I'm still a book or so behind, but I did put one out just now. Naturally, I came here first to show you...okay, I emailed Tina at Topaz first, but then I came here.
I've releases a book, so here's all the dirt:
You never know when you'll find Mister Right--or even Mister Right Now. Sometimes you need one thing, sometimes another.
Is life just beginning for Jonas, or is it all mapped out? He doesn't
know it yet, but somebody has plans for Jonas. Plans he just might like…
Just because a college career is nearly at its end, there's no reason to
stop learning. But first, you have to find just the right professor.
Mark has had a thing for his boss since the first day. Unfortunately,
Jack Weaver is a man's man in a politically correct climate. Too bad
Mark doesn't understand politics.
I've got more on the way, so watch this space! Here are a few excerpts
from this release, just in case you missed it before--and if you'd like
to see some sneak peeks--join my group --I'll be putting them up little bits of books as I go along.
Three M/M Stories, Volume 1
Find it at Amazon & Smashwords, Wednesday, April 18
by J.J. Massa
A lot of people have teacher fantasies. Guys as much as women tend to
fixate on a hot teacher. It just stands to reason that gay guys
fantasize about sexy male teachers.
My fantasy? Professor Edward Heade.
It’s a terrible name, isn’t it? I’m sure he was teased non-stop growing
up. Maybe that’s what makes him the way he is. He’s got this I’m-in-charge thing going for him. He never raises his voice. He doesn’t have to.
Oh, man, sitting here, watching him walk into the room, I’m getting
chills and hot flashes. I can’t help it, something about him makes me
want him to put me in my place—to sort me out.
He’s British; those sayings make sense around him. I don’t actually have
any classes with Professor Heade. He’s not my teacher and never has
been. Yet, here I am, sitting in his class, listening to that rich,
full, accented voice.
He’s stalking around the room, his left hand above his head as he makes
some point. I have no idea what he’s talking about and I don’t really
care. All I care about is the passion in his eyes, and the way his
nostrils flare as he drives his point home.
I’m on fire, sparks running up and down my spine, sweat collecting in
the small of my back, my stomach tightening with want, need. I need
those strong, slim fingers on my body. He is so fucking hot.
Damn, I’m sitting here getting hard while this professor goes on about
whatever—and I have absolutely no idea what it is that he’s talking
about. How pathetic is that?
Uh, oh. He’s coming right toward me, a book in one hand and a note in the other. My heart is beating double-time.
If he calls on me, or even stops to talk to me, I have no idea what I'll do.
“Incolae autem erant miseri! They were miserable!”
Professor Heade's voice is filling the room, ringing in the dead silence
because everyone is just staring at him. He's right next to my seat. Right beside me! I'm so hard, my cock will shatter if it bumps the desk.
“Why were they so unhappy? Come on, I know someone read their lessons.”
He moves away, taking his class' attention with him. Suddenly, my woody
is wilting like warm rubber. I know everyone else is shifting in their
seats, following him as he stalks up to the front of the room.
I’m not. I’m frozen and staring at plain white square of folded paper with my name written on it. Shit. He knows who I am.
by J.J. Massa
I pretend fumble with my keys and cell phone, deliberately dropping the
keys as I enter the elevator. Turning, I bend to pick them up, knowing
my quarry is in place. A covert glance tells me he’s focused on my
hindquarters--exactly the way I planned.
Jonas, that’s his name. I learned that two weeks ago when I heard
someone dressing him down. That had rankled with me. I’ve had my eye on
the younger man for months now. He’s shorter than I am, lean, blonde and
blue, my special weaknesses, all in one neat package. He’s attractive,
but young looking, clean.
I’ve kept an eye on him since I first saw him rushing in, not long after
he started working in my building. He’s shy, a little serious. Right
now, I just want eye contact, maybe a smile. Sure, I want more, but I’m
working up to it.
Anything worth having takes time, right? I think he’ll be worth having
at least once. With a little training, he’ll be perfect; I have this
feeling. His little peeks tell me he’s interested.
Taking a chance, I drop some change I have in my hand, stuffing my keys in my pocket at the same time.
Immediately, he squats, helping me to pick it up. I knew he would. I
hope the elevator will continue up without stopping, but no such luck.
When the doors open, we both stand at the same time and Jonas cuts me a
“Here,” he says, holding out the coins he’s collected.
I slide a palm under his fist and cup it, letting the nickels and dimes
drop into my open hand. His skin is soft and he smells so good. Damn, I
want him. I’m going to have to step this up a bit.
“Thanks,” I smile into his eyes, hoping he’ll speak to me. His face
flushes a sweet pink and he mumbles something that’s probably you're welcome.
If only we had been alone, I would have touched his face. It’s probably
for the best, though. The doors open right then and he gives me a
fleeting smile, stepping off the elevator.
My heart’s thudding. Is it sexual? Yeah, sure, it’s the chase, the hunt,
that’s part of it. But more--I want this one. I want him carnally and I
just want him. Will I still want him after I catch him? I hope I get a
chance to find out.
by J.J. Massa
“One moment, Miss Carson, and I’ll…” I faltered. A slight tapping on my
desk had caused me to swivel away from my computer monitor and look up.
My new boss, Mr. Weaver, was standing there, arms crossed, dark gold eyebrow raised as he shook his head side to side.
“I’ll check his schedule, ma’am, because I know he’s not in right now.”
That was a fine line, of course. If he were truly in, he’d be at his own
desk, not mine, right? Ergo, he wasn't in.
Mr. Weaver gave me a nod and a wink of approval. I’m almost ashamed to
tell you how good that felt. My chest actually puffed out, no shit. I
couldn’t help it, not even if I wanted to. I smiled back.
I was almost in love with Mr. Weaver, no matter how girly that sounds.
He was strong, good looking, tough, and he had ethics. I liked
everything about him.
“He’s good, Jack!” The other man’s voice took me by surprise. It was
Fred O’Neil, head of acquisitions. I hadn’t even noticed him. Jack
Weaver had that effect on me. “Now, if only he had better legs and
bigger tits,” the asshole chortled. “You know, while he sat on your lap
and squirmed?” he snickered as the two men passed my desk and walked
into Mr. Weaver’s inner sanctum.
I turned away, every inch of my face warm, right up to the tips of my ears. What an image, me on Jack Weaver’s lap. Oh, man!
I had to adjust myself, shifting in my chair. I was embarrassed that
O'Neil had said that, but turned on by the mental image, too.
My fingertips were gripping my half-hard cock, trying to find a
comfortable position, when a heavy palm landed on my shoulder. Oh god!
It could only be… I tipped my head back just slightly. Yep, it was Mr.
Weaver. I groaned inside, humiliated. I could actually feel a prickling
at the backs of my eyes. This was gonna be bad, I just knew it.
“Mark, I can tell that O’Neil’s comments made you uncomfortable. Step into my office when he leaves, would you please?”
My hand dropped uselessly to my leg. I couldn’t speak and just nodded.
The grip on my shoulder tightened a little and then fell away. I didn’t
move, waiting until I heard the muted footfalls, the door open and
close, then laughter from the inner office.
Caught like a fly on a pin. Shit, shit, shit! My head dropped forward to
the LCD of my monitor. God, I was so busted, so humiliated. Guess he’s
got me pegged now.