Showing posts with label Dreamspinner Press. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dreamspinner Press. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

HOT New Release and TERRIFIC Giveaway

I'm excited to introduce you to talented GLBT author C. Zampa and her exciting book Honor C. Take it away, C!

Since Honor C takes place in the lovely, magical city of San Antonio, Texas, I thought it would be cool to share something that reminds me of the city. Something maybe they’d enjoy on a romantic night out on the San Antonio Riverwalk.

And…since I’d had a recent trip to San Antonio myself, I’m excited to share a new cocktail I discovered at Mad Dogs British Pub on the River Walk. The Dos Equis Michelada. I was hooked. It is my new favorite drink! If you like Bloody Marys, you will love the Michelada.

And…yes! Dos Equis has shared their recipe!

The Dos Equis Michelada
12 oz Dos Equis® Ambar
¼ cup lime juice
½ tsp. Worcestershire sauce
½ tsp. hot sauce
¼ tsp. soy sauce
2 oz. tomato juice
Red pepper flakes or chili powder
Ice

HOW TO MAKE IT
Rim a 16-oz. beer mug with lime juice and red pepper flakes. Add ice and pour in a bottle of Dos Equis Ambar. Mix in the remaining ingredients.

And…pssst….The Mad Dog added a few green olives to the drink. Perfectamundo.

Here's a little from my latest release to excite your other tastes while you sip your delicious Michelada. Enjoy!

There were times I thought I would die from the pain of it and times I often hated myself because of the pain it caused for those I loved.
But if I had the chance to go back, to do it over again, would I still have done the same? Yes. Hell, yes.

—Honor Castillo

San Antonio, Texas, 2001

Honor

I STARED through the slats of the tree house roof at the porch light shimmering on the leaves. The weathered boards were warm and rough on the soles of my bare feet, and the musty smell of the worn wood soothed me, turned me on.
The little wood sanctuary had hosted some of the best memories of my life. In this secret clubhouse, my buddies and I stashed comic books and Playboy magazines. We sneaked cigarettes, turning our little haven into a sort of juvenile male-only nightclub.

It was here I discovered I didn’t go for the chicas in the nudie magazines but instead lusted for the cocks and tight asses of chulos. One hot summer night a million years ago, on the floor of this little dilapidated tree house—crickets going wild in the dark and lightning bugs glittering in the shadows of the trees—I made out with a boy for the first time.

That boy was Jorge Villagomez.

Thin, pale Jorge, who always seemed to be in frail health. Constantly missing school, in and out of the hospital, never having to participate in gym. The boy who carried a little plastic container filled with his medications in his backpack. Although he never spoke of it, not even to me, the undisputed word—from a kid named Julie something-or-other who knew everything—was that Jorge had a heart condition.

Beautiful, ungodly beautiful Jorge. Somehow his fragility made him all the more divine. Unbearably delicate skin complemented with the shiniest, blackest hair I’d ever seen. But it was his eyes that riveted me. Clear, mystical, startling silvery gray. And in the middle of all those ravishing features was the cutest gap-toothed smile. That tiny flaw lent Jorge a smidgen of ordinariness. It almost made him approachable.

Rich, spoiled Jorge. Hell, even his name dripped with privilege. Jorge Villagomez. His parents—of noble Spanish heritage—were San Antonio society, steeped in culture and money.

Fiery, icy, bossy, bitchy, girly, sweet, adorable Jorge. Sickly as he was, feminine as he was, nobody but nobody ever made fun of him. He never endured the bullying most of the weaker kids did. Something in Jorge defied the teasing. His very spirit double-dog dared anyone to make fun of him.

My Jorge.

What that exquisite creature saw in me, I hadn’t a clue. I figured he got some rich boy’s thrill hanging out in my not-so-affluent neighborhood.

But then I figured if a guy like me was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of Jorge’s libido, I shouldn’t ask questions. I’d just smile and roll around in the sexual glow.

If I lived a hundred years, I’d never forget the day he sashayed into my life.

To read more about Honor C or purchase the book please click a vendor's name:
Dreamspinner Press
Amazon
All Romance (Are)

And now for the terrific giveaway!
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Here are other sites to read more about C. Zampa and Honor C:
18th: MM Good Books Review

18th: Sloane Taylor

18th: Sue Brown

20th: Three Flynns Website/blog

22nd: Cynthia Sax

24th: Romance Lives Forever Blog

Learn more about C. Zampa on her Blog and Amazon Author page. Stay connected on Twitter and Facebook.

I'll be back Monday. Until then...

Happy Reading!


Sloane

Monday, May 05, 2014

Vastine Bondurant + Glory Lands + Great Giveaways = Perfect

Please welcome Vastine Bondurant and her new release Glory Lands. This soul-searching novel is A Texas Piney Woods Story. Be sure to enter Vastine's terrific contest at the bottom of the post.


Rural East Texas, 1931. Preacher’s son Emory Joe Logan and a fiddler from Shreveport, Glory Lands, meet and form a tender bond. When they are caught and arrested for homosexual acts by Sheriff Elihu Bishop, the lawman’s sanctimonious bigotry threatens to rip the young men from their families.

Emory Joe’s father, Pastor Charles Logan, is brought to his knees in terror, confusion, and anger. He still regrets not standing up against Bishop when the lawman murdered a youth in cold blood nine years ago.

Now there’s no longer a choice for the preacher to stand up to the lawman. Cold-blooded justice, bigotry-disguised-as-religion, and hatred take on a whole new meaning when they’re standing on his doorstep, ready to take the son he loves.


EXCERPT:
I’D been scared lots of times in my nineteen years, but never as scared as I was as I sat with Daddy in the church.

He’d begged me to go home, to pack, and to head for the bus station while he met with the sheriff alone—how simple he made it sound, as though inviting Bishop to tea and cake.

No, I told him. I wasn’t leaving without some last words to Bishop. So if I insisted on facing the sheriff, Daddy begged me to wait it out with him at the church. He assured me Bishop would show up, as sure as night and day, and somehow he felt safer there in the sanctuary.

Tears threatened to make their way from the well in my belly to my eyes to see Daddy sitting—just sitting, still and silent, with his Bible in his lap—in his usual seat at the side of the pulpit.

He’d never in a million years have showed up at God’s house dressed in trousers, a sleeveless undershirt, and suspenders. Sweaty. Unshaven. I wondered if he even realized how much like a hobo he looked.

Who was to know how this day would end? It didn’t matter any longer.

All I did know was I’d never realized how much I loved my father until sharing that awful but somehow beautiful silence in that empty church while we waited for whatever was going to happen.

Did he know how proud Mama would have been of him? I hoped his heart knew that Mama was right beside him in that seat, holding his hand.

Looking back, I reckon my mother had always seen my true self. She’d always seemed to know there’d been something different about me. Although I knew without a doubt she would have been standing beside us right then, I was glad that she didn’t have to be.

“Daddy.” My own voice startled me when it broke the oddly peaceful tension inside the sanctuary.

Daddy, as though he’d been in a deep trance, glanced to me from whatever world he’d been lost in. “Son?”

“You know why I’m doing this?”

He crossed his legs, shifted in the seat, and shrugged. “I think so, Emory Joe.”

“If it had been just me, I’d have hightailed it out of here, not made a peep, so as to not embarrass you anymore.”

He just nodded.

I continued, “But you know I can’t, after what they’ve done to Glory.”

“I understand.”

“And, Daddy….”

“Yes?”

“I’m not really afraid, if you’re worried about that.”

“I know, son.”

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

With his brow furrowed, he stared at me with some words perched on his lips. He said nothing, though, just smiled and nodded. But his smile had hugged me and held me hard, and I felt his I love you stronger than any spoken words. The affection piercing me through his unsaid sentiment was the sort a fellow would give his life to have.

The purr of a car’s engine and the crunch of tires on gravel outside the open doors of the church shouldn’t have surprised me, but my body jolted anyway. And I didn’t even have to look to see who’d driven up. I knew.

Daddy drew a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and softly chanted a Psalm. “They have prepared a net for my steps; my soul is bowed down: they have digged a pit before me….”

Icy water pulsed through my veins with my spiked heartbeat.

Car doors opened and, after a pause, closed.

This was it.

BUY LINKS
Dreamspinner Press
Amazon
All Romance

a Rafflecopter giveaway


Vastine Bondurant is Texas born and raised, an old fashioned, bling-loving girly girl who loves to read and write stories of men and women and the sizzling chemistry that draws them together. Her heart is bound to romance of a time long gone—gritty, sexy stories of men in fedoras and overcoats. Clandestine whispers on Bakelite telephones from the shadows of cheesy restaurant phone booths. Stories of a time when sex was all the more sexy because it wasn’t plastered on every billboard—no naked Joes and dames in every ad in every magazine. Lovemaking—hot, sweet-and-naughty, a secret between lovers. Her stories are sex and danger, wrapped up in a deceptive package—gals with soft skin, pretty lace slips, seamed stockings, satin peignoirs, and Chanel No. 5. The tough guys wear dress shirts and suspenders and they lust to get their hands on the garters that tease just beneath those kick pleats. Vastine is a goner for the dynamics of testosterone meets sugar and spice.

Learn more about Vastine Bondurant on her blog, Amazon Author Page, and her Goodreads Author Page. Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and Pintrest.

Friday, January 28, 2011

Rick R. Reed Does It Again

By creating another fantastic book, DIGNITY TAKES A HOLIDAY, which is sure to be a best seller. No surprise there since the writing world has only high praise for today's guest author Rick R. Reed. With my limited space, I can only share two;

In their October 2006 issue, Unzipped magazine said:
"You could call Rick R. Reed the Stephen King of gay horror."

And Dark Scribe magazine proclaimed:
"Reed is an established brand - perhaps the most reliable contemporary author for thrillers that cross over between the gay fiction market and speculative fiction."

In spite of this—or perhaps because of it—Rick has been lately turning more and more to writing romance and illuminating the emotional lives of gay men.

To date, Reed has more than sixteen books in print, and his short fiction has appeared in more than 20 anthologies. His novel, ORIENTATION, won the EPPIE Award for best LGBT novel of 2008.

Rick lives in Seattle, WA with his partner and a very spoiled Boston Terrier. Visit Rick on his website to see all his wonderful work.

Here's a glimpse of his latest release.

DIGNITY TAKES A HOLIDAY
Rick R. Reed
ISBN-13: 978-1-61581-721-4 (Paperback)

ISBN-13: 978-1-61581-722-1 (Electronic)
Dreamspinner Press



BUY LINK

BLURB:
Pete Thickwhistle doesn’t live what one might call a charmed life. At age forty-seven, he’s a flamboyant gay man who believes no one knows he’s gay, still living at home with his harpy of a mother. Worse, he’s still a virgin, longing to find just the right man to make his life complete. Pete’s an upbeat kind of guy, yet he’s never learned that the answer to his motto “What could possibly go wrong?” is always: “Everything.”

Pete’s road to love and happiness is full of potholes, yet he never tires of searching, despite job losses, weight battles, clothing faux pas, and disastrous vacations, parties, and dating debacles. Pete is the ultimate underdog living a television situation comedy, one named Dignity Takes a Holiday.

EXCERPT
The Beginning of the End

“You’re not bringing that, are you? My God, they’ll laugh you out of town.” Helen snickered and pointed at Pete’s open suitcase.

Pete gnawed on a hangnail, staring down at the chalk stripe suit he had just purchased from the International Male catalog. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Other than it looking like one of those zoot suits they used to wear back when I was a little girl… nothing, I guess.”

Pete made a “tsk” sound and shook his head. “You have no fashion sense. If you did, you’d know this is retro, it’s very in. This is how all the guys in Chicago dress.”

“And what about this?” Helen snatched up a black sweater with a gold glitter owl emblazoned across the front. “Retro?”

“Oh, would you just shut up and let me get packed? I have a lot to do, and I don’t need you in here questioning my fashion choices. I’m nervous enough as it is!” Pete put a trembling hand to his forehead.

Helen hurried from the room. Pete wondered why he couldn’t have a mother like other men, someone they called their “best friend” rather than their “worst nightmare.”

But this mystery would have to wait for further pondering. Pittsburgh International Airport was more than an hour away, and Pete would have to “get his ass jumpin’” (as Helen would have so delicately put it) if he wanted to make his flight.

Pete allowed himself to sit down on his bed, closing his eyes and imagining the upcoming trip for a moment. Chicago… Pete pictured towering skyscrapers rising up against a vast expanse of blue waters and thought that his destiny could be made on this trip.

After all, he wondered, as he had so often in the past, what could possibly go wrong?

BUY LINK

Learn more about Rick R. Reed on his Blog and catch up with him on Facebook and Twitter.

Have a wonderful weekend. I'll be back Monday with a new book review. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell
www.sloanetaylor.com

Friday, September 24, 2010

What would you do with 72 HOURS?

Clare London's signature line says it all; Writing… Man to Man, and no one does it better. Like so few female authors in this genre, Clare writes male emotions with an honesty and depth that weave you into her stories. Her latest release, 72 HOURS, proves it.

Here's a glimpse of this compelling story.

72 HOURS
Clare London
Dreamspinner Press



BUY LINK

BLURB:
Tanner Mackay and Niall Sutherland were once far more than just fellow intelligence agents. But then a mission went horribly wrong and everything fell apart, sending Tanner into hiding and splitting the team and their affair wide apart.

Now an unknown traitor is threatening the team, and their ex-boss is determined to reunite them before it’s too late. She finds Tanner in a run-down trailer park, bringing with her a most unwelcome refugee, in need of temporary sanctuary: Niall, the man he thought he'd never have to face again. The man he's sure feels exactly the same in return.

Trapped in a situation that’s both claustrophobic and highly dangerous, Tanner and Niall will have to revisit their past and reconsider their perceptions, their loyalties—and their desires—in order to survive, let alone forge a future together.

EXCERPT:
Niall kissed like a demon, but a very sweet, very sincere demon. His tongue was hot and fast and fucking gorgeous. He tasted of the wine, the pasta sauce and the mints that came with the check. He pressed fiercely against me, like he’d been holding himself back for the last hour but was now released from whatever inhibitions he’d had, and his hands twisted sharply into my hair at the back of my neck. I could feel strands working loose from the tie and his fingertips pressing on the thin skin at the nape. His eyes were open, watching my reactions, and his hands never strayed past my shoulders. He was waiting, I think, to double check I was okay with it all.

I may have been an acting coach at work, but no one had ever accused me of being difficult to read when it came to sex, whether kissing or something far more intimate. I slid both my arms around his waist and pulled him closer, tight against my body. My lips pressed back hard against his and I gasped my willingness into his mouth. I felt his body tighten and the muscles slide against my own, all the way from torso to knee. The door eased open behind us and we half-fell into the hallway, laughing, groaning, still nipping at each other’s lips.

“Which floor?” he gasped.

“Fifth.” I’d never cursed the broken elevator as soundly as I did that night. We stumbled up all five flights, bumping our bones on the banister, scuffing our shoes against the wall. From the way we clung to each other, we were like a single, melded body with two sets of limbs. I nudged him around each landing, taking every chance to run my hands inside his jacket and down his sides, his ribs and torso tantalizing me from underneath the thin shirt material. As I groped for the keys to my apartment, he seemed to be the only thing holding me upright, clutching my shoulders and gasping into my neck, his fingertips tracing the pulse in my throat, caressing my skin with the damp heat of his palms.

We tumbled again through a doorway, panting from our exertions and from a barely contained passion. But this time when I kicked the door closed behind us, I knew it was just us now; just the two of us, blessed privacy, and a mounting excitement that had consumed any shred of sense left in my brain.

The music playing in my apartment? It was pure soul… a low, slow beat and a voice rich with sensuous humor in every syllable and tone. I barely registered, except to feel the familiar comfort of it around me. Kind of my favorite music, coincidence or not.

And all those worries I had about the state of my place? Thankfully, we never went anywhere near the kitchen to check up on my housekeeping abilities. We also bypassed the lounge where, in fact, there were several piles of laundry on the couch, some clean and some embarrassingly crumpled. As we staggered down my narrow hallway, he shrugged off his jacket and I dropped my keys someplace I didn’t see and, frankly, didn’t care. I toed off my boots and socks in a trail of laughter and hot breathy kisses. When I mumbled something about the coffee I’d promised him, he laughed directly into my face and kissed me again, so soundly that my eyes closed and I felt his taste seep into my very veins. I felt him kicking off his own shoes and fumbling at my buttons. I’d wanted to take some time, to savor the suspense of peeling his clothes off of him – to tease him, perhaps, with my own unwrapping. Then his hands came up underneath the cool fabric of my shirt, running fingertips across my exposed nipples, and suddenly instantaneous nakedness would have been way too slow for me.

The bedroom wasn’t hard to find, mainly because I pushed him bodily through the door, and we fell onto the bed, entwined again as that four-limbed beast. By now, my shirt was hanging from my body by nothing more than a single sleeve, but in return I’d managed to open his without ripping off any buttons in my impatience, and also tug down the zip of his pants. He palmed my groin, molding his hand around the swollen excitement under my jeans, but I had a hand inside the cloth of his underwear and I had a hold of flesh – damp, hot, amongst curls of hair already sticky with excitement – and I was making him groan aloud in a very satisfying way.

He felt exquisite. Precious. I couldn’t understand my reverence, but there was no mistaking it. I’d never felt like that before – nor since, for that matter.

I took the advantage then. I rolled myself around and scrambled up to kneel beside him, tugging at the fabric of his pants and pulling them down from his hips. His soft black jersey briefs were a fabulous contrast against his dark, flushed skin, and they peeled off just as easily under my determined touch. I wanted him naked, and I wanted it now!

He lay on his back underneath me, with none of that coyness that some guys have when you strip them. No, he lay there with his shirt wide open and his chest heaving, his long, bare legs stretched out along the length of my bed. He looked both confident and comfortable, like a wet dream come to reality. His eager eyes glittered like flints, and they were locked on me. His arms lay by his side, and his fists clenched gently. When I reached down to pull his shirt off properly, he shifted his upper body to help me. Then he reached up for my hand and drew it down to his mouth. I watched, fascinated, as his tongue slipped out and licked the valleys between my fingers.

“Tanner.” It was just a breath; just a murmur. No instruction, no demand.

I gazed at him, drinking in the sight of his body laid out on my bed, the sheet creased under his hip, shadows playing along the white cotton folds as he clenched the muscles of his slim ass. The front of his thighs curved sweetly. Soft hairs on his skin, dark curls around his groin. He sucked softly on my fingers and shifted a little more. The movement made his cock bob gently against his belly, the flesh thick and swollen. It made the skin of his balls crinkle and the globes inside roll against the base of his groin...

BUY LINK

Learn more about Clare on her website and her blog. Of course you can catch up with her on facebook, too.

Have a wonderful weekend. I'll be back Monday. Until then...

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell
www.sloanetaylor.com

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

A BEAUTIFUL IMAGINATION

is a God-given talent Clare London uses to the utmost in her compelling, well plotted novels. Below are two of her books available from Dreamspinner Press which may be purchased either in e-book or paperback. I think you'll enjoy them. :)

SPARKS FLY
Clare London
Dreamspinner Press



BUY LINK

BLURB:
Nic Gerrard is this year's brightest young entrepreneur, charming and charismatic, with time for everyone. Aidan West is his cleverest programmer, fiercely committed to his work and with little time for friendship or socializing. Together they created the successful dating agency, Sparks, with a new and refreshing approach to matching people.

A year later, their lives are very different – Nic has all the trappings of success and as much company as he wants; Aidan is solitary and disapproving of such a lifestyle. When Nic decides to update the agency's unique matching program, he and Aidan must work together again. Getting along gets harder as they deal with a malicious hacker and face a crisis at the agency. It will take both of them to make the agency work, and somehow they have to find a way to put their differences aside. Nic and Aidan have secrets to keep, and whether they'll admit it or not, they each need something – or someone – to help Sparks fly.

EXCERPT (NC17):
Aidan stood outside the bar as Nic came striding out after him. Nic looked relieved that Aidan was still there, but his expression turned to shock at Aidan’s next words.

“You kiss strangers in bars a lot? Or let them kiss you?”

Nic almost laughed aloud, this scene was farcical! “He’s not a stranger. He’s an acquaintance. Was an acquaintance.” Don’t be such an asshole, Aidan, he thought to himself.

“More than an acquaintance, I think. A friend?”

Nic stared at Aidan. What the fuck was going on? Why was Aidan nagging away at this? “Okay, he was more than an acquaintance, if you want to know. But less than a friend.”

“How do you measure that?”

“What – you want to write a program for it?” Nic couldn’t believe the tone of his voice, the bickering in it, the hostility. But he couldn’t hold himself back. He could feel his anger rising in the face of Aidan’s aggression.

“No, just interested.”

“I knew him closely for a month or so.”

“So … an acquaintance might be known – let’s say – for a week, a friend for much longer. People like that kid come somewhere in between. So let’s look at the other parameters. At what stage does the kiss come in? And how many weeks for a quick fuck? I assume that’s what he was?”

Nic was shocked at the crude language from Aidan. He didn’t think he’d ever heard him swear much, and somehow it didn’t sit comfortably with him. He was amazed that his companion was disturbed enough to use it. The sidewalk was quiet outside the bar, there were very few people around at this time of the morning, and luckily none of them seemed interested in a sudden altercation between two young men. But Nic was damned angry, as well. What had happened to the comfortable mood of just a short while ago?

“Jesus, Aidan, you are so damned offensive! How dare you talk to me like that?”

Aidan felt something harden inside of him; a sharp spike of pain in his gut. “It’s an unforgivable abuse of people, Nic. You’re in the spotlight, it’s only natural that they come to you, but then you use them –”

“What? What sort of guy do you think I am?”

“Am I wrong?” Aidan’s face was flushed. He felt the pain again, and it was all mixed up with the anger. The destructive, white-hot anger that he knew would consume him; that would leave him panting and alone, and plunge him back into the maelstrom of his miserable, broken nights. “When they come fawning over you? Do you send them home before or after you’ve had your fun?”

“If it’s offered, why not?” Nic snapped back. “They’re adults – they can make their own decisions, can’t they?” And that’s not what he meant to say, because it wasn’t strictly true, he did care about the people he came into contact with, but, boy, did he hate people who made him lose his temper!

And Aidan was relentless. “That's your philosophy in life, is it? Take anything and everything that comes your way?”

“Is this because you have a problem with me and guys? How dare you!”

“No – not that –” Aidan’s anger faltered for a second, but his words continued to spill out. He was sickeningly fearful of going too far – but he couldn’t stop himself. “I don’t care who you fuck. It’s your promiscuity that’s so disgusting.”

Nic gasped. He couldn’t believe the bolt of pain that shot through him. “Who the fuck do you think you are, saying that? What if I am promiscuous? At least I’m connecting with people, not always hiding away behind a damned screen, judging things you have no real fucking knowledge of!”

Aidan’s eyes flashed in anger. Nic couldn’t help himself, either, or his reaction to this man; he saw the gold glints inside the deep brown irises, and he felt a rush of fury to his brain, of desire to his groin – he’d never known such conflict inside himself. Aidan’s sharp voice cut through all of it, harsh and low. “Connecting? That’s what you call it? Fucking everything in sight?”

“Don’t knock it 'til you’ve tried it!”

Aidan drew a deep breath, but it didn’t calm him at all. “So you say I should try it?”

“Maybe you should, then you wouldn’t be so fucking holier than thou.”

Nic’s next words were lost as his breath was crushed under Aidan’s hands, hands that pressed hard on his chest, pushing him back against the wall. He was shocked at Aidan’s strength – the muscles he’d guessed at under the shirt were tight and perfectly controlled. Aidan bent his arm across Nic’s chest, forcing him back against the cold brick, and the other hand gripped his chin.

And then he kissed him.

It wasn’t just a kiss – it was like a declaration of war! Nic didn’t know how someone could kiss so passionately and yet so damned aggressively! He was paralyzed, and for that moment, totally submissive. The whole smell, the whole feel of Aidan was suddenly swamping him, his face pressed against Nic’s, the mouth moist and sweet but hard at the same time, his tongue forcing through Nic’s shocked lips, to probe at his own, to run fiercely around inside his mouth, seeking out the corners, the curves, the taste. Aidan’s hand moved from his chin and gripped him by the shoulder, hard. The other hand released the hold on Nic’s chest and thrust behind his neck, tangling into his hair, tugging Nic’s head forward into Aidan’s embrace.

Nic could do nothing but respond. Fuck, he wanted to do nothing but respond. He’d never had a kiss like it, from man or woman! Almost shamefully, he felt his erection pressing hard against his leg, and knew that Aidan would feel it too. He felt an answering pressure from the other man’s thighs, but before he could find out if Aidan was as aroused as he was, the invading mouth wrenched away.

“Jesus…” gasped Nic. The movement of his fingers to his lips was completely unconscious. He thanked God he was still propped against the wall, doubting his legs would hold him up otherwise. His cock was swelling and aching beyond belief, straining against the front of his pants.

Aidan’s gaze darted down to Nic’s groin then back up to his face. “You want to fuck me?” he hissed. His lips were swelled with the kiss, his eyes bright like ice in sunlight. Like a reflection in a sharpened knife, Nic thought, his mind still reeling. Aidan stepped back, away from Nic, swaying slightly.

Nic’s voice wouldn’t work, though he knew that his body screamed its own answer. Aidan never gave him any chance to reply, anyway.

“You do, don’t you? Well, why wouldn’t you? I’m just another employee to you, another body, another consumable! But you can just get over it. Because – unlike all those other bodies – I don’t want to fuck you!”

Aidan was very pale and shaking, as if he wasn’t quite sure of his control – Nic could see a tremor in the pulse at his throat. He turned around abruptly and started to walk away. Nic watched him in complete, stunned amazement; the straight back, the finely shaped legs, the most perfect ass he’d ever seen … and the fists, clenched so tightly at Aidan’s sides that the knuckles were white.

Nic stood slumped against the wall, gulping in the early morning air like a drowning man and trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

And what the hell had all that meant?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GOLD WARRIOR
Clare London
Dreamspinner Press



BUY LINK

BLURB:
Maen is a Gold Warrior, defender of Aza City, a world controlled by the Queen and her womankind where the best of men are maintained for the military and the women's pleasure. A favorite of his imperious Mistress and a leader among his men, Maen is too cautious to seek casual sexual satisfaction and so stays alone, taking his comfort in ensuring a stable and controlled world. That world is thrown into disarray by Dax, a bold and challenging new Bronze soldier who excites Maen with his fierce hero worship and leads them to a forbidden affair. They find themselves thrown together in a dangerous and hostile environment without the support of the City and far away from their loyalties, and Maen finds himself risking everything for Dax – his position; his loyalties; and eventually, his life.

EXCERPT (NC17):
“Touch me!” Dax hissed, urgently. His chest heaved in great, shuddering breaths, and his mouth pressed on mine again. His hands slid around my waist, scrabbling under my vest to feel my skin against his. His fingers were like firebrands: he broke from me, gasping, as if he felt the heat, too. “Touch me - and then I can touch you! How long have I waited for you to see me like this? I’ve admired you since I first saw you; since I was so scared of you, so feared of your displeasure. I never thought I’d be worthy of you, but I’ve listened to every word you said - I’ve tried to be a fine Bronzeman.”

“You have! You are,” I gasped. “But this is wrong -”

“I can’t have mistaken it all!” he cried. He grabbed at my hand and pressed it to his chest. His heart was hammering even more loudly than my own. “The look in your eyes, sometimes, when we talked like companions, not soldiers - did I imagine it? I begged for it. These feelings have always been in me, whenever you were with me… it’s been a torment, since the day I joined the Household. At first, I didn’t dare hope you had the same respect for me, but I sought you out regardless - wanted to be near you. Maen, I wanted to be a Silver Captain - so very much! To do you honour, but also so that I could have you, like they all use each other. So that I could feel you take me, your body covering mine, your hands on my ass, your cock inside me - if you so wanted -”

If I so wanted? I felt that my body was alight with desire; that if I didn’t crouch between his legs and slide my fingers up into him right now, I’d expire from the frustration. It took only that second - only that first, hungry kiss - to know that I’d wanted nothing but that, since the day I saw him.

“I’d have put up with their pawing,” he ground out. “All of them - women and men. They want me, I know. I can smell it on them when I pass, do you think I don’t notice? And it’s all the same to me - it’s nothing much to want, or to hate. But to have you - ! I’d do anything. I heard the Silvers at night, and that’s what I wanted with you. I knew that to be more true than anything else in my life.”

“But you’re still a Bronzeman, not yet a Silver,” I protested. “It’s the most hideous crime…”

He ignored me, and couldn’t I admire that youthful arrogance? His mouth sucked at my neck: his fingers pinched at a nipple, up under my thin vest. And when his hand cupped the front of my trousers and squeezed my agony there, I heard him suck in his breath.

“You mean you can’t touch me like this. You can’t have me.”

“No,” I groaned. “You’re not for me. You’re only for the Ladies - for the Mistress. You could satisfy yourself in the Household, with them. You’ve no need of anything, Dax - no need of anyone else.”

“I don’t want them,” he hissed, holding me tight in his palm, pumping at me. To my shame and my increasing delight, I leaned into him eagerly, bucking my hips, straining for his touch. My hands grasped at his buttocks, feeling the muscles clench under the thin fabric of his trousers. “I don’t want the Ladies,” he muttered, “with their soft, urgent bodies, and their begging for my seed, not in the way that I want you!”

It was too much - I couldn’t think straight. I despised the way that my body no longer followed my commands, and yet I felt inflamed with the thrill of him; the desire for him. I was becoming a man that I barely recognized! My fingers were at his hips, and he was fumbling at his trousers opening, trying to wriggle the cloth away from his skin so that I could touch more of him. He was panting, softly. “Is this all my imagination, Maen? Am I the only one who wants this? Are you angry with me? It’s commonplace in the barracks - I know what men do, even you, I’m sure -”

“Don’t be stupid, Dax!” I spoke harshly, because it seemed I had no control over my voice, either. “You’ve never had a man - it’s not an easy thing -“

“Do you want me?” he said, bluntly, his voice urgent and thick with desire. “Because I want you - I want to couple with you. I never wanted anyone before, not like this. I want your mouth on my cock and your hands caressing me. I want to wrap my legs around you and feel you push into me, possessing me. I want to give you pleasure, Maen: I want you inside me. I want everything! I’m not going to be very experienced, of course, but I know I can learn - I can make it good for you -”

I groaned aloud. “That’s not what I meant.” Foolish man! As if it had ever been my concern, for coupling to be good for me! My heart ached that he should care for that. “You’re talking nonsense, Dax - it’s the fear of this time; the strangeness of our situation. We can forget this, now, then perhaps when you’re Silver, we can think again -”

“No!” he snapped. “It was bad enough in my Training, taking those Devotions, allowing the Ladies to Call and use me when they wished. Don’t you see what the Bronzemen become, Maen? They’re breeding animals, that’s all, until they’re older and more manly, and then they’re pumped full of the Devotions until they become dullards - muscle-bound, fodder for the battles of the City. I don’t want to wait for you until my brain is dull and my body’s a tool for others - I never did! All right, I never thought I’d have any other choice, but we’ve escaped that, now. And don’t tell me you can’t feel the difference in you, here at the Place. I want to share this time with you - this bright spark of my flame, before it’s caught in duty and death and snuffed out - ”

He shifted suddenly, pressing himself back against me and trapping my leg between his. His own arousal was very fierce and very hard, dragged halfway out of his clothing, the heat of his flesh pressing insistently on mine, and making me gasp.

“I want you here, Maen. As we are now - as the men we are now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See you all tomorrow when we gaze into the crystal ball. Until then...

Happy Writing!

Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell
www.sloanetaylor.com