So, for a while there, I forgot I even had a blog, and then I thought, hey, I have a blog!
But what to write? I, alongside with a lot of you, have been doom-spiraling over current events, and it’s felt like the biggest weight of the world on my shoulders. So naturally, it’s been the main thing on my mind. Guess what we don’t need? Anymore doom-spiraling. So I haven’t done anything about this Having a Blog malarkey.
And then a friend suggested one thing, and I thought of another, and now I’m thinking, I can do this. So, to start off with, because it’s Tuesday, I’m going to give you a TEASER.
This actually will not be a teaser to my book (I figure, I can tease you with that the closer it gets. Mwahaha), but of something I’ve been working on just for a lark that has turned from a short story into a novella into most likely a novel. It’s Regency, and it’s my current happy place.
So, without further ado, here’s the opening scene. I hope you enjoy.
~*~*~
Callum parted the curtains with nary a glance towards the bed, knowing full well that he would get his fill once he turned round. He liked how the early morning glow would not disturb as much as invite itself, and sure enough, just as the hazy dawn spilled its way across the over-stuffed room, behind him, Alfie began to stir.
Callum, careful to be out of anyone’s view should they dare trespass his gardens before him, leaned against the window seat.
“Mornin’ and all,” he said, watching Alfie stretch his lily white arms over his head and smile in Callum’s direction without even opening his eyes a crack. Callum allowed himself to gaze his fill at the slender body he’d have to take leave of in the next half hour lest he be caught. Bones defined where Alfie’s neck met his hairless chest, the smoothness of his skin catching in the orange light, the soft down under his arms. It was a sight to behold, his Earl was. Or, well. Not an Earl yet, thank God, or they could hardly be here, could they?
No, Alfie was his for the present moment, which was probably why Callum was in no hurry to oblige his honourable so-and-so’s beckoning hands.
His honourable so-and-so spoke, voice raspy against wakefulness. “Come, you horrible tease, you cannot leave me now, not like this.” His fingers grasped the air like a child’s would.
“And who says I’m leaving?”
Alfie pouted and finally deigned to open his eyes a crack. “Well, you’re all the way over there,” he said and, just as Callum knew he would, shoved the covers aside, revealing his honourable morning stand, vivid against his pale skin, nestled in his dark blond curls. Alfie knew Callum had a weakness for that morning stiffness, knew Callum loved being the first one to greet him on these mornings. “And you’ve opened the curtains as if I cannot read a clock. Most importantly,” he went on, one hand already much too close to being the first to touch his honourable prick this morning, “I am over here and have no plans to budge from this bed.”
Callum’s mouth watered even as he attempted to playact at aloofness. It never worked well, not really—not even when Alfie was being his most high in the instep, cock-sure fuck of a gent and getting all—well. Callum’s mother would have called it ‘above his station,’ apart from how Alfie acted exactly as his station befitted. It was Callum who hopped into an Earl’s son’s bed the first chance he got.
And the first chance hadn’t even been in his bed.
Presently, he swallowed and lunged for Alfie, getting to him just in time. With hard-earned expertise, he took him down in his mouth. As highborn as Alfie was, his prick tasted the way all pricks taste, though better washed, and his words—well, for all he was an educated cove, he sure did have a commonplace mind when it came right down to it.
Alfie’s hand curled in Callum’s hair and Callum’s hands, rough and dark, clawed at Alfie’s narrow hips. Best sort of morning, this was. The best there ever could be for him, really.
~*~
Liz Jacobs 