Author: Jonathon

Dawn Chorus

I did not sleep well, at all, last night. I’m still sick from the virus and sinus infection that I caught sometime last month, which went undiagnosed. Yes, I went to the doctor. I’ve slept most of the last few days. So much, in fact, apparently I can’t sleep anymore. My mind is too full of ideas, goals, things I need to do so other people can do their job to keep resting. I made myself sleep until 5 AM, but after that I allowed myself to get up and start getting dressed. If I felt wretched, then I’d go back to bed, but if I could manage it I wanted to be up.
In the bathroom as I dressed, I could hear the dawn chorus of the birds at their spring best, that spurred me on, energized me. Now, of course, the energy is ebbing and I’ve got a fine tremble in my arms as I type this, so perhaps not the smartest thing I’ve done, but . . . I called circle to the music of the birds in a choir all around me through the open windows. The cool, spring air is still caressing my bare legs in the skirt I’m wearing. I’m wearing orange and black for Halloween colors, which makes me smile, and because orange is the color for the navel chakra, and I’m wearing citrine set in gold, because those are colors that are good for the solar plexus chakra. These two chakras have been depleted, or blocked for weeks and now I know why. Sometimes I can keep pushing on sheer will power and guts, but eventually I pay the price, this illness is that price, but I push, that’s who I am. I push myself and I push those around me, not push them around, but I always want the best for and from those closest to me either in my personal life, or business. I want us all to be happy and to be the best possible us we can be, I don’t apologize for that, it’s who I am. Never apologize for who you are if it works for you and is your true self.
I called circle and entered sacred space with the moon still shining overhead in a veil of clouds, and the spring air soft on my skin, every bird in the neighborhood singing their hearts out like a blessing in the air, and darkness still thick enough that I had to light my candles carefully in the dark, so I didn’t trip over our three small dogs. For those who don’t know, I was lighting a candle for each element – earth, air, fire, and water. I also light a candle for spirit, and then invoke God and Goddess. If you haven’t guessed, I’m Wiccan, some of us use the term witch, but I do not. I find the word is too dramatic for most of the people here in the Bible belt and explaining that our path of faith is Wiccan, as they are Christian, or Jewish, or Muslim, works better than other terms. Some words are hard to separate from their past associations like witch, or inquisition.
The three small dogs were very happy that I was up and wanting to come over to the office and meditation area. They know they get treats and which drawer they’re kept in, and if they were bigger dogs they would so have had it opened and burgled months ago. I’ve caught our two Japanese chins, Keiko and Mordor, worrying at it, and trying with mouth and paws to open it. Our pug, Sasquatch, awaits his orders when they need muscle, like ramming doors that will not open. It’s given him his umpteenth nickname of Rhino. Sometimes Rhino finds doors too solidly closed and you hear a thump, and he staggers himself, but mostly he gets the doors in the older parts of the house to open, but most doors open promptly by their human staff, if they’re allowed in that room at that time.
I watched the first glow like a cut in the darkness that allowed the light to seep through, and then dawn spread in a pink, mauve, purple, lavender neon extravaganza lighting up the eastern sky just behind my eastern candle and I was able to greet the light, praise God and Goddess, though dawn always feels more feminine to me. I asked for their help in healing, and being positive while I healed, and finding the lessons that I’m supposed to be learning during all of it.
Now, the dogs are over with our daughter Trinity, who’s job it is to feed them, and I’m left to bird song and the first sounds of my neighbors rising for their days. The sun is a visible ball of fire through the trees like an orang-yellow spotlight and the sky is soft blue with clouds. I’m finishing the first tea of the day in my new chipmunk mug, and feel better than I’ve felt in two weeks. I can see the two silkie bantam hens grooming and searching for insects in the grass of their yard, and I am feeling all together domestic and biology loving, and that always makes me want to write. For those who are new to my books, or who know me only through the mirror of my books, you will find more about nature and animals in my blog and personal musings than violence, sex, vampires, or werewolves, or wereanything. I work in a world that is incredibly violent, but I try not to live there. I need the other sides of myself to nurture the parts that are drawn to the violence, and as for sex, I still haven’t decided how much of that to put here, or anywhere on line. I simply can’t decide my comfort level, so I leave it alone for the most part in these personal writings. If I find my comfort level at some point that may change, but for now there will be more of writing, ornithology, faith, and puppies in my blog than sex and sadism. If that isn’t what you want there are other writers that seem more than happy to share their most intimate details with you, or share the intimate details of others, but I am not one of them. I still feel that intimate reality is a gift to be shared with those who actually get to see you naked on purpose for happy nefariousness, not something to simple titilate and tease for more readership. Which is weird since I put more details in my books during the sex scenes than pretty much anyone out there, but that’s my fiction, and I’m comfortable with that. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex, but sharing my personal sexual details with the world, still not sure that’s a good idea, so – more of blossoms, than blow jobs, in my blog. Yes, that is a tortured reference to Dickens.
Now, I hear crows and they’re letting me know they’ve found a hawk, or perhaps the fledgling great horned owl that our pair raised this year, and I want to see what they’ve found. It sounds more like their, “We’ve found an owl, than we’ve found a hawk,”. Grabbing my binoculars . . . owl!

Why not take the High Road?

I have been talking about my sister, Chica, and the fact that she is getting married this year to her new partner Majorgirlfriend. Many fans have asked questions about it on FaceBook, and with my sister’s permission I’ll try to answer them. First, yes, Chica and Majorgirlfriend are nicknames. Neither of them is “famous”, so I try to leave my friends and loved ones their anonymity if so requested. It’s also one of the reason that I don’t talk about my daughter, Trinity, very often. I want her to have her own life and privacy and I just can’t decide how much of me sharing will interfere with that, so I choose caution. Second question asked, Chica has been “divorced” from her partner of thirteen years for two years now, so no, she’s not rushing into things with the new person. Third question, yes her ex is/was Meerkatfeinated, who has gone on to another job and a new girlfriend of her own. I hope that Meerkatfeinated is as happy with her new relationship as my sister is with hers, but as our friendship did not survive I do not know for certain. Before someone asks, yes I do miss the friendship when it worked, but I do not miss the parts that did not work between us, and that would eventually make it impossible for the friendship to survive. I believe that Meerkatfeinated would probably say the same of me.
Several people on FaceBook have given me brownie points for taking the high road about the divorce and the break up of the friendship, as if they expect me to be mean about it. I wasn’t mean about my divorce from my own ex-husband over a decade ago, why would I be horrible now, about this? Let me say, that there were negative moments on all sides, and hurt feelings, and anger, we are all human after all, but that doesn’t mean we have to be petty, or cruel. For my own first marriage, my ex and I agreed never to bad mouth each other in front of our daughter, and we haven’t. Trinity didn’t get the divorce, we did, so as much as possible we have tried to make it not her problem. I saw too much of people using the children badly in divorces as I grew up to ever want to inflict that on my own child.
I know there was pain for both my sister and her ex partner. It’s normal and just part of the process. I sincerely wish Meerkatfeinated well in her new life, just as I wished my own ex-husband well. He’s been remarried for over a decade himself now, I think, or close to, and I can only hope he is half as happy as I am.
I guess I can understand being horrible if the ex is abusive, or truly monstrous, but I genuinely have never understood how you can go from loving someone to hating them so quickly. The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference. Hate, or anger, means you still have issues to work.
I believe that the energy you put out into the world is what comes back to you, so if you are bitter about a divorce and wish bad things for your ex, then that’s what you’ll get from the universe. I don’t see the point to that. I would rather try to let go of any ill-feelings and truly move forward to a better and more positive place. I’m not saying it’s easy, or there aren’t moments when old feelings rise, or issues are hit, but if I hadn’t cared for everyone involved it wouldn’t have mattered, and it did matter, so there is pain, but when the choices are right the pain eases and you truly do get better, do better, and find out happiness not only is possible, but there may be more of it out there waiting for you all to find it. It’s just that sometimes you can’t find it together, but separately your dreams, your future, is waiting for both of you.

Affliction is Done!

I thought I posted this two weeks ago, but apparently not. *laughs* We were both pretty fried for the week after I finished Affliction, but then Jon and I went for a week’s vacation some place warm and tropical. We snorkeled in the open ocean and it was wondrous. We did a lot of fun, relaxing, and spirit renewing things for our week and a day, now I finally post the blog I wrote just after I typed, The End, on Affliction the 22nd novel in the Anita Blake series.

I finished writing Affliction, the newest Anita Blake novel, at twenty minutes till dawn on Sunday/Monday morning. Jon wanted to wait those minutes and watch the sunrise together. Jon doesn’t normally stay up for the 0’dark-thirty finishes and I was still riding an incredible writer’s high, so agreed happily. We found the perfect window in my office, wrapped our arms around each other, and waited. The sky lightened and turned to streamers of pink and purple to the east, with the bare winter trees like black paper cutouts against the light, but Jon said, it wasn’t dawn yet. Though we both agreed that any vampires out and about would need to be worried and headed for cover. In the growing light we saw the Great Horned Owl silhouetted between the darkness and the dawn. It was this huge black outline in one of the trees near my office. You forget how big he is, until you see him like that, big as a large Red-Tailed hawk, hunched and waiting for the light, or maybe settling down for the day? And yes, I’m pretty sure he is the male, because the slightly larger female must be sitting on their eggs if they’re going to have them. They are both very big birds even for Great Horned Owls.
I admit that by the time that the sun rose and the sky was blue, I was tired and ready for bed. I’d finished a twenty hour day of writing with only short breaks for food. I’ve done those marathon sessions before. In fact most Anita novels finish in a great burst of time, energy, and creativity, but for the last several books of any kind including Merry Gentry novels I’d ended drained and half in shock left like an empty shell on the shore, spent, but not this time. This time I am more energized, and less dead, more vampire, less zombie. 🙂 In a few days I feel that I may rise to shapeshifter and feel all warm and fuzzy again, but for now I’m just happy to feel good about the book, the writing, my life, myself, all of it. Really, when all is said and done, what could be better?

Heading for the Finish Line

Good morning everyone, I went to bed last night after nearly falling asleep at my desk. I woke today refreshed, and ready to do this. Do what? Do the book. This is my antelope for the day. I shall stalk it, run it down, kill it, and drag it home – mine! When you write a book it is more yours than almost any other creative effort except painting and sculptor, because in the end you do it all yourself. You have editors, and a publisher, but they come on after the lion’s share is done. It is a peculiarly lonely work, writing, and yet at this point in the book I feel like I’m moving in a circle of people surrounded by my imaginary friends. I was so eager to write this morning that I borrowed Jon’s iPad and BlueTooth keyboard and wrote in bed before my feet had ever touched the ground. I have the final list of events that still need to happen before the end of Affliction. There are one, or two, major events that may not happen as I’d planned, I’ve done this too long not to know that scenes in a book are like battle plans they never survive the battlefield unchanged. I’ll start by adding three sentences to the scene I finished last night, and then to questioning witnesses, and searching for the big bad vampire’s lair, and then zombies, zombies, zombies! We’re actually tired of zombies, Anita and I, at this point in the book. I started out by jokingly saying that this book would be my zombie apocalypse book, I should know better than to make wise cracks about the undead. It’s like that moment in a horror movie when someone says, “I’ll be right back, I’ll be fine,” and you know that they are dead meat.
We have a record number of zombies in Affliction, and one of the most interesting and game changing vampire villains. I’m excited to see what happens next, even though I think I know. Sometimes I get surprised, and sometimes it’s just fun to take the trip even when you know the destination.

It’s now after nine o’clock here. I’ve sent over 600 pages to my editor, while I am now over 700 pages and still going strong. My editor and I have worked together for over ten years, so I trust her to work from one end, while I continue to write. She knows that I seldom send anything to New York that isn’t pretty well set, so she can edit without worrying I will do major changes and negate her hard work. As I said, above writing is very solitary, but after enough time you do have your team members like my editor, and my husband, Jon, who helps keep me sane and fed while I throw everything thing into the book. I’ve just finished a late dinner with Jon, to go with the late lunch I had with him and our daughter, Trinity. She had a snow day today. She’s now off with her father for the weekend, and it’s just as well because I’m at my desk for the duration until I type, The End, or I fall asleep at my desk. Trinity has seen me through a lot of books, so she knows the drill. If I nod off at the desk like I did last night I’ll sleep for a bit and hit it again. I’m really hoping that I finish, before I have to sleep, but I just passed 700 pages and am still going strong, so maybe there will be a nap in there somewhere.

My Birthday, Your Present

Today is my birthday, but this is a present for all of you. One late night of writing as I fought towards the latest deadline, I got on twitter and decided to play a game with everyone. I was writing a sex scene, which was a nice change from all the zombie slaughtering and just violent crime fighting in this latest Anita Blake novel, Affliction. I offered that if someone guessed exactly who was involved in the scene and where it was taking place that I’d post it as a blog. The game was a mixture of sexy clue, and twenty questions. Someone did win, and I was going to post it, but then realized this scene was too far in the book and potentially spoiled some things in the plot and character arc, so what to do? I decided to use a scene that takes place earlier in the book. It does give away a few things plot-wise, and certainly character-wise, but all good sex scenes help develop character, and even sometimes world build. But this earlier scene seemed less like I was revealing too much, so here are two chapters of Affliction which will be out July 2, 2013.

Chapter Fifty:

There are moments when undressing isn’t sexy, being covered in dried blood, guts and brains is one of those moments. Weapons first and there were a few bits of dried zombie on them, too. We’d clean them later. Our body armor had left a clean spot on our shirts underneath. The vests were all going to need cleaned, and since mine was a custom fit job I didn’t have a back up vest. Men’s vests didn’t fit right on women, though I could borrow a man’s vest and because it was really too big for me it didn’t crush my breasts the way it did on women that were bigger through the shoulders and ribcage. But holding the vest up and looking at some of the “stains” on it I thought a second vest might not be a bad idea.

The three of us paid attention to our weapons and body armor, and it was sexless. Shirts first, and Nicky looked at my bra, all right, he looked at my breasts, they just happened to be in a black satin bra.

“I like that about you,” Nicky said.

“What, my breasts?”

He grinned. “That, too, but you don’t bitch if I stare at your breasts.”

“I’m wearing a push-up bra if I didn’t want people to look at my breasts I should probably wear something else.”

“Yeah, but I know that Nathaniel packed for you, which means it’s all going to be push up, satin, or lace.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I’m not sure I own anything else.”

“I like that about you, too,” he said. He took off his shirt in one movement. I heard the cloth stick on one shoulder as it came off, but at least the vest meant the whole shirt hadn’t been covered in gunk, bad for the vests, but good for our peace of mind and a lower ick factor. I concentrated on the muscled expanse of his chest and shoulders; they almost distracted me from the flat plains of his stomach.

“Hmm . . . an eight pack.”

He grinned. “Some of the other guards are pissed, because they can only do a six pack, if they work their asses off.”

“Eight is genetic right, not everyone can do more than a six pack no matter how hard they work out,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, and he looked pleased with himself.

There was a small sound in the room, the kind that makes you look up and try to locate the source, and depending on who was making the sound, you’d either pretend you hadn’t heard, or comfort the person making the noise. Dev had his belt unbuckled, but his shirt was only partially untucked. He held his hands sort of awkwardly away from his body, as if he didn’t want to touch something, or already had touched something and didn’t want to transfer it from his hands to his clothes.

Nicky and I looked at each other, and without a word, went to Dev. “Let me help you out of those clothes,” I said, trying to put teasing and sexiness in the words.

Dev looked at me, eyes too big, face sort of slack with the edge of panic he was fighting. He held his hands out to me like he was five and had hurt himself. There was no mark on his hands, they looked clean to me, but sometimes you have a sort of Lady Macbeth moment, and even after washing the blood away, it’s like you can still see it, feel it, engrained on your skin.

I reached out to touch his hands, but he jerked back. “I’ve got . . . stuff on me.”

“Me, too,” I said, voice soft.

His eyes fluttered, and flashed white like a horse about to bolt.

“It’s okay, Dev, it’s okay.”

He shook his head.

“You said you thought you’d never get me out of my clothes, and you haven’t even said how cute I look,” Nicky said.

That got a smile from Dev, it was weak, and a little uncertain, but it was better than I’d gotten out of him. He looked at Nicky then, really looked at the other man. He looked at his bare, muscled chest, the way Nicky had looked at my breasts. There were some men in my life that even as comfortable as they were sharing a bed with me and other men all at the same time, they wouldn’t have taken that look from Dev without it being a fight, or at least severely uncomfortable, but Nicky took it in stride.

“That’s better,” Nicky said.

Dev put his head to one side, and said, “You don’t like men, so why do you care if I admire the view?”

Nicky shrugged as much as his shoulder muscles would let him. “I like knowing that you’re not just kidding about it.”

“You like knowing that I’d do you if you’d let me, and you’re still going to get in the shower with me. Most straight men would be totally creeped by it.”

“I’m secure in my masculinity.”

“Well, that’s the truth,” I said.

Nicky smiled at me, and I smiled back.

“But you wouldn’t be doing me, I don’t bottom to anyone,” Nicky said.

“That works for me,” Dev said.

I was no longer certain we were joking.

Nicky grinned. “If I come across for you then I’ll have to fight off Jean-Claude and Asher. I think I’ll stay on this side of the hetroflexible divide, it’ll make things less complicated.”

Dev pouted at him, and if you’ve never seen a handsome, athletic, 6′ 3″ man pout and be able to make it totally work for him, then I’m sorry, because it was way fun to watch.

Nicky laughed. “Let’s get naked and wet.”

The look on Dev’s face at such a bold comment from the other man ruined the pout and stripped his face to something uncertain and hopeful. I hadn’t known that Dev thought Nicky was cute, but Nicky’s maneuvering of the other man let me know that my werelion had known. Was I that blind, or was Nicky just that observant?

Dev stripped his shirt off in one fast motion and threw it on the floor as if he didn’t want to touch it any longer than he had to, but he unzipped his pants and stripped them off to join his socks and boots which were already on the floor beside him. He was suddenly totally nude and beautiful, but he wasn’t looking defiantly at me, he was looking at the other man. It was almost as if he thought Nicky would chicken out, and have a moment of heterosexual panic, but I knew better. If it was a test of nerves, my money was on Nicky.

He didn’t disappoint me. He just unfastened his pants and stripped them off, okay he had to peel them off due to some fluid that had dried on one leg, but he got them off and let them fall on top of his own boots and socks. He stood there naked and yummy, and stared at Dev like he was daring him to say something.

Dev opened his mouth, closed it, and then laughed head back, eyes closed, totally delighted. Nicky looked at me, and smiled. I decided then and there that I would never try and bluff Nicky, because he was out of my league. I could lie, but I couldn’t manipulate like that, not even in a good cause.

Nicky held his hand out to me, and I went to him. “You have too many clothes on,” he said.

“We can fix that,” I said.

“Yes,” Dev said his voice still holding an edge of laughter, “we can.”

We did.


 
Chapter Fifty-One:

We helped each other get clean. It took three times through the shampoo for Dev’s hair to get clean. He’d gotten hit the worst from something, or maybe it was the baby fine texture of his hair, whatever Nicky helped me pick bits out of the back of Dev’s hair. He started shivering even though the water was steaming hot, but there is cold that no amount of hot water will warm. I think we could have turned his skin pink with heat and he would still have shivered.

He put his hands on the tile of the wall and leaned, as if he were trying to take strength from the wall to keep standing. Nicky and I exchanged a look; he motioned with his head for me to get closer to Dev while he kept picking bits of zombie out of the other man’s hair. I touched his arm, and he jumped.

“It’s me, Dev, it’s just me,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

I let that go, we both knew what was wrong, but knowing doesn’t always fix it. I touched his arm again, and this time he stood still for it. I slid in under his arm and even with him leaning against the wall he was tall enough for me to look up at him and not have to bend over at all. He was a foot taller than I was, and standing there with his arms on either side and above my shoulders, his face above mine, I was suddenly aware that he was a really big, not just tall, but wide through the shoulders, broad through the chest. If he would have spent half the time that Nicky did in the weight room Dev would have been massive. I wasn’t sad that he didn’t, I might have felt physically overwhelmed and then again, maybe I wouldn’t. I could see Nicky’s shoulder on one side of Dev’s, and I didn’t have a problem with Nicky. I didn’t think a few inches of extra height would have tipped the difference for me.

Wet, Dev’s hair fell a little below his shoulders, framing that square and very masculine jaw. His blue on blue eyes blinked a little too quickly as he stared down at me. I slid my hands over the slick wetness of his chest as Nicky kept working on his hair.

“I don’t think I’m in the mood, Anita. I never thought I’d say that, but I can’t stop thinking about what Nicky is cleaning out of my hair. Now I know why you insist on a shower before you greet everybody some nights.”

I touched his face, made sure I had serious eye contact. “The thing in the basement tonight was bad, Dev, even by my standards it was a slaughter. I don’t do that every night. Hell, I don’t do it most of the time.”

“You mean I’m not being a serious pussy?”

I smiled at him. “Well, you are a pussycat, but no, it was bad, worse than normal even by my standards for mess and brutal fighting. Flesh eating zombies just don’t stop coming. I’ve never, ever seen that many of them.”

“Really?” he asked, and his voice was fragile, like the look in his eyes.

“Really,” I said my hand on the side of his face.

His head pulled back as if Nicky was moving his hair too much. Then I saw Nicky’s hands come up and he ran his fingers through Dev’s hair. “There, all clean.”

Dev let out a shaking breath, but he straightened, pushed away from the wall, and ran his own hands through his hair. He did it a second time a look of relief on his face, as he smoothed his hair back from his face.

“Thanks, Nicky,” he said.

“You can return the favor sometime,” Nicky said.

Dev looked over his shoulder at the other man. “Are you inviting me to shower with you again?”

Nicky smiled. “So far you’ve been a perfect gentleman; I think my virtue is safe.”

“You have virtue to keep safe?” I asked, peering around Dev’s body.

Nicky raised an eyebrow at me. I realized he’d swept his wet hair back from his face completely exposing the scars that covered the socket of his right eye. He usually hid the scars with that triangle of bangs, so that I valued when he didn’t. It meant he was comfortable. I liked that.

“No, no I don’t,” he said, and there was something about the way he said it, more sad than teasing back, that made me remember that he’d been abused as a child both sexually and physically by his mother. She’d been the one that took his eye. I suddenly felt stupid and slow, and . . .

I went to Nicky, stroking my hands down his bare, wet arms. “I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

I wrapped myself around him, nakedness to nakedness, and it wasn’t erotic, because he didn’t hold me back, he stayed upright and didn’t meld into the hug.

“I missed something,” Dev said behind us.

Nicky said, “Yeah, you did.”

I looked up at the man in my arms, searched that closed down face. He’d turned away from me just enough to hide the scars, not to be pretty the way Asher would do to hide his, but it was either that or reach back up and smooth his wet hair down over them, and that would have been admitting it mattered to him and Nicky wouldn’t do that.

“Look at me, please,” I said.

He did, but the look on his face was arrogant, distant as his body felt because he wouldn’t hug me back.

“I’m sorry, I forgot.”

He glared at me, and I felt the first rush of heat as his anger hit his lion and it stirred. “How can you forget when you have to look at this every time you see me?” He touched his finger to the edge of the scars.

It was the first time he’d said anything out loud that the scars bothered him, reminded him every time he looked in the mirror. The way he wore his hair let me know that it bothered him, but he’d never actually said so, before.

“It’s just a part of you,” I said, “that’s what I think when I look at you, that’s all I think.”

He stared down at my face, studying it. “I can feel that you mean that.”

“I like the scar,” Dev said, “and the fact that you are as good as you are with weapons and hand to hand having to compensate for the lack of depth perception is impressive.”

Nicky shifted in my arms, and that flare of anger was like heat marching down my body as if the heat of the shower was starting to emanate from his body and not the taps behind us. “He really does like scars,” I said, “Dev’s a texture junkie.”

He relaxed a little in my arms, and finally put his arms around me. He wasn’t holding me tight, but it was progress.

“I’ll prove it to you, if it won’t freak you out,” Dev said.

Nicky gave him a look, as if nothing he could do would be that freaky, but I knew Dev better than Nicky did. I was betting there was plenty that the weretiger could do to freak out the werelion. The reverse was also true, but Dev’s would be sensual and Nicky’s would be more violence. I didn’t really want them to try to freak each other out though; I feared it would go badly.

Dev moved in behind me until his body was pressed up against mine, which pinned Nicky’s hands between my body and the other man’s. Nicky was only touching against Dev’s stomach, he didn’t complain, or move his hands. Neither man’s body was excited to be there yet, so though it was nice, it wasn’t as erotic as it might have been. He reached out to touch Nicky’s cheek.

Nicky jerked back.

Dev let his hand fall and smoothed his hands down my arms. “See, it freaks you out.” He leaned down to lay a kiss on the top of my head, nuzzling against my wet hair.

I wriggled into Dev’s touch, raising my face up so he could kiss my lips. We kissed, and the kiss grew until it tightened my hands around Nicky and made me grind myself against Dev. His body was already beginning to react which encouraged me to grind harder against him. Nicky’s arms around my back kept me from grinding as much as I could have, which forced me away from Nicky’s body in an effort to touch more of Dev’s.

Nicky’s body pressed in tighter from in front. It brought me back from kissing Dev and to move my face towards Nicky. This time he leaned over so I could reach his lips. We kissed and it was a soft brush of lips, then a more urgent press of his mouth on mine. He moved his arms from between Dev and me, and at the same time I was suddenly pressed tight between both of them. One of them thick and growing thicker against the front and the back of me, the sensation of being pinned between their bodies tore my mouth from Nicky’s and made me cry out.

It was only when Dev leaned over me for another kiss that I realized why they were both pressed so close. Nicky had moved his arms so he was holding onto the other man’s waist and Dev had done the same, so that they were using their strength to press themselves in tighter against my body. Nathaniel and Micah called it, making a sandwich, and I loved being the middle of it.

They took turns kissing me, until I writhed and ground against both their bodies and they were both hard, and thick, and achingly ready. With their skills at foreplay it seemed a shame to skip most of it, but sometimes the urgency of the need is its own foreplay.

Dev rose up from kissing me and touched Nicky’s scar. When he didn’t protest Dev leaned over me, which pressed him even tighter against my ass, and he laid a soft kiss on the scar. Nicky didn’t really react to it, so it encouraged Dev to move one hand up to the side of Nicky’s face. He leaned in and kissed the scars where Nicky’s eye should have been more thoroughly. I looked up to watch the kissing, my body still pinned between theirs. Nicky had gone still, and his body wasn’t quite as happy to be pressed against me, though Dev had no way of knowing that.

He kissed down Nicky’s face, one soft kiss at a time, and I got to watch each kiss get closer and closer to Nicky’s mouth, until finally Dev kissed him.

Nicky drew back from it, shaking his head. “No,” he said, not angry, but firm.

Dev dropped his hand from the side of the other man’s face, and kissed me as if he were trying to kiss me as deeply and completely as he could. He drew back from the kiss lips half parted, face so eager, so excited that it made me laugh a little breathless and shakily.

Nicky kissed me then, and it was gentle, tender, as if he were making love to my mouth. He drew back and left me with my eyes still closed, lips half parted. I was even a little weak in the knees, just from the kiss.

“Wow,” Dev said, “I feel like I need to try again.”

I opened my eyes enough to see Nicky smiling down at me. He looked utterly pleased with himself. It made me smile up at him, but the smile spread until it was more an evil, happy, grin.

“Now I know I need to try another kiss,” Dev said, “because that is a really good smile.”

“Yes,” Nicky said, “yes it is,” and his voice was already deeper with the first rush of testosterone, and a smile that held all the heat you wanted to see in a man’s face. It was full of love, yes, but it was also full of lust, and the thought of everything he was going to do to you, and with you.

“Why do I feel like I need to catch up when I’ve been standing here the whole time?” Dev asked.

“She loves me,” Nicky said, as if that explained everything, and apparently it did, because Dev said, “You are a lucky man.” That’s usually something a man says, when what he means is, your woman is hot and I would totally fuck her, but it’s either morally wrong, or you would kill me for it. It seemed weird that Dev felt the need to be so polite with his nakedness pressed against my ass, and knowing that he was getting sex, too, but sex isn’t everything. It’s nice, it’s great even, if you’re lucky, but everyone, eventually, wants love.

I went up on tiptoe to kiss Nicky again, and Dev moved back a little so that we could use hands and arms on just each other, while the kiss grew from tender to urgent. When we drew back just to look at each other, Dev said, “I’ll offer just once more to give you guys’ privacy, and I should get major brownie points for offering, at this point.”

I looked over my shoulder at him, with Nicky and I still holding each other. I wasn’t sure what I would have said, because Nicky said, “Breast, or ass?”

“What?” Dev said, frowning, obviously puzzled.

“Do you want to fuck her first, or have her suck your dick first?”

I turned back to look at Nicky, the look was enough, because he said, “You love me and I love you and it’s amazing, but at heart I’m a thug, Anita. I’m crude and rude and violent, and you’ve taught me the only gentleness I’ve ever known, but I’m still me.”

I nodded. “Okay, it’s not that I don’t agree with the division of labor it was just a little crudely put, that’s all. You surprised me.”

He smiled. “Okay, Mephistopheles are you a breast, or a thigh man?” Nicky looked at me, head cocked to one side. “Better?”

I grinned. “Yes, thank you.”

Dev watched us like he’d never seen us.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m just wondering when you guys became a couple and why didn’t I notice?”

I looked back at Nicky and he slid his arms more securely around, bringing me in against his body in a way that was less sexual and more romantic. It seemed weird in the shower all naked with another man, but there you are, if it works don’t poke at it. I was trying to be smarter.

“You were busy worrying about Asher,” Nicky said.

Dev nodded. “True, and I’ll take thighs.”

Nicky grinned quick and fierce, more a baring of teeth like a happy snarl. “We fuck both ends.”

“I’d like to go down on her, while she goes down on you.”

“That’s hard in the shower,” I said.

“Bed?” Dev asked.

“Normally, I’d say, not only yes, but hell yes! But if the police call before I get some sleep I’m going to cry, so just this once let’s just have intercourse,” I said.

Dev’s face showed a conflict of emotions, but finely he smiled and said, “Who am I to argue with the Queen of Tigers?”

“Still not sure I like that title,” I said.

“You hated mother of tigers more,” Nicky reminded me.

“True.”

“But I don’t think we’ll be fucking right away,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Too much talking, not enough sex,” he said and motioned that he wasn’t hard anymore.

I glanced at Dev and found similar deflation. “I can fix that,” I said and knelt between them on the shower tiles, the water rushing around my knees.

“So we get oral and intercourse seems unfair,” Dev said.

“I like and can orgasm from both,” I said, looking up at him from my knees.

“I’ve had women orgasm from intercourse, but you’re a first for oral,” he said.

“Anita, will you please shut him up?” Nicky asked.

I went done on Dev while he was still talking, stopping him in mid-syllable. The feel of him in my mouth was, as always, amazing. I liked the sensation of men when they were small and soft, and it was easy to take them all in my mouth, roll them around with my tongue, and bury my lips against their bodies as close and tight as I wanted without choking or fighting my gag reflex, and as long as I kept him deep in my mouth he’d stay smaller. It was only as I began to draw back off of him and suck him back into my mouth that he began to grow longer, and thicker.

Nicky ran his hand through my wet hair and turned me to him. He wasn’t as small as he had been, just watching me go down on Dev and anticipating his turn had made him grow bigger, so that he filled my mouth more, and I had to fight a little around the beginnings of my gag reflex to bury my mouth against his body as far and tight as I could.

Nicky put his hand on the back of my head holding me on him, but moved my hand from his thigh to wrap it around Dev so I could feel that the other man was thick and hard in my hand. The double sensation of my hand and mouth filled up with that eager hardness . . . they were both so warm, skin soft like muscled velvet to suck and stroke, so that it made me suck harder and faster on Nicky and stroke my hand up and down Dev’s shaft to curve over the round, thick, silk of him.

Nicky wrapped his hand in my hair and pulled me away from his body. “I want inside you first,” he said, voice breathless. He used his handhold on my hair to push me towards Dev. I slid my mouth onto Dev, but kept my hand on him, too, so that I was stroking the shaft and sucking and licking the head and first few inches.

He whispered, “Oh, my God.”

I felt Nicky’s hands on my waist and hips as he pulled me into place. I started to turn and say something, or look, but he pushed his hand into the back of my head, holding me down on Dev for a second. Without words he was clear what he wanted, me to go on Dev while he . . . I felt the head of him brush against my opening, but being in the water, even just a shower, had made me tighter even than normal, so that I felt the brush of his hand as he guided himself in place and then began to push the head of him against the tightness of my opening. Just feeling him do that made me begin to suck faster and deeper on Dev, my hand wrapped around the base of him against his body.

“I won’t last long,” Dev said.

Nicky pushed his way inside me, fighting for every inch against the tightness from the water. It made him feel even bigger, thicker than I knew he was, and the sensation of him pushing his way inside made me cry out around Dev.

He made an inarticulate sound. I could taste salt from the pre-come now, he was close, but I didn’t care as Nicky finally found enough room to shove himself into me, and my body finally opened for him so that he pulled himself almost out, put his hands on my hips to hold me in place, or move me with him, like leading on a dance floor, except this was the water slick tiles of a shower. Then Nicky pushed his way in again, and found a fast, deep rhythm, that made me scream as I buried my mouth down the length of Dev’s body.

“Close,” Dev said, voice strained as he fought to last.

Nicky picked up his rhythm fast and deep so that his body smacked against mine in a sharp repetitive sound of flesh on flesh, and between one quick deep thrust and the next he spilled me over and I screamed my orgasm around Dev’s body. It was too much for Dev, and he thrust into my mouth rather than waiting for me to suck, but with Nicky’s orgasm riding my body I wanted as much of both inside me in that moment. Dev responded to my eagerness by grabbing the back of my head and forcing me down as he thrust up, and it was almost too much down my throat even with orgasm I had to fight not to try and breath, because I couldn’t have. It isn’t always a gag reflex, sometimes it’s a suffocation reflex. I relaxed my throat as much as I could while I was still trying to scream my own orgasm, but Dev had shoved himself so far down my throat that there was no sound possible. I felt him pulse inside my throat all the way along his shaft where it lay in my mouth and knew that he was going, before I felt that moment of hot as he spilled himself inside me and I fought to swallow. If I’d let the arduer lose there would have been no problem, because when that rode me I had no gag reflex, it was like magic and took away all the issues, but I’d fed already and I was trying to do certain things without the arduer’s help, because if I could do it just me, then I could do things more frequently without risking draining my lovers to death. Such a mood killer.

It was while I was struggling to take all of Dev in that Nicky intensified his rhythm and let me know he’d been aiming for that sweet spot nearer the opening, because now he searched for the deeper spot that he could hit from behind. Most women will go from the G-spot being caressed long enough, but not all women go from the two deeper spots, for the longest time I thought I enjoyed having my cervix bumped until I learned that wasn’t what the men were hitting, at all. From behind Nicky slid the head of himself into the spot deep and high within me, and the orgasm that had been fading spilled into a second one from deeper within me, so that when Dev drew himself out of my mouth I screamed loud and deep throated. Nicky drove himself one last time deep inside me, his hands pulling me backwards against his body at the same time so that he thrust as deep into me as he could in that last moment as his body convulsed inside mine. that last thrust was almost too deep, almost hurt, but in the middle of the orgasm, topped by the sensation of him going inside of me, the almost pain translated into a bigger pleasure.

“I’ll go,” Dev said, and stepped out of the shower on slightly unsteady legs. The water that he’d been blocking suddenly cascaded down on me. I hung my head down so it wouldn’t get in my eyes and mouth. I wanted to ask, where Dev was going, but I couldn’t figure out how to say words yet, I was still quivering happily from the orgasm coherent speech was a few minutes way.

Nicky was still buried as deep as he could be, hands still holding my hips in place, so that even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t have moved. He leaned over me and laid a kiss on my back, and said in a voice growling deep, “You’d think they’d get used to the fact that you’re a screamer.”

Apparently, Nicky and Dev had heard the other guards pounding on the door. I tried to be embarrassed that they’d all heard me screaming, but Nicky chose that moment to lean over me and growl. The sound of it seemed to vibrate through my body as if as long as he was buried inside me I would resonate with the growling depth of him.

I shivered for him.

He leaned his face close to mine, so that the water splashed over us both. “If Dev hadn’t been here I would have set my teeth into your shoulders and marked you as mine, but mustn’t scare the tigers.” And he growled again with his chest curved over me, his face touching mine. I made a small, helpless noise of happiness, and he laughed so deep a sound that it should have had teeth and claws around it.

I hope you enjoyed my Birthday present to you!

The Creative Toll

I keep saying, I’m not usually this emotional at the end of a book. Jon, my husband, assures me I am. He also assures me I’m beautiful, intelligent, & sexy, that I have it all, but yes, I do get exhausted & cranky at the end of every book. Strangely, I forget how much it takes out of me each time. For many of us it is a grueling, amazing, painful thing to have a literary creation. For other writers it seems to be unemotional & much less visceral. I envy those cooler heads at this point in the creative process, but if I were one of them I’d be a different person & a very different writer. Could I have created Anita Blake, Merry Gentry, & all the other characters if I’d been less invested in my work? Would all my readers feel as close to my imaginary friends, if I didn’t bleed a little over every book? Somehow I think if the cost were less for me, it would mean less to all of you.

Affliction Update

Affliction will be out July 2, 2013! Why isn’t it in June like normal?
I was writing along on Affliction, and it was slow going, which isn’t usual for me at the beginning of a book. The book seemed to be fighting me and I wasn’t sure why, this usually happens when plot, or character, are not conforming to my initial idea and I’m refusing to make the change that the character wants. The book and I continued to duke it out, and I had some all time low daily page counts after page 150, that’s usually the moment that a book gains momentum, unless . . . unless it’s going to be longer than planned. My deadline was coming, I didn’t have time for substantially longer. You see the problem, right? Books are like legs, they need to be as long as necessary to reach the ground, otherwise you have serious problems with walking, running, and just moving forward in general. The more I tried to keep things under control, the harder it got, and the slower I wrote. What I had on the page was good, and I was having fun while writing, but still there was something wrong. Early on I’d told my editor that Edward might be in the book, but as we neared page 300 I assured her that he wasn’t going to be in it, because if he was going to show up that he would have put in an appearance by now. You see it coming, don’t you? Yep, you guessed it, Edward strolled on stage after page 300.
Now, I love Edward. I love writing him. Anita loves to work with him. He is her best friend, after all. Yes, I know that she needs a girl best friend again, since she and Ronnie had a parting of philosophies, but since my best friend, not counting my husband Jon, is male, I guess it makes sense that Anita would gravitate that way, too. Edward’s first scene was perfectly him, and wonderful interaction between him and Anita. It was great! I always love their dialogue. Here’s the problem, any time Edward steps on scene a book is guaranteed to be at least a 100 pages longer than I had planned, and usually between 150-200 pages longer. That’s great for you readers, but I still have to write the pages and meet my deadline. Affliction was plotted out to be a long book anyway, but adding Edward so late in the game, I knew was in trouble.
I called up my wonderful editor, Susan, and told her I wasn’t making my December deadline, it just wasn’t happening, was there anyway to make a later deadline? So, that’s how we ended up with the book moving to July, and my deadline moving to February, because I needed the time to play with all the characters that kept insisting they would be on stage this book.
Not only is Edward a surprise guest star, but Jean-Claude has a much bigger role than I had planned on, and the Wicked Truth are on stage, which I was trying to avoid. I love them, and they are yummy, but when I started nearing 500 pages I thought we had all the familiar characters we were going to introduce in this book, and yet, when I stop typing this I will be finishing their introduction scene for this book. Introducing two minor major characters at nearly page 500? What the hell? I mean, you just don’t introduce people this late in the game if the book is going to stop soon, right? Right? Argh!!!! I love everyone and the book reads well, Jon is really enjoying what he’s gotten to read, as has my editor, but come on all you fictional guys and girls, enough already! I got a deadline to make!
I now realize that one of the things that has slowed my page rate per day is that I’m still fighting the book. I’m still trying to force it into the smaller shape I had planned. I have to stop fighting myself and just let the book be what it’s going to be. My goal for the day is to stop worrying about how many characters are in the book and how late in the game they are stepping on stage and just write. It’s really all I can do, write, and let my imaginary friends have their heads, and like a horse that I’ve been fighting to hold back in a race, I’m hoping that once I give them their heads we’ll pick up speed and fly past that finish line ahead of the pack.

True Love is Hard Work

It’s been very interesting reading the comments on my FaceBook page about love, and the flowers that Jon, my husband, gave me. There seems to be this idea that men are barbarians and women are the civilizing influences, so we train them up to be what we need, or want. Or that there are only a few perfect men out there, and I’ve lucked out and found one. Both those thoughts are based on incomplete logic, and in fact I haven’t found either to be true.
First, it’s insulting to men to cast them in the role of hapless, even stupid, until the right woman comes along and trains them up. A couple trains and teaches each other. You both learn and grow together if the relationship is to be a happy and fulfilling one.
Second, this idea that I found the perfect man and there is just a few of them out there, and if a woman could find the “right one”, then she’d be as happy as I am discounts all the time and effort that Jon and I have put into our relationship. There is no perfect man, or woman, out there. The idea that the right person will make everything in your life work effortlessly is just not true, but a lot of people believe it. I think that one of the reasons for the high divorce rate is this fallacy that if you fall in love with the right person that it will all be easy, and that if it isn’t easy then you’ve obviously chosen badly and you need to find someone else. Sometimes you do choose badly, and a divorce is the only cure. My first marriage ended in divorce after sixteen years. We were college sweethearts, and we went virgin to our honeymoon after a big church wedding. Nearly twenty years later I was a different person than the one he married, and we grew apart rather than together, until there were so many differences we could no longer thrive as a couple. I left when I realized I would rather be alone the rest of my life than be in a marriage that made me miserable. I planned to never marry again. Six months later I was engaged to Jon.
I did everything differently the second time. I insisted we live together first, because I had learned that you never really know someone until you wake up beside them, see them sick, after a hard day’s work, happy, sad, whatever. Anyone can pretend while they date, but sharing a home . . . you learn the real them, and the real you as a couple. Again, dating is all about the special, but marriage is all about the ordinary. A lot of men that are great on special occasions and will sweep you off your feet in that romantic way, suck at the every day. No, really, they do, just like some women that hit that same romantic note may totally suck at being a permanent partner. You can’t live on little black dresses and roses, because someday’s the toilet over flows and somebody has to wait for the plumber to show up. Was that unromantic? Good, because real life cannot be all flowers and pretty, real life is messy and you want someone who is willing to get down in the trenches with you, even if it means getting mud on their Gucci loafers.
Being married to my first husband didn’t help me be married to Jon, they were too different, and I was too different from the girl who married the first time. What I needed in a partner had changed almost completely. I was nearly twenty years older, so that made sense, but it was weird to realize that I had to throw away most of my preconceptions of marriage to make the second one work. I think a lot of people that marry over and over again, try to treat people like cookie cutters and fit different spouses into the same shape of marriage, and then they’re surprised why it doesn’t fit. They have a new shape of cookie, a new relationship and it needs to be treated like something brand new, and special in it’s own right.
One thing I did learn from my first marriage was that you had to make everyday special. You couldn’t wait for holidays, or anniversaries, because there weren’t enough of them, not for me. I’m the kind of person that needs anniversary sex daily, and flowers for no reason more often mean more to me than a big, expensive bouquet on my birthday. Now, I know I said earlier that dating is all about the special, and marriage is all about the every day, but successful marriage for me is about making every day special. Now, you can’t do it literally every single day, because there are days when the child is sick, the work deadline is crushing you, and by the end of the day you and your spouse are so tired you just want to fall into bed and sleep. It happens, the point is to make sure it doesn’t happen too often. That takes conscious effort on both your parts to understand that being married to the other person is a privilege, not a right. You earn privileges, rights are given to you like the Constitution gives rights. You must always remember that marriage is about earning the privilege to continue to be happily married, and it’s up to each person, each couple, each family, to figure out what that means for them.
Here’s the other thing I learned from my first marriage that helped me make a happier one the second time around. Love doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone. That means that how you show love isn’t the same, and what makes you feel loved isn’t the same. That sounds logical, right? You just have to find out what makes the other person feel loved and do those things, but what if they are mutually exclusive things?
To one person doing the dishes makes them feel loved, but to the other person being made to do dishes feels like punishment, maybe it was a punishment as a child so to have their spouse complain about them not doing the dishes throws them back into unhappy childhood memories. But the dishes still have to be done, and the other half of the couple will not think it’s fair to do them all the time. It is the job of the couple to find out why dishes are such a hot button for them. Figure that out, and the half that was punished with dish washing can offer to cook more often, or vacuum more often, or take some task that their spouse hates more than dishes.
“You were punished by being made to mow the lawn, I’ll do that, if you’ll do the dishes, because it makes me feel punished to do them.” Is that fair? Only if both halves of the couple feel it’s fair. That’s just one small example of the kind of dynamics that go into a long term relationship.
Here’s another example of the confusion that can happen if love means different things to people. I sent flowers to my first husband’s work once. I loved him and wanted him to have a happy reminder of that at his job. He came home and told me, “Never do that it again.” It had embarrassed him for his wife to send him flowers, and the other guys had given him shit about it. I had meant it to be romantic and tender, to make him as happy to get the flowers as it had made me to pick them out and send them, but it had made him unhappy and far from making him feel special, or loved, it had made him feel just the opposite. I must admit that his reaction to my flowers made me feel very unloved, too, so lesson learned. I never sent him flowers again.
Go forward about twenty years and I’m seriously dating Jon now. I was out on one of the last big book tours I would do by myself without Jon. I was gone for weeks and it was the longest we had been apart since we got serious. I sent him roses to his job with the first stanza from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem, “How Do I love Thee, Let me count the ways . . . ”
Now I was taking a chance here since a similar gesture had blown up in my face with my first husband, but I had been dating Jon for nearly six months, living together most of that time, and we had been friends for eight years before that. I had sent him flowers to congratulate him for getting his first big job out of college and he had liked them. I’d done other romantic gestures for him, so I thought it was worth a try. But not only had I arranged for this bouquet, but I had arranged for a different color of rose and the next stanza of the poem on the card to be sent to his work every day for a week.
He got the same ribbing that my first husband had gotten from male coworkers for the first flowers, but Jon was able to proudly say, “She loves me, and she wants me to know that.” To him the flowers and the poem meant he was loved, just like it meant to me that I loved him. We matched up in our love expectations and actions. Yay!
The women at work thought it was very romantic, the first day. By day three the women were getting hostile to him, and the men at work were having two reactions. One, what sexual secret did Jon know to make a woman send him this many flowers!? Jon’s answer of, “She loves me, and I love her,” did not make the men stop trying to wheedle this bedroom secret from him. Two, that he was making them look bad in front of the women they were dating. He actually had one boyfriend who didn’t even work with him come over and talk to him, because the flowers were making the boyfriend’s girlfriend who worked with Jon complain to the boyfriend. Why didn’t she get flowers from him?”
The boyfriend said, “You’re making me look bad. Tell your girlfriend to stop sending you flowers to work.”
Jon’s reply, “I don’t make her do anything, and I like getting the flowers. You can get a five dollar bouquet of flowers from the grocery store across the street and give them to your girlfriend.”
I have dated other men besides Jon where the big gesture wasn’t as appreciated. It didn’t fall as flat as it did with my first husband, but it made the men uncomfortable. Part of the lack of comfort came from the fact that I was dating men ten years, or more younger than myself the second time round, and I had more money and resources to do the big gesture than men in their twenties. ( I did try dating men in my own decade, but I had many of the same issues with them that I’d had with my first husband. Ten years, or more younger and we got a long better. Jon is twelve years my junior.) I apparently made some men feel less manly, because I wanted to do the big romantic gesture and I did it better, or more expensively than they could. Again, go back to the whole idea of love means different things to different people, you have to respect that and figure it out. I knew I wanted to date a man that enjoyed getting flowers from me, so I did. I wanted to be rewarded for my romantic inclinations, my generous impulses, not feel punished for them. That goes back to the whole who washes the dishes question, well, who feels punished and more emotionally attached to the dishes? What do flowers at work mean to a man? Is it a good thing, or a bad thing? Find out, and respect their feelings. That’s really the key talk, communicate, and find ways to make you both feel happy and loved.
Strangely, Jon no longer likes getting flowers at work. This made me very sad, but the reason is that he works out of the house just like I do now. Flowers at work where he couldn’t see me and touch me were reminders that he was loved and got to go home to me. Flowers at home/work seem useless to him, because I can just find him and hug and love on him in person. Why send flowers when we’re together during the day anyway? Once we talked it out it made sense, but it still made me sad that he no longer enjoys getting flowers. On the the other hand I love when he gets me flowers, so he does, because for me as I write alone in my office they are a reminder that I am loved. This is just one example of how things that made us both feel loved when we were dating have changed. You have to honor the changes in each other, as well as the things that stay the same.