How far can you go? Kink, Crying and Happily Ever After(s) – a guest post by CB Conwy

Posted on September 13, 2012 by Jo Myles

Hi, CB Conwy here; so nice to meet you! Uh, sorry for sounding so excited, but I’ve been buried in editing for the last month or so; I crave human contact

I have a new book out! Two, in fact, but today I’m (mostly) going to talk about Happily Ever After (the sequel to A Russian Bear). Oh, and I’d love to hear your opinion: Can kink get too kinky?

Those of you already familiar with Tom and Mischa from A Russian Bear will know that my guys are kinky. Very, very kinky. As a matter of fact, if Mischa had gotten his way in A Russian Bear, the story would have been pure smut. Then Tom arrived, and the book ended up as romance disguised as porn (I had to keep Mischa happy somehow).

With A Russian Bear, I went all in. I love reading BDSM, so my first book was basically a chance to create every kind of kink I could dream up. Sometimes I was blushing furiously while writing and telling myself that I simply couldn’t write this; it was just too perverted. What would people think??

Well, judged by the feedback (and the sales), people thought it was just fine. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one who thought the power play between Mischa and Tom was hot. And, uh, all of the other stuff they do; apart from all the naughty toys, Tom is a pain pig, and Mischa’s very happy to give him what he needs.

Crying

But to me, the physical aspect of BDSM is closely tied to the emotional part of it. The floggers and the toys are hot – and the scenes in Happily Ever After actually go even further than those in A Russian Bear (and yeah, I was still blushing writing them!). But I think playing has the potential to break down mental and emotional blocks as well as satisfying a physical need. I like the psychological aspect of a scene, and that includes the cathartic element of pain and submission.

In Happily Ever After (finally she’s getting to the point!), my heroes are a little fucked up. More than a little, in fact; Tom has been through a traumatizing assault, and now they have to regain the connection and the confidence they had before the assault.

It’s a hard journey, but Tom and Mischa use their scenes to reconnect and to overcome their insecurities. It’s sometimes rough, and it’s often emotional – and yes, Tom cries. Sometimes from pain, but mostly from the combination of pain and emotional release that BDSM can give you. Crying can be beautiful in my opinion.

I know that some readers disagree and even disagree strongly on this point. To me as a reader, it’s really important to feel the connection between the Dom and the sub and empathize with their actions in order to accept and like hard scenes.

As a writer, I’ve tried to make it clear that whether Tom and Mischa are playing with pain or excitement, it’s something that both of my characters crave. Tom not only wants a flogging; he needs it. And Mischa needs to give it to him. Tom and Mischa use BDSM as a means of expressing their love to each other, and it works for them. And being the kinky bastards that they are, they get a kinky happily ever after. That’s the least I could do for my guys!

I’d love to hear your opinion!

But what about you: What’s a no-go for you in terms of kink? Is crying out of the picture?

And what would you like to see that nobody’s written yet? There’s a new line of stories coming up at Torquere; leave a comment, and I might even write your secret kink for you!

And now for something completely different…

It’s Torquere’s anniversary! Which means lots of hot short stories, among them my story Leather and Newfound Land. It’s a fun, cheeky piece of fluff about a Newfoundland puppy and kinky secrets. All of the proceeds go to NOH8, so it’s all for a good cause!

To celebrate Torquere’s anniversary, you can also win a Kindle Fire, gift cards, and goodie bags. Containing among other things this, uh, charming-looking plushie from me!

Buy link Happily Ever After
Buy link A Russian Bear
Buy link Leather and Newfound Land
Contest link

Please come visit me at www.cbconwy.com – I have several free stories from the kinky Slake universe and another one coming up this Sunday.

Blurb, Happily Ever After:

Mischa isn’t stupid; he knows that happily ever afters only happen in fairytales. Still, he had thought that as soon as Tom got over the horrible assault that almost tore them apart, everything would be better. Perhaps not fairytale happy right away, but better. Instead, they seem to be falling apart, and quite spectacularly so.

What Mischa hadn’t taken into account was the fact that violence has longtime consequences – consequences that are threatening to shake the very foundation of Tom and Mischa’s relationship. Because Mischa can handle Tom’s weakness, but he can’t face his own. He doesn’t have a choice, though. Not if they’re going to make it.

As Mischa and Tom struggle to rebuild their relationship, it turns out that happily ever after is damn hard work. It’s also wildly kinky, because Tom and Mischa have to build a new trust in the playroom as well. One scene at a time, Mischa and Tom explore their new limits, and that’s the kind of work that Mischa likes. After all, that’s what badass Doms do.

Excerpt, Happily Ever After:

They were going to be okay. Tom sighed and pushed his head closer, resting it in the crook of Mischa’s neck. Mischa had been about to get up, but now Tom’s lover sat down next to him on the spanking bench in the quiet playroom, putting both arms around Tom and hugging him securely.

Tom took a deep breath, and then another, the air feeling as if it was somehow cleansing him. He could feel Mischa’s hand caress his shoulder, and he relished the touch, relished the simple fact that touching felt good again. It had been so fucking long.

He had tried telling himself over and over these last months that it had only been an assault. An unfortunate meeting, only a few minutes of close contact with some homophobic asshole who didn’t like the look of Tom’s face or something like that.

It was just that the consequences had stretched far beyond those few minutes. Tom had been messed up when the man had left him in that alley, bleeding and unconscious. It had taken weeks, months even, before his broken bones had mended and the bruises had paled and taken that horrible deep pain with them. The pain that kept him from what he needed most: being touched and comforted by Mischa.

Unfortunately, those hadn’t been the only aftereffects. Somewhere along the way, Tom had completely lost faith in himself, in his ability to be touched. To be loved. He shuddered and pushed closer.

“Shh, you’re okay.” Mischa cuddled him, gently stroking his hair.

The knowledge that Mischa was right, that he was finally going to be all right, almost took his breath away for a moment. The relief made his throat tighten up, and he chuckled ruefully.

“What?” Mischa pulled back far enough to look questioningly at Tom’s face. The dark eyes were soft.

“Nothing,” Tom shook his head. His voice came out slightly strangled. “I’m just…” He cleared his throat. “I’m just happy.”

Mischa smiled. “That’s okay.”

Mischa took one hand away from Tom’s shoulder, jostling him slightly, and the movement made a twinge go through Tom’s ass. He gasped.

Mischa quickly looked at Tom, worry on his face. “Anything wrong?”

Tom snorted. “Well, that depends if you ask me or my asshole. You just fucked me pretty thoroughly.” Pretty fucking amazingly, as well.

Mischa huffed. “I don’t talk to assholes. Come on, let’s get up. You need to get dressed.”

“In what? You fucking shredded my clothes.” Tom still couldn’t believe that Mischa had actually tied him up, cut off his clothes, and fucked him. It had been completely out of character from the way Mischa had been acting the last couple of months; it had been the old, badass Mischa. Exactly what Tom had needed.

“You have other clothes. You should be happy I won’t have you clean up the kitchen naked.”

Oh, God. The kitchen.

A Step to the Write – a guest blog by Anne Barwell

Posted on August 30, 2012 by Jo Myles

Firstly, an apology of sorts, for the title of this blog post. It’s in part a bad joke, as I love time travel stories and in part, rather apt considering the topic I’ve chosen to blog about.

I’ve had a few people ask about my writing process, and a huge part of that is juggling the day job as one of the things I find challenging about writing is not the lack of ideas, but finding the time to sit down and actually write. I often think, at the risk of jinxing myself, I have more plot bunnies than sense, but I blame that in part in being born in the year of the rabbit.

I also like to write in series, and I usually have plots and ideas for several books that-a-way running around in my head as well as the one I’m currently working on.

So, how to manage all of that and actually produce a novel?

In my day job, which is in a library, I work what might be considered ‘weird’ hours. I start at 12.15 and finish at 8.45 at night three days a week, and I work weekends. This means, in order to write, I need to be disciplined. Some days it’s very tempting to stay in bed, or fluff around and have some downtime before work. If I did that my writing would fall by the wayside, so instead I set an alarm and make sure I’m sitting down by a certain time so I get at least an hour’s writing time before work.

Some days of course, this works better than others, and I’m also often left feeling very scheduled out, especially during the week. The upside is, though, that I see my current manuscript growing steadily, even if it’s just 500 words a day, and by the end of the week that adds up to several thousand words. I try to do a bit more on weekends, depending on what else is going on, but that doesn’t always work. Like today when I have to take my cat to the vet, and she’s the hysterical type who will vanish as soon as she gets a whiff of a cage being anywhere near the house.

Once the first draft is done, and the story is ‘down” and inflicted upon my beta readers (who are a very important part of the writing process) one chapter at a time, it’s time to tighten up and move into draft #2. This is when I weigh up all the beta reader comments, which is often a mix of ‘what the hell were you thinking?’ and ‘oh I loved this’, hopefully more of the latter than the former. Beta reading is far more than comma sprinkling and catching typos, and I’d never submit a manuscript without one. As a writer, I’m too close to the characters and story, and often it’s not easy to take that step back I need to see what is working or not. Draft #2 done, and it’s off to the betas again, often one chapter at a time for more comments – hopefully less than the time before.

Draft #3 is quickly followed by #4 and then sent off to another set of betas for a ‘cold read’.

Then it’s submission time and time to dig out the outline for the next story and start all over. I’ve found with my more recent stories, it’s easier to have an outline/character guide in front of me for the story, as well as the screeds of handwritten scribbles in my hardcopy notebooks. It helps to exorcise the future WIPS while I’m working on my current ones. That’s what I tell myself anyway even if the characters still go off on tangents and do their own thing, and vampires are pushy as. I like my illusions.

Oh and that second to last sentence wasn’t a typo. That’s what we say here in New Zealand. Sweet as, cold as, or whatnot. One day I need to put that into one of my locally set stories – and yes there is a fair few of those on the To Be Written pile too.

To finish I’m going to share an excerpt from my latest release Magic’s Muse, a story which does tie in with this post as one of the characters, Tomas, is a writer. His writing process is a little different from mine, but then he has someone more than happy to help him role play to get certain scenes just right

I’d love to hear about others’ writing process, from ideas to submission.

Magic’s Muse, sequel to Cat’s Quill.

Tomas and Cathal have escaped from Naearu, Cathal’s mystical homeworld, but happily ever after is never as straightforward in real life as it is in books. Then again, most people don’t deal with the complication of a lover who’s magically bound to a tree or have an interfering cat for a cousin.

With Naearu’s police force, the Falcons, still after Cathal, he can’t go home. Now that he and Tomas have consummated their relationship, Cathal’s abilities are evolving and changing to the point that Tomas can sense them. And until the oak portal closes, Cathal—and his new life with Tomas—are in limbo as Cathal can’t expect Tomas to stay with someone who can never venture past the property line. Will he and Tomas ever get to follow through on their engagement?

Excerpt:

Cathal smiled. He removed the pencil from behind Tomas’s ear and placed it on the desk. He’d chewed the end of it again. “What I’ve read of it so far is very good, and I’m not just saying that because I love you.”

“That’s good to know.” Tomas threaded his fingers through Cathal’s hair, playing with it. Cathal had suggested shortening the length, as it was longer than what he’d observed to be the norm in this world, but Tomas would have none of it. He liked it the way it was, so unless it was something Cathal really wanted to do, there was no need for it to be cut. Apparently there was a wider variety now in what was considered fashionable than there was the previous time he’d visited. He’d worn it longer then too, and no one had commented, although he’d noticed the sideways looks he and Christian had received because of their dress and manner of speech.

“Can I read what you’ve written today?” Cathal was keen to see how the story was progressing. It was very different being able to read something as it was written, rather than having to wait until it was finished. It reminded him of when he was a child and his mother would tell them a story by the fire each night, careful to leave it in such a place so they’d want more.

“Of course.” Tomas leaned over and tapped several keys on his laptop. A whirring sound filled the room, and the printer began to spit out pieces of paper covered in writing. He’d shown Cathal how the machine worked earlier that morning. With every visit to this world, it seemed as though the devices they used became smaller and could do so much more. There were still so many new things to learn about and discover. Even the technology with which he thought he was familiar had changed, although he hadn’t had the opportunity to ask as many questions as he’d like. Taking things apart to find out more had gotten him into trouble ninety years ago, and he wasn’t about to test the theory that it might again.

Cathal got up from Tomas’s lap and retrieved the papers once the machine had done its work. He flopped down on the bed, already beginning to read what was written on them and losing himself in the words. “Oh, you’ve written the kiss!” This was what he and Tomas had role played, and the last time he’d seen it had been as handwritten notes in Tomas’s journal. Now Tomas was “taking dictation again”, he’d reverted to using his laptop instead of writing longhand, as he said it was faster and easier to edit later.

“And more.” Tomas didn’t move from his chair but instead watched Cathal read, chuckling at the way in which he devoured the new material.

“Deimos isn’t as good at keeping secrets as he thinks, is he?” It was very apparent, the more Cathal read, that Deimos was not of this world. His speech slipped into more of an old-fashioned pattern on several occasions. He also seemed unaware of some of the things of which Mark spoke, but that was understandable, as Cathal hadn’t heard of some of them either. What was 3D, and who was Harry Potter? How could so much have happened in this world in such a short time?

“Neither were you, my love.” Tomas stretched his arms out and took another sip of coffee. “I didn’t realize just how much at the time, but as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

Bio:

Anne Barwell lives in Wellington, New Zealand, sharing her home with her twin daughters, at least during the holidays, when one of them isn’t away at university. Her son has left home and started his own family, although she claims she is too young to be a grandmother already. Her three cats are convinced that the house is run to suit them; this is an ongoing “discussion,” and to date it appears as though the cats may be winning.

In 2008 she completed her conjoint BA in English Literature and Music/Bachelor of Teaching and has worked as a music teacher, a primary school teacher, and a librarian. She is a member of the Upper Hutt Science Fiction club and plays piano for her local church and violin for a local orchestra.

She is an avid reader across a wide range of genres and a watcher of far too many TV series and movies, although it can be argued that there is no such thing as “too many.” These, of course, are best enjoyed with a decent cup of tea and further the continuing argument that the concept of “spare time” is really just a myth.

http://anne-barwell.livejournal.com/
http://annebarwell.wordpress.com/
http://coffeeunicorns.wordpress.com/
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/index.php?cPath=55_426

When Stories Link Up – a guest blog by Berengaria Brown

Posted on August 23, 2012 by Jo Myles

One night I had a dream. I got out of bed, and wrote it down, but I had no idea what it meant, or where it was going. I showed it to author Anny Cook, and asked, “What do I do now?” She told me to keep writing. She said that sort of thing happened to her a lot. Either it turned into a book, or it would just stop. Well, I took her advice, kept writing, and it turned into three books. And finally, with the third book, I realized what the connection was. It is actually what happens more than fifty years after the “Raw Claiming” series I wrote.

“Forbidden Future” was the first book, which begins with my dream. As I kept writing, three characters took over, demanding their story be told. Continue reading →

Excerpt: Ambush by Clare London

Posted on March 29, 2012 by Jo Myles

I was meant to have Clare guest blogging over here yesterday, but what with one thing and another, we’ve decided to move her day to 23rd May. However, in the meantime, here’s a peek at Clare’s latest release – a follow up story to the fabulous and sexy True Colors.

Ambush by Clare London

Sequel to True Colors

BLURB: Before meeting Zeke Roswell, Miles Winter’s priorities were clear: business, then pleasure. Before Zeke, he wouldn’t have cleared his desk earlier than usual, waiting for his artist lover to share his preparations for his latest gallery exhibit—on bondage. And he certainly wouldn’t have let Zeke try out some of the pieces on him, right there in the middle of his office. If he’d had any choice, that is.

Available now from Dreamspinner Press

Payback coming on April 25th, and Switch on May 23rd

EXCERPT:

“Which exhibit do you like, Miles? Which one appeals to you? Tell me.” He waved a hand at the stuff on the floor. “I want to know which one cries promise.”

Miles cleared his throat. “Later.” Hadn’t he said that already? He seemed to be having some trouble speaking. Under his white silk shirt, his chest was heaving.

Zeke just stood there. He held his hands behind his back, as if nervous of his approach, but his eyes sparkled with amusement and hunger. “So. You want to deal with my inappropriateness?”

“I don’t….”

“You don’t?” Zeke swayed slightly on the balls of his feet. His vest was just a little too short and a little too tight, clinging to his abs and riding up over his waistband at one side. As always.

“I mean….” Miles wondered what the hell he did mean, but instinct took over. “Yes, I want to deal with you. Just somewhere more private. More comfortable.”

“You think?”

“I think.” He reached out for Zeke’s arm and pulled him closer. Zeke’s eyes widened, as if Miles had used more force than strictly necessary. Miles could smell Zeke’s skin, sweet and sweaty from rushing through town to the office. He could feel Zeke’s pulse and see the challenge in his eyes. He could feel his own heartbeat thudding, speeding the blood through his veins, throbbing at his throat and making him slightly dizzy. This happened too often for him to control: too rarely for him ever to tire of it. “Kiss me.”

Zeke stepped the final half step closer, his hip bumping Miles’s thigh, his gaze lingering on Miles’s mouth. “This place is just too damned big,” he growled. “Too much floor space between us. A guy could get lost in here, you know? Could park your limo in here, play football, stage a Greek orgy, for fuck’s sake.”

“So let’s make that a smaller event, just for us. Come here.” Miles slid his arm around Zeke’s waist and pulled him in tightly against his chest. Miles’s senses wallowed happily in the kiss. Taste of heaven. His tongue darted into Zeke’s mouth, their panting breath mingling, his fingers tightening on Zeke’s hip. He was still propped against his desk, but now the edge of it was cutting into the back of his thighs. The clinch with Zeke had pushed him to its corner, with a tall wooden filing cabinet at his right side and only the spectacular picture window beyond that. An occasional arc of light from a large vehicle glittered against the glass of the window; the blare of a horn echoed in the distance, muffled by the heavy glazing.

Zeke’s boot knocked against the cabinet as his knee nudged in between Miles’s legs, spreading them apart. The desk shook, and the papers on the pile behind him rustled.

“We should get back home,” he gasped.

Zeke’s tongue slipped out of Miles’s mouth, and he started licking at Miles’s neck instead. “Yeah.” Zeke’s murmur didn’t sound much like he was paying proper attention. “Soon.”

Miles slid his hands down Zeke’s arms, feeling the muscles, relishing the strength. He reached behind Zeke’s back to grasp the other man’s hands and clasp them in his, but at the last moment, Zeke twisted his arm and pulled his left hand free. Without warning, he curled his fingers around Miles’s wrist and gripped it tight.

“Zeke?”

“We’ll get home,” Zeke whispered against Miles’s neck. “But after.”

***

Clare London, Author
Writing… Man to Man

http://www.clarelondon.co.uk
http://www.facebook.com/clarelondon
http://clarelondon.livejournal.com/

Birthday sneak peek: The Hot Floor (WIP)

Posted on February 23, 2012 by Jo Myles

Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday dear meeee…

Erm, yes, it’s that day again when I celebrate another year to be added to my grand total – I have thirty-five of them now, which is nice! To celebrate I’m sharing the first chapter of my WIP. It’s a second draft and has been beta-read, so hopefully there’s no awful typos in there, but it’s certainly likely to change some more before we get to publication.

I had been planning a shorter excerpt with just Josh and the boys, but I thought the first scene with Denise was good for setting the context. Here we go, then – 3.5k of The Hot Floor – an m/m/m romantic comedy set in a crumbling old house that’s been converted into flats. Continue reading →

Academic Pursuits by Lou Harper – the interview

Posted on January 29, 2012 by Jo Myles

Today I’m interviewing Lou Harper on the release of her novella, Academic Pursuits. In case you’re thinking “I recognize that cover” from Tailor Made – all the Amber Allure Hot College Daze stories have the same cover. Inside the books, however, other than the college campus setting and the promise of manloving, anything could happen!

Here’s the blurb from Academic Pursuits:

Jamie Brennan is putting “cad” back into academia!

The son of a well-to-do family and blessed with both dark good looks and buckets of confidence, Jamie lives for the chase. He has a well-deserved reputation around college as a seducer of straight frat boys. No man is off-limits to Jamie—he’s happy to help fellow gay students out of the closet, too. He even has lustful designs on his oblivious English professor, so it’s no surprise that his amorous pursuits often land him in sticky situations.

There’s just one flaw in Jamie’s perfect world—Roger Hunt. The hunky grad student, who dresses more like a lumberjack than the talented artist he is, gives Jamie hostile looks every time their paths cross. Jamie tries to ignore Roger, but they can’t seem to stop running into each other, and Jamie’s beginning to wonder if it’s more than chance that continues to steer them down the same halls…

Buy it now from Amber Allure – only $3.25 on release week!

Hi Lou – thanks for stopping by today.

I’m happy to be here, Jo.

You’ve told me before that your muse was kicked into gear by the word “taboo” in the submissions call. Did you end up breaking the taboos you intended to?

Yes and no. What the publisher had in mind were things like student-professor relationships. Instead, I ended up messing with genre conventions. I see Academic Pursuits as the bastard child of James Lear and Jane Austen.

Academic Pursuits is, to my mind, straddling the divide between gay erotica and m/m romance. What do you hope readers accustomed to more traditional m/m romance will take away from reading it?

Honestly, it was not a conscious decision on my part to go this route, but once the inspiration struck, the story practically wrote itself. I hope the readers will enjoy the ride. Jamie is a bit of a cad, but he has a good heart—he just needs to meet his match.

Jamie thinks of himself as doing a public service by seducing straight boys. Do you agree that this is an effective method of combating homophobia? Or is he putting himself at risk of getting his head kicked in?

Hm, Jamie’s experienced for his years, but not quite as worldly as he thinks. The seducing straight boys part is a don’t-try-this-at-home thing. Remember, this is fiction.

Jamie’s cousin Josephine (who prefers to be called Jo) is a weirdo art student who seems to own the same boots I used to wear when I was a weirdo art student. What’s going on there, then?!

Hehe. Sidekicks help the story progress, give the protagonist a chance to shine. Just ask Sherlock Holmes. M/M doesn’t have a lot of interesting, colorful female characters, so it was fun and challenging to write one. I stole your name because Josephine is so feminine and Jo is such a tomboy—the duality of the name sums up her well. Jo is a blend of real and fictional characters; it was serendipitous she resembled your younger self. When you mentioned the boots I had to steal them. So yeah, there’s a bit of you in her.

You’ve told me before that you were inspired by the plot of Jane Austen’s Emma, although I’m more inclined to see Roger as a Darcy-esque figure. What do you think Austen would have made of m/m romance if she were alive today?

I’m glad you say that, because I see Roger that way too. Jamie has the tendency to meddle in other people’s romantic lives, like Emma does.

It’s hard to hypothesize what Jane would say, but it’s not impossible for me to imagine her writing m/m. Perhaps she would take gay romance mainstream. I suspect there wouldn’t be as much explicit sex, but plenty of social commentary.

And finally, were there any of your own college experiences that wormed their way into the story?

Yes, many little details, from course names to habits of students came from my own experiences. One of the starving art students descending on the free food at the show opening could’ve been me. The campus itself is a fictionalized version of my own old school.

Thanks for stopping by, Lou, and good luck with sales. I hope you find many new readers!

Excerpt (NSFW):

…It’s hard to talk with your mouth full of cock. And anyway, I was fairly certain Butch Hollins’s question regarding the origin of my skills of sucking said cock was a rhetorical one. So I ignored it and kept up the suction. I didn’t want him to come too soon, so I teased him a little. I pulled off and let my tongue play with his cockhead, dance around the rim, lick the shiny mushroom head. Up to that point, Hollins had kept his hands by his sides, but just then he placed one on the top of my head and applied a modest but determined pressure. I smiled to myself: my tasty frat boy had just stepped over an invisible line. To reward him, I ducked down on his shaft and worked it with my throat. He was a chubby six inches—big enough, and I was no size queen.

When his cockhead hit the back of my throat, Hollins sucked in air like he’d been holding his breath for the last few minutes. I assumed the dull thunk I heard was the sound of his head hitting the bathroom door. It was out of sync with the rhythmic thumping from the music of the party downstairs.

While I worked Hollins’s cock with my mouth, I used one hand to massage his balls and perineum, but didn’t venture farther. I didn’t want to spook him. You had to be careful with straight boys. I kept my other hand on my own shaft, stroking it at a steady rhythm. When I felt his balls tighten and draw up, I took him down as deep as I could and hummed around his cock. His hips bucked and his warm cum gushed down my throat. Those guttural grunts and groans he made pushed me that much closer to my own release.

Hollins lifted his hand off my head, but otherwise didn’t move away while I brought myself to finish. It didn’t take long. My spunk splattered on the tiled floor, with a few stray drops landing on the cuffs of Hollins’s jeans.

“Boarding school,” I said, standing and zipping up my jeans.

“Huh?” Hollins’s eyes were still glazed over.

“That’s where I learned to suck cock,” I elaborated.

Hollins said nothing. Clearly, he wasn’t the chatty-after-sex kinda guy. That was fine with me. I made a half-hearted attempt to clean up the mess I’d made. I dabbed at it with a wad of toilet paper, then I gave up. I was sure the floor had seen worse and probably would see more of it before the night was over. We were in a frat house, it was Saturday night and the party downstairs was just warming up.

I checked myself out in the mirror: there was a drop of spunk at the corner of my swollen mouth. I stuck my tongue out and licked it off. Tussled dark hair: check. Blue eyes above flushed cheeks: check. I looked my debauched best. It was time for me to take my leave before things got awkward.

“It’s been nice blowing you, Hollins. See you around, ’kay?” I said with my friendly, it’s-no-big-deal smile I kept for these occasions.

I gave him one last look from the door: He was a blond, corn-fed boy from the heartland. His normally uncomplicated face wore a slightly baffled expression. I gave him one last flash of my smile and left…

Lou’s blog: http://louharper.blogspot.com/
Lou’s website: http://louharper.com/

Amazing Author excerpt: Charlie Cochrane’s Home Fires Burning

Posted on January 25, 2012 by Jo Myles

Two stories, two couples, two eras, timeless emotions.

This Ground Which Was Secured At Great Expense:

It is 1914 and The Great War is underway. When the call to arms comes, Nicholas Southwell won’t be found hanging back. It’s a pity he can’t be so decisive when it comes to letting his estate manager Paul Haskell know what he feels before he has to leave for the front line. In the trenches Nicholas meets a fellow officer, Phillip Taylor, who takes him into the unclaimed territory of physical love. Which one will he choose, if he’s allowed the choice?

The Case of the Overprotective Ass:

Stars of the silver screen Alasdair Hamilton and Toby Bowe are wowing the post WWII audiences with their depictions of Holmes and Watson. When they are asked by a friend to investigate a mysterious disappearance, they jump at the chance — surely detection can’t be that hard? But a series of threatening letters — and an unwanted suitor — make real life very different from the movies.
Charlie Cochrane, author of the delightful Cambridge Fellows series, brings her familiar romantic, roguish style to the two novellas that together are Home Fires Burning.

The following excerpt is from the first story: This Ground Which Was Secured At Great Expense

He was still alive, unless he’d died and this was hell. No, it had to be real; Nicholas wouldn’t be telling himself how damned lucky he was, otherwise. Luck? Given the average length of time an officer lasted out here it was more like a miracle, some guardian angel watching over him, sitting at his shoulder and fending off bullets and shells. It didn’t do to keep thinking about why one man survived and the one next to him in the line went down, how inseparable friends were parted by a sniper’s sharp aim. Fairness didn’t come into it, nor logic, and no one could possibly understand who wasn’t living in its midst.

This was no chivalric tournament. There was no white charger and the only dragon roared with the voice of field artillery.

The first letter from Paul had come within days of Nicholas reaching his training camp. Stiff, formal, and full of business, it had required an answer to one particular question about the state of the stable roof, one Nicholas was sure the man could have answered for himself. Paul still deferred to his absent employer; soon he’d be getting into the swing of making weightier decisions as a matter of course, the reporting back almost a formality.

Unless. Unless the question about the roof had been asked to ensure that Nicholas replied; almost every letter had seemed to contain something which needed a response. He’d tried not to raise his hopes about that, any more than he tried to raise his hopes that the British really were gaining ground against the Hun. Wondering if there was hidden significance in Paul’s words was as pointless as hoping the war would be over by Christmas 1916, let alone this. And there was always what seemed like a last-minute, casual addendum. What is it like there? Have you seen anything of Belgium? Do you see much of the horses?

What is it like there? That same question came often, but how could Nicholas reply with any degree of truth? It wasn’t even worth the attempt, as it would all get censored, anyway. Water and lice, that’s what it’s like, Paul. Our two greatest preoccupations.

He’d crafted the words in his heart often enough, the lines he never dared commit to paper. Somehow, my heart’s got hardened to the killing, the buzz of the flies and the awful smell of corrupted flesh; it’s the water gets me down. It soaks your boots, makes your puttees like flannels. It falls down in curtains, fills the air with damp cold, bites to my bones. Sometimes he’d been brave enough to commit a more candid word to a postscript, but mainly he dreamed of saying them face to face, over a pint of beer. I never imagined I’d fantasise about a dry shirt and socks.

***

Published by Cheyenne Publishing and available from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk as an ebook or paperback.

Tailor Made giveaway!

Posted on January 17, 2012 by Jo Myles

Tailor Made cover Who wants a free ebook?!

I’m offering a free copy of my upcoming novella, Tailor Made, to one randomly chosen commenter on this post. I’ll be announcing the winner on Monday, so make sure you get your comments posted by 6am (GMT) on the 23rd if you want to be in with a chance of winning.

Tailor Made is an m/m erotic romantic comedy to be published by Amber Allure on the 22nd January. Here’s the blurb and a teaser excerpt to whet your interest:

When Mr. Wrong measures up just right!

College tart Felix McAvoy is used to causing a stir with his conceptual art pranks, but for his final show he’s planning something even more outrageous. In a last ditch attempt to seduce his jaded tutor, Felix plans to wear the canvas in a subversive display. However, if he’s going to do this right he’ll need a tailor-made canvas suit. Fortunately, he knows just the tailor to turn to for the favour—and Felix isn’t shy about offering favours of a very different kind in return.

First year fashion student Andrew Wheeler knows Felix by reputation only–and plans to keep things that way. Andrew’s determined to save himself for the man of his dreams, and Felix couldn’t be more different from his ideal Mr Right. There’s only one use Andrew will contemplate for Felix’s body: a model for his end of year project. Trouble is, it’s going to involve a lot of close contact with a nearly naked Felix, and Andrew’s never had temptation quite so close at hand…

Excerpt:

…Felix leered and winked, and Andrew was mortified to feel a blush creeping up his neck. He lost himself in his tape measure instead, taking a measurement from the neck string down to Felix’s waist, and then around his waist, his hips, all the time trying his best to ignore that naked arse Felix had all but offered up to him. In fact, come to think of it, he had offered it, hadn’t he?

Andrew groaned as he sank to his knees. “I need an inside leg measurement. You’ll have to spread them a little. No, not like that!” He shut his eyes tight, trying to will away that glimpse he’d just had between those buttocks as Felix had pulled his cheeks apart.

“Sorry, force of habit when a guy tells me to spread ’em,” Felix said, sounding excessively pleased with himself.

“Turn around, please,” Andrew said, his eyes still clamped shut. He was dimly aware of motion beside him, and eventually risked a quick peek.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Andrew muttered under his breath. There was a clear damp patch at the front of Felix’s jockstrap, right where the tip of his erection was tenting the cotton. He could smell the arousal, Felix’s musk tickling his nostrils and heating his body. To take his mind off it, he pressed the metal tip of the measuring tape into the hot skin of Felix’s inner thigh.

“Ooh, that’s cold!”

Felix’s legs clamped tight, trapping Andrew’s hand in a humid embrace. Oh Christ, that was Felix’s balls pressing against his thumb. If Andrew moved his hand, he’d be giving them a massage.

Andrew’s thumb twitched.

“Mmm, does this mean we’ve finished with the foreplay?” Felix teased…

***

This giveaway is connected to the Beat Your Winter Blues Blog Tour – make sure you visit and comment on all the Wednesday posts to maximise your chances of winning the $200 gift certificate grand prize!

Guest blog: Welcome to the Dark Side by Alex Beecroft

Posted on October 26, 2011 by Jo Myles

While I’d hesitate to say that I’m ‘known’ for anything, if I was, I think it would be for 18^th Century Age of Sail stories in which the Royal Navy are the heroes, and pirates are very definitely the scum of the earth, who deserve a short drop and a long stop, a hempen neck-tie, or any other synonym for being hanged that you care to think of.

So, for me, it was a big mental shakeup to try and write a story where my Royal Navy heroes run away and become pirates, the way they do in By Honor Betrayed. I swear it was almost harder for me to get my head around this than it was for them. They at least had the fact that their society was going to hang them for being in love with each other anyway, so how much more illegal could they get?

It took some pretty unusual pirates to persuade me round to the point where I could see the attraction of piracy. I’m indebted to Essayel for introducing me to Captain Cobham and Maria, because somehow Maria made everything OK.

I wish I knew why Maria’s presence was enough to make piracy appealing to me, but perhaps it is just that I find it very unappealing to write something set in an environment that doesn’t respect women. Quite a few historical pirates do not seem to have scored highly in the ‘treats women as people’ ratings. So putting my lads on a ship where Maria is partially in charge, even though (maybe even because) she’s more bloodthirsty than the men, at least keeps them out of the ‘women are for raping and/or for drowning’ mindset that is frankly what puts me off pirates as heroes in general.

Which is a very strange way of saying “please try my book. It’s got pirates in, but they’re not going to leave you feeling skeeved out and upset.”

OTOH, if you read piratey books because you rather like that atmosphere of sexual threat, this one may not be what you’re looking for. It’s got plenty of other kinds of threat, of course, that goes without saying

EXCERPT

The instinct of hand-to-hand combat, honed over ten years at sea, suggested that Conrad should seize and pull that outstretched hand. The man would drop the musket and he could pick it up, be armed against them both.

Instead he wiped some of the rain from his hair and put his hat back on. “I’m not a fool, despite the measures I am forced to by desperation. The money is in my bank. You will have five hundred pounds if you but turn up at the hanging and cause an affray. The other five hundred I will send by packet ship to Bermuda, and you may have it there when I and my friend arrive safely. By that time I hope we will have proved to you that we are useful crew members and, having overcome your natural desire to slit our throats and throw us overboard, we may continue as shipmates.”

“Thought of everything, have you?” One-Arm’s eyes did not soften—they were flat and grey as sharks’ eyes, incapable of compassion—but the rest of his face smiled, as if amused.

“I hope so, yes. Thinking things through is a speciality of mine. For example, I should mention that once I have performed the rescue, you need have no fear of my going to the authorities with your names. By that time I’ll be as wanted as you are.”

“You don’t have our names to tell.” One-Arm pushed him in the centre of the chest with his own sword, cutting his new coat. The blade pricked cold over his breastbone but did not break the skin. He took that as a hopeful sign.

“No, but I can have, given half a day’s gossiping in the taverns of Plymouth.”

“And so we had best kill you now.”

They came to the point, at last, and Conrad’s calm held as it would have held in battle—a calm with something fey behind it, even joyous. “Yes,” he said, holding that fishlike gaze. “Kill me for the trinkets in my pockets or help me for a thousand pounds. Your choice.”

He had been pushed back until there was nowhere left to retreat or recoil. He was as dangerous as a bear at bay before its den, and perhaps it showed, for One-Arm gave a falsely jovial smile and grasped him by the wrist.

“Not my choice at all, my lad. But I’ll take you to the captain. You can put your proposition to him. I dare say he will be in a good mood. ’Tis his wedding day, after all.”

***

The windows of the inn were running, inside, with condensation as heavy as the rain. With the heavy doors closed behind him, damp smoking from his shoulders before the establishment’s parlour fire, Conrad waited under Eyebrow’s gaze while One-Arm invaded the snug. Sounds of drunken singing, out of tune, and a woman’s voice, raised scolding shrill, escaped the inner door as he returned with a tall young buck in tow.

Fresh-faced, a little younger than Conrad, with his best suit on and his hair powdered white, the newcomer didn’t look like a ferocious villain. But his blue gaze was full of intelligence, lancet sharp. “Now, sir, why do you think you can interrupt my wedding with your petty troubles? Or offer me—me!—so small a bribe?”

The inner doors trembled and swung open. A deep fug of tobacco smoke and kipper-smell and wet wool billowed through the gap, followed by a figure that struck Conrad dumb. Cascading black ringlets loose on her narrow shoulders, her breasts and hips all the more noticeable for being crammed into a naval midshipman’s uniform—the blood of its original owner not fully washed from its collar—she set herself foursquare in front of the captain, hands on hips, and harangued him.

“Eric Cobham, I was promised a proper wedding, with a proper wedding breakfast after. And now there ain’t no music, and none of them can sing better’n a scalded cat, and where’s my dancing I was promised? You said—”

Cobham’s face was a picture of contrition. “I’m sorry, my love. The fiddler got away. Jumped overboard when we sighted Plymouth. I thought you knew.”

“Course I knew. I just bleeding well thought you’d do something about it!”

Conrad could have laughed for relief. Instead, he cleared his throat, loud. “Excuse me, ma’am? I play the violin. Would that help?”

“You’re fucking hired,” she said. “Eric, see to it.”

***

About the Author:

Alex Beecroft was born in Northern Ireland during the Troubles and grew up in the wild countryside of the Peak District. She studied English and Philosophy before accepting employment with the Crown Court where she worked for a number of years. Now a stay-at-home mum and full time author, Alex lives with her husband and two daughters in a little village near Cambridge and tries to avoid being mistaken for a tourist.

Alex is only intermittently present in the real world. She has lead a Saxon shield wall into battle, toiled as a Georgian kitchen maid, and recently taken up an 800 year old form of English folk dance, but she still hasn’t learned to operate a mobile phone.

You can find me in many places, but chiefly at Facebook, Twitter, and my blog.

Permission to reproduce text granted by Harlequin Books S.A. Cover art used by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved. ® and ™ are trademarks owned by Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its affiliated companies, used under license.

Josephine Myles

m/m romance with lashings of English sauce

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