In Jayce Ellis’ Own Words…
I’m so excited to be here to give a sneak peek into André (available on July 13th). The germ of this story came to me three years ago, but it grew and morphed into something I hadn’t even envisioned while I was drafting it. Enough that I tossed 60,000 words into the metaphorical trash bin thirty days before it was due and frantically redrafted. LOL. But I’m so proud of how this came together, and I hope you enjoy the excerpt below. It’s the morning after Marcus’ one-night stand, and it gives a hint of one of the underlying issues in the story.
After a week filled with nonstop work, André Ellison heads to the club to blow off some steam. One night off is the perfect distraction from the project that’s about to make his career — or tank it completely. A few drinks in, he leaves with a smoking-hot stranger for some scorching, burn-the-sheets-up sex.
Marcus Thompson is going places, so he can’t think of a bigger waste of time than being put on loan to a two-bit firm to prepare some small-time report. The last thing he wants — or needs — is his impeccably dressed, hot-as-hell one-night stand as his boss.
As they work side by side, their attraction grows to a fever pitch, but there will be no kissing, no touching and absolutely no sex until the project is over — if they can wait that long.
I’d fallen asleep promptly when I got home, my ass pleasantly sore, my dick almost too tender to touch. I had no clue if Jake was back or not, and as long as he showed up by Sunday evening for dinner, our agreed-on check-in, I wasn’t going to worry.
I turned over Saturday morning and stretched my arms above my head. The muscles strained, a reminder of how I’d gripped the headboard last night. Memories assaulted me and my dick, already hard, throbbed with the need to come.
But I couldn’t. Jake had given me his parents’ room instead of moving into it himself and letting me stay in his for the summer. Their bed was luxurious, one of those adjustable air springs that contoured and even had a heated and cooling mattress pad on top. It was a thing of beauty. And I was tempted to lie here all day, but no way in hell was I masturbating in it.
The doorbell rang. Which was odd in and of itself, but especially on the weekend. I waited, hoping either Jake was home and would answer, or whoever it was would go away. No such luck.
It rang again, followed by my phone. I reached over and grabbed it and couldn’t stop the low whine in my throat even as I answered. “Hey, Dad, what’s going on?”
“Morning, son. Come down here and let me and your mother in before she wakes up the neighborhood.”
He had to be kidding me. My parents were not downstairs, outside Jake’s house, first thing on a Saturday morning. I refused to believe it, until my father spoke again. “Marcus? Are you home? Is that the reason no one is answering the door?”
I recognized Mom’s horrified gasp in the background, meaning this wasn’t the nightmarish hallucination I had hoped.
“No, Dad, I’m here. Be right down.”
I clicked off and climbed out the bed. I didn’t even have time to go to the bathroom like I needed, because Mom wasn’t going to stand out there any longer. I threw a T-shirt on over my pajama bottoms and trotted down the stairs to open the door.
“You’re barefoot. You know what I’ve told you about walking around with no shoes on,” Mom said as she walked in, Dad behind her.
“I was trying to get the door open for you.”
She waggled her fingers at me. “We been standing out there for almost ten minutes. The ten seconds it would’ve taken you to put your slippers on so you don’t catch your death wasn’t going to kill nobody. Except maybe you.”
I stared at her in disbelief. Dad’s heavy hand on my shoulder shifted my attention, as did the twinkling light in his eyes. He thought this shit was hilarious. “Good to see you, son.”
“Thanks. You too,” I said, closing the door behind them. “What are you guys doing here?”
Mom made herself comfortable on the couch and turned on the TV. Between me and Jake, the TV probably stayed on HGTV, Food Network, and ESPN ninety percent of the time. So naturally Mom flipped it to one of the shopping networks and settled in. “Oh, we came down to see some of my girls. We were thinking about what we want to do for next year’s trip.”
Mom and a group of her sorors did an international vacation every other year. I knew they were planned well in advance; I’m not sure I knew they were planned years in advance. And I’m damn sure I didn’t know planning for the trip required a trip in itself.
“How long you guys been here?” I asked.
“Since Wednesday,” Mom said without turning from the TV.
“And y’all didn’t call me?”
“Marcus, you’re a grown man with your own life. I know you would’ve tried to find some way to see us, but you’ve got plenty of things to do. We didn’t want to be a bother.”
I appreciated the sentiment, even if I didn’t buy it. Mom, love her to death, never worried about interrupting me. Dad might, but Mom was quick to ignore him. If I’d seen them earlier, I wouldn’t have known about this internship mess, and wouldn’t be praying they’d talk about anything else. As it was, no way I’d be able to hide it, and the idea was already making my muscles tense. Which reminded me how sore I was from last night. I sighed.
Fucking hell, Marc, get it together.
“Sorry, Mom, just thinking.” I looked around the living room and back at them. “I guess I was goin’ to make something to eat if y’all want anything.”
Mom’s nod was immediate. “Yes, please. French toast if you got it.”
I walked off toward the kitchen, ignoring the low whispers behind me. Then, “Marcus,” Dad said, “you didn’t go to school to be a maid. I’d rather go out and eat than have you in that kitchen cooking for us.”
“I’m not,” I said, hoping my words sounded indifferent and not tight. “I’m cooking for myself. Y’all just happen to be here.”
“How ‘bout you take a day off? DC on the weekends has brunch spots, right?”
“Maurice, he’s already started. Why don’t you sit back and relax?”
Dad didn’t feel like going anywhere, I knew that. He’d be content to sit on the front porch with a beer all day, week, month, year long. He just didn’t want me in the kitchen. It reminded him that he rarely helped out, and I’m sure brought up memories of the arguments about me being up under Mom’s skirt when I was a kid. Lord knows it did for me.
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About the Author:
Jayce Ellis has three loves: her husband and her two turtles. Hubby loves her back. The turtles she’s not so sure about, but they do love their sports (Bay Area teams FTW!). She still hasn’t figured out why she lives in Northern Virginia, where there’s weather, instead of California, where she’s from, and where it’s just…pretty. Jayce spends her days divorcing happily-married couples (or so she’s been told), and her nights talking maniacally to herself. Thankfully the recorder catches her rumblings and magically turns them into words on a screen. Painting nails is way easier when you don’t actually have to type, and with well over 600 polishes to get through, there’s a lot of painting going on.
Notwithstanding her no-good, very bad, horrible day job, Jayce seriously believes that true love conquers all. Even Malificent said it. Sure, she was having an epic Mean Girls moment, but points were made. The only thing Jayce loves more than writing about true love conquering all, is hearing from readers who feel the same way.
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