Friday, 18 December 2015

Bad Boy Wants Man to Love

At last! The final Hill brother looks for romance!

Atticus Hill is the second oldest of the six Hill brothers. He’s also the only brother who hasn’t found his Mr. Right yet and his father’s twelve month deadline is fast running out. The only man who appeals to him is Roger King, the drummer at the gay bar Midnight on Tenth.

Roger has his own problems. He’s actually the owner of the bar, not just the drummer, but no one knows that. His parents died in a car crash when Pete, his brother, was only a few months old, and Roger, at the age of eighteen, chose to rear the baby himself, studying and working part-time as he did so. Now he’s achieved his dream. He owns the gay bar and Pete has graduated college. He wants to renovate the bar but that means telling his secret. Is it time for him to put himself first or not?

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Atticus cherished and fostered his role as the bad boy in the Hill family. From the time he could say his first word—which was no—he knew his older brother, Kai, was the driven one, the one who would ensure he succeeded. Atticus had the same black hair and black eyes as his father and brother, but he didn’t want to be a carbon copy of either of them. He rode a Harley motorcycle, always dressed completely in black, and grew his hair long and shaggy.

Right now he stood just inside the gay bar, looking at the stage for the drummer. Midnight on Tenth was the only decent gay bar in town, and Atticus was a regular visitor here, although he seldom picked up a one-night stand anymore. He was thirty-nine and even he was ready to find Mr. Right and settle down.

His decision had been hastened by his father’s edict nine months ago to all six of his sons that they had twelve months to settle down and give him some grandchildren. Since then, all five of his brothers had found their own Mr. Rights. Hell, his perfectionist brother, Storm, had even married his Mr. Right.

There were also two grandchildren for his parents to dote on. Christabelle, the girl his oldest brother Kai and his partner, Alan, had rescued, had a son, CC, born on Christmas Day. And Jude, his golden-haired, stunningly good-looking brother, was in a relationship with Stuart, who had a baby daughter, Kathleen.

Sawyer, brother number four, was happily settled with police lieutenant Mitch, and just recently his baby brother, Ross, had set up house with Perry Scott, a carpenter. Which left him the odd one out. Thirty-nine and with no one special.

No one who even made his pulses pound the slightest bit faster. Except maybe the drummer.

The drummer was tall and muscular, with brown hair and eyes, and a lot of piercings. Atticus could imagine tugging on the rings that adorned his body while they fucked. The man put a hell of a lot of effort into his drumming. He usually wore sleeveless shirts, and his skin glowed with sweat by the end of a set of music. Atticus liked the idea that his bulk was all muscle, not fat. He was a big man himself, six feet three and solid, and he liked to fuck hard and fast. He needed a fit and strong partner, not some frail twink who’d break if he pushed him against a wall and slammed his dick into his ass with no preparation.

The drummer. Mmm. The drummer was the only man who’d had even the slightest effect on his libido in months. It was time for Atticus to revert to his old bad habits and fuck the man against a wall to see if he still wanted to know him afterward. Unfortunately, in the past, the answer had been mostly no. But maybe this time he’d find someone who was more than a one-night stand. Someone who suited him. The drummer was his only hope.

He waited until the set of songs ended and then pushed his way through the crowd, arriving at the edge of the stage just as the drummer was leaving it.

“Buy you a drink?” he asked.

The drummer nodded. “You’re Atticus. I’ve seen you here often, although not so much lately.”

That was a surprise. He didn’t have the faintest idea of the drummer’s name. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the name of the band, yet the drummer knew him.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked as they moved toward the bar.

“Espresso caipirinha, please.”

Atticus just stared. He’d never heard of it.

“The barman knows.”

Yeah, well he would. That was his job. Atticus would Google it on his cell phone later.

Once again he pushed his way through the crowd. That was the advantage of being six three. He could see how to get to the head of the line a lot faster than short people.

“A longneck and an espresso caipirinha, please?” he asked.

He watched the bartender prepare the drink, but it wasn’t easy to see, as he turned his back after he added the ice coffee and Atticus had already figured that bit out himself.

He paid the man and shoved his way back out of the crowd. The drummer, whose name he still didn’t know, was leaning against the wall. Atticus was surprised he hadn’t grabbed a table, and then he wondered if maybe the staff wasn’t supposed to. No, he was sure he’d seen some of them sitting before.

“You know my name. What’s yours?”

“Roger. This way.”

Atticus followed him around the side of the bar to a narrow alcove with just one small table there. Roger sat so he could watch the crowd, leaving Atticus with his back to the room. He didn’t like that at all and moved his chair to the side of the table where he was beside Roger and could look at the crowd by turning his head to the side.

Roger grinned. “I’ve never met a nervous bikie before.”

“I’m not nervous. I just like to know what’s happening.”

“That seems reasonable. Why did you want to buy me a drink?”

Atticus took a long pull on his beer and noticed Roger just took a tiny sip of his drink.

“I want to fuck you. Tonight. Is that okay?”

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Friday, 4 December 2015

Spoiled Brat Wants Man to Love Him (MM) Ross's Story!

Blurb: The sixth son in the Hill family, Ross, has always been an afterthought. He doesn’t even know what career to try. But he does like the look of Mr. Yummy the carpenter. Fortunately Perry Scott likes him too and agrees to let him try a career in construction—and other things.
Life has settled down into a calm pattern with Chris and her baby CC, Stuart and his baby daughter, Kathleen, and four of Ross’s brothers happy with their life partners. A crew of carpenters is busy extending the house for all these new people, and Ross likes talking to Perry.
Everything is peaceful and happy until the morning when Stuart goes for his usual daily run pushing Kathleen in her baby carriage, and they’re attacked by Tom Frame who is convinced they’ve stolen his son and is determined to get even with them all, kill Chris, and take CC.

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It wasn’t fair. Being the youngest of six sons sucked great big hairy donkey’s balls. All Ross’s life, his older brothers had gotten the best deal every way, every time, and he’d always been stuck with the leftovers no one else wanted.
Take his apartment for example. Right now the family home was overrun with tradesmen renovating two of his brothers’ apartments plus building a whole new playroom for the two grandkids. And what was he getting? Absolutely nothing. Zip, zilch, nada, a big fat zero.
Of course his apartment was on the short side of the rectangle so there was no extra space for him to expand his apartment into anyway. And he didn’t have a kid to use the playroom. He didn’t even have a partner. Four of his brothers were all happily partnered up, but not him. Oh no. As always, he was overlooked, neglected, left until last.
If he dared open his mouth to say anything, anything at all, one of his older brothers would throw him in the swimming pool. And right now, March in Ohio, was not the time for a swim. Likely he’d catch his death of pneumonia. Would anyone care? Absolutely not.
Ross stopped pacing and his mental rant. Actually that last bit was unfair. His brothers did care about him, but they would still throw him into the pool.
“Why can’t I ever be first? Be the cherished, most important one? Why can’t I even find a man I like enough for more than a one-night stand?”
Ross stood at the doorway of his not-being-extended-dammit apartment and stared across the courtyard garden at a group of tradesmen framing up the third-story extension above his parents’ apartment. One of the men was incredibly yummy in just the way Ross liked his men. Big, broad shoulders, bulging with muscles, tanned arms, and longish hair held off his face with a bandana.
Ross left his apartment and walked into the garden. The courtyard was in the center of the house, which had blank walls to the outside and all the windows and doors opening into this central area. In addition to the swimming pool, there was a large barbecue and a Zen garden his mother regularly changed around. He stood looking at the intricately placed pebbles and sand brushed into patterns, but it didn’t completely soothe his disgruntled humor.
Stuart emerged from the apartment he shared with Ross’s brother Jude. Stuart was wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and running shoes, and pushing the baby carriage holding his two-week-old daughter, Kathleen. Stuart and Kathleen had moved in with Jude a week ago, and for the past four days, Stuart had gone running, pushing the baby carriage, every day.
Ross thought he was quite mad. It was two miles to the park, half a mile around the park, and two miles back home. For some unknown reason, Stuart seemed to think that was a nice run. Not to Ross’s mind it wasn’t, but he waved to Stuart anyway. What was that saying? Different strokes for different folks? Yeah, well, he wasn’t running from here to the park for anyone. He wasn’t planning to take his sweater off anytime soon either. The sun might be shining, but the weather was a long way short of hot.
Just a week ago they’d all been sitting on Lanikai Beach, Oahu, sipping champagne at the wedding of his brother Storm to his partner, Cruz. Ross sighed. Damn, that seemed like a million years ago as well as a million miles away. Well, it was more like five thousand miles, but it might as well have been a million. Ross kicked at one of the pebbles on the edge of the Zen garden moodily.
“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?” yelled a loud, angry voice.
Guiltily, Ross pulled his foot back from his mother’s garden and looked around for who had dared to chastise him. That voice sure as hell wasn’t his mother’s. But no one was looking at him. However, all the tradesmen on the roof were staring out to the road, and the big brawny one, the yummy one, was waving his arms around.
“Stop that.”
“Leave them alone,” yelled a few of the others.
Oh fuck! Was someone hurting baby Kathleen?
Ross raced for the exit from the courtyard, a wooden door, throwing it open and charging outside. One hundred yards down the road, someone was trying to pull the baby carriage out of Stuart’s hands. Stuart was holding on with all his strength, his heels digging back onto the concrete path and all his weight thrown against his opponent.
The workmen yelled even louder, and out of the corner of his eye, Ross saw a rope thrown down the wall, but he had no time to worry about what they were doing. He ran as fast as he could and launched himself onto the back of the man trying to grab Kathleen’s baby carriage.
Ross weighed more than Stuart, but probably not as much as the attacker, who had quite a solid build. Between him and Stuart, though, it was enough to make the man let go and swing his arm up in a punch toward the baby carriage. In response, Stuart shrieked and dived between the man and Kathleen.
And then another man was there was well. He hauled the attacker around by his shirt and slammed his fist into his face, dropping him to the ground.
Stuart was still screaming, “Kathleen, Kathleen,” and snatched his daughter out of the carriage, holding her in his arms.
Kathleen must have been distressed by all the noise and movement, and she started to howl as well.
Ross grabbed the attacker and turned him over. The man swung his fists up in the air, but this time, Ross was prepared for them and blocked his hands with his forearm.
“Frame. What the fuck are you doing here?”

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