Monday, April 30, 2012

Maithe's Surrender by Leontii Holender

Maithe is a halfling demon whose kind has been forced into servitude by the human race. In his quest for freedom, he finds the human prince Astle Hadean standing in his way. The prince isn't exactly what he appears to be, and Maithe can't decide if he should trust the intoxicating devil or run the other way as fast as he possibly can.

Maithe finds it hard to deny the power that the human has over him. He can hardly breathe around the prince, and Astle seems to become more irresistible with every passing moment. Should he stick around to figure out what he is feeling for Astle, or should he bide his time until he can be free of the prince? The choice is taken away from him when Astle's life comes in jeopardy and Maithe must risk it all to save a member of the very race that binds him in chains.

“You sound so sure that you would be able to handle me, Astle. Will you know what to do with me if you have me?”
Tickling over ribs as he went, the prince’s gloved hand ran about the smooth plane of Maithe’s side. His touch circled back to the small of his back so that he could press the smaller form of the halfling down against him. Maithe released a groan of desire that somehow slipped unwillingly past his lips. His thin body was getting a mind of its own. While his intellect screamed for him to get away from this human, his body was begging to be taken by Astle.
“Let me show you,” Astle murmured just before the gap between their mouths was eradicated.
There was no stopping what was about to happen. Maithe had never been able to stave off his desires. Astle had opened a voracious chasm within him that would only be sated by the prince that lay beneath of him. Maithe felt his grip on what little sanity he possessed slipping between his fingers. Just as when more nefarious longings beckoned, Maithe held off until the last possible moment. It was clear now that he was explicitly trapped in the clutches of Astle. There would be no easy escape from the human.
Astle’s fingers wrapped about the thin chain holding his loin cloth in place about the slender swell of feminine hips. The chain was yanked off with little hesitation by the vicious prince in a fluid motion that was sure to leave a bruising impression in the small halfling’s tender flesh. Sooner than he thought possible, Maithe’s body was bared to Astle. Maithe knew that his smooth porcelain flesh was molded about lithe muscle and slightly effeminate curves. Since early adolescence the mixture of lean muscles and plump hips had often been called enough to drive any man wild.
Beneath the prince’s hands, a salacious side of Maithe was given life. A soft, crooning groan rushed against the meshed tangle of hungry mouths. Astle didn’t waste time in exploring the hellion’s body. The prince’s hands started at the assumedly slender form of his sides and moved their way downward to the curve of his bottom. A loud smack rang into the room as the prince brought his hand crashing down onto the hellion’s pale cheek. Maithe jerked in response to the pain blossoming across seemingly silk flesh. He could feel that his milky complexion was going to be stained with a pink imprint that just so happened to outline the shape of the prince’s hand.
Maithe released a hungry growl. He needed to feel Astle’s bare body against his own. The little angel set to work on removing the elder’s clothing. The prince’s jacket was pushed off his shoulders and idly tossed to the ground. Fingers ripped at his vest and the expensive shirt underneath of it. Buttons were sent whizzing to the front as inhuman strength ripped open the front of the man’s shirt.
Needy fingers explored the washboard surface of Astle’s chest and abdomen. The man was cut as if he had been born into a life of military duty. His skin was the color of warm caramel, a shade that wasn’t so easily found in Solindira. Everything about the prince called to Maithe, begging him to become more entwined within him. Astle released a delightful groan as the hellion’s deft fingers kneaded over the hard form of his cock through the soft material of his trousers.
Astle hustled to pop open the few buttons that were painfully restricting his erection from freedom. Once the last button was popped, his thick phallus slipped from the material and sprung into the halfling’s line of sight. Astle was well blessed with a cock that adequately fit his strong frame. What was more impressive than the length of the prince’s shaft was its thick girth. His thin fingers confidently curled around the rock-hard flesh. Pressure was applied by Maithe’s strong grip. More teasing than the tight heat wrapped about Astle’s cock was the slow and languid strokes the little angel used to torment the other.
Maithe didn’t take long to savor the sight and feel of Astle’s thick cock. It looked like the prince wouldn’t have allowed the continuance of such teasing for much longer. Instead, he slid his body downward so that the tip of Astle’s leaking member might brush against the untainted entrance of his body. Pre-cum helped aid the wet sliding motion of his tip rubbing back and forth along the deep valley of the hellion’s backside. Maithe was set on what he wanted, and there was no deterring him from taking it at this point. Astle didn’t appear to mind from the looks of it. Their gazes were locked, affixed on one another for a mere moment before their lips returned to one another.
Astle’s teeth nipped at the hellion’s seemingly fragile bottom lip and saw to ripping open a soft patch of flesh. Blood oozed from the wound only to die upon the prince’s tongue. Astle appeared to have a taste for the coppery crimson liquid from the sound of the ravenous groan that he released. The taste of blood excited Maithe. It always had. He couldn’t help the urge to return the favor. His vicious teeth ripped into the human’s bottom lip in what was likely to result in a scarring mark. Blood burst into his mouth with such an invigorating potency.
As if in payment for his suffering, Maithe slid his body downward and slowly forced the thick girth of Astle’s tip past the tight ring of muscles that guarded the heated depths of his body. The smaller hellion gasped as he felt the thick cock sliding up into him. It was the first time that another had been given the privilege of taking his body. In truth, it was the first time that a single person had laid eyes on his undressed form in many years.
The crown prince released a hearty groan as Maithe gasped out into the warm still of the room. His whole body was trembling. Astle wrapped his arms about the hellion to steady him and draw him in closer at the same time. The horned hellion’s head fell back as eyes lulled to the back of his skull. His body lowered until the entirety of Astle’s cock was jammed into the tight confides of his body. It was then that the prince would take control of the show.
“This is my body now…You are mine now to do with as I see fit.”
Astle’s hands fell to the hellion’s ass. After a quick squeeze, he used the grip upon Maithe as leverage to help lift and drop his body onto his throbbing arousal. Maithe bounced upward in a quick yet deep rhythm. With the taste of the human’s blood in his mouth, the hellion was lost in a blissful existence. The pain of his virginity being taken subsided, and the pleasure Astle had to offer set in. His cock was so hard he could barely stand it. Pearly drops of pre-cum slid from the slit at his tip and down along the underside. All the while, Astle was pushing and pulling the halfling up and down on his cock.
The human’s voice was growing strained now, seeing as he was taking in a breath between every few words. “No one else with ever have you.”

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Risk is a Four-Letter Word

Menage, Contemporary, Erotic Romance, MMF
Word Count: 37,800
Heat Level 4
Published By: Evernight Publishing

Buy links:


What if you met your soul-mates on the beach and didn't realize it? How many chance encounters would it take before you risked everything and let yourself fall in love with not one, but two men?

For Carrie, losing her bikini top in the ocean leads to an erotic encounter with two gorgeous guys. For Eric and Zeke, the steamy kiss they share with her is an amusing interlude on a sunny, summer day, but when the three of them meet again at the art museum, attraction turns into passion. Zeke and Eric realize their feelings for each other are just as potent as their desire for Carrie. Will they risk everything and choose love? Will Carrie be willing to take that leap with them when loving two men means goodbye to her safe, conventional existence?

Story Excerpt:

The first time Carrie Haake set eyes on the two most gorgeous men in the world, she was cowering in the ocean, frantically trying to locate her missing bikini top. Okay, actually she was totally failing to find it. The waves rolled around her, smirking at her misery as she squatted beneath thigh-high surf, collecting sand in the bottom half of her bathing suit. The top was nowhere to be seen. She frantically twisted her head back and forth, looking for the bright-red scrap of fabric. Crap!

"Aunt Carrie! Look! We built a moat!" one of her nieces cried from the shore.

Carrie hunched down further into the water. "That's awesome, Gina! So cool!"

She hoped the girl wouldn't wonder why her favorite and only aunt wasn't coming to inspect their work. She peered into the murky water, keeping her hands around her boobs. Nada. She glanced at her nieces and nephew ten feet away on shore happily building their sand castle. Carrie's sister Olivia, the children's mother, snoozed under the family umbrella, oblivious to the drama happening right in front of her. Still no sign of her top. Double crap!

Carrie cursed her sister under her breath. It was Olivia's fault she'd lost it, anyway. "Take a risk, Carrie," Olivia had said. "You never try anything new these days." Bah. Carrie wanted to smack herself upside the head, but that would require letting go of the goods. That would not be cool, she thought. The world does not need to see your double D's.

"Is this what you're looking for?" a deep voice asked.

Carrie startled and jerked her head around, trying to locate the body that had produced such a lovely sound. Unfortunately the movement set her left breast free so she ducked even further under the water, getting a nose full of foam. After she finished coughing she looked up. Her mouth dropped open.

Standing before her were two men. Or maybe they were gods. One had curly brown hair tousled sexily around his face and a tattoo of a hummingbird on his right wrist. The other had shoulder-length chestnut hair gleaming with gold highlights. He had no tattoos that she could see, but his pierced nipples were sexy enough. The man didn't need any more decoration. And hot damn were the two of them built. Carrie always thought abs like that were fake, a result of some good photo editing software and careful lighting, but clearly she'd been mistaken. Both men sported sleek muscles and a light dusting of hair on their chests. Both wore baggy swimsuits drooping low on their abdomens.

Carrie swallowed again, tearing her eyes away from their naked chests. Safer to look elsewhere, right? Wrong. Their thighs, just visible above the waves, were as phenomenal as the rest of them. They stood close together, comfortable in each other's company. The dark-haired man dangled her bikini top from his right hand like a wilted flower. The hummingbird tattooed on his wrist looked disgusted. No nectar there.

"Miss? Is this yours?" he asked again.

Carrie cleared her throat. "Um, yeah, thanks. Where did you find it?" She made no move to get out of the water. The men made no move to come closer. She wondered if they realized she wasn't going to be able to simply stand up and take back the top.

"It was floating about twenty feet out," the other man said. His lovely tenor voice gave Carrie the shivers.

"Thanks for rescuing it." She told herself to stop staring at his nipples before he noticed her fascination but every time she looked away her eyes landed on another delicious body part. Between his piercings and the dark-haired man's unlikely tattoo, she felt like someone had clocked her on the head.

"We couldn't just leave it there. Someone might get the wrong idea about this beach," Dark-Haired Man said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Carrie narrowed her eyes. Was he being snarky? The sounds of shrieking children drifted around their little bubble of awkwardness while Carrie shifted in the water uncomfortably. She was starting to get cold. Even in July, the Atlantic Ocean wasn't what she'd call warm. And this particular beach on the coast of Maryland was about as far as you could get from the topless decadence of Spain.

"Can I have my bikini back? Please?" She hoped one of them would take the hint and come closer so she could snatch the fabric. She might not be able to preserve her dignity, but she could probably spare the middle-aged couple wading closer a bit of a shock.

Dark-haired Man smiled. "Sure. If you tell us your name." He moved closer.

Carrie pursed her lips. He was bribing her? Hmph. She supposed it couldn't hurt to tell them. "I'm Carrie. Nice to meet you." She did not stick out her hand.

He wrapped the string of her top around his finger. "I'm Zeke. This is my friend Eric."

Adult Excerpt:

"Carrie, I want to kiss you so badly. You're beautiful." His voice deepened to a low rumble.

He was asking permission? Another drop of moisture slipped from her core and rolled down her thigh. At this rate she was going to make a mess of the bed before anything even happened.

"Yeah, okay," she said thickly. Like she was going to protest? Sensing her need, Eric lowered his head slowly. Too slowly. Carrie slid her fingers into his hair and pulled him down. She licked over his lips. He opened up and let her dip into his mouth. He tasted like mint. She lost herself in the sensuality of the kiss, not even pausing when Zeke's hand slid from her waist down to her pussy. What a clever, clever man. Carrie opened her legs, knowing he'd immediately realize how aroused she was.

"Carrie, my God, you are so wet," Zeke murmured, rubbing his fingers over her labia. She let her thighs fall open further and he slid a finger inside, teasing, before slipping out to play with the hood of her clit. She tore her face away from Eric, panting. Zeke chuckled and continued to torment her, sliding down the bed until his mouth was on her mound, blowing air over her sensitized flesh. He shoved the covers away as she writhed, wanting more, but he continued to gently roll the hood around with his fingers, never enough pressure to do more than drive her insane.

"Zeke, please," she begged.

"Patience," he murmured as he opened her labia with his thumbs. He blew on the exposed bud and she shuddered.
"God, Zeke," Eric rasped. He stared at the juncture of her thighs. She reached for him, hoping to bring him in for a kiss, but Zeke slid a finger over her again and her intent shattered.

"Zeke. You're killing me here." Carrie slung a leg over his shoulder, trying to get him closer.

He chuckled as he pulled back on her clit, exposing the tip. More moisture rolled out of her pussy as she froze, waiting for him to do something.

"You are so lovely," he said then he bent his head.

She felt warm breath for a moment and then he was licking at the tight bundle of nerves, light and quick. She arched her back, seized with pleasure. Eric rolled his arm under her shoulders and sucked on her neck, adding to the unbearable sensations rocketing through her body. Zeke kept lapping at her, the tiny, tight flicks driving her right to the edge before he abruptly pulled back.

"No," she protested, crooking her leg and trying to keep him close. He kissed the inside of her thigh and ducked away. The next thing she knew, Zeke was rolling across the bed to fumble in the nightstand.

Carrie frowned, her pussy throbbing, but Eric kissed her again, so deeply she thought he might be trying to distract her. She let him, drowning in the taste of him. He mouthed down her throat, pausing to lick at the spot he'd sucked earlier, playing with the sensitive skin. What was he doing to her? It felt like a hot wire going from his mouth to her clit, bright and sharp. She clutched at him, but he slipped away to her breasts. She couldn't think. Could barely breathe. She tugged at his hair, but he didn't budge.

"Eric," she whispered, mouth dry. She swallowed, trying again. "Eric."

He looked at her, grinning. "I want to taste you so bad." 

Carrie's body went molten as he nibbled her nipple. She burned even hotter when Zeke came back and settled between her thighs again. Yes, she thought. Yes, yes, that's exactly where I want you. Eric sucked on her and she twisted, bumping her pussy against Zeke's cock.

He sucked in a breath, hard. He grabbed her legs and widened them until her joints ached. "Is this okay? I need to fuck you," Zeke asked, his legs trembling between hers.

She nodded and Zeke took himself in hand to tease at her entrance. He deliberately slipped around all the most sensitive parts until she growled and grabbed at his hips with her legs. She arched her back and thrust up into him in desperation. His cock slid in all at once and the three of them groaned. Carrie whipped her head back, wondering, then saw Eric was watching where Zeke had his cock inside her body. She flushed, knowing what she must look like. Then Zeke moved and she forgot all about how she was a total slut, putting out before the first date.

"Carrie, Jesus, you feel so fucking good," Zeke said, thrusting in short, sharp bursts. All she could do was hang on. Eric bit at her nipples and she gasped, her climax suddenly dancing all along her spine. Zeke froze.

No, not now, dammit! Her eyes flew open. "I'm going to come, don't stop, don't stop!" Her voice sounded high. Breathy. Eric somehow got his face down between her legs and licked at her clit. Carrie went postal, writhing and bucking as her orgasm flared. Zeke had to hold her hips down so he could fuck into her.

Carrie loved it. She loved being held down like that. Pleasure ripped through her like a flash flood. She rode it, keening and shoving herself onto Zeke's rock-hard erection, savoring the rough sensation of Eric's stubble scraping at her thighs. Her body spasmed once, twice, three times before she could catch her breath. When her back finally unknotted itself, she sighed, but Eric hadn't stopped playing with her clit. He sucked lightly and she jerked, the over-stimulated zing of his mouth almost too much. Zeke was hard as ever in her pussy, shoving in with long, steady strokes. She petted them both.

Eric lifted his head. "You can have another, Carrie."

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Kissing Orion by Amber Kell


Detective Aaron Bradshaw sweet talks his way into a vampire club, hoping to get the local master's cooperation for a drug bust. Little does Aaron know Master Orion plans to keep Aaron for his mate.

Aaron Bradshaw's boss orders him to acquire the vampire Orion's cooperation in their police investigation. Little does Aaron know sweet talking his way into the club is the first step in establishing a long-term relationship with a vampire.

The master vampire, Orion, has been alone for a long time. One look at the sexy detective and Orion decides who he wants to keep by his side. But Aaron's insistence of throwing himself into danger drives Orion insane.

How can he keep his lover safe and still let Aaron do his job--hunting down drug runners in Orion's club?

He may not be able to...

Buy link:

CONTENT ADVISORY: This is a re-edited re-release title.


Shifting the weight of the box to his hip, Aaron Bradshaw impatiently banged on the side door with his fist, trying not to lose the clipboard he balanced on top of the package.

With a groan, the metal door opened and a handsome auburn-haired man peeked out. "What do you want, love?" he asked in a thick English accent.

"Blood delivery."

Cool green eyes looked him over from head to toe before giving him a lusty grin. "You're not the usual driver."

He shrugged. "Guy was sick. I got called in. You gonna let me in or not? This is heavy."

"Sure, come inside." The man's smile inferred the words could be taken any way the deliveryman wanted.

"If you could sign here." Aaron slammed down the clipboard with the delivery paperwork back onto the box and pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket.

The bartender signed on the line but when Aaron went to grab the board, he kept a grip on to it. "How about a kiss, love, or don't they let cops do that on duty?"

Aaron tipped back his head and laughed. When he finished, he gave the bartender a cheeky smile. "What gave me away? I thought I was doing pretty well. I did a little delivery work in college."

Smiling, the bartender leaned closer. "You smell too fucking good, mate. The bloke who usually delivers smells like three month old cigarettes." He took a deep breath and the driver saw fangs peeking through the other man's gums. "You, on the other hand, smell like sugar and sunshine and look like a gay bloke's best dream."

Aaron laughed again. "You sweet talker. I'm Detective Aaron Bradshaw, first precinct." Aaron held out his hand. "I told them you wouldn't fall for it, but I didn't think it would be how I smelled that tripped me up. I'll have to remember that. The delivery's legit though. The rest of your blood is in the truck."

"Banner Hawkins." The bartender replied, shaking Aaron's hand longer than necessary before reluctantly letting it go. "I'll help you unload if you tell me why the cops are trying to get inside the club."

"I need to talk to your master. Rumor has it he might have the answers I need and he's ignoring me through the usual channels. I hoped if I got inside, some lovely man could help me out." Aaron batted his eyelashes shamelessly at the bartender.

"I can think of a lot of ways of helping you out," Banner said with a smile, "starting with that kiss."

Aaron couldn't remember the last time a cute guy flirted with him. It felt good to be admired and he was more than a little tempted to give the man a kiss despite being on duty.

"The man came to talk to me," a silky voice said behind him. "I believe that kiss is mine."

* * * *

Orion marched through the club. The minute the gorgeous detective walked into the bar, he'd known. He's mine.

Before he even saw the man, Orion knew he would be his destiny and after seeing him, Orion knew the detective could easily become his obsession.

"I'm Orion," he offered, holding out his hand.

"Detective Aaron Bradshaw." The gorgeous cop shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Master Orion."

The vampire groaned when their palms crossed. He almost couldn't resist the overwhelming impulse to yank Aaron into his arms and sink his teeth into the sexy detective's neck. The urge to sample Aaron's flavor almost overpowered his conscience.

It pleased Orion when he could unclench his hold on the other man's hand. Stepping back, he gave the detective what he hoped was a professional, fangless smile even though he could feel his teeth trying to descend. With effort, he forced them back into his gums. He didn't want to scare off the detective. He had plans for the man and none of them included the gorgeous creature running from the club screaming.

"Follow me and you can tell me what you need," Orion said. All the things you need, he added silently. Orion couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to be exactly what Aaron sought.

Orion barely heard the detective's quiet footsteps despite his supernatural hearing. If he hadn't felt the man's presence behind him, Orion would've assumed he walked alone.

Entering his office, he motioned for the detective to sit on the opposite chair. Presumably to speak with Aaron, however, it also provided the perfect angle to look at him. The ceiling lights shone directly on the dark head, displaying streaks of red highlights hidden in the ebony locks, leaving Orion to wonder if they were natural or cleverly tinted.

"I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me." The detective's voice pulled Orion's attention from his hair.

"No problem."

"My superiors have had difficulty getting hold of you."

Orion ignored the man's pointed stare. He had the option to brush off Aaron's boss if he wanted. If the police weren't such overbearing pricks, he would've talked to them when they called the first time. However, in the past, they'd made their opinion of vampires very clear and Orion felt no compulsion to help them now, unless the cute detective asked nicely, maybe on his knees.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Purly Gates by Vastine Bondurant


Eventually soul mates meet, for they have the same hiding place. ---- Robert Brault

A lonely stretch of beach becomes a hiding place for two men who are determined not to be ships passing in the night.

Purlman “Purly” Gates—dark, brooding, mysterious, hiding from his past and the hefty price on his head—is hopelessly attracted to the young man who strolls the beach every morning. At the risk of his own exposure and its deadly consequences, Purly succumbs to his desire and sets out to lure the beautiful enigma into his lair.

Lucky Cleary wants the swarthy stranger who watches him from the shadows of the cottage deck. His morning promenades finally pay off when the man steps out onto the beach and into Lucky’s life in a move to bring their paths together.

But Lucky has a secret as well—a past mistake following close behind him, promising certain death if it catches up with him. And when he discovers the Purly’s identity, not only does Lucky want the man more than ever but he sees the loner as a shelter, an escape to safety.

Is the meeting of these two souls a beautiful destiny or merely a cruel twist of fate in which their desire is nothing more than the kiss of death for them both?



It had been one week. Seven days to be exact. Lucky had not returned for his morning walks.

Daily Purly gazed along the shore, halfway hoping to see the man with the honey-colored curls. It was wrong to wish it, he knew that. But he hadn’t anticipated the ache at seeing that Lucky’s path in the sand, the only sign the beautiful enigma ever even existed, had faded with the tide.

It was for the best. Yes, as surprisingly painful as it had been to watch Lucky leave that day with his shoulders slumped—to see him cast a sad smile at his dogs then follow them onto the beach and out of Purly’s life—there was no way Purly could deny it had to be.

It was for the best, but…

Damn! How the hell had Lucky managed to possess him—lock, stock and barrel—in the span of one week? A pinhead of time in the big scheme of things. A complete stranger at that! And only thirty minutes of that week, if even that much, had been spent face to face.

Loneliness. Of course. That was all it had been. An eternity without having touched another, slept with them, tasted their lips. Longing pent up inside him, miserable and swelling, torturing him for release.

Yes. The shy man with the eyes of crystal green had just happened to cross Purly’s ravenous path and stood right before the jaws of this hungry beast. It could have been anyone, any man, and the effect would have been the same.

It sounded logical, but…

Purly placed a recording on the spindle, wound the crank on the phonograph and rested the needle carefully where the Moonlight Sonata was to begin.

The music—rich and beautifully gloomy—filled the area and shards of moonlight pierced through the dilapidated blinds to paint silvery stripes on the floor and walls. The perfect setting for a man determined to brood.

Plucking his ever-present cigarette from the ashtray, Purly headed for the deck and stepped out into the balmy night air. The ocean’s roar, rolling then subsiding, blended with the melancholy sonata.

Beyond the shore a wide ribbon of moonlight split the endless black horizon. To the west, lightning illuminated a cluster of clouds and seconds later the rumble of thunder echoed in the sky.

And then he spotted them. There on the beach, silhouetted against that wide smattering of sparkles on the waves, stood three figures—Lucky and his two dogs.

Before Purly could pull the lever of reasoning and caution, waves of warm, exquisite, excruciating heat rushed through his body. And, abandoning the damn internal warning sirens altogether, he tossed his cigarette, bolted down the rickety steps and out onto the cool sand toward Lucky.

What he’d say when he reached Lucky’s side, he didn’t know nor did he care. He only knew he did have to reach his side.

Standing within several feet of him, Purly said nothing, just gazed at Lucky’s back—at the wind dusting through his curls and rippling the loose-fitting white shirt and trousers about his limbs.

The dogs galloped from the tide to pounce on Purly as though running into a long-lost friend and, thrusting their wet paws on his chest, sent him sprawling onto the sand. Only then did he realize he’d stepped outside in his thin undershirt and shorts.

Lucky turned to face the commotion. With his hands deep in his trousers pockets, he studied the scene through those dark lashes and rested a serene smile on Purly. He shrugged, tilted his head and sighed. “Purly.”

Struggling to his feet in spite of the eager dogs, Purly searched Lucky’s face, registering every smooth inch of it, before looking into his eyes.

A lie formed in Purly’s mind, an excuse for being out on the beach at this time of night in his undershorts. But Lucky’s gaze, although so languid and cool, somehow managed to shoot fire straight to Purly’s soul, melting the budding falsity.

Instead of the bogus story he’d planned, the truth issued from his lips. “I’m sorry, Lucky, about the other day.”

Lucky bent to ruffle the white fur at each dog’s neck. Since their meeting, all the boyish nervousness seemed to have vanished from his eyes, his bearing.

He said nothing, just continued to lavish his attention on the canines.

The silence prompted Purly to step nearer, determined—hoping to God the chance hadn’t passed forever—to draw some sort of response from the man. “I’ve missed seeing you in the mornings.”

Still no reaction from Lucky.

Stubbornness in his resolve now, Purly boldly closed the space between them and stooped to rest his hand on Lucky’s. To demand his attention. The touch of the man’s skin sent heat rushing from Purly’s fingertips straight through his body. “I’ve missed you.”

The sentiment spewing from him was so foreign to his ears—the unfamiliar concept of missing, longing out loud—he might as well have been speaking in tongues.

Finally Lucky straightened, gently withdrew his hand from beneath Purly’s and brushed the sand from his own palms. His voice, wafting on the ocean’s breeze, seemed to have drawn the thought from Purly’s very mind, “Do you want me?”

And Purly knew he’d utter the tiny word—the lone syllable possessing the power to shatter the huge boulder on his shoulders with the force of a hundred earthquakes. The answer that would plunge him into a dark, horrifying unknown and yet set him beautifully free.


Vastine Bondurant

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

The Last Hard Man by G.A. Hauser

The Last Hard Man


Sam Lockwood worked for Down and Dirty Harry's Tattoo shop for three years. Since the big, tough Harley rider had the Callahan brothers to have sex with on a regular basis, Sam didn't entertain the idea of a partner. But once Jean DuLac, the art professor from UCLA entered the picture, Harry and Clyde spent their spare time with him, leaving Sam on his own.
On lonely evenings, Sam called a sex chat line, always asking for the same man, 'Brad' to get him off.
After weeks of conversation, that involved everything from taboo fantasies to sharing secrets, Sam began to feel an emotional attachment to this man, or at least to his voice.
One evening Sam goes to a local club to hear a live performer. Something about the man felt familiar to him. Then he figured it out. The performer, Cody Douglas, was his phone sex actor.
For the fans who know Sam from Down and Dirty as well as his hot sexual fling with Alexander Richfield in Going Wild, they know Sam Lockwood is 'up' for anything.
But even Sam had no idea what to expect when he found out his phone sex operator was one of a set of identical twins, and Cody and Cat Douglas decided a hunk like Sam was just what they were looking for.

Author: GA Hauser
Publisher: The G.A. Hauser Collection, LLC

Available now from the GA Hauser Collection, LLC

Monday, April 9, 2012

Tell Me No Lies by Mahalia Levey

Tell Me No Lies
Caileigh flicked her gaze over the crowd. She located him in a seat right next to the stage. The intriguing man who’d come in for every night for two weeks. She fixed a smile on her cherry-red painted lips and gyrated in front of him, gliding around the pole, the cool steel warming under her palms. Up she inched, higher, her gaze never straying from his. What’s his deal?
She enacted a series of spins, anchoring her hands between her thighs to distribute her weight and display her flexibility. Her underarm locking her in position, she spiraled down the pole. She enjoyed this part of her job the most, playing on stage, moving her body to the music, contorting from position to position. Her toned muscles supported her body. Bent upside down, the underside of her knee caressed the cool metal, her arm held the stem of her booted foot. She released her hold to land gracefully on the smooth floor. She sidled around again and again, offering a smile or a wink, before engaging in a new series of acrobatics. She locked her legs in a side split then flipped to a sitting position to regard the crowd. Too much silence greeted her. Tough crowd.
She used her upper body strength and slammed to the floor in a center split, her boots clacking, a sonic boom echoing from her landing. Heads snapped in her direction. Caileigh unleashed the naughty vixen in her, performing complex floor work until she rose with grace and sashayed across the stage. Take that, people.
Her second song began, the haunting gothic voices echoing in a series of oohs and ahhs. Swaying to the slower rhythms, she untied her top, baring areolas the color of dark chocolate in contrast to her milk chocolate skin.
Bracing in front of the pole, she worked her floor routine then moved to the edge of the stage to accept bills with a seductive smile, thanking the men with an air peck next to their cheeks. She moved back to center stage, twisting and pirouetting, finishing her set with a single spin around the pole, relishing the cool metal between her thighs. The nameless man’s penetrating gaze fired her blood. No man…no customer had ever affected her as he did.
His gaze made concentration impossible. She’d perfected her series of pole tricks—each with a name only a dancer would know—or she’d have landed on her head. She forced herself to break the stare down…. to try to forget his dark brown orbs bordering on obsidian enough to blend in with his pupils. Not once had he spoken to her, queried for a dance. He didn’t have a welcoming presence with his mercenary appearance. Sweat beaded her upper back. The song ended and applause began. Caileigh waved to the growing crowd and headed for the main floor. A shiver wracked her body as she passed him, as if his eyes were boring into her skin.
~Mahalia Levey

Shut Up and Kiss Me by Mahalia Levey

Shut Up and Kiss Me

Being the bad girl has been Carrie’s gig since childhood but being good for a certain drummer boy promises a beautiful future.


Brought up in a traditional family Carrie Stevens fights the bounds of propriety and flaunts her deviance with no regard to personal consequences. With one exception…her big brother’s wishes where his band is concerned. The sparks that fly when she’s around the one taboo she’d love to date are only a tempting siren’s song, until she sees there’s more to Shea than she’d originally thought. The sexy drummer might just make her lose her heart, if he can put her past to rest.

Shea McNamara has been in love with Carrie Stevens for years. Running in the same circle as her isn't easy. Her choice in men irks him but she's in his blood as much as the drums he loves to beat. All he has to do is convince her there’s more to life than the fast lane. With her flirty attitude he refuses to allow her to call the shots.


She ducked to the table, opening the crates to set out the shirts, posters, stickers, hoodies and underwear with Crimson Rage’s logo on them. Carrie smiled greeting fans that came up to buy from her. When the area cleared, she stuck her head under the table to pull out more pieces. A shadow eclipsed the light she needed to search through the tubs. Agitated, she looked up, ill prepared to see her ex, Ty hovering over her. “I’m working.”

“Come on now, sexy. It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other.”

Some things never changed. Apparently he thought coming onto her with a weak ass line would get him somewhere. Ty looked good, immaculate, matter of fact too perfect, from his kohl-lined eyes to his professionally groomed hair. An opportunist if ever there was one, he never missed a chance to climb higher using others to help him get there. Too bad she didn’t see the signs before dating him for half a year. “You’re wasting your time. I never go backward.”

“Not even a good fuck for ole time’s sake. You know the spot we always nabbed, against the wall.”

“What are you really here for? I was nineteen when I let you bang me behind the stage after you played a really horrible set.” Blunt to no end, she slapped the handful of packed T-shirts on the table.

“Who says I want something?” Ty’s eyes darkened. If he wasn’t such a beanpole in skinny jeans she’d be afraid he’d lay a hand on her.

“Whatever you want Ty, I don’t. Please leave me alone.” Instead of leaving he bent down to the table, trailing a finger down the side of her face, his eyes drifted to her breasts. She shuddered in revulsion and leaned back, slapping his hand away. “Fuck off.” To her horror, the song ended at the precise moment she screamed the words. A hush fell over the on-lookers, keen on the drama playing out in front of them.

“Fine. When I make the big time don’t come crawling on your knees back to me.” Ty sauntered off to the bar to get a drink.

Carrie fumed in utter humiliation. With a fake tight-lipped smile pasted on her face, she sold out of merchandise.

“Hey, carebear.” Shea’s voice broke the monologue running through her brain, screaming murder, murder, murder. He held out a fresh drink for her. She snatched the plastic glass from his hands quickly to avoid the zing of excitement his brief touch left her wanting.

The blessed taste of grape vodka and lemon lime soda soothed her parched throat while giving her a moment to compose herself.

Shea tipped back a bottle of domestic beer and leaned on the edge of the table regarding her.


“Tryin’ to figure you out, carebear.” The way her pet name rolled off his tongue in a thick whiskey tenor sent lava through her veins.

She wondered what he was up to when he set his empty bottle down. Kneeling, he grabbed a bag, rummaged through it and withdrew a black T-shirt. Shit. He planned on switching out from his sweaty one right in front of her. She played nonchalant by taking a swig of her drink.

He edged the shirt up his sweat-incased body over his head. Who said sweat on a man wasn’t sexy? Not her. He mopped his chest with his damp shirt and stuffed the soiled garment in his shoulder bag. Nice. Her gaze roved from his abs of steel, up to his pierced nipple and across the tribal artwork on his shoulder wanting to devour every inch of him.

Suddenly Kiss Me Deadly played in her mind. Great time for 80’s rock music to enter her brain.

“Nice humming voice.” When Shea chuckled, she realized she’d begun humming the Lita Ford song. Gah…She sucked down the rest of her drink and choked on a small bit of ice. Shea pounded on her back.

“The ice melted. I’m good.”

“Heard you were back in town. Plan on staying long?”

“I’m here to stay for a while.” Disappointment hit when he shrugged into the new T-shirt. Damn he looked even better with the shirt stretched over his muscles, she thought as she tilted back in her chair. He would never wear skinny jeans or kohl on his eyes. The prospect of making him her new lover rammed into her for the briefest of seconds again.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Where the new beer in his hand came from, she didn’t have the slightest clue. So she said the words currently on the tip of her tongue. “Wanna fuck?”