Sunday, May 31, 2009
© Copyright 2009 Ally Blue
In a future ruled by superstition and fear, wanting the wrong man can be deadly.
(A Mother Earth story.)
The rules governing a Pack-Brother’s existence are simple. Love your Brothers. Protect each other and your Tribe with your life. Seek sex only within the bonds of Brotherhood, or your life is forfeit. The laws are harsh, but fair. Or so Bear has always thought. Then he and his Brother Lynx capture a stranger in the Carwin Tribe’s outlying lands—Dragon, a Brother from a distant Pack, banished from his Tribe for the crime of challenging things he shouldn’t.
Dragon intrigues Bear from the start, and not just because of his exotic beauty. Interest in the decadent old world is discouraged in this post-Change society. Dragon is the first person Bear’s ever known, other than himself, who’s curious about the vanished past. That kinship sparks a forbidden attraction between them. An attraction which is, if they give in to it, punishable by death.
In the space of a day, everything Bear was raised to believe is called into question, and he must make a life-changing decision—follow the law, or follow his heart.
Bear pulled out more cured meat and tossed it to Lynx. “Who’s got first watch?”
“Me. You had last watch before we got started this morning, so you need the rest more.” Lynx tore off a hunk of meat with his teeth, chewed, and swallowed. “We’ll leave at first light. That way we’ll make it home well before dark.”
Dragon’s gaze flitted between them. In the firelight, his eyes were a pale, almost silvery gray. “I heard Carwin Tribe lives inside Char. That true?”
It didn’t surprise Bear that Dragon had heard of the ruined city which surrounded Carwin’s walls on all sides. By all accounts, Char was the place where the old civilization had made its last stand after the Change. They’d done their best to keep the old ways alive—evil, wicked ways, according to everything Bear had learned growing up—and keep the Mother’s punishment at bay. It hadn’t done any good in the end. Less than fifty years after the oceans first began to rise and the human race realized the enormity of its sins against the Earth Mother, Char had fallen into the same chaos that had already destroyed the rest of civilization.
All that remained of Char now was a sprawl of crumbling ruins and a large collection of machines and other artifacts which no one fully understood. Dangerous predators prowled Char’s streets, which made traveling between Carwin’s walled central city and the outlying tribal lands risky. At least it discouraged the nightfeeders and occasional bands of murderous outcasts from approaching Carwin City.
“Carwin’s just inside Char,” Bear confirmed. “It was a ruin before the tribe settled there and fixed it up.”
Dragon’s head tilted sideways. He shot a glance at Lynx, who was poking at the fire, then pinned Bear with a curious look. “So they didn’t build it? It was already there?”
This was Bear’s favorite story, and he couldn’t see any harm in telling it. After all, it wasn’t a story of the old world, was it? Tales of Carwin’s settlement were allowed. Resting his elbows on his knees, he adopted the tone he half-remembered his mother using when he was a small child, before the tribe’s Seer spotted him as Pack and took him from his home.
“When the founders of the Carwin Tribe were traveling through Char looking for a place to settle,” he began, “they came to an old road, the kind people used before the Change. On the other side of the road was a huge, wide field, and in the middle of the field was a city inside a wall.”
“Carwin.” Dragon’s eyes were wide, his voice no more than a breath.
Encouraged, Bear nodded. “This city was like nothing they had ever seen. Strange shapes rose up over the walls, like the skeletons of mountains. One shape pointed straight to the sky like a needle. The people were scared, of course, but the walls of the city were tall and thick, and inside were enough buildings to shelter ten times the people they had. And even then, the Carwin Pack was strong enough to defeat any enemy within or without the walls.”
Leaning forward, Dragon stared at Bear with a strange fire in his eyes. “What did they find there? They must’ve found something from the old world. Books, machines, something. What did they find?”
Startled, Bear shook his head. “Buildings. Nightfeeders. Wild dogs, cats, other animals. Those weird metal skeletons, whatever they were. They’re still there, actually. They’re rusted, parts of them have fallen off, but they’re mostly still there. There used to be little carts on them. Some of the carts are still inside ruined buildings at the base of the skeletons.”
“And that’s it?”
Bear chewed his bottom lip, torn. He’d seen the things the council and the tribe elders called photographs, some of them more than fifteen generations old. The first tribe members had encased them in a tough, transparent, flexible substance to preserve them for all time. The photographs depicted a world beyond imagination. A world where giant metal birds filled the sky and magic boxes could show a person things that were happening so far away it would take weeks to walk there. According to Mother Rose, the Carwin Tribe’s founders had discovered the photographs in a pile of books, papers and clothes alongside four huddled corpses inside one of Carwin’s many buildings.
The problem was, Bear wasn’t supposed to know that. He’d overheard it at a council meeting when he was nine and he, Rabbit and Lynx had snuck into the council room and hidden in the wine cabinet. So he couldn’t very well tell Dragon, in spite of the oath he’d taken as a Pack-Brother to be truthful. He doubted that oath applied to situations like this anyway.
“No,” he said after a long silence. “They didn’t find anything else.”
With a sigh, Dragon slumped where he sat. He picked crusted leaves off his knee. “I bet they did. Your Mother and your council just don’t say so, because they don’t want you to know. But they know something about it.”
Shocked, Bear stared into the flames. He didn’t dare look at Lynx for fear his expression would give him away. He often wished he could go back in time, just for a day, to glimpse a life that had vanished forever when the Earth Mother took back what was Hers.
He knew better than to express that desire. Lynx had never understood Bear’s fascination with tales of the world before the change. A Pack-Brother shouldn’t walk around with his head in the clouds, he always said whenever Bear broached the subject. But nothing could stop Bear from dreaming of that lost world sometimes, when the nights were hot and restless.
Glancing at Dragon, Bear saw a faraway look in the man’s eyes. A look Bear knew he himself wore when he was daydreaming about the distant past. As if he could feel Bear looking at him, Dragon blinked and met his gaze. Bear smiled. Dragon smiled back, and Bear felt a jolt go through him. He looked away, heart racing. He didn’t want to feel this drawn to a man he couldn’t have. Especially a man who might be a murderer, or worse.
“I’m gonna get some sleep.” Bear stretched out on his back, keeping Dragon’s rope looped around his wrist. “Dragon, you might as well get some rest too.”
“You want me to take the rope?” Lynx asked, moving to a position where he could see into the darkness outside while still keeping an eye on Dragon.
“No. I’ll wake up if he moves.” Bear yawned and shut his eyes, trying to ignore Dragon’s tantalizing nearness. “Don’t forget to wake me up for my watch, Lynx. Just because you can stay up a whole day and night doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”
Lynx laughed. “Shut up and go to sleep, Bear.”
Bear smiled. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he felt the rope move as Dragon shifted. His fingers tightened, making sure Dragon stayed close.
Watch the Dragon's Kiss page on my website and the Samhain homepage for the buy link to go live on Friday!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
by Maura Anderson
Leo watched the roiling grey clouds move overhead and clenched his hands on the steering wheel of the small rental car, savoring the ache of his bruised and torn knuckles. His world, or what was left of it, was poised to tumble down around his head but he couldn’t find it in him to regret beating the crap out of Barker. The bigoted asshole deserved it, or worse, for what he’d said about Terry.
Nausea rose in his throat and he fought it back. He would not puke in the parking lot at Arlington, dammit. He’d come here to pay his respects and he would do his goddam duty and do it right. It was the least he could do for his fellow soldier, his fire-team mate, his best friend — the man who’d given his life for those of the rest of the squad. After two tours in Iraq and less than three months before they were done with this tour and all Hell cut loose in a rain of blood, shrapnel and shards of bone during a routine op.
One by one, he forced his fingers to uncurl and release from the steering wheel. He wiped his sweaty palms on the stiff denim of his new jeans and took a few deep breaths to steady himself before he cracked the door open. The heat of the mid-summer Virginia day rushing into the car, quickly overwhelming the chill of the air conditioned interior. The humidity made it a lot harder to breathe than the dry heat of the middle east, even though it was cooler here. He was glad he’d decided not to wear his Class A’s or a suit. Just the long-sleeve dress shirt would be hot enough.
The smells were different, too. Gone were the rancid smells of the desert, the base, the machinery and even his fellow infantrymen. Instead his lungs filled with the scent of new-mown grass and the nearby river.
Leo climbed out of the car and quietly shut the door behind him. It seemed disrespectful to slam the car door in this place. The car locked and double-checked, he threw his shoulders back and began the long walk to Terry.
The now ingrained walking cadence mindlessly carried him forward and allowed for far too much time to think. To remember. He passed other people but carefully avoided looking at them. What could he say? What would they say? He couldn’t deal with other people right now - he wasn’t sure he could deal with himself right now.
The weight of those he walked among seemed huge. The true meaning of freedom and its cost exposed through the acres and acres of graves that stretched over the grounds of Arlington. Each one paid a heavy price - some by choice, some not. What would they think of what he’d done? Of what he was? Of the lies he’d told to be allowed to continue his service to the country he loved?
All too quickly, he reached the round brass marker that indicated Section 60. He stepped carefully between the ranks of the graves, treading as lightly as he could among the fallen. In the next to last row, he spotted the name he sought.
“Terrence Ray Olson.” His whisper was the last straw and he fell to his knees in the soft grass next to the grave. The white marble marker made it so final. His gut churned again at the memory of the last time he saw Terry, bloody and torn apart by the IED he’d thrown himself on top. He’d been the first to Terry and when he’d turned him over to start first aid, his head had almost fallen off.
Bitter bile filled his mouth as he fought back the urge to puke.
“I’m sorry, Terry.” His voice strengthened a bit. “You saved us all and I couldn’t do a damned thing for you.”
He rubbed his hands on his legs again. He kept feeling the blood coating them, no matter how long it had been or how often he’d scrubbed them.
The tombstone was gleamingly new, stark white with precise black letters spelling out Terry’s information, including the medals he’d been posthumously awarded. Such a few words to encapsulate a life. Part of a life, anyway. The part the military recognized. A few small momentos sat atop the marble stone.
“I made a big mistake, man, and I think I’m in deep shit now.”
He settled down cross-legged in the grass by Terry and bowed his head to speak quietly to where he imagined Terry might hear him. “Barker is such a fucker. He got assigned to our fireteam, on entry, after you were… killed. Shithead couldn’t see a haji if he was wearing neon robes and dancing in the middle of the road waving an AK-47.”
He plucked a few blades of grass near his knee and tore them slowly to bits. The scabs on his knuckles pulled with the motion. “He can’t even do his damned job. Instead he spends all his time hating on everyone else. I kept trying to just do what I’ve always done and stick to doing my job and ignoring Barker whenever I can. The man would make a much better FOBBIT. At least there he wouldn’t be as much of a liability.”
Leo tossed the shredded grass to the side and plucked some more. “He keeps going on about fags and queers. On and on and on. When we got home, I went out for a drink with the squad before we all went on R&R and someone told him you were gay. When he started talking about how you deserved to die for being a fag, I lost it.”
He caught himself picking at the scabs on his knuckles and forced himself to stop. He didn’t need some sort of infection on top of everything else.
“I jumped him, Terry. Went right over two other guys and started swinging. I don’t remember a lot about the fight itself, just that Barker fights like a fucking girl. Star and Helling pulled me off him and I remember asking him how it felt to have the crap beat out of him by a fucking fag.” Leo sighed and shook his head. How stupid could he be. His entire career in exchange for a brief moment of vengeance?
“There’s no way he won’t report it, Terry. No way in Hell.”
A huge hand seemed to grab his chest and crush it. What was he going to do? It wasn’t as if some of the squad didn’t know he and Terry were gay. It had just never been an issue. They put on a good show of being straight, everyone else made a show of believing it and they all did their damned jobs.
Memories flooded through him of the two tours they’d shared and their friendship. Funny moments, scary moments, even nights on a pass when they were unable to sleep and instead shared their tales of home, growing up gay and how they coped with the Army regulations. Each moment seemed to replay itself.
“Excuse me. Sir? Excuse me.” His head jerked up at the sound of the quiet voice. A thin, sad-looking woman stood on the other side of Terry’s grave, looking at him with swollen, red eyes and a tentative smile. “The cemetery closes at seven and it’s 6:30. I didn’t want you to be interrupted by the guards instead.”
“Thank you.” His voice choked up and he cleared his throat to try again. “Thank you. I’ll wrap it up for today.”
The thin woman nodded and caressed Terry’s cold, polished headstone with one hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She turned and slowly walked away, shoulders slumped with the weight of her own grief.
Leo knelt and ran his fingers gently over Terry’s name. “I miss you, bud. Thank you for what you did. You saved my life, you saved all our lives.” Tears welled up in his eyes, despite his best efforts to hold them back. “I brought you something.”
Coming to his feet, he examined the items on top of the headstone. A small pile of pebbles gathered on one side, flanked by two glass pebbles but next to those was a set of rubber edged dogtags, facedown on the marble and still on their chain. Curious, he flipped them over and saw they belonged to a Skinner, William R., USMC. The social security number had been carefully cut out of the tags but they were worn and dinged up. They’d seen use.
He carefully placed them back as he’d found them and reached into his pocket for the challenge coin he’d brought for Terry. The heavy brass disk had the Army Emblem on one side and the crossed rifles of the Infantry on the other. He’d carried it since he’d decided to enlist as a teen but after Terry died, he’d bought another for himself so he could give his friend this one.
Caressing the enameled coin one more time, he set it on top of the headstone to join the other tokens. “I forsake not my country, my mission, my comrades, my sacred duty.” His voice choked out the final words. Unable to continue, he snapped a salute and turned to make his way back to his car.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Shit. Shit, shit, shit! Matthew's heart raced in that sickening way that told you you were about five breaths away from falling over. He dragged in a deep breath and felt himself calm enough to pull his wits together. That had been…intense. Cole had surprised him yet again in yet another way. Was he for real? Matthew'd never thought of himself as an optimist, but he couldn't deny the tiny spark of hope that warmed his belly.
Ruthlessly, he tried to smother it. No one was that nice. There were no knights in shining armor. Everyone had ulterior motives. He just had to figure out what Cole's were. If wasn't easy sex, it was something else. Maybe Cole wanted something kinkier than what Matthew had offered so far. Or maybe he didn't want it to be so easy; maybe he wanted Matthew to make him work for it. He could handle that. He'd turned some pretty twisted tricks in his life. He could do this, figure out what Cole wanted and give it to him. Unless… Unless Cole really didn't want anything from Matthew.
Damn it, there was that hope thing again.
Did he really dare to take that chance? Matthew hands trembled at the possibility. He clutched them into fists. He took a shaky breath and released them, reaching out for his coffee simply for something to do, something to focus on besides his confusion. The mug had gone cold. He set it back down and was glad to see that at least his trembling had stopped. On the outside. Inside, he was a mess. He wanted to believe Cole's offer was honest. Wanted to believe there really were no strings. He almost had himself convinced when an image of Tyler suddenly flashed in his mind's eye. Matthew had thought that relationship had been honest and look where that trust had gotten him.
How could it have been honest when they'd had to sneak around and lie to Tyler's folks?
Huh. First hope and now logic. You'd think he'd been watching daytime TV. Oprah would have a field day with his fucked up life. And yet…
Even through the bitter taste of his cynicism, there was that sweet hint of hope. Matthew still didn't believe in fairy tale heroes, but Cole had saved his ass twice already--once from the guys who attacked him, once from the cops who'd shown up at the door of the art shop--and he'd repeatedly refused compensation. Maybe, just maybe, it was safe to hope this time. At least a little bit.
He rose from the table and went to find Cole.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Last Part Here
Matthew’s comment made Cole’s blood boil – and not the good, desire-type of boil. Cole was pissed. The guy was a stubborn, jello for brains fool. Could he not see that the world had some good people? That just because he’d run across some pricks…okay, a lot of pricks if he was involved with the Bronsons, but not everyone is in the same mind set.
Cole moved in on Matthew until his back was against the nearest wall. It didn’t matter that Matthew was a half foot taller than he. Cole knew he had more bron and could take him easily. He stared up into Matthew’s blue eyes, not missing the flicker of fear.
Good. Real fear just might do him good. But then, the purpose of this wasn’t to instill fear. He just wanted Matthew’s complete attention so he’d see the anger and hear the seriousness of his words.
“Cut the bullshit, Matthew. If I was just after a piece of ass, I’d have taken it, quite often the way you offer yourself, and then sent you packing, just like Bronson. I don’t know your situation because every time I try, you clam up or get defensive. Yeah, I’m curious as hell as to why a gorgeous guy like you needs to sell yourself on the street, but you need to get a grip.”
Cole slammed his hands on the wall next to Matthew’s head, making him jump. “All I’ve wanted to do was help you. I’m not asking for sex or a live in pleasure slave. If you see yourself as a whore, that’s fine. I don’t.”
Some of the anger cooled and he broke eye contact to hang his head and let out a long breath. “I see a lost and confused soul who distrusts everyone.” He pushed off the wall and turned away. “The offer stands. It’s up to you. My studio has a couch with a fold-out bed. You can stay in there until you decide your next step.”
Cole left the kitchen without looking back.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
There was an outcry among the GLBT and GLBT-supporters. Adam Lambert had gay rights organizations pulling for his victory. It was said that the more conservative center of America was doing anything they could to avoid making Adam the victor, and opting instead for the handsome (non-makeupped) Kris Allen from Arkansas.
I have no idea if any of that was true. I watch American Idol for the sheer enjoyment and to feed my guilty pleasure of reality shows. (That Simon Cowell is some cutie, too.) I had absolutely no opinion either way on Kris Allen or Adam Lambert, and it pleased me to see that the two men seemed to genuinely like each other and got along well during the competition. Gay or straight, they were both exceptionally talented and had different abilities as far as vocal range. Either man deserved to win, and not because of sexual orientation.
Can't we all just sing together?
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Join me, Helen Madden, and Alessia Brio as we talk dirty and literary in Baltimore for what will prove to be a terrific party. This is to be my first Balticon, and I'll speak on two panels, one on Saturday night and one on Sunday night. It'll also be the first time in a while where I don't have put in time at a table or booth, and I don't mind that at all. It will be nice to play tourist for a bit and see the con through those eyes. Next year we'll get the booth and do the hard sell.
I will have gift certificates for free eBooks, though. Just look for the tired old lady in the pink Coming Together t-shirt and I'll give you one.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Have a fun and safe Memorial Day, everyone!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
I'm working on a BDSM story for an antho Beth Wylde is putting together for Phaze. So... Without further ado... here's a snip... ;) (We're aiming for a Christmas time release.)
“On the table, hands and knees.”
Eli climbed up and got on his hands and knees, head hanging down. He watched Kent from between his legs. Kent wheeled over a towel-covered tray, but Eli couldn't see anything when Kent pulled off the towel. Kent reached out and pressed Eli down until Eli's shoulders were down and his head rested on his folded arms. The position left Eli's ass in the air, thighs wide.
“Just my fingers,” Kent said after a few seconds. Eli sucked in a breath when two slick fingers breached his body, surging deep. “That's it,” Kent murmured, hand twisting.
Eli moaned and couldn't stop himself from rocking back onto Kent's fingers. A swift, sharp slap on his ass followed and Eli yelped.
“Keep still, boy, or I'll strap you down now.”
“Yes, Sir,” Eli gasped, biting back a shudder when Kent's fingers stroked over his gland. “Oh, God...”
Kent withdrew and then something cool and slender slipped into Eli's ass. “Just a quick temp reading,” Kent explained. He left the thermometer in and walked around to Eli's front. “Look up.”
Eli lifted his head and Kent fed a short black silicone penis into Eli's mouth. With the strap buckled around Eli's head, he couldn't spit the gag out. He whimpered and had no choice but to suck, the sensation of a cock on his tongue making his own throb.
“If you need to stop, use your visual cue – two for slow down, three for stop.”
Eli nodded, highly doubting he'd need the cues. In all their playing over the years, he'd only needed a safe word once, and that had been at the beginning, before they got to know each other's limits. Now, things between them seemed to be second nature.
Kent returned behind Eli and grasped the thermometer. Eli had almost forgotten it until it began twisting and sliding in and out, teasing the hell out of him. Then it was gone. A few seconds later, both asscheeks were spread wide apart and he felt Kent's breath on his hole, blowing gentle and hot. Eli moaned around the gag and sucked harder on it, his ass clenching with every tickle of breath. Kent alternated between cool and warm, and Eli couldn't decide which he liked more.
“Good responses,” Kent announced. He released Eli and rummaged on the tray for something. “Now this is going to be a little cold...”
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
I suppose this is an example of my brain at work.
The story was short, maybe 5k and I'm sure afterward I was beating at myself to stretch my word count. That's my problem, you see. I couldn't, and too often still can't, see myself as a real writer without a novel under my belt. I hang out with the real deal, chat in groups, promo, and probably have my own set of fans (I met a few of them when I did my interview on Wave's blog)...but it's like it doesn't penetrate.
For each 5k story I write, it's as if I instantly feel like I'm playing at writing. I'm not, ya know. I just can't seem to do it right to my mind. Sorry, this is very stream of conscience but the fan mail got me thinking. I need to stop dismissing my short stories. I'm good at them, hell, I'm great at them. I know I am. But I suppose this feeling of failure comes from the fact that I'm friends with people like James Buchanan, Jay Lygon, Stephanie Vaughan, Amanda Young, and the list just keeps going...
I don't think it's surprising that I occasionally feel rather inadequate. Still...that bit of fan mail? It tells me that I'm not bad. That short story that reader found will lead her to my back list and maybe she'll become a fan too. I guess in the end, it's not about novels. It's about writing something that people enjoy, that I enjoyed and if that happens to be only 5,000 words, then so be it.
Don't take this as me giving up on writing novels. One of the reasons I am a writer is because of that lust to be in print. I'm not gonna lie and there's really not an author alive (generalization) who would tell you otherwise. I do really want to write a novel or ten. To become a recognizable name. I guess it's just gonna take a little longer than I thought. This little bit of fan mail though...it'll keep me going.
And I realized that I liked that short she asked me about. Maybe there will be a sequel after all.
So what about you? What keeps you moving forward?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
“Anything’s possible. He said he wanted me gone.” Matthew lowered his head, his hands toying with the coffee cup. “Maybe he just decided paying me off was too much trouble.”
“I’m sorry I asked.” The kid had been through hell; yet here Cole was trying to make Matthew feel even worse. It wasn’t as if he wanted to point out the obvious, but he couldn’t help Matthew if he was too busy walking around on eggshells.
“It’s all right. You didn’t bring up anything I hadn’t already thought myself.” Matthew shrugged, still gazing into the cup. “At least now you can see why I need to leave town.”
Matthew finally looked up, his gaze optimistic but wary. “What do you mean?”
Cole took a sip of his coffee. Although his mind spun with the implications of what he was about to suggest, he couldn’t think of a better idea. “You could stay here. With me.”
“No.” Matthew’s eyes widened. He set his cup down with a solid thump that sloshed black liquid over the rim. “I don’t want to get you involved. Tyler will only send someone else after me.”
Ignoring the mess, Cole slipped out of his chair and knelt in front of Matthew. He gripped Matthew thighs and stared up at the young man, praying he would pay attention to reason. “Listen to me, the Bronson’s might own half the town, but they don’t own everyone in it. You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want. If you want to stay, I can give you a job and a place to stay. You won’t need to turn tricks anymore.”
Matthew shook his head. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”
“I’d like to.” Cole leaned up and pressed a soft kiss over Matthew’s slack lips. “I know you probably won’t believe me when I say, but I like you. I want to help.”
“You don’t have to tell me pretty lies, Cole. I know I’m a fuck up. More importantly, I’m not too proud to take you up on your offer. However, let’s keep the bullshit to a minimum. I’m not stupid enough to believe you’d keep me around for my sparkling wit. I’ll bend over for you right here, right now. You don’t have to pretend you see me as anything more than a whore.”
Two lucky people will have their pick of either an autographed paperback or two ebooks. That way, if you've missed any of my digital releases in the last few months, you'll have a shot at selecting specific titles. Or if you already have all my ebooks, you can choose a paperback. Sound good?
How to enter:
All you have to do to throw your name into the hat is be a member of my low-mail announcement group. If you're already a member, then you’re automatically entered to be chosen. Otherwise, you can find my announcement list here:
The prize winners will be chosen at random and announced through my yahoo group on June 1st. Good luck!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
© Copyright 2009 Ally Blue
Liberal vegan meets corporate carnivore. What could possibly go wrong?
Thomas Stone has one sacred rule: Don’t Date The Boss. Ever. So when he finds out his new employer is the man he took to bed his first night in town, he’s less than happy. He doesn’t need any more complications in his life, and the way Phil makes him feel definitely qualifies as a complication. Especially since he can’t seem to keep his hands off the man.
Philip Sorrells is thrilled to discover that the new bartender his manager hired for his restaurant, The Happy Onion, is the aggressive little blond he slept with once and can’t forget. Thom is Phil’s wet dream come true, from his angelic face to his fiery temper. For the first time, Phil hears the siren song of monogamy, and he’s tempted to follow it.
When Thom leaves The Happy Onion for a job managing an upscale nightclub, it looks like a chance for him and Phil to be together without the whole boss/employee thing hanging over them. Instead, Thom’s new position brings out previously unsuspected differences in their world views. Differences with the power to destroy their fragile bond.
So how will this nature-loving tree-hugger and corporate-ladder climber navigate this political minefield in the name of love? Very carefully.
(Warning, this book contains bad language, good music, vegan personal care products and lots of hot, dirty mansex.)
As usual on a Friday night, Belial’s Basement was packed and busting at the seams with sexual energy. Philip Sorrells swiveled his stool around and leaned his back against the bar, sipping his second whiskey and watching the parade of horny men strutting past. Or maybe he should say struggling past, since the crowd was so tight any movement at all was an achievement.
Most of the faces were depressingly familiar. Belial’s was a fun, lively place, but there wasn’t much variety here. The regulars and staff all knew each other, in a Biblical way as often as not. For those nights when he wanted someone who already knew his tastes and who he could still be casual friends with later, it was great. Tonight, however, he had a craving for new blood. Or to be more exact, new cock.
“Well, helloooo there, handsome!”
Phil winced at the sound of the familiar singsong from his right. Of all the guys in his personal “wish I hadn’t” file, this was the one Phil always dreaded seeing the most. My own fault. If I’d been paying attention, he wouldn’t have sneaked up on me like that.
“Hi, Brad,” he said, forcing a smile. “How are you?”
“Much better now.” Brad leered, his eyes glowing with lust. Or maybe that was just the weirdly bright green contacts he wore. “So. Phil-licious. Wanna come back to my place and play Hide the Sausage?”
Phil clamped his mouth shut to prevent spewing out the mouthful of whiskey he’d just taken and ended up coughing most of it onto the floor anyway. “Good grief,” he wheezed when he could breathe again. “What are you, twelve?”
Brad tossed a lock of neon pink hair out of his eyes and grinned. “Why, you want me to be twelve?”
Phil set his whiskey glass on the bar before Brad could choke him to death with any other appalling comments. “Go away, Brad.”
Brad crossed his arms and pouted, lower lip sticking out. On a thirty-one-year-old, the effect was a little disturbing. “Well. Who pissed in your coffee this morning?”
Sighing, Phil rubbed his temple with two fingers. After a long day of laying tiles in his new bathroom, all he wanted was to get fucked good and hard by someone other than Brad, then sleep for about ten hours.
He opened his mouth to tell Brad in terms even he could understand to Go The Fuck Away, when across the room the door opened and in walked a vision. Forgetting all about Brad, Phil stood with his mouth hanging open and stared.
All he could see at first was a face, but what a face it was. Heart-shaped, milky pale, with a sweet rosebud mouth and gigantic eyes the color of a tropical lagoon. Gleaming platinum hair fell in straight shoulder-length layers to frame those angelic features.
As the man slipped catlike through the crowd to the bar, Phil caught glimpses of a slim, compact body clad head to toe in black leather. The open vest revealed well-toned arms and chest and a hard, flat belly. A line of fine golden hair bisected the man’s abdomen and disappeared into the snug pants hanging low on his slim hips.
Phil gulped. The urge to run over, fall to his knees and follow that treasure trail with his tongue was hard to resist.
“God, they don’t even bother to card people anymore, looks like.” Brad dug an elbow into Phil’s ribs. “You really are into the young stuff, aren’t you? Close your mouth, before you start catching flies.”
Phil’s eloquent and detailed reply, in which he listed all the reasons the beauty who’d just walked in had to be legal, got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth. Not wanting to waste any more time on a guy he wasn’t ever going to bed with again in this lifetime, Phil pushed Brad aside and stalked toward the pretty little thing he’d decided he had to get between the sheets as soon as possible. Brad’s declaration that Phil was a sanctimonious bitch barely registered, except to make Phil wonder where a party slut like Brad had learned such a big word.
“Baileys on the rocks,” Blondie shouted to the bartender over the thumping music just as Phil sidled up to him.
“It’s on me,” Phil declared, counting out the right number of bills and laying them on the bar. “And give me a Maker’s Mark,” he added when he realized he’d left his whiskey on the other end of the bar.
Turning sideways, Blondie tilted that adorable face upward and gave Phil a heart-thumping smile. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Phil smiled back, mentally working out the logistics of getting Blondie’s cock up his ass. The man was at least eight inches shorter than Phil’s six-foot-one-and-three-quarters, but Phil was determined. He had a thing for men who looked delicate and pretty yet were willing and able to fuck him through the mattress.
God, please let him be a top.
Blondie’s smile widened. “What’s your name?”
“I’m…uh, Drake.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Just because he only used his middle name for one-night stands didn’t mean it wasn’t on his birth certificate.
“I’m James. Nice to meet you.” Instead of offering a hand to shake, Blondie—James, rather—raked a sharp, appraising look up and down Phil’s body. “You think we’re gonna fuck, just because you bought me a drink?”
Like the answer to that question wasn’t glaringly obvious in the way “James”—not his real name, Phil would’ve bet, but who was he to complain?—eyed the crotch of Phil’s body-hugging jeans. Phil grinned. “Yep.”
James laughed, the sound full-throated and surprisingly childlike. “You’re right, as it happens.”
“Cool.” Leaning an elbow on the bar, Phil picked up his glass of Maker’s Mark and took a sip. “We should probably talk first.”
James’s pale eyebrows went up. “Yeah? Okay.” He lifted his own glass and took a long swallow, licking the creamy liquid off those gorgeous lips in a marvelously suggestive way. “I’m clean, I always use condoms until I know my partner’s clean too, and before you ask, yes, I really am legal. I’m twenty-six. I prefer to top, but I’ve learned to enjoy getting my ass pounded once in a while. When you look like this, it’s either that or go without a lot of times. What about you? Top, or bottom? And if you want to go bareback tonight, better find someone else.”
Phil gulped half his glass down in an effort to be cool. Crowing in triumph usually didn’t endear him to strangers.
“I can do either, but I’m mostly a bottom.” Setting his drink down again, Phil moved closer to James, catching a whiff of leather, shampoo and musky cologne. “That wasn’t really what I meant about talking, though.”
James gave him an inscrutable look. Draining his glass, he put it down and slipped a knee between Phil’s thighs. Phil could feel the man’s heat even through the leather. He clutched at the bar, fighting a dizzying wave of lust.
“So. Drake.” James stretched an arm up and around Phil’s neck, fingering the thick golden brown braid hanging down his back. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue,” Phil answered, staring down into James’s brilliant blue eyes. “Yours?”
“Black.” Leaning closer, James pinched Phil’s nipple through his threadbare Powerpuff Girls T-shirt. “My favorite movie’s Die Hard, what’s yours?”
Phil licked his lips. “Uh. The Terminator.” His growing lust guided his hands up under James’s leather vest. He pushed it aside and rubbed his thumbs across the little pink nipples, which hardened at his touch. “What’s your favorite TV show?”
“Mythbusters.” Rising on tiptoe, James ran the tip of his tongue up the underside of Phil’s chin, stirring the hairs of his close-cropped beard. “You?”
“Check the T-shirt.” Phil groaned as James’s mouth latched onto his neck and sucked hard. “Shit. Can we go fuck now?”
A chuckle vibrated through James’s chest and into Phil’s. “Your place or my hotel room?”
“Your room close by?” Phil pushed his hips forward so James could feel the erection trapped behind his zipper. “My house is too fucking far.”
“Best Western it is.” James unwound his arm from Phil’s neck and slid both hands down to squeeze his ass. “I already have lube, but I need to buy condoms. Is there a drugstore or something nearby?”
The feel of James’s fingers kneading his butt cheeks made it damn hard for Phil to keep talking, but he managed. “Um. They sell ’em one at a time in the bathroom vending machine, or by the box at the bar. Just ask the bartender.”
James laughed, his head dropping down to rest on Phil’s shoulder. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a bar that sells whole boxes of rubbers before.”
Phil couldn’t answer. Having James’s sweet little body pressed against his was causing all sorts of pleasant havoc inside him. Following a sudden, overwhelming urge, he slid a hand into James’s hair, tugged his head back, bent and kissed him hard.
James responded with gleeful enthusiasm, mouth opening wide and lean hips rocking his erection against Phil’s thigh. Moaning, Phil held James’s head still and swept his tongue between those pretty lips. The creamy sweetness of the Baileys lingered in James’s mouth, almost as intoxicating as his leather-and-lust scent.
Something hard and rounded rubbed Phil’s soft palate as the kiss went deeper, and Phil realized with a jolt that James had a pierced tongue.
Phil’s knees turned rubbery. He clutched at the lithe body molded to his, hoping to God he wouldn’t embarrass himself by actually swooning.
James pulled back, those big eyes gleaming in the low light. “You like the tongue stud, huh?”
Phil nodded, wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow. “I bet that feels amazing when you go down on a guy.”
“That’s what I’m told.” James’s soft pink lips curved into a filthy smile. His hand snaked between Phil’s legs to cup his balls through his jeans. Phil squeaked, and James chuckled. He stood on tiptoe, pressing his cheek to Phil’s. “I bet you’re dying for me to suck you off, aren’t you? So you can see what that piece of metal feels like on your cock.”
“You better believe it.” Planting both hands on James’s leather-sheathed ass, Phil lifted him right off his feet and kissed him again. “I took a cab here. You got a car?”
“No. Just a bike, and it’s back at the hotel. I walked.” James bit Phil’s lip and wriggled out of his grip. “It’s only a couple of blocks. Let me get the condoms and we can go.”
Phil eyed James’s taut rear hungrily as he bent over the bar to summon the tender. God, the man had the cutest little butt. It was all Phil could do to keep from yanking down those sinfully tight pants to see what it looked like bare.
Patience. In a few minutes, you’ll get to look your fill. Maybe he’ll even let you have a taste.
The thought made Phil’s mouth and his prick both water. He pressed a hand to his crotch, not even bothering to be discreet. Every guy here was looking to get laid, and more than a few of them had paired off and were making out in the middle of the floor, so what was the point in trying to hide his excitement?
James stepped away from the bar, a box of extra-thin Trojans in his hand and a lustful gleam in his eyes. His gaze turned heavy when it zeroed in on Phil touching himself. “Shit. Let’s get out of here. I need to fuck you before I explode.”
Grinning, Phil let James clamp a hand around his wrist and pull him through the crowd to the door. He loved it when the short, cute ones took charge like that.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
This story has been the biggest trial and tribulation so far - I just hope people like it!
Thursday, May 14, 2009
In The Edge of Desperation
by James Buchanan
E-book and Print available through MLR Press
Buy Link: e-Book http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-theedgeofdesperation-16233-145.html
Over what can love and lust win? Can they win over betrayal? Espionage? Instability? Overthrowing a monarchy? James Buchanan and Jason Edding bring us two stories spanning the universe. Jason continues the Dark Robe Society's story; Jack and Edge return and bring each other and us to the edge again while Toren and Tees share more than a common goal. James introduces us to Alad and Hirah, both out searching for something when they meet, are they the end of searching for each other? All the heroes are on an edge, but is it The Edge of Desperation?
Nealgalt, Xuyi Sector
Quad Cycle 4, Pay Cycle 6, Patrol 4, Day 36
Gray mist undulated around him and Alad hunkered into his greatcoat, cursing the government, the military, the enemy, religion and pretty much anyone else he could blame for stranding him on this rock in the skanky armpit of the far side of the universe. He'd beg for sun, but none existed here, at least not in this season. Perpetual overcast served up with sides of absolute darkness and intermittent twilight haunted his days. He'd be so stoked when he found a ride off this shit-pit.
Alad stepped from slick twisted root to twisted root, a winding, treacherous and living shortcut from one ramshackle walkway to another. Things slithered through the oily water below. Tumbledown bars, whorehouses and low rent lodgings twisted off in dizzying directions, their location due more to where infrequent patches of solid land could be found than actual planning. All of it castoff MDU and MTO prefabs destined for the scrap heap, salvaged and pressed into service to make up the eyesore known as Desperation Alley—the no-man's land between base and the up-rank civilian settlements. Missing panels patched by biopolymer sheets added off-color dissonance to the grays and muted blue buildings. Shadows flitted behind window openings covered with NatuResin tarps. Here and there, outmoded and damaged shipping containers served as pod barracks: racks of one-bod and two-bod bunks bracketed floor to ceiling for those too drunk or burning to stumble back to base.
Above him, a canopy of steel blue foliage almost three stadion deep hid the makers of all the various scurrying sounds. Large trunks, bleached white by the salts sucked up through the water, supported networks of vines and explosions of flora in colors the human eye couldn't even register. The whole planet washed out into a charcoal rendering of actual living things. Rotting organic material tainted the air with an ever present miasma of decay. Yesterday was spent searching for companies that would have him and his men. The standard hours akin to daylight today dwindled away in the same futile quest and Alad figured tomorrow would dawn on him humping his ass to various commands. Not even a hint of a future appointment graced his horizon. If he didn't land something soon, well he'd have no choice but to tell his men to split up, try to find a rack on their own with some squad down a couple of grunts. Trying to place an entire patrol… hard didn't begin to encompass the problem. Xosh, at this point if some other sergeant expressed interest in his boys, Alad would have gladly let them go on without him.
He'd traded half a month's pay off the bar-code scan in his forearm for a third of a month's pay in local trade chits on the black-market. Alad needed them to buy off information brokers in the cumshaw data pool. Really, if he hadn't needed any lead possible, there was no way he'd step into Desperation Alley right now. All the good tips though, they came out of the scuttlebutt haze floating through taprooms, dice dens and sex parlors.
Alad stepped onto the plank walkway that comprised the misnamed Mandera Blossom Highway and huffed. Various beings, each more disreputable than the next, passed him. Alad debated whether to start the search first or fortify himself with the local version of rot-gut to file the edge off the eventual disappointment. Shoving his hands into the pocket of his greatcoat, he stepped into the flow of traffic and let it sweep him towards the quasi-legal establishments.
Heading toward him and away from Desperation Alley, Alad caught sight of another human. Not that humans were uncommon in this area—pisk, they made up sixty percent of the military troops in the region—but by now most were stationed on bar stools or slop shop benches and planning the night's entertainment.
This guy seemed different. Tall, whip crack lean, his shoulders rolled in a resigned, but still defiant, manner. Black hair shorn in military fashion, longish on top, but buzzed so short it barely rated as fuzz in a halo from above his ears to his neck line, marked him as infantry—what they called the collar cut so that neck armor wouldn't rub. It set off features so sharp a man could cut himself on his chin. His eyes damn near glowed blue-white like eons old ice flows. All the more striking when contrasted with the cinnamon tones of his skin. A cold and reserved air blew off the man… must have been what kept his pupils from melting.
Alad hadn't seen anything that enticing in six patrols.
Waffling, unsure, he paused. He couldn't let his troops down, but xosh, it'd been almost a cycle since Alad allowed himself any real R&R. A little booze-up followed by a little naked bust-up, Alad got hard just working the possibility. The man approached, completely absorbed in whatever drove him from the Alley. Three steps. Two steps. If Alad didn't act soon opportunity would pass him up. As the man started to walk by, Alad decided; he jerked to the side and bumped the man's shoulder. The man stumbled on the slick planks, running up onto the roots of one of the many Handoatoa trees.
"Sorry," Alad mumbled, even though he wasn't a bit remorseful, and offered a hand.
The indignation boiling through those ice blue eyes radiated such frost it burned. After glaring for a moment, the man took the proffered grip and allowed Alad to help him back onto the walkway. Everything from about mid-thigh down dripped water. Shudo! Alad had forgotten that Handoatoa tended to act like sponges and purged sucked up swamp at the slightest bruise.
"You need to watch where you walk," the man spat, "subin!"
No telling who this man was. His bearing, even under insufferable circumstances of being knocked into morass of vomited up swamp water, spoke to rank. Nobody however, except the greenest of the green, wore their confetti into Desperation Alley. Too much of a chance someone would roll you for the decorations. Unwritten protocol dictated that no one asked who was who, either. The most anyone traded over was a first name.
"Yeah, I'm clumsy." He grimaced in mock apology. "Alad," offering up his name as greeting equaled the first tentative step. "Let me buy you a drink to apologize for the damp boots," made up the second.
A hard once over ran up and down Alad's body, those ice colored eyes somehow burning into his gut. "A drink?" This time the words sounded more incredulous than antagonistic. The guy's nostrils flared as if taking in Alad's scent. As the air moved, a slight fluttering of the skin on the right side of the man's nose caught his attention. Xosh, a notch had been cut out of the nasal fold. Alad shivered despite the greatcoat.
Still, the black haired soldier—Alad knew he was a soldier—reeked sex… or maybe fight-lust. Both equaled about the same to Alad. "Yeah, a drink." Pretending indifference, Alad turned his eyes away. He drew in a deep breath, touched his index finger to his left cheek and slowly brushed it toward his ear. "To apologize for being… clumsy." The thumb up the bridge of your nose meant you were indiscriminate about your choice of partners. Pinky on your right eye and you wanted the opposite sex. Alad had indicated he wouldn't be opposed to a hookup with this man, in a way that let everyone pretend nobody suggested anything about sex. Nobody cared about your choice in partners. Saving face in the event of a refusal though, everybody cared about that.
Buy Link: e-Book http://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-theedgeofdesperation-16233-145.html
“What do you want to hear? That I’ve been selling my ass on the streets since I was sixteen?”
Cole knew Matthew was trying to provoke him, probably into tossing him out and validating Matthew’s twisted view of humanity. Cole had steeled himself for hearing something like that, but the rush of anger—not at Matthew—but at whoever had forced him to that was still surprising. In as mild a tone as he could manage, Cole said, “You could start with tonight. Do you know why those kids came after you?”
Matthew shook his head, but Cole just waited. Finally Matthew shrugged. “I thought Tyler might have sent them.”
“I thought he was my boyfriend.” Matthew gave a hollow laugh. “You’d think I’d have learned something. Turns out I was just his whore. He said he’d give me money if I just disappeared and didn’t tell anyone. He was supposed to meet me.”
“This Tyler have a last name?”
Matthew fixed Cole with a steady gaze as if daring him to doubt what he was going to say. “Bronson.”
“Holy shit.” Cole thought he’d been ready for anything. Bronson. You couldn’t live in this town and not know that name. Hell of a family to cross. Money, yeah. But Tyler’s uncle was a U.S Senator and his father—Oh shit.
“I’m guessing that you mean the Tyler Bronson whose dad is the head of PureLife Ministries. The one with the conversion camps for gays.”
“Bingo.” But Matthew’s voice was shaky and he couldn’t hold the smile.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Matthew swallowed hard, stalling for time, trying to clear the unexpected knot from his vocal chords. When he did, the result wasn't anything he'd expected to say. "How does a guy who runs an art supply store get such ripped abs?"
Cole laughed and Matthew could feel his cheeks flushing. What the fuck? He didn't blush! He'd given that up at the age of eight when getting caught kissing his best friend—his male best friend—behind the swing set on the school playground hadn't brought even a hint of embarrassment. Fortunately, the teaching assistant who'd caught them had shrugged it off as innocent curiosity and never told his aunt and uncle. A rare stroke of luck in Matthew's life.
"I don't know if you've heard," Cole said, his laughter calmed to a small chuckle, "but they have these places called gyms. Anyone can join. It's amazing."
Matthew tried to pass off his blunder with his old blustering front. Even to his own ears, it fell flat. A lame imitation of his street-savvy persona. "Didn't take you for a gym kind of guy."
This time Cole's mirth was nowhere evident. "You've made a lot of mistaken assumptions about me." He headed back towards his bedroom, and Matthew was sorry to think he'd be covering up those muscles with clothing. Although he was willing to bet Cole would look just as hot in jeans and a tight, white t-shirt. Sure it was cliché, but there was a reason the image endured.
"You want some more coffee?" Matthew asked before Cole disappeared behind his door.
Cole shot him a quirk of a smile that Matthew couldn't read. Damn it! What was it about Cole that sent to shit all his well-honed skills at reading people?
"My mug's on the bathroom counter. Thanks."
Wondering exactly when he'd been domesticated—and why he liked it so fucking much—Matthew retrieved the mug and returned with it to the kitchen. He refilled it, poured himself a coffee, and sat at the table to drink it. The kitchen was like something out of one of those home magazines his aunt always had scattered on the coffee table. The sunshine pouring through the window in the little dining nook turned the creamy walls a cheerful yellow and reflected brightly off the stainless steel appliances. The wall over the sink and behind the range were inlayed with painted tiles. The trim around the top of the walls was painted dark blue. It was a bachelor's kitchen, all right, but a clean and cozy one. Matthew imagined what it would be like to watch Cole cooking. Matthew would lean a shoulder against the fridge and Cole would be at the stove, stirring pots of pasta sauce or something, and they'd talk about their days like people did on TV shows. A smile curved the corner of his mouth, and then his lips turned down just as suddenly. Domestic bliss was not Matthew's strong suit. And once he'd given up those answers Cole had asked for, there wasn't much chance Cole would let him finish his coffee, let alone stay for dinner.
"You find some breakfast?"
Cole's voice in the doorway snapped Matthew from his thoughts. The t-shirt he wore was blue, not white, but the jeans were as tight as Matthew had hoped. He hid his interest behind his coffee mug. "Didn't look."
"No? If it were me, I'd've been snooping all through the cupboards. I'm starving." Cole picked up his coffee and with his free hand opened a cabinet. "Cereal okay? Or there's bread if you want toast."
Matthew's guts twisted. The friendly chatter, the host and guest routine they were playing… It was all a sham and he was disgusted with both himself and Cole for perpetuating it. "Quit it."
"I'm not stupid. You're jerking me around. You want answers? I'll tell you. But don't act like we're all buddy-buddy and shit."
Cole turned to him and leaned one hip against the counter, his quest for food abandoned. His expression was cool. "You're still all about mistaken assumptions. But okay. Talk."
Monday, May 11, 2009
I hope everyone is having a great week so far (yeah, I know it's only Monday, but I can hope, right?). And happy belated Mother's Day to those who are mothers.
This isn't really long, but I'm busy with edits and housework. Good combo, huh? So this was a nice little break.
Part XIV here
Matthew watched Cole walk away. Holy shit! He couldn’t look away, his gaze glued to the ripple of muscle as every graceful step took him away. And that ass. Its smooth round, fullness called to be caressed and worshiped. Not to mention the hard cock the other side of his body sported.
When the bathroom door shut, Matthew realized his mouth hung open and he’d stopped breathing. Shaking away the stunned response, Cole’s words sunk in.
He had two options and he knew he had to choose one quickly. He could take off now. There was a bus stop not quite a mile away. He’d made note of passing it last night. This choice had him moving on with his life, wherever it may lead him, despite the screwed up happenings the past couple of days. Living a lonely and often dangerous life hustling for money or whatever he could get, because going back to his aunt and uncle was completely out of the question. Of course, taking that route also had him never seeing Cole again or exploring these outlandish emotions the man brought forth.
His other choice was to stay and answer whatever questions Cole asked. Not a pleasant thought, which made leaving very tempting. So what was holding him here?
Matthew knew it but wasn’t quite ready to fully admit it just yet. Remembering how it felt to have Cole’s tongue devouring his mouth with the promise of much more was more than Matthew’s poor deprived mind could accept. He still shook with the need for more when he thought of how unselfish Cole had been to him in the store, giving him pleasure, yet not taking any for himself. Were there really men that noble in the world? Or was Cole a one of a kind?
Apparently, Matthew took too long to make his decision when the bathroom door opened and Cole stepped out, towel wrapped around his waist and drops of water falling from his hair to slide down that gloriously muscled chest. His fingers flexed as he held back the urge to reach out and trail the water’s path as it traveled down over lickable abs.
“Still here I see.” Cole’s lips twitched as if he was trying to suppress a smile.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
The first is Chrome, a collection of short stories all focusing around one shiny orange Fiat. Three little stories follow the car through its life and its different owners who all have a couple of things in common: they're boys, they like other boys, and they like the gleam and glitter of chrome. Check it out, it's an easy and fun read for only $2.49.
The second story is a re-write and re-release from an anthology a few years back, but I overhauled it and now it's available as a standalone. Ethereal is a quick, hot little read about what happens when a nursing student discovers a patient in his hospital is unconscious and beautiful. Jordan brings home stories to his lover Scott, and the two of them heat up their love life a bit with fantasies of the mysterious patient. Fast and hot with a bit of naughty thrown in, what more could you want for $1.29?
And! Just because I love you, through tonight at midnight (EST), get 15% off your purchases at Torquere Press.
The coupon code is mom09 and is good on all Torquere Press ebooks purchased at www.torquerebooks.com from now until midnight (est) Sunday May 10, 2009. Have fun!
And thanks, Mom. <3
Thursday, May 7, 2009
I'm still not sure on the allure of the site, to be honest. It's not as intensive as a blog or MySpace or Facebook (or any other networking site). The trick is finding something relatively interesting to say in less than 140 characters. I'm still trying to figure THAT one out.
One thing I do enjoy, though, is finding out who is following me there. A lot of folks find me via LJ, I'm sure, but more, I think, find me via simply searching on Twitter. WHAT they're using in terms of keywords, I haven't the foggiest clue, but it's interesting.
So, what about y'all? Do you twitter? Or, like me, are you still wondering what the whole thing is about?
He woke up to the smell of coffee. Cole cracked an eye open and immediately snapped it shut again when light stabbed him in the retina. Okay, opening his eyes, not an option. But who the hell was making coffee in his house? Cole wracked his brain, wondering if loneliness had finally sent him running into an anonymous fuck or something when a face formed behind his eyelids.
Blond hair. Blue eyes. Round, tight ass. Oh yeah, he remembered now. Turning his head away from the sunlight, Cole opened his eyes again and climbed out of bed. His foot caught in something and he found his rumpled clothes on the floor. Cole had a second to realize that he was feeling the sun's warmth directly on his skin when his bedroom door, already cracked, nudged all the way open.
"Hey Cole, are you aw...oh." Cole snapped his head up at the sound of Matthew's voice and found the younger man's gaze a good deal south of Cole's face. Lean fingers held Cole's favorite mug in a sudden death grip.
A million thoughts shot through Cole's head accompanied by a million actions. Everything from pulling his clothes on to pulling Matthew on his bed and getting him just as naked as he was...but that couldn't happen. He wanted it, shit, his dick was awake and there was no way to hide it.
But with the memory of Matthew came the other memories. So Cole, faking a nonchalance he wasn't even close to really having, walked up to Matthew and gently pried his hot coffee mug from Matthew's fingers.
Wide blue eyes, glazed with hard fought interest, met his. "Cole..." Need wrapped around his name, wrapped around his dick.
Cole took a swallow of coffee and barely felt the burn. "I need a shower." He sipped a little more cautiously this time if only to keep his mouth occupied. Otherwise, he was going to kiss the life out of the pouty mouth right across from him. "And then I think it's time for those answers."
Monday, May 4, 2009
Also it was pointed out to me that the link to the book isn't working. It is fixed.
As part of an earlier Cinco de Mayo promotion with Phaze Books, I wrote A Daring Twist to distribute as a free read. This short is part of Dareville and M/M erotic - it serves as a prologue of sorts to part of Dare to Dream and the upcoming Daring Red. As far as the universe goes, it's set around the time of Truth or Dare, and more will be explained with the next book. Anyway, hope you like it.
In the meantime, I'm waiting to hear about my membership to the Rainbow Romance Writers chapter of RWA. Fingers crossed.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
This is gonna be VERY short, but hopefully coherent LOL. I'm behind on my deadline, as per usual, so trying to get more wordage in tonight. Here goes...
Matthew stood rooted to the spot, an uncomfortable mixture of gratitude and guilt roiling in his gut. Ever since Cole had rescued him, he'd tried to tell himself he didn't care what Cole thought of him. So why the fuck did it take Cole getting pissed off at him for him to realize he did care after all?
Cole reached the Dodge, stopped and shot Matthew an impatient look. "You coming, or what?"
Shit. Matthew swallowed. "Yeah, I'm coming."
He crossed to the car on legs that shook all of a sudden. Cole was already buckled behind the wheel and had the car going by the time Matthew slid into the passenger seat.
They rode in silence for what felt like ages. Several times, Matthew started to speak, then thought better of it. The brooding anger comig from Cole in palpable waves defeated him. Besides, what was there to say? Cole had made it pretty clear where Matthew stood with him.
The really confusing part was, Matthew liked it. He liked that Cole had refused to fuck him, and he liked even more that Cole had laid down the law and told him that if he wanted anything more than a place to crash for the night, he was going to have to give up some of his closely-held secrets.
The relief Matthew felt at the thought of telling Cole his secrets surprised him.
When they pulled up in front of a small house sheltered by huge oak trees, Matthew laid a hand on Cole's arm. "Okay."
Cole looked at him. "Okay what?"
Matthew took a deep breath and blew it out. "Okay, you'll get your answers."
"Good." Cole smiled, and the sight of it made Matthew's stomach flutter. "In the morning. Come on."
Matthew climbed out of the car and followed Cole up the short walkway to the cottage he evidently called home. A yawn nearly split Matthew's skull in half. After the attack, the scare with the cops and the mind-blowing orgasm he'd just had, followed by his decision to tell Cole the truth -- or selected parts of it -- he was exhausted.
He'd decide exactly how much to tell Cole after he'd slept for about twelve hours.
Friday, May 1, 2009