Now that you’ve unwrapped all your gifts, why not put that Amazon, B&N, iTunes, or Kobo gift card to use and get what you really want.
New York Heat is out today! Click here to read the blurb and chapter one!
Now that you’ve unwrapped all your gifts, why not put that Amazon, B&N, iTunes, or Kobo gift card to use and get what you really want.
New York Heat is out today! Click here to read the blurb and chapter one!
I’ve done, like, no promo because I’ve been so insanely busy… so, surprise! I have a major new release tomorrow!
New York Heat is a continuation of two of my previous books, Go-Go Boys of Club 21 and Men In The Hot Room, but New York Heat can be read with absolutely zero knowledge of the previous books.
Below is the blurb and the cover and then chapter one!
Club 21 is New York City’s hottest gay nightclub. The drinks are cheap, the music is infectious, and the go-go boys are the stuff of dreams.
For Dan, it’s where his life will forever change. With his signature on the dotted line, he goes from bartender to owner. And with that change, he realizes that both his responsibilities and his stress have skyrocketed.
Club 21 is home. The staff are family. Like a mama bear, Dan is fiercely protective of his clients and his staff, especially his go-go boys, whose carefree dancing inspires Dan to make Club 21 the best it can be.
Especially Ken, once a fling, now the love of his life. There’s so much that needs to get done at Club 21, but Dan is terrified that all the long evenings will drive his young go-go boy lover away. Dan doesn’t want to lose him, but if anything ever happened to his staff—his family—Dan would never forgive himself…
Content warning: New York Heat contains a scene of mass violence and the death of a main character.
Dan leaned against the metal newspaper box and stared at the brick building in front of him. This was either the best decision he’d ever made … or the worst. There could be no in between. He’d be happy and financially well off … or this would lead to utter ruin.
He fumbled in his back pocket for the pack of smokes he’d bought earlier that day. Haven’t smoked in twenty years, he reminded himself again. The stress of today, though, made it impossible to resist the decades-old siren song of tobacco. He tapped a cigarette out of the pack, along with the lighter, and lit up. He inhaled deep, letting the searing smoke fill his lungs, the burning taste fill his mouth — it was comfortable. It brought him an instant relief to the tension that had been building for the last two weeks, culminating in today.
Through all of this, he never took his eyes off the brick building.
“Since when have you started smoking again?” Brad asked.
“Today,” Dan said, the answer coming out as little more than a grunt. It was enough, he knew, to signal to Brad to not ask further questions.
Brad let out a hmm sound, then folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the second newspaper box. He stared up at the building. Brad had come down from Canada to help Dan with what the next few weeks would bring.
“Remember when we bought fake IDs and snuck in?” Brad asked.
Dan laughed — expressing far more humor than he really felt — but the laugh was good. It was cleansing. It was what he needed to break the tension that had settled over him, tightening up his whole body.
He flicked ash off the end of the cigarette. “We were such twinks back then.”
Dan remembered the night well. It was more than thirty years ago, but he recalled it like it was last week. They were nineteen, but desperate to get into Club 21, the hottest gay bar in New York City. They’d spent weeks asking around the college campus for a black market ID seller. They’d practiced acting older — even though twenty-one, the age to get in, was barely any different from nineteen. Dan had even gone out and bought a dress shirt, hoping it made him look like a banker or something.
“All that work,” Brad said, “and they didn’t even give us a second glance or check our ID.”
“If I remember right, you ended up with some hot daddy in the men’s room.”
Brad laughed, then reached over and took the cigarette from Dan’s hand, taking in a drag before handing it back. “I wasn’t even that attracted to him. I think I was just in awe that a man wanted me. But I seem to remember you grinding on some jock on the dance floor.”
They both broke into a roar of laughter. When it died down, Dan inhaled another lungful of smoke. He hated the habit, hated the taste too, but it helped him get through days like this.
He finally tore his gaze from the brick building to glance at his friend of almost forty years. “I’ve missed you, Brad. It’s good to have you back.” Shortly after college, Brad had taken odd jobs around the country before getting certified in various types of yoga and moving to Canada to teach in studios there. Dan had taken a much different path, heading into a career in accounting, where he stayed with one company his entire career. Until now.
Brad took another drag of Dan’s cigarette. “It’s good to be back. I’ve been away from New York for too long.” He put his arm over Dan’s shoulders, pulling him closer, sharing his warmth on this chilly May afternoon. “But I wouldn’t miss this for the world, Dan.”
Dan looked up at the building again. Even in this drab May day, the brick was a deep red, nice and clean, and the neon sign, not yet lit up, proudly pronounced this building as Club 21. As of two o’clock this afternoon, just a couple hours ago, this club was now his.
Though he’d been an accountant by day, he’d done some evening work as a bartender here. He’d been happy with his life. But when Rachel, the previous owner, moved to L.A. to follow her son and support him in his newfound career, he saw an opportunity that he couldn’t pass up. He wanted to own Club 21.
I’m still scared shitless, he admitted to himself. He couldn’t tell anyone else that — not even Ken, his boyfriend — because he needed to appear confident and sure. He suspected that Brad saw right through his façade, though. Being best friends with a guy for something like four decades allowed for that kind of closeness.
Brad’s arm was still around his shoulders and it felt comforting. It reminded Dan of when they were much closer, when they were almost boyfriends. They’d hooked up a few times in college, before getting into Club 21, but they’d never progressed beyond a few blowjobs and the occasional fuck. He leaned into Brad’s warm, solid body, letting out a sigh and, with it, letting out some of the tension that had built up in him over the day.
“I still can’t believe you bought the place,” Brad said. “I remember back in college, we were chatting one night about our dreams when we were in bed together, and you said something about wanting to own the place. I had thought it was a cool idea, but I never thought it would happen.”
Dan had forgotten about that. Even though he’d spent hundreds of nights over his lifetime at Club 21, he remembered nothing of a desire to own the place. He said as much to Brad, then added, “I guess it was just meant to be.”
“Speaking of meant to be — tell me about Ken.”
Dan felt a blush warm his cheeks, like he was that nineteen-year-old twink again. “He’s a bit of a bad boy, but with a good heart. He’s one of the dancers here. He’s, uh, he’s inside,” Dan said. Brad and his partner, Simon, had flown in two nights ago, but with all of the busyness of signing contracts and legal documents, they hadn’t had a chance to get reacquainted or to meet — or even see — each other’s boyfriends. “And he’s … he’s considerably younger than me.”
Brad laughed, but it wasn’t the friendly-teasing laugh that Dan had expected. It seemed almost a laugh of recognition. “Simon is quite a bit younger than me too. He’s twenty-two.”
Dan felt a wave of relief. Though older-younger relationships weren’t uncommon, especially among gay men, he had always felt that they were based more on lust and carnal desires, rather than genuine love. Even when he had started with Ken, it was a relationship based on hooking up and frequent sex. Love had been an unexpected consequence.
“Ken is twenty-two, as well,” Dan said.
“Well, look at us being man-cougars.” He hugged Dan’s shoulders a little tighter for a moment. “Do you love him?”
“I do,” Dan said. It had taken Dan and Ken a while to recognize these feelings, and even longer to admit them. But, once they did, everything felt right. “And you and Simon?”
“Me too.” He took another drag of Dan’s cigarette, then handed it back. “It’s odd, isn’t it? Being in love.”
Dan took the final drag of the cigarette, then flicked it across the sidewalk. “It is. Sometimes, well…”
“Do you ever wonder if these young twinks will grow tired of us? You know, realize there’s more fun to be had with someone closer to their own age?” It was a fear that he had never voiced before, a fear he had trouble admitting even to himself. Brad was the one person in this world who he felt comfortable saying such a thing to.
“All the fucking time,” Brad said. “I’m in my fifties, my body is sagging, even though I’m fit. I’m slowing down every year as much as I hate to admit it. And every day brings a new gray hair. And Simon is supposed to love me as this keeps happening?”
Dan sighed. “Maybe we’re getting lust and love mixed up. I know it took me a long time to sort them out. I didn’t even realize they meant different things until recently.”
“That could be it. Lust is all physical, all animal. Love is … love is something deeper, more permanent, slow-growing. I don’t think it’s as easily lost as lust can be.”
Dan didn’t know how to respond, so he let the comfortable silence settle over the two of them. They continued staring at the brick building, even as pedestrians passed in front of them and cars passed behind them. New York City was a busy place with rarely a moment of pure peace — but this was pretty damn close.
After a very long time of just leaning against the newspaper boxes, Brad broke the silence. “I see the leather bar is closed.”
Dan glanced toward the brick building across the narrow alley. The leather bar had gone under just a couple weeks ago and, as far as Dan knew, no one had made an offer on the place yet. While commercial real estate in New York City was hot, it seemed no one wanted the old bar.
“It’s been there as long as Club 21,” Dan said. “Changed names many times, but it’s always been there. But the world moves on.” Dan remembered well when they’d gone to the leather bar together. If nights at Club 21 were slow or if they were in particular need of sucking daddy dick, they’d sometimes head across the alley and scope out the meat there. There were as many memories in that building as there were in Club 21.
“Hmm,” Brad said. Dan looked at his friend and saw a look of serious contemplation on his face.
Brad stared at the building a little longer, seeming to size it up, then glanced at Dan. “Just a … just a flight of fancy, I guess. I’ve been thinking of starting up my own yoga studio. That place is large enough.” He shook his head. “But this can’t b a spur-of-the-moment decision. I can’t just say I’m going buy a building and start a studio.”
Dan let out a laugh that came out as a snort. “That’s basically what I did with Club 21.” He looked again at Brad and saw just how seriously his friend was considering this. He elbowed him in the side. “You should do it. Take risks. I bet the price is a steal — seems no one wants to move in.”
“Hmm,” Brad said again.
Dan let Brad ruminate on the building and his dream of a studio while he instead looked at Club 21 again — his apparent dream come true. Hopefully it’s a good dream, not a nightmare.
An urge for another cigarette settled into Dan. He didn’t want to get too deep into smoking again — the further in he was, the harder it would be to quit. And he’d have to quit. Ken didn’t like that he smoked. Dan didn’t like it himself, either, but he could put up with his bad habits easier than Ken could.
“Come on,” Dan said, “let’s go inside.”
Brad released his hold on Dan’s shoulders and the two men stood up and walked toward the front door. Though he’d gone in and out a few times today and he’d been running the place for Rachel until the paperwork legally signed the place over to him, this was the first time he’d entered with the building belonging to him. It was somehow fundamentally different.
He put his key in the lock and turned, the tumblers clicking and causing his heart to pound against his ribs. He felt almost lightheaded for a moment. He gave the door a tug and it opened.
Pulling the door open wide, he turned to Brad and said, “Welcome … to Club 21.”
Greetings readers! Today I’m sharing Blissful Surrender by MC Fields — this is a sexy little novella that we published over at Deep Desires Press. If you’re looking for some hot hot hot sex and quick weekend read, this is just what you’re looking for!
Justin is a Mixed Martial Arts instructor who has been enlisted by the ruling Mohawk Matriarchs to help protect the most vulnerable women in their community. Since then he has devoted his life to empowering women.
Marie is a free-spirited aircraft mechanic determined to live life to the fullest. And she’s Justin’s student.
Justin is the best martial arts instructor Marie has ever had. He is also the subject of her raunchy sexual fantasies. Unfettered by the traditional roles of women in society, she’s unafraid to show Justin what she wants, but he’s having none of it.
After Justin saves her from being attacked, Marie realizes her feelings go deeper than sexual attraction alone. She knows that Justin is reluctant to have sex with a student but pursues him brazenly nonetheless. But she doesn’t know that Justin is guarded for another reason: he is able to call up the Shadow of the Leopard, a mysterious force that once led him to kill two cops.
As the attraction between them intensifies, Justin is forced to make a decision: keep walking the tightrope he is on, or surrender to Marie and risk putting the school in jeopardy or even worse….
Justin had to work to keep his eyes off her and made sure that he was looking at just her eyes when he looked at her. Luckily, he was drawn to her eyes — they glinted a sparkling magic blue when she smiled, which was often. Her thick reddish brown hair flowed just below her gently muscled shoulders as she moved almost effortlessly across the floor. He would sometimes forget to breathe when a few tendrils of her silky hair came to rest in the moisture that would form on her chest near one of her breasts.
As he looks directly at her with this thought in mind, she winks at him and he feels a twinge near the base of his testicles. An old saying from long ago pops into his mind: She’s got wrench eyes because every time she looks at me my nuts tighten up.
He quickly discards the thought and looks away from her purposefully. “Again!” he shouts with such force that a few students actually flinch, but they set themselves again quickly and prepare to begin. “Two minutes, jab and right cross with a left hook followed by a front kick combination with speed.” Justin demonstrates the move with lightning quickness and devastating force. Everyone is impressed when he does this because it looks so surreal coming from such a powerfully built man and it extends the promise that they might be able to do something like that one day if they followed him. So they followed him almost fanatically. “Let the music guide your pace,” Justin bellows out as he begins to recover from Marie’s distraction.
The Mob Rules by Black Sabbath is one of Justin’s favorites and it blares from the speakers he has placed at the front of the gymnasium as he prowls like a panther through their three ranks, correcting, feinting, and working with all of them. On rare occasions he even smiles.
It is a dark destructive sounding heavy metal song, but that is what Justin wants them to have in their intentions when they fight … destruction. This is a class of all women and he is proud of that and proud of them for sticking with his harrowing workout routine. He feels like a father to all of them since he’s almost fifty and the oldest of them is barely over thirty.
“You get what you put into this world so when in doubt try love first,” he shouts above the music. “But if love fails you, if you are attacked and an attacker persists then destruction must be your aim until that attacker is no longer a threat.” They have heard it all before and they love it. They never get tired of it, most of these twenty-five that are in this class have been with him for almost three years and they are devoted to this workout.
Justin begins to move with a purpose as his favorite verse begins. It speaks of ruin that will come to you if you toy with powerful elemental spirits. He cannot believe it is coincidence that this part of the song is blaring as he approaches Marie. He swats at her head and she ducks just barely under his outstretched arm to finish the combination smoothly. “Good,” he says, “but you have to maintain proper rotation to develop your power. Concentrate, Marie.” She does the movement again. “Better, but you have to keep working on that rotation, Marie.”
He is leaning in as he says this and she purses her lips and motions a soft kiss towards him while smiling at him mischievously and performing the combination. Justin feels that familiar twinge at the base of his testicles again as an image of them together flashes in his mind.
They are covered in sweat and he is on top of her sliding his cock into her from behind and feels like he is about to come as she turns her head to look at him, moans softly, closes her eyes, and pushes back with her hips to sink his cock deeper into her soaking pussy.
As she opens her eyes again he cups her head before placing his lips on hers and softly sucking her tongue into his mouth while grinding his hips into her ass.
The image is gone within a second, but it leaves him speechless and she smiles again as he turns away.
“Thirty seconds, pick it up,” Justin bellows as he struggles to regain his composure.
• • •
Marie watches him move towards her and immediately imagines him on top of her…thrusting his cock into her as she moans and digs her fingers into his ass. He holds himself up with his arms and his biceps bulge as he sinks his cock into her and she drives her hips up towards him.
But she knows that he is going to assess her movements so she had better be ready. She focuses her attention as he approaches and forces herself to breathe and relax. He pauses as he nears her and she knows it’s coming and forces a breath out just as his hand snakes out towards her head.
It was not nearly his fastest jab but it was as fast as she had seen him swing at anybody. She reacts without thinking, leaning slightly to the left and ducking just barely under his outstretched hand as he had taught her many times. Her spirit soars at the closeness of the blow she just so flawlessly avoided and punctuates the movement with a crisp combination.
She knows it was good, but she still loves to hear him say it. He locks his eyes on her when he both compliments and challenges her. She can tell that he exists just for her in this moment, for him no one else exists except the student in front of him. It is a magical gift that enthralls all of them in the class. He makes each one feel uniquely gifted and important and he does it effortlessly.
But no one else matters when he stands in front of her because no one else matters for him. He totally belongs to her in these few seconds. He has given himself to her as much as she has to him.
This motivates as well as excites her. She drives herself to will more destructive force into the combination and feels her movement gain a little more power.
It feels like she is an instrument and he is plucking the right strings to produce what he wants and she loves the feeling of being finely tuned by him. She has become much stronger and faster since joining his class and she can feel it. She is totally committed to doing whatever he says to see what she can become.
His training has permeated every part of her life and she feels herself transforming. This morning she did something she did not think she was capable of with a very important customer of the company where she worked as an aircraft mechanic. She took control of the conversation and salvaged a deteriorating situation.
Bob Elder was a no-nonsense pilot who had made a small fortune building an air delivery service to the North. But at over six foot, two inches tall and well over three hundred pounds, most of his flying days were over. He stood in front of her that morning, flanked by her apprentice Jordan and her boss Mel, demanding that they finish with his engine so he could get another of his aircraft back in the air making money.
Before her training, she might have felt a little intimidated by the three large men around her, since Mel was around the same size as Bob, while Jordan looked like a younger, more slender version of both men. But instead she watched Bob like a hunter waiting for an opportunity to strike and she found it when he said, “I can’t lose any more money on this engine, I need this thing in the air.”
“But for how long!” She had almost shouted the statement at Bob which galvanized the stares of all three men towards her. “You are at the top repair shop in the province, talking to the top mechanic in that shop!” She couldn’t believe she said that but she was encouraged by the pleased looks on both Jordan’s and Mel’s faces.
She continued, “Look around this bay and you will see that nothing else is being worked on. Everything is devoted to getting your engine serviceable and keeping it that way so you keep making money and spending it here only when you need us.” This was only partially bullshit; there were two other engines in the bay, but they were both waiting on parts.
“We want you to make money, Bob, but you need to keep this aircraft in the air and I need to get working on this engine to make sure it does.” She said this last part in a much softer tone and she could see by the calm look on Bob’s face that she had won him over. Mel was grinning from ear to ear.
She was still riding the high from this morning, she felt like she was in total control and she knew it was due to Justin’s training.
One of my very good Twitter buddies, Chase Connor, has a new book coming out today!
All stories start with “once upon a time” and end with “happily ever after.” Except for Tom’s. Tom’s story ends with “happily never after.”
But a life is full of “once upon a times” because a life is full of stories. Everything in between the “once upon a times” is just details.
Two boys met on a bus. Two boys went to summer camp. Two boys walked into the woods together. Two boys swam in the lake.
One boy was assaulted. One boy was frozen with fear.
One boy became overwhelmed by everything. One boy was dragged down by the gravity of nothing.
This is a story of two boys. They met. They became best friends. And now one of them is dead.
Over the course of this book, Tom tells a story to the other people in his therapy group. But, whose story is he telling?
Walking away from the front doors of the community center, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pack of cigarettes. I flipped the top and fished out the lighter that had been slid into the space left by cigarettes already smoked. Then I pulled out one of the cigarettes and brought it to my lips. My hands wanted to shake, but I wouldn’t allow it, as I lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. I stepped over to one of the long brick planters, that, unsurprisingly, had nothing planted in it, and sat down on the edge. I deposited the lighter back into the empty space in the cardboard pack and shoved the entirety back into my pocket as I exhaled blue smoke.
“Can I bum one of those?”
I turned my head to find a guy standing there. Immediately, I realized that he was the only other guy in group who hadn’t said anything when everyone else took turns asking me questions or interrupting me. He was scrawny, tall, lanky, gangly. His long sleeve shirt—no coat in this cold weather—was baggy on him. His baggy jeans were barely kept on his waist by a tightly cinched belt. His dark hair was buzzed close to his head. His clothes, and the guy himself, looked well washed and clean, but the bagginess of them made him look as though he was dirty.
“How old are you?” I snorted, turning my eyes from him again.
“Don’t believe it for a second.”
“What else don’t you believe?” He asked.
I pulled the pack out of my pocket and held it out to him without actually looking at him again.
“Take as many as you want.” I said.
Take your cigarettes and go.
The guy took the pack from me, took only one, lit it, then put my lighter back into the pack before handing it back to me. I retrieved it from him and shoved it back into my pocket once again. The other attendees walked out in a loud group together, glanced at us, then continued on their way, walking in a group down the sidewalk to parts unknown. They probably lived nearby.
“John killed Dally?” The guy who had bummed the cigarette asked.
“I’m kind of having quiet time here.”
“I bet you don’t get a lot of quiet time.” The guy said. “I bet your brain talks a lot, huh?”
Taking another drag off of my cigarette, I decided to just ignore the kid.
“I have anxiety, too.” He said. “My thoughts go, like, ninety-to-nothing most of the time. It’s like I can’t stop myself from thinking no matter how hard I try. Sometimes I can’t even sleep because of how much my brain just keeps going and going.”
I turned my head to look him in the eyes.
“You don’t have anxiety.” I spit a piece of tobacco out with the tip of my tongue. “You had a meth problem. Now you’re suffering the after-effects of that.”
He frowned at me.
“When you do meth, probably long-term, but not so long that it gave you major skin problems or tooth and hair loss, you stop mentally maturing at the age you started.” I took another drag. “The longer you are clean, the more quickly your brain will start catching up to your actual, physical age. You’ll learn the emotional and psychological skills you should already have at your age—which isn’t nineteen—and slowly you’ll start putting weight back on. Might even be able to wear that shirt and those jeans without looking like a scarecrow.”
The kid swallowed hard.
“Now…I would like to be alone.” I nodded. “Please.”
“I’m nineteen.” He stammered. “I just look young and I’m small I guess.”
Then it was a great choice to do meth.
I thought it.
I wasn’t rude enough to actually say it.
“Look, dude—” I breathed out heavily but didn’t turn to look at him again, “I don’t care what you’ve done, or whether or not you lied about your age, okay? I just want to be alone.”
For several moments, the kid stood there, smoking the cigarette I’d let him have and watched me. I stared straight ahead, pretending that he wasn’t there. I could ignore him, just like I could ignore anxiety and depression.
“Did John kill Dally?” He asked again, tapping his cigarette to knock off ashes.
“Why the fuck do you care?” I turned to snap at him.
He jerked slightly.
Scared the recovering meth-head.
Points for Tom.
“Because I want to know how the story ends.” He said in a small voice, sounding as though he would run away, but he didn’t.
“You’re looking at the end of the story.” I said. “Here, outside of this shitty community center. Smoking a cigarette, anxious and depressed, trying to make some kid who lies about his reason for being in a group leave him the fuck alone. That’s how the story ends. The rest is just details.”
The kid stared at me.
“You said all ‘once upon a times’ get a ‘happily ever after’.” He squeaked.
“I said mine ended with a ‘happily never after’, kid.” I replied evenly. “But who knows? Maybe yours will be different. Is that what you want? Someone to assure you that if you stay sober, don’t do meth again, do your steps, go to your appointments and meetings and get yourself together that your ‘once upon a time’ hasn’t actually happened yet? That maybe it starts sometime in the future?”
“Yeah.” He nodded meekly. “I guess.”
“Well, come back on a different day.” I ashed my cigarette. “Today you won’t get the answer you want.”
About Chase Connor:
Chase Connor currently lives in Des Moines, Iowa with his husband and dog and spends his free time writing LGBTQ Young Adult, New Adult, and Paranormal Romance…when he’s not busy being enthusiastic about laziness and waffles.
Hi folks! Did I tell ya I also write gay young adult fiction under the name Dylan James? Here’s an excerpt from my first YA novel, Gay Love And Other Fairy Tales, which has been on two top-100 lists on Amazon for almost three months straight!
Nineteen minutes and thirty seconds.
I can’t keep counting down like this. I’m going to drive myself insane. I’m going to kill the mood if I’m glued to the clock. I hear some rustling beside me and I see that Jordan has pulled out his phone and he’s scrolling through Instagram. He suddenly angles his phone away from me.
“What?” I ask.
He hesitates, then says, “Nikki’s posting pics of her and Winston.”
“I’m not her boyfriend,” I say automatically. I’ve never actually said that to anyone. I’ve always just let people make their own assumptions and I was happy to play along with it. “We were never together.”
“Really?” Jordan asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I make her look good in photos, but I have no interest in her,” I say. I can feel a bead of sweat forming at my temple.
He scoffs. “You put on a good act then.” He goes to her profile and scrolls down until he finds pictures of me and Nikki. Together. Kissing.
“That’s exactly what it is. An act.” My heart is beating so hard it feels like it’s going to punch through my ribs.
He looks at me like he’s assessing me. “She’s gorgeous,” he says. It’s like he’s pushing me, like he knows what I want to say, even though I don’t think he has a clue. “She’s a control freak sometimes, yeah, but she’s gorgeous.”
“Not my type,” I say.
“Oh?” He shuts off his phone and tosses it on the couch between us. “What is your type?”
You. You’re my type. But can I say those words out loud? Hell no. Coward.
Instead, I turn my attention to the TV. Fourteen minutes left.
“I’m still figuring that out,” I say.
He seems to accept that as an answer, or at least accepts that I’m not ready to talk more about it. We silently watch the rest of the countdown and inwardly I’m kicking myself again — way to ruin the mood right before the hug! I’m saving my last mouthful of Bud Light for midnight, so I’m just sitting here idly holding an almost-empty can of beer.
Finally, what seems like ages later, we’re down to less than a minute. Slowly, the energy in the room warms up. I lean forward, like getting closer to the TV is going to somehow make this more exciting. Beside me, Jordan does the same.
“Ten!” he says out loud, joining the cheering people on the screen counting down.
I join in with him. “Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy new year!”
I take that final swig of beer, letting the alcohol give me a burst of courage. I stand up and hold my arms out and Jordan stands up and comes into them. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight.
“Happy new year,” I whisper.
“Happy new year,” he whispers back.
I know I should let go, end this hug, because it’s getting too long — it’s past the limit of how long friends hug. But I don’t want to let go.
I never want to let go.
Jordan feels so right in my arms.
But there’s something I want even more.
I loosen my arms a little bit and he backs up just an inch or two and he looks up at me. His eyes sparkle in the light and I can see a question behind those clear, brown eyes. He knows something is different.
With the alcohol pushing my decisions, I angle my head in and kiss him.
He puts his hands on my chest like he’s ready to push me away, but I keep kissing him, even though he’s not moving his lips, even though he’s as still as a statue. Panic starts to rise in me and I can feel myself starting to shake. Jordan isn’t responding.
Today is the debut release day for author Leon Mauvais!
Read on for the blurb, cover, excerpt, and more! And if you’re a Twitter user, click here to find Leon on Twitter and give him a follow!
As a young weredeer, all Pembroke has ever dreamed of is being harnessed to Santa’s sleigh. Yet his world comes crashing down when Santa’s slain.
A war erupts in the Artic Circle-pitting elf against reindeer.
Pembroke is sent on a perilous mission. If he fails, his herd will be lost. When the mission goes awry, the stag-shifter must put his trust in an unlikely ally.
Where does one turn in a land of ice and blood?
What happens when the enemy infiltrates your heart? What begins as a wavering alliance, takes both stag and elf farther than they both could ever imagine.
Get your copy of Sugar Plum’d:
“I hear,” Kassel’s whispers filled the empty stalls of the barn, “the Toy-Maker can be quite demanding.”
Pembroke didn’t care.
He would prove himself.
He arched his back as if he was getting ready to be harnessed to the sleigh. His shoulders back, Pembroke held his head high. His flanks rising in the air, as if supporting an uplifted tail.
As if he was still in stag form.
“No.” Kassel said, “Like I’m really Him.”
Pembroke felt the rough sole of Kassel’s foot against the broadest part of his back. Pembroke was caught off guard by the pressure. His face forced down, Pembroke felt his haunches rise till his ass, like a halved plumb, split open for the Toy-Maker’s inspection.
Pembroke flinched as he felt the weight of a large buckle fall between his shoulder blades. Kassel dragged the cool metal down Pembroke’s spine, resting it on the small of his trembling back.
Kassel paused only for a second, before dragging the metal even further, splitting his friend’s cheeks, teasing the soft pink skin of Pembroke’s puckered hole.
Without thinking, Pembroke let his shoulders take the weight of his prostrate body as his fingers lifted to spread his cheeks further apart.
He felt Kassel’s hot breath blowing across.
“Now how many days till you guide my sleigh?” Kassel asked.
A sting blossomed against Pembroke’s hole. It leapt away as fast as it came. A bolt of lightning zapping through his body. The pain surprised him so much that he hadn’t heard the question.
There it was again.
Get your copy of Sugar Plum’d:
About the Author:
“Sugar Plum’d” is Leon Mauvais’ debut! He’s a beret-wearing sprite who fell asleep in the cornfields of Pennsylvania. He dreams in the husks, hoping his tales taste like taffy, but help build crystallized armor. Once, he lingered in the corners of the last used bookstores searching for forbidden adventures on exotic worlds.
Good morning, MM book lovers! Today I’ve got Submissive Candy by Zane Menzy — check it out!
Everything blew up in Levi Candy’s face when he set out to seduce his best friend Josh Stephenson. Instead of having his dubious way with the sexy straight boy, and making him the unwitting star of the next Candy Boy blog entry, Josh’s father thwarted Levi’s plan and taught him a humiliating lesson.
In exchange for Josh’s father’s silence, Levi is forced to write a story about the night his body was disciplined by the dominant man in ways he will never be able to forget or undo. If he doesn’t want people finding out about his scandalous online alter ego then Levi best damn well do it. But there’s just one problem… no one tells Levi Candy what to do and gets away with it.
Two stubborn men, both dominant by nature, are on a collision course with cruel carnality where there can only be one winner and hearts will never beat the same again.
Dwight tugged nervously on his earlobe as he watched the boy head towards the smokers area out the back of the tavern. He’d never been cruised so blatantly before that he was unsure of what to do. Certainly never in his local tavern. His head knew that if he were to follow the boy then he would put himself in danger of doing something stupid and reckless but his hardening cock begged him to stand up and chase after the young man regardless of the consequences. In the end—like always—his cock was what he listened to.
“I’m just nipping out for a fag,” Dwight said, standing up. If he wasn’t so nervous about Shifty asking to join him he would have laughed at how honest his statement was. He needn’t have worried. His older pal was far too engrossed in the rugby to give a toss about joining him for a cigarette.
With a sure stride, Dwight headed to the outdoor smoking area, hunting the blond lad down like a dog chasing a frisbee. As soon as he stepped outside, Dwight was taken aback by how dark the courtyard was. It looked to be deserted and no sign of the blond boy. He scanned the empty chairs that were placed around dimly lit braziers but could not see him anywhere.
Maybe he didn’t go this way.
Just as he turned on his heels, about to head back inside, he heard a low cough come from the far corner of the courtyard. He spun back around and that was when he saw him stood against a vine-covered brick wall. A smile formed on Dwight’s lips and he made his way over to the flirty boy.
“Howzit,” Dwight said, his voice pitched low with gravel.
“Hey.” The boy stood there completely relaxed, oozing a sexual confidence rarely found in young guys.
Dwight jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet, not entirely sure how to progress things. He liked to be the alpha who had the power but he was outside of his comfort zone and unsure how to make the next move.
“So, uh, hows ya night been?” Dwight asked, his voice warbling slightly.
On closer inspection this lad was younger than he originally thought, more likely in his late teens than early twenties. “How old are you?” Dwight asked in a stern tone.
“Old enough,” came the reply, steadfast and sure.
“Old enough for what?”
“Whatever it is you had in mind.”
“Is that so.”
The boy didn’t respond; instead, he bit down on his bottom lip, extending his hand out and placing it on Dwight’s crotch, grabbing him firmly.
Dwight coughed out a quiet gasp. The boy had his balls in his hands, seizing control of the interaction. This was not how Dwight wanted things to go.
The boy kept hold, gripping Dwight tightly in his hand, staring into his dark eyes which were torn between pleasure and fright. His cock twitched and grew firm between the boy’s furled fingers.
The boy breathed heavily, releasing his grip on Dwight’s dick and asked, “How old are you?”
“How old do you think I am?”
He looked Dwight up and down, scanning his face. “I reckon you’re about Twenty-eight or twenty-nine?”
Dwight’s ego began to swell just like his cock, scaring off his jitters and injecting him with enough confidence to wrestle back control of the moment. “Close enough.”
“Was I right?”
“You’ll have to count the rings around my cock to find out, won’t ya?”
The boy sniggered. “Is that before or after you count mine.”
“I won’t be counting yours, sunshine.”
“And why not?”
“Cos I ain’t a cock-slobbering homo.”
“You might change your mind when you see it.” He grabbed Dwight’s wrist roughly and pressed Dwight’s hand to the hard ridge behind his zipper. “What do you think?”
Dwight kept his hand pressed against the boy’s rock-hard dick, adding a small amount of friction, wishing like hell those jeans weren’t in the way. He could tell the boy wasn’t huge but he would be a good mouthful. Not that he had any intention of wrapping his lips around it.
Dwight Stephenson sucked no man’s cock.
“Unzip me. I know you want it,” the boy said, all breathy-like. “My dick.”
“I might like to have a play with it,” Dwight admitted. “But not out here.”
“Fair enough.” The boy looked around the courtyard, his eyes seeking secret spots. “But where then?”
“The women’s toilets.”
“The women’s toilets,” the boy echoed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”
“There’s only one bitch here tonight—aside from you of course—so we shouldn’t get interrupted.”
“Oi. I’m not a bitch, bro.”
“You are whatever I want you to be.” Dwight stared back with unflinching dominance.
The boy’s face began to crinkle with doubt. He appeared to be in a war with his inner pride and self-respect, trying to decide if he should just walk away. He finally gave a begrudging nod of the head, agreeing to the submissive role he was being assigned.
Dwight suppressed a smile and instructed, “Now, I want you to go back inside, lock yourself in one of the ladies cubicles, strip naked, and bend over the toilet and wait for me to come fuck you.”
Hesitation stifled the air.
“Would it be alright if we just jacked off together? I’m not much of a bottom,” the boy said.
“If you want to hook up with me then you gonna be a bottom, son.”
The boy scratched at his neck. “Oh, man. I am keen but…”
“But I don’t have a condom or any lube with me.”
“Just as well for you I have a rubber in my wallet.”
“Your mouth will be our lube.” Dwight gave the boy a salacious wink.
This didn’t help remove the stress etched on the boy’s face. He looked like he may just walk away.
Dwight was too damn close to miss out now, so he resorted to desperate measures. He looked behind him to make sure no one was coming then reached down and pushed his jeans off his hips, freeing his cock. “You think you can handle that?” He wasn’t fully-erect but he was hard enough for the boy to appreciate his imminent size.
The boy’s eyes glowed with horny intrigue. “Whoa, that’s a beautiful cock you got there.”
The boy reached over and gripped it, squeezing his warm digits around Dwight’s shaft, exploring his length. “Fuck that’s nice.”
“Okay. That’s enough.” He pushed the boy’s hand away and put his dick back in his pants.
“Is it nice enough for you to do what I want?”
“What do I get out of it?”
“The honour of being fucked by me.” Dwight was serious. “And if you’re lucky I might let you give me your phone number.”
“You’re a cocky one. Anybody ever tell you that?”
“Maybe… but it’s hard to tell what they’re saying ‘cos they’re usually choking on my dick.”
The boy laughed.
“So, are we doing this or what?” Dwight stared at him blankly.
“Yeah, why the hell not.”
“That’s the spirit, blondie.”
“My name ain’t blondie. It’s—”
Dwight put a finger to the boy’s lips, hushing him. “I don’t need your name, son. Just your arse. Now go to the toilets and wait for me.”
“How long will you be?”
“As long as I fucking want.”
“You’re a bit of an arsehole, bro.” The boy chuckled. “But it’s kinda hot.”
Of course it is.
Dwight suddenly stepped back, his eyes raking over the boy’s chest, lower, then back to his lips that would soon be sucking dick. “Hurry the fuck up and get in there. And when I say I expect you naked, I do mean naked. None of this leaving your t-shirt and socks on bullshit.”
“Yes, Sir.” The boy grinned, giving a mock salute before disappearing inside.
Dwight pressed down on his cock which throbbed impatiently as he watched the boy walk away. The blond lad may not have been Levi-Candy-gorgeous but he would do.
When he was done with taking his sweet time puffing his way through a cigarette, Dwight made his way inside where he slipped discreetly into the ladies toilets and had his way with the piece of teen meat, wrecking the boy’s arsehole with a ruthless fuck.
Yep. I’m the man.
About Zane Menzy:
Zane lives along the wild west coast of New Zealand in an old seaside cottage with his gaming-obsessed flatmate. He is a fan of ghost stories, road trips, dark-haired men, and nights out that usually lead to his head hanging in a bucket the next morning.
He enjoys creating characters who have flaws, crazy thoughts, and a tendency to make bad decisions. His stories are emotionally-charged and don’t shy away from some of love and life’s darker themes.