When they were young together back in their werecat pride, Bowie and Channing experimented with love and sex, as well as flirting with a threesome with their best friend Andy. Channing and Andy both ran from their needs, leaving Bowie to break away and find his own life. Now a confident Dom, Bowie discovers Channing again through a video of a consummate sub, one Bowie knows he needs to find once more.
When Bowie shows up on his doorstep, Channing feels like a teenager again, all confusion and need. He doesn't date his own kind, only humans, and he's not in the market for a full-time Master. Bowie is impossible to deny, a force of nature, and while both men know they'll have to think about Andy eventually, now is the time to see if they can get to know and love each other all over again.
Publisher's Note: An earlier version of Deconstructing Channing (Stripped Bare 1) was published briefly with another house several years ago. The author has made significant changes to restore the story line as originally intended. Already read the story? Read it again -- for the first time.
Praise for Deconstructing Channing (Stripped Bare 1)
"If you like your romances superhot with a very kinky side serving of BDSM, if you think old mistakes can be fixed once people grow up, and if you’re looking for a read that is full of sensual encounters of every kind, then you will probably like this novella. It has a promising ending that has me eagerly anticipating the next installment!"
-- Serena Yates, Rainbow Book Reviews
"The sex is smoking hot and deliciously kinky. Best of all the characters were intense, realistic and I was almost immediately drawn to them and invested in their happiness. This was a quick-paced and interesting story and I am eagerly waiting for the next installment. A lovely, kinky story that I can absolutely recommend."
-- 4 Stars from Fern, Long and Short Reviews
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Deconstructing Channing (Stripped Bare 1)
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 B.A. Tortuga
Bowie took the train to L.A. There was something so decadent about the Coast Starlight, especially when he got a private sleeper. The steady bub-bub-bub of the wheels on the track was oddly musical and he found himself nodding along with it at the oddest times. He only ventured out to eat in the dining car at first, before boredom took him, and he wandered around and played solitaire in the club car.
The trip was designed to give him time. Time to figure out what he was going to say to Channing Lanier when he saw the sorry son of a bitch again.
He could start with “Hey, you rat bastard. Amazing how you came out after you dropped me like a hot rock.” That would be fun. Or maybe, “I thought you weren’t into spanking and bondage, and your precious asshole was sacrosanct, but now you’re a bottom in the underground BDSM scene,” would work better.
Bowie wouldn’t even be going to see said bottoming asshole if it wasn’t for the flyer tucked neatly away in his briefcase.
Their Andy was a fucking stripper?
A Vegas stripper? The revue was touted as a classy burlesque show at a topless nightclub called Catnip Crazy.
Hell, the crazy thing was that both of his ex-lovers had called him a goddamn perv. Him. Because he’d wanted them both. Because he’d wanted Andy over his lap. Because he’d wanted to see Channing bound and on his knees between the both of them.
Bowie guessed he’d been lucky, to be so damn young and know what he wanted, who he was. Andy had been the spark that set him alight, his beta, the one who would stand beside him forever and love him. And Channing -- their omega male -- was caring and real and nurturing and…
He’d bared his soul one night after an evening of beer and firelight and awkward, desperate kisses, wild humping under rough blankets, Andy caught between them. He’d told them what he’d seen in the depths of the flames during his initiation into the pride, what his heart had told him. Channing had been the first to go, shifting into the lean golden cougar that Bowie had loved since he was a child, spitting and hissing, refusing them.
Andy had left next, in the dull gray of early morning, tears streaking his face.
A triad couldn’t survive with just two, Andy had said. Better to be alone than fight. He wasn’t into kink anyway. He wanted his own life.
Bowie groaned, the pain from that night still fresh and raw.
He should have followed them both, but he hadn’t. He’d roared and screamed and then spent an entire summer in a bottle until the pride’s dominant male had run him off.
He’d gone north, found a life, found wealth and pleasure and control. Even a kind of happiness.
The thought dulled the anger, put out the fire of fury as if water on a candle. They’d been kids and scared, and he’d been sure that he could fix everything he didn’t understand with a paddle and a pair of cuffs. He’d been just as stupid as they had. Maybe more.
He wasn’t going to be stupid this time though. He was going to get his omega, and then, once he’d torn up that sweet little ass, they were going to see Andy. He could take off his clothes for other folks as much as he wanted, but he belonged with them.
He knew it, nose to tail.
After all, wolves weren’t the only beasts that mated for life.