Blog Tour: Watch Point by Cecilia Tan #Excerpt #Giveaway

Author: Cecilia Tan
Book: Watch Point
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Cover Artist: Natasha Snow
Publication Date: November 6, 2017
Length: 191 pages


Synopsis

Eric Sakai-Johnson joined the Navy SEALs to protect his country and the people he loves. After discharge, he finds himself relegated to protecting big pharma billionaire Aiden Milford from assassination attempts and kidnapping. Until Aiden reneges on a promise, fires Eric, and lets Eric’s mother die with millions of dollars in medical debt.

Now Eric is the kidnapper. Snatching Aiden’s twenty-two-year-old son, Chase, for a multi-million-dollar ransom is the only way to get justice. It’s time for Aiden to learn what it’s like when someone you love is at the mercy of forces beyond your control. Eric has it all planned out. The one thing he didn’t plan for is the intense erotic spark between him and Chase.

Chase has been chafing under his father’s autocratic control. A gay hookup app has been his only ticket to rebellion—to clandestine moments of freedom, excitement, and danger. Now it’s his ticket to a deep connection and amazing sex with his “captor.” On the rocky island where they’re sequestered, Chase finds Eric to be everything he wants in a man: quiet, strong, capable, and honorable . . . until he finds out he’s been captured for real.

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Hello! I'm Cecilia Tan, and right now I'm virtually touring my gay Navy SEAL romance, WATCH POINT. At each stop on the tour, leave comments to be entered to win a gay/queer romance prize pack from yours truly, including not only a copy of Watch Point, but a few of my other books (The Prince's Boy, Magic University) and a Daron's Guitar Chronicles swag pack with notebook and stickers.

Excerpt

Chapter One

Time stamp: 2104 Monday, Middleborough, Massachusetts

I used to think I was a good man. My mother died believing that I was. If I am, though, there’s no way I should be here. I check the equipment: gag, restraints, hood, all in place.

Target acquired.

I knock on the door of room 212 at the Super 8 Motel three times: rap-rap-rap. Chase Milford opens the door without hesitation. Oh, sure, according to the app his name is “Randy Houle,” but it’s unmistakably him. He’s making this way too easy. A gay hookup app, a secret rendezvous—he’s already covered his tracks.

I stare into wide hazel eyes framed by blond-frosted hair, barely registering that he’s already shirtless, wearing only running shorts. Never mind that it’s December—apparently, this motel room is the Tropic of Chase. He licks his lips hungrily as his gaze travels down my body, then back up to my chest without meeting my eyes again.

I wonder what he sees. Hopefully only the superficial: cotton T-shirt a size too small molded to a hard chest, black jeans, gear bag and coat in my hand. At last his eyes flick up to take in my face. I match my photo on the app, black hair grown out, black goatee, a tanned face that could be almost anything: Native American, Italian, Puerto Rican, Hawaiian. I’ve been mistaken for all these things. (The last man who asked me “what” I was, was politely encouraged by a good friend of mine to choose between “American” or the slug of a .44 as an answer.)

Chase doesn’t seem to recognize me. Good.

I push my way into the room, impatient to get this part of the operation over with, but I’m not expecting his hand to slide right into my jeans, his palm fitting perfectly against the bulk of my cock. He has mistaken my forcefulness for ardor and met it with unexpected boldness of his own. I would have pegged him for the passive type, a do-me queen. He’s the spoiled son of a spoiled-rotten man. The last time I saw him, he was barely a teenager, a near-silent homeschooled wallflower. Maybe time—or a stint in culinary school, if my intel is correct—brought him out of his shell?

He’s bold enough to cruise for gay sex via app, anyway.

I thrust into his warm hand while trying to make sure we move away from the door. It shuts behind me, and I reach back to throw the latch. If he tries to escape, that should slow him down.

Right now, escape seems the furthest thing from Chase’s mind. My cock is hardening, lengthening in his grip, and he’s making needy sounds in the back of his throat like the anticipation is killing him. My mind races. You’re here to kidnap him, not have sex with him. A half-naked man is too conspicuous. I need him to put clothes on. I need to take control of this situation. I need to keep my head clear.

I need his mouth on the full package inside my briefs as he strips my jeans down to my thighs and sets his tongue against me. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. I haven’t been touched like this in forever.

“You hungry?” I hear myself say, and he nods, popping my boner free above the waistband and swallowing me. If I’ve ever had a more eager mouth, I literally can’t remember.

He’s on his knees and has worked his own hand inside his shorts, tugging on himself, and something in me snaps.

“Greedy little fuck.” I grab him by the hair and pull him off me. “Who said you could touch yourself?”

He raises his hands like I’m pointing a pistol at his face, not my dick, but his eyes are bright and eager, and my blood pulses even harder. Eyes looking upward always seem beseeching, don’t they? Those eyes give me ideas. “Put your hands behind your head.”

He does it. I whip his cheeks with my cock, and he sticks out his tongue as if he can catch it, like a frog catching a fly. Ha.

“Will you fuck me?” he asks, and it doesn’t come out wanton at all, just breathless and heartbreakingly simple. His need is so raw and undeniable as he adds “Please?” that I’ve said yes before I think it through.

I’m a man of my word. I keep my promises. If I don’t have that, I have nothing. But I’m not sure promising to fuck my former boss’s son counts as upholding my honor. I’m not sure of anything, because I can’t think straight with all my blood in my dick instead of my damn brain.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” I add. I’m not even sure why. Maybe to remind myself that fucking him isn’t my end goal. I’ve got to keep this operation moving.

“Okay,” he says, like this is some kind of negotiation. “The only foreplay I need is, um . . .”

His boldness finally falters. He jerks his head toward the bed, where his own gear bag lies unzipped. I edge toward it, never turning my back to him, and reach into the bag.

Restraints. Rope. Leather. The heavy canvas of a straitjacket. Chains.

Chase Milford is a kinky fucker. And he’s making it way, way too easy for me. “On the bed,” I bark.

He scrambles up naked, leaving his shorts on the floor as if he moved so fast they fell on the spot like something dropped by Wile E. Coyote.

I know in that instant I am going to fuck him. I’m going to go through with it. It’s just a slight change of plan. He asked, I promised, and if I need a justification, it’ll only help me if I want to put him in restraints. Hell, it means I’ve already got his trust. Getting him into my truck might not even require a struggle. I’d like to avoid that. My beef is with his old man, not him.

Wrist cuffs attach his hands together, and I use rope to secure him to the headboard. If he notices the extra rope that ensures he can’t free himself, he says nothing about it. His cock is red and straining upward against his belly, straight as an arrow, complete with triangle-shaped head. Pre-come drips from the slit onto the plane of his stomach, glistening in the bedside light. I used to crave that flavor, that salt and musk.

I have jittery momentary flashbacks to Cassidy, to Ruiz, to Garrett, three cocks I used to suck on a regular basis, on my knees in the back of a moving vehicle, rough cloth of their uniforms chafing my cheeks, a lifetime ago. I wonder vaguely where they are now, dead or alive.

The man under me is most definitely alive. I press my tongue against his cock and run it up the ridge, then tickle his slit with the tip and revel in the salty-sweet taste. His legs are free, but they twist ineffectually as he tries to push more of his flesh into my mouth. I pull up and work him with my hand.

“I don’t want to come yet,” he pleads, voice rough and breathy with desperation. “Please, please.”

“Please what?”

“Fuck me first. Or during. Whatever. Please.”

I had no idea Chase Milford had grown up to be such a slut. His father would shit himself if he knew. His father, Aiden, hates cocksuckers so much that he’ll break a promise to one just for finding out that man is gay.

Maybe I should’ve let Aiden take that bullet himself. Maybe he would’ve survived it. Maybe.

There’s no use regretting the past. I’m too caught up in the present: Chase is wiggling his ass enticingly, and I’m pouring lube into my hand and slicking him with it—cock, balls, hole, everywhere. I can’t tell if the lube has some kind of stimulating chemical or if something about Chase himself is making everywhere our skin touches tingle. His noises have never stopped—like a puppy or a baby bird—something utterly helpless, utterly needy.

Getting the condom on proves tricky because my hands are so slippery I can’t get the packet open. It takes bared teeth to do that, my need for him growing more feral by the moment, and I’m barely adequately sheathed before I search the trough between his cheeks with the head of my cock for the way in.

When I finally shove at the right angle—and pop, there goes what I fantasize is his cherry—his desperate noises stop, and he sighs like an alcoholic drinking from the altar wine, like it’s everything that makes him whole, body and spirit.

I am suddenly no longer in a hurry. I am buried in a warm body, a willing man, a consenting partner. This part is true. He thinks this is what I came here for.

Maybe I did. That at least would be honest.

I begin a slow fucking the likes of which I’ve not often performed. Too many couplings in my life have been in haste, in barracks, on benches, all the more passionate for their brutal quickness. But there’s no need to hurry now. Chase is at my mercy.

My cock luxuriates inside him, riding him slow and easy until his hole is fully stretched, then pulling all the way free to plunge in with sudden force. He gasps as if each penetration pushes the air right out of him, his eyes closed and mouth slack in rapture.

It’s good. It’s very, very good. When he begins to moan, there’s a tinge of disbelief in the sound, as if he never dreamed it could be this good.

My hands are still slick from the lube, and I switch to short thrusts as I work his cock. He comes suddenly, far more quickly than I thought possible. Every muscle of his trembles as he turns to jelly on my prick, completely helpless under me. I take gouts of his come on two fingers and shovel them into his mouth. He eats it just as hungrily as he’s taking my cock, and I come just as unexpectedly, triggered by something primal and deep about this coupling, something beyond understanding. I search his mouth with my tongue then, chasing that primal need myself, leaving us both gasping.

His eyes search mine for a few long moments. “You look familiar,” he says.

Shit. “Everyone says that,” I reply, and slump against him as if I’m exhausted, slowing my breathing purposefully, letting tension leave my body with each exhalation. He’s caught up in it, too, unknowingly matching his breathing to mine as his eyes flutter shut. I’m lulling him to relax and keeping myself calm at the same time.

Before long he’s asleep of his own accord, still tied to the bed, still covered in spunk and lube. I decide not to take any chances with him remembering me or getting suspicious. A little needle prick, a small dose of sedative—he’ll remain asleep as I clean him up, dress him in some nondescript clothes I brought, and prepare him for transport. The operation hasn’t gone at all as planned, but the outcome will be exactly as desired. I will have kidnapped Chase Milford without hurting him.

After all, I wouldn’t want to lie in the ransom note when I say he’s unharmed.

20% of all proceeds from this title will be donated to the Russian LGBT Network.

Each year, Riptide Publishing releases a holiday collection in support of an LGBTQ charity. Twenty percent of the proceeds from this year’s collection will be donated to the Russian LGBT Network.

The Russian LGBT network was founded in April 2006. It is an interregional, non-governmental human rights organization that promotes equal rights and respect for human dignity, regardless of sexual orientation and gender identity. They unite and develop regional initiatives, advocacy groups (at both national and international levels), and provide social and legal services.

To learn more about this charity or to donate directly, please visit their website: https://lgbtnet.org/en.

This collection would not be possible without the talent and generosity of its authors, who have brought us the following holiday stories:

• Cecilia Tan, Watch Point
• Roan Parrish, The Remaking of Corbin Wale
• Katie Porter, Came Upon a Midnight Clear

Pre-ordering this collection will allow you to download each story two days prior to its official release date, as well as save 20% off the list price of the individual books.

About Cecilia Tan

Cecilia Tan is "simply one of the most important writers, editors, and innovators in contemporary American erotic literature," according to Susie Bright. RT Magazine awarded her Career Achievement in Erotic Romance in 2015 and their prestigious Pioneer Award. Tan's BDSM romance novel Slow Surrender (2013) also won the RT Reviewers Choice Award in Erotic Romance and the Maggie Award for Excellence from the Georgia Romance Writers chapter of RWA.

Her professional writing career began when she was still a teenager and her father offered to match every dollar she earned from writing while she lived at home. She immediately landed a gig writing a monthly column for Superteen magazine and provided articles to Teen Machine and other teen magazines. Her first professional fiction sale didn't come until after college, though. While working a day job in book publishing in Boston, she began sending out erotic short stories. On the day she left her job to pursue a master’s degree in writing, her first short story acceptance arrived.

That was in 1992, several months after she'd founded Circlet Press, Inc., then the only book publisher dedicated to erotic science fiction and fantasy. Her first book, Telepaths Don't Need Safewords, was self-published through Circlet because there was literally nowhere else that would even consider it.

Since then, Tan has authored many books, including the ground-breaking erotic short story collections Black Feathers, White Flames, and Edge Plays, and the erotic romances Slow Surrender, Slow Seduction, and Slow Satisfaction, the Secrets of a Rock Star series, The Prince's Boy, The Hot Streak, and the Magic University series—as well as various nonfiction books on baseball including The 50 Greatest Yankee Games and The 50 Greatest Red Sox Games.

Her short stories have appeared in Ms. Magazine, Nerve, Best American Erotica, Asimov's Science Fiction, and tons of other places. She was inducted into the Saints & Sinners Hall of Fame for GLBT writers in 2010, was a recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award from the National Leather Association in 2004, and won the inaugural Rose & Bay Awards for Best Fiction in 2010 for her crowdfunded web fiction serial Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

She is the editor of the Baseball Research Journal and is publications director for the Society for American Baseball Research. She is also a part-time taekwondo instructor and is a certified therapist in an Asian bodywork style known as Okazaki restorative therapy. (That's a fancy way of saying she can break you and then fix you up again.)

Tan has also been a lifelong activist in the BDSM and leather/fetish community. She is the founder of the Fetish Fair Fleamarket, the largest BDSM event in New England, and served for twenty years on the board of directors of the New England Leather Alliance (NELA) before stepping down to concentrate on writing and education.

She lives in the Boston area with her lifelong partner Corwin and three cats. Find out more at www.ceciliatan.com.

Connect with Cecilia:

• Website
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• Google+

Giveaway

To celebrate the release of Watch Point, one lucky winner will receive a swag bag including a copy of Watch Point, The Prince's Boy, Daron's Guitar Chronicles Vol 1, a DGC T-shirt, notebook, and stickers! Leave a comment with your contact info to enter the contest. Entries close at midnight, Eastern time, on November 11, 2017. Thanks for following the tour, and don’t forget to leave your contact info!