A. J. Llewellyn has a new paranormal/fantasy book out:
CORRECTED: Kimo and Lopaka have taken their whole family to Scotland for an old-fashioned Christmas in a magnificent castle in the snowy Cairngorm Mountains. Their host, the Earl of Glennich, is a fanatic for Christmas and follows all the ancient traditions once banned in Scotland for four hundred years, until 1958.
The daffy earl is obsessed with good luck and fears bad luck around every corner of his haunted castle. Will everything go right when he asks Kimo to First Foot on Christmas Day? Tradition holds that the first person to cross the threshold must be a dark-haired man, whereas a fair-haired man or a woman are considered bad luck.
Kimo and Lopaka think things will go just fine. They’re having fun sneaking off for furtive lovemaking and finding secret places to kiss. For Kimo, this family Christmas is a dream come true after many years of loneliness, so nothing but good luck can be on their Christmas horizon…right?
All I could see of my sister’s beautiful face in her massive snowsuit were her eyes and nose.
I leaned forward and kissed the tip of that nose.
The boys ran outside to play with their cousins.
“Don’t let Pele lose that muff!” I yelled to my sister who lurched like the Abominable Snowman in her big, puffy white suit.
“Did she just give us permission to have a little hanky-panky?” my husband asked, draping his arm around me.
“I believe so. A whole half hour.”
“Then let’s tarry not,” Kimo said in a perfect impersonation of Fyfa’s Scottish brogue.
We ran to our room. It was a wonderful refuge for two men hopelessly in love and as much in lust as we were. Our massive four-post mahogany bed had a headboard made of wooden slats inlaid with mother of pearl. When the sunlight streamed into the room, light bounced from the pearl giving a lilac hue to everything in it. The bedding was soft and luxurious, piled high on the huge frame. We stood by its side, swapping feverish kisses.
Breaking off our increasingly fierce embrace, I went to kneel down before him, but he grabbed my sweater sleeve, dragging me back to him.
“Where are you going?”
“I thought I’d pay a little homage to your cock…which is really my cock.”
“And so it is.” His eyes gleamed released me and let me get back to my task.
A. J. Llewellyn lives in California, but dreams of living in Hawaii. Frequent trips to all the islands, bags of Kona coffee in his fridge and a healthy collection of Hawaiian records keep this writer refueled. A. J. loves male/male erotica, has a passion for all animals—especially the dog, the cat and the turtle. A. J. believes that love is a song best sung out loud.
Email: [email protected]