Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Open Net - Cayuga Cougars #2 - Cover Reveal and Preorder Links

You Cayuga Cougar fans are going to be all sorts of tickled! August and Sal's book is now up for preorder and you get a peek at the gorgeous cover as well as some preorder links. Take a long look at this beautiful book...

How darn sultry is that cover? And the romance that's inside is just as sensual and romantic. Here's the blurb, a few buy links (more will be available soon) and an excerpt to wet your whistles...

Buy Links:


August Miles has the world on a string professionally.

Augie, as his friends and teammates call the unassuming young goaltender, is on the fast track to the pros. The starting goalie for the Cayuga Cougars, he has a year or two in Cayuga to hone his skills and all his career dreams will have come true. Pity his personal life isn’t riding the same high. He’s the only one among his group of friends without that special someone to call his own.

Until he meets Salvatore Castenada at a lakeside party. The attraction is white-hot and more than a little wonderfully overwhelming for the romantically inexperienced goalie. August quickly discovers that Sal is everything he’s dreamed of in a man: mature, settled, sinfully handsome, and filled with gentle humor. Sal is also HIV positive. 

Will Sal’s revelation about his status end this budding relationship before it can even begin? Or will the two men be able to handle the challenges life—and a championship run for the Cougars—throws at them?

R-Rated Excerpt:

Several days later, trying to be nonchalant about things, I stood outside his door, empty container in my hand, features schooled not to reflect how scared I was.
He looked shocked to see me on his doorstep. “Hey,” he said.
I held up the empty dish.
His gaze darted to the container, then back to me, a smile tugging at the corner of his sensual mouth. “Looking for a refill or something more?”
He stepped aside to let me enter. I paused just inside the front door, turning to look at him after he shut it.
“I’d like to have more,” I said, and held out the container like some sort of orphan in a musical.
“More what?” he asked, and I heard the uncertainty in his voice.
“More food and more you.”
“Are you sure, August?”
I nodded.
He gently took the container, his eyes locked with mine. “Are you one hundred percent sure? Maybe you should take more time. I’m not a prime dating candidate for you. I’m seropositive and I’m fifteen years older than you are. I can almost guarantee you that some of your friends are going to be against us seeing each other.”
“I don’t need more time and I don’t need friends who would be so judgmental. Yes, I’m one hundred percent sure. I’ve spent days reading, watching videos, and then reading more. I even talked with a medical professional. I know what I’m going to be facing—what we’re going to be facing.”
He tossed the container onto a small table at the end of the sofa. “We can never have unprotected sex. Ever. Not even once.”
“I know,” I said as want began pumping through my veins.
“If a condom breaks you could get infected.” He stared deep into my eyes.
“I know,” I replied. “I know all the bad things that can happen. I still want to date you.”
“No, you just think you know all the bad things, Aug. There’s so much you don’t know.” He sounded sad and weary.
“Then I’ll learn. Sal, I want to be with you, okay? I mean, if you don’t want to be with me, then that’s fine. I’ll just leave and you’ll never have to look at my dumb face ever—”
Sal stepped up to me without a word and pushed my back against the wall. A shocked grunt escaped me right before his mouth dropped over mine. He ran his tongue over the seam of my mouth. I let him in. He was powerful, possessive and hungry. His tongue slipped around mine as his hands found the edge of my shirt.
Breaking the kiss, he jerked my shirt upward, not caring that it caught under my chin. He just tugged harder to get the neckband free. Once the material popped free, he grabbed the shirt with both hands and held my arms over my head, the soft cotton keeping my hands off him.
“I should tell you to leave now, but I want you too bad to be noble,” he growled.

He captured my mouth again, this time letting his body lean in to me from chest to knees. My fingers slipped out of the T-shirt and I pushed them between his. Sal gyrated against me. His hard cock slid over mine. I sucked in a heated breath. He moaned, then began feasting on my neck, collarbone, and finally a nipple. He slipped his hands out of my grip and his palms, flat to my arms, slowly slithered downward.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Picture Prompt

Welcome back!

This week is our picture prompt week and all posts must be 300 words or under and reflect the chosen image. Today we have a snippet from Deep Edge, Harrisburg Railers #3, which I’m coauthoring with Rj Scott. In this excerpt, Trent gets his first peek at the Railers, who he’ll be filming a reality show with.

Thanks so much for dropping by!

We could hear them talking. I peeked around the corner and saw them all gathered in a corridor. Eleven or twelve of them. Thirteen if you counted a leaner man with dark hair who didn’t look like be belonged among the troop. A baker’s dozen of them waiting for me to arrive so the torment could begin. Why had the week gone so quickly? I’d been trying to drag it out but it marched on without a care for Trent. Time was a puffy-faced sow. I should have ignored that stupid alarm clock and hidden in my bed all day.

I pulled back from the corner and looked right at my agent. Her nose was pink from the cold in the ice rink. I loved her little puffy teal jacket and made a mental note to ask later about where she’d gotten it.

“Are we sure we don’t want Jane Goodall in the leading role of this show?”

Gayle gave me a withering look. She was quickly perfecting that expression. It would serve her well. Damn. I should have worn one of my tiaras just to twist some nipples. Not that what I had pulled on wouldn’t get things rolling as soon as the simians laid eyes on me. Had Trent dressed to stir things up? Oh yes, Trent had.

I’d gone with the anime look for the day. Colored and teased hair, lined eyes which don’t count because I line my eyes daily, skin tight blue leggings under a short, flouncy kilt of green, blue, all topped with a tight blue and white sweater. Oh, and bright blue hiking boots and a few dozen bangles on each wrist.

“They look like very nice young men,” Gayle sagely replied.

Copyright 2017 ©by V.L. Locey & Rj Scott


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Friday, July 14, 2017

Book Spotlight - A Most Unlikely Countess, To Love a Wildcat #2

Painfully shy Liz Argon probably shouldn`t be dreaming of Veikko Aho, star goalie for the Philadelphia Wildcats. As she works side by side with 'The Count of the Crease' on his memoirs, she finds herself falling for the handsome goaltender. His tender ways with her and her mentally fragile mother are slowly claiming her heart. 

If only Veikko wasn`t already engaged to a woman far better suited to move in to 'The Count`s' world. In book two of the To Love a Wildcat series, we`ll see if a glass slipper can survive in the rough and tumble world of professional ice hockey.

KU Link

Here's a small snippet where Liz is searching for her escaped ferret in Veikko's mansion...

 Veikko cocked an eyebrow questioningly. I shook my head then pattered to the closet. I emerged fifteen minutes later with no ferret, but with an enormous amount of envy that his wardrobe was so much better than mine. As was the closet that held it. I headed for his private bath.

 “Elizabeth, perhaps if you didn`t chase him he`d come looking for you? We used to have a cat when I was a young boy that would mince right up to you, then, when you would reach for him to bring him in for the night, he would streak off. It was a game to him. Come, sit down beside me. We`ll wait for Gandalf to come to you.”

“It won`t work,” I said, my feet rather stuck to the spot I was in. Veikko lifted his upper body up to rest on his elbows. 

“You won`t know if you don`t try. Please, I beg of you, come sit down quietly and wait for him,” he implored, patting the empty spot to his left. “I`ll tell whatever you wish to know,” he added as an incentive.

“I should have my tablet,” I whispered, struck with a gasping seizure of terror. Heart thundering he shook his head.

“This is not for the book. This is just between friends.” He yawned so widely his jaw cracked. Okay, sure. Friends. Of course. Yippee for friendship.

“Piglet and Pooh,” I murmured forcing my cold feet to move me to the bed. I crawled up onto the mattress. Grabbing the discarded duvet I covered myself to my neck. Veikko`s head rolled left. A quirky look appeared.

“Please, relax, Elizabeth.” His hands came to rest on his flat stomach. I inhaled through my nose. Okay, that didn`t help one damned bit. “What would you like to know? We`ll play truth or dare, only I will not make you do something stupid like run down Fenimore Lane wearing a chicken suit.” 

“Do you own a chicken suit?” I asked. He chuckled and my muscles relaxed just a bit.

“Is that your question?” he slyly asked. I wiggled my toes as the bed`s warmth began to seep into my flesh.  

 “No. Well, sure, yeah, let`s start with that. Do you own a chicken suit?” I asked with utmost journalistic professionalism. The heater kicked on. Warm air circulated through the bedroom. 

“No, but I did once date a woman that owned a feather whip.” The scamp winked. Heat seared my neck and ears. Burying my face into the cover, I shook my head as I clucked like a schoolmarm. “My turn,” he said then yanked the covers down so he could see my eyes I reasoned. “How many piercings do you have?”

“Do you mean now, or ones that I let heal closed?”

“All that you`ve ever had done,” he said. I did a quick mental count, making sure I tallied all studs that at one time had lined my ears. 


“Why so many?” he inquired, rolling to his side. I shrugged. “No, you can`t not answer.” 

“You already asked your question,” I informed him. He inclined his head graciously. “How old were you when you got your first kiss?” 

“Elizabeth, such racy things you ask!” he feigned a swoon then laughed heartily at the snort that got free. “I was six. It was from a terribly forward girl who lived next door to my grandparents. One day, I was out picking flowers for my mother when she appeared. She took the bouquet, said thank you then kissed me on the lips. I thought it was the nastiest thing I had ever experienced! She then told me if I brought her a bouquet the next day she would show me what was inside her panties.”

“No she did not!” I gasped, holding onto my ankles. He looked very sincere. 

“Oh, but she did! Of course, I had seen what girls have inside their panties. I had two little sisters who refused to wear pants or diapers for a solid year, but as I thought about it later, perhaps little Agda had something different? So, I gathered another bouquet and met her behind my grandparents’ tool shed. She showed me hers then I showed her mine. She seemed very fascinated by mine at the time but it must not have been too fascinating for she never asked for another peek or bouquet again.” 

“That`s too funny,” I chortled, stretching my legs out in front of me, the bottom of my feet just touching his left thigh. 

The man was a furnace. Within minutes my soles were glowing. That was how it started—with one story about a bouquet (pronounced boo-ket) for a curious girl. The night moved around us, time slipping past unknown and unseen as we talked about siblings, parents, music, and art, what makes us laugh hard and what makes us cry. I had never shared so much with another human being. Veikko pulled me close without ever touching me. We lay on our backs, all traces of unease gone from my body. I don`t remember dropping off. Sleep crept up on me on stealthy tippy-toes to tug me unknowingly into its embrace. I recall waking up a few minutes later though. 

My eyelids sluggishly crawled upward. Sky blue eyes enveloped me. We were lying facing each other, Veikko and I. I wanted to say something witty or erudite but nothing came. All I did was nod when he silently asked for permission with his eyes. He rose up on one elbow. His head dipped. Just as his lips brushed mine I closed my eyes. That soft brush of mouth on mouth sent my pulmonary system into a wild spiraling escalation. Using every sense but sight I emblazoned this moment onto my memory banks, because I knew, I just knew, nothing would ever top his mouth on mine. 

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Changing Lines Release Day!

It's been a wonderful experience working with Rj Scott. I've learned so much from her and have found a true friend and Wonder Twin soul sister. I hope you can feel the love we have this genre, the sport of hockey, and our characters as you read each of the Railers books.

Tennant and Jared will always hold a special place in my heart as their story - and the battles they face to be honest about their love - have shaped the series into one of passion, hope, and acceptance in my eyes. Thank you for all your support, as always. It is because of you that this old chicken-herder can live out a dream.

Skate hard and love deeply,


Changing Lines (Harrisburg Railers #1)


Can Tennant show Jared that age is just a number, and that love is all that matters?

The Rowe Brothers are famous hockey hotshots, but as the youngest of the trio, Tennant has always had to play against his brothers’ reputations. To get out of their shadows, and against their advice, he accepts a trade to the Harrisburg Railers, where he runs into Jared Madsen. Mads is an old family friend and his brother’s one-time teammate. Mads is Tennant’s new coach. And Mads is the sexiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Jared Madsen’s hockey career was cut short by a fault in his heart, but coaching keeps him close to the game. When Ten is traded to the team, his carefully organized world is thrown into chaos. Nine years younger and his best friend’s brother, he knows Ten is strictly off-limits, but as soon as he sees Ten’s moves, on and off the ice, he knows his heart could get him into trouble again.


Smashwords -

Monday, July 10, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Earth

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from the third Harrisburg Railers MM hockey romance book, Deep Edge, that I’m coauthoring with Rj Scott. In this excerpt, we get to meet one of the two leading men, Trent Hanson, a famous figure skater who has fallen on hard times.

Our word prompt today is “Earth”.

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

Gayle sat down behind her desk, smiled at me yet again, and folded her hands in front of her. I raised a freshly plucked eyebrow. She was still trying to get a handle on me. Tobey & Troy was the largest athletic representation firm in Philly. They handled most of the Eagles, Sixers, and Flyers as well as several tennis players. And now they had me. Trent Lawrence Hanson. Famed gay figure skater and next in line to be a Dickens character in real life. Please, Sir, can I have more? Ugh. As if I’d eat gruel. What if I had too? What on earth would I do? The thought was too much to bear.

“I think that now that the legal issues with your father—”

“Stepfather,” I quickly reminded her.

“Yes, sorry, stepfather. Well, now that he’s been convicted and is serving his time I think it’s time we start working on marketing you in a positive light.” She smiled again, nervously, and leveled light blue eyes at me. “Where are you in terms of returning to competitive skating?”

I glanced out the windows at Ben Franklin standing atop City Hall. I began running my hands over the flaps of thin cotton lying over my thighs.

“I have no money, my professional reputation is shot, and my rink and my mother’s house are both two months away from foreclosure. Do you honestly think that I could find the mental clarity and focus to skate again?” As soon as I heard how bitchy I sounded I placed a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled into my fingers.

“It’s quite understandable,” she replied. She was far too nice to be saddled with a miserable cow bag like me. I wanted to cry but didn’t. I’d do that later when I visited Mom and Lola. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be lovely,” I coughed into my fingers. She rang her receptionist. “I’m better now. See.” I lowered my hand and smiled brilliantly at her.

Gayle nodded but melancholy lingered in her gaze. A tiny blonde hurried in with a bottle of water and handed it to me. I was about to ask if she could possibly find a cold one but I bit my tongue. Bitchy Trent had already escaped once today.

“Thank you.” She nodded and scurried out, closing the door behind her slim backside. Her shoes were terrible. Who wears black flats with a peach dress in late June? Honestly women, learn how to dress. I took tiny sips of the tepid water. Gayle waited. I capped the bottle and balanced it in my left hand so my coat didn’t get watermarked. I was a beggar now. I had to keep my wardrobe in good shape. Tears threatened again. Gayle broke into the building weep fest.

“I understand that you’re not mentally ready to return to figure skating. To that end, we need to find you something to do that will bring in good money so you can get your assets back in sound fiscal shape.”

“You mean pull my rink and my mother’s house out of the snapping jaws of foreclosure?”

“Well, I’d not have been quite that dramatic…”

“Few are,” I sighed as I returned to working out the crinkles in my duster.

“Right, well, I’ve been approached by GLBTQtv about a reality show with you as the star.”

My mouth dropped to my chest. “Get. Out.”

Copyright 2017 ©by V.L. Locey


Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.

Thursday, July 6, 2017

Book Spotlight - Snap Shot Cayuga Cougars #1

With Open Net - Cayuga Cougars #2  coming out next month, I thought we should take a look at Snap Shot, the first of the Cayuga Cougars books.

#trans #bi #hockey #romance

Buy Links:


Mario McGarrity has been around the block – and rink – more than a few times.

He’s creeping up on retirement age, has some dings and dents, and says what’s on his mind. Not exactly what most would consider a luxury ride, but his beautiful Lila - the transgender woman who stole his heart - loves him like no other woman ever has despite a little rust here and there.

Everything is good - no, great - aside from the distance issue, until a surprise from Lila’s past crops up and moves in with her. Can Mario be the family man that Lila needs, or is this one game the old vet is unable to skate in? 

Tremendously NSFW Excerpt:

“Every time I see you in my bed, I have to wonder what I did to get so lucky.”
Her hand wiggled between my legs, her warm fingers cupping my balls then squeezing. My legs spread for her of their own accord. The ice pack fell off my lower back. I figured she might pick it up and fuss, and I was right.
“I can’t imagine anyone thinking that having a washed-up hockey player in a kilt rolling around on their fancy pillows is lucky.”
My cock was pinned between my stomach and the bed. She began working on the muscles up by my shoulders after placing the ice pack back where it belonged.
“It takes a special man to come back to my bed,” she said while her strong fingers dug deeply into my flesh. It felt fantastic. “Most come once, pun fully intended, and then they leave, curiosity abated, never to be heard from again.”
I rolled onto my back to look at her. Her eyes widened slightly.
“Okay, that is total bullshit. Any man should be dropping to his knees and thanking God Almighty for a woman like you.”
“And I love that you think so.” Her gaze was tender for a moment, then it flittered from my banged-up face to my cock. The tip of her pink tongue moved over her lower lip, her eyes growing smoky and sensual. “I wish you’d keep ice on that nasty.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve had much worse, trust me. Why don’t you lose that nightgown and shawl and plant that sexy ass right here?” I patted my thighs.
She struck a thoughtful pose, her long yellow fingernail tapping her chin, her red lips pursed. I wanted to roll her onto her back and laugh all at once.
“Come on, baby. I drove all the way from Cayuga for some sweetness.”
Her gaze flickered to me right before she reached up to push her hair from her face theatrically.
“That’s true.”
With that pronouncement, she stood. The shawl shimmied from her shoulders to the floor. I grabbed my cock and ran my thumb over the weeping head. A shudder ran through me. She stood with her back to me.
“You sure you’re up to this, Seamus?” she asked with a coy peek over her broad shoulder.
I tugged on my hard dick in reply.
“You do have a way with words,” she sighed humorously.
“You want a redhead with flapping gums, hook up with Kalinski.”
“If he and Daniel weren’t wed, I’d do so, and happily,” she teased, pushing one thin strap off her shoulder.
“Over my dead body,” I snarled, just as she wanted.
The other strap shimmied down her arm. I gave my dick another tug, my gaze locked on her as she wiggled free of her nightgown, slowly revealing her bare body.
“Fuck,” I moaned when she turned to face me, arms over her head in a pose aimed to titillate.
It worked. Oh man, how it worked. She was stunningly beautiful and as sexy as a fucking pagan goddess. I ached to get my hands on her, but I knew she had a wee bit more prancing to do.

Monday, July 3, 2017

Tuesday Tales - Firecracker

It`s time for Tuesday Tales.

Today we have a snippet from my new MM contemporary nightclub book, The Bachelor & The Balladeer, Tales of the Scarlet Owl #1. In this excerpt, Cab discovers his balladeer, and the man who will win his heart. Le sigh...

This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!

“If I hear one more Beiber imitation, I’m going to physically assault someone,” I snarled as another fool exited stage left. “Do these idiots not know what a balladeer is? Did they not do any research before coming to the auditions?”
            “The music world is full of auto-tuned asswidgets,” Maurice mumbled while pillaging through the empty burger bag for something.
            “And you wonder why I left the recording business,” I huffed and threw a hand in the air as yet another twit in baggy jeans and skater shoes ambled onto the stage.  I stood up as Mr. Not-A-Clue tapped the old-style microphone, his expression that of a person coming face to face with a troglodyte in line for the bus. Maurice began shredding napkins then pushing the torn paper into his ears. Smart man. “Excuse me, young man on stage?”
            Blue-and-yellow hair looked directly at me, then smiled. “Dude, yo!”
            “God save me,” I whispered to the ceiling. “Did you bring sheet music for the band?”       
             He looked over his shoulder at Skip and the boys. A few wiggled their horns at the numpty.
            “So they’re a real band?”
            “NEXT!” I roared. Titters rose form the band. Numpty shuffled away hopefully never to be seen again. I flopped down next to Maurice and tugged a wad of napkin from his leaf ear. “I’m going to close my eyes and stick my fingers into my ears. If the next singer even looks like a Jonas Brother, shoot him and then me.”
            “I don’t have a gun but I could probably beat you to death with a clarinet.”
            “That’ll be fine.” I wiggled down into my seat, stuck my fingers into my ears, and closed my eyes. I could just hear Maurice yelling for the next singer to take the stage. That one was not any better than the previous one.
            “I’m going to the bathroom,” I abruptly announced as some fool on stage was trying to convince Maurice that Drake was a balladeer. “Before I hurt someone.”
I shot to my feet like a firecracker, climbed over my partner and stalked up the aisle, frustration broiling and bubbling inside me. How was it possible that singers today did not grasp what it was we were looking for? Where had all the professionalism gone? I threw the door to the men’s room open and nearly tripped over one of those large industrial yellow mop buckets. Why were there no signs warning incoming men of this possible danger to their - was that someone singing a song that Vic Damone was famed for?! The acoustics in here were lovely as was the voice of the man singing. He reminded me of a young Sinatra or Como, and that is not a comparison I would toss about lightly.
I raced around the corner anxious to find this man with the perfect voice. The singer was wearing a blue shirt and dark work trousers. The back of his shirt had the logo of a cleaning company. His head jerked up when I cleared my throat. To say he was beautiful would be a gross understatement. Yes, his nose was a little crooked compared to my ex-lovers, and his mouth wasn’t painted to entice. It didn’t need any enhancement. His lips were full. His nose perfect for his face. His eyes big and brown, his black hair loose and framing his face. He had a lean build that was lost in the baggy uniform. He appeared to be mid-twenties.
            “I just need a couple more minutes and I’ll be done in here,” he said. I shook my head. He arched a brow. “Uh, well, if you have to go that bad…”
            “No, I don’t have to go at all. You were singing a Vic Damone song, and doing it amazingly well,” I said then walked to him, hand out. He eyed my extended hand cautiously but shifted his mop to his left and shook. Up close he was even more attractive. “How would you like to audition?”
            His eyes flared and he pulled his hand from mine. “You mean like those guys out there?”
            “Yes, exactly like them only you actually know the genre of music that I’m looking for. And your voice is wonderful if a bit weak and in need of training.”
            “Who the hell are you?” Now I had his attention. I could see it in the way he was assessing me.
            “Cabriolet Vermet, owner of The Scarlet Owl. I need a singer, a balladeer, and you have a voice that’s perfect for the genre. What’s your name?”
            “Julian Baez,” he mumbled, his gaze darting from me to the bathroom door then back to me. “You really think I have a good voice?”
            “Julian, it’s like nothing that I’ve heard in years. Come and sing a song for me and my partner. Get the band behind you. You’ve nothing to lose, correct?” I wheedled a bit. I’d drop to my knees and polish his old work boots if he’d just leave the damn mop and sing me a full song with accompaniment.

Copyright 2017 ©by V.L. Locey


Click on the link below to return to the Tuesday Tales main blog for more great reads from the Tuesday Tales authors.

Saturday, July 1, 2017

New MM NA Series Announcement!

I'm all kinds of tickled rainbow colors to share the news that Rj Scott and I will be coauthoring an MM new adult hockey series that will spin off our Harrisburg Railers books.

The first novel Freshman Year - Owatanna U #1 - tells the story of Ryker Madsen, the son of Jared Madsen from Changing Lines. Look for it on 2/14/18!

Add to Goodreads : FreshmanYear -Owatanna U #1