Posted by Lexxie Couper on Wednesday, June 19th, 2013
This is a completely unedited, random snippet from Blame it on the Bass, my current WIP (and Book Six of the Heart of Fame series). Just thought I’d share
Sonja huffed an angry breath at the tangled mess of her hair hanging in her eyes.
Push-ups. She was resorting to push-ups. Push-ups at six-am in the bloody morning. Bloody hell, surely a vibrator would be better?
Blowing at her hair again, she lowered her body—balanced stiff like a plank on her toes and palms—to the floor. The muscles of her arms and shoulders burned. Which wasn’t surprising, given she was about to count off fifty.
Fifty punishing push-ups designed to get Levi bloody Levistan out of her head.
It didn’t help every time she lowered her stiff, sweaty, hot body to the ground her nipples brushed the cool granite flooring of her living room.
The fact she was doing push-ups—fifty-one now—stark naked also contributed to her flustered state. It meant every time her nipples did kiss the floor, even for the micro-second she quivered an inch above it before straightening her arms again, her hot flesh came into direct contact with the cold stone, sending licks of depraved pleasure through her. Depraved licks of pleasure that headed without delay to the junction of her thighs.
In other words, she was doing push-ups to try and stop being horny over her old gay boyfriend, and was getting hornier with every push-up she did.
“Fuck this,” she snarled, bringing her knees up to her belly and propelling herself to her feet in a wonky burpee. Raking her hair from her face with a frustrated swipe, she stormed into the kitchen.
She was meant to be at work in an hour. Work. Like she was in any state to go to work and deal with her boss and his sexual innuendoes. Ha! After spending the night either wide awake and thinking things she shouldn’t about her gay ex-boyfriend, or fitfully asleep and dreaming debauched dreams involving her gay ex-boyfriend, his too-damn-sexy American boyfriend and herself, the last thing she needed was to go into work and read submission after submission from the slush pile, which was what she had to do today.
Being an editor at an erotic romance publisher was all very well and good, until you found yourself tormented by thoroughly erotic and disturbing dreams and fantasies, and then there/their/they’re and split-bloody-infinitives became less important than how quickly you could lock your office door and ride your hand to a climax.
It wasn’t often Sonja found herself turned on at work—thank God, given her boss’s habit of checking out her boobs every time he was near her—but after the dreams she’d had last night, reading erotic romance was going to push her to that very state.
There you go. A totally random share.
Posted by Lexxie Couper on Friday, June 14th, 2013
Tomorrow, Highest Bidder, the first book in my erotic sci-fi series, Mercy, releases at Ellora’s Cave. I love writing erotic sci-fi romance. Love it. It’s been awhile since I did (*sniff*) but this series is so damn fun to write, I think I will keep going back to it over and over again.
Today, I thought I’d whet your appetites with the first chapter. The ENTIRE first chapter. Now there’s a prologue before this, but I’m keeping that a secret. Hee hee hee.
You can head on over to Ellora’s Cave to more details (click HERE). I’ll update links for other resellers as soon as I get them
(In the interest of full disclosure, Mercy started life with a different publisher back in 2009, but Highest Bidder (and the next two books to follow, Deadly Pleasures and Captured Rapture) have had MAJOR and significant re-writes and holy moley, I love it even more.)
Galactic Union Calendar 210
Dreylan Tarq was two steps into The Puckered Tip when someone tried to kill him.
The blade sliced through the space just to the right of his head, so close he felt the dank air ripple in its path. Growling silently, he snatched the short, lethally sharp blade from the air and sent it back through the sex club’s heady artificial environment with just a flick of his wrist.
Straight into the ridged forehead of the Prijchan who’d thrown it.
The Prijchan’s eyes widened, and then an ear-splitting squeal silenced the raucous club. The crowd reeled as one, seconds before the hulking blue-skinned Prijchan fell flat on his back to the filthy floor with a ground-shuddering thud, black hilt jutting from between his bulging eyes.
Dreylan turned away from the jerking form, casting an almost bored look over the gaping, silent partiers. “Anyone else want a go?” No one said a word. Or dared draw a breath. “Good.” He nodded. “’Cause I’m thirsty.”
He continued to make his way to The Puckered Tip’s bar, ignoring the gawking patrons as they parted before him.
Resting his elbows on the bar, Dreylan studied the rows of bottles and decanters lining the wall before him. Not one bottle of Ozio to be seen. He let out a dramatic sigh and shook his head. Little remained of Ezilia from before the violent interplanetary wars that gave birth to the Galactic Union, and what did was often putrid, mutated and diseased. A few cases of Ozio, however, had survived the GU’s swift and draconian “cleansing of moral decay and filth”. If a man were lucky, he could find a bar that had a bottle and indulge. After coughing up an obscene number of credits, that is.
Dreylan had the credits but it seemed he didn’t have the luck. Not today at least. “H-Two,” he ordered, flicking the barkeep a quick look. Behind him, the crowd had begun to move. To whisper.
Hearing his name in the hushed murmurs, Dreylan rolled his eyes. Gods, couldn’t he go anywhere without being recognized?
The bartender returned, trying not to stare as he placed a filthy glass on the counter. Dreylan looked at the murky, crap-brown liquid. “What the hell is this?”
The Myxmak swallowed, all four of his eyes blinking rapidly. “H-Two, s-sir. I mean Sir Tarq. I mean—”
Dreylan shook his head. “Get outta here,” he snarled, waving the quivering bartender away. Picking up the glass, he studied the contents through its grimy sides. No Ozio. No H-Two. So much for quenching his thirst. The Puckered Tip had not impressed him so far.
Returning the glass to the counter, Dreylan counted to five.
Then pulled his disruptor on the fat Terran suddenly joining him at the bar. “Hello, peace-keeper.” He leveled the gun at the man’s flabby gut. “What do you want?”
The Terran grinned. “Long time no see, Tarq. I see you took care of Blegd.”
Dreylan cast a look at the motionless Prijchan, still sprawled on the floor. Someone, he noted with a smirk, had pulled the bounty hunter’s blade from his forehead. Someone else had balanced a glass of what looked like Itillian ale over the spot where the wound would be. “These dolts get slower and more stupid every cycle.” He turned back to the bar, re-holstered the disrupter and picked up his glass. “Seriously, Mak, what idiot paid that fool to bring me in?”
Mak Wylsen chuckled, his enormous gut wobbling. “That idiot would be me, Tarq.” He slid his own weapon from its harness and placed it on the counter facing Dreylan. “He wasn’t supposed to stick you, of course, but I guess you get what you pay for. Hate to do this to you, good buddy, but by order of the Galactic Union, you’re under arrest.”
Dreylan glanced down at the peace-keeper’s neutralizer, shaking his head in disgusted contempt. “Are you sure you want to do this, Mak?”
“Not at all.” Mak pulled an apologetic face, but the gun didn’t move. “But ever since my partner got himself kicked off the force, I’ve been doing all sorts of things I don’t want to do.”
Dreylan’s grip on the filthy glass tightened and a surge of anger rolled through his chest. “I wasn’t kicked off, Mak. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know that, but anyone who wants to keep their nuts attached says otherwise.” Mak adjusted himself on the barstool, a look of guilt flashing across his fleshy face as his hand moved to his gun again. “I’m a bit fond of my balls, Tarq. I plan to keep them a few years longer, no matter how much of a fuckwit my boss is. Or how good a partner you were.”
“Which is why you’re doing exactly what the premier orders, huh?” Dreylan studied the murky liquid in his glass. “No matter how stupid…or dangerous.”
Mak had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Are you coming in on your own or do I need to restrain you?”
Still studying the cloudy glass of H-Two, Dreylan cocked an eyebrow, a knot of dark anticipation squirming in his chest. “I think I can come in on my own. I’ve been wanting to have a word with Premier Ipari for quite some time now.”
Mak shot him a disgusted look. “I’m not taking you in so you can break the premier’s nose, Tarq.”
A grin stretched Dreylan’s mouth. “I wasn’t planning on breaking his nose, Mak. I’ve already done that, remember?”
Mak raised his pistol from the bar and jabbed it at Dreylan’s shoulder. “Listen, you go in there with Aimyl on your mind and you’re asking to be shot. You may have escaped with your life the last time you and Ipari met but he’s not going to put up with any shit now.” The barrel of Mak’s pistol tapped once against Dreylan’s chest. “You start trouble,” Mak went on with a serious expression, “and I won’t protect your sorry ass.”
Hot anger scorched Dreylan’s veins as he gave his ex-partner a flat glare. “Aimyl hasn’t been in my head since she walked out of our house, Mak,” he growled. And it was the truth. His wife hadn’t entered his mind since she’d left him for that conniving, power-hungry fuck Pretorik Ipari seven cycles ago. He hadn’t given her a second thought.
Pain—tight and bitter—squeezed at his heart.
Yes. Really. Maybe. Okay, fine. The absolute last time he’d thought of his deceiving, traitorous wife was when he’d identified her body at the morgue. After the Mentuan slavers had—
A sharp crack cut through the macabre thought and Dreylan looked down at his suddenly wet hand, watching a stream of bright red blood mingle with the spilled fluid from the shattered glass in his clenched fist.
Mak snorted, re-holstered his gun and pushed his sizeable frame from the stool. “Yeah, you’re Mr. Cool-and-Detached. I can see that.”
Dreylan stared at his blood as it seeped from the jagged gash in his palm. There should have been be pain but there wasn’t. The moment his wife had left him, Dreylan had begun to detach from his emotions.
The moment the Mentuan slavers highjacked the shuttle transporting Aimyl to her new life and lover—a mere three hours into the journey—and slaughtered everyone aboard, Dreylan Tarq, once the highest decorated peace-keeper in the GU, had lost the ability to feel pain.
To feel anything.
Premier Pretorik Ipari was responsible for that.
It was time for the treacherous bastard to make amends.
* * * * *
The manacles dug into her flesh.
Naya looked down at her hands, causing her long hair to slide over her bare shoulders in a feathery caress. The bronze powder dusting her body clung to the fine strands, turning the tips into a burnished copper curtain that brushed against the thick gray manacles around her wrists. The ship’s harsh light glinted off the polished steel, highlighting her situation better than words ever could. Gods, what was going to happen to her?
“So, Terran,” a guttural voice growled in front of her. “What would you like to do?”
Naya raised her head, glaring at the hulking Mentuan standing before her. “Slit your throat.”
His red gaze roamed over her, a leering grin slowly stretching his mouth. “Mmm. A little rougher than I’d expected for a riephia. Perhaps you’re not as pure as they say.”
Naya lifted her chin. She was petrified, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him know that. “I’m more pure than you could imagine, slaver, but just because I’m a riephia doesn’t mean I don’t know how to fight.”
The Mentuan slave master took a step closer, his breath hot on her face. “I’ve been watching you, Naya. And you’re right. You do know how to fight. Hence the manacles.”
He threaded his fingers through her hair, inspecting the dark-brown strands with a critical eye. A grin played with his mouth and he returned his attention to her face. “Those cockless fucks who were guarding you all this time thought they’d kept your existence from us, but they were wrong. Empathic mesomorphs aren’t exactly commonplace in the universe. When your people discovered your existence, the heavens shook with their excitement. New Earth’s one and only chance for salvation, to buy a place in the oh so duplicitous Galactic Union, born to two worthless humans. A savior and sex slave in one innocent package. The contradiction is quite delicious, isn’t it?”
His hand snaked out and slid over Naya’s right breast. She gasped, repulsed fury pouring through her. “Get your hands off me!”
The slave master’s stare rose to her face, evil delight igniting his eyes. “I don’t think so. Not yet, at least.” He squeezed her breast again, pinching her nipple between his fingers.
Another surge of raw hatred tore through Naya and she thrashed in her restraints, glaring at the Mentuan.
“Oh, you are going to make me a shitload of credits,” he murmured, pressing his body to hers. “An untouched riephia with the spirit of a viper. What other sins does that delectable body of yours hold?”
“My future husband will pay good money for my return.”
“True,” the Mentuan agreed. “But not as much as I’ll make selling you at the Port Mercy Slave Market.”
Naya clenched her jaw, refusing to break his stare despite the icy fear rippling through her veins. Spaceport Mercy? Gods, wasn’t that on the edge of the universe? “Since you know everything about me,” she replied, “you also know who my future husband is.” She swallowed down a sudden lump of distaste. “If you don’t return me to Earth, he’ll bring the full force of the Galactic Union’s peace-keepers down on you.”
“The peace-keepers don’t concern me, and neither does your husband.” The Mentuan trailed his fingers over her breasts in slow circles. “I am Taipyr, captain and master of the slave ship Control. I am outside Union law. The GU cannot touch me.”
“Bastard.” Naya hissed, fury exploding in her chest. She lashed out again, her shackled wrists snapping to an abrupt halt inches from Taipyr’s smirking face. Sharp pain tore through her shoulders and she cried out in frustration and dismay.
“Spirit.” He nodded, lips curling away from jagged yellow teeth. “The spirit of a warrior queen and the body of a Slessorian concubine. Gods, I could fuck you myself here and now.”
Revulsion filled Naya but she held Taipyr’s leer. “You know what happens if I have sex with someone, slaver? I change. My psyche transforms until I’m emotionally, mentally and psychologically what a man wants in his perfect mate. My soul bonds to their soul—and theirs alone. Forever.” She glared at him, desperate to hide her fear. “I’m worthless to you once that happens.”
The Mentuan chuckled again. “Now, now, Naya. Do you question my intelligence? The second I learned of your existence, I researched everything ever recorded or known about your kind. Do you know what I found the most interesting?”
He paused as if allowing her to answer, his fingers working down her belly to splay over the curve of her sex. She stared at him, unable to respond.
“Not that the riephia mutation gene manifests only once every five hundred years…not that it only presents itself in human females. No. What I found most interesting was the fact that only penile penetration will trigger the empathic transformation. That means I can fuck you with anything I want. My fingers, my tongue, the hilt of my whip—anything that will fit inside your tight cunt—and you won’t change. I could sell you battered and bleeding and you would still be worth money to the right buyer. Without a cock to take you, you’re still a riephia waiting to transform, yes?”
Fresh terror erupted in Naya. Icy cold and consuming. He was correct. She was at his depraved mercy. He could do whatever he wanted, violate her in a hundred ways, as long as he didn’t penetrate her body with his penis.
Her stomach churned. Her mouth went dry.
She stared at him, determined not to show anything but strength. “Fine. Do your worst, but I want you to count the money you’re fucking away as you do. I may not be totally worthless when no longer a sexual virgin, but I am…how did you put it? Worth a shitload of credits as an ‘untouched’ riephia.”
Taipyr smiled, the expression hideous and chilling. “The body of a Slessorian, the spirit of a viper and the brains of a master merchant.” He chuckled, sliding his hands back up to her breasts. “The monks really did prepare you well for your future husband.” With one final flick at her nipples, he took a step back, studying her with a gaze that made her flesh crawl. “What a shame he will never get the chance to enjoy you.”
He crossed the room without another word, taking up watch against the opposite wall.
She closed her eyes, forcing her heart to return to its normal pace. Gods, what was she going to do? What could she do? He’d left her untouched, but who knew what the slaver would do the next time he entered the room.
She’d led a sheltered life. Growing up in the Temple of the Gods, spending every day being prepared to be the perfect wife by eunuchs who both revered and reviled her. Through no fault or plan of her own, she was a creature born to a sexual destiny, raised by men who chose to destroy their sexual ability.
And despite being unspoiled, she knew what sex was. Oh yes…
Since reaching adolescence, she’d dreamed every night of a man who introduced her to a rapturous bliss she couldn’t fathom but hungered for nonetheless. A man with smoldering eyes who entered her dreams and made her scream and cry with pleasure by just the touch of his hands and mouth and tongue.
Yes, she knew what sex was. And she had no illusions—what the Mentuan slaver might do to her would not be sex. Not even close.
Don’t think about it, Naya.
She forced her body to relax. Focusing on negative possibilities wouldn’t achieve anything.
Relax. Compose. Control…
The mantra from her lonely childhood wafted through her turbulent mind and she felt her muscles begin to loosen. Relax. Compose. Control…
She sank to the floor, heavy waves of numbness rolling over her. Relax. Compose. Control…
Her heart slowed.
Her breaths grew even.
Relax. Compose. Control…
Her head drooped forward and…
Warm hands smooth up her back, heating her chilled flesh with slow, gentle care. She shifts, moving her head a little. The hands find their way to her shoulders, massaging the knots of muscles there before skimming up the curve of her neck and tangling in her hair.
A low hum sounds on the edge of the darkness, soft and constant.
Fingers tug gently on her thick tresses, and she shifts again, letting her head loll forward. Warm lips find her neck, charting a slow path up to the sensitive dip at the base of her skull. She shivers, the action pinching her nipples into rock-hard tips of wanting flesh. She skims her fingers over them, shuddering at the jolts of tension charging through her at the slight contact. Immediately the lips on her neck join her fingers, nibbling and playing not only with her nipples but the entire swell of each breast. First one, then the other. He eases her onto her back and then teeth join the exploration, teeth and a tongue, wet and hot.
Naya moans, the sound like a siren’s call in the silence of the night. The mouth on her body pauses before slipping down to her navel, mapping the curve of her rib cage, the flatness of her belly, as it goes.
Outside, in the black nothingness, the low hum grows louder.
She sucks in a swift breath, knowing her lover will not stop at her navel. He never does. Her sex grows wet and heavy with anticipation and she lifts her hips, eager for his mouth to find her swollen pussy lips.
He raises his head and looks at her with piercing blue eyes. Eyes the color of an ancient Terran glacier. But it is fire that burns in their depths, desire. He smiles, a grin that shouts his intention seconds before he slides his hands up her thighs and dips his fingers into her cunt.
She arches, her cry echoing in the silence.
Yet even her cry is soft compared to the hum. The hum growing louder. Louder…
Her lover plunges his fingers in deeper, wriggling them, twisting. He strokes the sweet spot within the wet walls of her sex and Naya gasps, but all she hears is the hum.
A thumb finds her clit, rolling over it, teasing. Liquid tension claims the lower half of her body, setting it afire. The soles of her feet tingle. Her sex constricts, a wicked spasm that makes her heart race and her mouth go dry. She grinds her cunt to her lover’s hand, staring into his oh so blue eyes. Something is happening. A wave of exquisite torment is building within her core. She can barely breathe. Gods, what’s happening to her?
Her lover’s lips move, but his words are lost to the hum—now a roar. Mechanical. Powerful. Frightening. He smiles, teeth flashing, before slowly lowering his head to the junction of her thighs. His tongue licks the outer edges of her damp folds and she shudders, another cry escaping.
The hum devours it. The humming sound of the engine devours everything.
Her lover devours her. His tongue on her sex, in her sex, lapping and licking and laving.
The wave rolls through every inch of her body. She opens her mouth to beg her lover to take her, claim her.
The thrumming engine steals her plea, but he hears her all the same.
He rises from between her legs, looms over her, his cock long and thick and dripping with pre-cum. Desire glows in his eyes. He spreads her legs wider, teasing her clit with his thumb, spreading her creamy juices over her sex. Readying her to be filled.
He aligns his rigid shaft to her weeping sex. He opens his mouth and all she hears is the growing roar, the humming roar, the inescapable roar of the ship’s engines.
Naya jerked awake, both fear and pleasure assaulting her flushed body.
She looked up at her wrists, the consuming warmth of the all too familiar erotic dream shattered by the sight of the metal bindings still keeping her on her feet. Still keeping her imprisoned.
She bit back a sob. She wasn’t writhing in ecstasy. Wasn’t in her dream lover’s arms. She was still aboard the slave ship.
“Interesting dream, riephia?” a voice growled. “Care to share?”
Naya started, fury hot in her veins. She raised her head, glaring at the hulking Mentuan watching her from the far wall. “Release me, Taipyr, and I’ll show you what a nightmare feels like.”
The Mentuan chuckled. “I have to admit, I’m tempted. The battle alone would be worth the scars I’m sure you’d cause.”
Incensed rage rolled through Naya but she held Taipyr’s stare. “I would rip your throat out before you had the chance to touch me again.”
Taipyr laughed. “Maybe,” he murmured. “But what a way to die.” He crossed to the door, his footfalls thumping on the metal floor like the beat of a death knell. The door slid open and he turned, casting her a malicious glare. “We dock at Port Mercy in five clicks. I’d say get ready, but trust me, nothing could possibly ready you for what awaits.”
Soooo, what do we think?
Mercy: Highest Bidder (Ellora’s Cave)
Posted by Lexxie Couper on Tuesday, June 11th, 2013
I love this movie. I love how funny it is, how it handles the discovery of Mr. Brackett’s homosexuality, how it deals with the fall-out of his announcement, and I love Tom Selleck without a moustache (which I never thought I would).
Now here’s the kiss (look at the stunned confusion and ultimate surrender of Kevin Kline’s Mr. Brackett!)
Now, here’s a snippet from Guarded Desires where Chris (my American Hollywood actor) fights a similar situation…in this case, it’s his subconscious desire to check out Liev Reynolds’ “package”
“I’m hanging up now,” Aslin said “Just wanted to let you know what we did.” Once again, Chris couldn’t help but smile at the pride in his taciturn brother-in-law’s voice.
“You did very well, Rhodes,” Chris replied. “Very well indeed. Give my sister a hug for me.”
“I will. Oh, before I go, how is Reynolds going for you?”
Bam. Just like that, Chris’s gut clenched. His heart jumped into his throat. His breath joined it. “Good,” he answered, squeezing his eyes shut—a stupid move, given that the second he did an image of Reynolds popped into his head.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Good? What’s going on, Chris?”
Chris shook his head. Another stupid move, given Aslin was on the other side of the world. “Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He pulled a face, scraping the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “You’re starting to sound like Rowie.”
“No, I sound like a suspicious sod, which I am. Tell me what good means?”
For a crushing second, Chris contemplated telling his brother-in-law what was going on. He trusted Aslin with his life. The Brit was the most honest, real person Chris knew. The words were there, on his tongue. And then he swallowed them. Forced them down.
Aslin was real and honest, but he was also more a…a…man than any other Chris knew. How would his British ex-SAS commando-cum-bodyguard-cum-brother-in-law react to the possibility Chris found one of his colleagues arousing?
How would Rowie deal with it?
Jesus, how was he dealing with it?
“Good means we’re still figuring each other out,” Chris finally answered, opening his eyes to stare with blank focus into the living area. Movement inside told him Bethany had finished with the platter creation in the kitchen. There was still no sight of Reynolds.
“Do you not feel safe?”
Aslin’s blunt question made Chris groan. Safe? No, he didn’t feel safe. Not from his body’s response to the guy.
Goddamn it, where was his psycho ex-personal assistant when he needed her? At least all Tilly had attempted to do was kill everyone who tried get in her way of looking after him. That was a cakewalk compared to this.
With a snort, he raked at his hair again. “I feel safe. Just getting used to the accent. It’s only been half a day. Ask me tomorrow.”
He could almost see Aslin digesting his words. If Rhodes decided there was an issue, Chris had no doubt Liev Reynolds would be replaced immediately. Aslin may be on the other side of the world, but he still protected Chris no matter what.
Did Chris want Reynolds gone? That would solve one problem, wouldn’t it?
Without Liev Reynolds around, Chris could go back to his simple life, right?
“Do you want me to find a different guard, Chris?”
Chris pulled a face at Aslin’s astute perception. He thought about the man in the shower causing him so much grief, the man who was going to be living under the same roof as him, shadowing him for the next seven days. “No,” he said. “It’s all good. Honest.” He forced a smile into his voice. “Now fuck off and go take care of my niece. And I’ve changed my mind on hugging Rowie. Punch her in the arm for me instead. I’m still wounded she didn’t insist on naming my niece Christine.”
“Never going to happen, squirt,” Rowan called out, the soft gurgles of a newborn babe’s cry punctuating her reply.
“Screw you, sis,” Chris said, hiding the lump in his throat with a choked chuckle. “Call me tomorrow, Aslin. Oh, and send more photos.”
He killed the connection before his brother-in-law could interrogate him more. Closing his eyes, he pulled in a slow breath and slid to the floor, leaning his back against the railing. Why had he said no? It had been a perfect opportunity to remove the Australian from his life. To remove the confusion before it became something…inconvenient.
“Like another fucking hard-on?” he muttered.
“You okay, mate?”
With a strangled yelp, Chris snapped open his eyes.
Reynolds stood before him. A curious frown furrowed his forehead.
Oh Christ, help me.
The man radiated confident strength, even with his dark blond hair a tousled mess of damp strands. A black polo shirt covered his torso, emphasizing his muscular frame with a subtle perfection Chris had never noticed on another man before. Black denim jeans hugged his long legs, and if it wasn’t for the fact Chris couldn’t stop his gaze lingering at the rather impressive bulge at Reynolds’s crotch, he would have made some wise-ass comment about the fact the bodyguard wasn’t wearing shoes.
But his gaze did linger on Reynolds’s groin. Long enough for the man to clear his throat.
Chris’s gut knotted. Heat flooded his face. Holy fuck. Holy fuck, he’d just been staring at another man’s package.
He jolted to his feet, unable to meet Reynolds’s eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t…geez, I…” Clearing his own throat, he scraped his hands through his hair and forced his stare to Liev’s. “I didn’t mean to, y’know…look…there. It was just at eye level.”
Reynolds’s laugh surprised him. “No worries, mate. I’m used to it.”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “You’re used to guys looking at your junk?”
“Well, when you put it like that, no. But I’ve been in the state firefighting charity calendar four years running. When you spend a month on someone’s wall dressed in nothing but a half-unzipped pair of loose work trousers you get used to being checked out. Especially when you make appearances at events to sell those calendars.”
The ball of tension in Chris’s gut didn’t loosen at Liev’s answer. It only made it worse. He’d known the man was a firefighter when he wasn’t working as a bodyguard, but now all Chris could do was picture him half-undressed, glistening with sweat, his hands wrapped around a freaking massive hose jutting out from the region of his groin. Subtlety, it seemed, was not one of Chris’s newly confused brain’s strong points.
Nor was remaining impassive to the thought of Liev. At least, Chris’s cock wasn’t remaining impassive. The stiffening heat in his trousers was enough to make him want to groan.
Damn it, he needed to get laid. By a woman. Fast.
“Want to hit a bar?” The question burst from him before he could stop it.
Liev narrowed his eyes.
Chris puffed out a ragged breath. “I’ve just become an uncle. I need to loosen up.”
A muscle in Liev’s jaw twitched. “Loosen up?”
“Ah, shit,” Chris held out a hand, “no drugs. Honest. My sister would kill me. Hell, Rhodes would kill me. No, I just need to blow off some tension. Do you know a place? Somewhere noisy?”
“I do.” Liev crossed his arms. “But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I took you there. Too accessible to the public. Too easy for you to be swarmed. And then Rhodes would kill me.”
“And I don’t want to lose my new bodyguard before I break him in, right?”
The quip was meant to be just that. A quip. It was what Chris did best—make jokes when things were tense. And things were tense. At least, for Chris they were. But Reynolds didn’t laugh.
He stood motionless, his blue stare holding Chris’s, his jaw clenched. “No. You don’t.”
A lump filled Chris’s throat. His breath choked him. He couldn’t move.
Every fibre in his body strained for the man in front of him. Every nerve-ending sparked with a carnal need he couldn’t understand. His palms itched. His mind told him exactly how smooth and perfect Liev’s muscled arms would feel to touch, how hard his chest would be, how sculpted his abs.
How thick and heavy Liev’s cock would feel in his hand.
Chris stared at him. Into his eyes. Eyes that only a short while ago where unknown to him.
Eyes that revealed nothing.
And yet, the tension hung on the air between them. Chris wasn’t completely naïve. He’d seduced his fair share of women. He knew exactly what sexual tension was. He mastered it on screen. He’d mastered it in the bedroom.
What this was, right now, was sexual tension. Real sexual tension. This was explosive. This was tearing him apart.
This was…this was…fuck, this couldn’t be.
What do you think? Or the kiss scene and/or the snippet?
Guarded Desires (Heart of Fame Book Three) (Samhain)
Guarded Desires (Heart of Fame Book Three) (Amazon)
Guarded Desires (Heart of Fame Book Three) (Nook)
Posted by Lexxie Couper on Tuesday, June 11th, 2013
I find the notion of getting a second chance at life and happiness wonderful. I think there are lots of people out there that feel life, love and joy has passed them. Mari Carr’s Second Chance series explores this idea with sweetly romantic (and insanely hot) stories.
The next book in the series is out tomorrow and I can’t recommend it enough.
Sometimes it’s not just the tide that rises…
Second Chances, Book 2
In the two years since her divorce was finalized, Josie Jacobson’s life has become one long, boring routine. Work, home, repeat. She has her hands full as a single parent, and while she’s not looking for a serious relationship, she sure wouldn’t mind getting laid.
When her friend, Zoey, challenges her to make a New Year’s resolution for a second chance at happiness, Josie goes one better and creates the “Howl List”. Every full moon, she will indulge in a different sexual fantasy. Right at the top? Sex without strings.
Fate leads her to the Blue Moon bar in January. After all, what better place to howl? And when she meets Jake Stewart, the sexy bartender, and engages in some red-hot sex with a stranger, her year seems to be off to a great start.
At least, until Jake declares he wants all her full moons…
Warning: This is NOT the shifter story you are looking for. While the heroine howls during the full moon, she does it in naked, human-form only. Sorry—no wolves, but there is a really sexy bartender and lots of red-hot fantasies.
“Tonight’s full moon is sex in public.”
Jake choked on the drink and put the glass back down. “In public?”
“What the hell do you mean by full moon?”
Josie considered avoiding the question, but there was no harm in telling him the truth. She explained about her list and her desire to fulfill the fantasies.
“So what’s on the list? Besides the stranger danger and PDA ones.” Jake was exactly as she’d remembered him. Unflappable, fun, funny.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid the contents of the list are privileged information. If I told you, I’d have to fuck you.”
Jake grasped her shoulder, pulling her closer. “I’d have no problem with—”
“Jake?” A waitress stood by their table. She pointed to a couple of loud drunks by the door. “I think we might have trouble. You wanna take care of it?”
Jake sighed. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be right over.”
The waitress went back to work.
Jake leaned closer, whispering in her ear. “If you don’t have any luck with number two on the list within the next hour, come find me.”
Josie didn’t have a chance to respond before Jake rose and went to address the problem by the entrance. She took a sip of her drink, hoping it would calm her down. It was suddenly quite warm in the bar.
Josie watched Shelly and Lance dance, then gazed around the room. The place was crowded and there certainly wasn’t a shortage of men hanging around, either drinking alone or standing in large groups.
She spotted one large table across the room. It appeared the men were all out for a bachelor party. She found the groom-to-be instantly. The party must have been going for a while because the man had at least a dozen empty shot glasses in front of him. His friends were sending him out of bachelorhood in style. She slowly studied each of the men at the table, silently trying to decide which were married, which were mama’s boys, which were playboys.
Josie had never paid much attention to the opposite sex. Tony had been her first boyfriend. She’d fallen fast and hard for him toward the end of their junior year in high school and she’d convinced herself she was lucky. She’d honestly believed she’d found her soul mate at sixteen.
She closed her eyes wearily. The silly romantic girl she had been was long gone, leaving Josie struggling to figure out what her beliefs regarding love were now. Since the divorce, Josie had concentrated on setting up a new home for her and her son, working long hours to pay the bills, and avoiding the dating scene as much as possible because she refused to open up a revolving door of men in Tommy’s life.
She remembered too well how painful it was when her mother would bring home a new boyfriend, include him in every aspect of their lives, then yank him out again after the break-up.
Josie wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that to Tommy. The full-moon list had been created to protect him. And her.
So while she was tempted by Jake’s offer, she wasn’t sure she should accept it. She’d thought about the handsome bartender too many times the past few weeks. If she had sex with him again, wasn’t she sort of tempting fate and running the risk of developing feelings for him?
As tough as she tried to pretend she was, Josie knew when it came to matters of the heart, she was way too soft.
A man lingered at the edge of the dance floor by her table and gave her a friendly smile. It wouldn’t take much effort on her part to show interest, to invite him over.
Josie glanced over her shoulder and watched Jake deal with the two drunks by the door. Apparently a fight had been brewing between them, but somehow Jake had calmed the waters. They were laughing at something Jake had said. She smiled. Then she ignored the stranger and stood up, approaching Jake just as the two men shook his hand and said goodbye.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Jake glanced at his watch. “It’s only been fifteen minutes. Are you coming to give me the brush-off?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to wait an hour.”
Jake’s eyes darkened with lust and her body responded instantly. “Come with me.”
Full Moon is available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Samhain.
Posted by Lexxie Couper on Tuesday, June 4th, 2013
Brilliant brilliant brillant, I say.
To celebrate, throughout this month I’m going to share some of my favourite GLBT moments from some of my favourite films, along with a snippet or two from not only Guarded Desires (my very first m/m romance, coming in July) but Blame it on the Bass, my upcoming m/m/f release.
Is there a m/m kiss scene more tormented and raw than this one?
Damn, it gets me every time.
And now, here’s an excerpt from my July releases, Guarded Desires
His other sexual attraction was far more frustrating.
Because there wasn’t a hope in hell he’d missed the sexual desire in Chris’s eyes earlier that night. Hell, he’d almost acted on it. Had leant forward to capture the man’s lips with his.
And then Chris had fled to the master bedroom and Liev had come close to letting out a growl of contemptuous self-disgust.
Grinding his teeth, Liev pushed himself from the balcony, cast the harbour and its boats one last look and then walked into the living area, closing the glass concertina doors behind him.
Chris Huntley’s heterosexuality was famous. According to the magazines and websites Liev’s niece devoured, the list of women he’d dated and slept with was legendary. In the last month alone, more than one had declared Huntley was to soon be a father. If Liev was to believe everything he read, the actor currently asleep in the master bedroom had sowed his wild oats with just about every young starlet in Hollywood.
But Liev didn’t believe everything he read.
Chris Huntley may be Hollywood’s hottest sex symbol right now, but Liev’s gut was telling him the actor’s heterosexuality wasn’t as indisputable as the world believed.
Liev had spent a lifetime caught between two sexual appetites. Close to thirty-three years of it. From the day he’d accepted the hard-on he was desperately trying to hide at school had nothing to do with the hot girl from History class sitting beside him and everything to do with the hot captain of the boys’ soccer team running around on the field in front of him—at the sage age of thirteen—he’d known he walked a line most boys didn’t.
From the first blowjob given to him by a male’s mouth, a few years later by a fellow senior from a different school during an excursion to the ski-slopes—Liev knew he didn’t care the line he walked was socially…shunned.
The first blowjob he’d received from a girl—six months after that, from the hot girl from History class—had been equally explosive and cemented the fact in his mind he was bi. Sex was sex, and Liev had no issues with the gender of his partner. If they turned him on, he was happy to oblige.
Was that the case with Chris Huntley? Was Chris bi as well?
He knew the sexual preference of actors, especially ones deemed sex symbols like Chris, was treated like a precious commodity. The more virile and desirable women found an actor, the more money his work could pull in. An actor who’d built his career on his potent heterosexuality could see said career destroyed at just the hint of homosexuality. Why else all the defamation lawsuits?
Or was he just grasping at straws? He’d been attracted to Chris from the first episode he’d watched of Twice Too Many. Guarding him from a distance last year had only furthered that desire. Now, being in Chris’s presence, breathing in his subtle scent…fair dinkum, it was pretty damn amazing. Seeing the sharp intelligence in the actor’s eyes his sitcom character didn’t allow out, watching Chris’s body move with latent strength, a body more honed to physical perfection thanks to his role in Dead Even…well, amazing didn’t really come close to describing how Liev felt right now.
He let out a low groan.
He had to stop thinking about the man. Even if Chris Huntley was sexually interested in Liev—and it was a big bloody if, about the size of the country to be honest—nothing could come of it. Bodyguard’s second rule. Never, ever get sexually involved with the client.
Never. It was the second rule Aslin Rhodes had taught him. It was the second rule Liev worked by.
He’d guarded more than one female politician that had suggested activities beyond his job requirement, and he’d declined every one. A bodyguard who fucked around with his client wasn’t just unprofessional. He was stupid.
Liev wasn’t stupid, despite what his older brother wanted to believe.
Whatever the spark he’d felt between him and Chris earlier that night—and Christ, he was one hundred percent certain he wasn’t the only one to feel it—nothing could come of it.
Even if Chris strode out of his bedroom at this very second, took Liev’s hand and wrapped it around Chris’s erect, pre-come dripping cock, Liev would pull away.
It would be fucking hard, but he would do it.
Hard. Like his dick was now.
So damn hard it hurt.
Biting back a muttered curse, he killed the lights in the living area and kitchen, hurried up the stairs to the third floor and strode to his bedroom.
The room was opposite Chris’s. The door to the master bedroom was closed. No light filtered from beneath the thin gap at the bottom.
Liev turned to his door.
Guarded Desires (Heart of Fame Book Three) (Samhain)
Guarded Desires (Heart of Fame Book Three) (Amazon)
Guarded Desires (Heart of Fame Book Three) (Nook)