My Sexy Saturday: To the Max

The theme for today's My Sexy Saturday is Keeping It Sexy - the things that lovers do for one another. I thought I'd turn to my first published novel, To The Max, for inspiration. Max and Richard are a very devoted couple, and they do enjoy doing things for one another.  In this scene, Richard has taken Max away for the day to the country, to a little land they own along a river. Just the two of them, and fun in the sun. Enjoy! As we peek in on our lovers, Richard is about to put suntan lotion on Max, who burns easily. (Btw, he's also a werewolf).

I do as he asks, of course.  I'm a rather obedient wolf, I must admit.  "Back or front first?" I ask.

            "Back first," he responds, squirting the thick white fluid onto his long, slender fingers in preparation.  This particular brand is supposed to be good for the skin as well, filled with vitamins and emollients and such like.  It has a pleasant silky texture, and a nice smell, and we've discovered that it works well for other purposes too.  I flip onto my stomach, lay my head onto my interlaced fingers, and relax.  Richard settles himself on me, straddling my legs as he spreads the lotion, beginning with my shoulders, not just troweling it on but actually using the flat of his hand to work it into my skin, where it will do some good.  I like the feel of him on top of me, the comforting solidness of his body on mine.  His gentle touch.  He gives good back rubs, too.

            He makes sure that he covers my back, his hands moving lower and lower as he massages the goo into my skin.  When he reaches my ass, his slides his fingers teasingly between my cheeks, brushing lightly across my pucker, which produces a moan from me.  So, for good measure, he does it again. 

            "Quit teasing unless you're serious," I warn him.  He only laughs, slaps my butt and tells me to roll over so he can do my front.  Of course I am now sporting an erection.  "Grease that up and I'll show you what I can do with it," I offer.

            "We have all day, sweet thing," he grins, "I think we'll find time for you to show me a thing or two."

            Pouting isn't working, so I have to content myself with that thought for the moment, as he covers my chest.  The little devil!  He tweaks my nipples, supposedly in the cause of applying sunscreen, but I know better.  I try to reach for his cock, which isn't easy considering the angle at  which he is to me, but he merely slaps my hand away again.  "Slow learner, are we?" he asks smugly.

            "You're a cock teaser, is what you are," I growl, and he only smirks all the more.

My Sexy Saturday #20: To The Max

Seven words, seven sentences, or seven paragraphs. Welcome to My Sexy Saturday!

This week My Sexy Saturday is giving a nod to historical authors and challenging us to show them our carriage rides. But that doesn't have to mean literally, after all. In fact, there's quite some leeway there. So I'm going to go with something from To The Max, my first published book.

This scene takes place years before, when Max first met Richard at a disco in Illinois, and they head out to the parking lot, where Richard has a muscle car. Well, it's not his, he borrowed it, but that's beside the point. They're about to take their first "carriage ride", so to speak... and history is about to be made. It all starts somewhere, right? Enjoy!

We exited the disco for the parking lot, the receding refrains of 'Stayin' alive' soon becoming lost behind us—a completely other world we were no longer a part of. The gravel scrunched beneath our feet, sounding overly loud in my ears, as I closely followed this exquisite man. Our hands were still clasped, by mutual consent. We wove our way between rows of silent vehicles. For the most part these were unoccupied as their owners shook it for all it was worth on the illuminated dance floor within. But occasionally we could see entwined silhouettes, and a bobbing head or two. And once I caught a glimpse of pale buttocks pumping furiously in an unseen rhythm. I blushed at this, even as I wondered to what purpose he’d brought me here. Not that it mattered, I realized, my heart thumping so loudly I was tempted to muffle the sound lest it betray my nervousness.

He led me to the far corner of the parking lot, away from the other vehicles; a lone car sat in the darkness. From what I could see, it was some type of muscle car, and he’d probably parked it at this safe distance to prevent drunken drivers from carelessly flinging open their doors and inflicting painful scratches on what was no doubt a highly polished finish. "Yours?" I asked, gazing up in admiration at that splendid profile. His, not the car’s.

"I wish!" He laughed. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes held it out to me. "Care for one?"

"No thanks, it's bad for my health."

"You have poor health?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. I merely shook my head, not wanting to get into particulars quite so soon—but I knew I couldn't avoid the question forever.

"No, the car belongs to a friend," he answered my question, striking a match. It flared briefly in a burst of sulfurous light while he touched it to the end of his smoke.; I caught a flickering glimpse of his beautiful face, and God, how I wanted him then. He knew it, too. It was something palpable that hung on the air between us. He pursed his lips into an exaggerated bow as he blew out the flame, and I knew it was done for my benefit. "It's a '69 Chevelle. A real beauty. Care to see her in action?"

"Sure," I replied with an attempt at being calm, cool, and collected—which failed miserably. I was obviously no Sean Connery, and I was definitely a far cry from being James Bond either. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to hide what was blatantly and painfully obvious. At least to me.

Now see who else is taking part in the blog hop this week!

August Alfresco

When my friend Victoria Blisse asked would I like to participate in a blog to celebrate sex in the great outdoors, naturally I said yes! Here it is summer, and isn't everyone thinking about being outside, making love to that special someone? And it just so happens I have a scene from one of my books that is about just that!

But wait, there's more!

I am not the only author participating in this blog hop. And there will be prizes!

Comment on this post to be in to win one of these fabulous prizes:

A Kindle

£50 worth of Total-E-Bound ebooks

£50 worth of Xcite ebooks

And be sure to check out all the August Alfresco posts at http://smutalfresco.co.uk  and comment on each one to have more chances to win.

   All terms and conditions are available at smutalfresco.co.uk and the winners will be announced on the 1^st September at the website.

So, let's talk about sex in the great outdoors. Back to nature. Doing what comes naturally. Yes, I confess to having had sex outside, a long time ago, granted. One time in a swimming pool. My neighbor's pool, actually, but that's another story. Gosh, some of my stories are as X rated as my books!   lol

So here's my excerpt. It's from To the Max. Max and Richard are longtime lovers. Max is under a lot of pressure, so one day, Richard surprises him by taking him on a trip to their piece of land on the Big River... and you'll see what happens. Enjoy!

I doze off a little bit, and when I waken he has lunch already laid out, merely waiting for me. And he insists on feeding me everything with his own fingers, pampering me and spoiling me outrageously. The cheeses and the bread. The fruit. And the chocolate. And wine. I eat it up, naturally. The attention, I mean, along with the food. And while he feeds me, he reads to me. And compares me to a summer day. How beautiful. How sublime.

But still I want more.

“When do I get my dessert?” I want to know.

“You want more chocolate?” he asks, giving me his innocent look.

“No, dammit, you know what I want.”

He reclines beside me, so much like a Greek god, one hand behind his head, the other holding a cigarette, one leg crossed lazily over the other. I have given him special dispensation to smoke around me today. Normally I don’t tolerate it, at least not in enclosed spaces. Not that he listens all of the time, but he tries, I’ll give him that much. And I try not to be quite so anal retentive, but it’s a matter of my heightened olfactory senses, the smoke is just very hard on my nose.

I never get tired of looking at him; he is just so incredibly gorgeous. Is it any wonder that I am also jealous? He can get anyone he wants, and I know it. They all— male and female—flock to him like

moths to a flame. And yet he is with me. Go figure.

He takes a last drag from his cancerstick and stuffs it down the neck of the empty wine bottle, where it sizzles and drowns in the dregs of the wine we have left behind before opening the second bottle. I won’t allow him to toss it in the river or on the beach, and I made my feelings known years ago about not tossing butts out the car window onto the street, so now he doesn’t do it, at least not when we’re together. I can’t be sure what he does when I am not there.

I kiss each of his lovely knees tenderly, maneuvering in between them in one lithe motion, on my own knees. And then I bend my head and nuzzle his beautiful cock, running my tongue over his balls. He shivers. “Is that all you want?”

“It’s a start,” I reply before taking those lovely creamy balls, so firm, so nicely packed, into my mouth and lave them most lovingly.

“Yes, it’s a good start,” he concurs, his fingers lightly caressing my hair as I work on him.

This is what I have been waiting for. There is something about making love outdoors, and especially with the added element of possibly being caught at it, that serves to heighten the sensations that even now run rampant through me. Being with Richard makes me forget everything else. And everyone else. They all recede into that nebulous region of some other time, deal-with-it-later land. My mother, her bigoted boyfriend, Amy, her coquettish nephew—not here, not now. Now there is only Richard and me.

I move my attention now to his big lovely cock, and my tongue makes patterns on the shaft, swirls and loops and numbers and such. He tightens his grip on my hair, so I know that he is pleased. “If you get that wet enough, we won’t need lube,” he murmurs softly. My own erection grows even bigger at that, knowing exactly what he means, what he intends to do. I reach up and twist his nipples, not too gently, not too hard. He groans his appreciation.

I make sure now that my tonguing is getting his cock nice and juicy, so it will slide smoothly inside of me—not that it doesn’t always do that, it does; my Richard is a master cocksman, after all. And I go no further with that thought, determined not to let anything spoil this day. I make sure to tongue his slit, ’cause I know he likesthat. I know everything my baby likes. After more than twenty years together, I should, after all.

 “Yes, oh yes, Max,” he moans, “suck on me, my little wolf, suck harder,” he encourages, and I oblige, more than willing to do that for the man I love so much. I tickle all his favorite spots and even graze my teeth along his length, just the way he likes. But just as I feel that he is on the brink of his orgasm, he pushes my head off. “No, Max, stop, not like that, I have other plans.”

He pulls me up toward him and rolls me over on the blanket, his hardness pressing wetly against my stomach, where I have juiced it up. He leans down; his breath is warm in my ear, and his voice alone is making me tingle.

He brushes his fingers over my lips, exploring their contour, maneuvering around each and every curve, even though he knows them so very well. “Suck on these, baby. Do your thing to me,” he moans, and I take his fingers inside my mouth and moisten them for him. Suck on them like they are mini-cocks. When they are wet enough he pulls them out, kisses me sweetly, and then moves his hand between my legs. “Spread your legs, honey-child,” he murmurs, “daddy’s got somethin’ for you….”

I would tell him to forego the stretching, but I know he won’t listen, so I save my breath. Richard is always a considerate lover, not wanting to harm me in any way, not physically anyway. He insists on making sure that I am prepared to take him. Today is no exception. He pushes his fingers inside of me carefully, one at a time, pausing to let me adjust to the feel of each one, to relax that ring of muscles that stands guard against unwelcome intrusion at my entrance, which he is not and never could be. And at the same time, he moves his finger around inside of me, trying to ring my bell.

Which he almost always manages to do.

“Richard!” I gasp, jumping when he finds my prostate. Again. And again. I am arching my back now, pushing against his three fingers, which fill me so completely, although I know there is more to follow. My hand goes to my painfully hard cock, but he pushes it away with a small growl. “No, mine!”

I whimper, but I don’t argue. I never do; I allow him to do as he will. It is the nature of our relationship. It is and ever has been our way.

He pulls his fingers out now, and now he is positioning himself between my legs. He takes my legs and moves my hips up so that he can gain better access. I shiver in delicious anticipation as he pushes his cock just to my opening and pauses. “Richard,” I whimper.

“What, my little studmuffin?” he teases me, running his fingers over my chest, across my hardened nipples, squeezing them briefly.

“In me, please,” I moan rather needily, not caring at the moment how I sound, only knowing that I want to be filled with him—now.

As if this is the sign he has been waiting for, he pushes completely into me with one swift move, skewering me with his cock. I gasp as I receive him. No matter how often we might do this—and I assure you, that we do this often—the first feel of his cock inside of me produces the same reaction. The same sensations wash over me as they did the first time that my Richard made love to me, if anything, heightened over the years, with practice. “Is this what you need? What you want? What you crave?” He punctuates each sentence with his cock, thrusting into me again, and again, and again….

“Yes,” I manage to get out, “yes, what I want… unhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….” I simply lose my words and give myself over to the pleasure of him inside of me.

Sometimes making love is tender and sweet and drawn out, while at other times it is fast and hard-hitting and almost pleasurably brutal. It doesn’t matter which it is, as long as we both agree on it. We always seem to be of one accord, one mind, when it comes to most things, and sometimes no words need to be spoken to communicate what and how we feel. We are truly one soul with two bodies; this I do sincerely believe.

Sometimes it is both ways in a single day.

He pulls himself nearly completely out, only the very tip of his cock remaining inside of me, then suddenly slams back inside in a move that is calculated to take my breath away. And it does! “Like that, baby?” he coos as he feels me jump.

“You know I do,” I moan. “More, Richard, more!”

He slams back into me again, so hard that his balls slap against my ass with a wet sound. God, how good that feels.

“Want that, baby?” he croons throatily.

“Yes, yes!” I beg and plead for more. Again he pistons inside of my tight channel, setting a frantic pace, a driving rhythm. His hand wraps itself about my cock, and he strokes my hard-on in time to that same driving rhythm. His blond hair falls in a veil across his face, his eyes closed in concentration now, as he works at pleasing me, and a light sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead. That motive alone would be enough to please me, much less what he is doing, the wonder that is him inside of me. It’s a feeling that never grows old, never grows stale, and at moments like these, I know we will last forever.

“Max, your finger!” he moans, and I know what he wants. I touchmy fingers to my cock, where the pre-cum is already oozing, and I spread it over my digits, lubricating them, before moving my hand behind him. He leans closer over me to make it possible. I slide between his asscheeks, feeling for his pucker, thrust my finger in, without warning, all the way to the knuckle. Which is what he wants.

“Max!” he screams my name, and I am gratified by the deep lust in that voice, the pleasure that is derived from me and me alone. “Harder!” And I push in more, until one whole finger is engulfed in his tightness.

He grabs my mouth, pulling my lower lip almost brutally into his mouth, biting it so hard he draws blood. I move my hips in an effort to match his pace, twisting my finger, touching his pleasure zone. He arches against me, in me, around me. We are so firmly enmeshed that we are one. I am oblivious to all around me, and I’m glad that none of our friends ever come down here unannounced, for they know they do so at their own peril.

He sucks at the blood as it spills from my lip, a little harder than usual, and when he throws back his head, it trickles down his chin. He locks eyes with me, and they blaze with the heat of the moment, and with love, yes, I know that’s what he feels for me, true love. This is something that cannot be faked, something that is truly hard to find.

“Tell me who you love, Max?” he whispers in my ear warmly.

“Richard,” I moan, pushing in again with my finger.

“Louder!”

“Richard!” I raise my voice.

“Again!” he commands.

 “Richard!” I howl his name to the skies as my orgasm strikes, my pulsating cock shooting all over his hand in great sticky ropes.

“Max!” he echoes as he releases his own passions within me, flooding me with his ejaculate deep inside. If I were a woman, the way we go at it, I’d have been pregnant a long time ago. I guess it’s lucky for me I’m not, or we’d have a lot of children by now. Or not.

And when he is done, he collapses upon me, and we are a tangled sweaty heap of limbs, tired but sated as we kiss now, softly, gently, tenderly, the way it could not be done during our wild coupling.

He whispers terms of endearment to me, croons love’s tunes, and his hands are soft and tender as they push back the hair from my brow, while I in turn caress his face and gaze lovingly into his eyes.

“Pretty baby.” He nuzzles my face, rolling me over, reversing our positions so that he is on bottom, and I am cradled on top of him.

“Close your eyes, take a nap,” he encourages me, wrapping the comforter over us, just in case someone should float by while we’re unable to hear anything.

And there we lie, taking a siesta ’neath the drowsy afternoon sun. Only Richard and me, in love to the max, and no one else to disturb this idyllic interlude. 

Swept Away - Day Two

Welcome back to day Two of the Swept Away Valentine's Blog Hop! Before I begin, I'd like to say that I'm guest blogging with LM Brown, so if you get a chance, please pop over there and say hello - today I'm talking about Revelations and how it came to be.





Today I would like to talk about some of my couples and their love and give you a taste of them.

First, Max and Richard, from my series To The Max.The first book, To the Max, was released by Dreamspinner almost three years ago - can you believe it? - and the second one, For Love of Max, is currently without a home (which I am working to remedy), and the third book, A Time For Max, is under construction even as we speak.

For those of you who haven't met them yet, Max writes an advice to the lovelorn column called To The Max. And oh, he's a werewolf. Richard is an award-winning photographer. They've been together for more than twenty years, and live in a small cottage above the Missouri River on a road they've nicknamed Lupercalia Lane. They are completely devoted to one another. I love that about them. While it's fun to explore new love, there's something endearing about love that has survived the test of time, as theirs has, despite the curves and the obstacles that are a part of everyday living. Strange friends and family - including Max's mother Juliet, who is more comfortable with his lycanthropy than his being gay - and a woman from Max's past that just can't seem to take no for an answer... well, welcome to the world of Max Montague!

I'd like to offer an excerpt from the first book, but warning, this is explicit! To set the scene, Max and Richard have taken the day off and gone down to the lot they own on the Big River for some R&R, which includes lovemaking, of course!  Enjoy!


I kiss each of his lovely knees tenderly, maneuvering in between them in one lithe motion, on my own knees. And then I bend my head and nuzzle his beautiful cock, running my tongue over his balls. He shivers. “Is that all you want?”

“It’s a start,” I reply before taking those lovely creamy balls, so firm, so nicely packed, into my mouth and lave them most lovingly.“Yes, it’s a good start,” he concurs, his fingers lightly caressing my hair as I work on him.

This is what I have been waiting for. There is something about making love outdoors, and especially with the added element of possibly being caught at it, that serves to heighten the sensations that even now run rampant through me. Being with Richard makes me forget everything else. And everyone else. They all recede into that nebulous region of some other time, deal-with-it-later land. My mother, her bigoted
boyfriend, Amy, her coquettish nephew—not here, not now. Now there is only Richard and me. I move my attention now to his big lovely cock, and my tongue makes patterns on the shaft, swirls and loops and numbers and such. He tightens his grip on my hair, so I know that he is pleased. “If you get that wet enough, we won’t need lube,” he murmurs softly. My own erection grows even bigger at that, knowing exactly what he means, what he intends to do. I reach up and twist his nipples, not too gently, not too hard. He groans his appreciation. I make sure now that my tonguing is getting his cock nice and juicy, so it will slide smoothly inside of me—not that it doesn’t always do that, it does; my Richard is a master cocksman, after all. And I go no further with that thought, determined not to let anything spoil this day. I make sure to tongue his slit, ’cause I know he likes that. I know everything my baby likes. After more than twenty years together, I
should, after all.

“Yes, oh yes, Max,” he moans, “suck on me, my little wolf, suck harder,” he encourages, and I oblige, more than willing to do that for the man I love so much. I tickle all his favorite spots and even graze my teeth along his length, just the way he likes. But just as I feel that he is on the brink of his orgasm, he pushes my head off. “No, Max, stop, not like that, I have other plans.”

He pulls me up toward him and rolls me over on the blanket, his hardness pressing wetly against my stomach, where I have juiced it up. He leans down; his breath is warm in my ear, and his voice alone is
making me tingle. He brushes his fingers over my lips, exploring their contour, maneuvering around each and every curve, even though he knows them so very well. “Suck on these, baby. Do your thing to me,” he moans, and I take his fingers inside my mouth and moisten them for him. Suck on them like they are mini-cocks. When they are wet enough he pulls them out, kisses me sweetly, and then moves his hand between my legs.“Spread your legs, honey-child,” he murmurs, “daddy’s got somethin’
for you….”

My second couple is Raoul Marchand and Alexx Jameson from my novel When Will I See You Again, which has been subbed to a publisher and I'm waiting to hear from them. Raoul is the forty-year-old hotter than hell werewolf who runs the popular nightclub Charisma in Crescent Bay. Alexx is a young wannabe reporter for the Chronicle who has gone to the nightclub to research a story, along with his friend Miller, the receptionist at the Chronicle. Trouble is Alexx isn't of age to get in. Nothing a fake ID can't fix, says Miller.

Famous last words...

One of the bouncers leaned against the wall; the other had probably gone back to safeguarding Charisma from the dregs of humanity. Arms folded across his chest, he studied them. He’d looked less than impressed when Miller claimed to know somebody important at the club. No doubt that was the very person he’d called, to verify his assertion.

 “Who’d you say you knew again?” Alexx lowered his voice, trying not to be overheard. Miller leaned in to him, dropping his own.

“Raoul Marchand. His dad owns this place. He runs it.”

“So if you have friends in high places, why didn’t you just ask—?”

Miller put a finger to his lips, jerking his head toward the bored bouncer. “I didn’t say he’s a friend. I said I know him. Big difference.”

Alexx nodded. Maybe their situation wasn’t entirely hopeless then. Depending on this Marchand guy and what kind of mood he was in. It was full moon night, after all. Alexx had been in Crescent Bay long enough to know that the Marchands were the leading family of lycanthropes everyone talked about. They were the werewolves that drew the tourists here in droves, therefore he considered it more than likely this Raoul was one himself. He hoped the man wasn’t on edge right before the impending change. Might be a bit prickly. Of course, if he knew he was about to turn into a wolf, like it or not, he might be a little cross himself.

He opened his mouth to make a comment when the door burst open as if struck by a sudden squall. Alexx froze, his command of the English language suddenly becoming extinct at the sight of the man standing there.

The newcomer filled the doorway, not with mass but by sheer presence alone. He was tall, dark, and utterly intense. There was something about him, a wild, fierce beauty that enveloped the room and held Alexx in its grip. His heart stopped for the space of several beats, and he forgot to breathe, staring at the man that possessed the bearing and mien of a god.

Closing the door, the newcomer advanced into the room. Alexx noticed the bodyguard instantly leapt to attention, all signs of boredom dispelled.

“Okay, now that you’ve got me down here, will somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Raoul,” the bodyguard began, but Miller interrupted smoothly. Alexx looked between them, unable to speak, his heart beating out of control.

“Miller Fenwick, Mr. Marchand. We’ve met at some of the Chronicle functions.” He held out his hand, but Raoul made no move to take it. After a few seconds, he withdrew it.

“I don’t remember,” he growled.

Alexx drew in his breath in dismay. This wasn’t going well. Even so, he could not stop staring at Raoul. His eyes met the other man’s. Raoul’s were very golden; he wasn’t aware such colors even existed in the spectrum of the human eye. But then again, he didn’t have any friends that were werewolves either. He wondered if this was a sign that perhaps this man was about to change, right here and now?

The thought was both exhilarating and frightening.

Alexx’s vision telescoped until he wasn’t aware of anything but this gorgeous man in front of him. Blood pounded in his ears and his mouth felt suddenly dry. Having lost all sense of the others in the room, he was surprised when he felt his chair yanked out from under him. Before he could fall, a hand grabbed the scruff of his neck, propelling him to his feet. He glanced at his companion; Miller was being subjected to the same surly treatment.

“You waste my time for this?” Raoul’s upper lip curled back in a snarl. Alexx found himself wildly attracted to him. “I have somewhere I need to be. Paolo, please show these gentlemen out.” Sarcastic much? He turned and reached for the door, but it opened before he touched it.

A shaggy blond with hazel eyes and a cheerful countenance stuck his head inside. “Hey Paolo—” He interrupted himself at the sight of the occupants of the room.

Alexx heard Miller’s sigh of relief, even as he too recognized the newcomer. He’d seen him around the Chronicle often enough, although he’d never really spoken to him. Foster Levine, son of the Chronicle’s owner—heir apparent and future newspaper magnate.

Alexx’s relief quickly changed to anxiety. What if Foster knew how old he really was? He couldn’t be sure one way or the other, but for the sake of argument, he had to assume he did. Would he out him to Raoul Marchand and his burly minion? Had they simply jumped from the frying pan to be scorched by the fire?

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” Foster apologized. “I was just… There’s no problem here, is there?” He gave Raoul an inquiring glance.

“Foster, I’m glad you’re here.” Miller drew the blond’s attention. “We’re having a slight issue with getting in. Can you vouch for us, please? You remember Alexx, don’t you? He just got his first assignment, and we’re doing a little research tonight. And a little celebrating.”

Alexx wasn’t sure how comfortable he was at having his intentions known, but there was no help for it now. He tried to wiggle free of the bouncer’s clutches, but the man only dug his fingers in, tightening his grip; Alexx stopped struggling, and waited for Foster’s reply.

“Of course, of course,” Foster said quickly. He turned to Raoul. “I can vouch for both of them. Both loyal employees of the Chronicle.” He slashed one hand across his chest and held it up as if taking an oath, before laying the same hand lightly on Raoul’s shoulder.

Alexx watched the two men closely, trying to pick up clues to their relationship, as well as the current situation. He was an avid observer of the human condition, and he liked to second guess what he saw, pick up on details and vibrations. He thought these were qualities that would be useful to him as a crime-solving reporter.

To his disappointment, he received only mixed signals. Raoul shrugged away from the other man’s touch; his face was closed off, an unreadable mask.

“Fine then. Vouch for them,” he grunted. “Makes no difference to me. Feel free to babysit them for all I care.”

Alexx felt a sliver of disappointment shoot through him. Raoul never looked toward his way, as if he didn’t exist—he’d been dismissed.

“I will, I will,” Foster said quickly, tossing back the dirty blond hair that fell to his shoulders. “Why don’t I take care of this, and meet you—” He was stopped short by the black look that Raoul Marchand threw him. A storm raged in his beautiful eyes.

“No!”

Alexx saw a shudder run through Raoul’s body. He was surprised at his desire to stop the tremor and soothe it away. Kiss it away, and make everything all right. It had to be time; or so close to it only mere moments separated Raoul from the change. What would happen now?

The bouncer was the first to react. “Go on, Raoul,” he urged him. “Go quickly! We’ve got this.”

Alexx held his breath, his gaze fixed on Raoul, waiting to see what he would do.

Suddenly, Raoul turned his head toward him and their eyes met; Alexx thought he saw something. A deep pain etched within those topaz eyes, a flash of torment illuminated there.

He swayed toward him, lips parting breathily, utterly unable to look away.

Then he blinked, the moment passed—and Raoul was gone.

While I can't offer you a cover, obviously, I can show you my version of Raoul (sadly he will never appear on the cover,  but this is  how I see him)  

I hope you've enjoyed these glimpses into two of my couples. I'll have more on Sunday. Tomorrow I have a guest and won't that be fun!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: A Halloween Flash

Happy Halloween to one and all and welcome to the Halloween edition of the Wednesday Briefs! This week we had picture prompts and these verbal prompts: "Welcome to my home, I am..." or use: ghost, lightning, fear or use Halloween candy in some day or "It's alive" or use any sort of vampire or werewolf or mummy or witch. In honor of the occasion (and because the theme didn't really fit with Stan and Ollie) I set them aside for one week, but rest assured they will return next time. Instead, I brought back two of my favorite characters, Max and Richard, from my To the Max series. I hope you enjoy them, and if you do, you can see more of them here and here. Don't forget to check out all the other Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow my tale. And don't forget to say Trick or Treat!

Trick or Treat on Lupercalia Lane

I knew I was in trouble when Richard refused to show me his costume ahead of time. He insisted that it would be a grand reveal to both me and the trick-or-treating throngs that beat a path to our door on their annual trek. Well, perhaps throngs is an exaggeration as we live in the relative country, on our own private street. Not a high traffic area. But we do get a few visitors on Halloween. And we do like to decorate our house and yard for the occasion.

Who am I kidding? We love to put up decorations, and have ever since we moved in, twenty years ago. The first year was comparatively meager, but as time passed, we acquired more and more. Now we have a cemetery, a spooky forest, a variety of jack o’lanterns, and the recorded sounds of Halloween, including readings by the master of the macabre, fellow St. Louisan Vincent Price.

“Are you about ready?” I knock on the bedroom door, uncharacteristically closed to me. He can be such a diva at times, I swear.

“Just about, Max,” he assures me, just as I hear the door bell ring. Bugger.

“Hurry up,” I mumble as I hasten to greet the first arrivals. But there aren’t any costumed young ones standing at the door. It’s Rachel. She’s dressed in a very Goth fashion; long slinky black dress, and matching boots that lace up the front. She strikes a pose, as I open the door, one hand on her hip, the other flashing blood-red talons.

“You need me to open the door now?” I chide her as she walks past.

“Of course,” she returns in a faux Transylvanian accent. “Ve must be invited inside, don’t you know?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. You’ve been watching bad vampire movies again, haven’t you?”

She laughs and throws her arms around me, before she stands back to admire my costume. “Ooh, I like it, but I’m not sure you who are?”

“Wait a sec, you’ll see.” I hurry into the kitchen, where I’ve left my unusually large chapeau, then hasten back, donning it as I go. As I reach Rachel, I do a combination bow and curtsey. “Milady…”

She claps her hands together and squeals. “Ooh, the Mad Hatter! I just love it! That’s awesome, Max, you look amazing.”

“Thank you, thank you,” I modestly reply.

“Who’s Richard going to play? The White Knight, maybe? I think that would suit him, don’t you?”

I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know. He won’t tell me. For all I know, he’s going as Alice.”

Rachel laughs. “Sorry, I can’t imagine him in a dress. Think maybe he’ll dress up like Rocky again?”

My lover wore a gold lame Speedo, while I donned lingerie and make-up to attend a late night showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Never again. For a multitude of reasons.

“If he ever does that again, there’ll be no one but me to appreciate the view.” I confidently smirk.

“Spoilsport.” She sticks her tongue out as the doorbell rings. Real trick-or-treaters this time. Good thing I’m prepared, have been for a while. I’m anal that way, you know. I grab the big bowl of candy while Rachel answers the door. We duly admire the witches and ghosts that stand on the front porch. They tell us jokes and riddles, we laugh appreciatively and/or pretend to be stumped, give them their candy, and bid them a Happy Halloween.

I turn a surly eye in the direction of my bedroom. Where is my lovely blond? How long does it take to put on a costume? I raise my voice to carry down the hall. “Miss Swanson, we’re ready for your close up now.” Rachel snickers.

I hear the door open just a crack. “Max? Close your eyes. I want to make an entrance.”

Seriously? Sheesh. I mumble something about ditzy blonds, and huge egos, but I obediently close my eyes as he requested. “Yours closed too?” I query Rachel.

“Oh hell no.” She laughs. “He’s your boyfriend, not mine. I’m looking.”

I can tell from her intake of breath that my boy has outdone himself in some way and I’m dying to find out, biting my lip in my impatience.

“Open up, love.” That’s his sultry voice, and even without looking at him, it’s doing things to me. Even after all these years together. I turn in the direction of his voice and open my eyes and my jaw drops in amazement. My first thought is what the hell? And I begin to see red—figuratively and literally. Is he having fun at my expense?

Red. A flowing red cape so bright it’s blinding. Something to put the Scarlet Letter to shame. A wicker basket hangs over one arm. It’s obvious to me whom he’s supposed to be. Little Red Riding Hood, of course. Which makes me the Big Bad Wolf, doesn’t it? Maybe I’m just sensitive, but my hackles rise, and I feel myself emit a low growl.

But just then he opens up the cape, and my oh my oh my. He’s wearing a red velvet bustier that hugs his muscular form in all the right ways. His long legs are encased in black fishnet stockings, and I spot a red garter at the top of one thigh. I swallow hard at the sight.

“My my.” He leans in toward me. “What big eyes you have.”

Rachel pokes me.  Oh yeah.

“The better to see you with,” I manage to mumble.

He runs one hands over his thigh, and licks his lips. I start to melt inside.

“What big lips you have…”

“That’s teeth,” Rachel corrects.

“We don’t use teeth.” Oh God. I thrust the bowl at Rachel. “Watch the door for a few minutes, willya, Rach?”

Her laughter follows us all the way down the hall and into our room. I don’t care.

“Trick or treat, love,” Richard whispers just before he turns out the light.

And there's your Halloween treat, hope you liked it, and hope  you enjoyed this extra little glimpse of Max and Richard. Now check out the other Trick or Treaters, I mean Wednesday Briefers!

Lily Sawyer      m/m 

Elyzabeth VaLey      m/f

Nephylim    m/m

Cia Nordwell    m/m

Tali Spencer     m/m

MA Church     m/m

MC Houle      m/m

Until next time, take care! Have a safe and happy Halloween!

♥ Julie