NG: *wild cackle*Ah ha ha ha ha haaaa! Today, I'm featuring Marie Sexton! Welcome, Marie! What do you enjoy the most about Halloween?
MS: That’s a tough one. I love fall in general. I love the leaves on the ground, and the haunted houses, and the jack-o-lanterns, and the pumpkin patches. That’s probably it, actually. Going to the pumpkin patch. Here’s one of my favorite photos of my daughter and I at our favorite patch (this one is from a couple of years ago).
NG: Aww...that's one beaut of a pumpkin! Look out, you're about to be attacked by a horde of zombies...do you think you could survive?
MS: Absolutely. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, I intend to throw Fred Phelps and the rest of the Westboro hate-mongers at the zombies as fodder. Then I’ll run like hell.
NG: Ha ha! You've become a witch for the night...what spell would you cast?
MS: The Magic Spell of Everlasting Writerly Motivation and Inspiration.
NG: Oooo...now, that's the spell to have for sure! What is your favorite Halloween candy? Least favorite and why?
MS: Rather than answering that, I’m going to run off on a tangent. I think it’s really unfortunate that we’ve let Halloween urban legends steer us away from homemade treats. The (false) media hype has taught us that only store-bought, factory-produced, individually-wrapped candy is “safe”. It makes me sad. I know my neighbors. I trust my neighbors. I’d rather have a good old-fashioned Rice Krispie Treat than any store-bought candy.
[Snopes link, if anybody is interested: http://www.snopes.com/horrors/poison/halloween.asp]
NG: Mmm...I love Rice Krispie Treats! Give me three reasons your tale will trick-n-treat your readers.
MS: 1. Trick: Song of Oestend is my first non-contemporary. Many readers have said they started reading it without reading the blurb, and found themselves rather confused.
2. Treat: People who have read my contemporaries know that my stories aren’t known for having lots of sex. I make my boys work hard for their big payoff. That being said, Song of Oestend is the exception to the rule. Aren is the most unapologetically sexual character I’ve ever written. Add that to Deacon’s absolute need for release, and things get hot early. And often. Definitely a steamy treat. ;-)
3. Opposites Attract + Friends to Lovers = Trick and Treat? Plus, it’s a tiny bit spooky.
NG: Song of Oestend sound fabulous, Marie! Thank you so much for coming on Simply Sexy Stories!
Blurb: Symbols have power...
Aren Montrell has heard tales of the Oestend wraiths - mysterious creatures which come in the night and kill anyone who’s not indoors. Aren’s never had reason to believe the stories, but when he takes a job as a bookkeeper on the BarChi, a dusty cattle ranch on the remote Oestend prairie, he soon learns that the wraiths are real. Aren suddenly finds himself living in a supposedly haunted house and depending on wards and generators to protect him from unseen things in the night. As if that’s not enough, he has to deal with a crotchety old blind woman, face “cows” that look like nothing he’s ever seen before, and try to ignore the fact that he’s apparently the most eligible bachelor around.
Aren also finds himself the one and only confidante of Deacon, the BarChi’s burly foreman. Deacon runs the BarChi with an iron fist and is obviously relieved to finally have somebody he can talk to. As their relationship grows, Aren learns there’s more to Deacon and the BarChi than he’d anticipated. Deacon seems determined to deny both his Oestend heritage and any claim he may have to the BarChi ranch, but if Aren is to survive the perils of Oestend, he’ll have to convince Deacon to stop running from the past and finally claim everything that’s his.
Prepare yourself for a Scarrry & Oh, So Sexy excerpt below:
Aren had been planning nothing more than a quick tryst, but as he sat on a bale of hay waiting for Deacon to arrive, his plan began to evolve. For those brief moments at the table, Deacon had felt like putty in his hands. He’d seen a hint of submission in Deacon’s eyes, and it thrilled him. He found himself wanting desperately to explore how far that submission went.
“I’m glad you waited,” Deacon said when he finally entered the stall, “but I only have a few minutes.”
“That’s fine.” Aren contemplated Deacon’s strong, muscular frame and the bulge that was already forming in the cowboy’s pants. He knew Deacon only owned three or four pairs of pants, and about as many shirts. The ones he wore now were his nicest ones, kept aside for dinner with the family. “You’re not wearing those to work, right?” Aren asked.
“Good.” Aren stood up and closed the door to their stall. They still wouldn’t have total privacy—the walls only came up to Aren’s shoulder—but it somehow served to underline the point that they were finally alone. He turned to find Deacon watching him. His expression was exactly as it had been at the dinner table—hopeful, aroused, and completely submissive. “Take off your pants,” Aren said.
Deacon smiled at him. “Have to take my boots off first.” But he didn’t argue. He pulled his boots off, tossing them into the corner. Then he slowly took his pants off. He didn’t toss those on the floor. He folded them and placed them on a hay bale before turning back to Aren. His shirt hung down past his hips, although the front of it was caught on his rather impressive erection.
Aren stepped up close to him and began to unbutton his shirt. “We don’t have enough time to do this right,” he said as he worked his way down the front of Deacon’s shirt. “But I’m not letting you hide from me anymore.”
“I wasn’t the one hiding.” Of course that was true. Aren hadn’t thought of it as hiding, but he could see now that was exactly how it had looked.
“I was trying to give you space if you wanted it.”
“Seemed like you didn’t want to see me.”
“I woke up in the morning and you were gone. I figured that was your way of telling me you didn’t want it to happen again.”
“No,” Deacon said, looking amused. “That was my way of telling you I had chores to do before breakfast.”
“You’re forgiven,” Aren said, even though it hadn’t actually been an apology, and he was pleased when Deacon laughed. Aren undid the bottom button and pushed the shirt backwards off Deacon’s shoulders.
“You have to undo the cufflinks,” Deacon said.
Aren smiled and shook his head. “Not this time.” He pulled the shirt down Deacon’s arms, and just as he’d planned, the sleeves turned inside out, but stopped before Deacon’s big hands escaped from the cuffs. Aren moved behind him. He pulled Deacon’s hands together and used the fabric of the shirt to bind Deacon’s hands behind his back. It wouldn’t be enough to hold him if he really wanted to get free, but Aren was pretty sure Deacon didn’t want to escape anyway.
He walked back in front of Deacon, tracing his fingers down the scar that started at Deacon’s collarbone and trailed towards his navel. Deacon’s eyes were closed, his breathing heavy, his cock hard and tipped with a bead of moisture.
“You don’t get to come right now,” Aren said. He leant forwards to tease one of Deacon’s nipples, flicking his tongue over the bud of flesh. “You’re going to have to wait.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Deacon asked.
Aren reached down to cup Deacon’s heavy sac in his hand, squeezing gently, and Deacon moaned. “I want you to be thinking about me all day.”
“That won’t be anything new.”
Aren smiled, undeniably pleased by the confession. He slid his fingers backwards, towards Deacon’s taint, but his access was blocked by Deacon’s muscular thighs. “Spread your legs for me.”
Deacon did, widening his stance so that Aren’s hand slid easily between his legs, and Aren felt that same bolt of excitement lance down his spine. Deacon’s ready compliance made him breathless. He massaged the thick cord of flesh between Deacon’s legs. “Has anybody ever done this for you?”
“No,” Deacon breathed.
“Wait until you feel my tongue on it,” he said, and Deacon moaned.
Aren pulled his hand from between Deacon’s legs. He slowly moved around Deacon’s muscular, trembling body, trailing his hand over Deacon’s hip as he did. “You don’t get to jack off today,” he said. “I want you feeling desperate all day.”
“I’m feeling desperate now.”
Aren smacked his flank playfully, and noted the groan it elicited from Deacon. “You don’t know what desperate is,” Aren teased. Deacon’s bound hands and the bulk of his shirt hid most of his ass, and Aren crossed slowly behind Deacon until he stood at his other side. His right hand rested on Deacon’s firm ass. His left hand fingered his erect nipple. “I want you squirming in your saddle all day.” He pinched one of Deacon’s nipples, and the cowboy’s gasp of pleasure made him moan.
He slid his right hand down Deacon’s ass, his fingers probing between his cheeks. He pushed gently when he found what he sought, and he felt Deacon’s muscles tighten instinctively. “I won’t hurt you,” Aren whispered as he nipped at Deacon’s shoulder with his teeth. He slid his left hand down Deacon’s stomach, skirting his erect penis, and rubbed his fingers back again onto Deacon’s taint. “You’ll learn to love this,” he whispered as he started to move both hands at the same time. He didn’t try to gain entrance with the fingers of his right hand. He only rubbed gently, moving in tandem with the fingers between Deacon’s legs. “I’ll teach you how to relax,” he said as he massaged Deacon. “You won’t believe how good it can feel.”
Deacon made a sound, something close to a whimper. “Please,” he said.
“‘Please’ what?” Aren teased, his fingers still moving together on Deacon’s body.
“Please,” Deacon said again. “Let me touch you. Or kiss you. Or…something!”
His desperation made Aren smile. Aren took a step back, taking both of his hands off Deacon’s body, and Deacon moaned in frustration.
Song of Oestend is available now with Total E-Bound Publishing!
Marie Sexton lives in Colorado. She’s a fan of just about anything that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband. Her imaginary friends often tag along. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway.
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Check out her website: http://www.mariesexton.net