Talking with author Michael Mandrake


When the Muse Speaks to You by Michael Mandrake

Greetings. Today I’m talking about muses. What’s that you say? You wonder how a muse could talk about his own muses? Well, I can since I’m the writing muse and not the character muse in the book.

Authors, do you have moments where the muse has spoken to you directly?

It’s true!

Your friends and family have often thought you had screws lose when you talk about how your characters speak to you when writing a story. Mine shake their heads and groan, but in actuality, when the muse speaks to you, the story comes out better.

During the past few years, I’ve discovered how important it is to have more of a relationship with your main character. Learn what’s most important to him or her. What they like and dislike, what they need, and how they feel they can achieve their ultimate goal. So I figured why not interview the characters before I’ve written the story. I write down personal facts, traits, have a picture if possible, and have a “recorded” conversation with them to get everything down I possibly can about that muse.

Interesting right? In a sense, me, the author is talking to a fictional character and learning all we can to make a more complete book. In the beginning, I didn’t feel I did it enough. I had all their facts in my head, but I didn’t really translate that to my readers and while character interviews make an interesting blogpost, it helps us as writers to keep the plot moving and cover all the bases in our stories.

With every story I write I do the interview as well as a character arc to move along the plot. In my opinion, both of these assist me in building a more complete book for the readers to enjoy. No, it isn’t gospel, but it’s one of the many things we use while writing our book and again, it gives us an excuse to talk to ourselves.


Thanks for listening to this muse ramble. Hope you’ll check out my latest book, On the Run from Pride Publishing.


Tagline: Who would’ve thought that a British hit man would fall in lust at first sight with an American felon? This desire could become deadly for both.

Blurb: Aiden Moriarty is a Florida ‘herbalist’ who developed a performance enhancing drug many athletes have used. One of them is baseball star Ivan Salerno, who was caught using the drugs and is now on the brink of getting suspended. Because of Ivan’s connections with a rogue mob boss, Aiden is taken into a witness protection program, working along with baseball higher ups until he testifies.

The mob boss, Augustine Ora, has hired former British military officer and his best hitman, Devlin ‘Brit’ Crawford, to do the job. Ora has instructed Devlin to go to Miami, kidnap Aiden and take him to the local airport to be transported to Havana ,Cuba, to be executed by Ora’s top officers.

However, when Devlin receives the email, the pictures of the blue-eyed felon catch his eye and he is moved to go in a different direction. Instead of delivering Aiden to the airport, he has thoughts of taking him away and saving him from Ora’s wrath.

This move puts him, Aiden, as well as his assistant Miranda Ashley in huge danger. Will Devlin keep Aiden safe despite the odds or will he fail, causing Ora and his men come after him?


Pride Publishing


Barnes and Noble



“I s’pose we’re done here?” Devlin Crawford leaned back in his chair, facing his boyfriend—or make that ex-boyfriend, since he’d taken him out on a date specifically to break up with Devlin.

Bloody bastard.

William Gather looked sheepishly away from Devlin, not meeting his gaze. “Look, I’m sorry, Dev. I can’t handle you being gone all the time on these secret jobs. It’s killing me not knowing what you’re doing or who you’re doing it with−”

“Who I’m doing it with?” Devlin burst out in hysterics. “Are you jealous, William? If you are, you shouldn’t be. In all honesty, most blokes are afraid of me. They think because I’m a tall, well-built black man I’ll pummel them after I plow their arses into the nearest leather sofa. And then they hear me speak and find out I’m college educated, making a little over six figures doing”—he hesitated to say more—“whatever the fuck I do, but none are even remotely interested. Like I say, I give off that aura of fear and intimidation, but I’m neither of those.”

To distract himself from the lie he’d just told, Devlin reached for the bottle of fine white wine and poured a glass for William then for himself. “You’re being absolutely ridiculous, but if you’re telling me you want to leave me because of my job, suit yourself. I will do nothing to stop you.”

William’s face pinked and he accepted the drink. He swirled his glass around, seemingly thinking about what Devlin had said to him. “I don’t think I am, Devlin. I care for you a lot, but you’re gone weeks on end and you can’t even tell me where you are.”

Devlin rolled his eyes and his mouth tensed. He’d hated when this conversation came up with any of the guys he’d dated in the past. “I explained this to you before we started seeing one another. My job is top secret and I can’t reveal much for fear anyone around me might be affected—and not in a good way.”

William sighed after taking a long sip. “Well, I can’t handle that, Devlin. I want us to have total open communication throughout the relationship. You’re gone too often. You can’t talk about where you are. You don’t call much and when you do it’s like speaking in code or something. I can’t handle that anymore, Dev.”

“Then leave.” Devlin glared at William from across the table and finished his drink. No way would he be upset about his relationship failing when this man was being totally unreasonable. Besides, he had to talk with the boss again to go over his next job—kidnapping a certain someone in the States and take him somewhere so they could do whatever the hell they wanted with him. No doubt something involving drugs, and he’d mentioned being paid handsomely. Who needed a man when he could buy one for a night or two?

“Fine.” William rose from the table, throwing a couple of notes down. “Goodbye, Devlin, and don’t bother calling me back because I won’t answer.” He stormed away from the table in a huff.

“Bye.” Devlin saluted William mockingly, shook his head, and glanced at the notes on the tablecloth. “You’ve always been such a cheap bastard, William Albertson.” Devlin plucked a couple of bigger ones from his pocket and tossed them on top of William’s offerings. “We didn’t even get to have dinner, but I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Devlin scooted the chair in the opposite direction and got up, buttoning his jacket.

“Sir, sir, um…” The waitress called out to him, looking perplexed. “You and your partner aren’t dining this evening?”

“No, ma’am, we are not. Just consider this a nice tip for a job well done on your part. Keep the rest of the money for yourself, luv, and a word of advice… Don’t get involved with cheap men. They’ll take advantage and leave you when they don’t get their way.”

Devlin winked at the young woman and heard her sigh as he walked toward the door of the fancy establishment.

I’ve still got it.

Devlin smirked to himself and adjusted his scarf around his neck to protect himself from the damp evening air. Once he’d made it to the exit, the strong wind gust nearly blew him and the door away.

“Bloody London.” Devlin clicked his tongue against his teeth and glanced up at the heavy amount of gray clouds in the sky. He hadn’t turned on the television to watch the weather, but by the looks of it, a heavy rainstorm was about to occur.

Devlin hadn’t driven, thinking he would be spending the night with William prior to returning to his loft to pack for his next trip. Now, with those plans foiled, the most important thing was to get back to his place without getting soaked.

Just as the first few drops fell on his head, Devlin placed two fingers in front of his lips and whistled for a cab. When he put his hand out, one rounded the corner, nearly splashing him with the excess water in the gutter.

Devlin hopped back and frowned. “Watch it!”

The cab driver rolled down his window. “Sorry, sir. Where ya off to?”

Devlin hopped in, closing the door behind him. “Meranti House on Lehman Street, please.” Devlin recited his address and brushed the small pellets of water off his overcoat.

“Right away, sir.” The driver seemed to perk up when he heard Devlin speak of the nicer location. People were always surprised when he said he lived in one of the most affluent spots in London. Even more so when he pulled out the large wad of bills folded inside a gold money clip.

Devlin had long tired of people misjudging him because of the color of his skin as well as his muscular build. Immediately, they assumed him to be a poor thug from the London ghettos instead of the child of a wealthy businessman.

That was the thing about his current position with Boss O, as he called him. He made no assumptions and he knew Devlin’s talents as a weapons expert along with his propensity to perform tasks without getting caught. Augustine Ora acknowledged Devlin as an intelligent bloke, and he used it to benefit them both. Devlin liked that and he appreciated being called his head honcho because he liked to feel needed.

That, along with various other tasks Ora asked him to execute, made Devlin’s days a lot easier to deal with. It also filled the void of not having a solid relationship with someone, something that had eluded Devlin for most of his adult life.




Michael Mandrake pens complex characters already comfortable with their sexuality. Thorough these, he builds worlds not centered on erotica but rather the mainstream plots we might encounter in everyday life through personal experiences or the media. To find out more please visit Michael Mandrake at WordPress


Author Sharita Lira: In one word, crazy. Just crazy enough to have 3 4 different muses running around in her head, driving her to sheer exhaustion with new plot bunnies and complex characters.


In addition to being a computer geek and a metalhead, Sharita loves live music, reading, and perusing the net for sexy men to be her muses.  She’s also a founding member and contributor to the heavy metal ezine


For more information, please visit as well as her Facebook fanpage, The Literary Triad.



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Discover Honor C by C. Zampa


Honor C by C. Zampa

Contemporary M/M Novella

Dreamspinner Press

Available at Publisher

When Honor Castillo convinces himself he isn’t gay, he begins a new life. He ends his affair with his lover, Jorge Villagomez, and marries Rebecca to establish a life with her as a respected San Antonio businessman. They have a son and he tells himself he is happy.

Eleven years later, Jorge returns to San Antonio, and his path crosses with Honor’s once more. The flame of their passion never died, and neither did Jorge’s love for Honor.

When Jorge approaches Honor to design his studio, Honor believes he can walk the line between friendship and lovers. But when a sudden crisis threatens to take Jorge from him forever, Honor must choose between his duty and his heart. Most of all, he’s forced to decide what he’s willing to lose in order to be true to who he really is.

Teaser Adult Excerpt:

1989—Mercario R. Fuentes Middle School

TODAY he’d planted his scrawny body just a few feet away from me on one of the wooden benches in the playground.

Afraid to try more than a covert sideways gaze, I studied him as best I could.

This Jorge kid. A sissy, I thought. Not because of his too-dressy-for-this-school yellow polo shirt tucked into the painfully skinny waist of his neatly pressed khaki pants. Because of his prim, tea-party posture—knees clenched tight and the toes of his shiny loafers pressed together. The way he picked off bits of his food and put them daintily to his lips and shifted his hips all fussy-like while he chewed.

Pretty jet-black hair, all slicked back from his thin face. And that face. A girl’s softness, such white skin.

In spite of his prissiness, or maybe because of it, I felt a weird stirring in my belly at the sight of Jorge Villagomez. I hadn’t a clue at the time what that sensation was. But it bothered me, confused me.

On those closely clamped knees rested his lunch, neatly compartmentalized in little plastic containers. A sandwich—cheese with lettuce, it looked like—apple wedges, and carrot sticks. White milk from the cafeteria.

I glanced at my own lunch and felt awfully… fat… next to Jorge. There was my burrito staring back at me. Embarrassed at my huge, kind of ugly lunch for the first time in my kid life, I mimicked Jorge and primly plucked a piece of the tortilla shell and nibbled it.

“El Gordo!” From a bench opposite us, Shirley Setzer hollered.

I was used to her taunts about my weight. Usually I let it roll off my back, pretended not to hear her and her little gaggle of girlfriends’ jabs. Today, though, with the delicate, perfect Jorge beside me, I was humiliated by my bigness. To be made fun of in front of him seemed different, somehow more painful. Maybe even then I’d felt some lovely attraction to him, some powerful, unrealized desire for him to like me.

At Shirley’s jeer, Jorge glanced up from his lunch, first to her and then to me.

For the first time, I saw—close up—his eyes. His stunning eyes. Calm, quiet as though nothing could surprise him.

He returned his attention to his lunch.

Shirley called out once more, “Cerdo! Gordo! That’s right! Stuff your face!”

I figured everyone was supposed to be impressed that she’d learned those choice Spanish words just to torment me. Still, I acted as though I hadn’t heard her, but her chanting did drive me to stuff the burrito into my brown paper bag and roll it into a ball.

Just as I stood to dump my lunch in the trash, and in the middle of another string of Shirley’s Spanish insults, Jorge shoved himself up from the bench, sending his fancy lunch tumbling to the concrete at his feet. For a moment, he stood with his hands on both puny hips and then—without saying a word—the little kid charged across the space between the benches and lunged for her.

The force of his thrust at her shoulders sent my frizzy-haired antagonist sprawling to the grass, her legs in the air and her flowered panties bared for all the world to see.

While the other kids—even Shirley’s own little troupe—laughed their heads off, Jorge repeated his hands-on-the-hips stance and glared fiery arrows at her.

“He’s not fat!” He bent over the bench and jabbed a finger at her. “You hear me? He’s not fat.”

Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, he strutted back to our bench and knelt to calmly pick up his spilled lunch from the ground.

Once he’d snapped his red lunch box shut, he stood and—never once looking at me or speaking—commenced to march toward the building.

He said nothing to me that day, passed me without a glance in the halls as though I was invisible.

Only later—much later, when we’d become inseparable pals—did he tell me that, on that day, he’d noticed me for the first time. And he thought I was the cutest boy he’d ever seen.

Me. Gordo. Cerdo. Chubby Honor Castillo. The cutest kid Jorge had ever seen.

The first time we’d touched, kissed, in the tree house. Dios mío! Our warm dicks straining and touching through jeans and our lips searching each other’s sweaty skin in some sort of inexperienced desperation. Soft, warm, gritty.



Author links:



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25 Days of Holiday Fun~ Karenna Colcroft

whateverhewants_msr_200Discover Holiday fun with author Karenna Colcroft

If you could ask Santa for one thing, what would it be and why?

I would ask Santa for an all-expenses-paid trip to Florida for hubby and me so we can have a nice couple’s vacation.

What is your favorite holiday candy?

Ribbon candy. When I was little, eating ribbon candy was one of the Christmas highlights.

It’s the season of Egg Nog. Do you prefer it with rum, without alcohol or can’t stand the stuff?

I have a severe allergy to alcohol, so definitely without!

What is one of your holiday traditions to do each year?

The only annual Christmas tradition we have is that we each get to open one present on Christmas Eve, and then we do the rest Christmas morning.

If you could kiss any character under the mistletoe, who would it be?

Tobias Rogan from my Real Werewolves Don’t Eat Meat series.

Holiday cookies are my favorite to bake each year. Do you have a favorite holiday cookie that you enjoy each year?

I am horrid at baking, so I don’t make any holiday cookies. My mother used to make freezer cookies with chunks of dried fruit in them, and I always loved those, but I’ve never made them myself.


Whatever He Wants

Publisher: Ellora’s Cave

Genre: Male/male contemporary

Tagline: Randall is the king of one-night stands, but when he meets Isaiah, the player might get played.

Grad student Randall has a reputation to uphold. He’s too busy to fall in love and is known among his friends as the king of one-night stands. He prefers it that way until he meets Isaiah at a party.
Against all Randall’s expectations, Isaiah turns out to be exactly what he’s looking for and for the first time Randall’s heart gets involved. He’ll do whatever Isaiah wants even if he fears Isaiah is just playing the player.

Buy Links: Publisher Amazon

“What are you thinking?” Isaiah stood in front of him, the front of his boxer-briefs mere inches from Randall’s face.
“I want to suck you.” Randall blurted it out without intending to say it out loud. He was a much bigger fan of receiving oral than giving but he would suck Isaiah’s dick without hesitation if it was what Isaiah wanted.
“Not this time.” Isaiah toyed with the waistband of his briefs but didn’t push them down. “I suck, I fuck. You enjoy. Maybe some other time I’ll let you suck me off.” He paused. “Will there be some other time, baby? You aren’t the repeat partner type, are you?”
“I can be.” He wasn’t. He’d had a few regular fuck-buddies in the decade or so since he’d started having sex but they hadn’t lasted. He didn’t mind fucking the same person more than once except when they started seeing regular sex as some kind of commitment.
“We don’t have to figure it out right yet.” Isaiah stroked Randall’s hair. “Soft. I want to feel your hair against my chest while I fuck you. Think you can sit on my dick, baby? That’s how I want you but we can find another way if you can’t handle it.”
“I can.” The idea of looking down into those gorgeous eyes while they fucked sent hot chills through him. He would fucking drown in Isaiah’s eyes and he wouldn’t even care.
“Good.” Isaiah stroked himself through his briefs and Randall ached to touch him. To grab the interfering item of clothing and yank it out of the way.
But he kept his hands to himself, knowing without being told that if he pushed his luck he would leave the room unsatisfied and unfucked.
“Do you want me to take these off?” Isaiah asked in a teasing tone. “Do you want to see what you’re getting?”
“Yes.” Randall hissed out the word on a long breath. He was even more turned-on than he’d been before the blowjob and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait.

Welcome Ana Raine



Mookyul (Pretty Boy 3) by Ana Raine

Changeling Press

For Mookyul, an orphan living on the streets of Daegu, South Korea, street fighting is a way of life. But when he saves a beautiful young Korean man, Sae-Min, from a group of bullies, Mookyul attracts unwanted attention. The leader of the Korean Kkangpae mafia offers to absolve all of Mookyul’s debt as well as giving him the chance to become a professional fighter — but every offer from the Kkangpae has a price.

Is the chance at a life with Sae-Min worth the cost the Kkangpae will extract if Mookyul accepts their offer?

Changeling Press:



Barnes and Noble:


R-rated Excerpt: 

Sae-Min released Mookyul as a sad expression flitted over his face. “I don’t like these marks.” Mookyul’s chest rose at the touch of fingers over each raw, fresh star. “Those don’t mark you as mine. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Getting you into the Khangpae was all I could think of.”

Sae-Min crawled further onto Mookyul’s lap, positioning his ass in just the right location. “I’m going to say something. Only once, so make sure you burn it into your brain.”

“Yes, Kumiho.”

“You belong to me.” Sae-Min cupped Mookyul’s face in his hands and brought his lips within inches of Mookyul’s. “Not my old man. Not any of the other collectors. You belong to me.”

Mookyul was aware his legs were shaking with excitement. He was so hard he ached all over. He felt like he wouldn’t be able to wait for another opportunity. Sae-Min pushed his tongue into Mookyul’s mouth. The kiss felt possessive and raw, just like his heart. He wanted to belong to Sae-Min only, but the stars on his chest were burning, aching with possession.

“I bet you want to cum again, hmm?” Sae-Min smiled softly. He held up a watch in front of his face. “I wonder if I have time.”

Mookyul held his breath. “Please.”

Sae-Min smiled as he exited the bed and crossed the bedroom to a tall, black wardrobe. The closet creaked opened, and vaguely, Mookyul could see a small leather box lying in the bottom.

“You said I could do anything to you?”

Mookyul made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. His head hurt slightly, but his fighting injuries were better than they had been in a long time. The soft sheets and the beautiful young man in front of him had to be the cure.

“Oh, no, that response won’t do. Hmm, Pet?”

“Yes, my Kumiho. Anything at all… just, please.”

“Because you asked so sweetly, I will oblige.” Sae-Min stood up. Mookyul knew he was holding something but both of his arms were hidden behind his back and he didn’t know what. He shivered.

“Have you ever been penetrated?” Sae-Min asked in a very sweet voice, taking a deliberate step towards the bed. Mookyul stared at the small chain of beads, not knowing what they were called but getting excited all the same. The look on his $Kumiho’s face was one of apprehension, as though he was afraid Mookyul might run.

Mookyul shook his head and then for emphasis added, “I will do anything you want.”

Sae-Min’s smile was the best reward. “Get on your hands and knees, Pet.”

Shuffling the covers, Mookyul positioned himself so his ass was in the air. He felt exposed and vulnerable. He had thought about this act before and had always thought he would feel intense shame. There was no shame now, only excitement for what Sae-Min was going to do to him.

“Let’s see how close I can get you to orgasm.” The bed dipped down behind Mookyul. Soft hands touched his lower back and then they were gone. There was the snapping of a cap and then something cold and slick was pressed against his entrance.

Mookyul clenched, but then relaxed as the slick coated ball disappeared inside of him. The sensation of the smooth bead against his insides felt wonderful. He wanted to feel it further inside of him. Another ball followed and then another. Mookyul counted five balls before Sae-Min stopped. Moaning, Mookyul buried his face in the sheets as Sae-Min placed his hand at the nape of his neck, holding him still.

“Are you enjoying this, Pet?”

“Yes, Kumiho.” And he really was. There was the feeling of the balls twisting inside of him. One of them rubbed against a sensitive spot that made him gasp and rub his erection against the sheets. He wanted to pound Sae-Min with frustrating anticipation.

“What does it feel like?”

“Hot and… sweet.”

 About the Author

I’ve been figuring out what I want to do with my life as of late and have finally decided to get a Master’s degree in Social Work, while continuing my writing. I am a fairly new author, having published three books with Changeling Press. I am always looking for more inspiration and plan to explore every genre that I can.

My inspiration for the Pretty Boy series came from watching UFC with my husband and wondering what sorts of thoughts the tall, strong men were having. I write exclusively M/M and love to delve deep into the mind’s of otherwise unapproachable human beings.

Mookyul is the third in my Pretty Boy Series.

My blog site is:

Welcome Kendall McKenna



Hello! I’m Kendall McKenna and write M/M Erotic Romance Novels. I’m best known for characters that are authentically written U.S. Marines. When they’re not falling in love, I like to send them into realistic combat scenes. I threw a curve into my series, The Tameness of the Wolf, by adding werewolves who serve alongside their human counterparts…and fall in love with them, too!

The second book in the series, Strength of the Wolf, was released a week ago and has quickly clawed its way up to the top of the bestseller lists. Tim Madison returns in this book, and he gets himself his own werewolf to challenge him.

…what a freaking awesome story yet again!

                                    -MM Good Book Reviews


I loved Tim and Jeremy together, caring, loving and pretty darn smoking hot, too. I can’t begin to thank Kendall McKenna enough for bringing this story to life, and I’ll be on more pins and needles waiting for the next installment.

                                    -Rainbow Book Reviews


The world building surpassed book one.  Kendall McKenna really put some amazing touches to this book. The Strength of the Pack built a seriously interesting and unique shifter world but it was elaborated on further here.

                                    -On Top Down Under Book Reviews


If you’d like to know a little more about the book they’re talking about, here you go:

After a fiery exit from Afghanistan, Tim Madison is promoted to major. Jeremy Wagner is a civilian, just beginning his Transition to True Alpha. As a lone wolf, he has no one to teach him the vital principles of strong leadership. After a volatile chance encounter, Tim and Jeremy form an intimate bond.

As Jeremy prepares to someday lead his own pack, Tim struggles with military werewolves being needlessly maimed in combat, as well as specifically targeted by hostile forces. Despite Tim and Jeremy’s feelings, werewolf and human politics or family conflict could prevent their mate-bond.

The crowd of Marines backed away, forming a wide circle around Tim. To his left, Lucas dropped what he was carrying. Glass shattered on the wooden deck and dispelled the food it contained. To Tim’s right, Jeremy’s clawed hands wrapped around Terrell Hubbard’s throat. His lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl, revealing long, wickedly sharp fangs. Hubbard’s fingers were claws, as well. One gripped Jeremy’s bicep, the other was fisted in Jeremy’s shirt. Hubbard bared his fangs, barking and growling in Jeremy’s face.

Adrenaline surged into Tim’s bloodstream. His heart pounded, his mouth went dry. “Jeremy! Knock it the fuck off!” he shouted, reaching for the brat’s shoulders to pull him away from Hubbard. “Sergeant Hubbard! Stand down! Right the fuck now!” Tim’s skin tightened over his bones and his clothes were suddenly painful.

Tim hadn’t been this afraid in combat. Hubbard was inches taller and tens of pounds heavier than Jeremy. He was a trained Marine, battle hardened. Jeremy was outclassed and that scared the shit out of Tim.

“Submit, Terrell,” Noah shouted, voice rough and commanding. He sounded more wolf than human.

Just as Tim reached for Jeremy, strong hands grasped his wrists.

“Stay out of it,” Lucas said, trying to drag Tim away from the embattled werewolves. “You’ll only get hurt.”

“Jeremy’s no match for Hubbard,” Tim said angrily, trying to shake off Lucas.

“Yes, he is.” Lucas put himself between Tim and the shifters, giving a mighty shove. “Let Noah handle it.”

Tim stumbled, Lucas’ shove sending him off balance. He started back toward Jeremy, desperate to get him away from the larger, stronger Hubbard. Lucas blocked his path. Dawson was suddenly behind Lucas as silent reinforcement.

“Submit to him, Terrell,” Noah ordered again. He stood beside the two werewolves but didn’t touch. Tim wondered why the hell he didn’t break up the fight. “If you make him shift he’ll rip your throat out.”

In the blink of an eye, Hubbard gave up the fight and let himself be carried to the ground by Jeremy’s weight. Now on his back, Terrell let his arms go limp beside him. He tilted back his head so that both his throat and his belly were vulnerable to Jeremy’s attack.

A strange silence fell over the yard, save for Hubbard’s labored breathing as he struggled to get air past Jeremy’s grip on his throat. Jeremy crouched over Terrell’s supine form. He gripped Hubbard’s throat with only one clawed hand now. He leaned down until his open mouth hovered just above Terrell’s throat.

“My wolf has submitted, Jeremy,” Noah said calmly. He knelt next to the combatants, still not touching Jeremy. “You’re the victor. He submitted. Let him up.”

Jeremy continued to crouch over Hubbard. He snapped audibly at the vulnerable flesh of Terrell’s throat. Hubbard flinched. Tim clenched his jaw, silently begging Jeremy to accept Hubbard’s submission.

“You can’t filter this through any human or military standards,” Lucas said quietly. Tim had nearly forgotten he was there. “I know you think it’s too soon, but do you feel a connection to Jeremy?”


Tim swallowed hard, his throat tight. To his relief, Jeremy released Terrell, rising gracefully to his feet. “Yes,” Tim admitted, eyes following Jeremy as he stalked back and forth, glaring at the werewolves circled around them.

“Let him mark you, then,” said Lucas. “Right now, in front of the Pack.”

Tim realized everything had been leading him to this very moment, despite his efforts to deny and avoid it. “Yeah,” he sighed. He had feelings for the kid he knew weren’t mixed up with Jeremy’s, or tied to the full moon. Jeremy’s well-being mattered to Tim, but he was the reason Jeremy was angry and aggressive. Jeremy needed Tim to stop hiding.

“It’s got to be a visible mark,” Lucas reminded him. “He’s going to want to get his scent on you, too.”

None of that bothered Tim. Well, the visible marks made him apprehensive. He’d had such sympathy for Lucas, watching him struggle with werewolves making things public that humans usually kept private.

“The brat had better be worth all the drama,” Tim muttered darkly, decision made.

Lucas chuckled. “You wouldn’t like him if he wasn’t a challenge.”

Lucas and Dawson both stepped aside, leaving Tim free to approach to Jeremy. Or Jeremy to approach Tim. It wasn’t clear yet how this was going to go down. Terrell had rolled onto his side, but he still lay on the ground at Jeremy’s feet. The neck of his muscle shirt was darkened with blood. Jeremy’s claws had done some damage. Thankfully, it didn’t appear too severe.

Jeremy stopped pacing. Noah stood behind him, speaking quietly. Jeremy stood tall, shoulders squared, staring directly at Tim. His eyes were amber and those of a wolf. His chest heaved with each breath. At least his hands were no longer claws. Tim couldn’t tell if Jeremy still had fangs.

It didn’t matter if he did. Tim knew he was in no danger from Jeremy. Focusing all of his attention on Jeremy, Tim realized he should have done this before now. Jeremy’s need was a physical ache. His desire to mark Tim, and be marked in return had always been there. It lingered at the back of Tim’s mind like white noise, making it easy to ignore. Tim’s own regret poured through him, drowning out everything else. He hoped this effort would make up for his mistakes. Releasing a shaky breath, Tim silently acknowledged that he’d wanted this all along.

Tim saw the moment Jeremy sensed that their needs finally synced. He closed the distance between them in a few long strides. Tim clutched at Jeremy’s shirt as Jeremy wrapped his arms around Tim’s waist, pulling their bodies together roughly. Their open mouths collided and Tim felt the hard press of teeth. Jeremy did still have his fangs, their sharp tips drawing blood from Tim’s lips. A thrill ran down Tim’s spine, knowing Jeremy’s lethal strength was leashed, just for him.

Jeremy licked deep into Tim’s mouth, their tongues tangling wetly. Jeremy’s body was flame-hot, pressed to the length of Tim’s. His breath was scalding as it ghosted across Tim’s cheek.

Breaking the kiss, Jeremy buried his face in the join of Tim’s neck and shoulder. Tim shuddered. He pushed his hips against Jeremy’s, feeling Jeremy’s already hard cock. Tim tilted his head slightly, asking at the same time he gave consent.

Jeremy pried Tim’s fingers from his shirt. Tim gasped as Jeremy forced his arms to cross at the small of his back. The strength in Jeremy’s hand was surprising as he restrained Tim’s wrists. The arch in his back pushed Tim’s body hard against Jeremy’s. His own cock was completely hard now and he rubbed himself back and forth against Jeremy. Tim closed his eyes, letting his head fall back in silent pleading.

Corey Yarwood 4

Jeremy kissed up the length of Tim’s throat, dragging the sharp tips of his teeth along the edge of Tim’s jaw. The slight sting sent a thrill down Tim’s spine and he wanted more. Jeremy nipped at Tim’s pulse where it throbbed just below his skin. Tim moaned when Jeremy soothed the spot with his tongue.

His body went rigid and Tim unleashed a decadent groan when Jeremy’s hot mouth latched onto the side of his neck. Tim’s blood rose to the surface as Jeremy sucked hard at the spot. Jeremy soothed the bruise with a swipe of his tongue. Tim relaxed into Jeremy’s hard body, moaning each time Jeremy sucked a bruise into his throat, or nipped sharply at his too-sensitive skin.

He wanted to touch. Tim struggled to free his hands from Jeremy’s grip. When Jeremy released his wrists, Tim buried his fingers in Jeremy’s hair, holding him close. Jeremy nosed at Tim’s ear, dragging his sharp teeth along the sensitive lobe. Tim shuddered again and moaned.

Lowering his head, Tim found Jeremy’s mouth. He chased Jeremy’s tongue with his own. Curling his fingers in Jeremy’s hair, Tim used it to tilt his head back. He skimmed his lips and nose over the pounding pulse in Jeremy’s throat. Tim pressed his open mouth to the same spot and drew heated blood to the surface. Jeremy panted. He cradled the back of Tim’s head, encouraging him. Tim sucked blood to the surface of Jeremy’s skin. He was deeply satisfied that Jeremy wore his mark. The werewolf pack that surrounded them would know that Jeremy was his, and only his.

Jeremy pulled back abruptly. “Okay, that’s enough,” he gasped. “Any more and we’re going to put on a much more revealing show than I’d planned.”

Tim blinked, struggling to understand Jeremy’s words. He watched Jeremy’s eyes roam over his throat, taking in the bruises Tim could feel darkening on his skin. Jeremy’s expression was satisfied, bordering on arrogant. Tim couldn’t help but chuckle. It was such an Alpha thing to do.

The world began to move around them. Dawson directed someone to clean up the shattered glass and spilled food. Noah tried to save the meat left forgotten on the grill. Mundane conversations swirled around them.

Tim and Jeremy stood alone, completely surrounded by Noah’s Pack, breathing heavily, looking only at one another.

“How long do we have to stay?” Desire was obvious in Jeremy’s still-amber eyes.

“It would be polite to eat something, then help clean up a little,” Tim replied, already calculating how he might maneuver them into an early departure.

“Stay with me tonight?” Jeremy asked.

Tim nodded emphatically. “Of course.” Everyone associated with a werewolf pack was excused from duty for the next two days for the full-moon run. He imagined the two of them had much to discuss over the course of the next twenty-four hours.

“Good,” Jeremy said. He turned toward the cluster of Marines who had begun to serve themselves food. “Now let’s go let them all know it’s time to keep their hands off of what’s mine.”

Jeremy’s possessive words should have angered Tim. Instead, it made him consider being rude and skipping out on food.

If anyone would understand, it would be Lucas and Noah.

You can find information about Book #1 in the series, as well as buy links on my website:

Thanks for joining me today, and happy reading!


Love and dog tags,


Book Spotlight~ Ride-Off



Ride-Off by Mickie B. Ashling

Polo: Book Two

Sequel to Fire Horse

Dreamspinner Press

Finally reunited, Preston Fawkes and Konrad Schnell put family and obligations aside, preferring to remain in seclusion on Ned’s estate to get reacquainted. Unfortunately, reality can only be held off for so long, and they return to Texas to reclaim the life they put on pause. Trying to strike the right balance between business, family, and romance requires ongoing effort, and the challenges begin shortly after they arrive.

At the top of the list is Bandi, Konrad’s son, and his desire to play polo. A close second is Conrad “Sasha” Fawkes, Preston’s actor son who’s struggling to succeed on Broadway. And last, but certainly not least, is Paloma, the fiery Argentinean beauty Preston sired after a passionate tango.

Blending the interests and needs of three grown children is difficult at best and almost impossible when agendas collide and old secrets are unearthed. The situation comes to a head when the family gathers in San Antonio for Thanksgiving, throwing Preston and Konrad into a maelstrom they must weather as best they can, or they’ll face a major ride-off that could throw the game before it even starts.

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A man dressed in a safari outfit, complete with pith helmet and goatee, held court over a group huddled in a tight circle near the buffet tables. “He’s outclassed and has no business in this league,” he opined in a ponderous voice, with a British accent quite similar to Ned’s.

Bandi hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t help but overhear the derisive comment after he’d wandered away from his lover, who was on the other side of the large terrace, catching up with old friends he hadn’t seen since Preston’s accident almost two years ago. Bored to distraction while the group discussed the latest friend who’d been diagnosed with prostate cancer, high blood pressure, or death from a Viagra-induced heart attack, he’d muttered an excuse and headed toward the bar. He was far more interested in hearing some honest critique about his performance today, minus the usual buffering by the three men protecting him with such diligence.

Guessing that he was the topic of the conversation, Bandi ducked behind a white wooden trellis covered in fresh green vines and pink and red amaryllis. He grabbed a frosty drink from one of the passing waiters and took a long sip. The St. Regis  in Greenwich, Connecticut, hosted a world-class polo tournament every September, and Preston had jumped at the opportunity to ease his protégé into the competitive world of East Coast high goal players. Patrons of the sport, along with their spouses, girlfriends, and requisite hangers-on, were attired in afternoon garden chic, rubbing elbows and gossiping about the events of the day. They all had tall drinks in their hands, enjoying one of the signature rituals of this particular site, the Bloody Mary cocktail. Bandi continued to sip his drink while eavesdropping.

The gossipy clutch he’d stumbled upon was comprised of strangers. It wasn’t unreasonable to expect an honest and fair evaluation of today’s performance, but what he hadn’t anticipated was the mean-spirited nature of the critique. He cringed when a second speaker voiced his own observations.

“The boy has raw talent but it needs to be honed with more playing time.”

“Indeed,” the Brit agreed. “Preston is thinking with his cock again.”

“Harry, the boy isn’t his lover.”

“Then who is he?”

“Some gypsy who wandered onto Ned Temple’s estate.”

“He’s Konrad Schnell’s son,” another man clarified.

“Who’s that?”

“I believe he’s Preston’s new partner. He used to play polo years ago and then dropped off the face of the earth. From what I gathered, he was stuck in eastern Europe for years.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s somewhat of a mystery, and must have an interesting past judging from those horrible scars,” Harry said cruelly. “I’d love to hear that story someday.”

“I never thought I’d live to see Preston Fawkes take a back seat to anyone, let alone somebody unknown.”

“Perhaps he’s finally come to his senses. I was there when he was thrown a couple of years ago,” the Brit recounted. “Everyone thought he was at death’s door or worse when he was carried off the field on a stretcher. Thank heavens he survived with minor injuries, but it must have been quite the wake-up call.” He pulled out the decorative stalk of celery hanging over his glass and took a crunchy bite. His left to right chewing motion brought back memories of his mother’s goats, and Bandi couldn’t help but be amused at the sudden vision of a helmeted billy goat.

“Back to the gypsy,” critic number two remarked. “He’s a decent player but unseasoned. He reminds me of a young Nacho Figueras.”

“Very young,” Harry replied.

“Gentlemen, give him time,” the fourth member of the group finally spoke up. His jeweled turban and gold-embroidered sherwani made him stand out, as did his melodic Indian accent. “I see a lot of potential in that player,” he observed kindly.

“Halim, this isn’t a training academy,” the pompous goat pointed out, following up the comment with a loud snort. The others joined in and guffawed at Bandi’s expense.

Hearing enough, Bandi abandoned his drink and headed toward the stables. The familiar sounds of ponies, mixed in with the odor of hay and manure, helped to lessen the sting of the conversation. He admitted he was totally out of his element, but when he’d voiced his desire to play polo, he didn’t know that vicious gossip was a part of the game. Having never been involved in professional sports, he was unaware that rumors and envy were right up there with talent and sheer luck. It bothered him tremendously that people assumed he was only around because of his connections. Granted, there was much to learn, and a lot of what he’d heard tonight was true, but it would have been easier to swallow if they hadn’t associated him with Preston Fawkes. He wanted to make it on his own merit.

Someone nuzzled him on the neck and he turned abruptly, heaving a sigh of relief when he saw that it was Ned. “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you,” Ned said honestly. “You looked upset.”

“I’m fine,” Bandi lied, attempting to move away.

Ned held him in place. “Don’t prevaricate.”

“Pre… what?”

“Stop avoiding the issue. Talk to me, darling.”

Reluctantly, Bandi recounted the conversation he’d overheard.

“What bothers you the most?” Ned asked gently.


“Don’t sugarcoat for my benefit.”

“I’m tired of being associated with the Holy Trinity.”

“Pardon me?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard that I’m only here because of you and Preston. Add Papa to the mix, and it’s a bloody triumvirate of guardian angels.”

“Most people don’t even have one,” Ned replied, looking hurt and confused. “Pardon us for loving you.”

Bandi turned his back on him and leaned against one of the wooden pillars. “I know I sound like an ungrateful bastard,” he said gruffly, “but you asked for the truth.”

“We’re only trying to help,” Ned pointed out.

Something in Ned’s voice made Bandi turn, and he could see his lover’s warm brown eyes sparkling with emotion. It made him feel like a world-class asshole, but he had to make Ned understand what it felt like to be the new kid on the block. “It’s hard enough being the oldest rookie around, but I feel like such a loser when I’m treated like Preston’s boy toy. You should have heard those guys,” Bandi said bitterly. “They immediately assumed I was his lover and that’s the only reason I’m here.”

“People gossip all the time,” Ned explained patiently. “Preston has been the favorite topic of conversation for years. It was worse when he was younger; men and women were throwing themselves at his feet. Don’t let a few snide comments ruin this experience. Any other hopeful would jump at the chance to be mentored by a 10 goal player.”

“I’d like a chance to be judged on my own merit,” Bandi continued stubbornly. “I spent all of last year learning the ins and outs of the game. I’m grateful for everything Pres and Papa have done up to now, but it’s time I showed the world what I’m capable of doing without this cloud of doubt lingering in their minds. I don’t want the public to think I’m just some hot stud hanging onto Fawkes’ coattails.”

“Or mine,” Ned said softly.

 About the Author

Mickie B. Ashling is the alter-ego of a multifaceted woman raised by a single mother who preferred reading over other forms of entertainment. She found a kindred spirit in her oldest child and encouraged her with a steady supply of dog-eared paperbacks. Romance was the preferred genre, and historical romances topped her favorites list.

By the time Mickie discovered her own talent for writing, real life had intruded, and the business of earning a living and raising four sons took priority. With the advent of e-publishing and the inevitable emptying nest, dreams were resurrected, and the storyteller was reborn.

She stumbled into the world of men who love men in 2002 and continues to draw inspiration from their ongoing struggle to find equality and happiness in this oftentimes skewed and intolerant world. Her award-winning novels have been called “gut wrenching, daring, and thought provoking.” She admits to being an angst queen and making her men work damn hard for their happy endings.

Mickie loves to travel and has lived in the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East but currently resides in a suburb outside Chicago.

You can contact her at or leave a comment on her website at or her blog at

Discover AJ Kelton’s Marco/Giveaway


Marco by A.J. Kelton

Erotic Gay Romance

Publisher: MLR Press

Release Date: May 18, 2013

Heat Level: Steamy

Length: 244 pages

Check out the book Trailer HERE

Available at:

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Being a superstar can give you everything but true happiness.

Marco, in the public eye from childhood, has everything but the one thing he truly wants. Someone to love him for who he is. Evan, Marco’s lead guitarist and part-time lover, tends to Marco’s needs, from broken heart to media disaster. He keeps his love for Marco secret for fear of ruining the friendship. Jaron would give anything to reach superstar status, given the chance to work beside Marco, he sees it as the perfect way to realize his dream. Will Marco ever see Evan as more than a friend or will Jaron finally get the stardom he dreams of?

Warning: This title is intended for readers over the age of 18 as it contains adult sexual situations and/or adult language, and may be considered offensive to some readers.

Teaser Excerpt:

He heard a knock at the door and figured it was room service, so he was shocked as all hell when he found Evan standing in the hallway.

“Forgot my key,” Evan said sheepishly.

Marco grinned and pulled the man into his arms. “I’ll spank you later for that.”

After several minutes of making out, Evan pulled back and ran his eyes critically over Marco, wanting to make sure that he was taking care of himself and not looking even more worn out.

Evan walked across the room and flopped on the couch, patting the spot beside him. “Come snuggle with me.”

Marco came up behind Evan and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “Your salad should be here soon. I’m just thankful that you didn’t ask for rabbit. I still can’t get the taste of it out of my mouth.”

“I know you don’t like it much. Poor baby,” Evan said, tilting his head back so he could look at his friend.

“Yeah, well, unfortunately I can’t go, wait one minute here, I don’t like the ingredient, try again.” He sat on the couch beside his friend.

Evan laughed. “Are you sure? You might be the only one that’s able to. What was today’s ingredient?”

“Duck kidneys.”

Evan raised his eyebrow. “Duck kidneys? That sounds positively…yummy.”

Marco laughed. “Well it’s not something that I would order on a menu, especially knowing what they really are.”

Evan looked at Marco for a moment, knowing he didn’t want to ask, but also knowing that he had to. “Just what are they actually? And did you brush your teeth before you shoved your tongue down my throat?”

Marco knew he was a sadistic bastard, and he loved to torment his friend. Leaning over, he licked Evan’s lips before whispering. “Duck balls, and no I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

About the Author

A.J. Kelton are the dynamic writing team of Angel and Jordan. The couple met online several years ago on an Alexander fan site and have been friends ever since. Angel soon found that Jordan had a flare for storytelling with several half-finished stories on her computer. Angel encouraged Jordan to finish the stories and with help in creative description she decided to send the stories off to MLR press. They were both shocked and excited when they got the news that Faelon was accepted for publication. While Jordan may have a flare for storytelling she doesn’t enjoy the smaller details in getting a story ready for publication. That is where Angel comes in; she spends countless hours getting the story ready after line edits, going over each line in proofing and formatting, making decisions such as covers and fonts, all things that Jordan just has problems focusing on.

Angel is always on the lookout for her perfect mate, a cross between Ethan from Under the Australian Sky and Evan from Marco.  Until Mr. Perfect appears at her door, or in front of her booth wanting an autograph she loves to read, take pictures and attend concerts of all kinds. She loves all things 80’s. Angel lives in Texas with her two dogs, Daisy a beagle who she insists is nothing like snoopy and her Chihuahua Bonita.

When not writing Jordan loves to read anything from Amish romance to the dark taboo books of fiction both M/M and Het. She is a very avid reader, except when writing because she doesn’t want to be influenced by what she is reading. Jordan loves to travel and often her latest vacation spots show up in his books. While Jordan is always looking for that perfect place to live at the moment she can be found in Kansas.

Both writers have solo projects coming out in the future, Angel with Misunderstandings under the name Angel Rothamel. Jordan with Legion under the name Rider Jacobs.

Both authors would love to hear from you. You can contact them at You can also find them on Facebook under both AJ Kelton, Angel Rothamel and Rider Jacobs.

Connect with A.J. Kelton

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GIVEAWAY INFO: Fill out the raffelcopter below to be entered to win this great prize from AJ.

Prize is 5 eBook copies (1 each to 5 winners) of “Marco” from A.J. Kelton. Contest is tour-wide, open internationally and ends Aug 31. Must be 18 years of age or older to enter.

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