Sunday, January 29, 2012

Blacker than Black by Rhi Etzweiler

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: Rhi Etzweiler
Title: Blacker Than Black
Publisher: Riptide Books
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Release Date: 23 January 2012

What inspired the story?

 Pure and simple, “Blacker Than Black” is a genderfuck urban fantasy. It’s an engaging exploration of labels, roles, and the individual’s perception when forced to set these aside. It began as a challenge to step outside my comfort zones as a writer – it’s written in first person, present tense – and evolved into a journey that challenged me to redefine my comfort zones on a number of different levels.


[If you haven’t read it yet, the previous excerpt is over here at It’s Raining Men (]

Chapter Nine, continued:

I grimace, rooted to my spot on the marble floor for the space of a heartbeat. For some reason I can’t quite define, I’m disappointed Garthelle maintained such an excessive distance from me. Disappointed, and grateful. Relieved I don’t have to struggle with the warring responses of lust and fear. I’m not in the mood for a tug-of-war this evening.

It’s my sister’s turn to grab hold and drag me in her wake. “I know this is rather disconcerting for you,” she mutters over her shoulder, “considering how he gorged on you just two days ago. But please, Black . . . please try to be professional, for all our sakes.”

Fuck. I hadn’t even thought of that. Two days, and the vamp’s chi is still thrumming in my veins like a sugar high. The edge is gone, but . . . In the past, with any other john, I’d be back on the boulevard, back to good. Maybe still feeling a faint tug, a tenuous awareness, but not anything of this caliber. Garthelle owns me, though. I’ve no choice in the matter.

“You’re scaring me, Red.” I pull on her to snare her attention.

The vampire is far enough ahead; if he can hear us, he’s playing ignorant. I don’t think he can. I watch him, looking for any shift or tensing in his unconscious body language. There’s nothing. He keeps walking down the corridor even when Jhez stops and turns to face me. Track lighting along the floor throws strange shadows over the contours of her face, makes the masonry walls resemble abstract art.

She offers a dim smile at my use of the impromptu nickname. Her gaze flicks over my face and tense shoulders, and she reaches up to cup my cheeks. Her forehead rests against mine as she stares into my eyes. “They can sense fear, remember?” I swallow, my mouth parched, and nod. “Center yourself. Garthelle gains nothing from endangering you, or me, under his own roof. And he’s definitely looking to get something out of this.” A grimace twists at one corner of her mouth, gone just as quickly. Jhez isn’t so certain of her attempt to reassure me. “Suck it up, bucko.”

Just as she releases me, Garthelle clears his throat nearby. As focused as I am, the sound nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “It is easy to become lost in this place.”

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, turning my attention inward. Pooling energy into my center. Jhez takes me by the elbow and guides me down the hall after Garthelle. Even with my eyes closed, I know precisely where he is. It takes effort to force the awareness away and focus on gathering myself.

“Is he well?” Garthelle’s neutral tone makes my senses perk up. I imagine she’s taking the opportunity to glare at him.

“He’ll be fine.” Her grip tightens a fraction, fingertips digging into my biceps. The desire to laugh surges, and I shove it back down into my stomach along with the rest of the energy I’m siphoning from my extremities.

Silence reigns, thankfully, only disturbed by the tattoo of our footsteps until Jhez stops me with a slight tug. I open my eyes, exhale slowly. Dark mahogany doors loom before us.

“Here we are.” Garthelle’s shoulders tense, and a tingle of discomfort slides over my aura from his general direction. “Stay close to me and don’t wander off for any reason.” He looks back over his shoulder, gaze jagging over each of us. “Follow my directions to the letter and you’ll be fine.”

He pushes one of the doors inward, walking through and standing aside to hold it open. Jhez’s reassuring touch falls away as she follows.

Garthelle studies me, rather intently, as I walk through the door and step aside. He moves closer, pushing the door closed, but his gaze doesn’t waver. The piercing quality I’ve grown accustomed to isn’t present. With him so close, his aura tangles with mine along the fringes. It feels colored with the same concern I’m reading in his expression.

His lips part slightly, as though to say something. But he doesn’t. A trill of laughter from somewhere within the room breaks his focus, and he shifts away. With his gaze no longer trapping me, I turn to take in his party. Tensing involuntarily, pulling my aura tight and close. Barely resisting the urge to fold my arms over my stomach as another defensive barrier between the congregated lyche and my tightly pooled energy.

I’d expected vampires waiting to pounce on us the moment we stepped inside. Instead, they’re scattered in small groups through the space and appear generally preoccupied.

Strategically placed ottomans, benches, and couches partition the large room—and the crowd of guests—into more intimate groups. Nothing gaudy or glaring here; subtle flashes of muted color snag attention amongst the dark tones of mahogany, navy, umber, and forest. Walls of polished wood paneling glow in the generous caress of firelight. Spanning halfway to the ceiling, the hearth roars with an impressively hungry blaze. The air is only pleasantly warm, not stifling as I would have expected from such a massive heat source.

And there are people everywhere. Cozily situated on furniture, loitering in groups, even lounging on the deep shag rug in front of the hearth. I’d envisioned a simple, intimate gathering of a dozen vampires. This isn’t it. More like thirty, without bothering to attempt a headcount.

Taking in the ambiance of the room, the quality of the decor, the lethargy of the vampires, I smile. “Now this is more like it.”

Jhez laughs.

Garthelle leads us to the far corner of the room along a winding path through various gaggles of conversation. A small gathering of six is scattered over a private grouping of couches. The corner tables are crowded with a collection of empty and half-full glasses, and one person lies sprawled on the floor in their midst.

A vampire in energy thrall, from the looks of it. Or a very stoned Nightwalker, which I wouldn’t immediately discount; I’m not close enough to sense the difference. Some of them like to feed from us when we’re in that semi-lucid state of influence. I guess it would make for an . . . attractive experience, under the right circumstances. Or, it could.

Garthelle watches me study the individual on the floor, who’s staring at some distant point on the high ceiling with a heavy-lidded gaze. I wonder what they see. He steps closer to me, motions Jhez toward an unoccupied couch.

“Have you ever done that before?” His curiosity is too strong to resist, judging by the sensation tingling in my veins. The energy I took from him resonates through me like the hum of his car—the purr of a kitten vibrating the hand that strokes it.

“Depends.” I admire the honey blonde hair fanned out across the black shag.

“On what?”

“On the substance.”

He glances down. “Meth, most likely.”

“Ah. No.”

One of his black brows arches up his forehead. “What do you use?”

“More naturally-occurring substances.” I flash a smile at him.

“We’ve plenty to choose from. Would it help you relax?”

I roll my shoulders, not certain if the movement is a shrug or a dismissive gesture. “Yes, it would. But it won’t help me do my job.” I walk over and settle onto the couch next to Jhez, who rolls her eyes and jerks her head in the direction of the couch opposite us.

Two vampires, sharing a nibble. Each time they draw a tendril of energy from the young man between them, his body twitches involuntarily. I twist around, stretching out on the couch to rest my head in my sister’s lap. There’s something about watching them feed that unsettles me. Especially when their victim has no clue how to manage the torrential level of sensations coursing through his body. Immature. Amateur. Grotesque, after so many years.

Don’t forget to leave a comment with your email address to enter the drawings! Look for the next excerpt that picks up where this one leaves off, tomorrow on Louisia Bacio’s blog ( Or, if you can’t wait, get your own copy of “Blacker Than Black” over here at Riptide.

For more info on Rhi’s writings:

Twitter: @musefodder

Facebook Profile: here

Goodreads Profile: here

Amazon Author Page: here

Google+ Profile: here

Get “Dark Edge of Honor” here

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Take Me Home by Sloan Parker

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: Sloan Parker
Title: Take Me Home
Publisher: Loose Id
Genre: LGBT Suspense
Release Date: December 13, 2011

Tell us about your new release

Take Me Home is a friends-to-lovers story that takes place during the six days leading up to Christmas. Here’s the short blurb: Ten years after their one and only night in each other’s arms, best friends Kyle and Evan finally give in to passion and new sexual roles while trapped in a blizzard and solving a mystery as they head home for the holidays.

What inspired the story?

This story came to me one day while I was taking a shower. I have no idea what I’d been thinking about (other than I knew I wanted to write a friends-to-lovers story at some point). An hour after that shower, I had several pages of ideas and had flushed out the main premise. At that point I knew Take Me Home would be about two friends taking a journey home for the holidays. They were going to explore a relationship and new sexual roles while they figured out just how much they really did care for each other, and figured out why people wanted to steal an old journal one of them carried with him. From that moment on, I was driven to write Kyle and Evan’s story.


Evan shivered. Which made no sense. He was still warm from the run, the sweat on his skin not even dry yet.

Kyle took another step. Evan wanted him to stop. He wanted to shout all the reasons why this had to stop, before it got started, wanted to tell Kyle not to move another inch.
He didn't.

And Kyle didn't stop coming at him until they were practically touching, Kyle staring down at him.

Evan tried to focus on Kyle's words, on the news about the journal and his grandpa, but all he could think about was what he'd seen when he'd walked into the apartment: Kyle, all skin and taught muscles, wearing only his tight-as-sin white underwear, the briefs stretched over his cock, and the way Kyle had looked at him in the dim light of the hallway.

Just once. He's leaving anyway. Evan closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on the conversation. He looked up at Kyle again. "Are you okay?"

Yeah." Kyle said the word with a slight curve of his lips. He took a step back and reclined against the wall, looking casual, like he was about to flirt with a bartender for a free drink.

 "After I read it, I was thinking about that night in the motel room in Iowa on our first drive out here." He slowly swung his head in Evan's direction. "Do you remember that night?"

Evan nodded.

"Do you ever think about it?" Kyle's voice was barely a whisper.
Up until a few months ago, Evan hadn't let himself, but since he'd moved in with Kyle...

"Like right now?"


Kyle slid along the wall, traveling the last remnants of space between them. "Ev, I've been waiting ten years to finish what we started." He pushed off the wall and turned until they were face-to-face again, his dark eyes unflinching as he leaned in. He stopped before their lips touched. The heat of that mouth and body so close stoked the fire inside Evan.

His own body reacted, his cock pushing at his shorts. He wanted to shove Kyle against the wall and kiss him until morning, do everything he'd ever dreamed of when it came to touching Kyle, everything he ached to feel about the man.

The smile Kyle gave him next wasn't the usual cocky one he'd used with countless guys over the years. He pressed forward and slid his lips along Evan's skin from the base of his neck to his earlobe, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. He lingered over Evan's ear and whispered, "You smell so damn good. I want to fuck you, Ev."

Evan shivered again. "We shouldn't..." He couldn't say more. Didn't want to. The time for talking was over. Kyle ran the tip of his tongue along the outside of Evan's ear, and Evan instinctively moved closer. His breath hitched with the touch of Kyle's bare abs against him. Why had he worn a T-shirt to go running?

Using only the weight of his body, Kyle turned them until Evan's back was against the hall wall, then flattened his palms to the wall on either side of Evan's head. He licked his lips and spread his legs until their bodies lined up groin to groin, then rolled his hips, putting pressure against Evan's cock. "God, Ev..."

With that movement, those two words, Evan groaned and let his head fall back to the wall. He couldn't stop himself. He rocked his hips in time with Kyle's. The feel of Kyle's body, his hard cock against him, drove his own arousal higher.

Kyle spoke again, his voice even lower. "It could be so fucking good."

Evan lost track of the arguments he'd been telling himself since he'd left the apartment earlier. He raised his head, and their lips met, the softest brush of flesh until Kyle opened his mouth, seized Evan by the back of the head, and slid his tongue into the touch. The kiss deepened, and Evan thought he'd never be able to stop feeling Kyle's mouth on his, their tongues pressed together.
Where can we find your website?

Monday, January 16, 2012

Peek-a-Boo (Josh of the Damned, #2)

By Andrea Speed

ISBN: 978-1-937551-16-2
Release: Jan 9 2012
Page count: 15
Heat Wave: 2 - Kisses and touches, no love scenes
Genre: Comedy, horror, urban fantasy / paranormal
Pairing: Gay
Species: monster (other), vampire (traditional), yeti

As night-shift clerk at the go-to Quik-Mart for monsters with the munchies, Josh Caplan believes he’s seen it all. Battling lizard men, werewolves chasing cars in the parking lot . . . nothing fazes Josh anymore.

Or so he thinks, at least, until a yeti with poor communication skills drops a dead skunk on the checkout counter. Josh can’t figure what a living, breathing shag carpet wants with him, or why it won’t leave him alone no matter how hard he ignores it. But hey, at least it seems harmless . . . if perhaps a little slow on the draw.

But Sasquatch is plenty fast when two of Josh’s human customers try to out-monster the monsters. Times are strange when creatures from the hell portal save the day, but in the protective hands of a lovesick yeti and a sexy vampire boyfriend, Josh realizes that maybe his new normal isn’t so bad after all.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

In Teddy’s Arms by K.M. Mahoney

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: K.M. Mahoney
Title: In Teddy's Arms
Publisher: Total-E-Bound
Genre: M/M Romance/Contemporary/Holiday
Release Date: December 12, 2011

Tell us about your latest release
In Teddy's Arms is a short holiday story about a pair of friends stranded in the mountains over Christmas. You can guess where it goes from there :)

What inspired the story?
This story was really inspired by the submissions call for the Yuletide Yearnings collection at Total-E-Bound. Often if I'm stuck on a current work in progress, I'll scroll through the open calls from my publishers and see if anything sparks. I like short story/novella calls the best, as they can give me a little break from the longer projects without stopping the creative momentum! In this case, I thought of being snowed in, a cosy cabin, a cheery fire. With that as the background, giving the room a warm and comfortable feeling, I wanted the rest of the story to reflect that. So, I returned to one of my favorite type of relationships, friends to lovers. I love exploring the dynamics between two people who are so comfortable together that they have, in some ways, stopped seeing each other. Then I like to tip them over that narrow ledge and watch the fun!

“Are you sure about this?”
“Teddy, ask me that again, and I’m going to pull this car over and toss you into a snow drift.”
Teddy sat back, crossed his arms over his chest, and huffed. “Sheesh, cranky much?”

Pierce rolled his eyes. For a second, he entertained the lovely image that the steering wheel he was gripping so tightly was, in fact, Teddy’s neck. “The first three times you asked that question, I answered. The next six times, I ignored you. You’ve now moved beyond that and are into obnoxiously irritating. Stow it.”

Silence enveloped the interior of the car for several long moments.
Then Teddy mumbled, “Sorry.”

Pierce grinned. That was his Teddy. He never could stay at odds with anyone for very long.
“Turn right in one-point-two miles,” the GPS system stated in a dull, broken monotone.

“Thank God.” Pierce nearly whooped. “I think we’re getting close.” He turned where the small navigation map on his dashboard indicated. The bottom of their battered sedan scraped ominously over the snow-covered gravel.

All right, so maybe Teddy had a point. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea Pierce had ever had. But it was a little bit too late to back out now. No way in hell was Pierce driving back down this mountain in the dark.

I don’t see anything,” Teddy said, sounding doubtful. He chewed on his fingernail, expression nervous, eyes fastened on the darkening woods surrounding the small road.

“It’s up here. Somewhere.” Damn. That hadn’t come out as reassuring as Pierce had hoped.

The GPS remained unhelpfully silent as the car bumped its way along. Twilight was quickly turning into night. The looming pines closing in on all sides didn’t help, deepening the gloom. They were truly in the middle of nowhere, no streetlights, no sidewalks, the roads rough. Hell, there wasn’t even a McDonald’s. Civilisation was most definitely far behind them.

At the moment, Pierce would have gladly traded his stupid GPS system for just one tacky strand of twinkling Christmas lights. Anything to suggest they weren’t lost in the mountains. And why the hell was it so dark out here?

The cabin practically jumped out at them. Pierce rounded a curve and slammed on the brakes. His heart thumped madly as he studied the battered porch steps, dangerously close to his front bumper. Beside him, Teddy let out a belated squeak of alarm.

“Destination in five hundred feet,” the GPS chimed.
“Now it tells me.” Pierce scowled fiercely and stabbed the ‘off’ button on the obnoxious little box. “Worthless piece of shit.”

Teddy had stopped staring at the scenery and was now eying the cabin with trepidation. Pierce had to admit it didn’t look like much. The porch was a bit wonky, the wood siding faded in spots, peeling in others. Dark and tiny, it bore a disturbing resemblance to something from a horror film.

“Maybe the inside is nicer,” Pierce declared.
Amazing, how loudly Teddy could project his doubt without saying a word.
“It’s a true gift, that,” Pierce said.

“Say what? Never mind. I guess we better unload.” Teddy added a resigned sigh, “But if it’s this bad on the inside, we’re finding a hotel tomorrow.”

Pierce almost asked how they would pay for it, then bit his tongue. Teddy would probably decide to sleep in the car. Then he would freeze to death in the middle of the night and Pierce would have to explain to Teddy’s parents how he let their son turn into a nice, hard, ice-coated statue.

Pierce shook his head to dislodge his stupid ramblings and climbed out of the car. He took a minute to stretch the kinks out of his back because, damn, that had been a long trip.

Using the remote to pop the trunk, Pierce hauled out his duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. He shivered in the cold and grabbed his coat from the back seat. He should probably put it on, but he’d be inside in a minute.

He waded through the drifts piled against the porch. It took him a minute of fruitless searching before he realised the first step was busted. He could move his foot around in the six inch layer of snow and never find it because it simply wasn’t there.

“Watch the steps,” he called over his shoulder.

Teddy started muttering again. Pierce ignored what he knew were complaints and cautiously mounted the steps. He stuck the key the rental agent had given him into the lock. The door swung on creaking hinges before he could turn the key.

Okay, not exactly the best sign,” Pierce said to himself.
He pushed the door the rest of the way open, anyway. The room was dark and the musty smell made his nose tingle. The cabin was also cold, nearly as bad as outside.

Pierce felt around the wall and found the switch. It clicked on and dim light flooded the space. Relief swamped him. The glow from the single bulb didn’t quite chase all the shadows away, but hey, they had electricity. At the moment, Pierce wasn’t going to take anything for granted.

Then he surveyed the room and groaned. “Teddy’s gonna hate it.”
“Hate what?”

Pierce jumped and whirled around, facing his best friend with his biggest fake smile. “Nothing, it’s great. Warm and cosy. All we need is that fake tree I packed and we’re good to go.”

Teddy stared at him with solemn brown eyes. “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Not true, I’m a magnificent liar.” Just not to Teddy.
 That’s what happened when you knew someone since kindergarten.
 Teddy knew all Pierce’s tricks.

Teddy just kept staring. “There are spiders, aren’t there?” he asked soberly.
“It’s too cold for spiders. Come on, let’s explore.”

Teddy entered the room gingerly, as if Freddy Krueger was going to come jumping around the corner and start hacking away.

Pierce slung his duffel in the corner and planted his hands on his hips.
“First thing, we need to make a fire.”

“Do you even know how?”

“Sure,” Pierce said with false confidence.
 “The rental agent said we can find wood on the back porch. I’ll get started.”

“If there’s no water, I’m going to smother you in your sleep,” Teddy said.

Where can we find your website?

Twitter @authorkmmahoney
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Sunday, January 8, 2012

Forever in One Second by Finn Marlowe

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: Finn Marlowe
Title: Forever In One Second
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Genre: m/m Contemporary
Release Date: January 10, 2012

What inspired the story?

Originally I intended the story to be darker and more action-driven, but when it was about half-written, the message I was creating in the book turned prophetic in a way, for me, and I discovered how true it really is that one second can change your life forever - my husband passed away, unexpectedly, from a heart attack (at the age of 46). Once I was able to write again, I went back to the story, bitter and resentful at first, and then with a sense of hope that maybe I could be more like Dane Harper in the story, and perhaps learn to see the bright side, or look for the silver lining in any black rain cloud, or note that the glass is half-full, instead of always half-empty. Some days I’m successful, and sometimes I’m more like Courtenay Woods, and need a little nudge to remember all the wonderful things I’ve received, often in that same one second twist of fate.


Playing the best game ever invented by man and playing it well always made Dane horny. Something about kicking the other team’s ass so soundly they had to limp home in shame just made his dick want to stand up and wave bye-bye as they slunk to their bus. Tonight he’d been hotter than hot. Hell, he’d been on fucking fire, probably because Court was at the game this time, watching him, making him excited and…lighting him on fucking fire. He’d made it around the bases so many times; he’d worn himself a trench. And tonight he was gonna hit all the bases with the seriously hot Courtenay with the killer blue eyes. A man was nothing without a plan, and he’d worked out every detail.

Court, being a tease, was stalling. Maybe he needed his ass kicked too? Got them both sucked into helping the coach load everything into his van, and it wasn’t even his turn. It was Scott’s turn, and the jerk had sneaked off just as skillfully as the losing team, heading for the bar. Shithead. Played so crappy, he deserved to slink. Dane would get Courtenay alone soon enough, and he’d do more to that ass than kick it.

“Got yourself a boyfriend, eh?” the coach asked under his breath as Court gathered up their stuff.

“Hope so.”

“Don’t let him take your mind off the game.”

“Did it look like my mind wasn’t on the game?”

“Hell, no. That’s gotta be the best game you’ve ever played. He just looks like trouble.”

“Court? You gotta be kidding me. Mr. Straight Arrow?”

“Not that kind of trouble,” he said with a headshake. “How can you stand those eyes? Creepy. And he’s too good-looking for a guy.”

“Better not let him hear you say that. He’ll kick your ass-end into the next county.”

“Behave yourself.”

“Not a chance.” And he truly meant that. Court was playing hard-to-get and still hanging on to that whole Stockholm Syndrome thing with all his might. Realizing he had to fight facts with facts and fire with fire, he’d looked it up on the Internet. Bunch of bullshit. Court was damn gorgeous. And interesting and smart and liked his jokes, and Dane’s feelings had nothing whatsoever to do with misplaced emotions. Thank you very much, Stockholm, but he’d be keeping Court and keeping that slow, sexy smile he got as the man walked over to join them, everything put away at last. “See you next week,” he said to his coach. The good-bye was said absently, though, because he was mesmerized by those frickin’ awesome eyes sizing him up where it counted.

“Ready?” Court asked.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Fucking right he was ready. They’d had dinner together, third time this week, and had no plans for the rest of the evening other than to spend it together. And Dane meant to redefine together, damn it.

“You’re really good,” Court said.

So Court meant baseball—Dane sure as hell meant something else. “Yes, I am.”

Something in his tone must have given him away, and Court got instantly flustered. “Coming over, then?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Ah…uh,” Court sputtered. “You sound like a man with a plan.”

Yes Dane did have a plan, many in fact, and all of them lead to the same result. Didn’t shy, easily startled Courtenay like hearing about his plans in advance? What worked once would work again. Talking—talking dirty—was his specialty. Court was gonna get some serious hands-on time. Another home run coming up! “I’ll tell you about my secret plan when we get to your place, and you won’t even need your decoder ring to figure it out.”

During the past week, Court had learned to loosen up some, and it showed in his good mood and flirtatious smile. “Good. ’Cause watching you run around in that uniform all night has been driving me crazy.”

“Yeah? Like what you see?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “Those breeches are very tight.”

Breeches? Did he mean his pants? They were getting tighter. How was he supposed to drive like this? “Get in,” he growled. “I can’t wait to get you alone.”

Speed demon that he was, they made it to Court’s in record time, barely long enough for him to suck back his second bottle of water. Court made him thirsty. Made him impatient too, taking forever to open the goddamn door with those twitchy fingers he always got when he was excited.

“Help yourself to the shower,” Court offered, flinging Dane’s pack and cleats onto the discarded shoes by the door. “Want a drink?”

“No. I want you.” Startling Courtenay was so easy. “And I plan on getting you.” Court stumbled over a stray shoe and then his own feet backing into the kitchen. The blue eyes were open wide with alarm, but the sexy, easy smile remained. “Come here, babe.”

“You’re a pushy bastard. Good thing you look damn fine in that uniform.”

Court couldn’t back up any farther; he’d reached the countertop. Dane put his hands on either side of the cornered body, gripped the Formica lip and imprisoned him neatly. Kissing Court was fucking awesome, and it was no wonder he wanted to do it all the time. Being aggressive and not fighting his nature, Dane stuck his tongue in the other man’s mouth immediately and forcefully. Court’s gasp of shock went straight to Dane’s dick. Sliding his knee between Court’s legs, Dane shoved the long legs apart and used the extra space for his own restless leg. Now there was more room to press his groin nice and tight against Court’s and rub eager body parts together.

Uh-huh. First base already. Court was being cooperative tonight, and it was about damned time. What was he fighting? There was obviously something good going on between them. Every friggin’ time they touched, it was like being zapped with electricity. Not quite as powerfully as that first time on the deck—that had really been something—but the first touch after being apart always brought on a little lightning storm he’d come to like very much. Always wanted to be a storm chaser, and it really was true, there was nothing better than getting your fondest wish.

“You’re all riled up tonight, aren’t you?” Court panted after Dane had finally quit shoving his tongue down his throat. Stupid need to breathe always interrupted the good stuff.

“Playing ball always does it to me.”

“You were hot tonight.”

“Were? Were?

“You’re always hot,” he agreed, sliding a hand along Dane’s hip until it found his ass. “But I meant you played good. You’re fast.”

“Squeeze harder, babe.” The fondling hand obeyed. “Teddy could never catch me. I was such a little shit, I had to be fast. He’d have pounded me to a bloody pulp if he ever caught me.” The fondling felt very good and required some earlobe biting in return. “I love your hands on me.” Was so nice finally finding a man who liked necking as much as he did. “Stop fighting it, Court.”

A twitch—just a little one. Dane felt it ripple under his tongue where it was busy licking down Court’s neck. “I’m…I’m not—”

“Oh, yes you are. You’re fighting it with everything you got.”

“Am not.”

“Come upstairs with me.” So he couldn’t argue, Dane kissed him again. Courtenay wasn’t fighting that very hard. Seemed to be really getting into it, kissing him back with such skill and determination Dane might have to do a little twitching of his own, and not just his cock, either. That had been twitching for quite some time already. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then what are you afraid of? It’s not that big.”

Gone was the nice fondling. Court smacked Dane’s ass.

“Come on, babe. Tell me. We can spit out the truth with each other. You know that.”

The startling blue of Court’s eyes struck him once again. Was he trying to see into his soul or something? Maybe they were a tad creepy. “I’m afraid of…”

Giving him a nudge of encouragement, Dane slid his fingers into the hair at his nape, gently cupped his head and kissed him softly between the eyes, making them close. There was far too much dark knowledge in those sad eyes, and he could take only a little at a time. “Afraid of…?”

“Liking you,” he confessed.

Another kiss, this time on the lips. No tongue. “I was under the impression you already liked me.”

“Liking you…a lot.”

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Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Literary Nymphs Interview

Author: J.L. O'Faolain
Title: The Thirteenth Pillar
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Genre: {M/M} Paranormal/Mystery
Release Date: November 28th, 2011

The Thirteenth Pillar is the second book in the Section 13 series, which follows the banished sidhe, Cole, as he struggles to adjust to live in Manhattan even after a century of being there. Cole is still dealing with the events and decisions from the first book, The Thirteenth Child. Things have not been going well thus far, but that isn't to say that everything is bad, either. Cole has found solace in the arms of a mortal inspector, and has a new place to live. Section Thirteen, the clandestine division of NYPD that investigates paranormal crimes, however, is swamped with cases and understaffed.

What inspired the story?

I had been writing non-stop for over a year when I was fired from my job at a hospital. It was the lowest I'd felt in my life. Then I saw Dreamspinner Press's submission page calling for stories with unconventional endings, and I went to work at once. The story was finished in roughly a month and a half's time. During that period, I saved every cent I had and prayed for an acceptance. When I realized my story was going out there, and that people would be reading it, it was the most surreal, joyous experience of my life. I was on cloud nine for weeks afterward.

(The looks people gave me when I told them were priceless. All my friends were floored!)


Chapter One

COLE suspected every morgue in the world carried a chill to it.

As a sidhe, he wasn’t susceptible to temperatures the way humans were, but the subtle changes in climate were something he remained aware of regardless. It was currently February, and outside in the bleak darkness, New York City was currently facing a maelstrom of winter snow. The heavy clouds churning with white flakes had blanketed half the country, spreading out as far south as Texas and the Gulf Coast.

Cole had walked out in it alongside his partner and superior, Inspector Joss Vallimun, as the two had been called down to the morgue to inspect another body. It hadn’t bothered him to walk outside while the flakes continued to pelt the ground. Joss had been shivering the whole time, but Cole was perfectly comfortable. Then they had entered the hospital morgue, and for the first time that day, Cole had shuddered involuntarily.

His left hand was twitching now. It always responded when there were a number of dead bodies in the area. His Hand of Power, the Hand of Cold Death, could summon anything cold and dead up to obey his every command. It had been called a weak, shameful power in the land of Faerie, but here amongst mortals, where he now worked as a special detective, the Hand had its uses.

The morgue, of course, reeked with the stench of formaldehyde. The smell of it was making Cole’s nose itch as Joss spoke with the coroner. The man didn’t look as though he was particularly happy to see him, and Cole suspected he knew why. They had been to this morgue before and each time had needed a moment to themselves in order to “examine” the body. That was the official story, at least. In reality, Cole didn’t enjoy being gawked at while he questioned the deceased. It made him uncomfortable, a rare thing among his kind. Plus, the screaming and pointing from other humans in the room got old after a while.

Cole waited while Joss sorted things out with the head of the department, making sure all the paperwork had been filed and whatnot so they could carry on with their investigation. Meanwhile, the coroner’s assistant, a young woman with olive skin and dark hair, kept shooting glances his way every few seconds. She had pretended to be busy sorting files, but when several fell out of her hands, the facade was pretty much blown. Cole waited while she picked them up, then caught her attention for a second. As Joss came over to fetch him, Cole gave the woman a wink and smiled as she blushed.

“Having fun?” Joss’s voice carried a thread of jealousy far beneath the mirth on the surface. “We can go inside now. They’ve got the body already laid out for you.”

“Right.” Cole said nothing more, following after Joss as he led them across the room into another area, one filled with drawer after drawer of dead hosts. One was already pulled out and waiting for them. Cole felt his left hand twitch with nerves as they entered, begging for the power inside it to be released.

“Name?” he asked, as the coroner lingered.

“Aaron Hoover,” the coroner replied. “The body was found in an alley. Someone had called their landlord about a bad smell coming through their window.”

The body in question was of a young boy around the age of ten with dark hair and blue eyes, having a light-colored skin. Cole knew this because he’d read the report. Had he not, there would have been no way of figuring that out, going by sight alone. The body had been burned to a crisp. The whole surface was burned from head to toe, except in places where it looked like chunks of flesh had been torn away.

“What about the wounds?” Cole asked, looking the body over. “It looks like they were caused by teeth.”

“Official report says the same thing,” said the coroner. “It looks like the body was burned first and then torn up afterward. There’s also evidence that he was held prisoner in a very cramped space before dying.”

“Just like the other two,” Joss commented, keeping his voice even and neutral.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” the coroner said, walking away now. “Just knock when you’re finished doing… whatever.”

Cole waited until the door shut before speaking. “There may be more,” he reminded Joss. “The first one we spoke to said that he’d been held prisoner in a dark place and that he’d heard other children talking.”

“The report said that the body had been held in a cramped space before dying,” Joss mused quietly to himself. “That corroborates with what the first one said, and the second one talked briefly about being in a cage.”

“The first one said that he’d been held in a cage,” Cole reminded. “The second one mentioned a tiny space before it got really hot.”

“It fits with the killer’s MO.” Joss nodded, keeping his face relaxed. “Good thing you told me to ask the coroner to check and see if the bodies showed signs of being imprisoned before they died.”

“It was just a hunch. Shall we get on with it, then?” Cole stretched his left arm out over the corpse and let the power burst out of his hand. “It was Aaron Hoover, wasn’t it?”

Cole released enough power to summon three or four bodies at once. It was needed, however, to shift the dead body back to something resembling a human form. There was no way the deceased could speak with a body charred so badly. The Hand of Cold Death could temporarily fix a damaged body with no life in it, but this required a little extra effort. Cole took several deep breaths as the form recovered some of its former youthful beauty and blinked up at them.

“Aaron Hoover,” Cole said slowly. “I want you to listen very carefully to me.”

The corpse blinked again. “Where’s my mom?” it croaked. “I want to see my mom.”

“Aaron,” Cole said sharply. “You are already dead.”

Joss gave Cole a look, but Cole ignored him. “You’ve been dead for a few days now,” Cole explained. “I have awakened your body so that we can ask you some questions about how you died. Once we are done here, you will be laid to rest again, and your spirit can finally move on.”

The boy didn’t stop looking terrified by this news, but with each word Cole spoke, the tension in his body seemed to lessen.

“Good,” Cole said, smiling now. “Now, do you remember where it was you were being held prisoner?”

The body of Aaron Hoover tried to swallow and found that it couldn’t. “It was dark,” it whispered hoarsely. “I couldn’t see anything.”

Joss looked across the slab at him. “Just like the others,” he said softly.

“Do you remember who kidnapped you?” Cole asked.

The body shook its head slowly. “I don’t remember being kidnapped. I was walking home from the bus stop. The next thing I knew, someone had put me in a cage, and I could smell something baking in an oven.”

“Baking,” Cole repeated, looking back at Joss. “Didn’t the others mention they smelt something?”

“Maybe,” he said with a nod.

“What did it smell like?” Cole went on. “Was it a bad smell?”

“It smelled good,” the boy who had once been Aaron Hoover replied. “It reminded me of when we used to visit Grandma’s house. It almost smelled like cookies, but better. I could smell it the whole time.”

Cole took a deep breath. “Here we go,” he warned Joss. “Aaron, do you remember how you died?”

The corpse didn’t answer at first. Cole wondered perhaps if it hadn’t heard him when the body suddenly shook. It almost rocked itself off the slab and onto the floor, but Cole forced it still by pushing his will into it through his Hand.

“They came for me,” the body cried out now, panicking. “I could feel them grabbing me with their sticky hands. They were taking me somewhere, and it was small and tight. I couldn’t breathe!”

Aaron Hoover’s corpse gasped, his breath rattling like a clanging bell in his lungs. “It was too small. I couldn’t get out, and it was getting so hot!”

Cole tried to will the body to stay calm, but it was reacting like the others before had. The more Cole tried to force the panic back down, the more it fought.

“It’s not supposed to react like this,” he growled, steadying his power and feeding more of it into the body. “Aaron Hoover, I command you to be at peace!”

The body went still at once, but the corpse began screaming. “I want my momma!” it shouted, the voice echoing off the metal drawers surrounding them. “I want my momma! Momma, help me!

“Cole, turn it off before the whole department hears him,” Joss ordered.

Cole made a fist, shutting his power down at once. The corpse rattled for a bit as the air was expelled from the lungs, making a loud whistle. Stepping farther back, Cole waited as the deceased form went back to being a lifeless burned shell.

“Just like the others,” he commented. “They all died horribly, and under such traumatic circumstance that raising them for questioning is nearly impossible.”

“Held in a cage,” Joss said, thinking the words over carefully. “Then put inside a cramped space where it got hotter.”

“A furnace,” Cole said, feeling certain of his answer. “Or an old-fashioned stove.”

Joss nodded. “A kiln could have the same effect. I’ve seen some of the bigger ones up close. You could stuff a dead body his size in there no problem. As hot as they get, it’s a wonder there wasn’t just bone left.”

“The sweet smell, though,” Cole pointed out. “They all smelled something, and this one said that it smelled like his grandmother’s house. That’s why I think it was an oven.”

Cole was silent for a moment. “Should I try again and ask if it remembers seeing her?”

Joss shook his head. “We tried that last time and the poor kid kept right on screaming. I don’t think this is her handiwork.”

“Me neither,” Cole admitted, turning away. “But it was worth a shot.”

None of the people in the main area would look at them as they left. Everyone, including the coroner, was entranced by the floor or their own shoes. Cole ignored this and marched out the front door, timing his steps to where they fell in alongside Joss’s.

“I think the sound of dead bodies screaming is beginning to affect them,” he remarked once they were safely outside the hospital.

“You think?” Joss asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“It’s just a theory at this point.”

Both men climbed into Joss’s car and got comfortable. The snow had let up for a few minutes, but Cole could sense it was just a temporary reprieve. Soon, something much bigger would be slamming against the city with full force. It was lucky he had the very best that money couldn’t buy in central heating. Otherwise, he might have wound up freezing his ass off like so many who lived here.

“Come over to my place tonight,” Cole asked as Joss pulled out of the hospital parking lot into traffic. “It’s warm, and you can take a hot shower for as long as you like.”

“Sounds good,” Joss replied. “I could use one after today. They’ve had us running all over this fucking town looking for leads on this killer.”

“While we’re supposed to be out looking for clues to where Naryssa is hiding,” Cole pointed out. “How did this case get dumped into our laps again? Shouldn’t it have been something for homicide to deal with instead?”

“I guess the department thought it was weird enough,” Joss said, shrugging. “I really don’t know, but my guess is they’re swamped too. Budget cuts were not kind to those people.”

“They haven’t exactly been the Spring Faerie Falls for us, either. Speaking of which, has there been any word about getting some more people transferred to our division?”

Cole and Joss both worked in the same department, a clandestine undercover group called Section Thirteen. It had originally been started back in the fifties by a group of mortal cops who specialized in occult crimes and the supernatural. The city had disbanded them sometime during the seventies after too many of their reports read like acid-rock poetry. One month ago, roughly, the city agreed to bring the Section back into business after a mad half-sidhe hag by the name of Naryssa had gone on a murdering spree and kidnapped a number of half-fey children. Cole had gotten dragged into the mix and was now working with the police as an officer of the law to bring her in.

Cole often found himself repeating that statement to himself. Even now, it sounded too weird.

The Section had started off with the two of them and one other homicide cop, a man who had been Cole’s contact when he worked as a police consultant. These days, he and James Corhagen didn’t speak with each other much. It was just as well, especially considering Cole had moved on in his life, away from James and his problems.

Working in the Section had given him a whole new set of problems, and those were more than enough. When Cole had first signed on, Joss had brought in several members of the city’s vice squad to help out. Two weeks later, following an incident in the sewers, where they had been chasing after a large gelatin cube, every member of vice had pleaded with the brass to be taken back to their old assignments.

Dealing with the supernatural underside of New York was not something for the weak of stomach.

So it ended up that the Section was stuck with the three core members and no one else. No one else wanted to come close to them, and no matter how much Cole claimed he didn’t care, they were only three men. The Section had jurisdiction across the whole city, meaning they got called out several times a day to examine a crime scene just to clarify that it had been caused by something mundane and not a rampaging orc.

“I want to take my car home first,” Joss said, breaking up his thoughts. “Since there’s no place to park outside your place.”

“Let me have your cell phone, then,” Cole said, holding his hand out. “I’ll go ahead and call a cab for us so it can be waiting when we arrive.”

Joss fished his phone out of the back pocket of his pants and tossed it to him. “We really need to get you one of those. It’s difficult enough getting hold of you when you’re not on duty.”

“That’s the whole point,” Cole replied, punching in the number. “Hey, Crystal,” he said into the phone. “Yeah, it’s me again. Can you have a cab waiting for us at the usual place? Right, we’re a good fifteen or so minutes away, maybe more now that traffic has picked up again. Just tell your man to park outside the apartment, if you wouldn’t mind. Thanks!”

Joss shook his head. “I think she’s starting to wonder.”

Cole handed the phone back to him and stretched comfortably, gazing out the passenger window. “I love it when it snows here,” he said softly. “It reminds me of home.”

“I hate it,” Joss grumbled. “Give me spring any day. Before long, summer will be here and it’ll be too hot to breathe.”

Cole kept his thoughts to himself and allowed Joss the silence he needed to make it home quickly and efficiently. Soon, they were pulling up into the driveway of the inspector’s apartment, a shabby but neat building that Cole had been a guest at several times since he had joined the police force. The cab he had called for was waiting for them with the motor, and probably the meter, running. Joss parked his car; then they both rushed out to jump in the back of the waiting vehicle. The driver didn’t so much as comment, pulling out into the street without a backward glance at them.

They reached Bowling Green Park a little bit later. Cole already had his money out and passed it up to the driver before hopping out.

“Keep the change,” he said, slamming the door shut behind him.

“I’m surprised you can afford to keep doing this,” Joss remarked as they wandered through the entrance together.

“I just have to pay for food,” Cole reminded him. “The sithen provides me with everything else.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Cole laughed as they came up to the fountain. The jets had been turned off due to the weather, yet the water inside the basin had yet to freeze. People surely found this strange but were too busy with their own lives to investigate the cause. Cole snapped his fingers, then waited as the entrance to the world below rose up in front of them. As the doorway formed from the water’s surface, Cole brought his arms around the inspector’s waist and squeezed.

“Whenever you are ready,” he whispered into the mortal’s ear.

The first time they had gone through this door together, there had been an uneven flight of stairs leading down into a dark corridor. The sithen had been under Naryssa’s control back then, but after Cole had defeated her with Joss’s help, he’d taken up living in it. Naryssa had escaped, and now her home was his to do with as he pleased. Cole had gotten rid of those blasted steps first.

There was only a step or two down now. Joss went through first and removed his shoes at the landing. Cole came in next and waited as the door slid shut, sealing them off from the mortal world.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Joss replied nonchalantly. “No strange visions or unusual colors. I had worse side effects from walking into my roommate’s dorm in college.”

“I simply wanted to be sure.” Cole had brought Joss here several times already, and each time, they’d stopped before going too far in to check and make sure the sithen wasn’t playing tricks with Joss’s mind. Legends spoke of the Faerie mounds giving mortals the odd turn now and again.

The ceiling was high, held in place ostensibly by a long row of columns that had tree roots wrapped around them. Halfway down the stone path was a stone fountain, the water of which splashed merrily, welcoming them home. Cole could hear laughter coming from it and waved at the pixies playing there as he walked past. They had once lived in a storm drain in Central Park, but after he had moved into the sithen, Cole had invited them along.

Above the fountain were two ghostly figures. The bean sidhe who guarded the entrance had taken to avoiding their posts whenever Cole brought Joss home. Cole suspected they were jealous and knew what he would do to them if they tried anything on Joss.

Smart ladies.

“Welcome home, Master Colewyn,” a voice said.

Cole looked to the source as a short man with a balding head materialized. “That way,” Mal, the ghost and operator of the sithen, said, gesturing. “Right through the door. I’ve already gotten your bed ready, and the bathroom water is nice and hot.”

“Thanks, Mal,” Joss said as they entered the double doors he’d been pointing to. “He’s really taken to this whole ‘butler’ role, hasn’t he?”

“I think he finds the role amusing,” Cole replied. The sithen had already changed itself around, as per Mal’s instructions, to take them directly to Cole’s private chamber. It was just down the smaller hallway now and to the left.

“That makes me worry,” said Joss in a grave voice as they entered the expansive room. “If what you told me is true, why would the ghost of a former sorcerer condemned for practicing black magic find being a butler amusing?”

“He was trapped in a book for centuries,” Cole pointed out, directing them both to the bathroom. “Mal is probably relieved to be out and doing anything now.”

“Good point.”

The sithen, with Mal’s help, had constructed a spacious room for Cole that was decorated in brown paneling with cobblestone floors covered by thick rugs. The bed was by far the largest piece of furniture in the room, but the cabinets, shelves, and desk were all massive and varnished a deep brown color to match the walls. It was the sort of room he’d always dreamed of having.

Off to the side was the bathroom. Cole entered first and began shucking his clothes as Joss came up behind him and did the same. As usual, Cole had worn all black while on patrol. His leather pants and long vest were far from regulation, but since Joss had insisted that Section Thirteen be a plainclothes operation, there was very little the higher-ups could do. Plus, as Cole himself had pointed out, a uniform would do very little to help him blend in.

Joss, unlike him, had dressed for freezing weather. His knee-length coat was the first thing to go, followed by the cream-colored button-down shirt. Cole was already naked now and stood there enjoying the view. Joss took a moment to slowly draw the undershirt over his head, knowing how much Cole liked to watch. His abs and chest came into view, covered in a natural rug of curly hair. Cole sighed, feeling a low moan rising up from his throat. He loved running his fingers through that carpet and did so at every chance. When Joss dropped his pants, the underwear came with them, and his shaft stood upright and rigid.

It was as big as a baby’s arm.

The head was leaking precum now, causing Cole’s mouth to water. Once Joss had stepped out of his clothes, Cole wasted no time in dragging both of them into the shower. The water kicked on immediately, and true to Mal’s word, it was at just the right temperature. Joss groaned as the three showerheads above them sent jets of steaming liquid onto his back, pounding the stress of the day out of him. Each head was shaped like a theater mask: one frowning, one grinning, and one trapped in between.

Cole seized Joss by his thick mane of wet blond hair and pulled him in close for a kiss that ended with their tongues dancing around one another. His own cock was stretched as far as it would go, almost to the point of pain, as their arms encircled each other. Cole could feel Joss’s hands all over him, and he moaned his pleasure down the mortal man’s throat.

Cole began kneading the knots out of Joss’s back as he nuzzled the man’s ear. “That feels so good,” Joss breathed, kissing Cole lightly on his shoulder. “Don’t stop, please.”

“Never,” Cole cooed. “Let go. I’ve got both of us now.”

Joss went silent for a moment as Cole continued to massage his back in time with the water. “That boy,” said Joss softly as Cole worked lower. “He couldn’t have been, what? Ten years old? Somebody baked him alive.”

“We’ll find them,” Cole assured him, not letting up. “And when we find them, we put a stop to it.”

“You make it sound simple,” Joss groaned, running his own hands up the slicked surface of Cole’s back. “It’s never that simple. Being a cop is anything but simple.”

“I’m not really a cop,” Cole reminded him. Seizing the man by the hair, he gently pulled until Joss’s eyes were facing his. “I am a sidhe warrior. You brought me into the NYPD, but at heart, I will always be who I was raised to be. No amount of paperwork or procedure will change that.”

“I shouldn’t let you say things like that,” Joss mumbled. Their foreheads pressed together under the jet stream. “We’re supposed to catch the bad guys, not execute them. But after what I heard those kids say….”

“One thing at a time,” Cole said, shushing him. “For now….”

Joss looked at Cole when he didn’t finish.

“I’m going to fuck you silly,” Cole whispered into his ear before spinning Joss around.

Joss brought his arms up to brace himself against the slippery wall of the shower as Cole reached his hand out. The sithen was always quick to respond, and this time was no exception. Before Cole’s hand could touch the wall to the right of Joss, it opened up a hidden compartment to reveal a small bottle of golden liquid.

“Last time, it was under the frowning shower head,” Cole noted, pouring some of the fey lubricant onto his fingers.

Joss merely grunted and steeled himself as two of Cole’s fingers were inserted into his ass. Cole quickly flexed and wiggled the tips as he felt them brush across Joss’s love nut. Joss’s cock jumped at the stimulation and began drooling. The rough and rugged male grunted as another finger joined the others. His asshole was opened slightly, but it was still tight and snug as Cole began to gently fuck his digits back and forth.

At the same time, he managed to dribble a little bit of the oil onto his other hand by tilting it slightly. It wasn’t easy, and he wound up with more than was needed, but the glass bottle didn’t slip out of his fingers once. Cole placed it back into the slot in the wall, snapped the cap back into place, and watched as it disappeared once more. Satisfied, he used the oil smeared all over his left hand to slick his cock up as Joss began moaning with pleasure.

“Here it comes,” he warned, pushing the head of his dick up against Joss’s entrance.

“Umph!” Joss grunted as the head popped past his sphincter. “Ohhh, yeah!”

“Get ready.” Cole braced himself, getting a nice grip on Joss’s hips as he drew back slightly, then drove himself forward hard. The head of his cock plowed into Joss’s innards, tearing a path that made the rough-and-tumble man moan.

“Fuck, yeah,” Joss breathed as the steam built up around them. “Fuck me, lover.”

“You want that?” Cole began to pick up speed as he slapped his hand across Joss’s ass cheek. “Your ass is as tight as I’ve had in a long time. It’s hotter inside of you than in this shower. I’m going to enjoy fucking the shit out of you.”

“Just shut up and fuck me!” Joss replied.

Cole was a sidhe warrior, and despite his svelte frame, he had the strength of ten muscled men on crack. It was very important for him not to forget how delicate Joss was by comparison. The mortal would not have liked hearing that, but of the two of them, Cole was actually the more durable. Yet the two had been on the move for days, tracking a killer who seemed even more elusive than the one they’d come up against a month ago. In that time, they’d barely had the chance to share a private conversation that didn’t involve the more unpleasant aspects of their work. As such, Cole found himself throwing aside some of his restrictions now. As Joss’s moans filled the steamy air surrounding them, Cole’s hips picked up speed, and he began to really pound into his man.

Joss tossed his head back and howled as his canal was savaged. Water from the showerhead splashed down into his face and mouth. Even then, he didn’t stop yelling for Cole to fuck him harder.

Cole was happy to oblige. As he kicked it into high gear, Cole felt his balls begin to draw up. Cum churned inside them, ready to unload down the dark tunnel of Joss’s ass any second. Joss’s own balls were already swollen and ready to burst. Cole grunted right along in time with his lover and steeled himself. Both of his arms snaked around Joss just below his hairy chest. As Cole was getting ready to bust, a voice rang out in his ears.

Tuulois MacColewyn!


Cole gasped and leaped backward, drawing his dick out of Joss’s asshole as the air around them swam unexpectedly. Joss glanced back in confusion, still pulling at his dick as Cole leaped out of the shower in a panic.

“What happened?” he moaned. “Why did you stop?”

Tuulois MacColewyn!

“Never mind that! Turn the water off and get your clothes!”

The sithen was already two steps ahead of him. The shower heads shut off immediately, and Cole suddenly found their clothes much closer than where they’d left them. Amidst the pile were their weapons, which to him was much more important. Cole could already feel the spell beginning to take hold of him.

“Hold on,” he ordered, snatching their things up off the floor and jumping back in with Joss. Joss, however, had gotten the wrong idea and seized his cock, jerking it back and forth.

“I didn’t mean that!”

Tuulois MacColewyn!

Cole turned sideways next to Joss and felt his cock jerk hard as his balls were drained of their essence. Joss’s own cock was already exploding in the same direction. Something was pulling both men upward through what felt like a wet rubber tube as they shot their loads into clear space. A sense of displacement followed, and Detective Corhagen was abruptly standing in front of them with two separate loads dripping down his face.

Joss still had a few good shots left in him, it turned out. A whole rope of cum landed on Corhagen’s long coat, and another from Cole splattered across his tie. Corhagen’s eyes went wide from shock to disbelief as he took in the sight of both Cole and Inspector Vallimun standing together naked inside the summoning circle he’d drawn.

“Well,” said Cole, dripping wet. “This is a new twist.”

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Sadly, I do not have a working website as of this time. I am available on YouTube at and on a website called, here:

I review bad TV shows and telefilms, as well as showcase little-known gems that receive little recognition. My hope is that I'll be signed on there as an official reviewer someday.