TITLE: The God of Jazz: Fugue, Concord
AUTHOR: Varian Krylov
COVER ARTIST: Bey Deckard
LENGTH: 117,450 words
RELEASE DATE: September 16, 2016
BLURB: After years struggling to realize his dream of directing a feature film, on the final night of his fundraising campaign Godard is on the cusp of having everything he ever wanted. The man he loves is upstairs waiting for him, and he’s just a few dollars short of his GoFundYourself goal.
Then everything falls apart.
His personal and professional life in ruins, when his old nemesis from film school offers to fund his dream project if he’s willing to shoot it in Spain, Godard knows it’s a deal with the devil. But he also has nothing left to lose.
Among the labyrinthine streets of Barcelona’s Barrio Góthico, the city’s vibrant music scene, and the sun-gilt beaches of the Costa Brava, Godard begins making shooting his dream project and putting his life back together, largely under the domineering gaze and deft touch of Ángel, the god of jazz.
But Ángel is keeping a secret, and a deal with the devil always comes at a price.
Finally, the four musicians mounted the stage. After another round of introductions and applause, they jumped to it, hitting a bouncy stride that had the audience bolstering the beat with a slow clap on every third. They kept up the playful tempo for a good half hour, then sank into a sultrier vibe, winding down the frenetic energy bursting the bar at the seams, lulling us into a sensual haze.
Or was that the gin talking?
I shuffled an inch or two forward to give a little more wiggle room to whoever was swaying behind me. A couple seconds later though, the warm press of another body was back, brushing softly against my butt and upper back. My third G&T and the music had me hypnotized beyond objection. There was something innocently erotic about those moments when the music wrapped itself around the crowd in a club like a pulsing membrane.
When I felt the brush of stubble and the hot, damp breeze of breath on my neck, though, I startled and turned. Or tried to. A hand on my shoulder and one on my hip held me still. “Are you stalking me?” Ángel’s rich, smoky voice. Those four little words curled around my cock like a firm hand. No joke—just that, and the awareness of his body close behind me, feeling his hands on me, and my cock sat up and begged.
“I am. But only in the sexiest sense of the word.” I tried again to turn around. I wanted to look into his eyes so desperately it felt like the suddenly frenetic notes from the stage were performing feats of aerial acrobatics in my stomach. But he held me firmly in place. His breath tickled my ear and my impatient cock gave a hopeful twitch at the absurd hope he was about to kiss my neck. After stewing in my hot, roiling suspense a few moments, I caved in to my urge to say something. However banal. “You’re not playing tonight?”
“With them? Or with you?” Ungh. That man. This time, his nose brushed against my hair, unleashing a cascade of delicious shivers down my body. “You were hoping for an encore?”
“Yes. And you’ve kept me waiting way too long.”
“Tsk, tsk. Impatient boy.” He slipped his hand under the hem of my shirt and raked his nails lightly over my belly, driving a wild shudder through me. If we kept this up, my dick was going to be announcing my mounting need to the general public as soon as the house lights came up. “Anticipation is so delicious, isn’t it?”
“There’s one thing I know tastes better.”
He purred by my ear, prickles of want starbursting across my skin. “I remember exactly how you taste.” I gasped, my knees buckling as he slid his warm, wet tongue over my pulse point, then bit into my flesh. I fought the need to groan out loud as I felt the stiff ridge of him press and grind against my ass. “Hasta muy pronto, guapo.”
As soon as he let go, I turned around. He held my gaze for a moment, flashed a mischievous smile, then slipped away into the crush of the crowd.
Growing up near Los Angeles, I spent much of my time frolicking in the Pacific Ocean and penning angst-twisted poetry. Now I’m living in sunny Spain writing pathos-riddled fiction. Ironically, two of my favorite things are traveling, and swimming in the ocean, despite increasingly intense phobias of sharks and flying.
I’ve always loved the music and substance of words, always loved writing in well-worn notebooks by hand, tapping at the keys of the computer, and, of course, conjuring up stories.
And from my earliest memories, I’ve always been fascinated—maybe obsessed?—with sex and sexuality.
In my writing, sex is the medium, the expression, and the tool of discovery for my characters’ insecurities, the needs that drive them, the comfort they can’t live without, the joy and relish of life that makes each of them intense, strange, and alluring.
An eBook copy of The God of Jazz. Leave a comment below for a chance to win. Giveaway ends 11:59pm Eastern US time, Sept 29th.