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Friday, June 12, 2015

Attitude on Wheels and Water and Air, a Pair of Fantasy Tales now out!

I've self-published two more reprints. Attitude on Wheels is a Velvet Glove book, this one featuring badly injured Top Carson and his physiotherapist Harrison. Water and Air is a compilation of two little fantasy stories from Bus Stories and Other Tales. Both are below with excerpts (one smutty and the other not).

Attitude On Wheels

Carson arrives at the Velvet Glove in a wheelchair, full of anger and snarls, ready to take out his frustration on everyone around him. Harrison, the physiotherapist assigned to help him, is maddeningly Zen, even in the face of Carson’s worst tantrums. Carson takes to calling Harrison Pollyanna, but even that doesn't seem to faze the man. Harrison maintains that Carson just needs to turn all that passion toward getting better.

Something more than just healing is starting, though. Can Carson and Harrison see past their roles as therapist and patient and find what they need in each other?

Available at Amazon and All Romance Ebooks.

smutty excerpt:

“I can...” Carson half-laughed, half sobbed. “Shit, Harrison I’m getting hard. I can feel it.”

“Oh...” He beamed, hands curling over Carson’s shoulders as he eyed the monitors. “Yeah, beauty. Your nerves are firing.” He knelt down, whispering into Carson’s ear. “See? I have faith in you.”

Carson turned to look at him and their mouths just brushed. “Harrison...”

“Right here.” He gave Carson a trembling smile, tongue sliding out to wet his lips.

Carson groaned and closed the impossibly small distance between their mouths, lips sliding softly along his. He shouldn’t. Carson was vulnerable and he was taking advantage and it wouldn’t mean anything and... He wanted to know.

He leaned closer, moaning into the kiss. Carson’s eyes were on his, hot and intense, burning into him. Their mouths moved together and then Carson’s tongue was on his skin, licking, pushing between his lips.

Oh... Harrison felt something inside him shift, swell as he learned Carson’s taste, Carson’s scent. Carson’s tongue swept through his mouth and then teased his tongue back into Carson’s mouth. He reached up, cupping Carson’s cheek, entire body trembling.

Carson ended the kiss. “I can’t move. I can’t come. Let me suck you.”

“What?” His eyes went wide, a whimper escaping him. “That’s not fair to you...” Not fair and unethical and he wanted. So bad.

“So you can return the favor tomorrow. You said if I could pee, I could try coming, right?” Carson’s tongue slid across his bottom lip. “Besides, I need to know I can still make a lover happy even... if this doesn’t work and I never get it up for real, you know?”

Water and Air, a Pair of Fantasy Tales

These two fantasy short stories explore the theme of loneliness ending. In Still Waters, Bry has been alone for decades with only his cats and the storms for company. While in The True Wind Cikor is a Traveler, flying far from the safety of the Clan Tree. When he returns, he's searching for the one meant to fly the skies at his side.

Available at Amazon and All Romance Ebooks.

not-smutty excerpts (one from each short story)

Still Waters

Bry felt the storm hours before it broke, the sea winds whispering and muttering and thick with rain.

He had spent the afternoon tying down the tomato and pepper plants, fastening the shutters, making sure the cats were indoors and the lantern filled. By the time Bry was finished preparing, the storm clouds were building, huge black thunderheads that rolled and stampeded, flashes of lightning showing its power.

He closed the door and latched it as the first drops hit the tiny porch, fat and oily.


Cheyenne and Dakota rubbed his ankles, Dalton and Caddo blinking from their perches upon the bookshelves. He smiled at them, their soft purrs and concerned meows the only voices this house had heard in decades and he wondered often if he would have not lost his sanity without their bright eyes and warm bodies.

He put the kettle on and went to shower before the electricity failed, stripping his cotton clothing away and leaving his thick glasses on the windowsill before stepping beneath the hot water. The storm was building power, beautiful even to his sun-scarred eyes. By the time that he was clean, from his long feet to the few remaining curls in his butchered hair, the shore had disappeared under the deluge.

He wrapped himself in a dark robe, found his glasses and put the tea on to steep, managing to just light the lantern before the lights popped out.

The True Wind

Cikor had followed the cry of the Wind here, finally listened to the call that had followed him from the Circle of Stones, past the Black Mountain, even to the edge of the Endless Water. The song had invaded his dreams, his hunts, his flight -- it had been quite irritating, like the itch when a feather was growing back in.

So he had returned to the Clan Tree, found himself a fine perch upon the Tree that Burned, and watched. None would dare to greet him, for he was a Traveler and perched beyond the Clan, but there were long looks and curious eyes and he believed he saw a Nest Mate flutter down below.

In the darkness, when there was only moonlight and all should sleep, that was when the other Elders -- the Hunters and the Builders and the Singers and the Keepers of Feathers came to perch below him and he moved to sit with them and share his stories. They spoke of the great Gathering to come and the rise of the Night Flyers and the Ones that Slithered upon the Ground and Hunted Eggs. They spoke of his brother, who had flown far to share a nest with another Clan. They spoke of Tolin, the Elder who had led him out into the Big Sky.

They asked him if he was here to claim a fledgling, to seek a partner, to cast off his collar of mourning and solitude and return to the Dance of Life.

The first night he had said no. The fourth day, he had handed the finely woven collar to the Head of the Keeper of Feathers. On the morning of the fifth day, he had begun his watch.

The Clan fledglings were busy, feathers shining as they played and worked and spun in ages-old mating dances. His wings ached to move, to send him up toward the sun and the sky and the clouds. There was no room to soar within the Trees. Still, someone would come to him and it was his place to wait.

smut fixes everything


  1. Wow look at you with all the self-pubbing!!! GO YOU!