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Tiger by the Tail

by BA Tortuga

Tiger by the Tail - BA Tortuga
Part of the Southern Cats series:
Editions:Kindle: $ 3.99 USD
Pages: 59

Weretiger Terry is used to being in charge. He's the boss, even when that job is as stressful as can be. So when he hears a new BDSM club is opening in Dallas, he has to go find himself a twink to help relieve his stress.

What Terry finds is werebear Ash, who's the bigger apex predator in this situation. Ash is happy to turn Terry's expectations upside down and teach Terry how to accept what he needs. Even if what he needs scares Terry half to death.

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"Seriously. There is nothing fun left to do anymore. Ever since I lost my last assistant to the Carolinas, everything has been so boring." Terry held his paws out to the sweet little bobcat that had been doing his manicures for the last few years. He loved the Claw House. They provided scratching posts, martinis, discreet service, and gorgeous nail techs.

The little one wiggled and blushed a lot. Delicious.


"Oh, I wouldn't count out Dallas yet, buddy. Jared was telling me about this new bar..." His manicure friend Paul was always the first to know about new places.

"Another bar? Seriously?" He looked over, willing to listen. A little.

"Uh-huh. I haven't been, but I hear good things. Kinky, with good food and reasonable drinks."

"That doesn't bode well, that you haven't gone. Who's this Jared? Do I know him?"

"Probably not. He's an advertising client." Paul winked. He did PR for Terry's company, but he did small advertising gigs on the side as well.

"No shit? So what does he say about the bar? Decent bartender?" He didn't mind paying if the booze was good. Hell, he didn't mind bad booze, if it was cheap.

"He says there are two that are edible. They can also both mix a great Sex on the Beach."

"Huh. Fair enough." He curled his fingers, making the little kit work for it a bit. "And the kink?"

"There's a variety. Theme nights, lots of boys waiting to be... handled. Private rooms."

"Huh. Here in Dallas? Are they... our type of folks?" He didn't play rough with humans. It was too risky.

"They are. That's the best part." There was a glint in Paul's eye that told him there was a bit of trickery going on, but they did that to each other. Paul wouldn't steer him entirely wrong.

"You want to go? I don't have plans for Friday night."

"It's invitation only..."

"Wait? You don't have enough pull to get one of those?" He rolled his eyes dramatically. "Paul, I'm disappointed."

"I can get you in. I just wanted to make sure you were interested. Not so hard, honey," Paul told his manicurist.

"He's tender on his pointy bits, you know," he teased.

"I'm tender everywhere," Paul purred.

He chuffed softly, tickled as all get out. "Silly kitten. Why haven't I fucked you through the floor, again?"

"You play too rough."

His technician wiggled and blushed again. Oh, such a ripe one.

Maybe he'd see if little, sweet, and eager wanted a little slap and tickle in the backroom. Uhn.

"What night?"

He snapped back to Paul. "Huh?"

"What. Night. Do. You. Want. To. Go. Butthead." Paul was laughing at him now.

"Friday? I don't have plans."

"Then Friday it is. Dress for the occasion."

"Mmm. I will." Leather? Armani? Oh, class before kink, every time. Definitely Armani. He rocked that and Kenneth Cole, but Ken was never for impressing twinks.

He hummed softly, the sound a little deeper and darker than he'd intended. Little kit leaned in, swaying, and Terry breathed in his scent.

Oh, he was so getting a bite of that. So. "Can you give us a minute, Paul? I need to take, um, Lance here, to the back for a moment."

"Horndog," Paul teased.

All he could say to that was, "Meow."


About the Author

Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy’s Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds and her beloved wife, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she’s not doing that, she’s writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA’s personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.

Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the  high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.

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