Dino Scores – Lola Faust (1)

Stone abruptly forgot all about the world outside. Everything he needed in this moment was here in this hotel suite. And when the shyness tried to come creeping back, he pulled shut his mental curtains to block it. “I have… a request,” said Stone. After all, wasn’t this why Khasanov had invited him here?

“I also have request,” said Khasanov. His dark blue eyes bored into Stone’s gold-flecked ones. “Stop talking.” “I’m…” “Just do.” And Khasanov untied the belt of his bathrobe and let the whole robe drop to the floor, revealing his entire body, nude and muscled and perfect. Stone took a deep shuddering breath. He reached out one trembling claw and cupped Khasanov’s face, his strong jaw and smooth-shaven skin.

He trailed a bony finger down the man’s cheek, then his neck, his nearly hairless chest, taking it all in. With his ancient predator’s eyes he noticed the small details. The slight pucker of Khasanov’s dusky-rose nipples as they hardened. The curve and ripple of the muscles beneath his skin. Tiny hairs that stood at attention like soldiers. The beat, beat, beat of his heart in the pulse point where his shoulder met the line of his neck.

A prehistoric urge rose in him. Stone set his nostrils against the vein where Khasanov’s pulse beat faster with each moment, breathing in the man’s scent. Rip? Tear? Eat? There was a bass growl in Stone’s throat. He thought of the living muscle and bone beneath the man’s skin, how delicious it would be, how juicy, how metallic the blood would taste… “You smell like steakhouse,” Khasanov murmured with amusement, stepping away. The moment shattered. Stone’s head spun and his shoulders sagged.

How could he have been so careless… “It is good thing I like steak.”

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 persons, living, dead, or genetically modified, is entirely coincidental. No dinosaurs were harmed in the making of this book. Several were pleasured. Copyright © 2026 Lola Faust. All rights reserved. ISBN 979-8-243-99447-7 First edition, 2026 OceanofPDF.com CONTENT NOTICE Homophobia, biphobia, homophobic language and slurs (Russian and English), Canada, Canadians, Canadian media, gun violence, death, mild- to-moderate limited-scope gore, voyeurism (lack thereof), sports, toxic masculinity, Russia, Chechnya, rain (a lot), Vancouver, Yaletown, Gastown, seagulls, Seattle, anxiety, being picked last for a sports team, fainting, tuna melts, dinosaurs (genetically modified), Kyle, assholes (physical and metaphorical), organized religion (assorted), athleisure, hyperlocal brands, international brands, poetry, hockey OceanofPDF.com CHAPTER 1 June 2013 “On to the next draft pick.

Are we ready?” The announcer’s voice boomed from the TV into the living room, which was entirely full: thirteen humans and one dinosaur, sprawled on couches and sitting cross-legged on the floor. Stone and his family. Every one of them silent and still, the air humming with anticipation. They’d known Stone wouldn’t be in the top 20, no matter what. But now? Now it wasn’t totally impossible. “I love you no matter what,” whispered Stone’s adoptive mother to him, stroking the downy feathers on his head.

“This is a long shot. Raising you was worth it, even if you never make the MLH.” “What your mother said,” added Stone’s adoptive father, a pleasant bald man with a slight midlife paunch and a ready grin. “We love you, son. No matter what. You’re ours and we’re so proud of you.” “With the 23rd overall pick in this year’s MLH Entry Draft, first round, the Seattle Barracudas are pleased to select…” No one breathed. This whole thing was a total long shot, Stone knew. Even so, he couldn’t stop his heart from racing.

Could it be possible? Could the league really be open to someone like him? Could the world? The tip of Stone’s tail, thick and muscled and agile from both genetic engineering and lots of good old fashioned gym time, flicked nervously back and forth across the carpet, enough to rustle up some static electricity. Please please please please “…Ruslan Khasanov, center, from Terek Grozny of the Chechen Junior Hockey Conference.” God fucking damnit. Khasanov. Of course Khasanov.

That asshole.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: f2650c7c7c0b00cd
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 1,543,432 bytes (1.472 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• ISBN: 9798243994477
• Pages: 110
• Language: English (en)

Reading & Word Statistics

• Estimated Reading Time: 146.46 minutes
• Total Words: 29,291
• Total Characters: 166,927
• Average Words per Page: 266.28
• Average Characters per Page: 1517.52

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