This next author is someone I have not only had the pleasure of meeting, but is also a caring friend. He also happens to be notorious for his cliffhangers (*hint, hint*), and for making you want to keep on reading long after the book has ended. Here to share a Christmas story featuring Lucien, Heathcliff, and Eshe from Groom of Convenience is The Original Gaylord Ninja Dom, Mr. Vicktor Alexander!
Eshe’s
First Yuletide
The hall
was silent, most of the servants having left for their own homes, their
families, or as all good servants were wont to do, becoming one with the
shadows that surrounded them. The bannisters, balustrades, and walls were decorated
with holly, ivy, and ferns. Lady Lucien Eddington, Duchess of Pompinshire
smirked as he took note of the mistletoe hanging from every doorway. It was
apparent that Heathcliff was determined to make sure that no matter where they
stood he would be able to point above his head and steal a kiss. Though would
it really be stealing a kiss if Lucien offered it willingly?
Lucien
smoothed a hand over his protruding belly and sighed as he felt a firm kick
from within, the babe within him not giving his consent to his fotmy’s wayward
thoughts. While Lucien loved the child fiercely, he was more than ready to give
birth to the child that had caused him more than a little bit of grief in the
last few days.
He
walked… no, he waddled… down towards
Heathcliff’s study and knocked on the door. He missed Chester. He and the maid
had grown inexplicably close in the last few months, and with the words of the
last missive swirling in his mind, Lucien’s heart clenched. His eyes burned. He
wanted to do nothing more than to climb into the carriage and ride to his
friend’s side and come to his aid, but he was unable to do so. Especially at
his advanced stage of pregnancy.
“Enter,”
Heathcliff’s deep voice boomed from within and Lucien jumped slightly, jerked
out of his internal musings.
Opening
the door, Lucien stepped within the room and smiled at the sight of his
daughter Eshe sitting on her father Heathcliff’s lap, her tongue poking out
between her lips as she attempted to tie his cravat.
“Why,
Your Grace, I do believe your cravat has met with a bit of an accident,” he
said with a chuckle.
Heathcliff
waved his hand at Lucien and rubbed a hand up and down Eshe’s back. “I have no
knowledge of what you speak, my dear. Our dear Eshe is going to give me the
best looking cravat in all of Angland. Is that not right, darling?”
Eshe’s
head lifted and she smiled beautifically at Heathcliff. Lucien gasped, his
throat clogging with emotion at the adoration he could see shining in his
daughter’s eyes for her father. Eshe started off hesitant and fearful of
Heathcliff, most people were. The scar on his face was quite off-putting, as
was his demeanor and rather dominating personality, but he was so gentle with
her and it wasn’t long before the two of them had grown close and inseparable.
Eshe was truly a “Daddy’s Girl,” now and not only that, Lucien could tell that
while he would have a hard time letting Eshe go when she finally married,
Heathcliff would be heartbroken when she left them.
“Yes,
Papa. I make you handsome.”
Heathcliff
nodded. “That’s right, my sweet girl. You are going to make me look better than
Fotmy aren’t you?”
Eshe
covered her mouth and giggled. She shook her head. “N-no, Papa! Fotmy is mwanamke. You can not be this. He is a
woman! You are a man! You must be mwanamume.”
Heathcliff
put his hand on his chest and gasped, acting affronted. “But what if I wanted
to be mwanamke?”
Eshe
collapsed against him laughing happily and Lucien felt his eyes burn with
unshed tears, his mind instantly going to Chester and Orley and their situation.
His heart went out to them. Would they be able to enjoy a moment like this? He
cradled his belly, trying to protect the life growing within him and sent up a
prayer for his friend.
“Love?
Are you quite alright?”
Lucien
opened his eyes and found himself under the scrutiny of his husband and
daughter. He offered them both what he hoped passed for a smile. “But of
course. Why, I came in to see if perhaps you wanted to join me in the drawing
room for some chocolate, cookies, a story for Eshe, and perhaps some music?
This is Eshe’s first Yuletide with us and I thought that perhaps we should do
something special for her.”
Heathcliff
narrowed his eyes and knowing how well his former soldier could read his
emotions on his face, Lucien thought of household chores, and the latest paper
on medical advances in regards to dysentery. It was really quite a boring paper
and Lucien had fallen asleep within five minutes of starting it, the doctor had
droned on and on about the benefits of leeches and Lucien had been tempted to
find the man and give him a good throttling. With Heathcliff’s crop.
“Well,
that sounds like a great idea.” Heathcliff looked down at Eshe. “Would you like
to drink hot chocolate, have cookies and hear a story while Fotmy plays the
piano?”
Eshe nodded
her head quickly and pushed away from Heathcliff as she climbed down from his
lap and rushed from the room. She returned moments later and wrapped her small,
thin arms as far around Lucien’s thick waist as she could.
“Thank
you Fotmy,” she whispered.
Lucien
smiled down at her. “You are welcome, my dear.”
She ran
back down to wait for them in the drawing room and when Lucien looked back
towards his husband the broad-shouldered man stood in front of him, his face a
study of concentration, hands folded behind his back, unspeaking. Lucien could
easily see him standing aboard the deck of a ship, his black hair blowing in
the salty sea air, shouting orders to a crew of soldiers as they fought against
Tfrenchmen hell-bent on world domination. Lucien felt his cock thicken in his
drawers and he was glad he’d taken his mother’s advice to wear gowns for the
last month of his pregnancy rather than breeches as he seemed to be suffering
from the malady of inappropriate swells of passion and lust at the most
inopportune times.
There was
at dinner with Heathcliff’s parents when they had come to visit and Heathcliff
had lifted his glass of wine to his lips.
Then when
Heathcliff had just returned from riding his stallion with a few of the other
gentlemen from Southerby and stepped into the entryway smelling of horseflesh.
Lucien had taken one look at Heathcliff, one sniff of his husband and had to
excuse himself, to put hand to groin.
Neither
of those was as embarrassing as when they had ventured into town and Heathcliff
had bent over to pick up Eshe when she had fallen. They were in the middle of
town. Surrounded by people and all Lucien could think of doing was tearing off
his clothes and begging his husband to fill him.
None of
those things would be bad if Heathcliff wouldn’t smirk at him and follow him,
kiss him, or enflame his ardour further.
So, the
very fact that he now stood before Lucien, with his hands behind his back had
Lucien on high alert.
“Are you
quite sure that you are well, my love?” Heathcliff queried.
Lucien
nodded. “Yes. I swear, Heath.”
Heathcliff
stepped closer, his stomach pressing against the swell of Lucien’s own. “I
would hate to know that you were in any distress. You know any pain you suffer
is a dagger through my soul leaving me shattered upon the Tearth.”
Lucien
smiled. “I know. I am in no distress, Heathcliff.”
“That is
wonderful. I would have you experience nothing but love. Love, happiness,
pleasure, and passion.”
Lucien
trembled at the way Heathcliff’s voice lowered and he saw his husband’s right
hand lift above their heads, a sprig of mistletoe clutched in his fingers. He
let out a laugh.
“Everything
you experience I feel as well, Lucien and vice versa. I wonder if you can
understand what I am feeling?”
Lucien
gasped as Heathcliff yanked him close, twisting their bodies in such a way that
Heathcliff could devour Lucien’s lips. Lucien’s nostrils were filled with the
scent of Heathcliff’s masculine fragrance. Bergamot, horseflesh, the fresh
outdoors, and power, lust, strength, things Lucien would never be able to
describe adequately to anyone should they ask him. He moaned and twisted his
fingers in Heathcliff’s hair.
He wanted
Heathcliff to spread him out on the carpet in his study, to fill him. To feel
Heathcliff pound his cock in his arse until Lucien screamed his throat raw.
Just when he was on the cusp of begging for it, pleading for release the sound
of small footsteps running back towards them, caused them to separate.
Lucien
blinked up at Heathcliff, dazed. Confused.
Bloody hell.
“Fotmy!
Papa! Come!” Eshe gestured as she came back into the room, taking their hands
pulling on their hands.
Lucien
cleared his throat and followed along behind her and nodded.
“Yes,
Eshe.”
“We’ll
continue that, later,” Heathcliff
promised.
“Yes,
Your Grace. We sure will,” Lucien said, looking over his shoulder, the sight of
the fallen mistletoe on the ground making him smile.
****
“No more,
Eshe! I wave the white flag of surrender!” Heathcliff shouted, falling onto the
ground. Lucien lifted his hands from the piano, clenching them, pain radiating
up the joints. Eshe had asked for “one more” story and “one more” song for the
past six hours. Lucien and Heathcliff
were completely worn out. Any amorous intentions had been completely driven out
under the stampede of childish exuberance of the Yuletide.
“But
Papa! I’m not tired at all!” Eshe
whined before yawning.
Lucien
cut his eyes over at Heathcliff and lifted his eyebrows, pulling his lips in to
cover a smile.
“Well we
understand that, poppet. But your Fotmy and I are. Remember, Fotmy is trying to
grow your baby brother inside of him, so he needs more sleep than we do.”
Eshe
looked over at Lucien and narrowed her eyes, then she sighed. “That is right.”
She stood and walked over to Lucien and placed her hand on his belly. “It is
nice out here little brothers. You can come out now.”
Lucien
chuckled. Eshe was the only one who spoke to the baby as if there were twins
within. He stroked her cheek. “Thank you sweetheart. I am sure he likes hearing
from you.” He gasped as a sharp pain shot through his back and his stomach. A
vise wrapping around his middle. Something was wrong. Really, really wrong.
“Lucien?
Are you well?” Heathcliff asked, rushing to his side.
Lucien
shook his head. He gently moved Eshe away from the piano bench and made a move
to stand up from the seat with his husband’s help. “N-no. S-something’s wrong,
Heathcliff. I can tell. Something’s really, really wrong.”
When a
rush of fluid shot down his legs Lucien looked down, he gasped and stared at
Heathcliff.
“Your Grace?
I do believe the baby has decided to arrive today.”
To read about how Heathcliff Eddington III,
the Duke of Pompinshire, Lady Lucien and Little Eshe became a family, pick up Groom
Of Convenience from Dreamspinner Press:
Blurb: In an alternate universe, in the country of Angland, 1814, the gentry
live lives of culture and class. It is a time of courtships, marriages of
convenience, and titles, where scandal can ruin an entire family. Gender lines
are blurred, and making a good match is of utmost importance. Children are born
to men and women, which has led to the acceptance of same-sex marriages. Lady
Lucien Timothy Hawthorne is shocked and angry when he is betrothed against his
will to Lord Heathcliff Eddington, III, the Duke of Pompinshire. While drowning
his frustration at a popular gentleman's club, he meets "Robert," a
gorgeous older man whom he sleeps with as "Timmy," regardless of the
potential damage to his reputation. After their liaison, Lucien corresponds
with Robert via letters left at Remmington, and they decide to elope. Before
they can get away, Lucien meets his betrothed, Heathcliff, who he is surprised
to discover is also his beloved, Robert. Both men desire a marriage of the
heart, but they find out that sometimes a marriage of convenience can turn into
love under the right circumstances. But Lucien has a secret, and Tlondon isn't
as safe as they once thought.
About Vicktor Alexander:
Vicktor
“Vic” Alexander wrote his first story at the age of ten and hasn’t stopped
writing since. He loves reading about anything and everything and is a proud
member of the little known U.N. group (Undercover Nerds) because while he
lives, eats, breathes, and sleeps sports, he also breathes history and science
fiction and grew up a Trekkie. But don’t ask him about Dungeons &
Dragons, because he has no idea how to play that game. When it comes to writing
he loves everything from paranormal to contemporary to fantasy to historical
and is known not only for being the Epilogue King but also for writing stories
that cross lines and boundaries that he doesn’t know are there. Vic is a proud
father of two daughters one of whom watches over him from Heaven with his
deceased partner Christopher. Vic is a proud trans* and gay man, and when he is
not writing, he is hanging out with his friends, or being distracted by videos
of John Barrowman, Scott Hoying, and Shemar Moore. Vicktor has published
numerous bestselling novels and has a WIP list that makes him exhausted just
thinking about. He knows that he will be still be writing about hot men falling
in love with each other, long after he is living in an assisted living
facility, flirting with the hot, male nurses.
I’m sure y’all
know about Hanukkah. And when you think of Hanukkah, you probably primarily think
of dreidels and menorahs. While talking with my friend Jessie about Hanukkah,
and how she celebrates, she started talking about the reasons behind why her
family does some of the things they do. Which got me to thinking…where did
these symbols of Hanukkah come from? And so I decided to do some research. This is what I found, and so I wanted to share with y'all as it's pretty fascinating stuff, plus I think it's nice to think about the roots of these holidays. (Btw, I just wanted to let you guys all know, this is basically the brief Cliff Notes version of this, so I’ve also included some links to do
some more research if you’d like. I used various sources including my World
Religion notes, Wikipedia, and the links listed to research. I’m sharing this
here as a fun facts section, but I am NOT an expert on the subject, so I may have mixed something up, so please take this with a grain of salt).
Dreidels – So, I (like many others) thought that the dreidel was a Jewish custom connected to Hanukkah.
And while it is, you may be surprised to learn, it apparently wasn’t always so.
Turns out, dreidels have been around and been used in various cultures for many
centuries. From England to Germany, the dreidel was around before it was assimilated
into the Jewish celebration of Hanukkah.
