New Deal! Donovan's Deal

For one week only, you can pick up Donovan's Deal,

 #6 in the Truth or Dare series for 99 cents, 
only at Breathless Press

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.


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Trick's Treat: A Truth or Dare Short featuring Terry Blake and the Hyatt Twins

Happy Halloween! 
As a special treat for you all, I've written a short addition to the story of Terry Blake and Dex and Trick Hyatt. Here's the trick - it's only free here on the blog. 

Soon, I'll get it up at the sales sites, but for now, here it is. 

Trick's Treat
A Telling the Truth / Truth or Dare Short
Copyright October 2013 Lee Brazil

"You wanted to see me?" Brandon hovered in the doorway of Terry's office, glancing back over his shoulder frequently, as though anxious to be off. Terry Blake couldn’t blame his older brother for that. He rather wanted to be off himself.
"Yes, I need a favor." Brandon frowned and that inner boy, the one who was anxious to please, quailed. Then he remembered that he wasn't that boy any more. He remembered the scene in his kitchen when he'd left for work this morning. Trick sat at the polished oak table, looking pale and tired with dark circles under his pretty blue eyes, the white blond roots of his dyed black hair showing. Dex hadn't even been up yet, but Trick had dragged himself out of bed to make coffee and breakfast for Terry before he left for work.
"Is this something that can't wait until morning? Arden and I are taking the boys to Knott's Scary Farm tonight and I'm running late already."
"No. It can't." His voice was sharp with the pain he'd felt, the failure that haunted him. Trick wasn't happy, he needed a break away from the baby and the house and Dex's mood swings or he'd fall into a depression.
Brandon must have seen something in his face because he sighed and his voice softened. He stepped into the office, the thick grey carpet muffling the sound of his Italian loafers. "What do you need?"
Relief flooded him. "I’m going to take Trick and Dex away for the weekend. Belle is moving into a new duplex and experiencing morning sickness with the twins. So, I need a babysitter. We'll be back Monday." He realized he was responding to Brandon's blank expression when his voice came faster. Heat colored his skin and he braced himself for the refusal he could see Brandon didn't want to make.
"It's not a good idea, Terry. I'd love to help you out, but with three troubled teenagers in the house and it being Halloween, I just can't see it being a good environment for the baby." Brandon crossed the room as he spoke, and ended his speech with a comforting squeeze on Terry's shoulder. The reminder of Brandon and Arden's status as foster parents had Terry nodding. Most of their boys came from troubled homes, dangerous backgrounds and required a lot of attention. "Have you asked Mischa? Or Dan?"
"Dan and Morgan would be horrible baby sitters. Mischa has his hands full with Matt; he doesn't need Michael too." As Brandon made his departure, Terry let his gaze wander to the computer screen, showing a rustic white painted cabin nestled in soft looking white sand. Taking the twins away for a weekend had been a silly dream anyway. He hadn't realized until Brandon refused how much he himself had come to count on that weekend of uninterrupted sleep, how attached he'd become to the vision of the three of them sitting in those rough looking Adirondack chairs watching the sun rise over the Atlantic ocean. It looked so peaceful…so…His hand was on the phone and he'd dialed Donovan's cell number before reason could steal the dream away.
"Holloway." The deep rumble brought him back to reality, and he dragged in a breath.
"Hey, Donovan. I have a favor to ask and I want you to know that it is perfectly all right if you say no." But please say yes, he begged silently.
"I'm not hosting Thanksgiving, Terry. We're already signed on for Christmas and I can see Mischa wigging out as it gets closer."
He laughed involuntarily, tension loosening. Mischa and Donovan were busy, it was true, but they were family. "Nothing like that. Well, you might think it's worse."
"Worse than hosting the lot of you Blakes for two holidays in a row? I’m not sure that's possible."
"God, I think it really will work out. Donovan, Trick and Dex and I need some time away. We're tired, Trick can't sleep through the night, and Dex is putting us all through hell with some mood swings he can't even explain, the baby…"
"Is there something wrong with Michael?"
He hastened to reassure the man when he recognized the concern in his voice. "No. Michael is fine. He's just very time consuming and demanding. I just want one weekend where we can all sleep without midnight feedings and five am diaper changes and …"
"And you want to get laid."
"Is that so wrong?" Shame, embarrassment, relief, he couldn’t even decide what he felt right at that moment, just that it felt good that someone might actually understand how he might love Michael but miss his lovers.
"No, it's not wrong at all. Sure. We'll babysit. I haven't forgotten how you guys were there for us when Matthew came to live with us. He loves Michael and will be thrilled that his cousin is sleeping over. One thing though, can you call Mischa and let him know? I’m heading into a meeting now."
"Absolutely. Anytime you guys want to send Matt over, he's always welcome. Maybe next weekend?" Shut up! He wanted to shout; he was babbling in his gratitude.
"That's all right. Not next weekend, but soon. Mischa and I could use some us time as well."
He'd clicked the link to book the cabin before he hung up with Donovan, and by the time the phone rested in its hook, he was emailing the pilot of the Blake studios private jet to make flight arrangements to the Caribbean.
"I already told Dex I'd do it. Seriously, you guys just go on and relax." He'd been so grateful for Mischa's easy agreement that he hadn't realized the importance of what he'd said. Until now.
When he stood head to head with a very angry, very loud Dex who apparently had plans of his own for Halloween night that he'd been hiding from the rest of them.
"Look, Dex, it's not a big deal. Whatever you have planned, we can still do it."
Bewildered, Terry reached out to brush a thick lock of black hair back from Dex's forehead, but Dex slapped his hand away with a sneer. "No! Not from Aruba we can't! And my fucking name is John!"
"John, babe, please. We all need this time away. Trick needs a break from the baby and the stress. I just wanted us to have a nice long weekend without pressure."
"You don't know what he needs! It's my job to take care of him. I know what he needs."
Tumblers fell into place with rapid precision as Terry processed that telling statement. Dex and Trick had had only each other for so long. When Terry had encountered them at Mischa's party, they'd clung together, being everything to one another. Terry had wanted to be a part of that open affection and had fallen easily into love. "I didn't mean to just charge in and take him away from you Dex, and this trip isn't all about Trick, it's about all of us. I need some time with the two of you."
"You want sex." Dex sneered, backing away. "Trick is my responsibility, my brother. I saw how he was feeling, and I made plans to make him feel better. Making him feel good is what I do."
"Pouting around the house sulking and being angry about nothing is supposed to make him feel better?" He knew he shouldn't say it, but the words came out anyway, even when he understood how damaging they could be.
Dex flinched, narrow elegant shoulders hunching forward then straightening, as he absorbed the blow. "He understands me. You wouldn't because you…"
"Enough!" An angry whirlwind in grey yoga pants and a thin black t-shirt pushed between them, black hair whipping in his face as Trick turned from Dex to him and back again.
"Trick…" They spoke at once, each one apparently determined to express the regret they felt over adding to their lover's stress with their petty argument.
"Enough. I am this close," he pinched two narrow fingers together, leaving a scant breath of air between them, "to telling you both to fuck off."
Terry winced as Trick shoved him sharply in the sternum. He stumbled back a little, then grabbed a chair back to right himself. Dex yelped as he received the same treatment.
"Trick!" He protested, meeting Dex's stunned gaze in amazement. "We just want to do something nice for you- you need time away from the baby. Doesn’t a nice weekend at the beach sound lovely?"
"Breakfast on the Riviera, a day in the sun, an early night in bed?" Dex pleaded. Terry nodded at him, approvingly. Apparently they'd both had quite similar ideas, even if different locations.
"Either one, Trick." He smiled coaxingly. "Your choice, the plans are all made just say where you'd rather go and we'll do it."
"Yes!" Dex cajoled. "You choose and then let us pamper you for the whole weekend."
Trick shook his head with a disgusted snort. "What the fuck makes either of you think I'm going to abandon Michael to some babysitter and jet set off to some foreign country?"
He and Dex were left staring at each other while Trick stormed out of the room as swiftly as he'd entered it, muttering indistinguishable, but distinctly menacing sounds under his breath.
Terry sank into the chair he'd been clutching onto and Dex dropped at his feet, resting his head on Terry's thigh. Automatically, he threaded his fingers through the soft hair, taking comfort from the familiar silky strands while he tried to process the scene they'd just participated in.
"What was that all about?" He murmured.
"Us." Dex answered without raising his head. His hands closed on Terry's pants, so tightly he could feel each finger through the fabric. "Our childhood."
"I see." He didn't really, but what else could he say as hot wet tears soaked through his trousers and dampened his leg?
"They were always running off, leaving us with nannies and housekeepers and body guards. Then one time they didn't come back. And then it all went to hell, and all we had was each other."
His fist clenched on the hair and Dex whimpered as it pulled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that." He forced the tension from his fingers and breathed deeply. "We have to address this problem," he ventured when he felt like Dex had calmed down enough to talk.
"Nothing to address, Terry. Trick's right. We can't fly off and abandon Michael. He's ours, and I don't want him to ever have some stranger in a suit telling him that we won't ever come back."
Terry ached for the pain the young twins must have felt when they were confronted by that stranger. "It's not likely that anything will happen. But that's not what I meant. Michael will never be alone, no matter if something happens to one of us or all of us. He's got a whole boatload of Blakes and other relatives that will take care of him if we can't."
Dex hiccupped and finally raised his face. His eyeliner was smudged, his eyes rimmed with red and were faintly swollen. His pale cheeks were tracked by drying tears. "I forgot when we decided to keep you that you were part of a set."
Chuckling, Terry leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Dex's brow. "That's one way of describing my siblings." Seeing that Dex intended to completely avoid the real basis of their argument, he continued. "I am not taking Trick away from you, Dex. I wouldn't want to, and he wouldn’t let me."
"You couldn’t take him away." They both recognized the statement as weak bravado. "I know. I just…I wanted to help him, to take care of you both." He peered up under lowered lashes and Terry's heart twisted anew.
"I love you." The words slipped out, and he was glad, even though they still felt strange and raw in his heart, because Dex's cheeks flushed and the sparkle was back in his eyes. Trick wore his heart on his sleeve, and was vocal and free with his emotions, but Dex protected his own emotions with the same fierce intensity that he protected his brother.
The front doorbell rang and footsteps clattered through the hall way. Trick poked his head in the door to glare at them. He'd changed into a tuxedo and black and white spats, his hair combed in a restrained style. His slender form looked dangerous and tempting. Instead of a shoulder holster and pistol a la James Bond though, he wore a baby carrier with a smiling Michael cooing happily in his feathery owl costume.  Terry restrained himself from jumping up and dragging Trick into their embrace.
"That's Mischa. I’m taking Michael and going trick or treating with him and Matt. Then we're watching Young Frankenstein and Beetlejuice and gorging on apple cider and candy corn. Don't wait up." Hitching his designer diaper bag over one shoulder, Trick headed off down the hall
The front door slammed, and once more Terry found himself staring at Dex, feeling like his world view was slightly skewed, like maybe he had mixed up the brothers for the first time ever. Dex was supposed to be confident and powerful, Trick soft and gentle.
Trick had been watching the lights in the house across the street, rather than any of the hilariously un-scary movies that Mischa and Donovan had deemed appropriate viewing for their son. Michael slept in an upstairs room, but the baby monitor had been silent for hours. His eyelids drooped and tiredness dragged at his spirit, but Trick stayed on Mischa's couch, a plush throw wrapped around his feet opposite a giggling Matt.
He should go home. He wasn't having a good time, and he missed Dex and Terry terribly. He just couldn’t make himself get up and cross the road. He didn't want to open the door to their house and feel the tension. His bones ached and his heart throbbed a little as he recalled the angry voices, the violent way he'd shoved both of them.
The credits rolled on the last movie and a yawning Donovan rose from his recliner. "That's it Matt. Time to hit the hay." The tall man quirked an eyebrow at Mischa, and the two of them stared meaningfully at one another for a few minutes. A whole conversation passed between them without a word spoken, and Trick sighed.
He swung his feet onto the floor and folded the cozy hand knitted blanket carefully. "I guess I should go now and let you guys get some sleep."
Donovan herded Matt up the stairs, calling good nights in his clear childish voice all the way. Mischa smiled sympathetically at Trick. "How about a cup of hot cocoa and a smoke break in my office while you tell me why you aren't winging your way to some glamorous vacation spot for the weekend? I heard both Aruba and the French Riviera, and yet, here you are at Chez Holloway watching 80's movies and eating candy corn."
"I like 80's movies." He stalled for time but trailed after Mischa to the kitchen. Mischa filled two cups with hot cocoa from a pot simmering on the stove then gestured to his office, the room off the kitchen where he'd lived when he first moved into Donovan's house.

Trick entered the room and his gaze went automatically to the mahogany box on the table. All their old paraphernalia was there, but Mischa didn't keep smoke anymore. Trick had a metal box in his pocket with a dose from the pharmacy. He'd been given the prescription when all the anti- nausea drugs made him sicker, and it had helped.
He shouldn't smoke now. He wasn't nauseous. He was…"Furious?"
He tested the word, but it didn't quite fit right either.
"What's going on?" Mischa pulled him down on the cozy daybed and cuddled close to him. Trick felt some of the tension leaving him, relaxed into the comfortable touch.
"I was getting ready to come over and I heard them fighting, yelling at each other." He shuddered, that had been a horrible moment. "I think we, Terry, Dex and I are heading for trouble. I wonder if Michael wasn't too much too soon. I can't believe they were fighting with each other, over me. Mischa, I don't want things to end like this."
"Oh honey," Mischa stroked his hair soothingly. "Things aren't ending. People argue, they make up, they argue again."
"Do you and Donovan fight?"
"All the time. Over dumb shit too. Can you believe he won't let me pay off the house with my inheritance?"
Trick shook his head. "It must be some kind of alpha male thing. Terry won't let me pay for anything either."
"Is that what he and Dex were fighting over?"
"They were fighting about where to go on this trip, and then hit on this dumbass idea of making me choose a destination, as though I could choose one of them over the other. Because no matter which choice I made, the one who planned the other trip would be upset."
"They love you, that's all. Donovan said Terry was all about time for the three of you to rest and relax. And I can tell you Dex was the same. Why don't you take advantage of the baby sitting Don and I are providing and take one or both of them up on the weekend away?"
"I couldn’t. If I said I wanted to go to the Riviera, Terry would be hurt, and if I picked Aruba, Dex would be hurt. I can't choose one over the other, I love them both. Besides, it doesn't feel right to leave Michael and go so far away."
Mischa's brow crinkled in a thoughtful frown. Then a brilliant smile lit up his face. "I have it! Here's what you do…"

Dex lay awake, ears straining for the sound of the front door opening, absently playing with Terry's fingers where they rested on his belly. The two of them had talked at great length, and it had been awkward, sharing how he felt. They'd made their peace, and now it just remained for them to apologize to Trick for the stupid fight and things could go back to normal.
He stifled the little voice in the back of his head that whispered insidiously that normal hadn't been so awesome. Trick liked things the way they were, their lives were happy and comfortable, and they had friends and a home and a man who said he loved them.
It was beyond stupid that he seemed to be missing something. He would do anything for Trick, and he honestly loved Terry. Why couldn’t he be happy? Maybe it was time to see a counselor, like Trick had when his depression had become all consuming?
He wasn't depressed though. He was just…restless.
Maybe Terry was right. Maybe what he needed was exactly what Trick needed, and exactly what Terry had tried to give them all. Time together, in bed and out to just enjoy each other.
He'd become so absorbed in his thoughts that the slam of the door he'd been listening for came as a surprise. "Trick's back!' He shook Terry lightly, and the man came awake with a start and a splutter.
"Huh?" Green eyes blinked blearily up at him and he felt another pang of guilt lodge in his gut. Terry tried so hard, worked to give them what he thought they needed, a safe secure place. Why was he plagued with so much dissatisfaction?
Footsteps ascended the stairs and then stilled. Dex pictured his twin, the James Bond costume somewhat disheveled from a night of trick or treating and movie watching, standing in that wide open almost room sized hall. The hall was decorated like a lounge, with the four bedroom suites hidden away behind discreet doors. They each had their own suite, and while those rooms were generally used more as hobby and privacy spaces, each held a full bedroom. Could Trick conceivably be angry enough to actually sleep in that cozy little bed with its soft worn antique quilts and feather pillows?
While his instinct was to run out in the wide hall and demand to know what Trick was thinking, where he was planning to sleep, Terry's calming hand, warm and soothing on his arm, held him back, and he was grateful for that.
"Give him space. Let him choose for himself."
He scrunched a little closer to Terry, seeking more of that comforting heat. "What if he doesn't want to sleep with us? We need to be together."
"Just like you need to be able to work out or play the stereo loud in your room when you feel unsettled, Trick needs alone time too. I don't like it any more than you do," Terry's voice softened. "But we have to respect that he is his own person, not just our lover."
The spike of anger he felt was short lived and Dex felt immediately guilty for it. "He's not just my lover. He's my brother and I love him. Even if we aren't going to have…" his voice trailed off. What the hell was he talking about? Since Michael's advent into their lives, the nights when they didn't have sex far outnumbered the ones when they did. "He should at least sleep here." He finished lamely.
Terry frowned and his mouth opened to speak, but the door opened and faint light from the hallway spilled into the room. Trick stood, already dressed in his pajamas, soft flannel sleep pants, because he was always cold, a thin long sleeved t-shirt, and his growing hair pulled back in a pony tail. Dex's heart faltered then sped up. Terry remained calm, his expression bland, but his grip on Dex's arm tightened. At first he thought it was because Terry didn't trust him not to bolt out of the bed to Trick's side, but a glance at his face revealed tension that he was trying to hide.
Forcing himself to speak calmly so as not to let his own emotions influence Trick's, Dex aimed for welcoming. "Hi. Did you guys have fun?"
"I think I would have had fun…," Trick's voice was tired, but he entered the room and crossed to the bed. Dex scooted over, bumping Terry until there was room for Trick next to him. To his disappointment, Trick climbed onto the foot of the bed and sat cross legged, head bowed.
"If you weren't worried about the two of us being jerks back home?" Terry rumbled.
That brought Trick's head up, his blue eyes ablaze. "You aren't jerks. I never said you were. I just…I can't stand the fighting. I wanted you to be done fighting and making up by the time I got home."
"We're done fighting." Dex crawled out of the blankets and down to embrace Trick, who leaned into him. The bed shifted and he felt the warmth of Terry surrounding them both.
"We're sorry, Trick. We don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to."
"We can go lots of places, I just don't want to be so far away if anything happens to Michael. Mischa helped me find a place within an hour's drive of here. It's in the mountains, not at the beach, and it'll be cold and snowy." His face went soft and dreamy. "But we can curl up in front of the fireplace and cuddle under comfy quilts and…"
"Make love then fall asleep and wake up and do it all over again?"
Trick blushed a little at Terry's teasing. "We can start that part now."
Their lips met in an awkward, sloppy three way kiss where noses bumped and chins rubbed together. The soft, emotion driven caresses quickly evaporated, replaced by demanding forays of tongues and clinking of teeth until Terry pulled back, laughing, leaving Dex and Trick, mouths locked, staring into one another's eyes for long moments.
It was Trick who broke the kiss, tilting his head up to the ceiling and drawing in deep, ragged breaths. "I love you, Dex." He murmured when he was capable of speech.
The tension he'd been prey to lately faded away. Trick loved him, Terry loved him. He loved them. It was all good, and if it didn't sparkle like a fairy tale, that was okay too. They could slay giants and throw water on wicked witches together.
Satisfied of his place, Dex gave himself over to the physical needs that were making themselves felt. He tugged the hem of Trick's t-shirt up, revealing lean pale flesh. He lurched sideways, catching himself with a hand on the mattress as Terry surged into action, quickly removing the cotton boxer briefs he slept in.
Trick's arms crossed Dex's as they fumbled undressing each other. After a few stray limbs and Terry's hands were added to the mix, they were reduced to a naked jumble of body parts, smooth and hairy, lean and thickly muscled. Dex luxuriated in the supple smoothness of Trick's body, skimming his hands over lean muscles. He kissed his twin's lips, then when Trick twisted away, whatever skin he could reach, neck, ear, shoulder.
Terry had shifted, looming behind Dex, a comforting sturdy frame to lean against. Terry braced, him, rubbing his erection against Dex's buttocks, caressing his shoulders and thighs with fiery touches. The urge to come became overwhelming, his blood beat hot and loud in his ears.
Their movements became purposeful though, and Dex found himself unexpectedly in the middle of two men, a place usually occupied by Terry or Trick. Oh, he'd had his turn, but he'd rather thought that Terry was with him in intending this time to be all about making up to Trick for their stupid fight. Instead, Terry's thick fingers, somehow coated with slick oil, were rubbing against his hole, and Trick was mouthing his nipples and teasing his cock with soft, barely there touches that would surely drive him insane.
Dex sighed and let his mind go. There wasn't any right way to do this, and if Trick wanted him in the middle, then he'd be in the middle. He relaxed and Terry's fingers slipped inside, causing him to tense. The tissue burned pleasantly and he bit his lip. His fingers clenched on Trick's shoulders as Terry nibbled at his neck, and he moaned, tipping his head to the side to grant better access.
Trick shrugged his hands away and reared up, kissing Terry over his shoulder. Dex strained his eyes to watch the kiss, finding watching nearly as erotic as kissing itself. The little noises they made sounded loud and full of promise, laced around the beating of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears as they were.
"Ready?" Terry whispered, rough and sexy.
"Oh yes," Trick slithered down his body in a move so sleek and elegant it should have been made on a dance floor.
Dex scarcely had time to touch his twin's cheek before he was inundated with the dual sensations of a hot wet mouth pulling at his cock, and the thick probe of Terry thrusting into his ass with a smooth practiced move.
The man had learned a lot about sex in the time they'd been together, applying himself to learning the art of pleasure as determinedly as he had to learning business law, accounting, and the principles of investment. Dex let his eyes close briefly as he simply enjoyed the way his skin became hyper sensitive and his entire body became a sensory organ- prickling and pulsing and magnifying every touch until he felt the fragile skin could not contain it further.
He forced his eyes open and looked down, to meet Trick's crystal blue eyes peering up at him. His twin's cheeks were flushed, his pretty red lips stretched wide around Dex's cock as he sucked it deep then glided back to the tip, swirling his tongue around before leaning forward. Dex bumped the back of his throat, fancied he could feel Trick's heart pounding in a matching pulse there, before he retreated again. "Trick," he choked out between ragged breaths. "Want you to come, too."
And all the while, Terry pounded into him from behind, hard forceful thrusts accompanied by harsh grunts and ragged moans. The contrast of wet heat and steady, firm pressure luring, coaxing his cock to release in front, and the full, dark pleasure of being invaded from the rear built his arousal by leaps and bounds until he was barely clinging to a thread of control, holding on, waiting for his lovers to come with him? Why? Why not just let go?
Then Terry faltered behind him, losing his rhythm, and Trick released his cock. In a rush of movement he was pushed down from behind to find his mouth level with Trick's prick, hard and leaking. Terry's grip on his hips had tightened, and his body froze as he waited. "Suck him. Suck, Trick." Terry grunted, leaning into his backside and stroking one hard hand down the knobs of Dex's spine.
Without thinking, Dex obeyed, pleased by Trick's whimper, adoring the salty sweet taste of his twin's flesh. He knew what Trick liked, just how to touch, he could bring his lover off without thinking at all. Which was a good thing, because as soon as he started bobbing his head, toying with Trick's cock with his tongue like Trick enjoyed, Terry started moving again and there wasn't anything that could have made him capable of rational thought. He was full of sensations, his whole being was just feeling, feeling the bump and pulse and throb of Trick against his tongue, against the back of his throat, feeling the pulse and swell and friction of Terry pumping into him, fast and deep and driving him into a maelstrom of sensation that had only one possible outcome.
Trick's seed spurting in his mouth added a new dimension to the sensory input, and he gulped it down, shivering as his body tightened, all sensation coalescing into one long, vibrant shudder. He jerked, spilling cum on the tangled sheets.
Terry growled behind him, stilling, and then jerking a few times. The sensual rhythms of moments before became awkward in orgasm, slightly painful as they flinched and jerked and twisted, traded spurts and clenching muscles and exhausted chuckles until the three of them collapsed in a heap, wet, sweaty, and satisfied.
Dex ended up lying in cold sticky cum, but he was too exhausted, too happy to care. He'd just lie there for a bit and get his breath back, let his muscles stop tingling and his heart beat return to normal. Then he'd maybe suggest they abandon the master bedroom and hole up in one of the others until they felt like changing the sheets.
"So," Trick's voice was scratchy and when Dex twisted his neck to find his brother smiling at him, his lips were a deep swollen red, his eyes heavy lidded. "I vote, we park the cars in the garage, unplug all the phones, and pretend we went somewhere."
"And actually just stay here in bed for three days?"
"I like it." Terry crawled out of the pile of bodies and stood at the side of the bed. "Let's shower and go back to bed."
He looked so sublimely hopeful that Dex couldn’t help laughing. "Okay. We've officially become the idiots in the family. We've paid for three different vacation homes for the weekend, but we're staying here instead."
Trick cast him a glorious smile. "Last one in the shower has to change the sheets!"
Dex's competitive spirit was instantly aroused. He surged upright, bounced to the floor and took off running, ignoring the laughter that followed him to the bathroom. "Just throw the comforter on the floor," He yelled over his shoulder. "The rest should be fine!"

The End

Crawl in Bed With NR Walker

Crawling Into Bed With NR Walker And a Good Book 

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton? 

Cotton. 1200 thread Egyptian cotton. My bed is a King size and we had the frame hand made from the timber from an old bridge they were demolishing in the area.  The bolt holes are a feature, if not convenient... LOL

Wow! I never would have noticed. What are you wearing? 

Boring cotton pj pants that are striped in pinks and greys and a matching t-shirt style top.  Not sexy by any means, but I’ll take super comfy over impractical and uncomfortably sexy any day.

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

Um, no snacking in my bed. If you get crumbs of any kind in my bed, I get all ragey. LOL

*closes mouth and swallows* Right…. No snacks. *grumbles* Should have eaten dinner, I guess.  If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?

Notebooks, notepads and pens.  No sex toys unfortunately, just writing stuff. Some notepads are full of scenes, chapters, stories, character descriptions, some are blank and waiting. LOL It’s not that I write in bed (not always, anyway) but it’s just where I keep them. My kids don’t go through our bedside tables, so there’s no risk of notepads being ‘borrowed’ and subsequently read.

*eyes notebooks* So this is where the ideas begin? Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night? 

I’m the burrito. My husband kicks the covers off and I’m always cold – it’s a perfect match. LOL

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

OMG hell no. I can’t stand anyone’s feet on me. At all. I do put my feet on my hubs when I get into bed LOL

Well, that's fair enough. I don't care for cold feet on me, either. Then again, finding someone whose feet are colder than mine is kind of challenging. What are we reading? 

Well, I’m not reading anything at the moment, but the last thing I read was “One Breath, One Bullet” by S.A. McAuley.  I loved it. The sequel has just come out and it’s next on my TBR list, but I’m stuck in the middle of editing, and trying to write a story that’s proving difficult. I find I can’t read other people’s stories when I’m writing – my characters get muddled with theirs.

My latest release, Elements of Retrofit, is the first in my Thomas Elkin Series.

Generation versus generation, traditional versus contemporary, these men are about to learn a lesson in architecture and love. Can they prove that the old and new can be the perfect design?
A successful New York architect, Thomas Elkin almost has it all. Coming out as gay and ending his marriage before his fortieth birthday, he needed to start living his life. Now, four years later, with his relationship with his son back on track, and after a few short-lived romances, this esteemed traditional draftsman thought he knew everything about architecture, about life.
Cooper Jones, twenty-two years old, is about to take the architect world by storm. Talented, professional, driven, and completely infuriating, Cooper is the definition of Generation Y.
Starting an internship working with Thomas, Cooper is about to knock Tom’s world off its axis. Tom can teach Cooper about the architecture industry, but Cooper is about to teach Tom what it means to live.

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Blog:  http://nrwalker.wordpress.com/

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Last Chance: Sale Ends Today

Last chance guys!

99 cent sale ends today! 

Pick Up Saint's Curse- 

my werewolf story that has been described as "shifter with a twist" -

 Luke Leveraux hates seeing suspicion darken Jeremy St. James's eyes when he leaves for his monthly hunting trip, but some secrets just can't be shared.

On the surface artist Luke Leveraux has it all: money, a fantastic historical home, talent. When his boyfriend Jeremy moves in, his life should have been perfect. But Luke's hunting expeditions are a cover for something much darker, and he doesn't dare expose his lover to this unpredictable side of his life.

Art teacher Jeremy St. James has always known about his lover's hunting trips. He just expected that they would stop when he moved in with Luke. Or, at the very least, that he might be included in the monthly excursions.

Someone else knows Luke's secret, though. Someone determined to put an end to the situation.

This title is available for 99 cents at Breathless Press only! Until midnight 10/30/13

FREE at ARE : Unforgettable

From October 30th to Nov. 1st 
You can pick up a copy of my short, sweetly sexy historical, UNFORGETTABLE

Can the love of a lifetime be forged in the aftermath of bloody battle?

Ian Kerr dreams of the blue-eyed gaze that met his in a strange, still moment on the field of battle. Brodick MacFarland, young and inexperienced, yet old enough to fight for his clansmen, saves a wounded man left for dead by his kin. Now, five years later, Brodick is a trained physician and an adult who knows his own mind. Fortunately for Ian, the clash between the clans still rages on, leaving Brodick fair game. Will Brodick come with Ian of his own accord or will this educated warrior continue to evade capture?

Thunder awoke Ian Kerr from a restless sleep haunted by troubled blue eyes. He wanted to reach out to the owner of those eyes, tell the man that it would be all right. "All right," he mumbled, forcing heavy lids up. His head felt thick and his vision blurred. 

Lying still, he forced himself to assimilate his surroundings as his head and vision slowly cleared. The floor beneath him was earth, the wall he lay against as well. A fire crackled nearby, providing warmth and a dim flickering light. His belly rumbled loudly, echoing the thunder. 

Last he'd known, his brother Andrew, and Agnes MacFarland had left him to cover their retreat. How had he come to lie in an abandoned shepherd's bothy? Still, it was out of the storm that raged outside, and for that he was grateful. A savory scent lingered in the air, and Ian shifted upright to find the source of that enticing odor.

"Ahh…" Agony seared his chest, and he clutched at it, marveling as his fingers found a neat row of stitches. The pain jolted his muddled brain and memories fought slowly to the surface. "The battle…" The damned MacFarlands had left him to die on the roadside when one of their untrained whelps landed a lucky blow with sword he'd been scarce able to lift.

"Aye, easy there." The soft burr drew his gaze to a thin man in a MacFarland tartan kneeling near the small fire. The youth filled a bowl with pottage and crossed the small space between them. The voice was familiar, the figure strange. 

"Where am I?"

"Boden's old place. I couldna get ye any further from the road. Wasna safe to take ye to the farm." When the youth knelt and offered him the bowl, Ian was struck by deep blue eyes, the steely blue of the sky before sunset, set in a fine boned face, beardless, thin, fragile nearly, and very familiar.

"Ye're a MacFarland." He reached automatically for his blade, though the stripling was hardly threatening in his appearance. Memories stirred of the recently fought battle. Those were the eyes from his dream… "I remember ye from the fight. Ye were in Andrew's bride's guard."

Laughter lurked in the blue eyes before the youth ducked his head. "I'm Brodick MacFarland. Agnes is my sister." His cheeks flushed slightly, though it could have been a trick of the flickering fire. 

Brodick returned to the fire and filled another bowl of pottage for himself. Ian surveyed him cautiously. His instinct said the other man was no threat…but their families were at war. "Ye fetched the doctor for me?" Silently, he ate a few bites of pottage, studying the slim figure, the thin chest and wiry arms. This was no warrior, though he could plainly see the man wasn't as young as he'd first thought. 

Brodick met his gaze again. "I sewed ye up meself. I'm a student at Aberdeen. I'm sorry if 'tis no' perfectly done. But I didna dare let anyone know you lived."

Ian nodded. "Why?" This youth hadn't participated in the mild battle; Ian's injury had been caused by a startled looking stripling who'd vomited into the heather and thistle at the roadside immediately afterward. Ian's clansmen had left him, their need to escort Andrew's bride to safety most urgent. He caught a sidelong glance from Brodick, and something in the darkening gaze sent a flicker of heat to his groin. Clan MacFarland was known for beauty in a land where brawn was prized, Ian wouldn’t have been so smitten with the sainted Agnes, but this one was different…special. Where the other MacFarlands shared his creamy pale skin and plump rosy lips, instead of the deep auburn hair the rest of the MacFarlands sported, this one had been graced with a wild mane of black curls, cropped at the shoulder. Ian's fingers itched to bury themselves in those curls, to test their silky appearance with his fingertips. 

Trick or Treat! Free! New Coupon Code from Smashwords

For today and tomorrow only

Opportunity Ends 10/31/13



with coupon code 



Cover for 'Encounter'
By Lee Brazil

Published: Jan. 30, 2013 
Words: 8,900 (approximate)
Language: English
ISBN: 9781301754342


Encounter a selection of m/m short stories: 

Encounter: A nervous wannabe actor slips away to steal a smoke at an audition and finds more relaxation than he expected. 

Finding Justice: Justice figures out his boyfriend considers him nothing more than a convenience and he takes matters into his own hands. 

Nick: Insecure nurse Nick discovers something about his boyfriend he just can't forgive. 


NEW RELEASE: Loving Bailey

Loving Bailey

Contemporary M/M Romance

Now available at 


If only letting go of past mistakes were as easy as moving out of your father's house and into your boyfriend's!

Ashton Duval is a professor at the college Bailey attends, and even though there's no rule against dating students, he knows something about the strain that power imbalance puts on a relationship. He's been down that road before, and he doesn't want to put the man he loves in the position of feeling like less than an equal partner.

Bailey Harris has been in love before, with disastrous consequences. His heart tells him this time is different though. And after nearly two years of hands-off dating, he's ready to move forward with his boyfriend.

Secrets Bailey's held as treasures in his heart, emotions he hadn't realized were undermining his confidence, and a man from his lover's past all threaten to destroy the life they've been building.


Chapter One

Open windows let in the salt-soaked breezes of the California evening, and with them the laughter, shrieks, and good-natured hum of humanity that abounded in the early summer evening. One of his neighbors was barbecuing, and a delicious spicy sweet scent drifted in occasionally. He'd turned the television on for white noise when he arrived home an hour ago, and it continued to drone on in the background. These weren't the things that kept Dr. Ashton Duval from accomplishing what needed to be done tonight. The three unexpected and unanswered text messages from his ex, Dennis Romgarten, chair of his department at the college, weren't the cause of his distraction either. Nothing he had to say interested Ashton outside of working hours.
In the comfort of familiar surroundings with their incumbent noises, a pile of blue books which contained handwritten final essays from over one hundred fifty freshmen surrounded Ashton. His colleagues chided him for the old-fashioned method of test taking. They preferred their students to email essays in typed format. Ashton figured having the students in his composition classes actually write their final essays in class guaranteed the work he scored was original and not copy-pasted from elsewhere on the net. Handwritten exams also meant he had to squint and strain his eyes to read practically illegible handwriting from students no longer accustomed to working in pen and ink. The results were frequently disastrous, but often very telling.
He'd carefully sorted the exam books into piles, those that would be unbearably difficult to score, those that were sure to be brilliant, and those that would be tedious but not painful to read. Over the six years that he had been teaching Comp 101, he'd developed a reward system of sorts to make the task easier. One painful essay scored, plus three tedious essays, and then he'd be permitted to read one from the "sure to be brilliant" stack.
Usually that system worked just fine and allowed him to plow through the reading and have this portion of the grading for his class done before the final exam. The method ensured that he could grade the data assessment portion of the test, one hundred fill-in-the-blank, multiple choice, and matching questions about correct word choice, punctuation usage, and grammar, quickly and easily. Usually.
This year, there were too many distractions and he wasn't at all able to focus on scoring the essays, not the good ones, the bad ones, nor the merely tolerable ones.
Instead, he sat in the early evening, regretting his insistence that Bailey not come over. He'd known that if his boyfriend were in the room, he wouldn't get a damn bit of work done. He'd hoped that the prospect of seeing Bailey when he finished his grading would give him incentive to finish quickly, but his masterful plan had backfired.
The television blithered on in the background about record amounts of summer traffic and potential danger from sharks or maybe ultraviolet rays at the beaches. He couldn't focus on any of that. The only thing his mind wanted to dwell on was that graduation was ten days away.
Ten days, each comprised of twenty-four hours. Two hundred forty more hours during which he would do his best to be a gentleman and keep his hands to himself and his lust in check. “Pomp and Circumstance” had soared to number one on his personal list of favorite songs ever.
Because after graduation, he and Bailey could move forward.
So while he should be thinking about whether the essays that he had to score met state standards, all he could focus on was that, in ten days, eighteen months of waiting would come to an end. Blue eyes and plump red lips interfered when he tried to comprehend a mind-boggling student analogy between Aristotle and John Lennon.
Strong, lean muscles and a flat, toned abdomen honed from working construction dragged his concentration away from a discussion of the merits of uniforms in school. Two hours of effort had seen less than a tenth of the papers graded. The tiny fourth pile of scored essays looked pathetic next to its counterparts on the polished oak table.
The peal of the doorbell was a relief from the self-castigation of not working. He tossed the paper he was grading onto the stack and rose. Pushing a frustrated hand through his hair, he crossed the jute carpet he'd chosen for his living area to the front door. Peering through the peephole, he couldn't help a broad smile. Bailey stood on the porch, rocking back and forth on his heels, looking like he'd come straight from work in his T-shirt and jeans.
Ashton opened the door and gestured for his boyfriend to enter. Bailey held up a white takeout bag, an uncertain expression on his face. "I know you said not to come because you had to work tonight," he said. "But I thought I'd bring dinner over."
Though he had requested that Bailey not visit so he could focus on getting the grading done and be free for the coming week, Ashton heard the insecurity and found himself unable to refuse. After the way Bailey had been mocked for his crush on Eden St. Cyr, his ego had been pretty fragile. "C'mon in." He gestured into the room. A halo of incandescent light from the floor lamp and the flickering lights of the television lit his comfortable leather sofa. "It's a bit of a mess." Seeing the vibrant younger man in his cottage reassured him. He wasn't like Dennis, he wasn't doing to Bailey what Dennis had done to him.
"I'm sorry. I know you said you were busy. It's just… I wanted to see you." Bailey stepped inside and pressed a brief kiss to Ashton's cheek. He crossed the room to the sofa but instead of sitting, stood hovering awkwardly with the takeout bag balanced in his big square hands. Ashton hurried after him and shuffled the graded blue books into one small pile and the un-scored essays into two larger piles that he stacked on the floor between the sofa and the lamp.
"Have a seat." Ashton gestured to the sofa.
Bailey dropped the bag on the table and sat, relaxing into the overstuffed arm of the sofa. Ashton paused to study him, and then returned to his position under the lamp. Clearly there was more going on here than an urge to see him. Turning, he smiled encouragingly at Bailey. The distance between them as well as the expression on Bailey's face spoke of his discomfort. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?" He reached out and placed his hand on Bailey's knee, gave an encouraging squeeze. Once, he'd been young and looked up at his lover like that. He hoped he did a better job of nurturing Bailey's needs than his ex had done for him.
Bailey met his gaze briefly before turning his attention to the TV that still played in the background. His cheeks were flushed and he seemed fidgety. "You don't think I can just stop by because I wanted to see you?"
Ashton slid closer. The clean scent of sweat and sawdust clung to Bailey, more potent than any cologne his past lovers had favored. He drew his hand up Bailey's arm to a shoulder then cupped the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles softly. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Bailey's temple. "I think," he said, "that if this were any normal visit you wouldn't be so tense and distant." Not willing to accept the distance, not when their time apart was coming to an end, he wrapped his arms around Bailey and tugged him closer into his embrace. "Are you going to make me guess what's brought you here tonight when you should be studying for your exams next week?"
Bailey leaned against him and he could practically feel the heat of his flush through his shirt. "I need you to promise me you'll do something for me."
"Anything," he promised rashly.
"My dad and Eden want to throw me a twenty-first birthday slash graduation barbecue party. Will you come with me?"
He didn't have to think twice about that. In the eighteen months that he and Bailey had been seeing each other, he'd been waiting for an invitation to meet Bailey's family. He'd understood with the daily schedule of classes and work that finding time for the two of them was enough of a struggle. He hadn't pressed the issue of meeting Bailey's family, figuring Bailey would bring the subject up when he was ready. "Absolutely. When?"
"Tomorrow. Just like that?" Bailey drew back slightly, squinting at him. "You aren't the least bit worried about meeting my dad and Eden?"
"Should I be?" Ashton kissed Bailey lightly on the lips. "If I recall, they know you're gay. It will be the height of hypocrisy given their relationship for them to object to ours. I don't see any reason to be concerned about it."
Bailey cuddled close and heaved a sigh relief. "I know. It's just…I thought that it might be awkward since I'm moving in here after graduation."
"Graduation solves a lot of problems for us, doesn't it?" Though the community college didn't expressly forbid a relationship between a professor and a student, much to Bailey's chagrin, Ashton had refused to allow more than kissing and petting between them until Bailey was no longer a student at the college where Ashton taught composition to incoming freshmen.
Ashton tightened his grip and pulled Bailey closer, urging the younger man almost into his lap. Bailey went willingly, curling himself into Ashton and shifting until their bodies were pressed tight together, hip to hip, and thigh to thigh.
"You're sure you want me to move in here with you?" More tease than uncertainty lurked in Bailey's voice this time, so Ashton tickled him in the ribs until he giggled and pushed Ashton away.
"The bungalow is small, I know, but it's close to the beach and the neighborhood is great. If you'd rather live somewhere else, I'm not opposed to looking, but I'd love for you to live here with me while we look." Ashton fell back against the sofa, laughing. Bailey lurched forward, looming over him. Their gazes caught and held. The laughter died on his lips as he recognized the heat in Bailey's blue gaze. He swallowed hard as a surge of passion overtook him. They'd waited so long, resisted the desire that sparked between them even as it grew more and more insistent with each glance they exchanged, each kiss they shared, each caress they dared explore. "Bailey…" he whispered.
Bailey's mouth firmed with determination. He shifted, pushing Ashton back into the sofa cushions, propping his elbows against the arm of the sofa so he could lean forward and brush his lips across Ashton's mouth. Bracing himself for a familiar onslaught, Ashton exhaled softly. He'd expected passionate demand and entreaty, this soft coaxing kiss took him off guard and he opened to it immediately.
Bailey scooped his arms under Ashton, and despite their similar size, easily maneuvered Ashton into his lap. Ashton sat astride Bailey, their lips clinging in a dizzying caress that left him yearning for more.
The drone of the television faded into nothingness, replaced by the steadily increasing rhythm of his pounding heart. The rush of blood sensitized his skin and obscured every sound outside his body, until the only sounds he was conscious of were the low soul searing noises that Bailey made as the kiss deepened and his hands wandered.
Bailey bucked against him, pushing their groins together, and Ashton groaned. Yanking his mouth away, he panted. "Enough. Please."
"Don't you…"
"Please, Bailey. Honey, just a few more days. We've waited this long, a few more days is okay, isn't it?" In need of distance and distraction to get his passion under control, he lurched off the sofa and grabbed the takeout. "What did you get?"
"Thai. Sesame chicken and jasmine rice from that place around the corner that you like." He didn't need to see Bailey's face to know he was pouting, Ashton could hear the displeasure in his voice.

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