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The Man in the Mask – A Guest Post by Lady Divine (@FrancescaHartz @sinfulpress)

Everyone wears a mask of one kind or another.

In romance novels, masks tend to be elaborate, lavishly decorated things, hiding the identity of the mysterious lover from the (more often than not) naïve hero/heroine.

But, in real life, our masks tend to be far less erotic … and much more complicated.

The average human being doesn’t only wear one. They become layered, one over the other. We switch between them throughout the day, showing the face we need for a given situation – parent, spouse, sibling, employee, neighbor. On occasion, one will fall away when we don’t need it anymore, but we tend to add more as time goes on, piling them up until it sometimes becomes difficult to remember who we were to begin with.

Masks can take us away from ourselves.

But sometimes they show who we really are.

And the effect is broad. In the search to find ourselves, it may not even be our own mask, but someone else’s mask, that reveals the truth about us.

There are so many different kinds of masks. In my life, I’ve worn many – masks of compassion, nurturing, confidence, protection. In my work as a professional Dominant, I’ve seen hundreds more – men and women peeling away who they have to be in their vanilla lives and wearing, for my eyes only, the masks they show no one.

This concept of masks has always fascinated me – the idea of becoming more yourself by changing what people see, either literally or symbolically. In my story for Sinful Press’s new anthology Sinful Pleasures, “The Man in the Mask”, I decided to combine both the mask of a man longing to remember who he was with the elaborate mask of the romantic lover. At his birthday party, with every person he knows in attendance, Miguel decides to turn back the clock on his life by doing the one thing that most people would find unthinkable – cheat on his husband with a beautifully submissive masked stranger.

But that’s what we see on the surface. Beneath their masks, Miguel and his anonymous lover aren’t necessarily who they appear to be.

You can find out more about this story, and many of my other writings, by following me on Tumblr – https://lady–divine.tumblr.com (or https://lady-divine-writes.tumblr.com for a more safe for work version ;D). You can also find me on Twitter @FrancescaHartz, or on Instagram at ladydivine91 as I embark on my latest adventure, which is as far from professional Dominant as I could possibly get – fledgling freestyle skater 😉

Stay safe, stay sane, stay consensual – but remember to play dirty as often as you can 😉

Francesca Hartz

a.k.a. Lady Divine

*****

Excerpt from “The Man in the Mask”

Sinful Pleasures

Shhh. We have to do this quick,” Miguel says, reaching around the body of the man standing in front of him to undo the buttons of his shirt. “My husband is going to come looking for me soon.”

“O-okay,” the man acquiesces. “Well, then, do you think I can at least look at you while we…?”

Miguel stops unbuttoning and clamps a hand over the man’s mouth before he can say another word.

“No talking!” he snaps. “I don’t know you, you don’t know me, and it’s going to stay that way. Got it?”

“Is that what you want?” the man asks in a softer voice, hoping Miguel won’t object.

“What if it is?” Miguel replies, his accompanying chuckle cruel. He’s indifferent to the man’s feelings because tonight, he’s not a man. He’s a puppet. A toy. An instrument for Miguel’s use…for his pleasure. “It’s what you must want, too, yes? Otherwise, why do you come here wearing that mask?”

The half-mask the man has on is an odd sort of accessory. It’s lavishly decorated, almost gaudily so—blood red around the eyes and trimmed in gold sequins, swirling filigree designs, and accented in gold dust and rubies—a dramatic shield obscuring a face of pale skin, meticulously styled brown hair, and stunning green eyes.

“Because I was t-told…” The man stutters to a stop when Miguel’s fingers brush his skin, playing through the hairs on his chest. He begins again, wishing he had taken one last shot of the whiskey they’d been serving downstairs. It might have strengthened his voice. “I was told that if I wore it, I would meet the man of my dreams.”

“So, you admit to coming here of your own free will?” Miguel asks. Consent is essential to him. Without it, he’ll dismiss this man now, no exceptions.

It would be a shame not to get the chance to have him, but there are others willing to take his place.

“Yes,” the man replies.

“Say it,” Miguel demands. “Word for word. Say you are here of your own free will.”

“I am here of my own free will.”

“Even though you know what I might do to you?” Miguel has to wonder if this man truly knows anything about his unconventional tastes, his unusual cravings. “Even though you know what a night with me might entail?”

“Yes,” the man answers without hesitation. “I know, and I consent.”

*****

Sinful PleasuresBlurb

Sinful Press welcomes you to lose yourself in Sinful Pleasures.

Join us as we weave our way from mainstream erotic romance to surreal sex-filled dreamscapes and everything in between, created by some of the best new and established voices in the erotica genre.

Janine Ashbless, Ella Scandal, Sonni de Soto, Jo Henny Wolf, Lily Harlem, Lady Divine, Gail Williams, Samantha MacLeod, Tony Fyler, Ellie Barker, Lisa McCarthy

Buy links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

Google Play

iTunes

Support your small publisher and buy the paperback direct

*****

Author Bio

Lady Divine is a professional Dominatrix living and working in Southern California, and that’s where most of her writing inspiration comes from. She is also a wife and a mother, a classical musician, a photographer, and a greco roman wrestler, as well as an LGBTQIA+ advocate. Lady Divine can be found gracing the internet at www.lady–divine.tumblr.com

 

Pre-order now! Sinful Pleasures: An Anthology of Erotic Tales by Sinful Press (@sinfulpress)

Release date 20th August 2017.

Sinful Press welcomes you to lose yourself in Sinful Pleasures.

Join us as we weave our way from mainstream erotic romance to surreal sex-filled dreamscapes and everything in between, created by some of the best new and established voices in the erotica genre.

Janine Ashbless, Ella Scandal, Sonni de Soto, Jo Henny Wolf, Lily Harlem, Lady Divine, Gail Williams, Samantha MacLeod, Tony Fyler, Ellie Barker, Lisa McCarthy

Pre-order links:

Amazon: http://smarturl.it/SPebookAmazon

iTunes: http://smarturl.it/SPiBooks

Google Play: http://smarturl.it/SPGoogle

Barnes and Noble: http://smarturl.it/SPBandN

Kobo: http://smarturl.it/SPKobo

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35452279-sinful-pleasures

Note: Sinful Pleasures will be available through all main online bookstores in print and digital on the 20th of August.

*****

Excerpt from On The Line by Sonni de Soto:

If he wanted to call her, he could call her.

He didn’t have to wait for her.

Decisively, he reached for his phone and began to dial.

She answered on the first ring. “Twenty minutes past nine.” Danielle tsked. “I always wondered how long it would take for you to call me.” Even over the phone, he could practically hear her shrug. “Twenty minutes sounds about right.”

“So this was a test?” He raised an eyebrow, not sure he liked the idea of that.

“Not a test, per se.” Her throaty voice was a soothing purr that, despite his efforts, did calm his irritation. Which was kind of irritating in and of itself. “More of an experiment. To shake things up a bit.”

“Shake things up how?” He harrumphed back against his headboard.

“We’re in a rut, Christopher.” She sighed with an audible shake of her head. “We’ve got to Columbus our way out of this.”

A rut? They were in a rut? Chris frowned and adjusted his glasses. He supposed that, sure, they’d both been a little tired lately. A little overworked and stressed. But a rut? “How are we supposed to do that?”

“Close your eyes,” she urged into the phone.

He huffed a bit, pouting, but did as she asked. It was, after all, a simple request. “Okay.”

“Imagine us,” her voice whispered in his ear. “Imagine us in your room. On your bed.”

Chris let out a sigh and tried. His mind focused, picturing her painted and so-mobile mouth forming her words. He thought about her tongue, slick and sly, as it slid across those lips, leaving a sheen in its wake. Chris let his mind remember the taste of her kiss, an utterly illogical mix of heated want and cool mint.

He imagined the familiar flush that always swept over her cheeks right before he took her mouth, that visible sign of her excitement that never failed to fuel his own. He knew that a blush like that could travel down her neck, her shoulder, her spine in a tickled shiver with the simplest touch.

And then there, in his room, on his bed, in his mind, like magic, she was laid seductive and stretched-out before him. He imagined the dark fall of curls that clouded around her face and shoulders, framing bared, bronzed skin perfectly.

His hands itched to grab the curves of her body. The swell of her sweeping hips. The pointed tips of her delectable breasts. The length of her long legs. The soft spread of sun-ripened skin, that always held the sweet scent of citrus, over the generous lushness of her body.

He could hear his own breath rasp as his mind transported her from her dorm room to the foot of his bed.

“Good,” he heard her coo in his ear. “Now that you have me there, whatever will you do with me?” Her mockingly naïve tone left him feeling provoked and promised.

Pre-order blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Out Now—Classic Felthouse: Stories from the Archive by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985)

Classic FelthouseBlurb:

Fancy a blast from the past? Then dip in to five short stories from the Lucy Felthouse archive. A handful of her earliest published tales have been polished up and presented to you in one seriously hot collection. Enjoy a sexy soldier, a buxom babe, erotic daydreams, filthy phone sex and a language barrier, and see where it all began for this prolific author of erotica and erotic romance.

Buy links:

Amazon (universal link): http://mybook.to/classicfelthouse

All Romance eBooks: http://bit.ly/2gs48VN

Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2gsbpor

iBooks: http://apple.co/2hp6bfo

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2gR7faE

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/2gRbZ0c

*****

Excerpt from Fantasy Assignment:

I couldn’t believe my luck when I heard what my next editorial assignment was. In fact I discreetly pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

My editor wanted me to write an article on Single Living Accommodation in the British Army. The British Army. Big deal, I hear you thinking. Perhaps I’d better explain. I have a real thing about men in uniform, I always have had. Stick me in front of a hot guy in uniform and I’m putty in their hands. So you see, I was rather excited at the prospect of being around all those sexy men. And even better, I was going to be paid for it. Talk about perks of the job.

The article was planned into an upcoming edition of the glossy women’s magazine I work for. The ‘careers special’ was designed to give the readers an insight into different industries and jobs within them.

I only had a few days to prepare for my assignment, so I did my homework and made lots of notes. I always like to be well prepared, to avoid the chance of messing something up and getting a bollocking from the editor.

Soon enough, the day arrived and I dragged myself out of bed at 6 a.m.—a chore in itself as I’m not a morning person—got my things together and took a taxi to the train station. I had strict instructions on where I had to change trains, where I should go and who I should look for when arriving at my destination. Corporal Matt Stokes would be there waiting for me. Given he’d be in uniform, I wasn’t too worried about recognising him.

When I boarded the first train and got settled into my seat, I grabbed my bag and pulled out a magazine. After reading the same page three times and realising I still had no idea what it was about, I gave up. I allowed my mind to wander. Would Corporal Stokes be attractive? Would he be tall and slim; small and well-built? Aloof, cheeky; who knew? All I knew for sure was that there was a good chance I’d think he was sexy simply because of what he was wearing. In my opinion, the uniform screams masculinity and sex. It hides what is beneath, leaving that to your imagination, but gives the impression of the wearer being rough and ready—just how I like my men.

After a speedy change of trains, I relaxed and let my thoughts wander for some time, until I heard the announcement that my station was the next one. I got myself ready, checked I had all my stuff together and perched on the edge of my seat. I was also aware that my daydreams had left me feeling more than a little horny, and as a consequence, my underwear was damp. I smiled to myself. I hadn’t even set eyes on a squaddie yet and my mind was in the gutter. Heaven knows what I’d be like when I was surrounded by hard male bodies, and the smell of sweat and spunk.

Perhaps I’d become immune to the charm of the uniform after seeing it constantly for a couple of days? Only time would tell. Five minutes to be precise; which was the time it took for the train to pull in at the platform and for me to get off and look around for my lift. As I’d expected, he wasn’t difficult to spot. As soon as I laid eyes on the six foot plus frame of Corporal Stokes, I knew I would never get bored of that uniform as long as I lived. Especially on him.

*****

Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of Cliterati.co.uk’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of, and an Amazon bestseller), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award, and an Amazon bestseller) and The Persecution of the Wolves. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 150 publications to her name. She owns Erotica For All, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more about her writing at http://lucyfelthouse.co.uk, or on Twitter or Facebook. Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. You can also subscribe to her monthly newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9

Release blitz hosted by Writer Marketing Services.

 

Three Authors Who Have Inspired Me as a Writer by Queenie Black

tourbutton_lovebites

First let me take you back to the beginning of time!

Queenie_Black_17th FebruaryWell almost.

I was a confident reader when I was four and I have never stopped reading since. One notable year (2010) I read 322 books/novellas .

No, I wasn’t doing a challenge and I haven’t managed to break that record since. Now I’m more discriminating and I probably average about 200 books a year.

I spent my teenage years in Greece and as an avid reader I was pretty much starved of reading material.  I could read Greek but it was a laborious process and the books available were mostly classics.  Luckily I had an English aunty out there who received a massive tea chest full of novels from the UK every year. It was a treasure trove of Mills and Boon, and historical novels by authors like Jean Plaidy and Georgette Heyer and I pretty much spent every summer from the age of fourteen reading through the tea chests.

I wasn’t picky. I read everything and I read everywhere.  On the balcony, on the bus, on the beach, it didn’t matter. I always had my nose in a book.

Out of all the authors I read there were many I absolutely adored and still retain affection for but two had a lasting impact on me.

The first is Mary Stewart. Her books contained suspense and classical and literary references that I found fascinating. Mostly though I loved her book because her heroines were quite strong women, often widowed but certainly not shrinking violets.  They weren’t kick ass, and they didn’t argue for the sake of it. They were quietly confident and capable of getting on with things.  I particularly liked her novel Madame Will You Talk which had a wonderful section where the hero chases the heroine across France. I loved that sequence- it made my juvenile romantic heart race.

The suspense, the excellence of her descriptions and her strong heroines intrigued me and I still don’t get tired of reading her stories. Nearly all of her books have a place on my keeper shelf.

My second greatest influence was Georgette Heyer. Her historical romances were detailed and she would transfer me to another place and time. Her heroines were also quite strong.

Bear in mind this was a time when it was quite OK for heroes in romances to put heroines over their knees and wallop them (and we’re not talking BDSM, we’re talking icky paternalistic chauvenism) or even slap their faces, so a strong heroine was not only a welcome change but also inspiring to fourteen year old me.  At the same time, both these authors knew how to write characters who could be vulnerable without wallowing in self-pity. One of my favourite Heyer books is The Devil’s Cub. Great story because the heroine shoots the hero.

I moved on in my tastes and spent a couple of years reading crime, horror and thrillers until I went back to romance, and then came across Erotica and erotic romance.  Here my eyes were opened to romances where sex and the sexual relationship were central to the story which was very graphic and contained explicit language.

Queenie_Black_17th February1I read quite a few of these authors- guzzled them to be honest, working my way through Lora Leigh, Annmarie McKenna and many others. The queen of all of them in my opinion, and the person who inspired me to write erotic romance, is Cherise Sinclair. I came across her books when I picked up Edge of the Enforcer, part of her Dark Haven series in which she explores ménage and BDSM, and I was hooked. It’s the way that she writes and her characters that draw me. Again, her heroines are strong and I particularly like the dynamics between the protagonists and the way she builds the sexual tension and develops the plot and the romance through the sexual relationships.  I love her understanding of the unique sexual preferences of the characters as well.

Overall these three authors have taught me about creating worlds, about strong female characters, and about sexual tension all combining to create believable and human journeys to the essential Happy Ever After.

I hope that one day I will be able to write with their level of skill.

What about you? Who are your favourite authors/ genres and why?

*****

Here is an excerpt from my new collection of short erotic stories Lovebites.

ELEVATOR MAGIC

“You know what? You can take your job and stick it.” Mad as hell I grabbed my purse and stomped out of the little cubicle I called my office. I was done here and I was never coming back and fuck the giving notice part.

The elevator always took ages to creak its way between floors and I could feel the stabbing pressure of what felt like a thousand eyes in my back. Of course they were all watching. They’d been waiting for something like this to happen for twenty months. Just then melodic chimes signaled the arrival of the executive elevator. The one that normal people like me are forbidden to ride in, the one for the exalted rich and the bosses who live in the penthouse. I wanted to escape the avid looks that were directed my way and, what the hell, what could they do anyway? Sack me?

So I stepped into it.

I turned and, just before the doors closed, got a good view of open mouths, staring eyes and was that…envy? It certainly looked like it from where I was standing. As the doors slid silently shut, I raised my hand and gave a little finger wave.

 

The car was bigger than my bedroom, and a thousand times more luxurious but I hardly noticed the mirrored walls and the thick-as-a-mattress carpet. My attention was caught and held by the two guys already in there, one on my left and one on my right.

My gaze darted between the two of them and I felt guilty colour sting my cheeks. I hadn’t expected company but I wasn’t objecting. These guys were fit and built. One dark-haired and smoooooth, the other blonde and just-got-in-out-of-the-wild rough.

And I knew them. Brandon Shaw and Mitchell Graham owned the company I work – ooops, scratch that – the company I used to work for. I’d met them at work events, like the Christmas party and the Halloween party and the Employee of the Year party. I’d seen them a couple of times from a distance. They always had a flock of female employees around them.

I’d heard people described as chick magnets but only realised exactly what it meant when I saw these two. I used to feel their magic pull yet always stayed away because initially I was in a relationship, and then afterwards was suffering from a broken heart and struggling to cope with a job where my ex was screwing a colleague. Pity my ex didn’t take a leaf out of these guys’ books – there was never any suggestion that they had slept with anyone from the company. Which meant in the end that there was a gentle rumor that they were a) gay, or b) didn’t like vanilla and went for the more exotic, with their tastes catered for elsewhere.

I positioned myself with my back to the wall and let my gaze slide over them. To my right was Brandon. He’d taken off his suit jacket and had it hooked over one shoulder. Beneath the fine fabric of his shirt I could see the hard muscle of a broad chest, arrowing down to a pair of narrow hips and a huge bulge… Oh man.

I licked my lips and dragged my reluctant gaze away to focus on his face. He was watching me scope him out. There was a hard predatory glint in his eyes. Heat speared through me from my cheekbones to my pussy, part embarrassment and part desire. I squeezed my thighs together to stop the growing ache.

I quickly glanced away and found myself checking out Mitchell on my left. He was slightly shorter than his partner, and seemed kinder and less predatory too. His eyes were a softer green, more jade than emerald. But his shoulders were as wide and he sported an identical erection. Were they lovers? A pity for womankind if they were gay. What a loss.

I shouldn’t be in the elevator with them in the first place but the new militant me with nothing to lose didn’t care. So instead of fixing my gaze on the floor and fighting the temptation to look again, I enjoyed the view. They put my slimeball ex to shame and my panties grew damp while they silently watched me. I wished that I was wearing something a little less conservative when the elevator jerked to a sudden halt.

Not a nice, slow, we’ve arrived kind of halt but the scary kind.

The lights went out.

Panic dug its claws into me, not letting go even when the emergency lighting kicked in.

“What’s happening?” I didn’t even try and keep the terrified squeak out of my tone.

“Hey,” Brandon said softly, “it’s going to be alright. They’ll have it fixed in no time.”

“It’s broken?” I hated the idea of being shut in closed spaces, and the car, despite its size and luxury, suddenly felt very small. I couldn’t bear to spend hours locked in here hanging over all that empty space. The walls closed in, my hands and feet went cold, and I struggled to breath.

“Now you’ve done it, Brandon.”

“Easy.” When had they got so close to me? I was crowded by two warm male bodies that smelt good. Having them so close, almost touching me, took my mind off the elevator.

“Rub her hands, Mitchell. Get some warmth into them, she’s freezing.”

Mitchell sandwiched my hands between his palms and rubbed hard. The movement distracted me, not because he was making my hands warmer, which he was, but because he kept bumping my breasts.  Awareness rushed through me and my nipples went hard as cherry stones and poked at my blouse. Brandon’s hands rested lightly on my hips but they might as well have been brands. I could feel every finger as if there were no clothing between us. Woodsy cologne, mingled with clean male musk, swirled around me. My pussy creamed and I couldn’t help it; my wayward body leant back until I was pressed hard against Brandon.

His cock, huge and promising, seared my lower back. I couldn’t prevent a small sound escaping. I felt my cheeks go hot. What must they think of me?

Mitchell’s expression was rich with satisfaction in the dim light.

“Shall we carry on distracting you, baby?”

I shivered, my panties drenched as my body answered the question for them.  Brandon nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath my ear. His voice rumbled right through my body as he asked, “Ever been double-fucked before?”

The crude honesty of his question embarrassed me and I couldn’t answer. Then I forgot what he asked because Mitchell dropped to his knees in front of me. His hands stroked slowly up the back of my thighs. They smoothed over stockings, and then paused when they reached my lacy garters.

*****

Love BitesBlurb and buy link:

Elevator Magic
A steamy encounter in a lift makes Cass the center of attention for two sexy men. Is it just hot sex for them or will Cass have to make some life-changing choices?

Immortal Longings
Not one, but two Greek gods in her bed. How’s a girl to choose? Must Zoe’s sensual holiday romance end in farewell, or will she try to make her own heaven on earth with two demigods?

Eleanor’s Choice
Eleanor explores the shadowy world of submission – her marriage depends on it. Will the Master give her an experience she can use to please her husband, or is it time to walk away?

Love Bites
Lonely Ella is mesmerised by the owner of a chocolate shop. Drawn into Lang’s rich, seductive web, she grows to fear as well as desire him. What is the secret he is hiding from her?
These four short stories contain too-hot-to-handle Greek gods, a sexy Vampire who might just turn out to be a killer, a Master who can wield a crop with artistry, and two delicious CEOs who know how to keep a woman happy. Oh, and chocolate, BDSM, MFM Mènage and sex in an elevator.
This collection of 4 stories contains explicit language and graphic erotic sexual content. It is intended for mature audiences 18 years of age or older.
Lovebites is available on Amazon: http://viewbook.at/lovebites

*****

Author bio:

I’ve been writing pretty much since I was able to read. I juggle fundraising for charities, family life and writing with varying success. My children have mostly flown the nest and I live in a small village in North Yorkshire, England with my husband and some chickens. I write in an old caravan in the garden where I can’t be tempted to procrastinate on the internet.

Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/queenieblackauthor/?fref=ts

Twitter: @queenieblackwr1

*****

GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://www.writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/queenie-black/

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

A Paranormal Tidbit

10628798_10152952694540561_1170280432287907008_oIf you’ve been keeping up with my online serial, In The Flesh, then you know that I’m in the dark paranormal zone at the moment, and there are a lot more connections with what I’m writing than you can easily guess at the moment. Since I’m off in London this weekend for the Romance Novelist Association Conference, I decided to continue the paranormal theme and make it easier on myself and hopefully fun for you by offering up the 1st chapter of my paranormal M/M erotic novella, Landscapes from the fabulous Brit Boys: On Boys anthology. Enjoy!

Brit Boys: On Boys

From east to west and north to south, these British boys are having a blast in and out of the bedroom with the men of their dreams. They’re topping and bottoming from London to Cardiff, living out fantasies in the wildest fells and hooking up while serving HRH Queen Elizabeth II.

With passion and lust the name of the game, nothing is off limits. Throw in honed muscles, high-strength testosterone and an accent to die for and there is nothing they can’t do and no one they can’t get in this world or another.


Landscapes
 Blurb:

Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’s life?

 

Landscapes

Chapter 1

Back on British Soil

It wasn’t that Reese Chambers made my cock hard – though he did. It wasn’t that he was beautiful in a rugged, leather and stone sort of way – though he was. It was that Reese Chambers moved me in ways I had not been moved in a very long time, in ways that I, who never lacked just the right words to express myself, found my vocabulary inadequate to the task. Talia would call it an obsession, and maybe it was; from my first sight of him mantling his sketchpad like a bird of prey over a fresh kill, alone in the midst of the crowded pub, I could think of nothing else. It was my first night back on British soil. It is said that you can never go back home, and it had been a very long time for me. But the need to come home was in my blood like fever these past years, as were so many needs that never left me, but only sharpened with the passing of time.

Next to me, Talia droned on about suitable residences in Cumbria, about the leasing of a car and the making of necessary renovations. The Twa Dogs was busy for a Monday night with tourist season past, but being invisible was sometimes easier in a crowd. As Talia talked business in softly accented English, the men at the bar gave her admiring glances. Along with the permeating waft of warm bodies and fermented barley, I smelled the subtle spice of curiosity and the yeasty bread scent of simmering lust from men who knew the woman they admired was out of their league. Besides being excellent at her job, Talia was good for keeping attention off me. But there was little less than a lightning bolt that would have taken my attention off Reese Chambers.

He sat at a table near the exit, sketching in an open pad, his pint gone wanting as he lost himself in his work. I admire people of focus; people whose work is also their calling. They seem to exist on a different plane from the rest of us, and no one or nothing outside can touch them. I very much wanted to touch Reese, to draw his attention away, to hear his voice, to perhaps solicit a smile from him, to know that for a moment his attention was on me. But I’m a cautious man, and time is always on my side. The anticipation of knowing Reese Chambers in itself was to be savoured, not unlike just that right amount of intoxication, when warmth and relaxation take one to the boarders of euphoria, but no further.

‘There are three places that might be suitable.’ I returned my attention to Talia. ‘One in the Borrowdale Valley and two near Ullswater. But perhaps you should consider going back to High View, after all it is your –’

‘Find out who he is.’ I nodded in Reese’s direction. Before Talia could protest, I continued. ‘I have a roof over my head, and I’ve fed. There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.’

Talia’s cheekbones flushed with the rush of blood, and heaven knew how beautiful she was in such a state, porcelain pale skin, midnight blue eyes and hair, which was so close to black that no one but I would have noticed all of the other colours in her silken tresses. She knew what it was I asked of her, and she knew the delicate line she tread on the rare occasion when I did ask. A tremor passed up her long, straight spine, and a bloom of tiny goose bumps textured her bare arms. It would not be painless, what I asked, and I knew she feared it as much as she longed for it. I could hear the thud thud of her pulse in the thin, silken skin of her throat as she swallowed the sudden dryness of fear. ‘What do you want to know?’

I leaned forward to rake the tip of my thumb against the pulse point in her temple. ‘Everything, Talia. I want to know all of it. And when you know, come directly to me. I don’t care what time it is when you return.’

Only her eyelids fluttered her acknowledgment, for an anxious moment shuttering the brilliance of her eyes before she drank back her Merlot and excused herself to the ladies to freshen up.

I took little notice of her leave, but like a child left alone with the candy jar he couldn’t reach, I sat taking the object of my lust into my hungry senses, watching the muscles of his arms move beneath fine bronze skin as he sketched, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest, as though what he sketched excited him, as though he were breathless from his engagement with it. His hair, unkempt and in need of a cut, was the colour of newly-forged bronze and the rapid shudder of his pulse against his throat made my lips tingle with the need to be pressed there where the life force flowed so close to the surface, there with his excitement, there with his passion. I licked my lips tasting the copper salt of my own sweat, and opened my mouth just slightly, just enough to take in the scent of him — the heat of his body, the cinnamon bite of his intense focus, and my cock shuddered heavily against my trousers. For a brief moment the sound of my own blood rushing through my body drown out the dart game behind me, the low drone of a football match on the big screen TV, the clink of glasses, the shuffle of feet. I heard only the rising of my blood and the scratching of his pencil against the rough-textured paper. For a moment, I sensed his own lust, harnessed tightly and focused through a needle’s eye on his creation and, God, I wanted that focus on me.

Before Talia returned, I stood to leave, and as I brushed passed him I smelled damp earth and verdant growth, I smelled a spark freshly kindled, and at the back of my throat I could taste his essence, as though passion itself had been distilled from the lusting creative force of the human soul. I inhaled once, then again, then I left the pub, having no idea just how powerful my lust for Reese Chambers really was, nor the sequence of events it would set off.

 

It was nearing dawn when Talia returned to our accommodations smelling of sex, as I knew she would if she were to obtain for me what I wanted. By then my blood burned in my veins, and my body felt too close to me, as though the flesh that I dwelt in suddenly conspired to crush me with its demands. And though I knew that Reese Chambers could not have refused her even if she had come to him as a toothless, foul-smelling hag, I hated her that he had poured himself into her body while I had been left with only my fantasies kindling my lust to an inferno.

Though my need was such that my flesh was fevered and my cock an insistent throb, until she returned, I held myself contained within skin that felt too thin. When she saw the state that I was in, she pulled the heavy drapes with an efficient tug, then with a nod of her head, motioned me to follow her down into the basement room that had been prepared for me. When she turned to me at the foot of the bed, before she could opened her kiss-bruised lips to speak, I took her mouth, starving for the first taste of him, the taste of his saliva, the taste of his blood, mixed with hers. She’d bitten him; he’d bitten her back. He was rough, and he liked to be treated rough, but he kept that to himself. He was embarrassed by it. His lips were slightly chapped from so much time in the sun and wind, and they’d slid against hers, suckling and stroking and pressing until her mouth opened to his. With ravenous laps of my tongue, I tasted him in her mouth, and she held back the moan of response, so I could hear the echoes of his groans, heavy with need he’d not satisfied in awhile, and I felt kinship in my own unsatisfied needs. Images of him flashed through my head. Christ, his eyes were green, dark green like the evergreen forests of the north, and he kept them open when he kissed her, taking her in with his eyes.

I shoved aside the silk of her low bodice exposing her breasts, breasts that his hands had cupped. My nipples peeked to sharp aching points at the feel of his calloused thumbs raking, pressing and releasing. I breathed in his scent on her breasts, burying my face in her cleavage, licking the taste of salty, slightly picante maleness, sniffing and tasting until I could stand it no more. In one violent jerk, I tore the dress all the way down and shoved it off her shoulders, away from the flesh he had licked and kissed and mounted. I cried out at the feel of him, weight on one elbow, knee spreading her thighs, fingers opening her heaviness, anxious to penetrate, anxious to relieve his need. And then, with Talia free of clothing, Reese Chambers’ essence filled the room. Talia’s panties were still wet with his semen mixed with her humid desire, and I tore them from her and forced her onto her stomach, onto her hands and knees, so that it was not her face I saw, but his that I imagined. With hands on her hips, I raised her bottom in the air and spread her still swollen, still slippery folds with fingers made awkward by my arousal, letting the scent of his hot bread and honey release intoxicate me. Then I buried my face in her snatch and, as I ate his lust from her, I knew him.

He was Cumbrian born and bred, and his accent was the soft lilting sound of the fells. He was a landscaper and a gardener by trade. His hands held the magic of the earth and his mind conceived ideas for beautiful outdoor spaces; those he liked best were patterned after Renaissance and medieval gardens. He was homesick and heartsick. He’d gone to Surrey to work with his father because the money was good. But his father had died recently and he had returned home to Cumbria. He didn’t care if he had to work in a pub or muck stables. He wanted to be home. He missed the people and he missed the fells. He missed the simpler, more honest rhythms of life. He was shy, even a bit reclusive. He read voraciously and widely, he liked astronomy and he was afraid of snakes, though it embarrassed him to admit it. He hadn’t had sex in a long time, and found it better to have a wank session than a meaningless encounter. The facts of him, the details of his life raced at me in a flood I consumed ravenously with each lap of my tongue.

As I ate Talia I felt the shape of his face, the curve of his chin, the rise and fall of his chest as he had done the same. I felt the soft tuft of bronze curls nestled between the hard rise of his pecs and the courser, deeper curls that caressed his testicles and his cock when it was at rest, but it hadn’t been at rest. How many times had he taken her? He was thick enough to fill her and the friction of him inside was delicious and maddening. The shape of him – I wanted to caress the shape of him, with my hands, with my mouth, and the taking of his essence from Talia was an act of ripping away something that should have been mine. As I bruised her arse with kneading fingers and, as I licked the last of his release from her, she managed a breathless moan. ‘Take the rest. God, Alonso, take the rest, and release me.’

I could hold back no longer. I rose on my knees behind him, and now it was truly him I saw as clearly as if Talia had brought him to me physically. With one hand wrestling at my fly, the other fondled his tender opening, careful as he lay there beneath me, legs parted, bottom exposed. In my mind’s eye, I would be gentle. He had not been with a man before. That I would be his first excited far more than just my cock. In my mind’s eye, I would make it good for him. I would make love to him as not even Talia could do. But in reality I was once removed, ripping vicariously the love I wanted from a succubus, and I was unable to do so graciously or without malice. When my cock was free, I took her ruthlessly, the sound of her closely entwined pain and pleasure far away. And once I had penetrated her depths, I took the rest of what I wanted, a connection, a connection that I could hold on to. I ripped it from her as surely as if I had ripped her skin from her flesh, fisting her hair and yanking her head back, bruising her hips, biting her shoulders.

And when I had savaged her for having him, and yet blessed her that she had done such for me, when I had ripped a release from her, then I felt him rising up, erect and needing to come, I felt him penetrating, deep and hard, varying his pace, torturing himself, torturing me as he had tortured her, as my own balls ached under their weight. The muscles of his buttocks clenched and released with each thrust and the look on his face as he came was pain and pleasure and vulnerability, and then distance. I took Talia cruelly, as she knew I would, punishing her for the betrayal that I had forced upon her even as every thrust, every bite, every bruising of her delicate skin, skin that smelled of his sweat, of his breath, of his semen, brought the reality of Reese Chambers, his pain, his dreams, his passion into me, deep into me. As she fucked him, I fucked her, by the very act, taking back from her what she had taken from him, every detail of who he was, alive with each thrust, with each bite, with each bruise that I dealt her.

And when I had used her up, taking from her every memory, every nuance of Reece Chambers, when she collapsed beneath me with a sob, I felt the brush of my own guilt, my own shame, as I always did when I used her so. I spoke gently to her, thanking her, calming her as I bathed her and gently cleaned the aftermath of me from her body. Then I lifted her in my arms and took her to her room. She was weakened from the experience, as she always was, and when she nuzzled in against my chest, I opened the small incision above my left nipple, and when the blood beaded up, I pulled her close so that she could feed and heal. I stroked her hair and watched, imagining that it were him feeding from me, and feeling myself hardening again at the thought.

When she was sated and sleeping peacefully, I watched her for a moment. She would need all of her strength in the days to come, for she would be my conduit. She would be my connection to Reese Chambers. I knew that above ground it was now full daylight, and I could now sleep with the essence of him against my flesh, in my flesh. And tomorrow, we would begin plans to move back to High View, where I would most definitely have need of a landscaper.

 

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Brit Boys: On Boys Blurb: 

From east to west and north to south, these British boys are having a blast in and out of the bedroom with the men of their dreams. They’re topping and bottoming from London to Cardiff, living out fantasies in the wildest fells and hooking up while serving HRH Queen Elizabeth II.

With passion and lust the name of the game, nothing is off limits. Throw in honed muscles, high-strength testosterone and an accent to die for and there is nothing they can’t do and no one they can’t get in this world or another.

 

Bodywork

By Ashe Barker

 

Alex is doing okay. His body repair shop makes enough to live on, he has a decent apartment, life is fine. That all changes when he runs into Graham in a supermarket car park – literally. He offers to fix the damage to Graham’s car free of charge. The sparks soon fly, and the heat between them has nothing to do with welding equipment.

 

Breaking the Marine

By M.K. Elliott

 

Brandon Rosen hadn’t planned for his final night before enrolling in the Royal Marines to involve a hot stranger and a pub car park. And he certainly hadn’t planned for that same hot stranger to turn up at the barracks in the form of his Drill Instructor, Corporal Will Stewart. In the testosterone fuelled environment of the training camp, can Brandon and Will overcome past pains and face up to what they really want? Or will the Royal Marine Commando School break their relationship before it even gets started?

 

Love on Location

By Lucy Felthouse

 

When Theo Samuels heads off to film on location in the village of Stoneydale, he’s expecting drama to take place on camera, not off. But when he meets gorgeous local lad, Eddie Henderson, he struggles to ignore his attraction. A relationship between the two of them would be utterly impractical, yet they’re drawn together nonetheless. Can they overcome the seemingly endless hurdles between them? Or is their fling destined to remain as just that?

 

Landscapes

By K D Grace

 

Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’s life?

 

The Chase

By Lily Harlem

 

Steve’s killing time working in a comedy club. Why not? It makes him laugh and both the clientele and the comedians are not just fit but also great company. One stand up joker decides to create a wild goose chase for Steve and his ex Robert. Cavorting around Cardiff on a frosty night, however, does more than just show them the way to a threesome, it also reveals the reasons why they should give each other one more shot.

 

Dish of the Day

By Clare London

 

Richie’s sunk all his hopes and savings into a new restaurant in south London promoting British ingredients and recipes. His best friends Craig and Ben should be around to help him celebrate the grand opening, but it looks like it’s all heading for disaster – until his friends step in to tell him some home truths. Then they’ll help him relax and enjoy their loving, intimate menu instead.

 

E2

By Sarah Masters

 

When Archie meets Dan after The Change, he realises there is no such thing as a random meeting of soul mates, it’s all mapped out in the stars. Now all he’s got to do is hope those orbiting planets stay in alignment and true love finds him again.

 

Locked Out

By Josephine Myles

 

Getting accidentally locked out of his hotel room on Valentine’s Day night is embarrassing enough for teacher Martin Cooper, but the fact he’s stark naked makes it even worse. It doesn’t help that the one person he runs into is Rod, the gorgeous man he’d been checking out earlier in the hotel pool. But when Rod offers Martin a refuge, the night heats up. Now if only Martin could get the hang of this seduction business…

 

Awesome British M/M Authors

Ashe Barker

M K Elliott

Lucy Felthouse

K D Grace

Lily Harlem

Clare London

Sarah Masters

Josephine Myles

Need more Brit Boys? Hang out with the authors on Facebook by joining the dedicated Brit Boys: On Boys group and pin with the authors on Pinterest.

 

 

 

 

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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