Jun 22

Book Blitz: The Prince’s Vow by Iris Foxglove (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Prince’s Vow

Series: Starian Cycle #3

Author: Iris Foxglove

Publisher: Belladonna Press

Release Date: 6/22/21

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 64,000

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, BDSM, AU

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Synopsis

Adrien de Guillory may be the heir to the throne of Staria, but no one in court believes that the submissive, meek-minded prince will ever be king. What they don’t know is that Adrien is hardly the meek, shy creature he pretends to be and that he has his own plans for the future. To see those plans through, Adrien embarks on a journey to Mislia, the land of his mother’s ancestors, to seek an answer to controlling his magic of foresight.

The one thing Adrien’s visions don’t predict is Isiodore de Mortain, his father’s confidante and the subject of Adrien’s long-standing, deeply embarrassing infatuation. Isiodore intercepts Adrien on his way to Mislia. But it’s too late to turn back—the two of them are now stranded on foreign soil, forced to rely on each other in order to get home in one piece. With Isiodore set on keeping Adrien safe and Adrien determined to become the most troublesome prince in Starian history, a storm is brewing over Mislia…one that will surely sweep both of them out into uncharted waters.

(The Prince’s Vow is an m/m dark fantasy novel, set in a fictional world where everyone is biologically either a dominant or a submissive and compelled to satisfy those urges. As such, the biological imperative kink in this story is pure fantasy, and not intended as a representation of real-life BDSM practices or dynamics.)

Excerpt

Adrien de Guillory, Crown Prince of Staria, stood on the docks of a smuggler’s haven and stared into the dark water swirling under his feet.

“She’s seaworthy,” said the Mislian behind him, shifting under a pile of netting as thick as a lady’s skirts. “All you need to do is whistle the right notes, and she’ll get you there.”

Adrien tore his gaze from the water. A small sailboat bobbed off the side of the dock, its dark gold sail rolled up in an ungainly mass, worn wood sloping to a cabin Adrien could probably fit into if he folded up his legs. There was always so much of Adrien. He tended to spill over the edge of wherever he happened to be, too lanky for polite company but too obvious to disappear.

“Does she have a name?” he asked.

“What? No. She’s just the boat. We don’t name our ships—it’s bad luck.” The Mislian worked swiftly over the ropes, mending cuts and frayed edges. But her fingers were black as ink, and her movements were jerky, mechanical. Her eyes were too black as well, dark pits without even a sliver of white around the edges, and Adrien wondered if his mother’s ancestors had looked like her, stained by magic.

“It won’t go away if you stare,” the Mislian said. For a smuggler who refused to give Adrien her name, she was remarkably chatty. “Trust me.”

“Oh.” Adrien turned back to the boat. “Sorry.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” she said. “Go to Mislia, I mean. Try somewhere nice, like Thalassa. Less trouble.”

“Aren’t you from Mislia, though?” Adrien asked.

“Yes. And now I’m in Staria,” the Mislian said. “Where your king has people like me killed. This was the preferable option, and that really should be all you need to know.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Adrien said. He shrugged his heavy bag off his shoulder and into the boat, which rocked slightly. The water stirred against the hull, and Adrien winced as he saw a face flicker across it, a boy with black eyes and a heavy robe, blinking hard. Then he was gone, and in his place was a woman with a loom, tearing the threads to pieces. A child in a snow bank, watching the clouds. His father, sitting on his throne with a cloak made of needles, blood rolling over his skin.

Adrien dragged his gaze away. His magic had been getting worse lately. He always saw it in water, glimpses of a future he didn’t always understand, faces in his water glass, dark forests spilling like ink over the surface of his bath. They were even starting to bleed into his dreams, pools of clear water with black-eyed Mislians drifting just beneath, watching him, evading his touch. But here Adrien was, about to sail into a sea of water, endless visions flickering like mirrored glass out of the corner of his eye.

He had to go. He wasn’t much use in Staria, even without the visions. His father’s council ignored him, certain that as soon as another dominant heir was named, Adrien would disappear to a country estate for the rest of his life. No one believed Adrien would ever be king, least of all Adrien himself, but he couldn’t just sit around and wait for his visions to consume him.

Mislia was the only option. His mother’s family came from there, and half of Adrien’s visions had been of a cold, lonely island full of people with slate-black eyes. Something was waiting for him there. Answers, hopefully. A way to make the visions stop.

He climbed into the boat. It rocked under him gently, and he reached up to touch the little mast.

“There’s a water distiller in the cabin,” the Mislian said. “Empty the bottom of it twice a day, and you won’t get sick. Whistle twice to unfurl the sail, three times to get to Mislia. If you want to go back, whistle once.”

Adrien whistled twice, and the ropes on the mast whirled to life, drawing up the golden sail. It startled a laugh out of him, and the Mislian smiled.

“That’s your magic?” he asked. “Are there many Mislians, like you? Sailors?”

“Used to be,” she said. “Not much anymore. The kind of demons who like the sea are forbidden, there.”

Adrien shivered. “You have one. A demon.”

“Sure.” She was still smiling, working on her nets. “Do you want to see? He has an old name, but he goes by Sam now. Hey, Sam. Come out and say hello.”

“Oh, no,” Adrien said. “I don’t really—”

The Mislian held her hands to her mouth, and Adrien’s flesh crawled as something uncoiled out of it, spilling over her hands and twining around her arm. It was a snake, black as her eyes and horned like a deer, and he raised his head to look at Adrien.

“He says hello,” the Mislian said. “He doesn’t speak out loud. Too small.” Sam whipped his head around to stare at her. “Well, you are,” she said.

“H-Hello, Sam,” Adrien said. “I really should get going.”

“Yeah, probably,” the Mislian said, stroking the snake under the chin. He shook out his antlers and glided up her arm, twisting about in her long, dark hair.

A faint breeze rolled over the docks, and Adrien stared out over the water, which flickered and glittered with patches of color, movement he couldn’t be sure was a vision or just a flash of the sun on a wave.

“Right,” he whispered. “Time to go.”

He whistled three times. The sail groaned as wind twisted around to fill it, and the boat pushed forward before it jerked roughly, still caught on the dock by a rope. The Mislian laughed.

“Wonderful,” Adrien muttered, leaning over the edge to untie the rope. As he did, the Mislian looked up and pushed aside her nets, staring down the docks and past the jagged slope of rock hiding the smuggler’s cove from view. She frowned, and her demon rustled in her hair, hissing faintly.

“Someone’s coming,” she said. “Were you followed?”

Adrien followed her gaze. A figure walked in the shadow of the rocks, broad-shouldered and dressed in the Starian royal uniform. “I thought I wasn’t.”

“Lovely.” The Mislian whispered something to her demon in another language, and the demon slithered back into her mouth, disappearing with the flick of a tail. Her eyes went wide, wider than any human eyes had a right to, and just as the figure at the other end of the dock broke into a run, she dove off the edge and into the dark water

“Wait!” Adrien fumbled with the ropes. “You can’t just leave me here!”

The ropes fell loose, and the wind caught the sail again, slowly dragging the boat through the water. Adrien fell back into the boat, whistling frantically. But the wind remained steady, and the boat trundled along, only a few paces away from the dock, well within reach.

On the dock, the figure burst out of the shadow and into the light of the midday sun, and Adrien grabbed the edge of the boat in horror.

“Adrien de Guillory,” said Isiodore de Mortain, Adrien’s father’s second in command. “What the hell have you done?”

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Meet the Author

Iris Foxglove is a shared pen name between two longtime fantasy readers who are committed to writing fun, escapist dark fantasy featuring decadent, kinky stories, intricate world building and unforgettable characters.

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Jun 21

New Release Blitz: The Illhenny Murders by Winnie Frolik (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Illhenny Murders

Author: Winnie Frolik

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/21/2021

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 67500

Genre: Historical, LGBTQIA+, genre, historical, crime, lesbian, 1930s, private detective, district nurse, murder

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Description

District Nurse Mary Grey saves the life of young architect, Anthony West, when he is involved a car wreck, only for West to tell her it was no accident. Someone tried to kill him. Mary is skeptical at first, but when West dies, she’s determined to investigate the matter. More blood is spilled, and Mary becomes embroiled in a tangled web of intrigue and murder as she joins forces with exiled Jewish German detective Franz Shaefer. And on top of everything else, Mary finds herself dangerously attracted to Anthony’s beautiful and unattainable sister Harriet.

Excerpt

The Illhenny Murders
Winnie Frolik © 2021
All Rights Reserved

October 1936, Illhenny, England

It was no longer night in Illhenny, but not quite morning. Those weird in-between hours, when the darkness began to retreat but the sun had not quite shown its face. Although at this time of year, the best Illhenny could hope for was some feeble rays of light peeking out from behind the fierce clouds dominating its sea line. Still, sunny or not, people had begun to stir. Fishermen went off in their boats to cast their nets and haggle with the sea. Tradesmen set out to open for the day. Farm folk had cows to milk and livestock to feed. Mothers began coaxing surly children from their beds to have breakfast before making their way to school. And the district nurse set off on her rounds.

District Nurse Mary Grey had known she would be quite busy that day. In preparation, she had eaten a solid, manly breakfast, and packed a ham sandwich for later. She wore an oversized knitted gray-green sweater, gifted to her by her sister, over her uniform to face the weather. She rode her BSA motorbike. Some uncharitable souls might have noted the bike was over a decade old, and hardly ideal for inclement weather. And in the UK, of course, inclement weather tends to be the norm. No matter. Mary loved the motorbike from the moment it had been issued to her by the Rural Nurses Association. She loved how the wind whipped in her face when she rode it full throttle. She loved the sense of power between her legs. She loved how speedily it could get her to her appointments. She loved occasionally beeping to people she met on the ride. Most of all, she loved the freedom and independence her motorbike represented. She even enjoyed cleaning it and keeping it fueled and oiled. Mary had never ridden a horse, let alone owned one, but she imagined her love for her motorbike was akin to what a rider might feel toward their faithful steed.

Mary rode her bike past the bakery, post office, the vicarage, and the forge. Her first task of the day was to check in on Mrs. Simpson, who’d recently had surgery in London. She was a widow of some sixty years of age, living on a small pension after her husband’s death.

“You need not have come, my dear,” Mrs. Simpson told her. “As you can see, I’ve made a full recovery.” To punctuate her point, Mrs. Simpson did an elegant little curtsey. She was surprisingly limber for a woman her age.

“You certainly are looking better. You don’t seem to have any trouble moving at all now,” Mary noted.

“No. In fact, I took a long walk around the village yesterday and will take another today.”

“You didn’t mind the cold?”

“Oh no! I found it quite refreshing,” Mrs. Simpson proclaimed. “There’s nothing like fresh sea air and exercise for one’s health, is there?”

“No argument there,” Mary agreed. “Will you be going to tomorrow’s meeting of the Illhenny Women’s Society?” Mrs. Simpson was known for her needlework and her keen interest in village affairs.

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away. We are going to start decorating the church for Christmas. I picked up some new items in London to show everyone! There’s no place like London for shopping.”

“There certainly isn’t. In fact, I’m taking the train down tomorrow to stay with an old friend of mine for a couple of nights while her husband’s away.”

“Wait, is that your friend Phyllis?” Mrs. Simpson asked. “You’ve visited her before, haven’t you?”

“Well, her husband travels regularly, and she likes the company,” Mary explained, not making direct eye contact with Mrs. Simpson.

“Oh, well, that’s very kind of you then,” Mrs. Simpson remarked. “How exactly do you and Phyllis know each other?”

“I met her when I was studying at the Queen’s Institute for Nurses in London.” This time Mary was on solid ground. “And we’ve stayed in touch. You know, I really have to get on to my other appointments.”

“Of course, dear, of course.”

Mrs. Simpson waved a cheerful goodbye and Mary rode off.

Mary next called on rheumatic old Caleb Barnaby. Caleb was a grizzled fisherman with several teeth missing, but one molar long and sharp as a harpoon. He’d been a big man once but in the last year or so had begun to lose weight and his clothes now hung on him rather alarmingly. He lived quite alone with only a large ginger cat, Ahab, for company. His rooms were shabby and dark, with only a single window, but they did have one charm—handcrafted shelves filled with little birds, fish, seashells, deer, and other creatures, all beautifully carved out of wood by none other than Caleb himself. Caleb’s whittling and carpentry were famous in Illhenny. After coming in, Mary, as usual, opened the window to air the room a little, while Caleb groused.

“Just kill me all the faster, the chill air will.”

“No, it won’t.”

“Will too!” Caleb retorted. “Cold gets worse every year for me old bones.” He gave a melodramatic sigh. “This will be my last winter, it will. Ought to start planning my funeral.”

“What would you have them write on your headstone?” Mary asked, amused.

“Don’t want a headstone,” Caleb pronounced. “Waste of time and stone if you ask me. Don’t want to be left in a box in the ground to rot either. I’d rather be taken by the wind or the sea. That way, at least I’d get to travel a b—”

There was a loud crashing sound and a startled Mary turned just in time to see a pile of wooden carvings on the floor while an orange blur raced around a corner and out of sight.

“Go ahead and run, you coward! You cur!” Caleb shouted. “If I ever get my hands on you, I’ll turn you into slippers!”

Mary had heard similar threats from Caleb before regarding Ahab’s crimes, and knew them to be empty. She instead set out about picking up the wooden figures and returning them to their rightful place. As she did so, she spotted an envelope hidden in a cleft among the shelves and, on an impulse, took a peek at its contents.

Much to her amusement, it was filled with cheap little pictures of women in various stages of undress. Pornography and smut were illegal in England, but that didn’t seem to diminish its popularity one jot. Most of the women were simply posing, but some of them were more active. In fact, several of the photos included men as well, engaging in all sorts of calisthenics with the women. Mary hurriedly put the envelope away.

“What you doing now?” Caleb asked.

“Nothing! Just examining your workmanship. How about I put on the kettle?”

“Tea? What good is tea? Now whiskey, aye, that’s proper medicine. I’ll have me a shot now.”

“But it isn’t even noon,” Mary pointed out.

“Exactly. I need breakfast!” Caleb drained the shot with satisfaction. “Come you, nurse, join me in a tipple. It’ll put some color in your cheeks, do you a load of good.”

“Sorry, but I’m not allowed to drink on duty. Those are the rules.”

“Too many damned rules,” Caleb grumbled. “That’s what’s wrong with the world these days.”

“I don’t know that the problem is the number of rules themselves,” Mary said thoughtfully, “so much as who makes them.”

“Hmph. Speaking of people who make the rules, Lord Pool’s called a town meeting tonight at the dance hall.”

“A meeting? About what?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t say anything. But his friend from next door is going to be there as well.”

“I heard The Laurels had just been rented out to some young man from London,” Mary mused. “I wondered what that was about. We don’t get many visitors from London here. In fact, we usually don’t get any.”

Caleb scowled. “No good will come of this. I can smell it. You mark my words!”

Mary did not respond to this premonition but kept to her schedule. As she rode past Mr. Legge’s tobacco shop, she saw pretty, young Mrs. Legge assisting Mr. Winthrop, the vicar. Mr. Legge, who was quite a bit older than his wife, stood directly outside the shop, engaged in an argument with Dick Townley, Lord Pool’s gamekeeper.

“No more credit for you, you wastrel! You ever darken my door without the money you owe me, and it’ll be my boot up your arse!”

“I’d like to see you try.” Townley spat on the ground, but he left the shop empty handed.

Mary passed Constable Evans as well. He was still a young man with plump cheeks, red as apples.

“Hello, Nurse Grey.” He tipped his hat to her. “Busy day, is it?”

“It’s always busy. What about you?”

“Getting a cat out of a tree has been the highlight of my morning. Had some more excitement yesterday though. Another one of those tramps came around and I had to clear him off. There seem to be more of them every week.” He frowned.

“The slump perhaps,” Mary suggested. “Too many poor souls out of work with nowhere to go.”

“Maybe, but they can’t come here,” Evans retorted. “I have my orders to keep them out. Well, I’ll leave you to your caseload.”

The saddest part of Mary’s day was visiting poor Annie Capman with her consumption. Annie was from an industrial town in the north but, because of her health, she’d moved to Illhenny in hopes the fresh sea air would revive her. Sadly, while Annie did enjoy a respite from breathing in black smoke and soot, it soon became clear her days were numbered no matter where she lived. The other villagers in Illhenny kept their distance from the little cottage Annie lodged in, fearing contagion. Annie’s coal and groceries were always delivered and left outside. Mary entered the cottage directly with a key left underneath a stone in the yard to see Annie’s skeletal figure in bed, swallowed up by comforters and sheets.

“Mary.” Annie’s hollowed pale face shone at the sight of the nurse. “It’s so good to see you.”

“How are you feeling today, Annie?” Mary asked.

“Tired,” Annie replied. “I know you say it does me good to walk outside, but today I’m afraid I haven’t the energy for it.”

“That’s all right, Annie,” Mary reassured her. “Let me open the windows at least and get some fresh air in for you. I’ve got another bottle of that tonic you like.”

Mary dosed Annie, helped her bathe in the wash basin, and combed her hair before tucking her into her newly changed bed with tea and biscuits.

“Rest now,” Mary told her as Annie shut her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Mary’s final appointment of the day was at the Martins’ farm to check on Mrs. Martin and weigh the newborn twin boys who Mary had delivered herself just fourteen days before. This visit in particular gave Mary cause for worry. Not so much the twins themselves—they were both putting on weight nicely and had hearty lungs they kept in good order with constant roaring. No, the rest of the family concerned Nurse Grey. The birth of the twins had brought the total number of children at the farm to nine, all crowded together on top of one another. From the moment she entered the home, Mary was met with the smell of dirty nappies and unwashed dishes. Without electricity, plumbing, or running water, it was difficult to maintain even the most basic level of sanitation in the home. Mrs. Martin had dark circles around her eyes, like someone had smeared coal there, and a dull, blank stare. Her hair was tangled as a bird’s nest and she had a nasty cough as well. She was uncommunicative and answered questions with just a “yes” or “no.”

Finally, Nurse Grey had directed her questions to the eldest girl, Libby. Libby informed Mary that her mother hadn’t slept for days thanks to the twins’ constant bawling, and she had seemed off her food as well. Thirteen-year-old Libby had more or less taken charge of the household and the care of her younger siblings. Mr. Martin had not been present during the interview, and Eliza volunteered that her father had been spending less time than ever at home since the twins were born. His hours minding the farm had always been long, but now it seemed he didn’t come home most nights at all. Rather he went to The Mud Crab or slept in the barn, finding it more comfortable than the Martin household at present. Looking at the dirt and grime around her, as the twins began to bawl once more, Nurse Grey understood why. Still, the absence of a father and husband in the home was only making things worse.

“Is there anyone who could come and help your mum? A neighbor perhaps? Or family?”

Libby thought a moment. “Aunt Amy,” she said. “She’s Mum’s sister and she works as a housekeeper in Anchester.” Anchester was a market town some six miles distant.

“Would we have to send a message in person, or does she have a phone?” Nurse Grey asked.

“The house she works at has a phone,” Libby replied.

“Good! Do you know the number?”

Libby shook her head.

“That’s all right. Directory can probably find you the number as long as you know who and where her employer is.”

“I know that,” Libby stated firmly.

“Then run down to the call box by the post office. Here are some coins for the phone. Tell your aunt to come here as quickly as possible, assuming she can get the time off.”

Libby turned to go, and Mary called after her, “Remember to wear your mittens!”

Nurse Grey spent the next few hours doing her best to clean up around the household, having one of the children draw her water from outside, and delegating tasks of sweeping, mopping, and laundry. A hearty new fire was built to warm the place up a bit. The twins were fed, bathed, and changed. Meanwhile, Mrs. Martin was given hot tea and put to bed for some much-needed sleep. As Mary started making porridge for supper, Libby returned.

“I spoke to Aunt Amy and she spoke to her employer. She’ll be here tomorrow.”

“That’s wonderful news! But we will have to keep an eye on your mum’s cough too,” Mary told Libby. “If it gets any worse or lasts much longer, she may need to see a doctor.”

Libby nodded, though she did not look happy. “Doctors are expensive, ma’am.”

Nurse Grey sympathized. “I know. Hopefully, though, once your mum gets some rest, she will start to get better on her own. Make sure she rests by the fire and drinks lots of hot tea.”

By the time Mary left the Martins’, it was nearly time for the public meeting. And while Mary Grey was no native to Illhenny, a district nurse should always try to stay appraised of matters within the local community. She rushed to attend and managed to get in the doors of the local dance hall just before the meeting began. It seemed half of Illhenny was crammed into the room, seated in rickety folding chairs, and Mary despaired of finding a seat.

“Hey, Nurse Grey, come you here!” Caleb Barnaby gestured to Mary to join him on a bench and somehow managed to squeeze in room for her.

“Thank you, Caleb.”

“I may need you before the night is out,” Caleb told her. Mary looked around. The walls of the hall were still decorated with the cheap paper and tinsel from the last dance. The wooden floor was scuffed from constant use over the years, and the air permeated with the smells of resin, varnish, and dried sweat.

At the far end of the hall, at a makeshift podium, stood Lord Pool, darkly handsome in a Savile Row suit. Next to him stood a remarkably fair young man wearing cream colored linen slacks, with white-blond hair that he’d grown out to a shocking degree. There was also a large free-standing presentation desk; recognizable from the form, but with a curtain drawn hiding the main display.

“That must be Lord Pool’s friend,” Mary noted.

Caleb gave a rude snort. “Looks like a poofter to me,” he grumbled. “London’s full of nancy boys and perverts.”

Mary ignored this and waved to Mrs. Simpson across the room. At last, as the conversations in the seats built in a crescendo of curiosity, Lord Pool stood up to a microphone and, after a few staticky attempts, was able to make himself heard throughout the hall.

“I imagine,” he began, “you’re all wondering why I’ve called this meeting. Well, the reason is because I have decided to partake in an investment opportunity. And the opportunity in question directly involves all of you. As most of you well know, my family has been here for centuries. We consider ourselves deeply rooted within this community, and that its fortunes and ours are intertwined.” Lord Pool paused and looked around the room meaningfully. Not a whisper was to be heard. “Which is why it truly grieves me to say that Illhenny has for some years been in a state of decline.” Voices rose in a sudden murmur throughout the room. “Oh, it’s no one’s fault,” he continued, “but neither the fishing or agriculture around here are what they once were, and mining’s long gone. To survive, Illhenny must adapt with the times, which is why it is my great pleasure to introduce you to my old and dear friend, Anthony West, who happens to be one of England’s most promising young architects. Anthony?”

The blond man was passed the microphone and Lord Pool stepped aside, and then, to Mary’s surprise, left the podium altogether. It was almost as if he was fleeing the scene. Anthony West stared at a crowd full of strangers, eyeing him suspiciously, without quailing.

“As Edgar—I mean Lord Pool—just told you, I’m an architect,” Anthony began, “and I’m proud to announce that my next project will be—” He put his hands on the display case and drew away the curtain. “—a grand, new seaside resort, right here in your community!” Now visible were schematics for a very modern looking hotel in the Art Deco style, all windows and curved white walls, with a huge veranda positioned right along the beach.

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the whole hall exploded.

“What about noise?” someone shouted.

“What about all the new traffic?” Mrs. Simpson fretted.

“We’ll be overrun with tourists,” Mr. Wilberforce lamented, and there came a chorus of agreement.

“You bastard!” Caleb Barnaby had risen to his feet, his face as red as a tomato, and screamed at Anthony West. “I knew something was up. I knew you were no good just looking at you! And I was right! You’re going to ruin this town!”

“Ruin it?” Anthony West was indignant. “I’m saving it!”

Mary noticed that Lord Pool was nowhere in sight.

“Bollocks! You’d turn this place into nothing more than a watering hole for rich fops like yourself!” The assertion on Caleb’s part prompted a resounding “aye” across the room.

“Yes, well, better your town had a few more fops like me than drunken oafs like yourself,” Anthony retorted frostily.

Caleb started striding to the podium.

“Wait a minute. What’s he doing?” Anthony wondered aloud.

“I’ll teach you a good lesson,” Caleb snarled, and young Mr. West looked alarmed. Fortunately, at that moment, Constable Evans intervened and manually escorted Caleb away. The meeting broke up in a general disorder.

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Meet the Author

Born and raised in Pittsburgh, the Carnegie Library in Oakland was always my second home. I was diagnosed as being a high functioning autistic in college. I hold a useless double major in English literature and creative writing. I’ve worked at nonprofit agencies, in food service, and most recently as a dog-walker/petsitter but the siren song of writing keeps pulling me back into its dark grip. I have co-authored a book on women in the US Senate with Billy Herzig, self-published The Dog-Walking Diaries, and in 2020 my first novel Sarah Crow was published by One Idea Press. I live in my hometown Pittsburgh with my better half, Smoky the Cat.

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Jun 21

New Release Blitz: When Robbo Met Daniel by Liam Livings (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  When Robbo Met Daniel

Author: Liam Livings

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/21/2021

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 71100

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Vacation, out for you, coming out, first time, friends to lovers

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Description

Robbo is broken. He’s split up with his girlfriend. Given up on love. Forever. And now he must pretend to be happy for a friend’s week-long birthday celebration.

Daniel’s boyfriend refuses to go to the celebration with him. Another nail in the coffin for their relationship. So he brings his best friend, Sam. They notice the heart-broken straight guy has attractively filled swimming shorts and a body to draw their sunglasses-obscured gazes.

If Robbo can put aside how he thinks others will see him if he comes out and if Daniel can escape the history of his dead relationship, maybe they have chance.

When Robbo Met Daniel is a stand-alone gay romance with a curious man who’s only ever been with women and a flamboyant gay man who’s looking for someone to be kinder than his useless boyfriend. A dash of well-meaning friends and forced proximity could mean a happy ever after.

Excerpt

Chapter One
Monday Morning

Robbo stood back so he could stare at his suitcase, resting on the not very comfortable pull-out futon he’d been sleeping on. He threw four T-shirts, three pairs of shorts, and flip-flops into the case.

There was a knock on the door.

“All right,” Robbo replied.

Caspian opened the door. “Nearly packed?”

“Yeah. Some Lynx Africa, my shaving kit and I’m done.”

Caspian pushed the clothes into the suitcase. “And sun cream. Maya’s been on about factor fifty for weeks.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’ll borrow yours if that’s OK.” Robbo was already borrowing his friend’s spare room and bed, so what harm would a few squirts of sun cream be?

“’Course mate.” Caspian smiled weakly.

“Thanks.” Robbo turned to face the bed, his back towards Caspian. “Still think I’d be better off here. Don’t feel much in a party mood.”

“Lulu wants you there. Shaun told me. Said he’d told you.”

“Haven’t heard from him.” Robbo thought it worth trying one last time to get out of the trip. After the upheaval with Becky, he could have done with a week of work and of being alone in Caspian and Maya’s spare room. Just himself and his thoughts moping quietly on the futon.

“He told me he’d called you,” Caspian said. “Still, you know what he’s like. Probably didn’t know what to say.”

Robbo turned and perched on the bed.

“Shaun won’t mind if I don’t go. Lulu’s not going to miss me.”

“Shaun will mind, because Lulu will mind. Forty is a big deal.”

“Ancient.” Robbo let out a small laugh and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “Lulu’s a bit of a cougar, isn’t she?”

“Shaun loves her. That’s all that matters, mate.” Caspian’s stern stare told Robbo all he needed to know.

“Sorry. I’m not myself. Bit cynical about couples, you know?”

Caspian manfully patted Robbo’s shoulder.

“It’s easy to pack. All I’m doing is moving stuff from that suitcase—” He pointed to the large one in the corner. “—to this one.” He indicated the small one on the bed. “Every cloud…”

“Won’t be long till you’re back on your feet. Best this way. You did try.”

Robbo felt the familiar sadness building in his eyes. He didn’t want to dissolve into another snot and tears covered heap like he had when he’d called Caspian, asking if he could crash in their spare room after leaving the flat he’d shared with Becky, his girlfriend. He swallowed, blinking the tears away from his eyes. “I tried. Lots of things. Lots of times.”

“Enough of this. Or I’m gonna have to hug you again, and we know how awkward that gets. Do you want me to bring out the big guns and hug you?” Caspian held his arms out, waggling his fingers comically.

Robbo shook his head. “Fuck off. I’ll live.” They stood in silence for a moment.

A woman’s voice floated from the far side of the flat, telling them the taxi was booked for an hour, and if they weren’t ready, she’d be leaving without them. But not Robbo. Maya—Caspian’s wife, could have organised her way out of any situation—including making sure Robbo wasn’t allowed to wallow in his sadness. On their futon.

Caspian raised his eyes, gesturing towards his wife’s voice. “Best get on.”

Robbo let out a long, exhausted sigh, knowing he had to put a brave face on things and that staying here being miserable wouldn’t do him any good. He collected his razor and shaving gel and pushed them into the duffel bag, squashing everything else in the process.

Caspian said, quietly now, “Mate. I’ll lend you my gel if it helps with the packing.”

Without turning to face his friend, Robbo removed the can of gel, nodded, then said, “Ta mate.”

“Lads weekend. Like before. Do you good. Trust me.” Caspian closed the door behind him.

Robbo turned back to his packing and focussed on the friends he’d soon be seeing, mentally ticking off their names in turn, then wondering why that didn’t sound quite right. And then, with a heavy heart, he remembered he’d excluded their wives and girlfriends. The pairing of names that meant they had someone. Caspian and Maya sounded much better than simply Caspian.

Robbo and Becky.

Robbo.

Maya’s voice, louder now, carried through his closed door, “Twenty minutes. Taxi. If you’re not ready in ten, I’m packing your case, and don’t think I’m beyond rifling through your pants.”

Robbo—knowing Maya meant every word she said, and once he was in the sun and swimming in the pool in Spain, he would indeed feel better than stewing in his own sorrowful juices in this box room alone—threw his phone charger, headphones, and a paperback into his case. “Packed and ready!” He zipped up the bag and carried it to the living room where Maya and Caspian stood next to theirs.

*

Daniel had been trying to persuade his boyfriend, Terry, to start packing for most of the last week. He had, at this point, already resorted to begging, bribing, and finally offering sexual favours. None of which had changed Terry’s opinion. Daniel fixed a stare at Terry. “The change of space will do us good.”

“Why?” Terry stuck his bottom lip out.

“I’m sure we can work things out. Bit of sun, some swimming in the pool. A beer in our hands and we’ll soon remember why we love each other.”

“You might,” Terry shot back, without humour or eye contact.

“Come on. Meet me halfway,” Daniel said, now kneeling at Terry’s feet.

Terry turned his head away. “I’m done. I can’t talk about this anymore. In fact, despite your romantic ideas about us sitting in Spain and working it all out, I don’t think there’s anything to discuss. Nothing of any value at any rate.”

Daniel slowly stood. “I’ve told you before; I’m not happy with this.” He gestured to Terry.

Terry’s legs were crossed, his arms folded, and his bottom lip still remained resolutely stuck out almost as far as his nose. “I knew it was a mistake when you started seeing that counsellor for your fear of flying issues.”

Daniel bit his tongue, considered his next move carefully, then said, “You’re not used to me telling you how I feel.”

“Fuck me gently. Daniel, it’s all you ever fucking well tell me. You’ve written me a letter. I’m expecting an interpretive dance routine next to make sure I understand how you feel. There’s nothing more to say. I’m done. We’re over.”

Although it bristled slightly, Daniel forged on. “So why don’t you want to do anything about it?” Quietly now, he added, “If you love me.” Didn’t Terry love him?

“We’ve been through this. Besides, I’m doing nothing wrong. It’s you who’s changed since getting these stupid ideas from that stupid woman.” Terry pouted, then checked his nails ostentatiously. “Better for you to fly alone, get used to flying and living without me. No point hanging on to me being by your side when I won’t be afterwards. We’re done. Really done. I’m sure your fear-of-flying woman would approve.”

Daniel realised he wouldn’t get any further with this line or argument since it hadn’t worked before and hadn’t worked now; they’d had this “we’re over” discussion before. So instead, he thought he’d appeal to Terry’s loyalty to his friend. “Lulu’s been planning this party for months. She picked the dates based on your availability. She’s always saying she doesn’t see you often enough. Come, if not for me, for her. Promise I won’t talk about any of this us stuff out there. Come for Lulu.”

“I’m done with this. Us. This conversation. We’re finished. Fuck Lulu, I’m not coming. She’ll live. Plenty of other uni friends there. Doubt she’ll notice I’m not there. I’ll text her now.” Terry, in a huff, large even for him, left the room.

Well, that had been Daniel’s best shot. That had taken everything he could muster and had still failed. Still, another new thing to discuss with the fear-of-flying woman next month, but now he had to call Sam. Going alone was the biggest challenge, getting used to flying, to being, without… But although he thought he should be, Daniel was far from ready for that. Far from ready to give up on him and Terry. Because surely Terry still loved him, didn’t he?

He scrolled through his phone, his thumb hovering over the S while Terry banged and crashed in their bedroom.

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Meet the Author

Liam Livings lives where east London ends and becomes Essex. He shares his house with his boyfriend and cat. He enjoys baking, cooking, classic cars and socialising with friends. He has a sweet tooth for food and entertainment: loving to escape from real life with a romantic book; enjoying a good cry at a sad, funny and camp film; and listening to musical cheesy pop from the eighties to now. He tirelessly watches an awful lot of Gilmore Girls in the name of writing ‘research’.

Published since 2013 by a variety of British and American presses, his gay romance and gay fiction focuses on friendships, British humour, romance with plenty of sparkle. He’s a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, and the Chartered Institute of Marketing. With a masters in creative writing from Kingston University, he teaches writing workshops with his partner in sarcasm and humour, Virginia Heath as www.realpeoplewritebooks.com and has also ghost written a client’s 5 Star reviewed autobiography.

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Jun 21

New Release Blitz: Weekend Girl by Alex Powell (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Weekend Girl

Series: Weekend Girl, Book One

Author: Alex Powell

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/21/2021

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: M/NB

Length: 57200

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, Canada, alloromantic, aromantic, agender, pansexual, genderfluid, college, sexual harassment, manties, cross-dressing, transgender, #ownvoices, new adult

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Description

Ashley Kingston is a genderfluid university student with a major crush on attractive and charming Nolan. He seems just too perfect to be true. What happens when Ash meets Nolan while dressed as both a man, and a woman? And even more confusing, what happens when Nolan seems enamoured of both versions of Ash? A twisty-turny romance filled with fun and shenanigans.

Excerpt

Ashley Kingston sat in the bustling Davie Street cafe staring into his—Wait!

No.

Their cup. Their.

They had managed to misgender themself again, and honestly, it was getting old. Realizing they might not be a cis dude was like trying to find a bra that would fit their frame—sometimes it poked them in places not meant to be poked.

Speaking of bras, Ash had two new ones in their bag on the floor next to their feet. Normally, Ash wouldn’t have gone to a store to purchase clothes not meant for men, but their friend Bei Bei had gotten Ash’s measurements and pretended the bras were for her. One was a perfectly sensible beige number, but the other was fire-engine red, at Bei Bei’s insistence. Ash was nervous about trying them on, even when no one else was around, but what were they to do? Progress was progress.

They glanced over at their friend from the corner of their eye. Bei Bei was on her phone texting someone, running her hand through the short hair on one side of her head. Her undercut was brand spanking new.

Still not used to it? Ash frowned. The two of them were both trying something on for size. Bei Bei said she wanted to be the butchest of butch lesbians. She’d gone into the salon and had all of her long black hair cut off just that morning. Ash had watched as Bei Bei transformed before their eyes. What was it like to have long hair?

Ash ran a hand through their own dark-brown hair and sighed. Maybe one day.

“What are you moping for?” Bei Bei demanded. “We just had shopping therapy. I thought for sure you’d be happier now.”

“I’m not unhappy,” Ash started.

“But you are,” Bei Bei finished.

“I was just thinking—” Ash sighed again. “—what it might be like to have long hair, and I just…” They shrugged.

“Is that all?” Bei Bei said. “We can get you a wig.”

“I’m a starving student! As if I could afford a quality wig!”

“It doesn’t have to be expensive,” Bei Bei said. “I’ll help you find something nice but affordable online.”

“Okay,” Ash said, somewhat mollified. “I guess I was just blowing things out of proportion—again.”

“You really need to chill.” Bei Bei patted their arm. “I know, anxiety sucks.”

“At least my meds are somewhat stable. I have a mate back home who can hardly go outside some days.”

Bei Bei nodded sympathetically. The two sat in silence for a few moments, and Ash took a sip of their now-lukewarm London Fog. They licked a bit of foam off their lip. The world went on by outside the cafe window, and Ash watched from their place perched atop a bar-style stool, elbows resting on the counter running along the inside of the window.

“Ooh,” Bei Bei said. “She’s hot.”

A very tall Black girl with bantu knots and long legs walked by outside. Ash nodded. She was very attractive, and her barely there black shorts hugged her hips. Ash, who had known they were pansexual long before they figured out their gender, considered themself an equal-opportunity lover.

That is, when they even had a lover. Ash struggled to keep relationships, and they could never figure out why. It wasn’t a lack of attraction, and Ash enjoyed dating. But something always made the situation go sour.

The girl stopped for the traffic light on Davie and Granville, and Bei Bei and Ash looked on with interest. A loud group of tourists passed by the window, and when the group cleared, the girl looked back at them. Ash pretended to be very interested in the dregs of their drink.

Of course, Bei Bei kept on staring.

The girl turned and came towards them. Ash didn’t know what to do, so it was lucky their attention was on Bei Bei. The girl came into the cafe, making her way to where Ash and Bei Bei were sitting.

“Can I help you?” the Black girl asked.

Bei Bei’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve lost my phone. Do you mind calling it for me?”

The girl’s mouth twitched. “That the best you got?”

“Not by a long shot,” Bei Bei replied.

Bei Bei and the girl, who eventually introduced herself as Ouma, flirted away beside Ash. Ash pretended they had no idea who Bei Bei was, in spite of the fact she was sitting right there next to them.

Bei Bei kept running her hand through her newly shorn hair and biting her lip in obvious signs of attraction. Ouma was standing beside them with her hip cocked, head tilted. Ash looked at their phone and their Twitter page for a bit, waiting for Bei Bei and Ouma to finish with their flirting.

“Bye,” Ouma said, flashing a wave as she walked out the door.

“Oh my god, you are incorrigible,” said Ash as soon as Ouma was out of earshot.

“Got her number though,” Bei Bei smirked.

Ash rolled their eyes.

“You’ve got game, girl.”

“You just need more confidence, Ash,” Bei Bei said. “You’re plenty attractive to those who like enbies.”

The real problem was that Ash didn’t look non-binary. They looked like a cis guy. That could cause them trouble in the long run.

“I guess?” Ash said with another shrug. “I’m mostly worried that… Well. I’m trans. It’s a thing that gets a lot of people killed in a lot of places, especially when it comes to dating and sex.”

“Truth bomb time, I guess.” Bei Bei scratched the side of her head. “It’s hard enough being an Asian lesbian. Being trans is a whole other thing.”

Ash just nodded, tried to take another drink, and grimaced when they found their cup empty.

“I’d date a trans lesbian,” Bei Bei continued. “I know it doesn’t really make me special or anything. But I know of a ton of TERF lesbians who wouldn’t.”

Ash made a face at the mention of TERFs. They had enough to deal with at university without having to listen to some transphobe calling herself a feminist saying that trans people were gross. They felt gross a lot of the time anyway, but it got worse when people started calling trans people trash. Ash’s anxiety always skyrocketed if they saw people arguing on social media about it.

“I just want to find a person who would accept me for being genderfluid,” Ash said. “I’m always worried that anyone I’m interested in will turn out to be one of those binary sex-pushing assholes.”

It happened sometimes on Twitter. Somebody with a cute profile pic turned out to be awful, and it always made Ash angry, but also ashamed in a strange way. They hated that they felt ashamed sometimes of something like their identity, but it was still there sometimes, throbbing in their chest.

“I get it,” Bei Bei said. “I know you gotta be careful. But don’t shut yourself off completely.”

“I guess,” Ash said. “It’s not like I’m even used to thinking of myself as non-binary in the first place.”

“You have to start somewhere,” Bei Bei said.

Ash acknowledged this with a nod. Bei Bei got up to get another iced caramel macchiato, and Ash stared out the window at the people going by. Things were tough right now, so Ash had to be tougher.

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Meet the Author

Alex is an author of LGBTQ+ romance. They live in northern Canada where it snows six months of the year. Currently, they are pursuing a PhD in English, but that won’t stop them from writing about space vampires or cyberpunk hackers or whatever else pops into their head. Mostly a SFF writer, Alex sometimes dabbles in other genres including contemporary romance.

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Jun 19

Book Blitz: Kline Agency by Ana Raine (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Kline Agency

Series: Kline Agency #5

Author: Ana Raine

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: June 18, 2021

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage

Length: 248

Genre: Romance, Contemporary Romance, Gay, Action Adventure, Multiple Partners

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Synopsis

Manhattan — urban center of metropolitan New York. Home of the Kline Agency, where a young man can earn his fortune — or find his love.

Chilled Champagne: Micah’s job as an escort is to be whatever his client wants him to be. But Daniel won’t stop exploring until he knows all Micah’s dangerous secrets.

Levi: Levi is content in his life as an escort at the Kline Agency — until he meets a new client, Wesley. Can Levi and Wesley escape their haunted pasts and learn to love — and trust — again?

Avery: Avery expects to work as an escort at the Kline Agency long enough to help fund his younger brother’s college tuition. A chance meeting with an artist changes everything. But Milo loses his sponsor, he can no longer afford Avery’s services, and Avery is forced to choose between a relationship with Milo or the rich clients of the Kline Agency.

Next To You: Twins Alexei and Vasily fulfilling fantasies for customers of the Kline Escort Agency. Kane was once Vasily’s lover, though Vasily doesn’t remember, due to a head injury sustained at the hands of the vicious Noch gang. As his memories slowly return, Vasily becomes determined to end their debt to the Noch Gang — a decision that may cost them all more than they’re willing to pay.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2021 Ana Raine
Excerpt from Chilled Champagne

Lance was staring at Micah, his toned arms crossed over broad pectorals. At forty-one, he was still handsome and built. Everyone around the Kline Agency knew he was called Loose because he used to put out for his clients. All of that had changed when he’d met the man who was now his lover.

Micah didn’t often hang out at the Kline Agency offices like some of the others did.

“How did it go?” Lance wrapped his arm around Micah’s still chilled shoulders and led him back to his office.

“Did Mr. Patrick have a complaint?” Micah asked hesitantly.

“Why would you say that?” Lance laughed, his eyebrows shooting upward.

“I wouldn’t put out,” Micah replied. He’d said this so often he barely blushed anymore.

Lance didn’t seem surprised. “I figured as much. All the same, he wants to know when he can see you again.”

“He called back already?”

“Yes. A few minutes ago.”

Micah felt his stomach doing a tug of war. He felt flattered he’d made such an impression, but at the same time, he wasn’t going to change his mind. Painfully, his cock kept captive in his pants reminded him how turned on he was. Flushed, he gathered his thoughts before speaking. “What does my schedule look like this week?”

“You’re open for tomorrow.” Lance glanced at his computer, clicking his mouse. “Then you have an appointment with a Mr. Hart.”

Micah was surprised. “I don’t remember Mr. Hart.”

“He’s new. Requested the most beautiful escort we have.”

Micah covered his laugh with a cough. “Didn’t he bother looking at the website?”

“Sounded like he decided to get an escort last minute,” Lance said, clicking some more. “He didn’t want to take the time to look through pictures.”

One thing Micah loved about The Kline Agency was that while most escort services posted full body shots and bios on their websites, Kline posted only profile shots, no faces. Potential clients had to register first. Full-face pictures only went out to email after Lance ran a background check. Micah couldn’t hide if his picture was blasted all over a high volume website.

Lance sighed. “Get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m tired.” Micah unclasped the hair clip. “Is Candace back yet?”

“She’s with her favorite client. But she said you could keep the clip. Something about how that color looks better in dark hair than red.”

Micah nodded, replacing the clip before grabbing his bag. He would change when he got home.

Candace’s hair clip stuck to the side of his head, pressed tightly because he’d worn a knit cap. His gloves had a hole in the right index finger, reminding him he had to buy a new pair before winter came and New York got seriously cold. The Kline Agency office was in a good part of the city. The streetlights were always working at every corner, and the cars lined up were clean without a scratch.

His studio was nice enough, considering how quickly he’d had to move and the funds he’d had available at the time. Unlocking the door, he kicked aside a pile of mail. He recognized letters from his mom, and his ex… they only brought back the terrible decisions he’d made.

Kisaki, a kitten he’d rescued, was waiting, rubbing his head affectionately against Micah’s leg. “Hey baby,” Micah cooed, dropping his bag on the table. “Hungry?” He held Kisaki with one hand while sifting through his cupboard for a fresh can of cat food. “I’m hungry too.”

The scent of wet food had barely hit Micah’s nostrils when he heard his phone buzzing from his bag. “Hello?”

There was a pause before a familiar voice made Micah cringe. “Don’t hang up this time.”

There was no way Micah was staying on the line. Breathing heavily, Micah slid to the floor, pressing the end button before resting on his side, one hand on Kisaki’s back as he lapped up his food. He’d have to get his number changed. Again.

The warm fur beneath his hand and then against his chest made Micah’s throat tighten. He was too tired to stay awake. And he definitely didn’t want to deal with the phone call. His ex was supposed to stay in his past. If he found him now, after four years, Micah was sure his strong resolve would crumble. And what was worse was that Micah didn’t think he’d get so lucky in his next attempt to run away.

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Meet the Author

Ana is still figuring out what she wants to do with her life, although social work seems to be the most likely. Her best friends are a box of chocolate and her kitten who always sit beside her while she writes. When Ana was in high school, she often wrote about the LGBT community, but now her work is less…innocent. Ana enjoys writing anything and everything, including BDSM, dragons, shifters, magic, and more.

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Jun 19

Book Blitz: Unus by Stephanie Burke (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Unus

Series: Gargoyles’ Song 2

Author: Stephanie Burke

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: June 18, 2021

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Female

Length: 202

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Pansexual, Multisexual, Dark Fantasy, Action Adventure, Paranormal Romance, Alien Encounters, Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures

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Synopsis

Emerging from the cocoon, the last thing Cyprus expects is to be female. But there she is, the only female born of the Clan Equlestraa Untitalis, the most important family in their clan. She still remains a warrior, through and through, and no pair of breasts is going to stop her from her training! Until she meets him.

Alknowan, the Prince of the Dragonish Prime, thinks he’s saving a damsel in distress. But instead, he takes one look at Cyprus and loses his heart. He vows to do anything to keep her, including battling her to the death for the honor of keeping her.

But there are more issues. She is of the Equlestraa, the horse type gargoyle warriors, while Alknowan’s secondary form is Dragon. Then there’s the matter of her wanting to kill him. But if he can survive her family, the politics trying to keep them apart, and Cyprus herself, then he would give up everything to become Unus, the First of her Coven.

Excerpt

Unus (Gargoyles’ Song 2)
Stephanie Burke
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2021 Stephanie Burke

Out!

Have to get out!

It was too tight! It was too dark!

Can’t… breathe!

With heart racing and fear mounting, the panicked being struggled against the thick bindings that encased and restricted shem’s movement.

No one ever said that the conversion, the physical change would be so… so… there were no words! Cyprusurakaliesupreidesa raked long nails against the membranes, shem’s limbs moving slowly through the pale pink fluid that filled the sack.

Cyprus could hear the boom of the voices above, echoing down through the fluid. That is Cypusupriaratizaor Raitza, this Coven’s Master. Cyprus’s fevered mind latched on to that thought and held fast, using it as a talisman and a calming tool.

Coven Master was there. Coven Master was there!

Why is the Coven Master not offering aid?

It was enough to make Cyprus want to scream, to lament shem’s physical imprisonment, to demand release.

So that was what Cyprus did, buried the fingers of both hands in shem’s long flowing hair, the hair that entrapped almost as well as the casing surrounding Cyprus, opened shem’s mouth and… choked.

Out! Out! Out! OUT!

The thoughts of escape swirled through an even more terrified mind as anxiety grew. Fear and frustration ruled, tearing through shem’s mind and flowing through shem’s consciousness until Cyprus thought for sure shem would be swallowed up by a sea of black and red fury. Madness! Cyprus recognized its teasing call, the fall into the mental state where nothing existed but pure emotion. Right then, that emotion was rage. That rage, that taste of madness, scared Cyprus almost as much as being locked in this cocoon. It was the fear of that yawning, tantalizing unknown that lent Cyprus the strength to shove at the liquid thing holding shem prisoner.

Cyprus clawed and scratched at the membranes, kicking and twisting, fighting until the nails of one hand pushed their way through the thick, rubbery walls.

Yes, there was a way out. Cyprus dug at the tear, using both hands now, pulling and jerking until a sudden waft of cool air caressed shem’s fingers.

“Not long now.”

Coven Master was still there. Cyprus could hear her speaking.

She must be speaking with my Damshire. The thought comforted Cyprus, calmed the chaotic thoughts streaking through shem’s frantic mind. That both Coven Master and Damshire were waiting for the completed emergence enhanced a sense of calm, but also reignited the desire to be done with the whole process.

Yes, that’s right. The emergence. How long had it been?

Cyprus couldn’t remember.

Cyprus’s last memory was of bathing with shem’s six siblings, laughing and joking with the youngers about the change, exchanging knowing glances with the elders, knowing that shem’s Sibs understood the excitement and the mounting fear.

And then as shem made a comfortable nest of bankets that night with the siblings, the light of the setting suns caressed Cyprus’s face as shem stared up at the darkening sky through the large windows that surrounded the crèche room.

The large yellow moon glowed in the rich purpling of the growing night sky. It seemed so close that Cyprus reached out a hand to caress it, knowing that change was going to happen and somehow feeling in harmony with the ever-changing face of the first moon.

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Changeling Press LLC | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Meet the Author

Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.

From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.

Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.

Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.

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Jun 15

New Release Blitz ~ Midsummer Man by Zelah Roberts (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Midsummer Man by Zelah Robers

General Release Date: 15th June 2021

Word Count: 53,250
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 207

Genres:

 ACTION AND ADVENTURE
BILLIONAIRE
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MYSTERY

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Book Description

Hostages of fate…rescued by love.

Holly Mason’s past has left her with many things—a powerful need for independence and self-reliance, enduring memories of pain and fear…and an intense dislike of alpha males.

Billionaire Sir Mac Sinclair has been wounded by the betrayal of his fiancée and overpowered by his own ultra-protective alpha-male instincts after his sister is kidnapped. He has no time for romance.

But when Mac meets Holly at the beautiful Midsummer Ball, fate intervenes. The irresistible, timeless magic of midsummer seduces them into stealing one stunning, secret night of passion together.

But one night is not enough… When danger threatens, Mac and Holly are forced back together. Can they confront the traumas of the past and learn to trust each other to overcome the dangers of the present?

Reader advisory: This book contains a scene of public sex, stalking and cult references, and references to child abuse, kidnapping and sexual assault.

Excerpt

Renwick Castle stood high on the hill above the Wyvern Valley, its tranquil beauty bestowing an elegant timelessness upon the idyllic landscape of rolling cornfields and quaint villages below. Gilded flags fluttered from crenelated battlements in the golden afternoon sun and the vibrant ruby, emerald and sapphire stained-glass windows glowed like jewels, refracting dancing rainbows onto ancient stone floors. In the courtyard of the ancient keep, the blush-pink petals of apple blossom trees, caressed from their branches by the breeze, danced on the warm summer air like confetti.

In the grand ballroom of the castle, now an extremely elegant five-star hotel, two women, Holly Mason and Melissa Turner, were working in parallel, placing perfumed rose-pink charity auction lists and donation envelopes on tables already festooned with glittering silverware and sparkling candelabras entwined with ivy and white roses.

Tonight was a night they had been working towards for months. It was the night upon which all their hopes as the trustees of the charity ‘Help the Homeless’, rested—the night when most of the funds the charity needed for the coming year would be raised. Tonight was the night of the Help the Homeless Midsummer Ball.

Holly set down yet another envelope, then glanced up as her friend Melissa cleared her throat. “So,” Melissa asked, “did you try the rose-petal bath-pourri, then?”

Holly looked at her friend curiously. Melissa had given her the lovely bath set for her birthday, with strict and rather mysterious instructions that she should use it the night before the ball. “I did,” she confirmed, “as instructed. It was absolutely fabulous. The rose petals were floating on the water and the scent was out of this world. But I still don’t understand why I had to use it last night, exactly.”

Melissa looked smug. “I knew you’d do it. I bet Simon a jasmine-scented back massage that you would.”

Holly choked back a laugh. Her recently married friend was still in the honeymoon phase of her relationship with her beloved Simon. “Why jasmine, specifically?”

“Holly! Don’t you know that jasmine is supposed to stimulate your libido?”

“Ah- no. Can’t say that I did. But really… Your libido needs stimulating?”

Melissa gave her a sheepish look. “Well, no. In all honesty, if it got any more stimulated, I’d probably die. But what a way to go!”

Holly rolled her eyes. Her friend was incorrigible. “Well, naturally I’m delighted to have earned you a jasmine-scented back rub, but you still haven’t told me why I had to use my bubble bath last night.”

They moved to another table and began distributing auction lists. “Ah, yes…that. Well, this castle has been here nearly a thousand years. And for every single one of them, it has celebrated the magic of midsummer, the longest day of the year and the time when the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest.”

“Uh-huh.”

Melissa threw out a dramatic arm. “Powerful forces are abroad on midsummer’s night. And in this castle, they are amplified—soaked into the very fabric of this building.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh, believe me. It is.”

“So, what do these powerful forces want with me, pray tell?”

Melissa looked at her triumphantly. “Well, you sprinkled rose-petals last night, didn’t you?”

“Yes—”

“Well, the legend says that if you sprinkle rose petals on Midsummer’s Eve, you’ll meet the man of your dreams the next night. And that means, you’ll meet him tonight!”

Holly put down her envelopes and looked at her friend in frank disbelief. “Really? The man of my dreams? It’s going to bring to life Jamie from Outlander, is it?”

Melissa rolled her eyes. “There are good men in the real world, too, you know.”

Holly shook her head, amused. In her considered opinion, the only good men were fictional ones. “Melissa, you know I love you,” she began, wryly, “but I don’t want a man. I like my life the way it is.”

Damn right she did. She’d worked hard to get to where she was today, and now she was reaping the rewards of her labours. Her life was safe, settled and interesting, exactly the way she liked it. The last thing she wanted was some wretched man messing it all up.

Melissa looked at her sympathetically. “Holly, I know you had that awful stalker a couple of years ago. But you can’t judge all men by one obsessive fan.”

“Of course not.”

“And I know Taylor wasn’t the best boyfriend you could have wished for. You were just unlucky he turned out to be such an absolute—”

Holly raised a hasty hand. “I know. They’re not all like him. Some of them are worse!”

“Oh, Holly, come on. That’s not fair! Look at Simon.”

It was true. Her friend really had found one of those mythical creatures—a good man. Mild-mannered, gentle and fathoms deep in love with his adorable wife, Simon was a gentleman of the first order. But a man like that would never want a woman as hard as she was, with a background like hers. “Okay, okay. I know. Granted, your Simon is lovely, and I’m sure there are other wonderful men out there—but not for me. I’m not in the market for any midsummer magic.”

For a moment, a wispy cloud drifted over the sun and the room shadowed. Holly set down another auction list with careful precision. “Anyway, I’m too busy. I’m up to my neck in work.”

“Work won’t keep you warm at night. You won’t get to the end of your life and wish you’d done more work.”

Holly looked drily at her friend. “I won’t get to the end of my life and wish I’d done more men, either.”

“Oh, honestly, Holly—”

At that moment, Melissa’s phone beeped, signalling a text message. Melissa glanced at the screen and a delighted smile spread over her face.

“It’s Sadika. You’ll never guess who she’s just sold a last-minute ticket to?”

“Who?”

“Sir Mac Sinclair!”

Holly raised her eyebrows. Sir Mac Sinclair was known to practically anyone with a pulse in the UK, even her, and she was no follower of the lives of the rich and famous. As the billionaire owner of one of the most prestigious building companies in the country, he was lauded for successfully and sympathetically restoring some of Britain’s most valuable and beloved historic buildings. As a qualified architect, he had also created some new structures which, with their fluid, sensuous silhouettes and environmentally friendly designs, were now considered modern classics. But he was also infamous for his obsessive need for privacy. He rarely appeared in public and declined all television interviews, which made it all the more surprising that he was coming to such a high-profile event.

Not only that, but tickets for the ball had sold out months ago, and he must have paid through the nose to get hold of one at the last minute. Sadika, who was responsible for selling tickets and organising the seating plan, must be tearing her hair out trying to slot him in at one of the tables.

Holly scowled. Although she was pleased that the charity had received more money, she hated the fact that the rich could have it all their own way, could casually buy into an event at the last minute without a by-your-leave.

“Well, great. That should get us some more publicity. Hopefully, he’ll spend a fortune and we’ll all be happy.”

“True.” Melissa’s voice filled with excitement. “But more than that, this guy is hot. I mean, seriously hot. Oh, he’d be perfect for you!”

“Oh, right. Because I’m so hot myself.”

“You are!” Melissa clapped her hands together, her eyes speculative. “You’d make the most amazing couple—”

“Oh, don’t do me any favours. The last thing I need is some arrogant megalomaniac billionaire who loves nothing more than his own reflection!”

Melissa’s face softened. “Give in, Holly. It’s fate. You’ve sprinkled the rose petals, so you might as well accept it. True love’s a comin’ for you.”

Holly shook her head. “No. No way. You know what the difference between true love and herpes is, right?”

“No…”

“Herpes lasts forever.”

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About the Author

Zelah Roberts

Zelah Roberts grew up in a beautiful leafy market town in North East England. She spent a happy childhood exploring the surrounding woods and moorlands, and visiting ancient priories, abbeys, and roman ruins with her history-buff parents. These inspired her imagination, and many notebooks were filled with action-packed tales of adventure and romance.

An avid reader with eclectic tastes, her teenage years were spent navigating the magical worlds of Narnia and Middle Earth by way of Earthsea. As she grew older, her tastes expanded to take in thrillers and romance, and a degree in English introduced her to the great classics of literature.

After many jobs ranging from traffic warden to project manager, Zelah now divides her time between writing and teaching English and creative writing. When she is not lost in daydreams about her new book, she also loves spending time with her family, travelling and visiting the theatre and cinema.

Giveaway

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Zelah Roberts Midsummer Man Giveaway

ZELAH ROBERTS IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GET A FIRST FOR ROMANCE GIFT CARD! Notice: This competition ends on 29th June 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Jun 15

New Release Blitz ~ Supernova by Desiree Holt (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Critical Density by Desiree Holt

Book 3 in the Galaxy series

General Release Date: 15th June 2021

Word Count: 73,058
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 270

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MEN IN UNIFORM
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

He couldn’t forget her.

In a supernova, a star implodes when it exceeds its magnificence. That’s Mallory Kane’s situation right now, and only Galaxy can get her to safety.

She has haunted John ‘Rocket’ Hardin’s dreams ever since their hot celebration of her rescue five years ago. Now her sister, Senator Alicia Kane, books a flight to nowhere on Galaxy’s plane because Mallory is again caught in a hot spot and needs help.

Trapped in the clutches of the Santa Marita cartel, she has no way off the island except for Rocket and Galaxy. The mission turns out to be more complicated than the last one. The vicious leader General Felix Barrera is determined to find Mallory and kill her, meaning Galaxy will need a lot of ingenuity to get her out of there.

The moment Rocket and Mallory reconnect, the passion between them is stronger than they expected. Now Galaxy has to sneak her off the island, which includes a four-hour trek through a jungle and barely escaping death at the top of a very steep cliff.

If she and Rocket can survive all that, how can they not give in to the passion that flares hotter than ever?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence, death and murder. There are mention of drug trafficking, and of women being drugged and raped.

Excerpt

Fuck, it was hot.

John ‘Rocket’ Hardin thought that in the mountains it should at least be cooler, especially out of the sun in this little cave. But no, the heat invaded the space and made it into a warm, wet towel. He was sweaty and streaked with dirt that had blown against him as they’d climbed the rocky trails. He used the tail of his shirt to wipe as much off his face as he could, but only a shower was going to attack this mess.

He’d been fucking pissed off when his SEAL team had been told they were being sent to rescue a writer from the Taliban. Ten years in the service and he had to waste his time because some wacky writer thought it would be great to hang out with terrorists and interview them. And, oh, yeah, write books. Stupid idiot.

But they’d executed the extraction just as night had begun to fall, hoping to take advantage of the cover of darkness. But it hadn’t been cloudy or overcast, damn it, the stars bright in the sky and the moon like a big spotlight. The team had done its best to stay concealed, but without help from nature, someone had discovered their captive was gone before the SEALs were fully away. Rocket had broken off with Mallory, radioed Command to let them know and taken off with her in the mountains so their enemies wouldn’t find her. She hadn’t complained, just followed him, despite what she’d been through already and the harshness of the landscape.

Getting them out of that terrorist camp hadn’t been a picnic, for sure, but his team was experienced and it had almost gone off without a hitch. But then things had gotten very hairy. His stated job was to get Mallory to safety above all else. He hated splitting from the rest of his team, but he had his marching orders. Their job was containment so he and Mallory could get the fuck out of there. The orders had come straight from their commanding officer.

She was a trooper, he’d give her that, moving at his direction until they were far enough away from the camp and could find a place to hide. Using his satellite radio, he’d informed Command where they were and had been told to wait for extraction. Once the chopper arrived and landed on the plateau near their cave, they’d be out of there. And he’d probably never see her again.

Damn!

He glanced over at her and saw she was in almost the same condition he was. Her hair was wild, and she’d managed to push it behind her ears. But her skin looked like his, sweaty and streaked with dirt, not to mention the bruises on her wrists from the rope that had tied them.

He’d been shocked at his reaction when he’d first seen her in the hut where she was being held. In jeans and a T-shirt, hair wild and mussed, hands tied behind her back and smears of dirt on her cheeks and arms, she was still the sexiest woman he recalled ever laying eyes on.

But danger, it seemed, was an aphrodisiac, ramping up everything in his system well past the boiling point. This place was certainly as uninviting as any he’d ever been in, as far as sex was concerned. Despite that, he was so horny his dick hurt and his brain was filling with very un-SEAL-like thoughts. Mallory Kane was every man’s wet dream, with her lush, toned body, her curly auburn hair and green eyes that blazed like emeralds.

Maybe it was the aftereffect of all that tension. Maybe it was a need to reaffirm life after escaping from a lethal situation. Or maybe he felt that she needed something to erase the after-effects of her captivity.

Whatever it was, he wanted her more than he wanted to breathe. And wasn’t that just a damn shock for someone with his discipline? This was no place for sex to intrude. Life was not fucking fair. At all. But maybe after…

Business first, asshole.

Now they sat side by side, leaning against the wall of the cave, Mallory pulling herself together.

“Thank you,” she told him when her breathing finally evened out.

Her voice was soft and rich, almost musical, even with the stress she was going through. He thought he could listen to it every day. The only problem was it went straight to his dick, which was doing its best to break the zipper of his camos.

“You’re welcome.” He slid a glance at her and grinned. “All in a day’s work.”

“Those must be some days, then.”

“It’s part of our motto,” he said. “The only easy day was yesterday.”

She snorted. “If this is an example, then you guys deserve a ton of awards for what you do. I didn’t think I would leave there with my head still attached.”

“You should try and get a little rest,” he told her. “It will be a while until the helo gets here. I radioed that we were secure here.”

“Rest?” Her laugh had a tinge of hysteria. “I almost rested permanently. I am just so grateful that you came to rescue me. I know those people were going to kill me. And soon.”

Rocket studied her for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” She shrugged. “You saved my life, so I guess you can ask me anything.”

“So, just out of curiosity, you had to have known how dangerous this whole thing was. I mean, you might as well have committed suicide. What made you set this up to begin with?”

When she didn’t answer at once, he glanced over at her. She was frowning.

“Is that question a problem?” Rocket pushed.

“No. Not a problem. I just…” She swallowed. “I guess I was just focused on getting the story and writing the book. The last one I did was very successful and I have a great contract for this one.”

“But that’s not all of it, is it?” he asked.

“The main part.”

He waited, but when she didn’t say any more, his curiosity got the better of him.

“Is it so exciting that you’re willing to risk your life for it?” When she didn’t answer, he turned sightly and reached over to cup her chin. “Mallory?”

She sighed. “It’s a long story that you wouldn’t be interested in. But it’s a way to prove myself and I really don’t want to discuss it now. Okay? Please?”

“Sure.” He could understand that, it that didn’t kill his curiosity by a long shot.

“But…” She nibbled her lower lip. “I do want you to know I realize that I owe you my life.”

She raised her eyes to his, a whirlpool of emotions swirling there. Okay. There was more than just following a story here and writing a book. But how did he find out what it was? She was the first woman to pierce the emotional shell he kept himself locked in and he wanted to know more about her. No, he wanted to know all about her.

“And this may be inappropriate, but I’m doing it anyway, because I really want to thank you for what you did.” She knelt beside him, cradled his face in her hands and pressed her mouth to his.

Holy shit! His dick tried again to escape the pressure of his fly and he was sure his temperature went up. It shocked him, because he’d sure had enough sex in his life to be able to control his reactions when he needed to.

He was not prepared for this. He was supposed to be rescuing and protecting her, not thinking about sex. He thrust his fingers into her disheveled hair to hold her head in place, pressed his lips against hers and, when they parted slightly, thrust his tongue inside. She tasted like ten kinds of sin. When he licked the inner surfaces of her mouth, she brushed her tongue against his and before he realized what he was doing, he slipped his hands around to the front and cupped her breasts, gently squeezing them. He felt a tear in the fabric of one cup and anger gripped him. Did the barbaric terrorists molest her?

“It’s okay,” she whispered against his lips, as if she knew what he was thinking. “They didn’t rape me. I swear. Just tried to demoralize me. Break my spirit. But it didn’t work.”

“Good. I can see that.”

“But I need to get it all out of my mind. You can see that, right?”

Oh, yeah. And it might be against the rules, but he was all on board with this. “I just don’t want you to think I expect—”

She moved until she was straddling him, her hot center pressing hard against his aching dick. “I don’t just want this. I need this, to celebrate the fact I’m still alive.”

At some point he’d get the details of what happened out of her, but not now. Right now, he could tell what she wanted was to wipe the worst of it out of her mind, and he was glad to help her. They had another hour at least before the helicopter coming to extract them would be here and he intended to make good use of every single minute. He had never done anything like this before. Business was always…all business. But there was such electricity between them. And they’d just come through a harrowing situation and needed reaffirmation of life.

“If you’re sure, then, damn it, yes. I want this, too.”

He took her mouth in another kiss, moving his hands to lightly pinch her nipples. She moaned, sliding her hands beneath his shirt and dragging her fingernails across his back. Heat filled his body. Jesus! Although he sure never had trouble responding to a woman, he didn’t ever remember reacting this way before. Or this fast.

Rocket eased her T-shirt up so he could touch the smooth skin of her abdomen. Before he could even think about it, he had unfastened her bra and pushed it up so he could palm her bare breasts. Rubbing his thumbs over the taut nipples made them bead beneath his touch. The temptation was too much for him, so he pushed her top even higher, bent his head just enough and took one of those nipples into his mouth. When he sucked it hard, she moaned and leaned into him.

He didn’t know if she’d object or smack him, but he yanked off the shirt and the bra and tossed them to the side. Then he went after her breasts with a vengeance, licking and sucking and squeezing. Mallory threw her head back, more little moans drifting from her mouth, the sound of them heating him up even more. He didn’t even stop to think about what he was doing, or the trouble he could get into because of it. He knew he wanted this woman and that hunger was driving him forward.

Mallory arched up to him, her nails scraping his back, the sensation shooting straight to his cock and his balls. He was afraid he’d come just from sucking her breasts and miss the best part of the fun. He lifted his mouth and slid it to the hollow of her throat, where he swirled the tip of his tongue before dusting kisses along her neck.

Realizing at last that they were in a somewhat uncomfortable position, he lifted Mallory and moved her body so she was straddling him. She sat pressing against him so his cock was nestled right at the vee of her thighs, at the heat of her sex. He was sure she could feel how hard and thick his dick had become. He had to restrain himself from ripping her clothes off and plunging into her fast and quick. But that wasn’t him. It was bad enough that he was probably breaking a million rules. He needed to treat her with respect. She was a strong woman who had survived an ordeal that would have destroyed a lot of people. He might never see her again—although he pushed that aside—but he wasn’t going to go at her like a rutting pig, either, despite how he’d started out. And he wanted to make sure she knew that.

He lifted his head, cradled her face in his palms and looked directly into her eyes.

“Before we go any further, I don’t want you to feel you have to do this,” he told her. “You’ve been through an ordeal and I want to respect that. The fact that I want you, bad, shouldn’t come into consideration.”

She smiled and raked her fingers through her hair, and her disheveled look only made her appear sweeter and sexier.

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” she told him, her breathing accelerated. “And I want this, too.” Her lips curved in a very sexy smile. “What better way to celebrate the fact that I’m alive and not with my head rolling on the floor in some barbarian’s camp? And who better to celebrate with than the man who rescued me?” She gave him a tiny smile. “I do want this, Rocket. And it’s not an obligation for saving me. Okay?”

She grabbed his head and pressed her lips to his, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

Holy shit! Even her kisses were off the charts.

“Okay. Good to know.” He cupped her chin. “We’ve got most of an hour before the helo gets here. I think I know a good way to pass the time, right?”

“Yes.” She wriggled against his cock. “I want this. With you.”

He locked his gaze with hers for a long moment, but he felt a little better about this now. “Good. I want this, too.”

The time for talking was over. Rocket set Mallory aside so he could strip off his fatigues and lay them on the floor to give her as much protection from the dirt as possible. He thought about leaving his boxer briefs on, then figured, what for?

When he turned around, Mallory had kicked off her shoes and stripped off her jeans. She looked at him as she eased her bikini panties down her legs, giving a sexy wiggle. Was it possible for him to get any harder? If he did, his dick might just break off. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her toned legs, her nicely rounded butt and the trimmed patch of auburn hair that covered her sex. His mouth watered as he imagined her sweet taste.

They were lying on the floor, naked bodies pressed together, the heat of her sex scorching him, when his brain kicked into gear.

Shit!

“Mallory?”

“I thought we were done talking.” She wriggled beneath him.

“Yeah, well, I have to tell you this.”

She frowned up at him. “A confession? Now?”

“Uh-huh. I, uh, don’t have any condoms with me.”

She burst out laughing. “I already figured that. You’re on a mission, not a night out. No sweat. I’m on birth control.”

“And I’m clean,” he assured her. “I get tested regularly.”

He didn’t want to tell her it was a leftover from his days as an extreme horndog. He waited for her to say something, but instead she pulled his head down to hers and licked his lips. Her tongue was like a hot flame, scorching him clear to his balls. He held her head in place as he licked every inch of her mouth before trailing his tongue along her chin and down her neck. He pressed the tip of his tongue against the hollow of her throat, feeling the strong beat of her pulse, before moving down the smooth skin between her breasts. He loved the feel of them against his hands as he palmed them and rolled the nipples between thumb and forefinger.

Mallory moaned, a soft, sensuous sound as he trailed his mouth down over the slight curve of her stomach until he reached that gorgeous thatch of auburn hair. He slid his arms beneath her thighs so he could place them over his shoulders and used his thumbs to separate the plump lips of her sex. The pink bud of her clit peeped out at him and he couldn’t resist stroking it with his tongue.

Mallory shivered and lifted her hips, raising herself closer to his mouth. Shit, she tasted like the sweetest sin, a flavor that he had a feeling he could become totally addicted to. He traced the delicate skin on either side of her clit with slow licks, stopping to nibble that little bud every few seconds. Each time he did, she made such a delicious sound that his hunger spiked even more, and she tried to lift herself to his mouth. The painful ache in his dick and his balls told him he was closer than he would have liked. He wanted to make sure she got her orgasm before he lost all control.

Nudging her thighs farther apart, he slid two fingers into her soaked channel, humming his satisfaction as her inner walls tightened around them. Her eyes were closed and her face flushed with pleasure, obvious even in the dim light of the cave. The little sounds she made aroused him even more. When he added a third finger, she planted her feet on either side of him and pushed herself into his touch.

“Don’t stop,” she begged.

He gave a low, throaty chuckle. “Don’t worry. I have no intention of stopping.”

As he increased the pressure, he curled his fingers slightly so that with each glide, he scraped lightly against her sweet spot. She pushed against his hand harder and harder, riding it, her little moans making him impossibly more aroused.

Her orgasm rolled through her, tightening her body, her inner walls fucking his fingers. He thrust again, pinched her clit…and she came, making those delicious tiny sounds as her liquid coated his hand.

At last the shivers subsided, the groans of pleasure became softer and her body relaxed slightly. But he was almost at the breaking point, drinking in the sight of Mallory lying naked and flushed on the floor. He was so aroused by this time that he had to grit his teeth and reach for control.

Then he was on his knees between her thighs, lifting her legs to rest on his shoulders so her hips were raised. She was open to him and he could not wait another minute. With his fingers wrapped around his throbbing dick, he positioned the head at the opening of her sex, drew in a breath and thrust forward. Her hot, wet flesh gripped him like a vise, the electricity of it shooting straight to his balls.

Oh, sweet Jesus!

He didn’t remember the last time he’d fucked where his cock was bare. The sweet feel of her skin and her liquid sent him into overdrive. He closed his eyes for a moment to gather himself. Then, with his palms beneath the cheeks of her incredible ass, he began the familiar rhythm. It didn’t matter that they were in this cave, his clothes spread out as a shield on the dirt floor, or that the light was so dim he couldn’t see every inch of her the way he wanted to. All that mattered was that this delicious, hot woman was here and he was having the best sex of his life with her.

She grabbed his forearms, digging in her nails as she moved with him. They fell into a rhythm as if they’d been doing this forever, as if their bodies were used to it. Every one of his nerves was on fire. In, out, back, forth…he wanted to make it good for her, but his control was snapping.

“I can’t last much longer,” he gasped, “although I’m trying, babe. I really am.”

“I’m almost—almost—yes!”

He felt the surge of her second orgasm and the clenching of her walls just as he exploded. Their bodies throbbed together, spasming, her tight sex pulsing around his shaft. On and on it went, beyond anything he expected, until finally the last tremor faded. He managed to lower her legs to the ground and fell forward, catching himself on his elbows. He studied her face, seeing the satisfied glow and the look in her eyes. His heart was still beating erratically and hers matched the rhythm.

For a long time, they just lay there like that, staring at each other as if exchanging silent conversation. Then he lowered his mouth to hers and indulged in a deep, deep kiss. And when the last of the tension finally left both their bodies, he eased his cock from her grasp and sat back on his heels. Fishing in the pocket of his pants, he pulled out the bandana he used to wipe sweat from his face and cleaned both of them.

“We’ll both need a good shower after this.” He chuckled, but then his face sobered. “Mallory, I—”

She reached up a hand to touch his lips with her fingers. “Don’t. Do not say a word. Don’t ruin it. Please.”

“But I should—”

“No.” She shook her head. “It was special and let’s keep it that way.”

Rocket had no idea where the conversation would have gone from there, but at that moment his radio squawked. “Rocketman here.”

“Helo is four clicks away,” came the voice from the command center. “Get ready. How copy?”

“Good copy.” He clicked off and looked at Mallory. “Time to get ready.”

They dressed in silence, brushing off as much dirt from their bodies and their clothes as they could. Before they left the cave, he pulled her into his arms for one last kiss, as tender as it was erotic.

“Just so you know,” he told her when he lifted his mouth from hers, “I’m never going to forget this, Mallory.”

“Me neither, Rocket.” She brushed her lips against his. “By the way, where did your call sign come from?”

He grinned. “We’ll save that for another time. Because I’m sure, no matter how long it takes, there will be one.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“And now we’d better get out there so the helo can see us.”

He checked the immediate area outside the cave before motioning her forward. Just as she stepped outside, Rocket heard the sound of the rotors and the helo lowered to the plateau just outside the cave. Rocket grabbed Mallory’s hand and they ran for the door one of the men inside was just sliding open. Rocket boosted her inside before grabbing for the hands that hauled him up.

Then they were airborne.

As the chopper cut through the night, Rocket quietly studied Mallory. Was she glowing or was that his imagination? Could the others in the helo look at her—or him—and guess what had taken place? As he studied her, as casually as possible, she glanced over at him and their gazes locked. For one moment, heat flashed, then she looked away. He’d broken protocol with her, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. What the hell, anyway. He’d never see her again, and that actually saddened him.

When they finally reached the field camp and Mallory was helped down out of the helo, two men came running forward to hurry her off. Rocket watched, and at the last minute before being hustled into a car, she turned and waved.

Then she was gone, and for a long moment, Rocket wondered if the whole thing had even happened at all.

Buy Links

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First For Romance

About the Author

Desiree Holt

A multi-published, award winning, Amazon and USA Today best-selling author, Desiree Holt has produced more than 200 titles and won many awards. She has received an EPIC E-Book Award, the Holt Medallion and many others including Author After Dark’s Author of the Year. She has been featured on CBS Sunday Morning and in The Village Voice, The Daily Beast, USA Today, The Wall Street Journal, The London Daily Mail. She lives in Florida with her cats who insist they help her write her books, and is addicted to football.

You can follow Desiree on Facebook and Twitter and check out her Blog.

Giveaway

Enter to win a fabulous gift package and get a FREE eBook from the author!

Desiree Holt’s Critical Density Giveaway

DESIREE HOLT IS GIVING AWAY THIS FABULOUS PRIZE TO ONE LUCKY WINNER. ENTER HERE FOR YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A LOVELY GIFT PACKAGE AND GET YOUR FREE DESIREE HOLT ROMANCE BOOK! Notice: This competition ends on 29th June 2021 at 5pm GMT. Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

Jun 15

New Release Blitz ~ Taking Chances in Cedarwood by Megan Slayer (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Taking Chances in Cedarwood by Megan Slayer

General Release Date: 15th June 2021

Word Count: 41,902
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 172

GENRES:

CELEBRITIES
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI

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Book Description

He found his freedom…in Cedarwood.

Cain Ables is the it actor in Hollywood. Everyone wants to work with him, his movies make money and he’s handsome—but all that glitters isn’t gold. He’s lonely. Growing up in the glare of the spotlight with the stage parents from hell and being protected from any scandal—and real life—has left him empty. Cain wants freedom and experience. He also wants to come out. The man who plays by the rules is about to break them all.

Andrew Meadows isn’t looking for love. He’s at the farmers’ market to sell the fruit and vegetables he’s grown. When Cain shows up at his stall, he’s captivated. The more they talk, the more he likes Cain, but Cain’s got baggage—and he’s not out yet. Yet something about Cain makes Andrew want to take a chance on romance…and forever.

Will the farmer and actor find the love they both deserve, or will the glare of the spotlight ruin their future?

Reader advisory: This book contains mentions of homophobia, and controlling, emotionally and financially abusive parenting.

Excerpt

“This is the script that’s going to catapult me into the next level?” Cain Ables stared at his agent, Dixon Nell. “You’re sure?” Cain read through the script again. He’d always wanted to do an LGBTQ movie and stretch his acting abilities. He also wanted to finally come out and admit he was gay. Jesus. No one wanted their boy wonder to be gay. He had to be approachable and make people desire him. According to his agent and parents, no one would want him if he wasn’t perfect.

Apparently, being gay wasn’t perfect.

What the fuck did anyone else know? He was gay and very imperfect.

“You’re going to work with Liam Blackwell,” Dixon said. “He’s a good guy and careful with his costars. He won’t make you do anything you’re not comfortable doing. Just say the word and he won’t kiss you or anything without your being okay. You know him, remember? You met at the celebrity baseball game last year.”

“I remember.” Cain closed the script. “How do you know I won’t want him to kiss me?”

“Please.” Dixon rolled his eyes. “You’re being a maverick by stepping out of your comfort zone. This role will have award nods all over it. You need to do this.”

“But?” He both loved and hated his agent. Dixon could act like he cared one thousand percent for Cain and his career, then he could turn on him and be so scathing. Cain never knew which side of Dixon he’d get.

“But you’re not gay. You’re the it guy in Hollywood. This is going to be a big risk, but it’ll be worth it when you get the statuette.” Dixon grasped Cain by the shoulders. “You’re getting older, and while you can age in Hollywood, you can’t be the pretty boy all your life. You’ll have to age with the roles. You’ll have to mature.”

Cain knew that. He wasn’t stupid. In his thirty years, he’d played so many roles that he swore the business had to be tired of him. He curled the script in his hands. For someone who disappeared into characters, he’d damn near lost his true self along the way. He stared at Dixon again. “What if I am gay?”

Dixon burst out laughing. “You’re not gay. Confused, maybe, and intrigued by this role, but you’re not gay.” He shook his head and continued laughing. “God, if you were really gay, you’d have come out by now and you’d be chasing Penn. That kid will fuck anything who asks.”

Cain glared at Dixon as he walked away. What an asshole. I’d be chasing Penn. Who does Dixon think he is? Dixon knew lots about the business, but nothing about dating or relationships. He certainly knew nothing about Cain. Penn wasn’t Cain’s type. Too pushy and way too young.

“Hey.” Penn strutted up to Cain. “I hear you’re working with Liam Blackwell and going to Cedarwood to make a movie.” He rubbed his hands together. “There’s not much to do in Cedarwood. It’s small, boring, dull…” His eyes flashed. “You could always take an assistant or two with you. I’ll bet Lucia would go along. She wants more exposure.”

He shook his head. Penn was not his type. He’d kept his preferences to himself, but honed them over the years. He wanted a man with muscles, a forthright attitude, who wasn’t afraid of manual labor and looked good in a baseball cap. Penn wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he had to wear a T-shirt and jeans for a living. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.” Penn grinned. His green eyes glittered and the smattering of hairs on his chin belied his age. He rested his hands on his narrow hips. “Interested? I’m game to go to Cedarwood. I bet we could have a great time. I’d keep my mouth shut.”

His stomach churned. Is Penn coming on to me? He hadn’t come out yet and was already being propositioned. Penn would keep quiet for a hefty price. “No thanks.”

“You’re sure?” Penn rubbed Cain’s thigh. “You don’t know what you want until you can’t have it.”

“I’m okay.” He left the chair and squeezed the script in his hand. He’d agreed to do the movie and agreed to film in Cedarwood. Maybe it was time to head out to Ohio and find himself. He knew damn well he was gay, but he had to decide what he wanted out of life. Did he want to come out? Could he live his life in the closet?

He massaged his forehead and continued walking away from Penn. In some ways, the man was attractive. He also offered an interesting proposition—he could be the first lover Cain wanted without having strings…unless he counted the financial ones. Penn would attempt to bleed him dry. If he wasn’t begging for money, he’d take him to court or wring him out in the tabloids.

His stomach churned harder. In the last year, Cain had fought the twisting ache in his belly and the fear he’d be found out. He was gay. No question. He’d dated starlets and had been with women, but he’d rather be looking at their dates or admiring another certain actor’s ass.

He was supposed to be the guy every woman wanted to fuck and the man the guys wanted to hang out with—attainable, even if he wasn’t going to be anywhere near most of his fans. His parents made sure he stayed as isolated as possible. Maybe that was his problem. He needed to get out from under their thumb. He’d been under it for long enough.

The limo waited at the side door of the offices. The driver opened the door for him and ensured Cain was ensconced in the back seat. The scent of rich leather swirled around Cain, and the darkened windows of the vehicle ensured no one would see him. He could move around without anyone knowing he was there. A ghost of himself.

He unrolled the script and read through the first three pages again. Two men, quiet romance, small town and everyone rooting for them. He needed to do this movie. If he did, he’d get to go on location. His parents wouldn’t follow him to Ohio. They detested anywhere that wasn’t Beverly Hills. He’d go to Ohio, read, relax and be a human being. Yeah, he’d do this movie. He’d do the hell out of it. If he happened to grow as a person or found a lover, then even better. First, he had to get the fuck out of California and be on his own.

The vehicle lurched and swerved, then stopped. He had no idea how long he’d been in the back or where he was, but he assumed the driver had taken him home. He might be a big celebrity and wanted by millions, but he had little free will.

The door opened and a valet gestured to him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ables.”

“Hello.” He didn’t recognize this valet. “Where’s Green?”

“Reassigned, sir.” The valet closed the limo door. “Your mother requests your presence.”

“Thanks.” He patted the valet on the arm. The guy was only doing his job. Cain’s mother and father insisted on orchestrating his life as much as possible. He knew damn well why—if he stopped working or fell out of favor, they’d lose their funding. He’d kept the family afloat nearly his entire life.

He strode through the house to the massive living room. The opulence and expense of the place suffocated him. Everywhere he looked, he recognized something bought with the money he’d made over his career. His parents hadn’t worked for a damn thing.

His mother lounged on the expansive couch. She had pillows around her and a magazine on her lap. She flipped through the pages. “You’re home.”

“I am.” He didn’t sit. Not now. He couldn’t relax. “Reading anything important?”

“You’re featured in this magazine.” She held up the periodical. “I see you’re with Aidyn Malachi. Good. She’s up-and-coming. You need to be seen with someone fresh.”

“I do.” Someone who isn’t a starlet.

“You look like you’re upset.” His father stood by the bar. He sipped a brandy and crossed his ankles. “Something on your mind?”

He shored up his courage. He had no plan to get to Cedarwood. No money of his own. Fuck it. He’d figure something out. Rami had always been good for a favor. He’d call his best friend to get him to the airport. “I’m leaving.”

“You are?” His father laughed. “Christ. You have no idea how to live on your own. Where in the fuck do you think you’re going? You can’t handle life without us guiding you.”

His father was such a stereotype—elbow-bending closet drunk pretending to be macho and perfect, all while he’d lost control. His wife had cheated on him multiple times. He’d cheated on her, too, and Cain swore he had a sibling somewhere he knew nothing about. The odds were in his favor for the assumption to be true. Cain gritted his teeth. “I’m being called out for a movie and need to go on location. Plain and simple. I don’t need a babysitter. Remember? I’m thirty years old. I can handle my life.” Maybe, but maybe not. He’d never actually lived on his own. He’d been given spending money and the catering trucks made sure he was fed.

“You’re not going.” His mother didn’t look up from the magazine. “You aren’t ready.” She pointed to an image of Cain tangled up with Aidyn in a bed. Both looked disheveled and sated after sex. “This is what you should be doing. Marry her. Or fake it. The public needs more of these pictures.”

He rolled his eyes. The photoshoot had been a gigantic disaster. Aidyn had cried half the time, wanting her actual boyfriend, and the photographer had pushed him and Aidyn to look more in love than they’d ever be. No one wanted to see fake pictures.

“If you’re going, then you’ll have your full treatment of servants and the corps. I won’t have you making an ass of yourself.” His father slashed his hand through the air. “You’re not a child, no, but you’re not smart enough to be on your own. You can memorize lines and channel characters, but anyone can do that.”

He groaned. If I pack a small bag, I could take one of the sports cars and drive there, right? Nah. His parents probably had trackers on the cars. He nodded to hide his frustration. “I suppose you’re right.” He turned on his heel and headed up to his bedroom.

Wouldn’t his fellow actors laugh? He still lived with his parents in the house he’d bought for them when he’d made his first television show at age five. He couldn’t bring a lover home—male or female. What would he say? Mom, Dad? I need you to go so I can fuck this lovely person. Right.

Cain shoved his wallet, license, some money he’d squirreled away over the last year, two changes of clothes, an extra pair of shoes and the stuffed cat he’d had since he was a baby into a knapsack. If he was going to blow up his home life, he refused to leave the last vestige of his childhood in the hands of his parents. The stuffed cat might look like hell and have almost no fur left, but he gave Cain more comfort than anyone. He swept his gaze around his room. Even his bedroom had no personality. It could be the room of any celebrity—perfect decor, nothing to denote that he lived there and nothing out of place.

The churning in his stomach increased. If he didn’t get the fuck out of the house and away from his life for a while, he’d have a huge-ass ulcer. The stress of living a life he didn’t want had gotten to him. The doctor on the set of Victor’s Rules had urged him to get some rest. Why not do it now?

He deserved to live the life he wanted.

Cain hurried down the back steps clutching his bag. The valet from before stood by the doors leading to the garage.

“Sir?” He opened the door for Cain. “Going out?”

“To Aidyn’s.” Cain winked. “You know.”

“I used to.” The man smiled. “Shall I let your mother in on this?”

“Please do. I’ll be over there for a few days.” He winked again and elbowed the valet. “We don’t plan on coming up for air in that time.” God, he was laying it on thick.

“Yes, sir.” The valet dispatched a driver, then disappeared into the main portion of the house.

Cain slipped into the back seat of the limo and waited until the car moved. His heart hammered. He was doing it—leaving the nest. He’d lied, of course, but that didn’t matter. Fuck it. His hands shook and he held the bag tight. He’d never acted out before, never tried to be something he wasn’t or push anyone. He’d fallen right into line because it had been required of him.

The driver dropped him off at Aidyn’s hotel. Instead of expecting the car to wait on him, Cain waved him home. “Get some rest. God knows I won’t be.” He grinned. “I’ll call for you.”

The driver nodded once and left.

Cain ducked into the hotel. He’d never stayed at this particular building and hoped no one would recognize him without his Cain Ables celebrity persona in place. He was just Cain Ables, regular guy.

He headed through the lobby to the side entrance. An attendant smiled at him. “May I help you, sir?”

“I’d like a taxi to the airport.” Holy fuck. He was doing this. “Please?”

“Sure.” The attendant waved down one of the drivers. “May I help you with anything else?”

“No, thank you.” He shook hands with the man and settled into the back seat of the taxi. As the car sped toward the airport, Cain sighed. He’d really escaped. His parents would be thrilled when they found out he was at the hotel with a woman. He was being the bad-boy actor everyone expected.

Except he wasn’t bad and he wasn’t with a woman. Fear and doubt crept into his brain. Part of him wasn’t sure he could get away with his act of transgression. The rest of him couldn’t wait to get to Ohio and be a nobody.

Time to be myself.

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About the Author

Megan Slayer

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and BDSM themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.

Find out more about Megan on her website, and sign up for the newsletter here. You can also check out her Blog, Amazon Author Page, Bookbub and Instagram.

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Jun 14

New Release Blitz: The Mayor of Oak Street by Vincent Traughber Meis (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Mayor of Oak Street

Author: Vincent Traughber Meis

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 06/14/2021

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 88400

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, age-gap, coming-of-age, coming out, college, political, friends to lovers, period piece, reunited

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Description

In the 1960s, Midwestern boy and Boy Scout, Nathan delivers newspapers and mows lawns. Nathan uses his cover to move about yards and sneak into the homes of his neighbors, uncovering their secrets.

In high school, one of the local misfits introduces him to diet pills, which help him overcome his shyness. In an amphetamine high, he meets Cindy, who he hopes will steer him along the “morally straight” path of the Boy Scout Oath he swore to.

Nathan is infatuated with a young doctor down the street, Nicholas (Dr. B), who embodies all the things his mother would love him to be. On one of his secret forays in Dr. B’s house, he hides in a closet and witnesses his idol having sex with man while the wife is out of town. Dr. B’s affair leads to tragedy, forcing the doctor to leave town.
At college in New Orleans, Nathan meets a group of rebels and expands his drug use. Marc, a bisexual Cajun charmer becomes Nathan’s first male sexual experience, but promptly leaves town.

Nathan has a chance encounter with Dr. B, who has moved to New Orleans. Dr. B is in a relationship, but still closeted. Frustrated by Dr. B’s cool reaction, Nathan goes on a six-month binge of amphetamines and anonymous sex. On one night of debauchery, he overdoses and ends up in the emergency ward.

Nathan’s near death rallies Dr. B and Nathan’s other friends to force him into rehab. On the way home from work, Nathan witnesses the gruesome aftermath of the 1973 Up Stairs Lounge fire that devastated the gay population of New Orleans. As a result of the fire, Dr. B’s live-in boyfriend leaves town, freeing Dr. B to explore his feelings for Nathan.

Excerpt

The Mayor of Oak Street
Vincent Traughber Meis © 2021
All Rights Reserved

The Sangamon flows muddy and rank through the corn and soybean fields of central Illinois, giving its name to my city and the lake it fills on the south side before continuing its meander west. One of its tributaries, the even lazier and muddier Harold’s Creek, ran practically up to my back door in its own journey through the woods behind the homes on Oak Street.

The afternoon sun filtered through the tall trees, warming my shoulders as I walked along the creek, imagining building a raft like I had seen my brother and his friends do a few years before. I would ride it down the creek to the Sangamon and into the Illinois, eventually reaching the Mississippi. The Mississippi would take me to New Orleans, a city memorialized in song, literature, and film as a place of wonder. It wasn’t that I needed to run away like Huckleberry Finn. I hadn’t yet learned to hate everything the Sangamon gave its name to. It was a boy’s fantasy brought on by the heat of summer and the mesmerizingly sluggish flow of water.

I heard a branch snap deep in the woods. I often saw hobos from the nearby Wabash Line wandering in the woods, and my mother told me I needed to avoid them, but I sometimes watched them from behind a clump of bushes. My eyes darted around the area and saw nothing. I glanced at my watch. Time to go. For most kids, these were the carefree days of summer, but I had things to do. From the creek, I walked up the hill, through our backyard, and out to the street.

Mrs. Sloan’s heavy oak door hung wide open while a screen kept the swarms of late summer flies and mosquitoes at bay. I put my face to the mesh in what felt like an invasion of her privacy, causing me to tingle from the top of my head down to my big toes.

“Hello? Mrs. Sloan?” I shouted into the dim interior of the hall.

No answer.

I opened the screen door haltingly and stepped inside. The door creaked shut, sounding painful in the silence of the house. I took a step, and then another. My legs shook. I peered to the right into the living room and left into the dining room. A force had taken control of me and pushed me on, my sneakers barely touching the carpet.

I went as far as the kitchen, passing two empty bedrooms on the way. Her purse sat on the yellow chrome Formica kitchen table, the keys to her Oldsmobile right next to it. Out the kitchen window, I searched for her floppy straw hat in the sunny backyard. She was neither in the garden where she often tended her vegetables nor in the lawn chair where she sometimes sat, large sunglasses on her nose and a cocktail in hand. I took note the lawn needed mowing.

Nylons hung over the bathroom shower curtain rod, hypnotically swaying in the breeze from the open window. Though we called her Mrs. Sloan, I had never heard of a Mr. Sloan. My father once complained about entering the bathroom and finding my mother’s nylons drying in plain sight. I wondered if Mrs. Sloan was sad living alone or happy she had the freedom to do what she wanted.

I should have been scared of her coming home and finding me lurking in her house, but a stronger force blocked the fear, a compelling energy moving my mind and body, making me feel impervious to danger. I continued down the hall to the living room, stopping to gaze at each of three framed needlepoint messages: “There’s nothing to fear but fear itself,” “A cheery smile makes life worthwhile,” and “You belong among the wildflowers.”

I had come to Mrs. Sloan’s door in my rounds, collecting for my paper route. She was a month behind in her payments. And I rationalized my invasion of her home out of concern for her welfare. My mother once said she wouldn’t be surprised to find her passed out drunk on the front lawn one day. My brother in high school sometimes came home from a night of drinking with his buddies and would collapse face down on his bed in our shared room without removing his clothes or shoes. One time, he ended up on the floor. Perhaps Mrs. Sloan had fallen like my brother. Perhaps she had fallen asleep in the bath and was at risk of drowning like I had seen on a television program.

I spent a few more minutes in the house before exiting through the front door into the calm and quiet on Oak Street. I continued up the block to do the rest of the collections. That night I drew a floor plan of her home, noting doors and windows. My brother called me a weirdo when the first thing I looked at in the Sunday paper was the page with the floor plan of a new house on the market while he went for the sports section, my father the news, and my mother the book reviews. I also scribbled notes about Mrs. Sloan’s house: the color and shape of her purse, the black-and-white photo of a somber older couple in the living room, the buff-colored nylons, the approximately twelve-inch cross hanging over her bed, and the needlepoint messages.

Before I entered my teenage years, I would know my way in and out of most every house on the block without being discovered. It was the Midwest. It was the ‘60s. Crime happened elsewhere. In addition to delivering papers, I mowed lawns. I could cross barriers, move within fences, and befriend dogs. Access. Getting inside the house was usually the easy part.

Everybody told me my paper route and lawn-mowing jobs would be good experience though I had no idea how much I would learn about myself, about others, about life, the good and the bad. I could assume the face of the upstanding neighborhood boy, appearing at their doors to collect subscription payments, smiling and making small talk while below the surface I was another person, motivated by desires they would never understand.

The second time I entered a home was as spontaneous as the first. It was the Pruitts’. While mowing the front lawn, I noticed Mrs. Pruitt lock the front door, take her two identically dressed little girls by the hand, jump into their Ford station wagon, and drive off. When I got around to the back of the house, I spotted the kitchen door standing open, beckoning me. I turned off the mower so I would hear if the car returned. I went into the kitchen. My mother would die rather than let our kitchen fall into such disorder; the sink filled with dirty dishes, and the kitchen table covered with open schoolbooks and scattered papers.

A half-full milk carton sat on the counter. I opened the fridge and saw a whole shelf of soda pop. I took an orange Crush and drank it as I did a quick tour of the house. Not much interesting. The rest of the house was as messy as the kitchen. I finished the soda outside, threw the bottle in the trashcan, and finished mowing the lawn. Before I went to bed that night, I drew a floor plan of their three-bedroom and put it in a folder with Mrs. Sloan’s.

I thought of these intrusions as accidents, isolated incidents that wouldn’t be repeated. But images of those escapades kept dancing through my head, enticing me to do it again. The rush of danger, the real possibility I might be caught, was like a drug. At the time I was still ignorant about drugs and addictions, but my body clearly knew sensations it wanted to revisit. I managed to stave off my urges for a few months. I turned twelve over the summer, and several of my customers who had heard it was my birthday tacked on a bit extra to their payments.

Lawn-mowing season came to an end as the weather turned cold, and we had our first snowfall. Soon after, I started receiving calls about paper holds for the Thanksgiving holidays. To me, they might as well have been invitations. I prayed it didn’t snow as the soft whiteness would show the hard dirty prints of my boots, a trail of my activities. I had to start thinking about such things: tracks I might leave, who in the neighborhood tended to snoop out their windows, or how often people left doors unlocked, windows open.

I made a point of being friendly with the dogs on my street as I knew my extracurricular activities at houses with animals could be a problem. The Jackmans had a golden retriever. I’d received notice to put their paper on hold for five days, making me guess they weren’t going to leave the dog in the house for that length of time.

When I did my collections the week before Thanksgiving, I casually mentioned to Mrs. Jackman that I had received the hold notice. People loved to give out information they didn’t have to. She revealed they were going to their lake house in Arkansas. Butch was curled up at her feet. He raised his head as she took a ten out of her wallet and gave it to me. She told me to keep the change, and I thanked her profusely while I tore off her receipt.

I reached down to pet the dog. “I guess Butch is going to get a vacation too.”

“Oh, yeah. He loves it down there.”

Bingo, I was in. After our Thanksgiving meal, Dad and my brother watched the football game on TV while Mom cleaned up. I went to my room, saying I was going to read. Nobody thought it was odd. In my family, everybody did pretty much what he or she wanted. Normally, after a Thanksgiving meal, Dad and my brother passed out in front of the TV, and Mom curled up in a chair to read after cleaning up the kitchen. They had all had a lot of wine at dinner, including David, who my parents allowed to drink though he was only sixteen, something about him learning to drink responsibly at home keeping him from being irresponsible when he went out. I wasn’t sure that was working.

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Meet the Author

Vincent Traughber Meis started writing plays as a child in the Midwest and cajoled his sisters to act in performing them for neighbors. In high school, one of his short stories won a local contest sponsored by the newspaper. After graduating from college, he worked on a number of short stories and began his first novel. In the 1980’s and 90’s he published a number of pieces, mostly travel articles in publications such as, The Advocate, LA Weekly, In Style, and Our World. His travels have inspired his five novels, all set at least partially in foreign countries: Eddie’s Desert Rose (2011), Tio Jorge (2012), and Down in Cuba (2013), Deluge (2016) and Four Calling Burds (2019). Tio Jorge received a Rainbow Award in the category of Bisexual Fiction in 2012. Down in Cuba received two Rainbow Awards in 2013. Recently stories have been published in three collections: WITH:New Gay Fiction, Best Gay Erotica Vol 1 and Best Gay Erotica Vol 4. He lives in San Leandro, CA with his husband.

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