Meet the Character: Willow Shaw from WILLOW

Please give a warm welcome to Willow Shaw the hero from ­­Willow  by Lee Brazil today as we sit down and see what makes him tick.

Q: So tell us about yourself. What got you in the crosshairs for your author?

I guess I was just too...there. Lee said it all started with a dream, and the dream wouldn't go away, so...here I am.

Q: What was it that drew you to your mate?

I've had this horribly embarrassing crush on Cade since I was like ten. I think he's the reason I'm gay. I mean, he's the reason I knew I was gay.

Q: A little naughty fun, where was the wildest place you seduced your partner?

*blushes* He seduces me...wherever he wants to

Q: Boxers, briefs or Commando on a man?

Cade wears these awesome boxer briefs that are like clingy boxers...ummm...yeah those are nice. Personally, I prefer silky things next to my skin.

Q: If your partner wants to seduce you, what's one sure fire trick he/she can play?

The blindfold...*shivers* I walk into the bedroom and see that lying on the bed, and...yeah

Q: What is the one place on your partner's body that you know will drive them wild-in and out of bed?

His neck is super sensitive...

Q: What was one of the most embarrassing thing your author did to you in Willow?

Oh God...there were so many horribly embarrassing moments...but I think the absolute worst was waking up in bed with Cade....and not remembering what happened to get me there

Q: Anything else you would like to add?

Sure. Oreo fudge Sundays rock. That's one thing I'm totally sure of.



Making decisions is sometimes difficult for Willow Shaw, but loving Cade Lawson comes easily. Too bad Cade regards him as too young to know his own mind.

As a favor for an old friend, cop Cade Lawson is keeping a watchful eye on his young neighbor, Willow Shaw. He'd thought that would involve some hanging out, watching movies and heart-to-heart talks on college life.

But the Will who moved into his apartment building wasn't the same little boy who'd worshipped his father's friend. No, this Willow is rowdy, defiant, challenging, and alluring. He stirs feelings that Cade is uncomfortable with.

Cade might be uncomfortable, but Willow Shaw is desperate. He's had a crush on Cade for years, and he'd hoped it would fade away one day. Hiding his growing feelings is his top priority, even if it means acting like a prick, because there is absolutely no way a man like Cade—strong, decisive, handsome, and experienced—is going to be attracted to him.



Crawl in Bed with S.A. Garcia

S.A. Garcia

Crawling Into Bed With S.A. Garcia And a Good Book

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?

S.A.: “These old Pirates of the Caribbean sheets are cheap cotton. They have just the correct wear factor. Yes, I have the soul of a five-year-old kid.”

What are you wearing?

S.A.: “Don’t be frightened, but nothing. Just like Ben Franklin, I believe in a good air bath. Trouble is I think Ben and I share a shape with the Michelin Tire Man.”

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

S.A.: “Hate to be boring, but I don’t snack in bed. I do my drinking before I crawl into bed. I read then pass out.”

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

S.A.: “That drawer? Let’s see: old birthday cards, coins, hair accessories I haven’t used in years, my old passport, broken sex toys— yeah, I know I should toss them out— too much weird stuff. I am a packrat. That weird slide over the thumb vibrator might still work with a watch battery. Put it back, sweetie. No stealing.”

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

S.A.: “Cover kicker. I always wake up cold. Worse yet I am a mattress mover. Every night before I sleep, I need to shove my mattress back on the boxspring. That’s why I don’t sleep with my partner, well, that, the snoring and kicking. I’m like a sleep Ninja.”

Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?

S.A.: “As long as you like hairy.”

What are we reading?

Cupid Knows Best
By S.A. Garcia


When it comes to his professional life, photographer Carl Conrad is at the top of his game. He molds impressionable minds at university by day and jets off to Paris for gallery showings on long weekends. Unfortunately, he pays for it with his disastrous personal life: Carl kicked his boyfriend to the curb after one too many punches, so now it's just him and his hamsters, one of which he suspects may be a space alien.

Then Cupid takes pity on Carl and hits him where it hurts. It takes Carl all of three seconds to fall head over heels in lust with set design student Marcelino Moya, despite the man’s questionable—okay, deplorable—fashion sense. Convincing Marcelino to give him a chance is the hard part, but Carl is up for the challenge, pun definitely intended.

Marcelino plays hard to get, but he isn't immune to Carl's charms. Carl talks him around to dinner, dating, and eventually moving in. There's just one tiny word standing between Carl and perfect happiness. Why won't Marcelino say the “L” word?


I opened the door, slipped into the suite, and entered the bedroom.

Lust howled and stomped in manic pleasure. What a completely unexpected vision. Cupid had worked overtime tonight, although after last night’s confessions, the sight of the naked, gagged, and blindfolded Marcel kneeling on the floor, his wrists tied to the bedpost, struck an uneasy chord. Hell, why question the moment? If this was how Marcel wanted to play, what was wrong with the situation? High marks for the hand-tying stunt. Marcel must have knotted the T-shirt to the post and slid his hands up through the soft loop.

What did Marcel want me to do first? Enlightenment crawled through my shock. Removing the underwear gag sounded like a good first step. He needed to supply me with what he desired from his little fantasy. “Sir, are you injured?”

His voice emerged in breathless relief. “Officer, thank God you’re here! Those cruel fiends left me here for you to find. I’m innocent of any wrongdoing, I am.”

“I’ll be the judge of that issue, suspect. What is your name?”

“Marcelino Moya. Really, Officer, I am innocent! The dishonest miscreants kidnapped me and left me here as punishment.”

“Why did they kidnap you?”

“I threatened to tell the brave police about the gang’s nefarious diamond-smuggling scheme. Alas, tonight I feared the callous monsters meant to kill me. Instead they left me here to take the shameful blame for their immoral actions. Please, Officer, I am innocent of any foul play.” A brief smile quirked Marcel’s lips. He realized he needed to tone down his breathless drama and adjective use.

My lower lip suffered my teeth biting down to control my laughter. Removing the blindfold came next. Marcel rewarded me by blinking like a dazzled starlet preparing for her first big movie kiss. “Thank you, Officer, for rescuing me.”

“Let me free your wrists. Promise me you won’t make any sudden movements.”

“I promise.”

My fingers undid the loose knot. Marcel leaned forward. His arms wrapped around my thighs. “Thank you, Officer. Being trapped here alone frightened me. Now you save me from my woeful plight. How may I reward your bravery?” His lips nuzzled my cock.

“Please, Mr. Moya, I am on duty.”

“Please, Officer, I want to thank you.” Marcel slithered up my body in serpentine grace. His lips randomly attacked cloth until they clamped against my lips. “Let me thank you.”

“I really shouldn’t allow you to—”

“You need to loosen up, Officer. Relax.” Marcel’s body swayed against me. Capable fingers slid between us and worked until my belt and zipper opened. A quick tug removed the belt. Good thinking. A buckle slapping against his flesh might disrupt the pleasure. His teasing tickle stiffened my cock.

Marcel stepped back, his fingers still gently grasping my cock. “Come along, Officer.” Subtle tugs made my desire soar past the Eiffel’s top light.

My body followed his steps backward. Marcel released me, collapsed to the bed, and smiled in full sultry wattage. His fingers brandished our favorite warming lube. “Hurry, Officer, what if the base criminals change their minds and return?”

Wait, Marcel wanted me to love him while still dressed? Had I ever satisfied anyone in bed while clad in a restrictive suit? A few fast fully clothed encounters back in my first greedy days of discovering my sexuality flashed into my mind, but I had never enjoyed sex in a grand canopied bed while dressed in a suit.

My cock’s healthy salute said my love pole voted yes to everything.

I remembered to kick off my short leather boots.

My cock barely endured Marcel’s quick strokes. He rolled onto his stomach. His world-class ass waved hello at me. “Hurry, Officer!”

Fresh inspiration hit me. “First you need punishment for consorting with criminals.” My open palm connected against Marcel’s right ass cheek.

His delighted little gasp urged me to palm warm his left cheek. Three firm spanks against each cheek seemed perfect. Marcel reacted to the surprise punishment in gasping enthusiasm. His body twitched in delight.

The spanking left me oddly breathless in excitement. Interesting. The hilarious false urgency placed pressure on me to make love to my waiting suspect. Kneeling on the bed and spanning my thighs over Marcel’s waiting warmth made me fear for my suit trousers’ safety. The seams strained against my tense thigh muscles.

No matter. I needed to complete the scene. I grasped Marcel’s shoulders.

My cock slid into Marcel’s warm acceptance. He pushed back in his classic devouring manner. Damn, my clothing hampered my natural movement. I never imagined my favorite suit to feel like a straitjacket! Something planned to rip. I imagined the seams popping in fine Hulk transformation fashion.

Yeah, wait, the moment required extra spice. I gasped out a question. “Is this an evil plot to distract me from arresting you, suspect?”

“No, Officer, I want to thank you for saving me, remember?”

I ceased my strokes and rested my weight on Marcel. My palms slid around and squeezed Marcel’s pecs. I tugged his nipple chain. “You swear you speak the truth?” Ouch, my voice sounded damned winded.

“Yes, Officer, yes! Please hurry.” Marcel arched under me and squeezed his inner muscles.

Fuck. Boom, done, I came. How embarrassing. I sprawled atop my lover, gasping and groaning in pleasure.

Pleased little snickers greeted my orgasm. “Hmm, Officer, you need to give yourself a speeding ticket.”

“Be still, suspect.” Resting on his shifting vitality granted me the time to regain my breath. I slid my right fingers under his hips to defeat Marcel’s erection. Lovely to experience him shivering and grunting under me. During his orgasm, Marcel huffed like a boxer seeking the final knockout punch.

“Ahh, thank you, Officer.”


Thanks for reading!

Books with Dreamspinner Press

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Facebook: Sandra Ann Garcia

Twitter: @SAGarcia_Writer


Flash Fiction: Lord of the Keep

Flash Fiction: 

Short fiction snippets inspired by a photo...maximum word count, 250. 

Lord of the Keep
They sat discussing winter stores when the door thudded open and a serf raced to the hearth. "Riders approach. Gillie says tis the master's flag."
Elric's heart tripped to a faster beat. He clenched his trembling hands tight and breathed deeply. Dorin's return excited him, but he must insure that all went smoothly. "Go and tell them to prepare a meal fit for the master," he ordered.
Elric saw panic flare in Kathryn's expression before calm descended.
"My Lord returns. Helga, order a bath prepared." Her gaze flicked from her maid servant to him, and he caught her silent plea. "Will you meet him?"
"It is your place, My Lady." He refused to greet the lord of the manor in his wife's stead. His resentment over her role as lady of the keep hadn't lasted a year as it became clear she made no claim on his lover's heart.
Dorin needed an heir for his lands and Kathryn was the means to that heir. Had Elric been capable of producing the heir, Kathryn would not be needed.
He could not resent Kathryn who sincerely accepted Elric as steward of her husband's keep and heart, but he knew when Dorin heard Kathryn had failed to quicken with child, he would grace her bed during this visit. For that, he could hate her.
Because he craved Dorin's cock as much as his conversation, his touch as much as his attention, and while Kathryn failed to breed, Elric would continue to sleep alone. 

If you like my take on this pic, click on over to Havan's blog and see how it inspired her creative muse...http://havanshawthaven.blogspot.com/2012/11/hump-day-flashing-3stop-shoving-mitch.html


Crawl in Bed With Dorian and Jansen

Crawling Into Bed With Dorian Grant and Jansen aka Sweetheat
And a Good Book Sin & Seduction

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Dorian:  Egyptian cotton
Jansen:  Like… a bazillion thread-count or something that costs more than most people’s mortgage
Dorian:  Nothin’s too good for his sweet ass

So I see. Aren't y'all just cute? What are you wearing?
Dorian & Jansen:  Nothing

Then I am woefully overdressed...What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
Dorian *as he grabs Jansen's ass*:  I’m snackin’ on him
Jansen *wags his brows and makes kissy faces at Lee while he whispers to Dorian*:  But we could share him, right? He’s kinda hot.

Sorry guys, I am taken. If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Dorian & Jansen:  Lube
Jansen *mumbles about Dorian's stupid gun*

*quirks brow* Gun? Is that a euphemism? No? We'll leave that drawer shut then. Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
Jansen *thumbing toward Dorian*:  I would curl around him
Dorian:  And I would be in control of the covers

Oh..good thing I brougth my sweats then, I can't stand being cold. Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Jansen:  You can put your cold anything right between us, sexy
Dorian *gives Jansen a droll stare*:  Hey. Hey, now. Ya might wanna make sure I’m willin’ to share.
Jansen:  Are you?
Dorian *looks at Lee*:  Mmm… Let me check out that bod.

Um...y'all are trying to get me in trouble!
Dorian:  I’m Game! 

It's a look but no touch policy in our household. What are we reading?
Sin & Seduction

Dorian Grant is king of the New Orleans underworld, but he isn’t mafia and doesn’t appreciate the assumption. He’s simply a crude businessman anyone in his right mind would think twice about screwing over. Life in the Big Easy is all about sin, and violent, short-tempered Dorian has committed them all. 

But not all New Orleans sins leave a bad taste in the mouth, as Dorian discovers the night a man stage-named Sweet Heat dances into his life at a club called Sin and Seduction. Dorian was expecting a hot lay. He damn sure wasn’t looking for a relationship, and certainly not with someone like Jansen, who turns Dorian’s grimly organized world upside down. 

Now Dorian finds himself pressuring Jansen to quit his job because he can’t stand the thought of other men touching what’s his. Of course, Jansen wants a little quid pro quo—after all, Dorian’s job is dangerous. Jansen just doesn’t realize how dangerous until it’s too late.

“You be careful, you fool,” Jason yelled out to the fading image of his best friend disappearing in a blaze of golden-thonged glory.

Jansen hightailed it up to Mr. Grant’s booth. He hit the top floor landing panting. The ecstasy had already done a number on him. His skin tingled. Pupils dilated to hell. He wanted to touch anything and everything he could. He wanted to be touched by anyone and everyone. He needed to be stimulated, needed… to be fucked.

Not good.

The guy in the black-on-black Armani suit had a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label turned up to the sky. He reeked of money and power and things Jansen had never experienced in his life.

He’d hit the jackpot.

“Mr. Grant?”

The big man leaned forward, looked down Jansen’s body, spotted the bulge between his legs, then let his eyes wander back up. In a firm, commanding, more than manly voice, Mr. Grant said, “Come here.”

Jansen’s body stiffened. A jolt of something dangerous and intoxicating shot through him, and he felt a little tingle of thrill ripple down his spine. Absently, he moved closer to the booth. As soon as he was within an arm’s length, Mr. Grant reached out and hooked his fingers around the tiny golden band of Jansen’s thong. He pulled Jansen forward, so close his crotch was inches from the man’s face.

“Dance for me, boy.” The words left Mr. Grant’s mouth in a drunken growl.

Sounds from the club below roared up toward the private booth on the balcony overlooking the joint. Bass pulsed. Lights flashed blue and red and green. Sweat glistened on Jansen’s body. He straddled the stranger’s legs, pressed his barely covered, thick length against Mr. Grant’s groin. He could feel the hard press of the stranger’s shaft even with Armani slacks between them. Jansen gyrated, ground harder against his thighs.

Mr. Grant’s head rolled back as he gripped Jansen’s hips so hard the sudden stabbing pain of fingertips biting into muscle made Jansen hiss. He shook it off, fought to keep this… thing with Grant going strong. Jansen pressed his lips to Grant’s throat, kissing his flesh, sucking his neck. The stranger wrapped his hand around the back of Jansen’s neck and pulled him down until his ear met Grant’s mouth.

Grant said, “I’m gonna fuck ya tonight.”

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