SLACK: A Day in the Life of Ford Aston
Series: (Rook and Ronin Spin-off)
Published on December 18, 2013 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Erotic Romance
Ford Aston is not too picky about what he wants out of Christmas. He’s not into this holiday—like at all. He doesn’t do presents, or family dinners, or parties, or church.
He does pets. And he’s got one lined up for Christmas Eve. In fact, it’s the highlight of his day. And if he can get through drop-in visits, nosy twelve-year-olds, an inappropriate conversation with his best friend’s girlfriend, dinner with a family that’s not his, and a party at his mother’s house—well, he might just get home in time to enjoy himself with a stranger and make it all OK.
SLACK: A Day in the Life of Ford Aston, is a prequel to TAUT: The Ford Book, and can be read as a standalone novella.
SLACK releases on December 18, 2013 and TAUT releases on January 20, 2014
Yes, it’s me again! I have a very sexy new FORD novella out this week. It’s only about 100 paperback pages, but it’s a super hot read.
So tonight I’ll giving away an ecopy of SLACK, so you can start it right away, PLUS a signed paperback.
AND since I’m taking some book blogger vacay time over Christmas and I won’t have a Friday Night Freebie next week, I’m also gonna give out a special present to this weekend’s winner – a SIGNED COPY OF TAUT: The Ford Book, which is Ford’s full length books that releases January 20.
I close the door and walk quickly to the shower, wash off, and then pull on a pair of jeans and make my way back to the kitchen. I press the button on the machine and it spits the one-cup instabrew out into a mug. I take it, and a bowl of cut strawberries, over to the dining table and swipe my finger across the tablet so I can read the Wall Street Journal after I finish with the pet.
I walk back over to the door, open it, and then bend down and whisper in the pet’s ear. “Count to ten, come in, shut the door behind you, and then crawl to the table.” I walk back over to the table and take my seat. Her ten seconds are up and she stands, walks through the door, closes it softly behind her, then drops to her knees and crawls across the hard stone tiles.
She never once looks at me.
Her hair is long and blonde. It hangs down and brushes against the floor as she crawls. When she reaches me, I open my legs and pat my thigh. She rests her cheek on my leg and assumes the position.
The position is kneeling, legs open, head straight, hands on her thighs. My pat is a command she knows, so that’s why she rests her head on my leg. She’s been here about two dozen times. I have no idea what her name is, how old she is—other than legal age—where she lives, what she does, what this means to her, or why she does it.
And I could care less about any of that personal stuff. My assistant in LA sets the pets up for me, and much of the time I have no knowledge about the particulars, beyond fucking them, of course. Occasionally I take one out to eat or to a function that requires a date, but not often. I prefer to do almost everything alone.