Flying Fish by Sedonia Guillone Guest Post & Excerpt!

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Hi guys, we have Sedonia Guillone popping in with her upcoming re-release Flying Fish, we have a brilliant guest post where Sedonia chats about her character Daisuke Minamoto. We also have a great excerpt, so check out the post and enjoy! <3 ~Pixie~

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Flying Fish

(Sword and Silk 01)
by

Sedonia Guillone

In eighteenth century Japan, during the golden age of samurai and of the Kabuki theater, young actors known as “flying fish” traveled the countryside, performing for audiences by day and giving their bodies to their samurai patrons at night.

Genji Sakura is one such flying fish, yet he dreams of finding the man he can give his heart to and leave the loneliness of his itinerant life behind. Though he loves theater, he doesn’t love every part of his profession, especially some of the patrons. So when a handsome ronin comes upon him stealing some solitude for a bath in a hot spring and their encounter turns passionate, Genji’s surprised and delighted.

Daisuke Minamoto’s past fills his life with a bitterness that grips his soul and makes him dangerous. Yet passion takes him when he spies on a graceful young man bathing naked in a hot spring. He has always loved women, but he can’t deny the call of his heart.

After an afternoon of sexual bliss, his heart and soul are tormented and torn. Keeping this miraculous lover will require giving up the one thing that has kept him alive for years: his hatred for the lord who murdered his wife. If he loves another, how will he go on and who will he become?

A Timeless Dreams title: While reaction to same-sex relationships throughout time and across cultures has not always been positive, these stories celebrate M/M love in a manner that may address, minimize, or ignore historical stigma.

Release date: 17th August 2016
Pre-order: Dreamspinner Press

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Sedonia Guillone!

The Inspiration for Our Romantic Hero, Daisuke Minamoto

Sedonia Guillone - Flying Fish Furin kazanAs you probably know, when we romance authors write a story, we have a physical image of the heroes involved. That image provides so much needed inspiration, but it’s also a sort of tribute to the person whose image we are keeping in mind. After all, if we want you to sigh and curl your toes over this hero, then as the writers, we need to feel that way too and then convey those characteristics to you so that you can enjoy the same warm, tingly feelings!

I sure hope that you will have this experience when you read Flying Fish! One side of the romantic pairing in this story is Daisuke Minamoto, a masterless samurai who has been away from his home province, having left after the feudal lord killed his wife out of jealousy and fear of Daisuke’s potential influence over his vassals (irrational, but this is the way human beings can be, sadly). Daisuke wants to avenge his wife’s death so he has travelled the land, seeking out the most skilled swordsmen to learn from them.

Sedonia Guillone - Flying Fish FK sWithout giving away too much, I will simply tell you that Daisuke’s character and physical looks are based loosely on the story of Kansuke Yamamoto, one of the great samurais of history. I learned about Kansuke Yamamoto after faithfully watching all 52 episodes of Furin Kazan, the epic portrayal of this ronin samurai’s life story, beginning when he is a scrubby young man, learning all he can about swordsmanship and strategizing, to the murder of his wife, desire for revenge, to his rise to influence and fame under the banners of the Takeda clan. Kansuke Yamamoto was beautifully portrayed by Masaki Uchino, who, as you can see here, is the perfect image for the handsome Daisuke Minamoto!

Thank you for stopping in on my tour. I hope you will read and enjoy Flying Fish and that it will make you sigh with happiness and romantic dreaminess as much as it did me while writing it. And please keep in touch. You can fine me at my website: www.sedoniaguillone.com

 

All the best, Sedonia

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Excerpt

Genji’s eyes shot open. Sunlight flooded them, blinding him for a moment. The surface of his skin crackled to life. He strained to hear, and his body tensed, ready to spring from the water for his knife an arm’s length away.

Another snap of twigs.

He sat bolt upright. “Who’s there?” he growled.

Silence.

Genji might have thought it was an animal in the brush, but his inner voice told him otherwise. It whispered to him that he shared this tiny oasis with another human being. Someone who’d been spying on him, watching him wash his hair.

Genji leaned over, slipped his hand within the folds of his kimono, and wrapped a hand around the hilt of his knife, a gift from a high-ranking samurai who had patronized Genji’s talents in the past, both on and off the stage. “Answer me,” Genji said, his voice tight. Years of acting had taught him how to infuse his tone with whatever emotion was needed for effect. In this instance, he sought for threatening. “I’m armed. I know how to use this knife.” Indeed, he could follow his threat with action. That same samurai had taught him some basic swordsmanship, in between sessions of intense lovemaking.

Silence still answered him, yet the sense of another human presence remained.

Genji slid the knife from its scabbard.

“If you don’t show yourself on the count of three,” Genji went on, gaze trained on the rocks that hid part of the brush, “I will climb from this pool, seek you out, and gut you. Don’t think I won’t do it.” Though slim and narrow in build, with finely etched muscle and not the brawn of a highly trained samurai or laborer, Genji had speed and agility. As a dancer, he’d found the principles of movement were the same.

“Relax, peasant,” a voice said suddenly from behind the brush. “I’m obeying your order.”

Genji’s insides jumped. The voice, deep and male, held a hint of mockery tinged with admiration. Though the owner of the voice hadn’t threatened his safety, Genji continued to hold his knife at the ready, should the stranger indeed mean him harm.

The leaves and branches of the brush rustled and snapped, and within seconds, a figure emerged. He came to a stop at the edge of the rocks.

Genji stared, blinking, not so much because the glare of the sun made a halo of blinding light around the stranger’s broad figure, but because when the man moved so as to block the sun from Genji’s eyes, the vision before Genji was that of a wild warrior.

Darkness. The word rose in Genji’s mind as the stranger moved a few steps closer. Dark eyes, swarthy skin, jaw and cheeks covered with more than a few days’ growth. And though his abundant black hair was pulled back, much of it had escaped its tie and rioted about his rugged face.

The man, obviously a samurai of some sort, would have been handsomely imposing had his clothing not been ragged and desperately in need of washing, even his rope sandals, though Genji felt certain that the blades of his weaponry, long sword, short, and knife, were polished to perfection within their woven scabbards. The hands that handled those weapons were large, fingers thick, and his legs in their gaiters below the hem of his kimono were also thick, muscled limbs of coiled strength.

Genji’s tanto and his limited ability to use it were a mere joke in the face of this obviously skilled warrior, however ragged and dirty his state. His fear must have shown, for the stranger gave him a sudden lopsided grin and began to untie his belt, lowering his weapons to the rocks.

“I apologize for coming upon you the way I did, like a sneak thief,” the samurai said. His hands went to the tie of his kimono and worked it open. “I thought you were a woman when I saw you from a distance, washing that hair.”

Genji exhaled a tiny bit. But only a bit. He set his tanto onto the rock behind him, an excuse to avert his gaze from the thickly muscled torso being revealed. For some reason, the man’s growing nakedness made Genji feel testy. “So you would have continued to spy on me, taking advantage of my undress, had you not seen I’m a man?”

The samurai didn’t answer though his dark gaze shifted away from Genji in a way that appeared guilty. He removed his gaiters, unwrapped his loincloth, dropping everything on top of his other ragged clothing, and Genji got an eyeful of the samurai’s musuko. Even in its softened state, the member hinted at delicious thickness when erect. The sac beneath it was equally abundant-looking, heavy and full.

The samurai leaned down, turning halfway as he began to lower himself into the water. His meaty leg and ass muscles flexed as he climbed down into the pool and settled on the other side. Genji didn’t know if there was a rock ledge to sit on over there, but he didn’t offer the space beside him in spite of this warrior’s handsome appearance. He entertained enough samurai already, nearly every evening after the day’s performances. His life was not his own, and it was a blessing for him that he loved the theater, otherwise he would have gone mad and committed hara-kiri long ago with his own knife.

Without meaning to, Genji caught a glance of the way the waterline lapped at the samurai’s chest and gleamed on the golden hue of his skin, just beneath the large dark rounds of his nipples.

“To answer your question,” the samurai said finally, “yes, I would have continued to spy on you, as crude as that may be.”

Genji blinked again, struck at the man’s honesty. That, at least, was refreshing. Not all samurai were as noble as their warrior’s code demanded they be.

“Even after you first spoke,” the samurai went on, “I wasn’t sure of your sex. Your voice is soft and gentle even though you tried to sound fierce. It took many moments of debating whether to show myself. Only when you turned around and I saw your male chest, I knew I could come out without making you scream.”

Genji continued studying him as he spoke. The samurai’s voice was deep, each word saturated with emotions. The explanation made some of Genji’s apprehension ebb, and he nodded. “I see.”

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About Sedonia

Multipublished, award-nominated author, Sedonia Guillone lives in Florida in winter and on a river in Maine in summers with a Renaissance man who paints, writes poetry, and tells her she’s the sweetest nymph he’s ever met. When she’s not writing toe-curling romances, she loves watching spaghetti westerns, Jet Li, and samurai flicks, cuddling with her cat, Molly, and eating chocolate.

She loves to hear from readers so please keep in touch.

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