Hot Summer Romances: A Midsummer Night's Delights

Hi Everyone!

To celebrate the start of the summer season, I’m sharing inside looks at my hot summer romances!

Quite a few of my Amber Quill Press romances take place in the summer. Maybe that’s because the weather is warm and people can go outside and have fun. Or maybe it’s because the nights are steamy and humid and people need to get out of their clothes….

We’re starting things off (appropriately enough) with a look at A Midsummer Night’s Delights. This scorching-hot Amber Quill Press novella was an Amber Heat best-seller and also appears in my Naughty Nobles anthology, along with A Most Unusual Princess and The Dark Lord.

This hot historical follows inexperienced newlyweds as they partake in naughty games at a Midsummer Ball. How did this erotic tale come about? One day, the entire first scene popped into my head. I thought the characters and premise were interesting, and I knew I had to write the rest of Annabelle and Julian’s story. Parts of the novella are so intense/graphic that for the first time ever; I had to turn off my internal editor while writing it.

I wrote a sequel, A Midwinter Night’s Delights that continues the sexual adventures of Annabelle and Julian, and a third book (Ultimate Night’s Delights) is in the works.

Here’s a summary, excerpt & great reviews!

A Midsummer Night’s Delights

At this Midsummer Ball, couples pair up everywhere—but not for dancing!

Young newlyweds Julian and Annabelle are miserable. Their arranged marriage is lacking everything—especially sex. Julian suffers from a lack of confidence and is harboring a secret urge. Annabelle’s longings go unnoticed and unfulfilled, no matter what she tries. But all that changes when they are invited to a Midsummer Ball. Their unconventional hosts, Vincent and Sabrina, introduce them to a world where their most intimate desires and hidden passions are explored—and fulfilled. Swapping and naughty games are just a few of the surprises awaiting them…

A HOT Excerpt from A Midsummer Night’s Delights

Annabelle turned to face a man in a light blue and black mask. Before she could blink, he scooped her up and carried her to a high cushion. He eased her onto her back and immediately buried his head between her thighs. His expert tongue flicked in and out of her, and she bit back the urge to beg for more.

A minute later, she felt the cushion move. She opened her eyes and saw a man in a black and white striped mask kneeling over her face. His half-hard shaft was inches from her lips. She drew him into her mouth, sucking faster as her climax built.

 

The first man swirled his tongue over her nub, making her writhe and twitch on the cushion. Finally, she exploded, thrashing from side-to-side as she came. She wanted to cry out, but her mouth was full. All she could do was make tiny mewling noises in her throat and suck on the man’s rod.

 

After a few blissful moments, the man stopped licking her. The other man withdrew, and the two men traded positions.

She trembled in anticipation as the man in the black and white mask angled his pink cock toward her shaved lips. God, yes, she wanted him in her! She moaned as he entered her slowly, inch by solid inch.

Annabelle bent her head back, only to find the man in blue offering his penis to her. She opened her mouth wide. This was fun! The men were eager, and she was more than willing to let them do whatever they wanted. In fact, she could go like this all night…

Order a copy here: http://www.amberquill.com/AmberHeat/MidsummerNightsDelights.html

Reviewers Say:

Smokin’, 4 Stars! Looking for an author who isn’t afraid to push the envelope in erotic romance? Then take a stroll down the latest literary lane and you’ll find the blazing talent of Kelli A. Wilkins who has gifted us with her take on a secret summer ball that opens the eyes of two unsure newlyweds.

 A Midsummer Night’s Delights is a story that unknowingly draws you in. Subtle teases and heated scenes ebb and flow around the central characters and before you know it, not only are you eagerly turning the pages to see what sexual situations unfold, but also there grows a strong concern for Annabelle and Julian’s outcome. You won’t be disappointed with this piece – you’ll be curious, become titillated, and leave aroused.” - Natalie, Reviewer, EroticRomanceWriters.com

 “For those of you who delight in erotic romances, A Midsummer Night’s Delights by Kelli A Wilkins is a book you won’t want to miss. Kelli is an author who brings a huge amount of joyful imagination to her writing, an equal part of enthusiasm, and a lot of talent, as well. Her love for her characters shines through in her words, their plights so wonderfully explained, and the resolution of the problems so innovative and erotic. A Midsummer Night’s Delights is no exception. This latest creation of Kelli's is available at Amber Quill Press and is a must-buy for Kelli Wilkins fans everywhere, as well as those who enjoy a truly excellent erotic romance. A Midsummer Night’s Delights is a keeper, so get your copy today.” - Rose, RomanceatHeart.com

4.5 Blue Ribbon Rating! “What a romp! A Midsummer Night's Delights is a delight in itself! I really felt for poor Julian and loved how he “rose” to finding the solution to his predicament. And Annabelle proved to be an apt pupil for her lessons. They are endearing characters with a real problem and a rather thrilling, fun answer. Good writing and lots of action make this a book to recommend!” - Kris Jones, Romance Junkies Reviewer

I enjoy hearing from readers. If you’ve read one or both of these books, what did you think? Which scene was your favorite and why?

Want more hot summer love? Read about all of my romances on my website: www.KelliWilkins.com

Until next time,

Kelli

Heart to Hart: The Bare-Knuckle Boys

Old-Time Fisticuffs

The retro feel of my novel HEART TO HART is due not just to the furniture, the landscape and the buildings. There are some traditions that far predated the Roaring Twenties era of my book. One of the most intriguing to me is the tradition of bare-knuckles boxing. My own great-grandfather was quite a fisticuff fighter, and I followed that tradition by being a helluva martial arts sparrer myself. I think I scared them with my kiai and chi, not my fists.

Here’s a bit from chapter three of the book, a key scene where Michael faces the surly, angry Simon, trying to win a bed in his flat.

IN WHICH Simon accepts Michael’s cheeky invitation to beat him in a bout of fisticuffs. The winner will receive  either a quid and ten . . . or a free month as Simon’s flatmate.

From the early 1800s, fisticuffs were taken very seriously, and some of the best boxers in the world were Irishmen—men, I must say, similar to the roustabout Michael, large and quick on their feet and with their hands. But Simon has studied the form for a long time, and he’s sure of his own abilities. Sure enough to wager an extra bed in his apartment….

At a slight movement behind him, Michael turned. Simon Hart stood as he imagined a decorated fighter would stand at the scratch line in a boxing ring. He was quiet, alert, ready. His very tight athletic trousers showed the outline of a jock strap, the new undergarment protection he himself had scoffed at wearing but loved to see on other men. The basket was full, coiled and ready.

“Come,” the athlete said softly, and Michael almost did.

He followed Simon Hart out the door, again careful not to break the thread, even while eying the tight ass moving in the form-fitting trousers. He was grateful for his kaffies, baggy enough to hide his mounting interest, loose enough to allow him all the freedom of movement he’d need when facing the other man.

It was obvious just from looking at Simon Hart. They were opposites. He would use that knowledge to his advantage.

Hart favored the waiting alley cat approach to fighting. He was quick, Michael already knew from having seen him in the newspaper shop—the way he flicked coins onto the linotype surface, the way he snapped his cane into an umbrella.

He knew how to stand, sunk into whatever surface he found himself on, yet able to change position in a flash. He knew how to wait until his opponent betrayed himself with impatience. He would never consciously give away the slightest emotion by a quirk of the mouth or a change of expression in his eyes.

In short, Michael already knew his opponent almost as well as he knew himself. But could he beat him?

Michael was a street fighter, pure and simple. He’d fought the roughest hooligans in New Ireland and found himself with broken bones on several occasions. Each fight had made him stronger, wiser, faster. He knew every combination of punches and what Americans called “low-down” tricks. It had been many years since he’d lost a fisticuff bout…so many he’d lost track.

Both men walked in silence to the place across from the Silver Hind, near the dustbin where Michael had stationed himself off and on for five days—two the little redheaded spy didn’t know about. He’d already guessed the lad worked for Hart because hiring tiny spies was something he’d done himself often enough.

The would-be bare-knuckle boxers stopped as if by a prearranged signal.

“What rules?” Hart asked.

“The rules of the street, lad.”

The tall man drew himself up even more, and the look he gave Michael was almost one of pity. “Very well. I have gotten used to funerals lately.”

“An’ I’ve been remiss, lad. Me condolences to ye. For your friend—and in advance, for your lost dignity.”

Simon flushed brick red.

Michael stood waiting, a lopsided smile on his face, hoping he was succeeding in looking and sounding as cheeky and insolent as possible. He’d just discovered his very fine opponent had a small chink in his armor—the subject of his former flat-mate—and he’d already twisted inside it like a furtive shadow.

The two men stood in the late afternoon. By silent accord, they began to walk with slow deliberation around each other, as if choosing which fine cut of beef to order for supper. Each held his fists in front of his face, thumbs turned inward, presenting only knuckles to the miscreant in front of him.

Believe it or not, jockey straps were called that, after the horse jockeys who needed groin protection, as early as the late 1800s. In fact, bicycle couriers were famous for needing the protection, and the Bike brand jock strap is known to this day. In the novel, Simon's jock strap is a source of huge arousal to Michael.

As he maneuvered for an opening, Michael thought about the last bout he had survived. It was against three men, none of them lightweights, all of them with blood burning in their eyes. He thanked God, then and now, for fists of lightning and the power of a bull. He didn’t want to hurt this man Simon. He wanted to fuck the crap out of him, to pummel his ass until they were both screaming in pleasure. He wanted to get the fighting part over with as fast and as painlessly as possible. And so he continued to circle, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Simon Hart lowered his guard for a moment, as if his arms were getting tired. Michael pretended not to notice. Then his opponent flicked his eyes away, toward the pub, as if half-expecting a friend to emerge.

Michael’s grin widened. He imagined more than saw a momentary confusion in the eyes of his opponent. He thought Simon Hart was wondering how many more easy openings he could give the big Mick from Boston before he fell for the ruse. No, Michael McCree was too smart to fall for street-corner tricks like lowering one’s guard and taking one’s eye off the target.

Suddenly, as Michael let his grin become a sneer, he saw a momentary uptick in his opponent’s chin and a tensing of his shoulders. Without knowing how he knew, he ducked, and when he came back up he lodged one fist in Hart’s chin and the other in his gut. It wasn’t even a one-two punch. It was a simultaneous strike, and Hart folded, then lay motionless on the street in front of him.

Ah, Goddamnit all to hell! He had hurt the man more than he had intended. He dropped to his knees and cradled Simon’s head between his legs. Too late, he wished for a “second”—someone who could run to the pub for ice, for water, anything to bring Simon around.

“Geez, what did ye do to Mr. Simon?”

He looked up into the brown-penny eyes of the lad he’d seen so often by the pub. “Run. Get ice. Be quick about it.”

The boy sped off, and Michael, still kneeling, looked down at his roommate-to-be. Simon was looking up at him with a small smile, and his eyes seemed to wash over him like a cool tide. “Fair and square, Mr. McCree. Now let’s go home.”

Michael looked into a sea of turquoise, both fathomless and compelling. He saw a few seconds only of surrender, but he grasped it and held it, for it had been hard won.

~

Michael noticed his new friend’s jaw was already beginning to swell and discolor. He shrugged mentally. Ah, well. ’Tis better than a bruise on the brain. Or the more vital part…

He waited for Simon to precede him and then he followed a foot behind, his eyes riveted on the well-shaped, muscular ass. He was still smiling as they mounted the stairs to his new flat. He’d pick up his few belongings tomorrow, he decided. Tonight, he’d sleep bare-balls naked and love it.

At his door, Simon turned and gave him a slow, calculating look. “How did you spot the thread on my door sill?”

“Old trick, lad. Not unique to Ireland.”

“But you seemed almost to expect it. As if…”

“As if ye’re the type of omi who’d be suspicious of everyone. Sure an’ I know by the way ye handle yourself, ye’re a man who might have a few enemies. Am I wrong?”

“No.”

Michael saw the way his new flat-mate sized him up, even in the low coal-gas light burning in the hallway, before he admitted him a second time to his apartments. This man’s not just a looker. He fights all too well. He’s got a trained mind. Too bad his friend’s death has slowed him down.

“Then, for the love of God, man, wash your face and let’s go downstairs and find supper. I’m hungry enough to eat”—he let his eyes travel down the front of Simon’s athletic trousers—“a bloody, rutting stallion.”

Even in the dim light, Michael could see the burn in Simon’s cheeks as he turned abruptly and inserted the key in the hole.

“Wait here for me. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Michael lounged against the wall, still grinning. He rubbed his unrelenting cock through the baggy kaffies. His balls had begun to feel as bruised as if his opponent had jabbed him with more than his sensual eyes. There was nothing he loved more than a good fight; no man who aroused him more than a sodding do-gooder with a bad attitude.

Ah, Simon, me lad, let the second round begin.

Heart to Hart is available here on Amber's site, and on the Zon:

http://amberquill.com/AmberAllure/HeartToHart.html

http://amzn.to/12gBwlL

Hop Against Homophobia - Karma: What You Give is What You Get...

I believe in karma, what you throw out to the universe will be returned in like kind. Hate breeds hate; and love breeds love. One doesn’t have to be gay (and I use the term collectively here, encompassing gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, transexual...) in order to support the rights of gays; one can be religious or spiritual or whatever, and support the rights of gays. All you have to be is a human who understands that all humans should and must be guaranteed equal rights, no matter color, race, sex, religion, handicap, sexuality, or any other small or large thing that makes us uniquely human, wonderfully individual.

There’s a personal story I could tell. About my younger cousin. The one I babysat for when I was in high school. The one who didn’t much care for dating boys. She didn’t talk about what she really wanted, she kept it hidden for a very long time. Years and years and years. She battled alone because by the time she was college age I didn’t live there any longer, but in talking to family members I kind of had a feeling. She didn’t talk, but she suffered from bulimia, she tried to commit suicide, she tried dating, she lived away from her family, and finally, eventually she found someone to help her navigate her personal, empowering path. I didn’t know how to open dialog back then. She likely thought she would be ostracized from the family. She thought no one could understand. Maybe she didn’t understand herself.

I wish I’d known what to say. But that idea of personal space and life got in the way. She was strong though and eventually made it through and she found a loving partner, and they took their vows, and she looked so happy on that day. Twenty years later and they’re still together. Upon one of my visits back home, I remember her bringing out her engagement ring and showing it to me with such joy. “I wish I could wear it to work,” she said. “But at the school I work at, there would be questions.” But they knew. One school to the next and she never did get tenure, but she and her partner moved on.

I thought about her today, knowing I would be writing this. I saw a headline on a blog I usually follow. It made me think of her. It was about a news item regarding a teacher who had lost her job because she was gay. And even her union didn’t support her in her fight to get her job back. I didn’t feel angry; I felt sad, so sad. Still. Today. Hate and fear is not dead. But my cousin and her partner live in a state where marriage for her and her partner is legal now. And that’s something, isn’t it? It only took– how many years?

Gay marriage is legal in the state where I live as well. But the other day I saw an article. Yes, another one. A gay couple were getting married and wanted to order flowers for their wedding. Denied by the florist because they were gay. Another article today. A lesbian couple denied a wedding cake because they were lesbians. Marriage equality rights may be gaining a certain momentum, but what about all the rights and privileges that should be associated with that loving union?

I don’t get it. I don’t get that kind of fear, that odd way of human intolerance. I’m not gay, I don’t have to be to support the rights of all people to live as they choose, in the way that makes them able to lead fulfilled and loving lives. I stand for the rights of all people. I stand for human rights, that are civil and fair and just for all. I stand with others in the hope that one day we will see the word, “homophobia,” vanish from existence.

Tess
Amber Quill Press, Marketing & Promotions

REMINDER: Amber Allure, the GLBT imprint of Amber Quill Press is open to submissions. Please visit our Submissions Page for details.




And now for the contest. Enter to win the "From This Moment On" AmberPax Collection. 5 stories by 5 different authors featuring the theme of best friends.   a Rafflecopter giveaway

 
For more information about IDAHO, homophobia, and how you can help, you can visit IDAHO’s global webportal at www.dayagainsthomophobia.org.


Find out more by visiting the Hop Against Homophobia Blog at: http://hopagainsthomophobia.blogspot.com/

Heart to Hart: 1920s fantasy romcom

RETRO ROCKS!

My latest book Heart to Hart (The Gaslight Mysteries 1) is set in a fantasy city in 1923 Ireland.

The book follows the escapades of a gay man, Michael McCree, and his reluctant partner Simon Hart. The two men, investigators in 1923 Ireland, look into some very private affairs—yet none more private than their own.

The city is Dun Linden, after the Irish-Gaelic dun meaning “fort” and the River Linden that flows into a sea somewhere on the Emerald Isle. Is it on the eastern seacoast? Is it in Northern Ireland?

Hey, I’ll never tell.

And the reason I’m being tight lipped is because the city is crafted out of one hundred percent blarney. From the names of the streets, to the landmarks, to the docks and the homes of the wealthy, I made up every single detail of the city.

My reasoning is straightforward. If I were to write about 1923 Belfast, or Donegal, or Dublin, I would be forever fighting off the critics who think I’ve misplaced a street, or a favorite pub, or some other detail I could never hope to know unless I lived there almost one hundred years ago.

A made-up city, with its imaginative landmarks, is way more fun!

Here is an introduction to some of the places in my book, and some of the sights you might see if you could travel there right now.

NUMBER THREE ROLLING . . . The site of the Silver Hind, the pub above which Michael and Simon maintain their two-bedroom Victorian flat.

NORTH STREET WAREHOUSE . . . The carpet warehouse near the docks where the two investigators maintain an office in an upstairs room. Below, wide doors allow lorries (trucks) to haul carpets from the shipyards to storage. The warehouse is also where Simon keeps his darling, his BSA 'cycle.

KELL PÁDRAIG . . . The old church whose bells ring the hour and can be heard all across the entire city. The residents call it “the poor man’s pocket watch.” The church is located near the High Mall, which figures in the next book, an old but grand part of the city where tall trees shelter the local government buildings, the constabulary, offices of city pooh-bahs and others. There is also where Michael goes to enjoy nine rounds at the Dun Linden Nine golf consortium.

BSA MOTOR BICYCLE . . . This is Simon’s pride and joy. In the book, it’s hunter green with gold pinstriping, just like the first model built in 1919 by Birmingham Small Arms, a UK company.

It's amazing how much Simon (and later Michael) are able to get around the city on foot, on the motorbike, trams and taxis. It was a little cumbersome and very slow by modern standards. But 15 mph on a sexy motorbike was quite fast for the time.

1923 AUSTIN 7 MOTORCAR . . . The all-new car driven by Jackie, a wealthy friend of Simon’s, is bright yellow with a robust four-cylinder engine capable of 10 hp. It was much smaller and lighter than the Ford Model T, but economical and hugely popular.

DUN LINDEN MUNICIPAL TRAM LINES . . . I imagine the old trams still powered by steam, huge metal contraptions running on rails set into the cobblestone streets. It takes Simon and Michael half an hour to wheeze from their flat to their office. I also imagine the seats to be wooden benches running along the center of the tram, with huge “running boards” where passengers can hang out and watch the city roll by.

This is a THREE HUNDRED-YEAR-OLD BOOKSTORE in Dublin, where as you see, apartments are still maintained on the upper stories. This is very much how I imagined Simon and Michael living. Their own flat is a four-apartment arrangement, two each floor, with a water closet on the second floor.

In the novel, one block away sits the waiting station  for the number four tram line, and several blocks north lie the city’s Zoological Gardens.

This OLD STONE HOUSE is a fair representation of the “uppity muppity” homes where Michael made his illicit entry while tracking down the Brown Man. The grounds would have been manicured swards of grass, following the UK tradition, full of topiaries and other clipped hedges and ivies.

AND EVERYWHERE, EVERYWHERE, GASLIGHTS. 

Electricity had been invented, but the ornate gaslights continued to dominate cities in Ireland, England and the continent for decades into the 1900s.

The novel Heart to Hart is now available right here on this site, still at a 35% savings through Sunday.

http://amberquill.com/AmberAllure/HeartToHart.html

Mystery, Romance, Comedy: What's not to Love?

Heart to Hart

Erin’s newest novel Heart to Hart has just been released from Amber Quill Press.

The setting: a fantasy city in l923 Ireland, the era of gaslights slowly replaced by electric bulbs, and horse-drawn carriages becoming motorcars.

 Two men begin an unlikely business association: a fastidious, careful, conservative man named Simon Hart . . . and a larger-than-life, multi-faceted, roustabout Irishman named Michael McCree. 

Michael has designs on his drop-dead-handsome business partner. Simon, stricken by a recent murder and fighting his own deepest needs, refuses to cooperate.

The men's profession is a private investigation agency. But Simon spends more time ducking Michael's advances than actually finding clues and solving the mysteries that arise. Inquiring minds want to know:  how hard is Simon really trying to avoid Michael? And Michael isn't hiding his forthright urges—but what secret is he hiding?

~

This scene takes place early in the book, after Michael has wormed his way into Simon’s private office and is caught red-handed—or red-faced—by his angry new flatmate.

“You’ve not explained yourself at all.” Simon knew his voice was cracking, but he was beyond caring. This interloper—this barger into a man’s office, this taker of a man’s dignity, even virginity—had to be removed from his life, starting right away. He’d pay him double the rent to leave.

The insides of his mouth felt dry and his stomach fluttered, just once, as Michael took a step closer to him. The large man’s right hand encased his chin, while the fingers of his left hand stroked his bruised lips. And then he drew Simon’s mouth onto his, forcing open his lips and inserting his tongue. Ah, God. A shiver of desire ran down his chest and straight into his groin.

No. This is wrong. This man has to leave. He’s definitely been up to no good—

He began to fight Michael’s embrace, and yet somehow, the other man anticipated every denial and met it with a counterattack. Their groins, both rigid, locked. Michael was holding his butt cheeks in each hand, kneading and rubbing, while he deeply thrust his tongue, back and forth, in and out, in the ageless rhythm of unsatisfied sex. Their thighs ground together in the soft woolen trousers, and Michael began to draw him to his knees, then onto the floor.

“Stop. You cannot—” 

His voice drowned in Michael’s mouth, and Michael spoke back into his own. “Yes, yes, lad. Oh, yes. Right now. Right here.”

Simon felt like a small boy, powerless against a superior strength. He hadn’t felt that way before. Ever. He’d carefully trained himself to be a victor in every situation. And never once had he resorted to crude sexual encounters. He’d always stood aloof and held back his coarser nature. Now this large rough man would not let him have his way.

“You must stop this charade before I hurt you—”

“Nay, lad. I’ve wanted ye for too long. I promise to be gentle wi’ ye. Come, come, lie here wi’ me.”

Michael began to undress him, button by button, straddling him like a hobbyhorse. Every time Simon rolled or struggled, Michael’s thighs closed in tighter and stilled his movements, as though Simon were cardboard and he were steel. Oh, God, he felt as though he would erupt before Michael could undo the buttons on his fly. Finally, he gave up trying to roll away and watched the other man gently take down his trousers.

As though guessing Michael’s fantasy, Simon was wearing his jock strap. He’d loved the way Michael had taken it off last night; he’d fantasized about it all day long. And now it was going to happen again. He threw his head back on the wood floor and tried to breathe.

“Simon,” Michael whispered, his voice almost harsh with desire, “ye’re a waking dream. Your cock is a bloody treasure trove. Come to me, lad. Tell me ye want me. Tell me.”

The big man’s hands were on both sides of the strap, his fingers interlaced in the elastic holding it to his hips. “Tell me.”

This man will wrench every secret from my soul before he’s through. “No—”

“I need to hear it, Simon. Before I suck it ’til ye cry. Tell me.”

“No.” Simon whispered, then said it again, loudly. “No. You must not—”

They lay as they had stood, mouth-to-mouth, groin-to-groin. Michael’s fingers, interlaced in the strap, began to slide it down off his hips. He seemed to make it catch deliberately on the head, fingering the place where the cotton snagged. Then he eased it down the shaft, over the testicles and down his thighs. Simon began to shudder, his breath coming now in short gasps.

The burly Michael leaned into his groin. . . .

The covers were designed by artist Marion Sipe to reflect a kind of foggy, gaslit city . . . full of mystery and redolent of rowdiness and romance. Enjoy!

You’ll find a purchase download with 35% off, a nice 5* review and excerpt here:

http://amberquill.com/AmberAllure/HeartToHart.html

Revving it Up by Sean Michael - Adult Excerpt

Jon and Bryan have been dating for about six months. While things were hot and heavy in the beginning, they’ve since cooled down to a low simmer. Still, Bryan’s looking forward to seeing Jon again tonight after his shift at the bar. But a game of truth or dare has left him wearing a plug and it’s making him aware of every single step he’s taking.

Will Bryan be able to make it through his date with Jon without going crazy? Or will Jon find out why he’s got that extra wiggle in his walk tonight and do something about it?

It's available here.

Adult Excerpt: 

Jon grinned, laughed and hurried along faster. It was starting to get crowded, but they wound through people like they were on a mission. “God, who knew you had it in you.” Jon made a face like he was replaying what he’d said and started laughing.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“I meant I didn’t realize you were the type to be into plugs and stuff, but the way it came out made it sound like I was talking specifically about the plug you’ve currently got up your ass.”

“Are you?” he asked. “The type?” And why didn’t they know that about each other? Especially if it was this hot. It should have come up already, shouldn’t it?

“I’ll show you my collection when we get home and you tell me.”

“Collection?” Collection? What? Jon had… They’d been seeing each other for almost six months.

“Yeah. What?” Jon shrugged. “It’s not exactly something you whip out to the new boyfriend.”

“No. No, I guess not.” Byron liked the term boyfriend.

“But once he shows up for a date with a plug up his ass, well, then it’s time to show it off.”

“I just… It was a dare.”

Jon stopped at the doors to his apartment building, turned to look him right in the eye. “You’re not enjoying it?”

“I didn’t say that.” He felt slinky, sexy, and with the way Jon was looking at him, desirable, like whoa.

“Good. Then I’m glad you were dared.” They started moving again, Jon opening the door for him.

Jon headed for the stairs, then stopped and grinned evilly. “After you.”

“What? You’re on the sixth floor!”

“I am. And I’m going to watch you take every single step.” In fact, Jon looked like he was going to start drooling any second now.

“No way…” Oh, God. How hot.

“Yes, way. Come on.”

Bryan took a step, the plug shifting inside him.

“Mmm, yeah. Look at that.”

“Jon…” His arms were covered in goose pimples.

“Keep walking.”

Oh, fuck. He made one flight, almost moaning. Jon’s hand landed on his ass, slid across his right cheek.

His steps stumbled and his heart pounded. “Oh, God.”

“You seeing God now, Bry?”

“I…” He was achingly hard.

Jon patted his ass, hard, managing to jostle the plug. “Five more flights. Let’s go.”

“Jon! No touching!”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.” Jon pushed his ass this time, encouraging him to keep moving up.

“You’ll make me. Be careful…”

“Make you what? Damn it, Bry, I want to hear everything—how every step makes you feel, every touch.”

They were moving again, so slowly, up the next flight of stairs.

He’d never heard that tone in Jon’s voice, never wanted to just fall to his knees and beg the man. This was like the dirtiest fantasy ever. “Jon…”

“You heard me.” Yeah, he also heard that rough note in Jon’s voice.

He moved faster, so fucking turned on. Jon followed him up, touching and encouraging and distracting the fuck out of him.

“You keep touching…”

“Uh-huh.” Jon swatted his ass.

He stumbled a little, that sting stealing his breath.

“Careful, Bryan. I don’t want you falling down before we get to my bedroom.”

He made it to the top of the fourth story, sweating with effort. Jon stepped up right behind him, cock hard as it pressed against his ass.

“One more flight left, Bry.”

He pushed back, a deep cry leaving him as they met, rubbed.

Jon licked at his neck. “You can do it.”

“I’m so hard.”

Jon’s hand slid around, rubbed his prick through his jeans. “Yeah, you are.”

“Oh, fuck. Jon, I haven’t… We haven’t been together in weeks.” He was aching for it.

“Then it’s about time, huh?”

“Yes.” He’d been worried, a little, that the spark was completely gone. Looked like it has just been muted, waiting for the right catalyst.

“Up, Bry.”

“I am. Totally.”

Sean Michael

smut fixes everything - www.seanmichaelwrites.com

Revving it Up by Sean Michael now available!

Jon and Bryan have been dating for about six months. While things were hot and heavy in the beginning, they’ve since cooled down to a low simmer. Still, Bryan’s looking forward to seeing Jon again tonight after his shift at the bar. But a game of truth or dare has left him wearing a plug and it’s making him aware of every single step he’s taking.

Will Bryan be able to make it through his date with Jon without going crazy? Or will Jon find out why he’s got that extra wiggle in his walk tonight and do something about it?

It's available here.

Excerpt:

Bryan headed into the coffee shop, searching for Jon, praying to God that the man was sitting in one of the soft cushioned booths instead of the hard wooden chairs nearer the counter. The whole fucking day had been…insane. In. Fucking. Sane.

Jon’s head popped up from one of the booths—thank God—the man grinning and waving at him, brown hair a little longer than the last time they’d hooked up, allowing him to see the curls. And fuck, but the man was stacked. So damn sexy. He made Bryan drool a little. Why didn’t they get together more often? Oh yeah, they’d sort of geared down to slow for some reason.

“Hey, you!” Bryan waved, moving closer, each step feeling…huge.

“Hey.” Jon watched him every step of the way and when he got to the booth, Jon told him, “You’re looking…really good tonight. There’s an extra wriggle in your walk.”

“Thanks.” He sat, gingerly, fighting the urge to moan. “How’s your week been?”

“Good. Good. You?”

“Not bad. The bar was crazy today.” And that was the understatement of all understatements.

“Yeah?” Jon gave him a grin. “You have any good stories?”

“Oh, more than I can tell, I bet.” Like how he’d been involved in a terrible truth or dare game with his old roommate from college and Jack’s fiancé… Man, he should have known better, but Jack always knew how to push his buttons and get him to do shit he probably shouldn’t.

“Playing coy?” Jon waved at someone. “What do you want, man?”

“White chocolate mocha, please.”

Jon gave the order as soon as the waiter was in range. “White chocolate mocha and I’ll have another peppermint latte.”

The dude gave Jon a warm smile, but Jon’s attention had already turned back to him. And it felt heavy tonight, Jon’s gaze. “I’m glad you were able to get off early, man. It feels like forever since we went out.”

“I know, right?” They’d been dating hot and heavy, then things had simmered down. It wasn’t lack of interest, really, more that the spark was just…dimmer lately.

“So what have you been doing with yourself?” Jon’s gaze was warm—the man’s sexiness hadn’t dimmed any, that was for sure. Jon was a thousand-watt bulb, no doubt.

“Working, mostly. We lost a bartender and I didn’t think Amy was ever going to hire a replacement. Thank goodness she did. The guy started two weeks ago and he’s finally trained.”

“Is that why you’re looking so hot tonight?”

His cheeks went fiery and he ducked his head. “Sort of, yeah.”

Jon’s chuckle was like a caress. “Now, after that reaction, I think I have to know exactly why you’re looking so hot tonight, and I won’t be satisfied with a ‘sort of, yeah.’”

“No? Are you sure? There was a truth or dare game, dude. Truth or dare.”

One of Jon’s eyebrows went up. “Isn’t that like for teenagers who need an excuse to do stupid shit?”

“Well, yes. Or stupid old friends having a bachelor party…” Okay, now he felt a little dumb.

Jon laughed, touched his hand where it rested on the table. “Tell me what stupid shit they made you do?”

“Oh, Lord. We karaoked. I drank maraschino cherry juice. There was a plug incident.”

“A plug incident?” It figured Jon would focus on that. Well, it was the more interesting of the dares even if he had tried to play it down.

“Uh-huh.” He wriggled, the said…incident…shifting inside him.

*

I'll post a more adult excerpt after six pm (est)!

Sean Michael

smut fixes everything

www.seanmichaelwrites.com

Go Coastal, by Heidi Champa

 

I've always loved to travel, and writing about a road trip has always been on my to-do list. This is the fruits of that labor. I hope you enjoy my new book, Go Coastal!

Blurb:

 

Nate Ferguson thought he was content with his life, as boring and predictable as it was. His job as a bank teller wasn’t his dream, but it pays the bills. Until one typical Thursday afternoon changed everything. A robber in a ski mask puts a gun to his head and in that moment, Nate realizes he hasn’t really lived at all. When his boss offers him some time off to recover, he jumps at the chance. But, without his old routine, he feels lost.

 

Nate’s search for peace and quiet is interrupted when his roommate’s brother Grant Jacobs blows into town, looking for a place to crash before he sets out on a cross-country trip that will end in Los Angeles. At first Nate is annoyed, mostly at his roommate Dusty for not mentioning his brother’s visit. But, then, fate steps in and Nate is presented with an opportunity he can’t pass up. The chance to join Grant on his trip and finally experience some new things. And, the chance to spend time with the guy he’s had a crush on since high school.

 

With each passing mile, Nate finds himself throwing caution to the wind, which includes acting on his feelings for Dusty. As the trip’s end gets closer, so do Nate and Grant. But, will their attraction be anything more than a fling? Or will Nate find the courage to tell Grant how he feels and change his life for good?

Excerpt:

“God, I really am the lamest person alive.”

I could hear Grant chuckling next to me and I was glad I couldn’t see his face.

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, come on. You know why.”

“Drinking isn’t a requirement of cool, you know.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“True. Hell, it’s the only way Dusty can manage to talk to girls.”

I looked at Grant and my heart melted a bit when I saw his smile. For some reason, he made me want to be honest.

“It’s not the beer. It’s everything. I’m so sick of myself. All this free time has only driven the point home even more. Something has to change.”

“That’s a good thing, though, right?”

“It should be. There’s only one problem.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“I have absolutely no idea where to start.”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but the next words out of Grant’s mouth were the last ones I ever thought I’d hear.

“I’ve got an idea. Come with me to California.”

My bite of pizza got stuck in my throat for a moment and I had to take a moment to catch my breath.

“You’re not serious?”

“I am. I’ve called everyone I know and no one is up for the trip. But, this, with you, it’s like fate.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You want to start over, shake things up. I need someone to take this trip with me. It’s perfect.”

I set my plate on the coffee table and got off the couch, wandering a small loop in the living room, just to keep myself calm.

“It is not perfect. It’s crazy. Besides, I’m back to work on Monday.”

Grant watched me for a moment before he spoke up.

“You don’t have to go back, you know. Take more time off. It’s only a couple weeks. If they love you as much as Dusty says they do, they’ll let you go.”

“I don’t know if they love me that much.”

“You have the time saved up, don’t you?”

“So?”

“So, use some of it and come with me.”

He bit his lip as he looked at me, his foot tapping against the carpet. I was tempted. So tempted. But, I couldn’t. I needed an excuse, so I set about finding one.

“How will I get home?”

“Fly back.”

“What about the money?”

“What about it? It won’t cost that much, I promise.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t even have a budget.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

He stood up and walked towards me, but I backed away.

“Is that really the best you can do, Grant? It’ll be fun?”

“I know it’s a foreign concept to someone like you, but it’s kinda the whole point.”

“I get it, I do, but it’s just so not me.”

“Also, kinda the point, isn’t it?”

I looked up into his eyes and something inside me lurched, that unnamed place that only responds when a cute guy is making you the offer of a lifetime.

“Grant, really, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but this…I mean this is….it’s--”

“It’s what?”

“It’s nuts. Just like you.”

“Maybe so. But, think of it this way. This is your chance to figure things out. If you decide along the way you want to bail, I promise to drop you off at the nearest airport and you won’t see me for another couple years. And, you can come back to your life.”

“And, if I don’t bail?”

“Then, when we get to California, we’ll go our separate ways. And, you’ll have had a blast. Guaranteed.”

“You can’t make a promise like that.”

“Sure I can.”

My back was against the wall, literally and figuratively. I was running out of excuses and plausible reasons. But, that didn’t stop me from trying a few more.

“It’s not that simple, Grant. I have a job.”

“Which will still be here when you get back, I’m sure.”

“And, if it’s not?”

“You’ll find another one. You’re a smart guy, Nate. Too smart to be at a bank.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Seems like it.”

Grant took a step closer to me and I was left with nowhere to retreat.

“Tell you what, Nate. You take some time to think about it. I’m leaving tomorrow at ten. If you’re in, great. If not, well, then I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”

He turned on his heel and plunked down on the couch, another piece of pizza in his hands. I thought of going to my room, but I was too hungry. Returning to the couch, we ate in silence, staring at some random show on the TV. When the last piece of crust was thrown back into the box, I turned to Grant and fired one last question.

“So, if I agree to this, and I’m not saying I’m going to…”

“Yeah?” Grant asked, his eyebrow cocked.

“Where would we go first?”


Links:

Amber Allure Page:
http://amberquill.com/AmberAllure/bio_Champa.html

Facebook page:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/profile.php?id=1382060273

Facebook Author Page:
http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Heidi-Champa/151614298186577

Twitter page:
http://twitter.com/#!/heidichampa

Email:
hlchampa@comcast.net

Blog:
http://heidichampa.blogspot.com