Son of a Gun is now available at MLR Press!
|978-1-60820-117-4 (print) $14.99|
|978-1-60820-118-1 (ebook) $6.99|
|Release Date||April 2010|
|Cover Artist||Deana C. Jamroz|
Politics, drugs and secrets from the past collide in the town of Boerne Texas and end in a chase across the Devil's Backbone.
Stefan Sanchez number one reason to leave Texas was closeted deputy Chet Blain. When Stefan returns for the funeral of his best friend, he is confronted by painful memories, Chet's recriminations, and a hunky Secret Service agent who seems determined to make Stefan's business his business.
I grew up on The Hardy Boys books and this book is a little bit of an homage to them. And a little bit of a slash on them as well, since I always KNEW Frank and Chet were longing for each other. Didn't you? Anyway, its erotic but wholesome if that is at all possible. And the hero is one of my favorite sorts. Here's an excerpt:
which is NOT WORK SAFE
The place hadn’t changed at all. It smelled strongly of jasmine and grass, tufts of cottonwood floating in the moonlight. And it might have been the memories, or it might have been that famous reaction of the male libido to death, or maybe it was the habit of self-hatred that the place engendered, but Stefan found himself walking closer to Chet, their hands and shoulders now occasionally bumping until, when Chet turned toward Stefan, his eyes quickly scanning the clearing in which they stood, Stefan just stepped into Chet’s arms as if they hadn’t been separated for seven years.
“I can’t believe how long it’s been,” said Chet, when they parted for air. Instead of answering, Stefan lifted his head and found Chet’s mouth again. Soft short hairs under his fingers, Chet’s lips firm and knowing, hands solid on Stefan’s hipswhile he waited for Stefan to break and make the first move.
For seven years, Stefan Sanchez had worked the West Hollywood social scene with a cool cynicism, negotiating every encounter so coldly that he’d acquired a sort of reputation as a prick tease and a player. Stefan Sanchez broke for no man.
Now, hands shaking and sweaty, Stefan unbuckled Chet’s belt, opening his slacks, fingers eager and sure with memory as Chet murmured a tongue-filled approval and his stiffening cock slid into Stefan’s hand.
“Missed the feel of your hand,” Chet said, roughly.
Stefan’s habit of bending his knee was stronger than his will to resist it. Chet tasted exactly as he always had. The feel of his belly under Stefan’s tongue inextricably intertwined with the memory of smoky barbeques and fireworks. Salty damp painted Stefan’s cheek as he nuzzled clean, practically hairless sacs and then, aware that he resented the hand gently urging him—but not fighting it—he tilted his face sideways and took Chet’s cock into his mouth. Stefan let the pleasure override his mind and only pulled off when he heard a condom wrapper being opened. Chet was breathing hard, white belly flushed pink above his opened boxers. He rolled the condom over his prick then threaded his fingers, again, into Stefan’s hair.
“God. Your mouth,” Stefan heard him whisper.
When he’d finished, Chet urged Stefan up, cradling him with one arm, as he pulled at Stefan’s cock.
“Look at me.”
No, thought Stefan, eyelids lifting so his gaze was locked with Chet’s.
“Christ, the way you look,” breathed Chet and his mouth covered Stefan’s again, so he had to feel the little groan Stefan issued as his come pumped obediently out onto the ground.