Today on the site we’re revealing the cover of Gwendolyn Clare’s speculative YA, In the City of Time, which releases from Feiwel & Friends on November 29th and stars two queer POV characters, one pansexual and polyamorous and the other a trans lesbian! Here’s the story:
In 1891, Willa Marconi’s life falls apart when her mentor at the University of Bologna unexpectedly dies, but Willa refuses to let anyone take her research away. While testing her prototype radio equipment, she detects a mysterious signal and pursues its origin.
In 2034, a cataclysmic event has rendered Earth uninhabitable, and humankind survives by living inside artificial worlds. Riley would do anything for Jaideep, who lost his family in the collapse of the Bay Area pocket universe—and “anything” includes building a time machine so they can travel back to the nineteenth century to prevent the destabilization of the planet and rewrite history.
But the experiment goes wrong. Willa is pulled forward in time, and the three find themselves stranded in a strange, seemingly abandoned city. Now they’ve got a glitchy time machine, a scary android time cop hot on their trail—dead set on preserving the current timeline—and some tangled temporal mechanics to unravel. Can they save the Earth before there’s no Earth left to save?
And here’s the electrifying cover, designed by Sarah Kaufman!
Gwendolyn Clare’s young adult novels include the steampunk duology Ink, Iron, and Glass and Mist, Metal, and Ash, set in the same universe as In the City of Time. Her short fiction has appeared in Analog, Asimov’s, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and Clarkesworld, among others. She has a BA in Ecology, a BS in Geophysics, and a PhD in Mycology, and swears she’s done collecting acronyms. She lives in central Pennsylvania with too many cats and never enough books. You can find her geeking out over other people’s book covers on instagram @gwendolynclare and on twitter @gwendoclare.
I’m really thrilled to have Katrina Jackson back on the site today for this beautiful essay on finding queer Black love in literature. I asked her to write it after seeing her Twitter threads about it, and I’m so grateful that she did. You can see more about Kat and her books here, but frankly, I’m antsy to get to the post, so, onward!
I didn’t start reading romance with any kind of intention until I was an adult, but I have loved love stories my entire life, especially Black love stories. There was something about seeing movies with Ossie Davis and Ruby Dee and realizing that they had spent decades sharing their passion for art and activism with one another, that made my heart swell. It still does. I’ve also always loved queer love stories for as long as I can remember, even when I didn’t understand that I loved queer love stories for the same reasons I loved Black love stories: I was searching for depictions of love that reflected pieces of myself. I was searching for something that felt like a little slice of me on the big and small screens.
The first DVD I bought was The Color Purple. It was one of those old-school DVDs where the movie was split between two discs with those cheap plastic covers. I cherished that DVD, because once it was mine, I could watch that scene of Celie and Shug’s tentative kiss – with the juke joint providing a muffled backdrop – whenever I wanted. And I wanted to watch it over and over and over again. I felt similarly engrossed, years later as I watched the climax of Moonlight. I was a puddle of happy, relieved tears as the tumult of Chiron’s life culminates in this hardened, resilient man sitting across a diner table, staring at his childhood love with softness and warmth in his eyes. These two scenes, among so many others, spoke to that quietest part of my heart and the longing many of us hold to look at someone we love and feel fully and completely seen and loved for all that we are.
I turned to romance books while getting my master’s degree. I was in the depths of one of the worst depressive episodes of my adult life. Every day I received messages from professors and other students, that I did not belong, and I dreamt about abandoning the program and running home to the places and people who loved me. I didn’t leave, but I did start reading romance. Finding love stories that centered people who looked like me made the world feel much less alone and allowed me to start down a years-long road to fully identifying as bisexual, even though I’ve always known that I wasn’t straight. It took a little work to find queer stories with Black people, but once I found one, I found more and more and more.
The point I’m trying to make is that I have looked for Black queer love stories for most of my life and I have found them! They have buoyed me when I was at my lowest, when life seemed bleak and when looking at the news made my entire body hurt so much that I spent days in bed mourning.
So you can imagine how much it hurt when, in the midst of the most recent cluster of stories about American police officers killing Black people like Tony McDade and Breonna Taylor and George Floyd, I saw bookish twitter accounts – some I follow, some I don’t – begin recommending books by Black authors that refused to recognize the full breadth of Black life and humanity. Romance accounts, specifically, were so cavalier in their lists that many recommended books by non-Black authors who wrote Black characters, sometimes problematically, because they didn’t read much romance by Black authors, but refused to cede space to reviewers and readers who did. Across the board, I watched romance outlets, writers, reviewers and readers, recommend books that focused on white characters, books filled with anti-Black stereotypes, and on top of all that many patently ignored queer Black authors and books with queer Black characters.
While I don’t particularly agree with recommending fiction in a moment where people need to confront the depths of their anti-blackness and begin to consider the realities of global white supremacy, watching romance readers who imagined themselves as supportive of diversity, erase (queer) Black people (authors and characters) dug deep in my chest. It sent the message that people like me and the characters I write don’t actually matter, even while people were putting the hashtag in their bios. It was an erasure that struck a painful chord because it reminded me that the people and stories I love – who are the center of my life – are so easily forgotten and ignored.
I love Black people. I love queer Black people and QPOC. They don’t just matter to me, they are precious. I would not be alive today without them. I would not be writing without them. And I would not have the solace of these stories on the days when I still can’t get out of bed because everything hurts. At least with the stories that Black authors have written, my heart doesn’t have to hurt nearly as much, because it is so full of love for queer Black people.
Unfortunately, even when I’m depressed, I have a near obsessive desire to catalog books, so I took to twitter to begin a thread of queer romance written by Black authors. I began with books I love by authors I respect and appreciate and asked for recommendations. What I found in this process was instructive in many ways. I made a few caveats for recommendations that might have seemed random at the time but were not. I asked that the author identify as Black, since I’d seen so many outlets recommending non-Black authors. It mattered to me that if the response to Black murder was to uplift Black authors, that those authors better be Black and stand firm in their blackness. I wanted to focus specifically on adult romance because the YA book community had rallied their recommendations firmly behind Black authors (trans, cis, queer and het). It was exciting to watch and frustrating to compare to the adult romance community.
The other critical requirement was that the books feature Black characters and all the love interests should be Black or other people of color. Again, this was not arbitrary. Romance, like other literary genres, is steeped in white supremacist narratives. It is not just that so many traditionally published romance authors are white, it is that the foundation of the genre is based on whiteness as the norm. The tropes and story structures and even the Happily Ever After (the only requirement of romance literature) have been defined by a white default, even when some of the characters are people of color.
The proliferation of romance stories (traditionally published, indie and self-pub) that peddle in anti-Black, homophobic, transphobic, racist and xenophobic stereotypes is alarming, but not new. What feels new are the ways in which so many of these books are classified as “diverse” and “inclusive” even when they are not. So when I asked that all the recommendations focus on Black and POC characters, it was because I wanted to create a list of queer romances that rejected the white supremacist narrative in romance that centers whiteness, that demands white love interests and requires a translation of queer love between characters of color for white audiences. I wanted to find books by Black authors who, hopefully, wrote for readers of color.
What I found in this process was a mixed bag, as much of life is. On the downside, I found that I spent hours of my day clarifying fairly clear instructions, asking readers to verify that the authors and characters were Black and POC. I found that some people were disinterested in the idea of queer Black people and QPOC loving one another. I found that readers, writers and reviewers – many who jumped at the chance to make recommendation lists themselves – had become comfortable ignoring blackness. They considered it incidental or a box to check on the list of diversity brownie points. They were perfectly fine to tokenize Black authors and characters but were never challenged to consider why.
But the other, far better, thing I discovered was the wealth of queer romance written by Black authors. There was Black Romance and IR, polyamorous, m/m, and even the apparently elusive f/f romance. There were so many bisexual and pansexual characters! I found contemporary and historical and paranormal and urban. Certainly, there is room to grow in many areas, for instance so far there is only one trans Black romance recommendation (noted below) and ace spectrum representation is similarly lacking. In this moment, I choose to celebrate that the few books we have exist, but I hope for more.
There were many highs and lows in this process. I won’t pretend that I didn’t often wish I hadn’t decided to field the barrage of twitter notifications in a moment when I really should have given myself peace and quiet. Self-care is a thing I’m working on, especially now. But for all the new books and authors I and others discovered, I’ve decided that the exercise was worth it.
Below are a sample of books that emerged in the conversation, some I’ve read, some I’ve moved up my TBR and some I’m waiting impatiently to be released. These are books that remind me of the things that were true at the beginning of this all. I love being Black with every cell in my body. This is not incidental to me. And queer Black people are still PRECIOUS and CRUCIAL to my life and well-being.
For even more recommendations put together by Katrina, check out this list on Goodreads! (Blogger’s Note: Please do not add to this list anything that does not fit the above-stated requirements or I may do a murder.)
Katrina is a college professor by day who writes romances by weekend when her cats allow. She writes high heat, diverse and mostly queer erotic romances and erotica. She also likes sleep, salt-and-pepper beards, and sunshine.
She’s super active on twitter. Follow her: @katrinajax
*All links are affiliate, bringing a small percentage of each purchase back to the site (Amz = Amazon | Bks = Bookshop)
Today on the site we’re revealing yet another super cute cover by Xan West, this one for Their Troublesome Crush, the contemporary polyam trans m/cis f Romance novella that kicks off the Kink & Showtunes series with its release on April 16, 2019! Here’s the blurb:
In this queer polyamorous m/f romance novella, two metamours realize they have crushes on each other while planning their shared partner’s birthday party together. Ernest, a Jewish autistic demiromantic queer fat trans man submissive, and Nora, a Jewish disabled queer fat femme cis woman switch, have to contend with an age gap, a desire not to mess up their lovely polyamorous dynamic as metamours, the fact that Ernest has never been attracted to a cis person before, and the reality that they are romantically attracted to each other, all while planning their dominant’s birthday party and trying to do a really good job.
(An illustrated cover featuring a fat brunette cane-using woman in a cupcake-printed dress holding hands with a fat redheaded trans man in jeans and an open plaid shirt in front of a bakery display case full of cupcakes.)
Ernest had the best idea for Daddy’s birthday and he couldn’t wait to share it with Nora. When would she get here? He was so excited that his hands were fluttery, and he was bouncing a little. They were going to throw Gideon an amazing birthday party, and Gideon was going to ruffle his hair and call him a good boy, and cup Nora’s cheek and give her that sweet smile he had just for her, and he would tell them both they did a good job. There was nothing better than doing a good job.
Ernest was getting ahead of himself, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. He always got giddy at the beginning of tasks; this was their first joint task doing service for Gideon as metamours, and that was exciting, and Ernest was rather bouncy in general, anyway. Luckily, Nora was more grounded and moved slowly and deliberately, so they would balance each other out, he thought. Ernest had this image in his head, of himself tugging on Daddy’s hand, racing forward, unruly short red curls going every which way, and Nora holding Gideon’s other hand, moving slow and steady, gazing up at him like he hung the moon, her tight dark curls framing her face in a somewhat controlled cloud. Maybe there was a song in that, he thought, the two rhythms dancing around the melody, balancing it. His fingers moved on his thighs, building the rhythms, as his head started to fill with the melody. Then these two women sat right next to him, talking loudly about the bat mitzvah they were planning, and he lost the song altogether. He should have sat in the corner.
Ernest moved to the corner table, which was quieter, thankfully, but he couldn’t get the song back, so he sketched out the idea in his notebook and turned his attention back to the party planning. There were a ton of cupcake shops in NYC, but Nora favored this one on the Lower East Side; they were meeting there so Ernest could try them out. He still wasn’t sure cupcakes were the right choice. They would be perfect for his own birthday, but perhaps Gideon would want something more dignified. He had his eye on a pie shop in Brooklyn. But it made sense to at least try the cupcakes, didn’t it? How could he resist a chance to try cupcakes?
Maybe they should get a half dozen and sample. It would give him a chance to take leftovers home and see what Daddy thought. But he knew Nora was diabetic and that made it thorny to fill the table with cupcakes. What if it was a mean thing to do, since she probably could only have a few bites? At least, that was what she generally did with desserts, when they had gotten them in the past. They always shared so she could have a taste but not mess up her blood sugar. But maybe it wasn’t right for him to not ask just because she was diabetic? He didn’t want to act like he was in charge of her food choices. He thought it through, considering it from a few angles, trying to figure out what would be the most considerate and the least intrusive and the most respectful of her autonomy, his brain filling with these spiraling thoughts that contradicted each other, until he remembered what Jax had said to him once: “People think they are being so caring when they comment on what you eat, when you’re a fat diabetic. They don’t see the way our food choices are constantly scrutinized and judged, the way we’re so often blamed for having diabetes, how we have unhelpful non-consensual help pushed on us all the time. What I really need is to be left alone…unless I ask for information or help.”
Well, that cleared things up. He would do the sampler thing and try a few flavors, and let her do what made sense for her. Ernest got enough shit from the world as a mid-sized fat not-really-passing-most-of-the-time trans guy, for eating sweets in public…it seemed likely that as a larger fat diabetic femme cis woman, she got a whole lot more. He definitely didn’t want to add to that. Once he connected those ideas, a whole bunch more slotted into place, as he thought about unhelpful non-consensual help, and all the ways it messed things up, about the ways that kind of help interacted with ableism and fat oppression and misogyny. He started mapping it out in his notebook, connecting the dots for himself. Writing it, mapping it, helped make it stick when there was a gap in a pattern like this, like it was reinforcing a piece of the puzzle that had been missing but was now in place. He didn’t want to lose this piece again.
Ernest traced the pattern he’d drawn in his notebook, and felt his brain ready itself for a leap to another connection, just as he heard his name being said in a husky musical voice that held tones of humor, like perhaps she’d already said it a few times and he’d missed that. So he looked up, and Nora was there, taking off her adorable raincoat, which was bright pink and had white polka dots. She was wearing purple tights and a short black dress. Her dress had cupcakes on it! Nora managed to look both powerful and cute at the same time; it was something about how her clothes suited her pear-shaped fatness perfectly, and something about how she held herself. Her face was flushed, she was smiling, and her chin-length dark brown hair was all wild frizzy curls today. So was his own hair, come to think of it. He actually had a curl in the center of his fucking forehead, which of course put his mother’s voice in his head, exactly where he did not want her. He dug his nails into his thigh to try to get rid of her and focus on the present.
“You were in your own world,” she said.
He ducked his head. “Um, yeah. I do that.”
“I do it too, when I’m writing. My world is a pretty good place to spend time in.”
He smiled. His world was pretty great too. “I know what you mean. My world is a lot better than most places in NYC. Maybe you could tell me about your world sometime?”
“You want to hear about the world I’m writing, the novel I’m working on?”
“Yes, please,” he said firmly. He definitely wanted to hear about that.
“Hmm. That rates a please, does it?”
Ernest blinked, trying to figure out what she meant. Was he not supposed to say please? Was he not supposed to want to hear about her world? He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded.
She was still standing over the table, though she’d draped her raincoat over her chair, and moved closer to him, so it wasn’t that she was going to leave. Was he supposed to be standing too? She made him nervous, looking down at him, standing so close. His heart was racing. Why did he like being around her so much if she made him nervous like this?
“Come on,” Nora said, and her hand appeared. He was supposed to take it, he knew. But they hadn’t ever touched, so it was a shock to be suddenly faced with it. Did he want to take her hand? After a moment the answer came: yes. So he stood up, and took it. She tugged him over to the display case of all the cupcakes, and then stood next to him, reaching over his body to point out her favorite flavors, closer than she had ever stood before. It made him a bit dizzy, but not in a scary way. It was like being filled with bubbles; he was unsteady, almost floating, definitely not firmly planted on the ground.
He dug his boots into the floor, not wanting to fall, as her voice filled him up, talking about why she loved these particular flavors. The scent of sugar and butter was so strong in this part of the shop. But that wasn’t all he smelled. Her raincoat had a hood but he didn’t think she’d been wearing it, because her hair, which was so close it had brushed his face, smelled like rain. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in, concentrating on the smell of rain. He’d always loved the rain, would stand outside in it every chance he got, savoring the sensation of it on his skin. There was nothing like spinning in the rain. He’d tried spinning in the shower but it wasn’t the same. “Singin’ in the Rain” came into his head, and he hummed it, knowing that he couldn’t sing, not in a bakery, even though he wanted to. Humming would have to do.
Xan West is the nom de plume of Corey Alexander, an autistic queer fat Jewish genderqueer writer and community activist with multiple disabilities who spends a lot of time on Twitter.
Xan’s erotica has been published widely, including in the Best S/M Erotica series, the Best Gay Erotica series, and the Best Lesbian Erotica series. Xan’s story “First Time Since”, won honorable mention for the 2008 National Leather Association John Preston Short Fiction Award. Their collection of queer kink erotica, Show Yourself to Me, is out from Go Deeper Press.
After over 15 years of writing and publishing queer kink erotica short stories, Xan has begun to also write longer form queer kink romance. Their recent work still centers kinky, trans and non-binary, fat, disabled, queer trauma survivors. It leans more towards centering Jewish characters, ace and aro spec characters, autistic characters, and polyamorous networks. Xan has been working on a queer kinky polyamorous romance novel, Shocking Violet, for the last four years, and hopes to finish a draft very soon! You can find details and excerpts on their website, and sign up for their newsletter to get updates.
Today on the site we have the cover reveal of Temper: Deference by Lila Mina, the first book in an adult polyam paranormal romance series with BDSM themes.
Short-tempered Lana Martin is a workaholic consultant based in Tokyo. Not one to turn down a challenge, she accepts the indecent proposal of her abrasive martial arts’ instructor to become his submissive in a dynamic that tests her resilience.
Spreading like wildfire, their affair lights up another blaze, this time between Lana and Honda’s wife, the sophisticated socialite Yuki. Fearless, Lana embraces what her two masters offer her.
Yet, unbeknown to her, their powerful desire rouses dark powers who waited for decades to claim their prizes. Lana must confront the enemy eating her from within, while pulling back Honda from the edge of madness. Yuki’s unwavering strength keeps them sane – but for how long?
Yuki stopped by the reading room on their way out. “Goshujin sama, we are leaving. We will be at Chicago’s Soul, have a nice evening.”
Lana was already in the genkan and didn’t hear his reply. “Will there be any gig tonight?” she asked as they climbed into the taxi.
“There are always several live acts. At this hour, we might still catch a couple. Afterward, DJs take over the place.” Yuki took Lana’s hand and squeezed it. “Now, let’s make good use of tonight to get to know each other better. I intend to make you drink enough champagne to have you spill out your life story, sweetling,” she chuckled.
Lana’s smile turned forced. She would have to control her intake because she wasn’t ready for this. “Hm, I’ll make sure you don’t spike my drink, then. Who knows what would happen to me? I could wake up in your bed and not remember anything, or something just as terrible,” she smirked.
Yuki’s laugh sent new butterflies to Lana’s stomach, but nice one this time. Honda sama, you idiot, why can’t you be content with such a queen at your side…
Yuki leaned toward her ear, warm breath sending shivers along her spine. “Now I regret not having ordered a limousine with a privacy screen. It would be bad press to give this grandpa a good show; and we wouldn’t hear the end of it.”
Lana closed her eyes and stifled a moan. “Let’s wait a bit longer,” she whispered.
“Don’t worry, neko chan, our VIP lounge is a separate room with full privacy.” Both women shared a steamy look filled with promises before falling back into a comfortable silence while their taxi brought them to Shibuya district.
The exclusive nightclub Chicago’s Soul occupied a four-stories high building. Hundreds of patrons waited in line, but Yuki brought them without hesitation to the VIP entrance. She didn’t even have to show her member card for the doors to open wide. Two hostesses brought them to their lounge. Lana discovered a spacious room, all in burgundy, red, and black tones, with large sofas. A bay window offered a perfect view of the dance-floor and scene, two floors below.
“Champagne?” Yuki asked, offering Lana a flute.
After a toast, Lana pointed at the jazz band performing. “Do you mind if we go downstairs to listen? It’s been ages since I had the chance to enjoy live jazz and I’d love to be closer than this.”
“Of course! There’s a table booked for us. This band is so good, they come back every year from Chicago, and the crowds love them. Come on, let’s go.” Yuki grabbed Lana’s hand and led them to the flight of stairs.
As soon as they sat at the table, only a few meters away from the scene, Lana found herself lost in the amazing performance of the band. The saxophonist was gifted, and his music stirred a whirlpool of emotions flushing her cheeks and making her hands shake. Warm fingers squeezed her wrist.
“I wish you could see the look on your face and those sparkles in your eyes, sweetling. I am so happy we came here tonight. It was high time you enjoyed something pleasurable and easy,” Yuki said in her ear.
Tears blurred Lana’s sight, and she pressed her companion’s hand back. “I didn’t think I needed it, but it seems like I truly did. Thank you, Yuki sama.”
They remained at their table for about one hour, savoring a fresh bottle of champagne until the concert came to an end. Like everyone else, they jumped on their feet for a standing ovation.
“Dancing time!” Yuki exclaimed. “Do you want to go back to our lounge, or shall we stay here and join the crowd when there is some movement going on?”
“Why don’t we remain here for a while? I’m dying to hear how, you, the eldest daughter of a fearsome industry tycoon, get to open the doors of the most exclusive nightclubs in stride?”
Yuki laughed; she massaged Lana’s thigh under the table, and let her fingers crawl up, sending electric shocks to her companion’s core. “Well, you see, while my father has given me the same education as my brothers, to his eternal frustration, he’s never been able to curb my endless search for personal freedom. My desire to explore my drives and be truthful to myself. My mother understood it and helped me, enabling many of my wildest choices–including my love for partying. My father was mad at us, but he never knew how to hold a grudge against her for long.” She caressed Lana’s cheek and took a shaky breath. “You would have loved her, and she would have definitely loved you.” Emotions thickened her voice.
Not caring about the crowd surrounding them, Lana leaned forward to kiss Yuki’s neck. Her lover cupped her cheek, pressed her lips and swept her tongue against hers, demanding entrance. Their deep kiss left them panting.
“Come on, let’s dance,” Yuki said huskily. “Show me what all this extra harsh training is about, sweetling.”
Lana gave her a dazzling smile and led her by the hand to the center of the dance floor. Soon, they were lost to the outside world, letting the fast beat and loud music take over their bodies, sweat drenching their backs. Lana’s desire for her companion built up fast, and she had to remind herself they weren’t alone. The fire in Yuki’s eyes told her a similar story when she grabbed Lana’s waist for a highly charged sensual dance.
“So neko chan, do you see anyone here who catches your eyes, whom you find… interesting?” Yuki purred in Lana’s ear.
Lana squeezed Yuki’s arm around her waist. “Yes, indeed. Lucky me, I’m in her arms,” she replied, beaming.
“So smooth and sweet.” Yuki replied with a large smile. “Now, don’t forget, you’re allowed to look… and more.”
Lana chuckled and shook her head. “As if I could have the energy or even the need to search for someone else with the two of you in my life. Right now, I am quite complete and content, oku sama.”
Yuki remained silent for a while, continuing her complex dance moves, and leading Lana through them. “Intimacy is such a serious thing for you. Why not try the fun side of it? How about finding out if any of those beautiful young ladies wants to come upstairs with us?”
Lana smiled against the smooth and damp skin of her lover, cupping her cheek. “I envy you so much for knowing who you are and for this freedom you’ve found. Please oku sama. Go ahead, ask one of them out, don’t mind me, you don’t need my blessing. Maybe one day I’ll get there, but right now, this is impossible.”
Yuki’s eyes flashed. They stopped dancing and found themselves in a bubble, surrounded by hundreds of dancers. Lana didn’t blink under the searching gaze of her companion.
“Of course not, I’m not ditching you! Hm… don’t take me wrong, but the two of you are so similar. All these years, goshujin sama gave me complete leeway, but when he met you, only then did he grant himself some self-indulgence. He chose you.”
Lana winced. “Ah, this must be hard for you–” A slender finger on her lips cut her off.
“No, it’s not. I’ve already told you why. And it’s such a blessing it’s you, and that I find myself drowning in your personality, care and your other delicious skills. He couldn’t have chosen better,” Yuki added with a warm smile before resuming dancing.
Lana followed suit but had to look away to hide her trouble. Chosen… always this word.
She exhaled to let go of her tension; her eyes found the VIP area on the second floor and fell on the last man she’d expected to see. Honda.
“Oh!” She came again to a stop, shocked. “I can’t believe it. He’s here, just outside the VIP room, by the stairs!”
Yuki didn’t even glance up or lose a beat. “Yes, he’s been there for fifteen minutes or so, watching us.”
“Did you expect him?”
“No, it’s the second or third time in the past ten years he’s come here. He dislikes the noise and such crowds. Maybe the picture of you in this amazing dress I sent him earlier did the trick,” Yuki teased.
Lana burst out laughing, her unease evaporating, replaced by the wicked pleasure to make jokes at his expense with the only other person who would get it.
“Oh my, this and the video of your incredible hip move I sent him!” Both women whooped in laughter. “All right, it’s nasty of us to give him such a nosebleed.”
Yuki snorted. “A nosebleed and something else, which must be bothering him a lot right now. We can always blame it on the alcohol, and if he complains, the door of my bedroom will be locked next week.”
Lana chuckled. “This is your prerogative.”
Something serious flickered again in Yuki’s eyes, and the older woman grabbed both hands of her companion. “Lana san, it’s yours as well. Let me be clear here. If you don’t want to join him when he asks you to, you don’t have to. You’re in his service, yes, but not at his service. Whatever role we play, whatever pledge of obedience you made. Your limits aren’t only there for when you’re already in action. They also apply before starting anything. If you want to give him the cold shoulder for one week or one month, it’s fine, as long as you are clear and forthcoming.”
Lana inhaled deeply. “My problem is not having to go to him when I don’t want to. Rather, the issue is, I always want to. Even now, even though we’re together, and I want you and would like to do so many naughty things to you on the spot…” They shared a knowing smile. “Knowing he’s here, I…” She blushed and looked away.
“You want to climb the stairs and join him,” Yuki purred in her ear, once again against Lana’s hip and chest.
“Yes!” Lana exclaimed, exasperated. “I’m mad at myself for being so weak when it comes to him, in particular when this is supposed to be our night.”
Yuki grabbed her neck and pulled her in for another deep kiss. “It is, sweetling. But this is also supposed to be a fun and relaxing time. The choice is yours: you can go up to him, stay with me, take me up with you, or leave us here and get back home.”
Lana groaned, tugged by many contradictions, and threw another look at the VIP space. What she saw made her frown and burst her self-pity bubble. “Yuki sama, there are several women around goshujin sama, vying for his attention.”
Yuki gave her a voracious smile but still, didn’t glance upstairs. “Oh, I’m sure there are, glittering moths drawn to a dark, brooding flame leaving them panting and all kinds of bothered. Don’t fret. He’s not going to spare them one glance.”
“Really? They’re so beautiful. It would be hard not to react, at least a little bit.”
Yuki went behind Lana and molded herself against her back. “Oh yes, they’re so lovely they make my eyes hurt and my mouth water, but he doesn’t work like this. They could be Miss Japan and jump him straight naked, he wouldn’t touch them. None of them would last even one minute with him, and he can’t even be bothered. Even I can’t always follow. Only you seem able to manage him at his highest degree. But perhaps it’s because this is not about fun but fight for the two of you, isn’t it?”
Once again, Lana turned silent and squeezed Yuki’s hand. Her words hit their marks with frightening accuracy, but it was also a relief to hear this truth expressed so plainly. Yuki nibbled her lover’s sweaty neck. “Come on now, let’s go upstairs, and rescue him from such unbearable harassment.”
An avid reader of thrillers, science-fiction, horror and romance, I have been writing for nearly 25 years. Lila Mina is one of my pen names.
I live in Japan. The rich and beautiful traditions, the amazing nature and the long history of this country are a constant source of creative inspiration. I am a firm believer in cross-genre literature. Life is too complex, too rich and surprising to limit stories to one genre. I love blending them to create powerful characters, emotional plots and exciting stories that hopefully will stay a long time with my readers. My stories feature multiracial couples and sometimes menage who come together, bound by love and passion, to fight against forces bent on taking them apart.
I know, I know, I’m terrible about putting SFF titles in this space, especially ones that aren’t YA, because the truth is, it’s just out of my genre reading zone. But, it’s obviously in many readers’, so I’m just gonna go ahead and put this one out there since A) I see it recommended all the time by people I trust, B) I constantly end up recommending it to people asking for polyam rep, and C) it’s really hard to argue with the greatness of a Black lesbian MC in space who also happens to have a chronic illness and is a sky surgeon. Tick your reading boxes? Then check out Ascension by Jacqueline Konayagi!
Alana Quick is the best damned sky surgeon in Heliodor City, but repairing starship engines barely pays the bills. When the desperate crew of a cargo vessel stops by her shipyard looking for her spiritually advanced sister Nova, Alana stows away. Maybe her boldness will land her a long-term gig on the crew. But the Tangled Axon proves to be more than star-watching and plasma coils. The chief engineer thinks he’s a wolf. The pilot fades in and out of existence. The captain is all blond hair, boots, and ego . . . and Alana can’t keep her eyes off her. But there’s little time for romance: Nova’s in danger and someone will do anything–even destroying planets–to get their hands on her.
Please welcome back to the site today Nicole Field, who’s revealing both a cover and excerpt for her upcoming title Revelry, the second book in the Shadows of Melbourne series (you can check out book 1, Changing Loyalties, here), releasing later this year. Revelry is a Paranormal Romance with an established f/f couple, an emerging m/f couple, a polyamorous v, and a demisexual vampire, so lots of fun stuff for everyone! Come check it out:
Dahlia’s family is in tatters after the death of the alpha of the Melbourne pack. Luca has been given the role in his place, she and Annabelle can barely manage to be in the same room together, and Dennis is still at large. And wherever he’s hiding, he’s making new werewolves at a terrifying rate.
All Dahlia wants is a moment to catch her breath. Her relationship with Bianca is new and fragile, she can’t decide whether she’d like to end up in Research or Magic within the secret society of the Sisterhood… and then there’s Elliot, who brings an entirely new set of complications.
Here’s the cover!
And here’s the excerpt!
“Hey…” Dahlia said softly.
Elliott could hear that she was trying to keep him calm, but he wasn’t looking at her. To look at her was to see the blood that was pumping just under her skin. He pressed his eyes closed, but that only made the mental image of her more clear. Opening them again, he found there was no place else to look.
He could feel his canines extending and panted. He needed to get out of here. But to where? Fear for her had gotten him to this state. Leaving her right now would only make him more savage to whomever he came across, not less.
“I’m okay.” Her words filtered back to him, flooding him with the sense of her despite the fact he wasn’t looking at her anymore. It calmed him in one way, and riled him up in another. “Really. Safe as houses.”
Elliott shook his head, whether a denial to her words or trying to shake off the sudden urge to hunt. When had he last fed? It hadn’t been long. A day or two. Easily remembered. But people had been dying. Dahlia’s people. People around Dahlia. Dahlia was in danger.
There. Her heart was pounding in fear. His instincts yelled at him, urging him to action.
“Sorry…” she said.
Elliott struggled a moment, trying to figure out what she should be sorry for. He couldn’t figure it out through the haze of hunt, hunt, hunt, but it felt like it was important to reassure her. Like that would make her less scared. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay, though. He knew that, even if she didn’t. His words were coming out misshapen and slurred. It was the teeth. This was why he never spoke when he was on the hunt. He’d never deliberately frighten a human, despite the fact that they wouldn’t remember him afterwards. It was part of his code. A code he would stick to, no matter what
Keep Dahlia safe. That had been another of his codes, given to him by Annabelle when he first met Dahlia. Annabelle could trust him. They both could. But now Dahlia was in danger, and Elliott needed to hunt.
His gaze slithered up from the ground to meet Dahlia’s once more. There was reason for him to be afraid for her. She was afraid right now. And his responsibility was to keep her safe. His mouth opened a little wider as Dahlia looked up to meet his eyes. They stared at one another for a long, silent moment.
Part of Elliott recoiled from the expression in her face. She was afraid, but he was also poised for the hunt. In front of her. When had that happened? Elliott came to realise she might be afraid of him, of the way he appeared to her right now. He shook his head again, trying to pull his thoughts together, but it was so difficult to do without feeding when he was this far along.
“You can do it.” Dahlia spoke again.
Managing to pull at least some of his thoughts together, Elliott’s gaze fixed on Dahlia’s, and the wrist that she slowly extended out to him. That would make him stronger. Strong enough to defend against anything—
His thoughts cut off abruptly as he grabbed for her wrist and dragged it towards his mouth. And then life giving blood burst into his mouth and down his throat. He took it without needing to gasp for breath, just a steady stream of blood running from her arm into him.
He jerked away from her. His head cleared and finally, he was able to see what he was doing. Doing to her. Dahlia.
Elliott almost brought back up the blood he had just consumed, opening his mouth and gaging several times before he managed to get out the words, “Thank you. That’ll… heal. Overnight. It’ll heal.”
“Uh huh.” She was holding onto her wrist, pressing it against her body. Elliott despised himself.
“Dahlia… thank you.” He reached out towards her, before drawing his hand back, away from her. He didn’t deserve to touch her after what he had just done. She had given him permission, but he should never have taken it. Not from her. “You may not remember this tomorrow. I’ll remind you. I won’t keep this from you, I promise.” There was intensity in his voice, like he could will her to remember just from his words, but he knew he couldn’t. He’d seen it too many times to think it would go any other way. But he hoped. Desperately, he hoped.
“Hmm. I should get home. It’s getting late…”
Elliott’s gaze shuttered. He was used to seeing this reaction from the unknown people from whom he usually drank, but none of that had prepared him for seeing the same vacant expression on Dahlia’s familiar features. “Yes,” he said, voice thick again, but this time with emotion. “You’d better do that.”
“Thank you for a lovely night,”
Elliott wondered if she even knew what she was saying. He swallowed down bile once more, watching her only as long as it took for her to get inside her house.
When novelist Manuel Ortigosa learns that his husband, Álvaro, has been killed in a car crash, it comes as a devastating shock. It won’t be the last. He’s now arrived in Galicia. It’s where Álvaro died. It’s where the case has already been quickly closed as a tragic accident. It’s also where Álvaro hid his secrets.
The man to whom Manuel was married for fifteen years was not the unassuming man he knew.
Álvaro’s trail leads Manuel deep into one of Spain’s most powerful and guarded families. Behind the walls of their forbidding estate, Manuel is nothing but an unwelcome and dangerous intruder. Then he finds two allies: a stubbornly suspicious police lieutenant and Álvaro’s old friend—and private confessor—from seminary school. Together they’re collecting the pieces of Álvaro’s past, his double life, and his mysterious death.
But in the shadows of nobility and privilege, Manuel is about to unravel a web of corruption and deception that could be as fatal a trap for him as it was for the man he loved.
Cover to be revealed on the site on September 5th!
June Bana might post nearly daily makeup looks that gain thousands of likes but Real Life June has built a wall behind which she exists with her two cats.
But with messy feelings getting in a way of an early hermit life, June begins to realize that she wants more. She wants model/actress, Sunshine Reincarnated Selena Clarke. It doesn’t hurt that Selena is amazing with cats and quiets down June’s anxiety to bearable levels.
June is given the choice of facing her anxieties about relationships to gain not only a girlfriend but also a better understanding of how far she’d go for love.
But would she take it? Would she leave her comfort zone for something softer?
Contemporary fluffy piece where one homebody and one extrovert make one hell of a love story.
Rumi Seto spends a lot of time worrying she doesn’t have the answers to everything. What to eat, where to go, whom to love. But there is one thing she is absolutely sure of—she wants to spend the rest of her life writing music with her younger sister, Lea.
Then Lea dies in a car accident, and her mother sends her away to live with her aunt in Hawaii while she deals with her own grief. Now thousands of miles from home, Rumi struggles to navigate the loss of her sister, being abandoned by her mother, and the absence of music in her life. With the help of the “boys next door”—a teenage surfer named Kai, who smiles too much and doesn’t take anything seriously, and an eighty-year-old named George Watanabe, who succumbed to his own grief years ago—Rumi attempts to find her way back to her music, to write the song she and Lea never had the chance to finish.
The book is a collection of 25 first-hand accounts by women telling their stories on their own terms. This is a much-needed collection as there is very little work published about lives of LGBTQi communities in Africa. The stories challenge the stereotypes of what we assume is lesbian, bisexual, gay and trans in Nigeria and offers a raw, first-hand look into the lives and realities of those who are queer. The narrators range from those who knew they were gay from an early age to those who discovered same-sex attraction later in life. These engaging and groundbreaking narratives include stories of first time love and curiosity, navigating same-sex feelings and spirituality, growing up gender non-conforming and overcoming family and society’s expectations. What does it mean to be a queer Nigerian? How does one embrace the label of ‘woman’? While some tell of self-acceptance, others talk of building a home in the midst of the anti-same sex marriage law.
The book is edited by three women in Nigeria. Azeenarh Mohammed is a trained lawyer and a queer, feminist, holistic security trainer. She is active in the Nigerian queer women’s movement and has written on queerness and technology for publications such as This is Africa and Premium TimesNG. Chitra Nagarajan is an activist, researcher and writer. She has spent the last 15 years working on human rights and peace building and is involved in feminist, anti-racist, anti-fundamentalist and queer movements. She currently lives and works in Maiduguri. Rafeeat Aliyu has a BA in Marketing and works in communication and research. She is particularly interested in sex and sexuality in both modern and historical Nigeria.
Long ago, a village made a bargain with the devil: to ensure their prosperity, when the Slaughter Moon rises, the village must sacrifice a young man into the depths of the Devil’s Forest.
Only this year, the Slaughter Moon has risen early.
Bound by duty, secrets, and the love they share for one another, Mairwen, a spirited witch; Rhun, the expected saint; and Arthur, a restless outcast, will each have a role to play as the devil demands a body to fill the bargain. But the devil these friends find is not the one they expect, and the lies they uncover will turn their town—and their hearts—inside out.
Matchmaking? Check. Surfing? Check. Falling in love? As if.
Sunny, striking, and satisfied with her life in paradise, Theodosia Sullivan sees no need for marriage. She does, however, relish serving as matchmaker for everyone who crosses her path. As the manager of her family’s surf shop in Hanalei Bay, that includes locals and tourists alike.
One person she won’t be playing Cupid for is the equally happy bachelorette down the street. Baker Kini ʻŌpūnui has been the owner of Queen’s Sweet Shop since her parents passed away and her younger brother married Theo’s older sister and moved to Oahu. Kini’s ready smile, haupia shortbread, and lilikoi malasadas are staples of Hanalei’s main street.
However, Theo’s matchmaking machinations and social scheming soon become less charming—even hazardous—to everyone involved. And when she fails to heed Kini’s warnings about her meddling, she may be more successful than she ever intended. Theo has to face the prospect of Kini ending up with someone else, just as she realizes she’s loved Kini all along.
By day, Natalie Marshall is the Thorns Ladies’ Social Club’s perfect concierge: resourceful, observant, immaculate. But she turns her phone off when the night concierge arrives, and then she’s Nat: the raunchy lead singer of Vertical Smile—notorious for lewd lyrics and sexually-charged performances.
Rebecca Horvath isn’t used to asking twice—for anything. As the scion of one of Hollywood’s most powerful film dynasties, she’s waited on, pampered, fawned over—spoiled. So when she asks the cute front person of her favorite queer punk band to be her date to a charity auction, she isn’t expecting the whispered “no,” or for the singer to disappear without even thanking her for the martini.
For Natalie, two worlds colliding spells professional catastrophe–her on-stage antics definitely violate the club employees’ standards clause. For it to be Bex Horvath—a perennial gossip-pages feature—who discovers her secret is terrifying.
When the focus of a criminal investigation at work brings Nat’s double life to the attention of her employer, everything spins out of control. Bex is there to prove there’s more to this party girl than meets the eye. Nat might have to trust her with her secrets, but her heart? That’s off limits.
Twisted Wishes lead guitarist Dominic “Domino” Bradley is an animal onstage. But behind his tight leather pants and skull-crusher boots lies a different man entirely, one who needs his stage persona not only to perform, but to have the anonymity he craves. A self-imposed exile makes it impossible to get close to anyone outside the band, so he’s forced to get his sexual fix through a few hot nights with a stranger.
When computer programmer Adrian Doran meets Dominic, he’s drawn to the other man’s quiet voice and shy smile. But after a few dirty, demanding nights exploring Dominic’s need to be dominated, Adrian wants more than a casual distraction. He has no idea he’s fallen for Domino Grinder—the outlandish, larger-than-life rock god.
Dominic is reluctant to trust Adrian with his true identity. But when the truth is revealed prematurely, Dominic is forced to reevaluate both his need for Adrian and everything he believes about himself.
The people of Uztar have long looked to the sky with hope and wonder. Nothing in their world is more revered than the birds of prey and no one more honored than the falconers who call them to their fists.
Brysen strives to be a great
falconer–while his twin sister, Kylee, rejects her ancient gifts for the sport and wishes to be free of falconry. She’s nearly made it out, too, but a war is rolling toward their home in the Six Villages, and no bird or falconer will be safe.
Together the twins must journey into the treacherous mountains to trap the Ghost Eagle, the greatest of the Uztari birds and a solitary killer. Brysen goes for the boy he loves and the glory he’s long craved, and Kylee to atone for her past and to protect her brother’s future. But both are hunted by those who seek one thing: power.
A young woman with a dangerous power she barely understands. A smuggler with secrets of his own. A country torn between a merciless colonial army, a terrifying tyrant, and a feared rebel leader. The first book in a new trilogy from the acclaimed Heidi Heilig blends traditional storytelling with ephemera for a lush, page-turning tale of escape and rebellion. For a Muse of Fire will captivate fans of Sabaa Tahir, Leigh Bardugo, and Renée Ahdieh.
Jetta’s family is famed as the most talented troupe of shadow players in the land. With Jetta behind the scrim, their puppets seem to move without string or stick—a trade secret, they say. In truth, Jetta can see the souls of the recently departed and bind them to the puppets with her blood. But the old ways are forbidden ever since the colonial army conquered their country, so Jetta must never show, never tell. Her skill and fame are her family’s way to earn a spot aboard the royal ship to Aquitan, where shadow plays are the latest rage, and where rumor has it the Mad King has a spring that cures his ills. Because seeing spirits is not the only thing that plagues Jetta. But as rebellion seethes and as Jetta meets a young smuggler, she will face truths and decisions that she never imagined—and safety will never seem so far away.