9/13/2012

Crawl in Bed With Carrie Pulkinen


Crawling Into Bed With Carrie Pulkinen

And a Good Book 'Reawakened'

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Cotton, definitely. It breathes better in the Texas heat.

What are you wearing?
Pink leopard print, spaghetti strap pajamas...my favorite!

What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Hmm...whipped cream and chocolate sauce could be fun ;)

If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Just some bed time toys. Isn't that what you'd find in anyone's drawer? Oh, and extra batteries...just in case.

Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
I'm a cover kicker. I've always got to have at least one leg out.

Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Your feet would never get cold in bed with me ;)

What are we reading? (include your cover art, buy links & excerpt)
 We're reading my new paranormal romance, Reawakened.

Blurb:

Her magic has been reawakened. But will her heart let her follow her destiny?

Jules Hume lives in a world where magic is a myth and supernatural creatures are fiction. Or so she thinks. Her boyfriend Ian would have to disagree. When Jules discovers the man of her dreams is not only a vampire, but a vampire king who’s tasked with saving the world from a demon attack, life as she knows it ends. Can she accept her fate and take her place by Ian's side as ruler of the paranormal world? Or will she close her mind and her heart to the chance at love and adventure?

Excerpt:
This is the night, I thought. After what just happened, he had to tell me everything. I braced myself, and walked into the bedroom.

My clothes were gone. Ian must've put them in the dryer already. On the bed lay a soft, midnight blue robe. The bedroom door was closed, and I could hear the shower running down the hall. I figured it would be a while before Ian came back, so I left the towel in the bathroom and walked naked across the room to get the robe. Distracted as I was with everything that had happened, I wasn't paying attention to where I stepped, and I tripped on the rug, falling face-first on the ground. I let out a little squeal as I went down. I didn't think I was loud, but Ian was in the room in seconds.

"Are you okay, my Jewel? I heard you scream." He took me by the hand and lifted me to my feet.

"I'm fine." Heat flushed my cheeks. "And I didn't scream. I just squealed a little bit when I fell. You didn't have to stop your shower to come rescue me again."

It was then that I realized I was naked. And my eyes had been locked with his since he came through the door, so I was just beginning to realize that he was naked too. And he was wet. His muscles flowed down his body like a perfectly carved statue, firm and hard. My eyes took in his form. From his eyes, down to his chest. His muscular arms had me longing for his embrace. His perfect six-pack abs had my hands twitching with the need to touch. Down my eyes went to his…oh my! He was definitely excited. I forced my gaze back up to his eyes, and the expression I found there was one of pure need…of lust…and love. His eyes went down my body and back up to return my gaze. He licked is lips.


Please include any links you'd like to share with readers.

Buy links: I don't have any yet. The book is going to be released September 14th.

9/11/2012

Flash Fiction 1S: The Language of the Fan




Flash Fiction 9/11

The Language of the Fan

Jason held his cheroot to the side and blew a thin stream of blue smoke into the garden. The whiny stringed instruments from the ball couldn't hide the crunch of feet on the path.
"What are you doing out here?" He demanded hoarsely. Trenton would put his huskiness down to the smoke, or maybe the bastard would know it was emotion.
"I wasn't flirting with her."
"I know the language of the fan, My Lord. She wanted you to meet her in the gardens."
"I'm only interested in meeting you." Trenton D'Arcy swung Jason around by the arm. Jase allowed the cheroot to slip from his fingers and stamped it out. His hands landed on Trent's shoulders as the hope of the match making mamas took his mouth in a torrid kiss that left them breathless.
Quickly, he recovered his resentment and pushed Trent away, his prick a hard ache inside his white satin evening breeches. "Damn you! Why do you do this?"
"Because I love you."
He winced at the bald statement. "You should love some dainty demoiselle who can provide you with children and social grace. I can give you nothing."

Like my flash? Check out the others at:

Crawl in Bed With Lane and Gresh


Crawling Into Bed With Lane and Gresh

And a Good Book

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?

Lane - Cotton
Gresh - Silk
*Lane glances at Gresh. Gresh frowns.*
Gresh - We can go with cotton if you like, but I want Lee to have to slide up next to us. If we're on cotton he won't slip and slide.
Lane - He could sit between us.
Gresh - I don't know. I've already got Riley all over you, I don't need Lee to be hitting on you too.
Lane - So it's okay for you to hit on Lee?
Gresh - I'm not hitting on him, I just want to feel him next to me. He's cute. *wiggles closer to Lee.*


*um...Havan? Wanna help me out here? *shakes head. Sorry guys...strictly business. Um...You uh...want to scoot over just a bit? This bed is big enough for the three of us- no need to sit in my lap. What are you wearing?

Lane - Boxers
Gresh - Well, Lane bought me these new underwear. They have these cut outs at the back. You can see my ass cheeks.
Lane - I like looking at your ass.
Gresh - It's fine for you to see my ass, and actually I don't mind Lee seeing it, but sometimes I want to cover up. I can't walk around in front of the other cowboys like this.
Lane - You're not supposed to. Those are for me. Well me and Lee now.


*blushes* Ass-less briefs? What the heck have I stumbled into here? I thought this was a working ranch... What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?

Lane - Chocolate cake. If I've got you in bed with me, Lee, I'm going to indulge.
Gresh - Watch what you indulge in, babe.
Lane - Hey, if you get to sit beside him, I get to feed him cake. Take a bite Lee, it's very sweet.

Hey! Watch...*licks chocolate icing from lips* You two are quite a handful, huh? If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?

Gresh - A few left over condoms, we don't need them any more.
Lane - Handcuffs.
Gresh - Lane, you didn't need to tell him about those.
Lane - Well they are better than the reins you tied me up with before.
Gresh - Hey, those were your idea.
*Lane reaches over and strokes Gresh's cheek.*
Lane - You want to tie me up again tonight?
Gresh - You keep flirting with Lee and yeah, I'm tying you up and making you pay.
Lane - Promise?

Don't mind me. Go ahead and tie him up, or handcuff him...or you know.. whatever you want. I'll just um... type up this interview. Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?

Lane - I roll up in Gresh.
Gresh - Dang, he does. He's all over me when we sleep. One time he sprayed me with--
Lane - Gresh, stop talking.
Gresh - What? I think it's sexy.

*quirks brow* What you're going to stop there? Why get shy now? Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?

Lane - Just slide between us, I'll make you warm.
*Gresh rolls his eyes.*
Gresh - You are so getting spanked tonight.
Lane - He's really a teddy bear. All gruff and no bite.

Too bad, I'm rather fond of biting. *blushes* Ahem. Back to business.

What are we reading?


Excerpt
Chapter One

The old girl came at him, her eyes wide and her nostrils flared. She aimed to escape, no matter what it took. She was a mean one, had been for years, always looking for trouble. He’d kept his eye on her all morning, just waiting for her to make her move. With her head low, she aimed for his gut.

Lane Daniels jumped; he scrambled up the tall metal fence, jerking his feet away from her aim seconds before her horn scrapped the rung he’d been standing on. He pushed himself over the top and dropped to his feet outside the corral. The cow bawled, jumped, bucked, and huffed, spraying spit all over the dirt where he’d been standing only moments before. He pushed back his cowboy hat and adjusted his gloves as he blew out a quick breath, thankful he’d gotten away from the cow yet again.

“Whoo boy, you almost got it in the dick, or was it your belly?” Jamie called out. He looked half like a scraggly rodeo clown with that huge smile on his face, his bright plaid shirt, and his flaming red hair sticking out from under his tan Stetson—the one Jamie’s daddy wore when he worked this very same ranch. Jamie told that story over and over again, letting Lane know just how long he’d been connected to the Crazy Hills Ranch, and how he knew the place better than anyone.

Andy, Jake, and Sterling, three of his ranch hands, busted out laughing, slapping their knees and pointing at Lane; then they danced around funny, like a cow would run them over at any moment. Lane smiled and laughed with them. They’d been at it for hours and needed some comic relief. Being the target of their jokes didn’t bug him. They all respected him as boss, even if they did rib him unmercifully during the workday. Hell, most cowboys were total practical jokers; pushing buttons and clowning around to lighten the mood and make work fun. At least his crew played nice and didn’t pull any destructive pranks.

The cattle bawled as three more calves were cut from their mammas. It was hard on the cows when their babies were culled from them. The old gal would have run him through if she’d been a bit faster and he a bit slower. She knew his actions were wrong by her. She had a little girl calf, so at least the baby wouldn’t be aching between the legs when the veterinarian finished his tasks.

Lane breathed out a heavy sigh as the cowboys went back to work. In a few months they’d be here again, doing the drill for a second time this year. Rolling Acres, the ranch next door, had asked Mister Miller to take their cows and work them, paying a handsome percentage of the profits from market. Lane had agreed to the plan—now he wished he hadn’t. Too many of Rolling Acres' cows weren’t on the same calving schedule; not that they were mismanaged, but at Crazy Hills he ran a tight ship.

Lane slapped his hands on his jeans, wiping them off. His head hurt and he wanted more coffee, some good barbecue, and maybe a hot man to snuggle with—possibly even take the edge off—but only the first two were a sure thing. He’d been up since three this morning and the sun had about hit its apex. He didn’t want to check the time, didn’t want to know how long they’d worked. He loved being a cowboy but hated working cows through the chute to give them medicine, especially the babies. Days like today made him long for a good jump zone even if he were getting shot at. At least they were almost done with the cows and then he’d have the luxury of kicking off his boots, enjoying some of that barbecue and beer with the boys while they joked with each other. Too bad he felt the need to keep his sexuality under wraps and couldn’t go into town for a quick screw. He didn’t have time off to drive into Houston for a few more weeks so getting some loving would have to wait.

The crunch of tires on gravel sounded behind him. Not today. Jamie came close again and glanced over Lane’s shoulder, his face going blank.

“Shit.” Jamie drew out the word to two syllables then spit a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt a few feet from Lane. “Here comes trouble.”

The last thing Lane wanted, or could stand, made its way to the corral. Perhaps the unexpected guest was Daddy Big Bucks and not his son, Gresh the Third. He didn’t want to look, didn’t want to know, and didn’t want to think about Gresh. Ignoring the sound of the car behind him, pretending he hadn’t heard anything on the gravel road, would only last so long. The car drew closer and slowed. Acting as if he wasn’t here would prove useless since he couldn’t ignore the man who wrote his checks. The boss ruled and expected to be catered to, especially out here in Texas ranch country. Hell, that was unfair; Gresh wasn’t too bad of a guy and Hamilton was old-school, imprinted during a different era with different expectations.

Lane’s foot started tapping and the skin nearest his spine tingled. He gritted his teeth and forbid any errant thoughts. Who the hell drove their rich ass out here to pay the ranch a visit in the middle of the week on a workday? Gresh or Hamilton? Lane turned his head in time to see Gresham Hamilton Miller the Third step out of his shiny black BMW, his Italian loafers attracting dust like flies to honey. Lane groaned and bit his lip. Damn, why did he have to think of honey and Gresh at the same time?

Lane didn’t curse and tried to not show any reaction to observing the man, though his dick didn’t obey. He forced his thoughts to go dark, thinking pain, like when his leg had snapped in two, to will his dick down. He gritted his teeth as he pulled off his well-worn work gloves. After wiping his hands on his jeans, he looked down and cursed. Filth from driving cattle and working them through the chute covered him. Dried cow shit, blood, and whatever the hell else he’d gotten into while rounding up the cattle flecked his jeans.

Gresh looked like he’d stepped off the cover of GQ. His white starched shirt and black slacks wouldn’t fly here, but he sure looked delicious enough to eat. Damn, had to be today of all days for him to show up.

Lane pushed his hat low on his head, covering his eyebrows and hiding his peepers. He didn’t want to look Gresh in the eyes and see his contempt. Lane found it humiliating enough to be covered in cow shit, he didn’t need Gresh’s judgment on his choice of employment, which Lane happened to love; well, except for today because working the cattle sucked donkey balls.

“Lane, good to see you.” Gresh held out his hand, ready to shake.

Lane started to stick out his hand but held back. “Sorry, I’m dirty from working today. Mister Miller, what can I do for you?”

“We’ve been through this before, it’s Gresh.” The million-dollar smile lit up the man’s face, leaving Lane tingly all over.

Lane pursed his lips and squared his shoulders. “If you don’t mind, you’re the boss and I like to keep it formal.” Goose pimples rose over Lane’s arms as awareness of the man raced through him.

If he said Gresh’s name out loud he’d get hard, like rock hard, and granite would have nothing on him. Too many nights he’d taken care of his wood, whispering Gresh over and over again as he ran his fingers over his pole. The name would wake up his dick and he didn’t need that. Hell, hard enough not imagining Gresh’s full lips on his body, Gresh’s hands twisting in his hair. Fuck, cool it, idiot.

“Well, I came by to say that Daddy is really pleased with your numbers this year. We were going over the financials and wanted to sit down and talk with you about next year.”

“You could have called. We’re kind of busy out here.”

Gresh looked out across the cow pens at the cowboys tossing their hats in the air, their whoops of celebration carrying across the fields.

“I think they just doctored the last of the cows,” Gresh said. “Y’all seem to be done. And if I remember correctly, tomorrow will be a light work schedule, even for the foreman.”

Lane watched as baby cows and mammas were reunited at the exit gate to the pens. Smarty-pants in the education world might not think that cows had feelings but witnessing a mamma and baby reunited after the cowboys worked them told him a different story.

“We want you to drive into Houston tomorrow. We’ll meet at the office downtown, and Daddy wants to take you to dinner.”

This time Lane groaned. A half-day away from the ranch was the last thing he needed. Fuck, he sure as hell didn’t want to spend Friday evening with Gresham Senior. Crap, not like he’d be going on a date anyway. He wasn’t out of the closet so to speak. But traveling into Houston to meet men like the Millers wasn’t exactly the type of men he wanted to play with on a late Friday night. If he took the time to drive into town he’d go straight to Get Bent, Houston’s hottest gay bar and, well, he’d get bent. Hell, maybe he would stop by the bar on the way home to take the edge off. A little poke would go a long way to relieving the pressure of being near this guy.

Gresh walked closer to the pen, his ass looking super fine in his dark slacks. The material hung just right, cupping the rounded globes of the ass he wanted to nail. Fuck, the desire to rip off Gresh’s pants and push him up against the fence raced over Lane, and he had to clench his fists to stop himself form stalking forward and claiming the man. Gresh had no idea Lane played for the other team and wanted to hump him like a dog in heat or be the one getting humped, with Gresh hanging over him, pounding into his ass. Lane shivered. The poor man would probably punch his lights out. Fuck, knowing what he did about Gresh, he’d probably find a lawyer to sue him or send him a strongly worded memo. Gresh wasn’t a pussy, but he took proper to a new level. Raised in the world of private schools and even more private clubs, Gresh lived differently than he did.

Lane had no idea how Gresh kept in shape. The guy probably belonged to one of those fancy pants gyms in the city with a personal trainer. Not that Lane cared how Gresh got his amazing body; he appreciated the muscles all the same. Too bad he’d never get the chance to run his tongue over the man’s sweet skin, finding all the dips and bulges, sucking love bites and marking the man as his own.

Gresh spun around and the smile on his face almost knocked Lane on his butt. Then again, Lane could stare at Gresh for hours and never tire of the sight.

“So, Lane. We’ll see you tomorrow downtown Houston. About three?”

Lane nodded once. “Sure. I’ll be there at three. I’m looking forward to seeing Hamilton.”

“It’s a date.” Gresh stuck out his hand for a shake and Lane almost accepted.

At the last second, Lane held up his hands and shrugged. “Sorry, still dirty.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Gresh turned around and sauntered back to his luxury car.

Lane tore his eyes off Gresh’s perfect ass before any of the other cowboys noticed Lane drooling over a man. He’d picked a bad job to match with his sexuality. Who the hell ever heard of a gay ranch foreman? He was damned good at his job and knew animal husbandry better than almost anyone this side of Houston. Crazy Hills turned a huge profit compared to most other ranches that were drying up and selling off.

Lane took pride in the work he did, but he’d never be enough to capture Gresh’s eye, much less his heart; he’d need double X chromosomes to do that. Through the entire conversation he'd kept his gaze elsewhere, afraid to meet Gresh’s eyes. What a coward. So what if two years ago Gresh had curled his lip and turned his nose up in a blatant show of snobbery every time Lane entered the room. Lane had grown wiser and ignored those types of people. But hot damn, he wished Gresh would open his eyes and stop despising the work Lane did and the way Lane made a living.


Visit Sara York at http://sarayork.com

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