A Hot man and a Quickie ~ Cuffed and Ready

The hot man:

Around here, the hot man is romance cover model and body builder John Quinlan. When John mentioned recently he had a new shoot lined up, I begged for images of him in a suit. You can thank me later. After you sit here and stare at this image, knowing what lurks beneath.

John is such a down-to-earth, nice guy, and he loves to talk with his fans. If he weren't a damn Red Sox fan, he might be just about perfect. Connect with John here:

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

Pinterest board featuring John and his romance covers: http://pinterest.com/taabia/model-john-quinlan/

The quickie: (Excerpt from Forceful Negotiations, Carmine Club No. 01)

Scott gripped Cam’s elbow, walking him past their hostess. “The auction’s very simple, really.” The other man gestured toward the long room and stepped back. Cam’s eyes widened. The brass luggage carts seen dotting the property during his arrival had been pressed into double duty. They were large carts, with thick brass rods about five and a half feet tall at each corner,  curving to intersect over the center. A nude woman knelt on the red carpet lining the base of each wheeled stand. Their arms were raised above their heads, wrists clasped by silver metal handcuffs. The chains connecting those unyielding bracelets were wrapped around the ball-shaped finial jutting from the top of each cart. The polished chrome shackles glittered like diamonds against the mellow brass. Some women tugged at their bonds. Others merely bowed their heads.

“You were given a marker, right?” From the hint of peevishness in his boss’s tone, Cam was certain Scott had had to repeat his question.

Slipping his hand into his trouser pocket, Cam fingered the big red marble embellished with his name in gold, much like a personalized golf ball. “Yes.” Surveying the line of naked breasts, Cam mentally recited the amount he could afford to bid. There were only thirteen women. Would three grand be enough? He could manage four, even five grand, he supposed, but going into debt for pussy would derail his plan to buy a building in the new city and renovate it into condos. Not to mention, this was a recurring expense.

The row of masked eyes and out thrust nipples made it hard to think about mundane things like real estate. Every size and color of nipple, from large and brown to small and pink stared back at him, their shapes emphasized by the stark walls. Each hard peak stood erect, begging to be touched. The masks and the women’s bare skin were the only color in the all-white room, save for the carts and a few sinuous, gilded mirror frames. Behind Willa, a pier mirror stretched almost to a ceiling he calculated to be sixteen feet. Positioned at the end of the spacious room, the glass reflected a stunning row of curvy bottoms above folded legs. A gust of arousal made his head swim.

If all goes well, Forceful Negotiations will be available next Saturday. Thanks for dropping in, and have a great week!

A Hot Man and a Quickie ~ How Do You Ask For A Menage, Anyway?

The hot man:

Enjoy the weekly peek at romance cover model John Quinlan.  Something about that unbuttoned white dress shirt just does it for me. How about you?

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

The Quickie:

...is from the Carmine Club prequel, Breaking Glass, which now has a cover and is off to the editor. 

"I don't know what else to say, but I've gotta get Jill back. I've thought about this all night. I'm not insecure about much, but Jillian's my world." Dylan swiped at his face again and raked his nails along his jaw. “If she needs this…. Will you help me give Jill her fantasy?”

“My turn?” Went sat up and unlaced his fingers. Dylan nodded, a difficult feat because his heart was wedged in his throat. Dropping his hands to the edge of his desk, Went drummed his index fingers momentarily. "This won’t come as any big shock to you, but the idea of saying ‘I love you’ to a woman scares the ever-lovin’ hell outta me. I don’t have time to make partner and cure my fear of intimacy. But that night at the festival, when I walked up on you with Jill and she said ‘I want him too’, it hit me how perfect that could be." Swiping at a speck of dust Dylan couldn't see, he added, "You've known me since we were twelve, dude. I'm the last man on Earth you'd need to worry about taking your woman. But…."

Dylan only stared across the desk. Was Went saying ‘yes’, or leading up to ‘hell, no’? His heart stuttered. The rest of his plans hinged on his friend’s agreement. Finding another man was out of the question. Teague had been right. Went was the only man he’d trust. Jill wouldn't believe words, not after last night, but if he could prove—

"But goddammit, I'm sick of serial fucking. It just seemed like… like she wanted it… the three of us… that might be an outside-the-box solution." Shifting in his seat, Went looked about as miserable as Dylan had felt until sometime around sunrise, when he stepped outside to stretch his legs and realized he could fix everything. All he had to do was break something first—tradition. "That’s why I kissed her. But if it wasn't something you were into…. That’s what I shouldn't have to tell you. I’d never lay a hand on her without y—"

Dylan held up a hand. He’d known that all along. During the dark, silent days last August, when Jill asked for a spot to put up a studio just before they split up, he showed her several of his properties, but quoted a monthly price for the building next door at less than half the mortgage payment, to see if the pair hooked up. Joe was right; Jill and Went hadn't so much as gotten donuts and coffee together. He’d have heard about it if they had. "I'm sure I love her. I'm sure she wants the two of us at once. I don’t think I'll get her back any other way." Dylan lowered his eyes to the carpet and dragged his nails along the worn seams of his work jeans. "I couldn't say this to anyone but you. We've been friends since the sixth grade, but hell, all I could think was, what if she likes your equipment better than mine?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

 I'll be posting a weekly chapter of a new story every week, starting April 1. Read the blurb for Guarding the Line here. 

Thanks for dropping in. Have a great week! 

A Hot Man and a Quickie ~ Polishing Eve's Pomegranites

Wow, Saturday already. Time for a hot man and a quickie. 

The hot man, 
as always, is romance cover model John Quinlan.

Do take that shirt off, John. It's summer somewhere.

Places to stalk John:

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

The quickie. 

I figured it's time y'all met Eros, the uninvited paranormal guest who's hiding from the mighty warrior angel Ishmael the Lessor at Carmine House, much to Willa's chagrin. 

(unedited excerpt from Carmine Club's free prequel ~ Breaking Glass)

"You have been summoned." Ishmael pointed his sword at Eros, sounding all bad-ass.

"Cool, there’s an orgy?" He took pleasure from the tight lines appearing around the angel’s mouth. "I’m so there."

"Hardly. The Judicious One requires your presence. Leave the toy bow and arrow here. No more of your accidents." The angel glared down his nose.

One accident, Eros ruffled his feathers. Just one little accident. His fingers twitched on the taut string he’d just installed on his bow. Not for the first time, he contemplated shooting an arrow at the chaste angel. What fun it would be to watch the smug bastard driven insane by a lust he wasn’t allowed to enjoy, but he'd never quite worked out what the consequences of that act might be.

 The bastard had a memory longer than his wings. Millenniums had passed since the day they'd all visited to Earth to admire One’s new Garden. Eros's arrow had missed the juicy red fruit he’d been aiming for, striking Eve. He was almost positive Ishmael used his massive wings to create the naughty wind spoiling his perfect aim that fateful day. Ishmael never missed a chance to rub Eros's nose in the fact he'd set the downfall of mankind in motion. Seriously, to hear the angel talk, you’d think the Serpent had been an innocent earthworm, hanging about holding a hankie in case Eve needed her pomegranates polished.

Have a great week! Thanks for dropping by!

A Hot Man and a Quickie ~ Grandma Calls Her a Floozy

The hot man: 

I just woke and already, I have an urge to crawl back into bed. Romance cover model John Quinlan looks smokin' in this shot. Dress shirt unbuttoned. White sheets to show off that tan. (shivers). Enjoy!

Contact links for John:

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

Pinterest boards featuring John and his romance covers: http://pinterest.com/taabia/model-john-quinlan/
http://pinterest.com/mfrworg/john-quinlan-romance-cover-model/

The Quickie:

(From Kiss Me Last, Carmine Club prequel)

"My friend started throwin' these parties for women. They’re called CFNM parties. You ever heard of those?"

Dylan shook his head, trying to guess what the acronym stood for. He owned a real estate investment firm, but he loved nothing more than working with his hands. Joe pulled off his own real estate deals. Whatever he needed from Dylan had to be carpentry.

"Teague borrowed two, but I got three windows. I’ll give 'em all to you if you’ll work the Clothed Female, Naked Male party tonight."

Three was the perfect number. With three, he could put them in the— Joe's words registered. Dylan choked on his coffee. 

"Basically, you strip down to your skivvies and waltz around the room. You can’t touch the women, but they can touch you any way they’d like." Dylan gaped. Joe shrugged, grinning like a tabby cat on a tuna boat. "After a few minutes of fondling, they cuff you to a chair or to another guy. The women form two teams. The winning team is the one that makes their guy come first. All my windows are yours if you can hold out twenty minutes before you shoot." Joseph grinned. "Just wear that suit. They'll give you a mask and sexy underwear, but your cock’s gonna be bare."

Dylan blinked, imagining strange women stroking his cock. At a party.

Jillian would love a party like that. The memory of Jill's scornful tone when she'd called him 'boring' made him wince. It wasn’t boring to be discrete. Dylan's almost-ex wife was what his grandmother called a floozy.

Thanks for droppin' in. Have a great week! (Giveaway happenin' through 2/11 one post down! Let me buy you a book for reading another Carmine Club excerpt.)

A Hot Man and a Quickie ~ Are Your Girlie Parts Squeakin'?

The hot man: 
Romance cover model John Quinlan looks so hot in this pic, I think I'm gonna write him into an episode of Carmine Club. I already have a title for it: Come to Bed. (chuckle) Maybe we can all drop by his Facebook fan page and ask if he'd prefer to be in an episode exploring the female fantasy of being with two men at once, or if the idea of being dominated by a woman floats his boat? (He'll kill me if you do!) But I'm inspired, not to mention feeling some serious brand loyalty for Tommy Hilfiger at the moment.

Contact links for John. He loves to hear from his fans. I wonder how many e-mails start with : "Oh my god, you're so hot I wanna rub ice all over you?"

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

The quickie: 

(unedited excerpt from Carmine Club no. 01, Forceful Negotiations)

Pleased to say this story went off to Tammy Parks for editing yesterday, so I might be able to announce a launch date soon. You can tell from poking around on my blog, I'm still obsessing over the cover, but Tammy's offered me a Gimp intervention. She plans to install  a zapper on my keyboard if I open the file again to edit it. I kinda hope her tekkie skills aren't as highly developed as her editing skill. :/

The seductive scent of java and the knowledge Joseph Gilante would be camped out in her workroom made Teague hurry down the hall and  into the room at the back of her shop. Joseph was the type of man to wipe his damn feet.

Or not. An empty creamer container whizzed past her nose when she stepped through the door, hitting the edge of the tall metal trash can beside her work table and careening away. Skidding across the linoleum, the plastic bottle left a trail of white liquid in its wake. Jerking backwards, she forgot about her wet shoes. Joseph's dark eyes registered guilt when she glared at him and snapped. "If that's the last of the creamer, then thank you for making me a cup of coffee."

He flashed incredibly white teeth. Teague was convinced the man had a crush on his dentist. "Well, hello, Miss McBitchy Tits." Joe's deep voice rumbled in the quiet room. "Did the doctor choke on the cloud of dust he had to wade through to check your girlie parts, or is the poor fella okay?"

There were times having a gay man for a best friend was a pain in the ass. Though he cultivated the blue-collar look of a carpenter, with his worn jeans and shaggy dark waves, he abhorred manual labor. The muscles straining his sleeves came from long gym workouts, not lifting bricks and boards. Shoving the hood off her hair, Teague stalked across the workroom. His broad shoulders shook with amusement, causing coffee to slosh from the Styrofoam cup. Teague smiled grimly when the hot liquid ran down the front of his shirt. Grabbing a napkin, he dabbed at the stain, muttering curses.

She narrowed her gaze. "McBitchy tits? Seriously? First you drink all my creamer, then you have the nerve to call me Miss McBitchy Tits? Did you hear the joke about the self-fulfilling prophecy?"

Abandoning the effort to clean his white sweatshirt, Joe tossed the wadded towel on the counter. Raising the cup, he pursed his lips and blew across the steaming surface. Mischief danced in his eyes, despite his effort to look wounded. Teague plucked the cup from between his large fingers and steeled herself for what he might say next.

"When have I ever not replaced the creamer? Fresh bottle, in the fridge. And your mail's on the table under the newspaper. Not one customer came in while you were gone. And why didn't you get the doc to oil your parts? I hear somethin' squeakin'."

Flushing, Teague snapped, "Some redneck over compensatin' with tires three sizes too big for his pickup relocated a puddle onto my shoes." Turning her back on him to shove aside the newspaper littering her worktable, she sipped the hot liquid. Sorting through the stack of envelopes and colorful fliers, she spied Declan Corporation's logo—the one beginning to pop up on sold signs plastered to buildings in the blocks behind theirs. Teague slammed the cup on the table and snatched up a red pen Joe had used to circle some real estate listings. She wrote the same message across the front of the envelope in a slashing handwriting. Return to sender, addressee unknown. These Declan folks were hard of learnin', her grandfather would've said.

 Joseph's large hands squeezed her shoulders and his warm breath ruffled her hair. "Sweetheart, they know you live in this building. That's not fooling anyone."

Squeezing her eyes shut against the sting of tears, Teague couldn't help the note of accusation in her tone. "You're goin' to sell out, aren’t you, Joe?"

"It's called turnin' a profit, little bit. They agree to my figures and I'm gone. Sell this damn building, Teague. Buy something smaller. Hell, have a real artist's studio built. Jorge didn't leave you this place to tie you down. He left it to you to give you wings."

Teague had no intention of selling her building to Declan Corporation. They could build their fancy new headquarters around her for all she cared. Joe bought and sold commercial property the way she bought and sold gold, but this was home. She tried to picture her workroom devoid of his big body. More than the space felt empty. 

Thanks for droppin' by. Have a great week!

A Hot Man and a Quickie #4

First things first.
The eye candy.
The hot man.
Mmm, are you ready for some ... football? 

Visit John's official website.
Right now, all you erotica and romance writers, he's offering free use of his stock covers, so if you don't already have a character that resembles John's rugged good looks, get those fingers busy.  (Top left hand corner, second box from the top on his website, to see the collection) 

Other links for John Quinlan:

http://irishjohnquinlan.blogspot.com/

http://www.johnquinlan.org/

http://twitter.com/johnjquinlan

The quickie.

From Wildly Inappropriate, my September 8th release.

He'd come so close a couple of times, with women he thought understood what life as his woman entailed, only to end up being told he was a bastard and a caveman on their way out the door. While his parentage wasn't in question, his father's influence was surely what kept Dan a single man.

Why then, did he long to be just like his father, Rafe, ruling his woman and his offspring with unquestioned authority? Because all that had gotten either of them was alone. He wasn't like his baby brother Colton, who'd found love with a woman so stubborn she made Dan's teeth ache, or like Eric, whose relationships with women were so superficial it was a wonder to Dan his middle brother remembered the names of the women he dated.

He snorted softly. No, all he wanted was to pour his soul and his seed into one woman who'd want nothing more than to make him her world. Dan yanked his hand off his dick in disgust. He hadn't sunk low enough to jack off while peeping out his own kitchen window at a strange woman, even if she was trespassing. 

He was a dinosaur and he knew it. The concept hadn't worked for Rafe and it'd worked out just as badly for Dan. Women were no longer content to stay home and raise a family. They wanted jobs and felt their equal paychecks gave them an equal say in family decisions.

Why was it was so barbaric to want to spoil and coddle one woman, and in return, expect her to honor his decisions in all ways? He'd given up trying to understand why that was true and just accepted it. He'd stay single, though, because apparently what he wanted was the new form of slavery in the current female way of thinking. Perhaps that was why he found the sight of the woman chained to his bumper so riveting.

(Inspirational Pinterest board for Wildly Inappropriate)

Have a great weekend!