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Thursday, 8 September 2016
Reading Steele: A Motorcycle Bad Boys M/M Romance
Author: Parker Avrile
Genre: M/M Contemporary Romance
Length: Novella, 54 pages (14,000 words)
Publication Date: September 8, 2016
Heat Level: Three flames (some language and adult situations)
Author Website: http://www.therunawaymodel.com/reading-steele-motorcycle-bad-boy/

Sales links:

Amazon | Amazon UK | All Romance | iTunes | Kobo | BN |

Paperback Amazon | Paperback Creatspace

E Formats: epub, mobi, pdf


Blurb:

Bitten by a mutant scorpion in a motorcycle club initiation gone wrong, former rich kid Damon awakens with the power to read minds.

Damon doesn't belong in this Arizona town. Until a few months ago, he was out and proud and studying theater in his Brooklyn prep school. Then his father went to prison, and Damon was shipped off to live with his redneck uncle. There's no way he's joining his cousin's MC-- even if one of the riders has the most amazing hazel eyes.

Steele figures the New York boy can't be interested in a guy covered in dragon tats. But he wants Damon near him just the same. Why not initiate him into the MC? It's one bite. They've all gone through it.

Who knew that this particular scorpion's bite would give Damon the power to see straight into Steele's soul?

"Reading Steele" is a 14,000 word, 54 page novella about two eighteen-year-olds from different worlds who find out they have more in common than they ever suspected. This bad boy male/male romance includes strong language and some sexual situations. It's a complete Happy For Now story with no cliffhangers and no cheating.

***

Excerpt: 


Steele had let go of my hand. However, he sat so close to the bed that the press of people in the small room couldn't help but push him against my arm, sending a burst of confused desire and guilt into my body every time we touched. I knew I had to be imagining this stuff, but it was so clear. I truly felt as if I was in his head.

"It was a haunted house." Hasp can't ever stop talking. "With a ghost and everything. My dad saw it himself when he was my age."

"It was an abandoned house. Somebody spread some dumb-ass rumors so they could get away with cooking drugs there." Chollie was getting sick of the discussion.

"So let's summarize." I took a deep breath. "I got bit by some fucking toxic meth dump scorpion."

"Yeah, I guess that's right." Steele brushed my arm again, and I took another jolt. The image of what he wanted to do to me in the privacy of his own head was raw as fuck. "No wonder you had such a strong reaction."

I squirmed, trying to avoid a different kind of strong reaction. I didn't need to raise a tent in front of the whole crew.

Focus on what's important. What was really in that contaminated scorpion? LSD? DMT? No idea. I realize Brooklyn boys are supposed to know their drugs, but I kept that shit at arm's length. I had a future... or I thought I did. Before life caught up with my dad.

"I'm trying to figure out something here. Meth isn't blue or green." I rubbed my own forehead, as if it would do any good helping me squeeze out some answers. "That's just TV."

"I don't know." Chollie glanced around. "Our club sticks with beer."

Taking the hint, Hasp brought out a six-pack that looked small under his arm. Seven guys, six beers. I expected to be the one who got left out, but Steele opened his can and then passed it to me.

"Thanks."

I'd love to see him sip my dickhead like he's sipping that can. He really knows how to pucker his lips down small.

As I pulled my hand away, I looked again into Steele's eyes. This dude had sex on the brain twenty-four seven. For real. He was more frustrated than I was.

The other guys were still in the room, but they'd faded from my consciousness. All I could see was Steele. Knowing he was gay, knowing he had feelings for me... it made me look at him in ways I'd never looked at him before.

Steele's muscular thighs could certainly fill out a pair of weathered jeans. I wondered if he had any tats down there.

***

Author Note/Bio:

I usually look for gold at the blackjack table, but I've met a few guys who prefer to find theirs in abandoned mine shafts or high mountain streams. On occasion, I may have been allowed to tag along to some place we probably weren't supposed to be. This novella is my salute to them.

I'm also the author of The Runaway Model and The Runaway Millions.



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