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.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

So I Wrote a Romance Called TRICKS

My latest novel is now available. Read to the end to find out how you can win your own free, signed copy of Tricks, delivered right to your door a leather jock strap. Well, that last part isn't true, but I do ship first class.

This book is different.

Yes, boys and girls, this is my first full-length gay romance, an endearing little opposites-attract tale about a male stripper in a sleazy gay bar in Chicago's Boystown and the nerd who falls for him. Those of you in Chicago might recognize the bar that inspired me.

"What are you? Getting soft? A love story...really?" You might be wondering. Well, Tricks does have my own distinctive and dark touches, so I hope you'll give the book a chance and see how I make a gay love story wholly my own.

Here's the synopsis from the back cover:
Tricks can mean many things: sex partners, deceptions, even magic. In Rick R. Reed searing love story, it means all three.

Arliss is a gorgeous young dancer at Tricks, the hottest club in Chicago's Boystown. Sean is the classic nerd, out of place in Tricks, but nursing his wounds from a recent break-up. When the two spy each other, magic blooms.

But this opposites-attract tale does not run smooth. What happens when Arliss is approached by one of the biggest porn producers in the business? Can he make his dreams of stardom come true without throwing away the only real love he's ever known? And will this question even matter if the mysterious producers realize their dark intentions?

And here's a little taste:
Arliss had everything he needed right in front of him for that night's performance-hardhat, check, steel-toed boots, check, tool belt, check, black mesh thong with pouch for his rather prodigious endowment, big check. Yes, Arliss was just about ready for his turn on the stage at Tricks, located in Chicago's infamous Boystown neighborhood, at its epicenter on the corner of Belmont and Halsted. He also had before him a tall tumbler of Stoli vodka with just a whisper of cranberry juice cocktail in it for color, and a half-empty pack of Marlboro Ultralights. The latter two items helped the twenty-one-year-old calm himself before a performance, and the vodka in particular went a long way toward reducing backstage jitters.

He lit up a cigarette and regarded himself through the smoke. The lights in the crowded dressing room, which he shared with the other eight or so exotic dancers, were unforgiving. Fluorescent did little to hide any imperfections like rings under the eyes, reddened noses from too much partying, and, for those on their way out of the club, track marks on the arms. But Arliss didn't have to worry about signs of drug abuse showing up on his person. He had learned to just say no a long time ago, in a manner that he preferred not to dredge up, at least not now, when he was trying to put himself in a cheerful, high-energy mode.

The face that looked back at him was young, handsome, and vital. Arliss had a shock of white blond hair that stuck up in a manner reminiscent of rocker Billy Idol back in his glory days, before Arliss was even born. Both ears sported piercings-from one a single razor blade, cast in sterling, dangled; from the other, three hoops crawled up the side of his ear, growing smaller as they ascended. Arliss had full lips, sharp cheekbones, a cleft in his chin, and the most piercing ice blue eyes in the Midwest (or so he had been told). The only thing that marred his nearly perfect face was a gap between his front teeth, which he comforted himself by saying that the space gave him character. Cigarette clenched between his teeth, he struggled into his costume, ending by stuffing his dick into the pouch that protruded from his black thong. His member stuck out in such a way that invited grasping hands, which is what Arliss wanted, as long as there was cash in those hands to stuff the thong even more fully.

Attired in a costume that would make the construction worker from the Village People look demure, Arliss turned in front of the mirror to ensure he was the perfect fantasy specimen of pornographic machismo. He was grateful he had added the angel wing tattoo to his back and the snakes that twisted around each bicep. And the one on his chest, the tiny heart with the name "Helena" in it, always brought a lump to his throat-or a splash of bile to the back of it, depending on his mood and how forgiving he felt.

But now was not the time for being sentimental! Arliss was glad for the tattoos because they added a bit of manliness to his six-foot-two inch frame that held only 160 pounds in weight. He was what the older men at Tricks referred to as a twink and, thankfully, was a desirable commodity in some circles.
He set the cigarette down in a tin ashtray and took a swig of vodka. He could feel as much as hear the heavy bass of the techno music playing in the bar and knew that Antonio, a Puerto Rican dude with a shaved head and heavy stubble, was probably just about finished with his set, which meant his boxing ensemble cluttered the small stage.

Arliss would come out, dance briefly and flirtatiously with Antonio, and then have the stage to himself. He didn't know how he did it, night after night, but somehow he managed. He had always been the shyest boy in Ruskin, Florida, where he had grown up. If they could see me now... Well, if they could see me now, they'd probably still call me a fag and try to beat the crap out of me. Once again, my dear, now is not the time for sentimentality. He took another swig of vodka, draining the glass and feeling the warmth of the liquor as it spread through his chest and extremities. Show time!

Arliss hurried to the door that separated the cramped dressing room from the bar proper. Tricks didn't really have a stage, although the dancers liked to think of the bar upon which they danced as one. It was Friday night and, from the burble of conversation beneath the pounding beat, sounded as though they had a good crowd. He sucked in a breath, looked down at his perfectly smooth pale skin and six-pack abs and told himself he was gorgeous.

"Don't forget to smile, Toots! You always look like some gloomy Gus out there!" Leave it to Emmett Myers, owner of Tricks and Arliss' boss, to try and unsettle him just before he went on stage.

Arliss flashed the man a big, Farrah Fawcett smile. If the prissy older man with the pencil moustache recognized it as fake, he gave no indication.

"There! That's what they like to see! For heaven's sakes, you have to remember that if they think you're having a good time, they'll have a good time. And a good time means more money for all of us."

Arliss listened as the song wound down, morphing into yet another bass beat that signaled him it was time to stride out through the door, amble across the crowded room, ignore the covert feels and pinches he got as he made his way to the bar, and climb up on it to join Antonio in front of the crowd.

This moment, just before he went out, was always almost surreal. He felt as though he became someone else when he opened that door, or more properly, that his everyday world changed when he opened it. It was kind of like when Dorothy opened the door when she touched down in Oz and saw the color-filled Munchkinland, but instead of munchkins, his world was populated with bitter old queens, alcoholics, and trolls trying to put some oomph into their libidos by staring at boys young enough to be their sons.

"Get out there, gorgeous! Shake your groove thing!" Emmett cackled and placed a hand on Arliss' back to propel him forward. Just as much to get the hand off his back as to get to the stage, Arliss threw open the door, plastered on a big smile, threw his shoulders back and strode through the crowd, keeping his eye on the narrow strip of bar that would, for the next fifteen minutes, be his stage.

And yes, here is how you can win a copy in three easy steps:
1. Leave a comment, along with an e-mail address so I can get in touch with you if you win.
2. Help me spread the word about Tricks. Retweet or post news of Tricks and today's blog on your Twitter or Facebook account or just drop your reader friends an e-mail about it. This part is honor system but I will be spot checking.
3. Subscribe to this blog, using the link on the right.

Note: To enter the contest, you must do so at my official blog at
Do not enter on Amazon, Goodreads, or Facebook.

I will announce the winner on Sunday morning.

Don't want to wait? Click on Tricks anywhere in this blog and it will take you to the publisher's website, where you can buy an e-copy direct from them or be linked to Amazon to purchase the paperback. Or buy a Kindle version here.
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Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Shifted Perceptions by Diana DeRicci

Author: Diana DeRicci
Cover Artist: Anastasia Rabiyah
Genre: Paranormal Erotic Romance/Shapeshifter/Werewolf/Menage
Length: Novella, 28,734 words, 79 pages PDF
ISBN: 978-1-936165-66-7
Release Date: November 3, 2010
Heat Level: Erotic
Two men. One woman. When love is involved, complications up the stakes.

Dali Bowman has a secret desire, one that she’s already witnessed her closest friends discover for themselves. When Rex Adkins and Gage Hall come into her life, she likes what she sees, and is willing to take the chance. On her terms.
Rex and Gage have been friends since high school, as close as brothers in almost all aspects of their lives, from the secret they both share to the craving they have to find a woman that will complete them as a family. When Rex and Gage meet Dali, the attraction is instant. The confusion is their wolves’ muted interest. Are they wrong? Is Dali the one woman for them?
When they take away Dali’s freedom of choice, she runs, slamming the door on them and their advances. Can they salvage their chance or has their impetuous behavior cost them more than either could imagine?

“Is that a good bet?” Rex asked her. Music played in the background as the bar had filled with Thursday night customers and couples, the insides getting decidedly noisier. The other two tables were being played now too, so she had to stay kind of close to Gage and Rex. Not that she minded. And now, he’d made a bet.
Dali’s heart raced. Two kisses. Or two men running their hands all over her. She tried to find moisture in her mouth. She’d gone bone dry. Her stomach fluttered, heat oozing to settle between her legs.
“I’ll take it.” It was a win-win for her. Rex flashed a smile that could only be deemed as predatory. “One condition,” she cautioned. He stopped circling the table, waiting. She walked up to him and Gage followed her.
“No matter the winner, later or outside, but just not here. I’m not an exhibitionist.”
Rex actually sighed his way through a tender laugh. “Dali, we’re not animals.” He cupped her cheek and held her for a moment, his thumb stroking her. It was just as well that he’d made the bet. It was getting late enough that she needed to get home. The last dose she’d taken to stop her sneezing wouldn’t last for much longer, and she still had an antibiotic to take. She’d been proactive and made sure there was something she could take with the meds if she’d needed, glad now that she had. She wasn’t about to sniffle and sneeze the whole evening. She couldn’t wait until the antibiotics did their thing, and she could feel normal again.
Dali went to return to her spot when Rex let her go, and she flattened right into Gage’s chest, unaware he’d been right behind her. His arm swept around her naturally. “Easy, darlin’,” he said gently at her ear. His breath was warm, smelling faintly of the beer they’d been drinking. “There’s something you should know.”
She tried to swallow, but it was a wasted effort. “What?” she managed. Her lungs had ceased to work. His arm was strong and gentle at the same time, holding her upright, which was good. She was too close to melting to the floor again.
“Rex and me, we take good care of our woman.” His thumb lifted, stroking right beneath her breast, his nail dragging seductively across the bottom of her bra. Her body tightened and her pussy ached, throbbing for more, for touch.
Woman. One. She knew she hadn’t misheard him. Liquid heat spread, reaching to between her legs. She spasmed, aching.
Rex stood, frozen, watching them, his eyes glittering like blue flames in the bar lights. The world around them vanished with that spark of desire burning in his blue eyes and Gage’s hard body enveloping hers.
Dali’s heart thrummed, the entire process taking no more than a second to dissect. She hadn’t been misreading them! Both of these men wanted her. It sent her heart careening into her ribs for several seconds as lust and desire washed through her.
She knew Jason, her boss and the owner of the health club where she worked, and Victor, his oldest friend, shared the woman they both loved, Leesa. Those closest to them knew their idiosyncrasies, and Dali had been friends with Jason and Victor for a long time and had more than one opportunity to hear about Leesa’s happiness while at work. Dali also knew she’d never be more than friends with either Jason or Victor, but they’d opened her eyes to something. She wasn’t what most would call normal. She didn’t crave the same things most women did.
Well, maybe she did. She wanted a man to look at her like he couldn’t live without her. She wanted a man to respect her, protect her, cherish her. But what she wanted physically, couldn’t be done with just one man. She needed, desired, and hungered for two. Two men to love her body, to please her as she could pleasure them. What Jason and Victor had proven could be done, she wanted. And it looked like she wasn’t alone in the wanting.
Leaning relaxed into Gage’s chest, she dared, “Make your shot, Rex.”
His jaw twitched and he laughed. “Minx.”

Surrendered Victory by KC Kendricks

November 2, 2010

Surrendered Victory – Website Blurb
2008 Amber Heat Wave Winner
Now available at Amber Allure
ISBN 978-1-60272-283-5

Dalton makes Reed tingle in all the right places. Now Reed’s ready to answer the question that’s haunted his every failed relationship. Is he really gay?

Reed walked into Dalton’s life and everything changed. This time, Dalton won’t hide the fact he’s gay from anyone, even his son.

Together they surrender all to each other and claim the ultimate victory - love.


…Dalton's hand rested on the table, palm down, relaxed. The pale band around his wrist where he normally wore a watch showed off his suntan. Slowly, he rolled his hand over. Anyone watching wouldn’t think a thing about the small gesture, so easy and natural as he did it. But I knew it for what it really was.

Invitation. Promise. Please.

My own personal Rubicon lay before me. The line that once crossed changed worlds. What was would cease and what was to be would come to life with the touch of that hand, and I trembled in the face of it.

Always before I’d shied away from this moment, running from the commitment the acceptance of truth would bring to my door. There would be no more denials, no more flight. If I crossed my Rubicon, I would be forever changed.

The freedom that beckoned took my breath away in much the same orgasmic way Dalton did…


Dalton spoke so softly in my ear, his voice low and rough, that I marveled I heard him above the pounding of my heart.

“Trust me, Reed. Tonight is for simple things. I want to fuck you in the worst kind of way, but maybe not tonight. You set the pace. Just relax and enjoy. Okay?”

I nodded, relieved and yet disappointed. I wanted to fuck him, too, and in my ignorance wondered how much of a problem that posed for him since he wanted me. His hands slid around my waist, down across my hips to grip the inside of my thighs.

Arousal shrieked through me. As I pressed firmly back to him, his hands held me to his pelvis, his cock pressed firmly into the cleft of my ass. Something gave way within me. I’d let him fuck me. I wanted him. I rocked into him, and he grabbed me. I tried to turn, to shove him to the bed. His balance was too good. He didn’t budge.

"Slow down,” he urged me breathlessly.

I couldn’t.

I bucked wildly against him, but his strength at least equaled mine. His arms tightened like bands of steel around me, holding me, forcing me to be still. I couldn’t breathe. Sweat trickled down my chest. I hung on the verge, riding the knife-edge of impending orgasm. I fought my way back to sanity, struggling to hold on to his words, “Slow down.”

I longed for so much more than a quick fuck, a fast easing of the need demanding release now. I’d be cheating myself, and him, if I didn’t get a grip on myself. The red haze lifted from my mind.

Damn, but my balls ached.

I laughed, sort of, as I relaxed into him. He eased his hold on me, and I sensed his relief that I’d come back from the edge of insanity--so he could send me there again.

Dalton unzipped my pants, let them fall, and wrapped his long fingers around my shaft, his grip firm. He stroked me, rolling the tight skin all the way over the glans. I’d waited my entire life for the touch of another man. I soared.

“I’m cut, too, if you’re curious. Is this all you want?” Dalton purred in my ear.

Curious was too mild a word when I wanted to strip him naked and give all eight inches of him a very clinical examination. Other than my own I’d not seen an adult male cock fully erect, except in photographs and that didn’t quite do it for me. I was intensely curious.

I shook my head. It most certainly was not all I wanted. His slow strokes had me ready to beg, and I would have if I’d known what I wanted most, besides everything.

The arm he held me with dropped away and he fumbled with his zipper. I laughed breathlessly as he teased my ass while pulling down the tab. His pants joined mine on the floor. His stiff cock pressed into the dark crevice of my ass where his fingers had just teased. I tensed, unsure if he planned to fuck me standing here, or just tease me until I passed out from lack of orgasm. He released me, leaving me bereft of his heat, even though I was drenched in sweat.

He smacked my ass with some force. I yelped in surprise and rounded on him, ready to show him if he wanted to play rough, he’d better take it as good as he gave it because I could give it. He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and took my mouth. My protest at being struck evaporated. I plastered my body to his, dug my fingernails into his ass cheeks ass and boldly teased him as he had me. Dalton dropped to his knees in front of me and took me in his mouth.

2008 Amber Heat Wave Winner

Also avaiable:

2008 CAPA Nominee
ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-330-6

ISBN 978-1-60272-422-8

Also available at Amber Allure:

KC Kendricks
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