Titus has lived and breathed religion his entire life, tucked away from the rest of the world in a compound in northern Wyoming. He’s destined to be the next leader of the church, deemed so by the Prophet.
God spoke and with His word He created. But God made a mistake. Titus isn’t worthy. He was born sick and it’s solidified when he rescues the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.
Torn between fidelity to his faith or his soul, Titus must reconcile the two parts of himself before he’s discovered hiding among the chosen.
Teaser excerpt #1:
He set down what he was doing and turned toward Angel to gage his reaction. But he hadn’t gotten as far back as Titus had thought.
They were close, too close. Closer than he should be to another human being. He should step back. He tried to focus himself, but Titus couldn’t make himself move. He was close enough to smell Angel, and he didn’t want to stop. There was the beer, of course, on his breath from dinner, but there was also summer there. Sunflowers and sunshine. Bright and happy. The sun bleached parts of his hair showed in the shop light, making him glow. Titus wondered what he himself smelled like. Cold and darkness, if he had to guess. They were such polar opposites. Raised different in every way. Angel was allowed to be himself, and Titus would never be. He had to give up a part of himself no matter if he chose this or not.
“I’m trying really hard not to ramble. Is everything okay?” Angel lifted a hand like he was going to put it on Titus’ hip, but he froze midair. Titus didn’t know if he could bear being touched by Angel. It might all be over if he let it happen.
But they were magnets, and Titus couldn’t stop it. His lips brushed over Angel’s, and the earth stopped. It sent Titus stumbling. He went from traveling at one thousand miles an hour to stopping dead on his axis. He was dizzy, and as Angel parted his lips, Titus got closer and further all at the same time. Closer in presence but further in his mind. It wanted to throw up walls and shut everything down. Pretend this wasn’t exactly what he wanted. No, not exactly what he wanted. He wanted more. He wanted to feel all of Angel, every inch of his bare skin, but he’d spent so damn long denying and lying to himself, he couldn’t handle it. Just as Angel’s tongue touched his lips, he pulled back. His pulse was thundering in his neck, and his heart was beating so hard it was painful. Every fiber in him was screaming, “Run!”
“I can’t,” he said breathless. “I just…” His feet finally responded to a command, and he stepped back.
About J.R. Gray:
When not staying up all night writing, J.R. Gray can be found at the gym where it’s half assumed he is a permanent resident to fulfill his self-inflicted masochism. A dominant and a pilot, Gray finds it hard to be in the passenger seat of any car. He frequently interrupts real life, including normal sleep patterns and conversations, to jot down notes or plot bunnies. Commas are the bane of his existence even though it’s been fully acknowledged they are necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder. If Gray wasn’t writing…well, that’s not possible. The buildup of untold stories would haunt Gray into an early grave, insanity or both. The idea of haunting has always appealed to him. J.R. Gray is genderqueer and prefers he/him pronouns.