Ace Excerpt with Jack Byrne

July 15, 2015

 

 

Ace_FBbanner_DSP

 

 

On a lighter note: Australian men and understatement (and another excerpt for you):

“Jesus, the things people do to dogs. It’s disgraceful. They ought to do the same to the owners. But how did you retrain her? Apart from occasionally trying to eat me, she seems sweet now.”
Jake laughed. “You should have seen the look on her face the first time I petted her. She looked at me like I’d lost my mind.”
“Was she savage?”
Jake remembered the snarling beast that had been pulled into the back of his pickup truck in Brisbane by two burly men with lead ropes on either side of her. “She wasn’t too bad. A bit stressed out.”
Damien peered at his face and asked, “Where did you get her?”
“Brisbane—from a car wrecker’s yard that had gone bust.” Jake hadn’t been able to get her off the back of his truck for a week and had to borrow a work car to get to and from work. He had parked the pickup under the carport and put food and water on the truck with her.
“Weren’t you scared of her?”
He remembered feeding her by poking her food bowl along to her with a stick. “Not scared. Respectful.”
“What is it you’re not telling me?”
“She was a bit of a handful, to be quite honest. Took me a while to gain her trust.”
“I know the feeling.”

 

Rescuing Dogs – the ones they don’t tell you about.

I put Karma, Sally and Bunny in this book because I find it hard to write a book without a dog in it.  I’ve lived all my life with dogs and horses around me, and it would seem strange not to have a furry friend nudging me awake in the morning at some ungodly hour, or greeting me when I come home.  The other day, someone referred to dog rescuers as ‘do-gooders’ and that really burred me up though because… it’s not an easy thing to do.  These dogs often don’t come to us in a good state.  They are often filthy, starving, smelly, horribly stressed and snappy, and generally not nice to know.  It takes a strong stomach and a lot of money, time and work to rehabilitate a dog once it gets that far down.  I rescue German shepherds, Rottweilers and some of the large breeds with bad reps, and I have scars up my arms from where they have bitten me, usually in the first few days of handling them when I’ve had to do all the unpleasant stuff (baths and clipping nails and treating injuries and infections and getting them needles) before they have learned to trust me.  I take my hat off to anyone who has ever rescued a dog, and I will keep writing dogs into my stories.  Of the two I am working on now, Feind Angelical has a huge black German shepherd in it, and of course if you read Taniwha Dreaming you will meet Shivers.

In ‘Ace’ I think Jake’s treatment of the dogs (Sally and Karma) shows that he is not a cold-hearted person, and this is one of the reasons Damien decides to stick around initially, despite being rejected sexually.  So the way he treats his animals becomes a key note in the story.

 

 

 

Final Tigers on the Run Release Party Post with Sean Kennedy

July 13, 2015

Thank you all so much for hanging out with me here.  It was fun!  But it is midnight here, and I will have a peppermint tea, try to finish “The Goldfinch” and go to bed.  So exciting!

I hope you enjoy “Tigers on the Run”.  I never expected there to be more than one Tigers book, but there is something about Simon and Declan that makes me keep returning to them.

Well, that, and the fact that Simon never shuts up.

Don’t forget, if you ever have anything to ask, I can be found on Twitter and Facebook!

 

One last thing: GO TIGERS!

338094-tlsnewslandscape

Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby with Sean Kennedy

July 13, 2015

Sex.

 

Yeah, yeah.  I said the magic word.

 

One of the main criticisms levelled at the Tigers books, besides Simon’s unlikeability (which KILLS me, especially as I’ve now admitted my family think I’m him) is that there is very little sex on the page.

 

I don’t know why that should be a criticism, or why it should be expected that every m/m book must have steamy engorged-cock sex scenes every so often.  Not that there’s anything wrong with it.  My book with Catt Ford, Dash and Dingo, has much of the sexiness that occurs between two men.  Because it seemed suited to that style of story, which was in every way rooted in classic gay pulp tropes and adventure action tropes.

 

tumblr_nqgvn5tGv01su49fgo1_500.gifBut when I started writing Tigers, I thought Simon – despite wearing his heart on his sleeve – is also a pretty private person.  You just have to watch his interactions with his family.  Of course that improves with each book, but I guess Simon thinks some things are his business, and his business alone.  Okay, he might admit to Declan having a pretty cock in Book #3, but that was more to mortify him than anything else.

 

So let the curtains rustle in the windows and watch the fade to black occur whenever these boys retreat to the bedroom.  It’s their circus, and their circus alone.

Tigers on the Run: Melbourne with Sean Kennedy

July 13, 2015

Let’s talk about Melbourne.

 

I often say that Melbourne is a character itself in the Tigers and Devils universe.  It was the city I was born in, the city I returned to live in for a decade, and it is the city of my heart.  You know how you just feel you belong somewhere?  I belong to Melbourne.

 

So I thought I would talk about some of the things I love so much about the city.  Some of them have already been adopted by Simon as his favourite things.

 

Here we go:

 

  • the MCG, obviously.  The home of Australian Rules Football.  Richmond train on the grounds in front of it on Punt Road.  It was also the stadium used for the Melbourne Olympics.  Where I lived you could often hear the crowd roaring if the wind blew in the right direction.
  • PICEDITOR-AGE

 

 

 

  • Pineapple donuts.  ‘Nuff said.ADP_7c10_detail

 

 

 

  • The Cheesestick.  A lairy art installation on one of the major freeways which a lot of people hate but I love.
  • 1412202137087
  • The Antarctic winds blowing straight through you.

 

 

 

 

 

  • Hanging Rock – a place of legend that most people still believe is real.  MIRAAAAAANDAAAA!
  • picnic-at-hanging-rock
  • Trams.  Trams makes a city magical.
  • Good vegetarian food on every street corner!  Believe me, that’s heaven for a veggo.
  • BOOK STORES.  Perth City justclosed down its last book store.  You now have to travel out to shopping centres in the burb to find a book store.
  • There is just a spirit in Melbourne that is like no other.  It really does feel like a city that accepts you, no matter who you are.  It is the perfect city for Simon and Dec to live the rest of their lives.

Does Melbourne feel like a city you would like to live in?

Welcome to the Tigers on the Run release party with Sean Kennedy

July 13, 2015

Sorry I am a little late to my own shindig, but I am full of ineptitude when it comes to WordPress.

 

Hello, and welcome!

 

As you may have guessed, I am Sean Kennedy and today “Tigers on the Run”, the third book in the Tigers and Devils series, is released!

 

I’m not exactly sure how to start, but I thought I would talk a little bit about the state of out players in Australian football.

 

Um, there’s none.

 

There never have been.  There have been rumours, but they always turned out unfounded.

 

The first Tigers and Devils book was released in 2009.  And although I never thought people would really read it back then (or would still be reading it now) I do believe I thought there might have been a real Declan Tyler by now.

 

But no.  Nada.  Zip.

 

What about rugby league?

 

Okay, there has been one (yes, 1) player to come out as gay, and that was Ian Roberts back in 1995.  Twenty years ago.

IanRoberts_byEricSchwabel4

Twen – ty.

 

No one since.

 

You would think that maybe when one person did it, it might make it easier for the next.  But nobody ever took up the mantle after Ian Roberts.

 

But other sports have seen gay people out and proud.  Matthew Mitcham is our Olympic gold-winning medallist.  Casey Dellacqua in tennis.  And of course, Ian Thorpe just recently came out.

 

But still no-one in the AFL.  Is it because it is the last bastion of extreme Australian masculine sport?  I don’t know if I have an answer for it.  I don’t think anybody does, really.

 

But I have to wonder, in another six years, if we’ll still be asking this question.

 

But, I digress.  Any questions about the book, new or old?

I’ll Write You a Story… with Roan Parrish

July 10, 2015

Hi, all! Roan Parrish here, visiting the blog because my debut novel, In the Middle of Somewhere, is coming out today!

InTheMiddleOfSomewhere_FBprofile_OptizimedForFeed

In the Middle of Somewhere is a contemporary romance, featuring a scrappy professor, an intense carpenter, and a stray dog. Daniel Mulligan is tough, snarky, and tattooed, hiding his self-consciousness behind sarcasm. Daniel has never fit in—not at home with his auto mechanic father and brothers, and not at school where his Ivy League classmates look down on him. Now, Daniel’s relieved to have a job at a small college in Northern Michigan, but, a city boy through and through, when Daniel arrives in Holiday, Michigan, it’s clear that this small town is one more place he just won’t fit in.

Rex Vale clings to routine to keep loneliness at bay: honing his large, muscular body until it can handle anything, perfecting his recipes, and making custom furniture. Rex has lived in Holiday for years, but his shyness and imposing size have kept him from connecting with people. Though he loves the quiet and solitude of his little cabin in the woods, Rex can’t help but want someone to share it with.

When Daniel arrives in Holiday, they are smitten with each other, but though the sex is intense and explosive, Rex fears that Daniel will be one more in a long line of people to leave him, and Daniel has learned that letting anyone in could be a fatal weakness. Just as they begin to break down the walls that have been keeping them apart, Daniel is called home to Philadelphia where a secret is revealed that changes the way he understands everything.

In the Middle of Somewhere came about rather by accident while I was working on another project entirely. I was visiting my dear friend A in Phoenix, and we were talking in her kitchen while we put together an elaborate cheese plate—talking about books in general, talking about M/M in particular; talking about various real life annoyances, dissatisfactions, and desires. The usual. A said that she wished someone would write a romance about someone in her situation: having recently moved to a brand new place to take an academic job and having a tough time adjusting. Never one to let dissatisfaction fester when there’s cheese to eat, I blurted: “I’ll write one for you!”

On the plane ride home to Philly the next day, I wrote a little story and emailed it to A. It was about Daniel, who was just finishing his Ph.D. in Philadelphia, and has to totally turn his life upside-down when he moves to small-town Michigan for his first teaching job, but ends up meeting the love of his life there. I assumed that, my duty dispatched, I’d go back to the grim urban horror story of capitalism I was working on. Except that A wrote back, “Send me MORE!!!” So I did. That story was the first chapter of what became In the Middle of Somewhere and I just kept sending her more.

rex+danielinspiration

As an ex-academic who worked for years on a book that only about five people in the whole world ever read, knowing that there was someone on the other side of those emails who was reading what I was writing and actually enjoying it was like a drug. After I’d written five or six chapters it stopped feeling like something I was writing just for fun. The characters started to feel real so I knew I couldn’t abandon them in the middle of the story. That is, I started thinking of it as a real book. Then as a series.

And that’s what I’m working on now: the second book in the In the Middle of Somewhere series! It features a new couple, who you’ll meet in book one, but Rex and Daniel definitely make an appearance. The second book is a bit darker, so that’s been a nice change (what can I tell you; I’m moody). I’m also having a smashing time working on a brand new project. It’s a series of novellas set in 19th century New York City, each of which revolves around one of Edgar Allan Poe’s detective stories. What do you get when you combine a very practical detective, an eccentric Poe enthusiast, and a copycat killer who may or not operate in a supernatural realm? Intrigue, horror, and a whole lot of heat. More nerdiness and ratiocination coming your way soon!

Thanks for hanging out today, everyone! I have two copies of In the Middle of Somewhere to give away. So: our hero, Daniel, has a lot of tattoos (with a tattoo artist for a best friend it’s kind of to be expected). To win an e-book of In the Middle of Somewhere, tell me your best tattoo story in the comments. If you have tattoos, you could tell me the story behind your favorite one; if not, tell me about the best (or worst!) tattoo you’ve seen. Have you always wanted a tattoo but never gotten one? Tell me what it would take to make you take the plunge. Extra credit (can you tell I used to teach?) if your story includes getting a tattoo for love. Spill all your inky tales in the comments for a chance to win!

 

Find In the Middle of Somewhere on:

Dreamspinner Press   |  All Romance eBooks

profile pic

 Find me on: 

 Twitter

 Facebook

 My website

 Goodreads

 Instagram


RP logo black

Immutable Release Party – Fantasy

July 8, 2015

Immutable is my first full on fantasy story. The rest have been sci-fi. So why suddenly a fantasy story? Why a shifter not an alien? (Hmm, plot bunny…)

I didn’t used to read a lot of fantasy except for the books of the late Sir Terry Pratchett. Yet I love Terry Pratchett – you can see my tribute to him here. But I also didn’t used to read a lot of romance and now I write it. I’m one of the people who came to m/m romance via the fanfic route rather than the mainstream romance route. So the past really is no guide to the future.

I am a long time sci-fi fan, but in many cases more for sci-fi movies and TV shows than books. Though my all time favourite books remains The Hitchhiker’s guide to the Galaxy. I’m a fan of the optimistic vision of Star Trek, but even more when it’s tempered with uncomfortable reality – like in the Deep Space Nine series. I also love some grittier military sci-fi, like Aliens. So it’s a strange thing that I’ve even had the idea to write a fantasy/paranormal romantic story.

But my tastes are changing. Lately I’ve been reading a lot more fantasy, whether it’s classical high fantasy, like George R R Martin, or m/m urban fantasy like Psycop or SPECTR. And everything in-between. In fact several of my current favourite authors write at least some fantasy.

That’s not the only genre I’m reading more of. Crime is another, and I combined crime and sci-fi, along with romance of course, in my recent release Mapping the Shadows {link}

We change. At least in part because of the books we read and movies and TV we watch. Using the Goodreads site the past few years shows me the gradual change in my reading habits. We should always be open to getting into a new genre and never dismiss it out of hand because it’s not the kind of thing we usually read.

It’s not only reading. I’m working on moving out of my comfort zone, and expanding what I write. I’ve got an F/F sci-fi story published and a couple of short contemporaries. I’ve got a longer F/F contemporary drafted waiting for editing. I’ve got plans for a m/m near-future murder mystery story to write later this year. But I don’t think purely contemporary is for me. I always want an extra genre element to it – be it crime, fantasy or a zombie apocalypse. But the great thing is to explore and not assume there’s only one genre to read or to write.

Immutable_headerbanner

Question – how have your reading habits changed over the years? If one of those changes was starting to read m/m fiction, how did you come to the genre?

Buy Link
My Website

Immutable Release Party – Shifters

July 8, 2015

Immutable is my first ever shifter story. I’m not going to tell you what kind of shifter is involved, because spoliers! But I’ll tell you that it’s not a werewolf. Not that I have anything against werewolves. I love me a werewolf, be it Sergeant Angua in Pratchett’s Discworld books, or Oz in Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, or Scott McCall in Teen Wolf. But there are lots of different shifters besides werewoves around these days. Still lots of the classic wolves of course, but also plenty of big cats, and everything else from sloths to octopi.

Legends of humans that turn into wolves and other creatures are ancient, but continue to appeal today. Like many tropes that originate in horror stories, they are symbolic of our fears. Like vampires are symbolic of fears about sex and sexuality, and zombies are symbols of fears about contamination and disease. Shifters can symbolise the fear of the animal side of human nature and what happens if it is unleashed. They’re good for themes of identity too. Which am I, human or animal, or something else?

Attitudes to them are different though. They used to be scary, but shifters have followed the vampires into the romance genre. Maybe it’s because our attitude to animals has changed. People used to be more afraid of them or consider them dangerous pests. Now we tend to admire animals like wolves and big cats. At least those of us who don’t live near them and don’t have to deal with them eating our livestock or pets. So a shapeshifter can be romantic and sexy, though with that extra frisson of danger. The current, dare I say it, obsession, with Alpha Males in the romance genre may be a factor too. Make a character a wolf part of the time and the whole Alpha Male thing can be taken to literal extremes.

So shifters are fun to read about and maybe I’ll write more in the future. The nearest I’ve come to a shifter before this is a shapeshifting ship’s doctor in my Red Dragon series, who cycles between male, female and alien form. Zhe gets an extra uniform allowance.

Immutable_headerbanner

Question – what’s the oddest shapeshifter you’ve seen? Mine would be the sloths, in a story by Charlie Cochrane in the Lashings of Sauce anthology. Being a sloth part of the time might not be as sexy as being a wolf or panther, but there’d be less racing over moonlit hills persued by hunters and more just hanging out and chilling. Sounds good to me!

Buy Link
My Website

Immutable Release Party – Dream states

July 8, 2015

I mentioned earlier that the idea for Immutable came to me while snoozing in bed one morning last summer. Not quite asleep, not quite awake, I let it play out to its conclusion in my head. I say it arrived fully formed, but really, it was my mind telling itself the story, and being in a half asleep state, sliding quite easily to what happens next. The unconscious mind is stronger when you’re not fully awake, and the unconscious mind is much cleverer than the conscious mind. It knows all the things your conscious mind can’t hold the whole time. Trusting the unconscious—“the boys in the basement” as Stephen King calls it in On Writing—is important for a writer. When a writer is working on a story, then even when they aren’t consciously thinking about it, the unconscious mind is busy. When it’s got something worked out it shoves it up into the conscious mind and the writer says “this idea just came out of nowhere.”

It’s also the place where characters pick up their tendency to misbehave. Many writers find they can’t make a character do what the writer planned in a convincing manner while writing. The character seems to have a mind of their own. But really it’s the unconscious mind, which already knows the character best and knows what they would and wouldn’t do. Best to do as it tells you.

But back to dreaming and semi-dreaming states. I have had the germs of ideas from actual dreams before, but dreams are usually too wacky to write just as they happened and produce a coherent story with. My novel Higher Ground started as a dream, of climbing to higher ground, while water rose behind me. There were various other bits to it. But that only gave me a basic concept to start from. It took plenty of work to create characters and plot from that. Half-asleep daydreams on the other hand will be more coherent stories, but without the inhibiting powers of the wide awake mind which is too quick to jump in and say “stop that, it’s far too silly.” Creative snoozing is very useful to writers! (Yes, it’s one of the few jobs when napping can count as work.) It allows in odder ideas than the wide awake brain would have countenanced.

In Immutable Callum is in a kind of dream state himself. He’s in a thrall or trance part of the time and it lets him accept things he would otherwise have questioned. But this state is a fragile one, for the writer too. One car alarm going off outside and waking you up fully, and it’s popped like a soap bubble. The same for Callum (without the car alarm.) Once reality hits, his bubble is burst and his dream is over.

Immutable_headerbanner

Question – ever had a great idea come to you in a dream or half asleep state? Did you act on it? Write it if you’re a writer? Did it make sense in the light of day?

Buy Link
My Website

Immutable Release Party Excerpt and Giveaway

July 8, 2015

Immutable isn’t just my first none HEA story, and my first non-anthology story with Dreamspinner Press, it’s a first in lots of ways. It’s my first ever fantasy story. I’ve done a zombie novel before now, called Patient Z, but they were very much science fiction zombies. It’s my first shifter story. It’s my first set in a historical fantasy setting. It’s not quite my first story in First Person point of view, but it’s the first of those longer than a short story that I’ve sold. So because of all of those firsts I’m just dying to see what people make of it.

Here’s an excerpt from chapter 1, to see what you make of it! Keep going and at the end there’ll be a chance to enter to win a copy.

Chapter 1

The wind was cold that morning I found him. I remember. I’d come down to the beach when the sky was barely light. Fine rain misted my hair and clothes as I scrambled down the cliff path onto the sand.

I carried a basket on my back and began filling it with driftwood as I walked. Driftwood burns with a strange blue flame, but there were so few trees on the island it was the only type of wood we ever had to burn. Those who could afford it bought coal shipped over from the mainland. Me, I pick up the sea coal that washes ashore from the coal seams exposed under the water. I always pounced on a piece of that when I saw it, as if it were a diamond. Winter wasn’t far away. Ma wouldn’t make it through the winter if I didn’t keep the cottage warm enough.

I threw those thoughts off and continued along the beach, shoving driftwood in the basket, watching among the seaweed and pebbles for the precious sea coal. With my gaze glued to the sand, I didn’t spot the body until I was close enough to see instantly that it was a man. He lay on the wet sand, pale, almost gray in the morning light.

I ran, hoping—praying—not to find him dead. He was naked, but that didn’t surprise me. The sea can strip a body bare. I dropped the basket off my shoulders as I fell to my knees beside him. It toppled, spilling out its load.

The man lay facedown, his legs still in the surf, the waves breaking over them and ebbing as if trying to pull him back into the sea. He had skin as pale as ivory—not the skin of a sailor or fisherman exposed to the sun on deck all day. His exposed back was smooth and unmarked, without the tattoos or scars from the lash sailors often had. Hair as black as anthracite lay across his shoulders, a few strands of seaweed caught in it.

I laid a hand on him, fearing I’d find him cold and dead. But he was warm. I turned him onto his back. Nobody I knew. My island, Sula Skerry, was so small I knew the face and name of everyone who lived here. This face I’d never seen. This face… I’d never seen a face like it. Not even in schoolbooks about the legends of changelings and fair folk. For he was fair, God forgive me. I’d never seen a man so fair.

He lay against my arm, eyes closed, thick black lashes brushing cheeks marred only with wet sand. I touched his chest to feel if he still breathed. He did. I left my hand there, on that warm skin, as pale as the rest of him, one dark nipple under my palm.

“Cold….”

I gasped at the sound of a voice and stared down at his face. He’d opened his large and dark eyes. So dark I couldn’t say they were any color at all, like I can say mine are blue. They weren’t merely dark brown; they were black. He’d spoken, and his mouth, his well-shaped lips, moved again. “I’m cold.”

The wind on his wet, naked skin must have been sucking the heat from him. I had to get him somewhere warm. I pulled off my jacket and wrapped it around him. But his long legs were still naked, and his…. I tried hard not to look at his member, for that’s a sin.

“Can you stand?” I asked him, grateful we understood each other. Sailors had been washed ashore here before, who spoke languages none among the islanders understood. I helped him up, but he sagged against me and I had to catch him in my arms to keep him from falling. I’d never get him up the cliff path to the cottage in this state. If I ran for help, he’d be dead of cold before I got back. I had a better idea.

“Hold on to me.” I hauled him toward the cliff face, a hundred feet or so along the beach, dragging my basket behind me. Good thing I’d been coming down here since I was a boy, when Ma was the one collecting the driftwood, and I’d followed behind her, barefoot, searching for shells or stones with holes in them—those were lucky—and always the precious sea coals.

With him lolling against my side and leaning heavily on me, I reached the mouth of a small cave. I’d first found it when I was eight years old. I’d hidden in it, listening to Ma calling me. “Callum! Callum!” A game to me, frightening to her the first time, fear in her voice that I didn’t understand. The cave seemed huge then, like a cavern. Fifteen years later I had to stoop over as I went into it, and I could reach the back in only a few steps.

It lay well above the high tide mark and only the worst storms ever reached into it, so there was little on the floor but dry sand. Some lichen grew on the walls. Nothing else lived here since it got sunshine only at dawn, as the sun rose over to the east and lit this cave low in the cliff for little more than an hour.

I lowered the man to the floor of the cave and he lay there shivering, despite having my jacket wrapped around him. What should I do? Go to the cottage and fetch him some clothes? Go to the village and fetch the constable or the doctor? I felt a strange reluctance to bring anyone else. I wanted him to myself.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Breen,” he said, voice shaking as he spoke. “B… Breen.”

Breen? Where was that from? For all he spoke our language, he had a foreign look to him, with that coal black hair. Some of the shipwrecked sailors who washed up on the island before had skin browner than the most tanned and leathered of the shepherds and fishermen. This man had skin as pale as a highborn lady who’d never ventured out without a shady hat or parasol.

A fire. Yes. I could make a fire for him to warm himself by. I emptied my basket and built a fire at the mouth of the cave. Dried seaweed served for kindling, and I made a spark with the flint I had in my pocket. I blew softly on it until it caught and flames licked up. The wood ignited and the fire began to crackle. I hauled Breen closer to the mouth of the cave. A little smoke came in, but the wind was blowing from the north, down the beach, not from the sea, so most of the smoke blew away from us.

Breen sat up after a few minutes warming by the fire, pressed close against my shoulder. I didn’t know if the touch warmed him, but it sent a flush through me. Heat pooled low in my belly. I tried to ignore it. Mustn’t think on it. I could have left him then, gone up to fetch him some clothes from the cottage. He was out of the wind and had the fire and my jacket. He wouldn’t freeze in the time it took me to get there and back. But I didn’t want to go. I had a strange fear that if I let him out of my sight for even a minute he’d disappear.

“What’s your name?” he asked me suddenly, rousing me from a daydream, my mind full of… sin.

“Callum. Are you a sailor, Breen? Were you wrecked?”

“Wrecked?” He asked it as if he didn’t know what the word meant. He had an accent, not local, not even like the men who sometimes came from the mainland.

“Were you on a ship? Did it sink?”

“No. No ship.”

No ship? So how’d he come here? For he’d surely come out of the sea.

“A fishing boat?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I am here for you, Callum.”

“What?” I turned to him, thinking I’d misheard, or he’d misspoke, not knowing our language so well after all. His eyes were huge and so beautiful. Looking into them felt like falling into a tarn, or looking up into the night sky, at the velvet blackness.

“I have heard you call me,” he said, voice low, a dark, throbbing edge to it. He reached for me, his long fingers touching my face. Shock made me want to pull away. But the thrill down my spine at his touch—fingers still cold despite the fire—kept me riveted. I could no more stop him than I could fly. He leaned close. I thought he was speaking. His lips formed words, or perhaps my name, but my ears were full of the crashing of the waves and the crackle of the fire. His lips touched my mouth.

I closed my eyes. A kiss. He was kissing me. I’d never… not with a man, not a kiss. Some… fumbling with other lads, and a kiss with a lass or two, because they expected it, and because other people expected it, and it kept them from talking about me. But this… nothing had ever felt like this. His mouth slanted across mine, lips soft, but something hard behind them. No, not hard. Strong. His skin was smooth where mine was rough. I hadn’t shaved before coming to the beach.

His tongue—hot, wet—touched my lips. It should have been disgusting. Sin should feel disgusting, make me want to stop him, push him away, drag him out and toss him back in the sea that brought him. But instead it thrilled me. I wanted his tongue inside my mouth, and I opened my lips to him. It pressed in and found mine. Oh, God, to feel that for the first time. Like his tongue was a flint and mine was kindling. A spark and then flame.

Immutable_headerbanner

If you’d like to read more check out the buy link below, or enter the contest to win an ebook copy. Comment and tell us about a memorable reading first. Maybe the first time you tried a genre you thought wasn’t your thing—and loved it. Or your first M/M book. Did it change your reading habits forever?

Answer by Friday 10th, 18:00 BST (that’s UK time) and you’re in with a chance to win.

Contest now closed. Thanks for entering and congratulations to the winner JJ.

Buy Link
My Website