Amber Kell's Birthday Extravaganza - Day 27

I'm extraordinarily happy to host Day 27 of Amber's Birthday Extravaganza - a story in 30 parts!

Accidental Alpha #27

The restaurant had the whole Italian villa stucco thing working for it with soothing Italian music pumping through speakers. They were led to a table in a beautiful courtyard set with white linen and wine glasses. Stanley didn’t know if werekin and wine were a good combination but figured Fenris would know better than him.

A taller, more muscular version of his mate sat at the table, alone. He stood when they approached.

“Papa this is my mate, Stanley Brown. Stanley this is my father Van Harvin, short for Vánagandr, but no one calls him that.”

Fenris’ father stood to greet them. He gave Fenris a quick manly hug and shook Stanley’s hand. A weird sensation tingled across Stanley’s body at the touch. He laughed. Mr. Harvin, screamed and fell to the ground.

“Damn, are you okay?” Stanley crouched beside the man rolling on the floor.

“Step back, baby,” Fenris coaxed scooting Stanley away from his father. Stanley straightened feeling helpless at the other man’s discomfort. “Up you go dad. That’s what you get for playing the show me your power game with my Stanley,” Fenris scolded.

Mr. Harvin’s hand trembled as he sat back down and picked up his water glass. “Fenris didn’t tell me you were a Prime Alpha,” he grumbled.

Stanley leaned over to whisper in his mate’s ear. “What’s a Prime Alpha?”

“Someone who its dangerous to play power games with.” Fenris didn’t bother to lower his tone. “Papa thought to intimidate you, my love, but your natural ability rebounded his rudeness back at him.”

“I did that?”

Mr. Harvin gave a snort. “I don’t know if I should be concerned that my Alpha power rolls off you without effect or frightened that you didn’t even try and still brought me to the ground.”

Fenris pulled out a chair for Stanley who sat because he didn’t know what else to do. Would it be the right thing to apologize to his father in-law even though it wasn’t his fault?

“Let it go, my love, Papa’s sorry and won’t do it again, will you?” Fenris’ tone indicated agreement was the only answer that would work.

“Hell no, that friggin hurt.” He gave Stanley a respectful look. “I guess I don’t have to worry that Fenris’ mate won’t be able to take care of him. Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you sir.” Stanley would take grudging acceptance for now, hoping eventually it would grow into fondness.

“Good afternoon,” a female voice called out.

Stanley stood to greet his parents. The fathers exchanged glares but Stanley’s mother turned on the charm and received a much warmer greeting.

They’d barely been seated when another female joined them but she arrived alone.

“Where’s your husband Mama?” Fenris asked, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

The woman re-defined elegant. Her dark hair brushed her shoulders and if Stanley had seen them in a crowd he would’ve thought Fenris and his mother were brother and sister. She ignored Fenris’ question and focused on Stanley. “Is this him?”

“Yes this is Stanley,” Fenris said but he could tell his mate really wanted to know what was going on.

“Oh, Stanley it’s so nice to meet Fenris’ mate,” she gushed shaking his hand.

“He’s not going to stay his mate,” Stanley’s father growled. “Ouch.”

Millie stepped forward, a forced smile on her face. “Ignore my husband he has buyer’s remorse. It’s his fault Stanley converted. He’s upset out son didn’t follow his father’s master plan.”

“They rarely do,” Fenris’ father piped up.

Stanley held back a laugh as the two fathers exchanged sour looks of understanding.

A Visit with Xavier Axelson

I am very excited to host my guest today, the amazing erotica writer and sex columnist, Xavier Axelson. Not only was he kind enough to write a marvelous guest post, stay tuned at the end for a sizzling excerpt from his latest release, The Birches. So, without further ado . . .

 “It took Thomas Edison thousands of tries to before he invented the light bulb.” This was the last thing I heard before I switched off the television to write this blog. I’m actually paraphrasing, it was close to that quote. It was a cartoon, and to be honest, I thought I heard Thomas Jefferson and had to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind.

Thousands of tries before it worked out.

Isn’t that always the way. It’s funny as November rolls past and December begins with the holiday season already in premature swing, it makes me stop and think how lucky and thankful I am when things work out on the first try. I’m speaking mostly from a medical standpoint. Last month I found myself facing two major surgeries, scheduled exactly three weeks apart. The second surgery was scheduled the day before the release of The Birches. Is it sad, I was more concerned about that then the surgery? Don’t think I didn’t bring my laptop into the hospital with me, because I did.

Both surgeries were a success. I lucked out with amazing nurses, nurses aids, physical therapists, occupational therapists, hospital volunteers and even the women who came around with a tiny dog on my second visit were amazing. I’m one of those patients who hates to bother the nurses. I hate asking for anything. I resisted using the call button so many times finally a nurse came in and asked what my pain level was, I said 9. She said, “You have to call us, this isn’t the time to be a hero.” She was right. I learned once you have “breakthrough” pain it is much harder to get back down to a bearable pain level then if you maintain it. I learned a lot about myself during the month of October. Coincidentally, also my birthday month. When you face any sort of traumatic physical event, something changes within you. In my case, I am literally not physically who I was before the surgeries. I am someone new. I learned there are people who care and take their jobs seriously. I did my best to make the nurses laugh and have to admit I was told more than once I was their “favorite” and I soon realized how hard and maddening their jobs must be, and how grateful I was there are people to do such demanding and hard jobs. I also will probably never be able to watch Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, True Grit or Tron again. The last being so mindlessly complicated the dialogue sounded like a textbook. Then again, it was 3am when I tried to watch it. You’d be amazed what goes through ones mind at 3am in a hospital.

So, I lucked out that both surgeries went right the first time. I should mention finding the surgeon was not as easy. It took me several attempts to find a surgeon I felt comfortable with. Boy, am I glad I got more than one opinion. By the way, three is the magic number when it comes to opinions. Just in case you were wondering. My surgeon and his staff were also stellar. Imagine if the surgeries didn’t go right? Man, this is definitely a time I was glad for a virgin success.

When I came home, I discovered the world felt different. Everything was going to be a new experience. I would have to learn how to get around again, get out of bed a certain way (at least for a while), get dressed using all sorts of equipment and stay on top of my pain meds and supplements. I would also have a visiting nurse and physical therapist coming to see me three times a week. I have to say again, I lucked out with amazing people.

Today was my last day of physical therapy. I still have a long road ahead but hey, I’m not peeing in a bucket by the side of my bed, I can actually get to the bathroom without using a walker. I’ll take it.

Thomas Edison tried, tried and tried again to get it right and I’ve learned that’s exactly how it is sometimes. Sometimes there is little room for experimentation. Sometimes your life is not your own and you are dependant on the care of others. I can’t imagine what it would have been like to have the anesthesiologists who administered my spinals having to go at me 1,500 times. Sometimes there is room for the 1,500 tries and the pay off is the electric light bulb. Life, it seems, is the ability to distinguish between the two.

In the end, I am shocked at my own ability to be brave and get up when the pain was beyond description and to be gracious enough to accept help. There isn’t much room for pride when someone is pulling a catheter out of you. You learn humility very quickly and hey, it’s not a bad lesson to learn.

Check out my webpage for all news about new releases, news and all kinds of Xavier goodness. It definitely won’t take you 1,500 tries to find me.

Just go to www.xavieraxelson.com

Blurb:

Perfection isn’t everything, although it’s everything Leo wants. His desire to become the perfect chef may keep him at the top of his class, but it drives his friends and family crazy while keeping love and passion on the back burner. That is until he meets Dock, owner and chef of the new and popular restaurant, The Birches. Although Dock isn’t a trained chef, Leo finds the food he cooks delectable and the man behind the food irresistible. The lessons taught at the hands of an untrained cook may be just what this uptight chef needs to let go. 

the birches

He pulled into the parking lot of The Birches and sat on his bike a minute. He felt nervous, like he was about to meet a celebrity and the self-doubt that plagued him made him queasy.

“You gonna sit outside or come in?”

Leo jumped at the sound of the man’s voice. He pulled his helmet off and looked around, but didn’t see anyone.

“Over here.”

Leo looked just past his left shoulder and saw a man emerging from the nearby woods that surrounded the little restaurant.

“Oh, hey,” Leo called out, his voice cracking.

“You looking for something to eat?” the man asked, coming closer.

Leo was shocked to find himself riveted to the spot, staring at the man who came towards him.

The man offered Leo a rough, calloused hand. “I’m Dock,”

“Hey,” Leo managed weakly.

“I was out back, picking blackberries, they grow wild around here. I thought they’d make a great dessert. Don’t know what kind of dessert, but how can you go wrong when you have stuff like this?” He said as he offered up a large, wooden bucket half-full of dark, purple black berries.

There were purple smears across Dock’s white tank top that seemed barely able to contain Dock’s impressive chest. There were several brown freckles on Dock’s shoulders, next to where the strap of tank top clung to his body.

“Lucky berries,” Leo said under his breath.

“What?”

Sweat ran down Leo’s back, he felt so nervous. For a brief moment, he thought of hopping on his bike and taking off. Instead he said, “Um, nothing, sorry, I just wanted to come by and--”

“You want to come inside and have an iced tea or something?” Dock asked, “It’s hot as hell out here and I know I need to cool off.” He swiped a hand across his face and left a smudge of blackberry juice across his cheek.

Leo’s heart was pounding, what was it about this place, this man?

“You coming?” Dock asked.

“Huh?”

Dock laughed, “You coming inside or you just gonna stare at the ground the rest of the day?”

Leo was still staring at the spot where Dock had been standing. Something was happening inside his head. He felt spellbound and excited. He didn’t know where this sensation came from, all he knew was he wanted more of what he was feeling. He followed Dock, who was still talking about black berries, the sun and something else that sounded perfect, into the restaurant. When Dock stopped suddenly by a booth at the back of the restaurant, Leo almost crashed into him.

“Take a seat. I’ll be right back with some tea.” Dock said, a smile lingered on his lips.

He knows he makes me uncomfortable, Leo thought once Dock left and was sitting down. It was this realization that held him glued to the seat. He wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction of getting the better of him.

“So, what’s your name?” Dock asked when he reappeared and set a jam jar full of iced tea in front of Leo, there were several blackberries floating in it along with some ice and a sprig of mint.

“Leo,” he replied, taking a sip of the tea.

“You know we’re closed, right?” A woman’s voice called from behind Dock’s perfect shoulders. Leo decided right then and there he would trade his ability to beat an egg for a chance to touch those shoulders and kiss the freckles that lived there.

What was he thinking?

He wasn’t thinking, that was just it, there was something about the place and, more noticeably, about this man that seemed to block Leo’s ability to think rationally. Where there was once thought, there was now an incredible amount of feeling. He was stunned into a stupor by this realization.

Buy it now at:

http://www.seventhwindow.com/index.php?main_page=product_music_info&cPath=&products_id=38&zenid=bvsc48t5ukqfq1m5psf17lf374

https://spsilverpublishing.com/index/book_authors_id/70/typefilter/book_authors

Where to find Xavier Axelson:

http://www.facebook.com/xaviersaxel

http://www.twitter.com/xaviersaxel

http://www.examiner.com/la-in-los-angeles/francis-xavier

http://www.xavieraxelson.com

Monkeys, Sex and Other Birthday Surprises - a Visit with Kellie Kamryn

Today, I'm thrilled to feature an excerpt from Monkeys, Sex and Other Birthday Surprises, the new erotic comedy from Kellie Kamryn available today from Secret Cravings Publishing (yes, you get to see it on release day you lucky, lucky readers!)

On-line lovers, Missy and Sam, find their blossoming romance threatened when a surprise in-person encounter turns ugly the moment a jealous pet primate attacks Sam. l

Sam Kentley is dying to see if the connection he and Missy have is real. She is easy to talk to, her picture is sexy as hell, and his sex drive’s ratcheted into high gear by her ability to play along with scenarios on text. When she agrees to phone sex, he thinks he’s in heaven. He can’t believe his good fortune when he accompanies a friend to a woman’s surprise birthday party, and the lady in question is Missy. However, he hadn’t expected their first meeting to include her zany family, or be witness to a tiny primate marking his territory on his woman, and then get attacked by the little monkey!

Missy Harder is reluctant to ruin a good thing and meet her on-line lover, Sam Kentley, in person. Sam is the first man she’s had any kind of relationship with in the past two years, and their on-line conversations, sexting and recent upgrade to phone sex, all suit her just fine. And the picture he sent makes her panties wetter than a summer downpour. But what if it’s all fantasy and there is no chemistry when they actually meet?

Humiliated enough for one evening, Missy wants nothing more than to be left alone. But when Sam refuses to leave Missy to her misery, they both learn that humor will get you through anything, and sometimes great sex and love sneak up on you when you least expect it.

“Mother!” Missy peered around Sam and shot her mom a death glare.

Her mom gestured, palms up. “What? It’s about time, if you ask me.”

“No one asked you!”

“Just saying. She gets cranky when she hasn’t gotten it in a while—”

“Mom!”

“—and believe me, we’ve seen her cranky side for quite some time. I hope you’re good.”

Sam began to sputter a reply, but Missy interrupted. “Mom. Get. Out.”

“Fine. Going,” she said, turning away. But then she pivoted back to them for a parting shot.

“Way to go, honey.”

Missy covered her face with her hands. Sam tried to remove them but she held firm. “Feel free to leave any time. My family is crazy. My life is insane.”

“Well, it’s anything but boring.”

“No shit.”

“You’re mom’s a firecracker. Maybe we should have a threesome.”

Missy removed her hands from her face and gaped at him.

“I’m kidding,” Sam said, holding his hands up out in front of him. “That was a joke. I like

kinky, but a mother-daughter combo is not one of my fantasies.”

She swatted his arm and dug out a fresh T-shirt from a drawer. It hugged her generous

bosom, and Sam’s eyes drew there like Winnie-the-Pooh to a honey pot.

“You have a great rack.”

The sincerity in his voice made her smile, despite the crude way in which he delivered the compliment. “I’m glad you approve.” She huffed out a breath. “We should get back to the party.”

Sam took hold of her hand and led her out of the room. At the doorway, he tugged on her hand so she spun to face him. He yanked her against him, and she melted into his body on contact. “One more to tide us over.”

The man never let her speak. His mouth captured hers, but this time his tongue invaded, mating with hers. Her hands crept up to his neck and sank into the curls at his nape. Deep, hot, wet—everything a passionate kiss should be. Thrust, parry. Dodge, tease. Slip, slide.

Missy sucked on his tongue, hinting at what she could do to his dick. He groaned, his hands digging into her back. He didn’t release her when they broke apart.

Their chests heaved. Desire crackled between them. The words of her sister echoed in her head, “Real sex is better than phone sex…” Yeah, it is. Or, would be.

Missy put some distance between them, keeping her hands in his hair. The ache between her thighs shrieked at her to follow through with things. Like, right now. What was more important—sex or birthday cake?

She knew if she didn’t return to the living room, her mother would announce that she was “indisposed.”

Missy looked him straight in the eyes and gave his erection a slight nudge with her pelvis.

“Okay. We’ll do it your way later. No talking. Just fucking.” And before she could take back what she said, she hurried back to the waiting guests.

Excerpt from Bitemarks by Drew Cross

Blood, lust and bloodlust collide when the police hunt for a vampiric attacker threatens to uncover the dark secrets of one that they call their own...

Chapter One

The girl draws in a sharp breath through clenched teeth and moans with a mixture of pain and pleasure; her white-blond hair feels like falling snowflakes where it brushes my skin. She has a tattoo on her neck, two small red pin-pricks and the words BITE ME in gothic lettering, stark against her near translucent paleness. A thin rivulet of blood snakes down her bare back, an escapee from the small clean incision on her shoulder blade. I kiss her deeply, my mouth still wet with her blood, holding her close and feeling her tremble, wanting to consume her, she runs her tongue over my elongated fangs as if she can read my thoughts. I can taste peppermint and vodka, the blood as a sweet honey tang underneath, her skin is aromatic with cocoa butter and the soft smoky musk of burning incense clings to her hair.

We are not alone, although we can pretend to be, shrouded by the semi-darkness and our own intense intimacy. We are in an upstairs room above the Old Angel, the bar locked to the general public, or at least to the usual motley gang of rockers, Goths and students that usually gather here for the cheap drink and live music. This is a regular private meeting of 'vampires' and willing 'donors', a closed door invitation only event run by the Vampire Society. The society is forced to exist in different forms, outwardly it is an appreciation club for role-players and fans of the old Hammer horror films, a tongue-in-cheek nod to all things Dracula in order to avoid the attentions of the intolerant. The other face is as a place to belong for like-minded people who choose to live the lifestyle in a more literal way. Everything that takes place here is governed by rules, the key ones being consent and safety. The fangs are veneers, purely for show not for biting, and whilst blood is consumed it is taken by syringe or by cuts in safe areas inflicted by sterile blades.

I do not refer to myself as a vampire because of the supernatural and predatory connotations implied by the term. I am a blood fetishist, a human being with complex reasons for having an erotic association with the vampire mystique. Except for the organizer of the meets, the landlord, who keeps a database of our details, we don't know each others real names, although I gather from previous events and the occasionally loose tongues of some members, that we can count a Doctor and a Barrister amongst our ranks.

"Thank you."

The girl, breathless, pulls her black t-shirt back over her head, suddenly shy after this swapping of fluids with a stranger. She is young and this is the first time I have seen her, and therefore probably the first time she has experienced this new array of sensations.

"No, thank you."

I lean in using a hand to hold her soft hair out of the way and kissing her gently on the lips, eyes open to meet her own.

"I'd like to see you here again sometime. Of course there are plenty of other guys and girls for you to meet here too though..."

She smiles coquettishly. Leaning closer she kisses me again with lingering enthusiasm.

"Funny, I didn't notice any of them."

***

"Marks?"

"Sir?"

"Briefing's in five minutes with CID, if that's enough time for you to finish preening yourself?"

The Inspector strides off without further pleasantries, but I can't help but like the grumpy old sod anyway. Marcus Cooke emerges still dripping from the shower, hurriedly towelling himself down and putting on his shirt having heard the Inspector's words.

"Why can't you put some pants on before your shirt? I don't want to see your dick every day."

"Seeing my dick is the highlight of your day and you know it."

He grins in his usual stupid broad fashion and slaps me on the backside as he passes to get to his locker.

Marcus is, like me, a probationer police constable, fresh out of training school at Ryton-on-Dunsmore and getting to grips with the day to day realities of trying to establish and maintain order on the mean streets of Nottingham. He has mixed ethnicity, but refers to himself as black, muscular, with dark curly hair and a quick and easy wit; a couple of years older than my twenty two. At only five feet four inches tall, and unapologetically gay; the traditionalists love him. He is by his own admission, too short, too black, too gay and too loud for the force; like an erection in church mate he says and winks, and like an erection he enjoys the friction.

"Hey, Spooky and Homo, briefing's starting."

The sneered taunt comes from a passing Paul Strang, an experienced but lazy beat cop who harbours an instinctive dislike of the pair of us. We grab our kit belts in unison and head for the briefing room.

"Shall I punch his fat head or do you want first shot mate?"

Marcus grins again as he finishes the sentence.

"Let me decide whether I want to keep this job first," I say, stepping through the doorway into the briefing room.

"Thanks for finally joining us, gentlemen, take a seat."

We do as we're told; when Detective Inspector Karen Cobb gives you an instruction you follow it expediently. She allows us to sit before continuing.

"Okay, most of you aren't stupid, well at least some of you, so you'll have realised that this is not a routine briefing. It goes without saying that you keep the details of this to yourselves, and that CID will be handling any subsequent investigation; so in the unlikely event that any of you turn up something of interest, you'll let me know without delay."

She pauses allowing Detective Sergeant Kevin Henshall to outline the details.

"Right, what we have so far is a serious assault on an Elaine Morris at around about one last Saturday morning on Magdala Road. Some of you will know Elaine, since she's well recorded for a variety of soliciting offenses, which is of course what she was doing in Mapperley Park in the early hours in the first place."

There is a low ripple of conversation from parts of the room.

"No, this isn't the kind of assault that you're thinking ladies and gents. There was no attempt at sexual activity and we can virtually rule out her pimp too, seeing as how his appearance apparently stopped the attack."

Paul Strang speaks up.

"She probably ripped off a punter; getting attacked is an occupational hazard for tarts."

"Possibly."

DS Henshall flips over the page of a large flip-chart, displaying three blown up colour photographs pinned to it. The woman's face and neck has multiple deep puncture wounds, and blood seeps from these gashes and from eyelids which are swollen shut. She looks like the victim of a nasty glassing, the bits that aren't bloody are swollen and discoloured; and the horrors continue with shots of her scratched and punctured hands and forearms.

"What the hell was she attacked with, a broken bottle?"

The question comes from Jamie Evans, Strang's regular partner, another bigoted asshole.

"No with his teeth and nails. He just walked up and attacked her, no attempt at conversation, then calmly strolled away. That's why we're briefing you today; he stopped because he was disturbed not because he was finished. Our other problem is that courtesy of Messrs. Bennett and Jones, Elaine has retracted her brief initial statement and gone to ground, which probably means that they're planning on dealing with this situation in their own inimitable style. We're all aware of what happens when those two cretins decide to get something done, and we don't want chopped up punters left right and centre fucking up our statistics."

Detective Inspector Cobb steps back in to have the final word.

"No statement means no crime and no official investigation for the time being, but one other thing you should be aware of is that this nut was described as having long sharp teeth and claw-like nails. Before she stopped talking Elaine described him as a vampire. Personally, I don't believe in vampires, but I do believe that we have a sick bastard out there who's not going to stop at ripping up one, and now our friendly neighbourhood gangsters are going vigilante which gives us problems. That's enough excitement for you boys and girls for one day, now get out there and get on with what you're paid for. Oh, and if you see anyone with big teeth wearing a long black coat, hold a crucifix near him and give me a call."

Links to purchase Bitemarks

US - Amazon.com

UK - Amazon.co.uk

Smashwords

Tanabata Greetings

Tomorrow is Tanabata – the Japanese star festival. Legend says that Orihime (Star Vega) and Hikoboshi (Star Altair) are lovers separated by the Milky Way and only allowed to meet once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh month.Write your wishes on strips of colored paper (tanzaku) and hang them on bamboo branches.


I hope all our wishes come true ;)

Six Sentence Sunday - Shinobi: Concealed in Shadows

The shadow wolf smiled when Makoto's words registered, then he leaned in and sealed their lips together. The kiss was soft, and tentative, giving the interrogator time and space to retreat if he so desired. The next kiss was firmer, decisive, though still chaste. A warmly molded connection that sent sparks surging through the scarred man's chest.

When their lips met for the third time Makoto took control, cradling the finely-boned face as his thumb smoothed over the shadow wolf's throbbing pulse. When the interrogator finally swept his tongue out to taste, Yoshi opened eagerly, heart hammering as he overrode his ingrained response and pressed tight against the larger form.