You Are 48% Control Freak

Generally, you are in control but not a control freak. You life is usually in order. However, sometimes you get too obsessed with making everything in your life picture perfect.

Are You A Control Freak?

ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-538-6

Caleb has worked hard to get where he’s at in life. Recently offered tenure at the college where he works, Caleb has let his personal life slide in favor of impressing the powers that be. Now that a much-needed summer vacation is finally at hand, Caleb fears his long hours may have been detrimental to his long-time partner’s happiness.

An appreciative eye for the male form is perfectly natural, but Zaki’s preoccupation with other men is cause for concern. Even though Caleb trusts his lover, he’s suspicious of Zaki’s motives. While Caleb isn’t above a little recreational sex by mutual consent, he wouldn’t be able to forgive Zaki for screwing around behind his back. His only hope is to turn back the tide of discontent before it’s too late…

Excerpt…Caleb unlocked his office and pushed through the doorway, his mind racing with all the last-minute things he could do to make the night memorable . He wasn’t sure if they had the snickerdoodle-scented massage oil Zaki favored, but a quick stop on the way home would fix that. Maybe while he was out, he’d pick up a few DVDs for later inspiration.

Sitting at his desk, Caleb noticed the message light flashing on the phone. Although tempted to ignore it in favor of hustling through his work, his sense of responsibility wouldn’t allow him to dismiss the message. Very few people outside the administration called him on his work line, so it was probably important. He just hoped the call didn’t involve someone trying to talk him into staying on staff over the summer.

After punching in his access code, Caleb lifted the receiver to his ear. His lover’s voice echoed through the line.

“Hello, love. I know you’re hard at work right now, but I need you to meet me at Henley’s pub after work. See you soon.”

Confused, Caleb reached into his pocket for his cell phone, wondering why Zaki hadn’t used the mobile number to call him. A brief recollection of hooking up his phone to the charger the night before, and walking out without it that morning, stilled his hand. Sometimes he truly felt like he was getting senile.

Caleb replaced the receiver and wondered what Zaki was up to. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d gone to Henley’s during the week. Briar Henley, the owner, was a good friend of theirs, but he’d be busy working the bar. Zaki would be bored out of his mind in no time flat if he had to wait around to chat with Briar. Of course, there was always the chance Zaki wanted to kick off the summer with a few drinks. Zaki, however, wasn’t much of a drinker. He possessed almost no tolerance for alcohol. Two beers and he was buzzing…three and he was drunk.

If drinking was Zaki’s intention, Caleb hoped his lover would wait for him to arrive before he indulged. Lowered inhibitions, added to Zaki’s insatiable need to flirt, would lead to no good.

His thoughts shifted to the playful side of Zaki. The man had a way of turning even the slightest innuendo into something filthy and utterly delicious when he was playing the coquette. While this was one of the things Caleb loved about him, Zaki’s behavior sometimes made it hard for Caleb to tell when he was serious and when he was just screwing around.

Caleb wasn’t the jealous sort, and he trusted his lover, but Zaki had been acting a little strange lately…even for him. Almost secretive. For the last month or so, Zaki had gone out of his way to point out hot guys whenever they went out together. Not only would he mention other men, but also question Caleb’s opinion on each person and make lewd suggestions about what they could do to each of them. Not that a threesome was unknown in the relationship. They’d engaged in threesomes in the past. But it had been some time since they’d been so adventurous. Years, in fact.

Caleb was beginning to wonder if Zaki’s preoccupation went beyond the threesome arrangement. It seemed as if his partner was becoming downright obsessed with other men. Perhaps he was wandering outside their relationship. Caleb had nothing against playing—he’d always believed their relationship was strong enough to overcome a little extracurricular activity, as long as it was mutual. But Caleb wasn’t sure he could forgive Zaki if the man cheated on him. It wasn’t a matter of sex, so much as trust.

As he turned his attention to the papers in his briefcase, Caleb hoped he would never have to make the kind of decision that came with a cheating partner. He didn’t want to contemplate what his life would be like without Zaki…

Buy the ebook now at Amber Allure:
http://www.amberquill.com/AmberAllure/Triplesex.html

This week’s guest author is Reese Johnson. Mr. Johnson is new to publishing, but already has two novels out with Noble Romance.

Q: Hello, Reese. Can you start by tell us all what genre do you write in?
A: I write fantasy, paranormal, M/M erotic…it’s a very long story, but when I started writing it just kinda came out this way.

Q: How long did you write before you received your first contract for publication?
A: I never really thought about getting published, I just wrote for the fun of it. Then a friend read something I wrote and said I should try to write a book and get published. I got lucky I guess, because my first two books received contracts.

Q: So, if you don’t mind sharing, would you tell us about your latest work in progress?
A: Right now I’m just kind of in shock that both my books are being published so I’m not really working on anything else. I’m trying to find out more about the publishing process, working with editors, etc.

Q: Out of all the stories you’ve written, which is your favorite?
A: lol, I’ve only written two and I like them both!

Q: Do you need to be in a specific place or atmosphere before the words flow?
A: Definitely and I never know what that place might be!

Q: What’s the strangest source of inspiration you’ve found for a story?
A: I spent a lot of years in prison and saw a lot of different things, so you could say that my inspiration comes from years of boredom and seeing the human condition at it’s worst.

Q: If you could offer one tidbit of information for new writers, what would it be?
A: Since I am a new writer, I guess the best advice I could give would be to get in contact with other writers and ask as many questions as you can.

Q: Do you have an evil day job or do you write full time?
A: I don’t have a day job and I don’t write full time either. I’m old and slow and most days I spend just puttering around and sleeping.

Q: What do you like to do in your spare time?
A: I like spending time outside working in the garden. Growing things calms me down and keeps me centered.

Q: Name one thing readers would be surprised to learn about you.
A: Besides the fact I’m an old black man writing gay erotica?

Q: What’s your favorite dirty word?
A: Three girls, all sisters!

Q: What’s your favorite holiday, and why?
A: Christmas because my nieces and nephews all come home.

Q: Do you have any tattoos or piercings?
A: I have one tat on my back, it is my name in African

Q: If you could be intimate with three people (not necessarily all at one time *g*) without getting in trouble with your significant other, who would they be?
A: I don’t have a significant other, so that’s not a problem, but the sisters mentioned above would be a good start.

Q: If you were stranded on a desert island, what three things would you want with you?
A: The three sisters mentioned earlier!

Q: If you won the lottery tomorrow, what would you spend the money on?
A: my family

Q: Which household chore do you abhor and why?
A: Laundry, I would like to be able to just throw clothes away when they get dirty and have new ones in the closet.

Q: What’s your favorite comfort food?
A: Fresh baked cinnamon rolls and a cup of coffee.

Q: Do you have any guilty pleasures you feel comfortable sharing?
A: I think all of life should be a pleasure w/o guilt.

Q: Do you have a favorite book or movie?
A: I read westerns and some sci-fi and mostly watch sports on TV.

Q: Anything else you’d like to share?
A: I’d just like to thank you for this time since I’m so new to all of this, I really appreciate it.

Q: In closing, tell us a bit about your latest release (& share a yummy excerpt for those who aren’t yet familiar with your work)

Blurb:

Attorney Jim Williams is tall, black and beautiful. When he meets fellow attorney, Steve Wheeler, it seems as if the relationship is meant to be, but when Jim’s former lover suddenly appears back in his life, the boundaries of Jim and Steve’s relationship is tested.

Excerpt:

Jim swallowed the last of his wine and set the glass aside. He leaned toward Steve, his fingers brushing Steve’s cheek, and kissed him lightly. Jim felt Steve lean forward, their lips pressed more tightly together, and he took the kiss deeper. The kiss was slow, languid and their tongues glided against one another.
Jim moved forward, pressing Steve back until he was lying down and Jim was on top of him. Jim broke the kiss and looked into Steve’s eyes. He could see the lust, the want, the need, and felt his own desires flare up inside him.
Jim ran his hand down Steve’s side until he found the tail of his shirt and lifted it. He ran the flat of his hand along Steve’s smooth skin, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel his skin against Steve’s skin. He rose up, forcing Steve to release the suction on his bottom lip, and pulled his jersey and T-shirt off over his head. Then he took off his sneakers and jeans and stood naked, looking at Steve, watching his reaction.
Steve reached for him, but Jim intercepted his hand and pulled Steve to his feet. He cupped Steve’s face in both hands and kissed him again, slipping his tongue into Steve’s mouth, as Steve ran his hands over Jim’s back. Then Jim stepped back and smiled as he began undressing Steve. He unbuttoned his shirt, kissing each bit of skin as it was exposed, and then pushed it off his shoulders. He kissed Steve again, running his hands over the soft hair on his stomach, and moved his hands up Steve’s body while his mouth moved over Steve’s face and down his neck.
Steve leaned his head back, giving Jim full access, and Jim licked down the column of his throat and nibbled at his collarbone. When Steve moaned, it incited Jim and he felt flames of desire licking his loins. He moved over Steve’s chest as he fumbled with the closure on his slacks. Once he figured it out, the slacks slid to the floor, followed by his tighty-whiteys.
Both men stepped back and looked at one another. Jim could feel Steve’s eyes raking over his body, taking him in. He looked at Steve. He was all sun-bronzed skin stretched tightly over well-built muscle, with a light dusting of hair on his chest and stomach. His thighs and calves were well developed, but Jim’s eyes were drawn to Steve’s cock that was hanging halfway down his thigh, and looked as if it was as thick as his own wrist. Jim grinned broadly. So did Steve. Then they were locked together in a passionate tangle of arms, legs, and tongues as they attacked one another.

Blurb:

Turned into werewolves hundreds of years ago, Timber and his lover, Micah, have finally found peace high in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. Their clan is made up of werewolves from every walk of life and includes gay, lesbians, and even a few straights. Far across the valley is another clan, and their leader, Jack, isn’t happy about the abomination going on with Timber’s clan. When war is declared, Timber attempts to reason with Jack and try to find a peaceful solution. Jack’s reasons for hating the other clan isn’t clear, and Timber tries to learn his secret, but how many will die first?

Excerpt:

Prologue-

New Orleans 1753

“This is an abomination!” Lord Barrows thundered.
“Father, I can…” Timberlin started.
“Guards! Guards!” Lord Barrows shouted, and almost instantly five men with swords and pistols at the ready appeared.
“No, Father! You can’t!”
“Take that one!” Lord Barrows pointed to the man in bed beside his son. “Kill him!”
“No! It’s not his fault. Father, please!” Timberlin was used to his father’s outbursts and heavy handedness, but he had never seen such rage before. His face was suffused with blood and had turned a hideous shade of purple. Even through his tears, Timberlin could see the veins bulging in his father’s neck and was quite sure the man was about to have a stroke. He watched as Micah was yanked from the bed, and fought to hold on to him while Micah kicked and fought the guards himself. It was to no avail, as Micah was dragged naked across the thick carpeting and out the bedroom door. Timberlin could hear him scream all the way down the hall, and then down the stairs to the front entry. Even after he heard the large, heavy doors, open and then close, Timberlin could still hear Micah screaming. And then he heard nothing at all.
Timberlin pushed the covers back and jumped out of bed to stand naked before his father. “I will never forgive you!”
Lord Barrows backhanded Timberlin across the face. “You will never forgive me?” The man chuckled in disbelief. “After what you’ve just been caught doing, you think I am the one at fault?” He raised his beefy hand to strike his son again, but Timberlin caught it mid-swing.
“Old man,” he said calmly, “you will never strike me again. If you ever try, I will gut you like the useless pig that you are. Now get out of my room.”
Lord Barrows stood speechless, a first for him, certainly. Then he spun on his heel and walked toward the door, stopping just as he was about to enter the hallway. “You are no son of mine. When I return, do not be here. I never want to lay eyes on you again.”
Timberlin shut the door softly behind his father. “Not a problem, old man,” he said to himself. He went to his bureau and selected his clothing-riding breeches, shirt, and an overcoat. He dressed, pulled on his boots and walked to the door, stopping for one last look. Funny, he thought, other than the picture of his dearly departed mother, there wasn’t a single thing he’d regret leaving behind, and started down the hallway. He stopped suddenly as one of the bedroom doors creaked open and his younger half-brother, Hap, peeked through the crack. Timberlin groaned inwardly, and amended the list of things he’d regret leaving.

At the stables, Timberlin saddled his horse himself, mounted and rode into the darkness. Where they’d taken Micah was anybody’s guess, but Timberlin had enough gold in his purse to bribe even his father’s men, once he found them. He rode for a few miles until he came to the old pub and dismounted. None of the gentry would be caught dead in this place, so he and Micah had often frequented the pub. It was the only place they could be together without tongues wagging back to his father, and it was also the only place he knew that would still be serving alcohol and he hoped his father’s men had stopped by to have a drink after they’d dealt with Micah.
Timberlin nearly broke down bawling like a schoolgirl at the thought of Micah. They’d met at the academy more than ten years ago and there had been an immediate attraction. Micah was Timberlin’s opposite in every way. Micah had golden hair that hung straight, while Timberlin’s was black as night and curled aimlessly about his head. Micah was so fair, his skin burned after only a few minutes in the sun, while Timberlin’s skin was dark and only became darker in the sun. Micah’s eyes were the color of the mid-summer sky, while Timberlin’s were so dark, his pupils were indistinguishable from the iris. Micah was fine boned, sleek, delicate, yet strong and quick. Timberlin was broad, muscled, and strong as an ox.
The picture of Timberlin’s mother showed him to favor her over his father. His mother was even darker than Timberlin, her hair tightly curled, and her dark eyes shone. Lord Barrows claimed she was Spanish, but Timberlin doubted his word. More than once he’d heard the Negro slaves comment about his appearance, and more than once, he’d heard the word Mulatto. Whatever his heritage, it had given him height, weight, strength, length of bone and sinewy muscle.
He dismounted in front of the pub and walked inside. The dimly lit house smelled of stale beer, rotten food, and unwashed bodies. Timberlin’s eyes adjusted and he walked to the counter and laid a coin down. A drink was immediately poured and set before him, and without a word, he tipped his head back and swallowed it.
“Another,” he said and slapped another coin on the bar. He swallowed that one as well, and then said, “Have you seen any of my father’s men tonight?”
“They was here,” the old man told him. “They left about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Did they mention where they were going?” The old man just looked at him. Timberlin laid down two more coins and asked again, “Do you know where they were going?”
“Said they had something to drop off in the swamp and they all laughed, then they took off.”
Timberlin ran for the door and mounted his steed without using the stirrups. He spurred the horse into a dead run, heading for the swamp. He berated himself for not having thought of it before this. His father’s men had used it as a dumping ground for runaway slaves, hunting dogs that had outlived their usefulness, and for getting rid of anything their employer might not want around. In less than twenty minutes, he caught sight of his father’s men’s horses tethered to tree limbs, so he dismounted and hid his horse in the trees about a hundred yards from them.
The moon disappeared from sight when Timberlin entered the swamp on foot. This was no place for man or beast. The ground was uneven, had large holes filled with water, and the mud could pull a man right under if he wasn’t careful. Not to mention the snakes and alligators. The sounds were eerie and made Timberlin’s skin crawl, as the desire to turn and run clawed its way through his mind. He knew Micah was dead, and fought back another wave of grief. He had to find the body before the swamp creatures did. Micah deserved a Christian burial and Timberlin was going to make sure he got it.
After moving through the inky blackness, Timberlin caught sight of a flickering light and heard disembodied voices floating through trees that hung thick with Spanish moss. He followed the light until he could see the men and waited. Unable to hear their words distinctly, or to see exactly what they were doing, but when he heard a loud splash followed by their raucous laughter, he knew they’d disposed of Micah. He waited until the men made their way back toward their horses, then reached above him and caught a few strands of Spanish moss in his hands and pulled it free. He wound it tightly together and twisted it, then tore a piece of material from the hem of his shirt, pulled his flint box from his purse and used it to light the moss.
It wasn’t the best torch, but it gave him some light as he went to the place where the men had been. All he could see was the place where the men had stood and the inky, black water of the swamp. He did not want to step into that water, but Timberlin forced himself. He had to find Micah. Timberlin pulled off his boots first, the last thing he wanted was for his boots to fill with mud and water and weight him down. Then he stepped into the water and cringed as mud squished between his toes and the water moved up his leg. He held the moss torch over the water, but all it illuminated was a big, black snake gliding toward him. Timberlin held his breath and froze in place as the snake bumped its nose against his shin, flicked its forked tongue, then continued on its way. Timberlin wiped an arm across his face as sweat ran in rivulets into his eyes.
He took another cautious step, then bent over and put one hand in the water, while holding the torch out with the other. Three more small steps and his hand felt a form beneath the water. Grabbing whatever he could, he pulled the form from the water and discovered Micah with his hands and feet bound tightly. He pulled Micah up, dropped the moss that had nearly burned out, and wrapped both arms around Micah’s chest, pulling Micah out of the water and onto the muddy bank and quickly untied him.
“Micah,” he whispered. “Oh, God, please help me. Micah!” Then he heard a cough and a sputter and Micah drew a breath. “You’re alive! Thank you, God! Micah, can you hear me?” He pulled Micah onto his lap and cradled him, rocking back and forth. There was blood on his shirt and it was still seeping through the material onto Timberlin’s arm. “I have to get you to a doctor.” Timberlin looked around, but it was so dark, he couldn’t see his hands before his face, even though it was nearing dawn.
Timberlin began searching for more Spanish moss when he heard a distant howl. A long, low, feral sound that sent chills through his body. His head whipped around, but he saw nothing. He heard the howl again, and this time it sounded closer. Timberlin had heard the Loup Garou, or werewolf, stories from the slaves, but he’d never believed them. The story went that if one of the creatures bit you without killing you, you became like them. Undead. Seeking human blood for all eternity. He’d laughed the stories off, thinking them nothing more than a way to scare children into behaving, but now, he wasn’t so sure. The howling continued to sound closer and the hair on his arms and neck stood on end.
A branch broke behind him, and when he whipped his head around, something grabbed him by the back of the neck and lifted him off the ground. The last thing he remembered was the pain in his neck when the thing bit him, and the sound of his own screaming.
When Timberlin woke, he was on the ground looking up at the cypress trees and Spanish moss and knew he was still in the swamp. Sunlight was streaming through the trees and bugs flew around his face. He moaned as he tried to sit up, and found Micah in a heap next to him.
“Micah. Are you alive? Can you hear me?” Timberlin leaned heavily over his friend and grasped his face in his hand. Micah’s eyes fluttered open and he inhaled deeply. “You’re alive! Thank God.” Timberlin fell onto his back, suddenly feeling every ache and pain in his body.
Micah rolled over. “What happened? Why am I not dead? Your father…”
“I don’t know,” Timberlin whispered. “Just let me rest for a moment. Then I’ll get us out of here.”
Timberlin and Micah held onto one another for support and managed to make their way back to Timberlin’s horse that was still grazing near the spot he’d been left the night before. They rode together and made their way to a hotel in town and ordered food and baths brought to their room, and put it on Lord Barrows bill. Micah chuckled all the way up the stairs. “He’s going to kill us both this time.”
Timberlin shook his head. “No. He might try, but he won’t kill either of us.” Timberlin was still in shock from the events of the previous night, but the fact that the love of his life was beside him, soothed every ache and pain he had. He’d never known such abject fear in his life as he had thinking Micah was dead, and now that he was alive, now that they were both alive, Timberlin would do everything he could to make sure they stayed that way.
He pushed open the door to their suite and followed Micah inside. The room was well appointed, with one large bed on the opposite wall and a fireplace ready to be lit on the facing wall. Timberlin struck the provided flint and the fire came to life. Micah fell heavily onto a chair facing the fireplace and leaned his head back, exhausted and relieved. There was a knock on the door and Timberlin opened it, allowing the servants to bring the tub and food inside. The servants made many trips with hot water to fill the tub, and finally, the two men were alone.
“Here,” Timberlin said, handing Micah a glass of wine. “Drink this and I’ll get our plates. You need to eat. Then we’ll make use of that tub,” he said with a sly grin and a wink.
Micah chuckled and said, “The way I feel, I’ll probably drown in the tub.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Timberlin said as he knelt beside Micah’s chair. He pushed a lock of hair from Micah’s forehead and kissed him gently. “I’ll never let anything happen to you again.” Micah nodded and smiled, then drained his wine glass.
The two men sat in front of the roaring fire in a comfortable silence while they ate their meal. Then Timberlin took the plates back to the tray and set them down. He stood and undressed as Micah watched. Timberlin could see the adoration in Micah’s blue eyes, the perspiration beading on his forehead, and the color that touched his cheeks. Micah was so easily aroused by him and Timberlin loved it. He stood naked, ran one hand over his stomach to his cock and smoothed the flat of his hand over it, and then he crossed the floor to Micah and pulled him out of the chair.
“I have never been so scared in my life,” Timberlin said as his lips grazed Micah’s cheek.
“So was I,” Micah whispered and ran his hands over Timberlin’s back.
“I’m sorry. I know you were.”
“Not for myself,” Micah said, pulling back so he could look into Timberlin’s eyes. “I was afraid for you. I was afraid of how you would live, or wouldn’t live, without me.”
Timberlin chuckled. “Always thinking of me, aren’t you? Come here.” He tugged on Micah’s clothing and then dropped the ruined garments on the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Look at your neck. Whatever that beast in the swamp was, it bit you. Does it hurt?”
Micah raised his hand to his neck and felt of the wound. “No, it doesn’t. Does yours?”
“Mine?” Timberlin felt of his own neck. “I hadn’t realized it was even there.”
Micah peeled off the rest of his clothing and led Timberlin to the tub. “You get in first and I’ll bathe you.” Timberlin didn’t need to be told twice.
Micah knelt on the floor at one end of the tub and picked up the bar of soap. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled, ah, French, he thought with a smile and then dipped the bar in the water and lathered his hands with it. He rubbed his soapy hands over Timberlin’s shoulders and down his chest, as Timberlin let his head fall back to rest on Micah’s shoulder. The hot water, the scented soap, the feel of Micah’s hands on his body, this was worth all the trouble he’d gone to in the swamp. Once he was clean, they switched places and Timberlin took his time washing Micah’s body. After he’d washed him thoroughly, he moved his hands back over Micah’s chest and stomach, while he nibbled his earlobe and moved his mouth to his neck and kissed him. His hands snaked their way over Micah’s stomach, moving lower until his finger wound in the hair at the base of his cock.
He felt Micah’s cock twitch in response to his touch and trailed his fingers over the length of it and Micah shifted so Timberlin could get a better grip. Timberlin moved his fingers over Micah’s dick to his balls, and then squeezed gently. He nibbled at Micah’s ear and whispered, “I think we better get you to bed.”
Micah accepted the hand Timberlin offered as he stood in the tub. Timberlin helped him out of the tub and then used a towel to dry him and led him to the bed. Timberlin sat on the edge and pulled Micah to stand between his knees, then wrapped both his arms around his narrow hips and buried his face in Micah’s stomach. He inhaled deeply and could feel Micah’s hands working over his shoulders and through his wet hair.
Timberlin kissed Micah’s damp skin, and with his tongue, he traced a line from his navel up to one nipple. Leaning back, Timberlin pulled Micah with him until he was lying down and Micah was on top of him. He took Micah’s face in both his hands and looked into his eyes, then kissed him softly. Timberlin’s tongue traced a line over Micah’s lips, and then slipped between them until he found Micah’s tongue. The kiss was a slow mating that heated quickly. Timberlin moved his hands over Micah’s body, down his back to his ass. He squeezed the twin globes in both hands as his tongue moved over Micah’s tongue. He flipped them over so Micah was beneath him and sucked one nipple into his mouth. Then Timberlin moved lower, sucking and nibbling Micah’s skin as he made his way to Micah’s dick. He threw Micah’s legs over his shoulders and sucked his cock deep into his mouth. Micah moved his hips in rhythm with Timberlin’s mouth and made short work of the orgasm building within him. As Micah came, Timberlin rubbed his hand over Micah’s ass until he found the puckered hole that he’d come to love so much.
He rubbed his fingers around the rim, knowing it increased Micah’s pleasure while he came, and when the orgasm subsided, Timberlin used Micah’s come to lubricate the tight hole. He inserted a finger, and then two and readied Micah for his dick. When he could fit three fingers inside Micah’s ass, Timberlin pressed the head of his cock against the opening and held Micah’s hips for leverage. He pressed his dick into Micah’s ready body as he used Micah’s hips to pull him toward him, and Timberlin groaned aloud as his cock sank into the warm, wet depths of Micah’s ass. He moved in and out, slowly at first, and when he felt his orgasm building, he increased the speed of his strokes. The bottoms of his feet tingled, his skin felt as if it were alive, and his blood raced loudly in his ears. The ball of heat that had formed low in his body, had his balls tightening up against him, and the heat was moving in all directions at once. Then Timberlin’s orgasm exploded through him as he shot himself into Micah’s waiting ass.
Timberlin collapsed on the bed beside Micah and panted, trying to catch his breath. Micah soothed him and stroked his body until Timberlin’s breathing returned to normal. “I love you,” Micah whispered.
“I know,” Timberlin said. “And I love you with all that I am.” He gathered Micah close to him and they fell asleep.

The moon rose full and bright over the city that night illuminating the buildings in long shadows. Timberlin opened his eyes and looked around. His body ached and he felt sick to his stomach. Moments later, Micah sat up beside him.
“How do you feel?” Timberlin asked.
“Not well. My muscles ache and I feel sick to my stomach. I feel feverish, too.”
Timberlin placed a hand on Micah’s forehead. “You are really hot. Too hot,” he said. “Those bites might have gotten infected. We need to find a doctor.”
“At this hour?”
“Come on, get dressed. I don’t want to wait till morning. If it is an infection, waiting will only make it worse.” Timberlin stood up beside the bed and suddenly pain shot through him. Every muscle contracted and his blood burned in his veins, as he fell to the floor. Micah hurried to help him, but as he leaned over, he cried out in pain. His muscles bunched beneath his skin, he felt as if his body was on fire, and he collapsed.
Both men writhed in pain and as quickly as it had begun, the pain abruptly ended. Timberlin sat up and looked at Micah, who was now trying to get to his feet. It was only then that he noticed Timberlin and stumbled backward and fell. He started to shout, but the only sound he made was a long, plaintiff howl, which startled him so much, he tripped over the bed and fell across it.
Timberlin looked down at himself and assessed the situation. He no longer had skin, but was covered in soft, black fur. He held his hands out before him and saw that they were more or less big paws, but with an opposable thumb. He felt his face and found he had a long snout, large fangs, and protruding ears. Trying to get to his feet, he stumbled over the size of them, but managed to stand, thankful that the ceiling was ten feet because there was only a foot or so between it and the top of his head. Marveling at his new body, he sat back on his haunches and noticed his tail wrap limply around his leg.
Timberlin looked at Micah, who was covered in soft, nearly snow-white fur, with a snout, fangs, ears, and paws very similar to his own. He tried to say something to Micah, but all that came out was a howl. And Timberlin knew this was not the best situation for them. With all the noise they’d made, he was surprised someone hadn’t already come to their room to see if everything was all right. He knew they had to get out of the hotel. And they had to do it without being seen.

Your Mind is NC-17 Rated

You’re mind is so filthy… you should should be washing every part of you out with soap. If your thoughts can go dirty, they do. Almost everything is NC-17 to you!

Do You Have a Dirty Mind?

Please welcome this week’s guest author, Rie McGaha. Thanks so much for agreeing to appear on my blog this morning.

 

Q: To begin, please tell everyone which genre you write in.
A: Erotic, fantasy, paranormal, mystery, romance…I like these genre’s because it gives me more freedom with imagination and I can vary from facts, using only what I need to promote the story line and improvise the rest

Q: How long did you write before you received your first contract for publication?
A: I’ve been writing since I was old enough to make the letter “A”, but didn’t write seriously for publication until about six years ago. I was one of those who wound up having my first submission published, but I’ve had plenty of rejections since then!

Q: So, if you don’t mind sharing, would you tell us about your latest work in progress?
A: My latest novel, Calen, the first book in the My Soul To Keep Trilogy was just released last week, and I am now working on a novella called Fire Light.

Q: Out of all the stories you’ve written, which is your favorite?
A: My favorite is one that has yet to be published. It’s called Cross The Line and set just after the Civil War during the Indian Wars. The leads are a white woman who was raised on a plantation with slaves, and during the War, Yankee armies burn the plantation, killing her mother and older sister while her father is off fighting. When he returns, he moves his two surviving daughters to Indian Territory. The male lead is a runaway slave who has been taken in by an Indian tribe. After being injured by a mountain lion, he knows if he doesn’t get help, he’ll die. The nearest place is a farm, and this is where the leads meet. The story chronicles their relationship as they search for a place in an ever-changing America.

Q: Do you need to be in a specific place or atmosphere before the words flow?
A: I sure do, but it’s more like where my head is, than a physical place. I might go months without writing a word, but when it starts, I can’t stop!

Q: What’s the strangest source of inspiration you’ve found for a story?
A: I wrote a novel called Blood Line that was released last October and the story line came from a dream my husband had. He’s a truck driver and dreamed he was attacked by werewolves—believe it or not, this is one of his less weird dreams—so I just began building on his dream and a novel was born. One of the characters, Ganda, then took on a life of her own and now I am very close to finishing the sequel, Ancient Blood, which tells Ganda’s story.

Q: If you could offer one tidbit of information for new writers, what would it be?
A: Never stop learning your craft. There is a wealth of information in other writers, editors, publishers, etc., so ask questions and keep writing.

Q: Do you have an evil day job or do you write full time?
A: No, I don’t have any other job…I have a husband instead!

Q: What do you like to do in your spare time?
A: I have twelve children, twenty-four grandchildren, eighteen dogs, one cat, eleven works in progress and a husband—so in my spare time my husband and I are members of the Patriot Guard and participate in those events, and we like to fish and hunt.

Q: Name one thing readers would be surprised to learn about you.
A: I used to be a drug counselor in an all male prison where I was the only female on a unit with 120 male inmates!

Q: What’s your favorite dirty word?
A: lol, all of them

Q: What’s your favorite holiday, and why?
A: Christmas. My kids are scattered around now, and my youngest son is a United States Marine, and usually gets leave to come home for the holidays. When they’re all at home with their own children and the house is a noisy mess, I am so happy!

Q: Do you have any tattoos or piercings?
A: I have three tattoos. One on my left boob, one on my right shoulder, and one that wraps around my right ankle. The one on my ankle is my favorite because it’s a garland of black roses, and in the vines are the names of my children, and in the petals are the names of my first five grandchildren. So now you know how old the tattoo is! And I’ve told my kids there’s no way I’m getting the rest of the grandkids’ names on there because the vines would have to wrap all the way around my calf up to my knee! I used to have my tongue pierced, but that lasted about six months and I couldn’t stand it anymore.

Q: If you could be intimate with three people (not necessarily all at one time *g*) without getting in trouble with your significant other, who would they be?
A: I don’t have that kind of fantasy…but you should talk to my husband—I think his involves me and Angelina Jolie!

Q: If you were stranded on a desert island, what three things would you want with you?
A: Rum, rum, and maybe some rum!

Q: If you won the lottery tomorrow, what would you spend the money on?
A: I would buy all of my kids a house and a car, and put all my grandkids through college—that should take all of the cash right there!

Q: Which household chore do you abhor and why?
A: I’ve done them for so long, I don’t even think about it anymore. But I wouldn’t turn down a maid either!

Q: What’s your favorite comfort food?
A: Green chili chicken soup with homemade bread.

Q: Do you have any guilty pleasures you feel comfortable sharing?
A: I like to watch sappy romance movies while eating Ben & Jerry’s…does that count?

Q: Do you have a favorite book or movie?
A: I love James Patterson’s Alex Cross books! My fav movie is China 9, Liberty 37, but they changed it from its original version and I don’t even know if you can still get the original. I like old movies, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence, Kelley’s Heroes, etc.

Q: Anything else you’d like to share?
A: I’m all over the internet and I like making new friends, so if any of your readers would like to send friend requests to me on my space, facebook, twitter, etc. go to my website at www.riemcgaha.com and click on links. There you’ll be able to go right to my profile pages.

Q: In closing, tell us a bit about your latest release (& share a yummy excerpt for those who aren’t yet familiar with your work)
A: CALEN-MY SOUL TO KEEP now available from Noble Romance Publishing at http://www.nobleromance.com/BrowseListing.aspx?author=8

When Calen MacLeod begins having dreams of an ethereal beauty who beckons to him, he passes it off as just having an itch he hasn’t scratched in a long time. But when he leaves on a journey to find her, following the directions she’s given him in his dreams, he begins to doubt his sanity. And when he finds himself high in the Mackinaw Mountains in a secret fortress with unicorns and a pink and white castle, surrounded by women, each one more beautiful than the next, it’s a fantasy no man would want to wake up from. Calen’s life would be perfect, but there’s just one thing standing in his way: a 500 year old demon intent upon destroying Arianna, Calen’s new-found love, and her entire world.

Excerpt: G-rated

He rode hard, stopping only to rest and water his horse when the sun sat high in the sky. He had no idea what he was doing or where he was going. He just figured when he got into the mountains, he’d somehow have an answer. He hoped. He rode throughout the day and on into the night. He built a small fire and made himself a dinner of the food he’d packed. He took a flask from his belt and swallowed a healthy shot of whiskey. Then he lay down on the blanket and shut his eyes.

She stood on the other side of the fire and watched him sleep. He was more beautiful in person than he was in her dreams. His face was soft in repose and she walked slowly to him, careful not to make any sound that might wake him. She knelt beside him, her fingers itching to touch, even for a second, the smooth skin of his face. She wanted to trace her fingers over those full, kissable lips. She wanted to run a finger over his high cheekbones, along his jaw, over his brow. She wanted to kiss him.

He slept without a shirt and the sight of his bare chest caused her breath to catch in her throat. He was tanned from the summer sun, and she wanted to touch the golden hair on his chest. To trace a line down his body to where more hair covered his stomach and then disappeared in a trail below the band of his leather breeches. She wanted to know what else lay below that line and if the bottom half of him was as beautiful as the top.

She hugged her knees tightly to her chest to give her hands something to do or else she knew she would touch him. And that was not allowed. She broke the rules just by being with him now, but she was not actually making contact with the mortal. She had not spoken, had not reached for him, and she had not wakened him. Oh, she wanted to wake him—to wake him and do much more—but time had run out and she needed to get back or she would be missed. She sat for a moment longer and when he stirred, she caught her breath. He settled back into sleep and impulsively, she softly kissed his brow. Then she disappeared.

Calen stirred. He reached for her. She was so close, and he sensed she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. He opened his eyes and sat up. The fire had burned down to little more than smoldering coals and he knew he’d not go back to sleep, so he threw the blanket back and reached for his boots. He looked around and the hairs on his nape stood at attention. Was someone watching him from the shadows? The wind kicked up and he caught her scent on the breeze. Calen froze. He listened, but heard nothing. He peered into the darkness. Again, nothing. But when he inhaled, her scent was still there. She’d been there; he knew it as rightly as he knew his own name.

He mounted his horse and pressed on through the darkness. He rode a course he wasn’t aware he knew. The sun rose and he headed on toward the mountains. He could see them in the distance, another couple of days, he thought, maybe a little more. He didn’t know why he was going there, didn’t know what he’d find once he arrived, didn’t know what he’d do once he got there. Or even where there was. But still he pressed on, for the rest of that day and into the evening. He stopped, made camp, ate his meal, took a long pull from the whiskey flask, and then lay down. He didn’t fall asleep, but let his eyes close and his breath become shallow. He knew she would come and he waited for her. He knew the moment she appeared, but he lay still, not wanting to frighten her.

She came silently around the fire and stood so close he could feel the heat from her body. He fought the urge to reach out for her, to wrap his hand around her wrist and pull her to him. She watched him a moment then sat next to him. He continued to lie still, hoping the thudding of his heart wouldn’t betray him. She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, laying her cheek against her knees. She watched him in silence and then, ever so carefully, she reached out and touched the ends of his hair with a single finger. Her scent assaulted him. He could not restrain himself and took her wrist in his hand, gently, but firmly enough that she could not pull free.

She inhaled sharply and jerked back. His eyes flew open and their gazes met. Her eyes were as clear and brilliant as a midsummer day. Her hair fell below her waist in a cascade of dark, honey-blond. Her face was small, heart-shaped and so lovely he couldn’t stop himself from grazing her cheek with the back of his hand. She was small, as slender as a reed, and her tiny breasts were as round and firm as ripe peaches. Her little nipples puckered beneath her sheer white gown. The dress had pooled high on her hips while she had sat looking at him and her long legs were bare and shapely, her ankles were slim and he had an almost irresistible urge to lick them and suck on her toes. She looked like a fairy rising out of the mist.

She watched as his gaze slide up and down her body, wondering if he knew he was licking his lips. His mouth fascinated her. The rules forbade contact between them in this manner, but she couldn’t remember why. Nor did she care at that moment. She relaxed and he released the grip he had on her wrist. She stood up and he started to follow, but she put a finger to her lips to still him. He leaned back on his elbows and waited.

She battled the decision whether to fall into his arms or leave him where he lay. She wanted to stay with him, so strong was the desire growing within her, and risk everything she knew in order to have him. But there were so many other things to consider, so many other issues that had to be put above her own desires. She needed him, but so did her people, and that came first, no matter the heat rising within her.

“I cannot stay,” she whispered.

“I don’t want you to go,” he whispered back and came up on his knees.

She smiled softly, sadly. “I know, but we must wait.”

“Why? Why can’t you stay?”

“All will be made clear when you arrive, but for now you must be patient.”

“When I arrive where? I don’t even know where I’m going!”

“You know. In here,” she said as she laid the flat of her hand over his heart. “Follow your instincts and you will arrive where you are meant to go.” She pressed a kiss to her fingers and touched them to his mouth, and then turned to leave.
He came to his feet and reached for her, caught her hand in his and drew her to him. He cupped her face and brushed her lips in the lightest of kisses. He slid his fingers into her hair and felt her weight come down on his chest. She was so soft, so sweet, and his heart slammed in his chest. The air around them vibrated and shimmered, the wind rose, and the fire leaped into the sky. He drew back and looked into her eyes. She placed a hand against his cheek and pulled away from him. She leaped to her feet then walked slowly toward the fire and disappeared into the night.

He didn’t sleep the rest of the night. When dawn broke he readied his mount and rode onward toward the mountain range looming on the horizon.

Naughty Excerpt:

She sat on a log at the edge of the trees watching him. She was fascinated with him, with his body. His muscles rippled when he walked. His thighs and calves were well defined and his rear was tight and much whiter than the rest of him. She watched as he washed himself, imaging those big hands roaming over her body in much the same way. She didn’t understand the feelings going on inside her where this man was concerned. She was only sent to guide him, to make sure he found his path, and to insure no harm came to him along the way.

She knew what a man was, of course, though he was the first mortal male she’d ever seen with her own eyes. The males of her kind had been annihilated so many years ago she had nearly forgotten them altogether. Since that time only one two women dared leave the safety of the Fortress to be with a mortal man, and now, both were dead.

Arianna was guiding this man now only because his life had been entrusted to her. But she wasn’t supposed to be watching him this way, and she wasn’t supposed to be having feelings for him, either. She wasn’t sure exactly what those feelings were, but she knew that the need to touch him was nearly overwhelming. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes on, and although she didn’t understand what she felt, she now knew why those who had chosen to leave the Fortress for a mortal had done so. She would leave for this one, she knew, even though she couldn’t say why. But the task ahead of them both was much more important than what she wanted for herself. Nevertheless, she would take what she could get.

Calen dipped under the water to rinse and came up with a splash. He almost choked when he saw her standing at the water’s edge staring at him. He didn’t move a muscle, feared she’d disappear if she thought he was coming toward her. She raised her hands and slipped the thin gown off her shoulders, letting it pool on the ground at her feet. He made a strangled sound as he drank in the sight of her nude body. He’d never seen anyone like her. She came toward him, one slow, careful step at a time. And then she was less than arm’s length from him. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, and he didn’t breathe.
She reached out to him, placed her hand on his bare chest, let her fingers slide beneath the water over his stomach. He placed his hand over hers and stepped into her. He reached for her, touched her silky hair, and let his fingers fall to her shoulders. She was so small, he thought as he looked down at her. The water that barely reached his ribcage rose to her chest, causing her breasts to float, and making hard peaks of her nipples. He grasped her around the waist and lifted her to him. Her hands laced around his neck, weaving through his hair. He lowered his mouth to hers and drank. She opened to him with a sigh and wrapped her legs around his waist. His hands fisted in her hair, pulling her head back as he took the kiss deeper. The air sizzled and popped, the earth tilted, and the wind whipped the branches of the trees. Desire ripped through him, and he pressed her, demanded more from her, and she gave it willingly.

His mouth bruised hers as their tongues mated. His hands slid down her back, over her bottom and he lifted her. He could feel the tip of his hard cock pressing against her; with one movement he could be buried deep inside of her. A growl rose from his chest as he fought the urge to slam into her. He would not take her like this, not the first time. He forced himself to break the kiss, to pull back, and sucked in a lung-full of air. She tilted her head and looked into his eyes.

“Not like this,” he said on a ragged breath. He carried her through the water to the bank. He scooped up the gown she’d worn and carried her to the bed he’d made by the fire. He set her on the pallet and used a clean shirt to dry her, then slid under the blanket and pulled her in close to him. She curved into his body like she’d been made for him. He rose on one elbow and looked deep into her eyes.

“I don’t even know your name.” He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, and her cheeks.

“Arianna,” she said softly.

“Arianna.” He repeated her name, saying it reverently, like a prayer.

He kissed her again, gently. Sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, felt her breasts pressing against his chest, then kissed her deeply. She followed him, kissed him back like it was something they’d done time after time. He moved his hand down her body, over her flat stomach, down her legs to the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She shifted and his fingers found the center of her heat. He moved a finger over her, and the downy hair parted for him as she raised her hips to him. He found her clitoris and stroked it gently. She gasped and her eyes flew open.

He lifted his head and looked deep into her eyes while he continued to stroke her. He felt her give in to the sensation, saw her eyes glaze. He slipped a finger inside her, heard her suck a breath and then exhale sharply. He kissed her again, while she wrapped her fingers in his hair and lifted her hips to him as she writhed beneath him. He stroked the taut little nub, bringing her closer and closer to the edge, until she dug her nails into his skin and arched beneath him, gasping out her release.

He sucked a nipple into his mouth and laved it gently as he moved between her legs. He lifted his head and she looked up at him from beneath thick lashes, a contented smile curving her lips. He positioned himself and slid into her slowly, stopping when she gasped. He kissed her temples, inhaled the scent of her hair, and forced himself to remain still until she relaxed again. He entered her little by little, stopping when he met the barrier of her virginity.

“It’s going to hurt you,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry, but it’ll only be for a moment.”

“I know.” She kissed his lips, ran fingers over his brow.

“Hold on to me.” He pushed into her. She didn’t scream, but only gasped at the intrusion. He stilled, allowed her to adjust to him and then moved slowly until he was buried inside of her.

“Are you all right?”

“Mmmm,” she purred, “more than all right.”

“You feel so good,” he moaned as he pressed into her as far as he could go.

He moved. She moved. “Just like that,” she murmured.

He buried his face in the curve of her throat and let the sensations wash over him. He had never felt such pleasure, such absolute belonging. This was the woman of his dreams, and he was buried inside her. She stroked his back, wrapped her legs around him, then unwrapped them and slid her feet up and down his legs. The mewling sounds that escaped her throat incited him, fanned the flames of desire burning within him. He wanted to be gentle, wanted to show her the pleasure of making love, but the desire in his body, the buzzing in his brain, the hum in his bloodstream, drove him over the edge. He held her shoulders, used them for leverage and pounded into her. He battered her body, driving himself forward, mindless of everything around them, riding on the sensations that riveted him to her. He reached the edge and held. Held. Held until he heard a scream of pleasure rip from her throat, then he wrapped his arms around her, held her close to him and went over the edge with her.

Permission to forward…

You asked for it, today it’s a reality.

As lovers of romance we know that customer buying decisions are influenced by reader opinions. Since opening our doors we’ve encourage our customers to rate books on a scale of 1-5 for overall enjoyment and sensuality. We’re still doing that - but we’re also doing more.

ARe readers can now submit full text reviews to our web-site. As of t! oday, customers can log in to their on-line library, access a review link, and enter a review of your books.

We’d love it if you could help us get the word out to your readers. If you have a newsletter, blog, yahoo group, twitter account, etc., please let your readers know that they can now go into their library at All Romance and post reviews. Their opinions matter.

Lori James
Chief Operating Officer
All Romance eBooks, LLC

In his third STARbooks Press anthology, CRUISING FOR BAD BOYS, Mickey Erlach leaves the cozy confines of the bedroom to seek out sex in the riskiest of locales. Have you ever seen a man in a suit at a truck stop? A preppy frat boy in a public park after midnight? A nerdy man walking down the street in the wrong part of town? They aren’t lost. They’re looking for bad boys, and when they find them, the fun begins. The best part is when the suit and glasses come off, and the trick is no longer the wildest one in the room … or in the park.

CRUISING FOR BAD BOYS includes contributions from the hottest authors in world of erotica, including Amanda Young, Barry Lowe, Christopher Pierce, David C. Muller, David Holly, Derrick Della Giorgia, Jamie Freeman, Jay Starre, Martin Delacroix, Owen Keehnen, Rob Rosen, Ryan Field, Stephen Osborne, and Xan West.

As an added bonus, CRUISING FOR BAD BOYS, edited by MICKEY ERLACH, features the bonus novella, MY FATHER’S SEMEN by MYKOLA DEMENTIUK, the disturbing story of a young man who seeks out his biological father only to be forced to survive the one way he knows how. This story will open your eyes to life on the streets of New York in the 1980s and will surprise you in the end.

You can buy it now at www.StarbooksPress.com

Your Bedroom Personality: Healthy

In the bedroom, you are open, honest, and giving. You are the ideal partner in many ways! Anyone is lucky to be with you.You see physical intimacy as an opportunity to grow and connect. You are up for experimentation, but you don’t require it.

What’s Your Bedroom Personality?

“This book is an awesome, short hot read, perfect for your summer vacation. I highly recommend it. And one day I hope to get up the nerve to actually order the drink! (I’ll have mine with vanilla ice cream AND strawberries!)”
~Reviewed by Carole/Rainbow Reviews

“As with any good romance story Furtive Liaison had a great outcome, but getting there took a lot of love and understanding. I enjoyed Furtive Liaison and I’m certain many other readers will love it just as much as I did.”
~Reviewed by Ley/Joyfully Reviewed

Please welcome this week’s guest, author JM Snyder. Thanks for playing along, JM.

Q: So, JM, which genre do you write in?
A: I write gay fiction. Some of it is erotic, some romantic, and some people may classify it as “M/M,” but to me, it’s just gay, and because it’s not real, it’s fiction. As to why, it’s just the genre my thoughts turn to when I’m thinking up stories. I can’t watch a movie with two men in it without thinking about them “like that.” So it’s natural to me that when I think of a story idea, it always involves men in a sexual relationship. I guess I’m just twisted that way.

Q: How long did you write before you received your first contract for publication?
A: To be completely honest, I’ve been writing since I was 8 years old. Not gay erotica, obviously but writing stories to some degree, whether finished or unfinished (for a long time, I was the Queen of Unfinished Prose). In high school I first began writing seriously with publication as my goal, but I didn’t get published until I graduated from college. That first publication was nothing more than a short story that appeared in a now defunct small press ‘zine, but it was something, at least. By the time I received my first contract and monetary payment for publication (in 2005, for a short story published online at Ruthie’s Club), I’d been writing for 23 years, and writing seriously for 15.

Q: So, if you don’t mind sharing, would you tell us about your latest work in progress?
A: I’m in the middle of two stories at the moment. One is a short piece which started life as a short story I submitted to an anthology. After not hearing back from the publisher, I decided to rewrite the story, originally called As Sparks Fly, to make it fit in as book 2 in my upcoming V series, published by Amber Allure Press. Currently, I’m not sure what the new title of the story will be. It features my superhero characters, Vic and Matt, and deals with vandals who break into Matt’s car one evening.

The second story I’m working on is a historical western novel about a young cowboy named Tommy who has a fierce crush on his foreman. He’s too embarrassed to approach the man, but befriends someone who wants to help him snag the foreman’s attention. In the process, Tommy finds himself falling for the other fellow. The working title is Soiled but that’s subject to change. At 26k it’s about halfway finished.

Q: Out of all the stories you’ve written, which is your favorite?
A: That’s a hard call! It’s like choosing your favorite child or pet. Of my novel-length stories, I’d have to say my favorite is Stepping Up to the Plate. It took me three years to write and turned out to be everything I had hoped it would when I started it. From my shorter-length stories, I’d have to say Persistence of Memory is one of my favorites. I wrote it years ago and just love the theme of the story so much. Even though I wrote it, the ending still chokes me up (can I say that without sounding cheesy?). And short stories … hmm, I don’t know. I really like “Afflicted” and “Henry and Jim,” both of which appeared in the Best Gay Romance series by Cleis Press.

Q: Do you need to be in a specific place or atmosphere before the words flow?
A: Not really; I just need peace and quiet. I can’t write with music on (or rather, any song that has lyrics to it, because I start listening to the words and can’t write my own). I can’t write if the TV is blaring or if kids are bickering outside, or if someone’s making any kind of noise whatsoever because I fixate on that and lose my train of thought. But I can write just about anywhere — at home, in a hotel room, at work, on the bus. Wherever I have pen and paper and a few minutes, I can get into “the zone” and work a bit more on my current WIP.

Q: If you could offer one tidbit of information for new writers, what would it be?
A: If you want to write, then write. Don’t waste time telling people what you want to write — you’ll talk out the story and lose it. I meet so many people who say they want to be writers, but that’s like saying you want to be an athlete — you can play the game or you can sit it out, but you can’t do both at once. You either write, or you don’t. Don’t worry if anyone else will like it; don’t worry if it makes sense. Just silence your inner critic and get the words down on paper. The only way to be a writer is to write.

Q: Do you have an evil day job or do you write full time?
A: I work full-time from 8:30 to 5:30, forty hours a week, but I write more than that. My free time is spend writing, marketing, promoting, or editing. You could say I have two full-time jobs, and you’d be right. My writing takes up every waking hour, and sometimes overtakes the day job, too!

Q: What do you like to do in your spare time?
A: What spare time!? Writing is very much a labor of love for me, and I don’t see it as “work.” In my spare time, I write. When I’m not writing, I love to read, go to the movies, watch Dirty Jobs on the Discovery channel, play video games, and update my website.

Q: Name one thing readers would be surprised to learn about you.
A: I can’t ride a bike. When I was young, my parents never had enough money to get me a bike, so I never learned how to ride one. And now that I’m older, I drive everywhere. I did get on a bike once in high school and promptly crashed, and I’ve never really been all that motivated to try again.

Q: What’s your favorite dirty word?
A: Fuck. I say it often. I also like “Goddamn it to hell.”

Q: What’s your favorite holiday, and why?
A: Everyone always says Christmas, don’t they? So I’ll say Juneteenth, just for the hell of it. And to make those of you who don’t know what Juneteenth is look it up.

Q: Do you have any tattoos or piercings?
A: I have a tattoo on the inside of my left elbow that is a small pink triangle, and plan on getting another tattoo right above it this weekend. That will be a small rainbow flag. Piercings … eh, I used to have my ears pierced (3 holes in one, 2 in the other) but they closed up years ago.

Q: If you could be intimate with three people (not necessarily all at one time *g*) without getting in trouble with your significant other, who would they be?
A: I’m not a very intimate person, even among my family and friends. But hey, if I ever got a call from Britney Spears, Michael Pitt, or James Franco, I might hook up. Yes, I like Britney. So there!

Q: If you were stranded on a desert island, what three things would you want with you?
A: The latest copy of The Norton Anthology of World Literature, the soundtrack to Young Guns II, and a pencil. That way I can listen to kick-ass music while catching up on my reading, and there should be enough blank pages in the book left over to write my own stories, as well. If not, there’s always the margin.

Q: If you won the lottery tomorrow, what would you spend the money on?
A: I’d pay off my student loan, my car, and my credit cards (in that order), then offer the rest to my family to pay off their bills, as well. Oh, maybe I’d buy a house, too, if I win enough. I mean, if you’re going to dream about winning the lottery, you might as well dream big, no?

Q: Which household chore do you abhor and why?
A: I hate all chores. Seriously, I need a maid. Maybe that’s what I’ll buy with my lottery winnings. I hate doing dishes (I even hate just putting the dishes into the dishwasher, how sad is that?) and I hate doing laundry. I hate vacuuming, dusting, cleaning windows, cleaning the bathroom, cleaning anything. About the only chore I do on a regular basis is clean out the litter box, and that’s only because in my world, the cats come first.

Q: What’s your favorite comfort food?
A: It depends. I love Asian food — Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Vietnamese. Something with rice or noodles is always a comfort food, and my current fave is Pad Thai from Noodles and Company.

Q: Do you have any guilty pleasures you feel comfortable sharing?
A: I’m a sucker for books — I can’t go to the store (any store!) without buying something new to read. I literally have over 880 books on my shelves waiting to be read. It’s sad, really! I can’t not buy books, especially those marked down or used.

I’m also very addicted to video games. The Legend of Zelda, Tomb Raider, and The Sims are among my favorite series, but I’ll play any RPG or action/adventure game once.

Q: Do you have a favorite book or movie?
A: My all-time favorite book is Watership Down by Richard Adams. I’ve loved it since I was little and I reread it as often as I can because I think it’s a wonderful story and very well-written. It has everything you could possibly want in a good book. My favorite movie is The Thing Called Love, which probably none of your readers has seen. It’s awesome, though. Go rent it!

Q: Anything else you’d like to share?
A: Visit my site at http://jmsnyder.net for free short stories, book excerpts, and tons of giveaways every month! I run contests each month for copies of my latest releases and also choose one winner for every 100 members who join my Yahoo! Group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/jmsnyder/. Authors who write M/M or gay fiction can post excerpts to my group on the 23rd of every month. I also run Rainbow Reviews, a GLBT review site updated weekly at http://www.rainbow-reviews.com. Thank you so much for having me on your blog!

Q: In closing, tell us a bit about your latest release (& share a yummy excerpt for those who aren’t yet familiar with your work)
A: My latest release is a short story called Play On, which is book 3 in my bimonthly series, Playing the Field, available from Amber Allure Press. Each story stands alone, involving new characters who meet through their love of a particular sport.

 

Play On centers around soccer; Sean Mason is a wingman on the college soccer team. His interest in a sexy rookie threatens to disrupt his game. In the excerpt below, Sean and Cordero have just met, and Sean makes his feelings for his teammate clear:

All throughout practice, Sean can barely concentrate. His mind is on Cordero, his gaze constantly drawn to the new player until he feels like the whole team knows he’s staring. It’s hard to play soccer with a hard-on shoved down the front of his shorts. Thank God for the long jersey he wears, or everyone would know he’s sporting wood. He thinks once practice is over, he’ll skip the communal showers and head back to his dorm, lock the door behind him, and jerk one out. Damn, that bro is tight.

Cordero plays midfield, not a stone’s throw from Sean’s winger spot. Whenever Sean tries to follow the ball, his attention is snagged by the new guy—the coach made Cordero put back on his shirt before play and the bright white T-shirt seems to glow against his dark skin, more distracting than his bare chest had been. As Sean watches, Cordero pulls up his shirt, exposing that flat stomach of his. He bends down, tugging the shirt to his face to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead.

Sean can’t look away.

After a moment Cordero senses he’s being watched. As far as Sean’s concerned, there’s nothing else worth looking at on the field today. Cordero’s hands freeze, shirt still pressed to his face, and he glances over at Sean from the corner of his eye.

In that instant, Sean knows they’re getting together.

When? He isn’t sure. But didn’t Cordero pass that “D and A” comment back to him, keeping it in play? There’s no denying something arcs between them, a sizzling energy that sparks along the base of Sean’s spine to invigorate his cock. A slow grin eases across his face and he calls out, “Hey, rookie.”

Cordero snickers into his shirt. His face disappears into the bright white cloth as he rubs away the sweat, then he ducks under the hem and tucks the shirt behind his head, wearing it like a bolero. Sean’s gaze drops and, because he knows Cordero’s watching, he licks his upper lip.

“You bad,” Cordero says with a laugh. Propping his hands on his hips, he shakes his head like he can’t believe Sean’s audacity. “Better watch out for Barrett.”

“Barrett can bite me,” Sean replies.

With a smirk, Cordero jokes, “And here I thought you was wanting me.”

Encouraged, Sean takes a few steps closer—not enough to get out of position, but he doesn’t want to flirt across the length of the pitch if he can help it. Turning his back to the game, he drops a hand to the front of his crotch and makes a show of adjusting the budding erection in his shorts. “Tell me you don’t want a piece of this.”

The message is clear—he’s sprung.

Cordero’s grin turns shy and he ducks his head. “I’m considering it.”

The rest of the field has disappeared for Sean—nothing exists but Cordero and his sexy grin. Taking another step closer so he doesn’t have to shout, Sean asks, “How about after practice? I’ll give you a good look at what I have to offer, help you make up your mind. You fine, bro. I’ll tell you straight.”

“Nothing straight about you,” Cordero says.

Sean laughs and moves closer still. Grabbing his crotch, he admits, “I got one thing, straight and hard, just begging for—”

“Mason!” the coach shouts.

Quickly Sean drops the act. Releasing the front of his shorts, he smoothes his hands down his jersey and backpedals to his spot, unwilling to look away from Cordero just yet. “Don’t think I’m through with you.”

Buy Playing the Field: Play On by J.M. Snyder today at Amber Allure Press — http://amberquill.com/AmberAllure/PlayOn.html