Hey Sasha’s readers!
I’m her guest blogger today. This is the first time in my entire life I’ve ever blogged so bear with me, please. Let me introduce myself – I’m J.J. Massa and I have my dog, Como with me everywhere I go. You can go here: http://www.jjmassa.com/bio.htm to see us. I write paranormal erotica and such. Today, however, I spent half my day running around after legal documents and not very much time writing. I always work on a couple of things at a time so today I’m working on the ending to my Vampire book called Love Like Blood – catchy name, huh? Thanks John Hiatt. And I’m starting a book called Don’t Ask – it’s m/m and so I bet you can guess what at least part of the premise is, can’t you? (That’s right, at least one guy is in the military… I thought it’d be too something to call it Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell).
Anyway, I’ll drop in on Wednesday again. My book Ashes in the Wind comes out that day – it’s Electric Rayne’s sequel – so I’ll be hanging out and chatting some on VenusPressChatters… OH! Hey, come say “hi” to me there and you can win one of my books – three people are gonna win. All you need to do is post something saying hey, hello, hi whatever, to JJ and you’re in.
Visit VenusPressChatters@yahoogroups.com or subscribe VenusPressChatters-subscribe@yahoogroups.com.
I sure hope Sasha’s having tons of fun in Reno…
And now for a treat from me to you…
Imagine you were tired and bored after a tough few days at work. You decide to drop into the local watering hole. You don’t go out THAT much, but today… It COULD happen to you… couldn’t it?
You don’t know why you came to the bar tonight. Maybe you were just tired of the TV. Not lonely, really, just tired of being alone. You give the bartender a half-smile when he slides your drink in front of you. He looks like a nice guy. That’s the problem. He looks like a NICE guy…
back in the shadows you see him. Mmmmm, who’s that you wonder? He’s so dark, dark eyes, dark hair, dark… looks. He’s looking at you. You squirm around, trying not to look back– but he knows you were checking him out. You know it — he knows it…
The skin at the back of your neck begins to tingle but you resist the urge. Someone laughs, a man. It’s a rich and deep whiskey chuckle and you know it’s him. You can’t help it, you turn on your barstool. He’s moved into the pool room a little, under the dim lights.
As you watch, he strips off the old leather jacket he wore and you catch your breath. Is that tee shirt tight or is it painted on? What a physique. You can see the light caressing his deltoids, he turns and that tight butt keeps you riveted. Isn’t there a law about carrying a deadly weapon in a place that serves alcohol? Now which weapon is more dangerous, the one in the front or the back of his very faded jeans?
Damn! He caught you again. You can’t see those dark eyes very well but that full mouth has a definite curve on one side. He’s laughing at you. You wish you could be indignant but he’s got a right to laugh. How pathetic you must look to him.
You turn away, mad at yourself and wave the bartender down. As the bartender sets your drink in front of you, you feel an odd warmth behind you but you refuse to turn around. The very nice bartender’s smile goes megawatt and he holds a beer out to you. Or in front of you… a very warm, very muscular forearm peppered with dark hair reaches over your left shoulder.
You hold yourself rigid, working hard not to react. It becomes even more difficult when the knuckles of that strong hand brush your cheek on the way by. You suck in your breath – you’re helpless not to.
Your hair stirs as you feel his warm breath on your ear. “Pardon me, sweetheart,” he murmurs right into it. You feel the heat gush to the vee in your own jeans at that deep tenor.
You clear your throat. When that does absolutely no good, you lift your drink for a sip. When you feel reasonably certain that you can interact without falling off the barstool, you turn toward him but he’s not looking at you now. That’s fine. Now you have a close up view of his hard body and you can look to your heart’s content.
What must he do for a living you wonder, looking at his solid shoulder, torso, and yum- yum, that hard toned hip. He seems hard all over. He’s too still, the angle of his waist is wrong. Slowly you look up. You knew it… Shit! He’s looking at you again. Swallowing, you force your eyes to his. Black, black velvet.
”Lose something, Sweetheart?” comes his rumbling murmur.
“Um, I, sorry,” you blush. “I just thought I… I was…” you stammer, feeling like an idiot.
“You were?” he turns fully toward you now and you swallow audibly. “You thought you were?” he reaches between his long legs and pulls a barstool forward and settles that tight behind down on it.
You want to curl up and blow away but then again, there’s really no place else you’d rather be.
You feel like a fool. Your mouth is dry, your throat is dry… and he’s focused all of that hot, hard, intensity completely on you. Blindly, you reach for your drink, noticing his nod to the bartender. As you gulp, another one slides in front of you.
Your eyes widen when his hand comes toward you, he’s brushing your hair out of your face! Oh. My. God! How can you ever even function again? His finger traces your chin.
“You okay, Sweetheart?” he murmurs…
NO! you scream inside. NO, I’m NOT OKAY! I’m melting!!!
He’s touching you—he’s stroking your face with those strong, calloused fingers. And … he’s leaned forward. What??? you moan inside…
“Don’t make me give you mouth to mouth, Sweetheart,” he purrs, “I can’t promise you I’ll stop there.” He leans closer still. Who knew beer breath could be an aphrodisiac? “In fact, baby, I can promise you I won’t.”
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… I am no longer a virgin blogger! Woo-hoo! Forgive me if you find any snarky boo-boos in this first post.
