Posted in Books, Teasers

Featured Author Lea Bronsen

A Teaser Post to Brighten this Wednesday, featured authored Lea Bronsen. Lea is proudly sharing an excerpt and cover from her latest erotic work, Shade Addiction. Lea describes the book as having a ‘touch of love’, so enjoy what unfolds. Happy reading!

Ex-boxer Mike Logan struggles to put a brutal past behind and make ends meet as a bus driver. When a young runaway settles for an all-night ride, he seizes the chance to do a good deed—get her home safely. But first, they’ll drive around and talk.

What he doesn’t anticipate is that this broken night angel is also a sexy little minx needing a lot more…and not just the gentle kind.

**This is an expanded edition of the story previously featured in the anthology Passion, Pleasure, Pain in 2019**

#Dark #Erotic #Romance

‘Shade Addiction’ Excerpt:

She gives me a long, languorous look. I think I know what it means: She’s interested by my wild side. Dark attracts dark. She believes she’s found the same kind of fallen angel as she is, a soul mate.

Wrong, kiddo. What you need is someone good, not broken like me.

She reaches over the table to pat my chest. “So hard. Jesus. You definitely work out.”

Her touch sends electric sparks to my groin. My cock pulses. I push her hand away. “Don’t do that.”

“Why?”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“Why?”

I sigh. “I’m thirty-two, you’re what?”

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen, that’s very young. I could easily be accused of taking advantage of you. Did you see how the waitress treated me?”

She crosses her arms underneath her boobs. “But I’m an adult, and I have boyfriends.”

“You have boyfriends.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, many?”

“Yeah.” She holds my gaze.

I don’t know why I had to make a deal of that.

She continues, “So, it’s not like I’d let anybody touch me if I didn’t want them to.”

“Well, I don’t want you to touch me. Let’s go.”

Author, Lea Bronsen

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser–White Oak/Black Mahogany

Hello all:

For this Tuesday Teaser, I am excited to be sharing excerpts from my latest work, “White Oak, Black Mahogany”. Below you find the excerpts, as well as the book cover and buy links. Happy reading!

~Emily

Excerpt from “Black Mahogany”:

Before whoever stood on the porch could ring the bell again, Mike yanked the door open. “Yeah? Do you have any idea what time it is?” His mouth dropped open at the half-naked spectacle waiting outside the door.

Aidan Kelly laughed as though he could see Mike’s expression. He resettled the quiver of arrows on his bare back. “Mind if I come in?” he asked sotto voce. “It’s damn cold out here.” He pinched one of his hard nipples as if for emphasis.

Mike stepped back. “Yeah… Damn! Did you walk here like that? Without your white cane?” He tweaked Aidan’s other chill-hardened nipple. “Not to mention without a coat?”

Aidan stooped and caught up a small bag that had been hidden by a convenient pile of snow. A winter coat peeked out of the top.

Mike’s father — or Mike in recent years — always kept the porch snow-free whenever possible. Mike snorted. “Come in, you sneaky pain in the ass.”

Once Aidan was inside with the door closed behind him, Mike took the backpack and set it out of the way. He spotted Aidan’s white cane tucked into a loop on the bag’s side, and his smile grew. “Do you want a blanket, Cupid? You’re going to freeze your diaper off.” He tugged at the sheet tied around Aidan’s waist and up between his legs. It would have been a passable costume, especially with the authentic bow and the crepe-paper-tipped arrows… if the pseudodiaper hadn’t featured a well-known superhero.

Excerpt from “White Oak”:

A deep voice shattered the serenity of the early afternoon. The rich, rolling baritone was like polished redwood, somehow a delight Mike could feel and see as well as hear.

The song wallowed at the beginning: “Oh man. Go home. Your husband, he is ill.”

Here the song leaped free of its muddy start and danced on marble in a falsetto so ridiculously high and thin that Mike stifled a laugh. “Is he ill? Well, give him a pill! Oh, my dear Franz, just one more dance! Then I’ll go home to my poor husband. Then I’ll go home to my old husband.”

The singer’s voice came from both ahead of him and above. Mike followed as the dialogue continued: the deep voice said the husband was worse; the falsetto replied that he wasn’t a nurse. So the first replied, “Your husband is dead!”

“Well,” returned the other, “then there’s no more to be said!”

Mike stood below a large oak. Between the ancient tree’s height and the eroding bank, he could just spot the singer a good eighteen feet above him. He stepped back, shaded his eyes, and listened to the final verse.

“Oh man, go home. Your husband’s will is to be read.

“Well, now that he’s dead, the Lord rest his head. No, my dear Franz, this is no time to dance. I must go home to my poor old man. I go to we-e-e-e-ep for my poor husband.”

Mike laughed outright, applauding. It wasn’t the raunchiest thing he’d ever heard sung or spoken, but definitely the crassest thing he’d heard at that volume. Whoever the singer was, he had balls.

“Thank you,” called the singer. The baritone was his natural speaking voice. “And who admires my talents?”

“Mike. And who are you?”

“Climb up here, if you can, and find out.”

If he could? He eyed the bank, spotted a root, and grabbed it. There wasn’t another close, but he caught hold of a stone, dug his heels in, and hoisted himself up until he was on what passed for solid ground again. Now the real work began. He could see the singer, a guy about his age, sitting about a quarter of the way up the tree, but there wasn’t a rope in evidence. How had he gotten up there?

Mike circled the tree. He wasn’t the tallest guy in town and had despaired of ever filling out like one of the linebackers. He’d been a running back in high school. A great player, quick and smart, but small compared to the rest of the team.

Someone had cut chinks into the wood on the far side of the tree. Grinning, he dug his fingers into the lowest one, which was almost out of his reach, and yanked himself up. With a grunt he settled on a branch roughly parallel to the singer’s.

“I see you made it,” the red-haired man said. He turned his head toward Mike and then away.

Holy fuck. It’s him. Aidan Kelly. How did the young man manage to look twenty-five at the board of education office and nineteen here? Besides that, the guy had to be only sixteen or seventeen if he was still in high school. Just how old was he? Where did he find the courage to sing about a couple of… Mike swallowed as Aidan shifted, muscles pushing at his dark T-shirt. His red hair, so neatly combed before, spilled down his neck and over his ears like frosting waiting to be lapped up.

What the hell am I thinking? Maybe he’s gay, singing a song like that, but I’m sure as hell not, and there’s no two ways about that. Frosting? Jeez!

Want more? Buy here:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/White-Black-Mahogany-Duet-Heartwood-ebook/dp/B085P2FPFH/ref=sr_1_2?crid=1EM9TUROBL0TN&keywords=emily+carrington&qid=1584406389&s=digital-text&sprefix=emily+carrington%2Caps%2C176&sr=1-2

Changeling Press: https://www.changelingpress.com/white-oak-black-mahogany-duet-heartwood-1-b-3007

Posted in Books, Teasers

Teaser Tuesday–Author BL Maxwell

For this edition of Teaser Tuesday, it is a pleasure to feature author is BL Maxwell, sharing a blurb and cover from their latest release, ‘Burning Addiction’. Happy reading all!

‘Burning Addiction’ Excerpt:

Benjamin and I spoke a while longer about what reasons the local vampires could be using addicts for other than to satisfy their curiosity, there really was no other reason for them to try to harvest humans this way. “Tell me more about the addict you treated, did he give you any information we could use?” Benjamin asked. I thought back again to earlier when I’d treated him.

“I only know what the paramedics told us when they brought him in. Which isn’t much, he refused to give us his last name.” He was more handsome than anyone I’d seen in years, and young, so young, too young to be so broken and so devoid of any hope. He tried to hide his emotions, but even though he was in a stupor from being on drugs and then having a seizure, his loneliness and desperation still felt palpable.

“Doesn’t seem like that’s all you know, seems like that’s all your willing to say,” Benjamin said, with an amused lift of his brow.

“I tried to speak with him, but he’s so defensive. He’s distrustful of anyone and everyone, I’m not sure he’d be much help to you.”

“He may know more than he realizes. If we could find out who he got his drugs from that would help.”

“I can ask him when I go back to work, he wasn’t talking much when I left. He’s lost all hope, and I think he was disappointed we revived him. He’s pretty far gone on the drugs.”

“I wonder if the drugs they’re giving out are different than the other street drugs,” Benjamin said.

“How do you mean?” I asked, the hair on my neck bristled at the idea of vampires working so hard to get humans addicted.

“Maybe they’re not only stronger to get them higher, but also more addictive. If they could somehow find humans who could survive the amount of drugs necessary for them to get high and still be able to pump them full of more, they’d have everything they need. Maybe they’re just putting feelers out there now in preparation for something else.”

“What could be worse than creating addicts only to bleed them dry and leave them for dead?” I asked.

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser: Huanita Maria, writing as HM Wolfe

Today, we are very happy to feature the work of Huanita Maria, writing as HM Wolf. Her latest release, written with El Nelson, is titled ‘Starlight, Star Bright.’ This is Book One of The Men of Dragons’ House series. Below, you will find a book cover, and excerpt for her latest novel, as well as a buy link from Amazon. Please Enjoy!

Blurb:
Ardan MacNamara finally has the life he didn’t even dare to dream about: happily married to his soulmate, Alasdair. The proud father of Lorcan. And he is surrounded by friends and family members whose respect and affection he’d won. Just when the man thinks all his obstacles are finally surpassed, the ghosts of the past come to haunt him.

Alasdair Stark is as happy as he can be, having Ardan’s endless love. The trust and affection of his husband’s son Lorcan and a stable career and professional reputation in spite of his very young age. Everything is perfect, until the fateful day Ardan’s past literally appears on their doorstep, threatening to destroy the harmony of their life.

As even more secrets are unearthed, Alasdair has to make some decisions that could alter more than one life. Is he ready to take the step and pay the price? And, when what he holds dearest, and nearest is threatened, what path will Ardan choose? Will, the love between the two men, stand the new trials, or will it go away?

‘Starlight, Star Bright’ Chapter 1 Excerpt:

“I have a confession to make.” Alasdair started in a low purring, seductive voice. ”I met this guy, and I fell for him. Hard.”

‘Well, same here.” Ardan smiled; his special smile meant only for his Spitfire. ”One day, about seven and a half years ago, I saw a little redhead who stole my heart and kept it. Truth be said, I never thought of asking him to give it back to me.”

”Lucky little brat! I hope he realizes what a great treasure you’ve trusted him with.” Alasdair mirrored the older man’s gesture from earlier, brushing his dirty-blond, damp hair from his forehead.

”I don’t know if the Spitfire realizes what his love meant and still means for me.” Ardan’s answer came in a nostalgic, sweet voice. ”He picked up the pieces of my shattered soul one by one and put them back together, making me whole again. I can’t even imagine how hard it must have been for him, to see the scars marring my body and soul, and love me in spite of them.” ‘

The guy I fell for was so sweet and patient with the douchebag I was back then. He believed so much in my potential and encouraged me to follow my dreams. He was with me every step of the way. I don’t know what I would have done without his constant support and enormous love.”

‘Well, since both of us love our men so much, I suggest we spend this night and the rest of our lives in their arms.” Ardan winked. ”What do you think?”

‘You are right, as always.” Alasdair closed the few inches of space between the two of them, burrowing his head, adorned by his wavy, bright-red hair, into the man’s shoulder.

Love it so far? Buy here:
Starlight Star Bright (The Men of Dragons’ House Book 1) https://www.amazon.com/Starlight-Star-Bright-Dragons-House-ebook/dp/B084792T1F/ref=sr_1_1?

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser Featuring Jessica Coulter Smith a.k.a Harley Wylde

Welcome to another addition of Teaser Tuesday. Today, we have the pleasure of featuring best-selling author Jessica Colter Smith, a.k.a. Harley Wylde. Below, you will find an except from her latest work, ‘Ashes’, and the accompanying book cover. ‘Ashes’ is part of ‘The Devil’s Boneyard’ series. Should you find yourself needing more, please follow Jessica/Harley at these website links.

jessicacoultersmith.com
harleywylde.com

‘Ashes’ Excerpt:

“Tighter,” she said. “Hold me tighter.”
I shifted so I could put both her wrists in one hand, then gripped her throat with my other. She sighed and bit her lip. Jin fucked her harder, grunting as he came. When he pulled out, he removed the condom and tied it off before wrapping it in the foil package and shoving it into his pocket. I knew he wouldn’t chance leaving it where she could get to it.
“Your turn,” she said, smiling up at me.
“No, thanks. Not my type.”
I released her and stood up. Jin gave me a nod and I left, but not before I heard him command her to turn over, then the sound of his belt hitting her flesh. He definitely had a type, and they all kept coming back for more. Tonight’s choice was new, but I had no doubt I’d see her again. She seemed like the kind of woman to get off on being used.
When I rounded the clubhouse, I ran into some hang-around who apparently thought he was someone. I paused in the shadows and listened as he mouthed off to a club whore.
“Yeah, I’ll be patching in before you know it. These guys need my skills,” the punk said.
The woman ran her hand up and down his chest. “And what kind of skills are those?”
“Ran my own meth lab for a while, until the heat got to be too much. I’m the best around these parts when it comes to cutting drugs and selling shit.” He looked down her barely there top. “These assholes don’t know shit about the business.”
Oh, really? Not that we were into meth, but we had the pot sales locked down pretty tight. And we never sold to kids. There were some gangbangers around town who did that shit, and we got it off the streets as fast as we could. I had to wonder if this little asshole was one of the ones killing people with his fucked-up drugs. About six months back, there had been an epidemic of drug overdoses. Mostly meth.
“You’re smarter than them, huh?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. Won’t be long before I’m running this place. That old man will be stepping down or I’ll force him down.”
Now that I’d fucking pay to see. Cinder would flatten this dickhead without breaking a sweat. Enough was enough.
“So you can run things better?” I asked, stepping into the dim light off the porch. “Want to put your money where your mouth is?”
He looked me up and down. “You’re not an officer. Just a patched member.”
“Which is way above your pay grade since you aren’t even a Prospect. I suggest you leave and don’t come back.”
He barked out a laugh. “And who’s going to make me?”
I didn’t bother with words anymore. I wasn’t sure this idiot could understand what anyone said anyway. Hauling back my fist, I let it fly and nailed him right across the jaw. His head whipped to the side and he staggered back a step, but I wasn’t done. I whaled on him, blow after blow to his ribs, stomach, face. Someone needed to make an example so other little fucks like this one didn’t come around.
He dropped to the ground and I kicked him in the gut, then spat on him. “You are nothing. You’ve always been nothing, and you’ll remain nothing. No one would miss you if I ended your life right here and now.”
“You fucked up,” he said, then spat out blood at my feet. “I’ll end your sorry ass. You and all the others.”
“Finish it.” Havoc’s voice reached me from the darkness. He hadn’t been inside, but apparently had walked up in time to figure out what the hell was going on. “Now, Ashes. End this shit.”
I hauled the little shit stain up and hammered his temple until my hand throbbed. When he still wouldn’t fucking die, I snapped his neck and let him drop to the ground. Breathing hard, I glanced in the direction of Havoc’s voice and the Sergeant-at-Arms moved closer, coming into the light. He nudged the dickhead on the ground, then snapped his fingers. Two Prospects hurried over and hauled the body away. I didn’t care where they took it.
“You hear anyone else mouthing off like that, handle it. If you can’t take care of it, then let me know and I’ll step in. The last thing we need is a bunch of troublemakers trying to patch in.”
I gave him a nod and got on my bike, going straight home. This end of the compound was quiet, and dark. I went up the steps and flicked on the lights as I went inside. A cold beer sounded good and I grabbed one from the fridge, snatched a hand towel from the laundry room, then went into the living room and turned on the TV.
Adrenaline was coursing through me, and I needed sex as much as I needed air. The club sluts weren’t going to get the job done, though, and no way in hell would Renegade let me anywhere near his sister. So my hand had been getting the job done for a while now.
It sucked that my life had come to this, but meaningless sex just didn’t do it for me anymore. Hell, I couldn’t even get hard for the whores at the clubhouse. Those days were behind me. Keeping it from my brothers was going to get harder and harder though. For two years I’d walked that fine line, but a day would come when I couldn’t conceal my true feelings. They’d know something was up, but no fucking way could I ever let Renegade know I was a goner for his baby sister.
Flipping to one of the porn stations I streamed, I selected a movie and unfastened my pants. I downed half my beer before picking up the lube and slicking my palm. As the woman on the screen deep-throated the man, I started stroking. It wasn’t long before my eyes were closed, only focused on the sounds and picturing sweet little Nikki on her knees, sucking me off.
I tightened my grip, giving a slight twist on the downstroke. Faster. Harder. Everything in me grew taut as my balls drew up, then I was coming. I grunted as spurts of cum jetted over my hand, wishing like fuck I could do more than daydream about the only woman I’d ever wanted long-term.
Using the towel to clean myself off, I made sure I got everything off my hands, then tossed the towel to the side and picked up my beer again. I finished watching the movie, then called it a night after a quick shower.
Pathetic. That’s what I was… a pathetic excuse of a man, much less a biker.
If anyone ever found out I hadn’t fucked a woman in years, I’d never hear the end of it. I let them suck me off, sometimes. And I made sure they were satisfied, but my dick hadn’t been inside anyone since I’d fallen for Nik. I’d fooled around with my dates, but it never went all the way. My brothers wouldn’t understand. Especially since I couldn’t have the one I wanted. No way her brother would ever let her be with someone like me.
Copyright ©2020 Harley Wylde

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser Featured Author, Gale Stanley

Hello All,

Today’s teaser is courtesy of author, Gale Stanley. Gale is sharing an excerpt from her upcoming book, “Party Animal”, Book Six in the Roosters series. If you love what you’re reading, and want to know more, you’ll find media links below to the author website and a book cover for this release. Enjoy!

Party Animal Excerpt:

Chapter One

I stared at my reflection in the mirror and gave myself an eight out of ten. All those late nights were finally taking a toll. Would I give them up? Hell no! Life was a never-ending party, and the guest list changed every day. I liked it that way. Variety is the spice of life, after all.

But right now, I needed to do damage control. I read somewhere that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. If that was true then my soul must be puffy, wrinkled, and bloodshot. It wasn’t a good look. Thank God for eye drops. A few in each eye made my whites pop. I practiced my sultry green stare in the mirror. Not bad, but the bags had to go. I reached for the Preparation H and applied it liberally. My sister swears by the stuff.

I’d showered and shaved at home, but my hair needed a redo. My trademark look is a messy bedhead, black locks flying every which way. I don’t like to disappoint the fans and it’s easy enough to get the look. It’s all about a good haircut and a few styling tricks, like gel.

I stepped back from the mirror to check out my body. No problems there. Six feet, two inches of lean muscle thanks to an exercise routine that keeps me camera ready. No matter how late I go to bed, I wake up early and use the small gym in my apartment building. A good workout always makes me feel better. Today we were shooting early, so I did a short routine, just long enough to break a sweat and get my blood pumping. Then it was SSME, and I’m not talking kinky sex. Shower, shave, moisturize, enema. I like to be clean for the close-up shots.

Yeah, I bare it all, but it’s all for the sake of art. I’m not kidding. One of my first jobs when I came to LA was as an artist’s model. At first, because of my strict upbringing, I was uncomfortable posing nude, but eventually I realized that the human body is a beautiful thing. It was a liberating experience.

Today, I’ve convinced myself that filming is an art form. There are thousands, maybe millions of guys out there staring at my naked body. What I do prompts an emotional response and gives them pleasure, just like other art forms. Art is in the eye of the beholder, after all. It’s one hell of an ego trip.

Three raps on the door, a reminder that the crew was waiting. I let them wait. I’m the star and every porn director in town was frothing at the mouth to film me. I took my time, and then I slung a towel around my hips and swaggered into the studio.

The equipment was set up and the camera crew appeared ready to shoot my scene, the one that would make the video go viral. That thought kicked up my adrenaline.

“What the fuck do you do in there besides stare at yourself in the mirror?” The director beckoned me with a crooked finger and a scowl. “You’re keeping everybody waiting. Time is money.”

I walked over to Max and dropped the towel. My ten-inch prick slapped up hard against my six-pack. “You can’t put a time limit on perfection.”
Max’s beady eyes bored into mine. “Save it for your fan base, princess. I’m not interested.”

Liar! I felt my anger rising but tamped it down. No sense ruining my shoot. But the asshole knew I hate being called princess. He started that shit the day he hit on me and I gave him the cold shoulder. The creep told me he had a high-profile movie on the horizon, but I’d have to audition — a private audition at his house. Nobody loves to fuck more than me, but I’m discriminating. Fifty-something Max, with his beer belly and salt and pepper ponytail, doesn’t do it for me. Besides, I don’t need his help. I have a contract, and directors waiting in line for the day I decide to break that contract with Ramrod Pictures. “Suck me tender.”

“Hey dumbass, I’m the boss here. If you didn’t have a big shlong, you wouldn’t get any screen time.”

I picked up the towel and covered up my biggest asset. “Jealous much?”

Max looked like he was ready to blow steam but he clenched his jaw and nodded toward the king-sized bed. It was all decked out in white linen, the better to show off our tanned bodies. “I want you and Joey to do a fast run through, no sex, before we start filming.”

“Time is money,” I said, throwing his own words back at him. “I don’t need to rehearse.”

“Says you. Did you even read the script?”

“Course I did. Masturbate first, and then Joey walks in and gives me a hand. It’s not rocket science.” It was an easy scene. I could do it in my sleep. I never have a problem getting hard, especially when I know somebody’s watching.

“Okay Mr. Motherfucking-Know-It-All, do your thing.”

I sat on the bed and leaned back against the headboard.

Max spit out one word. “Action.”

I started rubbing my cock through the material of the towel. After a minute, I flung open the towel and let my dick take a bow. It was stiff and begging for attention but I ignored it. Slowly I ran my hands down my chest, tweaking my nipples until they were erect. It didn’t take long. My hot buttons are super sensitive. A delicious warmth spread through my groin. It was time to give my prick some attention. I gave it a few easy strokes, taking my time so I could show off my body. Occasionally I glanced at the camera with a smoldering gaze. Then I started jerking off in a steady rhythm. Nobody knows my hot spots like I do. It didn’t take long for my breathing to
speed up. My balls drew up tight and I knew I was close. Where the heck was Joey? He should have been here by now. I wanted to give him a cum shower. Max was a shit director. One day I’d direct my own films. I tried to hold off, but my cock was throbbing. Fuck it. I was too close. One more hard stroke and I hosed myself down with a massive cum load. White cream covered my chest, up to my neck and under my chin. I groaned, scooped some up with my fingers and licked them clean. I knew I looked hot as hell.

“Cut!” Max stood over me, hands on hips. “I tell you when to come.”

“You can’t hold back momentum, Max.” One of these days I’ll quit mouthing off,
but not today. “If you could get it up, you’d know that.”

If looks could kill I would have died right then, but Max couldn’t touch me. I was golden. Nobody made the studio more money than I did.

“Face it, Max. I know what my audience wants and I give it to them. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

“Get over yourself, princess. You’re a fucking porn actor. There’s a thousand more waiting to take your place.”

As usual, Paul, the cameraman and peacemaker, tried to diffuse the situation. “This is good stuff, Max. The guys will eat it up.”

Max gave him a disgusted look and turned back to me. “You got anything left for Joey?”

“Does a tin man have a stainless steel cock?”

Everybody laughed except Max. Fuck him. He turned his back, but not before he took another long look at my chest. I smiled as I lay back against the pillows. Look all you want, Max, but you’ll never get your hands on this body. But I knew he’d take the film home and masturbate to it all night.

“Hey, Cox.”

My head jerked up at the sound of Joey’s voice. People tend to think that porn stars don’t have real lives. They think that, given the nature of what we do for a living, we must be emotionally detached and incapable of having a real relationship. That’s only partly true. While I don’t have, need, or want, a significant other, I have my sister, Julie, and my best friends, Joey and Paul.

Joey is not only a friend, he’s also a great costar. He’s a lean six feet, with short spiky blond hair and brown eyes. The dude is practically hairless while I sport a sexy trail of dark hair that leads to a well-manicured bush. The camera loves the contrasts between us, and so do the guys who buy our videos. We spend so much time together, it was only natural we’d become buddies.

Grinning, Joey sat on the bed. “You just can’t help yourself, can you, Casey?” He started wiping my chest with a warm, wet cloth.

I shrugged, enjoying the attention. “This is me, take it or leave it.”

Joey finished up and tossed the towel to a stagehand. “I get paid to take it.”

I frowned. His comment took me by surprise. Joey had never complained about my showboating before. I opened my mouth to comment —

“Action.”

Just as well. I was sure Joey was just ribbing me. He crawled up my body and started teasing my nipples with his magic fingers and I forgot all about it. Leaning close to my chest, he pursed his lips and blew on each nipple. Paul came closer and moved around the bed to get a better shot.
Joey lapped at one nipple as caressed the other with his hand. He switched it up after thirty seconds. Then he alternated the licking with sucking. I started moaning and Joey lifted his head. Leaning over, he brushed his lips over mine. He had a knee between my thighs and he pressed it against my crotch, while he deepened the kiss. Women watch our videos too and they like to see us kiss.

Joey settled his body on top of mine and we started grinding. It was nice, but nothing we hadn’t done before. No sparks, no butterflies, just well-choreographed sex. We whimpered and moaned while we ran our hands over each other. Then Joey started licking a trail down my body toward my cock. But when he got to my navel, he did not pass go. Instead, he started using my belly button as his own personal plaything — licking, kissing, and nipping at it until Max signaled him to go in for the kill.

“What do you think, Joey? Can you make me blow again?”

“Does a hobby horse have a wooden dick?”

Laughing, I pushed Joey’s head down until it was between my legs. He licked the head of my cock and gave my balls some attention, before taking me in and sucking my dick like a vacuum pump. Automatically I started a steady stream of dirty talk. “Take it all, Joey. Fuck, that feels good…”

In my head, I was wondering how much money I’d make on this movie. My agent had renegotiated my contract with the studio. I get a piece of the action every time they sell a video. I deserve it. Everybody in the industry and anyone who watches porn knows who Casey Cox is.
If only my parents could see me now. Not that they wanted to. Screw ‘em. I made good money. I had friends. And I had good sex — with men. I’d had girlfriends in school, but that was back when I was still pretending to be someone I wasn’t. There’s just something about a man’s body and his touch that does it for me, especially —

Just then, Joey slipped a finger in my ass and jerked me back to reality. Electricity skittered up my spine. Joey pulled off my cock and a thick white stream shot from my dick, spraying his face and neck. He licked his lips suggestively and Paul caught it all with the camera.

“Cut.”

“Nice work,” Max said to Joey.

I muttered under my breath, “Fucking asshole.”

Somebody threw me a towel and I headed to the bathrooms to clean up for the next scene.

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Posted in Teasers

If Anything Happens to Him part 2

If Anything Happens to Him I’ll (part 2)
Author: Estel Baggins/Emily Carrington
Rating: M
Pairing: Jake/Chance
Warning: slash, threats of sexual violence and cross-dressing
Author’s Note: This definitely takes place after the first “if Anything Happens to Him, I’ll…” so still slight AU. Blame the plot bunnies.

If Anything Happens to Him, I’ll… (part 2)

Chance had no idea how many times he’d worried about Jake getting hurt. It had been months since the mess with Dr. Viper and the spore pod but he still had nightmares sometimes. Most of those involved watching Jake, dressed up in helmet and flight suit as Razor, falling off the top of the mayor’s Megakat Towers project. In these dreams, Chance wasn’t right there to catch him. He missed and Jake plummeted to his death.
Now was certainly not the time to be thinking about that. If Chance didn’t watch it, he was going to lose a finger as he fiddled with the troublesome engine of a luxury sedan. Callie Briggs’s sedan.
Still, he couldn’t ignore one more thought: Jake had admitted to checking out Chance’s ass just the way Chance had been looking at him. So, what were they still doing, three years later, being buddies?
He swatted the question into the dark recesses of his mind and focused on his work.
“Not done yet?” Jake asked as he came waltzing into the garage bay. Literally waltzing, his paws up as if he was actually dancing with someone.
Chance grunted. “What are you doing?”
“Practicing for tomorrow night. All the city employees are being invited to a masked ball. Didn’t you get the email?”
Chance hadn’t; his inbox was overly full. Like his snail mail bin, he supposed. It was a damn good thing Jake kept up with the bills and the “you must repay the city” marble slab that would be hanging over their heads for the rest of their nine lives.
And how many lives does Jake have left? Chance wondered.
“Oh crud it all to hell,” he muttered.
Jake, usually perceptive and intuitive to the point of being slightly annoying, apparently missed where Chance’s thoughts had gone because he said, “You haven’t picked out a costume yet, have you?”
Chance scowled at him. “I’m not going.”
He thought he caught a flash of hurt in Jake’s eyes before his partner laughed. “you have no choice. I’ve already picked out what you’re wearing, including a great mask, and you can’t say no.”
“Read my lips: I’m not going.” He wasn’t sure why but suddenly attending a ball where he might watch Jake dance with other kats… Oh, crud. That was why.
oOo
Jake wanted to scream. Not because there was anything unusual about Chance avoiding a huge group function but because he could see his brilliant plans going up in smoke. Less than six weeks ago, he and Chance had almost been killed by a coordinated effort between Dark Kat, Mack and Molly mange, and Dr. Viper. That misadventure had taken out the TurboKat. It had been hard rebuilding from scratch. But what had been harder was watching Chance, dressed up as T-Bone, looking at him while enemy fire flew over their heads and seeing the worry in his eyes. Worry not for himself but worry for Jake.
It was time to end all the uncertainty between them. But Jake had a plan for that and it involved Chance going to the masked ball. So, he stopped waltzing and approached the side of the car where his partner worked. “Do you want a hand?” he asked humbly.
That earned him another scowl but this one melted when Chance saw he really meant it. “Sure.”
They worked in silence for a little while, Jake privately cursing Callie’s poor judgment in cars. Then again, this was a gift from Mayor Manx so she’d had little choice but to accept.
“What’s making you look like that?” Chance asked querulously.
“Like what?” Jake asked before he could stop himself.
“Like someone ran over your pet.”
Oh, crud. So, Jake hadn’t managed to keep everything in his own head. “Just…I really wanted you to come to the dance.” He realized how vulnerable he sounded and tried to push past it. Months of therapy after he was attacked while on the Enforcers had taught him two things. First, that it was okay to be vulnerable but, second, he could choose when to let his feelings show.
And why was he hiding how he felt from Chance anyway?
“Because,” he muttered. He could have swallowed his tongue. That single word had come out sounding undefended. He shut up and waited to see what Chance would do or say. Probably he would blow it off and they could act like it had never happened. Or maybe the warning buzzer would sound and they’d be called for some emergency.
Nothing for a few seconds and Callie didn’t call in.
Then, just when Jake thought he’d explode from the tension playing out in his head, Chance said, “I’ll go. But I’ll hate it. You’d better not dress me up in anything silly.”
“Nothing you won’t feel proud wearing,” Jake promised.
Chance took a quick look around, probably to make sure they weren’t being overheard, and asked, “It’s not my flight suit, is it?”
Jake grinned as the awkwardness passed behind them. “Nope. But just as sexy.” He blushed. He hadn’t meant for that to come out of his mouth. But, hell, Chance knew he was gay. What more damage could be done?
And that was when the emergency button began to flash and the klaxon began to sound.
oOo
“Crud!” T-Bone watched as the two new bad guys in town split up and took different streets.
“You take the little one,” Razor said. “He looks faster. I’ll get the slow guy.”
T-Bone didn’t like that idea but there really wasn’t any time for debate. If they didn’t move, the two bank robbers would get away. “Radio if you run into trouble,” he said before Razor could deploy the small scooter that would take him down to the ground and let him keep chasing their quarry.
“Affirmative.” And Razor was gone.
T-Bone swung the TurboKat to the left and tried to spot the “little guy.” The two wore masks; they moved like a well-oiled machine. He didn’t like that he knew nothing about them. They were low tech but that was all he had to go on.
And, crud again, he couldn’t find the little mite. Where had he gone? T-Bone turned on the heat seekers and searched for someone running. Finally, he found the crazy kat, three streets over from where he’d expected. “Little guy really moves.”
He wasn’t going to be able to get at the robber from up here. He decided to land on a roof and use the portable heat-seeker Razor had invented. He’d follow the desperado as long as he kept running.
His hope was that the creep would meet up with his buddy again. Then Razor would be where T-Bone could keep an eye out for him.
He landed and started down the fire escape. His quarry was still running, heading actually toward the building where T-Bone had landed. That was a stroke of luck.
It wasn’t that Razor couldn’t take care of himself. He was accomplished as a fighter, a marksman, and even, in a pinch, as a pilot. It was just that Razor put himself in all sorts of dangerous circumstances. Like wanting to chase the bigger of the two bank robbers. What did he think? That the tom kat, assuming it was a tom, would just surrender? No, Razor wasn’t that foolish. But he’d never seen his opponent’s size as something he needed to worry about. From Dr. Viper to Volcanus, he believed he was invincible. T-Bone knew better. Maybe Razor’s heart was the most tender part of him. The deception Dark Kat had created, where Razor thought he’d injured innocents, showed that was true. But Razor was also a slight kat. He could be overpowered.
All right, T-Bone thought as his feet hit the ground and he made his way quickly and quietly down the alley toward the avenue where his quarry would soon appear, that’s not fair. I can be taken too.
But Razor was… Oh, crud, just admit it. Razor was precious to him. He didn’t want anything to ever happen to this kat that he’d never even kissed.
He crouched in the shadows and waited. The smaller of the two bank robbers drew closer and closer.
And then, he veered, cutting into a building.
Nothing about this was going to be easy, was it? T-Bone got moving again.
oOo
Razor had stalked his prey to the site of an old library that was scheduled for demolition. He didn’t know what the larger kat was going to do here, probably try to hide. He slipped off the Cyclotron and crept warily into the cavernous space, maybe using the same broken window his prey had used.
It was dim inside but Razor refused to use a light. His eyes would adjust in a few moments. And a light would only alert the kat he was chasing.
He smelled something odorous. Disgusting. He gagged as quietly as possible. Had something died in here?
Something scraped the floor off to his right. He backed away carefully, straining to see.
That was when his radio crackled to life. Luckily, it was in his helmet so it wouldn’t alert anyone. Razor, come in.”
He didn’t dare speak. Not until he knew how hot the trail was. He typed a quick message on his gauntlet “Stalking. Radio when I can.”
His eyes had adjusted. He moved silently through the huge space, seeking. Seeking.
“Razor, come in. The little guy’s off my radar. Do you copy?”
The room he’d just entered was deserted. Razor risked a quick verbal response. “Affirmative. Mine is att the old MegaKat Library, OakHaven branch. Rendezvous—”
Something scratched the floor behind him. Razor spun. But not quickly enough. Something connected with the side of his head. It bounced off his helmet. But then a huge figure pounced on him.
“Oof!” His back hit the floor.
“Razor! Come in!”
Massive paws closed around Razor’s throat . They tightened until Razor couldn’t speak. He could only rattle.
He passed out.
oOo
“Razor! Come in!”
Nothing. No reply. Then: a grunt. That was not Razor’s voice. It was too deep.
T-Bone whispered, “If anything happens to him, I’ll…” He wasn’t close enough to the TurboKat to use its speed. He was nearer the library. He kicked his run into a sprint.
oOo
When Razor regained consciousness, he was aware of two things right away. First, his head ached as if he’d been out drinking all night. Second, he couldn’t move. His arms were pinioned behind him and there was a knee on his tail, holding him effectively in place. He squinted aginst the pain in his head and tried to see. Finally, out of the gloom, a figure swam. It was the shorter of the two bank robbers, identifiable by the orange mask he wore as well as his height. If he was here, where was T-Bone? Had this sneaky little jerk shaken his tail?
“Hi there, Jake.”
Razor’s gut froze. He knew that voice. “Murray?”
The kat backhanded him. “Good ears, but that won’t save you. Soon, everyone will know Jake Clawson and Chance Furlong are the famous Swat Kats.”
Did that mean they’d captured Chance too?
“You’re a pretty piece of work,” Murray said. “Right, Burke?”
“yeah,” the other kat grunted. ‘Pretty.”
Murray chuckled. “You’re lucky I got here when I did, Jakey. Burke has a thing for you.”
The words were impossible to misunderstand when a massive paw reached around Jake and touched him.
In a flash, he was back in the barracks at Enforcer Headquarters. He was being held down by three other recruits while two others used a knife to shave away the fur around his eye. One of the kats holding him had stomped on his left hand and the only thing that saved him broken fingers was that the kat wore no shoes.
One of them, the one holding his head, had been sporting an erection and Jake had feared they were going to try something worse before they were done. At the time, they’d been content with cutting him. But the excited one had promised he’d be back for Jake.
“nothing to say, Jakey? If you’d stop looking so delicate…” he licked his lips suggestively.
He wouldn’t give Murray the satisfaction. He glared and waited for a chance to fight. He hadn’t fought his attackers at Enforcer Headquarters because he’d been afraid he’d be kicked out if he was seen as a troublemaker. Now, there were no such restraints. And he knew these two. They were arrogant. They’d make a mistake eventually.
That was when the little bit of light in the room went out.
Jake reacted instantly, yanking his paws out of Burke’s slackened grip and twisting his body so he could deliver an elbow to the big kat’s stomach.
Burke doubled over and Jake was ready with another elbow, this one catching Burke under the chin. He hoped he’d gotten the lummox’s windpipe.
Off balance, Burke fell sideways, moving the knee that had been on Jake’s tail.
Someone seized Jake’s arm. Jake struck.
“Woah, woah, it’s me!” his partner cried.
Jake made a light and held it high. Not because he didn’t know his partner’s voice but because he needed to see their enemies. Murray was trussed up and unconscious, but Burke was struggling to his feet, probably preparing to run.
Jake shot him with a knockout dart and the big kat toppled.
oOo
They were home and out of their flight suits. They were safe. Chance could let his paws shake.
“They know who we are,” Jake kept saying, his voice taut with suppressed emotion. “We’re going to be surrounded by Enforcers, Feral leading them.”
Chance caught Jake’s shoulders in a gentle but firm grip. “We’ll find a place to hide everything. It’s not like there isn’t a code to get in. And nothing’s obvious from topside.”
“If I hadn’t let him get the jump on me—”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself.” Chance realized he was snarling and tried to force himself calm. “Jake, listen. What happened wasn’t your fault.” He hesitated and then added, “Not burke bringing you down and not what Murry said.”
To his surprise, Jake laughed. “yeah, I know. Rape isn’t about attraction Its’ about power.”
“Crud, how can you talk so casually about that? Has someone… Did anyone ever…”
“I’ve been threatened with it before but, no, no kat’s ever hurt me that way.” Jake laughed again but this time he covered his face with one trembling paw. “Trust me; it’s not easy being the ‘little one.’”
Chance pulled him into a hug. As he bowed his head and buried his face against Jake’s shoulder, he realized this would probably be seen as unwelcome. He started to step back. “Jake, I—”
Jake pushed his face against Chance’s chest. “Thank you. I needed that.”
“Rough day?” asked a stern voice.
They sprang apart. Chance glared at Commander Feral, who stood in the open bay doorway. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking? Sir?”
Feral frowned at them both. “Answer my question.”
“Yeah, it’s been a rough day,” Jake snapped. “Has someone ever threatened to rape you, Commander?”
Chance’s mouth went dry. Was Jake going to confess? Explain who they were?
“Some of the customers who come through here leave a lot to be desired,” Jake went on. “If Chance hadn’t come in when he did…” He shook his head. “I’m going to start carrying a wrench everywhere I go. Just to split a few skulls.”
To Chance’s immense relief and amusement, Feral looked embarrassed. “Were they Enforcers?” he asked, trying for his original stern tone.
“No, sir.” Jake shrugged. “They’re just ordinary crud-suckers.”
Feral hesitated; his indecision was all over his face. “The Swat Kats brought in the bank robbers.”
None of this had hit the news so Chance blinked in apparent confusion. “Bank robbers?” All the while thinking, It must be killing you to give the Swat Kats any credit.
“The two were city employees.”
“Well, the city does pay next to nothing,” Jake said.
Feral scowled. “They made a claim that you two were the Swat Kats. I want to see every inch of this place.”
“Sure,” Chance said easily. “It’s kind of a mess but I’m sure you can handle a little dirt on your paws.”
They took him around the top floor of their domain; Chance noticed that Jake discreetly unplugged the emergency phone from its wall jack.
“Do you need to count all the screws we’re using?” Jake asked, offering the commander an inventory book.
Feral shook his head. “I should have known better than to listen to those two.” He looked profoundly uncomfortable for a moment. Then he said, “You two are running this place better than I expected.” He turned around and stomped out.
oOo
Chance stared at the long black cape and beautifully beaded leather mask. Jake had spent a lot of money on this. Well, if he wanted to… Chance got dressed and wen out to the garage bay to see if Jake was dressed and ready to go.
Jake was glorious in a cape of deepest purple. His mask was like Chance’s. Leather an beads. But it covered more of his face so that only his mouth was visible.
Chance’s body woke at the sight of that inviting mouth. He salivated and only hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself. “You look good,” he said as neutrally as possible.
“Do you like your cape? Let me see you swirl it.”
Chance did, feeling a little foolish. But the grin Jake flashed him made the embarrassment disappear.
“Let’s go,” Jake said. “Do you want me to drive?”
It was an old tease, like a needle finding a groove. Chance snorted. “Never.”
oOo
Jake’s pants felt tight. He was wearing leather trousers in addition to his leather mask and swirl-worthy cape. He’d put on a pirate-style top, with the front open halfway down his chest. He caught Chance shooting glances at him instead of focusing on the road and he was quietly pleased. Tonight was going to go better, maybe, than he’d hoped.
Step one was get inside. Step two was dance with Chance until they were both half crazy with lust. Step three was find a quiet place, preferably back at the junkyard they’d made their home and make love. Three years of waiting; it was more than enough.
But when they walked in, Chance hesitated. He looked around and the obvious discomfort in his eyes made Jake uneasy too. “What is it, buddy?” he whispered.
Chance’s voice was louder than Jake’s and rough with some emotion Jake couldn’t name. “They’re all straight couples.”
Jake scanned the crowd and, yes, everyone was paired off tom and she-kat. “That’s okay. We don’t need to fit in.”
“We’d be in the only… well, you know…here.”
“I’m sure we could take anyone who tried to start trouble,” Jake said, trying to turn it into a joke.
Chance shook his head. “I’m not risking…” But he wouldn’t finish that sentence even when Jake gave him a look.
“You’re going to not dance with me because—” Jake bit off the rest of the words. He was furious and he knew the anger carried in his voice.
“Let’s eat, dance a little, with other kats, and get out of here.” He brushed past Jake and disappeared into the press of bodies.
Jake gaped after him, feeling lost. Then he growled, “Crud.”
”Excuse me,” said a soft female voice he recognized.
He pasted a smile on his face and turned toward Calico Briggs, the deputy mayor. “Yes, Ms. Briggs.” She wasn’t wearing a mask but was dressed as a fairy princess with wings and a tiara. Her glasses clashed with the costume but otherwise she could have stepped out of a dream. Someone else’s. Jake’s only dreams were of Chance.
“It is you.” She lowered her voice. “Razor.”
He swallowed despite his suddenly dry throat. “Yes, ma’am. How did you know?”
“I heard you talking to T-Bone.” She was grinning but keeping her voice down. “This is chancy for you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am. But even vigilantes need to have a little fun.”
“Will you step outside with me?” she all but purred.
Instantly on alert, not because she was a threat but because he didn’t want Chance, wherever he was, to get the wrong idea, Jake said, “I’m just here with my partner, Ms. Briggs.”
She nodded and he saw by the look in her eyes that she hadn’t been coming onto him after all. Her gaze was sympathetic. “I heard your argument. I have an idea.”
Intrigued, and expecting something ingenious because Calico Briggs was sharp, Jake said, “Let’s go outside.”
oOo
Chance was slightly drunk. He’d been plied with wine and other things, mostly punch laced with katnip, by hopeful she-kats. He’d lost track of time for a while as he’d staunchly refused to look for Jake. He danced with female after female and refused to acknowledge the growing worm of worry in his gut. Probably two hours had passed and he’d seen nothing of his partner. Had Jake gone home? If so, how had he gotten there? A cab would be expensive and surely he wouldn’t leave Chance stranded here.
Another she-kat approached him. She was small in stature, which he preferred because it reminded him of Jake. He was a bi tom, attracted to both genders, although he’d done no dating since becoming a Swat Kat. He didn’t have time for one thing. For another, he spent many hours dreaming about a certain tom and no she-kat could measure up.
This one was small in other ways too. She had minimal breasts and the tight, short skirt revealed legs that were more masculine than feminine. She had a long and flowing head of hair; it was longer even than Ms. Briggs’s. It was the color of milk chocolate, perfectly complimenting the dark orange of the she-kat’s fur.
She wore a mask that covered almost her whole face, leaving only small slits for medium brown eyes and a tiny mouth.
Chance realized he’d been staring. It was certainly too late to pretend he hadn’t seen her. So, he held out his paw. “Want to dance, beautiful?”
She bobbed a curtsey and didn’t say a word.
“Shy?” Chance asked. “That’s okay. I can talk enough for both of us.”
But once they were out on the floor, he was preoccupied with the way she held him and the way she moved. She glided but more like a stalking lynx than a dancer. She was perfectly balanced on feet that were, actually, a bit too large for the rest of her. Muscular feet, bare and dark orange like the rest of her. He speculated that if he’d seen her feet and Jake’s feet side-by-side, they’d be nearly identical. Except he’d know hers because her claws were polished with a rosy pink coat.
She cupped his ass unexpectedly and he groaned, wriggling away from her. “I’m sorry, but that’s too personal. I don’t even know your name.”
She rose on her tiptoes and whispered, “Jake.”
Chance’s jaw dropped. He wanted to shout his partner’s name but Jake covered his mouth with a slightly trembling paw.
“Listen to me, Furlong, and listen good. Ms. Briggs dressed me up like this so you’d give me a chance to dance with you. But she thinks I’m Razor. So, keep any name behind your teeth.”
“What about when you switched masks?” Chance asked after Jake had freed his mouth.
“She gave me everything and told me to change in private. The only thing she actually did for me was paint my toenails.”
“Do you like being a she-kat?” He was honestly curious. Jake made a sexy female.
“It’s a little uncomfortable but would have been ten times worse if I’d put on the shoes.”
Chance laughed. Then it hit him. “You really wanted to dance with me, didn’t you?”
“I got all dolled up, didn’t i?”
“Do you like wearing that stuff?”
“Never tried it before and the skirt’s a little constricting but it’s not the worst thing I’ve never worn.” He smirked. “now. Do you want to dance with me like this or…” He stopped. “I don’t want to make dancing with me as a tom a stipulation of our relationship. It’s important to me but not that important.”
What Chance wanted to do was take Jake home and get him out of those clothes. He weighed his desire against the three years of nothing but “buddy” they’d had. “You won’t be disappointed?”
“As long as we somehow move past the ‘buddy’ stage tonight, I’ll be satisfied.”
Chance lifted Jake’s paw to his lips. “Absolutely we can move past it.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
oOo
As they lay together in the tangle of bedsheets and blankets afterward, both of them spent, Jake asked, “Chance?”
“Yeah?” The bigger tom pulled Jake against him and nuzzled against his shoulder.
But Jake wasn’t quite ready to say “I love you.” So, he settled for what he knew was probably on Chance’s mind. “This doesn’t change anything in the sky. No matter who takes whom in bed.”
Chance grunted. “So, that means you’re still going to run off and put yourself in danger?”
“I’m a Swat Kat. Danger is my middle name.”
Chance grunted again but it sounded like an acknowledgement instead of a protest. “All right. But I reserve the right to defend you like you’re mine.” He hugged Jake fiercely. “Because you are. Unofficially for three years but officially from now on.”
Jake buried his face in the fur on Chance’s chest. “I can live with that. Just so you know it goes both ways.”
“You worry about me too?” Chance seemed startled.
“OF course I do. You’re my partner. In all things.”

Posted in Teasers

If Anything Happens to Him Part 1

Title: If Anything Happens To Him, I’ll…
Author: Estel Baggins/Emily Carrington
Rating: M for battle scenes, sexual situations, but mostly for Jake (!) cursing
Pairing: Jake/Chance
Warning: slash
Summary: The first time Chance utters the famous words “If anything happens to him, I’ll…”
Author’s Note: I know I’ve messed up the timeline a little: Dr. Viper became Dr. Viper after Chance and Jake became Swat Kats. Forgive me- I started this before learning that. Consider it a slight AU if you want. If you aren’t familiar with the Swat Kats, here’s a short video to introduce them!

Chance wandered into the hanger earlier than usual. He’d been dreaming- for almost a month, damn it- about the kat who sat behind him in their Enforcer hunk of junk that was barely good enough to be called a plane, let alone the fighter jet Chance had been all but promised when he proved himself to be an excellent pilot.
He’d come early to be alone, and maybe mess around with the hunk of junk and coax a little more out of her. But as he strode towards the bay where his piece of junk sat- she might not be much, but no one better insult her- he heard a muffled “Son of a bitch, just let me in already!”
Chance blinked. Was that Jake? Couldn’t be; the kat’s usual line of frustration included no more than ‘crud’. It had gotten so Chance, usually a lover of swearing, had started restricting himself to ‘crud’, too, not to impress Jake but because he kind of liked how much fury Jake could pack into such an understated word.
He jogged to the open bay, but skidded to a halt when he saw what Jake was doing: trying to load the missile launchers by hand. That was unnecessary: the launchers were loaded by machines each day, checked and rechecked. What was he doing besides running the risk that the missiles wouldn’t fire when it was time? Then again, sometimes the missiles didn’t fire, machines be damned.
Jake at last got the missile in place and he leaned against the hulk’s side with a sigh. Then his gaze fell on Chance. “Hey.” He wiped sweat off his forehead. “How long have you been here?”
“Just a minute.” He swaggered in because, damn, even sweaty and obviously frustrated, Jake was the cause of all his erections for the last few weeks. “What’re you doing?”
“Making sure we actually have working missiles next time we’re in the air.” Jake tugged a rag out of his back pocket and wiped his paws. “I’m sick of Feral and all those other idiot jet jockeys telling me I’ve gotta quit blowing you and learn how to shoot.”
“What?” He wasn’t sure if he was furious or embarrassed. Had mostly-quiet, mild-speaking, karate-master Jake just said ‘blowing’, as in blowjob?
Jake closed the panel under the missiles and shoved his rag back into his pocket. “Yeah. I’m vertically-challenged, I check out toms’ asses, and I like Cher-Kit. I must be gay.”
Chance ran those words back through his stunned brain. “You check out toms’ asses?”
Jake laughed. “Yeah.” He crossed his arms and leaned against Chance’s broken-down baby. ” ‘Course, they don’t know that. If they did, I’d probably lose my place on the force. Not for being gay- of course not; that’s against the law-” he snorted- “but for something. Maybe for starting a bunch of ten-kats-to-one fights when the other gunners jump me during target practice.” He shook his head. “If Feral would just come out of the closet maybe I’d stand a chance of staying, but…” He laughed. “Look at your face. You think I’m serious. Sorry, buddy, but my gaydar sucks. I have no idea if he’s really gay, into dogs or just the masturbatory type.”
Wonder and admiration curled up the corners of Chance’s mouth. “Uh, buddy, I’ve got a question for you: where’d all this come from? I mean, yeah, I’ve thought of you as a friend almost from the first. You’ve just got this vibe about you, you know? But you’ve never been like this.”
Jake closed his eyes. “This is me without enough sleep.”
All the humor went out of the situation like color bleeding out of a picture. Chance sidled closer. “What’s wrong? Anything I can do?”
“Not unless you want to get kicked off the force with me.”
Chance had been halfway to a full erection when he’d first seen Jake, but it had reversed itself and left him feeling just a little lightheaded. He padded still closer until he, too, was leaning against the not-plane. “But you said no one knows you’re gay, at least not for sure.”
“That doesn’t stop them from screwing with me at night. Every chance they get, really. Have you ever seen Platoon Kat?”
He loved movies, though he’d never imagined Jake liked them. “Yeah! Oh. Shit.” Platoon Kats was a true story about this kat who wasn’t cut out to be in the army or something- he hadn’t seen the movie in years- and so got picked on, harassed and even beaten up by the other kats in his platoon. He was finally transferred- for his own safety- but if Chance remembered the end of the movie correctly, the kat had ended up committing suicide. “Shit, Jake, you’re not going to-”
“Hurt myself?” Jake shook his head. “No.” He opened his eyes and met Chance’s gaze. “But I’ll probably get kicked out sooner rather than later and I have three goals to meet before that happens. One, get these fucking missiles to fire so someone in this damn homophobic squadron knows I’m a good marksman. Two, make sure I have a job lined up for when I’m kicked out. Three, cause as many problems for the kats who’ve been tormenting me as I can.”
Chance’s chest had tightened. He tried to joke his way through it. “You could just dust all of them. You’re a martial arts master, aren’t you? I mean, I know they’ve got numbers on you, but, well, do you fight back when they attack you? Maybe if you did-”
“That’s against my principles.” Jake shook his head and his anger faded, leaving only sadness, which made Chance’s chest even tighter. “All the revenge I’m planning won’t actually happen, you know. That’s also against my principles.” He laughed; it was a shard-filled sound, like pieces of glass hidden inside a white cake. “I just hate having to prove myself over and over again without any results.”
He wanted to take Jake’s hand, but considering what Jake had just confessed, Chance thought any move like that could be seen as harassment. He needed to stay firmly on Jake’s good side. “But, you got into the Enforcers, right? I mean, that’s not exactly easy.”
Jake gave him a wan smile. “True, but I’ve been here for less than a year. I won’t consider it a success until I don’t run the risk of being fired every day based on my sexuality.” He pushed away from the hunk of junk. “We need to get out of here before they do six o’clock inspection.”
Chance nodded and they started for a side door he’d taken on many occasions.
Jake laughed as he followed. “And here I thought I was the only one to know about that door.”
Chance glanced back at him and offered a smile. “You’re not the only one who has something to prove.” He thought for a moment he’d confessed his sexuality, but then Jake laughed again.
“In your case, it’s because everyone’s jealous of you. You’re the best pilot here.” He caught up with Chance and even gripped his shoulder for a moment before they slipped through the door and into the almost-silence of the sleeping barracks. “At least I only have to live with the rest of the newbies for another two months. If I can get through that, they won’t be able to touch me- at least not as easily.”
They were headed for the east side barracks. They’d be within someone’s earshot within sixty seconds. Chance slowed down a little as his need to know got the better of him. “Uh, Jake?”
“Yeah?” Jake glanced at him… and burst out laughing. He bent double, paws on knees, and all but laughed his fur off.
“What?” He was blushing. Maybe even a little hurt. “I didn’t-”
Jake held up a hand and when he straightened, there were tears in his eyes. “No, Chance, I’m not going to come after you in the night with a raging hard-on.” He sobered in an instant and in the breath before he hid everything behind the usual happy-go-lucky face he’d worn all the time Chance had known him, Chance saw anguish and almost savage pain in his eyes.
He jumped forward and grabbed Jake’s shoulders before the slighter kat could turn away. He blurted, “I was going to ask if you’ve ever checked out my ass like I’ve checked out yours.”
Jake’s jaw dropped, but in the next instant he pulled away. “Fuck. You. Buddy. I’m not falling for that.”
“But it’s true. It’s-”
“Look, Furlong, I like you, and I know I’ve got this huge chip on my shoulder that makes it hard to take shit like that as a joke, but I thought you had more class than that. See you on patrol.” He sprinted for his barracks.
Chance waited until Jake was safely inside before he screamed. “CRUD!”
oOo
Chance slipped into his seat and ran a thorough check of all systems. The computer said that the missiles hadn’t been base-approved, but that was as it should be. Obviously, no one had found out that Jake had placed the missiles in by hand. If that had been discovered, neither of them would have been flying today.
He glanced at the clock on the dash. Almost time to taxi out to meet the rest of the squadron. Where was-?
“Sorry I’m late.” Jake hoisted himself in using both paws instead of his usual left-pawed habit. He was already wearing his helmet and goggles.
And still Chance saw the swelling the gear couldn’t quite hide.
Jake caught him looking and scowled. “Don’t ask. Let’s fly.”
He recognized that tone; he’d used it a lot growing up, and even once to Commander Feral. So he said nothing but started the hunk of junk’s engines and headed for the runway. They weren’t even the last ones there, which was good, and the commander wasn’t there yet. That was even better.
Ten minutes later, they were in the sky and patrolling their sector of a dozen blocks. Chance glanced once in the rearview, trying to see how exactly Jake had been hurt, but when the kat glared at him, he snapped his gaze back to the sky. And saw his first mutant plant. “What’s that?”
“Depends,” Jake answered, his voice awed. “Would you think I’m nuts if I said it was a giant walking punmpkin?”
“Reminds me of that movie I saw last week. Assault of-”
“-the Killer Kat-Minded Pumpkins!” Jake finished with him. “Yeah, it looks just like that, except I don’t think there’s a zipper in that thing’s skin.” He made an amused sound.
Chance snorted. “Yeah, well, whatever it is, let’s go investigate.”
He heard a series of beeps and Jake answered, “I’ve got missiles locked. Just in case.”
Chance headed down, cautious approach, as he’d been told, though his blood sang with the need to race into battle. “Let’s hope we don’t have to blow it up. That’s an awful lot of squash and I don’t even like vegetables. Just imagine if we had to help clean up that thing.”
“Aw, come on, Chance; veggies are a kat’s best friend.” Jake laughed again. “Let’s just see if this one can talk before we blow it sky high, okay?”
“Yeah. Just so we don’t get too close to its mouth.”
“I’ve got a breath mint all ready for it.”
Were they back to being friends? Chance put that question aside and pulled the hunk into a shuddering circle two dozen feet over the pumpkin. The thing definitely had a mouth, but it wasn’t the only thing down there. “Do you see-?”
“A kat that looks like his father was a snake? Yup. Crud!”
Chance yanked the not-plane up, barely avoiding a stream of thick goo that flew out of the pumpkin’s teeth-lined mouth. “What is that stuff?” He stared down at the pumpkin for a moment, then scanned for the snake-kat. “Hey, the green guy’s gone.”
“Yeah, and that’s not our only problem. Can you fly a little lower? I want to get that one before the others get here.”
Chance scanned his radar. “Crud, there’s like fifty of them! I’m calling for back-up!”
“Good. We don’t have half a hundred missiles.”
Chance made the call and got told to wait for back-up before going in. “Can’t,” he and Jake said together. It was so good to hear Jake backing him up again that Chance grinned as he flipped off the radio. “So, partner, which ones do we go after first?”
The pumpkin below them leapt into the air with the use of vein-like appendages. Again, it spit that gooey stuff.
“Missiles locked,” Jake said. “Deployed!”
Chance flew a little higher as the missile hit and the pumpkin exploded in a shower of orange guts and twitching vine pieces.
Jake crowed: “Bingo!”
“Let’s get the others,” Chance said, laughing his joy and battle-high.
“Wait.” Jake reached over the seat and gripped Chance’s shoulder. “I have an idea to get them all at once.”
Chance looked down at the pumpkin army. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Just take us up where those billboards are.” He snorted. “You know, the ones Manx ordered tied up instead of welded to ‘save money.’ ”
“Didn’t know you were so politically minded.” Chance saw them: there had to be a dozen large advertisements and twice that many half-size ones. He headed that way.
Jake was quiet for a moment. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Chance didn’t answer, and not only because he couldn’t think of anything to say. “What are you going to do? Blast them so they fall on the Killer Pumpkins?”
“Not exactly. The missiles we’re carrying would vaporize every billboard.”
Chance heard the click of Jake’s harness.
He couldn’t turn around, but he put all the fury possible into his voice. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to set them on fire before dropping them. The way those things are marching close together, we’ll have fifty roasted pumpkins even if I manage to set just a few on fire.”
Chance groaned. Jake’s plan was a good one, but- “How are you going to cut all the billboards loose? Or set them on fire in the first place?”
“If you open the canopy, I’m just going to hang over the side and light them, then use my knife to cut them loose.”
Jake couldn’t be talking about a simple pocketknife; any blade that thin would snap. Still, he was comforted by the thought that Jake wouldn’t actually be getting out of the jet. “What knife?”
Jake held the monstrosity up so Chance could see the thick, twelve-inch blade.
“That’s not a knife, buddy. That’s a tiny sword!” It was also against regulations, but who cared? They were close enough to the billboards now. “Ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
Chance opened the canopy. “Be careful, partner.”
Jake hoisted himself up on the edge of the cockpit. He was still using both hands. “No problem-o. I’ll just-”
As one, the pumpkin-things rocketed up from the street. Three crashed right into the not-plane’s underside hard enough to make Chance’s teeth close on his tongue and the others soared around it. A few were charbroiled in the engine exhaust, but one of them connected with Jake and he fell.
“Jake!” But there were too many pumpkin-things all over him, making it impossible to see, and worse: invading his cockpit. He flipped upside down and the ones in Jake’s seat-
Jake…
-fell out. Chance rolled again, trying to burn the ones who were clinging to the billboards, but they leapt out of the way, onto the roof… where Jake was struggling to his feet. He had lost his helmet and his gloves; Chance saw the bandages and the swollen, furless skin around Jake’s right eye. He headed down. “If anything happens to him, I’ll…”
“Back off, hotshot. I’ll handle this.”
Chance grimaced at Commander Feral’s voice crackling through his radio. He glanced to the left and saw the chopper coming. “Can’t, Commander. Jake’s down there.”
“You were supposed to wait. I’ll get him if I can, but these creatures are my first-”
“Chance?”
“Jake!” Chance had swung around the building to keep the pumpkin things from jumping onto his wings. Now he headed back. “You okay?”
“Mostly. These things’re- Crud! It ate my grappling hook!” The ones they kept on their belts in case of emergency. Jake must have used his knife already. “Chance, I need you here. Now.”
Nothing could keep him away. He headed in.
“Retreat!” their commander ordered. “You’re outgunned, Clawson. And you’re right in my line of fire.” A pause, and then: “Stay out of the way, Furlong! I’ve got missiles locked.”
Chance muttered, too quiet for his commander to hear, “You’re not hurting Jake.” He spotted his partner on the roof, his back to a little shed. He was surrounded and though he’d started kicking the shit out of the pumpkin-things, there were far too many. Chance dove. If he did this right, he’d be able to roast the veggies without hurting Jake. “Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“When I say so, go flat, okay?” That would put Jake in even more danger- unless Chance was able to execute his move exactly. But having Jake stand when the not-plane rushed by would be a disaster. He wished Jake still had his helmet.
“Roger.”
In that moment, he loved Jake so much for his unquestioning trust that Chance laughed. It was either that or be rocked to his core by the other kat’s trust.
He headed in.
“Furlong!”
“Sir,” Chance all but snarled. “Stop cluttering up my channel, sir. Jake needs to hear me.”
For a wonder, Commander Feral shut up.
He was only a few feet above the roof. The pumpkin-things- some of them, anyway- had turned towards him, but most were concentrating on the kat they’d cornered. He gunned the engine and plunged in among them. “Jake! Drop!”
Jake flattened himself and covered his head with his bare paws.
Chance said a quick prayer for Jake’s unprotected paws and then burned his way through the pumpkin patch.
They went up like exploding road kill, showering the hunk of junk and surely Jake, too. But when the parts stopped falling, Chance saw that he’d gotten all of them. And, miracle of miracles, Jake was pushing himself to his feet and looked no more hurt than he’d been before Chance’s crazy move.
Commander Feral was coming in; he’d be landing on the roof in a minute. Chance beat him to it, yanking his hunk of junk to a stop. He was out of his harness and jumping to the veggie-littered rooftop an instant after he shut off his engines. He caught Jake by the shoulders and held back from embracing him only because of what had passed between them that morning. Up close, he could see that Jake’s fur had been shaved away around his eye, and not by a gentle hand. Little cuts surrounded his eye, one so close Jake could have lost his eye if it had been a breath closer. But before Chance could decide if he should say anything, Jake gripped his arms.
He was grinning. “That was amazing! No one can fly like Chance Furlong!”
Commander Feral strode towards them. “And no one can make a mess like you young hotshots.”
oOo
Chance helped Jake to his feet. They’d been scrubbing bathroom tile for hours and though Jake hadn’t complained once, he’d been favoring his left paw and the swelling around his eye had risen to the size of a small volcano crater. It had been an almost-silent punishment detail with Chance not sure what to say that wouldn’t lead to him being kill-crazy at whoever had hurt Jake and Jake not saying a word.
But now, as Chance helped him up, Jake said, “Thanks. I think we’re done.” He swayed on his feet.
Chance steadied him with a paw on each shoulder. “Buddy, you okay?” Fuck not talking about it; he wanted to fuck them up, whoever they were, until they didn’t dare come within ten feet of Jake.
“Yeah, I-” Jake’s eyes rolled back in his head and Chance jumped to catch him.
He laid Jake on the sparkling floor by the sinks, turned on the cold tap, and cupped water in one paw. This he brought to Jake’s mouth as he lifted the kat’s head, but Jake didn’t stir so Chance trickled it over his face instead.
Jake’s eyes didn’t open, but his tongue flicked out to catch a little water. So Chance scooped up another palm-full and brought it to Jake’s lips. “Here, sure-shot. Drink.”
Jake did and his eyelids drifted up. “Sure-shot?” He grinned weakly. “My plan didn’t exactly work.”
“It would’ve if those things hadn’t started playing leapfrog. You okay now? For real?”
Jake’s grin widened. “Yeah, this time I think I’m really okay.” But he didn’t move. “Chance?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about this morning.” Jake closed his eyes, but he showed no signs of slipping away again. “I guess I really do have a chip on my shoulder.” A pause; he peeked up at Chance again before closing his eyes once more. “And, yeah, I’ve checked out your ass. I’m kinda in shock that you’re gay, but my gaydar’s never worked.”
Chance’s heart did a little leap and he was extremely glad he hadn’t laid Jake on his lap as his cock leapt at the possibilities. “Does that mean Feral could be gay?”
Jake laughed and again opened his eyes. “He could be into dogs or sheep for all I know.” He sat up. “Guess we’re done, huh?”
The bathroom door opened; another pilot and gunner walked in. “Taking a break, boys?”
“Uh, don’t you mean girls?” the gunner asked.
Chance was about to say something, but the way Jake suddenly moved… Was that a flinch? He looked from the self-satisfied pilot and gunner to Jake. He saw the pilot’s bruised knuckles and his blood ignited.
He was on his feet and halfway to the door between one breath and the next, but Jake got there first. Back to the intruders, he put both paws against Chance’s chest. “Don’t bother. They’re not worth it.”
He would have nudged Jake aside and gone for their throats, but Commander Feral appeared in the doorway. “Inspection.” He glanced at the pilot and gunner; they split. “You two look hum-” His jaw tightened. “What happened, Clawson?” He pointed at Jake’s eye.
“Nothing.” Jake turned to face their commander and hid his paws behind his back. “Just a little allergic reaction to the cleaning supplies, I guess.”
“Don’t hand me that.” Feral was glaring at Chance. “Do we need to talk alone, Enforcer?” he asked Jake. “Maybe there’s something you need to tell me?” The look he was giving Chance was disgusted.
“Hey!” Chance’s claws came out. “I didn’t do anything to him!”
Feral ignored him. “Well?”
Jake shook his head. “I’m fine, Commander. It was just-”
Feral’s scowl was fiercer than anything he’d ever turned on two of his youngest recruits, even when he’d ordered them to scour this bathroom. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by protecting the kats who attacked you, Clawson. The same speech I give to my female enforcers I give to anyone being abused: stand up for yourself.”
Jake’s eyes flashed. He took half a step before seeming to remember where he was and who he was talking to. “You have no idea, sir, how I’m standing up for myself.”
Feral crossed his arms and in that moment, Chance liked him for the first time, despite, or even because of the harsh words he spoke next. “I can see it’s not working.”
“Look, I-”
“Jake,” Chance said quietly. His partner hadn’t been kidding about that chip on his shoulder; it was going to knock him over soon.
Jake turned on him, his eyes narrowed.
Chance didn’t back down and didn’t raise his voice. He’d never thought of himself as a therapist- and would have been embarrassed if anyone had suggested that’s what he was doing- but Jake didn’t need harsh words. “They’re going to keep doing it unless you stop them.”
“And if I turn them in, they’ll…” Jake blinked. “Crud,” he whispered. He met Chance’s gaze, really met it, and Chance thought he could read the thought there: part of Jake was scared of the ass-wipes; the rest of him was ashamed of that fact.
Before he could think of anything to say, Jake turned back to Commander Feral and gave the names of the five- Five! Chance thought. I’m gonna kill them!- kats who had attacked him that morning as he snuck back into the barracks.

Posted in Books, Teasers

Teaser Tuesday–Author Beth D. Carter

For this edition of Teaser Tuesday, we are pleased to have Beth D. Carter as the featured author. Below you will find a blurb and an excerpt of Beth’s current release, ‘Sleeping Beauty’, including a book cover and other author information. Enjoy the scintillating reading!

Ronan Hark and Noah Kabot are deep space salvagers, partners in business as well as in life. While investigating an old ship they discover a cryo chamber holding the frozen body of a beautiful woman who’s been asleep for thirty-one years. Against Ronan’s better judgment, they take the chamber and wake her up.

Alivia has spent her life living as a sheltered yet unloved princess, until the day she is forced into cryo stasis. It was only supposed to be for a short time, but somehow her ship crashed and she became nothing more than a memory.

But now everything has changed. A hunter is after her and killing anyone who knows she’s alive. As they race across the expanse of space, can Ronan and Noah keep her safe? And what happens when she finally returns home to confront a life that forgot about her?

Excerpt:

Ronan moved cautiously through the ship. The thick view windows had cracked upon impact, allowing dirt and rocks to tumble inside. Everything was washed out, colorless. Lifeless. He made his way through the broken, silent ship, dreading to see the cockpit and the remains of the captain. But much to his surprise, the control room stood empty.

He moved to the engine console and wiped off the inches-thick dirt, baring the powerless control panels. He set his scanner on it and activated it. Seconds later the cockpit came to life as the wireless remote downloaded all the information available. It didn’t last long and as soon as all the data was collected he disconnected the console, shutting down the power surge. The small area fell silent and lifeless once again.

He activated the neural com link with Noah. “Where are you?”

“I’m next to a large clump of twisted metal.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Well, that narrows it down.”

“Wait,” Noah’s distracted voice told him. “I think I found what was causing the power signature.”

Ronan hesitated, but when Noah didn’t contact him after a minute, he went after him, making his way carefully through the rubble into the back of the ship.

“Noah?”

“Ronan, you won’t believe this.”

“Believe what?”

He pushed into the back of the ship, which was actually in much better shape than the front, and saw him standing next to a large steel box. Through his visor Ronan could see the surprise coving the younger man’s face.

“What is it?”

Noah shook his head. “It’s a cryo chamber. And it’s occupied.”

“What?”

Ronan hurried over. The metal box, also known as a cold coffin, held a sleeping woman inside. He couldn’t see much of her because of all the tubes obscuring much of her face, but he could tell she was young, her flaming-red hair a glaring contrast to the paleness of her features.

More:

Author Info & Social Media links:

I like writing about the very ordinary girl thrust into extraordinary circumstances, so my heroines will probably never be lawyers, doctors or corporate highrollers. I try to write characters who aren’t cookie cutters and push myself to write complicated situations that I have no idea how to resolve, forcing me to think outside the box. I love writing characters who are real, complex and full of flaws, heroes and heroines who find redemption through love.


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Amazon author page: http://www.amazon.com/BethD.Carter/e/B00EOTD1T0/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1385417145&sr=8-1

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser from Autumn Montague

Dear Readers and Fans:

For this Teaser Tuesday, I am featuring author, Autumn Montague, and a teaser from her latest work, ‘Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me’. Enjoy the excerpt below. Should you seek more of Autumn’s writing style: please see the list of available books from this author that follows the excerpt. Happy reading!

Autumn Montague Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me (Excerpt)

Chapter One
London, 1816

Blood. Sweet, sweet blood thickened with terror. The girl in his arms fought with weakening desperation, her life rushing away through the crimson tide pulsing from her with each frantic beat of her heart. Intoxicating copper heat coursed across his lips, suffusing him with its nourishing power.

Her moans grew fainter as his poison saturated her body. The exquisite torture of emptying his venom flooded his muscles with godlike power, and he tightened his hold, crushing her fragile, merely human form against him. Her gasp of pain drove a spike of lusty pleasure through him. He released her neck to watch her blood flood across her shoulders to stain her flimsy gown.

A waste perhaps, but he could find another. The silent, horrified plea in her dulling eyes spurred his lust, and he ripped the sodden dress open to bare her cotton stays. A hand batted feebly, a near-unconscious impulse to protect her vanished modesty.

Little whore. She’d no need for modesty with him. He had no interest in her person, not yet. Not until she was at the brink. Then he’d spread her legs and revel in her death throes.

Yes. Yes, that peak of ecstasy neared, her glazed eyes beginning to fade. She drew a hitching breath, and he dropped her limp body to the mud, reaching for the fastenings to his breeches.

The clatter of hooves and creak of heavy wheels broke his concentration, his anticipated pleasure vanishing.

Damn! With a frantic bound, he hurled himself into the velvet black shadow of the alley behind him. Frustrated desire boiled through him as he watched the carriage lurch to a halt. A murderous rage rose, urging him to attack the interlopers. He attempted to quash it, but the slavering beast of his hunger did not want to be assuaged. The girl was his rightful prey, and he would be damned if he would allow mere humans to drive him off. He readied himself, prepared to lunge when the correct moment presented.

The tiniest of breezes stirred the air as the passengers descended from the barouche. It carried the oh-so-faint scent of the intruders, driving him back into the shadows.

“Imbecile!” The word escaped him in a hiss. He peered around, forcing his eyes to see, his ears to hear. As if a veil had been drawn back, he realized he stood almost in the heart of London. How had he followed the girl so far without recognizing his danger?

At least one of the men in the carriage knew him by sight and scent. Worse, if they were to meet, his enemy was duty-bound to kill him without hesitation. He twitched, annoyed, uncertain—wanting his prize but unwilling to face his opponent at this moment.

His hunger stilled, replaced by an urgent need to flee. Later. The time would come, but that time was not now. With a last look at the shuddering girl behind him, he forced more venom to his muscles and shivered in delight as he fled into the night.

* * * *

Morgan Holland clenched his teeth against an impious curse as the carriage lurched to an unexpected halt, knocking his skull against the lacquered wooden panel behind his head. Inertial momentum pitched his companion face forward against the opposite seat with bruising abruptness. Morgan gave the trap door over his head a savage thump with his fist, even as he reached to help the Baron of Colbourne up off the floor.

“Blast it all, I’m fine, Holland,” Colbourne barked.

Morgan smothered a grin at his master’s temper over his bruised dignity. He gestured at the gaping tear across the knee of Colbourne’s superfine trousers. “Perhaps we should return home for a change of clothes before we continue to White’s.”

Colbourne scowled. “Damn. Weston just delivered these this week. I’ll have to commission a new pair.”

“As you say, my lord.” Amusement warred with Morgan’s ringing head as he fought to keep a smirk off his face. Colbourne’s penchant for fine clothes had been a constant source of humor between them.

“Don’t be smug, Holland. Just because you managed to maintain your seat is no reason for a swelled head.”

The dour tone proved too much, and a highly inappropriate snort evaded Morgan’s control. Jeremy Takeshi Yamakawa Colbourne, Fifth Baron of Colbourne, took great pains to appear neat and elegant for any evening revelry. Since his Japanese ancestry drew the derision of his peers, he always maintained a flawless nobleman’s appearance. Morgan felt privileged to be among those few who could jest about the habit without giving offense. Moreover, the unique circumstances of Morgan’s employment had built a bond between them, a bond closer to friendship than master and servant.

A sharp rap at the window halted Colbourne’s next salvo even as he drew breath for the words, undoubtedly to cast unmeant aspersions on Morgan’s ancestry. The words died at the sound of their driver’s frantic rap on the door.

It seemed the difficulty interrupting them was more than a mere rut in the road.

“This needs your attention, my lord,” Toby quavered, fear plain in his voice.

Morgan felt a chill worm its way down his spine, a chill having nothing to do with the damp air outside the carriage door. Colbourne’s handsome face tightened, his grave expression igniting an answering spark of alarm in Morgan. He followed his master into the dank night, and nearly choked.

“Plague of the ages!” Colbourne’s biting exclamation did not quite carry the weight of a bellow, but it might as well have been a shout.

The night air carried a familiar coppery tang, laced with the faint odor of bile. Morgan knew the smell, of tainted blood and death. When he’d first met Colbourne, the man had been covered in the same bloody aroma. Morgan could not see this poor soul, not yet, but the smell left no doubt.

“Nosferatu.” He’d never encountered one, only read in books what they were, what they did. Read, and seen what had happened to his master, the Baron of Colbourne, one of the preeminent nosferii nobles in England. Or anywhere else. The last nosferatu to hunt here had almost cost the country its most needed protector.

Colbourne cast a keen glance his way but said nothing, just stepped around the corner of the carriage for a look at what had bollixed their plans for the evening. Morgan followed, suppressing the urge to gag at the foulness of the air. He tried to keep his strides casual, as though he were walking into yet another evening entertainment, not around the carriage corner for a look at a shredded human being.

Colbourne quirked an eyebrow at Morgan’s calm facade. “No one would think twelve years ago you were a mere tenant farmer, untutored in such things.”

“Even a farmer faces death, my lord.” A true enough statement. After all, Morgan had tended to enough carrion when he was younger: dead livestock, headless chickens after foxes raided the coops. Yet none of his experience prepared him for the putrid aroma hovering over the slumped form in the road. The rank odor was fouler than the oldest carcass he’d ever cleared from his fields. With reluctance, he turned his full attention on the unfortunate victim.

“God!” The exclamation burst from him at the appalling sight that met his eyes.

The brown dirt of the road had turned to mud, glistening with the darkness of spilled blood. A young woman lay trembling in that crimson sludge, her neck savaged and raw. The gaping wounds reeked from the pungent slime coating them.

“Well, she lives, Morgan.” Colbourne sighed, as though the fact was unworthy of celebration. “At least for the present.”

“For the present? Is there nothing to be done?” Morgan could not tear his eyes from the girl. She couldn’t have seen more than sixteen, eighteen years at best.

“From the smell of things, the abomination emptied his venom into her.” Colbourne knelt in the mud, oblivious now to his appearance. “See?” He pointed to the ragged edges of the wounds on the girl’s neck. “There are multiple bites here, some more recent than others.” He laid a gentle, gloved finger near the deepest one. “This bite is hours old, and she is nearly exsanguinated. I am amazed she can still draw breath.”

“Is it too late for a turning?”

That caught Colbourne’s attention. His master stood, searching Morgan’s face for something. Then he sighed, perhaps finding no answer to what he sought.

“It is far too late. At this point, all we can do is ease her passing by treating the wound and dosing her liberally with laudanum. I doubt she’ll notice, but it should be done nonetheless.” He gave Morgan another cryptic glance. “I suppose it’s time to introduce you to the real meaning behind the existence of the Colbourne title. I’ll call you to my study after I have fed. In the meantime, you might want to do some research into turnings. The library has plenty of material for your reading.”

Research? Morgan felt the faintest flush of embarrassment warm his neck. It seemed he’d touched on a sensitive topic. He turned to the coachman. “Toby, get the lap blanket.” He considered for a moment. “And your long coat.” Between the blood, the sodden clothing, and the general mess, two layers should provide both warmth for the young woman and protection for the carriage.

Toby returned, and Morgan watched as Colbourne bundled the girl tightly in the coat, wrapping her head to toe in the blanket. When he lifted the fragile burden, Morgan attempted to assist him, only to receive a flat denial.

“This slime will eat through your hide,” Colbourne reminded. “Don’t forget your teachings, Holland.”

Morgan stepped back, feeling the Compulsion his master laid behind the words. He suppressed a sigh. When Colbourne used such a trick, it usually meant unpleasant instruction ahead.

They rode home at a rapid clip, carriage swaying on its springs at Toby’s urgent pace. Morgan could see the lax bundle in his master’s lap out of the corner of his eye, though he did his utmost not to stare. He focused instead on the adorning crest of the panel immediately behind Colbourne’s head, little good though it did him. Every time he relaxed his control, his eyes flew inexorably to the doomed girl. At some point, he glanced down again and discovered her hitching breaths had ceased.

Colbourne’s dark eyes were shuttered. Even in the dimness of their carriage, distress showed in the line between his brows and the bunched muscles of his jaw. Morgan reached across the gap separating them, called to soothe his master’s pain. Dark lashes lifted, revealing Colbourne’s grief at his failure.

Tonight’s enjoyments were meant to be a prelude in advance of Colbourne’s Contracted feeding; a bit of casual camaraderie to make amends for the awkward strain that had recently come between them. With this appalling discovery, the emotional toll on them both could hinder the process. Worse still, it might encourage Colbourne to postpone the feeding.

A tinge of red outlined those dark eyes. “Don’t worry, Holland. I’ll have myself under control by the appointed time.”

“I am certain you will, my lord,” Morgan answered, keeping his voice level. “I worry more for my control than for yours.”

A wistful smile touched Colbourne’s lips. “Your iron will? It will never waver, regardless of my desires.” The smile vanished. “Nonetheless, we will bury this poor child before we begin, Holland. I owe her that much, at least.”

* * * *

At the expected time, Morgan stood outside the sanguis cubiculum, irresolute. After a moment, he drew a deep breath and opened the heavy door enough to slip into the dim room. Hoping to recover his usual calm, he looked around at the comforts scattered about the feeding chamber. His master’s ancestry held full sway here, unlike any other room within Colbourne Manor. In the center, where the Contract always took place, a pile of soft bedding dominated. Oriental basins and water pitchers flanked the futon, with folded cloths of soft linen laid neatly alongside. Wax-paper lanterns lit the room with softened candlelight, casting shadows over the ornate screens and furnishings in the corners.

Colbourne waited on the futon, his white shirt open at the neck. Shadows from the flickering lanterns enhanced his Japanese ancestry, drawing attention to the faint epicanthic folds and the graceful arch of his brow. It presented a strong contrast to the British height and strong jaw, but Colbourne’s nosferii nature blended the two into pleasing harmony. Altogether attractive, sensual, and dangerous for Morgan’s heart, given what usually passed after a feeding.

Over the past twelve years, Morgan had gradually become accustomed to his master’s bisexuality, though with difficulty. It was a hallmark of the nosferii, but as Colbourne had said, Morgan had once been an untutored farmer. The Church of England considered such relationships unnatural and anathema to any God-fearing man. To be accused—worse, to be convicted—bore the potential for death. Earlier this year, Lord Byron himself had fled from England, fallen from his lauded pedestal and hounded by rumors of sodomy. Despite the political immunity granted by the kings of England to the nosferii, what a choice it proved: declare yourself attracted to the same sex, or declare yourself a vampire.

Yet for all the moralizing of his past, for all the strength he put into his denials, Morgan found himself continuously consumed by the desire for the sexual acts that followed a nosfera’s blood-feed. Though he could not prevent the upsurge of lust, he held it at bay, keeping his master at arm’s length and insisting another partner be ready once the feeding was done.

Despite knowing all this, despite his desires, the sight of Jeremy Colbourne’s demanding eyes and waiting lips had Morgan’s groin twitching in anticipation. It shamed him to know he couldn’t settle his feelings into the simplicity he’d known a dozen years earlier.

Colbourne’s strong hand pulled him to the down-filled bedding, sending a shiver through Morgan at the contact. Raw, sensual hunger rolled over him in waves, as the nosferii power of attraction shattered his determination with mere proximity. He swallowed, exerting as much control as he could over his physical reactions.

“You are as unyielding as ever, Holland.”

“Only in one matter, my lord. Is there someone near at hand for—after?”

A sad chuckle answered him. “Yes. My guest waits in my chambers.” Colbourne’s hand grazed Morgan’s neck, sliding sensuously along his throat. “Are you ready, Hostia Aeternus?”

The change in Colbourne’s voice indicated the time had come. Morgan looked at his master, seeing the reddened eyes, the widened pupils. A surge of desire flooded him, and he suppressed the unnatural lust. Still, the yearning to yield and be everything his master asked of him almost overpowered his sense.

Colbourne’s tongue touched his neck. Morgan shuddered, unable to prevent the involuntary reaction.

“I am hungry.” His master’s hot breath accompanied the words, while bared fangs grazed Morgan’s skin. “So hungry.”

The shivers increased tenfold. Morgan felt his control slipping and struggled to hold on to it long enough to complete the Contract. “Then please feed, my lord.” His voice had grown husky as anticipatory tremors took hold of him.

Another caress of Colbourne’s rough tongue drew an exquisite shudder. Such an intimate act, followed by an even more intimate one as the piercing bite of sharp fangs penetrated his neck and withdrew. Hot lips formed a seal around the twin wounds, and Morgan felt his groin tighten with the intense sensation of his master drawing deeply of the crimson flow.

It shouldn’t be this way, Morgan’s hazed brain insisted. Despite this, the lust bubbling up was the same as always, driving him to the brink of madness as he fought the desire. Every time he offered his blood, the yearning to succumb, to yield more than he gave—every time, it grew stronger. He wanted what he denied Lord Colbourne, wanted the carnal touch the Church deemed sinful, longed for what the courts condemned with death.

He trembled at the strengthening draw, fighting the spiraling temptation. The ache in his loins increased with every passing minute, inflamed by the chemicals hidden within the nosferii fangs. His stomach tightened against the feeling as he strove to suppress the exhilaration racing through him, starting with the fanged kiss at his neck.

Morgan shivered as Colbourne laid a hand between his thighs, stroking him, caressing the erection he couldn’t suppress. A groan escaped Morgan as the pleasure increased tenfold.

In a flash, he found himself pinned against the futon. He jerked at the feel of Colbourne’s hand fumbling with the buttons of his breeches. Heat flooded him, running straight from the hot contact to the ecstatic draw of blood from his neck. Hot, shaking with need, he pressed himself against that warm palm, his mind a blaze of passion. Colbourne moaned into Morgan’s neck, sucking harder.

“Touch me…touch me please, Morgan.”

The words slipped into his mind, jarring him from his lust. He shoved hard at the man above him, desperately building a wall in front of the invading thought.

“Get out of my mind!” Frantic, Morgan lunged upward, thrusting Colbourne away from him and wincing at the sudden, tearing sting at his neck. He stumbled forward, pressing his hands to the wounds, attempting to stanch the flow of blood.

He didn’t finish feeding, a portion of his mind whispered. He didn’t finish, and now I’m going to bleed to death.

“Makoto!” Colbourne’s panicked voice beat on Morgan’s ears with the force of a drum. “Makoto! Tasukete!”

Footsteps drummed across the floor as Colbourne’s retainer responded. The room started fading at the edges, and Morgan blinked at the bedding wound about his feet. Arms like steel trapped him, holding him up but keeping him hostage.

“You damn idiot!” Despite the angry hiss of the words, Colbourne’s voice shook. “Hold still.”

Morgan struggled against the iron grip holding him fast, while his hands were wrenched away from his neck. Colbourne’s unyielding grip held his head as the vampire leaned in to bite a second time. The pain shattered the last wall of Morgan’s consciousness, blackness overtaking him at the penetrating sting of his master’s fangs.

* * * *

Jeremy stared at Morgan’s sleeping face, the tremors of angry fear finally subsiding. He’d never before lost control during a feeding. Never. He’d been taking blood from normal humans for more than three centuries, and not once had he ever insinuated his thoughts into an unwilling Host’s mind.

Host. Hostia. The cruel irony of the title struck Jeremy more forcibly than it had ever done before. Hostia, the victim. Centuries before, it had been a word to deny the humanity of those used as nothing more than a food supply. Now, it stood as a title of respect, of importance. Hosts themselves had made it so.

When Morgan had fought Jeremy, rending his flesh beneath Jeremy’s fangs, the true meaning of Hostia had resonated in the terror shining in Morgan’s eyes. It had cut Jeremy to the quick, flaying him with the knowledge of his transgression.

But Morgan had allowed him liberties he’d denied for a dozen years. Jeremy had been pushed over the edge of reason, and he’d reached out, succumbing to a longing he’d thought he’d safely buried.

He stroked the bandages wound about Morgan’s neck. The man’s power of will never ceased to amaze him. The nosferii mind connection had originally been a means of prey control. For anyone to break free and physically pull away, as Morgan had, took strength of mind not commonly found.

A shadow shifted behind him as Makoto entered the room, a laden dinner tray in his hands. Fresh cuts of red meat predominated, lightly seared but rich with the coppery smell of blood.

“Time to eat, danshaku,” the samurai said, setting the tray on the small table by the chair. “You did not feed enough. Please replenish your strength with this.”

Jeremy ignored the dark look, though he did reach for the glass of brandy. “It was sufficient. I do not need to dine early.”

“I respectfully disagree.” Makoto plated a modest portion of beef and fruit. “Will you call for another Host?” Despite the words, Makoto’s voice carried no disapprobation. “It may be weeks before Holland-san is able to meet his Contracted terms.”

“I will be ready when he is, Makoto,” Jeremy answered, loath to consider anyone else. “I can wait.”

“That would be most unwise, danshaku.”

“Perhaps, but I will wait, nonetheless.”

“As you wish, danshaku.” Makoto bowed and left the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.

“I have no need of another Host, do I, Morgan?” Jeremy posed the question aloud, more for his own reassurance rather than expecting his Host to wake and answer. “After all, you are my Hostia Aeternus, my Eternal Host.”

Jeremy looked at the brandy in his glass, staring at the deep burgundy liquid. Sweet, yes, the thick fluid was sweet and restorative, but it was not Morgan’s blood, which had called to him from the moment they met.

“No, no need at all.”

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