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Anthology Volume 1


Published by: eXtasy Books

Author : Scarlet Blackwell

ISBN :978-1-4874-0071-2

Page :231

Word Count :69497

Publication Date :2014-09-27

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats : Anthology Volume 1 (pdf) , Anthology Volume 1 (prc) , Anthology Volume 1 (epub) , Anthology Volume 1 (mobi)

Category : Erotic Romance , LGBTQIA+ Romance

  • Product Code: 978-1-4874-0071-2


Love comes in all shapes and sizes…

Scarlet Blackwell's first collection of short stories is a mixture. Mostly contemporary, with a fantasy story and a Victorian setting thrown in for good measure, the stories feature lovelorn m/m couples from every walk of life some sportsmen, some porn stars, some mentally challenged. The common theme is love, as always and the finding of that one special person.


This book is previously published.

 

Holding onto the rail, I leaned my head against it as the train thundered away from the station, the shudders under my feet making my body sway.

Only one more day to go after today until the weekend and forty-eight hours of blessed seclusion and solitude.

Dinner tonight then? Pizza or frozen lasagne? Decisions, decisions. Then after? Read or watch a movie? Maybe even get some porn on cable and find the energy to jerk off when it’s all I can do to carry on breathing the air of this miserable world.

Moving closer to the side of the train, I flinched as someone brushed my shoulder, dismayed at the sheer number of bodies packing the carriage. It wasn’t like every morning wasn’t the same. Sure, if I got my lazy ass out of bed on time and was first on the platform, I could get a seat, take out my book and read. Otherwise, like most every day, I was condemned to be just another sardine on the morning commute. I hated it. I hated those perfect strangers jostling and knocking my body, the only human touch I ever got from day to day. I hated the smell of the unwashed, those who’d eaten garlic the night before and those who’d doused themselves in sickly perfume. Truth be told, I hated people in general, which explained why I worked in a little cubicle all day for a pittance, talking to the bastards on the phone, not having to see them face-to-face, keeping to myself, friendless and watching the clock for eight hours non-stop.

The doors opened as the train made its first stop, and I stepped aside a little. The new arrivals would expect me to move down the train and into the melee, but as usual, I battled with them as I did every morning. No way would I give up my precious few inches of personal space by the door to move along the carriage and into the morass.

I was looking away as a man in a long, dark overcoat got on, his broad shoulder brushing mine. As the train set off with a lurch, he stumbled a little and grabbed at the rail I held, inadvertently touching my hand.

“Sorry,” he said quickly.

I kept my gaze averted, inwardly seething at being touched even though I murmured some platitude in reply. As usual, I was hostile to people on the inside and let them get away with murder on the outside. No balls, that had always been my trouble.

As the train picked up speed, I became aware of the stranger’s shoulder pressed against mine and his scent started to make my nostrils twitch. Something expensive, something I’d sniffed in a department store but couldn’t afford to buy. My glance drifted to his left hand on the rail. Long, delicate fingers, short neat nails. No wedding ring. I glanced down. He wore dark trousers and black, highly polished shoes on small feet, briefcase held by his side.

I liked people watching despite my dislike of them and I wanted to look at this man’s face now. I could just about see him out of the corner of my eye, and his face was turned away. Boldly, I lifted my head.

I saw him in profile. Shiny, black hair fell over his eyes, a startling contrast to his milk-white skin, the most flawless skin I’d ever seen in my life. His nose was strong, too big if you were feeling unkind—but I wasn’t, not towards him—and his lips were pink and full. He stared straight ahead through the doors and I could see one eye, the lashes blinking over it thick and graceful like a doe’s. The iris itself was a pale, startling green. It looked almost unreal, like a gemstone or a marble.

I realised I was staring. Christ on a bike, he was beautiful. He turned his head suddenly, and our gazes met. I saw the whole of his face and both of those stunning eyes. I looked away instantly, lowering my head, my cheeks flaming with a scorching blush. Sure, I liked to admire beauty, but I was usually more discreet. I didn’t often get caught with my tongue hanging out by the object of my attention.

My heart beat a little too fast, my palm slippery on the rail, his hand only a few inches below it. How come I had never seen this man before? God, I would have noticed, wouldn’t I? Or maybe my studied shell has blinded me even to beauty. The train swayed and his briefcase hit my legs. Usually this would have me flying into a frenzy, and I would think of all the ways I wanted to kill the inconsiderate person and their offending luggage, but today I welcomed it like he had stroked me with his hand.

I bit my lip, gaze on the floor but sliding sideways to his shoes once again. Get a grip, I told myself fiercely as my prick started to stiffen, but I couldn’t because I was imagining how those pale eyes might darken with desire and what he looked like with those heavy winter clothes stripped off.

We were coming up to the next station but not slowing down. I was on the direct train, the one which missed some of the little shitty stations on the way and got me to my dreaded job even quicker than I would like. I always watched the people standing on the platform of these stops and shuddered a little at how fast the train would plough through these stations and how much turbulence it must create. I never understood why the train didn’t slow a little, for safety’s sake, even though it wasn’t stopping, and I always wondered why I gave a shit. Maybe it was because I had once stood on one of these platforms when a train had thundered past without stopping and it had scared me badly. I’d had all sorts of ideas in my head about what it would be like to step out as it hurtled through the station and how one’s death would be, without doubt, immediate. At how the other people on the platform would be sprayed with brains and blood and it would probably be all over the station roof. I had wondered if anyone would care.

 

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