V.L. Locey's Blog, page 101
January 19, 2014
Pink Pucks & Power Plays Excerpt # 2
Another week closer! I`m sure Viviana and Alain are getting antsy to share the story of their sultry love affair with you. I know I`m beyond excited! Thankfully we only have two days left until the release date! If you`re interested in reserving your copy, Pink Pucks is now available for pre-order!
Pink Pucks & Power Plays
Speaking of erotic love affairs, why don`t we have a spicy snippet this time? Let`s see how a night on the town ends for our handsome young D-man and his sassy new flame, shall we?
*~*~*
One just never knows when one offers a man a whistle-wetter what form that wetting will take. Whereas I had envisioned a long, tall flute of some lovely mid-priced champagne from my fridge to refresh Alain`s tongue he had something a bit less alcoholic in mind.
“It looks like I have one bottle of bubbly left from a New Year`s Eve party, or two bottles of raspberry spring water,” I announced from the chilly confines of my refrigerator. “Personally, I`d go with the champagne. The flavored water tastes off to me for some reason.” I reached for the bottle on the top shelf, then pulled out two chilled flutes from the half dozen I leave in the fridge. “So, what do you want to wet your whistle with?” I asked, waving the bottle, cold air blowing over my calves.
Alain never uttered a syllable. His eyes grabbed mine. My heart leaped around like a frog on meth in my chest, and then he was all over me.
My back hit the kitchen wall soundly. I held a bottle of champagne in my left hand and two crystal goblets in my right. Alain had me by the waist. My arms were looped around his neck. My leg was hiked up the side of his hip. He was more than mildly thirsty from his week on first base. He was nearly dehydrated. His tongue wrestled with mine aggressively.
I pushed the cold bottle of Bollinger against the back of his head, egging him into kissing me harder and deeper. The light from the refrigerator was the only illumination aside from a small plum nightlight I keep lit beside the sink. I hoped like hell the salami didn`t get too warm.
I nearly dropped the bubbly when he lifted me from the floor to the counter. His mouth never left mine.
He was so damned thirsty.
*~*~*
To find out how this little whistle wetting adventure ends, you`ll have to grab a copy of Pink Pucks & Power Plays when it releases! I`m a terrible tease, I know.
Pink Pucks & Power Plays
Speaking of erotic love affairs, why don`t we have a spicy snippet this time? Let`s see how a night on the town ends for our handsome young D-man and his sassy new flame, shall we?
*~*~*
One just never knows when one offers a man a whistle-wetter what form that wetting will take. Whereas I had envisioned a long, tall flute of some lovely mid-priced champagne from my fridge to refresh Alain`s tongue he had something a bit less alcoholic in mind.
“It looks like I have one bottle of bubbly left from a New Year`s Eve party, or two bottles of raspberry spring water,” I announced from the chilly confines of my refrigerator. “Personally, I`d go with the champagne. The flavored water tastes off to me for some reason.” I reached for the bottle on the top shelf, then pulled out two chilled flutes from the half dozen I leave in the fridge. “So, what do you want to wet your whistle with?” I asked, waving the bottle, cold air blowing over my calves.
Alain never uttered a syllable. His eyes grabbed mine. My heart leaped around like a frog on meth in my chest, and then he was all over me.
My back hit the kitchen wall soundly. I held a bottle of champagne in my left hand and two crystal goblets in my right. Alain had me by the waist. My arms were looped around his neck. My leg was hiked up the side of his hip. He was more than mildly thirsty from his week on first base. He was nearly dehydrated. His tongue wrestled with mine aggressively.
I pushed the cold bottle of Bollinger against the back of his head, egging him into kissing me harder and deeper. The light from the refrigerator was the only illumination aside from a small plum nightlight I keep lit beside the sink. I hoped like hell the salami didn`t get too warm.
I nearly dropped the bubbly when he lifted me from the floor to the counter. His mouth never left mine.
He was so damned thirsty.
*~*~*
To find out how this little whistle wetting adventure ends, you`ll have to grab a copy of Pink Pucks & Power Plays when it releases! I`m a terrible tease, I know.
January 17, 2014
Dear Jon - Issue # 25
The final chapter in my M/M historical romance Dear Jon is up over at Storytime Trysts.
I hope you`ve enjoyed this romantic trip back in time.
Storytime Trysts
January 16, 2014
Ruby Fielding Pays A Visit
Please welcome Ruby Fielding to our little corner of the interweb! She`s here to talk about a topic near and dear to my heart, shifters!
*~*~*
Hunted: a Shifters' World novella By Ruby Fielding
Should she struggle to survive alone or give in to desire and risk the - perhaps deadly - company of others?
In a world where plague has swept civilization away like leaves in a storm, where viruses that cause people to shift and change have altered what it is, for most, to be human, a few survivors hold out in a desperate attempt to save the human race. Selene lives alone in the forest, protecting herself from human and shifter alike until one day a stranger turns up: a young man called Skinner, out on a quest to hunt down and destroy any shifter he can find. Torn between desire and fear, Selene must confront her true nature and make some impossible choices if she is to survive this harsh, post-apocalyptic future.
Hunted: a Shifters' World novella - a shapeshifter erotic romance of survival and desire in a deadly future from the co-author of Seduced by Moonlight and The Touch.
GiveawayHunted was first published in late 2013 as four separate short stories; these have been rewritten and expanded to work as a single novella. Ruby is offering free copies of the first of these stories, Lone Wolf, to three readers who will be randomly chosen from those who leave comments on this blog post; closing date is seven days after this post. If you wish to be considered, please specify your preferred format (Kindle, epub or PDF) in your comment.
Extract from Hunted: a Shifters’ World novella He had been lying back in the water, arms spread, eyes shut, drifting slowly until now he straightened, found his footing on the rocky bottom of the pool – she knew the slimy hardness of those rocks so well! – and stood.Swaying for balance, the water came up to his ribs now.His arms were long and lean, his frame wiry and muscular. He had the look of a fighter, a scrapper. A survivor. That smudge of dark hair thickened across his chest, down over his ribs and over his belly, she saw, as he started to emerge from the water, treading carefully as he headed towards dry land... towards her.His belly rippled with muscles and looked hard, dark with that hair as it thickened towards...She swallowed as he paused, the water around his thighs and the long shaft of his manhood hanging down, fat and heavy. Its head just touched the water’s surface, sending its own ripples spreading outwards.She reached down, fingers trailing across her ribs, her belly, to the waistband of her jeans, that belt of cord and the hardness she had tucked there before venturing out. Easing it free, she raised the handgun, suddenly very aware of its weight. She didn’t aim it yet, just stood there with it poised. A solid lump of reassurance in her hands.The man stretched, yawning, and she watched his manhood twitch, and then flop to one side as he took another step out of the water. Its length swung easily as he moved. “You got a silver bullet in that thing?”He was staring right at the screen of vegetation, as if he could see through it! She didn’t move. She wasn’t the only one whose senses were attuned to the environment, it seemed. “If so, you don’t want to be wasting that silver bullet on me,” the man went on. How long since she’d heard another voice? She didn’t know. Another memory lost, or buried deep.“It’s an old wives’ tale anyhow.” The man’s tone was easy, conversational; no indication from his voice that she had a handgun that was now trained on him and he was standing there butt-naked in front of her. “Silver bullet or any old bullet – you hit one of the beasts right in the head or in the heart and it’ll drop just like a man. Useful piece of information that, and I’m giving it you as a gift, you hear me?”One more step, another, and he was clear of the water. She studied him, unable to deny the base feelings the sight stirred in her. How long had it been? Since the touch of another human, of bare skin against her own. The intimacy, and the trust.And damn, but he was growing hard as he stood there! As he’d been talking, that shaft had thickened even more as it filled out, hung longer, then started to push away from his body. Then, like an animal emerging from its lair, the swollen purple head started to break free, the skin rolling back to reveal that most intimate of places.Now, the man shrugged, and a shy smile broke across his face. “I think I need to apologize, ma’am. It’s been a time and I guess my body’s got a few less manners than the rest of me. If you’d just allow me to...?” He nodded towards a pile of clothes nearby.She caught herself. She had to pull herself together, stop reacting like this. She was a woman. She was a human. She was in control of herself and her responses. She wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted by...“No,” she snapped. How long since she’d spoken aloud? Her voice was dry, little more than a croak. “You wait there where I can see you,” she went on. “Ain’t no reason why I should trust you with your things.” Who knew what he might have concealed there with his clothes?He shrugged, and spread his hands briefly, as if to acknowledge the sense in her caution, and damn, but that thing of his just cranked itself up a notch or two higher as, finally, she broke free of her hiding place and came to stand before him.§Close to, he was younger than she had guessed. No gray to his hair, no craggy lines to his face. A few scars on his body, but that could happen at any age. Now it was his turn for eyes to roam, and suddenly she was reminded of when she’d checked herself in that shard of mirror earlier on, remembering how exhausted she had looked and – fainter – a time when that kind of thing had mattered a whole lot more than it did now.“You can shoot me now, if that’s what you want to do,” he said, his tone still conversational. “But I suggest you don’t want to do anything that’s going to make so much noise. Never know what you might draw in, and that’s not meant to be a threat, although it sounded like one. Just common caution born of experience.”He moved his hands to cover himself, cupping his manhood but barely containing it. “As an alternative to shooting me you could just let me get my things and I’d beat my retreat. That’d be a sensible thing to do – no point killing off those of us who may just be ordinary good folk like yourself when some day you may come to realize just how rare a commodity we are. But then I’d be the first to acknowledge the inherent risk in that proposition, ma’am. Set me free and how do you know I’ll be as good as my word and won’t just hang around until I can take you off guard and do whatever it is I might be wanting to do?”As he shrugged, she couldn’t help but notice the movement of his hands, pulled by the raising of his shoulders, and the slight gasp that induced in him. Damn, but her guard was low today! She’d never have thought she would be drawn so much to the physical...She lowered her aim until it was pointing at his crotch. “Am I to take that as a sign of what you ‘might be wanting to do’?” she asked.“No ma’am. That’s just what a man’s body does when he puts himself naked before...” he stopped. “Hell,” he then started again. “That’s just a natural response, ma’am. Ain’t much I can do about it, I’m afraid.”“So what’s it to be?” she asked him. “Shoot you or set you free on the promise there’ll never be a hint of you round these parts again?”“You asking my advice? Hell, if I were you I’d take the third option, ma’am.”
Ruby Fielding is a British author, currently living in the heart of a New England forest. She travels widely, and has lived in England, Scotland, the US, France, India and Australia. Wherever she happens to be living, you're likely to find her at the nearest wifi hot spot with her laptop and a large mug of coffee.
She writes mainly paranormal erotica and romance, sometimes in collaboration with her old friend Polly J Adams; their joint stories are published separately and collected together into the single volume, Seduced by Moonlight.
All the latest news on Ruby's writing and publishing can be found on her website; also, why not join her mailing list, or hook up with her on Facebook?
Hunted: a Shifters' World novella by Ruby Fielding is currently available from:Amazon.comAmazon.co.ukBarnes and NobleKoboGoogle Play...and it will be available from Smashwords and All Romance eBooks soon!You can grab your copy of Hunted: A Shifter`s World novella for 99 cents at Amazon for the next week!
*~*~*
Hunted: a Shifters' World novella By Ruby Fielding
Should she struggle to survive alone or give in to desire and risk the - perhaps deadly - company of others?
In a world where plague has swept civilization away like leaves in a storm, where viruses that cause people to shift and change have altered what it is, for most, to be human, a few survivors hold out in a desperate attempt to save the human race. Selene lives alone in the forest, protecting herself from human and shifter alike until one day a stranger turns up: a young man called Skinner, out on a quest to hunt down and destroy any shifter he can find. Torn between desire and fear, Selene must confront her true nature and make some impossible choices if she is to survive this harsh, post-apocalyptic future.
Hunted: a Shifters' World novella - a shapeshifter erotic romance of survival and desire in a deadly future from the co-author of Seduced by Moonlight and The Touch.
GiveawayHunted was first published in late 2013 as four separate short stories; these have been rewritten and expanded to work as a single novella. Ruby is offering free copies of the first of these stories, Lone Wolf, to three readers who will be randomly chosen from those who leave comments on this blog post; closing date is seven days after this post. If you wish to be considered, please specify your preferred format (Kindle, epub or PDF) in your comment.
Extract from Hunted: a Shifters’ World novella He had been lying back in the water, arms spread, eyes shut, drifting slowly until now he straightened, found his footing on the rocky bottom of the pool – she knew the slimy hardness of those rocks so well! – and stood.Swaying for balance, the water came up to his ribs now.His arms were long and lean, his frame wiry and muscular. He had the look of a fighter, a scrapper. A survivor. That smudge of dark hair thickened across his chest, down over his ribs and over his belly, she saw, as he started to emerge from the water, treading carefully as he headed towards dry land... towards her.His belly rippled with muscles and looked hard, dark with that hair as it thickened towards...She swallowed as he paused, the water around his thighs and the long shaft of his manhood hanging down, fat and heavy. Its head just touched the water’s surface, sending its own ripples spreading outwards.She reached down, fingers trailing across her ribs, her belly, to the waistband of her jeans, that belt of cord and the hardness she had tucked there before venturing out. Easing it free, she raised the handgun, suddenly very aware of its weight. She didn’t aim it yet, just stood there with it poised. A solid lump of reassurance in her hands.The man stretched, yawning, and she watched his manhood twitch, and then flop to one side as he took another step out of the water. Its length swung easily as he moved. “You got a silver bullet in that thing?”He was staring right at the screen of vegetation, as if he could see through it! She didn’t move. She wasn’t the only one whose senses were attuned to the environment, it seemed. “If so, you don’t want to be wasting that silver bullet on me,” the man went on. How long since she’d heard another voice? She didn’t know. Another memory lost, or buried deep.“It’s an old wives’ tale anyhow.” The man’s tone was easy, conversational; no indication from his voice that she had a handgun that was now trained on him and he was standing there butt-naked in front of her. “Silver bullet or any old bullet – you hit one of the beasts right in the head or in the heart and it’ll drop just like a man. Useful piece of information that, and I’m giving it you as a gift, you hear me?”One more step, another, and he was clear of the water. She studied him, unable to deny the base feelings the sight stirred in her. How long had it been? Since the touch of another human, of bare skin against her own. The intimacy, and the trust.And damn, but he was growing hard as he stood there! As he’d been talking, that shaft had thickened even more as it filled out, hung longer, then started to push away from his body. Then, like an animal emerging from its lair, the swollen purple head started to break free, the skin rolling back to reveal that most intimate of places.Now, the man shrugged, and a shy smile broke across his face. “I think I need to apologize, ma’am. It’s been a time and I guess my body’s got a few less manners than the rest of me. If you’d just allow me to...?” He nodded towards a pile of clothes nearby.She caught herself. She had to pull herself together, stop reacting like this. She was a woman. She was a human. She was in control of herself and her responses. She wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted by...“No,” she snapped. How long since she’d spoken aloud? Her voice was dry, little more than a croak. “You wait there where I can see you,” she went on. “Ain’t no reason why I should trust you with your things.” Who knew what he might have concealed there with his clothes?He shrugged, and spread his hands briefly, as if to acknowledge the sense in her caution, and damn, but that thing of his just cranked itself up a notch or two higher as, finally, she broke free of her hiding place and came to stand before him.§Close to, he was younger than she had guessed. No gray to his hair, no craggy lines to his face. A few scars on his body, but that could happen at any age. Now it was his turn for eyes to roam, and suddenly she was reminded of when she’d checked herself in that shard of mirror earlier on, remembering how exhausted she had looked and – fainter – a time when that kind of thing had mattered a whole lot more than it did now.“You can shoot me now, if that’s what you want to do,” he said, his tone still conversational. “But I suggest you don’t want to do anything that’s going to make so much noise. Never know what you might draw in, and that’s not meant to be a threat, although it sounded like one. Just common caution born of experience.”He moved his hands to cover himself, cupping his manhood but barely containing it. “As an alternative to shooting me you could just let me get my things and I’d beat my retreat. That’d be a sensible thing to do – no point killing off those of us who may just be ordinary good folk like yourself when some day you may come to realize just how rare a commodity we are. But then I’d be the first to acknowledge the inherent risk in that proposition, ma’am. Set me free and how do you know I’ll be as good as my word and won’t just hang around until I can take you off guard and do whatever it is I might be wanting to do?”As he shrugged, she couldn’t help but notice the movement of his hands, pulled by the raising of his shoulders, and the slight gasp that induced in him. Damn, but her guard was low today! She’d never have thought she would be drawn so much to the physical...She lowered her aim until it was pointing at his crotch. “Am I to take that as a sign of what you ‘might be wanting to do’?” she asked.“No ma’am. That’s just what a man’s body does when he puts himself naked before...” he stopped. “Hell,” he then started again. “That’s just a natural response, ma’am. Ain’t much I can do about it, I’m afraid.”“So what’s it to be?” she asked him. “Shoot you or set you free on the promise there’ll never be a hint of you round these parts again?”“You asking my advice? Hell, if I were you I’d take the third option, ma’am.”
Ruby Fielding is a British author, currently living in the heart of a New England forest. She travels widely, and has lived in England, Scotland, the US, France, India and Australia. Wherever she happens to be living, you're likely to find her at the nearest wifi hot spot with her laptop and a large mug of coffee.
She writes mainly paranormal erotica and romance, sometimes in collaboration with her old friend Polly J Adams; their joint stories are published separately and collected together into the single volume, Seduced by Moonlight.
All the latest news on Ruby's writing and publishing can be found on her website; also, why not join her mailing list, or hook up with her on Facebook?
Hunted: a Shifters' World novella by Ruby Fielding is currently available from:Amazon.comAmazon.co.ukBarnes and NobleKoboGoogle Play...and it will be available from Smashwords and All Romance eBooks soon!You can grab your copy of Hunted: A Shifter`s World novella for 99 cents at Amazon for the next week!
January 15, 2014
Welcome, M.S. Spencer!
Today I`m happy to have author M.S. Spencer visiting! She`ll be sharing some background on her latest book, as well as an excerpt. The floor is all yours, M.S.!
*~*
Hi, Vicki. Thanks for having me. Before we get to the spicy excerpt, I'd like to tell your readers a little about how this story came to be.
It is amazing what a little Googling can lead to. Sometimes truth is truly stranger than fiction. For example, the intricate plot for the Mason’s Mark came about unexpectedly. I started with the idea that my heroine finds a dead body on top of the George Washington National Masonic Memorial. The GWM is not only a Masonic Lodge (Alexandria-Washington no. 22) but a memorial to George Washington and a national showcase for freemasonry. In order to ensure authenticity, I wanted to learn as much about freemasonry as I could.
I began with basic sites on Masons, but my Google search led me into a strange world of global intrigue and crime. I followed one thread to a fake Masonic lodge called Propaganda Due, led by a remarkable scam artist named Licio Gelli. He was associated with Nazis, Communists, terrorists, and the Mafia, to name a few. But his connection to a shadowy group called Operation Gladio—supposedly a team of black ops left in Europe after WWII to guard against Communist takeovers—was too intriguing not to use. Thus was born The Mason's Mark: Love and Death in the Tower, a contemporary tale about old scandals. And a dynamite love story.
The moral is: sometimes it pays to click on random links and let the threads take you where they may—you may get a really great story out of it.
Here's a summary of the Mason's Mark:
In both the best and worst first day at work ever, docent Claire Wilding meets the man of her dreams, but her carefully rehearsed guided tour of the George Washington National Masonic Memorial falls apart when she discovers a dead body. Together with Detective Ernest Angle, she's drawn into a dark world of black ops and Italian renegade masons. Also cloaked in mystery is her new love Gideon Bliss. A George Washington expert, he haunts the Memorial, his manner evasive. What is his secret? Claire fears she'll fall in love with him only to learn he's a thief or even a murderer.Juggling two eccentric mothers, an inquisitive sister, and an increasingly smitten Ernest, Claire must find answers to a complex web of intrigue, including which black ops agent to trust, whether our first president strayed, and if she and Gideon will ever be together.
The Mason's Mark : Love and Death in the Tower (an Old Town Romance)Secret Cravings Publishing (released January 7, 2014)eBook (79,000 words), Romantic suspense, M/F, 3 flames
Buy Link: http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=book_info&cPath=4&products_id=800
Excerpt (R) : Gideon Comes Back
When they reached Prince Street Gideon found a parking spot directly in front of her house, no small feat. Just one more way he’s special, thought Claire glumly. He walked her to her door. She unlocked it and turned to thank him, but he was already on his way to his car.Ichabod greeted her with a snarl.“I know. I forgot to feed you. Come on, Icky.” She found a can of cat food and emptied it into his bowl. Then she poured herself a large glass of water and took it to the living room to conduct an analysis of the evening.So at any point did I come across as even semi-coherent? She tried to hack through the warm, fuzzy blanket of the evening. Gideon had been the perfect gentleman, ordering foie gras and champagne, pointing out the constellations with obvious expertise, helping her in and out of the car. It all seemed so…unreal. Like he was acting a part. Too perfect. And he’d sucked her in like soda through a straw. She slapped her forehead, forgetting that she still held the glass. Water sluiced across her face and ran down her front. She mopped it up with some tissues and vowed to hit the antique stores that weekend. I’ve got to get a coffee table. Preferably one with cup holders.The doorbell rang. With the disintegrating tissue pressed to her face, she stood on tiptoe to check the peephole and looked straight into an unblinking sea-green ocean. Gideon. After a minute she remembered to open the door.He stared at her with concern. “Are you all right?”Claire pulled the tissue away and noticed black streaks on it. Her mascara must have run. Oh no, I bet he thinks I’ve been crying. She rubbed her eyes, hoping that wasn’t making it worse. “Fine. I spilled a glass of water, that’s all.”“Oh.” He stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Um, could I come in for a minute?”She pointed at the living room and backed away, then turned and leapt up the steps. A quick look in the mirror confirmed her suspicions. I look like something Ichabod’s been playing with. She fixed her face, wrung out her blouse, and returned with renewed aplomb.Gideon filled the small space. Claire sidled around him and sat on a packing crate. He looked around the room. “So…er, have you just moved in?”“Yes.” It struck her that he was more uncomfortable than she and drew strength from that. “About a week ago. Sorry about the mess. Won’t you have a seat?”He dropped down on the loveseat but immediately sprang back up. He patted his rear, flummoxed. “Why am I wet?”Claire put a hand to her mouth to suppress the giggle. “Ooh, I’m sorry. I forgot. That’s where I spilled the water. Here, let me.”She retrieved a towel from the kitchen and began to dab at the dark blotch on his khakis. He stood it for a minute, then put a hand under her chin and lifted her up. “You’d better stop doing that. This is hard enough for me.” He blinked. “Do you…do you know how beautiful you are?”The question threw her. How to respond? Yes? No? Tell me more? She decided to let him talk.“Your eyes are the color of the deepest part of the Caribbean Sea on a cloudless day. I could sink into them and drown.” He touched her brow. “And these little cinnabar ringlets framing that soft, creamy face…” He wrapped one around his finger. “Wind one up tight and it could strangle me.” He took her hand. “Your fingers—so slim and delicate, like little stilettos. Sharp enough to gouge an eye out.”Claire stepped away from him, bewildered. “You make me sound like a vicious animal. Why?”His hands dropped to his sides. “Because I sense how dangerous you are.”“Dangerous?”“To me. Claire…I—” He gazed at her helplessly.Someone had better take charge.“Come with me.”“What?”He seemed distracted—perhaps working out another ghoulish metaphor? “I want to show you something.”“Okay.”Gideon let her take his hand and lead him upstairs. Since he had to duck his head to avoid hitting the lintel of the miniature door he missed the part where Claire stripped off her dress and tossed it aside. She stood before him, a translucent blue lace bra and panties the only thing between her and the touch of his fingers on her tingling skin.He gazed at her, perfectly still and silent.Claire waited as long as she could, then gently unbuttoned his shirt. She unbuckled his belt and pulled the chinos down, When she reached his socks, Gideon pulled her up. “I see where this is going.”She arched an eyebrow. “Would you like to help?”He ran his hands over her shoulders, down to her waist, then around to her ass. “You haven't left me much to do.”“Only the best part.”He sighed. “I knew it would come to this.” A minute later Claire's last line of fabric defense lay in tatters, Gideon's shoes, socks, pants, and assorted other items lay strewn about the room, and the two of them were locked in a frantic embrace, limbs intertwined in a complex filigree pattern. Claire's desire exploded, shattering the cloistered walls built up over three long, empty years, years without the feel of a man's hard body, of his hands, of his penis. She lapped him up, reveling in the joy of uninhibited pleasure, banishing all rational thought. Gideon made her feel both delicate and wanton. Whatever he had feared must have lost its power, for he was not shy in his efforts to bring her to the edge. When his fingers and his lips had finished their work, his cock slid slowly and inexorably inside, nudging her to orgasm. Like Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill, Gideon drove her steadily to the tipping point, his eyes locked on hers, his hips rocking, lifting her, goading her, until she fell, rolling joyously back down, taking him with her.
****Biography
Although she has lived or traveled in every continent except Antarctica and Australia (bucket list), M. S. Spencer has spent the last thirty years mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director and parent. Blessed with two fabulous grown children, she has published eight romantic suspense/mystery novels. In an excess of optimism, she has recently heaved the entire ho to Florida with a detour to Maine, leaving behind the cherry blossoms, the monuments, and the political hacks.
Contacts
Blog: http://msspencertalespinner.blogspot.comFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/M.S.SpencerAuthorTwitter: www.twitter.com/msspencerauthorPinterest: http://pinterest.com/msspencerauthor/
Author Pages
Secret Cravings Publishing: http://store.secretcravingspublishing.com/index.php?main_page=products_all&filter_author=56Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/M.S.-Spencer/e/B002ZOEUC8/
GoodReads: http://www.goodreads.com/msspencer
January 13, 2014
Tuesday Tales - Satin
Welcome to Tuesday Tales! This week we have another excerpt from my 2013 NaNoWriMo novel, Laco Law – The Gnarled Oak. Laco Lawis an M/M historical western romance, set in the fictional county of Laco, Texas in 1867.
This week our word prompt is ‘Satin’. In this excerpt Clayton and Zeke have tracked down the Gum Brothers and retribution is at hand.
A note for my readers: This is a gay erotic romance novel, and so the romance that occurs is man on man. If this is not your cup of tea, no one will think less of you if you read no further. Also, this excerpt contains graphic violence as well as explicit language, so the same note applies.
As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find. Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
I mentally damned them both to rot in hell. A rogue bullet slammed into the outhouse. Silence descended upon us. A woman cried out inside the home. Then a man let his presence be known.
“You lawmen?” he shouted. The woman`s screams grew louder. I took off my hat to peer around the corner of the outhouse. Two men, both of similar size and build, were sneaking out of the house, each one with a hostage or two. A naked woman who bore the signs of rough handling was being dragged from the porch, smoking revolver barrel to her head. Two children, neither older than six, were hauled out by a man that sucked air in with deathly, wheezing gasps. The second man was in bad shape. He had all he could handle with the duo of shrieking, terrified children.
“That we are. I have been duly authorized by the state of Texas to bring you in dead or alive,” I replied between the children`s screams. “Are you the Gum Brothers?”
“That we are!” the first man mimicked my Cajun accent. That was fine. His days of parroting anyone were drawing to a close, so he might as well enjoy his final moments. “You look familiar. Did I fuck your sister? Or maybe it was your mother, Sheriff?!”
I drew back behind the outhouse to check the Henry and take a moment. The smell of the shitter did nothing to ease my mental state, or lessen the annoyances to my nose or eyes. Flies buzzed slothfully around the vent holes. The wind whipped through the satin bloomers on the line.
“That would have been my sister,” I called out. I drew in a steadying breath, stepped out, fired one single shot, and removed the side of Gum Brother One`s face from his skull. The woman fell out of his grip as he tumbled backwards, her naked breast splattered with brain matter. The second man, Gum Brother Number Two, seemed momentarily stupefied. Perhaps he was. I aimed at his groin. His brother convulsed in front of a passing goat, his brain just now realizing it was exposed to the world.
Gum Brother Number Two took the small boy by the neck. The lad’s feet left the ground. I had no clean shot. My deputy did, though. A bullet tore through Gum Brother Number Two`s rib-cage. The man twisted and contorted then crumpled like a cast aside rag doll. Dog appeared, his coat soaking wet, his fangs bared. He leaped on the man. I ran forward to pull the dog from the outlaw`s throat. The kids and the woman cried and wailed. Dog had ripped an ugly hole in the man`s windpipe. Zeke then limped into sight. The weeping and wailing grew into a crescendo that made man and dog whine in pain.
“He`s with me!” I shouted at the huddled mass of crying bodies in the dusty yard. Zeke said something to Dog. The mutt trotted off proudly, his muzzle coated with blood.
“You`re heading to see your God soon,” Zeke told the man writhing at our feet. “Maybe you should clear your conscious.”
“We fucking . . . hung you,” Gum Two panted. I kicked him as hard as I could in the face then I politely told the woman to take the children inside. She gathered her young to her saggy breasts. They hurried inside. The door closed. Zeke and I crouched down beside Mister Gum. Gum`s pale blue eyes were round as dinner platters. I glanced at my deputy. He was an incredible contradiction. On his chest he wore a symbol of law and order, but in his hand he balanced a knife crafted from stone and bone. I had never seen the knife outwardly carried, so it must be a hidden weapon. Gum Number Two, now he had obviously been witness to such flat knives before, for he began weeping and pleading with my deputy.
Zeke reached for the dying man`s thinning golden hair. Gum screamed for mercy. I looked at my deputy with shock. His mouth was a flat line. I caught the slight twitch lift the livid bruise at the corner of his mouth.
“Mister Gum,” I drawled, leaning back on my calf as Zeke made sounds to show just how impressed he was with the pretty yellow scalp, “Not only did you attack then try to hang my deputy by his neck until he was dead, you have also been accused of numerous crimes ranging from rape to robbery to murder.”
“He wasn`t wearing . . . no star!” he coughed. Blood bubbled from his mouth. Zeke`s grip tightened. The scalping knife, if that`s what it was, came to rest on Gum`s sodden hairline.
“I strongly suspect that would not have mattered,” I said. Zeke`s dark brow crept up minutely at my sardonic tone. “What will matter is how you spend your last few moments here on Earth. Now, you can go out with a clear conscious by telling us who you ride with and work for. Or,” I inclined my head at Zeke. He smiled coldly down at the man as his blade made a fine line of blood appear on Gum`s brow. “I`ll go check on the family that you`ve been terrorizing and let my deputy take his prize. Damned awful way to meet St. Peter, minus your hair and all . . .”
“Double Sun,” Brother Gum coughed violently. I looked at Zeke. The Tonkawa shook his head. The blade bit deeper into Gum`s skull. A brown goat with long ears and a pendulous udder came over to watch the interrogation. Foamy red spittle now dotted Zeke`s shirt. I asked for clarity. Gum Number Two could not give us any as his time upon this plane had just ended. I didn`t bother to close his eyes. The lingering sight of an Indian about to remove his hair from his head was a fitting one for such a man.
I stood up. Zeke did as well. He slipped the blade into the side of his boot then tugged the hem of his pant leg downward to cover his ankle.
“Would you have really scalped him?” I asked, cradling my Henry in the crook of my arm.
“Not with them watching,” he said, his eyes moving to the house. I looked over my shoulder to see three pale faces plastered to the lone pane of glass. I nodded at the group. They faded from view. I turned to face Zeke.
“If they hadn`t been here?”
He met my searching look with a flat one, whistled for his dog, and then walked towards the paddock to reclaim his horse, his guns riding low on his hips.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week with more from the old West!
This week our word prompt is ‘Satin’. In this excerpt Clayton and Zeke have tracked down the Gum Brothers and retribution is at hand.
A note for my readers: This is a gay erotic romance novel, and so the romance that occurs is man on man. If this is not your cup of tea, no one will think less of you if you read no further. Also, this excerpt contains graphic violence as well as explicit language, so the same note applies.
As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find. Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
I mentally damned them both to rot in hell. A rogue bullet slammed into the outhouse. Silence descended upon us. A woman cried out inside the home. Then a man let his presence be known.
“You lawmen?” he shouted. The woman`s screams grew louder. I took off my hat to peer around the corner of the outhouse. Two men, both of similar size and build, were sneaking out of the house, each one with a hostage or two. A naked woman who bore the signs of rough handling was being dragged from the porch, smoking revolver barrel to her head. Two children, neither older than six, were hauled out by a man that sucked air in with deathly, wheezing gasps. The second man was in bad shape. He had all he could handle with the duo of shrieking, terrified children.
“That we are. I have been duly authorized by the state of Texas to bring you in dead or alive,” I replied between the children`s screams. “Are you the Gum Brothers?”
“That we are!” the first man mimicked my Cajun accent. That was fine. His days of parroting anyone were drawing to a close, so he might as well enjoy his final moments. “You look familiar. Did I fuck your sister? Or maybe it was your mother, Sheriff?!”
I drew back behind the outhouse to check the Henry and take a moment. The smell of the shitter did nothing to ease my mental state, or lessen the annoyances to my nose or eyes. Flies buzzed slothfully around the vent holes. The wind whipped through the satin bloomers on the line.
“That would have been my sister,” I called out. I drew in a steadying breath, stepped out, fired one single shot, and removed the side of Gum Brother One`s face from his skull. The woman fell out of his grip as he tumbled backwards, her naked breast splattered with brain matter. The second man, Gum Brother Number Two, seemed momentarily stupefied. Perhaps he was. I aimed at his groin. His brother convulsed in front of a passing goat, his brain just now realizing it was exposed to the world.
Gum Brother Number Two took the small boy by the neck. The lad’s feet left the ground. I had no clean shot. My deputy did, though. A bullet tore through Gum Brother Number Two`s rib-cage. The man twisted and contorted then crumpled like a cast aside rag doll. Dog appeared, his coat soaking wet, his fangs bared. He leaped on the man. I ran forward to pull the dog from the outlaw`s throat. The kids and the woman cried and wailed. Dog had ripped an ugly hole in the man`s windpipe. Zeke then limped into sight. The weeping and wailing grew into a crescendo that made man and dog whine in pain.
“He`s with me!” I shouted at the huddled mass of crying bodies in the dusty yard. Zeke said something to Dog. The mutt trotted off proudly, his muzzle coated with blood.
“You`re heading to see your God soon,” Zeke told the man writhing at our feet. “Maybe you should clear your conscious.”
“We fucking . . . hung you,” Gum Two panted. I kicked him as hard as I could in the face then I politely told the woman to take the children inside. She gathered her young to her saggy breasts. They hurried inside. The door closed. Zeke and I crouched down beside Mister Gum. Gum`s pale blue eyes were round as dinner platters. I glanced at my deputy. He was an incredible contradiction. On his chest he wore a symbol of law and order, but in his hand he balanced a knife crafted from stone and bone. I had never seen the knife outwardly carried, so it must be a hidden weapon. Gum Number Two, now he had obviously been witness to such flat knives before, for he began weeping and pleading with my deputy.
Zeke reached for the dying man`s thinning golden hair. Gum screamed for mercy. I looked at my deputy with shock. His mouth was a flat line. I caught the slight twitch lift the livid bruise at the corner of his mouth.
“Mister Gum,” I drawled, leaning back on my calf as Zeke made sounds to show just how impressed he was with the pretty yellow scalp, “Not only did you attack then try to hang my deputy by his neck until he was dead, you have also been accused of numerous crimes ranging from rape to robbery to murder.”
“He wasn`t wearing . . . no star!” he coughed. Blood bubbled from his mouth. Zeke`s grip tightened. The scalping knife, if that`s what it was, came to rest on Gum`s sodden hairline.
“I strongly suspect that would not have mattered,” I said. Zeke`s dark brow crept up minutely at my sardonic tone. “What will matter is how you spend your last few moments here on Earth. Now, you can go out with a clear conscious by telling us who you ride with and work for. Or,” I inclined my head at Zeke. He smiled coldly down at the man as his blade made a fine line of blood appear on Gum`s brow. “I`ll go check on the family that you`ve been terrorizing and let my deputy take his prize. Damned awful way to meet St. Peter, minus your hair and all . . .”
“Double Sun,” Brother Gum coughed violently. I looked at Zeke. The Tonkawa shook his head. The blade bit deeper into Gum`s skull. A brown goat with long ears and a pendulous udder came over to watch the interrogation. Foamy red spittle now dotted Zeke`s shirt. I asked for clarity. Gum Number Two could not give us any as his time upon this plane had just ended. I didn`t bother to close his eyes. The lingering sight of an Indian about to remove his hair from his head was a fitting one for such a man.
I stood up. Zeke did as well. He slipped the blade into the side of his boot then tugged the hem of his pant leg downward to cover his ankle.
“Would you have really scalped him?” I asked, cradling my Henry in the crook of my arm.
“Not with them watching,” he said, his eyes moving to the house. I looked over my shoulder to see three pale faces plastered to the lone pane of glass. I nodded at the group. They faded from view. I turned to face Zeke.
“If they hadn`t been here?”
He met my searching look with a flat one, whistled for his dog, and then walked towards the paddock to reclaim his horse, his guns riding low on his hips.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week with more from the old West!
January 12, 2014
Pink Pucks & Power Plays Excerpt!
We`re another week closer to the release of book one in the To Love a Wildcat series!
For this first snippet we`ll be little flies on the rink wall when Viviana meets Alain Lessard for the first time.
Keep in mind that poor Viviana has just walked several miles in flip-flops after her car died. She and her
Busy Bee scouts are hot, tired, sore, and not at all prepared for the world that they`ve stumbled into.
*~*~*
I pulled myself along to climb ten stairs, which was ghastly, let me tell you, and then tripped into an open area with bleachers that looked down on an ice rink. I glanced around looking for my girls but they were not sitting on the bleachers like good little bees. Nope, they were down with their faces smashed against some wall of glass. I gasped when I saw how filthy the glass was. Limping down the cement steps that broke up the lines of blue plastic bleachers I hissed at the girls to remove their fingers and faces from that glass instantly.
“Who knows what’s been smeared on that!” I scolded as I bumbled down the steps before losing a flip-flop in my haste. I stopped to find my footwear. It was lying under a bleacher next to a discarded soda can and a half-eaten hot dog. “Wonderful,” I huffed then wriggled my top half under the bench. My breast dragged through something wet. I didn`t dare to look. As my fingers skipped over my runaway blister-maker, the seven bells of hell erupted without warning. A loud buzzer filled the rink. I screamed and started violently, my head slamming into the bench. The exuberant shouts of young boys bounced off the plain concrete walls. Someone tapped my ass.
I grabbed my flip-flop as I withdrew myself from under the bleacher. The substance I had dragged my rather substantial boob through looked like it had been a chocolate milkshake. I slowly took off my sunglasses then looked over at a huge pair of stocking-covered feet. The feet led to legs that were long and muscular and lovingly hugged by worn denim. I tipped my head back while holding the wet spot on my left breast out with two fingers.
The jeans waistband was covered with an over-sized jersey that had some sort of wild looking cat on it and was done in shades of monarch orange and black. It was a rather fetching color scheme that set off the man`s wavy black hair and stunning hazel eyes to perfection. His face was a chiseled masterpiece, something an ancient Grecian sculptor could have carved from marble to show us what a god might look like. A perfect straight nose placed between huge blue/green eyes surrounded with thick dark lashes, cheekbones that fashion models paid for, and a mouth that was both strong as well as sensual with a plump bottom lip just right for suckling on.
He tipped his head to study me. A lock of black hair slid down over his forehead. If he were over twenty-five I would eat my flip-flop. Something very warm unfurled inside me as a tiny smile tweaked at the corners of his tempting mouth.
“Did you lose something?” he shouted over the youthful exuberance of the young men on the ice. There was a trace of something in his voice. Something French, maybe? I nodded dully and held up my flip-flop. One expressive dark - Oh my God! Was that a scar dissecting his eyebrow like Jason Momoa has?! - eyebrow climbed up his brow as the lights overhead caught the sequins.
“My shoe,” I squeaked then glanced down to see that the hem of my atrocious costume was nearly at my waist. Heat exploded under my skin and raced up my neck.
“Ah well, I am glad you have found it,” he said. Someone on the ice blew on a whistle. The raucous rowdies down on the rink quieted instantly. “There are strange things spilled on the floor. I would not suggest you go without shoes in case you squish a French fry between your toes.”
All my Bees giggled like the school girls they are. He smiled at them. They sighed. I had a mini-gasm at the white teeth his smile exposed. I wriggled my hem down to hide any possible flushing on my inner thighs then bumbled to my feet. His hand on my elbow made my breasts feel even more constricted. He was a towering man Madame Munchkin here couldn`t help but notice. I also had to mentally note just how enormous the Reebok skates hanging over his shoulder were. You know what they say about men with big feet. Another sizzling rush of heat ran to my extremities.
*~*Have you ever met a man that stole your breath? Athlete or not I`d love to hear about it!
I hope you enjoyed that little peek at Pink Pucks & Power Plays. I`ll have another whistle whetter for you next Monday!
For this first snippet we`ll be little flies on the rink wall when Viviana meets Alain Lessard for the first time.
Keep in mind that poor Viviana has just walked several miles in flip-flops after her car died. She and her
Busy Bee scouts are hot, tired, sore, and not at all prepared for the world that they`ve stumbled into.
*~*~*
I pulled myself along to climb ten stairs, which was ghastly, let me tell you, and then tripped into an open area with bleachers that looked down on an ice rink. I glanced around looking for my girls but they were not sitting on the bleachers like good little bees. Nope, they were down with their faces smashed against some wall of glass. I gasped when I saw how filthy the glass was. Limping down the cement steps that broke up the lines of blue plastic bleachers I hissed at the girls to remove their fingers and faces from that glass instantly.
“Who knows what’s been smeared on that!” I scolded as I bumbled down the steps before losing a flip-flop in my haste. I stopped to find my footwear. It was lying under a bleacher next to a discarded soda can and a half-eaten hot dog. “Wonderful,” I huffed then wriggled my top half under the bench. My breast dragged through something wet. I didn`t dare to look. As my fingers skipped over my runaway blister-maker, the seven bells of hell erupted without warning. A loud buzzer filled the rink. I screamed and started violently, my head slamming into the bench. The exuberant shouts of young boys bounced off the plain concrete walls. Someone tapped my ass.
I grabbed my flip-flop as I withdrew myself from under the bleacher. The substance I had dragged my rather substantial boob through looked like it had been a chocolate milkshake. I slowly took off my sunglasses then looked over at a huge pair of stocking-covered feet. The feet led to legs that were long and muscular and lovingly hugged by worn denim. I tipped my head back while holding the wet spot on my left breast out with two fingers.
The jeans waistband was covered with an over-sized jersey that had some sort of wild looking cat on it and was done in shades of monarch orange and black. It was a rather fetching color scheme that set off the man`s wavy black hair and stunning hazel eyes to perfection. His face was a chiseled masterpiece, something an ancient Grecian sculptor could have carved from marble to show us what a god might look like. A perfect straight nose placed between huge blue/green eyes surrounded with thick dark lashes, cheekbones that fashion models paid for, and a mouth that was both strong as well as sensual with a plump bottom lip just right for suckling on.
He tipped his head to study me. A lock of black hair slid down over his forehead. If he were over twenty-five I would eat my flip-flop. Something very warm unfurled inside me as a tiny smile tweaked at the corners of his tempting mouth.
“Did you lose something?” he shouted over the youthful exuberance of the young men on the ice. There was a trace of something in his voice. Something French, maybe? I nodded dully and held up my flip-flop. One expressive dark - Oh my God! Was that a scar dissecting his eyebrow like Jason Momoa has?! - eyebrow climbed up his brow as the lights overhead caught the sequins.
“My shoe,” I squeaked then glanced down to see that the hem of my atrocious costume was nearly at my waist. Heat exploded under my skin and raced up my neck.
“Ah well, I am glad you have found it,” he said. Someone on the ice blew on a whistle. The raucous rowdies down on the rink quieted instantly. “There are strange things spilled on the floor. I would not suggest you go without shoes in case you squish a French fry between your toes.”
All my Bees giggled like the school girls they are. He smiled at them. They sighed. I had a mini-gasm at the white teeth his smile exposed. I wriggled my hem down to hide any possible flushing on my inner thighs then bumbled to my feet. His hand on my elbow made my breasts feel even more constricted. He was a towering man Madame Munchkin here couldn`t help but notice. I also had to mentally note just how enormous the Reebok skates hanging over his shoulder were. You know what they say about men with big feet. Another sizzling rush of heat ran to my extremities.
*~*Have you ever met a man that stole your breath? Athlete or not I`d love to hear about it!
I hope you enjoyed that little peek at Pink Pucks & Power Plays. I`ll have another whistle whetter for you next Monday!
January 10, 2014
Dear Jon - Issue # 24
The next chapter in my M/M historical romance Dear Jon is up over at Storytime Trysts.
I hope you enjoy this romantic trip back in time.
Storytime Trysts
January 8, 2014
We All Start Somewhere
That`s a saying that most of us are familiar with.
It applies to many things. Heck, it can apply to most things to be honest. From the moment we`re born we`re always striving to learn new things. To hold our head up, to crawl, to walk, to speak, to ride a bike. The list is endless. And hopefully we never stop striving to learn new things as we get older.
The other day I was cleaning out one of my cabinets. Yes, I do tidy on occasion. Okay, fine. My muse was being stubborn and there was nary a hockey game to be found. So in lieu of getting angry with my muse for not remembering something in the book I`m having to rewrite, I tidied. While tidying I discovered two things.
One: Mister is a pack-rat. I already knew this, but sometimes it comes home with frightening clarity. You would not believe the amount of paperwork that man keeps. Do we really need paycheck stubs from the late nineties? I think not. So into the wood stove they went. Don`t tell him though. He`ll get tiffy then mope.
Two: Some of the very first stories that I ever put to paper. And yes, literally paper. As well as my first cover art, done by my daughter, who was probably around ten at the time.
Talk about a blast from the past. All of these are Marvel fan fiction, which I still write simply because I lust - I mean respect - Tony Stark so.*Whistles innocently* After stumbling across these, and no these did not go into the wood stove Mister Why Do You Always Throw Only My Stuff Away, I sat down to read over them.
Oh. My. Gods. Was I terrible back then. If my editors could see these they would fall over gasping in grammatical agony. The heart and soul of these early works were solid. The plots tight. But the mechanics were ghastly. Simply horrid. Not a period to be found. Commas? Pfft. We don`t need no stinking commas! If you speak to the dear woman that edits my self-published work she`ll tell you all about my comma problems. I like to think I`m getting better with my comma aversion, but I doubt it.
It`s fun in a way to be able to see where we started. And make no mistake we all start somewhere.
I started here, with run on sentences as well as ellipses that spanned a page. But the dialog . . . ah man, the dialog is snappy. The characterizations are damned good as well if I do say so myself. Pity I didn`t use any paragraph breaks . . .
The point I`m trying to make is that no matter where any of us are now in our aspirations, we all started out somewhere that is not quite where we are at the moment. And where we are at the moment is not where we will be in a year. We are always learning. I know I certainly am. Every new book teaches me something. Every editor I work with imparts some wisdom. Every review I get - be it good or bad - helps me hone my craft.
So, if you have a desire to write but think you can`t because you see all these fabu authors with fancy book covers and perfect sentence structure, remember that image above. Grab your notebook, find a pen, and start writing. Don`t be intimidated. Don`t let what you may not know stop you from grabbing at that brass ring. Do not let those who say you`re too dumb, old, freckled, fat, skinny, short, or rural stand in your way.
Remember, we all start somewhere.
It applies to many things. Heck, it can apply to most things to be honest. From the moment we`re born we`re always striving to learn new things. To hold our head up, to crawl, to walk, to speak, to ride a bike. The list is endless. And hopefully we never stop striving to learn new things as we get older.
The other day I was cleaning out one of my cabinets. Yes, I do tidy on occasion. Okay, fine. My muse was being stubborn and there was nary a hockey game to be found. So in lieu of getting angry with my muse for not remembering something in the book I`m having to rewrite, I tidied. While tidying I discovered two things.
One: Mister is a pack-rat. I already knew this, but sometimes it comes home with frightening clarity. You would not believe the amount of paperwork that man keeps. Do we really need paycheck stubs from the late nineties? I think not. So into the wood stove they went. Don`t tell him though. He`ll get tiffy then mope.
Two: Some of the very first stories that I ever put to paper. And yes, literally paper. As well as my first cover art, done by my daughter, who was probably around ten at the time.
Talk about a blast from the past. All of these are Marvel fan fiction, which I still write simply because I lust - I mean respect - Tony Stark so.*Whistles innocently* After stumbling across these, and no these did not go into the wood stove Mister Why Do You Always Throw Only My Stuff Away, I sat down to read over them.
Oh. My. Gods. Was I terrible back then. If my editors could see these they would fall over gasping in grammatical agony. The heart and soul of these early works were solid. The plots tight. But the mechanics were ghastly. Simply horrid. Not a period to be found. Commas? Pfft. We don`t need no stinking commas! If you speak to the dear woman that edits my self-published work she`ll tell you all about my comma problems. I like to think I`m getting better with my comma aversion, but I doubt it.
It`s fun in a way to be able to see where we started. And make no mistake we all start somewhere.
I started here, with run on sentences as well as ellipses that spanned a page. But the dialog . . . ah man, the dialog is snappy. The characterizations are damned good as well if I do say so myself. Pity I didn`t use any paragraph breaks . . .
The point I`m trying to make is that no matter where any of us are now in our aspirations, we all started out somewhere that is not quite where we are at the moment. And where we are at the moment is not where we will be in a year. We are always learning. I know I certainly am. Every new book teaches me something. Every editor I work with imparts some wisdom. Every review I get - be it good or bad - helps me hone my craft.
So, if you have a desire to write but think you can`t because you see all these fabu authors with fancy book covers and perfect sentence structure, remember that image above. Grab your notebook, find a pen, and start writing. Don`t be intimidated. Don`t let what you may not know stop you from grabbing at that brass ring. Do not let those who say you`re too dumb, old, freckled, fat, skinny, short, or rural stand in your way.
Remember, we all start somewhere.
January 6, 2014
Tuesday Tales - Toes
Welcome to Tuesday Tales! A new year has blossomed and I hope it finds you and yours happy, hale, and hearty. This week I`ll return to sharing excerpts from my 2013 NaNoWriMo novel, Laco Law – The Gnarled Oak. Laco Lawis an M/M historical western romance, set in the fictional county of Laco, Texas in 1867.
This week our word prompt is ‘Toes’. In this excerpt we discover that the Gum Brothers, the two survivors out of the four men who tried to hang Zeke, have left the ghost town after their associates were killed by Clayton. Clay decides to rest overnight in an abandoned smithy as Zeke is not up to more riding. Our sheriff and his deputy finally share an intimate moment.
A note for my readers: This is a gay romance, and so the romance that occurs is man on man. If this is not your cup of tea, no one will think less of you if you read no further.
As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find. Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
He made a sound of affirmation as he chewed delicately on the jerky. When asked if the loose tooth bothered, he shook his head. Long dark hair bounced with the movement. I got to my feet. His eyes followed me. I could feel his gaze on me until I stepped out of view. Outside I went with purpose. The temperature had spiked. I drug a couple more bucketfuls of water to the horses, found the small tin of salve in my saddle bag, and rejoined my deputy and his dog.
It was a hard call to say which was worse: the blistering heat outside or the shaded swelter inside. I opened up the two windows I could find. I eyed the large door that opened to the street with desire. Shame we had to leave it closed. That combined with the back door open would make a nice crosscurrent. But we didn`t dare leave doors open. Not with the Gum Brothers still on the loose.
I sat down beside Zeke then placed my Henry on the floor beside me. He gulped down a large drink of water. I showed him the tin. “We need to keep that moist,” I said. He raised his right leg then rested his arm on it. The canteen dangled from his hand.
“You going to do that?” he inquired. His voice was a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat to try again. I cut him off.
“Yes, just gather up all that hair,” I said as I pried the small tin lid off with my thumb. The strong smell of eucalyptus wafted upward from the salve. Dog sneezed so hard his jaw hit the floor. I shoved two fingers into the plain metal tin. Zeke looked wary. Thick clear salve coated the middle and index finger of my right hand. He had his loose hair held back in his left hand. “I`ll be gentle.”
“I`m good.” He frowned. I leaned forward, leading with my slippery fingers. His dark eyes were narrowed.
“Tip your head,” I said. He did. Slowly and with care he bared the left side of his neck. I pulled the collar of his shirt aside with my left hand. He drew in a rattling hiss when the salve touched the rope burned skin.”Sorry,” I whispered.
“Nah, go on,” he ground out, his jaw set, his nostrils flared. The skin under my fingers was a hot, swollen abrasion that cut deeply into his neck.
“You possess some sort of lucky totem or medicine bag?” I muttered as I applied the fragrant ointment. If he did, he sure as hell needed to pray over it. Dog got up to put some distance between the liniment and his long nose. His toenails clacked on the floor boards. Fire Sky ignored my ignorant query.
“I never thanked you,” Zeke said softly. I continued to massage the balm into his brown skin, nudging him under the ear when I needed the back of his neck. His head rolled forward. I rose to my knees then crawled closer. He released his hair but pulled the mass over his right shoulder. I dipped into the tin for more ointment. A wicked red line ran over the vertebrae in his neck.
“Just a fair and equitable payback,” I told him.
I shimmied closer. He leaned further forward. My chest brushed his left arm. A spark of desire snapped along my spine. I stared at his neck. A lurid fantasy cropped up. One where I put my mouth on his neck right where the rope had torn his skin open and I tasted his flesh. My manhood grew hard in mere seconds of that image coming to life. My breath left me in an uneven rattle. Zeke stiffened. My fingers slid over his skin gingerly. His arm moved back hesitantly, resting with intimacy against my stomach. His forearm moved across my erection. I gasped as lust ran through me, head to toes my body began to hum with need. He groaned. I scooped up another dollop of unguent.
“Head to the left,” I requested. He did as asked. His hair slid over his shoulder in a wave of cascading onyx rings. His jugular jumped as I stared at the tender expanse of skin. The rope burn ran upward on this side, coming up at a sharp angle under his ear. I could not take my eyes off that thumping vein. He moved his left arm. The one not so innocently holding him up as it pushed against my arousal.
Instead of dipping into the ointment that reeked of medicine I lowered my head to taste his skin. I could not resist any longer. His pulse tripled the moment my lips settled on his jugular.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week with more M/M romance from the old West!
This week our word prompt is ‘Toes’. In this excerpt we discover that the Gum Brothers, the two survivors out of the four men who tried to hang Zeke, have left the ghost town after their associates were killed by Clayton. Clay decides to rest overnight in an abandoned smithy as Zeke is not up to more riding. Our sheriff and his deputy finally share an intimate moment.
A note for my readers: This is a gay romance, and so the romance that occurs is man on man. If this is not your cup of tea, no one will think less of you if you read no further.
As this is my NaNo work, it is quite rough. I do ask that you overlook any glaring mistakes you may find. Please do check out the other wonderful writers after you`re done reading by clicking on the Tuesday Tales link at the bottom. Thanks for stopping in!
He made a sound of affirmation as he chewed delicately on the jerky. When asked if the loose tooth bothered, he shook his head. Long dark hair bounced with the movement. I got to my feet. His eyes followed me. I could feel his gaze on me until I stepped out of view. Outside I went with purpose. The temperature had spiked. I drug a couple more bucketfuls of water to the horses, found the small tin of salve in my saddle bag, and rejoined my deputy and his dog.
It was a hard call to say which was worse: the blistering heat outside or the shaded swelter inside. I opened up the two windows I could find. I eyed the large door that opened to the street with desire. Shame we had to leave it closed. That combined with the back door open would make a nice crosscurrent. But we didn`t dare leave doors open. Not with the Gum Brothers still on the loose.
I sat down beside Zeke then placed my Henry on the floor beside me. He gulped down a large drink of water. I showed him the tin. “We need to keep that moist,” I said. He raised his right leg then rested his arm on it. The canteen dangled from his hand.
“You going to do that?” he inquired. His voice was a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat to try again. I cut him off.
“Yes, just gather up all that hair,” I said as I pried the small tin lid off with my thumb. The strong smell of eucalyptus wafted upward from the salve. Dog sneezed so hard his jaw hit the floor. I shoved two fingers into the plain metal tin. Zeke looked wary. Thick clear salve coated the middle and index finger of my right hand. He had his loose hair held back in his left hand. “I`ll be gentle.”
“I`m good.” He frowned. I leaned forward, leading with my slippery fingers. His dark eyes were narrowed.
“Tip your head,” I said. He did. Slowly and with care he bared the left side of his neck. I pulled the collar of his shirt aside with my left hand. He drew in a rattling hiss when the salve touched the rope burned skin.”Sorry,” I whispered.
“Nah, go on,” he ground out, his jaw set, his nostrils flared. The skin under my fingers was a hot, swollen abrasion that cut deeply into his neck.
“You possess some sort of lucky totem or medicine bag?” I muttered as I applied the fragrant ointment. If he did, he sure as hell needed to pray over it. Dog got up to put some distance between the liniment and his long nose. His toenails clacked on the floor boards. Fire Sky ignored my ignorant query.
“I never thanked you,” Zeke said softly. I continued to massage the balm into his brown skin, nudging him under the ear when I needed the back of his neck. His head rolled forward. I rose to my knees then crawled closer. He released his hair but pulled the mass over his right shoulder. I dipped into the tin for more ointment. A wicked red line ran over the vertebrae in his neck.
“Just a fair and equitable payback,” I told him.
I shimmied closer. He leaned further forward. My chest brushed his left arm. A spark of desire snapped along my spine. I stared at his neck. A lurid fantasy cropped up. One where I put my mouth on his neck right where the rope had torn his skin open and I tasted his flesh. My manhood grew hard in mere seconds of that image coming to life. My breath left me in an uneven rattle. Zeke stiffened. My fingers slid over his skin gingerly. His arm moved back hesitantly, resting with intimacy against my stomach. His forearm moved across my erection. I gasped as lust ran through me, head to toes my body began to hum with need. He groaned. I scooped up another dollop of unguent.
“Head to the left,” I requested. He did as asked. His hair slid over his shoulder in a wave of cascading onyx rings. His jugular jumped as I stared at the tender expanse of skin. The rope burn ran upward on this side, coming up at a sharp angle under his ear. I could not take my eyes off that thumping vein. He moved his left arm. The one not so innocently holding him up as it pushed against my arousal.
Instead of dipping into the ointment that reeked of medicine I lowered my head to taste his skin. I could not resist any longer. His pulse tripled the moment my lips settled on his jugular.
Copyright 2013 ©by V.L. Locey
*~*~*
Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Tuesday Tales
See you next week with more M/M romance from the old West!
Pink Pucks & Power Plays Cover Reveal!
I am so excited to finally be able to share this fantastic cover made by the talented Dawne Dominique. I`ve been sitting on this artwork for a few weeks and it was so hard keeping this sexy cover to myself!
Pink Pucks & Power Plays will be published by Secret Cravings Publishing. We are looking at January 22nd for the launch date, but that may change if needed. If so, I will let you all know as soon as I am made aware of any change.
Are you ready? I thought you might be. Enjoy!
I know, right? I just love the hold that Viviana has on Alain. I think I`d hold him that way as well if I were her!
In Pink Pucks & Power Plays, the first book of the To Love a Wildcat Series, you`ll meet Viviana Land, a curvy and proud of it reporter and Alain Lessard, star defenseman for the `Cats. Viviana just can`t seem to say no to her younger sister. Somehow, the sassy society page reporter gets lassoed into serving as the Busy Bee scout leader for her niece’s troop.
One overheated engine and a missed basket-weaving class later, Viviana and her girls find themselves in the Green Hills Ice Rink, facing a world that none of them knew existed. Enter Alain Lessard, the charmingly handsome young defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats ice hockey team, who is donating his summer to coach the youth league his team sponsors.
When our intrepid reporter is given the chance to write the break-out story of her career, Viviana leaps at the chance to pen a tell-all exposé about the media-hating Lessard. Thinking it would be easy to flirt and tease some juicy tidbits out of the jock, Viviana soon finds herself falling for the sensual, younger, kind-hearted man. Will she put aside her virtual pen for a chance to stay at her sinfully erotic new paramour`s side? Or will Viviana finally get away from those mundane bakery openings and library luncheons by using the man she may love as a way to step into the limelight?
I`ll be sharing snippets from the novel over the upcoming weeks on Mondays. You`ll only find these exclusive excerpts here on my blog, so drop in every Monday for a taste of hot hockey romance!
Pink Pucks & Power Plays will be published by Secret Cravings Publishing. We are looking at January 22nd for the launch date, but that may change if needed. If so, I will let you all know as soon as I am made aware of any change.
Are you ready? I thought you might be. Enjoy!
I know, right? I just love the hold that Viviana has on Alain. I think I`d hold him that way as well if I were her!
In Pink Pucks & Power Plays, the first book of the To Love a Wildcat Series, you`ll meet Viviana Land, a curvy and proud of it reporter and Alain Lessard, star defenseman for the `Cats. Viviana just can`t seem to say no to her younger sister. Somehow, the sassy society page reporter gets lassoed into serving as the Busy Bee scout leader for her niece’s troop.
One overheated engine and a missed basket-weaving class later, Viviana and her girls find themselves in the Green Hills Ice Rink, facing a world that none of them knew existed. Enter Alain Lessard, the charmingly handsome young defenseman for the Philadelphia Wildcats ice hockey team, who is donating his summer to coach the youth league his team sponsors.
When our intrepid reporter is given the chance to write the break-out story of her career, Viviana leaps at the chance to pen a tell-all exposé about the media-hating Lessard. Thinking it would be easy to flirt and tease some juicy tidbits out of the jock, Viviana soon finds herself falling for the sensual, younger, kind-hearted man. Will she put aside her virtual pen for a chance to stay at her sinfully erotic new paramour`s side? Or will Viviana finally get away from those mundane bakery openings and library luncheons by using the man she may love as a way to step into the limelight?
I`ll be sharing snippets from the novel over the upcoming weeks on Mondays. You`ll only find these exclusive excerpts here on my blog, so drop in every Monday for a taste of hot hockey romance!
