Sarah Masters's Blog, page 7

As I've aged, I've found I'm being ruder to people on the telephone. You know the people I mean—telemarketers. I now understand why some old people are beyond grouchy. They've had enough of people asking them for something, bugging them when they just want a bit of peace, and generally being in demand. I mean, those old folks have had years and years of it.

Eff knows what I'm going to be like by the time I'm their age. I'm starting to get bad now.

Take ten minutes ago as an example. I'm waiting on an important call, and the phone rings. Whey hey, excellent. I can get this call out of the way and return to a book cover that's been giving me fits all morning.

Except it wasn't the call I was expecting. It was some guy from my internet provider trying to get me to "switch" to their company. After he gave his spiel he then said, "Do you know what the best thing is about this, Mrs Ellis?"

I said, "NO, but I'm sure you're going to tell me…"

"Yes, Mrs Ellis. The best thing is—"

"The best thing is," I said, wanting the ability to stretch my hand down the phone line and strangle the mofo, "I'm already with your company with the deal you're offering."

"Oh, are you, Mrs Ellis?"

"I am, sir, and I'm really busy so I need to go."

"Right, Mrs Ellis, let me just tell you—"

"I'm busy."

"Let me just say—"

"Let me just say—again—I'm busy."

"Is there a time I can call you back when you're less busy?"

"Yes, there is."

"And when would that be?"

"When I'm asleep. I'm busy all the time, so take your chances."

"Right on, Mrs Ellis. We can discuss—"

"The fact that I'm already with your company, with the deal you're still trying to tell me about even though I've told you once I'm with your bloody company and have that very deal."

"Yes, Mrs Ellis. That's right!"

"Oh my God. Right. I'm going to be rude. Please bugger off. Thank you. Byeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Yes, I really said that.

Now, let me grow into a grumpy old bastard in peace, will ya?

Yep, you read the title right. $1.96. God, I'm so bloody rich I could squeal. This amount was apparently made this past year plus a few months on one of my titles. Of course, it's below the stated amount where the publisher issues royalties, so that whopping amount is probably not accruing significant interest by itself but may well be when popped into the bank along with other authors who haven't made enough to be issued royalties either.

The thing is, if I was also paid for the 75+ covers and 20+ edits I did for the same publisher, then I could be given that $1.96 along with the other royalties. Sadly, after I left the company, working my month's notice I might add, the publisher has seen fit not to pay me another dime, despite breaching her own contract by doing this.

I recently asked for my rights back on The Book That Has Sold Fuck All, only to be ignored—as I knew I would be. In my contract, I'm within my rights to have the book returned to me, and in my email I asked if I needed to send a registered letter or would my email be enough. I'm taking it that I need to send a registered letter, but if rumours are to be believed, that will get ignored too. So, why waste my money on postage? I'd rather buy bread or milk with it. Also, there is another bother regarding this publisher. My contract automatically renews if I don't write to them 90 days before the renewal date stating I want my rights back. Who is to say, when I do that, the letter will even get acknowledged? The publisher could say they never received the letter. As I'm UK and they are US, I have no clue whether I could check on whether the letter got there or not.

My take on it is, if I've sold so little of that book, why would the publisher even want to keep it on their shelves? Far be it for me to insinuate the book is selling and I'm just not aware of it, because that would be a naughty thought, but I've thought it all the same.

I could join the author group, a bunch of disgruntled people who have banded together to fight for their rights, and it seems those who have joined are getting their rights back. So it seems the rest of us, who don't want to join the group, are being ignored. We're not threatening legal action, so we can, to put it bluntly, go fuck ourselves.

You would think, due to the recent "news" about this company, the publisher would do all they could to iron out the wrinkles, keep people happy. Still, all I can say is if you've ever considered buying my book there, and I'm guessing you can work out for yourself which publisher I'm referring to, don't bother. I'd rather the book languished in the dusty cyber files than be purchased.

It's sad that all those authors who support this publisher have no idea that their editor or cover artist hasn't been paid (providing I was said cover artist/editor, although there are other editors I know haven't been paid either). Where does that royalty money go? I mean, 75+ covers and 20+ edits…you can't tell me NONE of those books have sold.

It is, quite frankly, a crock of stinking shit when you're used in this way. You may ask yourself why I'm not pursuing this, why I'm not raising my fist and demanding payment. The answer is easy. I believe in karma. If I'm treated unfairly, be it in situations like this, being accused of something I didn't do (another topic entirely), or some other slight directed towards me in life, I leave it to karma to bite people's arses. I'm not into retaliation, getting my own back, going around behind the scenes doing spiteful things to the people who have upset me. (And yes, people have been doing that to me. Well aware of it. You have a nice day now, all right?) No, things have a way of working out for themselves. If I got arsey and went about using my energy to ruin those who have upset me, I'd lose lots of precious time and gain a lot of angst, and really, I can't be bothered to chase folks who mean jack shit to me. For me to respond and come out fighting, I'd have to give a shit about the people who wanted to piss me off in some way.

And quite honestly, I don't.

Let's face it, making money as an author, decent money, is something we'd all like to do. However, many people I know who are not in the publishing business are shocked when I tell them how things work. They'd thought that by being an author it meant you were automatically coining it in. This isn't so. I can't speak for everyone, because I have a few friends out there making as much money per month as they would by going out to work five days a week. Not so for me and many others I know. It's just lucky my husband's prepared to be the worker and that I can stay at home and write because I love it. I tried writing with the making-money-in-mind thing going on, writing what was selling out there, but it took away my creativity by treating it like a job. Doing this works for many people, but in my case it just took the fun out of it. So I've gone back to writing because I love it, and if I make big money, that's fine.

So I got to wondering what the very best-selling ebook authors do to create such high earnings. Do they promote like crazy? Or does their writing/genre appeal to readers and they sell lots of books because of that? And what about promoting when you have no money to pay for ads and, in my case, you're not comfortable with what feels like ramming your books/brand down people's throats? I hate promoting. I'm just about happy to put up notices of a new release, and some days I've even forgotten about a release day, a subconscious thing, I think, so that I don't have to announce it. Don't have to say: Look at me! Buy my book! It doesn't bother me in the slightest seeing other authors promote. They're happy doing it, and if they're not, then I commend them in doing something I can't seem to bring myself to do.

This probably sounds crazy, and some people would say: Well, if you don't promote, serves yourself bloody right that you don't make any money from your work.

I can agree with that to a point, but when I did promote, I didn't sell many books either.

However, there are people out there who don't promote yet still make good money, so then I'm back to the idea that some author's plots, genre, and writing style are what a reader wants. I clearly don't write in a style the majority of readers require. Readers apparently want something uncomplicated to read in their busy lives. This may well be true, and it may be the kind of thing I need write in order to gain more sales, but come on…what if I don't want to write that way? What if I've tried it and I can't? What if I've tried it and I'm unhappy with the final product because it isn't me?

So then we're back to the fact that I'm writing because I love it. I'm not writing to make money or to always pen books for people who don't have the time or energy to read something a bit more complex/using words and sentence patterns that come across as "too much hard work to read". I'm writing for me. This may be a stupid business decision, but it's one I can live with. I'm all about my inner self being happy these days, and if writing for these reasons is what makes me a happier person, someone my kids enjoy being around, then that's what I'll do. If the books I'm writing for me just so happen to match what a publisher wants, then that's a bonus.

I came to another decision lately, and that is to write tales as they want to come out and not manipulate them to fit the market. If the book won't sell anywhere because it doesn't have oodles of sex, that doesn't matter. I'd have written the book as my soul intended, and if it sits in a file forever, or goes out as a free read, then so be it. So, my latest, an m/m I began last week, used to have 4K of sex at the beginning. It used to have a break at Chapter Three, which would have been all sex. Yes, used to. Now it has none. It alludes to the fact my men have sex, but with this story I didn't feel it needed to be shown. A bit like my Reverse Blackmail. No sex between my men in that one. And it hasn't sold as well as my others that do include sex, but do you know what? I don't care. I loved writing that book, loved the fact they didn't have to have hot monkey sex, loved that I didn't have to pause between non-sex scenes and work out how to fit a sex scene in. Just a plain old book about two men living together, sex not needed.

Then that got me to thinking: Because it hasn't sold as well as the sex books, in order to make money, do I have to write sex? Is that right? Sad, isn't it? Yes, I'm an erotica writer, that's what I do for the most part, but deep down inside I'm not. I'm a mainstream writer. Would love to write plain horror or psychological, thrillers or actions, tales where cocks aren't allowed to strut into lady gardens. I started out as this kind of author. Did the agent route, got asked for partials, got asked for whole manuscripts—the end result all rejections because, and I'm paraphrasing here: People don't want to read such frightening things about the realities of life.

Oh, really? I do. My daughter does. My friends do. And clearly others do too, because there are books out there just like the ones I have written and want to write.

Maybe they should have just said my writing was crap, as were my plots, and I should fuck off now before they chewed the ends of their fingers off in frustration at my shitness.

Regardless of my last foray into that side of publishing, I'm going to do it again. My m/m book is now mainstream, urban fantasy, and will hopefully be one of the best books I've written. Because I want to write it in the 1st person, Brit-Bloke style it's coming out as. Because it feels right to do this. Because I want one last shot at writing what I really enjoy. I'll still be writing erotica for those interested, by the way, but also going back to my roots.

And if it doesn't get sold, then you'll see it as a free read. With no sex.

Genre: m/m urban fantasy

Predicted Length: novel

Working Blurb: Dominic Hurley is an average guy, working in a book packing company and getting through his boring life the best way he knows how. One Friday night, after sinking one too many beers, he finds an animal on his apartment balcony—an animal that changes his life.

Levian Brooke is that animal, although he's also one sexy-as-hell man. He has arrived in London to make Dominic his mate—and to get Dominic's help in a quest to free one of Levian's family members from London zoo.

Dominic is drawn into the seedier parts of his beloved London in his search for someone to create fake passports so Levian can return to where he came from. He finds out that the place he called home isn't as safe as he'd once thought, and a sinister element find out his involvement in Levian's quest and come after him.

It's a race against time and a fight for his life as Dominic finds inner strength to do things he'd never even dreamed about. And what of being Levian's mate? Dominic must make a difficult decision as to whether he remains in London or returns to Levian's homeland with him.

 Copyright Sarah Masters 2010

This was the life. Sitting up on my bed, back against a few pillows, cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. All right, so it wasn't the most exciting thing to do, but after a hard week working my ass off, a Friday night kicking back was just what I needed. Shame I didn't have anyone to share this time with, but what the hell. Rick was out on the town—my pal, by the way—and I hadn't much fancied joining him. Besides, I always felt awkward, you know? Like, I'm gay and he's not. Watching him hit on women had got old a while back, and finding a bloke to spend some time with was hard in the clubs Rick took me to. Difficult to judge who was into what, know what I mean?

I stared at the TV, the reception fuzzy because the damn whacky aerial needed tweaking. And I couldn't be assed to get up and tweak it. Too much effort, what with the alcohol flowing through my veins, the cigarette smoke making my head light. What had I sunk so far? Three beers? Four? I glanced at the bedside cabinet. Eight empty bottles. Shit.

The show on the TV was doing my nut in. Some boring crap about a cop trying to solve a crime. A cold case, been cold for so long the damn thing was iced up, and it didn't take a genius to work out the cop was going to get a light-bulb moment in a minute and crack the fucking thing.

Jesus. I should have gone out with Rick—Rick with the hairy chest and back that I kind of wanted to tell him put women off.

A creak outside had me jerking my head toward the fire escape doors. I rented an apartment—the Brit name for a flat that's just a little bit fancier than your average place—with sky-high rent, a shower that dribbled water, and a bloody doorman who never manned the damn doors. I begrudged paying a service charge for that kind of crap.

The creak sounded again and I smiled. It had to be Rick, pissed as a fart and on his way up here to lament the fact there were no decent women out tonight, something he did way too often for my liking. I wished he didn't know about the fire escape. It wasn't funny when you sprawled naked in bed of a Sunday, morning glory standing to attention, and found your best mate staring at you through the glass in the door. Fuck, he was such a—

I stared through the window in the door, frowning because, hell, Rick ought to be standing out there right about now. The stairs only creak twice—once on the middle step and once on the top—so unless he was crouched down behind the wooden bottom half of the door, something was way off. He was probably fucking about, planning to scare me. Wouldn't be the first time.

I swung my legs off the bed and stubbed my smoke out in the overfull ashtray I kept meaning to empty but never did. Standing—head was a bit fuzzy, but hey, whatever—I staggered over to the door and looked out. Nope. No Rick. The only thing out there was the sprawling city of London topped with a black sky and gray smoggy clouds. Lights, bright and multi-colored, stretched for miles, an expanse of illumination that never failed to amaze me.

Yeah, I dug that kind of thing.

But not the damn lion sitting on the balcony, looking up at me.

Okay, eight beers didn't usually mess with my mind like this, but tonight they had. I shook my head and blinked. The lion was still there. Now, if I'd smoked a joint I could understand the big bastard's appearance, but… My legs weakened, damn near sent me to my knees, and my heart beat so hard I thought I'd have a heart attack. Yeah, the reaction to a lion sitting on your balcony does that to a body, know what I mean? Who the hell sees this kind of shit after a couple—all right, eight beers—eh?

Dominic Hurley, that's who. Thirty-something, sad-bastard-with-no-life Hurley.

The lion yawned, showing teeth that shit the life out of me and a cavity that could easily fit my head inside. All right, having arms and legs like Jello wasn't something I wanted to cope with right now—if it had been just from the beer I wouldn't mind—and I staggered a little, reaching my hand out to steady myself on the wall beside the door.

A groan that sounded human followed the yawn as the lion's mouth closed, and that lion, that massive, should-be-in-a-zoo-or-Kenya lion, winked. Yeah, as insane as it sounds, it winked. Like it was more than just a lion. But that was just stupid, wasn't it, to think like that? Those animals didn't have human qualities. And they didn't damn well come visiting blokes on a Friday night for a bit of a chinwag and a game of poker.

It was the beer. I knew it, the lion knew it, and I swung the door open. The lion remained seated, looking me up and down as though deciding which part of me to eat first. Surreal as all this was, I fully expected to snap out of whatever dream I was in any second…now.

I didn't snap out of anything. The beast was still there.

Come on, joke's over, brain. You can stop fucking with me now.

Evidently, my work-weary brain wasn't done fucking.

The lion blinked several times and lifted its chin. He sniffed the air, nostrils flaring, and a light breeze shimmied his white-gold mane. He really was a magnificent sod, but I was buggered if I'd let him in, which is what my instincts were screaming he wanted. Maybe I'd fallen asleep. Maybe I'd wake in the morning with the recollection of what went on inside my head while I slept and laugh my ass off about it.

The lion reared up on his hind paws—fuck me sideways, he's got a big cock—and something weird started happening. His paws changed to feet and hands, his body into a human's, that shaggy mane of his the last thing to disappear. Unless you counted the blond stubble on this guy's face and the shock of long blond hair on his head. Oh, and the curly, corn-colored thatch around one hell of a long cock dangling between his legs.

A man. Is standing. Stark naked. On my balcony.

I had no clue what to do. Should I crawl back into bed, close my eyes and wait for morning? Should I hurl, because that's what I felt like doing? I didn't do either of those things. Instead, I said, "Uh, hi."

Wasn't that a stupid thing to say to him? Uh, hi, like he was real and going to answer?

"Hello."

I stared at him, rolling that word and the sound of it around my mind. It was deep, gravelly, just like a lion would sound if it could talk. And it—he—had, hadn't he? I hadn't just imagined that bass rumble, which, incidentally, zipped through my body and made me just a little hard. No. Oh, no. I was not getting a hard-on over some big bronze bloke that didn't even exist.

"Um, and you are?" I asked, wondering how stupid I could get. How much more insane.

"The name's Levian, but you can call me Levi."

Like the jeans. And didn't it sound just a little bit whacky? Levi the Lion. Jesus fucking—

"Are you not going to ask me in? It is cold out here."

It would be cold minus the fur, I'd give him that, but the weather hadn't shrunk his cock. "Um, yeah. Come in."

I stepped back, pulling the door wider so he could enter. And man, he was one big motherfucker, and I wasn't just talking about his sexual equipment either. He was broad, shoulders filling the doorway, stomach washboard flat complete with washboard lumps and bumps. God, what it would feel like to run my hands over those pecs…

Stop it. He's a lion. A man lion…thing. An alcohol-induced vision.

He stared at me, raising one beefy arm to plunk a meaty hand on my shoulder. His touch was heavy, pushed me down an inch or two, and I looked up at him, wondering what the fucking hell was going to happen next. I was dreaming, I got that, so maybe I ought to just go with the flow. Let the scene unfold of its own free will.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Dominic Hurley. Friends call me Dom."

"I need you, Dom Hurley." He pushed me backward to the bed, the scent of him strong and musky, his rippling muscles tormenting me, making me want to run my hands over every bloody one of them.

The backs of my knees hit the mattress and my legs bent. I dropped down and sat, his hand still on my shoulder, and studied his face. His irises, they were like chocolate-colored balls flecked with amber, so damn penetrating I found it hard to breathe. A roman nose sprinkled with light freckles dominated his face, and cheekbones the size of my palms tapered down to a strong jaw and rigid chin. Okay, a jaw and chin covered by stubble that I wanted rasping against my skin, but strong and rigid all the same.

I wanted to fuck him. For him to fuck me.

"I need you," he repeated. "To do something. I was…drawn here. To you."

"Oh right." I continued to stare, mesmerized by the sheer size of him and the heat radiating from his hand into my shoulder, right down into the damn bone. I imagined his whole body covering me. Man, I'd burn up. "What do you need me to do?"

What could it hurt to play along, eh?

He took his hand away and closed the door. My stomach flipped. I mean, if this wasn't a dream, this was where it could turn nasty. Newspaper headlines flashed through my mind. Man gets attacked by lion. Big beast holds man prisoner for several weeks and fucks him senseless.

"I can do that too, if you like." The man, Levi, strolled over to the TV, powerful body swaggering, and switched it off.

"Um, you can?"

The room was now in semi-darkness. The only light coming in was through the door window, weak moonlight that may as well give up trying to penetrate the London sky. That was a bit of a shit, because I'd enjoyed looking at his body. And I'd wanted to see his ass for a bit longer. He turned from the TV and stood at the foot of my bed, legs apart and hands folded across his chest like he was some sort of ancient warrior. His eyes glowed orange.

Okay, I know I wanted light, but—

"I am a warrior. And I need your help."

Jesus. He could read my mind too? That's all I bloody needed. I decided to test that theory.

I want you to climb on this bed and fuck me. Come on, I dare you. Fuck me hard, big boy.

"As you wish."

What the hell?

I scooted back on the bed, huddling up by the headboard, my heart going like the damn clappers and my pulse thudding in my throat. He'd heard what I'd thought. And not only that, he was willing to do what I wanted. Since when did I get so bloody lucky?

His eyes glowed brighter. "Since I find you so attractive, since you are destined to be my mate, that is when you got lucky."

Levi leaned over and planted his hands on the mattress. He stood in a prime position for me to go around behind him and…no, I had to stop this madness. It wasn't really happening. I wasn't here, in my apartment, with a lion who had changed into a man.

I'm not. Not, not, not.

"I am afraid you are. And we do not have much time. Tomorrow we have work to do. I came to this place, this London, to find the man I am destined to be with. Once I found him I am to… It does not matter. I have found you now. I will reveal more at first light."

"Destined to be with? You what?"

"I do not understand this 'You what?' Is that a regional term?"

"Uh, yeah. Listen, where the hell are you from? You sound…old-fashioned." God, if my body didn't stop shaking…

Levi laughed, a loud roar that almost had me crapping my pants and waiting for the neighbors to show up at my front door. "I am originally from another time. Perhaps that is why I sound alien to you. But I am here now, with you. And I am ready to make you my mate."

I glanced down his body, to his weighty cock that bobbed up and down, its hardness too tempting for words. Could I handle that? Fuck me, he was bigger than the dildo Rick's last permanent girlfriend left behind after she moved out. And that was saying something. That sucker was huge.

"I will not hurt you. I am able to…adjust myself to fit."

Adjust himself to fit? What, is his cock like some kind of tool he can make bigger or smaller?

"Something like that. Come. Let me make you mine."

Oh God. This has got to be a dream. This guy's too hot to even think about fancying me. And besides, he's a lion, and he hasn't explained that part of him yet.

"That is what we will discuss tomorrow. But tonight I am a man. A man with needs like yours. So, what is it to be? May I fuck you or not?"

May he fuck me? Too bloody right he could. I hadn't had sex in quite a while, and turning him down would be kind of childish, right? Besides, I was dreaming, so morals and all that crap could go out the window. I could fuck who the hell I liked while I slept!

He stared at me, the orange glow diminishing a bit. I opened my mouth to ask whether he was some kind of demon—I mean, lions didn't usually have mini halogen lamps in their heads—but a shiver ripped through me and silenced my ever-inquiring mouth. Things were getting serious. I could tell by the way his lips curved up in a sexy smile and the muscles bunched in his biceps. The thought of those strong arms around my body sent me dizzy and I blinked, half afraid of what he was capable of doing and half wanting to find out.

"Do not be afraid. You are my mate." He smiled—minus the fangs now, thank God—and dug one knee into the mattress. Sliding his hands along the bed, he brought his other knee up to join the first. "I love you already."

"You love me?" I blurted, wanting to laugh but holding it back because, shit, this guy was sincere. "You don't even know me!" I hugged my knees, crouching into a ball because oddly, I knew that if this guy touched me, I'd be undone.

"It does not matter whether I know you or not. That you are my mate is all that matters. Does it not work this way here? With you?" He sat back on his haunches, his massive frame blotting out sight of the TV and most of the wall behind him. His cock jutted out, hard and ready, and he slid his hand up his thigh toward it.

"Uh, no. Love at first sight is rare. We, um, grow to love our mates."

He gripped his cock in his huge fist and began massaging it up and down. I couldn't deny it, I was turned on, but the size of him had me quaking. I know he'd said he could make it adjust to fit, but that kind of shit just didn't happen.

Did it?

"Then you will grow to love me. To love this." He jerked his cock faster, thumb brushing the tip every time it reached the top. His eyes closed to half-mast and his tongue dashed out to slide along his lower lip.

Fuck, he was driving me crazy. My cock throbbed, my balls ached and my damn guts kept rolling over like a kid's at Christmas.

"I will?"

He nodded and his cock seemed to swell further. "You will."

"Don't you have any problems with people over you being gay?" I longed to touch my own hard-on but kept my hands fisted, my knees tight to my chest.

"Gay? What is this gay?"

Levi pulled down so slowly on his cock I thought I would come in my pants. Him touching himself was so bloody erotic I almost lost it.

"Uh, man-on-man action. You know, me and you. Two people with cocks fucking. Or two females fucking."

"I have no concept of this gay or why I should have an issue with it. You are my mate, that is all that concerns me. I am drawn to you, know you are the one I seek, and my cock and eyes are not complaining either. I am finding you most pleasing to the eye, and thoughts of sinking myself deep inside you is what has made what I hold so hard. That and the love I feel for you. I have found you after a long time searching, Hurley. I smelled you once I came to this London." He sniffed the air and growled deep in his throat. "And I smell you now. A scent that I want to drown in. Let me make you mine. Let me take you."

His way with words was oddly endearing, and if he was right and I was meant for him—and I wasn't dreaming—I had to think about whether I could live with this guy. I mean, I'd tried it before and failed after two bloody weeks, but could I give it a decent go with Levi?

"Look," I said, loosening my hold on my knees a little. "I'm honored you feel this way about me, really I am, but here, where I come from, you have to make a go of it, you know?"

"What is this 'go of it'?"

"Uh…" Crap, explaining stuff to this guy was proving harder by the minute. "Like I said, you have to grow to love someone. Grow to understand their quirks, see if you get along before you commit."

"I have already committed. Mmm, do you not want to feel my cock?"

I swallowed. "Um, yeah, I do actually, but we need to get a few things straight before I do."

"And what would they be?" He licked his lip again. "This feels good, my hand upon my cock. You will like it inside you. I can bring you much pleasure."

Jesus Christ on a bike, he was fucking with my mind. I'd never had a bloke act this way before, so confident and assured. I was used to the first time with a new guy being fumbles under the covers, our bodies hot and sweaty because the damn quilt tog was too high. But this? Man, I wanted to lose myself in him, let him do whatever the hell he liked.

"Ah, so you do love me. I thought you might." Levi massaged himself harder, long slow strokes that I imagined felt bloody good.

"Love isn't the same where I come from, mate."

"Mate. You called me mate. Mmmm."

Shit. "Yeah, it's a London endearment. Just something we say. Like love or whatever." I knew as soon as it came out I'd said the wrong thing.

"Love. We are getting somewhere." He opened his eyes fully and stared at me. Locked me in his gaze so I felt like I would fall. "Let us talk about the things you expect from our coupling tomorrow. For tonight, we need to bond. When we do, you will soon see that everything I have said is the truth."

All right, sod it. He might sound mentally insane, but my libido was up and there was no turning back. I needed him, even if it was just for one night. If he turned even more whacko by the morning, I'd report him to the police as a weirdo and be done with it.

"Stop holding your legs," he said, still gazing at me with eyes that flickered with different hues of amber. "You must relax and come to me willingly for this to work."

I took in a deep breath and let go of my knees, stretching my legs out on the bed, my feet either side of his shins. He straightened up, ass no longer on his heels, and shunted forward. Now between my legs, his cock pointed at my chest, he took himself in hand again and began that slow movement up and down that almost sent me nuts before. And it was sending me nuts again now.

My fingers itched to reach out and touch him, but I held back. He appeared to be enjoying himself just fine on his own, and curiously, I was enjoying the show. To be with someone so at ease with himself was novel and exciting. I could sit here all night and study him. However, my cock wasn't happy with that idea. It strained against my jogging bottoms, tenting the fabric, and I swear a drop of pre-cum drizzled down the head.

"I smell your desire, Hurley. Your cock is weeping for me."

Normally I'd have laughed at that, but coming from him it didn't sound odd, just poetic and…right. It matched who he appeared to be so far, old-fashioned and somewhat naïve.

"Take off those trousers. I want to see you naked." He eyed my legs, gaze sweeping up and down them like a starving tramp eyed a half-eaten Big Mac.

I complied, dragging them off and tossing them to the floor.

"And the top garment you wear. Take that off too." His hand glided on, up and down, up and down.

I lifted my black T-shirt over my head, my body totally puny compared to his sexy-as-fuck frame. My cock—talk about making me feeling inadequate—bobbed erratically, needing to be touched. I flung the T aside and rested my hands beside me on the mattress, unsure whether to fist myself like he was doing or wait for instructions.

He lifted his wide thighs and straddled me, pushing my legs together. "I wish for you to take me in your mouth. I want to feel your lips around me."

Jesus. There was no way I could get my mouth that wide. "Uh, you might want to do that shrinking-to-fit thing you mentioned."

"Hmmm? Oh. Yes, I see." Levi closed his eyes and his cock shrank. Though it was still big by anyone's standards, I could cope with that now. "Is that better?" He opened his eyes and appraised my face, tilting his head a bit like a cat.

"Yes. Much better."

I cleared my throat and pushed myself up into a more rigid sitting position. Lifting my hands, I tentatively lowered them toward his thighs, the warmth from them meeting my palms before I'd even made contact. A shiver slid through me, from my head to my goddamn toes, and I pressed my hands to his prominent muscles. God, but he felt good, all hardness and heat. The soft hairs on his legs rasped against my skin as I smoothed my hands up and down, my gaze on his hand stroking his cock. The sight of that and the feel of him alone got my cock to throbbing harder, an almost painful ache that spread to my balls. I wanted him more than I'd wanted anyone, longed for the feel of him inside me and his hands on my cock. I lifted my head to look at his face and caught him still studying me with a smile.

"You are beautiful, Dominic Hurley. I am so glad I found you. Your hands upon me…ah, they feel like silk. Please, taste me. Give me pleasure."

I pushed my hands up to his waist and swirled my fingers over his skin. He released his cock and thrust his pelvis forward, the tip of him inches from my face. Keeping one hand at his waist, I drew the other across to grip his width. Fuck, the heat from him seared my palm, and an image of him fucking me from behind filled my mind and made my balls ache even more. I groaned, eager to settle my lips around his perfect tip, the skin there so smooth it shone. Easing him forward a little more, I leaned in and, holding him at his base, used the flat of my tongue to lick his shaft from root to tip. Levi moaned, the sound ending on a low, rumbling growl, and sunk his hands into my hair.

He caressed my scalp, his fingertips soft and sensual, and again I licked from root to tip, following up with my hand tight around him. He tasted salty and I loved the flavor. I continued licking and each time I reached the top I dared to cover him with my lips before dragging my tongue back down. I wanted to tease him but also tease myself and test my pleasure threshold. This act was such a turn on, more so than it had been with anyone else, and I reckoned I could come by just doing this. He didn't need to touch my cock for it to feel pleasure. It was doing fine all by itself.

"This feels so good, Hurley. Your tongue is so hot and wet. Please, take me deep inside." He clutched my hair tight for a beat then continued with his head massage.

"Please, call me Dom," I said against his shaft.

I wanted to carry on licking, savoring, but at the same time I wanted to please him and do as he'd asked. As I drew up, I plunged him deep into my mouth, the silky softness of his tip brushing the roof. He groaned and I sucked upward, creating as much suction as I could, my hand once again following my lips. He seemed to widen, fill my mouth further, and I tasted pre-cum as it dripped onto my tongue.

He stopped massaging my head and pushed it down, then gently guided me up and down in at a comfortable pace. My own cock strained, lifting then slapping against my belly. If he touched me now I'd come. I sucked on, closing my eyes to better ingrain this moment in my mind. I was dreaming, right? No way did I want to forget such a dream. It would serve as fantasy fodder for many lonely nights to come.

"You will never be lonely again, Dom. I will always be with you."

Lee and Ryan make their way back to the town where they grew up, but upon their return to Lee's cabin, something isn't right…



Blurb:

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Blurb:

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