3/09/2012

Flash Fiction Friday: Waiting

Waiting


Waiting. God how I wish I dared just stand up and holler down at Sascha to hurry his ass up. But I can't. Because then she'd see. She'd know. The whole town would know. 

And he doesn't want that. Well, what about what I want? What the fuck about honesty and truth and love?

Yeah. That says it all, huh? 

You know what? There's more to living than safety. There's dignity. 

And if my pants weren't down there on the landing where he tossed them in his passionate desire to fuck, I'd be out of here like a shot. 

Like my flash?
Check out the others! 


New Cover Art: Mark's Opening Gambit

Victoria Miller has once again created a cover I adore. 


Mark's Opening Gambit 

Coming 

April 6th 

from Breathless Press


3/08/2012

Crawl in Bed With SJD

Crawl In Bed With SJD


Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Egyptian Cotton baby!!


What are you wearing?
Oh, my bad. Was I supposed to be wearing something?



What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Homemade COOKIES! 


If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
No!  Don’t open that — Dammit now you done found my fur lined cuffs. C’mere Lee, let’s see if purple and silver are your color J


Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
My engine runs hot, so the blankets always end up on the floor at the end of the bed.


Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Oh yeah, I’ll be your heating pad!!


What are we reading?
Masters & Boyd


Excerpt:
 
THE opulent ruby-red d├ęcor glimmered softly under the glow of two huge open fireplaces. A quintuplet of dazzling crystal chandeliers looming majestically overhead reflected the light, causing it to dance in the intimate two-tiered dining space. Swirling the dark purple wine around in his glass, Edward Boyd inhaled deeply, taking in the aromas of blackberry, plum, licorice, and spice. Raising the glass to his lips, he took a small sip. Concentrated berry and pepper flavors with a silky feel danced across his tongue. Delicious.

No matter how wonderful the atmosphere at Acapella, how impeccable the staff or how perfect the wine, Ed simply couldn’t enjoy it with his heavy heart. Three years he’d been with Carrick Masters. Three years of living, loving, and building a strong and solid relationship. Tonight was to be their celebration of those three wonderful years, and yet here he sat alone.

Ed had made the reservations, confirmed schedules, and made sure every minute detail was taken care of. He’d even laid out Carrick’s attire for the evening on their king-size bed: a dark blue Armani suit, a blue jacquard monogrammed French-cuffed dress shirt, Carrick’s favorite gold and sapphire cuff links, black Ferragamo lace-up shoes with a matching belt, and a gold-and-navy silk tie. In addition, since all finely dressed men wore T-shirts under their dress shirts, and Carrick would be looking fine, he had remembered to lay out silk boxers and a T-shirt to keep him looking fresh. His lover had been working himself to exhaustion, and Ed had hoped that by planning everything right on down to Carrick’s attire for the evening, there would be nothing for Carrick to worry about.

Ed’s chest tightened painfully as he glanced down at his watch. He’d been waiting for Carrick for forty-five minutes and finally had to admit that worrying about Carrick’s ensemble should have been the least of his problems. Insignificant worry compared to why my husband stood me up on our anniversary.

After paying for his wine and leaving a sizeable tip, Ed gathered up the small box and card he’d placed on Carrick’s salad plate and made his way out of the restaurant. He waved off the door attendant, who had opened the rear door to a waiting taxi.

“Thanks, Carl, but I think I’ll walk home tonight.”

“Very well, sir. Have a good evening, Mr. Boyd.”

Ed waved his goodbye without turning back and headed down the nearly deserted sidewalk. There was a chill in the air, and he hoped that the quiet walk and cool evening temperatures would help clear his head, though he doubted that any amount of walking would relieve the heaviness in his chest or the sting in his eyes. Christ, had it only been three years since he married Carrick Masters? It seemed like just last week that the most stunning man he’d ever seen had taken the seat next to him on a bench outside St. Mary’s Hospital and met his gaze with twinkling hazel-green eyes. As he walked, his mind traveled back in time.



“Mind if I have a seat?”

Ed’s breath caught as he looked up. “Umm… no. I mean, I don’t mind,” he stammered. 

Good Lord, the man was gorgeous. His disheveled short brown hair stood out in a hundred different directions as if he’d been repeatedly running his hands through it. The stranger had a strong square jaw with dark stubble, high cheekbones, and thin lips. Wide shoulders filled out the blue surgical scrub top, tapering down to lean waist, the bright red drawstrings of his scrub pants catching Ed’s attention. One little tug of the string….

Ed gathered his wayward thoughts, cheeks heating as the man took the seat next to him and extended his large hand. “I’m Carrick.”

“Ed,” he replied, accepting the offered hand. 



He’d never forget that first moment when his and Carrick’s hands had touched. A jolt had shot through him as the skin of their palms met, each man’s grip tightening as sure as the tightening in his groin and their gazes locking. His dad’s mishap with a circular saw—okay, so nearly cutting off a hand was probably a little more than a mishap, but thanks to dear ol’ Dad’s carelessness, he’d met the man of his dreams while sitting out in front of St. Mary’s Hospital as the surgeons worked to save Jonathon Boyd’s hand. To this day, one touch from Carrick still sent a jolt through him.

Their lives had been crazy back then, Carrick in his third year of residency in the surgical program and Ed in his final year of his Juris Doctorate degree. Yet no matter how busy, they always seemed to find time for each other. Some days their time together was measured in minutes rather than hours, but they had always been thankful for each occasion and cherished each opportunity, giving each other their sole focus while they were together, counting the minutes until they could be together again. Even in the limited amount of free time Ed had, Carrick always made him feel special.

Ed rubbed absently at his chest as he made his way down Seventh Avenue. Their lives were still busy—his husband was in the fellowship program, specializing in pediatric orthopedics. Carrick only had a few months left. He’d soon be joining a very well-known and successful orthopedic group, and Ed was now a junior partner in his dad’s law firm. Soon school would be behind them and their lives would become more manageable, time-wise, and yet Ed wasn’t so sure anymore that their relationship had endured the stresses. He certainly didn’t feel special anymore.

Reaching the row house he shared with Carrick, Ed ran a finger along the black wrought iron railing as he took the steps up to their front door. A smile crossed his face as he remembered a happier time, the way his much larger lover had lifted him into his arms and carried him up these very steps the night of their commitment ceremony. If he concentrated hard enough, Ed could still hear their laughter, could still see the love and happiness that had shone in his lover’s eyes. His chest tightened. God, I miss that look.

As he stood on the steps of his home, the cool April wind chilled him, yet the memories of that night exactly three years ago warmed him deep inside. We belong together. He didn’t doubt the soundness of that belief; they just needed to get back to the basics of what made them such a great couple. No way in hell was he going to allow them to give up now when many of the obstacles they had faced were about to be behind them. Especially after they had survived everything that had been thrown their way these past years. Somehow, some way, they would get it back again. Anything less was simply unacceptable!

Carrick was still in the same spot he’d left him earlier. Ed leaned against the doorway of the study, taking in the slumped shoulders and frantic hands running through soft brown hair as Carrick studied the open textbook in front of him. Dark-brown coffee stains marred the once-white papers spread out on the desk as well as the wrinkled, pale-yellow shirt stretched tight across Carrick’s chest. Understanding and tenderness replaced the unease he’d been feeling as he watched his exhausted husband struggle to comprehend what he was reading, his difficulty evidenced by the teeth worrying his bottom lip and the deep frown marring his handsome face. Poor guy! Carrick didn’t need a lecture on how to be a better partner. What he needed was a back rub and a little affection. To be shown how much he was loved and a little sleep wouldn’t hurt. Sighing, Ed stepped further into the study.


3/06/2012

Crawl in Bed With Sara York


Crawl in Bed With Sara - A Second Date? 

*crawls across bed and settles on pillows* Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton? Cotton, I’m all about comfort, and for me, comfort starts with cotton. Of course the thread count is off the charts so it’s soft as a porn stars behind. Well, a very young twink porn star, not a bear.


*Blinks* Oh sorry...I was momentarily distracted by your use of imagery.  Strictly literary moment, there.  Yeah, that's what it was.  So, what are you wearing? It’s cold now, so I’m bundled up in my sweats, not sexy but then again it’s comfortable. It does have Minnie Mouse on the front though!


Who says sweats aren't sexy? I"m wearing my flannel pj's and no one's ever complained about them lacking sex appeal. What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight? For you, I brought in some wine and strawberries. Normally there is a no food in bed policy, but I’ll break it today.


Ooooh, nice!  This is a lovely wine. And strawberries! Fantastic! If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find? Underwear, thongs mostly and earplugs. You will also find my Kindle. The good stuff is locked away in a safe, I have kids and they snoop.


*looks at kindle*  I"m tempted to scoop that up and see what you've been reading.  I"ll resist though. Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night? Both. I know, it’s psychotic to do both in the same night, but sometimes I get hot. Snuggle time is important though, so we need to scoot close.


Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up? Babe, just snuggle up, I won’t bite. Well, I might nibble, but I won’t leave marks. I do lick and grope though.


Oh, I like a little biting...Ahem. *looks around* Y'all didn't hear that. What are we reading? Not That Type of Guy a new thriller, which I have to say that Lee gave me the name for this book. So thank you Lee!
What? I did? How? When? ---


Blurb
When CIA assassin Aiden Johnson is trapped between a bathroom wall and a hard man, he chooses the hard man, much to his surprise. Aiden doesn’t want to admit he’s gay, but his first stumble into man love leaves him disoriented, searching for answers and desperate to find the truth. He covers his real desires by dating an ultra hot girl, but it’s the guy sitting a few tables away that draws his attention.
Super nice and attractive Doctor Trace Williams is so special he seems like an angel to Aiden. Their first kiss blows Aiden away. That Trace sees into his soul, even when Aiden is trying to hide everything, pisses him off. Aiden needs Trace in his life, but once Trace finds out the truth about Aiden’s job, will they have any part of their relationship left?

What would you do if your lover ripped apart the very foundation of what you believed?


Excerpt
Announcements were made, and people stood. Chuck jumped up from his seat and took a step towards Javad. This is where the plan could easily go wrong. They’d spent days working out, practicing and running through how to get Javad to smoothly take the coin Chuck offered. It wasn’t a normal coin, but one covered in a film that when introduced to the subject, made the poison in Aiden’s ring more potent. The chemical on the coin had no scent, no taste and no color. The subject would never know he’d been given a doctored coin.
Chuck bent down, his face full of surprise, just like they’d rehearsed. “Wow, this is cool.”
A few people turned to check out the interruption in their boring commute. Javad didn’t move.
“Huh, interesting.” Chuck stood and moved his head to look at all the passengers.
The men with Javad were getting antsy like Aiden knew they would. Aiden hated and loved this part of their missions. Sure, it was easy to stand two thousand yards from a mark and pump lead into him, but where was the fun in that? Personally, Aiden could waste an orange at three thousand yards; a human at two was chump change. Working a person up close allowed for much more creativity, and the creative aspect of this job kept him from going crazy.
“This must be yours.” Chuck held the gold Iranian coin out for Javad to take.
The coin wasn’t anything over the top. Just a piece they’d picked up from a corrupt eBay dealer after the government had shut him down, worth about a hundred to two hundred American. Enough to make Javad want it, but not enough to make him recoil.
It was common knowledge Javad loved coin collecting and often carried pieces of his collection with him when he travelled. He would bring them out to show off, so it was reasonable to assume he might have a coin of worth in his pocket.
Javad took the bait. He fingered the gold coin, rubbing his thumb across the surface and examining the marks on the front and back. His eyes grew larger for a millisecond then he broke into a huge smile.
“Ahh, thank you very much. I seem to have lost something important this morning. Ali, give him a twenty pound note.”
“No, I don’t need anything for giving you back what was yours. It’s nothing.”
Aiden could have said Chuck’s lines for him since they’d rehearsed the interaction so many times. They knew their mark, knew what he would do when given the coin and how he would react. Chuck played the dumb American tourist to a T, reveling in the stereotypes, almost too much. Had Chuck not just sucked him off he would give into the pleasure of seeing the big guy work, but now Aiden couldn’t look at Chuck without popping wood.
“I insist.” Again, Javad didn’t stray from what they’d assumed he would do. They’d done their homework and knew the man.
The train pulled to a stop and the doors opened. Javad stood, his movements spry for a man in his sixties. But Javad didn’t go the way they'd predicted. Instead, he moved away from Aiden towards the far exit, tossing a wrench in their careful plans.
Aiden improvised. He folded his paper, careful of the poison wrapped around his ring finger. They’d joked about the delivery method. Poison wedding band, just like the real thing.
Aiden jumped up and pushed forward. Javad’s rear guard blocked the aisle. Aiden hated they were going to miss their opportunity to strike. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chuck move and bump into the rear guard. The guard’s face went red as Chuck used his bulk to push the guard into the row of seats opposite of him.
Aiden used the opening to pass the guard and come right up on the back of Javad. Before he could deliver the poison, he tripped and fell forward. He yelped, and Javad spun around, reached out and grasped onto Aiden, supporting his body weight. Aiden purposely thought about Chuck’s mouth on his cock, forcing a blush and making him look embarrassed. He reached forward and grabbed onto Javad’s arm, letting the poison ring prick the terrorist’s skin through his coat
Javad didn’t flinch. Aiden knew exactly what the stick from the ring felt like, knew how much force to make the small needle sink into the other man’s arm through the clothing he wore. Knew exactly how to move to keep Javad unaware of the poison introduced to his system.
If Aiden had done his job right, the terrorist had no clue what really happened and, judging from the utter lack of reaction from Javad, Aiden had done exactly what he’d meant to do.
“I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz. Pardon me,” Aiden said.
Aiden shook his head, again pushing the thought of Chuck on his knees to the front of his mind, leaving him stammering with sweat popping out on his face, the perfect reaction of embarrassment and awkwardness to cover for the cold hatred running through his blood. He struggled not to think of the fifteen women and seventy children who’d been murdered by this man’s work. He didn’t think of the pictures hung on the board in their war room. The bomb blast that killed four babies last May, which Javad had financed, didn’t cross his mind. Only Chuck, his eyes staring up at him as he opened his mouth and sucked in Aiden’s cock.
“It is fine. Are you feeling unwell?” Javad asked in perfect English.
“No, no, I’m fine. Just a bit clumsy, that’s all. I’m so sorry.”
Javad helped Aiden right himself, and waved off his angry guards.
“Be careful,” Javad said.
“Sorry.” Aiden watched as Javad and his guards moved on. He picked up his newspaper and left the train, following after Javad and his entourage. The guards glanced back, but left him alone. Aiden stopped by a support pole and mopped his brow with a hanky, playing up his role as a bumbling idiot. He took the time to place the cover back on the small needle on the ring to avoid an accidental stick, so practiced in this task; no one would have any idea what he’d done.


Amazon Link - http://www.amazon.com/Not-That-Type-Guy-ebook/dp/B007DTQCVM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1330557452&sr=8-1


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