I love them all … #MMRomance #BookBundleGiveaway #TrueStory @Parr_Books

By E.D. Parr (Guest Blogger)

Hi Lisabet! Thank you for inviting me to your blog to celebrate Pride Month.

Naturally, I love all my stories and characters and so choosing one to talk about was a hard choice but I’ve brought along Like a Thief in the Night.

I wrote the story long after one of my work colleagues shared his real life experience of meeting his husband with me. Time passed, but he’d seeded the inspiration for two characters meeting in a work of fiction and that seed finally grew in, Like a Thief in the Night.

In my day job, I’ve met and become friends with a group of gay men whose love for their partners and shared tenderness fills my heart every single time I see them. Lately, we’ve only met online, which is how we all work now, but it’s still the same. They exude joy in each other. Their love, visible in their little touches and kisses, is good for my soul.

Of course, Like a Thief in the Night isn’t their exact story. Only the way my characters Jon Palmer and Saxon Dearing meet is close to the truth of how my friends Tom and Jonathan met, although Jon Palmer’s description and talent is modeled on Tom. These dear friends told me their story nearly eleven years ago when we’d been working together for some months and grown close. They were thrilled I used it in my story.

I was already writing gay romance stories but surprisingly in 2008, many publishers saw them as a huge risk, so my first published fiction was the usual male/female romance. At that time, I relaxed by writing fiction. I’d always moved in circles where my friendship groups contained gay and lesbian people. I’d worked for gay guys in the entertainment and arts industry. Sometimes, societal unpleasantness and threats made their lives miserable. I admired their courage, but more than that, I had never understood why homosexuality was frowned upon, and worse, made illegal in the past.

In 2014, my first gay romance/suspense was published. Joyfully, I went back to writing gay stories; gay romance, suspense, paranormal romance, fantasy, and sci-fi. I hope my stories give as much pleasure to my readers as I feel writing them.

I’m dedicating this guest post to my friends,

Josh and Ryan, for sharing your real life love story with me way back in early 2010, and to Tom and Jonathan, your devotion to each other, and hilarious anecdotes of your meeting and life together are a continual source of inspiration.

I’ve chosen this teaser from Like a Thief in the Night (it’s the lovers' meeting). 

Saxon’s eyelids drooped. He caught himself before he fell asleep with his laptop balanced on his thighs as he checked Singapore trading. He logged out, closed the lid, and slid the machine under his big low bed. It grazed the side of the baseball bat he kept under there, just in case. A habit left over from the early days of his career when he lived in a neighborhood fraught with crime. Saxon had cleaned his teeth earlier, so he threw the pillow that had supported his back to the other side of the bed. Fatigued, he dropped to sleep as soon as he lay his head down.

Some change in the familiar sounds he generally slept through woke him. He listened without focusing in the darkness blanketing the sleeping end of his studio apartment. Then, with a growing sense of dread, as his eyes became used to the dimness, the realization that someone opened the prismed skylight over the living area sent a prickle of sensation up his spine. He rolled silently from his bed, and prone on the warm wooden flooring, he clasped the baseball bat to his side.

Fearful, but convinced he had the element of surprise to confront an intruder, Saxon watched as a man, tall, arm muscles straining, but obviously practiced at the maneuver, hung through the gap created when he’d pushed the skylight along. Saxon knew there’d once been a stair to that skylight and the roof, but the agent told him the builders had sealed off access in the conversion of the building. He muffled a ragged breath. Should I rush the guy as soon as he’s in the room? His heart hammered. Undecided, Saxon lay there, ramrod stiff, clutching his bat.

The man’s feet dangled only a little way from the floor.

It’ll be raining on my polished floor through that gap. The thought traveled through Saxon’s troubled mind. His grimace became a grim smile.

The trespasser dropped with a soft thud. He strode to the European laundry, and pulled open the right side of the louvered doors. He brought a broom and closed the skylight from below. The glass prism slid along easily and the man stilled for a moment gazing up.

Fucking hell, he knows where things are. Under cover of the pooled darkness and his bedframe, Saxon stared as the intruder took the broom back to the alcove room.

The man closed the doors, turned, and after flipping on the floor lamp standing next to the saloon doors of the kitchen, went through them.

Saxon waited, confused and shocked.

The lamp cast a soft amber glow over the immediate area and raindrops glistened in the man’s dark hair as he arrived back with a wad of paper towel, and cleaned up the splattering of water on the floor. Then he took off a backpack he wore, slipped it to the floor by an armchair, and retreated to the kitchen. In seconds, he was back. He must have left his rain-wet jacket in the kitchen because he appeared in a dark sweater.

Saxon discovered he was holding his breath, when, as the guy disappeared through the bathroom door, dizziness engulfed him. He gathered his courage as he gulped in air. With a quick rub of his elbow that had supported him on the luckily heated but hard floor, he stood and rammed his feet into the leather tartan-lined slippers he favored. Hanging onto his baseball bat, Saxon crept toward the bathroom, trying not to let the soles of his slides slap on the parquet. Halfway there he froze.

A line of light from the bathroom fell across the floor and armchair on that side of the room. Only a little ajar, Saxon could still hear the unmistakable sound of the shower through the opening. What the hell? He’s taking a shower. What sort of burglar takes a shower? Saxon sagged onto the arm of the chair. Fear and now bewilderment weakened him. He hadn’t time to do more than stand as the intruder came out of the bathroom wearing one of Saxon’s big fluffy towels around his waist.

Saxon stared at him. Fuck, I could do without him being hot. He ran his gaze rapidly over the delicious hard chest on display and then locked eyes with the guy. He is gorgeous.

Light from the bathroom lit the young man from behind. His damp hair stroked his cheeks in unruly strands. He held his hands up, palms out.

Saxon lifted his baseball bat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His voice cracked.

The guy nodded at the bat. “You won’t need that. I’m harmless. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be home.” A contrite expression passed on his handsome face, and then Saxon was certain amusement replaced it.

Saxon dropped his arm and the bat swung by his leg. “Clearly.” He glared at the man, but inexplicably couldn’t summon anger, and in the face of this half-naked gorgeous guy, his fear disappeared and curiosity filled him. “You’d better explain yourself.”

Copyright E. D. Parr, Evernight Publishing.

Read a hotter teaser on the ParrX MM erotic romance blog

Blurb

Gorgeous businessman, Saxon Dearing buys a pied de terre in the city where he works. Only using the place for three nights, he goes home to his beachside house for the rest of the week. At thirty-two, immersed in his work, he doesn’t know he’s lonely until delicious, twenty-five year old Jon Palmer literally drops into his life during a thunderstorm.

Artist Jon struggles to sell his paintings from a tiny studio, and works in a city gallery to pay his rent. As the two men fall in love, Jon can’t overcome the idea his lack of success is a barrier to telling handsome, wealthy Saxon how he feels.

When his boss offers him a dangerous way of making money, Jon must make a choice.

Will he risk telling Saxon he loves him or let his lack of confidence lead him astray and away from the man who loves him, too?

BUY the BOOK

https://www.evernightpublishing.com/like-a-thief-in-the-night-by-e-d-parr/

https://www.bookstrand.com/book/like-a-thief-in-the-night-mm

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/952715

https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/like-a-thief-in-the-night-2

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/like-a-thief-in-the-night-e-d-parr/1132856965

Amazon sites http://mybook.to/LikeAThiefInTheNight

About E. D. Parr

E. D. currently lives in a small coastal town in the UK. A multi-published author, E. D. Parr presently writes for Evernight Publishing and has gay romance published by Encompass Ink and eXtasy Books as well as male/female romance published under another name by Siren Publishing, Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly imprint, Hot Ink Press, and Evernight Publishing.

In essence, while all E. D.’s stories are love stories, heavy on plot and character driven, they are also open door romances with explicit love scenes. E. D. says, ‘why hide a delicious thing like sex and the gorgeous experience it can become between people’

Find and follow E. D. Parr online

https://twitter.com/parr_books

https://parrx.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/parrbooks/

To celebrate Pride Month I have two giveaways. Lisabet will choose the winners of each eBook bundle randomly, but you need to comment on her blog including your email address (obfuscated is fine) in order to be contacted should you win.

Note that every comment is also an entry in Lisabet's Pride Month contest!

Bundle one, your choice of kindle or ePub files, for three contemporary gay romance/MM romance. Like a Thief in the Night, bad boy angst with epic HEA, Love on Show, and contemporary gay romance with elements of paranormal, Shower You With Love.

 

 

Bundle Two, your choice of kindle or ePub files for three scif-fi/fantasy MM romances,

The Dreamboat, and String of Pearls, both with elements of suspense and magic, and are set in the same Sci-fi world and my latest release with Evernight Publishing, Love in Danger.

 

 

N.B. All books in the bundles contain MM sex.

You can read blurbs for all the books in each bundle by following the link on the ribbon banners on my Evernight ED Parr page: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/e-d-parr/

How it all began - #PrideMonth #GayRomance #LGBTQ @NeilPlakcy

 

By Neil Plakcy (Guest Blogger)

I remember my introduction to MM romance very clearly. I was browsing in a Barnes & Noble bookstore in a now-destroyed specialty shopping center in South Miami, killing time with my partner before we were to meet friends for dinner. I was idly browsing whatever passed for the gay section back then and found this trade paperback with a colorful cover and two cute guys.

I bought it immediately, but sadly, I gave it away years ago in a purge of books so I can’t even remember the title or the author. But it opened the world of gay romance to me, and that spurred me to write my first one, an assistant/boss romance set at a gay website on South Beach, called GayLife.com.

My newest romances are both historical, and they both take place in the same year—1872—though The Gentleman and the Spy is set in England and The Lock-Keeper’s Heart in rural Pennsylvania. Both are historical with a slow burn, as I think is fitting for the times.

The Lock-Keeper’s Heart is set in the area where I grew up, as the country recovers from the Civil War and two broken-hearted men are thrust together in a lock-keeper's cottage along the Delaware Canal.

First reviewer writes: "This book is perfect for those of us who enjoy MM historical romance. You will be happy to lose yourself in its pages."

Second reviewer: "This was an enjoyable read set in an American historical setting with interesting references to experiences I was unaware of."

Just what I wanted to do!

https://amzn.to/3vLkrUD

https://books2read.com/u/bQJWBe

Excerpt

While Lenert set the fire, Isaac braved the gusting rain to head out behind the outhouse, where he kept a big copper tub collecting rainwater in case of drought. The tub was half as long as Isaac himself, nearly three feet, and full to the brim with fresh rainwater. Isaac had some time before rigged up a pulley system he could use to drag the tub into the house, and he strained to tug it up to the back door.

When Lenert saw what he was doing, he applied his strength as well, and they dragged the tub into the house and placed it beside the fire. Isaac ladled water from the tub into several pots, which he put on the stovetop. He also hung one on a metal spit above the fire.

When he was finished, he pulled off his sopping shirt and wrung it out in the basin, then hung it near the fireplace. “You should do the same,” he said to Lenert, as he attempted to swallow the desire he had to see his naked chest.

Isaac poured a kettle of steaming water into the tub, then put another up to boil. The question in his mind bubbled up to the surface. “Do you write to your parents? Let them know you are all right?”

“They do not wish to hear.” He began to unbutton his shorts. “We must take off all wet clothes.”

Isaac turned his head to avoid reacting to Lenert’s nakedness. The tub was long and deep enough that Isaac could sit in the water, with his legs pulled up, and use a ladle and a cloth to clean himself. He hurried to strip his pants and drawers, and then got into the tub, even though the water was still chilly. At least the cold water had the expected effect on his cock, causing it to shrivel.

Isaac had closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he saw Lenert standing over him, fully naked and holding a bucket of hot water, his generous jack at half-mast. “Move back, please,” Lenert said, and when Isaac pulled his legs up close Lenert dumped the pot of hot water.

Isaac could not help a sigh of pleasure at the warmth of the water. Then he noticed Lenert watching him, and his rod began to stiffen. He quickly pulled his legs up to hide it from view.

Damn. He had forgotten the soap. “Could you bring the soap, please,” he asked, his throat tight – from the water, or from desire. He didn’t know which.

Lenert walked to the counter, and droplets of sweat on his back and ass shimmered in the low firelight. As he returned, his cock wagged from side to side.

He handed the soap to Isaac, and fire erupted from his fingertips as his hands touched Lenert’s in a surge of emotion. He could tell from the way Lenert backed his hand away quickly that he felt it too.

Lenert brought one of the wooden kitchen chairs over and placed it beside the tub. Isaac had no choice but to relax his legs as far as he could and begin to wash himself, to hide the stiffness in his prick. They were already close to a master-servant relationship, the way Lenert had delivered the soap, and waited by the tub with a towel for Isaac. He didn’t want Lenert to feel he had to do anything more.

“We have tub like this on our farm,” Lenert said, smiling. “Always my father bathe first, then my sisters, together. Then me, and my mother last.”

Isaac’s cock was already painfully hard and imagining Lenert naked in the tub did nothing to help. The Prussian’s gaze was unnerving, as if he was touching Isaac in all the places the soap and rag did. “You want I wash your back?” Lenert asked.

Isaac knew he ought to refuse the offer. He didn’t want Lenert to be obligated to do anything. But he was weak, and so he said, “Yes, please.”

Lenert’s touch was gentle, rubbing the cloth along Isaac’s shoulders, and yet every bit of Isaac’s skin seemed to breathe and glow with an inner warmth. The cloth was rough but the soap smooth, and the combination of the two permeated deep into his body. He pulled inward, letting the pleasure fill him.

The skin was the largest organ in the body, Isaac recalled from the natural science class he had taken in his first year at the University, where it was part of the program that included Latin, Greek, ethics, oratory, logic, history and mathematics. But he had never thought of it as a living thing, one that could create such sensations in his body.

Isaac bent forward so Lenert could move down. In that class he had been required to learn the major bones of the body, and then identify them on a chart as part of his examination. To force his jack down, he closed his eyes as Lenert gently washed his spinal column, thoracic vertebrae, and scapula.

It didn’t work. With every touch, his cock quivered with delight. It seemed impossibly hard, like a wooden branch that had sprung from his body. The gentle wave of the bath water every time Isaac moved pushed past his stiffness, exciting the nerves that stood out in relief.

“Stand, please,” Lenert said.

“Oh no, I’m fine.” Isaac was mortified to raise up out of the water, his cock bobbing in front of him.

“Please,” Lenert said, tugging on Isaac’s shoulders, and there was something in the plaintive tone of his voice that Isaac couldn’t resist. He stood, water cascading down, feeling exposed and vulnerable as his cock bounced against his belly. Then it stood out, an extension of his being that existed only to give him pleasure, and he shivered with delight.

Lenert soaped the rag again, squeezed it out, and began to gently massage Isaac’s lower back. The latissimus dorsi, the external abdominal obliques. The air in the cottage was cool, and the sensations of warm water and cool air combined to make him conscious of every square inch of his flesh. Isaac closed his eyes, relishing the touch, until Lenert moved the rag down to the top of Isaac’s buttocks, and his eyes snapped open in surprise.

Lenert said nothing, just continued to carefully wash Isaac’s butt. The gentle touch of Lenert’s fingers tickled and teased along top of his cheeks, smoothing the curve from his erect back to their roundness.

Isaac was so hard and ready to spend that he worried he would do so from the feel of Lenert’s hand back there, without ever touching his jack. Was that even possible? That a man could stimulate his body so much that it sought release without a single caress?

The movement of Lenert’s index finger down the crease between Isaac’s buttocks was as unexpected as it was delightful, and he shivered with pleasure. He felt completely out of control, at the mercy of whatever Lenert chose to do.

“We make you very clean,” Lenert said. “When I was little boy, my mother tell me I must wash these parts very carefully.” He worked for a moment, the warm water and the soap relaxing Isaac’s muscles and opening his hole. As Lenert spread the cheeks wide, the cool air rushed in and Isaac flexed the muscles back there.

Lenert rinsed the rag and then wiped the area clean with additional water, and Isaac was relieved that he had not embarrassed himself any further by spending into the bath.

Then he was startled by the feel of Lenert’s tongue at his hole. “Oh, my,” he said with a gulp. Stephen had used a single finger back there, but never his tongue.

“Is all right?” Lenert asked.

Isaac wanted to tell him to stop, that he didn’t have to do this, but once again he was weak, and all he could manage to say was “Very.”

“Yes, all clean,” Lenert said after he stepped away, and the tingling sensations began to subside. “But front must be clean as well.”

He tugged on Isaac’s waist until he turned around. Isaac’s face was flushed, his body glowed, and his peter was stiff and straining. Lenert dipped the rag into the water again and began to wash Isaac in a way that no one ever had, caressing his cock and balls, rubbing against the area behind them that led to his hole.

He was so excited that tears began leaking from his eyes. And then Lenert was stroking his jack harder and harder with the rag, and pleasure raced through his body. He closed his eyes and saw stars, he clenched his teeth and held his breath, until Isaac could hold back no longer, and with a cry and a shudder he spent into the cloth.

His bones felt like they were made of aspic and could barely hold him up. “Yes, all clean now.” Lenert rinsed the rag once more. “One last thing. Must wash your hair.”

“I can do that,” Isaac said.

“No, no. You stay.”

As Isaac stood there in the knee-deep water, shivering in his nakedness, Lenert took the pot from the fire and poured some hot water into a bowl, which he mixed with cold. Then he said, “Close eyes, please.”

Isaac did, and Lenert stepped into the tub, the water sloshing around their knees. He was as close as they were in bed when they slept. He was as naked as Isaac, and an erotic thrill surged through Isaac’s body.

Lenert poured some of the water over Isaac’s head, letting it cascade through Isaac’s locks to his scalp, then trickle down his back. The Prussian was a few inches taller than Isaac, so the angle was right for Lenert to massage some soap into Isaac’s blond hair, then rinse it out.

Lenert’s fingers were so gentle, teasing out knots, massaging his scalp. Isaac shivered again from the sheer pleasure of it.

Then Lenert leaned away, grabbing the towel from where he had hung it on the back of the wooden chair. He began to dry Isaac’s body one part at a time, first his arms and his back and then his chest, moving lower to his half-hard cock.

“You should bathe yourself,” Isaac said. “I will heat more water.”

“I don’t need,” Lenert said.

Isaac smiled. “The bath will not be for you, but for me.”

About the Author

Neil Plakcy is the author of over fifty gay romance, gay mystery and adventure, and cozy mystery novels. His eclectic work career includes stints in shopping mall construction, web development, and computer game producing. He is a professor of English at Broward College in the Fort Lauderdale suburbs, where he lives with his husband and two rambunctious golden retrievers.

Links

Website www.mahubooks.com
Twitter https://www.twitter.com/NeilPlakcy

The Lock-Keeper’s Heart

https://amzn.to/3vLkrUD

https://books2read.com/u/bQJWBe

Help Lisabet celebrate Pride Month! Leave a comment to enter her contest for bookstore GCs and free ebooks!

A quiet joy took root and grew -- #MFRWHooks #PrideMonth #Giveaway #99cents

Welcome to the MFRW Book Hooks blog hop! Today, in my continuing celebration of Pride Month, I have another, exclusive excerpt from my MM scifi erotic romance The H-Gene. This novel is on sale all through June for only 99 cents. But just for fun, I’m giving away a copy today, to one person who leaves a comment with his or her email address.

Here’s a quick blurb:

After a gay plague killed millions and sparked brutal riots, the Guardians locked up all H-positive men in remote quarantine camps – including Dylan Moore. H-negative guard Rafe Cowell blames the lust he feels watching prisoner 3218 on loneliness and isolation. When he finally meets the young queer, he discovers that Dylan is brilliant, brave, sexy as hell — and claims to be in love with Rafe.

And here’s the hook!

Twenty minutes later Rafe was in the garage, checking out a trike. The guards used the three-wheeled, battery-powered cycles for recon outside the camp. It wasn’t likely anyone would try to break in—most people had forgotten all about the quarantine—but every two months, protocol required that someone check the twenty miles of bleak terrain surrounding Malheur Camp for anything suspicious.

Rafe hoisted himself into the seat, pulled on his helmet and goggles, then flipped the starter. He headed for the gate in the inner fence, the cycle purring underneath him.

He halted outside the second gate, across from the raised bridge. He was more than twenty feet from the moat, but the rotten egg stench still assaulted his senses. There was no way Dylan could have made it across that hellish river. The guy must be here somewhere, between the outer fence and that stinking pit of poison.

And when I find him? Rafe couldn’t help asking himself. Then what? If I don’t bring him back, I’m pretty much signing my own death warrant.

He pushed the thought away. Turning left, he began a slow circle around the camp. As in the inmate precinct, there were no trees, just the occasional boulder making long shadows in the setting sun. Rafe examined each unlikely hiding place, searching without success for Dylan or any sign that he’d been there. Concrete towers at each corner of the fence supported spotlights and housed the transformers that fed current to the steel mesh. No one crouched in the angles between these buildings and the barrier. The maintenance entrances were all inside the fence, so Dylan couldn’t be hiding inside the cement boxes.

Where the fuck are you, Dylan? Give me some clue.

It took Rafe more than an hour to make his way around the eight-mile perimeter and back to the bridge. By then the sky overhead had turned azure, while red and orange clouds striped the western horizon. He stared again at the steel webbing arching over the stinking, bubbling moat of toxic waste. Could Dylan have somehow figured out how to lower the pivoting segment to cross over, then raise it again?

Considering all the amazing technical feats the inmate had managed inside, nothing was impossible.

He inserted a pair of nose plugs fished from his jacket pocket, then approached the bridge control box. When he touched his left and right index fingers to the sensor panels, the compartment swung open. There was no sign of tampering. He pressed the “Down” button. The hinged section squealed slightly as it swung down and locked into place.

Rafe sucked in a deep breath and squeezed the trike accelerator. The vehicle sped up the ramp, across the temporary span, and down the other side. Remembering his training, still holding his breath, he activated the “Up” button from the matching control box on the far end of the bridge. The moving segment flipped back to the open position.

He brought the cycle to a stop some thirty feet beyond the moat and let his lungs empty. He stared back at the ugly bulk of Malheur Camp. The floodlights came on, bathing the ground around the fence in a sickly yellow glare. The barren soil where he stood, outside the range of the lights, was still a featureless gray. Evening deepened as Rafe perched there on the trike, trying to figure out what to do next.

If Dylan had made it past the moat, he’d be on foot. Rafe could easily catch him on the cycle, but only if he knew which direction the boy had taken. Dylan was probably too smart to keep to the road. On the other hand, he’d said he was headed for the city. Rafe guessed he meant Sanfran. Ellay was too far away and, since the eruption of 2024, nobody really considered Portland a city anymore.

Southwest, then. If he wanted to find the boy, that’s the way he should head. But maybe he should give up, go back to the camp and admit that they’d all been outsmarted. The Guardians would probably discipline both him and Turk, but what could the higher-ups do, really? Fire them for incompetence?

Rafe gave a bitter laugh. As the sound died away, he thought he heard something else—something like a moan, barely audible but definitely human.

He listened carefully to the quiet night. There it was again—a soft sound of someone in agony, coming from near the bridge.

Dylan! Rafe scrambled off the trike and headed towards the sound, holding his breath once again. He scanned the bank. There! By the edge of the moat, in the shadow of the criss-crossed girders, there was something that looked like a pile of rags. He inched closer, trying to ignore the sting as the toxic vapors attacked his skin. The bundle of cloth stirred and coughed. Rafe rushed over, crouched down and turned the body onto its back. Then he gasped and choked himself as noxious fumes rushed into his throat.

Dylan’s cheeks and brow were peppered with oozing sores. His eyes were swollen shut. His thick tongue protruded between cracked lips. His fingers twitched feebly.

Rafe half dragged, half carried the younger man away from the river of poison. He stretched the limp body out on the ground, shielded by the trike. “Dylan!” he cried, as the fresher air filled his chest. “It’s me, baby. Oh, God, Dylan!”

Dylan coughed and sputtered. Greenish spittle trickled from his mouth.

“Breathe, kid. Breathe!”

Dylan seemed to hear. His raw lips moved, as though he wanted to say something.

Rafe needed water, to wash the man’s wounds and clean away the chemical residue. He needed antibacterial salve and collagen strips and enzyme patches to stimulate healing. Not to mention an oxygen tank to force the poison out of Dylan’s lungs.

That meant civilization, or what passed for it here in the wastelands of Oregon. The closest settlements, though, were at least two hundred miles away.

Rafe lifted Dylan’s body once more and settled it on the seat of the trike. Dylan slumped against the windscreen. Rafe mounted the bike behind the inmate, slipping one arm around his waist for support while steering with the other.

“Rafe?” Dylan’s voice was weak but intelligible. He raised his head then let it flop back on to Rafe’s chest.

“Yeah, it’s me. Just relax, boy. Hang on. I’m going to get you some help.” Rafe started the cycle and turned it towards the ribbon of crumbling asphalt that stretched westward.

The other man leaned against Rafe’s body. “Mmm,” he murmured. “Good.”

Strangely enough, it was good. Despite his worry about Dylan, Rafe felt a kind of contentment as they raced off into the night. The wind was fresh and cool in his face. The motor hummed between his thighs. Dylan’s weight was a welcome reminder that, for once, Rafe was not alone.

The cycle ate up the miles. Dylan slept, curled against him. Inside Rafe’s chest, a quiet joy took root and grew stronger. For the first time in years, Rafe felt free.

 

Only 99 cents at Smashwords, BN and Kobo through June 30^th.

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1032512

Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-h-gene-lisabet-sarai/1137338272?ean=2940164186050

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/the-h-gene

But do leave a comment – you might win a free copy!

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks hop (links below).

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The ritual requires it – #MFRWsteam #lesfic #PrideMonth #99cents

 

Welcome to the MFRW Steam Hop! As always, we members of the Marketing for Romance Authors list who write spicy fiction have a hot selection of excerpts for you. Mine comes from my FFF paranormal/fantasy romance,The Witches of Gloucester. Gloucester is one of my favorite places in the world, and this is one of my favorite books. It has everything I love: history, magic, love and of course sex!

Blurb

The historic port of Gloucester, Massachusetts has a special charm, due at least in part to its resident witches. For decades, raven-maned Marguerite and red-headed Beryl have lived among its hard-working inhabitants, making magic and mischief. Love and sex fuel their supernatural abilities, but duality limits their power. To reach their full potential, they need a third witch to complete their circle.

Rejected as a nymphomaniac by her puritanical boyfriend, Emmeline escapes to Gloucester to work on her PhD thesis. From the moment she arrives, Marguerite and Beryl sense her erotic vitality and unrecognized paranormal talent. The platinum-haired beauty may well be the enchantress they have been awaiting for so long. Now they need to show Em that her prodigious libido is a gift, not a liability, and to persuade her that her destiny lies in the sea-girt town they guard, and in their arms.

SPECIAL BONUS: Also includes "Late Show", a contemporary FF erotic romance tale about second chances.

 

Excerpt

Sparks danced along Em’s naked skin in the wake of Beryl’s fingers. Naked? When had she removed her clothing? Her eyes fluttered open. Shadows hung in the opulent room, shaped by candles that flickered on the mantel. It was nearly midsummer. How could the night have come so quickly?

Embarrassment, wonder and need warred within her. Arousal coursed through her body in shimmering waves, so intense it was almost pain. She found herself splayed nude upon the carpet, arms flung out and erect nipples pointing at the ceiling. Her knees were bent, her thighs spread wide in lewd invitation. Moisture seeped from her exposed cleft, dampening the silky nap of the rug beneath her.

Beryl knelt in the gap between Em’s legs, equally naked, her porcelain-pale skin gleaming in the dimness. Candlelight struck glints from her coppery crown. Emmeline couldn’t help staring at the matching tangle hiding the woman’s sex. She ached to part that auburn curtain and taste the moist flesh it concealed.

The older woman grinned. Mischief glittered in her emerald eyes. “Time enough for that later, girl. The first climax must be yours. Trust us. We won’t harm you. We just want to teach you who you are.”

We. The plural made Emmeline wonder about Marguerite.

“I’m here, darling.” The lilting, cultured voice came from behind her. Em twisted backward. Marguerite knelt just above her head, thighs parted, buttocks resting on her heels. The tawny beauty’s pubic curls were mere inches from her own silvery locks, releasing clouds of tidal perfume. Flawless butterscotch-brown skin stretched over Marguerite’s lush breasts and swelling hips. Sleek muscles shifted under the smooth surface as she leaned over to brush her lips across Emmeline’s.

Even that brief contact sent lightning sizzling to Em’s cunt. For an instant she teetered on the edge of climax, before the luscious pressure subsided.

“Shall we take you, Emmeline?” Maguerite’s question wound its way into Emmeline’s consciousness, through a haze of lust. “You must ask us. The ritual requires it.”

The ritual? What did she mean?

“Speak up, girl.” A hint of impatience, or possibly worry, edged Beryl’s voice. “Do you want us to fuck you?”

Oh God! Emmeline sucked air into her lungs. Everything tightened inside. Once more she dangled, a breath away from release. Somehow, she knew she couldn’t reach it on her own.

“Yes.” A whisper, a sigh, an admission of shameful need. “Yes. Fuck me. Please.”

Buy Links (Ebook)

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07DBB3ZTN/

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07DBB3ZTN/

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/832808

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-witches-of-gloucester-lisabet-sarai/1128809847?

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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40234194-the-witches-of-gloucester

Buy Links (Audio)

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/The-Witches-of-Gloucester/dp/B07MJQSS2X

Audible: https://www.audible.com/pd/The-Witches-of-Gloucester-Audiobook/B07MQMS9

On sale for only 99 cents at Smashwords, Barnes and Noble and Kobo! And remember, every comment counts as an entry in my Pride Month giveaway.

Visit the other authors participating in the Steam Hop, for more sexy excerpts.

---

We are all human – #PrideMonth #MMRomance #SeafaringRomance

By Lee Rowan (Guest Blogger)

A friend on social media was complaining about not being able to find any decent m/m romance except in fan fiction, and encouraged her writer friends to think about going pro. So I did. Having found my own same-sex partner not long before, it seemed like a reasonable thing to do – we do all deserve a chance at a happy ending. Love, honor, courage... those aren't male qualities or female qualities. They're the very best human qualities, and I think we all have the capacity to experience them, no matter how different we may be when it comes to sex, age, color, or any of the other tiny subcategories. We are all human, and we all have dreams.

I've always loved the sea, big lakes, whatever – and was a big fan of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey-Maturin series (clearly not a romantic relationship!) Those books gave me a lot of seafaring info so I could at least sound like I knew a halyard from a handspike.

I had a couple of rejections that turned out to be great good fortune in the long run, and lucked out when Linden Bay (now defunct) had decided to try a gay romance. They accepted Ransom, the first book in my Royal Navy series, and the following spring Ransom won us an Eppie.

Three publishers later – that's small-press reality – I'm with Dreamspinner and, after a long hiatus, working on another book.

Blurb - Ransom

An officer, a gentleman... and a sodomite. The first two earn honor and respect. The third, death.

Even as he finds himself falling in love with his shipmate, Will Marshall, David Archer realizes that it’s a hopeless passion. Will's his first act aboard ship was to take pistol in hand and dispatch an older midshipman who made offensive advances. Will might not shoot Archer if he expressed his feelings, but friendship would surely turn to revulsion.

Will Marshall has never given much thought to feelings beyond duty, loyalty, and honor. The Navy is a way to move beyond his humble origins, a chance at greatness. While others spend shore leave carousing, Marshall is more likely to be curled up with a navigation text.

Captured by accident when their captain is abducted, they become pawns in a renegade’s sadistic game. To protect the man he loves, David Archer must compromise himself--trade his honor and his body for Will’s safety. When Marshall learns of his friend’s sacrifice, he also discovers that what he feels for Davy is stronger and deeper than friendship.

The first challenge: escape their prison. The second: find a way to preserve their love without losing their lives.

Excerpt from Ransom

"Davy," Marshall whispered. "David!" He caught his friend by the shoulders. "Wake up!" But Archer, trapped in his nightmare, only fought harder. Worse, he started shouting. Marshall had to clap a hand over his mouth and roll on top of him to stop his thrashing. Damn these nightmares! He didn't want Archer whipped for creating a disturbance, and his own back would not welcome another beating. "David!" he hissed.

The struggling body stilled under his hand. "Wha--William?"

"Yes. Davy, please, you must be quiet--"

His words were cut off as David's arms snaked round his bare shoulders, pulling him down. Not an embrace; it was like a drowning man clutching at a straw. Marshall turned his face to get Archer's hair out of his mouth, and his lips brushed against David's. They parted, and he was lost. A surge of wild pleasure engulfed him; he found himself holding David just as tightly, just as close. It wasn't exactly passion--more some strange mix of protectiveness and a need he'd never realized, a craving for something tangible in this fearful dark place where all the rules that shaped their world were suspended. For an instant he teetered between sensation and control, then the riptide of feeling yanked him under.

Some small part of his mind worried over the problem while his body hurled itself eagerly into the maelstrom. Wildfire blazed from his mouth all the way to his toes, kindling a flame in his groin as he felt himself harden. His lips tingled, the sweet hot touch of David's mouth drawing his tongue deep inside--like kissing a girl but nothing like it, no courtesy, no caution, just a blinding urgency, almost the bloodlust of battle.

But he didn't want to kill Davy or hurt him -- God, no, he just wanted to get closer, somehow. He could feel his own blood racing, could sense another pulse through the thin barrier of cloth between them. He had never in his whole lonely life felt so close to another human being, but there was a familiarity about this, as though he knew exactly what to do. It was incredible, glorious, and hovering just out of reach was the tantalizing promise of one tiny bit more, and he wanted it desperately.

Archer was writhing against him now, one hand tangled in his hair, the other arm locked around his waist. He abandoned himself to the rhythm, hands sliding down with a will of their own to catch Archer's hips. David whimpered, and suddenly they were fumbling with fly buttons--their own, each other's, it hardly mattered. Trousers slid away and they were twined together in the straw, rolling around like a couple of young animals, slippery with the sweat of their furious struggle, frantic but silent.

It was like being on deck in a hurricane: no control, no chance of mastery, just holding on for dear life and hoping to survive the cataclysm. David's shirt was an obstacle, bunching up between them, and they wrestled that off, lips separating only long enough to get the thing over his head and out of their way.

The wave broke almost immediately as their naked bodies touched full length, small cries drowning in each others' throats. The tidal surge seemed to go on forever, then slowly ebbed until they were two separate beings again, two gasping, spent bodies, two very shocked and bewildered young men. But David held his face for a moment longer, time enough for a gentle, piercingly tender kiss. "Thank you," he breathed.

Released, Marshall rolled away, dazed, his body still humming like rigging in a gale. As the feelings calmed and his brain cleared, he realized that what had felt like an age could have lasted barely a minute or two. Had they been overheard? The only sounds he could detect were Archer's ragged breathing, the rustle of the straw, the creaking of the ship. No alarm outside.

Hardly necessary. Alarm was shrieking within him, and he tried to still it with mundanity. "We—we had better wash up." He groped for the water bucket, shivering as the cold wetness splashed against his belly, rinsing himself, passing the refilled cup to Archer.

His breeches had wrapped themselves around one ankle, and the small problem of untangling them and pulling them back on gave him a moment to try to think. It was like swimming in glue. The enormity of what he had just done nearly paralyzed him. What in the world had possessed him? And David had thanked him. For stopping, of course. If he could voluntarily drop dead, this very moment, he would. But of course it couldn't be that easy.

He couldn't see David in the darkness, didn't have to look him in the face; that was a small comfort, since it meant David couldn't see him, either. He couldn't hear David's breathing anymore, but sensed that he was waiting. Speechless with fury, most likely.

Oh, God, now what? He sagged against the bulkhead, face in his hands, and struggled for words. Finally, he took refuge in formality, pushing the phrases out through a throat almost too tight to breathe. "Mr Archer, I--I most humbly beg your pardon. That was inexcusable, I don't know what came over me-"

Archer had curled into a tight ball, choking on pain, cursing his own stupidity. He could have just released Will, apologized, pretended to be asleep, something. If only he hadn't said anything! Well, he wouldn't have to worry anymore about being a pawn in the hostage game; now Will could simply find the Captain and leave. Or I can just attack Adrian, if I can't kill him I'll just go on fighting until he has to kill me. He heard William say something about washing, took the cup that was thrust into his hand, used it to rinse away the stickiness on his belly. For all the good it would do. This won't wash off.

Then he heard Will's voice, and his mind finally made sense of the words. Except that the words didn't make sense. Why in God's name should William be apologizing to him? But he sounded terribly upset, as why shouldn't he, and he seemed to be standing there waiting for an answer. What came over him? That was too absurd. Archer swallowed. "I seem to recall having something to do with it." His voice sounded almost calm, strange in his own ears. Well, he had just destroyed the last bit of anything that made his life worth living. What was there left to fear? Poor William was breathing heavily, as though he’d run a mile. "Will, for God's sake, please sit down before you fall over."

Marshall slid to the deck with a thud, knotting his hands together to keep them from shaking. "If you wish," he said woodenly, "When we return to Calypso I shall place myself under arrest for--for indecently assaulting an officer under my command, I shall resign my commission--"

"Are you mad?" Panic flooded out any other feeling, though Archer had just enough control to keep his voice low. "Will, that's a hanging offense. Have you ever seen a hanging? I have." Terror made him babble. "I was eight. My father thought it would be an eye-opening experience. He was right. I didn't sleep for three days." He took a deep breath and continued, trying to sound more reasonable. "Even if you had... done anything to harm me, do you think I would say one word to send you to the gallows?"

####

The other books in the series follow their adventures in His Majesty`s Navy, culminating in Home is the Sailor, when David Archer is called home after a family tragedy, and once again he and Will face a major shift in their lives.

 

Blurb - Winds of Change/Eye of the Storm

Lt. William Marshall of His Majesty’s Navy carries a secret close to his heart, one that is more important than either his loyalty to England or his devotion to duty. Not only are he and his shipmate, Lt. David Archer, the best of friends, they’ve been lovers for over a year. Should this be discovered, the penalty is death and disgrace.

Both men control their passions and exercise discretion aboard ship as best they can, but the ship’s quarters are close, shore leave is infrequent, and in the military…nothing is permanent.

A transfer to a new ship leads to danger as Will and David are caught in a web of intrigue. Ordered to masquerade as lovers in order to flush out and help capture a saboteur who is known to use blackmail to achieve his ends, they face possible discovery of the truth. Will and David have always known the risks, known that death might take either of them at any time. Their chances of staying together were never high...could it be that their luck has finally run out?

Excerpt

Three days of freedom. Three day…and nights. It was not as though they could afford to relax their vigilance or discretion; sodomy was as much a capital offense in all of England as it was in the Navy, and of any town, Portsmouth could almost be considered the Navy ashore. But they could buy a little privacy, and there was nothing remarkable about two young lieutenants economizing by sharing a room in an inn less respectable than the Keppel’s Head, where the Drinkwater family was lodged.

Luck was with them. The tavern was nearly empty—a lull between dinner and supper—and none of the few faces in the Anchor’s taproom belonged to anyone they knew. They ordered a simple meal, sausage and mash with the house ale, and Davy proceeded to consume his sausage in a manner that had Will blushing scarlet and kicking him under the table. He wouldn’t have been so unkind if he hadn’t been ready to burst his breeches at the sensations his lover’s performance evoked.

“For God’s sake, Davy, hurry up and finish the damned thing!” he finally growled.

“But, Will, it’s our first meal ashore!” Davy said, running his tongue over his lips with a look of unbelievable innocence. “You wouldn’t want me to ruin my digestion, would you?”

They were sitting in a corner, out of sight of most of the other patrons, and the bored-looking codger behind the bar was paying no attention. David’s back was to the room; Marshall sat across from him. Astonished at his own boldness, Will slipped one foot out of its shoe and planted his toes squarely in David’s crotch, not enough pressure to hurt, but enough that he could feel his lover’s excitement at the game he was playing. “You can eat on the ship,” he said, as Davy choked on his mouthful. Will left his foot where it was for just a moment, enjoying the effect, then went back to behaving himself.

“You’re absolutely right!” Davy said when he was able to compose himself. He finished the food and drained his cup. “It’s amazing, Will. I never realized the barnacles in Portsmouth were so fierce—I could swear one of them was just trying to get a foothold on my bowsprit.”

“It’s the shipworm you must watch out for,” Marshall said. “They’ll bore right into your bottom if you aren’t careful.”

“Only if my luck’s in,” Davy said under his breath.

Marshall just shook his head. At least he had worn his cloak for protection against the sharp autumn wind; he could fold it over his arm and prevent embarrassing himself when he stood up.

After what seemed like forever, they were upstairs with the door bolted and the keyhole blocked. Since the idyllic week they’d spent traveling together after they’d first become lovers, this was only the second time they’d had such privacy.

Davy came into his arms like Calypso sailing into port. The feel of his body pressed full-length against Will’s own, the warmth, the scent of him, was simply overwhelming. What a wonderful thing it was to be able to hold him close like this!

“I don’t know what I’d have done if they’d separated us,” Davy said, sliding his hands up under Will’s jacket. “It isn’t just this…”

“This is good, though, you must admit.” Will pulled back far enough to start unbuttoning Davy’s waistcoat. “Never expected we’d have three whole days.”

“And nights.” Davy pulled his face down for a kiss.

“Even better.”

Their conversation trailed off as holding, kissing, and undressing occupied their attention. Before long Will was sitting on the edge of the bed with Davy in his lap. For some reason Davy was greedy for kisses, and Will had no objection to obliging him. But eventually he slid back onto the pillow and Davy followed along, widening the scope of his attention down Will’s throat, down his chest…

“Barnacles on the hull,” Davy said, and his mouth fastened onto one nipple as he pinched the other.

“If you keep on with that,” Will warned raggedly, “the shipworm will get you.”

####

Available in ebook or print at

https://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/authors/lee-rowan-634

About the Author

Lee Rowan has been writing since childhood, but professionally only since spring of 2006, with the publication of her Eppie-winning novel, Ransom. She is a lady of a certain age, old enough to know better but still young enough to do it anyway. A confirmed bookaholic with a wife of many years, she is kept in line by a cadre of cats and two dogs who get her away from the computer and out of the house at least once a day. At this time of year, she's more likely to be found out in the garden, coping with the interesting variations spawned by climate change. So far, so good… 

lee.rowan [at] yahoo [dot] com 

www.lee-rowan.net