Cara Dee's Blog, page 5

Messages from Luke

We shall continue with the excerpts from Public Display of Everything :)

Teaser number…four, right? Yes, I think so.

oOo

Cory,

I’m probably speaking to a proverbial brick wall, but I don’t care. I’m so incredibly sorry. Do you not see my messages? Or are you ignoring them? I understand if it’s the latter. Again, I’m very sorry.

Selfishly, I wish you were here now. Jennifer’s pregnant.

Hope you’re well,

Luke

oOo

Cory,

I admit it, you know. I’m gay. I’m sick of this fake life I’ve built. Yesterday I caught Dylan lying about his homework, and I felt like the biggest fraud when I lectured him on the importance of speaking the truth.

Hope you’re well,

Luke

“You want me to do what?”

Excerpt #3 for Public Display of Everything. Scroll down to the last two blog posts if you have no ida what I’m rambling about ;)

oOo

“Never mind. I get it.” I lean back and scratch my nose. “So, I guess this is a one-time kind of job, then? Like, you borrow my info and that’s it?”

Seems like one hell of a detour to be dishonest to me. He could’ve easily just lied and put down whatever info he wanted. Right?

“Well…” Flynn looks away and grimaces. “Here’s the thing—Goodness, I can’t. I can’t ask you. My friend back home in the States warned me. She said it would be inappropriate of me to ask, so now I can’t.” He covers his face with his hands. “I apologize sincerely for bothering you.”

“Hey. Don’t.” Reaching forward, I nudge his hands away, then sit back once more. “You’ve come this far, yeah?” I grin and shrug. “Might as well continue. And—” it’s my turn to make a face “—I could use the money. I really do need a job.”

He’s already shaking his head. “No. I can’t. You’ve already said it’s not your ‘thing.’” He actually makes air quotes. “This would require being on display.”

“That sounds…” Not good. Not good at all. I shift in my seat. “Ominous.” Still, I’m too curious now to back out. I can always say no, but I wanna know more. “Come on, tell me.” I give him what I hope is a convincing smile.

He stares silently at me for a solid five seconds, then breaks away. His ears tint red. “Running this kind of site…I have learned I cannot be shy and hesitant.” He exhales shakily. “They want to see me. In a window or something. Well, outside too, but most people show themselves in windows.”

That confuses me—talk of “outside,” then windows. “You mean a webcam thing, right? Like, they’d see you in a chat window?”

“No.” He gulps. “A real window. In person.” The next time he looks me in the eye, he starts speaking in a rush again. “Your face would be hidden. They’d only see your body. As you…you know…masturbate.”

“Wait.” My eyes bug out. “You want me to do what?”

While my heart starts racing, I look around me as if I’m guilty of a crime and don’t want the police to throw me in jail.

“You would masturbate in a window.”

Public Display of Everything – excerpt 2

If you didn’t catch the first teaser, scroll on down to the previous post and meet Cory and Flynn from Public Display of Everything.

If you did read yesterday’s blog post, here’s another excerpt :)

oOo

“The members keep inquiring about me.” He drops his gaze to the table. “They’re expecting a Dom type—”

“Is BDSM involved, too?”

I learned about that lifestyle the wrong way. It was the one and only time I took the job as a private chauffeur. My client wanted me to call him “Master,” which I found fucked up, but I did it. However, I looked up BDSM after my first shift, and I kept an eye on that dude from there on out.

The day he told me I’d look good in a ball gag, he ended up in the hospital with a cracked jaw; I got fired and was nearly arrested.

“No, no.” Flynn shakes his head quickly. “But you know the type?” I nod, getting it. “Yes. So. I am nothing like that.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “They’d be incredibly disappointed if they saw the real me. I would ruin their image, and I do not like ruining things.”

That’s…that’s crap. I get what he’s saying, but it’s crap. Fuck, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know this guy, and telling him—hell, any guy—that he looks good, that he’s sexy…I can’t do that anymore.

“I need someone to pretend they’re me,” Flynn nearly whispers. “Someone whose features I can type into my profile, and… Of course, I would continue my work as I’ve done previously, but there would be information about me that isn’t truly mine.” I nod slowly, the pieces falling together. Flynn pulls up another page on his site—his profile, I note. “I’ve always kept it vague. Not even my employed admins know what I look like.”

Reading his info, the little he has, raises some questions. “It says here you have light hair, which is true, but—” I point to my own, which is brown. “Your eye color is listed as green.” Again, mine are brown. “And height…oh, you haven’t filled that in.”

I’d say he’s half a foot shorter than I am. He hasn’t filled in anything under body type, either. Lean. Same with age—no info.

Sexual orientation: heterosexual.

Of-fucking-course he is.

oOo

Come back tomorrow for the next teaser!

Plot bunnies and frustrations

Hey, you guys :)

I’ve been quiet for a while, and that’s because a plot bunny attacked me. The timing was awful, just horrible, but I couldn’t help it.

Let’s end this blog post on a good note, so I’ll do the bad news first.

Chase and Remy (for the Aftermath sequel) are two very frustrating men. I’m thanking whatever higher deity that floats your boat it’s not writer’s block, but damn, they’re not easy to have in my head. The story has grown to the point where it’s going to be longer than Aftermath, and I’ve been struggling to even get the two in the same room. But if I already have their whole lives mapped out up here *taps temple,* there’s nothing I can do but trudge forward and try to find a way for Chase and Remy to kiss and make up on their terms.

I wish, as the friggin’ writer, I could control that. Stupid thing called realism.

I’m rambling.

Outcome is still my priority, but I did take a break when this other plot bunny attacked, which means there’s been a delay on Chase and Remy. I’m back to it now though, and I have about half the story written. I hope to have it ready for editing in a month or so. *crosses fingers*

Now, the good news.

That plot bunny. It brought me Cory and Flynn, and their story was easy to write. So easy. It’s already with my editor, and it will be published on April 5th on Amazon.

Here’s the cover

Genre: M/M, erotica/romance.

Word count: Approximately 46 000. (Some 180 Word pages.)

Lisa, my editor, is currently helping me with a summary–she rocks at those–so in the meantime, here’s an excerpt.

oOo

He clears his throat and wipes a hand down his gray slacks, then extends it. “I’m Flynn Wright. Nice to meet you.”

I shake his hand firmly. Clammy. Nice, long fingers. “Cory Matthews.” My smile feels a little more genuine now. The kid—Flynn…may be the hottest nerd I’ve ever seen. “You mentioned something about overhearing?”

“Correct.” He blows out a breath and pushes a few locks of his dirty blond hair away from his forehead. “I’m aware of the fact that this topic doesn’t fall under social norms, so I apologize for any awkwardness on my part.” A stiff smile. “I only caught the gist of it, but are you looking for work?”

“That’s right,” I admit reluctantly.

“Okay. Okay.” He nods shortly. “Do y-you have high standards?” A small bead of sweat trickles down his temple, distracting me. It’s a hot July day, but the bar is air-conditioned. “Or high morals, for that matter.” That last part was mumbled.

I furrow my brow, repeating his words. What the fuck? Glancing around me, I chuckle. I can feel the crease of confusion in my forehead.

“I wouldn’t have sex for money, if that’s what you mean.” I cock my head as he averts his green eyes to the floor. “Kid, if this is your idea of small talk, I’m afraid it needs some work.”

His gaze snaps up again, eyes wider. For some reason, his face falls slightly before it’s back to composed. “Kid.” Or as composed as he’s capable of. “Oh, okay. Right. Yes. I see.” I don’t. He scratches a point above his eyebrow. Then he squeezes his eyes shut for a single second. He’s clearly struggling with something. “I’m g-going to ask anyway, and then we c-can forget all of this once you’ve said no.” He speaks in a rush. “I have a job offer, but it’s not for everybody.” He sucks in a quick breath.

I blink. I’m not fucking slow, but this Flynn guy is a handful. I’m kinda worried he’s gonna have a stroke, and he’s way too young for that.

“What kind of job offer?” I’ve had some seedy gigs before, so I’m not gonna say no before I know what it is.

“It’s, um… Is there any way we can speak in private?” He gestures to a table in the corner. “It’s better if I show you.”

I look over to where Tammy is, preferring an opinion right now, but she’s busy with customers. Fuck it. I have nothing to lose, so I agree and grab my stuff before I follow Flynn to his table.

My eyes trail south on the way, and I stifle a sigh of longing at the sight of his tight ass.

It’s been too fucking long.

Too bad I’m a chickenshit and can’t bring myself to get back in the dating game.

Flynn sits down and pulls out a tablet from his messenger bag, quickly powering it up while I get comfortable.

“I run a website,” he explains, tapping away on the touch screen. “It’s about, ah, exhibition—just to warn you.”

I grin, a little nervous myself now. “I watch porn, but I have no interest in starring.” It’s been ages since I had the opportunity to watch, though. It’s not like I have constant access to the internet. Or a computer.

“Okay.” He swallows hard, and his hand is trembling as he slides his tablet to my side of the table. “This is the site.”

Resting my forearms on the table, I lean forward and focus on the screen. Public Display of More. Dot com. I peer up at Flynn real quick before the screen has my attention again. “Is there a voyeur in you? Or are you the one who would like an audience in the bedroom?”

It’s a website about voyeurism?

This guy doesn’t strike me as…kinky.

oOo

Interested in reading more about Cory and Flynn? Check in every day, ’cause I’ll be posting a daily teaser here on the blog until it goes live on Amazon on April 5th :)

As soon as I have the summary, I’ll add the book to Goodreads, too.

So…I’ll just get back to Chase and Remy now!

Cheers,

Cara

If These Boobs Could Talk – Interview, review, giveaway, teasers.

Make sure to check out If These Boobs Could Talk this week. They’ve interviewed a handful of authors who all love to write about men who love men Me included!

There’re interviews, reviews, teasers, and a giveaway I think I submitted four teasers, so stay tuned.

xxx

 

 

Outcome – excerpt

Outcome was supposed to be this little novella that followed Austin and Cam’s Aftermath, but it seems like Chase and Remy are talkative fellas, not to mention more complex than I originally thought. In other words, it will most likely be a novel, especially since our beloved Cam and Austin want to throw in their two cents, too. They refuse to be forgotten!

I don’t have a relase date quite yet, but I’m working on it. This book is my priority right now.

While you wait…

oOo

“What does the Joshua tree represent, Chase?”

“Freedom. It was the first thing I saw when we escaped. Desert and…that tree.”

Excerpt

“Well…” Donna wrung her hands together and cleared her throat. “I don’t know the protocol for having escaped asylum patients in the bar.” Chase lifted a brow, to which Donna huffed. “The dude sure looks like he’s escaped from some kind of mental institution, anyway.”

“You’re gonna have to elaborate, hon,” he said drily.

It was too fucking early in the evening for trouble. That shit wasn’t supposed to start until the alcohol had flowed for at least several hours.

“He’s just sitting out there in nothing but underwear!” Donna threw an arm in the direction of the bar, fire shooting out of her eyes. “Do I throw him out? I mean—” She released a breath and appeared to be trying to calm herself down. “I mean, he’s not exactly bothering anyone, but—Christ. No dress code doesn’t mean you can show up here naked.”

Chase killed his smirk and shook his head. “All right. I’ll take care of it.” He waved a hand for Donna to take the lead, then followed her down the hall. “Did you finally kick out that boyfriend of yours, by the way?”

Donna chuckled shakily. “I wish. He won’t budge. But I left him instead. I’m staying at a friend’s for now.”

That didn’t satisfy Chase, but at least Donna wasn’t around the prick anymore. As far as he knew, Donna had never been physically abused, but emotionally seemed to be another matter.

“We’ll talk more about this later.” He turned to give Donna a look, silently daring her to defy him. Thankfully, she didn’t. “It’s your name on the lease; he’s the one who should get the boot.”

She nodded stiffly in agreement. “Yes, Daddy.”

Chase snorted and looped an elbow around her neck, much like a father would with his little son, accompanied by a “That’s my boy,” or “Well done, slugger.”

“Fuckin’ brat,” he chuckled instead, then made a move to open the door that led to the bar. But before he could open it fully, Donna stopped him and surprised the shit outta him when she squeezed his midsection. Tightly.

“Thank you, Chase.” Her whisper nearly closed up Chase’s throat. He was being hugged. By someone other than his sister. “For everything you’ve done for me.” She peered up at him with gratitude in her eyes. “I know we’ve only known each other for a couple weeks, but I want you to know I consider you an amazing friend.”

Chase nodded dumbly, having no fucking clue what to say. He didn’t help out in order to make friends or to look like a hero. It was just what was right.

“I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?” She slid him a small, knowing smile.

He blew out a gust of air, a half chuckle. “A bit.” Not the hug, though. Only her words. He wasn’t used to that kinda talk. “I think I have a hospital patient to check out.”

“Mental hospital patient,” she corrected him as she released her hold. “And I’m done being sappy, boss. I solemnly swear.” She saluted him for good measure.

Relieved that the awkwardness had passed, Chase gave a quick nod in return, then left Donna behind to see who this “patient” was. The bar wasn’t by any means packed with people, but it was early, and a few were happy to see Donna back to taking orders.

“Sorry for the delay, boys,” she said, getting busy.

Chase walked over to the end of the bar where a young man wearing only boxer briefs sat. Hell, was the punk asleep? Forearms on the bartop, forehead planted on one of those arms. Messy hair, shorter on the sides, nearly black, with some streaks of red that looked washed out. Chase’s sister dyed her hair in odd colors like that sometimes.

“This is a bar, kid. Not a hotel.” Chase folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the counter behind him. He eyed the ink on the man’s arms, shoulders, and neck. It was a stark contrast against the pale and unblemished skin. The artwork was intricate and impressive, albeit depressing. Dark clouds, a Grim Reaper, lyrics that belonged to songs about death, something that looked like the beginning of a tree on his ribcage, but Chase couldn’t see farther down. Quotes about suffering, about staying true to who you are, a snake slithering toward a big, red apple, and an inked bullet wound.

The man spoke at last, quietly, and stayed in his position. “If I can just stay for ten minutes, that’d be great.” He sounded drained and like he’d been drinking too much whiskey.

The voice didn’t fit what Chase saw, which was youth. Or perhaps the lithe body with sinewy muscles betrayed him and made the kid look younger than he was.

Admit it, man. You like what you see.

Chase silenced that little voice with an internal growl.

Attraction and romance had no business in his closet.

“You mind telling me why you’re only in your underwear?” Chase was starting to feel impatient. “I get that it’s summer, but there are limits.”

The younger man let out a humorless chuckle. “I’m afraid clothes weren’t my priority when I finally escaped that witch.” Chase stiffened instinctually at escape. Bad fucking joke, if that’s what it was. “She’s supposed to be my best friend…” The man lifted his head a few inches, only to bury it in his hands. “She called it detox. I call it torture. Three goddamn days, dude, just because I happen to like booze. Three days in handcuffs—even when I went to the bathroom!”

Detox? Chase frowned, then heaved a sigh, ’cause none of this shit really mattered to him. Clearly, the man hadn’t been kidnapped, and that was all Chase needed to know. Maybe he had this compulsion to fix problems, but he couldn’t shoulder it all.

The fact that this stranger was bitching about wearing handcuffs for three days only made Chase wanna laugh. He’d endured cuffs for five months at one point, without a single reprieve. The evidence lingered around his wrists in uneven white lines, and it always would. He hid those vicious scars under two folded bandanas.

“I finally escaped when she let me take a shower in the master bathroom.” A huff. “Gotta love windows.” Rubbing his eyes, he finally let his hands fall away, and he gave Chase a once-over.

Chase’s frown deepened, first registering a handsome face that looked aged from something that had happened, piercings in his bottom lip and eyebrow, then light green eyes that he deemed unforgettable, but… Wasn’t there something familiar?

“Oh, shit.” The man’s breath left him in a whoosh, those pale green eyes widening. Anguish and fear—fucking fear—took over and for a second made his jaw slack. Then he suddenly pushed off the barstool and stumbled a few steps backward. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know y-you worked here.”

With every stuttered word from the man, with every step he took toward the door, and with each patron’s attention he got, it slowly dawned on Chase. Brick by brick. The months of research he’d conducted after getting back to freedom three years ago. The paper clippings. The miniscule profile photo on a website for music streaming. The article about that website changing owners a year ago.

Fury unfurled inside Chase. His hands clenched into fists. His jaw ticked with tension, his spine went rigid, and his gaze turned murderous. His heart began racing, his chest tightening beyond what was painful. Just looking at this man, facing him for the first time, threw Chase back in time. Three years to be exact.

“I’m sorry, Chase.” The man who wasn’t a stranger—not really—pushed the door open and fled.

Remy Stahl.

Chase’s kidnapper’s little brother.

Aftermath is nominated

If you’re a member of the M/M Romance Group on Goodreads, you can vote in the Members Choice Awards Aftermath is nominated in several categories.

Thank you, Lisa, for letting me know

Here’s the link to vote.

Now I guess I’ll go back to working on Outcome!

~Cara

Touch of Trouble is now on Amazon

The fourth book in the Touch Series is now on Amazon

Just click here to get your own copy of Touch of Trouble.

XOXO,

Cara

Touch of Trouble finally has a summary!

It actually hit me today–shit, maybe the book needs a summary. So, of course, I turned to Lisa. She knows her stuff!

Here goes!

After finding her perfect match both in life and in the lifestyle, Kayla Brandon feels like she’s finally ready for her future to begin. But first Nicholas insists she make peace with the ghosts of her past: namely, her family. Ugh.

But give a Little a big task and she can pull it off. Whether it’s redesigning Switch, Nicholas’s BDSM club, or playing matchmaker for their friends, Kayla’s up to the challenge.

Kayla tries really, really hard to stay out of trouble. But sometimes it just finds her!

Word count: about 25 000.

Two days left, people!

Cara

The Touch Series info

With only two days until Touch of Trouble joins my other books on Amazon, I’ve published the first character interview on the Touch Series’ own WordPress

You can read more about our main man, Nicholas Ford, right here.

“Come in, Miss…Rivera, was it?” Mr. Ford lifts a brow at Mina.

She dips her chin and finds her voice. “That’s right. From San Francisco Nightlife. Thank you for agreeing to do this interview, sir.”

Mr. Ford nods in acknowledgement and waves a hand at the two chairs in front of the desk. “Have a seat.” He busies himself, signing a few documents, while Mina crosses the space and sits down in one of the chairs. Her fingers tremble just a bit as she retrieves her notepad with the readers’ questions. “Can I offer you a beverage?” Mr. Ford asks politely, closing the lid of his laptop.

“Oh—no, that’s fine. Thank you.” Mina smiles nervously and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “I won’t take up too much of your time.”

“That’s quite all right.” Mr. Ford’s smile is faint, a bit wry. “My fiancée is currently hosting a munch down the street with her friends, so I have a couple hours to kill.”

Munch—Mina has come across that term in her research. Some kind of casual gathering for people in the lifestyle. “You weren’t invited?” She offers a teasing look.

Mr. Ford chuckles and leans back in his seat, his right hand smoothing down his dark blue tie. “Not this time. It’s only for submissives.”

Oh. Mina nods in understanding and clears her throat, itching to get this interview over with. Not that this isn’t her passion, because it is, but the man intimidates her something fierce.

“So, I’ll just start, then,” she says awkwardly and flips open her notepad. In return, Mr. Ford takes a sip of his coffee and inclines his head. “In the last issue, we asked our readers to pose their own questions—what they’d like to know, both general questions about the lifestyle, and about you.” She pauses to read the first question to herself, as if she hasn’t spent the past week basically memorizing them. “Let’s begin with the basics—name, age, a little about how you grew up and where, and if your family knows about your lifestyle choices.”