Seductive Studs ~ A Very Logical Impulse


What better way to kick off the week than a little juicy m/m goodness? Welcome to Seductive Studs and our new Monday launch time.  I received the contract for Gryffon Hall this morning, so I thought I’d celebrate with a snippet.  Gryffon Hall is a fantasy inspired by the fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast.  In this scene, Wryler has married his beast and is suffering through the wedding feast on pins and needles, anticipating the night to come.


Wryler mostly ignored the conversation and jokes. His mind was consumed by what awaited him that evening. Every nerve was so tightly wound he couldn’t tell if he was terrified or stirred by a level of lust he’d never experienced before. He hadn’t been jesting about wanting to tear his clothes off and found himself desperately anxious to see Rouchet undressed.

He told himself this was a very logical impulse to put everything into its proper perspective, to put to rest the ridiculous stories he’d been told, and get the whole thing over with. He drank too much too fast, which unfortunately fueled his impatient flames and made his hand want to creep along Rouchet’s thigh. He was in a fight against this impulse when Rouchet leaned against him and whispered, “Time for us to depart.”

Wryler hiccupped. “So soon?” He looked around and noticed many of the candles had burned down more than half way, but the servants were too drunk to change them out. Several guests slumped over their plates, snoozing loudly. Here and there cousins had simply stretched out on the floor. Dancers stepped over them most incautiously, laughing as they kicked or stepped on their insensible relatives.

Rouchet chuckled and helped, or rather, lifted Wryler to his feet and led him away toward the side door the servants used. “Let’s depart without fanfare,” Rouchet said after the deed was done.

“Yes, let’s.” Wryler struggled to walk steadily and match Rouchet’s stride. He tried not to cling too tightly to his husband’s muscular arm or lean on him too noticeably. Determined to keep his dignity, he met the long curving staircase with stern resolve.

“Would you like me to carry you?” Rouchet asked, an annoyingly sober twinkle in his forest green eyes.

“What? No!” Wryler released Rouchet’s arm, took two steps up and fell forward onto his hands and knees. He barely had time to curse before Rouchet wrapped an arm around his waist, pulled him to his feet and then lifted Wryler into his arms.



Unofficial blurb:

Gryffon Hall

Useless fourth son of the Lord of Glimmerveen, Wryler dreams of getting married and escaping the rustic confines of his father’s castle. A wealthy merchant’s son seems to hold the key to Wryler’s safe if somewhat dreary future. However, the arrival of a mysterious stranger on the eve of Wryler’s betrothal sends his plans into disarray and Wryler finds himself traded off in marriage to one of the most notorious rogues in the land.

Is Lord Aeric Rouchet the barbarian he appears to be, or is he something much worse? Separated from his family and thrust into a strange and dangerous new life at the foreboding Gryffon Hall, Wryler must unravel the secret of his husband’s shadowed life and defeat the curse which threatens not only his growing affection for the barbarian in his bed, but the lives of everyone the Lord of Gryffon Hall is sworn to protect.


Seductive Studs offers a range of m/m fiction, ranging from sweet to smexy and everything in between. Don’t forget to check out the rest of the hop at

Weekend Writing Warriors ~ The Barbarian From the West


Greetings and welcome to another round of Weekend Writing Warriors.  This week, since I’m up to my eyeballs in it, I’ve decided to share from my current WIP, a reimagined fairy tale currently titled Gryffon Hall.  Our hero, Wryler Glimmerveen, is reluctantly attending a fancy feast hosted by his father, lord of Glimmerveen castle.  Wyler, the fourth son, expects to soon be married off to Lennox, a wealthy merchant’s son, but a mysterious visitor may throw his carefully planned future into disarray.


A commotion at the wide doors served as a welcome distraction. Three rather large men had entered, shouting greetings and apologies for their lateness. The crowd parted and a footman cleared his throat.

“Lord Aeric Rouchet, Earl of Gryffon Hall!” he announced. The gasp and murmur that rippled through the room would have amused Wryler, if not for the fact that Wryler couldn’t help gasping and murmuring along with the rest of them.

“What is he doing here? Shall we alert the guards?” he whispered into his father’s ear.

The music came to a squeaky halt as Aeric Rouchet stepped forward. Everyone gaped at the notorious barbarian from the west. The footman, who was no slight fellow, appeared diminutive next to the visitor; Rouchet could have picked him up with one hand and used him to clean the gristle from his teeth.


Gyrffon Hall

Gryffon Hall, known in the real world as Eltz Castle, Germany.


This post is part of an ongoing blog hop hosted by Weekend Writing Warriors. Every Sunday, participating authors post eight to ten sentences from a published work or perhaps their current work in progress. Then we hop to our fellow warriors’ blogs and check out all the fabulous fiction that’s happening! I heartily invite you to participate as a reader, writer, or both. It’s a great way to discover your next favorite book. Click here or use the address: