Cover reveal! Flying Fish coming to Dreamspinner Press!

FlyingFish_FBprofile_OptizimedForFeed Some of you might already be familiar with my Sword and Silk series which begins with this title, Flying Fish, which focuses on the romance between Daisuke Minamoto, a ronin who returns to his home town to seek revenge on the lord who’d murdered his wife years earlier and Genji Sakura, a traveling kabuki actor whom Daisuke stumbles upon, bathing in a hot spring. Their encounter turns passionate and Daisuke, unexpectedly smitten with the beautiful young man, finds himself quickly at a crossroad: continue his oath of vengeance, or take responsibility for the destruction his anger causes Genji.

If you are familiar with the series, you know it continues with Blind Love and the never before published Blossom of the Samurai. I was fortunate enough to get the series contracted at Dreamspinner Press where Flying Fish is now available for Pre-Order. Official release: August 17! Yay! I hope you’ll check it out. Here is a little snippet from the story. I would love to hear your opinion when you’re done. Do you like stories about samurai? Ir maybe other historical settings for m/m stories?

Excerpt:

Chapter One
Kai Province, Edo Period, Japan
During the Tokugawa Shogunate

Ah, finally, the hot spring! A sunny summer afternoon to himself to enjoy a soak and not another soul in sight with whom he’d be forced to share. Who’d have thought such an oasis of luxury awaited a lowly traveling Kabuki actor, a flying fish who jumped from town to town with his troupe, entertaining merchants, peasants, and samurai? Unimaginable. Except that it had happened. And might not last long.

Genji stared a moment into the placid water of the small pond, surrounded by large rocks between which one could slip to reach the water. Steam rose invitingly from its surface. Even the twittering birds in the trees surrounding the small enclave of rocks seemed to be ordering him in quickly. A hot spring like this would probably not remain undiscovered for long. Once he went back to the troupe’s quarters, only the Buddha might know when he’d have this chance at solitude again.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Genji pulled open the sash of his kimono and let the article slip to the rock below his feet. On top of that, he dropped the small knife he carried, which when sheathed appeared to be a woman’s fan. A mistake probably, leaving it there, considering there were bandits in the countryside who could assail a lone person. But the briefness of time made him throw caution aside.

He stepped out of his wooden sandals, not bothering to fold his clothes neatly. The tie in his hair also landed on his discarded garments, as he fully intended to wash his hair in this hot water. Another luxury he couldn’t have dreamed of before this moment. Now he was naked, having already daringly left off the loincloth before parting from his quarters in the village. Who wanted to spare the valuable time to unwrap it in the instance that he found the legendary hot spring spoken of by the innkeeper?

He covered his knife with the folds of the kimono, left it within his reach, then stepped into the water. And immediately smiled. Delicious already and the water had barely submerged him past the ankle.

Anchoring his weight on one rock, he lowered himself in to his upper chest. Mmm, more luxurious heat penetrated his skin. The perfect relaxation. Bending forward, he soaked his long hair, then yanked his head back and scrubbed his scalp with eager fingertips. It wasn’t the same as having someone else do it for him, but it made his eyes close with pleasure all the same. Dipping down again, he rinsed his hair until he felt certain all the dust of the road had washed away, leaving the long, ebony strands gleaming.

He squeezed the excess water from the length of his hair then found a spot to sit and recline, where a rock jutted out into a natural ledge underneath the water. The sun warmed his face, and the water warmed his body. Warmth filled him. Made his soul as warm as his body. In moments like these, he could forget for a little while. Forget his childhood memories of the anguished cries of women and children as they all were forced from their homes in the aftermath of their lord’s defeat and herded onto the platforms to be sold. The sun made a reddish glow of the darkness behind his closed eyelids, a starburst of light that blocked out even the worst of his childhood visions.
A breeze passed over, blowing cool on his damp skin, rustling the leaves of the bushes and trees surrounding the tiny pool. However, when the breeze died down, the rustling of the leaves continued. Heavier, with the crunch of tiny twigs under the weight of something on top of them.

Genji’s eyes shot open. Sunlight flooded them, blinding him for a moment. The surface of his skin crackled to life. He strained to hear, and his body tensed, ready to spring from the water for his knife an arm’s length away.

Another snap of twigs.

He sat bolt upright. “Who’s there?” he growled.

Silence.

Genji might have thought it was an animal in the brush, but his inner voice told him otherwise. It whispered to him that he shared this tiny oasis with another human being. Someone who’d been spying on him, watching him wash his hair.

Genji leaned over, slipped his hand within the folds of his kimono, and wrapped a hand around the hilt of his knife, a gift from a high-ranking samurai who had patronized Genji’s talents in the past, both on and off the stage. “Answer me,” Genji said, his voice tight. Years of acting had taught him how to infuse his tone with whatever emotion was needed for effect. In this instance, he sought for threatening. “I’m armed. I know how to use this knife.” Indeed, he could follow his threat with action. That same samurai had taught him some basic swordsmanship, in between sessions of intense lovemaking.

Silence still answered him, yet the sense of another human presence remained.

Genji slid the knife from its scabbard.

“If you don’t show yourself on the count of three,” Genji went on, gaze trained on the rocks that hid part of the brush, “I will climb from this pool, seek you out, and gut you. Don’t think I won’t do it.” Though slim and narrow in build, with finely etched muscle and not the brawn of a highly trained samurai or laborer, Genji had speed and agility. As a dancer, he’d found the principles of movement were the same.

“Relax, peasant,” a voice said suddenly from behind the brush. “I’m obeying your order.”

Genji’s insides jumped. The voice, deep and male, held a hint of mockery tinged with admiration. Though the owner of the voice hadn’t threatened his safety, Genji continued to hold his knife at the ready, should the stranger indeed mean him harm.

The leaves and branches of the brush rustled and snapped, and within seconds, a figure emerged. He came to a stop at the edge of the rocks.

Genji stared, blinking, not so much because the glare of the sun made a halo of blinding light around the stranger’s broad figure, but because when the man moved so as to block the sun from Genji’s eyes, the vision before Genji was that of a wild warrior.

Darkness. The word rose in Genji’s mind as the stranger moved a few steps closer. Dark eyes, swarthy skin, jaw and cheeks covered with more than a few days’ growth. And though his abundant black hair was pulled back, much of it had escaped its tie and rioted about his rugged face.

The man, obviously a samurai of some sort, would have been handsomely imposing had his clothing not been ragged and desperately in need of washing, even his rope sandals, though Genji felt certain that the blades of his weaponry, long sword, short, and knife, were polished to perfection within their woven scabbards. The hands that handled those weapons were large, fingers thick, and his legs in their gaiters below the hem of his kimono were also thick, muscled limbs of coiled strength.

Genji’s tanto and his limited ability to use it were a mere joke in the face of this obviously skilled warrior, however ragged and dirty his state. His fear must have shown, for the stranger gave him a sudden lopsided grin and began to untie his belt, lowering his weapons to the rocks.

“I apologize for coming upon you the way I did, like a sneak thief,” the samurai said. His hands went to the tie of his kimono and worked it open. “I thought you were a woman when I saw you from a distance, washing that hair.”
Genji exhaled a tiny bit. But only a bit. He set his tanto onto the rock behind him, an excuse to avert his gaze from the thickly muscled torso being revealed. For some reason, the man’s growing nakedness made Genji feel testy. “So you would have continued to spy on me, taking advantage of my undress had you not seen I’m a man?”

The samurai didn’t answer though his dark gaze shifted away from Genji in a way that appeared guilty. He removed his gaiters, unwrapped his loincloth, dropping everything on top of his other ragged clothing, and Genji got an eyeful of the samurai’s musuko. Even in its softened state, the member hinted at delicious thickness when erect. The sac beneath it was equally abundant-looking, heavy and full.

The samurai leaned down, turning halfway as he began to lower himself into the water. His meaty leg and ass muscles flexed as he climbed down into the pool and settled on the other side. Genji didn’t know if there was a rock ledge to sit on over there, but he didn’t offer the space beside him in spite of this warrior’s handsome appearance. He entertained enough samurai already, nearly every evening after the day’s performances. His life was not his own, and it was a blessing for him that he loved the theater, otherwise he would have gone mad and committed hara-kiri long ago with his own knife.

Without meaning to, Genji caught a glance of the way the waterline lapped at the samurai’s chest and gleamed on the golden hue of his skin, just beneath the large dark rounds of his nipples.

“To answer your question,” the samurai said finally, “yes, I would have continued to spy on you, as crude as that may be.”

Genji blinked again, struck at the man’s honesty. That, at least, was refreshing. Not all samurai were as noble as their warrior’s code demanded they be.

“Even after you first spoke,” the samurai went on, “I wasn’t sure of your sex. Your voice is soft and gentle even though you tried to sound fierce. It took many moments of debating whether to show myself. Only when you turned around and I saw your male chest, I knew I could come out without making you scream.”

Genji continued studying him as he spoke. The samurai’s voice was deep, each word saturated with emotions. The explanation made some of Genji’s apprehension ebb, and he nodded. “I see.”

The samurai cupped some water and splashed his face. Shiny droplets clung to the heavy dark stubble on his cheeks and jaw. “You must be a boy, then, by your smooth appearance.”

“No.” Genji lifted his chin. “I’m in my twenty-fifth year.” Truthfully, he’d not been a boy since his family’s expulsion from the castle into dire poverty, a violence that had ripped him from childhood and thrown him into the constant struggle for survival.

His bathing companion looked doubtful for a moment but then nodded and continued to wash himself. He came away from the edge to the center of the small pool and dipped underneath the surface, scrubbing his skin when he rose.

His large hands slid over his arms and chest, making the water stream off his skin.

Genji tried not to watch him while that testy feeling intensified. He shifted his weight. “I’m not a peasant either,” he said to the man’s back. Water soaked the man’s abundant hair, making it shine in the sun, and those thick back muscles flexed and bunched as he washed himself. Genji had nothing against peasants, of course. His parents had been peasants who’d served the lord of their province within the grounds of the castle keep before the shogun dissolved the lord’s estate and turned them all out. But Genji hadn’t had the chance to grow up as a peasant once he’d been sold into service of Shizu, the theater troupe’s director. And so, his occupation, the very thing that had formed his identity as a human being, was of utmost importance to him and would be known. Even to this bedraggled-looking warrior.

The samurai turned and regarded him. More water beaded off his broad chest and down his taut abdomen. “What are you then?”

Genji squared his shoulders a bit. “An actor.”

The samurai’s eyes widened with a look of amazement. “Ohhhh,” he said in a hushed whisper, as if a great honor were being conferred on him. Then he bowed, his face nearly touching the surface of the water.
Genji’s cheeks burned. Was the samurai mocking him?

But when the other man straightened, his expression seemed sincere. “You must be famous,” he said.

“You don’t need to make fun of me just because I am part of a traveling troupe.”

The samurai’s brow furrowed. “I make fun of no one.” He bowed again. “I have never met an actor before.”

Genji studied him as his indignation faded. Judging from the wild look of the man, it was certainly possible he didn’t patronize the theater as so many of his class did. Then Genji understood his own agitation. “I apologize,” he said softly. “I see you weren’t mocking me. I’m not accustomed to a… response such as yours.”

“Oh.” The samurai bowed again, and Genji felt his cheeks tingle a bit. In spite of their strange introduction, the warrior seemed to possess the sense of honor exhorted by the samurai code, a quality Genji found attractive.

“My name is Genji,” he said, feeling his heart open a bit toward the samurai. Politeness went quite far with him since so many patrons saw his occupation as an excuse to make him an immediate object of their carnal appetites without regard for his feelings. “Sakura Genji.” Sakura was a surname he’d given himself, not only because he found cherry blossoms beautiful, but as a stage name, it had a touch of romance to it. He also felt it would honor his parents. They’d have been proud to know their son had earned the honor of a surname, even if he had to confer the honor upon himself as he grew older and earned his promotion from stagehand to understudy to first performer.
The samurai bowed yet again. “Minamoto,” he said, “Minamoto Daisuke.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Genji paused before speaking again. “Which lord do you serve?” he asked and immediately regretted his question.

Minamoto’s face darkened, and the wildness Genji had first seen came forth in his look.

“I serve no lord,” he said quietly. “I’m a ronin.”

A masterless samurai. There were many of those in the world. For various reasons, these warriors roamed the countryside, using their skills for their own purposes, never swearing fealty to one lord. Indeed, the status explained Minamoto’s unkempt state. The occupation of ronin never held the promise of steady employment, especially in a time as relatively peaceful as this one, when a swordsman’s skill was not so much in demand.
Genji sought to lighten the sudden mood. There was something underneath the ronin’s demeanor that made Genji uneasy in spite of the man’s apparent honorability. “Well, then, we have something in common,” he said.

“What is that?” Minamoto looked genuinely curious.

“Neither of us stays long in one place. You’re a ronin, and I’m a tobiko.”

Minamoto broke into a grin. He laughed then, a deep, rich laugh that did, indeed, release the darkness of the previous moment.

Genji found the laughter infectious and joined him. Their combined voices echoed into the air, Minamoto’s deep sound and Genji’s higher, melodious one blending into the sweet summer air and the birdsong in the surrounding trees. Life held some truly pleasant moments for Genji at times, and this was one of them.

When their mirth had passed, Minamoto regarded him with a thoughtful expression. “I wouldn’t have thought of such a comparison, but you’re right, after all. The world holds great uncertainties for both of us.”

Genji nodded then saw the samurai’s look change, as if his own words had made him think of something he’d left behind while laughing. Feeling suddenly shy, Genji gazed down at the water. “This is certainly a beautiful spot,” he said. The mood had darkened again, and Genji understood. Minamoto carried this darkness with him. It was part of him, like a precious treasure to which he clung for survival. Being an actor had sensitized Genji to the inner workings of human beings. After all, he needed to access the depths of human existence in order to portray it effectively onstage through song and dance.

“It is beautiful,” Minamoto agreed. “I’ve soaked here many times.”

“Oh, so you’ve been in the province before.”

The darkness seemed to close in like a shadow over Minamoto’s handsome face. “I lived here for some time, years ago.”

“I see.” Genji remained quiet. It wasn’t his way to pry into others’ lives. He’d learned long ago to mind his own affairs. Yet, it often didn’t matter. For whatever reason, he had a way about him that made people feel able to bare their souls to him and so had often learned more than he wanted to know of others’ depravities and secrets.
A tormented look tightened Minamoto’s features. “It’s no secret why I lived here and why I left. No doubt you’ll hear the gossip once people see I’ve returned.”

Genji’s insides jumped. Apparently, the ronin sensed this thing in Genji as well. It was inescapable. “I never pay heed to gossip,” he said. “It’s belittling. Unworthy of even the lowliest peasant.”

A moment of silence passed, and Genji thought his response had ended their conversation, but Minamoto spoke again.
“Five years ago, the lord of this province murdered my wife,” he said quietly. “Shot her with an arrow while he was out hunting. She was collecting flowers. They were still in her hand when she was brought to me.”

Genji stared at him. It occurred to him perhaps the lord had been hunting and mistook the woman’s movement for a game creature, but deep inside, he knew it wasn’t true. The act had been committed in cold blood. The truth was in Minamoto’s eyes.

“I was a threat to him,” Minamoto continued. “The aid I gave to certain of his vassals made him distrust me. He did it to rid the province of me. He succeeded. I could not stay here after that… and be reminded of her. Everywhere I looked.”

“I’m truly sorry,” Genji said softly. Clearly the ronin still grieved. The woman’s death had obviously been a loss from which Minamoto felt he could never heal. Perhaps that was the cause of the darkness Genji had sensed in the man.

Minamoto’s stricken eyes went to him. The sympathy he read on Genji’s face seemed to soothe him, for his look shifted to something softer. He nodded an acknowledgment of Genji’s kindness. “Since then, I’ve traveled every inch of Japan, been to every province, and studied with the greatest swordsmen of each fiefdom.”

The samurai’s voice took on an edge as he spoke. There was a hunger in his eyes Genji had seen before in the warriors of his class. So many of them possessed fighting skills beyond anyone’s imagination, and in this peaceful time, they had no outlet other than to challenge each other to duels or to protect villages from gangsters and bandits. From the way Minamoto spoke, and from what he’d just revealed about his past, Genji felt certain as to the destructive course this man actually followed. Minamoto was a man consumed, devoured from the inside by his own life. The understanding formed in Genji’s mind and heart as he watched the steam rise from the water’s surface around Minamoto’s damp torso. Minamoto was a living, breathing figure of tragedy.

The understanding softened Genji a bit more toward the man. As much as he ever wanted to remain aloof from anyone for his own protection, he was never able to do so, as if some sort of natural barrier that other people had was missing from him. “Perhaps it’s none of my business,” Genji began gently, “and please tell me if it is not, but what brought you back to this province?” Something gave him the feeling it wasn’t to revisit the place where he had lived with his wife.

That darkness settled over Minamoto again. “I have unfinished business here.”

The answer confirmed his suspicions. Yet, Minamoto’s intentions were none of Genji’s affair. Genji’s existence was devoted to playing the Samurai Princess, a role for which Shizu had meticulously trained him since buying Genji off the platform.

Genji nodded and remained respectfully quiet. The slant of the sun told him it was time to return to the village. His troupe had just arrived the previous day, and their stage would be near completion. Rehearsals would go on this evening, and then when the news of their arrival had spread, there would be the usual wandering in of samurai looking for an evening’s companion. Genji sighed. “I must return. I have a few moments to dry out on the bank, and then I will go back.”

The ronin started as if given a shock. He bowed to Genji. “I’ll accompany you,” he said. “It’s safer not to travel alone.”

Genji hovered on the verge of refusing the offer. After all, he had his tanto and wasn’t afraid to use it… he believed. However, he found Minamoto’s company oddly comforting, showing Genji how lonely he actually felt in spite of his busy life. His fellow tobiko could never really be true friends, even Aoki. Especially Aoki, who coveted Genji’s position in the troupe. Aoki would not want to remain an understudy indefinitely, and so there was always an undercurrent of tension among the troupe members. Disappointed, Genji climbed from the pool, picked up the pile of his things from the rock, and went to the grass. He retrieved the small bottle of sesame oil from his things and poured some into his hand, smoothing it into his wet hair. The long strands would comb out much more easily when dry if he worked any tangles out beforehand.

Peripherally, Genji saw Minamoto recline on the grass roughly an arm’s length away. He kept his back turned so as not to steal glances at the samurai’s magnificent, naked physique stretched out on the grass in the sun. Working his fingers down the fall of his hair, Genji turned slightly and caught a glance of Minamoto’s lower body. The man’s musuko was no longer soft between his muscular thighs but stretched halfway erect, blooming with reddish color.

A jolt went through Genji’s body, sending in its wake a series of tingles that concentrated in his own member. He’d thought himself jaded after serving so many samurai with his body, but for some reason, life now infused his male parts, even his nipples, which began to tighten into small, hard peaks. He looked back down, pretending to concentrate on his hair with all his will.

“Your hair is so beautiful.”

Minamoto’s deep voice made heat spark in Genji’s middle.

Genji pulled in a small breath. With his fingers still engaged in untangling his hair, he glanced sidelong at the other man. “Thank you,” he said softly.

The samurai had turned onto his side, propped on his elbow, watching Genji tend to his hair as if he were watching something of beauty unfold before him. “I didn’t know a man could move so gracefully… like a swan.”
Heat tingled mercilessly now in Genji’s cheeks. Such praise was a far cry from having his ass grabbed lustfully by a ribald admirer. The occasional riot that had broken out among audiences over Genji’s favors wasn’t nearly as flattering as this simple poetic admiration.

My upcoming Ellora’s Cave release and a history of the Coeurs Eternels

I’m so excited about my upcoming release at Ellora’s Cave in early September! Yay! Immortal Vow is a continuation of the series that began with Darelle’s Trinity (M/F/M Menage, Vampire) Some of you may be familiar with my Coeurs Eternels, the brand of vampire in this series. If not, I will explain. Centuries ago, a Buddhist monk named Tanzin Gayatsu was meditating in a cave in the snowy hills of the Himalayas when a vampire came upon him and fed on him. (The vampire in question is Valmont Lascaux, the world’s oldest vampire whose story we meet in Valmont’s Trinity (Ellora’s Cave)

Since Tenzin had practice meditation so diligently his entire life, when he was brought across, the compassion and level of consciousness he had achieved stayed with him and he retained his soul as well as his beating heart. Moreover, for some reason, along with the taste for blood, he developed a craving for honey. As the centuries passed, he trained himself to feed on humans only when they were dying and his draining them of their blood became a pleasurable act that made their passing less fearful and they could move on to a better embodiment in the next lifetime. Tenzin’s story appears in Touching Forever (Totally Bound) in which he meets a beautiful immortal, Lily Tan, the Tigress of Shanghai who teaches him how to use erotic pleasure to direct his life force.

This type of vampire came to be known as a Coeur Eternel (Forever Heart) and when a vampire fed on a human and turned them, you never knew whether the new vampire would become a CE or not. It all depended on that person’s nature. A CE or a Sans Ame (without soul) – these are the two choices. However, like human beings, the vampires represent a broad range of personalities as well, so no vampire is all good or all bad. Except for the villain of Immortal Vow, Noiret. He has kidnapped the sister of immortal vampire slayer Jesse Harmon and holds her for ransom. The ransom? Jesse must slay Christian St. Cyr, a Coeur Eternel. Although Jesse has vowed never to slay a CE, he is desperate to save Hannah’s life and proceeds with the hit on St. Cyr. Except that things go wrong and Jesse ends up in St. Cyr’s control! What will happen next? Will St. Cyr take revenge or…? HEre’s a juicy excerpt and thank you for reading!

Excerpt:

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.
An Excerpt From: IMMORTAL VOW
Copyright © SEDONIA GUILLONE, 2014
All Rights Reserved, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
Jesse heaved a deep breath. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Something had gone terribly wrong. The bullets shouldn’t have affected him this deeply. Since when had he developed a weakness for lead? He’d heard stories of immortals developing such weaknesses but had never considered that could happen to him. If he’d communicated a bit more with others of his kind over the centuries, perhaps he would have known sooner.
Too late now.
Even in the haze of his wounded state, he understood that St. Cyr had fed on him and now believed him to be a vampire.
If he’s not a vampire, what is he?
Jesse’s eyes shot open. The voice had spoken strongly in his mind. Not his own voice. Not his own thoughts. He looked at the large blond vampire hovering over him, the firelight reflecting off his pale skin and deep-blue eyes. The sight momentarily captured him. His gaze went to the scar on St. Cyr’s high-boned cheek. Not even the reddish jagged scar detracted from the vampire’s rugged, masculine Norse Viking beauty.
Strangely, the way he lingered on St. Cyr’s face caused a spot on his neck to tingle, reminding Jesse of the pleasure his body had experienced when the vampire had bitten him and sucked his blood. With the first touch of St. Cyr’s lips on Jesse’s neck, Jesse’s entire body shuddered deliciously, as if every nerve ending had exploded in orgasm. Though his skin had no doubt already healed, the ghostly memory of the feeding remained.
Perhaps he’s immortal.
Shit! St. Cyr again! The feeding had connected them. Jesse’s rejection of the blood had raised St. Cyr’s suspicions. It would only get worse when he found Jesse’s knife in the belt at his back. He had to kill St. Cyr as soon as he had his strength and get the hell out of here with St. Cyr’s head.
Can you hear me?
Jesse’s breath caught. St. Cyr was addressing him directly now. He couldn’t let on that there was a mind link between them. The difference between the mind links of vampires and that of immortals was that immortals had greater lateral access to thoughts and feelings. Vampires’ psychic connections were limited to telepathic communication only. Thank God for small miracles.
Jesse stared up at St. Cyr, as if there were no connection. He watched the corners of St. Cyr’s beautifully shaped masculine lips curve downward. He waited for the vampire to speak again.
St. Cyr remained quiet. He reached out a large hand and smoothed back Jesse’s hair. The vampire had a surprisingly gentle touch. His bite had been tender as well, so careful about how deeply he pushed his incisors into Jesse’s skin.
“You should rest now,” St. Cyr told him. His voice had a pleasing tone, deep and resonant. The vampire’s loneliness emanated from him and Jesse felt the emotion in his touch. He continued to caress Jesse’s hair, causing Jesse’s traitorous body to tingle and relax. Jesse’s eyelids shuttered rapidly with the pleasure of the touch. In centuries of life, he hadn’t felt another one quite like St. Cyr’s. Gentle, soothing. Kind and…erotic, all at once.
Jesse’s cock stirred in his jeans. If he hadn’t been so enervated from the bullet wounds, he would have reached up and pulled St. Cyr down on top of him. His exhaustion was the only thing that stopped him.
Well, that and the fact that he was here to kill St. Cyr.
Jesse prayed that in a few hours he’d have the strength to carry out the task before St. Cyr discovered their connection. And he would figure it out. It was inevitable. They were linked for eternity now. Or until Jesse got the vampire’s head.
That is, if Jesse could bring himself to slay someone whose psyche was now deeply entwined with his own.
Fucking shit. Being immortal not only sucked much of the time, now it was a downright curse.
Jesse opened his eyes again and looked up at St. Cyr, panic rising deep inside as exhaustion overtook him again. He thought of the knife in his belt, concealed only by his body lying on top of it. All St. Cyr had to do was slip his hand underneath him and find it. The vampire’s innate intelligence and suspicion would help him put the truth together, if he hadn’t already begun to.
Damn this fucking lead to hell! The weakness the substance had produced in his body exceeded his own healing powers. His skin was no longer broken and his body had expelled the bullets. However, this latent weakness left him unable to rise and finish. By all appearances, he wouldn’t be killing St. Cyr anytime soon. Especially with his eyelids growing sooo…heavy.
Must…not…sleep. Jesse thrashed his head back and forth, struggling to keep his eyes open. He was losing the battle. The lead had done something inside him, prolonging his complete healing. If he tried to kill St. Cyr now, the vampire would easily overpower him and kill him. He needed his full strength in order to go against a vampire, no matter how compassionate the vamp seemed to be.
Compassion wouldn’t win out over survival, to be sure.
Losing the battle against his illness, Jesse released a long shuddering breath and surrendered to the call of sleep.

D.L. Warner on Writing Great – Yaoi – Sex

We authors who write M/M know that writing love scenes takes time and care to craft, to make incorporate the emotions with the physical acts so that the developing eroticism between the two MCs doesn’t feel forced or just inserted into the story for the sake of adding sex. I’m very happy to have author D.L. Warner today with a tutorial on writing m/m erotic scenes, a juicy instructional excerpt and links to other yummy examples. Her main rule of thumb is to “keep it real.”

Post begins here:

A few weeks ago, I got into a discussion about writing sex scenes with a new author who found them difficult and embarrassing. She thought that readers would believe she had done the things her characters did. Every time she’d get into a groove, the thought of family or friends reading it would make her freeze, stifling her creativity. I’m not sure if I can help with that feeling. I am often mortified when I hear that my mother-in-law has been reading my erotica. I mean, who wouldn’t be shaken up? I can’t help an author with qualms over who may be reading his or her works. At some point, an author needs to own the work and be proud of all that effort and time and tears.

Keep It Real

As for writing sex scenes? I could say wing it. There seem to be no wrong ways in yaoi even if they defy the physical facts of male anatomy or physics and gravity, in some cases. It’s clear that even some of the best writers out there don’t know a lot about gay sex. One of the first mangaka we localized admitted that her agent had purchased gay porn for her to watch to improver her accuracy. She’s very well known, and this is still a problem. I think getting the sex right is worth the effort. Mechanics are easy to research. Without spending any money, you can find quality porn that will give you the basics. Do not look at anime or manga yaoi for instructions on actual sex. Too many of them get it wrong (I mean the physical mechanics are just plain wrong) to use as an example of how to write your own scenes. However, to really write how characters feel during sex, it really helps to have had great sex. I’m not saying that having had great sex is essential in writing great sex scenes, but it really, really helps.

For me, sex is a way to reveal a character – no pun intended. How they make love tells a lot about who they are. Sex between the characters is just another way of communicating. It’s really jarring to have a character take a 180 from his normal personality when he is in a sex scene. A playful Seme becoming a hyper-violent bully in bed rings false and can be a complete turn off. Likewise, the uber macho Seme who inexplicably gets lovey-dovey cutsy during sex is really off putting as well. Using the personalities seen outside of the bedroom actually makes writing the scenes in the bedroom easier. Creating a whole new persona for a character is not easy. I’ll give you some examples of how I write and then a few suggestions for films and anime to watch that have terrific character driven sex scenes.


The Dominant/submissive or Seme/uke Relationship

As I have said many times before, there is more to this relationship that physical restraints or violence. My biggest baddest dominant or Seme, Darius Galatea, begins seducing his gorgeous and willful uke, Andreas Hesper, the first time he touches him. Darius is the most powerful man in a planetary system. Aside from that he is extremely hot and sensually compelling. His regard can be so intense that he cannot work with anyone on his staff that is attracted to males. There have been too many misunderstandings and broken hearts and obsessive stalkers. The arrogance in Darius is fully justified. Yet he takes nothing for granted when he really wants something or someone. Andreas Hesper has relatively little power compared to Darius. However, he is powerful in his own world. He knows instinctively if someone means him physical harm and knows how to protect himself. Andreas is also incredibly beautiful and sensual and full of mischief. Those qualities catch Darius’ interest and complete attention. Just as he would in a complex business deal, Darius immediately began calculating the way he would pursue Andreas. He wants to addict Andreas to having sex with him. He wants him to willingly give himself completely for an indefinite amount of time. This entire plan begins with a dance in Ensnared Volume One .

The decision was made in a split second. Before Mykos could offer a course of action, Darius was on his feet. A second later, he was pulling Andreas into his arms. In one smooth movement, Darius entwined his long, elegant fingers with Andreas’ then pulled his left arm behind his back to bring him close. The other hand firmly held the right hand to guide the dance. Andreas was stunned for a few seconds, but soon he was moving in a sensual counter rhythm. Andreas relaxed in his grasp then met his gaze. Darius was impressed, and not just because of the way Andreas felt in his arms. They fit well and moved very well together – almost like they had danced that way before. What Darius admired was the attitude he was getting from Andreas. The challenge was there, but there was also curiosity in those incredible green-gold eyes. He met Darius’ eyes without fear, yet there was fascination and appreciation there as well.
Andreas Hesper was not fawning over Darius. He was subtly fighting, him all to the beat of the music. Every 8th beat, he tried to pull back and get some distance from the Cosi’s body. No one watching them knew just how hard Andreas fought against being overwhelmed. He was very graceful and very subtle in his movements. Darius was just as graceful and subtle pulling Andreas back pressing him close without grinding against him. Though he knew that his face remained impassive, Darius felt a spark of lust from holding Andreas that he hadn’t felt in some time – if ever. He had to fight a nearly overwhelming urge to grab him by his hair and kiss Andreas long and hard. He wanted to weaken him to the point where he’d be willing to give his body for thorough use until he could come no more. Yes, that was deeply appealing and completely impractical.
Instead, Darius dipped his head to one side to scent Andreas just behind his ear. He smelled of warm spices. With that honey colored skin, Darius was certain that he tasted delicious. The Crew Leader inhaled sharply then leaned into the hold Darius had on him. The Cosi looked Andreas in the eyes once more. What he saw almost ended his fragile resolve. The fight was still there but this time his eyes were dilated and a little dreamy. This time, when he tried to pull away, Darius was certain that Andreas was fighting himself. Darius wondered what he would try next to escape.
“I’m Andreas Hesper, Lord Galatea,” he said. Darius found he liked that deep, rich voice a little desperate.
“I know that now,” Darius replied mildly. “It’s unfortunate that I’ve never dealt with you personally. That may have to change.”
Andreas swallowed hard just as the song ended. Darius released him with clear reluctance.
“Thank you, Lord,” Andrea said softly.
Darius wasn’t sure if he was thanking him for the dance or for releasing him. He returned to his table heedless of the gaping eyes upon him.

When circumstances force Andreas to seek protection from Darius, words are used to seduce him into complete surrender.

Andreas leaned heavily on the wall and stared absently out the window. Though his mind was still racing, his body felt like it was made of lead. He didn’t even notice that Darius had returned until the Cosi was looming over him. In that weakened state, Andreas found the man’s presence overwhelming.
“Darius…what…what will you have of me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want me to be…naked for this whole time I am with you?”
“Ah, yes….always naked…always ready to receive me,” he murmured with a ghost of a smile playing on his face.
“Yeah,” Andreas managed with a hard swallow.
“Do you want to be always naked and ready for me?” He asked huskily.
Andreas felt his face flush. It was in his head to say hell no, but his brain couldn’t make his mouth say the words as he looked up into the Cosi’s hot blue gaze. What was happening to him?
Darius gently took Andreas by the chin once again and gently tilted his head up.
“We will share a great deal of pleasure, sweet Dami,” Darius said. “I know you have a profoundly sensual nature. I am not willing to share that nature or your beauty with anyone. You are not permitted to be unclothed for anyone save me. Nor is anyone else to touch you.”
Andreas was deeply relieved.
“The morning has caught up with you,” Darius observed. “You probably didn’t sleep well the night before.”
“No. Not really.”
“Go find the Master Suite, and lie down,” he said. His voice was gentle.
“But…don’t you want….aren’t I supposed to…”
“I will have you until you can’t come anymore,” Darius promised. His voice became sultry. “Have you ever been wrung dry, Andreas? Have you ever begged to stop coming?”
Andreas felt his knees weaken as his mouth went dry. He shook his head and waited for the kiss and the crush of that hard body against his.
“I want you awake enough to enjoy all the torment you’ve courted,” Darius murmured as he ran his thumb along Andreas’ lower lip. “Take your rest. You’ll wake when you’re hungry.”

Once in the bedroom, long before pinning Andreas down or shackling him to the headboard, there is the kiss. Darius uses kissing to weaken knees and drain resistance. By the time he gets around to using a restraint, Darius has taken the fight out of Andreas. That uke is willing to give Darius anything. He doesn’t even have to demand. Meanwhile, Andreas wants to caress Darius as he is being caressed, but he rarely has the presence of mind to do anything but moan and come really hard. Andreas doesn’t really mind any of this despite the power he possessed outside of his Seme’s penthouse. In fact, the more Andreas gives in to his Seme, the more he wants to yield. In the latest short story, Enthralled (available for free in YGG Magaizine Issue 1), Darius finds out just how far his uke is willing to go to submit to him. But beyond being dominant and arrogant, the same humor and tenderness that comes out in their conversations comes out in their lovemaking. Andreas is playful when he isn’t coming really hard. Darius is exasperating. They laugh often in bed.

In short, make sure that you get some good examples of actual sex. If possible, have great sex yourself. Finally, make sure the characters are the same inside the bedroom as outside. Also, don’t worry about people thinking bad things about you for writing erotica. Such critics will find a reason to be haters no matter what you write, so write what you enjoy!

For love scenes that fit the criteria described in the blog, I recommend Judas Kiss featuring hot man on man

action with some sci-fi elements.View free here:  http://www.imdb.com/video/imdb/vi1876468505/ And for character sexiness on the run there is Desperado http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112851/?ref_=nv_sr_1 I think that the best anime I’ve seen for in character sex that looks accurate (especially the last sex scene) is Ikoku Irokoi Romantan http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL47F1A8E36AF6C8F2.

Have fun writing, and please share your results on the Yaoi a GoGo Facebook page. We may put you in YGG Magazine!

YGG Magazine cover time! Whee!

You can imagine my absolute ecstasy when Yaoi A GoGo (YGG) Magazine approached me to have Ai Press featured in their main article for the next issue! Moreover, our book covers would be pasted all over the front cover of this premier magazine for fans of the yaoi genre of M/M romance.

So I just wanted to share the excitement, which got even better. I didn’t know that Soy Sauce Face (one of the personal faves I’ve written, also got an incredibly beautiful review. The reviewr gave it basically a 5/5 stars and she said if she could, she would give the sex scene 8/5. I am floating, needless to say.

There are other cool things in this issue. It features Ai Press (of course that’s me), Ahn! Con, great fiction by upcoming authors and Gorgeous Cosplay Master, Alfred Xiaolay!

I have to admit I really didn’t know anything about cosplay until recently. I’d heard of it but I didn’t know that there are people who really can make themselves look exactly like the characters in our favorite mangas. Truly amazing!

Oh before I forget! To celebrate this wonderful happening, there is a 30% off sale ALL titles at Ai Press. Coupon code is YGG at checkout.

Anyway, thank you so much for letting me share. I hope you will check out the article and the magazine and maybe

Yay – My new release!

MenofTokyo23It’s been three years since I released a book in my White Tigers series but here it is. Those of you who are familiar with the series already know the twins, Mod and Tatou, but their story has never been told. Yes, this is a “twincest” story so I don’t recommend it unless that’s a genre that appeals to you. In case you do read it, though, I really hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading this. Warmly, Sedonia
Men of Tokyo: Forbidden Cravings
Author: Sedonia Guillone
Genre: M/M; Gay Romance; Twins
Series: White Tigers – Prequel
Series order: Men of Tokyo: Sudden Bliss|Men of Tokyo: Sudden Surrender|Yin Yang|Men of Phuket: Tongue-Thai’d|Men of Tokyo: Sudden Heat|Men of Phuket: Thai’ing the Knot (Visit here. www.the-white-tigers.com)
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-35-8
MSRP: 7.49
You pay: 4.49

Cover art: Les Byerley

**Content warning: If “twincest” makes you uncomfortable, don’t read this book.

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Some cravings will not be denied, no matter how taboo…

Due to popular demand, Mod and Tatou, the hot identical twins who are an integral part of the White Tigers series finally have their own story told. On the surface, they’re mischievous and funny, good friends and a comfort to their fellow White Tigers when they go through life’s trials and pains. But there is more to these two underneath their gorgeous exteriors. They had their own path to the White Tiger, a path fraught with difficulty, self- criticism, challenges and struggles. After all, they couldn’t be in love with each other, want no other in every way possible and not feel conflicted right? So when the opportunity arose to practice the spiritually erotic path of the White Tiger in Tokyo, a place where they hoped to “cure” themselves of their problem, they jumped on it.

However, as they both learned, the heart loves who it loves and they will be faced with the ultimate decision: give the heart what it wants or face the possibility of an unfulfilled yet “normal” life where they are acceptable? Now that they’ve had a taste of heaven, they might just not be able to give it up!

Excerpt:

Chapter One
London, England a few years back

“Mod, what the hell? You’ve got to be taking the piss!” The indecent proposal he’d just passed along could not be real. Not from Angie, who’d been their mate since third form and had followed them to Uni.

Mod laughed. “I swear, T, I’m not!”

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 mischievous. The way he always slicked his black hair up into a fauxhawk only emphasized his devilish appearance. At least Tatou thought so. “Then Angie’s taking the piss. These girls are mates.”

In the main room of the suite, the girls’ pajama party Angela had invited them to rang on. Some mates. Mild-mannered women by day, they’d transformed into ten horny college birds, giggling. An occasional cackle.

Mod took a swig of his beer and clapped him on the back. “Ask her yourself, T. She swears it wasn’t her idea. Someone who finds the two of us quite fit 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 cologne. Spicy. Too good. “Just think, T, a hundred quid for a few seconds’ snog.”

Tatou wrenched out of his brother’s loose hold, but not before a 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 incense 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? Did he really mean to tempt fate this way? A terribly disturbing thought flashed into his mind and he prayed that Mod would be drunk enough not to play the one card that might get him to give in to Angie’s request.

“Name one reason, T.” Shit, Mod was determined to push him.

“Well, first of all, Moddie, taking money for sexual activity is prostitution.”

That pulled a throaty laugh from his heavily-buzzed brother. “The world’s oldest profession. Nothing to scoff at. 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 had spent too much time and energy training himself to block that track in his thoughts since his mind tried ever so hard to go there and to bring his body with it. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re my brother? There’ve 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 suite 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 room in their 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 only occasionally practiced fitting which of course, required that one of them climb out of his own bed and get into the other’s. Truthfully, he missed the closeness. They were best friends. Didn’t go anywhere apart. Not even meals. Only once in a while they took a course for their majors that was different. Not even dating, limited though it had been so far in their twenty-two years. 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 to be…normal. If he had anything to say about it, he and Mod would each find their own guy and settle down. In neighboring flats, perhaps, so they’d always be close by to each other, but not with each other. Being in school, so many people in the dorm all the time had kept them both…apart, you could say. Kissing was not going to help. Then Mod’s nuzzling lips feathered a trail toward his ear, toward the sensitive flesh of his earlobe…

With a hand on Mod’s chest, Tatou 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. We need this money for our trip!”

Dammit. Mod hadn’t been too drunk to play the trip card. Tatou exhaled. Their graduation present to themselves, partially funded by Mum and Dad after graduation. A whole summer in Japan. At that special place in Tokyo Mod had 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. Mod wanted to go to this place more than he did but he never went anywhere without Mod. If he refused and made things more difficult, he’d hurt Mod’s dream and that was something he never wanted to do. Not to the person he loved and admired most in the whole world. Even if it meant…shattering what bit of self-control he’d been able to muster. Fuck’s sake. “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. With 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 girls hungering to watch a guy kiss.

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 fifteen quid apiece for, what was more nerve-racking? All this lustful attention and expectation, or the fact that he was about to break his personal taboo? Kissing…with their shirts off no less!

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 skin and another round of lusty girl cheers pounded through his head. 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 need words. Whatever Mod really felt about what they were doing would surely come out later once they were back in their own 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 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 grew warmer from their combined heat. The embrace forced Tatou’s arms out. At first he let them hang at his sides, but then the pressure was too much. This trip meant everything to Mod… 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 Mod’s spine met his 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 him as well as Mum.

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.

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

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.

Latest good stuff

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:

A Bunch of Hot Guys and Me

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.”

This is what I’m aiming for

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.

Awesome author Madelynne Ellis!

I’m so excited and honored to have Black Lace author (and fellow Gackt lover), Madelynne Ellis on my blog in an exclusive interview. Yay!

About Madelynne
Zodiac sign: Cancer, Water Ox
Favorite foods: Cheese, Chocolate, Olives
Music: Gackt and far too many other things to list.
Authors: Winston Graham, JRR Tolkien
Films: Labyrinth, Infernal Affairs, Ashura, Dangerous Liaisons

SG: Hi Madelynne. Thanks so much for being on my blog today.

ME: Hi Sedonia, and thanks for having me. I feel all honoured.

SG: I’ll start with the question all erotic romance authors are asked: What got you into writing this genre?

ME: Well, back in the mid-nineties a friend of mine found the Black Lace book I was reading and suggested that I have a go at writing one. I had no writing aspirations at the time, but it sounded like an interesting idea, so I sent off for their guidelines, and rather a long time later they published my first book – A Gentleman’s Wager. Now, I can’t imagine writing a book that doesn’t include sex in some form, both the act and the complex emotions that surround it are such a large part of who we are.

SG: This is the question I love to ask. Do you have certain guys who inspire the heroes in your books?

ME: I don’t particularly go looking for people who resemble my heroes, but occasionally I stumble upon someone who makes me go, ‘That’s .’ And then I will collect pictures of them. Jonathan Rhys Meyers with long hair always reminds me of Vaughan from A Gentleman’s Wager and Phantasmagoria, while this image (1) of Gackt is exactly how I imagine Takeshi in his wedding outfit in Dark Designs. Gackt in this guise was very definitely the starting point for Blaze in Broken Angel (in Possession). Actually, much of the story was inspired by his promo video for the song Vanilla.

blond Gackt

SG: As you know, I’m particularly fond of Takeshi from Dark Designs. Can you talk a bit more about the inspiration for this character as well as the story in general?

I’m not really sure why I decided to have a Japanese character in Dark Designs, other than it seemed appropriate to the setting. The book is about Remy Davies a gothic fashion designer with a yaoi fetish. I wanted to make Takeshi unashamedly geeky but in a cool, slightly aggressive way. A lot of the elements of his character (and those of the others) are references to comics, manga and anime, for example his silver-blue hair and bosozoku (biker gang) background. Really I suppose that book is populated with exaggerations of characters I’ve encountered through life. It was enormously fun to write.

Curiously, many of the video game, comic and music references I included, I expected to be asked to remove in the revisions phase. The fact that they made it to the published version makes me all kinds of happy.

SG: Readers may not know that you won Best Male-Male Sex Scene Scarlet Magazine, 2006 Erotic Fiction Awards for a scene between Takeshi and the other hero Silk. I did love that scene myself! Was writing m/m something that has just come naturally to you or has there been a process of discovering that this is a genre that you love writing in?

I think I’m just wired that way. From the outset, I’ve included m/m scenarios in my work, although until recently I’d never written anything longer than a short story that was entirely m/m focussed. I tend to veer towards the ménage a trois in longer works as it allows for loads of conflict. However, I’m currently finishing up a Regency set story about two men forced to spent a night together in a haunted folly and that’s entirely m/m. Hopefully, someone will love it enough to publish it.

SG: I know that you also enjoy writing historicals. What periods do you favor and why? I’m currently reading A Gentleman’s Wager and I’m impressed by how vividly you evoke the period. How much research do you need to do to achieve this?

My favourite era to write in is definitely Georgian England. There’s such a lot going on in the world, you have rigid social divisions, and most importantly fantastic clothes. I particularly love men’s costumes from that period, as they’re so lavish and pretty with their abundance of beads, buttons, ribbons and lace. The illusion of androgyny fascinates me. I love that the men look like butterflies, but are still sword-carrying alphas underneath it all. Oh, and of course the strength and beauty image feeds straight into my whole fascination with bisexuality.

As for how much research I do… Well, I have a broad idea of the time so I tend to just research specific details as required. I’ve made period costumes in the past, and being in England I have numerous castles and great houses virtually on my doorstep if I want a bit of inspiration. Obviously, there’s a lot to account for, but the most research heavy book I’ve written was actually Passion of Isis, which is a contemporary set on an archaeological dig in Egypt.

SG: What are you currently working on?

I’m still tidying up Pure Folly (mentioned above) and I’m busy outlining the next book in the A Gentleman’s Wager series. I’m keeping the title secret, but this book will wrap up Vaughan, Bella and Lucerne’s story. It takes place shortly after the conclusion of Phantasmagoria and will be very relationship based.

SG: What releases do we have to look forward to in the near future and could you please share a snippet of something for us?

No definite release date for anything in the future at the moment except for a short story, El Alquimista, in Love at First Bite.

This is a snippet from Phantasmagoria.

‘Let go!’ Bella fought against Vaughan’s hold, but remained trapped between the flexing steel of his warm body and the wall. Vaughan quashed her cries, forcing his tongue into her mouth and kissing her hard.

She melted.

Nobody else ever kissed her with the same knee-buckling intensity, with a taste that washed straight to her quaint. She’d never been able to resist his kiss. Never.

‘Get off me,’ she snarled, when he finally pulled back for air.

‘Not yet.’ He locked an arm across his chest, while his body still pressed against her as unyielding as pig iron, and with his free hand he lifted her hem.

Her arousal exposed, Bella turned her head away from his scalding breath. ‘I’m not your plaything. Not even your mistress.’

‘You’re my lover.’ His breath troubled the pulse point in her throat. ‘If not my mistress, what are you, some slattern that needed a bed for a night?

She snapped her teeth at him, but he merely laughed and pushed his fingers into her heat. His thumb worked bitter circles around her clitoris, driving her onto her toes, gasping for breath. Arousal so thick it felt like bellyache knotted her lower half. Slickly, his fingers worked their magic, driving her to the brink of joy, and transforming sharp words into sharper breaths.

She couldn’t speak. She felt his cock lying unbearably hard against her hip, so full of promise.

‘Sing for me, my nightingale. Come.’ He dragged his lips down the side of her neck and sucked. She couldn’t fight it. Shards of frosty hatred cracked into sparklers of delight. The swirl of his thumb, the twist of his fingers brought such sweet, swift pleasure, her limbs trembled.

Bella’s pulse raced with need and expectation. She managed to win one arm free, and immediately dug her fingers into his bottom. The muscles clenched and unclenched as he rocked against her thigh, taking his pleasure from the friction. The dance of their bodies slowed, as her breaths became shallow and ragged. Everything was concentrated in her clit and the tingle of her nipples. The whole world seemed to contract into one point as she gasped into his chest and her orgasm rendered her soft and pliant.

Bella snuggled against his shoulder, her eyes wet with tears, content for a moment to simply exist in his embrace.

‘Now you’re even.’ Vaughan disentangled their bodies, and stepped back. ‘Don’t ever presume to tell me whom I can bed in my own house.’

She felt the blood return to her face. Her eyes narrowed, but so did Vaughan’s. Was this battle of wills really what she wanted? She longed for Lucerne’s easy smile, the safety of his embrace.

Vaughan was the most exciting, sexually aggressive man she’d ever met. The most perverse, the most infuriating, and it hurt to love him.

God, how it hurt!

Thank you, Madelynne!

Visit Madelynne’s website.