A Hot Man and a Quickie #3 FREE READ (m/m)

First things first.

The Hot Man:

Male model John Quinlan modeling for Perry Ellis. 

You know a man's smokin' when he looks just as yummy clothed as not.
ATTN: Romance writers, John would love to be on top...of your next romance cover.

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

The Quickie:

Excerpt from Using Broken Wings to Fly
 Read this story now! FREE READ Written for the Love is Always Write Event, hosted by the M/M Romance group on Goodreads. Simply ask to join the group, and read the story for free! Send me a friend request while you're there :)

"Help me, George. I need you to come to me."

George curled into a ball. Squeezing his knees to his chest, he dug his fingers into his jeans, unable to close his mind to the horrific visions racing through his head. Not his usual visions, where he saw young soldiers he knew being blown apart by IED's, but every bit as sickening.

"I guess the gay porn channel was asking too much?" he groaned. Then everything went black.

In other news, Soft Sounds of Pleasure received a 4.5/5.0 review  from Tyra's Book Addiction.

A Hot Man and a Quickie ~ You Know You Wanna Look #2

First things first.

The Hot Man:

Want to reach out and touch cover model John Quinlan?

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

The Quickie:

 Using Broken Wings to Fly

 Written for the Goodreads Love is Always Write Event 

Opening lines: 

How did they expect him to retouch this damaged photo? George sighed and carefully rubbed at a spot. Great, this was one of Lucian LeTour’s rare remaining photos. The restorer hated feeling like he failed in his task. The photo seemed damaged beyond repair. George rubbed around the downcast eyes.

The eyes flicked upward. They stared in terror.

George lunged back in alarm.

“Help me. Please help me. They know where I hide. Help me.” 

“Help you?” Recovering, he tried to sound nonchalant, though his heart hammered louder than the cranky pump in the film-processing darkroom. “I think I’ll pass. I have my hands full right now. My ex-wife calls twice a day, just checking to see if I’ve gotten over being gay, my son ignores me, and my boyfriend, who by the way, just bought a pair of pink leather oxfords, wants a fucking commitment. So, I’m tied up at the moment, but I’ll have my people get back to you.”

Not that he had "people" anymore, since becoming a falling-down drunk led to being fired from his spot on a national news show, but what the fuck, it wasn't as if the angel was real. Since Afghanistan, George saw all kinds of shit that wasn't real.

Have a great weekend, and thanks for dropping in.

Six Sentence Sunday - Using Broken Wings to Fly

Using Broken Wings to Fly

He smelled like starch and saw grass and he tasted like peppermint sin. If that wasn’t a flavor, someone needed to make it, George decided, as their kiss heated up. Slipping his hand beneath Oliver’s blazer, George grabbed Oliver’s ass, pulling him into his body. Their thighs interlocked like gears in an expensive wristwatch, and his cock began to fill as he felt the other man’s do the same. He moved his hips slightly, enjoying their stolen bump-and-grind.

“You two look like the intersection of Get a Shave and Rent a Room.”

This story was written for the Goodreads Dear Author challenge, which is an annual event where readers post photo prompts and up to six verbal prompts per image, and writers are allowed to write the story  that calls to them--assuming they get there first! It was a lot like trying to grab the perfect wedding dress at Filene's. I didn't get a prompt in the initial go-round, but this one was turned back in by another writer who couldn't finish by the deadline, so I got to participate after all. The story will be a free read upon 'publication' on Goodreads.

My prompt was:  

How did they expect him to retouch this damaged photo? George sighed and carefully rubbed at a spot. Great, this was one of Lucian LeTour’s rare remaining photos. The restorer hated feeling like he failed in his task. The photo seemed damaged beyond repair.


George rubbed around the downcast eyes.


The eyes flicked upward. They stared in terror.


George lunged back in alarm.


“Help me. Please help me. They know where I hide. Help me.” 

I made a video rather than a regular blurb. Enjoy! 

Please follow this link to find the list of other participating SSS authors this week.