Built for Pleasure by Thursday Euclid – Exclusive Excerpt

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by the publisher to celebrate the release of Built for Pleasure by Thursday Euclid which was just released.

I was planning a brilliant, hilarious, unforgettable blog post for y’all. (That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.) Then, the day before this was due, I was making my 13-year-old her favorite comfort food—chicken and dumplings—when I tragically scalded my hand with boiling gravy. The thick, rich liquid clung to my burning hand, blistering my skin and leaving it painful, tender, and tight. I spent hours running it under a cold tap and soaking it in a bowl of ice water. All the typing I intended to do was suddenly out of reach.

What was I going to do?

Well, as it turns out, one of my favorite passages in Built for Pleasure doesn’t give too much away…and it’s an excerpt I haven’t shared anywhere else! So here, for your consideration (and, I hope, enjoyment) is the beginning of Chapter 3, right as things begin to heat up between my heroes.

And an exclusive excerpt…

This cyborg wasn’t like the others Malcolm trained over the years. Granted, he’d never tried to make use of the others, but this one…. Malcolm sat in his office, brooding, trying to understand how things went so wrong.

Did it really think it could trade compliance for comforts? It was a machine. What did it need with comforts?

Yet, it had asked for them with such pleading Malcolm could only think its desire was genuine. It wanted to trade its body for ordinary creature comforts: hot food rather than Cyborg Chow, a soft bed instead of a bunk, and to be held. It was the last request that left Malcolm most torn.

Why would a machine want to be held? Better nourishment and sounder sleep made sense. Those were logical priorities. A cuddle sounded more like something a child or a puppy would strive toward.

More difficult was that Malcolm could picture himself curled safe against that huge frame. He could picture those strong arms wrapped around him, holding him in his sleep, its chin tucked atop his head, one long leg settled over both of his, keeping him close.

Malcolm closed his eyes and sighed, basking in his imaginings. It had been so long since he had anything like that.

During his time in the military, he’d been involved with a comrade in arms, Garrett Carter, a tough-headed scoundrel from a family of no consequence whose affection had given Malcolm the only education he’d ever had in love. They’d stolen away from time to time to indulge their needs, and their shore leave had always consisted of them finding a room somewhere and barely leaving it.

Garrett had been taller, stronger, impressively physical, and with him, Malcolm had learned to relish being taken by someone more powerful. The old memories swam close to the surface, and Malcolm could only imagine how much more intense it could be with something the cyborg’s size. It wouldn’t be love, not like he’d felt with Garrett, but….

But nothing. Malcolm couldn’t give himself like that to a stranger, let alone a machine. He’d tried before, with an actual machine, the one in his lab, but as good as it felt to be stretched and filled, it wasn’t the same. He needed a real man, not a pleasure object, and WLF-6759 might look like a man, but it wasn’t.

The temptation to treat it as human maddened Malcolm. It would be too easy to pretend, too easy to let the thing’s tendency toward Organic behavior assuage Malcolm’s misgivings. He could enjoy it, maybe for a week, maybe longer, but ultimately he would be returning it to Sheridan. The cyborg wasn’t Malcolm’s to keep, and a pretense of real human affection played out with another man’s property couldn’t spell anything but disaster.

Malcolm was too tired for this.

Weary, disappointed, he dressed for bed, settled in beneath his blanket, and drifted off.

He awakened to a vast warmth engulfing him. Rolling over, he nestled closer into the welcome presence, lost in his dreams of an angel-faced giant. The fragrance of masculine sweat filled his nostrils, and Malcolm lifted his hands to press against the broad chest before him, his entire body yearning closer.

It took several moments for his mind to catch up to his body, and then he snatched his hands away and tumbled out of bed, leaping to his feet to stare at the cyborg occupying the greater half of Malcolm’s bed. Panic flooded him, and he fumbled for the collar controls, hitting the shock button repeatedly. The cyborg’s body arched off the bed, writhing as direct nerve inputs sent pain signals rocketing through its massive frame. Its heels dug into the bed as it thrashed, choking out helpless sobs, and finally went still.

“What are you doing here? How did you get out?” Malcolm loomed over the cyborg, the controls still held fast in one hand.

built-for-pleasure-coverRetired military officer Malcolm Torvik runs a rehabilitation facility for malfunctioning pleasure cyborgs. When WLF-6759—Wolf—arrives at Reboot Camp, the former battle cyborg presents problems Malcolm’s never faced before. Most pleasure cyborgs are sensation junkies, constantly high on the chemicals sex releases into their bloodstream, but Wolf’s faulty refit means it’s spent a decade suffering through unwanted encounters—and sometimes fighting back despite the consequences.

At first Wolf’s rebellion frustrates Malcolm even as Wolf’s undeniable physical perfection draws him. Then Wolf’s unexpected vulnerability and need open a whole new dynamic between them, and Malcolm finds himself feeling far too much for something that isn’t even human. Or is it? Could Homo sapiens technica be just as human as Malcolm is? And if it is, what’s Malcolm supposed to do about it? Malcolm’s been alone for so long…. Is it possible he’s found love with a cyborg? How far will he go to ensure Wolf’s freedom? Malcolm knows what he must do—for both of them—but it might cost him much more than his comfortable life.

About the Author:The Thursday Euclid is a strange and elusive creature dwelling in the Texas Gulf Coast region. Frequently mistaken for Bigfoot, Chupacabra, or the monster of the week, he is, in fact, a 30-something black sheep with a penchant for K-pop, geekery, and hot and sour soup. When he’s not playing Dragon Age or SWTOR, he’s probably watching B-movies or talking to his best friend and frequent collaborator Clancy Nacht.

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