Free M/M Romance: Nothing to Forgive #mmromance #breathlesspress #free


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You can pick up my super short & sweet story, Nothing to Forgive for free!

Vic returns from a business trip and is shocked to find a hot young thing hanging on to his lover. Sure, he and Marc had a fight, but Vic figured they'd work things out. And how could Marc's new someone special be so young, when they fought about their age difference...?

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Story Orgy Presents: Heart of Clay Finale #mmromance #storyorgy

Good morning Story Orgy readers! Welcome back to Monday!

*sips coffee* Brad and Clay are having a slow time of it, aren't they? Wonder if they'll get anywhere this week? Let's find out...

Heart of Clay 

(c) June 2014 @Lee Brazil

Oct 6th - He hadn't seen anything like it.
A full, round moon glinted in the obsidian night sky when Clay finally gave up the pretense of sleeping and waiting patiently for Brad to cool off. Lying on his bed with just the whirring of an electronic fan for company served no purpose. Every time he succeeded in clearing his mind and calming himself enough to even consider sleep, the insidious voice of insecurity--an entity his co-workers and friends in the city would be surprised to hear he was acquainted with-- interrupted him with yet another “Yeah, but…”
Yeah, but what about your job? He kicked the sheet off and nudged it to the foot of the bed with his toes. Counted lines on the ceiling, and imaginary sheep.
Yeah, but what about the fact that you live in different places? The fan’s weak efforts at stirring the air sent a wave of warm air to taunt him. He sighed, and rolled to his side, shifted the pillow to find a cool spot for his cheek. The rasp of beard on linen sounded overly loud, startling him.
Yeah, but what if he doesn’t really love you? Outside, crickets chirped and small animals rustled the grass. A bird called in the distance, Whit. Tew Whit. Whit. Whit. Clay scrunched his pillow up and squeezed his eyes shut. Sleep wouldn’t come.
That one stung, quite a bit. And Clay realised that it was a big assumption, that he was putting a lot of faith into Bobby. Putting your faith in a ghost, which might just be a figment of your imagination, that was surely a ticket to disaster and heartache, right?
It didn’t help that he’d tried for over an hour to talk to Bobby. Without avail. The ghost hadn’t shown up, not in any of the places where Clay had spoken to him before, or in any of the dark quiet corners where he thought he might not be overheard, either. Apparently ghostly communication was a one way street. There was no way for him to call Bobby. He had to sit around and wait for Bobby to come to him.And he’d never really been a sitter. Clayton J. Merk was more of a doer.
If Brad thought he was an asshole, he wasn’t any more likely to believe in ghosts in the morning than he was at… quarter past midnight.
So he might as well do something. In a repeat of his actions on his first night home, Clay rolled out of bed in his boxers and dressed quickly in jeans and a t-shirt. Stepping into his sandals was the extent of his preparation. He wasn’t likely to encounter anyone but Brad- and the odds of Brad being down at the peach tree again were minimal, given that he was now convinced that Clay was a jerk.
“I don’t know how I’m going to convince him that I’m not a lunatic.” He closed the door of his room as quietly as possible.
Wary of the creaking floorboards, Clay cautiously crept toward the stairs. He didn’t want a repeat of the other day, waking Augie and disturbing his grandparents. As silently as possible he made his way down the stairs and out the back door. The night was dark and still. The sky a brilliant field of obsidian- polished and sparkly. He hadn’t seen anything like it.
As he walked, a spark of light shot across the sky, a shooting star. When he’d been a youthful idealist, the sight would have filled him with hope, and excitement. A star meant wishes granted, and adventures started. Now?  
A flash of light. Gone almost before you realize you’re seeing it.
Kind of like that short, intense moment when he and Brad had been on the same page, there in the truck when anything had seemed possible.
Now? Clay looked around him, not surprised to find that his feet had found their way back to the bench under the peach tree. Might as well end his visit home the same way he’d started it. He sank onto the bench and sighed. Time to accept defeat, and move on.
Wasn’t that what Bobby wanted? To move on? Brad had clearly moved on already. SO why not? Go back to the city, and instead of haunting clubs and bars, actually try to find someone who wanted a relationship? Someone like Augie Cruthers, but not Augie.
Augie was too young, too innocent and naive.
“You need to find someone your own age to settle down with.” He chided himself. Saying it out loud solidified the mess of thoughts that had sent him home in the first place. The dissatisfaction he’d felt with his life made sense. How could he be satisfied with frequent, brief affairs and one stands with men half his age, that mostly started in bars where let’s face it, he didn’t even understand the lyrics to the songs anymore?
“You need someone like yourself.” An owl hooted in the distance. Clay snorted softly. Maybe not exactly like himself. But definitely someone who was beyond infatuation with fads and appreciated a person for more than the size of his cock and the stamina he displayed in bed. Someone like Brad.
“Someone who is ready for the day to day of a relationship, not just looking for hot sex and expensive nights out.” Brad… responsibly employed, homeowner. Yeah, Brad would be perfect, but since Brad was out of the question… Then surely there were men in the city who had reached this same point? Where the talking and the watching television, and cooking and cleaning and showering together were as important?
“Can I apply for that position?”
For the second time in a week, Brad snuck up on him. “Didn’t think you were interested.”
“I...let’s just say I have reason to regret my hasty judgment.”
Reason? “You mean he finally broke through to you?”
“I can’t believe it myself,”Brad shook his head, then climbed over the fence. “I am really sorry that I didn’t believe you. But… you have to forgive me. You must realize how crazy it sounded.”
“I’m not in the habit of telling lies.” He had to stifle the instinct to hold the grudge. It would have been nice if  Brad had just taken his word for it, yeah. But the point was valid. “I will concede however, that some truths are best experienced rather than heard about.”
“He was...all transparent. And yet… I could see every expression, and ...Has he been talking to you all this time?”
Clay shook his head and scooted over on the bench, making room for Brad beside him. “No. Only since I got home. That night...After we…” Made love. He finished silently.
“I still can’t really believe it.”Brad sank onto the bench, hands clasped loosely in his lap. “He said it was my fault. I kept him here.”
Clay cautiously reached out and gaze Brad’s thigh a sympathetic squeeze. “I think… We all have to share some blame for that. I didn’t want to let go of the past any more than you did, and frankly, whether he wants to admit it or not, Bobby wouldn’t have hung around here waiting all this time unless he wanted to.”
Brad shook himself, then covered Clays hand with his own. “I don’t want to live in the past anymore. Neither you nor I was responsible for Bobby’s accident, and he did at least succeed in convincing me that he wanted us together.”
Relief never felt so good. Clay was almost limp with gratitude. “Oh thank God. I really couldn’t face going out there and … You know we’re too old for dating, right?”
“Speak for yourself!” Brad turned their hands over and squeezed. “I don’t want to date though. And I don’t want you out there looking for someone else. I was serious. I want to be the man who is there, all day every day for you. We can cook together, and do yard work, plant the fields and do the shopping. Share showers and--”
“Life.” Clay finished for him. “I think I’ve loved you forever, Brad. This isn’t just a thing. It’s always been there, and Bobby was right. I wanted you. I watched you. I loved you. That’s what made me feel guilty.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I loved you, too. But then, Clay?” Brad kissed him softly. “I don’t think that we’d be here now if we’d fallen into each other’s arms after Bobby died.”
“What do you mean?” Clay pulled away a little, so he could see deeper into Brad’s eyes, read his meaning. “You don’t believe this is a forever thing?”
“I believe it's a forever thing for the two of us now, as mature adults. I’m not so sure it would have survived all the issues of youth.”
Clay shrugged it off dismissively. “We’ll never know, will we?”
“It doesn’t matter. Come home with me now?”


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Story Orgy Presents: Heart of Clay part 18 #storyorgy #mmromance

Good morning Story Orgy readers! Welcome back to Monday!

*sips coffee* Brad and Clay are having a slow time of it, aren't they? Wonder if they'll get anywhere this week? Let's find out...

Heart of Clay 
Part 17

(c) June 2014 @Lee Brazil

Sept. 29th His hair was blue.
Maybe it was a trick of the light and shadows, or maybe it was the same weird what the fuck that made him see-through, but Brad could swear his hair was blue. Other than that, the man in front of him was Bobby, no if’s and’s or but’s about it.
“Bobby?” He tested the name. It felt thick and wrong on his tongue.
“In the… well, you know what I mean.” The smirking ghost glided closer.
“Clay said…” How the hell… He shook his head, trying to clear the vision. He was asleep, had to be. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” And yet how else could he explain that for all that he could clearly see Bobby in front of him, he could also see the portrait of his ancestors on the wall behind the man, and the needlepoint chair cushion his grandmother had stitched?
“You keep telling yourself that,” Bobby smirked, moving closer. “But you wouldn’t be talking to me now, after all this time, unless something had changed.”
The temperature dropped abruptly. Goosebumps rose on his arms and Brad shivered. “Nothing’s changed. You’re dead, I’m here.”
“Tsk. I’ve been trying to communicate with you for most of the past decade, I can’t say with any certainty because time passes differently when...you know…”
“This isn’t happening.” Brad shook his head, hard enough to make himself dizzy. He pushed his hand through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp. “I had to choose now to give up drinking for real? That’s it!” Pink elephants weren’t the only visions people had. Maybe he was going through some sort of delayed form of psychological withdrawal.
“Oh come on, I’ve been watching you, Brad.” The image didn’t waver, just stood there, if anything growing a little more solid. Brad forced himself to look at the face, and not through it at the wall behind Bobby. “You haven’t had a drink in ages. When I first noticed it, I thought for sure I’d be able to break through soon.”
“There’s got to be…”
A chill breeze sprang up from somewhere, a sort of multi-directional draft causing goose bumps to spring up on his arms and the hair at the back of his neck to stir. He recognized it...the same sensations he’d experienced on Clay’s back porch.
“Cut the shit, Brad.” Bobby’s eyes sparked. “If you didn’t at least want to believe I exist, we wouldn't be talking.”
“Maybe it's not you I want to believe in…” He rubbed his arms, smoothing away the goose bumps as the breeze died down.
“It’s Clay.” They finished together. Silence fell, and surprisingly, It felt comfortable, companionable, just like when they were kids. He blinked and sniffed. Was that smell… peach blossom? As quickly as it had come the scent vanished. Brad eyed Bobby cautiously. Strange breezes and scents...
“You want him to be telling the truth. More than that, you know he is.”
“Or we’re sharing a delusion.” He refuted stubbornly, shaking his head again.
Bobby’s lips tightened, and for just an instant, so quickly that he thought he’d imagined it, instead of Bobby looking like he had on graduation night, the apparition’s face was bloody and scarred, deep lacerations from the windshield carved across forehead and cheek, one eye swollen shut. Brad gasped.
“What is it Brad? That you don’t want to admit that you believe in ghosts, or that you don't want to admit that if you believe in ghosts, then you believe Clay was telling the truth, and that he loves you?”
Shaking off the gruesome image, Brad forced himself to concentrate on the words instead of the visuals. “He said you cheated on him.”
More cool breezes and a derisive smile called him on the exaggeration. “No, he didn’t. I was there. I know what he told you.”
“You lied to him to get him to break up with you? Why would you do that?” The indignation he felt was on Clay’s behalf, and that surprised Brad. 
“Because you wanted him, and he wanted you and I didn’t want to be in the middle of two men I loved. And don’t give me any bull shit. You’ve kept me right between the two of you all these years, and damn it Brad, I’m tired. I need rest.”

“Let it go, Brad. That’s what I’ve been trying to say to you all these years, when you were blocking me out.  Let me go.” There was earnest, heartfelt pleading in those words that wrenched at Brad’s abused heart.
He reached out a comforting hand, only to realize there was no firm shoulder to grasp, nobody to hug. His hand passed rigth through Bobby, who flinched but didn’t move. “I said goodbye to you a long time ago, Bobby. I didn’t like it, but there’s nothing the living can do about death but live with it.”
“Then why aren’t you with Clay?”
“Clay was yours. I could no more take your boyfriend than I could wear your pants.” He knew how silly it was, even as he said it. He was a high school teacher for Christ sake. He knew damned well who few high school romances turned into lifelong loves. And in their small rural community? If you refused to date someone who’d dated one of your friends, you were destined to live your life as a lonely old man, because there just weren’t that many options.
Not that Clay was an option.
Even though Brad had tried to treat him as one all these years.
Bobby put what he was thinking into words. “Clay and I were never going to be the sort of couple that lasted forever. If I hadn’t died, then we’d have gone our separate ways no matter what you felt about it. You could at least have the decency to make my death mean something.”
That hurt. But then, the truth often did. “So you admit that you do think it was my fault?”
“Christ, you and Clay both wanting to be martyrs!”
Saying it aloud left a bitter taste in his mouth. It rankled, and felt wrong. How was it his fault, just for wishing he could be the one with Clay that night? He hadn’t ever wished… “I never wanted you dead, Bobby. I wanted Clay, but I wanted you alive, too.”
“No. You’re not listening. You’re just… Can you hear me?”
Brad nodded a little numbly.
“Good. Listen to me, and listen good. It. Was. My. Fault. Driving while intoxicated, not watching the road, I had an accident. It had nothing to do with anyone but my own stupidity. Now--”


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Crawl in Bed with Benny Peters of Wet Paint

Crawling Into Bed With Benny Peters
And a Good Book: Wet Paint

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?

Cotton. Definitely not silk. I’m completely vegan. Do you know how they make silk? :shudder:  I love the feel of cotton on my skin. There’s nothing else quite like it. Except for when Addy touches me. That there is the most indescribable feeling in the world.

What are you wearing?

I usually wear boxers to bed. I’ve thought about sleeping naked, but I’m not sure how well that would work while I’m at summer camp. Liam would probably have some comment to make.

What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?

Apple slices and peanut butter. Protein and sweetness together. Way better than chocolate. But if you’re in the mood, there’s a shop nearby that makes a great vegan shake. I’ll run and grab us a couple. Did you want vanilla chocolate chip or raspberry nebula?

If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Oh. Uh. Well. You see, I have some old textbooks in that drawer. I like going back to see where they got it wrong. Oh, and…um…(mumbles).

Sorry, Benny. What was that?

Benny sighs. “I am not saying for sure, but you might find some lube in there. Just don’t tell Addy, okay? I don’t think he needs to know that.”

Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night? 
I usually start with them on and kick them off during the night. I hate being too warm, except in the winter. Then I love it.

Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up? 
Dude, no. That’s…just no, okay?

What are we reading?
Wet Paint. Part two of the Transitions series by Will Parkinson. The first book, Pitch, was his debut novel.

Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Publisher: Harmony Ink Press
Although Addy’s heart and body bear the scars from his life before he was adopted by the Deans, he’s ached for something he thought he would never find. Until he met Benny. He isn’t sure how anyone can care for someone as broken as he is, even though he wants it desperately.

High school senior Benny Peters has his whole life planned out for him, until a chaste kiss at summer camp opens a new world of possibilities. Determined to erase Addy’s insecurities, Benny works to take away his boyfriend’s pain and replace it with love.

When Addy’s past intrudes on their future, it’s going to take everything Benny can muster to show that no matter what – or who – they face, they belong together.
ADDY SAT in the car, worry creasing his brow. Not even an hour ago, he’d been so happy. Why was he so nervous now? His thoughts drifted back to his conversation with his dad. Would Benny still want him when he found out what had happened? Would he think Addy was too broken? Addy shivered. He tried to tell himself Benny would never be like that, but how could he know for sure?
“What’s up, little man? I can hear you thinking from over here.” Benny chuckled.
“Nothing, Benny. I’m okay.”
“Addy, c’mon. I can tell you’ve got something on your mind. I need to know what it is. I can’t help if you won’t let me.”
Addy took a deep breath. “I’m afraid,” he admitted. “Of what? Camp?” “No... of losing you.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you think you’d lose me?”
“Benny.” Addy sighed. “I need to tell you some stuff. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s really not going to be nice.”
Sales Links:
ENTER TO WIN: Rafflecopter Prize: A $25 gift card to Amazon or ARe
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Author Bio:

WILL PARKINSON believes that no matter what obstacles are thrown in the path of young love, it will always find a way to win in the end. He wants his characters to have their happily ever after, but that doesn’t mean that it’s going to come easily.
            None of this would have happened if he had followed the advice he was given many years ago. “What are you wasting your time on that for? It’s never going to amount to anything.” He believed it for the longest time, abandoning characters he’d created in his childhood.
            He picked up his very first m/m story by a writer named Eden Winters, who was an absolute joy when they corresponded. She asked him if he wrote and he told her the story. Eden explained to Will that the voices in his head would never go away and how he needed to let them out. With that thought in mind, Will put e-pen to e-paper once more. It was truly a liberating experience and one he has no intention of giving up again.

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COVER REVEAL: DAMIAN'S DISCIPLINE by K.C. Wells & Parker Williams #mmromance #bdsm #coverreveal

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Cover Artist: Paul Richmond
The man who pimped Jeff may be in prison, but Jeff is still living the nightmare, selling himself to men and relying on pills to manage. Then he meets Scott, a young American man who could easily have been where Jeff is now. Scott’s friends extend a helping hand to Jeff, and he grabs it.
Leo and Thomas bring Jeff to stay with Dom Damian Barnett until they can find him someplace more long-term. Still grieving from losing his sub to cancer two years before, Damian agrees to help. But when he glimpses the extent of the damage, Damian wants to do more than offer his guestroom. Jeff is not a submissive, but Damian can see he desperately needs structure in his life.  It’s up to Damian to find an answer.

He never expects that what he discovers will change both their lives.

I LOVED it when it was evening and all was quiet and peaceful. No traffic noise intruded into the house, and in the lounge, the only sound was the slow ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Give me a mechanical clock any day. Not that I had anything against more modern timepieces, but there was something soothing about the sound. The clock had been my grandmother’s, and I took loving care of it, making sure it was oiled and wound. Right then my evening was perfect: the tick of the clock, a glass of Cabernet on the table next to me, and a worn, hardcover Sherlock Holmes novel in my hands. I’d lost count of how many times I’d read The Hound of the Baskervilles, but re-reading a favorite book was a warm, comforting experience. The wine created a warm glow inside me. I took another sip.
And then my phone rang.
The temptation to ignore its clamoring call was huge. I was happy, comfortable, and anyone ringing me at home during the evening had to want something. All my friends knew my routines, especially since Oliver....
I closed my eyes. I could almost hear that edge of amusement in his voice. “You going to answer that, Sir?” And yes, I could see the gleam in his eye as he awaited my reaction, tense in nervous anticipation. Brat loved pushing my buttons. With a sigh, I picked up the call.
“Damian? It’s Leo. We need your help.”
I placed the wine on the table. “What can I do for you?” My interest was piqued immediately. It had been quite a while since the co-owner of my BDSM club had called me at home.
“Sorry to disturb you, but you were the first person I could think of. We have a boy. He’s nineteen, and he needs help.”
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Tour Dates: September 24th, 2014

Author Bios:
K.C. Wells:
Born and raised in the north-west of England, K.C.Wells always loved writing. Words were important. Full stop. However, when childhood gave way to adulthood, the writing ceased, as life got in the way.
K.C. discovered erotic fiction in 2009, where the purchase of a m̩nage storyline led to the startling discovery that reading about men in love was damn hot. In 2012, arriving at a really low point in life led to the desperate need to do something creative. An even bigger discovery waited in the wings Рwriting about men in love was even hotter...
K.C. now writes full-time and is loving every minute of her new career.
The laptop still has no idea of what hit it... it only knows that it wants a rest, please. And it now has to get used to the idea that where K.C goes, it goes.

Parker Williams:
Parker Williams began to write as a teen, but never showed his work to anyone. As he grew older, he drifted away from writing, but his love of the written word moved him to reading. A chance encounter with an author changed the course of his life as she encouraged him to never give up on a dream. With the help of some amazing friends, he rediscovered the joy of writing, thanks to a community of writers who have become his family.

Parker firmly believes in love, but is also of the opinion that anything worth having requires work and sacrifice (plus a little hurt and angst, too). The course of love is never a smooth one, and Happily Ever After always has a price tag.

Author Contact:
K.C. Wells:
K.C. can be reached via email (k.c.wells@btinternet.com), on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/KCWellsWorld), on Twitter (@IslandTalesPres or through comments at the K.C.Wells website (www.kcwellsworld.com ) K.C. loves to hear from readers.
Parker Williams:

Be Yourself

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955