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Project X

by Nephy Hart , Cheryl Headford

Project X - Cheryl Headford
Editions:Kindle - Second Edition: $ 3.24
ISBN: 978-1-4874-1980-6
Pages: 297

Morgan Bentley is a bastard. Matthew knows this absolutely—until he doesn’t.

Matthew and his friend Cory are thrilled to attend one of the most prestigious universities in the UK. On their pre-entry visit, they met Morgan Bentley and his stuck-up friends. Matthew takes an instant dislike to the arrogant, conceited, self-obsessed, beautiful, intelligent, and charismatic boy. Throughout the next year, Matthew harbours his dislike, never missing the opportunity to complain to his best friend, Cory, what a bastard Morgan is.

Then, an unexpected turn of events catapults Matthew, Morgan, and Cory into a nightmare, and all the things Cory had said about Matthew’s true feelings about Morgan come crashing down on his head, and he realises that what he thought was hatred and anger was, in fact, growing attraction and begrudging admiration. But when the deadly nature of the elusive Project X is revealed, it seems their budding romance is doomed before it begins, as one of them is unlikely to survive.

Published:
Publisher: Extasy Books
Editors:
Genres:
Tags:
Tropes: Enemy to Ally, Mad Scientist, Person in Distress, Redemption Arc
Word Count: 93358
Setting: Cambridge University United Kingdom
Tropes: Enemy to Ally, Mad Scientist, Person in Distress, Redemption Arc
Word Count: 93358
Setting: Cambridge University United Kingdom
Excerpt:

“Are you regretting it?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I’m not regretting anything, nothing about you. Never. It’s just…”

“What?”

“I know you don’t want this. I know you want something different. A family.”

“What? How? I mean…”

“I see it, Matthew,” he whispered. “Even now, I see the struggle in you. Your dreams are so close, so important to you. You don’t want to let go of them. I’m everything you’ve fought against for so long. But—”

“What? Wait.” I stopped him, my eyes widening as realisation dawned. “You can read my mind, can’t you? Those drugs…”

Morgan frowned, thoughtfully. “Not exactly. It's not exactly what you’d think. I can…for a while. A few days after…I can see…shapes. The shape of your thoughts, your dreams. That’s how I knew—”

“You knew how I was feeling? All the times I struggled and tried to stop it?”

“Not all the time.”

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Shock coursed through me, memories of the thoughts and feelings I’d suppressed, the way I’d felt every time I was near him—and all the time he knew. No wonder he’d had that smug look on his face. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, that someone could see the innermost workings of my mind, the hidden secrets.

“Please, Matthew. I don’t—I don’t…pry. I don’t deliberately search for secrets. I can’t help it. I can't control it. It just…happens.”

He seemed so lost, so sad. Another shocking realisation hit me—he could see how I was feeling. Right now. The anger, the shame, the bitterness—he could see it all. What should I do? Try to hide it? Try to suppress it? Force myself to think of other things?

“That doesn’t work.”

“What?”

“Trying to hide your feelings just makes them…darker. It hurts when you do that.”

“Hurts?”

“It makes me feel like you’re hiding from me. That you’re…I don’t know. It’s hard enough being a freak without knowing your friends are scared of you, embarrassed by you, wary of you.”

“I’m none of those things.”

“I know.” He said it flatly, but suddenly I started laughing. It was so funny.

Morgan’s eyes widened with shock. The laughter had come from nowhere, and it surprised both of us. Slowly a smile spread over his face and soon we were both helpless.

After a while, Morgan collapsed at my side, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. He turned on his side and stared into my eyes, brushing strands of hair out of my face. My hair was a lot shorter than his, but still long enough to get into my eyes. He ran the back of his fingers over the side of my face, and I shivered to my core. I couldn’t take my attention off his face, which was suddenly serious and intense again.

“Matthew.”

I didn’t need to be able to read his mind to know what he was thinking. I opened myself completely, so he’d have no trouble seeing what I was thinking. Essentially, I was screaming yes on all levels. Morgan’s eyes widened.

“Are you sure?”

“What do you think? You’re the mind reader.”

“It’s not…it’s fading.” Suddenly the intensity disappeared from his face, to be replaced with something else. Sadness?

I ran my fingers through his hair, stroking his face at the same time. “Don’t. Not now. This isn’t the time for sadness. Later. We’ll talk later, okay?”

He smiled thinly and nodded. Oh gods, he was so beautiful. I had to touch him. I had to…I had to…

Pushing him backward, I slid forward until I was lying half on top of him, and took possession of those sweet, sweet lips. For a moment, he was taken aback, but only for a moment. This time I wasn't just reacting, I was making the play. Gods, I was actually…I was…oh fuck. Oh fuck.

Somehow, my hands had found their way under his pyjama jacket, and all the buttons had popped, leaving his chest bare. While I was covering one side of it with my body, the other was open to me; so soft, so muscular, so…

Morgan moaned as my fingers roamed over his skin and found his nipple. A deep shudder went through him, and I pinched harder. He raised himself off the bed, arching his back, and actually lifted my whole body. Gods, he was strong.

Rolling over, so he was on top of me again, Morgan broke the kiss, and for a moment I actually panicked, until I realised he was frantically scrabbling to remove his jacket altogether. I froze, and so did he. He was kneeling over me now, bare to the waist, his hair like a cloak of shadow over his shoulders, his eyes glittering like chips of emerald. I was awestruck. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe.

Smiling in a slow, sexy way, Morgan reached down and tugged my shirt out of my jeans. I shivered as he pulled it upward, shifting my position slightly so he could get it over my head. Then it was gone, and Morgan was running his hands over my bare skin. I closed my eyes, overcome with sensation.

Slowly, so slowly, he repositioned himself, so he was kneeling between my legs. Then he lowered himself, so he was lying fully on top of me. We were roughly the same height, so our hips fitted closely together. Surprisingly, that was the first time it hit home we were both sporting monster erections because suddenly they were getting up close and friendly with each other, and it scared the shit out of me.

Shit! I’m making out with a man! Shit! We’re on his bed and both half-naked! Shit! He was moving his hips in a way that suggested not only did he know exactly what he was doing, but he’d done it before…a lot! Shit! It was Morgan. It was Morgan Bentley. Out of all the men I could possibly have imagined I’d have my first gay experience with. Out of all the men in the world. Out of all the people in the world. I would never…I would never…I…never…I…

“Oh, fuck.”

COLLAPSE

About the Authors

Nephy Hart

Cheryl/Nephy was born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was 16, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.

Cheryl/Nephy has always been a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.

Later in life, Cheryl/Nephy became the storyteller for a re enactment group who travelled widely, giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.

It was here she began to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the heart of the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that still wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.

In present times, Cheryl/Nephy lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son, dog, bearded dragon and three cats. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. She’s never been happier since she was made redundant and is able to devote herself entirely to her twin loves of writing and art, with a healthy smattering of magic and mayhem


Cheryl Headford

Cheryl/Nephy was born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was 16, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.

Cheryl/Nephy has always been a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.

Later in life, Cheryl/Nephy became the storyteller for a re enactment group who travelled widely, giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.

It was here she began to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the heart of the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that still wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.

Cheryl/Nephy particularly likes to write about faraway places that don't exist - or do they - and to bring elements of fantasy and sci fi into our world. From ad scientists who want to create superhumans, to fairies at the bottom of the garden, she explores the strange and the silly.

In present times, Cheryl/Nephy lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son, dog, bearded dragon and two cats. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. She’s never been happier since she was made redundant and is able to devote herself entirely to her twin loves of writing and art, with a healthy smattering of magic and mayhem