Men of London 03 - Suit Yourself

Twenty-five year old Oliver Brown is addicted. Two
years ago, he was at the height of his career as “Nicky Star,”
fashion model, porn actor, partier without peer. Then came the
accident. Hiding his scars, both emotional and physical, he’s gone
into hiding. But fine clothing is some solace. A new suit by
Debussy? Better even than a ride on his motorcycle Hulk or all the
things he used to give and take on camera.

Enter Leslie Scott, the flamboyant, dark-haired,
heel-and-tiny-short-wearing twink sent to deliver Oliver’s newest
fix. A firecracker, Leslie is dapper, generous, in touch with his
feminine side but all man, and as gorgeous as any garment ever
made. He makes Oliver dream of ending his reclusion, of recapturing
a future forever denied him. But for that to happen, Leslie would
have to strip him to the bone. Only then will they rebuild life
from the bottom up.

www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living
or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have
any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or
third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

SUIT YOURSELF
Copyright © 2015 Susan Elaine Mac Nicol

All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no
part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a
retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
known or hereinafter invented, without the express written
permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading
and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other
means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is
illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of
copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

ISBN 978-1-942886-34-1

This book is dedicated to a very
special person, one who has been through the mill recently, yet, as
a strong, proud, independent woman she rises above the things life
throws at her and is a true blue survivor. Jill Limber, this story
is for you.

There are so many people to thank for this particular
Men In London story that I think it needs its own book. But as that
isn’t a possibility, here goes.
Takes a deep
breath…

Firstly, to my wonderful editor, Michelle Klayman. In
the absence of Jill, my usual partner in crime, due to personal
circumstances, Michelle has stepped up to the plate on both
Sight and Sinners
and
Suit Yourself
. They say it’s tough for an author to
get a new editor and, I think, generally they’re right. With
Michelle, however, it was simply a case of an old friend taking
over and making it seamless and painless, and for that I will be
forever thankful.

Then there’s the fabulous Johnny O’Connell. He’s the
cover model for the wonderful man in corset on the cover. Johnny
took the time out to perform a personal photo shoot for me and sent
me loads of sexy and beautiful pictures. Yes, you’ll be seeing more
of him…. The one on the cover just blew me away. In my mind,
he became Leslie. The funny thing is, Johnny isn’t that far
away from this quirky character himself. Being an avid corset and
heel wearer, Johnny also works in the fashion industry. Having feet
in both the vintage and burlesque worlds, and being a pole dancer
and performer, Johnny is a true chameleon when it comes to dressing
up—or down as the case may be. Thank you for your help and
unswerving generosity in helping launch this book with its
made-to-order cover.

By the way, those gorgeous red heels and corset are
Johnny’s own.

To fellow author Nic Starr who won a competition to
have herself named in one of my future books as a character. I
think becoming gay, male, porn star Nicky Starr was fitting,
and I know you enjoy this idea, too. May you live forever in this
book.

Finally, to a truly lovely fella, Warren Joseph
Allen, who teaches me about gay slang, (I had no idea there were so
many euphemisms for the female vagina), drag queens, amuses me
daily with his witty sense of humour, is a valued business partner
and
talented, too (oh, in
so
many ways, I won’t make you blush telling them
all). Warren is the web designer of the Nicky Starr website, having
put hours and hours into helping me pull the concept of the site
together. I dare say he had a lot of fun too when you see what’s on
there. He’s a number cruncher by day, pole dancer and web designer
by night and I think he should have his own Bat signal. If anyone
has any ideas on this, please send them to me. I’ll have a tee
shirt made for him. Love ya madly, Professor.

To my beta readers JP Bilboa and Rita Roberts,
who offered some wonderful constructive criticism. As always,
ladies, your wisdom and advice is appreciated.

And, of course, to all my wonderful readers and fans
out there—and all the bloggers who work tirelessly promoting us all
for simply the reward of reading a good story. All I can say is
Thank You
, once again. You’re always there
for me and I know you’ve been looking forward to Leslie’s story. I
hope I did it justice.

Chapter
1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19

About the
Author

“That dickwad
is so overrated. I hate him. I hope his arse rots and his hole
closes up.” Leslie Scott scowled as he bit his bottom lip in a fit
of pique. He glared at the trim figure on the catwalk mincing along
the raised platform.

Beside him, Eddie Tripp snorted in laughter.
“Hell, Leslie, I’d hate to be one of your exes. Simon might have
been a bit of a douche cheating on you like he did, but even he
doesn’t deserve that fate worse than death.
My
arse is twitching just thinking about it.”

Eddie and Leslie sat at the front of the
audience at a swanky London fashion event. Working at a local
fashion house providing exclusive men and women’s suits, Leslie had
been invited to see the latest designs gracing the catwalk. Eddie
hadn’t particularly wanted to be here at the Mystique Hotel
extravaganza on a rare Saturday off, but Leslie had batted his
eyelashes and opened his baby blues wide, knowing that Eddie would
be powerless to resist.

Gideon, Eddie’s boyfriend, had shaken his
head at Eddie’s capitulation and grinned. “God, Eddie, babe, you
are so damn easy…” He’d forestalled Eddie’s indignant squawk that
he was
so
not with a fierce kiss. Leslie
loved seeing his fiery friend rendered speechless even though his
heart gave a lurch at the two men being so comfortable together.
Leslie really wanted a relationship like theirs.

He narrowed his eyes at the ex-boyfriend now
strutting along the catwalk in the posh confines of the Bella
Ballroom. Simon Hooper looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his
mouth with his platinum-streaked, stylishly coiffed blond hair and
pink, full lips, but Leslie had seen that mouth in action on
another man’s cock and seen Simon’s ugly side when he’d been caught
out in mid-blow. That pretty mouth could say some fairly hurtful
things, like, “Well, I wasn’t getting what I needed from yours.”
That comment had really stung.

“Yes, well, just because he’s a model and has
everyone fawning over him like he’s the next best thing to Michael
J Willett means fuck all to me. The man’s a bitch.” Leslie huffed
and waggled perfectly manicured fingers in Eddie’s direction.

Eddie grinned. “You look even better than
him, honest. I mean…” He paused and stared hard at Simon currently
sashaying away from them. He wore a tailored, ruffled pink shirt
and tight, plaid green and brown designer trousers emblazoned with
the flamboyant Tracy Trey’s signature label of a rainbow-coloured
chameleon on the pocket. “No one can fault those trousers you have
on, and those shoes. You look like a prince, whereas he looks like
the frog. A bloody Amazon rainforest frog at that, wearing all
those colours.” Eddie winced. “I mean, multi-coloured
plaid
trousers? Come on.”

Leslie’s heart warmed at Eddie’s obvious
sincerity and he had to admit he probably simpered a little. “Well,
I do try my best.” He looked down at his black, silky, clinging
long-sleeved shirt and tight, sexy bronze silk pants complete with
his favourite pair of comfortable heels, a pair of Jimmy Choo
peep-toe pumps, just his style. They were slightly scuffed but he’d
not said no to them when one of the diva female models had thrown
them aside after a fashion show he’d attended and asked him
casually if he wanted them. A starving wolf attacking a hunk of
premium quality meat had nothing on Leslie as he dove to get them.
He’d hissed like a striking salamander at another woman trying to
do the same thing. He’d been gratified when she’d backed off.

The only thing irritating him about his
outfit was his thong. It just wasn’t behaving properly, riding up
his backside and into his crack. Leslie didn’t mind fingers or
tongues doing that, but an errant piece of a fabric was simply a
no-no.

Eddie chuckled as Leslie turned out a
well-waxed leg and admired the shoe on his slim ankle. “God, you
are such a narcissist…”

“Am not,” Leslie declared indignantly. “Can I
help it that I like good stuff and classy wear? And that it looks
great on me?” He huffed and pretended to glower at Eddie from
between his lashes. “I can’t help it. I have high standards.”

“Yeah, you can be a right snob,” Eddie
retorted. Then seeing the scowl forming on Leslie’s face, he
grinned. “But I love you anyway.” He nudged Leslie’s arm with a
gangly elbow. “That guy over there can’t take his eyes off you.
He’s been eying you up since we got here.”

Leslie’s head whipped round so fast he
thought he’d given himself whiplash. An admirer was always welcome
in his current state of sexual drought. “Who would that—oh,
him
. That’s Charlie.” His lips curled in
derision and he scoffed. “I wouldn’t touch him with my pretty
eight-inch bargepole. He’s into abusing his boyfriends. I know one
of his last ones, Sandy, ended up in hospital with a broken nose
when that prick over there,” he gestured to the thickset,
dark-haired man currently looking at Leslie as if he wanted to lick
him all over, “took exception to the way he was looking at another
bloke. Sandy insisted he wasn’t checking him out, but it didn’t
stop Charlie.” He spat the name out, and Eddie reached up to wipe a
small bit of spit off his face with a grimace. “He smashed poor
Sandy’s face into a door frame. He had to have surgery to fix it,
’cos he’s an actor.”

Eddie’s pale face darkened. “Hell, what a
fucking bully. Did anyone report him to the police for it?” His
green eyes narrowed as he threw Charlie a look, one Charlie
obviously saw as he turned to look at the crowd behind him then
looked back at Eddie in bafflement, mixed with a little bit of
panic.