Guest Blogger ~ Clare Dargin: Merry "Chris" Mas

AVAILABLE: Wednesday, December 24th

This title is offered at a 10% discount. Offer ends midnight CST, December 31st

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Blurb:

Jilly Reimers wants love but can't find it. Chris Spinell is a veteran of the war in Afghanistan who suffers from PTSD and a haunting feeling that something is missing in his life. Chris Poole is also an Afghanistan war veteran is ready to break out of his shell but is unsure how.

With Christmas just around the corner, they decide not to spend it alone. Believing The Love Play Matchmaking Service to be just what they need for a night of fun and passion, they sign up. But when the guys show up and see that they've been set up on a menage, the only one happy about it is Jilly. 

Their consultant, called an Eros, assures Jilly that the service has a perfect track record but she's certain they'll be the first ones to get their money back. Will they have a very merry Christmas? Or will the three spend yet another one alone?

A Siren Erotic Romance

[Ménage Amour: Erotic Ménage a Trois Romance, M/F/M, HEA]

Excerpt:

Jilly idly twirled a lock of her hair as she gazed at the fire. The meal was good, a bit awkward, but all right. Now with Chris S. in the shower, she and Chris P., who’d freshened up after her, sat beside her. She hoped she’d get a chance to know him a little better, now that they were alone.

Unlike Chris S., Chris P. was quiet, more reserved. His warm smile could melt ice. They’d spoken a bit about his life in Australia and how he met the other Chris when they were on Diego Garcia, a tiny atoll in the Pacific. It was there he garnered a better perspective on life, friendships and love. She reasoned that war tended to do that to a person.

She looked at him again, admiring what she saw. He was gorgeous. If only she were a femme fatale like her friends. She pictured grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and planting a long seductive kiss on his pouty lips. Anything to ease the tension between her legs and the moisture dripping from her swollen pussy.

Golden and sun-kissed like a surfer, he had a look impossible to have around this time of year in Michigan, unless he spent countless hours in a tanning booth. But at the same time he didn’t look like the type who’d go to one. He seemed too rugged. She glanced at his short, flaxen hair, which he wore pulled back in a stubby tail. It accentuated his keen facial features. His physique, like that of a gladiator, made her want to whimper. Built like a brick wall without being too thick, he was three words—supple, etched, steel. And his Australian accent added to his raw sexiness.

Whereas Chris S. was the perfect picture type of the all-American, boy-next-door type, with light brown hair and sandy-colored tips and eyes so blue they looked like the color of tropical water. He reminded her of the high school captain of the football team who’d gone into the military and become a man, except he had a sensitive edge that permeated his being. While Chris P., who looked like he could take on a few guys at once, was more lighthearted and outgoing.

Either way, she knew she hit the jackpot because both guys were like something out of a magazine called Hot Guys “R” Us. They were a perfect ten. It was best Christmas gift anyone could have ever given her. She hoped a Chris Sandwich was definitely on the menu for the night. But how to get past the talking stage, she had no clue. She wondered if all of her Love Play’s match ups started like this.

Wearing some leggings and a cami, and he a T-shirt and shorts, she suddenly felt overdressed. The art of seduction was not something they taught in any of the schools she’d attended, and she sure as hell never picked up any pointers from her so-called “friends.” And her exes never gave her any encouragement in that department either.

This date should have come with instructions. I think I’m in trouble.

She let out a long sigh.

“Did you say something?” Chris P. asked, stirring from his long silence.

“I was just thinking how beautiful this place is,” she lied. What? How lame is that?

“It is. I’ve never been to a place quite like this.”

“Love Play has quite a reputation.”

“You’ve used it before?” He perked up, facing her.

Heat burned her cheeks. “No. It’s what I heard from some of their clients.”

“So have you been married?” he asked.

“No.”

“Neither have I. Never found anyone to get serious with,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe cupid’s arrow doesn’t work on me.”

“For me they’re defective. Or maybe his aim is bad,” she said, trying to suppress the memory of her ex-boyfriend.

“What do you mean?”

“My relationships, they never work out.” She shrugged her shoulders. “For whatever reason, they seem to choose my friends over me. Or it ends up that way once we get together.”

He shook his head. “Nah. They were bad blokes from the start. Believe me. I know. I’ve been around those types my entire life. The randier they are, the worse they will be. If a man wants you, he’ll stay.” His tone was soft, almost vulnerable.

“Maybe.”

“So tell me,” he said, turning to face her, “you ordered this hook up?”

Again, her face flushed. She imagined it turning its characteristic red when the blood rushed to her cheeks.

“Yes. But according to the guidelines, you would have either had to be open to it or requested it too. Right?”

He chuckled. “I see he also got the smart I asked for. Yes, I am open to a ménage.” His expression became serious. “Do you think me odd?”

“No. I’m glad we share that desire.” 

ADULT EXCERPT:

Chris S. slipped her undies over her round hips. They slid down her baby-like skin, exposing her shaved mound. More blood flowed to his dick, making whimper.

“God,” he said, fighting tears.

Through gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes, he forced himself to maintain control. It was getting to be damn near impossible. Everything about her was fucking outstanding. Lips, breasts, skin and pussy. He was ready to fill her pussy with his thick, hard dick.

He slid his finger into the folds of her wet interior. The thin crease surrounded by supple labia oozed moisture from her tight and tiny hole. He slid a finger inside her hole, and her taut muscles quivered at his touch.

“You want it?” he asked.

She moaned “yes” before being silenced by the other Chris’s mouth. He inched her legs apart. Moving in just right, he tasted her. Explosions went off in his brain. She was pure, simple, clean and honeyed. He wanted to mark her as his own. Delving his tongue in and out of her tight hole, he held her still, allowing her juices to saturate his mouth.

Lifting her legs, he opened her wider, curling her upward, burying his face in her mound. His breaths increased as his heart rate grew frantic. His hard dick, standing at full scale attention, threatened to bust a nut if he didn’t stop.

Pulling away, he set her down gently. “Got to go get a condom.”

The other Chris looked up, his eyes equally as dazed as he felt.

She swallowed, seeming breathless. “My bag, by the wall.”

The time for being cool had passed. Quicker than he’d wanted and less suave, he dashed toward it, finally seeing the stash. Grabbing the entire lot, along with a bottle of lubricating gel, he opened the box and pulled out two, handing one to Chris and keeping the other for himself. Setting it aside, he removed his shorts, exposing his aching dick to the room’s cool air. He grimaced as he slid the latex over his shaft. It hurt with a pain that would only be relieved by what Jilly had to offer. He squeezed the gel, which had the scent of strawberries, onto his palm. He fisted his hand and soaked his condom-wrapped rod with the smooth, thick liquid. The mere pressure of his hand gave him some relief, albeit short.

“Me first,” he said, climbing onto the bed.

Calming himself, he lay down beside her and turned her on her side. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close. He spread her legs apart as she tilted her pelvis back. She melded her body to his. There was so much of her he wanted, not only her body, but her soul, mind, and yes, even her heart.

He took a hand and placed himself at her entrance. Slowly he pushed inside. He grunted and made himself hold back, lest he spill at that moment.

She was so tight. No doubt about it. This was going to be a short run. Inch by inch, he slid inside of her, stopping at the root. His balls drew in tight. He shifted her close and moved in and out slowly. Each movement became stronger as his control slipped. He needed the release, the kind that would give his aching balls sweet relief. Back and forth his hips moved inside her. She wriggled and moaned in response. Their mouths met briefly, tongues swirling, causing his stomach and heart to flutter. He increased his thrusts. Finding his target, she keened her delight.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Don’t stop.”

She pushed her ass toward him.

“Baby, I’m going to come.”

“Come, honey. Come.”

He grunted, harder and harder. Sliding his hand down to her hard clit, he rubbed it as his panting increased. Pressure built up behind his eyes, his mind went blank as everything in the world seemed to fall away. He couldn’t stop. Harder and harder he pushed, holding her firm and tight.

With light speed, he cried out, “God!” His hips bucked upward while cum poured out of him.

Slightly dizzy, he held onto her before letting her go. “Are you all right?”

Her kiss eased the butterflies threatening to kill the moment. Sliding out of her, he sighed, relieved. He gazed into her eyes. Instantly he felt the completed connection he’d sensed along. She was the one. And he saw that she felt it too.

* * * *

Jilly recovered her breath as Chris P. gathered her up into his arms. His musky scent was so spicy and inviting. She buried her face in the crook between his shoulder and neck. She was ready.

“On your back,” he said, holding her.

She nodded.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” he said, whispering in her ear.

From her tall Adonis, she was ready to receive all he gave her. Trust welled up within her heart. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

Placing her on back like she weighed nothing but a feather, he positioned himself on top of her. A lock of his blond hair obscured his face. She opened her legs. She felt his solid, round tip prod her hole. Panting, he pushed inside of her, his raw strength causing her pussy to clench. Each muscle spasmed to accommodate his thick and meaty cock. She cried out along with him. He braced himself.

COLD WARRIORS

Left in cryogenic stasis for nearly a century, Caitlin Driskoll is awakened and drafted into a war she knows nothing about. Expected to defend a world where her kind is despised and expendable, she discovers love and respect from the one man who can’t be associated with her.

Lieutenant Colonel Medoro Keegan has spent a lifetime in the Marines. With no family to speak of, the Corps and his ship, the USS Blanchard, are all the loved ones he needs…until Caitlin sparks a fire within, that threatens to consume him if he doesn’t walk away.

Will he choose a life of certainty in the only world he knows or give it all to Caitlin and run the risk of losing someone, yet again?

About Clare:

Clare Dargin is an author of Science Fiction and Romance and has been writing stories all of her life before being published in 2007. She’s a great fan of the two genres and loves promoting them.

An educator by profession, she possesses a Bachelor’s Degree in English from a major mid-western university. She presently resides in the Midwest and she hopes to expand her writings to include non-fiction, historical romance, and contemporary novels.

Find Clare Here

The Haven, Blog 2: The Haven, Facebook

Twitter, Twitter #2, Amazon Author Page

Guest Blogger ~ S.A. Garcia: The Green Man's Bounty

Blurb:

Can a Druid accept Christmas by helping WW2 orphans?

When a war-torn Druid meets his legendary Green Man, he discovers a new meaning to Christmas by helping Jewish orphans.

Buy Link

Excerpt:

Outside the Jeep, the sleet intensified, creating a blinding veil. Bad luck it happened just as I navigated a tight turn. The Jeep's tires skidded on the thick ice sheet. "Damn it!"

I gripped the wheel. For a few frantic seconds, I struggled to keep my military surplus Jeep on the narrow road. Too much dangerous wartime driving in France should have made me panic-proof, but this still tested my resolve. I didn't fancy careening into frosty moor bog and sinking into the morass. I wanted to celebrate the blessed Solstice dry and safe.

The Jeep bent to my will, remaining on the slippery tarmac. My breathing sounded too loud. As long as no silly escapee moor sheep wandered in front of me, I should complete my journey sans a dip in the bog.

Earlier today I had started my celebration at a gathering at Stonehenge. We had welcomed the equinox's dawn. I'd remained longer than planned, enjoying the company of my fellow Druids. My membership in the Ancient Order of the Druids remained secret from others in my life. I worked in a government position, which meant I knew to keep my mouth shut. After all, I doubted if my superiors would appreciate my beliefs.

Ten minutes later, my headlights illuminated a familiar sign. I carefully drove down the icy gravel into the parking lot. The relief sweeping over my nerves embarrassed me. I stopped strangling the steering wheel and breathed normally again.

Damn, two other cars occupied the spaces closest to the inn's door. I scowled.

Instead of exiting the Jeep, I relaxed back, listening to the sleet attacking the metal. The horizontal wind blasts created low plinks, like someone hammered pebbles against the vehicle. Above me the canvas roof shook hard enough to create a hollow billowing sound.

Hiding away like a sugar-spun confection seemed unmanly, but I didn't want the sharp particles to frost me into a living ice sculpture.

Hail to the unpredictable southwest weather. When I had passed Winchester four hours ago, a glittering winter sunset had graced the blue sky. The sharp light had contrasted against the threatening grey clouds massing to the south. In fairness, Old Man Winter had warned me about his nefarious plan to taunt Mother Nature. My desire to reach my destination had made me push through. Suffering through a violent storm on the Solstice made sense. I had passed through the darkness to reach fresh new life.

I chuckled at my pretentious thought. It held truth, but still, spending too much time alone often made me think thoughts which, if spoken aloud, would make people laugh at my drama. Damn, I didn't want to end up as a lonely, pedantic old man nattering on about his spiritual quest to anyone patient enough to listen.

I still lived, which is more than I could say for most of the men whom had fought the Nazi monsters. My limbs were intact as were my faculties, although too often I wondered about my sanity. It had taken a great beating.

Boredom urged me to light a hand-rolled herbal cigarette. My custom mint and lemongrass blend soothed me. When I'd started coughing too much during the war, I'd quit smoking straight tobacco. Afterward, I made due with smoking dried mint when I found it. Someday I would conquer my oral fixation.

As I puffed, I pulled my leather document bag and small travel case forward into the battered front seat. I could fetch my remaining luggage once the storm had passed.

I blew out smoke. It formed a spiral mist within the rough interior. My thoughts drifted back to remembering pleasant hours spent in the sprawling old farmhouse converted into an inn. Good conversation and company was always the case here. I grinned. Sadly, aside from the fresh bread, the food didn't live up to the inn's other attributes.

The carved wooden sign proclaiming The Watchers, above an illustration of three standing stones, swung like a sugar-crazed child on a swing. Ice-rimmed ivy and holly strands twined around the edges, tokens of older rituals stolen by Christmas.

Sad how Christianity tried to steal Yuletide from Mother Earth's worshippers. Long ago I had read the Bible. Reading between the lines told me Jesus had probably been an earth-loving pagan, more of a Druid, who believed in people and their spiritual rights. Christianity had elevated him to their poster child.

Of course, I kept these radical thoughts to myself. After a devastating world war had shattered their spirit, people needed their beliefs.

I certainly needed mine. At this time of year, Christianity dressed up my beliefs in quite a different costume. Then again celebrating Yuletide generated no commerce.

A foul mood waited to darken my thoughts. No, not tonight—tonight I wanted to relax and enjoy life.

The wind ascended into a sullen howl. Suddenly the chilling assault subsided to cup loads instead of nasty bucketfuls. In a blink, the sleet changed over to steady snow. Fat white flakes started covering the icy texture spread across the ground.

I scrambled out from the Jeep, skidding around the bonnet to the passenger side. My soles slipped on the slick stones, sending me down against the hard surface. This wasn't the time for slapstick pratfalls! I grabbed the two bags and minced across the parking lot, trying for cautious speed. Despite my care, slushy slashes splashed over my shins. At least my stout old boots kept my feet dry.

I reached the exterior door and twisted the brass knob. To my relief, it swung open. Practical Ben usually closed down early in the off-season, yet something told me tonight the door remained unlocked for an old friend.

I entered the foyer, foiling the wind-driven onslaught, and secured the outer door against the cold invasion. Soaking my skin didn't sate its greedy need--this storm wanted to freeze even my bone marrow.

A huge holly, ivy, and purple heather wreath decorated the glass-paned inner door, which opened into the impressive wood and stone interior. Mellow honey-toned paint warmed the granite walls. Stout ancient beams buttressed the doorways and windows. The inn appeared lovingly maintained and highly polished, just as I remembered. A tasty aroma tickled my nose.

Ben Tremethyk's great-great-great—damn, many greats back—Cornish ancestors had built the original old farmhouse. After careful remodeling to create public areas, the space offered a protective atmosphere. A small lamp cast light over the rugged old ship table which served as the front desk. Red and silver bows held together berry-rich holly branches and pine boughs. An elaborate wreath of holly, yew, and ivy hung on the dining room door. The greens added a pagan touch to the space although I knew that wasn't the intent. Their natural beauty soothed me.

Ah, a familiar brass key rested on the burgundy reservation book. Amazing how the simple sight faded away the years. Bless Ben for securing me the River Palace. The large room overlooked the lively Meavy River as it tumbled down from the higher moors. Sleeping by the river's natural power recharged me or at least that's how I perceived the sensation.

I hesitated at ringing the brass ship bell. I shouldn't disturb the other guests.

A melodic voice echoed from the dining room. "Dear Roger, I do hope that's you! I felt right worried about you traveling in this wretched storm." Swift footsteps crossed the polished wooden floor. A shadow prefaced its owner. "Ah, you arrived safe, sound, and snow-flaked! What a bloody miserable night. Old Man Winter wasted no time showing who's the boss now. At least the snow is more festive than slush."

Hmm, who was that? I leaned forward to peer toward the voice. My motion skidded the heavy travel bag down my leather-clad shoulder. I staggered to my right. How damned annoying! I extracted myself from the damp mess. When I looked up from my struggle, I froze for a wonderful second. In the face of the heat flooding my skin, the recent icy assault meant little to me.

The most desirable man alive in all of Cornwall, hell, in the United Kingdom, stood before me like a mythical Green Man—tall, dashing, and robust. Curly hair swirled against his high cheekbones in a daring hairstyle, the golden lengths trailing toward his neck. I studied his ruddy face, peeled away the added years, and blinked. "Little Lynn Tremethyk?"

He released delighted laughter. As he grinned, Lynn patted his ample belly. "How cute, no one has used that sweet nickname in years—ha, for obvious reasons. Hard to believe you've been away for six long years."

I sighed. "Unfortunately war has a nasty way of disrupting a life. At least I was lucky enough not to suffer from any serious physical impairment. I saw too many others grievously injured. Mentally, well…" I shrugged away the lingering fears. I'd seen too much horror to ever forget certain details.

"Dear Roger, I hope staying here eases traumatic memories." Lynn's cheerful voice seemed designed to chase away shadows. His warm tone soothed my jangled nerves almost as well as a shot of fine whiskey. "When Penny told me you called yesterday to reserve a room, I felt ecstatic. Hearing your name sparked memories of exploring the moor marshes with you. I wouldn't mind accompanying you again. Really, I'm a big man, but I still move quietly." He fluttered his long fingers at me. "Enough talk! Your favorite room awaits you. I told my two other parties the River Palace was reserved."

I wondered what place Penny held in Lynn's life. Wife, girlfriend, or perhaps housekeeper? "Who is Penny? She sounds charming."

"She's an absolute doll. Penny is my second-in-command, my secret weapon of housekeeper and bookkeeper. I'd be lost without her. She created the wonderful holiday decorations." A fond smile crossed Lynn's face. "Penny reminds me of Mum, or at least how I remember her. I think Da is a bit sweet on her."

"Interesting. Speaking of Ben, where is the old rascal? I hope's he's still hale and hearty."

Lynn's dismissive laughter answered me. "Don't worry yourself over Da. He's visiting cousins in the Canary Islands. I spoke to him yesterday. He claims he's tanner than an old walnut, quite the tropical beach bum! This year Da went into what he calls semi-retirement for the off-season. He'll return for the busy season."

"Smart man. Well, let me go up and change. I hate to presume, but is there any chance I can make myself a sandwich?"

Lynn appeared vastly insulted. "Sandwich? I won't hear of such a thing. I'll serve you a proper meal."

I held up my wet hands. "Please, Lynn, it's late. Don't go out of your way for…" Wait, why was I protesting enjoying time with my new obsession? I was acting completely water-brained!

Lynn's firm headshake squashed my words. "I'm not going out of my way. The fridge is stocked with cold salads. I'll heat up seafood chowder—it's for tomorrow's dinner, but there's plenty." He pointed at my two damp bags. "Do you need my help carrying those?"

Ye Gods, I hoped I didn't appear that old and infirm. I was only thirty-five! I waved away Lynn's query. "No, how kind, I'll handle this moist lot. I have everything I need for tonight. I'll fetch my other gear tomorrow when the weather stops imitating the North Pole."

Author Bio:

Thirty years ago, I started writing m/m romance. My writing remained a secret lest my friends thought me a freak. Writing about men inserting tab A into slot B didn’t seem the norm for a female teenager. Reading Gordon Merrick, John Rechy and Larry Kramer helped me fill in informational gaps. Yes, I read these books in my bedroom.

As the years progressed and I discovered my sexual path, I still wrote m/m romance, although the stories progressed from lurking in notebooks to hiding on the computer. 

Running B-Side, an indie music magazine, helped develop my dialogue and description skills. While traveling to interview bands, writing fiction percolated in the background. Traveling also offered me new backdrops and locations for my stories.

Now I am glad I kept the writing faith. Six published novellas and novels later, my life is a fun quandary of too many stories hindered by slow typing skills. I accept the silly challenge.

When not obsessing over unique ways to describe erotic encounters, I enjoy reading, gardening or more like trying not to kill everything, traveling, arguing politics and teaching my house bunnies tricks. Unfortunately, the furry furies refuse to answer e-mails or blog posts. They also refuse to clean their litter boxes. Brats. I enjoy cooking for my beloved partner because she endures the endless experiments with grace.

I hope my manic devotion to words and romance connects with my readers. Is that a sincere enough ending? Drat, the sentiment needs work. Blame my sloppy muse.

Find S.A. Garcia Here

World of Words, Blogger, Goodreads

Facebook, Novelspot, Twitter. 

Updates from N.J. Nielsen [Me]

Well this last month has been as busy as all get-go for me. This is what I've been up to for the last couple of weeks:

1) I've been writing a lot in long hand as my computer is playing up... so even though I'm nearly finished with The Lines Of Marsden 3: You Make Me Die In Pieces I still have to type everything up.

2) I'll be starting on edits with MLRPress for Experimentals 2: Running Into Zero Tolerance sometime soon. 

3) Today and tomorrow is dedicated to my family Christmas with the Walker Clan (my eldest sister's family) so it's going to be loud at the Nielsen household--Oh what fun.

4) My daughter Emily whom some of you have met or have heard me talk about is in the middle of moving out of home and into Uni Village in Toowoomba as she is doing a Bachelor of Arts at USQ (University of Southern Queensland). So she's excited. She starts full time in March 2015. 

5) I should hear in the next week about The Diamond Rose 1: Gateway To Kalethia which is subbed at Fireborn Publishing.

Guest Blogger ~ AKM Miles: Something MORE for Santa

Blurb:

While on a break at Martin's Department Store, Derek Campbell, aka Santa, wishes aloud for a little something for Santa and he gets it, and more.

Derek Campbell loves his job as Santa at Martin's, but finds himself wishing for a little something for himself. He's surprised when an elf hears his request and answers him. Derek gets more than he bargained for when he meets young Michael and then Max, who just happens to own Martin's. He falls in love with both of them and they him, but something happens, something bad. But, they're strong, together, and they have a good Christmas. But then, even worse things happen. What now? What follows is a wonderful holiday story filled with love, adventure, fear, hope, and kittens.

Buy Link

Short Bit about it:

Once upon a time there was a sweet young man who worked as Santa during the season. One day, while on a break he was lamenting the fact that he had no one to love and wanted someone perfect for him, he was overheard by an elf. Well, it was really a boy. The little boy, Michael, wanted Santa to help his father, who had a migraine, _(main headache). Derek, (Santa) went with the boy to the main offices of the department store and did, indeed, help the boy's father, Max. Then wonderful and horrible things started to happen. The two men fell in love, both loved the boy greatly, but there was ugliness even at Christmastime. Someone did something bad to Michael and when they got that cleared they had a great Christmas with Betsy Ross and Sara Lee.

Not long after that something horrible happened to Derek, who now worked more closely with Max, who just happened to own that department store chain. Who would want to kill someone as sweet as Derek? You know there's a happy ending, but it takes some work to get there. But, of course, it's all worth it.

I loved writing this story and always in the back of my mind I wanted to revisit these people. They were all three so lovable.  When I decided to place it with MLR I added enough that it doubled in size. I really like where it went and how I ended it. (I really wanted them to go on that cruise!) I know a lot of people liked the first book and I added MORE to the title so they would know it was the same only more. I hope everyone loves the rest of the story as well.

~AKM Miles

***love is love***

Excerpt:

Derek closed his eyes and sighed. He needed the rest, there was no doubt of that. He felt like he'd run a marathon and he'd just been talking.

"Daddy, look at the bag. Derek peed a lot!"

"Shh, Michael." Derek could hear the humor in Max's voice. He didn't want to think about the catheter, but well, it wasn't like he could get up. He waited until they were sitting beside the bed and then he said,

"Where's my hug? And quit looking at my pee."

"Daddy! He said something. Did you hear him? He said 'where's my hug?'. Do you think he means me?" Michael was no longer using his quiet voice. His surprise and happiness had him back to the Michael that Derek knew.

"I bet he does. Okay, you still have to be careful, okay? He might be awake, but he's still in pain. No moving around," Max said and Derek could hear him lift Michael up and put the boy beside him. He sighed. He tried to bring his arm up to hug Michael, but his shoulder screamed out in pain.

"Michael, be careful, honey."

"No," Derek said, his voice still raspy, "it was me. I tried to hug him back but my shoulder hurts." He opened his eyes and Max's face was right there. Max leaned down and touched his lips gently, making Derek sigh in complete happiness.

"Daddy, don't move him too much. You don't want to hurt him, do you?" Michael said, all serious.

"You're right, I don't. I'll be careful." Max turned away and Derek nearly whimpered, but he saw that Max was bringing the chair closer. He sat and took Derek's hand and held it in his, squeezing gently. That touch, that light squeeze, said so many things. It said, "I want to hold you, I love you, you scared me, we were worried, we're here for you."

"I know." He answered all the unsaid statements and Max didn't even question it.

Michael asked, "Are you going to stay awake now, Derek?"

About AKM:

I love to read M/M books. It’s hard to find me without my Kindle in my hand. I never want to lose an opportunity to read and have so many authors that I enjoy. The idea of being an author that readers enjoy fills my heart. I’ve wanted to write since I was in high school and I did. I wrote a short story for the school newspaper. Hooked.

I wrote three mainstream novels and got rejections and just kind of lost interest. Then along came Brokeback Mountain and I ordered the movie and got the script with it. Loved it. Then I went on line to see if there way anything else like it. I found Cowboy Up from Torquere Press. It was an anthology and had such good stories. I was more than hooked. I wanted to do this. I wanted to write a story. Soon after that I went to a drag show in my little town, heretofore unheard of, and watched these two guys dance. That scene is in my first novel, Smart Alex. I couldn’t stop then.

You will find that I like to have my characters meet, have feeling for each other, start a relationship, and then face some kind of conflict together, instead of it being about whether they really like each other or not. That’s just the way I like it. I want them as a unit facing whatever comes. I also like to do series. I try to populate my books with wonderful side characters that just beg for their own stories. Life is full of side characters, right? Sometimes they just need their story told, too. (And then you get to revisit the first couple and see how things are going!)

I now write for four different publishing houses and love being an M/M author. Want to know what I like most about it? Oh, I love getting good critiques from places who specialize in that, but it’s the readers who blow me away. I can’t believe the response I’ve gotten to some of my books. They inspire me and make me want to do more and better. I love love some of the connections with people in the industry.

Through ups and downs this career has kept me going with the warmth I’ve received from other authors, publishing people, and fans. I’m excited about future books that are swimming in my head right now. I hope you love them, too.

Find AKM Here

Wordpress: Love is Love

Livejournal

Facebook

Guest Blogger ~ Christopher Stone: Sweet Homo Alabama

Release Date: December 19, 2014

Buy Link

Blurb:

Cameron Cody, one of the biggest-ever gay adult film stars, returns to his small-town Alabama roots during Christmas season, intent on coming out to his sharecropper parents.

December 23, 2003 Enterprise, Alabama Cameron Cody, a principal character in MLR's Frame of Reference, returns to small-town Enterprise, Alabama, just before Christmas, intent on coming out to his sharecropper parents, now that he has found The One - namely Frame of Reference's Grant Jackson. But how do you come out to a father who thinks of homosexuals and lesbians as "those queers," and to a naive mother who has little, or no, background with sexual orientations beyond heterosexual? Understandably, Cam approaches this revelation, His Own Private Alabama, with apprehension and anxiety. The saving grace: Waiting at home, come what may,is Grant Jackson, the love of his life.

Excerpt:

Tuesday, December 23, 2003

Enterprise, Alabama

7:37 p.m.

Cameron Cody's tightly muscled physique was slouched on his parents' lumpy sofa, the same one he used to sink into during his school days. Since that time, tatters, wear and fading had been added to the sofa's lumpy nature. It was incongruous that his lounged body was the very same physique that thrilled countless horny fans each and every time it appeared nude and in sexual situations in Hottie International theatrical and home video gay adult films. But here in Enterprise, Alabama, in his parents' modest home, it, and he, were nothing special.

In truth, until puberty had its unpredictable way with Cameron Cody, transforming him from an odd-looking duckling into the handsomest of swans, he had only been known as Fred and Bev's beanpole kid-the boy with the freaky gold-flecked lavender eyes-the one who wore the scoliosis brace in grammar school.

More recently, fame, time and California living had compelled him to reassess that small-town Alabama upbringing. The longer Cameron Cody lived in Los Angeles, the shabbier his childhood home, as well as his hometown, seemed. And this mental downgrading wasn't just his imagination running away with him; nor was it the result of his becoming a spoiled celebrity. Pretty much everything in Enterprise, Alabama, as well as in his folks' house was in decline.

Cam reflected on the truth of the matter: Growing up, he hadn't really been aware of his family's modest means, nor the town's nowhere special status. Back then, no one he knew had anything better, or newer, than what he saw at home, or in his hometown.

Of course, even in grade school, Cam had been aware of the big houses, the mansions on Cherokee Street, and the even bigger estates with acreage, off of Shellfield Road. But his sharecropper family hadn't known anyone who lived on that side of the tracks-the wealthy side.

Television and movies had shown Cameron Cody a world of big cities, where beautiful people lived large. But growing up in Enterprise, they had seemed as far away from his reality as the moon and the stars.

And, even though the Cody family lived on the poor side of town, Cam had come into adolescence feeling blessed-more blessed than many of his childhood peers-the ones who lived in mobile homes. At least, the Cody's house was not on wheels. And it had been large enough to comfortably accommodate him, his parents, and even his paternal grandparents, during their final years.

As for his folks, Fred and Beverly Cody had always made ends meet, if barely. The family's bills had always been paid in a timely manner. There had never been a bill collector at their door, or calling on the phone.

Slouching further down into the sofa, Cam smiled to himself. It was a secret, sly smile. In conversation with his parents, he always called them, Mom and Dad. But when Cam thought about them, the small voice in his head - the voice with a naughty sense of humor - always morphed their first names, Fred and Beverly, into Food and Beverage. Sometimes, in conversations with friends, and even with some of his cousins, that's what he called them. "Of course, Food and Beverage would have none of it," he might tell Cousin Linda. Or, to a high school friend, he might quip, "You can just imagine how Food and Beverage felt about my coming home three hours after curfew, and with a snootful."

But despite his frivolous nicknames for them, Cameron Cody loved and respected his parents.

Yes, Food and Beverage Cody never had bill collectors knocking on their door, or calling them on the phone. But there had never been money to upgrade to things new, and one bad crop could bring financial disaster. That's just the way things were for small-town Alabama sharecroppers. At one time, Cam had believed that was how it was for most everyone, until, at age twenty, he had moved to Los Angeles.

Over the past five years, Cam had done very well financially, and he had tried repeatedly to help his parents. But his father, a proud man, had torn up, and then returned, every check he had sent. When he had bought them a new freezer to replace their broken old one, his dad had refused delivery of the appliance.

Truth be known, just last week, on the telephone, Cam and his dad had gotten into a verbal scuffle about things financial. When Cam had insisted upon renting a car at the Montgomery airport for the drive into Enterprise, Fred Cody had argued that it was a waste of good money. "Your mother and I will be happy to pick you up."

But, for once, Cam had prevailed. He wouldn't have his parents driving the seventy-seven miles to Montgomery, not when he could well afford the rental. And not when they, and everyone else, were extra busy in advent of the Christmas holiday.

Cam shifted uneasily on the uncomfortable sofa. He ran a hair through his coarse blond hair, cut to a crew for his upcoming role in a 1950s-set, sex romp, The Seven-Year-Bitch. And no, he wasn't playing the lead role-not this time. That part had gone to an eighteen-year-old, raven-haired boy, Cal Fontenla, who had literally walked off Hollywood Boulevard and into the offices of the adult entertainment conglomerate that had made Cam a star.

About Author:

Born in Bronx, New York, and raised in Fresno, California, Christopher Stone’s early years were dominated by school, watching television and motion pictures, bicycling, skating, and reading avidly. Summers were spent swimming, and doing whatever it took to survive the oppressive San Joaquin Valley heat. But he also remembers fondly the yearly summer trips to New York, to visit family and friends – and to see Broadway shows.

Christopher left Fresno, for Hollywood, California, during his college years after being accepted into the Writers Guild of America’s Open Door Program, a two-year, scholarship, training ground for aspiring screen and television writers. As it happened, rather than a teleplay or screenwriting gig, his first professional writing job was in journalism – as the Los Angeles Editor for Stage Door, at that time, Canada’s equivalent of the U.S. entertainment trade weekly, Variety.

Christopher would later use his Writers Guild of America training to co-author and sell the original screenplay, The Living Legend, with Jon Mercedes III, to the Erin Organization, and later, and also with Mercedes, to write two seasons of The Party Game, a Canadian TV game show.

As a young freelance entertainment journalist, he contributed to many Los Angeles-based publications, among them The Advocate, for which he wrote a breezy film column, “Reeling ‘Round,” and the Los Angeles Free Press. During this time, he became a member of the Los Angeles Drama Critics Circle.

Christopher dipped his toes into the world of motion picture advertising and publicity, as assistant to the West Coast Director of Advertising and Publicity for Cinerama Releasing Corporation, in Beverly Hills. At the same time, he also did special advertising and publicity projects for 20th Century-Fox. Christopher went on to become an Account Executive for David Wallace & Company, a public relations firm specializing in entertainment accounts – and located on West Hollywood’s legendary Sunset Strip.

Returning to his first love, writing, Christopher became a full time freelance contributor to national consumer publications including Us, Good Housekeeping, Family Circle, McCall’s, In Cinema, and The National Enquirer, among others. Many of his stories were syndicated worldwide by the New York Times Syndication Corp.

Another important area of endeavor for Christopher Stone was Re-Creating Your Self. A Blueprint for Personal Change that he first developed for himself, the journalist went on to teach the principles and processes of Re-Creating Your Self to others – first, in private sessions, later, in workshops and seminars, and, finally, for California State University Extended Education. Eventually, one of his students suggested he write a book version.

Re-Creating Your Self was first published in hardcover by Metamorphous Press, and subsequently published in a trade paperback edition by Hay House. It has since been published in Spanish, Swedish and Hebrew language editions.

When not writing, Christopher used his longtime interest in, and study of, metaphysics, to teach meditation and psychic development classes – first in Beverly Hills, then later, in Manhattan Beach.

He went on to co-author, with Mary Sheldon, four novellas for a Japanese educational publisher, and then, also with Mary Sheldon, the highly successful The Meditation Journal trilogy of hardcover books. Subsequently, he returned to journalism, this time, contributing hundreds of print and online entertainment features, columns and reviews to magazines and websites. For eight years, Christopher was the Box-office Columnist for MatchFlick.com, a popular online motion picture site.

In his private life, Christopher Stone met David M. Stoebner on May 17, 1994, and they have been together ever since. 
In 2008, they were married in Los Angeles.

They share a home with their three pets in Coastal Los Angeles County.

In 2013, Christopher’s pet project has been transforming their rarely used kitchen table area into a killer, retro 1950s Diner Nook, complete with a 1952 Seeburg Table Top jukebox, a neon diner sign, and a malt machine.

Christopher’s first novel, Frame of Reference was e and print published, in fall 2012, by MLR Press. A short story, Sweet Homo Alabama was published by MLR Press, December 19, 2012.

Stone spent much of 2013 writing Frame of Reference 2: The Dark Side of Stardom, a sequel novel to Frame of Reference, as well as, Abracadabra, and a short story, published at Halloween. But the indefatigable scribe also found time to contribute weekly reviews, columns and interviews to Queer Town Abbey.

As 2014 begins, Christopher looks forward to the publication of The Dark Side of Stardom, and he is developing a short story, Camelot Conundrum, as well as a metaphysical mystery novel, Going and Coming.

Find Christopher Here

Christopher Stone Books