Seven Minutes by Grace Kilian Delaney
Release Date: December 7, 2016
Cover art by Reese Dante
Available for purchase at
Grace Kilian Delaney author of Seven Minutes is here at Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words talking about Seven Minutes, her latest release, and answering questions on writing. Welcome, Grace!
~Our Grace Kilian Delaney Interview~
- Where do you normally draw your inspiration for a book from? A memory, a myth, a place or journey, or something far more personal? People, occupations, myths, experiences, and sometimes a turn of words can set off a story in my head. I used to love hair metal as a kid and thought the kids who liked heavy metal–not hair bands like I did–were cooler, even though I couldn’t get into Metallica (I still feel guilty over that). I gave Stone that. He was one of those growly metal singers everyone would’ve found cool, mean, and angry. Devon, who is definitely more light-hearted, is perfectly comfortable with dressing as a woman or a man and feels confident and sexy either way. With him, I dove into the side of myself that struggled with dressing and acting like a girl. I loved that Devon just accepted himself as is and wished I’d felt as liberated from gender conformity at his age.
- Are you a planner or a pantzer when writing a story? And why? I plan. My first novel is in the rewrite stage for the third time–maybe you can guess why I plan now? I find that having a basic outline and some scene ideas written down keeps me focused, even if I don’t end up in the direction I initially thought. I allow myself that flexibility. When I first began Seven Minutes I learned who Stone and Devon were, after some intense character exploration and helpful ideas from my friend, Paige Gabriel. From there I devised an outline for the story. After that point, beta readers and friends helped me keep the story focused and characters acting within their nature. Much thanks to them!
- Contemporary, supernatural, fantasy, or science fiction narratives or something else? Does any genre draw you more than another when writing it or reading it and why does it do so? I think the heart of any story is in the characters; the setting can be any place so long as the characters are well written. That being said, I prefer contemporary and supernatural romances. Fellow Dreamspinner author Santino Hassell does an amazing job exploring various personalities humanity in his Five Boroughs Series, as does Nicola Haken in Broken. I haven’t read enough supernatural m/m romance, though The Necromancer’s Dance and its sequel by SJ Himes were quite good. Oisin, Devon’s best friend (pronounced “ocean”), is touched with the gift of premonition, something I learned when exploring his character after writing Seven Minutes. I recently finished his story, which should be released sometime next year.
- Were you an early reader or were you read to and what childhood books had an impact on you as a child that you remember to this day and why? I actually remember throwing a temper tantrum when I was in elementary school because I had to read a book and write a book report. My frustration with reading changed by sixth grade, where I surpassed the expected reading grade level. I remember a book I loved at that age was The Golem in the Gears, a pure fantasy/adventure novel, where dust bunnies were a real, living thing—that sold me! From there, I got into Anne Rice’s vampire series, Stephen King’s The Shining and Pet Sematary, and Dean Koontz. Yeah, I was into hair bands and loved to be scared.
- What question would you ask yourself here? Why do I write in first person? I feel I get to know the character and what’s going on inside of his head better, though it is difficult maintaining different attributes and expressions for each character. I’ve heard of method acting and I imagine its a bit like that. I get to be these people for a moment in time and it’s perfectly sane as a writer (is a sane writer an oxymoron?). I haven’t ruled out third person and may attempt something with voice in the future.
- If you were writing your life as a romance novel, what would the title be? Love at Second Sight. I’d known my husband for three years and never thought of him on a romantic level. After not seeing him for months, we just happened to bump into each other at a club. I swear when I looked at him that night I thought “I’m going to marry him.” We’ve been together since. (Plot bunny, anyone?)
About Seven Minutes
Can love be found in seven minutes?
Heavy metal singer Stone Manson never acknowledged his attraction to men. But when he meets sexy cross-dresser Devon at a party and ends up paired with him for a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, he can’t deny his reaction. His confusion leads him to mess up—big time—with Devon, but after some soul-searching, he decides to do everything in his power to show Devon how he feels.
Devon doesn’t make a habit of dating closeted men, and he isn’t about to be anyone’s experiment. It’ll take a lot to convince him that Stone is serious about a relationship, but Stone is certainly giving it his best effort—and Devon is warming up to the idea of the hot, tattooed rock star in his bed, and maybe even in his life. And when a threat from Devon’s past reemerges, Stone might offer just the support Devon needs to get through it.
We walked into the dimly lit hallway. In the half-light, Devon’s features softened. He was… beautiful. Honestly and naturally beautiful. For the first time in fucking months, my dick decided to come to life. WTF. But he had these perfect lips that begged to be kissed, I swear. They looked so soft. And his fair skin would make any supermodel jealous. How’d he get so clean-shaven? Wax? Women waxed their mustaches…. Did he?
Internal bells and warnings went off, reminding me Devon was not a woman… well, he lacked feminine parts, but that probably didn’t make him less of a woman. I mean, women get hysterectomies and mastectomies and they are still women. So what if Devon didn’t have the parts? Everything else about him was pure feminine. Did I seriously just think that? I rambled. I never ramble.
I had seven minutes with the perfect excuse to explore these feelings. If Matty could grind away on emo boy without anyone thinking twice about it, then I could most definitely taste those lips.
“We don’t have to do anything.” He shifted, knotting his fingers together. “You seem pretty straight and—”
A loud yell came from the other room, reminding us to use tongue.
“And I’m not. So no pressure.”
Devon sucked in his bottom lip, dragging his top teeth against it. He looked scared shitless, like I might pummel him for being stuck here with me. His gaze darted around in the semidarkness. It hit some trigger inside of me, some protective urge. I’d seen that look as a kid: the fearful expression of waiting for a beating. Seeing it on his beautiful face twisted my gut.
No one better ever fucking hurt you, kid. I’d make sure of it.
He gave me the out I had hoped for. Sure, I could hang here for a few more minutes and remain completely safe, never knowing what his lips tasted like, or if his body felt as feminine as it looked, or what those long fingers felt like stroking my back—
Aw, fuck it.
My heart jumped into my throat as I leaned in and kissed him. Those intoxicating lips tasted of vanilla and a hint of the sugary margarita thing he drank. I kissed him some more, sucking on his bottom lip, running my tongue across it. He let out an approving groan, and damn if that didn’t make my dick swell. I sucked harder, and then I nipped. More sounds, moans, encouraging me to continue. Ignoring the part of my brain reminding me Devon was a dude with dude junk dangling between his legs, I parted his lips with my tongue, forcefully diving into his mouth as if he supplied my oxygen and I couldn’t get enough air.
My limbs electrified as he slammed me against the wall, pressing his hips and his groin against mine. Fucking turned me on to be thrown like that. I grabbed his waist, pulling him closer as I continued plundering his mouth. A low, hungry growl rumbled as he rutted against my jean-covered cock. Painfully hard, I welcomed the friction of those hips, wishing I could bury myself inside of him. Him. Fuck. I couldn’t feel his dick, and it disappointed me. I reached down to his front, risking being swatted away—I mean, how fucking rude is that to grab someone’s junk when KISS and TONGUE were the directions? Through our kisses, I felt him smiling.
“Let’s save that for later, sweetie.” He lapped my bottom lip before biting it just enough to shoot a jolt of pleasure straight to my groin. Holy. Fuck. I swear that move was so fucking hot, my lip blistered from the heat.
I dove in again, kissing him, running my hands along his lithe frame, feeling the curves of his body, his pert ass, forgetting all about the seven minutes until the annoying voices from the other room yelled.
Devon broke off the kiss, eyes wild and dilated. A mischievous know-it-all grin shone on his face. I stole another kiss, feeling a sense of pride knowing his lips were swollen because of me. I kissed a boy and I liked it. And I didn’t know what in fuck to do with that information… aside from push it down.
About the Author
Grace Kilian Delaney lives somewhere in paradise—mentally. In the wee hours of the morning, and with an audience of a dog and two cats, she writes about hot and horny men. Thankfully the animals don’t care if she talks to herself, which she does albeit quietly as to not wake her husband. When not writing words, Grace can be found composing music, pretending she’s an opera singer, playing piano, twisting herself into yoga positions, or sweating it out at the gym.
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