Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Andrew Christian is a Freaking Genius

So men's underwear, it's boring, given low show space on the retail floor then along comes Andrew Christian. Holy Crap! The man is an absolute genius. Seriously. LICK? Really, who wouldn't want this underwear, gay or straight. My husband is straight and it's kind of obvious that Andrew Christian is targeting the gay market with his clothing line, but I want some of this underwear for my husband who happens to be straight?

Seriously, gay, straight or bi, this underwear will improve your sex appeal 1000%. Go to his site and watch this video and then buy the underwear.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Bridegroom - What' your commitment?

Recently I saw a video that brought me to tears. It's moving and sad, but the bigger issue is that this can change for other. No one has to go through this again. Please give at least $1 then share this story.

Have some compassion. Skip your Starbucks for the week if you don't think you have the money to give. Just $1 and then share on your blogs, your Facebook account, Twitter, email your friends, and get the word out. Being kind to others is a key principle, be kind and show love to others by supporting this  campaign.

Visit Kickstarter and Help

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Why I Love Writing Interracial Romance? by Rawiya

Good morning and thanks for joining me today. As you probably know, I’m the third in the Triad of muses, Rawiya. The one who writes sweet and sensual, real erotica for real people is my tagline. That still holds true but you might’ve noticed that I only write IR romances, interracial, multicultural, black/white male couplings at the moment and my first MMF is two white men with a black female. Why you ask? Two reasons: I love it and the world is full of people from different walks of life and of different race. Why shouldn’t there be more books about people from different backgrounds getting together?

Love is truly LOVE!

I recall when I first started reading m/m in particular and didn’t see a whole lot out there. I did a blog on it at Its Raining Men some time ago and received many responses. Some recommending reads and others from authors telling me they weren’t comfortable doing them for fear of getting it wrong. My response was, people are people and unfortunately, some have stereotypical views of how they think certain people should act. No such thing as getting it wrong unless you write historicals but when you do a contemporary, you’re still penning everyday characters. Regardless of their color, focus on them as a person and not how the so called mainstream views them.

Now that I’ve put a couple out there on my own, I’ve read a ton more of interracial manlove romances and have thoroughly enjoyed what I found. In most of them, they didn’t focus on the stereotypes rather, on the personalities of the characters themselves. That’s what I try to do as well and let me add, I love bringing out the cultural points from ones background. Whether it be the music, the food they eat, their language even if it’s slang, it might be a part of them. To me, that’s part of the world I create around them and brings the two of them together. It makes it real.

So again, why do I love writing IR romances? I enjoy bringing together two people from two different backgrounds and focusing on the positives in their relationship. Oh and did I mention it’s hotter? *laughs* 

To me it just is.

IR is my niche and I intend to do it for the rest of my writing career. I hope that lasts for quite a while and hope you’ll check me out along the way. Thank to 50 Shades of Gay for having me!

Naughty Nights Press is proud to announce that Smooth Like Latte, an interracial gay male romance, is available to purchase from All Romance  Amazon and Smashwords
Brendan Walsh is an uptight business executive working for his father and missing out on real life due to his relentless drive for success. Fearing his homophobic father’s wrath - and the potential to destroy his financial future - Brendan hides is true orientation and lives a life of boring celibacy.
Upon meeting Davori Jenkins when the hunky barista serves him a latte just the way he likes it, Brendan takes a chance, leaving his number with the tip in the hopes of changing his future love life.
Will Brendan be able to come clean with his father - risking his fortune - or will he take a chance at losing a man who he wants as his future?

Warning: This is an m/m interracial romance. Real romance. Some sappiness is ahead with two very good looking men who are searching for that happy ever after ending.

“Brendan, you must uphold the family name. Nothing is more important than the Walsh name! Nothing!”
The words of Brendan Walsh’s father, Alexander, rang true, like a menacing alarm in his head every single day. Why did he have to be the son Alexander depended upon most? Could it be because the other Walsh brother was completely useless?
In his father’s eyes, Brendan’s older sibling Brian was a disappointment, all because he didn’t want any part of the Walsh family business. Instead of living off his trust fund and becoming the successive CEO to the Walsh Financial Corporation, he’d opted to follow his dream and become a rock musician. That made Alexander extremely unhappy and because of this, the elder Walsh made changes to his will which took away his portion of the family fortune. Brian didn’t care, though; he said no amount of money could bring him true happiness.
Brendan, on the other hand, did like money and security, but the constant meetings, the traveling, and all the responsibilities of being the boss had started to wear thin. He attended college and went straight to graduate school afterward. Then he became top partner at Walsh. It was a lot of responsibility, but Brendan had been well groomed by his dad, who was adamant about not wanting his younger son to become a “useless fuckup.”
“Ugh…” Brendan restlessly turned over. Opening one eye, he glanced at the clock. Six a.m. Time to get up and head in to the office to make more money for the Walsh Empire. Not wanting to move, he groaned, running his fingers through his short, wavy, brown locks. He’d just gotten his hair cut, and it still felt funny. He’d allowed it to grow past his shoulders, but that had only prompted Alexander’s comment that he should “stop looking like a fag.”
“Damn.” If Alexander only knew. Maybe that was just what the old man needed. To see his son for exactly what he was – a man in the closet who desperately wanted to come out.
Yeah, that’ll be the day.
Pulling up the shades, he squinted his eyes into the daylight; the few stragglers out on the street were probably either coming home from or on their way to work. Or were they returning from Valentine’s Day parties in the city? A part of Brendan wished he were doing just that, especially since he’d spent this particular V Day in his Lake Shore Drive condo, reading and comparing sales figures from the year before. That wasn’t his job: it was someone else’s, but he’d opted to do it himself because that employee had someone to go home to and he didn’t. Truthfully, numbers remained his first love, and he’d never known any other.
While he tried to read over the latest figures the night prior, his father called to get him out of his high-rise condo. “Brendan, I’m at the country club with a bunch of friends. You should come by.”
The last thing Brendan wanted was to be around his father on the most romantic day of the year. “No thanks Dad, I’m real busy.”
“Oh c’mon, son,” Alex slurred his words and cut him off. “There’s some pretty ladies here and lots of Scotch. You could walk outta here with the next Misses Walsh. Besides, you need to give me a grandchild.”
Completely annoyed, Brendan rolled his eyes and sighed. “No thanks, Dad.” He promptly hung up the phone.
Oh, he’ll get me for that later.
Too bad I can’t be that bold all the time.
“Pfft.” Dejected, he shook his head and stretched his arms while he strolled slowly to the bathroom. Flicking on the lights, he winced. The coffee-colored marble floor was cold on his bare feet. He rubbed his eyes, thinking how nice it would be to crawl back under the covers and blow off work, but he knew Alexander would bitch if he didn’t show up.
A hot shower was what he needed to warm him up and get him into his daily routine. Turning the small silver knobs, he took off his boxers and stepped in, allowing the hot water to cascade down his body. He ducked his head under the hot spray and exhaled, feeling the warm drops hit his scalp. Several ran down his face, both soothing him and waking him up, as he wanted. In minutes, the sound of whiny saxophones and soft piano melodies filled the bathroom. Like an alarm, he’d set smooth jazz music to play while he showered because he loved hearing it when he woke up.
Brendan wished there was someone to share these morning moments with him. “Maybe someday, I’ll get up the nerve.” He rubbed his newly cut hair and leaned against the marble wall. “When Brendan, fucking when?”

RAWIYA is the more sensual erotica writer in the BLRawiya duo. Rawiya's first sole author book, Time to Make the Donuts released in Feb and her first MMF Living in the Now released in April from NNP. The third book, Smooth Like Latte is out now. She has several shorts in anthologies, the latest, That Thing in the STARbooks collection, Tall Dark and Delicious. A lot of her shorts are also on Every Night Erotica. She blogs regularly at Wicked Sexy Writers. For more please visit the Rawiyas blog on Wordpress.

Friday, June 15, 2012

Mmmm, More Bears, Oh My Silvia Violet is out to get you hot and bothered

I love bears. Not the four-legged kind – well, they're fascinating unless they're nosing around in the food stash at your camp site – but I mean big, masculine men who shun the idea of waxing away all their silky fur. Rather than having to shave, buff, and polish away their connections to the animal kingdom, they're not afraid to let their fur show and even to put on some winter weight. I prefer men who look like they wouldn't shy away from a hearty dinner and some chocolate cake. Just think of all the fun you can have with chocolate cake….
Bears aren't afraid of their natural state, and they defy society's push for us all to look younger, smoother, and thinner. I believe women should be comfortable in their own bodies without having to starve themselves or spend hours making themselves up before going out in public. Men, be they gay or straight, should be afforded that freedom as well.
I find the contrast of textures, the implied wildness or animalness of bears appealing both sexually and as a writer. Many of my stories include shape-shifters, and one of the things I like about these stories is the chance to explore our animal nature. My shifters show some of their animal characteristics in their human form whether it's an alpha wolf's desire to dominate, or a deer's tendency to stomp his foot as a signal of approaching danger.
My shifters are visceral creatures, unafraid of smelling, touching, and tasting the things – or people - they enjoy. They're comfortable in their bodies, unhampered by modesty or societal standards. They like things rough whether at work or play, and they don't mind getting dirty. When I imagine a man who would have an alternate animal form, I picture a bear, even if I'm casting him as a werewolf or a panther.
When I came across this picture while looking at some of those Tumblr sites (you know the ones, don't deny it). I decided immediately that he was a bear shifter, and I wanted to write his story. A week or so later, I was pondering what to write for my next Protect and Serve story which would feature Police Lieutenant Seth Morrison. As I pictured Seth in my mind, I realized he was a bear. Suddenly, I knew what to do. The bear and the bear shifter. I would pair Seth with the man in the picture. And thus, Paws on Me, was born. I had several weeks of fur-covered fun as I got to know my characters. Here's how Seth describes Brandon when he sees him at a crime scene:

I step away from Brandon and turn to face him. He grins down at me, that same cocky-as-fuck little smile he’d given me earlier, making me even more aware of how close we are and how big he is. At 6’2”, I’m hardly small, but he’s got several inches on me. And while I’ve got a rather thick pelt, the fur visible above the vee of his t-shirt is astounding.

I thoroughly enjoyed writing about these two men who weren't at all afraid of their animal needs. And now for a sexy excerpt…..

Protect and Serve: Paws on Me by Silvia Violet

Lieutenant Seth Morrison loves being a cop, but with budget cuts and crime both on the rise, he’s stopped making time for anything but his job.
On the outside, Brandon Lord is an easy-going, flirtatious club owner. On the inside he’s a man trying to overcome a difficult past.
When a murder investigation brings the two men together, passion roars to life. They’re both willing to break the rules to be together. Because as mismatched as they might seem, each man is exactly what the other needs.
“How’s your leg?” I mean to distract myself but as soon as I ask, I wish I hadn’t. I remember the feel of his thigh under my hand, hard muscles, soft flesh, coarse hair. So many textures to think about. Such a deep abiding need to lick and bite. Fuck. I can’t let him stay here.
“Better. By tomorrow I probably won’t feel much.”
“Good. I need to talk to you about the case. Maybe we should move to the living room.”
He looks so disappointed I almost change my mind, but I can’t let the longing in his eyes distract me. He sits up and swings his legs off the bed. The bandage catches on the sheet and rips loose, tearing away part of the scab and plenty of hair. “Shit!” he yells. Blood wells up and trickles down his leg.
Later, I can’t decide why I ran across the room. It wasn’t like he was going to bleed to death. Did my subconscious push me to make a move that would get us in bed together? Surely I understood where touching him again would lead. We reached for the bandage at the same time. My hand lay on his as we used pressure to stop the bleeding.
“That was dumb. I should have been more careful. I…” His words trail off. I look up. Our faces are inches apart. My heart pounds. I know how supremely stupid I would be to kiss him, but I can’t help it. His lips beg me to take a taste. I close the distance between us and swipe my tongue across his lips, savoring his woodsy flavor. “I need this,” I mumble against his lips.
“God, yes. So bad.” He opens his mouth, and we devour each other. I forget who I am, where I am. I forget that his leg is bleeding, and I’m supposed to be holding the bandage on. I sink to my knees between his legs and cup his face with my other hand, pulling him down so I can explore every inch of his mouth. I slide my tongue along his, growing more desperate for him every second. My hand tightens on his thigh, and he flinches, forcing me back to reality. I let go of him and sit back, breath coming in pants. “Fuck, this is so wrong.”
Brandon shakes his head and cups me under the chin, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t know if I’ve ever done anything this right.”
The intensity in his eyes scares me. I start to pull away. What am I doing? Wrecking everything I’ve worked for? I can’t fuck a man who’s involved in my case.
Brandon squeezes my arms, immobilizing me. “Stop thinking. Stop analyzing everything with that fucking cop’s brain. Just feel.”
I’m not used to being with anyone stronger than me. But I like the way he’s holding me, refusing to let me go. Having a man like him -- young, hot, cool, seductive -- wanting me goes to my head. He makes me forget all the rules, makes me let down barriers I’ve held in place my whole life. I can’t stop.
I kiss him again. My mouth is brutal in its assault. He could easily take control, but he opens to me, letting me have him my way. He tastes rich and smoky like a campfire, like fall. I suddenly want to do more than kiss and fuck him. I want to take him to my favorite restaurant, introduce him to the best coffee in the city, take him boating on the river. I want a fucking relationship.
The thought nearly frightens me into backing away, but he tastes and feels too damn good. I run my hands over his chest, enjoying the feel of his fur. I release his mouth and nibble his throat, his collarbone, his shoulder. I sink my teeth into one of his muscular pecs. He growls and pushes his hands into my hair, pressing my face against his chest. “More.”
I bite him again, harder this time, sucking at his flesh, wanting to mark him. He digs his fingers into my scalp, groaning and rubbing his body against mine. I circle his wrists with my hands as I lick at the bruise I made. He lets me pin his hands to the mattress and keep them there. I slide lower and rub my face against the thick hair covering the center of his chest, loving the feel of it brushing my face and catching in my beard. I take a deep breath of his musk.
Then I drop to my knees. “Don’t move.” I release his hands. I’m eager to feel Brandon’s cock in my mouth. I want to know what sounds he’ll make as I suck him and whether he’ll let me remain in charge.

Buy Paws on Me at
Changeling Press:

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

To Fur or Not To Fur - Hank Edwards, the fur king

All of my characters have fur.
No, they're not shifters. Well, not all of them. And, yes, most of them are male. I just happen to love men with hairy bodies. This is a no waxing zone, please. Keep it natural and furry and sexy, oh yes.
When I look back at my writing, over a decade of m/m stories, the great majority of my characters have hairy chests. Charlie Heggensford, the clumsy Idaho farm boy turned LA gay fluffer has a hairy chest. He has significant relationships with a number of men, most notably Rock Harding, the hot, hot, hot gay porn movie star, who also sports a hairy chest, as well as Brent Harrington, his bear porn star good friend/fuck buddy who gets a co-starring role in the third book of the series, "Vancouver Nights."
In 2009, I wrote "Holed Up," a suspense thriller, and both Mark and FBI Agent Pearce have hairy chests. I just can't get away from it! "Destiny's Bastard," my medieval time travel gay romance, features Sir Gerard Fogg, a knight in the Royal Guard, whose chest is strong and hairy, and in "Plus Ones," my gay wedding romantic comedy, both characters are hairy as well. I just gotta promote the hair! There's nothing I like better than running my fingers through those silken strands of hair. Grrr. 
This month, my latest book released from Loose Id, a sequel to "Holed Up," which is titled "Shacked Up." Mark and FBI Agent Pearce are making a go at a relationship and getting pulled into more mysterious happenings. And, yes, both still have hairy chests. So if you're looking for a hot, sexy, suspenseful read with plenty of fur, click on over to Loose Id's website and download one of the many e-book formats available today.
Scroll down to read an excerpt, and until next time, stay furry.

Shacked Up buy link:

Shacked Up blurb:
FBI Special Agent Aaron Pearce is recovering from his injuries suffered while on assignment in Detroit, stuck in the offices of the FBI running database searches for agents in the field. He is bored and edgy, and takes it out on those closest to him, including Mark Beecher, who lives with him.
While Mark cannot deny the heat between them, he struggles to find his place in Washington, DC, and in Pearce's apartment. He notices a car following him back and forth to work and panics, certain it's the terrorist mole Robert Morgan who escaped them in Detroit.
As Mark and Pearce try to identify the driver, Pearce is drawn into an investigation concerning the disappearance of data discs from government employees. During research, he discovers the catering company where Mark works may be at the root of the thefts, and, when the company is booked to cater a prestigious party, Pearce realizes it is the perfect setup for an undercover operation. He doesn't think twice about disobeying orders to stay out of the field, and risks not only his career, but his life as well, to join Mark in an undercover operation that will change their lives forever.

Shacked Up Excerpt:
Mark woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs. He sighed and rolled over in bed, pressing his hard-on into the mattress and his face into Pearce’s pillow. The sheets on Pearce’s side of the bed were still a little warm against his bare skin, and he breathed in the man’s scent from the pillowcase. It was the same scent he had first noticed back in January, when Pearce had pushed him into a freight elevator in the FBI’s Detroit office. At that moment, Mark had simultaneously hated and wanted Pearce, and now, just a few months later, here he was, living with the man.
Life was strange.
Mark rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Pearce’s ceiling. Pearce’s bed. Pearce’s apartment. Mark’s belongings still sat in boxes stacked in the spare room. Some weekend soon, when Mark wasn’t working a party, he planned to sort through his things. Maybe grab some CDs for his car. If he was lucky, maybe Pearce would invite him to unpack some stuff, add a few items to the apartment. Hell, Pearce might even suggest Mark add his CDs to the collection in the living room. Not mix them together—nothing that crazy—but maybe get a shelf or two of his own.
He had found it was tricky to know where he could place things in the apartment. Pearce was a territorial animal; Mark had seen that when he had added his toiletries to the bathroom. Pearce had come along after him and rearranged things in the medicine cabinet and on the countertop. The man seemed to have his apartment ordered just as he liked, and Mark couldn’t help feeling like an intruder. If only Pearce would help him figure out where he could put some things, maybe clear off more than one or two shelves for him. But each time Mark asked, Pearce would make noncommittal sounds of agreement and never follow through.
Pearce had been nodding off on the sofa when Mark had gotten home last night just after eleven. The drive home had been uneventful; Mark hadn’t noticed anyone following him, and he was exhausted from working the dinner party with Audra and Brenda. Darlene had had to go home and take care of her daughter.
Mark had touched Pearce’s shoulder to wake him, and the man got to his feet, eyes still glassy with sleep. They hugged, shared a quick kiss, and went to bed together. No mention of the red Escort or the daily frustrations at the job. Just two exhausted people living together and trying to make it work.
Now Mark’s cock pulsed, and before he could reach down to take hold of himself, the bedroom door eased open. Mark raised his head and squinted in that direction, smiling at the blurry vision of Pearce peering in at him around the door.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Pearce said and stepped into the room. “Well, I see not all of you is a sleepyhead.”
Mark chuckled and stretched, arching his back and pushing his hard-on up against the thin sheet. He could feel the damp spot of precum soaking into the material. After the stretch, he turned his head to smile up at Pearce, who had moved around to stand over him on his side of the bed. Pearce wore a pair of thin cotton sleep pants, the front now tented out with his interest. Mark looked up along Pearce’s bare torso and ran his hand through the dark, trimmed hair that covered Pearce’s flat belly. “Hi, there.”
“Need some help with that?” Pearce asked, his gaze locked on the bulge of Mark’s erection beneath the sheet.
“You know, I could use some help with this.” Mark pulled the sheet away. “It’s so big and awkward, it’s too much for me to handle all on my own.”
Pearce knelt beside the bed and, grinning, leaned in to give Mark a soft kiss on the lips. After backing off a few inches, Pearce smiled at him, then moved down to suck Mark’s nipple, making Mark pull in a quick breath through his teeth. Pearce swirled his tongue around the hardened nub, then drifted lower and parted the dark blond hair on Mark’s chest and belly with his tongue. The whiskers along Pearce’s jaw brushed against Mark’s cock, and he groaned at the sensation. A moment later, the hot width of Pearce’s tongue painted the shaft with saliva from the tip to the root and back again. When the sudden, wet heat of Pearce’s mouth closed around his cock, Mark gasped and raised his arms over his head to clutch the rails of the headboard.
“Oh God,” Mark groaned. “Now this is a wake-up call.”
Join Hank on Facebook and on twitter.

Friday, June 8, 2012

Gay Fiction or Good Fiction? by S.A. McAuley

I’m a new author to the male/male romance genre, but I was a reader before I started writing it. I was hooked after my first male/male book and spent hours seeking out recommendations, devouring the highest rated books within a couple of weeks. I distinctly remember the first time I wrote a review that said “This is not just gay fiction, this is good fiction.” And I also remember how awkward and unfair that sentence felt at the time, but I wasn’t quite sure why.

Labels and I have never gotten along. I tend to rail against taking on any kind of label, just on principle. But when you’re in a business that relies on categorizations and tags and genres? Defying labels leads to readers being unable to find that blissful intersection of desire and greatness.

After going through the tagging exercise of publishing a book, I now know why that sentence bothered me so much. By writing that sentence in my review, I was implying “gay fiction” is not legitimate fiction – that as a subset of fiction it is less, somehow inferior. That’s how hierarchies work, right? There is literary fiction (Ann Patchett being one of my favorites), and then mainstream fiction (Stephen King anyone?), and then mass market fiction (I still can’t get into James Patterson, sorry), and then, at the perceived bottom of the fiction pile, the genre fiction: romance, sci-fi, fantasy, horror.

But the reality is infinitely more interesting.

Gay fiction is unique because while technically its own genre, it also crosses all genres: At Swim Two Boys by Jamie O’Neill, the Black Dagger Brotherhood series by JR Ward, Woke Up in a Strange Place by Eric Arvin. Gay fiction is just as varied as straight fiction is. (Shocking, right?) That reality supports the use of an identifier, so those of us who want to read about gay characters and themes can find the books that tell those stories.

Where I’ve landed on this argument? Gay fiction is a categorization to take pride in, but to never stop challenging. Tags and categories are living, breathing entities on the internet - ones that we as readers and authors have the power to mold, change, trend, and delete.

My first published short story is set to release July 28th from SilverPublishing. It’s a gay contemporary romance called The Maker Jock. Next up is my first published novel, the story of a gay man who is the victim of a violent hate crime. That one I’m having a little more trouble finding the right category for, but I’m still proud to list it as gay fiction.  After those? I have a gore-iffic horror book I’m working on, as well as the story of a Filipino transgender - both of which will feature main and side characters from the GLBTQQIA spectrum. I’m definitely a genre hopper. But what my stories will always come down to is our shared humanity – the places where our lives intersect. The moments that stretch the limits of categorization because they are unexpected and new. I can’t wait to share more of them with you.

About S.A. McAuley
Sam sleeps little, reads a lot. Happiest in a foreign country. Twitchy when not mentally in motion. Send her a picture and a song and she’s bound to write a story about it. And yes, that’s an invitation.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Heart of the Warrior and the gay vampire

Heart of the Warrior - Sensual Paranormal and Dark Fantasy

What happens when you take an openly gay vampire who has a secret past and combine him with a closeted vampire that didn't even know he was gay to begin with, and whose parents and best friend are severely homophobic? Answer: An explosion of emotion and discovery.


Severin was born to be a warrior. Conceived as a mixed-blood when his vampire father raped his dreck mother over two centuries ago, Severin retained the power of iron skin inherent to newborn drecks. However, Sev keeps this secret closely guarded. If it's discovered that inferior dreck blood flows in his vampire veins, it could destroy his life. And to make matters worse, his father suddenly wants to make amends for his transgressions. Sev wants nothing of his father's apology, especially now, as he contends with both an assassin who has marked Sev for blood vengeance and his obsessive attraction to his teammate, Arion.

Arion is the son of King Bain's liaison, Gregos Savakis, who had Ari's course plotted before he was even born. But what Ari's overbearing parents wanted for him wasn't what Arion wanted for himself, and a lifetime spent fighting through one relationship after another with females from all walks of life has left him weary in his search for a mate. After a startling and erotic encounter with Sev, Ari has begun to realize why. He's gay. And now he can't stop thinking about Sev. Arion suddenly realizes he's been forcing himself to be with females because that's what his parents expected. But what he wants is a male, and not just any male. Arion wants Severin.

Can the two overcome the secrets, prejudice, plotting, and the threat on Severin's life to find happily ever after with each other?

Heart of the Warrior is book two of my All the King's Men series, and based on fan feedback, you need a box of Kleenex sitting nearby if you're going to tackle this one. I've already had readers tell me they cried (bottom lip quivering and all) while reading this novel. I've also been told an escape to a private shower was needed, as well, to…uuumm…take care of things. You put two and two together on that one. LOL.

So, I guess that means this book is steamy enough to get your undies in a bunch, and emotional enough to make your tear ducts work overtime. And I will admit that I felt both while writing this novel. Severin and Arion made me pant while tearing me up. These boys are such conflicted, tortured, and complex individuals that I broke down in tears more than once while getting their story on proverbial paper. And they are sinfully sexy and delicious, making me swoon right along with them. And I'm the author, for crying out loud. My characters shouldn't be able to affect me this much, being that I should see what's coming. And yet…Sev and Ari constantly threw me curves throughout the book, and Micah (from book one of the series, Rise of the Fallen) didn't help, causing me to break down with emotion even more.

When I began writing the All the King's Men series, I knew at least one story would be M/M (the series will have at least one more M/M romance), but I didn't know right off which characters would be involved. As I conversed with the characters, Severin immediately stepped up and made it clear he was gay and had the hots big time for Arion. It took Ari a bit longer to reveal to me that he was just as attracted to Severin, but that's not surprising since he has hidden his homosexuality behind a heterosexual mask his entire life.

When these two discovered each other at the end of book one, sparks flew off the pages and made it clear their story would be book two. And I must say that to date, Heart of the Warrior is my favorite story I've written. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Excerpt from Heart of the Warrior:

Ari couldn't see Sev's face, but he imagined if he could, he would find nothing but pain and heartache there. Sev's voice sounded so far away and wretched. And sad. No, not sad. Miserable. Dejected. In utter despair.
"I said fuck off." Sev stood up, keeping his back turned on Ari, but he could just see Sev's face in the mirror. He looked miserable, his head hung. "I'm such an idiot." He was shaking his head, his voice forlorn. "You just used me. You toyed with my emotions. You never had any intention of being with me."
Severin turned and walked to the locker room in silence. Discussion over.
Arion could only watch him leave. What the hell had just happened here? He looked down at the mat, at a smear of moisture – Sev's sweat. He reached out and dabbed it with his fingertips and lifted it to his nose.
Aaaahhhh. Severin. Pure and strong.
His gaze swept back to the locker room and that dull, throbbing ache awakened in his chest again. He had hurt Sev. Sev thought he had simply been using him, but that wasn't the case at all, was it? Arion had wanted what happened six weeks ago. He had never intended to cause Sev pain.
But he had, hadn't he?
Arion felt about an inch tall. He needed to get out of here.
Rubbing his thumb up and down his sternum, trying to ease the ache, he gathered himself and stood up. With one last look at the locker room door, he took a deep breath, blew it out, and hurried for the exit.
Rushing down the deserted hall in a fit of emotional upheaval, he reached the elevators and smacked the up button then looked back in the direction of the training center. Sev was in there, likely in as big a mess as he was. Probably wondering where it had all gone wrong. Wondering why Ari had used him, even though that hadn't been Ari's intention.
Double shit.
He needed to explain. He needed to apologize. He needed to somehow let Sev know that none of this was his fault. It was Ari's fault. All of it.
His thumb continued rubbing rhythmically up and down the center of his chest as the ache deepened. When the elevator door opened he stood there for a second. Then he took a step forward. Then stopped. Then closed his eyes and leaned forward on one outstretched arm pressed against the wall.
He couldn't leave Sev.
Turning back, he let the elevator door close as he began the hesitant walk back to the training center.
This was crazy. Ari stopped in the middle of the hall. If he returned to the gym, he knew how things would end up. He wouldn't be able to hold himself back from Sev. He wanted him. The scent of his sweat still invaded his nose, and it was a better high than a snort of cocaine or even cobalt could give him.
No, no. He could hold back. He would be able to control himself. He owed Sev that much. And he owed him an explanation…and an apology.
With purpose, Ari started walking again, holding his head high and pushing his shoulders back. The ache in his chest diminished as he neared the gym and opened the door. After stepping inside, he halted abruptly, his lungs pumping hard. Was he nervous or just keyed up? Was he afraid someone would see them and figure out what happened? Or was his sudden, erratic breathing caused by something else? Desire perhaps? Or his struggle not to give in to temptation and claim Sev's body as he had six weeks ago.
Fucking hells, maybe he should just bolt and do this shit later.
A sudden jolt of pain hit his chest. No. you need to do it now. You need to take away Sev's pain, you chicken shit. Suck it up, grow some balls, go in there, and apologize. Set things right.
Nodding to himself, he took a deep breath and stalked the length of the gym to the locker room, pushed the door open, and proceeded directly to the bay of lockers reserved for Tristan's team.
As he rounded the corner, he sucked in his breath at the magnificent, beautiful male who greeted him. Sev was sitting on the bench, his face already turned toward him, his guarded eyes red and full of tears, his thumb poised against his sternum as if he had been rubbing it.
Sev slowly stood up. "Why are you here?"
Suddenly, everything Ari had wanted to say escaped him. Like a fleeing antelope, his words bounded away, leaving him only with his breath, his body, and the vision of Severin in front of him. And the scent of Sev's sweat. And the memory of Sev's mouth on his, their bodies perfectly matched and pressed together. All he could do was stare and remember how incredible Sev had felt against him and in his arms.
Without a word, Ari charged forward, grabbed Sev, and thrust him back against the metal lockers with a loud clang as he came nose-to-nose with Sev, his senses spiking to DEFCON 1 as he panted with arousal.
"I didn't want her." His voice growled low in his throat.
It took a moment for Sev to react, but he didn't fight him or try to pull away. On the contrary, his body seemed to light up with as much heat as Ari was feeling.
"What? What do you mean?" Sev blinked in confusion. Or maybe he was just dazed.
Arion’s grip on Sev's shoulders stayed firm as his gaze danced over Sev's face. He was hungry for this male. Physically and emotionally hungry for him. "I didn’t want her." He spoke more softly this time. More reverently.
Sev licked his lips and it was all Ari could do to not lean in and quickly snag that alluring tongue with his teeth.
"Who?" Sev said quietly.
Ari could tell Sev knew he was talking about Chloe, but he seemed wary, as if he couldn't believe he was hearing him right.
"Any of them. I didn't want any of them." Ari couldn't have made a truer statement, because not only had he not wanted Chloe, but he now knew that he had never wanted a single woman he had ever been with. He had never been more certain of anything than he was right now. He had never wanted any of those females.

Thanks again to Sara for having me here today. I hope you'll all enjoyed hearing about Hear of the Warrior.

For those interested in taking a closer look or picking up a copy, here are the links to the different sites selling it: