Heather Lin's Blog, page 9
August 28, 2011
Great review for Westridge!
Hey, all! I'm very excited about my 4 star review from Sizzling Hot Book Reviews. Check it out!
August 22, 2011
Guest Blogger: Augusta Li
I have fellow Silver Publshing author Augusta Li here with me today! She's got two releases to celebrate and that, of course, means two very lovely excerpts.
What is the best dirty joke you've ever heard?
A little penguin is driving across the desert when his car breaks down. Fortunately, a mechanic happens by a few minutes later and tows the car back to a small town. He tells the penguin to come back in half an hour, after he's had a chance to look at the car.
The poor little penguin is burning up in the desert heat, and he wonders where to spend the half hour. Then he sees the perfect place: an ice cream parlor. He goes inside and orders a huge dish of vanilla ice cream. He's so delighted to get to cool off that he scoops the ice cream up with his flippers, splashing it all over his face and chest. Before long it's time for the penguin to return to the garage.
The mechanic is bent over the engine when the penguin arrives. He takes one look at the penguin and says, "Man, it looks like you blew a seal."
To which the penguin quickly replies, "You've got it all wrong! This is just ice cream!"
What book that you've written so far is your favorite or the most meaningful? Why?
Honestly it's whichever one I'm working on at the time. I get very obsessed with my characters and they stay in my head even when I'm not working. All of my books involve a great deal of internal and external conflict for the characters, even the lighter ones. My characters tend to be flawed, in some cases profoundly so, and I always find meaning in watching them overcome their struggles and find happiness in spite of their scars and shortcomings.
Do your stories tend to have a recurring theme? If so, what is it?
I suppose it's rebellion and the rejection of traditional values. It's the courage to find one's own way in the face of adversity. If there's anything like a theme in my work, it's that the mold cast by society can be very oppressive and doesn't fit everyone. My characters are often the people who have the nerve to say no to what others expect of them. They often exist on the fringes and are thieves, renegades, assassins, and just people who play by their own rules.
Food is a recurring theme in my books. I suppose its just another earthly pleasure to enjoy. Swords and sword culture pop up a fair bit.
Were your stories secret projects or were you able to be open with your family and friends about your writing?
I've never for a second tried to hide what I do. I'm proud of my work, and as far as I'm concerned if somebody has a problem with it I don't need them. That being said, I'm a horrible perfectionist and NOBODY, other than my writing partner Eon de Beaumont, gets to see anything until at least the third draft or so. So I guess I'm not secretive about content, but I am very picky about quality.
I am fortunate enough to have two novels released this month! The first is Epiphany, available from Silver Publishing here: https://spsilverpublishing.com/
Blurb: Epiphany
1974. When the residents of the backwater town of Epiphany, Nevada, drive off a hurt and hungry young man because he has long hair, timid diner cook Elijah Tupper can't find the courage to stand up to them. Later, both guilt and strong attraction compel Elijah to seek out the drifter who calls himself only Dust. He finds him camped in the Mojave, and Dust and Elijah agree to travel together, though Elijah can't possibly imagine the task that awaits them.
Dust's painful past has left him mistrustful of people and the world. He also possesses mysterious powers, though hunger and injury have left him weak. Elijah vows to aid and protect him, even if Dust can't believe that Elijah has no ulterior motives. A fragile trust slowly forms between them, despite Dust's cynicism and Elijah's insecurity. As they seek to recover the magic that will save Dust from the forces trying to destroy him, they must enlist the aid of the county sheriff who originally banished Dust from Epiphany.
Though Sheriff Sam Woodward doesn't approve of Dust or his blossoming relationship with Elijah, he agrees to help the young men to protect his town from Dust's enchantments. In order for the three men to succeed and survive their dangerous, magical journey, each of them must adapt and grow. They'll need all of their skills to survive the corrupt city of Las Vegas and the twisted, supernatural realms beyond.
Excerpt: Epiphany
The whole frigid, lonely time he'd spent walking from Epiphany, Elijah had imagined various scenarios. He'd pictured Dust hugging him with gratitude and inviting him to be his companion. He'd anticipated being greeted with happiness and surprise by the other man. Until now, it hadn't crossed Elijah's mind that Dust might not want to see him. After all, Elijah hadn't defended Dust when the townspeople drove him away hungry. Elijah had been too scared of his mother and the sheriff to speak up. What if Dust thought he was a coward? Elijah felt queasy. He was sure, now, that he'd misinterpreted the look Dust had given him and the way he'd stroked Elijah's hand. Nobody like Dust would be interested in somebody like him: an insignificant person from an insignificant place. Elijah had been fooling himself.
As much as he wanted to turn back and save himself the hurt and humiliation, Elijah kept walking. The least he could do would be to leave the coffee and sandwiches. Dust would certainly appreciate the blanket. Elijah would set them down, apologize for what had happened at the diner, and start the long trek back home. Hopefully, he'd be able to sneak in the back door and through the mud room without his mother catching him, grilling him, and eventually pummeling him with whatever was closest to her hand. Whatever unpleasant thing befell him, he would accept as penance for not speaking up against what had been done to Dust.
The drifter sat in front of his tiny fire, hugging his knees. His dark hood covered everything but his nose, lips and chin. His frozen breath hovered in the stillness like a ghostly companion. Elijah took a deep breath and said, "Hello."
Dust turned his head quickly toward Elijah, the fire reflected in his eyes making them look like glowing embers against his shadowed face. His hand shot out in Elijah's direction as if he held a weapon, but his palm was empty. It groped the cold air, the way a person felt around for a pair of lost spectacles. He slid the hood back and squinted into the darkness. Seeing Elijah, he dropped his hand and relaxed.
"You're the cook from the diner," Dust said.
Elijah nodded. "I brought you some sandwiches and coffee."
Dust rose stiffly and walked over to where Elijah stood just at the edge of the ring of fire light. He looked amazed. "You mean you walked all the way out here to bring me sandwiches?"
"Yeah, it's no big deal," Elijah said.
"Thank you," Dust said.
Elijah slid the bag from his shoulder and held it out to Dust. "There's a blanket in there too. I thought you might be able to use one."
Dust seemed too stunned to even reach for the offered provisions, so Elijah set the bag down by the drifter's feet. "All right then," Elijah said, "guess that's it. I'm sorry about the way everybody treated you. It wasn't right, and I do apologize. Take care." He thrust his shivering hands back into his pockets and turned.
"Wait," Dust said, and Elijah faced him.
"You need anything else?"
"No," Dust said. "Why did you do this?"
"Well, you were hungry," Elijah said. "And it's cold out here."
"You mean that's it?"
"What else would there be?" Elijah asked.
"Come sit down," Dust said. "At least warm up before you walk all the way back to your town."
"Okay," Elijah said, and he followed Dust to the fire. They sat cross-legged on the hard-packed earth, looking at each other over flames. Dust unzipped the gym bag and stripped the foil from the sandwiches. He smiled at them as if they were priceless jewels before starting to eat. Then he silently tore pieces of bread and meat into chunks and shoved several of them into his mouth at a time, looking over his shoulder now and then as if Elijah's mother might appear from behind a cactus and snatch the food away again. Elijah had never seen a human being eat like that. He was reminded of the stray dogs they sometimes had to drive away from the dumpster behind the restaurant. Dust's rapid swallowing, an occasional grunt of pleasure, and the soft crackle of the fire were the only sounds. In less than ten minutes, he'd finished three sandwiches. Elijah poured some coffee into the thermos lid and handed it to the drifter.
"Hope you like lots of sugar," Elijah said.
Dust took a long gulp. "You have some too," he said to Elijah. "To warm up." He held the little metal cup to Elijah's lips and tipped it forward. As Elijah drank from the cup in his hand, Dust slid closer until their shoulders touched. The sudden warm solidity against his arm shocked Elijah. When he realized that Dust had touched him, he almost choked. Dust lowered the cup but didn't pull away. Elijah wiped the coffee from his chin with his sleeve.
"You don't have a cigarette, do you?"
"No, sorry," Elijah said. Questions raced and collided in his mind like bumper cars. He wanted to ask Dust where he was going, where he'd come from, and why. He wanted to know how the drifter had been injured, how long it had been since he'd eaten. The biggest question also remained: Would Dust let Elijah go with him?
"You said there's a blanket in here?" Dust asked as he rummaged through the pack. He found the corner of the blue quilt that had been on Elijah's bed and unfolded it. He threw it over his shoulders like a cape and said "Well, get under."
Elijah hesitated and pulled away. He hadn't been expecting this level of familiarity so soon. It confused him and scared him a little bit. He had almost no experience with such situations, but Dust smiled sincerely, and Elijah took a deep breath, forcing himself to say, "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
"Come on," the drifter urged, holding the corner of the blanket out from his shoulder. "We'll both be more comfortable if we share."
Elijah spread the blanket across his back and tucked the satiny edge under his chin the way he did when he went to sleep at home. Dust's warmth beside him after his long walk acted almost as a sedative. He realized, to his surprise, that he felt completely safe and comfortable around this stranger. He poured another cup of coffee and laid his cheek lightly against Dust's shoulder.
"Dust," Elijah said, barely above a whisper. The drifter's blue-gray eyes stayed fixed on the fire.
"Dust?" he said again, a little louder.
The black-haired young man turned. He looked so beautiful and mysterious in the amber glow that Elijah inhaled sharply. "Dust, can I ask you something?"
"Dust?"
"You said, at the diner, that you were Dust," Elijah said, blushing and feeling stupid. "What should I call you?"
Dust placed a soft kiss on Elijah's forehead that him tremble from his ears to his freezing toes.
"Call me whatever you want. Call me Dust if you want to, and ask me whatever you want."
Elijah swallowed hard. "I want to help you. Whatever you're trying to do, I want to help."
"Why?"
"I—"
"It's okay," Dust said. He put his arm around Elijah and pulled him closer. "I'd like it if you came with me. It's pretty rough, though, as you can see." He pointed at his camp: a backpack for a pillow and a pile of burning twigs and brush.
"I don't know what I'll be able to do," Elijah said. "I don't really have any talents, except cooking."
Dust nestled his face into Elijah's thick hair and spoke softly into his ear. "That's not true. You have a pure, innocent soul. Real goodness is rare, rarer than riches, or power, or anything. It's a treasure. Besides—" Dust gripped Elijah's chin between his thumb and finger and inclined his head so their eyes met. "—you're really cute."
My second August release is an epic steampunk adventure written with Eon de Beaumont. It's available at Dreamspinner Press here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php
Excerpt: Boots for the Gentleman
Finally Querrilous saw the home of his employer. It stood on top of a hillock, a Classical-style mansion surrounded by so many sapphire roses that it appeared to float on a cloud of blossoms. The flowers also lined the stone walkway that led to the temple-like abode. As Querry passed the abundant foliage, a swarm of thumb-length sprites, naked and glowing every color, rose from the leaves. He swatted them away with his gloved hand. They bit.
Querry ascended the many white steps and walked beneath columns practically covered in vines. He could have sworn the porch they supported had curved the last time he'd been here. Now it was straight and square. It was hard to say, though. Whenever he left Neroche, Querry always felt like he'd just woken from a dream. The details departed just as quickly too. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, Querry swore the grand house resembled nothing so much as a white mound perforated by irregular holes, like those dug by badgers or rabbits.
Querry knocked on the door, and a hunched man reaching only to the thief's belt buckle opened it. He had greenish skin, a bald head, huge, bat-like ears and a long, hooked nose. He wore a butler's suit and white gloves.
"Good evening, sir," the servant said. "The gentleman is expecting you. You'll find him in his study."
"And what floor?" Querry asked. Like everything here, it fluctuated.
"The third floor, sir. At the end of the hall."
"Thank you," Querry said, heading through the eerie gloom for the staircase. The dusky light that let him find his way came from the walls themselves. Still, he managed to get to the study. Inside, he found his client sitting behind a desk of pale wood. Books lined the walls, reaching dozens of feet high. Between the shelves, silk curtains hung open, revealing windows of beveled glass. A lightning-blue fire crackled in the hearth. Perched on the end of a brocade chaise, a nude young man plucked a silver harp. His skin and hair were white and his eyes deep violet.
Shimmering wings flickered in and out of existence behind him. Though he should have been shocked by such a scandalous display, Querry had learned to ignore his employer's eccentricities.
"Ah, Mr. Knotte," said the man behind the desk as Querry entered the room. On cue, the pale harpist stood, bowed, and left the room. Querry watched his willowy, white body as he departed. The door shut softly behind him. "Please sit down."
Querry took one of the chairs facing his client. The gentleman rested his elbows on the desk and stretched his long fingers into an arch, tapping the tips together. "A successful evening as always, I presume?"
"Um, of course," Querry answered, reaching to untie the sack from his belt. The gentleman made it hard for him to think. He was stunning—waves of golden hair spilling over the shoulders of his mint velvet blazer, sparkling emerald eyes, and an angular face that looked both soft and devastatingly masculine—handsome, even by fey standards. Querry could see the svelte line of the gentleman's long neck stretching toward prominent collarbones and a smooth chest that finally disappeared behind a thin silk shirt and paisley waistcoat with pearl buttons. Trying not to make eye contact, Querry passed him the bag.
"Excellent!" the gentleman said, clapping twice. Why he was so excited with another gentleman's old boots, or why he'd pay Querry twenty pounds to steal them when he could buy them for a few shillings, the thief had stopped trying to figure out. A growing pile of things the gentleman had commissioned Querry to burgle sat in the corner: a broken phonograph, a wooden box of old pencils, a cart wheel missing a few spokes, a porcelain doll with only one eye, a matching ladle and fork, a tangled wig and a set of lace curtains. While the thief suspected himself to be a piece in some unfathomable game, twenty pounds was still twenty pounds.
"My payment," Querry said, feeling vulnerable. He'd started not to trust himself, his reactions and responses, and needed to leave. The helpless sensation came quicker each time he visited this house.
"Indeed, indeed," the gentleman said, opening a drawer and sliding a bag of coins across the desk.
Querry snatched them greedily, and found himself embarrassed by his desperation. "Nice doing business," he said, standing and extending his hand.
The gentleman just stared at his proffered palm. Then, slowly, he got to his feet and came around the front of the desk. His steps, the twist of his waist, and the movement of his hair mesmerized Querry. Querry wondered at how such simple gestures could contain such perfection. How could something as simple as a fingernail be so sublime? The two stood very close now. The gentleman's chest grazed Querry's shoulder. He smelled like crushed grass.
"What a fascinating creature you are," he said in a whisper. He reached up and traced the line of Querry's brow. The thief felt powerless to resist leaning in to the touch. Querry's eyes fluttered shut. His breath faltered.
Get a hold of yourself—
"You're far too beautiful for a common thief." He stretched his neck, so that his floral breath washed Querry's cheek and his lips rustled Querry's hair, turning Querry's muscles to quivering porridge.
"I'm an exceptional thief," Querry said, fighting for lucidity. He should step away.
A musical giggle escaped the other man. Querry felt it reverberate up his spine. His pores contracted and his cock skipped. "Exceptional, certainly. Even more so, I'm certain, beneath this cumbersome gear and all of these silly machines. What are you like under there?" His fingers moved down Querry's face and neck, over his heart and to the buckles of his padded vest. He tapped them one by one, as if he tickled the keys of a piano. Querry felt the faerie's erection against the side of his thigh, next to his pistol. He felt himself turning to face the other against his will.
"You deserve fine, soft clothing. The best food and wines. Nights of revelry and dance. A life free from toil of any kind." The gentleman's hands went to Querry's hips, pulling their bodies together. Querry curved against him and let his head fall backward so that the gentleman could pull his cravat aside and kiss up his neck. Fire bloomed in his cheeks, and a tingle spread across his pelvis. "You could stay here with me. Would you like that?"
Yes! In that moment, it was all Querry wanted. Nothing else mattered beyond the gentleman's lips, his hair, and his body. Those sparkling eyes that, in spite of the acceptable clothing, the outward trappings of civility, betrayed something wild. Querry wanted to strip slowly and stretch out naked across the desk. He wanted to lay complacent while the gentleman used his body any way he chose. But he also knew that the desire would fade when he left this place. He knew it just as he knew that if he gave in to this lust, in time he'd stop dressing at all. He'd wander the halls nude. He'd stare out the window at the flowers for days on end. He'd forget his name, stop eating—
"No, I can't." He pulled away. Predictably, the gentleman looked at him with even greater awe. "I'm afraid I've got to be going."
The fey lifted his chin and feigned indifference. "If you must, then you must. My offer stands. And if you find yourself short on money, there's a house on the corner of Tinkerton Street that you may want to visit. Tinkerton Street and Grace Lane."
"You have another job for me?"
"No," the gentleman said, turning his back to the thief and resting his hand on the surface of the desk. "I have all that I require, for now."
"Then what—"
"I said, I have what I require."
Querry stood staring at the golden sheet of hair flowing over the gentleman's back, fighting down the urge to touch it. He knew better than to ask why his client suggested the address. He could tell when he was being toyed with. Later, free from the dizzying effects of Neroche and the gentleman, he could try to work it out. Now, though, he needed to leave or he never would.
Augusta's Links:
http://augusteli.blogspot.com/
http://www.facebook.com/#!/Ninja.Gus
http://www.yaoimagic.com/
https://twitter.com/GusAndEon
http://augustali.deviantart.com/
http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/user/augusteli/
What is the best dirty joke you've ever heard?
A little penguin is driving across the desert when his car breaks down. Fortunately, a mechanic happens by a few minutes later and tows the car back to a small town. He tells the penguin to come back in half an hour, after he's had a chance to look at the car.
The poor little penguin is burning up in the desert heat, and he wonders where to spend the half hour. Then he sees the perfect place: an ice cream parlor. He goes inside and orders a huge dish of vanilla ice cream. He's so delighted to get to cool off that he scoops the ice cream up with his flippers, splashing it all over his face and chest. Before long it's time for the penguin to return to the garage.
The mechanic is bent over the engine when the penguin arrives. He takes one look at the penguin and says, "Man, it looks like you blew a seal."
To which the penguin quickly replies, "You've got it all wrong! This is just ice cream!"
What book that you've written so far is your favorite or the most meaningful? Why?
Honestly it's whichever one I'm working on at the time. I get very obsessed with my characters and they stay in my head even when I'm not working. All of my books involve a great deal of internal and external conflict for the characters, even the lighter ones. My characters tend to be flawed, in some cases profoundly so, and I always find meaning in watching them overcome their struggles and find happiness in spite of their scars and shortcomings.
Do your stories tend to have a recurring theme? If so, what is it?
I suppose it's rebellion and the rejection of traditional values. It's the courage to find one's own way in the face of adversity. If there's anything like a theme in my work, it's that the mold cast by society can be very oppressive and doesn't fit everyone. My characters are often the people who have the nerve to say no to what others expect of them. They often exist on the fringes and are thieves, renegades, assassins, and just people who play by their own rules.
Food is a recurring theme in my books. I suppose its just another earthly pleasure to enjoy. Swords and sword culture pop up a fair bit.
Were your stories secret projects or were you able to be open with your family and friends about your writing?
I've never for a second tried to hide what I do. I'm proud of my work, and as far as I'm concerned if somebody has a problem with it I don't need them. That being said, I'm a horrible perfectionist and NOBODY, other than my writing partner Eon de Beaumont, gets to see anything until at least the third draft or so. So I guess I'm not secretive about content, but I am very picky about quality.
I am fortunate enough to have two novels released this month! The first is Epiphany, available from Silver Publishing here: https://spsilverpublishing.com/
Blurb: Epiphany
1974. When the residents of the backwater town of Epiphany, Nevada, drive off a hurt and hungry young man because he has long hair, timid diner cook Elijah Tupper can't find the courage to stand up to them. Later, both guilt and strong attraction compel Elijah to seek out the drifter who calls himself only Dust. He finds him camped in the Mojave, and Dust and Elijah agree to travel together, though Elijah can't possibly imagine the task that awaits them.
Dust's painful past has left him mistrustful of people and the world. He also possesses mysterious powers, though hunger and injury have left him weak. Elijah vows to aid and protect him, even if Dust can't believe that Elijah has no ulterior motives. A fragile trust slowly forms between them, despite Dust's cynicism and Elijah's insecurity. As they seek to recover the magic that will save Dust from the forces trying to destroy him, they must enlist the aid of the county sheriff who originally banished Dust from Epiphany.
Though Sheriff Sam Woodward doesn't approve of Dust or his blossoming relationship with Elijah, he agrees to help the young men to protect his town from Dust's enchantments. In order for the three men to succeed and survive their dangerous, magical journey, each of them must adapt and grow. They'll need all of their skills to survive the corrupt city of Las Vegas and the twisted, supernatural realms beyond.
Excerpt: Epiphany
The whole frigid, lonely time he'd spent walking from Epiphany, Elijah had imagined various scenarios. He'd pictured Dust hugging him with gratitude and inviting him to be his companion. He'd anticipated being greeted with happiness and surprise by the other man. Until now, it hadn't crossed Elijah's mind that Dust might not want to see him. After all, Elijah hadn't defended Dust when the townspeople drove him away hungry. Elijah had been too scared of his mother and the sheriff to speak up. What if Dust thought he was a coward? Elijah felt queasy. He was sure, now, that he'd misinterpreted the look Dust had given him and the way he'd stroked Elijah's hand. Nobody like Dust would be interested in somebody like him: an insignificant person from an insignificant place. Elijah had been fooling himself.
As much as he wanted to turn back and save himself the hurt and humiliation, Elijah kept walking. The least he could do would be to leave the coffee and sandwiches. Dust would certainly appreciate the blanket. Elijah would set them down, apologize for what had happened at the diner, and start the long trek back home. Hopefully, he'd be able to sneak in the back door and through the mud room without his mother catching him, grilling him, and eventually pummeling him with whatever was closest to her hand. Whatever unpleasant thing befell him, he would accept as penance for not speaking up against what had been done to Dust.
The drifter sat in front of his tiny fire, hugging his knees. His dark hood covered everything but his nose, lips and chin. His frozen breath hovered in the stillness like a ghostly companion. Elijah took a deep breath and said, "Hello."
Dust turned his head quickly toward Elijah, the fire reflected in his eyes making them look like glowing embers against his shadowed face. His hand shot out in Elijah's direction as if he held a weapon, but his palm was empty. It groped the cold air, the way a person felt around for a pair of lost spectacles. He slid the hood back and squinted into the darkness. Seeing Elijah, he dropped his hand and relaxed.
"You're the cook from the diner," Dust said.
Elijah nodded. "I brought you some sandwiches and coffee."
Dust rose stiffly and walked over to where Elijah stood just at the edge of the ring of fire light. He looked amazed. "You mean you walked all the way out here to bring me sandwiches?"
"Yeah, it's no big deal," Elijah said.
"Thank you," Dust said.
Elijah slid the bag from his shoulder and held it out to Dust. "There's a blanket in there too. I thought you might be able to use one."
Dust seemed too stunned to even reach for the offered provisions, so Elijah set the bag down by the drifter's feet. "All right then," Elijah said, "guess that's it. I'm sorry about the way everybody treated you. It wasn't right, and I do apologize. Take care." He thrust his shivering hands back into his pockets and turned.
"Wait," Dust said, and Elijah faced him.
"You need anything else?"
"No," Dust said. "Why did you do this?"
"Well, you were hungry," Elijah said. "And it's cold out here."
"You mean that's it?"
"What else would there be?" Elijah asked.
"Come sit down," Dust said. "At least warm up before you walk all the way back to your town."
"Okay," Elijah said, and he followed Dust to the fire. They sat cross-legged on the hard-packed earth, looking at each other over flames. Dust unzipped the gym bag and stripped the foil from the sandwiches. He smiled at them as if they were priceless jewels before starting to eat. Then he silently tore pieces of bread and meat into chunks and shoved several of them into his mouth at a time, looking over his shoulder now and then as if Elijah's mother might appear from behind a cactus and snatch the food away again. Elijah had never seen a human being eat like that. He was reminded of the stray dogs they sometimes had to drive away from the dumpster behind the restaurant. Dust's rapid swallowing, an occasional grunt of pleasure, and the soft crackle of the fire were the only sounds. In less than ten minutes, he'd finished three sandwiches. Elijah poured some coffee into the thermos lid and handed it to the drifter.
"Hope you like lots of sugar," Elijah said.
Dust took a long gulp. "You have some too," he said to Elijah. "To warm up." He held the little metal cup to Elijah's lips and tipped it forward. As Elijah drank from the cup in his hand, Dust slid closer until their shoulders touched. The sudden warm solidity against his arm shocked Elijah. When he realized that Dust had touched him, he almost choked. Dust lowered the cup but didn't pull away. Elijah wiped the coffee from his chin with his sleeve.
"You don't have a cigarette, do you?"
"No, sorry," Elijah said. Questions raced and collided in his mind like bumper cars. He wanted to ask Dust where he was going, where he'd come from, and why. He wanted to know how the drifter had been injured, how long it had been since he'd eaten. The biggest question also remained: Would Dust let Elijah go with him?
"You said there's a blanket in here?" Dust asked as he rummaged through the pack. He found the corner of the blue quilt that had been on Elijah's bed and unfolded it. He threw it over his shoulders like a cape and said "Well, get under."
Elijah hesitated and pulled away. He hadn't been expecting this level of familiarity so soon. It confused him and scared him a little bit. He had almost no experience with such situations, but Dust smiled sincerely, and Elijah took a deep breath, forcing himself to say, "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
"Come on," the drifter urged, holding the corner of the blanket out from his shoulder. "We'll both be more comfortable if we share."
Elijah spread the blanket across his back and tucked the satiny edge under his chin the way he did when he went to sleep at home. Dust's warmth beside him after his long walk acted almost as a sedative. He realized, to his surprise, that he felt completely safe and comfortable around this stranger. He poured another cup of coffee and laid his cheek lightly against Dust's shoulder.
"Dust," Elijah said, barely above a whisper. The drifter's blue-gray eyes stayed fixed on the fire.
"Dust?" he said again, a little louder.
The black-haired young man turned. He looked so beautiful and mysterious in the amber glow that Elijah inhaled sharply. "Dust, can I ask you something?"
"Dust?"
"You said, at the diner, that you were Dust," Elijah said, blushing and feeling stupid. "What should I call you?"
Dust placed a soft kiss on Elijah's forehead that him tremble from his ears to his freezing toes.
"Call me whatever you want. Call me Dust if you want to, and ask me whatever you want."
Elijah swallowed hard. "I want to help you. Whatever you're trying to do, I want to help."
"Why?"
"I—"
"It's okay," Dust said. He put his arm around Elijah and pulled him closer. "I'd like it if you came with me. It's pretty rough, though, as you can see." He pointed at his camp: a backpack for a pillow and a pile of burning twigs and brush.
"I don't know what I'll be able to do," Elijah said. "I don't really have any talents, except cooking."
Dust nestled his face into Elijah's thick hair and spoke softly into his ear. "That's not true. You have a pure, innocent soul. Real goodness is rare, rarer than riches, or power, or anything. It's a treasure. Besides—" Dust gripped Elijah's chin between his thumb and finger and inclined his head so their eyes met. "—you're really cute."
My second August release is an epic steampunk adventure written with Eon de Beaumont. It's available at Dreamspinner Press here: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php
Excerpt: Boots for the Gentleman
Finally Querrilous saw the home of his employer. It stood on top of a hillock, a Classical-style mansion surrounded by so many sapphire roses that it appeared to float on a cloud of blossoms. The flowers also lined the stone walkway that led to the temple-like abode. As Querry passed the abundant foliage, a swarm of thumb-length sprites, naked and glowing every color, rose from the leaves. He swatted them away with his gloved hand. They bit.
Querry ascended the many white steps and walked beneath columns practically covered in vines. He could have sworn the porch they supported had curved the last time he'd been here. Now it was straight and square. It was hard to say, though. Whenever he left Neroche, Querry always felt like he'd just woken from a dream. The details departed just as quickly too. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, Querry swore the grand house resembled nothing so much as a white mound perforated by irregular holes, like those dug by badgers or rabbits.
Querry knocked on the door, and a hunched man reaching only to the thief's belt buckle opened it. He had greenish skin, a bald head, huge, bat-like ears and a long, hooked nose. He wore a butler's suit and white gloves.
"Good evening, sir," the servant said. "The gentleman is expecting you. You'll find him in his study."
"And what floor?" Querry asked. Like everything here, it fluctuated.
"The third floor, sir. At the end of the hall."
"Thank you," Querry said, heading through the eerie gloom for the staircase. The dusky light that let him find his way came from the walls themselves. Still, he managed to get to the study. Inside, he found his client sitting behind a desk of pale wood. Books lined the walls, reaching dozens of feet high. Between the shelves, silk curtains hung open, revealing windows of beveled glass. A lightning-blue fire crackled in the hearth. Perched on the end of a brocade chaise, a nude young man plucked a silver harp. His skin and hair were white and his eyes deep violet.
Shimmering wings flickered in and out of existence behind him. Though he should have been shocked by such a scandalous display, Querry had learned to ignore his employer's eccentricities.
"Ah, Mr. Knotte," said the man behind the desk as Querry entered the room. On cue, the pale harpist stood, bowed, and left the room. Querry watched his willowy, white body as he departed. The door shut softly behind him. "Please sit down."
Querry took one of the chairs facing his client. The gentleman rested his elbows on the desk and stretched his long fingers into an arch, tapping the tips together. "A successful evening as always, I presume?"
"Um, of course," Querry answered, reaching to untie the sack from his belt. The gentleman made it hard for him to think. He was stunning—waves of golden hair spilling over the shoulders of his mint velvet blazer, sparkling emerald eyes, and an angular face that looked both soft and devastatingly masculine—handsome, even by fey standards. Querry could see the svelte line of the gentleman's long neck stretching toward prominent collarbones and a smooth chest that finally disappeared behind a thin silk shirt and paisley waistcoat with pearl buttons. Trying not to make eye contact, Querry passed him the bag.
"Excellent!" the gentleman said, clapping twice. Why he was so excited with another gentleman's old boots, or why he'd pay Querry twenty pounds to steal them when he could buy them for a few shillings, the thief had stopped trying to figure out. A growing pile of things the gentleman had commissioned Querry to burgle sat in the corner: a broken phonograph, a wooden box of old pencils, a cart wheel missing a few spokes, a porcelain doll with only one eye, a matching ladle and fork, a tangled wig and a set of lace curtains. While the thief suspected himself to be a piece in some unfathomable game, twenty pounds was still twenty pounds.
"My payment," Querry said, feeling vulnerable. He'd started not to trust himself, his reactions and responses, and needed to leave. The helpless sensation came quicker each time he visited this house.
"Indeed, indeed," the gentleman said, opening a drawer and sliding a bag of coins across the desk.
Querry snatched them greedily, and found himself embarrassed by his desperation. "Nice doing business," he said, standing and extending his hand.
The gentleman just stared at his proffered palm. Then, slowly, he got to his feet and came around the front of the desk. His steps, the twist of his waist, and the movement of his hair mesmerized Querry. Querry wondered at how such simple gestures could contain such perfection. How could something as simple as a fingernail be so sublime? The two stood very close now. The gentleman's chest grazed Querry's shoulder. He smelled like crushed grass.
"What a fascinating creature you are," he said in a whisper. He reached up and traced the line of Querry's brow. The thief felt powerless to resist leaning in to the touch. Querry's eyes fluttered shut. His breath faltered.
Get a hold of yourself—
"You're far too beautiful for a common thief." He stretched his neck, so that his floral breath washed Querry's cheek and his lips rustled Querry's hair, turning Querry's muscles to quivering porridge.
"I'm an exceptional thief," Querry said, fighting for lucidity. He should step away.
A musical giggle escaped the other man. Querry felt it reverberate up his spine. His pores contracted and his cock skipped. "Exceptional, certainly. Even more so, I'm certain, beneath this cumbersome gear and all of these silly machines. What are you like under there?" His fingers moved down Querry's face and neck, over his heart and to the buckles of his padded vest. He tapped them one by one, as if he tickled the keys of a piano. Querry felt the faerie's erection against the side of his thigh, next to his pistol. He felt himself turning to face the other against his will.
"You deserve fine, soft clothing. The best food and wines. Nights of revelry and dance. A life free from toil of any kind." The gentleman's hands went to Querry's hips, pulling their bodies together. Querry curved against him and let his head fall backward so that the gentleman could pull his cravat aside and kiss up his neck. Fire bloomed in his cheeks, and a tingle spread across his pelvis. "You could stay here with me. Would you like that?"
Yes! In that moment, it was all Querry wanted. Nothing else mattered beyond the gentleman's lips, his hair, and his body. Those sparkling eyes that, in spite of the acceptable clothing, the outward trappings of civility, betrayed something wild. Querry wanted to strip slowly and stretch out naked across the desk. He wanted to lay complacent while the gentleman used his body any way he chose. But he also knew that the desire would fade when he left this place. He knew it just as he knew that if he gave in to this lust, in time he'd stop dressing at all. He'd wander the halls nude. He'd stare out the window at the flowers for days on end. He'd forget his name, stop eating—
"No, I can't." He pulled away. Predictably, the gentleman looked at him with even greater awe. "I'm afraid I've got to be going."
The fey lifted his chin and feigned indifference. "If you must, then you must. My offer stands. And if you find yourself short on money, there's a house on the corner of Tinkerton Street that you may want to visit. Tinkerton Street and Grace Lane."
"You have another job for me?"
"No," the gentleman said, turning his back to the thief and resting his hand on the surface of the desk. "I have all that I require, for now."
"Then what—"
"I said, I have what I require."
Querry stood staring at the golden sheet of hair flowing over the gentleman's back, fighting down the urge to touch it. He knew better than to ask why his client suggested the address. He could tell when he was being toyed with. Later, free from the dizzying effects of Neroche and the gentleman, he could try to work it out. Now, though, he needed to leave or he never would.
Augusta's Links:
http://augusteli.blogspot.com/
http://www.facebook.com/#!/Ninja.Gus
http://www.yaoimagic.com/
https://twitter.com/GusAndEon
http://augustali.deviantart.com/
http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/user/augusteli/
August 17, 2011
Silver Flash!: "Closing Time"
I'm back, baby! Here's a tasty little morsel for your Wednesday fix. The prompt: "Anyone ever tell you you're a Grade A _______?"
"Anyone ever tell you you're a Grade A bitch?"
Johnson had Kitty cornered in the kitchen of the dark restaurant. They were the only two there, left to finish cleaning and closing. She had the keys, she was his manager, and he was sick of her. She barely looked at him, gave him orders like he wasn't even a person. He was good at what he did, made the most tips and this piece of white trash came in and treated him like he was at the bottom of the foodchain, below the bus boys and dish washers.
Telling him to clean up a drink she'd spilled had been the last straw.
"I'm your boss, and you'll do what I say if you want to keep your job."
Her voice was stern, but her hard gaze faltered as Johnny forced eye contact. Her body language was tense, defensive as his own broad body threatened hers. But there was something else...a slight tremble in her limbs. His blue eyes narrowed.
"What's your deal?"
"I don't have a deal."
Johnson moved closer and placed his hands on either side of Kitty's head, backing her up until she hit the wall.
"You can't threaten me like this. You're fired," Kitty murmured, but all Johnson could focus on
was the intense heat radiating from her body.
"What's wrong with you?" He couldn't help but grin a little now. He had a feeling he knew what
the problem had been all along.
Kitty didn't respond.
"Fine, I'm fired. You're not my boss, and I'm not your employee. Was there something you
wanted to say to me?"
Kitty all but launched her lips into his, and before Johsnon knew it, he was unbuttoning the white blouse she wore and hiking up her black pencil skirt. He needed to get through those pantyhose. Her hand was reaching into the front of his pants now, and she grabbed a firm hold of his hard cock.
Fuck it.
He ripped the netted material at her crotch and moved her tiny, silky thong aside. She wore too much makeup, her ample cleavage was always hanging out, but in this moment he loved all of it. He buried his face in her breasts, and she popped the buttons off of his shirt to feel the hard muscles of his chest underneath.
"Fuck me, Johnson," she purred.
He pulled her away from the wall and half-dragged her onto the counter, running his thumb over her clit, along her slit. She was already dripping, wanting him. She probably had been all night. So that was it. That was all this was. She just needed a good fuck.
"You on the pill or something?" he asked through ragged breathing.
"Yes." She grasped his hair in her hands, and forced his mouth to her neck.
Johnson used his thumb to keep the thong out of the way, and he entered her in one quick, smooth movement. Her muscles clamped down around him, spasmed with the same carnal pleasure that overtook his own senses. His thrusts were hard, rough, and she seemed to like it. Her moans were loud, reverberating through both of their bodies. Johnson tensed, trying to keep control. But as her moans became breathy gasps, then transformed into cries of pleasure, he knew he could let himself go. Kitty bucked against him, and he buried himself deep within her and shot hot sperm into her welcoming warmth.
When the spasms and heavy breathing subsided, Johnson pulled out and handed Kitty a rag.
"Your turn to clean up."
Kitty didn't bother to straighten her clothing as she wiped down the counter, giving him a scathing look as she did so.
"You fired me, remember?" He smirked.
She dropped the cum-covered rag into his hands.
"You're rehired."
Check out the other flashers!
Julie Hayes (m/m) http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com
Victoria Blisse (m/f) http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk
WestThornhill (m/m) http://wthornhillauthor.blogspot.com/
Pia Valeno (m/m) http://piaveleno.com
Lily Sawyer (m/m) http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
Lindsay Klug (m/f) www.ichbineinteufel.blogspot.com
Pender Mackie (m/m) http://pendermackie.blogspot.com
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)http://www.ryssaedwards.net/blog/
Freddy MacKay (m/m) http://freddymackay.blogspot.com
"Anyone ever tell you you're a Grade A bitch?"
Johnson had Kitty cornered in the kitchen of the dark restaurant. They were the only two there, left to finish cleaning and closing. She had the keys, she was his manager, and he was sick of her. She barely looked at him, gave him orders like he wasn't even a person. He was good at what he did, made the most tips and this piece of white trash came in and treated him like he was at the bottom of the foodchain, below the bus boys and dish washers.
Telling him to clean up a drink she'd spilled had been the last straw.
"I'm your boss, and you'll do what I say if you want to keep your job."
Her voice was stern, but her hard gaze faltered as Johnny forced eye contact. Her body language was tense, defensive as his own broad body threatened hers. But there was something else...a slight tremble in her limbs. His blue eyes narrowed.
"What's your deal?"
"I don't have a deal."
Johnson moved closer and placed his hands on either side of Kitty's head, backing her up until she hit the wall.
"You can't threaten me like this. You're fired," Kitty murmured, but all Johnson could focus on
was the intense heat radiating from her body.
"What's wrong with you?" He couldn't help but grin a little now. He had a feeling he knew what
the problem had been all along.
Kitty didn't respond.
"Fine, I'm fired. You're not my boss, and I'm not your employee. Was there something you
wanted to say to me?"
Kitty all but launched her lips into his, and before Johsnon knew it, he was unbuttoning the white blouse she wore and hiking up her black pencil skirt. He needed to get through those pantyhose. Her hand was reaching into the front of his pants now, and she grabbed a firm hold of his hard cock.
Fuck it.
He ripped the netted material at her crotch and moved her tiny, silky thong aside. She wore too much makeup, her ample cleavage was always hanging out, but in this moment he loved all of it. He buried his face in her breasts, and she popped the buttons off of his shirt to feel the hard muscles of his chest underneath.
"Fuck me, Johnson," she purred.
He pulled her away from the wall and half-dragged her onto the counter, running his thumb over her clit, along her slit. She was already dripping, wanting him. She probably had been all night. So that was it. That was all this was. She just needed a good fuck.
"You on the pill or something?" he asked through ragged breathing.
"Yes." She grasped his hair in her hands, and forced his mouth to her neck.
Johnson used his thumb to keep the thong out of the way, and he entered her in one quick, smooth movement. Her muscles clamped down around him, spasmed with the same carnal pleasure that overtook his own senses. His thrusts were hard, rough, and she seemed to like it. Her moans were loud, reverberating through both of their bodies. Johnson tensed, trying to keep control. But as her moans became breathy gasps, then transformed into cries of pleasure, he knew he could let himself go. Kitty bucked against him, and he buried himself deep within her and shot hot sperm into her welcoming warmth.
When the spasms and heavy breathing subsided, Johnson pulled out and handed Kitty a rag.
"Your turn to clean up."
Kitty didn't bother to straighten her clothing as she wiped down the counter, giving him a scathing look as she did so.
"You fired me, remember?" He smirked.
She dropped the cum-covered rag into his hands.
"You're rehired."
Check out the other flashers!
Julie Hayes (m/m) http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com
Victoria Blisse (m/f) http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk
WestThornhill (m/m) http://wthornhillauthor.blogspot.com/
Pia Valeno (m/m) http://piaveleno.com
Lily Sawyer (m/m) http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
Lindsay Klug (m/f) www.ichbineinteufel.blogspot.com
Pender Mackie (m/m) http://pendermackie.blogspot.com
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)http://www.ryssaedwards.net/blog/
Freddy MacKay (m/m) http://freddymackay.blogspot.com
July 31, 2011
Guest Blogger: Julie Hayes
Hey, all, and thanks for joining me on this lovely Sunday morning. Today I have fellow Silver Publishing author Julie Hayes with me, and she's got a great blog for you all on the evolution of werewolves and how she added her own twist on the legend.
On the Evolution of Werewolves
When I was growing up, a werewolf movie usually involved someone who looked like Lon Chaney Jr—big, scary, and hairy. Or the product of insanity, like Oliver Reed in the The Curse of the Werewolf. Or creepy, as in Werewolf in a Girl's Dormitory. And who could ever forget the classic comedy, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, which not only features the hairy creature, but Dracula and Frankenstein's monster as well, with a special guest appearance by the Invisible Man.
1981 saw a different type of werewolf film, when An American Werewolf in London was released. This was true for two reasons—the creature was CGI and not a guy in a rubber suit, and the unfortunate victim of the curse was actually cute. What a great concept—a werewolf doesn't have to be old, ugly and hairy, he can be hot!
Flash forward to the present day. Nothing new on the werewolf film front per se, but the novels, oh the novels! Werewolves (and their close cousins the shapeshifters) have become extremely popular, especially among the authors of m/m romance, with the result that you can't shake a literary stick without running into buttloads of them. What makes them different than their previous counterparts is that these gay werewolves are also hot hunky droolworthy guys that are definitely easy on the eyes.
Have you come a long way, baby!
Now they have packs, and forever mates. They're heroes, not villains. And they have abs that are to die for!
The new werewolf has stepped into the shoes, or maybe he's pushed the previous occupant out of the shoes, of the once king of the supernatural sweethearts—the vampire. Perhaps that is because of a glutted market filled with vampire tales. Some would say, quite cattily, that it's Twilight's fault, that it left a bad taste in people's mouths. I would argue that point—perhaps the films did, but the books were good (even if the last one could have been better, especially if it had been split in two). Be that as it may, werewolves are here, and many of them are queer, and they're jonesing for the attention of the reading public.
A few years ago, when the most popular werewolf around was Remus Lupin of HP fame, I heard a voice in my head who said he was a gay werewolf. I ended up writing his story. His name is Max Montague, and that story became To the Max, which was published March 26th, 2010. Max continued to talk to me, and I'm happy to say that a sequel was born, with the continuation of Max's story, carrying on where the first one left off. The second book is For Love of Max, and is available today from Silver Publishing.
Max is not your typical werewolf hero. He's not an alpha, and he's not a candidate for the cover of a men's magazine (although Richard would argue that point, but I suspect he is biased). He's forty-four years old, has a large heart, and a lot of strange friends and family, not to mention a longtime lover, Richard. Despite being a werewolf, which is only a once a month stint, he is a very human, very likeable guy, who is often loath to speak up to defend himself. Like a lot of people. The conflicts of the first book have been happily resolved. Well, not all of them, there are some ongoing problems to be dealt with. And new ones rear their ugly heads. But that's life, right?
I hope you enjoy reading about a werewolf who isn't your typical steroid case with the desire to bash skulls at the least provocation. Max Montague is a gentle sensitive soul. But sometimes even nice guys can reach their limits.
No matter what kind of werewolf you prefer, they're all fun, and that's what counts. What will the next supernatural darling be? Perhaps dragons. That would be interesting!
Thanks for having me, Heather! Have a great day! I'd love to hear from all of you! What do you think? Do you have a favorite type of werewolf, and what is it?
Excerpt: For Love of Max
Now, where were we? Oh yes, Richard and I have our lips locked together like a couple of love-starved fools, and we're crying and laughing at the same time, and I've just agreed to marry him….
Yes, I did say marry, and I know there are those who will look upon us askance. Gay marriage is far from an accepted lifestyle in this country, even in this supposedly enlightened day and age. In fact it is not only frowned upon, but largely banned. And mostly by people who are afraid of us. Why? Good question. I won't even get into religious ethics, or a discussion of the Bible, nor Christian precepts. Let me just say that disliking or hating someone on the basis of their sexual orientation is just as wrong as hating them for the color of their skin, or for their religious beliefs. And forbidding people to legally wed for the same reason is simply wrong. Where do you draw the line? Mixed race couples, mixed religion couples? What happened to loving one another, regardless of who they are? We are not sinners, we are simply human….
Anyway, we are here and warm… and touching, and loving, and all of the bad air has been expelled, and all that is left is the love in our hearts, the love we bear for one another, which envelops us and cradles us gently. Now we truly begin….
Principessa, our darling King Charles spaniel and our only child, is running circles around us now, excited by our excitement. Her daddies are together again, and very obviously happy. We break the kiss to bestow caresses on our baby. She clambers in between us and we manage to cuddle around her.
"Max, I'm so sorry…"
"Shhh." I lay a finger against his lips. "No apologies, no regrets. Just us and the future. Our future. Together."
He nods solemnly. "I'll never leave you again, Max," he swears, "I'll never disappear without a word, I promise. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."
"And I am yours," I echo, "'til death do us part."
Our lips come together with soft sighs, and sensual shivers that run between us like electrical charges. We haven't touched at all since the ill-fated night of the last full moon, and the undischarged desire we bear for one another is enough to jump-start a dead car battery.
"I've missed you so much," he murmurs into my lips, "I need you, Max, I always will…."
"And I need you Richard," I reply softly. "Nights without you are far too long… and lonely…."
He moves closer now, his tongue seeking and receiving permission to enter my mouth, his fingers winding through my hair. We are content to let our lips do all the talking. No need to rush, we have all the time in the world—now that we are together again, never to be parted. Our eyes locked in mutual admiration. Our hearts bound in mutual bliss. Our puppy becomes bored with us, and our apparent inactivity, and settles down for a nap, watching us with those big, brown spaniel eyes. We stretch out together in the grass, oblivious to what we might be doing to our three-piece suits. Stains are made to be removed, are they not?
He rolls me over to take the dominant position above me—I love when he does that, for just between us he does dominate and I do tend to submit—it's simply the natural order of our lives. He catches my wrists in his strong grasp, pulling them over my head, holding them against the soft grass, showing me who's in control—not that I don't know that already.
"Tell me what Max wants." He rubs against me suggestively; the material separating us only serves to enhance the friction between our hardening cocks in a delightfully maddening way.
"Max wants Richard," I respond promptly, predictably. "Max wants Richard to come back home, where he belongs… in Max's bed… their bed…."
"Our bed," Richard echoes, licking my chin softly, squirming against me.
God, I want him so badly.
"And by the way, who's been sleeping in Richard's bed while he's been gone?"
"Not the wolf," I chuckle softly, "that would be Rachel. She's been staying with me. I let her have the bed and I'm in the library, on the couch. All alone…."
"Not tonight, sweet thing." He moves his tongue along my jaw line, sending chills all through me.
"I hope Rachel doesn't mind, but she is officially dispossessed."
"She won't mind, now she can go back to Mark. I'm sure he'll be happy, too."
"I'm sure," he replies. "Max, you wanna take a shower?"
My cock twitches at his suggestion. "I think we can do that." I attempt to maintain an air of casualness, but I fail—miserably. I'm far too excited to be suave and detached.
He brushes his fingertips lightly over my cheeks. "Max could use a shave too," he observes. "I can do that for him, if he likes?"
If he likes? I purr warmly at his touch. Max the recluse hasn't been as diligent as he should have been in keeping the five o'clock shadow at bay. Not that it's much of a shadow, my hair is too light for that, but being a wolf does have its disadvantages. One of them is a tendency toward hirsuteness. But this works out, 'cause I love the way Richard handles a straight razor—deftly, surely, and very, very sensually. I'm about to tell him so, but Swan Lake begins. Damn, someone has horrible timing.
I try to ignore it, but some people don't take a hint.
"Max, go ahead and get it, they'll just call back," my lover points out, releasing my hands. With a sigh, I squirm, raising my hips so that I can pull the phone from my pocket.
"Hello?"
"Max?" It's Juliet. Interruptus maternus. "You were supposed to call me…."
Julie's Info
Blog: http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com
Website: www.julielynnhayes.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=527332074
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3442231.Julie_Lynn_Hayes
Silver Publishing: http://silverpublishing.info/index/typefilter/book_authors/book_authors_id/88
Wicked Nights: http://wickednights.info/?page_id=361
Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_222
On the Evolution of Werewolves
When I was growing up, a werewolf movie usually involved someone who looked like Lon Chaney Jr—big, scary, and hairy. Or the product of insanity, like Oliver Reed in the The Curse of the Werewolf. Or creepy, as in Werewolf in a Girl's Dormitory. And who could ever forget the classic comedy, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, which not only features the hairy creature, but Dracula and Frankenstein's monster as well, with a special guest appearance by the Invisible Man.
1981 saw a different type of werewolf film, when An American Werewolf in London was released. This was true for two reasons—the creature was CGI and not a guy in a rubber suit, and the unfortunate victim of the curse was actually cute. What a great concept—a werewolf doesn't have to be old, ugly and hairy, he can be hot!
Flash forward to the present day. Nothing new on the werewolf film front per se, but the novels, oh the novels! Werewolves (and their close cousins the shapeshifters) have become extremely popular, especially among the authors of m/m romance, with the result that you can't shake a literary stick without running into buttloads of them. What makes them different than their previous counterparts is that these gay werewolves are also hot hunky droolworthy guys that are definitely easy on the eyes.
Have you come a long way, baby!
Now they have packs, and forever mates. They're heroes, not villains. And they have abs that are to die for!
The new werewolf has stepped into the shoes, or maybe he's pushed the previous occupant out of the shoes, of the once king of the supernatural sweethearts—the vampire. Perhaps that is because of a glutted market filled with vampire tales. Some would say, quite cattily, that it's Twilight's fault, that it left a bad taste in people's mouths. I would argue that point—perhaps the films did, but the books were good (even if the last one could have been better, especially if it had been split in two). Be that as it may, werewolves are here, and many of them are queer, and they're jonesing for the attention of the reading public.
A few years ago, when the most popular werewolf around was Remus Lupin of HP fame, I heard a voice in my head who said he was a gay werewolf. I ended up writing his story. His name is Max Montague, and that story became To the Max, which was published March 26th, 2010. Max continued to talk to me, and I'm happy to say that a sequel was born, with the continuation of Max's story, carrying on where the first one left off. The second book is For Love of Max, and is available today from Silver Publishing.
Max is not your typical werewolf hero. He's not an alpha, and he's not a candidate for the cover of a men's magazine (although Richard would argue that point, but I suspect he is biased). He's forty-four years old, has a large heart, and a lot of strange friends and family, not to mention a longtime lover, Richard. Despite being a werewolf, which is only a once a month stint, he is a very human, very likeable guy, who is often loath to speak up to defend himself. Like a lot of people. The conflicts of the first book have been happily resolved. Well, not all of them, there are some ongoing problems to be dealt with. And new ones rear their ugly heads. But that's life, right?
I hope you enjoy reading about a werewolf who isn't your typical steroid case with the desire to bash skulls at the least provocation. Max Montague is a gentle sensitive soul. But sometimes even nice guys can reach their limits.
No matter what kind of werewolf you prefer, they're all fun, and that's what counts. What will the next supernatural darling be? Perhaps dragons. That would be interesting!
Thanks for having me, Heather! Have a great day! I'd love to hear from all of you! What do you think? Do you have a favorite type of werewolf, and what is it?
Excerpt: For Love of Max
Now, where were we? Oh yes, Richard and I have our lips locked together like a couple of love-starved fools, and we're crying and laughing at the same time, and I've just agreed to marry him….
Yes, I did say marry, and I know there are those who will look upon us askance. Gay marriage is far from an accepted lifestyle in this country, even in this supposedly enlightened day and age. In fact it is not only frowned upon, but largely banned. And mostly by people who are afraid of us. Why? Good question. I won't even get into religious ethics, or a discussion of the Bible, nor Christian precepts. Let me just say that disliking or hating someone on the basis of their sexual orientation is just as wrong as hating them for the color of their skin, or for their religious beliefs. And forbidding people to legally wed for the same reason is simply wrong. Where do you draw the line? Mixed race couples, mixed religion couples? What happened to loving one another, regardless of who they are? We are not sinners, we are simply human….
Anyway, we are here and warm… and touching, and loving, and all of the bad air has been expelled, and all that is left is the love in our hearts, the love we bear for one another, which envelops us and cradles us gently. Now we truly begin….
Principessa, our darling King Charles spaniel and our only child, is running circles around us now, excited by our excitement. Her daddies are together again, and very obviously happy. We break the kiss to bestow caresses on our baby. She clambers in between us and we manage to cuddle around her.
"Max, I'm so sorry…"
"Shhh." I lay a finger against his lips. "No apologies, no regrets. Just us and the future. Our future. Together."
He nods solemnly. "I'll never leave you again, Max," he swears, "I'll never disappear without a word, I promise. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."
"And I am yours," I echo, "'til death do us part."
Our lips come together with soft sighs, and sensual shivers that run between us like electrical charges. We haven't touched at all since the ill-fated night of the last full moon, and the undischarged desire we bear for one another is enough to jump-start a dead car battery.
"I've missed you so much," he murmurs into my lips, "I need you, Max, I always will…."
"And I need you Richard," I reply softly. "Nights without you are far too long… and lonely…."
He moves closer now, his tongue seeking and receiving permission to enter my mouth, his fingers winding through my hair. We are content to let our lips do all the talking. No need to rush, we have all the time in the world—now that we are together again, never to be parted. Our eyes locked in mutual admiration. Our hearts bound in mutual bliss. Our puppy becomes bored with us, and our apparent inactivity, and settles down for a nap, watching us with those big, brown spaniel eyes. We stretch out together in the grass, oblivious to what we might be doing to our three-piece suits. Stains are made to be removed, are they not?
He rolls me over to take the dominant position above me—I love when he does that, for just between us he does dominate and I do tend to submit—it's simply the natural order of our lives. He catches my wrists in his strong grasp, pulling them over my head, holding them against the soft grass, showing me who's in control—not that I don't know that already.
"Tell me what Max wants." He rubs against me suggestively; the material separating us only serves to enhance the friction between our hardening cocks in a delightfully maddening way.
"Max wants Richard," I respond promptly, predictably. "Max wants Richard to come back home, where he belongs… in Max's bed… their bed…."
"Our bed," Richard echoes, licking my chin softly, squirming against me.
God, I want him so badly.
"And by the way, who's been sleeping in Richard's bed while he's been gone?"
"Not the wolf," I chuckle softly, "that would be Rachel. She's been staying with me. I let her have the bed and I'm in the library, on the couch. All alone…."
"Not tonight, sweet thing." He moves his tongue along my jaw line, sending chills all through me.
"I hope Rachel doesn't mind, but she is officially dispossessed."
"She won't mind, now she can go back to Mark. I'm sure he'll be happy, too."
"I'm sure," he replies. "Max, you wanna take a shower?"
My cock twitches at his suggestion. "I think we can do that." I attempt to maintain an air of casualness, but I fail—miserably. I'm far too excited to be suave and detached.
He brushes his fingertips lightly over my cheeks. "Max could use a shave too," he observes. "I can do that for him, if he likes?"
If he likes? I purr warmly at his touch. Max the recluse hasn't been as diligent as he should have been in keeping the five o'clock shadow at bay. Not that it's much of a shadow, my hair is too light for that, but being a wolf does have its disadvantages. One of them is a tendency toward hirsuteness. But this works out, 'cause I love the way Richard handles a straight razor—deftly, surely, and very, very sensually. I'm about to tell him so, but Swan Lake begins. Damn, someone has horrible timing.
I try to ignore it, but some people don't take a hint.
"Max, go ahead and get it, they'll just call back," my lover points out, releasing my hands. With a sigh, I squirm, raising my hips so that I can pull the phone from my pocket.
"Hello?"
"Max?" It's Juliet. Interruptus maternus. "You were supposed to call me…."
Julie's Info
Blog: http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com
Website: www.julielynnhayes.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=527332074
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3442231.Julie_Lynn_Hayes
Silver Publishing: http://silverpublishing.info/index/typefilter/book_authors/book_authors_id/88
Wicked Nights: http://wickednights.info/?page_id=361
Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_222
July 29, 2011
Wildfire Newsletter
Hey, all. I have a story in the July 22nd Wildfire Newsletter from All Romance Ebooks. It's a prequel to my New Concepts Publishing release,
Strangers
. Third link down. Check it out!
http://www.allromanceebooks.com/newsletters.html
http://www.allromanceebooks.com/newsletters.html
July 27, 2011
Silver Flash! "One of them Hot Summers, Pt. 2"
The prompt I chose to use this week was "the color of night." Fit in pretty well, I'd say. I hope you enjoy this steamy piece from Shana and Coffie's story. ;)
The heat wave was just beginning. In one week, Shana had successfully unpacked all of her kitchen supplies, and now she could barely bring herself to move. The children were outside playing again. Someone had managed to break open a fire hydrant, and there was no point in letting the cool water go to waste.Shana sat in front of the television set. She couldn't afford cable, so she watched soap operas, barely able to pay attention for the sweat that dripped down her neck and between her breasts. She had to leave for work in five hours--a night shift. Ms. Fifi had been kind enough to agree to come over and watch the boys for her that night.
Shana closed her eyes and sighed, pulling the thin fabric of yet another tank top high on her torso, until it barely covered her breasts. And she was already in the shortest shorts she could find. She was half-worried she'd die of heatstroke. Where was Coffie and that fan?
Shana had hoped it was an excuse, a reason to see her again. The very thought of him heated her veins, as the sun heated her skin. He was so beautiful, with his dark skin, the color of night, and his deep, sexy voice.
"Shana?"
She must be hallucinating. The pretty blond opened her eyes, and sure enough the man himself stood in her doorway, bearing what she hoped was a working box fan.
She realized her haggard, barely-covered state and stood immediately, straightening her clothes and hair. Coffie's eyes raked shamelessly over her body.
"You look like a snowflake about to melt in this heat."
"I feel like it, too."
Coffie grinned and set the fan on the table. He helped himself to a glass of water in the kitchen, already comfortable enough to make himself at home in hers. And she didn't mind it. Not one bit. He took a long sip, then offered the glass to her. Shana licked her lips. The gesture was intimate. In the back of her mind, she knew this was progressing quickly, and she let it. She raised the glass to her lips; the very knowledge that his had been there was more than enough to spread wet heat between her thighs.
Her heartbeat quickened, and her tongue darted out once more to rid her lips of excess moisture. Coffie's eyes were fixed on the movement. She shifted and squeezed her thighs together, trying to sate the desire she felt.
"Thank you," she murmured.
The tall, statuesque man didn't respond. Instead, he reached his hand out to take the cup away and put it on the counter, then he reached out once more to touch her waist and pull her close. Shana glanced at the open door, but Coffie didn't seem to care if anyone walked in on them. He pressed his soft, smooth lips to hers, kissing her sweetly at first, then harder, his tongue begging entry to her mouth as their cravings grew stronger.
Shana's head was spinning. She hadn't experienced this type of pulse-pounding desire in too long. Her breasts heaved, heat coming at her from every direction now. She felt blissful, dizzy. His lips moved to her neck, slowly teasing the sweet spot beneath her ear as his hand worked its way up her thigh. She held on tightly for the ride as his fingers breached the defense of her shorts easily, pushing aside the thin denim and thinner cotton panties. Then his large fingertips worked their magic. He held her steady with one arm, and used his other hand to toy ruthlessly with the hard nub of her clit.
Shana gasped and shook against Coffie. God, he was amazing. Waves of pleasure swept over her in a steady, methodic rhythm. And just when she thought it couldn't get any better, Coffie dipped his index finger between her damp folds of flesh, stimulating her from the inside and out, bringing her swift and sense-shattering climax.
The pretty blond's body quivered in the arms of a tall, well-built black man. Her cheeks blushed, and she glanced around quickly to make sure there were no gawkers at her windows. She saw none and moved her gaze back to Coffie's dark eyes. He raised his fingers to his mouth, tasting her juices, heating her blood all over again.
And although she could feel his large, hard need pressing against her thigh, he asked for nothing in return.
"I'll see you again, Shana," he murmured in her ear.
"Looking forward to it."
Shana watched him leave, lust and desire barely satisfied. Then she turned on the fan, ready to wait out the heat once again.
Check out the other Silver Flashers!
Julie Hayes (m/m)
http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com
Lindsay Klug (m/m)
www.ichbineinteufel.blogspot.com
West Thornhill (m/m)
http://wthornhillauthor.blogspot.com/
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
Sui Lynn (m/m)
http://suidlynn.blogspot.com/
Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)
http://www.ryssaedwards.net/blog/
The heat wave was just beginning. In one week, Shana had successfully unpacked all of her kitchen supplies, and now she could barely bring herself to move. The children were outside playing again. Someone had managed to break open a fire hydrant, and there was no point in letting the cool water go to waste.Shana sat in front of the television set. She couldn't afford cable, so she watched soap operas, barely able to pay attention for the sweat that dripped down her neck and between her breasts. She had to leave for work in five hours--a night shift. Ms. Fifi had been kind enough to agree to come over and watch the boys for her that night.
Shana closed her eyes and sighed, pulling the thin fabric of yet another tank top high on her torso, until it barely covered her breasts. And she was already in the shortest shorts she could find. She was half-worried she'd die of heatstroke. Where was Coffie and that fan?
Shana had hoped it was an excuse, a reason to see her again. The very thought of him heated her veins, as the sun heated her skin. He was so beautiful, with his dark skin, the color of night, and his deep, sexy voice.
"Shana?"
She must be hallucinating. The pretty blond opened her eyes, and sure enough the man himself stood in her doorway, bearing what she hoped was a working box fan.
She realized her haggard, barely-covered state and stood immediately, straightening her clothes and hair. Coffie's eyes raked shamelessly over her body.
"You look like a snowflake about to melt in this heat."
"I feel like it, too."
Coffie grinned and set the fan on the table. He helped himself to a glass of water in the kitchen, already comfortable enough to make himself at home in hers. And she didn't mind it. Not one bit. He took a long sip, then offered the glass to her. Shana licked her lips. The gesture was intimate. In the back of her mind, she knew this was progressing quickly, and she let it. She raised the glass to her lips; the very knowledge that his had been there was more than enough to spread wet heat between her thighs.
Her heartbeat quickened, and her tongue darted out once more to rid her lips of excess moisture. Coffie's eyes were fixed on the movement. She shifted and squeezed her thighs together, trying to sate the desire she felt.
"Thank you," she murmured.
The tall, statuesque man didn't respond. Instead, he reached his hand out to take the cup away and put it on the counter, then he reached out once more to touch her waist and pull her close. Shana glanced at the open door, but Coffie didn't seem to care if anyone walked in on them. He pressed his soft, smooth lips to hers, kissing her sweetly at first, then harder, his tongue begging entry to her mouth as their cravings grew stronger.
Shana's head was spinning. She hadn't experienced this type of pulse-pounding desire in too long. Her breasts heaved, heat coming at her from every direction now. She felt blissful, dizzy. His lips moved to her neck, slowly teasing the sweet spot beneath her ear as his hand worked its way up her thigh. She held on tightly for the ride as his fingers breached the defense of her shorts easily, pushing aside the thin denim and thinner cotton panties. Then his large fingertips worked their magic. He held her steady with one arm, and used his other hand to toy ruthlessly with the hard nub of her clit.
Shana gasped and shook against Coffie. God, he was amazing. Waves of pleasure swept over her in a steady, methodic rhythm. And just when she thought it couldn't get any better, Coffie dipped his index finger between her damp folds of flesh, stimulating her from the inside and out, bringing her swift and sense-shattering climax.
The pretty blond's body quivered in the arms of a tall, well-built black man. Her cheeks blushed, and she glanced around quickly to make sure there were no gawkers at her windows. She saw none and moved her gaze back to Coffie's dark eyes. He raised his fingers to his mouth, tasting her juices, heating her blood all over again.
And although she could feel his large, hard need pressing against her thigh, he asked for nothing in return.
"I'll see you again, Shana," he murmured in her ear.
"Looking forward to it."
Shana watched him leave, lust and desire barely satisfied. Then she turned on the fan, ready to wait out the heat once again.
Check out the other Silver Flashers!
Julie Hayes (m/m)
http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com
Lindsay Klug (m/m)
www.ichbineinteufel.blogspot.com
West Thornhill (m/m)
http://wthornhillauthor.blogspot.com/
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
Sui Lynn (m/m)
http://suidlynn.blogspot.com/
Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)
http://www.ryssaedwards.net/blog/
July 20, 2011
Silver Flash!: "One of them Hot Summers, Pt. 1"
Welcome to another Silver Flash Wednesday! This week, I got to choose the prompt, and I asked that flashers use "dark chocolate" or "mischief managed." I really really really wanted to use "mischief managed" because I am such a Harry Potter geek (and, after all, the last movie just came out), but nothing was coming to me. So I used "dark chocolate" and this steamy interracial story was the result. Enjoy!
Shana was the only white woman on the block. It was summertime and the heat was scorching outside. Her first floor apartment was muggy—there was no AC—and all she could do was open the windows and hope a breeze might pass through. She was a single mom with two children, waitressing six nights a week, daydreaming about rich men and a better life. But for now, this was it. She'd had such little time to herself, and even after three weeks, she was living mostly out of boxes.
But today, she had the day off. The custody battle was settled, and her children had made friends. Shana's white tank top stuck to her sweaty chest as she leaned out the living room window. Her two young sons were jumping through a stream of water on the sidewalk while a little dark-skinned girl held the hose. Her mother was sitting on the front step, talking on a cordless phone and keeping an eye on them. Shana was glad her boys had found a place. It was easy to tell they were mixed—their skin was very light brown, and Jasper, the youngest, had blue eyes. She knew they were beautiful and made sure they knew it, but acceptance wasn't exactly easy for some—on both ends of the racial spectrum.
But the minute she'd moved onto this block, she'd felt the sense of home they'd all longed for. Neighbor after neighbor stopped by to introduce themselves, and all of them came bearing some kind of food. Shana sighed and glanced at her messy kitchen. She should return the favor someday. Soon. But all of these boxes just seemed impossible. She opened one with pots and dishes she'd never used. It was time to find a place for them.
But the pretty blond had barely gotten through half the hand-me-down Longaberger when a knock sounded on her open door. She turned, running a hand through her long hair, in an effort to keep it from sticking to her neck.
The sight that met her blue eyes was unexpected. A tall, smooth-skinned black man stood in the doorway, smiling with perfect white teeth. Shana had never seen anything like him. His skin was impossibly dark, straight African, and it glistened like melting dark chocolate under the heat of the sun.
Damn, there was something about hot summer days on the streets of New York City. Shana's lust was instant.
"I'm Coffie," the man introduced himself. "My mother lives next door—Ms. Fifi? I'm visiting and thought I'd come say hello."
Shana wiped the dust from her hands onto her skin-tight jeans. Of course. She'd heard a bit about Ms. Fifi's sexy son.
"It's good to meet you. Ms. Fifi's been so kind to us."
She took his strong hand in hers and shook it. Her knees weakened instantly. God, he was beautiful. Late thirties, confident, proud. He was in dress slacks and a wifebeater—the perfect combination of clean and casual.
"Us?" he asked, glancing around the doorframe at the children playing. "The two light-skinned boys are yours?"
Shana nodded and joined him at the door. Her children had moved into the street now, and two girls just a little bit older than her sons were with them.
"The girls are mine," Coffie explained.
"They're gorgeous. Is your wife still visiting with your mother?"
"No wife. God knows where their mother is." He gave a small smile, and Shana returned it.
"Would you like a drink?" she offered. "A soda or water…? I could make lemonade."
"Lemonade sounds wonderful."
Coffie sat his tall frame at Shana's small kitchen table, and she took a pitcher out of a cabinet. Coffie was turning the dial of a box fan with no result.
"It's broken," Shana told him.
She was unapologetic, but simple things like that served to remind her that her life wasn't everything she'd hoped for as a little girl. She was tired, single, broke, and…God…just looking at those large, strong hands made her all too aware of how long it had been since she'd been with a man.
"I can take it for you. I'll fix it and bring it back in a day or two."
Shana was surprised at the offer. But, then, she'd spent the last two weeks being surprised at people's kindness. She's barely known her neighbors when she was growing up, and she'd never expected to be accepted, to make friends here. But she had. And here was one more. One more incredibly gorgeous friend.
She nearly spilled some of her lemon juice and bit her lip quickly, trying to keep her desire from becoming obvious. But it was overwhelming her. She couldn't explain it. Perfection had walked through her door, and she couldn't help her attraction to it.
Shana opened the cabinet above her head and reached for the glasses. The only clean ones were on the very top shelf. In an instant, Coffie was there, very near to her, grabbing two of them easily.
"Thanks," she murmured softly.
She poured the drinks and handed one to him. He remained standing as he took a long sip. Her gaze lingered on his smooth lips. He caught her looking and smiled. She returned the gesture and stared at a cardboard box on the floor.
"If you need help unpacking, I'm sure my mother and her sisters would be more than happy to come over."
"She's already offered, but thank you. I can handle it."
"I bet you say that a lot."
She glanced at him, confused and intrigued by his assumption. He didn't even know her. "Why do you say that?"
"Single parents." He shrugged, the muscles of his shoulders rippling beneath his dark skin. "We think we can do it all."
Shana smiled and finished the rest of her drink. "Yes, we do."
Coffie set his empty glass down on the counter and reached his hand out to shake hers.
"It was good meeting you, Shana. I'll see you again soon."
He took her fan with him when he walked out the door. Shana went to the window to watch him wrangle his children. She bit her lip again, too aware of her body. He'd awakened something within her, and she knew the attraction was mutual. She couldn't wait to see him again.
And, as always, be sure to check out the other flashers!
West Thornhill (m/m) <<>>
http://wthornhillauthor.blogspot.com/
Chris Quinton <<>>
http://chrisquinton.com/
Julie Hayes (m/m)
http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com/
Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk/
Lindsay Klug (m/m)
http://www.ichbineinteufel.blogspot.com/
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
Sui Lynn (m/m)
http://suidlynn.blogspot.com/?zx=57a5d3d27a15dbfa
Pender Mackie (m/m)
http://pendermackie.blogspot.com/
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)
http://www.ryssaedwards.net/blog/
Shana was the only white woman on the block. It was summertime and the heat was scorching outside. Her first floor apartment was muggy—there was no AC—and all she could do was open the windows and hope a breeze might pass through. She was a single mom with two children, waitressing six nights a week, daydreaming about rich men and a better life. But for now, this was it. She'd had such little time to herself, and even after three weeks, she was living mostly out of boxes.
But today, she had the day off. The custody battle was settled, and her children had made friends. Shana's white tank top stuck to her sweaty chest as she leaned out the living room window. Her two young sons were jumping through a stream of water on the sidewalk while a little dark-skinned girl held the hose. Her mother was sitting on the front step, talking on a cordless phone and keeping an eye on them. Shana was glad her boys had found a place. It was easy to tell they were mixed—their skin was very light brown, and Jasper, the youngest, had blue eyes. She knew they were beautiful and made sure they knew it, but acceptance wasn't exactly easy for some—on both ends of the racial spectrum.
But the minute she'd moved onto this block, she'd felt the sense of home they'd all longed for. Neighbor after neighbor stopped by to introduce themselves, and all of them came bearing some kind of food. Shana sighed and glanced at her messy kitchen. She should return the favor someday. Soon. But all of these boxes just seemed impossible. She opened one with pots and dishes she'd never used. It was time to find a place for them.
But the pretty blond had barely gotten through half the hand-me-down Longaberger when a knock sounded on her open door. She turned, running a hand through her long hair, in an effort to keep it from sticking to her neck.
The sight that met her blue eyes was unexpected. A tall, smooth-skinned black man stood in the doorway, smiling with perfect white teeth. Shana had never seen anything like him. His skin was impossibly dark, straight African, and it glistened like melting dark chocolate under the heat of the sun.
Damn, there was something about hot summer days on the streets of New York City. Shana's lust was instant.
"I'm Coffie," the man introduced himself. "My mother lives next door—Ms. Fifi? I'm visiting and thought I'd come say hello."
Shana wiped the dust from her hands onto her skin-tight jeans. Of course. She'd heard a bit about Ms. Fifi's sexy son.
"It's good to meet you. Ms. Fifi's been so kind to us."
She took his strong hand in hers and shook it. Her knees weakened instantly. God, he was beautiful. Late thirties, confident, proud. He was in dress slacks and a wifebeater—the perfect combination of clean and casual.
"Us?" he asked, glancing around the doorframe at the children playing. "The two light-skinned boys are yours?"
Shana nodded and joined him at the door. Her children had moved into the street now, and two girls just a little bit older than her sons were with them.
"The girls are mine," Coffie explained.
"They're gorgeous. Is your wife still visiting with your mother?"
"No wife. God knows where their mother is." He gave a small smile, and Shana returned it.
"Would you like a drink?" she offered. "A soda or water…? I could make lemonade."
"Lemonade sounds wonderful."
Coffie sat his tall frame at Shana's small kitchen table, and she took a pitcher out of a cabinet. Coffie was turning the dial of a box fan with no result.
"It's broken," Shana told him.
She was unapologetic, but simple things like that served to remind her that her life wasn't everything she'd hoped for as a little girl. She was tired, single, broke, and…God…just looking at those large, strong hands made her all too aware of how long it had been since she'd been with a man.
"I can take it for you. I'll fix it and bring it back in a day or two."
Shana was surprised at the offer. But, then, she'd spent the last two weeks being surprised at people's kindness. She's barely known her neighbors when she was growing up, and she'd never expected to be accepted, to make friends here. But she had. And here was one more. One more incredibly gorgeous friend.
She nearly spilled some of her lemon juice and bit her lip quickly, trying to keep her desire from becoming obvious. But it was overwhelming her. She couldn't explain it. Perfection had walked through her door, and she couldn't help her attraction to it.
Shana opened the cabinet above her head and reached for the glasses. The only clean ones were on the very top shelf. In an instant, Coffie was there, very near to her, grabbing two of them easily.
"Thanks," she murmured softly.
She poured the drinks and handed one to him. He remained standing as he took a long sip. Her gaze lingered on his smooth lips. He caught her looking and smiled. She returned the gesture and stared at a cardboard box on the floor.
"If you need help unpacking, I'm sure my mother and her sisters would be more than happy to come over."
"She's already offered, but thank you. I can handle it."
"I bet you say that a lot."
She glanced at him, confused and intrigued by his assumption. He didn't even know her. "Why do you say that?"
"Single parents." He shrugged, the muscles of his shoulders rippling beneath his dark skin. "We think we can do it all."
Shana smiled and finished the rest of her drink. "Yes, we do."
Coffie set his empty glass down on the counter and reached his hand out to shake hers.
"It was good meeting you, Shana. I'll see you again soon."
He took her fan with him when he walked out the door. Shana went to the window to watch him wrangle his children. She bit her lip again, too aware of her body. He'd awakened something within her, and she knew the attraction was mutual. She couldn't wait to see him again.
And, as always, be sure to check out the other flashers!
West Thornhill (m/m) <<>>
http://wthornhillauthor.blogspot.com/
Chris Quinton <<>>
http://chrisquinton.com/
Julie Hayes (m/m)
http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com/
Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk/
Lindsay Klug (m/m)
http://www.ichbineinteufel.blogspot.com/
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
Sui Lynn (m/m)
http://suidlynn.blogspot.com/?zx=57a5d3d27a15dbfa
Pender Mackie (m/m)
http://pendermackie.blogspot.com/
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)
http://www.ryssaedwards.net/blog/
July 9, 2011
Guest Blog: Raine Delight
Today I have a guest blogger after my own heart. Raine Delight, a fellow Johnny Depp and JK Rowling lover, is joining me for an interview and to discuss her latest releases. Enjoy!
What is the best dirty joke you've ever heard?
A: Ok here it goes….
Two women friends had gone out for a Girls Night Out, and had been decidedly over-enthusiastic on the cocktails. Incredibly drunk and walking home they suddenly realized they both needed to pee. They were very near a graveyard and one of them suggested they do their business behind a headstone or something. The first woman had nothing to wipe with so she took off her panties, used them and threw them away. Her friend however was wearing an expensive underwear set and didn't want to ruin hers, but was lucky enough to salvage a large ribbon from a wreath that was on a grave and proceeded to wipe herself with it. After finishing, they made their way home.
The next day the first woman's husband phones the other husband and said, "These damn girls nights out have got to stop. My wife came home last night without her panties." "That's nothing," said the other. "Mine came back with a sympathy card stuck between the cheeks of her butt that said, 'From all of us at the Fire Station, Well never forget you!'
What book that you've written so far is your favorite or the most meaningful? Why?
A: I think it would have to be Fiery Magic, book 3 in my Devon Falls series. It dealt with pregnancy, lovers torn apart and it was the most emotional book I have written. Most of my Devon Falls books are fun, light, steamy reads but this one took me in a direction that hadme crying in a scene as I was writing it.
Another is a WIP I am writing now. It is an M/M story that started with me listening to a song and the most heartbreaking scene literally came to me right then and there. I was writing it till one in the morning. My beta reader said as she read it, she was bawling. :) Guess that means I did good. *laughs*
How did you come up with your pen name?
A: Actually my one writer friend suggested my pen first name and I came up with the last name.
What made you want to become a writer? How do you define a successful writer?
A: I actually didn't know I had it in me. :) I read a few boring filled with TSTL characters that had me throwing up my hands in disgust when a friend dared me to see if I could do better. That one book is locked away, never to see the light of day it was that bad. After that, my muse gave me inspiration for Devon Falls and the rest is history.
Where do you find inspiration?
A: Actually it can be a news article, a picture, a song…anything can hit me in regards to a story idea. The key thing is to see if I can make a whole story around it.
Do you have a favorite place to write?
A: Since I can't go far to write (have a desk top computer), I write in the living room either at night (during summer vacations) or during the day an bit here and there when I am not working the day job.
Do your stories tend to have a recurring theme? If so, what is it?
A: That love is universal and can hit anybody…be it a wolf shifter, witch or a regular joe. I want to convey that everyone deserves love even if they think they don't.
What books and/or writers have inspired you?
A: J. K. Rowling has inspired me once I heard how she started out in the business. Granted I don't think I will ever make the billions she has made but to hear she started writing Harry Potter on napkins, etc at local pub, made me realize anything can happen in this business.
Were your stories secret projects or were you able to be open with your family and friends about your writing?
A: My family and a few close friends think, wrongly at times, that being a writer means I get million dollar bonuses and that it's one of those jobs where if they hold their hand out I will slap them with some green. *sighs* unfortunately that isn't the case and they haven't supported me in this. I got lucky, though, with my DH being wonderfully supportive and always rooting for me to succeed. That helps make up for the lack of interest in my writing career.
Do you have any weird writing habits?
A: Actually no I don't unless you count me eating red licorice bites while I write. :)
What advice would you give to any aspiring writers that might be reading this?
A: Don't give up and yes rejection sucks but you can move on and find a new place for your "baby". Persevere and keep writing. :)
Devon Falls 4: Haunting Magic Book 4
Paranormal/Wolf Shifter
Secret Cravings Publishing
http://www.secretcravingspublishing.com/
Release date TBA
Tagline: Can a wolf shifter find his mate before Halloween or will he be a lone wolf forever?
Rodrick Dracon is the twin heir to the Dragon Inn. When he finds himself longing for a mate after being footloose and fancy free, he finds himself drawn to the most obnoxious, brassy woman he has ever met: Jaxon Sinclair. She is the one woman who doesn't melt when he goes by or hangs on his every word. She is just aggravating and down right sexy as sin! Soon the sparks fly, passion goes into boiling and Halloween approaches. Can this wolf shifter get this woman to heel before the full moon? Will Jax turn the tables on this ladies man and tame the wolf?
Bio
Raine Delight loves to be pampered by her harem of men that exist solely for her pleasure. Wait…..that was in a movie she saw. Hey, she can dream. :) Raine loves to fight with her muse, attack her manuscripts and find a way to silence the many voices in her head. Inspiration hits at odd times and for Raine, a blank word document page gives her many possibilities on story ideas. Living with her two kids, a significant other who supports her every move in writing and doesn't mind that she talks about her books like they are real people and doesn't seem to mind she gets up at 2 am to type away on the computer. With a love for Johnny Depp, movies and 80's hair bands, Raine finds a way to bring all her chaotic thoughts into a story that tells her readers about love and romance.
Website: http://authorrainedelight.com/
Raine's Blog: http://authorrainedelight.wordpress.com/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Raine_Delight
Author/Reader Loop: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Author_Raine_Delight
Email me: rainedelight@yahoo.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorRaine-Delight
Shadowfire Press: http://www.shadowfirepress.com/
Secret Cravings Publishing: http://www.secretcravingspublishing.com/
What is the best dirty joke you've ever heard?
A: Ok here it goes….
Two women friends had gone out for a Girls Night Out, and had been decidedly over-enthusiastic on the cocktails. Incredibly drunk and walking home they suddenly realized they both needed to pee. They were very near a graveyard and one of them suggested they do their business behind a headstone or something. The first woman had nothing to wipe with so she took off her panties, used them and threw them away. Her friend however was wearing an expensive underwear set and didn't want to ruin hers, but was lucky enough to salvage a large ribbon from a wreath that was on a grave and proceeded to wipe herself with it. After finishing, they made their way home.
The next day the first woman's husband phones the other husband and said, "These damn girls nights out have got to stop. My wife came home last night without her panties." "That's nothing," said the other. "Mine came back with a sympathy card stuck between the cheeks of her butt that said, 'From all of us at the Fire Station, Well never forget you!'
What book that you've written so far is your favorite or the most meaningful? Why?
A: I think it would have to be Fiery Magic, book 3 in my Devon Falls series. It dealt with pregnancy, lovers torn apart and it was the most emotional book I have written. Most of my Devon Falls books are fun, light, steamy reads but this one took me in a direction that hadme crying in a scene as I was writing it.
Another is a WIP I am writing now. It is an M/M story that started with me listening to a song and the most heartbreaking scene literally came to me right then and there. I was writing it till one in the morning. My beta reader said as she read it, she was bawling. :) Guess that means I did good. *laughs*
How did you come up with your pen name?
A: Actually my one writer friend suggested my pen first name and I came up with the last name.
What made you want to become a writer? How do you define a successful writer?
A: I actually didn't know I had it in me. :) I read a few boring filled with TSTL characters that had me throwing up my hands in disgust when a friend dared me to see if I could do better. That one book is locked away, never to see the light of day it was that bad. After that, my muse gave me inspiration for Devon Falls and the rest is history.
Where do you find inspiration?
A: Actually it can be a news article, a picture, a song…anything can hit me in regards to a story idea. The key thing is to see if I can make a whole story around it.
Do you have a favorite place to write?
A: Since I can't go far to write (have a desk top computer), I write in the living room either at night (during summer vacations) or during the day an bit here and there when I am not working the day job.
Do your stories tend to have a recurring theme? If so, what is it?
A: That love is universal and can hit anybody…be it a wolf shifter, witch or a regular joe. I want to convey that everyone deserves love even if they think they don't.
What books and/or writers have inspired you?
A: J. K. Rowling has inspired me once I heard how she started out in the business. Granted I don't think I will ever make the billions she has made but to hear she started writing Harry Potter on napkins, etc at local pub, made me realize anything can happen in this business.
Were your stories secret projects or were you able to be open with your family and friends about your writing?
A: My family and a few close friends think, wrongly at times, that being a writer means I get million dollar bonuses and that it's one of those jobs where if they hold their hand out I will slap them with some green. *sighs* unfortunately that isn't the case and they haven't supported me in this. I got lucky, though, with my DH being wonderfully supportive and always rooting for me to succeed. That helps make up for the lack of interest in my writing career.
Do you have any weird writing habits?
A: Actually no I don't unless you count me eating red licorice bites while I write. :)
What advice would you give to any aspiring writers that might be reading this?
A: Don't give up and yes rejection sucks but you can move on and find a new place for your "baby". Persevere and keep writing. :)
Devon Falls: Fiery Magic
Book 3
Paranormal/Dragon Shifter Sensual Romance
Secret Cravings Publishing
http://www.secretcravingspublishing.com/
Release date TBA
Tagline: Can Damien Dracon find a way to win back his mate before all is lost?
Damien Dracon is back in Devon Falls, and he is about to woo the one lady he left three years ago. Family secrets and youthful pride forced him to give up the one good thing in his life: the love of Alicia Stevens. What he doesn't expect is that Alicia has a secret of her own, and it may just tear them apart. Can two former lovers find it in themselves to forgive one another and let love grow between them? Or will past secrets haunt them and tear them apart?
Devon Falls 4: Haunting Magic Book 4
Paranormal/Wolf Shifter
Secret Cravings Publishing
http://www.secretcravingspublishing.com/
Release date TBA
Tagline: Can a wolf shifter find his mate before Halloween or will he be a lone wolf forever?
Rodrick Dracon is the twin heir to the Dragon Inn. When he finds himself longing for a mate after being footloose and fancy free, he finds himself drawn to the most obnoxious, brassy woman he has ever met: Jaxon Sinclair. She is the one woman who doesn't melt when he goes by or hangs on his every word. She is just aggravating and down right sexy as sin! Soon the sparks fly, passion goes into boiling and Halloween approaches. Can this wolf shifter get this woman to heel before the full moon? Will Jax turn the tables on this ladies man and tame the wolf?
Bio
Raine Delight loves to be pampered by her harem of men that exist solely for her pleasure. Wait…..that was in a movie she saw. Hey, she can dream. :) Raine loves to fight with her muse, attack her manuscripts and find a way to silence the many voices in her head. Inspiration hits at odd times and for Raine, a blank word document page gives her many possibilities on story ideas. Living with her two kids, a significant other who supports her every move in writing and doesn't mind that she talks about her books like they are real people and doesn't seem to mind she gets up at 2 am to type away on the computer. With a love for Johnny Depp, movies and 80's hair bands, Raine finds a way to bring all her chaotic thoughts into a story that tells her readers about love and romance.
Website: http://authorrainedelight.com/
Raine's Blog: http://authorrainedelight.wordpress.com/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Raine_Delight
Author/Reader Loop: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Author_Raine_Delight
Email me: rainedelight@yahoo.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorRaine-Delight
Shadowfire Press: http://www.shadowfirepress.com/
Secret Cravings Publishing: http://www.secretcravingspublishing.com/
July 8, 2011
It's real!
Westridge is in my hands! So excited!
And don't forget! It can be in yours, too, via Amazon.com or the Silver Publishing website!
And don't forget! It can be in yours, too, via Amazon.com or the Silver Publishing website!
July 6, 2011
Silver Flash!: "Favorite"
Happy Wednesday, everyone, and welcome to another Silver Flash! This week's prompt was "I'd walk across _____ for you."
"I love you."
"Of course you do."
"I'd walk across oceans for you."
"You'd walk across anything for me right now."
Jahna lounged across the hotel bed, still wearing the lacy black thong and matching bra she'd put on especially to please the senator's son. She knew exactly what he liked by now. She was his favorite.
"I would." Lowell gave her a sideways grin.
He was naked, his large cock still deflating. Jahna licked her lips, ensuring the last salty drops of his cum were gone.
"I bought you this." He pulled a long, velvet-covered box from under one of the perfectly-fluffed, pure white pillows.
Jahna glanced from the box to Lowell's sweet brown eyes. He wasn't the most handsome man, but he certainly wasn't the worst she'd had, either. Not by far. She'd worked herself up through the ranks, moving from the street corner to high class clientele, always being choosy and remaining one of the lucky few to escape an STD or pregnancy or abortion gone wrong.
Hooking was an art, nearly forgotten. To be a success story, one had to possess just the right amount of coyness, sex appeal, and a touch of innocence. Most men needed something to go on --the smallest of hopes that they might be the first to truly please their woman.
And Jahna had all of it it. Her eyes widened slightly, surprised. For a moment, she gave him that pleasure of pleasing her. And then just like that the innocent flirtation, the submission to the sweet, rich man, retreated, and a playful smile touched her lips.
"That had better be a bonus and not means of payment."
Lowell smiled, his eyes bright with excitement. "It is. It's a gift."
"Thank you."
She smiled again and took the box. She opened it to find a white gold necklace laced with tiny diamonds. It was beautiful. Moments like this really made her feel like she'd reached the top. She pulled her hair aside and let Lowell place it around her neck. He kissed her skin sweetly, and her smile was temptingly demure.
"Stay the night with me," he requested.
"I can't."
"How much longer do we have?"
Jahna turned and kissed his mouth, tracing his lips with her tongue, making him groan and stand at attention once more.
"Fifteen minutes."
"You have another appointment?"
"Afraid so."
Lowell's next groan was one of disappointment. He laid her on her back on the big, plush bed, ready to make his last fifteen minutes worthwhile. Jahna glanced at the clock once again, to make sure her timing was correct. Yes. Fifteen minutes, and she'd have plenty of time to make it to his father's apartment.
She was his favorite, too.
Be sure to check out this week's other flashers!
Julie Hayes (m/m)
http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com/
LindsayKlug (m/m)
http://www.ichbineinteufel.blogspot.com/
Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk/
Pender Mackie (m/m)
http://pendermackie.blogspot.com/
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)
http://ryssaedwards.blogspot.com/
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
"I love you."
"Of course you do."
"I'd walk across oceans for you."
"You'd walk across anything for me right now."
Jahna lounged across the hotel bed, still wearing the lacy black thong and matching bra she'd put on especially to please the senator's son. She knew exactly what he liked by now. She was his favorite.
"I would." Lowell gave her a sideways grin.
He was naked, his large cock still deflating. Jahna licked her lips, ensuring the last salty drops of his cum were gone.
"I bought you this." He pulled a long, velvet-covered box from under one of the perfectly-fluffed, pure white pillows.
Jahna glanced from the box to Lowell's sweet brown eyes. He wasn't the most handsome man, but he certainly wasn't the worst she'd had, either. Not by far. She'd worked herself up through the ranks, moving from the street corner to high class clientele, always being choosy and remaining one of the lucky few to escape an STD or pregnancy or abortion gone wrong.
Hooking was an art, nearly forgotten. To be a success story, one had to possess just the right amount of coyness, sex appeal, and a touch of innocence. Most men needed something to go on --the smallest of hopes that they might be the first to truly please their woman.
And Jahna had all of it it. Her eyes widened slightly, surprised. For a moment, she gave him that pleasure of pleasing her. And then just like that the innocent flirtation, the submission to the sweet, rich man, retreated, and a playful smile touched her lips.
"That had better be a bonus and not means of payment."
Lowell smiled, his eyes bright with excitement. "It is. It's a gift."
"Thank you."
She smiled again and took the box. She opened it to find a white gold necklace laced with tiny diamonds. It was beautiful. Moments like this really made her feel like she'd reached the top. She pulled her hair aside and let Lowell place it around her neck. He kissed her skin sweetly, and her smile was temptingly demure.
"Stay the night with me," he requested.
"I can't."
"How much longer do we have?"
Jahna turned and kissed his mouth, tracing his lips with her tongue, making him groan and stand at attention once more.
"Fifteen minutes."
"You have another appointment?"
"Afraid so."
Lowell's next groan was one of disappointment. He laid her on her back on the big, plush bed, ready to make his last fifteen minutes worthwhile. Jahna glanced at the clock once again, to make sure her timing was correct. Yes. Fifteen minutes, and she'd have plenty of time to make it to his father's apartment.
She was his favorite, too.
Be sure to check out this week's other flashers!
Julie Hayes (m/m)
http://julielynnhayes.blogspot.com/
LindsayKlug (m/m)
http://www.ichbineinteufel.blogspot.com/
Victoria Blisse (m/f)
http://www.victoriablisse.co.uk/
Pender Mackie (m/m)
http://pendermackie.blogspot.com/
Ryssa Edwards (m/m)
http://ryssaedwards.blogspot.com/
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
http://lilysawyerbooks.blogspot.com/
