• Winner of Three’s Company Give-Away

    The lucky reader, who posted a comment on the Three’s Company Give-Away is…


    Once again, I asked my 10 year old daughter to help. With 16 comments, I asked her to choose a number between 1-16 and she chose the number 6!!!

    Liz you will have mail soon 🙂

    Thanks again to everyone who replied and commented, and thanks for the ongoing support. 

  • Guest Post – S.A. McAuley

    I want to welcome S.A. McAuley to my blog today!! She’s here to talk about her brand new release, out today!!  It’s called An Immovable Solitude, and it’s available from Silver Publishing.

    Title: An Immovable Solitude
    Author Name: S.A. McAuley
    Release Date: October 27, 2012
    Purchase Link: An Immovable Solitude
    Author Links: Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/authorsamcauley

    Twitter – @AuthorSAMcAuley
    Email – authorsamcauley (at) gmail.com
    Kindlegraph – http://www.kindlegraph.com/authors/AuthorSAMcAuley
    Goodreads – http://www.goodreads.com/authorsamcauley
    Amazon – https://www.amazon.com/author/samcauley

    Bio: Sam sleeps little, reads a lot. Happiest in a foreign country. Twitchy when not mentally in motion. Send her a picture and a song and she’s bound to write a story about it. And yes, that’s an invitation.

    Chapter One


    The boat pitched from side to side as the deckhands struggled to lower the rattling cage against the hull. The sky was a cloudless indigo blue, and the stars were beginning to blink out in rings as sunrise pushed past the horizon. The air was unseasonably warm, which lowered the chances of this being a productive trip, but I wasn’t going to complain. I loved summers in the Cape.

    The waters of Van Dyks Bay were generally erratic, consistent in their inconsistency, and there were days I wanted to ignore the weather and wave report and just chance it, setting sail for Dyer Island without planning for what to expect. But this was our boat, our company, and we had a reputation that ensured us a steady stream of tourists.

    “Oy! Hash! We need help securing the lines out here, hey?”

    Abraham’s voice called to me from the stern, where he and two of the deckhands pulled at ropes used to fasten the cage to the side of the boat. The waves were too strong for divers to climb in just yet, but the wind was slowly dying and soon the pitch of the boat would turn to a slow, hypnotic roll. I left the tiny wheelhouse and helped them tie off lines, relishing the salt spray that hit each time the boat bottomed out on a wave.

    We struggled to secure the cage, and Abraham switched to Afrikaans as we worked. It was my second language, but the mother tongue for most of our crew, and when things became tense, as they did now, the tourists wouldn’t understand one word we said to each other. The cage finally settled into the grooves worn into the hull from countless trips, and we fastened it tightly. Behind us, the divers talked nervously with each other, surveying the bay with suspicion, fear, excitement, or a mix of all three. They were already clad in thick wetsuits, masks hung around their necks or gripped tightly in fists. Abraham tugged at the ropes, checking them before turning to me and nodding.

    “Let’s give it another ten,” I replied to the question he hadn’t asked. “I’d like it to be a bit calmer.”

    I stopped to chat up the group of divers on my way to the wheelhouse. We had ten on board today, a full charter. As usual, it was a mix of nationalities and ages: six women and four men on an escorted tour of South Africa. The women today were especially flirtatious, and like any smart captain looking to see his business grow, I took the time to talk with each of them before moving on. Kerry liked to tease me I enjoyed this part of my job a little too much.

    I wore my usual blue and silver board shorts hung low on my hips, with feet and chest bare. I leant down to speak intimately to the women, my smile flashing, my laugh genuine. My blond hair, just a touch on the long side, fell into my eyes and one of the ladies looked as if she wanted to push it back. I never discouraged it if they tried. I gave my excuses, begging off with the list of duties I had to complete. I pointed at Abraham and told them my boss made me work too hard. Abraham grinned and shook his head; he’d seen this too many times. Yet he still laughed, because both of us knew who the boss really was even though at twenty-seven, I didn’t look old enough to have my own company.

    More importantly Abraham knew I wasn’t interested in any of them. No matter how free, easy, or beautiful they were. I had a gorgeous man, my partner in every sense of the word, waiting for me back at our shop.

    Nothing about me proclaimed my sexuality; I’d never been loud about being gay. Most days, it was the least of what defined me. But I’d never hidden it either. For some, my choice to live with my sexual orientation as secondary, like every straight person had the pleasure of doing, was unsettling. So they made assumptions when it would’ve been easier to ask. But for most, especially the tourists, I was little more than eye candy. Someone pleasant-looking to flirt with when away from home.

    The nervous anticipation of the divers relaxed as the winds died and the waves settled the boat into a gentle sway. The sun crested over the mountains to the east, chasing the rest of the stars away. Abraham gave his standard greeting and instructions before the first divers dropped into the cage. The energy of the tourists was palpable, pulling smiles from the tired crew.

    We’d all been up for hours already, prepping the boat and supplies, and performing equipment checks. This moment―when Abraham, with a twitch of his lips, asked the inevitable question, “Who wants to go first?”―was my second favourite part of the workday. Nervous laughter skittered between the tourists, and Dominick, our videographer, circled them, capturing their reactions for a personalised DVD we would sell to them after the trip. Today, it was an American who stepped forwards, a goofy grin plastered across his face. He immediately put the rest of the tourists at ease as he joked about who would get his wife if he didn’t make it out.

    I leant against the helm and pulled out my cell. A green light blinked at the corner and I flipped it open to read the text.


    I chuckled. Three years after his arrival in South Africa and Kerry still hadn’t mastered the basic slang. He’d attempted it enough times that I knew he was asking how the charter was going, but the actual meaning of what he’d asked was “how are you?”

    Lekker was my one-word reply: Excellent. We both spent so much time dealing with tourists that we usually had to curb the use of slang. But when it was just the two of us, jokes about the differences between his Irish English and my South African English were common.

    I heard gasps and a scattering of loud curses and knew the first great white had been sighted. I peeked out of the wheelhouse to where the deckhands were tossing a fish head into the water. They dragged it back to the boat, drawing the shark closer to the cage. My cell pinged.

    I can’t drag my ass out of bed.

    He was lying. I’d heard his footsteps on the wood floors, walking from the bedroom into the shower, as I’d left early this morning. He would be in the shop now, hunched over his desk, coffee cup in hand, his black hair most likely dishevelled from running his fingers through it while he reconciled the monthly accounts. His work today wouldn’t be complicated, he was too organised for that, but it would be tedious and that drove Kerry mad. He needed to be constantly entertained, and I favoured the days I spent discovering new ways to keep him occupied and interested.

    It’s right where I want it, hey? I texted back.

    The tourist group was all smiles now, enthralled with the gigantic beast cutting lazily through the water around them. Selling the DVDs was going to be easy today. Abraham and the deckhands had the divers taken care of, the water had calmed to a leisurely roll, and the heat from the sun was tempered by a gentle breeze from the south. Newborn seal pups barked from the island off our bow. It was the birth of these young that had attracted the great whites back to Dyer Island and Van Dyks Bay despite the warmer waters, driving larger tourist groups our way to the point where we’d added a second boat and hoped to receive government approval for a third next year.

    If you don’t want your books to balance this month, Erik Hash was his response.

    He was using my full name. Not a good sign. I typed backFrustrated already?

    He replied before I could look up I’d rather be on the boat.

    I let out a low whistle. If he wanted to be on the boat more than in the shop, that meant he was more than frustrated. Kerry hated the sharks as much as I loved them. I’d met him three years ago when he’d walked onto my uncle’s boat with his sister, Kelle, in tow, and I knew then I would do anything to have him. It took me one day to get him into my bed, but almost a year before I knew he loved me as much as I loved him. Kerry and Kelle were only supposed to stay in the Cape for a week, and then move on to Durban, over to Johannesburg, and eventually into Botswana. After our first night together, Kerry decided not to leave Van Dyks Bay and Kelle reluctantly stayed on.

    Worry lines creased my forehead as I tried to formulate a response. Kerry had been more distant than usual the last couple of days. I didn’t expect him to be overtly emotional anytime; it just wasn’t him. He was reserved, calm, and introverted, the opposite of me, but lately he’d been more withdrawn than usual. I knew he was joking when he said he would rather be on the boat, but I read the underlying annoyance in that statement and I doubted it had anything to do with reconciling the finances. Kerry was working through something and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was bigger than he was letting on.

    A collective gasp came from outside the wheelhouse and I grinned, an old joy filling me with each satisfied shriek that erupted from the deck, pulling my thoughts away from Kerry. I felt the boat pitch as the thundering footsteps of the divers followed the shark from aft to stern. It was rare I made a trip out near Dyer Island without spotting one of the apex predators, but my excitement never waned, and my admiration for their ancient power and beauty never faltered. I was seven years old again each time I connected with the black eyes of these stunning creatures.

    What was I doing sequestering myself in the wheelhouse? There was nothing I could do for Kerry until the charter was done. We were on the sharks. I threw my cell into my hoodie hung by the door, and stepped out onto the deck. There were two divers in the cage, three standing where it was anchored next to the boat, and two on the bow. Feet shuffled above my head on the second level of the boat where the rest of the divers were chatting happily as they clicked off pictures.

    Abraham sidled up next to me, put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed affectionately. His bone-white teeth stood out against the deep blackness of his skin and a jovial smile told me it was a good sighting. The silver streaks he’d developed in his hair over the last two years made him even more handsome.

    “How big?”

    “Almost four metres,” Abraham said, pointing at the shark on the aft side. “There’s a three metre juvenile creeping around as well.”

    We made our way behind the cage, where a deckhand tossed chum into the water, bribing the sharks to stay with our boat. There were two other companies doing the same bait and view routine with their own tourists so we had to keep the sharks occupied or risk losing them to one of the boats that sat a respectable distance away. I peered into the water as I saw the large shadow draw closer. I slid my polarised glasses over my eyes to block out the glare of sun on the waves and felt my breath hitch when the larger one came into view.

    The sides of the shark were scarred from the number of mating seasons it had been through, the twisted patchwork of white a testament to its age. It cut gracefully through the water past the cage, ignoring the divers in the cage that were pushing as far back against the metal as possible, and yet it was obvious the shark was aware of everything happening around it. It had decided we weren’t a threat long before it showed up alongside the boat. These creatures were cunning, intelligent, and ancient. I knew the black of their eyes almost as well as the green of Kerry’s.

    The deckhand pulling the fish yanked it closer to the cage and the water surged as the juvenile crashed towards the floating fish head. The divers next to the cage jumped back with a cry of surprise, while the deckhands, Abraham, and I laughed until we were nearly crying. We’d seen the shadow underneath the water as the smaller one moved in. I put my arms around the shoulders of two of the divers at the side of the boat. The petite wife of the American man pulled me closer. Her wetsuit was soaked since she’d just exited the cage.

    “You see that bro over there with the video camera?” I pointed them towards Dominick so he could get a good shot of their faces after the surprise. “He’s much more dangerous than the juvenile softie out there.”

    Dominick winked, and they twittered and blushed.

    “See, I told you. Sharks are incredibly evolved predators, but you shouldn’t fear them. They are shy, deliberate hunters and will rarely attack except when hunting. They will never attack the cage. Dom, on the other hand, you need to watch those teeth.”

    Before I could slip my arms from around their shoulders, the American woman looked at me in amazement. Her teeth chattered. “I don’t know whether to be frightened or amazed. You really love them don’t you? The sharks?”

    “I do. There is more to be amazed of than frightened of. Listen to Abraham. He’ll sell you.”

    I excused myself and left my co-captain to do his work. While my brain was filled with all kinds of arcane and useless trivia about sharks and their appearances on TV and in movies, Abraham had been a part of my uncle’s research crew for years and could answer the important questions about shark biology and habits. Turning this part over to him was also carefully choreographed after our years of working together. I had a tendency to spout off about the evil that was TV’s Shark Week if given half a chance. Okay, any chance. But it also gave me time to do what I really loved to do, which was watch the sharks.

    I sat in the stern with the deckhands and cut up chum. It was the perfect vantage point to watch the juvenile great white stay a deferential distance from the larger shark, which only circled back once the divers had calmed down and a fresh bucket of blood was dumped into the water. I watched the shark until I felt an itch to check on Kerry.

    Back in the wheelhouse, I pulled out my cell and texted Okay?

    I stared at the phone, waiting for a reply. I could picture him trying to think how to respond, of typing something and then erasing it. I closed my eyes and paid attention to the rolling of the waves beneath the boat, letting them rock me. The sun pouring through the wheelhouse window on to my shoulders and face, warm salt air filtering in through the open windows, and the rhythmic sound of the waves against the hull helped calm my worry over Kerry. I don’t know how long I stood there, mesmerised and half asleep, before my cell pinged again.

    Just need more coffee. And your ass back in bed.

    Only a couple more hours and I would be happy to oblige him on the second part. Because getting off the boat and coming home to Kerry, even after three years, was still my favourite part of the day.


    An Immovable Solitude – The Birth of a Playlist

    I can’t write without music. CANNOT.

    Especially with as many projects as I work on at one time, a playlist is necessary to keep me in the head space of my characters. I started writing An Immovable Solitude (out tomorrow!!) almost a year ago. The story started as a 25k novella that I couldn’t get out of my head even when I typed “The End.”

    Soon after finishing that draft and sending it off to beta readers, I ran across the song “The Ocean” by The Bravery. The lyrics and music hit me like a heavyweight punch to the kidney. That song is Erik and Kerry’s journey. Then my beta readers, one by one, all without talking to each other, said they needed more to the story.

    So I started writing again. And I became obsessive about creating the right playlist. Thank you, Pandora.

    I never could have finished An Immovable Solitude without the music of that playlist. My iTunes count on that list is dangerously close to three digits now.

    For the rest of my life, these songs will be Erik, Kerry, Kelle, and Abraham. They will bring me back to the sharks, back to the ocean. To the raw desperation of solitude, and the immovability of hope and love.

    Intro – The Xx
    Lake Michigan – Rogue Wave
    Daylight – Matt & Kim
    Brainy – The National
    Adagio for Strings – New Zealand Symphony Orchestra
    Go It Alone – Beck
    Got Nuffin – Spoon
    Rest of Years (Demo) – The National
    High and Dry – Radiohead
    Rebellion (Lies) – Arcade Fire
    Rolling in the Deep (Live) – Linkin Park
    To Start a New – The Perishers
    Swimming In the Flood – Passion Pit
    So Long, Lonesome – Explosions In the Sky
    Barton Hollow – The Civil Wars
    Smoke – Alkaline Trio
    Time Won’t Let Me Go (Sun Version) – The Bravery
    Home – Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
    1901 – Phoenix
    The Ocean (Sun Version) – The Bravery
    The Ocean (Moon Version) – The Bravery

    Here’s to finding hope in the darkest of nights (and a kickass soundtrack to get you through it).


    Thanks again to Sam, for taking over my blog today, and congratulations on a wonderful new book!  The cover is one of the best I’ve seen EVER.
    Do yourself a favour and check this book out. It really is a remarkable read.
  • Photo Album for Three’s Company

    With the release of Three’s Company just hours away, I thought I’d share their photo album!

    We’ll start with the resort…

    The Beach

    Adam’s Bar

    The Restaurant at Night

    The Inside Reception Area

    Outside Wil’s Room
    Inside Wil’s Room

    The Pool and Courtyard

    And for the boys themselves…

    Wilson Curtis
    Adam Preston

    Simon Stanford

    And last but not least, Adam’s t-shirt 

    These are not my photos, I don’t have the rights to any of them. If you want something removed, please ask, and I’ll be happy to. 

  • Three’s Company Give-Away

    To celebrate the release of Three’s Company, I’ll be giving away a copy to one lucky reader! 

    Being menage themed, and given all good things come in three, I think it’s only fair I have a post about the number trios!  

    So, because it’s three days until release day, I want my readers to answer the following question:

    What’s your fantasy/dream Menage you’d like to be a fly on the wall to watch?

    Post your answer in the comments below for your chance to win!

    I’ll be notifying the lucky winner and sending out Three’s Company as soon as the book hits Silver’s shelves on the 27th.  (I’m on Australian time, so give or take a few, k?)

    Thanks to all my loyal readers who’ve stuck with me thus far. I hope you love Wil, Adam and Simon and enjoy their story.


  • A real-life "throuple"

    Here’s an amazing article on life in a “real-life throuple” – Benny Morecock, of Cockyboys fame, and his two live-in boyfriends, Jason and Adrian*. (link below)

    It tells of how an existing couple met and introduced a third man into their nine-year relationship, not too unlike how my characters Simon and Adam accepted newcommer Wil into their lives.

    I almost wish this article had been released while I was writing Three’s Company, but unfortunately it was only released in nymag.com after I’d subbed it.  Not that it would have changed the story in any way, but it would have reinforced in my mind that what my three boys were going through was not only possible, but very real.

    This article tells how these three men live together, and how the dynamics work, from how needs are met to sleeping arrangements.

    It’s a no holds barred look into a “throuple” as they call it, or a loving, polygamous relationship.

    Photo: Daniel Restrepo

    I know there’s a stigma attached to poly relationships, but I thought this article was really appropriate for my story, Three’s Company.  I would love for you to check out this amazing look into an amazing kind of love, by clicking on the link below.

    He & He & He by Molly Young

    *Adrian is not his real name

    Thanks to Dani for showing me this article 🙂

  • NaNo is on!!

    I’m doing Nano!!!

    I don’t exactly have the time, and I fear failing miserably – and publically – but I’m doing it anyway.

    I figured I’d be writing all of November regardless, and thought I may as well tackle Nano.

    My intention is to write, and hopefully complete, Point of No Return II.  Keep your fingers crossed I can get Matt and Kira’s story done 🙂

  • Three’s Company Excerpt

    Excerpt ~~~ 

    On the third day, by late afternoon I found myself back at the bar. Sure, I’d chatted with other guys, but I kept coming back to my favorite bartender. I knew he was taken, but there was something about him that just drew me in. He joked and laughed, and even when some other guys tried to strike up conversation, I preferred to stay and talk to Adam.

    “So what’s your story?” he asked with a laugh as he handed me a beer. “You come to a gay hotel alone, you don’t drink much, and when that guy tried to pick you up just now, you declined?”

    I blinked at him. “Pick me up?” I looked back at the guy who’d just left the bar and sure enough, he was talking to someone else and seemed to be having better luck. “Oh. I hope I didn’t offend him.”

    That only made Adam laugh louder and shake his head. “Oh, Wil, you are a doll.”

    Simon walked in behind the bar and grinned at Adam. “What’s so funny?”

    “Oh, hey,” Adam greeted him warmly. “Wil here was just making me laugh.”

    Simon looked at me, then at Adam, and they seemed to have some silent exchange before Simon kissed him, then looked back at me and smiled. “So, Wil…” He trailed off.

    I stared at them. I still wasn’t used to seeing two men kiss in front of me. Sure, I’d seen porn. I’d seen movies, but it’d never happened right in front of me. “Um, yeah?”

    Simon walked around to my side of the bar and sat on a stool at the end, a few feet from me. “Do you dance?”

    “Do I what?”

    Adam laughed, making me look at him. He nodded pointedly over my shoulder toward the open foyer where there were people dancing.

    Couples, slow dancing.


    Men slow dancing with other men. Oh, my God… I’d never seen anything like it. Not in front of me, not with my own two eyes.

    I looked back at Adam, then Simon. The amazement must have been obvious on my face because they both grinned at me. “Uh, n-n-no,” I stammered. “No, I don’t dance.”

    “That’s a shame,” Adam said wistfully. I finished my beer. I kept looking over my shoulder to the dancing men. They were… mesmerizing.

    Simon cleared his throat, making me look at him. “So,” he said slowly, “what brought you to Key West?”

    I sighed and Adam served me a fresh bottle of beer. I took a sip and a deep breath, and then I told them. I told them everything.

    How my life in Dalton had gone to hell. My quiet, peaceful, boring, closeted life wasn’t so closeted anymore.

    How one comment was all it took to end everything. Well, one comment, inquisitive minds, and the grapevine that was Dalton. Quiet whispers spread like wildfire and the small town was having none of it.

    I explained how I had been sitting at a table in the bar with the guys I always had a beer with after work when two guys I’d gone to high school with spotted me. They were drunk and even more obnoxious than they’d been ten years before. As they’d stumbled past our table, they’d seen me and laughed.

    “Look, it’s the kitchen fairy,” one said and the other man corrected him, “You mean it’s the kitchen fag.”

    I’d laughed them off as redneck losers who didn’t have an IQ between them higher than their boot size, and the other guys kind of laughed too. But Rod didn’t. He just sat there.

    “Deputy to the Chief of Police, Rod Mackey, just fucking sat there.”

    “Who’s Rod?” Adam asked.

    “The guy I’d been seeing,” I said quietly. “Secretly. For two years.”

    “Two years?” Simon asked. “And he didn’t say anything?”

    I shook my head. “We were all hush-hush. No one knew we were gay, let alone seeing each other.”

    Both Simon and Adam stared at me.

    I sighed again. “So the man who should have said something just sat there. Even out of his uniform, it wouldn’t have seemed out of place if he’d reprimanded those two assholes. In uniform, he should have reprimanded them.” I took another pull of my beer. “But he couldn’t. Or so he told me afterward. He called me later that night to tell me we were over. He couldn’t risk it, he said. He told me if he’d made a scene with those two guys in the bar, it would have looked suspicious.”

    Adam’s eyes narrowed, and Simon huffed. “What did the other guys at the table do?”

    “John and Danny thought it was suspicious Rod didn’tsay something. They called him on it, asking if he’d gone soft, and he just sat there.” I shook my head. “He didn’t know where to look. He certainly didn’t look at me.”

    “What happened after that?” Adam asked quietly.
    “They just sat back and blinked a few times, looking at me. I tried to shrug it off, saying I’d always been pegged as different in high school because I’d never played football. I’m a chef. So fucking what?”

    “You’re a chef?” Simon asked.

    I nodded.” Yep.”

    Adam looked at me, concerned. “What did those guys do? Those John and Danny guys… did they hurt you?”

    “What?” Hurt me? “No, nothing like that,” I reassured him. “No, they just sat there, finished their beers and without so much as another word, they got up and left. I saw it in their eyes, that they’d put it together; I’d never had a girlfriend, never hooked up with girls…” I shook my head slowly as I remembered. “Then Rod sat there for a beat too long, snatched his coat off the back of his chair and followed them, while I sat there, wondering what the hell had just happened.”

    I finished my beer and told them, “The next day, when I’d gone to the store to collect my daily order of fresh produce, old Mr Bryant refused to serve ‘my type’.”

    “Your type?” Simon repeated.

    I nodded. “That would be gay.”

    “Oh my God,” Simon whispered.

    Adam handed me another beer—my third—and I took a drink. “To say I was shocked is an understatement, but then it went downhill as the day went on. We had people canceling reservations, and some just not show up.” I barked out a laugh, though it was anything but funny. “One group who did have the courtesy to call and cancel told Callie—she’s my best friend and second chef—it was because they didn’t want to catch being gay from my food.”

    Of all the ridiculous, ludicrous, hurtful things.

    “I’m really sorry,” Adam said quietly.

    I looked at the blond man. He had an expression of genuine regret on his face, as if it was something he understood. I gave him a sad smile. “It wasn’t the names they called me that bothered me the most. It wasn’t even the fact Rod dumped me. It was the fact my restaurant, my business, was leverage.”

    Simon stood up and walked behind the bar, kissed the side of Adam’s head, whispered something in his ear, and Adam smiled.

    Adam walked around to my side of the bar and grabbed my hand. “Come on,” he said. And without giving me a chance to argue, he pulled me to my feet.

    “What are you doing?”

    Adam laughed. “You’re going to dance.”

    “Here?” I asked incredulously. We were standing at the bar! I turned to look at the other men who were dancing, only to find them gone. “But no one else is dancing,” I told him, and he looked at me and grinned.

    “And no one else can see us,” he said simply.

    Realizing he wasn’t going to let me get out of dancing, I spun around to look at Adam’s boyfriend. “Um… Simon…”

    Adam slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. “Simon doesn’t mind, believe me.”

    He was an inch or two shorter than my six foot one height, but I could feel his chest against mine and his hands on my back, holding me to him. I could feel the heat of his body, I could smell him… and then Adam started to move his feet, just side to side in a swaying motion. I’d never danced with a man before, much less slow danced with a man while his boyfriend watched.

    It was heady. I’d only had three beers but my head was swimming.

    I could feel Simon’s gaze on me and found myself looking back at him. It was obviously okay for Adam to dance with another man because Simon looked rather pleased. In fact, he looked a little smug.

    When he walked over to us, I froze. But he stepped right up to us and kissed Adam soundly, and I gasped in shock. Holy hell, it was one thing to see a man kiss another man, but to see two men kiss when one of them had his arms around me… Jesus…

    Simon walked away, and Adam tightened his embrace and whispered into my neck, “Is this okay?”
    All I could do was nod.

    “Does it feel good?”

    My heart was hammering, and I nodded.

    “Did what’s-his-name ever make you feel good?”

    I didn’t bother correcting his name. Did Rod ever make me feel good? Did I come? Yes. But did he ever make me feel desired? Wanted? Well, no… no, he didn’t.

    I must have taken too long to answer because Adam stopped moving and pulled back to look at me. “Did he?”

    I shook my head. “No. Not really.”

    Adam pulled me against him again and shook his head. “Now that’s a terrible shame.”

    I noticed then that Simon was turning off lights, closing and locking doors, and when the music stopped, I figured the dance was over.

    But Adam never stopped moving. In fact, he held me tighter.

    I could feel his fingers dig into my skin, and I could feel his body against me. I could feel him, all of him. I had no doubt he could feel me, feel what he did to me, how hard I was. And when he snaked his hand down my back, over my ass and pulled our hips together, I knew he could feel how hard I was.

    Then Simon was next to us. I should have been alarmed, but I wasn’t. And when he put his arm on my lower back, I should have shied away, but I didn’t.

    I welcomed it.

    And when Simon stepped behind me, slowly pressing against my back, I should have said stop. But I didn’t.

    I moaned.

    Adam pulled back a little to look me in the eyes. He never spoke. He didn’t have to. But he was silently asking me if this was okay, if I wanted him to stop. So I dug my fingers into his skin to hold him a little tighter as my answer. He smiled then trailed his lips over my neck, kissing over my jaw, and asked with a gruff whisper, “What do you want? What do you want to feel?”

    The words were out before I could stop them. “I want to feel desired… wanted.”

    Simon’s hands moved to my hips and his lips came close to my ear. “We can show you what that feels like.”

    As both men pressed against me, sandwiching me while Adam kissed my exposed neck, my head fell back onto Simon’s shoulder. I uncurled my arm from around Adam’s back to pull my room key from my pocket. I tried to find the words to tell them what I wanted, what I needed, but I was panting and could only say one word.


    * * * * 

    Three’s Company will be released on 27th October with Silver Publishing. You can find it HERE!!

  • Guest Post – Kerry Freeman – Explaining Slash to the Unintiated

    Explaining Slash to the Uninitiated – by Kerry Freeman
    Yesterday I was at the local salon indulging in my one truly girly activity: getting a manicure. (I’m pretty sure people see me in my goofy t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers and wonder why in the world I have such awesome nails. I don’t know why. I just like it, okay?)
    As I was paying my bill, some of the stylists and I were talking about my upcoming trip to Albuquerque for GayRomLit. One lady looked at me and asked, “How did you end up writing gay romance anyway?”
    Ah, such a long story…
    And I basically blamed it on slash. Of course, most people don’t know what the hell I’m talking about when I say that (but I know y’all do). So I explained it this way:
    “Fan fiction is taking the characters from someone else’s book or movie or TV show and writing your own story about them.”
    She nodded. She understood that.
    “And slash is taking two (usually heterosexual) characters and writing stories about them as a gay couple.”
    She tilted her head and squinted at me. I’d lost her.
    “For example, people write stories about Kirk and Spock in Star Trek. I happen to like stories about Edward and Jacob in Twilight and Harry and Draco in Harry Potter.”
    Still squinting, she asked if I ever wrote anything else.
    It’s hard to explain about the voices in your head without sounding like a nutjob, but I did it anyway. “I used to, but most of the voices in my head are men. I write men better than women.”
    Yep, there it was: the “oh God, I’m talking to a psycho” look. This is usually the point in the conversation when people say, “Oh, how nice,” and begin to back away from me slowly.
    My husband says that maybe I should not be so forthcoming with people I barely know. He hates to imagine that anyone would think his blushing bride is not all there mentally.
    Awww. Isn’t that sweet? He doesn’t realize that everyone probably thinks that already 😉
    Still, while some people are put off by the entire concept of slash, many more are intrigued to discover that someone somewhere also thinks that Iron Man and Captain America have more than a bromance going. Me, I’m all about Captain Jack Harkness and the Tenth Doctor.
    Who are your favorite slash pairings?
    Thank you N.R. for having me on your blog! And everyone, please visit the tour kickoff post (http://kerryfreeman.com/2012/10/pine-tar-sweet-tea-virtual-tour-kickoff/) to enter the super-duper tour giveaway.
  • Guest Post – Pine Tar and Sweet Tea by Kerry Freeman

    Pine Tar & Sweet Tea
    by Kerry Freeman
    edited by Jules Robin
    cover by Fiona Jayde
    published by Loose Id
    Contemporary M/M
    118 pages

    After playing eleven years in the Minor Leagues, Coach Matt Hawley has returned to his tiny Alabama hometown to lead his old high school baseball team to their first state championship. At the other end of the state, René Días, who left the Major League after one season, is getting his team ready to defend their state title for the second straight year. One is in the closet. The other is between relationships. Neither has any intention of hooking up at the state tournament.
    Then they see each other.
    Pre-game lust turns into an intense one-night stand neither man can forget, and when their best friends embark on a romance, Matt and René are thrown together again. This time they decide it won’t be for just a single night. But the fear of disappointing his minister father and shaming his family forces Matt to keep one foot in the closet, even as he and René find their lust is maybe something more. He’s going to have to make a choice between between his family and his freedom.
    The clubhouse was sweltering, and René took his cap off to wipe his brow. The rows of lockers and wooden benches always reminded him of playing in the majors, where reporters wouldn’t even wait for the players to get fully dressed before accosting them for quotes about that night’s game. He’d never quite become comfortable with holding court while dripping wet and towel skirted. Then again, he’d never quite become comfortable with a lot of things he encountered his one year of major league play.
    “Good afternoon, Coach Días.” The umpire walked toward him with an extended hand. “Good to see you again.”
    René shook the umpire’s hand. “Good to see you again too. Hopefully you’ve had a good year.”
    “A very good year. Thanks for asking.” The umpire nodded at David. “Hello, Coach Reynolds.”
    “Hey, Bob,” David said, smiling. “No need to be so formal. We’re old friends by now.”
    “Let’s just say I definitely wasn’t surprised to see your team back in the finals.” The umpire smiled. “Gonna be a great series, that’s for sure. Your opposition looks good.”
    René’s ears practically twitched at the mention of the team from North Alabama. “Have you met their coach yet?”
    “Met him this morning. He’s quiet, seems pretty serious. Nice fella too.” The umpire chuckled. “Speaking of which… Hello, Coach Hawley.”
    The gracious greeting René planned stuck in his throat the instant he turned and gazed into a pair of intense blue eyes. René forced himself not to gaze up and down the opposing coach’s tall, tight body, but he couldn’t help following as Hawley slowly licked his lips. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, the man had the most incredible wheat-blond hair just begging to be pulled.
    David cleared his throat. “Um, Coach Hawley, I’m David Reynolds, Mobile’s first-base coach.” He shook Hawley’s hand. “This is René Días, our head coach.”
    René finally remembered he was supposed to talk. “Nice to meet you, Coach Hawley.” René held out his hand.
    Coach Hawley wrapped his long fingers around René’s hand and held on to it. “Nice to meet you too. Call me Matt, though.”
    “We’ve been looking forward to playing your team.” René smiled when Matt’s grip tightened. “I’ve heard great things about how you’ve developed the team since you took over this year. Congratulations on your first state final.”
    “Thank you. This is your school’s third year in a row here. That’s a sure sign you’re doing something right down in Mobile.”
    If there was a sure way into René’s good graces, it was to compliment his team. He could think of plenty of other ways the gorgeous Matt Hawley could impress him—most involving them being naked together—but they had a few baseball games to play. René released Matt’s hand and tried to ignore David’s bug-eyed look at his side.
    The meeting with the umpire was a formality. They discussed the rules of the best-of-three series and the umpire’s definition of the strike zone, and the coaches gave the umpire their batting order. René concentrated on each word of the umpire’s speech and blocked out the coach next to him. Baseball was serious business, and he couldn’t let Matt, however tasty he appeared to be, distract him. But as soon as the meeting was over, René found himself locked into that deep blue gaze again.
    Matt swallowed slowly. “Well, René, it was nice meeting you. Good luck.”
    “Thanks.” René could feel his cheeks heat. “Good luck to you guys too.”
    Taking two steps back, Matt pulled on his baseball cap and smiled before turning to walk away. René couldn’t take his eyes off the slow sway of Matt’s hips. For just an instant, he imagined digging his fingers into those hips and the kind of bruises it would leave on Matt’s fair skin.
    “Down, boy!” David punched René’s arm. “And retract your tongue before you close your mouth.”
    René suddenly remembered where he was. “You think he noticed?”
    “You’re kidding, right? I would say he noticed you every bit as much as you noticed him.”
    “I meant— Oh!” René stared toward the door. “Cool.”
    David shook his head. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he stomped off. “Biggest game of the year, and now he decides to take the dick out of storage.” He spun around and faced René again. “Just great!”
    René jogged over to David and threw his arm around David’s shoulders. “Aww, come on, baby. Don’t be jealous.” He guffawed when David shoved him away. “You’re still my favorite guy, even if you kiss like a girl.”

    An extended middle finger was the only farewell David gave him. Still chuckling to himself, Rene pulled his cap down over his eyes, adjusted himself, and walked into the sunlight to begin batting practice.

    Check out this amazing story NOW!!!!!
  • Guest Post – Meeting Kerry Freeman

    I’d love to introduce Kerry Freeman to my blog!  

    You know the adage “Birds of a feather…” yeah, well, we authors flock together.  Sometimes called networking, sometimes called sound-boarding, sometimes called people who have voices in their heads talking to other people who have voices in their heads… or something like that…   

    Kerry is a fellow writer, who I met through fanfiction, and through a friend  *waves to Bella Leone* and I’m pleased to have her guest posting on my blog today.

    She’s had a new release this week, and we’re here to talk about it.  But first, let’s get to know the woman behind the Southern accent…

    The Short Version
    Author. Southerner. Geek. Writer of romance, believer in HEA. Positive there’s nothing better than shrimp & grits and red velvet cake.
    The Longer Version
    Kerry was born and raised in Alabama, and she grew up swearing she was going to get the hell out of Dodge the instant she could. Turns out Dodge ain’t so bad, and she never left. Alabama’s version of a city girl, she married a country boy, and the adorkable couple lives in a small town with their two socially awkward dogs.
    Kerry loves to write about love, and it turns out most of the voices in her head are men. She also loves to write about the South, so most of her stories end up there, one way or another.
    A tomboy and a geek from way back, Kerry has a day job but dreams she will one day write full time. She has a weakness for yaoi, Japanese stationery, YA, and ginger-haired singers from Britain. She owns an impressive t-shirt collection. Nowaki & Hiroki are her homeboys.
    Monthly Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/pkZ95

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