A quick shout out to all you folks in the scorched Southwest. My heart goes out to everyone being affected by these awful wildfires. I hope those who need it are blessed with some lightning-free downpours soon and thank each and every brave person working so hard to help stop the devastation.
Now on to today’s post: Since 2009, my energy levels and overall health have taken a nose dive. It’s been a struggle at times but as any diver knows, you eventually have to come back up for air, and I’m delighted that my body did that and granted me with a couple of really good days last week. Of course, I’m still hoping for loads more, but I’ll take what I can get.
As happens whenever I feel up to it, all I want to do is write! I’m still working on my sexy Regency, doing a read through of the entire manuscript before finishing the last few scenes, but I’ve been away from my hunky cowboy series long enough that several characters have really been poking and prodding me. Last week, for the first time in a while, I dusted off my Bottoms Up files and started doing some dictating on my McKenzie Cowboys.
I’ve enjoyed returning to Rustlers Junction. I’m having a blast with Isaiah and his gal (these two are mighty flirts!). And while the finished book is still a ways off, I thought I’d share the beginning of Isaiah’s story. Have fun reading this unedited snippet on what I hope is a fine, Holiday-eve (for folks in the States).
~~~~~~~~~~~EXCERPT FOR 18 AND OVER ONLY~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A bubble of pressure tickled his anus.
He was tempted to let one fly—and hope it was a doozy, just to interrupt what he knew was coming. Isaiah checked his watch. Yep, it’d been about three minutes since the last time.
Right on cue, as if his thoughts or the slow creep of the big hand on his watch had conjured the expected, dreaded invitation—
“Heya, Cowboy, things are getting mighty wet over here. Don’tcha want to do me too?” the bleached-to-within-an-inch-of-her-hair-follicles blonde asked for the fourth time from her splayed position two beds over from the corner he’d staked as his own. “You ever gonna join us?”
“Join us? Literally, eh, lover?” His brother Joe didn’t seem to mind sharing his bimbos. “But only if you’re in the middle, doll.” Neither did he seem to know their names, not that it appeared to bother Joe any–or the women he brought back to their shared hotel room. “My brothers and me may be close, but they ain’t gettin’ anywhere near my dick without a pretty pussy in between.”
“Isaiah, honey?” she prompted at his silence, earning her rump a playful smack from Joe.
“No, but thanks,” Isaiah mumbled again, his cock so tight and taut it was all he could do to pretend nonchalance.
“Honey?” Joe complained, giving the tanned blonde occupying his bed another sharp swat on her tan-line-free derrière. “I thought that was your pet name for me. Speaking of honey, think I’ll spear on through some myself…”
The remainder of Joe’s sentence was lost when he bent to fuse his mouth between her spread thighs and started slurping.
Sitting in the boxy, orange chair bolted to the floor, Isaiah hiked the magazine back up to hide his face and slumped deeper into the sagging cushion. Damn, he was uncomfortable. But hell, he’d won the toss. Had spent weeks vacating the premises every other time things got even remotely to this point. Had thought—stupidly, it seemed—if he started staying, maybe Joe would take it elsewhere. But no…
What Isaiah wouldn’t give to be home, naked, sun streaming over his backside, warm breeze gently caressing his front, striding energetically through the barren landscape that soothed his soul like nothing else on earth. Instead, he was confined, clothed and growing cranky. Really cranky.
His only concession to the freedom he craved were the socks and boots already kicked off somewhere on the other side of the room.
Here in his cramped little corner, where he’d decided to stake his claim and make his “stand”, one barefooted ankle rested on the opposite knee, to hide his killer erection, and all Isaiah could think—in an effort to block out the increasing moans—was, Not gonna join you. Not gonna do you. Not gonna change my mind, even if I am surrounded by lewd talk, lusty sighs and the ever increasing scents of sex. Not gonna change my mind! he repeated, thinking if maybe he said it to himself enough, it might be true. And I’m not gonna—Isaiah swore for the fifty-eighth time that month—strangle Nana Dori the next time I see her. I’m not! I’m not!
I swear I’m not.
On what? His grandmother’s grave?
Nana Dori. His sweet—what a lie!—little grandmother, feisty and interfering and nowhere near a grave. The managing woman who’d gotten him into this mess.
Masturbating three times a day couldn’t be good for his cock or his wrist. Hell, he was gonna give himself carpal tunnel or dicklash and then what good would he be back at the ranch?
Ah, the ranch.
The Bottoms Up family ranch in good ole podunk Rustlers Junction, Texas. Middle of nowhere, just the way he liked it.
He’d much rather be there, up to his armpits in ranch work assigned by his oldest brother Bo than here, four hundred miles away—babysitting his god-blame three youngest brothers while they rodeoed and rode reckless buckle bunnies.
Except for Ezra.
Now Ez was the smart one. He’d taken the truck with the camper on into town, to stock up, before meeting them at the next rodeo, scouting ahead to get a good hotel and—
“Fuck, but you are one tasty lady,” Joe growled, leading to annoying feminine giggles. Isaiah barely restrained a groan.
Six more nights filled with sighs, screams and sex until they headed back to the ranch for a couple weeks of blessed silence before heading back out.
Just thinking of being back home, despite his original intentions to be living it up while away, Isaiah relaxed a fraction, his fingers loosening their death grip on the glossy pages just enough to stop them from cramping as Bleach Bimbo III—the third one this week—grunted a faked orgasm if he’d ever heard one and Joe moaned his finish.
Thank the rodeo gods—it was over. For tonight at least.
Isaiah prayed Joe would stay true to form and usher her on her way and out the door before the big hand crossed another two tiny notches on his watch. Then maybe he could get some sleep.
After his dick had a date with his hand in the bathroom, that was.
Imagining the relief that was only moments away, Isaiah had to bite down on another groan, the pressure in his groin far from lessening at knowing release was in sight. And that persistent bubble applying pressure against his butt? It hadn’t gone anywhere either. Damn enchilada plate got him every time. Too bad he’d missed his window of farting opportunity.
Any time during her screamed, “Fuck, yeah! Fuck me, baby! Ream me out, bull rider man, and do it like you mean it, fuck-fuck-fuck!” he could’ve released a bazooka and doubted she would have noticed.
But Isaiah, unlike others he could name, knew how to properly behave when in the presence of the opposite sex. He clenched his ass against the eruption waiting to happen. Just another minute. He could hang on, hold on that long.
But then Zack walked in. Strutted into their cheap hotel room and let out a whoop upon spotting who occupied the bed farthest from the door. Without so much as a “Howdy-do” his hands went to his belt buckle.
Isaiah slunk farther down in the chair.
“Ashley!” Scraping down jeans and untying those God-awful orange shoes he lived in so he could push the denim off his feet, Zack sounded as though he were greeting a long, lost friend, not some bar-picked-up rodeo groupie who likely screwed any bull-riding or rope-wielding cowboy around. “Well lookit you, all naked and flushed. And waiting there right in my bed.”
Wiping the back of one arm across his forehead, Joe corrected, “You mean our bed.”
“Hot damn!” Zack spared a second to glance toward Isaiah’s corner. “And to think, we thought he was the lucky one.”
Yeah, lucky Isaiah. He’d called tails and the quarter had cooperated, granting him a bed to himself while his brothers shared for the night. But he sure didn’t feel so lucky. Not anymore, not now that relief was no longer just a few seconds away. Not the way his ears and eyes—and cock—were about to be treated to another round, this one promising to be rowdier and randier than the last. Not when everyone in the room was getting some “tails” but him.
Mangling the magazine in one hand so he could tug on the brim of his already battered cowboy hat with the other, Isaiah angled it so low on his forehead, he practically suffocated.
“Ashley, Ashley, Ashley, aren’t those long legs just the prettiest sight for these ol’ tired eyes?”
And wasn’t Zack laying it on thicker than snot? At least he knew her name, Isaiah had to give him that.
But then she corrected brightly, “It’s Amber. I told you, didn’t I?” She giggled as Joe eased out with a grunt and rolled off, slapping her flank. “Told you—you could have me if you caught me.” Giggled again when Joe came down and licked the spot before slapping her once more. “And I pride myself on being easy to catch.”
Easy was right.
Now divested of everything but his socks and shirt, Zack launched himself toward the bed like a ho-seeking missile.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TA DA! END OF EXCERPT. HOPE YOU HAD AS MUCH FUN READING AS I DID WRITING. (c) 2012 Larissa Lyons~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Next up: Mistress by Morning
Larissa Lyons loves all things historical and feline. She also has a soft spot for hard cowboys. Currently “hard” at work finishing her sexy Regency romance, she’s eager to turn her pen back to cowboys soon. Learn more by visiting LarissaLyons.com.