Release Blitz + Giveaway: The Oracle's Sprite (Oracle #4) by Mell Eight


 

Title:  The Oracle's Sprite

Series: Oracle, Book Four

Author: Mell Eight

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/27/2022

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 26100

Genre: Paranormal Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, MM romance, explicit, anthropomorphic, mythical creatures/dragons, magic users, hurt-comfort, soldiers

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Description

Keir became the leader of the opposition army when he was barely eighteen years old. He led the fight against the usurper king from land while Prince Edan and Regent Egan led from the sea. Keir also had hundreds of men at his command and one invisible dragon, nicknamed Sprite, who likes to help out from time to time.

Sprite is friendly and fun-loving, happy to play tricks on Keir’s sister and keep Keir company. When a letter arrives from the Oracle asking for Keir’s presence, he expects Sprite to calmly travel with him. Instead, the strong gale that erupts sends Keir flying overboard and into an adventure he and Sprite might not walk away from alive.

Excerpt

The Oracle’s Sprite
Mell Eight © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Keir smelled blood in the air. He knew that scent intimately from growing up with the Captain of the Guard as his father. He had stood at the man’s knee while his father directed the army against the marauding thieves plaguing the people of northern Altnoia. Keir had learned to wield a sword and fire a pistol in training grounds soaked with the blood and sweat of the trainees before him.

It was a scent he was all too familiar with, but he had never before smelled it inside his mother’s home. She insisted that blood belonged on the battlefield and training grounds, not on her fancy rugs. Neither Father nor Keir had ever dared allow even a speck of blood into the house for fear of her wrath.

Keir rolled out of bed and grabbed his muzzleloader out of the nearby cabinet. A fast peek into the hallway showed nothing out of the ordinary. He quickly pulled on sturdy breeches and a shirt, over which he clumsily laced a vest of leather armor. If the scent of blood was only his imagination acting up, Keir didn’t want to scandalize anyone by walking through the halls naked. He tied his sword to his belt, hiking it high because Father had ordered he train with the sword into which he would grow as an adult rather than a child-sized one, and made sure his gun was loaded.

When he opened the door this time, the smell in the hallway was even worse than in his bedroom, which he hadn’t noticed when he’d first glanced out. Keir carefully peeked around the doorway into the hall. A stranger stood in front of his parents’ room at the far end; he hadn’t been there moments before, and Keir didn’t recognize him as one of his father’s men.

“Make sure they’re dead, then hurry,” the man snarled.

Keir lifted his pistol, aimed, and fired. The man fell to the ground in a spray of blood, a hole in his forehead. Blood and death weren’t something Keir shied away from after everything his father had taught him; this didn’t faze him now. Keir ducked back into his room to reload, then poked his head back into the hall. Two men had run out of his parents’ room at the noise and stood there exclaiming over their leader’s death. They hadn’t seen Keir yet, and he killed one of them with another headshot.

It gave away his position, but one-on-one odds were better than trying to take on both of them at once anyway. With no time to reload, he tucked his gun back into its holster and drew his sword. He rushed the lone man and slashed at him. The man clumsily blocked with his own sword; he hadn’t had the training Keir had. After a few more thrusts, Keir impaled the stranger, and he fell to the floor, dead.

Keir hurried to his parents’ room and stopped short in the doorway. He gagged, trying not to vomit even as tears blurred his vision. They were both dead, their necks thoroughly cut in their sleep. Blood stained the bedclothes around their bodies, their eyes closed peacefully, as if they hadn’t even known their death was approaching so swiftly. Keir spun around and forced himself to walk away. He couldn’t do anything for them, but his baby sister might still be alive.

Her room was down the hall in the nursery. Her nurse had no doubt snuck into the kitchen for a bit of fun with the butler once Claire was asleep. Claire still slept in her crib, unknowing of all that had just happened. Keir carefully gathered her into his nondominant arm, just in case he needed to fight again, and hurried from the nursery. He went upward, traveling the many steps to the bell tower. In ringing the bell, he signaled warning and death to everyone within hearing distance. His father’s loyal troops would come, and they would find out who had murdered the Captain of the Guard of Altnoia.

Should the child test anywhere but the Air Caste, his spirit would be crushed. The Oracle knew that without a doubt. The child looked the part prior to his testing. Thin and willowy, it seemed as if his body had been carved slender by the constant gusting of air. His hair was long and pale blond, barely a shade too colorful for someone in the Air Caste. His eyes were the gray of a wind-tossed sky before a storm. A flighty child, he liked to skip while everyone else walked and to hum to himself. He was echoing the flow of air inside the Monastery and giving voice to the sounds the wind carried to him. It made him seem odd to many of his peers, yet those who knew the wind understood the strange child perfectly. The Oracle had him test first, as she did with all children destined for greatness.

He was expected to test highly, given his strong ties with the Air Caste as a child, and he did. The previous Dragon of Air had passed away forty-five years ago; the fact that no new Dragon had arrived to replace her for so very long set an unhappy record. It wasn’t a surprise that when he emerged from the testing chamber, his hair had paled to pure white, and the Dragon of Air was tattooed on his back.

The dragon was formless. His back might have still looked blank if it weren’t for the slightest blurring of the skin as if an invisible wind was forever etched there. The Oracle could see a pair of eyes hidden there, as well as a pair of clear wings attached to a massive body. She knew where to look to find the dragon tattoo, as did the watching Masters.

Her Dragon of Air remained in the Monastery only a short year for training. It was an unhappy time for him, she knew. Her Monastery was sick, and that sickness fixated on those with prestige, particularly the Dragons, and in the end made him suffer for testing well with both physical and psychological attacks. The Dragon of Air tried hiding away, and he even tried ineffectually confronting it, only to fail. Eventually, he simply flittered off wherever the Air would take him. He traveled the world on the wings of the wind. The Oracle smiled and let him go, glad to let him finally escape. Confining the Dragon of Air in the Monastery for her to eventually send him out on a quest would be cruel. Besides, her Dragon of Fire would soon come of age, and she needed to focus on his future if she wanted the world to survive for the Dragon of Air to continue his aimless travels.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

When Mell Eight was in high school, she discovered dragons. Beautiful, wondrous creatures that took her on epic adventures both to faraway lands and on journeys of the heart. Mell wanted to create dragons of her own, so she put pen to paper. Mell Eight is now known for her own soaring dragons, as well as for other wonderful characters dancing across the pages of her books. While she mostly writes paranormal or fantasy stories, she has been seen exploring the real world once or twice.

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Blog Tour + Giveaway: Volaria by M.D. Neu


 

Volaria - MD. Neu

M.D. Neu has a new gay paranormal book out: Volaria. And there's a giveaway.

Humans are no longer alone; they have been joined by Arcanes, Lycans, and Vampires. It’s been over a hundred years since the Earth went through The Shift. Where once almost eight billion humans lived, the population now holds at four billion. But that wasn’t the only change.

No one anticipated the branching of human DNA to produce new species of humans. Arcanes, Lycans, and Vampires are hidden throughout the genome, awaiting puberty before they manifest distinctly unhuman abilities. Finally, the new species of man were welcomed. No longer studied or treated as outcasts by most. People accepted these new humans and they integrated into society, albeit not easily. This allowed the UN Government to focus on colonizing space, in order to secure a future for all.

Risks remain however, permitting a vampire to feed from you can cause shared memories. Tobin Corsian took such a risk. He resides in a newly reopened district of San Jose, California, where his family’s old home stood. He lives there with his friend Mikel, a Lycan, and his dog Begger. Instead of making his mandatory monthly blood donation at the government blood bank for the vampire community, Tobin decides, with the help of his therapist, to visit Biter, a vampire spa.

The spa allows vampires to feed from humans directly while providing spa and sexual services, granting the donor a three-month reprieve from their required donations. Tobin’s encounter at Biter opens a window to his past and an experience he had as a child on the moon. Questions abound as he tries to unravel his past and make sense of his life.

Warnings: This is a dark tale and does not have a Happy Ending, It's not a bad ending, just not a happy ending.

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Giveaway

M.D. is giving away a couple free eBooks. Two winners - 1 free eBook copy of “The Calling” and 1 free eBook copy of “Contact” via Amazon.

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Excerpt

Volaria meme

Chapter Six

“Empty. Dark.” Malifo exhaled. His eyes narrowed as he continued to glance out at what space offered. Of course, space had a beauty too, and on the rare occasions when he would go off to see the Earth rise, the views were always lovely. Unmatched by anything else he had seen in his long life. But no matter what, the moon wasn’t home. Home, his proper home, was out there on a world filled with corruption, bigotry, hatred, and pain, a world in all his years, despite all their advances, had never changed.

A world, part of him, still longed for.

Images of the days of the pandemic, what they called The Shift now, his parents, their home. Everything he knew. Played out like a movie. Being taken away from his family, studied, tested, everything the scientists and doctors threw at him to try to explain what happened to him and the others. Try to heal him… fix him.

But, nothing.

They came up with medical terms and scientific names once they learned they couldn’t stop the changes, or cure The Shift, but for the others of the first generation, this acceptance came too late. All their faces flashed through his memories. Images he would never forget, each of his friends, those changing, there one day and gone the next, never to be heard from, or seen, again until he was all by himself.

The glass he held in his hand shattered.

“Fuck.” Malifo barked.

He bent down and picked up the broken pieces before the auto floor cleaner rushed over to tidy up his mess. He remembered loving all this new technology back when he was young… He stood, making his way to the bathroom and dropping the pieces of his glass into the recycler. Exhaling, he dusted off his hands and made his way into his office.

He glanced out at the gardens, the lawn, the trees, and the rose bushes, all transplanted here from Earth when he and the others founded Volaria. They had such high hopes, but the one import from Earth coming with them was their own corruption. He caught sight of his guards patrolling the outside area. A frown pulled at his lips.

Just like Earth.

The doors to his chamber opened.

He dusted off his shirtsleeves and watched as Qunitx and Daxtim entered, dragging a body.

Malifo sniffed the air, human… no arcane… female. Was this the one they were looking for?

Soja Nguyen, Marval’s former lackey.

“What do you have for me?” Malifo glided across the room, meeting his people.

“This little one has been snooping around where they don’t belong.” Quintx released the arm of the woman they held. “Their chip says they are working for the arcane guild here on the moon, but we know their cover is bullshit.” Quintx spat the words out. Their harsh tone assaulted the quiet of Malifo’s office. “She’s been making inquiries into all of us and Volaria.”

“Hmm.” Malifo rubbed his clean-shaven chin.

“We couldn’t move until she was stupid enough to come here where the constable doesn’t have eyes, then we nabbed her.” Daxtim, their voice was softer, more welcoming, making them more deadly in Malifo’s opinion.

“So, what you’re telling me is we captured this little magic user legally, so there won’t be any trouble with the UN and their tools in the guild?” Malifo’s eyes narrowed on both Quintx and Daxtim, waiting for an answer. They were two of his most trusted. But still they were Gen Threes and Gen Fours, so young and eager; useful, but occasionally sloppy. Still, he valued them both and would be lost without them.

“The guild won’t be an issue, but the Constable… the laws around trespassing are getting tricky.” Daxtim’s lips pursed.

“We transferred everything we have on her to your private net.” Quintx’s words blustered.

“I still can’t believe you use that antique.” Daxtim quipped, glancing at Malifo’s desk.

The desk may be an antique as well, according to Daxtim. Late twentieth century, the desk belonged to his grandfather. His father took the piece of furniture after his papa died. He remembered sitting off to the side sometimes when his dad was on a video conference for his work.

Malifo walked to his desk and picked up his tablet. “Old? Yes.” He scanned through the files once they were uploaded, “But this antique isn’t monitored and there are few people outside of museum technicians who can access the data when properly secured.” He ran his fingers over the PDFs and Word Documents. This kind of file storage was long since dead, but he insisted on using the device. Why change? Because the technology had been outdated? Malifo didn’t see anything wrong with the technology, only the age and speed. And maybe being out of place here on the moon. Kind of like him, in a way. After reviewing the information, he placed the tablet down on his desk next to his laptop circa the 2020s.

“Sometimes the old ways are the best ways.” Malifo sailed back to his colleagues. “Take the silencers and restraints off her.” He instructed and pulled over a chair to have a seat in front of his prey.

He waited for Quintx and Daxtim to remove all but a few of the restraints and he was pleased to see they left the magic neutralization threads on. There would be no spell casting from this one.

Daxtim shook the woman, not enough to harm her, but enough to help her come to. The woman in front of him stirred. Her eyes fluttered as her head moved side-to-side.

“Ah, there you are.” He reached out and lifted her chin as she came around.

“What is this?” Her voice was groggy and cracked. “Where am I?”

“This is my home. You came here unwelcomed. Trespassing.” Malifo spoke as if he read these words from a script, but put no life into them.

The woman blinked several times. She glanced to either side of her. She tried to move.

Malifo waited.

The woman struggled for a few more minutes, maybe longer. Malifo found time was something not fully relative to him, but still to others younger than him. The older he got, the fewer matters like time seemed to bother him. So he waited.

Finally, she spoke. “What have you done to me?”

He nodded. She now understood. “Well, for starters, we blocked your access to magic. We also have your restrained so you can’t move, and if my companions did their job.” He spared a glance at Quintx and Daxtim. “They removed and destroyed your ear link to the data center.”

They nodded. She struggled, but Quintx and Daxtim held her firm.

“Also, we’ve deleted your accounts.” He sat back, letting go of her chin. “Unfortunately, you will have an accident on your way to Mars.”

She thrashed about at this news.

As expected.

“My dear, there is no reason to struggle. You did this to yourself.” He crossed his left foot over his right. “Well, you and your people. You are nosing around in affairs not concerning you.”

“I don’t know what–”

“Don’t you ever lie to me!” Malifo shouted. “I know lies.” He raised a hand. “I’ve been lied to longer than you, your parents, and your grandparents have been alive.” He stopped, took several breaths, forcing himself to calm.

Relax.

“What are you going to do?” The woman asked.

“You’ve given me and my friends no choice.” He pointed towards his people.

Quintx and Daxtim both laughed. He noted Quintx licking their lips, ready for a fresh meal.

Children.

“You can’t. I can help you.” The young woman pleaded as they tugged their arms, trying to break from the grip. “You’re being lied to. The truth is being hidden from you.”

This peaked Malifo’s interest. He wondered what a PhD in arcane magic might do for him, assuming he can trust her. Granted, he already had several arcanes working for him, not really trusting them, but still they served an important purpose. Along with humans and lycans. So she had nothing to offer him.

But… maybe… no.

People were always desperate when they were pleading for their lives. The begging was almost sad. A memory of his younger self, strapped down to a bed, the cries of those like him long since silenced. He blubbered, he pleaded for his parents; he pleaded for someone to help him. Malifo promised all manner of things only a child promises. He shook the image from his mind. Was he any better than those people from his past? He supposed not.

Still, he wouldn’t torture her. He had the ability to make her passing pleasant and pain free and despite what happened to him, he would never put another through any kind of pain, if pain can be avoided and not warranted.

“Is this what Zeberly would have wanted?” She shouted.

The chair Malifo sat in all but flew to the wall. An enormous crash behind him. The sound pushed instant feelings of regret to the pit of his stomach. “Never mention that name.” Malifo yelped. “You don’t know what he would have wanted. None of us do, because he was taken from us by people like you! You know nothing of him.”

“What about the other one?” She begged.

This made Malifo laugh. He shook his head. “Your information, my dear, is outdated. There is no one else, there were only two and with Zeberly’s death, the link ended.”

“You’re wrong.” The woman pleaded. “I received word–”

“Enough of this.” Malifo commanded and turned his back on the woman. “What else do you have to say? Or are you ready to face the inevitable?”

“I have your name.”

Malifo laughed. “Everyone has my name.”

“Your actual name.” Soja countered. She licked her lips. “Martin Li—”

“Enough!” Malifo bellowed, walking over and stuffing the silencer back over her mouth. “Take Soja to be prepared for her draining.”

Quintx and Daxtim shared a look, but said nothing to Malifo.

If they want to live, they will say nothing about the truths Soja spoke.


Author Bio

M.D. Neu

M.D. Neu is an international award-winning inclusive queer Fiction Writer with a love for writing and travel. Living in the heart of Silicon Valley (San Jose, California) and growing up around technology, he’s always been fascinated with what could be. Specifically drawn to Science Fiction and Paranormal television and novels, M.D. Neu was inspired by the great Gene Roddenberry, George Lucas, Stephen King, Alice Walker, Alfred Hitchcock, Harvey Fierstein, Anne Rice, and Kim Stanley Robinson. An odd combination, but one that has influenced his writing.

Growing up in an accepting family as a gay man he always wondered why there were never stories reflecting who he was. Constantly surrounded by characters that only reflected heterosexual society, M.D. Neu decided he wanted to change that. So, he took to writing, wanting to tell good stories that reflected our diverse world.

When M.D. Neu isn’t writing, he works for a non-profit and travels with his biggest supporter and his harshest critic, Eric his husband of twenty plus years.

Author Website: http://www.mdneu.com/

Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/mdneuauthor

Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/Writer_MDNeu

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormdneu/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/66488958-md

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/m-d-neu/

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/m-d-neu/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/M-D-Neu/e/B076FK1S14

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Blog Tour: Morrel & Morcerf and the Spear of Destiny by Kyle Baxter


 

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: Morrel & Morcerf and the Spear of Destiny

Author and Publisher: Kyle Baxter

Cover Artist: Kyle Baxter

Release Date: October 28, 2022

Genres: LGBTQ+ Action & Adventure Fiction, MM Romance

Tropes: Race Against the Clock, ex-military, king incognito

Themes: Community, Family

Heat Rating: 2 flames

Length: 98 449 words/ 373 pages

It is a standalone book. It is part of a connected series—shared universe—but you do not need to have read the previous books to follow it.

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Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited

AMAZON US  |  AMAZON UK

Gay Mystery Archaeologists Chase Nazi Gold!

Blurb 

Alois d'Pierrepont and Marton Prawer have been attending black market antiquities events trying to recover treasure stolen by Nazis during World War II. Marton is particularly interested in a certain missing Picasso.

Following the trail to France, the two stumble into far more than they bargained for when a shady auction they're attending in Paris’s Latin Quarter is raided by Interpol. Alois’s uncle Frederick, from Bring Me Edelweiss, is soon hot on the case along with his lover Joel McIntyre.

After recovering the journal of a Nazi general the four men race across western Europe, chased by fascists desperate to find the treasure for themselves. Gunfights and car chases ensue as the group uses a map in the journal to track down the treasure and its contents, rumored to include the fabled Spear of Destiny.

Excerpt 

Alois d’Pierrepont knelt at the door to the study and pulled a small black pouch from his breast pocket. With a grunt, he undid the button on his Versace “Black Baroque” evening jacket. It fit a little too snugly for squatting. Opening the bag, he selected two picks, inserted them in the door lock, and went to work.

“How’s it going?” Marton Prawer asked, appearing beside him and flashing his winning smile.

Alois looked up at his boyfriend. Id go a lot quicker if you wouldnt hang on my shoulder, he thought. “Just bloody fine, dear,” he grumbled between gritted teeth.

They’d come to the party to find evidence that the host collected Nazi memorabilia. Marton was obsessed with returning stolen loot to the Jewish people. A noble pursuit. And being a history buff and amateur archaeologist himself, Alois found him fascinating and intense. 

The owner of this house had a reputation for acquiring antiques with a sketchy provenance. But reputation was not proof, so the two young men were looking for something they could leverage for information. Something that might get them an in to the black market antiquities scene. To be fair, Alois was at a loss as to how to accomplish that, but Marton was determined. Seems a bit of a stretch.

It was a good thing he was able to use his own contacts to get an invite to this party, but . . . May wind up paying for that. That particular person, a socialite named Denis, was a pill and likely to bring it up to gain his own leverage. He let out a long, deep breath. So far, its worth it. After all, they’d made it here. But still, the games people play. Its all so exhausting

He wiped beads of perspiration off his forehead and frowned. Locks never gave him this much trouble. Then again, he wasn’t used to performing under pressure. Before, it was always a lark, a trick he picked up as a kid running around his grandfather’s drafty old home, picking the locks on all the doors for fun. Though he’d long ago gone pro and bought a professional lockpick set, this was different. They were on a mission.

“Take a breath.” Marton’s voice was easy and soothing.

Alois shook out his hand and let out a long exhalation, then went back to it. After a moment, the tumblers clicked easily like they’d been waiting for him. The lock let out a satisfying chunk.

“Sorry, just a bit nervous.” Alois chuckled as he stood. “Never done this ‘in the field,’ as they say. Before, it was always a party trick or me larking about. Never actually tried housebreaking before.”

Marton looked up at Alois and gave him a kiss on the lips. “You did great.” He ran a hand along the front of Alois’s slacks, teasing him until he hardened. “I’ll give you something special when we get back to your place.”

A deep moan escaped Alois’s chest. “I’m looking forward to it already.” Grabbing the door handle, he stepped inside the office and flicked on the light.

They stepped into a nondescript modern office.

“Oh,” Marton said in surprise.

“What, were you expecting a Nazi flag on the wall?” Alois asked, nudging the shorter man in the side. “Or an autographed photo of Hitler?”

About the Author  

Kyle is an artist, playwright, and writer. As a playwright, Kyle has had his plays performed in New York at the NY International Fringe Festival, and the Midtown International Theater Festival. As an artist and illustrator, he has had his art exhibited in both New Orleans and New York.

Born in Hawaii, Kyle is an Army brat and grew up in Erlangen, Germany, as well as Augusta, Georgia, and several cities in Texas. After stints in Louisiana and New York, he resides again in Honolulu with his black Labrador Retriever Brady.

Author Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook  |   Twitter   | Instagram

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Bewitched by the Barista (Up on the Farm #2) by Jason Wrench


 

Bewitched by the Barista By Jason Wrench

Book 2 in the Up on the Farm series

Word Count: 74,034
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 282

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI

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Book Description


Finding love and coffee in the unlikeliest of places…

After finding him in bed with another man, Roger Havemeyer needs to escape his life and his ex. Dale Devereux, an old friend of his now lives up near Woodstock with his boyfriend Talgat. After visiting Dale and Talgat one weekend, Roger decides a change of scenery may be just what he needs. Roger’s job as a marketing executive allows him to work remotely now, so he puts in an offer on a house. One evening, while deleting a slew of emails, he accidentally clicks on a link to a website called CammBate. Not familiar with the website, he finds himself really drawn to one of the young models, which surprises him, since he rarely likes younger guys.

Wesley Phelps is a twenty-year-old college student paying his way through college. He has a small apartment that he shares with his best friend. A friend of his told him that with his good looks, he could make a lot of money on CammBate, so he started performing. Even as the money starts rolling in from his online sex work, he keeps his job as a part-time barista at the local coffee shop, Java Junkie Café & Roastery.

After closing the deal on his house, Roger walks into Java Junkie Café & Roastery and almost has a heart attack when he recognizes Wes. Of course, Roger is used to their ‘relationship’ being completely one-sided. Wes finds himself drawn to the attractive forty-year-old but isn’t even sure if the older man knows he’s alive.

Roger and Wes must work to get past their twenty-year age gap, and Roger also must learn how to cope with Wes’ jobs…both of them.

Reader advisory: This book features online sex performance.

Excerpt

Christmas music filled the elevator as I rode in silence up to our apartment, thankful my new client had signed on the dotted line with little fuss. I think we had both been trying to get home for the holidays. Nothing sped up the process like a late afternoon meeting on the day before Christmas, I guessed.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out into the empty hallway. Even on busy days, people in our building were quiet, respectful and kept to themselves, which was how I liked it. My fiancé, Jeremy, wasn’t expecting me for at least another couple of hours. I kind of looked forward to surprising him. We had reservations at nine for dinner, so it would be nice to chill out, maybe throw on some news before we headed into the frosty night. Well, for New York City, it wasn’t the coldest Christmas I’d seen. In fact, it was downright seasonal.

I pulled my keys out of my pocket and slipped the right one into the lock before turning it clockwise and pushing open the door. I stepped in and was immediately surprised by the dimmed lights and a handful of lit candles glowing inside. Sometimes, Jeremy takes relaxing baths. I opted not to yell out and didn’t want to break his mood. Hell, if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll slip into the tub and join him.

I hung up my coat on the hook near the door and set my briefcase down on the counter. I walked into the living room and immediately saw clothes strewn about the apartment. Well then, I thought to myself. If that’s how he wants this evening, I don’t want to disappoint him. We’d played this little game before. I’d come home, Jeremy would have stripped and had been waiting for me on our bed. Once, for Valentine’s Day, he’d had a trail of rose petals leading me into the bedroom.

Without thinking, I shrugged out of my suit coat, laying it over the back of the sofa. I kicked off my loafers and made quick work of my tie. Before long, I was naked as the day I’d been born. I stared down at my washboard stomach. Not as flat as when I’d been a teenager, but I still looked pretty damn hot. Just staring at my nude body and its tightly manscaped features had me growing in anticipation.

The bedroom door was closed. I reached out, grabbed the handle and twisted it. I pushed it open quietly, just in case Jeremy had fallen asleep while he was waiting for me. The thought of walking in on a nude Jeremy lying on our bed facedown definitely caused my cock to twitch. I looked down at all eight inches of me standing as straight and hard as a ship’s mast.

It took a second for my eyes to adjust.

“What the fuck!” I yelled.

Jeremy was mid-thrust into some young twink’s ass.

He whipped his head in my direction. “Roger,” Jeremy started, his voice trailing off.

I stared in disbelief as Jeremy’s cock sat nestled in the guy. The twink, whose face was shoved into the mattress, lifted his head and looked at me.

“Oh…hey, Roger,” Avery said. “Wanna join?” He winked at me and licked the top of his lip.

Part of me wanted to go over and shove something between those lips to see if he’d choke on it. But with my luck, he’d have no gag reflex. Instead, I narrowed my eyes and said, “Avery Addington.” I sounded like a principal who wasn’t too surprised to see a pupil in the main office. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Avery looked at me with a ‘are you fucking kidding me’ look, before he said, “Uh…having a good time.”

My nails bit into my palms in clenched fists. Jeremy sat there with his cock still sitting inside the kid. Then he slowly slid out.

“And you’re not wearing a condom!” I was pretty sure neighbors up and down the hall heard that one.

“Don’t worry, daddy,” Avery said, drawing out the word ‘daddy’ like it was some kind of badge of honor for reaching the ancient age of forty. “I’m totally on PrEP.”

“I’m. No. One’s. Father.”

I knew if I didn’t get out of there, I was going to say a few things I wouldn’t want to repeat in polite company, not that Avery was polite. Avery was one of those kids who had a reputation, and now I saw the reputation in all its glory splayed out on my bed…and on the sheets I’d bought!

I shut the door.

I looked out at the living room. Only then did I notice that there’d been two pairs of pants on the floor. How had I been so blind?

I walked over to where I’d discarded my clothes and heard the bedroom door open.

“You don’t get the right to be angry with me,” Jeremy said.

“What?” I spun around and looked at Jeremy. “I’m not the one who was fucking around on my fiancé…on Christmas Eve!”

“Well, if you weren’t working all the time…”

“I work all the time so we can afford to live here, so we can afford that dream wedding you’ve been wanting.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault I’m having a problem landing a job.”

“Jeremy,” I said, trying to keep the venom out of my voice as much as possible, “you’ve been having a problem landing work for years. When are you going to realize that you’re a two-bit hack of an actor who will never make it big? Sure, you’re hot, but you don’t have any fucking talent.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I kind of regretted them—but not really.

“Well… How long have you been holding that in?”

I breathed in through my nose and let it out. “This is neither the time nor the place to have this conversation.”

“Oh, and why not?”

“You’re naked. I’m naked. And that two-bit hustling twink is in my bedroom.”

Our bedroom.”

“As if that makes it better?” I groused.

Avery chose that moment to make his appearance. He reached up and rested his arm on Jeremy’s shoulder as he draped himself around my fiancé. I couldn’t help but focus downward, seeing that Avery was the only one in the room who was on full alert.

“I am not a hustler,” Avery said.

“You’re what? Twelve—?”

“I’m twenty-five, I’ll have you know.”

“And yet you act like you’re a child. You’re the fucking gay version of Peter Pan. All the rumors about you are true, aren’t they?”

“I don’t pay attention to rumors. Anyone who has a problem with me isn’t my problem.”

“What the fuck ever,” I said. “I just can’t—”

“We need to talk about this,” Jeremy said, cutting into my dressing down of Avery.

“Talk about what?” I asked. In the flickering candlelight, I realized that all three of us were standing there stark naked. I was so mad at Jeremy that I hadn’t thought about the fact that I was letting an absolute stranger stare at my naked body. “I can’t talk to you now…not like this—”

“Roger—”

“Don’t, Roger, me.” I found my underwear on the ground, reached down, grabbed them and pulled them up. When I was finally covered, I looked back up at Avery and Jeremy. “I hope you two are happy together.”

“Oh, I’m not looking for a relationship,” Avery said, with almost a hint of disgust at the thought of it. “I found him on Grindr and thought he looked like fun.”

“Grindr!” I yelled again. “You’re on Grindr?”

“It’s not like that—”

“Like what? Like you created a profile on a dating app behind my back.” Only then did I realize what other implications this had. “Is Avery even the first?”

The look on Jeremy’s face was all I needed to see. Avery clearly wasn’t the first. My face went slack.

“Roger…”

I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I’d never felt more betrayed by anyone in my entire life.

“Roger!”

I got dressed. I heard Jeremy’s voice in the background, but I’d honestly stopped listening. At some point, Avery had slunk back into the bedroom. I looked up at one point and could see the kid acting like he owned the place. Avery was propped up with his arms crossed behind his head. The light from the living room provided me enough to see the smug look on the little prick’s face.

I laced up my shoes, stood, walked to the front door, grabbed my briefcase, pulled down my coat and left.

Even as I shut the door behind myself, I could hear Jeremy calling after me. I walked in a haze to the elevator. A happy, smiling couple stood in the small box hand-in-hand when the doors opened. That should have been me. As much as I wanted to make a snide comment about how love was fake, I plastered on a smile and turned my back to the couple. On the ride down, a tear fell down my cheek.

I walked through the lobby and quickly realized I did not know where I was going. Out in the cold air, I pulled out my phone and pulled up my favorite hotel app. On Christmas Eve, there wasn’t exactly much availability, and the prices for booking this late made my eyes bulge. I found a hotel I’d always wanted to stay at and booked it. I had the money in my savings, so I might as well enjoy the stay. I booked for three nights. I needed distance. I needed to figure out what my next move was.

Fuck! I have nothing with me. Thankfully, Duane Reade was always open, so I could get my necessities there. If I hurried, I could buy some new clothes for a few days. At least, I hoped I could find a department store still open. I hailed the first cab I saw and said, “Take me to Macy’s Harold Square.”

The guy got a weary look on his face before saying, “Whatever. It’s your funeral.”

I leaned back and stared at my reflection in the cab’s window as we passed the familiar sights of the city. What am I going to do now?

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About the Author

Jason Wrench

Jason Wrench is a professor in the Department of Communication at SUNY New Paltz and has authored/edited 15+ books and over 35 academic research articles. He is also an avid reader and regularly reviews books for publishers in a wide number of genres. This book marks his first full-length work of fiction. 

Find out more about Jason at his website.

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Release Blitz + Giveaway: Blood Harvest (The Harvest #1) by Meghan Schubert


 

Title:  Blood Harvest

Series: The Harvest

Author: Meghan Schubert

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 09/27/2022

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 79200

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, paranormal, urban fantasy, lesbian, vampire, shifter, angel, succubus, roommates, blood, death, conspiracy

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Description

If you were losing your humanity, how hard would you fight to hold on to it? What would you be willing to do, to give up, to make sure you remained the human you were, rather than the demon you seemed to be turning into? Hope McKinley, former advertising student turned newly undead, finds herself wrestling with these questions and so much more.

Blood Harvest delves into the depths of the human psyche and grapples with the struggle between light and dark in all of us as seen through the eyes of one forced out of the human race and fighting to return.

Excerpt

Blood Harvest
Meghan M. Schubert © 2022
All Rights Reserved

“Shh.” He trailed the finger down my chin and rested it in the crook of my neck. I suppressed a shudder. He leaned in, too close for comfort, hands gripping my hips tighter and guiding my pelvis toward his while his lips grazed my neck. My stomach flipped. My insides felt like they were on fire.

Did he just sniff me?

“Ian, what’re you—”

“Quiet.” He kissed me once, twice, his lips caressing, teasing, the heat in me rising, then turning into a sharp, stabbing pain. A pain that shot through my shoulder, up my neck, and exploded into the back of my head. My eyes widened and then closed tight, mouth open in a silent scream as I tried to breathe. I forced myself forward, trying to push against him, but he was heavier than me, and all it seemed to do was aggravate him. Ian slammed his weight against me, and I yelped as the bricks dug into my back. The way he had me pinned, I couldn’t even shift enough to get a knee in his groin.

Shit, now what?

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had people bite me in a kinky sort of way, but this was so much more. He was drawing blood, my blood, his mouth hot and wet on my neck. The gentle motion of his lips sent waves of electric heat through me, cascading down, the pain giving way to a pleasurable numbness, and I thrust my hips against him hungrily as his teeth sank deeper. I groaned, my body slumping against his as my legs started to give out. It hurt like hell, but it felt so good. I just didn’t want to fight anymore.

Everything began to blur and melt away as I succumbed to the bliss. It felt like falling; you know the end is coming but you just don’t know when. Is this what it’s like to die? What a way to go.

Before I was able to let myself completely go, something hot and sticky pressed against my lips. It smelled of old pennies and leather and cologne. Smelled like Ian. Without warning, a hand fisted into my hair, forcing my mouth on the warm liquid. I had no desire to taste it, but something inside compelled me, drew me to it. It smelled so good.

The liquid burned the whole way down, igniting my throat and stomach. I was torn between wanting to throw up and wanting to drink more. This was insane. What was I doing?

The mingling of pleasure and pain was almost too much, and soon I was seeing white. Still, I refused to let go.

Wait. Let go? What am I holding?

I finally blinked bleary eyes open to find myself sucking on Ian’s bleeding arm, my fingers clutching him like a vise. I still refused to let go. In fact, I started sucking harder, drawing more of his blood into my mouth, throat convulsing, burning, as I gulped it down.

After what seemed like several excruciating hours, he pulled away, and I whimpered like a kicked puppy. He knelt and kissed me gently, licking the excess blood from my mouth.

“I’ll be back, Hope. Until then, take care of yourself.”

I felt him run his hand through my hair and then the cold cement as I hit it hard.

I know what you’re thinking, but this isn’t your typical vampire love story. In fact, love is a laughable concept for me, especially after the shit I’m about to get dragged through.

But you can see for yourself. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

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Meet the Author

Meghan Schubert, born in 1985 in the greater city of Philadelphia, has always been a nerd at heart. Dubbing herself an “elder millennial,” Meghan grew up with a love of video games, horror, and Goosebumps books. In high school, she wrote short stories for the school newspaper before working her way up to editor. That love turned into a passion when she took up Video Game Design in college, where the premise of her first novel came to light. Her pursuit of game design was short-lived, however, when Meghan realized that programming was not her forte; the stories behind the games were. Thus, a writer was born.

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Review: The Verderer (Pitch & Sickle #2) by D.K. Girl

Silas Mercer is a dead man walking.

And the mysterious Order of the Golden Dawn have big plans for their newest ankou and his deathly bandalore.

Life as a servant of death has its challenges.

But the biggest one of all is Silas’s daemonic guardian, Pitch.

He may look like heaven, but he’s making Silas's life all kinds of hell.

The daemon is arrogant, egotistical and his appetite for violence and tea cakes is fast outgrowing the small village where they have been recuperating since their run-in with Black Annis.

Now, the increasingly unstable Blight is causing new havoc, and fresh monstrosities are emerging.

Pitch and Sickle are back in the saddle, and on their way to the haunted Forest of Dean.

But can Silas rely on his guardian’s protection?

Or will Pitch prove to be the most dangerous encounter of all?



The second installment pretty much picks up where the first book ended. Silas, our reluctant hero, a newly arisen Ankou, who can see troubled spirits and lay them to rest, is slowly healing from his most recent battle. His relationship with his guardian, daemon Tobias, is still quite fragile, often with Silas being the whipping boy for Tobias foul mood.

Overall, I enjoyed this second installment as some questions were answered, mainly dealing with Tobias’s mysterious past and why he’s been banished to the human realm, but also in the works is a greater conspiracy that involves evil causing trouble in the unlikeliest of places. Just know that everything about this series is S-L-O-W. The reveals, the character development, the romance (still just anxious lusty feelings that one tries to deny while the other tries to aggressively incite). Silas is very much tentative in his role of fighting evil spirits, but he’s sticking up for himself a bit more despite being stymied often with the mysteries of his unknown former life and his irrational fears. Tobias continues to be an absolute unapologetic profligate, but one can see that his sharp, often antagonistic caustic personality is just his protective mechanism, and it will be quite interesting to see how his walls crumble.

This is labeled as gaslamp fantasy, but it’s literally historic paranormal horror intermixed with all sorts of creatures who have villainous hidden agendas who treat humanity as their playthings, while the still mysterious Order of the Dawn tries to mitigate this sinister manipulation. Mix that with the slowest of all slow burns and you’ve got a solid, rich AU with plenty of flawed characters who fight the good fight and who hopefully will find redemption and happiness along the way!



Release Blitz + Giveaway: The Impossible Childhood of My Desires by Rick R. Reed


 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Impossible Childhood of My Desires

Author: Rick R. Reed

Publisher: JMS Books

Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs

Release Date: September 24, 2022

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance 

Themes: Transgender Awakening and Acceptance, long-term relationship facing a challenge

Heat Rating: 2 flames      

Length: 60 000 words

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

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Buy Links 

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“Well, isn't queer adulthood, if one is lucky, having the impossible childhood of your desires?”

― Joss Lake, Future Feeling

Blurb

Carl Young’s biggest secret: he’s always felt like Cara Young. Through the years, he acknowledged his authentic female self in ways he kept hidden in the shadows. The makeup, the dresses, the shoes -- all of them represented his most longed-for desires and his deepest shame.

When Carl’s husband Roberto comes home early from work to discover Cara in her wig, makeup, dress, and high heels, he’s shocked. Who is this person he married decades ago? He flees, leaving their home in Chicago for the obliviousness of the sunny skies of Southern California.

Cara begins making tentative steps into a world she imagined would always remain secret. She ventures out, dressing the only way she feels whole. Publicly claiming her identity, she’s terrified, but also filled with joy when she discovers there are others like her, people who will welcome her with open arms and support.

But for both Roberto and Cara, their long-term and love-filled marriage is now a challenge with which they both must reckon. Does her transition mean following separate paths? Or forging a new one ... together?

Excerpt 

He tried to hold his discomfort and shivering in abeyance as he climbed the boulders at the north end of the beach and sat down on the cold and wet rock. He wished he’d worn a warmer coat because he longed to stay here a while, in the quiet, the only sound the rhythmic pull and push of the waves against the shore. There was something mesmerizing about watching the flakes drift down, disappearing into the pewter-colored water. Visibility was nil, but he could see the sun above as a white orb, a glow amidst the overcast skies.

“You know, it’s all right.”

The voice came to him more through his head than his ears. He turned.

Sitting next to him was his mother. Carl wasn’t surprised.

She was as she appeared when he was a little boy -- a beautiful woman whose Sicilian heritage endowed her with the most penetrating green eyes and the creamiest olive complexion. “And the biggest nose,” she’d probably add, laughing. Staring out at the waves, her face was unlined, her hair glossy, dark, curling around her face. She wore a mouton coat he’d remembered from his childhood. Once upon a time, he’d slip into her closet and don the coat; it was unbelievably soft and warm. Its satin lining was a wonderful contrast to the plushness of the fur. He could smell his mother’s perfume and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke on the coat.

It was almost like being given a hug from her.

“What’s all right?” he asked, almost as if talking to his younger -- and dead -- mother on a beach in the middle of a blizzard was the most normal thing in the world. “The fact that you lost your battle with cancer?” The tears welling in his eyes worried him because he feared they’d freeze. “Because, Mom, I can tell you, that is not all right.” He wiped wet snow from his cheeks. “What will I do without you? Who will I call on Sundays? Who will care about what happens to me? Who will listen now? How will I feel the hole left in your absence?”

He had a lot of questions.

She waved his concerns away. Her nails were long, blood red, just as they’d been when she was young. She stopped caring as she got older and kept them clipped short, no polish. “Don’t be so dramatic. You always were. I was old, honey. And the cancer they said they got all of?” She chuckled. “They were wrong.” She shrugged. “It happens. The big C stands for cancer, right?”

He nodded.

“Well, it also stands for cunning, because it is. It comes down to a fight for survival. I take comfort in the fact that even though the big C won the battle, I won the war.” She smiled, looking Carl in the eye. “No more host. That cancer just lost his job.”

They sat silently for a long time. Carl wondered if he’d died and now they were in some sort of afterlife. It was quiet enough. The still made it seem as though they were the only two people on the planet.

“Well, what did you mean then? What’s all right?”

She turned and reached out her hands, not quite reaching his cheeks. He wondered if she was capable of touch or if her hands would reach him as a cold gust. “You. You’re all right. Just as you are. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. I wish I had told you this when you were little and I caught you wearing my clothes or makeup.” She shrugged. “Hindsight. But Carl, you’re okay and you will be okay. Don’t let anyone stop you.”

“From what?”

“From being exactly who you are.”

Carl closed his eyes and that caused the tears to fall at last. They made him colder, but they made him human.

When he opened his eyes again, he was alone on the beach.

About the Author 

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” 

 Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their two rescue dogs, Kodi and Joaquin. 

Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com.

Email: rickrreedbooks@gmail.com

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Release Blitz: Soft Hands (The Sin Bin: West Coast #2) by E.M. Lindsey


 

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title:  Soft Hands (The Sin Bin: West Coast, Book 2)

Author: E.M. Lindsey

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow, Photographer: CJC Photography, Model: Eric G.

Release Date: September 23, 2022

Genre: Contemporary Sports/Hockey Romance

Tropes: MMM, best friends to lovers

Themes: Aromantic acceptance, polyamory

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length:  68 000 words

It is an interconnected standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links Available in Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link  |  Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

Blurb 

There are a few things Nolan Ouellet has come to accept about himself.

One: that his future with the NHL was irrevocably destroyed thanks to his reckless actions as a teenager destroying his knee.

Two: that he will never fall in love because the very idea of it sends his skin crawling.

Three: he will bed as many NHL players as humanly possible before he retires his game.

And four: he will never apologize for who he is and what he wants.

Then two men come barreling into his life and turn everything he knows upside down.

He still won’t play for the NHL, and he still won’t change who he is because he’s fought too long and too hard to accept his identity. But suddenly his future is starting to look a little different than he originally planned.

And that scares the absolute hell out of him.

When he met Marko Rudenko and Luka Wagner—two veterans of the Denver Huskies—they were supposed to be a game, just like everyone else. But now all he can think about is how to keep them around without compromising the person he’s become and ruining the love Marko and Luka have for each other.

Excerpt 

“Is there going to be a fight?” Nolan asked.

The guy scoffed, glancing at him. “Worse. Hockey players.”

Nolan’s heart rammed against his chest. Not that it could possibly be Marko or Luka, but he hadn’t seen or spoken to either of them since the awkward incident at the rink. He hadn’t even been letting himself think about it.

He swallowed thickly. “They come in here a lot?”

“Every once in a while,” the guy said, then lowered his voice. “Mostly because it’s the furthest thing from a sports bar so no one’s going to notice if they take someone home.”

Nolan heard that for the warning it was: keep your mouth shut. The guy might not love having professional athletes in his bar, but he also knew it was good for business.

He forced himself not to look, bowing over his drink. “Tell me when it’s safe to escape, and close out my tab.”

“Actually, put his drink on ours.”

Nolan’s entire body froze. 

Fuck. Fucking shit fuck shit

He would have recognized Luka’s voice even if he was concussed and under water. His throat went tight, but he tried to offer something like a smile, though given how wide Luka’s eyes were behind his glasses, he realized he was probably grimacing.

His heart sank even lower when another body slid up against Luka’s and stared him down. “You don’t answer call or text. We think maybe you died.”

Yeah, okay. He did kind of deserve that. He’d just left Marko hanging like an asshole, and the guy didn’t deserve it. But he also didn’t deserve Nolan’s mess when it was obvious Marko and Luka were both capable of a love that straight up repulsed Nolan down to his core.

“You know these guys?” the bartender asked. He crossed his arms over his chest in a protective way, and Nolan felt a pulse of affection for the total stranger.

“No. We don’t know him. He’s total weirdo who stalk us,” Marko said.

Luka elbowed him hard. “Stop being an asshole. Yes, we know him.”

Nolan sighed and gave a nod. “Old friends. In fact, put their drinks on my tab. Get them each one of these,” he said, tapping his glass.

Both Marko and Luka started to protest, but the bartender ignored them both with a shrug and walked off to fill the order.

“Why you being child?” Marko demanded.

“Pretty sure a child couldn’t afford a twenty-six-dollar glass of bourbon for his two friends,” Nolan fired back.

Luka’s brows shot up, and he shoved his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. “Why the fuck are you drinking that?”

“Because it tastes amazing,” he said. And because I can afford it now thanks to a slew of online strangers who pay me to shove dildos up my ass. But he wasn’t going to say that part aloud as tempting as it was. “You don’t want it?”

As if summoned, the bartender arrived with three new glasses, and Nolan took his, watching the other two out of his periphery. Marko showed no hesitation when snatching up his, but Luka was a little more hesitant.

“It’s not poisoned,” Nolan grumbled.

Marko sighed, then hip-checked Luka out of his way and sat on the wooden stool. It groaned under his impossibly thick layers of muscle, and Nolan tried not to stare at the way his arms flexed as he laid one on the bar top and used the other to lift his glass to his mouth.

“Okay, we talk about weird moment, or we just get drunk and pretend it never happen?”

Nolan didn’t think the fucker was just going to come out with it like that. Guilt slammed into him as he looked over at Luka and wondered if this was some sort of confrontation because Nolan had flirted with them both and gotten a little too close to Marko recently. He swallowed down another delightfully spiced mouthful of liquor.

“Should I get drunk for this conversation?”

“Looks like you’re already halfway there,” Luka pointed out. He wedged himself between Marko and Nolan, leaning his elbow on Marko’s shoulder in a gesture that telegraphed they were together. 

As they should be, Nolan thought bitterly, but he wasn’t feeling particularly generous considering how badly he wanted them both. “Yeah, well. I came here to drink my feelings.”

“Mm. You should try feelings burritos,” Marko said. “Is much better. No hangover.”

“Nah, just burrito farts,” Luka said, then laughed when Marko rolled his eyes. “Please, you know it’s true. There’s a reason we don’t sleep together when you and Ravi have burrito night.”

Nolan felt his ears go red, and he had to look away. He didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with him because, for an aromantic asshole, he loved watching the people he cared about living their best lives. So why did it force bile up his throat to think about losing these two to each other?

They wanted things that made his skin crawl.

He jolted slightly when warm fingers touched his wrist, and he took a breath before he returned his attention to the two men. “I’m still firmly team bourbon.”

“Are you still team Luka and Marko?” Luka asked so quietly Nolan mostly had to read his lips over the music.

He swallowed heavily. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you stop talking to me,” Marko said, his booming voice rising over the music. “We have moment, then you just leave. And then”—he sucked in air through his teeth—“nothing.”

About the Author 

E.M. Lindsey is a non-binary writer who lives in the southeast United States, close to the water where their heart lies.

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