Come Visit with Havan Fellows! #mmromance #malexmale #authorstuff

Hello everyone, welcome to my second home, it’s a pleasure to see ya’ll again. *winks* For the newbies out there—hey hey!—

Havan! Don't grope the readers!

Um…why not? Fine, hello newbies, my name is Havan Fellows. I’m an author currently published in the M/M romance genre and loving every minute of it. Seriously, I couldn’t find anyone who would listen to my babble on a regular basis so why not type it up and send it off to all of you to enjoy…my family and friends thank you for taking the bullet on this one. lmao

No need checking the blog address you’re on…it’s true you came to visit Lee Brazil and got me instead. I’ll take the lucky tally mark on this one. But you see, Lee is kinda to blame for me being here…

Oh naturally. You couldn't blame Will, could you?

I didn’t mean here as in your blog (which btw, Lee hasn’t found any locks that will keep me out yet). No, I mean here, here…in this delectable genre writing the tenacious men I do.

Not only that…but Lee had a big hand in the series I’m about to tell you about, also.

*blushes* I think you're giving me way too much credit on both counts.

He’s so modest, isn’t it cute? ;)

So…wanna hear a little tale about how I almost published a book called Geoff’s Fuzzy…or even worse, Fuzzy’s Geoff? Have a seat, enjoy some coffee and goodies, Lee always has the best baked yummies…

If you can get to them before Havan eats them all!

Back away from the cookies…I’ll share the muffins, but these bad boys are mine. Now where was I? Oh yeah…long ago, on a computer far far away (seriously, the computer is now thousands of miles from where I am)…

*whispers* Don’t worry Lee, I won’t mention the handcuffs…or the French cutie that said I could keep you…or the Crown Royal (it was Crown, right?)

It was Johnny Walker Black and so much for keeping secrets!

Hey, you never called sacred.  Orgies!

Where? Are we invited?

Oh yes we are.

Soooooo, Lee and I write with a group of amazing authors called the Story Orgy. We post weekly snippets (they’ve kinda morphed into full-fledged chapters instead of snippets lmao) on Mondays based on some sort of prompt—be it a phrase, picture, item, etc…

Well, this is where Synchronous Seductions came from. First I wrote Harlan’s Ryde…and the feedback from that was so great that people wanted Ritchie’s story, and Emery’s Ritches was written.

Do you see a trend with the titles? That’s important…Lee helped me think them up and I thought the idea of making titles out of the two main characters’ names was so clever.

Until I hit a roadblock.

After Emery’s Ritches…people met Fuzzy and Geoff and wanted their story. Um…Fuzzy’s Geoff? Oh hell no I wasn’t gonna name a book that, but what did that leave me? Um, Geoff’s Fuzzy…

*shakes head*

I know, it was bad. What was I supposed to do? I was freaking out, I couldn’t change the format of the title, that would’ve killed me. And in comes Lee! *yay!!*

After he was done laughing at the Geoff’s Fuzzy idea *eyes* and we bounced a few other ideas off each other…he came to my rescue (oh he should be used to doing that by now lmao) and realized I hadn’t ever actually told Fuzzy’s real name yet…

(because no, his real name isn’t Fuzzy…really?)

But Lee was all like, “You should name him Theodore, so it could be shortened to Teddy and bam(!!) that’s where Fuzzy could’ve originated from…so call it Geoff’s Teddy?”

*angels sing*

You think I’m exaggerating…but ask any author, coming up with the perfect title is damn near orgasmic!

I can't really say as that's how I remember it… but sure. Geoff's Teddy is a terrific book J Rom Com at its best.

*hip bumps* so how do you remember it?

And Geoff’s Teddy ended up being the third and final installment in my Synchronous Seductions series, now available all in one great hot bundle.

Synchronous Seductions
Complete series including: Harlan’s Ryde, Emery’s Ritches & Geoff’s Teddy
Release date: July 20, 2015

Seven years ago one of them made a mistake.
That mistake will change six lives forever.

Ryder made a mistake Harlan can't forgive. Will Ryder cross a line no man should cross to obtain a second chance?

Ritchie won't admit he's heartbroken. Emery won't accept less than all of Ritchie's affection. How will arrogant Emery win snarky Ritchie for his own?

Fuzzy is an unsatisfied ladies' man. Geoff's a bear-loving man who satisfies. Problem? Convincing a straight man that satisfaction might be just around the bend.

Warning: This book is chock full of domineering men who don’t like to take no for an answer. If arrogant alpha men make your heart beat faster and other places tingle, this is the book for you.

172 pages
Categories: M/M Romance, Fiction, Gay Fiction, Humor, Contemporary, RomCom

Cover Artist: Allison Cassatta



“Seven years, Ryde. You can’t just walk in here after seven fucking years and expect everything to be hunky-dory between us. Should we stroll into the kitchen and I’ll whip us up some of those banana pecan pancakes you love and we can laugh about old times over coffee?”

The sly smile Ryde gave Harlan made his skin tingle in an oh-so-good way, which ironically enough, wasn’t oh-so-good.

“So you remember my favorite breakfast, huh? That’s a start.” Ryde looked around the room again and nodded his head toward the hallway leading to the kitchen. “This way?” And off he went again, like he owned the place.

Okay, get through a quick howdy doody with him, and then send him on his way. You can’t go through this again; you can’t rely on something that never was there. It’s not fair of his damn still spectacular ass to come into your home and put you through hell again. Think of all the failed relationships thanks to this guy, think of all the walls you erected in his honor around your heart. Now here he is, six feet of mouthwatering, dunk-him-in-milk-and-eat-him-up goodness, and you are still the geek with a collection of gag gift pocket protectors. Get rid of him now.

Unfortunately, the only thing Harlan’s body wanted disappeared into the kitchen. Har had a brain and he had a mouth; the problem was that when they didn’t agree, neither of them worked properly. Apparently there was no getting the boys together today, either.

So the rambling started, and before he had his mandatory two cups of coffee. Not good. “If you think for one minute I’m making you pancakes, you have another think coming. I don’t even have any nuts for them, and if I did, I wouldn’t let you have them!” He winced and his eyes widened. Did he just say that? Aloud? To Ryde? Oh hell, he needed Ryde’s inhaler right about now.

You can find Synchronous Seductions here:

About the author:
I annoy, love, respect, scare, seduce, hurt, anger, infatuate, frustrate, flatter, envy, amuse and tolerate everyone. I just do it better in writing thanks to a little thing called…edits.
Okay no, seriously…I'm a simpleminded person who enjoys the escape from real life through a book. I write with the group Story Orgy and hope to continue doing so for a long time. I also am privileged to be with the Pulp Friction writers, creating intermingling books in a world all our own.
I recently took the drastic step of quitting my EDJ (evil day job) and am now living in the gorgeous desert in Arizona making a go at this writing stuff full time…and I can’t see me regretting this decision ever.
Just like every other red-blooded human—I get a little bouncy when I get mail (any kind too…email, comments, private messages…you wanna do it, do it with me *winks*). So feel free to drop me a line—whether it's on my blog, twitter, PInterest, or you track me down on FaceBook or Google +…it's easy to catch someone who wants to be caught. 
I specialize in writing boyxboy though I read almost everything...and I fancy myself as slightly funny every once in a while. :)

Where to find the author:
Facebook Author Page: http://www.facebook.com/HavanFellowsauthor

Tour Dates & Stops:


Rafflecopter Prize: $20 ARe gift card

Now Available: Mark's Opening Gambit #erotic #mmromance #malexmale

Good Morning! Today I have exciting news. I was able to complete the re-release of another of my Breathless Press titles, Mark's Opening Gambit. This one features gorgeous cover art by BP artist Victoria Miller. It was originally published in 2012 and is one of the first stories I wrote back when I began my career as a writer. There haven't been any significant alterations since the initial edition. This edition is available at Amazon    All Romance     Smashwords  (and its distribution outlets, to include B&N, KOBO, etc) and can be purchased direct from me, if you have a Paypal account, via the Payhip service.


The son of a wealthy business man, Mark Addison is an expert at chess and hiding. Mason Grant labors with his hands in a menial position; he's open about who he is and what he wants in ways that terrify Mark. Their paths shouldn't have crossed, but now that they have...
They came from different backgrounds, yet each adheres to his own version of family duty and responsibility. One would make any sacrifice for his family's well-being. For Mason Grant that means leaving school at sixteen and working hard while living as a man of integrity to set an example for his brothers.
The other would sacrifice anything to keep his family life calm. If that means hiding who he really is from his high society, narrow-minded parents, then that's what Mark Addison will do. He just wants to run his shop, host a few tournaments, play a few games of chess.
When Mason meets fussy, precise chess tournament director Mark, he isn't expecting much more than a few hours of uncomfortable sleep in his car while his brother plays.
One disdainful look from Mark changes that.
Purchase Links:  Amazon    All Romance     Smashwords     Payhip
Mason surreptitiously glanced around the neat interior of Mark's Opening Gambit. The café-slash-chess parlor wasn't his first choice of places to spend a Saturday, but when his brother begged a ride to the tournament, he'd caved immediately, despite the exhaustion and body aches he'd earned the night before. Unloading trucks and stocking shelves at the grocery store wasn't a mentally challenging job, but the night shift paid a dollar an hour more and the extra money came in handy. Times were tough, and a guy without a high school diploma didn't stand a whole lot of a chance of doing something better. It also left his mom free to take the day shift at the hospital where she worked, and Mason was available during the days to ferry his brothers around to their high school events and activities.
Such as chess tournaments hosted by button-down dress-shirt-wearing, hot as hell, snooty men. He might have been a bit more eager to play chauffeur if he'd realized the Mark his brother had spoken of glowingly was such an eyeful. He'd stepped through the shop door behind Johnny to find his gaze locked with a pair of eyes so deep and golden it was like he'd stepped into honey. He couldn't glance away for the longest time, and it took the other man's slow flush to make him realize he was being rude. That first sight of the tournament host had sent a warm awareness through him. He really wished that the sight of Mark Addison—Jesus, even his fucking name was holier than thou—wasn't so appealing. Mark was perfect. Fucking perfect, or perfect for fucking, with his neatly trimmed brown hair, touched with golden highlights, his slim, wiry body, not the product of a gym but of a man who led an active life. His lips enticed Mason, and he wanted to pull the puffy lower one between his teeth and bite down, to suck it into his mouth and devour the man with kisses. He wanted to touch the pale skin and see if it was as soft as it appeared, as cold as it seemed, to stroke away the distance in those eyes and make the Mark notice him.
The golden-brown gaze didn't warm in the slightest under his own admiring regard, but scanned his faded Levi's and tight T-shirt with disapproval. Mason half expected to be informed he didn't meet the dress code for the elegant little shop. Instead, Mark Addison looked him over and dismissed him as though he were beneath notice.
Shrugging off the snobbery, Mason slapped his brother on the back. "Go get 'em, kid. Or whatever you guys call it." Hoping to sleep in his car while his brother played, he turned to leave immediately.
He met Addison's eyes again, tried for a smile, but the arrogant host stared right through him. "Students participating in the tournament are to be supervised by adults at all times."
The inflectionless voice grated on his nerves as much as the pronouncement. It wasn't like these were two-year-olds, for God's sake. It was Chess Club. By virtue of their very geekiness, they were mature, well-behaved teens.
Too bad such a sexy voice and face belonged to such a prick. Unfortunately for Mason, he couldn't focus on Johnny's progress through the tournament. All he seemed able to focus on was that slim figure moving between the tables, the unconscious grace of the small man's movements, the seductive draw of tightening khaki across his backside as he bent to survey a board or pick up something from the floor.
Addison scowled as Mark glared at him again, turning and facing resolutely out the window into the parking lot. In the reflection the glass provided, he watched Mark excuse himself from Ainslie, the kids' coach, and head in his direction, a determined expression on his face.
Good. The self-righteous prick had noticed him. Mark stopped right next to him, and they stood gazing out into the parking lot together.
"Stop staring at me like that."
Mason snorted, turned to look down at the shorter man. "Like what?"
The older man twitched and licked his lips. Mason stifled the groan that wanted to escape. He shifted restlessly.
"You know. Like...that."
"Like I want to throw you over my shoulder and take you out of here and fuck you? Sorry. Can't do that." Fascinated, he noted the flush on Mark's cheekbones deepen, heard the hitch in his breathing, and knew that he'd been right. Chemistry burned between them.
"You..." Mark glanced cautiously around the shop at the kids concentrating so fiercely on their chess games, the proud parents and coaches peering anxiously at their little darlings. Mark stuttered to a stop before starting again. "Not here. We need to talk privately. Meet me behind the shop in ten minutes."
Whoa. He hadn't expected that. Maybe Mark's buttoned-down appearance was deceptive. Mason looked forward to cracking that calm reserve and proving to the man that the clothes they wore didn't define their roles. He nodded in acknowledgment, and Mark wandered away to check on the progress of the tournament. Mason headed straight to the front door, aware all the while of Mark's furtive glances. He exited the shop and headed to his beat-up old Jetta, so at odds with the shiny BMWs and SUVs that surrounded it in the parking lot.
A brief stop at the car to pick up some things he'd need, and he strolled casually around the corner of the building, thankful that the chess café was at the end of the strip mall and not in the middle. Behind the shop was a Dumpster, and strangely enough, a wrought-iron table and two chairs on the cemented area that should have been an unloading bay. Mason noted with interest the ashtray and coasters on the table. A few potted palms provided a bit of shade and some privacy, but not enough for anything too intimate. Mark had created a little garden back here. Mason's absorption in the details of the environment convinced him that he'd overestimated Mark's intentions. More private than the store itself, yes, but hardly secluded enough for any real interaction of a physical sort.
He spied Mark peering through the back door of the shop. At the grocery store where Mason worked, the back doors were battered and grimy. Not so at Mark's Opening Gambit. The door to the back room of the shop was a shiny, pure white, fresh scrubbed, or painted or whatever. Not so much as a fingerprint marred its pristine surface, much like not so much as a hair on Mark's head dared stray out of place. It made Mason want to grab a crayon and write on the walls, muss up the environment just like he wanted to muss up those locks of brown hair.  Mark's sweet lips pressed tightly together, and his cheeks flushed, from anger or arousal maybe, as he caught sight of Mason.
Mason found his gaze drawn to those lips, wanting to pry them apart and soothe the tension from them with caresses of his mouth and tongue. He licked his suddenly dry lips in anticipation as Mark approached.
Honey-colored eyes sparkled with emotion as Mark came within touching distance. Mason fought the urge to yank him even closer as Mark halted, gazing up. He felt again the strange drowning sensation as he stared down into those eyes, unable to glance away. Thank God Mark seemed to experience it, too, because whatever angry words he'd been about to spout died on his lips as Mason ran a big, calloused palm along the smooth-shaven curve of Mark's jaw, feeling his indrawn breath as much as he heard it. The softness of Mark's jaw on his own work-roughened skin was thrilling, and Mason bent down, tilting his head to the side before smoothly bringing their lips together. With the merest brush of contact, he paused to allow Mark the chance to refuse the kiss, to pull away, to slap his face, to ream him out for having the gall to touch.
When no protest came, he sighed with relief. His eyelids drifted shut, and he pressed his parted lips more firmly on the soft, sweet lips below his own. Carefully, ignoring the throbbing demands of his body, he tasted the plump curves that had held his gaze. Not wanting to startle Mark, Mason ran his tongue lightly over those sensual lips, sliding his hand from the taut line of jaw around to the nape of Mark's neck, burying his fingers in the fine, silky strands of hair there.
Mark's unresisting acquiescence was far from the response he wanted. He guided the man's head to a better angle and slipped his tongue into the waiting cavern. Mark trembled in response. Mason wanted Mark to burn as he did, to feel the same urgent desire to throw caution to the wind and make love here in the open behind the shop. He wouldn't go that far in this public setting, of course, but he wanted to strip away the distance in Mark's eyes and make him a part of the present, force him to respond, to reach for Mason with the same urgency that Mason yearned for him.
He'd nearly given up when Mark shoved him abruptly away, glaring at him with angry golden eyes. Instead of the passion he'd hoped to inspire, the other man appeared scared, panicky even. Mason stepped forward, guilt urging him to offer comfort.
Mark scowled at Mason and pushed backward, dropped into one of the wrought-iron chairs, and reached into a pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. His gaze darted left and right as though searching for someone. "No. What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Guilt at causing Mark's near panic, anger at being pushed aside, and, to some degree, sheer exhaustion had words spilling from Mason's mouth before he could evaluate them. "Hey, I get it. No means no. Yeah. Like I'd want to kiss a wax doll again anyway."
He spun on his heel and stalked away from the little oasis in back of the strip mall, ignoring Mark's harshly indrawn breath behind him. He shoved a hand into his pocket and curled his fingers tightly around the condom and lube he'd shoved there. Thinking with his dick. Fucking lucky he hadn't gotten knocked on his ass literally instead of figuratively.

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