Sunday, January 6, 2019

Week at a Glance: 12/31/18 - 1/6/19

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Iron Eagle Gym by Sean Michael Part 3

The Eager Boy #6
Eight months ago Robin Secoya left his lover and master, Stack Lobond, because he didn’t believe Stack really cared about him. He was sure that for Stack, any warm body would do, and Robin wasn’t willing to be just a warm body anymore.

A chance meeting at the Iron Eagle Gym brings them back together, and old feelings aren’t far from the surface. They decide they can’t pass up a second chance at romance. But this time, it isn’t just Stack’s demanding career as a big-cat vet putting strain on their relationship. Robin also has a new job that takes up a lot of his time.

Will their kinky love affair crash and burn a second time, or can they find the balance that will allow the passion between them to flourish?

The Gentle Dom #7
When one of their own is threatened, the men of the Iron Eagle Gym will stand together and prove they are stronger as a family.

Stuntman Barclay Drambor suspects his fall from a roof was no accident. He believes his abusive ex was responsible, but he can’t prove it. Fortunately, a year has gone by with no word from Duncan, letting Barclay move on with his life—and that means dealing with the aftermath of his injuries. He finds personal trainer Reece “Rec” Gordon through a member of the gym, and it’s not long before their workouts together become much more intimate. Rec is gentle and goes out of his way to make Barclay comfortable, and in no time there’s talk of moving in together….

But just as Barclay is healing and finding a place to belong, Duncan returns to destroy his happiness. Though Duncan will learn he’s messing with the wrong group of men, in the end, Barclay must face him. Will Rec’s love and the friendship of the others at the gym give him the confidence to stand up for himself?

The Eager Boy #5
Chapter One
“IS HE here, Jim?” Robin didn’t want trouble. He didn’t want confrontation. He just wanted to run where it was dry.

Jim shook his head. “He left about an hour ago.”

“Cool. Thanks. I’m in and out. I hate this weather.” It made his joints ache, made him nervous.

“Yeah, it sucks. This should be a safe place for you, though. You shouldn’t have to worry about who you’re going to bump into.” Jim passed him a towel.

“Shh. Don’t get into trouble on my account, okay?” It was stupid to keep showing up here, but he loved it, loved that it was gay and BDSM-oriented and a great fucking gym. He had found a tiny little studio two blocks away, furnished and everything. “I found a job, did I tell you? I’m working at the Himes Gallery.”

“Yeah? That’s so great. We should go out and celebrate when you’re done with your run.”

“Sure. I’m ready for something stronger than coffee.” His mas—Stack hadn’t approved of alcohol, but that wasn’t an issue anymore. The simple fact was, Stack hadn’t approved of him, full stop.

“All right, it’s a date.” Jim grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

“You’re off in, what? An hour?”

“Forty-five minutes. Then I have to change. So yeah, an hour.” Jim laughed.

“I’ll see you in an hour, honey. We’ll get our martini on.”

Jim kissed his cheek, and it was nice having a little human contact. “It’s a date.” Jim gave him a last smile, then turned to a man who’d just come in. “Good evening, Master Davis, how may I help you?”

Robin headed to the back of the gym, searching for the treadmills on the first floor. He wasn’t allowed upstairs anymore. Those floors were for the Dominants and their subs, and he was neither of those. And it was all his idea.

“I need more, Stack. I need your attention. I need you to listen to me.”

Stack had stood there, silent and stern, while he ranted and raved and begged. Then his master had said, “I’m not into that romantic bullshit, boy.”

So he’d left. He’d stayed with Saw for a few weeks, assuming that Stack would come for him, call him, something. But no. Nothing had happened, and the money he had in his little account had run out and he’d relearned living on his own.

Robin thought he was doing pretty well. He had a furnished apartment and a job. Saw had thrown him a little housewarming party, and now he had towels and sheets and a pair of small blue dishes.

He tried not to think about how sad that was. Instead he focused on his great new job, where he got to meet people, see beautiful things.

Bryan was the only other person in the gym. He was at the treadmills, running like there was something chasing him, sweating bullets like the overachiever he was.

Robin slipped onto one two machines away, put his earphones in, and started off. The music was loud and happy. No sad songs for him. None.

It was amazing how quickly forty-five minutes could pass when he was running and listening to music, one song flowing into the next. By the time he got done, he was soaked with sweat, and he wiped down the treadmill, then headed to the locker room without a word. He needed a shower. He stank.

As he stepped into the showers, he had to admit that the ones here at the Eagle were far superior to the one in his little apartment. The pressure was amazing, and it seemed like the hot water never ran out. Not ever.

He leaned forward, his hair heavy in his face, and let himself cry. In here, no one would know.

“Robin?” Jim’s voice came to him through the water. “Are you back here, honey? Are you okay?”

“Just getting clean. I got gross. Give me five.”

“Okay. No problem. I was just worried because it’s been a half hour more than the hour you said you needed. But if you’re okay, that’s good. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

“Five minutes. I swear.” Robin turned off the water and dried his body, then pulled his jeans on with one hand while he rubbed the towel through his hair with the other. He hadn’t realized he’d been in the shower for so long.

He’d been zoning.

In a heartbeat he was downstairs, ready for Jim, ready to party. “Sorry, honey. You know how it is.”

Jim knocked their shoulders together, eyes twinkling. “I know what it means when I’m in the shower for a while.”

“Ha! Not yet. Soon, I bet, but I’m still in the crying-when-I-get-it-up stage of the breakup.”

“We need to find you a man,” Jim informed him as they went out.

“Not yet. One day.” In, like, twenty years.

“Okay, then we need to get you laid.” The street wasn’t crowded, but there were people around, coming out of restaurants and heading to clubs.

“Right now I need a few drinks and a friend, huh?”

“I can totally do that. I got paid today, so drinks are on me. The Blue Bird has half-price tequila shots for another forty minutes.”

“Rock on. Let’s go get into trouble.”

Jim laughed and hooked their arms together, skipping along like a loon and dragging Robin with him. “I’m great at trouble.”

The Gentle Dom #7
Chapter One
BARCLAY WHEELED up to the doors of the Iron Eagle gym for his PT appointment and tried not to sigh.

He could do this. He so could. This was him. Doing it.


At least they had wheelchair access and the doors into the gym itself from the lobby were good and wide.

A young man with long dark hair and a striking face was mopping the floor. “Oh! Careful. The floor is damp. Stay left and you should be okay.”

“Thanks. I have an appointment with a Reece?”

“I’ll tell the front desk.” The man went over to the desk. There were two guys, one quite young, behind it, and a tall, stacked guy standing in front of it. That was who looked over, then smiled and waved and came toward him.

You can do this. You got this. This is how you heal.

As the man approached, Barclay could see that he wasn’t quite as musclebound as he’d first thought. They were great muscles, though. Which you wanted in a personal trainer, right?

This guy had curly brown hair and bright smile that lit up his face. He moved well too, limbs loose and easy. Barclay imagined the man would do well at parkour; he walked like he had great body control.

“Hey there. You must be Barclay Drambor.”

“I am. Hey. Nice to meet you!” He raised one hand in greeting.

“Reece Gordon. But you can call me Rec. You’re several minutes early for your appointment. I like that. Shows that you’re serious.” Rec stood like he felt easy in his skin.

Barclay used to stand like that. When he was standing, that was. He had always liked to be on the move. Fucking chair made that a little hard right now.

“I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going.” He hated being late, and if he was headed somewhere new, he’d give himself more time than the GPS claimed he needed.

“You didn’t have any trouble finding us, though, right?” Rec continued when Barclay shook his head. “Cool. Let’s go into the gym, you can see what the setup is, and then I’ll do an interview with you—find out where you are in your recovery, what your goals are, how much time you have to put into it, that kind of thing.”

“Fair enough. Lead the way.” He wanted to get started so he could have that done. It would be easier to keep going than it was to have wheeled in here in the first place.

“You got it.” Rec headed to the double doors across the front lobby, hitting the button to open them automatically. “You should be able to make your way around the first floor without any problems. And there are showers on this floor.”

“Good deal.” He’d shower at home where he felt safe, but it was good to know it was possible to do it here.

“So as you can see, we have a large variety of equipment. We’ve got freestanding weights as well as the various machines for muscle targeting, and you’ll be able to work out every part of your body, even from the chair. There are tons of cardio options as well, including the hand bikes, so you’ll be able to get moving there right away too.” Rec sat on one of the equipment benches and opened his iPad. “Okay. Let’s talk turkey.”

“I’m cleared to work out. I broke three vertebrae, but my spinal cord is intact. I broke my left arm in three places, my right leg, and my hip.” He rattled his injuries off emotionlessly, like they were someone else’s. “I’m ready to get out of the chair.”

“Damn, that’s impressive. Do you mind if I ask how it happened?” Rec’s eyes were hazel—the kind that were almost light brown but for a few flecks of green in them—and they weren’t judgy or full of pity.

“I was doing some stunt work and fell off a building. I fell four stories.” Fell. Was pushed. Whatever. Rec didn’t need to know his theory on that.

“Oh man. I take it you’re lucky to be alive, eh?” Rec shook his head.

Yeah, except just alive wasn’t anywhere near enough. “That’s the rumor. I intend to be back to work.” Maybe not soon, but someday.

“Good for you. I’m glad you chose me to help you get there. So what kind of time are you looking at dedicating to this?” Rec pulled up a scheduling app.

“I’m not working right now, and I have some savings. I’m shooting for Monday, Wednesday, Friday.” He could do cardio in between just wheeling himself around the block a few times. The chair was surprisingly hard work. He could have gotten one of the fancy electric ones, but that would have been significantly more expensive. Besides, the self-propelled variety were a better workout. That’s what he told himself anyway.

“Sounds good. For a half hour to begin with?” Rec suggested. “We can work up from there, add in some cardio in between as you grow stronger.”

“Let’s do an hour. I can handle it.” A half hour three times a week was not going to give him the results he wanted.

“How about we start with a half hour for the first week, and we can talk about turning it into an hour the next week?” Rec countered.

“Fair enough.” Barclay needed to get back on the horse, start riding.

“It’s good that you’re eager, and I understand wanting to put in a lot of work, but if you go at it too hard right off the bat, you risk hurting yourself or aching so badly you don’t want to come back.” Rec’s eyes were kind and his voice deep, even.

He still didn’t see any pity there, but he straightened his spine and raised his chin all the same. “I’m not a pussy. I can take it.”

“There’s nothing weak about taking things slowly and giving your body time to heal, time to get used to redoing things.” Rec laid a hand on his leg. “Trust me. I’m on your side.”

“Thanks. I’m just… I’m ready. I need to get back to normal.” He needed this more than anything. It wasn’t only a need to be doing better physically—he needed to be able to move.

“I hear you. Pushing too hard, too fast can actually set you back, though. Okay? All right. Are you ready to start now? We can run through the machines we’re going to use, see what weights you’re good to start at, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah. I’m ready. Let’s do this.” He grabbed his weight gloves out of his pocket, telling himself he wasn’t worried.

“All right. You’re going to do great.” Rec stood and led him over to a machine with a bar currently above his head. “Let’s start with ten pounds and see how you do.” Rec set the pin to ten pounds and brought the bar down for him. “From your shoulder to your waist.”

This should be imminently doable. Barclay got himself in and out of the chair before he could use his legs at all, right?

They got up to forty pounds before Rec stopped him and put it back down to twenty-five. “Okay, I know you want to actually start, so ten reps, rest for thirty seconds, then ten more.”

Barclay worked doggedly, refusing to let up, forcing himself to work, to get stronger.

They went through a number of machines, focusing on his arms and torso, back and core before they got to the ones where he’d have to move out of the chair.

He set his brake, his arms shaking hard. “Let me get my crutches.”

He pulled out the arm crutches and unfolded them.

“Hold on.” Rec put a hand on his arm and shook his head. “I think you’ve done enough for today. Next time we’ll start with your legs so your arms aren’t tired.”

“You sure? I can do it.” He totally fucking could, dammit.

“I’m sure you can. But I’m also sure it’ll be a better experience for you if we wait to do your legs next time. You did great here today. I know you think it wasn’t much, but it was a lot. And we’re already at the half-hour mark.”

“Okay.” Okay, he guessed it was time to catch a bus and go home. “I’ll be back Wednesday, ready to work.”

“You need any help with the showers?” Rec asked as they headed toward the locker room.

“I’ll just…. It’s gonna be slick. I’ll take care of it at home.” He didn’t want to fall again.

“I’m happy to help—no judgment or shame. And there’s a wheelchair-accessible stall. If you want—it’s entirely up to you.” Rec held the door open for him.

“Thanks.” He wheeled himself through. “I can probably manage, thanks.”

“Probably?” One of Rec’s eyebrows went up.

That made him laugh and feel a bit better. “I can totally manage on my own.” Especially as he wasn’t actually showering.

“Okay, cool. I’ll see you on Wednesday.” Rec squeezed his shoulder and headed out, leaving him alone in the locker room.

He sat there until someone else came in, then wheeled himself out and headed for the bus stop. His muscles were tired, but pushing through all the shit had gotten him this far and he’d be damned if he stopped now.

REC GOT up early on Wednesday morning and went in to put in an hour of weights before his first client. Today was his busy day. He had Allen at nine for an hour and a half. Allen was training for a marathon, and they were building up his endurance. Then he had the new guy—Barclay—at eleven. He was legs today. Figuring out what he could do. Rec suspected today would be harder than their first session because the guy wasn’t going to be able to work his lower body muscles as hard as he’d worked his torso and upper body the other day. After that Rec had to head out to the Goodlife Fitness down the road and run three different group classes, and then he had a last client session at eight tonight. Thank goodness they weren’t all Wednesdays.

He took a quick shower up on the Doms’ floor after his workout and ran into Tyrone in the locker room as he was getting dressed. They exchanged pleasantries and Tyrone seemed to have a few moments, so he decided it was as good a time as any to bring up a proposal he’d been thinking of.

“I wanted to talk to you about maybe putting together some classes.” He’d signed on to do the Goodlife ones because he had the time and they were decent money, but he thought that some courses would make a great addition to Iron Eagle’s repertoire.

“Classes, eh?” Tyrone leaned against a set of lockers. “What sort of classes?”

“Well, we could do all sorts, depending on what the clientele is looking for. Cardio dance, cardio step, muscle building, stretching. I bet with the obstacle training course out back, you could do a ninja warrior course or two. I think folks would eat that up. You could run a survey to figure out interest.”

“That’s an interesting idea. I’ll suggest it. In the end, it’ll come down to what the boss wants, but I’ll definitely bring it up. I take it you’re interested in teaching if we do put some together?”

Rec nodded. “Oh yeah. I’d love to.”

“And you’ve got some experience with what the routines might look like with these kinds of courses.”

“Yeah, I’ve been doing a few down the road for about six months now.” And anything he didn’t know, he could totally do research on. Like the ninja warrior course.

“Okay. If you get tagged for actually putting together the courses and setting up the schedules and stuff, it’s your own fault.” Tyrone gave him a wink.

That had him chuckling. “Gotcha. I hate to propose and run, but I’ve got to go—I’ve got a client.”

Tyrone waved him off and started stripping out of his street clothes.

Rec pushed Allen hard for an hour and a half, pleased with the progress the guy was making, then did some paperwork as he waited for Barclay to show. He was looking forward to this session, to seeing where Barclay was at with his legs. He knew this was where the real work would be.

The man was a little early again, and that pleased Rec. He liked punctuality and dedication. He liked not having his time wasted, and being on time or early meant he was being respected.

Going over to Barclay, he shook his hand and led the way into the gym. “So how are you feeling? Were you very sore after Monday’s session? Any residual soreness?”

“I’m good.”

Rec had a feeling that would have been Barclay’s answer no matter what the truth was. He’d have to watch and make sure the guy didn’t push himself too far. It really would be more of a hindrance than a help. The trick was figuring out where the line lay between working hard and pushing too far.

“You have a good day yesterday?” he asked.

Barclay shrugged. “It was a day. I just want to get back to my old self again.”

“You’ll get there, I swear. I know these first few weeks are going to feel like you’re moving slower than a snail’s pace, but they’re the foundation for everything else.” Dedication and desire would take Barclay far.

“Sure. Yeah.” Barclay wore sweats and a T-shirt, the bottoms loose, covering up Barclay’s musculature.

Rec already knew that the guy’s upper-body muscles were actually pretty good, if a little rusty. They could fix that easily. He suspected Barclay might be doing a bit of free-weight work on his arms at home, and God knew wheeling the chair around could build up more than a little muscle. But Rec had no idea how much work Barclay’s legs were going to take until they put in some time.

Rec stopped at the first machine. “Okay. We’ll start with your hamstrings.”

Barclay grunted and grabbed his crutches. Rec stepped back, knowing his help would not be appreciated. Barclay was clearly determined—and stubborn—and he got himself to the machine. Rec started with five pounds and worked slowly up before cutting the weight back and getting Barclay to do his first rep.

He explained which muscle group each machine worked as they moved through them, though he suspected that Barclay didn’t need the lessons. Still, it filled the silence, and Barclay didn’t tell him to stop.

Barclay’s left leg was much stronger than his right, which, given his injuries, made total sense. Rec made a few notes so he could tailor Barclay’s future workouts. He’d put together a set routine for Friday, and once Barclay had run that, he’d know where to tweak it.

By the time the half hour was up, Barclay was clearly done. He nearly fell moving back from the last piece of equipment to his chair. Rec wasn’t surprised, and he didn’t make a big deal out of it.

He did call a stop to the workout. “Okay, that’s our half hour. You did a great job today. It’s the first time you’ve worked those muscles in a long time, and your right side has to relearn everything. I’m really pleased with how much you pushed today.”

Barclay snorted, looking less than impressed.

“It’s the first time you’ve worked out your right side since the injury,” Rec repeated. “Trust me, you’re doing great. I can see that the muscle you’re going to be working out the most is your patience.”

Barclay actually laughed at the joke, looking almost surprised at himself. Rec clapped him on the back.

“Did you need help getting to the locker room or dealing with the shower?” He liked to be early for his classes at the Goodlife, but he certainly had time to give a helping hand if it was needed.

Barclay refused, just as he’d done on Monday. Rec did make sure he made it to the locker room okay. He didn’t offer to push the chair there—he was pretty sure his offer would be refused and Barclay would be affronted.

“I’ll see you on Friday, then.”

“I’ll be here,” Barclay assured him.

“Good. I’ve got to get going so I’ll leave you to it.” He gave Barclay’s shoulder a squeeze. There was something about Barclay that drew him in, made him want to get to know the guy better, to get more than a few words out of him.

He’s a client, Rec reminded himself as he headed out. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Barclay needed him as more than just a personal trainer.

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Iron Eagle Gym
Part 1  /  Part 2

Author Bio:
Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and persuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to "Chicago."

A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.

Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.


The Eager Boy #6

The Gentle Dom #7

Release Blitz: Elias by Erin E Keller

Title: Elias
Author: Erin E Keller
Series: Landmeadow #1
Genre: M/M Romance
Release Date: January 5, 2019
Publisher: JMS Books
Detective Thomas Doyle has been living a lonely, compartmentalized life ever since the death of his life partner, Aiden. He vowed never to let anybody get close to him again -- the pain of losing a loved one is too much to bear. Despite his vow, Thomas is lonely, and has a number of one-night stands, sexual encounters with unnamed men he doesn’t care to remember. Then he meets Elias.

Elias Byrne knows the pain of abuse and rejection intimately. Unable to escape the clutches of his older brother, Elias dreams of someone to love, and of being loved in return. He admires Thomas, but the detective never pays him any notice. In a desperate attempt to get closer to him, Elias steals his wallet, then gives it back the next day.

Pretty soon, Thomas feels a strong attraction to the fiery, arrogant, younger man. Elias intrigues him, but he resists his growing feelings because he doesn’t want to get hurt again.

When Thomas rescues Elias from his abusive brother, can he also rescue them both from the loneliness that threatens to consume them? Can Elias conquer the detective’s hardened heart and find the love he always longed for? Or will Thomas stubbornly refuse to give himself another chance at love?

The Black Sheep’s lights were soft; people’s shadows moving inside seemed like dark souls waiting for a body to enter. In fact, people came to this specific pub for that reason. He wasn’t the first to use the privacy given by the place to find a hot body to lose himself in. Thomas entered and looked around, a worried expression of his face. His fists clenched, arms stiff at his sides. He headed to the bar and leaned an elbow on it, observing the surrounding people, the darkest corners, the private rooms, and the dance floor, a small area that only fit a few people. The music was rhythmic but not too fast. It was kind of sensual, so different from the folk music you usually heard in most Irish pubs.

Adrian, the barman, slid a glass in his direction.

“Here you go, the usual,” he said, winking.

Thomas nodded and answered with half a smile, putting the money on the counter. He turned away for a few moments before looking back at Adrian.

“Do you know Elias?” he asked.

Adrian seemed to think for a moment. “Thin, black hair, even darker eyes, sexy as hell?”

Thomas blinked. From the description, it sounded like Elias, even if Thomas didn’t personally find him sexy as hell. That is, he couldn’t deny what he’d seen under those long locks was something magnetic, that his body seemed thin but not skinny, but ...

Thomas shook his head. He was a boy. And a thief. And a stalker. And who knew what else? And he wasn’t interested in him in that way.

“I think so,” he finally replied.

Adrian smiled and gestured to a hidden corner of the tiny dance floor. There, wearing a pair of tight jeans and a white T-shirt, was Elias, dancing with a guy behind him who had one hand on his chest and the other on his belly. His eyes were closed, and he was moving his pelvis. Sexy as hell, actually. His head was reclined, leaning on the shoulder of the man behind him, and he had his hand by his side as he swayed.

Thomas picked up his drink and took a long sip. That boy owed him an explanation. Suddenly, he realized he couldn’t accuse him of anything without some kind of evidence. For a very short moment, doubt ran through his mind: had it really been Elias, or had Thomas finally lost it? Maybe when he’d been twirling under the rain like an idiot fighting his panic attack?

When he looked at the dance floor again, Elias had disappeared.

“What the fuck!” he burst out, frustrated, a second before feeling somebody touch him, a solid body pushing against his back and a voice speaking in his ear, softly enough so as not to be heard by anyone else.

“If they told me to choose who to fuck, I would choose you.”

Thomas turned suddenly and almost spilled his Guinness on himself.

There he was -- Elias.

Thomas observed him for a few moments, and his brain registered different things. This time, he could see Elias’s face, even if it was barely lit. It was a very unusual face: thin, big black eyes, a sharp nose, and a large, full mouth. Elias wasn’t as thin as he first seemed. Or, yes, he was thin, but the right definition would have been slim. The stretch T-shirt highlighted his long muscles, as well as his tight jeans, which underlined the contour of his hips, molding his legs. His hair was long at the front and really, really black. His gaze in that moment was particularly intense. The corners of his mouth were turned up in half a smirk.

Thomas suddenly looked away from his lips, the taste of which he could still feel on his mouth, and took a sip of beer.

“I saw you while I was dancing. You came looking for me,” Elias continued.

It wasn’t a question. It was an assertion.

“No. I came looking for my wallet.”

Sure, he could have beaten around the bush, but this guy somehow got on his nerves, and he wasn’t in the mood for acting kindly. He waited for a question from him, even outrage. What he wasn’t expecting was Elias taking his hand, turning it over, and putting the wallet in it.

“And what does this mean?” Thomas growled. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

“Isn’t that your wallet? Didn’t you come here for it? Here it is. No joke.” Elias’s expression was unperturbed.

“You stole it.”

“Had it on loan.”

“I could report you.” Better yet, I could arrest you. But he didn’t say that out loud because he didn’t want Elias to know anything else about him.

“Does it look like I’m stopping you from doing anything you want to do?”

Author Bio:
Erin is Irish in her heart and soul, and she hopes she’ll move to the Emerald Island one day. She lives with her husband and their cats in a house near a wheat field.

She has been writing for years, but admits she is a very undisciplined writer. The problem is that handling a couple of jobs makes it almost impossible to write every day. She loves letting her mind wander through the real world. She likes to write contemporary M/M romance because she loves love. And men. 

For more information, please visit her website.



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