A little bird told me (okay, I'll admit it, it was Emily herself who told me) that the Velvet Glove is Emily's favorite series of mine and that Puppy Love is her favorite among the VG stories.
I'm often asked what the reading order for the Velvet Glove is, and honestly, I don't know that there's a hard and fast reading order, especially as I started a lot of the stories at the same time and the characters and events sort of dove-tail into each other. The first five books should probably be read together -- and Connor's Journey is a great place to start reading as the reader is introduced to the Glove along with Connor. Velvet Blade should be read last. But almost all of them can be read as stand alones and don't need any sort of order for reading. If I had to make one though, the below is probably how I'd list a reading order.
Will there be more from the world of Velvet Glove? I have more stories up my sleeve, yes. Some from before the events in Velvet Blade, some that take place after. Now if I can just squeeze them in between the men of the Hammer Club and the boys from Chess…
Puppy Love takes one of the more… unusual aspects of BDSM and explores it. While the topic itself seems very out there, in the end it's about the characters and this turned out to be one of my favorite stories in the series because Tyg is such a broken character at the start and Dane slowly wins his trust and helps him heal and come back to life. I've written a little birthday snippet featuring Tyg and Dane as a birthday present for Emily.
Dane ran the brush through Tyg's hair, his pup's mane silky and smooth from a long grooming session. The tail was next, Dane shifting Tyg so the sweet ass was up over his lap, plug solidly set so his brushing wouldn't pull it out.
"Such a beautiful puppy," he murmured, hand sliding along Tyg's back. It was Tyg's birthday and Dane was determined to make it wonderful.
Tyg arched, cock hard and needy, rubbing against his thigh, leaving wet kisses.
They'd had pool time, real chocolate cake -- with several large glasses of milk -- and presents with Richard, and now it was time for just the two of them.
He moaned softly as Tyg moved again, skin warm and wonderful against his own. His lover, his pup, vocalized softly, the sound so happy, so needy.
When he'd brushed Tyg's tail until it was as silky and smooth as the hair on Tyg's head, he put aside the brush and began to pet his lover's skin with long, intense strokes. His pup vibrated, shivered against him. Smiling, he slid one hand between Tyg's legs, stroking the soft skin between hole and balls before cupping the sensitive orbs. Then he moved to the long, hard prick, stroking it.
His happy birthday boy.
He groaned, touching Tyg gently. His own cock was hard as well, just the act of grooming Tyg enough to get him going and he shifted, pressing Tyg's cock so it brushed against his own. It made them both moan, Tyg panting like he'd just run around the room at top speed.
"Is it a good birthday, pup?"
A low moan sounded, then Tyg nodded. "Yes, Master. Yes. So
Pleasure deeper than the physical went through him and he hugged Tyg tight. "I love you."
And that was perfect.
Who can resist a free room at the Velvet Glove in exchange for rehabilitating an abused puppy? Certainly not Dane, who accepts the offer, but is surprised find that the pup in question is actually Tyg, a young man and sub who was left by his master, in a cage, with no food or water. Tyg needs help and, Dane is the man for the job, even if he's used to working with animals, not humans. Can Dane rehabilitate a human as he would a dog? Does he even want to? As his relationship with Tyg blossoms into something sweet and heartwarming, Dane thinks he just might, but what happens when Tyg's "owner" returns?
Emily asked for an anecdote about my own twenty-first birthday and I have to admit, I can't specifically remember anything from mine. My eighteenth, however, which is the big birthday as far as legal drinking age etc. goes in Montreal, where I grew up, I do remember.
My best friend at the time turned eighteen two months before I did and took me out to a bar, along with several older brothers and their friends. I was introduced to a flaming shot and I have to admit, between that and several other birthday drinks, I might not have had to pay in cash for any of the drinks, but I did pay the next
morning with my first hangover!
I'll draw a random winner from among the comments on this post -- the prize is the Velvet Glove ebook of the winner's choice.
I also wanted to share my new release with you. It's from The Hammer Club world.
Erik wants to know what his subs feel, so he’s planning on losing his
virginity. To that end, he enlists the help of his best friend and mentor, Lion. Things get intense when Lion insists the only man he trusts for the job is himself. How will this affect their friendship?
"If your luck doesn't change, I'm going to have to start fronting you M&Ms."
Erik reached over, playfully, and stole a handful of candy, shoving them in his mouth.
"Oh that's not on." Lion looked like he was trying not to laugh.
He chewed, swallowed. God, those were sweet.
"Don't make me put them down my pants to keep you from eating them."
"Cock M&Ms? Yummy." Erik fake gagged.
Lion threw one at him.
He caught it in his mouth and they both stared, shocked.
"Now that," Lion finally said, "is a sport."
"No shit. Try again."
Laughing, Lion did, tossing another M&M at him.
He leapt for it, catching it, and they both cracked up. Lion tossed another one. He missed that one, but caught the next three. Lion was chortling, carefully choosing his M&Ms. Then the man began to add in color commentary.
"Deschamps chooses his candy carefully. Is it going to be another red? No, no,
he's chosen the blue. This is a gutsy move folks -- everyone knows Deschamps has never done well with blue. He looks up, takes aim. He shoots!" Lion tossed the M&M at him.
Erik snapped it up, then stood to do a victory dance, arms in the air. Lion was laughing like a loon. He plopped back down, chortling. God, he loved hanging with Lion.
Lion shook his head as he got his breath back. "Oh, God, I haven't laughed so hard since the last time you were over."
Erik nodded. "Christ, that was fun."
"It was." Lion grinned, lounging next to him, turning the TV's sound back up.
They relaxed together, side-by-side, idly listening to the post-game banter. At some point, Lion's hand slipped onto his thigh. His muscles tightened, rolled, like they were telling Lion hello. Humming, Lion rubbed slowly.
His legs parted, the barest bit, welcoming the touch. They'd played together, gotten each other off before. It was good between them, usually. Lion shifted closer, free hand touching his cheek, turning his face toward Lion's. He nodded, just as into this as his friend.
Lion's mouth covered his, tongue sliding, asking entrance. Erik opened, tongue caressing Lion's. Hey. A low humming filled his mouth, Lion pushing him against the back of the sofa. He pushed back, ending up straddling Lion's thighs.
"So cheeky," murmured Lion licking his lower lip.
"Uh-huh." He dove back in, eager.
Lion's tongue pushed into his mouth, sweeping through him. It was like a wrestling match, two gladiators crashing together. Holding his head in place, Lion took the kiss even deeper. Fuck, Lion's kisses
were like drinking -- dizzying and sweet and edged with crazy.
Lion slipped one of his hands down Erik's back, sending tingling sensations along his spine. He pressed closer, rubbing idly over Lion's ripped belly. The hand on his back dipped lower, cupping his ass through his jeans, thumb rubbing along his crease.
"Gonna make it good for me?" Erik asked.
"Do you even need to ask, Ricky?"
Thank you, Emily, for the chance to natter about the Velvet Glove series! I hope you have a great birthday.
Often referred to as "Space Cowboy" and "Gangsta of Love" while still striving for the moniker of "Maurice," Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to "Chicago."
A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He'll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
smut fixes everything