Two different authors – two great styles…

Larkspur by Anny Cook – click on the cover to read this a free book and while your there check out Anny's other books.

The excerpt...

Soaring over the far reaches of the Avalon Sea north of Hieney’s Hamlet, Rajah spied a dull glint in the rocky spires spearing up from the glittering waves. His heavy silver wings beat the air as he flew closer, curious about the strange flash. Then as he approached the spires, three pirate ships slipped from their hiding place, sailing into the open sea.

Rajah wheeled to the east in pursuit. Another flash of light in the rocks captured his attention. Reluctantly he turned away, allowing the ships to escape. As one of the dragon patrol, even if he was temporarily banished, it was imperative he investigate that odd light.

He approached the spires, his sharp eyes catching the furtive movements of a slight young woman awkwardly clambering up the wall of the tallest spire with two men in determined pursuit. The sun reflected from the swords slung over their backs as they picked their way upward. The woman was near the summit, but he judged that they would catch her before she could reach the dubious safety of the top. Swooping in close, he snatched her from the rock seconds before the man in the lead grasped her ankle.

www.annycook.com

And this M/M romance…Tricky by Clancy Nacht – click on the cover to buy...

The excerpt...

We were two steps into my professional bedroom when John slammed the door behind us. He flung me against the mirrored closet doors in the entry hall, forcing me to look at myself. My face was flattened against the glass, distorting my high cheekbones. My breath steamed the surface. I was flushed, wild-eyed, even a bit scared. I heard John tugging at his pants, the telltale zip and clang of metal. I reached for my own pants, pushing them off my hips. As I felt him against me again, I moaned. I couldn't help it. It was heaven to have him so close.

His smell. His boyish smell was now the expensive cologne of a man, but this close, the layers of scent could be distinguished. He still used the same soap, the same toothpaste. I hadn't been this close to him since that night we had almost completed the circle; that night where I could've had him and kept him instead of it all ending in tears. His movements were rougher than before but also more practiced. I heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and the smell of a flavored lubricant permeated the air. I wondered if fruity lubricant was what she preferred. I closed my eyes like they could shut out the thoughts. That was unnecessary, because I lost all sense of fear as he pushed into me. He didn't wait for me to relax, but made room for himself inside by steadily feeding me the blunt head of his cock. It wasn't polite, but it was good. Sex with John was different, more real. I could feel my body respond to him, open for him and welcome him. It still hurt; even after all those I'd been with, there was always that physical twinge of pain until we were both so turned on that pain and pleasure were hard to tell apart. But I wanted this to hurt. I needed to be hyper-aware of who was fucking me.

I'd played enough rape scenes to know that you don't turn for a kiss, but the urge to taste him overwhelmed my professionalism. Our lips met and he held me so tightly, I was sure he was going to break my ribs. I loved it. I loved being held so close, like he'd never, ever let go.

I'd never wanted him to let go. I wanted to go with him, to wherever his father would send him to be a straight boy. I would be there, sharing every minute of his life, because he had the other half of my heart and without him I was only half of a person. I couldn't bear being parted. I thought we both felt that way.

He'd had three kids with some woman he met at Jesus camp. I didn't even know her name or the children’s names. I'd gotten past the hope of being with him long ago, but now he was pushing inside me, pressing my chest against the closet door. I saw the steamy reflection of myself and his face darkening with lust. There was no doubt who this was, who was in me.

Tears broke free. Was this affecting him the same way? I turned to look; his eyes were closed like he was trying not to see his reflection. It turned my stomach. What was the point? Would fucking me help him on some level? It was killing me.

Killing me to fuck. Great. Now it's not only a job, but one that's crushing my soul. Grandpa's words echoed in my head. If you love what you do, you never work a day in your life. He left out the part about the possibility of being broken.

http://clancynacht.com/