About Wanted
by Vic Winter
52 pages / 20000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-440-3, 1-60370-440-X
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
Justice lives a pretty lonely life, working his family's land and trying to make ends meet. He can't afford to hire anyone, so when drifter Tuck comes along, offering to work for room and board, Justice jumps at the chance. Tuck is a hard worker, and a good looking man, and soon the two of them are doing a lot more than sharing long, hot glances.
Trouble comes in the form of the Sheriff, who show's up at Justice's place, looking for a man who fits Tuck's description. Justice can't believe that Tuck would commit the crime he's accused of, and he's willing to lie to protect his new friend and lover. Can Tuck manage to stay out of jail, and stay with Justice?
Review
Mychael Black, popular Torquere author, writes:
Justice is doing his best to keep his ranch up and running. With no one but himself and the animals for company, he can’t help but wish he had someone to at least talk to. He’s quite isolated, and given that he enjoys the feel of calloused hands -- even if they are his own -- to a lady’s softness, well, being out in the middle of nowhere may not be so bad.
Then Tuck comes along. A hardworking drifter looking for room and board in exchange for work, he’s just what Justice needs. And when things finally come to a head between them, their love threatens to burn the house down.
But when the sheriff comes around, looking for a drifter accused of a horrible crime, Justice finds himself desperate to prove Tuck is a good man.
The best part of Wanted was the first kiss. (Okay, so all of it was awesome!) That first kiss had me breathless, and damn, I felt the wall shake when Tuck finally took what he wanted. The explorations between them, given that Justice’s only interaction with a man was himself, were beyond wonderful and hot.
When the sheriff came looking for a drifter, I couldn’t stop reading, literally on the edge of my chair to see how Tuck and Justice would manage in the end.
Vic Winter did a great job on Wanted!
Sample
Justice broke a bale of hay up between the last two stalls, King and Penny nosing into it immediately, neighing and snuffling as they ate. He leaned a moment against the wood before checking to make sure they both had fresh water.
He stopped on his way out to rub Dilly’s nose and feed him a couple of carrots. He was going to need to pick some more carrots up at the grocery store. He was out. And if he didn’t get his hay cut soon, he was going to be buying that soon, too. Damn it, there was just too much for one man to do.
Rubbing his forehead, he gave Dilly another stroke along the nose and headed up to the house, Jig barked at his heels, the silly mutt nearly tripping him up before he told her to get on back to the barn. The sun had just set, but he knew the way in the dark and soon was washing up in the mud room, shedding his boots and his muddy jeans. He had a pair of sweats hanging over the back of a chair in the kitchen and he slipped them on, the material worn and soft, comfortable.
The kitchen light was soft and homey, comfortable. He checked the fridge and took out the pork chops and barbeque sauce. Back out on the deck, he grilled the chops by the light from the kitchen. He was generous with the sauce – when he reheated the extra chops over the next few days, that sauce would keep them from getting too dry.
He had leftover mashed potatoes and sliced carrots. Adding them to his plate, he grabbed a beer and a fork and headed into the front room, sat in his chair and pulled the little TV table over.
The news was over, but there were some sports on the TV; a baseball game. Though neither of the teams playing were ones he followed, it was something to watch as he made short work of his food. He was too hungry to stretch it out and in five minutes he was back out in the kitchen, cutting off a piece of apple pie and heating it up in the microwave. He didn’t have any ice cream left -- he’d used the last of it the other day and there wouldn’t be any more until he got some cash flow happening. Which meant bringing in the hay. It would likely be a couple more weeks before it was ready and then he had to take a day or two to get it cut. He sure wished he could hire on some help, but he just didn’t have the money. At least there hadn’t been any debt when his father had left him the farm, but any money there was had gone to inheritance taxes and funeral costs, which saw him living from cutting to cutting, hoping to keep everything together.
His pie didn’t take any longer to eat than his supper had, but by the time he was finished his belly was full and he had that post meal haze going on. His tiredness was aggravated by the hard day’s work he’d put in that had started well before dawn and he soon dozed off, the TV’s drone giving him the illusion of company.
When he jerked awake sometime later, the game was over and it was time for bed. He tossed his dishes in the sink -- they’d keep until morning and it wasn’t like there was anyone to take offense to how dirty things got around there. There was only him and right now he was too bushed to care.
He brushed his teeth and washed his face and his hands, before stripping down and getting into bed. Of course, now that he was lying down and it was past the time for any man who began his work day with the sun to be asleep, he was wide awake. That’s what he got for napping after supper.
Tossing and turning wasn’t getting him any closer to sleep, so he flipped onto his back and started to touch himself. He didn’t do anything kinky or nothing, he wasn’t into that kind of stuff, but he liked to run his hands over his skin, touch his nipples a bit, and his belly, grip his hips and card his fingers through his pubic hair before he let them drift to his cock. He liked to pretend it was someone else touching him, that he wasn’t alone in his bed just like always. He supposed the fact that he imagined those other hands belonged to another guy made him perverted in most folks’ eyes, but he figured it was none of anybody else’s business.
His fingers lingered on his nipples tonight, the little bits of flesh having gone hard as he neared them. It fascinated him sometimes, the way something so small, so useless, could be made to feel so good. Every time the pad of his finger passed across one of his nipples, he felt it tingle all the way down to his cock. He did it again and again, moaning at the thought of his imaginary lover doing this to him.
He sent his other hand down, tracing the ridges of his belly. The muscles were hard and defined, not an extra ounce of fat on them. He worked hard, damn hard, and he knew it showed. Too bad there was no one to see.
He growled suddenly at himself. He wasn’t a whiner; he knew the deal when he’d taken on his pappy’s ranch after his father had died and left it to him; he could have sold it, but both his father and his pappy had instilled in him a love for the land, for this land, their land.
Shaking his head to clear it of all thoughts, he slid both hands down, one grabbing his balls, the other his dick. It was a good distraction, his body reacting like he knew it would, everything tightening up with the pleasure of his own touch.
He rubbed his thumb back and forth across the head of his dick and then stroked his hand up and down a few times. He didn’t use hand cream or anything to slick the way -- he liked that little bit of roughness from his hands, he liked the way the calluses on his fingers caught the sensitive skin and pulled. It wasn’t enough to really hurt, but it made him ache some.
Rolling his balls, he spread his legs wider, the soft cotton sheets cool against his heated skin. He changed his grip on his balls as they started to pull up against his body, tugging on them and then pressing them up. His hand flew on his dick, his hips beginning to move, to push up.
His breath sounded loud in the dark room, gasps and groans foreign somehow, and yet his and familiar and hot. And then it all started to swirl together into something warm as the pleasure built from his balls out. He kept working the tip of his dick with his thumb as he chased his orgasm, his whole body straining toward it. He needed it, needed this: the pleasure, the release, the heavy oblivion it would leave behind.
With a grunt he came, wet spunk spilling up over his hand, hitting his belly and chest. He kept working his dick, hand slowing, the way all slippery and slick. Little shivers went through him. He whimpered, once, and let go of his dick, breath panting harshly from his chest.
Clean up took no more than a second or two as he swiped at himself with a tissue and then cleaned the mess up on his hand and chest with another one. Both were tossed over the edge of the bed and he turned on his side, curling up around a second pillow.
His eyes closed, the heaviness left behind by his orgasm letting him sleep.