Happy Birthday
Lynn!
It's so cool of you to
invite me to spend some of your birthday time with you. I hope you're having a great time of it. Did you get lots of presents? Were you treated like a queen?
I don't know about Lynn, but I think a birthday ought to be really
recognized. I know it's a bit much to celebrate it for the entire month, but a week isn't too much to ask, is it? I usually try to send someone a present around my birthday--sort of a celebration and thanks to God and the universe for letting me hang around another year.
According to Wikipedia, the Romans of ancient times celebrated birthdays in true hedonistic style. It seems like there's been a lot of squabbling since Christianity about celebrating birthdays . Apparently, birthday celebrations were seen as pagan rites. I can't say about all that, but I'm pretty sure there's nothing wrong with just being glad you're still alive.
So--WooHoo! Go, Lynn, Go! Glad you made it another year!
IT turns out, a lot of cool people were born in April, and a whole handful of them were writers.
Anne McCaffrey, was one of them--just in case you forgot, LOL, she wrote
The Dragonriders of Pern series. Other famous authors born around Lynn's birthday are Maya Angelou (April 4), Hans Christian Andersen (April 2) and William Shakespeare's birthday is celebrated in April, too. Pretty creative,
these Aries/Taurus April folks.
In celebration of W. Lynn Chantale's birthday, I'm going to give away one of my books and one of hers--From my published books, it'll be reader's choice, and from Lynn's it'll be my favorite of hers, Breaking Delia's Rules.
Five days, three rules, and one sizzling seduction.
Delia has just three rules for dating. First, a man should never assume he’s
the only one. Second, he must stick to his scheduled day and time. Third—and
most important—no sex. Enforcing the rules has never been a problem until she
meets the hottie from the pool.
Jace has only five days to make every moment count. The more time he spends
with Delia, the more he realizes she may be The One. With the clock ticking, he
realizes there is only one course of action to take if he wants Delia's heart.
Can he convince Delia that rules are meant to be broken?
I really enjoyed this book. Delia is nobody's fool, and she's
all woman. She's not to be trifled with, but she does love to dally--or she
would--with the right man. And Jace Andrews is definitely that man. He's got a
voice like smoked whiskey and a beautiful, toned body that he obviously takes
very good care of. What's not to like?
It's a sexy little read and just enough to get you through a waiting room visit, bus ride, or just a good way to enjoy an hour or two.
In order to win --just comment. Be sure to wish Lynn a Happy Birthday!
Tell us when your birthday is and what you think would make it perfect --(besides peace on earth
and good will toward men…if that was on your list)
I've got a few stories coming out tonight and tomorrow, so
I'm going to give you a taste of those :
Three M/M Stories, Volume 1
After Class
by J.J. Massa
Sometimes, staying after class is the best thing to do,
especially if you're not enrolled and you've angered the professor.
Excerpt:
A lot of people have teacher fantasies. Guys as much as women tend to fixate on a hot teacher. It just stands to reason that gay guys
fantasize about sexy male teachers.
My fantasy? Professor Edward Heade. It’s a terrible name, isn’t it? I’m sure he was teased non-stop growing up. Maybe that’s what makes
him the way he is. He’s got this I’m-in-charge thing going for him. He never raises his voice, but he doesn’t have to.
Oh, man, sitting here, watching him walk into the room, I’m just getting chills. I can’t help it, something about him makes you want him to put you in your place—to sort you out.
He’s British; those sayings make sense around him. I don’t actually have any classes with Professor Heade.
He’s not my teacher. But here I am, sitting in his class, listening to that rich, full, accented voice.
He’s stalking around the room, his left hand above his head as he makes some point. I have no idea what he’s talking about and I don’t
really care. All I care about is the fire in his eyes and the way his nostrils flare as he drives his point home.
I’m on fire, sparks running up and down my spine, sweat collecting in the small of my back, my stomach tightening with want, need. I
need those strong, slim fingers on my body. He is
so fucking hot. Damn, I’m sitting here getting hard while this professor goes on about whatever—and I have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. How pathetic is that?
He’s coming right toward me, a book in one hand and a note in the other. My heart is beating double-time and I don’t know what to do.
~~~~~~~~~
Chasing Jonas
by J.J. Massa
Excerpt:
I pretend to fumble with my keys and cell
phone, deliberately dropping the keys as I step into the elevator. Turning, I
bend to pick them up, knowing my quarry is in place behind me. A covert glance
tells me he’s focused on my hindquarters--exactly the way I planned.
Jonas, that’s his name. I
heard him called that two weeks ago when I saw someone dressing him down. I
won't lie--that pissed me off. I’ve had my eye on the younger man for months
now. He’s shorter than I am, lean, blond and blue. My special weaknesses, all
in one neat package. He’s attractive, but young and innocent looking, clean.
I’ve kept an eye on him
since I first saw him rushing in to work one morning, not long after he started
working in my building. He’s shy, a little serious. Right now, I just want eye
contact, maybe a smile. Sure, I want more, but I’m working up to it. Anything
worth having takes time, right? I think he’ll be worth having at least once. From
what I've seen so far, he’ll be worth having a lot more than once; I have this
feeling. His little peeks tell me he’s interested.
Taking a chance, I stumble
in my bent-over position and drop some change I have in my hand, stuffing my
keys in my pocket at the same time. Immediately, he squats, helping me to pick
it up. I knew he would. He's a giver--you can't miss it.
I hope the elevator will
continue up without stopping, but no such luck. When the doors open, we both
stand at the same time and Jonas cuts me a shy glance.
“Here,” he says, holding
out the coins he’s collected.
I slide a palm under his
fist and cup it, bending over him a little and letting the nickels and dimes
drop into my open hand. His skin is soft and he smells so good. Damn, I want
him. I’m going to have to step this whole thing up a bit.
“Thanks,” I say, smiling
and looking into his eyes, hoping he’ll speak to me.
His cheeks flush a sweet
pink and he mumbles something that’s probably, "You’re welcome."
We both exchange nods
with the woman from the researcher's office who just joined us. Jonas seems to
sink back into his own little world, still beside me, but not speaking.
If only we had been
alone, I would have touched his face. It’s probably for the best, though. The
doors open right then and he gives me a fleeting smile before stepping off the
elevator.
My heart’s thudding. Is
it sexual? Yeah, sure, it’s the chase, the hunt, that’s part of it. But more--I
want this one. I want him carnally and I just want him. Will I still want him
after I catch him? I hope I get a chance to find out.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Office Politics
by J.J. Massa
“One moment, Miss Carson and I’ll…” I faltered, cleared my
throat, a slight tapping on my desk had caused me to swivel away from my
computer monitor and look up. My new boss, Mr. Weaver, was standing there, arms
crossed, golden eyebrow raised as he shook his head side to side. “I’ll check
his schedule, ma’am, because I know he’s not in right now.”
That was a fine line, of course. If he were truly in,
he’d be at his own desk, not mine, right?
Mr. Weaver gave me a nod and a wink, approval. I’m almost
ashamed to tell you how good that felt. My chest actually puffed out, no shit.
I couldn’t help it, not even if I wanted to. I smiled back.
“He’s good, Jack!” The other man’s voice took me by
surprise. It was Fred O’Neil, head of acquisitions. I hadn’t even noticed him.
Jack Weaver had that effect on me. “Now, if only he had better legs, bigger
tits,” the asshole chortled, “You know, while he sat on your lap and squirmed…”
he snickered as the two men passed my desk and walked into Mr. Weaver’s inner
sanctum.
I turned away, every bit of my face warm, right up to the
tips of my ears. What an image, me on Jack Weaver’s lap…I had to adjust myself,
shifting in my chair.
My fingertips were gripping my stiff cock, trying to find a
comfortable position, when a heavy palm landed on my shoulder. Oh, god! It
could only be…I tipped my head back just slightly. Yep, it was Mr. Weaver. I
groaned inside, humiliated.
Figuratively Speaking
For many years, Alyssa managed to live under the radar. She
scraped by, hiding who she was and what she could do the best she could, even
though she didn't exactly know why anymore.
One thing she does know--happily-ever-afters
don't just happen. Sometimes you have to give them a hand. Now and then, they just show up...figuratively speaking, that is.
Excerpt:
“Please, Grandfather. I don’t belong here,” she choked.
“Just let me go back to the city where I know what to expect. I'm not your
responsibility,” she whispered raggedly. "I-I can deal."
She was struggling to contain her tears. Here she was,
twenty-four years old and acting like such a baby.
She buried her face in the
pillow she was clutching, holding on for dear life.
“You don’t like our island, Alyssa?” a deep, cultured voice
asked.
"Oh god, shoot me now," Alyssa groaned, wishing
she could wink away like a fairy or something. Nikodemos Kosmapoulos was the
single most attractive man she’d ever met.
With his dark brown hair, eyes like green ice, narrow hips
and broad shoulders, she found him overwhelmingly desirable. That must be why
she made a fool of herself whenever their paths crossed. The dam burst at that
moment and she began to cry in earnest.
“Damn it! I don’t… I can’t… ” She gasped between sobs. “I’m
sorry,” she just couldn’t help herself -- she didn’t know what was happening to
her.
This had to happen in
front of His Majesty, the king of sexy! Great!
Could there possibly be anyone else on this island she could
offend? Turning on his heel, Nik had gone.
She was still gasping for breath and struggling with her
sobs when he returned. His presence had only just registered with her when he
pressed a glass of whiskey into her hand.
“Drink,” he ordered.
“Is alcohol… the answer… to everything… in this family?” she
gasped out.
In response, he took the liquor and put it on the table beside
her bed. He marched back to her and scooped her up. Tumbling her to the bed, he
reached down and removed her shoes.
Drink,” he growled a second time, holding the glass to her
lips. Eyes wide, she took a swallow. “Again,” he ordered. With difficulty, she
swallowed the rest of the dark, amber liquid, almost afraid to do anything
else.
Rainy Day Lover (coming soon to Torquere)
Sometimes a man just needs a break--something for a rainy
day. There aren't many rainy days in Denver, though.
Louisiana averages 114 inches of rain each year. What better
place to find--or be--a rainy day lover?
Excerpt:
"Je te veux," Zimi said finally, attempting
once again to scoot away.
Something stirred in Cliff's memory, a song by composer Erik
Satie, Gilbert Becaud, his mother's not-so-secret crush-- Je te veux. I
want you. Cliff could work with that. He allowed his hand to relax a
little, no longer pressing, simply resting against Zimi's chest.
"I'd like you to stay," he murmured, sweeping his
thumb in a small arc across Zimi's flat nipple in an unmistakable message.
Swallowing audibly, eyes glued once again to Cliff's, Zimi
rasped, "How you called? Tu nom?"
"My name? Oh, we never got that far, did we?"
Cliff remembered, a little embarrassed. "My given name is Ebenezer …"
"Ee-bon-a-zay," Zimi repeated, applying his
own accent to the appellation. "Ebon."
Zimi's voice caressed the letters and syllables, tasting,
savoring, rolling the name around in his mouth and testing it with his tongue.
The sensual baritone caressed his name, a name he'd never liked, stretched it,
and made it seductive, luxurious. Cliff really had planned to tell him
his real name--the name he went by…sort of. It wasn't as if Ebenezer wasn't
his actual, real name. It was a family name, a relic. He'd been christened
Ebenezer Clifton Moss, after all. His father hadn't liked the name Ebenezer,
thus, he had been called Cliff all of his life. Tonight, he would be
Ebenezer--Ebon.
~~~~~~
And that ought to be enough for awhile, wouldn't you
say?
J.J. Massa
www.jjmassa.com
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