September? Wow.

I really hate letting so much time pass between posts, but the day job is exceptionally time-consuming right now. I do like trying to get in at least one post a month, so let's see if I can keep that up. (Spoiler: maybe.)

The release month for the third book in the Never Too Early series is November! No exact date yet, but I'll be sure and let you know as soon as I get the word. In the meantime, have a little excerpt. See you next month!

***

Tucker shut the water off just as it was starting to cool and tossed Tor a fluffy blue towel. "Can fix you guys omelettes for breakfast. Or if that's too fancy for your cowboy asses, I'll let you have some of my Corn Pops."

"Hell, toast is about all we really need, but I'm not going to turn down eggs." Tor couldn't remember the last time he'd had a breakfast cereal that was coated in sugar; Jake had forbidden it from the house shortly after Jacob had moved in. Now that the kid was off to college and not even coming home for summers, maybe Tor could sneak some back in.

Probably not.

"Good. Wasn't really gonna give you my Pops. If you want Chance's healthy stuff, be my guest." Tucker laughed and gave Tor one more kiss. "Mushroom and avocado omelettes, comin' up."

They toweled off and parted in the hall, Tucker going to his own room for clothes, and Tor back to the guest room. Jake hadn't even moved, as far as Tor could tell. He was still buried in a blanket, his eyes closed.

"Time to get your ass up," Tor told him, rummaging around for his clothes. "The day is getting old."

"Coffee?" Jake sounded only slightly more awake than he looked.

Tor snorted and grinned. "It'll happen. C'mon, up you get."

Jake rolled over and stretched, long and hard, then melted back onto the bed. "You've been up long enough to mess around in the shower and make coffee."

Jeans found, Tor pulled them on and nodded at Jake. "Yep. But only one got done." He could almost feel the endorphins in his bloodstream like little glittery bits of happy. "Come on, don't let Chance come home and find out how lazy you are."

It was both adorable and amusing how quickly Jake scowled at him, growled that he wasn't lazy, and got up. "You are mean and rude, and I'm going to clean up," he mumbled, heading out and toward the guest bathroom. He was wearing pale blue boxers and his hair was all stuck up on one side. It was almost enough to entice Tor back into the bathroom. "Coffee. You go make."

Tor's urge to go maul Jake dissolved in a fit of laughing. "Yes, yes. Coffee. Chance will be home soon."

Jake waved a hand in the general direction of the hallway wall and left.

Shaking his head, Tor sat on the bed to pull on his socks. So far this surprise visit was going along great -- he'd had time with Tucker, he'd woken up around Jake, and aside from the overly thoughtful look on Tucker's face, things were smooth and wonderful.

That look, though. That was something to find out about. Tor had a feeling that this thing they were building was too important to let things slide for long. Maybe Chance being home would help conversations happen.

Aaaaand another one for you...

I got two of the nicest comments recently, both asking for another excerpt of Never Too Early: Full Circle. Since Chris and I reached 50k on it yesterday and still have at least another 10k to go, there is no shortage of good snippets to choose from. Here's a little piece for you, and happy Sunday.

***

"Where's the paper targets?" Tucker crouched down to the blanket and searched around. "These can go on the trees." Three or four tall oaks were a good bit of distance away.

Chance jogged to the trees and fastened the targets, then returned and squinted at them. "Good enough?"

"Yep. Tucker, go for it. Make Kentucky proud."  Tor leaned against the truck to watch, liking the sun on his shoulders. "Chance, are you good with handguns?"

He nodded. "Better than with a shotgun, actually. I never shot a rifle until a few years ago. The ones you have are nicer than anything I've used."

Tor stage whispered, "Jake can be a little tight, but he invests in good guns."  He ignored the dirty look he got for that. "You're doing fine. Shoulder it again for me, let me see your stance. Just don't try Jake's. It won't work for anyone but him."

Chance did as requested. He brought the gun to his shoulder, and Tor was amused to note that Chance had a stance that, if not identical to Jake's, was strangely similar. Then he realized why.

"Okay, surfer boy. I'm going to get up close and personal." He smiled and slotted himself behind Chance, hands on Chance's hips. "No wonder Jake didn't suck on a surfboard. Okay, move your hips back, like this, and let your lead foot come on back." He used his hands to square Chance's hips a bit and pulled him back tight to his own body. "Oh, hello there. Jake's right -- you smell good."

Chance turned his head to the right and looked over his shoulder at Tor. Their eyes were just about level, although Chance may have been slightly taller. Jake had also been right about Chance's eyes changing color, Tor noted. They'd been a soft hazel this morning, but now they matched the bright green of the patchy grass around them. "Jake put some stuff in our shower. It says it smells like ocean, but I don't think whoever made the soap has actually been to the beach."

"Well, whatever it is, it smells good on you." Tor winked at him and went on. "Now, hips back here, feet firm on the ground. Rifle to shoulder. How does that feel?"  He didn't step back. The sun was warm on his back, and Chance was warm on his front.

Chance cleared his throat. "Good. It feels… good." He didn't move either. "But I feel like I could step off balance as soon as the gun kicks. Should I try a shot?"

"Go for it, I've got you." Tor was braced, mirrored like Chance, hands still on Chance's hips. "Just aim and squeeze."

Tor felt Chance tense a moment before pulling the trigger. The blast was loud in his ears. The back kick of the barrel rocked both of them, and Chance nearly took a step to the side. He managed to keep his balance at the last second, but in doing so, pressed himself even more firmly against Tor's chest. He lowered the rifle and stared straight ahead at the target. "Like that?" he asked, his voice low.

"Mmhmm. More or less.  Want to try again? Find your balance?" Tor was feeling more than a little off balance himself. He took a breath and tightened his grip on Chance's hips. "Careful now." He might have been talking to himself.

Excerpt: Never Too Early: Full Circle

Wow, June. How is it halfway over? Every time I blink, another month has passed. The curse of getting older, I suppose.

Chris Owen and I have been hard at work for the past few weeks on the third novel in the Never Too Early series. We have a deadline, so we're hoping to have it finished by the end of June. This novel is different from the others for various reasons; not the least of which is that Tor and Tucker get their turn to speak. The other differences will just have to be a surprise, ha.

Here's an excerpt for those who have been waiting so patiently.... happy Sunday!

***

It hadn't occurred to Tucker that Tor thought he and Jake were alike at all. "Different, sure. And we both like horses." He shrugged. "Other than that, me and Jake don't really match up the same."

Tor laughed. "You're both thoughtful, can cook, listen really well, pay attention to what people feel as well as what they say, wake up happy, don't whine unless it's actually worth it, and are tough as nails. Trust me, you're alike in a bunch of ways. But you laugh easier, play easier, and see the point of games. You don't stress, and you don't take on everyone's problems as your own to worry about."

"Jake carries other people's weight, huh? A guy can break his back that way." Tucker smiled and tried another taste of his hot chocolate. There, perfect. "Well, him and Chance sure get each other." It still made Tucker wonder a little. Did it mean Chance and Jake were better suited?

"Same thing there," Tor said after a mouthful of hot chocolate. "There's, like, some kind of balance of needs. You and Chance are necessary for each other in really great ways, and Jake kind of... fills in some gaps, is all."

"I didn't know there were gaps," Tucker mumbled. Until now.

"They're not really gaps. You know the difference between an accidental baby and a surprise baby?"

The analogy made Tucker laugh. "Sure, I guess. But the surprise baby is still a surprise."

"But you wouldn't give it up. You just didn't know you were missing it." Tor kissed him again. "He's not looking for anything you haven't got. He just found something that's extra. That's all. He wasn't missing anything, he just got chocolate sauce on his sundae."

"Oh yeah?" Tucker looked up at him with a smile. "And what about you and me? Chocolate sauce, or something different?"

New excerpt....

Happy weekend, all! I have a Sunday with not much planned, which is the perfect kind of Sunday, if you ask me. Two orders of business on the blog docket for you today!

1. Heat and Flashover are being made into audiobooks! Super excited about this. If you know any males who do voiceover work, they can go to Audiobook Creation Exchange and search for either title and submit an audition. The ones that have been submitted so far are all fantastic, so I'm not really sure how my publisher is going to choose.

2. The release of the second book in Chris Owen's and my series is two months away! Never Too Early: Finding Their Way is due out on March 25. Pre-orders will definitely be available as we get closer, but for now, I'll leave you with an excerpt. Chris and I have loved hearing all the feedback, so thank you!

A dark head appeared in the doorway between the living room and kitchen. "Jake! Can I drive your truck?" Tucker appeared to be holding Tor off with one hand.

Jake nodded.  "Sure. Wait. Why? Sure?"

Tor was trying to get a hold of Tucker, but failing miserably. Jake figured he wasn't really trying.

"Tor says you guys got mud out in your back forty! I'd drive the rental, but we didn't get no insurance on it, and it's a piece of shit anyhow. Wouldn't do no good out there. Tor, for chrissakes, you're gonna rip my shirt."

Chance raised his eyebrows but otherwise said nothing.

"Oh." Jake looked at Chance and then back at Tucker. "Take Tor's truck."

"I won't give him my keys."  Tor didn't let go of Tucker's shirt but he did laugh.

"My truck doesn't go mudding for fun," Jake told Chance. "It's too much of a pain to clean."

"Aw, man." Tucker made a noise of disgust. "Thought y'all were cowboys." He looked at Tor and scowled. "You ain't never gone in the mud before?"

"Of course I have." Tor sounded indignant. "Just not in his truck.  And it depends where the cows are. We can go tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Tucker said grudgingly. "Come on, show me where you keep your food and I'll rustle up some chow."

"I think it's in the bathroom this week. Oh, wait! Nope, the kitchen."

Jake shook his head. "Wake me up later," he told Chance. "When they're calmer."

"So, about four days," Chance replied. "Got it." He reached out his left hand and rested it on Jake's leg. It was warm through the blanket.

"Maybe five." Jake hoped Chance would leave his hand right where it was. It was heavy and comforting, and Jake was going to suck up all the comfort he could, for as long as he could. 

Little teaser...

Last time I was here, I let you guys know about the awesome project that Chris Owen and I have been working on. Since then, we got the news that our release date is going to be in November. Both of us were kind of bummed that it's so far away, but we'll be around here and there on social media to promote it way before then. In fact, here's a sneak peek of what you can expect in Never Too Early: The Beginning.

Chance slouched down in his seat and stretched out his legs. At least they were on the aisle. And the people watching was pretty good from his vantage point.

In fact, it was really good. The two men Chance had seen a little while earlier were now on their way back, and this time he could see the front view. One with dark hair and one with hair the color of wet sand, they were tall and lean with tanned faces. Chance somehow knew instinctively that it was from many hours on horseback, outside in the hot summer sun, where even the protection of their cowboy hats wasn’t enough.

He watched from the safety of his seat as they approached the steps leading to his row. Expecting them to pass directly in front, Chance was startled when they checked their tickets and began climbing the stairs. He pulled his feet in from blocking the aisle and pretended to be interested in the racing form in his hand.

A surreptitious glance told him that the cowboys had stopped at the row before his. Chance observed them as they checked their tickets and then, to his pleasure or dismay, Chance didn’t know which, they edged their way into the seats directly in front of Chance and Tucker’s.

Tucker was going to laugh hysterically.

"How long until they start?" the one with dark hair asked his partner. "Do I have time to go make a bet?"

"Sure, if you want. Throwing good money away, though." The tone was warmer than the words. "Get yourself a drink, too."

"Water for you, Jake? I'll see if they have juice."

The one named Jake shook his head. "Water's fine." He looked around, craning his head and finally tipping his hat back on his forehead. "Yeah, same direction. Don't get lost, Tor."

That earned him a flick on the brim of his hat and a snort. Then dark eyes met Chance's as Tor stood and turned. "Keep an eye on this one; he'll change seats just to make me think I got lost." His grin was broad and open, friendly.

"Uh," Chance replied. Yes, very suave, he told himself with a mental eyeroll. "Um, yeah, okay." He managed a smile and forced himself to meet the twinkling brown eyes again. "I’ll pin him down." What? Chance had no idea where the idiotic words had come from.

Jake's head whipped around and Tor threw back his head with a laugh. "Good luck with that. Holler if you need help." He clapped Jake's shoulder with one big hand and then left, still chuckling, leaving Chance with a startled cowboy looking at him.

New cover art + excerpt

I've finalized the new cover for my re-release of Compass Hearts. Whaddaya think?

I'm super pleased with it!

My friend and critique partner is playing FLE for me on this manuscript. Making sure the small changes I made work and that I haven't missed any typos. (Serious fingers crossed there. I was not happy about the number of typos that were in there even after I, my editor, and the original FLE went over it. We're only human, but geez!)

Look for the re-release in the next week or so! In the meantime, here's an excerpt:

He barely recognized his own voice as he went on. "The human body is... fascinating." There was a question, an invitation, underlying his statement. He hoped Ash would hear it and understand. Despite this sudden swell of bravery, he knew he couldn't say that out loud.

A slow smile spread across Ash's face. Matthew grinned back, guessing his message had gotten through. His guess was confirmed when Ash asked, "Have you ever had a live model?"

"No." Matthew's cock strained at his breeches. He yearned to draw Ash, see him stripped and posed. He couldn't remember ever wanting anything so much or so urgently in his life.

Then reality crashed down on him. His face fell. "My materials are at my apartment." In the time it took to get there and back, the moment would be beyond lost. And there was no way he was taking Ash back to his flat. He didn't want Ash to see it. It was so unbearably grim, lacking in any charm or comfort, especially when compared to Ash's quirky and inviting room upstairs.

"What do you need?" Ash asked.

"Charcoal pencils, largish paper."

"I have that."

"You do?" Matthew perked up at this spark of hope. It was almost too good to believe. "How? Why?"

"Botany class. We do a lot of plant sketching. I not only have charcoal pencils, I have pressed pigment pencils."

Matthew's eyes lit up and Ash grinned and grabbed his hand. "Come on." Ash pulled him to his feet and toward the stairs.

Matthew's practical side asserted itself and, still clinging to sense, he asked, "What about our books?"

"No one will bother them. Come on!" He practically dragged Matthew from the parlor. By the time their feet hit the stairs, though, Matthew was plenty willing to follow him up.

Inside the cozy comfort of the little attic room, Ash went immediately to the window seat. He opened it and fished around inside, coming up a moment later with a large tablet and a tin box. "Here." He handed the box to Matthew who opened it and looked in wonder at the myriad colored pencils within.

"Where did you get these?" he asked, awed and envious.

"Some of them I bought in town. Some of them my dad gave me before I came here." Ash flipped through the tablet of his botany drawings, Matthew looking over his shoulder. The plants were barely recognizable, and then only because he'd labeled them. "They're awful, I know," said Ash. He pulled a disgusted face. "It's all right to say so."

"I just have one question," said Matthew.

"Yes?" Ash turned and looked up at him. "What?"

"Are you actually passing botany?"

Ash burst out laughing. "All right, Master Critical." He flipped to a blank sheet and shoved the tablet at Matthew. "Let's see you do better."

"That much I can guarantee."

"I've never been an artist's model." Ash's eyes shone deep blue in the lantern light and his voice was husky. "Tell me what to do."

Matthew swallowed hard once. The heat and tightness in his groin were intense, and he was glad for the tablet he held in front of him. What was he thinking? He'd never get through this! Panic began to rise in him, quelling his arousal. No. I want to do this, damn it! Steeling himself and taking control of his fear, he said with as much authority as he could muster, "Strip."

False Dawn Re-release

Good news! I re-released my space opera novella False Dawn this past weekend! I'm quite proud of the cover I put together. I loved the original one so much that I did my best to honour the original image. I hope you like it!

Here's an excerpt, too, and it's not the one I usually use for this book. It's a bit steamier than that. ;-)

***

"Hi!" Galen barely got the greeting out before Dayan was through the doorway and on him.

Dayan grasped him by his broad shoulders and pulled him into a searing kiss. Startled but willing, Galen opened his mouth to Dayan's searching tongue, and Dayan took full advantage. He swept his tongue along Galen's teeth and tickled the roof of Galen’s mouth, reveling in the taste and feeling, the warmth and the wetness.

When at last they came up for breath, both men were panting. Galen's brown eyes were nearly all pupil, and Dayan was more than ready to fall into them. He'd waited all damned day to show his lover just how proud he was of that promotion.

"Congratulations, Detective," he said, his voice a husky purr of desire.

"I take it you don't want to go out to celebrate." Galen's expression and tone were wry.

Dayan returned the look with a lascivious, one-sided grin. "What do you think?" He pressed his hard, aching cock against Galen's thigh, just below the hip joint, and rolled a little from one side to the other. Galen groaned and leaned in for another devouring kiss. Dayan happily obliged.

Again, they only parted when they had to stop for air. Gasping, Galen smiled broadly. Dayan loved that wide mouth, those straight, white teeth, and dove in for more before either of them properly caught their breath. His head felt light, but whether from lack of oxygen or overload of lust, he didn't know. Didn't care.

Dayan pushed against his lover until they were brought up short by the couch that stood against the outer bulkhead. Dayan released him again and gave him enough of a shove that Galen lost his balance and sat heavily. Without a pause, Dayan straddled him where he sat and began to undo the buttons on his new dress shirt--as much an indication of his new rank as the badge that glinted at Dayan from his belt.

The release of each button was followed by a kiss, a nip, a bite, of Galen's dark, smooth, muscled chest. When Dayan reached the waistband of Galen's tailored black trousers, he tugged the shirt tails up and out, found the last button, and, bent double over his lover's lap, placed a kiss over Galen's navel. He alternately circled it with the tip of his tongue, flicking at the little indentation, and sucked a mouthful of flesh around it. Galen squirmed and shook, just as Dayan knew he would.

Dayan sat up straight, one hand on the clasp of Galen's belt, the other fondling his lover's balls through the taut fabric of his slacks. The outline of his erection was hard pressed just to the left of the fly, but Dayan held off from grasping it. He's been anticipating this all day; he had to take a little revenge and make his lover wait a bit, too.

He leaned in and whispered in Galen's ear. "Is there anything you particularly want tonight?" A gentle squeeze on his sac that made Galen gasp and groan.

"Any...requests?" A tender nibble at the shell of his ear. "Or do you trust me..." Nip. "...to make you..." Nuzzle. "...scream?"

Galen's breath came in short gasps, and Dayan knew he had him. They'd played this game many times, and Galen had never once turned down that particular offer. He looked up into Dayan's gaze and grinned, equal parts defiance and fervor.

"Dare you."

***

You can buy it now from Amazon or for your B&N Nook!

Excerpt, Man Whore

It’s been a whole month already? Damn…

November was spent with my head in the Day Job. Between the year-end rush of client calls and wrapping up a project started when I had more time available, I’ve been flat out busy with the Job That Pays the Bills. Despite this, I’ve managed a little more work on the still untitled sequel to Man Whore. It’s almost finished. Well, no, it’s almost ready to query. Then the work will start all over again. I know.

Anyway, because my functional non-day-job time is scare, I’m going to keep this short and sweet so I can really query that manuscript this year. Instead of listening to me ramble today, enjoy an excerpt from Man Whore, and then hold me to querying its sequel by year end.

~*~

Morgan Desrosier slipped through the heavy black door sporting the name HIM in two-inch, white chipped letters above the handle: the only identifier that anything existed beyond its walls. As he strutted up to the bar, the bartender wrapped up his conversation with current customers and poured a glass of whiskey, leaving it in front of Morgan as his gaze circled the crowd.

"Slow for a Thursday," the bartender said.

"Very," Morgan agreed. Men mixed and milled about, sure, but none of the bodies elicited interest from his. Several men looked him over. Morgan discounted their hungry stares. He dressed to draw attention— fishnet crawled down his arms peeking out from beneath the elbow-length sleeves of his charcoal tee, black jeans with green-stitched seams, sized snug enough to leave little to the imagination, black plastic hoops in his ears matched the impressions under his shirt of little circles piercing his nipples. To complete the look, his chestnut brown hair sported random black and green tips. He lined his eyes the same, black smudges hugging crisp, green lines, colored around emerald eyes openly judging any man bold enough to meet them.

After draining his drink, Morgan wove through the bodies on the dance floor, avoiding groping hands until he reached his intended marks. Yes, plural. The twins turned in unison, beaming wide smiles of perfect white teeth at him.

"Our favorite slut," said Cayne. Or, maybe, that was Layne.

"Looking for company?" asked Layne. Or maybe Cayne.

They preferred the mystery and Morgan couldn't be bothered to unravel it. To him, they were one. To him, they were The Twins. He didn't bother trying to guess which one was Layne and which was Cayne because, when he did, he inevitably guessed wrong. His hips swung as he approached, dancing himself between them. Their hands welcomed him, one twin wrapping his arms around Morgan's waist while the other draped fingers around the back of his neck, tickling and teasing.

"You know I'm always looking for company," Morgan said.

Exactly the same, he didn't care if the lips pressing to the back of his neck belonged to Layne or Cayne. Each had thick, sandy brown hair that fell over his face as if playing a game of hide-and-seek, and the most unusual amber eyes with outer edges of muted green. They dressed anywhere from conservative and casual to seductive to purely flamboyant. Tonight, they wore ripped Levi's and maroon shirts with the buttons separated to their navels. Morgan, with one arm around the shoulders in front of him, slipped his free hand down a bare, smooth chest.

The twin tilted his head, his hair falling over his eyes as they reflected mischief hidden in his thoughts. With a smile he said, "Take us home, M."

"You know my rule."

"And you know ours." The whispered words eddied around his ear and then dove down to his balls.

"Once," Morgan said.

"Once," they agreed in unison.

"And you won't be weird about it later."

The twins chuckled. The one behind him pressed his hips to Morgan's ass while his brother grinded against him from the front. "We promise," said Cayne. Or maybe Layne. "It won't ruin our friendship."

"Just play," said the other. "Just pleasure. Just once."

"Unless you request more."

Morgan laughed. "Cocky fuckers."

"Yes," purred Layne. Or maybe Cayne.

"We know what you like, and we know what we like." The other gave him a faux coy wink.

"And that," said the first, "is dancing with you, M."

"And teasing me," Morgan added.

"No teasing." The tongue wet his ear before continuing with words. "Promises."

Morgan dropped his hands to the waist in front of him and yanked the man closer. His response was clear and firm in his pants. The twin nodded. On Morgan's shoulder, he felt the other nod in reply. "Oh boy, what did I just agree to?" Morgan asked.

"Every man's wet dream," answered the tongue in his ear. "Twins in his bed."

~*~

Available in ebook or print format from Silver Publishing, or your favorite 3^rd party distributor.

Upcoming Release

My latest is coming out on 28 December from Torquere Press so I thought I'd give you a little taste.

Rose & Thorn by Maia Strong
Bad luck, sabotage, or a curse? With the theater's future at stake, it will take all the magic Eamon, Jasper, and HJ can conjure to find out and put a stop to it.

Eamon Quinn is an actor with designs on a position with Rose & Thorn Theatrics. As a new university graduate, he's up to the acting challenge. He's not so sure he's up to facing life in the big city. That is, until he finds a friend in Jasper Davison. Jasper is intrigued by Eamon, sure that he's a fellow mountain-born soul, which is something Jasper's been missing in coastal Yanuk. When both men are hired by Rose & Thorn, the kindred spirits soon become lovers--and catch the eye of the company's head apprentice, HJ Greenhills.

Bad luck plagues the theater--accidents, injuries, and a sudden death--leading to rumors of a curse. Weaving sexual energy with Druid magic, Eamon and Jasper seek the truth behind the rumors. But confirming the curse is only the first hurdle. They need to figure out who cast it and how to end it before it causes more harm. Even together, the two men aren't strong enough. Druid magic works best in threes, and so they seek HJ's help to lift the curse. The three put their bodies and energies together to call up the magic they need to try and set things right.

***


Technically, the book is m/m/f, but here's an m/m excerpt. Hopefully it'll warm you up on a chilly winter day.

Clad in only undertunic and drawers, he padded softly to the brazier. The scent of maple syrup and cinnamon had begun to permeate the air of the closed-up room, making it smell sweetly delectable. His cock grew semi-hard as he inhaled the sweet aroma; he'd always been a sucker for all kinds of sweet sensations.

Jasper carefully dipped his little finger into the cauldron and licked the drizzle of syrup from it. It was warm enough and utterly delicious. He was ready to wake his sleeping lover.

Eamon lay on his side, face half buried in the pillow. The bed was narrow, but not so narrow that the two of them couldn't manage what Jasper intended. Jasper smiled, thinking ahead, and his cock grew fully hard. He crouched by the head of the bed and pushed dark brown hair from Eamon's flushed cheek.

"Wake up, boyo," he murmured. "It's time for that dessert I promised you."

Eamon mumbled something as he had before and batted a hand out around his face as if swatting at a pestering fly. Jasper's smile widened. He'd found Eamon sexy, funny, talented, and smart. This simple, sleepy gesture made him endearing, too.

"Come on, sleepyhead," he tried again, a little louder this time. As he spoke, he trailed one hand down Eamon's bare arm, across his belly, and along the waistband of his breeches. The combination of words and actions finally roused a waking response.

Eamon opened one eye, took a moment to focus, and smiled. "I am so glad it's you," he said softly.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. Of all the possibilities, you're by far the best one."

Jasper grinned. "Thank you."

Eamon inhaled deeply. "What's that smell I smell? It's... mmm." He let the breath out in a sigh.

"Dessert. It's ready for you if you're ready for it." Jasper rose and took a step back in one fluid motion.

Eamon pushed himself up into a sitting position. He blinked drowsily and focused on Jasper once more. "I see you're ready." He looked pointedly at where Jasper's drawers were tented out.

"Very." Jasper grinned.

"So what's for dessert?"

"You."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, making Jasper think of the arch mother figure he'd played while they were singing earlier that night.

"And me."

"Uh-huh."

"And something both sweet and hot. Do you have a towel I could borrow?"

"Huh? Sure." Taken by surprise by the change of subject, Eamon immediately dropped the expression he had adopted and pointed to the foot of the bed. "Hanging on the rails, there's one."

Jasper took it and used it to safely move the little cauldron from the brazier to the table.

"So what is it?" Eamon asked again. He rose and steadied himself with the bedpost before taking the few steps to where Jasper was carefully stirring the concoction with a wooden spoon. Jasper ran his index finger along the back of the coated spoon, testing again for temperature and deeming it ideal. He repeated the gesture and held up his finger, offering it to Eamon.

"Taste."

Smiling with a double hunger, Eamon took the offered finger in his mouth and sucked the sweet liquid from it. "Mmm! Maple!" He licked his lips.

"Spiced with cinnamon and cloves. I recommend you finish undressing," advised Jasper. "This stuff sticks. You have paid for laundry service, I trust." He smiled mischievously.

"It's included in the price of the room."

"That's good. Now, about those breeches?" He looked down at the clothing in question and back up into Eamon's eyes -- dove gray in the lamplight.

Eamon hurried to undo his flies and nearly fell trying to get out of his pants too quickly. Jasper laughed and steadied him. "Don't hurt yourself. That would take all the fun out of this."

"Not if you kissed it and made it better," Eamon responded.

Jasper laughed again. "You're quick on your feet."

"But hopefully not in bed." Eamon grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

"That, too, would take all the fun out of this," joked Jasper.

Finally, Eamon managed to get his breeches and drawers off, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Jasper shook his head and ignored the clutter in favor of the nearly perfect naked man standing before him.

He looked Eamon over with a keen eye, taking in details he'd glossed over at their first coupling and in their rushed bath this morning.

Eamon was slim, but his shoulders were broad and square. He had the suppleness and flexibility of the fighter and dancer that he was. His arms didn't bulge with muscles, but instead were smoothly sculpted by hard work and training -- sinewy and strong, the kind of muscles that only fully showed themselves when they were being used.

Jasper liked that, liked his men lithe and lean, but not too lean. Eamon could use a little bulking up, in his opinion. He was too much like a starving student, which was so far from the truth as to be almost laughable. Jasper had seen the man eat, and he was very good at it. It was part of why Jasper had thought of tonight's dessert. But first, it was Jasper's turn to dine.

***

God jul fra Norge! Have a safe and happy holiday season, and I'll see you in 2012!

A little teaser from my mini-NaNo

If you follow my Twitter account @katrinastrauss you'll know I'm off my reading break and back to writing. I'm not officially participating in NaNo, but I've issued myself my own personal mini-NaNo challenge to get back into the swing of things.

So, what am I working on? I've pulled out and dusted off a half-written M/M voyeur/exhibitionist short I started two years ago. As is sometimes the case, the Muse morphed and mutated, landing certain characters and elements in two wholly unrelated stories that have since been published. The original genesis has stayed in the back of my mind, however, and I'm ready to make something of it.

I'm aiming to place it with a certain publisher and will hopefully announce a contract in a few months. In the meantime, progress is coming along nicely. So nicely, I thought I'd share a teaser. Here you go, a little NC-17 snippet of my mini-NaNo:


*****

Logan clicked the bookmarked web link and logged in to his free account. The browser immediately filled with thumbnail images of men, their body types ranging from slender to hard-bodied to soft. Some showed off their chests, others teased with hip-slung pants to reveal V-lines with a hint of pubes. A few boasted the full monty, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Ignoring the flashing ads in the sidebar, Logan filtered his search to profiles listing their age as late twenties like him or older. From there, he narrowed down to those with the face or body to match their birth year. The twenty and early thirty-somethings tended to be skinnier, but several of the middle-aged guys could give their younger counterparts a run for their money at the gym. Whatever their body type, Logan liked men, not boys, and the guys who fell into limbo between barely legal to his age could be hard to gauge. A good example would be Seth, the cute black-haired counter boy who’d waited on him at the cafe that morning. Seth appeared to be in his early twenties, and had to be out of high school to work on a Monday morning, but he could easily be a mature looking seventeen-year-old dropout.

Better safe than sorry, Logan thought. Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult weeding out jailbait at his favorite website. Most of the regulars were in their thirties or forties, Logan suspected due to a combination of confidence, experience, boredom, and/or midlife crisis. Whatever their reasons, it provided him a nice selection of gorgeous, uninhibited men willing to perform on cam.

He studied tonight’s assortment, split almost evenly between mirror shots from smart phones to freeze-framed webcam stills. Some subjects showed their faces, others reveled in anonymity by aiming the cam directly at their dicks. In the brief chats he’d enjoyed, Logan had learned some of them were out and proud gay men, while others confessed they were married with wives and children. A few insisted they were truly straight but just liked being watched, period. Whatever their story -- gay, straight, bi, out, or closeted -- they all shared one secret in common. They were exhibitionists who liked to play on cam, for voyeurs like Logan who couldn’t get enough.

A few scammers had tried to lure him to pay-per-sites with a promise of more, but why bother paying when so many men on this site simply did it for free? To the true exhibitionists, sexual release paired with fulfillment of their taboo pastime was reward enough, and Logan was more than happy to oblige them.

Like the site regular who was direct messaging him now. At first glance, “likemypackage69” appeared to be another cheesy handle for someone obviously trolling for sex. It would be easy to lump the name in with the likes of “hotc0ck4u” or “HornyAzzHell”, but likemypackage69 had previously told Logan he worked for a parcel delivery service and was born in 1969.

“It was a good year,” Logan mumbled, judging by the hot and horny GenXers who frequented the site. He opened the message box.

Hi there, the text said. What you up to tonight?

Logan texted back, Sipping cheap wine and in need of stimulating conversation.

Stimulating, huh? I can do that. ;)

Of course, likemypackage69 was there for online kinks like everyone else, but at least he’d put some thought and creativity into his clever handle, and in Logan’s book, clever earned extra bonus points. Within seconds, he accepted the one-way webcam invite. A familiar tattooed chest with pierced nipples and steeled pecs filled the screen. This particular gentleman only showed himself from the neck down, but what a sight it always was to behold.

Logan couldn’t resist commenting. Slinging packages around all day must be a good workout.

LOL, likemypackage69 replied, catching Logan’s innuendo. It burns the carbs, that’s for sure. >:)

The witty banter paired with frisky emoticons didn’t last long. likemypackage69 adjusted his camera and rolled his chair back to reveal his erection. Like other regulars, he was already naked, leaving Logan to wonder if guys like that pranced around the house nude all day, waiting to jack off at a moment’s notice. Personally, Logan preferred his partners-in-crime partially clad, as it conjured an act of secrecy, naughtiness, and spontaneity, but the sudden sight of a hard, thick cock filling the monitor didn’t exactly turn him off, either.

likemypackage69 started off slow, offering his viewer a nice, detailed show as he worked his big, strong hand up and down his swollen shaft. Logan sat back and relaxed, hands rested casually on the chair arms. His preferred method was to watch as long as possible before touching himself.

likemypackage69 tugged harder at his dick. Drops of precum beaded at the slit. As he swiped his thumb around the glistening crown, Logan licked his lips. He shifted in his seat, his cock swelling against tight denim.

I could be anyone, he thought, and this guy doesn’t even care who’s watching. Hell, he could’ve delivered packages to the newspaper, or the apartments, and Logan would’ve never known it was his online acquaintance.

It made the moment all the more dirty and arousing. Balls tightening, he unbuttoned his jeans, then planted his palms on his thighs and dug in his fingertips. Wait, he told himself. Just a little longer…

likemypackage69 stroked faster, rougher, the motion blurring his hand. By the time Logan caved and unzipped his jeans, he was fully worked up and ready to burst. He envisioned what likemypackage69’s face looked like. Based on other men in that age group with tattoos and piercings, he was likely smooth-headed with a trimmed beard, a smattering of fine lines just starting to creep up around his eyes, probably an earring or two.

Prick in hand, Logan held back until the other man came, and then he let it all go, shooting his load in one hot, messy burst. They joked afterward about one-handed typing, and making sure they didn’t get the keyboard sticky.

And then the cam frame went black, their session ending as quickly as it had started.

Once the rush of climax subsided, Logan cleaned up his mess, shut the computer down, and turned in for the night. Clad in boxers, he laced his fingers behind his neck and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. Two Door Cinema Club played on the satellite radio. Normally, the Irish power trio’s music cheered Logan up, but he felt empty and lonely, like he always did after an online session, but really, he liked to watch, and the Internet offered the only window through which he could safely, legally do so. He wondered if he’d ever meet someone who could incorporate his fetish into an actual relationship. Call him soft and sentimental, but it might be nice to cuddle afterward.

Do deviants cuddle? Smirking at his own question, he thought of Seth -- tall and lean, dark and brooding with a hint of recklessness behind those brown eyes. In his offline, real-world experience, guys like that were a wild ride in bed, but Logan’s fantasies ran outside of the bedroom. The one real-life boyfriend he’d broached the topic with had freaked out and dumped him shortly afterward. In retrospect, asking his partner to jack off in the backseat of the city bus had pushed the limits, but damn it, his ex had asked, “What’s one fantasy you’d like to explore with me? Name anything.”

Maybe Logan could try again with someone else, somewhere more dark and secretive. What if he asked Seth to a movie? And they sat in the back row?

The blood rushed to his cock again as the delicious scenario played in his mind.

*** Copyright 2010, 2011
by Katrina Strauss ***

Bad, Bad, Bad Man

Let's just pretend I have skills and there's a crude image of a penis here to convey the word giant dick, okay?


I'm off to write smut while standing in lines at Walt Disney World again. This year, I think I'll take Tori's Happy World along with me to make it even more subversively fun.

While I'm there, I'll be working on Bad Boyfriend, which is a spin off from Bad Company. I've written characters who are antagonists before but this time I've created a monster. Based on word from beta readers and critique partners alike Peter is a major dick. In fact, I can't decide what his worst behavior is yet. He has his reasons—narcissistic, selfish, dickish reasons—but I don't think I've ever written anyone like him before. I suppose I'll have to engineer some comeuppance for him by the end, but when I started the story, I actually thought he might be redeemable. Redeemable enough for his own HEA in another book. Let me make it clear. That is off the table, Peter. After the crap you've pulled, you'll be lucky if people don't start hoping you die in a grisly industrial accident.

So you can have a little idea of what I'm talking about, here's a bit of Peter in action.


Excerpt

When Quinn straightened from brushing his teeth, the face in the mirror scared the shit out of him. Christ. I'm my grandfather.

It had been cold in the kitchen while he sat at the table, surfed the internet, and pretended not to listen for Peter's car in the driveway—or for any breaking news involving fires—so he'd thrown on a sweater Peter's mom had given him for Christmas. And now with the off-brand matching luggage set under his eyes, the gray at his temples and the old man brown wool, he looked like his grandfather. After his heart-attack.

No wonder he and Peter hadn't had sex in….

Hell, Peter it's been three and a half months.

Did you fill out some kind of survey? I've worked eight days straight and I'm thirty-six fucking years old. Do you mind if I pass out now?

Yeah, I remember how fucking old you are. Especially since your birthday was the last time I got laid.

So watch porn. You're always on the damned computer anyway.

…add two more weeks to that conversation and it added up to four months. Quinn was starting to wonder if he'd forget how to do it. Maybe he couldn't blame Peter just dropping off to sleep when he came home and found dead grandpa in their bed. Ten years as a fireman's partner could leave anyone with gray hair and worry lines.

He'd thought about an affair—about Peter having an affair—but the checks Peter was bringing home meant he was telling the truth about working all the overtime. And Peter was in such a panic that anyone would find out he was gay that he'd be afraid to go near another man.

Peter's truck growled into the driveway and Quinn dropped his toothbrush in the holder. He was too short on time for a dye job, but at least he could ditch the grandpa sweater.

He traded his sweats and saggy boxers for a close-fitting pair of black briefs and shivered his way under the covers.

He thought about trying to pose, but Peter had always been able to see through Quinn, so he just propped himself up against the pillows and hoped it didn't look like he was in a coffin. Hubert's tags chimed in warning, giving Quinn time for the futile hope that the big St. Bernard mix wouldn't shake his shaggy head and send drool around the room.

Hubert yawned and then Quinn was wiping his cheek from the spray as Hubert shook off sleep and climbed out of his bed, stalking stiff-legged out to meet Peter in the hall.

Peter's keys hit the kitchen table and Hubert's tags jangled as Peter rubbed his head and neck. "How's my old man?"

Hubert whined and after a satisfied sounding yawn, made his slow way back to bed.

Peter slammed around in the kitchen for a few more minutes, leaving Quinn to wonder if this was a beer or orange juice before bed kind of night. Beer meant on the couch for TV, ignoring the bedroom, orange juice meant he might come to bed in a few minutes. Quinn heard him in the hall.

"Hey. You're still up."

Something was different about the man Quinn had lived with for ten years, like he'd shrugged off something that had been hanging on him for weeks—months—maybe this whole past year. It was in the broad shoulders, the steady hazel eyes, the way he stood straight in the door of the bedroom and offered Quinn the first smile he'd seen in who knew how long.

"You're home early."

"Lupi's back from his suspension. We can finally stop covering for his ass."

"Shit. I was counting on those big paychecks so I could run off to Vegas."

"Yeah. Right. Like I can see you dropping something bigger than a nickel in a slot machine." Peter pulled off his shirt, reaching over his head, arms crossed dragging the material up from behind. Something about the familiarity of that quirk eased the ache Quinn had been wearing under his scalp for so long he didn't notice it until it was gone.

Peter was back. And they were going to be okay. The weirdness was gone, just one of those bumps in the long, long road.

"Hey, I can spend someone else's money no problem. And it's not like you'd even notice I was gone." He said it lightly, but Peter looked up from where he was folding his pants across a chair, lips twisted in a grimace.

"Sorry." Quinn said quickly.

Peter stared at him until Quinn wondered if they were back to the land of weird. Then Peter's face relaxed, like he'd made up his mind not to get all pissed off again. "Not tonight, okay?"

Quinn's throat went dry. "Got something else in mind?"

For a big guy, Peter could move fast and quietly—maybe he snuck up on fires. He had a hand on Quinn's ankle, yanking him toward the edge of the bed. "Yeah. Get your slut panties off so I can suck your cock."

(Ahem. Sex ensues.)

Quinn was on his second cup of coffee, Hubert keeping his feet warm under the kitchen table when Peter came in with a cardboard box in his hands, wearing sweats and a purposeful expression.

"Jesus." Peter jumped. "I thought you'd be at work."

"It's winter break. We have the week off."

"Right. I forgot." Peter slid the box onto a counter.

Quinn gestured at the box with his coffee cup. "Early spring cleaning?"

"Not really. Shit. I can't believe I forgot about winter break."

"It's okay. I figured you'd be working. I didn't have plans." The last time they'd had vacation time together had been…three years ago.

"Quinn." Peter sat down clutching at the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

The coffee was barely warm, but the sip Quinn had just taken burned all the way down his throat. Tension strung rusty wire through his neck, under his scalp, warning prickles erupting on the skin.

"What?"

Peter's face got still and calm. Did he use that face when he was keeping people from running back into a burning building after someone they loved? Quinn had a sudden premonition that he was about to know what that desperation felt like.

"I've been dealing with some stuff."

"I noticed." A preliminary skirmish, no casualties.

"I've been with other people. Not a lot. Just sometimes."

"Okay." Quinn managed to keep that word even, despite the flare of panic. Christ, how many? Were you safe? When the hell did you manage that in your double shifts?

"Do you remember the Christmas party? When I asked you to come get me?"

Cops and firemen and paramedics drinking. Together. God help the innocent bystanders. "Yeah, some guy met me in the bar and told me they were going to get you home later."

"Yeah. That was one of those times. And..."

So it was possible for one breath to last a lifetime.

Peter couldn't even look at him. "She's pregnant," he finished.

Quinn knew there weren't too many different ways to interpret that, but he heard himself stupidly ask, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I had sex with a woman eight weeks ago and she's pregnant. And before you ask, yes it's mine and no I wasn't too drunk to know what I was doing. She's going to keep it and—that's what I want. We're going to get married."

Married. Quinn heard himself repeat the word but it sounded far away.

"This—" Peter made a vague gesture that was supposed to cover ten years of sharing an apartment, a home, a dog, a life together. "It's never been all I wanted."

"We could—" But Quinn stopped himself before he finished it. We could do it together? The three of them? Did he even want to suggest it?

Peter shook his head. "I'm going to marry her. She's—it wasn't something she was expecting either, but I need to do this."

"And the fact that you also need a dick up your ass or down your throat when you want to really get off? Is that something she can expect?"

"I don't—I'm not gay, Quinn."

"You've been faking it pretty good for ten years. And it's not like I made a pass at you at your brother's birthday party all those years ago."

"You're the only guy I've ever fucked. And I was married before."
"Yeah, to Stacy, I remember. All two months of your marriage. After you jerked me off at your brother's party."

"You knew what you were getting into."

"And I'm to blame for not saying to hell with your closeted ass?"

"No one's to blame." Peter looked down.

"Yes, someone is: you."

Peter pushed away from the table. "I never made you any promises."

"Living together for ten years is a fucking promise, Peter."

"You were still on active duty for four of it." Face implacable, Peter leaned back against the counter with his arms across his chest.

Quinn itched to get that look off his lover's face. "I'm confused. That wasn't you begging me to come in your ass last night?"

Peter's gaze was steady, like Quinn was the irrational one in this conversation. Not irrational, just clueless. Months of Peter pushing him away, spending all his time at work, coming home last night acting like he'd finally figured something out. Leave out the sex and it almost made sense.

When Quinn didn't get an answer, he said, "Then what was last night about?"

"I wanted to give you a nice good-bye." Peter turned away and opened a cabinet. "I'm just going to take the stuff my mom gave me."

Gave us, Quinn wanted to point out, but he stared at the box on the counter as another horrible realization pierced his brain. "So when I came home from work, you were going to be packed and gone?" Did his voice break? Did he care?

"Yeah, but I was going to talk to you."

"Why bother? I'm sure a note would have covered it."

"Don't get—"

Quinn shoved the table away and stalked over to box Peter against the counter. "Dear Quinn, The last ten years were a mistake. I'm straight. Except when we fuck. Later, Peter."

Peter shoved Quinn away.

"You don't have to marry her to be the kid's dad." Quinn wanted to pin the son of a bitch against the counter again, but he was afraid that would lead to one of them taking a swing.

"Yes, I do. He deserves better than that."

"Than what? A father who's so ashamed of himself he wraps himself in a lie?"

"It's not a lie." Peter's face flushed. "My dick got hard. I came. You're the one who's having trouble with the facts."

"And what facts are you going to share with her? Are you going to tell her who's been getting your dick hard for the past ten years?"

"No. She doesn't have anything to do with that. I'm not asking her what she's been doing either."

"Maybe I owe her a warning. I hate to think of her waking up to this same shit ten years from now—with a kid to think about too. Don't worry. I'll be sure to explain how not gay our relationship was."

There it was. An honest emotion on Peter's face. But it wasn't love or sorrow. It was fear. "Don't. Please, Quinn, don't. I know—I know I'm hurting you but don't do that to me. You can't tell anyone."

"You know how I love it when you beg." The words felt like he was swallowing dirt, clumps falling cold and dry into his stomach.

"Quinn."

"I'm not going to say anything. Ten years is a hard habit to break."

"Thank you." Peter went back to taking dishes out of the cabinet.

"But I gotta say, if you're trying to pass, you might want to try harder. I don't think many straight guys pack their stoneware before they walk out."

"I moved some clothes last week."

Last week."Where?"

"I know we've got another month on the lease, but I found a place that will take dogs."

Quinn couldn't even make his mouth form a word. His body snapped at attention, braced for whatever abuse was coming his way as the commandant looked for some kind of weakness in his eyes. He must have made some kind of sound, because Peter turned around.

"He's my dog."

Quinn knew that. And he could remember dress whites covered in dog hair, chewed shoes and endless drool. But he was the one who fed him and took him to the vet when Peter was working.

Quinn started for Peter. Maybe to punch him, maybe to kiss him, one argument no better than the other, but after the first step the floor turned to quicksand. What had ever happened in his life to make Quinn think that this was safe, that this would last? He fucking knew better than that.

His hands closed on the box instead of Peter. The box made a satisfying crunch as it hit the wall, and Quinn stepped over the pieces as he left.


(And that may be the least of Peter's sins so far.)

Upcoming New Release

I have a release date for my latest novella! Compass Hearts will be available from Torquere Press on 2 April! To whet your appetites, here is an (unedited) excerpt from the book.

****

Compass Hearts by Maia Strong

He barely recognized his own voice as he went on. "The human body is...fascinating." There was a question, an invitation, underlying his statement. He hoped Ash would hear it and understand. Despite this sudden swell of bravery, he knew he couldn't say that out loud.

A slow smile spread across Ash's face. Matthew grinned back, guessing his message had gotten through. His guess was confirmed when Ash asked, "Have you ever had a live model?"

"No." Matthew's cock strained at his breeches. He yearned to draw Ash, see him stripped and posed. He couldn't remember ever wanting anything so much or so urgently in his life.

Then reality crashed down on him. His face fell. "My materials are at my apartment." In the time it took to get there and back, the moment would be beyond lost. And there was no way he was taking Ash back to his flat. He didn't want Ash to see it. It was so unbearably grim, lacking in any charm or comfort, especially when compared to Ash's quirky and inviting room upstairs.

"What do you need?" Ash asked.

"Charcoal pencils, largish paper."

"I have that."

"You do?" Matthew perked up at this spark of hope. It was almost too good to believe. "How? Why?"

"Botany class. We do a lot of plant sketching. I not only have charcoal pencils, I have pressed pigment pencils."

Matthew's eyes lit up and Ash grinned and grabbed his hand. "Come on." Ash pulled him to his feet and toward the stairs.

Matthew's practical side asserted itself and, still clinging to sense, he asked, "What about our books?"

"No one will bother them. Come on!" He practically dragged Matthew from the parlor. By the time their feet hit the stairs, though, Matthew was plenty willing to follow him up.

Inside the cozy comfort of the little attic room, Ash went immediately to the window seat. He opened it and fished around inside, coming up a moment later with a large tablet and a tin box. "Here." He handed the box to Matthew who opened it and looked in wonder at the myriad colored pencils within.

"Where did you get these?" he asked, awed and envious.

"Some of them I bought in town. Some of them my dad gave me before I came here." Ash flipped through the tablet of his Botany drawings, Matthew looking over his shoulder. The plants were barely recognizable, and then only because he'd labeled them. "They're awful, I know," said Ash. He pulled a disgusted face. "It's all right to say so."

"I just have one question," said Matthew.

"Yes?" Ash turned and looked up at him. "What?"

"Are you actually passing Botany?"

Ash burst out laughing. "All right, Master Critical." He flipped to a blank sheet and shoved the tablet at Matthew. "Let's see you do better."

"That much I can guarantee."

"I've never been an artist's model." Ash's eyes looked deep blue in the lantern light and his voice was husky. "Tell me what to do."

Matthew swallowed hard once. The heat and tightness in his groin were intense and he was glad for the tablet he held in front of him. What was he thinking? He'd never get through this! Panic began to rise in him, quelling his arousal. No. I want to do this, damn it! Steeling himself and taking control of his fear, he said with as much authority as he could muster, "Strip."

****

Hopefully that's piqued your interest. ;-) I should have a cover to share with you next time I'm here, so keep your eyes peeled for that, too!