Sometimes I write things I never mean to have published. A couple of stories in Alison Tyler anthologies, specifically, Me, When I’m With You in H is for Hardcore, I just wrote for me, probably published on Livejournal and intended to leave it at that. But, then, as happened with this story, I like something enough that I’ll try and track down a market for it. 

And some things I write just for me and they stay that way no matter what I think. There is a story I wrote about 2 years ago, Holding Out for A Hero, about an Anglo-Asian Hollywood action hero who thinks there has been an alien invasion and ends up trapped in his mansion with a rent boy having more and more dangerous sex. That, story, I’ve tried and tried with, but nowhere seems to want it. The combination of aliens, m/m and death seems to put off most markets. The last place that turned it down was Violet Blue’s Best Women’s Erotica. I think the guidelines for that prohibit science fiction and ask for an emphasis on female pleasure. Ah, it is hard to have the emphasis on female pleasure when there isn’t a woman in the story.

Course, if this was a post for cover watch I might start asking who all this emphasis on women’s pleasure is really for, but this is my blog, so I’ll save that.

Anyway, Holding Out is something I might post here another time, but meanwhile, here is another stray of a story.

This started as a piece I was hoping to submit to Stephen Elliott’s book Sex for America. But I never finished in time for the deadline for that book. I liked it enough to keep going with it though. Originally it was about a CIA Agent who starts a relationship with an informer who may or may not be a terrorist. I kept tinkering with the story, giving Duke, the main character a wife, taking her out again, moving various scenes around. It was one of those stories where the scenes drift in and out and don’t necessarily follow one from another. (That’s a style I associate more with fanfiction – but that might just be me.) 

Then, back in the days of Lust Bites, I posted a little snipped from the story as a piece of flash fiction. Alison Tyler liked it and asked to include it her her flash fiction collection called Flash Fucking. But the Flash Fucking changed its name to Frenzy and my story didn’t really fit. So poor Special Relationship (that’s the name of the story) had no home. 

But it doesn’t end there, a while later, maybe around a year ago, Alison Tyler asked if it could be included in another book – an anthology of Fairy Tale inspired stories. I said yes. But, well, remember this is a story about a CIA agent and a terrorist. So Duke sat in the manuscript for that book for a while, but then, at the last minute the publisher said no. Or the publisher said something about liking my style but it not fitting the book.

I don’t know exactly what the real reason for the story not being included in the book is but I think it’s fair to say there are numerous possibilities. The story, like Hero, is m/m. It’s also not really a Fairy Story. In many ways, it’s not really a story.

But anyway, as Duke is probably never going to rise from his knees again I’m going to let you read it here. There are many, many versions of this story on my hard drive and this isn’t the one that was due to be included in Alison’s Wonderland (or the version that was going to be included in Frenzy) but it is my favourite – for now. So, in case you were going to say, oh damn, this story is so good, I can’t believe anyone didn’t want it – no one has ever actually turned this version of the story down.

Special Relationship
Mathilde Madden

1

Duke has fantasies all the time. Not all of them are about sex. Hardly any, in fact.

But sometimes he feels like he lives more of his life in his head than in reality.

2

Asif comes to Duke’s office. Secretly in the small hours of the morning for a meeting with Duke’s superiors.

And later, just before Asif is ushered to the underground car park and a car with tinted windows, he’s there when Duke turns around, louche and beautiful in Duke’s office doorway.

Asif says, ‘Is that you?’ He’s pointing at a picture on the wall. It’s of Duke taken during Operation Desert Storm. He’s smiling; teeth and sunglasses and sweat glistening on his forehead. A soldier fighting in a conflict zone, but he looks a hundred times happier and more relaxed than he feels right now with Asif looking at him – brighter than the desert sun.

Duke nods. The picture is obviously of him.

‘I like you in that uniform.’ Asif says.

3

Duke is a big man and Asif is smaller, but not much. An inch or two shorter and an inch or two slighter. Asif’s skin is a shade or two darker than Duke’s, but it’s a shade or two that is a world of difference. A shade or two that makes the difference between a tan, buff, ex-marine and a dark, threatening, towel-head.

Duke wonders if Asif’s dick is bigger or smaller than his. If the skin on Asif’s dick is darker or lighter than the skin on the rest of his body.

Duke wonders what Asif’s dick would taste like. What Asif’s ass would taste like after Duke had come inside it.

Except that Duke doesn’t think about any of these things. Not really. Because Duke is straight. And Duke likes soft not hard, wet not dry, smooth not rough. Most of the time.

Other times – in dark parks, on wastegrounds, moments of kneeling on the grass, the dampness seeping through the knees of his jeans – they don’t count. Moments lost to the smell of the musk cloud as the man in front of him unbuttons. Moments of cock. Of dick. Of the feeling of the blunt point of a man against his closed lips. Of hands in his hair.

Just moments of anonymous men, of anonymous dicks.

There was only ever one man before who was more than a moment. Whose face and name Duke knew. And that was just a crazy mixture of longing looks and heart-pain and wantwantwant, that ended in a series of furtive sessions of mutual masturbation – after which neither of them ever spoke to each other again.

But now there was Asif.

So if it hadn’t been for the CIA and his new desk job and Iraq and the liaison duty and the war on terror, Duke would never have met the only other man that had really made his dick pulse and throb. If Duke had let himself think about these things, he knew he’d think about how no one on either side in this particular war would approve of him pressing his big body naked against Asif’s in a dark bedroom.

Not even Duke himself. Because Duke’s straight. Duke’s married. Duke loves his wife. No kids yet, but they’re trying.

4

Asif and Duke are sitting in Duke’s car. It’s night. They have been working together on covert ops for four months. Nothing has happened between them yet. This is the night that something does.

One of Duke’s colleagues has passed on some information from another source. A suspected plot to fire mortars at a British motorway. Or something. When he was told about this Duke was slightly surprised by how little he cared.

Asif’s role is to infiltrate certain groups that have been identified in London. Listen in. Report back. Asif had some connections before this began, some relatives that were thought to be militant. No one has explained to Duke how they know that Asif is on their side. How if he has these terrorist relatives how come he is good guy? Maybe no one knows how to explain.

In four months, Asif has reported only wild claims and pipe dreams. No one, it seems was planning anything serious. No one who was talking to Asif.

Duke knows the source on the mortars entirely is untrustworthy. But he still uses it in his head as an excuse as he moves over Asif threateningly, straddling his lap. He puts one big hand over Asif’s mouth, pushing his fingers between Asif’s teeth. Asif only opens his mouth enough to let Duke’s fingers in and then he lets his teeth close a little so Duke can feel the pressure of his bite. Duke puts his face close to Asif’s and says, ‘Why didn’t you tell us about this?’

Asif shrugs.

Duke looks tight into Asif’s black eyes. ‘You need to tell me that you didn’t know.’ Duke pulls his hand away. Asif doesn’t open up his mouth any further so as Duke pulls away Asif’s teeth graze the skin of his fingers all the way along to the pads of his fingertips.

Asif shrugs again, moving his lips around in odd shapes. ‘I didn’t know,’ he says. ‘Tell you what I do know, though, Sergeant Wellington. I know your dick’s hard.’

Duke’s straight. He likes soft not hard, wet not dry, smooth not rough. But on top of Asif in the cramped space he is hard – like a horny teenager. Asif makes him crazy. He knows – knew when he did it, knows now – that straddling Asif has nothing to do with mortars. And everything to do with the caramel-velvet nap of his skin, the black-brown of his eyes, the puffy fullness of his mouth.

It turns out that Asif is much better at sucking Duke’s cock than Elle.

Not that that was any kind of a justification.

Duke didn’t really do justification anymore. A little extra curricular cocksucking, was hardly going swing your moral compass after what he’d done. Where he’d been and what he’d seen.

5

Three days later, as he gets it out of the bag, Duke wonders if his uniform will still fit. It’s his dress uniform and he hasn’t worn it since his passing out in 2002. But it’s fine, just a little loose across the shoulders where he used to be bulkier.

When Asif walks into the motel room and sees Duke in the uniform he closes the door and then takes off all of his clothes. Just stands there, barely in the room and strips. Without speaking. Without breaking eye contact.

He walks over to Duke and gets onto his knees. He takes out Duke’s dick and sucks it. Duke comes in his mouth while Asif jerks himself off onto the carpet. Asif stands up gets dressed and leaves without either of them having spoken.

But Duke wants to talk to Asif. Wants to ask him what this is, why this is happening. Put they barely have time to fuck. It’s a risk being together at all. Asif is risking everything every time they meet. They can’t talk and fuck.

Not really talk. Not talk, talk. Not talk that goes beyond ‘uh’ and ‘yes’ and ‘there’ and ’suck it’ and ‘I want you’ and ‘it feels so good when you touch me like that’ and ‘harder’ and ‘more’ and ‘fuck me’ and ‘I want to feel you inside me’ and ‘harder’ and ‘harder’ and ‘harder’ and ‘harder’ and ‘pleasepleasepleaseplease’.

Not talk, talk. Duke wonders if one time he should ask Asif if he’d rather talk than suck dick and fuck for a change. But he decides not to in case Asif says yes.

6

Duke has fantasies all the time. Not all of them are about sex. Hardly any, in fact.
Sometimes he feels like he lives more of his life in his head than in reality. When he walks into the living room and sees look on Elle’s face it’s just like the one in the fantasy where she finds out about Asif.

But she isn’t talking about that. She’s saying, ‘Baby, I need you to drive me to the hospital.’

Elle hadn’t told anyone about this pregnancy because of what had happened the last time and the time before. So when they get home from the hospital there’s no one to call with bad news.

One of the doctors had told Elle that the reason she kept having miscarriages was because of all the abortions she’d had. Back at home, when Elle tells Duke about this she cries and cries and says, ‘Only two. Is that so many?’

Duke knows that, whatever he says now, Elle will believe that doctor.

Duke goes into the kitchen and while he’s there making tea he fantasises about going to that doctor’s office and slicing him open with one of the knives in the block on the counter. Then he thinks about flipping the doctor over and opening up his asshole with the blade. Showing him what a D and C feels like. He thinks about cutting his own wrists – but only very briefly. He thinks about Asif’s skin. He wonders what Asif’s blood tastes like.

He thinks about curling up in Asif’s arms and crying out all the pain and the rage and the shame while Asif holds him in his big arms.

Elle calls out him from the sofa, asking him why he’s so long with the tea. Her voice is all broken up and he feels like the biggest shit alive.

After that, Elle doesn’t want to have sex with Duke anymore. Duke thinks that this is because if she doesn’t have sex she can’t get pregnant and if she doesn’t get pregnant then she’ll never have to lie awake every night scrutinising ever sensation in her belly wondering if she’s going to lose this baby too. If she doesn’t get pregnant then nothing can hurt her. Duke understands this. He probably understands it better than Elle does. But he doesn’t say anything to her and he doesn’t know what to do.

He jerks off in the shower. He tries to think about Elle. He thinks about a night not long after they met when they danced until the night was almost over and then, laughing drunk, they had twirled into an alley way and Elle had leaned up against the dirty wall and Duke had got on his knees in front of her and pressed the flat of his tongue against the closed lips of her pussy.

He had fucked her in the alley too. He’d fucked her and they hadn’t used a rubber because they didn’t have one – and it didn’t matter that one time – and they were standing up.

Elle got pregnant. But he didn’t find out until he was in Kuwait. She already had the abortion – her second. She said she did it because she was scared he might never come back.

When Duke thinks about that he decides he can’t come while he thinks about Elle anymore. He imagines Asif on his knees in front of him. He ends up imagining that every morning, jerking off in the shower.

7

One afternoon, Duke kisses Asif as they’re getting dressed. This isn’t normal. Normal is kissing in bed. Part of the sex. Kissing is for initiating the sex, for prolonging the sex, or for talking about penetration without using words. Kissing is for tasting your own come in the other man’s mouth. Between Duke and Asif, kissing isn’t for affection. This is affection.

This isn’t normal.

When Duke sees the photographs he looks at them for a long time. Mostly, when Duke looks at the images of naked Iraqis being abused by American soldiers he thinks about himself, in his uniform, with Asif naked on knees in front of him.

That disturbs him.

He wonders what he would have done. If he had been told to participate in something like this. Duke wonders if he’d followed orders in the past that were unlawful and violated his own moral codes.

But Duke can answer to his conscience because one of the things he believes is that without men obeying orders there is no military. Duke believes in the military. Duke thinks that if he’d been asked by a superior officer to torture prisoners, he probably would have.

That disturbs him.

8

Asif is sucking Duke’s cock. Duke is lying across the backseat of the car and Asif is tightly curled between his legs.

When Duke comes, Asif pulls back, lifts his head up. Duke arches his back a bit and pulls out the kitchen knife that he has down the back of his pants. Asif doesn’t even notice. He doesn’t even notice when Duke’s hand moves and he shoves the knife clumsily into Asif’s neck. Asif crumples between Duke’s legs.

Some blood comes out of Asif’s mouth. Blood that must have Duke’s come mixed in with it somewhere although it only looks like normal blood. Duke’s crotch is covered with it.

This never really happens.

Duke has a lot of fantasies. Not all of them are about sex.

The End

So that’s that. This might be quite a long way from the version that was rejected, but I think I agree with that editor. This really is no fairy tale.

So, I have been thinking of rejuvenating my horribly neglected blog with a few Silver Werewolf side stories. I thought I’d told it all but, hey, I miss those wolves and I miss writing fiction (non-fiction projects are eating my life right now). 

So this is just a place holder, but just to say, I am thinking on that.

We’re celebrating our sticky fingered love of David Beckham over on Erotica Cover Watch and Lust Bites. I thought I would dive off on two tangents. The first is to tell you how much I love Alison Jackson and her unsettling fake images of celebrities. Becks is a regular subject. Here’s a glimpse of a dirty American David.

David I just love to look at. But I only ever adored one footballer enough to actually like watching him play football.

Eric Cantona, who called football a spontaeous art form and was pretty enough to make me believe it.

People are rightly excited about the lovely cover of this book. I am so pleased to have a solo guy on the cover as you will know if you read my complaints elsewhere. Not that I find wet men as exciting as certain people. I like a bit of glisten more than a soaking. But I’m happy with this cover.

I’m less happy about the copy edits made to my story in this book. For some reason the authors never got galley proofs of Lust At First Bite. During the galley stage authors get to have a say (although not the final say) in any editorial changes. But this time the galley stage got missed, for some reason, which means it wasn’t until I got the book in my hands that I saw that every instance of the word ‘cunt’ had been changed to the cringey bad-erotica no-one-says-in-real-life ’sex’. Eurgh. And totally OOC for my viewpoint character.

I think not using the word cunt in stories about explicit sex is a bit lame – but I would have changed the word for something else if I had known it was a problem for Black Lace (this month). I really dislike the word ’sex’ used for genitalia. Mainly because people just don’t say that. (Maybe it is okay in a historical.) But even if they did, Blake, who is the viewpoint character in this story would never say anything as clumsy and non-direct. It might seem like a small thing, but it is really quite gutting to see your character’s dialogue and internal monologue trashed by lazy editing and the type of word choices I associate with the crasser end of erotica.

God, I’ve probably really offended anyone reading this who does use the word ’sex’ like that. Sorry. It is a blend of it being OOC and a personal dislike too, but I do have issues with the word just because it is used a lot in erotica and pretty much never IRL. I think too many erotica writers use it as crutch – and I don’t like seemingly like I am one of them.

So, to make me feel better, when you get your hands on a copy of Lust At First Bite (what is with that title – two puns?), which was out on Thursday, in UK and just in time for your Xmas gift vouchers in the US, please print out this page and stick the following cunty extracts into my story Left Hand Man – just so as I feel less like a crappy writer.

1. I knew I couldn’t give her the due pounding she would’ve enjoyed with a busted arm. But I still show her something, holding her legs apart with my body and using my mouth on her hot witch’s cunt until she’s writhing, pulling against the cuffs on her wrists. When I think she’s on the brink, I stop.

2. Oh god, you know, I love my faithless wife. Always will. And I do tell her I’ve never cheated except with a witch – and it doesn’t count with a witch – but, oh, no one, no one feels like Lilith. Nothing feels like a witch’s cunt desperate for your cock inside it.

I draw back. I just leave the tip of my dick inside her. Her cunt pulses begs like the hungry maw of a baby bird. ‘Say “please”. Say “please, Blake, fuck me”.’

‘I could rip your fucking arms off.’

‘You could say “please, Blake, fuck me”.’ I slide my cock up the ravine of her cunt and swirl the head on her swollen clit.

She meets my eye. ‘Please, Blake, fuck me.’

Down I go. Down and in.

‘Please, Blake, harder. Hard.’

I do as she asks. It feels amazing. I don’t know if it is the ecstasy of my painless working right arm, the way it feels baring my weight. But god. God!

‘Please, Blake. More, harder. Fuck me harder, please. Please!’

I fuck her and fuck her and each thrusts seems to make her yell out for more and make me harder inside her.

When I crest, she’s there too. She brings it. Crying out in chains and stockings. Her cunt pulses, slick, clenching around me.

3. Less than an hour in a vampire castle and I’m fucking an undead bitch. What the hell is wrong with me? Sure I’m missing my faithless vow-breaking wife, but it’s not like this is going to help. Course I shouldn’t be here. I don’t do vamps. But I’m full of drugs, right? It’s the drugs made me do this. I’m panting. She puts her hands on my chest, sliding under my sling and stroking my nipples hard. Her cunt works my cock like nothing I’ve ever felt and it’s then that I get an unexpected flash of clarity. She is way, way too good at this. Vampires don’t fuck like human’s do. Don’t fuck like this. She said so herself. They bite each other. So how did this one learn to fuck human men this well.  I think of her mouth – the way I’d felt like she must have sucked a million cocks…

There used to be a thing of vamps biting whores way back in the day. They were out alone at night. Easier. Weaker. Friendlier. People care less about them. Makes sense. Same reason serial killers often pick on them as victim of choice.  So now a lot of the female vamps you meet these days were whores when they were human. (So they have mouths for sucking twice over.) But even so, if I was ever getting fucked by a woman who was once a rich man’s favourite whore, a woman whose cunt he’d pay witches to protect…

‘Oh god,’ I say, ‘it’s you.’  She clenches around me hard enough to stop me thinking anything for a second.

Shit. Shit. I can’t fight the way she’s making my cock feel and the pills and her drug – whatever the fuck that actually was, god, why do I have this strange weakness to take unknown substances when I’m in pain?

She’s the fertile vamp. I can’t, won’t, mustn’t go over edge. But the wind is so strong…

‘I know who you are.’

She laughs and her cunt tightens again, drawing me still closer to doom.

One other rankle (I hope all that smut has cheered you through this posts general whinginess) is that I didn’t have Blake smoking in this story. And if you’ve read any of the other werewolf books you’ll know Blake smoking is very much part of any Blake scene. So if you could just pencil in a bit about that when you’ve finished pasting I’d be completely happy.

Just because…

Lately economising has been in style. Staying at home knitting is the new hanging out of cocktails bars. Make do and mend is in vogue. Needlework, home cooking, domestic arts of all sorts are getting more and more popular.

Actually this has been around for a while. The domestic goddess has been on the rise for some time. But the twin pressures from the enviroment and the economy seem to have made this cross between fifties housewife glamour and purtianism feel far more relevant than mere nostaglia.

I have a soft sticky sopt for all these things. I love to knit and sew, but I am quite bad at them, so I welcome the move from glamour as the driving force to utility. Last night a started a jumper, despite my usual tendancy to stick with scaves and shawls and other things that avoid the dreaded making-up. The ice cream colours I have chosen, the cotton yarn and the sleeveless pattern should be clues as to how long I feel this effort may take me.

I also feel drawn, almost hopelessly to this. I also want to make a crumble, put on a jumper when it gets cold instead of the heating and peruse Sainsburys Basics range

And this mood, I swear, has nothing to do with my last royalty cheque. Which was so small I am thinking of seeing if it will collide with another tiny royalty cheque at high speed and unlock the secrets of the universe.

PS I hate to ask, but The Silver Collar is languishing on Amazon US since it got a one star review. One star! If you are American – or buy from US Amazon and feel The Silver Collar is worth more than that, perhaps you could rush to the rescue.

Hey tiny readership. Today me and my next door neighbour Kristina Lloyd are launching Erotica Cover Watch, a blog to highlight the sexism in the cover designs of erotica books. It promises to be funny, snarky, world-changing and also to ROCK!

Please take a look.

As what happened to prompt the last posts seems to have started me using this blog like a blog – I shall now carry on

A while ago I gave a talk at the London Literary Fesitval about my work. (No, really – I did.) And one of the speakers introduced me to the concept of Tiemcock. And also to the concept of Doctor Who Cat Macros.

She showed this series – the original Doctor Who Cat Macros thingie and a work of fine genius. (If you click one link today – click this one)

And then since I can has internetz I went looking for more. Oh, the fun I’ve had. Oh, the work I haven’t done.

The main live journal community is ihasatardis. The main trouble with is that unlike usual LOLcats blogs they put each macro behind a cut. And the macros are hit or miss. But when they hit, they hit! So prepare to waste your days.

Kristina Lloyd and I are launching a new blog on Thursday (come back then for details) and I think the reaction to it might be interesting. However I have decided to kill my career early by taking issue with Black Lace editor Adam Nevill’s choice of ‘The Private Undoing of a Public Servant’ as ‘one of the best erotic novels published in recent times’ over on Lust Bites. The book or its author get no less than three mentions in the interview. And the lukewarm reaction to the book is taken as evidence that women don’t really want to read stories where the female protangonist is dominant.

Adam says:
Fem dom is massive with male readers but seems to have passed female readers by. I’d say The Private Undoing of a Public Servant by Leonie Martell is one of the best erotic novels published in recent times – it’s a very vivid, intelligent and arousing story, as much as an investigation, into male submission and female dominance. But the reaction to it has underwhelmed me. I think it will endure and become a classic, but in its own time, it has had a normal reception. So group sex, and even extreme submission to the opposite sex, seem to be high on the agendas of male and female fantasy.

Now as I said in a comment over on Lust Bites, this is an extremely problematic assertion. Adam is a male editor of a line of books for women (something that is talked about in detail in the interview) and he cites this as a particularly good Black Lace book. Now it maybe a personal favourite of his – but good Blace Lace, it ain’t. In fact I was surprised this wasn’t published by BL’s brother Nexus ( a for-men imprint). And just look at the cover:

It maybe highly literary in style (or, at least written in second person – literariness is in the eye of the beholder) but is very much a male view of female dominant sexuality. The female protagonist is almost unreadably pompous, cool, aloof and inhuman, asserting that the hero (I’ll get to him) has never met anyone like her before because she is reading a Bataille novel (nothing screams ‘I’m interesting’ like surrealist porn).

And the hero, god, the hero of this book is a 53 year old politician (and, sorry, wasn’t a BL author recently not allowed to make her female cougar character older than 35). I love female domination. It’s my thing. I was excited when I bought this book that it would be an amazing story about my favourite subject. But I am not going to go for loving descriptions of a 53 year old man being foot-wanked by a beautiful aloof ice queen. That’s the first sex scene. Hello! Female pleasure? Hello!

(And it’s a small point I know – but both of the book’s Amazon reviews are from men clearly looking for a fix of hot dominatrix porn.)

And women not going for this book is meant to prove women would rather submit?

Maybe women would rather read about female pleasure would be more accurate. Submission will always be a popular fantasy. But I don’t think it’s the only way women enjoy sex and power.

I will be completely honest, Private/Public came out around the same time as my own Equal Opportunities – a book about a dominant women who likes men in wheelchairs and a male wheelchair user. Private/Public got a significantly larger media push than my own book, including an extract in men’s mag Arena (another question mark over just how aimed-at-women this book is).  But I’m not really bitter – not since I won that cock.

Most of my books deal with female dominance in some ways, just without those tired stereotypes and stereotypical lack of hard male bodies and hard male cock so often found in the male-reader-orientated femdom books. And I think female readers like what I do. It’s not as popular as snarling brutes – but it’s an interesting furrow nonetheless

From Tumperkin
The other thing about Madden’s heroes though, is that they are described as so very purely appealing to the eye in a way that – usually – only heroines are described. Like it’s their function to be pretty. This is most obvious in her Silver Werewolves trilogy. The hero, Alfie, is a pure sex-object. Although he’s all dominant and alpha-ish, he’s also just relentlessly used by everyone for sex. It’s weirdly hot and not a little subversive.

I actually think is it somewhat dangerous to take the reaction of female readers to a book like this (no matter how literary its stylings) as evidence that women do not want to read about women on top. Submission will always be popular – but I think it is a shame not to give female domination is due as a female fantasy as a result of the reaction to a book which is a highly problematic example of what women want.

Making female domination stories appeal to women means focussing on female pleasure and leaving the latex lingerie and the aging politician with his passion for a dominatrix back in the male fantasy it came from.

I’m over on Lust Bites today making my last post. It’s an excerpt from The Silver Cage – the final book of The Silver Werewolves trilogy. In that excerpt we see what is happening to Alfie and Leon while they are imprisoned by The Divine Wolf.

Iris is of course rushing to rescue her furry Fido. Or she mostly is. She can’t help getting a little distracted here and there. Mostly by her memories

One night on a full moon sweep not far from here. They’d left Jude burying a hound’s body and chased another out into open country. Panting and screaming with exertion they’d eventually had to let it go.

They’d both thrown themselves on the ground to try and get their breath. And then Blake had been on top of her, flushed as sweat-sticky as she was.

‘It’s when you’re like this,’ he’d said through ragged breaths, ‘nothing in your mind but how much you want to kill, that I most want to be inside you. Feel that dirty heat and hate.’

Iris didn’t reply. She knew the lust burning into her from his eyes was reflected right back. She pulled her dark red combat fatigues down and shifted, opening her legs under Blake’s hard narrow hips.

Iris had moaned, thrust her hips up onto him, bringing him deeper, harder, home. She’d arched her back and rolled her head – showing her neck to him – and he’d dipped. He pushed his head into the well, pressed his tongue to her skin in the almost pitch dark and then pulled back, startled, ‘Fuck!’

‘What?’

‘Iris, you’re bleeding. Your neck.’

‘What? Well it must just be from the fight.’ Earlier that evening the hound Jude was now burying had sprung from the trees and slammed into Iris’s from behind, flooring her.

Blake was still inside Iris, He swirled his hips making her moan. ‘Claws or jaws, Iris?’ And then with a smooth soft motion, he drew his silver gun from his shoulder holster and held it to Iris’s temple.

Iris felt a vicious rush of fear like a shock wave. Her eyes were tight on Blake’s. The two of them had played all sorts of games with guns since then, put this had been the very first time Blake had held a gun to her head. It felt strangely normal.

‘Claws or jaws?’ Blake said again, fucking her now, harder than ever inside her.

Iris couldn’t speak. All she could feel was the gun on the side of her head and Blake’s cock inside her. Both steel-hard, invading. Blake came with a cry and then pushed his face back into the wound at her neck, slipping one hand between her legs and stroking her clit, keeping the gun tight in place with the other. After Iris had come he’d said, ‘Okay, I have some kit at Tobias’s his house that can test for lyc saliva in your wound. You’re not going to run, are you?’

‘Why would I run?’ Iris had said, staring up at his wild, hard face.

‘Because if it turns out that lyc bit you, I’ll have to shoot you.’

*

Comment to win a book or something, I expect…

Silver Werewolves on Amazon US
Silver Werewolves on Amazon UK
More about the books