Scarred both physically and emotionally after a motorcycle accident, twenty-five year old ex fashion model and porn star Oliver Brown is about to be stripped bare by flamboyant twink Leslie Scott—and they’ll rebuild love from the bottom up.
BARING THE BEAST
Twenty-five year old Oliver Brown is addicted. Two years ago, he was at the height of his career as “Nicky Starr,” fashion model, porn actor, partier without peer. Then came the accident. Hiding his scars, both emotional and physical, he’s gone into hiding. But fine clothing is some solace. A new suit by Debussy? Better even than a ride on his motorcycle Hulk or all the things he used to give and take on camera.
Enter Leslie Scott, the flamboyant, dark-haired, heel-and-tiny-short-wearing twink sent to deliver Oliver’s newest fix. A firecracker, Leslie is dapper, generous, in touch with his feminine side but all man, and as gorgeous as any garment ever made. He makes Oliver dream of ending his reclusion, of recapturing a future forever denied him. But for that to happen, Leslie would have to strip him to the bone. Only then will they rebuild life from the bottom up.
Excerpt 1
Leslie has been sent by his boss to deliver a suit to a very special customer…he’s just arrived at the house.
He tut-tutted as he opened his boot and removed the enclosed grey suit, giving it a loving caress as he folded it gently over his left forearm.
“There we go, sweetie. I’m not sure why someone who lives in an unkempt house like this needs a suit like you. You’re far too lovely for a place like this. I hope he takes care of you.”
He picked up his leather business folder and secured it under his other arm. Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his thong, which had once again ridden up between his cheeks. He strode confidently up to the front door, narrowly avoiding what looked like dog crap on a paving stone covered with dead grass as he did. He stopped and frowned down at the offending item.
“You dare get one bit of your smelly self on my Armani loafers and you are toast,” he hissed at what he now saw was simply a clump of dried mud. Delicately avoiding all other ground-strewn landmines, he managed to get to the front door. He shook his head at seeing there was only a broken bell with wires hanging out looking sorry for itself, and he raised a hand—neither of which was truly free—to try and knock on the door as hard as he could.
He waited.
The inside of the house was silent. There was no scuffling down what he imagined were worn stairs, no clatter of shoes across laminated floors and no welcoming opening of the door to greet him. He frowned and knocked again, louder this time. His folder slipped from where it was secured under his arm and he quickly tightened his arm to hold it in place.
“Hello? Mr. Brown, are you home? My name is Leslie Scott and I’m here with your new suit,” he announced grandly.
He wriggled his backside uncomfortably—that damn thong, what the hell was wrong with it—and scowled as he raised a hand to knock again. As he did so, the door opened. A man’s face peered out of him, half hidden. It was dark inside but what Leslie could see of the face looked rather tasty. That was the first surprise of this visit.
A shock of shaggy, honey-blond hair hung over Mr. Brown’s forehead, and his tanned skin, neat beard and stubble and one wide amber eye all mingled together to make Leslie feel much better about his customer delivery. Mr. Brown also looked a little familiar.
Leslie gave the man what he knew was a dazzling smile, as he’d been praised for it more than once, and indicated the suit hanging across his right arm.
“Mr. Brown? I’m from Debussy Fashion. I’m here to deliver the suit you ordered.”
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Want to find out more about the book and the characters? Head down to visit his website and have a truly visual sexperience. Meet Nicky in all his glory and see what he has to say about the porn industry, love, and life in general. This is a website intended for over eighteens only and if you are easily offended, we suggest you stay away.
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Susan Mac Nicol is a self confessed bookaholic, an avid watcher of videos of sexy pole dancing men, self confessed geek and nerd and in love with her Smartphone. This little treasure is called ‘the boyfriend’ by her long suffering husband, who says if it vibrated, there’d be no need for him. Susan hasn’t had the heart to tell him there’s an app for that…
She is never happier than when sitting in the confines of her living room/study/on a cold station platform scribbling down words and making two men fall in love. She is a romantic at heart and believes that everything happens (for the most part) for a reason. She likes to think of herself as a ‘half full’ kinda gal, although sometimes that philosophy is sorely tested.
Lover of walks in the forest, theatre productions, dabbling her toes in the cold North Sea and the vibrant city of London where you can experience all four seasons in a day , she is a hater of pantomime (so please don’t tar and feather her), duplicitous people, bigotry and self righteous idiots.
In an ideal world, Susan Mac Nicol would be Queen of England and banish all the bad people to the Never Never Lands of Wherever -Who Cares. As that’s never going to happen, she contents herself with writing her HEA stories and pretending, that just for a little while, good things happen to good
people.
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