Lord of Storms ch 2

The blankets felt very heavy when he woke. He was going to go meet Mr. Watkins today. Perhaps he would find a present for his niece. It was going to be a lovely day. The blanket shifted just a little bit. It wasn't really morning. A certain and entirely unmentionable aspect of his physical being pressed up against the thick blanket. He cleared his throat, as if the world would just, please, please, slip back into place. He tried to hold very still, so that his hard dilemma would not grow any worse with the friction between them. "Mrs. Watkins."

"Ummm," she said. Her body, somehow, by some unknown force, rocked against just the very dilemma he had been trying to ignore into minimization. "Where you raised in a monastery?"

"Now, Mrs. Watkins, it seems we have fallen. Have you tried calling for help? I am quite sure that God helps those that help themselves and we must try to right ourselves."

"Really," she said, using her best incredulous and innocent voice. Her right hand slipped under the thin blanket covering him and his eyes snapped open. "I find it hard to believe that a man who is sooo good with numbers could be so very naive."

Violet eyes snapped with anger. "I was not raised in a monastery, but I have made every effort to be completely polite and civilized to you, but if you don't get off of me and begin acting like a lady, I shall not be held responsible for my actions."

"Oh?" She rocked her hips again against his again. "I think you're way too much of a gentleman. We're at sea now, little boy, so let's see what's really hiding behind those violet eyes."

"We're at sea," he screamed. That gave him the momentum to push her off and scramble back from the bed. "Where is your husband?"

She shifted around so she sat with her boots on the floor, her hands on the bed. The dress was gone. Now she wore tailored trousers that tucked into hand tooled leather. The shirt she wore had probably belonged to a man at some point, but cinched around the waist with a wide leather belt. "I haven't met the man I'd marry yet," she admitted. "It was a little lie. It's just so difficult to do business sometimes."

"That's not a little lie," Hadrian snarled."Every moment since I've met you, ever thing about you has been a lie! If you think I would recommend my employers invest in this shame of a company then you are possessed of the devil!"

"Do you believe in the devil," she asked as she traced a finger tip along her skin from her throat down between her breasts. "He didn't pay passage. Maybe he's a stow away."

Hadrian pressed fingers to his forehead. "I don't think he needs to pay for passage! He's the captain."

"Are you a virgin?" She asked as calmly as one sips tea in the evening.

He was inarticulate. Sound gurgled. He clapped his hand over his mouth and stood there for a moment, just being in the moment.

Her gaze hardened. "You should just tell me now if you're really weak in the mind. If you are, I shall see you have a safe voyage and that will be the end of it."

Their eyes locked. Neither of them wavered.

"I am not weak in anyway, Miss Watkins," Hadrian said. He loosened his cravat just slightly, then shrugged out of his coat. "I assure you that no matter what my intimate experiences have been in the past I am ready to any challenge you may offer me." He hung his coat neatly over the back of the chair he'd sat in earlier.

"You fainted when I dropped my skirts earlier, even though all you saw was petticoats."

"I recognize that you are a captain and that you are very much in control of your world, but I will tell you that sometimes people can be very successful in withholding information, Miss Watkins." As he spoke his fingers moved down the row of buttons.

"I shall tell you a secret then as well," she said, feet edging closer together, eyes looking at the floor.

"Oh do share, Miss Watkins." He folded his vest. He sat down in the chair to work on pulling his shirt off.

"My company doesn't need money. I don't want the investment of your employers. I approached them because I met a boy a long time ago. I only spoke with him once, but he had such beautiful violet eyes and I wished, I so wished that I was good enough to talk to him."

Their eyes met again. Both of them knew exactly which day she referred too.

"You sought me out and abducted me all these years later because you liked the color of my eyes?"

She looked up at him. She chewed her lower lip for a moment, thought about all the days and nights she'd fantasized about him, wished for him, imagined him talked to her, urging her on, even in the very darkest moments of your life. "It wasn't the color of your eyes. You were the first person who ever smiled at me. Shit. You're bleeding."

"I must say," he paused to touch the bandages around his torso. Bright red spread across his side, "that your secret is more impressive than mine."

She was already at his side, pushing his hands away so she could gently explore his side. "Tell me what happened?"

"I had a disagreement with a gentlemen over some cards." He watched as she started unwinding the bandage. "It's just a light cut. I don't know why it's still bleeding."

"I hope you killed him," she snarled. Squatting in front of him, she eyed the slash, touching his flesh very carefully.


"There is that possibility," he admitted sadly.
"His blade was poisoned." She sprang back to her feet and strode to the door. "Mac!

Chapter One - Lord of Storms

It's going to be m/f/m :)

Lord of Storms

by Sebastian Blade

"You must be Mr. Allen," she said, voice light and sweet as flowers in a garden. "I'm Mrs. Watkins."

Mr. Hadrian Allen had expected to meet the brilliant mind behind The Watkin's Company. He represented an investment group of considerable status and ability, that wished to explore options other than the British East India Company, quiet and discrete options. A confident man with raven hair and unusually violet blue eyes he understood finances with an aplomb that helped him transcend his rather unsavory history.

It was exactly that history though which had caused Watkin's Company to entertain his proposal. She smiled prettily and twirled her yellow parasol against the stubborn end of summer sun. She was a delicately beautiful woman, demure in white gloves and a gown done in yellow lawn in the French style. Her hair was a very striking red, as red as an angry sunset, but a fashionable hat tamed it a bit, making her look like a lady of very high quality, with striking looks that she had no control over.

Both of them stood on the wharf. He held his satchel. She twirled her parasol.

"Where is Mr. Watkins," Hadrian asked bluntly.

"My goodness," Mrs. Watkins said, her eyes wide as she held out her arm, giving the impression that she needed the support. "I'm sure that everything will be taken care of, Mr. Allen. Please do not concern yourself. Your arrival has been greatly anticipated!" She turned, and as she leaned on his arm, he turned as well.

"Now, really," he said trying to walk as slowly as possible. "I don't think it's a good idea for a woman to be on a ship, in any case."

"Is that so, Mr. Allen?" She smiled, looking right into his eyes, transfixing him for just a moment before she looked away, as if slightly embarrassed. "I'm sure everything will be fine. We'll just take a little bit of tea. You do like tea, do you not, Mr. Allen?"

"Of course, of course, but I'm not sure it's circumspect to take tea with a prospective business partner's wife." He seemed slightly startled as they stepped down onto the deck of the ship. "Now, really! Such thing might be done here in the colonies, but where people are...."

"Are what, Mr. Allen?" She asked, giving him the most innocent of smiles, "Do come sit in the Captain's quarters. Tea will help clear your mind."

"There is nothing wrong with my mind, Mrs. Watkins! I need to know where your husband is! At this very moment, if you please, Mrs. Watkins!"

She opened the door to the captain's quarters with a strong and comfortable familiarity. "Seriously, Mr. Allen," she said calmly, "it isn't possible for me to know his whereabouts every moment of the day. And really, don't you prefer your life with a little bit of mystery?"

"Definitely not!" He looked back at the now closed door.

She closed her parasol and handed it to a neatly dressed black servant. The way it moved, Hadrian had the sudden suspicion that it weighed more than he would have expected a proper lady's parasol to weigh.

"This is Mr. Abiodun." She clapped her gloved hands together twice, rapidly and loudly. "He's a fabulous cook and a very talented man."

Mr. Allen cleared his throat and stood there holding. "Mrs. Watkins, you are aware that this person is, well, a Negro?"

"Well, of course, Mr. Allen," she said, letting Abiodun pull her chair out for her. "Do sit down, Mr. Allen. Abiodun, will you serve tea, please?"

"Yes, of course, Madame," he said, his voice deep and very French.

The ship rocked rather sharply and Abiodun caught Hadrian's elbow, guiding him into his seat. "Perhaps there is some weather coming in," Hadrian said, setting his satchel between his feet. "I assume your husband will be joining us shortly?"

"There is nothing I would love better," Mrs. Watkins said. She unpinned her hat an handed it to Abiodun. "You see Mr. Abiodun was rescued by a ship of Janenists when he was very young. So he grew up in France. He is a very versatile member of my crew."

Hadrian had grown up in London. There were certain strong truths which had always underpinned his life and given the world structure. God created the world. God told Adam, who was white, obviously, to mind the workings of said world. Women were there to make men's lives easier. Negroes were there because Cain had killed Able, but God was merciful and simply marked him and all his descendants into servitude. Mrs. Watkins was just off center enough in her speech that Hadrian, very seriously, wished that he might be far away from her. "I really do hope your husband comes soon."

"Oh so do I," she said, picking up a china tea cup and sipping delicately.

The ship positively pitched.

"Did you feel that?" He asked, jumping up.

"No," she said, dropping a little bit more sugar into her tea, "I didn't feel anything. Did you feel something Mr. Abiodun?"

"Certainly not, Madame. Perhaps Monsieur should consider laying down. The sun was quite intense today, even with it being the end of summer. Monsieur is from England, after all."

"Just what, exactly, is that supposed to imply," Hadrian nearly shouted. He'd had quite enough of these people! "I think this ship is moving!"

He grabbed for his satchel, but the ship rocked again, pitching him forward into Abiodun's solid chest.

"I am leaving this instant! I shall be writing your husband a firmly worded letter explaining the many and varied reasons why his company is an unsound investment!"

"It's my company," Mrs. Watkins said.

"Utter nonsense! Has your husband put you up to this?"

"No." She stood and without so much warning as morning gives night, she gave her laces a good pull and her dress dropped away, at just the same moment that the sails dropped loudly outside the cabin.

Whatever she was about to say, it was completely lost on Hadrian Allen. She and the rest of the world went away in a blaze of light. He didn't even feel the floor when it hit him.

Lord of Storms cover

This is going to be a menage story... a powerful Colonial woman in 1750... the gentleman in the cover is a member of the Fae court... The Lord of Storms... He might be in a position to render aid, perhaps.

Promo: Mating Rituals

Title: Mating Rituals

by: Sebastian Blade

Publisher: SLPP

Genre: m/m/m, science fiction

Rating: Very Hot, graphic sexual encounters... tentacles :)

Size: 6,400 words

Price 2.99

Author's Website: http://www.sebastianblade.com/

Buy Link: http://1placeforromance.com/manlove/mating-rituals/prod_3245.html

Also available AllRomanceEbooks, Rainbow Ebooks, Kindle, Lulu, and Smashwords

Blurb: Tig has Followed the Long Path. He's been alive longer than humans have been exploring out past our solar system of origin. When he hired Raphael to work as a botanist on the Morehouse, he had no idea what that sudden impulse of attraction was going to get him into. Some species really shouldn't mix. Sirens are restricted, for their good and humanity's good, the two should not make long haul trips between the stars. It is possible to make the best mistakes without realizing what you're doing...

Excerpt:

"Um," Raphael moaned. "Touch me."

"Again," Tig asked before he could stop himself.

Ten thousand years of human civilization and some things were true on an interstellar freight as they had been in an Armenian winery. Love was everything. Sex was love. No one tells their lovers everything.

"Please," Raphael moaned. He hooked a long leg around Tig's legs, pulling him close. "It'll be alright. We have twenty-two minutes before we have to be at work. Fuck me!"

Raphael had come on board at Nander's Rise. He was tall enough to have spacer blood with blue eyes like earth sky, long blond hair, braided that lay on his shoulder. To Tig, his hair had seemed like starlight and adding his smile and his beautiful eyes, Tig had found sunlight. Raphael's lips looked soft, soft enough that even in that first moment, Tig had wanted to touch them.

Now there had been several things wrong with that first impression. For one thing, Tig was gay. He'd known he was gay as long as he could remember. Having been born on Earth even before the telomere treatments made aging a relic of the past along with hunting bison with sticks, he'd known he was gay a long time. Raphael's pretty face and slender fingers were androgynous enough that Tig had had to look at his ID card to get his gender and species. Raphael's ID said he was male and human. That was where the ambivalence had ended. Every fiber of his being wanted the willowy blond.

He rolled a little on their shared bunk, a leg hooked around Raphael, pinning him close. Four hundred and ninety-two days passed since Tig signed Raphael into the crew of the Morehouse. Having made love three times since they ended their last shift, he wanted him more now than he had that first day. Propped up on one elbow, he traced a finger tip over those soft red lips. "You are insatiable."

"Yes," Raphael purred as he tried to draw Tig's finger between his lips, suck him inside. "Fuck me. Let me suck you. Tell me poetry!"

Tig bit very softly on the edge of Raphael's ear, and whispered, "My rose most fair, with your secret whispers you snare this simple man," Tig groaned, poetry driveling away, the tea leaves of his thoughts all pale compared to Raphael's hand stroking his cock. "What the hell do you do to me, 'El? I can't make up poetry with you touching me like that."

"Do you want me to stop," Raphael asked, an arm slipping under Tig's shoulders, drawing him close. A ship has many parts. Many are made for each other, rocking, pivoting, aligned to each other as intimately as the fusion in the heart of a star.

A sexual humming glowed brighter in Tig as Raphael held him, hardened his cock as he stroked sweet soft flesh, "Fuck no," Tig begged. "It's never been like this before."

Raphael's long fingers slipped into sleep mussed pink and black hair. The pink hair marked him as a Methuselah, a Walker of the Long Path. Only those whose lifespan stretched longer than five centuries were able to claim that title. They were considered wise and lucky. They were particularly prized as crew members on long flight ships. For one thing, they could do almost everything on the ship, or had at least tried at some point in their lives. They were usually emotionally stable and not prone to anger. They usually didn't sleep around below their rank.

"Maybe it's the first time you've been in love." Raphael gave a push, gentle, but stronger than one would have expected from him. Tig rolled onto his back, sighing contented resignation as his naked lover straddled him.

He ran his hands worshipfully over Raphael's waist, down his thighs. It couldn't be the first time he had been in love. He'd married, raised children. He'd spent forty years on Neek, baring and raising his own child. Raphael squeezed his knees against Tig's waist, scooted forward just a little, so that his cheeks spread and slid along Tig's cock. Still slick with lube from before they fell asleep, he left a caress of wet heat over the trapped cock. Tig groaned pitifully, thrusting his hips up, "Whatever the fuck, I've never been in love like this. Don't tease me! I'm an old man!"

"You don't look old," Raphael said, before pressing the tip of his tongue to the dip in his upper lip. Those blue eyes connected with Tig's golden eyes, reached deep into him, wrapped around his soul and made him a twenty year old again.

Flawless skin, thick black hair streaked with the Methuselah pink, a lean and hard body, he looked like a twenty year old. His cock twitched where it was trapped. He groaned again, goose bumps dancing over him like rebirth and shifted them again, tucking his beautiful Raphael under him. "I love you," he growled.

They tangled together, one of Raphael's legs hooked over his arm. Tig curled tightly over his lover, thick cock sliding into tight heat of Raphael, forgetting many more years of civilization as he became little more than primeval passion and love he couldn't explain. Each stroke in affirmed them again, deep and engulfing, committed longer than this single voyage, Tig promised his love all his being at a deeper level than thought as he played their bodies.

Raphael's voice fluttered, his breath pushed from him with every rejoin of their bodies. His hands caressed clutched at Tig, encouraging, begging, singing soul song with him. Soul song exploded into white and Tig's growl filled their small room, wiped out even primitive thought and there they floated, even if the gravity was still on, they only orbited each other.

Excerpt: Mating Rituals

Mating Rituals

by Sebastian Blade

copyright 2011

All Rights Reserved

"Um," Raphael moaned. "Touch me."

"Again," Tig asked before he could stop himself.

Ten thousand years of human civilization and some things were true on an interstellar freight as they had been in an Armenian winery. Love was everything. Sex was love. No one tells their lovers everything.

"Please," Raphael moaned. He hooked a long leg around Tig's legs, pulling him close. "It'll be alright. We have twenty-two minutes before we have to be at work. Fuck me!"

Raphael had come on board at Nander's Rise. He was tall enough to have spacer blood with blue eyes like earth sky, long blond hair, braided that lay on his shoulder. To Tig, his hair had seemed like starlight and adding his smile and his beautiful eyes, Tig had found sunlight. Raphael's lips looked soft, soft enough that even in that first moment, Tig had wanted to touch them.

Now there had been several things wrong with that first impression. For one thing, Tig was gay. He'd known he was gay as long as he could remember. Having been born on Earth even before the telomere treatments made aging a relic of the past along with hunting bison with sticks, he'd known he was gay a long time. Raphael's pretty face and slender fingers were androgynous enough that Tig had had to look at his ID card to get his gender and species. Raphael's ID said he was male and human. That was where the ambivalence had ended. Every fiber of his being wanted the willowy blond.

He rolled a little on their shared bunk, a leg hooked around Raphael, pinning him close. Four hundred and ninty-two days passed since Tig signed Raphael into the crew of the Morehouse. Having made love three times since they ended their last shift, he wanted him more now than he had that first day. Propped up on one elbow, he traced a finger tip over those soft red lips. "You are insatiable."

"Yes," Raphael purred as he tried to draw Tig's finger between his lips, suck him inside. "Fuck me. Let me suck you. Tell me poetry!"

Tig bit very softly on the edge of Raphael's ear, and whispered, "My rose most fair, with your secret whispers you snare this simple man," Tig groaned, poetry driveling away, the tea leaves of his thoughts all pale compared to Raphael's hand stroking his cock. "What the hell do you do to me, 'El? I can't make up poetry with you touching me like that."

"Do you want me to stop," Raphael asked, an arm slipping under Tig's shoulders, drawing him close. A ship has many parts. Many are made for each other, rocking, pivoting, aligned to each other as intimately as the fusion in the heart of a star.

A sexual humming glowed brighter in Tig as Raphael held him, hardened his cock as he stroked sweet soft flesh, "Fuck no," Tig begged. "It's never been like this before."

Raphael's long fingers slipped into sleep mussed pink and black hair. The pink hair marked him as a Methuselah, a Walker of the Long Path. Only those whose lifespan stretched longer than five centuries were able to claim that title. They were considered wise and lucky. They were particularly prized as crew members on long flight ships. For one thing, they could do almost everything on the ship, or had at least tried at some point in their lives. They were usually emotionally stable and not prone to anger. They usually didn't sleep around below their rank.

"Maybe it's the first time you've been in love." Ralphael gave a push, gentle, but stronger than one would have expected from him. Tig rolled onto his back, sighing contented resignation as his naked lover straddled him.

He ran his hands worshipfully over Raphael's waist, down his thighs. It couldn't be the first time he had been in love. He'd married, raised children. He'd spent forty years on Neek, baring and raising his own child. Raphael squeezed his knees against Tig's waist, scooted forward just a little, so that his cheeks spread and slid along Tig's cock. Still slick with lube from before they fell asleep, he left a caress of we heat over the trapped cock. Tig groaned pitifully, thrusting his hips up, "Whatever the fuck, I've never been in love like this. Don't tease me! I'm an old man!"

"You don't look old," Raphael said before pressing the tip of his tongue to the dip in his up lip. Those blue eyes connected with Tig's golden eyes, reached deep into him, wrapped around his soul and made him a twenty year old again.

Flawless skin, thick black hair streaked with the Methuselah pink, a lean and hard body, he looked like a twenty year old. His cock twitched where it was trapped. He groaned again, goose bumps dancing over him like rebirth and shifted them again, tucking his beautiful Raphael under him. "I love you," he growled.

They tangled together, one of Raphael's legs hooked over his arm. Tig curled tightly over his lover, thick cock sliding into tight heat of Raphael, forgetting many more years of civilization as he became little more than primeval passion and love he couldn't explain. Each stroke in affirmed them again, deep and engulfing, committed longer than this single voyage, Tig promised his love all his being at a deeper level than thought as he played their bodies.

Raphael's voice fluttered, his breath pushed from him with every rejoin of their bodies. His hands caressed clutched at Tig, encouraging, begging, singing soul song with him. Soul song exploded into white and Tig's growl filled their small room, wiped out even primitive thought and there they floated, even if the gravity was still on, they only orbited each other.

Mating Rituals

Just wanted to share the cover :)

Sebastian

Two New Book Covers!

So I've got two new stories in the works!