Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Silver Flash!: "Bad Dates and Doritos"

Hey, all, and welcome to another wonderful Wednesday! This week's prompt was "That came out of nowhere." Enjoy!

"So you work in advertising?"

"I sure do." Ashley picked at her salad without taking a bite. She was one hour into her date, and so far she was unimpressed by the bored-looking man across from her. Alan's shoulders were slumped. Always. And his brown eyes darted around the dining room of the cheap restaurant as if he was never really focusing on her.

"My mom worked in advertising," he commented.


"Yeah, she was the editor in chief of a big magazine."

For the first time, Ashley's interest was piqued. "Really? Which magazine?"


Ashley stared. "Bird?"

"Yeah, you must have heard of it."

"What kind of magazine is it?"

Alan looked at her as if she were crazy. Or stupid. But she preferred to go with crazy. "It's about birds. You said you were a bird enthusiast."

"I said I had a parakeet when I was nine."

"Oh." He glanced down at his soup, a disdainful expression wrinkling his nose.

Ashley shoved her lettuce aside, and her fork made a squeaking noise against the bowl. Alan looked up.

"What was that?"

Ashley opened her mouth to answer but then realized that she was about to throw away a golden opportunity.

"Oh, that was my phone. Sorry." She gave him an apologetic smile and pretended to look at a message. "Oh my gosh!"

"What is it?"

"My kid threw up! All over herself. My mother just texted me. She lives with us. She has to. She has dementia. But don't worry. I'd never leave her alone with my little girl. My brother lives with us, too. He's been doing really well since he started going to the A.A. meetings. Anyway, I guess I'd better go. I had a great time. I'm so sorry to leave like this."

"No, no. It's no problem. I'll call you."

"Great! Bye!"

Ashley was already half way out the door. Alan had picked her up at her apartment, but she had no problem with grabbing a taxi and getting far far away from his infuriatingly pompous attitude.

She stopped at a grocery store a few blocks away from her apartment. She needed milk, and her cat was low on food. It had all been a lie. A very unnecessarily elaborate lie.

Ashley lived alone with her cat in a tiny one bedroom apartment. Her advertising job paid well, but she just didn't need a lot of space. It just meant there would be more to clean.

Ashley was a woman on a mission. She was going to get in, get her things, and get out. But the way the store was organized forced her to walk right past the Doritos and Root Beer. She was a sucker for Doritos and Root Beer.

"Great product placement," she murmured, gazing at the prices and trying to decide if she wanted to blow the rest of the cash in her pocket.

But while she was pondering, she felt a pair of arms grab her and drag her sharply away from where she was standing. It happened so quickly. She didn't know how to react. Then she saw the cart slam into the spot where she'd been standing.

"Well. That came out of nowhere," a male voice said.

Ashley pulled away from her rescuer and straightened her skirt before turning to take a look at the man. She wasn't sure whether she should be angry or grateful. It had hardly been a life or death situation.

"Thanks," Ashley said, finally deciding on the simple and dismissive statement.

"No problem."

The man continued standing where he was, looking over the snack section as Ashley had been just moments before. Now she felt awkward. Should she keep standing there or should she just move along? She still kind of wanted Doritos. She glanced at the man again. He was very appealing: tall, strong build, dark brown hair, darker eyes. But weird. It was weird that he'd just grabbed her like that. She was going to just get her chips and go. But as she reached for the bag, so did the man, and their hands touched.

"You go ahead," Ashley said, pulling her hand away.

The guy grabbed a bag and grinned. "You're cute."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Ashley eyed him. He couldn't be any worse than Alan.

"Want to split the cost?" she offered.

"Of the Doritos?"

"You eat half and I'll eat half. Or I'll decide you're a creep and leave you with most of the bag. It's a win-win."

The man smiled. "We can sit on the bench outside."


They began to walk to the front of the store together.

"I'm Ashley, by the way."


They shook hands briefly, and Ashley felt a stirring, a tiny breeze of butterflies in her stomach. This could be something. Or it could be nothing. But either way, her night was going to be a lot more interesting than eating a whole bag of chips by herself and watching a movie with her cat.

And be sure to check out the other Silver Flashers!

LM Brown (m/m)
AJ Jarrett (m/m)
West Thornhill (m/m)
Pia Veleno (m/m)
Freddy MacKay (m/m)
Elyzabeth VaLey (m/f)
Julie Lynn Hayes (m/m)

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Silver Flash!: "Getting Intimate"

I'm back! ...after a horribly failed NaNoWriMo. I'm hoping to be a little more blog-active from now on, but my real life just keeps interfering with my fake life. It's hard to find inspiration for posts and stories when I'm also trying to find inspiration for centerpieces and wall paint.

In any case, I'm here this week with a tasty little morsel. The prompt I used was "eyes were closed as if in prayer." Enjoy!

"Yeah, Baby!"

"I'm gonna hit that!"

Jaqueline tuned out the screams. She was here to dance, and even though she was naked on stage, she was still here for her, for the music, for the money. The men who came were sleazy, to say the least, and she spent her weekend nights pretending they didn't exist. She had a goal--to get herself through college--and since she could make more in two nights doing this than she could doing anything else, she danced, and used her free nights to study.

She opened her eyes and glanced at the nearest booth. It always made her feel safer, knowing that the bouncers were right there, ready to jump in if any of the customers lost their minds. Jacqueline swayed in time to the beat of the club music. She was already down to her thong; the metal pole was cold against the warm skin of her back.

She kept her eyes on the bouncer. James was a new recruit--tall and strong in a way that was barely noticeable, that just simmered beneath the surface of his tan skin. He didn't smile often, but when he did...She bit her lip and touched her breast. He was toying with a glass of soda, watching the crowd. She turned and faced away from them, but she kept her eyes on James, giving everyone a great view of her ass, and wrapped her legs around the pole.

This was the part she liked--the freedom. The body heat surrounded her, warming her bare skin like a Caribbean sun. She rubbed the pole between her breasts, between her thighs, moaning as the smooth metal caressed her clit through her barely-there panties. No one could hear over the bass. Jacqueline leaned back and swung herself around, letting her long, fiery hair brush the stage beneath her. Then she snapped up again, her bright blue eyes locking on James once more.

To her surprise, his dark brown eyes were on her, as well.

They weren't supposed to stare. The bouncers were supposed to be focused on the crowd, as he'd been before, looking for drunks and wandering hands. But he wasn't straying. His muscles were tense; she was too obvious. He was soft-spoken and sexy, and now, naked and in a place oozing with deviance, she couldn't help herself.

Her nipples puckered; intense heat spread in her stomach and slowly trickled to her loins. She sighed and continued her dance, touching herself, fleetingly, pretending her own hands were his. She couldn't take her eyes off of James. His gaze was hungry, and he mouthed five words to her that took her breath away:

"I'm going to fuck you."

Jacqueline faltered in her movements but quickly recovered. Her legs were shaky. She leapt onto the pole again, higher this time, flexing her thighs and moving up and down, feeling the liquid rush that was very familiar but somehow brand new.

As she watched, James' left hand disappeared under the table. His face was an emotionless mask, but she noticed a small tick in his jaw. His left arm moved subtly, his right one remained on the table. To anyone else, he appeared innocent--just a calm spectator.

Jacqueline let out her breath in a rush and gyrated against the pole, still keeping time to the music. She wanted to keep going, she wanted to hump the pole until she burst, but the continuous movements would become too suspicious.

She swung off again and, this time, used her frustration to her advantage. She threw herself onto her knees and crawled towards the crowd, giving James every view, shaking her bare breasts and bumping her ass up and down just for him.

But her body was begging her to continue what she’d started. She glanced behind her, to see how James was reacting. His arm moved more quickly, his visible hand was a tight fist as he tried to keep control.

Jacqueline was wet. The men in the front row noticed, and a few hooted and hollered and threw out twenties. She paid them no mind. Instead, she crawled back over to the pole, faced it, and pulled herself up. Slowly, erotically, she slid her body up the cool metal, starting at her chest and ending at her abdomen, almost giving her body what it wanted.

She finally gave in, letting her pelvis make contact. Then she leaned back, slowly, melting to the ground until her back was on the floor of the stage and her thighs gripped the pole tightly. This was it. This was all the sensuality her breathless, glistening body could handle.

She turned her head and set her sights on James one last time. His eyes were closed as if in prayer. His lips were slightly parted. He was nearing his ecstasy, and Jacqueline wanted to go with him. She rolled her hips eagerly, rubbing her clit at an almost impossible speed against the sturdy pole, until, finally, her world exploded in a rush of bright lights and bass.

Jacqueline had good timing. The music ended. Her dance was over. Singles rained down on her heaving body, but she only had eyes for James. His head was tipped back now, his body shuddered. He'd reached the end of his control as well.

When his eyes opened and met hers, she licked her lips seductively, and he smiled that smile that had turned her on so much in the first place.

This wouldn't be a bad semester at all.

As always, be sure to check out my fellow flashers!

Lindsay Klug (m/f)
West Thornhill (m/m)
Lily Sawyer (m/m)
AJ Jarrett (m/m)
Sui Lynn (m/m)
Julie Lynn Hayes (m/m)

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

My very first ebook at a very special price!

My very first ebook, Scandal, is now just $.99 at New Concepts Publishing! If you've been wanting to try a taste of my spicier work, now's the time. Check it out! :)

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Silver Flash!: "Coffee and Monsters"

Happy (early) Halloween, everyone! This week's flash is a paranormal piece, using one of my prompts for the week: "That boy is a monster." If you're thinking Lady GaGa is the inspiration're right. :) Enjoy!

Coffee and Monsters

"That boy is a monster. He's no good for you."

Tabatha's mother had her hands on her hips in the doorway of the kitchen. Her lips were pursed. The gray-haired lady was determined.

"You don't know him." Tabatha rolled her eyes, feeling very much like a teenager despite her twenty-five years. Her mother had that effect on her.

"I know what he did. And if God judges a man on his actions, I sure don't see a problem with doing the same."

"He was seventeen." Tabatha reached a hand into the cookie jar on the counter and began munching, fully intending to ignore every word her mother said. "It was graffiti--not murder."

"Who's to say it wasn't? You know who uses graffiti? Gangs. Gangs use graffiti. And gangs do all sorts of horrible things."

"He's not in a gang, Mom. He's an accountant."

"Well, just don't say I didn't warn you. I got involved with a boy like that, you know. When I was sixteen. I'd never had liquor before in my life. You'll be painting the town hall or defiling the school walls in no time."

"If I were sixteen, I probably would. But I'm twenty-five."

"People like that never change."

"Bye, Mom." Tabatha gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek and stuffed another cookie into her mouth.

The visit was over. It had been a lovely 15 minutes that Tabatha had no desire to repeat more than once a week.

But for once, the blond's overprotective mother had hit the nail on the head. Jermaine was a monster. The best kind. The kind that was eternally beautiful and never died.

Tabatha drove to a coffee shop twenty minutes away. She was meeting Jermaine at 6:00pm. It was their third date. As long as he wore sunglasses, the sunlight didn't affect him. He said he thought it was probably because he was supposed to be underground and his eyes knew it; they could never adjust.

The tall, dark-skinned man sat down beside her in the booth and slipped off his shades. The lighting was dim. He kissed her deeply on the lips and smiled at her with perfect white teeth.

"What are you having?" he asked.

"A peppermint mocha."

"Good choice."

A waitress approached, and Jermaine ordered for both of them. He took charge. He was beautiful. Tabatha adored him. She wasn't sure how long the feeling would last, if the flame would burn out quickly, but she was enjoying it while she could.

"A peppermint mocha and a black coffee," his deep voice rumbled.

"Coming right up." The waitress smiled and walked away.

"Come here for a minute," Jermaine whispered to Tabatha. "I want to tell you something."

She slid closer. He rested his hand on her thigh. Her body repsonded immediately. Her blood heated in her veins, her skin tingled. Jermaine let out a low growl. She knew he could sense her rise in temperature; he was always aware of her blood. His fingers slipped under her short skirt, resting on her clit through her silk panties.

"Do you think you can come before the waitress gets back?"

"I'm willing to try," she murmured.

His fingers began moving in slow circles, warming her up, making her wet until all she could feel was pleasure and anticipation.

"You're so good to me, but you never let me touch you," she moaned softly, careful not to draw attention to herself.

"Feeling the blood beneath your skin is all the pleasure I need. My blood's stopped. I couldn't do anything if I tried."

"Good point." Tabatha bucked against his hand as he pressed down harder, began to move faster.

She was getting close already. His fingers were like magic. She could barely stand it.

"I can see her. She's almost done pouring my coffee."

Tabatha bit her lip. It felt so good, she was so close. He pinched her clit quickly between his fingers and rubbed her again. That was all it took. Tabatha gripped the edge of table and shook as she came. But she stayed quiet, and the waitress gave them their drinks with that same smile, oblivious to what had happened under her table.

They each took a slow sip of smooth caffeine as Tabatha basked in her afterglow. Then Jermaine put his mug down and turned to her.

"There is one thing you can do for me," he told her in a low voice.

"What's that?"

"Let me kiss your neck." Tabatha withdrew slightly. She'd never let him near her neck. He always said it was too much temptation. "Don't worry. I can control myself."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Feeling how alive you are is the only pleasure I can have."

Tabatha's gaze softened, and she pulled her hair back, giving him access to the pulse point beneath her ear. She trusted him. He kissed her neck tenderly. Tabatha closed her eyes, enjoying the new sensation. His lips were soft against her skin. He smelled amazing.

Then she felt it--the sudden flash of pain, then warmth.

Huh. He'd bitten her. He was draining her. And she could tell he had no intention of stopping any time soon.

She couldn't fight him. She felt paralyzed. All she could do was think, and that was getting harder with each passing moment.

Damn her mother. She'd been right about him after all.

As always, be sure to see what treats (or tricks) the other flashers have in store!

Sui Lynn (m/m)

Lily Sawyer (m/m)

West Thornhill (m/m)

LM Brown (m/m)

Freddy MacKay (m/m)

Julie Hayes (m/m)

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Happy Spirit Day!

In honor of Spirit Day tomorrow, wear some purple and watch some RENT! :)

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Silver Flash!: "Like Poison: Pt. 1?"

Hey, all! It's been a while. Blame the writer's block. Which I, personally, blame on the stress of trying to buy a house/planning a wedding. If only it were as easy as it seems in the novels... ;) Well, I took this week's prompt (" a problem with personal space...") as an opportunity to do a bit of free writing, so I honestly don't know if this is going anywhere, but I hope you enjoy it!

Eugenia lay on her mother's grave, wearing a white dress, her red hair pooled around her fair face. Her feet were bare. But the image wasn't as romantic as she'd thought it might be from watching sad movies and reading Edgar Allan Poe. The dirt was fresh and the damp grains clung to her skin and dress. It was a morbid picture for a morbid time.

The Rapture had come and gone a week ago, in the middle of the night. At least it had been the middle of the night in America; in China babies' souls had been snatched away in broad daylight. But there were no empty shoes, no free-flying people. There were only bodies. Millions. Empty.

Eugenia's mother had finally been buried last night. Morning was beginning to peek over the treetops around the graveyard. She was alone. But she figured it probably wouldn't be for long.

The supernaturals had seen this as their time to shine, and vamps and weres roamed the streets unabashedly. They'd already taken most of those who weren't claimed by God. Vampires had some locked away for farming, worried about "natural resources." The werewolves couldn't contain themselves in order to conserve anything. But they were only monsters once a month. The vamps came out every night. Every afternoon. Every morning.

Why Eugenia hadn't been snatched up, she didn't know.

But they always came around at dawn. To watch her. She suspected they had since she was young. But they never bit. They never tried. Eugenia lifted her head and gazed at the tree line. She could see them. Did they think she was stupid? She sat up and stared back at them. Why didn't they just take her? Why didn't one of them just come and put her out of her misery?

She was alone. Utterly alone. With just those eyes staring at her. Then one finally did approach. He was a tall one, impossibly attractive, with dark brown eyes and straight, jet black hair. But they were all impossibly attractive. The better to lure you in with, my dear.

Eugenia didn't move. She hadn't eaten in days. What did she care if she was drained? If they released her soul the way God had refused?

The vamp circled her, studying her. Eugenia's skin prickled. He said nothing. That drove Eugenia even more crazy than the impending death.

"You've got a problem with personal space, haven't you?" she spoke finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

The man grinned. "You're a strange one."

"I'm strange?"

"I've been watching you."

"I know."

"I bit you there. When you were young."

Eugenia hadn't been expecting that. "What?"

The man squatted down, a devilish grin on his lips. He reached out, moved her flaming hair. She let him.

"I bit you. Just there."

His fingertips brushed the twin marks on her neck that her mother had said were from chicken pocks. Eugenia's stomach dropped.

"You didn't drain me."

"I couldn't."

"I don't understand."

"Your blood is like poison."


His mouth curled up further. "It's disgusting."


"There's nothing left of the life you know. Come with me."


"Your mother is dead."

"I'm not."

"Not yet."

Eugenia was tired. She was tired of fighting and tired of this strange, week-old world. So when the man offered her his hand, she accepted. Maybe she would die. Maybe she wouldn't. But her only other option was lying here until she starved to death. She couldn't bring herself to move on her own. The man placed a hand on her waist and guided her away from the unmarked grave.

"I fear a darkness plagues you that is worse than ours."

Eugenia stared back over her shoulder at what she was leaving behind.

"I think the plague has come and gone."

And be sure to check out the other flashers!

Julie Hayes (m/m)

Lindsay Klug (m/f)

West Thornhill (m/m)

L. M. Brown (m/m)

Lily Sawyer (m/m)

Freddy MacKay (m/m)

Pender Mackie (m/m)

Sui Lynn (m/m)

Elyzabeth M. VaLey (m/f)

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Guest Blogger: Heather Thurmeier

Hello, everyone! I've got Heather Thurmeier with me today, and she's sharing a bit about her writing process. Read, enjoy, and be sure to check out her latest release, Love and Lattes at Silver Publishing or!

Writing in the Right Space

Every writer has a spot they call their office. For some, I bet they even have an actual office. LOL! I can’t say I’m one of those people. I wish!

Or do I?

My writing space consists for the most part of my couch. Yep. Not glamorous. Not fancy. Definitely not conducive to long-term use. But it’s all I have for now. We don’t have the space in our current home to have the office I truly want, so I make due with what I have. And quite honestly, my current set up works for me.

The way my life is scheduled right now, I do some of my writing while my kids are at school and the rest when they’re home and otherwise occupied by playing, sleeping and watching movies. So being able to plunk my butt on the couch at any given time and grab my laptop so I can write a few lines just seems to work for me. Sometimes, I even get wild and crazy and move to the kitchen table. Ohhh, mixing it up…

Now if I could have any writing space I wanted, it wouldn’t be my couch or my kitchen table. It would be one of those beautiful octagon shaped sunrooms with windows on a bunch of sides. And those windows would look out to somewhere stunning—a lake, some mountains, a desert with lots of cool cactuses…OMG, a beach! Basically I’d be happy with any view that is an actual view. I don’t want to see a bunch of concrete or someone else’s garbage on the curb for pickup.

In my office, I’d have a little desk, a comfortable chair with good back support, an oversized chair for times when I just want to read and a little couch. Oh, and a keurig coffee machine since I can live without my coffee. And a treat machine that dispenses a variety of yummy snacks throughout the day. And…

What’s your idea of the perfect writing space?

Thank you, Heather, for having me here today!

Happy Reading!

Heather Thurmeier
~Heart, humor and a happily ever after

Blurb: Love and Lattes

Chase Bloom wants the one thing his wealth can't buy--a woman who loves him for who he really is and not just his money. Not only is Julia Walker beautiful, funny, and so incredibly sexy, she's also the first girl who doesn't seem to know who Chase is. Finally, after two years of playing the field Chase gets a chance to date a girl who's interested in him, not his status. As Julia waits at the bar in one of the local clubs, she wonders how much more cleavage she'll have to show to be granted a drink by a bartender with blinders on. Just when she thinks she's bound to die of thirst, the man of her dreams steps up to the bar and into her heart with a frosty Cosmo. Their casual encounter at the bar quickly escalates into an intimate encounter in the bedroom.

When Julia runs into Chase on her first day of work she's excited to finally see him again—until she learns he's her new boss. Now Julia must stop fantasizing about him even though her mind is constantly remembering his hands on her body, his lips on her eager flesh. But her fantasies fizzle when both Julia's first customer and her new manager threaten her to stay away from the boss. Chase is a player and Julia is his new toy. Should Julia heed the threats about Chase or is a chance to fall in love worth the risk?

LOVE AND LATTES is available now!
Facebook: Heather Thurmeier, author
Twitter: @hthurmeier

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Guest Blogger: Nicki J Markus

Hey, folks! I've got Nicki J. Markus with me today, discussing the perks of the ebook market. Check it out!

When there are just too many books!

With the boom of e-publishing, the number of books out there has increased dramatically. There were already a lot to begin with, but now there is even more choice. With so many options, how does a reader decide what to try and what to leave?

I go by word of mouth a lot. If I am talking to a friend (online or in real life) and they mention a good book, I’ll be sure to at least look into it. Other times an eye-catching cover will draw my attention. Yes, I know one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but sometimes they are so pretty.... If the cover captures my interest, I’ll read the blurb. I rarely buy straight away (not least as I know I’ll get it cheaper online), but I jot down the name and will look it up further, read reviews etc

Since joining Blogger earlier this year, I have found yet another source for reviews and recommendations. I’ve already picked up a few books that way, including winning some in blog give-aways – books I might not have come across otherwise but have ended up enjoying. Don’t even start me on NetGalley and the shiny books that I just can’t seem to resist! Yes, thanks to blogging my ‘tbr’ list now sits permanently around 20-30, whereas I used to only have 1 or 2 waiting at a time.

I think e-publishing is a huge help to readers in many ways. With big name, popular authors, I still buy paperback as the prices for paperback and e-book are usually pretty similar, but e-books have become a great way for me to try new and upcoming authors. These books are usually pretty cheap and you can try the author’s work without committing to the expense of a paperback. I rarely bought a paperback book by a new author before unless I had been given a particular recommendation, but now I feel that I can explore and sample things a bit more.

A case in point would be the Regency Draculia novels by Colleen Gleason that I was lucky enough to review via NetGalley. I had not heard of the author and might not have bought these off the shelf, but getting to read them as e-books, I was able to discover a great new author. I liked these books so much that I do plan to get them in paperback now and I will look at some of the author’s other releases too.

Of course, there are still too many books out there to ever read them all, but now there are plenty of great ways to try as many as possible!

What do you think? Have your reading habits been changed at all by the e-book revolution?

Nicki J Markus was born in England in 1982, but now lives in Adelaide, South Australia with her fiancé. She has loved both reading and writing from a young age and is also a keen linguist. She launched her writing career in 2010 and has so far had manuscripts accepted for e-book publication by both Wicked Nights Publishing and Silver Publishing. To find out more about her and her writing, visit her website/blog:

Also, be sure to check out Nicki's latest release, Day-Walker! It's got one sexy cover, am I right?

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Guest Blogger: Xavier Axelson

Hello, everyone!

First off: God bless America!

Second off: Please welcome author of The Incident, Xavier Axelson, to my blog today. He's here to discuss his inspiration for the story, which involves a certain underage drinking experience I'm sure most people can relate to. ;)

The Incident and the Echo
By Xavier Axelson

Since my latest novella “The Incident” was released last month, I have done a series of interviews. I’ve been asked more than once what inspired The Incident. As a part-time reporter and interviewer, I’ve learned that there is often a story beyond the surface answer that someone gives in an interview. I began to wonder what the answer behind the answer was. After answering the question a few times, I found myself rethinking what it was that inspired the story of a small town cop who is facing a dreary future unless he can find the strength to forgive himself and thus, make room in his life for love.

It was while on a walk that I began to mull the question over in my head and realized that the answer was an echo from the past. While I wrote the story of Michael Carmac and his partner, Bertram Angel, I found that it wasn’t just a story about them, but a story about a town and the way that town responds to their police force. I grew up in a very small town on the east coast. The police were almost like mythical entities that attached themselves to events and became part of the mythology of the town. I don’t know how many times growing up that I would hear, “which cop showed up? Oh it was Carmac and Angel?” or, “Then Angel showed up and shut the party down,” and, “Hey, you hear that Carmac shot that kid?” (Obviously, I am using my characters to illustrate a point.) But you get the idea. We interacted with the officers as if they were part of the family. We all knew Angel, Carmac, Fitzgerald and the rest and even addressed them by their last names to their faces.

In The Incident, Michael confronts his frustration about the public calling officers by their last names; he hates it, while Angel finds it’s welcoming. I don’t know how the cops in my town felt about being called by their last names but I do know that I never felt uncomfortable around the police station. The cops knew everyone in town and we knew them. It was not uncommon to have the cops show up at a family party and hang out. We had big parties. There was even a priest who drove around in a cop car and used to scare the shit out of people by turning on the sirens, I’ll have to ask my mother why he was allowed to do this, I’m sure there was a good reason. There is always a good reason in a small town for such behavior.

I remember an “incident” where I was at a friend’s house and there was a party going on, we were all drinking and way under age. This person’s mother was there, (we all called her Ma) and she drank with us. Well, the cops were called. Everyone scattered after hearing incoherent shouts of, “shit, its Angel and Carmac!” Not, “shit, it’s the cops!” I remember diving into the bottom bunk of my friends bunk beds with some girl while people stood in front of the bed, why I thought I wouldn’t be found there I had no idea. My parents of course, thought I was somewhere else and had no idea I was drunk at this party. I think I may have been 14 and that’s being generous. The cops made everyone leave which included the crowd standing in front of the bed. I will never forget the cop leaning down and looking right at me and saying, “that you Axelson? Get the hell outta that bed!”

Boy did I! The next thing I remember was jumping into the back of a girl’s older boyfriend’s car (a girl I hated) and being dropped off at my house. Nothing sobers you up like a run in with the cops, especially in a small town where news travels faster than light.

Did my parents already know? The lights were all on in the house. Do I just walk in like nothing happened?

I told my parents an abridged version and I just remember them looking at me like they didn’t believe a word I said. My father was pretty well known in town because of his business so I assumed he would hear the truth from the cops eventually. Or not. I never really knew what or of they knew. The point is these were the stories that inspired me to write the incident. These echoes from the past; memories of the officers who summoned fear, admiration and even a cool friendly vibe with just the mention of their last names.

Having a brother as not a small town cop but as a city beat cop (in one of the most dangerous cities on the east coast), I am painfully and vibrantly aware of what it means to be a cop. He takes his life in his hands everyday. After he was involved in a car accident where a drunk driver got on the freeway going the wrong way and he had to save the people who the drunk hit, while being injured himself, I realized just how amazingly brave he is. How brave anyone is who decides to try to protect the streets. When I told him, I was writing a cop romance he immediately started giving me ideas about a cop who falls in love with his female partner and when I stopped him and said, “its two men,” he just said, “well, it can still work whatever!” I knew he would have to get the dedication. If I could I would add, “to all the officers I knew before; small town and big, this ones for you.”

Listen to the echoes inside your cave. You never know what you’ll hear and what will inspire you.

Speaking of echoes isn’t that what Twitter is all about? Find me there and on Facebook or my website at To find out about upcoming releases and who I’ll be interviewing over at my column at

Blurb: The Incident

Officer Michael Carmac is a small town cop whose life is turned upside down by a horrific incident that neither he, nor the community he serves can forget. While Michael’s long-time friend and partner officer Bertram Angel offers support and friendly companionship during Carmac’s ordeal, Michael soon finds his feelings for Angel turning from friendship to something more. As Michael’s thoughts of guilt and personal responsibility over the incident intensify so do his emotions for Angel and the realization that love may be the only way to heal his wounded heart.

Excerpt: The Incident

Michael leaned towards Angel, the cold pie plate the only thing between them. Michael's heart was pounding and he could feel Angel’s breath soft on his face.

“No, it’s like right by your mouth, on the right,” Michael said.

Somewhere a night bird called out and the only reply was the incessant symphony coming from the bugs in the trees, but Michael didn’t hear anything except his own tormented thoughts clashing against his physical desires. Sweat had begun to run down his back and he shivered as he felt his spine twitch with excitement.

“Did I get it?” Angel asked, making another swipe at his face.

Michael leaned in, his hands shaking, the pie plate feeling slippery in his other hand. “Here,” he said as he pressed a shaking finger against Angel’s cheek. “Right here,” the last word was more a pant as he wiped the offending chocolate from Angel’s face.

Michael thought he saw something in Angel’s eyes when he touched him but he wasn’t sure. Although he wanted Angel more than words, he was terrified that what he thought he saw wasn’t real.

“Mikey,” Angel breathed, coming closer. He put a hand on Michael’s arm and pulled him close.

“Do it, whatever you’re thinking, do it.”

“I can’t,” Michael whispered.

Angel leaned so close that their lips were just about touching. “I’ll make it easy on you.” Angel ran his tongue over Michael’s lips. “Just do it.”

Michael felt the world beginning to slide sideways, and somewhere he heard the sound of something breaking.

Was this real?

His mind screamed for him to stop, to pull away, but Angel’s smell, his breath so close was making it hard to move, to breathe, to think. Before he could answer his raging thoughts, he found himself kissing Angel.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Silver Flash!: "Bubble Bath"

This week's prompt was to use the words candle, speaker, and star. This is what I came up with! Enjoy. :)

Jenna turned off the steaming water and pressed play on her CD player. Adele's strong, soothing voice rang from the speakers. Jenna slipped the terry bathrobe off of her slender shoulders, lit a lavender-scented candle, and settled into a relaxing bubble bath. Her thick read hair was piled high on her head, the bubbles foamed on top of the water, hiding her naked body from view.

She needed this time to herself. Her husband was putting the kids to bed, giving her a chance to relax and soak her aching feet. James was a good man. And he was still just as good-looking as he'd been in high school.

Jenna bit her lip and smiled, feeling chills crawl up her spine just thinking about him. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the water. He was a teacher. She ran a successful online shop through Etsy. Their life was simple, but it was sure worth living.

Every day Jenna got to see him with the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up past his elbows, his tie loose, his dark brown hair a mess. She loved him like that. She loved getting to see parts of him that no one else did. Dark hair sprinkled over his broad chest, a tiny star was tattooed between his shoulder blades, for a niece that had never been born. His legs were thick, and so was his....

"Mm," Jenna let her fingertips land between her thighs, brushing against the nub of her clit.
She sighed happily. Yes, this was exactly what she needed.

She began rubbing her fingers against her clit, beneath the water, gently at first. It felt good. It had been a while for her, a while since she'd found the time to feel desire.

As if her husband were psychic, the lock on the bathroom door clicked open, and he entered the small room. He couldn't see what her hand was doing beneath the foamy water, but his gaze flitted to her breasts and pussy, anyway. He was a man, after all, and she was naked in the water.

"Hey, James."

He grinned, that dimple she was so familiar with settling on his right cheek. He sat next to the bathtub and reached his hand into the water. His fingers found hers, discovered their motions. His eyes darkened, his smile became wicked. He replaced her fingers with his, and, quietly, deliciously, he brought her to orgasm.

"Your turn," Jenna said breathlessly.

James already had it out, stroking his erection as he watched her. Jenna leaned over the side of the tub to take him in her mouth. She sucked him and licked him, and when he came, she swallowed every drop.

"Thanks for tonight, babe," she murmured, easing back into the bath tub.


Check out the other Silver Flashers!

West Thornhill (m/m)

Chris Quinton (m/m)

Julie Hayes (m/m)

Lindsay Klug (m/f)

Victoria Blisse (m/f)

Freddy MacKay (m/m)

Lily Sawyer (m/m)

Elyzabeth M. VaLey (m/f) <<>>

Ryssa Edwards (m/m)

Pender Mackie (m/m)

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Guest Blogger: Ryssa Edwards

Hey, everyone, and thanks for joining me on this lovely Sunday evening. Today I have fellow Silver Publishing author, Ryssa Edwards. She's got a lot of hot books for you, a contest, and some advice for you aspiring writers. Check it out! ;)

First, tell us a little about you and what you do.

By night, I meet interesting people, and all but bribe them to tell me their life story and let me follow them around. I call these people “characters”, and I write down their stories. They get into some pretty scary situations. It keeps me off the streets and (mostly) out of trouble.

What do you like to read?

Books. Kidding. I like reading stories. If you can tell a good story, I’ll read it. Right now, I’m on a short story kick, so I’ve been hanging around with folks like Ambrose Bierce, Stephen King, Ian Fleming and H. P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard. Can I just say this: Conan rocks!

What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

I know it sounds cliché, but the best advice I can give is . . .write!

Write all the time. Even if you don’t’ have a pen in your hand. If you something makes you stop and go, “Wow. That’s interesting.” Ask yourself why? What caught your attention? How would get someone else to see it the way you did? Over time, these little observations will make it into your characters and your worlds.

Buy a notebook. Take it everywhere. Ladies, get a purse-size notebook. Guys. . . I don’t know what to tell you. Got ten extra minutes in your day? Then you’ve got time to write daily. Pick a good exercise book. One of my favorites is A Writer’s Book of Days by Judy Reeves.

And my last bit of advice . . . don’t stop. You know those times when your internal editor is all over you? Keep writing. That voice never goes away, but if you keep going, one day you’ll get to prove it wrong.

What are your latest / upcoming releases?

I’m so glad you asked!

Hunter Angel, Midnight Gamble, part 3 of my Immortal Pleasures series is coming on September 24th. Azriel is a Hunter angel. His status is Unforgiven. In the mortal realm, he is a relentless Hunter who rids the world of angelic beings who have broken their vows.

Until he met Zane, Azriel's life was a long eternity without hope. But, now that he's met Zane, he wants more, he wants to have something he never thought he'd have: love.

But for an Unforgiven Hunter, there's only one way to have a mate: he must earn his way out of his Unforgiven status. Azriel's instincts lead him to a battle that will be the ultimate midnight gamble, winner takes all. But will he win? Or will he lose Zane forever?

And for this weekend only, readers can stop by my blog for a chance to win a signed copy of Immortal Pleasures, Volume I, parts 1 & 2 of the series.

Dreaming of a Kiss is a novel about Rafe, a college freshman who sets out to find a cure for his mother, and ends up falling in love with Kayne, a Wulf in training to be Alpha Wulf. This book is coming soon from Decadent Publishing.

Johnny V and the Razor is a short story coming soon from Dreamspinner Press. Johnny V is a driver for Mr. Donnelly, a bootlegger who got too greedy. Sloane, “the Razor”, is the muscle in his brother Nick’s bootlegging operation. When Sloane gives Mr. his final payoff, Johnny is a witness. When Johnny V and the Razor get together, it’s a hard ride through rough places.

The Moon House is a short story that’s part of the First Time for Everything Dreamspinner Press Daily Dose anthology. The Moon House is the story of Samson, a carnival strong man who falls for Jace, a virgin.

Readers can enjoy a free read today! Stop by the Male / Male Romance Discussion Group on Good Reads. “Spinner” is part of the Hot Summer Days “Dear Author” letters.

Where can we find you on the web?

Thanks for having me, Heather!

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Great review for Westridge!

Hey, all! I'm very excited about my 4 star review from Sizzling Hot Book Reviews. Check it out!

Monday, August 22, 2011

Guest Blogger: Augusta Li

I have fellow Silver Publshing author Augusta Li here with me today! She's got two releases to celebrate and that, of course, means two very lovely excerpts.

What is the best dirty joke you've ever heard?

A little penguin is driving across the desert when his car breaks down. Fortunately, a mechanic happens by a few minutes later and tows the car back to a small town. He tells the penguin to come back in half an hour, after he’s had a chance to look at the car.

The poor little penguin is burning up in the desert heat, and he wonders where to spend the half hour. Then he sees the perfect place: an ice cream parlor. He goes inside and orders a huge dish of vanilla ice cream. He’s so delighted to get to cool off that he scoops the ice cream up with his flippers, splashing it all over his face and chest. Before long it’s time for the penguin to return to the garage.

The mechanic is bent over the engine when the penguin arrives. He takes one look at the penguin and says, “Man, it looks like you blew a seal.”

To which the penguin quickly replies, “You’ve got it all wrong! This is just ice cream!”

What book that you've written so far is your favorite or the most meaningful? Why?

Honestly it’s whichever one I’m working on at the time. I get very obsessed with my characters and they stay in my head even when I’m not working. All of my books involve a great deal of internal and external conflict for the characters, even the lighter ones. My characters tend to be flawed, in some cases profoundly so, and I always find meaning in watching them overcome their struggles and find happiness in spite of their scars and shortcomings.

Do your stories tend to have a recurring theme? If so, what is it?

I suppose it’s rebellion and the rejection of traditional values. It’s the courage to find one’s own way in the face of adversity. If there’s anything like a theme in my work, it’s that the mold cast by society can be very oppressive and doesn’t fit everyone. My characters are often the people who have the nerve to say no to what others expect of them. They often exist on the fringes and are thieves, renegades, assassins, and just people who play by their own rules.

Food is a recurring theme in my books. I suppose its just another earthly pleasure to enjoy. Swords and sword culture pop up a fair bit.

Were your stories secret projects or were you able to be open with your family and friends about your writing?

I’ve never for a second tried to hide what I do. I’m proud of my work, and as far as I’m concerned if somebody has a problem with it I don’t need them. That being said, I’m a horrible perfectionist and NOBODY, other than my writing partner Eon de Beaumont, gets to see anything until at least the third draft or so. So I guess I’m not secretive about content, but I am very picky about quality.

I am fortunate enough to have two novels released this month! The first is Epiphany, available from Silver Publishing here:

Blurb: Epiphany

1974. When the residents of the backwater town of Epiphany, Nevada, drive off a hurt and hungry young man because he has long hair, timid diner cook Elijah Tupper can't find the courage to stand up to them. Later, both guilt and strong attraction compel Elijah to seek out the drifter who calls himself only Dust. He finds him camped in the Mojave, and Dust and Elijah agree to travel together, though Elijah can't possibly imagine the task that awaits them.

Dust's painful past has left him mistrustful of people and the world. He also possesses mysterious powers, though hunger and injury have left him weak. Elijah vows to aid and protect him, even if Dust can't believe that Elijah has no ulterior motives. A fragile trust slowly forms between them, despite Dust's cynicism and Elijah's insecurity. As they seek to recover the magic that will save Dust from the forces trying to destroy him, they must enlist the aid of the county sheriff who originally banished Dust from Epiphany.

Though Sheriff Sam Woodward doesn't approve of Dust or his blossoming relationship with Elijah, he agrees to help the young men to protect his town from Dust's enchantments. In order for the three men to succeed and survive their dangerous, magical journey, each of them must adapt and grow. They'll need all of their skills to survive the corrupt city of Las Vegas and the twisted, supernatural realms beyond.

Excerpt: Epiphany

The whole frigid, lonely time he'd spent walking from Epiphany, Elijah had imagined various scenarios. He’d pictured Dust hugging him with gratitude and inviting him to be his companion. He’d anticipated being greeted with happiness and surprise by the other man. Until now, it hadn't crossed Elijah's mind that Dust might not want to see him. After all, Elijah hadn't defended Dust when the townspeople drove him away hungry. Elijah had been too scared of his mother and the sheriff to speak up. What if Dust thought he was a coward? Elijah felt queasy. He was sure, now, that he'd misinterpreted the look Dust had given him and the way he'd stroked Elijah's hand. Nobody like Dust would be interested in somebody like him: an insignificant person from an insignificant place. Elijah had been fooling himself.

As much as he wanted to turn back and save himself the hurt and humiliation, Elijah kept walking. The least he could do would be to leave the coffee and sandwiches. Dust would certainly appreciate the blanket. Elijah would set them down, apologize for what had happened at the diner, and start the long trek back home. Hopefully, he'd be able to sneak in the back door and through the mud room without his mother catching him, grilling him, and eventually pummeling him with whatever was closest to her hand. Whatever unpleasant thing befell him, he would accept as penance for not speaking up against what had been done to Dust.

The drifter sat in front of his tiny fire, hugging his knees. His dark hood covered everything but his nose, lips and chin. His frozen breath hovered in the stillness like a ghostly companion. Elijah took a deep breath and said, "Hello."

Dust turned his head quickly toward Elijah, the fire reflected in his eyes making them look like glowing embers against his shadowed face. His hand shot out in Elijah's direction as if he held a weapon, but his palm was empty. It groped the cold air, the way a person felt around for a pair of lost spectacles. He slid the hood back and squinted into the darkness. Seeing Elijah, he dropped his hand and relaxed.

"You're the cook from the diner," Dust said.

Elijah nodded. "I brought you some sandwiches and coffee."

Dust rose stiffly and walked over to where Elijah stood just at the edge of the ring of fire light. He looked amazed. "You mean you walked all the way out here to bring me sandwiches?"

"Yeah, it's no big deal," Elijah said.

"Thank you," Dust said.

Elijah slid the bag from his shoulder and held it out to Dust. "There's a blanket in there too. I thought you might be able to use one."

Dust seemed too stunned to even reach for the offered provisions, so Elijah set the bag down by the drifter's feet. "All right then," Elijah said, "guess that's it. I'm sorry about the way everybody treated you. It wasn't right, and I do apologize. Take care." He thrust his shivering hands back into his pockets and turned.

"Wait," Dust said, and Elijah faced him.

"You need anything else?"

"No," Dust said. "Why did you do this?"

"Well, you were hungry," Elijah said. "And it's cold out here."

"You mean that's it?"

"What else would there be?" Elijah asked.

"Come sit down," Dust said. "At least warm up before you walk all the way back to your town."

"Okay," Elijah said, and he followed Dust to the fire. They sat cross-legged on the hard-packed earth, looking at each other over flames. Dust unzipped the gym bag and stripped the foil from the sandwiches. He smiled at them as if they were priceless jewels before starting to eat. Then he silently tore pieces of bread and meat into chunks and shoved several of them into his mouth at a time, looking over his shoulder now and then as if Elijah’s mother might appear from behind a cactus and snatch the food away again. Elijah had never seen a human being eat like that. He was reminded of the stray dogs they sometimes had to drive away from the dumpster behind the restaurant. Dust's rapid swallowing, an occasional grunt of pleasure, and the soft crackle of the fire were the only sounds. In less than ten minutes, he'd finished three sandwiches. Elijah poured some coffee into the thermos lid and handed it to the drifter.

"Hope you like lots of sugar," Elijah said.

Dust took a long gulp. "You have some too," he said to Elijah. "To warm up." He held the little metal cup to Elijah's lips and tipped it forward. As Elijah drank from the cup in his hand, Dust slid closer until their shoulders touched. The sudden warm solidity against his arm shocked Elijah. When he realized that Dust had touched him, he almost choked. Dust lowered the cup but didn't pull away. Elijah wiped the coffee from his chin with his sleeve.

"You don't have a cigarette, do you?"

"No, sorry," Elijah said. Questions raced and collided in his mind like bumper cars. He wanted to ask Dust where he was going, where he'd come from, and why. He wanted to know how the drifter had been injured, how long it had been since he'd eaten. The biggest question also remained: Would Dust let Elijah go with him?

"You said there's a blanket in here?" Dust asked as he rummaged through the pack. He found the corner of the blue quilt that had been on Elijah's bed and unfolded it. He threw it over his shoulders like a cape and said "Well, get under."

Elijah hesitated and pulled away. He hadn't been expecting this level of familiarity so soon. It confused him and scared him a little bit. He had almost no experience with such situations, but Dust smiled sincerely, and Elijah took a deep breath, forcing himself to say, "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"Come on," the drifter urged, holding the corner of the blanket out from his shoulder. "We'll both be more comfortable if we share."

Elijah spread the blanket across his back and tucked the satiny edge under his chin the way he did when he went to sleep at home. Dust's warmth beside him after his long walk acted almost as a sedative. He realized, to his surprise, that he felt completely safe and comfortable around this stranger. He poured another cup of coffee and laid his cheek lightly against Dust's shoulder.

"Dust," Elijah said, barely above a whisper. The drifter's blue-gray eyes stayed fixed on the fire.

"Dust?" he said again, a little louder.

The black-haired young man turned. He looked so beautiful and mysterious in the amber glow that Elijah inhaled sharply. "Dust, can I ask you something?"


"You said, at the diner, that you were Dust," Elijah said, blushing and feeling stupid. "What should I call you?"

Dust placed a soft kiss on Elijah's forehead that him tremble from his ears to his freezing toes.

"Call me whatever you want. Call me Dust if you want to, and ask me whatever you want."

Elijah swallowed hard. "I want to help you. Whatever you're trying to do, I want to help."



"It's okay," Dust said. He put his arm around Elijah and pulled him closer. "I'd like it if you came with me. It's pretty rough, though, as you can see." He pointed at his camp: a backpack for a pillow and a pile of burning twigs and brush.

"I don't know what I'll be able to do," Elijah said. "I don't really have any talents, except cooking."

Dust nestled his face into Elijah's thick hair and spoke softly into his ear. "That's not true. You have a pure, innocent soul. Real goodness is rare, rarer than riches, or power, or anything. It's a treasure. Besides—" Dust gripped Elijah's chin between his thumb and finger and inclined his head so their eyes met. "—you're really cute."

My second August release is an epic steampunk adventure written with Eon de Beaumont. It’s available at Dreamspinner Press here:

Excerpt: Boots for the Gentleman

Finally Querrilous saw the home of his employer. It stood on top of a hillock, a Classical-style mansion surrounded by so many sapphire roses that it appeared to float on a cloud of blossoms. The flowers also lined the stone walkway that led to the temple-like abode. As Querry passed the abundant foliage, a swarm of thumb-length sprites, naked and glowing every color, rose from the leaves. He swatted them away with his gloved hand. They bit.

Querry ascended the many white steps and walked beneath columns practically covered in vines. He could have sworn the porch they supported had curved the last time he’d been here. Now it was straight and square. It was hard to say, though. Whenever he left Neroche, Querry always felt like he’d just woken from a dream. The details departed just as quickly too. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, Querry swore the grand house resembled nothing so much as a white mound perforated by irregular holes, like those dug by badgers or rabbits.

Querry knocked on the door, and a hunched man reaching only to the thief’s belt buckle opened it. He had greenish skin, a bald head, huge, bat-like ears and a long, hooked nose. He wore a butler’s suit and white gloves.

“Good evening, sir,” the servant said. “The gentleman is expecting you. You’ll find him in his study.”

“And what floor?” Querry asked. Like everything here, it fluctuated.

“The third floor, sir. At the end of the hall.”

“Thank you,” Querry said, heading through the eerie gloom for the staircase. The dusky light that let him find his way came from the walls themselves. Still, he managed to get to the study. Inside, he found his client sitting behind a desk of pale wood. Books lined the walls, reaching dozens of feet high. Between the shelves, silk curtains hung open, revealing windows of beveled glass. A lightning-blue fire crackled in the hearth. Perched on the end of a brocade chaise, a nude young man plucked a silver harp. His skin and hair were white and his eyes deep violet.

Shimmering wings flickered in and out of existence behind him. Though he should have been shocked by such a scandalous display, Querry had learned to ignore his employer’s eccentricities.

“Ah, Mr. Knotte,” said the man behind the desk as Querry entered the room. On cue, the pale harpist stood, bowed, and left the room. Querry watched his willowy, white body as he departed. The door shut softly behind him. “Please sit down.”

Querry took one of the chairs facing his client. The gentleman rested his elbows on the desk and stretched his long fingers into an arch, tapping the tips together. “A successful evening as always, I presume?”

“Um, of course,” Querry answered, reaching to untie the sack from his belt. The gentleman made it hard for him to think. He was stunning—waves of golden hair spilling over the shoulders of his mint velvet blazer, sparkling emerald eyes, and an angular face that looked both soft and devastatingly masculine—handsome, even by fey standards. Querry could see the svelte line of the gentleman’s long neck stretching toward prominent collarbones and a smooth chest that finally disappeared behind a thin silk shirt and paisley waistcoat with pearl buttons. Trying not to make eye contact, Querry passed him the bag.

“Excellent!” the gentleman said, clapping twice. Why he was so excited with another gentleman’s old boots, or why he’d pay Querry twenty pounds to steal them when he could buy them for a few shillings, the thief had stopped trying to figure out. A growing pile of things the gentleman had commissioned Querry to burgle sat in the corner: a broken phonograph, a wooden box of old pencils, a cart wheel missing a few spokes, a porcelain doll with only one eye, a matching ladle and fork, a tangled wig and a set of lace curtains. While the thief suspected himself to be a piece in some unfathomable game, twenty pounds was still twenty pounds.

“My payment,” Querry said, feeling vulnerable. He’d started not to trust himself, his reactions and responses, and needed to leave. The helpless sensation came quicker each time he visited this house.

“Indeed, indeed,” the gentleman said, opening a drawer and sliding a bag of coins across the desk.

Querry snatched them greedily, and found himself embarrassed by his desperation. “Nice doing business,” he said, standing and extending his hand.

The gentleman just stared at his proffered palm. Then, slowly, he got to his feet and came around the front of the desk. His steps, the twist of his waist, and the movement of his hair mesmerized Querry. Querry wondered at how such simple gestures could contain such perfection. How could something as simple as a fingernail be so sublime? The two stood very close now. The gentleman’s chest grazed Querry’s shoulder. He smelled like crushed grass.

“What a fascinating creature you are,” he said in a whisper. He reached up and traced the line of Querry’s brow. The thief felt powerless to resist leaning in to the touch. Querry’s eyes fluttered shut. His breath faltered.

Get a hold of yourself—

“You’re far too beautiful for a common thief.” He stretched his neck, so that his floral breath washed Querry’s cheek and his lips rustled Querry’s hair, turning Querry’s muscles to quivering porridge.

“I’m an exceptional thief,” Querry said, fighting for lucidity. He should step away.

A musical giggle escaped the other man. Querry felt it reverberate up his spine. His pores contracted and his cock skipped. “Exceptional, certainly. Even more so, I’m certain, beneath this cumbersome gear and all of these silly machines. What are you like under there?” His fingers moved down Querry’s face and neck, over his heart and to the buckles of his padded vest. He tapped them one by one, as if he tickled the keys of a piano. Querry felt the faerie’s erection against the side of his thigh, next to his pistol. He felt himself turning to face the other against his will.

“You deserve fine, soft clothing. The best food and wines. Nights of revelry and dance. A life free from toil of any kind.” The gentleman’s hands went to Querry’s hips, pulling their bodies together. Querry curved against him and let his head fall backward so that the gentleman could pull his cravat aside and kiss up his neck. Fire bloomed in his cheeks, and a tingle spread across his pelvis. “You could stay here with me. Would you like that?”

Yes! In that moment, it was all Querry wanted. Nothing else mattered beyond the gentleman’s lips, his hair, and his body. Those sparkling eyes that, in spite of the acceptable clothing, the outward trappings of civility, betrayed something wild. Querry wanted to strip slowly and stretch out naked across the desk. He wanted to lay complacent while the gentleman used his body any way he chose. But he also knew that the desire would fade when he left this place. He knew it just as he knew that if he gave in to this lust, in time he’d stop dressing at all. He’d wander the halls nude. He’d stare out the window at the flowers for days on end. He’d forget his name, stop eating—

“No, I can’t.” He pulled away. Predictably, the gentleman looked at him with even greater awe. “I’m afraid I’ve got to be going.”

The fey lifted his chin and feigned indifference. “If you must, then you must. My offer stands. And if you find yourself short on money, there’s a house on the corner of Tinkerton Street that you may want to visit. Tinkerton Street and Grace Lane.”

“You have another job for me?”

“No,” the gentleman said, turning his back to the thief and resting his hand on the surface of the desk. “I have all that I require, for now.”

“Then what—”

“I said, I have what I require.”

Querry stood staring at the golden sheet of hair flowing over the gentleman’s back, fighting down the urge to touch it. He knew better than to ask why his client suggested the address. He could tell when he was being toyed with. Later, free from the dizzying effects of Neroche and the gentleman, he could try to work it out. Now, though, he needed to leave or he never would.

Augusta's Links:

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Silver Flash!: "Closing Time"

I'm back, baby! Here's a tasty little morsel for your Wednesday fix. The prompt: "Anyone ever tell you you're a Grade A _______?"

"Anyone ever tell you you're a Grade A bitch?"

Johnson had Kitty cornered in the kitchen of the dark restaurant. They were the only two there, left to finish cleaning and closing. She had the keys, she was his manager, and he was sick of her. She barely looked at him, gave him orders like he wasn't even a person. He was good at what he did, made the most tips and this piece of white trash came in and treated him like he was at the bottom of the foodchain, below the bus boys and dish washers.

Telling him to clean up a drink she'd spilled had been the last straw.

"I'm your boss, and you'll do what I say if you want to keep your job."

Her voice was stern, but her hard gaze faltered as Johnny forced eye contact. Her body language was tense, defensive as his own broad body threatened hers. But there was something else...a slight tremble in her limbs. His blue eyes narrowed.

"What's your deal?"

"I don't have a deal."

Johnson moved closer and placed his hands on either side of Kitty's head, backing her up until she hit the wall.

"You can't threaten me like this. You're fired," Kitty murmured, but all Johnson could focus on
was the intense heat radiating from her body.

"What's wrong with you?" He couldn't help but grin a little now. He had a feeling he knew what
the problem had been all along.

Kitty didn't respond.

"Fine, I'm fired. You're not my boss, and I'm not your employee. Was there something you
wanted to say to me?"

Kitty all but launched her lips into his, and before Johsnon knew it, he was unbuttoning the white blouse she wore and hiking up her black pencil skirt. He needed to get through those pantyhose. Her hand was reaching into the front of his pants now, and she grabbed a firm hold of his hard cock.

Fuck it.

He ripped the netted material at her crotch and moved her tiny, silky thong aside. She wore too much makeup, her ample cleavage was always hanging out, but in this moment he loved all of it. He buried his face in her breasts, and she popped the buttons off of his shirt to feel the hard muscles of his chest underneath.

"Fuck me, Johnson," she purred.

He pulled her away from the wall and half-dragged her onto the counter, running his thumb over her clit, along her slit. She was already dripping, wanting him. She probably had been all night. So that was it. That was all this was. She just needed a good fuck.

"You on the pill or something?" he asked through ragged breathing.

"Yes." She grasped his hair in her hands, and forced his mouth to her neck.

Johnson used his thumb to keep the thong out of the way, and he entered her in one quick, smooth movement. Her muscles clamped down around him, spasmed with the same carnal pleasure that overtook his own senses. His thrusts were hard, rough, and she seemed to like it. Her moans were loud, reverberating through both of their bodies. Johnson tensed, trying to keep control. But as her moans became breathy gasps, then transformed into cries of pleasure, he knew he could let himself go. Kitty bucked against him, and he buried himself deep within her and shot hot sperm into her welcoming warmth.

When the spasms and heavy breathing subsided, Johnson pulled out and handed Kitty a rag.

"Your turn to clean up."

Kitty didn't bother to straighten her clothing as she wiped down the counter, giving him a scathing look as she did so.

"You fired me, remember?" He smirked.

She dropped the cum-covered rag into his hands.

"You're rehired."

Check out the other flashers!

Julie Hayes (m/m)

Victoria Blisse (m/f)

WestThornhill (m/m)

Pia Valeno (m/m)

Lily Sawyer (m/m)

Lindsay Klug (m/f)

Pender Mackie (m/m)

Ryssa Edwards (m/m)

Freddy MacKay (m/m)

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Guest Blogger: Julie Hayes

Hey, all, and thanks for joining me on this lovely Sunday morning. Today I have fellow Silver Publishing author Julie Hayes with me, and she's got a great blog for you all on the evolution of werewolves and how she added her own twist on the legend.

On the Evolution of Werewolves

When I was growing up, a werewolf movie usually involved someone who looked like Lon Chaney Jr—big, scary, and hairy. Or the product of insanity, like Oliver Reed in the The Curse of the Werewolf. Or creepy, as in Werewolf in a Girl’s Dormitory. And who could ever forget the classic comedy, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, which not only features the hairy creature, but Dracula and Frankenstein’s monster as well, with a special guest appearance by the Invisible Man.

1981 saw a different type of werewolf film, when An American Werewolf in London was released. This was true for two reasons—the creature was CGI and not a guy in a rubber suit, and the unfortunate victim of the curse was actually cute. What a great concept—a werewolf doesn’t have to be old, ugly and hairy, he can be hot!

Flash forward to the present day. Nothing new on the werewolf film front per se, but the novels, oh the novels! Werewolves (and their close cousins the shapeshifters) have become extremely popular, especially among the authors of m/m romance, with the result that you can’t shake a literary stick without running into buttloads of them. What makes them different than their previous counterparts is that these gay werewolves are also hot hunky droolworthy guys that are definitely easy on the eyes.

Have you come a long way, baby!

Now they have packs, and forever mates. They’re heroes, not villains. And they have abs that are to die for!

The new werewolf has stepped into the shoes, or maybe he’s pushed the previous occupant out of the shoes, of the once king of the supernatural sweethearts—the vampire. Perhaps that is because of a glutted market filled with vampire tales. Some would say, quite cattily, that it’s Twilight’s fault, that it left a bad taste in people’s mouths. I would argue that point—perhaps the films did, but the books were good (even if the last one could have been better, especially if it had been split in two). Be that as it may, werewolves are here, and many of them are queer, and they’re jonesing for the attention of the reading public.

A few years ago, when the most popular werewolf around was Remus Lupin of HP fame, I heard a voice in my head who said he was a gay werewolf. I ended up writing his story. His name is Max Montague, and that story became To the Max, which was published March 26th, 2010. Max continued to talk to me, and I’m happy to say that a sequel was born, with the continuation of Max’s story, carrying on where the first one left off. The second book is For Love of Max, and is available today from Silver Publishing.

Max is not your typical werewolf hero. He’s not an alpha, and he’s not a candidate for the cover of a men’s magazine (although Richard would argue that point, but I suspect he is biased). He’s forty-four years old, has a large heart, and a lot of strange friends and family, not to mention a longtime lover, Richard. Despite being a werewolf, which is only a once a month stint, he is a very human, very likeable guy, who is often loath to speak up to defend himself. Like a lot of people. The conflicts of the first book have been happily resolved. Well, not all of them, there are some ongoing problems to be dealt with. And new ones rear their ugly heads. But that’s life, right?

I hope you enjoy reading about a werewolf who isn’t your typical steroid case with the desire to bash skulls at the least provocation. Max Montague is a gentle sensitive soul. But sometimes even nice guys can reach their limits.

No matter what kind of werewolf you prefer, they’re all fun, and that’s what counts. What will the next supernatural darling be? Perhaps dragons. That would be interesting!

Thanks for having me, Heather! Have a great day! I’d love to hear from all of you! What do you think? Do you have a favorite type of werewolf, and what is it?

Excerpt: For Love of Max

Now, where were we? Oh yes, Richard and I have our lips locked together like a couple of love-starved fools, and we're crying and laughing at the same time, and I've just agreed to marry him….

Yes, I did say marry, and I know there are those who will look upon us askance. Gay marriage is far from an accepted lifestyle in this country, even in this supposedly enlightened day and age. In fact it is not only frowned upon, but largely banned. And mostly by people who are afraid of us. Why? Good question. I won't even get into religious ethics, or a discussion of the Bible, nor Christian precepts. Let me just say that disliking or hating someone on the basis of their sexual orientation is just as wrong as hating them for the color of their skin, or for their religious beliefs. And forbidding people to legally wed for the same reason is simply wrong. Where do you draw the line? Mixed race couples, mixed religion couples? What happened to loving one another, regardless of who they are? We are not sinners, we are simply human….

Anyway, we are here and warm… and touching, and loving, and all of the bad air has been expelled, and all that is left is the love in our hearts, the love we bear for one another, which envelops us and cradles us gently. Now we truly begin….

Principessa, our darling King Charles spaniel and our only child, is running circles around us now, excited by our excitement. Her daddies are together again, and very obviously happy. We break the kiss to bestow caresses on our baby. She clambers in between us and we manage to cuddle around her.

"Max, I'm so sorry…"

"Shhh." I lay a finger against his lips. "No apologies, no regrets. Just us and the future. Our future. Together."

He nods solemnly. "I'll never leave you again, Max," he swears, "I'll never disappear without a word, I promise. I'm yours for as long as you'll have me."

"And I am yours," I echo, "'til death do us part."

Our lips come together with soft sighs, and sensual shivers that run between us like electrical charges. We haven't touched at all since the ill-fated night of the last full moon, and the undischarged desire we bear for one another is enough to jump-start a dead car battery.

"I've missed you so much," he murmurs into my lips, "I need you, Max, I always will…."

"And I need you Richard," I reply softly. "Nights without you are far too long… and lonely…."

He moves closer now, his tongue seeking and receiving permission to enter my mouth, his fingers winding through my hair. We are content to let our lips do all the talking. No need to rush, we have all the time in the world—now that we are together again, never to be parted. Our eyes locked in mutual admiration. Our hearts bound in mutual bliss. Our puppy becomes bored with us, and our apparent inactivity, and settles down for a nap, watching us with those big, brown spaniel eyes. We stretch out together in the grass, oblivious to what we might be doing to our three-piece suits. Stains are made to be removed, are they not?

He rolls me over to take the dominant position above me—I love when he does that, for just between us he does dominate and I do tend to submit—it's simply the natural order of our lives. He catches my wrists in his strong grasp, pulling them over my head, holding them against the soft grass, showing me who’s in control—not that I don't know that already.

"Tell me what Max wants." He rubs against me suggestively; the material separating us only serves to enhance the friction between our hardening cocks in a delightfully maddening way.

"Max wants Richard," I respond promptly, predictably. "Max wants Richard to come back home, where he belongs… in Max's bed… their bed…."

"Our bed," Richard echoes, licking my chin softly, squirming against me.

God, I want him so badly.

"And by the way, who's been sleeping in Richard's bed while he's been gone?"

"Not the wolf," I chuckle softly, "that would be Rachel. She's been staying with me. I let her have the bed and I'm in the library, on the couch. All alone…."

"Not tonight, sweet thing." He moves his tongue along my jaw line, sending chills all through me.

"I hope Rachel doesn't mind, but she is officially dispossessed."

"She won't mind, now she can go back to Mark. I'm sure he'll be happy, too."

"I'm sure," he replies. "Max, you wanna take a shower?"

My cock twitches at his suggestion. "I think we can do that." I attempt to maintain an air of casualness, but I fail—miserably. I’m far too excited to be suave and detached.

He brushes his fingertips lightly over my cheeks. "Max could use a shave too," he observes. "I can do that for him, if he likes?"

If he likes? I purr warmly at his touch. Max the recluse hasn't been as diligent as he should have been in keeping the five o'clock shadow at bay. Not that it's much of a shadow, my hair is too light for that, but being a wolf does have its disadvantages. One of them is a tendency toward hirsuteness. But this works out, 'cause I love the way Richard handles a straight razor—deftly, surely, and very, very sensually. I’m about to tell him so, but Swan Lake begins. Damn, someone has horrible timing.

I try to ignore it, but some people don't take a hint.

"Max, go ahead and get it, they'll just call back," my lover points out, releasing my hands. With a sigh, I squirm, raising my hips so that I can pull the phone from my pocket.


"Max?" It's Juliet. Interruptus maternus. "You were supposed to call me…."

Julie's Info


Silver Publishing:
Wicked Nights:
Dreamspinner Press:

Friday, July 29, 2011

Wildfire Newsletter

Hey, all. I have a story in the July 22nd Wildfire Newsletter from All Romance Ebooks. It's a prequel to my New Concepts Publishing release, Strangers. Third link down. Check it out!