Friday, May 31, 2013

Back List Blog Hop $ 5 Gift Card



Welcome to my stop on the Back List Blog Hop!

Since I'm working my little fingers to the bone to finish Book 3 in my series, Those Devilish De Marco Men, I thought this would be a good time to give away copies of books 1 and 2, as well as a $5 gift card to winner's choice of Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Kobo. 

I'll hold two drawings. Here's how this will work: 



E-books:
1. Join my blog. 
2. Join my FB author page (or leave a comment telling me you were already a member, and a name I can verify) All who do the above and post a comment on this blog below stating so, along with their choice of e-book format and a valid e-mail address, will be entered to win their preferred format of either Soft Sounds of Pleasure or Wildly Inappropriate. (Should you win and already have copies of both, we'll talk about a Carmine Club book instead.) 



Gift card drawing:
Share the link to this post on your Facebook page and let me know you have done so with a post on my Facebook author page. Those who do will be the people I enter in the Amazon gift card drawing. (Yes, it is possible to win both drawings, if you enter both.)

Easy peasy, right? Good luck! Be sure to visit the other participants for more chances to win.






Sunday, May 19, 2013

#SexySnippets ~ Creation


My seven this week come from my in-progress m/m story, Our Piece of Sky, once again. 

This excerpt finds Joseph Gilante on a narrow scaffold in an empty building with the hot younger man he's vowed not to touch, but whom he has hired to paint clouds on the ceiling for his friend Teague. These are some of Joe's unruly thoughts while Manny's kneeling at his feet, looking at the how-to guide Teague has found in a magazine.
Michelangelo Buonarroti [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons


The image, The Creation of Adam, was one that always made me ache. Maybe the churning emotions the picture evoked were due to the sensuality of the almost-touch from the Creator. Maybe it was the nude male figure, the posture so masculine—one leg drawn up to expose his genitals without shame. Maybe I wanted to believe that God had, indeed, made all men in His image, gay and straight. I didn't have to study art or hang out with an artist to know the power in the image was in the gap between those two outstretched fingers. That slight separation was where the excitement lay; the tingle-inducing power of anticipated touch. And from there, such a small leap for me to see those fingers as cocks, extended and aching.
.


Be sure to read the sexy snippets from the other participants. Check the links here, or follow on Twitter or FacebookThanks for dropping in. Have a great week!



Monday, May 13, 2013

Guarding the Line Chapter 7 ~ The Monday Night Bleacher Report


Welcome back!

We've hit a rough patch in Atlanta.

(I know, I know. Please, someone, nominate that sentence for Understatement of the Year. I need the publicity.) While my fictional Brave's third baseman, Mike Reardon, thinks his luck has changed when he hooks up with Verity on the patio at Obsidian, the real-deal Braves have won only eight of their last twenty-two games.

Welcome to that time of year when I start to put some serious thought into what I wear on game days. Their pink Mother's Day bats didn't do much for the Upton brothers yesterday. Does that mean...(gasp!)  Has my lucky pink Braves cap lost it's magic? Say it ain't so, Joe. Should I not wear my lucky hat when we play the D'backs tonight? Do I need to find my Chipper Jones bobble-head doll, build it an altar, and sacrifice a live chicken? Will my neighbor miss their live chicken, or are they serious Braves fans, who might understand that their new rooster is driving me up a fricken wall  that true fans must do whatever it takes to help their team?

Believe it or not, that kind of fan-think was one of the motivations behind Guarding the Line. We all know someone--or are the one--who thinks our behavior can affect the outcome of a game. Or, maybe you have to live in the sports-crazy culture of the South. But I had the thought "What if there's no such thing as bad luck? What if the things happening in an alternate reality bleed through and affect humans day-to-day activities." A bit of musing on all the times I hunted a lost item, only to find it in exactly the spot when I searched most often, and voila! GTL got it's start.

Oh, so you caught me diverting your attention from the Brave's season, did'ja? Guilty as charged. So is Verity, when we last saw her, she'd been caught red-handed by her half-sister Sage, coming out of a curtained booth on the patio at Obsidian.

Onward:




Verity could've strangled her sister, but she kept her voice even.  At least she hoped it was even. “Going back to the VIP bar, Sage. I think my break’s over now.”
A wicked smile curved sage’s lips. She eyed Mike, then looked at Verity. “So, the fact that Avery came into work isn’t information you’re interested in?”
Verity felt her heart speed up, as if the organ wasn’t beating hard enough already. “I thought Avery was in Jamaica?”
Sage raised one shoulder. “And the lovely vacation turned into a spat. His lover picked up somebody else to love, so he’s back, and you’re off the hook. Poor man’s eying the tip jar like a drowning swimmer looking at a life preserver. Nothing like a bit of cash to soothe a broken heart.  I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I couldn’t believe it when Hanes said he saw you come out here, and Jeremy said you were…well, anyway.” 
Verity thought about sending her sister a bouquet of her special roses for the way Sage dropped her eyes to examine Mike’s…package. “Really, Sage?” She didn’t feel a single twinge of guilt for not telling Sage her suspension was up. The information had slipped her mind. For a week. Yeah, right. Closing her eyes, Verity quickly filled her mind with images of trivia…the dark curtains surrounding the patio, the beach at her front door, her front yard. The last thing she wanted was for Sage to discern information about her visit from the Triscaro. She’d tell Sage at some point, but until Verity figured out what Sage had done to warrant the punishment Verity suffered on her behalf, she wasn’t in any hurry to let her sister go back to practicing magic. And it would be best if Sage didn’t know how interested Verity was in the man standing at her side. Wasn’t it just like Sage not to show an ounce of compassion for Avery? How awful, to break up on vacation. Embarrassment made her thoughts whirl.
“Thank you, Sage, whoever you are.  I have plans for this woman,” Mike said, grabbing her hand. So much for secrets. “Let’s get you clocked out and go someplace else.”
“This is my sister, Mike. It’s her club. Sage, this is Mike…uh, don’t think I recall your last name.” Dammit, she was too old to blush.
“Reardon.  Nice to meet you, Sage.”
“Oh, no. the pleasure is all mine,” Sage purred. Before Vee could react, Sage stuck her hand between her breasts, bringing out a key. Removing the chain from around her neck, Sage pressed the small piece of brass into Vee’s hand. “Allow me to help you with those plans. Have fun, kids.” Verity curled her fingers around the key, watching Sage preen like a parrot through narrowed eyes. Sage smoothed her short hair and stuck out her breasts. Her eyes were still glued to Mike and Vee didn’t miss the avaricious gleam. If the guy had returned Sage’s look, Vee wouldn’t think twice about leaving, but he didn’t. A quick glance showed Verity he was looking at her. For now.
Vee swore silently.
“What’s the key to? Are there more, um, private places in this damn nightclub?”
Sage’s smile would’ve melted the Abominable Snowman. “A private elevator, the one that goes to an apartment in this building,” her sister informed her hook-up.
       “Give me that key,” he replied, reaching for Verity’s clenched fist.
“Not the trusting sort, are you?” Verity relinquished the object. “First the hair comb, now the key?”
He didn’t let go of her hand. “Come on, gorgeous. The gods answered my prayers. Let’s go. Call it insurance so you don’t change your mind without giving me the chance to talk you out of it.” 
He didn’t give Sage a second look. 
Maybe my luck’s changing.
****
They made their way around the dance floor. The crowd had thinned a bit, since it was well past midnight. Verity led him to a door marked Female Employees Only. Torn between necking in the hall and shoving her through the door so they could go wherever the key in his hand might lead, he was relieved when she twisted from his grasp and disappeared through the door.  He leaned against the wall after sending a text to Victor, to tell his teammates not to wait.  He shoved the cell phone back in his pocket, waiting impatiently, while visions of the things he planned to do with her danced like demons in his head. What was it about her that had him panting like a teenager, even though she’d just milked him damn near dry?  He hadn’t been able to take his damn eyes off her, not at the tattoo parlor, not tonight. With hundreds of women in the place, she was the only one he could see, despite the nearly identical sister. It had to be those amazing eyes, he decided. How weird was it to imagine something so beautiful, only to have it come true? He could barely wait to have her beneath him.
And me without a condom or four. Surely, little Miss Sage had some handy. There had been a large bowl in the men’s room, mounded with glossy black wrappers imprinted with the club name across the front. 
The door opened, and he shoved away from the wall.  He could see her nipples through the fabric of the tee shirt. What a hot little number.
“Do I need to duck into the men’s room for some condoms, or will she have some in her apartment?” he asked.
“There will be some upstairs,” she assured him.
“Let’s go.” Grabbing her hand again, he let her lead the way. She stopped in front of an elevator door, but he saw no buttons on the brass plate, just a small hole. He realized the carriage took a key, and fished in his pocket. The key Sage had given them slipped in easily. The polished black door slid open without a sound.
He found the key slot on the inside of the elevator door and once more fitted the key inside the lock. Gold-tinted mirrors lined the walls of the elevator, a relief from the unrelenting black.  The door closed obediently. Turning toward her, Mike pressed her against the back of the elevator, pinning her with his hips as he kissed her hungrily. He felt the elevator ascend. Odd, because he’d thought the club was on the top floor.
Before he could do much with her shirt, they stopped and the door slid open. Looking over his shoulder, he realized the elevator opened directly into an apartment. He reached for the key, but she put a restraining hand over his. After depressing a tiny button below the slot, she took his hand. They stepped into the apartment, leaving the key in place.
Mike let out an admiring whistle. During his time in the majors, he’d seen some fancy digs, but this place was right up there with them. The facing wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, overlooking the city. Through the sheer drapes, he could see a large balcony, complete with fire pit. Black-lacquered furniture studded the room. The upholstery had been done in black leather.  A kitchen sat to his left, tucked into an alcove. The black countertops were identical to the ones downstairs in the bar. Bright pottery decorated countertops and shelves. To his right, another alcove featured a massive poster bed. The covers were black, but pillows of turquoise, red, orange, and hot pink were piled at the headboard. The colors mimicked the crocks and jars in the kitchenette. Even the floors and walls were black. The flooring looked and felt like rubber. Squinting, he thought the ceiling was covered in the same material. Sound-proofing, maybe? The lighting was subtle, as was the music. The song playing wasn’t the hard-driving stuff from the club.
“Sage is fond of black.” She toed off her shoes.
“Does she live here?”
“No. If anyone asks, now you can tell them you’ve seen the real VIP lounge at Obsidian.”
Fuck gawking at the room like a tourist. Mike put his hand on her waist. Since their little adventure on the patio, every time he touched her, a strong sensation shot straight to his cock. “Show me that tat.”
(To be continued 5/20)

 Thanks for dropping in. Let's go see what fellow romance author Jennifer Simpkins has to say about her damn Yankees, shall we? 


Sunday, May 12, 2013

#SexySnippets ~

Happy Mother's Day!


Seven more from Our Piece of Sky:

I lowered my eyes to the keys in my hand. Willa had fired a few for failing to remember the rule. No one was to suspect the 'escorts' were gay. Male competition for females was the backbone of her little setup, and the money she paid underwrote my clothing habit.

“You should go after what you want.” Stepping away from my truck, the man shoved his hands in his pants pockets, sauntering across the lot like he took his tux for a walk every day around sundown.

I stared at his reflection, puzzling over what he meant. 

Be sure to read the sexy snippets from the other participants. Check the links here, or follow on Twitter or FacebookThanks for dropping in. Have a great week!


Saturday, May 11, 2013

A Hot Man and a Quickie ~ Women Are Bat-shit Crazy

The hot man:

Look at that grin!

  Romance cover model and body-builder John Quinlan has agreed to change up our Saturday morning quickies a bit, and answer two quick questions a week. Feel free to leave a question you'd like to see answered. I'm not shy..and apparently, neither is John.

  • Eden:  We're both huge baseball fans. What is the single, best memory you have of the game? The one shining moment that stands above all others whenever you think of the sport?
    John My 1st at-bat of my high school season I almost got hit by the pitch. On the very next pitch I hit a home run over the right field hill wall that cleared all the cars in the parking lot
    Eden: Pork or lobster?
    John Lobster of course! Dipped in tons of butter.....amazing! Love that!!!!!!!!

    Okay, while John's all excited thinking about hot butter, he's also excited about being nominated for Playgirl.com's Hunk of the Month. We'd both love if you'd take a moment to vote for him here


    My quickie comes from Incidental Contact (Those Devilish De Marco Men, Book #3) again this week. 
    Eric knew two subjects well, the internal combustion engine and women. The engine was a modern miracle, dependable and predictable. He was convinced women, on the other hand, were bat-shit crazy. Some just hid the fact better than others.
    The shrill ring of the garage phone penetrated the cacophony of air ratchets and clattering wrenches. Dan grabbed the cordless handset between their work stations, freeing Eric to keep doing what he’d been doing—watching the short brunette in the garage’s parking lot. He'd just changed the oil and filter in Amy Sizemore's older Honda. Ever since he'd backed her car out of his bay, she'd been moving the contents of her back seat into her trunk. Ordinarily, that wouldn't have been anything to watch, but when she popped the trunk, it already held so much stuff, he wondered how the hell she'd managed to get it closed.
    From pulling her car onto the lift, he knew her back seat resembled a closet on wheels, minus any organization that would've come from using a hanging rod. Her passenger seat was piled high with thick textbooks, folders, and assorted loose papers. Now she seemed to think all that crap was going into the already-full trunk. He'd never seen a Honda explode before, so Eric picked up a rag, swiped his fingers through the waterless soap and leaned back against his workbench to enjoy the show while he cleaned up.
    His youngest brother Colton had already left. They were all supposed to meet at the solicitor’s office in about two hours. He and Dan were leaving momentarily in order to go home and change before finding out what the solicitor had decided to do about the man who’d murdered their mother.
    "Charlotte?"
    With a quick glance, Eric determined Dan was speaking into the phone. He ran through his mental Rolodex of females anyway. Charlene, Charity, Charise. No Charlotte. He returned his attention to Amy. Had Colton been here, he'd have found something else to do. Amy Sizemore was strictly off limits. She was Lila's best friend. Since Lila had moved in with Colton, Amy turned up at her dinner table as often as he did. He and Amy shared a love of country music. The young woman had a great sense of humor and she was fun to kid around with.
    Though Eric had a distinct weakness for short brunettes, Amy was about as sexy as a telephone pole. She always looked like an advertisement for a sporting goods store. Today was no exception. The neon orange sweatshirt she wore was about three sizes too big. The way the bottom bloused around her thighs made her look like a traffic cone. She needed a haircut far worse than he did. He couldn’t have said what color her eyes were with a loaded gun to his head. Her haircut could've been made by a chainsaw. Her thick black hair always either bluntly swept her shoulders or was yanked back into a pony tail, but either way, there was always a thick fringe of bangs hanging in her eyes. Lila usually razzed her about those bangs whenever Amy umpired one of his nephew's baseball games.
    Colton would've offered to help her. Had Dan not been on the phone, he'd likely be standing beside Eric, muttering about the mess, right before he stalked out there to tell her how to do the job. Eric was content to watch. Women used a variety of ways to signal they needed help, and Amy wasn’t flashing any of those.
    He started laughing when she dropped the armload of items on the asphalt, then began yanking things out of the trunk. The pile of possessions around her feet soon reached her bumper.  She stuck her head and most of her small body into the opening. The huge sweatshirt caught on the trunk latch when she emerged, causing the shirt to ride up above a pair of very low-cut jeans. Hot damn, that's one damn cute pair of dimples.
    "Hey, girl. Why you wanna give yo' money to a murderer?"

    Thanks for dropping in! Have a great week. 

Monday, May 6, 2013

Guarding the Line Chapter 6 ~ The Baseball Babes Monday Night Bleacher Report




Tim Hudson got his 200th win! Congratulations, Huddy!  The Braves have taken some tough losses, and as of the time I wrote this post, stand at 18-12. I have to laugh, listening to the same sportscasters who were touting the Braves as the best team in baseball before the season began. They're already crying a different tune. Now, despite all sorts of positive things happening on the field, it's doom and gloom...and I can't help but think my mother missed a career where she'd have fit right in....except for the baseball part, of course. <grin>


Last week, we left Mike with his jaw hanging open on the patio at Obsidian. Let's find out what happens behind that curtain, shall we?



“Don’t get excited,” she warned, placing her knees on the bench. “This cubicle is spoken for.  They’re reserved in ninety minute increments. We only have a few minutes before the next reservation arrives.  Come, sit down.”  Sitting back on her calves, she patted the bench. He took the seat, looking at the bottle she’d given him for the first time. What he really wanted to look at was the enticing cleft in the full mounds above her corset, but he trained his gaze on the bottle. Bottled water, house brand. “Fuck me.” The harsh whisper came from his right. A chill teased the back of his neck, coming off the large pane of glass. It had been an unseasonably cold spring, but the rest of the small space suddenly felt over-warm. Her perfume smelled spicy, with undertones of musk. Mike wrenched off the bottle cap.
“Thought you needed a cold drink. Or something.” He had no trouble seeing her wink, though he didn’t turn his head. She looked innocent and provocative at the same time. She removed the top of her bottle and dropped the cap on the counter, tapping the rim of her drink against his. “Since we have no showers here. At least, not one open to the public.”
This felt like one of those situations when the batter might swing away—or bunt. The trick was to be prepared for either and not commit too soon. Stretching his legs, he lounged against the padded backrest and raised the water to his lips, relishing the cool sensation as it flowed down his throat. Warring images flickered in his mind. He pictured them together beneath a steamy spray. That vision alternated with one of taking her here, against the backdrop of the city. The water did little to ease the ache in his groin.  The sighs and moans coming from either side only served to escalate his arousal. He drained the last drop of liquid. He’d swear he could feel her gaze move along his skin the way he felt his own fingers crush the plastic in his hand. She was killing him; playing with him. She worked here. She knew what happened on this patio. The spot wasn’t designed for sudden hook-ups he realized, since the curtained booths had to be reserved ahead of time.  
He had to suppress a grin. Nothing like a good game. “Damn, you’re such a tease.” Turning his head so he faced her, he let his desire show in his eyes, unable to resist letting his gaze fall to her breasts. “Are you going to show me that tat, or what?”
The light from neighboring skyscrapers revealed her smile. “How much of it would you like to see?”
He recalled the stencil's violet outlines on her shoulders, back and upper thigh, easily picturing her in the chair at Thane's. That tat went on forever. She’d have to be nearly nude for him to see all of it. If she'd stayed put long enough to get ink over the entire design, which he sincerely doubted. “Did Thane get it done? That’s a hell of a lot of ink to do in one sitting.  Nobody could handle that much pain.”
“Lightweight.” She shook her head slowly. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Of course I got the whole thing done, despite Thane’s whining his arm was tired. No point in putting on the stencils, otherwise.”
She was going to swing for the fence, he decided. “Prove it.”
****
Verity had foregone her chance to cavort under the full moon in favor of getting the tattoo, to hide the shameful marks from Janus' whip. Though waning, she could still feel the moon's pull in her veins, pounding as insistently as the ocean. Cradling either side of his face with her hands, she stroked his lips with both thumbs. He dropped the empty bottle. His eyes were intent, challenging, but he made no move to touch her.
Yes, he'll do. She'd give him a taste now to be sure he hung around for more after her shift ended.
Silently, she rose onto her knees and moved to straddle him. She felt his hands come up to cup her ass, pulling her toward his erection. He didn’t rush the contact, moving her slowly. Desire spiraled inside her belly. She lowered her lips to his, nipping his bottom lip. He made a sound deep in his throat and tugged her the final few millimeters. Through the denim and leather separating them, she could feel the thick column of his erection.  Her pulse started to pound when he slid his fingers into her hair, just below her ears. She stroked one side of his face while she nipped and sucked at his mouth. The sound he uttered when he realized she was pulling at the buttons fastening his jeans vibrated through the corset into her chest, peaking her nipples.
“You’re going to make me come in my pants,” he warned, pulling his head back after a particularly sharp nip.
“I was thinking you might come in my hand, for starters,” she whispered. The last button on his fly gave way, letting her slip her fingers through the opening. His boxers were no obstacle. His cock sprang free. The silky, taut skin covering his erection felt hot against her palm. Verity traced the edge of his ear with her tongue, mimicking the circle she drew around the head of his cock, pausing to play in the drop of moisture on the head. To her left, a deep voice let out a series of ragged cries. From her right came the steady sound of flesh striking flesh.
 With a challenging look, he dropped one hand to peel down the snug cup of her corset. They locked gazes. He traced the outline of her areola. To pay him back, she slid her fingertip along the seam between his balls.
“I want to make you come, too,” he whispered.
“Not here.” Not with Sage roaming around. She’d take him home, if he waited for her to get off work.  If.  Though her lips brushed his ear, Vee smiled. She’d make certain he’d wait.

****

 Mike realized he could see through the roof; overhead was just another big sheet of glass. The stars seemed to spin, making him think of the famous painting by Van Gogh, but all he’d had to drink was a shot and two beers. Her hands felt soft, but her strokes were sure. The little witch matched her rhythm to the slamming percussion made by the unseen couple to his left. Raising his hand to her waist, he pulled her closer. She raised her chin, letting her head fall back. Her grip tightened when he nipped at the peak he’d bared, much the way she’d done his lower lip. He heard her hiss.  The sound had him thrusting his hips in equal parts frustration and pleasure, giving in to the silky sensation of her palm and fingers around his cock, slipping easily over his heated skin. He wanted to last longer, but damn, the excited cries and moans seemed to come from everywhere now, trapped by the glass and not quite dampened by the curtains. Deep groans underscored feminine cries. Some cursed. Some sobbed. His cock felt like a tuning fork. Every note made him vibrate, every cry drove him closer. Those spinning stars coalesced at the base of his spine.
She pulled back and stared into his eyes, a pleasure he gave into completely. In the dark, those pools of lavender were his focus. The slide of her hand along his shaft felt sweet, yet the stroke wasn’t the penetration he craved. He wanted to roll her to her back on the bench, strip off her pants and bury his length as far inside her as he could go, but knowledge their time together was slipping away kept him captive far more than her weight.
He raked his thumbnail across her nipple, rewarded by the moan that elicited. Her perfume wrapped him like a soft blanket. He pumped harder in her fist.
She pulled away from him, just as he was about to erupt. Sliding to her knees, she closed her lips over the head of his cock. The sudden heat from her mouth burned away his control.  Her tongue circled the head and then settled into a teasing rhythm, caressing the sensitive place just below the rim. Her fist continued to stroke him furiously.
The stars exploded. She sucked him deeper into her mouth. He thought one nail traced the tight seam between his balls. With her other hand, she continued to milk him, adding layers to his climax. He bit his lip hard, trying not to call out her name to protect her, but a harsh whisper escaped him anyway. “Verity. Oh, my God, Vee.”
He needed to kiss her, to show her how badly he still wanted her.  Though he was drained, his ache for her began anew, pounding in his groin as though he was still hard. He helped her stand, pulling on her hands until she sat lightly astride him and he finally captured her mouth, reveling in the slightly salty taste of himself on her tongue, something he’d never cared to do before.  Her bare belly pressed his half-erect cock. He thought she made a greedy sound when she felt his shaft move between them.
Reluctantly, he let her pull away, his gaze roaming over her full breasts. Somehow, he’d pulled down the other cup. She made no move to cover them, but all that hair concealed more than he wanted.
“I want more,” he whispered stubbornly.  “I want all of you, Vee.”
“Says the man who swore he only wanted to see something he forgot all about seeing.” She faked a pout and rolled her eyes.
“I still want to see it. I want to trace it with my tongue.  And I want to do it somewhere you can scream.”
She pushed off his lap and rearranged her top, making him regret he could no longer see those gorgeous globes and tight nipples. “I want you,” he repeated.  “This isn’t enough.” Not nearly enough.
“I’ve got a shift to finish and a bar to clean up.  It’ll be daylight before I get out of here.  Surely you work.”
His mind raced while he tucked himself back into his pants.  “Tell me when I can see you again,” he demanded, “or I’m sitting at that bar until you get off so I can follow you wherever you’re going.”
He stood and tucked in his shirt, but couldn’t resist reaching for her again. She turned away from him and bent over, rearranging the dislodged cushions.
He slipped one hand around her, reaching to cup her breast, tugging her against him. Moving the thick length of hair aside, he placed a kiss on the curve of her neck.  He couldn’t identify the perfume she wore, but she smelled delicious. “Tell me you’ll meet me, Vee.  Anywhere you say, damn the time. I don’t have to be anywhere until three tomorrow afternoon… I mean this afternoon.”  He thumbed her nipple through the leather with one hand, slipping his other slipped down the front of the tight garment.  She straightened and pressed back against him.
He traced her navel and whispered, “I want to run my tongue around this…”
Moving lower, he found the short zipper on her pants. One short tug and he could slide his hand inside her buttery pants, encountering silken panties he ruthlessly pushed down.  He felt soft curls and brushed his fingers across them.  “I want to rub my face across these…”
Still searching, he found her folds.  He brushed her nub, reveling in her sharp intake of breath before dipping inside her.  “I want to roll this around with my tongue, lick it and suck it until you come in my mouth.  God, you’re so wet.”
“Stop,” she moaned, dropping her head against his chest.  “We’ve got to set this to rights and get out of here.  It’s reserved, damn you.”
He increased the sped of his stroke on the hard nub.  “Say you’ll meet me so I can finish this.”
“I’ll meet you.”
He stopped instantly, enjoying the way she sagged against him and the ragged rhythm of her breathing. He gave her nipple a final tweak before placing the finger he’d pleasured her with in his mouth. “Mmm, I knew you’d taste wickedly good.”  
“Where’s your bottle?” she wondered aloud, glancing around.
On either side of them, he heard raised voices, other people leaving their dark love nests.  He spied something gleaming against the dark floor and bent to pick it up.  Not the bottle, but the thing she’d worn in her hair earlier.  He held it out, but snatched it away when she grabbed for it.  “I’m holding it hostage.” He smiled.
“Mike, I swear, you’re trouble on two legs.”
“You can have it back when you meet me,” he vowed.  Spying the crushed bottle, he stooped to pick it up, and then looked around the curtained cubicle.  “Is this back the way it should be now?”
She used one hand to sweep the plastic bottle tops into the other and gave the place a final look.  “I guess so. I’ve never been in one before.  Jeremy will check on it when we leave. Let’s get out of here before my—”
She pulled aside the heavy curtain and they stepped out, right into a very pretty brunette.  It only took a glance to see the resemblance. In spite of the difference in hair color, they had to be sisters.
“Vee, what in the world are you doing out here?” the brunette demanded.  She had green eyes, but their shape, in fact, every detail of her face was identical to Verity’s. Mike blinked. Twins?

To be continued 5/13.







Come with me now to see what the other two Baseball Babes, Jennifer Simpkins and Kathleen Grieve, have in store for their the Monday Night Baseball Reports. 




Sunday, May 5, 2013

Fluffers and Fillies #SexySnippets




Welcome to another Sunday of Sexy Snippets. This week, my seven come from the opening of my story for the Goodreads M/M Romance group's annual Dear Author event, Love Has No Boundaries. If you're unfamiliar with the event, readers write prompts for the stories they'd like to read. Authors then choose their prompt and have two months to knock out a story. If you're interested in joining the group, the largest active group on Goodreads and completely devoted to discussions of M/M romance, you can request to join here

It would seem all roads lead to Carmine House, the setting from  Forceful Negotiationsmy latest release, since two supporting character from that book, Manny "Curt' Curtis and Joseph Gilante, become the main characters in Our Piece of Sky. The main characters from Forceful Negotiations and Breaking Glass, the Carmine Club prequel, Teague Tillis, Cameron Calloway, Jillian and Dylan Carmichael, and Wentworth Morgan show up as supporting characters in this story.

What? I always said it was a small town. <grin> Getting smaller every day.

For more about what goes on at Carmine House, click here.





I left Carmine House as I always do, by the back door. Also par for the course, I was seven hundred and fifty dollars richer and in awe of the lengths people will go to in order to satisfy their need for kink.


If I had to describe the job I perform for Willa Seachrist, I’d have to say it’s a cross between a fluffer and a body guard. You heard me right. Fluffer, as in the task performed on behalf of the porn industry—getting dicks hard for the camera. Although, there’s no dick-sucking at Carmine House.

Not by us anyway; we 'escorts' as Willa calls us, just get her little fillies wet and ready to be fucked.

Be sure to read the sexy snippets from the other participants. Check the links here, or follow on Twitter or FacebookThanks for dropping in. Have a great week!


Saturday, May 4, 2013

What's better than a Hot Man and a Quickie? Two Quickies!

The hot man:


Quickie #1:

Last week, romance cover model and body-builder  John Quinlan swept...ah, heck, he tells it better than I.

(Excerpted from his Facebook post)

"I WOULD LIKE TO THANK GOD FOR ALLOWING ME TO SWEEP ALL 3 MEN’S PHYSIQUE CLASSES…..WINNING THE OPEN MEN’S PHYSIQUE CLASS, THE MASTER’S MEN’S PHYSIQUE CLASS AND THE OVERALL MEN’S PHYSIQUE CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE LAST NIGHT AT THE 2013 NPC Vermont Championships April 27th
...
I felt in my heart there was something special about it. It was exactly 1 month to the day my grandfather died. He was like my father. One month to the day I was at his bedside as the very last person to tell him how much he was loved before God called him home. I told people if I won my class I would dedicate it to him but to win all 3 classes and take the Overall Men’s Physique Championship it was like something out of a movie. I told people if won the overall title I would get emotional. It didn't happen on stage but I did speak after the event on camera and I thanked a few special people about my win. I did get very emotional on film when I said that I dedicate this night, “to the greatest man I have ever known…..my grandfather, Bill Hafner.”
Way to get it done, John. Congratulations. I'm certain your grandfather is proud. 




YouTube video of John, made immediately after his incredible win. Yes, he chokes up, but that's what is so special about this man. He's the real deal. See for yourself.


Quickie #2: (excerpted from Kink and Ink, Carmine Club No. 2)

A loud crash startled Eros awake. He pried open one eyelid. A shard of light stabbed him for his trouble. His head throbbed and his tongue felt welded to the roof of his mouth. “Well, I see you've made yourself at home.”

 Trying to lift his hand to ward off the glare, he winced, more from his recognition of Willa’s voice than pain. “What are you?” his new assignment demanded, stalking to his bedside. At least her body blocked the light.

“I told you,” he managed to groan. “I’m Eros.”

Her fingers were unforgiving. She poked the wounds on his bare back. “I knew I hit you. Why aren't you dead?”

“Zeus’s balls, woman. That hurts!” Driving his elbow into her hip made her relent. She took a half-step back. Rolling to his back with a grunt, he glared up at her, trying to rub sleep from his eyes with his uninjured hand. “Immortal. Look it up.” His mouth felt like it was lined with fur.

Spinning, she stalked to the dresser. Alarm drove him to hoist his aching human body upright when she picked up his quiver. Sliding one shaft free of the sheath, she twisted the golden object between her fingers. Turning her head slowly, she narrowed her eyes. The look made him freeze. “These feathers better not have come from my peacocks.”

“The little bastards shed them everywhere." He winced when his sore back touched the headboard. His chest felt like he’d been hit by a space shuttle. Pain sparkled like space debris behind his sore ribs.

Shoving the arrow back into the holder, she discarded the leather pouch. “Okay, I don’t know who the hell you are, but my daddy taught me the best place for an enemy is by your side. So until I figure out what the hell you’re up to, I’m gonna give you that job you asked for. Be at the main house by ten. I've ordered new uniforms for the staff. The tailor will be here then for your fitting.” Slitting her eyes again, she returned to stand beside the bed. Eros had the fleeting thought he might take Willa in a battle with Ishmael. “I refuse to call you Eros. And, immortal or not, if you ever aim one of those arrows at me, I will find a way to kill you.” Her lacquered lips curved. “Painfully.”

“We’re on the same side, I swear,” he croaked. Ignoring him, she plucked the wallet Peter had given him off the nightstand. Slick packets of popcorn slid helter-skelter across the dusty surface.

“After your fitting, stop by my office. I need you to fill out an application. No doubt, this ID is fake, but so help me, I will figure out who you are. Until then, congratulations, Yeoman Summers. You’re the new butler at Carmine House.”

“What’s a butler?”

“Basically, you fetch anything Becca, Jane, or I send you to get.”

He snorted. “Sounds to me like you need a beagle.”

“Do you mind coverin’ yourself while I’m in the room?”

Glancing down, he saw the sheet had slipped to his thighs. “Amazing. You’ll put women in handcuffs on luggage carts and pay young men to spank them before you sell them to the highest bidder, but you go all shy at the sight of one not-so-little cock?”

Thanks for dropping in! Have a great week. Don't forget to go by one of John's hangouts and congratulate him: