Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Do I Know You?

This is a no comment post. What does that mean? Well, it means it originally appeared as a guest post on a website but it didn't get any comments. I'm sharing it as a recycled post because I think it still has merit, and well, frankly I wrote the darn thing, so somebody should read it! LOL

This one originally appeared HERE

Do I Know You? by DC Juris

I’ve long been a champion of bringing down gender barriers. Not just the old fashioned notions that pink is for girls and blue is for boys, but the more sinister ones – that men are stupid, that women are easy, that men who show emotions are sissies, and that strong women are bitches.

Color me shocked when the very first review of “Asian Persuasion” suggested I was perpetuating the stereotype that men think with their dicks.

Me? O.o

I lamented about the review to my youngest son, who we call The Boy. The Boy wanted to know how many men were involved in the relationship portrayed in my story. Well, two. The Boy shook his head and snickered. “Then you’re saying two guys think with their dicks. If the story doesn’t contain every man on the planet, then you’re only talking about the guys in the story. Besides, lots of guys think with their dicks.”

Aside from being impressed at his use of logic, I was perplexed. How could I, on one hand, accuse others of furthering stereotypes when they’d only done the same thing I had – show two men and one relationship. On the other hand, had I perpetuated a stereotype?? That certainly hadn’t been my intent.

Actually, “Asian Persuasion” is based on something that happened to two real-life men I know, and it happened pretty much as I penned it. I took creative license with a couple small details, but overall, that’s the real story. The guys I based the story on believe that “sex without emotional commitment isn’t cheating.” If I agree with them or not had nothing to do with telling the story. I talked to them both at length after the story came out. One of them suggested, “maybe you should’ve put ‘based on a true story’ at the beginning.” Maybe I should’ve. ::shrugs::

Fast forward. I received an e-mail from one of my readers. In the e-mail was a link to a blog which suggested that men don’t link sex with love – that such is a romantic female notion – and hinted that gay men aren’t typically monogamous. The overall theme – or at least, what I took away from the blog, was that, hey, if a guy cheats it’s just sex and doesn’t mean anything. After all, he’s got an attached penis. You can’t really blame him for acting out – he’s just wired that way. I’ll repeat – that’s what I took away from the blog – my interpretation.

In any event, my reader had interpreted the blog much as I had. He ranted for a couple paragraphs – several four letter words were involved – about how he was a gay man and he hadn’t had sex until he’d been well into a committed relationship which he was still in after twenty years, and he had never cheated on his partner once, and he didn’t even look at other men anymore – hadn’t since he’d fallen in love. He fully understood that the blog portrayed some men correctly, but not him – therefore not all, and he was right pissed about it!

He then pitched me a story idea, and asked if I’d run with it. He wanted to prove a point through two characters. I replied to him that, of course I was honored, agreed with him, but anything I write is just fiction – it’s not bound to prove any points or change any minds. He replied that he knew that, but he wanted the record set straight, at least for him, and he wanted to see himself accurately portrayed. He didn’t believe romance was a fairy tale – he was living proof of such. So, I agreed, and added another WIP to my board.

And all this got me thinking about the original statements. That I’d perpetuated a stereotype, and The Boy’s interpretation that I hadn’t. Who was right?

I thought about the people I knew in my life. Some of them absolutely fall into stereotypical outlines. I know flaming queens. I know frigid butches. I know over-the-top masculine men. I know weepy, unable-to-make-a-decision men. I know shrinking violets. I know women who are just waiting for a man to sweep them off their feet. I know couples who are together for the kids. I know couples who are together for the tax benefits. I know couples who divorced after their kids turned eighteen. I know middle-aged men who drive fancy cars and honk at scantily clad young women. I know some of those scantily clad young women. I know ditzy blonds. I know feisty redheads. I know skeevy gay guys. I know fastidiously clean gay guys. I know women who sleep with anything with a penis. I know men who sleep with anything with a vagina. I know tragic, emo individuals who do nothing but bitch and moan. I know former fat people who are now self righteous skinny people. I know fat people who overindulge all the time. I know fat people who barely eat. I know skinny people who think they’re fat. I know skinny people who eat and eat and don’t gain a pound. I know slimy looking child molesters. I know average, every day girl and guy next door types. I know Italian men who are obsessed with their hair and say “hey, how you doin’?” to every woman they meet. And I know women who swoon and giggle when they do. I know women who are more concerned with how they look that who they vote for. I know racist bastards. I know tree huggers.

All of those are stereotypes, and all of those people exist.

So what does that all mean?

Maybe it means that we, as a whole, as a society, should look at the individual worth of a person – judge them on their own merits – instead of holding them up against a measuring stick founded on our own preconceived notions. Maybe it means we should be more open minded about the people we meet. Not decide who and what they are based on an out-dated thought process of shoving everyone into a box.

Or maybe it means we shouldn’t judge at all.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Hot Halloween Heroes Giveaway Hop

For my part in the hop today, I'm offering up a snippet of my m/m werewolf/werecat romance, "Omarati." I'm also giving away a free pdf copy to one lucky winner! To enter to win, just leave a comment with your e-mail. Easy Peasy!

Good Luck!

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****


Everything changed for werewolf Calliph after the Shifter War. Now nothing more than a slave and plaything to human Prince Obyn, Calliph finds himself on the Golden Magus, sailing across the sea with his owner. But fate has something more in mind for Calliph in the form of First Mate Mateo—who just happens to be Calliph's Omarati—his soul mate . . . and a werecat. Heartbroken, Calliph knows he can't stay with Mateo—he is forced to follow Obyn wherever he leads. Years later, when an attack at sea lands Mateo in the hands of vicious pirates, the cat discovers that, though time has changed some things, his bond with Calliph is eternal.


Parry. Thrust. Right. Left. Left again. Right. Duck. Back step. Jump. Pain!

Mateo skidded to a halt and pulled the arrow from his shoulder with a grimace. "Archers!" he growled. And then he was back on his feet.

The Golden Magus lurched under a volley of cannon fire. Debris bounced crazily off the deck; chunks of wood flew into the air. Across the way, the enemy pirate vessel swung back around, maneuvering for a second run. The pirates' guns boomed so loudly Mateo was certain his ears must be bleeding from it.

The main mast snapped off with a great crack and came crashing down to the deck. They were taking on water, and quickly. Nothing for it now, no way to save the ship. Mateo gazed out over the water—he could just make out the coast of Namicia in the distance. So close."Abandon ship!" Ba'Tal yelled.

Mateo struggled to keep his footing on the slippery deck as he made his way to the railing. He sent a last, long look over his shoulder at the place he had called home for so many years of his life, dropped his sword, and jumped.

Mateo swam frantically against the pull of the Golden Magus as it sank, feeling his breath running out. Fear assailed him as his throat constricted and his chest tightened. Thickness filled his panicked, gasping lungs; a great weight pressed down on him. Blackness hovered on the edges of his vision, and the world slipped away from existence.

Dimly, Mateo realized his predicament, but exhaustion and cold were quickly pushing him beyond the point of caring. And then he broke the surface. Mateo ignored the fatigue of long days and nights spent working on board ship, ignored his injuries. Ignored it all, and swam for his life.

He could see no other survivors in the water around him, which brought him to the conclusion they had managed to escape, or they were all dead—as he soon would be, if he didn't find land. Or a rescue ship. The shadow of a large ship loomed above him, and Mateo gave a silent thanks to the gods. His celebration was short lived though. Pirate ship. Wrong ship.


Saturday, October 26, 2013

Fall Into Romance Blog Hop

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****

My favorite trio from my stories is Vance, Andrew, and Rayne. Vance and Rayne are both powerfully sexy, no nonsense Doms, and Andrew is their sub. Now, I haven't yet penned the tale of just exactly how they met, but their life together started in "Raine Fall."

One lucky winner will receive a free pdf copy! Just leave a comment below, including your e-mail. Easy, peasy!


Vance, Andrew, and Raine are back! We met this sexy trio in "Where He Belongs," but now we get to find out how it all started. Raine's world is turned upside down when his sister, Lilly, dies unexpectedly. She's left him the Dew Drop Inn, and everything seems very cut and dry - he'll sell the place and return to his calm, uncomplicated life. But his former lover, Vance, and Vance's saucy sub, Andrew, have other ideas, and when Vance makes a counter offer, Raine is left wondering what the right thing to do really is. Is everything he's worked for worth it without love? Can two powerful Doms even coexist under the same roof?

Vance stepped around him and walked over to Bret. Vance held up his hands. "I just want to talk to you."

Bret nodded and the security guards each took a step to the side to allow Vance closer. The moment they moved, Vance balled up his fist and decked Bret. He stood over Bret's prone form as the guards yelled at him and the doctor rushed over. "This is more than over. Stay away from what's mine, you worthless pile of garbage."

Vance turned and went back to Raine, and Raine's chest filled with the sweet ache of pride and gratitude. Though Vance was shorter than him in stature, there were days Vance was a helluva lot bigger in spunk.

"Both of you get out of here!" the doctor shouted. "Before I change my mind and have you both arrested for assault!"

Vance pulled Raine down the hall, but Raine's attention didn't waiver. He stared Bret down until they'd passed through the double doors, then snatched his arm away from Vance. They walked in silence out to Raine's car. He stood there, leaning against the door, chest heaving, head pounding.

"You know what he said isn't true." Vance reached out and laid his hand on Raine's chest.

8"Of course it isn't." Raine looked down at Vance's hand. How bizarre that it had been four years since they'd been physically intimate, yet that touch still did so much to him. Comfort, strength, lust, assurance -- the warmth of Vance's hand seeped through his sweater and he imagined it swelled out through his chest, to his heart. He tugged Vance close and claimed Vance's lips in a hard kiss. He rested his forehead against Vance's afterward. God, he'd missed that.

Vance took a step back, licked his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're welcome to stay with us while you're in town."

"Us?" Holy shit, it hadn't even occurred to him that there might be someone in Vance's life. Well, someone else. That was, if what they had could still be considered a relationship. Probably not anymore.

Vance looked away quickly, took a deep breath, and met Raine's gaze. "Andrew and I."

He raised an eyebrow. "Andrew Baker?" Vance nodded. "How long's that been going on?" He couldn't deny a surge of jealousy. Andrew had been the one man to tempt him to stay in town, but the saucy sub had carried too much emotional baggage for Raine's taste back then.

"A year and a half." Vance looked down at his feet and then back up. "He's been anxious to see you since I got the call tonight." He reached out again and rubbed Raine's shoulder. "And so have I. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," Raine admitted, though he hadn't realized quite how much until just that moment. He could let his guard down around Vance, and he'd forgotten how sweet a feeling that was. Wouldn't last long though, especially with Andrew around. Relaxing around another Dom was one thing. Relaxing around a sub was something Raine didn't do.

"C'mon. Follow me home." Vance turned and strolled across the parking lot.

Raine nodded. He got in his car and waited for Vance to pull out, then headed down the road behind his friend. His lover, he reminded himself. He and Vance hadn't exactly ended anything when he'd moved away, though he supposed random Internet chats and a couple sessions of phone sex didn't count as much. Still, if anyone made him ache for home, it was Vance. And Andrew. Good Lord. How would he deal with the two of them under the same roof without fucking them both blind? His guts twisted and he shook his head. He'd come for Lilly, not a tryst.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

**NSFW** Wicked Warriors Halloween Hop

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****

For my part in the hop today, I'm sharing a Halloween free read I wrote a while back, featuring my sexy couple Jack and Alan. ***THIS STORY IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK AND CONTAINS GRAPHIC MANLOVE!!**

There. You've been warned. If your boss catches you now, it's on you, pal. :-)

For my prize, I'm offering up a free pdf copy of the winner's choice of any of the Jack and Alan books, found at my website.  The Jack and Alan books are: "Cupid Knows," "On Solid Ground," and "The Best Kind of Prize."  To enter to win, just leave a comment below with the title of the book you'd like and your e-mail.

PS - If you'd like a copy of "Happy Halloween" you can download a pdf here.

"Happy Halloween" by DC Juris 

The handsome vampire had arrived about twenty minutes after me, and had been slowly making his way closer since. He stopped and chatted with people here and there, meandering around the room in what could've been mistaken for nonchalance, had he not kept sending me those lustful glances. I shivered as he finally reached my corner. Up close those mysterious, shimmering crimson eyes and gleaming fangs had me stifling a moan.

“You are the one called Jack?” I nodded. The vampire reached out and took my hand. “Come vith me.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, but he gave no answer. I followed along at his side, not really caring about the destination so much as what would happen once we reached it. He led me into a small bathroom, and I frowned. Not exactly romantic, but I supposed it would do.

He locked the door behind us, then turned and pushed me roughly against a towel rack on one of the walls. I found myself with my face buried in a brown towel. “What are you--”

“Don’t speak.”

His arms snaked around me and he unbuttoned my pants. One hand slid up under the front of my shirt to toy with one of my nipples while the other dove into my briefs and began working my cock.

I gasped and wiggled against him. “What’s your name?”

His hands faltered. “My name?”

“Don’t you think I should know your name if you’re going to fuck me?”

“My name is, um...Vlad.”

I couldn't suppress a snicker. Vlad? That was original. “Vlad,” I moaned his name on a long sigh and arched my ass in invitation.

Vlad’s hands left me momentarily to deal with his own pants. He pushed mine to the floor and pressed the rigid line of his cock against me. “I vant to fuck you.”

I swallowed down a giggle at that ridiculous accent. “Yes,” I panted. “Fuck me. Take me. Make me yours!”

I heard the pop of the cap on what I assumed was a bottle of lube, then felt the slick of Vlad’s fingers along my rim. He slid three of them into me and I sucked in a quick breath as he curled them and trailed just a feather-light touch over that sweet spot. I let go a little mewling noise as waves of hot pleasure spiraled through me.“No noise!" Vlad commanded. "The others vill hear you and come investigate. Ve don’t vant that now, do ve?”

I shook my head. At the moment all I wanted was a hard vampire cock inside me. “Please,” I whispered.

“Open for me, Jack.”

I reached back and held the cheeks of my ass apart, trembling in anticipation. Vlad’s thick cock filled me quickly and I buried my face in the towel, biting into the fluffy thing to cover the sounds of my passion. I groaned and sighed into the towel as Vlad fucked me hard, sliding nearly all the way out on each stroke and filling me fully on each entrance, stretching and burning just right. He moved one of his hands back to my cock and began to stroke me in time with the thrusts.

How long it went on, I have no idea. I lost track of time, caught up in the smell of him, the soft tickle of the tail of his silk shirt against my lower back, the sharp pang of discomfort from his nails where he clawed at my hips. Rational thought fled with the press of his teeth at my throat. I reached my orgasm with a strangled cry, spilling my seed down over my vampire's hand. “Alan!”

A moment later he arched against me and sighed, finding his own release. He lowered his head to kiss my temple.

I chuckled. “Sorry I lost character there,” I apologized as Alan slid from me.

“I’m never sorry to hear you call my name, baby.” Alan reached for a washcloth and, wetting it in the sink, cleaned us both off. “Shall we return to the party?”

I zipped up my slacks. “You may have to let me lean on your arm. I’m a little weak kneed.”

Alan pulled me close and met our lips together in a sweet kiss. “Happy Halloween, Jack.”

“Happy Halloween, my love.”

Backlist Feature: Two of a Kind

Content Warning: Heavy BDSM, watersports, multiple partner sex, infidelity


Vincent and his childhood friend Eric became a couple after Eric initiated him into the pleasures of the Playhouse, a refuge for men to act out their submission/Domination fantasies. Their relationship is warm and loving, but not exclusive. Eric is a “switch,” and since Vincent is a submissive, Eric sometimes looks to his own Dom, Anton, for satisfaction—causing Vincent to feel jealous and insecure.

Then Anton’s uncle dies and Dimitri—Anton’s twin and a troubled, surly, irresistibly sexy version of his brother—comes for a visit. When Dimitri sets his sights on Vincent, ridiculing his supposed sexual passivity, Vincent begins to wonder: is he really a sub, or a switch, like Eric? In the first blush of their relationship, Vincent and Eric reveled in their connection, calling themselves “two of a kind.” Perhaps they are also alike in ways that challenge their current power dynamic.

Two of a Kind continues the story of Vincent and Eric, which DC Juris began in his novel, Finding Sanctuary.


Vincent stood at the rear of the room, in the corner by the last row of chairs. He had never understood the custom of viewings, of people who knew the deceased to varying degrees—or not at all—standing around ogling the body. He kept to himself mostly; Eric was busy with Anton and mutual friends. Though they’d grown up together, Eric had branched off into the BDSM lifestyle at a young age, unbeknownst to Vincent; most of the people here seemed to know both Eric and Anton from that avenue of their lives. He recognized a few of those present from the Playhouse, or from barbecues and get-togethers Anton had hosted, but he didn’t know any of them well enough to feel comfortable chatting. Couple that with the fact that he’d never even met Anton’s uncle Frederick, and Vincent wondered why he was here at all. His Dom certainly didn’t seem to need him.

Eric would glance back at him every now and then, nod, and smile. Vincent tried to muster what he hoped was a warm return smile. Once in a while, Petyr would turn around from his spot at Anton’s side and send a shy smile Vincent’s way. Vincent felt for the other man. He couldn’t imagine being in the same situation—watching his own Master grieve. Bad enough watching Anton going through it.

Anton maintained a stoic facade, though. He smiled politely and shook hands, accepted condolences and well wishes with grace and ease. But Vincent knew the evening was taking its toll. The longer things drew out, the more Anton sought Eric. Brief touches between them, the rub of Eric’s hand up and down Anton’s spine, the squeeze of hands, the way they stood close enough to bump into each other constantly .... Eric would belong to Anton next weekend.

And where did that leave Vincent? Their uneasy threesome grated on him at times. Usually, he appreciated the give and take they had worked out. But there were times when he knew Eric had chosen him, and he should not have to share. He should be the one holding Eric’s hand right now, not Anton. And in those times, he struggled to remind himself that it had been he who had made the offer in the very beginning—he who had suggested they could share.

And what of Petyr? Didn’t he tire of the relationship between the two Doms? Or did he see it as a reprieve? A night off? Not that Anton was an unfair Dom. Petyr wanted for nothing and certainly seemed more comfortable in his role than Vincent. Maybe Eric had been right when they’d first discussed the lifestyle two years ago—maybe Vincent wasn’t a sub after all, but a switch.

“Daddy let you off your leash?” Dimitri sidled up to him.

Vincent ignored his words, but not for any other reason than the scent of Dimitri’s cologne intoxicated him—made him want to turn and bury his nose in Dimitri’s shoulder, drink in that fresh scent.

Dimitri had changed from his casual clothes into something a bit fancier—slacks and a black shirt, which he wore with a long-sleeved T-shirt underneath. Vincent suddenly felt underdressed in his jeans. Summers in Upstate New York weren’t all that bad, but the funeral home, packed with people, was on the verge of uncomfortably hot. Vincent only knew one reason a person would cover up so much—Dimitri was hiding something.

“Anton’s a liar and a bully, you know. You can’t trust him.”

“So says the addict,” Vincent ventured.

Dimitri’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he glanced across the room at his twin. “My brother been sharing fond family memories?”

“Anton hasn’t said two words about you,” Vincent said, hoping to put a dent in that cocky exterior. “I figured it out myself. You’re wearing long sleeves in summer. It’s not rocket science.”

“TouchĂ©.” Dimitri pulled out a packet of cigarettes, lit one, and leaned back against the wall.

“You can’t smoke in here.” Dimitri’s arrogance fueled Vincent’s already fiery anger.

“Can’t I?” He took a long drag off the cigarette, held the smoke in, and then puffed it out slowly. “Guess we’ll have to go outside, then.”

Vincent glanced over at Eric.

“Oh, I forgot. Puppy has to ask permission.” Dimitri ruffled Vincent’s hair. “You want me to go ask Big Bad Eric if I can take you for a walk?”

“Fuck off. I don’t need permission.” Of course he didn’t. He and Eric didn’t have that kind of BDSM relationship. Vincent frowned. But maybe they should.

“Prove it.”

Monday, October 21, 2013

**NSFW** Big Cocks and Broomsticks Giveaway Hop

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****

Well...a title and graphic like that are follow.  No pun intended, of course. ::wink::

For my part in the hop today, I'm offering up a snippet from my sexy m/m vampire BDSM, "Orion's Way." Of course, it's a NSFW excerpt because well, let's face it - it's from me and I *rarely* do anything that's safe for work! 

That's also my prize today - one lucky winner will get a free pdf copy of "Orion's Way." To enter to win, just leave a comment below, including your e-mail, and tell me what your favorite thing about Halloween is or was as a kid. 

Me? I wasn't allowed to celebrate Halloween as a kid. My parents thought it was "the devil's holiday" and was Satanic. (Certainly not surprising if you know me and have heard about my parents.) So now I go all out to decorate and celebrate. I was even married on Halloween in a local haunted house. 

Anyhow, onto the snippet!


Orion is a vampire with a tragic past. After running away from abusive parents at the tender age of sixteen, he was turned by a ruthless elder vampire and forced to torture and sexually abuse human feeders and submissive vampires. Though that's all behind him now, he still lives in the shadow of what he was, and it has cost him the loyalty of Xavier, the human feeder he loves. Malagan is Orion's closest friend--the vampire who saved him from brutality all those years ago. Malagan knows the Dominant side of Orion--the side Xavier needs--is still there, lurking below the surface. But if Orion's going to find his way back to who he ought to be, he'll need help. And Malagan is just the man for the job.


“Are you sure about this?” Orion followed into Malagan’s chamber, through a secret entrance—cleverly disguised as a bookshelf— into a back room. Malagan’s personal torture room. Orion shivered as they passed a leather-padded table with a mirror suspended above it. His gaze went immediately to the chains and manacles hanging from the far wall, then to the assortment of whips, floggers, and crops displayed next to them. There were other instruments of erotic pain— hoods, blindfolds, clamps, paddles, gags, pinwheels, and ball stretchers. Indeed, everything Orion could want was there—all neatly laid out on a table.

Malagan nodded and unfastened his pants. He pushed them down over his hips, hooked his thumbs in his underwear, and pulled them off as well, gaze locked on Orion. Orion swallowed hard as he tore his eyes from Malagan’s and looked down at Malagan’s already hard cock. He’d never seen Malagan naked, and he couldn’t suppress a groan of appreciation as Malagan’s shirt came off to reveal a chiseled, tanned chest, covered with a sparse mat of hair and a tattoo of a bleeding sword clutched in a clawed hand, marking him a member of the Lyshun Clan—the oldest of the vampire clans.

Malagan strolled by a cage, smiling as he ran his fingers along the bars, by the free-standing sling—again, he touched the metal with a smile—and past the large, four-poster bed with its shining chains that hung from each corner. He smirked at the Saint Andrew’s Cross on the far wall, but didn’t pause there either, nor at the whipping post, though Orion would’ve happily accepted that choice. Malagan stopped at the rear of the room, stood in the middle of a simple padded square, and put his hands behind him, standing like a soldier at parade rest.

Orion paced back over to the table along the wall, picking up things and putting them back down. “What would you like me to use?” he asked.

Malagan smiled and inclined his head. “Whatever would please you, Master. Your joy is mine.”

Though his words were submissive, his stance wasn’t. Malagan kept his shoulders back and his head up, watching Orion’s every move until Orion felt as though he were the one on display. Orion squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He picked up a shiny black riding crop and turned to face Malagan. “What is your safe word?”

Malagan shook his head. “It should be tell me your safe word. It’s a command, not a question. You’re the Dom, and I’m your sub. I should feel compelled to answer you. Stop flipping the crop around. It makes you appear not to want to touch it.”

Orion glanced down and frowned at the unconscious movements of his hands, tossing the crop back and forth between them. He wrinkled his brow, and let out a sigh, understanding what a few of his fellows had meant when they’d talked about pushy bottoms. Though he knew Malagan’s guidance and advice were for his own good— knew he very much needed them—they still grated on his nerves. He clenched his right fist tightly around the handle of the crop and gave Malagan a lopsided grin. “I’m rusty at this.”

“It’s all right.” Malagan shifted his weight and nodded. “Just try it again.”

Orion walked forward, touched the tip of the crop to Malagan’s chin, and raised Malagan’s head with it. “Tell me your safe word.”

Malagan grinned. “Much better. My safe word is ‘potato’, Master.”

“Potato.” Orion nodded. “I suggest you keep it close to your tongue. You may well want to use it.”

A flash of defiance glimmered in Malagan’s eyes but he said nothing, simply bowed his head. The gesture filled Orion with a giddy sense of power, made his head swim, and made him want test Malagan. Push Malagan’s limits and see just how far he could make Malagan go. Wipe that smug sense of superiority right out of Malagan’s mind.

Orion trailed the crop down Malagan’s chest, tapping each nipple, then dipped it down to stroke Malagan’s cock. He stepped around, dragging the crop across Malagan’s body, and delivered one hard, loud smack to Malagan’s ass.

Malagan moaned and shivered.

Bolstered by the reaction, Orion administered the crop four more times—two hits to each cheek. He rubbed his hand over Malagan’s bright red flesh, luxuriating in the radiating heat, and the way Malagan pressed back against the touch. But it wasn’t enough. His desire to bring Malagan to his knees still burned. His gaze went again to the table; he wanted desperately to see Malagan trussed up on it, but Malagan had already put a nix on that idea. He could still dominate without the binding, though.

Orion lifted the crop and smacked Malagan’s shoulders lightly with it, then up and down Malagan’s upper arm as he walked back around to face Malagan. He reached down and gripped Malagan’s cock as he rained gentle taps of the crop down on Malagan’s chest and nipples. “Do you enjoy my attentions?” he asked.

Malagan raised his head and met Orion’s gaze. “Yes, Master. Very much.” He pulled his hands around in front of him and held them out to Orion. “Would you tie my wrists please, Master?”

Orion raised an eyebrow, looked down to Malagan’s hands and back up to his face. A test, of course. They had already set ground rules, and no Dom worth anything would go back on his word in the heat of the moment. Orion shook his head. “No.”

Malagan nodded and smiled. “Dom to Dom, you may bind me, if you wish.”

Malagan really did trust him. Hearing Malagan profess his trust was all well and good, but having Malagan make such a gesture, having Malagan place his safety in Orion’s hands, was something else entirely. A spike of adrenaline made Orion’s heart race and his blood pound in his ears. He turned immediately and went to the table, grabbed up a pair of leather cuffs and hurried back to Malagan, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Easy,” Malagan murmured. “A little less eager, there, if you don’t mind.”

Orion took a deep breath and nodded. Hands shaking, he reached out with the cuffs.

“Steady yourself,” Malagan told him. “Your nerves are understandable, but your sub will feed off them. You know that. Think for a moment, before you act.”

Orion shuddered and turned away, barely suppressing the sob that suddenly rose in his throat. He couldn’t do this. Who was he kidding? He was broken, worthless. For God’s sake, he couldn’t even dominate another Dom without being coached. He sucked in a breath as Malagan’s arms slid around him and pulled him close. Malagan took the cuffs from him and turned him around.

Malagan went down on his knees and gazed up at Orion, holding out the cuffs. “Please, Master.”

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Backlist Feature: Finding Sanctuary

Content Warning: Heavy BDSM, blood, watersports, infidelity


Finding Sanctuary is the story of Vincent, a typical, average guy who has begun to unravel. He has a respectable, mainstream life, with a solid job, nice girlfriend, comfortable house—all the material trappings. What, then, is causing this restlessness, these blackouts? The first revelation is that his best friend Eric is also his heart’s desire. But then Eric invites him to a weekend at a BDSM playhouse … There Vincent will confront his fears and test the limits of his sexual boundaries. Eric has his needs, too—needs that conflict with Vincent’s. Will their fragile new bond survive the weekend? Will Vincent find the sanctuary he so fervently desires?


Chatter surrounded him, indistinct but overpowering at the same time. Plates clattering, silverware clinking, people talking, an overly happy woman three booths over with a laugh that grated on his nerves, the tinkling of the wind chimes as the front door opened and closed, street noise filtering in. He thought his ears might bleed with it, and he wanted to block it all out—press his hands to his ears and scream until he went hoarse.


With a start, Vincent became aware of the man across from him. Sounds rushed away from him, no longer loud and glaring, but safely in the background where they belonged. “Huh?”

“Have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

“Um ...” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Eric. I don’t mean to ignore you, honestly.” Eric had asked him to drinks after work to discuss “something important,” and Vincent had no idea what his friend had been saying.

Eric sat back and studied him; those chocolate brown eyes bored into Vincent’s soul. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Vincent shrugged. “Just tired I guess.” He had grown up with Eric—loved him like a brother. He owed Eric his attention. “You were saying?”

“I know you better than that.” Eric’s voice dropped to an intimate level.

Eric did know him better than that. Knew him well. And sometimes, Vincent wished ... He shook off the thoughts. “You ever feel like you don’t belong?”

Eric quirked an eyebrow at him and chuckled. “You’re asking your gay friend if he’s felt like he didn’t belong?”

“Yeah, I guess you have.” Why did his heart pound when Eric said gay?

Eric leaned forward and stretched his hand across the worn tabletop, not touching, but not avoiding either. “Talk to me. You’ve been acting funny for weeks now. People are worried.”


I’m worried.”

“I just ...” Vincent heaved a deep sigh. He just ... what?

How did he explain to someone else what he didn’t even understand himself? “Lately, I feel like ... shit.”

“You feel like shit?”

“No.” Vincent shook his head. “Or yes. I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it. Something’s missing, Eric. Something inside me. I have no right to feel this way, do I?”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got nothing to complain about. I’ve got a good job, a nice house. I’ve got Jenny. I’ve got a fucking picket fence and a dog for God’s sake.”

“You know those are all material things, right? Things can’t make you happy. That’s something you find within.”

“Thank you, Zen Master Eric.” Vincent grinned and put his palms together in front of him, gave a little mocking half-bow, as much as he could in the confines of the booth.

Eric rolled his eyes. “What I mean is, maybe you do have a right to feel the way you do. Just because you’re well off doesn’t mean you’re happy. What do you think is missing?”

“That’s just it.” Vincent shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve been ...” He glanced around the cafe, uncertain if this was the most appropriate place for such a conversation.

“We can go back to my place and talk, if you want.”

Eric’s place. Just around the corner. That’s why he had suggested it. Nothing to do with anything else, so why did Vincent’s cock twitch at the thought? What the fuck is wrong with me? “Yeah, that’d be good.”

Eric signaled the waitress and paid the tab. “Ready?”

They left the cafĂ©, Vincent exiting first. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he felt the briefest brush of Eric’s hand against his back. Eric did these things—little touches here and there—without thinking, Vincent knew. Didn’t mean anything. Nothing. Vincent took a deep breath to settle his nerves and followed Eric down the block to his apartment.

Eric’s nosey neighbor, Betty—that little old woman with the crooked nose and the gray hair that reminded Vincent of Don King—stood on the stoop, looking them up and down as they walked inside. What did she think? That they were going inside to fuck? Well, let her. Maybe he wanted that, and so what if he did? Maybe. Vincent stopped in his tracks, a sudden throbbing in his temples, a faint buzzing in his ears. Great. He had worked himself up, and now...

“Vin?” Eric had stopped as well. He turned, looked at him with concern, and moved back toward him. “Are you okay?”

“ Just my head.” Vincent felt his cheeks flush, knew they would soon be bright red. Damn his stupid inability to control his emotions.

“Come on, come inside. I’ll get you some water.” Eric took his hand. God, that didn’t help at all. Nevertheless, Vincent wrapped his fingers around Eric’s, clutching, clinging. The hallway spun at a crazy angle and he moaned, lightheaded.

“Vin?” Eric grabbed for him.

Vincent looked up, dazed, trying to force his body to work to no avail. The last thing he heard before consciousness slipped away was Eric’s soft voice.

“’S okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

Friday, October 11, 2013

Slippery When Wet Blog Hop

Hi there! ::waves:: I'm DC Juris! For those of you who don't know me, I'm a bisexual transgender fella who writes GLBTQ romance - mostly m/m and transgender - in the contemporary and fantasy genres.

I've been writing since before I entered Kindergarten (I wrote my very first story in crayon on the walls of my bedroom) and I finally realized the dream of being published in 2009.

I'm a down-to-Earth guy. I'm a Trekker (TOS), and a pretty good photographer. I like cupcakes, sweet wine, porn, watching football, rummage sales, going to drag shows, antiques, thrift stores, shiny things, random nonsense, Grumpy Cat, and I proudly share my home with a family of sock monkeys. In short, I'm a Geek of the Geekiest degree. :-)

You can find links to all my published works at my website. I have an author page on Facebook and  a personal page. I'm @dcjuris on Twitter, and I'm on Pinterest

Today I'm sharing an excerpt from my newest release with Wilde City Press, "Pudding Jones." (CONTENT WARNING: This story does not have a HEA!) This is also my prize for the hop - one lucky winner will get a free pdf copy. To enter, just leave a comment below, including your e-mail address.


Award-winning reporter Emmer Richfield is the kind of guy who covers wars, the kind of guy who asks the hard-hitting questions. He is not—and he’s certain about this—the kind of guy who does sappy human-interest stories about homeless people. But his newest assignment is not just any human-interest story, it’s a mandate from the mayor: convince the people of Dodson that Foxton Industries’ plan to build a mall—and oust the homeless population—is a bad idea by way of a feature on a homeless man named Pudding Jones. But Pudding quickly goes from just another story to a man who changes Emmer’s life. The question is, can Emmer return the favor before it’s too late?


I coughed and looked away. I needed to try and steer the conversation to something else before I became ill. "People say you pay for your food and drink here. Where do you get the money? Do you earn it?"

“Do I earn it? Do I sell my body, you mean? You want to know if I walk the streets at night, giving blowjobs and reach arounds in the back alleys?" He made an obscene gesture with his right hand and a lady two booths over let out a gasp.

"No." I shook my head vigorously. "I said earn."

"That's what you say. Ain't what you mean. There's a difference, you know, 'tween what you say and what you mean. People think they can trick with big words and fancy talk, but what they mean is in their soul, and it shines in their eyes. Shines in their eyes like a cat's at night. And you can't hide what's in your eyes." He shook his head. "You here now, wantin' to know about me. Where was you then? Hmm? Where was you when the child in me was dyin'? When the child in me was being killed? Murdered, day in and day out? Where was you then, with your money and your fancy car and your warm house? Where was you when you woulda mattered?"

"I didn't know you." But the words sounded hollow and lame to my own ears. So I hadn't known Pudding. So what? I'd known some other kid. I hadn't been aware of it—no, that wasn't right—I hadn't wanted to see it, to acknowledge it. To admit that sometimes, the things that went bump in the night weren't the real terrors. Those Hollywood horror movies had nothing on some real-life people. People like Pudding's father.

Pudding picked up his coffee cup and downed its contents with a grunt. "Fair enough." He pulled out a battered and worn black leather wallet, opened it up to show off two twenty-dollar bills. "People give me money, sometimes. I do some work, too. I'm strong." He put the wallet away and flexed the muscles in his upper arms. "I help people move. I carry things. People pay me for that. I saved up and bought a bike, so I deliver stuff sometimes."

"So you're not opposed to working. Why not get a full time job and get yourself off the streets?" Seemed like a no-brainer to me. Muddled as his mind seemed to be, he was still capable of work. "There are programs and agencies that can help you."

"You say why not, I say why bother. What's in that for me? Being told what to do all the time? Being told where to be? How to act? How to dress? I had my fill of that."

"There's advantages to all that, though," I pointed out. "Hot meals, hot showers, a bed to sleep in."

Pudding rolled his eyes. "You people don't know nothin' 'bout nothin'. You hear homeless, you think of some dirty bum on the street, beggin' you for money with one hand, holdin' a bottle in the other. There's other ways of livin' besides the way you live. I get hot meals and I got a bed to sleep in. And I ain't never been too fond of hot showers." He shivered.

****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If winning that kind of a book isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on to the next blog in the hop and leave the spot open for someone else. Thank you.****

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

To Sex or Not to Sex

This is a no comment post. What does that mean? Well, it means it originally appeared as a guest post on a website but it didn't get any comments. I'm sharing it as a recycled post because I think it still has merit, and well, frankly I wrote the darn thing, so somebody should read it! LOL

This one originally appeared HERE

Typically, my stories are full of hot, steamy sex. Some of them, I've been told, are "more sex than story." While a lot of authors would take that as an insult, I'm fine with it. You see, I like sex. I like to read it and I like to write it.

So why, you ask, did I write "Who Better Than Canyon?" without any sex?

The answer is because that's how the characters dictated it would go. I've been frequently told that a romance without sex wouldn’t sell. Based on that notion, I'd always had it in the back of my mind to do one - but not this one. I was thinking in a couple years. But as I kept writing, I realized these guys just weren't getting in bed with each other - at least not in the carnal sense. Because there wasn't any sex involved, I made sure to have the cover artist do a rather "tame" cover - no half naked men, nothing sexual or erotic. And I'm really glad I did.

I've gotten a lot of good feedback. Reviewers have said things like "unexpected" and "refreshing" and "nice change of pace." That's all well and good, but what's really important to me is the reader response - which has been wonderful as well. I've been inundated with e-mails thanking me for writing something without "all the embarrassing extra stuff." One woman appreciated the lack of sex because she felt she could share the book with her teenage son, who is gay. She said she knew "he is eventually going to have sex" but she'd "rather not think about it…not because he's gay but because he's my baby. At least he can read this story, see a positive gay relationship, and realize he's worth more than his penis."

It never occurred to me that someone might share one of my stories with their kids. Let's face it, as an erotic romance writer, I don't have that opportunity. They can't even visit my website, since it contains graphic content and is strictly age eighteen and over. It was nice to think that maybe my work might reach the next generation. Not that I think they can learn from it or anything like that. I'm a firm believer that if you want sex advice or instruction, you don't pick up a romance novel, whether you're male or female. I can remember reading bodice ripper type stories when I was a teenager, and the only information I walked away with was that a woman wasn't anything without a man, sex was always either excruciatingly painful or amazingly wonderful with no middle ground, and that every man came complete with hands calloused in "all the right places" and a huge, throbbing rod. Definitely nothing they covered in Sex-Ed.

Which is not to say that, nowadays, some authors don't strive for as much reality as possible. But, really - it's a fictional story. It's not an instruction manual. A lot of today's m/m romance contains gay men who fall head-over-heels in love at first sight (some without even speaking to the other man first), who are unable to keep their hands off the object of their obsession (even at the risk of losing their jobs), and who frequently engage in beyond-human acrobatic sexual acts and anal sex without lube. Clearly, we're not writing Sex 101 here.

No, the reason I'm touched about her son being able to read my work is that he had characters to identify with. Growing up, none of the romances contained any characters I understood. I had a female body, but I didn't feel like a female. I didn't swoon, I didn't need to be rescued. I wasn't hard headed to a fault, or ditzy and stupid. I felt like a man - but not the men in those books. I wasn't overbearing and powerful, or rude and aloof. I longed for pages that contained people I could relate to. Why were there no gay characters? Where were the characters who questioned their gender - surely I couldn't be the only person in the world doing that? And surely, I wasn't the only person like me who read stories?

I'm thrilled to have found a genre where I can write about characters I like - characters like me. Flawed and real, with "alternative" views and lifestyles (at least "alternative" according to society.) If they're having raging hot sex (therein lies the fantasy LOL) then that's even better.

But I'm glad that young man got a glimpse of romance outside the cookie cutter norm. I'm glad he got to have his happily ever after fantasy in the pages of my work. After all, that's all any young person wants - the illusion of the happily ever after.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Link and Haddon Chapter 5: You Won't Like Him When He's Angry

Haddon rolled over and scrubbed his hand across his eyes. He peered down the hall at the glow of what he assumed was the television in the living room. He scooted over into the empty space beside him, buried his face in Link’s pillow and breathed in the scent of the man he loved. It wasn’t uncommon for Link to leave their bed in the middle of the night, especially on a night like this, when he’d had nightmares. But something was off. Haddon raised his head and squinted at the light - far too bright to be in the living room, it seemed to be emanating from... From the kitchen? And the burn was steady, not flashing in and out and changing colors like he’d expect from a program switching scenes or back and forth from commercials. Come to think of it, he couldn’t hear anything either. Link never had the thing blaring, but in a house this small, even the quietest sound carried.

He slid from bed, stuffed his feet into his slippers, and made his way to the door. The light only intensified, and he rounded the corner into the kitchen, the sight before him wringing a gasp from his throat. Link stood in the middle of the room, staring at the sink -- at the glow of light, to be more specific -- a smile on his transfixed face. He turned his head then and Haddon gestured him over, but his gaze instead followed something Haddon couldn’t see.

“Link?” Haddon whispered.

But Link just continued watching whatever it was. He laughed and shook his head, muttering to himself about how silly that man was.

Haddon frowned. This must be what had happened the other day, when John and Danny had showed up -- the vision that had led to them calling in a paranormal investigator. His frown deepened. What should he do? Try to wake Link? Was that even the right word? Was Link technically asleep or under some sort of...spell?

Haddon followed Link’s gaze wherever it went, though he could see nothing with his own eyes. Nothing but that glaring light. He couldn’t hear anything, either, and clearly Link could, judging by how he kept reacting to things - laughing or sighing, shaking his head and even letting out a whoop.
That sound must’ve changed something, triggered something. Link’s eyes went wide and he shook his head slowly, taking slow, measured steps backward. He held up his hands, palm outward, toward something. “What...what do you want?” he asked, his voice shaking.

He backed up some more, until he collided with Haddon. He slipped his arms around Link’s waist.
“No!” Link struggled and clawed at Haddon’s arms.

“It’s me! Calm down!” But all his efforts earned him were scratches and an attempt at being bitten.
The light shifted, surrounding them, and flared so brightly Haddon was forced to shut his eyes. Heat radiated in on them, and he ducked his head, trying desperately to escape it while still holding onto Link.

Haddon opened his eyes just enough to navigate the kitchen. He hauled himself and a now kicking and screaming Link toward the door that led to the living room. Two steps away though, he stopped dead in his tracks. A man stood in front of them. Not a man, really, he supposed -- that same strange hot light surrounded the man, and Haddon could see right through him. Right. Through. Him.

“Where is it?” the man asked. His voice came out as a garbled, almost wet sound, as if he’d been asking from under water.

Link slumped in Haddon’s arms, and he struggled under the change of weight. “Where is what?”

“Where is it?” That same question again, and this time Haddon detected an edge of anger in the tone.

He shook Link, trying to wake him, but keeping his eyes on the man. Or rather, the ghost, he reasoned. “Where is what? I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“Where. Is. It?” With each word he stepped closer and closer, until he was face to face with Haddon, staring down at him, his face twisted by a menacing snarl.

Haddon shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re looking for.” The man’s gaze shifted to Link, and Haddon clutched his lover closer. “Leave him alone!”

The man reached out and Haddon backed them up. If he tried to run, would the ghost follow? Worse, would that make the ghost even angrier? What in the hell were ghosts capable of, anyhow? Could they do any real physical harm?

His question was answered as the man threw back his head and howled, a long, low, mournful sound. It might’ve been a heartbreaking moment, had the gesture not been accompanied by everything in the kitchen flying off the walls and out of the cabinets.

Haddon pushed Link to the floor and hunkered over him as pots and pans, dishes and cans of food rained down on them. A can of baked beans smacked him in the shoulder, and a copper-bottomed sauce pot landed a punch right to the top of his head. “Fuck!”

“Where is it?” the man asked again.

The last of the food hit the floor, and Haddon stood, putting himself between Link and the ghost. “I don’t know what you want from us!”

The man raised his fists and shook them at the ceiling. Around them, a whirlwind picked up, dragging the contents of the kitchen into it, circling them around Haddon and Link like inanimate vultures.

“Stop it!” Haddon reached for the man’s throat, but his hands went right through. “If I could help you, I would! But I don’t know how!” Brute force and threats wouldn’t work -- the ghost probably knew more about, well...ghosts than Haddon did. So he tried another tactic. “I want to help you! Tell me how! Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll find it so you can rest. That’s what you want, right? To rest?” He eyed the ever-increasing-in-speed tornado around them.

The man looked down at him, squinted at him and finally nodded. “Find it.”

That was all he said, before he disappeared in a burst of light. The tornado dissolved, leaving Haddon standing in a room full of broken dishes, bent cans, and exploded cereal boxes.

Link stirred. “What...?” He sat up, looking around. “What the fuck?” He looked up at Haddon. “What did you do?”

“Me?” Haddon raised his eyebrow and shook his head quickly. “Oh, no. This was all you.”

“I did this?”

“You triggered it. At least, I think you did. I found you in here watching the...ghosts or whatever they are. They must’ve seen you, and then all hell broke loose. Incidentally, the big man wants to know where it is, and he wants us to find it.”

Link frowned and rubbed his eyes. “Find what?”

“Fuck if I know.” Haddon threw up his hands. “How much longer until that ghost hunter guy shows up?”

“Paranormal Investigator.” Link stood, tip-toeing around a shattered dinner plate. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks.” Haddon looked around at the destruction and shook his head. Two weeks too damned long.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Hot in Fall Blog Hop - NSFW-ish

For my part in the hop, I'm sharing a sweet, sexy, NSFW-ish lil snippet from my m/m romance "Buried Treasure."

One lucky winner will get their very own pdf copy - just leave a comment below and be sure to include your e-mail. Good luck!!


After his last long-term relationship ended because of his nightmares, Mark closed his heart to the possibility of finding love again. He's certainly never considered Gabe, the orderly who works at Miller's Retirement Home where his father lives. But there's more to Gabe than meets the eye, and if Mark is willing to let Gabe in, he might just discover the most important buried treasure of all.


Gabe glanced up from his coffee as the waitress sat a dainty little white porcelain plate adored with a large chocolate-frosted cupcake with rainbow sprinkles down on their table. He grinned at the conspiratorial wink Mark gave her before she walked away.

“What’s this?” Gabe asked.

Mark gasped and shook his head. “I can’t believe you don’t know what today is.”

Gabe frowned and checked his watch. Thursday, August 18. Nothing special happened on August 18 that he was aware of. “Um... is it Obscure Foreign Celebration Day?”


“Your birthday?”

Mark shook his head again. He leaned back against the booth and folded his arms across his chest with a dramatic sigh. “I’m really surprised. I figured of the two of us, you’d be the one keeping track.”

“Keeping track of...?” Gabe raised his eyebrows. The cupcake, though it looked delicious, really was just an ordinary cupcake. The rainbow sprinkles were a nice touch, though.

“It’s our six month anniversary,” Mark revealed. He blushed and unfolded his arms, grabbed up his napkin and toyed with it. “The anniversary of our lunches, that is. Not us, specifically.”

“Why not us?” Gabe reached across the table and slid his hand over Mark’s, twining their fingers together.

“There isn’t an us, is there?” Mark looked up, his eyes wide and round, full of something Gabe couldn’t quite place.

Gabe’s chest constricted and his heart raced. He forced himself to draw a few deep, slow breaths. “There’s an us if you want there to be.”

“Is that what you want?” Mark’s forehead knit together, and he leaned in a little.

He chuckled. “I think it’s pretty obvious what I want. I’ve been chasing you for six months now, haven’t I?”

Mark’s studied gaze, his head cocked to the side, bottom lip caught between his teeth, made Gabe ache to know what was going on in his head—what thoughts were racing around in there, and how he could influence them. If he could. Mark pulled his hand away and Gabe felt like a fool as he clutched at empty air.

Mark picked up the cupcake and split it into two pieces, then sat half of it back down on the plate. The half he’d kept he broke into smaller pieces, and held one out for Gabe. Gabe reached for it, but Mark pulled it away and shook his head. Gabe frowned, but then the meaning became clear as Mark raised his eyebrows and teasingly wiggled the morsel just out of his reach. Gabe leaned over and opened his mouth.

Mark gently fed him the cupcake, fingers lingering on his lower lip. Gabe closed his mouth around the desert, swishing his tongue out to lick flecks of crumbs off Mark’s fingers. Mark shivered. Gabe plucked up the other half of the cupcake and offered a piece of it to Mark. The warm, wet heat of Mark’s mouth closed around Gabe’s fingers and his cock jumped to life, going instantly hard. He shifted in his seat as Mark’s tongue explored his fingers, wishing that exploration were quite a bit lower, and they were alone.

Mark let go of Gabe, sat back, and daintily wiped his mouth with his napkin. He cleared his throat. “Well.”

Gabe grinned. “I guess I have my answer.” He lowered his hand back to the table and grasped Mark’s again.

Under the Covers - Guest Author H.B. Pattskyn Talks About Bound: Forget Me Knot

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Mini Giveaway: Wine Lover's

A little giveaway for all the wine lovers out there.

There's 2 stoppers, 2 note pads, 1 keychain, 12 glass markers, and 8 bottle tags.

To enter to win, just leave a comment below, and tell me your favorite wine or alcoholic drink. Be sure to include your e-mail. Contest ends 10/3/13 at Noon EST.


****PLEASE BE AWARE: I write GLBTQ romance. GLBTQ stands for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, and queer. This means my works feature same sex relationships AND same sex sexual acts. If being associated with that kind of a blog isn't your cup of tea, kindly pass on. Thank you.****