by Dakota Flint
His voice was husky as he said, “Dylan that was… Just give me a minute and I’ll take care of you.”
I laughed and nuzzled the crease between hip and thigh as he ran his hand through my hair. “No need. I, uh, took care of it.” He quirked a brow at me. “I took care of it by taking care of you.” I blushed, not sure why I was embarrassed by that.
“Oh. Wow.” He seemed to think about this for a minute then pulled me up for a kiss. He moaned into my mouth. “Do you have any idea how hot that is? That you got off just from getting me off? And that I can taste myself in your mouth?”
I propped my elbows on his chest and rested my head on my hands as I looked down at him. I let a smile curve my mouth. “I think I have an idea. But maybe we should try it again later to make sure I really get it. I think I might be a slow learner.”
Wade smiled. “Hmm. If we have to. But only if you cook me dinner first. I don’t work for free, ya know.”
I was just jonesin’ on the carefree and happy look on Wade’s face, but I was going to do it. Even as I told myself to wait, later would be fine, I was going to get serious.
“Why the drawings?” Wade’s smile faded at my words, and I rushed back into speech. “Not that I didn’t love them. I did. I do. I think they’re great. And I think I even get what you were trying to tell me, but why didn’t you say anything after that night at Ginny’s? After the first drawing of me?”
“Ah, because you gave me so many opportunities to, you mean?” He didn’t sound annoyed, but I still felt bad that I had avoided him like that. He continued. “You asked for something months ago. And maybe you weren’t asking for…for this, but I was just trying to let you know.”
Not sure why I needed to hear him say it, I asked, “Let me know what?”
“What I see when I look at you.” He rolled me over onto my back and leaned over me, rubbing a hand over the muscles in my chest and kissing me slowly. Gently. Telling me so many things I’d always wanted to hear, lip to lip. Leaning back, he said, “I see a friend, a desirable man, a lover.”
I kissed him, giving him back the unspoken words.
“Can I show you what else I see?” Wade seemed slightly unsure now, not meeting my gaze anymore.
“Sure.” I was curious as he rolled off of me and stood then walked over to his dresser. He held out his hand for me, and I joined him as he took a rolled sketch from his top drawer.
“Open it. See what I see.” As I unrolled it, he slid his arms around my waist from behind and set his chin on my shoulder. I felt my throat constrict and reminded myself to breathe.
“You see us.” Wade had drawn me on horseback. He was right next to me, and we were looking at each other and smiling.
“Yeah, I do.” He tightened his arms around my waist. “Never tried to draw myself before, but it was easy once I knew how I wanted to look.”
“Oh, yeah?” I still couldn’t think of anything to say. No jokes, no flippancy, no wisecracks this time.
“Yeah. Happy was really easy to draw. Looks good on both of us.” Wade kissed my neck and continued to hold me as we stared down at the drawing. More than I ever thought I’d see, right there in front of me. Right there holding me. I tipped my head back against Wade’s shoulder, closed my eyes and absorbed the feel of Wade here in the silence. It felt so right.
Of course, it would have felt wrong eventually if I continued without something to say. That just wasn’t me. “Well, let’s hope you keep your good eyesight into old age, then, eat your carrots and everything. Because I love your vision.”
Wade snorted against the side of my neck and then sobered. “Love. Yeah.”
Love. Oh, yeah.
About the Author
Dakota Flint currently lives in northern Siberia Michigan and is working on her law degree. An average day for her consists of reading about things like negligence or homicide, punctuated by thinking up interesting ways for two men to meet and fall in love. Given a choice between getting some writing time in and time for things like laundry or cooking dinner…well, let’s just say the pile of laundry is blocking out sunlight and there’s a very real chance that all the salad for dinner is turning Dakota into a rabbit…
To learn more about Dakota Flint, please visit www.dakotaflint.com. Send an email to her at [email protected] or check out her Livejournal at dakotaflint.livejournal.com.
Two men on trajectory for an explosive collision.
Star Flyer
© 2009 Bonnie Dee
Still mourning the loss of his lover to invading forces, Marr Hingo operates his farm under a dictatorship while keeping his mind—and feet—planted firmly on the ground. Spring arrives right on schedule, bringing with it something completely unexpected—an unconscious pilot from a downed star jet. Unable to bring himself to give up the handsome aviator to searching troops, Marr hides him in the barn’s cellar.
The last thing Davan Siedel remembers before ejecting is getting in a couple of good blasts against a Galactic Forces F150. He wakes to find his vague memory of being carried by an angel wasn’t far off the mark. A tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed farmer has brought him to safety and is tending his injured leg.
The attraction between solid, earthy Marr and clever, quicksilver Davan catches them off guard—and their sexual union is as sweet as it is powerful. Yet the longer Davan lingers, the tighter the enemy’s web grows, threatening their love, their freedom…and their lives.
Warning: Contains hot male/male loving, sweet sexual healing, a down-to-earth farmer who knows how to wield a…plow, a smart-mouthed pilot with fast…jets.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Star Flyer:
Marr descended the narrow steps, tripped and caught himself with a stumbling leap to the ground. He cursed his clumsiness as he held up the glow stick and peered into the darkness. The rumpled pile of sacking was empty. His guest was nowhere in sight. “Are you all right?”
“Still here.” Davan’s voice floated quietly through the still air. He crawled out from behind one of the wooden vegetable bins, dragging his injured leg. He had a mag-blaster in his hand and a quizzical expression on his face. “I heard a lot of activity up there. What happened?”
“Tandus soldiers searching the area. I sent them into the forest in the opposite direction from where you came down. Had to wait for them to leave before I could come back.”
Davan holstered his weapon and blew a long breath. “Thought I was going to have to shoot my way out.” His frown returned as he cursed in Antian. “Ob-coms! They’ve probably got the place bugged.”
“I checked and didn’t find any.”
“I’ve got a scanner in my flight suit if you want to sweep the area.” Davan reached into the bin behind him and pulled out the folded suit. He handed Marr a small device and showed him how to turn on the beam.
For a moment their hands touched and Marr was shocked by the effect the brief touch had on him. His cock grew rigid as if it imagined what the other man’s hand would feel like touching it. Marr had stripped Davan practically naked and wrapped his leg from thigh to heel without feeling a jolt of lust like this. He pushed the feeling away and turned to climb back up the stairs.
“I’ll be back with some dinner,” he promised.
After sweeping the barn from rafters to floor and finding it clean, he hurried to the house and did the same. The sun had set by the time he emerged from the house and crossed the yard.
He moved awkwardly down the steps to the cellar with his arms full of the box of supplies. The glow stick illuminated the cellar, the empty vegetable bins, the dirt floor and Davan. The pilot’s skin was so white he practically glowed, creating illumination of his own. Marr wondered if he was pale from trauma or if it was his natural color.
“I’ve brought more medication for you if you’re in pain.” He set down the box and unpacked it, tossing the water bottle to Davan, who caught it in one hand. “I have clothes, blankets, pillows and a camp bed. I didn’t have time to make dinner, but there’s le
ftover stew. If you don’t like the stew, I can make something else.”
Marr realized he hadn’t strung that many words together in weeks. Solitude had become such a part of his life without Sasch that he remained quiet even when he was with people. But now it was as if a dam had burst. He wanted to talk. He wanted to find out everything about the young pilot and to tell him things about himself.
Davan accepted the T-shirt he offered and slipped it over his head. It was big for him and the long-sleeved shirt he added on top of it was even bigger. Marr thought it was a shame to cover such a beautiful body. The man’s muscles were taut and toned, making him look like a white marble statue. He imagined sliding his hands over that smooth, perfect skin, warm and alive—not like marble or glass at all. But the young flier also looked really good in Marr’s old clothes. There was something erotic about having a shirt he’d worn against his own body so many times now intimately touching Davan’s.
“I can help you into the pants,” Marr offered, then remembered the splint on Davan’s leg. “Or maybe just cover you with blankets for now.”
“That would be good. I’m a little cold.” From the way his jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering, he was more than a little cold. Perhaps he was in shock from the trauma of his injury.
Marr quickly inflated the insta-mattress with a flick of the switch, glad he hadn’t gotten rid of it along with the rest of Sasch’s stuff. He’d never expected to go camping again and certainly didn’t want to be reminded of the times they’d used it together, but instead of giving it to charity he’d left it up in the attic.
After spreading a blanket over it, he helped Davan to lie on top, gently positioning his hurt leg. The younger man suppressed a groan.
“Sorry.”
“No problem. I owe you my life. All I can do is keep thanking you for taking such a risk.” He placed his mag-gun close at hand on the floor beside the mattress.
Marr covered him with one of the blankets and propped a pillow behind his head. He added a quick-dissolving pain tablet to his water bottle and handed it back. Davan took a long drink while Marr pulled the container of leftover stew from the box and apologized for not having warmed it.
“I don’t care. I’ll eat the stew and the container, too. I’m starving.”
It was a pleasure to watch him enjoy the food Marr had made, reminding him of how many solitary meals he’d had in the past two years. His appetite had dulled after Sasch left and he’d lost weight. Neighbors and friends kept inviting him over for dinner as if he might not eat if they didn’t feed him. Maybe he wouldn’t have.
Davan didn’t speak until the bowl was empty then he belched, sighed and handed Marr the empty bowl. “Best stew I ever tasted. You’re a good cook.”
“Or you’re really hungry. It’s nothing special.”
Davan raised an eyebrow. “Not used to compliments, are you? You’re supposed to say, ‘thanks’.” His gaze traveled around the cellar then back to Marr. “Do you live here alone or is there someone else I’m putting in danger?”
“Just me. No family or anything.” He paused, but felt compelled to explain. “There was someone, my partner, Sasch, but he’s gone now.”
Sky blue turned to silver as Davan turned his head and the light reflected from a different facet of his diamond eyes. “Gone where?”
Marr hesitated again. He hadn’t spoken about Sasch to anyone and didn’t know why he felt compelled to tell this stranger. “When Theon was invaded, Sasch went to fight the Tandus. I didn’t want him to go, but he felt he had to. And I stayed behind.”
He shrugged, unable to express the guilt he felt for not going with his lover and trying to keep him safe. But he was no freedom fighter. He was a farmer and someone needed to grow the crops and feed the people no matter what else was going on in the world. He couldn’t persuade Sasch to stay and Sasch would never have asked him to go.
“The resistance was crushed in a few months. He was killed.” The words fell like pebbles from his mouth and Marr realized it was the first time he’d ever said them aloud.
“I’m sorry.” Davan’s silver eyes shifted back to a soft blue. Marr couldn’t take his sympathy and didn’t want to talk about Sasch anymore. He began unpacking the last of the items from his box.
“You’ll need this.” He handed Davan the empty jar he’d brought for him to piss in and set a palm reader on the ground. “Do you like Gindre adventures?”
“I don’t need to read ’em. I live ’em.” Davan winked and a cocky grin twisted his lips. But the shadows under his eyes and sheen of sweat on his brow belied his teasing manner. He looked like he was in pain.
Marr leaned forward and rested a hand on his forehead, a little hot, but not too feverish. He stroked Davan’s hair back from his face. It was an absurd gesture of comfort to offer a man he barely knew, but he couldn’t resist touching that shiny, white-blond hair. It slid like silk between his fingers and the color shifted from white to burnished gold to a kind of toffee-brown depending on how the light reflected from the fine strands.
Davan didn’t pull away. Instead, he closed his eyes and his grin softened to a faint smile.
A quirky holiday romance about Faith, Hope, and…er…glow-in-the-dark condoms!
The Dickens with Love
© 2009 Josh Lanyon
Three years ago, a scandal cost antiquarian “book hunter” James Winter everything that mattered to him: his job, his lover and his self-respect. But now the rich and unscrupulous Mr. Stephanopoulos has a proposition. A previously unpublished Christmas book by Charles Dickens has turned up in the hands of an English chemistry professor by the name of Sedgwick Crisparkle. Mr. S. wants that book at any price, and he needs James to get it for him. There’s just one catch. James can’t tell the nutty professor who the buyer is.
Actually, two catches. The nutty Professor Crisparkle turns out to be totally gorgeous—and on the prowl. Faster than you can say, “Old Saint Nick,” James is mixing business with pleasure…and in real danger of forgetting that this is just a holiday romance.
Just as they’re well on the way to having their peppermint sticks and eating them too, Sedgwick discovers the truth. James has been a very bad boy. And any chance Santa will bring him what he wants most is disappearing quicker than the Jolly Old Elf’s sleigh.
Warning: This book contains an ocelot, songs by America, Stardust martinis, tinsel, long-lost manuscripts, Faith, Hope and…Love.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Dickens with Love:
I dreamed that an ocelot was chewing on a first edition of A Christmas Carol. When I tried to snatch the book away, it sank its fangs into my hand.
Head throbbing, I opened my eyes to watery green daylight. I was in a hotel room. A very comfortable hotel room that smelled of orange furniture polish and sex. The fluffy duvet and long draperies were in matching old-fashioned pink and gray cabbage rose print. Rain trickled down the windowpanes of a pair of French doors and sent sperm-shaped shadows twitching and jerking across the sage green walls.
My head hurt. That was because I’d had too much to drink. My hand hurt. That was because a strange man was lying on it.
I wriggled my hand out from under my naked companion and studied him. Sedgwick Crisparkle looked less angelic and more rakishly debauched that morning. He had quite a heavy beard and the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen on a guy. He did not snore, but he made a gentle puffing sound. He looked deeply asleep and unreasonably content.
I flexed my fingers a couple of times, then sat up carefully, wincing, and looked around for my clothes. They were on the floor near the door where I’d apparently dropped them. I inched over, trying not to wake my host, and got slowly, cautiously, out of bed.
I had to stop halfway to the door to give my spinning head a rest. How the hell much had I had to drink the night before? Not that much really, but I hadn’t eaten. Those shooting stars, or whatever they were called, packed an unexpected wallop. I tried to make out the numbers on my watch.
They seemed very tiny. I peered harder.
Six thirty. Plenty of time. I didn’t need to be at work until four. I could go home, sleep more, shower, and…call Mr. S.
“Not feeling well?”
I jumped, whimpered and clutched my head. “Must you shout?”
“Sorry.” Part of what he said was lost in a gigantic yawn. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
I heard the rustle of bedclothes being thrown back and the pad of bare feet on carpet. The drapes were jerked shut and the room returned to a soothing darkness. I heard him pad past me on his way back to bed, so when a warm hand was laid on my naked shoulder I did another of those starts and yelps.
“You have a very nervous disposition,” Sedgwick said disapprovingly. “You ought to consider supplementing your diet with bee pollen.”
I gazed up at him, opened my mouth. Closed it. Closed my eyes. Why not? I was clearly still dreaming. Bee pollen?
“I think you should come back to bed.” I opened my eyes at that particular note in his voice. Sedgwick was smiling a funny sort of shy half-smile. “I think you’d feel much better in bed.”
He put his arm around me and I permitted myself to be led back to bed.
When I woke the next time the sun was shining and a busboy was carefully lowering a large tray with covered dishes to the table in front of the fireplace.
“Lovely,” Sedgwick was saying as he signed the busboy’s chit.
I raised my head, peering owlishly over the edge of the duvet, and the busboy grinned at me before taking his bill book and departing.
When the door had safely closed, I climbed out of bed, pulled on my jeans—to Sedgwick’s evident disappointment—and investigated the breakfast tray. A white teapot, two gold-rimmed china cups, a jar of honey, a small basket of muffins and nut breads, a bowl of fresh berries. One plate offered eggs Benedict with shaved honey ham and what appeared to be an herbed Hollandaise sauce. Another plate had thick round Belgian waffles, richly, sweetly scented of vanilla, cinnamon and topped with whipped cream, fresh strawberries and pecans.
