I've seen various versions of the "Lucky Sevens" meme going around. I was tagged by Natalie G. Owens for this particular version:
Time for Short Sevens (an alteration of the Lucky Sevens going around today...for the shorter stories.) From page seven, starting on paragraph 7, copy the next seven lines...no cheating. Take them from a WIP, new release, coming soon, or book published this year.
Here's my Lucky 7 from my current M/M work-in-progress. (I previously posted an excerpt from this same WIP on Slash & Burn here.)
*****
"All right?" Seth said with mock affront. That smile had him practically melting on the spot, but he wasn't sure about Logan's assessment of the food. "I guess that's better than not good. Which sandwich do you like better?"
"Hard to say." Logan folded his laptop shut. "How long have you worked here at Xandra's?" he asked, mispronouncing it as "Ex-andra's" like new customers commonly did.
Seth wiped the nearest empty table, trying to look busy before realizing the table was already clean.
*****
Nothing like a little pleasant distraction to leave the table sparkling. I hope you enjoyed my teaser. As for who's next, I think most everyone has done this meme by now so "Tag, you're it!" to whoever the heck wants to be "it"!
Showing posts with label Excerpts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Excerpts. Show all posts
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Sonoran Heat - hot desert romance available now!
For those of you who, unlike me, got out of the house and offline this past Labor Day weekend, my May/December desert romance Sonoran Heat debuted at Amber Allure!
*****
Blurb:
Newly single, Tony finds a fresh start with 21-year-old Josh, but worries chasing a man half his age will lead to heartache. It’s hard to resist when Josh intrigues Tony on an intellectual level -- and fires the landscaper's libido hotter than the Arizona desert they call home.
Digital art student by day, Josh waits tables at night, but his true dream is to paint. When he falls for Tony, he starts to rethink his goals and how the sexy older man might fit into them. But Tony’s recovering from a failed relationship, one that lasted nearly as long as Josh has been alive, and Josh must prove that in spite of age and inexperience, his feelings are sincere.
As the desert nights heat up, Tony and Josh explore possibilities both in and out of the bedroom, but when each man faces a difficult choice, they must decide on the future. Whether that future is together, or separate, is a matter of reason versus the heart.
*****
Excerpt (Copyright 2010 Katrina Strauss)
Josh passed Tony a tall cup of iced coffee. As their fingers brushed, Tony felt another charge of electricity, and Josh’s cheeks flushed darker. Feeling his own face go warm, Tony took a sip of his drink. He glanced around the lobby. The crowd was starting to thin as the art opening drew to a close. “Good turnout,” he said.
Josh looked around with him. “Yeah, more people came than I expected.”
“Looked like you got interviewed earlier.”
Josh nodded. “One of my teachers arranged it with New Times without warning me. I was totally unprepared. I hope I sounded coherent.”
“I’m sure you did fine.” Tony knew Phoenix’s alternative newspaper well; once upon a time, New Times had served as guide to the city’s underground gay scene. “It should make for some good exposure.”
“I hope so.” Josh’s face softened. “I appreciate you coming.”
“I wanted to see you again,” Tony admitted.
“That’s why I invited you.” Josh darted his tongue between his lips as he held Tony’s gaze. The combination of shy and confident proved charming and seductive at once.
“I guess you’re celebrating later with friends?” Tony said, testing the waters, seeing if Josh had plans that night.
“No. I’m bringing home leftover hors d’oeuvres and watching The Twilight Zone marathon until I crash. I work the night shift tomorrow, so I’ve got to readjust my schedule.”
“Maybe I could talk you into dinner instead of cheese and crackers.”
There, he’d done it. Tony wondered if the pause on Josh’s end was deliberate or smacked of surprise. “Dinner sounds good,” Josh finally offered. “No Mama Irene’s, though. I eat there too much.”
Tony chuckled. “Understood.” His laughter faded, and he took a deep breath. He knew his next suggestion might be premature, but chances were meant to be taken. “Do you like Italian?”
“I love Italian.” Josh smiled.
“Good to know. My great-grandmother was Italian.” Tony cringed as his lame attempt at flirtation slipped from his lips.
“I thought I liked you for some reason.” Josh’s sly grin quickly put Tony at ease. The artist sidled up closer. His arm brushed Tony’s, and the heat between them burned a little hotter. “Where do you have in mind?”
Tony lowered his voice and leaned in. His lips hovered near Josh’s ear. “Some place quiet, not too far from here. We can dine alfresco and watch the sunset over the mountains.”
“Sounds nice,” Josh murmured. “Kind of…expensive.”
“Not really,” Tony said, drawn in by how gorgeous Josh’s eyes were up close, by how clean and fresh his hair smelled. “My place. I’ll cook.”
Josh wet his lips with another flick of the tongue. It was all Tony could do not to kiss the other man right then and there.
“Sure,” Josh said. “If you can wait a few minutes for me to pack up the food, I’ll follow you. Let me tell my roommate Eddie.”
“Tell me what?” a voice chimed in. An attractive Latino with auburn-streaked hair materialized beside Josh. He slung an arm over Josh’s shoulder and gave Tony an appraising glance.
Josh’s roommate, Tony presumed, and a protective one from the looks of it. He extended a hand in greeting. “You must be Eddie.”
Eddie returned the gesture. A playful smirk curled the corners of his lips. “You must be Tony. Josh was right. You are hot.”
Josh looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock. “Excuse me,” he said, steering Eddie away. They spoke in murmurs as they convened in a corner.
So Tony’s name had come up in conversation, and favorably so, a fact that boosted his confidence and left him hopeful for things to come. He also noted with interest that Josh was daring enough to chance dinner at a new acquaintance’s house, but safe enough to drive his own car and let someone know where he’d be. Tony’s respect for Josh was growing by the second.
But even as his respect grew, Tony’s eyes strayed to Josh’s ass, down his thighs to his bare calves, then back up again. He couldn’t help but wonder what their impromptu dinner date might lead to. He’d be lying if he didn’t say the prospect of bedding such an attractive young man excited him beyond measure.
Eddie’s voice rose as he glimpsed over his shoulder and cast Tony a pointed look. “Brianna and I will clean up. Get the hell out of here and have some fun for a change.” He gave Josh a nudge.
As his date for the evening approached, Tony downed the last of his drink. The ice had melted, the coffee gone as warm as the air simmering around him.
*****
*****
Sonoran Heat, available now! Get it while it's hot at:
http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/SonoranHeat.html
Thursday, July 29, 2010
I come bearing manlove
Greetings from Katrina Strauss! I'm flattered, honored, and just plain tickled to be the newest member of Slash & Burn. I'll be posting here every other Thursday, and look forward to talking shop with readers and authors alike on all things M/M.
I was told the party's BYOB, as in Bring Your Own Boys, so I brought along an image that inspired my upcoming Amber Allure release, May/December contempo Sonoran Heat. The age difference looks a little more narrow between the hotties in this photo than between my characters Tony and Josh, but it's still an inspiring image with some lovely contrast, don't you think?
While I was at it, I thought I'd post a sneak peek from Sonoran Heat as well! Enjoy!
Blurb:
Tony sees a chance for a fresh start with 21-year-old Josh, but worries chasing a man half his age will lead to heartache. It’s hard to resist when Josh intrigues him on an intellectual level -- and fires his libido hotter than the Arizona desert they call home. As the desert nights heat up, Tony and Josh explore possibilities in and out of the bedroom, but when each man faces a difficult choice, they must decide on the future -- together, or apart.
Excerpt:
Josh looked out across the desert vista. Tony followed his gaze. The sun had dropped behind the mountains, silhouetting them against a purple velvet backdrop streaked with ribbons of red. As the colors deepened, Tony poured himself and his guest a second glass of wine. In silence, they watched the bright star of Venus blink to life, while the crescent moon turned a fiery shade of orange.
“We’ve shared one sunrise and one sunset,” Josh said. “What’s next?”
“Meteor shower?” Tony joked.
Josh’s laughter chimed in the cool evening air. He sobered and looked at Tony, point-blank, his face shadowed alluringly in the soft twilight glow. “I meant, what’s next now that dinner’s over?”
Tony shifted in his seat. What’s next indeed? “How late can you stay?”
“A while.” Josh shrugged, but his gaze grew more intent. He downed his last sip of wine and set his glass beside his empty plate.
Tony wondered if the wine had bolstered the boy’s bravado. He finished his own, letting the final sip linger on his tongue. As bad as he wanted to get in Josh’s pants, he didn’t want it courtesy of an alcohol buzz.
He scooted his chair back and rose. He held out his hand. “Let’s go inside.”
Josh’s fingers wrapped warmly around Tony’s palm. The current that had been growing between them thrummed stronger. Josh stood, and their bodies drew close, just shy of contact.
Tony’s lips hovered over the other man’s mouth. The promise of a kiss was enough to send pleasant tremors down his spine. He pulled back an inch, realizing he wanted to savor the buildup a little longer.
“What’s stopping you?” Josh murmured, his breath sweet with the scent of the vine.
“You’re the first since…”
“Your ex?”
Tony nodded.
“It’s okay,” Josh said, squeezing his hand. “I have all night.”
“Me, too.” Tony turned and led Josh inside. The dishes could wait.
*****
Excerpt from Sonoran Heat
Copyright 2010 by Katrina Strauss
Coming September 5th from Amber Allure!
*****
I was told the party's BYOB, as in Bring Your Own Boys, so I brought along an image that inspired my upcoming Amber Allure release, May/December contempo Sonoran Heat. The age difference looks a little more narrow between the hotties in this photo than between my characters Tony and Josh, but it's still an inspiring image with some lovely contrast, don't you think?
While I was at it, I thought I'd post a sneak peek from Sonoran Heat as well! Enjoy!
Tony sees a chance for a fresh start with 21-year-old Josh, but worries chasing a man half his age will lead to heartache. It’s hard to resist when Josh intrigues him on an intellectual level -- and fires his libido hotter than the Arizona desert they call home. As the desert nights heat up, Tony and Josh explore possibilities in and out of the bedroom, but when each man faces a difficult choice, they must decide on the future -- together, or apart.
Josh looked out across the desert vista. Tony followed his gaze. The sun had dropped behind the mountains, silhouetting them against a purple velvet backdrop streaked with ribbons of red. As the colors deepened, Tony poured himself and his guest a second glass of wine. In silence, they watched the bright star of Venus blink to life, while the crescent moon turned a fiery shade of orange.
“We’ve shared one sunrise and one sunset,” Josh said. “What’s next?”
“Meteor shower?” Tony joked.
Josh’s laughter chimed in the cool evening air. He sobered and looked at Tony, point-blank, his face shadowed alluringly in the soft twilight glow. “I meant, what’s next now that dinner’s over?”
Tony shifted in his seat. What’s next indeed? “How late can you stay?”
“A while.” Josh shrugged, but his gaze grew more intent. He downed his last sip of wine and set his glass beside his empty plate.
Tony wondered if the wine had bolstered the boy’s bravado. He finished his own, letting the final sip linger on his tongue. As bad as he wanted to get in Josh’s pants, he didn’t want it courtesy of an alcohol buzz.
He scooted his chair back and rose. He held out his hand. “Let’s go inside.”
Josh’s fingers wrapped warmly around Tony’s palm. The current that had been growing between them thrummed stronger. Josh stood, and their bodies drew close, just shy of contact.
Tony’s lips hovered over the other man’s mouth. The promise of a kiss was enough to send pleasant tremors down his spine. He pulled back an inch, realizing he wanted to savor the buildup a little longer.
“What’s stopping you?” Josh murmured, his breath sweet with the scent of the vine.
“You’re the first since…”
“Your ex?”
Tony nodded.
“It’s okay,” Josh said, squeezing his hand. “I have all night.”
“Me, too.” Tony turned and led Josh inside. The dishes could wait.
*****
Excerpt from Sonoran Heat
Copyright 2010 by Katrina Strauss
Coming September 5th from Amber Allure!
*****
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
New book!
I'm delighted to announce the publication of a new story. It's a shorter novella that I really enjoyed writing very much. It's my first historical and I loved doing the research. Voyageurs is part of Torquere's fun Spice It Up e-book series.
Jack Cavendish needs to get to his station at Fort Charlotte, a fur-trading outpost in Grand Portage, Upper Canada. The fort is only accessible by canoe, and there’s just one man willing to take him on the perilous, thousand-mile journey from Montreal this late in the summer. Young Christian Smith, the son of an Ojibwe mother and absent British father, needs the money to strike out on his own, so he agrees to take Jack deep into the wild.
As they travel endless lakes and rivers, at times having to carry the canoe over land, the arduous expedition takes its toll. Yet the attraction between Jack and Christian, two men from vastly different worlds, grows ever stronger. Locked in a battle against the wilderness and elements, how long can they fight their desire for each other?
How long indeed? Here's a peek.
*
There would be no fire that night, so they quickly ate a cold dinner. Jack couldn’t wait to reach Grand Portage and have proper meals again. When he returned from relieving himself in the woods, he saw that Christian had pulled the canoe farther up the riverbank. One end of the overturned canoe was perched on a low rock. Christian unrolled a large, oilskin tarp over it. He glanced over at Jack. “This will keep the rain off.”
Jack’s heart skipped a beat. “We’re sleeping under there? Both of us?”
Christian’s expression hardened. “I’m not sleeping out in the rain.”
“Oh, no! I wasn’t suggesting you should.” Jack felt so flustered and dim-witted. “It just looks... small.” He was always saying the wrong thing. The thought of sleeping next to Christian in such close quarters set his pulse racing. They’d slept under the stars until this point, with plenty of ground between them.
Christian grunted a response and disappeared into the forest. The rain had slackened a bit, but Jack was still eager to take cover. He crawled under the tarp and the canoe. Although the ground was sodden, it was a relief to be out of the elements.
A few minutes later, he heard Christian’s approach. Jack couldn’t see much under the shelter, and he tried to squeeze himself over to one side. Christian shimmied in beside him, and although Jack had been practicing a deep breathing technique he’d picked up in India, his body still reacted. Christian was mere inches away and it was as if Jack could feel the heat of Christian’s body.
Jack took a ragged breath. Christian’s voice was loud in their little shelter. “Are you ill?”
After clearing his throat, Jack replied, his voice shaky. “No, no. I’m fine. Thank you.”
Christian rolled over, his broad back so close to Jack. If Jack shifted only a tiny bit, his shoulder would press into Christian. He wondered if Christian would move away. Soon Christian snored lightly, and Jack reminded himself that he needed to rest. He was exhausted, and yet sleep refused to come. He listened to the rain on the tarp and Christian’s deep, steady breathing. He could reach out so easily...
Jack Cavendish needs to get to his station at Fort Charlotte, a fur-trading outpost in Grand Portage, Upper Canada. The fort is only accessible by canoe, and there’s just one man willing to take him on the perilous, thousand-mile journey from Montreal this late in the summer. Young Christian Smith, the son of an Ojibwe mother and absent British father, needs the money to strike out on his own, so he agrees to take Jack deep into the wild.
As they travel endless lakes and rivers, at times having to carry the canoe over land, the arduous expedition takes its toll. Yet the attraction between Jack and Christian, two men from vastly different worlds, grows ever stronger. Locked in a battle against the wilderness and elements, how long can they fight their desire for each other?
How long indeed? Here's a peek.
*
There would be no fire that night, so they quickly ate a cold dinner. Jack couldn’t wait to reach Grand Portage and have proper meals again. When he returned from relieving himself in the woods, he saw that Christian had pulled the canoe farther up the riverbank. One end of the overturned canoe was perched on a low rock. Christian unrolled a large, oilskin tarp over it. He glanced over at Jack. “This will keep the rain off.”
Jack’s heart skipped a beat. “We’re sleeping under there? Both of us?”
Christian’s expression hardened. “I’m not sleeping out in the rain.”
“Oh, no! I wasn’t suggesting you should.” Jack felt so flustered and dim-witted. “It just looks... small.” He was always saying the wrong thing. The thought of sleeping next to Christian in such close quarters set his pulse racing. They’d slept under the stars until this point, with plenty of ground between them.
Christian grunted a response and disappeared into the forest. The rain had slackened a bit, but Jack was still eager to take cover. He crawled under the tarp and the canoe. Although the ground was sodden, it was a relief to be out of the elements.
A few minutes later, he heard Christian’s approach. Jack couldn’t see much under the shelter, and he tried to squeeze himself over to one side. Christian shimmied in beside him, and although Jack had been practicing a deep breathing technique he’d picked up in India, his body still reacted. Christian was mere inches away and it was as if Jack could feel the heat of Christian’s body.
Jack took a ragged breath. Christian’s voice was loud in their little shelter. “Are you ill?”
After clearing his throat, Jack replied, his voice shaky. “No, no. I’m fine. Thank you.”
Christian rolled over, his broad back so close to Jack. If Jack shifted only a tiny bit, his shoulder would press into Christian. He wondered if Christian would move away. Soon Christian snored lightly, and Jack reminded himself that he needed to rest. He was exhausted, and yet sleep refused to come. He listened to the rain on the tarp and Christian’s deep, steady breathing. He could reach out so easily...
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Annual LRC Awards on Now
Voting for the LRC's "Best of 2009" Awards begins on FEBRUARY 15th and ends on FEBRUARY 22nd.
I’m up for three and other’s here are up as well!
The Edge of Desperation (Jason Edding and James Buchanan-MLR)
James Buchanan
Personal Demons (James Buchanan-MLR)
To vote:
Email dawn_roberto AT yahoo DOT com with "LRC's "BEST OF 2009" Awards" in subject. If this is not in the subject it will not be counted. You are to vote from the nominee list on your pick. The list will be up in our loop files under "LRC Best of award nominees 2009".
All entries are to be in by 2/23/2010. Any entries received after that will NOT be counted and automatically deleted.
Here’s an Excerpt from Personal Demons
Excerpt:
Hours later, Chase stared at the drink in his hand. Maybe this was just a bad idea. He’d been in the City of Angels for four hours, tops, and he hadn’t even talked to anyone yet. Well, during dinner, he’d chatted it up with a waiter who looked way too young to be serving drinks. The kid recommended the bar Chase leaned on now. Relaxed, trendy — but not — and way crowded; Silverlake’s low-key answer to West Hollywood’s forced urban hip.
Nude women stared vacantly off red and gold walls. Chase figured he should have specified somewhere more overtly gay and less just gay-friendly when asking for recommends. People, of all orientations and ages, lounged on Moroccan-styled couches along the wall. Maybe he would have had better odds on a weekend, Chase mused into the amber liquid swirling in his glass.
“Wow.” A voice at his shoulder jerked Chase’s attention from his self-pity.
He looked up into a bright smile and warm skin. “What?” Damn, the guy was good looking. Not in that stunning movie star kinda way, but with a pleasant face, easy body language and dark eyes. A choker of red and white beads flashed at the open collar of his white shirt. Both colors set off the man’s caramel skin.
Another smile flashed as the guy tapped Chase’s tumbler. “You managed to get a drink.” He laughed and the sound traveled straight down Chase’s spine to his hips. “Takes an act of congress to get service here.”
“Oh,” Chase’s face felt strange. Then he realized it was from an ear-splitting grin. Shit, if that didn’t come off as desperate, Chase would eat his badge. He coughed and raised his glass to his lips in a badly concealed effort to mask the smile. “I laid the money down before I ordered.”
The guy slid onto the stool next to Chase. “Explains it then.” He leaned in and drummed his fingers on the bar. “My name’s Enrique, I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
Enrique’s hip pressed against Chase’s thigh. When Enrique shifted, a hard bulge rubbed Chase through his jeans. Okay, Chase mused, so maybe the waiter had been on the money about the place. “I would be surprised if you had,” Chase nudged back a little, letting Enrique know he felt it, “Just in town for business.”
“What kind of business?” The question came loaded. Chase wasn’t sure with exactly what. A strange wariness seemed to lurk under the words. For a moment, Chase toyed with a few implausible explanations and then figured he just didn’t care. Because the hand that dropped down onto his thigh wasn’t wary in the least. Easy, light, Enrique traced the inseam of Chase’s jeans with his fingers.
Refusing to elaborate, Chase muttered, “Just business,” as he knocked back his drink. Chase shrugged and spread his legs a little wider.
“Really,” Enrique moved in closer, “I thought it might be scoping twenty-somethings out looking for their sugar daddies.” The faded edge of cologne threaded under the scent of guy in a hot, crowded bar.
Chase snorted. A sense of humor, he liked that. Not that it was a requirement, but it made it nice, friendly. “The problem with twenty-somethings is they’re twenty-something.” He slid his arm around Enrique to cup a nicely toned ass through expensive slacks.
Damn, if Enrique moved any closer, he’d end up on Chase’s lap. “How ‘bout a thirty-something then?”
“You’re, ah, pretty direct there.” Chase teased. Actually, for a bar pickup, Enrique was beating about the bush a lot. Half the time a nod, a smile and a jerk of the chin arranged everything.
Enrique leaned in and laughed in his ear. “No, pretty direct is, do you wanna fuck?”
He squeezed Enrique’s butt. “Is that an offer?” Felt good.
No laughter this time. Enrique hissed, “Want it to be?”
“Yeah.” Chase stood.
“Then it’s an offer.”
Friday, August 14, 2009
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.”
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.”
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Wishing On a Star
Actually, I can save a wish. I’m living out one of my fantasies this week. No, not that one. The other one, the one where I get to have no day job and be a writer full time. It’s a week of vacation with no obligations or commitments or plans, except for the plan I had to really enjoy the time to be a full-time writer.
My plan was to get up around nine, answer correspondence while eating breakfast, do twenty minutes of writing, go to the gym, come home and write for a few hours, take a nap, play some video games or watch something, and then write until two.
So let’s see how I’m doing.
Answering correspondence: Errr, I’m going to have to get back to you on that. I’ve taken care of the important things, but the things I’ve been putting off are still…well, off.
Trips to gym: 0
Word count: 87 (less about 40 words crossed out in notebook)
Naps in excess of two hours: 3 (Is it a nap or going to bed if you go to bed at 5 AM and get up at 8 AM?)
Times I have been victorious at Age of Mythology: 8
On the plus side, my office is the cleanest it’s been since we bought the house.
And to compare that with a week of regular life?
I answer my correspondence during lunch, because all the interesting, time-wasting websites are blocked and it’s really hard to eat yogurt while I write, even longhand.
I go to yoga class and the gym at least two or three times a week.
My average word count for a week is between 5 and 10K.
Now that isn’t to say I haven’t been writing. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my new book. The glorious thing about being a writer is we can honestly say we’re working when we’re playing solitaire, staring out the window, or best of all, sleeping. (Though the times when that story I dreamed actually makes sense when I wake up are rare, it still happens). But yeah, I’m not proud of my accomplishments this week.
I keep learning the same lesson: the busier I am, the more I get done. There’s no time to put it off when it has to be done now. When time stretches out on vacation, there’s always tomorrow.
I don’t hate my day job. It keeps me in touch with the world, and it’s rarely boring. But in wishing on that star…could I maybe make enough writing to go part time so that I could get up at nine everyday? I’ll get lots done, I promise.
For those of you more interested in my fiction than my pontificating, pop over to my live journal for an excerpt and information about my next release.
My plan was to get up around nine, answer correspondence while eating breakfast, do twenty minutes of writing, go to the gym, come home and write for a few hours, take a nap, play some video games or watch something, and then write until two.
So let’s see how I’m doing.
Answering correspondence: Errr, I’m going to have to get back to you on that. I’ve taken care of the important things, but the things I’ve been putting off are still…well, off.
Trips to gym: 0
Word count: 87 (less about 40 words crossed out in notebook)
Naps in excess of two hours: 3 (Is it a nap or going to bed if you go to bed at 5 AM and get up at 8 AM?)
Times I have been victorious at Age of Mythology: 8
On the plus side, my office is the cleanest it’s been since we bought the house.
And to compare that with a week of regular life?
I answer my correspondence during lunch, because all the interesting, time-wasting websites are blocked and it’s really hard to eat yogurt while I write, even longhand.
I go to yoga class and the gym at least two or three times a week.
My average word count for a week is between 5 and 10K.
Now that isn’t to say I haven’t been writing. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my new book. The glorious thing about being a writer is we can honestly say we’re working when we’re playing solitaire, staring out the window, or best of all, sleeping. (Though the times when that story I dreamed actually makes sense when I wake up are rare, it still happens). But yeah, I’m not proud of my accomplishments this week.
I keep learning the same lesson: the busier I am, the more I get done. There’s no time to put it off when it has to be done now. When time stretches out on vacation, there’s always tomorrow.
I don’t hate my day job. It keeps me in touch with the world, and it’s rarely boring. But in wishing on that star…could I maybe make enough writing to go part time so that I could get up at nine everyday? I’ll get lots done, I promise.
For those of you more interested in my fiction than my pontificating, pop over to my live journal for an excerpt and information about my next release.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Sneak peek of The Hard Truth
Good morning, folks. I'm eyeballs deep in deadlines this morning, so I thought I would drop a sneak peek of my next release, The Hard Truth to entertain you. The Hard Truth is the much anticpated sequel to Secrets & Lies, which debuts at Loose Id on January 20th. Hope you all enjoy this first glimpse of Cadge and Red's tale.
*
An Excerpt from Amanda Young’s The Hard Truth
© Amanda Young, All Rights Reserved
*
An Excerpt from Amanda Young’s The Hard Truth
© Amanda Young, All Rights Reserved
Red stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The plush blue carpet and beige silk décor melted away as his gaze zeroed in on the naked splendor of the only man he’d ever loved.
Cadge stood facing the window. The way he held himself -- the inward turn of his broad shoulders and the downward-tilted angle of his proud chin -- screamed of discontent. Silver moonlight illuminated his bare chest and shoulders in dim light. Shadows clung to his muscular back and long, athletic legs. The rounded curve of his buttocks and the shaded dip between groin and thigh teased Red with what he couldn’t make out -- what he desperately wanted to see and touch. And taste.
Without any prompting, his feet carried him across the room and into the open doorway between the sitting room and bedroom. His body clamored for him to move closer, his balls tight from no more than a glimpse of Cadge’s nudity.
“I’m not complaining,” Red said. “But why are you naked?” It wasn’t everyday he got to see the object of his fantasies come to life. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Cadge in nothing but skin.
No, that isn’t exactly true. He could recall the last time, although he hadn’t been able to take the time to fully appreciate the view.
Close to a decade earlier, not long before Cadge had hooked up with Adrian, they’d had quick and dirty sex in an alley outside of a pub in London to celebrate Red’s promotion to head regulator. They wouldn’t have been together then if they hadn’t both been drunk off their asses on blood laced with opium. The entire encounter had lasted less than twenty minutes, and they hadn’t even gotten completely naked. Thanks to a lack of lube, Red’s ass had burned and ached for hours, but he hadn’t regretted a single second of the encounter. Cadge never said a word about it afterward. Red wasn’t entirely sure he even remembered it.
Cadge shrugged. “I took a shower and didn’t have anything clean to put on.”
“I’m sorry, Cadge. I forgot all of your things are still in the SUV. I’ll have to get them out for you.”
“What difference does it make?” Cadge questioned, without turning away from the window. “Isn’t this what you want? Me, vulnerable and at your mercy?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
Red wasn’t sure how to take Cadge’s offhand comment, so he let it go. Cadge had always been a little flippant, even in the best of times, and he had to be stressed out after everything that had happened in the last week. Not to mention the little show downstairs.
Red’s arms itched to enfold Cadge and smooth away the other man’s worry. He wanted to hold Cadge close and promise him everything would be okay. Maybe if he meant it from the bottom of his heart and tried his hardest to convince Cadge, he’d be able to believe it himself.
“Do you want to talk about whatever’s eating you?” He stepped behind Cadge and wrapped his arms around him, placing his own forearms underneath the hard ridge of Cadge’s where they crossed under his heart. “If you’re worried about the meeting, you shouldn’t be. The council is always a bit stuffy.”
“It isn’t that.”
“What is it, then?” Red inhaled the musky scent of Cadge skin, the slightly fruity scent of soap and shampoo, and fought like hell to resist the urge to bury his face in the shinning waves of Cadge’s dark hair. An embrace was one thing; sniffing Cadge like a rutting dog was another. He couldn’t help the hard-on pressing against Cadge’s ass. It was a product easily explained away by lust. Red didn’t mind letting Cadge think he was hot for his body; he couldn’t stomach revealing the depths of his feelings. He could take having his sexual advances rebuffed. Having his heart stomped was another matter.
Cadge’s pulse picked up. Red could hear it beating hard and fast, the blood pumping through veins and arteries in a fast rush of sweet, succulent life. His gums tingled from the mere thought of being able to taste the other man’s essence burst over his tongue.
Before he realized he was moving, Red’s mouth was pressed tight against the velvety skin of Cadge’s throat. Cadge’s pulse thundered against Red’s lips, egging him to take what he craved, to sink his teeth into Cadge’s flesh and drink. His glanced down over Cadge’s shoulder and watched the rise and fall of firm pectorals. The proof of Cadge’s desire jutted from his groin, stiff and heavily veined. The thick shaft bowed under its own exceptional girth, the swollen head ripe with juice that caught the dim light and glistened like manna from Heaven. Red’s mouth watered against Cadge’s neck.
Cadge cleared his throat. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Red pinched his eyes closed. He brushed his lips over Cadge’s jugular in a gentle kiss, trying to make it seem as if that had been his intention all along, and lifted his head.
Cadge’s chest rose and fell, although he remained perfectly still otherwise. “Let go.”
“Why?” Red loosened his grip on Cadge and ran his hand down the cobbled surface of the other man’s abs toward the hard staff between his legs. “You obviously like it.”
“Just because my cock gets hard for you doesn’t mean I want your hands on me.”
“I would say that’s exactly what it means.” Feeling brave, Red clasped the base of Cadge’s dick and gave it a squeeze. He’d come this far. He may as well do what he wanted. “Why don’t you quit playing hard to get and give us what we both want? It’s just sex.” He dropped his other hand and cupped the heavy weight of Cadge’s balls. “It doesn’t have to mean anything more than two friends helping each other out, and it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”
Cadge jerked his shoulders, breaking Red’s hold on him, and walked out of the room without a word. Red followed, his gaze drawn to the firm mounds of Cadge’s ass as it flexed with each step. What he wouldn’t give to bury himself balls deep between those succulent cheeks, to hear his name spill from Cadge’s lips in pleasure. Making love to Cadge, their panting, writhing bodies locked as one, was the closest thing to a homecoming he could imagine.
It was a damn shame Cadge didn’t feel the same way.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
A taste
An undedited excerpt from my, as yet, untitled single author anthology coming out from Lethe Press.
His statement caught me off guard. I stammered. "That's it?" I don’t know what I was expecting. I mean, I was back on the clock and all, but seemed odd to do the fun, gotta run routine.
"It?" Like he knew what I was thinking, Vito smirked.
"I mean, well, earlier." I was trying to put the jumble in brain into words and it wasn’t working real well. "We're done?"
"Yeah," Vito leaned in close and whispered, "for now."
I didn't really want it to be done. "I mean, you know," I hedged, "I could go for more. If you want?"
That got Vito laughing. "Ahh, you're so young." He teased.
"I'm thirty." I protested.
"And I'm past fifty." Vito slapped my chest with the back of his hand. I got to laugh when Vito hissed and shook out his hand. Kevlar hurt when you smacked it. "So," Vito glared, "you're young, just get used to that. I don't need it." His expression switched to one of his super sexy and naughty grins. "Fact, I can wait. I want to wait. 'Cause when I get you all naked and sweaty." Being naked and sweaty with Vito sounded like heaven. "I want to really enjoy it. When you mellow out a little, you start to figure out, a little delayed gratification adds that edge. Come on, wasn't there ever a guy you wanted so much and you had to wait and wait and when it finally happened…"
I didn't have much choice, about the waiting. Still, I could yank him some for making me. "Crappiest lay I ever had." I even managed to dead pan the statement.
Vito rolled his eyes and spread his palms up and out. "God hates me." Turning away, he walked out of the shed still talking, "I'm trying to teach you something," he lectured, "and you just ruin it." When I came up behind him, he twisted a little and whispered, "I'll try not to be the second crappiest lay you ever had."
"You're a piece of work, Vito."
"Took a lot of years to get here." Vito smacked my ass this time. I'm sure my eyes went huge, 'cause he started laughing. "Go on, kid." Vito stepped away and shooed me off with a flick of his hand. "Go back to work and be all amped up. 'Cause, I tell you, when you're with me…we go slow, goditi la vita. You need to stop trying to make it. Enjoy where you are."
"What, give up achieving?" I didn't leave. I didn't want to stop just hanging out with Vito. "Forget trying for Lieutenant?"
"No, but why make Sergeant if you can't enjoy being a Sergeant, ah?" He shrugged. "Take the time to really live." I thought he was going to hit me with more advice. Instead, he stepped away again and belted out in his deep rich voice, "It's now or never come hold me tight, kiss me my darling, be mine tonight. Tomorrow will be too late it's now or never, my love won't wait."
I jerked around, making sure no one was close. "What the hell?" There's being out and there's just plain drawing attention to things.
"Not hell, Caruso." Vito laughed. As he walked backwards, Vito sang, "Ma n'atu sole chiã, bello oi nã." Shit, the man could sing. "O sole mio sta 'nfronte a te!" And he was singing…to me. In Italian.
How fucking corney.
Sappy.
Goddamn romantic.
Shithead.
Enjoy a little Vito and Don:
His statement caught me off guard. I stammered. "That's it?" I don’t know what I was expecting. I mean, I was back on the clock and all, but seemed odd to do the fun, gotta run routine.
"It?" Like he knew what I was thinking, Vito smirked.
"I mean, well, earlier." I was trying to put the jumble in brain into words and it wasn’t working real well. "We're done?"
"Yeah," Vito leaned in close and whispered, "for now."
I didn't really want it to be done. "I mean, you know," I hedged, "I could go for more. If you want?"
That got Vito laughing. "Ahh, you're so young." He teased.
"I'm thirty." I protested.
"And I'm past fifty." Vito slapped my chest with the back of his hand. I got to laugh when Vito hissed and shook out his hand. Kevlar hurt when you smacked it. "So," Vito glared, "you're young, just get used to that. I don't need it." His expression switched to one of his super sexy and naughty grins. "Fact, I can wait. I want to wait. 'Cause when I get you all naked and sweaty." Being naked and sweaty with Vito sounded like heaven. "I want to really enjoy it. When you mellow out a little, you start to figure out, a little delayed gratification adds that edge. Come on, wasn't there ever a guy you wanted so much and you had to wait and wait and when it finally happened…"
I didn't have much choice, about the waiting. Still, I could yank him some for making me. "Crappiest lay I ever had." I even managed to dead pan the statement.
Vito rolled his eyes and spread his palms up and out. "God hates me." Turning away, he walked out of the shed still talking, "I'm trying to teach you something," he lectured, "and you just ruin it." When I came up behind him, he twisted a little and whispered, "I'll try not to be the second crappiest lay you ever had."
"You're a piece of work, Vito."
"Took a lot of years to get here." Vito smacked my ass this time. I'm sure my eyes went huge, 'cause he started laughing. "Go on, kid." Vito stepped away and shooed me off with a flick of his hand. "Go back to work and be all amped up. 'Cause, I tell you, when you're with me…we go slow, goditi la vita. You need to stop trying to make it. Enjoy where you are."
"What, give up achieving?" I didn't leave. I didn't want to stop just hanging out with Vito. "Forget trying for Lieutenant?"
"No, but why make Sergeant if you can't enjoy being a Sergeant, ah?" He shrugged. "Take the time to really live." I thought he was going to hit me with more advice. Instead, he stepped away again and belted out in his deep rich voice, "It's now or never come hold me tight, kiss me my darling, be mine tonight. Tomorrow will be too late it's now or never, my love won't wait."
I jerked around, making sure no one was close. "What the hell?" There's being out and there's just plain drawing attention to things.
"Not hell, Caruso." Vito laughed. As he walked backwards, Vito sang, "Ma n'atu sole chiã, bello oi nã." Shit, the man could sing. "O sole mio sta 'nfronte a te!" And he was singing…to me. In Italian.
How fucking corney.
Sappy.
Goddamn romantic.
Shithead.
Monday, October 6, 2008
A sneak peek of Reckless Seduction
Blurb:
When nineteen year old Cody Bradbury gets his hands on an invitation to the hottest party of the year at The Casbah, an exclusive gay men’s club owned by his uncle, he doesn’t plan to let anything stand in his way of attending. With a stolen invitation, fake identification, and a hastily thrown together costume, Cody sneaks into the club during its annual Halloween party with the intention of checking out the action and possibly losing his long-despised cherry.
Cody can’t believe his good luck when Dante Santiago comes on to him. He’s had a hard-on for his uncle’s friend, Dante ever since he realized what his dick was good for. He’s so enamored of the older man that he doesn’t think twice when Dante starts referring to him as pretty boy, instead of by his given name.
He knows Dante wants his body, but is there any chance the older man might want more than an orgasm? There’s only one way to find out, and Cody plans to make it a night neither of them will ever forget.
An Excerpt from Amanda Young’s Reckless Seduction
© Amanda Young, 2008 All Rights Reserved
Luck was with Cody as he entered the club. There was a new guy on duty at the door who didn’t look twice at his fake ID or ask him to remove the black latex Zorro mask that stretched across his eyes and tied at the back of his head.
With mixed emotions -- excitement and trepidation both high on the list -- Cody strode through a well-lit foyer and handed off the trench coat he’d worn over his outfit to a smokin’ hot coat-check clerk. The man sported a head full of ebony dreadlocks and wore nothing but a tiny tiger-print loincloth across his lean hips. He whistled while he looked Cody up and down. “Very nice.”
“Thank you,” Cody said, preening a little as he accepted his coat ticket and walked on by. He knew he looked good in the black latex bootie shorts and matching vest, but it was always nice to have it confirmed by someone else. He loved the shining silver zipper that ran down the front of his shorts, allowing him easy access to his package if he felt the need to get naughty in a hurry. The soft leather vest hugged his chest like a second layer of skin and was held closed by three silver snaps. The black patent leather boots he’d purchased that morning were a nice touch; the platform soles gave him two extra inches of height while the upper portion laced up the front and clung to his calves. The boots stopped just short of his knees and left plenty of skin on display. The overall effect left him feeling half-naked and loving it.
It seemed like all eyes were on him as he entered the main room. Men were packed into the club like sardines, walls of naked flesh as far as the eye could see. Pulsing techno music poured from invisible speakers, overwhelming Cody’s sense of hearing.
There was so much to look at that Cody didn’t know what to concentrate on first. People were all around him, a sea of face paint and leather. There were young men, old men, and every age in between strutting their wares for all to see. Some of the costumes were outlandish -- yellow, feathered chicken outfits and one sad purple grape. Men dressed in drag, with sequined dresses and fancy wigs. Others were more intriguing, like the leather daddies and their boys. While there were some men decked out to the nines in tuxedos, others chose to bare as much skin as possible without being naked. One such man leered at Cody as he walked by, the dingy jockstrap obviously well worn.
Cody rolled his eyes, not even tempted to follow someone with such questionable hygiene, and turned his attention to the club itself. Instead of the garish orange and black one would expect to find in honor of the holiday, the club was decorated in black and white. Male go-go dancers shook their stuff atop white pillars strategically set around the room, their costumes little more than black jockstraps and boots. White curtains draped the outside of black leather booths on either side of the huge dance floor. A double staircase at opposite ends of the room led to the second floor, which was pitch-black and evidently off limits, judging from the white rope blocking the entrances. From rumor alone, Cody knew that was where the real action went down. People whispered of erotic acts that dissolved into orgies of epic proportions.
As he stood gaping at the scenery, Cody spotted a man dressed as a dark angel at the back of the room. Revolving white light spilled from the DJ’s booth and backlit his heavy musculature and a wild plumage of ebony wings. A mask, much like Cody’s own, hid the upper half of the man’s face, making his aquiline nose and full lips more prominent. The black leather harness that crisscrossed his wide chest and leather pants left little to the imagination and sent Cody’s blood racing south.
Christ, that guy is hot. He stared, his heart pounding. His dick, trapped at an uncomfortable angle, throbbed against the inner lining of his latex shorts.
Cody couldn’t wait to meet men and throw himself out into social scene. The club practically pulsed with life and vitality, and he wanted a little of that to rub off on him. Maybe he’d walk away with some new friends, or even a potential boyfriend or two.
He bounced, excited for the festivities to begin. Tonight was going to be the best night of his life. He just knew it.
Available in October at Loose Id
Monday, June 16, 2008
Available tomorrow: Secrets and Lies
Blurb:
After the near genocide of his race, Teague Johnson now spends his life hiding in plain sight. In a city of populated by humans and nightfeeders alike, he and his brother are forced to cloak themselves in forged histories in order to blend in among the hierarchy of society.
When he’s not working at Oasis, the sex club he and his brother own, Teague keeps to himself. He relies on strangers to feed his sexual desires, but anything more intimate is off limits. A nosy boyfriend snooping around in his business is the last thing he needs.
Kyle Drake’s arrival at the club makes Teague rethink his favorable stance on one night stands. From the very first touch, Teague can’t get enough of Kyle. Their weekly trysts give Teague a reason to anticipate the future -- until Kyle unexpectedly disappears.
A visit from an old friend thrusts Teague’s life under a microscope and endangers everything he holds dear. Allegiances are tested, and the lines of friendship blur in a race to stop an inhuman killer. Kyle’s fate hinges on Teague’s ability to untangle the intricate web of secrets and lies before it’s too late.
After the near genocide of his race, Teague Johnson now spends his life hiding in plain sight. In a city of populated by humans and nightfeeders alike, he and his brother are forced to cloak themselves in forged histories in order to blend in among the hierarchy of society.
When he’s not working at Oasis, the sex club he and his brother own, Teague keeps to himself. He relies on strangers to feed his sexual desires, but anything more intimate is off limits. A nosy boyfriend snooping around in his business is the last thing he needs.
Kyle Drake’s arrival at the club makes Teague rethink his favorable stance on one night stands. From the very first touch, Teague can’t get enough of Kyle. Their weekly trysts give Teague a reason to anticipate the future -- until Kyle unexpectedly disappears.
A visit from an old friend thrusts Teague’s life under a microscope and endangers everything he holds dear. Allegiances are tested, and the lines of friendship blur in a race to stop an inhuman killer. Kyle’s fate hinges on Teague’s ability to untangle the intricate web of secrets and lies before it’s too late.
Excerpt:
Kyle Drake leaned against the large, circular bar set dead center in the cavernous room and took a languorous sip from the longneck beer bottle gripped in his clammy fist. He gazed restlessly over the crowded dance floor, unmoved by the sight of dozens of sweaty men and women in various stages of undress, bumping and grinding to the heavy thump of classic rock that pulsed out of the loudspeakers overhead. The scene should’ve had some effect on him, since the men outnumbered the women by a ratio of six to one, but it didn’t. All those hot male bodies rutting and writhing -- acres of scantily clad flesh to choose from -- and all he felt was impatience.Taking another long pull from his drink, Kyle turned his focus to the small clusters of people socializing here and there along the fringes of the large open room. He squinted to see better through the dim atmosphere, searching for one man who made his pulse pound and his dick ache for attention.
A pale, ginger-haired man, dressed in black denim and a sleeveless black T-shirt that accentuated his bulging biceps, walked past Kyle and looked him over. Kyle glanced away before the other man thought he was interested. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the redhead shrug and moved on.
Since he’d arrived at Club Oasis thirty minutes ago, Kyle had been cruised by several men and women. Their gazes had met his for just the right duration; their come hither smiles trying to lure him into accompanying them out onto the packed dance floor or, more likely, into one of the secluded booths in the back room. His face heated as he recalled the way one woman had pulled down her stretchy shirt and waved her pendulous breasts at him, pouting when he shook his head and looked away. She’d had a nice pair, he had to give her that, but he’d never been much on tits.
Firm pecs and hard nipples are much more my style.
Through it all, his dick remained flaccid inside the snug black jeans he’d squeezed into earlier in the evening. His body refused to react to their offerings, holding out for the one man who turned his insides to putty and made him come so hard his eyes rolled back in his head. A man Kyle already knew he couldn’t have for anything more than a casual fuck.
Teague Johnson, sex on legs and co-owner of Club Oasis, was an enigma. An unending mix of smooth sensuality and mystery that Kyle’s brain raced to unravel, while his body simply yearned for more. More contact, more time…more everything.
Kyle had met the other man upon joining the club with his then boyfriend Darren and had instantly been attracted to the tall, virile man. Shortly thereafter, Darren had ditched him for an older, richer, sugar daddy, and Kyle had been free to indulge in his desire for Teague.
After the first hasty fuck in the backroom, he honestly hadn’t expected to get a repeat performance from the sexy club proprietor. He’d been off his game that night, so excited by the prospect of cornering the other man that he’d shot his load almost the minute Teague pushed inside him. Mortification was an understatement compared to what he felt in response to popping off like a horny boy with his thieved copy of Playgirl. To his surprise, Teague had approached him the following weekend, and their routine was born. For the last few months, they’d been fucking every Saturday.
Kyle kept waiting for Teague to move onto someone fresh and new, but he hadn’t yet. The arrangement would have been perfect, and had been for a couple of months, but lately Kyle found himself wanting to talk to the other man, to share things he had no business discussing with someone who was only a fuck-buddy.
The situation was as annoying as it was hopeless. Yet there he stood, back at the club on Saturday night, waiting to see if he’d have another shot at the man he was quickly falling for, despite the knowledge that his feelings would never be returned. Coming here, making himself available, was an effort in futility. It was also a compulsion Kyle couldn’t resist.
He was smart enough to realize things would end badly -- probably sooner rather than later. That hadn’t stopped him from acting on the strong impulse to be with Teague, not tonight or any of the previous nights he’d broken down and given in to the urge. His sexual demons rode him as hard as he yearned for Teague’s touch. No matter how pathetic and empty he felt afterward, there was just something about the other man that kept drawing him back for more.
Finally, he spotted Teague off to the right side of the building near the entrance. The other man loomed a head above the crowd, chatting with a small group of men Kyle didn’t recognize. Even amid the cluster of more heavily built men decked out in everything from leather to spandex, Teague stood out like a beacon, a flame among the embers.
Kyle watched as his lover’s gaze casually scanned the room, even as he laughed in response to something one of the men said. Although he knew he was staring like a lovelorn kid, Kyle couldn’t look away. This was Teague in his element, always watchful, always…on. It made him wonder what his lover would be like outside of work. Would he be alert and reserved as he was here? The thought skittered away when Teague turned in his direction and their gazes clashed across the space separating them.
Kyle shivered, Teague’s penetrating stare as potent as a hand caressing his fly, and lifted his beer in way of hello. Teague acknowledged Kyle with a barely perceivable nod before turning his attention back to the men around him.
Kyle’s pulse thrummed, his blood rushing south to fill his shaft, making it ache from just one simple glimpse of his lover. He gulped down the last of his beer, the semi-cold dregs barely enough to quench his thirst, and set the empty bottle down on the bar. Glancing at his watch, he pushed the button on the side to light up the face and noted it was nearly midnight.
After sneaking one last glance at his lover, Kyle began to weave his way through the crush of people toward the backroom. Teague did a walk-through at ten, twelve, and two -- you could set your watch by his punctuality -- and Kyle planned to be there when the other man showed up.
He pushed aside the curtain of chains separating the illustrious backroom from the main floor and stepped into the dimly lit corridor. The stout tang of semen and sweat hung in the air, a hint of something almost coppery under the stronger scents. The wet slap of flesh and hoarse male groans echoed through the passage.
Tiny booths lined each side of hallway, each cubicle with its own large viewing window from approximately waist-height up to the eight feet ceilings. Crimson velveteen drapes shielded the glass, on the off chance whomever used them wanted privacy. He seemed to be the only club member who preferred to keep his sexual activities private.
Within the tight confines of his jeans, Kyle’s dick twitched and began to swell in anticipation. He stepped inside, his eyesight gradually adjusting to the change in light. Although he had planned to walk to the end of the corridor and wait in one of the last rooms for Teague, that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his mind and sneak a glimpse of the other things going on around him. Looking had never hurt anyone, but it did give him some extra creative ideas for what he and Teague could do during their time together. The man was an inspiration to Kyle’s libido. While he would be more than satisfied by straight sucking and fucking, he didn’t think that would hold his lover’s attention for long. Teague owned a sex club, for God’s sake; there probably wasn’t much he hadn’t seen or done a time or ten. The last thing Kyle wanted was for him to get bored.
Quick peeks into the first couple of six-by-nine rooms provided glimpses of unknown couples in different stages of vanilla sex. One man had his female partner pinned to the glass, the globes of her round buttocks pressing more firmly against the viewing window with every thrust. Another man stood facing the far wall, his ass pushed out, while his male partner held his ass cheeks open and noisily slurped at his hole. Neither was anything that really caught Kyle’s attention.
The third room offered up something a little different and he stopped for a moment to watch the threesome inside. Morbid curiosity kept his feet glued to the floor as two large bruisers fucked a slight blond man. The twink hung suspended in a sling connected to the exposed beams in the ceiling, strips of black leather tethered by silver metal rings crisscrossing his pale body and bracketing his thighs. A blood red ball gag spread his lips wide, his eyes scrunched tight in pleasure, pain, or a little of both.
More interesting than the tools of their trade, or even each man’s individual appeal, was the fact that the blond was lifted to the perfect height between his partners’s muscular bodies, his hips at the perfect angle to accept either of their sizeable pricks inside his ass. Kyle studied their rhythm as they plowed in and out, the steady cadence of back and forth that grew faster, rougher with every ragged inhalation. The measure of their thrusts seemed like a dance, one pulling out while the other squeezed inside, the timing behind each lunge impeccable.
Kyle considered what it must feel like for the man in the middle, to be surrounded by all that hot, silky skin rubbing over every inch of his body while his lovers held him captive. His ass cheeks clenched just thinking about it. On the other hand, being one of the men doing the fucking, squeezing into that hot, tight hole… That sounded pretty fucking good, too. His dick jerked inside his Levi’s with the intense desire to find out.
Would a threesome be something Teague was into? He’d have to think on that one a little more before suggesting it. It was an interesting thought, but sometimes fantasy didn’t play out well in reality. He knew that better than anyone.
The blond moaned around his gag, a shudder running through his slender body, as he came in what Kyle imagined would be the first of many orgasms before his partners were finished with him.
He tore himself away from the trio and continued down the hall, ignoring the other rooms and occupants in favor of finding an empty one to await Teague. Watching was fun, but it only went so far.
Kyle rubbed the heel of his hand over the stiff outline of his cock and winced. The metal teeth of the zipper bit into his flesh, chafing the delicate skin of his shaft. If he didn’t get some relief soon he was going to have permanent track marks up and down his dick. He shuddered. If he wanted to decorate his prick, he’d wear a cock ring or get a piercing. Scars didn’t bear thinking on.
After locating an empty room at the end of the hall, he slipped inside and pulled the drapes shut behind him. Kyle quickly undressed and folded his clothes, laying them in a neat pile in one corner of the bare room.
Naked save for white cotton ankle socks, Kyle leaned against the back wall and took his cock in hand, loosely stroking its rigid length to full thickness. Soft skin shifted over the hard inner core, the friction barely enough to tease. His eyelids drooped, imagining what would happen once Teague arrived. Looking forward to it.
The faint sound of chains rattling at the end of the hall filled the air with a musical tinkling. Kyle stiffened in anticipation. There was no guarantee the person entering the back room was Teague, but Kyle felt certain it was.
He glanced down at his watch, squinting in the dim light. One minute after twelve. Right on time.
Schooling his respiration into slow and even breaths, Kyle tried to calm the pulse thundering in his ears. He didn’t want to appear too eager, even if it was the only thing he’d been able to think about all week. Showing any expectation -- when their meetings were supposed to be fun and noncommittal -- would be akin to the kiss of death for their non-relationship.
No more than five or six minutes passed before heavy footsteps clattered directly outside the booth. The curtain rustled and slid back with a quiet whoosh, revealing Teague in all his divine glory. A snug black T-shirt hugged his broad chest and lean torso; the short sleeves cupped the muscular contours of his biceps. Leather pants clung to trim hips and long, athletic thighs. As nice as the legs were, it was the impressive bulge between them that made Kyle’s mouth water. He knew precisely what lay beneath the butter soft leather and couldn’t wait to get his hands or his mouth around it. The salty-sweet ambrosia of Teague’s skin was as addictive as methamphetamine, and Kyle couldn’t wait for another taste.
Kyle lifted his eyes and met Teague’s gaze from across the room. Teague still stood in the doorway, casually braced over the threshold. He regarded Kyle with a neutral expression, his dark eyes betraying not a hint of what was on his mind. “Back for more, are you?”
Kyle smiled in spite of the brisk greeting. “You know it.” He forced himself not to take offense at what Teague said. The man seemed overly wary of being too nice, as if a few kind words were the equivalent of exchanging a vow of everlasting love. “I can’t seem to get my fill of you. I’m addicted to your sweet cock. Think I could find a suitable twelve-step program for that?”
Teague let the drapes fall closed behind him and stalked across the room toward Kyle. The fluid, innate grace of his approach made Kyle’s heart race in excitement. Teague stopped a hairsbreadth away from Kyle and rubbed the tip of one forefinger along his collarbone. “I might, but why would you want to go to all that trouble when I’m right here to soothe away your craving?”
A pale, ginger-haired man, dressed in black denim and a sleeveless black T-shirt that accentuated his bulging biceps, walked past Kyle and looked him over. Kyle glanced away before the other man thought he was interested. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the redhead shrug and moved on.
Since he’d arrived at Club Oasis thirty minutes ago, Kyle had been cruised by several men and women. Their gazes had met his for just the right duration; their come hither smiles trying to lure him into accompanying them out onto the packed dance floor or, more likely, into one of the secluded booths in the back room. His face heated as he recalled the way one woman had pulled down her stretchy shirt and waved her pendulous breasts at him, pouting when he shook his head and looked away. She’d had a nice pair, he had to give her that, but he’d never been much on tits.
Firm pecs and hard nipples are much more my style.
Through it all, his dick remained flaccid inside the snug black jeans he’d squeezed into earlier in the evening. His body refused to react to their offerings, holding out for the one man who turned his insides to putty and made him come so hard his eyes rolled back in his head. A man Kyle already knew he couldn’t have for anything more than a casual fuck.
Teague Johnson, sex on legs and co-owner of Club Oasis, was an enigma. An unending mix of smooth sensuality and mystery that Kyle’s brain raced to unravel, while his body simply yearned for more. More contact, more time…more everything.
Kyle had met the other man upon joining the club with his then boyfriend Darren and had instantly been attracted to the tall, virile man. Shortly thereafter, Darren had ditched him for an older, richer, sugar daddy, and Kyle had been free to indulge in his desire for Teague.
After the first hasty fuck in the backroom, he honestly hadn’t expected to get a repeat performance from the sexy club proprietor. He’d been off his game that night, so excited by the prospect of cornering the other man that he’d shot his load almost the minute Teague pushed inside him. Mortification was an understatement compared to what he felt in response to popping off like a horny boy with his thieved copy of Playgirl. To his surprise, Teague had approached him the following weekend, and their routine was born. For the last few months, they’d been fucking every Saturday.
Kyle kept waiting for Teague to move onto someone fresh and new, but he hadn’t yet. The arrangement would have been perfect, and had been for a couple of months, but lately Kyle found himself wanting to talk to the other man, to share things he had no business discussing with someone who was only a fuck-buddy.
The situation was as annoying as it was hopeless. Yet there he stood, back at the club on Saturday night, waiting to see if he’d have another shot at the man he was quickly falling for, despite the knowledge that his feelings would never be returned. Coming here, making himself available, was an effort in futility. It was also a compulsion Kyle couldn’t resist.
He was smart enough to realize things would end badly -- probably sooner rather than later. That hadn’t stopped him from acting on the strong impulse to be with Teague, not tonight or any of the previous nights he’d broken down and given in to the urge. His sexual demons rode him as hard as he yearned for Teague’s touch. No matter how pathetic and empty he felt afterward, there was just something about the other man that kept drawing him back for more.
Finally, he spotted Teague off to the right side of the building near the entrance. The other man loomed a head above the crowd, chatting with a small group of men Kyle didn’t recognize. Even amid the cluster of more heavily built men decked out in everything from leather to spandex, Teague stood out like a beacon, a flame among the embers.
Kyle watched as his lover’s gaze casually scanned the room, even as he laughed in response to something one of the men said. Although he knew he was staring like a lovelorn kid, Kyle couldn’t look away. This was Teague in his element, always watchful, always…on. It made him wonder what his lover would be like outside of work. Would he be alert and reserved as he was here? The thought skittered away when Teague turned in his direction and their gazes clashed across the space separating them.
Kyle shivered, Teague’s penetrating stare as potent as a hand caressing his fly, and lifted his beer in way of hello. Teague acknowledged Kyle with a barely perceivable nod before turning his attention back to the men around him.
Kyle’s pulse thrummed, his blood rushing south to fill his shaft, making it ache from just one simple glimpse of his lover. He gulped down the last of his beer, the semi-cold dregs barely enough to quench his thirst, and set the empty bottle down on the bar. Glancing at his watch, he pushed the button on the side to light up the face and noted it was nearly midnight.
After sneaking one last glance at his lover, Kyle began to weave his way through the crush of people toward the backroom. Teague did a walk-through at ten, twelve, and two -- you could set your watch by his punctuality -- and Kyle planned to be there when the other man showed up.
He pushed aside the curtain of chains separating the illustrious backroom from the main floor and stepped into the dimly lit corridor. The stout tang of semen and sweat hung in the air, a hint of something almost coppery under the stronger scents. The wet slap of flesh and hoarse male groans echoed through the passage.
Tiny booths lined each side of hallway, each cubicle with its own large viewing window from approximately waist-height up to the eight feet ceilings. Crimson velveteen drapes shielded the glass, on the off chance whomever used them wanted privacy. He seemed to be the only club member who preferred to keep his sexual activities private.
Within the tight confines of his jeans, Kyle’s dick twitched and began to swell in anticipation. He stepped inside, his eyesight gradually adjusting to the change in light. Although he had planned to walk to the end of the corridor and wait in one of the last rooms for Teague, that didn’t mean he couldn’t change his mind and sneak a glimpse of the other things going on around him. Looking had never hurt anyone, but it did give him some extra creative ideas for what he and Teague could do during their time together. The man was an inspiration to Kyle’s libido. While he would be more than satisfied by straight sucking and fucking, he didn’t think that would hold his lover’s attention for long. Teague owned a sex club, for God’s sake; there probably wasn’t much he hadn’t seen or done a time or ten. The last thing Kyle wanted was for him to get bored.
Quick peeks into the first couple of six-by-nine rooms provided glimpses of unknown couples in different stages of vanilla sex. One man had his female partner pinned to the glass, the globes of her round buttocks pressing more firmly against the viewing window with every thrust. Another man stood facing the far wall, his ass pushed out, while his male partner held his ass cheeks open and noisily slurped at his hole. Neither was anything that really caught Kyle’s attention.
The third room offered up something a little different and he stopped for a moment to watch the threesome inside. Morbid curiosity kept his feet glued to the floor as two large bruisers fucked a slight blond man. The twink hung suspended in a sling connected to the exposed beams in the ceiling, strips of black leather tethered by silver metal rings crisscrossing his pale body and bracketing his thighs. A blood red ball gag spread his lips wide, his eyes scrunched tight in pleasure, pain, or a little of both.
More interesting than the tools of their trade, or even each man’s individual appeal, was the fact that the blond was lifted to the perfect height between his partners’s muscular bodies, his hips at the perfect angle to accept either of their sizeable pricks inside his ass. Kyle studied their rhythm as they plowed in and out, the steady cadence of back and forth that grew faster, rougher with every ragged inhalation. The measure of their thrusts seemed like a dance, one pulling out while the other squeezed inside, the timing behind each lunge impeccable.
Kyle considered what it must feel like for the man in the middle, to be surrounded by all that hot, silky skin rubbing over every inch of his body while his lovers held him captive. His ass cheeks clenched just thinking about it. On the other hand, being one of the men doing the fucking, squeezing into that hot, tight hole… That sounded pretty fucking good, too. His dick jerked inside his Levi’s with the intense desire to find out.
Would a threesome be something Teague was into? He’d have to think on that one a little more before suggesting it. It was an interesting thought, but sometimes fantasy didn’t play out well in reality. He knew that better than anyone.
The blond moaned around his gag, a shudder running through his slender body, as he came in what Kyle imagined would be the first of many orgasms before his partners were finished with him.
He tore himself away from the trio and continued down the hall, ignoring the other rooms and occupants in favor of finding an empty one to await Teague. Watching was fun, but it only went so far.
Kyle rubbed the heel of his hand over the stiff outline of his cock and winced. The metal teeth of the zipper bit into his flesh, chafing the delicate skin of his shaft. If he didn’t get some relief soon he was going to have permanent track marks up and down his dick. He shuddered. If he wanted to decorate his prick, he’d wear a cock ring or get a piercing. Scars didn’t bear thinking on.
After locating an empty room at the end of the hall, he slipped inside and pulled the drapes shut behind him. Kyle quickly undressed and folded his clothes, laying them in a neat pile in one corner of the bare room.
Naked save for white cotton ankle socks, Kyle leaned against the back wall and took his cock in hand, loosely stroking its rigid length to full thickness. Soft skin shifted over the hard inner core, the friction barely enough to tease. His eyelids drooped, imagining what would happen once Teague arrived. Looking forward to it.
The faint sound of chains rattling at the end of the hall filled the air with a musical tinkling. Kyle stiffened in anticipation. There was no guarantee the person entering the back room was Teague, but Kyle felt certain it was.
He glanced down at his watch, squinting in the dim light. One minute after twelve. Right on time.
Schooling his respiration into slow and even breaths, Kyle tried to calm the pulse thundering in his ears. He didn’t want to appear too eager, even if it was the only thing he’d been able to think about all week. Showing any expectation -- when their meetings were supposed to be fun and noncommittal -- would be akin to the kiss of death for their non-relationship.
No more than five or six minutes passed before heavy footsteps clattered directly outside the booth. The curtain rustled and slid back with a quiet whoosh, revealing Teague in all his divine glory. A snug black T-shirt hugged his broad chest and lean torso; the short sleeves cupped the muscular contours of his biceps. Leather pants clung to trim hips and long, athletic thighs. As nice as the legs were, it was the impressive bulge between them that made Kyle’s mouth water. He knew precisely what lay beneath the butter soft leather and couldn’t wait to get his hands or his mouth around it. The salty-sweet ambrosia of Teague’s skin was as addictive as methamphetamine, and Kyle couldn’t wait for another taste.
Kyle lifted his eyes and met Teague’s gaze from across the room. Teague still stood in the doorway, casually braced over the threshold. He regarded Kyle with a neutral expression, his dark eyes betraying not a hint of what was on his mind. “Back for more, are you?”
Kyle smiled in spite of the brisk greeting. “You know it.” He forced himself not to take offense at what Teague said. The man seemed overly wary of being too nice, as if a few kind words were the equivalent of exchanging a vow of everlasting love. “I can’t seem to get my fill of you. I’m addicted to your sweet cock. Think I could find a suitable twelve-step program for that?”
Teague let the drapes fall closed behind him and stalked across the room toward Kyle. The fluid, innate grace of his approach made Kyle’s heart race in excitement. Teague stopped a hairsbreadth away from Kyle and rubbed the tip of one forefinger along his collarbone. “I might, but why would you want to go to all that trouble when I’m right here to soothe away your craving?”
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
The Regent's Knight by J.M. Snyder
My latest release is The Regent’s Knight, a fantasy set in the pre-industrial land of Pharr. It's part of the "Secret Lives" AmberPax collection and (I think) is quite a fun read.Here's a little tidbit of trivia for you ... my very first novel ever was an epic fantasy called The Magical Stones of Pharr, which I wrote while in high school. While that story will never see the light of day (and for good reason), I decided to usurp the land in which the story took place and revisit it for this story.
Blurb:
Prince Amery Llewellen is the only son of King Adin of Pharr and heir to the throne. When his father is lost in battle with the barbaric tribes invading the northern Pharrisian border, Amery becomes regent in his father’s stead. The royal advisers pressure him to take the crown and assume the throne, but doing so will force him to take a wife as well. Amery is loathe to do that, because he’s deeply in love with one of his knights, Sir Tovin Raimus, from the southland.
Such a relationship is forbidden ~ both because Tovin is another man and because he is a knight, much below the station of a prince. After King Adin forbid their union, Tovin and Amery masked their love with fights and arguments designed to make the servants believe they loathe each other. The whole castle dreads the news that the northern border has been breached, because when Tovin is assigned the position of castellan, that makes him head of castle security. His being stationed so near the regent has the servants believing the two will fight to the death.
That’s just a farce to keep their love a secret. But Pharr needs a crowned ruler, and Amery must decide whether to take his rightful place on the throne or forsake his kingdom for the love of one man.
EXCERPT:
NOTE: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.
“Gods,” Tovin breathed as he crawled onto Amery.
The regent started to speak but Tovin covered his mouth with his own, silencing him with a hungry kiss as his hands roamed the smooth body beneath him. His fingers plucked Amery’s nipples erect, eliciting gasps of delight from his lover. Moving lower, he brushed away the hand at Amery’s crotch and grasped the thick length, massaging it in his fist, working it hard.
“Tovin,” Amery managed to murmur between kisses. When Tovin cupped his balls and tickled one forefinger along the tender skin behind them, the regent arched into the knight’s body and moaned. “It’s been too long.”
Straddling Amery’s hips, Tovin sat back and pulled off his surcoat. “It has,” he agreed with a grin.
The regent reached for him, hands tugging at the scant hair on his chest, then thumbing over his nipples. Each touch sent a sliver of pleasure spiking through Tovin like lightning, striking his overly sensitive nipples and shooting down to stir the blood already thickening in his dick. He could come from such play ~ one of the first times he and Amery had been together, when they were still teenagers and kissing was the extent of their lovemaking, Amery had been amused to find that a few minutes’ suckling on Tovin’s teats was more than enough to get him off.
Catching Amery’s hands in his, Tovin raised them to his mouth and kissed each fingertip. “Stop that,” he admonished, “or I won’t be able to pierce that sexy ass of yours with my sword.”
Amery laughed and, twisting one hand free from Tovin’s grip, poked at the bulge in the front of the knight’s breeches. “Your sword? Is that what this is? Unsheathe it, knight, and wield it for me. Let me test its breadth and heft. Let me feel its blade.”
Tovin rocked back, his buttocks pressing Amery’s hard cock against his own legs. The regent’s mocking words dissolved in a gasp of delight as his eyes shut against the sensations caused by Tovin’s body against his. The hand at his crotch bunched in the fabric covering his erection with a gentle squeeze that made him moan.
Catching that hand again, Tovin raised it to the other and held both of Amery’s wrists against his chest. “I have an idea,” he announced.
“What’s that?” Amery wiggled his hips beneath Tovin to remind him that he was waiting for something more. “Can you tell me later?”
Tovin laughed. “I can tell you now,” he replied. “I’m still mostly dressed. These pants aren’t coming off until I’m ready.”
Amery pouted and tried to twist his wrists free from Tovin’s grip. “I think you’re ready now,” he declared. “I’m the regent. My word is law. I say you’re ready.”
Laughing again, Tovin leaned down over the regent, stretching his lover’s hands above his head to keep them out of reach. Amery’s nipples brushed over Tovin’s; he had to close his eyes against the thrill sparked by that touch. Between them, his cock throbbed in his pants, aching for release.
“I think you’re in no position to argue with me now,” he whispered, touching the tip of Amery’s nose with his own. Amery leaned up for a kiss but Tovin pulled away slightly. “Not yet.”
Amery sighed, frustrated. “Kiss me now. I demand it.”
“You can’t make demands here,” Tovin told him.
Buy your copy today!
Friday, March 7, 2008
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…
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
J.M. Snyder's Shorts
It’s a backlist title of mine, but I wanted to pimp Shorts today for two reasons. One, it’s really the book that jump-started my career, in many ways. And two, it’s now available as a wireless download from Amazon’s Kindle Store.In 2005, I was stuck two-thirds of the way through my then WIP, Stepping Up to the Plate. I refused to begin a new novel with one languishing unfinished (I thought if I started something new, I’d never get back to the first book), so I began to write short stories. Several of them appeared online at Ruthie’s Club, an online erotica zine.
By the summer of 2006, I realized it had been a while since I last published something. At this stage of the game, I was self-publishing two books a year, with the exception of the dry spell I suffered during 2005. I figured I better get my AIG and get another book out, but all I had on hand were short stories.
Well, so be it. I’d release a collection of short stories, then. I had 11 I had published through Ruthie’s, and quickly wrote another three to round out the book.
Around this time, an editor contacted me about possibly working with her newly formed publishing house, Aspen Mountain Press. I don’t remember if I was already working on Shorts at the time or not, but I was too sold on the idea of self-publishing the collection that I ended up submitting a different book to them.
But Shorts still helped me get my name out there. This was the first book I submitted to online review sites, which earned me a few new readers. And it also put me in touch with editor Richard Labonte, to whom I sent a review copy, and who promptly asked me to submit something for his Country Boys anthology. Since then, I’ve had stories appear in two of his anthologies, with another two stories coming out in anthologies to be released this year.
So in all, Shorts really provided a much-needed boost to my still budding career. The collection contains 14 erotic short stories, 11 of which were first published online at Ruthie’s Club. Two of them have been published in other anthologies (”Best Friends” in My First Time Volume 5 and, coming later this year, “Hooking Up” in Boys in Heat). One of the stories was re-released in e-book format as part of my ongoing Working Man series (”Easily Addicted”).
The stories run the gamut from contemporary to sci-fi, fetish to pulp … there’s something for everyone in Shorts.
Buy Shorts at Lulu (PDF or HTML) or at Amazon (Kindle).
The excerpt below is from one of my favorite stories in the collection. “Escape” was written for Ruthie’s Club’s science fiction issue. Trace is an intergalactic prisoner whose ship crash-lands on a planet inhabited by a type of clone or replicate called Delta-23. Davin, one of the replicates, has abandoned his fellow replicates to seek out the escaped prisoner alone because he’s never seen anyone who looked different from himself.
This is their meeting …
NOTE: contains sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.
“Escape”
When heated lips covered his, Trace opened his eyes, panicked, before he realized he was being kissed, not suffocated or silenced. An insistent tongue licked the corner of his mouth, seeking entry. How long had it been since he’d been kissed so gently, so tenderly? Years. Before his stint in prison, at least.
The chin above him was hairless and strong and masculine, and Trace gave in to the sensation, closing his eyes again as he let the tongue in. It flicked over his teeth, the inside of his cheeks, his own tongue, before it licked away over his lips and chin. Small kisses soft along his jaw, wet lips closing over his earlobe, a man’s breath in his ear.
Trace brought one hand up from his crotch to feel the close-cropped hair of his visitor, and his fingers found the small tagged piercing high up in one ear that was the mark of a replicate. Opening his eyes again, he leaned back as the man kissed his neck, trying to see more. Slim body beneath a silver and blue jumpsuit, one hand by Trace’s head steadying him above with the other buried in a pocket, ending at an obscene bulge at the crotch. Not an Alpha-10 -- too thin. Into the ear close to his mouth, Trace breathed, “Psi-45? Are you …”
“Delta-23,” the other whispered between kisses. His lips left hot, damp trails along Trace’s collarbone. “The name’s Davin. You’re the first natural-born I’ve ever seen.”
With a laugh, Trace teased, “That explains the special treatment.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Davin sighed.
Trace laughed again because he knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t about to argue. Between his legs, his fingers massaged his balls. His hard dick was beginning to ache.
“I'm Trace,” he murmured -- might as well know each other before they went much farther.
Davin’s reply was to swirl his tongue around one of Trace’s nipples, which made Trace’s cock stand up on its own. Davin moved a little further, kissing down to Trace’s navel so the top of his head was just inches from Trace’s erection. With both hands, Trace found the zipper on the jumpsuit above him and tugged it back. Davin’s undershirt billowed down and Trace slipped his hands beneath it, feeling his way over smooth muscles. He’d been with a replicate before, but not a Delta. When his fingers found hard nipples and pinched them, the mouth on his stomach gasped with delight.
Davin moved lower, using both hands now to hold himself above Trace. He nuzzled the kinked hair at Trace’s crotch, then kissed up his hard length. Pulling down Davin’s zipper as far as it would go, Trace rubbed the sheathed package above him, underwear already damp enough to outline the tip of Davin’s dick. Trace raised himself up on his elbows to press his face against the sex-scented briefs, then nipped at the cock above him. Between Trace’s legs, Davin took him into his mouth. He tongued the swollen tip of Trace’s cock before licking down to the end of the shaft and up again. He went down a second time and Trace rose up to meet him, easing further in. One of Davin’s hands cupped Trace’s ass, the fingers fumbling between his cheeks enough to weaken Trace’s knees.
Hungry with lust, Trace reached up and pulled down Davin’s underwear, exposing a thick dick that unfurled before him and heavy balls that he tongued and kissed. Starting at the base of Davin’s cock, Trace kneaded the length with his lips. When he worked his way to the tip, he licked and toyed with the supple knob, trying to take it into his mouth without repositioning himself. He couldn’t quite get it -- he nudged it with his nose and caught it in his lips, but it was slick with his own saliva and slipped free to hang above him, tantalizing and dripping with pre-cum.
Trace licked at the salty drops as he thrust into the hot, willing mouth around his own erection. Davin’s rhythm increased, pulling Trace towards orgasm, one hand now squeezing the hard cock as he sucked the bulbous head. Trace’s release was mere strokes away. He raised up on his elbows again, took Davin’s soft balls into his mouth, rolled them around on his tongue as he came in short, quick bursts that jerked through him like lightning. Sated, Trace pushed the replicate to the ground, straddled him, and took the elusive cock into his mouth fully until Davin bucked beneath him in release.
Buy Shorts at Lulu (PDF or HTML) or at Amazon (Kindle).
Monday, February 25, 2008
Eye Candy: Available March 4th
Well, since I'm not scheduled for another blog day here until the week after my next release, I thought I would go ahead and share an excerpt of the novella I have coming out on March 4th.
Eye Candy is the sequel to Man Candy, and the story of Logan's twin brother, Jake. A lot of people have emailed asking for his story and I'm thrilled to announce it's finally going to be released with Loose ID next week.
Blurb:
Humiliated by his first love, Jake Remora has no intention of ever making himself vulnerable to that kind of pain again. Life is good, until Kane Sharp moves home and stirs up old memories Jake would rather forget.
Love is a fool’s game Jake Remora has no intention of ever playing again. He works hard, plays even harder, and leaves a string of easy lovers in his wake. Having his first lover move home and resurrect long-dormant emotions is the last thing he ever expected … or wanted.
Just as things reignite between the lovers, a new scandal of sexual impropriety arises. Past and present collide in a clash of rumor and speculation, jeopardizing any hope of a shared future the two men might hope to build.
AN EXCERPT FROM AMANDA YOUNG’S EYE CANDY
© AMANDA YOUNG, 2007
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Jake Remora stormed into the antique store, Time and Again, with a scowl on his face. Bells chimed noisily overhead as he entered; the door slapped shut behind him with a loud thump.
The proprietor, Sam Goode, was a contrary asshole two clicks shy of being older than God and twice as ornery. Sam had left a message on Jake’s cell phone, claiming there were delays in the arrival of the antique French Burl armoire he’d ordered for one of his clients. Since Jake was counting on that piece to finish up a project, he was not a happy camper. He didn’t appreciate having to make excuses for why he was late finishing a job. Interior Design by Jake was his baby; he couldn’t allow someone to fuck with its reputation. Heads were going to roll if there wasn’t a damn good reason for the holdup.
He stomped toward the front counter, his gaze combing the small interior of the shop. Although he vaguely recalled an open sign on the front door, and the inside lights were on, not a single sign of life stirred within the building. Quiet as a grave, the air was redolent of old books and wood, lending to the tomblike atmosphere.
Undeterred, Jake reached the waist-high counter and leaned across it. “Hey, Sam! Quit hiding in the back, and get your crusty old ass out here. I need the piece I ordered.”
A door slammed, followed immediately by silence. Impatience thrummed through him as he stood upright and tapped the rounded toe of his new, chocolate-colored leather Gucci biker boots on the chipped linoleum floor. “Come on, man. I don’t have all day.” A blemish on the cuff of his white cashmere sweater caught his attention. He picked at the navy-colored stain, disgusted to see what looked like ink on his clothing.
Christ. Can’t people clean up after them-fucking-selves? The sound of footsteps reached Jake’s ears. He looked up, expecting to see Sam coming through the door in his trademark overalls and red flannel shirt. Instead, a young blond wearing a black T-shirt and ragged jeans pushed through the swinging door. Judging by the lack of lines around the man’s wide blue eyes and a hint of light brown stubble on the lower half of his round face, Jake guessed him to be in his early twenties.
“I’m sorry you had to wait. It seems like no one ever comes in until I have to take a leak.” The blond grinned, and sweet, little dimples appeared on either side of his plump, pink lips. “What can I do for you?”
Drop to your knees and open wide, was on the tip of Jake’s tongue. “I wasn’t waiting long.” He thrust his hand across the counter. “I’m Jake. And you are?”
The young man maintained eye contact as he took Jake’s hand in his own and gave it a firm shake. The rough pads of his fingers lingered as he slowly pulled away. “I’m Jimmy, Sam’s grandson. Pops had to leave early today -- he had a doctor appointment -- but I can help you with whatever you need.”
I’m sure you can. “I need to check on the status of an order I placed a while back for an armoire.” Suddenly, throwing a bitch-fit didn’t seem quite so urgent. After all, it wasn’t as if a few choice words would make the piece of furniture appear any faster.
“Um, okay. I’m afraid Pops doesn’t believe in updating the store for the twenty-first century, so he doesn’t have a computer that lists his inventory. If you can describe it though, I could go into the back and take a look around for you. See if it’s in.”
“Or, better yet,” Jake interrupted, “I could just come back with you. We could both look for it.” And see what comes up in the interim. “That would be easier than describing the armoire. Quicker, too.”
Jimmy cast a glance back at the storeroom and then at Jake. He blushed. “I’m not so sure about that. Pops doesn’t like for anyone to mess around with his things.”
“I wouldn’t have to touch anything, unless you want me to.” Jake met Jimmy’s gaze, held it, and licked his lips suggestively, testing the waters. He could be way off base, but the curious gleam in Jimmy’s eyes spoke of more than casual interest. The blushing was cute, and a dead giveaway that the other man was interested. “No one has to find out about anything that happens while Sam’s out.” The old man would shit a cookie if he found out his grandson was batting for Jake’s team. Homophobic jackass.
Jimmy blinked. A flush crept up his neck and steadily spread across his cheeks. “I…um…”
“I’m really good at keeping secrets, Jimmy.”
Straight white teeth bit into the plump center of Jimmy’s lower lip. He nodded. “Follow me.” He turned and walked through the door. Jake followed, his dick swelling to attention as his gaze locked on the prize snuggled beneath faded denim.
Jimmy had a fabulous ass: high and tight, like two firm peaches. The analogy made him wonder if Jimmy’s cheeks would be covered in fuzz or bare. He always preferred to fuck a smooth ass, but he wasn’t choosy. As long as it was attached to a healthy, attractive man, he was game. Living in a town full of horny college students certainly had its perks, and he wasn’t above indulging himself in whatever he could get his hands on.
Jake waited until the door swung shut behind them before he pounced. He crowded Jimmy against the wall, cupped his jaw in one hand, and moved in for a kiss. He’d no more than pressed their lips together when Jimmy pushed against his chest.
“Stop. Nothing personal, but I don’t kiss.”
“Okay. Whatever.” Jake felt a little puckish as he spun Jimmy around to face the wall. If the kid didn’t want to kiss, who was he to force it on him? They’d just skip the pleasantries and get right down to it.
He buried his face in the curve of Jimmy’s throat and licked a long path from the base of his neck up to the meaty lobe of his ear. Mmm…salty. Jimmy smelled of soap, wood, and light hint of sweat -- musky and damn near perfect. If there was a better scent in the world, Jake would have been hard-pressed to think of one.
“Don’t leave a mark,” Jimmy whispered, grinding his ass back against the front of Jake’s slacks.
“I won’t.” Jake reached around Jimmy, intent on ridding the younger man of his excess clothing, and found Jimmy’s fly already open. He peeked over the other man’s shoulder and saw a well-proportioned cock, cut and a little on the thin side, jutting above the waistband of plain tighty whiteys. Jimmy grasped the base of his narrow shaft and worked it up and down.
Jimmy shot a sultry look over his shoulder. “Like it?”
“You’ll do.” Jake gave him a wink, grabbed the sides of Jimmy’s pants, and tugged them and his underwear down in one fell swoop. The pert ass he revealed -- the cheeks so firm and tight they clung together and hid the valley between -- was almost enough to bring him to his knees.
“Nice,” he commented, his hands already at the clasp of his slacks. Locked inside its cloth cage, Jake’s prick was more than ready to be set free.
Jake hastily pulled a condom and pillow pack of lube from his right front pocket, while his other hand worked the release on his pants. He unzipped and tugged his dick and balls out, letting the heavy weight of his sac rest atop the elastic band of his boxer briefs. He shoved his bare dick in the furrow between Jimmy’s taut cheeks, relishing the immense heat pouring from the other man’s skin as he rubbed against him. “Want me?” God knew he was about to burst he was so ready to bury himself inside the other man. Jimmy was hot for it, and just his type -- easy.
“God, yes.” Jimmy pressed his ass back into Jake’s crotch and ground against him. “Do it. Fuck me.”
Go me, Jake thought, as he backed, allowing himself enough room to work with the condom. I’ve barely touched him, and he’s already reduced to two-word sentences.
With steady hands, he rolled the condom down over his shaft and secured it at the base. He tore the lube packet open and squeezed out half its contents into his palm, smearing the slick goo over his dick. He enjoyed the feel of his hand around his stiff prick for half a second before the lure of burying himself balls deep inside the tempting ass in front of him regained prominence.
“Spread your ass for me,” Jake demanded, wringing the last of the lube into his cupped hand.
Jimmy’s forehead and shoulder thumped the wall as he pulled his cheeks apart, four thick fingers framing the tender pink skin of his crease. “Like this?”
“Perfect.” Jake groaned, his gaze locked on the rosette of Jimmy’s anus and the sparse whirl of light brown hair surrounding the crinkled pucker. “Fuck. I love your ass,” he murmured then worked the remaining lube over and into the tight little hole with one finger. Too impatient to use much finesse, he quickly added another. Slick heat gripped his fingers and squeezed, giving his dick a preview of how damn tight it would be once he got inside the other man’s passage. He gave his fingers a twist, searching…
“Shit.” Jimmy moaned and jerked, riding Jake’s fingers. “Quit teasing, man. Fuck me.”
“Never let it be said that I left a man wanting.” Jake pulled his fingers out with a wet squelch and lined up his prick. His pulse skipped a beat, taking in the way the broad head of his cock loomed over Jimmy’s tiny hole, ready to split it open. He pushed all the way in with one steady shove, watching as his cock disappeared, inch by slow, pleasurable inch.
God, that was hot.
He grunted as sweet pressure sucked at his shaft like a hungry mouth, and pressed up against the other man’s broad back. “Damn, you’re tight.” Kissing the sensitive dip under Jimmy’s ear, he asked, “Feel good?”
“Yeah. Move. Give it to me.”
“You got it.” Jake got a good grip on Jimmy’s narrow waist and held on as he inched his hips backward until the flared rim of his cock stopped him. Jimmy’s asshole also resisted his effort to disengage their bodies. He lunged back inside, hard and fast, and then did it again, setting a violent pace that made his dick ache and his balls bounce. Jimmy worked with him, pushing back into every thrust and whimpering for more. Jake’s dick felt like it was being crushed inside the tight inferno. Fuck, it felt good. He rolled his hips and propelled his dick in and out, over and again, and chased the orgasm hovering just out of reach.
“Christ.” Jimmy bucked, the walls of his ass undulating around Jake’s shaft. One of Jimmy’s hands slammed into the wall and fisted against the drywall, bracing his weight, as the other sped up along his cock and jerked it in short, rough yanks. “Right there, man. Harder.”
Making a mental note of where “right there” was, Jake made it his personal goal to pound the shit out of that spot. He kept at it, working Jimmy’s ass for all the sensation he could get. Perspiration beaded on his face and neck, his sweater growing damp. He powered in and out, his lungs bellowing as he moved faster, putting everything he had into each thrust.
His balls began to burn and lift, pressure building inside him. “God,” Jake whispered. “I’m close. Gonna come.” Leaving one hand on Jimmy’s hip for leverage, Jake reached around Jimmy with the other and latched onto his slender, upthrust cock with a firm grip. They tugged together in long, full strokes.
Jake panted, so close to coming, but determined to hold off until he felt the other man climax first. Just when he didn’t think he was going to make it -- his balls felt like they were trying to crawl inside his groin, and his dick swollen passed the point of no return -- Jimmy’s ass clenched around his cock. Contractions squeezed his shaft in time with the slick pulses of fluid spurting over his hand.
Thank fuck. Jake closed his eyes, his mind drained of everything but the need to come, and shoved home. He bucked, jerking as the first wave of release rushed over him, and let his load fly inside the snug grip of the condom.
Jake was the first to recover. He eased out of Jimmy’s ass -- the other man’s whimper almost enough to tempt him into asking for a second go-round -- and pulled himself together. “You okay?”
Jimmy didn’t budge from where he leaned against the wall, panting. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.”
Okay. Jake divested himself of the used condom, wrinkling his nose at the mess, and tied it off. He left his wet dick hanging out of his slacks. “Uh, is there a bathroom back here I can use?”
“Sure.” Jimmy waved toward the left. “Just, um, flush it, okay? I don’t want anyone to see it.”
Jake was a little unnerved by the way the guy refused to look at him, but it wasn’t the first time he’d slept with someone who didn’t want to talk afterward. It probably wouldn’t be the last. Hit-it-and-quit-it sex was prevalent for a reason, even if this encounter wasn’t quite of the anonymous variety.
He toddled into the bathroom and cleaned up. When he came out, Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. Jake thought about looking for him, just to see if he was okay, but figured what the hell. Jimmy was a big boy, and Jake hadn’t been all that rough with him. If the dude had wanted to face him, he wouldn’t have disappeared.
Jake walked out of the shop into the brisk, spring sunshine and headed for his truck. He may not have gotten the armoire he went in for, but the recompense had been damn fine.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Excerpt: Live Action Hero 1 Mission: Carnal
Live Action Hero 1- Mission: Carnal
Mary Winter
M/M Urban Fantasy
RELEASE DATE: February 29, 2008
Changeling Press
http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=816
BLURB:
Adrian turned his passion for action figures into a thriving comic shop, The Fantastic Five. After spending most of his life in the world of super heroes and aliens, he’s not surprised when the action figure he’s repairing comes to life. He’s more surprised by the instant attraction he feels to the man—and the fact that it’s mutual. These guys are supposed to be Real American heroes. But right now, Adrian wants him to be his hero.
Mack’s waited a long time for a reward. He’s come back wounded from a brutal mission, but the Toymaker upstairs promised him a new life and a new mission. When Adrian repairs his broken body, his gentle touch also repairs Mack’s broken heart. Now it’s Mack’s turn to repay Adrian, by teaching him about living your wildest fantasies and making your dreams come true.
EXCERPT:
Adrian blinked as the numbers on the spreadsheet blurred. Automatically, he reached for his tepid mug of coffee, wincing at its chill. He’d calculated the numbers backwards and forwards, not liking the decline they showed. Just past January first, he should have showed a boost in fourth quarter sales. After all, they had the holidays, then the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day to spend holiday money. Comics had been flying off the shelves. Several hot new releases had patrons queuing in line even before The Fantastic Five had opened.
Adrian shook his head. He rose to his feet, his gaze catching, as it often did, on the broken action figure sitting on the corner of his desk. The man sat there, his feet lost probably during some child’s “battle”. One hand had been almost torn from its wrist. Looking at it, he couldn’t tell, but Adrian knew if he picked up the figure, started to move the jointed limbs, he’d find the tear. He’d intended to start working on it tonight.
“Sorry, buddy,” he said, then smiled when he realized he spoke to a toy.
Adrian stood. He reached for his mug, not quite able to pull his attention from the figure. Adrian had found this toy in a box at a garage sale a few blocks over while out on his run. Although the figure had a production date in the mid-nineties, something about the toy had drawn Adrian. Normally, he wasn’t overly fond of the modern figures.
The plastic soldier sat there, stubble covering his cheeks and jaw. It gave him a surly look, as if he were a grizzled soldier who barked orders at his men all day. Short, dark brown hair was cut with military precision. His brows were dark slashes over his piercing blue eyes. Broad shoulders, perfectly muscled body, he looked like the real American hero his now long-gone packaging had declared him to be.
“As soon as I get through these numbers I’ll take care of you.” Adrian frowned at his nearly-empty mug. The clock on his computer told him it was after ten pm. Way too late to continue the caffeine drip he’d been on all day. If only he could pinpoint the source of the store’s drop in earnings. Then, he’d have some answers for his friends and partners.
Not that they needed them. Dean would be leaving for a windsurfing vacation tomorrow. Van and Hugh trusted him with the day-to-day operations of the store. Hugh worked on marketing and promotion. Van provided legal assistance and spent a lot of his time scouring for action figures to restore. The Field Medic operated as a subdivision of their store restoring vintage and modern action figures.
With a shake of his head, Adrian went to the kitchen. Moments later he returned with a cold bottle of water.
“Forget about the numbers,” a whisky-rough voice said in his mind.
Adrian stared at the figure. He’d been known to make jokes about what toys would say if they were real. But this was real enough as to be spooky. The voice sounded exactly like he guessed the toy would sound, a kind of Tommy Lee Jones commanding tone that always made Adrian’s cock stand at attention. He debated about answering, but decided what the hell, he was only talking to a toy. No one needed to know. “I’d like to,” he replied. “Then again, if you were real, there are a lot of things I’d like to do.”
Adrian allowed his mind to wander, imagining the figure as a real flesh and blood man. He figured he slipped deeper into a sex-deprived insanity with his musings, but it’d been ages since he’d been laid. Adrian knew he would drag his fingers through the man’s silken hair. The figure’s broad chest demanded an exploration with lips and fingers. Long, muscled legs and a tight ass. Just thinking about how he would look had Adrian’s cock hardening. He reached down and cupped his hand over it. His erection strained the denim.
“What do you want to do?” That gravelly voice filled his head again.
Adrian wanted to put those lips to better use. He shook his head. Damn it, he had numbers to go over and a plan to create. He didn’t have time for idle fantasies.
“Give me half an hour, all right?” Adrian arched an eyebrow at the mute figure.
“All right,” the voice barked back.
Adrian gulped half the water bottle down. Capping it, he turned away from the figure that had possessed so much of his thoughts. He should be focusing on his business. He must be losing it if he were having a fake conversation with a broken action figure. Rubbing his eyes, he vowed he’d get through these numbers come hell or high water. Or the distractions of a certain action figure sitting on the corner of his desk.
What he needed was to get laid. His dick swelled just thinking about a wet, willing mouth. The heavy length of a tongue stroking him, watching a man hollow his cheeks as he sucked hard. Adrian sighed. Yeah, that was exactly what he needed.
“Me, too, man,” the gravelly voice replied.
“Will you stop it?” Adrian asked. He snarled, realizing he’d copied the same column of figures three times. “Focus. You can do this.”
“I could do you.”
Adrian whirled in his desk chair. He was going fucking nuts! Some claimed masturbation caused dementia and blindness. Perhaps that was his fault. He’d hand-jobbed himself into a psych ward. He snorted, thinking his friends would laugh at that. They were always telling him to quit being so picky and just pick up a man. They teased him that he was like the profit and loss sheets he worked with.
Okay, that was it. One more pass through the numbers, and that was it. He had to get out of here.
He had to get laid.
Mary Winter
M/M Urban Fantasy
RELEASE DATE: February 29, 2008
Changeling Press
http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=816
BLURB:
Adrian turned his passion for action figures into a thriving comic shop, The Fantastic Five. After spending most of his life in the world of super heroes and aliens, he’s not surprised when the action figure he’s repairing comes to life. He’s more surprised by the instant attraction he feels to the man—and the fact that it’s mutual. These guys are supposed to be Real American heroes. But right now, Adrian wants him to be his hero.
Mack’s waited a long time for a reward. He’s come back wounded from a brutal mission, but the Toymaker upstairs promised him a new life and a new mission. When Adrian repairs his broken body, his gentle touch also repairs Mack’s broken heart. Now it’s Mack’s turn to repay Adrian, by teaching him about living your wildest fantasies and making your dreams come true.
EXCERPT:
Adrian blinked as the numbers on the spreadsheet blurred. Automatically, he reached for his tepid mug of coffee, wincing at its chill. He’d calculated the numbers backwards and forwards, not liking the decline they showed. Just past January first, he should have showed a boost in fourth quarter sales. After all, they had the holidays, then the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day to spend holiday money. Comics had been flying off the shelves. Several hot new releases had patrons queuing in line even before The Fantastic Five had opened.
Adrian shook his head. He rose to his feet, his gaze catching, as it often did, on the broken action figure sitting on the corner of his desk. The man sat there, his feet lost probably during some child’s “battle”. One hand had been almost torn from its wrist. Looking at it, he couldn’t tell, but Adrian knew if he picked up the figure, started to move the jointed limbs, he’d find the tear. He’d intended to start working on it tonight.
“Sorry, buddy,” he said, then smiled when he realized he spoke to a toy.
Adrian stood. He reached for his mug, not quite able to pull his attention from the figure. Adrian had found this toy in a box at a garage sale a few blocks over while out on his run. Although the figure had a production date in the mid-nineties, something about the toy had drawn Adrian. Normally, he wasn’t overly fond of the modern figures.
The plastic soldier sat there, stubble covering his cheeks and jaw. It gave him a surly look, as if he were a grizzled soldier who barked orders at his men all day. Short, dark brown hair was cut with military precision. His brows were dark slashes over his piercing blue eyes. Broad shoulders, perfectly muscled body, he looked like the real American hero his now long-gone packaging had declared him to be.
“As soon as I get through these numbers I’ll take care of you.” Adrian frowned at his nearly-empty mug. The clock on his computer told him it was after ten pm. Way too late to continue the caffeine drip he’d been on all day. If only he could pinpoint the source of the store’s drop in earnings. Then, he’d have some answers for his friends and partners.
Not that they needed them. Dean would be leaving for a windsurfing vacation tomorrow. Van and Hugh trusted him with the day-to-day operations of the store. Hugh worked on marketing and promotion. Van provided legal assistance and spent a lot of his time scouring for action figures to restore. The Field Medic operated as a subdivision of their store restoring vintage and modern action figures.
With a shake of his head, Adrian went to the kitchen. Moments later he returned with a cold bottle of water.
“Forget about the numbers,” a whisky-rough voice said in his mind.
Adrian stared at the figure. He’d been known to make jokes about what toys would say if they were real. But this was real enough as to be spooky. The voice sounded exactly like he guessed the toy would sound, a kind of Tommy Lee Jones commanding tone that always made Adrian’s cock stand at attention. He debated about answering, but decided what the hell, he was only talking to a toy. No one needed to know. “I’d like to,” he replied. “Then again, if you were real, there are a lot of things I’d like to do.”
Adrian allowed his mind to wander, imagining the figure as a real flesh and blood man. He figured he slipped deeper into a sex-deprived insanity with his musings, but it’d been ages since he’d been laid. Adrian knew he would drag his fingers through the man’s silken hair. The figure’s broad chest demanded an exploration with lips and fingers. Long, muscled legs and a tight ass. Just thinking about how he would look had Adrian’s cock hardening. He reached down and cupped his hand over it. His erection strained the denim.
“What do you want to do?” That gravelly voice filled his head again.
Adrian wanted to put those lips to better use. He shook his head. Damn it, he had numbers to go over and a plan to create. He didn’t have time for idle fantasies.
“Give me half an hour, all right?” Adrian arched an eyebrow at the mute figure.
“All right,” the voice barked back.
Adrian gulped half the water bottle down. Capping it, he turned away from the figure that had possessed so much of his thoughts. He should be focusing on his business. He must be losing it if he were having a fake conversation with a broken action figure. Rubbing his eyes, he vowed he’d get through these numbers come hell or high water. Or the distractions of a certain action figure sitting on the corner of his desk.
What he needed was to get laid. His dick swelled just thinking about a wet, willing mouth. The heavy length of a tongue stroking him, watching a man hollow his cheeks as he sucked hard. Adrian sighed. Yeah, that was exactly what he needed.
“Me, too, man,” the gravelly voice replied.
“Will you stop it?” Adrian asked. He snarled, realizing he’d copied the same column of figures three times. “Focus. You can do this.”
“I could do you.”
Adrian whirled in his desk chair. He was going fucking nuts! Some claimed masturbation caused dementia and blindness. Perhaps that was his fault. He’d hand-jobbed himself into a psych ward. He snorted, thinking his friends would laugh at that. They were always telling him to quit being so picky and just pick up a man. They teased him that he was like the profit and loss sheets he worked with.
Okay, that was it. One more pass through the numbers, and that was it. He had to get out of here.
He had to get laid.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
