by Jon Keys
“Hey, shit-for-brains, you look a lot better than the last time I saw you,” Dustin said.
“Yeah, fucker-puss, you too. I hear you lost by a few dollars, but you rode Diablo. It was worth it to give up the sponge baths from cute nurses to see you ride the bastard.”
Dustin shrugged. “Yeah, but I’ve already got a shitload of sponsors, so next year I’ll have a better shot at it.”
“Yeah, whatever. Next year I’ll beat your ass like a drum.”
“Whatever, shit face.” Dustin leaned down and grabbed Todd in a hug. “I’m glad you’re out of the hospital.”
Todd returned the squeeze with equal ferocity. Then he grinned and pushed Dustin back. “Hey, what the hell! I ain’t one of your lover boys.” Shane walked into the hotel room, and Todd’s smirk was reborn. “Speak of the devil.”
Dustin glanced over his shoulder and beamed. When Shane got closer, they kissed.
“Eww, get a room!” Todd laughed. “Speaking of rooms, I hear you got rode hard and put up wet last night.”
Dustin raised an eyebrow. “What are you talkin’ about, asshole?”
“I hear you’re a screamer.”
Shane’s face flushed red. But Dustin shrugged. “If you ever make love that’s as good as last night was, you’ll scream too.”
Epilogue
Nine Months Later
Shane walked slowly back and forth in the nursery, rocking the baby in his arms. He beamed down at his nephew’s sleeping face. “Yeah, kid, you’re awfully cute. I’m your Uncle Shane. You’re so worth the crazy drive across all those states to be here when you were born.” Shane looked at Sam with tears pooling in his eyes. “He’s so perfect. Blond hair and blue eyes. Tiny little fingers and toes.”
“Yeah, they come with all the parts. The doc said the hair and eyes could get darker, but since you have blue eyes and Angie has blue eyes—well, chances are good he’ll keep them.”
“He looks just like you, little brother. You’re going to be a great dad.”
“Yeah, I hope I don’t fuck up.” Sam glanced around the room. “I mean mess up.”
Dustin walked up behind them and poked Sam in the ribs. “No more potty mouth for the new dad.”
“Yeah, his Uncle Dustin better watch his mouth too. ’Cause this boy’s mom and grandma can pack a punch.”
“No worries. I can watch my fuckin’ mouth.” Dustin turned red. “I’m still working on it.”
“So, what’s the plan for you two?” Sam asked.
Shane shrugged as he glanced through the living room window at the West Texas landscape. “In a few years, we’d like to buy a small ranch and start raising some bucking stock. But for now, Dustin’s got some top-notch sponsors. He’s going to take a run at Nationals again. We’re traveling together, but some of the rodeos aren’t too sure about having a bull rider and a bullfighter who are engaged in the ring together.”
Shane shook his head. “’Course most of the states we’re traveling through wouldn’t recognize our marriage anyway.”
Dustin pulled Shane against him and kissed his cheek. “Soon. It’ll come soon.”
Shane looked down into the sleeping face of the baby in his arms. “Let’s hope it’s before he’s grown. Even better, I hope people get to where it doesn’t matter who he falls for, so long as they love each other.”
The baby twisted in Shane’s hands and threw up both arms like a football player who’d just run the winning touchdown into the end zone, then he let out an impressive burp. “He’s practicing his Uncle Dustin’s dismount.”
Dustin rubbed his finger over the baby’s hand. The little fellow grabbed Dustin’s finger and held on tight. He glanced at Sam. “Look at that grip! He’ll be ready to ride his first sheep in no time.”
Sam rubbed his hands over his face. “Aww shit…”
About the Author
Jon Keys’s earliest memories revolve around books, with the first ones he can recall reading himself being The Warlord of Mars and anything with Tarzan. (The local library wasn’t particularly up to date.) But as puberty set in, he started sneaking his mother’s romance magazines and added the world of romance and erotica to his mix of science fiction, fantasy, and comic books.
A voracious reader for almost half a century, Jon has only recently begun creating his own flights of fiction for the entertainment of others. Born in the Southwest and now living in the Midwest, Jon has worked as a ranch hand, teacher, computer tech, roughneck, designer, retail clerk, welder, artist, and, yes, pool boy, with interests ranging from kayaking and hunting to gardening and cooking, he draws from a wide range of life experiences to create written works that draw the reader in and wrap them in a good story.
Blog: www.jonkeys.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/jon.keys.773
Twitter: www.twitter.com/jon4keys
You can go home again—if you can get a foot in the door.
Cherry Pie
© 2014 Samantha Kane
Mercury Rising, Book 1
A year after packing and moving from L.A. to Mercury, North Carolina, John Ford still hasn’t adjusted to the heat. Or to life without his long-time partner. As he fixes up the old house he bought, the quiet becomes his only companion, and he’s content with that—until a deep-voiced stranger plants himself under a tree across the street.
Eight years ago, Connor Meecham left someone behind in that house—himself. Now he’s back to find the man he used to be, before drugs and prison sent his life careening off the tracks. But it’s not his mother’s face peering through the window any more. It’s a man who seems as lost as Conn himself.
When John learns what the house—and the dying town—mean to Conn, he finds himself opening the door to his heart. Just a crack. But it’s enough to get mixed up in a world of emotions as complicated as the recipe for the perfect cherry pie. Where one misstep can turn something sweet and juicy into one hot mess.
Warning: Contains a guitar-wielding, brooding Southern boy and a reclusive millionaire with a weakness for cherry pie and hot coffee. Excessive porch sittin’ and lemonade included.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Cherry Pie:
“What am I supposed to pay you?” John asked while they were taking a break a few hours later. They were sitting in the shade of the live oak, drinking a Coke. Apparently a “Coke” was any kind of soft drink in the South. John wondered how much that kind of advertising cost.
“What do you want to pay me?” Connor asked. He didn’t sound as if he cared one way or the other. He was just content to dig postholes and hammer nails, sweating in the humidity. John wished he could be so agreeable.
“Nothing.”
Connor just grinned at him, showing him a dimple, and then took a drink from the sweating can. A drop of water ran down Connor’s pinkie and onto his wrist, and then John lost it in the dark hair on his forearm.
“What’s the going rate?” John asked, and then he took a drink too.
“For making an ex-con dig postholes in the midday heat? Room and board.”
John paused with his can halfway to his mouth and slanted a look at Connor. He was still sitting there all relaxed and casual, but there was a watchful stillness about him that told John he was expecting a refusal. He’d framed it like a joke. John could pretend that was how he took it. He went ahead and took the drink, looking away from Connor, giving himself time to think about it.
He didn’t think too long. Being in this house alone had been harder than John had thought it would be. Maybe he was being selfish and not thinking it through, things Steve had always accused him of. But he didn’t want to be alone anymore.
“All right,” he said, rolling to his knees and standing. “But you’ve got to clean that room up.” He couldn’t do it. Moving Steve’s things in there had been hard enough.
“I don’t need much space.
”
John had to laugh as he took in Connor’s six-plus feet as the other man stood. “Nope, not much,” he agreed and was rewarded with the crooked smile and dimple again.
They walked back over to where the fence posts were piled in the yard. Connor picked one up and then shoved it in a hole he’d already dug. He worked it in by twisting it from side to side, and John had to pause to admire the muscles in his arms as they rippled with his movements. He was lean, but it was clear by the way he moved that those muscles had been around a long time.
“What are you gonna do with the stretch over there?” Connor asked, pointing at the far side of the yard. The fence was covered in vines.
“Cut it out, I suppose,” John answered. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. His new philosophy was taking it day by day. He hadn’t gone crazy yet under that plan. The look Connor gave him made him reassess that conclusion. “Or not?” he asked.
“You know what you got there?” Connor asked.
“Um, no,” John answered. “Clearly I do not.”
Connor shook his head and his lips flattened for moment. “That is a healthy wisteria vine,” Connor lectured him. “Took years to grow along the fence.” He pointed to the trees. “Now you got to cut it off those trees or it’ll kill ’em. Have you seen wisteria in bloom?”
John just shook his head.
Connor grinned, and John’s shoulders relaxed. Surprise skittered through him. He hadn’t realized he’d tensed up with Connor’s disapproval. He huffed a disgusted sigh at himself. He wasn’t supposed to let other people’s disapproval bother him anymore. Right.
“Big bunches of purple flowers,” Connor said, holding his hands apart in front of him with the fencepost held in place against his chest. “About this big. Look just like grape clusters.” Connor sniffed loudly with a look of pure bliss on his face. “Smell as pretty as anything. Prettier, even. These should bloom any day.”
John contemplated the fence so Connor wouldn’t catch him staring at him. John hadn’t seen him so animated since they’d met. He must really love those flowers. “Can we fix the fence without killing them?”
Connor leaned his crossed arms on the fencepost and nodded as he looked at the vine. “I think so. We need to trim it, anyway. It’ll take over if you don’t tame it. If we slide the new posts in one at a time before we take out the old, it should be all right.”
John tipped his head to the side as he tried to imagine what Connor was saying. He nodded. “It might work.” He looked at Connor. “How do you know so much about it?”
Connor laughed and began to fill in the hole around the post. “Who do you think did the yard work around here? Mama supervised. I did the sweating.”
John grinned and squatted by the hole, packing the dirt around the post. “Yeah? Her own personal yard slave?”
Connor snorted. “Yard, house, you name it. We spent years fixin’ up this old house only to start all over again. First my dad, then me.” Connor wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt, the same faded one he’d worn yesterday. John froze as he came face-to-face with Connor’s flat, pale stomach, a line of dark hair slicing down the middle to the low-rider waist of his jeans. A strip of plaid boxers was visible above his waistband.
John’s mind went blank as his body sat up and pointed like a hunting dog. The shock of awareness that went through him actually made him jerk back from Connor, and he fell on his ass in a clumsy sprawl.
Connor gave him a funny look. “You all right? Maybe the heat’s gettin’ to you. People who aren’t used to it find they wear out pretty quickly.” Then, without any preamble, he whipped the shirt off over his head, wiped his face and neck with it and tucked it into the back waistband of those damn faded jeans.
John found himself facing lean, hard pecs covered by a fine layer of dark, curly hair. His mouth went dry, and he scrambled to his feet.
“The heat. Yes. The goddamned heat.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his hand, backing away from Connor. “I need a minute. I’ll be back.” He turned and had to force himself not to run to the house.
Once inside he sat down at the kitchen table and put his head between his knees. The tears burned behind his eyes, and he welcomed the sting. Not since Steve… He couldn’t finish the thought. It was the heat, he convinced himself. It wasn’t Connor. It was the heat and the physical exertion and the unexpected sight of a naked man. Half naked. Thank God, only half naked.
After a few minutes he sat up, under control. This wouldn’t be a problem. It hadn’t been a problem in a long time. He could handle Connor being here. He was just so damn glad not to be alone anymore.
When your deepest, darkest fantasy shows up, get on board.
Special Delivery
© ٢٠١٤ Heidi Cullinan
Special Delivery, Book 1
Sam Keller knows he’ll never find the excitement he craves in Middleton, Iowa—not while he’s busting his ass in nursing school and paying rent by slaving away in a pharmacy stockroom.
Then Sam meets Mitch Tedsoe, an independent, long-haul trucker who makes a delivery to a shop across the alley. Innocent flirting quickly leads to a fling, and when Mitch offers to take him on a road trip west, Sam jumps at the chance for adventure.
Mitch is sexy, funny and friendly, but once they embark on their journey, something changes. One minute he’s the star of Sam’s every x-rated fantasy, the next he’s almost too much a perfect gentleman. And when they hit the Las Vegas city limit, Sam has a name to pin on Mitch’s malady: Randy.
For better or for worse, Sam grapples with the meaning of friendship, letting go, growing up—even the meaning of love—because no matter how far he travels, eventually all roads lead home.
Warning: This story contains trucker fantasies, threesomes and kinky consensual sex.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Special Delivery:
Mitch remained quiet for another mile. Sam worried he’d broken everything already. But as they came up over a hill near a rest stop, Mitch said, “Safe word. You didn’t pick one.”
Sam blinked and tried to think. “Violet.”
“Favorite color?”
“Character. From 9 to 5.”
“Good. Remember Violet, then.” He aimed the semi toward the rest stop. “I believe I promised you a spanking if you said that word again.”
“Wait—wait.” Sam held on to the dash as Mitch pulled into a parking spot. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.” He locked the doors and undid his seat belt as he faced Sam. “Stand up and strip that ass bare.”
He’s teasing you. Sam told himself this, but as he sat frozen in his seat, watching Mitch’s rigid jaw, it was a hard line to buy. Sam breathed shallowly, as if to keep from being noticed by too much movement. After a minute or so, his hand hurt, and he realized this was because he held the seat belt strap so tightly it cut into his skin.
“You remember your word?” When Sam kept blinking, Mitch added, “Your safe word?”
It took work to force the word out. “Violet.”
“Okay.” Mitch pointed at Sam. “Get your ass over my knee.”
No, Sam wanted to shout, but he couldn’t, and what was weirder, he undid his seat belt and stumbled around the console and headed for Mitch, moving as if he were in a dream.
“Take off your pants.” Mitch tugged at Sam’s T-shirt. “This too. Take it all off. Right now, Sam. Do it.”
Sam had been ready to argue until the gruff command to do it. For some reason this inspired him to reach for the hem of his shirt, pull it off and toss it onto the passenger seat. He fumbled with the fastenings of his jeans because Mitch stared at his waist, and the look made all Sam’s blood run south. But when he pushed his jeans and underwear down and his phone started to tumble out of his pocket, Mitch leaned forward, steadied him and caught the phone in one moti
on. He put Judy into a small compartment in the dash before nodding at Sam’s jeans. “All the way off. Socks too.”
Sam undressed, dick hardening as he did so, which amazed him because a large part of him wanted to run. This was beyond stupid now. This was crazy. But oh, God, it was the most sexy thing he’d ever done in his life.
He’ll stop if I say the word.
Or would he?
Hesitating with his sock in hand, Sam looked Mitch in the eye. “Violet.”
Immediately, Mitch softened and touched his arm. “Too fast, Sunshine?”
Sam let out a breath, a two-ton weight off his chest. “Just testing.”
Mitch stayed where he was, watching Sam’s face. “So you want to keep playing? Because we don’t have to, if you don’t want to. It’s okay. We can go slow.”
“I don’t want to go slow.”
Mitch’s mouth turned up in one corner. “You’re ready to take your punishment?”
Sam nodded.
“You want me to spank you for saying you were stupid?”
Sam hesitated. Then he nodded again.
Mitch arched his eyebrows. “Say it. Tell me what you want.”
Sam did not want to say it. He wanted it to happen to him, but even as he thought that, he realized it wasn’t fair. He swallowed and tried to hold his head high. “I—I want you to…to spank me. Because I’m stupid.”
Mitch made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded disturbingly like a growl, and the next thing Sam knew he pitched forward toward the dash. He stopped at the last second, arms rigid against the panel of instrument readings or whatever they were, a knee on his stomach and another under his thigh. His bare ass stuck high in the air.
“Say it.” Mitch’s voice was tight and angry. “Tell me you’re stupid.”
“I’m stupid,” Sam said without hesitation and more than a little sass.