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Posts Tagged ‘Warrior Ride Hard’

I realized today that many of my books are full of horses and ponies. All the early stuff, for sure—the YA series, and the Dawn of Ireland romances. The Iron Warriors. The cranky bachelor Flann O’Conall.

By the time I get to contemporary times, the men have pickups instead of ponies, sports cars instead of stallions.

I thought today I’d introduce you to a  young man named Wynn Talfryn, one of my Iron Warriors, by way of a spirited stallion.

To set the scene, from Book 2, Warrior, Stand Tall: Wynn is a 20-year-old Welshman, the lover of a 40-something former Roman soldier named Gristle. The men are on their way to Tara, the sacred home of the High King of Éire, so that Wynn can find some kind of retribution for what a couple of nasty-minded Druids have done to him in the first book. Once a trainer of ponies, Wynn finds that his lover may see him now through different eyes…

~oOo~

wynn horse 360Wynn was enjoying the sensation of a new stallion between his legs. It was the handsome, star-marked horse that Bleddyn had purchased when he arrived in Éire so that he could ride to Derry…

The stallion was a bay, a deep chestnut-brown with a mane and tail so black that they seemed to glint blue in the sunlight. A few inches above his dangerous tawny eyes there rode a white star that shone bright-white against the velvet-russet forehead. He had decided this morning to call him Seren, his own native word for “star.”

The handsome bay had been waiting for them in the byre when they had finished their supper the night before. Gristle had said nothing about him but had curried the stallion along with his own before they sought their room together. And then this morning, before their trek to Tara began, he and Gristle were standing in the unsteady light of a torch in the rough covered enclosure attached to the tavern.

“What do you think of Bledd’s horse?”

“I think he could stare down most men.”

Gristle’s mouth had risen subtly. “Meaning you like him?”

Ie. But he may be a one-man horse only.”

“I agree, Wynn. And that is why I hand you the reins.”

Wynn was dumbfounded. Bledd had given this handsome creature to his friend Gristle. And now Griss was clearly awarding the stallion to him.

He accepted the reins from Gristle and stood in front of the restive dark horse. Only a few shades lighter than Gristle’s own horse, Shadow, this beast was the same height—close to seventeen hands—and its eyes were even more shaded with peril, like those of his trainer.

“Griss, I, um, I cannot…”

w & spear-pizap.com13973170689905Gristle stepped closer to him and looked deep into his eyes.

“Take him, damn it, Wynn. You have shown your mettle. You have proved that no stallion is a match for you. Take the damn creature, and let us find the road north.”

Gristle had turned from him then and lifted his saddle onto Shadow’s back. Wynn found the stallion’s saddle and blanket and stood near its flank, caressing and talking. “Beauty, beauty. What is your name? Will your star guide me to Tara? Seren…star.”

He felt the ripple of powerful muscles in the flanks and withers, and then he stroked the long sensitive nose. Seren’s head dipped and tossed, his eyes showing white.

Wynn decided that he liked this creature very much. The stallion had a certain controlled fury, a hooded menace that reminded him strongly of his lover. Was Gristle telling him something deeply personal? If so, Wynn would find out soon enough. He dressed the stallion with Bledd’s discarded blanket and saddle.

Now, close to midday on the well-marked road to Tara, Wynn reached out and stroked Seren’s powerful neck. His fingers felt the tremor of finely-toned muscles that somehow accepted his touch. His thighs felt the new sensation of a wide, strong back, and he felt his cock stir a little with the unaccustomed contact.

Later that night, in their rude tent … As Gristle often did to him, he lay on his lover’s back and sucked and bit a spot near his shoulder, where no casual eye would see it. He tasted the salty zest of blood …

“How do you feel, Wynn?”

“Like a stallion,” Wynn whispered into his flesh. And then again in his ear, “Like a goddamned fucking stallion.”

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The Iron Warrior Series
Warrior, Ride Hard http://amzn.to/P2eRDO
In U.K. http://amzn.to/YxRtqv
Warrior, Stand Tall http://amzn.to/WoDkGS
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On SirenBookStrand http://bit.ly/O7b5us

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A forty-year-old veteran Roman soldier. A twenty-year-old Welsh pony trainer. The story of their meeting, their coupling, their loss and re-discovery of each other, are told in The Iron Warrior series of historical M/M romances Warrior, Ride HardWarrior, Stand Tall…Warrior, Come Again.

In WARRIOR, STAND TALL the older man has been held captive beneath a dolmen, a kind of megalithic tomb near holy Tara in ancient Ireland. Going back there with his lover Wynn, he remembers his captivity.

~oOo~

dolmen 500As soon as they had walked into the chamber of stone, Gristle felt an echoing stillness. This is where he had lain, almost accepting death. Here is where the sky, a massive lintel stone, had pressed into his chest and weighed on his mind, bringing him close to the calm of oblivion.

He felt again the mote of his inner strength that had escaped his weak flesh. He saw it again in the eye of his mind, watched it waft on the moving air of his own breath. Some remnant of memory persisted as he looked at the cracks and shafts of light overhead. He had risen to one of those fissures. He had clearly seen through to the sward and the trees beyond, into, and past the bruising rain.

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Again he felt the keen joy of liberation, remembered hearing his own hoarse voice shout through the widening crack in the stone. “Fuck you! Fuck Fortuna!”

blond warriorHe turned to Wynn, the golden man who stood in a fawn-gold robe at his side. The red fox-fur trim at the neck picked up the brindled russet-and-blond of his flowing hair.

For a moment he was still speechless, as though crying to the implacable goddess had robbed him of his ability to speak, ever again. Finally, his voice escaped her grip.

“Wynn. This is perfect.”

Wynn had seen to it that this sepulcher became a warm, sheltering room. Their blankets, a source of light, his precious whetstone—all he really wanted were laid out as though in a wedding chamber, waiting for them to join in a new partnership.

Much later, when Wynn’s head was cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, Gristle marveled at how much this young man had brought him, in such a short period of time. Except for the scant eleven months with Tristus, he had spent forty years of his life in an empty room. It had been a room devoid of windows, harsh of floor, built of sharp angles and unyielding as flint.

He had known Wynn about six months. And out of that six months, he and Wynn had been physically together less than half that time. And yet even from the first hours after they had lain together, his world had begun to swell from the tiny, dark enclosure to this—this sun-raptured cosmos he called “love.”

… Wynn stirred in his arms.

“Gris.”

“I am here.”

“I need to take ye.”

Gristle’s throat erupted in a strange sound he barely recognized as a cough-like laugh. “You have already taken me. To a far, marvelous place. A place I never want to leave.”

“Nay. To take your alabaster ass.”

Before Gristle could react, Wynn became a maelstrom of flashing legs and strong, muscular arms, and Gristle found himself lying on his stomach on the tarred cloth. To his shame, he was breathing hard, while Wynn seemed fresh. Gristle inwardly cursed his recent wound.warriors crop to p

He felt Wynn’s new, cobweb-soft beard on the curves of his ass, and then the wet velvet of his tongue sliding up and down the crack. “Damn it, Wynn! Stop!” But even as he said it, his prick swelled and hammered against the cloth underneath. He spread his legs then, giving in to the unaccustomed jolts of pleasure that traveled up his ass and into his very gut.

Soon he was moaning and arcing his ass high, seeking Wynn’s questing tongue, relishing the sensation of his lover’s mouth sucking on his anus. He was in danger of climaxing, he knew. “Fuck me!” His voice sounded strangled, thick with need.
As if in instant response to his pleas, he felt the broad dagger that was Wynn’s ready cock slide into his ass. It was a shock, and it was a hot-cool craving that took his breath again. How could he let this—this stripling, this inexperienced lad—take him as though he were a yielding maiden? He fought against it, he struggled, he loved every moment of Wynn’s adamant prick taking him, thrusting into a place so deep he lost all sense of time and place.

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