POPPY’S PLEASURE by Stormy Glenn

POPPY’S PLEASURE

Assassin’s Pride 2

Poppy lives in hell and has for as long as he could remember. The only bright spot he has seen in years is another prisoner being held in the cell next to him. If he can save Marcus, Poppy knows that he will have done at least one good thing in his life. He just had to find Marcus's friends and let them know that they are being led into a trap…and then go back to hell.

Dean Stone is an assassin. He's cold, hard, and without remorse. He's also pretty damn sure that he has stepped into a crazy world. His friend, Gage, has mated with the cat king of a pride. His other friends are missing and the agency he works for is a complete mess. What's crazier than that?

When Dean goes to the place where he's supposed to pick Marcus up, he finds something else altogether. Poppy is sweet and innocent and about as sexy as he could possibly be. He is also scared out of his mind and clinging to Dean like a second skin. And Dean doesn't have the heart to deny the man, even when taking care of Poppy turns into a full-time job.

But when danger arrives on their doorstep, Dean's training as an assassin comes in handy, especially when Poppy is kidnapped by the same men that held him in the first place. And Dean has no remorse whatsoever about killing anyone that stands between him and the man he's falling for.

Note: This book was previously published with another publisher and has been extensively revised and expanded.

http://www.bookstrand.com/poppys-pleasure-glenn

Dean Stone chuckled. His sandy-blond hair, longer now, brushed against his cheeks as he shook his head. He leaned back against the wall behind him and he watched as his friend Gage argued with Noah, the man’s boyfriend, or partner, mate, whatever the little fur ball was to the former assassin. Noah Andrews was also the king of the cats or some such shit like that.

Dean was still trying to figure it all out.

What he did know was, despite the fact that Gage Tynan had grown from a man who was a couple of inches shorter than Dean to someone who stood a few inches taller than him and topped him by at least twenty pounds, it was Gage’s little five-foot-six mate that ruled his life. Noah had Gage firmly wrapped around his furry little finger. Apparently, the increased size was a side effect of mating with Noah, the cat king. Gage’s very human body grew to whatever size was needed for Gage to become Noah’s guardian.

The fact that Noah could shape-shift into a house cat was just an added bonus for cannon fodder. Dean was still reeling from learning that shape-shifters lived outside of Hollywood movies. And now, not only was he friends with the king of cats, he was living in the pride’s damn house.

I had to have been dropped on my head as a baby.

That was the only way to explain it.

“Gage.” Dean held up his hand to stop the arguing couple. His head was starting to ache from watching Gage and Noah go back and forth. Gage wanted to go with Dean to get Marcus. Noah wanted him to stay home where he would be safe. “I am perfectly capable of going to this meeting on my own. I’m a big boy, I promise. I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time. I can even go to the bathroom all by myself.”

Gage growled.

Dean smirked with amusement. The whole growling thing was not necessarily new. Gage always growled. Now he just did it with more flair. “Dude, seriously, sheathe the claws. I’m just going to pick up Marcus in town and bring him back here. It’s not like this is a mission or anything,” he said with a touch of an attitude in his voice. “If I stub my toe, I promise to call you right away.” Dean bristled a little bit that Gage seemed to have so little faith in him. He had been at the agency almost as long as Gage. He had been going out on missions for years. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how to be cautious.

Dean clenched his hands, hiding them by crossing his arms over his chest and tucking them under his arms as he pushed away from the wall. “I’m starting to think you don’t trust me, Gage.”

“Of course I trust you, Dean.” Gage pushed a frustrated hand through his short hair. “I just—” Gage’s lips twisted as he grimaced. “I don’t like the way this is going. We still haven’t heard from Steele, and Trent isn’t answering any of our phone calls. This smells of a setup to me.”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “You think Marcus set us up?”

“No, I think Marcus is being used as bait to set us up.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that theory. Except for a single phone call two weeks ago to arrange a time and place for pick up, they hadn’t heard from Marcus at all. And Gage was right. They still didn’t know where Steele was. He had simply disappeared.

Almost every single mission that Gage, Dean, Marcus, and Steele had been assigned to in the last few months had gone wrong somehow. Either the target was off or in the wrong place. The locations were questionable, and there was absolutely no backup. There’s no way in hell intel got screwed up that badly that many times. It was all starting to add up to someone in the agency setting them up.

Dean’s money was on Gregory Trent, the head of their black ops division in the Company. He was the man that handed out the assignments and gave them their information, even if he got it somewhere else. Trent was the one that decided if the information was good or not, and then passed it along to them. Trent was also the one that started acting strange just about the same time the missions started going bad.

Dean wasn’t a genius by any means, but even he could add one and one and come up with a good theory. Over the last few months, Trent had gotten weird. He received phone calls that he always took in private, had meetings with people behind closed doors, and went off for days at a time. Trent had never been like that in the past. He had always been a standup guy even if he was a tad standoffish.

“Would you be happier if I took Braden or Jonas with me?” In the weeks since he met the lion-shifters, he had grown to respect them as much as he did Gage—and that said a lot. Gage, Marcus, and Steele were pretty much the only people Dean trusted to guard his back. He used to trust Trent just as much, but that started to fade when Trent began keeping secrets and acting all mysterious-like.

Gage’s eyebrows shot up. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt for them to see how a professional does it.”

Gage chuckled and nodded even as he wrapped an arm around his much shorter mate and pulled Noah to his side. “I’d appreciate it, Dean. Until we get a chance to talk to Marcus and find out where Steele is, you’re the only one from the agency that I trust. I’d really feel a lot better if you took some backup.”

Dean rolled his eyes. It wasn’t a mission, but a simple retrieval—child’s play in his book. But he didn’t feel like arguing the point to death with Gage. The man could be just as stubborn, if not more so, than Dean.

“Consider it done.” Dean turned and started for the door when Noah’s hesitant voice stopped him. He paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder at the little runt.

“Be careful, okay?” Noah asked.

Dean grinned and winked at the smaller man, gaining a slight growl from Gage. God, it was too easy to screw with these two. “Sure thing, pussycat.”

ADULT EXCERPT

“Come on, Poppy. We’re going to head up to our room before Noah uses your innards to knit an afghan.” He swung Poppy up over his shoulder, saluted Gage and Noah, and carried the laughing little man out of the room.

Poppy laughed all of the way up the stairs and down the hallway to their bedroom. Dean just shrugged when people stopped to stared at them—well, Poppy specifically. There really was no way to explain Poppy’s condition without explaining his past and that was only for Poppy to tell. If he wanted people to know, he’d tell them.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the bedroom and walked in, shutting the door behind him. He walked over to the bed and swung Poppy off his shoulder, dropping him into the middle of the bed.

He pulled Poppy’s bathrobe off and tossed it into a chair then kicked his own shoes off. Dean stretched out on the bed beside Poppy. When Poppy finally stopped laughing, he turned to look at Dean. There was a glassy look in Poppy’s green eyes that said he was still high as a kite.

Dean chuckled and reached over to brush Poppy’s hair back from his face. “How are you feeling, Poppy?”

“I hurt, Master.”

“You hurt?” Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position and glanced down the length of Poppy’s body. He couldn’t see anything wrong with Poppy. He looked fine. Maybe he was getting a stomachache from all that sugar. “Where?”

Poppy’s face flushed as he grabbed his groin. “Here.”

Dean swallowed hard as every ounce of blood in his body flowed south. “Let me see.”

Poppy didn’t hesitate at all as he raised the oversized shirt he wore up to his chest and exposed the beautiful erection jutting out from his groin.

“Oh, hell.” Dean licked his lips. They had gone as dry as the Sahara Desert all of a sudden. His throat wasn’t doing much better. It felt so thick he could barely get air down into his lungs. “Would you like me to make it better, Poppy?”

He should be shot for asking but…

“Please, Master.”

Yeah, he was going to go to hell for this.

He just knew it.

Dean scooted up to the top of the bed and then gestured for Poppy to join him. When Poppy got to his side, Dean lifted the man up and over his chest. He kept his eyes locked on Poppy’s as he leaned forward and sucked the head of Poppy’s cock into his mouth.

“Master!” Poppy wailed.

When Poppy wiggled to get away, Dean tightened his grip on Poppy’s hips and held him in place. He sucked Poppy’s hard cock further into his mouth, carefully listening for any sounds that said Poppy didn’t want this.

Instead, deep moans filled his ears and Poppy pressed forward with his hips. Dean almost grinned, but that would have meant letting go of the cock in his mouth and he wasn’t about to do that. Instead, Dean grabbed the edges of Poppy’s shirt in his hand and lifted it up until Poppy pulled it over his head and tossed it away.

Now the man was totally naked in Dean’s arms. Well, on his chest, but it was essentially the same thing. Poppy was naked. Dean started sucking long and hard as he reached for the bottle of lube on the nightstand.

Behind Poppy’s back, he flipped the lid and poured some out on his fingers. He closed the lid with the other hand and set the lube bottle down on his chest. He pulled off of Poppy’s cock long enough to tell the man to grab the headboard, and then he sucked him right back down.

When Poppy grabbed the headboard, it changed the angle for both of them. Poppy’s cock now hung hard and long right over Dean’s face, making it easier to lick the sides and get to Poppy’s balls.

It also made it easier for Dean to reach Poppy’s ass. Dean kept his lips locked firmly around Poppy’s cock as he stroked his fingers lightly over the crack of Poppy’s ass. He knew the moment his fingers brushed against Poppy’s hole because the man suddenly stilled and a long keening noise filled the room.

Swallowing Poppy’s erection to the root, Dean pushed one finger into Poppy’s ass. It was only as his finger slid easily in that Dean remembered what Gage had told him. When he was aroused, his pheromones would tell Poppy’s body that he was about to be claimed by his mate.

Dean didn’t have to stretch him out.

Still, he wanted to be really, really sure. He would never do anything that would hurt Poppy, and fucking him with no lube would hurt like the dickens. He wiggled his finger for a moment and then pushed in another finger.

With his free hand, Dean reached up between their bodies and tugged on one of Poppy’s pert, brown-hued nipples. Poppy’s cries grew louder as he started humping Dean’s face. Dean stroked his hand all over Poppy’s chest and abdomen, flicking his fingernails over Poppy’s little buds.

At the same time, he pushed a third finger into Poppy’s tight ass, fucking him with all three digits. Using his tongue, Dean laved the tender depression beneath the swollen crown of Poppy’s cock then tongue-fucked the tiny slit, licking away the salty taste of Poppy’s essence.

 

Call Me Sir Too by Stormy Glenn

Dante knew Daniel was right for him the minute the gorgeous little man said his first curse word. He was everything Dante could ever want in a sub, sexy, spunky, and totally into the lifestyle Dante wanted with him. But some things are harder to get than others. When Dante gets called away on business he expects to be gone for a couple of weeks. He figures to claim Daniel when he comes home but two weeks quickly turn into six months.

When Dante finally returns, everything he’d been looking for in a mate is gone. Daniel’s been assaulted and beaten by a Dom out of control. His trust for anyone, including Dante, is gone. Dante could lose the man of his dreams forever

Determined to find the man he knows Daniel can be, Dante moves Daniel into his home and his life. But along with Daniel’s insecurities and lack of trust, Dante has to fight the Dom that assaulted Daniel in the first place and a host of other misunderstandings before he can prove to Daniel that what they have is worth fighting for.

Note: This book was previously published with another publisher and has been extensively revised and expanded.

http://www.bookstrand.com/call-me-sir-too-glenn 

The bouncer was new. He didn’t even blink when Dante walked past him and through the doors of Club Refectory. Inside the bar, however, nothing had changed. Everything looked the same as it had the last time Dante dropped by, over six months ago.

Mack still mixed drinks behind the bar. Couples crowded the dance floor, and the loud music made it hard to think. People still seemed to be having a grand old time.

Dante let a small smile slip over his lips as he made his way to the bar and sat one of the red vinyl stools. He waited until Mack stood close enough then called out an order for ginger ale on the rocks.

Mack started to make the drink when he suddenly froze, a glass of ice in one hand and a bottle of ginger ale in the other. He lifted his head and glanced over to look at Dante. His face paled slightly.

Dante frowned. He knew he hadn’t been into the club in awhile, but it hadn’t been so long that Mack had to look at him like he was a ghost.

“Mack?” Dante asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Geez, Dante, you can’t be in here.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have to leave, man, before Joey sees you.”

Dante watched as Mack dumped his drink in the sink and walked away. Once he reached the other end of the bar, Mack looked back. The stiff set of his shoulders matched the anger on his face.

What the hell? Why wouldn’t Joey want to see him? Dante had been out of the country for nearly six months. While he and Joey weren’t the best of friends, they were still friends. At least, Dante thought they were.

Confused and just a bit miffed, Dante turned away from the bar and walked to the side of the room where the stairs led up to Logan’s office. He was determined to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. Hopefully, Logan would have some answers.

At the top of the stairs, Dante paused, knocking on the door instead of barging in as he wanted to. The last time he’d visited Logan’s office, Joey and Logan put on quite the show for him. He didn’t want to walk in on another one unannounced.

“Come in,” Logan called out. Dante smiled and opened the door, eager to greet his friend after his six month absence. He’d missed Logan, and even Joey. It felt good to be home again.

“Hello, Logan.”

Logan’s head swung up. His face turned pasty white then a deep, burning red. Dante frowned. Why was everyone reacting like he’d kicked their dog or something? If the clenched fists were anything to go by, Logan looked ready to punch him out.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Logan snapped. He jumped to his feet and strode around his desk.

“I thought I came to see an old friend,” Dante replied. “Was I mistaken?”

“I think our friendship ended about the time you used Danny for an easy fuck then left him high and dry.”

“Daniel?” Logan asked. “What are you talking about? I never used Daniel.”

“Is that a fact? Then why in the hell haven’t you contacted him in six months, Dante?” Logan smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Too busy out sewing your wild oats?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been for the last six months?”

Dante stepped back. He looked away, unable to hold Logan’s intense stare. That was a question Dante couldn’t answer, not truthfully. He clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to relieve their sudden tension. “I had business overseas to deal with.”

“Business?” Logan snapped. “You had business to deal with? And you couldn’t pick up a fucking phone and call Danny just once? What? You didn’t have time in your busy schedule to send a postcard, an e-mail? Something to let Danny know you hadn’t fucked him and forgot him?”

Dante quickly turned to look at Logan. What was the big deal? Sure, he and Daniel slept together, but Dante hadn’t done anything to hurt the other man. In fact, he’d promised to keep him. Dante couldn’t help he’d been called away right after, and he was back now, to claim what was his. So why all the anger?

“What concern is it of yours?” Dante asked. “What happens between Daniel and me is none of your concern.”

Logan snorted. “That’s what you think. As you’ve shown me what an upstanding guy you are, I’m asking you to stay away from Danny.”

“Stay away from Daniel?” Dante asked. “I came back for Daniel. Why in the bloody hell would I want to stay away from him?”

“Because I’m asking you to stay away from him.” Logan’s face tightened. He suddenly turned and walked back over to his chair and sat down. He looked sullen. “Danny’s been through enough because of you. If you care anything for him, then do as I ask.”

ADULT EXCERPT

“I like ‘sir.’” He stepped around to stand in front of Daniel and rubbed his thumb along the line of Daniel’s plush lips. “I like the way it sounds on your lips, but I imagine master would sound even better.”

“Master.”

The softly whispered word went straight to Dante’s cock like a gentle caress. Dante barely suppressed a groan. It wouldn’t do for Daniel to know the power he held at this point. He’d know soon enough.

“Stand here at attention, Daniel,” Dante ordered then made his way over to investigate the contents of the dresser. The first drawer held lube and condoms. Dante grabbed both. The next drawer held many other more interesting items.

Dante chose a black silk mask and a small butt plug. He dismissed the paddle for now. He wanted their first time together to be more intimate, flesh against flesh. His hand ached to feel the rosy red curve of Daniel’s ass without anything between them.

Dante walked back over and sat on the edge of the bed. He laid his prizes down next to him and gestured for Daniel to lie across his lap. “We need to address your disrespectful behavior before we can continue.”

Daniel fairly vibrated as he quickly moved to lie across Dante’s lap. Eager boy! Dante held his smile until Daniel faced away from him. He’d have to make spankings a regular part of Daniel’s routine. Obviously, Dante couldn’t use them for punishment. Daniel liked it too much.

“Count out loud for me,” Dante said as he brought his hand down across Daniel’s rounded ass. “And don’t you dare come until I give you permission.”

“One!”

“One what, Daniel?” Dante asked, pausing with his hand in the air.

“One, master.”

“Very good, Daniel.”

Smack.

“Two, master!”

Daniel wiggled just a bit when Dante’s hand came down again. By the fourth swat, his ass started looking a tad bit rosy. Dante massaged the red globes for a moment, enjoying the heat beneath his hand, before delivering another stinging swat.

“Five, master!”

Smack.

“Six, master!”

Smack.

“Seven, master!” Daniel’s voice trembled.

Dante hardened his heart and raised his hand to deliver another blow. He wasn’t using that much force—he didn’t want to hurt Daniel or bruise him—but he did want Daniel to remember his first spanking.

Smack.

“Eight, master!”

Smack.

“Nine, master!”

“Last one, Daniel.” Dante stroked his hand over Daniel’s ass again before delivering the last, well-placed swat to the rosy red cheeks.

“Ten, master!”

Dante massaged Daniel’s glowing ass, his fingers digging deep into the reddened skin until Daniel squirmed. He could feel Daniel’s cock press against his legs. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes, please, master.”

“If I let you come now, can you get it up again? I want your cock hard while I’m in your ass.”

Daniel shuddered. “Yes, master.”

Dante squeezed some lube out onto his fingers then slid them between Daniel’s ass cheeks, stopping at the small circle of puckered flesh. He pressed his finger against the tight entrance, pushing in slowly.

“Then you may come, Daniel.”

Daniel trembled, rhythmically humping his hips.

Dante added a second finger, and Daniel groaned.

“Come for me, Daniel.”

Daniel’s entire body stiffened. He cried out. Dante felt warm cum soak into his slacks, reminding him he was still dressed while the man over his lap was not. He’d have to fix that.

“I do believe you’ve messed my pants, Daniel. I may have to punish you for that.” While Dante knew he’d ordered Daniel to come, he wanted to know what the man’s reaction would be to more punishment. Would he accept it or balk?

“Okay.”

Dante grinned as he rubbed his hand over Daniel’s rosy red ass. Daniel sounded relaxed, melty. He was in a peaceful space. As much as Dante wanted him to enjoy that, he needed relief himself. He ached.

“Stand up,” he said as he patted Daniel’s ass. “I want you to undress me.”

Daniel jumped to his feet, waiting for Dante to stand. Dante smirked and stood. He watched Daniel unbutton his shirt and drape it carefully over the chair. His hands shook as he unbuttoned Dante’s slacks.

Daniel knelt on the floor and pulled Dante’s shoes and socks off, set them aside, then slowly—painfully slowly—he lowered Dante’s zipper.

“Finish it, Daniel.” Dante clenched his fists to keep from reaching out.

Daniel gripped the edges of Dante’s pants and silk boxers and pulled them down. Dante smirked when Daniel’s gaze zeroed in on the hard shaft jutting out from Dante’s groin. Daniel’s eyes grew wide, and he uttered a soft gasp.

“Can I—can I—” Daniel reached out, pausing a mere inch from Dante’s cock.

“You may.” Dante grinned. He knew what Daniel wanted, but he wasn’t expecting it to feel so good when the man’s warm, wet lips wrapped around his cock. Dante groaned, clutching Daniel’s hair as he experienced the best blow job he ever remembered receiving. This would have to become a regular part of his routine.

Between the suction power of Daniel’s mouth and the way his tongue stroked across Dante’s flesh, Dante was quickly close to losing it. Daniel was a marvel.

“On the bed, Daniel,” he ordered through clenched teeth. He needed to get his cock in Daniel’s ass before he lost what little bit of control he had left. When was the last time he’d felt this hot, this needy?

Daniel got on the bed and knelt on all fours, lifting his rosy ass. Dante’s handprints covered the soft globes, and the sight fueled the desire racing through his body at a breakneck speed.

Thankful Daniel had his head buried in his arms so he couldn’t see his shaking hands, Dante poured more lube on his fingers. It just wouldn’t do for a sub to find out his Dom was losing control.

Daniel groaned. Dante bit his lip. He thrust his fingers into the ass pushing back at him, stretching Daniel’s hole. Dante used his teeth to tear open the condom. He pulled his fingers from Daniel and rolled the condom down his aching cock, adding just a little more lube and spreading it over his shaft.

“Are you ready for me, poppet?”

 

WAITING TO BREATHE by Stormy Glenn

WAITING TO BREATHE 

Special  Operations 5 

Cecil Montgomery took one look at Manuel Lopez and knew he wanted the handsome Marine in his life. Convincing Manny of that might be harder than anything Cecil has ever faced before, especially when fate seems determined to keep them apart.

After one night of passion in the arms of Cecil Montgomery, Manuel Lopez runs in the other direction. Besides the fact that Cecil is so gorgeous he makes Manny ache, the man is rich, and Manny has a deep hatred of anyone with money, a hatred that goes back nearly twenty years.  

When confronted by the man that started it all, Manny realizes he might have made a mistake, but by then, it’s too late. Cecil wants nothing to do with him. Worse yet, Cecil’s life is in danger and Manny and his fellow Marines might not even be able to save him.   

http://www.stormyglenn.com/waitingtobreathe.htm

STORY EXCERPT

Cecil absently rubbed the bridge of his nose with his hand, the heavy thudding between his eyes growing worse. The worry and anxiety building inside of him was causing his head to throb.

“Headache?”

Cecil dropped his hand to his lap as he nodded. Mind numbing migraine was more like it but he wasn’t about to admit that to Creed. The man took his health and safety very seriously.

“You’ve been getting a lot of those lately.”

“I probably need a few days off.” He worked hard, long hours. He might have inherited money from his parents when they passed away but the bulk of his money came from working that money to the best of its advantage. That took time and planning and burning the midnight oil.

“Maybe you should see if Manny wants to go to the lake house with you after he gets out of the hospital,” Creed said. “I’m sure the two of you could find something to occupy your time.”

Cecil grinned at the amusement he could hear in Creed’s voice. He really couldn’t think of anything he would like more than to spend a quiet weekend with Manny at his lake house, just the two of them. They could spend the entire weekend naked. Cecil would insist on it. 

When the limousine pulled up in the entrance of County General fifteen minutes later, Cecil was a little white knuckled from the wild ride but he was there in one piece and that was all that mattered at the moment.

He scooted toward the door thankful when it opened before he got there. He quickly exited the vehicle, in no way surprised when Creed climbed out after him and started scanning the area for danger. Creed might not follow him into the office every single second of the day but the man took Cecil’s security in strange places very seriously. Cecil knew Creed would follow him as he hurried in through the emergency room doors. In public, the man was never more than a few feet away from him.

Now, he just needed to find Manny.

“Are you out of your mind?” an all too familiar voice shouted, giving Cecil a direction to head in.

His throat felt too thick to call out or to even ask a nurse where to find the owner of that deep, slightly accented voice, the same voice that Cecil dreamed of almost every night since he had laid eyes on Manuel Lopez.

Cecil didn’t know if it was the desperation in his eyes, the fancy suit he wore, or the large man following behind him, guarding him, but no one stopped him as he made his way through the emergency room corridor, heading toward the man that held Cecil’s soul. He wouldn’t be able to breathe again until he laid eyes on Manny himself and knew that the man was alive.

He knew Manny was hesitant about their relationship, even standoffish on occasion. Cecil didn’t hold it against the man. Once Manny got used to the idea of them being together, he would fall into line easily enough. Manny was just too used to being all alone.

Cecil planned to change that.

There was something about the tall Hispanic man that had caught Cecil’s interest from the very first glance. Cecil had been unable to think of anyone else since. He had even gone as far as getting rid of his little black book.

One night spent in Manny’s arms had proven to Cecil that he didn’t need anyone but the sexy marine. Convincing Manny of that was proving to be just a tad bit harder. The morning after they had practically fucked each other unconscious, Manny started running. Three weeks had gone by since that night and Manny was still running. Cecil hadn’t gotten to where he was in the business world without being stubborn. He refused to give up when he wanted something, and he wanted Manuel Lopez, and he wasn’t going to stop until he had him.

Cecil’s heart beat a little faster when he saw Sheriff John Henry Harrison standing in the doorway of one of the emergency room cubicles. If John Henry was standing in the doorway that meant his partner Charles Pennington III was inside the room.

And that meant Manny was inside as well.

John Henry turned just as Cecil reached him. He stepped forward, holding out his hands as if to stop Cecil, but no one was going to stop him from getting to Manny. Cecil continued to walk forward then quickly zipped around John Henry.

He paused in the doorway, finally able to breathe again for the first time since he received the phone call from Charlie that Manny had been injured. Manny was alive. Manny was breathing.

Manny was pissed.

Cecil frowned as he glanced from Manny’s scowling face to Charlie and then back again. He wasn’t real sure what was going on but it seemed to him that this was the last place Manny and Charlie should be arguing. Besides the fact that it was a hospital, Manny was obviously injured. There was a white bandage around one of his arms.

Cecil opened his mouth to say something, and hopefully defuse the situation, when the words Manny was speaking filtered through the worry that had been clouding Cecil’s brain since he had received a phone call from Charlie over an hour ago.

“I can’t believe you called him,” Manny snapped, his dark cocoa brown eyes blazing with fury. “I went on that stupid mission to get away from Cecil.”

Cecil stood utterly frozen in the doorway, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Only by sheer force of will did he continue to stay standing when everything inside of him was crumbling around him.

“You left on a mission to get away from me?” Cecil’s words were whispered but loud enough to be heard by the two men in the room. Manny’s face drained of color as he turned to look at Cecil.

“Shit.” Charlie rushed over and grabbed Cecil’s arm as if Cecil was about to collapse and Charlie was trying to keep him standing.

Cecil shook Charlie off and stepped into the room. “Answer me, Manny. Did you go on that mission to get away from me?” Cecil swallowed. “And I want the truth.”

Manny sighed as his shoulders slumped. The cold, congested expression that settled on Manny’s face as he glanced away gave Cecil his answer even before the man opened his mouth. Cecil’s heart stuttered for one last bit of life before shattering into a million painful pieces.

“I see.” Cecil cleared his throat and tried to gather the remains of his tattered pride around himself like a shield. He stiffened his back and squared his shoulders then raised his eyes to meet Manny’s. He had never shied away from anything in his life. He wasn’t going to start now. “My apologies, Mr. Lopez. I will not bother you again.”

http://www.stormyglenn.com/waitingtobreathe.htm

CRASH PAD by Whitley Gray

Blurb

Physician Remy Marshall has two loves: Emergency Medicine and running. Work doesn’t leave much time to meet guys, and most seem more interested in his bank account than him. With a week off to train for a marathon, Remy plans to make the most of his precious vacation. The last thing he needs is a distraction.

Jamie Sutton is new to the area. He hopes to make a fresh start after leaving an abusive relationship with an orthopedic surgeon. He’s got a new job as a massage therapist and wants to meet some nice guys. Against his better judgment, Jamie decides the best way to meet a cute rollerblader he’s seen in the park is on wheels.

With attention on his watch and not where he’s going, Remy crashes into Jamie and fractures the first-time rollerblader’s ankle. Jamie has no one to help him after the injury; Remy proposes Jamie stay with him. Jamie is reluctant, but it’s a better option than staying with the odd guy in the neighboring motel room. As the two get acquainted, Jamie’s past comes calling. Remy discovers the prize he really wants isn’t a medal in a marathon, but the man right in front of him.

 

BUY: Loose Id

 

Excerpt

What the hell had he been thinking?

Jamie tottered along on the rollerblades, arms windmilling, wobbling like a man on a three-day drinking spree. A beautiful morning: sky a serene blue, sunlight dappling the lawns with green and gold, the fresh scent of newly mowed grass. All the things he loved about the park on his daily forays. Now all his attention was focused on surviving this excursion into bad judgment.

The hot-as-Hades helmet and safety gear looked ridiculous.

Cute Rollerblade Guy didn’t wear all this crap. On the other hand, Cute Rollerblade Guy could skate. That coppery ponytail and beard… Mmm, mmm. Too bad the guy wasn’t a runner like Jamie. It would have been easier to meet him—safer, for sure. A shirtless runner, in shorts. Yeah…

A girl yelled, “Look out, Mister,” and whizzed by on his right.

Jamie stuttered on his skates and then got his equilibrium.

The broad path stretched before him like a concrete snake, a thousand times as long and just as dangerous. Kids half his size zoomed past on their wheels, perfect balance, full of confidence and laughter. He wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. God, he felt like an inept giant. Might as well be ten and at the roller rink with his sister. Why did adults think this was fun? And why did he feel the need to risk his neck at age twenty-eight?

Because you want to meet Cute Rollerblade Guy.

He coasted forward a few feet—too fast, too fast—and grabbed on to a light pole. Yeah, this would impress the man. Two miles an hour, gyrating like a weathervane in a wind storm. Can anyone say idiot? There had to be a better way.

His truck was at least half a mile away in the east lot. Okay, he had a choice: take off the blades and walk in his stocking feet to the parking area or suck it up and blade there. Wouldn’t take that long, just a few minutes. Or hours. Or days. He blew out a breath. Cute Rollerblade Guy hadn’t showed yet. Maybe he’d skate past before Jamie either reached the parking lot or sustained a grievous injury. A glance to the right, and he cautiously re-entered the foot, bike, and blade traffic.

* * * *

Two miles to go.

Remy’s running shoes slapped on the asphalt path through the park. As he passed the mile marker, he glanced at his watch. Seven minutes for the last mile. To be competitive in next month’s marathon, he’d need to get it down to six and a half. He hit the Reset button and picked up the pace. A little crowded on the path, but otherwise a perfect day to add a couple of miles onto his usual six. They’d had snow last year at this time. Old Man Winter had blessed them with one last blizzard on Memorial Day before going into hibernation.

This afternoon, people packed the recreation areas around the lake. Screeches and laughter came from the playground. The fragrance of grilled steak wafted over from the picnic area, and his stomach growled. Remy shook out his hands. On pace for six and a half minutes. Good.

By the time he got home, he’d need to rush through his shower to get ready for tonight. The guy Brett planned to introduce him to better be worth the trouble. A double date/blind date for dinner wasn’t Remy’s idea of a good time. Of course, alone at home wasn’t any better. If the guy turned out to be a dud, Remy could claim a headache and leave early. As he turned the corner, the sun flashed in his eyes. He ducked his head, squinted at his watch, and kept running.

Thwack.

Remy landed on his back in the grass; the impact knocked the wind out of him. For a moment, he stared up at the sky. What’d he hit? His side of the path had been clear a second ago, so where had the roadblock come from? A hand rested on his groin. A strange hand. A man’s hand.

What the hell? Remy scrambled backward.

Lying prone on the turf next to him, in a tangle of arms, legs, and rollerblades, was a helmeted man. Remy scowled. One of those damn skater boys, always clogging the path and expecting everyone to get out of their way. God, they were a hazard.

Remy’s face heated. Except his time, he’d been the hazard. The rollerblader groaned. The sound of hurt. Remy’s medical training kicked in, and he scrambled to his knees and bent over the man.

“Hey. You okay?”

“My…ankle.” Lips pulled back in a grimace, revealing enough teeth to suggest agony. The man’s helmet angled over both eyes as he tugged at the buckle. “Stupid thing.”

“Here.” Remy got the chinstrap unfastened. “Does your neck hurt?”

“No.” The skater took a deep breath and rolled to his back. “Sheezus.”

Remy pushed the headgear up far enough to reveal the skater’s eyes, but they remained shut. The brain bucket gave good protection, but a concussion wasn’t out of the question. “Can you open your eyes?”

Golden lashes lifted to reveal eyes the blue of a first-place ribbon. The guy reached up and yanked the helmet off, and for a moment Remy couldn’t move. The injured man had blond curls, plastered down into hat hair. A straight nose and full lips. Gorgeous. Wow. Just…wow.

“Argh,” moaned Gorgeous.

Nice doctor you are, ogling the injured patient. Shoving the improper thoughts away, Remy got back to work with his assessment. “Anything else hurt?”

“Knee,” the man muttered, lids closing over the world’s most gorgeous eyes. “Frickin’ ankle inside the skate.”

Fracture? With the skates, Remy couldn’t see a thing. Removing them would help, but the boot would keep a fracture splinted until they could get X-rays. The guy could move all four extremities. Other than a scrape on the left shin, everything seemed to be in working order. Remy pushed on the man’s hipbones, checking for pelvic fracture.

The man grabbed Remy’s wrists. “You should buy me dinner first, don’t you think?”

Remy winced. Nice move, dummy. This isn’t the ER. The sun had apparently addled his wits. “Sorry. What’s your name?”

“Jamie.” He bent his knee and another grimace twisted his features. “Hurts.”

“I’m Remy Marshall.” He gripped Jamie’s long-fingered hand. “Well, Jamie, I think an ER visit is in your future.”

A woman crouched beside Remy. “Does he need an ambulance?”

“No ambulance.” Jamie’s tone was a mix of pain and irritation.

Remy glanced at the woman. “It could be a fracture. My car’s in the west lot. If we can get him there, I’ll take him.”

Jamie pushed him away. “I don’t know you.”

Remy sighed, pulled his hospital ID card out of his wallet, and held it over Jamie’s face, giving him a few seconds to check it out. “I’m a doctor.”



THIS COULDN’T BE happening.

It just didn’t get more humiliating than this. In the park, on a cloudless day, being carried to a stranger’s car—no, to Dr. Marshall’s car—by the doctor and a female Good Samaritan. And he still had on the damn rollerblades because the MD suspected a fracture. Jamie had to admit, the intense throbbing in his left ankle tended to make him agree. At least going by private car was cheaper than an ambulance. Another group of kids, all giving him unabashed stares. Jamie closed his eyes. Nightmare.

“Almost there, Jamie.” Dr. Marshall spoke next to Jamie’s ear. At least he was cute. Jamie opened his eyes.

Oh no. Cupid, thy name is cruelty. Wending toward them, body moving sinuously in time with the music on his MP3 player, was the object of Jamie’s worship from afar: Cute Rollerblade Guy, fiery ponytail gleaming in the sun.

Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Skate right on by—

Cutie halted next to Dr. Marshall. “Hey. Need some help?”

Jamie’s rescue team paused, and he tried to sit up straighter. Hanging between two people, parked on the seat formed by their forearms—dignity really wasn’t possible. He smiled through clenched teeth.

“We got it,” said the woman. Her tone dared the guy to challenge her capability to haul injured men through the park.

“Big oops, huh?” Cutie pointed at Jamie’s scraped leg and throbbing ankle. “Looks bad.”

“Rollerblading injury,” Dr. Marshall snapped. No mistaking the disapproval in those words.

“Did you fall?” Cutie leaned forward, hands on knees. Tawny eyes met Jamie’s.

The man had dreamy peepers. “N-no, more of a collision.”

“You ran into someone?”

“Sh—sheesh, no. Someone ran into me.”

Dr. Marshall cleared his throat and looked away. “We’ve got to get going, get him to the ER for X-rays.”

The rescuers bounced Jamie up, resettling him in the two-person carry, and resumed their shuffling progress toward the parking lot.

Cutie tagged along, rolling next to the rescue team. “Hope you’ll be okay.”

Jamie tried, but an authentic grin wasn’t possible. “Sure.”

Flashing another stunning smile, Cutie executed a one-eighty and bladed off. Jamie attempted to enjoy the view of Cutie’s spandex-clad ass, but pain got in the way. He closed his eyes. Well, now he’d met Cute Rollerblade Guy. Only had to sacrifice an ankle to do it.

Mission accomplished.  

Whitley Gray -- Official Author Website

 

Patchwork Heaven by Jaime Samms

Description:

Singer Coby Kennedy and his drummer twin, Bruce, have a band called Patchwork Heaven. They have been rising steadily up the country music charts, but unfortunately, that rise has attracted unwanted attention. Faced with anonymous letters, sinister gifts, and the wanton destruction of their personal space, they hire The Detail, a specialized security firm. Coby never anticipated Gregor, The Detail's owner and his personal guard, would be quite so intriguing. 

As the stalker gets closer and more violent and questions pile up, Gregor fears his past might get in the way of him finding who is threatening his client when he becomes suspect number one. Even though Coby is convinced Gregor is not behind the threat, Gregor is not sure he's the right man to keep Coby safe, either from the stalker, or from his own interest in the singer.

 

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=5473

Ecerpt:

 “Thought you weren’t going to get your rocks off with your boss,” Coby murmured as he leaned back and rested his head on Gregor’s shoulder. It was nice to have someone he could do that with. Most guys were inches shorter than he. Gregor was thin, lanky, but as tall as Coby. He liked the feel of that.

“Three things,” Gregor replied, dropping a kiss on the side of Coby’s neck. “First, I’m off duty, so you’re not my boss.”

“Okay.” Coby was willing to agree to that slight stretching of the definition.

“Second, I admit, more than a couple of my own guys are breathing a sigh of relief right now, watching this. Apparently, I’ve been a little… tense lately.”

“Really?” Coby resisted the urge to glance around the room at the cameras he knew were there. It would hardly be the first time he had an audience for a couple of kisses. Sometimes, you compromised privacy for security in his line of work. Closed-circuit cameras in the public portions of his home were a necessary precaution. Especially now. The private areas, however, were nonnegotiable and his staff knew it.

“What’s the third thing?” he asked, tipping his head away to give Gregor more access to bare skin. He reached back to find purchase for his questing hands on Gregor’s legs behind him.

“Third?” Gregor licked a trail up the side of Coby’s neck to his earlobe, kissed it, then nipped it. Hard, and held on.

Coby barely resisted the instinct to pull away despite the pain and surprise. He went very still, and a tingle traveled down his body.

Gregor released his earlobe to whisper. “Third, this isn’t about getting my rocks off at all.”

Coby swallowed. “It isn’t?”

“Put your hands on the counter, Coby.”

Heart speeding up, brows drawing down, Coby slowly did as he’d been instructed. The splint clicked lightly against the countertop in the quiet room. He wasn’t entirely sure why he obeyed. “What is it about?” Coby asked. Heat prickled across his skin under his clothing.

“Maybe this isn’t the place to find out,” Gregor said as he stepped back.

Coby remained very still. Chill replaced the heat and he hesitated, rethinking the motion that would have turned him to face Gregor. He remained where he was, not even swiveling his head to see the other man, and waited, wondering what was stopping him moving.

“Upstairs?” Gregor asked.

Was it an invitation? Or was he asking permission?

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me?” Coby asked, confusion undermining the earlier relief.

“Needing it and wanting it sometimes aren’t the same thing,” Gregor said. “You need it.” Gregor’s breath was loud in the stillness that asked for permission in place of his words.

Gregor traced a path down Coby’s spine, and he held back a shiver. Barely.

“It can be a difficult thing to accept that you also want it,” Gregor went on. “So I am asking.”

“I’ve never… done it before,” Coby said. “If by ‘it’ you mean….” How to word it?

“Submitted?”

Coby swallowed. Incongruously, in that moment, he thought of Bruce. He’d never submitted in his life. He was up against Bruce. Always. Submission meant letting his twin’s bolder temperament swamp him. And if some days he wished he could let that happen, the greater part of him knew he didn’t want to be the lesser brother. His strength came from the constant battle not to let Bruce take over their lives. They vied and bantered and teased, and Coby thrived. But it was tiring. He was so tired. Now here was Gregor, offering a sort of surcease if he dared take it.

“I don’t know,” he said. His sweating palms slipped against the countertop. Tell me what to do! He closed his eyes.

Bruce. He was there, and then he wasn’t. A spray of red, his feet flying, and gone.

“Fuck!” He snapped his eyes open again, and nothing he did could stop the way his arms shook with tension or the way his good fingers gripped the counter edge. His breath hitched. Nothing he did opened his lungs enough to pull in sufficient air.

“Upstairs,” Gregor said. Calm radiated off him as he took Coby’s arm and placed a hand on the small of his back. “Come on.”

Coby allowed himself to be led. He followed the direction because the numb, frightened part of his brain kept eclipsing the rest. He had to control it, fiercely hold on to the immediacy of every moment to keep that vision at bay.

Once they were inside the private sanctum of Coby’s bedroom, Gregor eased his hand away and stepped back to look around. The warm woods and plush carpet seemed to meet with his approval, if his nod was anything to go by. He gaze fell on the bed and he smiled.

“Bruce has a quilt like that in the trailer.”

Coby nodded. “Mom made them for us. Long time ago.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Coby gazed at it himself and felt a bit of his tension ease.

“Okay.” Gregor’s hand was back, palm firm against Coby’s lower spine. “Sit. On the bed.”

Coby did. He also removed his shoes, socks, and shirt at Gregor’s command, as Gregor circled the room drawing curtains closed, checking the bathroom and walk-in closet, and flicking on a few small lamps.

The room was warm. The clammy sweat covering Coby’s chest and back made that fact less noticeable, and he trembled, every so often losing control of the spasms that shook him and sent slivers of pain radiating out from his bruises and stitches.

He kept careful track of the other man as Gregor knelt at his side and traced light fingers over his bandages.

“Hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“Not bleeding, though,” he confirmed with a quick peek behind them. Gently, he plastered the peeled tape back in place. He pulled in a deep breath as he considered. “Okay.” He placed both hands on Coby’s knees and looked up at him. “I know you trust me with your life, or you wouldn’t have hired me.”

Coby nodded.

“Like I said, we’re not going to have sex.”

“Oh.” Coby couldn’t decide if that was disappointing or a relief.

“You’re not up to it until that’s more healed, for one thing, and you’re freaked the hell out. I know how to help with that, but you have to trust me.”

“We just established that I do.”

Gregor nodded. “Really trust me, because this might actually be scary.” He squeezed one of Coby’s knees. “And you have… some quirks, I noticed. About touching. And tidiness.”

Coby bit his lower lip. “I guess.”

“So I’ll be touching you, and I need to know that’s okay. I need you to know it’s okay.”

Coby nodded. “It’s you. The touching thing is more with strangers.”

“Okay. Good to know.”

They were quiet for a few minutes.

“The tidy thing doesn’t really come into play here, does it?” Coby asked, and congratulated himself when he didn’t even glance at the shoes and socks Gregor had left strewn on the floor next to the bed.

“Probably not, but if there’s anything else I should know about, you need to tell me.”

Coby shook his head. “No. Well. The confined-spaces thing, I guess. Sometimes. And….” He shivered. “I thought I was over it, but the dark, where I can’t see if there’s anyone around.” He did glance around the room then, noting there were none of the usual opaque corners. Lamps were lit to reveal everything, muted, but enough so no inky shadows covered the recesses by the closet and window seats. “But you already figured that one out,” he said, bringing his attention back to Gregor.

Gregor smiled. “I told you. I pay attention.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gregor pulled in a deep breath and held Coby’s attention. “Just so we’re clear before we start, the enclosed spaces might be a problem. The dark, definitely. If they’re hard limits, you have to say so now.”

“Hard limits?”

“Things you absolutely can’t handle. Can’t do.”

Coby stared at him a long time. “What are you going to do?”

“Ultimately, help you relax.”

“By pushing me into situations that make me tense.” He frowned.

“Not if it’s going to make you so tense you can’t do them. But maybe we can keep this discomfort in the dark from becoming another thing for you.”

“You can do that?”

“We can. If you trust me.”

Coby had to swallow a few times to keep the nerves from clogging his throat, but finally, he nodded. “Okay. But what do I do if it’s too much?”

Gregor smiled softly. “Tell me you want Bruce, and everything stops. Promise.”

“That simple.”

“Coby.” Gregor touched Coby’s cheek. “This is about you. I think I can help. I’d like to try, and if it works, it’ll be good. If it doesn’t, we find another way.”

“Normally, people who find me attractive just want to fuck me. They want my money. Or something….” Gregor was petting his cheek. Okay, that was distracting and sweet and hot all at once. Coby lost his train of thought somewhere in the caress and the depths of Gregor’s gaze.

“If you want me out the door, I’m gone,” he promised.

Coby shook spasmodically. Uncontrolled. “No. Stay.”

“Okay. Then yes or no?”

Coby nodded.

“Okay then, close your eyes,” Gregor instructed, standing before him. The tie he’d been wearing dangled from his hand, and he’d opened the top few buttons of his shirt. Letting his gaze travel down from those elegant fingers, past his flat stomach and narrow hips, along muscled—if lean—legs, right to his toes, Coby had to appreciate the vision. Even his feet, Coby noticed, were strangely beautiful, narrow and long-toed.

Coby logged that fact, along with the view of long legs in tailored pants, tailored shirt over broad chest, narrow chin, pursed, pretty lips, and finally, deep, liquid eyes, the brown nearly black in the dim light. Coby fixed his gaze on Gregor’s gorgeous eyes. He didn’t want to be deprived of the sight, he convinced himself. It wasn’t because he was afraid of what might flash through his brain if he voluntarily let the darkness close around him.

“Coby.”

“No.”

Gregor’s gaze held reassurance. His smile held something harder-edged. “I’ll do it for you if I must.”

Coby frowned. It didn’t even occur to him to move until the tie was actually across his face, and then it was too late.

Gregor was pressed right against him. His head, held tight to Gregor’s chest, was beyond his control to move, and the tie was fastened in place all in less time than it took Coby to process what had happened.

 Jaime Samms