Jan: Today I welcome back Erin O’Quinn, a writer of M/M, both historic and contemporary. I’m going to ask some questions about her newest book, called The Chase, and Erin has promised to answer with some sexy passages from her book.
Hi, Erin. I see you have a new book in your “Noble Dimensions” series. Can you first tell us a little about the series?
Erin: Jan, I’m really jazzed to be back on your blog!
This series takes its name from a small town somewhere in Nevada that I call “Noble,” a name that’s a little ironic because Noble itself is run-down and nondescript. It’s actually no more than a half-way point for tourists traveling between Las Vegas and Reno. One of the characters notes that it lies between Big Daddy’s Pawn and the Fly By Night Motel.
And yet more than a century before, around the time of the Civil war, this was a proud silver boom town that
provided precious metal to the cause
of the North during the war.
Jan: I see on the cover that this is the second in a series. Is it a continuation of an earlier book?
Can you tell that the series name, “Noble Dimensions,” is tongue-in-cheek? The men I write about are carrying six-guns around in their blue jeans, so to speak. Handsome and hung too.
Jan: I think I get the joke, Erin. Their, um, dimensions are important to the story?
Erin: Not really . . . But their size does make for some sizzling sex scenes, in both books.
Jan: Tell us the premise of this latest novel. What exactly is “the chase”? Or should I say who or what is being chased?”
Erin: Good question! My tag line for the book is
An outspoken gay and a quiet rancher are each pursuing a fantasy. Where will the chase lead them?
So the chase for each man is different. Let me back up by introducing my guys, and you’ll see.
Brew Lloyd … is the son of the town’s only lawyer, Cranley Lloyd, a man who has rejected his son after discovering his homosexuality. From the time his father turned away, the reader sees that Brew is devastated by the rejection, but that he has put up a sarcastic veneer to protect his inner hurt.
Brew has allowed his father to “pay him off,” in a sense—to buy him a sports car, pay his rent, put him through college in Los Angeles —with the unspoken arrangement that Brew will stay at arm’s length.
Chase Grayson … has a loving relationship with his own father, Roy. What has tormented his sleep for the last several years is a long-ago attraction to the high school kid Brew Lloyd, captain of the debate team, Best Thespian in the high school drama club. Chase himself was a standout in high school–a football hero chased by girls, all the while his imagination was chasing Brew, two years younger than he.
As the story begins—to cut to the chase, so to speak—Brew has shown up on the ranch where Roy and Chase keep cattle and where they maintain the minimal work on a depleted silver mine. The ranch itself is called “The Chase.” Brew is half-heartedly looking for a summer job on the ranch, sent by his father, while the lawyer himself has had to go to Chicago to visit his dying brother. Since high school graduation two years before, Chase has stayed to himself out on the ranch, fifteen miles from town, not really understanding his hidden attraction for a memory with dark eyes, the guy named Brew.
Two men meet after six years, remembering each other only through the haze of almost forgotten high school debates and autumn football games. Smartass Brew is openly gay. The shy rancher’s son Chase is still trying to understand his own sexual needs.
As if [Brew’s] own fertile imagination had called him up, he heard another man’s voice cut into the silence of the room.
“Pa. Introduce our guest.”
Brew turned his head to the door. There he was, framed in the doorway. A freaking Greek god, an Adonis come to earth. Chase Grayson was even more fine looking now than his memory had conjured up. He had red-gold hair, a little past his ears, and a cobwebby rust-colored stubble. His eyes, the green of Chinese jade, gazed straight into his own. His mouth was full, his chin prominent. His even tan glowed in the overhead light, sending even more subtle rays into the room.
And his body. Jeezus. His chest almost tore the wife-beater, swelling with muscle. His waist was slim, his hips slender, like he remembered. Brew wished fervently he could see the man’s ass. And then he was glad he could not. He knew he’d be unable to keep his face expressionless, or his prick quiet.
The two spend a few minutes guardedly speaking, each man seeming to be shyly drawn to the other.
Mister Muscles in a Wife Beater watched his father leave the room. Then he spoke. “Brew. I do remember you. You were a few years behind me at Sloane County High. But I remember the young guy with the golden mouth.”
“The . . . the golden mouth?”
“That’s how I thought of you. You were an actor, a speaker. You could do everything I couldn’t. I wanted to be you about a million times.”
Suddenly the breath seemed to leave Brew’s chest altogether. What this man was telling him couldn’t be true. And yet he spoke so openly that it must be true, some of it, anyway.
“You? Wanted to be like me? But you’re the one with the–the goddamn golden body. That’s how I thought of you. That’s funny. The golden mouth and the golden body. Each one wanting to be like the other.”
No, not like you Chase. In you. As deep in you as my prick would reach. In your mouth or your ass. Or merciful holy shit, you in me.
Then Chase stood, and Brew drew a long breath, sucking in the man’s muscled glory.
“Yes. Funny. Let’s go. Let me show you The Chase.”
The men leave to sink a cedar post, and Brew will get his first taste of actual manual labor. He’s already decided that he’d rather spend all day sweating on a side hill than leave the drop-dead-handsome Chase.
For his part, Chase is deeply excited but tries to deny his agitation. He has never really come to grips (so to speak) with his midnight masturbations with Brew’s dark good looks as the object of his fantasies. So now, suddenly alone with him, Chase is overcome with arousal and tries to hide it.
Chase picked up the post and leaned it strategically over the swelling in his jeans.
“Okay, Brew, here’s what you’re gonna do. As soon as we set the post in the hole, you hold it tight and straight. Yes?”
“Tight. Okay. Straight. I’ll try.”
Chase knew he could easily lift the post, but he waited until Brew was next to him. “On three, we put it in the hole.”
He watched in appreciation as Brew’s muscles seemed to strain and his breath came out a little harsh as they lifted. “Now hold it, while I fill the hole. Then we’ll make sure the wire’s taut on both sides. Good and straight, and tight. Got it?”
“Yeah. I got it straight and tight, Chase. Quit teasing me and do it.”
Then Chase couldn’t help it. He smiled and looked into Brew’s eyes. They were standing close, almost touching.
As Chase takes unneeded extra time to sink the post, he is becoming more and more aroused:
Brew had begun to breathe very hard. Chase found his own breath catching, his gut tightening as they stood there straining hard against each other. And then he dropped the pliers and bent away, pretending to retrieve them.
“Hold it, while I tamp the hole.” He began to move slowly, making Brew hold the post straight, hard, while his mind played tricks with the sight of the slim man with a gigantic post of a prick. He went to the truck, drank long from his canteen, and took his time returning. Little by little, he dumped more soil and gravel in the hole and tamped it hard.
Then he stood back a foot from Brew and lavished one last look at the vision of a slender, handsome man holding the erect fencepost as though part of it. “That’s enough. That’s good, Brew. You passed.”
As soon as he said it, Chase was pissed at himself. This guy Brew was way too smart —and smart-assed—to let a statement like that go by without challenge.
He walked a few feet away. Brew moved next to him.
“Passed. Passed what, Chase?”
He looked again into the other man’s eyes. “Never mind. That’s enough for the day.” He knew they needed to straighten a bunch of other posts, too, but something stopped him from mentioning it.
“No. You were testing me. What grade did you give me?”
He shook his head and lied. “No grade.”
But Brew would not let go of his eyes. “Then let’s repair another post. Let’s brand a calf. Let’s…let’s do what ranchers do. And you test me on it.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to piss you off.”
“I’m not pissed. I’m fucking turned on. Can’t you tell?”
I’ll leave your readers with one last scene, a little while later, when Brew finds himself alone with Chase in the ranch bedroom, changing out of his nice clothes.
Brew began to unbuckle his turquoise-studded belt. “Okay if I just drop my drawers?” He smiled into Chase’s eyes. They’d lost the paleness they had a while ago. A trick of the light. Now they seemed green as the mossy bottom of a wooded pond. Quiet, still, waiting.
Looking into Chase’s eyes, unbuttoning his jeans, knowing the huge bed was just behind him—all of it hit him at once, and his prick jammed into second gear, then third, heading for home. He had a hard time pushing the jeans down over his briefs, tangling them up on his crotch, watching Chase watch him.
Finally, Brew just let his jeans fall. Chase stepped a foot closer to him. He had to lift his head a little, and Chase lowered his own. They were so close now that he felt the man’s hot breath in his mouth, the soft cobwebs of his whiskers brushing his chin…
“Shit, Chase, I’ve wanted you since I was old enough to crave a man.” He began to lick Chase’s lower lip, then bite a little. Chase parted his lips, and Brew slipped his tongue inside.
Brew held Chase’s stubbly cheeks in both hands, slowly discovering his mouth, while the other man let him explore. His hands were still at his sides, as though he didn’t know where to put them. Their bodies by now were so close their groins rubbed and ground together, performing their own counter rhythm. “Kiss me,” he said against the tall man’s hot tongue. “Oh, fuck, Chase, kiss me. I want you.”
He began to suck on Chase’s tongue, softly, in rhythm with the hard pulse in his throat, and he put his hands up under the wife-beater. His fingers found the man’s erect nipples. He pulled on them a little as his tongue searched the inside of his mouth. Then Chase was in his own mouth, a sudden jab of molten heat, and his tongue seemed to reach the back of his throat. Now Chase’s hands were on his back, massaging, stroking, descending to his hips. His large hands seized his buttocks, then spread them, until Brew felt he was on the edge of a desperate climax.
The bed was behind him, close. Brew sat, bringing his mouth down Chase’s chest as he did, moving his hands around to grasp his butt cheeks. “Just stand there. Let me suck you.”
Chase fumbled with the top button of his raggedy denims, and Brew helped him. He pulled the zipper all the way down. “Let me. Let me.”
The cock that reared from his pants was almost frightening. Brew had never seen one so big, so marbled with veins. He took the time to edge Chase’s pants down over his hips, inch by inch, stroking the man’s flat-muscled ass cheeks. He held off putting the cock in his mouth. Let it be my reward, my all-day sucker. Oh God in heaven, I want this man.
And there you have part of Brew and Chase’s first morning and afternoon together. One is experienced, jaded, running from a father who’s paying him to run. The other is slow, quiet, not quite understanding why he suddenly feels a desperate need for another man.
As their story continues, the reader will find more complexity, as a ruthless federal agent seeks to strip the ranch from Chase and his dad, and as Brew’s father at last must face his estranged son.
In a sense, I’m going back to my roots in my “Noble Dimensions” novels. I was born and raised in a small Nevada town not so different from Noble. My father was a self-made gold and tungsten miner who made a subsistence living for Mom and us three girls.
I earned my writing chops years ago from the University of Southern California, with a BA (English) and an MA (Comp. Lit.). Nowadays, I live with my soulmate Bil, four rowdy cats and two Macs outside a small town in CentralTexas.
The Chase is available at the Amber Allure publishing website:
This sigline will introduce you to my adult novels, both M/F and M/M:
Erin’s Blogs: Gaelic Spirit The Man in Romance
Erin’s Historical Romances: SirenBookstrand
Erin’s Contemporary MM Romances: Noble, Nevada on Amazon
Photo credits: Photos owned by Amber Quill Press. Cover by Amber Artistic Director Trace Edward Zaber.
Erin this is a fabulous post. Thank you for sharing with us. I loved all the excerpts. It gives a real flavor for the story. As we can tell, The Chase is one hot sexy read!!