That’s right…my next Pulp
Friction 2015: Altered States book is out. :)
Available: Amazon ~ ARe ~ Smashwords
Blurb:
In a world where
supernatural creatures openly exist, who can blame them for coalescing in one
of the most fascinating and erotic places on earth? Welcome to New Orleans.
Emotions are a human flaw, certainly nothing he’s
familiar with...
Yet when Laurant looks at
his mysterious lover, something happens deep within him. He’s a sex demon who
has eyes for only one man. Man? When did he stop referring to his lover as a
meal? And when did he turn into a green-eyed demon? Perhaps when family came
calling, requesting help. No one wants their lover surrounded by sex demons. If
Laurant can’t get a grip on his newly found emotions, humans and supernaturals
alike will be in danger.
He lost his one chance of finding out who he is, what
he is...
Gun’s been hunting down
the witch that pilfered his memories and issued him false ones to no avail.
It’s like she disappeared off the face of the earth. Unfortunately, that
scenario is quite plausible. It leaves Gun with a major dead end and a mind
that is no longer his friend. Memories of a false love with a beautiful woman
hinder his present unexplainable need for a certain incubus. But does he truly
belong here…with a lover who can’t feel love, a city that isn’t his home, and a
ragtag group of poker players that now call him friend? It’s time for Gun to
forget the past and create a future for himself. At least the forgetting part
is simple.
They both have personal
issues to conquer, if they could just stop trying to conquer each other first.
 |
| I freaking love Laurant! <3 |
Pulp Friction 2015
Blind Hearts
King of Hearts book Four
Pulp Friction book Fourteen
Round One:
Round Two:
Round Three:
Round Four:
Dead Man’s Hand ~ Blind Hearts
~ High
Stakes (9/15) ~ Diamond Flush (10/1)
Gun stood at the bedroom door of the double-gallery house in
the Garden District that he cohabited with a sex demon. The house was
understated compared to a lot of the villas around it, which suited Gun fine.
He loved the wrought iron work surrounding the galleries much better than the
more commonly found white columns.
It hadn’t been his idea to relocate from the Burgundy Street
cottage to here. If anything, he could probably claim the decision was forced
on him—except he’d accepted the rational argument Jet made and agreed with his
logic. Dahlia still posed a danger to Gun, and Laurant by association.
Earlier in the year, Gun had blinked and suddenly stood in
the middle of Burgundy Street with no memory of how he got there, where there
was, or even who he was. The feeling was unnerving to say the least. Everyone experienced
the sensation of waking up and having that split second of pure terror because
they couldn’t remember where they were, especially if they fell asleep in a
foreign place. But to be fully awake and suddenly you knew absolutely nothing
about you or your surroundings—that put terror on a whole different level. He’d
assumed he knew everything the second before his mind blacked out, but he
couldn’t even testify that he’d been standing in that particular spot the
moment the darkness enveloped him.
Luckily—that word used quite loosely—Gun caught the
interested eye of one slightly bored and extremely playful sex demon.
Unfortunately when questioned about that day, Laurant couldn’t recall if he’d
seen Gun there for a while or if the mystery man had just appeared out of nowhere.
Nobody in the crowd had gasped or stumbled in surprise, so he and Laurant
ventured to think, no, Gun hadn’t just magickly appeared.
But that was the problem with magick…use the right kind and
no one would notice him unexpectedly popping in.
When they finally realized that Dahlia was indeed the one
who’d completely wiped out Gun’s memory, it was a logical jump to the
conclusion that she perhaps possessed an adequate amount of power to send him
anywhere she wanted. The thing that perturbed Gun and the others was why she had
picked New Orleans. This city easily had one of the highest supernatural populations
in the world, and it steadily increased on a monthly basis. If she’d wanted to
suppress Gun’s abilities, wouldn’t she have kept him as far from any hotspots
as she could? Or was there some connection behind dropping him in the Big Easy?
All of these questions, plus many more, were just pieces in
a jigsaw puzzle—possibly many puzzles—that Laurant and his friends were
investigating.
So Gun did as Jet instructed and moved to another residence.
Not far from the old one either. Jet wasn’t terribly happy—he either wanted
them on pack land or out of Louisiana all together—though he didn’t phrase it
quite so nicely.
But just like Gun couldn’t argue with the Alpha’s logic, Jet
also couldn’t completely ignore Gun’s reasoning either. The population in the
New Orleans area was well over a million, and since Laurant’s friend owned the
double-gallery house, nothing connected the sex demon to the property. Which,
in turn, meant it would be extremely difficult for someone to track Gun to his
new location. That, added to the fact that Dahlia had lost all elements of
surprise, made staying in the area a seemingly reasonable solution.
In truth, whether the Alpha agreed or not, Gun wouldn’t have
left. He’d spent the last two months hunting down every single iota of information
he’d uncovered about his mysterious witchy wife…and
he would continue doing so until he found her, wrapped his hands around her
delicate throat, and squeezed the truth out of her.
She did worse than kill him; she’d stolen who he was and
left him with nothing but a hollow shell to survive on. Either she was pure
evil…or perhaps he’d been.
Which brought him to another reason he was wary of leaving
the city. He missed the Burgundy cottage. No matter how unreasonable it
sounded, that cottage was the only place his memory held onto as a home.
Dahlia inserted into his mind a loft located over a simple
magic store on Juniper Hill in Castle Rock. But a couple of calls proved that
memory as false as the rest of them.
A faint mumbling interrupted his introspection, reminding
him why he stood there staring at the heavy oak door.
The murmurs were distorted enough that he couldn’t make out
the words, but definitely two distinct voices.
It was a small solace that he hadn’t tipped the scales into
madness, that he indeed heard a commotion. Laurant really did have someone in
there with him even though he’d entered the room completely alone not fifteen
minutes earlier.
Gun unabashedly leaned closer, his ear almost pressed
against the wood. He wished he had excellent hearing like the wolf…or
vampire…or maybe the ghost and seer did also. He knew from prior experiences
that the incubus unquestionably did.
What an enigmatic group of friends—and lover, he angrily
curled his lip at the door—he’d obtained since waking up to his now life half a
year ago. Many times, he’d fathomed that even if he rid himself of these fake
memories implanted in his head, exchanged them for the original ones, he would
remain here in New Orleans with these eclectic people. There was a pull to this
town that kept him coming back no matter how many times he ventured away during
his search for his old life.
He focused again when a female voice cooed through the thick
wood. The tenor of her voice brought thoughts of satisfaction to him; she was
pleased with whatever had just occurred.
He held no remorse for eavesdropping. Laurant wouldn’t
hesitate to overhear someone else’s conversation, and damn sure wouldn’t feel
bad about doing it either.
A feminine, overly exuberant giggle filled the brief silence
after the moan of pleasure. Another high-pitched burst of happiness overlapped
the first. Two women?
Even though Gun didn’t know much about himself, he’d proven
more than once that he was a very patient and calm man in the face of most concerns.
Except where the incubus was involved.
He twisted the doorknob to no avail. The demon had locked
him out of his own bedroom? True, technically it was the only bedroom—well, the
only room in the house with a bed. Laurant’s friend hadn’t felt the need to
fully furnish the place. Considering their varying schedules, they rarely
shared the bedroom, except for the times when they did so under the pretext of feeding.
Did the demon truly need to feed as often as they fucked?
If Laurant needed sustenance—per their deal—Gun would
provide it. But also per that very explicit contract they’d bound themselves to,
Laurant was not to feed from anyone else—man or woman. That was the arrangement,
and Gun would see the sex-crazed demon in hell before he willingly allowed him
to break the deal.
Another aspect of their relationship Gun chose not to
examine too carefully.
Of course, living in New Orleans among a drastically
increasing presence of preternatural beings, hell didn’t carry the same
connotation it used to. In fact, some supes and humans alike found the place
quite enjoyable.
Fisting his hand, he knocked heavily on the solid door three
sharp, well-paced times.
“One second, honey. We’re almost done.”
Laurant’s singsong voice grated with the same effect as
nails down a chalkboard.
After a couple moments without the door opening, Gun pursed
his lips and repeated his three abrupt blows. He could’ve added a verbal
command with the action, but refused to be reduced to such a level.
“Coming…”
But the noises emanating from the room betrayed Laurant’s claim.
There were no footsteps on the hardwood floors, no metal on metal click of the
lock disengaging. What there were were two distinct females twittering as
sheets rustled about with a few sporadic thumps interrupting their absurd
levels of delight.
Maybe Laurant spoke the truth when he said he was coming.
Gun hesitated between raising his fist again and demanding
they open the door.
Laurant interrupted his indecision. “Yes…I’m aware you’re
still out there. One more minute, cher.”
Could the damn demon see through walls, also?
Annoyance jetted through Gun. How dare the incubus act so
blasé. They had an arrangement. Not that Gun cared whom Laurant got his jollies
from, but he was to feed from no one but Gun.
The fact that he believed Laurant couldn’t get his jollies
without feeding was inconsequential.
A tingling started deep in Gun’s solar plexus. As the
intense sensation coursed through his body, it gained in temperature and
velocity. He held up his hands facing each other, fingers splayed. All his
senses heightened when a crackling of energy transferred between the palms.
“Um…Gun? What are you doing out there?”
The obnoxious noises from the women and bed stopped
abruptly.
A blinding light obliterated his sight followed directly by
a thundering clap of destruction. Rolling heat massaged his skin as a burning
acrid smoke infiltrated his nose.
One of the bedroom occupants screamed sharply, the high-decibel
noise tinged more with a surprised tone than fear or alarm.
The brightness that threatened to burn his retinas slowly
receded.
After a few clearing blinks, Gun managed to decipher what
his eyes were trying to relay to his brain. Laurant stood near his bed, his
face probably a duplicate of Gun’s own shock, while two beautiful women lounged
on the bed wearing identical expressions.
The women weren’t overtly sensual, both completely clothed,
the short red-haired one dressed in gray sweatshorts and a matching tee shirt,
the other’s attire was just as simple, black leggings and a man’s crisp, white button-down
dress shirt. Her masses of ebony hair falling around her cherubic face in big,
loose curls the perfect topper to her unpretentious attire. Even with their
simple wardrobe and sans makeup, the women were breathtaking. Gun stared a
moment longer than polite company would appreciate.
“Well, that’s going to prove inconvenient if we decide to
fuck during poker night…unless exhibitionism is your kink.” Laurant raised his
eyebrow at Gun.
The that Laurant
referred to was the incinerated bedroom door. To be fair, only part of it
burned to a heaping pile of smoking cinders marring the authentic hardwood
floors, the remaining portion swung partially off the hinges.
“You plan to host poker on the second floor in a bedroom?”
Gun stepped through the destroyed door.
Immediately his cock hardened and his heart rate increased.
The artery in the side of his throat throbbed in time with the erection
pressing against his zip.
Sex, the room reeked of it…not the smell of sweat and cum, or
heat in the air that happens when three mouths gasp for breath in close
quarters. Yet Gun fought off the need to rip his trousers from his body and
take his penis in hand, to jack it up and down in front of these people until
he screamed a release that would explode the windows into shards. That wasn’t
enough, though. He wanted—needed more. On his knees, mouth just breaths away
from the enticing bulge at Laurant’s crotch. Fuck the buttons and material
holding hostage what Gun needed most right then, to suck his sex demon off, to use
his mouth and tongue and teeth in order for Laurant to reach completion. Gun
needed to drink down the very essence of his lover.
The desires robbed Gun of his energy.
A weakness coursed through his veins, turning his strong,
solid legs to a flimsy shell of what they once were. The struggle over his own
mind and body shocked him to the core. Is this how Laurant felt when he needed
to feed? Gun struck out with his hand, grasping the doorframe for some sort of
stability.
The entire experience lasted a split second before Gun
composed himself. He allowed his gaze to roam over Laurant’s fully clothed
body. He looked exquisitely lethal in his skintight brown leather jeans and orange
silk collarless shirt with billowing arms clasped at the wrist. The garment
wasn’t an obnoxious bright hue, more like the color of a ripe pumpkin, early
for the upcoming autumn season.
Leaning barefooted and loose-limbed against the far wall,
Laurant smirked at Gun. “Like what you see, big boy?”
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