Coming Soon: House Hunt by Jackie Keswick

House HuntHouse Hunt by Jackie Keswick

Pre-order available now. Due out 30th March 2016

Buylinks: All Romance | Dreamspinner | Amazon

The Power of Zero: Book Three

Jack Horwood hates owing favors. But when a simple day out to treat Gareth to the best oysters in England leads to a discovery of drugs and counterfeit money—things that neither Jack nor Gareth have the jurisdiction to handle—he has to call in help. Help that doesn’t come cheap, and that forces him to do something he promised himself he’d never do again—walk away from Gareth and the family he’s starting to make for himself.

Three months undercover is a long time. After missing Gareth’s birthday, Jack is determined not to miss their first anniversary. But coming home and being home are two very different things. So when he is asked to assist with a corporate espionage investigation, Jack can’t say no, despite knowing it will impact his already straining relationship.

Except, of course, he’s walking into a trap….

Cover Reveal: Island Doctor by Sue Brown

CRBanner_IslandDoctor

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Sue Brown reveals the beautiful cover art of her upcoming book titled ISLAND DOCTOR coming out from Dreamspinner Press.

It releases on January 11, 2015.

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BLURB

Dr. Jeff Martin has spent five years as a rural general practitioner on the Isle of Wight hiding the fact he’s gay. He travels in secret to see his partner, Tris, but when he discovers Tris has been cheating on him, he ends their relationship. Then Jeff meets island native Cameron Gillard. Cameron is down to earth, lively, and treats Jeff like he’s the most important person in Cameron’s life. Jeff blooms under Cameron’s attention, and he decides to come out to his colleagues and friends.

Just when things are going well, Tris reappears out of the blue. Jeff is no longer interested in Tris, but it seems he has two men to convince. Tris, who can’t believe Jeff is serious about wanting to end their relationship, and Cameron, who can’t hide his jealousy of Tris. Jeff is certain about one thing—the only man he wants in his life is Cameron. Now he just needs to prove it to Cameron.

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PRESENTING

Cover Art by L.C. Chase

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EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT

Cameron sniggered as he disconnected the call from Paul.
Jeff looked up from his book. “What’s so funny?”
“Paul’s just been given an ultimatum from Olaf. Either marry him or die old and bitter, chasing twinks.”
Jeff stared. “That was Olaf’s marriage proposal?”
“Yep.”
“What was Paul’s answer?”
“Fuck off and die, and he expects a diamond ring.”

To check out the entire Isle Series books – Visit Dreamspinner Press

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sue Brown is owned by her dog and two children. When she isn’t following their orders, she can be found plotting at her laptop. In fact she hides so she can plot and has gotten expert at ignoring the orders.

Sue discovered M/M erotica at the time she woke up to find two men kissing on her favorite television series. The series was boring; the kissing was not. She may be late to the party, but she’s made up for it since, writing fan fiction until she was brave enough to venture out into the world of original fiction.

:: Website :: Blog :: Facebook :: Twitter :: Google+ ::

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RAFFLECOPTER GIVEAWAY

Winner’s Prize: E-copy set of Sue Brown’s The Isle Series

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Cover Reveal: New Lease of Life by Lillian Francis

Hi, Lillian Francis here, and I’ve popped in to show off my amazing cover for my novel, New Lease of Life, coming soon from Dreamspinner Press.

But first the Blurb.

Phillip used to laugh a lot, back when his friends called him Pip. However the good deed that left him hospitalized not only marred his body, it stripped him of his good humor too. Ever since, he has pushed his friends away and shut out the world. Donating his vintage clothing to a charity shop should have been the final act in a year-long campaign to sever the links with the man Pip used to be, but the stranger on his doorstep awakens feelings in Pip that he hasn’t experienced since the incident that left him angry at the world and reliant on the cold metal of the hideous hospital-issue crutch.

Colby forces his way into Pip’s life, picking at the scab of his past. Colby isn’t interested in Pip’s money or his expensive address. He has only one goal: to make Pip smile again. With every moment in Pip’s presence, Colby chips away at the walls Pip has built around himself. Pip knows it’s impossible to fight his attraction with Colby’s sunny disposition casting light into the darkness in his soul.

Drum roll please.

Presenting

Cover art by Paul Richmond.

 Cover NewLeaseofLife4

It’s smashing, isn’t it, and fits both the story and my vision for the cover to perfection.

New Lease of Life is now appearing on the Coming Soon page at Dreamspinner Press and is already available to pre-order. If you are quick you may be able to pick it up in the current 35% off sale.

Or appearing on my author pages at

Amazon US

Amazon UK

AllRomance

Now the boring bit…

About the Author

Lillian Francis. Author of gay romance. Happy Endings guaranteed. Eventually.

Lillian Francis is an English writer who likes to dabble in many genres but always seems to return to the here and now.

Her name may imply a grand dame in pink chiffon and lace, but Lillian is more at home in jeans, Converse, and the sort of T-shirts that often need explaining to the populous at large but will get a fist bump at Comic-Con. Lillian is a self-confessed geek who likes nothing more than settling down with a comic or a good book, except maybe writing. Given a notepad, pen, her Kindle, and an infinite supply of chocolate Hob Nobs and she can lose herself for weeks. Romance was never her reading matter of choice, so it came as a great surprise to all concerned, including herself, to discover a romance was exactly what she’d written, and not the rollicking spy adventure or cozy murder mystery she always assumed she’d write. Luckily there is always room for romance no matter what plot bunny chooses to bite her, so never say never to either of those stories appearing.

Lillian lives in an imposing castle on a windswept desolate moor or in an elaborate shack on the edge of a beach somewhere, depending on her mood. And while she’d love for the heroes of her stories to either be chained up in the dungeon or wandering the shack serving drinks in nothing but skimpy barista aprons more often than not they are doing something far less erotic like running charity shops and shoveling elephant shit.

Drawn to the ocean, although not in a Reginald Perrin sort of way, she would love to own a camper van and to live by the sea.

 

Find her at

Blog: lillianfrancis.blogspot.co.uk

Facebook: www.facebook.com/lillian.francis.100

Twitter: @LillianFrancis_

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/Lillian_Francis

Now to reward you for sitting through the whole post please enter the giveaway for a $10 giftcard.

https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/d0fe9a851/

 

 

Giveaway for Jordan & Rhys by Sue Brown

Jordan&RhysFS

Buylink: Dreamspinner | Amazon | All Romance

Book #1 Frankie & Al

Book #2 Ed & Marchant

Book #3 Anthony & Leo

Book #4 Jordan & Rhys

Eight months after the assault in which his sub and lover was killed, Jordan Nicholls isn’t making much progress in his recovery. Marchant and Ed, Jordan’s friends from the BDSM club, stage an intervention.

They employ a carer to look after Jordan. Rhys may be a sub, but he’s forceful, making Jordan eat and exercise rather than live on coffee and cigarettes. Despite Jordan’s protests, Rhys slowly forces him back to life.

But Rhys wants to be Jordan’s sub, and despite being protective of Rhys, Jordan’s not sure he can ever return to the BDSM lifestyle. In order for their relationship to continue, they’ll need to find a compromise that meets both their needs.A Novella in Frankie’s Series

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Eight months later

JORDAN SAT alone at the end of the bar, nursing a Coke and pretending not to notice his best friend, Tony, who was pushed up against the wall, his hands pressed flat against rough plaster as Leo kissed him.

“Wishing it was you?” Marchant Belarus sat on the stool next to Jordan. He was the owner of the BDSM club and too fucking perceptive. There was nothing he didn’t see or interfere in when it came to his club.

Jordan couldn’t take his gaze away from the couple, watching with a sad envy that didn’t come naturally to him. “Leo’s not my type.”

His lame attempt at a joke fell flat when Marchant didn’t chuckle.

“I never thought he’d be Tony’s, but look at them now.”

Finally Tony had a Dom of his own, and he exuded happiness. Despite the fact that Leo was younger and shorter than Tony, it was clear who was dominant in their relationship. For the first time, Jordan saw Tony, watched how beautifully he submitted—and Jordan was too late.

“Tony waited for years for you to notice him,” Marchant said quietly.

“You think I didn’t know that? I just thought…. Leo’s better for him than I am.” Jordan turned his head as Tony sank to his knees. The couple weren’t bothered by an audience. They never seemed to notice anyone else when they were in a scene. Jordan gave Marchant a wan smile. “What do you want? Apart from reminding me what I’ve lost.”

“Ed’s worried about you. He sent me to talk to you.”

“I’m fine.” Jordan gritted his teeth as Marchant raised an eyebrow. Could you raise a derisive eyebrow? Marchant possessed eyebrows that conducted whole conversations, particularly when he thought someone was being an arse. “It’s taking time.”

Marchant patted his back, not requiring more explanation. It had been eight months since Jordan had been badly injured in an assault in which his sub, Mike, had been killed. Jordan was still recovering from the physical injuries, and the mental trauma was like a scar to his soul. Once outgoing and gregarious, now Jordan shuffled through the day, feeling like he was wrapped in layers of gray wool that muffled him from the outside world. Marchant’s sub, Ed, had once told Jordan that he breathed for the first time the day he met Marchant. Jordan had stopped breathing the day three drunk thugs used their fists to tear his world apart.

Jordan swallowed hard at the memory, and then he noticed Marchant had put his arm around him and Tony was pressed against him, also holding him. Solid walls of men hemmed him in, made him feel safe.

“What?”

Tony gently swiped a tear from Jordan’s face. Jordan hadn’t even realized he was crying, but his nose was blocked and his throat tight. He rested his head on Tony’s chest and let the tears flow.

Finally he raised his head, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. “Shit, I’m sorry, Tony. You—”

“Shut up.” Tony hugged him even tighter.

“Get off.” Jordan tried to bat them away. “Christ, you’re going to suffocate me.”

They stepped back, to his relief, but they didn’t leave his side—which was also a relief, even if he’d never admit it.

“Why don’t you go upstairs for a while?” Marchant said. “Ed’s working, and the place is empty.”

Jordan pushed back his hair, grimacing at the greasy feel. He’d let himself go recently, finding even washing his hair was a battle. His arm had taken a long time to heal, and he struggled with even basic motor skills.

“I’ll go home before I make a bigger idiot of myself.” He loved his friends, but suddenly their concern was too much. It pressed down on him, and he needed to get away.

“I’ll run you home,” Tony said, looking over to Leo to check if it was all right.

“It’s okay, I can get the bus.” Jordan hadn’t been able to drive since the assault. A blow to the head had left him with intermittent seizures in the early stages, and he was banned from driving for a year.

“I’ll drive Mr. Jordan home.”

Jordan turned to look at the unknown speaker. He was young and slim, maybe Leo’s age, maybe younger, with a shock of dark hair that looked as if he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket.

“Thanks, but I’m okay.”

“Sorted,” Marchant said with satisfaction. “Jordan, this is Rhys. He’s new to the club. Thank you, Rhys.”

Giveaway


I have a mega Frankie series giveaway on Rafflecopter. $15 giftcard, audible codes for Ed & Marchant and Anthony & Leo, a signed copy of Frankie & Friends, and ebooks from my back catalogue. Giveaway ends 3rd December 12.00 GMT.

Or direct link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/6050dd134/?

Coming Soon: Jordan & Rhys

Jordan&RhysFS

Coming 25th November

Buylink: Dreamspinner

Book #1 Frankie & Al

Book #2 Ed & Marchant

Book #3 Anthony & Leo

Book #4 Jordan & Rhys

Eight months after the assault in which his sub and lover was killed, Jordan Nicholls isn’t making much progress in his recovery. Marchant and Ed, Jordan’s friends from the BDSM club, stage an intervention.

They employ a carer to look after Jordan. Rhys may be a sub, but he’s forceful, making Jordan eat and exercise rather than live on coffee and cigarettes. Despite Jordan’s protests, Rhys slowly forces him back to life.

But Rhys wants to be Jordan’s sub, and despite being protective of Rhys, Jordan’s not sure he can ever return to the BDSM lifestyle. In order for their relationship to continue, they’ll need to find a compromise that meets both their needs.A Novella in Frankie’s Series

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Eight months later

JORDAN SAT alone at the end of the bar, nursing a Coke and pretending not to notice his best friend, Tony, who was pushed up against the wall, his hands pressed flat against rough plaster as Leo kissed him.

“Wishing it was you?” Marchant Belarus sat on the stool next to Jordan. He was the owner of the BDSM club and too fucking perceptive. There was nothing he didn’t see or interfere in when it came to his club.

Jordan couldn’t take his gaze away from the couple, watching with a sad envy that didn’t come naturally to him. “Leo’s not my type.”

His lame attempt at a joke fell flat when Marchant didn’t chuckle.

“I never thought he’d be Tony’s, but look at them now.”

Finally Tony had a Dom of his own, and he exuded happiness. Despite the fact that Leo was younger and shorter than Tony, it was clear who was dominant in their relationship. For the first time, Jordan saw Tony, watched how beautifully he submitted—and Jordan was too late.

“Tony waited for years for you to notice him,” Marchant said quietly.

“You think I didn’t know that? I just thought…. Leo’s better for him than I am.” Jordan turned his head as Tony sank to his knees. The couple weren’t bothered by an audience. They never seemed to notice anyone else when they were in a scene. Jordan gave Marchant a wan smile. “What do you want? Apart from reminding me what I’ve lost.”

“Ed’s worried about you. He sent me to talk to you.”

“I’m fine.” Jordan gritted his teeth as Marchant raised an eyebrow. Could you raise a derisive eyebrow? Marchant possessed eyebrows that conducted whole conversations, particularly when he thought someone was being an arse. “It’s taking time.”

Marchant patted his back, not requiring more explanation. It had been eight months since Jordan had been badly injured in an assault in which his sub, Mike, had been killed. Jordan was still recovering from the physical injuries, and the mental trauma was like a scar to his soul. Once outgoing and gregarious, now Jordan shuffled through the day, feeling like he was wrapped in layers of gray wool that muffled him from the outside world. Marchant’s sub, Ed, had once told Jordan that he breathed for the first time the day he met Marchant. Jordan had stopped breathing the day three drunk thugs used their fists to tear his world apart.

Jordan swallowed hard at the memory, and then he noticed Marchant had put his arm around him and Tony was pressed against him, also holding him. Solid walls of men hemmed him in, made him feel safe.

“What?”

Tony gently swiped a tear from Jordan’s face. Jordan hadn’t even realized he was crying, but his nose was blocked and his throat tight. He rested his head on Tony’s chest and let the tears flow.

Finally he raised his head, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. “Shit, I’m sorry, Tony. You—”

“Shut up.” Tony hugged him even tighter.

“Get off.” Jordan tried to bat them away. “Christ, you’re going to suffocate me.”

They stepped back, to his relief, but they didn’t leave his side—which was also a relief, even if he’d never admit it.

“Why don’t you go upstairs for a while?” Marchant said. “Ed’s working, and the place is empty.”

Jordan pushed back his hair, grimacing at the greasy feel. He’d let himself go recently, finding even washing his hair was a battle. His arm had taken a long time to heal, and he struggled with even basic motor skills.

“I’ll go home before I make a bigger idiot of myself.” He loved his friends, but suddenly their concern was too much. It pressed down on him, and he needed to get away.

“I’ll run you home,” Tony said, looking over to Leo to check if it was all right.

“It’s okay, I can get the bus.” Jordan hadn’t been able to drive since the assault. A blow to the head had left him with intermittent seizures in the early stages, and he was banned from driving for a year.

“I’ll drive Mr. Jordan home.”

Jordan turned to look at the unknown speaker. He was young and slim, maybe Leo’s age, maybe younger, with a shock of dark hair that looked as if he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket.

“Thanks, but I’m okay.”

“Sorted,” Marchant said with satisfaction. “Jordan, this is Rhys. He’s new to the club. Thank you, Rhys.”

 

 

Audiobook: Cold Feet by Jay Northcote

ColdFeetAUDLG

Audiobook released October 13th:

Buylinks here

Best friends snowed in together. When the heat rises, will they get cold feet?

Getting snowed in at a remote cottage in Wales with someone he’d fancied for ages isn’t exactly how Sam expected to spend Christmas. His feelings for Ryan are pointless. Ryan’s straight – or so he thought.

Until now, Ryan’s kept his feelings for Sam buried. Why ruin a friendship over what might only be gay experimentation? Playing it cool seems safer, until a cold snap makes sharing body heat vital. In their Welsh safe haven, anything seems possible.

As Ryan’s reserve melts away, Sam wants more than stolen kisses under the mistletoe. But a sudden thaw means making decisions. They could face the New Year together – unless one of them gets cold feet.

Narrator Matthew Lloyd Davies
Length 3 hours and 7 minutes

New Release: My Prince by Anna Martin

my prince

Buylinks: Dreamspinner | Amazon | All Romance

Blurb: After growing up in a rough part of town, George Maguire worked his way out of Manchester and to a career as a design engineer. Alexander van Amsberg, an architecture student at the University of Edinburgh, wasn’t the sort of guy he normally had explosive, hotel-room one-night-stands with. Alex was charming, classy, and, as George later learns, Prince of the Netherlands.

Fate brings them together again, and Alex makes sure to get his sexy stranger’s phone number this time. Despite all the reasons why they shouldn’t work, something clicks, and Alex thinks that this time, he might have found the right guy. But Alex’s aristocratic ex stirs up trouble in the press for George and his humble family, and Alex realizes he has to get real about having a boyfriend from the wrong side of town.

While George acknowledges his modest upbringing, he doesn’t let anyone insult his family. Life’s no fairy tale, and regardless of his royal title, Alex might destroy his one chance for happily ever after.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

THE CLUB was nothing special.

In any major city around the world, there would be gay clubs like this: lights flashing, people dancing, men doing tequila shots—wearing eyeshadow, wearing leather, wearing… very little, George thought, as a kid walked past in a jockstrap and nothing else.

He shook his head, knocked back the Jack and Coke, and edged onto the dance floor to dance some more.

It wasn’t a bad club, not really. Just nothing special.

George had started going to the clubs back home in Manchester when he was fifteen, back in the day when bouncers didn’t check IDs at the door, and bar staff didn’t check them either. So if you knew someone who was legitimately old enough to buy your drinks, then you could get away with having “forgotten” your driver’s license and still have a good night out.

Those days were long over; now twenty-eight, he swore he got asked for ID more these days than he ever did at fifteen. He only came out to these types of clubs for one reason. And that reason was eluding him tonight.

While he danced, grinding up on a different guy every other song, his eyes roamed the club, looking for a hookup. He hadn’t had sex in about six weeks, not that he was keeping count, but that was a long time for him, and he was ready to get laid. Some kids stood over by the bar—well, he called them kids, but they were likely the same age as him—drinking champagne from the bottle, looking… rich. George purposefully looked away.

Fuck that.

He found some tall, slim guy with dark, dark hair to dance with, and the guy was hot. George snogged him for a while, until it became painfully clear this kid had no idea what he was doing when it came to kissing. George wasn’t about to let a mouth like that anywhere near his cock.

He moved away, giving the kid a wink to let him down gently, and went back to the bar.

The music was loud, and he was sweaty, slightly sticky, and feeling like he should maybe go back to the other club where his friends were and give up on the idea of getting his dick sucked tonight. Maybe next weekend.

And wasn’t that always the way? As soon as you give up on the idea of dick sucking, the opportunity presents itself.

“Hey,” the guy said.

George looked closer. It was one of the kids who had been drinking Moët from the bottle earlier.

“Buy you a drink?” he offered.

George gave him an even look. “Sure.”

“What’s your name?”

Because he could, and because he knew what happened when he did, George paused before answering and tucked his tongue in his cheek, shooting the guy a cocky look.

“George. You?”

“Alex. Nice to meet you, George.”

George wasn’t sure what sort of signal Alex had given to the bartender, but now another bottle of expensive champagne appeared on the shiny black bar, along with two slim glasses.

“I’m more of a beer kinda guy…,” he said slowly, and Alex grinned.

“Live a little.”

The cork had been freshly popped, and fizzy smoke drifted from the top of the perfectly chilled bottle. Alex abandoned the glasses, grabbed the neck of the bottle, and wrapped his fingers around George’s wrist to lead him back onto the dance floor. Alex tipped the bottle up and drank straight from it, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed the champagne over to George, who copied his movement.

“That’s not a Scottish accent,” Alex said, tapping George lightly on the nose. He took back the bottle, wrapped one arm around George’s waist, and started to rock their bodies together.

“Neither is yours,” George said. When no more information came from Alex, he said, “Manchester,” and left it at that.

Alex cocked his head to one side. “By way of London.”

“What does that mean?”

“Doesn’t matter. You wanna get out of here?”

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” George paused again. “Sure.”

“We can’t go back to my place. I have family staying.”

“I have eleven housemates.”

“Seriously?”

“No, but it feels like it sometimes.”

“Okay, hang on. Take this.” Alex thrust the bottle into George’s hand. “Stay here. Or, even better, meet me at the door in ten minutes.”

George laughed, once, hard, not quite believing this guy. They hadn’t even kissed. That was a strange thought. They hadn’t even kissed.

Alex slinked off into the mess of people, his phone already to his ear. George took another swig of the champagne, passed it to one of the fit young things in a jockstrap, squeezed his bare ass for good measure, then headed to the men’s to take a leak.

George hurried through the entrance hall of the club, where the biting Edinburgh wind swept in, and he shivered. Alex was there, waiting like he said he’d be, with George’s coat over his arm.

“How did you—” George started, but Alex cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Come on.”

A black cab was waiting, and Alex held the door, letting George slide in first. He’d apparently told the driver where to go, because the cab immediately pulled away from the side of the road and made its way from Canongate onto North Bridge.

“Where are we going?” George asked.

Alex squeezed his knee.

Maybe three minutes later, the cab stopped.

“Here all right?” the driver asked, his voice a thick Scottish drawl.

“Fine, thanks,” Alex called and slipped a twenty through the gap.

For a six pound fare.

“Come on,” Alex said again and took hold of George’s hand. They were right on North Bridge now, the wind whipping in off the North Sea, and George hadn’t even had time to put on his coat.

“The Scotsman?” he asked as Alex tugged him up the steps of the famous hotel. “I was expecting the Premier Inn down the road, mate.”

Alex flashed a row of straight, white, perfect teeth, and it was this, more than anything else, that sucker punched George right in the gut.

This guy was rich. Really rich.

Despite the late hour, there was a doorman waiting to usher them inside the cozy reception area. The receptionist, in her pristine black-and-gold shirt, came out from behind the desk and handed Alex a key.

“Enjoy your stay, sir,” she said, and Alex nodded his thanks.

Instead of taking the lift, Alex led George up the wide staircase, then another, then stopped outside one of the doors on the second floor and let them inside.

The suite was elegant, sprawling—wood paneling on the walls, thick red carpet, a small area to one side with delicately upholstered armchairs and a table with a vase of wide white roses.

“Who are you?” George asked.

Alex smiled. “You wanna fuck me or not?”

George laughed. “I wanna fuck you,” he confirmed, dumping his coat over the back of one of the armchairs and undoing the top button of his shirt. He could put aside his prejudices toward the social elite for one night, especially when the social elite looked so fucking hot.

“Good.”

ALEX STEPPED up close into George’s personal space and laid his hands on his firm, muscled chest. George was his type of guy—everything from his strong chest, thick arms, toned back; his “fuck you” attitude; the way his hair was buzzed almost completely off, just a light fuzz over his scalp that was shorter even than the stubble on his jaw. The Timberland boots, scruffy jeans, the nice shirt that his mum had probably bought for him.

Oh, yeah.

Alex was going to have fun with this one.

George was maybe an inch or two shorter than Alex, meaning Alex had to angle his jaw just so for the first, almost aggressive bump of lips on lips. It wasn’t a kiss. Nor was the next, definitely aggressive nip to the bottom lip that Alex received, just to remind him, if he needed reminding, who was in control.

It wasn’t him.

He was fine with that.

George pressed his hands to Alex’s chest and walked him slowly back until his thighs bumped against the edge of the bed.

Then they kissed, and oh boy, it was worth waiting for.

George wrapped his hand around the back of Alex’s neck and brought their heads together, bumping noses (was that on purpose?), and his tongue was suddenly in Alex’s mouth, hot and slick and good; George was good at this, and Alex reached down to undo the buckle on George’s jeans.

They edged back onto the bed together, laughing softly and trying to maintain that lip-to-lip contact. Mostly failing.

George had gray eyes.

The light in the room was dim and romantic, like he’d asked for. His family stayed at the Scotsman fairly regularly, so his call asking for a suite last-minute wasn’t all that unusual. He’d never used this place for a hookup before—he wasn’t usually afraid to take them back to his place—and it had taken some scrambling on someone’s part to get the room ready in less than twenty minutes.

Eh. He’d pay them well for it.

The low lighting was good on George, much better than the random, flashing colored lights in the club, and he’d looked good under those too. His body was all angles and curves, cheekbones and jaw, bicep and ass, and Alex was prepared to bet he had cut hipbones too, the ones that made a delicious V arrowing down to his cock.

“Top or bottom?” George growled.

“Yes.”

“I don’t bottom.”

“Oh, I’m happy to, honey.”

For a moment it looked like George was struggling to keep a straight face, and then he buried his face in Alex’s shoulder and laughed.

“Good,” he mumbled, then started to lick and suck up and down Alex’s neck.

From there it was shirts off, and holy defined pecs, Batman and little button nipples and kicking off socks and shoes.

“Nice tattoo,” Alex said, skimming his fingertips over the dragon that crested over George’s shoulder, the beast snarling out from his chest.

“Thanks.”

Alex wasn’t expecting Mr. I Don’t Bottom to pay too much attention to his dick, so when George’s hand stole inside his Calvins and very carefully cupped the whole package, then squeezed, the noise he made was part surprise, part desperate arousal.

His toes curled, and he arched off the bed, asking for more with his body rather than words.

“Horny little fucker, aren’t you,” George said, squeezing again, then letting his fingers tuck under Alex’s balls and press farther back. He frowned and paused, two fingers hovering before going any further. “You’re alright with a bit of banter, yeah?”

Alex licked his bottom lip and felt a smile creeping over his face. “Yeah. I don’t mind.”

“Good.”

George leaned down and delicately took Alex’s nipple between his teeth, tugging gently as his fingers continued their slow dance around Alex’s hole.

“Oh God. Oh fuck. There’s lube in the nightstand.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“I told them to put it there.”

“Handy, that.”

Alex could hear the sarcasm but no malice as George leaned over and yanked open the drawer to find condoms, lube, tissues, wet wipes, and a “for her pleasure” cock ring, then dumped them all on the top of the nightstand.

By then, Alex couldn’t contain his giggles, and he pulled his boxer briefs the rest of the way off, throwing them onto the floor with the rest of his clothes. He palmed his cock, one arm tossed lazily up over his head, as George rifled farther back in the drawer.

“What are you looking for now?”

“I dunno. I’m intrigued. Poppers? A massive dildo? The door to Narnia?”

“That’s in the wardrobe.”

“There’s no poppers,” George decided, grabbing the lube and fumbling with the wrapper to get it undone.

“I don’t need them.”

“Eh.” George shrugged. “I don’t mind a hit every now and then.”

His eyes flicked to Alex, almost casually, and then he did an amusing double take.

“Hmm?” Alex asked.

“You’re really fucking fit.”

“Thank you. You’re not bad yourself.”

George snorted and returned his attention to the bottle of lube.

“Here,” Alex said, as he let go of his cock and reached out to take it from him. “Get a condom.” George made a face. “You’re gonna need a condom,” Alex added with a laugh.

“Alright, alright. Keep your knickers on.”

George still had his socks on. Clean, smart black ones, so Alex wasn’t going to tell him to take them off. He had big hands too, Alex noticed as George fumbled—again—with the condom wrapper, then rolled it down his cock.

His big, thick, veiny cock.

Hoo, mama.

“Here,” Alex said, reaching for George’s cock with his fingers loaded up with lube. He took his time smearing the slippery stuff over the latex, feeling the whole package start to warm, then throb under his fingers. George’s eyes flickered closed.

He wiped what was left over his hole, then surreptitiously cleaned his hand with the bedcover.

“You want—” George started, and Alex cut him off with a shake of his head.

“I’m good.” He spread his legs a little wider.

George shifted on the bed, then lay down on top of Alex, lining their bodies up perfectly. He nipped Alex’s jaw, then kissed him, letting his cock settle in the crease of Alex’s ass and humping slowly as their tongues slid together.

“You ready?” George asked as Alex gasped into his mouth.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

George leaned down and grabbed his dick, angling it so it was pressed just against Alex’s hole. The slippery lube made finding purchase difficult, and they both laughed breathlessly for a few moments until George got it right, finally, and the first inch or so of his dick popped inside.

“Oh fuck,” Alex gasped, and his whole body arched off the bed.

His hands were settled in that place where George’s shoulders met his neck, and he felt his entire body contract: fingers, toes, abs, spine, everything curling in toward George’s body. After a second, maybe more, George pushed the rest of the way in.

“Is that it?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

The sounds of his own heartbeat and breathing were loud in Alex’s ears as they moved together, shifting so his legs were pulled back, held in place by George’s elbows and hands planted on the bed.

He has really nice forearms, Alex thought, his mind finding the weirdest thing to concentrate on at the most inopportune moment.

George’s fucking was deep and slow. He pressed his forehead to Alex’s and wrapped his arm around the back of Alex’s neck, holding them close together for more slow, demanding kisses.

It was good. Really good. Really sexy, hot—the feel of a man inside him, the smell and taste of him, the way he grunted hard and kissed soft and knew how to angle up to grind against Alex’s prostate.

This man was good at sex, knew what he was doing with another person’s body. It was give and take, and George was giving better than Alex had had in a really long time. It wasn’t until he felt it—the really good—that he realized what he’d been missing.

George made a soft noise in the back of his throat and said, “Alex,” and Alex reached for his own cock, tugging on it in time with George’s thrusts.

“This okay?” George asked, his voice lusty and raw, his hips still rocking insistently into Alex’s body.

“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.”

George swept his tongue into Alex’s mouth again, and it was all so bone-meltingly amazing Alex was forced to slow himself down, to not rush toward his inevitable orgasm, because he didn’t want it to end just yet.

And they stayed like that, fucking unhurried and easy, kissing long and hard, their bodies in quiet, undulating movement together. Alex felt his hips start to ache with the stress of holding the position for so long, and George let go of his legs one at a time so Alex could stretch them all the way out.

“Do you need to me to stop?” George asked.

“Oh please, fuck no,” Alex said and bit down on George’s plump lower lip. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

George laughed. “Okay. I think I’m gonna come soon.”

“Yeah?”

He made another one of those soft noises, and Alex felt his belly zing in response. “Yeah. You need me to get you there?”

“You’re doing that just fine already.” George pressed his face to Alex’s neck again and kissed it. He was trying to hide another one of those smiles, but Alex could feel it anyway.

“Hard and fast,” he instructed breathlessly. “Just fuck me hard and fast, and I’ll be right there with you, I promise.”

“I can do that,” George said.

Alex closed his eyes and let himself be taken away. His body wasn’t his own, not for the next few minutes as his hand moved on his cock in time with George’s cock inside him. They exchanged kisses, loose and sloppy now, as George demanded Alex’s body and Alex gave it to him, prepared to give it all up in exchange for—

George let out a string of expletives and a low, rumbling growl, and Alex knew he had about ten seconds to get himself there before it would all be over.

It didn’t take ten seconds.

More like five.

His wrist was wet with come, and George was breathing hard, his exhalations damp on Alex’s shoulder.

“Holy shit.”

George laughed, a low chuckle. “Mm.”

“Pull out, baby.”

Baby? Where the hell had that come from?

George grumbled but did as he was told, his fingers gripping the base of the condom as he rolled off the bed and padded off to the bathroom.

Nice ass, Alex thought, stretching out on the bed and feeling the responding twitch in his own. That was one hell of a hookup fuck.

“Holy shit, have you seen this bathroom?” George asked. The toilet flushed, and he stuck his head out around the door. “It’s bigger than my whole fucking house.”

Alex smiled. “Pretty, huh?”

“Yeah. All for a room where you go to take a dump.”

“Classy,” Alex said, his voice catching on a yawn.

“Where’s me boxers?”

“Oh, fuck that,” Alex said. He slid off the bed and went to the bathroom himself to clean up. “Just stay.”

“Alex….”

“Look, I’m not about to get down on one knee. Or even ask for your number. But it’s nearly three in the morning. You live… where do you live?”

“Leith.”

“Oh fucking hell. Miles away. And I’m tired. And you’re pretty.”

When he turned off the bathroom light and pulled the door shut, George was under the covers.

“You piece of shit,” Alex said affectionately. “That’s my side of the bed.”

“No odds to me,” George said and shifted over.

He was naked under there, and Alex didn’t mind a bit. George threw back the duvet to let him in, and Alex reached over to turn off the lights.

George didn’t try to snuggle. Alex respected that, curled up on his side, facing away from George, and fell into a deeply contented sleep.