The Kennicott’s were living the carefree life of an upper middle class family. That was until one day when his father arrives home from work and shares the company he has worked for since he was Reese’s age has gone out of business. Adding to the stress of being out of work for the worst time is the worst economic downturn the United States has ever faced. It does not take long for the Kennicotts to fall behind in their bills and lose everything.
Reese Kennicott had everything he could ever want and life was good. He worked a part time job to have extra money and to socialize. Now he is working all the hours he can get in order to help his family get by, which isn’t much. Reese is now dating the guy of his dreams, he along with his friends seem to be the only stable thing going for him.
Hope finally comes with a new job that will take the family across the country. This means for Reese giving up his lifelong friends, his new boyfriend and life as he’s always known it. The family takes with them what they can and begins on a road trip to their new life. Along the way, they encounter several barriers and hope begins to fade. Each day things look bleaker and the Kennicott’s begin to wonder if they are going to make it to their destination.
Pages: 192 pages
Categories: Gay fiction, M/M Romance, New Adult, Homeless
I have a horrible time when it comes to writing about myself. It is not that I have low self-esteem, but the fact that I am not comfortable talking about myself.
For most of my life, I have been writing and sharing it with my friends. They have repeatedly told me I needed to publish my writing and share it with the world. Now that I have, I am amazed at how many people admire it.
My interests beyond writing include reading a variety of books, watching movies and drawing.
I truly appreciate all the support and encouragement from my friends, family, and you. I am so thankful to your support!
Keep on reading! I am always interested in hearing about what people are reading, especially if it is something I have written.
Thank you for reading and letting me know what you think of my writing!
After meeting Terry at a motorcycle show, Gavin is sure he’s found the man of his dreams. While he’s fantasized about BDSM for years, Gavin has never had a play partner and Terry is happy to teach him. After playing together for a few months, Terry has to leave on a business trip. Terry gives Gavin the key to his apartment so Gavin can sleep in, but Gavin isn’t sure he’s ready for that level of commitment. While he likes and trusts Terry—and loves the kinky sex they have together—Gavin has to decide which he can’t give up: Terry, or his freedom. Part one was originally published as Boots and Leather by Torquere Press.
Weighed down by groceries and a bulging duffle bag, I rang Terry’s doorbell.
“It’s open!” he called.
I left the bag in the entryway so he wouldn’t see it and brought the groceries to the kitchen. He was wearing jeans, an apron and nothing else, and he was sexy as hell. I wanted him to ravish me, right there, right then, but he was busily stirring and chopping and other mysterious kitchen pursuits—I’m not much of a cook.
“Don’t come into the bedroom.” I kissed his shoulder.
“Sure.” He gave my butt a quick pat before turning back to his frying pan.
Making sure he wasn’t watching, I carried the heavy bag down the hall to Terry’s bedroom and started unpacking my goodies.
I’ve known I was interested in BDSM for a long time, though I’d never had a play partner of my very own before Terry. Every now and then I’d see something in an adult store or on a website that I just had to buy, for private use or the hope that I would eventually find a top to play with. “Every now and then” adds up over the years, and soon the bag wouldn’t be big enough to hold everything.
I laid it all out on the bed so I could see everything and try to narrow down exactly what I wanted to do with Terry—or rather, have him do to me. As I pulled out each toy, I remembered the fantasy that had made me buy it.
Terry and I haven’t discussed roleplaying yet, and I was still too shy to mention it, and worried he’d think I was immature for wanting to play “let’s pretend”.
Simple was probably best. A scene that took too long to set up could use up all our energy before we’d actually played. I tossed almost everything back in the bag, except for my matching set of black leather wrist and ankle cuffs, and what had quickly become my favorite toy. It was a jockey bat; similar to a riding crop, but the leather tip was hard instead of flappy. Terry has used it in all sorts of ways—using it the way it was intended, flipping it around to hit me with the handle, striking my thighs or ass with the shaft like a cane, even holding it across the backs of my knees to pin me down.
“I’m ready,” I called.
“Me too. We’d better eat first, or we might not get around to it.”
I was restless. I wanted to play now, but I knew he was right. If we played, we probably wouldn’t leave the bed until morning, and the dinner he’d cooked would go to waste. With a final glance at the toys neatly arranged on the bed, I sauntered out to meet him.
“Are you sure you didn’t own a restaurant in a past life?” I asked, bumping him with my hip while I grabbed a plate. I thought about serving him, but we hadn’t discussed that level of D/s yet, so I only got food for myself.
“I’d go crazy in a restaurant, surrounded by people, everyone in a hurry. I couldn’t even do your job.” He was used to being his own boss; if he felt like working fourteen hours one day, he did. If he wanted to ride to the coast for the weekend, there was no one to stop him but his own deadlines.
T. Strange has been interested in BDSM for as long as she can remember. She and her wife were active participants in their local community for a number of years, but lately they’ve been focusing more on their own relationship. When not writing or being spanked, T. enjoys gardening, playing with her cats and other animals, and playing video games. She writes vanilla fiction under the same pen name.
Just got my new cover for The Auction, and I'm loving it. Thank you Jay Aheer for the gorgeous art work.
Release day is May 1.
And here's a little about the story...
Scenes from the Underground 2
Lawrence, aka Lark, worked his way through college by dressing up like
Madonna and voguing onstage. After graduation, Lawrence, went looking for a real job, and met George. His new lover
wanted a straight-acting partner, in business and in bed, so Lawrence gave up
drag, and let George run the show.
The love relationship fizzles, but the event planning business thrives. HiJinks
books a big job and both men hope it will rain referrals so they can part
company. At the last minute, the entertainment bails, and Lark makes a comeback.
The drag queen plays out a sexy scene on the dance floor with dinner guest,
Oliver Ford. George is fuming, and willing to do anything to get rid of Lark—even
if it means putting him up on the block at a slave auction.
Cover Reveal: THE AUCTION Scenes from the Underground 2 @EvernightPub #GayFiction
Back when I was pregnant with my second child and still slaving as a nurse, I worked with a unit secretary named Cori. Cori was young (maybe twenty-one, tops), gay, and fantastically flamboyant. I don’t think he owned a shirt or tie that wasn’t in the pink-peach-purple spectrum, and he rocked them all. His hair was always perfectly gelled for that careless, messy look that was anything but careless or messy. He had a perfect little body and a gorgeous baby face, and I’m sure he is making some lucky bastard very happy these days.
Cori was opinionated about life and love, and gave romantic advice out like Halloween candy. I wish I could say I got to know him well, but I was an old woman (twenty-nine—sob!), married, pregnant, weeks away from hanging up my stethoscope for fulltime motherhood, and no longer in the go-out-and-party-after-work stage by the time he started on my floor. So, I missed out on most Cori-isms, much to my current chagrin. I’d definitely love to pick his brain now.
I do recall one quick conversation we had with crystalline clarity, though.
Like I said, I was pregnant, and for whatever reason, the topic of baby names came up. Cori asked me what we were planning to name my son. I told him (sorry—can’t divulge) and Cori oooed most exuberantly and told me my unborn baby was going to get crazy-laid with that name. “Oh my God—that is such a hot name!”
Being the person I am, I was happy for this news. Like when the tech performs the ultrasound and tells you your kid has all the expected toes and fingers. Yay! My boy will have loads of sex just because I picked a great name for him!
I laughed and asked Cori if he got laid just because of his name.
Yes, he told me matter-of-factly. Cori with an “i” is original and sexy and a total boost in the booty department. Granted, the way that boy strutted his stuff was probably a bigger factor. He could have been named Reginald and he’d still have been a hot ticket. Of course, Cori did fit him exactly.
I told him I loved the name Cori. That I have a cousin with the same name.
“How does he spell it?” he asked me.
“K-O-R-Y,” I told him.
“Oh, okay. That’s cool. The K makes it hot. C-O-R-Y is lame.”
This Cori with an “i” conversation came rushing back to me when I named my MC in Crossed Hearts. I went with the K, hoping Kory Vansant’s chances of getting laid wouldn’t suffer for my naming or spelling choice. I’m sure his porn involvement didn’t hurt his piece-of-ass percentages either, but he probably wouldn’t have done quite so well for himself as a Reginald. Maybe. ;-)
Thanks so much for having me!
Crossed Hearts by K. Vale
Book one in the Hearts and Scars series
Kory Vansant doesn’t deserve to be alive.
As time sucks him dry of energy, sapping the final ounces of strength from his congenitally enlarged heart, he's forced to end his career as Kory Kent, porn star. Staring down death, he questions his life choices and prays for a miracle. For another chance at life, he vows to change who he is at his core.
His prayers are answered. A perfect heart now beats in his chest, but it comes at a heavy price. The donor is an innocent young man cut down far too prematurely.
And Kory's blemished history is nowhere near an ideal match.
As his debts skyrocket, Kory can’t help but think his resolve to walk the high road is being tested. After he meets the adorable Will Squire at the gravesite they both visit, he’s doubly damned because there’s no way he can keep up his end of the bargain. What happens when a man breaks a deal with a higher power?
Will often prefers the company of the dead to that of the living. Following a bad breakup, he pours himself into his two jobs—funeral director at his uncle’s mortuary and part-time paramedic. He’s drawn ever closer to Kory, as if fate sticks her fickle hand in and pushes them together like two unlikely puzzle pieces. But sometimes history can’t be buried, and maybe divine intervention isn’t always right. Will discovers everyone is imperfect, no matter how pretty the outer package, and opening one’s heart is never easy, but can be oh so worth the pain.
The man scratched the scrub on his chin. “Heart recipient,” he said finally. “I’m Kory—umm…Kory Vansant.” Holding out his hand, he took another step. Will’s fingers were swallowed in warm skin and bone.
“Will Squire.” Again, he couldn’t tear his gaze from the tease of scar tissue jutting from the crotch of Kory’s shirt collar. The urge to reach out and trace a finger over the pink relief of healed tissue was strong. Just like I touched Brandon’s incision. The stark difference between the two—one wound marking the end of a life and the other a salvation—was surreal. Will was nothing but an outsider looking in on a miracle, but somehow he felt he’d come around full circle.
“Want me to get naked so you can see the whole thing?”
Will closed his eyes for a moment and then looked up, his face flaming with a mix of embarrassment and immediate, fierce arousal. “I’m sorry. Totally rude.”
Kory smiled good-naturedly. “No worries. It’s a way to reclaim who I am, or was. Or some crap. I’m not just my medical status, like they keep saying at my support group.”
“No. Of course you’re not.”
He laughed loud and deep, and the warmth in Will’s face drifted down his body. “I’ve adopted it as my little icebreaker whenever people stare,” Kory said.
“Well, ice broken.” Will gulped. Hell, ice melted into a rolling boil.
About the author:
K. Vale writes erotic romance of all stripes, from hot hetero to mouthwatering manlove. Find her MF work published under Kimber Vale. Come for the sex. Stay for the story. Stalk Kimber on Facebook and Twitter @KimberVale, and check her site for updates, new releases, and freebies at http://www.authorkimbervale.com.
Welcome to the book tour for Inhuman Interest. Enjoy the excerpt and don’t forget to enter the rafflecopter giveaway. Eric will award one randomly drawn commenter a signed copy of the book, plus a $25 Amazon gift card (US/Canada only) and a second randomly drawn commenter a signed copy of the book (US/Canada only).
Follow the tour for a better chance of winning. The tour dates can be found here:
Thirteen words in a want-ad turn Tess Cooper’s world upside down after she signs on as a paranormal research assistant to the mysterious Davin Egypt. He reveals a world of grave robbing, clockworks artifacts in blue amber, antique revolvers that fire strange ammo, and powerful forces beyond human comprehension.
As ancient occult energies threaten to destroy her city, Tess must use her journalistic instincts to stay one step ahead of the public works director, Drew Dawson, whose agenda seems bent on destruction rather than maintenance. And possibly murder, but will anyone believe her?
Yeah, right. When garbage trucks fly.
If Tess teams up with the hunky police lieutenant, Kirk Gunther, and the pale, oddball Mr. Egypt, they might be able to save the city in time. That is, if Egypt even wants to. And if Tess overcomes her phobias long enough to do battle in Granddad’s 1983 Subaru Brat.
Things are about to get icky.
I watched Angie wobble away and marched myself toward the stonewalling the cops would give me when I felt the soles of my flats slide. Pinwheeling arms didn’t help me get my footing, and with a tiny cry, I went down.
And down, and down, and down.
Snow slid up my shirt, up my pants, and something less cold but more wet. I thrashed around, succeeding only in getting more snow inside my clothes. Not falling, but sinking. I sank into a deep hole. And then I realized it wasn’t a hole but a grave.
Angie came rushing back, as much as she could rush on her stumpy, little legs. “Tess, what the hell happened? I heard you screaming and—oh, my God.”
I expected her to kneel down and help me out of the loose soil and slush, but instead, she whipped out her camera. The little motor whined as she took about six hundred shots. “I think I got the image for my Christmas cards this year.”
“Ange, help me out of here!” I pushed against the soil with one foot, and felt it sink deeper. I tried with the other one. Then I plunged in up to my neck. My arms found no grip, either. It was like quicksand, even though quicksand doesn’t really exist. I knew that. Worse, a horrible, horrible smell drifted up from below. Decomp, rot, death.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Newspaper founder, bookstore owner, artist, musician, and man-about-town Eric Turowski writes lots of mixed-genre books when he’s not too busy playing laser tag with Tiger the Cat and his fiancée Mimi deep in the Central Valley of California.
Veil of Scars a new release from Evernight publishing
A little bit about Veil of Scars:
Steven is tall, dark and damaged. He doesn't let anyone close, comfortable on the outside of normal life where he can hide his scars behind a wall so high that nothing gets through…except them. Despite a childhood marred with black and blue, he's survived and moved in with his two best friends, Sam and Charlie.
Life should get better, but it was Sam who held him when the dark threatened to swallow him whole, Sam who gave him a place that felt like home, and Sam who knew every scar and every broken place.
And it's all been taken away with Charlie sharing Sam's bed.
Without his former comfort, Steven realizes what's been hiding in the deep corners of his heart, and the truth sinks him like a weight. He’s in love with one or maybe both of his roommates. Navigating unrequited love tears Steven apart and brings him to the precipice, and he has to choose: his feelings or Sam’s…and Charlie’s?
"Charlie coming home from the party, too?" I didn't dare to hope.
“She didn’t go. She’s pulling an all-nighter in the library with a group for a project or something or other." He shrugged.
Maybe I would get a stolen night. One like old times.
We sat there for a while in silence, not quite wrapped up in one another but taking comfort from the other's body heat. I closed my eyes. Even on the sofa a night in his arms was bliss.
"Want to go to bed?" Sam asked, rousing me from the light sleep I had slipped into.
“Yeah, sorry." I got to my feet, cheeks flushing a bit, realizing I’d just fallen into something that wasn’t a reality anymore. In seven months there had been a few stolen nights with my best friend, but living with Charlie had put a stop to how we once were.
His brows fell, and he looked up at me before getting to his feet. I was turning to head to my room when he grabbed me by the hand, lacing his fingers through mine. I stopped, looking up to search his face.
He didn't say a word as he led me to the bed he shared with her. I couldn't help the smile that spread over my lips. The dark gave me the cover I needed to watch him pull the polo off his broad shoulders and cast it aside. I kicked out of my jeans and added my shirt to his on the floor, before crawling into bed.
The assured way he scooted in after me, coming up from behind to wrap his arms around my body, gave me a pain in the middle of my chest I couldn’t explain. I leaned back into his bare skin, and a calm washed over me. Within moments, it was like the nervous bundle of energy that had been wound inside me for months started to dissolve.
He tucked his head in next to my shoulder and whispered, “Goodnight," against my skin.
About J.R. Gray
When not staying up all night writing, J.R Gray can be found basking in the warm glow of the Miami sun, or at the gym where it's half assumed Gray is a permanent resident. A dominant, pilot, and sword fighting enthusiast, Gray finds it hard to be in the passenger seat of any car. Gray frequently interrupts real life, including normal sleep patterns, to jot down nonsense. The bane of Gray's existence are commas, and even though it's been fully acknowledged they are necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder.
If Gray wasn't writing...well, that's not possible. The build up of untold stories would haunt Gray into an early grave or possibly a mental institution where the tales would end up on the walls in crayon and finger paint.