The Tourist

The Tourist

by Clare London

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The Tourist by Clare London

Visiting isn't a science, at least not for me. It's just what I do. Not that I mind, though. It's not a bad thing, you understand, to find yourself in someone else's body, stepping into a hot shower stark-naked and sporting a decent-sized morning wood.

Ace is a tourist. A spirit who spends his time visiting the lives of others for entertainment and sexual satisfaction. He can't make anyone do anything they aren't willing to do—but he is able to push them to their personal limits.

He's currently visiting Dan and his lover, Ricky—a couple struggling with jealousy and words left unsaid. Emboldened by Ace, Dan becomes more sexually aggressive, a pleasant surprise for Ricky. But when an abusive ex threatens their newfound happiness, how far will Ace want to get involved? Will his fascination with the couple's sexual games tempt him to protect them from a very real physical danger?

28,800 words

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781426891267
Publisher: Carina Press
Publication date: 02/28/2011
Format: NOOK Book
File size: 329 KB

About the Author

Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with the weekly wash, waiting for the far distant day when she can afford to give up her day job as an accountant. She's written in many genres and across many settings, with novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing, while friends say she's just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she's happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters.

Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter three stage and plenty of other projects in mind...she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.

Find details of her publications and plenty of free fiction at her website, as well as an invitation to her mailing list. Visit her today and say hello!

Read an Excerpt

It isn't a bad thing, you know, to find yourself stepping into a hot, fresh-smelling shower, stark bollock naked and sporting a decent-sized morning wood. Even if the period immediately beforehand is a bit of a blurred memory. Even if you can't remember where the hell you are, exactly how you got there, what day it is, or even how much shampoo you're going to need because you can't remember if you're bewigged, buzz-cut or bearded.

I reached for the plastic curtain, not sure how firm my grip was, tugging it back awkwardly. When I stepped forward onto the smooth tray, I stubbed my toe against the tiled wall and yelped. Seemed I couldn't even gauge the size of my own bloody feet.

You see, visiting isn't an exact science. Hell, it's no science at all, at least not for me. It's just what I do. I drift in my strange but by-now-familiar limbo, jumping in and out of human bodies for a bit of a laugh and—you must understand, I'm not going to lie about it—for sexual satisfaction. From men.

I get a thrill from it; I get off on it.

The last thing I remembered? A rewarding couple of days in the bed of two very limber athletes. Moroccan, maybe. On a work visa, staying in a tiny but over-warm bedsit, the best they could afford so close to London. I never knew whether they were legally in the country or not, and didn't really care. I was only passing through. They were dark, with sun-salty skin, and full of youthful strength and stamina. An imaginative collection of toys, too. Delicious. But their bickering wore me ragged in the end, even though it was their idea of foreplay. And so I moved on. Took that deep breath of virtual anticipation, and jumped. Never knowing quite where I'd end up.

But, like I said, it wasn't always a bad thing. Particularly when I found myself pressed up against the side of another body in that shower, equally naked, slick with water and warm with sexy, willing enthusiasm. How did I know "willing"? Pretty obvious, if you ask me. He had a thick, solid dick, happily nudging against my thigh. Just what I like the best. There was barely enough room to turn one person around in there, let alone two, but it didn't seem like either of us resented getting up close and personal.

I leaned in, just to make sure, and he moaned with pleasure. Yeah, that confirmed it. I gave up worrying about shampoo and went for groping his hips instead.

"Hey, there."

He sounded startled and I paused. I mumbled something under my breath that could have been taken as a tentative apology.

"No. It's fine." He twisted around to face me and that delicious dick rubbed against mine. It was long and curved up toward his belly, eager for action. Mine was no slouch, either. Looked like I had plenty of inches, and at the moment they were all standing to attention. "'s a surprise, that's all." He tilted his head and touched the side of my neck with his lips, quick and sloppy. "I didn't want to wake you just yet. It's not your fault I'm up so early."

"Up?" My voice was low and firm. I liked the sound of it. I smirked and ran my hand along the length of his cock. It was a broad hand; looked strong, the skin tanned, fingertips calloused.

He sucked in a breath. "God. Yeah. I know you're not so keen on the morning..."

I squeezed, not that gently, and he shut up immediately. "You think you should be telling me what I am and what I'm not?"

He stared at me. Deep brown eyes, an expression of excitement and confusion, all mixed in with the twinkle of morning lust. And something else even more promising. "I...guess not. Sorry."

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