Archive for Excerpts
Poetry Train #88
I thought I’d give you a little peek at Ghost of a Chance, my March release from Loose-Id. I’m starting edits this week, so this excerpt is unedited. Just so you all know, in case it’s a little rough around the edges. 🙂Here’s the blurb:
Padraig Monaghan has a problem. Most would consider dying in a bar fight ten years ago upsetting, and existing as a ghost wandering the world might be thought a real predicament. They might deem a second chance at life through a chance encounter with a dying man a serious dilemma. But for Padraig, finding himself face to face with the man he’d loved and lost a lifetime ago is the biggest thing on his mind.
Gareth Reilly stops at O’Toole’s for a drink before he heads home. Tomorrow’s going to be another lonely birthday for him until he’s approached by a stranger. There’s something about Padraig’s bright green eyes and Irish accent that reminds Gareth of a man he once knew. Unable to resist, Gareth breaks his cardinal rule and invites Padraig home.
On St. Patrick’s Day, when Irish magic is strongest, it’ll take a belief in the impossible and help from a grateful elf to give Padraig and Gareth another chance at love.
Excerpt:
Surprised at his boldness, Gareth takes a sip of his drink. Any other man who had ever hit on him using a tired old line like that would have seen the back of Gareth’s head as he walked away. What was it about this man that made Gareth willing to break his own rules?
“Thank you.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Padraig Burns.”
“Gareth Reilly.” He shook Padraig’s hand and enjoyed the shiver of attraction skating over his nerves to pool in his groin.
“How long have you been in Boston, Gareth?” Padraig sprawled in the chair rather clumsily like he wasn’t used to having limbs to put places.
Gareth wasn’t always the most graceful, so he ignored Padraig’s flopping. “Four years. You haven’t been here long since you still sound like a homegrown son of Erie.”
“I’ve only just arrived in town, but it’s been ten years since I left Ireland. I just don’t have much call to talk to many people and I’ve never gotten to the point where I want to lose my accent. It’s a part of home for me since I’ve moved.” Padraig ran his finger around the top of his glass.
Frowning, Gareth remembered being at a party and seeing Paddy Monaghan doing the same thing. Maybe it was being St. Patrick’s Day or the color of Padraig’s eyes or simply the fact that he felt lonely even after being in Boston for four years. He didn’t understand the urge he had to talk to this stranger.
“How does a man who looks like a California beach bum get an Irish accent?” He waved the waitress over and ordered another drink. “Would you like another one?”
“Oh God yes.” Padraig sighed.
He laughed at the fervent tone in Padraig’s voice. “I take it you haven’t had a good Irish whiskey in a while.”
“In a decade.” A rueful smile crossed Padraig’s face. “Haven’t had a lot of things in ten years.”
“Why is that?”
“Same reason I look like a surfer but speak like a dock worker, I guess. I’ve been wandering the world and being invisible doesn’t help. It tends to make it difficult to talk to people.” Padraig didn’t look up when the waitress set their drinks down.
Gareth couldn’t stop his laughter from bursting out. “Invisible? Are you serious? There’s no way a hot guy like you could ever be invisible.”
An intriguing blush dusted Padraig’s cheeks and Gareth had the odd urge to brush his thumb over those high cheekbones.
“Come on. You can’t tell me you don’t know how totally gorgeous you are.”
Padraig shrugged, fingering the glass in front of him. “At times when I look in the mirror, it’s like I don’t recognize the face staring back at me.”
Poetry Train #85
It comes out today. I’ll post the link as soon as it becomes available. 🙂 I hope you enjoy both stories if you pick it up.
Woo-hoo! It’s live. Click here to check it out.
I thought I’d post an excerpt for you all to enjoy while you’re waiting for Hearts Afire to come out. 🙂
Blurb:
Scars aren’t always on the outside. Architect Eric Sandel is living proof. He moves to Morley after surviving a terrible fire in order to rebuild his life and hopes designing the new Opera House will help him bury the past.
Firefighter David Browdie hasn’t had time for serious relationships, his “on call” status tends to leave relationships in the dust. When he meets Eric at the neighborhood dog park, sparks fly and he thinks maybe this time, serious will win after all.
But a demon from Eric’s past haunts him. David and Eric must work together to find a way to stop the madman before they all go up in flames.
Warning: m/m love, dangerous obsessions and cute dogs.
Excerpt:
Eric’s pale cheeks flushed pink. The man was stunning. Unblemished skin covered high cheekbones and a thin nose. Plump lips begged for David’s kiss. Shy ice-blue eyes met his and a wry grin lifted those lips. Shoulder-length sable hair was pulled back to reveal a pink triangle earring.
David didn’t think about it, just stroked his fingers over the slope of Eric’s nose.
“I’m my plastic surgeon’s masterpiece.” Eric stepped back and gestured for him to come in.
“The man is a genius,” David muttered as he entered the house.
Sadie skidded up to greet him. Kneeling, he scratched the dog’s ears and accepted her welcoming licks. He wrestled with her for a few minutes before giving Raoul some attention.
Standing up, his eyes met Eric’s and the happy light in them broke what little control he had over his body. Reaching out, he grasped Eric’s hips with a light touch. He had enough mental ability to remember Eric’s comments last night about being in pain from scars and touching.
“I’m going to kiss you. If you don’t want that, you’d better stop me now,” he warned Eric.
Eric’s pale blue eyes widened, but there wasn’t any movement to stop him. David leaned in, pressing his mouth to Eric’s enticing lips. A puff of hot air brushed over his lips when the younger man gasped. David nibbled along his plump bottom lip and teased his tongue over the sensitive roof of Eric’s mouth.
Eric’s hands fluttered by his shoulders before cradling the back of his head. David took the kiss a little deeper, still moving slow. For some reason he wasn’t willing to think about at the moment, he didn’t want to frighten Eric off. He didn’t want to move too fast either.
Keeping his hands on Eric’s hips, he trailed kisses along Eric’s high cheekbones and learned the curve of his jaw. The tip of his tongue became familiar with the soft spot right behind Eric’s ear that made the man shiver. He took a step closer, invading Eric’s personal space. They both groaned as their erections brushed.
David became lost in the scents and textures of Eric’s skin. He discovered where his limits were. Eric tensed each time he nuzzled the collar or touched the hem of the man’s long sleeved t-shirt. He wondered about the scars and how bad they really were for a brief second.
A heavy weight settled against his leg, threatening to tip him over. He steadied them and glanced down. Sadie stared up at him with innocent brown eyes. He couldn’t help but laugh.
Remember, I’ll post the live link as soon as they come out tonight. It’s usually around 6-7pm. So check back here or go hit refresh on the Liquid Silver site…lol.
Hope you all have a great Monday.
Poetry Train #82
I thought since I gave you a peek at one of my WiP, I’d give you a sampling of the other. 🙂 Here’s an excerpt from His Heart’s Home.
Excerpt:
Strong hands gripped his waist. “Be careful. We don’t want you hurting yourself.”
Derek shivered as Max’s warm breath washed over the nape of his neck. Before the thought actually registered in his brain, he pushed back against Max and they groaned when his ass rubbed over Max’s erection.
“I always thought you had a sweet ass,” Max murmured in Derek’s ear before nibbling on his neck.
“It’s one of my best assets,” he joked, covering Max’s hands with his.
“Mmm…I can think of several of your assets that I like.”
He let Max turn him around and raised his chin, meeting Max’s mouth. Their first kiss was gentle and slow, learning which angle gave them the most pleasure and how the other tasted.
Derek sucked on Max’s tongue, letting go of Max’s hands to bury his fingers in Max’s hair. He pressed closer and enjoyed the feel of hard muscles and rough skin.
Fuck, it had been so long since he’d touched another in any way except casually. He could have found someone for a quick fuck, but he didn’t like meaningless encounters. He liked sex, yet he wanted to know more about his lover than just a name.
Max bit Derek’s bottom lip, soothing the sting with a quick swipe of his tongue. Derek whimpered as Max cupped his ass with his big hands and rocked their groins together.
Poetry Train #81
Here’s my inspiration for Joss Bauer:
So I thought I’d give you a little excerpt to whet your appetite:
They watched Bill weave his way through the crush of people until he disappeared. Joss looked back at Ry to find the man studying him. Ry slid his sunglasses down and looked over them, tracing the length of Joss’s body. Joss swore he felt heat from each part of his skin those dark brown eyes touched. The desire blazing in that glance told Joss Ry was looking for someone different than Bill was.
“You want something to drink?” His question came out husky and he swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry throat.
“Drink? Sure, I’ll take a whiskey neat.”
Joss forced himself to walk away and grab a glass. He could feel Ry’s gaze burning into his back as the man eyed the large dragon etched across his shoulder blades. Taking a bottle of the top-shelf whiskey, he filled a high ball glass and handed it to Ry. Ry slid his fingers along Joss’s as he took the drink, shooting lust and blood to Joss’s groin.
“Fuck,” Joss whispered.
“Could I get that lucky?” Ry’s pink tongue peeked out, wetting his plump bottom lip and drawing Joss’s attention to it.
Joss groaned and adjusted his cock, searching for room in his too tight jean. “Is that what you’re looking for, man? I’ll be happy to accommodate you, but you have to be sure.”
Ry checked him out again, his eyes lingering at the growing bulge at Joss’s groin. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve found what I’m looking for.”
“Pete, can you handle it for ten minutes while I take my break?” Joss didn’t look away from Ry, shouting his question over his shoulder toward the other bartender.
“Sure, Joss. I’ve got it.” The smile in Pete’s voice told Joss his friend knew what was going on between him and Ry.
He moved from behind the bar, grabbed Ry’s hand and made his way through the crowd toward the back of the club. Ry kept up with him, his hand pinching Joss’s ass every few seconds. Joss hit the back exit door at almost a run, letting the metal door slam open as he yanked Ry through the doorway. As the door shut, he pinned the man to the brick wall and kissed him.
Poetry Train #74
Morning, everyone.
Here’s a little excerpt from Devil’s Addiction, a regency WIP that takes place shortly after Angel’s Evolution, but features two new characters. Shade does show up in DA. 🙂
Enjoy.
Excerpt:
He closed his eyes. Stickler would be destroyed. The baron’s fortune would be taken from him and his reputation torn away to reveal the evil living disguised as a man. The Devil wouldn’t refuse Beng the satisfaction of ruining a man’s life.
“I’m sorry.”
“Never apologize to me or anyone. It wasn’t your fault, boy. The ones responsible for this will be dealt with.” Beng leaned forward and touched the boy’s knee. The young man tensed. “Your rape will only be known by me and my doctor. No one else will know unless you chose to tell them.” He sat back.
He was good at keeping secrets. Devil knew he had more than enough of his own. What was one more to add to the load?
“How do you know Will?”
Beng wasn’t surprised Darius didn’t recognize him. He’d changed a great deal since he left. “I used to live on my father’s estate next to yours in Wiltshire.”
“You’re the earl’s bastard son.” Darius relaxed a little.
“Yes, though back then I was known as Bertram instead of Beng.” For the most part, he had good memories of those days.
“You left when you were sixteen. Why?”
“I realized my mother’s name for me was truer than my father’s. The devil living inside my soul made me want things I shouldn’t.” Beng shrugged. “It was easier to run away than to stay and suffer for them.”
“I see.”
Beng knew Darius didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Which was fine. He didn’t feel any need to unburden his soul to the boy. His preferences weren’t important to the achievement of his goal. He wanted to get Darius back to Will before too long. It was hard to ignore the voice in his head, telling him that Darius needed guidance. He shook his head. Whatever guidance the boy got wouldn’t be from him. He was no one’s guardian angel.
The carriage stopped and Beng was happy to be home. He jumped out, letting the groom help Darius from the vehicle. Marsden waited at the door.
“A hot bath is waiting, sir.” Marsden accepted Beng’s hat and gloves. “As soon as the doctor arrives, I’ll take him to the young master’s room.”
“Thank you, Marsden.” He turned to see Darius hovering just inside the door. “This is Marsden. He’ll escort you to your room and if you need or want anything, ask him.”
“Yes, my lord.” Darius’s eyes stayed focused on the floor.
“I have some messages that must be delivered tonight. I’ll leave them on my desk in the study, and then I’ll be up to take my bath.” He went to his study.
“Certainly, sir.” Marsden’s voice followed him.
He shut the door behind him, closing out the rest of the world and the enticing face of his best friend’s younger brother. Even bruised and skinny, Darius was beautiful. Deep brown curls framed a perfect face without blemish except for bruises. Plump lips begged for a kiss. Upturned nose and wide golden brown eyes would be haunting Beng’s dreams that night, if he could sleep. He hadn’t allowed himself to look at Darius’s body. It would have led to worse dreams and emotions he fought to suppress.
Sitting at his desk, he reached for a pen and ink. He stared down at the blank paper he’d retrieved from a drawer. Beng didn’t want Will rushing over as soon as he read the note. Darius needed time to adjust before he was thrown into the arms of his family.
Will,
Encouraging news. I’ll present myself at your home at ten with information.
Beng
He sealed and addressed it. The second message was to Shade.
Shade,
Find out all information pertaining to Stickler. He must be destroyed.
Beng
Sealed, addressed and added to the pile. Shade would understand and bring him what he needed to crush Stickler. He looked over some papers Marsden left on his desk. His businesses were flourishing. He made a note to stop by the warehouses and check in.
A half hour later, a knock interrupted his reading.
“Come in.”
Marsden slipped in and stood in front of the desk. “The doctor just left, sir.”
“Is the boy okay?”
“The young master will heal. He’s been beaten and starved. The doctor gave him a thorough examination. There was some damage and bleeding, but Doctor Jackson believes it will heal fine with time.” Marsden frowned. “What mental or emotional damage was caused, I’m not sure, sir.”
“Those types of wounds take far longer to heal.” Beng straightened his papers. “Did he eat and bathe?”
“Yes, sir. He’s sleeping now. Would you like a tray brought to your room?”
“No. I’ll wash and then go to bed. I have to be at Will’s at ten in the morning.” He headed for the door.
Marsden bowed. “Yes, sir.”
The servant watched the retreating back of his employer with narrowed eyes.
Beng had been in bed for only an hour or so when the door to his bedroom inched open. Moving only his head, he watched as Darius slid through the opening and then shut the door. He wondered what the boy was doing. Darius crept across the floor like a ghost, dressed in one of Beng’s unused nightshirts.
As Darius came closer, Beng closed his eyes. He kept his body relaxed, not wanting to frighten the boy. The young man stopped beside the bed and he could feel Darius staring down at him. His chest rose and fell evenly, mimicking deep sleep. The top blanket lifted and the bed dipped.
Bloody hell, Darius was getting in bed with him. The boy lay on the sheet covering Beng, using the blanket as his cover. Beng thanked whatever angels or demons were watching out for him because he didn’t think Darius would be able to handle finding out Beng was naked.
The younger man snuggled closer to him like he was searching for warmth and Beng was the source of all heat. A cold hand touched his arm for a second. He wondered if the fact that he didn’t move reassure Darius. Within minutes, steady breathing told Beng the boy had fallen asleep.
No good deed goes unpunished. Is that what you’re trying to tell me? He raised his eyes to the ceiling.
Darius muttered in his sleep, rolling over and flung one of his cold hands onto Beng’s chest.
What kind of inhuman torture is this? He started to inch away from the tempting body in bed with him. It had been years since he’d shared his bed with anyone, male or female. Darius moved with him, not wanting to give up his body heat.
He stopped, not willing to risk waking Darius up. His control frayed. If the boy woke up and he looked into those sleepy golden brown eyes, it might break. Giving my soul to the devil doesn’t mean I have to sin all the time. He’d been an upstanding citizen, for the most part, since he returned to London.
The night passed with Darius sleeping the sleep of an innocent and Beng cursing the devil, God and any other person he could think of to blame for his predicament.
Poetry Train #73
I thought I’d share a scene from what will probably be the story I work on after the next Home book. 🙂 So it’s third in line on my list of Works in Progress…lol. It’s called Angel with a Dirty Face and I think it’s going to be very emotional…more along the lines of Angel’s Evolution. (in angst and everything.) I hope you enjoy it.
Excerpt:
“He’s gone.”
Baldwin couldn’t even act surprised at Marcia’s announcement. He had a feeling when he didn’t see or talk to Mackenzie for a couple days that the man had left. Resting his head against the window of his car, Baldwin stared out at the people walking through GVSU’s campus.
“Did he leave a note or anything?”
He pulled out his Tibetan prayer beads and started rubbing them through his fingers, trying to ease his worries away.
“Yes. It says that Jack wants Mac back.” Marcia sighed. “I’m sorry, Win.”
“It’s not your fault, Marcia honey. Jack was as much an addiction for Mackenzie as the drugs were. It’s only been six months. We shouldn’t have expected a miracle.”
Baldwin’s heart hurt. He understood addiction, having fought his own demons while traveling the world. He understood how the need pulled at you without mercy. You could be driven to the edge by wanting just one more hit of whatever your craving called for.
“What should we do?” Marcia’s voice caught on a sob.
He shrugged and realized she couldn’t see him. “Wait. Hope and prays he comes back on his own. If he doesn’t come home by the first of the year, I’ll go to find him.”
“That’s two months away, Win. I don’t want to wait that long. We could lose him for good this time.”
“Or we see what he decides.” He glanced at his watch. It was almost time for his class. Putting the beads away, he managed to get out of the car without dropping either the phone or his bag. He shut and locked the door, heading towards Mackinaw Hall. “I know it’s hard to stay away from him, sweetheart, but dragging him back here without his permission is just going to repeat the problem. He has to choose to come home and get better. All we can do is welcome him with open arms if he does return.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
The fear and pain in Marcia’s voice caused a little bit of anger at Mackenzie to race through Baldwin. Selfishness was another side-effect of addiction. Mackenzie wasn’t thinking about how his actions hurt Marcia. Baldwin skirted away from his own feelings. They weren’t important at the moment. He sat on a bench and let his shoulders slump.
“We go out to California and talk to him. We tell him how much we love him and that we don’t want him to destroy himself, but we let him make the decision on what to do. If he chooses Jack and the drugs, then we walk away because we can’t let his addiction destroy us as well.” He let go of his bag to scrub his hand over his face. “It’ll be the hardest thing either of us has ever done. It’ll break our hearts, but I’ve been where Mackenzie is, Marcia. I understand what’s driving him and I know that we can’t do it for him.”
Silence filled the phone line while Marcia thought about Baldwin’s advice. Her soft exhalation told Baldwin he’d won. Marcia would wait until the first of the year before rushing out to see her brother.
“I wish I could accept this all as easily as you do, Win. You’re so calm.”
His bitter laugh tore from him. “Calm? Why would you think I’m accepting of this, Marcia? I love Mackenzie, more than I have ever loved anyone in my life and he’s left me for a man who will hurt and use him. A man who doesn’t care anything about him.”
Tears welled in his eyes and he breathed deep to calm his racing heart. He was going to have to meditate tonight and figure out a compartment to put all his worry into so he could function in his every day life.
“I can’t let my worry and fear distract me from my own life. It might sound cold or unfeeling, but as much as I love Mackenzie, I can’t allow his addiction to become my obsession. I can’t do that anymore, Marcia. It’d kill me.”
“You’re right. Jim says the same thing about me.” Her voice dropped. “I’m scared, Win.”
“I know you are. I’m scared too, but remember, I’m only a phone call away or you can come see me. We can be scared together.” Another glance at his watch. “Shit. I have to go or I’ll be late for class. I’ll call you tonight when I get home. It might help for you to talk to someone who has been through what Mackenzie’s going through.”
“Thanks. I love you, Win and I know, deep down inside, Mac loves you as well. He’s just confused at the moment. Call me after ten.” Marcia hung up.
Baldwin closed his phone and tucked it in the side pocket of his bag. Standing, he made his way to his class. Yes, he knew Mackenzie loved him, but was what they were building together strong enough to combat the years of abuse/pleasure Mackenzie had gotten from Jack? Baldwin wasn’t sure that it was.
c.2008 copyrighted by T.A. Chase
Poetry Train #68
I didn’t have time to write a new poem for you, so I thought I’d give you a glimpse of a fantasy novel I started a while back. It got put on the back burner as other stories grabbed my attention. The heroes have been calmly waiting their turn again. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get back to them soon. 🙂
It’s just the first part of Chapter One. I hope you enjoy it.
On Love’s Wings
By: T.A. Chase
Chapter One
“You’ll come with me.”
The pronouncement caused silence to fall over the room. Everyone turned to look at Miataga. The voice came from behind him and he turned with caution. What he saw standing there made him shiver and not all of it was from fear.
The body the voice belonged to was lean and muscular. Board shoulders tapered down to a slender waist. Washboard abs revealed by the skin tight uniform the other man wore. The man’s face was hidden by a mask allowing only his eyes to show. Those eyes were yellow and fierce like a hawk Miataga had seen when he was ten. He allowed his gaze to slide leisurely down the man’s body to when a small shield hung blocking his view of the man’s groin.
Resia, sitting at the table with him, jostled him and he realized everyone was waiting to see what he would do. Raising his eyes back to meet the man’s intense scrutiny, his own widened when he noticed the helmet the stranger was wearing. A pair of stylized wings wrapped their way around the man’s head. The tips met in the middle of his forehead where a gold beak connected with them.
Holy Mothers of the God, a Wing commander had claimed him. Now the shiver chasing down his spine was fear. For a second, his mouth formed the words to tell the man he wouldn’t go. Miataga caught a flicker of disappointment skitter through the unblinking gaze. It was the sign of humanness and the way the stranger stood, shoulders thrown back as if he expected Miataga to refuse him that made up Miataga’s mind.
Miataga didn’t usually make snap decisions, but he decided to go with the Commander. He held out his hand to allow the man to help him to his feet. “I’ll go with you, Commander.”
The tension in the room released like everyone had been holding their breath. Quiet conversation rose as they walked from the room. He fell in behind the stranger as they left the Loving House. He stopped outside and looked up at the building for a second. He had the strangest feeling he wouldn’t be coming back to the only home he had known.
“Are you still coming?” The question was soft and undemanding.
Miataga turned back to see the commander was standing a few feet from him. There was nothing in the man’s voice or body posture that told him the commander was going to force him to come.
“Yes. I was saying good-bye.” He moved down to join the other man.
“Why?” The commander glided towards the Wing’s barracks.
Following, Miataga tried not to gawk. He had never ventured out of the lower city of Spendler where the whores and slaves lived. His customers came to him and they would use one of the rooms at the Loving House. Without an escort, he wasn’t allowed to travel into the upper part of town where the soldiers and the politic leaders of Emmen lived. He shot a glance over at the commander striding next to him. What ranking did the stranger hold?
The skin-tight gold uniform told him nothing. There were no rank markings on the helmet where the commanders usually wore their stars with honor. They halted at a gate blocking the entrance to the barracks. Miataga became entranced by the gleaming and rippling gold of the commander’s uniform. It called to his hands to stroke. Before he thought of the consequences of touching a soldier without his permission, his hand trailed down the shoulder of the man standing in front of him. The warmth and smoothness of it shocked him. He hadn’t realized the weavers had created material that felt so much like human skin. A muffled sound came from the man when he rubbed his hand over the shoulder again.
“I’m sorry, Commander.” He dropped his hand and lowered his head.
“My name is Ari.” The commander’s voice was rough with desire and surprise laced through it.
“Commander Dosterta, I thought you had left for the evening.” A young soldier saluted to the golden man as they walked through the gate.
“I’m back to get Vikex, then we’ll be on leave for several weeks.” Returning the salute, Ari ignored the look of disgust the young soldier sent towards Miataga.
Miataga was used to those looks. Soldiers and political leaders had only one use for the whores down in the Loving Houses. Other than for sex, they didn’t socialize with each other and he liked it that way. The thin veneer of civilization hanging over the commanders couldn’t hide the wildness racing through their blood. It was part of the bonding between the commanders and their weapons.
The Emmenian armies’ specialized weapons were huge birds of prey that lived in the Westerly Mountains. The lowest ranking commanders bonded with falcons and hawks. The higher ranks were for the eagles. The Supreme Commander of the Emmenian army always bonded with the largest of the birds, the golden eagle.
Miataga’s eyes went wide at the thought. He threw a quick glance at the golden man beside him. He cast the thought away. The Supreme Commander would never get a whore from the lower city to service him.
“Forgive the boy. He hasn’t had good manners beaten into him yet.” Commander Dosterta’s voice was loud enough for the soldier to hear.
Miataga caught a glimpse of the soldier’s red face before he dropped his gaze again. “It’s all right.”
“It’s never right to treat anyone-be he whore, slave or the Supreme Commander-as if he were dirt beneath your feet.” Dosterta’s voice was cold.
Miataga shivered and he started to apologize again. A gentle hand on his arm stopped him.
“No more.” The slender fingers traced over his cool skin. “I gave you no time to grab your coat when we left your House. That was unforgivably cruel of me.”
Miataga shrugged. “I have no coat, Commander, so you would have delayed for no reason.”
The yellow eyes of the commander betrayed his shock. “No coat?”
“Whores are expected to stay at their House. We aren’t allowed to travel the city without an escort.” He was surprised the Commander didn’t know that.
“Paster,” the commander bellowed out.
A young man dressed in the browns and greens of an army courier materialized beside the commander. “Yes, sir?”
“I need a winter coat.” Dosterta glanced down at Miataga’s elegant slippers. “Also, a pair of boots. Bring them to Flight Field Eight.”
“Yes, sir.” Paster saluted and dashed away.
“We must walk a little further. I’ve nothing to keep you warm with except my own body. Would you allow me to put my arm around your shoulder?” Dosterta’s voice was polite and neutral.
Miataga was struck speechless. Who was this man that he would ask a whore’s permission before he touched him? He nodded and almost groaned as Dosterta’s arm slid around his shoulder and tucked him into the commander’s side. It wasn’t until the warmth invaded his body that Miataga realized how cold he was.
Winter was settling in around the country and the wind was bitter. His light silk shirt and cotton pants were no hindrance to the cold.
He sighed and snuggled closer to Dosterta. “Your uniform must keep you warm.”
“I’m used to temperatures colder than this. I was born high in the Easterly Mountains where winter comes early and leaves late.” Dosterta’s voice held a twinge of the rough accent Miataga had heard when he had serviced Easterly tradesmen.
“The Easterlies aren’t a part of Emmen. Why would you come here to serve in the army?” He asked though he knew he could be punished for it. Few people appreciated an intelligent whore.
“It was Vikex who called me here.” As Dosterta stopped and dropped his arm, Paster arrived.
“Sir, I brought a coat and boots. I took the liberty of bringing a pair of gloves and a scarf. If you plan on leaving on the wing, then he should be warm.” Paster nodded towards Miataga.
“Thank you, Paster. Inform the quartermaster to take it out of my pay. Now go back to bed, son. I’ll see you in a month or two.” Dosterta ordered the young man away.
Miataga watched the young courier raced away. When he brought his gaze back, he almost fell over at the sight of Dosterta kneeling on the ground in front of him.
“No, Commander. I can put my boots on myself.” He protested as Dosterta picked up his foot. He had to reach out and grab hold of the commander’s shoulders or he would have toppled over. A moan of pleasure ripped through him at the touch of the warm silky material.
A shudder ran down the spine of the commander. He wondered at that. None of the other men he had serviced ever enjoyed his touch. They were quick to get in and get it done. There was no build up and no enjoyment of it. He moaned again as the commander slipped off his slipper and ran a finger over the arch of his foot.
“Put your foot on my thigh while I unlace the boots.” Dosterta placed his foot on the thick muscles of his thighs.
Heat swelled over his foot and headed right to his groin. His cock hardened and began to throb. He had never gotten turned on by a man from just simply touching him. His fingers crept up to stroke the vulnerable neck left bare by the commander’s bowed head. He knew his fingertips were soft like a woman’s. He traced small circles and the commander sighed.
“I’d let you do that all day, but it’s cold and you need to be warm.” Dosterta tugged one boot on and laced it up. He quickly did the same with the other of Miataga’s boots. Standing, his eyes burned with desire and he leaned forward.
“I want to kiss you, Commander,” Miataga whispered. “Take off your mask, so I may touch your lips.”
Dosterta jerked away from him with a flare of fear in his eyes. Shaking his head, the commander moved a few feet from him. “Put on your coat and scarf. If you wish to wear the gloves, you may. I must call Vikex, so we may leave.”
Miataga wondered what had caused the fear in the commander’s eyes. If not for that flash, he would have thought Dosterta was disgusted by the thought of kissing him. Not many men wanted to kiss their whores. It was considered too intimate a gesture to waste on someone they paid for sex. He wound the scarf around his neck and tucked the ends in under the wool coat he slipped on. Both the scarf and coat were thick and warm. They were made from the hair of the mountain goats raised on the Easterly Mountains and imported by merchants to sell in Emmen. His coat and scarf had been dyed a golden color to match the commander’s uniform. Miataga stroked the soft material and thought about touching the commander’s skin. His cock surged to life and hardened. Looking up, he noticed Dosterta had moved off a little ways.
He jumped when the commander threw back his head and a wild cry burst forth. He shuddered as a fierce yearning ripped through him. A yearning to be free and to be able to fly the skies without having to submit to anyone. An answering cry came from the sky and he lifted his eyes to watch for the commander’s bond mate.
Poetry Train…
Hey everyone, first off, I posted a interesting (imo..lol) post over at SEx, Liquid Silver’s blog about two movies I saw over the weekend. 🙂 Stop by and leave a comment for me.
And I didn’t have time to write a new poem for you all. This weekend was crazy busy, so I thought I’d give you a peek at a little scene I wrote. This is for the fourth book in a series I’m planning on writing…lol. Yes, another one of those teases. The series is called Blood of Eden. It’ll have werewolves, vampires and angels in it, plus other things. This story is titled Babel’s Salvation. Here’s the beginning of the first chapter. (I think..though there might be a little more to it when I finish)
Excerpt:
“What do I do now,” Salvadore murmured to himself, hands clenching his hair.
“You shouldn’t be talking to yourself. You aren’t remotely old enough for that.”
He jerked his head up to find a tall lean man standing next to his table. The man’s silver eyes met his and he knew. This was no ordinary man. This man was the thing of legends.
“I know who you are,” he informed the man.
Tilting his head, the stranger conveyed a question without words.
Sal dug through the piles of papers and books, reading the different languages without pause. Russian, Greek and Hebrew. English, Spanish and Italian. The words as familiar to him as his own name. The stories told of hundreds of men who gave their lives to keep a secret safe. He pulled out a photocopy of an Illuminated Manuscript page and pointed at the being represented there.
“You are one of the Paladins who protect the secret.” Sal sighed, his head pounding and his heart racing. Where were his pills? He bent over, reaching for his backpack. Had he remembered to put his pills in there that morning when he rushed from his apartment?
A large hand jerked him upright and his vision blurred as his head spun. His chest constricted, causing his lungs to burn and the air disappeared from them. He gasped, having no choice but grab the man’s arms and hold on.
“S-h-h-h…take a deep breath. It’s okay.”
Shaking, he focused on the man kneeling beside him. Those silver eyes pulled him in and the vise on his chest eased. Sal’s breathing fell into rhythm with the stranger’s until he could sit without worrying about passing out. When the man was satisfied Sal wouldn’t fall off his chair, he pulled a chair over to sit in.
“Why do you think I’m one of those Paladins, I think you called it?” The man nodded at the picture.
“You’re the one who doesn’t die. The other three die and are reborn in new lives.”
Resignation shone in the man’s silver eyes. Sal was right, but he didn’t feel vindicated or anything like that. He was tired. For years since being released from the hospital, he’d spent almost every waking hour searching for the reality to the dreams he’d been plagued with all of his life. He started to stuff the papers and books into his bag. The stranger helped him. When they were finished, he stood. The man towered over him.
Slipping a hand under Sal’s elbow, the man started to escort him from the library. “You’ll come with me.”
“Are you going to kill me?” He ignored the gasp coming from a patron walking past them.
“No. We are going someplace where we can discuss this. I am not the one who kills.”
“Who does then? One of the other Paladins?”
A calloused finger covered his lips. “Not another word. This is not the place for us to talk about secrets.”
Nodding, Sal indicated he understood. The finger left his mouth and he asked, “What is your name?”
“My name is Babel.”
“Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?” Sal couldn’t let that thought go. People who found out about the Paladins died.
“Paladins don’t kill unless we must. The Blood of Eden doesn’t need our help killing those who search for it.”
Copyright c.2008 T.A. Chase
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Stop by Rhian’s blog to see who else is on the train.
Coming Soon….
Here’s the good news I’ve been hinting about since last week or so. Samhain has contracted the second in my Love of Sports series. This one is titled High Line and is about Garrett, Kasey’s twin brother. 🙂 It’s scheduled for a February release. I thought I’d share the unedited blurb and a little excerpt to whet your appetite for it.
High Line, Love of Sports Book 2: (copyright c. 2008 T.A. Chase)
One of Hollywood’s sexiest leading men and one of racing’s top drivers. Will they get the green flag for love or will a black flag stop their relationship in its tracks?
Garrett Johnson has every thing he ever wished for. His acting career is taking off, bringing him accolades he’d never imagined. Good friends and family keep his days hopping, but watching his twin brother fall in love exposes the emptiness in Garrett’s life. Emptiness created by the betrayal of his ex-lover.
C.J. Lamont is at the top of the racing world, but his winning record is based on a carefully constructed lie. When his ex-wife tells all in an interview, C.J. can’t think of anything else to do, but run. Just as he hits rock bottom, he’s rescued by Garrett Johnson, Hollywood’s hottest leading man.
Garrett will do anything to help a man from taking the same path as his ex-lover. He offers C.J. a place to heal and a shoulder to lean on. As time passes, the two men grow closer and C.J. realizes he has a decision to make.
After losing everything he worked for, C.J. must decide whether he’s going to rebuild his fictitious life or admit to loving a man who shines brighter than the Hollywood stars.
Warning: Hot man love. Sticky situations with honey. Fast cars and faster men.
Excerpt: (this scene takes place a year before the main events of the story when Garrett and CJ meet for the first time)
Garrett pushed to his feet. “I should be going. My flight is early in the morning.”
“Thanks for coming. I enjoyed it. I haven’t had many people over since moving in.” He took the highball of whiskey and followed Garrett to his front door.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me this month, C.J. If you ever need anything or anyone to talk to, call me. I’ll be glad to help out.”
Something in Garrett’s tone or words hit C.J. Afterwards, he never could figure out what made him do it. He gripped Garrett’s arm, pulling the taller man tight to him. He dropped his glass, not caring about the whiskey stain on the carpet. He buried his fingers in Garrett’s hair and brought their lips together.
Garrett’s lips were as soft as C.J. had imagined them to be. Garrett froze for a second and C.J. whimpered, afraid he would push him away. For this moment in time, C.J. wanted to taste a man without worrying about being discovered or exposed. He knew Garrett wouldn’t say anything.
A shudder shook Garrett’s body and the actor wrapped his arms around C.J.’s waist, crushing him to Garrett’s hard chest. Strong hands cupped his ass, rocking their groins together as the kiss went deeper. He opened his mouth to allow Garrett’s tongue entrance. The taste of the beer Garrett had for dinner danced along C.J.’s tongue as he stroked along the inside of Garrett’s bottom lip. Garrett’s warm breath washed over C.J.’s lips when the man moaned.
He followed willingly as Garrett leaned back against the door and spread his legs, cradling C.J. within the space between his thighs. C.J. rubbed his aching erection over the bulge in Garrett’s jeans. A fleeting thought raced through his mind. For the first time in his life, kissing another man felt right. It felt natural instead of something he should be ashamed of or needed to hide.
Tingling traced along his spine and gathered at the small of his back. He was going to come in his jeans. His movements were jerky as his climax built.
The ring of the phone broke their embrace. Fuck, what had he done? C.J. stared at Garrett in horror, realizing he’d broken all his rules. Not only had he kissed a guy, he’d done while he was still married. Shit, he’d just cheated on his wife. It didn’t matter that they were separated and about to get a divorce. He had some honor left.
Garrett panted and C.J. found his own breathing matched the actor’s. He watched the passion dissolve out of Garrett’s green eyes to be replaced with understanding and compassion. The phone stopped ringing.
“I should go.” Garrett ran a thumb over C.J.’s swollen bottom lip. “When you’re free to admit who you really are, come find me.”
Poetry Train
The series is called Sweet & Sinister Confectioners and here’s the blurb for the series:
If you were to ask the locals in Salem, Massachusetts how long the Sweet & Sinister Confectioners shop has been there, most will tell you it’s been there for at least a hundred years. They tell stories of going there with their grandparents and picking out treats for Valentine’s Day or Halloween. They tell you memories passed down from their great-grandparents about the shop and how it’s always been run by members of the Sweet and Sinister families. They’ll say what an old dear Sylvanus Sweet is and how Cyrus Sinister has been a devoted partner to Sylvanus for over fifty years.
But if you happen to run into a local who believes in magic, they’ll give you a sly wink and tell you there’s something special about the candy and candles those two men sell. If you’re attuned to the things that go on unnoticed in the world, you’ll feel the power filling the air from the moment you step foot into the shop.
For Sweet & Sinister Confectioners is more than just a candy store. Magic and dreams are created there for all who enter with a pure heart and believe.
The tinkling of the bell brought Sylvanus from the back of the shop. He knew the sound annoyed Cyrus, but the bell hung over the door to catch Sylvanus’ attention and let him know he had a customer. Both he and Cyrus tended to get caught up in their pet projects.
Cyrus love, we have a customer. He sent a thought towards Cyrus’ side of the store.
The man was in his thirties. A professional corporate man dressed in suit and tie. His blond hair was perfectly styled. An impeccable image of the American dream of a successful life, yet Syl could tell the man wasn’t happy. Syl moved and the man glanced up, his green eyes widening at the sight of Syl.
“Hello. My name is Sylvanus and welcome to Sweet and Sinister Confectioners. How may I help you?”
“I’m Terrance Bernslip. I’m not sure what I came in to find. I don’t eat chocolate.” Terrance’s handshake was firm.
“But your boyfriend does.” Syl slipped his arm through Terrance’s and lead him away from the white chocolate aisle.
“Yes, he does, but he’s not my boyfriend anymore. Decided he wanted someone more fun than I am.” Terrance shook his head. “Sorry. Haven’t gotten over him yet. How did you know it was a boyfriend?”
Syl pointed to the discrete rainbow sun-catcher in the candy shop window. “We have matching rainbows.”
Terrance fingered his rainbow tiepin. “So we do.”
“Your ex thought you were boring and no fun.” Syl tilted his head and studied Terrance. “Do you want to prove him wrong and get him back?”
Terrance shook his head without hesitation. “I’m still a little hurt about the break up, but I’ll get over it. I don’t need to prove anything. I like to have fun. I just like to have it privately, not in clubs every night or at parties.”
Syl ran a finger along Terrance’s chin. “Ah, you are much like my Cyrus. You seem boring and dull to others, but in private with the one you love, you are all fire and passion.”
Terrance’s cheeks turned red, but he nodded. “I’d like to think so.”
Syl patted Terrance’s cheek. “I know you are. I’m an expert on passion. So whom would the chocolates be for? Do you have your eye on a handsome stud at work? Maybe you can be a secret admirer. St. Valentine’s Day is coming up soon.”
“No potential boyfriend. I’ve just started wanting to look again.” Terrance looked confused.
Syl could tell the man was wondering why he was telling Syl all of this. He smiled. He tried to make every customer feel comfortable, as if they were coming to a friend’s house.
“Yes. When your heart is hurt, it takes a while for you to heal and be willing to risk loving again. So who would you like to send chocolates to?”
“My friend, Scott. He’s been letting me cry on his shoulder even though he just lost his partner to a heart attack.” Terrance shrugged. “I want to get him something to show him how much I appreciate his support.”
“Oh that poor man. I want to meet him. Please bring him back to see me.” Syl lead Terrance to the aisle where the chocolate dipped strawberries were. “I think your friend likes decadent and expensive things. Am I right?”
“Mike, Scott’s partner, and I used to tease Scott about being a princess.” Terrance laughed.
“Now everyone deserves to treat themselves once in a while. What I suggest is a basket with strawberries, champagne, candles and some bath oils. I’d be willing to put one together for you and it can be delivered tomorrow, if you wished.” Syl plucked a strawberry from the platter and held it out for Terrance to taste.
Terrance’s white teeth flashed as he bit into the fruit. A soft moan echoed through the store.
Got another one, love. Cyrus’ dark voice vibrated in Syl’s head.
It’s the ingredients you add to the chocolate. Syl praised his lover.
Cyrus laughed. Nevertheless, you put the joy in it, love and that’s what makes our sweets special.
“Scott will love it. Can you make up a basket for me? I don’t care how much it costs.” Terrance picked up a box of chocolate-covered cherries. “I’ll take a box of these for myself.”
“Sylvanus loves to hear those words. I’ve accused him of being a bit of a princess himself.” Cyrus’ arms slid around Syl’s waist and pulled him tight against his lover’s hard chest.
Terrance’s eyes widened and Syl caught the flicker of fear in them. Cyrus tended to do that to people. “Cy, stop teasing Terrance.” Syl leaned back, trusting in Cyrus to support him.
“I wasn’t teasing him. I was merely stating the truth. Telling Sylvanus that money is no object is tantamount to opening the vault at a jewelry store and telling a thief to take all that he wants. My love has very good taste.” Cyrus brushed Syl’s hair out of the way and nuzzled his neck.
“It’s obvious he does. He’s your lover.” Terrance looked surprised. It was apparent that he didn’t mean to say that thought aloud.
He’s a good man, Cyrus. Syl reached out and took Terrance’s hand. He brought the younger man closer to him. Without breaking Cyrus’ hold around his waist, Syl leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss over Terrance’s mouth.
Those beautiful green eyes blinked, but Terrance didn’t pull away. When the kiss was over, Syl pointed to the cherries. “That’s a gift from Cy and me. I’ll make sure Scott’s basket is beautiful. Do you have a business card so I can call you with the total cost?”
Syl took the card Terrance held out to him. He moved off towards the back of the store. “I want to get started on your basket right away. Cy, can you show him out?”
*
Cyrus smiled as his lover disappeared into the back. Terrance had a shell-shocked expression on his face. He didn’t protest as Cyrus took his arm and started to escort him to the front door.
“Sylvanus is a bit like a butterfly. Bright, beautiful and tends to flit from one project to another. However, don’t worry. When he focuses that awesome mind of his, he can do magical things.”
“Thank you for everything.” Terrance shook Cyrus’ hand.
“You’re welcome, young man.” Cyrus’ dark eyes gleamed. “Don’t worry about your broken heart. I think this St. Valentine’s Day will be special for you.”
“I hope so, Mr. Sinister.” Terrance gave a wave and headed down the street.
Cyrus went back inside and made his way to the workroom where Sylvanus moved around, humming a lively song under his breathe. Cyrus leaned on the doorframe and watched his lover work. For all the centuries they’d been together, Cyrus never got tired of looking at Sylvanus.
“So which man do you have in mind for our young businessman?” He asked, moving to capture Sylvanus in his arms.
Sylvanus wrapped his thin arms around Cyrus’ neck. “Our pretty delivery boy will work nicely, I think.”
Cyrus grunted. He trusted his lover’s instincts when it came to matchmaking. It was time for them to do a little making love.
