down several times. Tony was slippery, making the task easier. “Fuck, man, you got me beat on the oil slick.”

  The pump stopped just shy of thirty-five dollars. Trent pulled out the nozzle along with his hand. “That’s your part of the deal met,” Trent said. The look in his eyes was ravenous. “Time for me to make good on mine.”

  Tony snapped to attention. It was like he’d been injected with adrenaline and Adderall. “I… I’ll just be a second. Just have to run inside and log this for later today and…”

  Trent stared intensely.

  “R-right!” Tony exclaimed. “Too much talking! Lemme lock up and we’ll head over to Sunnyside…”

  As Tony scurried back toward the store, nearly stumbling in the process, Trent reached down and adjusted his dick to a more comfortable position.

  This is gonna be a fun night, he thought. Little did he realize just how much of an understatement that was.

  The door to a dim and musty motel room burst open, Trent carrying Tony inside. Both were locked in a deep and passionate kiss, and since his arms were occupied, Trent used a foot to kick the door closed with a slam.

  Tony’s legs were wrapped firmly around Trent’s narrow waist, while his
arms explored every inch of the man’s muscular body – now that they were behind closed doors.

  “I want to see what you look like under there,” Tony mumbled, Trent’s tongue stopping any further words.

  A second later, Trent pulled his head back, smirked, and without warning effortlessly flung Tony onto the bed. He landed with a soft thud, a few motes of dust launching into the air.

  Fuck the cleanliness of the room, Trent thought. It’ll be a lot dirtier in a minute.

  Grabbing hold of his collar, Trent tore his shirt right down the middle. He let go, the tattered sides fluttering in the light from a neon sign outside. His rippled midsection was hard and veiny, and he approached Tony with all the swagger he could muster.

  “That what you expected?” he asked.

  “No… it’s way fucking more…”

  “Come here,” Trent ordered, a single finger urging Tony to comply.

  Wasting no time getting on his knees, Tony met him at the bed’s edge. “Jesus,” he muttered, and before long was again exploring Trent’s body, tracing every wave and bulge with the tips of his fingers. They already knew his arms well, but Trent’s shoulders and back were an entirely new experience.

  “Pants,” Trent said, and while Tony moved himself toward the denim Trent took off the remains of his shirt, tossing it into a corner.

  Tony unbuttoned, and Trent’s manly hands grabbed his wrists at the same time. Together, they moved the material out of the way, baring Trent in all his rampant glory.

  Tony gulped at the sight.

  Trent gripped himself, and with both hands worked loose streams of precum that coated his shaft all the way to the balls.

  “Can I taste that?” Tony asked, getting down on his belly. His ass, still in shorts, was in the air.

  The question was so innocent in the asking that Trent felt like he was about to fuck the brains out of a virgin. Damn did that make him feel good.