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!

Tease Me Thursday #15: To The Max

Friday's almost here, you're feeling frisky and want to have some fun, so sit back and let me tease you with Tease Me Thursday!

Today I'm giving you a bit from a WIP that is also an old book of mine, one that is no longer with Dreamspinner. I'm going to polish it off and send it and the sequel to another publisher. I'm talking about my first published book, To The Max. I'll let Max tell you who he is in his own words. Then don't forget to visit the other authors in the hop!

I have no proof one way or the other of the existence of a divine being, but if there is such a person, he or she certainly has a twisted sense of humor. As if I didn't have enough to contend with being born a member of the lycanthropic order, I am also of the homosexual persuasion. In other words, a gay werewolf! Pretty funny, isn't it? And sometimes it's hard to tell where the one leaves off and the other begins...

I'm not sure why I said homosexual persuasion—it's not as if someone persuaded me to be gay, I just am. It's not exactly a conscious choice. After all, who in their right mind would deliberately choose to be of a sexual orientation that’s not exactly mainstream, and often draws the most scathing and condescending of denunciations from the so-called "regular" people? Not I. But as I said, it's not a choice, it just is, so I live with it, having taken some forty odd years to become adjusted to the idea. Now it's just a part of me, a part of who I am, like the werewolf thing. And my innate fashion sense. All right, maybe I'm feeding a stereotype there. Forgive my warped sense of humor.

Now for the link:

Tease Me Thursday #12: To The Max

The nice thing about a three day weekend is that it makes the following week go by that much faster! Thursday already! Hooray! One more day until Friday and the weekend!

Which of course means it's time for me to tease you!

Today I'm giving you an excerpt from my first published novel, To the Max. It's currently out of print, but don't worry, I'll be subbing it one of these days, along with the sequel, For Love of Max. And I'm also writing the third book in the series, called A Time For Max. In this scene, Max and Richard have just met for the first time, at a disco (it is the 70's after all lol)  and have left together. Enjoy! Then don't forget to check out the other members of the blog hop!

To The Max

It wasn’t until he had started the car, pulling out onto the otherwise empty road, that I realized that we had not even exchanged names. This was not typical of me, believe me, to place my life in the hands of a stranger, even a gorgeous one like him, not knowing something as elementary as his praenomen. I was usually more cautious than that.

Turning my head toward him, I watched as he took another drag of his cigarette, eyeing intently the sexy way he put it to his lips, inhaling lightly and expelling the smoke from his well-sculpted nostrils, the other hand palming the steering wheel, guiding it easily along the deserted road. I sensed he was observing me as well from the corner of his eye. “Richard,” he said, almost as if he could read my thoughts, “Richard Burke.”

“Max,” I replied in turn, “Max Montague.”

“Which side of the river you live on?” he asked.

“Other side. Webster Groves. You?”

“Kirkwood. We’re practically neighbors.” He grinned. If I hadn’t already been in love with him at that point, that smile was the nail in my coffin. It reached from ear to ear and lit up his whole face, mirrored in the starlight reflected in his beautiful blue eyes until he fairly radiated an inner beauty. I felt such a tightness in my chest as I looked at him that, for a moment, I simply could not breathe. “At least for now,” he continued, “staying with some friends.”

“You’re not from around here?” I asked, note of disappointment creeping into my voice at the idea that I might soon lose this angel from my life, when he had only just appeared.

Now for the link to the others, and thanks for stopping by!

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. 

Backlist Bloghop

You can never have too many bloghops, right? Seriously? It's always fun to remember the books that came

first, the ones that brought you to where you are now.

Which takes me back to Max. To The Max was my first published novel. It was released by Dreamspinner Press on March 26, 2010. Even after more than three years, that date is etched upon my memory. For some people, it's the first time they had a drink, had sex, did drugs - for me it's the release of my first novel.

Max is very close to my heart. He's my gay male alter ego, and I don't think I'll ever stop writing him. I'm working on the third book now, and looking for a new home for the second (which I pulled from the sinking ship that is Silver).

Max is a 44 year old gay werewolf, who's been with his lover, Richard, for over twenty years. He writes a syndicated advice column called To The Max, and tries to get along with people and not make waves. His mother, Juliet, is more accepting of his lycanthropy than his homosexuality. His boyfriend comes and goes when he pleases, without a word of explanation or apology. Then there's his kooky sister Diana, and his cousin Sebastian, his good friend Cat... and now his mother is dating a homophobic minister? Welcome to Max's world!

Since I'm reminiscing, I'm going to let Max reminisce a little too - about the first time he kissed a boy. Enjoy!

And if you read to the end, you'll find out about my giveaway!

Sunday, November 16, 1969  

I REMEMBER the first time that I kissed another boy. I was thirteen at the time. Puberty was beginning to manifest itself on my unsuspecting body, which had enough to deal with on a monthly basis without
throwing out-of-whack hormones into the mix. It was at Rachel’s thirteenth birthday party. If it hadn’t been for Rachel, I’d have had next to no contact with other children, being homeschooled and not inclined
toward making new friends. Which was the way Juliet preferred it, determined to protect her little Max from the outside world. But Rachel’s mother had planned something special, and we begged my mother for weeks to let me go, until she reluctantly gave in.

 Rachel made sure that I was there well in advance. I had been careful to make myself presentable, although she encouraged me not to be too formal, so I made do with my best pair of cords and a nice shirt. Once there, I made myself useful and helped her mom set things up. Mrs. Sheldon was always nice to me—she was a very nice lady—she never minded how much I came over or how often Rachel zipped over to my house, never treated me like a pest, and always had time to listen to whatever I found the nerve to say. Which was a lot, surprisingly. She had a knack for drawing people out of themselves. She encouraged my
and Rachel’s friendship, as did my mother, although for different reasons. Juliet seemed to understand that we were close friends, nothing more, and that was fine with her.

The party was scheduled to go off at two, and a few minutes before the appointed time, the arrivals began. I had seen a few of the other guests at Rachel’s house before, had had limited contact with some of them. Most of them were her classmates from the local public school she went to, and there seemed to be far more girls in attendance than boys. For the most part I shyly kept to myself, spoke if I was spoken to, was polite. Rachel, my little social butterfly, although the center of attention, always returned to me, making sure that I wasn’t alone for long. That girl has always had my best interests at heart. Always watched out for me, even then. Still does, to this day.

The party was being held in the basement, which was also the rec room. Adult supervision was right upstairs—Mrs. Sheldon and some of the other mothers were gathered together in the kitchen, drinking coffee
and chattering—but for the most part we were left to our own devices, which consisted largely of talking, listening to music, and eating. Until the games began, that is.

I was standing in the corner of the room nearest to the table where a vast array of pizza had been set out, as well as the mandatory chips and dip—what party was complete without the taste of homemade French onion dip, made from real sour cream and dry onion soup mix?—thinking what a terrific combination that was in my book, when another boy approached the table, looked over its offerings before selecting a slice of pizza and claiming it. He regarded me for a moment as he ate the pizza, giving me time to look him over as well. He had curly black hair and mocha eyes, and for a boy I thought that his bowshaped lips were rather pink. I envied him his glossy curls; I thought my own hair boring and totally uninteresting, while his was dark and
mysterious. I liked his looks, he seemed nice, and I didn’t analyze it any further than that.

He chewed his pizza, swallowed, before he addressed me. “I hear they’re going to have games?” I nodded. Rachel had told me beforehand everything that was planned. “Girls.” He shrugged. “Hope they’re not too stupid.” I only kept nodding, like some sort of idiot savant. Luckily he didn’t seem to notice. “You’re Max, aren’t you? I’m Gene.”

Before I had a chance to say anything even remotely stupid, Rachel bustled over and shepherded us to the other side of the room, telling us that our presence was required for the first game, which turned out to be pin the tail on the donkey, which pretty well ended that. Whatever that might have been.

Everyone knows pin the tail on the donkey, right? Blindfold, pin, donkey—that’s about all there is to say about that, basically.

The second game was spin the bottle.

It’s not like I had never kissed a girl before. I had kissed Rachel. She wasn’t shy about that sort of thing, and we were kids; we didn’t know any better. It didn’t mean a thing. We had even played doctor once when we were about seven, which consisted mostly of you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine, that sort of thing. Forgotten as soon as it happened. No big deal. Kissing Rachel was no different than kissing my little sister Diana, who was about six at this time. Or kissing my mother. Nice, but nothing exciting.

I really didn’t want to play this game, but I knew there would be no way around it. The girls especially were clamoring for it, so we all formed the obligatory circle, the empty glass bottle on the ground in the middle of the circle, like an evil predator waiting to claim its victim.

The bottle was spun, the victims chosen, and amid the hoots of the boys and the giggles of the girls, the selected pair met awkwardly in the middle of the circle and kissed: lightly, tentatively. One boy, one
girl, pink-faced but smiling. Applause. The bottle was spun again, the heavy glass skittering loudly against the tile of the floor, before it came to rest, one end pointing at Rachel, the other at a bespectacled young
man with soft eyes and wavy brown hair. He blushed, Rachel giggled, and never one to be shy, she reached the center of the circle before he did. “Come on, James,” she encouraged him, and once again the ring of
spectators was cheering him on. Their lips met, someone cried out, “Ooolala,” and everyone laughed.

The game continued, more couples, more kissing, more laughter. When the bottle pointed to two girls, everyone went “Oooooo,” but it was done in fun. As long as it didn’t point toward me, I was happy. Every time it looked like it was going to stop in my vicinity, I grew cold, but it always seemed to be for someone else. Which suited me just fine. I noticed that the boy I’d been talking to, Gene, was never picked either, and I wondered, did he mind? I looked at him now and then, admiring the easy familiarity he seemed to have with the people around him. He struck me as being very nice, in fact, friendly. I didn’t have any male friends other than my cousin Sebastian who, at eighteen, wasn’t around much between working and preparing for college. And as for female friends, there was just Rachel.

And then I was thunderstruck as I watched that cursed bottle stop dead on me. Damn.

I didn’t want to look to see who was on the other side of it, but when the major giggling began I had to, raising my eyes to find my gaze returned by the dark-haired boy on the other side. Oh my God! Since there was a preponderance of girls to guys, this particular combination hadn’t arisen yet, so we were the first. And did they make a big deal out of it! I didn’t honestly know why. Not having been exposed to public school, I had no frame of reference for this, knew nothing about sexuality, straight, gay or otherwise. My mother hadn’t given me “the talk” yet.

I bit my lower lip, looked at him. He just smiled and moved into the circle, waiting. For me. Damn.

“Go on, Max.” I could hear Rachel’s voice, encouraging me. And then her words were echoed by the other children, as easily as if they were all rooting for their favorite baseball team: “Go, Max, go, Max, go, Max….” What could I do?

My movements seemed highly exaggerated, everything moving in a sort of slo-mo as I found my way into the center of the circle, miraculously without tripping on my own two feet. Gene continued to smile in a calm Buddha-like way. And as those around us cheered us on, he pressed his lips gently against mine.

I wasn’t prepared for the reaction of my own body to that kiss, having been more worried that I didn’t make a fool out of myself or gross Gene out. But as soon as he kissed me I knew that I liked it. This was different from any other kiss I had ever gotten. This was good. Very good.

If he hadn’t broken it off, I’d have probably stood there for a lot longer, so I guess it’s a good thing that he did. As it was everyone was laughing, but I didn’t hear them at first. It was good-natured, though, and as I slowly became aware of my surroundings, I managed to find my place again, as the game moved on. But something inside of me was different, and I could feel it, even though I couldn’t put a name to it.

And to my embarrassment, I realized that something outside of me was different too: namely, I had an erection. Not that I had never had one before; that’s something that starts with males at a very young age, as well as masturbation. Whacking off, if you will. And I had begun having wet dreams about the age of ten, although I never seemed to remember the dreams afterward and was left with just the sticky sheets as evidence of my nocturnal emissions. But I had never gotten hard at someone else’s touch before. Male or female. Luckily no one else seemed to notice. I guess it was just more obvious to me than to them, naturally.

But it had awakened questions in me. Serious questions.

To The Max is available at Dreamspinner Press.

Now to the giveaway. All you have to do to enter is follow my blog and leave some sort of comment, along with your email address. Two winners will receive something from my backlist, of their choice.

Look for an announcement after the hop with the winners' names, as well as the winners of my Hop Against Homophobia. Don't forget to check out the rest of the hop here.

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

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