I’ve come back from Russia

Yesterday, I returned from a business trip to Moscow. It was my first time in Russia. Now, you might find this ironic, considering how many Russian characters I have created.

Then, I’m using a Russian pseudonym. It used to be that German writers chose English pennames to pass for British or American – largely because the German reading public firmly believed that “German writers can’t write entertainment”. When I began writing gay romance in English, it was clear I needed a pseudonym. German is all but unpronouncable for most English speakers. I considered going with an English-sounding name. Then I thought, “hang on, there are plenty of those”... and my heart has been beating for the Russians ever since a childhood first terrified of the nuclear holocaust, then when relief when Gorbachev made the Russians “human”. Sting’s “The Russians love their children too.” As a child of the Cold War, I was always fascinated with the side whose story we in Western Germany were never told. While America was the “cool place”, Russia – or then the Soviet Union, was the mysterious place. I was way more intrigued by the one side that I didn’t understand.

But of course, I’m not Russian, and while I have Russian friends, all I knew up to now was theoretical. Triggered by that age-old fascination, I’ve read a lot about Russian history and culture. I have shelves and shelves of books about various subjects, and I know too much to romanticise Russians...too much.

What I want to say is, three days ago, I stood on Red Square – the place of military parades and of GUM, the Russian version of Harrod’s or Saks. I’ve walked past the highly polished block of copper-coloured atrocity that is Lenin’s tomb, and photographed the crazy coloured domes of St Basil. I’ve talked to Russians (bankers and other finance people) about their country. One guy walked me back to Tverskaya street, the massive, constantly gridlocked representation boulevard which makes Oxford/Regent Street look like Legoland – it’s so big and busy it’s mind-numbing. I’ve seen nothing like it – not Unter den Linden in Berlin, and not even the Champs Elysee in Paris. Moscow is its own category.

When the guy walked me to Tverskaya, we walked past an official building, I think a Ministry of some sort. In front stood two Russian military/paramilitary types looking bland and bored and wielding big automatic weapons (machine pistols? I didn’t look that closely). The guy next to me walked a little faster, noticed my interest in the building and said “never attract their attention. They are thugs. If you look Russian, you’ll pass... if you look like something else, you’re automatically a target.”

I knew that. It’s even in “First Blood”, the book Barbara Sheridan and I wrote and which was released today by Dreamspinner. There’s a passage where one Russian calls the police corrupt and “thugs”.

I knew all that, because I’ve done my research, and spoken to Russians, but up until this man’s cautious sneer when he talked about them, it has never really sunk in. What it means to live in a society that is afraid of its police and that keeps its head down, glad they fit in, glad that they look Russian, rather than, say, Chechen or Chinese, or whatever. Despite all my research, I was ridiculously naive.

There are many things I could talk about – the violent clash of pre- and post-Soviet architecture, which is a brutality and coarseness on the mind that makes you reel. The permanent Moscow gridlock that lasts from morning until late in the night. The fact that there are never enough taxi drivers and that you can just flag down a private car, negotiate a price and destination, and get taken to your destination by a total stranger. While I was in Moscow, the “thug police” abducted a gay activist, kept him somewhere for two days, and then released him outside the city.

As the Moscow Times wrote, rather laconically, “He then went home by bus”.

If anything, I admire how the Russians are dealing with adversity. There is a fundamental irony and jadedness behind it all – like the other option would be to cry over it, but clearly, that country has cried so much it has no tears left.

So, from this, two things. One – I really, viscerally understand what I only rationally understood before. And second – I was damn glad when I saw a British policeman that I don’t have to “fit in”, that I’m living in a country where I don’t have to be afraid, where I don’t have to keep my head down.

When I told my partner this, he laughed. “Yeah, but you’re not black and poor.”

Point taken.

Misc. Goodies

First Blood won't be out for another two months or so Dreamspinner got the ball rolling early with this fantastic cover art. I'm loving the look Paul Richmond came up with for these books. (you can check out the first one Clean Slate over in the sidebar)

What's fun for me is the way the names lined up beneath the characters we each created. Aleks and I do share and cross write all the characters but tend to concentrate more on certain ones.

* * * *

Noble Romance is have a special subscriber's only 15% "subscribers only"discount until the 22nd.

Subscribe to the Noble Romance Newsletter by July 22 and use code RXVJWR for 15% off your total order Sign up for the newsletter here (below new releases)

If you're feeling daring you may just want to use that 15% off to put a Copsucker in your Kindle. ^_^

Busy Week

Wednesday saw the release of MOST WANTED my M/M western historical from Dreamspinner, and a sneak peek at the concept art for First Blood the next espionage co-written with Aleksandr Voinov and this coming Tuesday we have the release of RISKY MANEUVERS from Loose Id.

Here's the nifty video trailer for RM:

That was then and this is now

This is the week for cover pretties and genre hopping. On June 30 Dreamspinner will release Most Wanted an historical novella and on July 6 Loose Id will release Risky Maneuvers a contemporary with lots of action and a bit of Wtf is that?? ^_^

Rumor has it that there will be a video trailer for Risky Maneuvers in the very near future...

"We all came out to Montreux..."

If you read Clean Slate you know whose favorite song that is. And if you're a member of Team Chris you will be thrilled to know that GORGON's badboy is coming back sexier and snarkier than ever. Yep, Dreamspinner Press has just contracted the sequel to Clean Slate that we're calling FIRST BLOOD.

Our Chris really has his hands full when he attracts the attention of one Nikita Kazakov, a mean Russian cop who has quite a few wicked kinks. Kinks Chris is powerless to resist.

Here's an unedited taste for you:

* * *

“Did you sleep with Voronin?”

“Is that what it’s about? You want to fuck the man who fucked him?”

Nikita paused, hands on his belt. “Did you?”

“Yeah, I did.” Chris’s smile was slow and malicious. “I was his first.”

Nikita paused and breathed. And then he’d killed him. Chris Gibson was a hell of a lot more ruthless than him, killing a man he’d fucked. “What was he like?”

“As a lover? A little inexperienced but a quick learner. I don’t quite know if he’d appreciate your style though. You play rough.”

“What was he like out of bed?”

The American’s look was questioning. “Can’t tell you much that you may not already know. He had some memory problems, don’t know how that affected his behavior. He was pleasant enough.”

“And you killed him.”

Chris shrugged. “It was business. Business trumps all. You know how it is.” He winced and looked down to his inner thigh. “This gets infected I’ll kill your ass.” He got off the bed and went into the adjacent bathroom.

The shower went on and Nikita looked toward the partially opened door. He was temped but as Gibson said business came first. Nikita clipped the knife sheath to the back of his belt and studied the blood droplets on the duvet.

He slipped out as silently as he'd come in wondering what Gibson would say if he knew what had been put upon him:—это мое: this is mine.

Spy Guys &Young Fangirl Sighs

Okay I admit it, I’m almost older than dirt. I grew up during the height of the Cold War and remember having those in school air raid drills in case the Evil Awful Russians came to get us!!!1!

And of course me being the twisted thing I’ve always been, I wanted them to come get me. Why wouldn’t I? I may have been a kid but I knew a hot guy when I saw one and man, that Illya Kuryakin, the smug Russian spy from TV made my little fangirly heart go pitter pat.



I thoroughly blame my Internet bud Aleksandr Voinov for reawakening my love of Russian bad boys and inviting me along on the wild ride that’s been creating our own U.N.C.L.E.-ish world with a heavy slash spin. First up is our Clean Slate out now from Dreamspinner Press and we’re nearing the 60,000 word mark on a follow up pitting a suave and snarky American spy against a Russian adversary with a nifty knife kink that would certainly make old Illya and Napoleon blush.

Here’s a taste of the assassination, amnesia and elaborate charade, we call Clean Slate:

They moved forward. Still two shooters unaccounted for, plus their mark. Stairs suspended in the middle of the house led to a second level. Another corpse on the way up: attacker number three. Further up, a bedroom with a large bathroom. In the bath, spread out over the tiles, the body of a young dark-haired woman, naked and very beautiful, limbs angled uncomfortably. Chris paused for a moment, noticing faint surgery scars under her too perfect, large breasts before he turned around.
A final gunman lay sprawled near the bed, shot twice, in throat and chest, at short range. Crumpled behind the bed, their mark, Andrei Voronin, naked and covered in blood. His left wrist was broken, a shard of bone poking angrily through the skin.

John moved to crouch near the body.

“He’s bought it,” Chris told him. “And the hooker too.” Chris patted his teammate on the shoulder. “Looks like our work here is done.” He’d already stepped away when John’s voice made him stop.

“He’s alive.”

“Not for long. He took it in the head.” Chris turned and lined up the shot. Chest, throat, face should do it. No need to make the man suffer. “I’ll just finish him.”

John stepped into his way. “He’s alive. We need to get him out of here. Stat.”

“We’re here to kill him, John. What the fuck are you thinking?”

“They said neutralize,” John reminded him in that prissy don’t even think of fucking with me tone. “But if you feel better about it, I’ll call in.”
“A couple bullets is a good way to accomplish that,” Chris groused while John pulled out the phone and pressed fast dial. A warning glance told him not to shoot the mark before John stepped to the side. It did give Chris a few moments to study the mark’s body, all toned like that of a habitual runner, his light eyes staring into nothing while the brain connected to those eyes was likely dribbling out of the temple wound. Three-day stubble, blond hair wet and shoulder-length. Nice-sized cock. If the man was a grower, that hooker had at least gone out with a smile.

Day After Tax Day, I Love you!

I've been counting down the days until April 15 for months and months. Because I was expecting a big refund? Because I had to pay out the wazoo? None of the above actually.

I've been grand-babysitting while my kid #1 worked for a pro tax service. With travel time 1-1/2 to 2 hours each way her 8 hour days gave Good Deed Doing Mom (me) 12 hour days. So not fun when we had half the Himalayas worth of snow on the ground. *UGH* (Slash & Burn I'm sorry for forsaking you)

Anyhoo, I did manage some writing in the precious down time and if the Muses are willing *begs Them shamelessly* I'll get more in. I have a huge chunk of a time travel done featuring one of my all time fav secondary characters Jake Hillhouse. I got myself hung up on how to translate the historical inspiration into a faster moving, slightly less convoluted fictional events.

Also on the agenda is reworking the 15k I have so far for the final story set in the copsuckerverse. Inspector Miki's gorgeous son is finishing law school and having some sinfully delicious thoughts on his boss who happens to be his dad's oldest friend....

Remember Me??

Yeah, it's been ages & eons since I've had anything/time to post but lo and behold there will be slashy goodness with my name on it in 2010, both co-written with Aleksandr Voinov

Clean Slate
by
Aleksandr Voinov & Barbara Sheridan

The "hit" American Chris Gibson and British-born John Soong are ordered to carry out on Russian mob affiliate Andrei Voronin doesn't go exactly as planned. Voronin has already been shot when they arrive but he's clinging to life. GORGON, the international intelligence and paramilitary agency John and Chris work for agree with John that Voronin may be more valuable alive than dead.

The failed assassination turns to an undercover intel operation as monogamous-minded John and manwhore Chris portray lovers who came to Monaco to meet with and form a personal triad with the now amnesiac Andrei. This operation takes its own unexpected turn as the men bond and clash and try to outwit the Russians who've realized Andrei is still alive.

(tentative release date 4/2010 from Dreamspinner Press)

Risky Maneuvers
by
Barbara Sheridan & Aleksandr Voinov

Having been a mercenary for the past decade, Mikhail Volkov is a man without a country and that suits him just fine. Playing by his own rules, on his own terms, for the price he sets, is the way he likes it best. But when a CIA contact dangles a carrot he can't resist to entice him into a clandestine search-and-rescue, Mikhail is brought face–to-face with the biggest foe he has yet to vanquish—his own loneliness.

Growing up, Devon ‘D’ Dearborn planned to follow in his father's footsteps as part of the Army's Delta Force. Once commissioned, D's own ambitions took root and he became a top-level tank commander, occasionally serving as a go-between for his CIA-employed brother and a sexy Russian mercenary.

When his doubts about his chosen career and his own desires impacted the perfection he demanded of himself, D resigned his commission and exchanged his Abrams tank for an 18-wheeler.

After six years, the last face D expects to see when he pulls his rig into a truck stop is that of Mikhail Volkov. D wants nothing to do with his brother's new cloak-and-dagger job, but the temptation of working alongside the Russian is too hard to resist.

Weekend Sale & WIP peek

There was something I wanted to blog on/discuss last week but never got the chance to write it up. Now--you guessed it--I totally forgot what it was. -_-

Loose ID is having a Labor Day sale: From Sept. 3rd to the 6th, they are offering 5% off all e-books purchased. No gimmicks. No codes. Just buy and save.

Self serving thing I am I encourage you to try out the ChildsPrey series then with the $ you save at LI go on and pick up Their Lover the last book in the series. It even has a cameo appearance from everybody's favorite TMPD Inspector Miki Nabeshima.

Noble Romance is putting together an anthology with a western theme. Working title on that is Cocked and Fully Loaded ^_^ Here's a taste of mine introducing the hero (needless ot say it's unedited.):

Indian Territory 1893

The orange glow of a small campfire offered little respite from the chill and absolute blackness closing in on the two men in the clearing. The larger man, deputy U.S. marshal Jon Sauvage, slept lightly as always, each cricket chirp, every rustle of a small animals in the brush capturing his attention long enough to recognize and dismiss it as inconsequential.

But another sound, close by brought him fully awake. Before a second, similar sound came Jon had pulled his Colt and aimed with the deadly swiftness that had earned him the nickname Savage Jon.

"And what do you think you're up to, Cantrell?" he asked the prisoner who rested poised on all fours not more than a foot away.

"Not much, Marshal," the man said indolently, his breath catching just enough for Jon to know that despite the easy bravado he feared for his life. "Just thought I'd give us what we both want and get it out of the way. Thought it might make the rest of the trip a bit more pleasant."

Jon sat up, revolver still cocked and aimed right between the other man's eyes. "And what do you think we both want?"

"For me to suck you off."

"And I'd want that, why?"

Cantrell laughed. He shifted and sat back on his heels, his hands resting lightly on his slim thighs. I can see it in your eyes. You're like me. I can tell."

Jon's cock hardened inside his worn denims. "I'm nothing like you Cantrell. I'm the one with the badge. You're the one going to jail."

Cantrell laughed again and slid his hand across his own crotch. "I heard what the whore said to you when you stopped by that whorehouse to water the horses."

Jon remained silent.

"Come on and stay the night," Cantrell mimicked in a high pitch. "I'll let you fuck my ass. You're the only one I let do that." He smirked. "She lets you do it, but is she any good? Don't you really want to hold on to another cock instead of a pair of tits when you ride that ass?"

The silence between them fell once more. The crickets chirped and Jon was certain they were also egging him on.

"Get back to your side and go to sleep. We got a long ride to Fort Smith."

Cantrell remained as he was. "Let me do it. I never had an Indian before. I won't try nothing. I promise. You can shoot me if I do."

"I can shoot you any time and no one has to be the wiser."

Cantrell smiled.

This smile was softer and the way he licked his lips hardened Jon's cock more. Jon stood, gun still aimed, then undid the buttons of his pants and pulled his erection free. "Do it good."

Are You Ready for More Miki Nabeshima?

Buy it now

For too many years, career obligations and cultural expectations cost Mikisaburo Nabeshima the possibility of love.

Now older, wiser, and infinitely more alone, personal business takes Miki back to New York where another chance encounter with another handsome policeman rouses suppressed desires.

David Kirkland is a brash young cop who grew up on New York’s meanest streets. When the man he believes killed his foster mother is set free, Dave vows revenge. If he needs to leave the country and go undercover with a sexy but infuriating older man then so be it, though he never expected the business arrangement to turn personal.

As Dave confronts a deep seated need he’s never fully acknowledged, the killer they're after proves more deadly than they anticipate.

* * * *

While I know Such a Good Boy may not be exactly what you were expecting, I'm sure it delivers the goods you want to see.

He's Coming....

(and yes you can take that any way you like, heh heh)

Hello kiddies, the moment you've all been waiting for is not that far off, Our Inspector Nabeshima is about to return for an even hotter, longer adventure.




Here's a little (unedited) taste:

Miki caught the first cab he could find back to his hotel and strode into the bar. He ordered a bottle of bourbon and had it charged to his room. Bottle in hand, he sought out a small table in a shadowed corner. He tossed back the first glass and was staring down into the untouched second when the last voice he wanted to hear slithered over him.

“You mind telling me what the fuck that was about?”

“It is what it is,” he muttered, echoing one of Raymond’s oft said phrases. He raised his glass to David Kirkland and drank half in one swallow.

“What it is, is fucked up, dude.” Kirkland pulled out the chair opposite and sat. His stare bored into Miki, and from the way he sat, back rigid, leather jacketed arms folded across his broad chest, it was clear he wouldn’t leave before he received the explanation he sought.

Miki sipped his drink. “How did you find me so quickly?”

Kirkland smirked. “I have mad detective skills. I plan on getting my gold shield by next year.”

Miki finished his drink. “Cocky bastard.”

“You oughta know, unless . . . .” Kirkland paused and his voice trailed off, but he continued to stare. “You’re one of those closeted fuckers,” he said quietly. “That’s why you had your kid with you. You have the hots for other men but don’t dare act on it.” He smirked again. “Thanks for the blow job, ye-ye.”

Miki sucked in his breath and tensed, shifted his weight in his chair and when Kirkland pushed his own chair back and stood, Miki sprung, grabbing the younger man by the belt with one hand, his other gripping Kirkland’s crotch to give his balls a firm squeeze. “Don’t. Ever. Take that attitude with me, boy.”

He let Kirkland go, drinking in the rage that emanated from the younger cop.

“Get the fuck out,” Miki whispered. “I’ll handle Flynn on my own, the way I handle everything else.”

Grabbing his liquor bottle, Miki strode from the bar and crossed the quiet lobby toward the elevators. It was his turn to smirk when he felt the angry American’s presence closing in on him.

A formally dressed couple hung back and let the two men enter the elevator alone.

No sooner had the doors closed than Kirkland growled at Miki. “Who the fuck do you think--”

Miki slammed Kirkland into the side of the elevator and hit the stop button with a swift kick. “Don’t think to go there with me, boy. I could kill you with my bare hands before you could blink.”

“Bring it.”

Though Kirkland’s anger excited him and hardened his cock, Miki laughed and started the elevator once more. It rose fully to the next floor. The doors slid open. “Another time. I’m old and need my sleep.”

Expectations

I'm Baaaccck! I'm sure you've all missed my Friday interludes terribly ~_^

Fridays seem to keep whizzing by me but I've been meaning to blog on this since I've been doing the mad rush to finish and submit the follow-up to Beautiful C*cksucker (which, btw, made it to the #2 slot in BDSM at ARe a week or so ago ).

This new story (which I've dubbed "Copsucker" because it amuses me) is pretty darn good. I love the character interaction and think there's some pretty hot sexual tension going on, but I've been wondering if readers expecting this to pick up right where BCS 1 left off will be disappointed.

On some level they may and yet, the story is what the story needs to be.

So let me ask this:

Readers: How much if any leeway do you give authors in fulfilling your expectations? Do you want your fiction to be bigger/better than real life or do you enjoy finding out how favorite characters react to the curves real life tends to throw in our paths?

Authors: Do you show the story the characters present to you if it "clicks" for you or do you try to mold events more into what you think the audience expects?

On the road with the boyz

Just like one of the J-rock groups who inspired them ChildsPrey has "switched US distributors" in releasing the last book featuring the band's core members. Their Lover featuring CP drummer Kyoru is now out from Noble Romance.

Here, have a blurb:

Danger brought handsome American Ken O'Neill into the lives of ChildsPrey drummer Kyoru Tanihara and his wife, actress Sasao Miyamoto. Once the need for a full time bodyguard ends Ken stays on as both an employee and friend.

After the men share a scripted kiss in a music video, the trio's relationship takes an unusual turn. Old desires awaken within Kyoru, new fantasies in Sasao, and Ken is afraid his presence may jeopardize his friends' marriage.

Reluctantly, Ken leaves the couple's employ but when another frightening situation draws him back into their lives, Kyoru and Sasao will do all they can to hang on to their friend and convince him they're good for each another in every way imaginable.

* * *

I'm a big believer in making related books stand alone as much as possible and think this one does that pretty well. If you haven't spent time with any of the CP boyz check out the entire catalogue:

Orange Moon, Wnter Song, Under a Silver Moon, Secret Moon (co-written with Anne Cain)

Their Lover

Come talk to a few of our boyz

I can't help but think pop star Akanishi Jin has been channeling our Hideki or even Mr. Shu's Kenichi, by writing this new song...Love Juice

This coming Sunday May 18 from 3--8 pm est you can come over to the Samhaincafe chat loop and talk with Kiyoshi, Ryuhei and my favorite beloved bastard Sakurai.

Edit--I forgot to post a few freebies for anoyne who didn't see them:

Anne Cain totally blew me away with the incredible
animation and artwork she did for these guys.

Her yaoi manga which is a sweet prequel to our Samhain short story
Blood Brothers is available on our website. Note: It is
Not safe for work, or anyone under 18 as it contains graphic m/m images.



We have a free short prequel to our Samhain novel Soul of the Night
featuring Ryuhei and Kiyoshi for your reading pleasure posted on our
blog. Again this is for mature readers as it contains
graphic m/m scenes:


And last but not least Anne animated a killer video trailer for Soul
of the Night. This one is suitable for all ages 14 and up.

Another Brief Interlude

between Round Robin posts

Squees and Puzzlement

They don't get any better than this:


Grab onto your seats and hang on for a dark, fast ride that doesn’t leave you wanting! This is an extraordinary offering from the dynamic duo of Barbara Sheridan and Anne Cain. If you haven’t read their work before, and I admit this is my first, then you are really missing out!

You can read the rest of the review HERE


Interesting to me was a comment the reviewer made on how Dark Whispers contains scenes might push certain reader's "ick" buttons. There's no surprise there especially if you know how rough our boyz like ot play with one another but what got me was that s/he brought up the same scene that Mrs. Giggles was squicked by.


Anne and I and our editor find that particular scene to be one of the tamest things in the bunch.


Can you spot the squicky thing???


Sakurai moved through the darkened apartment, raising his eyebrows at the sparse furnishings. The entryway opened into a living area with only a leather sofa, a glass coffee table and a bar underneath the windows across from the door. To the left was an eat-in kitchen, noticeably missing its refrigerator, not that Sakurai would've used it anyway. Licking at the corner of his mouth, he tasted the bloody remnants of his evening's ”meal” and smirked.


A soft rustling came from outside the window over the bar. Sakurai crossed the room and pulled open the thick drapes. A fat, dark grey cat jumped through the opened window and rubbed against his hand, purring the whole time.


"You were stalking me all evening, sayuri." He laughed. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He'd spotted the cat's amber eyes peering at him through the darkness as he first walked past the apartment building in search of prey. The cat followed him through the whole course of the hunt, the only witness to the kill when Sakurai claimed a homeless street musician and drained the wretch as he slept in a doorway.


"Not a very impressive hunt," Sakurai murmured apologetically to the purring cat. "But nothing in this city has impressed me, either, so we're even."


Someone cursed out in the hallway, and the passion---the despair--in it took Sakurai's breath away. He was at the door an instant later, his hands caressing the stained wood as a sense of familiarity washed over him.


What kind of freak am I?


The man's thoughts echoed in Sakurai's mind, piquing the chiang shih's morbid curiosity. There was such anger and lust in this one, the latter maddeningly repressed.


"I'm starting to get the very annoying habit of speaking too soon. There may be something appealing here after all.” Sakurai whispered and chuckled softly.


Meanwhile, the man outside had returned to the elevators, cursing under his breath for having gotten out on the wrong floor. Soon he was gone, but Sakurai stayed at the door, laughing.

What was the thing the mortals said about New York—ah yes, the city is home to some of the most interesting people.


“Well my fur-covered friend—“ Sakurai broke off. The cat was gone, his presence undetectable in the apartment. Breathing a bored sigh, Sakurai decided to indulge in the one modern mortal custom he rather enjoyed—a hot shower.


*****


Some time later, Sakurai sat on the building’s rooftop, his long hair still damp, the ends drying and blowing in the breeze sweeping in from the north. A presence prickled his vampiric sense and he looked over his shoulder. “So you’ve come back to visit, sayuri. And what’s that you’ve brought me?”


The corners of Sakurai’s mouth turned down when the cat dropped a pair of men’s underwear by his hand. But then the wind drifted past again, carrying with it the scents that clung to the black fabric.


Sakurai fingered the garment. Interesting. The odors he detected might very well have come from the person in the corridor. The flavor of the passion he’d sensed earlier was quite the same. His eyebrow quirked when his fingers brushed a wet patch of fabric and Sakurai lifted his fingers to his sensitive nose.


“Oh yessss.”


He lifted the pair of nylon briefs and flicked his tongue across the wet spot, savoring the man’s semen. Grinning, he reached out and stroked the fat cat’s head before sucking the bit of cloth into his mouth to extract the heady, violent passion-filled fluid from the fibers. “Very good, my friend. Very good.”

They're here....

Dai and Sakurai are two of our very baddest Bad Boys and we think you'll like them. Here's a taste:

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Most call me Sakurai, but certain special people are permitted to call me Liu.”

“Fuck you.”

“You did, as I recall, and rather enthusiastically.”

Dai felt his temperature spike, as much from anger as remembrance, and Sakurai laughed. It was a filthy, deep and throaty laugh that made Dai’s heart race. “You’re a fucking Fed. I know it.”

Sakurai breathed an exaggerated sigh. “No, I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Japan, originally. Oh, you mean this evening? Well that’s my little secret.”

Dai clenched his teeth until his jaw ached.

Look at me, Daisuke.

Dai stared at Sakurai’s reflection in the mirror. He hadn’t opened his mouth yet he could hear his voice as clear as day.

Look at me. Now.

Dai shifted, his cock stirring in response to the authoritative tone.

“He didn't love you like a son, Daisuke, he loved you like a man and many times he sat in this back seat and masturbated, imagining what it would be like to bury himself deep in your pretty virgin ass and fuck your brains out... Alas, Raymond Watts never forcibly took what he wanted. I, on the other hand...”

Dai clenched his free hand into a fist. “You don’t know shit. Don’t you dare talk about Ray that way.”

Sakurai laughed that filthy, seductive laugh again.

"Like you weren't moaning his name last night." Sakurai leaned back against the seat, running his fingers over his throat and down his chest.

Dai dropped his gun, his hands shaking so badly he couldn't keep a grip on the weapon. He jerked his head around. "Shut the fuck up!"

Sakurai laughed again. "Talk dirty to me--I like it," he purred. His fingers traced a path farther below his waist, skimming his abdomen and the full length of his stiffening cock. "Though...I could teach you better things to do with that filthy mouth."

Dai faced the windshield again. An image of that woman tied to the cross and being whipped came into his mind only to be wiped clean when Sakurai laughed yet again.

“You did enjoy that little display, didn’t you?” He flicked his long hair back with a quick motion of his hand and scratched at his neck again. “Amateurs. Pathetic rank amateurs, the lot of them. They know nothing of what it means to teach true obedience.”

He shifted on the seat and leaned forward, his hot breath skimming Dai’s ear. “But I know all about making people obey.”

Dai swallowed and tried not to shiver when Sakurai’s tongue flicked out to skim that place where his ear joined his neck.

Undo your pants. Now.

Before he knew what he was doing, Dai was reaching down and touching himself over the front of his jeans. God--he was so hard. It would feel great to tug down the zipper, to rub his cock...

He shook his head, freeing himself from the thrall that had temporarily gripped him. "Wait a fucking second--don't you dare do that--don't you dare get inside my head again!"

Dai struggled to push all his erotic thoughts and desires out of his mind. He bent down, retrieved the gun and shakily pointed it over the edge of the seat. "Stop fucking with me!"

Sakurai laughed. “Oh dear boy, I haven’t even begun to do that.”

He grabbed Dai’s wrist and pulled his hand farther over the seat then leaned forward and licked the barrel of the Glock, his eyes never leaving Dai’s. With a smirk, he placed the barrel in his mouth and began sucking on it then pulled back, his tongue swirling around the end like he was teasing a cock.


Dai wished it was his cock. Oh God…