Coming Soon: Anthony & Leo

Anthony & Leo, the third of the Frankie series, is on the coming soon page at Dreamspinner!

Dreamspinner due out 25th March

Watching Marchant train his new sub leaves Tony unhappy at not having found a Dom of his own. Running Marchant’s BDSM club, Tony sees who the Doms prefer and it isn’t him—too big, too old, and too hairy. When his friend Jordan suggests he look outside the club, Tony’s mind turns to Leo, a man he met in a traffic jam. Tony manages to arrange a date and happily learns Leo is funny, very toppy, and not averse to Tony’s lifestyle. As a bonus, Leo sells sex toys.

When tragedy strikes the club, Tony fears he can’t help the mourning club members, but Leo offers his unwavering support. After such a tough start, Tony believes Leo is the Dom he’s been looking for… until he catches him kissing another man.

With A Kick week: Bells and Balls

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Thursday’s turn is Bells and Balls. Rugby meets Santa over ice-cream

Rob gave her his best smile and kept it fixed on his face as he turned to the man he was interested in. Santa blinked as if he was dazzled by Rob’s grin.

“Uh, Pearl?”

Pearl’s eyes widened and she turned to Rob. “Santa knows my name?”

Rob had forgotten he’d mentioned Pearl’s name to Mick. “It looks like it, baby girl. Do you have anything you want to say to Santa?”

She shrank back for a moment and then nodded. Rob put her down on the floor and she ran up to Mick.

“Do you want to sit on my knee,” Mick asked. Pearl held out her arms and Mick picked her up.

“What have you asked Santa for Christmas?” Pearl looked conflicted. She looked at Rob and then tugged Mick down and whispered in his ear. He looked shocked and then his eyes softened. “Pearl, did your mummy tell you that?” She nodded. “Do you believe in Santa?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “My mummy said I should always tell the truth. She says Santa doesn’t exist but all my friends say he does and I don’t know what to believe.”

Mick looked at Rob, who stared back helplessly. Neither of them knew how to handle this. “Your mummy is right. You should always tell the truth but if you believe in Santa, you can believe in him inside.” He took her hand and placed it over her heart.

With a Kick week: Slap and Tickle

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Wednesday’s teaser (a little late), is all about Bryan and Phiz discovering who they are together.

SLAP AND TICKLE ARe: Smashwords: Barnes & Noble

Bryan felt reassured again. “My boyfriend, Dan. My ex-boyfriend,” he added hastily. “I wanted to try…” He struggled to say more.

“You wanted to try things with him?”

Bryan nodded with relief. “What you said about fit…?”

“Yeah. There’s nothing bad or weird about sex games as long as both people want it.”


Phiz’s eyes softened and sparked at the same time, if that were even possible. He nodded. “And more. But start with that.”

Bryan had never thought about it as play. The idea of that spiked in his gut with a warm, greedy flavour. Dan had hated anything new: hated Bryan initiating anything.

“What did you want, Bryan?”

Bryan tried to answer, but his throat hurt. He felt hot and chilled at the same time. He remembered talking to Phiz about the spanking…thing. Had he said more after that, when Phiz was undressing him, cleaning him up, putting him to bed? The thought of that filled him with horror, yet he knew he’d come too far to retreat. He gazed at Phiz’s open, needy expression. The man seemed to know so much, but be just as vulnerable as Bryan.

“Why did you even come back with me?”

Phiz blinked hard. “You asked me to. You told me to.”

“That’s no reason, is it?”

“It was for me.” Phiz’s voice was almost a whisper. “I wanted to be told.”

Bryan knew how he’d spoken to Phiz in Leicester Square, pretending Phiz and he were together by intention. He’d been curt; almost rude. He couldn’t—wouldn’t?—believe Phiz was speaking the truth. “I was a bully. I barked at you.”

Phiz gazed up at him through those too-fair lashes. “Yes, you did bark, man. But you weren’t a bully.”

“What are you? Some kind of masochist?”

Phiz flushed very deeply. His voice was angry. “Fuck you. You lay a hand on me I don’t want, I’ll knock you flat.” He started to rise from the table.

Bryan caught his wrist. “Please. I’m sorry. Sit down.”

“Fuck.” Phiz pulled at the ends of his hair. He was still frowning but he sat again.

“Good god, all we do is apologise. I was out of order. I shouldn’t have said that to you. Not in that tone, anyway.” He didn’t mean it either: he didn’t mean to scorn or snap at Phiz. Phiz was living proof to Bryan of all the different people out there, and Bryan wanted to spend more time with him. But Phiz was just very disturbing. Unsettling.

Phiz laughed softly. “Yeah. Look at us.” They both did just that—met each other’s eyes again.

And suddenly Bryan knew it was more than wanting to spend time with Phiz. He wanted him. Wanted him. The ruffled student look. The sly/shy smile. The tension in his body, the fidgeting, the fizz. His humour; his vibrancy; his company. He wanted the honesty that was developing between them. The internet had taught Bryan an amazing lot about alternative lifestyles over the last few weeks. Maybe he was ready to find the sub-page titled “this is where Bryan fits in”.

“I wanted to be in charge,” he said, abruptly. “I wanted to tell Dan what to do. I’ve always wanted that with a man, in sex at least. Not that I wanted to push him into anything he didn’t like, but…and I wanted to slap him. Not to hurt him, you understand. Just to master him. And, yes, to…” Bryan was so hot now he thought he must be scarlet all over. “To spank him.”

Phiz sucked in his breath. “That’s—”

“Don’t, Phiz.” Bryan snapped. His head hurt again but this time he suspected it was from emotional overload rather than the hangover. “I feel bad enough.”

A small whimper escaped Phiz. “Oh. That.”



With a Kick week: Hissed as a Newt

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HissedAsANewt_200Today, it’s the turn of Hissed as a Newt, David, an aspiring author and Stan the Clown tell their story.


“It’s a strange show, Vera,” an old man standing next to David commented to his wife.

She sniffed in agreement. “Nothing like our day, Bert. They were true artistes.”
The couple moved away, the woman still complaining.
The man in the road rolled over onto his side and vomited. A groan of disgust rippled through the crowd and they moved away en masse.
David was about to do the same when he caught the man’s words.
“I loved you, you fucking bastard. I loved you and you cheated on me.”
Bastard, not bitch. Huh.
Cursing his impulsive nature, David knelt by the man, careful to avoid the puke. “Are you all right?”
The man mumbled incoherently. His makeup was smeared, and David realised he’d been crying. At the moment he looked more like an Allison Schulnik painting than a clown.
“You really need to get out of the road, man.”
“Leave me in the gutter.”
Oh Jesus, a drama queen. “Listen mate, you can stay here if you want but you’re liable to be nicked. Why don’t you get up and come with me? I want to drown my sorrows. We can cry on each other’s shoulders.”
The clown opened one eye. It would have been a pretty, blue eye if it hadn’t been so bloodshot. “A drink?”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“Probably.” With David’s help the clown sat up then clutched his stomach. “Definitely. I’m going to puke again.”
“Come on.” David hauled him up when he’d finished retching. He cut a miserable figure. “What’s your name?”
“Stan the Clown.



With A Kick Week: A Twist and Two Balls

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This week we’re getting teasers from the With A Kick series from Clare London and Sue Brown.


atwistandtwoballs250 ARe: Smashwords: Barnes and Noble

“Is that what you think of my acting career?” Eddy frowned. “That it’s just a dream, and I’m better off with an honest job, as you call it?”

Nuri’s brow furrowed. “Don’t be a stupid ar—” He bit back the words.

“No, go on. Say it!” Eddy almost squeaked. “I’m a stupid arse?”

Nuri sighed, letting his breath out slowly. “Eduardo. Sometimes you seem deliberately to misunderstand me. You’re seeking an argument, though I don’t really know why. And I’m afraid I have to say—this is not about you.”

Eddy felt his jaw drop, just like a kid’s cartoon character.

Nuri flushed, very darkly. “And now it’s my turn to offend you. I try to find the right words—”

“No!” Eddy interrupted. What the hell was he doing, shrieking at this wonderful, honest, hardworking, loyal man? To say nothing of handsome, kind, endlessly patient, sexy, with a hairy, ticklish spot on his thigh, warm lips tightening on Eddy’s nipple, large palm cradling Eddy’s balls… Eddy shook his mind back to the present. “Nuri, you find exactly the right words. I’m the stupid arse here, you’re correct. It’s not about me. But I always do that, though, don’t I? I hijack everything to my point of view. I promise not to in the future. Honestly. I’ll stop being a diva and be…well, a proper boyfriend. If you want me. I mean, if you want me to be…that boyfriend. You know. I mean, any boyfriend, really.” Please! he thought fervently.

Nuri’s smile was slow and grateful and relieved. “You asked me if I had made up my mind about you. Do you remember?”

“Yes. I remember that was another occasion when I was being a stupid arse.”

Nuri smiled even more broadly. “You make me laugh, Eduardo. In so many, and such interesting ways. Yes, I want you to be that boyfriend. If that boyfriend is mine. I made my mind up about that a long time ago.”

Eddy knew he was flushed now, as well. He glanced around the lobby. The building was emptying of employees at an increasing rate. His boss Mr H liked to close up promptly on a Friday. The workers came out of the lift and parted like the Red Sea around Nuri and Eddy, standing like biblical brothers at the reception desk.

“Let’s go and get dinner,” Nuri said.

Eddy laughed. “That’s your answer to everything.”

“No. I have no answer to everything. I just…”

“Try. Yes, I know. And you succeed.” This time, Eddy took Nuri’s hand, and squeezed it. Sometimes an action was far better than a hundred pages of script. He was learning that acting tip rather late in life, but for all the right reasons. “Do they do takeaway?”

“You’re not hungry?”

“No. I am very hungry. Just not for a restaurant meal.” And Eddy waggled his eyebrows in what he hoped was a ridiculous gesture.

Nuri started laughing and his eyes gleamed. He leaned in closer and his lips brushed Eddy’s.

In the background, there was a clatter at reception, as if something had been dropped on the floor. They both turned to see Mandi on her hands and knees on the floor, scrabbling through the spilled contents of her handbag. “That’s, like, so sweet,” she said, staring up at them with puppy-dog eyes. “Do it again, okay? I need to take a picture on my phone.”



Lillian Francis: Theory Unproven

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Working with elephants in their natural habitat has always been Eric Phillips dream. Getting what he’s always desired introduces him to Tyaan Bouwer, the bush pilot that flies in his supplies, and Eric discovers the allure of South Africa goes beyond the wildlife and the scenery.

But in an area where bushveld prejudices and hatred bleed across the borders, realising their love will be a hard fought battle. Keeping hold of it might just kill them.


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Lillian Francis

An avid reader, Lillian Francis was always determined she wanted to write, but a ‘proper’ job and raising a family distracted her for over a decade. Over the years and thanks to the charms of the Internet, Lillian realized she’d been writing at least one of her characters in the wrong gender. Ever since, she’s been happily letting her ‘boys’ run her writing life.

Lillian now divides her time between family, a job and the numerous men in her head all clamouring for ‘their’ story to be told.

Lillian lives in an imposing castle on a wind-swept desolate moor or in an elaborate ‘shack’ on the edge of a beach somewhere depending on her mood, with the heroes of her stories either chained up in the dungeon or wandering the shack serving drinks in nothing but skimpy barista aprons.

In reality, she would love to own a camper van and to live by the sea.

You can read more about Lillian here:


Pinterest and my hissy fit

Theory Unproven is the first story I’ve written where I have used Pinterest as a writing tool. Finding a place to store random photographs has been more useful than I would have imagined. I don’t have to take up space on my hard drive storing photos of planes and wildlife or try to remember where I saved the bookmark of the style of hat that Tyaan wears. On Pinterest the photos have links that can take me back to the original site should I need to revisit some information that I forgot and they are all collected in the same place. If I want to remind myself that the type of antelope I have at the watering hole can be found in that part of South Africa I pin a map and then pin a photo of that animal to remind me what it looks like. Job done.

And once you start to add things to your board Pinterest will send you links to things that might interest you, things you might not even have considered that could help your storytelling. It also tells you when other people have pinned one of your pins to their boards. And this is where my hissy fit comes in. I’ve attached the link for your reading pleasure if you want to see me have a mini meltdown (in the most reserved and English of ways). You have no control over where people pin things, I understand that, but to see the magnificent Bushbuck pinned to a board titled Hunting made me angry. (I know I talk about eating antelope in another post but Bushbuck are hunted mainly for their hide.)

If you want to browse my Pinterest page you’ll find it here.

Do you use Pinterest or other tools to help your writing/reading/hobbies?

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Johan turned to his boyfriend. “I guess we can cross the plus-one off his invite. There’s no way he’ll have a boyfriend by next year, and he’s not bringing some one-night stand to my wedding.”

“Wedding?” Tyaan grinned, as much at Jessie’s excited squeal as the revelation itself. “That’s great news. As if I’d bring a casual hook-up to such an important event. Jessie and I will come together.”

“What if Jessie wants to use her plus-one?” Johan asked, fixing Tyaan with another of those looks.

“There isn’t anyone. Is there, Jess?”

“What?” Jessie stilled in her seat. “Umm. No.”

“Unless you want to take that ex of yours from the hospital?”

“A lot can happen in a year. We’ll see nearer the time. Yeah?” She grinned and clapped her hands together. “A wedding! I need details. And champagne.”

Tyaan called for a bottle of champagne and a jug of orange juice—he had a plane to fly in a few hours—and let the wedding chatter wash over him. His eyes fell on the joined hands of Johan and his, well, his fiancé. That sounded so grown-up. They were getting older, each and every one of them. He let his gaze slide up to the smiling face of his oldest friend and felt a sharp tug in his chest.

For all their fooling around, he’d never loved Johan, not as anything other than a friend, but there was no denying the feeling making his stomach churn could be attributed to jealousy.

He wanted someone to look at him in that way, but Johan was right, unless he turned his world upside down, that dream would never become a reality.



Chris Quinton: The Sinclair Selkie



The short blurb for The Sinclair Selkie – Folk singer Donal MacCraith is touring the Scottish Western Isles, documenting traditional songs and investigating his family history. He meets Niall MacLachlan in Stornoway and Niall invites himself along. He has a secret and an agenda of his own. Meeting Donal is the chance he needs to complete it.

Now, right there I hit a not-so-slight problem – lyrics and copyrights. The titles of songs, old and new, aren’t affected, but the lyrics are, even in traditional songs. Snags can arise with using even the most obscure folk song, and there’s always someone ready to poke their five eggs into the mix. So, knowing that the lyrics of one particular song were important to the plot, and nothing I’d found came anywhere near to what I needed, I decided to write my own.

Not easy, let me tell you. I needed the feel of those slow lilting songs of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. It had to tell part of a story, and it had to read as if it has been translated from Gaelic to English but still retain some of the musicality and rhythm. Is it a lament? A love song? Who is singing it and why? It’s all there in The Sinclair Selkie…


The Calling in of the Waves


Come in to me, you white crested waves

and sing to me of my love.

For my heart breaks as each wave breaks

as it rushes to kiss the shore.

Come in to me, and on the ebb,

carry my love to him.


Come in to me, you white crested waves

around these cruel, dark rocks.

Black they are, as bleak as my loss,

and I long for my lover’s caress.

Come in to me, and on the ebb

carry my tears to him.


Come in to me, you white crested waves

though your cold spray burns like fire.

Sundered am I from my love and from sea,

though my heart will ever endure.

Come in to me, and on the ebb

carry my grief to him.


Come in to me, you white crested waves,

come in by storm or by calm.

For I hear his voice in the surf’s deep cry

and the wind is his touch in my hair.

Come in to me, and on the ebb,

carry my love to him…

Buylinks: Fireborn PublishingAmazon US 

American Donal MacCraith is on a road trip along the western coast of Scotland and the Western Isles. His family roots are there, but his main reasons for the extended vacation are the songs and legends. He’s a folk-singer, come to collect some new old material. In Stornoway he meets the Shielingers and Niall MacLachlan. Donal is attracted to Niall, but doesn’t act on it, unable to guess if the man is gay or not. When he continues his exploration of Lewis in his rented motorhome, making for the small crofting community his grandmother left as a young woman, he finds Niall waiting for him on the road just outside the town. Donal invites him along, and Niall leaps at the chance.
Once out on the road, Niall makes a play for Donal, and they begin a casual no-strings relationship, though Donal senses Niall has an agenda of his own. Donal knows their fling won’t last, but that suits him at first. Later, though, he begins to want something more, even though he has the feeling Niall is using him. He’s right, and it’s the clue in the old stories of the Sinclair Selkie Donal’s grandmother had told him. That clue will lead Donal to the startling truth behind the legend, and they’ll both be faced with life-changing choices.


“What legend?” Niall raised his voice. “You’ve never said anything about it before.” There was a slight edge to his words and his gaze remained fastened on Donal.

“Oh, God,” Pat groaned. “You’ve done it now! Our Niall’s searching for old songs as well, only he’s more specific. He’s fixated on the seal-folk. He’s only been with us a week, but if I had a pound for every time I’ve heard him ask–”

“Shut up.” Fergus grinned. “It’s the legend of the Sinclair Selkie, like in the song, only it’s a mite darker. God, I haven’t thought about it for years.” He settled himself comfortably on the piano stool, and with the ease of a born storyteller, he launched into the tale. “Robert Sinclair was one of the many bastard sons of Ferghal Macauley, got on Agnes Sinclair when Ferghal was visiting Orkney some twenty and five years previously.” Around them, the pub’s remaining customers grew quiet, obviously listening. “Now, it so happened that young Robert was staying a while with his uncle, James Macauley, and Robert liked nothing more than riding out and exploring his uncle’s lands. He was returning from one such adventure at dusk, when he heard a lassie singing down by the shore. Her voice was so sweet and pure it drew him down to the sea’s edge.

“There he saw a young woman sitting among the boulders, combing out her long, long black hair in the light of the setting sun, and her beauty nigh on stopped the breath in his lungs. He immediately fell in love with her and decided she would be his, no matter what may be. When he rode closer, he saw that not only was she naked under the cloak of her hair, but a rich fur mantle lay beside her on the rocks.

“She was a selkie.” He paused for dramatic effect and took a swig of beer.

“Then the young Sinclair did what any man would. He snatched up the sealskin in one arm, the lassie in the other, and carried her away to his uncle’s keep. James gave him land near the sea, and that’s where Robert raised Creagliath, so’s his bride would be close to the waters she loved so much.

“Now,” Fergus continued, “this is where the legend parts from the song. If you’re expecting this tale to end with her bearing his children until she finds where he has hid her sealskin, then takes it back and abandons him and her bairns for the sea, then you’ll be wrong. She never did find it, so she was bound to him until the end of his days. Even his passing did not free her, for though he was dead and buried, he’d told no one where he’d hidden that mantle, not even his eldest son nor his favorite daughter.

“In time, she grew old and faded from the living world, forever bereft of the sea and her selkie kindred, and her half-human sons and daughters could not console her. Where her body lies, no one knows, but it is said her spirit still weeps among the ruins of that once tall keep, as she searches endlessly for her lost sealskin.

“And that, my friends, is the legend of the Sinclair Selkie.” He flourished a bow to acknowledge the spontaneous applause from his audience. “Is that how your folks remember it, Donal?”

“Pretty much.” He smiled, and didn’t mention that his gran knew another ending.

Author Bio:

Chris started creating stories not long after she mastered joined-up writing, somewhat to the bemusement of her parents and her English teachers. But she received plenty of encouragement. Her dad gave her an already old Everest typewriter when she was about ten, and it was probably the best gift she’d ever received – until the inventions of the home-computer and the worldwide web.

Chris’s reading and writing interests range from historical, mystery, and paranormal, to science-fiction and fantasy, mostly in the male/male genre. She also writes male/female novels in the name of Chris Power. She refuses to be pigeon-holed and intends to uphold the long and honourable tradition of the Eccentric Brit to the best of her ability. In her spare time [hah!] she reads, embroiders, quilts and knits. In the past she has been a part-time and unpaid amateur archaeologist, and a 15th century re-enactor.

She currently lives in a small and ancient city in the south-west of the United Kingdom, sharing her usually chaotic home with an extended family, two large dogs, fancy mice, sundry goldfish and a young frilled dragon (Australian lizard) aka Trogdorina.