Bryl R. Tyne Revisits Christmas Past

What is your most memorable Christmas/Holiday? Second Christmas with JR (sugar daddy) and the man still speaks little but "guy grunt"… Anyway, I'm helping his boys put together a desk he bought for them while he watches from the sofa. "Open yours," he says, so I do. I can't even remember what he'd gotten me, nothing memorable, but I gave him my best smile (because damn it, even if he doesn't say much, to put up with me and make it work, the man's gotta be a fucking saint!) and I set my stuff to the side to finish the desk… When suddenly, he bursts into tears. Not a trickle, not a few stray tears… no, full out wailing picks up within seconds, and I'm sitting on the floor, screwdriver in one hand, a wooden chair with only two legs on it in the other. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"You don't like them"—and before I can fully understand that he's talking about the few gifts he'd got me, he continued, "I wanted to get you the lamp…the glass one…the red one at Cracker Barrel"—(hiccups, sn

ot, tears)—"When I went back…they were… sold out, and they wouldn't be reordering them, and I’m so pissed—so fucking pissed! that I didn't get that lamp for you that night we were there—(more hiccups, snot, tears)—I know you liked it and wanted it, and—"

And I knocked the wind out of him with my hug, and then I started crying too. I don't think I've ever had a better present than to know someone watched my actions close enough to know just how badly I wanted something without me having to say a word and then to be so disappointed because he thought he wouldn't be able to make me happy.

Wanting to make me that happy, despite myself… now, that's gotta be love. No words needed.

What is the best present you ever received? Sincerity in the form of tears. (see previous answer).

What is the worst? A pocket calculator. (For figuring out the checkbook so I didn't bounce another check—thanks).

How do you spend your holiday now? Sleeping.

Do you have any special traditions? That would require planning, and caring, and most likely some kind of ground rules… no. Not for me.

Here’s a little gift for the readers. An excerpt from my Riptide release, Divinity:

"Do it."

Martin came to, prick hard, fangs elongated, brain fogged, hands splayed across the ass of the man bent over the desk before him.

The man smacked the desk and pled from over the uniform shirt scrunched to his shoulders, “Don’t stop. Just do

it!”

Mesmer? Backing away in a daze, Martin regained the present and registered the man as Spire Industry’s latest night janitor—a fiery carrot-top who’d stolen Martin’s attention from the moment he’d walked through Spire’s doors and into Martin’s realm.

Though tucked away in a long-abandoned corner of the basement by day, Martin took his duties as Spire’s security guard by night seriously. So why was he in this third-floor office, taking the new night janitor over a desk?

Fuck, if the man hadn’t felt and looked so damned good beneath him, down to the freckled skin Martin had had under his palms . . . It was all Martin had thought of, night and day, since setting eyes on Dylan Mesmer and the shock of carrot-orange hair that poked out in all directions from under his work cap.

Groaning, he pulled his pants up and over his painfully hard cock. What in all hells is wrong with me? Buckled his belt. All on one drawn-out exhalation.

Mesmer made a weak attempt to stand, smacking the desk again. “Damn it.”

“I don’t know what came over me . . .” And he didn’t. He would’ve used any other janitor as a light snack, lured him to the basement and satiated his more base desires weeks ago. Exhibiting control enough to do so seemed impossible around Mesmer. Lately, Martin had found himself in one compromising position after another.

“I’m not sure—” Martin met a disappointed scowl as Mesmer turned and leaned against the desk. “Look, this isn’t happening. We shouldn’t do it here, anyway. I must be out of my mind.” He had no intention of losing a job that fit his vampiric lifestyle as perfectly as working night security for Spire Industry did. Where else could he pass as human while having his meals delivered on a regular basis?

Naked from the waist down and in an obvious state of arousal, Mesmer crossed his arms with an exasperated sigh. He finally broke his glare to fix his own uniform. “It is what it is,” he said, tucking in his work shirt. “Here.” He tossed Martin a sucker.

Orange. Another sucker? Like the last two times he’d blanked out and came to seconds from driving both cock and fang into the smartass. Did the man carry a bottomless bag of delicious candy in his pocket to taunt Martin? Delicious? He held back a gag. Why the fuck had he accepted the suckers in the first place, and worse yet, why’d he eaten them? And with haste? And he’d enjoyed them!

Blood coursing through Mesmer’s body drew Martin to the here and now. What would the drawbacks be if for once he actually went through with it? Stuck the man, took his fill, like he’d done to countless others. If he didn’t hesitate, didn’t hold back or change his mind. A shudder raced over him. When had he become so fickle?

He watched Mesmer dress, wondering how this man had knocked him so far off-kilter. Normally, he’d have had the guy for a little stick, a little prick, and have deposited him back into his world, neat and tidy. But he’d been stalking Mesmer since the night the man had started at Spire . . . not to mention the repeated attempts to satisfy the man’s by-now predictable pleas for attention. Martin scoffed internally. He didn’t want to think about the strange places his mind disappeared to each time he saw Mesmer . . . or the rooms or offices he’d come back to his senses in, with Mesmer beneath him, wondering how he’d gotten there. How did this man get Martin to lose all sense of space and time?

Mind half in the past, half in the now, he adjusted his fly, eyeing Mesmer doing the same, then unwrapped the sucker and stuck it in his mouth. “What’s with you and always giving me orange candy, anyway?”

Mesmer snorted, kneeling to re-tie one of his work boots. “If you don’t want it, give it back.”

He held out his hand as he stood.

Martin gave it three seconds’ thought, his mind and body warring over whether to keep the candy or not. Giving it back would end the senseless questions, end this lack of control. Yet, no matter the logic in his thoughts, he couldn’t will his hand to remove the sucker from his mouth.

Not this time.

To purchase Divinity, click here.

Find Bryl at any of these places:

Website

Blog

Twitter

Facebook

MySpace

Amazon Author Page

Goodreads Page

My Way column at The Pagan and The Pen

Merry Christmas from the Tyne family to yours