🍾📎📚New-To-Me Authors 2025📚📎🍾

This was a new addition twoyears ago to my end of year "Best Of" lists. I am not ranking, favoring, or besting any of these authors as they are equally entertaining. I don't get to read new authors as much as I would like and there were only 4 new-to-me authors in 2025.  The authors have all earned their spot on my Authors-To-Watch list and I look forward to checking out their backlists as well as all future stories.  Hope you find a new-to-me author in this post as well.

👀I've included links to the original review postings below and I try to keep the purchasing links as current as possible but they've been known to change for dozens of reasons, in case any of those links no longer work be sure to check out the author's social media links for updated buying info.👀

2/2/25:  Once Upon a Holiday Vacation by Annabella Michaels(🎅🎄After Christmas Holiday Reads 2024🎄🎅)

3/17/25:  Just Dance by AJ Llewellyn(🍀💚☘️ St. Patrick's Day 2025 ☘️💚🍀)

4/20/25:  Hoppy Egg Hunting by Jaime Samms(🐰Hoppy Easter 2025🐰)

10/31/25:  Halloween Fumble by A Winchester(🎃🍬Halloween 2025🍬🎃)

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Tales from Rainbow Alley by Jaime Samms Part 2

Neat Trick #5
Summary:
Being 100 percent sure you know what you want is a sure-fire way to get exactly what you need. You just might not recognize it when you do.

Jacob has rebuilt his life inside Rainbow Alley after a vicious beating sent him to the hospital when he was a teenager. He’s strong again, and he knows what he wants from life. He just has to accept that he isn’t going to get it from Cliff Thatcher.

Aaron has discovered that life never offers handouts. He’s spent years paying other people’s debts and now he is indentured to Douglas, a man who won’t hesitate to use every ugly trick in the book to retain control over Aaron, his skateboard and his life.

When Jacob and Aaron meet, there is not an ounce of doubt in Jacob that he’s found what he wants. The young man might be a little rough around the edges, but he’s a safe bet, and Jacob knows he can control the thrust of their relationship. That is, until Aaron proves he can handle Jacob’s submissive side and pushes to take the dynamic out of the bed and into the rest of their lives.

Jacob’s hard limit, though, is the bedroom door. Only when Douglas makes it clear Fohe isn’t letting Aaron go without a fight, or a pay-off that he seems intent on taking in the form of Jacob himself, does Jacob begin to understand just how shaky his world really is.

If Jacob doesn’t believe Aaron can protect him, he’ll lose everything. Including what might just be his only chance at true freedom from his fear.

Reader Advisory: This books contains scenes of violence and references to past abuse and child pornography. It also contains one instance of sexual violence.

Safe and Sound #6
Summary:
Overcoming past hurts and letting love back in sometimes means reinventing everything about yourself, and sometimes means loving who you already are despite the jagged edges.

Rikki’s past is ugly, painful and full of blood. Simon is getting over a lover who only saw him for his uses, but had no use for his heart. From the outside, they seem like a disaster waiting to happen.

From the moment Simon moves into the same house, they seem to be exactly what the other needs. Except for one small detail. Simon has never been—or wanted to be—the one in charge in the bedroom. And Rikki doesn’t trust himself to keep Simon safe. So when Simon demands independence in all other things, Rikki is sure he’ll have to accept a life of solitude and hold himself inside his cold shell.

Meanwhile, as Simon waits for Rikki to bring the heat, his old lover is still hoping to use him one more time. Rikki is going to have to trust his instincts—and all the deadly skills he’s grown to loathe and fear—to keep his Simon safe.

Neat Trick #5
Jacob

The only redeeming feature of jogging was running until I couldn’t breathe or move or think then falling into bed exhausted. No tossing and turning all night replaying my aborted attempt to win Cliff Thatcher into my bed. Or dreaming about where it might have gone had I succeeded.

Not that I was pining after the guy. Handsome and built, strong, athletic, soft-spoken, Cliff was pretty much everything I craved in a Dom. Including, sadly, being honest enough to admit when he couldn’t give a guy everything because his heart already belonged to someone else. And he was honorable enough to say no when he knew he couldn’t settle for an affair that had no future.

I’d have settled for the affair. I prefer the sexy side of submission over the whole twenty-four seven thing that Cliff wanted. That just wasn’t me. I mean, I could picture it. Jacob Briggs—slave. But I had been there and done that for a guy who had been what I needed at the time. He’d known when I’d had enough and let me go. I wasn’t interested in doing it again. Kink in bed? Hell yes. The rest? Emphatically no.

“Just as well,” I huffed, pushing my legs to get me up the steep embankment near the park. I wasn’t going to be content in Cliff’s strict environment under which Jimmy Phillips—the man who had won Cliff—clearly thrived. They’d cheerfully gone about their lives in the months since Cliff had turned me away. If Jimmy didn’t wear a physical collar, there was still no doubt in anyone’s mind to whom he willingly belonged, heart and soul.

Perfectly okay with me. They were happy. I was happy. All good.

“Give your head a shake, Jacob,” I muttered. I attempted to train my mind to stillness and concentrate on the soft thumping of my feet on the grassy verge between sidewalk and road. Shin splints had already sent me back to Cliff. Well, his physiotherapy clinic, anyway. I’d gone in to ask him what was up with my legs and he’d admonished—oh hell, he’d told me off. Told me to be more careful, to stop running my heart out and potentially ruining my knees as well as damaging my legs.

“You’re too young to go wearing yourself out.” Just the sound of Cliff’s voice in my memory was enough to send me back to that moment in time when I’d almost had him.

“Like you care,” I muttered, then instantly regretted it. I didn’t get a chance to apologize, though.

“Of course I care.” Cliff cupped my face tenderly. “If I didn’t care, I would have fucked you into the wall that night and sent you home sore. I hope that isn’t the kind of man you think I am.”

I shook my head, feeling like a complete fool. “No,” I mumbled, then, more idiot me, tacked on a whimpering “Sir” for good measure.

“You’re a good boy, Jacob,” he said softly, patting my cheek then pulling his hand away. Denied. That wasn’t mine. I hadn’t earned it from him, and furthermore, I didn’t deserve it. And a moment later, he’d outlined why I didn’t deserve it. “And I don’t think you’re this petulant, either.”

Not usually.

“Enough is enough, now.” He straightened and spun his stool away from me. “You walked out my door, and you know that. Don’t make me regret inviting you in in the first place.”

God. Disapproval. From him. It had hurt more than it should, but I knew, in my heart, it was all I deserved from him the way I was acting. He wasn’t my Dom. He never would be. He didn’t share. I had to move on.

And because I knew Cliff was not an asshole was precisely why I had such a hard time getting over him. For pity’s sake, we’d never even slept together, barely kissed. Just a few dinner dates, and the feel of Cliff’s hard, strong hands on my ass was apparently enough to send me into a tailspin of wishful thinking.

“Get the fuck over it, already,” I admonished myself, picking up my pace and ignoring the warning twinges in my legs and left ankle telling me my body wasn’t ready for this amount of activity. I concentrated on the soft jangle of the bracelets around my wrist keeping time with my steps instead of thinking about Cliff Thatcher.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I veered off to the left, over the sidewalk and down the slight hill into the park bordering the north end of Rainbow Alley’s limits.

Backed along the park were a series of tiny houses built between the park and a row of businesses fronting the street. The houses generally belonged to people who owned the businesses, and most of them had a dingy, used-up look to them. The yards were dry and patchy, the gardens either empty or weed infested. Clapboard siding sported fading paint, and porches hung crookedly in some cases, leading from cracked walks to dated front doors.

The narrow lane between houses and buildings was covered in cracked pavement with weeds and grass growing up through the broken lines. It all looked just a little bit desolate and sad.

I passed Doyle’s Garage first, the best of the lot with its new coat of paint and flower beds in front of the house that bloomed in a riot of overgrown color. Pretty, if unkempt. Then a gas station, whose house was long gone, burned down more than a decade ago and never rebuilt, followed by a convenience store and a florist. At that point, a small break in the row of old buildings opened onto a flower bed and benches next to the bus stop, with a path leading into the park. After that was a boarded-up deli with a house in ill repair behind it, a tiny Asian grocer, a used bookstore and a small shop that changed hands every six or eight months. Right now, it held the tacky remains of a souvenir shop with ugly rainbow-flavored novelties in one window, and the new addition of used skateboarding equipment in the other. Beside it, a chain coffee shop marked the edge of respectability as one entered into the Alley confines proper.

Construction had started on the house behind the bookshop, and there were signs that the deli would be next. Maybe someone was moving in. Maybe someone wanted to sell the dump. Maybe it was an attempt to clean up the tiny neighborhood. Who knew?

Not sure I was ready to move my jog back toward my sad little life or empty apartment just yet, I swerved deeper into the park toward the undulating concrete jungle of the skateboarders’ domain.

The loud swoosh and grind of wheels up and down the sides of the main bowl was a welcome distraction from self-pity, and I slowed to climb the hill leading to the entrance of the skaters’ park. I liked watching them. I’d stopped more than once to enjoy the fast swoop of bodies down the curves and back up the other side. It fascinated me how they hung in the air for just that split second, like breaking a moment out of time just for themselves. The twist and gyration of their bodies up there was like that infinite moment of bliss just this side of subspace, only they got to do it over and over, with every pass, while I rarely found that coveted hanging moment in time before I dropped into release.

A really good Dom could give me that, but I’d been told I had issues and barriers and an inability to really let go. I just think those guys didn’t know what they were doing. I was pretty sure Cliff could have done it for me if we’d had the chance to try.

Now I could only dream and watch the skaters and envy them their brand of freedom.

“Lucky bastards.” I scooted down the hill again to watch the show from the bottom lip of the largest half pipe where only one guy was practicing.

I’d seen him before, and had stopped to watch him. He was beautiful. He had a way of spinning gracefully at every turn, a snaking sideways twirl of his lithe body that got me interested. Just watching him, the way he commanded that board and bowl, the very air he sailed through got me hard every time.

I settled into a squat, eventually dropping onto my ass, run forgotten, knees up to hide my erection. The guy’s red hair was a flaming mass of waves hanging to his shoulders and across his face. How the hell he could see anything through the heavy layers was a mystery, but the burnished copper shone in the setting sun. One more facet to him that kept me watching him day after day. I’d never made it close enough to check, but I wondered if his eyes were blue, or that rare, highly coveted green. Did he have freckles? I wanted him to have freckles. And be gay. And dominant in bed.

“Hell of a lot better than thinking about Cliff,” I grumbled. Still, here I was, coveting something else I couldn’t have. Even on the off chance that the guy was gay, he probably wasn’t a Dom, and I was fairly certain he was a good few years younger than me. That meant he was probably barely legal. Not that age, as long as he was, in fact, legal, really mattered. Not with a body like that.

“Hey!” A deep shout echoed from the top of the pipe. The skater spun, mis-stepped a push-off and fumbled off his board.

I looked toward the source of his distraction.

The newcomer was easily in his mid-forties, clad in designer jeans and a sports coat over an expensive silk-screened T-shirt that didn’t quite hide a pot belly. And loafers. Really? Who wore loafers in a park? Definitely too high-class to be hanging here.

The boarder caught my attention when he stumbled, nearly falling as he tried to stop. Seconds before my redhead got there, the old guy hopped onto the lip of the pipe right where he planned to land. The board escaped Red’s grab and skidded back to the bottom of the pipe on its flat surface, wheels spinning in air.

Red dropped out of his headspace with a lurch that made my stomach turn over. His cheeks blanched as he stumbled to get his feet under him without taking his eyes from the jerk.

The guy grabbed the kid’s arm, keeping him on his feet, then hauled him forward until their faces were too close for anything but the deep kiss that followed. The older man’s hand tangled in all that red hair, holding the skater in the kiss.

“Answers the gay question, then,” I muttered, getting hurriedly to my feet and turning my back on the private display.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, brat?” The older man’s harsh voice carried across the concrete, echoing into the dusk.

I froze, embarrassed that they’d caught me watching at all, and slowly turned to face their wrath.

But the man wasn’t talking to me at all. He still had a grip of steel around the younger man’s arm and in his hair, and he was shaking him. “I thought I told you that board was off limits until the tournament!”

Heavy-handed treatment for a small indiscretion. I quickly, quietly slipped down into the pipe to retrieve the board and used it as an excuse to get a little closer in case its owner needed some kind of assistance.

“Had to get used to it,” the skater argued. “I can’t go into a tournament on a new board and expect to get decent points on the first run. Need to know how it handles. Make sure it’s soft enough.”

“Those trucks alone cost more than you make a month in that idiotic shop you insist on keeping.”

The skater snarled and yanked ineffectually against the other man’s hold. “That’s why you’re my sponsor, Douglas. Fuck. You own the damn company. Not like you can’t afford it.”

“I can’t afford it if you screw up the prototype.”

I was close enough now to see the young man’s lip curl. “If it’s that good a product, nothing I do is going to wreck it. If it sucks, that ain’t my problem. Rather know that now, than when I got a thousand cameras on me, wouldn’t you?”

“Watch your mouth.” Another shake, a less than gentle slap across one cheek, and the young man subsided, but not gracefully.

“Fine. Let me go and I’ll go get the damn precious thing, but if I lose the tourney, it’s on you for being a stingy bastard.” He whirled around and I was caught in his sights, board in hand.

“Hey.” I offered a small smile. “Um. Here.” I held out the board.

Green eyes glared from his still pale face, cheeks suddenly infused with two high spots of color amid an incredible mask of cinnamon freckles.

Green eyes. Freckles. Gay. Check, check and fucking check. My attention wavered, caught by the glimpse of throat and a sliver of chest peeking from the loose collar of his T-shirt. That patch of skin was also covered in a sprinkling of pretty dots that had me wondering how far down they went. And he was young, but if the blazing expression in his eyes was anything to go by, not in the least bit cowed by the older man’s rough handling.

“Who the hell are you, and why you always watchin’ me?” the skater snarled in a sotto whisper as he snatched the board.

“Jacob Briggs. And I watch because…” You’re beautiful. “It’s impossible not to. Your hang time…” I trailed off but forgot to loosen my grip on the board.

Green eyes narrowed. “What do you know about it?”

“I just… Nothing. I’m not a boarder or anything. I jog. Just had to stop and watch.”

“Every day.”

I managed a small shrug. “Most,” I agreed, my tone practically daring him to make something of it. Please make something of it.

The red head tilted and hair splashed across one high cheekbone. It didn’t change his wary expression. “Guess I’ll see you around then.”

“Guess so.”

“My board?” He gave a tug on the skateboard making me flinch and I let go in a tinkle of silver bracelets and nerves.

“S-sorry.” I held up my hand as if he needed proof I’d let go. It shook slightly and he stepped closer, blocking my view of the guy waiting above. He closed long, calloused fingers around my wrist.

“Nervous.”

He wasn’t asking, but informing. Like I didn’t know that.

I fluttered my gaze down to his hand around mine and felt it. The unwinding that happened when someone stronger than me, more in control, took that power and control and displayed it. Like a red flag before a bull, it got my attention.

“Sorry,” I said again, unable to control the instinct to drop my gaze to the concrete.

Finally, though, I’d won a smile from him. I could hear it in his voice. “Don’t be. Nervous looks cute on you.”

Safe and Sound #6

Simon

Simon lay still. Past experience reminded him that sudden movement in the bed in the middle of the night led to bruises or worse. Rikki was a lot of things, but a peaceful bed companion was not on that list. The room was quiet around him. A woodsy aroma of cedar drifted from the scent warmer in the adjacent bathroom. The light from it spread a pale wash over the room. He listened but couldn’t figure out why he was awake.

Something winged and delicate made a bid for escape from his chest when a shadow passed over the foot of the bed. He blinked, but the vague impression was gone. Not a sound greeted his straining ears. He must have imagined it. Without thinking, he felt for the thin, comforting band of leather at his throat. Then he remembered. That collar was gone. The man who had bestowed it on him also gone.

And good riddance. He hadn’t deserved Simon’s submission in the first place. He’d betrayed everything, deceived Simon. Used him for more than just his pleasure in Simon’s body. God. Simon had been such a blind fool. He hadn’t seen how desperate Jason’s desire for access to his inner circle and his adopted family. It had never been about what Simon had to offer him other than that access. Not that he had declined the use of Simon himself, since that was free for the asking—or taking.

Because Simon was a fool.

Another shadow flickered and Simon flinched. Even after weeks of this new arrangement, he had yet to decide if he preferred this vague, almost-there sight from the scent warmer, or the pitch black he’d grown accustomed to with Jason.

“Please, please, please.” He moved his lips, but refused to give the plea voice. There was nothing to be afraid of here. Jason was gone. Rikki was safe. Rikki would never hurt him. How long would it take before he no longer woke in the night expecting Jason’s hands on him, rolling him over. Taking.

The bed shifted and Simon jerked upright.

“Nff.” A low grunt from the pillow next to his, and the blankets shimmied away from him. “You’re alligator-rolling again, Si.”

“Rikki.” Simon heaved out a long breath. Of course, it was Rikki. He knew that. He flopped onto his back with a soft whimper.

“Gimme some blankets.” Rikki yanked on the covers again and Simon was rolled against Rikki’s back. “Better.” Before Simon moved back to his own side of the bed, Rikki flopped around to drape a leg over Simon’s. “Y’r warm. C’mere.”

This was worlds away from waking to Jason lurking in the dark, ready to pounce. He’d seemed to enjoy the heightened fright Simon got when he hovered, watching him sleep until the sheer weight of the attention woke Simon, and Jason was right there, waiting to take, take, take.

Rikki offered shelter and warmth and Simon snuggled down against his chest. Maybe everyone thought Simon shared his space with Rikki for Rikki’s sake.

The two of them knew better.

Rikki

Rikki had long ago perfected the art of breathing like a sleeping man. He held Simon close until the small, warm bundle in his arms had relaxed and his back rose and fell under Rikki’s hands in a steady, deep rhythm.

Snuggled, face to Rikki’s chest, was the only way his young, new friend slept soundly. It didn’t matter how uncomfortable Rikki might find the position. It mattered only that Simon felt safe.

Daylight overpowered the faint shine from Simon’s night light, the change going unnoticed at first. Perhaps Rikki had slept, as well. It was often hard for him to tell anymore. Much of his waking day passed like a dream, populated by the same people, performing tasks by rote. Most of his nights he drifted in a nether region of not-sleep. Tightening his arms around Simon’s middle, he closed his eyes and pretended he didn’t have to get up soon.

This was a new sensation for Rikki. He was the strong one here. He was the protector, but in a way that didn’t leave him clutching desperately at his own sanity. Simon didn’t need knives or blood or death to feel protected. He needed touch. Rikki liked to touch and be touched, even if most people who crossed his path thought he was too scary, too lethal, to get close enough to do so.

Hunkering down, Rikki tugged Simon closer. Probably too close for comfort, but the sensation of body heat mingling with his own, tangled legs, and Simon’s soft, measured breaths puffing against his chest, all settled his anxiety about facing another day.

“Mmm.”

In his arms, Simon stirred and Rikki rubbed his back in slow circles.

“Morning,” Simon mumbled.

“You don’t have to wake up.”

“Mmm,” Simon said again and snuggled deeper into their bubble.

Rikki closed his eyes and breathed in the sleep-sweet scent of Simon’s multi-hued hair. “What are you up to today?” he asked, hoping in the deepest part of himself that Simon was sticking close to home and not going in to work at the club. Spades was safe enough, even for a professional submissive, which Simon was, but Rikki didn’t like him being gone too long.

“Mmm.” Simon’s small purrs warmed Rikki from the inside out. “The usual. Put in the bar order and make sure the roster’s full for tonight.”

And are you on the roster? But he didn’t ask.

“Gotta go over some résumés for Gina, then make a schedule for the weekend. Check the kitchen has everything it needs.”

“That’s the chef’s job,” Rikki pointed out.

“Spades doesn’t have a chef right now. Rolly moved the last one to Black Alice. They need her more. And you know Rolly. He’s picky. I guess for now, we have a competent cook and a few, reliably stable recipes, and me.” He shifted to see Rikki’s face and it was all Rikki managed not to turn away. “Now if you—”

“I have to get up.” He didn’t quite dump Simon onto his back as he scrambled out of the bed. He rolled, landed and was across the room to the window in a fluid motion that left his blood rushing with satisfaction. He still moved that fast. It was something, at least.

“Not even going to let me get the offer out this time?”

Rikki had scooped up a worn cuff from the bedside table and now he wrapped it around his wrist. He fumbled with the buckles until Simon sat up and confiscated the thing.

“Come here.”

Rikki stared at him a split second, fighting refusal, then moved the few steps to stand before where Simon perched on the edge of the bed. After a short, stubborn staring contest, he held out his arm.

Simon buckled the cuff in place, fingers nimble and efficient. “It’s a good position,” he said, not even acknowledging what he was doing, but continuing the previous conversation. “Right up your alley.”

“I don’t leave the house,” Rikki reminded him.

“You could.”

“I’m dangerous.”

Instead of letting Rikki go when he finished with the cuff, Simon laced warm fingers through Rikki’s and waited for Rikki to meet his gaze. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t really know me.” Rikki pulled free but did so gently, then cupped Simon’s face. “But it’s very sweet that you think that.”

Without giving Simon a chance to respond, he hurried to the bathroom that separated his room from Simon’s. He’d like to be the man Simon thought he was.

He shivered at the thought. Normal. That was what Simon saw in him. An illusion. Twisting the sink’s taps, he watched the flow of cold water splash into the sink. Wishful thinking never got him anywhere. He gave himself a shake, then cupped his hands to dunk his face into the liquid. As he straightened, the cool drops trickled down his throat and over his chest. He followed the path of the water with his palm. There were scars on his skin. These were not of his own making, at least.

And as soon as he thought that, his attention strayed to the ones he had made. Some on his forearms, on his biceps, just above his elbows, some on his thighs. He ran his fingers over those last, most recent. They had healed, now, but were still the reddest.

“You want me to put cream on those?” Simon asked from the doorway.

“They’re fine.” Rikki turned from the mirror, flashed Simon a brief smile, and headed for his clothes. He dressed quickly in white skinny jeans, a white T-shirt and a plain white button-up that he left hanging open. It was as close as he was going to get to a chef’s uniform.

“Rik—”

Rikki bent and pecked Simon’s cheek. “I gotta go down. Get the coffee on.”

Simon sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “This isn’t going away!”

It would. If he ignored it long enough Simon would be forced to hire someone else and he’d stop nagging.

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Tales from Rainbow Alley Part 1

Author Bio:

Jaime writes, romance, fantasy, urban fantasy, shifter stories about men, about life, about love. Her work is populated with mostly men, most of whom are into each other, and yes, we do mean into each other. You can find plenty of free reading on her website.

She also reviews for Dark Diva Reviews, mostly the same types of stories, and will happily spout her opinion on the books she reads to her kids, who she home schools. Finally, she's occasionally gainfully employed. She writes for the love it, and hopes to pass on that love to her readers, her kids, and anyone else who comes along.

FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE

AUDIBLE  /  GOOGLE+  /  GOOGLE PLAY

KOBO  /  SMASHWORDS  /  PINTEREST

iTUNES  /  DEVIANT ART  /  LIVE JOURNAL

PRIDE PUBLISHING  /  B&N  /  AMAZON

DREAMSPINNER  /  RIPTIDE  /  GOODREADS

EMAIL: jaime.samms@gmail.com

Neat Trick #5

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK

B&N  /  KOBO  /  PRIDE PUBLISHING

GOOGLE PLAY  /  GOODREADS TBR

Safe and Sound #6

AMAZON US  /  AMAZON UK  /  B&N

KOBO  /  iTUNES  /  GOOGLE PLAY

PRIDE PUBLISHING  /  GOODREADS TBR

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Three Player Game by Jaime Samms

Summary:
Bluewater Bay #20
Vince’s life has improved immeasurably since he moved to Bluewater Bay two years ago. He’s gone from working for a man he hated, to helping found a company he believes in. And he and boyfriend, Pete, have built a delicate balance of power between them that keeps them both grounded and thriving.

Almost, anyway.

Pete’s job on the set of Wolf’s Landing is demanding. He needs lots of downtime off set, and that’s where Vince’s firm but gentle control isn’t always enough. And for Vince, Pete’s constant high-energy needs are turning out to be more than he can handle alone.

It’s no surprise to either of them, then, that sparks fly when Vince’s coworker Lee enters the picture. Outwardly, Lee is tough and confident, but when a bad back confines him to Pete and Vince’s spare room, the cracks start to show and his desire for connection begins to peek through.

Pete and Vince both like what they see under Lee’s prickly outside, but now the three men must learn that love isn’t about beating the game—it’s about balance, trust, and letting each other in.

* * * * * * * 

The Bluewater Bay stories can be read in any order — jump in wherever you'd like! 

Chapter One
Lee
Lee moaned. Cool sheets and a too-soft mattress cushioned him. The constant, low hum of an air conditioner pried its way into his skull, and he rolled over to put a pillow over his head. The movement caused a rather more vocal groan as his back gave a heaving spasm.

“The fuck,” he mumbled, collapsing to a prone position. The heavy, ice-pick ache began mid-back and radiated downward until, his body tried to curl his hips up to relieve the pain, and he couldn’t quite breathe.

Not this again. What did you do this time, asshole? He wished he couldn’t still hear that voice in his head. Maybe it was his own by this time.

“Shhh!” Hasty footsteps approached, but Lee couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes to find out whose. “Don’t move.” A hand settled on his shoulder, holding him still, startling him tense, but the pressure remained firm, not rough.

“Too late,” he muttered, trying to subdue the automatic, defensive tension.

“Here. I got you some pain relief and a glass of water. They’ll make you drowsy, but that will help you stay still, and I’ll be here, so you’ll fine.”

Lee pried one eyelid up as best he could to see the base of a drinking glass with a straw. A well-manicured hand came into view with two little pills. He recognized them and knew they’d knock him out before long, but it was true. That would be a good thing right now. Feeling much like a helpless kitten, Lee opened his mouth. The hand placed the pills carefully on his tongue, then the drinking end of the straw came into view. He sipped and swallowed and closed his eye again.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

A nervous silence stretched, underpinned by the continual rumble of the air conditioner wafting a slick of cooler breeze over his bed. Otherwise, the room was unnaturally silent. Like a sound-proofed hotel room. For an instant, he forgot his injury and tried to sit up.

“Nope!” That hand came back to his shoulder and urged him down. Not that he needed the urging. The pain took the last ounce of his strength, and he flopped with a tiny, pathetic mewl.

“The fuck?” he asked again after he’d managed to slow his shallowed breathing.

“You got a little . . . tipsy . . . last night,” his benefactor informed him. “Slipped off the curb coming out of the bar, and I guess wrecked something in your back. Blaire had to fly home this morning, but he paid for the room for another two nights and told me to let you sleep and return with you when you’re ready.”

Lee sighed and opened his eyes. About halfway through that spiel, he’d recognized Vince’s voice, and had started to recall the night before. The three of them, Lee, his office mate Vince, and their boss, Blaire, had flown to Vancouver to meet with some backers about an investment in their new company. The investor had wanted to meet all the players, so they had trouped across the border and sat down to dinner with the woman.

She’d turned out to be an enthusiastic patron of all things cosplay and video gaming, and an especially zealous fan of Wolf’s Landing. The trip had been worth their time. Her backing was going to pay for the additional filming they wanted to do for the Wolf’s Landing video game background, as well as some of the short CGI movies based on the game’s story that Blaire wanted to make for advertising. After their investor had said good night, the three of them had celebrated with a few drinks.

Lee hadn’t been that intoxicated. But he had been tired and his body already abused. The day before the trip, he’d finally pulled all his belongings from storage, where they had languished after his dismissal from Caruthers Industries and his eviction from the furnished company apartment eight months ago. His smaller, less glamorous, but more affordable apartment hadn’t even come with a kitchen sink. He’d had to get the plumbing fixed before he signed the lease. Then, he’d procrastinated for months getting the bulk of his things out of the storage unit and up to his place. The only upside was that it was closer to their new offices, but hauling all his boxes up four flights of stairs in one day, then jumping on a plane to Vancouver the next, had wrecked him. Air travel always left him nauseous and uninterested in food.

It did explain why a few drinks had shot him past his limit so much faster than normal. When they’d left the bar for the cab to the hotel, a curb had done him in.

His feet had flown out from under him, and he’d landed—hard—on his ass.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

The bed dipped and he whimpered again.

“So I called the nurse hotline,” Vince said.

“The whatnow?” Lee covered his eyes with his arm, but lifted it just enough to peer at the younger man’s earnest face.

Vince consulted a pamphlet in his hand. “HealthLink BC, actually. They have a sort of hotline to answer questions and advise you if you need to see a doctor in person. The nurse didn’t seem to think it was crucial until you get home. But he did recommend you ice the muscles in your back to get some of the swelling down. He said it should hurt less once you’d iced it, but if it didn’t, you should go to a clinic.”

“I am not going to any clinic.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Vince pushed his glasses more firmly onto his nose with a thumb at the bridge. “Right now, I need you to roll a bit so I can get the ice pack under you.”

“I’m not moving.”

“You have to. A tiny bit. I can help.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Lee, this is important. If you want to hurt less, you have to do this.”

“I don’t have to do fuck all. Maybe I like pain.”

“I know you like being a pain. But no one likes to be in agony. So here. Take my hand.” Vince held out a hand to Lee. “Use your stomach and arm as much as you can. Roll toward me, and I’ll slide the ice pack under you.”

Lee glared at him. “I’m not six.”

Vince stared back, lips pursed.

“Go away. Fly home, little mouse.”

Vince’s brows drew together, displacing his glasses a bit, and he tilted his head to one side, but he didn’t lower his arm or rescind the offer of his hand. “Mice don’t fly. What kind of metaphor is that?”

“Bird, then,” Lee snapped. “Fly away home, little fucking bird.”

“You swear a lot, you know. Maybe think about that.” Vince curled his lips to one side and thumbed his glasses.

This time, Lee stared at Vince, scowling as hard as he could. But Vince remained where he was. The stalemate lasted a good two minutes before Lee finally caved.

“Fine.” He pushed himself onto his side, the pain making a gray haze crowd his vision from all sides. Vince hastily stuffed the ice pack under him, and Lee flopped back. Dark spots swam over the room, and he huffed, sweating and panting as the pain tore up and down his back in waves of flame and lava.

“That would have hurt less if you’d let me help.”

“Fuck. Off.”

“And it’s official. You make a lousy patient.”

“Nice bedside manner.”

Vince smiled sweetly. “Kill them with kindness, my mom always said.” He got up and wandered to the table near the window. “We’re supposed to leave the ice for no more than ten minutes, then keep it off for twenty or so. If you aren’t asleep by then, we can reapply.”

“Reapply this,” Lee muttered, tossing Vince a middle-finger salute, then throwing his arm over his eyes. He must have fallen asleep fairly quickly, because he wasn’t aware of Vince removing the ice.

Chapter Two
Vince
Vince settled at the table after he’d pulled the ice pack out from under Lee. He was careful not to wake him. The more Lee slept, the less likely he was to overstress the injury. And the less he talked, which was good because Vince only had so much patience.

He knew he’d always been regarded as the office mouse. In his defense, neither Lee nor Blaire had bothered to get to know him outside of work. He wasn’t a mouse at all. He was a nice guy, so he didn’t complain about being the office gofer, but he had other qualities they knew nothing about. He liked to dance and have a good time. He also knew when control was called for. And he didn’t take shit from people. Not when he had a choice, and now that he was out from under Oscar Caruthers’s thumb, he had choices. It was time to break out of that old, mousy mold.

Blaire Caruthers was a good boss. Fair and honest. Nothing at all like his father, Oscar, who had seemed to hold all the cards of Vince’s career when he’d first started out. He’d been young and inexperienced then, and thought walking away from Oscar’s ultimatums would be the end of his job prospects. He hadn’t counted on Blaire or Bluewater Bay, though. It turned out neither New York nor LA were the be-all and end-all of the industry, and Vince had skills that had nothing to do with corporate ladder-climbing or spying.

Smiling to himself, Vince opened his computer and logged on to the hotel wi-fi. Within five minutes, he had a chat window open and Pete’s little green dot in his sights.

Hey Babe. You really there?

Hey V. Yeah.

Busy?

Meh. Set is a clusterfuck today. An extra knocked over a light stand. It fell on a PA. Eric is freaking. The. Hell. Out.

PA okay? That was alarming. Normally, Pete complained about how boring it was waiting around on set for things to happen.

Yeah, she’s fine. The light stand, though. Not so much. Eric’s just . . . Eric.

Sorry

Not your fault. Hey. You back in town? A tiny winky face appeared, and Vince smiled.

Sadly, no. Lee torqued his back. Blaire set us up in a room to wait for him to be mobile again.

Man. Sucks.

I wish.

*snicker*

*sigh* He’s half jackass and half Adonis. I hate him.

That was answered with a dozen winky faces from Pete. We both know that isn’t true, babe. Any idea when you’ll be back?

Few days.

Miss you

Miss you more.

Want me to pick you up at the airport?

Vince sighed, because yes, he’d love that, but Pete had other things to worry about, and Vince wasn’t going to ask him to be on call for whenever Vince managed to get back. Nah. He texted, I’ll cab it. Make sure Lee gets home. You, I want on your back and plugged.

There was a pause in the texting, then, Dude. At work here. You trying to get me fired?

Hehe.

Fuck. I can’t even stand right now.

Wait until I get there. You won’t be walking for days.

Promises promises. Shit. Gotta go. Eric = dick deflator. <3 you

<3 CU

There was no reply to the last text. Not that Vince expected there to be. Once Pete’s boss Eric called, there never was.

Vince chuckled just the same, and glanced to the bed where Lee still slept. Too bad they only had the one double room. Would have been nice to enjoy a beat-off session to the idea of Pete on his back, legs wide, ass plugged and ready for Vince. Better yet, wouldn’t that be a nice view if Lee was between Pete’s legs, sucking him off, and Vince was pounding Lee instead? Or first, then Pete.

“Shit.” This was not a good road to go down. No one had made any rules about fraternizing in the office, but then, there were only the three of them, and Blaire had won his chef. There was little chance either Blaire or Lee figured on a reason to worry about it. It wasn’t like Vince advertised his fantasies. Well. Except to Pete, but then, they shared everything.

“Not getting your work done, Ascott. Get your head out of your pants.”

Still. He spent more than a few minutes watching Lee sleep and wondering how Pete might feel about Vince’s thoughts. Pete had only met Lee a few times in passing, but was theoretically on board with the idea.

“But they have to get to know each other first.” It could only work if Pete was in for his own reasons, and not just to make Vince happy.

Lee’s lashes fluttered, and Vince clamped his mouth shut. Lee’s legs shifted, like he was going to roll, but he only moaned. A line appeared between his brows, then he was still again.

Vince’s attention caught on the slight slant of Lee’s lashes across his cheekbones, and the flop of straight, brown-black hair drifting crosswise over his forehead. In sleep, his prominent bone structure seemed less sharp, and his lips, not pursed into a cross frown, had a plumper curve to them. A very kissable plump curve.

All right. Enough ogling the man while he’s asleep, perv. Vince shook himself and turned to his laptop.

Taking a few minutes to do some breathing, then to make himself a cup of hotel room coffee, Vince managed to get his head back on track and dove into company spreadsheets, redistributing their current assets and incorporating the newly available cash into the most pressing projects.

Hey, he typed into Pete’s chat window a few hours later. FYI, I think we have the cash for the filming. We can meet your crew’s costs. Think they’re still interested? Ping me when you have time to talk about it.

He didn’t expect an answer now. Pete would be running his ass off for a few hours still. But the prospect of getting a step closer to a product they could actually show people was almost enough to wake Lee for. Almost.

He glanced over at the bed again. Lee continued to sleep, but seemed restless. Probably, the pain was seeping through and he’d be awake soon. Vince shut down his laptop and perused the room service menu.

When Lee did wake, surly and clearly in pain, the soup and sandwiches Vince had ordered for them had arrived.

“Someone’s at the door,” Lee grumbled.

“Lunch. I’ll get it.”

“Not like I’m getting up.”

Vince said nothing. He collected the food, tipped the staff, and closed the door again. “Well,” he said as he wheeled the cart to the space between their beds, “you can’t eat lying on your back.”

“Not hungry.”

“You can’t have any more pain killers until you put some food in your stomach.” Vince stood next to the bed, hands on his hips.

“Fuck off, little mouse.”

“Lee, I am so over your shit. You’re right. When I started working for Blaire, I was the office mouse. I worked under Oscar for the first five years of my career, and he almost broke me.” Vince stepped closer to the bed. “But I didn’t break. I learned. You want to order me around in the office?” He gave a little shrug. “We’ll see. But, right now, I’m not your underling. This isn’t office politics, it’s you and me, and I would appreciate some respect.”

Lee glared at him.

“Is that a problem?”

“Would you look who has a backbone after all.”

Vince curled a lip. “Now, do you want help sitting up, or are you good?”

Lee considered this. “Help,” he said at last, slanting his glare away from Vince.

“Happy to.” Vince exercised the utmost care helping Lee to sit. He set out the lap tray he’d asked for and served a bowl of soup and a plate with a sandwich, pickles, and a cucumber salad onto the tray, then poured Lee water. “Anything else you need?”

Lee stared at the food. “Is this cream of broccoli?”

“It is.”

He peeked under the top slice of multigrain bread at his sandwich innards. “And roast beef?”

“Yes. With Dijon and Havarti cheese.”

Finally, Lee looked up at him. “I never told you what I liked.”

“You didn’t have to.” Vince settled on his own bed and took the dome off his leek and potato soup. “I pay attention.”

It was hard, holding back the urge to tell Lee to eat. But the man was stubborn. Vince had to take his time. Let Lee make up his own mind. He dug into his own meal, and after a few minutes, Lee picked up his spoon.

Vince hid a satisfied twitch of a smile behind his sandwich.

Chapter Three
Pete
The set echoed with the soft thwap of Pete’s Dockers on the concrete as he paced. It seemed cavernous now that nearly everyone had gone home. Once the postproduction of the season’s last episode was done in a few weeks, the place would stay empty for the better part of a month. The adrenaline junkie in him mourned the quiet.

He smiled to himself. That junkie was in recovery. Mostly.

“Hey.” Alicia jogged over to him, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Matty said you wanted to see me?” Her pretty eyes took on a troubled expression. “I thought shooting went pretty smoothly today.”

He knew why she was nervous. The light stand fiasco had in no way been her or Matty’s fault. But the director, Eric, was jumpy lately, quick to snap heads off necks, and she had been in the line of fire. Matty had almost lost his job over the light stand, but Pete had stepped in—admittedly, he might have overstepped—to distract attention away from him, and they managed to salvage the rest of the shoot without too much lost time.

“Shooting went great,” he assured her. “And don’t worry about the other day. Shit happens. We finished mostly on schedule, so it’s all good.”

“Are they going to let Matty and me help you guys out?”

“Soon as you’re off the clock on post, your time is your own. The game shoot is tied to Wolf’s Landing now, so my understanding is it’s union. If you want to pick it up as freelance work, and you’re off Wolf’s Landing’s clock, who’s to say no?”

“So you’re still doing it.”

Pete grinned. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Well. I mean, you, they could pull back in.”

“Nope. I’ve booked my time off already.” And part of that time would definitely be spent helping the fledgling Three Player Game Productions get their game off the ground. If he had to put up with Vince being out of town for going on a week now, he would damn well make sure the flagship project of the company keeping him away was successful.

“You okay, Mr. Doyle?”

Pete blinked at her. He never got used to people calling him Mr. anything. “Pete. Please. Mr. Doyle is my dad. Or my uncle.” Bosses. He was just Pete. Or Little Pete when he went home to the LA suburb where he’d grown up. But not Mr. Doyle.

Alicia scrutinized him. “You look . . . tired, I guess.”

He’d thought she was going to say piqued, or ragged, or at the end of his last fucking tether. He rubbed at the back of his neck and stuck his other hand in his pocket. The warm, heavy weight of the danburite crystal in his pocket let him breathe out, reminded him Vince was just a text away. Everything was fine. He was fine. Not squirrely around the edges at all.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I am tired.”

“When’s Vince coming back? Frederic’s been dancing on clouds since Blaire came home.”

“Tomorrow, I think. Depends on Lee.” And how that rankled. It shouldn’t. He didn’t mind Vince’s interest in Lee. He shared it, even. But he missed his lover more than he liked to admit. Vince had a way of filing away the sharp points that herding a bunch of temperamental artist types chiseled into his soul on a daily basis.

“Well. You should meditate tonight. Clear your head a bit.” Alicia smiled at him. “You know what Fjóla says. Meditation ma—”

“Makes your day. Yeah.” He smiled at her as they finished the catch phrase together. “I know. And I will. Promise.” He enjoyed the yoga classes Fjóla held at her tiny studio on Main, and though they rarely spoke outside of work, he’d often seen Alicia there.

“Good. Because tired bosses make for grumpy bosses, and while you might not be my boss, the set is a teensy-tiny little place some days.”

Pete nodded. “It spreads,” he agreed, thinking of Eric’s vibes trickling down to him through the chain-of-command runoff.

She was halfway to the door when he remembered why he’d wanted to talk to her in the first place. “Oh, hey. Alicia?”

“Yeah?” She turned, but kept walking backward. He didn’t blame her. He wanted out of there too.

“Mind if I snag your number from the files so I can text about the Three Player job?”

“Be my guest. I’m not going anywhere. Matty either. He told me to tell you. Just, you know, we sort of come as a matched set these days. He’s gotten good at reading my mind and all that.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

She waved and was out the door in another second. Pete didn’t have to wait long for the stragglers to make their getaways. It was nice to tell the security company they could lock up, then head home himself.

Once there, it was another matter, though. His little house was tidy, as he liked it, but empty. Normally, he liked the quiet neighborhood. It was a perfect contrast to his hectic job, and better for him than living in downtown LA had ever been. He needed to turn off sometimes. The quiet street; tidy, minimalist house; and Vince all helped him do that.

Only now, the street was too quiet. The house too bare. And Vince too far away.

Follow routine. Routine always made him feel better, so Pete checked his phone for a message one last time, then got himself a glass of milk and a slice of bologna from the fridge. He left a handful of precooked shrimp in a bowl in the sink to defrost for later, and rinsed his glass. He tried texting Vince, but wasn’t surprised when the text went unanswered. He might still be jazzed from work, but it was close to midnight. Vince and Lee were probably asleep.

Together? Lee was hot. Pete wouldn’t deny that. But Vince wouldn’t. Not without talking to Pete first. Would he?

“I need to get out of my head.”

What would Vince have him do?

“Shower first.” Always shower first, rinse the day off. Clean himself, inside and out, even if Vince wasn’t there to use the inside. Act as though he were, and there would never be any surprises.

Pete took his time in the shower, washing from head to toe methodically, letting the gentle spray of the rain shower lull him. When he was done, soft and warm, he wrapped himself in a robe and headed for his meditation space. It was just a tiny spare bedroom, but in the far corner he had set it up with a yoga mat, some candles, and a cabinet to house his various meditation aids. A tall screen shielded his quiet corner from the rest of the room.

On the door side of the screen was a single bed on which he always had clean sheets. A second cabinet held other kinds of relaxation paraphernalia, but those things he didn’t use without Vince there to supervise. As he passed the cabinet, he paused. Vince had locked it with a thin chain and tiny padlock, but he had given Pete the key.

In case you ever need something. You can take it out and put it on the bed. I’ll know you need it. The idea was that having to physically unlock the cabinet made it a conscious thought process, but the simple act of leaving what he longed for on the bed was a freedom of sorts. The actual decision on when and how they would play could be left up to Vince.

Now, Pete stooped, unlocked the cabinet, and perused the contents. There wasn’t anything terribly hard-core. A soft flogger, various sizes of plugs and dildos, a blindfold, a ball gag, silk ties for restraint. He removed a silicone dildo and the flogger, placed them neatly, side by side, on the foot of the bed, then locked up the cabinet and proceeded to his meditation area.

A white taper candle, a crystal bowl with water, and his danburite crystal set out on a plank of cedar wood helped him focus. It took a long time, but for a little while, he managed to quiet the endless list-making monster in his head.

It took him even longer to get to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the various scenarios that might ensue when Vince finally got back. His imagination combined the flogger, dildo, and Vince’s promised plug with too many variations to list, not a few of which included Lee and his pretty, angular features and lean body, and Pete ended up having to beat off to get some relief.

On the plus side, the exertion helped to exhaust his brain enough to let him sleep.

* * * * * * *

The door slamming woke Pete, and he all but vaulted from the bed, not bothering with clothes or glasses as he rushed out of the bedroom toward the front of the house.

“Well.” Not Vince’s voice. “That’s a view and a half.” A fuzzy Lee leered at him from the threshold.

“Fuck!” Pete whirled and dashed back to the bedroom, slamming the door in his wake.

“Kitchen, Lee. Now.” Vince issued the order from just inside the kitchen door, but Pete wasn’t looking back to find out if Lee followed it. He didn’t seem the type.

Humiliated, Pete sank to the bed and stared at the spot of carpet between his feet. He heard voices and footsteps, but didn’t bother trying to sort out what was going on. Had Vince texted him to say he’d be home tonight? He was sure he hadn’t. He’d been checking obsessively all day. His phone was in the kitchen, though, so he couldn’t check now. At least, he thought it was. He remembered checking for messages before getting himself a glass of milk when he’d made it home.

A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door.

Pete ignored it.

“I’m coming in, Pete.” The edge to Vince’s voice brooked no argument, so Pete remained where he was and said nothing.

The door latch clicked, the hinges creaked, and the floorboard right inside the threshold squawked as Vince stepped into the room. More creaking of the hinges, then the door latch snicked closed.

“Hey.” Vince sat next to him. “That was something.” He held out Pete’s phone to him. “This was in the fridge.”

“Really?” Pete glared at the phone. It had been a while since he’d done something quite that airheaded.

“A little distracted, were you?” Vince retrieved Pete’s glasses for him from the bedstand and handed them over.

“Must have been.” He settled his glasses on his face, then took the device and unlocked it. A string of texts greeted him.

Leaving for airport now. Flight to Victoria, Ferry to PortA.

Landed. Lee’s in pain and feeling green around the gills. Ferry in 1/2 hr. travel sucks :(

Blaire sent car to meet us. Don’t want to leave Lee alone, so bringing him with. Home soon. He’s bitchy, so brace yourself.

Just got to town. CU in 10

The texts had started around seven that morning, and continued while he’d been laying awake for so long, fantasizing then masturbating, and then—eventually—sleeping. It had been light out when he’d finally dozed off.

“Sorry.” Pete glanced at the time. Almost one in the afternoon. “Overslept I guess.”

“Obviously.”

“Lee must think—”

“Hey.” Vince swiveled around to face him better. “Don’t worry about what Lee thinks. Are you okay?”

“Besides being humiliated?”

Vince slid a hand under his chin and lifted his face. “Hey. Nothing to be embarrassed about. If he says anything, I’ll shut him up. Don’t worry.”

Pete searched his eyes. “Welcome home,” he offered with a little shrug.

Vince smiled his crooked half a smile at him. Instantly, everything else fell away.

“Come here.” Using the grip on his chin, Vince pulled at him until their lips met.

Pete let his eyes drift closed and Vince’s warmth steal over him. Despite being naked, the shivers melted under Vince’s teasing touches.

Pete lifted a hand to Vince’s face. Slight stubble greeted his fingertips, dancing a spray of delight down his synapses. Vince’s soft lips caressed his, his hand on Pete’s chin held him steady, but not tight. Calm washed over him.

“Better,” Vince said. He wasn’t asking.

Pete dipped his chin. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Vince pulled his robe over Pete’s shoulders, stood, and held out a hand. “Come on.”

“Out there.”

“Out there. We have a house guest.”

Pete nodded and got to his feet. He was being silly. Sex didn’t faze him. It never had, really. He’d just been caught off guard, and he’d been a bit on edge already, and Lee was Vince’s work colleague, not someone to be showing off his morning wood to. Not that it matters, Doyle. Get over yourself.

“Okay.” Pete smiled. “Big boy shorts.”

They walked out hand in hand.

Author Bio:

With most of the hours in the day taken up by a part time job and the full time occupation of raising and schooling two kids, writing is somewhat of an indulgence, but it's the indulgences that keep us sane, right? When not otherwise occupied, like most writers, reading is my relaxation method of choice, and you can find my reviews at Kuriousity and Dark Diva Reviews to let you know what I liked (and occasionally, what I didn't). And just in case there are an extra few minutes in the day, I also help out the admin team abelong to a writer's critique group: Dreaming in Ink. After all, idle hands and all that.

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Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Beyond the Footlights by Jaime Samms Off Stage Part 2

Summary:
Kilmer and Jacko’s relationship has been foundering for a long time. With the end in sight and despairing that he might never find a Dom who suits him, Kilmer heads to a local bar to drown his sorrows—and meets country singer Tanner.

Tanner feels oddly protective of the broken man and eventually convinces Kilmer to hire him to help remodel the small, sad house Kilmer once shared with Jacko. As Tanner and Kilmer get to know each other, Kilmer regains his lost independence and Tanner’s dominant streak rises to the surface. But will it be a help or a hindrance to the trust they’re trying to build?

The answer might lie in the music Kilmer gave up not long after he met Jacko. Music always granted him solace, clarity, and an outlet for his emotions, and with Tanner’s encouragement, he picks up where he left off. Playing together eases them into honest communication, and though a happily ever after will still take patience and work, taking a chance on each other sounds sweeter with every note.

Chapter One
KILMER CAME back to “present and accounted for” as the front door of Vance’s spacious farmhouse flew open. Kilmer was standing on the porch with little idea how he’d gotten there. Light bright enough to make him wince flared into his face. He lifted a hand to cover his eyes, and grimaced.

“Kil?” Vance’s deep voice rumbled through his gut. So familiar because it had once been his touchstone. But Vance sounded so different from Jacko. Had he really not noticed the cool tones in Jacko’s commands that he had learned to heed over the past four years? How had he never noticed the difference? Vance was so… so—not his anymore.

“What are you doin’ here?” Vance grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. “Where are your shoes?”

“I—” Kilmer glanced down at his bare feet. Maybe they were still in the car. He couldn’t remember.

“Jacko’s been callin’ every five minutes. What happened?”

“Vance?” Len’s voice this time, from where he stood on the stairs. “He’s on the phone again. What do I tell him?”

“He’s here. He’s safe. Tell him to fuck the hell off.”

“Um.” Len’s light steps pattered down a few more stairs. He held the phone out to Kilmer. “You want to talk to him?”

Kilmer took the phone and hit the End button. He handed the receiver to Vance.

“Okay, then,” Len said, voice small but comforting. “Come upstairs.”

They led him, Len in front, and Vance behind like he was afraid Kilmer would fall back down the stairs if he wasn’t there to catch him.

Kilmer felt unsteady and vacant. He wasn’t so sure Vance was wrong to stay where he could catch Kilmer if he stumbled. They made it all the way up, though, and Kilmer continued to follow Len as he led him into their bedroom.

Another bedroom? Now?

Kilmer faltered just inside the doorway.

“Okay.” Vance laid a hand at the small of his back and Kilmer flinched away, because he was covered in a stranger’s mess and even through the cotton shirt, Vance shouldn’t touch that. “Come on.” Vance powered him forward with that touch anyway, either not noticing or ignoring it all. “Sit.”

Kilmer was guided to the bed and he collapsed onto the edge of the mattress.

“Spill,” Vance demanded.

Kilmer shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t…. He looked up into Vance’s face and saw concern. Worry. No little amount of anger. He turned away from the storm of emotion.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Kilmer said dully. “I knew what I was doin’. I just….”

“What were you doin’?” Vance asked.

Kilmer hefted his gaze up to meet Vance’s. “Endin’ it. In the worst way possible. I—” He’d taken Jacko’s trust and twisted it into barbed wire and insult. He’d hammered the last nail into the coffin of their relationship and let the tiny little bell toll the last gasp of it at Jacko’s feet.

“From the beginnin’,” Vance said, a hand coming to rest on the back of his neck. “Take your time, but tell me everythin’.”

And because in that moment he needed so very badly to have a rule, a lead, one small thing to believe could be real, he took it for a command and he told.

By the end he was sandwiched between them, Len on one side, arm wrapped snuggly around his waist, Vance on the other, hand still at the back of his neck, kneading gently. Both of them had their other hands on him, one on each of his forearms.

“So I left.” Kilmer looked at Vance. “I… don’t actually remember that part. Gettin’ in the car and leavin’.” Though he did have that vision of Jacko on the lawn, barefoot, bare-chested, the looming image of Rocky, broad and strong and waiting in the light of the front door.

“And drivin’?” Vance asked.

Kilmer shook his head. He’d driven the path between his bungalow and the Texas Ex ranch so many times he could do it in his sleep. This time, apparently, he had. It chilled him to realize he had no memory of the drive. Had he turned his headlights on? Had he taken that last turn, the hairpin around the foot of the moraine, wide? How close had he come to the guardrails along the ravine and up over the steep rise? He shuddered. So many ways to die on that stretch of country road.

“Okay,” Vance said, like he had a million times over the past hour as Kilmer haltingly told his story. “You need to shower. You want help?”

Help? Who was going to help him? He shook his head. “I can manage.” He met Vance’s eyes. “I’m okay. I know where everythin’ is. I’ll take the room up here, though. That okay?” Because he didn’t want to sleep in his usual accommodations in the room off the kitchen. It was plain and decent, but it was the help’s space. Barren, just like the spare room at… home.

“You’ll shower here,” Vance decided, pointing to the en suite. “Len, can you find him somethin’ to put on?”

“Sure.” Len jumped up and hurried to the dresser. He found a T-shirt and sweats that had to be Vance’s because there was no way Len’s tiny frame would hold on to the clothes.

The phone rang and Vance picked up. He didn’t even say hello. “He made it here alive. Don’t call again.” He hung up.

Kilmer could have kissed him for that. And he could have crumpled to the floor to cry. He stood very still so he didn’t actually do either.

Len stepped forward and offered the clothing.

Kilmer accepted them and meekly headed into the bathroom. He really should just go across the hall. But both his friends seemed willing to keep him close, and maybe, for just tonight, that was okay. It was what he wanted.

To be okay.

He shucked his jeans, showered, and dried off. His own clothes had been magicked away, so he donned the clean clothes, then peered back out to the bedroom. Vance was sitting up in bed. Len was curled on his side, back to the bathroom, knees up tight, possibly asleep.

“I appreciate this,” Kilmer said, keeping his vice low. “Still want to sleep up here, though.” To Vance he could admit the weakness. Tonight he could be weak. Just this once because Vance knew him.

“Come here.” Vance peeled back the covers and patted the mattress between him and Len.

“No, Van—”

“Lie down,” Len said sleepily. “Get some rest.”

Kilmer’s throat closed, tight and aching. He nodded and climbed up from the foot of the bed, to lie on his back between them. Almost immediately Len rolled over and slung an arm across his chest.

“Night,” Len whispered.

Kilmer glanced at Vance, who shrugged, clicked out the bedside lamp, and shimmied down on Kilmer’s other side.

“You need care,” Vance said matter-of-factly. “Go to sleep.” He planted a kiss on Kilmer’s hair and laced his fingers with Len’s.

They weren’t touching, but Kilmer could feel Vance’s weight and presence, even his heat. Despite the sting behind his eyes, he managed to settle. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a hell of a lot closer to okay here, in the oddness of his friends’ bed, than it had been in the familiarity of his own Dom’s hands.

He didn’t think he would ever sleep, and then he was waking up to sunshine and the smell of coffee.

Chapter Two
KILMER ROLLED onto his back and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was the only one still in bed. The sun was high enough to stream through the window, telling him it was well past his usual wake-up time. The door to the suite’s bathroom was closed, but he heard the shower running. Good. That gave him space to sneak out of the room and hopefully out the back door and into the barn, where he could find some work clothes, get a shovel, and pretend last night had not happened.

Except for the chasm of empty in his gut where all his trust in Jacko had been. Or… had Kilmer been the one to destroy that? He poked about in the shards of his broken relationship but found no real clues as to who had landed the final shattering hammerblow.

Quietly he got up, gathered up T-shirt and jeans from a pile of clean clothes tossed on the foot of the bed. No sign of his boots. He must have left those in the car. He pulled on the jeans, still warm from the dryer, and headed for the stairs, shirt in hand.

The jeans, he realized, weren’t his. They were too long and slipped down his hips, so they had to be Vance’s, but it didn’t matter. They’d cover his ass for the short jog from house to barn, where likely a pair of his own hung in the tack room. He’d return these later.

Halfway to the landing, he heard the clattering of dishes in the kitchen and Len’s sweet tenor humming away.

Shit. No escape through the back, then. Len would see him and Kilmer would have to talk. He scrambled down the last few steps and tried a dash for the front door instead. He could hightail it around the house to freedom.

A heavy thudding sounded just as he touched the handle, shaking the door with the weight of it. He knew—he just knew it was Jacko. Thankfully the curtain hid him from view.

Spinning, he dodged into the office and closed the door most of the way behind him. Footsteps from the kitchen heralded Len’s approach. The front door opened, and he faintly heard a greeting in a low rumbling voice that shook his already unsteady guts into gelatinous goo.

He rested his head on the office doorframe and tried to breathe through the sticky mess.

“What are you doing here?” Len asked coldly.

“Where is he?” Jacko’s bass voice filled the entire front room.

“Sleeping.”

“I need to see him.”

“You fucked up.” Len’s voice was flat, dead of emotion, like a concrete barrier between Jacko and anything the fiery little redhead cared about.

“Not your business, boy,” Jacko rumbled.

Len made a furious noise. The sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs followed. Kilmer peered out the crack between the office door and its frame as Vance passed, headed for the front door. His friend was dressed in a pair of faded jeans too tight for the button to fasten. His chest still glistened with water.

“Watch how you address my partner,” Vance growled. He placed a hand on Len’s shoulder and stood at his back, a head and more taller than his lover but not towering over him. Just there.

“Always been your problem, Vance,” Jacko said. “You give them too much leeway. You ruined Kilmer. Look at him now. Can’t get the boy to behave no matter what I do.”

“Jacko,” Vance said in warning.

There was a long silence. Feet shuffled, and finally Jacko spoke. “I handled him badly.”

“You think?” Len responded with venom and Vance’s fingers on his shoulder tightened. “I mean,” Len said, subduing his tone though the anger in his expression remained, “maybe instead of handling him, you should have listened to him.”

Kilmer sighed. Maybe Len was right, but that was not Jacko’s way. He dictated. Jacko needed a boy who liked that about him, not one who wanted to second-guess him, who wanted to speak his mind—to defy the very thing Jacko based his dominance on every chance he got. There was a line between intelligently thinking through your Master’s decisions and flagrantly defying the ones you didn’t like. Kilmer had crossed that line some time ago and hadn’t really noticed until it was too late. Perhaps he had defied the spirit of their initial contract, but Jacko had steadfastly refused to renegotiate. Kilmer had an obligation to them both to be true to himself and keep trying.

“Len,” Vance said softly. “Jacko and Kilmer have a different kind of dynamic than we do.”

“Jacko does, maybe,” Len said. “Kil doesn’t, and you”—Len pointed a finger at Jacko—“need to get that before you lose him.”

To Kilmer’s surprise, Jacko nodded. “I do get it.”

“I’m not sure you do.” Vance sounded skeptical.

“He’s special,” Jacko said. “I know that. And I’ve not allowed him to express it.”

Fuck. He couldn’t hide here and listen to them discussing him like he was an interesting problem to solve. He was a human being and Jacko had fucked up. Kilmer had fucked up. The whole fucking thing was fucked the hell up.

“It’s all right,” he said, emerging from hiding.

“You sure?” Vance asked.

Kilmer nodded. “You mind?” He pointed back to the office and Vance dipped his chin in assent.

“You need anything, just call. We’ll be in the kitchen.”

Kilmer gave him the best big-boy smile he could muster and motioned Jacko past him into the room. “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”

How many times had he told Vance that? Every night for how long now, as he climbed into his car and headed for home, he’d said some version of it. How often had he lied to his best friend? He offered an apologetic shrug as Vance turned to give him one last out.

“I gotta do this.” That at least was true.

Inside the room, with the door closed, he turned to face Jacko, braced for his Dom’s disapproval.

“You scared the ever-loving crap out of me last night, boy,” Jacko rumbled. And that had to be true because it was the closest Kilmer had ever heard Jacko come to swearing.

“I’m sorry.”

“What happened? Everything was fine, and then you were losing it—”

“You really think everythin’ is fine?” Kilmer asked.

“It was when you were on your knees. You live for that—”

“For you, Si—Jacko.” He pulled in a deep breath at the stiffening of Jacko’s posture. He didn’t like when Kilmer used his name. It wasn’t supposed to be how they worked. But they were broken, and if Jacko didn’t realize how badly, this might be the only way to show him. As much as it killed to call him anything other than “Sir,” Kilmer could no longer give him that much.

“What?” Jacko stared at him, more intent than angry, and that was actually more unsettling than if he’d lost his temper.

“I lived for you to be that guy,” Kilmer said. “My… touchstone. My rock. Whatever. I did everything you asked when it was you and me. I let you do things no one else has ever been allowed to do because I trusted you to take care of me.”

“And I do.”

“No.” Kilmer’s voice shook. “Not lately. Lately you’ve taken care of your own hurt feelings or embarrassment or whatever the hell you want to call it when I do things like stand up for a friend, instead of fawning at your feet and agreeing with you when you’re wrong.”

“You know your place, boy,” Jacko said, taking a step toward him.

“I thought I did, yes.” Kilmer ached to move closer, to agree with Jacko, to give the older man what he wanted. Give in and have the comfort of his man in his bed again, strong hands to hold him down and give him a place when he was so far from the home he’d grown up in.

But he couldn’t. He could never give in to that temptation again, because Jacko had shown him last night something he’d tried hard for a very long time to ignore. Jacko was Kilmer’s Dom. Not his lover. Not his partner. Barely even his friend. And Kilmer couldn’t live with that kind of relationship any more than he could have lived with Vance’s version of dominance.

“I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Jacko asked. “You always need to think these days. Analyze what we’re doing, instead of just doing it.”

Kilmer stared at him. “Yes.” It was a pretty simple statement in the end. Kilmer had a brain and he used it. Jacko wanted blind obedience.

“Why?” The plea in Jacko’s voice caught Kilmer off guard. “Why now? You never did before. You followed my lead. You let me make the decisions. You did as you were told.”

“Because….” Kilmer faltered. Had he been that pliable? He’d never been so with Vance. Well. Maybe that wasn’t true either.

When he’d been a young man living in Texas, being gay was a trial. He and Vance had bonded over it, and when Vance fled the state and eventually the country to follow his rising musical star, Kilmer followed.

Vance had used the copious amounts of money he made as a country singer to buy this spread in rural Ontario. He’d asked Kilmer to come run it for him when he was on the road, and Kilmer jumped at the chance.

He loved his tight-knit family back in Texas. He did not love how he had to hide so much of himself for them to love him back.

Besides, he and Vance had made a good team. Back home they had been compatible friends and lovers, off and on, for a long time. Then Vance left on his quest for fame. Kilmer saw the tabloid gossip as Vance tumbled downhill fast, drinking too much and screwing indiscriminately. He needed a home and someone to keep it for him. He needed stability. Kilmer could save the domineering singer from himself and make that home. So he packed up and moved to Ontario and into Vance’s life. They picked up their affair where it had dropped off, and Kilmer loved that somewhere along the way, Vance had learned to control his dominance. Kilmer was happy to let the control seep over into their sex life.

Vance wanted a partner in the business and a submissive lover in bed. He wanted a thinking, rational, capable man to run his land and his life when he was busy touring with his music. As long as Vance wasn’t on the scene, Kilmer had delivered, but he’d been unable to subordinate himself to Vance in bed and still maintain his autonomy out of it when Vance came home. It was his own weakness, and he knew it.

The moment Vance came home, Kilmer fell into a pattern of needy uselessness neither of them liked. Their friendship thankfully turned out to be stronger than their love affair, and they let the latter go to preserve the former. They were good friends now, and made a strong, successful business team.

Len and Vance worked because Len wasn’t running the ranch or any other part of Vance’s life. He was his submissive, his lover, and his friend, and he had a life of his own in the music world, was a rock star in his own right. They worked because the personal power dynamic didn’t touch their professional lives.

With his success running the ranch, Kilmer had been so sure he was strong enough to take another Dom and not fall into the same trap. He met Jacko at the bar in town when he’d been playing bass for a house band. They clicked. Kilmer felt sure here was a man strong enough to understand the side of Kilmer that could run a ranch. They had music in common, and Jacko could put Kilmer on his knees with a word and a hand placed just right. That didn’t mean Kilmer would fall under the spell like he had last time. He was still his own man. Jacko would not run his life. He’d been so confident.

Had he failed so utterly?

“Boy.”

Jacko’s stern voice shook him, and he shrugged both shoulders to throw off the yoke before it could settle.

“Not anymore.”

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Off Stage Part 1

Author Bio:

With most of the hours in the day taken up by a part time job and the full time occupation of raising and schooling two kids, writing is somewhat of an indulgence, but it's the indulgences that keep us sane, right? When not otherwise occupied, like most writers, reading is my relaxation method of choice, and you can find my reviews at Kuriousity and Dark Diva Reviews to let you know what I liked (and occasionally, what I didn't). And just in case there are an extra few minutes in the day, I also help out the admin team abelong to a writer's critique group: Dreaming in Ink. After all, idle hands and all that.

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