Buck & Billy Tales of the Weredeer

Billy is in his own words, an “annoying twink” and “a power bottom” who is extremely good at being Billy. A chance encounter in an almost magical garden leads to a night of amazing passion with someone who might be a one-night stand--or something more. His name is Buck and he actually is magical. Local Native American Nations know his kind as the Deer People, and have carefully guarded their secret existence for generations . See what happens when Billy’s own gifts trigger Buck’s transformation when the moon is not yet full. (An adults only steamy Paranormal Romance)

Excerpt

“Hey,” I said, turning up the friendly factor another notch. I inclined my head the way I had learned in the gender studies class I had taken indicated I was flirting and available. I had never smelled the cologne he was wearing—talk about outdoorsy. You’d think if D&G had come out with a new fragrance I would have known about it. I just can’t keep up with everything gay. Life is hard. If I were lucky, Buck would be too.

I sipped my rum and coke and sat gracefully on the boulder/bench, allowing me to look up at him. I knew from my gender studies class I was signaling I was letting him dominate me. The best part of being a bottom was being able to manipulate the hell out of all tops. Pushy bottom, my ass. I mean, literally, my ass is a very pushy bottom. “You from around here?” I started the flirtation fox trot.

“I’m in town for a few days,” he said, sitting beside me. He filled a lot of physical space with those shoulders. “Normally you’d find me out in the Olympic Forest.” .

“How long will you be in town?” I asked, figuring this would be a productive question, since I was really asking if we could gently caress (I had dated someone who wrote gay porn for a living—I realized he considered me “research”—and “gently caress” was the word he used in conversation for screwing.) for just a one-night stand, or if we hit it off, how many days did we have to do the dirty. As a pushy bottom, I had learned early on to not work harder, but to work smarter.

“I need to be home by the full moon,” he looked at the fountain, knocking back the last of his beer. I had no idea when the next full moon was. Who keeps track of time by the moon, unless it’s a woman with a late period, right? Why couldn’t he just have said, “Sunday at 6:45pm?”

So, back to my priorities—in town for more than a couple of days/nights. “Have any special plans while you’re in the Emerald City?” I asked as I took the first sip of my drink. That should herd him in the direction of “how available are you to meet my carnal needs, and how soon can you deliver?” I mean, I admit I’m a total slut. In fact, I pride myself on that fact. I’m just surprised he wasn’t inside, completely surrounded by a herd of muscle worshiping twinks. Maybe he had been, which is why he was currently hiding out in the patio. That would make sense. Twinks can be so annoying—god knows I am.