A blast from the past
Today’s writing project was Cross Current and despite not one, not two, but THREE cats insisting on jumping into my lap to help I finally finished knocking out 3K on it, bringing my total word count up to 6,409 words. I’m also very pleased to announce that I get to use one of my very first characters in this novel — yes, for fans of my novelette A Boon by Moonlight I’m bringing back Lord Jerrek of House Carwin as a consultant for the Olympic Cove crew on how to handle the runaway selkie prince who just landed on their shores. As it turns out Jerrek owes Poseidon a favor or two, and he’s being deliciously snarky as usual as he negotiates the trade of information with my two lead characters.
Oh, and Ceit? Your namesake just made her first appearance (in discussion, at least). The beautiful, brilliant Lady Ceitlin of House Selbach is waiting for her wayward groom to get his ass back to the pod and go through their marriage ceremony. But will that be the end of it? Oh, hell no — things just get more interesting from here on in.
Also, apropos of nothing I’ve somehow managed to wash all of the master bedroom bedding today. Considering that we sleep with a ridiculous amount of bedclothes (all my fault — Ramón calls me the Greater American Nesting Female) that’s about seven loads of laundry, plus I carried all the clean clothes upstairs and put them away. I think I can take the rest of the night off, yes?
Nicola’s Progress Reports
Since I was poked by my buddy Peter on this:
Palace of Scoundrels (Empress sequel) – 1,645 words since I spent a fair amount of time outlining the thing. Nonetheless I’m hoping to have this done by RT — I would like to have it out and available, but that may not be possible. We’ll see.
Behind the Iron Cross – 76,039 words and I’m storming into Act Three as we speak. This one is gonna take mega editing, though.
Cross Current (Olympic Cove #4) – 3,538 words, and I came up with a refinement for my main character that is extremely organic and effective AND makes the story more diverse.
“Do No Harm” (Dark Captive antho entry for Evernight) – 1,520 words. This is the one I really have to focus on since the deadline is March 15th. It’s also the most difficult of the bunch because, well, here’s the antho description:
Dark Captive will be a collection of dark erotic romance stories featuring alpha men with fierce sexual appetites. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. And they have their sights on one man. Possessive and bold, these heroes give their conquests exactly what they crave—to be taken … to be owned. Any resistance offered will be tested, but in the end love rules.
So, dubcon with a romance and HEA/HFN. Kinda hard to do that effectively in less than 25K words, but I think I found a way to make it work.
I’m also trying to catch up on some desperately needed housework in my spare time, but I think I’m breaking down and paying for a professional spring cleaning of the place after I get back from RT. My blue collar South Side soul is screaming blue murder at this, but my professional writer brain is saying, “You can spend time cleaning or you can spend time writing. Which is more productive and satisfying to you? Plus if you hire a service you’re pumping money into the economy, and you can give them mega tips to shut up that screeching soul of yours.” Works for me.
Wicked Wednesday Reads: The Dragon In The Stone
Oh, look — it’s Wednesday, which means you need a little something extra to help you over Hump Day. Never fear, for today I’m here with Doris O’Connor’s delightfully naughty romance Dragon in the Stone, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of erotic romance. Take it away, Doris!
Thank you so much for having me on your blog with my Naughty Fairytale, The Dragon in the Stone, which is an erotic twist on Beauty and the Beast.
I always say I find inspiration in all sorts of places and this story is no exception.
The idea first came to me during a walk with my kids last summer. As we were meandering past the stream in one of our local parks, my ten year old daughter piped up.
“Look mummy, that’s the stone that looks like a dragon.”
She pointed toward a rock formation that made up one side. Now, I’ll be honest I didn’t see a dragon, just rock, lol, but she was adamant it was a dragon. As were the other kids, when they looked.
So, it got me thinking about this girl who sees the dragon in the stone. The idea was born, and when the lovely Rhonda in my reader Group, The RavDor Chicks asked me to write dragon story… the rest is history as they say. J
The Dragon in the Stone was my NaNoWriMo effort last year, and you know with the awesome Gary Taylor as my visual inspiration for Lord Drorgan, my fingers flew.
You can check out my Pinterest board for this story here: https://uk.pinterest.com/dorisoconnor/the-dragon-in-the-stone/
Not only did I win NaNoWriMo, but I had the story submitted and accepted by the end of November, something of a record for me, I tell you. And that was with me wanting to bash Dorgan’s and Rhonda’s heads together, at time. They’re as stubborn as each other, and I was beginning to despair that they ever would get it together. When they do… well, he’s a dragon and things get HAWT in an entirely different way.
*winks*
I loved writing these two, and I hope my readers will too.
Penance needs to be paid come what may…
Several Centuries ago Drorgan was cursed into stone. Every twenty five years he is given one night and one day to find the woman willing to accept him in both forms.
It’s the price to pay for his past behavior.
As a lost, lonely little girl Rhonda Butterbaugh was rescued by the dragon in the stone and she has never forgotten her fierce protector. It sparked her fascination with all things dragon. If only they were real. There are no such things as fairytales, however.
When she is attacked on her way home, and wakes up in a cursed magic castle, complete with a fierce dragon shifting lord, her life takes a turn for the surreal.
Determined to break the curse and rescue Drorgan and his kin, she hasn’t counted on Drorgan’s resistance.
Dragons aren’t supposed to be noble.
Story Excerpt
She’d have that cute crease between her brows, screw up her nose and stick her tongue out as she concentrated on her task. Thoughts of her tongue sweeping across her lips, and her teeth no doubt sinking into the soft flesh, made his morning wood turn to stone. Without even thinking about his actions he took his rock hard dick in hand and stroked lazily up and down the shaft, while his hungry gaze roamed over the curve of her ass. The fire flared to life, rendering her shift transparent, and he fisted his erection faster, seeing the darkened cleft of her ass cheeks.
His dragon roared to life with the need to claim his woman, and Rhonda gasped and whipped around to face him. While the action hid her far too enticing ass from his view, it exposed her heavy breasts. The nipples hardened under his intense stare, and he could clearly make out the darker color of the surrounding areola through the fabric covering. It made his mouth water with the need to taste, as did the restless way his girl shifted from foot to foot. The increasing wetness he sensed between her legs wrenched a growl from him, and the most delightful blush spread over Rhonda’s pale skin.
Her breathing sped up and her pupils dilated, and she’d taken several involuntary steps toward him before she realized what she was doing. Shaking her head she frowned as though surprised at her actions, and Drorgan grinned. The fact that she responded like that to him without any coercion on his part spoke volumes of their connection.
Magda’s instructions rang in his ears, and despite his misgivings he couldn’t have put a stop to what was happening between them, if his life depended on it. It might be utterly selfish of him, but he was tired of fighting what he felt for the woman in front of him. He was so damn tired of being alone, and Rhonda was a grown woman, not a child. She’d had countless opportunities to flee, to reject him, and not once had she done so, so maybe he just needed to accept this … whatever this would turn out to be and go with it.
The future was his for the taking again, and God help him, he wanted Rhonda in that future, as his mate, his wife, and God willing one day the mother of his children.
“You’re awake.”
Her whispered words shook him out his self-examining thoughts, and kicking the rest of the sheets off, he let go of his dick, and put his hands behind his head in a silent invitation.
“Very awake in more ways than one, my little dragon, and in need of your attention.”
He smirked when she gasped and let her gaze roam all over his naked body. The way she was eating him alive with her eyes, the way her breathing grew laborious, and her heart rate kicked into overdrive … it made his cock jerk. Her gaze snared on that body part, and she licked her lips. Right now in this moment it was the most erotic sight ever, and Drorgan wished with all his might that those lips were wrapped around his shaft.
“Don’t let me stop you. Keep on walking over here, little dragon, and take what you so clearly want.”
He held out his hand to her, and Rhonda gave one of those cock hardening little mewls, that told him how turned on she was.
“I thought we were going to talk about…” His dragon snarled his impatience, and she blanched, even as her sweet musk intensified. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, wrapped her arms around herself, and her toes curled under as her thighs flexed.
“We can talk if you want to, or I can take care of that ache in your cunt, while I fuck your mouth with my cock.” A strangled sound escaped his girl, and sitting up, Drorgan swung his legs off the side of the bed. He took a firm grasp of his cock and started to fist himself. Drops of his pre-cum appeared on the hugely swollen head of his dick, and he hissed his pleasure through his teeth as he swiped his thumb through the sticky evidence of his arousal and used the natural lubrication to slap his hand up and down his cock.
Pleasure built instantly from the base of his spine, and he grunted his approval when Rhonda’s hand strayed to her cunt.
“Yes, fuck yourself on your fingers for me. Take that blasted shift off, and let me see how wet you are. How much your cunt is aching for my cock, and if you’re a very good girl you might even get to taste it soon.”
“God, yes.” Her strangled whisper reached his hearing over the roaring of his own blood, and he increased the motion of his hand on his cock, as she fumbled with the ribbon holding her shift together.
“So fucking beautiful.” He grunted the words, as her shift fell to the floor, and leaned forward better to see the flushed skin on display for him. “Fondle your breasts and spread your legs, so that I can see my cunt. That’s my girl.”
Flames licked across his skin as his dragon went wild, seeing Rhonda comply with his wishes so beautifully. Breaths seesawing out of her lungs she tugged on the tips of her pink nipples, until they elongated and hardened further. Her pussy lips opened as she spread her legs, revealing the darker tissues contained within. Drenched in her juices, her inner lips quivered and her little hole clenched, pushing more of her arousal down the inside of her thighs.
“You’re so fucking wet for me, girl. Tell me do you still want to talk, or shall I show you what it means to be my mate?”
Where to Buy
Evernight Publishing
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About Doris O’Connor
Doris is a writer of sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, Time Travel, Sci-fi, BDSM, F/F, M/M, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.
Happily married for the last twenty-five years, she lives with her husband and their brood of nine in a far too small house filled with love, laughter, and chaos.
Website | Reader Group | Tsu | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Evernight Publishing
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And the RT Preparation Begins
And by that I mean putting together my outfit for Cirque du Punk (I already had all the travel arrangements booked, tra la). Today I started looking at my closet figuring out what I did and didn’t have for my costume.
As it turns out, I have quite a lot thanks to my SF writing career and habit of going to cons. I have a lovely set of pewter granny boots, a brown coachman’s hat, steampunked goggles, a dark brown silk underbust bustier trimmed with dark red and gold ribbon, my choice of two white blouses to wear underneath, and a wonderful copper choker that I made when I first started my Etsy store and no one has purchased. Well, sucks to be them because I’m taking it back.
That leaves a skirt, jacket, and accouterments. I just bought a rather nice pattern for cancan/saloon girl/etc. wear that will allow me to construct a bustle skirt and matching jacket, and my local Hancocks is having a sale in a few weeks so I can run amok finding the appropriate fabric. Even better, I found some truly awesome Nerf pistols at Target that I will be steampunking up for my outfit, and I may well bat my eyelashes at the leatherworker in the house to make me a set of holsters. Still have to figure out if I want to wear bloomers or just tights underneath, and in that case whether or not I want a slit in the skirt (I’m thinking yes), and I can’t decide between lace gloves or fingerless leather driving gloves. Decisions, decisions.
Also, a parasol — yes or no? Granted, it would interfere with drawing the blasters, but I do like a good parasol.
Who Am I, And What Did I Do With Myself?
Because DAMN, I woke up productive today. Got the car safety inspection knocked out at the same time as the oil change, stopped off at Sprouts and got healthy stuff for lunch and dinner, came home and balanced my checkbook, filed all unfiled personal and business receipts in preparation for tax work this week, paid all the bills including the mortgage, filed THAT paperwork, and put away all the swag bag makings and cleaned off my design desk (granted, my office still needs to be cleaned, dusted, and vacuumed, but I figure I can do that tomorrow). I even have laundry from Wild Wicked Weekend churning through the machines and posted a thank you in the FB group for the awesome organizers and attendees.
In other words, it’s amazing what happens when your perimenopausal uterus eventually gets its shit in gear and generates a period, which means that all the excess water you’ve been storing like a good little camel finally, FINALLY begins to drain away. And yes, that’s TMI, but I’ve had serious-ass cankles going on since the 21st, look like Ms. Michelin Man in all the pics from the weekend, and had to keep taking naps so that I didn’t wind up snoozing on one of the ballroom tables. The human uterus is proof positive that there is no Divine Engineer because no tech worth their salt would come up with an organ that wreaks this much havoc on the rest of the body.
Anyway, yeah, feeling better and am working up a plan of attack for the rest of the week which will include much writing, getting the taxes ready for our lovely accountant, and as much cleaning as I can handle without falling over and crying. Onward to March!
(Oh, and yes, I watched the Oscars last night. Stunning wins by Mark Rylance and Brie Larson, mystifying win by Sam Smith, and I absolutely loved all the snarking going on.)
Wild Wicked Weekend (aka THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!)
You may remember earlier in the week that I was rather nervous about attending Wild Wicked Weekend here in San Antonio. Yes, I’d attended RT last year but I wasn’t signing and could thus skulk about the periphery and not worry about being “on.” For WWW, however, I was one of the signing authors and would be visible, which made me somewhat nervous.
Yeah, I know how ridiculous that sounds. Thing is, I know how to be chatty as hell in my SF writer identity but doing the same thing as Nicola would be new, and I wasn’t sure how well my personality would go over at a romance convention.
As it turned out, I had absolutely nothing to worry about. First off, the trip down here took a half hour less than I’d expected (and by taking the 130 toll road I got to drive through some astoundingly picturesque countryside). The con was booked at the Menger Hotel, which is this gorgeous blended Victorian hotel with adorable rooms, a stunning lobby, and is right smack next to the Rivercenter Mall and across from the Riverwalk (which would become very important later). I checked in, was shown to my corner room with decor I kinda want to steal and bring home with me, then went down to the ballroom to register, drop off my raffle gift basket, and say hello to Sidney Bristol.
Somehow, I’m not sure how, I wound up staying and watching the introduction of the gorgeous male hosts for the con, most of whom are professional erotic dancers and put on, um, quite the show for us (I understood then why we were encouraged to bring lots and lots of singles). Evernight Publishing had sponsored a host named Kelii, so I made sure to grab a picture with him which I will not post here because I really should know better than to wear that shirt in public. Instead, here’s Kelii’s publicity photo. You’re welcome.
Friday was a bit more low-key, however, which turned out to be a good thing for me. WWW is designed to be more of a relaxacon than something where you’re scheduled every moment of the day. With that in mind, I had breakfast with Sidney and some new friends, ambled back to the ballroom for more chatting and a 40’s themed lunch and costume contest, then went up to the room to take a nap.
I wound up sleeping until 7:30 PM, mainly because my knees and Achilles bursae had been killing me due to doing a fair amount of walking around the hotel (lovely corner room? Yeah, situated diametrically opposite the ballroom in the hotel layout). Realizing that I simply couldn’t wear the slip-ons I’d brought, I decided to skip the trip to the local BDSM venue (ironically because I was in too much pain) and hobbled over to the Rivercenter, where I found a Footlocker and made a salesman very happy by purchasing an outrageously expensive pair of Asics that had arch support sent directly from heaven. A final stop at Johnny Rockets earned me dinner, then I hobbled back to the room to write and sleep.
An aside — do not fuck with your footwear if you know you’re going to be doing a lot of walking. If you wear something that provides good arch support, it fixes a lot of knock-on problems such as swollen Achilles bursae (the liquid-filled pads at the back of your heels) and aching knees. Granted, it then puts the burden on your muscles, but those are supposed to be working anyway so it’s good for them.
As a result, I woke up full of beans and with feet that felt (and looked) like feet and not like bastionadoed body parts. I made it to the ballroom in time for the lecture on the BDSM lifestyle by practitioners, followed by lunch and chatting with Sidney, Kelii (who is as charming as he is sexy), Blake (another one of the male hosts) and one of the lecturers. After that, it was time to head back to the room and grab books for the signing in a room just off the gorgeous hotel pool.
The signing? Went astoundingly well. I would like to state right now that I was hugely impressed by all the people who stopped by this newbie’s table to chat and buy books. It was a totally positive experience and makes me want to come back next year.
Also, my Square card reader still works, so points to me.
Which bring us up to now. I’m sitting next to an open window listening to people walk in and out of the Rivercenter and letting my phone recharge, and around six or so I’ll head back downstairs for dinner and the awesome female illusionist show scheduled for eight. More later when I get back!
Mid Week Tease: The No Frat Clause #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Wednesday, folks! I’m running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything packed for Wild Wicked Weekend (more on that to follow in another post), so today I’m teasing you with a hot new romance from H.K. Carlton — enjoy this snippet from her delightful office romance The No Frat Clause.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Fresh out of college, Lexi Wideman lands an entry level job at a lucrative recruiting firm. Only six months into her tenure, she’s offered a major promotion—executive assistant to Roger Kent, the company’s coveted corporate headhunter. Older, irresistible, and ruggedly handsome, Roger Kent turns her into a liquid pool of need with just one smoldering glance. But the opportunity is just too good to pass up this early in her career. Lexi must find a way to remain professional while panting after her boss.
Roger Kent is thrown off guard when the company execs all of a sudden decide he needs an assistant. Perhaps he does, but Lexi Wideman is not the girl for him. She’s smart, young, and gorgeous. It’s hard enough trying to keep his eyes off her. Working in such close proximity, day after day, it would only be a matter of time before his hands followed.
So much for the No Frat Policy.
Excerpt
All of a sudden the lights flickered once again, and the lift jerked.
Lexi grabbed my thigh in panic. “Oh God!”
Oh God was right. Any higher and she was going to get a rock-hard handful.
I wound my arms around her, and we held on as the elevator came to shuddering halt. The lights went out entirely, plunging us into complete darkness. The hydraulic hum of the mechanics powering down droned. Then there was silence except for the clicking of the cables.
“Ohhh …” Lexi said in alarm.
“It’s okay. Take it easy,” I reassured her. “The auxiliary lights should come on in a second when the generators kick in.” But seconds ticked by and nothing happened.
“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice warbling.
“Power outage from the storm I’d say. Guess you were right, we should have taken the stairs.”
“Oh boy.” I felt her take a deep shuddering breath. She shifted, centering her back to my chest, and relaxed into me. I tried to maintain some distance, but there was no help for it, with her perfect little ass snugged right up against my upper thighs. There was no way she missed the massive bulge in my pants. She tensed, but she didn’t pull away either.
I inhaled her familiar scent. Another bad idea. It was just as arousing as the rest of her. She smelled fanfuckingtastic.
Her breathing became erratic. I was afraid she was about to panic.
“We’re okay. Relax.” I ran my hands up and down her arms.
She melted into me.
“Do you have your cell phone?” I asked in a tight voice. “We could use it for light. And-or call for help. At least let someone know we’re in here.”
“No, I left mine at the office. You?”
“I think I tossed mine in the briefcase. It’s down here by our feet somewhere.”
A ringing noise made us both jump.
I released her and groped in the dark until I found the little door containing the emergency phone. “Hello?” I answered in a clipped tone.
“What’s your name, and how many are with you?” a gruff voice barked.
“Roger Kent. There are two of us. Myself and my assistant.”
“We’re working on getting you down. Try not to panic.”
“All right, but can you do something about the auxiliary lighting?”
“The generators should engage anytime now. Sit tight.”
“Okay, we’ll sit tight. As if we have a choice,” I said as I hung up.
From the awkward way I’d been leaning, I straightened up slightly, rearranging my hips back into the corner. “We’re gonna be a while,” I said and reached for Lexi. It was pitch black. I couldn’t make out a goddamn thing. “Where’d ya go? Christ, it’s dark.”
“I’m searching for the cell.” Just then my palm made contact with a nicely rounded hip. Oh fuck, she was bent over in front of me. I followed the soft plump curve as she rooted through the briefcase. I closed my eyes and took long, slow inventory of her shapely backside. I stifled a groan, but it escaped as more of a grunt.
Slowly, she straightened and turned in my direction. The low light from my cell screen glowed, illuminating the space between us.
The tension between us was palpable. She stared at me. Her lips parted. I don’t know what she saw in my expression. One of us made a growling sound. I suspect it was me.
Simultaneously, she dropped the phone and reached for me as I grabbed for her. I sought her lips hungrily as the darkness enveloped us once more. She moaned something incoherent into my mouth.
In a wild frenzy, we nipped and sucked at each other’s mouths, our hands roamed free and greedily. My cock lengthened to painful proportions.
Lexi arched into me, her ample breasts pressing against my upper chest. She squirmed as I tried to gather her sweet backside in my greedy hands. Lifting her, I thrust my hips at her, leaving no doubt as to what I wanted.
In answer, she pressed her pelvis against me. The pressure felt amazing, but I wanted more.
“Yeah,” she cried softly. “Yeah …”
Fuck yeah!
Buy Links
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Evernight Publishing
All Romance eBooks
Bookstrand
About H.K. Carlton
H K Carlton is a multi-published Canadian author of romance and its varied sub-genres, including contemporary, paranormal, historical, family saga and erotica.
I enjoy writing in many different genres. I write where the muse takes me and make no apologies for it. By now, it’s quite safe to say I will never pick just one genre and stick to it. There are just too many possibilities and stories left to tell. Today time-travel, tomorrow sweet historical romance—the next release might be, down and dirty erotica or ménage. I hope you’ll join me for the ride.
Variety is creativity’s playground—It’s where you’ll find me.
Website/Blog | Twitter | Facebook Author Page | Facebook Timeline | Evernight Author Page
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And now the running around like a headless chicken begins
I’m leaving for Wild Wicked Weekend early Thursday morning, and before then I have to pay bills, make sure all my clothes are clean, plan outfits (including something appropriate for the visit to the Lair), pack said outfits, put together a hundred swag bags, go get wine and chocolate for the gift basket I’m donating, put together the gift basket, get my hair cut, load all luggage, giveaways, and books into the car, and print out a map for getting to the hotel. An oil change before then would probably be a good idea, too (for the car, not me. Seriously, people).
Writing? Yeah, right. Maybe when I get down there, but I’ve given myself permission to spend the next two days running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything squared away. Crap, I need to get wet kitty food for the J Crew as well. Thank Cthulhu I have my nifty new planner for all of this!
In the meantime, Ramón is spending his last week of freedom working on computer stuff and writing before he starts his new contract job on Monday. I have to admit, the thought of money coming into the house again will make this weekend much more relaxing and enjoyable.
So, yeah, that’s my day so far. Hope yours is more relaxing.
Happy anniversary to me!
Facebook’s Memories function has just been kind enough to remind me that three years ago today I got my acceptance from Evernight on Storm Season. My exact post on the topic was:
So, yeah, uh, I just sold my first standalone novel, Storm Season, to Evernight Publishing. Um…I’m a novelist. So what do I do now?
The answer is, write another novel, of course. Which I did, and I thank each and every one of you out there who has been buying them and chivvying me to write more. Y’all rock.
Speaking of books, writing continues apace in the Cameron manse. I’ve started on Palace of Scoundrels (the Empress sequel) and I’m flipping back and forth between that, Iron Cross, and Cross Current depending on my mood. Hey, it works for a lot of bestselling authors so why not me? But three books (plus a short story, plus another project that I’ll announce here in due time) apparently isn’t enough for my sozzled slavedriver of a muse, since she’s been prodding me to write a MF contemporary standalone like you would not believe. Thing is, it has some really deep, relevant hooks for me so I think it’s got to go on the To Be Written list (which is now stretching to 2020 and beyond).
At least it means you have lots of reading material to look forward to, right? That’s what I keep telling myself.
In other news, I’ll be at Wild Wicked Weekend this weekend in San Antonio and I’ll have print copies of Storm Season, HIS: Manlove Edition, and Empress of Storms with me, so if you’re coming and want a copy please hunt me down. This is my first romance convention where I’m a signing author, so I’m both excited and a little nervous. I’m putting together a gift basket and bringing swag, but I still have to learn the lay of the land and what’s expected from an author at such events (e.g. this ISN’T a science fiction convention so the graphic t-shirts will probably be left at home).
And yes, there will be pictures. And I’ll give you a full report on our outing to the Lair (San Antonio’s premier BDSM club). Pity I can’t wear what I wore to the Rubber Ball in London, muwahahahahaha…
Mid Week Tease: Pharaoh’s Pleasure #MidWeekTease #MWTease
It’s Wednesday? Awesome! Because I have a little teaser for you from something written by my friend JT Handler. We’ve known each other all my life, and JT writes fun-filled M/M erotica that I’m pleased to feature this week. Pharaoh’s Pleasure will be available on Amazon next week and kicks off a new series titled Pleasures in Time that should prove very entertaining for M/M readers.
Some set up — in order to avoid his overbearing (and very handsy) advisor Gordon Pattinson, grad student Kellen Fox spends the night working on an Ancient Egyptian exhibit display. When he polishes a hematite scarab, however, something very unexpected occurs.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Kel noticed the hematite scarab had slid off its clear plastic stand. Unlatching the case, he carefully picked up the scarab and examined it. There weren’t any new cracks or chips, thank God, just greasy fingerprints that were definitely not his. Goddamn it, Pattinson, do you jack off with this thing or what?
Wrapping a corner of his t-shirt around two fingers, he buffed out the fingerprints, spending a little of his frustration in the action. Something clicked under his rubbing, and the detailed wing section of the scarab slid back a bit.
He froze. That’s not supposed to happen. Oh, fuck, tell me I didn’t break it. Dry-mouthed, he peered at the carving and saw the gleam of gold.
Whoa. That is not supposed to be there. Very gently, he pushed the wing section again. It slid further on what he could now see were carved tracks, exposing a flat slice of gold embedded in the bottom half of the scarab. Inscribed in the metal were three rows of hieroglyphs.
His fear flashed into a full body thrill. Middle Egyptian. Sweet mother of Horus, it’s fucking Middle Egyptian! And Pattinson never found it!
He had a sudden daydream about writing a paper on the hidden hieroglyphs, receiving academic accolades for his discovery, maybe even basing his doctoral thesis on them. He quickly came back down to earth when he realized that he’d still have to report it to Pattinson as the head researcher on Pharaoh Senekenre. And knowing that conceited jerk, he’ll take all the credit and I won’t see shit.
Beside, you don’t even know what they say. They might be the 17th Dynasty equivalent of a fortune cookie. Frowning, he slowly sounded out the symbols. “Amhemnet, first advisor to Pharaoh Senekenre, calls on you, O Ra, to hear my prayer,” he said out loud. His voice echoed in the empty hall, taking on an odd, hollow quality. “Help me build a bridge for Pharaoh, to continue his line. I beg you, Great Ra, hear my prayer.”
Okay, definitely not a fortune cookie. Amhemnet was the pharaoh’s vizir and architect, and supposedly one of the greatest magicians of ancient Egypt. It sounded like he had inscribed some sort of personalized prayer of protection for the royal family. Sliding the shell section closed again, Kel went to put the scarab back in the display case, and stopped when he saw a reddish glow reflected in the glass. Fire?
Turning around, his jaw dropped open. Hanging in mid-air not five feet from him was a shimmering orange ball of light. The thing suddenly flared brightly, and Kel threw up his hand to shield his eyes.
And then the light was suddenly gone. Eyes still shut, he heard a deep, rumbling voice say, “What is this place?”
Cautiously, he lowered his hand and opened one eye, then the other. Then blinked. Then drooled just the tiniest bit. Because in front of him stood a tall, muscular, absolutely freaking gorgeous man with caramel skin, wearing a linen kirtle and one of the most spectacular scapulars Kel had ever seen. Bold black eyes outlined with kohl stared back at him curiously. “And who are you?” the man said. “Is this a dream? Or are you some sort of god?”
Kel realized the man’s lip movements didn’t sync up with his words. In fact, there was a soft rumble of a foreign language under the English, like an overdubbed movie. Okay, I am either officially hallucinating from six weeks of exhaustion combined with a sugar rush, or someone who looks like a 17th Dynasty underwear model just stepped out of a JJ Abrams special effect.
Hallucinating seemed more likely, all things considered. Which was a freaking shame, because just looking at Tall, Dark, and Imaginary ignited a deep sense of longing and need in Kel’s balls.
“Yeah, definitely not a god,” he said, tugging his t-shirt down. “Those are the tenured professors. I’m just a graduate student.”
“A graduate student.” The man seemed to roll the words over his lips, as if tasting them. “You are a scholar, then?”
“Not according to my advisor.” Ken winced when the man frowned at the quip. “Sorry. Yes, I’m a scholar.”
Over his shoulder he could see the artist’s rendering of Senekenre. The long-dead man’s face matched the stranger’s perfectly.
Oh, this is getting better and better. “I know this is going to be a weird question,” he said, “but has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like Pharaoh Senekenre?”
The man smiled. “Well, yes, seeing as I am Pharaoh Senekenre.” His smile widened, becoming a thing of sexy delight. “Who did you think I was, young scholar?”
Kel found himself grinning back at the handsome man. “Well, a hallucination, to be honest. So you’re telling me you’re Senekenre. Fourteenth king of the 17th Dynasty. You’re a genuine Egyptian Pharaoh, and you’re standing in front of me. Alive.”
Something flickered in Sekenenre’s eyes, sharpening them. He gazed around the chamber, finally spotting the deconstructed bed, and went pale under the bronze tan. “Gods above and below,” he whispered. “It worked?”
“What worked?”
The pharaoh spun back, fear and excitement warring in his expression. “Amhemmet’s plan,” he said. “Have I traveled to the future as he promised?”
Kel blinked. “Uh…”
“He said he would use his magic to send me to another time for a single night.” Senekenre stepped to the display case holding the hematite scarab, pressing his palm against the glass. “It was the only way to secure a future for my queen and myself. He said that when the right man found the spell and invoked it, the bridge would be formed, and I would be transported.”
The words hidden inside the scarab blazed through Kel’s mind. Amhemnet, first advisor to Pharaoh Senekenre, calls on you, O Ra. Help me build a bridge for Pharaoh.
His mouth went dry. “Wait. You’re telling me this Amhemnet guy used magic to send you to another time? To this time?”
Senekenre nodded. “Yes, thanks to you. I take it you invoked the spell?”
“If you mean I read it out loud, yeah. I didn’t know it was a spell.” Swallowing hard, Kel forced himself to reach out and touch Senekenre’s arm. It was warm under his fingertips. “Oh, shit,” he whispered. “I’m not hallucinating. You’re real. You’re really here!”
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