The exciting sequel to Juicy, Melty, Fun to Share!

Nick had never been interested in the BDSM lifestyle until Darren hired him to cater a fetish party and gave Nick a scorching introduction to the scene upon its conclusion. Now the young chef finds himself craving more than a hot one night stand, but to his frustration Darren is dedicated to his swinging ways. After being spurned at a Mardi Gras party, Nick conceives of a plan to finally claim Darren as his exclusive lover and master.

Carole at Rainbow Reviews says:

 Augusta Li writes such a concise, well-crafted story that we are willing to buy into the fantasy, particularly since it's sexy and fun. The descriptions are so clear that we feel we are really there: tasting, touching, smelling, feeling, as Nick and Darren try to find a level meeting ground.

Just like many sequels, Twelfth Night reads nicely by itself, but you will enjoy it more if you read Juicy, Melty, Fun to Share first because you can see the character development from the start. Darren and Nick are nicely done, and the story, while a fantasy, is a fun, hot read, perfect for your summer reading list.

Read the entire review

                Nick thought his employer’s purple velvet coat with tails and his big, overdone grin made him look like The Joker from an old episode of Batman. The man, William Montrose, had also drunk several Hurricanes from the punch bowl, so his lips were stained red, enhancing the effect. If only his close-cut salt-and-pepper hair had been green, he’d have been a ringer. But maybe the look suited a Twelfth Night Carnivale party.

                The other guests dressed even more flamboyantly—some in full Louis XVI regalia complete with powdered wigs, others in fetish gear that covered little, if anything. A woman stopped at the food table to sample a beignet in nothing but a swishing black tulle skirt and a raven mask like medieval doctors wore during the plague years. Powdered sugar clung to her black lipstick. Her sub, a thin man with dirty blonde hair, had painted his body with latex to resemble a harlequin’s leotard of diamonds in green and purple. A lace ruff hid his leather collar, but not the leash his mistress held.

                Apart from Nick, who’d chosen a white chef’s jacket and some understated beads shaped like chili peppers, only the jazz quartet wore conservative attire. The display might have shocked the young chef more if he hadn’t catered a fetish party similar to this one on Christmas Eve.

                “Whoa, spicy,” William said, hurrying to wash down a bite of Nick’s signature vegetarian jambalaya with more alcohol. “It’s good, though. Darren was right about you. You’re one hell of a caterer.”

                “Thank you,” Nick said.

                The older man leaned close. His breath reeked of booze and Cajun seasonings like garlic and sassafras. “Listen, the guests can pretty much serve themselves. So feel free to mingle and enjoy the event. Darren mentioned that you participated in the scene.”

                Nick scowled. As if he needed another reason to hate Darren Damgaard-Sorensen. The man had seduced him after his Christmas Eve party, persuaded him to perform kinky acts that he’d never dreamt of doing before. Nick had let Darren bind, beat, and fuck him. Then, not so much as a phone call. Now it seemed he’d been telling all his pervy friends about it. From the way William leered at Nick, he probably assumed the chef’s body was included in the catering bill.

                “Why don’t you have a drink?”

                “Oh, no thank you, Mr. Montrose. I never drink on the job.”

                “You wanna go upstairs? Darren mentioned—”           

                “No.” Darren’s name was like cayenne on the bleeding edges of Nick’s violated heart. Despite his poor treatment at Darren’s hands, Nick couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He lay in his bedroom over the bakery every night and tried, unsuccessfully, to drive out the memories of Darren’s long, white-blond hair and ice-blue eyes. He tried to tell himself that Darren hadn’t been that beautiful and perfect; his hands hadn’t been that skilled. I don’t love him became the mantra Nick fell asleep to.

                Then Darren entered Montrose’s studio apartment looking so divine that Nick gasped before he could stop himself. A young man in a white vinyl thong, angel wings and white wig took Darren’s coat to reveal his silvery hair spilling over his lean, bare chest. He wore metallic gold pants so tight Nick saw every curve of his body and his matching stiletto-heeled boots clicked on the floor. A simple gold mask outlined his amazing eyes. Elizabethan-ruffled cuffs and a collar, made from stiff lace edged in gold, accentuated his svelte wrists and neck. With Darren right in front of him, Nick could no longer deny the way his pale skin caught the light, accentuating the willowy muscles of his waist as he walked. Just as he had the first time he’d seen the man, Nick thought he couldn’t be human—he was just too lovely and surreal. The contrast of the shimmering clothing against his fair complexion made him look like a marble statue adorned with gilt.

                Nor was Nick the only one to fall silent and watch Darren. The other guests paused mid-sentence or mid-drink and stood wide-eyed. The beautiful blonde man smiled at each of them as if offering them the gift of a second of his priceless interest. Montrose whispered, “Yeah, he has that effect on you, doesn’t he? I mean, who else could pull off that outfit?”

                Nick realized he’d flushed beet-red and tried to find something on the food table that needed his attention. Montrose smirked and clapped Nick on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. If it means anything, you had more impact on him than most. I’ve never seen him actually fall for anybody, but he talked about you—”

                Darren had reached the table. He put his hand on his hip and twisted his torso, a gesture so devastating it must have been practiced. “Lovely party, Willy,” he said. The older man balked. Nick assumed he didn’t like the abbreviated form of his name, which Darren undoubtedly knew. “Oh and look, you’ve got my chef. How have you been Nick?”

                “Fine,” Nick answered, without meeting the hypnotic blue eyes.

                “Give us a minute, won’t you, Willy?” Darren asked. “Nick and I are old friends.” Montrose retreated, and Nick marveled at the way Darren ordered the man around in his own home.

                “I missed you,” Darren said softly.

                “You could have called.”

                Darren laughed, eyes twinkling. “I don’t call. You call me.”

                “And how was I supposed to know that?”

                “Nick, such back-talk!” Darren hissed. Nick’s cock jumped in his pants at the scolding tone. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars to spend the night with me and make me breakfast in bed.”

                “I’m a caterer, not a prostitute, Darren.”

                “Then come for free.”

                “I don’t think so, Darren. And by the way, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell everyone you know how we… how you….”

                To Nick’s shock, Darren grabbed a handful of his dark hair and wrenched his head forward so his pale lips grazed Nick’s ear. “How I licked chocolate off of every inch of your body? How I tied your hands behind your back, threw you down, and made you beg me to fuck you?”

                Nick jerked free of Darren’s grasp.

                “You loved it,” Darren continued. “You want it again. I bet you’re rock hard, aren’t you, Nick?”

                “I’m working,” Nick panted. If Darren didn’t stop talking like this, he’d come right in his pants. “I try to be professional for my clients.”

                “Oh, Nick. The next time we’re together, I’m going to make you pay for addressing me like this.”

                “There’s not going to be a next time,” Nick said.