Yay! New Release (well, re-release of an old classic, updated!)

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HisBeautifulSamurai24His Beautiful Samurai
Author: Sedonia Guillone
Series: Genjin/Holmes Mysteries
Genre: M/M; Mystery; Romantic Suspense
Length: Novel
eISBN: 9781937796013
MSRP: 8.99
You pay: 4.99

Cover Art: Les Byerley

Buy from Ai Press
Buy from Amazon Kindle | All Romance Ebooks

Publisher’s note: His Beautiful Samurai has been extensively revised for release with Ai Press. It is a VASTLY different story from the 2006 edition from Torquere Press.

Sex and murder don’t mix but Detective Toshiro Genjin and psychic John Holmes do…

John Holmes comes to Tokyo to help stop a killer. Through the use of his psychic abilities, he can help find out things that no one else sees. Toshi is a policeman who reluctantly accepts John’s help, but from their first touch, John knows he wants more than that. He wants all Toshi can give him, and the heat between them surprises, and delights him.

The modern killer, a historical murder of two samurai, and Toshi’s need to honor other commitments combine to make the blooming love between John and Toshi difficult. And dangerous. The more deeply they delve into the past, the more unsure the future looks. Could the heat between them be the only thing that can solve the mystery, despite all of the difficulties that stand in their way? Can they find a way to keep what is most precious to them? Haunting and powerful, His Beautiful Samurai is a murder mystery, a romance, and a study in the supernatural. Get your hands on it today!

Excerpt:

Chapter One
Tokyo, Japan, Present day

Toshi stared down at the fresh corpses. Around him, the flashbulbs of the crime scene photographers went off like tiny fireworks. Shimatta! He’d failed again and now stood, helpless, staring at the victims’ grisly fate.

His hands already encased in latex gloves, he pressed his palms together, steepled in front of him, and bowed his respect to the dead. As did his partner, Natsuka Yamamoto, beside him.

The victims of this third killing in nearly six months, their naked, stiffening bodies still intertwined, had been skewered. The weapon, as with the other victims, a samurai’s katana, long sword.

His stomach churned, as it never failed to do when he found the Ronin Killer’s victims.
Natsuka delicately covered the victims with a white cloth then approached Toshi, shaking his head sadly. The katana tented the cloth in the most macabre way. “You ready for them to go?”

Toshi sighed. Forensics had already done the preliminary, time and cause of death. As if they didn’t already know the cause. His hand went into the inner pocket of his jacket, rummaging for the cigarettes he’d made the mistake of trying to quit the week before. Then stopped. No smoking on a crime scene. He’d have to wait. “Go ahead,” he murmured to his partner. Natsuka nodded and went to give the order.

With his mind ticking off the ways he’d failed to prevent yet another killing, Toshi surveyed the room while the Identification Division people finished up. He began to look around. Though he wasn’t sure why. Not one crime scene had turned up any useful leads. All they had so far in all this time was that the form of the murders was identical and that the victims were either married people having an illicit affair or a couple together whose relationship was rocky.

Natsuka had a theory that the killer’s motive was at least in part a sick desire to keep them together. As good a motive as any. But that still didn’t explain the fact that each time they got a trace on a suspect, that same suspect ended up dead two days later back in their own home, dead from a fatal coronary and the word “Naomasa” carved into the deceased’s forehead. Autopsies showed that the wounds were self-inflicted moments before death. Men and women, both in service jobs, both solitary types. Profiling had gotten them that far. And only that far. Where were they getting the damned swords?

The murder weapons turned out to be original swords smithed by one Koto Naomasa, one of the great sword smiths of nineteenth century Japan. However, they’d been unable to trace where the weapons were coming from, and the expert they’d questioned knew of only one other original Naomasa in a private collection in the United States. They seemed to be coming out of thin air. The case was nothing but dead ends, literally and figuratively. There had to be a cult of some kind they’d yet to find. Somewhere in the shadows, another Charles Manson was sending out his brainwashed minions to kill.
Natsuka went to round up the hotel staff and to have the manager contact off-duty employees to come in for questioning.

As always, the room yielded no clues. It seemed the killer did what he always did. Entered the room, unnoticed by the lovers engaged in the act, speared them together then turned around and left. There was nothing to do now except wait for forensic reports and to speak with the staff.

Toshi watched the sheet-covered stretcher being carried out of the room. He shook his head, fighting down a wave of nausea. The sick feeling was as much from frustration as from horror. How the hell was he supposed to prevent further murders if the killer continued to slip through their fingers like sand on the beach? If he and Natsuka had been the only ones working on this case, he might have understood the difficulty of turning up leads, but a team of twenty men and women working around the clock?
His cell phone rang. Toshi pulled off a glove and retrieved the phone from his pocket. One glance at the ID window showed the caller was his superior. He took a deep breath.

“Moshi moshi. Keishi-san.”

“Keibu Genjin. Same situation as always?” The superintendant spoke in his gravelly voice.

He exhaled. “Yes, Keishi-san. I’m sorry.”

The chief’s irritation radiated through the phone line. “Next Tuesday makes six months. We’re not doing anything to promote the citizens’ faith in Tokyo’s police force.”
Toshi gritted his teeth and raked a hand through his hair, badly in need of trimming. Hunting a serial killer did not allow one time for such trivialities as personal grooming. Or sleep. “This is not the first time a serial killer has eluded the police.” Jack the Ripper and the Zodiac Killer were famous instances, of course, but there were many others all over the world that often never made headlines for more than a few days, never mind history. Long ago back at Berkley, Michael, who was on the graduate track to profiling, had told him about many of them who’d managed never to get caught. It was a terrible response, but the only one he had in the moment. He, himself, lived in this area and had a vested interest in keeping it safe. He’d often wondered how long it would be before a victim would turn out to be one of his neighbors. “We won’t rest until we have results.”
Keishi Ito grunted. “You and Yamamoto-san finish up there. Leave the other teams to finish the inquiries and come in. I have something to tell you.”

Toshi sighed. “Yes, sir.” He flipped his phone shut, dropped it into his jacket pocket, then pulled off the other glove. With the crime scene now secured, he and Natsuka would have to come back in and search the place again in the morning. Which was really only a few hours away. Good thing there was a Starbucks right by the station. Green tea just didn’t cut it at times like these.

Natsuka was at the doorway of the room, looking at him. “Hayao and his partner are still speaking to everyone currently in the hotel. So far, no one here has seen or heard anything suspicious. I’m having a disc made of the security tapes now. They’ll send them over as soon as they’re ready. Management is still looking for all the off-duty employees.

They’ll have them here in a couple of hours, they said.”

Toshi thanked him and told him what the chief had said. Natsuka grumbled and clapped a friendly hand on Toshi’s shoulder. “Come, I’ll run interference for you with the press.” The press had been swarming around the entrance of each crime scene, ever since the Ronin Killer had begun his rampage through East Tokyo.

Toshi nodded. “Thanks,” he murmured and went again for his cigarettes. He followed the older man down the hall, into the elevator. His partner for the last four years had become a good friend, more like the father and well-meaning older brother he’d never had. His own father, a high-ranking diplomat, had always been stern and distant, demanding perfection. Mazao Genjin hated that his son was a policeman. Policing was a job for the son of blue collar men, as he had put it from his place across the table at dinner so many years ago. Not for the son of a diplomat and descendant of a samurai family. As if such social ranks still applied to modern day society.

Unfortunately, he’d still not shaken the effect of four years at Berkley in California. All that personal freedom and…well…Michael, had gotten into his blood. He’d tried to blame Michael for his complete inability to readjust all these years back in Japan, for having fed his inner drive. But honestly, it was his own doing. Or, rather his nature. Since he could remember, he’d suffered the soul-searing hunger to find answers, to get to the truth and get dangerous sickos off the street so they couldn’t hurt anyone else. In fact, were it not for his Uncle Musashi, the one person in his life who encouraged him, he wasn’t so sure he would ever have returned to Tokyo. He was beholden to his uncle, in spite of Musashi’s protests to the contrary. Musashi needed him in a way he couldn’t define, but which had had the power to drag him back from the States, and from Michael.

So, here he was.

Halfway down to the lobby, he realized his body had already begun to tense, bracing himself for what the chief would have to say. It couldn’t be good.
* * * * *
Boston, Massachusetts

“In other world news tonight, in Tokyo, Japan, a serial killer has been terrorizing the eastern portion of the city for the last six months.”

John reached out to switch off the set, but something held him back.

“The Ronin Killer, has been dubbed so by Tokyo Metropolitan Police because of the use of a samurai sword to spear his victims.”

John sat at full attention, uncertain whether it was the military man in him, or the empathic psychic. Old habits didn’t just die hard, they went kicking and screaming. He stared at the screen. Police were loading sheet-covered corpses, apparently two bodies together, into the medical van outside of what appeared to be a fancy hotel. The top of the sheet protruded upward, attesting to the sword. It was obvious the killer had skewered his victims together. Christ…

“The Ronin Killer, so named after the masterless samurai warriors of Japan,” the anchorwoman went on, “refers to the manner in which the killer chooses his victims, seemingly at random, and then murders them with a samurai weapon. Police have been frustrated in the efforts to capture the Ronin Killer before his next strike. Their only clue is the manner in which two victims are killed at once, either in an embrace or during sexual intercourse.”

“Damn,” John murmured, a sick feeling rising in his gut. He continued to watch the footage.

“Police Inspectors Natsuka Yamamoto and Toshiro Genjin of the Criminal Investigation Bureau have been on the case since the first victims appeared nearly six months ago. They refused to comment on the string of murders.”

The cameras zoomed in on the two men. They were leaving the building. A middle-aged, shorter man walked in front of the other detective, seeming to shield him, but the cameras managed to catch glimpses of the second detective. A few seconds sufficed for John to see that the younger man was slim and handsome. John’s heart sped up slightly. The detective’s ebony hair framed an angular face in sexy layers that curled over his collar.
John watched the screen, his gaze glued on the taller figure of the young detective until he was no longer visible. The segment ended and John switched off the set. He shook his head. There was a time when he would have immediately booked a flight to Tokyo and turned up at the police station, offering his services to catch the killer. Hell, that Japanese detective was almost good-looking enough to pull him from his rest cure. However, his nerves were still shot from the series of cases he’d worked on with police over the last few years. Four months hadn’t proved to be enough of a vacation. His hands had only stopped shaking in the last week.

He pushed the image of that guy from his mind, fighting back the nagging spirals of heat whispering about in his long-neglected groin area. John Holmes filled his days with walks in the park, counseling at the VA, and whatever leisure and athletic activities would keep him fit between reading trashy detective novels and staring into space. No antique stores for him, nor any other place where the lives of the dead could crash in on him. No touching other people so he could experience all their grief and anguish and learn their deepest secrets. He didn’t even take his reading material from the library or get it at used bookstores because he’d sense the lives of the people who’d touched the book before him. He was resting until his own soul told him he was ready again.

His cell phone rang. The private, unlisted number that only his agent, Dick Watson had, not even his own family. Even though he was pretty close with his folks and siblings, he’d needed to reduce the number of times the phone rang. It had also been worth his peace of mind to invest in an agent to run interference with police stations, press and general curiosity mongers and tire kickers.

John’s stomach fluttered with a touch of premonition. “Dick? Hey.”
“Sorry to make the phone ring, mate.” The Aussie’s cheerful voice gave John momentary relief. “How are you?”

John sighed and leaned back in his chair. He propped his bare feet up on the glass coffee table. “The same. How’s the wife?”

“Sandy’s fine. She wants you to come to dinner soon.”

Dick and his family were the only people John allowed himself to socialize with since Brett had left. The pressure of a post-traumatic stress disorder suffering psychic as a lover had been too much for the guy. Yet, physical contact with him hadn’t been a joy either. Brett had secrets that, when John touched him, were no longer secrets. This combination really didn’t do a relationship good.

“That would be great.” John stared up at the ceiling. He definitely appreciated when someone else did the cooking. Baked beans from a can got awfully tiresome after a while.

“Is that why you called?”

Pause. Dick cleared his throat. “Um…well…no.”

The flutter in John’s gut kicked up again. “Don’t tell me.”

Sigh. “John, I really debated hard on this one. It’s the first call I’ve contacted you about in four months.”

John could only imagine how many calls Dick had actually turned down for him, in spite of the intense guilt he suffered. How many cases could be solved if he just helped? He just had to trust that his agent wouldn’t allow something like that to happen. Dick was shrewd and prudent and John trusted him implicitly. “All right, shoot.”

“Good man. Have you started watching the news again?”

“A bit here and there.”

Dick cleared his throat again. This was going to be a doozy. “Maybe you’ve heard about the serial murders in Tokyo? They’re calling them the Ronin killings, after the samurai?”
John felt his pulse throb in his wrist. This was too damn weird. “I just saw the clip a second before you called.” I saw that hot detective who’s on the case.

“Yeah, well, the third murder just happened yesterday, taking into account the time difference. And about five minutes ago, I got a call from the superintendent of that district, asking, no pleading, for your services. They’re desperate to get this guy before he kills again.”

“Naturally.” John’s heartbeat quickened slightly.

“Of course the airfare, lodging, et cetera is all taken care of. I’ll take care of briefing the police on what you do and what to expect when you examine a crime scene, although the superintendent I spoke with says he’s read about you in their police journals.”

“How nice. I’m famous.”

Dick chuckled. “Better than infamous, I suppose, mate.”

John joined him in the laughter. “Yes, I suppose.”

The moment of humor passed and they were both silent. John sensed Dick’s hesitation on the other end.

“If you want to take some time to decide, mate…”

John sat up in his chair. He sighed. “No. I don’t need time on this one. I’m tired of refusing to help. I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

“You’re a good man, John. Are you sure?”

John nodded even though Dick couldn’t see him. “I’m sure.”

“Are you ready for the briefing?”

“Shoot.”

“Just the bare facts. The victims are found slain with the sword. Roughly twenty-four to forty-eight hours later, a man or woman is found, dead of a coronary after having carved the name ‘Naomasa’ on his or her own forehead. Their fingerprints match the fingerprints on the murder weapon each time.”

“Jesus.” The details of murder never failed to horrify.

“Tell me about it. So far the police have not been able to establish a connection. No cults or religious groups that would be engaged in such activities. Nothing.”
John sighed. “That’s where I come in.”

“That’s right. Anyway, I’ll have your ticket for you this evening when I pick you up for the airport.”

“Dick, you’re the best.” Seriously, John didn’t know how he’d cope without his agent’s help.

Dick chuckled. “So my wife is fond of telling me. See you tonight, mate.”

Letting my yaoi flag fly :)

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After years of writing erotic romances (eight, to be exact), the time has come to realize that a large part of my expression as a writer comes through yaoi-inspired fiction. I have struggled with that since I got hooked on writing M/M back in 2006 beginning with Danny’s Dragon (Total-E-Bound).

That discover unleashed an inner writing revolution in me. Stories poured out right and left, including my beloved White Tiger series beginning with Men of Tokyo: Sudden Bliss (Total-E-Bound. And the pre-quel is still in the works. Close to being finished!) However, at the same time, the corner of me that lurks in most writers, the one that wants their books to take the world by storm (a la Harry Potter or Bella and Edward), has struggled against the tendency toward more niche culture fiction simply because the audience reached is so much smaller. However, after time passed and the driving need to write the way I write continued, I have heard from readers whose lives have been touched by my stories. Are those people any less important than the masses who will never know my stories exist. Certainly not! They are ultra-important and I have come to my senses, realizing that if you touch even one life, if one person feels uplifted or has gotten through the day because something they read from you helped them, then that is priceless and I wouldn’t have it otherwise.

Of course, I still get pangs for authorial fame and fortune now and again, especially when I go onto Amazon and there is posted yet another story of wild fame and success from someone who was previously waiting tables or struggling with the bills and now has bought their family a seven-room mansion with their royalty checks. lol. But the power of having touched someone else’s life in a positive way, of having uplifted someone’s spirit always wins out over empty desires and I am a happier, more fulfilled person for it. I love being able to write stories that are true to my heart and incorporate the lessons I have learned about love – one of the most powerful being that, in spite of the maxim about it being better to give than to receive, that actually, being able to accept love is one of the most powerful forms of giving it.

I hope to be able to convey that message on a larger scale through my writing. But NOT because I’m hungry for fame and wealth, but because there is a message that can reach a love-starved world, a world full of terrorism, hunger, endless suffering. If there is any way what I have learned can be passed on to help others on a more widespread level, I hope to be able to do that. And a good start is where I am, with the people whom I already do reach. I am so, so grateful to them for reading my work and letting me know when they have enjoyed it. (And for the ones who have criticism, I learn how I can improve it). Thank you!

Guest author: YA GLBT rising star John H. Ames!!

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If you’ve been following the Next Best Thing blog hop, you may have already come across John H. Ames, a new young author on the growing YA GLBT scene. Ames has penned the most amazing high school saga for the young and the restless, a series that speaks to any young person who has ever been bullied or made to feel different and unworthy because he or she is gay.
Ames is a rising voice of the new generation who will not be bullied or let him/herself be told that love and romance is impossible, even in a place where peer pressure is at its most intense. And I have had the great honor and privilege of getting to know him and working with him. He is an author to watch with more groundbreaking YA stories finding life at the tip of his pen. Let’s learn more about this rising star and his incredible, compassionate work.Q. Juan, please tell us a bit about yourself and how you came write such a cool young adult series as Surviving Elite High.
A. Well, my name is Juan H. Alvarado and I was born in El Salvador C.A. I currently reside in Belize and began writing in 2008. After receiving positive feedback, I completed several full-length novels under my pen name, John H. Ames. My first completed set of novels is the Surviving Elite High series. Surviving Elite High was inspired by Jeff Erno’s novel, Dumb Jock. I absolutely loved that book and connected so much with the story and its characters. I wouldn’t be here if I had have never read Jeff Erno’s novel. I should take the time to thank him. Thank you, Mr. Jeff Erno.

Q. What are the inspirations for your story lines and characters? As a young person in Belize, what made you want to set your books in the United States and what is it like for you writing about a different place?
A. Several people and tragedies in my life inspired my novel. I went through bullying and sexual abuse when I was in high school and kept it to myself. I regret so much never speaking up, but guess what? Now I am speaking up against bullying and sexual abuse in my novels. No one should go through what I went through and I’m trying to bring awareness about these issues with my writing. The reason why I keep placing the United States as my setting on my stories is simply because there is no market for GLBT novels here in Belize. Being gay here is actually punishable by the law so a gay novel would be an outrage to Belizeans. So, I have to keep my writing a secret from the Belizean public by using a penname.
It is very difficult to write about an American setting. I have never been to the United States and all I can do is read novels that have an American setting and take it from there. Thank God that I have an American editor who can correct my mistakes. I would be nowhere without her.

Q. It is painfully apparent in the SEH saga that you feel an urgency around bullying/sexual abuse. I admire you for not shying away from graphic portrayals in your work. What have you found are readers’ responses to this dark aspect to the SEH saga?
A. Bullying and sexual abuse are very serious topics. Hundreds if not thousands of teens are going though bullying and sexual abuse every day. Several fans have contacted me telling me that what I write has basically happened to them. I am saddened by their experiences and they even wish that someone would have written about these issues earlier or when they were growing up. They are actually happy and proud that I took a step forward to bring these topics into the light. And to be honest, I am shocked that only a few authors write about them. Why should we keep hiding them and pushing them away? This is the real and raw reality of life. These topics should be more popular so we can help and protect our future youths of the world.
Wow, thank you so much for your candor and unflinching approach to issues that need desperately to be addressed! Before we go, where can readers find you and your books on the web?
My readers can find me in several places.
My Official Website: http://jhabooks.webs.com/
My Facebook Pages: http://www.facebook.com/JohnHenryAmes | http://www.facebook.com/SurvivingEliteHigh
Twitter: @JohnHenryAmes

The first book, Surviving Elite High is available from Budding Moon Press and continues with Surviving Elite High: Senior Year and Surviving Elite High: Loving James at Ai Press.

Twin Lurve and The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

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Week 26: THE NEXT BIG THING BLOG HOP
There are the books everyone has heard about: Twilight, Hunger Games, Fifty Shades of Gray. But what about all those books written by people you’ve never heard of? Some of them are treasures, just waiting to be found, and that’s what this blog hop is all about: the books you might not have heard about, but that you might end up loving.

This blog hop is like a game of tag. One author posts and tags five other authors who link back to their website the next week and tag five new authors. If you follow the blog hop long enough, you’re bound to find some books you’ll love! Maybe you’ll even discover a book that ends up being the next big thing.

I was tagged by WT Prater. You can learn more about her book, The Six Sides of Love (The Chosen Family Chronicles- Volume One) on her blog!

And so, without further ado, the questions for this blog hop . . .

1: What is the working title of your book? Men of Tokyo: Forbidden Cravings (Series: White Tigers)

2: Where did the idea come from for the book? The two heroes, Mod and Tatou, are recurring characters in my White Tigers series and the time has finally come for their story to be told.

3: What genre does your book fall under? Contemp GLBT fiction, Drama, Erotic Romance, Multi-cultural and…ahem…Twincest

4: Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition? Ooh, hmm, let me think. For these guys I think Dean Cain in a dual role would work just fine, although I’m certainly open to suggestions. :)

5: What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book? Some cravings will not be denied, no matter how taboo…

6: Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency? My book will be published by Ai Press although the other books in the series are currently available at Total-E-Bound Publishing.

7: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript? I’m not even sure at this point because I am also a publisher and have to edit other authors’ work. It’s been close to a year and I’m just closing in on finishing.

8: What other books would you compare this story to within your genre? Any M/M erotic romances that contain Twincest would compare.

9: Who or What inspired you to write this book? Honestly, my readers have inspired this particular title. I had thought the White Tigers series basically written out and wasn’t going to write Mod and Tatou’s story. But I’ve had so much praise and support from readers who love this series I realized that it would be selfish to end it there.

10: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest? Hmm, not sure. I guess for readers who enjoy yaoi style M/M and/or M/M set in Japan would enjoy this story. I write the elements that draw me to a story, so people of similar interests will be drawn too.

Here is a list of authors who will be joining the hop for week 27 on January 2, 2013. I hope you’ll visit their blogs next week and learn more about their books. Maybe one of them will become your new favorite author! And with that . . . Tag . . . YOU’RE IT! . . . .Mya and D.H. Starr

Latest good stuff

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Hi everyone – Sorry I haven’t been able to post any personal stuff lately. Since I opened Ai Press, working as a publisher leaves less time for writing. But I assure you I am hard at work on the next White Tigers book, Men of Tokyo: Forbidden Cravings. If you’ve read the series, then you’ll know the gorgeous twins, Mod and Tatou haven’t had their story told yet. So please, stay tuned for that!

In the meantime, in case you haven’t heard, this is my latest release with hot M/M author D.H. Starr. We are pleased and happy to bring you our favorite theme in this collection of novellas. My story, Blind Love is set in the same world as Flying Fish. If you’ve read that story, you’ll remember Genji’s fellow kabuki acting troupe member Aoki, who helped Genji with his makeup and covered for him when his lover came to see him in his dressing room. Well, Aoki doesn’t get his own samurai ry, BUT, he plays a key (and enticing role) in this story as well. Hope you’ll check it out!

Friends to Lovers
Authors: D.H. Starr; Sedonia Guillone
Genre: M/M; Anthology
eISBN: 9781937796174
MSRP: 7.99
You pay: 5.79

Cover art: Les Byerley

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What do an advertising executive, an Olympic skater and an 18th century samurai have in common? Each is in love with his best friend and knows he’s found his soul mate. But is Fate destined to give him his heart’s desire? A timeless theme explored in three sizzling M/M stories by two of today’s favorite authors, D.H. Starr and Sedonia Guillone.

It Was Always You (D.H. Starr) A drama club geek and a consummate jock—hardly a formula for friendship. Yet Caleb Richards and Kevin O’Brien have been best friends since high school. Kevin’s free spirited ways brought Caleb out of his shell, and Caleb introduced Kevin to a world outside of sports. When Kevin came out to Caleb as gay, all the things he’d thought were wrong about himself suddenly seemed right…except for his inability to say the four words that could open the door to his ultimate happiness: I love you, Kevin. Years later, when Caleb finally faced his fear and plans to finally tell Kevin, “It was always you,” he’s a bit too late: Kevin tells him he’s found someone. How will a friendship ever become more now?

Blind Love (Sedonia Guillone) After a harrowing seventeen-year separation, Hirata Morimasa leaves his home and secure future to search for his childhood friend, Sho. Blinded by illness when they were children, Sho was sent away, apprenticed to a blind masseur (an anma) to learn his trade, and then disappeared. Desperate to find the other half of his heart and soul, Hirata willingly sacrifices the prestige and security of his father’s dojo to find him. When an anma who looks exactly like Sho crosses his path in front of a gambling parlor one day, the man flatly denies he is Sho. Hirata knows better and is determined to get the truth…and to get back the friend he’d lost. However, even though Hirata knows in his bones this man is his soul mate, Sho has…changed…in ways Hirata could not have prepared for in his wildest imaginings, changes that could continue to keep them apart…forever.

Skating For Gold (D.H. Starr) Joined by sorrow, Olympic figure skating hopeful Devon Hayes met champion Lance Dawes at a time when both their worlds were falling apart. Devon lost his mother to cancer and Lance’s family rejected him for being gay. When Devon leaves for college, a door seems to close on any hopes for something more than friendship…until Fate provides a second chance. Devon returns home to train with Lance. As the Olympic trials draw closer and their love grows stronger, the tug-of-war between desire and ambition threatens to ruin everything. If they can’t discover what matters most, they might end up with nothing.

Excerpt:

New Release! Yay!!

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I’m so pleased and happy to announce this new release with my friend and colleague D.H. Starr. He’s such an awesome M/M Romance author that I’m thrilled to have my work included in the same book as his with a theme that we both adore. Hope you’ll check it out! Warmly, Sedonia

Friends to Lovers
Authors: D.H. Starr; Sedonia Guillone
Genre: M/M; Anthology
eISBN: 9781937796174
MSRP: 7.99
You pay: 5.79

Cover art: Les Byerley

PDFAdd to Cart|MOBIAdd to Cart|EPUBAdd to Cart
View Cart

Buy from Amazon Kindle| BN Nook| AllRomanceEbooks

What do an advertising executive, an Olympic skater and an 18th century samurai have in common? Each is in love with his best friend and knows he’s found his soul mate. But is Fate destined to give him his heart’s desire? A timeless theme explored in three sizzling M/M stories by two of today’s favorite authors, D.H. Starr and Sedonia Guillone.

It Was Always You (D.H. Starr) A drama club geek and a consummate jock—hardly a formula for friendship. Yet Caleb Richards and Kevin O’Brien have been best friends since high school. Kevin’s free spirited ways brought Caleb out of his shell, and Caleb introduced Kevin to a world outside of sports. When Kevin came out to Caleb as gay, all the things he’d thought were wrong about himself suddenly seemed right…except for his inability to say the four words that could open the door to his ultimate happiness: I love you, Kevin. Years later, when Caleb finally faced his fear and plans to finally tell Kevin, “It was always you,” he’s a bit too late: Kevin tells him he’s found someone. How will a friendship ever become more now?

Blind Love (Sedonia Guillone) After a harrowing seventeen-year separation, Hirata Morimasa leaves his home and secure future to search for his childhood friend, Sho. Blinded by illness when they were children, Sho was sent away, apprenticed to a blind masseur (an anma) to learn his trade, and then disappeared. Desperate to find the other half of his heart and soul, Hirata willingly sacrifices the prestige and security of his father’s dojo to find him. When an anma who looks exactly like Sho crosses his path in front of a gambling parlor one day, the man flatly denies he is Sho. Hirata knows better and is determined to get the truth…and to get back the friend he’d lost. However, even though Hirata knows in his bones this man is his soul mate, Sho has…changed…in ways Hirata could not have prepared for in his wildest imaginings, changes that could continue to keep them apart…forever.

Skating For Gold (D.H. Starr) Joined by sorrow, Olympic figure skating hopeful Devon Hayes met champion Lance Dawes at a time when both their worlds were falling apart. Devon lost his mother to cancer and Lance’s family rejected him for being gay. When Devon leaves for college, a door seems to close on any hopes for something more than friendship…until Fate provides a second chance. Devon returns home to train with Lance. As the Olympic trials draw closer and their love grows stronger, the tug-of-war between desire and ambition threatens to ruin everything. If they can’t discover what matters most, they might end up with nothing.

Excerpt:
Skating for Gold (D.H. Starr)

Chapter One

Lance Dawes watched Devon glide gracefully along the pond’s frozen surface. In all of the years he’d coached Devon, he’d never met a man more focused or driven. Devon’s concentration on the quadruple jump, the one move he’d failed to master, was laser sharp. Digging the pick of his skate into the ice, Devon pumped his powerful quads, generating speed. His body lifted, sailing through the air. Lance counted each spin. One, two, three, four. C’mon. Now the landing. Lance held his breath. Devon’s arms hugged his torso, his body blurring from the speed of his rotations as he drew closer to the ground until his skate touched the ice. A triumphant thrill shot through Lance, but the victory was short-lived. Devon’s ankle wobbled and he toppled over, landing heavily on the ice. Fuck! He’s gonna be pissed.

Lance skated over to Devon, extending his hand. Without accepting the help, Devon pushed himself into an upright position. Despite the sour expression on Devon’s face, heat radiated through Lance. Just three years earlier, the man sitting on the ice had been a boy of seventeen. A lost, scared kid who needed training, friendship and encouragement. Back then, their five-year age difference had placed them in two different worlds. Lance thought of Devon with affection, like a kid brother, but certainly not romantically.

But Devon wasn’t a kid anymore. At twenty, even hunched over and angry, he radiated masculine perfection. Each muscle ran smoothly into the next. Bulges and ripples gleamed off the sheen of his sweat-covered skin. The way his broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist drew Lance’s eyes like a magnet. He had to forcibly break his gaze when it scanned over that rounded ass only to rest on a generous swell pressing at the front of Devon’s skating pants. His legs, tree-trunks of muscle, were proportionate to the rest of his body. He has a perfect skater’s body.

“Damnit. Why the fuck can’t I land the jump?” Seemingly oblivious to Lance’s attention, Devon placed his hands on the ground and pushed himself to his feet. “I thought I had it.” He skated until only a few feet separated them, and took the towel Lance held for him.

Lance draped a woolen jacket over Devon’s shoulders, his hands brushing across the tense muscles. Even accidental touches sent currents of pleasure straight to his groin. “No one’s getting the quadruple jump consistently yet.” Although true, his words wouldn’t matter to Devon. Aside from Devon’s physical flawlessness, he also held himself to the highest of standards. It was just another item on the lengthy list of things Lance found irresistible about the man.

“I don’t give a fuck about other skaters. I generated enough speed, got great height, and even completed all four rotations with enough time to prepare for my landing.” With a final dab at his forehead, Devon tossed the towel back to Lance. “So what’s wrong?”

“It’s your landing. You aren’t coming around enough with your foot. You need to make a full rotation with your blade or your balance will be off and you won’t land with stability.”
Devon squared his body, standing at his full six-foot-two height as he faced Lance. Despite the impressiveness of his physique, there was still something innocent and vulnerable in him. “You think?” Devon placed one hand on Lance’s shoulder for balance while gripping his blade with the other and pulling his leg up stretching his muscles. “I do feel unstable on the landing.”

The contact where Devon’s hand gripped Lance’s shoulder sent a heated excitement through Lance, despite the frigid chill of the February air. Deep blue eyes filled Lance’s vision. Piercing sky-blue eyes, the same hue as the color reflecting off the ice. It took him a moment to realize he needed to respond. The trust and openness of that gaze had a power over him like no other.

“Absolutely. Once you bring your foot all the way around before you actually touch down, you’ll nail it each and every time.”

Devon pulled the coat around him, leaning in and playfully nudging Lance with his shoulder. “Thanks, Coach.”

Lance chuckled, but he couldn’t shake the way Devon had smirked after nudging him, and he swore Devon winked at him before turning away. Is he…Nooooo! It couldn’t have been. I’m just projecting. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done here.” Better to boss the kid around than contemplate what had been on his mind ever since Devon returned from college. “And how many times have I told you not to call me Coach? I’m not your coach, I’m your friend who’s been on the Olympic team and who’s helping you get ready for the trials in Seattle next month.”

Devon flashed Lance a dismissive glance. “Sheesh. Sensitive much?” He winced after the words came out as he caught his tone.

The comment had come across harshly, but three years ago, Lance could have easily passed it off as a bratty kid action. Now, even the tone of Devon’s voice cut straight through him. “It makes me feel old.” Lance kicked at the snow.

Devon laughed and placed an arm over Lance’s shoulder. “You’re not old. We’re practically the same age now.”

Ignoring the comment, which echoed something he had spent too much time thinking about himself lately, Lance redirected the conversation. “We still need to go over the routine.”

Devon rolled his eyes then settling his gaze on Lance. “I need to head back to the farm. There’s a ton of work to be done, and Dad will do all of it if I don’t get home soon.”

Lance knew better than to argue with Devon about helping his father on the farm. He’d learned long ago what a waste of time and energy that was. Instead, he waited as Devon removed his skates and replaced them with clunky Doc Martens. He’s right, at twenty and twenty-five, we’re both men.

Getting excited about this! (And a hot little teaser…)

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I can’t tell you how excited I’m getting over this upcoming release. The friends-to-lovers theme has always been my favorite, truthfully, and a great many of the stories I write and have written are all about people who already love each other taking that step.(i.e. Aki’s Love Song, My Hot Muse, Soy Sauce Face)

The same goes for my friend and colleague, Doug Starr (a.k.a. D.H. Starr) and those of you who have read his signature piece, Meant For Each Other are already familiar with how beautifully he presents that theme in his stories.

On a personal level, I can say that’s pretty much what happened to me and so my writing most often contains an element of that – two people who were good friends but really were destined to have more, whether they knew it right away or not.

That said, here is a sneak peek!

What do an advertising executive, an Olympic skater and an 18th century samurai have in common? Each is in love with his best friend and knows he’s found his soulmate. But is Fate destined to give him his heart’s desire? A timeless theme explored in three sizzling M/M stories by two of today’s favorite authors, D.H. Starr and Sedonia Guillone. It Was Always You (D.H. Starr), Blind Love (Sedonia Guillone) and Skating For Gold (D.H. Starr)

Blind Love:

After a harrowing seventeen-year separation, Hirata Morimasa leaves his home and secure future to search for his childhood friend, Sho. Blinded by illness when they were children, Sho was sent away, apprenticed to a blind masseur (an anma) to learn his trade, and then disappeared. Desperate to find the other half of his heart and soul, Hirata willingly sacrifices the prestige and security of his father’s dojo to find him. When an anma who looks exactly like Sho crosses his path in front of a gambling parlor one day, the man flatly denies he is Sho. Hirata knows better and is determined to get the truth…and his friend back at his side. However, even though Hirata knows in his bones this man is his soulmate, Sho has…changed…in ways Hirata could not have prepared for in his wildest imaginings, changes that could continue to keep them apart…forever.

Excerpt (unedited):
They reached the riverbank and Sho released the guide rope whose end was tied to a pole a mere few steps from the river. “The water should be nice and warm,” he said and, with Hirata’s hand in his, inched down the bank, toward a large rock protruding from the water. The surface of the rock reached from the water to the grassy slope, its edge an arm’s length from Sho’s guide pole and serving almost as a kind of makeshift platform. Ichi-san had apparently set everything up for them perfectly, Hirata thought with a touch of bitterness. No sighted people needed.

Sho took the first step into the water. “Ahh, it’s beautiful.” He tugged Hirata’s hand. “Come, let’s have a bath, then I’ll wash your hair.”

Hirata followed Sho into the river. Admittedly, the sun felt glorious on his back while the cool water enveloped him up to the waist. In his heavy mood, he didn’t want to allow these things to give him enjoyment, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never been truly able to shut the wonder of life out, even in the depths of missing Sho.

Releasing Hirata’s hand, Sho dipped under the water, remained under for several seconds then came back up under a curtain of cascading water. “Ah, that’s wonderful,” he said with an uncharacteristically wide smile. “Go on, Hirata, wet your hair.”

Hirata paused, caught himself staring at Sho. Sunlight made the droplets of water clinging to Sho’s skin shine. Water beaded down Sho’s chest and abdomen, making small rivulets in the furrows between his muscles. Truly he appeared some sort of god in human form, standing there, the water lapping at his waist.

Sho’s smile faded. No doubt he felt Hirata’s gaze on him. “What are you waiting for?” he murmured, smoothing one hand over his closely shorn head. “Go under.”

Wordlessly, Hirata obeyed. He went under and opened his eyes. In the clear water, he had a perfect view of Sho’s legs, of his sloping thighs and calves, full of power. Sho had worn his loincloth into the water, but Hirata still caught a glimpse of the bulge in front.

Air ran out of his lungs and he surfaced. Since he’d taken the tie out of his hair before leaving the house, his now wet hair hung heavily over his shoulders. He pushed it back, off his face, his heart beating rather hard. A memory flashed in his mind, of the kabuki actor, Aoki, in sexual congress with Sho, riding him as if astride a horse. Hirata cleared his throat, dispelling the erotic image and its painful contrast to his own experience. “You were right.”

Sho’s smile returned. “Of course I am,” he said, dipping the washrag into the water and stepping toward Hirata. “Neither of us was ever one to stay indoors for any length of time.”

Before Hirata could answer, Sho was right in front of him. “Now, stand still and let me wash you so you don’t keep lifting your arm.”

“Tha-thank you.”

Sho lifted the washrag and sloshed it over Hirata’s back. Up, down, around, with the same caring touch he’d used in all his ministrations. Hirata tensed, in spite of how good the cloth felt against his skin, down his arms, under his arms then…over his chest and abdomen. Down below, his musuko stirred in his loincloth. The more Sho washed him, the more it hardened, rising until it pushed uncomfortably against the cloth. The sensation made Hirata feel oddly wild, abandoned, rather than uptight, as sexual desire usually made him feel.

Sho slung the washrag over his shoulder again and shifted around so that he stood once again at Hirata’s back. “Dip into the water once more time,” he said, “so I can get your scalp clean.”

Again Hirata obeyed and then rose up again. When he did so, Sho reached up. Burrowing his fingers into Hirata’s wet hair, he began to rub Hirata’s scalp vigorously in small circles.

Immediately, Hirata’s whole body relaxed. He closed his eyes and let his head loll back a bit. Sho’s touch was heavenly. And…he thought, feeling wanton again…he wanted it all over his body. Everywhere. “What about the rest of me?” he asked.

Sho’s hands stilled. “Excuse me?”

“The other parts of me, below the water. Don’t you wash them too?”

“You don’t need to raise your arm in order to wash there,” Sho answered. “You can do that yourself.” He fell silent and resumed his work on Hirata’s scalp.

Sho’s response made that testy feeling resurge. Hirata’s misery redoubled. Like a cloud over the sun, it blocked out the pleasure of Sho’s fingers on his scalp, the sun on his skin, and the beauty of Sho’s bare physique. “If I were Aoki,” he mumbled, “you’d gladly wash my nether parts.” The words flew from him, beyond control. After all, Sho had spoken frankly and with brutal honesty last night. Why shouldn’t he do the same now?

Sho’s hands left his hair. “Would I?”

Tension returned, gripping Hirata’s muscles with such force, his neck began to ache. “I believe so. I saw you and him with my own eyes.”

The water churned with Sho’s step back, away from Hirata. “So, because I lay with Aoki, that means I would do whatever anyone bids of me? Is that what I am? A manservant?”

“No! That’s not what I meant.” Blood rushed hot into Hirata’s face. It flowed through his veins like liquid fire.
The erection in his loincloth tightened yet more.

“Then what did you mean?” Sho’s cheeks bloomed with red and his nostrils flared.

“I meant that…I meant…” Hirata couldn’t finish. The fight left him suddenly and the burn of anger turned to the burn of shame. His own words spiraled in his mind. Unseemly things that reminded him of the way Sozaemon had spoken to him that night in his bedchamber as he forced himself onto Hirata’s struggling form. He hung his head. “I’m sorry, Sho. I’m being cruel. I didn’t mean anything. Forgive me.”

Sho was quiet a moment. “No, I’m sorry, Hirata. Perhaps the way I bathed you made you feel…” He cleared his throat. “Teased.”

A Bunch of Hot Guys and Me

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Please forgive me. I just couldn’t help myself. A work I created and populated, born of the man in my life who means everything to me and the path my life has taken, has become so much a part of me that I couldn’t fight the need anymore.

What need am I talking about? Simply, my need, as an author and person, to allow myself to spend more time in this world, the world of the White Tigers. You might ask, well, if you love it so much, of course, that seems perfectly natural! Why wouldn’t you write as many stories as you can? Especially when there is a definite group of readers (bless all of you deep in my heart!) who also love that world.

It wasn’t so simple. Even though I adore the White Tigers and have gotten untold amounts of satisfaction and pleasure in writing this series, I was younger, less experienced and carried a strong belief that I had burned myself out, written myself out, that the series was done, nothing left, even though I had two more stories in mind (i,e, that of the twins Mod and Tatou and that of Jin and Wu Li who make an appearance in Men of Tokyo: Sudden Heat. I didn’t realize that it would be best just to continue this eries and not worry about writing books I believed would be more popular. Now I have taken the time to write to people who have signed the White Tigers Fanlist as well as all those good-hearted kind and supportive readers on sites like Facebook and Goodreads who have personally told me how much they loved the series or have written one after the other reviews saying how much they loved it. Yet others have written to me personally and expressed how much the White Tigers stories have been comforting, helped them in their lives and moved them deeply. How could I have been so short-sighted?!

Once I understood this truth, I set about to fixing it immediately and within an hour had half of the first chapter done of the next book in the series, Men of Tokyo: Forbidden Cravings, the story of Mod and Tatou, the twins who are so mischevous and lovable. They are crazy about Quan Chan and always tease him and make him blush, but they are also two of his greatest admirers and did everything they could to comfort him when his heart was broken in Men of Tokyo: Sudden Surrender. However, Mod and Tatou are also as deep and intelligent as they are mischevous and sexy and the story of how they came to be at the White Tiger is in the process of being told. The good news also is that for established readers of the White Tigers, Mod and Tatou’s story is an enriching addition to the series and for readers new to the series, Men of Tokyo: Forbidden Cravings can be read as a prequel to the whole series!

All that said, I’m just so happy to be working on this series again and below is a snippet from the first chapter (unedited) to give you a sense of the story. Hope you enjoy! And thank you again for reading this and for your support. Warmly, Sedonia

Snippet:

Chapter One
London, England a few years back

“Mod, what the hell? You’ve got to be taking the piss!” Tatou stared at his brother. Like looking into a mirror really, except that their mother’s Thai features were more obvious on him. Mod’s dark eyes were a touch narrower. And the grin on his full, pouty lips was always slightly more devilish. At least Tatou thought so.
“I swear I’m not!”
In the main room of the suite, the girls’ pajama party Angela had invited them to rang on. Mostly girls, giggling. An occasional cackle.
“Then Angie’s taking the piss.” The words that had just come from Mod’s lips could not be true. Not of Angie, who’d been their mate since third form and had followed them to Uni.
Mod took a swig of his beer and clapped him on the back. “Ask her yourself, mate. She swears it wasn’t her idea. Someone asked her to pass the offer along.” He hooked his arm so that Tatou’s neck rested in its crook and pressed their cheeks together, giving Tatou a whiff of his brother’s beer breath. “Just think, a hundred quid for a few seconds’ snog.”
Tatou wrenched out of his brother’s loose hold, but not before an odd frisson went through parts of him it shouldn’t have, parts he’d worked bloody hard to keep under control for a long time. “There are so many reasons we shouldn’t do that.”
“Hey, guys!” Angie’s voice shot from the room followed by another shriek of laughter. The volume in the already smoke and music-filled room rose. The natives were getting restless. And they wanted what a hundred quid would buy them.
That did nothing to wipe away Mod’s shit-eating grin. The barmy bugger. He was always up for anything. But this? “First of all, Mod, it’s prostitution.”
That pulled a throaty laugh from his drunk brother. “Okay, T. And what are the other reasons?”
“Well, there’s one other, really.” Tatou stepped in closer. Gay they both were but that didn’t mean you sucked face with your own brother. He didn’t even allow that track in his thoughts, even when his mind tried to go there. ”In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re my brother? There’s got to be a few injunctions in the Bible that tell us exactly where we’re going to end up if we snog. Especially for a room full of horny chicks.”
For the first time since Mod had pulled him out of the party room to tell him what Angie and her fellow dorm mates wanted, his grin faded. “I don’t see the problem in that. We have our own forms of affection, or have you forgotten?” He leaned in and nuzzled Tatou’s cheek. His brother’s soft lips made his skin tingle. And other body parts that would remain nameless. He closed his eyes. They’d shared a bed in the family’s tiny flat all their lives and often helped each other fall asleep by what they called “fitting.” It had only been here at Uni that they each had a bed in their dorm room and only occasionally practiced fitting. Truthfully, he missed the closeness. They were best friends. Didn’t go anywhere apart. Not even meals. Not even dating, limited though it was in their twenty-two years at this point to an occasional threesome in which the third guy was the focus, not each other. They really were two halves of one whole. But now, it was time be…normal. Not to go in the direction his mind and body had been heading. Being in school, so many people in the dorm all the time had kept them both…apart, you could say. This was not going to help. Then Mod’s nuzzling lips whispered a trail toward his ear, toward the sensitive flesh of his earlobe…
With a hand on Mod’s chest, he pushed him so that Mod was forced to take a step back. “Forget it.”
“There you guys are! What’s going on? The girls are going to come after you if you take any longer.” Angie, dressed in a pink silky nightgown and fuzzy slippers, danced her blonde-headed way over and put her arms around both their shoulders, swaying in time to the bass beat that made the floorboards vibrate. “I’ve got the collection going already. And…” She lifted her head up, a triumphant gleam in her hazel eyes, “There’s another fifty quid in it if you take your shirts off.”
Mod’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell!” He turned on Tatou. “T, if you don’t do this, you’re the bloodiest prat ever!” He narrowed his eyes. “Forget your stupid ideas of hell and damnation. Think of how we need this money for our trip!”
Ah yes. Their graduation present to themselves, partially funded by Mum and Dad after graduation. A whole summer in Japan. At that special place in Tokyo they’d found on the Net. Honestly, they were headed for one of the most expensive cities in the world. They could use all the extra dosh they could get. That hundred and fifty quid would go right into their travel fund. He heaved a sigh. “All right. Let’s do it.”
Angie let out a girl squeal. “This is going to be so hot!” She hooked her arms through both of theirs and led them back into the crowded room.
Shite. The common room of Angie’s suite looked more like what Tatou imagined the inside of Chippendale’s looked like on a weekend night, except that the patrons were dressed in nightgowns, pajamas and slippers and were draped all over the sofas, chairs and floor of the suite’s common room, full of pillows and blankets. And a few stuffed animals thrown in. The shrieks of delight drowned out the music as Angie led them to the front of the room where there was a small space away from the heat generated by all those horny college women. The sight made his heart pound and throat tighten. His mind fogged and his vision blurred. Up until this moment, he’d been as much the impish tease in their group of friends as Mod was, sometimes more so. Now, with all those pairs of female eyes on him and his brother, knowing what they wanted, were giving up money for, what was more nerve-wracking? All this lustful attention and expectation, or the fact that he was about to break his personal taboo? A hand clapped on his shoulder. He turned.
Mod was grinning at him, the corner of his full lips turned up. “C’mon, mate, let’s give ‘em their money’s worth, eh?” Before Tatou could answer, Mod released his shoulder. His hands went to the hem of his own t-shirt, lifted it off and flung it aside in one swoop. Eliciting, of course, another chorus of feminine catcalls.
Tatou glanced at his brother’s slim torso. Another shiver of electric heat travelled through him. Am I really so narcissistic that Mod turns me on?
Mod stepped up to him. “You’re taking too long,” he said and grasped two fistfuls of Tatou’s shirt. A sharp yank forced Tatou’s arms up and before he knew it, the air of the room hit his bare akin and another round of lusty girl cheers pounded through his head. A lot of these girls were mates but he swore he didn’t recognize them now, a feral lot of she-wolves in heat.
But then Mod’s hands closed around his upper arms and Mod’s dark eyes bore into his. The mischievous gleam he knew so well shone out of them, a direct reflection of his own, of course. But in private, they had their own world, a communication that didn’t always need words. Whatever Mod really felt about what they were doing, would surely come out later once they were back in their own dorm room two floors below this one. Especially if he thought Tatou was mad at him for it. Cheeky as Mod was, his brother’s concerns were his and he cared. Always cared… Tatou’s gaze fell on Mod’s lips. His consciousness registered that around them, the room had grown quiet, except for the music, which had fallen to a slow dance kind of love ballad.
Wordlessly, Mod pulled him close. Their bare chests touched, then pressed. Warm skin growing warmer from their combined heat. The embrace forced Tatou’s arms out. At first he let them hang at his sides, but then the temptation was too much. The moment took over and he reached around…let his hands rest on the small of Mod’s back. The hard ridges of muscles along his spine med Tatou’s fingertips. Tan-hued skin, smooth and perfect. Even though their Dad was English, there were some Mediterranean ancestors mixed in so the golden hue and shiny, dark hair came from both their parents.
Mod leaned in and pressed his lips on the side of Tatou’s neck. Tatou’s eyelids fluttered. That felt too good and he tilted his head. Mod feathered a small kiss there, right over the pulse, then licked. Tatou let out a breath and squeezed Mod’s back. Good thing their fronts were pressed together or all these women would get an eyeful of a hard-on growing in the front of his jeans. Their audience was getting well more than a hundred fifty quid’s worth as far as he was concerned.
Mod trailed those little kisses up, over his jaw and onto his cheek. Damn! The fire ignited deep inside him. The very desire he’d kept hidden for so long, tried to hide from himself was now welling up, burning like flames through dry leaves for all to see. Did Mod know this? The one thing he’d never voiced out loud, in spite of their closeness. He must have known anyway, sensed that’s how his brother wanted to be kissed and held.
Mod’s hand laced into his short hair, cupped the back of his head. Mod’ eyes burned into his, lids heavy, thick lashes giving them that lazy yet hot look. The next he knew, their lips were together. A pierce of hot wet moistness past the seam of his lips and Mod’s tongue clashed with his.
Another feminine chorus sounded behind them, but this one of nearly silent murmurs, sighs. Except for the music, you could have heard a pin drop. And but for the soft moist friction of their lips and tongues together. A sensuous dance that sent invisible threads of arousal and need thundering through Tatou’s body. Mod’s cock was hard. Tatou felt it, pressing against his through their pants. Hard, rock hard insistence. Shite, what would happen next if they hadn’t the audience? The answer was simple—everything Tatou had ever imagined and squashed away. Locked in the forbidden corners of his mind and soul.
Mod’s lips lingered. His tongue slowly, sensuously explored Tatou’s, every recess, glided over his teeth. Mod smelled good. He always did. Even with the beer. There was always an undercurrent of mint in there. His lips were soft, the sweetest velvet. Delicious. Addictive.
As if teasing the hell out of him, Mod ended the kiss. His hands slid back to Tatou’s shoulders and Mod gazed at him, heavy-lidded, cheeks flushed. Then the devil slid back in again. The gleam of mischief returned and Mod turned back to their audience. “Was that all right for you, ladies?”
Angie stepped forward, somewhat unsteady on her feet. Her pale cheeks show a reddish glow. Her eyes were glazed over. A smile pasted on her lips. “Perfect,” she murmured.
Mod grinned. He released Tatou whose knees felt slightly not solid. He wavered a moment then forced himself to balance. In the next second, Mod had bent over and snatched up both their shirts. He handed Tatou his shirt then reached for the beer he’d set aside on the nearby table before their…performance.
In a daze, Tatou worked his way back into his shirt, while ghostly tingles strayed through his lips, his neck, his cheeks. The memory of Mod’s chest against his remained in his skin. As he turned, he caught sight of Angie pressed closed to Mod, her hand pushed into his jeans pocket. She was slipping him their earnings, no doubt, while the guests of one her popular girls’ night in gatherings were whispering among themselves. Then she reached out and gently clasped Tatou’s wrist, pulling him closer. “Thank you guys so, so much,” she said, her eyes reflecting the delight she’d just been given. “You have given a group of exam-soaked women something to dream about besides failing finals and not graduating.” She kissed each of them on the cheek. “I will be forever indebted to both of you.”

Hot M/M Vampires and the Hot D.H. Starr!!

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I’m honored and proud to share this guest post from D.H. Starr whose latest hot M/M vampire romance has just been released at Ai Press! Yay! Post begins here:

I’m thrilled to announce the release of my newest novel, Feed. Prey. Love. which is available through Ai Press, but can also be purchased at amazon.com, Barnes & Nobles, and All Romance. While you may suspect I’m thrilled to announce its release because I want you to run out and purchase it (which I wouldn’t complain if you did) that is actually not the case. This is actually the first book I’ve written where I truly don’t care if it sells beautifully or if people don’t like it that much. This book came from someplace deep inside and it reflects a huge amount of work, self-exploration, and frustration.

Paranormal stories are probably my favorite genre. The world-building, suspension of belief, and sheet creativity are amazing to me and I find it much easier to get lost into those tales. But writing paranormal is nothing like reading it. The worlds which others seem to create effortlessly, tortured and teased me. Each round of edits revealed a new hole which needed to be filled (naughty people I’m talking about gaps in the creation of my world…LOL).

Then, once I thought I had ironed out the kinks in my world, created just the right blend of the contemporary feel with rules governing the co-existence of paranormals and humans, new plot holes emerged. Well, not so much plot holes, but elements my publisher wanted to have fleshed out or further developed.

With each new round of edits, I found myself becoming more and more frustrated, but I trust my editor with all my heart and therefore, pushed myself to move forward. I’ll admit, as I have to Sedonia Guillone on many occasions, that her pushes drove me a bit batty at times, but she’s a pro and she gets what I love to write.

I had walked away from the manuscript for about 9 months, just too darn tuckered out from trying to make it work. It wasn’t until I took a trip down to Asheville, NC and visited with my good friends Eden Winters and Ally Blue, that I broke out the story and started reading the opening to them. To my utter surprise, they were transfixed and told me this book must be shared with the public. So, I buckled down and began the arduous process of re-reading the entire document with new eyes. The break was probably a blessing in disguise because new twists emerged and fresh ideas of how to handle my characters and their stories seemed to materialize out of thin air.

What has resulted is a story with the rich characters I love to write and their tortured angst as they struggle to find their way to happiness. But something more has evolved from this process. I’ve come to better understand the nuances of merging believability into stories which have unbelievable elements. As challenging as it was, the end result is a book I am extremely proud of.

The world I have built is set in contemporary times. I have created a residence called Whispering Hills. It is the first of its kind where paranormals and humans live together in harmony. In this place, paranormals can feel accepted and humans, the ones who have always felt on the fringe, finally have a place where their differences are celebrated. This story is planned to be a 4 story arc. The next installment will be The Omega’s Mate.

So, with that being said, here are my guys and an excerpt teaser for you. I provided Thorny with the full prelude and with the beginnings of a scorching hot sex scene and I’ve left it to him to decide whether to post the tame one, the hot one, or both.

Buy Links:

Ai Press|Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomanceEbooks

Blurb
At Whispering Hills where mortals and paranormals coexist peacefully – and romantically – love really does bite!

Talib Eldridge is a vampire who lives with guilt. 100 years ago, he accidentally turned a human to a vampire and has been afraid to get close to anyone for fear of ever losing control as he once did. When he meets Conley Berillo, his commitment to living in isolation is challenged. Immediately drawn to the human, he can’t help but fall in love.

Conley has always felt out of place. Never fitting in with others, he too has lived in isolation. When the existence of paranormal creatures is finally acknowledged, he feels an immediate affinity to the outcasts, still feared and hated by humans. Moving to Whispering Hills in Providence, Rhode Island, he knows immediately that he belongs to this new world. When he meets Talib, that conviction is only solidified.

When Jonah Townsend, the human Talib had turned about a hundred years earlier, re-enters the picture, Talib and Conley’s newfound happiness is threatened. Conley becomes the tool that Jonah uses to get back at Talib and Talib is forced to make a choice. Fight for his own happiness and risk Conley’s life, or put Conley’s safety first and sacrifice what he’s searched and struggled for over two hundred years!

Excerpt book opening. Not terribly erotic, but sets the stage for one of the main characters.

Prelude
Palestine, 1798

Talib, meaning seeker of knowledge, had been named after his late grandfather. His father was filled with pride when, at only eighteen, Talib was accepted to Beit Rabban, the house of the teacher, to serve as an apprentice under Rabbi Elder. It was a bittersweet moment when Talib left his meager village, proud tears streaming down his father’s cheeks. Although Talib inherited a dark complexion and angular, strong features, his frame was slender. Nothing like the muscular build of his father, who served as a commander in the Ottoman Empire army. Yet for all of his father’s size and military success, Talib had never questioned his love. While Talib might never be a military leader, he could show leadership in his own way and planned to open a school house once he finished his own education and pilgrimage. In the meantime, he relished his “special” relationship with his master. Only that eased his great homesickness.
He had been at Beit Rabban for nearly six months and missed his family dearly. The longing for home would have been unbearable had it not been for Rabbi Elder’s mentorship. More than a teacher, Elder had been an older brother of sorts, a friend to confide in and a man to emulate. The fact he seemed to be no more than ten to fifteen years Talib’s senior was simply another attribute to admire about the man. Rabbi Elder had to be truly great to attain his position at Beit Rabban at such a young age. Each day, Talib gazed at Elder’s sandy blond hair, the curls of his payot framing his face perfectly to accentuate his cheekbones while hiding a sharp jawline, and was amazed that such a great man would devote so much attention to Talib’s academic studies and studies of the flesh.
The creak of his door each night was a welcome sound, one he had grown to long for over the past few months. He had lost count of the number of times Elder had climbed into his bed. At first he was shocked, having studied in the scriptures that the pairing to two men was a sin against God, but Talib quickly reasoned that his mentor and nightly lover knew best. Who was Talib to question a man who knew the Talmud far better than he?
Rather than dwell on his notions of right and wrong, Talib relished the spark Elder ignited within him. Longings Talib had felt, but never dared explore, became a reality as he and Elder discovered each other’s minds and bodies. To know that a man as worthy of respect as Rabbi Elder wanted the pleasure of another man filled Talib with a sense of wholeness. That Elder had chosen Talib over all the other students at Beit Rabban filled him with a sense of pride, a belief that everything within him was true and right.
Rabbi Elder padded softly across the stone floor of Talib’s dormitory room. While there were other students, each received his own sleeping quarters. The accommodations were sparse, walls of stone, a cold and harsh atmosphere, but that was all part of the learning. Sacrifice of personal luxury helped students to better learn to empathize with those less fortunate. Yet as hard as the thin mattress was, the warmth of Elder’s body and the give of his muscles pressed against Talib’s own blocked anything else from his senses.
“I’ve missed you, Rabbi.”
Soft lips pressed against his own, capturing him in a kiss which began gently but quickly became fevered. Something was different about the kiss, a hunger which wasn’t normally present. As if Elder had a greater need than usual. Once he pulled out of the kiss, brown pools seeming to glow with an amber fire stared down into Talib’s eyes. “I’ve told you, when we lie together, you are to call me Elder. The lines of master and scholar do not exist when we are joined like this.”
“I’m sorry, Rab…I mean Elder. It’s difficult for me to remember. I look up to you so.”
Elder’s eyes softened, the fire dimming as he stared down into Talib’s. “It’s all right, my love. Tonight is going to be a very special night for the two of us.”
Heat washed through Talib, beginning in the pit of his stomach and radiating outwards. The waves of sensation burned from within yet left an electrified chill along his skin, causing the hairs to rise. His lover’s words incited Talib. Excitement warred with anticipation as he waited for his mentor to continue.
“You know how much I love you, don’t you, Talib?”
The words filled Talib. He would have thought he was floating if not for the weight of Elder’s body on top of his. “Yes, I do. And I love you, Elder. You have given me a gift greater than knowledge; you have given me the gift of awareness.”
Elder brushed his fingers through Talib’s black hair, pushing his payot aside so they splayed on the pillow. He lowered his head to Talib’s neck and pressed his nose to the skin, inhaling deeply. The intimacy of the act caused Talib to shiver. In a husky voice, Elder whispered into Talib’s ear. “There are things I have not yet taught you, but I would like to.”
“Anything. I am a vessel for you to fill.” Talib smiled thinking of how many times Elder had filled his vessel.
Elder laughed. “You are playing with your words, but yes, you are my best and favorite student. Yet there are things not written in books which I must…no…which I desire to teach you. I have become…attached to you, and I wish to share everything I am with you.”
The way he phrased his comment sent Talib’s mind soaring skyward. Elder wanted him, was attached to him. He had called him special. “Whatever you wish to teach me, I am willing to learn. You are a brilliant teacher. A highly skilled scholar. A man of great knowledge.”
“Yes, but I am more. Will you allow me to show you what I am? May I introduce you to the world I live in, one quite different from the world you know?”
There was mystery behind the cryptic words, forcing Talib’s breath to quicken, each intake shallow, uncertain. But Elder had opened Talib’s eyes, led him down paths which had frightened him, and Talib’s world was brighter and fuller as a result. If his mentor and lover wanted to share something with him, he would gladly receive the gift. “Yes, of course. Anything.”
Elder smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of happiness. Rather, his lips curled up into a grin revealing some other emotion Talib couldn’t identify. Only in the last moment did Talib realize Elder wore no smile. He drew his lips back, exposing teeth which seemed to have grown longer. Fear not were the last words Talib heard before Elder descended, clamping down on his neck.
Razor-sharp teeth penetrated his skin. With a piercing scream filled with pain, shock and pleasure, Talib gripped at Elder’s head, trying to escape but to no avail. Blood flowed from his neck and into Elder’s hungry mouth. A sickeningly sweet iron odor filled his nostrils. Along with the sensation of blood flowing from him, each lick of Elder’s tongue brought excruciating pleasure, Talib could also feel Elder’s arousal pressed against his thigh.
Time seemed to slow. The space between Talib’s heartbeats lengthened. The flow of his blood coursed slower and slower.
After what seemed like hours, Elder drew back. Crimson blood stained his lips and dripped from his still-elongated fangs. While the bite had been painful, Talib longed for Elder’s mouth to return to his neck, to continue to draw blood from him. Although it was difficult to focus, Talib was able to make out the expression of lust and hunger in his mentor’s eyes. Elder’s arousal continued to drive against him, and his own hardened shaft pressed back. He’s something other than human. How can this excite me?
“Talib, I am a creature of the night. You have a choice to make. I have drained you to the point of death. You will die if I do not feed you, but if you accept my gift, you will become what I am, and we can spend our lives together, for all eternity.”
Through the haze of his faint consciousness, he could make out the earnest expression on Elder’s face. Thoughts flittered through Talib’s mind, disconnected, difficult to comprehend. “A creature of the night? A golem? Not real…only stories.”
Elder caressed his forehead, hot fingers burning against his cold skin. “I assure you we are not lore. I am not a demon or possessed by a dybbuk. I am real and I wish to give you the gift of eternal life. Will you share your love with me for all time?”
Darkness crowded in until he could barely see or hear. It wasn’t until the warm drops of thick liquid hit his lips and dripped into his mouth, quenching a thirst he hadn’t realized he’d felt, that his answer came to him. Gripping Elder’s wrist, he pulled the torn flesh to his mouth, sucking with all his might, drinking life’s essence back into himself with each pulse of Elder’s heart.
As if waking from a dream, Talib became aware of each of his senses. Sights, smells, scents, sounds, everything coalesced with great clarity and sensitivity. The fear emanating from a fly trapped in a spider’s web entered his nose. I can smell fear. Along with the coppery, iron flavor of Elder’s blood, he could taste the wine Elder had drunk at dinner. Disconnected thoughts flew through his mind. How can I taste the wine in his blood? Golem are real?
Sensation upon sensation filled him, only to come to a screeching halt when he heard something he never expected to hear. I have turned him. He’s now mine.
“What? What do you mean you’ve turned me?” Talib was sure he had misheard. It had to be the result of his loss of blood or perhaps the fear coursing through him. He had broken so many rules, he must be possessed by a dybbuk, the spirit of a dead man who’d violated the laws of Torah. Perhaps he had been wrong in believing what he and Elder shared was right. Was God punishing him for breaking His laws? An image of his home, his father’s proud face, flashed in Talib’s mind. Shame and panic swirled within him, making breathing impossible. He had shamed himself and his family. He had turned on his God, on his religion. All because he had trusted Rabbi Elder.
Elder’s eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly, only to clamp shut once again. Disbelief, no, shock, settled on his face. “I said nothing, my love. You must still be weak from the transformation.” It can’t be. He couldn’t possibly have heard my thoughts.
“But I do hear you. What is this? Have you deceived me in some way?” Fear shifted to anger and hurt. He’s betrayed me. He’s led me down the path of sin, knowing I could never return to the life I’d dreamed of. He’s forced me to act against my God…so I could be…his? The sense of foolishness closed in and around Talib, and he pushed to free himself, to stand, to take in deep breaths of cleansing air. With little effort, he flung Elder across the room, the teacher’s body hitting the wall with enough force to kill a man.
Even in the dim light of his bedchamber, Talib saw the color drain from Elder’s face. “But how…how do you know the thoughts which run through my mind?” He mustn’t ever find out I did this so I won’t have to be alone any longer. I need a companion. Isolation has left me starved.
It took Talib a minute to get over the shock that Elder had not been hurt from his crash with the wall. Talib could hear everything, every truth Elder had failed to tell him. He had not offered Talib eternity out of love. His motives had been selfish. Talib could hear it in Elder’s thoughts, for the man could not lie there.
Talib was no longer human. He knew this in the deepest reaches of his being. The change had occurred. He was a dybbuk and worse, a golem. He had broken every rule there was to be broken short of killing. There was no turning back. The truth filling him caused Talib to retch, thick red jets of blood erupting from his mouth. When he could speak, he scowled at his former master, the man he’d loved, had given his heart and body to. The man who’d deceived him in the most wretched way. “You did this to me because you wanted a companion?” While the words formed a question, his tone carried all the anger and accusation coursing through him.
Raw emotion lifted Talib from the bed. Before he realized what was happening, he was hovering in the air before Elder, defying gravity and laws his human form had to abide. He glided effortlessly, slowly closing the distance between himself and the deceitful man who had irrevocably changed his life. Instinctually, he reached out with his mind, linking it to Elder’s, forcing him into helpless paralysis.
Elder cowered, but was unable to avert his gaze. Talib could feel the will seep out of Elder as his weaker mental abilities gave way to Talib’s strength. He could sense the urge to fight back within his former mentor but could feel the weakness radiating toward him. Elder wasn’t as strong as Talib. Talib was more than Elder, different. What have I become?
Hatred swelled within him as he prepared to strike, but he stopped, released Elder and lowered himself to the ground until he once again stood on his own two feet. “I will not kill you, nor will I remain with you. You may have taken the life I planned to live from me, you may have turned me into a golem, but you can never take my humanity. I may not be able to return home—I wouldn’t bring that kind of shame to my family—but I won’t stay here with you.”
Elder rushed forward. Kneeling before Talib he wrapped trembling arms around Talib’s bare waist. Fear radiated from his very pores. Talib could taste it, smell it. It burned his nose and tongue like acid. “Please. I’m so lonely.”
Talib pushed him away once again, not as hard as the last time, but hard enough to make his point. He had no idea what his future held, only that it had been changed. He could not undo the things he had done against God, but maybe there was a way to reverse the evil coursing within his body. Maybe he wouldn’t have to live an eternity, as Elder had said. Maybe he could become what he had always been, pious, a man of God.
Disgust filled him as he turned to face Elder. Looking at the weak, pathetic man cowering on the floor, hands raised up in defense, Talib shook his head, a single, sad laugh escaping him. “And so you shall remain, for I must leave you.”
~~~~~

Next teaser is a pretty hot sex scene stopping right before the heavy action gets going.

Without waiting for the server, Talib deposited a twenty on the table and grabbed Conley by the arm, yanking him into a standing position. “Let’s go.”

The walk up the hill involved far less talking than the trip down to breakfast had. By the time they reached the front doors of Whispering Hills, Conley was winded. “Hurry up,” Talib said, leading the way into the building.
Once the door to his apartment closed behind him, Conley grabbed Talib and pressed him against the wall, sliding his hands along the vampire’s taut stomach and chest muscles, pinching Talib’s nipples until they hardened under his touch. He dipped his head into the crook of Talib’s neck and inhaled, taking in the fresh scent of soap which remained on his skin, and then he sealed his mouth to a cord of muscle, running his tongue in circles along the smooth flesh.

Talib moaned, an ahh escaping his mouth, causing his neck to vibrate under Conley’s tongue. “My God, I can feel that all the way down to my toes. You found the most sensitive spot on my body.”

Conley pulled away from Talib’s neck only to whisper one incredulous question, “The most sensitive spot?”
Talib responded by placing his hand on the back of Conley’s head and forcing his mouth back to his neck. “Yes, the most sensitive spot.” He then reached down and grabbed Conley’s ass, pulling them together so straining erection rubbed against straining erection.

After several minutes of kissing and grinding, Conley pulled away from Talib, taking him by the hand and leading him to the bedroom. Pushing him flat onto the mattress, Conley stood and started pulling off his own clothes, stopping only long enough to stare as Talib watched him undress. “What the hell are you doing? Strip.”

“Don’t want to. Enjoying the show too much.” Conley smiled and continued taking off his clothes. As he pulled his shirt over his head, he allowed his body to torque and twist, accentuating each muscle to its fullest. The Adidas pants had an elastic band, so he slid his thumbs underneath the material and slowly worked it lower on his hips.
Talib reached down to rub at the growing bulge at his groin, but he never diverted his eyes from Conley. Encouraged, Conley continued. Rotating his hips like a belly dancer, he used the motion to lower the pants inch by inch while turning at the same time. Once his back was to Talib’s front, he lowered his pants the rest of the way, exposing his ass and the sweet pink center that Talib had used the night before.

The time between Talib’s gasp and his hands gripping Conley’s hips seemed instant, an impressive task since Conley was stripping from six feet away. “The show just got too hot. I’m an audience volunteer. Is there anything I can do to assist?”

Conley chuckled, stepping out of the pants bunched at his feet. Turning in Talib’s arms, he felt his mouth pull up into a smirk and leaned in to give a gentle kiss on the lips. “Yes. Put on a show for me now.”

Talib locked gazes with him, ice blue eyes burning with desire. It took every ounce of willpower Conley possessed to turn and walk toward the bed. Even then, he could practically feel those eyes boring into his back as he took the few steps to his destination.

Safely on the bed, he folded one hand behind his head to prop it up on the pillow and reached down with the other to stroke his now exposed, hard cock.

Talib’s eyes followed the motion of Conley’s hand for a split second then a smile tugged at his lips. Starting with the shirt, he lifted the hem slowly over his torso. While Talib was not bulky like Conley, the cords of muscles interweaved, forming and disappearing in an intricate design along his abdomen and up and down his sides, feeding the fire raging within Conley.

Taking in each new sight, Conley gasped as Talib’s face disappeared beneath the fabric, leaving his entire upper body exposed. The ridge where his pecs connected was accentuated since both of his hands were over his head, yet even stretched out, the perfectly formed chest expanded with Talib’s breathing, the creamy-coffee colored nipples pebbled, standing at attention.

Once again, Conley needed to use all of his energy to keep from dashing off the bed and taking those hard nubs of flesh into his mouth. When Talib finally removed his shirt he had a slight flush to his otherwise alabaster skin.
Silky black hair gently swept Talib’s collarbone, framing his angular face, a perfect complement to his brooding, dark good looks. Conley’s cock lurched in his hand, now fully hard, as a single pearl of precum escaped from the tip. Rubbing his thumb over the clear fluid, he slicked the head and began to run the moisture in circles around the glans. Each pass of his finger sent shivers through him, causing his toes to curl.

Once again, Talib’s eyes darted to Conley’s cock, but he quickly continued the show, fanning Conley’s arousal. With painstaking deliberateness, Talib popped the top button of his jeans. A faint wisp of dark hair appeared on his skin, not quite making it up to his navel. When he opened the second button the dark hair fanned out, cresting at the base of his cock, now visible. Conley followed the line of Talib’s bulge, from the revealed base down his pant leg where the confines of his jeans forced it to lie.

When he looked back up at Talib’s face, he was caught once again by a piercing gaze of blue fire. Stepping forward, Talib pushed his pants over his hips. Once they passed over his ass, they fell to the floor.

Conley gripped the base of his cock, straining almost to the point of pain, afraid he might come from the sudden vision of beauty before him. Talib’s body was a work of perfection, each muscle perfectly aligned to form a square frame. A combination of strength and delicacy. The slight cant from shoulder to waist, the subtle bulge of ass, rounding into upper leg gave him the appearance of strength and masculinity. The expanse of smooth thigh muscles naturally led the eye down to admire solid calf muscles, legs like a gazelle, designed for speed and beauty. That was Talib. Strength and delicacy, all wrapped in one gorgeous package.

Talib smiled then pounced, and Conley found himself pinned on his back, staring up into Talib’s eyes. Before Conley could say or do anything, Talib lowered his head, sealing their lips together. Conley opened, mouth invaded by a hungry tongue, slick and purposeful, massaging, feeding his desire and need.

Pulling out of the kiss, Talib caught his breath then lowered his head once again, placing gentle kisses to Conley’s cheek, neck, collarbone, and then further down, capturing one nipple in his mouth.

The sharp scraping of teeth against his skin caused Conley to lift his head and stare at what Talib was doing. When he saw the lust in those blue eyes, his cock surged up between them with renewed energy. It was the sight of fangs, ever so slightly descended, that caused Conley’s heart to race. “Oh my God. That is so fucking hot. Nibble at me again.”

Talib lowered his head and bit down on Conley’s nipple once more, careful not to draw blood. He then released the taught flesh and gazed at Conley, his fangs shrank back to their normal length. “I can’t feed on you. If you want a shot at me blocking your thoughts, I can’t feed on you.”

For a moment, a debate raged within Conley. The idea of Talib feeding on him was so arousing he thought his skin would catch fire, but he didn’t want to begin a relationship where every passing fancy traveled directly to his new lover. “Okay, I understand.”

“But there are things I can do which are just as good.” Talib lowered his head once more and kissed a trail down Conley’s abdomen, hot breath washing over his skin. When soft lips touched his cock, Conley thought he might come just from the anticipation, but Talib lightly gripped the base, squeezing tightly to prevent his impending release.

This is what I’m aiming for

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My boyfriend and I recently watched this documentary, Chris and Don: A Love Story about the famed, decades-long partnership between Christopher Isherwood (who is one of my absolute favorite authors! A Single Man, Christopher and His Kind et al), and Don Bachardy who was 30 years younger than Isherwood.

I was deeply moved. Christopher and Don first met when Don was sixteen and Isherwood was 36. Their romance began not long afterward. One of the things that touched me was that for Don, Isherwood was his one and only major relationship (this was true for Isherwood as well) and the influence Isherwood had on his formation on a human being was profound and beautiful, even down to the way Don spoke – with an English accent and with Isherwood’s inflections of speech as if Isherwood were speaking through him.

What came through so strongly and touchingly as well, told through excerpts read from Isherwood’s private journal and from Don Bachardy (who was still alive at the making of the film, Isherwood passed away in 1986) was how for Isherwood, being the older person in the relationship was, first, absolutely enchanted with Don and how for Isherwood, his love for Don was, in his own words, his spiritual path to enlightenment. I know from reading My Guru and His Disciple where Isherwood chronicles his years as the disciple of Swami Prabhavananda who practiced chastity, Christopher Isherwood could never bring himself to do the same. He felt strongly pulled to be in relationship with a partner, that it was deeply in his nature, not to be ignored or snuffed out. For him, his relationship with Don was his path.

Later on, as I reflected more and more on that, it hit me – that’s exactly what I’ve been working so hard to portray in my own writing! To bridge the gap that pervades so much of thinking and approach to sexuality, that somehow it’s different, separate, lower than spirit. Healing that gap is what my own life’s path has led me to begin to understand and because it’s so important to me, I endeavor to bring that healing into my stories, most blatantly (I guess that’s the right word) in my White Tigers series wherein the characters practice the sexual Tao and when one of them meets their soulmate, they become partners and practice together. Their love and mutual attraction become the very fodder needed to bring their minds to the understanding of reality.