Curt Courting

Genre: Futuristic setting, mild bdsm, m/m non-traditional Romance, Novella, (R-18)

Curt’s human; he needs sex. Good sex. Consensual. He’s ever hopeful Schuyler’s the right man.

The world has become a harsh and bleak place. Men seek work where it’s needed. The only safety working in these outer reaches is if one has the protection of a crew. Curt doesn’t; he’s solo.

When he inadvertently catches the gaze of a man he’s desired from the first moment he saw him, he doesn’t know whether he’s going to be murdered or abused. That’s the best he can hope for, surely? Being tied up makes for some very curt courting, but to Curt’s surprise, it might well end in love.

Available from Changeling Press.

Read an Excerpt…

I stopped at the door. I had to. Schuyler was a large, unmoving, and possibly immovable object. Not muscular in the sense of bodybuilding, he had a large upper chest and shoulders and not just from working. His biceps were developed so that one punch could knock another, larger man out. I’d seen it happen. Heard tell he’d broken the guy’s jaw. Schuyler dwarfed me by about eight inches. Dark hair, dark eyes, everything about him — I gave into the swallow — firm.

I stood waiting. The next move was his and everyone present knew it. I almost breathed out in relief when he stepped aside, although I immediately realised how foolish I’d been to relax even for a minute. As soon as the doorway was clear, I passed through. I had to. Moving as easily as I could, I tried not to show any tension, although I fully expected to feel a sharp, burning pain in my back any second.

Beyond the showers was the changing area. Usually there was a guard posted to look for signs of trouble, but I’d worked late and I’d lingered. If I survived this confrontation, I’d have to remind myself not to get into a similar predicament. Not to be late. Not to piss off my supervisor. Not to hang about in the showers. Fuck it; I should have skipped the shower. Should have put up with my stink. Not everyone here washed.

Schuyler did. As I moved by him, I couldn’t fail to breathe in his scent. Something… I don’t know. Clean. Fresh. Beneath that, the musk of a man.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Schuyler whispered on a breath as I passed by. Or I think he did. I may have imagined it. Had to have.

© Sharon Maria Bidwell, all rights reserved.

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