Monday, 30 July 2012

Sunday... Sunday.... with Sue Brown

Sunday, Sunday…

At the moment I am digging out my garden. Actually that isn’t true. At the moment I am typing this out and doing my best to avoid digging my garden. It is easy to think of a good reason. It’s raining cats and dogs out there and I ain’t that keen on being outside at the best of times.

So I need to sit down and write. I can do this. I am author, see me write… in a minute, after I had a cup of coffee.

Coffee in hand, I am ready. “No son, I don’t know where the batteries are. You’ve used an entire pack and not told me that they’ve run out. And that’s my fault for some reason? Of course it is.”

Coffee swallowed in an effort not to yell. Make a fresh coffee. Fingers poised at the keyboard and… “Please kids, do I have to listen to that imbecilic kids’ programme again. Good grief, I could quote the bloody script.”

I can do this. I type a few words.

“Inside their room Zeke looked hopefully at Ray. “Make love to me?””

*sigh* My surly cowboy has turned into a twink. My boys should be having hot, sweaty monkey sex around the motel room, not making tender love. Wrong book. Cut and paste that into the spare sex scenes file.

Try again. Stare at screen, mutter something very rude, and wander off in search of more munchies.
I need a break, I think. I’ll go and have a read of a book that I am reviewing. Now this can go one of two ways. Either I get so involved in the book that I forget about the writing, or I end up screeching at the book.

Nope, I get distracted by the warning. I… no… you really don’t need to know what I think of this warning. It’s for my blog. Failed to write the review.

So what should I do? I could tidy up. Hahahahahahaha. Next.

So here I am, folks. I can’t concentrate enough to write, it’s raining cats and dogs so I can’t tackle the garden, I can’t concentrate enough to read. Things are desperate.

That’s it! I’m shutting down the laptop and the dog and I are going for a walk. He looks interested and positively ecstatic when he sees me putting on my shoes. Until we get to the front door. You see my dog doesn’t like rain. He would rather hide under a bush – I have the scratches to prove it – than walk in the rain.

In the end I give up. I’m going to snooze. Wake me up when it’s Monday.

Author Bio: Sue Brown is owned by her dog and two children. When she isn't following their orders, she can be found plotting at her laptop. In fact she hides so she can plot and has got expert at ignoring the orders.

Sue discovered M/M erotica at the time she woke up to find two men kissing on her favorite television series. The series was boring; the kissing was not. She may be late to the party, but she's made up for it since, writing fan fiction until she was brave enough to venture out into the world of original fiction.
She can be found at her website, her Facebook, and twitter.

The Isle of… Where?

Blurb: When Liam Marshall’s best friend, Alex, loses his fight with colon cancer, he leaves Liam one final request: buy a ticket to Ryde, on the Isle of Wight, and scatter Alex’s ashes off the pier. Liam is tired, worn out, and in desperate need of a vacation, but instead of sun, sea, sand, and hot cabana boys, he gets a rickety old train, revolting kids, and no Ewan MacGregor.

Liam would have done anything for his friend, but fulfilling Alex’s final wish means letting go of the only family Liam had left. Lost, he freezes on the pier… until Sam Owens comes to his rescue.

Sam’s family has vacationed on the Isle of Wight every year for as long as he can remember, but he’s never met anyone like Liam. Determined to make Liam’s vacation one to remember, Sam looks after him—in and out of the bedroom. He even introduces Liam to his entire family. But as Sam helps Liam let go, he’s forced to admit that he wants Liam to hang on—not to his old life, but to Sam and what they have together.

Excerpt: The beach was empty, miles of golden sand laid out for them to dig up. It was also freezing, and Liam shivered. It hadn’t occurred to him to bring a jacket, and the wind whipping off the sparkling waves sucked any heat from the sun.

“You’re shivering,” Sam said unnecessarily. “Here.” He slipped off the hoodie he was wearing, holding it out so that Liam could slip it over his head.

“Then you’ll get cold,” Liam pointed out.

“Put it on,” Sam insisted.

Giving in, because he was fucking freezing, Liam tugged on the soft gray hoodie. It drowned him a little, but it was warm and Liam didn’t care. He cared even less when he looked up and saw the open lust in Sam’s eyes.

“You like me wearing your clothes, huh?”

Sam swallowed and Liam had the feeling that if they weren’t in the open, Sam would have jumped him. As it was, he got up close, too close.

“I wanna fuck you wearing that hoodie and nothing else,” Sam whispered in Liam’s ear, his hot breath ghosting over Sam’s neck. There was no need to whisper, no one was in earshot, but it was hot as hell, and Liam couldn’t help the hitch of breath or the moan that escaped him. But because Sam was talking about fucking, Liam had to retort.

“Just remember, I do the fucking.”

“If you wear this hoodie and your arse is bare, I don’t care who fucks who.”

Liam swallowed hard. Sam chuckled and brushed a quick kiss over his lips.


“Huh?” Liam was soaking up the way Sam filled his senses. Words took a while longer to process.

To his regret, Sam took a step back. “Sandcastles,” he repeated. “Otherwise things could get interesting out here, and much as people like me, I don’t think they’d forgive a display of bare-arsed man-loving in a hurry.”

Sadly, Sam was probably right, and Liam had to postpone the thought of throwing Sam down on the sand for another time. It didn’t occur to him until much later that he was already planning to spend more time with Sam.

Sam jogged back to Molly and picked up the kids’ buckets and spades from the pea-sized trunk. Liam had been firmly corrected and told it was the boot. Whatever. It was still miniscule.

He handed Liam the purple spade and the orange bucket, keeping rainbow ones for himself. When Liam protested, Sam just gave him a look.

“You got my hoodie. Now stop complaining.”

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for having me here, my dear *hugs*