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Post Title: Top 10 Common Editing Mistakes
Author: S.L. Armstrong

Over the past two years since starting Storm Moon Press, we’ve been approached with a respectable number of submissions by authors seeking publication. As we’ve reviewed these submissions, we and our editors have noticed a number of commonly occurring errors cropping up time and again. I’d like to take this opportunity to point out some of them and ways to correct them. Taking the time to zap these errors out of your writing will make your submissions cleaner and more attractive to publishers, and greatly increase your chances of getting picked up.

I. Commonly Confused Words

1. Lie vs Lay

This is probably one of the most common mistakes of all time. If there were an Editing Mistakes Hall of Fame, this would be in the entrance lobby. So let’s break it down. “Lay” is a transitive verb; this means it requires an object — the thing you’re laying down. “Lie”, by contrast, is intransitive, so it does not take an object. So why is this so confusing? Quite simply, because the English language is tricksy. The past tense of “lie” is “lay”, which just… isn’t fair. It’s very easy, given that, to mix things up.

* Lay the book on the table. –> He laid the book on the table.
* Lie down and relax. –> He lay down and relaxed.

Complicating things even further is the fact that there is also an intransitive use of “lay” as a slang term for sex, as in “I got laid”. And that’s not even considering the uses of “to lie” to mean “not tell the truth”!

2. Who vs Whom

It’s unfortunate, but I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle on this one. A lot of people seem to feel that using “whom” is nothing but a sign of pretension, and that “who” is always appropriate. This is not the case. “Who” and “whom” are pronouns, and they represent different cases in the same way that “he” and “him” or “she” and “her” do. “Who” is the nominative (subject) case, and “whom” is the accusative (object) case. The easiest way to be certain of the correct word is to reword the sentence using either “he” or “him” — whichever is appropriate for the sentence. If you use “he”, then “who” is correct; if “him” is correct, then so is “whom”. (Both “him” and “whom” end with “m”, so it’s easy to remember.)

* Who is knocking at the door? –> He is knocking at the door.
* To whom am I speaking? –> I am speaking to him.

3. Which vs That

This one is a little harder to explain. “Which” and “that” are both relative pronouns: words used to introduce relative clauses, which are clauses that act as modifiers to nouns or noun phrases. For example, in the previous sentence, everything after the word “which” is a relative clause modifying the noun “relative clauses”. “Which” (and “who” when referring to people) is used to introduce non-restrictive clauses; “that” is used for restrictive clauses. By “restrictive”, I mean modifiers that qualify or “restrict” what sub-group of all members of the noun group the sentence is referring to. The best way to illustrate is by example.

* Diamonds, which are expensive, are the hardest type of stone.
(The relative clause “which are expensive” is non-restrictive because all diamonds are expensive.)

* The girl that I saw yesterday was here again today.
(The relative clause “that I saw yesterday” is restrictive because it identifies a specific girl.)

Note that the non-restrictive clause is set off by commas, while the restrictive clause is not. This is not a coincidence. Because non-restrictive clauses do not alter the meaning of the sentence, they can be safely removed entirely and are therefore set off by commas. Removing a restrictive clause, though, can change a sentence, so it is not surrounded by commas. Mixing this up can create unexpected misunderstandings.

X Diamonds that are expensive are the hardest type of stone.
(This implies that there are non-expensive diamonds, and that they are less hard than the expensive kind.)

X The girl, who I saw yesterday, was here again today.
(This implies that there is only one girl.)

II. Punctuation Errors

4. Comma Splices

I don’t care how good a story is. If I run into more than three comma splices, it goes right into the DNF pile. It’s one of the easiest errors to correct, and yet so few people care enough to do it. As far as I’m concerned, it is the hallmark of lazy writing and lazy editing. A comma splice happens when two independent clauses are “spliced” together with only a comma rather than being connected by a semicolon or a coordinating conjunction. And while there are many people who shrug their shoulders and say it doesn’t make any difference, I just reply, if it doesn’t make a difference, then why not do it right?

X School is serving pizza today, I’m glad I brought my lunch.
* School is serving pizza today; I’m glad I brought my lunch.
* School is serving pizza today, so I’m glad I brought my lunch.

5. Commas Between Adjectives

This is another easily corrected mistake, but also another prevalent one. When using multiple, unrelated adjectives to describe a noun, they must be separated by commas. The trick, if there is one, is being able to recognize when adjectives are unrelated. As a general rule, if you can read the sentence with any of the adjectives removed, and the meaning doesn’t change, then the adjectives are unrelated to each other.

* The rusted, green pickup sat neglected in the yard.
(The pickup is green. It is also rusted. The two adjectives are not related.)

X The rusted green pickup sat neglected in the yard.
(This implies that the pickup is a “rusted green” color, which is probably not the intended meaning.)

* The faded green pickup sat neglected in the yard.
(In this case, the pickup is a “faded green” color, so the adjectives are related.)

6. Overuse of Dashes

I don’t know when this happened, but it seems that there is a recent trend of using the dash as a replacement for just about any other punctuation mark. The dash should only be used to set off interrupting clauses or to indicate cut-off speech. And yet, I have seen it used in place of colons, semicolons, and even commas.

X He said–”What are you doing here?”
* He said, “What are you doing here?”

X She looked everywhere–the cupboard, the pantry, and even under the sink.
* She looked everywhere: the cupboard, the pantry, and even under the sink.

X I called her four times–she never called back.
* I called her four times; she never called back.

* “I’m telling you, there’s nothing out–” The sudden snap of a twig put the lie to that statement.
* The boots were caked with mud and–this was the important bit–bits of sawdust and sand.

III. Grammatical Errors

7. Verb Tense Agreement

This error is frequently caused when a sentence is rewritten, and the tense of one of the verbs is changed, but subsequent verbs are not. There are instances where it can be correct to have different verb tenses in a single sentence, but as a general rule, all of them should match.

X She had done fifty push-ups, swam for an hour, and ran three miles.
* She did fifty push-ups, swam for an hour, and ran three miles. (All verbs are simple past tense.)
* She had done fifty push-ups, swum for an hour, and run three miles. (All verbs are past participles.)

8. Dangling Participles

Dangling participles occur when an introductory participle phrase refers to a particular subject, but that subject is not the subject of the rest of the sentence. This leaves the first part of the sentence “dangling”: it has no connection to the conclusion. This is another situation that is easily corrected by always making sure that the first word following the participle phrase is the subject associated with the phrase, or by simply rewriting the sentence to remove the participle entirely.

X Having fallen out the window, the teacher declared the experiment a failure.
(Implies that it was the teacher who fell out the window.)
* Having fallen out the window, the experiment was declared a failure.
* The teacher declared the experiment a failure after it fell out the window.

X After being whipped into a froth, the cook added sugar to the egg whites.
(Implies that it was the cook who was whipped into a froth.)
* After being whipped into a froth, the egg whites were incorporated with sugar.
* The cook whipped the egg whites into a froth, and then added sugar.

9. Concurrent Participles

In addition to dangling participles, there is another danger when using participle phrases, and that is the problem of concurrency. Quite often, when two actions are meant to be occurring one after the other, they are incorrectly written with a participle phrase that implies they are happening at the same time. Sometimes, this leads to quite humorous imagery:

X Putting on his pants, Phil opened the door.

This isn’t a dangling participle, because the participle is definitely referring to Phil. However, the sentence is still misleading, as it is phrased to imply that Phil is trying to open the door while putting on his pants, which is almost certainly not what is supposed to be happening. Instead, such sentences should be rewritten to clearly indicate the sequence of events:

* After putting on his pants, Phil opened the door.
* Phil put on his pants, and then opened the door.

10. Then As A Conjunction

I’m ending on this one because it can be a bit controversial. Start with this example:

? John took his physics final, then he went out for ice cream.

Plenty of people would look at this sentence and see nothing wrong with it. But, strictly speaking, it’s incorrect. The word “then” cannot be used as a coordinating conjunction to join two independent clauses. The only coordinating conjunctions are for, and, nor, but, or, yet, and so — just remember the acronym FANBOYS. One way to demonstrate that “then” is not acting as a coordinating conjunction is to move the word around in that side of the sentence.

* Then he went out for ice cream.
* He then went out for ice cream.
* He went out, then, for ice cream.
* He went out for ice cream then.

It doesn’t change the meaning of the sentence to put the word in various places. Compare that to the same sentence using a coordinating conjunction:

* John took his physics final, and then he went out for ice cream.

It’s clear that the word “and” can’t be moved anywhere else in the sentence without completely destroying the structure. The coordinating conjunction is required in that place and no other to make the sentence make sense. “Then” can’t function in that capacity, and so the initial example sentence is actually a comma splice.

This is by no means an exhaustive list of editing mistakes, not even of common editing mistakes. However, these are definitely among the most glaring, but thankfully, also among the most easily fixed. They are the ones that stick out in my head as passing over my desk over and over, and I’d love to see that happen less frequently, if possible.

Pawns Book I: Stalemate (novella) – Lord Ash, of the Faerie Solar Court, is used to getting what—and who—he wants. So when he is rejected by Frost, a Faerie of the Lunar Court, he becomes only more intrigued. What follows is an intricate game of move and countermove as Ash works to capture Frost’s favor, no matter what obstacles stand between them.

Lessons In Cowboy (novel) – The hot name in country music is cowboy-turned-singer North Larkin. The trouble is, his cowboy persona is all hype, and the media is beginning to suspect. Now it’s up to Cade Stallings to teach North the ropes, but despite the 18-year age difference, all North really wants to learn about is Cade.

Wanderlust: Land of Nod (novella) – Lilith, the first woman, and Cain, the first murderer, both outcasts from Paradise, find each other east of Eden, in the twilight land of Nod. Cursed with immortality and forsaken by their Creator, the pair come together as they struggle to find place and purpose in a world on the verge of unstoppable change.

Polyfidelity (novel) – Lorelei, Dorian, and Quinn are a happy, stable triad. But when Lorelei begins entertaining the idea of children, Dorian doubts his place in that picture. When Patrick enters his life, Dorian believes he’s found the solution. Together, the four of them try to balance the concerns of life, love, and family in a world that believes they are doomed to fail.

We also have a handful of shorts planned for some anthologies (If We Shadows, Flux, Fraternal Devotion, Devil’s Night, and The First Time), plus a couple of ideas we’re trying to write between our main releases. I’m hoping we have the time to edit and publish the following this year:

The Wolf-King (novel) – To defend his land and his people from an outside enemy, King Bleidd of Stoyrm seeks out the lost magics of spirit-bonding, tying his spirit to that of an animal. But his second-in-command, Terrill, remembers too well the Scourge that destroyed those who once dabbled in such things. So as Bleidd tries to protect his kingdom, Terrill must strive to protect its king.

Other Side of Night: Havva & Amiri (novella) – The decadent Havva has reveled in her vampiric nature for centuries, seeking out pleasure in all its myriad forms. But when she meets her complement in the dark, taciturn Amiri, he shows her there is more to their existence than simple, mindless pleasure.

A short for the 22 Days of Yule at Storm Moon Press (not 100% sure what we will do for it, but something happy and fluffy).

A novella for the Boys on Film line at Storm Moon Press (also not 100% sure what we’ll do, but we both love the idea of a porn industry main character).

So, it’s going to be a busy year. K. and I are already hard at work with Stalemate, and I can’t WAIT to share the cover with everyone. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I’m crossing my fingers that we meet all our deadlines and have a productive year.

Well, because it’s not that easy. I can’t tell you the number of books I’ve picked up that are barely more than poorly disguised fanfiction. From Star Wars to Lord of the Rings to Sherlock Holmes, it’s depressing. And the fact that publishers are publishing it! Now, I’ve seen people say that some publishers might not be wholly familiar with those fandoms or source material, but I say, come on. I’ve never read Sherlock Holmes and only have the vaguest introduction to Star Wars, but I can see a fanfic when I read it. A mass search and replace with names and places does not equal filing off the serial numbers.

Let’s start with the simplest issue: Fanfiction is paced differently than professional fiction. It’s true. It’s why you can see ‘Chapter 143 of ????’ attached to a fanfic. Authors can just ramble. They don’t know what’s really important for a reader versus what they simply want to write. Now, the two are not mutually exclusive, but for the most part? Fanfiction is windy. Plot holes abound, and there seems no end of ‘twists’ an author can weave in.

The second issue? Characterization. Or, actually, the lack thereof. In fanfiction, you have the source material as well as fanon to fill in most of your characterization and worldbuilding gaps. Authors don’t have to think about where to put Aragorn or how he would react to something, Tolkien has already done that for them. This leads to weak characters and squirrely worldbuilding, and it’s usually a tell-tale sign that someone hasn’t put the work in to file off the serial numbers.

Third issue tends to be plot related. Many fanfics depend on the core plot elements of the source material, or made up elements based on the source material. This can make things exceedingly difficult when you want turn it into something original. When the original story is so entrenched in the fabric of the original world the author borrowed from, changing it enough to be different and original can be impossible without extensive rewrites. And, by that point, why not start from scratch anyway and begin something new and wholly yours?

But, in the end, sometimes we want to take that story we did put so much time and effort in, alter it, and share it with a larger audience for pay. Nothing wrong with that, but you need to keep those three main issues in mind when you approach that old fanfic and dust it off. Not to mention the very good chance that your writing voice itself may have changed since you wrote it.

Revision is not the word for what needs to be done. Rewrite is. If you have a 25,000 word fanfic to offer, it better end up as a 50,000 word category novel. You should add a significant amount of new material to make up for the lacking of source material. Worldbuilding, characterization, plot, and relationships all need to be approached with a fresh eye and a strong red pen. Don’t just mass replace the names. Sit down and think about those characters. Who are they? What drives them? What are the fighting for or against? What is their motivation to go from who they are in the beginning of the story to who they should become by the end? All questions you should be able to answer—in detail—about these characters once you pull them from their source material.

The world. What about the world? What is it? Where is it? How does it look? What is its structure? What races live in that world? What are the political ties of those races? The questions are endless, and you should think about them in depth before taking on the challenge of reworking a fanfic. The world needs to be as original and alive as the characters. Yes, there can be some ties to the source material—taking your medieval elves out of Tolkien’s Middle-Earth, but keeping the medieval aspect and placing them in your own world—but you need to be careful. The broader themes are fine, as the literary world only has about five plots, but the finer points—how Fëanor was the King of the Noldor and led their rebellion against the Valar—need to be altered completely. Don’t make Fëanor into Fyner, King of the Spider Elves or some such thing and change nothing about Fyner himself and the world he influenced.

Have I filed off the serial numbers? Yep. What began as a filing off of serial numbers turned into a three year long creation of a world, creatures, religion, gods, afterlife, and characters. And I’m doing it again, only applying a half-complete fanfic to a world I created two years ago and playing with the past of that world. But it’s hard work, and whether or not I am successful will depend on editing and the reception the various stories receive from my audience.

In the end, I hope I’ve done well. I hope I took the kernel of idea I had begun to wrap in fanfiction and created gorgeous and rich stories people will love instead of scorn as recognizable ripoffs. (Which, btw, they aren’t ripoffs as I’m, by no means, trying to recreate the source material I originally fell in love with. >.> Just sayin’.) I want my characters to be my characters, and deep down, they are, as they bear no resemblance to their source material counterparts.

If you’re going to file off the serial numbers, do it right, do it well. Make the stories and characters your own. Stop looking over into the other sandbox and just build your castle in your own. It can be done. You just need the fortitude and support to ensure it’s done right.

I love reviewers/readers. Without them, I’d be out of a job. I respect that it takes a reviewer time to read and review my work, just as it does with a reader (though readers are out of time and money). I am not so arrogant or deluded to believe that a reviewer owes me a review, let alone a positive one, or that I have to right to pitch a fit if it’s negative.

However, I do believe that I—as the author—do have the right to respectfully respond. The key here, as it always has been, is respectfully. This idea that review space is sacred and that authors have no right to comment or engage their readers is crazy. Of course I do. If it’s a positive review, I want to thank the reviewer, maybe let them know that an unanswered question will be answered in a sequel, or just laugh with them over a funny section. On the other hand, if it’s negative, I (more often than not) still want to thank the reviewer for their time and apologize for the read not being quite their taste.

Then there are those negative reviews that just make me see red. Those I avoid. I just avoid because I know I’ll simply get into an argument with the reviewer, and that’s just never good. Respect goes out the window, and that’s not the professional face I want to present. If it’s a factual error about the book, I’ll contact the reviewer privately. Quite frankly, opinions and taste can’t—and shouldn’t—be argued, and I don’t. I may let the reviewers comments stew for a few weeks or months, and then compose an authorial intent post about the book, but I never name names, and I never will. It’s more a platform for me to think and speak critically about my own writing on my blog, not to get back at a reviewer who simply didn’t understand my genius.

It’s important to keep your cool. Readers remember badly behaved authors. I have a decent list of authors I don’t engage with or read because they’re incredibly unprofessional and utterly unrepentant about that unprofessionalism. A negative review is just one opinion. I keep in mind for every one negative review, there are probably five readers who truly enjoyed the book but didn’t comment. People bitch more than praise. Someone is more likely to leave a negative review for a product than a positive one. It’s the nature of the beast. Humans love to complain. I do it, too. Most of my reviews are for books I didn’t like, not books I loved. It’s so silly, but the truth.

In the end, reviews are for products people buy, not critical assessments of writing skill or talent. Reviews cover plot, theme, characterization, editing, formatting, cover art, and price of book. They’re about products, nothing more, and that bit of emotional distance can do an author a world of good when someone says that their book sucks. Take a breath, remember everyone has an opinion, and go back to writing your next book. It’s always the next book that’s the most important, after all!

But, here’s the opening to the first chapter for you (though, again, it’s rough and hasn’t been through an editor), but I hope it whets people’s appetites!

—

His eyes subtly followed the dark-haired faerie, as they had done since the Lunar Court delegation had arrived three weeks ago. Frost paused at one of the desks in the meeting room, the soft tones of his voice carrying to the Ash’s ears. He’d heard of Frost, traded letters and treaties with Lord Mulberry’s head scholar, but he had yet to formally meet him. The Summer Solstice celebration seemed as good a time as any to finally have what he had coveted from a distance. Ash certainly knew with the strained relationship between the Solar Court and the Lunar Court, he might not have such an opportunity again. It had taken him pulling all the strings he possessed to ensure the celebration occurred at his own estate. Some of the other council members from the Solar Court hadn’t approved of his strong arming the situation, but when Ash wanted something, he rarely had to return empty handed.

From the moment Frost had stepped before him in the receiving chamber, bowed and introduced himself, Ash had known the dark faerie had to be his. Unlike the other Lunar Sídhe, Frost seemed to truly embody the night, from his appearance to his personality. He was the complete opposite of Ash himself, who wore the sun in his hair and the sky in his eyes, and Ash wanted possess that frigid moonlight for himself.

Cool and detached, that was Frost to Ash’s mind. Ash wanted to know if any heat hid under the carefully maintained mask of control Frost wore. He hoped Frost was fire and ice, both extremes hidden behind a calculating, glittering gray gaze. However, every attempt Ash had made to come close had been interrupted by some estate affair or personal crisis. It was grating on Ash’s nerves, the constant stream of interference. While he was a patient faerie, he also knew what he wanted.

And he always took what he wanted.

At the moment, what he wanted was Frost.

As the meeting room emptied, leaving only Ash and Frost, Ash took his opportunity. He approached Frost, casual and self-assured, and watched as Frost stowed the myriad parchments and maps.

“Lord Frost?”

“Yes, Lord Ash?” Frost replied, and his tone seemed almost bored.

Ash frowned. That was not a tone he was used to having directed at him. “I wondered if I might request your company this evening? Perhaps for a game of Merels?”

Frost righted himself, his eyes containing no warmth or welcome as he unflinchingly met Ash’s gaze. “Regretfully, my lord,” he said, though there was no trace of regret in the words, “I have a previous engagement with my lord and lady.”

“Perhaps another time?” Ash countered, stifling the urge to growl. No one put him off! No one. And here Frost was, giving him that bland expression, and nodding.

A humoring smile crossed Frost’s lips. “Of course, my lord. Another time. If you will excuse me.” Frost bowed his head respectfully, and left the rebuffed Ash alone in the meeting room.

And while many authors/readers don’t like drawn covers, I wonder if it’s actually badly drawn covers they simply don’t like. Because I just can’t understand the desire for the headless torso covers. I just can’t. I think I’ve only had one cover done that way (Advent: Collected Shorts), which I did on purpose because it was a short story collection and I only wanted to hint at what was inside. I couldn’t pick ONE couple to put on the cover as there were 46 stories! XD

I tend to keep my eye out for cover announcements, and then I shake my head when I dare to look. The floating heads above a nondescript landscape seems to be pretty popular at the moment, and I have to say, they look as generic as can be. It’s like the Harlequin covers: interchangeable and easily forgettable. I don’t want an easily forgettable cover on my books. Call me a narcissist, but my books are unique pieces of art that deserve to be clad in the same.

But I’m a harsh critic when it comes to covers. I have high expectations of the artists I work with, and when they fall short, they know it. I’d just love to see less of these inexpensive stock photo covers and more unique art that tells the reader something about what they’ll find inside. I admit, I barely buy new books anymore based on covers because they all look alike! It’s sad. I will pass if the cover isn’t something interesting. Even authors I like will be passed over because my immediate thought it, ‘Oh, it looks like their last book. I don’t need to read the same thing twice.’

Because, quite honestly, that’s how I feel about Harlequin novels. I started reading those when I was fourteen, and by the time I was eighteen, I felt I’d read them all! They were the same plots and characters recycled over and over. I haven’t even glanced at a Harlequin for my own reading enjoyment in years (though I buy them frequently for my mother who calls them her ‘popcorn’ books—books she can read quickly and easily between longer, more difficult reads). It makes me a little sad for my niche genre to think that’s where we’re moving toward.

I want unique plots, diverse characters, and cover art that shows those aspects of the work. I know publishers can be cheap, and custom art can run upwards of $500+, but… gods! It shows how much you believe in the book, the author, to invest in the a beautiful, one-of-a-kind cover. Please! For all that is good, give me beautiful covers! I want to love the outsides as much as the insides because, really, guys, we do judge a book by its cover.

(Brief side note: OMG, Nathie’s work on K. Piet’s and my next release, Pawns Book I: Stalemate? Fucking gorgeous. Gor.Ge.Ous. I can’t wait to share! )

Why?

Is it because of the type of fiction? Is there a level of hidden shame in sharing erotic works with one’s significant other? Or is it that the significant other isn’t capable or knowledgeable enough to do even the most basic editing? Instead of editing, why not simply ask them to just read it over and give their general input on pacing, characterization, and voice? Those almost anyone can give an opinion on.

I suppose I’m just spoiled absolutely rotten. I lucked into having a significant other who not only reads everything I write, but he’s intelligent and can do the first editing pass for me. He also helps me with the outlining stage because, if he didn’t, I’d write every little thing that came into my head. XD He says, ‘Honey, no, you don’t need to show Character A showering as it doesn’t cause any progression in characterization or plot’. I need that.

I don’t know what I would do without him, and so when others say that their significant others don’t support them completely, I’m left baffled. I’ve also seen some authors share the snide comments their family or significant others make about their books, and again, I’m left blinking. Why would someone who loves you say anything disparaging about the work you pour your creative soul into… without even reading it first?

Never be ashamed of what you write. Never let anyone belittle what you achieve creatively. They love you, and thus, they should support you, regardless of the topic you choose to write about.

Again, perhaps I’m just spoiled. The two most important people in my writing career support and love me. They’re honest, open, and give me feedback when needed. I wish that for everyone. But, yes, thus brings a rambling conclusion to my, ‘Your significant other won’t even read/edit/beta your shit?’ XD

—

“The shit’s hit the fan, North.”

North clenched his teeth, trying not to glare at Danny. Danny had been his manager for the last four years and had never steered him wrong. However, this was not a confrontation he’d been particularly looking forward to.

“I know I screwed it up,” he admitted. “I wasn’t prepared for her to ask all those questions.”

Danny shook his head, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Country Now is comparin’ you to Vanilla Ice. I’ve spent some time working the phones, and I’ve arranged for them to cover your debut at the spring rodeo in Houston next March.”

North felt all the blood drain from his face. “To sing, right?”

“No,” Danny drawled. “You’re going to ride and rope and be a cowboy, just like your image says you are.”

“I’m not a cowboy, Danny! I’ve never even stood beside a horse!”

“Well, now you can.” Danny grinned at him. “I’ve taken the liberty of contactin’ some of the ranches around Wyoming, and one of them has agreed to take you in for six months.”

North felt sick. “Six months? Is that really necessary?”

“Yeah, it’s necessary.” Danny’s face darkened. “North, we’re talkin’ ‘bout your career here. They can destroy it by callin’ you a fake. We’ve presented you as a cowboy.”

“Had anyone done the digging, they would have found the truth out months ago,” North grumbled.

Danny shook his head. “I spent a lot of time buryin’ your past, North. They’ll believe whatever we want ‘em to so long as we can give ‘em proof of our claims. I claim you’re a cowboy. You’re not, but you will be, understand?”

North slouched in his chair. When did being a boy from Nashville become such a crappy beginning? But, Danny was right. He’d worked too hard for this career, this persona, to allow some bitchy ditz from a magazine ruin it. “When do I head out?”

“You fly out next weekend.” Sitting behind his desk, Danny began writing. “Stallings Ranch is cattle and horses, run by a man named Cade Stallings.”

“Cade.” North rolled the name around on his tongue. It was a good name. A cowboy’s name.

***

Tension hung in the room. Tension that made the hair on Cade’s arms prick. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. They were waiting for him to say something. What was there to say? “Ethan’s right,” he muttered.

Ethan, his second eldest, smiled smugly. “We’ve been running in the red for the last seven years.”

“That doesn’t mean we should sell out,” Emma Rae snapped. Oh, she had her mother’s attitude, Cade would give her that, even if she looked more like him. “Some pansy-ass city boy will gum up everything, Dad. We don’t need to be trippin’ over him for half the year!”

“At. A. Loss. What part of that don’t you get, Em?” Ethan shook his head, his cheeks flushing. “How long before the bank decides Dad isn’t good for the loan anymore? How long before they start repossessing the equipment?”

Eli cleared his throat. “We can’t lose the ranch.”

“No,” Cade agreed, giving a nod to his eldest. “We can’t. Stallings Ranch has been in the family for two hundred years. It’s gonna remain in the family. If it means we have some city slicker boy from Nashville in house for a while, then that’s what we’ll do.” A smile curved Cade’s lips. “Besides, I give him two weeks here before he’s fed up and stalks off back to the big lights of Nashville.”

Emma Rae snorted. “Just two weeks?”

Cade smirked and picked up his hat. “Maybe three, if we go easy on him. Now, come on.” He stood, four chairs scraping at well-worn wood. “We have four miles of fencing in Pasture 5 to repair, and Scott is bringing those two studs by for inspection before we make any decision on buying them. Let’s go, folks,” he barked and pointed to the door.

With pride, Cade stepped out of the modest home he’d lived in all his life and watched his children scatter. Spread out before him was Stallings Ranch, what he’d spent everyday since he was sixteen preserving. 14,000 acres of Wyoming land mortgaged to the hilt… or had been mortgaged to the hilt until that check from Daniel Carruthers arrived last week. The ranch was now at the break even point.

He resented that he’d not been able to pull the ranch back up on his own. It’d been his fault they’d fallen so far behind. Cade stepped down to the hard-packed ground, nestling his hat on his head, and made his way to the stable.

Marissa had been sick for so long, he’d made her his priority. No one blamed him except himself, but he couldn’t muster any sort of guilt. His wife had been as much his life as the ranch was, and her pain had been his pain. Four years he’d watched her waste away, and the ranch had wasted with her. It was only thanks to Ethan that the ranch hadn’t died along with Marissa.

Cade lifted his face to the sky, the late-May sun beating down on him. It was going to be dry this year, which meant he’d need to irrigate the pastures more than he had last season. He sighed, shook his head, and ducked into the main stable. Only two mares were inside, the rest of the stock out in the pasture, and he took his time looking them over. Gold Dust was maybe two weeks from foaling, but Shamrock would birth any day now. He grinned as he stroked down Shamrock’s back, murmuring soft words to the horse.

North Larkin.

Cade didn’t listen to much radio, but he knew of North Larkin. It was hard not to. Everyone talked about the young country singer who blew some of the old crooners out of the water with his talent. Other than that, he didn’t know a thing about the man except what Carruthers had told him. Larkin needed to make his persona a reality and there was a nice sum of money in it for the ranch if he would take the boy in.

Ethan had convinced him that agreement had been absolutely necessary. The books simply didn’t lie, and the ranch needed the money. It didn’t mean, though, that Cade had to be happy about the situation.

And Cade was, by no means, happy about the situation.

He left behind the mares, checking on Emma Rae once, and then headed to Eli. Grinning at his son, Cade took the reins of his mount, Firecracker, and swung up into the saddle. While many ranchers nowadays chose to use trucks and SUVs, Cade still clung to horses as his main transportation around the ranch.

Cade let loose a whoop when everyone had mounted, turning Firecracker toward the trail that would take them to Pasture 5.

Whatever else was true, it was going to be a damned interesting season.

Authorial intent and who can say what that was.

In my book, the only person who can say what an author intended with their book is the author. Now, readers can take whatever they like from the book, have it mean whatever they want it to mean to them, but for a reader to say ‘This is what the author intended’ is just rubs at me. A reader cannot know my intent unless they speak to me directly and ask.

I know it’s a fine line between ‘The author intended this’ and ‘I think the author intended this’, but it’s an important line. Maybe it’s because I was such a big fan of Tolkien and, within that fandom, there was a lot of speculation about his intent with various stories and characters. I was always very aware of putting words into a dead man’s mouth, and I didn’t want to ever say this, definitively, was what J.R.R. Tolkien intended with what he wrote.

And so, now that I’m writing and publishing, I find myself perusing conversations and viewing the discussions with a much different eye. While I try to never jump in or insult my readers, it can raise my hackles when someone says ‘Such-and-such character was a just X, and the author shouldn’t have made them that way’. Well, my response—in my head, mind you—tends to be, maybe the author didn’t write them that way; it’s just how you, the reader, interpreted it. And that’s all well and good. Readers should interpret the works they read however they want. But to say the author meant it? I think that might be a little too far.

I never meant for Riley to be the ‘cheating boyfriend’.

I never intended Kasper to be the ‘creepy doctor’.

I never intended Logan to be the ‘abusive boyfriend’.

I never intended The Keeper to be a soapbox about Christianity.

However, these are all things that have been said to have been my intent with those characters, stories, rather than merely what a reader took away from the story. Maybe I’m being too sensitive about it, but words are powerful things to me. I choose them carefully when writing, when communicating, and when I review/share my views of books. Thus, perhaps, I’m putting too much weight in readers’ comments and how they word thing.

Still, before you say ‘The author intended X’, stop and think. Is it truly what the author intended—did the author say this is what they intended with their book?—or merely what you, the reader, took away from the book? As an author and reader, I’m much more interested in the latter when I come across reader discussion/reviews for books, whether they be mine or someone elses.

Happy 2012, everyone! I hope everyone’s holiday season was awesome and that the new year is full of prosperity and good luck.

Title: The Twinkle Of A Life
Characters: Quinn, Dorian, Lorelei, Patrick
Origin: Polyfidelity (WIP)
Advent Day: Day 29 (December 25th)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,599

—

Patrick grinned like a madman as he turned his wrist back and forth, loving the way the light glinted off the surfaces of his Omega watch.

“It’s not a Rolex, but—”

“It’s perfect, Lorelei,” Patrick insisted. “God, it’s the best watch I’ve ever owned. I know it cost a mint, too.” Just like the other big gifts they had all contributed to in order to get something special for everyone. Quinn was still rubbing his hands over the beautiful, leather-bound law volumes they had bought him. Lorelei had wept five full minutes when she’d opened the box containing her brand new brushed copper KitchenAid mixer with every attachment imaginable. And Dorian… Well, Dorian was looking at his American Ballet Theatre membership card like he was going to make sweet, passionate love to it.

“Should we leave you two alone?” Patrick teased, poking Dorian’s side with his toes and watching his lover twitch on the floor.

“Shut up. It’s just… so beautiful,” Dorian purred. “It means watching Giselle, going to exclusive events, dress rehearsals of some of the best dancers in the country.”

Lorelei leaned over and kissed Dorian’s cheek softly. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m just glad he likes it,” Quinn said with a chuckle.

“Why wouldn’t he have liked it?” Patrick gave Quinn a nudge with his shoulder.

Quinn nudged him back. “Who knows with Dorian? He’s a moody Broadway baby.”

Dorian flushed, giving them all a silly smile. “I’m not on Broadway yet.”

“You will be,” Lorelei assured Dorian. “We all know it.”

“One dream come true at a time. I’ve met my quota for the year,” Dorian grinned at Patrick specifically, and then Quinn and Lorelei. Reaching up, he tugged a lock of Lorelei’s red hair, pulling her down for another kiss.

Patrick raised an eyebrow at the way Dorian shifted and stretched out on the rug, moaning softly into that kiss. He leaned close to Quinn. “Do you think he’s doing that on purpose?” he asked, licking his lips, unable to look away from Dorian’s body.

Quinn chuckled softly. “Dorian is many things, but subtle is not one of them.”

It had been a long, trying year for all of them, but Patrick was settling in finally. At first, he’d worried he wouldn’t fit into their lives, but he had. Somehow, they’d made him a part of their family. Patrick wanted to think it had been effortless. It had felt like it some of the time. But, they’d all had their moments, their jealousies and needs. They’d assured him those issues would crop up again in the future, but they’d all promised one another to be honest about the feelings. Nothing could be fixed if no one opened their mouths.

Though Dorian was opening his mouth quite a lot at the moment. His hands moved over Lorelei’s nightgown-encased body with zeal. Patrick’s cheeks tinted pink as Dorian hiked the gown up, cupped Lorelei’s ass through her panties. He had to look away, or else his cock was going to become way too hard to ignore.

“You don’t like what you see?” Quinn murmured near Patrick’s ear.

“It’s… not that,” Patrick whispered. “You know I think they’re fucking gorgeous.”

“What is it, then?” Quinn crooned, his deep voice sending shivers down his spine. “Thinking about touching them? Touching me? ‘Tis the season…”

Patrick smiled. “To grope and tumble with your three lovers?”

“Perhaps,” Quinn laughed softly, nipping his earlobe. “I meant, ’tis the season to celebrate what sees you through the harsh, cold times. Love, family, hope for the future.”

Dorian squirmed on the floor, drawing Patrick’s gaze. “So, when I say I want you to get your asses down here and rock me around the Christmas tree, it’s ’cause I want to make my Yuletide gay… and celebrate love, hope, and family.”

Lorelei laughed, giving Dorian a light slap. “Could you been any cheesier?”

“I’m sure he could try,” Patrick laughed. Then, he looked at Quinn. “So, now we’re going to strip and fuck by the warm light of the Christmas tree?”

Quinn cupped Patrick’s cheek, brushed their lips together. “No. We’re going to undress each other, kiss, touch, and make amazing love by the warm light of the Christmas tree.”

When Quinn spoke like that, Patrick’s insides turned to jelly. Before Dorian and Quinn, he’d only wondered about loving men, but now that he had them, he never wanted to let go. “Kiss me?” he breathed.

“Of course,” Quinn murmured, cupping his face and drawing their lips together. It started light and sweet, but Quinn effortlessly deepened it. Quinn’s hand moved from his face to his neck, and down the collar of his shirt. It felt like his shirt melted open of its own accord, and he distantly wondered how the hell Quinn learned to unbutton a shirt so smoothly. The answer didn’t seem important when Quinn tugged his shirt free from his pajama bottoms. Those hands slid up his skin to tease at his nipples, and he moaned loudly.

“Need a little help?” Lorelei offered.

“Those pajamas do look terribly uncomfortable.” Dorian’s voice was much closer than before, and the firm rub to his cock through his pajama bottoms couldn’t have been anyone else.

Being the utter focus of the three of them was overwhelming, but Patrick rolled with it. He moaned as Lorelei slid his sleep shirt off to join her nightgown on the floor. Patrick let his hands roam over the bare expanse of Quinn’s chest. He loved the warm feel of Quinn’s body, the broad expanse of flesh and muscle. Patrick had never thought Quinn looked like a lawyer, though Dorian always teased Quinn about being the poster child for law firms.

Quinn kissed him until he was hard and breathless, and by that time, he’d been stripped. Dorian’s body was firm against his side, and Patrick watched Quinn pull Lorelei into kiss. God, he thought they were beautiful. Lorelei’s lush body and fiery hair, and Quinn’s strong arms and arresting features. It made his heart ache to be a part of this, a part of them.

“You all right?” Dorian asked, lips trailing up Patrick’s throat.

Patrick turned to Dorian, eyes hungry and dark. “I’ve never felt better,” he moaned, and then took Dorian’s mouth in a searing, wet kiss.

Dorian moaned and practically crawled up into his lap. He ran his hands down Dorian’s back, loving that perfect taper of muscles brought on by years of dancing. His fingers moved from waist to ass, and when he gave it a squeeze, Dorian gasped back from the kiss. “Gods, yes.”

“Hey,” Lorelei pouted. “You see that, Quinn? Stole him right under our noses.”

“We’ll have to steal him back later,” Quinn chuckled, and a shift of his arm and hand made Lorelei squeak and shudder. “I have my hands full.”

Patrick glanced over to see Lorelei spread out on the floor, Quinn’s mouth at her breast while his hands worked her panties off. He moaned, turning back to Dorian, his hands massaging Dorian’s ass. “You want to feel a cock up your gorgeous ass today?” he asked, nipping at Dorian’s chin.

“I want whatever everyone else wants,” Dorian panted, rubbing himself shamelessly against Patrick. “Whatever configuration, I’ll be spectacularly happy.”

Quinn pulled off Lorelei’s nipple with a wet sound, and she cried out, arching against the carpet as Quinn sank two fingers inside her. “Lorelei’s wonderfully wet.” His blue eyes turned to Patrick and Dorian. “What do you want, Patrick? Our first Christmas morning together, what do you want?”

Patrick flushed. “Your cock in my ass.” Quinn had been his first, and he still had a soft need for the elder man he hoped would never fade. “Lorelei beneath me… and Dorian’s cock in my mouth.” He flushed, wondering if it was too selfish, too much to ask of them. “I mean, if everyone else would like that, too, for a start.” He was not so naïve as to think they wouldn’t go for a second… or third round throughout the day, all of them tasting one another in some varied way or another.

Dorian grinned at him. “And you thought you’d never be able to imagine all four of us together at once.” He brought his hand to his collarbone, making a show out of tearing up. “I’m so proud!”

Quinn laughed. “That sounds amazing, a wonderful start to our morning.” Quinn adjusted his glasses and looked down at Lorelei. “What do you say, Rory? Do you want Patrick’s thick cock stretching you open?”

“How many times have I told you to not call me Rory?” Lorelei asked, slapping Quinn’s hip.

“About as many times as I’ve called you it?” Quinn kissed her. “So? You want Patrick’s cock?”

Lorelei flushed, and with her pale skin, it was vibrant and beautiful. “Yes,” she said, glancing at Patrick. “I want his cock inside.”

Quinn motioned to Dorian. “Go grab the lube and a handful of condoms, pretty boy.”

“That means moving.” Dorian pouted for a moment and wiggled on Patrick’s lap. He was smiling an instant later, though, and with a quick kiss, he hopped off Patrick and practically danced his way back into their bedroom.

Patrick watched him with a grin, admiring the sight until Dorian disappeared around the corner. He looked down to see Quinn already offering him his hand. “Get down here,” Quinn ordered, though the words carried no sting, just that quiet authority he’d always admired.

“Join us,” Lorelei insisted, beckoning with her own hand. “I still owe you a million kisses for the mixer.”

“With all the hints you were dropping, it wasn’t a hard gift to choose,” Patrick said, laying out beside her. He kissed Lorelei softly as Quinn moved down her body, spread her legs wide. She cried out into their kiss a second later, and Patrick pulled back to moan. “Tasting you?” he asked, breathless, eyes on Lorelei’s blushing face.

“Yes!” Lorelei gasped. “God, Quinn, your tongue…”

Patrick chuckled, his hand massaging one breast, teasing the nipple, as his mouth sought the other. “Quinn is great with his mouth.”

“I learned from Dorian,” Quinn murmured, and then a low, muffled moan lilted up to Patrick, and Lorelei arched, pushing her chest against Patrick’s mouth.

“He going to make you come?” Patrick asked, nipping and sucking her nipple while his fingers played with the other.

Lorelei whimpered, one hand in Quinn’s hair, the other clinging to Patrick. “Yes!”

Patrick could easily feel the tension in her body, the way her muscles clenched, her breath caught. She was gorgeous, her pale skin flushed down to the tips of her breasts. He tugged at a nipple with his teeth, twisted the other between his fingers, and watched her. Waited. It was something he’d grown to love, the arousal just watching Lorelei come could spark.

She gasped twice, and her nails dug into Patrick’s shoulder. Quinn’s head moved quickly, and Patrick’s cock twitched at every wet sound that made it to his ears. God, he just wanted to sink into her, make her scream for him. In moments, Lorelei bucked and gave a choked cry, her limbs twitching uncontrollably as her climax washed through her. Patrick closed his eyes, moaned against her breast, and let the sounds of her pleasure and Quinn’s enthusiastic attention to her pussy.

“God, that’s fucking beautiful.”

Patrick looked up and shuddered. Dorian was leaning against the edge of the hallway, lube and condoms in one hand while the other pumped his cock. He looked like sex and seduction incarnate, and it just made Patrick all the more eager to taste him, to push into Lorelei, to feel Quinn take him. “You planning on just watching?” he asked, astonished that the words made it out with how breathy his voice already was.

Dorian pushed off the hallway wall and stalked closer. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Anything?” Patrick wondered if any of them could hear how loud his heart was pounding.

“Anything,” Dorian assured him, dropping to his knees beside Patrick.

Quinn kissed his way up Lorelei’s squirming body. “Dorian is so flexible.”

Lorelei laughed breathlessly. “You love… his flexibility.”

“We all do,” Patrick murmured, pulling Dorian against him. “And I can’t wait to see some of it in action in a moment.” Patrick let his tongue snake out and lick sensually at Dorian’s lovely lips.

“You have some crazy position planned?” Dorian asked with a shaky moan, dropping the lube and condoms in order to hold onto him.

Quinn recovered the dropped items and smacked Dorian’s ass. “Butterfingers.”

“Just have better things to do with my hands,” Dorian breathed, arching for a kiss from Quinn as his hands wrapped around Patrick’s cock and stroked.

Patrick groaned, pressing up into Dorian’s hand. “Fuck,” he moaned.

“I know,” Lorelei purred. “They’re just so lovely together.” She pushed Dorian’s hand away from Patrick’s cock, and the snatched up a condom. “I want you inside.”

Quinn grinned against Dorian’s lips. “She’s as impatient as you.”

“Shut up and kiss me again,” Dorian demanded with a tug to Quinn’s hair.

Patrick laughed and spanked Dorian’s ass until the dancer shifted over to Quinn’s very capable hands. The two of them were erotic as all get out, but the sight of Lorelei taking hold of his cock and rolling a condom down the length of him is what made his cock positively ache. “Eager?”

“Just as eager as you,” Lorelei laughed, squeezing and stroking him through the condom.

Patrick rolled over, slipping between Lorelei’s spread legs. “You think I’m eager?” he asked, nudging her moist opening with his cock.

“I know it,” Lorelei gasped, pressing down against him.

“Yeah, I am.” Patrick surged forward, filling Lorelei in one, smooth thrust. She was always so damn hot, so wet, and a moan rumbled through him. “God, Rory, you feel so damn good.”

Lorelei’s fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him down for a kiss. “So do you,” she whimpered, parting her lips and sliding her tongue into his mouth.

He could hear Dorian and Quinn moaning behind him, but all that mattered in those moments was Lorelei, the softness of her beneath him, around him. She loved him. He could tell in the way she would smile at him, the way her cheeks would flush when he’d compliment her, the way she’d go out of her way to surprise him with his favorite foods when he was stressed out about a production at work. And he had been so afraid of loving her while loving Dorian. He’d thought his heart would rip into pieces under the stress, but even after all the trials, it hadn’t broken; it had just expanded. He just hoped it came across in his own actions, his kisses, and the tender way he thrust into Lorelei again and again.

Hands moved along his back, and his eyes closed. Patrick shuddered under those strong hands. He knew those hands. “Quinn.”

“Right here,” Quinn purred in that damn sexy voice right near his ear. “I’m going slick and spread you while you love Rory.”

Lorelei cried out, and Patrick opened his eyes to the vision of Dorian sucking and pinching Lorelei’s breasts. His eyes focused on Dorian’s cock, thick and dark, and his mouth positively watered. “Yes,” he hissed as Quinn’s lubed fingers sank into his ass. “Want you all… love you all.”

“We love you, too,” Dorian replied an instant later. The quick response made everyone smile. Dorian had always been so focused on action. It was wonderful to see him finally trying to say the words instead of just letting everyone assume his feelings. “Well, we do,” he insisted with a laugh at everyone’s smiles and silence.

“Of course we do,” Quinn chuckled, curving his fingers just right inside Patrick.

Patrick threw his head back and cried out, pushing deep into Lorelei. Her nails raked down his chest as she whined, her thighs tense against him. “God, help me!”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Quinn said, lips trailing up and down Patrick’s back. “I love how tight you are.”

A flush stole over his cheeks as Patrick met Dorian’s eyes. “So I’m a tight ass?”

Dorian grinned, twisting Lorelei’s nipples so she writhed beneath Patrick. “You know it.”

“But tight means I’ll fit so perfectly,” Quinn purred, nipping at the ridge of Patrick’s spine. Those fingers were gone just long enough for Quinn to grab a condom and lube, and then Quinn’s cock was pressed to his hole.

His body protested for a few seconds, but when he forced himself to exhale slowly, Quinn took advantage and pushed inside with a careful, steady thrust. It forced a ragged cry from him, feeling that fullness after nearly a week on the giving end rather than receiving, but it was good, so good. Quinn took his time, gave him a moment to adjust before making small thrusts, setting a pace that rocked him perfectly into Lorelei.

Lorelei craned her neck, licked and sucked at his throat, and Patrick thought he would go mad with the pleasure. He moaned, lashes fluttering, and he eagerly moved back against Quinn before thrusting forward into Lorelei. Their sounds, their smells, they made his heart race, and then the wet tip of Dorian’s cock nudged his lips. He looked up. Dorian was straddling Lorelei’s face, and her mouth was around his balls, sucking and pulling at him, and Dorian’s groans only encouraged Patrick.

“Open up,” Dorian murmured. “Gods, Patrick, please…”

Patrick parted his lips and sucked the plump head of Dorian into his mouth. He shuddered. Everything swam in his head. Quinn in his ass, Lorelei around his cock, and Dorian pushing deeper into his mouth and throat. God, he wanted more. Anything. Everything. He was utterly theirs. An extension of their pleasure, their need, and he didn’t hesitate for a moment to give them all every piece of him.

“Oh, fuck,” Dorian panted, and his fingers tightened in Patrick’s hair. “Can’t… stop myself…”

Patrick only had a moment to prepare himself before his mouth was flooded with Dorian’s come, and he drank the release down, sucked even after he’d swallowed the last drop. It pulled loud cries from Dorian, cries that only served to make his own cock twitch as he thrust back and forth between Lorelei and Quinn.

“Keep sucking,” Dorian begged, tugging at his hair until he complied. “Yeah. Gods, yeah, just like that. Fuck, Patrick!”

Quinn groaned behind Patrick. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You know how good his mouth feels!” Dorian jerked, pushed his cock deep, and Patrick rode out the movement expertly. It had taken him months to do it, but now that he could, he relished the power it gave him. “And Rory’s mouth on my balls and ass only makes it that much harder.”

“Want me to stop?” Lorelei panted.

Dorian whimpered. “No.”

“Didn’t think so,” she said with a breathy laugh.

Quinn’s tongue moved along Patrick’s ear, his hands firmly around Patrick’s waist. “Reach between you and Lorelei,” he murmured. “Make her scream against Dorian’s ass.”

Patrick moaned around Dorian and sucked fiercely as he reached down, following Quinn’s orders without pause. He found Lorelei’s clit and circled it twice, loving the way the slightest touch made Lorelei buck and squirm. Quinn’s pace altered, deepening and speeding up, and he just about spent himself then and there. Only sheer willpower held him back, the need to bring everyone else pleasure before himself.

His fingers rubbed faster at Lorelei’s clit, and it only took a few of those deep thrusts from Quinn, driving him deep inside her, before she screamed, clawing at Dorian, who cried out and bucked into Patrick’s throat. It was a chain reaction, all of their bodies connected, all of their pleasures intertwined.

Lorelei came, squeezing around him in that beautiful way of hers, and Quinn’s low groan and deep thrust signaled his end. It was all Patrick needed for his own release. He trembled between Lorelei and Quinn, his come flooding the condom. The pleasure simply seared through him, and his throat went lax, allowing Dorian to push so fucking deep as he came a second time.

Patrick swallowed in order not to choke, and he felt completely, thoroughly debauched and loved. The twinkle of the Christmas lights on the tree, the scent of pine and sex, and the sounds of his lovers were all burned into his memory. This moment—inside Lorelei, Quinn deep inside him, and Dorian’s cock plugging his throat—was a moment of thorough possession. He was home. He was where he would always belong.

Dorian slowly pulled out, left him gasping, and cupped his face. He blinked slowly, dazedly, as Dorian’s face came into focus. It was when Dorian’s thumbs brushed over his damp cheeks that he realized he’d shed tears in those final moments. Dorian smiled faintly, eyes deep and full of the love he so rarely spoke aloud.

“You all right?” Dorian whispered.

Patrick swallowed thickly. “Yeah. Just… realizing how perfectly I fit with the three of you.”

Quinn hugged him tightly from behind. “It took you this long to figure it out?”

Lorelei’s hands moved over his chest and shoulders. Quinn held him close. And Dorian… Dorian’s lips pressed to his, and Patrick thought his heart would shatter under the pressure of love he felt for the three of them. But it didn’t. Nothing broke. Everything was whole and right, and Patrick laughed into Dorian’s kiss.

“No,” Patrick said, closing his eyes as he savored his life. “Took me this long to accept it.”