Wednesday, 29 April 2015

#MidWeekTease Where Athol gets back to his past...

Athol knows he's got a lot to do...

Edan knows it as well

When is a Dom not a Dom? When it stops him from being with the man he loves…
Athol Donaldson lost many people in his life, his lover, his family, his twin. The latter loss seems hardly worth moaning over. Affric caused nothing but trouble when alive, and now, he seems intent on causing trouble from beyond the grave.
It forces Athol to seek out the one man he's never forgotten.
Eden Murdoch has no intention of letting Athol slip through his fingers again. He's lost him once, and as they're forced to pull together to unravel the mystery surrounding the parentage of a teenage girl, their love for each other blossoms.

Surely, being Doms doesn't mean they can't compromise? Will they be able to work out their differences, and find lasting happiness, or will this blast from the past prove to be their final undoing?

********   ~~~~~   *********

Edan Murdoch moved back from the keyboard and stretched his arms high above his head to untangle the kinks in his shoulders. He pulled the thin strip of leather from his ponytail and wondered for the umpteenth time if he should grow up and cut his hair. Left loose, it fell over his shoulders in a waterfall of black curls, and got him more than enough sly comments and references to dark-haired cherubs and dodgy rock stars. But then if he kept it short, it became a tight mass of twists and knots. It was the thought of how long it took to detangle that made his mind up––he'd leave it as it was, with the odd trim by his friendly neighborhood barber. At least kept longer, he could get a brush through it. 
Edan rolled his shoulders and put the thong in his desk drawer for the following morning. It had been a long day, a long week even, and all he wanted was to go home, pour a glass of Merlot and chill. Well, not all, he amended silently, he'd prefer a hot bod—one specific hot bod, even—beside him, but that was likely as a midge-free summer on the West Coast.
One more report and he'd leave. As it was, Absinthe the cat would give him the cold shoulder. Edan chuckled to himself. How stereotypical was he? Gay, on his own, and with a cat for a companion. And anyone who said cats were self-contained and no trouble had never met Absinthe. That cat could make her thoughts and needs known with one meow and a glare.
The knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He pressed keys, making an 'sssssssss' row across the report, and swore. Who on earth would be around at—he glanced at his watch—shit, nearly nine o'clock at night. Where had the time gone?
"Yeah?" He pushed up his glasses, and rubbed his face. God, he was tired. "Come in."
The door opened and Athol walked in. His tiredness dropped away like an old washcloth.
"Fuck me."
The newcomer nodded. "Yes please, here or do you have somewhere else in mind?"
Edan laughed. "Well, that's the rub, isn't it? You ready for a little subbing yet?"
"In your dreams, mate. I'm the Dom."
Edan nodded. That was the sticking point and always had been. "Yeah, and so am I. So there we have it. Or don't, as the case may be. Why are you here? I'm sure it's not just to tell me you're not prepared to negotiate."
Athol shrugged. "You know it's not. But we have a problem. Or rather, I think I do. You're just a not so innocent bystander."
His words made Edan grin. "Innocent never was comparable with you or me, mate. Ah, Athol. Bloody hell, I've missed you." He walked around the desk and grabbed Athol and pulled him into a big hug. It was returned with fervor, and he was damned sure he got a swift kiss on the neck as well. "Not just in bed." He stopped talking, scared he'd said too much. Athol didn't answer. He looked unhappy, and Edan wished he could retract his words. "Dammit, in other things as well. Someone to laugh with, to share the ups and downs, and someone to high-five when everything works out."
Athol grimaced. Edan realized more than ever this wasn't just a social call. Here was one of the two people in the world he truly loved, one whom he hadn't seen for over five years, and his feelings were as strong as ever. And, typical, it seemed nothing had changed. For years they'd met up, chatted, argued, and gone their separate ways. The last few years they hadn't even done that. He had never told Athol where he lived, what he was doing, or how miserable he'd been. Just sat and agonized through those few hours they'd spared for each other. Why the hell couldn't he give in, just a little bit? If Athol were prepared to switch, Edan would do so gladly. But he wasn't going to be the only one, not any more.
"Maybe one day," Athol said slowly. "Once we've sorted this crap out. Life as a lonely Dom ain't all it's cracked up to be. Not when everyone around you is loved up and pairing up. Well, nearly everyone," he said. "I can think of a few who need help. I had a blast from the past at the club last night."
"Club? I thought you were a psychologist."
"God almighty, have you forgotten all our late-night sessions, not the sex ones but the angst ones? Psychiatrist, Edan, watch my lips." He repeated the word.
Edan couldn't help it. He punched his friend's shoulder and grinned. "Works every time, sucker. Okay, chill. What club and why?"
"Dommissima, because I want to."
Edan whistled. He'd heard about that. One of the premier and exclusive BDSM clubs in the country. "Playing with the big boys, eh?"
"Oh, hon, you better believe it." Athol dropped his wrist, rolled his eyes and snorted. "And get it right, I am one of the big boys, almost. Ah, Edan, I've fucking missed you. Why did we cock it up?"
"Because we didn't. Cock it up." Edan qualified his statement. "Maybe if we had, both of us, life would have been a lot simpler. Okay, not simpler but better, who knows. It's water under the bridge. Shit, listen to me, ‘idiom central’ for fuck's sake. Anyway, fill me in, or not."
"Enough of the double entendres, eh?" Athol's expression was somber. "Intended or not. Look, can we go for a pint or a curry or something? Being back at uni gives me hives. Horny undergrads and hungry lecturers, means a hassled me ... God, am I ever glad I chose not to teach." Athol licked his lips and the gesture sent an eager message to Edan's groin. His cock noted it and hardened in appreciation.
"Yeah, there's a new curry place opened near the gut-wrencher we used to use. It won't give you Delhi Belly but might make you want more. It's run by Ashok and Ephraim, those two guys who were in our History lectures," Edan reminded Athol. "They decided to leave academia for that, and thank goodness, as it's bloody marvelous. Their fish curry is almost to go straight for."
Athol grinned as Edan meant him to. It was hard enough coping with Athol there in the flesh and worrying what was wrong without giving him food poisoning. Edan logged out of his computer and grabbed his leather jacket from the hook on the door.
"Let's hope it's not two for one student night, then. My blast from the past might be blasting not many minutes from here. She's an undergrad."
Edan looked confused at Athol's statement. "She? What the fuck are you on about? What blast?" Athol put one long finger over Edan's mouth.
Edan didn't do as he wanted, and drag the finger into his mouth. The cloud of worry in Athol's eyes, and the slight tremor that ran through the digit stopped him. This was neither the time nor the
place to start a ‘will we, wont we’ bout of sex. Especially if it ended in tears. He wasn't sure he had his big boy boxers on. 

Just in case...

Check out all the other #MidWeekTease blogs right here...

Happy Reading,

Love R x

Tuesday, 28 April 2015

#TT bad boy...

'Everyone loves a bad boy—don't they? Come and meet Chance…'
Susan glanced up at the poster as she walked past the cinema and bit her lip.
Bad in film, bad in life. That about summed it up.
Noah Jackson's grinning face stared down at her, taunting, teasing and making her squirm. The dress shirt, the tie that shouted undo me take me off. the thoughts of an arrow of chest hair to entice your eyes lower, the suit trousers that caressed every contour and...
Do not go there.
The poster was an advertisement for testosterone.
Sod it.
'Premier tonight…'
Damn it.
Enough already, build a bridge get over it, move on, enough already.
He was in a past lifetime.
Susan Margaret Blews shifted her glance from the poster to the street ahead, and turned the corner towards the shops. Time to get her shopping and get the hell out of Dodge.
Safety, in the form of the deli counter for something tasty, and a good book called.
Or so she thought
Boy how wrong could a woman be.
 Lost in her thoughts, steak or salmon—Susan walked into a wall.
             The wall swayed and swore.

            "Why hello Susie Blews this saves me coming to get you."

             Noah bloody Jackson...

Catch the other #TT posts  by clicking here

Happy Reading,

Love R x

Monday, 27 April 2015

The Monday Club herewith known as ... #TheMondayClub—The Case of The Missing Knickers ( #FreeRead )

It's time for #TheMondayClub.

I'm treating might think I'm torturing you, to a free read on Mondays.

Today is the start of...

The Case of the The Missing Knickers

To set the scene

The essential question…

One anyone who has suffered the indignity of standing by the baggage belt, and watching everyone else grabbing their cases and leaving poses. You know what I mean. For however long it took for the wheep-wheep noise as the bell rang, the red light flashed, and the belt moved and slowly regurgitated cases, bags, buggies and golf clubs into the building. Often with handles ripped off, labels shouting to the world the fact your luggage is heavy, because you just had to put in the travel iron, three extra pairs of shorts and two bottles of gin.
And you wait…and wait…until the only other person around as a not so hopeful-of-a-job porter, and the only thing on the conveyor belt a box dated three days early stating perishable. Now you know what the weird smell is.
And as you come to terms with the case or lack of a case of the missing luggage (think great literary detectives with a magnifying glass here, looking for clues) you ask yourself…
Is That Airline pants?
Now you might read that sentence and roll your eyes. Perhaps wonder what on earth it means. An Airline, pants? However if you're from the UK side of the pond, you know it's slang. Pants means, rubbish, crap, terrible, awful…you get the gist? (A friend of mine was studying Japanese at university. On leaving a lecture one of the guys said, "Well, that was pants." The poor gentle Japanese lecturer then said to my friend, "Sadie-san, what is pants?" Try explaining that and making sure you don't hurt someone's feelings.)
Also, as I don't want a certain airline to get their knickers in a twist, (UK Slang again, can you guess where I live?) I'll just call them That Airline. However to return to my original question…are they pants?
Well considering their record for loosing luggage, they must be. Drowning in them; suffocating in pants, thongs, boxers, and Y-fronts. Committing bloomers, to say nothing of other stuff. (There used to be a TV programme over here called Aunties Bloomers. The station was affectionately called Auntie, and bloomers were all their gaffes.)
But it's my knickers in this case. Case in both sense of the words—instance and suitcase.
Nice posh lacy ones. And thongs, if that's too much information, close your eyes and skip this bit; designers ones, that I lusted over, got, and take care off. These are the sort you wince when you see the price, but just once in a lifetime, buy…or are given them as a present —that sort.
Okay, it's fine now. The discussion with regards to my underwear is finished for the moment.
Read on…
Right, missing luggage. My dear husband—frequently known in this as Dh—and I have not been too unlucky in the past; not if you don't count a trip to Antigua with That Airline, oh four or five years ago. Long story related short, we got there—the cases didn't. However they said they'd come in later that night, and they'd bring them to our hotel. We had no idea how they were going to manage that as the island we were visiting was a one plane a day place, but hey, we wanted to see them try. That time I'd packed a change of clothes for both of us in a carry on case. I had visions of no luggage and no clothes suitable for the restaurant, if our checked luggage didn't arrive with us. 
Believe me, that scenario would have been catastrophic, as it was definitely a dress for the occasion place. Sure, not a true calamity in the grand scheme of life, but in the “we've saved up for ages to stop at this hotel and the restaurant has a great reputation” sense—well it was more than a scream and throw my hands in the air and look desperately for the gin moment.
Dh said it was prophetic, or some such thing —he muttered something like That Airline is pants under his breath, with a few added epithets to enhance his opinion.
But at least we got changed and had a fantastic meal. And due to my foresight we had swimwear and a change of clothes to help out. (And the bathroom facilities were good enough for hand washing the one spare pair of knickers.) 
Every day someone rang and told us our luggage would be with us the next day. We got it on day four, but they still faithfully called us every day, to inform us we'd get the luggage 'tomorrow'.
Tomorrow never comes does it? I had visions of whoever was occupying suite *** at the rather lovely luxury hotel we stayed in, getting a call every day and to their bemusement, told their luggage will arrive tomorrow.
Apart from that, we've done not too badly, especially when you consider how often we travel either as a couple or Dh for work. But just to be on the safe side, when we go away, I now have a basic change in my carryon luggage —bikini, undies, and flip-flops. You know…essentials. The important words are…when we go away…


What do you reckon...?

Next week...
Part One—The Brief Facts

Happy Reading,

Love R x