Saturday, March 9, 2024

Sinfully Delicious Saturday: That Pour Some Sugar on Me moment of pure enticement NSFW

 


From Howl Down the Moon, Book 2 in the Comet Lake Chronicles. 

Howl Down the Moon can be found on Amazon here!

Luka knows he screwed up the night he tried to help Raine. He always gets things wrong—one of many reasons he steers clear of the rest of the pack. Besides, he doesn’t deserve the fellowship of other wolves, not with how badly he failed when it mattered most.

Rand has seen a great deal during his time as pack physician, both good and bad. Helping others is his life’s calling, so when a wolf shows up with bitemarks from an altercation with another wolf, he’s quick to treat, but when he learns the name of the wolf bleeding on his clinic floor, he’s quick to judge, too. Too bad he fails to take the time to learn the whole story.

Speaking of stories, there’s one Slade has refused to listen to for years—so much so, he’s relegated himself to the borderlands to avoid having anything to do with those who caused the tragedy that cost him his twin and the vengeance he knows will damn him for life if he carries it out.

A series of decisions, good and bad, brings the lives of these three wolves crashing together. In Comet Lake, that’s called fate. The spark of a chance. Now it’s up to them to put stubbornness aside, stop answering questions with questions, and pause in their self-loathing long enough to listen to one another, put their pasts behind them, and learn how to love.

And now for that Pour Some Sugar on Me Moment

Slade could scarcely breathe when Luka rubbed his cheek against his leather-clad thigh, eyes seductively half lidded as he let out the most adorable little growls.

“I think we may have discovered the source of your irregular heartbeat,” Rand murmured, hand on Slade’s chest where the stethoscope had been. “I can feel it pounding. Are you sure it’s good for you to get this excited?”

“I don’t know,” Slade moaned because Luka was rubbing his cheek over the laces now and tugging at the ends of them with his teeth. “You’re the doctor. Shouldn’t you be telling me?”

“I’m afraid there is a handsy little distraction making that very difficult,” Rand replied, from where he was kneeling beside Luka, running the fingers of his free hand through the fur of Luka’s hoodie.

“He’s very naughty; isn’t he?” Slade murmured, slipping a hand beneath Luka’s chin and raising his face so he could look into eyes that were already beginning to dilate. He brushed his thumb over Luka’s lips and listened to him hum before opening them, engulfing his thumb and beginning to suck on it, his gaze never leaving Slade.

“Oh, yes, perhaps he needs a lesson in how to behave,” Rand remarked.

“Are you out of your mind?” Slade hissed. “Let him be as naughty as he’d like. The naughtier the better. In fact, I’m curious to see how naughty he can be with a bit of music and the promise of a lovely little treat if he’ll strip for me.”

“A treat, huh? What do you have in mind?” Rand asked.

There’s a leather tawse under the pillow, which I plan to redden his ass with if he does a good job dancing for us.

And after you do?

I’m going to spank you while you fuck him.

Rand’s pupils dilated a fraction, too, his lips parting a little, his tongue peeking out. Slade’s exceptional hearing clued him in to the fact that Rand’s heartbeat had picked up, too, his breath coming in soft little pants.

Slade instructed the smart speaker to play “Pour Some Sugar On Me, loving the way Luka flicked his tongue out at him before pushing off on Slade’s thighs to get back to his feet, head down, dragging his hands up his own body as he straightened up, undulating like a snake. God, those hips and the way Luka swiveled as he turned, rolling his neck so his hair fanned out, that fluffy tail attached to his shorts swaying every time he moved. Rand had turned, too, so he could watch Luka shimmy, part the vest, reveal a shoulder, roll it forward, and then arch his back as he covered back up again, the fuckin’ tease. 




Friday, March 8, 2024

Friday Fireworks: The Lie that never ends : Mudflaps and Murder Mittens

 



Mudflaps and Murder Mittens is an episodical story that updates every Tuesday. It is free to read on Ream and does not require a subscription. 

Mudflaps and Murder Mittens

The last thing Josh expected was to answer the door of his trailer to see Randy and his Uncle Gary standing on the other side.

“Ummm…if this is the part where you take me out, let me turn the stove off first. I doubt my brother would appreciate coming back to see I’d burned his trailer down.”

“Go ahead…turn it off,” Randy said, stepping closer.

“Boy, if I was gonna take you out I’d have done it back when I was still healthy enough to give you an ass kicking first, now move out the way. Smells like whatever you’re cookin’ is already burnin’.”

“Shit!”

Whirling around, Josh rushed for the kitchen to see black smoke wafting up from the scorched pan a blackened pork chop sat. Groaning, he snapped off the eye and moved the pan to the back burner. After further consideration of the smoky mess, he decided that buying a new pan would be far easier than cleaning that one. Like a fuckin’ idiot, he grabbed the hot pan and dropped it in plastic garbage bag, realizing his folly only when he heard the thunk of it hitting the bottom of the garbage can. Sure as shit, when he went back to look, he saw that it had melted right through the bottom of the bag. At least it hadn’t been full. Just a couple egg shells and some coffee grinds.

He decided to clean it up now, so it wouldn’t harden, or at least that’s what he told himself while he was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t stalling about returning to the living room to see what the fuck Randy and his uncle were doing here. After their encounter at the grocery store, he’d figured on any further conversation coming in the form of thrown punches.

Unless that’s what this was.

The pan he fished from the bottom of the trashcan to see that it had melted the plastic bottom of the can a little too. Shaking his head at his stupidity, he dropped the pan in the sink and scooped the mess out with a paper towel before wiping the whole inside down with a Clorox wipe. Add a new bag, pitch the messed up old one and the now cool pan and he was out of things to do to keep from going out there.

He turned to see Randy standing in the doorway, glaring at him. “You just cost me five bucks, fucker, I told Unc you’d probably run out the side door. He bet that you were just stalling. Guess he was right.”

“You want to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

“Actually, that’s what we came here for you to tell us,” Randy said as he stepped back and inclined his head towards the living room.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Josh said as he followed him out to see that Gary had already parked himself on the couch.

“He’s been brought up to speed about the Miracinonyx genes our families carry,” Gary explained. “So now would be a good time to tell the truth about why you never showed up for him when he was stuck in that hospital bed.”

Josh froze, lips parting, heart hammering as his brain fumbled around for words. No way this was happening. With the hatred Randy held for him he had no reason to hope that the truth now would change anything. Maybe if that first meeting had gone even halfway right…

“There’s nothing else to tell. I didn’t show ‘cause he’d pissed me off,” Josh growled, wishing they’d just take the answer and fuckin’ go.

Smacking carts together in the grocery store had been the last way he’d planned for them to see one another again. He’d wanted time to prepare. To figure out where to start so maybe it would all make since to Randy when Josh spilled his guts. Instead, all he’d managed was a pathetic excuse for an apology. He hadn’t had even had the courage to go after him when he’d walked away.

Again.

“You know, that’s what I’ve always believed,” Gary said. “That you two got in some stupid fight and you stupidly held on to the grudge rather than show up when he needed you. Having been there myself, I could almost forgive that, even knowing he’ll never be able to. But if your not coming was because you couldn’t, then I need you to say that here and now so we can lay this to rest.”

“We can lay it to rest with the truth, which is what I’ve already told you,” Josh said, digging fingernails into the palms of his hands to keep from shivering at the cold sensation that slithered up his spine.

“That your final answer?” Randy asked as he stalked across the room to get right up in Josh’s face. “’Cause if it is, we can skip past the rest of the Baba Yaga bullshit and get to the part where I kick your ass.”

Their eyes locked and Josh was reminded of how blue the color was and how easy it had always been to get lost staring into them. Like drowning in brilliant pools of endless liquid.

Shaking his head, he shoved those thoughts away, wishing there was a way to lock them up until they didn’t hurt as bad. With Randy standing this close, he was sure the man could hear the jackrabbit beat of his heart. The urge to touch left him grinding his nails into his flesh harder.

All he had to do was say it and give Randy what he so clearly wanted…a reason to hold on to that hatred for the rest of their lives. But even the thought of that lie left a bitter taste in his mouth when he parted his lips to speak it.

Before he could utter a sound, a clap of thunder made Randy jump back, it was so close while Josh just reached to pull the phone from the back pocket of his low-riding jeans. Most days he’d have rolled his eyes at the sound of Rochelle’s ringtone, but right now all he could think was saved by the bell








Thursday, March 7, 2024

Thursday Thirst Trap: NSFW When your mate isn't paying enough attention to you...sometimes you've just got to do a bit of teasing.

 

How close are you to being done?

“Not close enough,” Gabe muttered, rubbing his eyes. From the way he kept shifting positions and adjusting his materials, Aiden could tell he was growing uncomfortable. Finally, he lay on his side, the papers in front of him, trying to work on it that way, even as Aiden rolled back over so he could lick Raine’s ear, the red wolf cracking one eye open to look at him.

Gabe is drowning in edits, Aiden thought to him. I think he should take a break and enjoy the sun, but of course, he won’t listen to me. Said the client wants it done and is getting on his case about it.

When I woke up at three this morning to get a snack, he was sitting by the lamp working on them instead of sleeping in the nest with us, Raine said. He’s been worried about me not getting enough rest and sleep, and now here he is doing the same thing.

Exactly, Aiden thought. I think he needs a distraction.

Okay.

And I have just the thing to get him out of that chair and over here with us, Aiden insisted, growing more excited as the idea took hold. Recalling the heat and desire in Gabe’s eyes two nights before, when he’d walked in on Aiden and Raine making out in the pillow nest while waiting for dinner, he shifted, sitting naked in the grass.

Talking about getting someone to sit up and take notice, Raine sat staring at him with his tongue lolling out. He could practically feel Gabe’s eyes on him too; now if he could just up the ante a little.

“Shift,” Aiden urged Raine. “I want to kiss you.”

Raine inched closer, looking Aiden dead in the eye. You mean you want us to tease him into coming over here.

“Yup.”

                    

Aiden could read the hesitation in Raine’s eyes and wondered what was causing it. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t made out with each other and Gabe over the course of the past several days when they’d all been cozied up in the nest together. The only difference was that they’d been inside and clothed. Aiden was about to ask what was wrong when Raine shifted in a blur of red and then kissed him roughly, a low growl accompanying Aiden’s moan when he did.

Despite a week and a half in bed recovering from his injuries, Raine was still all hard angles and planes, a body that could only come from time spent actively running, leaping, climbing, and swimming. It was easy to see why he disliked being stuck indoors. His body was built for hunting and prowling.

Aiden’s fingers slid into Raine’s hair, tipping his head back so he could kiss Raine’s neck and throat. Gabe was watching, the papers held limply in his hands as he stared at them. Grinning, Aiden grazed his teeth along Raine’s shoulder, heard his growl mix with Gabe’s and knew their mate was close to breaking. Pressing Raine back to lie in the grass, Aiden kissed his way down Raine’s chest, felt him shiver, his abs clenching while Aiden kissed over them.

He glimpsed Gabe shaking his head. Then the bastard had the nerve to turn his back on them and try to go back to editing. Oh, really? Well, they’d just see about that. Aiden moved to kiss lower, only to be hauled into Raine’s arms, the bigger wolf rolling so Aiden was beneath him. Raine captured both of Aiden’s wrists in his and pinned them over his head while he plundered Aiden’s mouth, the feel of his thigh between Aiden’s legs creating a delicious bit of friction. Moaning, Aiden tried to rock beneath him only to find himself trapped, a wicked, knowing smirk crossing Raine’s lips when he realized what Aiden was trying to do.

Please, Aiden thought to Raine, trying and failing to rub against him, his cock hard and aching. Shifting his weight, Raine began rocking with each kiss, creating the sliding sensation Aiden had been chasing. So good. Having Raine controlling him this way, being pinned, teased, and kissed breathless, a low growling moan escaped Raine when Aiden whined beneath him.

“Fuck!” Gabe’s exclamation, followed by the slam of a book onto the papers and a rustling of grass as he came their way, made Aiden feeling triumphant. Raine’s lips were yanked away from his, a wild, possessive look in Gabe’s eyes as he turned Raine’s head his way so he could kiss him hard, demanding, something they’d both discovered Raine loved. Raine’s hair gripped in Gabe’s hand, soft grunts and little growls spilled from them as they made out with one another. The whole time, Raine continued rocking his hips, slowly giving Aiden the stimulation he desired.

The slam of a car door shattered the moment, and the three jerked apart, looking around wildly to see where the sound had come from, only to spot Mama G removing a few bags from the back seat of her SUV.

“Shit!” Gabe groaned, scrambling for the pile of pants they’d discarded when they’d come outside. Snatching up a pair, Gabriel hopped on one foot, trying to pull them on without falling over. In his haste, he’d grabbed the wrong pair, which left Aiden laughing at the perplexed look Gabe was giving them.


Waiting for Raine can be found on Amazon here along with the rest of the Comet Lake Chronicles!




Wednesday, March 6, 2024

Wicked WIP Wednesday: Lost Lord of a Dead Sea

 



Exiled.

One word echoing with all the force of the ocean’s waves hammered his mind and spirit until he hadn’t the strength left to lift his head. Sand clung to the long strands of his tangled green hair, but CaerLlion didn’t flinch when the jagged points of a boulder cut into him. Nor did he react when the guards dragged him over beds of broken shells. His mind was too busy echoing the King’s words and screaming in rebellion at their unfairness of them. Heartsick with failure and grief, the bitter taste of salt air too difficult to swallow, he accepted the pain in his body as an extension of the pain inside. The ache he already felt from being cut off from the sea. He reached for it, felt the foamy surf brush his hand for just a moment, then it was gone again.

Gone forever.

Exiled.

Dragged over the sand, the water well out of reach now, a heaviness he’d never experienced pressed him to the tangle of seaweed where he’d been dropped. Crabs scuttled around him, over him, biting and pinching, adding to his desolate humiliation. He jerked, startled, at a high-pitched wail like a wounded dolphin. CaerLlion covered his ears tightly as he shook his head from side to side. The wind whipped salt and sand into his eyes, stinging them. He lunged for the water, fingers outstretched, only to fall on his face in the sand, too far from the surf for even the foam to reach.

Groaning, he turned his head, looking back over the length of his body at the legs that lay twisted and molded into the sand. Legs instead of a tail. Exiled. Now he truly knew what it felt like to be cut off, cast adrift, never to be allowed to return.

Legs.

Along with his home, even his very identity had been stripped away.

“Poseidon please,” he croaked, the tips of his fingers still straining desperately for the touch of the sea. Several feet separated them, but he might as well have been a world away.

“You stay here,” a harsh voice commended, and he looked up to see the guards in the moonlight, stern faces glaring at him. Into the sea they went with a flick of their tails, like they were waving goodbye as they abandoned him to his fate.

“Human now, but not human, never truly human,” Caerlion whispered. His head hung low as he felt the first prickle of tears sting his eyes before they spilled over to run down his cheeks. The shame of it all made him long for a place to hide. Looking around, he could see no place to tuck himself into. Just endless tide pools and a long expanse of sandy beach.

He wiggled his legs, pain racing up his back, stealing the breath from his body. Poseidon no, he thought frantically, fighting against the haze of pain to try again. Had they crippled him too?

Over and over he tried to move, the pain bringing waves of nausea with it. He groaned, closed his eyes, and prayed to Poseidon for death rather than the torment of an exiled existence. The only answer he received was the scream of a gull and the slap of a wave against rock and sand. He felt the sea spray hit him, inhaled the ocean scent with desperation, then hauled himself back to the sea under the strength of his arms, useless legs dragging behind him, weighing him down.

He felt the water slide over his hands, cooling his arms and taking away some of the itchy tightness that came with being dry. He kicked his legs and pushed aside the pain until his head was submerged. He found, to his delight, that he could still breathe as a merman. Fighting more, thrashing more, he wiggled himself further into the sea. Water lapped over his legs. He felt them tingle and change, a strange, desperate happiness flooding him. They hadn’t taken his fins from him; they hadn’t left him unable to change. They’d simply bound them for a while as they’d drug him to the edge of the ocean.

Giddy, he dug his fingers into the sand, pulling more, then he felt it, the hand on his head, stern, heavy, unwavering. He looked up and gasped.

“You are exiled, the sea is no longer your home. You must understand that CaerLlion son of Ragnar, if you don’t, you will be killed.”

CaerLlion stared into the eyes of his lover, who’d long been his friend as well, elation ebbing away the longer he looked into the somber expression in Kelios’ eyes.

“You can never let the humans see those fins or gills,” Kelios told him sternly. “You must find a way to blend in CaerLlion. It’s your only chance at survival.”

“I don’t want to survive,” CaerLlion cried brokenly. “Kelios please, just…”

“Don’t ask that of me Calen, not that,” Kelios said, letting some of the edge slip from his voice as he addressed CaerLlion by his childhood name. “You have to accept this and survive, at least for now. Trust me, please. You need to get out of the water and give up your fins again, permanently this time. Make them go away.”

The surf knocked him against a rock, his scales scraping against the jagged edge as he thrust himself at Kelios, wrapping his arms around his neck. “I can’t do this. Not alone. It isn’t fair. It wasn’t my fault. I did my best. I don’t deserve to lose everything. I don’t deserve to lose you.”

“This isn’t about fairness or what you deserve,” Kelios told him, hugging him for a moment, before beginning to untangle him.

“No! Please. Kelios, I love you. I don’t want to be without you!”

He felt it when Kelios weakened, just slightly, and stopped trying to pry his fingers away. CaerLlion’s fingers slid into Kelios’ hair as he slotted their mouths together. He tried to convey just how much Kelios, and all of the plans they’d been making for the future, meant to him.

Clutching him close, Kelios kissed back, hard, rough, before jerking away. Stunned, CaerLlion let go enough to look at him. It was all the distraction Kelios needed to shove him away.

“Get out of the water Calen. The guards are still close. They are planning to patrol these shores until they are sure you won’t reenter. Don’t make me watch them kill you.”

“I don’t care what they do! What’s the point of staying alive if I can never swim in the sea again?"

“Find one!” Kelios snapped, spinning him around and roughly pushing him.

“No! N….”

Struggling, CaerLlion fought to free himself from Kelios’ iron grasp, protesting in unintelligible sounds muffled by Kelios’ hands. Over the shells again. Back to the sand. Kelios dropped him in a heap and loomed over him.

“I will not lose the ocean, not even for you,” Kelios told him.

“What about the promises you made to me? What about the vows we’ve been writing?"

No witnesses were present when we spoke them. Even if we had, our laws list exile as an acceptable reason to break them. I will not serve your punishment with you, Calen. Whatever your failure tonight, you will have to bear it alone.”

“Please! Don’t do this…don’t…”

He never saw the smack coming. Never imagined that Kelios would strike him for any reason, but the resounding sound of flesh meeting flesh was proof enough, as was the stinging in his cheek.

“Pull yourself together!” Kelios hissed, backing away. “Don’t disgrace yourself more than you already have.”





Tuesday, March 5, 2024

Twisted Tuesday: Web of Lies...When your enemy is family.

 


For the longest time, Night stood gazing down into his aunt’s coffin, watching for breathing or the barest twitch, heart hammering harder with every moment that passed. Even in death, she was sneering, that pinched frown on her pale, waxy face was as terrifying as when they were children and forced to spend long summer weeks in her presence. Tufts of cotton dotted the fields beyond the cemetery, clinging to broken pods from the last harvest. Sometimes the wind tore them free and sent them dancing over headstones in a display that might have been beautiful if every memory of the woman they were putting into the ground wasn’t an ugly one.

His fingers sought out the rough skin running from his shoulder to the middle of his chest, the ugly, twisted mass of burn scars from the grits she’d thrown on him when he was a child. Of course, she’d claimed he’d run underfoot and caused the accident and his grandfather had believed his daughter’s words over those of the grandson he’d never wished to be responsible for.

An unwanted burden, like several of his other cousins who’d been taken in and raised by family members when their parents had wound up jailed or abandoning them to go on the run. Forget that the whole fucked up robbery plan had been his grandfather's in the first place, he’d still resented having to feed and clothe a bunch of useless nuisances…at least until he’d devised a way to make it extremely profitable for him.

The rules had been simple enough. Never in their town. Never in the light of day. Never carry identification. Never give your real name. And never, ever lead them back home, no matter how far out of the way you had to go to evade them.

There were backroads they’d come to know better than their own names. Gullies, deer paths, and which creek beds would be dry at what times of year so they could walk on the rocks without leaving tracks. They used dirt bikes as frequently as they drove cars. Risking broken bones and jail sentences to stay on what little of a good side their grandpa had.

As for the witch, she didn’t have one, or at least, none that they’d ever found. Sharp-tongued, cold, borderline sadistic, he remembered the way she’d laugh when one of them was crying, smack them across the face, and belittle them, telling them to toughen up or suffer the consequences.

They hadn’t, not really. Some of them buried it better than most, others got damned good at faking it until she was certain she’d stripped them of all consciousness and caring. One, she’d truly been successful with.

Night avoided the intense gaze of his older brother’s cold gray eyes. He leaned against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, cigarette cherry bright as he took a drag. He looked like all the photos Night had ever seen of their grandfather in his younger years, right down to the sneer and the hate-filled glittering gaze.

It was eerie, looking from Creed to their grandfather, who stood just as straight back and imposing as ever, despite every long black hair on his head having turned a brilliantly shocking white. Almost as if he could sense Night staring at him, he turned his head, shrewd gaze peering into Night’s eyes, leaving him trapped and unable to look away. No, that wasn’t true. He knew better than to look away, that it would be seen as a sign of weakness, something he’d have to answer for before he made it out of here.

He didn’t blink, he barely breathed, and forget the long, relieved exhale he wanted to let out when his grandfather looked away, he knew Creed was still watching him, staring at his black leather vest and the patches on it like they were a puzzle he needed to solve.

He shouldn’t have asked if he could keep the colors on. What he should have done was begged one of his club brothers to come with him, only, the moment he thought the words, one face came to mind. Saint’s. A stiff wind swirled the nearby leaves into a tornado of motion and raised goose bumps along his arms as Saint’s words rant through his head.

Get back here safe and in one piece and we just might explore what it is you’re after.

He hadn’t promised. But it might be as close as he could get to the man whose lap he wanted to sit in, then he’d take that and let the promise of a possibility carry him through the rest of his day. The full length of the state, from opposite corners even, sat between him and the Joker’s clubhouse and the grounds on which he had a cabin to call home. It might as well have been an eternity in that moment as his grandfather threw the first handful of dirt down on the coffin like he was aggravated with the whole affair.

He probably was. Having to plan all this, summon everyone home, and pay the undertakes bill no doubt had the old bastard in the foulest of moods, which was the other reason he hadn’t wanted to ask anyone to make the trip with him. Though having a buffer between him and the rest of his family would have been preferable to facing them alone.

Not coming hadn’t been an option either. He’d been honest when he’d said he needed to know that she was really poised to be rotting beneath the ground, but he’d left out the part about fearing the repercussions if he’d failed to show up. How to explain that he could face down the biggest bastard with a bike chain wrapped around his fist, ready to take his head off, but was scared shitless of being here among his family.

Maybe it was because it was harder to slip the mask of arrogance and indifference back on now that he’d discovered what a true family was, and how he didn’t have to pretend to be someone he wasn’t with them. He could ask questions, he could be curious and not made fun of for not knowing already, and he could be silent, and no one would press him into conversation just so they could wind him up and get him to lose his temper.

Head games. His family was infamous for them. Which meant he’d better get his shit in order before they rode back to the house because that was where he’d really have to watch himself and the answers he gave to whatever questions they threw at him.

Each handful of dirt seemed to hit harder than the one before, until it sounded like they were hurling stones at the coffin. Then it was his turn, and he took one last look, just to be certain she wasn’t going to rise up like a harpy and take to the sky on a three-headed broom. Night let the dirt slip from his fingers as he turned away, heading for the goddamned limousine his grandfather had insisted they all ride in. He hated leaving his baby back at the house, guts tied in a knot of cold nervousness at the thought that it wouldn’t be there when he got back.

Then what?

Could he even go back to the Jokers without his ride, and even if they did accept him, would it cost him his prospects rocker?

He wasn’t like Bellamy. He didn’t have a previous patch to show that he knew what it was to belong to something. He’d been lucky enough to happen along when one of Olof’s old ladies had been stuck on the side of the road, shaky, throwing up, and clinging to the open door of her vehicle with two also puking little kids and a car full of groceries under the hot summer sun.  Food poisoning. It had been a no-brainer to help her into the passenger’s side of her vehicle and drive them to the clubhouse under her direction, her gun shakily pointed at his side the entire time.

He got it though, and there were no hard feelings. Alone and sick the way she was, with her little ones to protect and him a perfect stranger, she’d had no way of knowing that he was an honorable man. Olof had been grateful enough to let him hang around after they’d gone back for his bike, something else that earned him some points with the rest of the club. That he’d left his pride and joy on the side of the road to ensure that she and her kids got to someplace safe had earned him a small measure of respect. Busting someone’s head open and breaking the guy’s jaw, nose, and hand after they’d been taking part in an assault on a club member had earned him more. Slowly he’d gone from hanger-on to prospect, doing whatever his club brothers and sisters needed as part of any one of the various industries they ran.

All legit.

It was a good feeling to earn honest money, to not have to steal, cheat, lie, forge, deceive, stomp, or threaten what he wanted out of somebody. To have a sense of place and purpose was a whole new feeling for him, and the knowledge the older members of the club were constantly sharing with the younger was an invaluable piece of his personal evolution. Slowly, he was coming to realize that he wasn’t an idiot. That he was capable of learning. He just needed to have his hands on things and think about them a little bit differently from everyone else and he’d do just fine. Dalton was steadily teaching him that, and what a grandfather should have been like, rather than the one whose gaze was fixated upon him the moment he sat down.

“I suppose you think you’ll be hopping on that machine of yours and taking off again,” his grandfather said, stare so intense it took everything in him not to squirm. His guts roiled, bubbled and he found himself with a different problem. Trying to hold in a massive fart as they headed down the road, bouncing over the rocky, pothole-pocked asphalt towards the house he’d hoped never to enter again.

“That was the plan.” Night admitted.

“Not anymore.”


Available for Preorder on Amazon!


They took what meant most to him, but they underestimated what he and his club would go through to retrieve the man he loved.

Going legit didn’t mean going soft. Unfortunately, no one informed the rest of the world of that. Factions within their MC had been pushing buttons for months, wanting to pull the club back into ventures they were better off staying out of. Betrayals had been brought to light and swiftly dealt with. Treaties had been forged that were proving to be particularly lucrative. Business was good. They were even learning the ins and outs of diversifying. It wasn’t as profitable as their previously less-than-legal pursuits, but it kept the cops off their backs, for the most part, and bodies in the clubhouse rather than behind bars.

So then why was Sinn not at his side where the man belonged?

Well, that’s exactly what they were burning up the road trying to discover.

Along the way, loyalties might be tested, lines would certainly be drawn, and blood was sure to be shed, once they discovered who was behind the mysterious disappearance of the man he’d unwaveringly been drawn to.

And if a certain prospect should happen to prove unbelievably desirable in ways that had nothing to do with the road, well than that was just a bonus to Saint’s way of thinking. He was a man who thrived on pleasure and debauchery. What better place to find both than in the arms of men named Night and Sinn?



Musical Monday: Come check out the music. You'll love the band...a snippet from Death Growl. Sorry the rest of the scene is seriously NSFW

 


Come check out the music they said. You’ll love the band. Zane always puts on the best shows.

What no one had thought to inform him of was that the show was interactive, and that Zane, or at least, Graham was certain the white wolf who’d pulled him up on the stage to dance was Zane, was the definition of sinful. The wolf had gone from belting out lyrics to gyrating with the mic stand, waist length white hair damp with sweat, those silver-blue eyes of theirs seeming to glow every time the strobe lights flashed silver. When the mic stand got boring, Zane growled into the mic, prompting the crowd to howl back. The energy in the room was electric, crackling like a live wire, and revved up even more when the singer leaped, twisting to land in the crowd, the wolves surfing them around the room, which was how they’d come to land in front of Graham in the first place.

Androgynous, with high cheekbones, their features soft, like a shimmering sprite, ethereal and enchanting as all get up. This close up, he could see the dusting of glitter on their cheekbones, the khol around their eyes, and the sparkle of purple lip gloss that was smeared from where they’d made out with one of their bandmates earlier in the show. Zane smirked, flicked their tongue out, rolled their shoulders and wiggled their hips, growling when Graham said to hell with teasing, yanked the singer into his arms and started to grind against them, being sure they felt the strength in Graham’s embrace. Grinning, Zane wrapped their arms around Graham’s neck, straddled his thigh, and howled, hips rocking like a fuckin’ jackrabbit in heat.

Someone grabbed Zane’s hair, tugging their head back until they were looking at the ceiling, the wolf’s midnight eyes holding a hint of challenge as he smirked at Graham before howling, the crowd and Zane howling with him while the guitars in the background raced on. On any other night, Graham would have let go of the singer, conceding so this pack wouldn’t find out that their new doctor had a temper and a jealous streak that had gotten him in trouble in the past. Tonight though, with the way Zane fit in his arms, and the wild crackle of energy surrounding them, there was no way he was letting go.

Grabbing Midnight Eye’s wrist, he found the pressure point, squeezing until the other wolf grimaced and released his hold on Zane’s hair. Snarling, Graham glared at him until he threw his hands up and backed away, leaving him with the lithe figure dancing in his arms. The look Zane was giving him, wicked, wild, and full of seduction, had Graham’s jeans feeling tight and his heart hammering like he’d just finished a three-mile sprint. Behind them the song wound down, but rather than return to the stage, Zane turned enough to shake their hand across their throat several times, telling them to cut.

Any other place he’d ever been would have erupted into boos and protests, but here there were good-natured chuckles, lewd comments, and a reminder to come back in three days for another show.

“My place or yours?” Zane hissed, leaning in and licking the shell of Graham’s ear.

“Whichever is closer,” Graham growled.

“In that case, there’s an RV out back. Band knows better than to load out until it stops rockin’”

“Does it ever?”

Chuckling, Zane grabbed him by the hand and practically dragged him through the packed bar, downing a drink someone shoved at them, and catching a beer pitched in their direction on the way out the door. The ease with which they’d done it, automatically, flinging their hand up in the air without ever looking in the direction it was thrown from, told Graham it was commonplace.

The white-haired wolf had that beer open and sliding down their throat before they got out the back door, a large, dented gray and black RV parked beneath a bright streetlight.

“What happened? Play too rough?”

“Is that even a thing?” Zane replied, speaking voice as musical as their singing one. “I mean how can one play too rough?”

“Well, from a physician’s standpoint, I’d have to say that if those dents were made by your body, then whoever was helping you put them there might have been just a smidge rough.”

“Really,” Zane asked, opening the door and leading Graham onto the bus, passing a trash receptacle where they deposited the now empty bottle. “And if that’s what I asked for?”

“Was it?”

Snickering, Zane peeled their half-shredded t-shirt off and tossed it aside, leading Graham through to the back of the TV. “Nope, but now that you put it in my head, I’m gonna have to try it sometimes.”


Death Growl can be found on Amazon here!

An abandoned wolf with a rare disorder. The new pack doctor hell-bent on claiming the wolf meant to be his. A renegade wolf haunting the footsteps of the wolf whose bondmark he wears, and hates. The fates say these three belong together, like broken pieces of carnival glass just itching for a bit of glue, and the fates are never wrong, are they? Graham doesn’t think so, but convincing Zane and Cormac of that might take words that were never covered in his anatomy books.

A season. That’s the longest Zane stays anywhere. When the snow thaws and the pass is clear, he and his band will limp out of town in their battered RV, leaving Graham and his bruised heart behind him, unless he can find a way to convince Zane to take a chance on something no one has ever taken the time to explain to him.

Bond marks might be a desire of some wolves, but for Zane, they mean the end of the only family he’s ever known. On stage, he’s not the pup some angry wolf tossed out an open window into the scorching heat of desert sands, he’s Z. Wild, charismatic, nymphomaniac lead singer of Howling Rain. His after-show activities are what put the bond marks on his wrists in the first place, much to the dismay of his band mates who fear that those other kinds of mates will be the end of the success they’ve found together.

It’s up to Graham to teach them all that compromise, and understanding are a big part of the mating process, and that their found families can be expanded to fit a couple more wolves. After all, the attraction is there, and in those soft, cuddly moments where Z fades and Zane emerges, all their little wolf wants is cuddles, warm blankets and lots of love.



Sunday, March 3, 2024

Sinfully Delicious Saturday: Body painting with vanilla pudding

 


I love introducing food into scenes, from lollypops and syrup in A Daddy for Christmas: Ryu to the scene below where Koda uses vanilla pudding to paint on Kenji, not only to be tantalizing and turn him on, but because he wanted to help settle his nerves and painting on his skin was just a step-down, or sideways from a massage. 


Nerves were something Koda could understand and recognize, which was how he knew he needed to do something to settle Kenji down, so he’d get some sleep before tomorrow’s tournament.

Fortunately, there was still vanilla pudding leftover from the night before, so he slipped into the kitchen while Kenji was in his room, checking his duffle bag for the third time that evening, and made quick work of dividing out several small portions that he used food coloring to dye. Carrying them and an old blanket into Kenji’s room, he heard his boyfriend before he saw him, muttering as he went over his checklist again.

Good, that ought to keep him busy long enough for Koda to spread out the blanket and park it, and his makeshift paints, on the floor.

“Now what are you up to?” Kenji asked when he turned around and saw Koda there.

“I got inspired.”

“Really, to do what?”

“Paint,” Koda replied, “only, I’m going to need your help.”

“And what is it you’d like me to do?”

“Be my canvas?” Koda requested, patting the blanket beside him.

Kenji glanced between the bag and Koda, understanding dawning in his eyes. “I can do that.”

“Lay on your front, please.”

Kenji did as he was asked, no question, Koda waiting for him to get comfortable before getting started. Their time together at the lake had revealed several erogenous zones, like the back of Kenji’s neck, where Koda traced an orange circle and slowly filled it in with yellow, orange, and red, until a small sun appeared, complete with rays traced in lines stretching out in all directions.

The first touch produced a shape intake of breath, the others low hisses and soft moans. He could feel Kenji’s body tense and shiver, breathing deepening, a sure sign he was getting turned on. Good, that’s exactly what Koda had been gunning for.

Clouds joined the sun, trailing over Kenji’s shoulders, and between them, Koda added a rainbow, slowly arching one color at a time over Kenji’s spine.

“When I was a kid, I loved learning the names of colors,” Koda said, voice low, trailing colored pudding in swirling lines down Kenji’s back. “My favorites were chartreuse and cerulean.”

“I’ve never even heard of those,” Kenji murmured.

“Most people haven’t, that’s the point,” Koda replied.

“Amber and onyx, those are people’s names, so those colors get known. Sapphire, mmethyst, ruby, those are stones, so people know them too. Clementine, tangerine, apricot, those are fruits, maybe not the most common ones, but still, you can see them in the grocery store. I used to turn the crayons over in my hand, and read light green, sky blue, aquamarine, and if they wanted to be fancy, burnt umber. I loved colors like Sedona, laurel, seafoam and Shenandoah,” Koda murmured, keeping his tone soft, soothing and a bit sensual as he traced his fingernails through his design, each scrape of them drawing a moan from Kenji.

“I wanted to paint with all the colors no one knew,” Koda explained, leaning in to trail his tongue over the same path. “And title my creations after them, like an introduction. Love in Shimmering Chartreuse, Welcome to the Cerulean Dawn. Desert rose and seafoam, Magenta mist.”

“Magenta was always in the big crayon box,” Kenji sighed. “I loved magenta. Would do sunsets in a mix of it and periwinkle.”

“Periwinkle was one of my favorites too. I’d slash mulberry through it, and shades of firefly and Salmon Ridge for the sun,” Koda said. “I had a collection of paint cards from the hardware store to help me mix things, and dad would always bring new ones when they came out. The walls of my room were alive with brush strokes from every color I ever used.”

“I bet it’s beautiful, you’ll have to show me sometimes,” Kenji sighed, “though I doubt anything could ever be as beautiful as you.”

“You’re the one who’s beautiful,” Koda replied, dancing fingertips over Kenji’s hip and leaving dots of pudding behind. “From the first time I saw you doing poomsaes in the backyard, the picture of power and grace, I knew you were going to be my muse, just never thought I’d get lucky enough to be your boyfriend.”

“You—” Kenji remarked, shivering when Koda nipped at his side, then swirled his tongue around the pudding there, lapping it all up. “That day in your room, where you looked right through me, I was pissed as hell but all I could think about was how beautiful your eyes were, and how amazing it would be to see them lit up with pleasure, instead of scowling in fury.”

“Wasn’t fury… Was fear,” Koda admitted. “There you were, shimmering and perfect, there I was, in unicorn slippers and a paint splattered hoodie.”

“Looking absolutely perfect yourself,” Kenji groaned, and Koda streaked the last of the paint in lightning bolts on Kenji’s ass.

Koda giggled, knowing they were slip-sliding towards a debate that could rage all night, and had, only to end in a make out session on the cabin dock and some impromptu skinny dipping. Unfortunately, Kenji needed sleep tonight, they both did if they were to get to the armory at the insanely early time Carter and Kenji had set.

Taking his time, Koda licked the pudding from Kenji’s shoulders next, blowing on the damp spot, watching the muscles of Kenji’s ass flex while he rocked and squirmed.

“You taste good enough to eat,” Koda murmured.

“Pretty sure that’s the pudding.”

“Nope, it’s beneath the pudding too, which is all you,” Koda remarked, punctuating every word with a flick of his tongue until the only pudding left was on the back of Kenji’s neck.

He barely touched it with his tongue when Kenji snorted, bucked, then started laughing.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” Koda muttered, giving a small shake of his head to get the hair out of his eyes.

“Your…hair…” Kenji gasped, laughing, and squirming more. It was only then that Koda noticed the tips of his ponytail trailing over the back of Kenji’s knee.

“Finally!” Koda remarked, moving so his hair brushed the back of Kenji’s thigh as well, Kenji’s bucking nearly unseating him. “You are ticklish, I knew it.”

“Only…there,” Kenji laughed, thrashing about until Koda took mercy on him and moved his hair away, only because there was still pudding to deal with before the main event. Turned out all that tickling left Kenji even more sensitive, so by the time Koda licked the last traces of pudding from Kenji’s neck, leaving behind some faint bruises and nips from sucking it away, his boyfriend was trembling with need.

Leaning low, Koda nipped the shell of Kenji’s ear, prepping himself quickly before whispering, “Turn over,” and lifting enough that Kenji could roll beneath him. The look on his boyfriend’s face, pupils dilated, mouth open just enough that little pants of air escaped as he stared up at Koda.

“See,” Kenji muttered, reaching to brush a lock of hair from Koda’s cheek. “Beautiful.”


Love in Shimmering Chartreuse can be found on Amazon here!


Koda is an artist, a bit of a recluse, and not well-versed in social situations. Shy and a bit reserved, he sees an opportunity to break away from routine, and his trailer park home, when he spies a poster advertising a trial hosted by a college psychology department.

Titled A Social Experiment, the project pairs total strangers up to live together for a year either in groups of two or three. During that time, they are to record their experiences while performing a series of tasks outlined in the trial plan. It seemed simple enough until Koda found himself overwhelmed on moving-in day, leading him to get off on the wrong foot with new housemate Kenji.

All of his life, Kenji excelled at Tae Kwon Do, competing from a young age and quickly moving up in the ranks. His hard work and rigorous daily routine earned him accolades in regional and national-level competitions. As a second-degree black belt, he’d hoped to earn the opportunity to try out for the US Olympic team, only to have an accident cost him his chance at competing, as well as his left arm. Now, three years after his accident, he’s made a new life for himself, and while he still harbors bitterness over the loss of his dream, he’s hoping this experiment will be just the thing he needs to help him take that last leap back to living independently.

It’s a rocky road, gelling with one another, and dealing with each’s insecurities and triggers, but as each day ticks past, one question remains: where will they go when the experiment comes to an end?