Fun With Dick And Shane

Excerpt

Warning: Adult Content

The Story Of Friday


I awoke alone in the single room, having been banished there the night before because Dick and Shane said they did not want to share bed space with a surly brat. Fair enough. I didn’t want to share it with a couple of judgemental old farts and said so, but very quietly under my breath so they couldn’t hear. No way was I sending my pretty botty on a suicide mission. Judging from the moans and murmurs coming from the master bedroom they had been awake for some time before me.

Padding across the landing I quietly opened the door, my guts contracting with jealousy as I observed them. They were oblivious to my presence, totally lost in each other. After watching for a few moments I quietly closed the door and went to the bathroom, using my fist to relieve my erection so I could pee, reviewing the scene in the bedroom with my minds eye to aid the process. Relieved and watered I pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt and went downstairs to begin my duties.

Shane eventually came into the kitchen trailing a tantalising tease of Yves St Laurent aftershave while adjusting the silver cufflinks he always wears in his work shirts. He spared me a glance.

“No breakfast for me this morning, Gilli. I have to run.”

I scowled, choosing to take his words as a personal slur, “I’ve made it now, and it won’t take you more than a few minutes to have a bite.”

“I’m sorry, cub, but I need to get going. I’m running late as it is.”

“Waste of time hauling my bum out of bed at six to make you breakfast you don’t eat.”

He shot me a warning look from flinty green eyes. “Don’t start, apart from anything else it’s your job to haul your bum out of bed at six to make me breakfast, regardless of whether I eat it or not.” He pulled on his jacket and then made to reach for me prior to kissing me goodbye.

I sidestepped him. “It’s not my JOB to accept false affection and besides, you’re running late. God forbid you waste a precious fucking second on me.” I hissed, as his hand slapped a single harsh reprimand onto the side of my bare thigh.

“Lose that attitude, Gillibran, because I’m heartily sick of it. I’ll see you this evening.”

He matched the harsh slap with a harsh kiss and then he was gone, well most of him. With his kiss still stinging my lips, I flopped down on a chair and stared at the red handprint stinging my left thigh. It was a perfect copy of his right hand; all digits including the thumb were present. I laid my own smaller hand on top of it, as if trying to hold it. I then stared at his place at the table: the neatly folded napkin, the un-drunk orange juice and freshly brewed black coffee, the uneaten scrambled egg and lightly done toast. It looked forlorn and abandoned. My eyes stung.

“Don’t take it personally, he’s got a lot on today.”

I looked up to see Dick leaning against the doorjamb; brown hair sweetly mussed, arms folded.

“He made plenty of time to shaft your brains out.” I snatched up the plate of scrambled eggs and stood up, stalking over to the bin with it. “I don’t see why he couldn’t have made some time for me. I mean it’s not like your arse is going to be scarce over the next week is it.” I tipped the cold flaccid mass into the pedal bin snapping, “there’s juice, coffee, cereal and toast on the table, help yourself, or do like Shane did and ignore it because he was too busy sticking you to make time for my pathetic offering. He knows I look forward to having breakfast with him, but my feelings apparently don’t count. I’m going to get dressed.”

Savagely dumping the plate on top of the eggs I made to exit the kitchen. Dick caught my arm, spun me round and slapped my bottom hard several times.

After making me retrieve the plate from the bin he dragged me back to the table. “You’re onto a hiding to nothing carrying on like this,” he sat down pulling me firmly onto his knee and putting his arms around my waist, “or should I just say a hiding. Shane is running out of patience and so am I. You’ve been a miserable pestilence all week. It’s like living with a hormone-encrusted teenager. Why didn’t you join us in bed this morning? We usually have to fend you off with a stick when it comes to sex.”

“You didn’t look like you’d welcome company. Shane was into you like you were about to become an extinct species.”

“Cutting your nose off to spite your face in other words.” Dick gazed at me solemnly, “listen, I want you to be nice to Shane this evening. He’s tired. He’s had a heavy week at work and he needs to come home to a peaceful haven and domestic harmony, not to someone with a sour face and an attitude to match.”

“He didn’t tell me he was tired, or that he’s had a heavy week. He doesn’t tell me anything. He’s hardly spared me the time of day lately, except to criticise.”

“Stop it, Gil, stop looking for reasons to be annoyed with him. It’s not fair. He doesn’t like fretting you that’s all. Besides you’re the one that’s hardly spared him the time of day, because you’ve been too busy wallowing in resentment. Be a good boy today and do your work properly.” He stroked my face with elegant fingers, “do something special for dinner, make the dining room welcoming and we’ll have a lovely evening together, yes?”

I nodded and tried to produce a smile, but it was swept away on a riptide of tears, not even a life raft could have saved it. “Do you think about me when you’re away,” I put my arms round him, sobbing into his neck, “or is it like I don’t exist? Are you happier without me, do you regret that I came into your lives, do you want it to be just the two of you again?”

“Aw, baby,” he rubbed my back. “We’ve been through all this, time and time again. You’re just needlessly tormenting yourself. Of course we think about you and no we’re not happier without you. We’re just something different. We need to do this, honey. Shane and I need to do this. It strengthens us and we need to be strong, not just for each other, but also for you. Shane and I are the core of this relationship, we have to be certain of each other and we need time alone to renew ourselves and reconnect.”

“I know I’m being a selfish, immature little prick, and I’m sorry.” I tried unsuccessfully to stem the flow, “but I can’t help it.”

He cuddled me while softly singing a refrain from a Gershwin song that he’d improvised just for me, “your Daddies are rich and they’re both good lookin' so hush pretty baby, don’t you cry.”

When I was more composed he stroked a sensuous hand along my thigh, “no more tears now.” The hand slipped inside the leg of my boxers where my cock sprang eagerly to greet it. He kissed my tearstained face and gave me a little wink, “come on, my slutty little boy. Come to bed and have some fun with Dick.”

copyright Gillibran Brown 2010

More information at: http://bookworld.editme.com/GillibranBrown

From MINDSPACE by Mel Keegan

From MINDSPACE by Mel Keegan

A shadow moved from the corner between the pink marble columns and immense potted ficus. The valet was the perfect androgyne, very human, tall, young, slender, with raven hair and black eyes, and a gender so indeterminate, Jack was fascinated. Even the voice gave away no secret.

“This way, gentlemen. Would you care for supper?”

“We ate already,” Kieron said sadly, “and right now I wish we’d given the noodle bar a miss! But we’ll take breakfast. Can you give me a wake-up call? 06:00 will do just fine.”

The valet dropped a smooth half bow, with perfect manners and enviable grace. “If you need anything at all in the night … room service.”

And then he, or she, melted back into the soft shadows and perfumed air, and the door closed on a suite the like of which Jack had never seen outside the gamespace. He gave a low whistle as he turned around on the spot to admire it.

A king sized bed with a circular mattress. A feature wall displaying the city as if through smoked glass, while the glass displayed all forty channels of CityNet, iconized, only waiting for one to be selected. Kieron touched a fingertip to an icon and the city was gone, replaced by a greater-than lifesize, threedee theatrical performance — was it Macbeth? Jack did not know the ancients well enough to tell one production from another. They were enjoying a surge of popularity lately, since someone had just translated them into modern language and staged them in contemporary settings. He turned his back on the play and investigated the bar instead.

“Off,” Kieron said to the AI as Jack poured two flutes of an old, jewel-rich Velcastran red. The drama vanished; the city reappeared, but Kieron was ignoring it now.

Footsteps padded on the silver-green carpet, and big arms went about Jack from behind. Kieron’s nose sifted through his hair, and lips touched his ear. “Wine?” Jack offered. “Nothing but the best here.”

“No.” Kieron’s tonguetip flicked the ear, outlined it. “I’m flying in the morning. Can’t imbibe. It’s not like gaming.”

“Meaning?” Jack set the glasses down on the bar’s deep cherrywood counter and turned into Kieron’s embrace.

“They tell me,” Kieron said wisely, “gaming is better if you’re stoned or drunk.”

“They tell you wrong.” Jack’s arms hooked around the bigger man’s neck. “You go mindspacing when you’re not in command of your faculties, and it turns into a nightmare. The game plays you, not the other way around. Even if you’re playing the AI it’s bad, but if there’s other gamers online, if you’re up against real talent, there’ll be blood. Literally. You can get yourself raped and murdered, and if that happens, Ron, the game kicks you back six or eight levels, and the next time you play … it’s nastier, darker, harder, to get back to where you were when you were dumb enough to go in drunk or stoned. And before you ask why, it gets that way because you create the gamespace yourself.”

Kieron made a face. “Why in the name of anybody’s god would you want to get involved in this crap? No,” he added with a sigh, “don’t answer that. I don’t want a sermon. Or an argument.”

“No? Then what do you want?” Jack cast a glance over one shoulder, at the bed. “Back at guild school, I had to seduce you.”

“Back at guild school, all I wanted to do was fly, and get through the bloody exams, get qualified and get out,” Kieron snorted.

“And you did,” Jack said with all due pragmatism, “all of the above.” He was about to pull out of Kieron’s embrace when the navigator caught him, hugged him hard, and covered his mouth with a kiss.

It was a long time since Kieron had kissed him at all, much less with passion. Jack clung to it, taking everything he could get from it, before Kieron lifted his head away to breathe.

“What’s this all about?” Jack demanded windedly. “Damnit, you’re not feeling guilty, are you? You are!”

“Guilty?” Kieron flicked his belt buckle, dropped it and pulled the green uniform tunic over his head.

He was built like a Pakrani, even though he did not have the fair complexion or the pale hair. Kieron was as dark as the true Pak were blond; his skin was as swarthy as Max Gorodin’s, telltale of the intricate interweave of the colonial genestrands, which gave so many people in the Deep Sky their unmistakable looks. Earthers liked to say most people out here looked Afro-Eurasian, but the categorization was too broad to say much. Jack, Kieron and Max were absolutely unalike and all Deep Sky natives, bred and born.

Kieron had lost a few kilos lately, Jack noticed. He was leaner, harder, as if he had been running, lifting weights. “Now, how stupid is this?” he was saying in a growl. “What in any world do I have to be guilty about?”

“Me,” Jack said mildly, simply making the simple observation. “After guild school you made it all work. I didn’t. You bounced right out of school into work. Me? I was months in dock, so bored out of my gourd, I started gaming to kill time, waiting for a ride that seemed like it was never going to come. And it turned out I was damned good in the game. I could have turned pro, gotten stinking rich … I probably would have, if the whole thing didn’t turn illegal just about the time I was good enough, ranked high enough, to play professionally.” He shrugged. “Then, where was my luck? I just had to get busted, didn’t I? I had to have my guild ticket nixed.”

“Jack, don’t,” Kieron began.

“And then I drifted around, going from one nothing job to another, getting way too friendly with Freespacers, even the good ones, like Ruby Wu, till …” Jack’s shoulders lifted in an expressive shrug. “Here we are. I’m flat broke and lucky to have the price of a bowl of noodles, and you’re in the choice spot, jockeying something like the Pleiades.” He nodded soberly. “I’d say that’s enough to give you the guilts … because you always did like to look out for me, like Grodin said. Or try to. And you probably figure you blew it, let me land right in a steaming pile.”

An enormous sigh said many things Kieron Charig was not about to put into words. If Jack had expected him to deny any of it, say it was completely ridiculous and Max Gorodin was dead wrong, he was surprised. Kieron said nothing at all.

Instead, he tumbled Jack onto the bed and stretched out beside him. Big, warm hands were everywhere at once, as if he must remap, rechart space he had more than half forgotten. Jack was stripped bare, petted, stroked, kissed. He let Kieron do it all, let himself be moved and turned as Kieron wanted, until his senses blurred into one great pool of surprised pleasure.

His eyes had closed when Kieron’s weight settled on him, blanketing him with heat and the musk-sharp envelope of old cologne and clean young male. Jack’s arms went around him; his hands knotted into the spill of Kieron’s dark hair, holding him to a kiss.

“Jack.” Kieron’s breath was short. Hard flesh stabbed into Jack’s hip and belly. “Jack — can I? You know what I want?”

Nothing ever changed. Real life was not much like the game, where lovers like Danno went down willingly under Jack, gave themselves, in every way Jack’s mind could fathom, and every way the rampaging imaginations of a thousand other master gamers could design. Reality was predictable. Jack only smiled and, as Kieron lifted off him, he turned over and pillowed his cheek on the comforter, silk-soft and smooth.

MINDSPACE by Mel Keegan

95,000 words $9.95 in ebook out now from DreamCraft

A Vintage Affair

Coming June 22nd from Loose Id...

Austin Gillespie isn’t looking for romance when he arrives to catalog the wine cellar of an antebellum mansion. So why does one night with too-handsome, too-sure-of-himself Jeff Brady leave him feeling punch drunk?

EXCERPT

Fifteen minutes later he was in a large room on the second floor holding a stack of much laundered towels and an extra wool blanket to “help keep the drafts out.”

The room had old-fashioned green and blue wallpaper. Two of the windows were missing blinds. There was a rummage sale’s worth of broken antiques including a shaving stand with a cracked mirror and a small butter churn. Whatever the heck the Cashels did with butter in the bedroom, he did not want to know.

The lock on the bedroom door was broken.

Austin sat on the edge of the bed -- sinking about a foot into the swamp of a mattress -- and checked his phone messages.

In addition to Ernest’s earlier message, there were four messages from the direct house line in Frederick. It was hard to believe Harrison would be calling. For one thing he didn’t believe in apologizing, and for another, he would not believe himself in the wrong. Austin pressed to retrieve the messages and got a low battery warning. And his phone charger was in the rental car.

The windows rattled in a blast of wet wind.

Whatever Ernest or whoever was calling him wanted, it was just going to have to wait till morning.

He put his phone away and spread the extra wool blanket over the bed. He hoped the sheets had been washed in the last decade. He hoped he would not be sharing a bunk with spiders.

There was a tap on the bedroom door.

Jeff stood in the hallway. His face was grim.

“I want to talk to you.”

Austin stepped back and Jeff entered, closing the door behind him. “I know there are things worth fighting for.” He kept his voice down, but he was angry all the same. “You don’t have the right to stand in judgment.”

“Fine. Agreed. I don’t have the right.” Austin reached for the door handle. “Was that it?”

Jeff’s eyes were dark with emotion. “What is the matter with you?”

“You know what the matter is with me.”

Jeff’s gaze fell. “Naw. Now you’re being…it doesn’t work like this, Austin.”

“I know,” Austin said tersely. “I get it. For you it was just sex. For me -- I don’t know why, but somehow it turned into something different. I don’t know why, but…it did.”

“Naw.” Jeff tried to take him into his arms. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“How does it have to be, Jeff?”

A muscle jerked in Jeff’s jaw. “You’re asking for something I can’t give you.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you goddamned well are.”

“Jeff, what do you want me to say? I understand it was just sex for you, and I’m not asking for anything -- except that you leave me alone so I can get over it.”

“Get over it,” Jeff repeated in amazement. “What are you getting over? You can’t seriously think you’re --”

“Jeff. Will you please leave me a little dignity here? Go away.”

“Austin.” Jeff looked stricken. He pulled Austin closer and Austin remembered that first shared hug in his hotel room. The comfort of simply being held, of being genuinely cared for. But that was an illusion. Even if Jeff did care for him on some level, no way was he going to acknowledge let alone act on those feelings. He had made that just as clear as he could.

Jeff was talking, his voice rough and uneven. “I don’t mean to hurt you, sweetheart. I didn’t want this.”

Sweetheart. Well, at least it was an improvement over the honeys they all bestowed indiscriminately on each other. Jeff’s lips brushed his temple. So gentle. Almost cherishingly. Austin closed his eyes. Who was he kidding? Of course he wanted this. Want blazed through his bloodstream like a high fever, something that would either run its course and leave him wrung out and empty but once more cool and sane -- or kill him. Either way, there wasn’t any denying how urgently he wanted Jeff.

One last time.

The door swung open. Jeff dropped Austin like a hot potato.

“What’s going on here?” Cormac demanded, looking from Jeff to Austin.

“Did you ever hear of knocking?” Jeff blustered.

Cormac bristled “It’s my house.”

“It’s his guest room.” Jeff jerked his head Austin’s way.

“Would you both go away?” Austin requested wearily. “It’s been a really long day.”

Jeff hesitated.

“You heard him,” Cormac said imperiously.

Jeff shook his head, clearly longing to pop Cormac, but in the end he settled for shooting Austin a long unreadable look before walking out.

Available from Loose Id on June 22nd.

Super Star, by S. Wales, Beau to Beau books

A Beau to Beau young adult book

Intro:
Since meeting the teen heartthrob one year ago, Mitch’s life has not been the same. He is certain that when the very famous Kevin Rowe had shaken his hand and looked into his eyes that there had been something unspoken between them, a connection of some sort. Every one of Mitch’s walls was adorned with posters of the international film star, and Mitch had collected anything and everything about Kevin Rowe. As a graduation gift this year, Mitch’s parents are taking him to France for the Cannes Film Festival where Kevin Rowe is making his big debut in the very first film where he is without a doubt the Super Star. When Mitch catches a glimpse of the very famous young man he idolizes, he cannot believe how much he has changed. Kevin Rowe is the most gorgeous man that Mitch has ever seen. Urged by his sister to get an autograph, Mitch feels like a star struck teen approaching his fantasy man and almost regrets coming here for the star’s biggest moment.

About the unicorn:
The unicorn is the only fabulous beast that does not seem to have been conceived out of human fears. In even the earliest references he is fierce yet good, selfless yet solitary, but always mysteriously beautiful. He could be captured only by unfair means, and his single horn was said to neutralize poison. The young gay male, like the unicorn, is fierce yet good, selfless yet solitary, always mysteriously beautiful, and can be captured only by unfair means.

Excerpt:
Kevin Rowe was an international film star and in the eyes of Mitch Sorz, an international superstar. Mitch had seen every one of Kevin’s movies, and had posters of him on every wall of his bedroom. Mitch had graduated from high school this year and as a surprise, his parents were taking him to the Cannes Film Festival to see his idol in his latest film debut.

“Come on, Mitch. We have less than an hour now to get to the airport,” Mitch’s mother, Mary Sorz, shouted up the stairs. Running down the stairs, Mitch ran ahead of his mom, and helped his dad load the suitcases into the car. “Can you believe that Kevin Rowe is my age, Dad? He’s a star. He’s been famous since he was a kid. He’s so lucky.” Mitch’s dad, Frank Sorz, smiled at his son. “I guess he is.” Mitch’s mom came hurrying out. “I called your sister. She’s meeting us at the airport.”

They got into the car and drove to the airport in the city they had called home since Mitch’s parents had married. Orlando, Florida, was the best place to grow up, according to Mitch. There was always plenty to do, with Disney World, Universal Studios, and Sea World all in one place. Mitch watched the traffic whiz by from the car window, and thought about the first time he had seen Kevin Rowe in person. It was just last year. Mitch was seventeen at the time, the same age as Kevin, and Kevin had just finished filming his first major motion picture, “Lucky Star”, and was signing autographs in the Magic Kingdom at Walt Disney World.

Mitch laid his head back on the car seat and closed his eyes. He had daydreamed many times about that first time he had seen Kevin Rowe in person. Kevin had signed the book about his life so far in the spotlight, and when Kevin had touched Mitch’s hand, Mitch had felt something between them. He couldn’t explain it, but it was there. Kevin had looked into his eyes, and it was if they knew something about each other at that very moment, that they shared something which no one else shared. Since that time, Mitch had seen every one of Kevin’s movies, and had collected anything and everything about Kevin Rowe.

***

Once on the plane, Mitch’s parents had another surprise. “Oh, man, are you kidding?” “Not at all. It isn’t every day that our son graduates from high school.” Mitch’s dad ruffled his son’s hair. They took their seats in the first class section of the huge Boeing 777. “I don’t remember any first class seats when I graduated,” Mandy sarcastically commented. “Well, honey, I didn’t get the bonuses then that I do now,” Mitch’s father reminded her. She rolled her eyes, and sat down beside her brother. “Hey, Mom, they still allow nude sun bathing on the French Riviera, right?” Mandy teased, trying to bait her father into one of their useless arguments. “Now, honey, don’t start.” Mandy giggled, and leaned her seat back.

Fortunately, the trip across the Atlantic didn’t seem to take as long as they thought it would, and before they knew it they were opening the door to their luxury suites in Cannes. “This is so great,” Mandy exclaimed. She and her mother were staying in one suite that was connected to another one that Mitch and his father were sharing. “They are beautiful, honey, and attached. They’re so big, honey,” she said to her husband.

Mandy pulled out her very tiny swimsuit and swung it around. “What do you think, Dad?” “It’s much too small,” her father answered. “It’s very nice, dear,” her mother said, but motioned for her to put it away. “Let’s go check things out,” Mandy said, eager to find her French man. “Go with her, Mitch.” “Oh, I see, I need a man to protect me, huh?” “Now, honey, that’s not what we meant,” her mother half lied. “Come on, kid,” Mandy said, leading the way, determined to exert her leadership.

The place was beautiful, and packed with movie stars and tourists. “Oh, look, Mitch. There’s Russell Crowe.” Mandy was definitely star struck. “Yeah, yeah.” “Oh, look, Mitch, I think that’s Kevin Rowe. Damn, he has really changed since last year.” Mandy dipped her sunglasses to get a good look. Mitch’s mouth fell open. Kevin was gorgeous. He sure has changed a lot more than I have since last year, Mitch thought, suddenly feeling much younger than his eighteen years. Mandy was right. There were girls all around Mitch’s dream guy, trying to get as close to him as they possibly could. “Wow, Mitch, look at the security that kid’s got.” “Hey, he’s my age. He’s not a kid.” “Whatever. Come on, Mitch, let’s get a closer look.”

Mitch walked behind Mandy, almost afraid to look at the man who had been the object of his desire since the first time he had looked into his eyes for that magical split second. The crowd had been thinned out some by the massive display of security surrounding the very famous Kevin Rowe, and Mandy and Mitch were able to get closer to him than they thought they would.

Mitch stopped his sister from going too far. “Mandy, wait,” he said. “What? Don’t you want to see him?” Mitch shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t take his eyes off of Kevin, though. He was definitely beautiful. “Hey, look, Mitch. I think he’s signing something.” Mandy walked ahead and Mitch walked behind her, slowly. Security had opened up a little, to allow Kevin to sign autographs. Still very guarded, Kevin shook Mandy’s hand and handed her a signed book about his new movie. Mitch walked up and shook Kevin’s hand. Kevin looked at him.

Beau to Beau books of Male Love
http://www.beautobeau.com
Purchase e-book at All Romance ebooks, 1Romance ebooks, Amazon

Quench the Fire by J.M. Snyder

Now Available!
Quench the Fire

by J.M. Snyder

Read an excerpt or buy your copy today!

BLURB:

In To Love a God Greek god Hephaestus finds his world -- and his mind and body -- set aflame by a minor water god named Aean.

In this follow-up story, Aean interrupts his celestial lover in the one place where Hephaestus is most powerful: his forge. Though busy with work, Hephaestus doesn't mind the interruption, and when Aean suggests a reversal of their usual roles -- this time with him on the receiving end of Hephaestus's attentions -- the smith hurries to comply.

EXCERPT:

As he watches the quivering liquid filling the quench tank, he sees a darkness grow beneath the briny water, a shadow that coalesces near the bottom of the tank and soon flows to fill its length. A man's knee breaks the surface, followed by a strong calf, long and lean, which ends in a large foot with thin, bony toes. Hephaestus stares at the water beading along the bare limb, runneling in crazed patterns through blond hair back down toward the knee, hurrying into the tank below. Experimentally the foot reaches out, easing beyond the tank's boundary, and brushes the hem of Hephaestus's heavy asbestos apron where it rests against his thigh.

The sudden press of material against his crotch flares his libido to life. In the span of a heartbeat, his cock goes from mildly amused to a raging inferno, and Hephaestus shifts his weight from one foot to the other so he can feel that damp, probing foot against the thick, dark hair whorled on his upper thigh.

The toes are cool where they dance across his heated skin. He turns, allowing them to play over his thigh ~ the foot rubs up, reaching for his hip, then smooths back down, the sough of flesh on flesh lost in the crackle of fire, the gentle lap of water. Setting his hammer aside, Hephaestus places his hand over the foot, just behind the toes. His knuckles are dingy and battered against the clean, pale foot, but the toes stretch as if pleased with his touch. Squeezing lightly, he mutters, "This better be you, Aean."

In response, the foot frees itself from his grip and slips beneath his apron to glance along his inner thigh. Short nails scrape through the wiry hair encasing his balls as Hephaestus grips the ankle to keep it from going any farther. His knees shake from heat and lust, and suddenly his dick throbs with the need for release. When the big toe tickles along the length of his cock, Hephaestus's mind blurs with raw, primal urges. Poseidon's staff rolls off the anvil, forgotten, as a growl starts deep in Hephaestus's throat, a sound so ancient, the mountain around him rumbles in response. With one strong tug, he pulls on the extended leg to bring his visitor out of the water.

Read an excerpt or buy your copy today!

To Love a God by J.M. Snyder

Now Available!

To Love a God
by J.M. Snyder

Read an excerpt or buy your copy today!

BLURB:

Lame, with harsh features, brooding eyes, a wiry beard crackling with flame, and ropy muscles, the god mortals call Hephaestus is nobody's idea of perfection. Indeed, far from it. A lingering odor of burnt solder clings to him, adding to his manly stench of sweat and musk. His bed is narrow and lonely, his sheets filled with soot and regret.

Blacksmith to Olympus, he hides from his kin on an island in the Mediterranean, commissioned to forge a hero's sword from unbreakable metal. But a brief tryst with a minor water god distracts him. Aean is everything Hephaestus is not ~ young, beautiful, sexy. He stirs in Hephaestus a savage lust the smith has never felt before.

Now Hephaestus wants Aean for his own, and he won't rest until the water god is his.

EXCERPT:

There is a slight current underwater, a tug against his foot, that flickers over his toes and dances along the length of his leg. He stretches his calf, raising it up out of the current, then plunges it back into the flow of the stream running unseen through the pond. Or perhaps it’s a naiad, toying with him, a water nymph looking for a spot of fun.

As if in response, he feels a wet finger drawn across the ball of his foot, tickling him. He kicks out, irritated. “Not tonight,” he growls. His voice is gravelly, unused, as deep and dark as the forge in which he’s been toiling all day.

Those are definitely fingers he feels smoothing up his leg now. He kicks again and covers his eyes with one hand. He doesn’t have to feign his exhaustion ~ it’s written in every muscle, every bone. He hears a splash as someone breaks the surface of the water but there is no tell-tale giggle, no girlish laughter, nothing to give away his visitor. Just that hand, now heavy on his knee, and another drifting between his legs. Cool fingers close over the tip of his thick cock, jolting it awake. Pleasure shoots through him like one of Cupid’s arrows, piercing through his fatigue. In an instant, his dick is hard enough to rival the anvil in his forge, and the blood rushing in his ears drowns out all other sound.

So much for a quiet evening alone. Damn.

A hand encircles his shaft, gripping it fiercely. Hephaestus gasps, hips rising off the rock, his body wanting more, no matter how tired he might be. He feels his lame leg pushed aside to part his thighs and the hand lifts his dick as it kneads him, working his erection. He fucks against it, suddenly needful. Cold lips touch his balls but the tongue that licks out to trace his veins is as warm as any mortal’s and Hephaestus melts beneath it. “Yes,” he sighs, aloud this time, hands gripping the rock beneath him for purchase, legs shifting wider apart. That tongue delves deeper, tasting his musky center, and he writhes with delight as his dick throbs in the unseen hand. His voice rises to Olympus, scratchy with desire. “Gods, yes.”

Slowly the nymph climbs onto him. Hephaestus keeps his eyes closed, unwilling to scare his visitor away just yet. These creatures can be skittish at times, and he’s learned the hard way not to spook them when he wants relief. A damp leg presses along the inside thigh of his lame one, and another rests high against the outside of his right hip. Something hard and heavy hangs down against his stomach, rubbing in the furry hair of his abdomen. His cock stabs between the nymph’s legs ~ he thrusts up, meeting nothing but air, and a frown crosses his face. Where ...?

The visitor rocks back and Hephaestus feels wet buttocks with his next thrust. Firm like ripe apples and damp from the water below, the ass cheeks part easily around his cock, giving him some much needed friction. He grips the knee closest to him in an attempt to keep the creature close. If he can just roll over quickly, pin the nymph beneath him, thrust inside in one swift move, maybe he can find release tonight.

But a strong hand catches his, and the male voice that purrs in his ear surprises him into opening his eyes. “Oh, no, smith. You’re mine this evening, not the other way around.”

Read an excerpt or buy your copy today!