All for One and One for All, and All at Once!!
Ménage A Musketeer is an erotic mash-up of Alexander Dumas’ The Three Musketeers. It is a tale of sword and debauchery. Lusty Musketeers defend all, enjoy all, ravage and claim the women – and men – who scheme to control their destinies.
D’Artagnan would do anything to become a Musketeer, but falling in love with the grim and remote Athos wasn’t what he’d planned. Nor was falling in love with Constance, another man’s wife and an intimate of the Queen of France. For that matter, neither was falling in love with a mysterious and enchanting woman, known only as Milady.
Young, proud and hotheaded, D’Artagnan throws himself into sword battles and erotic adventures with men and women until war with England and treachery from within endangers his life. He needs to protect France’s interests while searching for Constance, his true love, who has been kidnapped. But Athos haunts his dreams and he cannot let Milady escape them either or it might break the older Musketeer’s heart and lead to England conquering France.
About the Author:
Lissa Trevor is an erotic romance writer with very few boundaries. She’s written a fictional tale of a real gigolo in The Vegas Virgin, and helped tell the story of an intersex love affair that turned into an adult movie in Going for the Gold. Not a stranger to controversy, her debut novel, Spank Me, Mr. Darcy, was a tongue-in-cheek (among other places) version of Pride & Prejudice. From LifeStyle Mirror: “Fans of classics and historical romances will appreciate this Jane Austen-meets-kink mashup, using Pride and Prejudice as the jumping-off point. Do you like bodice-ripping? Oh, there’s bodice-ripping, all right, and then some.” She steps into the erotic paranormal with her Loose-Id books Shifting Currents and Triad. She is a frequent reader at Riverdale Avenue Book’s Between the Covers events. You can find her at Website. Or on twitter @LissaTrevor. Or on Facebook
The cell Athos led him to was lit with flickering candles. A modest cot was pushed up against the wall and several empty wine bottles littered the floor. Athos pulled off his shirt with a grimace. “I come here to think sometimes.” He sat down on the bed, pushing long his hair over his other shoulder.
“How did you come by such a wound?” d’Artagnan asked, as he pulled out the balm from his belt pouch. It had a pleasing odor that stirred his cock. It reminded him of a few maids who had stroked the substance over his body and the fine time they had sliding over each other.
“The Cardinal’s men and the Musketeers are forbidden to clash.” Athos grunted when d’Artagnan soothed the cream over the healing wound. “But that does not mean we do not.”
“Why?” d’Artagnan asked, soothing more cream over Athos’ broad shoulders and scarred back. Athos body was like a canvas that d’Artagnan painted with the salve. The firm skin under his hands entranced him and he massaged the oil in a sleepy rhythm.
“The Cardinal also calls them Musketeers. But they are not one of us and they are jealous of the favor we have in court. We are forbidden to fight, but they provoke us and we do what we must.” He rolled his shoulder tentatively. “It does feel better. The pain is numbed. It no longer throbs.” Athos’ eyes closed.
“I am glad.” D’Artagnan reluctantly put the medicinal salve away. He liked touching the older man. It felt like playing with fire. His body was clamoring for a pretty maid to dip inside.
“What did Treville want with you?” Athos unbuckled his breeches, and kicked off his boots. He lay on the cot on his good side, resting his head on the pillow.
“I came to Paris to become a Musketeer. But I was robbed on the road of my papers. My father knew Monsieur de Treville and I hoped he would be able to help me.”
“The roads are full of bandits, my young hot head. I’m surprised you didn’t skewer the curs where they stood.”
D’Artagnan flushed. “I was taken unawares and overpowered. I caught only the glimpse of the man. I saw him again, this morning in the streets outside of the hotel. That’s where I was going when I so clumsily ran into you and caused you so much pain.”
“And now you have given me a cessation of that pain. I daresay we are even, if you get me a bottle of wine over there.” Athos pointed to a table that had seen better days.
“I am not trying to get out of our duel, Monsieur. I will still cross swords with you.” D’Artagnan would not have this man think he was a coward. Not this man. Not any man. But especially not Athos.
“I find the need for wine more than battle, boy.”
D’Artagnan found an unopened bottle and cast around for a clean glass.
“Never mind the pleasantries, bring it here.” Athos pushed himself up and guzzled down a swig. “Did Treville bend you over his desk before you saw the brigand today?”
“Not yet,” d’Artagnan said. “But without my papers…” He shrugged. “It was an alternative introduction. I fully declare I will become a Musketeer on my own merit, not just by the talent of my tongue.”
Athos raised an eyebrow. “You tempt me to find out how good that tongue is, but I admit I am more interested in swordplay.” He lowered his gaze to d’Artagnan’s breeches. “Let me see what Treville was so interested in and maybe we’ll cross swords in a different way.”
“What if your friends arrive?”
“They’ll have to wait their turn.” Athos swigged from the bottle. “Are you shy?” He kicked off his small clothes. “There, I have gone first.”
D’Artagnan’s eyes widened. Apparently, cock size was a requirement in the King’s Musketeers. Athos’ thick wide member stood at attention, even after a few more gulps of wine.
“Shall I undress you?” Athos glided to his feet, reaching for his sword. “I can cut you out of your garments, if you desire.”
Anticipation shook through him. D’Artagnan shed his clothes, eager for his next Paris tryst.
“And now, the swordplay,” Athos pounced on him, the bigger man moved fast. Clutching d’Artagnan’s slimmer hips, Athos rubbed his cock against d’Artagnan’s as he took his mouth in a brutal kiss.