Smokin' Hot—Hot Encounter: Bucking Convention

Welcome to the Hot for Friday blog hop!

Readers: Enjoy posts from authors with fun weekly tasks or a cool question.

Authors: Get in on the fun and join here.

Greetings!

This week we're tasked with sharing a hot encounter, whether it's the first time or one of many others between the characters. Awesome! Kick off the spring season with a nice steamy treat. :D

For my feature, I'm posting a scene from a current release, Bucking Convention, book two of the Top Dog Pilots series.

For a little background, here are the taglines:

Series: Two top pilots, Max Cutter and Maggie Harper, like to mix a little personal with their professional life.

Book: A tragic loss puts Cutter on the edge and it's up to Maggie to pull him back.

Bring on the hot stuff…

Max hauled Maggie to him, clamped his mouth over hers and welcomed the heat. He lifted her, leaving the tangle of clothing behind and relished the feel of her skin against his.

Dropping down to the edge of the bunk, Maggie straddling his lap, he whispered in between kisses. "Missed you."

Her fingers dug into his shoulders. "Missed you, too." She met his lips again and he lost himself in the kiss, content to let Maggie set the pace.

She smoothed one hand down his back and braced the other one on the smooth surface of the bunk enclosure. Her back arched to expose her breasts to his lips, teeth, and tongue. He took advantage of the access and let her responses guide him. The flat of his tongue swiped over a taut peak and her growling moan spurred him to continue.

His hands grasped her hips, urging them up and then forward to sink down over his rigid length. He groaned, mouth ghosting over her skin raising goose bumps along the way. A contrast to the warmth that enveloped and surrounded him when her ass settled back on his thighs.

Maggie let go of him, reached up and grabbed hold of the bar that held the curtains for the berth areas. She pressed down and rocked her hips back and forth, using the slow grind that always kicked up the heat between them.

Her head tilted back and Cutter took advantage, burning a trail of kisses along her throat, over her chin until his lips met with hers. He wanted more, but Maggie had other ideas. She pulled back from the kiss and gave him a shove. Cutter went back without protest and let Maggie have her way.

After all, she wanted his indulgence.

She smiled and planted her hands on his chest. God, watching her, listening to her… so hot. He loved it—her expressive face, the little catch in her throat when her clit bumped against his groin in exactly the right spot. He loved everything about it.

Especially when she wanted to speed things up.

Her fingers curled into her palms and she pressed down harder. "Do you want faster, Cutter?" She added a little twist to her rocking motion, changing things up a bit.

Cutter shook his head back and forth. "No. I want this to last forever." His fingers dug into her thighs as a shudder tore through her.

~*~

Available on Amazon

~*~

Book Blurb: Max and Maggie survive Hell Week and start a relationship that works. Tragedy strikes Max's wingman and when Maggie shows up as the replacement, she discovers a very different Max. Not a good thing when he lives to fly… and can't.

Long Blurb: Max and Maggie survive Hell Week and start a relationship that works. Tragedy strikes Cutter's wingman and when Maggie shows up as the replacement, she discovers a very different Max. Not a good thing when he lives to fly… and can't.

Maggie wants to support Max and help get him back on an even keel, but living and working with him tests her patience and mettle. It's so much easier to handle two tons of space craft than a surly man.

Series Blurb: Two ace pilots at the top of their game, Max 'Ripper' Cutter and Maggie 'Magpie' Harper traverse space and navigate a relationship at the same time. Follow their adventures through Hell Week, an unexpected tragedy, and a nightmare dinner party with steamy results.

~*~

Thank you for stopping by.

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And don't forget to enjoy the other Hot for Friday posts!

Sunday Snippet: Surviving the Trap

Hi!

So…. Walking Dead is back!! Arrow premiered!! The Tomorrow People is pretty awesome. Strike Back is one episode away from the finale and ripped my heart out Friday. And Sons of Anarchy is batshit crazy, which I totally love.

TV is good right now, people. So very good. Oddly, when I've got great stuff to engage my mind, I tend to write more prolifically. This is not a bad thing. LOL

This week's post is from the opening book to the Top Dog Pilots, Surviving the Trap. I'm hoping for a release in the next month or two. YAY!

Here's the tagline:

Take one week of extreme training, add in two top guns, and stir together with a healthy dose of unresolved sexual tension. The outcome is two pilots pushed to their limits and they need to find a way to get through their hellish experience and possibly into each other's arms.

And a sneaky peek…

While he waited for the deck crew to haul his plane to the hangar, he tried to remember the last time he'd been this tired. Closing his eyes, he smiled when the memory hit him. It had been when Maggie "Magpie" Harper dragged him on a cross-country trek to…where? He couldn't recall at the moment, but it had been the best and worst three days he'd ever experienced. The best because Maggie reminded Max of a firecracker waiting to explode, all bundled up in a highly attractive package. She always proved entertaining as hell. The worst because once she had her mind set on something, absolutely no one stopped her. They either went along for the ride or got mowed down, and Max refused to be left behind.

He'd learned that valuable lesson while they were still at the academy, during the first week no less. He quickly discovered tagging along with Maggie usually kept her out of trouble. She had a talent for leaping smack in the middle of something before scoping out all the details. If fact, they'd met when she'd jumped into the fray to cover his back.

He'd been celebrating with some mates. They'd made it through the first week of flight training. Max stayed behind to finish his beer after his fellow cadets had taken their leave. He didn't know how it happened, but a group of rowdy off-worlders decided he'd be their entertainment for the evening. Not one to back down from a fight but not wanting to be expelled for brawling, Max attempted to talk his way out of the situation.

Apparently, his efforts were more amusing than effective. Before he could extract himself, four guys had him cornered and worse yet, they called over a couple of friends. Max had just decided to screw the odds and go for the biggest of the bunch when it happened.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, turning in time to see a lone figure leap onto a table and use it to launch themselves at two of the burly men. To his surprise, they managed to take out both in one go but the landing couldn't be considered pretty. His rescuer crashed into the wall and bounced backwards to drop and hit the floor hard. Jumping up—holy hell, it was a woman—she said nothing when she put her back to his and edged him toward to exit. They left the stunned and disappointed group behind, making their way out of the bar with minimal fuss.

Standing outside in the cold air, he turned toward his mystery woman. "Thanks." Probably not an adequate response considering she'd just saved his ass, and didn't even know his name.

Shrugging, she accepted the gratitude. "Anytime." Then she winked at him before heading down the sidewalk.

Intrigued, Max quickly caught up with her. "Wait… why'd you jump in? You don't know me." A gross error he intended to rectify.

His new friend paused at the corner of an intersection and grinned. "You're military, right? Fleet Academy?" She cocked her head sideways, awaiting his answer.

Max stopped next to her, jerking in surprised acknowledgment. "Yeah… what gave it away?" Damn. She was good.

The woman laughed. "The hair. Every time." With casual grace, she propped herself against a lamp pole. "I grew up on military bases. Standard issue cuts haven't changed much over twenty years. And, I've spent the last week in a regulation ponytail myself." Scooping her hair back, she held it at her nape.

It didn't take away from her looks. The light from the lamp allowed Max to drink in the sight of her. Tall and lithe, she had long, blonde hair curling around her shoulders. Her eyes were her best feature though. They sparkled with humor and just a touch of wickedness. Max pretty much fell in love with her on the spot. And she was fleet, too. That meant he'd be seeing her around.

Sticking his hand out, he properly introduced himself. "Max Cutter. First year."

She stood and shook it, giving him a wide smile. "Maggie Harper. Same."

From that moment on, they had each other's backs. They'd ended up in the same flight class and became fast friends, hanging out, getting to know each other, and challenging the rest of the plebes to follow their lead while they crashed through the rigorous training, taking turns in the top two spots. His immediate infatuation tempered itself when he quickly realized Maggie didn't 'do' relationships. Nor did she sleep with people she considered friends, and she regarded him as the best one she had. Sometimes life kicked him in the face that way.

At least she acknowledged the sexual tension pinging back and forth under the surface between them. Her honesty about it pretty much became the only reason he'd been willing to suck it up and settle into a true friendship with her. He didn't have any regrets.

After hearing about some of her past experiences, he realized Maggie saw herself as a complex woman with what she considered enough baggage to fill an entire spaceport. While he didn't agree, he wouldn't be able to change her mind either. And he didn't lack for female companions. Pilot groupies were abundant in every port of call.

Pulled from his reverie by a deck hand popping the canopy of his plane, Max shook his head. Regardless of the lack of sleep, he really needed to stop zoning out and pay attention. Handing off his helmet, he climbed out of the cockpit and nodded wearily at the crewman before stumbling down the steps to the deck. Swaying on his feet, he headed for the ready room. If he were lucky, he'd be able to catch a brief nap before the next launch in—he checked his watch—about an hour.

I'm so excited for this one. Previously released, I've done a bit of an overhaul on the manuscript and it's ready to go. The second book is complete and the third is just about finished. And the entire series has been so much fun!!

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Need

Hi,

I'm going to bore everyone with all my Strike Back talk, but holy hell, the hits keep coming. Poor Scott can't catch a break. I do have one wild hair theory of what I want for him at the end of the show's run, but I'll keep mum so I don't jinx it. :D

Tonight's post is from a manuscript that's a bit of a departure for me. It's got an omniscient narrator. I'm not completely sure it's going to work, but I love the flow so far. Need dives into how two people end up gravitating toward each other, almost in an inevitable way, because their need outweighs standard operating procedure, frat regs, and just about everything else. Very fun to write. :D

Here's the tagline:

Circe Nash and Oz Paterson, two top notch pilots, have the strangest courtship in the galaxy—one they swear doesn't even exist. But when the need to be together hits them, they inevitably find themselves in the same place at the same time, with a little help from their crewmates.

And the sneaky peek…

Circe Nash and Oz Paterson had the strangest courtship in the galaxy.

Sometimes the need to see each other hit them at exactly the same time. Sparks usually flew and they weren't the only two who noticed. The entire crew could pinpoint the exact moment it happened. And they had front row seats to the bizarre mating dance Circe and Oz would swear never actually took place.

Oh, but it did.

A top notch pilot, Circe could be out flying CAP, chattering away with the other pilots. She'd tease and lob insults and take her fair share of ribbing. Never one to dish out more than she could take, Circe usually kept the conversation going between the squad for the whole patrol.

But every once in a while, she'd go dead air silent for a few beats.

It happened to be one of those moments.

Oz would be deep into work on the comm deck, plotting courses, running coordinates and monitoring engineers and the deck crew. He'd be in the thick of his duties and stop, mid conversation with the landing station officer or keying in data, and go silent, like he'd heard something no one else did.

He'd get up, grab a headset and enter the discussion with the CAP. He could do that. As CAG, no one questioned his actions. It never took long for Circe to get back in the game and start trading barbs with her immediate superior.  

The over the air banter would take on a sharp-witted edge and everyone else would go quiet until end of shift, letting Circe and Oz carry out their weird brand of foreplay. Once the CAP landed, Circe met Oz or vice versa. Oddly, no words necessary, they'd exchange a look or a glance and fall into step beside each other then disappear. Or with a weird, silent communication make plans to meet without uttering a sound. The crew got used to the crazy interplay. They also knew not to go anywhere near Oz or Circe until both had laid-back smiles on their faces.

The two didn't start out so much in sync. In fact, Circe and Oz began their journey on opposite ends of the galaxy. Oz grew up on the central planet in their solar system. Commerce, education, and culture abounded in the primo location. A wide cross-section of every world shared the wealth of their knowledge and experience. Oz soaked it up and developed an appreciation for diplomacy.

Circe didn't leave her home world until a recruiter visited and offered her a chance. Street smart, she lacked discipline, but showed an aptitude for strategic planning. Razor sharp instincts kept her safe on the rough and tumble streets where gang law often trumped everything else.

She spoke her mind with fearless confidence and didn't suffer fools at all. She had some adjustment issues when she entered the military, used to living fast and free, coming and going as she pleased. But she quickly learned her natural ability to fly would buy lots of wiggle room. She also figured out how to walk the very fine line between skirting regulations and insubordination.

Their differences made things very interesting when Circe met Oz under less than stellar circumstances. She transferred in from a battle frigate, the Cyllene, and arrived during last dog watch. She discovered her tradition of entering the landing bay in an inverted position did not go over well with the CAG of the Titan.

Oz ordered her—from his bird out on CAP—to remain with her ship on the hangar deck until his shift finished…in two hours.

When he finally landed and the crew towed his plane to the hangar, he found Circe sitting on the wing of her ship, enjoying a meal from the galley. He completed his post-flight checklist in cold silence, giving the crew ample time to feel his wrath. Their always solid efficiency increased to superior levels and everyone gave him wide berth when he strode, slowly and with great purpose, to Circe's location.

Circe finished chewing her mouthful of food and washed it down with a long swallow of water. She slid off the wing, grabbed hold of the ladder and swung down to calmly wait for the CAG.

Everyone held their breath when Circe and Oz stood toe to toe for several long moments, taking each other's measure. No one knew what to expect when the CAG's gaze met the pilot's and sparks literally flew.

Circe gave Oz a cocky salute. "Lt. Circe Nash, callsign Trickster, reporting for duty." She waited a beat then added. "Sir."

Oz worked his jaw, silently clenching his teeth. "Wanna tell me why you disobeyed a direct order?" He completely skipped SOP and didn't offer the formal acceptance of her arrival.

Circe gave him an innocent gaze. "How do you figure I did that? I'm with my bird on the hangar deck…exactly as ordered." A slow smirk spread across her lips. "You didn't say anything about rations." She dragged the sleeve of her flight suit up and checked her watch. "And I hadn't anything to eat for ten hours."

Oz cocked his head to the side, silently regarding his new pilot. "You're gonna push the rules to the limit, aren't you?"

Circe's lips quirked and her eyes lit up. "That's what they're there for…Sir."

The deck crew waited for an explosion. The CAG's callsign of Wrath had been well-earned. He had a short fuse sometimes, and Circe all but lit the wick with her cheeky response.

The blast never came.

Instead, the CAG calmly responded. "I can see things will be a whole lot livelier with you around." He looked up, glancing at everyone on the deck. "They'll also be a lot cleaner." He shifted his gaze back to Circe. "You get to begin your tenure here with a week of detailing work on the planes." He turned and started for his office.

Circe grinned and called out. "Think I'm gonna like it here, Sir." When Oz angled his head around, she snapped off a crisp and precise salute, respect for the CAG clearly defined in her posture.

Oz snorted and shook his head. "We'll see about that, Lieutenant. We'll see."

Seriously, Circe and Oz's relationship has been so much fun to write through the narrator's eyes. I hope I can keep the flow going and finish it up soon.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Matchmaker's Men

July 21, 2013

Whew. Whirlwind weekend in Columbus, Ohio. My husband's region won their company's highest honor and we got a lovely dinner with fun entertainment and a night in a downtown hotel. Caught up with some old friends and finally, finally got to see my brother's house just south of the Brewery District. He's only lived there ten years and it's my first visit. LOL

Tonight's post is from Matchmaker's Men, a short, sexy story about two pilots who really need to be together and how the crew makes it happen. So much fun to write. :D

The tagline:

Nova Anell and Matz Yarmacher belong together, but neither wants to be the first to admit it. But when their crew mates start working behind the scenes to put Nova and Matz together, they have no choice but to face what they feel and decide what to do next.

And the sneaky peek…

Standing outside the head, waiting on Matz to arrive for his post-CAP shower, Nova verged on thinking the whole thing beyond a bad idea. On a good day she could cut the sexual tension between her and Matz with a knife. Gods damn Hot Sauce for recognizing the pull and running with it.

She shouldn't be tense with anticipation. Nothing would happen between her and Matz, right? She shouldn't be this anxious over a shower, should she?

A small sigh escaped before Nova could stop it. She shouldn't be…and she knew it. She didn't want to screw things up with Matz…they were at a great place. If only she could convince her body it would only be a shower—things would be peachy. And yet, she had a standing on a bunch of hot coals feeling—jittery and jumpy.

Pacing back and forth only added to the anxiousness, but standing still proved worse. It gave her brain too much time to conjure up images she didn't need to have in her head. Argh!

Turning to walk the short distance back across the corridor, she smacked directly into Matz, muttering a startled curse. "Shit, sorry about that." Backing away, she noticed he had his shower gear in hand. "'Bout time you showed." She didn't mean it to sound bitchy, but it did—even to her own ears.

Gods, she needed to get a grip.

Matz's quick smile of greeting faded to a questioning glance.

Nova made another hasty apology. "Sorry." She spun around and entered the head, not relishing the idea of having an audience watching her come completely unglued.

Having no choice, Matz followed her in, dogging the hatch behind him. It took Nova a few moments to realize he hadn't started undressed or anything to get ready for a shower. In fact, he hadn't moved at all, except to lean back, his shoulders braced against the bulkhead.

The bland look on his face only irritated her more. "What? Do I really have to undress you, too?" She took a step toward him, but stopped when Matz held up his hand.

I always enjoy writing characters that fight their attraction and get help from others to move things along. :D

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Down and Dirty

Greetings!

Happy St. Paddy's Day to those who celebrate. And honestly, why don't we all? :D

I've been fighting one of those nagging headaches all day. The kind that hovers in the background and becomes annoying, but not overly painful. Bleh.

But…a post must be made!

Tonight's preview is from what I hope will be a free download if and when I ever get my lengthy space saga trilogy completed and published. Down and Dirty outlines the betting pool that features heavily in the first book of the trilogy, Follow Me.

Here's the tagline:

The tale behind how a certain pool gets started that put Sloan and Molly in the hot seat. And how Specialist Neve Campbell thought she might have caught them in the act.

And here's a wee sneaky peek…

The nearly empty flight deck sounded oddly quiet on third watch. Only the deck chief, Keegan Douglas and Specialist Neve Carlyle remained, handling some routine maintenance reports and cleaning up. The chief sat on a stool at one of the workstations, catching up on the paperwork. Specialist Carlyle cleaned up around the perimeter of the flight deck with her push broom, every once in a while she'd stop to spray down a workstation and wipe it clean. Neither the Chief nor Neve paid much attention to the two pilots in a darkened corner of the deck where a mangled bird needed extensive repairs.

Finishing up a workstation, Specialist Carlyle took a moment before she started sweeping again. Resting her chin on the handle of the broom, she stared dreamily, her mind flitting back to an earlier incident after the first dog CAP.

Phoenix—Lieutenant Molly Ryan—came in hot and landed hard. The CAG—Captain Sloan MacNeill—read her his riot act. Not that Neve blamed him. The lieutenant pulled a daredevil maneuver against the captain's orders and cut it too close. If the CAG hadn't jumped her shit, the chief would have. The space carrier's planes were his babies and he got very protective…and extremely grouchy…when pilots decided to play rough with them.

Neve stumbled onto the scene on her way back from the mess. If she'd known what would go down, she'd have brought popcorn. Keegan…Chief Douglas…hovered close to the action, which drew Neve's attention right away. The chief rarely stood still on the deck. He preferred a constant state of motion, the better to put out fires with a quick response. Neve stopped and followed his line of sight to the CAG and his top pilot.

Her breath caught in her throat. It usually did when the captain and lieutenant got within five feet of each other. Even when they argued—usually a daily occurrence—something, chemistry maybe, oozed back and forth. Sloan and Molly had a history and baggage with each other, but the depth of feeling, always there, defined their friendship. Lieutenant Ryan pushed MacNeill's buttons, but everyone knew she respected him. That helped smooth the way when he took over as CAG.

It really saved the day when Captain MacNeill had to get in the lieutenant's face. Molly often stood toe to toe and argued with him, but she held the key to his acceptance among the other pilots and crew. The fact Molly approved of him meant everyone else did. And the current turmoil made it vitally important. The pilots were the front line defense, protecting the fleet and providing safe passage. Neve wouldn't hesitate to admit she appreciated having them around. Being on the run and having them as backup made her take extra special care with her duties. Even something as mundane as cleaning up the flight deck.

Neve worked her way around the hangar and edged closer the bent plane, but she hadn't made it far enough to see who lingered there. Besides, the darkened corner could wait a few minutes for the swipe of her broom. Maybe she'd get lucky and they'd leave before she reached it. She hoped none of the nuggets decided to try the chief’s patience by sneaking in a quickie on the flight deck.

It would not go over well. Just last week he'd caught two newbie crewmen all hot and heavy in one of the transports. Her ears still rang from the scathing lecture he'd delivered. Neve wondered if maybe he'd been listening to the CAG and picking up pointers. Captain MacNeill blasted Lieutenant Ryan not long ago for disobeying a direct order. Neve would totally deny it, but watching them go a round always made her a little hot under the collar.

And why wouldn't it? The air between the captain and lieutenant literally crackled. Neve took a moment, letting the scene play out in her head.

Sloan moved with purpose when Molly exited her wounded bird. "You pulled a hot dog move after I ordered you not to." His voice rose with each word. "And what happened, lieutenant?"

The fact Sloan reported directly to his father didn't faze Molly in the slightest. She held a place of importance in the commander's life, too.

She rolled her eyes. "I cut it a little close. So what?"

The captain made a strangled, choking sound. "A little close? You're insane." He lowered his voice. "Any closer and the deck crew would be welding on new wings, Lieutenant."

Molly looked away and shrugged. "Yeah, well. I told you I needed to let off some steam."

Sloan exploded. "Only crazy people do barrel rolls when the landing bay doors are closing.

Molly's eyes snapped back to his. "I got in, didn't I?" Her face dared him to counter the fact.

Sloan snorted. "Barely, Lieutenant. You barely got in. And you will make the repairs to the landing struts."

Molly's nostrils flared, but she held her temper. "Whatever. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Sloan snapped. "Fine."

Molly mimicked. "Fine."

Each stalked off in opposite directions.

Neve shook her head. They should just lock themselves in a supply closet and be done with it.

Chief Douglas shot her a look and Neve realized she'd said the thought out loud.

She blushed. "Er, sorry, Chief." Her mouth always seemed to get ahead of her brain.

Keegan cocked his head to the side. "Actually, Specialist. You might be onto something." His eyes followed the CAG's angry progress toward the office. "They're either gonna screw each other or kill each other. Hard to say which."

Neve pondered his words, keeping an eye on Molly when she yanked her flight suit down to her waist then glanced back over her shoulder, her gaze following the CAG's progress away from the flight deck. "No. They won't kill each other. It's a matter of when or where they'll hook up."

The chief grabbed a clipboard and a fresh sheet of paper. "I'll take that action. Date and time, Specialist."

Neve gaped. "You're serious, Sir?"

He snorted. "Hell, yes. Those two going at each other is like foreplay. Sooner or later, they'll cave." He handed her the clipboard.

And with a stroke of a pen, a pool had been started.

And there you have it. You'll have to come back once I get Follow Me published and see why Neve thought she might have caught the CAG and his top pilot in action. LOL

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippets: Dress for Dinner

Okay, Walking Dead, you've got me. Didn't think I'd enjoy the showdown between Rick and the Governor, but yeah, I'm enjoying it. :D

But…a post must be made! So…tonight's is from the final installment in the Top Dog Pilots trilogy. Dress for Dinner has been so much fun to write. Not quite ready for prime time, but getting there. My hope is to finish it up and submit all three at the same time.

Here's the tagline:

Max and Maggie are training up and coming pilots and life is great. But when Maggie's uncle, a retired admiral, brings his new and much younger bride, to the ship for their honeymoon, Maggie takes one look at the woman and sees disaster. An emergency makes her miss the full dress dinner, leaving Max alone to deal with the hot simpering mess.

And here's a wee sneaky peek:

Maggie took one look at Celine Rockwell Harper and saw straight to the truth. The too high heels, clingy, low cut dress, and mounds of over styled hair proved to be a dead giveaway. Woman had trouble written all over her.

Oh, Uncle Artie. What the hell?

Maggie observed her new auntie in action. Her fingers lingered too long on the sleeves of the male officers. Her eyes flashed promises at each and every one. She thrived on suggestive words and innuendo. And she had a throaty laugh that seemed to be a mating call. Maggie would bet the woman had claws when crossed.

She aimed to find out.

Working her way through the throng of men packed around the vivacious red head, Maggie smiled sweetly. "Uncle Artie suggested I show you to the head…sorry, the facilities, so you can freshen up a bit." She turned to the disappointed masses. "Sorry, boys. She'll be back later." Maggie didn't wait for Celine to respond. She grabbed her arm above the elbow and dragged her down the corridor.

Celine stumbled along beside her, the heels of her fuck me shoes skittering on the nubby surface of the deck. Maggie shoved open the hatch and tugged Celine inside.

The other woman whirled around to face her. "What. The hell?" She tossed her head and straightened her shoulders.

Maggie smirked. "I'm sorry? You weren't done holding court?" She turned the water on and rinsed her hands. "I'm sure the guys will understand. None of them want to piss off a retired admiral."

Celine rolled her eyes and snorted. "Please. I've got Artie wrapped. He finds it's amusing when all those young bucks fawn all over me." She moved to stand in front of a mirror, adjusting the bodice of her dress.

Any lower and her tits would fall out.

Maggie shook her head back and forth. "You know, Celine. The thing about manipulative creatures like you is…you always think you're smarter than anyone else."

Celine's lips curved up in a nasty smile. "I usually am, darling."

Maggie shrugged. "Maybe. But the other thing about your type…" She moved to stand behind the other woman, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "And this is the best part, so pay attention." Celine narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. "You always trip yourself up. You can't help it." Maggie backed away, giving Celine room to refresh her lipstick. "Believe your own hype and eventually, it'll bite you on the ass."

Celine smoothed her lips together. "We'll see about that." She dropped the tube back in the tiny purse she carried. "My ass sees a lot of action."

Maggie smiled. "I have no doubt. Being a good lay won't always cut it with the admiral."

Celine's lips curved again and her eyes flashed. "You might be surprised. He quite loves the things I'm willing to do in bed."

Maggie held back a shudder. Way more information than she ever wanted about her uncle's sex life.

"He's not a stupid man, Celine. And you won't be able to help yourself. Sooner or later some hot young stud with a stiff dick will be your downfall."

Celine sauntered over to stand beside Maggie. "Not really your concern is it?" She pushed the hatch open and exited.

Maggie watched her totter precariously back toward the ready room. A young pilot, newly assigned to the Pathos, grasped her elbow and aided the sultry vixen back to her spot. Maggie heaved a sigh.

What a piece of work.

And no, her new auntie's next hard dick didn't concern Maggie. But her Uncle Artie's happiness, on the other hand, did.

The wicked bitch would need a watchful eye.

Maggie will be less than thrilled but not surprised by what follows. :D Stay tuned.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip!

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Dodging Reality

So apparently there's some awards show on tonight. LOL

Not really watching the Oscars, I got sucked in to Doctor Who instead. Man, the classic episodes take me back…WAY back to my childhood. And no, I’m not even fifty yet, but I remember watching the show with my dad on the local PBS station. :D

Anyway…tonight's post is a snippet from Dodging Reality, a story set during a war on the edges of space. Writing the snappy, snarky dialog has been a thing of pleasure.

Here's the tagline:

Dodging Reality. Where the front lines meet the ambitions of a reporter bent on snagging the highest ratings…even if she has to push Vic and Caro into a compromising position to get them.

And here's a wee sneaky peek…

Caro finished up the post flight check of Jazz's bird. She had to hand it to Vic. He'd made a good call, assigning the detail work to her. Caro could completely lose herself in the mechanics of checking systems and marking boxes. Caro wondered if Presley had made her way through the entire crew yet, to get their take on Jazz's 'predicament'. The woman wanted anything—discussion of missions, internal scuttlebutt, dirt on rivalries—everything she really couldn't have. Basically, she wanted to catch the squadron with their pants down. The irony of that? She'd caught the CAG wearing nothing but a towel…and that had been after a full frontal shot of him stepping out of the shower.

Caro would bet the rating numbers would soar after that segment aired. Vic Albright happened to be one primo specimen of manhood.

Especially when he got pissed off. Normally unflappable, even he felt the strain of Monique the Menace's constant presence. Never knowing which corner she'd leap out of next put everyone on edge. It had just taken Vic a little longer to lose his patience.

The towel incident had been his final straw. He completely blasted the interviewer—on screen—for barging into their living quarters—strictly off-limits per the production agreement—and suggested that if she wanted to catch everyone with their pants down, she should schedule a date and time for the entire crew to show up and drop trou.

Needless to say that hadn't gone over well with the reporter. She took umbrage with the suggestion and stated she had no interest in seeing anyone bare-assed naked. Vic calmly informed her that if he caught her in the private quarters again, he'd have to assume she'd changed her mind and have the entire crew line up outside her suite of rooms and strip off. With a blinding smile, he thanked her for her time, removed his microphone and exited the interview room.

The way he managed to deliver a scathing set down without raising his voice always amazed Caro. Of course Monique had no clue he used that carefully controlled, overly polite tone when he was this close to losing his shit. The pilots all gave him wide berth for the rest of the day.

But Monique? Oh no. She took his words as a flirtation and batted her eyelashes and flashed her teeth and tits whenever she got within spitting distance of him. Her camera crew rolled their eyes and shook their heads. They knew she didn't stand a chance with the major.

Caro smirked. As if. The prissy reporter did not fit Vic's type. Hell, Caro fit his type better than Monique Aromatherapy ever would.

This one is almost complete. Hoping to get it polished up and ready to submit or publish in the next month or so. Wish me luck!

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flip.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Boyfriend's Brother

Greetings! Week number three and still on target. Seriously, it sounds stupid, but I'm deliriously happy the posts are becoming a habit.

Snippet Sunday this week features a scene from a manuscript thisclose to being finished. A few more scenes and off to the beta readers it goes.

I'll be honest, the story for this could be a little triggerish for some, but it does have a great conflict, if I do say so.

Here's the tag line:

Mix a potential marriage proposal, a close call, and her boyfriend's hot brother and Chloe Timmons might possibly come away with something very wonderful.

And now a wee sneaky peek at Boyfriend's Brother…

Jason envied his brother. Marc could be an immature brat, but he'd found the woman of his dreams. And Jason actually liked her, even after a completely bizarre introduction where he mistook Chloe Timmons for an exotic dancer.

In his defense, she had been practically giving Marc a lap dance at the time.

Jason winced when he remembered the scathing set down he'd delivered to Marc and the 'dancer'.

He'd roughly pulled the woman straddling his brother's legs off and gave her a nasty look. "I'm not sure what he paid you, but he's not gonna get his money's worth. Unless you want to finish with me." He raked his eyes over the prettier than expected dancer. "I'm always up for lewd displays in public."

Turning, Jason glared toward Marc. "As for you…I come here to meet your latest and greatest and instead you've got a hot piece of ass gyrating on your lap." He shook his head. "Are you stupid…or did the woman of your dreams finally wise up and dump you?"

The dancer laughed. "Wow. I would have been insulted enough to punch you if you hadn't gone all chivalrous at the end." She stepped in front of him and stuck out her hand. "Chloe Timmons. You must be big brother, Jason."

Jason automatically shook her hand, a hot flush of heat burning his face.

She looked in Marc's direction, whispering with exaggeration. "Your brother thinks I have a hot ass. I like him already." Glancing back, she raised a brow. "Woman of his dreams? Is that Marc's description or yours?"

Honestly? Chloe is so much fun to write. Here's hoping I can get this one finished up and submitted soon.

123RF Stock Photos

Up next week? A snippet from another almost completed manuscript.

Catch everyone on the flip side,

ML Skye

BREAKING NEWS

Greetings from Hell Week!!!

Yes, I said Hell Week.

Your favorite on the beat blog reporter scored a coveted spot aboard the ASC (that's Aircraft Space Carrier for those not in the know) Mythos just when things in the military space program are gearing up to a fevered pitch.

But seriously? Who hasn't heard about the Mass Preparedness Assault Training or M-PAT? Ah…the military and their acronyms. And who isn't tired of the same recycled information, covered 24/7 since the announcement of this exercise? Is anyone not bored to tears yet?

I know I am.

What do we really care about? Certainly not silly war games in a peace time society. No, we care about the ins and outs of the behind the scenes drama.

Am I right?

That's why this reporter will be taking a different approach to gathering information. Will I wait for the daily briefing, containing the same carefully reworded information we've received since day one? I don't think so. What do we really want to know about the inner workings of a spacecraft carrier?

Yes, you wanna know as much as I do. What do the elite of the elite pilots really think about each other? Who hates whom? Where do they go for downtime on a ship the size of small city? And of course the big questions. When do they find time for sex? Where do they have it?

Yours truly has made it my personal mission to chase down the two top pilots, Max 'Ripper' Cutter and Maggie 'Magpie' Harper, and find out the burning answers.

Wish me luck!
The 'Skipper' (<-- a="" by="" call="" cute="" given="" isn="" it="" moi="" pilot.="" rookie="" sign="" span="" sweet="" t="" to="">

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Stella Snupe is an award-winning investigative journalist. After 25 years, she walked away from the trenches to focus on something fun and exciting, instead of dreary and depressing. Five years ago, she established the Daily Dash and it quickly became the most highly visited blog in the blogosphere. Her philosophy on life is: Live for fun, laugh for life, but always get the dirt.