Wednesday, 4 May 2016

Jordan & Rhys... and the Eurovision Song Contest

I'm planning my Eurovision Song Content party. I might add I can't stand it, but my daughter, ex and friends overrule me! This time last year I wrote Jordan & Rhys, and the Eurovision made an appearance.

Buylink: Dreamspinner | Amazon | All Romance

Book #1 Frankie & Al

Book #2 Ed & Marchant

Book #3 Anthony & Leo

Book #4 Jordan & Rhys

Eight months after the assault in which his sub and lover was killed, Jordan Nicholls isn’t making much progress in his recovery. Marchant and Ed, Jordan’s friends from the BDSM club, stage an intervention.

They employ a carer to look after Jordan. Rhys may be a sub, but he’s forceful, making Jordan eat and exercise rather than live on coffee and cigarettes. Despite Jordan’s protests, Rhys slowly forces him back to life.

But Rhys wants to be Jordan’s sub, and despite being protective of Rhys, Jordan’s not sure he can ever return to the BDSM lifestyle. In order for their relationship to continue, they’ll need to find a compromise that meets both their needs.A Novella in Frankie's Series


“Is everything all right?” Rhys appeared at Jordan’s side and placed a hand on his lower back.

“We’re all fine.” Frankie answered for him. “Just watching the sideshow.” He nodded at Tony and Leo, who had finally decided to join them. “Is Ed here?”

Jordan nodded, and Frankie rushed past him with another squeal. The relationship between Ed and Frankie was one that no one, except maybe Marchant, could understand. Once upon a time, Ed had been Frankie’s sour, stuck-up boss, loathing everyone and everything. Now they were friends—only more than friends. Ed adored Frankie, and Frankie was like Ed’s guard dog, only with glitter.

“You can stay here if you want and Rhys can bring you drinks, or alternatively you can come in,” Jordan said.

Rhys scowled at Jordan’s suggestion. “What? I’m suddenly your slave boy?”

“You could do worse,” Al said as he brushed past.

Both Jordan and Rhys stiffened, and they glanced quickly at each other before looking away. Jordan caught Tony’s amused look. Damn, Tony hadn’t missed that little exchange even if everyone else had.

“Don’t say a word,” he warned Tony, who mimed zipping his mouth as he entered the hallway.

Then Rhys turned on him, one eyebrow raised. “Is there something I should know?”

“Just get inside,” Jordan said wearily.

Immediately, Rhys’s demeanor changed, and he slid an arm around Jordan’s waist. “Just lean on me, okay. I’ll take care of tonight.”

Jordan leaned against him for a moment. Rhys held him steady until he was ready to move.

“Are you all right, Jordan?” Ed stood in the doorway of the lounge, a worried frown knitting his silver brows.

Jordan smiled at him. “I’m… better.”

“I’m glad.” Ed smiled back, although he still looked concerned. He looked at Rhys. “Has he been giving you trouble?”

“Not too much,” Rhys said. “Once he stopped insisting he was fine.”

Jordan snorted. “Enough already. I’m doing what I’m told, okay?”

“How sweet.” Rhys smirked at Ed. “He thinks he’s doing what he’s told.”

Jordan narrowed his eyes. “You think different?”

“Try being Marchant’s sub for a day,” Ed said. “Then you’d understand obedience.”

“Oh, please. You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger,” Jordan scoffed.

Ed was obviously trying to look submissive but only managed smug and very happy. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.” Jordan hugged Ed close to him. “Happiness is a good look on you,” he whispered. He thought back to Ed’s early days at the club when he was scared and angry all the time. “You have blossomed into an amazing sub.”

Ed stroked his back. “I want you to be happy too.”

“I will be.” In time. Maybe.

“Is there any reason you’re mauling my sub?” Marchant inquired, leaning against the doorframe of the lounge.

Jordan looked over the top of Ed’s head. “I’m hugging my friend. The fact that he’s your sub is incidental.”

“It’s starting!” Frankie yelled.

“Oh dear God. Shoot me now,” Jordan muttered. “Can we run now, Rhys?”

Rhys looked at him as if he’d grown two heads. “It’s the Eurovision, man. You have to watch it!”

“No. Really I don’t.”

Ed smirked at Jordan and linked arms with him. “Never mind, Jordan, it’ll be over soon.”

“Not nearly soon enough,” Jordan said sadly, recognizing this was one battle he would never win.

Jordan looked around the lounge at his guests. Frankie sat on Al’s lap, his head buried in the crook of Al’s shoulder. Tony and Ed sat at the feet of their Doms, chatting to each other, while he and Rhys took one sofa. True to his word, Rhys hadn’t left Jordan’s side the entire evening. The doorbell rang and he looked at Rhys, confused when Rhys didn’t move. He went to get to his feet, but Rhys placed a hand on his arm.

“Wait. Master Marchant’s got this.”

Marchant went to the door and came back with six large boxes and several smaller ones.

“Master Marchant told me to leave the food to him,” Rhys said.

“I didn’t even think about food,” Jordan admitted.

“Pizza. Awesome.” Leo sprang to his feet and helped Marchant with the boxes, spreading them out on the coffee table.

Rhys disappeared and returned with plates and a roll of paper towel.

“Have you got—” Ed started.

“Salad,” Marchant finished. “Yes, but you have to eat one slice of pizza before you get the salad.”

Ed stared at him, his bottom lip pushed out. “I don’t want pizza.”

Marchant held out a plate with what looked like cheese pizza. Ed refused to take it. The room went silent, aside from the brightly dressed couple singing frenetically on the TV. Ed and Marchant were at an impasse… until Ed lowered his gaze and took the plate. Marchant dropped a kiss on top of his silver head.

“Thank you, Ed,” Marchant murmured, and the room came to life again with Frankie declaring he was starving.

No one commented on the small tussle of wills.

Rhys glanced at Jordan, a puzzled look on his face.

Jordan leaned into Rhys’s side and whispered, “Ed has eating issues. He’d live on sparkling water and spinach salad if Marchant let him.”

Rhys nodded, but he said, “What do you want?”

“Anything except the plain one.”

From the look on Ed’s face, he really wasn’t enjoying his pizza, nibbling at the edges. Jordan thought he should just eat it in as few bites as possible, but he guessed that piece of advice wouldn’t be appreciated.

Rhys served Jordan with a loaded plate and then sat down next to him. Jordan stared at the plate. “I really hope you don’t expect me to eat all this.”

“It’s for both of us,” Rhys said, before helping himself to a slice and taking a large bite.

“Thank Christ for that.” Jordan still wasn’t fully on board with the eating three times a day routine Rhys wanted to enforce.

Rhys stared pointedly at him and Jordan took a slice, taking his own advice and eating it as quickly as possible.

“Glad to see you’ve got him trained, Rhys.” Tony smirked at Jordan’s scowl.

“Leave Jordan alone,” Leo said, and Tony subsided.

Jordan tucked that away for another time. Much as he’d encouraged Tony to pursue a relationship, he’d not been convinced Leo was true Dom material. But maybe he was.

“You’re missing the best song of all,” Frankie complained.

Jordan watched another couple wearing what looked like his mother’s bedroom curtains, gazing into each other’s eyes and declaring true love in fractured English. “This is the best?” he asked doubtfully.

Frankie waved his hand. “You’re just a heathen.”

“I have taste.”

Frankie snorted and helped himself to more pizza off Al’s plate. Although Al was a Dom, he didn’t play in the scene much now, as Frankie wasn’t interested. In Jordan’s opinion, Frankie got away with murder, but Al seemed to like him that way.

“Okay, what’s your vote for this one?” Frankie said.

“Nul points,” Jordan, Al, Marchant, and Leo said simultaneously.

Their subs turned to look at them and then at each other.

“Heathens,” Frankie said. “Bloody heathens.”

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