March 29, 2015
Well, it’s been a couple of hours and I’ve got an unexpected thing I have to deal with; I’ll be back later this afternoon with a download winner and in the meantime, here’s a discount code good for the next 2 days at the DSP site: Rowan0329 – case sensitive.
March 29, 2015
And here’s another excerpt, this one from All Souls – the Halloween story, complete with a very nasty ghost:
Midshipman David Archer woke in the dark, frowning as he tried to catch the edge of his vanished dream. Or was it a dream? He could not be sure. Something was wrong with Will; he knew that much. Since sodomy meant death in His Majesty’s Navy—and since Will Marshall was a loyal subject of His Majesty—Archer would never be able to tell Will how he felt. But his love, cherished like a small lamp in a dark cave, lent him an awareness of how things stood with his shipmate. Even now, Archer could not-quite hear something, hovering just outside his perceptions.
He sat up, his eyes growing accustomed to the dim light. Full moon tonight, All Hallows’ Eve. The cook had made a little soul cake and tied it out on the bowsprit—not that he was superstitious, mind, but one just couldn’t be too careful. Who knew what might be abroad on a night like this?
No north wind could blow colder. Archer closed his eyes, steadied himself, then opened them again.
His nemesis stood before him: George Correy, pale as the grave, wearing midshipman’s breeches and a plain shirt. The horrible dark blotch across his chest spoke of his death-wound. “Cat got your tongue, boy?”
Archer swallowed. This was not possible. “You—you are dead,” he managed. Dead three years now, and at Will Marshall’s hand. Will had not bowed under Correy’s bullying, as Archer had done; he’d faced Correy’s demands and threats and called him out. Only eighteen, but his clean shot put an end to Correy’s reign of rape and terror among the younger midshipmen. From that day on, Archer had been Marshall’s, body and soul—if only Will had wanted either.
Correy leered as though he knew all that. He shrugged. “Hasn’t stopped me, though, has it? Not tonight.” He took a step forward, clearly expecting Archer to give ground.
“You are dead,” Archer repeated, trying to convince himself. “You have no power here.”
“Oh, don’t I?” Grinning, he swung a fist, and Archer ducked vainly, knowing he’d moved too slowly.
But with a strange, damp chill, the fist passed through him, and with that proof, his courage returned. “You cannot touch me.”
“Not yet, Davy-boy, not yet—but I will. You’ve grown since we last met, haven’t you? Gotten above yourself. But you don’t have the shelter of your body, boy. You’re a naked spirit, just as I am. And when you despair, you’ll sink down to a level where I can reach you.”
Archer felt very strange, realizing there was still a body in his hammock. His own body, wrapped in a blanket, snoring a little. As he held his hand before his face, he realized that the body he wore now—this body, that felt as real as any—was glowing faintly, and a bright silver cord stretched back to the self in the hammock. He looked back and forth between his hand and his bed, bewildered.
“You think you’re strong, do you?” Correy waved toward the hammock. “You don’t have that flesh swaddling you, you little git. You left it to help your dear friend, and you can’t get back until the morning. By then you’ll be mine again, Archer.” A savage flash of teeth. “All mine. Forever. You and that swaggering bastard who shot me. I’ll have you both.”
Oh, my God. Will.
Even as he thought it, he was in Will’s little cabin, gazing down on his sleeping friend. But the sleep was very, very deep, and Archer saw another silvery cord stretching up through the ceiling. “What have you done to him?”
Correy smirked. “Not much. Not yet. Nightmares, Davy. You know all about nightmares, don’t you? I know I taught you the very best I could.”
This made no sense. It had to be some kind of dream. “You are not real.”
“Tonight I am. You know what night this is. And your wonderful Captain Smith”—he spat without effect—“has brought this ship into a very special place. The veils are thin here, boy. I was finally able to pass through, and I can stay all night.”
“Oh, of course. You’re still living, you wouldn’t know. It’s attachment. Strong feeling, love or hate. And you must know, my dear Mr. Archer….” The ghostly fingers shivered along his face, clutched into his throat. “You must know how very cordially I do hate you both.”
Archer felt that hate, stronger than a physical blow.
And Correy saw it, his face lighting with an ugly anticipation. “Oh, you’re getting closer, aren’t you? Closer all the time. It won’t be long now, Davy.”
He had to get to Will. And as quickly as thought, he was there—up in the fighting top, where Will knelt against the mast, head bowed, one arm draped over the rail, his stare focused down into the water. He didn’t look up at Archer’s arrival or seem to be aware of his presence, even when Archer knelt beside him.
“He doesn’t know you’re here,” Correy whispered in his ear. “In his dream, he saw me drive a knife into your heart and throw your body overboard.”
“But you never—”
“I would have, if I’d had time. And that’s what I showed him.”
“But he killed you! He put you out of our lives forever.”
“Oh, that.” Correy aimed a kick at Will; he flinched, as if he felt something. “There! Much better. He’s getting down to my level. He doesn’t know he saved you, you see. He thinks the dream was real, and the truth was just a dream. And when he gets down here, I’ll have him. He won’t be able to go back to his body. Perhaps I’ll see if I can take it, instead. I always wanted to be a Lieutenant….”
Archer searched the deck below. Was there no one else on board who could see what was going on, who might help?
“No one.” Correy answered his thoughts as though he could hear them. “There’s no one else aboard who shared that special bond we three have. You were both such tender little morsels, so vulnerable. No one can see me now—or you either. They have their own affairs to mind….”
He waved a hand, and Archer was suddenly aware that the ship was full of shades, some of them in uniforms, English or French, some women, children—loved ones who died while husbands and fathers were at sea. The men awake, on duty, were wholly oblivious, while the others saw only those to whom they were bound, through love or hate.
What in God’s name am I going to do?
“Will?” He put a hand on Will’s shoulder, and it sank through, and Correy laughed—and as Archer’s heart contracted in fear, the shoulder under his hand grew firm. If feelings governed contact, then he had reached that same level of despair where Will was caught. All right, then. At least we’ll go together. “Will!”
Will blinked and looked up, and his eyes filled with tears. “Davy!” He caught Archer’s wrist. “Oh, God, Davy, I’m sorry, I never guessed he’d—”
“I’m all right, Will. It’s all right.” How to explain this madness? “I’m not even hurt.”
“Are we both dead, then?”
Sorry to end it there, but… they do come through with flying colors…
March 29, 2015
Sail Away is kind of a family album for the Royal Navy series – a collection of novellas, short stories, and vignettes featuring Will Marshall and David Archer – and some of the secondary characters in the books, given a starring role for a change. For instance, in See Paris and Live, you’ll meet Christopher St. John, Baron Guilford, who is instrumental in giving Winds of Change a happy ending. In “All Souls,” Will and Davy finally banish the ugly spectre of the bully who made Davy’s first years in the service a living hell.
And Sail Away also has “Voyage to London,” a novella set immediately after Ransom, giving us a look at a very new couple figuring out just what this exciting but dangerous relationship was going to mean in their lives together.
Here’s how it starts:
“When does it all end?”
“End? Will, we’re just on the outskirts! London is the greatest city in the world—I’ve read that there may be as many as a million souls here now.” David Archer was in his element and pleased to be there.
“I grew up in a village of less than three hundred.” Lieutenant William Marshall sighed and turned away from the post chaise window and the seemingly endless line of homes, hostelries, and other businesses along the London road. The outskirts? What they’d already seen was far bigger than Portsmouth or any other town he was familiar with.
He’d seen the smoke of the city long before the road became crowded with shops and houses and all the clutter of human activity. If this was the very edge of the urban area, no doubt it would be worse yet before they reached the hub. He’d seen maps, of course, but those did not give a sense of the overwhelming size of the place, or the smell. Small wonder at the verdant growth in the gardens along the road—the amount of manure from daily traffic would be enough to keep any number of kitchen gardens knee-deep in the stuff.
But he was with Davy, and that made the odor of ordure a little easier to bear. He lowered the window shade and put an arm around Davy’s shoulders, resting his head on Davy’s. “I’m going to miss this.”
“Yes. We’ve become terribly spoiled, but I don’t regret a moment—or a penny.” Ordinarily, a private post chaise would have been an outrageous expense for a pair of young officers in His Majesty’s Navy, but a very peculiar run of luck had left them with modest fortunes that made the indulgence possible.
Had it been good luck? Marshall sighed. In many ways, yes. Being kidnapped had transformed his life for the better, financially. He could imagine no other way—at least, no legally and morally unimpeachable way—that a man of only twenty-one might go from living on the careful budget of one hundred pounds per annum to having a tidy sum of six thousand in the bank, drawing interest with no effort on his part. And his heart had reaped a startling and wonderful but potentially dangerous bounty as well: he and David Archer had become lovers during that time. So long as they kept that a secret, they were safe. If they were ever found out, they would die—badly—hanged as sodomites under Article Twenty-Nine of the Royal Navy’s Articles of War.
It was worth the risk.
But the riches had come at a terrible price. If he had been asked to go back to that day in mid-July and somehow given the chance to take a different course…. “Davy,” he said aloud. “If you could change this past month so that we’d never seen or heard of Adrian and his damned brig, would you do it?” Because that was the one dark stain on all their good fortune: the two weeks of humiliation and sexual abuse that Davy had endured.
Davy was silent for a moment, the light of his blue-gray eyes a little shadowed. “No,” he said at last. “No, I wouldn’t.” His sudden grin lifted Marshall’s heart. “I’d given up hope of ever getting you into bed, Lieutenant. If not for that bastard’s schemes, I might never have managed it. And, by God, it felt good to be a hero at the end, instead of a victim.”
“You were that all along,” Marshall said, and leaned down for a kiss, so much better than the first and filled with the power to set his whole body afire with longing. He groaned and pulled away. “We can’t, not here in town.”
“I know.” Davy sighed and sat back. “Damn the Articles. We should have made better use of our time in that cell.”
How many times had it been, now? Twice only, aboard the renegade’s brig—the first time, and then the night when they seized their chance because they’d never thought they’d leave the ship alive. Their first coupling had been little more than an instinctive reaction to the fear and uncertainty of their situation, David coming panicking out of a nightmare and Marshall, a virgin himself, taken flat aback. There’d been precious little intention to that wild surge of passion, though Davy confessed later that he’d had feelings since they first served together. And then yesterday afternoon in the post chaise—was it really only yesterday? And a long, wonderful evening and night and morning at that little inn, with a thunderstorm to mask the sounds of their misbehavior.
Not nearly long enough. But that was how it would be, always—at least as long as they were able to serve together. A stolen moment here and there, an occasional shore leave—
“I shall have to write my mother,” Davy said abruptly.
Marshall blinked. “Sorry?”
“I am under strict orders that if I’m ever in town, I must inform my mother. At this time of year, the whole family will likely be out in the country, but if Mama is in town for any reason and learns that I was too and didn’t let her know…. Well, I can’t omit that duty. She hasn’t seen me since I went to sea, more than five years ago. I shall send a letter to the townhouse. If they have to send it on, she will know I’ve done my best.”
“Is she a Tartar, then?”
“Oh, no, she’s quite unlike my father. I’d very much like to see her if time allows. I haven’t seen any of the family since we ran across my cousin and his fiancée. You remember Kit and Zoe.”
“Kit” was Christopher St. John, Baron Guilford, a young man who looked enough like Davy to be his brother. Some years back, their frigate, the Calypso, had happened to run across a smaller vessel carrying the Baron, his bride-to-be, and her father out of the insanity of the postrevolutionary Terror in Paris. St. John was a delightful fellow, and it was clear that he and Davy had a longstanding friendship as well as family ties.
Marshall felt a sudden stab of guilt. “I’m sorry—I’ve no family myself, it never occurred to me that of course you would want to see them. Should you not stay at your family’s home, then?”
“No! If they are here, naturally I want to see them, but I think not until after I’ve been promoted—or failed. Think of how grand it would be to arrive as Lieutenant Archer, when I left as a lowly midshipman. And if I fail—”
Davy shook his head. “Either way, there’d be no harm done because I thought I’d missed the chance for promotion this year. I only sent a note assuring Mama and my sisters that I was alive—I didn’t know what my future held that day we came into port. So long as my father’s not in town, a visit will be no hardship. And if he is, well, he’ll be on best behavior for my mother’s sake. He’d cut off his own arm rather than hurt her.”
Will did not reply, knowing that Davy’s father, the Earl, did not respect his bookish son as he should. “I’m glad. I know it’s selfish, but I want you to myself for as long as possible.”
“I’m just as selfish, Will. I’d have been content to lurk about the inns in Portsmouth with you. Though I suppose we’re safer, so far away from anyone who might know us.”
The coach slowed and swayed as it made a turn, bumping a little on the cobblestones. “Not long now,” Davy said. “I wonder how we’ll manage, aboard ship. I hope I haven’t drawn you into something that will ruin your life.”
Odd that only yesterday Will himself was thinking that—and how the night had chased his doubts away. He shook his head. “No. My father always said it takes two to make a quarrel, and the same is true of our situation. You may have startled me, but you certainly didn’t seduce me! However difficult this may be, we’ll find a way.”
They had just time for a kiss before the chaise slowed to a stop and the postboy called, “Here’s the George, gents!”
Will took a deep breath and followed Davy out of the chaise, doing his best to maintain a blasé expression that said he’d done this a hundred times before. It took him a moment to get used to standing on solid ground after the interminable joggling of the chaise. Davy, apparently less rattled, paid off the postboy.
Their bags landed at Will’s feet, so he handed over the sum that Davy had advised him to give for the service. Since one of their tasks would be to replace the dress uniforms damaged during their late adventure, his own bag was no burden, and they only had to carry their things to a room at this same inn. Will suspected the reason they were staying at the George was because, as Davy had informed him, it had been one of Shakespeare’s haunts. He would have preferred something smaller and less hectic, but the aromas wafting out of the kitchen as they booked a room convinced him to put up with the racket.
“Of course, it had to be rebuilt after the big Southwark fire back in 1677.” Davy’s lecture continued as they followed a boy up two flights of stairs and along a gallery to a room near the end. “But it didn’t burn down completely, and we’re not too far from Whitehall. Tomorrow we can find another inn that’s quieter, if you’d rather,” he added, as a mail coach rattled into the courtyard. “The Bard didn’t have to contend with all this traffic.”
Will glanced down at the hubbub as hostlers ran out with fresh horses, unharnessing the ones who’d just pulled in and replacing them in the traces at amazing speed, sending the coach on its way again faster than he would have thought possible. “I think I should like that,” he said absently. “I suppose they must practice, to change so quickly.”
“Yes, like gunnery drill,” Davy said, tipping the boy who unlocked the door and handed him the key.
They entered and set their bags down; Davy locked the door. They listened a moment, while the boy’s footsteps retreated down the gallery, and then moved into a brief embrace, pressed up against the door. Will felt himself relax once more and drew back. “What now? You were thrilled at the thought of London—well, we’re in London. Shall we go to the tailor’s first?”
Davy gave him a puzzled look. “That would do us no good. It’s Sunday.”
“It is?” They’d been sent off on Saturday; the coach broke down that evening, just last night. “So it is. Yesterday morning seems such a long time ago.” He looked about the room. Small but adequate—larger than a ship’s cabin, at any rate. A small table sat before the window, with a chair on either side; the bed took up most of the wall beside the door.
“We should work out an itinerary.” He chose one of the chairs, pleased to sit on something that was not swaying back and forth.
“We should go find some dinner. We’ve two days before I walk into the lions’ den, and after that, come what may, we’ll have a week of freedom. And we needn’t eat here. There’s another inn just next door.”
“Who dined there, Marlowe?”
“You’re on the scent, but it’s the wrong scent. Chaucer.”
Will rolled his eyes heavenward. Dinner was on his mind—but not only dinner. “Must we? Immediately?” He leaned over to peer through the window and saw nothing but the brick wall of the building opposite.
Davy lifted a small towel from beside the wash-basin and draped it over the doorknob, blocking the keyhole. “We must, but not immediately. Did you have some other activity in mind?”
His voice had a tone in it that sent a warm flush down to Will’s toes. Then he sauntered over and stood close enough that Will could put an arm around his hips, so he did. “Well, yes.”
“Very likely the same thing I do,” Davy said, and bent until their lips met. Shakespeare, Chaucer, and the entire British literary pantheon fled, replaced by the sudden need to get as close as possible to that amazing warm body.
March 29, 2015
I’m going to be blogging today to celebrate my new release, Sail Away, a collection of short Royal Navy universe stories. But if you’re like me, the ‘new releases’ out in the garden may be a lot more interesting… going from this
Of course, this is what I’m really waiting for – but it’ll be another couple of months!
At this time of year, I’m tired of winter and ready to start the garden—under a couple of shop lights attached to a thrift-shop storage shelf. Right now I’m gathering up the seed-starter trays and trying to find the peat pellets (I know they’re around somewhere) and waiting for the heritage green bean and kale seeds. This year I’m going to try Iron Lady tomatoes, a variety supposed to be blight-resistant – we have late-summer blight endemic in the soil around here, which means drastic measures when the first signs show up.
Are there any other gardeners out there? Where are you at in your spring planting? I know those lucky folks in the UK are already harvesting some spring produce, and so are Zone 7 denizens (we’re in Ontario, zone 5). I’ll be picking a winner for a Sail Away download from responses on all the posts today.
If you’re not a green-thumb person, would you prefer a bit of snuggling sailor goodness?
Excerpt coming up!
March 27, 2015
Hello my lovelies! And good morning. M.D. Grimm here and promoting my Book 8 of my “The Shifters” series: “The Serpent and the Angel”
Gorgeous isn’t it? Catt Ford nails it every time!
I’m very excited about it because it is probably my one and only dive into the Old West. I don’t have anything against the Old West, and like most I find cowboys attractive, but it’s still not my favorite place to be. That being said, I enjoyed researching and writing this story and hope all of you enjoy reading it!
In the year 1866, Sheriff Tobias Goldstein guards a small mining town in the Colorado territory with a cold and merciless hand. A rare rattlesnake shifter, he lives by a code and expecting others to do the same has kept the peace. Until a nameless stranger wanders into town. Intrigued by the lone man, Tobias names him Angel Smith, and sensing he’s trustworthy, he deputizes Angel.
A guardian at heart, golden eagle shifter Angel protects the townspeople, but his dedication is to an ancient scroll capable of great destruction. For generations, Angel’s family protected the artifact with their lives. Now, something has returned to hunt down the scroll. Forced to leave his tribe, Angel enjoys the quiet he’s found with Tobias, who hides a warm heart under his aloof exterior. Angel knows the quiet will not last and fears the battle on the horizon. But with Tobias at his back, Angel might stand a chance against his enemies.
You can buy it here! http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=6201
I shall be back with more insider info and excerpts!
Do you like historical romances? Hate them? Prefer them?
May dragons guard your dreams,
March 21, 2015
We have winners! For Contest 2, the prize being an e-book of A Shot of J&B:
For Contest two, that very same e-book and a $15 gift certificate for Dreamspinner Press:
(Oh, look, I already have the envelope…)
And now I must bow out, and close the party doors. Thank you all for being here. I’m sure we’ll meet up soon, but until then, farewell!
March 21, 2015
So, this is the day after the river-sex scene (as I’m calling it ), and Jackie has convinced Luki, Sonny, and Brian to go Geocaching with him. Brian and Luki are walking a bit farther back, and Sonny and Jackie get a moment to talk. You know, sometimes I wish I had a Sonny! I figure he might look a lot like the guy in the photo above, maybe a bit older. He’s all of 35 or so by the time J&B comes along. Might as well clear up a timeline question while we’re here, too. A Shot of J&B takes place after all the V&J books except Because of Jade. The story in the novella “Yes’ has recently happened, and Jade is still about 5 years in the future.
“So, the you-and-Brian thing,” Sonny said. “Going well?”
Jackie smiled even bigger, shook his head in disbelief at his own good fortune. “Very well,” he said. “Sonny, I can’t believe how… right he seems for me.”
“I can believe it,” Sonny said. “I think he feels the same about you, if I’m any judge. And you’re both good men.” He stopped, touched Jackie’s arm, grabbing his full attention. He glanced back, and then, apparently satisfied with the distance between them and the other two men, he said, “But you still should keep your eyes open, Jackie. I’d lay money on a bet Brian would never hurt you on purpose, but… well, things happen. Don’t lose yourself in him, okay?”
“Yeah. I hear what you’re saying. I’ll do my best…. Sonny, you know I applied to a school in London.”
“Hm. Heard back yet?”
“No. And I haven’t said anything to Brian or even Luki or Josh. Kaholo knows.”
“Okay,” Sonny said, scratching at his almost nonexistent beard, clearly thinking. “I won’t say anything. But you know, if you go, Luki will worry.”
“I know. Will you?”
“Not unless between now and then I see a reason to be more concerned.” Sonny started walking forward again, and Jackie followed suit. “You’re grown,” Sonny continued. “Your head’s on as straight as anyone else’s, and you’re pursuing your studies because it’s a field you want to work in. You wouldn’t go to London to be near Brian if the school didn’t have what you wanted. Right?”
“Oh, it’s a great program. I applied before Christmas… before I met up with Brian at your house.”
“You’ll be fine. You don’t need protecting half as much as Josh and Luki think you do. I’ll miss you if you go, but I won’t worry… much.”
So it’s almost time to go! I’ve have very much enjoyed your company everyone, and I hope you had some fun. I’m going to figure out the winners and post it, then try to answer as many comments as possible. So I’ll be back in a bit with a farewell until next time post!
March 21, 2015
Okay, first things first. My apologies for taking so long to get the posts up. I’m blaming myself partly because I didn’t get them done and scheduled ahead of time, and the entire internet world, because it’s slow, slow, sloooooow.
Next: Hey, did any of you notice that in my post about ropes and knots and such, I was also supposed to post some links!
Here they are:
First, Two Knotty Boys. It’s like these guys have taken it upon themselves to educate the world about Shibari techniques. They are quite accomplished, and they have beaucoup how-to videos. Drawback, the subs are almost always women. One could learn a lot!
And, here’s a Pinterest page of Bound Men. Some of these use Shibari or rope play of some sort. Overall, the Doms who bound these men seem a little less interested in style—which is fine, but different.
Finally, Here is a nicely presented page, Hikari Kesho, with interesting information about the Japanese origins of this type of bondage.
Now, Contest 1 continues:—If you could meet one of these characters to life—Jackie, Brian, Luki, Sonny, or Marley—which would you pick and why?
March 21, 2015
THEY WALKED out after all the guests who weren’t staying left, Jackie leading him by the hand through an oak-covered trail with moonlight shining toward them from the open sky of the river.
They settled in, opened their bottle of wine, and shared it along with good-natured silence, quiet words from time to time, and a loose embrace. Brian’s arm and larger form sheltered Jackie from a cool breeze off the river, and it added up to more than a friendly hug, but less than sex.
With about two-thirds of the wine gone, Brian set it aside and stood, then reached a hand down to help Jackie to his feet. He was about to suggest they walk back to the house before the family feared they’d fallen in, but facing Jackie he saw a look in his eyes he couldn’t quite interpret. He seemed neither to plead nor demand, not even to expect, but something in his direct gaze, his slightly open lips, the tilt of his head—they added up to a question, and though Brian’s mind didn’t seem to know the language, his lips and body did.
He leaned in and grazed his lips across Jackie’s once, twice. When he straightened, he saw Jackie’s eyes narrowed slightly, his breath rushed out quickly and caught, his fingers fidgeted against his palms—all signs of distress. He took a half step back, not letting go of Jackie’s eyes, and held both his hands out between them, palm up.
“Give me your hands,” he said.
Jackie placed elegant fingers in Brian’s broad, strong palms, and when Brian closed them in a tight grip, the younger man’s entire being seemed to relax. Brian pulled Jackie’s hands toward him and around his back, holding them there as he stepped forward until there was no space between them at all.
“Okay?” Brian asked, then nodded when Jackie murmured “yes” in response. This time, when Brian’s lips met Jackie’s, the kiss held all the passion he’d been waiting to express all these months.
After some time he took a moment to breathe and enjoy the feel of Jackie’s hot breath on his neck. He pulled his head back enough to catch Jackie’s eye, said, “Your turn, love,” and flattened Jackie’s palms against his back so he could use his arms to pull their bodies hard up against each other, never releasing his gaze.
Jackie’s gray eyes flared in the moonlight, and Jackie tilted his head back and caught Brian’s lips in a hot, sliding, toothy kiss, then sucked hard until Brian’s tongue filled his mouth. Brian took the kiss back then, exploring Jackie’s sweet, wide mouth, scraping his canines against the tender flesh inside Jackie’s mouth. He spread his legs wide to put their eyes on a level, and at the same time squeezed the taut globes of Jackie’s ass and pulled him in to grind their erections together.
Jackie moaned and broke the kiss—clearly needing breath—and Brian laid breathy claim to his ear, neck, and shoulder, tonguing along the grooves, biting and sucking bits of vulnerable flesh. Jackie continued what Brian started, holding Brian still but pulling at him and circling and swaying his pelvis for friction.
In Jackie’s ear, Brian said, “Hey, love. We’re not sleeping together tonight, right?”
Jackie shivered and said, “I don’t think we should.”
“Okay,” Brian answered. “I understand that. But then we should either stop this now, or see this beautiful thing through out here.”
Jackie laughed, a throatier sound than Brian expected—and so sexy. “Well…,” Jackie said, but he didn’t finish the sentence.
“What do you want to do, Jackie?”
“Brian, I… I don’t want to stop.”
“Me either, babe. I don’t want to stop.” Brian renewed the kiss then, slowly, but with a new intensity.
He pulled Jackie’s T-shirt up and stepped back. “Put your arms up,” he said, and when Jackie did, he pulled the shirt over his head, leaving Jackie’s well-formed, small but shaped chest, abdomen and shoulders bare. Brian just looked. “Oh, love. You’re gorgeous,” Brian said. “Perfect.” He knew Jackie’s body was one he could be happy with for a long, long time, but he kept that to himself.
Jackie’s stance seemed a mix of boldly daring and shyly hoping for approval, which Brian freely gave. Then he said, “The rest, Jackie. Strip. Fast, slow, graceful, funny, I don’t care how, just do it. Now.”
Jackie’s movements were graceful, seemingly without effort, and when he was done he knelt slowly in front of Brian, seeming to find some sort of longed-for satisfaction in the submissive position, head bowed, and hands holding opposite elbows behind his back.
“So lovely, Jackie. So fine,” Brian said, finding his mouth dry and his breath scarce. “Look up at me, now.” Jackie did as asked, and Brian stripped his own shirt away, then squatted down in front of Jackie and lifted him slightly to pad the rock under Jackie’s spread knees with their shirts.
“I need your hands, now, Jackie. I want you to help me with the rest of my clothes.” Jackie did, and when he finished, he stayed up on his knees, licking his lips and taking in big draughts of the scent of Brian’s sex.
“You want something, love,” Brian said—not a question. “Tell me.”
“Taste, Brian, Sir. I want to taste you.”
“Yes. Oh yes, do that. Use your hands, too.”
Jackie fell to his task with both vigor and skill, hands and tongue moving over Brian’s sensitive cock, balls, and taint, moving apart and together as if they were dancing. Brian was tempted to ask where he’d developed so much skill, but it felt far too good to interrupt. In no time at all, Brian had gotten so hard he would have sworn he was at least an inch longer and bigger around than ever before. He found himself having to try not to explode, wanting to keep the sublime feeling of almost heaven as long as he could. “So good,” he said, “so fucking good!”
Jackie moaned and gyrated his hips against air, and Brian nearly died of wanting to see and touch the beautiful man everywhere. After only seconds more, he took hold of Jackie’s head and pulled back, Jackie’s tongue trying in vain to follow.
“Look at me, love,” Brian panted, and tilted Jackie’s head back gently but firmly. When he gazed full on Jackie’s face, his red, swollen lips and sex-glazed eyes, he silently swore it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. “Up,” he said and helped the smaller man stand. He kissed him hard and full, pressing their bodies together once more and enjoying the muted groans and gasps coming from Jackie’s throat.
Then he turned Jackie in his arms and ran his hands over his chest and abdomen, then back up to pinch and redden Jackie’s small dark nipples, which were charmingly surrounded by a very few short dark hairs and a splatter of rusty freckles. Jackie’s hands seemed nervous again.
“Something I would like you to do for me, Jackie.”
“Touch yourself. Stroke yourself, like you did the night you were alone—what you told me in your e-mail.” As he spoke he took Jackie’s hands in his and moved them toward the goal.
Jackie cried out wordlessly, not too loud, and he shook slightly when his fingers first touched his cock. He didn’t grasp the shaft, but squirmed in Brian’s hold until Brian said, “Hush now, love. Stroke yourself, please yourself.” Jackie’s submissive nature had certainly shown itself, and it tugged at the Dom in Brian like blood to a vampire. With effort, he held himself in check, mindful that this wasn’t a session. No safewords or prior agreements had been put in place, so he moderated his instructions with a question. “Will you do it, Jackie? It will please me too. So much.”
“Yes,” Jackie whispered, “yes, Sir,” and he followed suit with his hands, putting their skills to work on his slender, upward curved cock.
Brian watched, let his words tickle against Jackie’s ear. “Oh God, Jackie, baby! Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful.
Jackie’s breath shook. He moaned. His hands working faster and rougher, he said, “Brian!”
Brian spun him around, took Jackie’s two hands into one of his own and lifted them overhead. All in the space of a quick second, he took both their hard, straining cocks in his other hand and began stroking them together.
Jackie gasped, nearly choked out Brian’s name again, and started to cry out. Brian took Jackie’s mouth with his own, turning that sound to a deep moan, feeling it in his chest, where his heart pounded, and all the way down to his tightening balls.
Jackie came, warm seed gushing over Brian’s hand, cock, and belly, and sending him over into his own climax, sharing bliss for the first time with the man he thought he might never get enough of.
His legs a bit shaky themselves, Brian nevertheless held Jackie up, supporting him against his body, kissing his silky hair, stroking his back. When Jackie recovered and pushed away far enough to tilt his head back and offer a kiss, Brian gladly accepted it. Then they both smiled, eyes locked.
Jackie made a slightly comical face and said, “Oh my!”
Brian laughed and swatted Jackie’s ass playfully, making the young man jump and laugh. Then Jackie pulled away and without warning jumped into the dark pool near the riverbank.
Jackie popped up to the surface and slicked water off his face and hair. “I dare you,” he said to a very surprised Brian.
Brian let his delight in the younger man shine, laughed out loud, and jumped in too.
March 21, 2015
Heeeere they are!
This is Brian’s cat, Marley. Although I’m pretty sure he thinks of Brian as his servant. Why is this cat important? Why is any cat important? Yes, that’s right. Marley is important because he’s a cat. No more need be said.
Now this dog’s name is Soldier. He’s a white shepherd, and trained as an aid dog! He’s smart and strong and pretty cool all around. I can’t tell you why he’s important. I can only say, when you first read about Soldier, don’t throw your reader against the wall and curse me! Give it some more chapters, okay?
Now Here is Contest 2:—I have it in my mind that in the next book, Soldier will befriend a cute, very teensy dog of some sort. What kind and color should it be, and what should it’s name be?
Oh, I’m sorry. My assistant, Boudreau, has threatened to quit and virtually shred my files if I don’t also post a picture of him. Here he is.
Dang. Now the other two cats are complaining. Here you go…