We’re bringing you something a little different this Monday morning! An excerpt from on of the stories that is included in Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology which releases tomorrow, January 29. Pre-order for less than a dollar.

Twelve bestselling and award-winning authors have curated an anthology of brand-new, standalone stories inspired by love songs, featuring a foreword written by NYT bestselling author Laurelin Paige. Press PLAY on this limited-edition collection that’s guaranteed to make you swoon.

Here’s an excerpt from Toothpaste Kisses by Xio Axelrod:

“You’re quite prolific,” Mal observed as he made his way through the space.

Pellam remained by the door.

Mal could almost feel the other man holding his breath. The thought that Mal’s opinion meant so much to him already swelled his chest with something close to pride.

“Sometimes I wish I weren’t,” Pellam lamented as he walked over to where Mal stood. “Sometimes, it’s too much. I don’t know if that will make sense to someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

Pellam shrugged one shoulder. “Someone who thrives on pressure.”

“What makes you think I do?”

His laugh was musical. Shaking his head, Pellam dropped his chin to his chest. “Call it artistic instinct. If I could paint you, it would be a blur of color on an otherwise bleak landscape. Purple for your magnetism, gold for your integrity, brown and cream and . . . ”

He trailed off, seemingly lost in the vision.

Mal stepped closer, and Pellam lifted his eyes to meet his gaze. They were an unusual shade of green, like a pale jade, and his lashes were sinfully long. Mal had to stop himself from lifting a hand to trace the man’s high cheekbone or from running it through his silky hair.

“Is that how you see me?”

Pellam opened his mouth. Closed it. Bit his lip.

Mal groaned, and he watched Pellam’s breath catch. Literally catch.

“I . . .  I’m just babbling.” Pellam swallowed hard, his throat working in a way that made Mal want to do unspeakably dirty things to him.

“Pellam.”

The young man blinked up at him, his eyes dark with desire. Mal found it hard to breathe around his own arousal. He took a tentative step closer, encouraged when Pellam made no move to retreat.

“Please tell me if I’m misreading the situation.”

Pellam released a heavy sigh, his breath coming in stutters. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“You don’t think?”

“You’re not.” Pellam took a deep breath. “I . . .  Please, just . . . ”

Mal stopped short of touching him. “Please, just what?”

He was almost afraid to hear the end of that sentence. Please just be quick? Please tell no one about this? Please be gentle? Please take me, now?

“Please . . . just . . . ?” Mal prompted again.

Pellam closed his eyes. His next words came in a rush. “Fucking kiss me before I go insane.”

It was all the assurance Mal needed. He closed the distance between them, finally cupping Pellam’s cheeks in his hands. As he’d suspected, Pellam’s skin was supple to the touch. He trembled a little, which brought Mal’s protective instincts roaring to the surface to battle with his baser needs.

He settled for a chaste kiss, just a brush of their lips, but it was enough to send his libido into overdrive. For his sake, and Pellam’s, Mal released the young man and stepped back. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, cleansing breath, the effects of which were erased when Pellam launched himself into Mal’s arms.

Mal groaned under the weight of the other man and then groaned again as Pellam swept his tongue across Mal’s bottom lip. All of Mal’s good intentions went out the window. He’d been transformed into a tight ball of Want. Need. Now.

Pellam moaned into the kiss, and Mal coiled his arms around the man’s narrow waist. He’d thought the blond would feel dainty in his embrace, but there was power in his small frame. A strength that should have come as a surprise but somehow made sense. For all of his shy glances and nervous stuttering, Pellam Lindt’s true self had been revealed to Mal through his art. He’d poured so much of himself into the work that Mal briefly wondered if there was anything left.

The answer to that question was in Pellam’s undulating body, in his greedy hands, and in his demanding mouth. It was in the hard cock Mal felt pressed against his thigh, and in the pleading whimpers Pellam spilled into Mal’s mouth.

God.

Mal needed to make a choice, stop this now or drag Pellam into the nearest dark corner and feed the driving hunger he’d excavated from the very depths of his soul.

Read the full story in Mixtape: A Love Song Anthology