Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Creep. Weirdo. Stalker. Monster under the bed.
Angel. Blond. Pillow Prince. Pisces.
Creep
They call me Creep and they’re not wrong. I crawl under people’s beds to feel close to them.
Tonight, my pick is a pretty blond twink with pink lips and blue eyes. My living fantasy. I meant to enjoy his company in secret, but I can’t just lie there and listen when his boyfriend gets violent.
So I crawl out.
And I kill the bastard.
Now Angel’s a witness to my crime, so… I take him.
I’ve never had a lover. Hell, I’ve never even kissed anyone. I’m twisted. Ugly. Unlovable.
But now that I’ve tasted Angel, I can’t turn back. I need to make him mine.
Angel
I survived a string of shitty exes but didn’t expect a monster in a leather jacket, with hair as black as night, to crawl out from under my bed and slaughter my abuser.
I fear the worst when he abducts me to his creepy den… but he doesn’t hurt me. He’s too shy to even speak to me when I’m awake and watches from the shadows instead.
It’s when I pretend to sleep that he comes closer. The game makes it all the sweeter for him. When he reaches for me, he’s careful but greedy, living out a fantasy he’s too ashamed to ask for.
And I let him.
Because I’m curious. Because it makes my pulse spike. Because I’m starting to want it too.
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“Creep” is a standalone, M/M dark romance where a lonely biker with an unusual kink abducts the object of his forbidden desire and finds salvation in the boy who should’ve run.
This is a book for readers who crave a protective monster with a broken past, twisted obsession, and the kind of love that crawls out from under your bed and refuses to let go.
If you’re drawn to morally gray men, emotional tension, and the thrill of surrendering to danger… this one’s for you.
This story contains scenes of violence, offensive language and morally ambiguous characters
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Creep
They call me Creep, and I should probably be offended, but what do you call a man who breaks into people’s houses to sleep under their beds? If the shoe fits.
I do also have a job, if being a career criminal can be called that, so I can’t spend my days watching others from the safety of the shadows. Sometimes, I have to even talk to people, and that’s much harder than killing or disposing of bodies. I am loyal to the Vulture Hollow MC though, so I do what I must.
I’ve just dropped off a parcel of our homegrown psychedelics with the local butcher, who moonlights as a drug dealer, but lots of folks around here hold down two or three jobs, so I’m not surprised. At least he didn’t expect small talk, so I finished my task for the day without issue and now I get to reward myself with a juicy burger.
I like the Gravy Fountain, because not only do their wrappers not crinkle, but I also have a favorite corner booth that gives me a view of all exits, including the one into the kitchen, and the street. I get to watch people, feel safe, and ponder what to do with the rest of my day.
I could go back to our village and continue with my book, find out whether Kargle the werewolf gets to save his lands from destruction, or use the opportunity while I’m in town to indulge a little. I won’t lie, Kargle’s story’s been pretty uninspired, and I might just be returning that book to the library without reading it to the end.
I might seem like a menace to society to most people, but the librarian, Mrs. Willow, calls me sweetheart whenever I return books on time. She even gave me a cookie last time. I wonder if she needs new glasses, because I’m pretty sure there’s not much endearing about my black greasy hair or the pasty skin that could give a vampire a run for his money. I’m at peace with being the kind of guy people cross the street to avoid, but it’s still nice to know that not even the 1% patches on my cut can scare off good old Mrs. Willow.
I take my meat blue, and as juices flood my tongue, I lean back in the booth, scanning the street outside. It’s a nice town, this one, a clear sign of its progressing gentrification. The streets are clean. Most vehicles—pristine. And on the other side of the road is a lineup of businesses a place as small as this simply would not have had twenty years ago.
A bakery/restaurant serving “modern food with a middle Eastern twist”. A flower shop called Plant Mommy. A pet groomer with a figurine of a cotton candy pink poodle in the window. And one of those esoteric shops I’ve seen popping up here and there. I settle my gaze on the golden Buddha at the centre of the display when the door opens, and a lanky figure steps out.