Monday, December 13, 2010

Butterfly's Child by Alan Chin

Butterfly’s Child by Alan Chin
Published by Dreamspinner Press
Pages: 274
Buy Link:

A few years ago, while there was considerable controversy about gay couples adopting children in some southern states, I decided I needed to write something regarding gay-parented families. I wanted to make a statement that traditional, straight parents did not necessarily provide a better environment for children, and that gay couples could provide a stable, loving atmosphere where kids could flourish. This is a story I slowly, but assuredly fell in love with through the telling – mostly because of the kids.

While back in the West to attend his grandmother’s funeral, Cord Bridger uncovers two shocking revelations: his grandmother had a lesbian lover named Juanita, and he has a teenaged son named Kalin. Fate brings all three together, but to preserve his new family, Cord must leave his safe life in New York City behind to carve a living from the harsh ranch lands of Nevada.

To forge a life with Juanita and Kalin, Cord must first discover the dark secret burning a hole in Kalin’s heart. With the help of Tomeo, a handsome Japanese veterinarian, Cord travels a gut-wrenching road of triumphs and tragedies to insure his son will survive the sinister violence of his past. But as Tomeo becomes more than just a helpful friend to Cord, a new set of problems arise between Cord and Kalin that may threaten the happiness of them all.

Cord moseyed back to the porch swing and stayed there long after the rain had stopped and the boys had gone to bed. A lustrous sheen spread over the workyard as the moon peeked through the clouds. The light grew brighter as the clouds parted, revealing a full and lovely silver face and throwing down bushels of light.

The Jeep pulled into the workyard and parked at the stone house. Tomeo went inside, but he left the front door half open. A minute later a yellow light brightened the interior, and Tomeo placed the lamp near the front window.

Cord was thankful Tomeo didn’t restart the generator to have electric lights. The lamplight glow brought a quiet comfort. A figure in the window drew Cord’s attention.

Tomeo stood with the curtains falling against his bare shoulder. He had shed his shirt and leaned against the window frame. Cord studied the column of his neck, the curve of his shoulders. His gaze traveled down the length of slender torso to find a patch of white hugging the man’s waist. Yes, he had stripped down to his briefs. A smile adorned his face, which meant he knew Cord sat in the shadows, watching. His left arm raised and curled above his head, posing.

Cord sucked in his breath and held it. The lamplight turned the slightly muscular frame amber. It was the sexiest thing Cord had ever seen. It felt like a cool river flowing through the middle of his chest.

Tomeo moved away from the window, but Cord kept staring, hoping he would slip back into view.

A minute later the yellow lamplight moved to the bedroom window, spilling across the workyard. The front door still hung open. Cord’s eyes went from the door, to the bedroom window, to the door. His heart was not even thumping; the invitation was clear enough. They had come to a silent understanding by using the ancient language of flirting.

Cord hesitated another moment, listening inside the big house to insure everything was as it should be. He stood, still trying to decide what to do. He heard a window opening upstairs. He cocked his head, listening to the slight stirring from the boys. That was enough to cast a shadow of reservation across Tomeo’s open door. Still, the prospect of making love to that sexy man pulled at him—the intimate comfort, the pleasurable sharing of flesh and feelings. So intimate, so pleasurable, that he knew he would not cross the workyard.

He retreated to his own bedroom, stripped off his clothes, and settled under the top sheet. Was it absurd, he wondered, to throw away a relationship with Tomeo in order not to damage his fragile relationship with the boys? Could Tomeo be some sort of wedge? Possibly—as much progress as he and Kalin had made, their relationship was not wedge-proof.

He felt confident he had made the right decision. However, he was too excited to sleep. He lay awake in the darkness, naked, covered by the sheet. The thought of Tomeo so close, stripped to his cotton briefs, had his mind sizzling. He imagined pressing his cheek to that soft fabric, nuzzling the hardness hidden beneath. He felt his flesh turn electric; hot sensations gathered in his groin. He shook the thoughts from his head before his hand reached for his own erection.

He glanced at the nightstand. There in the moonlight, barely visible, was a book: another of Tomeo’s texts on Buddhism. His scattered readings and occasional attempts at meditation had not made him the least bit mindful. When he read the text, he thought he understood the theory—nothing is permanent, everything is in a constant state of change until it breaks down and dies, and this is why attachment to things causes suffering. But he thought about the boys asleep above him, and he wondered what was so damned wrong with attachments? Why shouldn’t we allow ourselves to love wholly and break our hearts when it changes, fades, and dies? Isn’t the ecstasy worth the pain? Or is there a middle ground? He had so many questions the book failed to answer. He wanted to talk this over with Tomeo because he felt he must be barreling down the wrong path. But he remembered the Buddha’s last remarks: be your own light, work out your own salvation with diligence.

As he stared up at the dark ceiling, he heard the back door creak, footsteps, then a tall figure slipped into his room, still wearing those white cotton briefs. He moved to the bed and knelt beside Cord. His hand slipped under the sheet, touching Cord’s shoulder, then wandering down his flank, running in a smooth arc over nipple and abdomen.

“What are you doing?” Cord whispered.

“Taking the bull by the horn,” Tomeo said as his fingers tightened around Cord’s erection.

Cord tried to protest, but before he could, his mouth was smothered by satiny lips. Surprisingly, Tomeo’s breath tasted sweet; the life rising out of his throat felt as hot as a furnace.

Tomeo slowly, passionately, sucked away Cord’s breath, and with it went his resistance. His fingers reached up, not to push away, but to stroke those sunburnt cheeks and roam across neck and shoulders. He wrapped his arms round Tomeo’s solid torso and drew him into the bed. Tomeo banged his head against the headboard, and they both stifled a laugh.

Tomeo stretched against him as their legs tangled in the sheet. Cord felt the distended fabric of Tomeo’s shorts against his belly, heat waves enfolded him, and their lips pressed into a continuous kiss. Cord was shocked at how good this man felt, as though Tomeo reached deep into Cord’s body with velvet fingers and caressed him from the inside out, setting fire to his nerve endings, making him twist and rise and arch at Tomeo’s will, like a puppet being manipulated by a master puppeteer. Cord had never experienced anything like it. Nothing before this came close.

Tomeo pulled away and whispered, “I love you, Cord Bridger, and I intend to do whatever it takes to make a life with you.”

Cord received those words all the way to his marrow. It felt satisfying and simultaneously not enough. He buried a moan in the soft of Tomeo’s throat while hugging him tightly enough to crack ribs. He needed to fuse with this hot skin and be devoured. Cord kissed the man again, kisses that said yes, yes.

And why not? What Tomeo’s books had taught him was that love is a peach. It’s ripe for the briefest time. If not picked and eaten, it falls to the ground, turns brown, and rots.

Author website:
Author blog:

Thursday, December 9, 2010

A Different Yesterday by Linda Mooney


An erotic sci-fi/apocalyptic/futuristic romance novel
by Linda Mooney
from Whiskey Creek Press Torrid
(ebook) ISBN# 978-1-60313-841-3

The Apocalypse.

It didn't come because of man's inhumanity to man. It didn't come from bombs, or plague, or even from aliens descending from outer space. In fact, no one knows what triggered it. And even if they did, there was no way to turn back time.

Only one thing was certain. One evening the sun had grown unexpectedly bigger and hotter, and heat and radiation unlike anything ever experienced washed over the Earth, bathing it in searing rays that devoured over three-quarters of the world's population.

Now the sun is smaller, and it doesn't radiate as much heat as it used to. The world is colder. Food is scarce, and people are fighting to stay alive.

Andrew Michael Tollson, aka "The Silent Wraith", was a man who roamed from settlement to outpost to city, offering his protection from scavengers and renegades. Years ago, right before the sun had exploded, when he had been a boy growing up in a small Texas town, he had felt his first crush for the little tomboy he knew as Jo. Now, as a grown man, he has finally made his way back to his boyhood home to see if Jo is still alive, or if she has been a victim of the Apocalypse. He has to know if the dreams and memories he has harbored were mere fantasies, or if the infatuation he'd felt then has grown into something else, something stronger and more tangible.

JoBeth Wythe was a member of The Triad, three leaders who protected their little settlement, and tried to recall the carefree days before the Apocalypse. All they wanted was the chance at a decent life, with enough food, some shared warmth, and a little hope for the future. She had never forgotten the pudgy little kid who had followed her around when she was growing up, the little boy she called Mikey. Every time she thought of him, it only brought back pain and a wistfulness for a past that no longer existed.

For Drew and Jo, it was only a matter of time before they would be reunited to fight together. To survive together. And to discover that the innocent kisses they had shared as children had grown into a love that would overwhelm them with desire.

Warning! Contains permanent extreme cold, love everlasting, survivalists, separation, a legend in the making, a brutal mass murder, childhood sweethearts to lovers, and the end of the world as we know it.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Draven's Crossing: Mind Games by Diana DeRicci

Author: Diana DeRicci
Cover Artist: Anastasia Rabiyah
Genre: Paranormal Erotica/Suspense/Vampire/Gay M/M
Length: Novella,  26,997 words, 75 Pages PDF
ISBN: 978-1-936165-74-2
Release Date: 12-1-2010
Heat Level: Erotic
Warnings: Violence, Gay M/M
Other Titles in this Series:
Draven's Crossing: Tempestuous Crossings
Purple Sword Publications
All Romance Ebooks

From out of the darkness, a voice calls, luring one man into a battle of the unknown.
Jackal has lived a well-guarded secret his entire life. A being of immense power, he understands and accepts the loss and emptiness of never finding a soul to love, yet endures because it is his only path. Eternal life means none who walk the earth could comfort him for long.
The only one who could understand his plight has lived for just as long: a vampire. Taken by surprise and tortured, Kristof’s agony pulls Jackal to him in the dream realm, forging a bond that is unexpected and unexplained.
But now that they’ve connected, will the darkness that hunts all para-kind in Draven’s Crossing destroy them?

Chapter One

Time. There always seemed to be time. Jackal flitted between dreams. In the surreal world of dreams, time was never an issue.
Until now.
“Who are you?” he murmured, his voice thick. He knew he was asleep, but he was being drawn irrevocably toward something.
A raw voice reached out to him. “Help me.”
Jackal frowned. His body felt sluggish. It was hard to move, like forcing his way through quicksand, or thigh-high swamp water, the silt sucking at his feet with each step. He was reaching for someone, of that he was sure. He cocked his head, listening. “Where are you?”
“Here. Please. They’re coming.” The male voice replied, plaintively filled with wave upon wave of pain and exhaustion.
He froze, his heart racing. Jackal hadn’t expected a literal answer. He’d never received one before. “Where are you?” he demanded, now getting worried. Anxiety made his words sharp. “What’s your name?”
“Kristof. I can hear you.” The words were dragging, confused. “So tired.”
“Don’t speak.” Jackal intensified his thoughts, forcing himself above the suck of the dream weave. Further disembodied, he floated, coursing through time and space. He’d had plenty of dream excursions, but no one had touched him as intrinsically as this voice. Something dire and desperate waited beyond his reach, needed his help. He knew he had to answer.
Soon, images began to form out of the swirls of his dream. Buildings. Street shapes. Sounds. A world at night.
Cautiously, he landed on a sidewalk. The chill of late night filled the air, hazy stars glinting overhead, as though seen through a thin gauze sheet of clouds. “Kristof?” The sound of his voice was a whisper between his ears. It shook him to his soul that this being was reaching for him.
A roar of pain almost threw him completely back into his own body. Staggering where he stood, Jackal shook his head. This was not normal. He could hear them, but never had a dreamer heard him, or responded, trying to reach out for him. It was almost as though he were being pulled in this direction by sheer will. Steeling himself to move forward, he let the fading tremors of pain guide him. Kristof couldn’t speak. A sense of connection lurked between Jackal’s soul and this man’s subconscious. It was the most the other man could manage, and for even that, Jackal was sure Kristof was hurting because he had to stay cognizant for the thread to remain.
“Hear me, Kristof. Help me find you.”

Friday, December 3, 2010

New Christmas Story: ALL THE WAY by Giselle Renarde

Okay, so I'm not the most impartial person to say this (considering I wrote the book) but I love ALL THE WAY! It's not just the family fun and Christmas-ness of the's also the SEX! The final sex scene in particular gets me every time. When I reread the manuscript a few months after finishing it, I kind of thought, "Did I really write that? Wow!"

Anyhoo, if you're in the market for a funny, sexy, MMF Ménage-y, Christmas-y read, I recommend my new release ALL THE WAY. Here's the blurb and an excerpt:

All the Way
by Giselle Renarde

eXcessica Publishing

Buy Link:

When Josie invites her long-ago boyfriend Kaz to stay with her family over the holidays, there are a few things she doesn't anticipate. Kaz admitting he's still a virgin after all these years? That's a weird surprise. Her husband Rob's attempt to give Kaz a little relief in the hot tub? A weird and very sexy surprise. But what about the threesomes in the attic, bedroom, and living room, followed by Josie's jealousy when Kaz falls for her older sister? Nope, she didn't see that one coming.

Warnings: This title contains graphic language and depictions of M/F sex, M/M sex, and M/M/F ménage.

Adult Excerpt from "All the Way":

Josie ran across the deck in flip-flops, kicking them off as she threw her towel over the cleared deck chair. The cold didn’t even manage to catch her up before she could slip her skin beneath the surface of the warm, warm water. It bubbled away like a witch’s brew as she leaned into the jets next to Rob. She reached for his hand as he reached for hers, and they found each other’s thighs instead, which was just as good. Kaz sat across from them, which seemed fortuitous. Even together in the same hot bubbles, they could get away with murder under the hydric hum of the tub.

“Your head’s not too cold?” Rob called to Kaz over the noise.

“Huh?” Kaz replied, placing a hand behind his ear. “I can’t hear you.”

“Perfect,” Rob whispered to Josie as he slipped his fingers between her legs.

Kaz shrugged and closed his eyes, at one with his jets. His seat was roughly the same as Josie's, with water flows attacking the stress in her lower back, upper back, mid back, not to mention her butt cheeks. The one thing Kaz didn’t have was a husband’s naughty fingers creeping under turquoise bathing bottoms.

The wetness that dear hubby came across was more than just pool water. It was the very nectar of Josie’s lust for him. God, she wanted him so bad! But she couldn’t very well mount her man with Kaz across the way, even if his eyes were closed. What she could do was squirm out of her bottoms and hold them tight in one hand while she worked her way down to Rob’s cock with the other hand. The very solidity of it made her gasp—or perhaps that was the fingers slowly stroking her clit.

Though she tried not to make much noise while he played with her pussy, it wouldn’t make much difference over the jets. She took a firm hold of his cock, dragging her hand up to the tip until she could feel that skin-on-skin sensation she loved so much. Handjobs were fun, both giving and getting. She opened her legs wide, tossing her thigh over Rob’s as he snuck a wayward finger into her wet slit. Pressing her lips together, she breathed in hard. As he pierced her and penetrated her body with his fingers, she set his cock against her outer thigh and gave it a good smack. Rob loved that; she could see it in his eyes. He reached up deep inside her to rub that sweet spot marked with a g and Josie went wild.

Pressing his palm flat against her clit, he rubbed it in circles. Josie almost felt guilty. There was no way what she was doing to him even half equalled the pleasure he was giving her. Wrapping her fist around his cockhead, she teased the tip alone, pulling on it while she cupped it in her hand. Rob liked being hard in her hands. He like the pressure and the jerking. She liked it too. She liked the rubbing feeling inside her body compounded by the swirling motion on her clit as he stroked it in circles.

Her pleasure mounted as she watched the enjoyment on his face. His lips formed the words I love you before he threw his head back in ecstasy. He held on tight to her pussy, like he’d caught her with a curiously finger-like fish hook. She writhed against his static hold, never letting go of his cock as she ground her pussy against his hand. His palm on her clit felt so good beyond good she couldn’t contain herself. Just as a wayward cry escaped her lips, the hot tub clicked and she knew she had to shut her mouth because the bubbles were going to stop in three…two…one…


Kaz opened his eyes wide.


Monday, November 29, 2010


You’re invited to the galaxy’s most prestigious beauty pageant.
Clothing optional.
Romance and danger…fully provided

ISBN-13: 978-1-61124-011-5 (Electronic)
ISBN-13: 978-1-61124-995-8 (Paperback)

Amber Quill Press - Amber Heat


Cocky young detectives Gerry Rappeneau and Sebastian Thorpe-Campbell arrive at the premier lunar resort expecting a week of eye candy and long massages. With a half-billion-credit purse up for grabs, this year’s pageant is the focus of a hundred worlds. And beauty isn’t the only thing in the eye of the beholder.

One contestant, Evelyn Lyons, is attacked and her assailant killed. Surely a simple case of a stalker gone mad, as nothing bad ever happens at the Selene contest. So the brochure says.

The closer Gerry gets to Evelyn, the more he is convinced she’s hiding something. His meticulous character sparks with her wild, sassy nature, and they embark on a torrid affair. Their forbidden romance isn’t the only thing set to ignite in Pont de Reves.

Sebastian’s infatuation with demure Claire Villiers, another contestant, threatens to put all four of them in harm’s way.

A deadly trail of corporate conspiracy, monstrous assassins and hot bikini wax is more than anyone bargained for in this incendiary erotic mystery. Get ready for some serious heat on the dark side of the moon.


Evelyn’s self-esteem soared like a rocket into space as she gazed into Gerry’s dark blue eyes. All the need and desire that filled him shone through. She liked him, maybe even more than that if she were honest, and had wanted him from the moment his pompous ass walked into her hotel room. Being with him and initiating sex tonight was the right thing for her to do.

Gerry wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her closer, as if he sensed how frail she was at that moment.

A sigh escaped her. Damn, his hard chest felt good against her achy boobs, but not as good as his rigid cock nestling into her belly.


“Don’t talk.” She hadn’t heard that name in a long time, not since her father was murdered.

He nodded and traced his index finger along her bottom lip. She nipped the tip, then sucked it in, tonguing the pad until he groaned.

“Ah, Ev—” He caught her face in both of his hands and kissed her with a passion that ignited her like none other.

His tongue toyed against the seam of her mouth and she willingly opened to welcome him. He delved in, a beautiful taste of wine and herbs, lapping and swirling until her knees trembled. With a regretful sigh, she pulled away.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Shh. No talking. It’s my little quirk.” She gently tapped his mouth, then took his hand and led him closer to the purple sand. After she stooped, she patted the floor, inviting him to join her. He made short work of sprawling out and laid his arms at his sides.

Evelyn rose up on her knees and combed her hands down his chest, flicking his nipples until they sprang to life. Intrigued by their stiff peaks, she swiped her tongue over her dry lips and leaned into him, licking and sucking the copper-colored discs.

She continued lower to the blond tuft cradling his cock. Gently, she glided her thumb over his swollen head, teasing the drops of pre-cum from the slit to the sensitive underside. Her other hand cupped his balls, rolling the tight sacs with her fingers, taking pleasure in her teasing.

His hips jerked with each light touch. He fisted his hands and dug his heels into the floor. Through hooded eyes, he watched, but did as she had requested and maintained silence.

On a rush of air, she gave his lips a quick peck and eased over him, holding her thighs tight against his lean frame. Heat emanated from his body, soothing and stimulating, a new awareness she longed to experience more than just once.

Her breasts swayed mere inches from his mouth. He stretched up and tweaked her pebbled nipples with his thumbs and index fingers. Cuddling them together, he licked and suckled the sensitive tips, first one, then the other. A deep shiver rocketed through her, increasing the ache low in her belly.

She teased his cock along her nether lips, loving the feel of his hot flesh grazing against her clit. In slow motion, she edged onto his shaft, savoring the inches that penetrated her wet vagina.

He rocked into her, clutching her hips, holding her in place. She locked her hands around his wrists and pulled them away, the need to set the pace paramount.

Time stood still. The only sounds in the room were their pants and grunts as they ground against each other. He stopped mid-thrust, his face set in a grimace.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “This is so sexy I don’t want to come.”

“I do.” She slapped his hip. “Again and again.”

Rising up on her knees, Evelyn again found her momentum and rode him harder, faster, loving the feel of him pounding inside her. Her breath hitched as he thrust higher, deeper, tapping her womb, the sensation sublime.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her body tensed. She gritted her teeth, unable to control the emotion skyrocketing through her...


Sloane Taylor
Sweet as Honey...Hotter than Hell

Saturday, November 27, 2010

New Release: ONLY ANGELS by Giselle Renarde

Have you been cataloguing your tears waiting for the release of a new book about not-so-saintly angels? How about an exclusive cougar club packed with firm, young, heavenly bodies who will jump at any opportunity to please an older woman? Well, maybe the book you've been waiting for is ONLY ANGELS, my newest release from eXcessica Publishing!

Jim Tate embodies sex and power. He lusts after everything with tits, and nobody turns him down—not even Helena, and she’s been married to him for more years than she cares to remember! She’s always told herself she doesn’t mind him screwing the maid right there in their living room—Hell, she’s been at it with the cook. Who is she to judge?—but the constant comparisons to other women’s pert young bodies becomes more than she can handle.

When Helena follows her best friend Deb to a top-secret cougar club, she figures it’s just one more underground hook-up joint for older women and the hot young guys they crave. No surprise to find the place populated with golden chests and gorgeous faces. No surprise to meet a sweet and sympathetic virgin called Sandy. The surprise comes when he exposes his huge pair…of stunning white wings! The posh club is called Only Angels, and this is where Helena’s adventure begins.

Warnings: This title includes graphic language, explicit sex, and multiple partners.

Word Count: 21,900

Buy Link:


Power and sex.

That’s what everybody saw in Jim Tate. They didn’t even have to look at him to feel it. His magnetism was so profound, it shaped the air around him. If he were standing behind you in an elevator, you’d sense him there even before you picked up the refined spice of his unfathomably expensive cologne.

When he checked out your black nylon legs in high-heeled shoes, every molecule around you would get hot. So hot, you’d think it was the devil himself taking you from behind. When you turned to make sure the fires of hell weren’t burning in back you, your impression would be confirmed with one glance of the distinguished Mr Tate.

He wouldn’t smile at you. Juicy smirks were for sleazeballs. You’d be nonetheless drawn in by what you might read as an expression of contempt. He looked like he was above nature. He looked like he was better than you. He was quality, better than any man you’d ever seen, let alone been to bed with.

You would stare at him without meaning to. You’d try to look away, but you’d find him so impossibly alluring you’d go right on imagining the prick of his black goatee against your chin. He wouldn’t lower himself to kiss you. He wouldn’t have to. When his striking gaze penetrated you, almost by accident, you would lose all control.

The man had purple eyes. There they were: mauve flecked with green and gold. They were stunning. You couldn’t keep from launching yourself at him. You would feel like a stupid schoolgirl throwing herself into the arms of a sexy teacher as you planted a kiss on his lips, but even your embarrassment wouldn’t stop you.

His tongue would be at once sharp and warm as he returned the embrace. He would hold your head in his hands with such force you’d worry he might crush your skull. He wouldn’t harm you. This was a controlled burn. Nevertheless, and though he knew precisely what he was doing, you’d be scared out of your wits.

* * *

Buy ONLY ANGELS now from eXcessica Publishing or All Romance ebooks!

Sunday, November 21, 2010

What You Don't Confess by KC Kendricks

What You Don't Confess
Contemporary gay romance
available at

Bright and beautiful, Cassidy Barlow is one of Marionville’s new breed of movers and shakers. Outspoken on political and social issues, Cass draws a lot of media attention, and knows how to us it. Out and proud, Cass makes no apologies for who he is, or who he wants – and he wants Dylan Donoghy. The only thing is, from where Cass stands, Dylan seems to be involved with two different men.

Coming out. The most difficult phrase in Dylan Donoghy’s vocabulary. Handsome, successful, wealthy, he’s made it this far in life with only his closest friends knowing he’s gay. Dylan has a good reason for that to change – his deepening attraction to Cassidy Barlow. It doesn’t come easy, but Dylan takes a few first steps out of the closet. It’s his only choice if he wants to be with Cass, even though he knows Cass has some secrets of his own.

Every man has a private past, and an unwritten future. What he won’t confess stands between the two.


“You do know those four watchdogs of yours were there the entire evening, don’t you?”

I nodded. “They like to keep an eye on me. Obviously, it didn’t discourage you at all.”

His hand gripped my shoulders again. His amber gaze drilled into mine. “Just so I don’t step in it, Dylan, how many of them have you slept with? And don’t lie to me.”

I fought back against of wave of anger. How dare he imply I’d not tell him the truth? Being astute, he knew he’d pissed me off. I saw the apology in his eyes as he touched his fingertips to my lips.

“That didn’t come out right, Dylan.”

“ Apology accepted. Before today, I might have told you it was none of your business, but now I think you should know. We’re no longer intimate, but I have a very close, special relationship with both Travis and Tyler. I’m very happy for them that they both found a partner.”

“That’s what I figured out Friday night when they spent all that time running in and out of an area marked ‘private’. Especially Templeton.”

“Don’t test me too often, Cass. I don’t like it.” I spoke sharper than intended, but he needed to know my boundaries. “There’s a lot of space between your age and mine. Be careful not to judge until you get to where I am.”

Those restless hands of his skimmed along my sides. “I’m not being judgmental, I swear. I just needed to know what the dynamics are between you and them so I don’t put both feet in my mouth.”

“Okay. I get it. And for what it’s worth, all four of them, especially Travis, is rooting for you.”

“Really? He’s in my corner, is he?” Cass tucked his fingers under my belt and tugged. I levered my weight off the door and stepped past him, capturing his hand to pull him into the casual space I used for informal gatherings.

“He’s using tough love on me when it comes to you, so don’t be shocked, or surprised, at his little quips. Have a seat.”

Cass eased down on the love seat and patted the spot beside him. I ignored him, and went to the bar. “What would you like to drink?”

“Ginger ale?”

I nodded and poured two, handing his to him with an apology it didn’t come in a brandy snifter as I settled in beside him. I stopped him when he moved to put his arm around me.

“You’re killing me here, Dylan.”

“No, I’m not.” I sipped my drink. “Cass, I don’t want to make a misstep with you. I know what you want tonight, but what do you want next week? Or next month? Christ, what do I want next week?”

He leaned back and watched me with those amber eyes. His cool, even regard gave little indication of his thoughts. Cass downed his drink in three fast swallows, then swirled the ice around in the bottom of the empty glass.

“Do you always think everything to death, Dylan?”

“It’s a hazard one encounters in middle age.”

“I’m not some mistake you’ll regret when you’re ninety.”

I laid my hand on his thigh. The heat of his skin penetrated his jeans, and snaked up my arm. “You’re right, you know. I won’t regret meeting you, whether dinner is all we share, or we become friends, or if we become lovers.”

“Or? If? I don’t appreciate being jerked around.”

“Well, poor little you that I haven’t figured this out yet.”

Cass’s mouth dropped open, then snapped closed. He stared at me, blinked, and stared again. I reveled in private glee that I’d seen him speechless twice in one day, but that amusement was strongly tempered by the knowledge I had him too far off balance. I squeezed his knee.

“Look, Cass. I’m not jerking you around. Getting involved with someone isn’t easy for me. I’ve never been someone who gets a hard-on for a guy and loses my mind until I fuck him. I have to think things through, and consider the impact it may have on my life.”

He shook his head. “Babe, you’ve got to start living in the moment, and stop living in fear.” Cass set his empty glass down on the end table and stood. With angry, disappointed eyes, he met my gaze. A muscle moved in his clenched jaw.

My heart beat painfully. I knew what he was going to say...

ISBN-13: 978-1-61124-020-7
Contemporary gay romance
available at

This title is also available as part of the Stepping Out PAX available at
KC Kendricks
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Wednesday, November 17, 2010

New Release! First Christmas by Diana DeRicci

Author: Diana DeRicci
Cover Artist: Anastasia Rabiyah
Genre: Paranormal Gay Erotic Romance/Shapeshifter/Werewolf/Christmas
Length: Novella, 18,696 words, 54 pages PDF
ISBN: 978-1-936165-64-3
Release Date: November 17, 2010
Heat Level: Erotic
Warnings: Gay Male/Male

Purple Sword Publications
All Romance Ebooks

A stranded wolf. A cougar shifter to the rescue. Can the magic of one Christmas cure both their pain and loneliness?

xhausted and injured, Jason is driven as a rogue wolf right into the arms of Lyndon, a man that by all he knows, he should never reveal his heart to. Yet when patience and compassion prove size can hide the heart of a gentle giant, a wounded Jason begins to heal. And to love again.
Snow fell in thick-flaked flurries, the windows iced in the corners in splintered patterns. Christmas carols played in random order from the CD disks Lyndon had inserted in the stereo. He loved the traditional carols, Bing Crosby being among his all time favorites.
No one could croon like Bing, Lyndon thought.
The evening grew dark with early night, and he sat in his favorite rocker reading in front of the fireplace. He’d learned to dismiss the derision at appearing like an old man because of his holiday habit. No one else had to know, and honestly, no one else did. Since his father died, he had no family to see, and doing more for Christmas than the small tree in the corner and enjoying the calm quiet when he was snowed in, just didn’t appeal to him.
But then again, most cougar shifters were solitary people to begin with. They didn’t congregate at huge family reunions. They were family oriented, but more of a nucleus family, not the in-laws’ cousins’ fourth removed and the subsequent divided tree limbs of family.
Tilting his head, he closed his eyes, catching the woeful howl of the wolf pack. Their songs bounced over the snow, keen and clear. He listened until it faded, then like a loop, started again. Except, their howls had changed, became hard, aggressive growls.
He sat up. That wasn’t like them, and they sounded very close.
Standing, he set the book in his hand on the mantle and walked to peer out his window. Limping out of the trees, he saw the blurred form of a wolf, hobbling.
The howls started again, and this time it was a hunting cry.
He knew the poor creature on the snow was the harried game. Grabbing his heavy jacket by the fire, he leaped into his snow boots, strapping them down, listening to the wolves’ cry.
He darted through the house, leaving by the side door of the mudroom, circling back around, searching the tree line where he’d seen it. Gray dusk made the snow seem even thicker as it fell, but he could just make out movement yards ahead of him.
The animal had stopped, though streams of steam proved it still lived. He didn’t recognize this one from his studies, and he’d catalogued over forty-five different wolves in the local packs. His home, an old look-out cabin, sat nearly on the border of their two territories, so every now and then, he actually could watch both, but for the most part, they avoided each other’s land.
Cutting through the snow, he listened, the howls coming closer. His hands were beginning to chill, and he stuffed them in his pockets, his fingers digging, but coming up empty. No gloves. He remembered. They were on the shelf drying out from his last foray outdoors. Couldn’t be helped, he was halfway to the panting animal.
Gray eyes focused on him as he neared. It didn’t attempt to escape, it didn’t snarl, and it didn’t become defensive. It laid there. Studying it as he drew closer, he knew this one wasn’t one of the wolves from either pack. He could also see what the problem was. A bloody paw was packed with snow and debris.
“Poor baby,” he murmured. “Found an old trap, didn’t you?” Cautiously, he eased his way forward, its gray eyes staying focused, yet its demeanor never changed. His brow furrowed. “You can’t be a wild wolf. You’d have tried to take my head off by now. I hope you’re not a release wolf that hasn’t found his footing.” He’d have to radio the conservation center when the storm blew over to see if this one resembled one of their release wolves.
A snarl whipped his attention over his shoulder. Three sets of eyes. Pissed off eyes glared at him. He growled low in his chest, hissing. The wolves were completely confused, tails in the air, full battle gear locked and loaded.
Not turning his back on the three, he crouched and gently lifted the animal from the cold snow. It hung limp as a rag in his arms. “Definitely not wild,” he breathed, the words forming as clouds in the bitter cold. “All right, let’s see what we can do about your foot.”
He had to take the chance to turn away from the watching trio to get back to the cabin. Golden lights soothingly glowed through the frosted glass window in the front. The wolves that had been chasing his cargo stayed behind in the trees, sharp snaps and punctuated growls voicing their displeasure as he took away their game.
“Too bad.”
But they didn’t follow him. The wolf’s forefoot was a mess. With a glance, he hoped it was really only packed and not badly injured. It would be a shame that a release wolf would have to be reclaimed because of an injury like this. Nudging his way into the mudroom, he used a shoulder to secure the door then laid the wolf on a pile of summer rugs.
It whimpered once as its body settled. Gray eyes closed. Taking a quick inventory, he realized there wasn’t a tag on this wolf anywhere. Hm. Not a release wolf? He stood slowly, still being cautious with the animal, but it seemed absolutely unconcerned with its eyes closed, resting, to anything Lyndon might do.
He slipped from his jacket and hung it on the peg near the door, doing the same with his boots, ready for him on the floor.
Now, he was definitely curious and concerned about the wolf before him. Not a release wolf, but way too docile to be a wild pack wolf. Lyndon couldn’t remember any like this one, ever.
Kneeling, he lightly touched it, waiting for a reaction, but all it did was open its eyes. “You aren’t wild, are you?” he asked quietly. “Is that why they were chasing you? Because you’re not wolf?”
It raised its head with a jerk, startled eyes sharpening and focusing on him.
“Thought so. You don’t have to shift if you don’t want to. I know it’s uncomfortable when you don’t know where you are, and the injury won’t shift well with you. If it helps, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a researcher. A cougar shifter with an affinity and divine love of wolves.” He smiled warmly. “Okay, before I talk you to tears—casualty of living alone during the winter—let me see if we can get your paw cleaned up.”

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

A Lesbian Sip: Defining Moments by Giselle Renarde

by Giselle Renarde

Devra remembers the exact moment she realized she was a lesbian. When she talks to her girlfriend Priti about growing up as a child of the eighties, she's flooded by memories of pretending to be just like all the other girls. Devra's known she was different nearly forever, but what about Priti? Even now, sleeping with Devra every night, she refuses to identify as a lesbian. Will a war of words ruin their cozy winter evening together?

There were certain conversations that never took place in the summertime. The sun might pride herself as the great elucidator, but winter was the season of humble introspection. When outside it was bitterly cold, what else was there to do but curl up in bed together, to kiss and touch and writhe in unison, then bask in the warmth of each other's bodies?

When snowflakes like cotton balls fell from the sky, Devra wrapped her arms and a fleecy blanket around Priti's shoulders and kissed her hair. Sighing, Priti rolled onto her back and gazed out the window. The streetlights made the falling snow glow bright white against a backdrop of blue.

"How did you know you liked girls?" Priti asked.

Devra was somewhat amazed the topic had never come up before. "You mean when did I first know?" she clarified.

"Yeah. Did you have a Eureka moment where you were like, 'Aha! I'm a lesbian?'"

She recognized it was meant to be a joke, but Devra ruminated nonetheless. "Not exactly. I mean, yes, sort of, but I wouldn't have used those words at that time."

"Why not?" Priti asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. "Because you didn't want to be pigeonholed or grouped into somebody else's narrow definition of sexual identity?"

Devra propped up her head with the palm of her hand. "No. Because I was five."

Buy Now from Torquere Press!

Oh, I almost forgot: Torquere Press asks us authors if we'd like to provide "author extras" to help promote our books. An author extra can be anything from a story behind the story to an additional scene that didn't make it into the book. For "Defining Moments" I decided to write up an extra scene to share with you. Here it is!

Author Extra:

As Priti cuddled her cheek against Devra’s shoulder, Devra reflected on
childhood hours spent in front of the TV. Every Friday night, Dad would
fire up the VCR. They’d eat pizza and pop and chips -- all special treats
-- and the whole family would watch the same set of animated classics.

“I never knew why,” she told Priti, “but something always bugged me about
those movies: the brave prince, the useless princess, the heteromance… it
all made me feel a bit nauseous.”

“Nauseous?” Priti giggled and nuzzled Devra’s neck. “That’s silly. I
learned English from those movies. I still like them.”

How could someone Devra loved so deeply have such lousy taste? She drew a
long breath to figure out exactly what she was trying to say. “Even when I
was a little kid, I watched those happily-ever-after prince-and-princess
movies and I knew that wasn’t everybody’s story. I remember turning to my
parents one time and saying, ‘Not everybody is like that.’ They didn’t know
what the hell I was talking about, of course, so they asked, ‘Not
everybody’s like what?’ But at that age, I didn’t know what I meant either.
I didn’t know what a lesbian was yet, I just knew I didn’t want to be that
princess or grow up to marry that prince.”

“I wanted to be a princess,” Priti said. “I wanted to be rich and wear long
silk gowns, and get presents and dance all night.”

Even if Priti’s words were true, Devra didn’t want to hear them. She
especially didn’t want to hear the answer to her next question, but she
asked it anyway: “What about the prince? Was there a prince in your little
girl fantasy?”

Priti looked away quickly, and shrugged her shoulders just as fast. “I
wanted to be the princess. Every princess marries a prince.”

Sunday, November 14, 2010


Once Upon A Secret by Christiane France ISBN-13: 978-1-61124-016-0 (Electronic)
The last thing Luke Fiorelli wants to do, being a member of a close-knit immigrant family living in the Italian neighborhood of a small town, is embarrass or upset them by openly declaring his sexuality. Moving to the big city isn’t an option for a couple of reasons: partly because he owns a successful landscaping business, and partly because his family wouldn’t understand him relocating on what they would interpret as a whim. So, by convincing himself that his strait-laced father would kill him if he ever found out about Luke’s sexuality, and satisfying his needs with the occasional weekend trip out of town, Luke has never had a problem keeping that part of his life a deep, dark secret.
That is, until he meets handsome and openly gay Travis Barrington III. The attraction between the two men is strong and instantaneous, and suddenly Luke is scrambling to invent even more excuses to keep his secret.
Travis, however, knows all about secrets and the harm they can do, but can he convince Luke to accept that and step out into the light?
…He (Travis) set one of the cans on the ground beside Luke and sat down next to him. “Finished measuring already?”
“No, I’m thinking.”
“That great big hole. It’s far too large for a lily pond, so the first thing I’ll need to do is hire a bulldozer to fill it in and also level the ground. I can’t do anything until that’s been done.”
Travis popped the tab on his can and took a sip. “And when that’s finished?”
“I’ll make a start on the patio. I’ll need you to select the tiles you want and you’ll have to let me know your preferences when it comes to things like columns and statues. I can bring you some catalogues, or you can check them out yourself on the Net.”
“Sounds good. And I checked the cost estimates you left on the table. I know they’re rough and subject to change, but they seem very reasonable to me.”
Luke looked at him and grinned. “So, do we have a deal?”
“Sure do. Shake on it?” Travis held out a hand.
Instead of taking his hand, Luke hesitated. The grin disappeared and his expression turned serious, giving Travis the feeling Luke was about to put an end to the tension between them by saying something he didn’t want to hear. Like making it clear this was business and nothing more. But then a faint smile softened Luke’s features, and he said, “Why don’t we kiss on it instead? It’s what we both want, right?” If Luke had wanted to surprise Travis, he’d succeeded. Kissing Luke had been his number one fantasy for weeks. Even so, it took Travis a couple of seconds to convince himself he was not imagining things, and that Luke had actually spoken the words aloud.
“You really want me to kiss you?” Travis asked, feeling his body react at the thought.
“That’s unless you have some kind of objection.”
Travis rubbed the pad of his thumb over Luke’s so very kissable lips. “There’s no easy way of me asking this, but—“
“Is this the first time for me?” Luke parted his lips and Travis felt the insistent glide of Luke’s tongue against his thumb. “No.”
Travis replaced his thumb with his mouth, and as he gently brushed his lips against Luke’s, every nerve in his body sprang to life. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he murmured, aware of the slight quiver to his voice as he put his arms around Luke and drew him close. “I’ve wanted it to happen. I’ve wanted it for weeks, and I can’t tell you how much, but I was beginning to think it never would. Why…”
Suddenly, Travis didn’t care why only that it was. Luke was in his arms, Luke’s tongue was seeking entry into his mouth, and it was Luke’s hands that were urgently stroking his cock. He was so hard and so ready, he desperately wanted release, but first, he wanted to feel the hot, wet silk of Luke’s tongue and lips take possession of his aching shaft and draw it into his mouth. Only then did he want Luke to suck and tease and slowly push him over the edge.
“Stand up,” Luke whispered. “Your pants are in my way.”
Excited by the way Luke was taking the lead, Travis did as he asked and the next thing he knew his track pants were down around his ankles and Luke was sliding a condom over his erection.
“Spread your legs a little,” Luke instructed.
“So you have done this before,” Travis said, wishing Luke would just get on with it. The ache in his cock was nothing to the pain in his balls. He was so hard, so tight, he was ready to burst.
“A time or two,” Luke agreed as he reached between Travis’s legs and added to the agony by squeezing his balls.
Travis held his breath, wondering what in hell Luke was waiting for. But then Luke turned him around and he felt Luke’s fingers exploring his crack, spreading his ass cheeks and inserting what felt like a wet finger into his hole.
After a moment, Luke straightened and wrapped his arms around Travis from behind.
“I want to fuck you,” Luke said quietly. “Will you let me do that?”

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Cuff Divers by Giselle Renarde

Lesbian Erotic Romance
Buy Link:

Parents...sheesh! Don't you just hate it when they set you up with the lesbian cop across the street?


Christina's parents hate that she's still single. They've long accepted that their daughter is attracted to women, but wish she had someone special in her life. They're constantly looking to set her up. Nicole, the neighbors' butch granddaughter, is in the same situation. Thus begins a multi-family quest to pair up the lesbians. Christina never pictured herself settling down with a police officer--especially not one in the itinerant Underwater Search and Recovery Unit. The more she talks with Nicole, the more attractive putting down roots with her feels. Could this parental matchmaking conspiracy actually work?

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-60054-568-9
lyd Category: FemErotica
Length: 31 pdf Pages / 4679 words
Rating: 3
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html,lrf, epub, RB,
Ebook Cover Price: $2.00


The only thing louder than her mother’s purple leopard-print sweater was the ticking of the mantle clock. Christina watched its thin black hands struggle forward, like time itself was tugging them back. This visit had officially lasted forever, and Mom hadn’t even peeled the potatoes yet!

“Is there anything I can help with?” Christina asked. “To get dinner ready, I mean. I don’t want to stay too late tonight…”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” her mother interrupted. “We’re having dinner with the Garners from across the street.”

A heavy sigh escaped Christina’s lips, and her father cleared his throat as a warning to can the “attitude.” Next time he might scold her using actual words.

“Who the hell are the Garners from across the street?”

Her father cleared his throat again; so thoroughly this time he brought on a coughing fit. Mom got up and whacked him on the back until the hacking subsided, but he turned around to say, “How the hell is beating me senseless supposed to help a cough?”

Christina bit her lip to keep from laughing as her mother waved away her father’s criticism and then opened the front curtains. Just as the afternoon sunlight began to filter in, a string of vehicles pulled up to the house across the street.
Creeping toward the window, Christina asked, “What’s with all the cars? Do they have the secret service following them around or something?”

With an overblown laugh, Mom placed an arm around Christina’s shoulder. “Oh, you are funny. Isn’t she funny, Henry?”

Dad grunted an affirmation.

“No secret service,” Mom went on. Christina watched through the window as kids and adults in their Sunday best carried casseroles covered in tin foil up to the house. “The Garners are having a potluck. Their granddaughter received a medal today. There was a ceremony and everything. Oh, the Garners are so proud! You should hear the way they talk about her.”

Her mother’s voice faded into white noise as another car door opened across the street. Out stepped a woman, young—probably around Christina’s age—wearing a deep blue suit jacket with silver buttons. Her full police regalia decorated with all the badges and emblems of the provincial force, plus a medal of valor on her lapel. She ran a hand through raven hair nearly cut to the quick before setting a hat on her head and closing the car door. Her stature was diminutive, but her face was plump and her skin sun-drenched. Christina’s stomach quaked at the sight of the woman’s pouting pink lips as she smiled and hugged various family members who’d come to congratulate her. In that pressed and perfect uniform, she looked official yet approachable.

Christina had never been a fan of the police in general, and she tried to shake off her obvious attraction like a dog shaking water from its coat. It wasn’t like her to find appeal in a uniform, but she couldn’t deny her fascination with the officer across the street. “What did…” Christina stammered and tripped over her words. “What did she do…I mean, the medal…what is it for?”

Her mother winked. “Well, why don’t you ask her yourself when we go over there?”
Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!

Visit me online

From October 1st until December 31st 2010, all royalties earned from the purchase of Red Satin, Third Rail, and The Little Burlesque House by the Sea will be donated to LGBT YOUTHLINE. For more info, click here!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

FRENCH TART by Sloane Taylor

French Tart
ISBN 978-1-60168-281-9
Contemporary Erotic Romance



Determined to prove herself and shed her party girl image, Donatienne Dubois pins her hopes on the exclusive cooking school in Nice, France. One by one her expectations are shattered by a foul-mouthed parrot, a bogus Michelin chef, and a headmistress with a heart of tungsten steel. Her lifesaver is a bad boy hunk too hot not to handle.

Sebastien Reinard is incognito, hating every minute. To pose as a student while protecting a rich wild child is his version of hell, until he partners with the slice of Crème Brule good enough to eat.

Class takes on a whole new meaning as Doni and Sebastien heat up the kitchen when they discover honey has better uses than sweetening tea.


“Ooh la la, Mademoiselle, voulez-vous à la baise?”

Donatienne’s running shoes squeaked to a halt on the cracked, gray linoleum. Fuck him? She didn’t fuck just anyone, especially if she didn’t know his name.

“Not unless you have more money than I could ever dream of, you pig.” She refused to turn back toward the crackly voice.

“What? Is your pussy made from gold?”

She gritted her teeth. Insolent bastard.

“Yes, it is. And equipped with a set of rusty fangs to rip off anything that tries to get inside.” Smartass answers weren’t her best first impression at the haute cuisine cooking school she’d waited so long to attend. She had to shake the lowlife who thought he could get away with insults before Chef tossed her out.

Ignore him. Just keep moving. Doni straightened her shoulders and walked past the double door refrigerator.

“Perhaps you prefer to give Pierre a blow job. He would make it worth your time.” A cackle filled the air. “Come on, baby. You know you want me, you slut.”

The fine hairs at the nape of her neck jumped to attention. Doni whirled around, swinging out her arm. She launched her heavy tote at the dumpy man in the splattered apron planted in front of the stainless steel stove.


A satisfying sound to Doni’s ears as her bag connected with his diaphragm and he buckled.

She sprinted a dozen steps toward him, punching air until her fists mashed into his doughy flesh. He shot out his hands. She dodged to the right, away from his reach. Her feet slipped on the waxed floor. Flailing her arms, she grabbed for anything handy. Crash. A white cloud billowed up, blinding her. They fell to the floor with Doni on top, tangled in a mass of apron and legs.

“Protect your balls. Protect your balls. The slut is crazy.”


Visit Sloane's website and blog

Sunday, November 7, 2010


Special Agent Reid Masters, temporarily going by the name Mike Dunstin, came to a halt in front of Alexis, standing for a moment and just staring at her. She gave no sign that she knew anyone was there. But instinct told him that she did. Reid gave her credit. She had to be terrified, yet she remained quiet. No screaming out or pleading for release, no twisting at the rope binding her wrists in an effort to break the restraint. The only signs of her turmoil were the tear tracks lining her cheeks.

Resisting the urge to look at the two-way mirror again, his gaze dropped down her body slowly, feeding the need uncurling and growing in his belly. He’d never had to perform with an audience before. Could he do it? He reached forward, needing to see more of Alexis. He answered his own question when he pushed her hair back to expose her luscious breasts, swelling over the top of her push-up bra. The shape of her full, sensuous body was hot enough to bring him to full arousal.

She let out a whimper when he touched her face, her body stiffening. It didn’t stop Reid from removing the tape over her mouth, exposing pouty lips that were meant to bring a man to his knees. She parted them immediately and sucked in air. Then her tongue came out to wet them. His gaze roamed slowly over her features, drinking in her flushed beauty. Fuck! The bastards had hurt her. A bruise discolored her cheek. He was careful not to let his expression give him away.

Tony, the brown-nose rat, had to be the reason Alexis was here. They’d gone barhopping a couple nights before. Tony had a big mouth. Reid should have remembered that. While making idle conversation with the man to gain his confidence, the topic had turned to women and Reid had casually mentioned there was a hot babe living next to him that he’d like to get his hands on.

Alexis opened her mouth and Reid knew she was going to speak. He moved his mouth to her ear and made a sound for her to be quiet. “Alexis.” He’d made it his mission to learn who all his neighbors were when he moved into the building, but he’d have wanted to learn the beauty’s name regardless. “Don’t say anything.”

She caught her breath in obvious surprise. Reid sensed it was because she recognized his voice, not because he’d spoken her name. “Mike?” The voice that passed through her trembling lips was soft and frightened. “Why are you doing this?”

“That’s not important right now.” Reid said against her ear. “Do you want to live?” Ever aware they had an audience, he ran his hand along her collarbone and around the back of her neck, burying his fingers into the fall of her hair. Damn! Just like I imagined, thick and silky. He rained kisses along her soft cheek to her mouth. But he only toyed with her lips, teasing them with the barest touch of his. Letting their breaths mingle.

“Yes,” she whispered against his mouth. “I—”

“No talking.” His hand was still buried in the luxurious mane of her hair. He pulled her head back, exposing her throat to his hungry mouth. The light scent of her flesh was intoxicating and he had to fight the urge to devour her.

“Please…” she pleaded softly, trembling wildly. “Let me go. I won’t say anything.”

She didn’t listen very well, but then he couldn’t blame her. And Reid didn’t have time to explain what was going on. He had his orders, and his gut told him to get on with it and get her out of there as soon as possible. He had to wonder whether once he removed the blindfold, she would fight him tooth and nail. Or would survival instincts kick in, allowing her to succumb unwillingly to a situation out of her control? And mine.


He felt her slight resistance when his mouth covered hers but he steeled himself to ignore it. Her lips were soft and the taste of mint caught Reid off guard. His moved his hands over her, from her hair down to her waist, taking hold of her hips and bringing her close to him. He kissed his way to her bellybutton, wrapped his arms around her knees and lifted her to give her arms some relief.

Tory Richards Website

Friends of Dorothy by Giselle Renarde

Title: Friends of Dorothy
Author: Giselle Renarde
buy link:

MMF Ménage Cowboy Erotica

When rodeo king Leslie Goosemoon is caught wearing lacy red panties, he becomes more than a laughing stock. In fact, Dorothy's Tavern is turned upside down by the ensuing brawl! Does Dorothy know just what Leslie needs? Or does her boyfriend Ricky know better?


Leslie Goosemoon is a rodeo star with legions of ladies fawning over him. Things are getting hot and heavy with Sheryl, the one-night-stand he picked up at Dorothy's Tavern, when she zips open his jeans and finds Leslie Goosemoon wearing ladies' panties--silky and red with lace around the top. By the time he returns to Dorothy's, the whole bar's heard about his predilection. Some laugh. Some call him faggot. Nobody understands him, but that doesn't mean Leslie's going to roll over and play dead. Hell, he doesn't fully understand himself! The best he can do is duck the punches and repel the spit.

Ricky, Dorothy's living-in-sin boyfriend, has a theory about the undies: Leslie dresses like a lady because he secretly wants to get with another man. That doesn't sound right to Leslie, but he has no counter. He doesn't know why he likes the silky feel against his skin. When Ricky gets hit in the head with a boot, Dorothy becomes mother bear. She kicks out the offenders and sends Leslie to take care of Ricky upstairs in their apartment. hey all know what's going to happen next.


Ricky swung his head in so close Leslie felt the stubble prick his cheek. Ricky’s tone was not unsympathetic when he said, “I heard you were a faggot.”

Leslie knew how other men would react to the accusation—they’d smash a glass, toss a chair, or throw a punch. He wasn’t about to do anything like that. First off, he felt a hole inside his chest that seemed to be sucking in everything around him. With all that happening inside, he had no energy to expend. Second, Leslie knew he was no faggot, so what difference did it make who said what? He liked pussy.

“Are you?” Ricky asked. His voice seemed strained with despair, or with hope—the two sounded much alike to Leslie.

“No,” Leslie said. “That’s what Sheryl went around telling all these people? I’m a faggot?” He would have laughed if he weren’t so on edge.

Ricky turned his gaze to Dorothy as she flirted with the boys at the bar. That woman got everybody’s hopes on the rise. Strange that Ricky never seemed the least bit jealous. Most of the men around here would fight a bull if he caught it looking his girl up and down. Of course, that was likely the reason Dorothy was stepping out with Ricky and not those of the bitterly possessive lot. Dorothy was slender, but she was a powerhouse in disguise. If Leslie could be a woman, he’d want to be every bit like Dorothy.

“Sheryl said you were prancing around in ladies’ underpants,” Ricky said, shattering Leslie’s focus. “She said you didn’t show her a very good time because you were…you know…” He paused to rephrase, tracing his fingernail across the bar’s natural wood grain. Gazing down at the patina, he leaned in so close Leslie felt the heat of Ricky’s cheek against his own. He spoke very softly. “She said you liked dick.”

Thank the good lord Dorothy was looking away and Ricky’s face was nestled in beside his ear—that way, nobody noticed his eyes growing too big for their sockets. He’d never considered the possibility. Not that he didn’t know other guys liked to relieve their tensions together, just that he’d never imagined doing it himself. He’d always craved pussy. From the time he was a young snip, he’d chased the girls and kissed their cheeks. Could Sheryl be right about him? Maybe she saw something he couldn’t. Maybe he’d always been secretly drawn to ladies’ clothing because he wanted to be fucked like one of them.

In his confusion, Leslie chuckled and furled his brow. Backing away from the pool of Ricky’s musky aroma, he shook his head side to side. “Well, that ain’t how it happened,” he said. Aw shit! Now Dorothy was waltzing on over! Why was everybody so interested in his private life? Sometimes the scrutiny he faced as a rodeo star was downright deplorable. Sure, everybody expected him to be a ladies’ man, but get caught wearing ladies’ underwear and suddenly your name is mud!

Giselle Renarde
Canada just got hotter!

Visit me online

From October 1st until December 31st 2010, all royalties earned from the purchase of Red Satin, Third Rail, and The Little Burlesque House by the Sea will be donated to LGBT YOUTHLINE. For more info, click here!

Saturday, November 6, 2010

The Brass Box by K.M. Mahoney

Is it real, or just smoke and mirrors?

As a member of the British gentry, Marcus Fleetwood-Smythe’s life is an endless round of responsibility and duty. Charged with finding a magician for his sister’s upcoming wedding, he ventures out into the pouring rain and finds Teague, whose free spirit calls to Marcus. And makes him hunger for anything and everything his position won’t allow him to have.

Teague’s stock in trade are his wandering feet and the rather odd lineage that takes the wonders he performs on stage beyond the ordinary. But there’s nothing more magical than the sparks that fly between him and Marcus. Except the duty-bound Marcus fears letting go of a life that’s smothering him almost as much as he fears discovery.

Desire fans the flames until it flares into forbidden passion, leaving Marcus poised on the precipice of the most frightening choice of his life. Risk everything for the man who holds his heart…or watch his one chance at forever vanish in a puff of smoke.

Warning: Two stubborn men, one steamy carriage ride, and a little bit of magic may produce more than a few sparks.


Marcus slouched at his desk, brow furrowed, squinting in the dim light. Sometime within the past hour the sun had set, casting the room into deep shadows, but he couldn’t seem to stir himself to light more candles. He shifted the papers. Now where the hell was that grain price…ah, there it was.

He rubbed his forehead, trying in vain to ease the pounding in his brain as he attempted to make sense of the numbers. He thought longingly of Teague and two entire days of bliss. Then, as he always did, he shoved them aside. Certainly it would be lovely to shut himself up in the cozy little apartment above the Brass Box and spend his hours exploring every square inch of Teague’s luscious body. But it simply wasn’t possible. He had investments to oversee, letters to write, factories to inspect. A wedding to pay for.

Amazing how much a simple breakfast buffet could cost. Particularly when it was being served in the afternoon. Never made sense to him, but then what did he know? He always figured you ate when you were hungry and it didn’t matter what the blasted meal was called.

And he was wandering again. Marcus yanked his thoughts back to the business matters spread across his desk and screaming for his attention. But damnation, it seemed to grow harder every day.

And no, that wasn’t a veiled reference to anything, no matter what Teague might say.

No. No, damn it. No thinking about the man. Work. He had work to do.

A gentle knock sounded and the door slid open partway, his butler entering just far enough to gain Marcus’s attention.

“Yes, Standish?” he asked wearily.

“There is a gentleman here to see you.”

“I’m not at home.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Nonsense. He is quite clearly at home. I can see him from here.” A cheerful voice cut through the gloom of his office and set off a chain reaction in his body. His breathing grew shallow, skin flushing, nipples tightening and cock hardening.

“Teague,” Marcus exclaimed with pleasure. “It’s fine, Standish, let the man in.”

He waited until Standish disappeared down the hall before rising from behind the desk. No sense letting the servants on to all his secrets, even if they did probably know them most of them already.

Teague closed the door just in time to receive an armful of eager male. Marcus wrapped his arms around the man, hands sliding beneath his coat in a quest for skin. He relished the sensations shivering up his spine as Teague reestablished his claim. They spent several breathless moments inspecting each other, ascertaining that all teeth were still present and accounted for.

Marcus finally came up for air, lungs tight as if he had just swum the entire breadth of a lake underwater. He took in Teague’s red cheeks and labored breathing, savoring the feel of the man’s erection pressing against his leg. His lover was well built everywhere, as he’d found out to his delight nearly three weeks ago. And multiple times since.

He pulled away with a low laugh. “Hello,” he greeted the man a touch sheepishly.

“Hello, yourself.” Teague’s hands slipped away. Marcus stepped back a few paces, allowing them both to gain some measure of control over their unruly bodies.

Teague stripped off his coat, laying it over the nearest chair, and loosened his cravat. Marcus swallowed and tried to think of grain prices. When that didn’t work, he turned his attention back toward the papers waiting like spiders in dark corners. His arousal subsided slightly. His prick softened even further when he reminded himself where they were. In his house. With his mother and sister upstairs. And a servant lurking in every doorway.

“I…” Marcus halted his words midsentence, shifting nervously. His mind warred with itself, wanting to grab what Teague offered with both hands while it was being offered. Before the man vanished from his life as easily as he had entered. But at the same time, he couldn’t quite seem to let go of his problems and worries. Maybe if they were somewhere other than his house.

Teague stepped closer. Marcus didn’t trust that gleam of lust and determination shining in those brilliant eyes. He put up a hand, backing a step. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you, but why are you here?”

“What sort of question is that?” The lascivious grin was replaced with an irritated scowl.

“A sensible one. We can’t both use our pricks to do the thinking. I thought we agreed it was best if you didn’t come here. Too many prying eyes.”

“No, you decided. I just nodded.”

“Nodding implies agreement.”

“Not when it’s because my head’s bobbing up and down on your prick.”

Marcus scowled, reaching down unconsciously to adjust himself. “Now you’re simply being crude.”

Teague shrugged. “What can I say? I have a gift.”

Marcus snorted with amusement before he could catch himself. His gaze kept wandering, and he scolded himself sharply. He was supposed to be angry with the man, not ogling the muscles in his thighs. Or the muscle a few inches higher.

“Teague.” He drew out the word in exasperation.

“Relax.” Teague dropped onto the sofa, spreading his arms wide along the back. The position did interesting things to his form. Marcus had to stop himself, again, from drooling at the thick arms and the chiseled stomach, visible through Teague’s thin linen shirt where his waistcoat had ridden up.

“As delightful as I find your body,” Teague continued, “I’m actually here for another purpose. I’m giving a performance at a small theater tonight and would like to invite you to attend.”

Marcus hesitated, contemplating the odds of discovery, whether anyone might possibly deduce his reason for tramping down to the show. His curiosity outweighed his concern.

“I would like that,” he admitted. “But this time, find another volunteer.”

Teague chuckled. “What, you didn’t enjoy your brief foray into the entertainment business?”

“Not exactly. But I would rather like to see that box trick from the other side, this time.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but that trick had been preying on his mind with almost the same frequency as the magician himself. As the one in the box, he knew he hadn’t gone anywhere. But he rather wanted to find out what the audience saw. Charles may be an idiot, but so far his lack of mental agility hadn’t affected his eyesight.

“So, you will attend?” Teague sat forward, looking almost…eager.

Well, damnation, how was Marcus supposed to turn that expression down? He was so used to seeing a collected, almost disinterested mask on those stark features.

“I suppose.”

“Excellent.” Teague shot off the couch as if his legs were powered by springs. He gathered his jacket and pressed a quick kiss to Marcus’s lips. “I must be off. Much to do before this evening.”

“You could have sent a note,” Marcus pointed out.

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I wanted to see you.”

He wouldn’t get all mushy over that. He wouldn’t.

Teague dropped his hand and copped a quick feel of Marcus’s ass before moving his hand around for an even faster grope. “I’ll see you this evening. And if you come in disguise, I shall be extremely irritated,” he added over his shoulder. The door closed behind him with a thud, leaving Marcus with his paperwork and a vague feeling of being hit by a passing carriage.

Purchase The Brass Box here.