Sunday, March 3, 2019
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Hampton Road Club by Morticia Knight Part 3
Welcome to the Hampton Road Club. It’s the 1920’s and men who enjoy Dominance and submission have to be very careful that their dark desires aren’t discovered. The exclusive and secret Hampton Road Club near Hollywood is one of many private homes around the world that offers facilities for those who practice sadism and masochism. Meet the men who search for love amongst the world of bondage, whips and chains. This is where a Master can find a submissive to cherish forever and a submissive can give himself to his Master for a lifetime of painful pleasure.
Summary:
A Hampton Road novella
Finding a Master for Michael won’t be easy, but Javier is determined that his boy will have the best—even if it means letting him go.
The Hampton Road Club is a secret gathering-place for men of a more sadomasochistic nature. The 1920s might be roaring, but certain practices are still frowned upon in open society. Michael’s job is to greet the club members as they arrive and to report directly to the club manager, Javier. Sometimes, his direct contact with Javier has nothing to do with the club members and everything to do with submitting to the strict Master.
Javier would give anything to keep Michael as his permanent boy, but he owes his boss, Saul, a great personal debt for helping him when he was at his lowest. Saul taught him that professionalism is the key to keeping things running smoothly at the club. He knows Saul would be greatly disappointed if he were to ever find out about what goes on between him and the club greeter behind closed doors. That’s why he’s never revealed to Michael how he really feels and why he must do the one thing for which he’d never thought he’d have the courage—give Michael away to a new Master.
Summary:
Francesco might not know a thing about being a submissive, but for Master Theo—he’d be willing to learn anything.
Living on the streets of 1920s Los Angeles and pleasuring men in dark alleys for his survival is not how Francesco had thought his life would turn out. But he’s filled with hope that someday—if he learns how to be a respectable fellow—he can make a home for himself and maybe even find a man he really cares for who also cares for him. In the meantime, he hustles to get by and looks for the good where he can find it.
Theo’s existence is safe and predictable. He indulges in his perverse nature at his friend Saul’s sadomasochism club on Hampton Road and negotiates contracts for the Hollywood players and studios. When an enticing little grifter crosses his path one day, the encounter unnerves him. Not because he gets conned, but because the refreshingly open and unaffected young man holds a mirror up to Theo’s own dreary existence. Theo might have plenty of material wealth, but his wealth of spirit can’t compare to the delightful Francesco’s.
Theo rescues Francesco from a dire situation and brings him home. If nothing else, he can at least find the desperate young man some decent employment. Instead, they both find themselves increasingly drawn to each other. But until Theo introduces Francesco to what being a submissive means, he doesn’t dare give his heart away. Francesco has yet to discover the secrets that are hidden behind the walls of the Hampton Road Club.
Publisher's Note: This book is best read in sequence as part of the Hampton Road Club series. This instalment is a prequel to book one and can be read first.
Summary:
A Hampton Road Club novella
Angelo wonders if the Hampton Road Club will offer him a new beginning, and whether he can love two men at the same time.
Angelo escaped his family’s farm to be with his first and only love in Los Angeles. He meets up with him at Walter’s speakeasy, but their reunion is short-lived when Angelo discovers that his lover is embracing the Roaring Twenties with as many men and as much hooch as he can. With nowhere to stay and no job prospects, Angelo faces an uncertain and scary future.
Ex-prizefighters Bruce and George enjoy their employment at the Hampton Road Club for more than one reason. They can indulge in their passion for sadomasochism and search for the boy who will be the submissive they keep forever. Unfortunately, none of the men at Hampton Road are good prospects. When they run into a forlorn Angelo in the alley outside a speakeasy, their protective instincts kick in. But will they want to do more than just protect Angelo? And will the shy and inexperienced man embrace a lifestyle he never knew existed?
Publisher's Note: This book is linked to the Hampton Road Club series
A Master for Michael #5.5
“Michael? Master Archie will need to avail himself of the master suite on the third floor this evening. Police Chief O’Brien will be with him as usual, but he’ll also be using several of the unattached submissives and they’ll need the larger bed. So, if someone new comes to the club who needs to be photographed for our files, then we’ll be utilizing the demonstration room for that instead.”
Michael glanced up from where he’d been taking his midday meal at the long oak table in the kitchen of the Hampton Road Club. “Yes, Sir.” His belly tightened at the sight of the tall and regal Javier, the sadomasochism club’s manager. Javier oversaw every detail as it pertained to the operation of the private gentlemen’s club in the tony San Marino town of Los Angeles.
Michael was the establishment’s host and he adored his job. As staff members, he and Javier lived on the premises of the three-story Tudor Revival mansion as part of their remuneration. Even if the nineteen-twenties was much freer than any other generation before, they still needed to be discreet. As such, Javier’s job was incredibly important to the safety and wellbeing of everyone who belonged to or worked for the club. The men who pursued the particular acts of perversion that they all enjoyed could still be arrested if caught in flagrante.
How fortunate we are to have Chief O’Brien as a member.
Hampton Road had become a safe haven for those who wished to seek out the company of a compliant man for the evening, or, to bring his own submissive boy to demonstrate, show-off, share or play with in one of the many creatively appointed rooms in the elegant mansion.
Michael wiped his mouth then placed the linen napkin on the plate that had held his meal. He rose from the bench, gathering it up along with his empty glass. As he walked briskly to the sink, he darted his eyes to Javier who leaned against the pantry, his arms crossed as he regarded Michael.
“Was that all, Sir?”
He swallowed hard. It was immediately apparent to him that he shouldn’t have questioned Javier. The expression he radiated back at Michael was one of displeasure. Michael still had so much to learn and Javier had been a strict teacher.
So good.
“Michael?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Who is in charge of what goes on at Hampton Road?”
“You are, Sir.”
Javier stepped closer and Michael flinched. “Don’t be frightened, boy. Have I ever hurt you in a manner that you didn’t desire, didn’t beg for by your actions or words?”
“No, Sir.” Michael inhaled on a stuttering breath. “You haven’t.”
“Then you need to learn a lesson. I want you in my room ten minutes from now, naked, on your knees and with your head bowed. Be ready for me the way you know I like, and I wouldn’t be a second late, understand?”
Michael held back a whimper as his breathing accelerated more. “Yes, Sir. I’ll be completely ready for you in every way.”
Javier closed the distance between them, then held Michael’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. He gazed at Michael from his deep brown, heavily lashed eyes. “See that you are. You already have one punishment waiting as it is and I won’t be going easy on you.”
Sweat beaded on Michael’s brow, his upper lip. Using his free hand, Javier held up the ornate brass key that unlocked his room then dropped it into the pocket of Michael’s jacket. He released his hold on Michael.
“I suggest you get moving.”
“Yes, Sir!”
Michael rushed from the kitchen, remaining as dignified in manner as he could, then scurried up the stairs to Javier’s bedroom on the third floor. Only the staff and submissive men were allowed on the top floor of the mansion. There were separate rooms for the men who’d already been claimed or collared by a Master and another for those who remained available. Modifications had been made to one side of the third floor of the club in order to facilitate what was needed. Both the claimed and the unclaimed submissives’ rooms had been enlarged. Each group had what had once been three guest bedrooms turned into one large area for them to lounge in. The master suite on that same side was where Javier’s quarters were located. The remaining staff, including Michael, had their own regular-sized rooms on the opposite end of the floor.
Michael approached Javier’s closed door. He plucked the brass key from his pocket that would unlock it, would allow him the opportunity to finally have some private time with his Master.
Don’t think like that. You have no right. Not yet.
His fingers trembled as he slid the key into the lock.
Maybe never.
Michael swallowed past a lump in his throat, determined not to give into any foolish emotion. He would be on his best behavior for Javier. Easing the door open slowly, he checked to make sure Javier wasn’t already inside. He could’ve gone up the servant stairs. Michael wasn’t late—he’d been definite on that—but he never knew what to expect with the strict Master. An empty room greeted him. Michael glanced down at the key laying across his palm. Javier had given it to him in the kitchen so that he could let himself in.
He shook his head, chuckling. He’d become so unnerved by it all, by the thrill of being alone with Javier for the first time in days—along with the anticipation over his punishment, and being entrusted with Javier’s personal key—that he hadn’t been thinking straight. If he held the key in his hand, how could Javier have already been inside?
Michael swiped at his forehead with his handkerchief then stuffed it back into his jacket pocket. He approached the mahogany bureau then placed the key in an etched brass tray that sat atop the dresser’s surface the way Javier had instructed him. He spotted the time on the oval Bakelite clock, and was distressed to discover that less than five minutes remained before Javier would arrive.
First, he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the curved bench at the end of the bed. His next action was to slide off his suspenders, not bothering to unbutton them from his pants—it would be quicker to undo his pants and let them fall away with his trousers. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, the idea that he would’ve worked so hard to have everything right for Javier only to fail at the last moment becoming almost too much to bear.
At last, he was naked, but in his haste and fear, his shaft had gone soft. Javier strictly forbade him from touching himself, but he worried that it would be seen as an insult if he wasn’t fully erect when Javier entered the room, that it would indicate that Michael didn’t appreciate and adore the Master. He glanced around, sweating, wishing he still had the use of his handkerchief. His clothes were neatly laid out on the wing chair the way Javier preferred, and he’d readied the decorative brocade pillow on the middle of the Oriental carpet for him to kneel upon in the exact manner that Javier always requested.
The doorknob clicked and he dropped onto the cushion. The moment Javier strolled into the bedroom, Michael had already clasped his hands behind his back, had his shoulders straight, chin up, but eyes cast down, his knees apart to showcase… My limp cock.
“Hmm…”
The deep timbre of Javier’s voice did nothing to assuage his nerves. The disapproval was clear. How bad would his punishment be? Would Javier never want to enjoy his favors or restrain and beat him again? Would he never allow Michael to serve and worship him from then on?
“Please.” Michael choked out the word, terror clawing up his throat and making it hard to speak. “May I be permitted to explain?”
“I think you should.”
“I-I was hard. Very hard. Leaking even. But, I…”
“Are you ill? You’re very pale.”
Michael frowned. Did he look that bad? “No, Sir. Only afraid.”
The gentle weight of Javier’s hand on his head instantly relaxed him. He let out a long slow breath and a portion of his tension eased.
“Tell me, Michael. Tell me why you’re afraid. You must always come to me with your fears.”
“Oh, I…I would never presume to bother you with my silly concerns.”
Michael inhaled on a sharp breath as his head was yanked back by his hair. “Look at me, boy. Now.”
Michael gazed up at Javier, allowed himself to drink in the beauty of Javier’s soulful eyes. Javier stared into him and it was as if Michael had been split open with nowhere to hide.
“Nothing about you or your feelings is silly. I want to know every little thing about you and how you’re faring. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” Michael swallowed. “Very clear.”
Was it true? Did Javier truly believe that Michael’s feelings were important? It was too crazy a notion to believe, but he didn’t have time to mull it over. Javier still held his hair in a tight grip and his severe expression alone demanded that Michael obey his every dictate. He shuddered from the thrill.
After several long moments where Javier scrutinized him, he gave a slow nod.
“Good.” He let go of Michael then straightened. “And let me reiterate that failure to keep me informed of both your physical and emotional wellbeing from now on is subject to severe punishment.” Javier inhaled deeply through his nose. “And I promise you that it won’t be one you enjoy. Now.” Javier shrugged off the formal jacket he wore as part of his ensemble at the club. “I’ll be showering. You’re to remain kneeling where you are, perfect position, and I want to see that cock hard and dripping when I return. We’ll speak more later after I’ve given you the reprimand that I know you crave.”
Javier left the room and Michael stayed still, didn’t breathe. He would demonstrate perfect behavior for his Javier. Water filled his eyes.
Not mine.
How could he be so presumptuous? Besides the obvious fact that Javier was a sophisticated man, held a prestigious position at an elegant club—Michael was from a poverty-filled, uneducated background. His parents had abandoned him when he was twelve, after which he’d stayed with his uncle’s family. But they’d hated and mistreated him—he had been a burden to their already large brood. By the time he’d turned sixteen, it had reached the point where he was practically their slave in order for him to have a roof over his head and whatever leftover food they would allow him.
So, he’d run away from the small Oklahoma town, taking menial labor jobs and working his way across country until he’d landed in Los Angeles. When Javier had come across him, he’d reached the age of twenty-three and had just been fired from his job as a dishwasher for accidentally breaking a dish. He’d been down to his last few cents, his former employer keeping the weekly pay he would’ve received at the end of his shift to supposedly cover the cost of the plate.
He wasn’t sure what had made Javier approach him that day where he’d sat slumped on a bench in Echo Park, but when Michael had gazed into the deep brown eyes of Javier, he had been immediately lost to him. Javier was tall and lean, held his body in a regal manner, his voice refined and assured. His skin was an inviting color, the hue reminding him of a dark amber stone his aunt had always worn around her neck as part of an elaborate pendant. He would’ve done anything Javier asked of him from the very first moment of their acquaintance.
After Javier had inquired of him what his troubles were, Michael had surprised himself by opening up to the man and baring his soul. The only thing worse in Michael’s world, other than the struggle to survive, had been his crushing loneliness. After his awful tale had been told, he was certain that the beautiful—and obviously well-to-do man—would wish him well then walk out of his life forever. Instead, he’d offered him employment. Michael had been living and working at Hampton Road ever since.
The best year and a half of my life.
But the final reason he knew he wasn’t the sole focus of Javier’s attention was that he’d never been invited to stay in Javier’s bed for the night. It was clear that Javier must dally with whichever available man he took a shine to, but occasionally he took on Michael when no other submissive was available. There were plenty of hours when the club was closed that Javier had been nowhere to be found. Michael hadn’t been brazen enough to knock on his closed door to see if he was there, or to ask one of the staff if they knew whether he’d gone out for the day.
Michael didn’t know what sort of lover Javier preferred, but it obviously wasn’t someone like him. Javier had never fucked him, held him close nor kissed him. He’d demanded many perversions of him—which Michael had happily provided—but there was an invisible barrier that had never been crossed between them. It was the one that would show Michael that Javier cared for him beyond the new life and training he’d been offered as well as the occasional sexual release.
His dick remained annoyingly soft, his melancholy musings doing nothing to perk him up. Screwing his eyes shut, he brought to mind the last time he and Javier had been together. He didn’t always touch Michael sexually, but the previous Sunday… He sighed. It had been exquisite.
Finding Sanctuary #6
Theodore kept an eye on the little ragamuffin who had been following him for at least twenty minutes. The young man—very young from the looks of it—tried to pretend as if he were innocent as pie while attempting to keep his furtive glances in Theodore’s direction to a minimum. His thumbs were hooked at the bottom of his lopsided suspenders and he idly kicked at an imaginary rock. The top button of his work shirt was missing, and when Theodore had almost managed to head him off at the end of one of the farmers market aisles, he’d noted that the blue was so faded, it had initially appeared gray to him. Another button had seemed as though it were ready to be set free and the edges of the boy’s collar were quite frayed.
His subject had quickly ducked out of the way as if it had been his intention all along to veer off toward another stall. But Theodore hadn’t missed the filthy bare feet, the smudge of dirt on his cheek, the tear in his dungarees… Or his mop of curly black hair and wide dark eyes, his sun-kissed olive skin. He carried a bit of the imp in the way he presented himself—despite his small stature—with an air of being in complete command of everything around him and the hint of a know-it-all. Despite the attraction Theodore felt toward him, he shoved it aside. The man who eyed him was not only up to no good, he might very well be too young for Theodore to think of in a non-platonic manner. And if he truly wasn’t an adult, he might need genuine help. There was a strong possibility that he lived on the streets.
Which is none of my concern.
So many young men and women roamed the boulevards and alleys of Hollywood, restless souls who didn’t seem to belong anywhere or to have any purpose. Perhaps there once was a time when their future had seemed to be laid out before them like a fairytale. Perhaps they’d taken the long journey from the other side of the United States to find their fortunes in the West. He’d certainly negotiated enough contracts for actors and actresses who had sprouted from humble beginnings somewhere in the middle of nowhere, then after arriving in California had found themselves the darlings of the studios.
Whether the fetching young man had once dreamed of coming to Tinseltown where he was certain his beauty would take him to the highest of heights, then crashed back to Earth when the fickle nature of the powerful men who lorded over Hollywood had crushed his hopes, Theo didn’t have time to get involved.
He was a very busy man. Once he himself had arrived in Los Angeles after graduating from Harvard, he’d been able to quickly establish a lucrative career as a legal advisor. His original journey to the West coast had involved a restful vacation in warm, sunny weather on the ocean shores. The subsequent one was when he’d stayed for good. Why suffer through the ice and snow of Boston and join his father’s law firm when he could have his own practice far away from the watchful eyes of his family?
“Excuse me, sir. But I do believe you dropped this dime.”
Theo gazed down into the big brown eyes of the very ragamuffin he’d been observing for several minutes. The boy batted his lashes as he held up his grimy hand to Theo—a shiny, silver dime resting on his palm.
Hmm. “I see.” Theo snatched up the coin and pocketed it, curious as to what sort of reaction he’d receive from the young man who was clearly up to some sort of grift. “I thank you kindly for your honesty.” Theo tipped his fedora then turned on his heel to stroll away. His new tagalong jumped into view after Theo had made it several steps past the bustling market.
“Beg pardon, but I thought it was a dang shame that a nice refined gentleman such as yourself ain’t got no friends.” He came to an abrupt stop which halted Theo’s progress. He rocked on his heels as he shyly peered up at him from under his long lashes. Theo held in a snort when he batted them again. He doubted that anything about the urchin before him was shy.
“You mean, I don’t have any friends.”
The boy furrowed his brow as he stuck out his bottom lip in seeming confusion.
“That’s what I just said. You ain’t got no friends. Are you thick in the head or something?”
“What I meant was…” Theo sighed. He didn’t have time for such nonsense. “My dear lad, I’ve been called many things, but never that.”
“Really?” The young man brightened up again and Theo noted with surprise that he’d begun bouncing on his toes as if he couldn’t keep still. “Like what? I’ve been called lots of things too. Sometimes folks are awful sore at me for stuff I don’t even understand, which means they must be wrong because it don’t make no sense. I know I’m kinda bad sometimes, but I ain’t no deevee…” He frowned again. “A deevee ain’t.” He snorted in Theo’s stead. “Whatever the tarnation that is.”
Oh my. “I see.” Theo considered the poor thing smiling up at him. “And who might have accused you of this deviancy? Someone you offered your friendship to who wasn’t appreciative?”
The young man nodded with great enthusiasm. “Oh yes. That happens all the time, so I have to run real fast before they whistle for a copper. But also my mama, her mean fella who kicked me out after he took the place of my papa, my older brother who beat me up when I asked if I could live there…” He scrunched his brow. “Hmm, let’s see. Oh! I know. There was also the ladies at the church who wouldn’t give me any soup, even though all the other fellas there get soup on mission day.” He tilted his head. “I never understood that. Why is giving soup a mission? Do you think they go on other missions? Maybe those missions have pieces of meat or candies. And I never meant to be a deevee ain’t, honest.” He slashed his finger across his chest twice to make an ‘X’.
Theo blinked several times as he tried to take in everything the clearly homeless youth had blurted out with nary a breath. He also found himself biting back acerbic commentary over how he’d been treated. Most likely, he’d been cast aside for being a lover of men.
“No. I know you didn’t mean to, and those people were wrong for accusing you of that.”
The young man’s eyes went wide. “Gee, you really think so? Cuz I don’t want to be one since everyone hates them so much. It’s not nice when people hate you. I don’t mean to make people hate me, no sir I don’t. I hardly ever steal and I don’t sock fellas or spit at them. I don’t say cussing words if ladies are nearby…” He sucked in a breath as he drew his eyebrows together. “Well, there was this one time, but she was yelling some very unholy words at me because she was being friendly with a fella behind the YMCA, and I—”
Theo shot up his hand, palm out. “That’s quite all right, no need to continue. I think I have the picture.”
“Are you mad at me?”
Theo shook his head in confusion. He also wondered why he was still conversing with the young man when he had much better things to be doing. He sighed to himself. Like what? All he ever did was work long, frequently boring hours or visit the mansion where his friend Saul had a secret social club that answered his own so-called deviant needs.
“No, I’m not mad at you. Why would you think that?”
“Because you had to stop me from all my blathering. Mama used to stuff dirty rags in my mouth to shut me up. ‘Blather, blather, blather,’ she’d say. ‘I can’t stand it,’ she’d say.” A shadow crossed the boy’s features. It was the first time he’d shown Theo anything but enthusiasm. “She couldn’t stand me.”
“There, there.” Theo cleared his throat. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
“She sure as heck did.” He broke into a smile, all signs of melancholy suddenly gone. “But you’re not mad at me and I’m glad. So can I be friendly to you now? It’s only a dollar and I can show you a private place where no one will catch us.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m very good with my hands and mouth, but I don’t do any of that other stuff and if you try to make me, I’ll kick you in the jewels so hard you’ll piss blood, so don’t get any funny ideas.” He narrowed his eyes. “You seem real nice and all, but I’ve been tricked before.”
Theo fought the uncomfortable feeling building in his gut. He was hardly a naïve or uninformed man. On the contrary, he was more than aware of the abundance of unfortunate people struggling to survive in Los Angeles. He’d never seen anything like it in the neighborhoods he’d been raised in or where he had spent his time as a youth. But Theo had reconciled himself to the fact that not everyone could be as fortunate as he was, so he tried not to think about it.
However, as he stared into the eyes of the young man who was offering to suck his cock or bring him to completion with his hands for a mere dollar, as Theo faced the reality that the boy would debase himself for an amount of money that wouldn’t even pay for a weekly room and one meal, that he’d likely have to do the same thing again that day to have both—Theo thought he might be ill.
And he’s relieved that I’m not angry with him. How many others in this poor man’s life had hurt him? Maybe not physically, but by being cruel? And yet, he stood before him with a smile that reached his eyes, as if just being alive was happiness in and of itself. Theo swallowed the emotion clogging his throat.
“Listen mister, if that’s too much, I can give you a discount. You know, because you told me I wasn’t a deevee ain’t and all. Seventy-five cents?” He punctuated the question with a happy grin.
Theo put his hand to his forehead. Even if they were at the edges of the outdoor market because the young man had been prudent enough not to approach him until he’d moved away from the crowds, Theo still worried that others meandering by might overhear.
“Would you care to have a seat with me on one of the park benches?”
The young man let out a loud guffaw. “You are thick in the head, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He brought his voice down again. “I can’t be friendly to you over there. It’s right out in the open!” Then he snickered behind his hand.
Theo had to admit it was a bit amusing, even though the consequences wouldn’t be the least bit funny. “You don’t need to be ‘friendly’ with me. I only want you to join me for a bit, get to know each other perhaps?”
He inclined his head to one side again. “Gee, are you lonely or something? Because I know how that is, yes I do. It’s not very nice at all. I guess I could sit with you for a little bit, but I don’t want you to think I’m being mean if I don’t stay for very long. I…” To Theo’s surprise, the boy’s cheeks reddened. “Well, it’s after noon and I still haven’t found anyone to take me up on my offer and I used my last nickel for a cuppa joe earlier.” He smiled. “But let’s go sit down first so you aren’t sad.”
A jumble of more emotions filled Theo’s heart. He couldn’t reconcile the boy’s circumstances against what seemed to be genuine concern for someone else. He must be running a grift. Trying to get me to lower my guard.
The young man furrowed his brow as he regarded Theo with careful scrutiny. “Yes, we definitely should. You look very blue and there’s no reason for you to be down.” He gave Theo a slight punch in the arm, grinning as he did. “Come on now, perk up! You have nice clothes and a spiffy motorcar and I bet you have a big fancy house too. Not only that…” Theo watched as he bit his plump lower lip and glanced down. He was back to kicking at the imaginary rock with his hands folded behind his back, his face flushing once more. “Well, I bet the fellas—and probably the ladies too—tell you all the time what a sheik you are, so I don’t suppose hearing it from the likes of me would matter all that much.”
“Don’t say that about yourself. You’re—” Theo’s voice cracked and he swallowed hard. “You’re a wonderful young man and you honor me with your kind words.”
The boy gasped, his eyes rounding. “Honor? I honor you?” He hugged himself and the hint of a smile danced on his lips. “Gee. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’ll sit with you on the bench for as long as you want. I like you and I don’t like anybody.”
Theo sucked in a deep breath. “Thank you, I appreciate your generosity. Before you join me, may I ask what your name is? Mine is Theodore Huntington.”
“Ooh, that’s a snazzy name. Mine’s Francesco.” He smacked his chest with one hand and grinned. “Francesco Rossi. Nice to meet ya.”
Francesco shot out his hand and grabbed Theo’s before he’d had a chance to react. He gave it an awkward shake, the action obviously not a familiar one. Theo slowed the gesture and gave Francesco a slight squeeze before letting go. He ignored the spark of lust that had briefly shot through him, as well as Francesco’s pronounced blush. He wasn’t about to take the boy up on his previous offer, so what was the point?
They made their way over the grass to the nearest unoccupied bench. Theo removed his hat as the breeze picked up and held it in front of him, worrying the brim. “Francesco. That’s a lovely name as well. You don’t have an accent, so I take it your family came to America a while back?”
Francesco shrugged. “I guess. Mama speaks one way, but Papa spoke another. I think maybe he hadn’t been here very long, but he left when I was six, so I’m not really sure. Plus, he sometimes talked in Italian which made Mama throw things at him. Then he’d throw stuff back and yell at her that she was a no good sleazy whore from the Bronx who would never amount to nothing.”
They arrived at their destination and Theo rubbed at his forehead as Francesco plopped down on the wooden seat. The more Francesco shared with him, the more his heart ached. He couldn’t grasp how Francesco could be so jolly despite his abysmal circumstances.
“Aren’t you gonna sit down with me after all that?” Francesco gazed up at him quizzically.
“Of course.” Theo joined Francesco and reclined against the back of the bench. “Tell me Francesco, when was the last time you had anything to eat?”
“Well, like I said, I had some coffee this morning. What did you have? Do you eat the same thing every morning, or do you try new things? I’ve always wondered what that would be like. Do you eat gruel?” Francesco pursed his lips. “I hate gruel. It’s disgusting. If we had enough money for breakfast, that’s all we’d ever eat. Mama was a terrible cook. If I lived the way you do, I’d never eat gruel and no one could make me.”
The thought passed through Theo’s head that Francesco would do well to learn some patience and manners. His parents had obviously been useless in teaching him how to operate in society—in addition to being useless in many other ways—and he suspected it was because they hadn’t had the slightest inkling how to behave either.
“I agree. I don’t eat gruel. However, I’d like to request something from you, a favor if you will.”
Francesco regarded him warily. “Will there be any funny business?”
Theo crossed his heart the way Francesco had done earlier. “No funny business. I promise.”
“Okay then.” Francesco tipped up his chin as he stared back at him with confidence. “What sort of favor could a mongrel such as me do for a fine society gentleman such as yourself?”
Theo resisted the urge to growl. The man before him didn’t deserve to have anyone show him anger ever again. “To begin with, please don’t refer to yourself as a mongrel. But what I’d really like is when you’re talking, could you pause after you ask a question and let the person you’re asking have a chance to answer? Do you suppose you could give that a try for me?”
Francesco’s shoulders fell. “I was blathering, wasn’t I?”
“That’s all right.” Theo fought the urge to wrap an arm around Francesco. “You’ve never been taught how to interact with other people in social situations.”
Francesco stared at him, his expression somewhat blank. “Did you mean I shouldn’t be allowed in polite society?” He nodded. “Boy, you hit the nail right on the head with that one. I’ve heard that from a lot of people before.”
“No, Francesco, that’s not what I meant.” Tears burned in his eyes, a phenomenon that hadn’t happened to him for as long as he could remember, perhaps not since he’d been a small boy. He swallowed them down. “I meant that it isn’t fair that you weren’t properly educated on how to have a conversation with others. The blathering, as you call it, isn’t your fault. But if you’d like to, you can learn how to control it better.”
Francesco’s expression clouded again. “I guess you don’t like me how I am. I’m sorry. I wish I was an educated fella, but if a dirty rag stuffed in my mouth for hours at a time couldn’t fix it, I doubt you can get me to change.”
“Oh, Francesco.” Theo wasn’t sure how much more he could stand of hearing about the events from Francesco’s horrid life before he really did break down into tears. “I don’t want to change you. You’re a very special man all on your own, and I do like you. I only thought that since you seemed unhappy with how you carry on when you speak, if it’s something that makes you feel self-conscious, or bad about yourself in some way, that maybe I could help with that.”
What was he thinking? Francesco was a stranger, a street hustler who would probably rob him given half the chance. He had no idea why he felt compelled to offer him any assistance.
Francesco chuckled. “Boy, you really must be lonely, mister. Helping me to talk better sounds boring as well as impossible.”
Theo barked out a laugh. “You might be right, Francesco. Maybe I’m quite lonely after all. Would you give it a try? You don’t have to, I won’t be angry with you if you’re not interested.”
Francesco tilted his head from side to side, his gaze traveling upward as if he were giving Theo’s request some serious consideration. At last, he returned his attention to him. “Would it make you happy if I gave it a try?”
“Yes.” Theo cleared his throat. “Yes, it would.”
“Okay. I’ll do it for you. I’d like to make it so you’re not sad.”
Theo cleared his throat again and absent-mindedly smoothed his thin moustache with thumb and forefinger. “And why is that, Francesco? What difference does it make to you whether or not I’m unhappy?”
Francesco shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure I understand you very well. Don’t you know it’s not nice when people are sad?”
Theo inhaled deeply as he became more desperate to control his feelings of despair over Francesco’s plight. He couldn’t fathom how such a sweet and gentle person could remain so cheerful.
“You’re right, Francesco. Forgive my thoughtless question.” He offered him a smile. “But that was very good what you just did.”
Francesco’s eyes widened. “What did I do?”
“You asked me a question then let me answer it without carrying on and on.”
Francesco’s grin lit up his face, and other than one crooked tooth which overlapped the other on the bottom, he had a lovely, perfect smile. “Are you proud of me? And see? I didn’t ask another question then either.” He straightened up, his posture almost regal with his shoulders back and chest puffed out. “Hey, I’m getting good at this.”
Theo didn’t want to take Francesco’s victory away by pointing out that he’d asked another question, nor did he wish to indulge the urge to take Francesco under his wing as a submissive, due to the young man’s behavior. It was time to make his goodbyes.
“You most certainly are, and I would say you did wonderfully. You make me very proud.”
Theo fiddled with the brim of his hat as he gazed down at his hands. He’s not a stray dog, he’s an adult. At least, I’m almost sure he is. And anyway, it’s not my place to rescue him. Theo snapped his head up and offered Francesco the professional smile he’d perfected while doing business. Francesco narrowed his eyes.
“Are you done with me now?” Francesco’s words gave off an accusatory tone.
“I…” Theo shifted on the bench. He’d been taken aback by the astute query. Quite observant. Regardless of his lack of formal education, Francesco had proven to be inquisitive and aware throughout their conversation. He was not a stupid man. “It’s not about being done with you, it’s the fact that I’m on the way to my office and I hadn’t planned on being sidetracked by such a lovely young man.”
Francesco shrugged as he glanced down, his legs swinging as he kicked at the dirt. “That’s okay, I get it. You don’t have to pretend. I know when people are sick of me, happens all the time.” He jerked his head up, his eyes wide again, his body language telegraphing that he’d shoved his pain aside. “Hey, do you think I can have my dime back? I haven’t eaten yet today.”
Theo’s chest felt tight and heavy. He struggled to keep his voice from shaking as he responded to Francesco. “I thought you said it was my dime?”
Francesco chuckled. “Yeah, I know. But I’ll tell you a secret. I spotted your snazzy motorcar and thought I’d check you out to see if I could guess whether you might like another fella to be nice to you. I couldn’t tell, because sometimes you can’t and such, but you’re so handsome, I thought I’d take the chance anyway. I use the dime thing a lot.” He nudged Theo with his elbow. “It works pretty good too. Gotta find an excuse to chat a guy up, if you know what I mean.”
Have to get away, not my business. “I see. Well, I’ll tell you a little secret too. I knew it was your dime, but I took it so I could discover what it was you were up to. I never planned on keeping it.”
“That’s why I like you. You’re a stand-up fella and there ain’t many of those out there, gosh no. Only Mr. Guildenstern at the bakery who gives me the day-old rolls or sometimes even a glazed donut if I knock on the back door before they open, or one-eyed Chester, the ticket-taker over at the picture show palace who sneaks me in if his boss ain’t around. Until I met you, I never met no one so good before. I’ll sit with you anytime, Mister. And I don’t want no dime or nothing. I’d do it just because I want to.”
Theo couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to make his excuses before his heart broke any more. “Thank you, Francesco. And please call me Theo.” He frowned to himself. It wasn’t as if he’d ever see him again, so why had he said such a thing? “I think you’re very nice too and that was quite brave to admit that you were trying to trick me. But I would be careful not to say that to other men who might get angry and possibly hurt you.”
A New Beginning for Angelo #6.5
“Georgie boy, you were like a prized bull in the ring tonight the way you rutted that boy Isaac over and over.” Bruce let out a satisfied sigh as he rolled over in their bed then propped himself up on one elbow. “He has a bit of the sass to him, but a fine specimen nonetheless.”
George grunted as he lay on his back, one beefy arm covering his eyes while he relaxed in the afterglow of their enthusiastic fucking. Isaac hadn’t been interested in sharing the moment with them and they hadn’t encouraged him to stay, either.
“Nah. You’re the prized one.” George lifted his arm just a bit and peeked up at him with one eye. “And I’m done with that boy. Ain’t worth it.”
Bruce smirked at his lover then tugged on him. George had gone back to hiding underneath his arm and it had nothing to do with needing to shield his eyes from too much light. They’d been together for almost five years, and he knew damn well when George was being more ornery than usual. George gave another grunt then adjusted his body so he could face him. Bruce planted a firm kiss on his lips and George swiped at his mouth as if it had annoyed him. Ornery cuss all right.
Bruce snorted. “Besides him being a spoiled, whiny brat, whatchya got against the little bastard?”
George’s expression still radiated his trademark frown. It accentuated his big, handsome mug and bright hazel eyes crowned by their bushy black brows. His lips were plump and full, even though they’d been marred on one side from a knife fight he’d been in prior to them meeting. And what a meeting that had been. They’d fought each other in the heavyweight class at a boxing ring in Santa Barbara, which was almost a hundred miles north of Los Angeles. It had been declared a draw, so after a bout of name-calling and a drunken challenge, they’d found themselves alone at the gym late at night, punching, wrestling—then fucking each other into the mat. Bruce grinned. And we ain’t never looked back.
George’s rough-hewn masculine features creased more as his frown deepened. “What? What’s got you so jolly? And anyway, don’t you think that boy is playin’ us for chumps? Cuz I think he knows who we was. Probably figures we got loads of dough stashed away somewhere and we’ll be his ticket to the easy life.”
Bruce grinned. “Maybe that’s cuz we do got loads of dough stashed away.”
“That don’t mean we gotta shower it on him.” George snorted. “He ain’t got that nice an ass.”
Bruce splayed his fingers across George’s hairy chest until he found a nipple. He gave it a hearty twist. George yelped then batted Bruce’s hand away with another frown.
He glared at Bruce. “Hey, that’s what the men here at the club are for.”
“And that Isaac fellow bruises up quite nicely.” Bruce kept rubbing George’s chest, but didn’t pinch him again. He was too exhausted from their rowdy tumble with Isaac to start up a bunch of rough-housing.
George covered his hand with his own, his features finally softening as he gazed back at him. “Like I said, don’t mean he’s the one we gotta do anything with.”
Bruce shook his head. “Don’t mean that at all. But I’m wondering if there ain’t anyone here for us like we’d hoped. Maybe we should just take what’s offered and be glad of it. It ain’t like we got lots of options.”
George dropped his gaze, but squeezed Bruce’s hand. They had each other and genuine love, which was a lot to be grateful for. Truth was, either one of them would die for the other, but it was more understood than spoken of. However, they couldn’t answer the need to dominate for each other. They had always shared a submissive boy—hopefully one with a masochistic bent—whenever they could find one.
Their original discovery of a private group in Santa Barbara—which consisted of men who enjoyed giving and receiving pain—had been a brilliant find. They’d made friends with a fellow Dominant, Thomas, who’d helped guide them through some of the protocols of such a relationship. It had immediately made their own shared partnership better and shown them how they could always stay together, but still get their other needs met as well. When Thomas had found a better, more reputable club, they’d relocated to the Los Angeles area and, subsequently, to Hampton Road. As it turned out, the club had been in immediate need of men such as themselves to help out with security. It was a fresh start and the chance to maybe finally find the one man whom they could claim for good.
But so far, they hadn’t been as lucky as some of the other fellows, including their friend Thomas. It didn’t stop them from indulging in a bit of fun with the willing patrons when they weren’t on duty, however. They were primarily required to be available on weekends and during special events which held the potential for getting more out of control. But since they also lived on the premises, they didn’t mind if Saul, the man in charge of things at Hampton Road, needed them to come to the rescue. It didn’t matter to them at all if they were interrupted in the middle of a frolic. Saul had been very good to them and he had their respect.
George sat up, yanking the covers away as he did. He scratched his head then made a vain attempt at smoothing his errant strands of hair back into some semblance of order.
“I’m gettin’ me a sandwich. There should be some a the rib roast leftover that chef Jean made.” George regarded him over his shoulder. “You want anything?”
Bruce rubbed George’s lower back. His Georgie wasn’t all that comfortable with what he called the ‘soft stuff’—kisses and hugs and hand-holding—but Bruce believed he secretly enjoyed them.
“I’m good. Thanks.”
George rose from the bed and grabbed his flannel robe. He also didn’t go much for what he called ‘high falutin’’ stuff either. He’d wear a satin robe for the ring, but that was different. To him, being a pugilist was a revered position and called for something extra special. But parading around as if you were the big cheese all the time when you were really just a regular guy was showing off. George didn’t take too kindly to showing off.
Bruce rolled onto his back again and folded his hands behind his head. Maybe George was right. Just settling for anybody wasn’t the way to go about finding a good submissive man. Whoever they allowed into their private world should be worthy of their love. Bruce smiled. When they finally found someone who they wanted to keep, that boy would never want for a thing. Especially love.
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Hampton Road Club
M/M Erotic Romance author Morticia Knight enjoys hot stories of men loving men forever after. They can be men in uniform, Doms and subs, rock stars or bikers - but they're all searching for the one (or two!) who was meant only for them.
When not indulging in her passion for books, she loves the outdoors, film and music. Once upon a time she was the singer in an indie rock band that toured the West Coast and charted on U.S. college radio. She is currently working on more installments of Sin City Uniforms and The Hampton Road Club, as well as the follow-up to Bryan and Aubrey's story from Rockin' the Alternative.
B&N / DREAMSPINNER / KOBO
EMAIL: MorticiaKnight@gmail.com
A Master for Michael #5.5
Finding Sanctuary #6
A New Beginning for Angelo #6.5
AMAZON US / AMAZON UK
B&N / KOBO / PRIDE PUBLISHING
iTUNES / GOODREADS TBR
Series
B&N / KOBO / PRIDE PUBLISHING
iTUNES / GOODREADS TBR
Series
B&N / KOBO / PRIDE PUBLISHING
Blog Tour: Pros & Cons Series by AE Wasp
Author: AE Wasp
Series: Pros & Cons #1 & 2
Genre: M/M Romance, Suspense
Release Dates: Vengeance - January 18, 2019
Deception - March 1, 2019
Cover Design: AngstyG
Five Men. Five Chances for Redemption. One thing’s for sure, these guys are no angels.
Summary:
There’s nothing like being blackmailed by a dead man to really bring a group of cons together. And what a group we are: a hacker, a thief, a con artist, a thug, and a Federal agent with an axe to grind. The deal is simple, we do the jobs and Charlie’s lawyer wipes the slate clean for each of us, one at a time.
Since job number one calls for some muscle, it looks like I’m up first. I’m Steele Alvarez, ex-Special Forces Close Protection Specialist (aka, a bodyguard for some not so nice guys).
After learning what the job is — taking down a seemingly untouchable senator with a penchant for beating up young male prostitutes — I’m in. No questions. A bullet ought to do the trick.
Then I met Senator Harlan’s latest victim: Breck Pfeiffer, the gorgeous hooker with a heart of gold and the soul of a fighter. One look at him and I’m gone. That kid laid me out harder than any punch ever did. I’ll do anything to protect Breck, even kill for him. But Breck doesn’t want the senator dead, he wants vengeance.
If we’re going to find a way bring down the slimebag and get the blackest mark on my record erased, I’m going to need all the help I can get.
Like it or not, we’re all in this together.
Summary:
There’s nothing like being blackmailed by a dead man to really bring a group of cons together. And what a group we are: a hacker, a thief, a con artist, a thug, and a Federal agent with an axe to grind. The deal is simple, we do the jobs and Charlie’s lawyer wipes the slate clean for each of us, one at a time.
I’m Bond. Wesley Bond. (I can’t resist saying it that way. Blame my dad, if you can find him.) You could call me a hacker. I redistribute wealth - moving it from rich slimebags to poorer but infinitely more deserving people - and make a tidy profit as I do. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to bring down some modern-day slave traders.
I definitely choose to accept it.
With the life of the one person in this world I love on the line, I can’t afford any screw ups or distractions. Unfortunately, my biggest distraction is also my biggest asset - Danny Monroe. Danny is a leftover complication from our first job; a victim of the vicious senator we’d gotten locked up. He’s a smart, funny, gorgeous, ex-prostitute, who can’t seem to keep his clothes on. I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut around him. But I need a fake boyfriend, and Danny is the only option.
Fooling the world into thinking we’re in love will be easy; fooling myself that I’m not might be impossible.
Pros & Cons of Vengeance #1
Thank Christ someone had been bright enough to leave the air conditioning on in Charlie’s mansion. Dead men paid no electric bills, I guess. Fucking Florida.I’d been gone too long and had somehow forgotten how truly miserable the humidity could be. Sure, it could hit a hundred and fifteen outside of Baghdad, but it was dry heat.
I thought about taking off my suit, or at least my tie, but until I knew what the hell was going on here, I wasn’t going to let my guard down.
Besides, I looked good in a suit.
“Nice house, huh?” Wesley said from my behind me, as I was busy assessing the layout of the house and cataloging any possible pinch points. Like I said, I didn’t know what I was doing here, and I wasn’t taking any chances.
“I’ve seen bigger.” In my most recent incarnation as close protection specialist and hired muscle to some very rich and very bad men, I’d been in mansions that made this place look like a pool house. Not that this place sucked. Not at all. The cabin I’d grown up in could have fit in the foyer with room left over.
We followed Ms. Miranda Bosley, Charlie’s attorney, single-file down the tiled hallway of the big house like a line of ducklings. Wesley was the only guy I knew and consequently the only one in the group I trusted enough to walk behind me. Even Ms. Bosley looked like she wouldn’t hesitate to stab me in the kidney if she felt she needed to.
Seeing Wes at the funeral had been a surprise. A quick, stilted conversation had revealed that he was here for the same reason I was – we were both being blackmailed by Charlie.
I couldn’t imagine what Charlie had on the kid. I’d only worked with Wes twice before, but he was more a gray hat than a black hat hacker; the kind of person who didn’t mind doing the wrong things for the right reasons. A cross between MacGyver and Anonymous, the kid had probably been on an FBI watch list since he was twelve.
Wesley had triggered my protective instincts from our first meeting, but he’d never really needed much help beyond muscle. Sure he could take of himself with that jujitsu or whatever, but sometimes some people just needed their faces punched, and I was more than happy to do that for him. It was satisfying.
Now Angel-Face, as I’d taken to calling the gorgeous blond kid who’d been sitting a few rows ahead of me at the graveside ceremony, hetriggered other instincts in me. Made me think things I probably shouldn’t be thinking at a funeral. But then again, Angel-Face hadn’t seemed exactly consumed with grief either. I hadn’t been completely surprised to see him following Miranda after the funeral along with Wes and me. Very interesting. What had that choir boy done to be in such bad company at such a young age?
Pros & Cons of Deception #2
“Hey, can anyone explain why my shirt drawer is empty?” Ridge Pfeiffer demanded, appearing on the patio where the rest of our little band had congregated. Our resident retrievals expert (read: thief) was naked from the waist up and scowling beneath his blue eyes and blond curls like the world’s most overgrown, pissed-off Botticelli angel.
I pulled down my sunglasses to look at him, then slid them back up so I could focus on my phone screen. Right now, I was engaged in a long-term bout of spear phishing at Campbell Enterprises, and I was about to close the deal. This was way more interesting than anything Ridge was likely to share.
Janie,I typed, I’m on a plane with Dal Anderson and he wants a four-paragraph summary of Thursday’s press release so we can prepare talking points for the investors!! Can’t access the secure server from here and I’m fah-reaking OUT!! Send me something? – Becks
There. That ought to do it.
Becks, aka Rebecca Frankel, Junior Executive Assistant to the VP of Human Resources at Campbell, according to her LinkedIn profile, was adorably naïve and helpful. For example, when a friendly IT man had called the other day and asked for her credentials to verify a “suspicious login” from her site, she’d provided all the necessary info. Hell, if I’d asked for her astrological sign and social security number, she’d probably have given me that too.
Once I’d accessed her email, I’d had the keys to the castle. It had been easy to copy her writing style – hyper-friendly, with way too many exclamation points for a person over the age of thirteen – to learn that she was going on a business trip with her boss this week, and to find that she was smoke-break buddies with Jane DeVoor, Assistant to the CFO. As soon as Jane emailed back a summary of Thursday’s press release to help her pal out, I’d make a few quick investment decisions like I’d somehow learned to predict the future.
Hint: Ditch your psychic friends and go phishing instead.
“Um, would we say the drawer is really empty, though?” Breck, Ridge’s identical twin, asked from the lounge chair where he was stretched out in the sun practically on top of his boyfriend, Steele Alvarez.
“Close enough. The only things left are a pink tank top that says I Would Bottom You So Hardand this Pittsburgh Steelers t-shirt.” Ridge held it up. “Neither of them is mine, and frankly I don’t feel comfortable wearing either.”
Thank Christ someone had been bright enough to leave the air conditioning on in Charlie’s mansion. Dead men paid no electric bills, I guess. Fucking Florida.I’d been gone too long and had somehow forgotten how truly miserable the humidity could be. Sure, it could hit a hundred and fifteen outside of Baghdad, but it was dry heat.
I thought about taking off my suit, or at least my tie, but until I knew what the hell was going on here, I wasn’t going to let my guard down.
Besides, I looked good in a suit.
“Nice house, huh?” Wesley said from my behind me, as I was busy assessing the layout of the house and cataloging any possible pinch points. Like I said, I didn’t know what I was doing here, and I wasn’t taking any chances.
“I’ve seen bigger.” In my most recent incarnation as close protection specialist and hired muscle to some very rich and very bad men, I’d been in mansions that made this place look like a pool house. Not that this place sucked. Not at all. The cabin I’d grown up in could have fit in the foyer with room left over.
We followed Ms. Miranda Bosley, Charlie’s attorney, single-file down the tiled hallway of the big house like a line of ducklings. Wesley was the only guy I knew and consequently the only one in the group I trusted enough to walk behind me. Even Ms. Bosley looked like she wouldn’t hesitate to stab me in the kidney if she felt she needed to.
I couldn’t imagine what Charlie had on the kid. I’d only worked with Wes twice before, but he was more a gray hat than a black hat hacker; the kind of person who didn’t mind doing the wrong things for the right reasons. A cross between MacGyver and Anonymous, the kid had probably been on an FBI watch list since he was twelve.
Wesley had triggered my protective instincts from our first meeting, but he’d never really needed much help beyond muscle. Sure he could take of himself with that jujitsu or whatever, but sometimes some people just needed their faces punched, and I was more than happy to do that for him. It was satisfying.
Now Angel-Face, as I’d taken to calling the gorgeous blond kid who’d been sitting a few rows ahead of me at the graveside ceremony, hetriggered other instincts in me. Made me think things I probably shouldn’t be thinking at a funeral. But then again, Angel-Face hadn’t seemed exactly consumed with grief either. I hadn’t been completely surprised to see him following Miranda after the funeral along with Wes and me. Very interesting. What had that choir boy done to be in such bad company at such a young age?
Pros & Cons of Deception #2
“Hey, can anyone explain why my shirt drawer is empty?” Ridge Pfeiffer demanded, appearing on the patio where the rest of our little band had congregated. Our resident retrievals expert (read: thief) was naked from the waist up and scowling beneath his blue eyes and blond curls like the world’s most overgrown, pissed-off Botticelli angel.
I pulled down my sunglasses to look at him, then slid them back up so I could focus on my phone screen. Right now, I was engaged in a long-term bout of spear phishing at Campbell Enterprises, and I was about to close the deal. This was way more interesting than anything Ridge was likely to share.
Janie,I typed, I’m on a plane with Dal Anderson and he wants a four-paragraph summary of Thursday’s press release so we can prepare talking points for the investors!! Can’t access the secure server from here and I’m fah-reaking OUT!! Send me something? – BecksThere. That ought to do it.
Becks, aka Rebecca Frankel, Junior Executive Assistant to the VP of Human Resources at Campbell, according to her LinkedIn profile, was adorably naïve and helpful. For example, when a friendly IT man had called the other day and asked for her credentials to verify a “suspicious login” from her site, she’d provided all the necessary info. Hell, if I’d asked for her astrological sign and social security number, she’d probably have given me that too.
Hint: Ditch your psychic friends and go phishing instead.
“Um, would we say the drawer is really empty, though?” Breck, Ridge’s identical twin, asked from the lounge chair where he was stretched out in the sun practically on top of his boyfriend, Steele Alvarez.
“Close enough. The only things left are a pink tank top that says I Would Bottom You So Hardand this Pittsburgh Steelers t-shirt.” Ridge held it up. “Neither of them is mine, and frankly I don’t feel comfortable wearing either.”
What is the biggest influence/interest that brought you to this genre?
I hadn’t read M/F romance much as a youth, preferring fantasy and science fiction. My interest in MM romance came as a complete surprise to me. Like many of us, I read a lot of fan fiction, and one day it hit me that I was reading, gasp, romance! Then I discovered MM books, actual real life books on Amazon, and you know how the rest of the story goes.
As for the heist part of the Pros & Cons series, I grew up watching Mission Impossible and Charlie’s Angels and the original Ocean’s 11 movies. I couldn’t get enough. Still can’t. Obviously, the TV show Leverage was a huge influence on me and the series. A secret is that my daughter Zoe, who knows all the Leverage episodes backwards and forwards, and want to grow up to be an evil Mastermind, is a great heist planner.
When writing a book, what is your favorite part of the creative process(outline, plot, character names, editing, etc)?
My favorite part is planning the story and creating the characters. That’s the fun exciting part that happens in my head while I’m driving or doing the dishes. It starts ages, months, before I start any kind of typing into a document. There are some characters I’ve been thinking about for a year.
When reading a book, what genre do you find most interesting/intriguing?
I’m very much into historical MM romances like K. J. Charles and Cat Sebastian. They are so witty and the writing is amazing. II would never in a million years be able to write them.
If you could co-author with any author, past or present, who would you choose?
Nora Roberts. I want her to teach me all of her secrets and producing consistently. I need the help! I’d also like Guy Gavriel Kay to teach me how to write the amazing sentences.
Have you always wanted to write or did it come to you "later in life"?
It’s all I’ve ever want to do. I was writing Trixie Belden fan fiction in my head decades before I knew what it was. I had a poem in the yearbook when I was eight. It was the fortuitous combination of MM romance and indie publishing coming together that allows me to do it now!
A dreamer and an idealist, Amy writes about people finding love, family, and magic in the everyday world. From professional hockey players to professional thieves, her boys work hard, play hard, and love harder. She invites readers into her characters’ lives and worlds when they are their most vulnerable, their most human, and living with the same hopes and fears we all have.
Born on Long Island, NY, Amy has lived in Los Angeles, London, and Bangkok. She currently lives in a town suspiciously like Red Deer, Colorado.
EMAIL: amy@aewasp.com
Pros & Cons of Vengeance #1
Pros & Cons of Deception #2
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