Pairing: m/m

The powers that be at MLR Press asked for it and I, weak as I am, agreed to do a sequel to About Something.

BLURB:

Turns out life as a drag queen isn’t what Shawn thought it would be. He loves the costumes and dressing up, but he’s found he’s better suited to performing from a script than vamping onstage. Too bad Shawn figured this out long after breaking up with Roscoe when his bossy director boyfriend told him he didn’t have what it would take.

Two years later, Shawn may not be wildly happy but he’s content. That is until Roscoe shows up to ask him to reprise his role as Beatrice in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. Roscoe is as magnetic as he’s always been and the spark between them is still burning bright.

When Roscoe turns on the charm for a more personal reunion, can Shawn resist? Does he even want to?

*********************************

© 2010 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Roscoe folded his forearms on the bar before him, one of his elbows brushing Shawn’s. “It’s a paying gig. Equity. You could get your card.”

“Aha.” Shawn took a sip of his drink, keeping his eyes on the bar. “I get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why are you showing up, out of the blue, with an offer?”

Some of their audience had drifted away, but Shawn had no doubt those who remained would spread the word.

Didn’t seem like Roscoe cared who heard. “I told you. I need you. Play’s not the same without you.”

“Why that play?”

“I like that play.”

“You going to call Bonnie in California to come play Benedick?”

When there was no answer, he slanted his gaze at the other man.

Roscoe stared at the array of bottles on the mirrored wall behind the bar. He shook his head, not smiling now. “No.”

“What? You don’t think she did great?”

“I do, and you know it.”

“Right.” He took a healthy drink then carefully set his glass down. “But you weren’t sleeping with her.”

Ever aware of his performance, on and off stage, Roscoe gave it a beat, turned to face Shawn then sat back, putting some distance between them. “My offer is sincere, regardless of our past.”

“I’m sure the offer’s sincere. But it doesn’t make anything that happened between us right.”

He heard the disgusted snort even though he wasn’t looking Roscoe’s way. “Who said I was trying to make anything right? I’m trying to offer you a job.”

Shawn faced him. “A real job.”

Roscoe tilted his head.

“Go ahead, say it. You want to.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

They had a silent, rapt audience now. The only sound was the Eighties music pumping through the speakers overhead.

Shawn was not adverse to giving them a show. These people would be on his side. “Why not? I know what you want to say. What the hell are you doing slumming here anyway? You hate places like this.”

The older man shook his head. “I never said that.”

“Oh, okay. Then you just hate me being in a place like this?”

Roscoe glanced at the people surrounding them. “You sure you want to do it like this?”

“Why not? They like it here.”

The calm facade dissolved and finally Roscoe showed some anger as he crossed his arms over his chest. “My God, still the drama queen, are we?”

“Fuck you.” Shawn slammed his hand on the bar and stepped back. “I don’t need your hand out, Mr. Big Shot Director. Why don’t you go somewhere else and find someone who’s willing to bend over and take it from you.”

In one sudden move, Roscoe rolled to his feet, leaning over and into Shawn. “You used to do it willingly,” he murmured, lips just inches away from Shawn’s.

Shawn barely managed to keep himself from jumping up and wrapping himself in Roscoe’s embrace. As it was, he caught himself leaning toward the hard strength he knew was inside that shirt. Nostrils flaring, he glared up into Roscoe’s face, determined not to back down. “Not. Any. More.”

Roscoe stayed where he was, staring Shawn down. The air around them vibrated, and no one within hearing spoke.

Finally, Roscoe licked his lips. “Fine.” He took one step back. “You think about it. The offer stands, but I can only hold the role open for a week or so.”

“Don’t bother.”

Roscoe’s jaw worked from side to side, a sign to Shawn that he was reviewing and discarding a number of parting lines. In the end, he just said. “By the way, I caught your act. You were great tonight.” He turned and walked out.

Flummoxed, Shawn could only stare. He’d seen Shawn’s act? After all he’d said about how Shawn couldn’t succeed as a drag queen? Trust Roscoe to find words that would bite.

* * * * *

Thoroughly annoyed, Shawn refused to answer any questions that were pelted at him after Roscoe’s exit stage right. He fled to the haven of the dressing room and changed into his jeans and tennis shoes. After cleaning off all his makeup, he shouldered his backpack, checked his wallet to make sure he did, indeed, have cab fare then left by the back entrance.

Hailing a cab from the corner was easy, but just as he was about to duck in the back, someone came up behind him to hold the door. You don’t live in the city long before you develop a healthy dose of suspicion, so Shawn immediately straightened and jumped away.

It was Roscoe. He tilted his head forward so those black eyes peeked at Shawn over the horn rims. A lock of silky black hair dipped down to shade his eyes from the harsh street light. “Mind if I join you?”

If Shawn’s heart hadn’t already been hammering from the mild scare, it jumped into triple time now. “If I say no?”

Two years as this man’s lover had taught him what that wicked glimmer in those eyes meant. “Don’t say no.”

All blood rushed south to fill his cock and Shawn suddenly had trouble remembering why, exactly, he wanted to keep his distance from the man. Why would he decline that offer? He shrugged and climbed into the backseat, aware of the man crawling in beside him. Okay, yes, Roscoe was probably just pushing his point about the play. Mr. Director rarely gave up after only one volley. Shawn didn’t intend to give in, but, since he very well knew the tools of persuasion Roscoe had in his arsenal, he didn’t see why he couldn’t have a little fun. Yeah, he told himself as he settled in his seat, no harm in making him work for it.

“Where to?” asked the cabbie, glancing back at them through the dirty safety shield.

Shawn opened his mouth but Roscoe answered first, giving the address of his building. Before Shawn could continue to give his own address, Roscoe grabbed his arm to stop him.

He leaned closer. “Come home with me.”

Shawn swallowed, watching those gorgeous lips caress the words. Home meant a lot more when Roscoe said it, since the home he meant had been Shawn’s once too. “Why should I?”

Roscoe’s lips parted, that tongue again swiping over his bottom lip. “I want you to.”

Shawn snorted, clutching at the backpack he held in his lap. “You can’t always get what you want.”

“But you can get what you need.”

****************************

Click here for the site’s main page for Much Ado

Available in ebook from Loose Id

FYI, this story is a big spoiler for One For The Team. If you haven’t read it and don’t want to know what happens, stop here.

OFTT is a m/f story. This story is about Jason and Davey, two of Jen’s best friends. I assure you, it becomes m/m but it starts out m/f/m.

BLURB (subject to change):

Others might be fooled into thinking Davey is just a computer nerd, but Jason knows better. He knows his geeky best friend is wicked to the core. So, he shouldn’t be surprised when Davey lures him into a threesome on the night of their friends’ wedding. Two guys and one girl turns out to be a pretty terrific thing, especially when watching Davey have sex is almost as exciting as knowing Davey is watching him. And the girl doesn’t seem to mind either.

One threesome leads to more, but then something changes. Now, when Davey touches him, it’s a whole new ballgame. Jason likes it…a lot, and he likes it even more when they try sex without the girl. Who knew?

But Jason’s troubles are just beginning. He sees newfound depths in their friendship. Depths he’s willing to explore. Too bad Davey doesn’t feel the same.

The past has taught Davey that happily ever after doesn’t exist and Jason is afraid he’ll never be able to change Davey’s mind.

Will Jason be able to convince his stubborn friend that true love is possible for their two man team?

Here’s a taste of the first chapter as it now stands. Takes place right after Jen and Ken’s wedding.

***********************

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

They’d all figured Jen could handle it. None of them had intended to change their friendship or turn it into anything long-term. Just friends having fun. Then Ken had thrown a wrench into the works. Or, as he claimed, Jen had mucked it up by sleeping with Jason, Bart, and Davey but refusing to sleep with him. Jason had to admit that would have ticked him off too. Looking back on the one night when the five of them had been together, Ken was the only one who hadn’t done more than kiss Jen. Of course, she’d stayed the night with him when the rest of them had gone home. That was the night Ken had seen the proverbial light and asked Jen to marry him. Jason was happy for them. He was. Looking at them now, he wondered why no one had seen that they were meant for each other before.

But that didn’t help him tonight. Clearly, if he was going to find companionship, he would have to go elsewhere.

Setting his glass down on the pristine white tablecloth, he stood. Jen and Ken were busy, so he chose not to bother them. He’d already bestowed his congratulations on the happy couple, and he’d see them at work on Wednesday anyway since they weren’t going on their honeymoon until November. Because the restaurant was open for regular diners tonight as well, Bart would be busy.

Where was Davey? The little snot was his ride home, which was the only reason he was still drinking. Last time he’d seen the other man had been when there were still people dancing on the miniature floor. That had to have been an hour or so ago. As he meandered toward the door leading out of the banquet room, Jason pulled out his cell and sent a text to his friend: Where r u?

Once out of the room, he edged around a small dining area toward the buzz of conversation that surrounded the bar. The area was pretty typical of an upscale restaurant like Bart’s. Up two steps and Jason was surrounded by shining polished wood, mirrors, and muted lighting. A few minitables were scattered in the open area on one side, but the main focus was the long bar with the bottles of booze behind on mirrored shelves. There were only about a dozen people there, and he recognized a few from the wedding. He waved to Ken’s sister with her hubby and Tina and Dan from work, but headed for the end of the bar. He took a barstool and watched a few pitches in the Pirates/Brewers game while he waited for Jake, the bartender, to finish up and bring him another.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself, watching the roll of scores across the bottom of the plasma screen mounted on the wall. Mets won again. That meant his beloved Braves were another game down. It was a damn sure bet they weren’t going to make it to the play-offs this year.

He was halfway through another Black Russian and well into the next inning of the Rockies/Giants game when Davey finally texted him back. He flipped open the phone to read the message: Come. Back lot.

The parking lot in the back? “Why?” he asked the phone aloud, knowing full well it wouldn’t answer. So he texted it: Why?

A moment later came the reply: Just come.

Typical Davey. No explanation, just an expectation of obedience. Had he moved his car? If so, why? No telling with Davey, of course. He followed his own rules for everything.

Sighing, Jason stood, then downed his drink and paid for it while grimacing at the onslaught of rich coffee liqueur down to his gullet. He hoped whatever Davey had in mind was worth it. He didn’t drink Black Russians often, and he preferred to savor them.

Well acquainted with the layout of the restaurant, he headed for the darker hallways that led to the restrooms. Beyond the johns was another hall that led both to the manager’s office and employees’ lockers. There was also a fire door that led to the back parking lot. Once outside, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the harsh fluorescent lighting directly overhead that cast faux moonlight in the immediate vicinity. The parking lot in back only held ten spaces, meant for kitchen staff and managers. Bart’s Beemer sat directly outside the door.

It took a moment, but Jason finally located Davey leaning against the dark shadow of his deep blue Mustang GT at the very edge of the halo of light. His white dress shirt and light-colored slacks stood out against the black background of the trees that stood beyond the pavement, as did the bright pink T-shirt of the girl pressed against him.

What the hell? Jason scowled. Was he going to have to find another way home? That little shit.

Having heard the door open, Davey waved him over with one arm while keeping the other wrapped around the girl.

Muttering to himself, Jason descended the three cement steps of the stoop and crossed the lot. He really shouldn’t begrudge his buddy finding a date. Wasn’t he hoping to do the same thing?

She was cute, too. A little under Davey’s height, which put her around five feet four or five, she had that hair that wasn’t quite brunette and wasn’t quite blonde but was kind of both, cut short, level with her rounded chin. She had a slim little body with a tight belly shown off by the way her T-shirt rode up because her arms were around Davey’s neck. When she turned to grin at Jason, he guessed she was around their age, with a bright smile and carefully plucked eyebrows. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes because it was too dark in the lot.

Jason stopped a few paces away from them and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks. “What’s up?”

Davey grinned, the lenses of his thick-rimmed glasses catching a glint from the light behind Jason. “This is Tacy.”

The girl unwound her arms and turned to face Jason but kept her hip snuggled up against Davey. She extended a hand to Jason. “Stacy without the S. Hi.”

He took it, mustering a smile. Maybe she had a friend inside. “Hi.”

Her fingers slid over his palm as their hands parted, and she gave him a warm little grin that he couldn’t decipher.

Keeping his eyes on Jason, Davey rubbed her back, making her T-shirt ride up her belly a little more. With the dip of her low-rise jeans, there was a nice bit of soft flesh visible. “Tacy’s never had two guys at once. I told her we could probably accommodate her. What do you think?”

Jason blinked. Then his jaw dropped. “Huh?”

Tacy giggled, propping her back up against Davey so he could slide his arms around her from behind.

Davey wasn’t even fazed by what he’d said. “Tacy wants to do us.”

She giggled again. “Or you do me.”

One of Davey’s thumbs tucked into the waistband of her jeans, right behind the button. “Some of both.”

Jason’s gaze snagged on that thumb, his imagination filling in what was right near it. “You guys are serious?”

“Oh yeah,” Tacy assured him.

“Do I know you?”

She pulled away from Davey and closed the distance to Jason. Blue. Her eyes were blue. “Not yet.” She let that blue gaze rake him up and down before she spread her palms over his chest, slipping them underneath the lapels of his jacket to lightly press his nipples. “But we can fix that.”

He glanced over her shoulder. Davey remained where he was, arms now folded across his chest. His head was cocked to the side, shiny, straight brown hair falling to the side from the tilt of his head. That smug little grin he almost always wore was right there, challenging Jason to take up the offer.

A few months ago, Jason might not have considered it. But after what had happened with Jen this summer, he was caught. That night the five of them had shared sprung to mind. It had been sexy as hell watching the other guys fuck Jen, knowing they were watching when he was inside her himself. All too vividly he could conjure up the memory of Davey, naked and sheened with sweat as he plowed into Jen from behind. He remembered the fevered glee in Davey’s unshielded eyes when their gazes had met over Jen’s back, Davey fucking her while Jen sucked Jason’s cock. It was the single most erotic thing he could remember doing in his life.

The light in Davey’s eyes told Jason he remembered the same thing. And wanted to do it again.

Why the hell not?

His thoughts had taken mere seconds. His gaze returned to Tacy’s by the time she spoke again. “What do you say?”

He grinned down at her, setting his hands on the curve of her hips. “I’m game if you are.”

****************

Click here to visit the site’s main page for Two Man Team

Pairing: m/f; m/m; m/m/f; f/f; m/m/m/f

Available in ebook  from Loose Id

Available in ebook from ARe

Available for Kindle from Amazon

Available in ebook from Fictionwise

So here it is, the last book of the main arc started in Dark Elves I: Taken. The children conceived in the first three books are now grown and ready to cause trouble. As a quick primer, Brevin is Salin and Diana’s son, Lanthan is Krael and Suza’s son, Tykir is Hyle and Gala’s son, and Eryhaen is Savous and Irin’s daughter. Not to mention there’s this guy… from book three… who showed up in book five… yeah, we’re dealing with him too.

BLURB:

As the first girl child born to the dark elves, Eryhaen is rhaejena—princess—and desired by all of the men around her. Born with magical gifts that challenge even the most experienced sorcerers among her people, she has the awe of her people and the devotion of her three best friends and lovers. Brevin, Lanthan and Tykir have been at her side their whole lives and each of the three young men would do anything for her and each other.

But Eryhaen needs more than untutored if eager lovers. She is out of control, and she knows it. Her magic is raw and wild, and she is not the only one who’s started to see her as a danger.

She needs help.

The only possibility is Radin, a legendary sorcerer, returned from the dead but magically unconscious for a quarter of a century. Dreams and undeniable instincts tell her that he’s the solution to her problems, if she can only wake him up.

Once she does, what then? He may be the answer to her problems, but is the legendary lover the man for her? Or is he meant for someone else?

****************************

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Brevin’s left arm flew up, the long, slim dagger in reverse grip along his forearm to deflect Lanthan’s blade. As Lanthan began to twist away, Brevin brought up a fist, aiming for his gut. Lanthan was better than that, having spun into Brevin, catching him off guard enough so that when the smaller man’s ass rammed into his hips, he stumbled enough for Lanthan to grip his left arm and flip him head over heels. He ended flat on his back in the sand, stunned for those few precious seconds it took for Lanthan to drop to his knees and straddle Brevin’s chest, his blade at Brevin’s throat.

Lanthan’s grin was barely sane underneath the long fall of fringe that spilled over the wide band tied about his skull. “Got ya.”

Brevin snarled, fingers digging into the sand. But Lanthan’s knees pinned Brevin’s arms to the ground.

“Only because it’s left-handed.”

“No excuse,” said a deep voice overhead. “A skilled warrior fights equally well with both hands.”

Brevin closed his eyes. Lanthan’s father, Krael, was a cruel taskmaster, even in training. Especially in training. He wouldn’t accept any less than Brevin’s or Lanthan’s best even if they had just come back from battle. He wouldn’t let them have fun and just blow off steam as Brevin had hoped to do. Can’t he pay attention to the others? There were plenty of other trainees in the practice grounds for Krael to torture.

Lanthan laughed, easing up on Brevin’s throat. “Try again?”

Brevin had wondered if it was a good idea to spar so soon after their return, but after they’d left Tykir with the healers, he and Lanthan had been much too keyed up to stay in the dining hall or go to the pools. Tykir would be all right, but neither of them had truly believed it until the healer had said it himself.

“Yes.” Brevin snatched his right arm up from under Lanthan’s left knee and swung it in a roundhouse toward his friend’s head. As he’d fully expected, Lanthan shied right and back so the punch missed. Weapons dropped in the sand, they tussled, the two of them grappling until Brevin’s greater bulk won out and he had Lanthan pinned underneath him. Lanthan could barely catch his breath for laughing, his cheek pressed to the sand with one arm trapped underneath him and the other held between them by Brevin. Glistening black skin stretched over the taut muscles as Lanthan struggled underneath his weight. Brevin breathed over the closely shorn hair on his friend’s neck.

Then Lanthan stopped laughing. His ice blue eyes hooded. Clearly, he felt Brevin’s cock in the crack of his ass, rock hard. Only the dual layers of their clothing kept Brevin from pushing in immediately. Lanthan smelled divine. No. That wasn’t right. Lanthan didn’t smell like that, a scent of earth and sweet and sex. Not even fighting with his friend could get Brevin that instantly hard.

But there was one person who smelled like that, and one person who could get him instantly hard.

Lanthan blinked, his eyes shifting so he could look up at Brevin. The same thought occurred to him. And not just them. All around the practice arena, sounds of fighting stopped.

Barely rising from Lanthan, Brevin tilted his head and swiveled toward the entrance. There she was, alone and achingly stunning in one of those long, teasing shifts she preferred. Teasing because, although it was ankle-length, it was completely open at each side, held to her body only by the silk rope tied at her waist. When she walked, hungry eyes could catch tantalizing glimpses of the spare panties she wore to guard her sex. Eyrhaen. Her thigh-length hair was loose, much of it draping her slim shoulders as she calmly surveyed the cavern full of men. The men, young and older, barely moved, watching her, as aware of her heightened arousal as though she had announced it.

Then she found them, Brevin and Lanthan, and she smiled. Brevin couldn’t contain a shiver as she stepped onto the sand and began walking toward them.

Just before he shifted his weight off his friend, he glanced down at Lanthan. Ice blue eyes were closed, and white fringe almost hid his resigned look. Brevin could feel the sexual heat shimmering off him and knew that his own need was building to match it.

She had that effect on them. She had that effect on all of them.

He’d just gained his knees when two other youths raced toward Eyrhaen from behind. Brevin would have shot up to her defense, but Lanthan’s quick grip on his arm intercepted instinct and kept him on his knees. With one brief, curt nod, he showed Lanthan he was in control again, and they both remained where they were to watch.

Despite his instincts, he knew she didn’t need his help.

The boys were younger, maybe one hundred forty or fifty cycles at the most. They’d probably just come into sexual awareness. It was the only excuse for their behavior. Older males had learned their lesson with Eyrhaen. It was time for these to learn theirs.

They fell to their knees in front of her, stopping her progress. Desperate energy radiated from them, vibrating in the dry heat of the arena and spilling off the fresh bare skin of their shoulders and torsos.

“Rhajena,” one breathed, reaching for the thigh that was exposed by the nonexistent side of her shift.

The other just whimpered helplessly, hands up toward her, imploring.

She stopped, staring down at them. She could not have looked at a bug with any less interest. When the one touched her leg, she slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

He gasped, and Brevin managed not to wince in sympathy. He knew that slap. Knew that she put something extra behind it. Her touch could be bliss or torture or an agonizing combination of the two.

“Please.” The other one found his voice. Brevin knew that strangled tone too. He’d used it on a number of occasions, although he liked to think he’d never looked this pathetic in front of her. Few things would make a raedjour warrior beg, and the last few cycles had taught them that Eyrhaen was one.

“Go back to your lessons,” she chided, “both of you.” Like they were boys and not youths perhaps only thirty cycles younger than she. She stepped around them and resumed her path toward Brevin and Lanthan. At least she smiled as she approached, although he’d come to dread the smile almost as much as the frown. Her arousal beat at him, and he could only wonder what had gotten her to such a state. Her effect was far more pronounced than normal, the pleasure of it caressing him in hidden places she had yet to touch. What does she do when we’re not around? No, he’d rather not think about that.

She stopped a pace in front of them, fine sand sifting in between the toes on her pretty feet. She reached out to card her fingers through Brevin’s short locks. “I’m glad you’re back. I need you.”

Brevin closed his eyes. It was that simple. No matter what he was doing, if she spoke those words to him, he would follow her.

“Lanthan.”

He opened his eyes to see her other hand caressing Lanthan’s cheek. Excitement buzzed below his heart. Time with Eyrhaen was special, but sharing her with his friend was exquisite.

Without speaking, both he and Lanthan gathered their knives and rose to their feet. By that time, she’d turned and started out of the arena. They followed like cubs after a mother bear. Brevin felt the envious stares, but they didn’t bother him. He was one of the lucky ones, or so they thought. He and Lanthan — and Tykir — were lucky enough to be around her age, just enough older that they’d been close friends with her before her sexual needs had started to blossom. Very few of those whom she didn’t bless with her attentions understood that the luck had an evil twist.

Krael patted his shoulder as they passed, but said nothing more. He knew. He understood. As a truemated male, he didn’t feel her pull as strongly. He wasn’t immune, and as Lanthan’s father, he knew what they were to her.

She led them down a short corridor to the bathing pools. No surprise. She liked hot water. She liked being wet and clean and preferred it for her lovers. Lovers. That’s what she called them. Not for the first time he toyed with the idea of arguing with her about the meaning of that word.

“Where’s Tykir?”

Brevin and Lanthan flanked her as they walked, staring down the stray males who showed interest in delaying them. “We took him to the healers.”

She grabbed his arm, distracting him. “Is he all right?”

“He will be,” Lanthan answered, carrying the sheathed knives that were usually strapped to his forearms. He’d be taking them off again soon anyway. “They put him under so he could sleep.”

“How did he get hurt?”

“Rogues.” Both he and Lanthan spoke together, the same note of disdain in their voices.

Eyrhaen said no more on the subject.

There was a hot pool in a relatively secluded corner of the main cavern she preferred. Brevin wondered if anyone else ever used it without her presence anymore. He doubted it. The serving boys kept a fresh pile of drying cloths and vials of her favorite oils and scents on the natural stone bench that had been carved into the rock wall beside the pool.

Brevin dropped to one knee beside the small brazier to stir up the banked flame kept there. It wasn’t a bright light and didn’t provide much warmth, but they didn’t really need either. She liked to be warm, though, and she claimed to like the dim firelight. Her wishes were the rule.

Beside him, she had untied her silk belt, and Lanthan was helping her to lift the flimsy shift up and off her head. Brevin’s eyes took in the slim, lovely curves of her hips and buttocks. She shifted her stance, turned toward him just right that he could get a glimpse between her firm thighs at the rich, juicy red folds of her sex. A pang of need twisted painfully in his gut at the sight, the scent of it wafting into his nostrils to make him dizzy. He caught himself leaning toward her, mouth watering. Goddess!

When she was free of the shift, she leaned back into Lanthan. He froze, shift still in one fist, his other hand automatically sliding around her slim waist to pull her flush against him. Shorter than Brevin, Lanthan was just a little taller than Eyrhaen, allowing a snug fit when they stood close. Her eyes shut in bliss. The shift slithered out of his grip as she snuggled into the curve of his body. Lanthan bent his head, his short hair tickling the point of her ear. Nibbling at her throat, Lanthan brought his palms up to cup her breasts, squeezing them just the way they knew she liked. She moaned a reward for him.

Brevin shook himself, shifting to sit on his butt so he could pull off his boots. He knew his role in this wasn’t just voyeur. Things worked best if he anticipated. Boots off, he shuffled out of his trousers, careful with the painfully tight, hard cock that sprang free to slap his belly. He discarded the idea of tugging it. Wouldn’t give him much relief. She wouldn’t allow him to come yet anyway.

Once naked, he eased into the burbling heat of the pool. A quick dunk underwater wet his skin and let him slick his unruly hair back from his face. Minerals and natural bubbles caressed him as the water further warmed his blood.

Lights from the more public pools behind them limned Eyrhaen and Lanthan in soft white, the long locks of her hair draped across her breasts and shoulders. She had twisted her neck so she could capture Lanthan’s mouth with her own. Their black tongues played between open lips, white teeth flashing in the shadows. One of Lanthan’s hands still massaged one breast, pinching the nipple, but his other hand had slid down, fingers now cupping into her sex.

Humming happily, she pulled her lips from Lanthan and glanced down to check on Brevin. Seeing him in the water, she grinned and merrily turned out of Lanthan’s embrace. Lanthan’s fingers slid from her as she let herself fall backward toward the water.

Brevin caught her, his heartbeat speeding up when he had her delectably naked body in the cradle of his arms. Her long hair trailed like moonlight across the surface of the water as she wound her arms around his neck.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, and he obeyed instantly. Her lips opened under his, and a moan oozed from his throat into hers. She tasted of cool silver, earth, and sweet, savory sauce over fresh meat cooked just so it melted in his mouth. He released her legs so his arm was free to wrap around her back, pinning her to him. Arms fastened around his neck, she pulled her legs up to wind them around his hips. His cock throbbed between them, pressing her belly, and he slid both hands down to palm her ass, the better to press her even closer.

Lanthan was there, behind her. His scent mingled with hers, driving Brevin to suck more deeply at Eyrhaen’s mouth. His hands slid over Brevin’s, encouraging him to spread the cheeks of her ass farther apart. Brevin did and shared what he knew would be a frustration for his friend. Lanthan would want to drive home, slide his cock into either opening exposed by the spread, but he couldn’t. If he so much as tried, the magic that was Eyrhaen would shrivel his erection painfully, so much so that he would not be able to get it up again for at least a moon.

Instead, Lanthan braced his hands beside Brevin’s and knelt in the water. Brevin raised her higher at Lanthan’s nudge, then swallowed her squeal of delight when Lanthan must have started to lick her. It was a good thing she didn’t weigh much — to Brevin, at least — because if she did, he wouldn’t have been able to hold her. It was hard enough to do when his wicked friend, while laving at Eyrhaen’s anus and sex, reached between Brevin’s legs to fondle his balls.

Good thing for him when Eyrhaen ripped her mouth from his and declared, “Enough. Put me down.”

*****************

Click here for the site’s main page for Dark Elves VI: Awakening

As you might guess from the cover, Off the Beaten Path centers on a camping trip. Well, okay, besides the double whammy of sexy man chest, it involves camping! To be more precise, Travis and Kyle are thrown together on what’s called a “volunteer vacation” at a wilderness state park. A volunteer vacation can be enjoyed in a variety of ways. Here are some opportunities begging to be taken advantage of:

** Constructing an inner city playground from recycled goods.
** Building or maintaining pedestrian and bike trails on former railroad beds.
** Wilderness trail maintenance at state and national parks.
** Working for a day at a local soup kitchen or food bank.
** Mentoring at-risk youth enrolled in summer programs.
** Planting trees with the Nature Conservancy.
** Building houses with Habitat for Humanity.

And that’s just a few! As you can see from the above list, volunteer vacations can range from day trip to out-of-town adventure, urban outing to wilderness escape. When volunteering at state and national parks, participants can receive a discount on guest fees with meals, housing, and/or camping equipment provided. (Volunteers are also often granted access to parts of the park that are closed to the public!) If you’re a high school student planning for college, or a college student seeking an internship, a volunteer vacation can count toward service points. Best of all, a volunteer vacation can be enjoyed by friends, families, youth organizations, church groups, etc, with crew size numbering from a few to several members depending on the task at hand.

Or as Kyle’s friend Mac explains to Travis, a volunteer vacation is “a nice alternative to the usual Vegas trip or overpriced ocean cruise, plus you do something that helps others.” If you’re looking to enjoy an affordable vacation that’s a little different, and serving a worthwhile purpose while you’re at it, you may want to consider one of the volunteer variety! Simply Google “volunteer vacation” to learn more!

Back to Travis and Kyle, I’ll leave you with the blurb and a teaser from their own excursion off the beaten path:

**********

BLURB:

Travis Bell is openly gay to family and friends, but as a college athlete, he chooses not to be defined by his sexuality. When he covers for a friend’s misdeed, he’s forced to negotiate his future without losing his lacrosse scholarship.

The last thing he plans on is a “volunteer vacation” in the remote wilderness with Omega Beta Pi, aka Off the Beaten Path, a fraternity devoted to gay rights and environmental causes. Worse, Travis must share a tent with Kyle, an opinionated activist who also happens to be the hottest guy Travis has ever met.

A proud activist, Kyle Schafer disapproves of Travis’s indifference toward issues affecting the environment and gay community. To his even greater annoyance, Kyle finds himself attracted to his shallow tentmate on a purely physical level. Travis goes against everything Kyle believes in, but that doesn’t dampen the chemistry that sparks between them.

In a battle of wits and libido, Travis and Kyle venture into the uncharted territory of their deepest desires… and learn the path less traveled can lead straight to the heart.

**********

EXCERPT — Copyright 2008 by Katrina Strauss
Coming July 28th from Loose Id at:
http://www.loose-id.com/prod-Off_the_Beaten_Path-982.aspx

Kyle wiped the sweat from his brow, tucking the strands that loosed from his ponytail behind his ear. He’d slipped out of his flannel overshirt at some point and tied it around his waist above his shorts, his T-shirt clinging to him in spite of the moderate eighty-degree temperature.

Leaning on the rake with one arm, he reached out and accepted a bottle of water from Travis. The fact that they both wore work gloves did little to insulate the jolt of current that sparked between them when their fingers brushed. Thoughts of how things might have gone in the tent that morning inadvertently played through Kyle’s mind again.

Taking a sip, he stole a glimpse as Travis bent over to get another bottle from the small cooler they’d brought along. He tried not to stare as Travis tilted his head back and took a hearty swig of water. The other man’s Adam’s apple bobbed, sweat dripping down the corded sinews of his throat, every muscle of his torso clearly outlined through the stretched cotton of the white tank top. His six-pack abs crunched in where he’d followed Kyle’s lead and knotted his hoodie at the waist.

With a satisfied sigh, Travis pulled the bottle away from his lips, giving them a lick before pouring the remaining water over his head. Eyes closed, he shook his head, slinging the water from his ruffled hair.

Kyle nearly fell over as the rake gave under his weight. Catching himself, he turned away and set back to work. Between the athlete’s stamina and Kyle’s determination not to be outdone, they’d hacked away several feet of overgrown vegetation in the past two hours. They’d done such an effective job, Lance had instructed Kyle and Travis to pick their way a quarter of a mile up the path, then work their way back down to the remaining team.

Kyle had initially experienced discomfort at being alone with Travis for the first time since their awkward awakening in the tent that morning, but they’d soon fallen into comfortable, silent tandem as they worked side by side, their movements in rhythm to the buzz of locusts from the trees. Kyle couldn’t help but notice that so long as they weren’t talking, they made a pretty good team. He supposed that if they were going to get along, however, small talk was inevitable.

He just wished he could form a coherent sentence whenever Travis’s well-sculpted body filled his view.

**********

Talk about battling the summer heat, eh? Thanks again to Jet for having me today! You may now return to your regularly scheduled blog. I can’t wait to learn more about Jet’s next Heaven Sent installment, Revelations, which also releases July 28th. Something tells me we’re due for a scorcher!

Pairing: m/m/f

Available in ebook at Loose Id

Available in ebook at ARe

Available in ebook from Fictionwise

A woman in Heaven Sent?! Well, yeah, she’s been with them the entire time. Gretchen deserves her HEA!

BLURB:

For years, Gretchen’s main objective has been taking care of the boys of Heaven Sent. When her boys decide to take a hiatus, she decides to do the same.

Before she can begin her summer off, Gretchen has one last public commitment. There, she meets tall, mysterious, and wickedly handsome Archer Thanos. Archer’s company has a video game based on Heaven Sent and he’s has been trying to get in touch with her to discuss it. Their first meeting quickly turns into a discussion of another type … in a nearby hotel room, sending Gretchen headlong into a whirlwind affair she hadn’t anticipated.

Only, someone isn’t exactly thrilled about Gretchen and Archer’s romance. Gretchen’s adorable new assistant, Owen, has been pining for his boss since he started working for her but he hasn’t had the courage to assert himself and tell her he wants her. As a result, Gretchen is completely blind to his feelings for her. And after meeting Archer, Owen knows he has no chance against the handsome devil. His own attraction to the older man is instant and overwhelming, the bisexual urges he hasn’t divulged to Gretchen fully awakening.

Owen thinks he’s not enough for Gretchen. Gretchen thinks Owen is far too young for her. Archer thinks they’re both ridiculous. He knows the three of them are just right for each other, if they can survive the revelations.

*****************************

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

“Palm Springs?”

Owen stared at his monitor. “Yeah.”

Jane sighed and perched on the far edge of his desk. “And she just met him this last week?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn. What a life.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh God, would you stop mooning already?”

Scowling, he checked that the office door was closed. “Be a little louder, why don’t you?”

She reached up to smooth a hand over her short, straight black hair. “Oh, no one’s going to hear. Just about everyone’s gone home.”

He turned back to his monitor and tried to ignore her.

He’d known it wouldn’t work. She sat up further on his desk, leaning toward him. “Owen, you know you don’t have a chance with her, right?”

At times like this, he deeply regretted confiding in Jane. But they’d become good friends in the past few months, and he’d needed someone to talk to. Someone who understood. All his other friends were back in Atlanta, and they were too far removed from the business to get it. The only other person was his cousin Ellen. She was way too close to Gretchen for him to tell her anything.

When he didn’t answer her, Jane shook his shoulder.

“Hey.” He scowled up at her.

Her blue eyes narrowed. “She spends most of her time with rockstars, Owen. Gorgeous ones. She eats up handsome, successful men for lunch. She’s got guys like this Archer taking her away on expensive weekends. What could you possibly offer her other than your boyish charm?”

He gave her a mocking sweet smile. “Gee, thanks.”

She smoothed a hand over his hair. “I’m just trying to help you, honey. Mooning over the boss lady is just going to keep you distracted when a girl you can have and should be with comes along.”

He snatched his head away. Women were always petting him, he was used to it, but that didn’t stop it from being annoying when he was peeved. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s talk about this Saturday.” She clapped her hands like a giddy schoolgirl. “I’ll have to go out shopping for a new dress. You want to come with?”

“Oh yeah, that’s just what I want to do.”

She grimaced. “You know, darling, I have to say that you’re the strangest gay man I’ve ever met.”

That demanded that he give her the look. “I think you’d have to call me bisexual. I like girls too, remember.”

“Yeah. I guess it’s not so outlandish since you work for Heaven Sent after all. Well, once removed.”

Was she trying to depress him more? “Don’t you have a job to do?”

She batted her heavily mascaraed eyes at him, undeterred. “Bored with my company already?”

“Just the topic of conversation.”

“Fine.” She jumped off his desk and patted the folders she’d left in his inbox. “Make sure she sees those. There’s a new director whose work she should look at.”

“Will do.”

“See you later. We’ll make shopping plans.” Giggling at his scowl, she opened the door and left.

Once the door had clicked shut after her, he gave up the pretense of working. Staring morosely at his desk blotter, he began his favorite task since Monday: trying to figure out a way to make Gretchen not go away with this Archer creep for the weekend. So far, no dice. He wasn’t going to do anything drastic, and no one from Heaven Sent had jumped in to demand her attention. The closest was when Chris Faith called for her, but he’d ended up calling her cell and getting his answer. Meantime, he’d had to hear about all her preparations for the trip. He’d even made calls to reserve a private table at a very chic restaurant for her and Archer.

Depressed, he tried to make himself see things a different way. This was a new thing. She hadn’t dated in a long time. She’d barely talked about Archer as more than a sex toy. Maybe that’s all it was. Sex. Still not something Owen wanted to dwell on, but if it was just sex, that meant it would likely blow over soon. He’d heard about her so-called relationships in the past. Nothing that lasted very long. Her career always got in the way. Maybe all Owen had to do was tough it out for a month or so; then she’d get sick of this guy and move on. Yeah, that was a better slant on it.

But it didn’t change the fact that she was going away to get fucked, repeatedly, by this Archer guy.

What did this bozo look like anyway? Owen turned toward his computer and brought up a Web browser. He’d just typed the man’s name in the image browser when a knock sounded. He had enough time to switch windows so that his e-mail was in front before he turned to greet the newcomer.

Whoa. The guy who walked in was movie-star gorgeous. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His golden brown skin set off jet-black hair and matching brows that matched a classy, trimmed Vandyke beard. He wore a casual burgundy shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of chest hair and black slacks over endless legs.

Owen wasn’t sure his own legs would support him if he stood, so he just turned toward the vision. “Hello. May I help you?”

“This is Gretchen Hobbes’s office?”

“Yes. I’m Owen, Ms. Hobbes’s assistant.”

The man stopped in front of his desk and held out his hand. “Owen. Nice to meet you. My name is Archer Thanos.”

Owen’s hand was folded in a warm grip before the name was spoken. He was unable to hide his jump of surprise. “A-archer Thanos?”

“That’s me.”

“I, uh, Gretchen’s told me about you. She said you…” He dropped his gaze to the package in the man’s hand, only to realize that his own hand was still held. He blinked, confused and entranced by the sight of his light tan in contrast to the deep gold-brown of this man’s skin. Yum. He tugged his fingers away so he could reach for the package. The angle made sure that he could check out the man’s other package, a slight bulge in the loose slacks. Yum. “She said you’d be dropping something off.”

Archer held the thick envelope up, just out of Owen’s reach. “Yes. This. It’s a prospectus for a video game.” That smile was just killer. Teeth blinding white in all that darkness. “You play?”

“Huh?”

“Do you game?”

“I’ve, uh, some, but I’m not… Well, that is. Not much.”

The gorgeous man twisted to the side so he could hitch his ass up on the edge of Owen’s desk. He leaned companionably toward Owen as he set the envelope down on the desk blotter. “If you’re interested, I’d be happy to send you some samples.” Hands now free, he dipped two fingers into his chest pocket to extract a slim metal business-card case. A gold ring flashed on his finger as he flipped the case open and extracted a card.

Not until the card was hovering before him, held by two longer fingers, did Owen realize he’d just been watching the man move. Instinctively, he reached for the card. “Oh, I… There’s no reason to give me games. I mean, I wouldn’t be making a decision about this.” Jeez, Owen, get a grip! He’d handled plenty of other people with far more class than this. Why did this man have him rattled? Because this guy’s been inside Gretchen. Strangely, with said man sitting before him, the thought turned him on far more than it pissed him off.

“Oh no, my pleasure. No strings attached. Gretchen made that one perfectly clear this past weekend.”

Owen swallowed, dropping his gaze as he took exaggerated care in setting the man’s card down on top of the folder that was already there. “And you’ll be seeing her this weekend as well.” He heard the words before he could take them back.

“She told you about that, did she?”

“She tells me everything.”

When there was too much silence, he braved a glance up. Another speculative look pointed at him. He seemed to be getting a heck of a lot of those lately. This one, however, made his guts quiver into jelly. “As well she should.”

Owen stared into deep brown eyes, getting lost in the silent heat. He didn’t know what to say, and the man didn’t seem in a hurry to leave or break the silence. Finally, Owen cracked. “Actually, Mr. Thanos…”

“Please. Call me Archer.”

Owen nodded as he turned toward his monitor. “Archer. Gretchen wasn’t sure where you’d be going this weekend. Could you give me a location, just in case?”

The man amiably supplied not only the name of the resort, he pulled out his iPhone and forwarded the reservation information to Owen right on the spot. “Will you need anything else?”

Owen shook his head, trying to make his fingers stop trembling. “No. I think that’s more than enough. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

He needed to be polite. Garnering his courage, Owen turned back and spread his hand over the folder on the desk. “I’ll make sure she gets that.”

“Thank you. Please call if you need any more information. And I mean it about the games. Take a look at our Web site. Any games you want, they’re yours for the asking.” He leaned forward on the desk, fingers steepled to support his weight. “You call me personally.”

Owen stared at his fingers, far too frightened of what might happen if he got lost in that smoldering gaze again. He might just have to throw himself at the man. “Thank you.”

“Well, then. I’ll see you later. Owen.”

Owen nodded and smiled, managing to raise his gaze to the man’s collarbone. It was high enough for him to see the smirk. No shit, you’re acting like a simpering schmuck. But it was the best he could manage.

Once Archer left, Owen just sat there, staring at the door, relearning how to breathe. The man was…ungh. No wonder Gretchen was so taken. Owen was afraid he was going to have to make use of the private bathroom in Gretchen’s office unless he could get control of the hard-on in his pants. He sat back and kept breathing until he brought his heart and groin under control enough to reach over to his keyboard to bring up the image search that he’d started before the man himself had come through the door.

“There’s no way,” he whispered, gazing at a smiling photograph of the man. “There’s no way you’ve got a chance in hell against this guy.”

*********************

Click here for the site’s main page on Heaven Sent: Revelations

Pairing: m/m

Available in ebook at Loose Id

Available in ebook at ARe

Available in ebook at Fictionwise

Available for Kindle at Amazon

Available in ebook at Barnes & Noble

BLURB:

Rynn made a mistake in taking the drug hextasy with his fiancée. It was supposed to be the ultimate sexual high, except that you have to sleep with the one you desire most. If you don’t, your body won’t be satisfied and you’ll die. Rynn lived, Lynnette didn’t, and now her parents want someone to pay. Either luck or Surseine, the god of justice Himself, takes pity on Rynn by putting his trial in front of one of His judges. Sursei are graced by the god they represent with the power to see truth and Sursei Shasertai finds Rynn innocent of murder.

But the drug is still out there and Shasertai and the people who travel with him are determined to root out the drug lord responsible for its existence. Shas invites Rynn to join them. He goes willingly, fascinated by the judge who gave him a second chance at life.

Rynn might be innocent and straight, but Shas isn’t. He’s gay, happily so, and very much drawn to the farm boy whose simple innocence is a balm to one who can hear through the lies. What he hears is that Rynn’s not gay, so he vows not to get involved. Until another drug, another time, gets in the way…and then he and Rynn will have to deal with the each other’s truths and their growing attraction.

Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual practices.

**********************

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Rynn followed Sheriff Trent into the lobby of a swank hotel in downtown Taft. It was located in the high-rent district, not far from the passenger train station. A farm boy like him had no business in a place with fine woven rugs over tightly tiled floors. Heck, there were even gaslights lining the sweeping staircase to the right, and an elevator was displayed prominently across the lobby from the double front doors. The sheriff led him right up to the elevator door and pushed the button. Rynn stared at the etched metal doors and the shiny copper decorations around the edges, slightly alarmed by the muted sound of machinery clanking behind them.

“Stop scratching.”

Rynn blinked at the older man, then looked down to find his blunt nails digging through the thick wool of his clean, borrowed trousers into the meat of his thigh. “Oh. Sorry.” Balling that hand into a fist, he tucked both hands behind his back. At least the sheriff had let him ditch the jacket and tie. Now he just had to concentrate on not getting the white shirt dirty.

“Don’t be nervous.”

Rynn flinched at a dinging sound and couldn’t help but gape a little as the metal doors slid open to reveal a shiny little blue-carpeted compartment. A boy dressed in a uniform of a blue to match the carpet stood off to one side, holding open the doors. Warily, Rynn followed the sheriff into the box.

“What floor, sir?” asked the boy as they turned to face the door.

“Six,” Trent answered.

The boy nodded and pulled a lever. Silently, the metal doors shut them in. Rynn clutched at a handrail set into the back wall when the floor beneath his feet jounced.

“Rynn.”

He blinked at the sheriff’s smile.

“It’ll be all right, boy.”

Rynn nodded. Trying not to realize that they were rising in the air, he focused on something else. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

Sheriff Trent shrugged, the leather of his brown duster creaking loudly in the cramped space. “Don’t think it matters. He’s a man of the law. Hell, being sursei, he is the law. He’s agreed to take you at least as far as Vinton. It’s a lumber town. Young man your size should be able to find a job there easy enough. I’m sending references, and he’s agreed to vouch for your innocence.”

“Really?”

Again the sheriff smiled, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Rynn. I know it, and the sursei proved it. It’s time to get on with your life away from the Dotalls. Just do me a favor and think before you do something like this in the future, huh?”

Rynn swallowed over a sudden lump in his throat, then jumped again at the sound of another ding. “Sixth floor,” announced the kid in the uniform as the compartment settled to a halt. He pulled another lever, and the doors slid back open.

Rynn was glad to step out of the elevator and follow the sheriff down the hall.

The elevator doors had barely closed when a feminine shriek sounded ahead of them. Both he and Sheriff Trent froze, staring at each other. Then they heard the thunk of a heavy piece of furniture and the clatter of what sounded like chairs. As one, they turned and sprinted toward the sounds, urged on by another shout—male this time—and another female cry.

The sheriff reached the appropriate door first, his pistol out of its holster, pointed up at the ceiling. He pulled Rynn behind him, staying at the side of the doorway as he reached in to knock. “Sursei, it’s the sheriff. Is everything all right in there?”

All sound within stopped.

“Judge?”

“Just a moment,” the female voice called. A mutter of voices preceded the clatter of the door’s lock just before it was yanked wide open. On the other side stood the blonde woman from the courtroom. At least, Rynn was pretty sure it was she. The face was the same, even if it was now partly covered by the fallen half of what might have once been a neatly pinned hairdo. Holding the doorknob, she propped the other hand on the hip of her lemon yellow skirt. The ruffles at the neck and wrists of her white blouse looked mussed; the trailing ends of a black ribbon that probably should have circled her neck dangled over her breasts.

“Hello, sheriff,” she greeted, two bright dots of color pinkening her cheeks.

“Miss Kogin.” Rynn couldn’t see his face, but the older man nodded. He didn’t put away his gun. “Is everything all right?”

She eyed the weapon, or tried. With an irritated huff, she blew at the curls that tried to blind her left eye. “Oh, we’re fine.” She glared over her shoulder. “Shas is just cheating again.”

“That would be impossible,” came a calm reply behind her.

Rolling her eyes, she stepped back. “Please, come in. Maybe you can talk some sense into them.”

The sheriff hesitated, but then he took a few cautious steps into the room. Rynn stayed right behind him.

Behind the woman, two men faced each other over a space that had clearly recently contained the card table that now lay on its side, out of their way. The tense positions in which they stood told Rynn that a fight was about to break out. To his surprise, one of the combatants was the sursein judge.

The delicate, almost feminine man who had tried Rynn’s case just a few hours previous certainly looked more masculine now, if no less gorgeous. His violet robes were replaced with snug, worn jeans tucked into well-made, black suede, knee-high boots. The toned muscles of his shoulders and arms were on display thanks to his sleeveless black top, and as it was formfitting, it also showed what looked to be a honed chest. The white-gold hair that had been braided down his back before was now loose, flowing in gentle waves over his shoulders. Two long locks from his temples were drawn back and banded with a tie at the nape of his neck, the only effort made to tame the slippery fall of hair. His face remained in profile since he wouldn’t take his eyes off the other man, but that just showed off a flawless, sharply etched profile. Expressionless, he looked perfectly capable of snatching the gun from where it was tucked into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back and firing before the man staring at him could do the same.

The man across from him scowled. Although good-looking, he could not compare to the judge’s delicate beauty. A trim, dark beard lined his square jaw, with a matching mustache shadowing a wide, thin-lipped mouth. Deep-set blue eyes were shadowed by thick black eyebrows. He was a little taller and a little wider than the judge, but he had a slim quality that the bulk of his dark blue jacket couldn’t hide. More coyote than bear. A grin hovered at the edges of his mouth. His fingers hovered over the pistol seated in a holster strapped to his thigh, at least three gold rings glinting in the ample light provided by kerosene lamps.

“Gentlemen?” the sheriff asked, stopping just close enough to the men that he could keep them both in his sights. His gun he kept out but pointed toward the faded blue carpet beneath his boots. The tone in his voice was the one Rynn had heard a number of times in the jailhouse. The one he used to command instant respect.

The sursei raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t budge. “Good evening, sheriff.” That voice. Smooth as fresh-strained cream.

Rynn edged into the room behind the sheriff, gaze darting around to see if he could spot a possible weapon in case Sheriff Trent needed help. That’s when he spotted a third man, sitting on an easy chair in the corner, feet propped on a matching footstool, watching with a small smile. It was the judge’s bodyguard from earlier, his bulk nearly overfilling the chair. He had his big hands laced behind his bald head, and his dark eyes twinkled as he seemed to enjoy the show.

Now Rynn was quite confused.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” The pretty young woman muttered angrily to herself as she stepped right up between the sursei and his opponent. “Would you stop?”

At her presence, the judge and the other man relaxed a bit, although their eyes remained locked.

She rolled her eyes, reaching up to shove back the hair that hung in her face. “Please, Shas, we have guests.” When neither moved, she glanced beyond the judge at the seated bodyguard. “Harmon!”

Chuckling, the bodyguard unfolded himself from the chair and strolled toward the center of the room. Rynn and the bodyguard were about the same size, although the bodyguard was probably a little broader than he was. Certainly he was older and held himself like the older guardsmen Rynn had known during training, wearing his experience like a badge. He, too, stepped between the two combatants, facing the man in the blue jacket. “Colton, why don’t you and me go in the other room for a minute?” Not waiting for an answer, he set one beefy hand on the man’s right arm, effectively ruining his chances at any kind of a good shot.

The man’s eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head and backed down. “You’re a cheat, Shas.”

The judge tossed his head with a laugh. Instantly, the tension in the room dissipated. “Again, I assure you, that is quite impossible.”

The bodyguard led the other man toward an open doorway at the far end of the room, and finally the judge turned to face Rynn and the sheriff.

Purple eyes. That one detail jumped out at Rynn as the judge stepped toward them. It wasn’t the eerie total color with no whites or pupils that he’d seen earlier in court. The judge’s eyes were now quite normal-looking except for the vivid amethyst that Rynn had never seen on anyone else. They were like perfectly round gemstones set in red-veined white marble. The strange color, though, seemed to go with the judge’s light complexion. Did all sursei have purple eyes, or was this one special?

Pistol holstered, Sheriff Trent snatched off his hat and exchanged greetings and a handshake with the judge. Trent had met with him earlier about Rynn, but he was clearly not very comfortable in the judge’s presence. Then the judge turned to extend his hand to Rynn. A thick gold ring glittered on his middle finger, matching two thinner bands on his thumb and little finger. A full head shorter than Rynn, he had to tilt his head up to get a good look at Rynn’s face. “We’ve not been formally introduced. I’m Shasertai Kogin.”

“Rynnis Lort.”

“Yes, you are.” The judge folded his free hand over their entwined hands. “Forgive me. I know, technically speaking, I’ve seen you, but my experiences while in Surseine’s trance are nothing compared to when out of it. I see many things clearly, but others”—he shook his head as his gaze raked down, then back up, Rynn’s chest—“I miss entirely.”

Rynn almost felt that gaze, and it made him want to scratch again. “It’s an honor to meet you, sursei.”

The judge returned to studying his face and didn’t let go of his hand. Then a small smile curled up the corners of his full-lipped mouth. “Truth preserve me, you are a fine-looking man, aren’t you?”

Appearing beside him, the woman slapped the judge’s arm. “Shas!”

Rynn’s eyes went wide when the judge raised the hand not linked with Rynn’s to draw his fingers down the beard on the taller man’s jaw. “Such rugged, handsome features.”

“Shas!”

Surprisingly strong fingers gripped the tip of Rynn’s chin, nudging his face sideways to reveal his profile. “Sheriff, is there a secret about the farms out here that I should know about?”

The woman grabbed Shasertai’s wrist and tugged his hand away. “Stop that.”

He gave her a wide-eyed look, full of false innocence. “You don’t think so?” He faced Rynn again and winked. “She thinks you’re good-looking too.”

She threw her hands in the air, rustling her skirts. “Honestly.”

The judge chuckled a little. He took one more perusal of Rynn’s face and then heaved a sigh. He released Rynn’s hand slowly, letting his fingers trail first over Rynn’s palm, then under his fingers, sending thrilling little tendrils of sensation up Rynn’s arm. “But I do recall some mention of a woman in today’s trial. A fiancée.” He cocked his head to the side, some of that silky white-gold hair spilling over his chest. “I realize you prefer sex with women, but have you tried sex with a man?”

“Shasertai!” the woman all but screeched.

For his part, Rynn could only gape. What was the man talking about? What was going on?

The bodyguard had returned to right the card table. The bearded gunman stood watching the judge size up Rynn, his expression unreadable.

The sheriff reached over to grip Rynn’s arm. “Excuse me, sursei. When we spoke earlier, I didn’t mean for you to think I was offering Rynn’s…uh, services.”

The judge’s eyes closed partway, his half smile making things low in Rynn’s belly flip. A man just shouldn’t be that pretty. It was confusing. “I’m well aware of that, sheriff. I know exactly why you asked for my help. Help I’m still willing to give, regardless of Mr. Lort’s sexual preferences.” Still smiling, he turned away, speaking over his bare shoulder. “But you can’t blame me for trying.”

The woman inserted herself into Rynn’s view of Shasertai’s retreating back, blocking the sight of slim, gently swaying hips. “I’m so sorry,” she said, taking Rynn’s hand in one of hers and the sheriff’s in the other. “My brother has a warped sense of humor.” Sometime during Shasertai’s introduction, she’d taken the pins out of her fallen hairdo and banded the long white-gold locks into a simple ponytail down her back. With her face exposed and the color of her hair, Rynn could easily see the resemblance between her and the sursei. She had the same delicate bone structure and pale features, but her eyes were a rich royal blue. Just as pretty, but the judge was more blatantly so. Why was that? To Rynn, she smiled as she tugged him and Trent farther into the room. “My name is Yolan Kogin. I’m my brother’s clerk and personal assistant.”

“Keeper.” Shasertai’s murmur carried across the room even though his back was to them, his attention on pouring amber liquid from a crystal decanter into a delicate matching glass.

She ignored him. “May we offer either of you a drink?”

Shasertai turned, propping his bottom against the edge of the drink cabinet. “I’m told it’s the finest brandy in town.” His gaze flicked over to the men now kneeling beside the table to gather scattered cards. The bearded one glanced up and caught him watching, which only made the judge smile.

“No, thank you,” said the sheriff, shifting so his overcoat creaked. “I’m still on duty. I just came to introduce Rynn and make sure everything was settled.”

One bare arm crossed over his middle, the other elbow propped on it, Shasertai brought his glass to his lips, a wicked look raking over Rynn again. “I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”

“Shas, please.” Yolan sighed. Again she spoke to Rynn, patting his arm. “We understand you might be in some danger due to this afternoon’s ruling?”

Rynn realized now that he was having a tough time keeping his eyes off the judge. Knowing that was rude, he made himself face Yolan. “Well, I don’t know about that, ma’am…”

“As I told you this afternoon, Paulson Dotall owns a large chunk of this town and the surrounding area.” The sheriff kept his attention on Yolan. “There are many powerful men in these parts whose livelihoods depend on him. If he blacklists Rynn, he’ll have no chance of finding a job anywhere in the county.”

Rynn frowned. Things were moving so fast. This morning, he’d been pretty sure he might be hanged before the week was up. Now he was free, but it looked like he was banished from the only home he’d ever known. Wasn’t losing Lynnette enough?

Yolan nodded. “That’s an understandable concern, sheriff. Quite understandable. We’re glad to offer to escort Mr. Lort to a more amenable area.”

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” Sheriff Trent fiddled with the brim of his hat. “They’re not all bad men, ma’am. But you know what money does to people.”

“Yes. Indeed.” She smiled at Rynn. “Well, we’ve agreed to escort you at least as far as Vinton. You’ll stay with us here tonight; then we’ll leave in the morning by train. Most of the staff are with the coach right now, just the four of us here in the hotel.” She waved a hand to indicate the bodyguard. “That’s Harmon, Shasertai’s bodyguard. You’ll bunk with him. And this”—she indicated the other man—“is Marshal Colton Garrah. He and his four deputies travel with us.”

Shasertai chuckled. “My dear companion.”

Colton stood, glaring at him.

Shasertai fluttered his eyelids in a ridiculously feminine manner.

Colton shook his head and then turned to nod at the sheriff, suggesting they had met. Rynn also nodded in response to the man’s silent greeting.

Yolan made a curt hand gesture toward her brother, who simply rolled his eyes and turned to splash brandy into a second rounded glass.

“Yes, well.” Yolan smiled at Rynn as Colton bent to help Harmon right the table. “I think that’s it, then.”

Rynn’s head was spinning, his eyes on the man in the dark jacket with the gun at his hip. Companion. Did that mean what he thought it meant? Together with the judge’s appraisal of him, it suggested that they were together. As a couple. He knew it was true there were men who preferred sexual relationships with other men, but he’d never met any.

“Sheriff, I’m sure you have other things to do. If you’ll give me your letter of reference for Mr. Lort, I think you can go.” Yolan held out her hand.

Sheriff Trent looked up at Rynn, searching. “Well, I…?”

“Or did you have luggage, Mr. Lort? We can retrieve that in the morning, or you can have it sent to the train station. Not to worry about expenses. We’re well supplied to handle one more for such a short trip. Although, if you’d like to supply a stipend for Mr. Lort, sheriff, I can deposit it into the bank before we leave, then withdraw it when we reach Vinton.”

Trent glanced at her, at the judge, then back at Rynn. “I just want to make sure Rynn’s all right with this.”

She stared at the sheriff for a moment, and then her eyes went cold. “Oh. I see.”

The judge’s warm chuckle was at odds with her chilly tone. A drink in each hand, he stepped up behind her, proving that he was a bare inch taller than she. He regarded both men over her shoulder. “Sheriff, I assure you that your young friend will be quite safe with us.” That unsettling violet gaze settled on Rynn. “No one will force him into anything against his will. You have my word.”

“I appreciate that, sursei.” The sheriff’s voice was soft, almost apologetic. “And of course I trust the word of a sursein judge. But it’s Rynn’s decision.”

Rynn tore his gaze from compelling purple eyes to look at the sheriff. The man had been nothing but good to him in the past month or so, despite all that had happened. “I…don’t know what to do.” His heart said to go, to leave all the ugliness behind, but at the same time, this town was the only home he’d ever known.

Sheriff Trent reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “I know. It’s hard. But I think you should go. You’ll have a better chance at a good life outside of this town, away from all the memories.”

“You think so?”

“I do. Ain’t nothing keeping you here with Lynny gone.”

Rynn shut his eyes over tears that threatened. He’d gotten good at not crying, though, somewhere over the last week. Lynny would have told him not to. Lynny would have wanted him to get out of the county she considered hideous and backward. She would have jumped at the chance he was being given and not had a second thought. He nodded and opened his eyes. “Okay. Thank you, sheriff.”

Trent patted his arm and gave him a curt nod. “You’re welcome, son.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, which he handed to Yolan. “Here’s that letter for Rynn.”

“Excellent.” Her smile was back as she drew him aside. “Is there anything else…?”

Rynn missed what else she might have been saying to the sheriff. Without her there, the space between him and the judge came alive with…something. He had an insane urge to step closer so he could brush against the man.

The judge smiled, then winked and offered Rynn the second glass he held. “Have a drink.”

Rynn took the glass and mirrored how the judge sipped. He had to close his eyes to enjoy the pleasant burn of perhaps the finest spirits he’d ever tasted.

He felt a little like a colt breaking free from the paddock with the gate closing unheard behind him.

********************

Click here for the site’s main webpage on Sursein Judgment.

Released February 2009 from MLR Press

Pairing: m/m

<<<< Print anthology at MLR Press

Single ebook at MLR Press >>>>>

Available in ebook at ARe – anthology

Available in ebook at ARe – single story

Available in ebook at Fictionwise – anthology

Available in ebook at Fictionwise – single story

Available in print at Amazon – anthology

Available for Kindle at Amazon – anthology

Available for Kindle at Amazon – single story

Available in print at Barnes & Noble – anthology

Available in ebook at Barnes & Noble – anthology

This is a very cool anthology. Kimberly Gardner and JP Bowie are the other authors.

A little bit of cross dressing action. This excerpt isn’t exactly sexy maybe, but I think it gives a nice idea of the dynamic between Shawn and Roscoe before the true romance starts.

BTW, Shawn is in COLLEGE so he’s old enough to be in one of my stories.

BLURB:

Switch roles? Roscoe may be a brilliant director, but Sean wants no part of this crazy idea. But when Roscoe suggests that Sean and his leading lady swap Beatrice for Benedict in their college’s production of Much Ado About Nothing, everyone else thinks it’s a terrific idea. Trapped by peer pressure and the awareness that Roscoe usually knows what he’s doing, Sean accepts the challenge only to quickly discover that he likes wearing skirts, both on and off stage. Even more than that, he likes the director’s reaction when he flashes a little leg.

*******************************

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Bonnie held Shawn’s upper arms, staring down into his eyes. “With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest / I love thee.”

Shawn clutched at her elbows, lowering his gaze and twisting his head to the side, facing the audience. “Why, then, God forgive me!”

Bonnie cupped Shawn’s jaw with her palm, urging his face upward. “What offence, sweet Beatrice?”

“You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to / protest I loved you.” Shawn let his voice go breathy just before raising his eyes to meet Bonnie’s.

She put her arms around him, pulling him closer. “And do it with all thy heart.”

He put his arms around her, smiling. “I love you with so much of my heart that none is / left to protest.”

Bonnie leaned down, tilting her head for the kiss.

“Stop.”

They both froze at the sound of Roscoe’s voice.

Sighing, Shawn shared a suffering look with Bonnie, then stepped out of her embrace to face Roscoe.

He scowled over the table at them. “Do it again.”

Ted sat behind him but wasn’t paying much attention, his head bent over the student desk, probably doing his homework. No one else was present to witness the incessant tries of the two actors to attain the satisfaction of their director. They’d repeated this particular bit at least seven times so far by Shawn’s count. That was in addition to the emotion exercises Roscoe had put them through for the first hour of rehearsal. The scene was the emotional apex of the play, the moment when Beatrice and Benedick break through years of rivalry to take a chance and bare their souls. Both Bonnie and Shawn were putting their hearts into it, wanting to get it right. But that wasn’t enough for Roscoe.

Shawn grimaced, scrambling for the cool he’d lost about a half hour ago. “You gonna let us finish this time?”

“Are you going to put some feeling into it this time?”

He crushed handfuls of his long blue rehearsal skirt in his fists. “What the hell do you think I was doing?”

Roscoe crossed his arms, pique showing through his usual calm. “That’s a good question. Care to answer it?”

“Fuck you, man. I’m doing my best.”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen you do better when you’re jerking off in class.”

Shawn turned to face the blinded windows to the side of the room rather than face Roscoe. “What the hell am I doing wrong this time?” Because it seemed to be him. Roscoe had a few notes for Bonnie but not nearly the criticism he had for Shawn.

“You haven’t corrected anything so my answer would be the same.”

“I was softer,” Shawn growled around gritted teeth.

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“I didn’t bite her head off.”

“Slight improvement.”

“What do you want from me?”

Roscoe’s eyes narrowed. “Are you afraid of him?” He pointed to Bonnie.

Shawn sighed, a hand raised to cover his eyes. “Not this again.”

“Yes. This again.”

“Why would I be afraid?”

“You should be.”

Shawn spun, starting to pace. “What the hell for?”

Bonnie scooted to the back of the open area, watching.

Roscoe stood, rounding the table to stand beside it. “He’s a man.”

Since reason had deserted him an hour ago, Shawn blurted what he really thought. “He’s not much bigger than me. I’ll kick his ass.”

“That’s a man’s argument, not a woman’s.”

“This is Beatrice. She’d totally kick ass.”

“Beatrice talks a good game. Yes, she’d say she’d kick Benedick’s ass but he’s a veteran of wars. He hath done good service, lady, in these wars… a good soldier too… a lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honorable virtues.” Words spilled out in that trained voice, impossible to ignore. “But she knows she’s not up to the task. O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart / in the market-place. She knows she can’t do what a man can.”

A chair at the side of the open area rattled away from him. He’d kicked it. He kind of realized that after it happened. “Yeah, I know, but Beatrice isn’t scared of him. He’s never hurt her. As much as he’s done, he’s never hurt her.”

“But he can. Beatrice would deny it, but she is a woman of her times. A woman. And a woman of her times, like it or not, rail against it or not, would be at least a little afraid of a veteran soldier.”  Roscoe took off his glasses and set them on the table then turned to approach Shawn. “She would have to respect that he had fought in wars. She would have to respect that he is a soldier and a lord.”

A frustrated cry burst from Shawn’s throat. “I don’t get it.” He kicked at another chair, frustration and confusion flaming behind his eyelids as his fists pulled at the sturdy fabric of his skirt. “You don’t want me to cower, do you?”

“No. I want you to use all that anger you’re feeling right now.”

“Fuck you!” Shawn whirled on him, dropping his handfuls of cloth to curl his fingers into claws. “You told me not to bite her head off.”

Roscoe’s eyes blazed as he faced Shawn from just a few paces away. When had he taken off the glasses? “You’re a woman and she’s a soldier.”

Shawn thumped his own chest. “This is Beatrice. She’s one of Shakespeare’s biggest bitches. Soldier or not, she’d kick him in the balls.”

“Not true.” Roscoe advanced, shoulders hunched slightly like a stalking predator. “She’d kick another man in the balls. She wouldn’t kick Benedick. She loves him. You’re about to say that.”

Shawn set his feet apart, skirt whirling as he snapped his hands up to his head and let out a loud, frustrated scream. “I don’t get what you want!” He tore at his hair. “First you tell me to be softer, then you tell me to be angry, what the fuck…?”

Strong hands gripped his arms. Instinctively, he reared back, lashing out, but Roscoe was a lot quicker than Shawn would have suspected. With humiliating ease, Roscoe spun Shawn around, pinning back to chest, steely arms banded around Shawn’s chest and arms, restraining him. Holy shit, he’d never realized just how big Roscoe was.

“I want you to feel helpless,” Roscoe hissed in his ear, pressing his weight against Shawn’s back, straining the smaller man’s knees.

Shawn froze, staring blindly at the dusty floor beneath his feet, overcome by Roscoe’s heat. The man stood more than a head taller and he was far more muscular than he looked.

“I want you to know deep in your heart that no matter what you do, no matter how hard you fight-” he gave Shawn a hard shake for emphasis, “-no matter how much you rant, you’re never going to win. You’re never going to overcome. You can’t. You’re helpless. You’re physically ineffectual. That’s Beatrice’s tragedy and that’s her burden to bear. She has the will of a lion in the body of a lamb.”

To his horror, Shawn realized he was shaking. He wasn’t scared. Not exactly. But Roscoe had him trapped. It was as exhilarating as it was frightening. He let his body sag a little, making himself heavy. Roscoe tightened his grip, fully supporting Shawn’s weight. Easily supporting him.

Roscoe spoke into his ear, tone harsh as a leather belt closing around Shawn’s neck. “She knows Benedick probably won’t hurt her, but they both know he can. And without much effort on his part. She knows that if he did, he’d probably get away with it.” Leaving one arm around Shawn’s torso to support him, Roscoe slid the other hand up and around to the back of Shawn’s head to grip a handful of hair. Ruthlessly, he tore at it, twisting Shawn’s head around so they were almost face-to-face. The muscles of Shawn’s neck strained. “You. Are. Helpless. And you hate it. You will rail against it. But it’s a fundamental fact that you must accept.”

Shawn swallowed, overwhelmed by Roscoe’s strength, his nearness. The man’s dark, spicy scent surrounded him, as tangible as his arms and grip. Roscoe was all around him, pressed against him.

Black eyes bore into his from underneath half-lowered lids. “You get it now?”

************************************

Click here for the site’s main page on About Something

Released February 20th in ebook from Aspen Mountain Press. Print version released from MLR Press in October 2009.

Pairing: m/m

From MLR Press in print in the Hot Comforts anthology

From Aspen Mountain Press in ebook – single story

Available in ebook from ARe – single story

Available in ebook from Fictionwise – single story

Available in print from Barnes & Noble – anthology

Available in print at Amazon – anthology

BLURB

When Steven helps his neighbor Devon move into the studio apartment upstairs, he can’t help but drool. And that’s all. Devon is straight and totally off limits. Knowing, though, doesn’t stop the desire Steven fights every time the two men are together, which is a lot since Steven has decided to take Devon under his wing until the young man can get his life together

*********************

©2008 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Crash!

The spoon in Steven’s hand slipped from his fingers, clattering to the table and spattering alfredo sauce. “What the …?”

“Watch it.” Patty stood, hands out to steady the pot in his hands.

Setting the pot down, he dropped the potholder beside it and rushed to the front door toward the sound, trusting Patty to clean up the small mess behind him.

Opening the door, he nearly stumbled over a basketball that came rolling into his apartment. Instinctively picking it up, he stuck his head out into the hallway to see where it had come from. To his left, the staircase leading up to the four studio apartments on the floor above his was strewn with personal effects, including a photo album that had spilled dozens of loose photographs over the worn cement slats. At the bottom of the stairs, a man with short, dark hair, dressed in a blue t-shirt and knee-length cut-off shorts, knelt over what looked to be a shattered glass object, muttering as he carefully picked up pieces.

“Hey.” Steven stepped into the hall, tucking the basketball underneath his arm. “You need help with that?”

The man looked up, and Steven was stunned to behold the face of an angel. Okay, maybe not an angel, but a damned beautiful male specimen, just the same. The hair was deep chestnut, cut short around his ears, mostly straight and glossy but with a little bit of a curl at the ends. A stray curl of said hair brushed dark, heavy brows that shielded the biggest, most amazing brown eyes Steven had ever seen, ringed with ridiculously long black lashes. A scattering of faint freckles dotted a patrician nose with a tip that listed slightly to the left, both it and the cheekbones sloping down toward a generous, kissable mouth perched right atop a small brown poet’s beard. That mouth was currently dropped open in surprise. The eyes were almost as wide as the mouth, and two telltale tears tracked down smooth cheeks the color of dark butterscotch.

Caught looking, Steven couldn’t help but take another step forward.

His movement seemed to break the immobility of the younger man. Quickly, he shook his head. “Uh, no. Uh, thanks.” He turned to look down at the glass at his feet, quickly swiping a sleeve over his cheek. “No, I, uh … I’m fine. I just …” He gestured at the glass. “Broke … something.”

Glancing down, Steven saw the remains of what might once have been a very pretty glass sculpture. He caught the elegant curve of a horse’s neck and a larger hunk of perhaps a carriage. “I’m sorry.”

The young man shrugged. Although the hair hid his face, Steven heard a small sniff. “My fault. I didn’t pack it right.” He shrugged again.

Steven put two and two together. “Are you the new tenant?”

The chestnut hair swayed in a nod.

“Well, hey, welcome to the building. Can I help you with some boxes or something?”

“Oh, no, that’s … nice of you, but no. I’ll have it done in …” A panicked look at the spilled personal effects around him, then another shrug. “I’ll get it done.”

“No worries.” Steven stepped past him and righted the box that lay over a few of the bottom stairs. “Let’s just get this stuff back in here. I’ve got a dust pan we can use to clean up the glass.” He kept his tone brisk, guessing that the glass figure had meant something special to the young man and not wanting to make him uncomfortable by noticing. Carefully, he picked up the picture album, trying not to spill any more loose photographs.

“You don’t have to …”

“Ahem.”

Steven stopped, a photo in his hand of the young man with a comely young woman, and looked over his shoulder to face Patty, who stood in his doorway, arms crossed over her considerable bosom. “Oh, hey!” He ignored her pointed look and dropped the album and photo into the box. “Patty, you go ahead and eat. I’m going to help out …” He looked down at the man kneeling beside him. “What’s your name?”

The man looked at Patty, no doubt noticing her impatient look. “What? Oh, Devon. Uh, hey, you don’t have to –”

“Devon.” Gorgeous name. Suited him. Too bad many of the pictures Steven spied spilling from the album were of him with girls. Which meant he was almost definitely straight. Too bad. Steven smiled up at Patty. “I’m going to help Devon here move the last of his stuff up to his place. He’s our new neighbor.”

Predictably, she wasn’t impressed, although some of the pique melted from her face as she finally got a good, hard look at Devon. Patty was even more susceptible to the helpless puppy look than he was, and this kid had the look down pat with the mannerisms to match. “Don’t be silly. I’ll put it back on the stove and cover it. Then I’ll come out and help you.”

“Wait!” Devon climbed to his feet, hand out toward her, but she’d already turned back inside. He couldn’t know that mere words wouldn’t stop Patty.

Because Devon was looking the other way, Steven took a look at him standing tall. “Tall” being the operative word. Steven was a respectable five foot ten, but the boy overshot him by at least half a foot, putting Steven eye-level with the gently curved jaw and the soft scruff of beard at the tip of Devon’s chin. Resisting the urge to reach out and test the strength in the broad shoulders within that worn t-shirt, Steven turned and knelt to continue picking stuff off the stairs.

“Hey, wait.”

A hand on his arm made him pause, although he didn’t look up. Not good to ogle the new guy too much.

“You don’t have to do this. You were just about to eat, and your wife’s waiting for you.”

Steven had to grin. “No worries. She’s not my wife, and it’ll wait.” He dumped a few more things into the box. “Besides –” He picked up the box and finally looked back at Devon. “– this way you can join us. You eaten yet?”

Indecisiveness twisted that gorgeous mouth to the side. “Well, no …”

“I thought not. Let’s get your stuff upstairs, and I’ll welcome you to the building by feeding you. You’ve got to be hungry.”

“No. That’s nice of you but …” Despite Devon’s protests, his belly took that moment to growl its own opinion.

Steven smiled. Bracing the box underneath one arm, he reached out and finally took a squeeze of one of those arms. Very nice. Strong and firm, with good tone. “No protesting, my man. We’re neighbors now. You’ve got to give Patty and me a chance to get to know you.”

Maybe his smile did it. Steven didn’t know, but whatever he did, Devon finally smiled. Sweet Jesus, the boy had a gorgeous smile. Steven had to send urgent messages to his crotch to keep it from filling at the mere sight.

Devon nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”

Steven held out his hand for a shake. “Steven Connolly.”

Devon took it and gave it a good shake. “Devon Pavenic.”

*********************

Click here for the site’s main page on Devon Cream

Pairing: m/m

Available in ebook from Aspen Mountain Press

Available in ebook from ARe

Available in ebook (Kindle) from Amazon

Available in ebook from Fictionwise

This is for the Del Fantasma line at AMP.

Also, check out a few choice images in this gallery for a peek at Jack and Scott

BLURB:

It takes a special kind of virgin to bind a unicorn.

Scott would never have dreamed he was pure of body, heart and soul, but then he had no cause to believe unicorns even existed until he reluctantly drove to Del Fantasma late one night to rescue his stranded brother, Bryan.

Jack may be a unicorn, but he avoids virgins like the plague. The chances of meeting that special type of virgin is slim-to-none in bars like Del Fantasma and he delights in every opportunity to feed his own lusty appetites while he can. After all, a unicorn may be undeniably attracted to virgins but that doesn’t mean he has to be one himself.

Unfortunately for Jack’s plans, their bond is instantly formed when he meets Scott. Jack is now Scott’s to command. He just has to convince him what he is, something that sounds a lot easier than it is.

And Bryan? Well, it turns out that their meeting wasn’t entirely by chance. Bryan was instructed by a group of vampires to get the two together. Now that he has, can Jack and Scott discover the threat against them and save Bryan in time?

********************************

©2008 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Scott took a deep, steadying breath and walked into the bar. It was really very, well, ordinary. He’d expected a dark smoky den of iniquity and was quite taken aback to find a nice, but very normal looking bar. The moderate crowd that filled the tables and booths didn’t look like denizens of the underworld or like shadowy creatures of the night. He’d expected a much more seedy bar for some reason. Allowing himself another breath, he stepped into the dimmed light.

Bryan was sitting all alone at a table in the back, half watching a game of pool not far away. His big hand was curled around a mostly empty glass mug of what was probably beer. There were enough people in the bar but it didn’t feel terribly crowded to Scott so he didn’t start to panic. He kept his attention on Bryan as he navigated through the tables set in the middle of the room.

Bryan caught sight of him and sat up straighter. Oddly, his gaze shifted around the room like he was looking for someone. Did he have a friend here? If so, why’d he call Scott to pick him up?

Scott reached the table but Bryan didn’t stand. He looked awful. Probably not drunk, but definitely a few sheets to the wind. His brown eyes were red around the edges, which just made the dark circles under his eyes look worse. The dim lighting disguised the gray tone that had been in his skin lately. Scott wondered again if maybe he should suggest Bryan go to a doctor. He gave Scott a lame, drunken smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” When Bryan still didn’t stand, Scott raised his eyebrows. “Well? Let’s go.”

“What’s your hurry?” He gestured at the other chair at the small little table. “Stay awhile.”

“Are you crazy? No way.” He glanced back toward the door, relieved to see the path still clear. “Let’s go.”

“Oh come on.” Bryan kicked at an empty chair to move it away from the table. “Have a seat. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I have to drive us home.”

Bryan ignored him, holding up his hand toward the bar.

Aghast, Scott glanced toward the bar to see a big, muscular man with dark hair, a military look about him, acknowledge Bryan’s beckon. He turned back on his brother. “What the heck? It’s after one. Isn’t it closing time yet?”

“Nah. Cody’s got some deal with the locals. He stays open ‘til nearly dawn most nights. Sit.”

Not surprising. The bar’s nearest neighbors were at least two or three plots of land away on any side. The bar wasn’t likely to cause a disturbance. “Look, I didn’t come all the way down here to have a drink.”

“It’s not that far.”

“I need to go to bed.”

“What? You have to be up early?”

“Yes.”

Bryan frowned, reaching up to comb a hand through his short red hair. “No, you don’t. Jesus, Scott, would you sit the fuck down and live just a little.”

Scowling, Scott sat. It wasn’t like he could drag Bryan out of there. Bryan, half again as big as him, was a man who worked construction, where Scott worked on computers. Scott was hopelessly slight next to Bryan’s brawn, another mark of their different fathers.

“There you go. See? Did that hurt?”

Petulant, Scott folded his arms over his chest and glared at his brother.

Bryan, for his part, kept glancing around the bar. Nervous.

Scott kept staring at him, wondering what would happen if he just left. “Are you here with someone?” Who was he kidding? He’d never strand anyone if he could help it so he couldn’t just get up and leave.

“Huh? What?”

“You keep looking for someone.”

“What? Oh, no. Just, uh, looking. You know.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Going on? Nothing. Jeez. Why’re you so suspicious? I’m bummed about my car breaking down, and I haven’t had any luck with picking anyone up tonight. Let me have one more beer to drown my sorrows.”

“Pick someone up? You and Margaret break up?”

Bryan winced. “We were never really a couple.”

“Oh? You spent enough time with her.”

Bryan laughed. “You don’t know anything about women like Margaret, Scott.”

Scott didn’t know anything about women-or men-period, but he let that go. “She stop seeing you?” He hoped so. He’d only met the woman once but she gave him the creeps.

“She said we’re through until I do something for her.”

“Do something? What?”

Bryan shook his head. “Nothing you need to worry about.” Again he cast his glance around but this time he seemed to find what he was looking for. His eyes lit up, pointed somewhere behind Scott toward the front entrance.

Scott was just about to turn and look when the bartender stepped up to their table and placed a strange concoction before him. Pale, opaque fluid filled a martini glass but the drink itself was nearly hidden underneath an absurd collection of brightly colored cocktail stirrers. A few of the stirrers had animals at their tips, mainly horses and fish. The bartender set a fresh beer down in front of Bryan.

“Wait.” Scott looked up at the man. “I didn’t order this.”

The man smiled. “It’s on the house.”

“What? Why?”

The man smiled as he turned to go. “It’s called a unicorn. You’ll like it.”

# # #

Jack sauntered back into the bar, the sated werecat at his back. Sighing, he reached up to finger-comb his past-shoulder length curls, realizing he was going to need to visit the bathroom first before he could sit down. Alex slid a hand down his back in a friendly caress. Jack threw a smile over his shoulder and they parted gracefully, Alex back toward his friends at the pool table, and Jack toward the restroom sign in the back.

Halfway across the bar, he recognized the tingle crawling just under his skin, creeping over his scalp, seeping into his chest. It was different than the after-sex tingle, but the recent sex feel had initially disguised it. Freezing in his tracks, he frowned, staring at the scuffed floor. Oh no. It couldn’t be. Not that! He didn’t dare look up. Determined, he kept on course toward the restrooms despite a growing need to veer toward the right. No, no, no. This isn’t happening.

He reached the little two-stall restroom by sheer force of will. Thankfully, no one else was there so he took his time with the disposable towels, soap and hot water to freshen up. He hadn’t done too much damage to his white dress shirt and he’d been careful enough not to spill in or on his jeans.

As he was again finger combing his unruly platinum locks, he felt something on his forehead that froze him again. His own crystal blue eyes stared at him, wide and frightened in the mirror, as he ran the pads of his fingers over the hard lump just beneath his widow’s peak. “No!” he hissed, glaring at the spot that was a few shades yellower than his pale skin. “Go away!”

The bathroom door opened, startling him. The new arrival headed straight for the urinals, not looking Jack’s way as he unzipped.

Trance broken, nothing left to do, Jack gave himself one last once over. Where earlier tonight he’d been confident and cocky, now he was just wary and starting to get pissed. He didn’t even bother asking “why me”, knowing it was a fruitless question.

He left the restroom, forcing himself to remain calm. He studiously did not look to his left as he headed for the bar, pulling out his wallet. “Cody,” he called when he got there, “what do I owe you?”

As he was sifting through bills, a glass coffee mug was set before him. He frowned at the fizzy drink, the bubbles pushing a citrus aroma into the air, light but enough for his sensitive nostrils to pick up. He gave Cody the eye. “What’s this?”

The man who had started to become a friend gave him a level stare that Jack didn’t like one damn bit. “Your drink.”

Jack’s nostrils flared. Cody was famous in paranormal circles as not only a vampire but a matchmaker extraordinaire. He liked to announce such matches with special drinks. Jack had seen him do it a few times with much amusement. He’d never wanted to be the recipient of one. “What’s it called?” he asked, against his better judgment.

“Death of a virgin.”
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Click here for the site’s main page on Del Fantasma: Unicorn

Pairing: m/m, m/f

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For those who’ve been waiting for an m/m relationship in the elves’ world, your wait is over. It’s not ALL m/m, but Kinig, the main character, is gay. It’s not ALL m/m, but there’s a healthy portion of it.

BLURB:

To Kinig, the dark elves represented everything wonderful and mysterious in the world. If he could become the expert about the elves, his bardic career would be set. It would be dangerous. The elves were known for their dislike of human males. But times had changed and his request to live among the elves for a time was granted, and Kinig was given into the care of Fallil, a bard among the elves.

Fallil didn’t expect to fall in love, but he did. What began as friendship grew into love, and abiding passion. But Fallil knew he had to let Kinig go fulfill his dreams if the two were ever to be truly happy.

Nine cycles of seasons later, Kinig has realized his dreams of fame and is known over two continents as Kinig of the Dark Elves, the one human who knows as much as the raedjour themselves. Now, his thoughts stray back to the man he loves and it is time to return to the Dark Forest.

It’s Kinig’s knowledge that brings him to the attention of a solitary mage who holds the last red elf in his thrall. The red elf, Nialdlye comes to care for Kinig and sees in his stories a possible solution for her own problems. Can the two together break free of the mage’s power and make their way back to Fallil?

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©2008 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Rhicard knocked, and the door was opened by a youth. Kinig caught his breath. Yes, all of the elves were stunning, but this one… He stood perhaps a hand shorter than Kinig, with a rounder face than any of the others Kinig had encountered. Not round by human standards, but a softness of curves that gave him a young, vaguely feminine look. Expressive silver eyes twinkled under finely arched white brows, assessing Kinig even as he was assessed. The frank look forced Kinig to reevaluate his initial impression of youth. The thick white silk of his hair was unbound, falling heavily down his bare back and over one shoulder, tucked behind delicately pointed ears, both of which were pierced with silver all along the edge to the tip. Short white trousers were gathered just below his knees and tied low at his hips. No footwear to hide at least three sparkling silver rings around delicate toes. Kinig had never beheld another male wearing so much jewelry.

“You would be Kinig,” he said in a marvelously musical tenor. He stepped back and drew his free arm back in a dramatic sweep. “Please, enter.”

Kinig glanced at Rhicard, who nodded. Kinig obeyed. The room was sparsely furnished, with everything from the narrow tables to the two couches and chairs hugging the walls. This left the bare floor of the center of the room completely empty. As the door was closed behind him, Kinig noted drums of various sizes sitting on the floor, a lute on the table, a strange-looking stringed instrument on one couch, and a number of wind instruments hanging within a cabinet fastened to the wall.

Rhicard spoke from just behind his left shoulder. “Kinig, this is Fallil. Fallil, as you may have guessed, is an entertainer.”

His gaze was drawn to the smaller man. “Entertainer?” Not bard?

The delightful burble of Fallil’s laughter settled over them as he waved them further into the room. “Bard, dancer, actor — I do it all. I’ve sought to fascinate and entertain most of my life.”

And succeeded marvelously, for all Kinig could see. Certainly his own attention was captivated by the slim man who busily rearranged the instruments lying about, clearing the couch. Although somewhat androgynous, there was no doubting he was male. His chest was slim, but the muscles were well defined, tapering in to a narrow waist and a sweet, round little bottom that seemed to defy gravity within his trousers.

Rhicard tapped Kinig’s shoulder, regaining his attention. “This is where I leave you.” Grinning, he nodded toward Fallil. “Fallil is your sponsor. Savous thought, since you are both musicians, you’d have some basis in common. Also, other than perhaps two or three others alive, Fallil knows more about our history than anyone. And his manner of relating what he knows is a lot more fun than most of the rest of us.”

Kinig laughed at the teasing note in Rhicard’s voice.

Fallil appeared beside them to smile up at Rhicard. “You flatter me.”

Rhicard brushed a fond, familiar hand down the other man’s bare shoulder. “Not a bit.”

Kinig blinked, wondering what, if anything, he should read into that touch. Most likely, nothing. He had to remember that the raedjour were very sensual, tactile beings. He’d seen this watching them during the talks with the baron, knowing they restrained themselves due to the situation. Here, there was no reason for restraint. He was in a different world.

Rhicard’s attention was on him again. “I’ll see you soon, Kinig.” Then to Fallil, “Send word if you need me.”

“Only then?” Fallil called after him as he closed the door, smiling. That same smile turned to Kinig. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? You’ve had a long trip.”

He knew that he should be, but he was far too excited to think of something like food. “I’m a little thirsty.”

“Of course you are.” Elegant black hands reached for Kinig’s lute. “May I?”

Enchanted by this gorgeous, very polite creature, Kinig handed over his prized possession.

Fallil handled it with appropriate care. “Set your bag down and, please, sit.”

Kinig did as he was told, settling on a couch as Fallil laid the lute case on the table and opened it. He drew out the instrument and studied it with a critical eye. Kinig watched closely. The lute had been his grandfather’s. It was old but had been lovingly taken care of both by him and his mother’s father. Fallil stroked the neck, inspected the belly and frets, and carefully plucked each string to hear its sound.

Finally, he nodded, laying the instrument down atop its case. “It’s lovely.”

“Thank you.”

He turned toward a side cabinet that held a tray with a pitcher and matching goblets. “Do you play anything else?”

“I play a little harp, but I’m not much practiced.”

Pouring a cup, Fallil glanced at a medium-sized harp in the corner. “Perhaps we can change that.” He tossed a blinding smile over his shoulder. “Eh?”

Was he blushing? Kinig wouldn’t have thought he was capable anymore, not since losing his innocence to a young guardsman many cycles ago. “I’d like that.”

Fallil crossed the room to hold out the small goblet to Kinig. “Now, what has Rhicard told you?”

“That you’re to be my sponsor.”

“Is that all?”

“He explained that it was necessary because not all of the raedjour agree with my presence.”

Fallil nodded, folding gracefully onto the couch beside Kinig. “Yes. But there’s more to it than that.” He rested his arm on the back of the couch, bent at the elbow to prop his temple on his palm. “How much do you know about our society, in relation to humans?”

Kinig sipped the light, fruity wine rather than drink in the shimmer of candlelight on bare onyx skin. “I know that you welcome human women to join you. That you have a spell you can cast to change them into one of you. I know you’re fertile with only one woman ever and that that match is called a truematch. In the past, you kidnapped human women and kept them against their will, but the rhaeja has banned this practice.”

“You know much.” A heavy cascade of smooth, snowy hair bisected Fallil’s chest, a few shining strands hooking around an erect nipple. “Please continue.”

Kinig swallowed a large gulp of wine. “It’s said that there are no other women among you but the humans you converted, but people don’t know whether to believe that or not.”

“No?”

“No.” Kinig shifted, all too aware of the bright silver eyes fastened on him.

“What about human men?”

Kinig shifted in his seat, the soft shirt underneath his jacket suddenly chafing the skin of his chest. “In your history, you killed human men for sport. You allowed very few to pass through the Dark Forest ever, and those only if they stayed on the known roads. Even now, it’s dangerous for a man to travel the forest, even with a sanctioned caravan.”

Through this, Fallil continued to study him, a small smile curving generous lips. Long black fingers toyed with a frayed seam on his trousers. “Yet you asked to come here.”

Kinig’s cock pulsed in time with his heart. He could rarely contain himself in the presence of handsome human men. Seated in private with this exotically beautiful creature, he had no prayer of controlling himself. “I did.”

“May I ask why?”

“I want to learn more about you.”

“So you can write songs about us and become famous?”

Kinig smiled, nervous. “Well, that too. But I am curious.”

“And you realized coming here might be dangerous.”

“I was willing to take that chance.”

Fallil lifted his head, freeing his arm to straighten across the back of the couch. His fingertips feathered over Kinig’s shoulder, barely felt through the thick wool. “And if we never let you go?”

Kinig blinked, then stared at the empty floor in the center of the room. “I…”

“You hadn’t thought of that possibility?”

“No.” He’d thought of death, he’d thought of denial, but it had not occurred to him that the elves would keep him. “I…why?”

Fallil leaned toward him slightly. A lock of white hair dislodged from behind his ear to spill over his smooth cheek. “Let me tell you a truth. We have kept human men in the past. Many, in fact. But only a few survive.” Fallil’s fingertips traced Kinig’s collar, so close to the bare skin of his neck. “Unlike for women, there is no spell to convert a human male. It’s been tried, and it has failed, killing the subject.”

Distracted by the almost touch, Kinig swallowed again. “What do you do with the men that you keep?” He’d heard of such things in other lands, but only in whispered tales of dubious origin.

Fallil edged a little closer to Kinig’s side. “We keep them. We toy with them.” A delicate stroke of warm fingers over his rapidly beating pulse. “We have enormous sexual appetites. Our goddess bred us that way.” One finger traced the hinge of Kinig’s jaw just below his ear. “Since there are so few women, there isn’t a man among us who doesn’t know the pleasures of another man.” Fingertips brushed along his neatly trimmed beard toward his chin, those silver eyes tracking the progress. “Some of us prefer it.”

Kinig shuddered, giving up resistance by leaning into the touch. Fallil closed the distance between them, nimbly catching the goblet about to fall from Kinig’s slack fingers. “Was Savous right about you, Kinig?” His fingers carded back into Kinig’s hair, taking hold and turning the bard’s head so they were face to face. Kinig’s lips sighed open as the other man’s obsidian lips came closer. “Kinig?”

“Yes?”

“Are you a lover of men?”

“Yes.”

Those gorgeous lips curled into a smile, revealing small teeth of a white to rival his hair, brows, and ridiculously long lashes.

Kinig moaned as the slightly smaller man used his grip on Kinig’s neck to brace himself as he gracefully swung one leg over Kinig’s thighs to straddle his lap. Keeping control of the bard’s head, he leaned to the side to place Kinig’s cup on the table beside the couch.

“This isn’t something most human men find pleasant,” Fallil continued as he settled his firm rump on Kinig’s thighs. “Or, rather, allow themselves to enjoy.” With his other hand, he parted the front of Kinig’s jacket, drawing on the string that kept his undershirt closed. Kinig glanced down, gratified to see a bulge that stood testament to Fallil’s arousal. At least they were both sporting erections. “In fact, it drives most men who prefer women to insanity. It bothers them when they feel the attraction toward us, when they can’t help but want to suck cock and feel another tunnel deep into their ass.”

Kinig couldn’t breathe. His heart raced. Unable to help himself, he slid his hands up the firm muscles of Fallil’s thighs until he could sink his fingertips into the meat of the other’s ass. Firm, tight, demanding to be worshipped.

Fallil smiled, sliding his hand within Kinig’s shirt to find the bare skin of his chest. “I can tell that this won’t be a problem for you.”

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