A very dear friend of mine has given me the honor of posting an excerpt in her M/M wip. She's a wonderful person and gonna be a great author! Please welcome...
Writer, blogger and future colonist on the planet Xandrova 2.
She can be found either on her writing blog here: http://www.renthewriter.blogspot.com or on her review blog here: http://www.renthompsonishere.blogspot.com
If you still can’t find her, check the Highway 61 Smokehouse in Toronto. She likes their barbecued ribs.
Excerpt from Loving Oren: Fruit Salad.
Oren hopped up on the stool next to the counter, reaching for the glass of Chablis that Mike had poured for him. His eyes touched on thick black curls that peeked out from beneath the ball cap on his lover’s head as the other man concentrated on cutting up a pineapple, the sound of the knife hitting against the wooden cutting board.
Thunk, thunk, thunk
Mike squared the pieces and cut them up again before tossing them into the large ceramic bowl. Oren popped a chunk into his mouth, smiling as Mike gave him a sideways glance, his own lips pulled up in smirk.
“Rough day, today?”
Oren shrugged, tipped up his glass, and then reached for another piece of fruit.
“It was okay.” He rolled his eyes. “Sal’s talking about starting a Karaoke night during the week.”
Mike tilted the cutting board over the bowl and scrapped the rest of the fruit in it. He wiped his hands on the dishtowel and went to the fridge.
“Is that right?” He bent down. “You’ll have them lining up around the block even more than you do now.”
Oren admired the tight, faded denim that cupped his boyfriend’s ass. He imagined sinking his teeth into the taut flesh hidden underneath. He shifted, and stifled a groan.
Mike straightened up, his foot kicking the refrigerator door closed. He held grapes, a packet of strawberries, one of blackberries and a cantaloupe in his hands. “What do you think about it?”
“I don’t know.” Oren sipped his wine, watching Mike load the fruit onto the counter. “I mean, we’re already booked with bands up until Christmas. We had to bring on another barman and Tommy is screaming about needing more cooks.” He frowned into the glass. “I’m just afraid that we’re stretching ourselves thin.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Mike took a pull of his beer. “But the club’s hot right now, you might as well get as much in as you can.”
Oren shook his head.
“He wants to eventually open up another place in Mississauga.”
Mike let out a low whistle.
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Oren drained his glass and leaned back. He snatched a strawberry, and chewed loudly as Mike leveled a look at him. He started to reach for another one but Mike grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers.
His lover tugged him closer. Oren came off the stool, brushing up against warm, hard male. Their lips were a breath apart. He watched Mike’s eyes flick down to his mouth before meeting his own.
Mike’s lips brushed against Oren’s, as he whispered.
“You keep stealing my fruit, I’m gonna have to punish you.” The hidden promise sent a flash of heat straight to his dick. Grinning, Oren moved in closer.
“Really?” He flicked his tongue against his lover’s upper lip. “What kind of punishment?”
“Keep it up.” Mike’s fingers tightened.
Oren smirked and brushed his fingers against the hard ridge beneath the denim.
“I’m trying to.”
© Ren Thompson September 7, 2011