Ad-Dick-Tion Volume 2 ~ anthology is released today!

Breathless Press would like to announce the release of Ad-Dick-Tion Volume 2! This anthology of erotica contains my m/m/f short story "Aftercare."

The anthology's official tag line is, "In this collection of sizzling hot male obsessions, feel the heat with m/m stories by our wonderful Breathless Press authors."

"Aftercare" has been described this way: "When respectable Dr. Maggie is propositioned by one of her patients and his sexy partner, flirtation flares into a 911 emergency of passion." A little excerpt:

"We have to take our time. We have all night, don't we? Or are you wearing that goddamn hospital pager again?"

I ran my hands over my hips to show that I wasn't concealing the pager under my skirt. "I'm not on call," I said. And since he wanted to do things slowly, I decided to take my time and play with him. I got down on the floor, kneeling.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking things slowly." I showed him. Joey had very big feet. Those feet were one part of him I'd left unexplored the last time we'd been together, but I wouldn't make the same mistake this time. I kissed the top of his foot.

As my fingers brushed against the bottom of his foot, I discovered what he meant; he was very ticklish. I was hoping what followed would be like great porn, but instead it was more like a cartoon. I tried to keep hold of Joey's foot while he repeatedly jerked it away. Trying to kiss it again was even more futile. Soon I gave up and started kissing my way up his leg.

 I worked my way up to his thigh, then stopped.

"Why did you stop?"

I took hold of the waistband of his white shorts and tugged at them. "Let's get these off of you."

He looked excited by the idea, but said, "No, Maggie. I don't want you to do me. I want to do you."

There was something about the way Joey said "I want to do you" that melted me like a popsicle on a dashboard in August. I felt a surge of moisture in my panties. Not cool like a frosty treat, but hot like the touch of Joey's hand on the small of my back.
          Then he did something I wasn't expecting: he lifted me off the floor. I struggled a bit; I usually don't like being picked up. Loss of control throws me off my game. Not to mention that I'd operated on his back only weeks ago.

"Careful," I started to say.

He laughed. "My back is fine, Maggie," he said. "You're a great surgeon. I do this to Max all the time." He carried me toward the bedroom.

"Really?"

"No." He snorted. "He weighs, like two-twenty. And he's not a girl."

It's available in a variety of formats, and you can get it on Amazon for your Kindle (or Kindle for PC program).

You won't need to have read the first volume to follow the second. If you're the type who likes to read a series in order, you can also catch up with the first one on Amazon.

WIP Wednesday: Crazy Dream Inspiration

Guest authors needed - all genres! Are you an author? Would you like to share a little bit about a current work in progress on a future WIP Wednesday? Then I invite you to be my guest. Please e-mail Erin O'Riordan (erinoriordan AT sbcglobal DOT net).

Erin O'Riordan: I've been busy this week with my day job, editing. I have about two more weeks to put the finishing touches on the story I'm tentatively calling "Polyandry" (see last week's WIP Wednesday). Actually, I think a nice title for it might be, "It's Good to Be Princess." Any thoughts on that title?

Any thoughts on this, the cover of an upcoming book that contains my short story "Aftercare?"

On Friday morning I woke up from a really detailed dream that I'm considering turning into a short story. I hesitate to share too much of it for precisely that reason. Suffice it to say, under a scenario in which a weird biohazard reduced the human population to about 300 individuals, including myself and the de facto leader of the survivors, my husband Tit Elingtin. Hubby was busy, what with the effort to ensure the survival of the human race and all, so I developed an attachment to a fellow survivor.

When I woke up and told Tit E. of this dream, he gave me a good idea for how this could be a pretty compelling piece of short fiction. But I won't have time to start it in earnest until Friday, despite the fact that my brain's trying to tell it to me when I'm falling asleep this past few nights.

Thursday night TV is a particularly rich source of material for dreams. First there's The Vampire Diaries. On the CW, it's followed by the other TV series based on a series of novels by L.J. Smith, The Secret Circle. I watched only the first couple of episodes, but I stopped watching it because I found some of the characters too mean-spirited, and I felt like some of the mean-spirited girls were being put out there as protagonists instead of villains. (It's kind of the same problem I had with Kiss, Crush, Collide.)

So then I started watching Person of Interest on CBS after Vampire Diaries. The main thing that recommended it to me was that it stars Jim Caviezel. He's in one of my favorite movies (don't laugh - I know the plot is highly improbable), Frequency. On P of I, Caviezel plays rogue government agent Mr. Reese. Mr. Reese will shoot you in the kneecaps if he needs to. He's a badass. It's totally hot.

Last week's episode called for Mr. Reese to be handcuffed to a pole inside a freezer truck with a baby. To keep the baby from freezing to death, he had to break out of the handcuffs. His wrists were all bloody and raw, and this causes me to imagine several BDSM scenarios.

Therefore, it should not surprise you to learn that in my dream, the survivor in whom I had a great deal of interest resembled Mr. Reese. He is as yummy as the chocolate-covered peanut butter cups which bear his name.

Since that night, I have decided that Mr. Reese and Detective Carter should be gettin' it on. No romance, just stress-relief sex. I am not the only one who considers the possibility of Reese/Carter; consider only "Pushing Boundaries," fanfic by The Dork Mistress. I haven't loved a fanfic this much since Shameless by Helens - and that has a bisexual Christian Bale.

The Dork Mistress writes:

Carter licked her lips, "Y-Your idea of fun can be rather…flawed, John."

"Care to test that theory, detective?"

His idea of fun, in this fanfic, is eating her out in an elevator. TDM goes on to write:

She moaned loudly; her head thumbing against the wall as one of her hands raked its way through his short black and grey hair. She felt his tongue dart in and out; her hips rolling through each wave of pleasure.

Carter was a gasping and moaning mess, trying to remain upright as he dragged the tip of his tongue over her clit. It was as if hot electricity had struck through her, and she swore she had blacked out for a second. Carter was getting close.

Tugging on his hair, Carter dropped her mouth open in an attempt to warn him, "J-John…John…I-I'm…"

Her words failed her as John decide to hum in response; the lewd noises his actions made reaching her ears. She cried out; her orgasm very strong and very intense.

****

Um - yes, please. But I do feel a little bad for Reese, 'cause he doesn't get his in this story. Now he has to go home and take a long, hot shower. 

By the way, some people also "ship" Reese and his male associate, Mr. Finch. I'm not so into Reese/Finch. Mr. Reese is a 10+, but Mr. Finch is a 7 on a good day. Not that looks are everything, or that I object in principle to M/M ('cause we all know I don't), but I really enjoy the Reese/Carter chemistry. 

WIP Wednesday Strikes Again - What are YOU Writing?

Authors, would you like to share approximately 100-200 words about a current work in progress on a future WIP Wednesday? If so, please e-mail the details to erinoriordan AT sbcglobal DOT net.

Erin O'Riordan: This is the beginning of one of my current works in progress - romance, not erotica, this time. I was planning on having this polished up and ready to submit by the end of January, but the deadline got moved forward to April 1st. I've also been working on one called "Sheep Shifter" this week (definitely due Feb. 1) and another (already accepted) called "Aftercare."

Excerpt:

Eric sat on the long bench of dark wood, its seat worn smooth by heavy traffic. He sat alone, which only underscored to him that whatever the Queen had to say to him, it had to be important. Queen Jasmine rarely had the opportunity to clear her schedule.

To his left, the heavy door built of the same dark wood at the bench was flanked by two members of the palace guard, dressed in Avalonia’s traditional black and white uniforms. The baroque garments of velvet, satin, lace and hosiery surely looked rather ridiculous to an outsider, but never failed to make Eric proud of his fiercely independent nation and its ancient heritage. Besides, when two men were as tall, muscular and generally dangerous-looking as the two members of the guard currently on duty, no one would dare make fun.

The doors opened, and a prim-looking young woman with short hair, wearing a dress accented with a red satin rose, stood in the doorway. “Eric de la Fontaine, Her Majesty’s minister of finance,” she announced in the clipped, upper-class accent of the Avalonian capital, Givene. He took his briefcase from where it sat between his feet, rose and approached the woman. She turned, and Eric knew he was to follow her.

The Queen, a dignified, petite olive-skinned woman of about fifty-five with intense hazel eyes, sat in an ergonomic chair behind a long table. She wore her long, black pulled back in a tight French braid and dressed in a sensible gray wool suit with a skirt that reached just below her knees.

Eric bowed his head respectfully. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

“There’s no need to be formal, Eric,” she responded. “I haven’t called you here to talk to you about the affairs of state. I’ve come to talk to you about a personal matter. Please, have a seat.” The Queen’s assistant pulled out a chair across from the Queen, nodded, and returned to her small desk beside the door. Eric placed his briefcase on the table.

“A personal matter, Your Majesty?” he asked as he sat.

An attendant, a young man with shockingly red hair, brought the queen a decanter of Scotch, a dish of ice and two glasses on a tray. The attendant added ice to each tumbler, then poured a generous portion of the amber liquid over it. He served the Queen first, then Eric. Eric nodded to indicate his thanks. As the Queen took a long sip of her drink, Eric nipped at his. It was stronger than he typically liked to imbibe this early in the afternoon. He leaned back in his chair and tried to relax, although he felt a surge of anxiety.

“As you know, Eric, my third daughter Evangeline is almost twenty-one. She’s a strong, responsible girl, and soon I’ll want to abdicate my throne to her.”

When she paused, Eric broke in, “It’s far too soon to think about abdication, Your Majesty.”

She smiled. “It’s true that I come from a line of long-lived queens, but I don’t want to be stuck in this official life forever. Honored as I am to fulfill my hereditary position, I truly cannot envision serving Avalonia from behind this desk for the rest of my days. I want to spend time with my husbands, directly involved in our favorite charities. But before my crown princess can become queen, I want to make sure she has her household in order. She needs at least one husband.”

Eric swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Majesty,” the minister agreed, taking a sip of his Scotch. “As I am sure you’re aware, Her Highness is in love with a friend of mine, the Irish banker John Gabriel.” He smiled slightly. He was a bit jealous, of course. Crown Princess Evangeline was a lovely young woman, a favorite of paparazzi the world over.

The Queen shook her head. “I’m sure Gabriel is a fine man. But he’s an Irish citizen, and out of the country half of the time on business. Traditionally, the queen’s first husband is either native-born or royalty. Gabriel will make a fine second or third husband.” She finished her drink and set the glass on the tray. “Eric, you’re not married, are you?”

Eric’s heart leapt. He answered in a trembling voice, “No, Majesty.”

“Please forgive me, Eric. I don’t mean to be so personal, but I must know: do you have a lover?”

He blushed slightly. At one time, he had been the lover of the queen’s eldest daughter Morgan. That was long before Morgan married her two husbands, and Eric had been without female companionship for longer than he cared to remember. “No, Majesty.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No, Majesty.” He felt certain he must be blushing a deep red, if not the color of a beet. It was not every day that one had one’s personal life so closely scrutinized by the head of state.

The Queen seemed a bit surprised, arching her black eyebrows slightly, but continued. “If my Evangeline agrees, will you marry her?”

He froze, considering his answer carefully. When the Queen had asked for him that morning, he was expected her to ask him to head off some minor financial crisis. Never, in his wildest flights of fancy, did he consider having to answer this particular question. He reached for his drink, drained it down to the ice cubes and made up his mind.

Anybody have an idea for a title?