Tag Archive: Soulshares


Release Day for GALE FORCE (Soulshares #2)

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March 12, 2013

Today is Release Day for GALE FORCE, the second Soulshares novel! Josh LaFontaine is the gorgeously self-inked owner of Raging Art-On, the tattoo and piercing parlor that occupies one of the storefronts over Tiernan Guaire’s Purgatory. When the man of his dreams literally falls at his feet, during the Pride march in Greenwich Village, he finds his life — his soul — entangled with Conall Dary, the greatest Fae mage in over two thousand years.  Conall has lost his magick, and before Josh can help him restore it, he suffers a terrible accident. And only Josh stands any chance of finding him before the Marfach — the ancient, implacable enemy of the Fae race — finds him, turns him, and ends him.

Buy it on Amazon  http://www.amazon.com/Gale-Force-Soulshares-ebook/dp/B00BSEDKB8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1363057355&sr=8-1&keywords=Gale+Force+Rory+Ni+Coileain or All Romance eBooks https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-galeforce-1115136-140.html or straight from the publisher, Ravenous Romance http://www.ravenousromance.com/fantastica/gale-force.php! (And if you haven’t read the first book in the series, HARD AS STONE, you can pick that up at Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Hard-as-Stone-ebook/dp/B009SX91JQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1363060233&sr=8-1&keywords=rory+ni+coileain)

 

Gale Force Cover Final

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A Very Fae Valentine’s Day — Kevin and Tiernan

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February 11, 2013

An all-new, original short short story with Kevin and Tiernan, and their first Valentine’s Day as husband and husband. Enjoy! (And please be aware, this being Tiernan, and this being Kevin, it’s going to be a very HOT Valentine’s Day…)  And don’t forget, GALE FORCE, with more of Kevin and Tiernan as well as a new pair of Soulshares, will be available on March 12!)

 

Kevin eyed the plastic cup in his hand speculatively. Well, kind of a cup. A hollow hand grenade. And the bartender was watching him with an ill-concealed grin. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted it’s my first time in New Orleans. Off to one side, the house band on the small stage was rocking out a zydeco song about what girls in the bayou they will do, won’t do.

Strange choice for Valentine’s Day. But, then, so was the Funky Pirate. Sighing, Kevin raised the cup, saluted the bartender, and took a healthy swig. Then, slowly, he set the cup back down on the bar, fighting the urge to cough. Holy shit.

The bartender laughed. “You let me know when you want another one.”

He moved off down the bar, stopping in front of what looked like a group of friends of the band, and Kevin’s gaze wandered. The front door of the bar stood open, and looked out onto the famous Bourbon Street. The street was closed to traffic, and was fairly crowded with pedestrians, most of them probably bar-hopping, carrying their take-away cups from one bar to the next. Probably nothing like it had been a few days ago, though.

The firm couldn’t have sent me here for Mardi Gras, no, they had to wait for Valentine’s Day. Kevin grimaced and had another go at the cup of death and delirium in his hand. Just let me get this down and I swear I’ll go back to civilized drinks. Nothing wrong with Jack and coke.

Nothing except the fact that he’d be drinking it alone. Damn, he missed Tiernan. Which was silly, because he’d be home in a couple of days. But he’d been looking forward to this Valentine’s Day, the first of his married life.

Almost on the thought, there was a pleasant buzz in his pocket. He pulled out his phone, saw the familiar number, and grinned as he slid the toggle to unlock the screen. “Hey, lanan.” He slipped off the barstool and looked quickly around; the Funky Pirate had a back courtyard, and he headed for it, phone in one hand and drink in the other.

“Hey, bodelafint.”

Kevin felt his cheeks flush even as he grinned. Only a Fae would turn ‘Elephant Dick’ into an endearment. “Are you at work?” He sighed with relief as he escaped into the courtyard; there was hardly anyone out here, and even though the music inside was being piped outside, it was a hell of a lot easier to hear.

“Hell, yes. Though I don’t know why, it’s not like there’s anything for me to do here.” Kevin thought he could hear the pounding bass of Purgatory’s sound system behind his husband’s voice. “Where are you? I hear music.”

“I thought I’d try the Funky Pirate. Great music, lethal drinks. I’m out in the courtyard now, though.” Kevin tried another pull at the oddly shaped glass, and this time there was no reason not to cough.

Tiernan’s laugh was pure wickedness. “You’re trying a hand grenade? When I’m not there to take advantage of you afterward?”

“You know the place?” A small staircase in a corner of the courtyard led up to a second story that was gated off; Kevin crossed to it and sat down on the stairs, balancing his drink on his knee.

“Yeah, I’ve been there a few times. I like the music. Though Bourbon Street Blues Company’s better for picking up guys.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too.” Kevin chuckled, but there was frustration in the sound. “I’d rather be at home right now. Especially considering that I wanted to dress to suit the day, but I don’t own anything pink, and the only red item of clothing I have is my red silk tie.” The tie that was his private signal to his husband that he was in the mood for breath play. Which he was. Damn.

“You don’t say.” The words were slow, drawn-out, and followed by a long silence. Then, just as Kevin was about to ask if the Fae was still there, “You say you’re in the courtyard?”

“Yes.” Puzzled, Kevin took another drink, held the peculiar glass between his knees, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Send me a picture.”

“Of me?” I am so not unconfused.

Another low chuckle. “No. Of the courtyard. That back corner, by the steps.”

Kevin opened his mouth to ask how Tiernan knew the layout of the courtyard, but one glance at the corner beside where he sat answered that question very nicely, supplying him with all sorts of images of his husband putting the semi-privacy to thorough use with a woman, women, a man, men… All of which thoughts were making him horny as hell. “Hang on.”

Switching the phone to camera setting, he snapped a shot of the corner and texted it off, then returned the phone to his ear. “Was that what you wanted, m’lanan?”

“That was fucking perfect.”

Tiernan’s reply wasn’t coming from the phone.

Kevin’s head snapped around, and his eyes went wide at the sight of the Fae, shirtless under a denim jacket, in jeans so tight they looked like they’d been tattooed on, blond hair curling around his shoulders. And wearing a smirk that brought the lawyer’s cock to instant and rigid attention.

“I needed the reminder.” Then, in a murmur that should have sent up tendrils of smoke, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Holy shit.” Kevin slammed down the last of his hand grenade, let the cup fall to the ground, and surged to his feet, to be caught up in Tiernan’s arms and turned and pushed back against the vine-covered brickwork, where the Fae’s mouth came down on his in a kiss that left him dizzy.

He felt one of Tiernan’s hands sliding up between their bodies, out of sight; long, strong fingers closed around his tie and slid up the silken length to fist just below the knot. “You weren’t kidding, I see.” Faceted ice-blue eyes held him spellbound, as his husband’s other hand undid his belt buckle, unbuttoned his trousers, and slipped inside to curl around his shaft. “Hold very still, lanan, and let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

The only answer Kevin could manage was a faint moan, one that Tiernan kissed away before starting to twist the silken tie tight. Kevin’s pulse was like thunder in his ears; his breath came in soft, rapid pants against Tiernan’s lips, and his hips made little, tight jerks of their own volition as his cock was firmly, insistently stroked.

“You are so incredibly fucking hot.” He could feel Tiernan’s lips moving, breathed in his words, and shuddered in ecstasy from his touch. “I can’t get enough of you.” The Fae’s hot tongue traced a path back to his ear, probed; teeth nipped, and the tongue soothed. “Are you close? Are you ready?”

Kevin tried, and failed, to get a breath. And the failure sent liquid heat racing down his spine, to pool in his sac. He felt Tiernan’s hand tighten in anticipation – both hands, the hand twisting the tie as well as the exquisite vise around his cock. He had no voice to whisper with, all he could do was move his lips. “…don’t let me fall…”

Tiernan leaned into him, pinning him to the wall, as his knees buckled with the first thick white jet of his release. His eyes threatened to roll back, his hips jerked forward; darkness started closing in, his vision becoming a tunnel. Tiernan’s hand became slick, and the Fae was moaning now, too, along with him, with every pulse of hot fluid that welled up and spilled over.

And the joy. Oh, Christ, the joy. Pure bliss, the delight of being held, pleasured, cherished.

“Scair-anam,” he whispered, as the last wave of pleasure rippled through his body.

Opening eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, he saw his husband nod. “So fucking beautiful you stop my heart.” Tiernan’s lips parted, he leaned in, in a kiss that was as close to gentle as he ever came. “I love you, m’lanan.”

And before Kevin could answer, the faceted blue of the Fae’s eyes heated with a smile. “Let’s go back to your hotel room so I can do it some more.”

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Excerpt from WIP — Deep Waters (Soulshares #3)

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January 16, 2013

In celebration of Hard as Stone taking second place for Best Erotica Novel of 2012 in the Preditors & Editors Readers’ Poll — and to thank all of you for helping put it there! — I promised I’d give you a look at Deep Waters, Soulshares #3. If you haven’t been following me on Facebook (and why not, for heaven’s sake?), I’ve posted excerpts there from each chapter of Gale Force, Soulshares #2, which is in my editor’s loving hands even as we speak. That book introduced Josh LaFontaine, the owner of Raging Art-On, the tattoo parlor over Purgatory, and Conall Dary, the most powerful Fae mage since the Sundering. In Deep Waters, we meet Garrett Templar, an in-demand pole dancer at Purgatory, and Lochlann Doran, the first Fae to make the crossing from the Realm to the human world, over 2,300 years ago. Here’s a taste of Chapter Five:

He had just spotted the recessed doorway that would take him up to his own apartment, directly over Luigi’s Italian Ristorante with the missing “n” where a rock or a bullet had taken out the neon tubing two or three years ago, when he first heard the footsteps behind him. Not quite running, but coming up fast.

            Shit. His grip tightened on the strap of his bag, ready to swing it — or ditch it, if it looked like that would help him get away. And for one sick, sweaty, gut-wrenching moment, he was ten years old again, hearing the kids closing in behind him, knowing that there was no way in hell he was going to get away without another split lip, ruined shirt, blackened eye. Almost hearing his mother’s voice. Garrett Lee Templar, I swear, you find more trouble than any ten other boys ever dreamed of. Do you think I can just make new clothes appear out of thin air?

“Garrett?”

He recognized that voice from somewhere. Slowly, he turned. And stared up into eyes that gleamed blue even in the crappy light from the streetlight on the corner.

“Lochlann?” He hadn’t had to rent his ass out for a long time now, but the idea of a john following him home from the club still made his skin crawl. Yet there was something about those eyes, something different.

No. Fuck that shit. You get hurt the worst when you let yourself hope.

“Yes.” The guy looked almost as uncomfortable as Garrett felt, shifting from one foot to the other, hands plunged deep into the pockets of his heavy wool coat. “Look, I’m not stalking you, and I don’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. And maybe talk to you for a few minutes.”

The john’s smile flashed briefly, transforming the beard-shadowed face above him into unexpected, breathtaking beauty. For a second, all Garrett could do was stare and hope his mouth wasn’t hanging open. Oh, Jesus. Ask me to do anything. Anything at all. Just smile when you do it.

Then the smile faded, and Garrett shook his head, trying to clear it. “I, uh, yeah. Sure.” He looked up, almost afraid to look in those eyes again. Way up. Guy had to be six-four at least, putting his five-nine at a decided disadvantage if things got rough. Here’s hoping they don’t. “You want to come in? It’s kind of cold out here.”

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

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A Fae Christmas Eve

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December 24, 2012

Tiernan cleared his throat, and Kevin’s father turned away from his perusal of the framed display on the fireplace mantel to take the tumbler of ice and Scotch he extended. “Thanks.” He turned back to the frame on the mantel as he sipped. “This is very nice.”

Thomas Almstead’s nod made it clear that he wasn’t talking about the Glenlivet in his hand. The frame held a set of dog tags, and a picture of a young man who had Kevin’s easy smile, but short hair closer to blond than to Kevin’s dark brown. He wore a uniform of desert camouflage, and posed against a wall of sandbags.

“I know Kevin appreciated you giving him Tanner’s tags.” Small talk was never easy for a Fae, but his husband’s father was as close to blood kin as he was ever going to have in the human realm, so Tiernan made the effort. Besides, it made Kevin happy to see his father and his husband get along. “He talks a lot about his brother –.”

“My ears are burning.” Kevin entered from the kitchen, balancing a Waterford crystal bowl brimming with eggnog and setting it carefully on the sideboard beside the dining table.

“That’s a hell of a lot of eggnog for three people.” Thomas eyed Kevin skeptically. “I’d rather not spend Christmas morning with a hangover.”

“Since when do you get hangovers?” Kevin laughed.

“I think my warranty ran out when I hit sixty-five. I spent the day after my birthday hiding from the horrible racket the birds were making.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. You’ll be fine.” Kevin winked at Tiernan.

Did you put honey in that? Tiernan mouthed.

All the answer he got was Kevin’s best mock-angelic smile – more like fallen angelic, actually. You’re asking for it. Tiernan arched a brow.

How nicely do I have to ask?

            Depends on what you’re asking for.

Thomas snorted. “You two are worse than Gloria and I ever were –.”

The doorbell rang, cutting off Thomas’ gruff chiding. “Were you expecting company?”

The color was high in Kevin’s cheeks, but his voice was even. “Yeah, we invited a couple of friends over. They don’t have family anywhere near, so we said they could stop by here.”

“Hence the extra eggnog.”

While they talked, Tiernan went to the door and opened it. On the doorstep stood two men. Both looked to be in their mid-sixties, but that was as far as any resemblance went. One was short, broad, and very bald, and looked every bit as soft and yielding as a knot of oak wood. The other was taller, leaner, and wore his gray hair in a military brush cut. Both men looked nervous, the taller one several orders of magnitude more than the shorter.

“Mac, Lucien.” Tiernan shook the hands of his early shift bartender and bouncer. “Merry Christmas, come on in.”

The bald man nodded and stepped inside; Mac looked about to follow suit, then stopped cold, staring into the living room at Thomas Almstead, who was staring back with the air of a man seeing his own ghost.

“Sarge?” Mac’s voice was nearly inaudible.

Tiernan’s gaze flickered to Kevin; to say that his scair-anam was watching anxiously would be a gross understatement. The surprise Christmas Eve reunion between retired Marine first sergeant Thomas Almstead and the member of his fire team in Vietnam who had twice saved his life, the second time at the cost of a leg – and subsequently received a dishonorable discharge for being gay – had been his idea.

“Sweet bleeding Christ,” Thomas murmured. Carefully, he set his Scotch on the fireplace mantel, then crossed the living room to where Mac waited. Time almost seemed to stop as the former sergeant looked the former rifleman up and down, his gaze pausing for a fleeting moment on the artificial foot protruding from the bottom of one trouser leg.

Even Tiernan found himself holding his breath, rather to his surprise. Mac’s story had played a huge part in his father-in-law’s acceptance – reluctant at first, but slowly warming – of his son’s marriage to another man.

And how strange was it, that the Fae had to swallow a lump in his throat as Thomas drew himself up to attention, and snapped off a crisp salute?

“Sarge, no, that ain’t right.” Mac was blushing, shaking his head.

“Neither was what happened to you.” Thomas wrapped the other man in an awkward but fervent bear hug; when he stepped back, there was a grin on his face shining brighter than the star on the tree. “I have no idea how you came to be here, but damn, it’s good to see you.”

“There’s a story behind that,” Kevin put in, before Tiernan could open his mouth.

“I’m sure there is.” Thomas looked from Kevin to Mac, and from Mac to Lucien, and then cocked an eyebrow at Tiernan, “Why don’t we start disposing of that eggnog while you boys tell it?”

 

*****

A very Merry Christmas to all, from Kevin, Tiernan, Thomas, Mac, Lucien… and me!

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My favorite Christmas story ever!

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December 21, 2012

I plan to have a Soulshares Christmas story up here by Christmas Eve, but I thought I’d share my own personal favorite Christmas story here in advance of the day.

It was Christmas Day, 1990. I had just moved to New York City from Minnesota that August; my brother got married in October, and so of course I went home for the wedding, and being a young lawyer in a big New York law firm, the vacation time I could claim was seriously limited. Which meant that I was alone in the big city for Christmas.

This didn’t particularly bother me, as I was head over heels in love with the city, and any time I spent there was like spending time with a dear friend. But I did want to do something to mark the day. And I noticed that Patrick Stewart was doing a Christmas Day performance of his one-man version of A Christmas Carol, so I got on the phone (this was pre-Internet, needless to say!) and bought a ticket.

 

The theater was packed, which surprised me a little – I was still thinking like a Minnesotan, and I think I’d assumed that every New Yorker who could ‘nest’ on Christmas would be doing so. And Patrick Stewart was absolutely brilliant. His ‘set’ consisted of a chair, a lectern with a book on it, and a trap door in the floor that sometimes had a light shining up through it; his ‘costume’ was a brown, slightly Dickensian suit.  With that much of a backdrop, and his amazing voice, he brought the entire story to life, without once stooping to caricature or imitation. We were like a cluster of enthralled children, watching a favorite uncle make magic.

And then he really did. With a little help.

There’s a scene near the end of the story – I’d imagine most of you know it – in which Scrooge awakens from the visitation of the final Spirit a transformed man, and is trying to figure out how long the visitation of the Spirits has lasted. Patrick’s Scrooge raced to the “window,” which in this case was a pantomime of a window being wrested open, and leaned on the windowsill to look out into the street. (And yes, we all saw the nonexistent window, and yes, he did lean on it.) He looked “down into the street,” that is to say, out into the audience.

“And he spied a young urchin, racing down the street, and he called out – ‘Boy! What day is it?’”

And someone in the audience called back, in pitch-perfect accent, “Why, it’s Christmas Day, sir!”

Everyone in the audience burst into applause. Patrick straightened and stepped back, and the smile on his face was like that of a six-year-old boy on Christmas morning, waking to find everything he ever wanted under the tree. He waited for the applause to begin to die down, then held out his arms to the audience and repeated, “What day is it?”

And the whole audience gave back, “Why, it’s Christmas Day, sir!”

 

There’s a post-script to this story, too. On the way out of the theater, I actually heard a few theatergoers commenting that the audience member must have been a plant. But a few years ago, Patrick Stewart came to Minneapolis, to perform at the Guthrie Theater. He did an op-ed piece for the StarTribune, a full page on the subject of his three favorite moments in a lifetime in the theater. That moment was one of them. And I was there for it!

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Winners from the Hot Winter Nights Giveaway Blog Hop

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December 5, 2012

First of all, welcome to everyone who found my little corner of the Internet for the first time through the Hot WinterNights Giveaway Blog Hop! I hope you enjoyed meeting Kevin and Tiernan, the main characters in the first Soulshares novel, Hard as Stone. The second book in the series, Gale Force, is in the loving hands of my editor even as we speak, and I’m hard at work on the third, Deep Waters.

Winners? Ah, yes, winners. *grins* The winner of eARCs of Hard as Stone and Evernight Vol. 2 from my Comments list is Lona Stringer, and the winner from my new followers is the lovely but unpronounceable jyl22075! I’ll be in touch with you both shortly to get you your prizes — wishing you many hours of happy, hot winter night reading!

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Hot Winter Nights Giveaway Blog Hop

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December 1, 2012

Hot Winter Nights Giveaway Hop

Welcome to the hottest stop on the Hot Winter Nights Giveaway Blog Hop! *winks* All comments here will enter you in the drawing for the Grand Prize of a $50 Amazon gift card, $10 in Bookstrand Bucks, and a selection of 11 e-books. Total value of the Grand Prize package is over $100, so comment early and often! And be sure to INCLUDE YOUR E-MAIL ADDRESS!

(To get back to the list of participating blogs, click HERE: http://nicolemorganauthor.blogspot.com)

In addition to the Grand Prize, all comments on this blog entry, and all “follows,” will register you for one of two RoryNi prizes — you’ll find those after the story you’re about to read.

Oh, yes. Story. Here’s my Christmas gift to you, dear readers — an all-new short story set in the world of the Soulshares, in the deep and dark midwinter. Come with me, and step into Purgatory, the hottest all-male sex club on the Eastern Seaboard. And the only one run by a Fae…

Refuge from the Storm

Tiernan cast one last look around Purgatory. His enhanced senses let him see perfectly well in the light from the exit signs, which was all there was at the moment. No sense having anything else on, not when all of D.C. was paralyzed, and the club – and everything else – was closed until the fucking snow stopped. Though he’d seen blizzards that were probably worse, in a century and a half in the human realm, this was the first one he couldn’t just Fade someplace warm to get away from. Well, he could, but it would mean leaving his husband to freeze his ass off. On their wedding anniversary, no less. Shit, I hope Kevin made it home from work. He still shuddered at the thought of spending any length of time in Kevin’s car, but the thought of being stranded somewhere in it was infinitely worse.

Surely Kevin was home by now. And they could take advantage of being snowed in by spending the night in the hot tub by candlelight, instead of going out to dinner. Fuck tradition, he wanted to spend his anniversary wet, hot, and moaning. And making his husband the same way. Thank you, blizzard. Time to get home and find the candles –

What the hell? A blast of cold air roared through the suddenly-open door, seeming to blow a snow-covered figure in just ahead of it. Kevin leaned against the door to close it, breathing hard, snow falling from his hair and clothing. “Shit – are you here, lanan? I can’t see a damned thing.”

Tiernan gestured, and the lights came up over the cock pit as he hurried to Kevin’s side. “What the hell were you doing out in this?” He watched as Kevin tried to unbelt his coat with numb fingers, finally pushing his hands aside and doing the job for him, pushing the coat off his lanan’s broad shoulders and letting it lie where it fell.

“It wasn’t that bad when I left work. I thought I could make it here, surprise you before the club opened for the afternoon.”

He could feel Kevin’s shivers, and wrapped an arm around him, urging him down into the cock pit, to one of the black leather loveseats. “Where’s the death trap?”

Kevin shot him a look as the two of them sank onto the soft leather. “The Mercedes made it as far as the entrance to the valet parking. It’s stuck. And as soon as the plows come by, it’s going to be really stuck.”

Tiernan wrapped his arms around his human, and frowned. “You’re freezing. Why don’t you get out of those wet things, and I’ll go get us something to chase away the cold?” Unable to resist, he leaned in for one hot kiss, then Faded to the bar and started looking around for what he needed.

By the time he poured Kevin’s Jack and coke, and – after some reflection – a shot of Tennessee Honey for himself, every stitch Kevin had been wearing was in an untidy pile on the floor. The human still looked chilled, but the dark gaze raking over the Fae was hot beyond belief.

“Was this what you wanted?” Kevin’s baritone was husky, and whether it trembled with chill or with need, Tiernan had no fucking clue.

Except that either way, he needed his arms around the male. Right now. He all but dove back into the loveseat, could barely wait for Kevin to take his drink before snaking an arm around him and drawing him in close.

Kevin’s low laughter went straight to Tiernan’s cock, teasing it to rigid attention. “Not quite the anniversary we had planned.” The lawyer downed half his Jack and coke at once. “But I think I can make do.” Slowly, he leaned closer; his tongue stroked softly, insistently over Tiernan’s eyebrow ring. “Any way to get some music?”

Tiernan blinked, trying to make sense of his husband’s words. “Music. Right. Yes.” It was just fucking unfair, when you got right down to it, that Kevin was naked and he himself had to deal with zipper teeth trying to circumcise him. He closed his eyes and reached out with his sixth sense, the magickal one, and abruptly the darkness around their little island of light was filled with the pulsing E.D.M. Purgatory was known for. As long as computer chips were still made of silicon, a Fae of the Demesne of Earth always had a way in.

“Perfect.”

Tiernan’s eyes snapped open at the sensation of Kevin’s hips rocking against his. He looked up into dark eyes, dark hair still wet with snow-melt, a smile that he knew from experience could get him hard from the far side of a crowded dance floor. Kevin’s knees were braced to either side of Tiernan’s thighs, and his hands to either side of Tiernan’s head where it rested against the high back of the loveseat. For once, the Fae had no complaint at all about being confined; his gaze traveled around hard-muscled thighs, bunched biceps, washboard abs with a dusting of dark hair, undulating in time with the driving beat of the music, and a proudly erect cock that would make a she-mammoth pack her things and move back in with mama. It swayed and bobbed with Kevin’s every sinuous movement, and left drops of clear fluid scattered across Tiernan’s shirt.

“Best fucking lap dancer in D.C.” Tiernan’s voice was thick, unsteady. “I hope to hell this isn’t one of those times you’re planning to insist on foreplay.” He skinned out of his shirt as quickly as he could, penned in as he was, and shoved his jeans down his hips, groaning as his shaft sprang free, the mark of the zipper clearly visible.

“Maybe that’s all I’m planning.” Kevin’s body slid down Tiernan’s legs until he knelt on the floor; his hand curled around the base of Tiernan’s cock, clenching and releasing to the bass rhythm coming out of the darkness. “A nice, long, slow tease. Hours of it.”

Tiernan cursed as Kevin’s hot mouth closed around the head of his cock. “Not tonight, buchal dana.” Fuck, yes, his husband was being a bad boy. It was Kevin’s shyness that had first driven Tiernan mad for him. And there was still some of that reticence to him, hesitation, wanting to be urged. But from the start there had been a buchal dana living deep within his human, and during this year of their marriage the bad boy had learned how much the Fae delighted in him.

Shit, that beautiful ass was still moving, as if compelled by the music. Tiernan’s hands plunged into Kevin’s hair and pulled him down; he cursed again, ecstatically, as his Prince Albert dragged along Kevin’s tongue, and yet again as the head of his cock bumped against the back of Kevin’s throat. I’m not going to last. No fucking way. “You can come up here and ride me.” His voice was a low purr, barely audible over the hypnotic throbbing of the music. “Or I can come down there, turn you around, and take you as hard as you’re begging to be taken. Your choice.”

Dark eyes laughed up at him for a moment before Kevin released his shaft. “Why do I have to choose? We have all night, after all.” Steadying Tiernan’s shaft with one hand, he lollipopped it from taint to tip, his tongue like hot velvet. “But you’re right, we need to start somewhere. Why don’t you come here and see what you can take?”

The words were hardly out of Kevin’s mouth before Tiernan was off the loveseat, using one hand in his thick dark hair to turn him around, kneeing his thighs apart and pushing him to hands and knees on the black marble floor. He stared in wonder for a moment at his own weeping, nearly purple shaft, before wrapping his free hand around it and positioning the head at Kevin’s clamped-tight entrance. “Look what you do to me, lanan.”

Kevin turned, at this, looking up from where his weight rested on his forearms. The color was high in his cheeks, behind his five o’clock shadow, and his eyes shone. “No more than what you’ve always done to me.”

Tiernan lunged forward, taking Kevin’s mouth in a ferocious kiss and crying out into the kiss with the exquisite burning pleasure as he buried himself deep in his husband’s tight dark passage. Again he thrust, and again, pounding even harder than the bass beat that filled the air, gasping for breath even as he continued his assault on Kevin’s mouth. And he’d been right to think he wouldn’t last; his sac was already rising up, heat pooled at the base of his spine.

And every nerve in his body sang with joy, a blazing bright wonder that convulsed him as he released. Scair-anam…

The desire and the joy, his husband’s tight hold and his husband’s kiss, those were what kept Tiernan conscious until the pleasure finally started to ebb. “Damn.” His lips moved against Kevin’s, both mouths swollen and tender and wonderfully sensitive. “Happy anniversary.”

Kevin laughed, a low, rich, delicious sound. “And it’s only just beginning.”

“Not quite what you’d planned, though.”

“Ah, but I’m very good at improvising.”

If this story was your introduction to Kevin and Tiernan and the world of the Soulshares, and you want more, here’s the link to their story, in Hard as Stone:

http://www.amazon.com/Hard-as-Stone-ebook/dp/B009SX91JQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1354327413&sr=8-2&keywords=hard+as+stone

And if you’d like something a little different, you can check out my Gems of Night short story, “Serpentine,” in Evernight 2 —

http://www.amazon.com/Evernight-Vol-2-ebook/dp/B009LLZHX4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1354329397&sr=1-1&keywords=evernight+2

On December 5th, each comment below, and each follow, will count as an entry for eARCs of both Hard as Stone and Evernight 2!

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The “Violence” in Sex & Violence

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November 9, 2012

I’ve been trying for the last three days to write the climactic fight scene in the latest Soulshares novel. It’s been an intensely frustrating experience, for one reason I anticipated, and one I didn’t.

The one I anticipated — action scenes are not my favorites to write. I’m guessing that this is just me; I want my action to happen as quickly on the page as it does in my head, and since visual imagery is simultaneous and words on a page are linear, the pace of an action scene is never going to be fast enough to suit me. Though hopefully it’ll be fast enough to suit my readers!

The one I didn’t — IMHO, it’s unexpectedly hard to write a fight scene that has anything like a realistic amount of violence, and not bore the reader. I cut my teeth in this genre on Sherrilyn Kenyon (more about which in a minute), and compared to anything of hers, my fight scenes feel, to me, like they convey all the urgency and danger of a moderately bad paper cut. Yet when I go back over them, I always find that they involve crippling injuries and/or serious threats to life and limb, averted only by my heroes’ quick thinking and crazy mad fighting skillz. Which ought to be good enough, right? So what’s missing?

When I leaf through any of SK’s books, it seems that I immediately find the answer. Battles with swords and knives and claws and fangs and bolts of lightning. Oceans of blood, howls of agony, jaws bolted closed (I think SK’s used that one several times), bodies immersed in acid, skin flayed from bones, ribcages split and vital organs hanging out of the body. And generally, all of this happening to immortals, so that they can (and do) endure this kind of treatment for thousands of years, until their One True Beloved happens along to take the pain away and teach them to love and trust again.

Which leaves me wondering: is there such a thing as, well, overkill? I don’t like torture or violence porn (by which I’m not referring to BDSM as I understand it, but rather to extremely detailed and graphic descriptions of extreme violence outside the context of sexuality — the “X” rating at one time was intended to apply to extreme violence as well as to graphic sexuality), but my writing experience is starting to make me wonder if at least some of what I’m reading might be in part the product of the kind of frustration I’m running into when I’m writing. When things get violent in your story, how do you make that violence real to the reader without going to extremes that would never happen in anyone’s real life?

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The Winners — Evernight 2 and Hard as Stone

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November 1, 2012

And the winners are…. *drum roll*

KaityKatt wins a copy of Evernight 2!

Beth wins an autographed copy of Hard as Stone! (as soon as they’re available — I’ll let you know, darlin’!)

Congratulations to you both!

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The Next Big Thing

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October 24, 2012

Welcome to my edition of The Next Big Thing! (starting ever so slightly late, which is pretty much proof positive that it’s mine…)

For THIS WEEK ONLY, October 24th through the 31st, I will be running two giveaways:

At the end of the week, I will choose a “follow” for this blog at random, to receive a copy of Evernight Volume 2!

And

At the end of the week, I will choose one of the comments to this posting at random, to receive an autographed paperback copy of HARD AS STONE, as soon as they’re available! So comment early and often!

I’ll be posting throughout the week as well, so please check back. And as soon as I get the URLs of all four of the lovely and talented individuals who will be your next stop on the tour, I’ll be putting those up as well!

And now, on to the questions…

What is the working title of your current book? Gale Force. Though I think my publisher will be asking me to naughty it up a little.

Where did the idea come from for the book? Flowed out of the first one in the series, Hard as Stone.

What genre does your book fall under? Um. Well. I consider it male-on-male urban fantasy erotic romance. The first book in the series was a little closer to male-on-male urban fantasy erotica. And my publisher calls it “fantastica”. So take your pick.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie? Ummmmm. Might have to take a pass on that one, because I don’t really go to the movies. Except the ones my son wants to see. Or ones that have Liam Neeson in them. And none of my characters particularly look like Liam Neeson. I can’t figure out why I haven’t gotten around to that yet.

What is a one sentence synopsis of your book? The most powerful mage in the last two thousand years of Fae history loses his magick, and half his soul, to a dark-eyed human who longs to give him the love – and the pleasure – he’s never dared let himself taste.

WIll your book be self published or represented by an agency? Neither one; it’s being published by Ravenous Romance, and I got together with them through submitting a short story for one of their anthologies, about a year and a half ago. Although I would love to find an agent for the print rights. I’ll add that to my “to do” list. If I can find the end of the list. I know it’s around here somewhere…

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript? This one has to be totally done within five months. Have I mentioned yet that I hate deadlines? I hate deadlines. Really hate them. So I’m writing a first draft, and in my spare time (tee hee) I’m going back and rewriting the beginning.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre? I actually don’t read within my genre. Not that I don’t love it – but I tend to soak up writing styles like the proverbial sponge, and I really, REALLY want to keep my own voice while I’m working on the boys. Maybe once the contract’s done I’ll dive into a pile of books and not come up for air for a while.

Who or what inspired you to write this book? I’ll take this as being about the series in general, not just this second book in it. I have an RP character on Facebook that I created as a very spur-of-the-moment thing, but I came to enjoy him. A LOT. And I created a back-story for him, a whole culture and world that he came out of, because that’s just how I roll. And then Allison Cassatta put on a writing competition for role-play writers that involved putting your character in a situation where his/her best friend was keeping a secret that could endanger his/her life. I wanted to enter, but my character’s best friend wasn’t mine to write. So I had to create another Fae. And another “best friend” for him. And the story I wrote for that competition eventually became, let me think, Chapters 15 through 17 or thereabouts of Hard as Stone, the first of the Soulshares books.

What else about your book might interest the reader? My goal is to write a male-on-male erotica that an urban fantasy lover would fall in love with, and an urban fantasy that an erotica fan would swoon over. And a love story that will make someone who’s never read a romance novel in his or her life say, “Damn, I wish real life could be like that.”

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