Read an excerpt of “Rescuing James” (werepeople, dubcon, m/m), and by ‘excerpt’ I mean the first chapter.
Read an excerpt of “Reunion”, a sequel of to “Rescuing James”, available on Amazon.
Read an excerpt of “Invictus” (f/f, sports, disability).
Five minute free-writes
He steps on the ice for the first time and knows. At five it isn’t all that clear what he knows but he is old enough to recognize the moment as something special, he skates forward, sliding easily and, this is the part he will tell with a wry smile, falls right off his feet on his bottom. His sisters laugh at him, probably because he looks stunned at how something so simple has suddenly betrayed him. But Monica helps him up, gives him some advice. He listens, he always listens to Monica who is second oldest but always the one who has time for bandaids and made up healing spells when he needs them. He gets up, he will tell reporters, and he tries again. That is all.
He tries again and he succeeds, for a little bit, at least, and then he falls. At first he works to avoid the falls but soon he realises that they don’t matter, that they don’t mean anything compared to the speed and grace they are payment for. He will pay for if he has to, he will fail, if it’s the only way to win.
He is not careless but he doesn’t care, not about pain, at least. He will endure all the pain in the world if it means a moment at the top, of a podium, on the air, flying hard into a jump so impossible other people will hold their breaths for him.
He cares about that, he cares about the way he steps on the ice, every day, as long as he can walk, and feels his body fill with sunshine. Like he is, deep down, a creature made of ice, returning home where he belongs.
And one day, he knows this with certainty, his home will be gone. He won’t be strong enough for the migration, if he’s lucky he will be able to walk but the cold will be too much for the constant practice on worn joints and muscles.It doesn’t really matter, it can’t matter. Nothing can, compared to this. He thinks maybe when his body says enough, when his home closes its doors, he will have to turn to the world and admit he knows nothing of it. Nothing of anybody but himself and not even much of that. He knows how far his toes will extend and how fast he can manage to spin without spinning out of control but not what he’s like when he falls in love or how to get through grief without a scape into a world of sensation.
Maybe then he will find out. He doesn’t care. He can’t.
It was the one thing he coveted the most. It was also, as these things go, the one thing completely out of his reach. Mostly because it was not, strictly speaking, a thing at all. Although he would have said that what he wanted so badly was love, any fair judge would have insisted on the fact that it was a person he wanted and their particular affection in a very particular form.
The person in question was a woman too sensible to ever consider a workplace relationship, much less one with a subordinate but the very qualities that made her so unattainable made her the object of admiration of many and his particular lustful obsession. He observed her while she spoke with another subordinate, a woman working a few booths away in the open plan office, he was being careful to ration his glances but probably not careful enough, as their gazes eventually crossed when she stood straighter in preparation for retreating from her conversation. He gave her a tight smile and looked away.