Somewhere in the “Pages” section of another blog, you’ll find the first eight chapters* of a novel titled Sleeping with Danger. It’s the work where Aidan Williamson makes his first appearance. I thought today I’d reveal my first draft of the first chapter of another work. The novella is Spilled Passion, third of the new series “Aidan Undercover.”
If you like mystery with man-on-man love interest…if your ear is bent to quirky people and a cops-and-criminal vibe…and especially if you have a soft spot for bonnie auld Scotland… Look no farther.
Aidan Williamson lay basking in a dream, the kind of fantasy he used to have, back when he was a boy just discovering the pubic nest, the fledgling cock, the joy of release.
He was flying, he was soaring, higher and higher. Some ache far inside his ass was propelling him upward, to the sun, dick first…
Except this time the dream was real. Logan curled next to him, a careless leg hitched over his own spent body, warm breath fanning his cheek.
Aidan’s cock grow heavy again with remembered passion.
Dark. The room was pitch-dark, so Aidan took his time seeing. He slowly forced his eyes and his gut and soul to reveal this fugitive fantasy in his arms—this man who’d chosen him as a lover.
Really, we chose each other.
Not even a month ago, at the base camp below Devil’s Point, he’d found a quiet man with tormented eyes and the soul-wrenching speech of an ancient Highlander. Some sixth sense told him this caretaker would demand honesty. And so from the moment they met, Aidan had spilled his truths. Maybe not all at once…not yet…. But Kenneth Logan deserved the real Aidan Williamson. Every wart, every flaw, every shattered dream, and especially the secret locked in his scarred heart.
No buggering soul outside of Police Scotland knew he was a rookie, a new undercover detective. His new name was “Will Smith,” a warping of his father’s name twisted around his own delight in the American actor, and his attraction to any kind of mystery. His uniform at first was just a pair of torn jeans and worn hiking boots. But within an hour of meeting Logan, he’d spilled damn near all of it to the Goliath of a man who somehow needed blunt honesty as much as he needed the stone tent he took care of and—more and more rarely—slept in.
Blunt. Yes, that would describe Logan, a man whose name in the old Scots language meant “deep, rough hollow.” But he was more, much more.
Compassionate. Thoughtful. Warm and humorous, irreverent, self-effacing. Smart as the sting of a whip.
At the risk of waking him, Aidan barely touched Logan, letting his fingertips cascade in a spate of discovery, from the hollow of his throat , over the mounds of his breasts, into the valley of his groin. He heard the hitch of a sigh before the hum of his lover’s regular breathing returned. He felt the velvet-over-steel of his skin, smelled the musk of his armpits, almost saw the dark brooding eyes fixed on his own…and the Nessie of his cock rising from the deep loch.
Aidan sighed. Daylight was only a few hours away. Logan would need to leave, back to the demon’s penis he called home, while his cop of a lover was forced to stay within minutes of responding to a PS call that might never come.
In the twenty-odd days since his new career began, Aidan had stumbled onto the solution of two murders, both of them at bothies whose grounds were owned by Queen Elizabeth herself, and both of them merely days apart. Since then—nothing. He’d been lying low, enjoying his new private mountain named Kenneth Logan, but festering every time the man left for his own turf.
Instead of drawing Aidan from his familiar territory of Ballater-Braemar, his immediate superior, CID Inspector Gowan, had kept him close to Balmoral Castle. Not because Police Scotland expected the worst, but—damn it all to bloody hell—because they really did expect the worst.
They believed their own motto, Semper Vigilo. Always vigilant. And the Queen’s annual visit to her castle was only two weeks away. What thieves and deevs lurked close enough to the Queen to strike fear into the heart of every cop? Rather than find out, they preferred to stop and search, snoop and sneak, spend every waking hour standing sentinel over Balmoral Castle.
Aidan snickered at his own exaggerations, even while knowing he and his cop brethren were serious as a gravestone.
He couldn’t help thinking about Mother, lying in the small Braemar cemetery half an hour down the road. He visited her often these days, more often than he ever did as a wayward son. She’d died alone—her former husband living with another woman in a place she’d never learned to pronounce, her only son in a college somewhere in California-America.
Logan muttered something on the verge of waking, and Aidan tried to shift his mind back to the present tense.
No use. He smiled into the darkness.
Gray-eyed Leah Shaw Williamson would have loved Logan, with his quiet Highland warrior vibe and his soft burr, the poetry of his eyes, the strength of his moral fiber. She would have blessed their union, never questioning its rightness. Too bad she never lived to see the day when Scotland would also bless such a union… Only four months ago, February 4, 2014…
When the news came from Parliament, about eleven on a Tuesday morning, his ex wasn’t even at home to share the joy. Justin had already slipped away by then, but both of them wasted a long time facing the truth.
And his father… No, Arthur Williamson probably had no idea his only son was now free to show his real face to the world. No doubt he was in a broker’s meeting, or a business breakfast, or sweating in a health-club sauna. Aidan knew that call would never come.
Sighing, he drew Logan closer, relishing the soft cocoon of his chest, even as his ass dug into the fucking floor. Maybe today after Logan went back to Devil’s Point, he’d go looking for a proper bed. One that his lover would accept. A bed never shared with some phantom “other man.”
It’s time. I need to stop putting my life on “hold,” waiting for a bloody phone call from Police Scotland, waiting for Father to change, waiting to tell Logan the truth—
A rumble, Vulcan deep in his fire-forged mountain… Logan was awake, and hard as a granite outcropping.
Aidan murmured something in his ear, a “good morning” mixed with passion and poetry, and the large man drew him closer.
“Ye’re worried, Aidan.”
“No—not true. I’m…”
“Thoughtful. I feel your levels of pain. Sex, fear, loneliness, regret…something more…”
Aidan stopped his lover’s words with his tongue. “Hush. Stop making shit up as you go along.”
“I feel your music. Is that so bad?”
”I have you. The symphony is complete.”
Logan laughed, then buried his head in the hollow of his throat. “Shall I leave my mark before I leave ye today?”
“You’ve left it already, Logan. Right here.” He drew his lover’s head down to his left breast, and Logan obliged him by suckling the nipple. His massive hand found the heavy prick, while his velvet fingers played in the pool of precum on the tip.
“So tell me.” Still toying with the slit, then moving down the shaft, he raised his head and spoke into Aidan’s mouth. “Tell me, or else I need to leave right nou.”
“You barmy bastard.”
“Dinnae stop, Logan. Not ever…”
“I was thinking about—about lost love.”
“Your old boyfriend?”
“Hell no. My mother, bless her soul. And what she took when she left.”
“Where is she nou?”
“Just down the road, actually. In Braemar cemetery, going on five years. The spot where grass grows tallest to the sun.”
Logan responded by stroking his cheeks, letting his fingertips trace his mouth and trail down to his throat.
“She had some kind of lymphoma. Incurable, quick. She was gone before I could jump on a plane and fly from California. I never…” He could not find the words.
“So you never had a chance to speak your heart.”
“I tell her every week, Logan, there where she lies in peace. That’s enough. Okay?”
“And your father? Is he at peace too?”
“I’ll ask him, if I ever speak with him again.”
Logan stroked his chest, lingering at the place Aidan felt his heart hammering against his ribs. After a while, he spoke.
“My name is ‘rough hollow’ for a reason, lad. Words are never enough. Ye need to fill the empty space, somehow, and no’ with speech. I think I understand.”
Aidan believed, completely, that Logan did understand. He probably knew a lot more besides, stuff he wasn’t ready to talk about.
“So take your time, my Little Fire, and fill it—that hollow. I’ll wait. Dinnae fash.”
“What about you, Logan? Where are your parents?”
Logan’s silence filled the room, and Aidan waited.
“In the grave, Aidan, but together. Douglas and I buried them in our auld kirkyard, at Windhill. We heard about the accident…a fast car…somewhere in Italy. They flew to us, instead of the other way around.”
“When did it happen?”
“I was sixteen, and my brother was eighteen. So, almost fifteen years ago. We both need to visit them. A hollow that also needs filling.”
“I’m sorry, love.” There. I said it.
Logan spoke low into his ear. “I know, and I thank ye.”
“Speaking of filling up, Logan—I need you, even more than the first time.”
Aidan heard a soft laugh in the dark. “More than that?
“Come here tae me, Little Fire.”
Their lovemaking was never the same, not ever. Maybe because both of them were different men every day. Aidan was sure his lover took inspiration from the crags and braes and clouds, from the night-hunting owls, from the promise and threat of his native Highlands. As for himself—a man with restless brain syndrome—every day was a mystery to be solved, a challenge to be faced. And Logan was the constant itch on his heart.
Logan rose from the floor and switched on the table lamp near the room’s only chair, a soggy leather recliner.
“I like the dark, Aidan—” he settled down again next to him “—but I today I need all of ye. Come, sit on my face…let me taste the hard part first.”
“Radge,” Aidan muttered, smiling.
“Aye, crazy for ye, lad.”
Lying on his back, he drew Aidan down, dick first, to meet his tongue, while his splayed fingers worked their slow way into his aching ass.
Aidan spread his legs, letting Logan raise and lower his desperate prick into his hot mouth…out again…in, deeper deeper deeper…
“Stop, stop it, Logan. I’ll come—”
“Aye, lad, I hope so.”
A howl of pleasure-pain…was that his own voice?
The spate of hot cum was an infinity of joy, an endless release. And when Logan sucked the last drop from his shaft, he settled Aidan’s ass over his demon’s penis, while their mouths met over the spilled carnage.
“Nou, nou, the filling of the hollow…”
Logan fucked him face up, slow and fast, sucked his tongue, lifting and dropping him over the cairn of his groin. The filling was a burst of pain and a slow column of white-hot fire.
“Fuck fuck fuck…”
Aidan moaned his need, felt Logan’s scalding cum rocket up his ass, and came again, longer and stronger, while Logan sucked and bucked and fucked, silent and complete and content.
He collapsed on his lover’s chest, feeling the heartbeat pummel his ear, wondering for the thousandth time why Logan never cried out in passion.
Maybe some day, he will. If I ever tell him the right words. Some day.
That morning when they parted, Aidan thought he’d never felt so complete, and so empty at the same time.
They kissed by the closed door.
“Maybe today, Logan. I feel Inspector Gowan’s bony finger on my spine.”
“As long as ’tis not stuck up your honey-sweet arse, lad. Just call me. All right? And dinnae fash. We’ll be fine. Both of us.”
He drifted into the pre-dawn fog on his way to a stone tent on Devil’s Point, and Aidan turned to seek his own stone cave.
Below is a mashup of all three novellas. I expect this one to be published in September-ish. You like? Find the duet here: https://amzn.to/2XKxIR2
*Those free eight chapters of Sleeping with Danger start here: https://leblogcestmoi.wordpress.com/sleeping-with-danger-begins-here/