Autism Awareness Blog Hop

Blog Hop

 Five times as many males as females are diagnosed with autism

Every year, students come through my classroom who are on the autism spectrum. and every year, I am happily astounded at the love and care my other students take and have with him or her. 

I currently have a young man (a senior)who has Asperger's and  is an integral part of the class. From the start of the semester, I have watched this young man blossom and thrive in my "participatory" class, working with others and sharing about himself.

The other students have opened their arms to him and taken him under their wing; group projects, debates, assistance when completing a task, my heart swells at their care.

Seeing this young man bloom and the interaction with the other student's makes my job worthwhile.

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GIVEAWAY

Eldridge's favorite drink is a frozen non-alcoholic pina colada. Tell me your summer indulgence for a chance to win a copy of Eldridge's Release.

Blurb

A world Eldridge was meant to be in.

Eldridge Cristoff worked hard and rarely played, always leery of letting himself go after the humiliation he suffered at the hands of his college boyfriend. Best friend Isabella Catana, submissive and lover of Johnson Petri, invited him to a night at an upscale BDSM club, Club Rebellion-owned and operated by Johnson and his trio of friends. All dominants.

Dalton Peters has never collared his own sub nor had the desire until he met Eldridge. Dalton was immediately taken with the skittish man, deciding to make it his mission to release Eldridge from his sexual prison.

Slowly Eldridge realized the world he was meant to be in. A loving man and master at his side; he discovered submission was not a weakness but a true testament of his strong inner spirit.

With Dalton's careful guidance, Eldridge had no choice but to give into his desires and heart, allowing Dalton to dominate his body and soul.

Excerpt

Eldridge parked his car, popped a wintergreen breath freshener in his mouth, and headed toward the entrance. He walked up to the nondescript, solid black door that had no peephole, nervously wiped his hands against the leather pants, and rang the bell.

The building was located in the swankier section of Philadelphia and sported its own parking lot, which was a rarity in the city as most establishments utilized city parking garages or the street. From that, Eldridge surmised that the place had been doing very well. By the layout of the parking lot, he could tell the area used to house a building that had been torn down to create the space.

He shouldn't have been sweating in the outfit he wore. Eldridge was told -- no, ordered -- to wear his black leathers. They were soft as butter to the touch and so skintight his package was outlined. He also wore a white close-fitting muscle shirt and a jacket. He'd tried to get underwear on; even a jock, but the pants were so tight that any seams showed through, so he elected to go commando. He couldn't believe that he'd been talked into the outfit. He'd bought the leathers as a joke for a party he'd attended. They'd been very expensive, so Eldridge never threw them out. But he never thought he'd be wearing them again. And definitely not to a club.

He waited less than twenty seconds after pressing the illuminated button before a very large man in blue jeans and a black T-shirt opened the door. After stepping over the threshold, Eldridge looked up and noticed the camera above the door. He handed the bouncer his invitation with the club's logo on it -- a raised CR in black with a muted gray picture of a flogger in the background.

The tattooed gentleman nodded and said, "Good evening, Mr. Cristoff."

How in the hell would he know me? I've never been to the club before. Although they did have his picture on file from the background check that the club had performed before sending the invitation.

The bouncer, Sam, according to the embossed name on his T-shirt, pointed to the next set of double doors and told Eldridge to go right in. But not before placing a red band on his wrist emblazoned with the word Guest.

Eldridge was amazed he'd heard nothing from the other side; not a sound. The walls must be soundproof. What the hell have I gotten in to?

Red leather covered the surface of the double-access, and Eldridge felt like he was walking into an alternate universe. The problem was, he had no idea what universe he'd ambled into. At first glance, it looked like any other club -- people sitting at the bar, tables, and booths while talking, laughing, and drinking. Then he got a better look at the clientele. Men and women appeared in various stages of dress and undress. He tried not to gawk, but it was difficult. While heading to the bar, he spied a woman attached to a long chain by her nipples and casually strolling with a man holding the other end. Shit.What the hell have I gotten into?

The club was beautiful and sleek. An artist would say the straight lines and dark, muted colors enhanced the desired atmosphere. Almost everything was leather -- sofas, chairs, barstools, even the edge of the bar. The color scheme was black or white with gray or subdued yellow accents. The lighting was low but sufficient to give a secure and homey feeling. Mirrors and abstract art adorned the walls. Eldridge didn't understand the point of abstract art, but from what he saw, the décor went perfectly with the club.

"Piña colada. Nonalcoholic, please." He leaned forward and spoke to the bartender. He loved a fruity drink, and that one was his favorite. Chunks of coconut and bits of pineapple. Was a piña colada cliché for a gay guy? He didn't care.

As he took his beverage, Eldridge turned around in hopes of finding Isabella and her boyfriend. He spotted Issy waving to him before he'd even completed the turn and walked toward the couple. The two were comfortably ensconced on a white leather sofa with Issy perched on Johnson's lap and her head tucked under his chin. Eldridge stopped in his tracks. The couple looked absolutely beautiful together and completely content.

Isabella hadn't had an easy life prior to meeting Johnson. Afterward, it took time for the Dominant/submissive thing to run smoothly. Their late-night talks had given Eldridge an earful regarding Issy and Johnson's relationship. He knew his friend had truly found peace in her life, whatever the lifestyle may've been.

He made his way to the couch where they were seated and could see what appeared to be a stage. Actually, there appeared to be three raised zones lit with various degrees of lighting. The center one was subdued, but the flanking areas were lit. One sported what looked like a large X-shaped structure. If Eldridge remembered correctly, Issy had told him that it was called a St. Andrew's cross. A woman was attached to it and was being flogged by a very large man. Eldridge was too far away to hear any of the sounds coming from the woman, but if her expression was any indication, she was enjoying herself very much.

As Eldridge leaned down to greet Issy with a peck on the cheek, he noticed the man sitting on the far end of the sofa. Yum. Scary. Dominant. It was easy to surmise based on the way the man carried himself even in a sitting position and the way he was dressed that he was probably a Dom. Once Issy had convinced Eldridge to visit the establishment and after he'd filled out all the necessary paperwork, he'd perused a few sites on the Internet so he could at least know the difference between a Dom and a sub.

The club sported the lifestyle, as Issy liked to describe it. It was a way of life that for some unknown reason Issy felt her bestie needed to explore. Issy was a submissive when it came to her home life. At work, she was a total go-getter that took a stance on designs and implementation. And she bossed around even the largest men. But in her domestic life, she allowed Johnson to rule the roost; from Eldridge's perspective, anyway.

The only problem was, Eldridge didn't know if he completely agreed with the lifestyle. How could a person give that much control to another? Although, if Eldridge really, really, thought about it, the idea did spark something inside him. He was always in control at work, but sometimes he wanted someone else to take the reins. He wanted to relax, but it scared the hell out of him to allow someone else to rule.

Eldridge wanted to sit at the feet of the man at the end of the sofa, which completely threw him for a loop, and he immediately locked the thought away in the recesses of his brain. The last time he wanted to sit at a man's feet, he was told that he was depraved and sick. Damn, Ned had done a number on him. He'd done unimaginable things to him. Ned had turned out to be sick in his physical and emotional treatment of Eldridge. Not that Eldridge desired to be physically hurt, but he did crave more. As confused as he was, he didn't know what the more was. Isabella thought she knew what he needed.

He kissed Issy on the cheek and shook Johnson's hand.

"El, this is Dalton. One of my partners in the club." Johnson spoke as he pointed to the man at the far end of the arc-shaped sofa.

Eldridge crossed over to stand in front of Dalton. Dalton stood and extended his hand in greeting. The grip was strong and solid. His eyes raked Eldridge up and down.

El supposed he was a good-looking guy. At least that's what Issy had always told him. She called him man-pretty -- not completely masculine and not necessarily feminine. Man-pretty. At times, he wasn't sure if that was an insult or a compliment. He'd always known he was gay. When their classmates were looking at the opposite gender, Eldridge always looked at the boys. He loved the hard and delineated lines of their chest; not soft mounds that protruded and got in the way. Girls' breasts, yuck.

His family knew he was gay. He'd come out to them in his early teens. His parents were supportive and accepting even though it probably wasn't the lifestyle they would've chosen for him. He never brought boys home as dates, so his parents were fine with his homosexuality as long as it wasn't flaunted in their faces. Sometimes Eldridge felt very lonely, but at least he had Issy.

He wasn't the biggest, tallest, or most talkative in their current circle of friends. In fact, when he wasn't in the boardroom and high-strung from all the intensive work he did to keep his clients rolling in money, he could've been classified as a wallflower; reclusive. Eldridge didn't mind going out for a drink or two with Issy and Johnson or his coworkers, but he very much preferred to be by himself.

Finding the right man to date was hard. Eldridge didn't know how women were on the prowl all the time. His introverted personality made contacting a stranger difficult. But there had to be someone out there for him, didn't there?

Eldridge gauged the man before him with rapt attention. Damn, he thought as he tilted his head back to get a better view. Large was the first word that popped into Eldridge's mind. An imposing figure, Dalton had to be at least six-feet six-inches tall. El wondered if the size of his cock matched his height.

His pants became tighter than they already were, and his face heated as he continued to stare from beneath his lowered eyelashes. Hair so blond that it was almost white hung past his shoulders, held back with a leather thong. The strands looked silky. But what really drew Eldridge were his eyes -- cobalt blue, piercing, and the kind that could look straight into a man's soul. Eldridge shook his head as if coming out of a fog and composed himself.

That was someone Eldridge would want to get to know better. Eldridge didn't even know if he was gay. There was no way someone that large and masculine could be gay.

Okay, maybe he was stereotyping but he was most likely a Dom to boot. Some woman would be very lucky to land this fine specimen of a man.

But Dalton held Eldridge's hand just a touch too long for a casual handshake, and something sparked briefly in his eyes.

"Nice to meet you, Dalton."

~~~~~

2018 ©Evelise Archer All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Now Available~ Eldridge's Release

Eldridge Cristoff worked hard and rarely played, always leery of letting himself go after the humiliation he suffered at the hands of his college boyfriend. Best friend Isabella Catana, submissive and lover of Johnson Petri, invited him to a night at an upscale BDSM club, Club Rebellion-owned and operated by Johnson and his trio of friends. All dominants.

Dalton Peters has never collared his own sub nor had the desire until he met Eldridge. Dalton was immediately taken with the skittish man, deciding to make it his mission to release Eldridge from his sexual prison.

Slowly Eldridge realized the world he was meant to be in. A loving man and master at his side; he discovered submission was not a weakness but a true testament of his strong inner spirit.

With Dalton's careful guidance, Eldridge had no choice but to give into his desires and heart, allowing Dalton to dominate his body and soul.



MLR Press
Amazon Buy Link
Barnes & Noble

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2018 ©Evelise Archer All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Cameron's Negotiator is now in German

Trevor Langford ist ein taffer Verhandlungsführer beim FBI, doch bei seinem letzten Fall hat er sowohl körperliche als auch psychische Narben davongetragen. Gezwungenermaßen nimmt er sich eine Auszeit, die er in Sawtooth Range, Idaho, verbringt, um wieder zu sich selbst zu finden und den Kopf frei zu bekommen. Dort begegnet er Cameron. Groß, dunkelhaarig und auf raue Art gutaussehend ist Cameron alles, was Trevor sich von einem Mann wünscht, doch zugleich auch ein wenig einschüchternd. 

Der Wolfs-Gestaltwandler Cameron sehnt sich schon sehr lange nach einem Gefährten und Trevor praktisch in seinem Vorgarten zu finden, ist ein wahrer Glücksfall. Leider hat Trevor keine Ahnung, was Gefährten sind oder auch nur, dass er ein Wolf ist. Trevor ist durch und durch realistisch und glaubt nur an das Greifbare. 

Kann Cameron seinen Gefährten davon überzeugen, dass wahre Liebe ewig währt? 

Ein homoerotischer Liebesroman für Erwachsene mit explizitem Inhalt. Jeder Band dieser Reihe geht auf die romantische Beziehung eines anderen Paares ein und kann einzeln gelesen werden.


Amazon Germany
Amazon US

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2017 ©Evelise Archer All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

Jaeger~ Order of the Black Knights

US Marshal Jaeger Tripp is assigned to the Federal Witness Protection Program. The hurt and destruction he’s seen—along with protecting criminals who are only cooperating with the authorities to keep themselves out of jail—have left him with a bleak and jaded view of both life and people. His current assignment is Wren O’Riley, a computer wizard who witnessed a high-profile cartel hit.

To Jaeger, Wren is the same as any other job. He must protect him long enough to get him to testify at trial, and his personal feelings have no place in his work and must be set aside. But that’s easier said than done. On the run and fighting for their lives, Jaeger and Wren can’t help but grow closer. And Jaeger can’t help seeing beyond Wren’s nerdy exterior to a man who might be just what Jaeger needs to settle his soul and capture his heart—if they survive long enough to get that chance.

Order of the Black Knights

Every century has seen its knights, but they are not always seen. Some of them do what must be done—getting their hands dirty when no one else is willing. Assassins and antiheroes who work from the shadows, they are called the Black Knights. From the time of the society’s creation in the 1100s, these men are cursed to repeat their lives of bloodshed. But for each knight, there is one who can bring out the man that waits inside and break the cycle. The question is whether or not the knight will kill his true love before he figures it out.

Excerpt~

Prologue 1981

OPPRESSIVE HEAT caused the sweat to trickle down Jaeger’s back and pool at the waistband of his camouflage BDUs. For three fucking days, he’d been entrenched in the mosquito-ridden jungle of Colombia, waiting for his mark, Carlos Quintanilla—drug runner, coca grower, and major player in the Colombian cartel. He and his team were paid handsomely to sit, wait, and dispose of a target. And though the original twenty-four hours—in, shoot, and out—had grown to three days, mercenaries were paid to wait under any conditions.

Once the deed was done, he would trek four klicks through the jungle and rendezvous with the team, cross into Venezuela, and transform into a businessman for the trip back to the States. With his payoff, he planned to retire—hang up his hat as a killer for hire and live on an island in peace and quiet. Maybe. If the nightmares stopped and gave him respite.

He watched through his rifle sight as Quintanilla lumbered along the edge of the pool of his multi-million-dollar fortress. Security was a priority for him, but that was of little consequence to Jaeger, who was perched approximately half a mile away from the complex in a makeshift tree stand with his Remington 700, nicknamed Lolita. He waited.

Movement to the right of the pool caught his attention. Jaeger shifted ever so slightly as the slim figure of a man dressed in blue flowered board shorts, a white undershirt, and flip flops approached Quintanilla. The young man couldn’t have been more than twenty-four.

A dirty blond mop of hair fell over his eyes. His skin was only slightly tanned, as though it had been kissed by the sun, and his ass was meant to be grabbed.

Jaeger didn’t have time to ogle over some squeeze Quintanilla kept at his house. Or maybe the young man was the drug runner’s son. Intel reported that Quintanilla’s wife, children, and mistress were away on vacation. So either the young man was a fuck buddy or a returning son, there to see daddy. Additionally, the team had watched the workers and security guards and knew the next few days were the only time that month Quintanilla would be alone. It looked like a vacation from the world. Quintanilla sent everyone else away and stayed to enjoy the amenities he acquired by dipping his hands into blood money. Carlos Quintanilla believed himself so powerful that no one would dare to touch him. He’d soon be proven wrong.

“Target in sight.” Jaeger spoke softly into the mic attached to the lapel of his camouflage shirt. The earpiece in his right ear crackled with static.

“Can you take the shot, Arrow One?” The speaker, located approximately four kilometers away, waited with the rest of the team for Jaeger to complete the deed and return to the rendezvous point.

“Roger, Base One. Shot available, but there’s a slight problem. The target is not alone. Over.”

Jaeger waited for base to confirm or negate his mission. He hoped it was a go, because if not, the sitting in a mosquito-infested jungle, being eaten alive would have been for naught. And that would highly piss him off.

“Can you take them both out, Arrow One?”

Jaeger thought and quickly contemplated the speed of the traveling bullet, the wind velocity, and the reaction time for the second target to move and attempt to take cover and fall at Quintanilla’s feet. He couldn’t guarantee it.

“Negative, Base One. Advise.” Jaeger waited.

Sitting in the jungle required patience, which any mercenary or sniper had in spades. The average man found it torturous to sit in silence for three minutes. Jaeger did it for days at a time. So the five minutes it took for base to get back to him was nothing. If Quintanilla attempted to leave the premises, Jaeger would have to either take him out and leave the young man alive or try to eradicate both of them.

“Base One to Arrow One. Over.”

“Arrow One here.”

“It’s a go, Arrow One. Target first, then the secondary. Take the trip to the destination and see if any cleaning is required. We are still a go for the meet. Over.”

“Roger, Base One. Over.”

Jaeger had the green light. Kill Quintanilla, shoot the young man, and confirm both kills. Jaeger had no doubt Carlos Quintanilla would be dead, but was not sure of the second target. He’d put a bullet in him on sight, if needed.

Jaeger peered through the lens, blinked his eyes to refocus, and stared at Quintanilla. He and his blond companion were seated side by side in chaise longues. The young man’s hands moved earnestly, as if the talk was at the forefront of his young life. Jaeger inhaled and filled his lungs. The feel of Lolita against his cheek and on his shoulder and the caress of the scope and wood stock comforted him but had also brought him great pain. But this was not the time to become maudlin. He had a job. One that would enlarge his bank account and maybe deliver the solace he’d struggled so hard to find.

Ever so slowly he released his breath as his index finger rested on the trigger. As he let go the last of his breath, Jaeger squeezed the trigger. The whiz of the bullet rang through the air and blended with the cacophony of birds in the untamed Colombian jungle. Jaeger released the shell, inhaled again, and aligned his second shot. Dead-on, the bullet pierced Carlos Quintanilla’s skull, and blood oozed from the hole. Quintanilla fell over in the lounger. The young man dropped to his knees and covered his mouth with his hands. The angle of his body made it impossible for Jaeger to kill him, but he’d maim him until he was onsite and could finish the deed. This better involve a bonus. And not a two-fer-one sale.

The second shot, strategically aimed at the young man’s side, tore through his ribs and pierced a lung, incapacitating him until Jaeger arrived. The man dropped.

Jaeger slung his minipack onto his back, hoisted Lolita onto his shoulder by her strap, and jogged through the foliage. Normally the slight trek would have taken about ten minutes on solid ground, but in the thick of the Colombian jungle, half a mile could take up to an hour. Jaeger didn’t have the luxury of wasted time. He humped the half mile as fast and expediently as the surrounding area allowed and arrived at the fortress in less than thirty minutes.

Careful and mindful of any unwanted guests, Jaeger quickly entered through a low-lying wall on the back side and made his way to the pool area. The silence was welcome, except for the slight whimpers of the wounded bystander. Jaeger verified Quintanilla’s death and turned his attention to the young man who struggled for breath as his lungs obviously filled with blood and his heart enlarged and worked overtime to pump. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His soulful chocolate-brown eyes pooled with tears as he peered up at Jaeger. Blood, snot, and tears did not detract from the young man’s good looks. In retrospect Jaeger realized he was Quintanilla’s son and not a boy toy.

Jaeger removed his Sig from the side holster and aimed. The young man resignedly closed his eyes. Sadness illuminated Jaeger’s soul at the prospect of taking an innocent, but no witnesses were allowed. And Jaeger was paid to kill. He wasn’t quite sure where his feeling emanated from, but a job was a job, and Jaeger and the team were being paid handsomely. The boy had the misfortune to be born into the Quintanilla family and grow up the son of a notorious drug runner. Maybe not so innocent, then—tainted by his genealogy. Jaeger pulled the trigger. The sound was louder than usual.

Amazon
Dreamspinner Press
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Paperback

~~~~~

2017 ©Evelise Archer All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

The Vampire's Coqui

Blurb~ [Siren Classic ManLove: Erotic Alternative Paranormal Consensual BDSM Romance, M/M, vampires, shape-shifters, spanking, sex toys, HEA]

Diablo loves his ranch, his horses, and the men he works with. He also has certain proclivities which the C & L Ranch caters to. Diablo is a Dominant and a one hundred and fifty year old vampire who desperately desires a mate and permanent sub.

Newly graduated from Veterinary School, Kristoph Karlisle answers the Vet Needed ad for the C & L Ranch. The little coquí shifter is better suited for the warmer climate and eagerly heads south towards a new job—and his fated mate.

Diablo hopes his mate is as open-minded as the other residents of the C & L Ranch, where hog tying takes on a whole new meaning.

A Siren Erotic Romance

STORY EXCERPT

Kristoph’s heart skipped a full beat or maybe two and the sweat trickled down his back at the bomb just dropped on his lap. The polo shirt began to stick to him and he hoped his deodorant did the job. Diablo Rivera-Calderon was an imposing figure of a man. Sexy, wore a pair of jeans as if they’d been painted on, Kristoph’s new boss, and oh yeah—his mate. Never did Kristoph think he’d move hours away from his current home not only for a job but also to find his mate—life mate as Diablo called him. Coquíes did not necessarily mate for life nor believe in life mates. They knew mates existed and from the moment Kristoph laid eyes on Diablo his scent called to him and he knew the attraction strong, but a life mate?

Usually coquí unions were arranged by the parents or some older relative for the sake of procreation and keeping their shifter population thriving. They rarely mated outside the species. Kristoph’s parents were a perfect example. Their marriage had been arranges and they brought six children into the world. Unlike their animal counterpart which laid up to twenty five eggs per year, the shifter coquí usually had a child every year and a half. Kristoph sometimes wondered if they only stayed together out of habit, and because it was expected He certainly didn’t think they loved each other and when they tried to arrange a marriage for him, Kristoph left his island home of Puerto Rico for the sunnier pastures of Florida. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, a scholarship from the University of Pennsylvania to study paid off in more than one way. The weather may not have been what he’d originally sought, but now relocating to Virginia…

Confused, Kristoph wondered if all the ramblings of his parents about survival and procreation was just their way to keep him in line, especially once he told them he was gay. They were appalled and screamed it was his duty to marry a nice coquí-shifter girl and keep the species thriving. Once his parents informed him they had an arranged marriage for him, Kristoph left and never looked back. Lies. Everything they told him—lies.

“I don’t know if I believe in life mates.” Kristoph had a hard time looking Diablo in the eyes. He already didn’t want to disappoint his mate. “My parents always told me coquíes married for procreation, rarely love. We only bred with each other.”

“Cariño, I can’t speak for your parents, but I can sure as hell tell you with one hundred percent assuredness, you are my mate. A vampire’s nose is never wrong, nor hearing, and you smell like sunshine and sea salt.” Kristoph kept his eyes transfixed on their joined hands and the slight caress of Diablo’s finger on his wrist.

“But what if you’re wrong and I’m not the man for you. Are you even gay?” whispered Kristoph.

Slight pressure on his chin forced his face up, and he peered into Diablo’s eyes. Kristoph saw Diablo’s dark pupils dilate with conflicting emotion, understanding and lust. Kristoph inhaled before speaking again. “Are you? Gay?”

“Yes, I am, but even if I wasn’t, a mate is a mate. And we never forsake a mate. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Kristoph timidly shrugged his shoulder at Diablo’s words. “You are it for me, Dr. Kristoph Karlisle. My life mate. And no matter how long it takes, I will prove myself to you.”

Kristoph watched the man’s plump lips as he spoke. A shudder passed through Kristoph’s body at the inflection in Diablo’s voice. The man was determined to convince him of his sincerity and tenacity of their mating. A surge of pride flowed in Kristoph, knowing someone thought him so important. Kristoph licked his lips, his throat dry like the Sahara as he swallowed. He needed a drink of the lemonade but he feared moving, not wanting to break the spell.

ADULT EXCERPT

“One of us is a tad bit overdressed.” Kristoph sat transfixed at the beacon—Diablo’s dick—that led the way to the bed. Brought out of his trance, Kristoph found himself yanked to the foot of the bed by his ankles. A sharp claw protruded from Diablo’s finger and swept up one side of his khakis and down the other, underwear included. Clothes ripped off and naked from the waist down, Kristoph suddenly felt very vulnerable.

“Diablo?”

“I’m sorry, cariño, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I promise to replace the pants.” The bed dipped, Diablo’s body surrounding his as he crab-crawled to the head of the bed.

“Shirt, please, unless you want to lose that, too.” Kristoph whipped the polo over his head and unceremoniously tossed it on the floor. Naked, his tan skin was a contrast to his pale lover.

“Beautiful.” Kristoph smiled at Diablo’s compliment.

Kristoph’s flesh goose bumped as Diablo’s wicked tongue grazed across each nipple and down his sternum to his belly button. An unmanly giggle escaped as that tongue dipped into his belly button and swirled. Oh, to have that killer tongue on his cock.

He was soon pleasantly surprised when Diablo lapped at the pre-cum pooled on the tip of his dick.

“Oh fuck, Diablo. Please, Sir.” The honorific slipped from his lips so easily. To have a master as special and sexy as Diablo made his heart soar.

Kristoph wanted to scream the slower Diablo licked him, suckling his balls and then dipping his tongue into the slit of his bulbous head. Diablo repeated the action and Kristoph searched for all the patience he could muster. He scrunched his eyes shut and tightly grasped the sheets. Movement made him open his eyes and he peered up, face to face with Diablo’s green eyes.

“Let’s take the edge off, or I can guarantee once I get into your tight ass, I won’t last long.” Kristoph shuddered, the feel of his mate’s body aligned next to his, combining their sweat and masculinity. Moving to his side and sliding down slightly, he lined his cock next to Diablo’s. The vampire’s large callused hand wrapped around both their dicks. The pre-cum, which oozed from the two slits, eased the way for the man to stroke them effortlessly—up and down, twisting the knobs ever so slightly, catching more of the drippings.

Kristoph panted, his breath ragged and mouth agape. Moans of pleasure emanated from him as the hunky vampire brought them close to completion.

Timing the movement of his hips with the slide of Diablo’s hand, his cock skimmed along the velvety steel of Diablo’s dick.

“Close, Diablo, so close.” As if the man knew just what he needed, Diablo’s pinky pressed into his slit, creating a volcanic eruption of cum. The vampire continued to milk both of them, Diablo’s orgasm mere seconds behind. Their combined scents and spent seed covered their bellies. Diablo’s rhythmic circling of their cum on Kristoph’s stomach brought forth a faint smile and chuckle.

“That was…nice.” Kristoph turned his head into the crook of Diablo’s neck and kissed him lightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard.” He felt safe in the strong sinewy arms wrapped around him like a protective covering.

“You know, I do need pants, though, before we go downstairs to eat.”

* * * *

Diablo was a happy vampire. Light snores and wispy breaths came from the man presently relaxed and asleep in his arms. His mate. The only thing that would make this moment better would be if Diablo had fucked and bitten Kristoph, sealing them together forever. Soon enough.

Diablo nuzzled the top of his mate’s head. The tendrils soft against his face, his hair smelled like coconut with the underlying scent of sunshine.

His little coquí had a beautiful body, sleek and compact. The man couldn’t be taller than five feet seven inches. Only a slight hint of his island ancestry, his skin radiated peaches and cream. He twirled his finger in the long shoulder-length shaggy blond hair—streaks of chocolate brown sporadically placed.

“Hey.” Kristoph’s sleep-ridden voice whispered across Diablo’s collarbone. “I must have dozed off.”

“No worries, cariño, I’ll never balk at the chance to have you in my arms. How about we wash the dried cum off and go eat. Then we can discuss our true mating.”

“Perfect.” A quick shower, a change of clothes, and now the forgotten dinner.

Diablo reheated each of their plates, and they ate side by side in companionable silence. The last plátano eaten, Diablo pushed his dish aside and reached for Kristoph’s hand.

“When we mate, I’ll bite you in the neck and suck your life’s blood—just enough until I can feel you in my system, as my seed spills into you. Then I’ll bite my wrist, and let you drink from me. We’ll feel our beings, our souls melding into one, and then our mating is complete. My parents are life mates, and they’ve always told me it’s an intensely satisfying and erotic experience. We’ll feel each other wherever we are, together or apart. We’ll be able to communicate mentally.” Diablo waited for a few seconds to allow Kristoph to take in all he said. “Are you sure this is something you want?”

Diablo noticed the intensity in Kristoph’s eyes as he spoke. “Yes, Diablo, I want to be mated to you for life. With all that it brings.”

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2016 ©Evelise Archer All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.