I’m attempting to make my blog titles more interesting, since I normally go with such catchy monikers as, “Update.”
How did I do? 😉
2013 is turning out to be a crazy year. The chaos started in February and will continue into July or so. Some of it has been bad (like seeing my father-in-law lose his year-long battle with cancer back in February) (on my 40th birthday, no less). Some of it has been good (like having a bunch of new releases!). I’m not sure how or why everything seems to happen at once, especially since I feel like I haven’t written anything in ages, but I guess that’s how things roll.
Family Man came out back in March and seems to have been well-received. As an author — and especially as one who tries not to obsess over reviews — it’s sometimes hard to gauge. Still, I have Heidi Cullinan (my co-author on the book) to tell me when something really great comes up, like receiving a starred review in the Library Journal! We were also selected as Smart Bitches’ Book of the Month for April, which was very exciting.
April saw the release of Flowers for Him, the story I co-wrote with Rowan Speedwell for Total E-Bound’s m/m anthology, Promoted by the Billionaire. The anthology can be purchased immediately from Total E-Bound. It will be available from Amazon and ARe on April 29th. I’ll post a (hot, steamy) excerpt at the end of this post.
Also in April was the gigantic ordeal with my dog. For those who are interested, you can read the story here. The good news is, this story has a happy ending! Jango is home. He’s fine. In fact, he has no idea how close he came to dying. And I am so happy I trusted my instincts and took him to the vet when I did!
Next week is RT. For those who will be there, I look forward to seeing you. Drinks are on me! 😉
My next Tucker Springs book, Never a Hero, comes out on May 13th. I’m so excited about this book! Maybe I’ll post an excerpt from that in a day or two. At any rate, for anybody who’s coming to RT in Kansas City next week, I’ll have a few advance paperback copies at the Giant Book Fair on Saturday, so track me down if you’d like to purchase one.
That brings me to June, and the release many of my fans have been begging for since August of 2010 — the sequel to Strawberries for Dessert. This one is called Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding. I don’t have an exact release date or cover art yet, but I’ll share them here just as soon as I do!
Before I move on to that (hot, steamy) excerpt I promised you, I wanted to point out a couple of free stories I have available. Many people are already familiar with The Promise, which features Matt and Jared from Promises. I also have the story I wrote for last year’s Coffee and Porn Birthday Bash. It’s called Chapter Five and the Axe-Wielding Maniac. It’s not a romance, per se, but I think it’s kind of fun. Lastly, I have a vignette I wrote earlier this year called To Feel the Sun. This was supposed to be for an anthology, but it turned out way too short. I could have expanded it but the truth is, I kind of liked it the way it was, so I posted it here for free.
Now, as promised, here’s a fun little bit from Flowers for Him.
I had no explanation for the way it made me feel, watching Neil work. Watching those shapes emerge on the wall. If it was a picture, it was nothing I could identify. Long, strangely curving lines, and yet they called to me. Much as the artist himself called to me. He’d roused something deep in my psyche—a remembrance of things past, gone but never forgotten.
The day after that peculiar conversation—why had I let myself talk that much?—I worked all morning as usual, trying to ignore Neil, but by mid-afternoon, I’d grown restless and curious as to what those odd, compelling charcoal shapes were supposed to be. I left my desk to get a better view, crossing the room to stand at the end of the boardroom table.
Being closer didn’t help. Not only were the shapes still unidentifiable, but the effect was more pronounced.
I watched him sketch the lines on the wall, his hands creating something out of nothing, caressing the coloured blankness into form. His movements were captivating. Almost amorous. I began to notice other things, too. The way his threadbare T-shirt stretched across his shoulders as he reached higher. The way his pants accentuated his backside when he bent forward. The way the tip of his tongue sometimes moistened his lower lip as he focused on his art. Watching him was intoxicating.
“Is something wrong?” he asked, suddenly turning to face me.
Heat rose quickly in my cheeks. I became aware of the way my heart seemed to be beating too soft and too fast. Of the surprising warmth in my groin.
“N-no,” I stumbled. “Nothing’s wrong.”
And yet, as he looked at me, I had a feeling he knew what was happening to me. He somehow knew that my palms were beginning to sweat, and that my mouth was going dry. “It’s sensual, isn’t it?”
My pulse raced faster, and I had to clear my throat to ask, “Sensual?” My voice caught on the word. Images flashed through my mind—bare skin and bodies entwined. The feeling of flesh against flesh. The way he held his charcoal pencil.
He took a step towards me.
“Yeah. Art is a lot like sex. It’s intimate and personal. It’s about being laid bare. About pushing boundaries. It’s about making our senses come alive.” Another step, and I backed up and ran into the boardroom table. “Sensual,” he went on, smiling at me in a way that made me feel like he was a cat and I was a mouse. “In fact, painting always turns me on a bit, you know? Leaves me feeling…” One more step, and he was right in front of me, so close I could see the paint specks on his glasses. I could see that his eyes were green, and even I couldn’t deny what they were telling me.
“Feeling how?” My voice was hoarse and husky, and his smile became almost predatory.
“Horny as hell, to be honest.” He took the last step, leaving us chest to chest. “Like you.”
“No—” I tried to say.
But then he kissed me.
For a moment, I couldn’t move. I could only stand there with the table digging into the backs of my thighs as his lips caressed mine. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to kiss a man. I wasn’t gay.
But even as I thought it, I felt his hands on my hips, urging me closer. He smelled like paint and something else—something I couldn’t identify that was both masculine and herbal—and without ever deciding to, I reached up to cup his cheeks in my hands and I found myself kissing him back.
His lips were warm as they parted under mine. It was an invitation, and I hesitated, feeling that if I took this step, I’d never be able to turn back. I could still push him away. I could still say it was a mistake. But then he put his hand behind my neck to pull me closer, and I tumbled into the abyss.
He was sweet, and minty, and I heard myself moan. I wondered briefly how this could be happening, but the thought was fleeting, lost in the euphoria of his taste. I put my arms around his waist and pulled him close, revelling in the solid warmth of his body against me. His hands in my hair. His breath against my lips. I wanted more—I demanded more—and he gave it, tilting his head back to let me take complete possession of his mouth—to claim it as my own. But if this was a contest, the victor wouldn’t be decided so easily. As quickly as he’d ceded control to me, he took it back.
I felt a moment of panic as the tables turned. His arms tightened around my neck and he pulled himself up to my height, kissing me hard, crushing my lips. I realised with some alarm that he had an erection and my body immediately began to respond in kind.
It was one of the most arousing things I’d ever experienced, hardening against him, knowing the bulge opposite mine was his cock. The thought made me desperate and I reached down to grab his ass so I could pull him harder against me. He moaned as I rubbed my erection harder on his through our pants. Such a simple, innocent pleasure, but it made me frantic. It was a flashback to my youth. I felt young again, a horny nineteen-year-old stealing a few minutes of passion. I humped my hips wildly against him, and he was right there with me, his fingers digging into my back as we rode each other, gasping as we fought to keep kissing through our writhing.
He let go of me and began fumbling with my pants. He tore them open, then looked down and laughed. “Jesus, Chandler. Boxers? You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t answer. I could only moan as he slid his hand inside them to grip my cock. His fingers were so warm and soft, and I put my head on his shoulder and shuddered at the pleasure of him stroking my length.
I’m not gay. I’m not gay. But it was useless. I thrust my hips forward, sliding my aching cock through his tight fist. Three wives and a handful of girlfriends in between, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt as desperate as I did at that moment. I’d never wanted anybody the way I wanted him. The problem was, I had no idea what to do. There were no breasts to reach for, no nipples to thumb. I couldn’t even begin to think about what sex would entail.
“Undo my pants,” he said as he stroked me. “Christ, Chandler, undo my pants!”
I did, although my hands shook. I pulled his fly open and cupped his bulge in my hand. It was hot and solid against my palm and he moaned and pulled me into a kiss.
I was afraid to do anything but touch him through his briefs. I’d had another man’s naked cock in my hand before. I remembered with blinding clarity how tantalising it had felt, but that had been a lifetime ago. I wasn’t ready for it again—not yet, at any rate—so I settled for cupping his hard bulge. My heart raced at the way he thrust toward me as I began to caress him, exploring the hardness of his cock and the soft warmth of his balls. I wanted to memorise every nuance of the silky fabric stretching across his erection, holding him just out of reach.
He groaned in frustration and pushed me back as he dropped to his knees, pulling my boxers out of the way.
I managed to say, “Oh God,” before he swallowed my length, moaning as he did. I had to fight hard not to come right then. It would have been easy to let go, but whatever this was, whatever madness had seized me, I wasn’t ready for it to end. I wanted this bliss to last forever, my hands tangled in his hair and my sex sliding through his lips, but his mouth was too sweet, too hot, too insistent. I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him away. It was rude of me, I knew, but I needed more time.
“Wait,” I gasped. “Not yet.”
Ready for more? You can buy the anthology here.