Sunday, December 28, 2014
"Touching His Man" Blurb: Charles Dover upset some important people who have terminated him from his job, kicked him out of his apartment, and are making him leave town. He hides in the garden at the bath house. Abe Tillman, the bath house manager, finds him there and wants to help him. Charles isn’t sorry he requested that a video of a young child dancing naked be taken down from YouTube, but speaking up has certainly trashed his life. Abe suggests that Charles change his appearance and move into the bath house and work there behind the scenes.
Abe is worried about turning forty and being overweight. His entire life is invested in the success of his bath house, but he wants to open his heart and soul to Charles as well as his bedroom door. Is there any chance of them forming a relationship or will Charles have to hide forever?
Charles Dover grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and used the fabric to wipe the sweat off his face. Letting the T-shirt fall back against his belly, he grunted and wiped his filthy hands on the seat of his jeans. So now his T-shirt had huge damp sweaty patches on it and grubby brown stains from his fingers. Likely the seat of his pants would be decorated with dirty marks as well.
He shook his head, flicking his damp, sweaty blond hair off his forehead, and looked around the small storage unit, now piled high with his furniture and possessions. The last thing he needed to do was return the trailer he’d hired to the storage unit company and park his car in the space he’d carefully left for it in the center of the storage unit. He could lock the unit, drive the trailer around and return it, then drive back, unlock the unit, park his car in it, and lock the unit again. Or he could leave the unit open and hope no one entered it while he was gone.
“Not in this neighborhood I can’t. Fuck it. ”
Charles unhitched the trailer from his car and then reversed his car into the gap he’d made for it. It’d been a damn tight squeeze to fit everything into this unit, but he refused to pay twice as much money for a larger one when all he’d had to do was pack this one carefully from the concrete floor to the low wooden ceiling.
He grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat, holding it over the roof of the car as he squeezed out of the storage unit and then dropping the backpack into the trailer. He locked the unit and then picked up the tow bar of the trailer, grunting as he leveled it and got it moving, pushing it back down the concrete pathway to where he needed to return it. Actually, once it started to roll, it wasn’t all that hard to push and steer. Besides, he was already coated in sweat and dirt. A little more didn’t really matter. But damn he needed a shower.
Ten minutes later the paperwork was all done and his possessions were safe and paid for. Well, they were for the next three months anyway. Hopefully by then his life would no longer be buried in shit. Charles rubbed his face on his T-shirt again, groaning at the sweaty mess all down his front. He had clean clothing in his backpack, but there was no sense in putting a fresh shirt on his sweaty body. Besides, all he owned for the next three months, unless he came back here to unpack some stuff, was inside his backpack. He couldn’t afford to change his clothing every time he felt like it anymore.
Charles left the heavy backpack on the ground by his feet and pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. It was time to call a taxi to take him to the airport. But what was he going to do at the airport? Where was he going to travel to?
Suddenly Charles felt completely exhausted. He sat down on the top step outside the storage company’s offices and let the sunshine soak into his aching muscles. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet and his body ached as much as if he’d worked for an entire day in the yard. Not that he had a yard anymore either.
Fuck! His life was a huge pile of steaming shit right now. But did he really need to run away? His employer had terminated him, his apartment’s owner had cancelled his lease, and a few powerful people were baying for his blood. Surely they’d all be satisfied as long as he kept a really low profile for a few months? He’d thought maybe he’d go down to Florida and be a beach bum for a couple months. Hell knows he needed a rest. A place to stay with no pressure, no hate, no antagonism. Somewhere he could relax. Likely he’d pick up some work down there as a barman or something.
Fuck it! This is my home. I don’t want to go to Florida! All I need is a fucking shower, some clean clothes, and a place where I can relax. The gay bath house would be fine.
Then Charles shuddered. The last time he’d been to the bath house he hadn’t even had a chance to go for a swim before a group of men were yelling at him and abusing him for his actions.
I should have spoken more politely. I should have moderated my words and been more conciliatory. But I refuse to change my mind. Posting a video of a naked five-year-old on YouTube was sheer stupidity and the parents who did it deserved to be told their actions were begging for a pedophile to come looking for their kid. I did the right thing and I’d do again even if I knew in advance the trouble it’d bring me.
Charles stared at his cell phone. The airport or the bath house? Safety, or a shower and a rest?
Buy link: http://www.bookstrand.com/touching-his-man
Sunday, December 21, 2014
"Wanting His Man" Blurb: Zephaniah Deakin, the server in the snack bar at the gay bath house, is in love with the cook, Roger Woodhead, but he never notices him. Zeph is determined to break into Roger’s heart and mind.
Roger knows what Zeph wants and it’s the same thing he desires. But he can never ever sleep the night with anyone, and once Zeph finds that out the relationship will break up for sure. Roger doesn’t want to leave the bath house. It’s the best job he’s ever had. And he certainly doesn’t want to upset Zeph. So the best plan is for them not to get any closer than chef and server.
Zeph manages to persuade Roger to relax in the hot tub after work one evening and then they go upstairs to one of the private rooms. Roger convinces himself that it’ll be all right because Zeph won’t expect him to sleep the night there.
Zephaniah Deakin, the server in the snack bar at the gay bathhouse, stood at the window, staring down into the courtyard garden. The café didn’t open officially for another ten minutes and Roger Woodhead, the cook, hated to be disturbed during his early morning preparations. Roger with his crisp, short black hair, and impenetrable black eyes.
Well Zeph wanted to disturb him. Zeph wanted to unzip his houndstooth chef’s pants, pull them down to his ankles, and swallow his huge, delicious cock whole. He wanted to kiss Roger’s sweet, unbelieving mouth until neither of them could breathe. And then he wanted to bend over the counter or any one of the tables here while Roger fucked him fast and hard until both of them came screaming in release.
There was just one itsy bitsy teensy weensy problem with his list of desires.
Roger didn’t want him. Well, likely he wanted him as the server here. But not as a lover. Zeph liked his job at the bathhouse. It was really good not to have anyone stare at him and comment on his habit of wearing short shorts or skin-tight jeans and half a dozen chains around his neck. If he could just make his way into Roger’s bed, life would be perfect. But every time he tried to interest Roger it was like banging his head on a brick wall. Roger totally ignored him. Their daily conversations generally consisted of two words frequently repeated. “Meal’s ready.”
And if Zeph tried to chatter about the day’s events, people they knew, the weather, anything at all, Roger turned his back and began cooking something, or cleaning something, or even washing dishes, which was Zeph’s job when the place was quiet.
Damn, fuck, and shit. How can I get him to look at me? Truly look at me?
From up here on the second floor the garden looked really attractive. The gardeners worked hard to ensure there were always flowers in bloom, and evergreen bushes and shrubs as well as deciduous trees in winter. Not that Zeph was interested in being outdoors mostly. He liked a nice mild temperature all year around and saw no need at all to be outside apart from the commute from his apartment to work and home again. That was another advantage of working here at the bathhouse. He could sit on a lounge chair beside the pool and talk to people as much as he wanted to when he wasn’t on shift.
He still liked to go to Pinky’s bar at times though. He wanted to be held and to dance, and since Roger wouldn’t look at him, the only place where he could relax was the gay bar. Damn Roger. Why wouldn’t he talk to him? What was his problem? He was the sexiest man Zeph had ever met even though he picked his nails until they were so short they bled. He had to wear latex gloves to cook and serve the food because he was always torturing his nails. Zeph was sure he could give Roger the kind of blowjob that would keep him relaxed until he had no need to worry his poor defenseless fingernails ever again.
At exactly ten a.m. Zeph opened the roller door to the snack counter and began setting up the coffee machine. It was a temperamental thing, and everything always had to be done exactly right, or it was likely to spit hot water or coffee at him. Mel, the manager’s personal assistant, liked her coffee just so, and Zeph always made hers first because he knew she’d be up here at 10:15 sharp, desperate for her mid-morning wake-me-up.
The bathhouse itself was open at six, because there was a group of serious fitness fanatics who liked to swim laps in the morning before going to work. But the place didn’t really wake up until ten thirty or even eleven. That’s when people wandered in for some brunch or an early lunch after swimming and a sauna. The afternoons and evenings blended together, with people visiting for more erotic reasons than just exercise. Or, Zeph snorted, to have a more personal kind of exercise, maybe. Damn he wished he and Roger could head upstairs to one of the private rooms for a little personal exercise. Whatever am I to do with the man? How the fuck can I show him I want him when he won’t talk to me?
Just as usual, the machine was ready when Mel appeared. “Abe wants a coffee as well this morning, please, and a cookie or donut if there are any.”
“Uh-huh. He’s gone off that diet has he? I always think those celebrity diets are a load of trash.” Zeph hurried back to the coffee machine to make the manager’s coffee. He liked it extra strong.
“Not everyone is skinny like you, Zeph. I think Abe’s started to worry about developing a bit of a paunch now he’s turned forty. I’m glad he broke up from his ex. The bathhouse has improved in leaps and bounds since he did.”
Zeph handed her the two coffees on a cardboard tray, as Roger passed a paper sack across the counter. “You tell the boss from me he needs some sugar to keep thinking up brilliant new ideas to improve the bathhouse. Letting Bart display his paintings and drawings here was pure genius. People come to the cafe just to look at them and end up buying a snack or a coffee while they’re here. He needs to come up with a few more ideas like that.”
Zeph just stared at Roger. That was the longest sentence he’d heard from the cook in weeks. And he’d never seen Roger give the artworks displayed on the long internal wall more than a casual glance. I need to stay back later tonight and see if Roger will talk to me then.
Buy link: http://www.bookstrand.com/wanting-his-man
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Thursday, December 18, 2014
AVAILABLE: Wednesday, December 24th
This title is offered at a 10% discount. Offer ends midnight CST, December 31st
[Ménage Amour: Erotic Ménage a Trois Romance, M/F/M, HEA]
Jilly Reimers wants love but can't find it. Chris Spinell is a veteran of the war in Afghanistan who suffers from PTSD and a haunting feeling that something is missing in his life. Chris Poole is also an Afghanistan war veteran is ready to break out of his shell but is unsure how.
With Christmas just around the corner, they decide not to spend it alone. Believing The Love Play Matchmaking Service to be just what they need for a night of fun and passion, they sign up. But when the guys show up and see that they've been set up on a menage, the only one happy about it is Jilly.
Their consultant, called an Eros, assures Jilly that the service has a perfect track record but she's certain they'll be the first ones to get their money back. Will they have a very merry Christmas? Or will the three spend yet another one alone?
A Siren Erotic Romance
Jilly idly twirled a lock of her hair as she gazed at the fire. The meal was good, a bit awkward, but all right. Now with Chris S. in the shower, she and Chris P., who’d freshened up after her, sat beside her. She hoped she’d get a chance to know him a little better, now that they were alone.
Unlike Chris S., Chris P. was quiet, more reserved. His warm smile could melt ice. They’d spoken a bit about his life in Australia and how he met the other Chris when they were on Diego Garcia, a tiny atoll in the Pacific. It was there he garnered a better perspective on life, friendships and love. She reasoned that war tended to do that to a person.
She looked at him again, admiring what she saw. He was gorgeous. If only she were a femme fatale like her friends. She pictured grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and planting a long seductive kiss on his pouty lips. Anything to ease the tension between her legs and the moisture dripping from her swollen pussy.
Golden and sun-kissed like a surfer, he had a look impossible to have around this time of year in Michigan, unless he spent countless hours in a tanning booth. But at the same time he didn’t look like the type who’d go to one. He seemed too rugged. She glanced at his short, flaxen hair, which he wore pulled back in a stubby tail. It accentuated his keen facial features. His physique, like that of a gladiator, made her want to whimper. Built like a brick wall without being too thick, he was three words—supple, etched, steel. And his Australian accent added to his raw sexiness.
Whereas Chris S. was the perfect picture type of the all-American, boy-next-door type, with light brown hair and sandy-colored tips and eyes so blue they looked like the color of tropical water. He reminded her of the high school captain of the football team who’d gone into the military and become a man, except he had a sensitive edge that permeated his being. While Chris P., who looked like he could take on a few guys at once, was more lighthearted and outgoing.
Either way, she knew she hit the jackpot because both guys were like something out of a magazine called Hot Guys “R” Us. They were a perfect ten. It was best Christmas gift anyone could have ever given her. She hoped a Chris Sandwich was definitely on the menu for the night. But how to get past the talking stage, she had no clue. She wondered if all of her Love Play’s match ups started like this.
Wearing some leggings and a cami, and he a T-shirt and shorts, she suddenly felt overdressed. The art of seduction was not something they taught in any of the schools she’d attended, and she sure as hell never picked up any pointers from her so-called “friends.” And her exes never gave her any encouragement in that department either.
This date should have come with instructions. I think I’m in trouble.
She let out a long sigh.
“Did you say something?” Chris P. asked, stirring from his long silence.
“I was just thinking how beautiful this place is,” she lied. What? How lame is that?
“It is. I’ve never been to a place quite like this.”
“Love Play has quite a reputation.”
“You’ve used it before?” He perked up, facing her.
Heat burned her cheeks. “No. It’s what I heard from some of their clients.”
“So have you been married?” he asked.
“Neither have I. Never found anyone to get serious with,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe cupid’s arrow doesn’t work on me.”
“For me they’re defective. Or maybe his aim is bad,” she said, trying to suppress the memory of her ex-boyfriend.
“What do you mean?”
“My relationships, they never work out.” She shrugged her shoulders. “For whatever reason, they seem to choose my friends over me. Or it ends up that way once we get together.”
He shook his head. “Nah. They were bad blokes from the start. Believe me. I know. I’ve been around those types my entire life. The randier they are, the worse they will be. If a man wants you, he’ll stay.” His tone was soft, almost vulnerable.
“So tell me,” he said, turning to face her, “you ordered this hook up?”
Again, her face flushed. She imagined it turning its characteristic red when the blood rushed to her cheeks.
“Yes. But according to the guidelines, you would have either had to be open to it or requested it too. Right?”
He chuckled. “I see he also got the smart I asked for. Yes, I am open to a ménage.” His expression became serious. “Do you think me odd?”
“No. I’m glad we share that desire.”
Chris S. slipped her undies over her round hips. They slid down her baby-like skin, exposing her shaved mound. More blood flowed to his dick, making whimper.
“God,” he said, fighting tears.
Through gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes, he forced himself to maintain control. It was getting to be damn near impossible. Everything about her was fucking outstanding. Lips, breasts, skin and pussy. He was ready to fill her pussy with his thick, hard dick.
He slid his finger into the folds of her wet interior. The thin crease surrounded by supple labia oozed moisture from her tight and tiny hole. He slid a finger inside her hole, and her taut muscles quivered at his touch.
“You want it?” he asked.
She moaned “yes” before being silenced by the other Chris’s mouth. He inched her legs apart. Moving in just right, he tasted her. Explosions went off in his brain. She was pure, simple, clean and honeyed. He wanted to mark her as his own. Delving his tongue in and out of her tight hole, he held her still, allowing her juices to saturate his mouth.
Lifting her legs, he opened her wider, curling her upward, burying his face in her mound. His breaths increased as his heart rate grew frantic. His hard dick, standing at full scale attention, threatened to bust a nut if he didn’t stop.
Pulling away, he set her down gently. “Got to go get a condom.”
The other Chris looked up, his eyes equally as dazed as he felt.
She swallowed, seeming breathless. “My bag, by the wall.”
The time for being cool had passed. Quicker than he’d wanted and less suave, he dashed toward it, finally seeing the stash. Grabbing the entire lot, along with a bottle of lubricating gel, he opened the box and pulled out two, handing one to Chris and keeping the other for himself.
Setting it aside, he removed his shorts, exposing his aching dick to the room’s cool air. He grimaced as he slid the latex over his shaft. It hurt with a pain that would only be relieved by what Jilly had to offer. He squeezed the gel, which had the scent of strawberries, onto his palm. He fisted his hand and soaked his condom-wrapped rod with the smooth, thick liquid. The mere pressure of his hand gave him some relief, albeit short.
“Me first,” he said, climbing onto the bed.
Calming himself, he lay down beside her and turned her on her side. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close. He spread her legs apart as she tilted her pelvis back. She melded her body to his. There was so much of her he wanted, not only her body, but her soul, mind, and yes, even her heart.
He took a hand and placed himself at her entrance. Slowly he pushed inside. He grunted and made himself hold back, lest he spill at that moment.
She was so tight. No doubt about it. This was going to be a short run. Inch by inch, he slid inside of her, stopping at the root. His balls drew in tight. He shifted her close and moved in and out slowly.
Each movement became stronger as his control slipped. He needed the release, the kind that would give his aching balls sweet relief. Back and forth his hips moved inside her. She wriggled and moaned in response. Their mouths met briefly, tongues swirling, causing his stomach and heart to flutter. He increased his thrusts. Finding his target, she keened her delight.
“Yes,” she moaned. “Don’t stop.”
She pushed her ass toward him.
“Baby, I’m going to come.”
“Come, honey. Come.”
He grunted, harder and harder. Sliding his hand down to her hard clit, he rubbed it as his panting increased. Pressure built up behind his eyes, his mind went blank as everything in the world seemed to fall away. He couldn’t stop. Harder and harder he pushed, holding her firm and tight.
With light speed, he cried out, “God!” His hips bucked upward while cum poured out of him.
Slightly dizzy, he held onto her before letting her go. “Are you all right?”
Her kiss eased the butterflies threatening to kill the moment. Sliding out of her, he sighed, relieved. He gazed into her eyes. Instantly he felt the completed connection he’d sensed along. She was the one. And he saw that she felt it too.
* * * *
Jilly recovered her breath as Chris P. gathered her up into his arms. His musky scent was so spicy and inviting. She buried her face in the crook between his shoulder and neck. She was ready.
“On your back,” he said, holding her.
“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” he said, whispering in her ear.
From her tall Adonis, she was ready to receive all he gave her. Trust welled up within her heart. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
Placing her on back like she weighed nothing but a feather, he positioned himself on top of her. A lock of his blond hair obscured his face. She opened her legs. She felt his solid, round tip prod her hole.
Panting, he pushed inside of her, his raw strength causing her pussy to clench. Each muscle spasmed to accommodate his thick and meaty cock. She cried out along with him. He braced himself.
AVAILABLE: Wednesday, December 24th
This title is offered at a 10% discount. Offer ends midnight CST, December 31st
Sunday, December 14, 2014
"Welcoming His Man" Blurb: In the small town where he grew up, Jethro Wraight was persecuted, harassed, and traumatized because of his sexual orientation. Now living far away from where he grew up, Jethro’s only just starting to learn that it’s okay to be gay. Jethro goes to the gay bath house and meets Bart Moreton there. Bart still lives at home with his parents, even though his dad keeps telling him to get a real job, because he’s determined to become an artist. His work is good, and sells well at craft markets, but he doesn’t make enough money to survive on alone as yet.
Jethro’s never had a boyfriend before, but the two men instantly form a bond. Jethro is taking his very first steps in displaying affection openly. Bart’s focused on becoming an artist. The immediate friendship between them surprises them both.
A black-haired man walked over to the pool and stuck a toe in the water. Apparently satisfied with the temperature, he laid a towel on one of the chairs and left his sandals neatly beside it. He was wearing plain black board shorts, the first person in this section of the bathhouse that Bart had seen wearing anything other than his bare skin or a towel.
Well, perhaps he was shy or just new.
Bart watched as the man carefully climbed down the ladder into the swimming pool instead of diving in, and then swam a length in a neat style, scarcely making a splash. Everything about him seemed designed to prevent anyone paying attention to him, except for the fact that he wasn’t naked. It was an interesting conundrum. Was he just a neat, quiet person, or did he really wish not to be noticed? If so, why wasn’t he naked? He seemed to have a perfectly nice body. He was average height and build, not flabby or unfit looking. Unless maybe he had some scars hidden under those board shorts. Perhaps that was the reason he kept them on.
After the black-haired man climbed out of the pool and collected his towel and sandals, he walked across to the hot tubs and read the sign on the wall carefully. Once again he laid the towel and sandals neatly on a chair, reread the sign, pressed the button to activate one of the hot tubs, and climbed in.
Bart was fascinated by the man and decided it was time he experienced the hot tub as well. He dropped his towel on the chair next to the black-haired man’s towel and stepped down into the hot tub.
“Hi, I’m Bart. Do you mind if I join you?”
The man seemed a little nervous and hesitant but smiled and said softly, “I’m Jethro.”
Bart smiled back, wanting Jethro to relax. “That’s an old name. What do they call you? Jet?”
“Jet? I like that, but people usually just call me Jethro.”
“My full name’s Bartholomew, but my folks only ever used it to yell at me when I was in trouble. As soon as my mom called out, ‘Bar-thol-om-eeeew’ I knew it was time to start running.”
“Was Bartholomew a family name? I was named for an uncle.”
“Nope. Not that anyone ever said. Was your Uncle Jethro your godfather or something?”
The black haired man shook his head. “I hardly knew him. But he left me his store and his apartment when he died, so I really appreciate that.”
Bart grinned. “I would, too. What kind of a store is it? Are you managing it now?”
Jethro shook his head. “He’d had to close it when he got ill, and I haven’t decided what to do with it yet. I’m living in his old apartment though. I just recently finished cleaning it out and sorting all his furniture and possessions properly.”
Bart leaned back against the edge of the hot tub. “What do you think you might do with the store?”
Jethro looked thoughtful. “It’s in a small row of other stores. So far I’ve been talking to each of the owners about what they think would work best in the area. The consensus seems to be something that will make casual passersby stop and look in. All the stores are opposite a park and sports ground, and there’s quite a lot of foot traffic in the warmer weather. Not so much in winter, I’m told. There’s a café in the block, and people do go there all year around. It’s all very new to me, you understand. I need to think carefully about everything.”
“I do understand, but I also envy you. You have the most amazing opportunity to make it into whatever you chose. Well, within reason. I guess whatever you decide to sell can’t really compete with one of the other stores already there. But it sounds as though you’ve gone about choosing what to do very thoroughly.”
“What do you do, Bart?”
“I’m an artist. I paint and draw. Mostly I paint in acrylics and draw using pencils, but sometimes I paint with oils and draw using charcoal.”
“You must very talented. Acrylics dry so fast. I’d never be able to finish a piece in time.”
“I use a retarder to keep the paint wet longer, and I have a stay-wet palette I use sometimes. Mostly though, I don’t begin to paint until I know exactly what I want to do, so the actual painting moves along steadily. The main advantage is that I can paint on paper or board, not just canvas, and preparation time is much quicker.”
Just then the spa switched off. Jethro instantly stood up and said, “It’s been good talking to you, Bart.”
“We don’t have to stop talking simply because our fifteen minutes is up. I’m enjoying our conversation. What do you want to do next?”
“I thought perhaps a sauna? I came here once before with friends, and they love the sauna. I liked it, too.”
Bart felt a surprising flash of jealously for these friends who knew Jethro. Good heavens. I already want to know him much better. However did that happen so fast?
Buy Link: http://www.bookstrand.com/welcoming-his-man
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Nickie Grace moved to Parkersburg to rehab an old house and forget a disastrous marriage, but a prowler threatens her newfound peace. The vandalism gets more personal and creepier with every instance. It's a small town, and the investigating deputy, Hank Crossman, is everywhere. Nickie's not ready to get involved but she can't resist the hunk's seductive moves -- or the adorable stray dog he adopted. A summer affair might be fun, not to mention that with a sheriff's deputy guarding her body, how much safer could she be?
Deputy Hank Crossman loves to play the field. He's a commitment-phobe, who keeps everyone at arm's length, including his alcoholic father and the stray he's named simply 'Dog.' Now, he's determined to seduce Nickie Grace. Fortunately for Parkersburg, he takes his job much more seriously than he does his affairs. His frustration at not being able to solve the perverted and dangerous crimes against Nickie grows along with his attraction to her, and despite the dangers they become immersed in an intense lust-affair.
Then Nickie almost loses her life, and Hank discovers that everything that's been happening is because of his past. He wants to bolt, get out of her life, but this time he just might come home to stay.
Home to Stay is available here - http://amzn.com/B00P3AQ8WQ
This book was previously published
Hank and Nickie have spent the evening at a local bar,
dancing themselves into a sexual frenzy when
they go out to his truck in the parking lot…
Hank lunged for Nickie in the cab of the pickup, stroking her lips with his, seeking a home for his ravenous tongue, growling her name every time he harshly sucked in a breath of air. He wasn't going to stop at messing up her clothes; he wanted skin. Unbuttoning her sweater—Goddamned little buttons—he pushed it back off her shoulders. He hooked his fingertips under the satiny bands of her bra straps and drew them off her shoulders, relishing the jiggle of the soft, pillowy slopes almost overflowing the lacy cups. He came close to shooting his wad right then and there. She was breathing as heavily as he was, as much as thrusting her breasts into his face. The sight of her pale curves tightened the knot in his belly, sent a jolt of hot sensation straight through his balls. "Son of a bitch," he growled at the ache.
A loud burst of noise blew out the door when people left the bar, and her hand flew to her chest. "Hank," she panted. "…people."
He heard the noise, heard her voice, but it was as if they came from far away. All he could concentrate on was nuzzling his way between her breasts, on licking smooth, firm skin, and nibbling across to a nipple—a nipple that assuredly poked its little head against the lace. Just for him. His lips closed over the tasty, tight nub.
"Oh, God," she moaned. "Hank…too many pe…" Her breathy cry floated somewhere over his head even as she pushed the lush cushion of her breast against his face.
He wanted the fucking bra off her, wanted her completely naked, completely at his mercy, completely screaming her lungs out, and he finally realized that the parking lot was not the place to be.
He sat up, pulled the sides of her sweater together without buttoning it and fastened the shoulder harness over her. Gotta get her home. Then he peeled out of the gravel parking lot for the long, two-block ride to his house. He flicked his gaze at her several times and almost drove off the road when her light eyes met his. Her expression was tense, and she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. But her sharp gasps only proved one thing. She wanted him, too.
The stalker is watching…
The son of a bitch! A man blended into the dark siding of the building next door to Nook's and watched Hank and that woman wrestle in the cab of the pickup. Showing off in front of that big city bimbo, wantin' to get in her pants. He's forgotten about his duty to the town. I'll just have to do something about that. I'm going to make her leave town soon. Very soon. His breath caught, stuck in his throat, his heart beat faster. She bought all new panties. He backed further into the shadows and grabbed his penis. No one could see him if he jerked off right here. He wrapped the pair of black lace panties he'd stolen from her bedroom around his hard flesh. A master at jacking off quickly and silently, he bit his lower lip to keep from crying out and ejaculated into lace and silk.
Home to Stay is available here - http://amzn.com/B00P3AQ8WQ
for sale and on KU
Monday, December 8, 2014
Ace, Deuce, Trey – the sequel to Deuce of Diamonds
Book #3 in Ian Coulter’s Amethyst Cove series
Available now at Amber Allure at
About Ace, Deuce, Trey:
Ian Coulter has his hands full with a sexy office assistant, a favorite movie star client and a drag queen determined to save the world one lost runaway at a time. He can juggle all of it because he and his lover, FBI agent Rick Mohr, are finally together.
Rick’s transfer to Amethyst Cove puts him in charge of multiple operations. When one of Ian’s clients is targeted, it doesn’t take long for Ian to suspect the con artist is on an FBI watch list. With their cases overlapping, Ian and Rick are short on time. Together they set a trap and spring it before their suspect escapes.
Doing the job is easy but figuring out the relationship is tougher. Fitting their lives together isn’t without obstacles, but one thing is certain. On or off the case, Ian and Rick always get their man.
An excerpt from Ace, Deuce, Trey
The description of the Harmon con man was a good match to the pictures we had of Saylor’s accuser. I checked the name of the detective on the Harmon case. I didn’t know him but I’d take the chance and call him to let him know I had a client with a similar situation and see what he said. I’d do what I could to ensure this con artist didn’t make Amethyst Cove his permanent home.
The air around me changed, expanded. I froze and listened into the quiet office. The outside door snicked closed. I drew my Sig Sauer P228 and held it in my lap.
“It’s me, Ian.”
I laid the gun on my desk. “You should have yelled first.”
It was so quiet I wondered if my mind had played a trick on me.
“What the fuck are you doing, Rick?”
He swaggered into my office. His hot green gaze slammed into mine. “Making sure the blinds are closed.”
I leaned back and put my feet up on my desk. “I have a gun, bucko. What are your intentions?”
Rick reached behind his back, pulled out his Glock .9mm and laid it beside my pistol. “Mine’s bigger than yours.” He leaned over and kissed me. I pulled back.
“Dream on. That must have been one hell of an arrest and booking to get you so worked up.”
“Oh, it was. Law enforcement agents in three countries are going to dance in the street when word gets around.”
I grinned up at him. “And your name is going to be on the report.”
He shook his head. “Not mine, no. I have an alias, you know.”
That was news to me. “Because you’ve done undercover work for the Treasury?”
Rick grasped my ankles and lifted them off my desk. I set my feet on the floor and he went to his knees in front of me.
“And I might have to do it again so my team second gets the credit and the public glory on this one.”
I spread my knees and he slid his big, warm hands up the inside of my thighs to my balls. “You have something in mind here, Mr. FBI man?”
“You don’t have anything to say about the fact I might have to go undercover again?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Something you need to fill me in about?”
“No, no. I’ve let it be known I’m the last option for those assignments.” He pulled my shirttail out of my jeans. “I even told them why.”
“That’s a good career move. ‘I’m gay and I’m shacked up so don’t call me.’ I bet your boss loved that.”
My cock swelled as Rick eased my zipper down. “He laughed at me. In my face. So I beat the shit out of him.”
I snorted. “Right. On the shooting range. What do you think you’re doing?”
He yanked my pants down and all but dragged me out of the chair to the floor. “I’m going to do you in your office, darling. It’ll be a fantasy come true.”
“I’ll scream.” I wiggled my ass to aid him in getting my jeans down and out of the way.
“Yes you will before I’m done with you.”
Ace, Deuce, Trey – the sequel to Deuce of Diamonds
Book #3 in the Ian Coulter’s Amethyst Cove series
Available now at Amber Allure at
Also available –
Book #1 in the Ian Coulter’s Amethyst Cove series
Available at Amber Allure at
Deuce of Diamonds
Book #2 in the Ian Coulter’s Amethyst Cove series
Available at Amber Allure athttp://www.amberquill.com/store/p/1763-Deuce-Of-Diamonds.aspx
website at http://www.kckendricks.com
Between the Keys blog at http://kckendricks.blogspot.com
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Remember the Paint Store Boys? And Pinky’s Gay Bar?
Well now The Bath House Boys are here!
Frank Ashman’s lover left him seven months, three weeks, four days, two hours and twenty-eight minutes ago. At Pinky’s gay bar the server shows him a brochure featuring the facilities of a new gay bath house that’s just opened in town. There he meets Ralph Sellars. They explore the delights of the bath house together. There are the rainforest showers, the hot tubs, the sauna, the swimming pool, and the restaurant, not to mention the freedom brought by the lack of clothing on the members there. Oh yes, and the bedrooms upstairs, each one complete with a drawer full of toys.
But both Ralph and Frank are burdened with baggage from the past. Can they move on and make a new future together? Or is their relationship doomed to be just sex in the bath house instead of a genuine future together outside in the world?
Ralph Sellars dumped his jeans, boots, and black wifebeater into the locker, slammed it shut, wrapped the towel he’d been given around his waist, and marched down the hallway to the huge swimming pool area. The ceiling was glass, or something that looked like glass, so the sun shone down on the pool, making it almost appear to be outdoors, except it wasn’t. An outdoor pool would be too cold for his liking at this time of year. He dropped his butt onto one of the chaise longues around the pool and lay back, ready to people-watch for a while. Then he’d swim, maybe try out the sauna, and definitely hang out in the public shower room for a while.
His membership here at the bathhouse was his thirtieth birthday present to himself, and he hoped it’d lead to some hot sex. To his right there were three unoccupied chaise longues, and then two pushed close together. From the looks of the tented towel around one man’s waist, those two men were doing more than just holding hands. He wished them luck. He hoped to get laid today, too. It’d been way too long since he’d had any company other than his own hand. Coming here was the first step in his plans to get out more.
It was just that his fucking boss always seemed to be going through one crisis after another, and he always expected Ralph to save his ass. Well Ralph was getting tired of doing that. He was more interested in fucking a willing man’s ass than pulling his boss’s ass out of yet another fire of the man’s own making. From now on he wasn’t going to answer his cell phone out of hours when his boss called him.
Ralph looked over at several occupied chairs on the other side of the pool, but the men there were just lying back, relaxing, like he was supposed to be doing. No action there. He crossed his arms over his chest staring at the ink on his left arm. He had the full sleeve completed now, and every part of the picture was a symbol that had a special meaning for him.
He ran a finger over the rose that signified the baby sister he’d adored all through his childhood and teenage years. But she’d grown up and become a total bitch, which was why the stem of the rose was covered in sharp thorns. He never would have guessed she’d become an adult who was totally bigoted against gay people.
A splash made him look at the pool again. A slender red-haired man was slicing expertly through the water. He looked like someone who came here every day and swam length after length. But instead he swam only to the end of the pool and got out. He’d left his towel at the other end of the pool, and Ralph had plenty of time to stare at the redhead’s lean but wiry body and taut little ass. Now that was an ass that interested him. Especially since the man seemed not to care about being naked. Ralph liked a bit of exhibitionism with his sex.
The redhead picked up his towel, rubbed his hair and upper body, and then tied it around his waist before walking over to the door that led to the sauna. Ralph climbed off his chair and followed him.
Not being used to saunas, Ralph stayed on the lowest step, working on the idea that hot air rises, so it’d be coolest lower down. The redhead, however, was sitting on the top row, leaning his back against the wooden wall.
“Wasn’t the pool warm enough for you?” he asked, wanting to get to know this interesting man.
“Hell, no. I mean, it’s heated. It’s warm, but I think I’ll like it better after a sauna when I want to cool down. Now this heat, this is delicious. This I like.”
“I do, too. Of course, in another five minutes I might have changed my mind.”
The other man laughed. “Yeah, me, too. I’m Francis, Frank.”
“Ralph. What do you do for a living, Frank?”
“I’m a town planner. What about you?”
For the first time ever he told a stranger what he really did, not the politically correct, politely spun version of his job. “I’m the bogeyman. I expose insurance frauds.”
“I don’t see that makes you the bogeyman. If people weren’t lying and cheating already they wouldn’t have any reason to fear you.”
Ralph laughed. “I think you’re the first person ever to see it that way. Most people think the rules are there to be broken. They see the extremely rich finding ways to avoid paying tax and think insurance premiums mean the money belongs to them and that the comparatively small amounts they steal are fair game. But I don’t chase people for ten cents. I chase them for thousands of dollars. And that includes the wealthy as well.”
Ralph stretched out on the step so he could see Frank’s face better. They began talking about their likes and dislikes, and when the buzzer rang to say their fifteen minutes in the sauna was up, Ralph was really surprised. He didn’t feel too hot, and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to stop talking to Frank.
“I suppose we’d better have a swim to cool down,” he said reluctantly.
Frank joined him on the floor of the sauna. “After that, let’s come back here. I was enjoying our time together.”
Ralph gripped the smaller man’s arms and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I was, too.” He stepped back and opened the door. Damn, the man had tasted nice. His lips were soft and sweet and just the tiniest bit sweaty and salty. I want more of him. Tonight.
Buy link: http://www.bookstrand.com/kissing-his-man
Thursday, December 4, 2014
By: Katlyn Conrad
Book Length: Novella
Publisher: Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc., Imprint: Romantica®, Line: Twilight
Spirit on Fire: Shamans and Shifters, Book One
Samantha wants a normal life but the were world won’t leave the sexy new shaman alone. An outcast, she has the potential to control were spirits of all kinds—if only she can figure out how. When she encounters a red-hot demon were, everything she never wanted to know about the supernatural gets turned on its head.
The fire demon Marek claims he’s been ordered to kill Samantha but he’s disobeying the command. He’s come to save her instead, so they can work together against his sadistic vampire master. Demons are notorious liars, so Samantha has her doubts but no choice. A common cause—survival—draws them together and cool suspicion turns to sexual heat.
A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
The werewolf paid cash, sliding the change into the hip pocket of his jeans.
At the other end of the counter Samantha pretended to study the flyers on the cork bulletin board—a high school production of The Tempest, a ten percent discount on acupuncture, a tai chi class at the local Y. The scent of coffee and the whir of an espresso machine filled the air, suddenly stifling.
Samantha had time to grab coffee but not for a were encounter. And if she was late for work again tonight she’d lose this job, just like she had all the others.
Don’t see me. Don’t see what I am. I am normal. I am invisible. I am shielded by a protective light…
Too late. Her heart roller coastered downward. He was striding toward her.
She met his eyes, determined to show no fear. The werewolf almost looked human. His plain white tee stretched tight against washboard abs. There was a hint of a shadow about his chiseled jaw and in her mind’s eye she caught a flash of rumpled sheets and sex. Like a photographic overlay, the spirit of the wolf shifted inside and around him. It snarled at her and her spine stiffened, the skin on her arms tingling. There was no call for the were to be rude, she thought.
He stopped in front of her and leaned against the counter. His gaze took a leisurely stroll from her low-heeled boots to her mahogany hair and corkscrew curls. Petite and curvy, she was a twenty-something morsel in a lipstick-pink trench coat.
“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” His voice was a husky growl.
“I think you’re supposed to say, ‘nice girl like you’.”
“No.” He grinned. “I meant what I said.”
Dammit. He did know what she was. And worse, she was responding. Her pulse rose, warmth flooding her cheeks.
She hated this because a part of her wanted to smile, to flirt. Sam was lonely and not proud of the fact. But once the were and his clan discovered she was broken things would go bad. Fast. The weres were all about survival of the fittest, and the broken were a danger to the pack. She’d be driven out at best and at worst… She pushed that memory aside, the beating from a pack of female weres who had left her for dead. The surgeries that had followed. The drugs. The confusion.
She’d wanted to die then, had expected death.
God, how she wanted to be normal.
“Sam?” The barista slid a white paper cup across the counter.
Samantha snatched the coffee, heedless of the heat burning the ridge of the cup into her palm. She turned to leave.
The were moved to block her and pressed a broad hand to his chest. “Sam? That’s my favorite name. Now I know it’s love.”
She rolled her eyes and stepped around him.
He bent his head as she passed. “Don’t leave, wolf shaman.”
“Excuse me.” She wove through the coffee shop and he followed her into the drizzly San Francisco night.
“Have dinner with me.”
He grinned. “Breakfast then.”
She shot him a black-layered look. “No.”
“Why not? I’m charming, good-natured and I don’t bite. Much.”
“I’m sure. But trust me, it will only end in tears.” Her own.
He stopped beneath a streetlamp, the cone of light illuminating swirling droplets of fog. It sparkled in his hair like shards of glass. “What’s life without a little risk? Take a chance.”
She shook her head and hurried down the slick street, the noise from the coffee shop fading behind her. He was wrong.
Katlyn Conrad has never met a chocolate dessert she didn't like, and her guilty pleasures are watching True Blood reruns and drinking old vine Zinfandels. She has a deep and abiding love of magic, myth, and mayhem.
You can find her on Goodreads at: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9063937.Katlyn_Conrad and on Google + at: https://plus.google.com/100968811285631238907/posts
Monday, December 1, 2014
|Alitus, Tales of the Chosen|
by Kayelle Allen
Alitus, Tales of the Chosen, a book of the Tarthian Empire
When the fate of hearts rivals the fate of worlds, victory costs everything.
Chosen serve immortals
known as the Sempervians. Like any group, it has its hidden alignments,
mistrust, and mistakes. It also harbors enemies and spies within its ranks --
some known and tolerated, others hidden behind layers so convoluted even the
ones who live forever haven't figured them out.
What it means to be CHOSEN
Called to serve
Honored to protect
Obedient to the vow
Safeguards of the truth
Enablers of life
Neutralizers of threats
The empress asks her trusted spymaster, Alitus, to discover if a friend's lover is having an affair. The truth could alter age-old alliances and rock the empire to its core. Passion. Submission. Loyalty. A Chosen bares his heart forever.
Alitus lives in a world full of political intrigue, and he is supremely alone. As a Better, an enhanced human, he can touch no one -- his pheromones are addictive. He keeps his affair with Wulf secret, because Wulf belongs to another, a powerful man allied with the empress. When the man asks the empress to investigate whether Wulf is having an affair, Wulf's relationship with Alitus could be exposed. Complicating matters, the empress reveals her immortality, and requires Alitus to prove his loyalty. Her test will throw him straight into Wulf's arms, right in front of the empress and Wulf's lover.
Hiding what they are to each other has taken discipline and denial. Now, it will take a miracle.
Alitus is asked to become the Chosen of the empress, an immortal. In turn, she will protect him and his family for all generations. But to become Chosen means never having a relationship with another Chosen -- and he is already in love with one: Wulf.
Renyoj Building, Park Serenity Overlook, L Givens' flat
Alitus heard the door of the apartment open, and went to greet Wulf. The man let himself in, and locked the door. Before he could turn, Alitus grabbed him, spun him around and dragged him up close. He murmured love words in Wulf's ear and then kissed him.
"Whew! I thought something was wrong." Wulf pushed himself away enough to meet Alitus's gaze. "When you said it was urgent, I worried."
"They haven't told you?"
"Told me what? Who? Something's wrong. Do they know about us?"
"No. Nothing like that." Alitus gripped Wulf's hands. "Come inside. Come in and sit down." He led Wulf over to a settee, and perched beside him. "I'm going to become Destoiya's Chosen."
Wulf went pale. "Oh shit. Shit! Chosen? Alitus... You know what she is?"
"Kind of goes with being her Chosen, doesn't it? And I know about Saint-Cyr and you being his Chosen. Sempervians. Immortals."
Alitus couldn't help but grin. "Stop saying that."
"Shit." Wulf clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry. Oh, shit. How did you find out?"
He reached up and brushed back Wulf's hair. "I've suspected Destoiya of not being human for years. But a few months ago I uncovered a cache of forbidden lore pointing to the existence of immortals, and followed one piece of evidence to another. It wasn't hard to see the truth once I had the details."
"You have no idea how bad this is. Both of us being Chosen, I mean."
"Actually, I do. It means they'll never let us be together." Alitus had read everything he could get his hands on once Destoiya had obtained his promise to serve.
Each Chosen served his or her own Sempervian, and was encouraged to interact with the others to accomplish overall goals. But on a personal level, Chosen could not become lovers. Some did, but only with approval of their Sempervians, and anyone who wanted to marry outside the Chosen had to recruit the lover or leave forever.
His and Wulf's affair already risked their lives. They served powerful people who shared nothing. Once Alitus had been inducted as a Chosen, his and Wulf's affair would be even more dangerous. Chosen who broke the command were tried by the Council. The penalty was death.
Wulf covered his mouth with one hand. "What are we going to do? 'Litus, I can't survive without you."
"Oh, that's not the half of it." Alitus proceeded to explain the test Pietas and Destoiya had demanded to prove loyalty. He had to show he could overcome his fear of sex with a person of his own gender. Little did they know he'd overcome that fear long ago -- with Wulf.
"That makes me sick." Wulf clenched a fist against his stomach. "They have no right to do that to you. No right!"
Alitus smiled. "You're sweet to think so, but that's still not the worst of it."
"Hell." Wulf's handsome face screwed up in distaste. "There's more?"
"She wants to record it so she can prove to Pietas that I'm loyal. She wants me to have sex with someone she can trust, so she asked--"
"No." Wulf shot to his feet, a hand up for silence. "Do not tell me she chose Luc."
"Oh but she did." Alitus stood beside him. "Fortunately, he's convinced her that isn't wise. He's talked her into putting me with you."
Wulf looked relieved, but then his face fell. "Damn it! How are we going to have sex, knowing they can see and hear everything we do, and act like we aren't already in love?"
|Tales of the Chosen by Kayelle Allen|
Buy This Book
Alitus Vivaldi's story in the Tales of the Chosen is available on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HSO0BA0
About the Author
Kayelle Allen is a best-selling, multi-published, and award-winning author. Her unstoppable heroes and heroines include contemporary every day folk, role-playing immortal gamers, futuristic covert agents, and warriors who purr.
Unstoppable Heroes Blog http://kayelleallen.com/blog