Celebrating the freedom to love .... #IDAHOT #NecessaryMadness #LGBTQ #Giveaway

Today, May 17^th, is celebrated around the world as the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia. To be honest, I personally find it hard to imagine hating or fearing someone just because they happened have different sexual preferences than I do. I guess people are afraid of what they don’t understand. That’s a good reason (but not my only one) for writing LGBTQ romance – to demonstrate that love is universal, that is doesn’t depend on your biological gender or your anatomical equipment.

Anyway, to celebrate IDAHOT, I’ve got an exclusive excerpt from my MM paranormal erotic romance Necessary Madness. There’s a lot of love in this book.... even a marriage! And I’ll give away a free copy to one person who leaves a comment with his or her email address.

Blurb

Both power and love can lead to madness.

Nineteen-year-old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world apart. Everyone assumes he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop who picks him up off the street, knows better. Rob's own experience has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially devastating. Since his telepathic sister's brutal murder, Rob wants nothing to do with 'gifted' individuals like Kyle. Yet he can't deny his attraction to the beautiful, tortured young man - an attraction that appears to be mutual.

When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of darkness.

Kyle’s mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow. His ears rang. Ants crawled under his skin, creating an internal itch impossible to relieve. He recognised the side effects of Thorazine. Must have been a heavy dose. He groped through a fog, straining for consciousness. Anything was better than the smothering lethargy the drug produced.

He risked opening his eyes. A yellow halo surrounded the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling. The brightness made him squint. It was all familiar.

He didn’t remember checking himself in. He didn’t remember anything, really, after leaving Rob’s apartment. His chest ached at that memory. He’d been so naïve, imagining that Rob might be different. That he might actually care.

Despair closed in around him. I wish I’d never woken up, Kyle mused. I wish this was all over. He closed his eyes again, willing the blackness to swallow him, but his mind remained stubbornly aware.

“Kyle? Can you hear me?” That voice, soft but strong. What was he doing here?

Kyle turned his head, fighting the drug-fuelled tightness in his neck muscles. It was déjà vu. Once again, the sandy-haired cop sat at his bedside, fidgeting with his cap, his face sombre and worried. A tiny flicker of hope kindled in Kyle’s heart. He extinguished it immediately.

“Go away.” He rolled to his side, turning his back on the blue-clad figure.

“Please, Kyle. Listen to me. I’m so sorry. Really, I was so stupid…”

Resolute, Kyle closed his ears to Rob’s pleas. No one is going to hurt me again. Especially not you. He thought about razor blades and rat poison. Alcohol was too slow. He’d do what was necessary to escape from the madness, to spare himself—and Rob—any more pain.

An image of gleaming steel fluttered through his mind. Gradually the scene returned, the terrible vision that had sent him screaming into blind insanity. Enough of the drug lingered in his system that he could inspect his recollections impassively. The vivid and disturbing premonition had been atypical, a waking fit in which he personally experienced the predicted horrors. The patterns of his madness seemed to be shifting. What did it mean?

All at once, he remembered the images he had seen when he first met Rob, the pulse-pounding blow job, the joy of being on his knees serving the powerful older man. That dream had come true, at least in spirit. Saliva gathered in his parched mouth as he recalled the weight of Rob’s cock on his tongue, the solid force of the other man’s thrusts, the sharp flavour of his ejaculate.

Rob’s hand clasped his shoulder. Kyle’s cock stirred, defying the deadening effects of the medication.

“Forgive me, Kyle. Please. Look at me, baby.”

It was the endearment that did it, cracked Kyle open and let the pain and desire flow in. He allowed Rob to roll him onto his back. He gazed up into the cop’s sky-blue eyes, tears gathering in his own.

“Rob…” he began.

“I know. I know. I’m an idiot. I tried to push you away. I lied to you. Tell me that you forgive me. That you’ll give me another chance to be with you. To take care of you.”

“Why?” Kyle struggled to raise himself to a sitting position. Rob grabbed the thin pillow and tried to help. Kyle noticed the straps hanging from the chrome rails. Restraints. He must have been really crazy. “Didn’t you want me? We were so good together.”

“I was afraid.” Rob sat back in his chair, staring at his shoes. “Afraid of your powers.”

“Powers? You mean my visions?” Kyle had a hard time imagining the tough cop being afraid of anything.

Rob nodded. “I have to tell you the truth, Kyle. About the train. The Holden force found a kid on the tracks with a badly broken leg.”

“Just like in my vision.” Kyle took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And they saved him?”

“Of course. The next train was at midnight. If I hadn’t called when you asked me…”

“But you did call.”

Rob half-grinned. “I couldn’t resist you.”

The pressure in Kyle’s chest lessened. “It didn’t happen. I saw it, the disaster, but you changed the future.”

“We did. That wasn’t the first time, either.”

“What?”

“When I picked you, just before you blacked out, you whispered an address.”

“Yeah, I remember. I saw it scrawled on a wall.”

“I sent a man over, thinking it might be your place. He smelt smoke. There was a fire starting on the roof. They put it out before it could spread.”

“Oh my God… That’s wonderful!” Kyle wanted to jump out of bed and give Rob a hug, but his limbs weren’t quite up to that yet. He settled for squeezing the other man’s arm. The brief touch hardened him further. “It’s great! Why were you afraid? Seems like between the two of us, we’ve managed what I could never do by myself.”

Rob’s eyebrows gathered into a frown. “It’s personal,” he said. “But I’ll tell you, later, once we get you out of here and back home.”

Home. Kyle had never heard so sweet a word.

Necessary Madness is only 99 cents!

https://www.amazon.com/Necessary-Madness-Lisabet-Sarai-ebook/dp/B003XT5QYA/

https://www.pride-publishing.com/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=655

But do leave me a comment – you could win a copy!

Charity Sunday for Oz - #Bushfires #CharitySunday #PNR

Welcome to the first Charity Sunday of 2020.

My post today supports the victims of the horrific fires that have been ravaging Australia. While the world watches in horror, Australia burns. I have many author colleagues from “Oz” and this post is particularly in solidarity with them.

There are so many charities supposedly working to alleviate the suffering of the people and the animals affected by the fires that is it quite difficult to choose. I’ve decided to be conservative and dedicate this post to the disaster relief campaign of the Australian Red Cross. I love animals and I’m tempted to donate to help the unique and severely threatened fauna of Australia, but this month, I’m focusing on the human cost. (Maybe I’ll donate to an animal-related cause next month.)

Image by Monika Schröder from Pixabay

Anyway, I will donate $2 to the Australian Red Cross for each comment I receive on this post.

Meanwhile, I don’t have any books or stories that feature bush fires, but here’s a bit from my MM paranormal romance Necessary Madness involving paranormal visions of catastrophic fire.

Blurb

Nineteen year old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world apart. Everyone assumes that he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop who picks him up off the street, knows better. Rob's own experience has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially devastating.

Since his telepathic sister's brutal murder, Rob wants nothing to do with "gifted" individuals like Kyle. Yet he can't deny his attraction to the beautiful, tortured young man – an attraction that appears to be mutual. When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of darkness.

First came the flames. Then, the screams. Each cry was distinct to Kyle’s ears—the men’s hoarse yells, the women’s shrieks, the inarticulate wails from the infants. He couldn’t see them, not yet. Sooty smoke billowed up, hiding the plummeting bodies, making his eyes sting. Orange tongues of fire pierced the black cloud. The cries grew louder as the heat intensified.

He took a big swig of cheap vodka. The bottle was already half empty. His head spun and he knew he couldn’t stand, but the awful screams still rang in his mind.

Please, he thought. No more. I can’t take any more. Let me pass out soon. He drank again, his gut churning as the raw liquid splashed into his empty stomach.

He tried to focus on the present—the rough stone pressing against his back, the chill wind biting through his ragged jacket, the faint smell of urine that filled the passageway under the highway. Useless. The sensations of the real world seemed thin and frail, powerless to overcome the horrible scenes in his head.

Every time, it got worse. It took more alcohol to remove him to that state of blissful oblivion. I’m adapting, just like any drunk. Before long, I’ll need a whole bottle to drown out the visions. Eventually, it will kill me. The thought was a relief.

The spells came more frequently these days, and not just during his waking hours. Nightmares stalked him, full of bloody flesh and torn limbs, searing fire or icy floods. He’d claw his way back to consciousness, howling like an animal, trying to escape. He’d been kicked out of every shelter in the city. He upset the other residents too much.

He could always go back to the hospital. Thorazine didn’t completely smother the visions, but it deadened the emotional impact. He could sit for hours, watching disasters play themselves out on the screen of his mind, and not care.

It worked for a while, but then he always ended up signing himself out again. As painful as consciousness was, it was better than the half-life of being drugged. At least, that was what he told himself, on the good days when his curse was in remission. The staff looked relieved when he left. Even the professionals had trouble dealing with his ‘hallucinations’.

“Hey, gimme a drink, will ya?” A voice cut through the screams echoing in his head. The grizzled man lying next to him on the sidewalk smelt like long-unwashed socks. “Come on, please? Us bums got to stick together.”

Kyle handed him the bottle. His hand shook. “Sure, help yourself.”

The old timer took a deep swallow, then grinned at him. “Thanks, kid.”

The flames flared up, hiding the man’s pock-marked face and gap-toothed smile. A woman’s cry rang out, full of terror. “No, please, no more…” Kyle muttered, closing his eyes. The hungry fire continued to dance behind his eyelids, mocking his attempt at escape. He groped for the bottle.

Brilliant white light flooded his vision, momentarily chasing the inner fire away. “Okay, boys, time to get up.” The masculine voice held a natural authority—strength without cruelty. “Off to the shelter with you. You know you can’t stay here, getting drunk and blocking pedestrians.” A firm hand grabbed his arm and tried to haul him to a standing position. “Come on. We’ve got a wagon right here. Wouldn’t you rather be in a nice warm bed than a stinking underpass?”

Kyle opened his eyes, blinking in the glare of the cop’s flashlight. “I…no, please…I can’t…” A scream of agony assaulted his inner ears. He doubled over, answering the pain tearing through his stomach. Only the cop’s grip kept him from collapsing onto the damp cement. Another pang knifed through his abdomen. The fire roared inside him.

“Are you sick?” Barely conscious, Kyle had a confused impression of the other man’s face—square jaw, sandy hair, warm blue eyes.

“My stomach… The fire…”

“What fire?”

Kyle couldn’t think, couldn’t focus. The policeman searched his face, trying to understand.

“They’re dying,” he moaned. Maybe he was dying himself. He retched and tasted blood. He was sinking into a rosy, fire-lit haze.

“Who? Who’s dying?” The policeman gripped his shoulders, shaking him, trying to bring him back. “What’s going on, boy?”

The address appeared out of nowhere, written in chalk on a wall of black stone. “Gardner Street,” Kyle whispered, slipping away. “29 Gardner Street.”

The last thing he saw was the cop’s handsome face, the mingled suspicion and concern. The last thing he felt was the man’s heartbeat as he clutched Kyle’s body to his chest.

Don’t forget to leave a comment. Every one means a donation to the Australian Red Cross. And I hope you’ll visit the other blogs participating in today’s hop.

Thank you!

Embracing the Shadows - #Paranormal #TheDarkSide #Power

What makes paranormal romance so popular? I've been pondering this question for a while. Readers, it seems, are happy to consume as many tales about vampires, shape shifters, ghosts and psychics as we authors can produce. You'd think that they'd get bored, but that doesn't seem to happen. Why not?

I've got a theory. We're all tempted by the dark side.

The realms of paranormal romance are vast, but most books offer characters with dual natures, torn between normal humanity and―otherness. The “other” aspect conveys special powers ― unnatural strength, heightened sensation, hidden knowledge―but always at a price. The characters suffer because of their power. Blood-drinkers and half-beasts are ravaged by conscience because they maim or kill. Immortals bear the weight of lonely, isolated centuries and the pain of watching mortal companions wither and die. My prescient hero Kyle in NecessaryMadness can see the future but the fury of his visions drives him insane. Jorge in Serpent's Kiss is the incarnation of an ancient god but each time he makes love to his human mate he comes close to killing her.

In the paranormal genre, power and darkness go hand in hand. Yet somehow, we are attracted to the darkness. We brush the suffering aside; we want to feel the power. A vampires isn't sexy when he's fighting against his blood craving. Only when he sweeps his victim into his arms and buries his fangs in her flesh does he make us breathless and moist.

How many books have you read where the human hero or heroine willingly submits to “the change”, the transformation that will make them “other” as well? How many characters, in contrast, manage to resist the pull of the dark side? Not many. Normal mortal life seems absurd, bland and empty after you've tasted power. This is especially true because sex on the dark side in erotic romance is always more intense, more extreme, transcending the limits that bind ordinary humans.

Even a villain with supernatural powers tempts us. A well-written antagonist should invite enough identification that the reader can understand what moves him to do evil. The best bad guys are ambiguous, able to justify their deeds so well that they draw our sympathy. They dazzle us with their logic and their beauty, until we can't see their wickedness. Lucifer still looks like an angel as he bargains for your soul. Stefan Aries, my villain in Necessary Madness, is handsome and brilliant enough to make Kyle want him, despite his being a murderer.

We're drawn to the dark side, I think, because it's an escape. Sometimes the real world leaves us feeling so powerless―we can't help wanting the ability to take control, to bend the world to our will the way our paranormal characters do. Who wouldn't want to leave the dirty dishes and the unpaid bills behind and slip away into the night, to slink through the shadowy streets scenting for blood or to howl, unfettered, at the moon?

The dark side calls to us in paranormal romance. Every time we open a new book, we flirt with the possibility of ecstatic surrender.

Here’s a bit from one of my darker paranormals, Fire in the Blood. In this MMF erotic romance, neither Maddy nor Troy can resist the vampire hero – despite his own warnings.

His entry was swift and silent. She didn’t even know he was behind her until she noticed his fire-cast shadow on the bed. “You may wear this.” He handed her a brilliant garment of multi-coloured silk. “It belonged to my mistress.” The dressing gown was soft as a cloud, so delicate that Maddy feared it would tear at her slightest touching.

“God, it’s exquisite.” The jewel-toned robe shimmered with a twining pattern of blossoms and peacocks. “But I can’t wear this. I’ll destroy it. It looks like an antique.”

“Put it on.” Power rang in his voice. There was no way she could disobey. She slipped the gown over her shoulders and belted it around her waist. The silk caressed her breasts and belly like secret hands. Her pussy dampened again. “Sit down now, and I will bind your ankle.”

She seated herself on the bed. The giant perched on a wooden stool and drew her foot into his lap. Maddy struggled to hold still. Every time he brushed his fingers over her flesh, electric thrills sizzled up to strike between her legs. She wanted him to push the slithery silk up her thighs, to spread them so wide that it hurt, then dive down to feast on her juicy sex. Surely he must smell her. He must hear her heart, so loud in her own ears that she could no longer hear the crackling fire. However, he appeared to be completely occupied with his nursing duties. He wrapped her foot and ankle in layer after layer of taut muslin, a reasonable substitute for an ace bandage, then secured his efforts with several safety pins.

She couldn’t stand it anymore. She laid her palm on the kinky nap covering his head. He raised his eyes. In their depths, she saw wisdom and pain. “I’m Madeleine,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Etienne.” He settled back on the stool. “Etienne de Rémorcy.”

“I want to thank you, Etienne. For all your help.” Casually, with one hand, she loosened the sash holding the robe closed. She leaned forward, so the silk gapped open and revealed her gleaming white breasts.

“I could hardly do otherwise. My mistress taught me how to be a gentleman. You obviously needed my assistance.” His rich voice sounded strained.

“Oh, I did.” Maddy shifted on the bed. The dressing gown slipped off one shoulder. “I still do.” The peacocks slithered away, exposing her pale thigh and her wound, crusted with dried blood.

Etienne’s eyes glittered. His blunt hands shot out and grabbed her wrists. “Do not play with me, girl.” Lust gushed through Maddy’s body. Etienne’s nostrils twitched. He tightened his grip until she cried out. “Do not tempt me.”

“You’re hurting me,” she whimpered. “Please…” Dimly, she understood that she was not begging to be released.

“Believe me, I will hurt you far more if we continue.” Etienne forced her down on the bed, her captured arms above her, and straddled her with his massive thighs. “Although I was taught to be a gentleman, in truth, I am a savage beast.” The fragile silk tore away from her nakedness.

“Don’t you want me?” Maddy’s eyes swam with tears.

He brought his mouth close to her ear. “You could not possibly understand how much.” His breath was the icy exhalation of a glacier.

She shivered under his weight. His coolness only stoked the fire in her pussy. “Then take me.”

He freed her wrists and sat back on his heels, searching her face. She cupped her ripe breasts and offered them to him. Please, she prayed silently, let him see my need. She opened herself to him, letting those luminous eyes probe her deepest desires.

He licked his full lips, and his white teeth gleamed in the fire light. He reached for his belt. “Let it be as you will, then,” he growled. “I am no longer responsible.”

Dreaming True - #magic #dreams #paranormal

I’ve always believed in magic.

My dad may have had something to do with this. He used to concoct wild stories about monsters and ghosts, ogres and trolls. I remember sitting cross-legged next to my brother, on the floor by my father’s chair, held spellbound by his tales of heroes tasked with magical trials and elementals battling one another for control of the planet.

Maybe I inherited his imagination.

When I was in elementary school, I had a garnet birthstone ring that I believed could grant wishes. Mostly I remember asking for simple, silly things—like a blizzard, so we’d get the day off from school. Then my mom came down with pneumonia. She was so ill that at eight years old, I had to take over cooking for the family. I was terrified by the sudden helplessness of the woman who was at the center of my world, who could, and did, do everything. The ring got a workout during that period. My mother recovered fully, solidifying my faith in the unseen and the effectiveness of asking for one’s heart’s desire.

I’ve written many times here about the mystical quality of my first BDSM relationship. At dinner on the night before my initiation, my soon-to-be Master told me he was descended from a family of sorcerers—that his Germanic ancestors had practiced the dark arts back in the old country. I’m still convinced I experienced true magick that night, though he often teased me about being suggestible.

Most of my life has been ordinary and mundane, of course, like everyone else’s. I’ve never been convinced I had any special powers. There’s one area, though, where I have experienced the uncanny, more than once. Every now and then, I have prescient dreams.

The first one I remember involved my Master. We didn’t see one another very often, since we lived on opposite coasts. After not having talked to him for several weeks, I had a deeply disturbing dream about him. In the dream, he was hospitalized, bandaged, unconscious and immobile on the bed. I recall everything being pale white, drained of color and life. I sat beside him, holding his hand, willing him to wake. He roused, at least enough to squeeze my fingers, but on his face was a look of absolute despair. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat there, being with him, holding him, loving him the best I could.

I called him the next day, worried. He told me his father had hanged himself in the basement the night before. I didn’t tell him about my dream, not then. As I had in the dream, I held him in my thoughts, soothed him with my words, and hoped that he’d heal.

Another, later case involved a dear female friend, a woman I met on a ride board, with whom I drove halfway cross country in the dead of winter. Jeanie was the epitome of a free spirit—an author, artist, actress and musician, a fascinating creature who seemed to exist outside the boring realm of jobs and responsibilities. She married a guy as crazy as she was. They had wild parties, a rock and roll band, and a pet pig.

One night I dreamed that she told me she was going to have a baby. I was astounded. I tried to talk her out of it. “You’re not the motherly type,” I told her. “Think of all the responsibility! The constraints!” In the dream she just shook her head and smiled.

Two days later, I learned she actually was pregnant. (She turned out to be a fabulous, if unorthodox mom, by the way.)

These are two examples that stick with me, but I know they’re not the only ones. Indeed, I’ve had multiple less traumatic dreams about my Master that turned out to have elements of truth. “How did you know her name?” he asked me when I confided I’d dreamed of him with another woman. To be honest, I’m not sure he believes in magick, at least not the way I do.

Over the years I’ve published quite a bit of paranormal erotica, including my recent release Damned If You Do, my MM novel about the burden of seeing the future NecessaryMadness, my urban shifter romance The Eyes of Bast, and my collection of dark paranormal tales Fourth World. My paranormal worlds are mostly ordinary—mostly indistinguishable from our own. Every so often, however, bright power streaks through them, like lighting illuminating a thundercloud from within. That power—it’s easy for me to write. It feels natural, true. I hardly have to think about it.

In the realm of fiction, my dreams also shape reality.

Sizzling Sunday: Necessary Madness (#gayeroticromance #paranormal #SizzlingSunday)

Today’s Sizzling Sunday excerpt is from Necessary Madness, my M/M paranormal erotic romance. Although the book deals with psychic powers such as prescience and telepathy, it is essentially a contemporary romance set in the gritty industrial city of Worcester, Massachusetts.

Nineteen year old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world apart. Everyone assumes that he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop who picks him up off the street, knows better. Rob's own experience has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially devastating.

Since his telepathic sister's brutal murder, Rob wants nothing to do with "gifted" individuals like Kyle. Yet he can't deny his attraction to the beautiful, tortured young man―an attraction that appears to be mutual. When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of darkness.

The following excerpt takes place after Kyle has been admitted to the state psychiatric hospital, raving from his worst-ever visions. Rob has accepted the fact that he wants and needs the younger man, and has convinced Kyle to trust him. 

 

Rob pulled into his parking space and killed the engine. Kyle didn’t stir. Rob gave him a gentle shake. “Kyle? We’re here.”

The youth gave him a beatific smile. “Ah, right. Sorry, guess I drifted off. I was having a great dream.” He stretched, his lithe body making Rob’s cock stiffen further. “A normal dream, for once,” he added. “Not some paranormal vision.”

“Oh yeah?” Rob led the way up the stairs to his apartment, moving awkwardly due to his erection. He stood back from the open door, letting Kyle enter first, then closed it and threw the bolt. “What did you dream?”

Kyle came up from behind and threw his arms around Rob’s chest. He rubbed the hard lump in his groin against Rob’s ass. “I dreamt that your cock was inside me,” he whispered.

Rob’s penis leapt inside his sticky shorts. He turned to face his companion. They were nearly equal in height, though Kyle had a slighter build. He pressed his lips against Kyle’s, tracing the bow-shaped outline with his tongue. Reaching down between their bodies, he palmed Kyle’s huge erection. Kyle ground himself against Rob’s hand. By the time they broke the kiss, both were panting.

“That, at least, is a dream that could come true,” Rob murmured as he unbuttoned Kyle’s shirt and unzipped the fly. The borrowed clothing was stiff with cum. They’d have to wash it well before returning it to the hospital.

Kyle’s smoky scent rose from his exposed pubes. His cock jutted towards the ceiling, a rod of ivory tipped with ruby. “I think I need a shower first,” he commented with a grin. “Come on.”

Kyle led the way to the bathroom. Rob hastened to follow, dropping his clothes on the way. The glass door of the shower stall was already misted with steam when he stepped inside. Kyle stood under the showerhead, his back arched, jet locks slicked back from his brow and rampant cock dripping. He opened his eyes as Rob entered. Scalding spray hit Rob’s belly.

“I like it hot,” said Kyle, spreading suds over his chest and down his taut abdomen. “Hope that’s okay.” He grasped his cock in a soapy fist and pumped it a few times. Rob thought he’d cream just from the sight.

“Hot’s fine with me.” Rob scooped a handful of foam from Kyle’s body and rubbed it over his own pecs. His nipples stood up like triggers from the mat of soapy fur. Kyle reached out to tweak one of the aching beads. A thunderbolt of pleasure struck Rob’s groin.

Kyle’s nipples were hidden by soapsuds. Rob trailed a finger through the lather, from Kyle’s navel to his collarbone, then spiralled around Kyle’s breast, exposing damp skin. He snagged the nub at the apex between thumb and forefinger and squeezed. Kyle gasped.

“Like that, boy?” He pulled Kyle’s slippery body against his own, straddling the other man’s thigh.

“Yeah…” Rob’s cock slid back and forth across Kyle’s wet flesh. He pinched the rosy head of Kyle’s erection. Kyle yelped in surprise.

“And that?”

“Oh, yeah. Anything, Rob, I like anything you do to me…” Kyle whimpered with pleasure as Rob milked his cock. Kyle seemed so delicate, so malleable. Fierce lust boiled up in Rob’s heart. His cock was stone. More rough than he’d been before, he turned the boy around, pressing Kyle’s hips against the tiles, then flattened himself against the other man’s back. He ran his erection along Kyle’s butt crack, sliding over the soapy skin.

“And you want me to fuck you?” He jerked his hips, forcing Kyle closer to the wall. “You want my cock in your ass?”

“Please…”

Rob explored the crevice between Kyle’s cheeks, stroking, testing. “Spread your legs. Open for me.”

Living Without Winter (#mm #winter #excerpt)

For the past thirteen years, I've resided in a tropical country where we have three seasons: the hot season, the rainy (and hot) season, and the laughably-titled "cool" season, when the temperature occasionally dips into the seventies. Thus, I've been deprived of winter for the better half of a decade. Before the move, though, I lived in rural New England for more than twenty years, so I have plenty of experience with all the joys the season brings: blizzards, ice-storms, and that nightmarish anomaly that seems to be a Massachusetts specialty, freezing rain. I remember winter only too well: power outages, snow tires, storm windows, shoveling, hauling firewood, pulling all the winter clothes out of the attic, making sure your anti-freeze is full... After spending two years in balmy California then returning to my native clime, I came to realize that winter in a place with serious weather is an incredible amount of work.

I usually go back to the U.S. once a year to visit family, but in the spring (during the excruciatingly hot season in my adopted country). Winter is a vivid but increasingly distant memory. I do find myself romanticizing a bit. I imagine the crisp, hushed beauty of a frigid night, when the stars glitter like faraway diamonds in the velvet sky. I remember the excitement of waking up to find the trees cloaked in a soft white blanket, the river frozen, the footprints of a rabbit the only sign of life in the snow-smothered world. I find myself missing the camaraderie of working with my husband to clear a path up our long driveway to the street - conveniently forgetting aching backs and frost-bitten extremities. Memories of childhood delights return to entice me: racing down a snowy hill on my Radio Flyer, digging snow houses out of the piles left by the plows, sitting on the wooden bench next to the flooded and frozen tennis court to don my cherished white figure skates. The scent of wood smoke hanging in the air - Campbell's tomato soup topped with Cheerios and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch after stripping off my soaked snowsuit - real cocoa topped with marshmallows to warm my numb fingers... I could go on and on. Yes, I do miss winter, no matter how hard I try to focus on the dangers and inconveniences it brought.

One of the side benefits of being a writer, though, is that we can use fiction to recreate what we've lost. I definitely do that when it comes to the erotic aspects of my work. The faraway sexual adventures of my youth provide seeds for many of my stories. I write partially to recapture the thrill of those heady days when I was exploring the joys and perils of passion.

In a similar vein, I can relive the experiences of true winter by incorporating the season into my fictional worlds. My M/M novel Necessary Madness is a winter's tale. In one of my favorite scenes, the protagonists, driving home in a storm, stop at a closed, snow-clogged highway rest area because—well, they can't wait any longer:

They’d left in a rush, barely polite. In their eagerness to get back to Rob’s apartment, they’d refused offers of coffee and breakfast. The one-hour trip from Petersham to Worcester seemed endless, especially since the state of the roads demanded extra caution.

Rob’s erection throbbed, painful and demanding. He guessed that Kyle was hard too, though with the bulky jacket and scarf, he couldn’t tell for sure. Kyle felt Rob’s gaze. He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question and his full lips curled into a smile, but he didn’t speak.

Rob couldn’t stand it any longer. They were coming down the hill into Gardner. There was a rest area near the city line. Rob yanked the steering wheel and the car swerved into the exit lane, cutting off a truck easing up from behind.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle yelled. The rest area hadn’t been ploughed yet. The Saturn skidded for several yards before it came to rest in a parking spot. Rob scrambled out, then came around to open the passenger-side door. “Come on. I just can’t wait anymore.”

The lot was deserted. Wind rustled the tall pines sheltering the building that housed the toilets, knocking clumps of snow onto the windshield. Rob grabbed Kyle’s hand and practically dragged him out of the car.

“Rob, it’s probably locked.”

“I’ll break down the door if I have to.” Rob was desperate. But the men’s room was open, although the electricity appeared to be off. Wan light entered via a dirty window near the ceiling. He pulled Kyle through the door and pressed him against the tiled wall, devouring his mouth. Kyle responded with equal passion. Rob ripped open the snaps on Kyle’s jacket and grabbed at his crotch.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to have you. Now. I can’t concentrate. I can’t drive. All I can think about is you.” He unfastened Kyle’s belt and unzipped his fly, then yanked the jeans down around Kyle’s knees. The young man’s cock sprang out, huge and ready. Rob cradled it in his hands, then squeezed hard. Kyle groaned.

“Rob, what if somebody comes?”

Rob chuckled as he wrestled with his own cold fly. “Somebody is going to come—you and me!”

“No, really. If a state trooper came in to take a leak and found us here—you might lose your job.”

“I don’t care. I can’t help it. Honestly, if I don’t fuck you right now…” Rob didn’t bother to finish the sentence. He turned Kyle to face the wall, bracing the other man’s hands against the cold ceramic surface. He wrapped his arms around Kyle’s chest and rubbed his cock back and forth in the boy’s ass crack. Kyle whimpered and ground his butt against Rob’s hardness, until Rob was sure he’d explode.

“Do it,” Kyle gasped, as Rob reached down and gripped his partner’s cock around the base. Kyle bent forward, presenting his rump. Rob spit on his fingers, then slipped one into the crevice between those pale globes. He probed the tight knot of muscle guarding Kyle’s entrance.

“I’ve got a rubber but no lube,” he whispered, wriggling his digit into Kyle’s rear hole. Kyle writhed in response. “Nothing but spit.”

“I can take it.” Kyle caught his breath as Rob inserted a second finger. “I can take anything you give me."

When I wrote this, I was there. All the sensory details were clear. I could feel the sickening swerve of the out-of-control vehicle, hear the pines groaning in the wind and the muted splat of snow blown onto the windshield. I shivered in the bitter chill of the unheated building, the scent of disinfectant rising in my nostrils, goosebumps prickling my bared flesh. Pasting the segment in here, I am surprised to note that almost none of the wintery sensations actually made it into the scene. The focus (appropriately, I hope) is on the sexual tension building between the characters. Winter is in there in the background, though, a contrast to the heat of my characters' desperate coupling.

Unlike some people who move to the tropics, I didn't leave my former home to escape from winter. Life is easier now, I'll admit, but I sometimes hunger for a taste of the cold, dark, snowy season and the complex emotions it evokes - fear, frustration, comfort, awe, hope. When the temperature drops below zero, you truly appreciate warmth. When the sun sets at four in the afternoon, you kindle a fire on the hearth to remind yourself light will return. Living without winter, I write to keep those feelings alive.

Sunday Snog 254: Necessary Madness (#MM #pnr #Worcester)

Happy Sunday! I’ve got a long, juicy excerpt for you today, from my M/M paranormal erotic romance Necessary Madness. Hope you enjoy it!

When you’re done with my snog, head back to Victoria’s place for more sexy Sunday kisses!

Both power and love can lead to madness.

Nineteen year old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world apart. Everyone assumes that he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop who picks him up off the street, knows better. Rob's own experience has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially devastating.

Since his telepathic sister's brutal murder, Rob wants nothing

to do with "gifted" individuals like Kyle. Yet he can't deny his

attraction to the beautiful, tortured young man -- an attraction

that appears to be mutual. When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of

the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of darkness. 

~~~ 

“Where will you go when you’re released from here?”

Exhaustion settled on Kyle like a leaden blanket. He sank back into the pillows. “What does it matter?”

Murphy chuckled. “Well, I’d hate to have to come and round you up again the next time we do a sweep.” Then it seemed that he really saw Kyle, saw his complete lack of hope. He placed his hand on Kyle’s forearm, careful not to disrupt the IV drip. His eyes were like a summer sky. “Look, I can see you’re in pain, and I don’t just mean from the ulcer. I’d like to help, if I can.”

Delicious heat blossomed in the bare skin under the older man’s palm. Unshed tears made Kyle’s chest hurt. It has been so long since someone had touched him with any sort of tenderness or concern. “No one can help me,” he said. “Even the shrinks can’t make the pictures go away.”

“How long have you been having these—hallucinations?”

“Since I turned thirteen. The older I get, the worse they become.” Tears welled up, to his extreme embarrassment. He turned away, trying to hide them from his inquisitor. A gentle hand cupped his chin, bringing him back to meet Murphy’s sympathetic gaze. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.”

“You’re schizophrenic?”

“That’s the current diagnosis. But I don’t think so. The usual drugs don’t work. They deaden my emotions, but they don’t kill the visions. And when I’m not having a spell, I’m more or less sane.” He stopped, familiar guilt overwhelming him. Sane enough to search the papers, looking for, and eventually finding, accounts of the disasters his dreams prefigured. Disasters he could see but not prevent.

Kyle scanned Murphy’s face, trying to read his expression. Some struggle was going on inside the man. His lips were set in a grim line and his brows knotted into a scowl, but his eyes shone with excitement. He still clasped Kyle’s arm, his fingers tense now, digging into the flesh. Kyle placed his own pale hand on top of Murphy’s in a gesture of reassurance. The policeman started as if he’d been burnt.

Kyle felt the shock too, electricity sizzling between them. Murphy snatched his hand away, staring down at his shiny leather boots. When he looked back at Kyle, he seemed to have made a decision.

“I might not be able to do anything to help with your hallucinations, but I can give you a safe place to stay, at least until you recover.”

“I don’t know…” Kyle began. He didn’t want to get mixed up with this cop. The signals were too strong. The man’s sheer physicality unbalanced him. Already, he felt that queasy sensation that presaged his visions. Powerful emotion often triggered his crises.

“No arguments. I live alone. I’ve got plenty of room in my apartment.” The quiet authority in Murphy’s voice sent a delicious thrill up Kyle’s spine. He shivered. Murphy’s tone softened. “Seriously, Kyle, I don’t want to see you back on the streets. Stay at my place for a few days, a week. Give yourself a chance to heal.”

Murphy’s hand rested on Kyle’s thigh, stroking it through the sheet. He seemed unaware of what he was doing, but with every moment, Kyle felt his own resistance melt further.

“Well, I…” All at once, the vision hit, knocking the breath out of him like a punch to the gut.

Terrible doubt. Scalding desire. He was naked, kneeling on a wooden floor. He could feel it bruising his knees, but he didn’t care. A nude man towered over him, corded thighs spread wide, gripping his swollen cock with blunt-fingered hands. Offering Kyle the veined column of flesh. Pressing it against Kyle’s lips.

Kyle opened his mouth, eager to feel the steely hardness on his tongue. He swallowed as much as he could. The man growled and jerked his pelvis forward, sending his cock deep into Kyle’s throat. Kyle clutched the tree-like thighs, struggling to keep his balance. His own cock surged as the man fucked his mouth like a pile driver. Each stroke forced his nose in the man’s musky crotch. Fear lurked at the back of his mind, but the ramrod thrusts battered it into meaningless fragments. There was nothing but two cocks, his own and the one he was sucking, both throbbing, ready to burst, ripe with cum.

The powerful man looming over him roared. He ground his rod against Kyle’s palette. Bitter semen flooded Kyle’s mouth. He drank it down greedily. He felt his own erection pulse, tremble, then explode, painting his belly and thighs with white ropes of sticky cum.

The other man sank to his knees, face to face with Kyle. He reached out to draw Kyle into a kiss, his sapphire eyes gleaming…

“Kyle? Kyle!” Murphy sat on the edge of the bed, shaking him. “What’s wrong? Wake up!” 

Kyle blinked, bewildered by the instant transition. The vision was gone, as abruptly as it had arrived. The policeman sat back and searched Kyle’s face.

“You’re back,” he said, finally.

“Yeah.” Kyle felt his cheeks grow hot, remembering the raunchy scene he’d just witnessed. No, participated in.

“Your eyes rolled up. You started to convulse. Then you went deathly still. Did you see something?”

Kyle nodded. “But it was different from usual.”

“Different, how?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. If you don’t mind.” Kyle smiled to himself. “Could you please go ask the nurse when the doctor’s supposed to come by? I’d like to get out of here.”

“Sure.” Murphy gave him a half grin then headed for the door, strength coiled in every movement. Kyle buzzed with secret excitement. He’d just seen a vision of the future, a true vision if his past experience was any judge. And for the first time, it wasn’t a disaster.

At least, he hoped it wasn’t.