Sex. It drives us, makes us who we are. I write it and I have a lot of opinions about it. And about other things--everything from movies to politics to education. In fact, after several months absence I've come to realize that I am no sex-pert and that my opinions and passions are far too varied to limit myself to only sexual issues. So....since this is my blog, I figure I should be able to voice my opinions about whatever I please.
If that makes me a be it!

So read, comment, ask questions, rant and rave...but most of all enjoy and open your mind to possibilities!

Exclusive Triple Knot Excerpt!

Excerpt from
TRIPLE KNOT a contemporary M/M/F is now available from Ellora's Cave.
Kat, our heroine, runs an Irish-style pub in Toronto, and tonight is St. Paddy's day
(contest details at the end of the excerpt).

“Okay, people,” Kat yelled, clapping her hands. “Show’s over. It’s barely past midnight and we’ve still got hours of work to do!”

She grabbed Chay by the shirt and pulled him to her, whispering fiercely in his ear. “I need you to run back to my place and get my high-tops. I’m dying here.”

“Which ones? Red or green?”

She merely arched an eyebrow.

“Right. Got it, boss. Good to have you back.” He grinned, pecked her on the cheek, turned and slipped outside.

“He’s such a cutie.” Tasha had sidled up beside her. “I don’t know why you don’t snap him up.”

She was right, of course. Wish his tussled brown hair, chocolate brown eyes and boy-next-door smile, he was cute and adorable as an abandoned puppy. And almost as helpless.

“Nah. Too risky.” They’d been best friends for three years, and she knew better than to think they could ever be more than that. Or that they should even try. She liked things the way they were. And she reminded herself of that every day. “Besides, he’s gay.”

“So? He obviously loves you. I’m thinkin’ he’d switch sides for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh huh.”

Tasha sighed. “Too bad. He has such a nice little butt.”

“Yes,” sighed Kat right along with her as she remembered the way those faded jeans had hugged his tight, swim-toned ass. “He most certainly does.”

* * * * *

It was four o’clock a.m. when Chay finally stripped off his clothes, which smelled faintly of beer and Kat’s perfume, and fell into bed beside Dex. The slatted blinds filtered the light from the street and cast a lattice-work pattern of light and dark across the bed. Chay thought he caught a glimpse of a sliver of moon peeking out from behind a passing cloud.

Ever the light sleeper, Dex rolled over and snuggled in. He wrapped one strong arm around Chay’s waist and nestled his head in the cradle of Chay’s shoulder. His body was warm, firm and inviting.

“You’re late,” whispered Dex. “Don’t you have to get up in four hours?” Dex had moved in temporarily while the carpet was being ripped out of his condo and polished hardwood put in.

“I’ll be fine. I have a student teacher helping this week. I’ll let her take the reins.” The class of grade five students that Chay taught was, arguably, the sweetest group of ten-year-olds on the face of the planet. There were those who said it was his persona, his aura, his presence, if you will. That kids just naturally responded to him, wanted to please him. That he’d been born to teach.

And maybe he had. God knew he loved it. Loved every beaming smile, every uncertain question, every squeak of the chalk against the blackboard. He loved it when the light flickered on and a child understood something—really understood it—for the first time in his life. He loved knowing he’d had something to do with that.

He’d wanted to teach since he was seven and the moment he’d stepped into the classroom he knew he’d made the right decision.

The only people who seemed to believe he’d made the wrong career choice were his family. His grandfather, father and three brothers would have preferred if he sported a side-arm and a bullet-proof vest every day, rather than a pack of chalk and a bright red pen. But that subject was a mental minefield, and not the right thing to think about at this time of the night. Or rather the morning.

“So, it was a good turnout?” Dex asked.

“Yeah. It was an interesting night, to say the least.”

Dex lifted his head. “Interesting?”

“Long story. You should’ve been there.”

Dex laughed.

And this was why he and Dex could never be more than workout partners or fuck buddies. They travelled in different circles, had completely different priorities. Dex was an investment banker and played the stocks on the side. He shopped at Gucci and Dior, whereas Chay preferred Old Navy and The Gap. Dex rode limousines like Chay rode the subway. Dex never ate anywhere that charged less than twenty-two dollars for a salad, and the notion of green beer and nachos gave him the dry heaves. He could easily have afforded a five-star hotel for the month that he was going to be out of his condo, but Chay had offered, and Dex had accepted. Chay thought he’d enjoy the extra training time—as well as the extra sex.

Dex was an excellent training partner, and the sex…well, that was something else again.

“So, do you want to tell me about it?” asked Dex, his fingers tracing the lines of Chay’s ribs. Then sneaking lower, down his belly, just far enough to tease Chay with the promise of good things to come.

“Not really. I’m kind of tired.”

Dex’s fingers stilled. “Really? How tired?”

Laughing, Chay rolled over onto Dex, pushing him back onto the pillows, their bodies flush, their cocks touching, as Chay pressed Dex’s wrists back into the mattress. “You’re so gullible.”

Dex arched his eyebrows, and in a single, quick maneuver that Chay had never quite been able to figure out, had completely flipped things around. Suddenly Dex was on top with Chay at his mercy, Chay’s wrists pinned and his cock already as hard as a railway spike.

“I’m gullible like you’re straight.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but never got the chance. Dex’s lips were on his, the kiss strong and sensual. Intense yet sweet. Persuasive yet passionate. Chay loved the way Dex kissed. He kissed like he dressed—with style.