Hot Man and a Quickie ~ How to Handle a Blackmailer

The hot man:

Congratulations to our resident hot man, John Quinlan. John's been named an official model for Alpha Male Underwear. Meaning...more pics like this! 

If the news isn't enough to make you happy, I'm delighted to announce a new twist on the Saturday quickie, beginning in May. John's agreed to answer one or two quick questions each week. (insert evil laugh). Also beginning next week, I hope to be posting snippets from Kink and Ink, Carmine Club Book 2, which will feature John on the cover.

Stalk John here:

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/
http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

The quickie:

I stuck with the underwear theme for this week's quickie:

(Excerpt from Incidental Contact, Those Devilish De Marcos, Book 3-unedited and subject to deletion)

Closing the door to shut out the cold, she saw Eric,  already feeding wood into the stove in the den. "Mornin'." He grinned. "I see someone's cold."

Her nipples had beaded from the chill in the basement. The idea he might warm them up was appealing, but the proposal stayed on her mind. She waved the bucket. "I was thinking about the migrant camp. Tell me more about it while you make your coffee."

"The camp's just always been there," he answered with a shrug, closing the doors on the stove and striding into the kitchen to grab the canister of grounds. "Every summer when the caravans started driving past the farmhouse on their way up to the camp, I got excited. Everybody on a farm works. Kids included. We never got so much as a dime to help, but in the evenings I didn't want to leave camp." He flashed the grin that always made her wet and needy. "I remember the first time my grandfathers decided I was old enough to stay overnight in one of the bunkhouses. I couldn't sleep, I was so excited. There's a communal kitchen, mostly run by older women who couldn't work in the orchards. Some of the workers played musical instruments, and they'd all sing after dinner. The younger ones sometimes danced."

Amy couldn't help but wonder if that attraction had been due to the fact there were mothers in the camp, women looking after their families. "Why did the peach farm shut down?" she asked, her interest piqued. Grabbing up a section of the newspaper, she began covering the counter while he filled the carafe with water and poured it into the reservoir of his small coffee maker.

Eric filled the reservoir and punched the button. Amy tipped the bucket's contents onto the newsprint. Moving closer, he reached into a bucket for a pine cone, his eyes open wider now.  She gave his bare chest an appreciative glance. Her nipples were warming up, but no less hard.

"My two grandfathers were farmers. Dad was into cars. Rafe's father outlived Nance by maybe five months. With both of 'em gone, my father inherited the land. The garage was making money and Dad was done with farming. He leased the orchards out for a while." His shoulders hitched up and down before laying the pine come on the newsprint, turning it with long fingers that made her think of the way they felt rasping her skin. "A long run of late freezes put a bunch of local peach farmers out of business. The sharecroppers lost their shirts." He frowned, turning away to pull open the door to the freezer. "What about lunch? I've got all the ingredients to make a taco casserole that's pretty good." He set a package of ground beef into the sink. "The camp fascinated me, not growing peaches." He moved to stand beside the coffee pot, glaring at the slow trickle of dark liquid.

Wearing nothing but a pair of snowy boxers, the man was gorgeous. It was Sunday morning. They were alone in cabin in the woods. Amy forgot about projects and her parents. She wanted Eric now, not after he'd had three cups of coffee. "For twenty bucks, I won't tell Lila you know how to cook."

His grin was lopsided when he looked over his shoulder. "Have I ever shown you how I deal with pint-sized blackmailers?" He closed the small distance between them.

Her heart stuttered when his gaze raked her. His eyes seemed to turn more blue.

He wrapped his hand around hers, tugging her down the short hall to his bedroom. Grabbing her around the waist, he tossed her gently onto the bed. His boxers couldn't hide his burgeoning erection, but he surprised her by turning away. Grabbing two of the wrought iron handles to pull open a drawer in a dresser made from pine and decorated with knots the color of rust, he began to toss rolled-up athletic socks over his shoulder. They landed on the tangled sheets, bouncing across the quilt made of multi-colored squares. Amy lay there, enjoying looking at his strong back and thighs. Muscles rippled beneath his dark skin. When the drawer had to be empty, he turned, still holding one pair of socks. Unrolling them, he held her gaze while he knotted them together.

"Oh." Her heartbeat kicked up like a hurricane, but she smiled, thinking of his promise to identify every single thing that turned her on. She'd never been tied up to have sex before, but was game to give it a try.

"Oh, yes." He unrolled another pair, tying them to the first two. "Your inquisitive little mind's getting busy now, wondering what I might do to you when you're all tied up. You might even be getting a little bit wet."

Since he mentioned it, she was. Excitement thrummed in her nipples, streaking toward her clit.

He noticed. "You have the cutest little nipples, did you know that?"

Thanks for dropping in! Have a great week!