12/31/2012

Story Orgy Presents: Holiday Flashes #3 Les Winter, pt. 2


Good morning! 

Ready for the conclusion to Les Winter, the final Holiday flash of 2013? 

And, well....After the post there's a kind of important announcement. 

As usual, we're letting Hank say it, because he says it best... 

You remember the prompts for this post were from Christopher who suggested: 

Santa & an elf, North Pole, Slave Collar


He'd attended the very first Christmas party that Tobias had arranged, the very first ever Winter and Sons Christmas party. Thirty years ago today, in this very room, after the last of the employees had left with their white Christmas bonus envelope in hand, Les had caught himself a Christmas elf under the mistletoe, and kissed Tobias.
And in that moment, with that kiss, Tobias became a little less mythical, and Les became a little less human. They exchanged more than passion, as parts of their souls became intertwined. So many years later, Tobias couldn't explain how their clothes had disappeared, he couldn’t quite remember the order in which caresses had been exchanged, but he'd never forget the feeling of having Les inside him for the first time.
At last the cleaning crew trotted out, white envelopes clutched in their gloved hands, faces beaming with joy. Les strolled over to the tree and knelt to turn off the twinkling lights.
"Come out. I know you're here." Les's voice rang with mirth.
Laughing, Tobias leapt from the tree, shedding his disguise and embracing his lover. "How did you know?"
Les smiled down at him, older yes, than when he'd seen him last, but happier, too. "I didn't just see you. I felt you; I've always felt you, here." He took Tobias's hand in his and pressed it over his beating heart.
Tobias savored that throbbing beat, closed his eyes and soaked in the presence of his beloved. Les's heart was full of life, intelligence, joy, love. Tobias filled his heart with all the things a man needed to thrive, and even in his exile Les had built the spark into a conflagration that would consume them both. His eyes were still closed when the rhythm of the heartbeat sped, when his lips were captured by Les's mouth in a firm kiss.
He kept them closed when he parted his lips, when Les swept his tongue inside, when heat melted away the vestiges of uncertainty and replaced them with passion. Tobias opened his heart and mind and melted into Les's embrace, reveling in the touch and scent of the man he loved.
When Les pulled away to press his lips to the smooth skin of Tobias's jaw, Tobias moaned softly. "I missed you, my love."
"Missed you, so much." Les licked along his jaw, up to the fine delicate shell of his ear, a searing path of sensation setting Tobias atremble as his cock stirred to life. Les bit the fragile ear lobe, breathed hotly across the delicate hairs, then sucked. Tobias shuddered, and arched, bringing their groins together.
"Oh, yes. Toby, I need you now."
He was all for that. The answer to his question was almost certain, so he could delay. "I need, too. Les." Their hands were rough, clumsy, and the shedding of garments was no graceful thing, but Tobias felt only pleasure at every careless touch from Les's hands, at every accidental contact that stripped them both of their clothes.
And when he was at last stretched out naked, breathing heavily, across the long break room table, he could finally take a moment to study Les's thin body. He'd aged, ti was true, but his form was still very similar to the young man that Tobias had last seen him as. Fine muscles, taut abdomen, sparse white chest hair, arrowing down in a tiny sparkling trail to a fine cock, long and thick above plump, tight balls.
Pale and lovely with a faint rosy hue, Les's cock glistened with droplets of pre-cum and Tobias whimpered, spreading his thighs and beckoning his love forward. "Come to me, Les."
And then he was there, in the place that had ached for him in the long years apart, rubbing the tiny opening with spit slick fingers before pushing slowly in. Catching a tight breath, Tobias forced himself to relax, to remember the hot pleasure of this act that would follow the sting of pain.
Les stilled, staring down at him in wonder and Tobias nodded. He focused his attention and bore down, facilitating the inward slide of his lover's prick. When Les tugged him close, and wrapped his thighs around his waist, Tobias felt him full and deep and shuddered anew.
They remained, thus wrapped about each other, gazing into one another's eyes for long moments, and Tobias didn't need the magic of his people to feel the things that flowed between them were more than bodily passion and desire.
When Les's hand closed over Tobias's prick, stroked him from root to tip and back, spreading the slick fluid that seeped from his tip, he groaned. Each gentle thrust sent him flying higher, each stroke of Les's fist pushed him further, until he couldn't hold back the explosion of sensation any longer.
His body tensed, clenching around Les's prick, as he froze in place, heat pooling then rushing outward as orgasm overcame him. Les shuddered, jerked, and his insides were bathed in warmth that soothed the faint burn of possession.
Les recovered himself, raised him up and held him in a tight embrace as their breathing slowed to normal again.
It was time. Time to ask the question again, the one he'd been yanked away from Les before he could get his answer to thirty years before. "Will you come to the North Pole with me Les, and be mine for all eternity?"
Nodding solemnly, Les replied, "I will. But you should know," A troubled frown crossed his lover's face. "Humans don't live for all eternity, Tobias. I see you here today, looking as young and fit as when we last met, thirty years ago, and you have to know that I'm fifty-two years old, Tobias. I'm not young any more. We can have thirty years or so together. It's a long time, and I'll treasure every moment, but it's not going to be eternity."
Tobias chuckled. "Did you think I've wasted my years away? I've spent my time well, petitioning on your behalf. Santa is agreed, that if you come to the North Pole with me, of your own free will, he will extend to you the rights and privileges that are mine by birth. If you accept a collar, you will be granted life everlasting, as long as you remain in service to his cause."
Les tilted his head to the side, studied Tobias with those bright blue eyes. "You didn't mention that before. I'm not sure I understand you."
"You would be mine, my mate and together we would work for Santa."
"Listening to the children in shopping malls?"
"You would likely start there, yes. I'll have a different assignment, but the point is that we will be together, and for most of the year, there is very little to do but love one another."
"It's enough, isn't it? Loving one another?"
"It's everything."
 The End...

Skip over to the other blogs....

Em Woods' story: http://authoremwoods.com/



Announcement


Hello faithful orgiasts who bounce between our blogs every week… we love you. We really, most whole-heartedly do. You are the reason we six became a group in the first place! We wanted to post free gay fiction that was sometimes spooky, often smexy, and always romantic, and we have done some pretty amazing things in the last two years. The Story Orgy has self-published three anthologies—And the Prompt Is… Volume One, And the Prompt Is… Holiday Edition, And the Prompt Is… Road Trip—and one anthology through Breathless Press, Word Play. We've donated hundreds of dollars to charities from the sales of these collections, and all because of you! On our blogs, we've posted thousands and thousands of words, introduced you to dozens of characters and any number of dramatic scenarios, not to mention lots and lots of hot, steamy sex scenes. Oh yeah, can't forget the steamy sex scenes!

And so, with the start of a brand new year, your Story Orgy writers have to admit something. We're tired. Really tired! We've been writing so hard and so fast to keep our weekly posts interesting and sexy and surprising, that often times we don't have time to write other stories for our publishers. Some of us have Evil Day Jobs (EDJs) that eat up a lot of our time as well, and then we need to make time to spend with families and friends, as well as a bit of sleep now and then. So, yeah, we admit it: we're a little used up.

Which brings us to the classic line: It's not you, it's us. You see, a little while ago, the Story Orgy met in our secret Story Orgy room and hashed some things out, and we've decided that we're not going to post weekly reads on our blogs for the foreseeable future. We know! It was difficult for us to say it ourselves! However, while there will no longer be guaranteed weekly posts, keep an eye out for posts from time to time as we try out new stories or characters, or ask for prompt suggestions from you for a new anthology, or maybe even let you know about some fantastic give aways. This new arrangement will also give us more time to work on some exciting new Story Orgy anthologies we hope to have available throughout the year.

So, while the weekly Monday posts will no longer be there waiting every week at 6:00 AM, we certainly won't forget about you, our faithful readers. We hope you'll still comment on our Facebook posts and follow each of us not only in our future Story Orgy collaborations, but also our individual publishing events as well.

Thank you, you wonderful readers who have come to feel like family to us, for an amazing two years of fun and hot, sexy stuff. We look forward to expanding on the Story Orgy name in the years ahead and hope you're as excited about the things to come (hee hee) as we are.

Much love,
The Story Orgy

12/22/2012

Holiday Dessert Blog Hop

Alright then... I have two of these posts to write tonight, so no messing about, hey!

This is the Holiday Dessert Blog Hop...

I'm going to share my favorite Christmas cookie recipe with you...and then you'll have the chance to win copies of my two new holiday stories... (See Below for details!)
This recipe is one my grandma made every year. It was a favorite in her house, and now I make it every holiday as well.
Spritz Cookies
1 pound butter
1 cup of sugar
1 well beaten egg
1 tsp vanilla
4 cups flour

Preheat oven to 400. Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add egg and beat together. Add vanilla. Sift flour into the mixture. Beat well. Put dough through cookie press into desired shapes. Bake four 4-5 minutes on ungreased cookie sheets. Cookies are done when bottom is browned. Makes roughly 100 bite size cookies.

Now...you know you can change that up. Use lemon or almond instead vanilla...dip cooled cookies in chocolate...sprinkle tops with cinnamon sugar... oh the varieties are endless...

Ahhhh...Don't forget... you need to skip down below and leave me your favorite recipe or a link to your favorite, to be entered to win these two books!


The Interview
When Ben learns his lover's business travel means he'll be gone for the holidays,
he begins to rethink their relationship.
Ben's family steps up to keep him busy,
 but does he dare ask Cris to put him before the job?


EXCERPT

"Hello." I should have checked to see who it was before I answered. It was Cris, and I had to pretend to be cheerful and brimming with Christmas spirit when I was anything but.
"Hey Ben, I just called to remind you to get the tree after work today. You said last night that you hadn't gotten it yet, and I know it's one of your favorite things to do."
With you. I held the guilt inducing words back. With Cris, shopping for the perfect tree was my favorite holiday tradition. We made an event out of the whole thing. A thermos of hot cocoa with marshmallows in hand, we would wander through the tree lots looking for the perfect vehicle to display the antique and handmade ornaments that I inherited from my grandmother. We measured the distance between branches, studied every Scotch pine and every blue spruce, knowing all the while that we'd settle for a fragrant Douglas or red fir with its sturdy, widely spaced branches to show off the ornaments better.
I wasn't so much looking forward to finding a tree alone. Or decorating it alone. Hanging crocheted snowflakes, tinsel, and Grandma's vintage glass bird ornaments wouldn't have the same appeal without Cris's firm grip guiding my hand to the perfect spot on the tree. He tried very hard, my Cris, not to let his obsessive demand for symmetry and order mar the holidays, but the twitching always got to be too much. I confess, I deliberately placed an ornament or two in an awkward spot just to feel his hand on mine, the heat of his body close behind me.
"Yeah. I'll go when I get done here. Can you call me around four?" It would be a little bit better if I could talk to him about the choices, maybe send a photo of the final product.
"Ummm. I'll try, but I can't promise anything."
So I probably wouldn't even get that solace. "Okay. Call if you can. I have to go. Work awaits."
I hid in the stacks all day, shelving cart after cart of books, losing myself in the scent of leather and old paper. It beat working the counter where the aroma of pine from the decorative evergreen boughs—genuine, despite fire codes—and the peppermint of the candy dish just screamed Christmas. It beat smiling cheerfully and wishing sleep deprived teenagers a happy holiday—because it is a state funded school and Merry Christmas is just too politically incorrect.
In the end, I didn't bother with the measuring tape or the cocoa, just pointed my 67 Mustang straight for the nearest tree lot. Go in, pick a tree, go home and set it up so the branches could drop. I could do this, I didn't need Cris holding my hand to choose a tree.
And
Donovan's Deal, Truth or Dare #6
Making a family is harder than keeping house. Donovan's patience is wearing thin, but Mischa needs time to make things right.
Will Christmas bring heartache or compromise?

Mischa Blake needs the relaxation of the Blake brothers' weekly poker games now more than ever as he feels the pressure of his responsibilities as a parent, partner, and student multiplying. When one of his siblings proposes reviving their game of Truth or Dare, Mischa revolts. Instead, they all agree to share a truth, and Mischa has to decide how much of his domestic situation to share with his family.

The frantic pace of life is overwhelming, and Mischa has begun to let things slide. With the holidays just around the corner, he figures his current situation is a temporary thing. When he misses one of his son's soccer game that Donovan left work early to attend, time runs out.

Upset by the hurt in their son's eyes, Donovan decides that something must be done. He's worried that he's pushed Mischa into doing things at the wrong time, pushed his dreams on his young lover, just pushed too hard for too much in general.

In a desperate attempt to get Mischa to think about what he wants instead of what Donovan wants, Donovan issues an ultimatum. He sends Mischa away with orders to think about his priorities.

All you have to do is leave a copy of your favorite Christmas cookie...or a link to the recipe and you'll be entered into the drawing!
The fine print...
You must leave an email address to be eligible to win. Prizes must be claimed within 7 days. Winners will be notified by email after being announced on this page on Dec 24th. Only two winners will be drawn.


12/21/2012

Ugly Stocking Blog Hopping...Dec 22-23

Winners selected by random draw are 

Shaseli and Dee. 

Thank you to everyone who stopped by- sorry for the delay, btu blogger was being ...unkind. 
Alright then... I have two of these posts to write tonight, so no messing about, hey!

This is the Fugly Stocking Blog Hop...

That's right.

You heard me.

Leave me a comment telling me about the most hideous Christmas present you ever received...

And if your name is drawn, you'll receive yet another hideous gift...

Some stylish and seasonal holiday stockings...

And a copy of my two newest holiday stories...
The Interview
When Ben learns his lover's business travel means he'll be gone for the holidays,
he begins to rethink their relationship.
Ben's family steps up to keep him busy,
 but does he dare ask Cris to put him before the job?


EXCERPT

"Hello." I should have checked to see who it was before I answered. It was Cris, and I had to pretend to be cheerful and brimming with Christmas spirit when I was anything but.
"Hey Ben, I just called to remind you to get the tree after work today. You said last night that you hadn't gotten it yet, and I know it's one of your favorite things to do."
With you. I held the guilt inducing words back. With Cris, shopping for the perfect tree was my favorite holiday tradition. We made an event out of the whole thing. A thermos of hot cocoa with marshmallows in hand, we would wander through the tree lots looking for the perfect vehicle to display the antique and handmade ornaments that I inherited from my grandmother. We measured the distance between branches, studied every Scotch pine and every blue spruce, knowing all the while that we'd settle for a fragrant Douglas or red fir with its sturdy, widely spaced branches to show off the ornaments better.
I wasn't so much looking forward to finding a tree alone. Or decorating it alone. Hanging crocheted snowflakes, tinsel, and Grandma's vintage glass bird ornaments wouldn't have the same appeal without Cris's firm grip guiding my hand to the perfect spot on the tree. He tried very hard, my Cris, not to let his obsessive demand for symmetry and order mar the holidays, but the twitching always got to be too much. I confess, I deliberately placed an ornament or two in an awkward spot just to feel his hand on mine, the heat of his body close behind me.
"Yeah. I'll go when I get done here. Can you call me around four?" It would be a little bit better if I could talk to him about the choices, maybe send a photo of the final product.
"Ummm. I'll try, but I can't promise anything."
So I probably wouldn't even get that solace. "Okay. Call if you can. I have to go. Work awaits."
I hid in the stacks all day, shelving cart after cart of books, losing myself in the scent of leather and old paper. It beat working the counter where the aroma of pine from the decorative evergreen boughs—genuine, despite fire codes—and the peppermint of the candy dish just screamed Christmas. It beat smiling cheerfully and wishing sleep deprived teenagers a happy holiday—because it is a state funded school and Merry Christmas is just too politically incorrect.
In the end, I didn't bother with the measuring tape or the cocoa, just pointed my 67 Mustang straight for the nearest tree lot. Go in, pick a tree, go home and set it up so the branches could drop. I could do this, I didn't need Cris holding my hand to choose a tree.
And
Donovan's Deal, Truth or Dare #6
Making a family is harder than keeping house.
Donovan's patience is wearing thin, but Mischa needs time to make things right.
Will Christmas bring heartache or compromise?

Mischa Blake needs the relaxation of the Blake brothers' weekly poker games now more than ever as he feels the pressure of his responsibilities as a parent, partner, and student multiplying. When one of his siblings proposes reviving their game of Truth or Dare, Mischa revolts. Instead, they all agree to share a truth, and Mischa has to decide how much of his domestic situation to share with his family.

The frantic pace of life is overwhelming, and Mischa has begun to let things slide. With the holidays just around the corner, he figures his current situation is a temporary thing. When he misses one of his son's soccer game that Donovan left work early to attend, time runs out.

Upset by the hurt in their son's eyes, Donovan decides that something must be done. He's worried that he's pushed Mischa into doing things at the wrong time, pushed his dreams on his young lover, just pushed too hard for too much in general.

In a desperate attempt to get Mischa to think about what he wants instead of what Donovan wants, Donovan issues an ultimatum. He sends Mischa away with orders to think about his priorities.

Okay...you don't really get that particular pair of ugly socks, because I have had enough of the post office this holiday season. I'm just going to send you an Amazon gift card for a pair of ugly socks...I hope you don't mind?
The fine print...
You must leave an email address to be eligible to win. Prizes must be claimed within 7 days. Winners will be notified by email after being announced on this page. Only two winners will be drawn on Dec 24th. 
 Check out some other great giveaways at 


Ali Wile & Andy Slayde - http://aliandandy.wordpress.com/

Victoria Blisse - http://victoriablisse.co.uk




12/18/2012


Crawling Into Bed With Adrien Soto
And a Good Book : The Counterfeit Claus

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?

*Aye, Dios* Do I look like a rich man to you? Cotton, Lee, Cotton. Though, if Adrien is partial to silk, I will find a way.


What are you wearing?

*Mierda* Was I supposed to have clothing on? Ay-ay-ay. So sorry.

What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Ah, Lee, I have a treat for you. These are made from the recipe *mi madre* taught me. *Tostones* Ah, fried plaintains. They are very firm bananas. I think you like this, yes?


If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?

--gently pushing the drawer closed--Ah, that is where I keep Adrien's special toys, *si?* He is very shy, or I would let you see. Look on the other side if you like... that is where I keep the naughty books I read to him. We have many good books in there!


Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?

You are very funny. I--neither. I curl around Adrien. He gets cold at night, and when he wakes, this wakes me. So I keep him warm, and we both sleep well.

Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
*Si*, but you must help me to explain this to Adrien. He is so sensitive about these things. --shrugging--I do not understand why. My heart belongs to him. To warm your feet is ony the act of kindness, *si?*

What are we reading?
Ah, this is my favorite. This is the story of how Adrien and I met. It is called The Counterfeit Claus. Here, I will show you a picture... you can not see in this picture, because I block the view... Adrien has the most luscious bottom. Round and full, and Ay-ay-ay. *Aye Dios*
I think perhaps you must pardon me for a moment.

*Ahem*
Adrien is the sweet klutz on the right... I am standing in front to make sure he does not fall off the platform he was placed on for the picture. --winking at Lee--



Blurb:
It's just an average day at the local mall's Christmas Village... there's an elf shortage, no manager in sight, and an unknown person hiding behind a big white beard. Still, everything is under control. Mostly. Sort of... until the klutziest elf of all slips onto the scene in slick bottomed, pointy-toed shoes... and slides right into the waiting arms of the Counterfeit Claus.

Excerpt:
By the time Adrien figured out he didn’t have everything under control—and that he couldn’t even pull off a controlled crash without risking really hurting one of the smaller kids in the line he’d already overbalanced. He flung his arms out behind him, hoping to fall away from the kids. His feet sliding out in front of him answered his wish in seconds.

Adrien was going to end the day in one of the local hospitals, having traumatized countless kids in the process, because even if his brother Sam wasn’t here to catch the footage and post it to YouTube, dollars to donuts someone had their phone out and was already taping his latest bit of clumsiness. 

He had an awful vision of mean bully older kids with hard faces showing the clip to horrified five, six and seven year olds for years to come. A whole generation of kids would forever think of Christmas as “the season when clumsy elves die.” As he slid past Santa’s throne in an ungainly skid headed more toward the horizontal than the vertical, Michael launched himself off the platform yelling at the top of his fool lungs. “Noooooooo!”

Remembering the horde of pint-sized shoppers watching in horror, Adrien kept his composure enough to bite back the utterance fighting to get out of his throat, which was a hearty “OH SHIT!” He didn’t even cry out Michael’s name. He wanted to do anything necessary in a desperate attempt to get the big goof-ball to use some of those finely tuned military police skills he loved bragging about. They would come in uber-handy for saving Adrien’s ass right about now. 

Michael hit the floor with a sickening thud. Adrien winced, both in anticipation of his own eminent thud, and at Michael’s having hurt himself to no good effect. The big idiot belly flopping on the floor couldn’t possibly save Adrien. 

Except, somehow, it did.

Adrien had forgotten to take into account how the slick velvet of the Santa suit would keep Michael sliding forward. Just before Adrien hit the floor, Michael was there. He’d turned half on his side, and managed to catch Adrien’s head in the palm of one broad hand. 

Adrien realized several pertinent facts simultaneously. The man in the shiny red Santa suit, the same one who had saved him from what could easily have been a serious injury, was not Michael. His fluffy white beard was twisted half off his face, showing a stubble-covered jaw that looked positively edible. A tsunami of lust crashed down on Adrien, and the only coherent thought he could muster for a second had to do with wanting to spend a few weeks nibbling on the not-Michael Santa. Reason returned with the realization that Adrien had fallen in a weird pretzel twist that showed off his flexibility in the most humiliating way possible. 

His left ankle ended up somewhere around his right ear, his right leg bent and twisted so that leg was under his butt. His left arm was flung up above his head. He’d even managed to smack himself with his right hand. Sheesh. His only saving grace in the whole ridiculous mess was that the undignified heap he was in fell squarely between the counterfeit Santa and the kids.

The breadth of his shoulders, while not god-like, was enough to hide Santa’s dishabille for a critical few seconds. Thinking quickly, he decided to camp things up so the adult guests of Christmas Village could be left with a scrap of plausible deniability when their young charges started questioning Santa’s very un-Santa like behavior. 

“Oh, Santa, I didn’t see the ice! That must be why you’re always telling all the elves to walk carefully.” Adrien used every bit of his high school theater training to project his voice as he wiggled closer to the strange Santa facing him. As soon as the crowd behind them broke out in exclamations, he leaned forward. Whispering quickly, in barely audible tones, Adrien broke the bad news. “Santa, your beard is broken. Pretend you’ve got to take me to Mrs. Claus for a quick bit of mothering, and then carry me out of here so we can hide your face.”

Santa’s big brown eyes widened and then narrowed intently. His voice came out in an equally hushed baritone. “Mierda! I don’t care how cute you are… I am not picking you up, Papi.”

The man’s voice poured into Adrien’s ears hotly, an aural aphrodisiac. He closed his eyes for a split second. Between falling three times in less than two hours and the effect Counterfeit Claus was having on his libido, he really might need to be carried. Adrien sucked in a deep breath. “Crap-Doodly.” 

12/14/2012

Coming Soon: Donovan's Deal, Truth or Dare 6





Donovan's Deal
Release Date Dec 21
Buy Links: TBA

Creating a family is harder than keeping house. 
Donovan's patience is wearing thin, but Mischa needs time to make things right. 


Mischa Blake needs the relaxation of the Blake brothers' weekly poker games now more than ever as he feels the pressure of his responsibilities as a parent, partner, and student multiplying. When one of his siblings proposes reviving their game of Truth or Dare, Mischa revolts. Instead, they all agree to share a truth, and Mischa has to decide how much of his domestic situation to share with his family.

The frantic pace of life is overwhelming, and Mischa has begun to let things slide. With the holidays just around the corner, he figures his current situation is a temporary thing. When he misses one of his son's soccer game that Donovan left work early to attend, time runs out.

Upset by the hurt in their son's eyes, Donovan decides that something must be done. He's worried that he's pushed Mischa into doing things at the wrong time, pushed his dreams on his young lover, just pushed too hard for too much in general.

In a desperate attempt to get Mischa to think about what he wants instead of what Donovan wants, Donovan issues an ultimatum. He sends Mischa away with orders to think about his priorities.
  
Excerpt
"Where have you been, Mischa?"
It took a moment for the impact of the question to soak into his lust dazed mind. But he got it. Furious, he pushed Donovan's hands off and stepped back. "What do you mean where have I been? Last time I checked, I was an adult capable of coming and going as I pleased."
"That's funny. Really. Because last time I checked you and I were partners, the next best thing to married and the fathers of a disturbed child who needs structure, routine and love."
Donovan's voice lost its reasonable tone and his anger was clear. Tough. Fury coursed through Mischa's veins. Was Donovan suggesting somehow that he was at fault? "I am still your partner, and Matt's father. But that doesn't mean I don't have other responsibilities and can just hang around here picking up after the two of you."
"Is that how you see us? Responsibilities? I guess that answers me pretty neatly, doesn't it?"
His jaw worked furiously. Fist clenched at his side, Mischa opened his mouth to speak.
"Just...stop. Whatever clever, rebellious retort you're about to make, hold on to it. Don't say something you can't unsay, just, please listen to me." Donovan interrupted him.
Mischa drew in a long deep breath. Yeah, what he'd probably been about to say might have hurt someone's feelings...but what about his feelings? He nodded.
"I pushed you into too much, too quickly. The last three years should have been you enjoying college, us enjoying each other, and instead, I pushed you to adopt and be a parent. It was too much. But I could swear that you loved him as much as I did the moment we set eyes on Matt."
Heart aching, Mischa whispered, "I did." What the fuck was going on? Why did it sound like Donovan was breaking up with him?
"The thing is, Mischa. We're adults. We made all the choices and Matt got pulled along with us. Now, I understand how you could want to be free, to hang out with your friends, go to parties and..." He waved a hand. "Do whatever you want."
A warming flush spread over his face and Mischa lost all interest in sex. "What are you talking about?"
"You were supposed to be here to go to the soccer game with us. You said you were going to the library. You disappeared. Ran off with Dex and Trick without even bothering to tell us where you were going, because I'm damn sure you didn't take those two to the library with you! How do you suppose that made me feel? How do you think it made Matt feel?"
Biting his lip, Mischa stared at his lover. "I..."
"I'm an adult and I can handle it, Mischa. But Matt is a child and he's been hurt by enough people who are supposed to care for him. I can't let you keep hurting him like that."
"I love Matt. I'd never hurt him."
"Your not being here hurts him, Mischa." Donovan met his gaze steadily. "You need to take the weekend and think this through."

Christmas Hop

Merry Christmas to 
Urb, Cornelia, Beth, Judi and Chris! 
I picked a few extra winners since I was delayed...
Thanks to everyone for stopping by, I wish you all a fantastic holiday season. 



Hey, we're hopping along again this holiday season, and I know you've got a lot more stops to make and only a few days to do it it in, so I'll make this quick...

There's something about the holiday season that makes us all just a little less cynical, a little more inclined to sympathy and good will. To me the ultimate expression of the holiday spirit is found in my favorite holiday movie, It's A Wonderful Life. You're probably familiar with it... a handsome Jimmy Stewart plays George Bailey, the banker whose fund are lost through no fault of his own. Clarence the angel shows a despondent George what the world would be like without his presence...and George learns a valuable lesson. Like all good Christmas movies, everything turns out happily ever after.
Because, as Clarence says, "Remember no man is a failure who has friends." The friends George has garnered through being a nice guy all these years end up donating, a dollar here, a dollar there, until they've collected enough to bail George out of trouble.
More than anything the holiday season is a time for remembering that we are not alone upon this Earth. This year in particular I have seen people reaching out to others, in ways big and small, making an impact. The other day I stopped to get gas in town and a grinning boy came out of the convenience store pleased as punch because a customer had purchased his chips when he was a dollar short. Stories are all over the internet of long lines of people paying it forward, picking up the tab for other's drinks, groceries, Christmas shopping, and so forth.
Angles are getting their wings in record numbers this year, and not because bells are ringing, but because people are giving generously, selflessly, willingly.
Thank you for stopping by my little corner of the blog hop. Please leave a comment and enter to win a copy of your choice of ebooks from my back list. Three winners will be chosen. You MUST leave an email address so I can contact you if you are chosen. Winners will be announced on this page on Dec. 18. Prizes not claimed by DEC 25th will be forfeit. 

Check out the other authors participating at http://thebloghopspot.com/event-page/

12/13/2012

Crawl in Bed With Chris Quinton


Crawling Into Bed With Chris Quinton
And a Good Book - Dark Waters

*crawls across bed* Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Finest cotton, it feels so good on the skin. Silk is clingy and slippery...

Yes, I much prefer crisp and cool to clingy and slippery. What are you wearing?

Um, do you mean for real? Or what I would be wearing in my imagination?
Only the classiest French perfume. [Or maybe a very baggy cotton nightshirt.]

What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Rich, dark chocolate wrapped around brandy-soaked cherries, washed down with a fine red wine.

Oh that sounds awesome. I'm going to have to go find some of those. If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Chocolate-coated brandy-soaked cherries? In Real Life, my notebook and pen for nighttime inspiration, my Kindle for those nights without inspiration, and headache tablets.

Hehe...let's go with the cherries, though we may have some use for that Kindle. Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
Both. Be warned, I am a very restless sleeper ;-)

Just don't smack me in the eye and we'll be fine. Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Of course you can, hon, if you're not that attached to them. Or any other delicate bits.

Okay, then. I'll just...er... scrunch up over here. What are we reading?
Dark Waters, an historical shapeshifter murder mystery, leaning towards the more traditional shifter of the Highland legends...

Flein is a wanderer by instinct and need, roaming the known world as the fancy takes him. In the Highland village of Glenfinnan, women have been raped and brutally murdered. The killer is a waterhorse, a monstrous shapeshifter by all accounts. But when Flein meets Donnchadh, first in its equine form, then its man-shape, he knows the waterhorse is innocent. Flein is drawn to the shapeshifter, but he finds it difficult to acknowledge it's more than a monster.

Donnchadh, though wary, shares the same attraction. They join forces to hunt for the real murderer, but time is short.  They must find the killer before more women die. Then suspicion is turned on them and the hunters become the hunted.

Excerpt

"Lindos," said the each-uisge, an implacable note in its rich velvet voice.

"Lindos," he echoed, "and while I'm talking, I'll do something about that mane of yours. It's a knotted mess. Have you no pride in your appearance?" He didn't wait for a response, just shifted off his boulder and knelt behind the creature. He took a handful of matted hair and began to tease the strands free. It was a clean mane, he discovered, just raveled by wind and water to wild elflocks, damp from the loch and scented like a clover meadow.

The tale of Lindos and Rhodes led onto other Greek islands. To Crete and Knossos and the story of Theseus, then on to Jason, the voyage of the Argo, the siege of Troy and Ulysses' wanderings. Donnchadh sat silently, not moving, not even when a tangle needed a sharper tug on his scalp.

Lost in his stories, aware only of the silk flowing ever more easily through his fingers, Flein forgot the binding and he forgot to feed the fire. Until a charred log slumped and he looked up to see only faintly glowing ashes and the full moon low in the sky. Dawn was only an hour or so away.
The pale light glowed pearlescent on the each-uisge's skin, brought strange highlights to its hair. Slowly, Flein gathered a double handful of mane and parted it to reveal the vulnerable nape with its curling infant-fine down. It drew him forward and he gave in to the temptation. He pressed his lips to the warm satin skin that smelled of clover and pine and woodsmoke, and his desire was an aching hunger deep in his belly. Donnchadh shivered but did not pull away.

His heart pounding, Flein stroked his hands across the wide shoulders, feeling the slight quiver in the muscles at the contact. He nuzzled the hair aside and sought the strong throat and Donnchadh's head tilted, letting him find the lobeless ear and suck—

Then the each-uisge moved with blinding speed. It tore itself free and was across the dying fire, facing him, broad chest rising and falling with its unsettled breathing. Its cock stood out, thick and heavy, the half-revealed head glistening with moisture.

"Donnchadh," Flein said, coming to his feet. It backed away, fading into the nightshade beneath the pines. "Donnchadh!"

No answer. Water lapped the shore, wind whispered through the trees, an owl called once, and Flein knew he was alone in the night.



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