Manuel García strips desire down to its raw essence. In these stories, men are men—virile, rough-edged, silent when words are useless. They move in real places, concrete and alive, where a glance, a brush of skin, or a challenge sparks an urgency that cannot be denied. This is not romance. It is carnal, direct, unapologetic eroticism—where men take and are taken.
The title story, Magic Mouth, is a charged encounter between two men bound by an unspoken pact: no excuses, no delays, only the hunger they’ve been circling around for too long. Behind a closed door, desire becomes ritual, and submission becomes art.
“The door barely shuts before your mouth finds me. The room smells of sweat, gasoline, and sex. Your lips slide down my cock until your throat strains, gagging against its weight, but you don’t stop. You want it deeper. You want me harder. I hold your head, guiding you, watching your hunger transform into devotion. Every swallow, every gasp, pulls me closer to the edge. And when I finally release, it’s not just my body that floods—you’ve devoured the last barrier between us.”
These stories throb with tension, scent, and flesh. When you close the book, the silence will still echo with the sound of breath and the taste of need.
