UnCommon Bodies Anthology is available for purchase NOW!
Oh, yes, it is, Boys and Girls! You it's freakishly delicious and strangely odd and weirdly wonderful. You know you want it, lol!
Go! get it now - AMAZON KINDLE or AMAZON PAPERBACK.
This UnCommon Collection can be all yours.
Now why, oh why, should you want this? Well, it already has a slew of fantastic reviews. There's reason #1. And short, sharp little bites of stories, there's reason #2. And.... wait for it.... the very best reason of all, of course, is that MY STORY, Reserved, is hidden inside.
Don't you think that might be the very best reason of all?
It's been five years since the accident that killed Pete Spencer's younger lover and left him grieving, bitter, and broken. He's tired of his lonely world, but the kind of young men he's attracted to dismiss him the moment their eyes land on his cane. Pete's learned to hide behind the safety of his reserve, but he's never met anyone like Rory.
The music seemed to be winding down, and Rory leapt upright. "Duty calls," he sang, and blew Pete a kiss as he ran toward the stage and bounded up the steps on those crazy high heels.
Pete watched him go, and for some reason thought of hummingbirds, quick and busy, and hesitant to land anywhere for more than a moment.
Rory, the apple-cheeked glitter boy just in from the cold, looking at him, seeing him, and Pete reminded himself that it meant nothing, men like Pete didn't get to have glitter boys like Rory–the world didn't work like that, no matter what Rory wanted to pretend for tonight to save face in front of his friends. The minute Pete started to believe otherwise was the first step toward the fall. And if he fell that hard again, he might never get up.
He should leave the club right this minute, because having these thoughts at all was a sign of trouble. He was only safe if he expected nothing, wanted nothing, longed for nothing, yearned for nothing. He was only safe if he could be satisfied by the touch of his own hand.
He didn't even care about the burlesque show anymore. He didn't watch it. He only watched Rory, was fascinated by him. Captured. Already obsessed. He watched Rory's hands flutter, his lips move, his eyelashes bat. Watched the exaggerated emotions play across his face, his sighs, his laughter, his pout as he wiped away a tear. The cadence of his voice as he told a story, all diva, no falsetto. Breathless. Excited. Cute.
And then Rory was back at the table, standing between Pete's thighs, signaling to the waiter, and the waiter lined up two shot glasses in front of them, and looked expectantly at Pete, who felt obliged to remove his wallet and settle up. "A tab?" the waiter, the same charmer from earlier, suggested. Pete dutifully provided a card instead of cash.
Rory tilted his head up and his lips grazed Pete's ear. "Such a nice Daddy," he purred.
This time the shock of his words was electric.
Pete made sure his voice was as firm as the hands he used to push Rory gently out of his space. "My name is Pete Spencer. Call me Pete or call me Spence."
Rory stared at him, his face both defiant and hurt. "But don't call you Daddy?"
Ooooh, boy, these guys have ISSUES.
You have no IDEA.
But you can read all about it in Reserved, at the moment available only in the UnCommon Bodies Anthology.
So. What are you waiting for?
Hope you all have a lovely and safe, non-toxic long weekend.
Kisses to all my Darklings.