RIDING SHOTGUN by Claudia Dante

Sonny Goss has everything going for him. He's still not 22 years old, and already he's a rising star in red-hot niche movies, and working for an ambitious director-producer. Paul Jordan's films are still in the zone of soft-core, but Paul has big plans to evolve into 'erotic fantasy' catering to the gay DVD market. His company -- Take A Chance Pictures -- is expanding fast, and his current project, Howl of the Black Wolf, is the biggest, most expensive movie yet to issue on his label. Sonny Goss has the starring role of saddletramp and gunfighter, Matt Ridley, who's in love with a shapeshifting young shaman, John Black Wolf.

Sonny's starting to get noticed, and the future looks bright ... save for one thing. He's alone, and he wants so much more than one night stands with beautiful guys he meets 'playing cowboy' in a notorious LA club know as The Corral. It can be a dangerous place to play, but Sonny turns on to the 'midnight cowboy' fantasy, even while he envies his friend, gorgeous First Nations actor Jeff Lucas, who's costarring with him in the gay Western that's tipped to kickstart a whole new genre.

The incredible fantasy of John Black Wolf haunts Sonny -- as does Jeff. But Jeff is secure in a happy, settled relationship, leaving Sonny stranded and falling back on The Corral, where he goes just to watch, to let off steam. The fantasy is piquant, powerful.

Meanwhile, there's a very real half-wolf called Jason ... a soundstage at Universal where the Western action is rather more intimate than the usual spurs'n'saddles ... and there's a stalker menacing Sonny. Crazed fan, or vigilante on a personal quest against out gay actors working in fringe movies...? Sonny's starting to run scared, and calls his producer. Paul Jordan has the reputation of a 'fixer,' and he knows everybody in the gay side of the industry...

Enter Jim Colby -- ex-cop turned Hollywood P.I., who walks into Sonny's life as a hired gun, a bodyguard, and turns his world upside down, inside out. Jim is Sonny's dream, walking on two legs ... but Jim is hiding a secret of his own, and it won't take Sonny long to find out about it. It's fireworks between them from the first moment: the cowboy fantasy is about to become a sizzling, delicious reality, and for Sonny, nothing will ever be the same. Jim Colby is about to take him places he only daydreamed about.

He's about to get what he's wished for ... with interest!

ISBN: 978-0-9872328-2-3
Publisher: DreamCraft
Length: 42,000 words
Format: PDF, Epub, Kindle
Heat rating: 4
Price: $3.99
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Read an excerpt

Chapter One

Hot water felt so good after a day in the dust and heat. Sonny Goss turned, let it pour over his back and ass while he listened for the phone. He spread his legs, leaned his palms on the shower glass, let the water do wonderful things to every nerve ending in the center of him. The flood of sensation made him think of the night ahead. From the shower, he could see the foot of his bed, and the clothes laid out there.

Crisp black denim waited for him, and hand-tooled Lucchese boots, a black linen shirt, bone-bead belt and Diamond Jim Stetson -- all genuine, no cheap knockoffs. The ensemble had set him back a cool grand, with the diamond studs in his lobes and the Ambre Topkapi that would be shimmering on his skin -- hot, sweat-slick and lustrous with pheromones by midnight.

The best thing about being Sonny Goss was, he could afford it all -- and the cherry red '71 Mustang Mach 1 in the garage under the apartment building. Often, he had to pinch himself, make sure he was still awake, not dreaming while he killed time, crashed on a friend's couch, where he had been just twenty months ago.

A chance audition changed everything. The part had looked bad, but he was desperate enough after six months on Nick's couch, eating noodles three times a day, to go read for anything. He was the thirteenth guy in line, and there were twelve chairs.

He sat on the floor, read an old car magazine, and by the time he made it into the hot, dark little cubbyhole they were using for an audition studio, he could not have cared less about actually getting the part.

Maybe that was what Paul Jordan was looking for -- he saw the character of Tommy Hathaway, in Dirtwater Duke, as a badass with attitude to match. A twenty-year-old drifter with a smart mouth, a fast gun, and a taste for ripe young cowboys who very soon learned what the words 'hard ridden' really meant.

The movie was crap, but as Paul predicted, it made money. Sonny liked to think he owned an 'ear' for dialog, and Paul Jordan might have been a good director with a talent for raising movie bucks from starry-eyed wannabe investors in California's gay community, but he was a lousy writer. So Sonny adlibbed most of the words coming out of Tommy Hathaway's mouth, and after that, let his body do the talking for him.

Twenty months later, he had eight movies to his credit -- two had been screened on Starz, one was top-selling on the gay DVD list, and Sonny Goss's face was looking out of posters and video trailers on forty websites. He had been featured in The Advocate, and here! was getting interested.

He looked up into the mirror opposite the shower and gave himself a grin. Even to his own eyes, it looked like a damned smug grin. Then again, he had a reason to be smug. He had done it. He had gone from being the gay kid kicked out by his father for bringing home a boyfriend and daring to fuck in the sanctuary of his own room, to being the poster boy for Take a Chance, Paul Jordan's company.

They were filming on a stage at Universal this week, headed out on location in another four days. Sonny could not wait to get out of the soundstage, back into the open air. One corner of the vast area was currently set up as the barn, for the night scene where one of the movie's eight sex scenes was being filmed.

The set was closed, and guarded to keep out visitors. Yesterday, the same space had been set up as the interior of the cabin belonging to John Black Wolf, with the big brass bed and the quilt made of patches of every color of rabbit skin. Wrestling there with Jeff Lucas, who was playing John, was fun. Understatement, Sonny thought as he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

He grabbed for a towel, flicked off the bathroom lights and headed into the bedroom, where the lamps were on, illuminating the room in a dull gold. Jeff was Canadian, half Native, from someplace in upstate Ontario. He was 22, a year older than Sonny, with long limbs and dark eyes, and hair so long, he could almost sit on it. He was perfect for the part of John Black Wolf, and Paul Jordan was gambling on the chemistry between him and Sonny.

Howl of the Black Wolf was the most expensive movie Take a Chance had ever produced. This one had horses; it had location filming, and two actual stunts -- as distinct from the sex scenes, Sonny thought with a chuckle while he toweled down -- as well as fourteen digital special effects shots, which were being done by a studio in Malaysia.



That handful of shots was costing more than the rest of the movie combined, and Paul was shitting bricks over them. He knew they, plus the stunts and location work, would make the difference between Howl being just another glossy gay soft-core flick, and a real movie with a fantasy twist.

Sonny had fallen in love with the project as soon as he read the script, even though Paul's dialog was as crappy as usual, and would have to be rewritten on the set, probably with three minutes left before shooting started. The dialog in Paul Jordan's movies was the least important element. The sex was usually the first thing anyone looked at -- 'tastefully explicit gay love scenes,' as Paul called them.

But Howl was more than soft-core. John Black Wolf was a skinwalker. He shifted shape between human hunk -- a six foot two, broad-shouldered young stallion who had had Sonny drooling since day one -- to a big black wolf with blue eyes and fangs the size of steak knives. The digital effects shots were essential -- these days, nobody would buy simple cross-fades or stop-motion animation. Jeff Lucas had to really turn into the wolf right before the eyes, and take the audience's breath away.

Actually, Jeff was changing into a wolf-cross called Jason. The animal trainer was another Canadian, Cooper Barlowe from Vancouver. He had actually bred Jason, who was half timber wolf, half Belgian Shepherd, black as midnight, with the bluest eyes Sonny had ever seen.

Jeff had already filmed one half of the scene, three days before. He stood under blue lights, made to simulate moonlight, and tore off his clothes. Naked, glorious, from the great slabs of his pecs to the cock and balls that hung like rich fruit between the big, football player thighs -- he spread his arms and legs and arched his back -- and froze right there. A Malaysian studio called Hydraulic Frog (where the hell did they get these names, Sonny wondered) was doing the 'bridge' between the human end of the shot and the other, wolven, end.

Cooper had brought in Jason, and the wolf was perfectly behaved. He stood on his mark while the lights were reset, then looked right at his handler and, on cue, like a proper actor, bared his huge fangs, threw back his head and howled.

The sound made Sonny's hair stand on end. Like Paul, he was dying to see the finished scene, where Jeff ripped off his clothes (the rushes of that part of the scene gave Sonny a huge boner, so it was a safe bet, this part of Howl was going to become an Internet legend) and morphed into Jason, howling at the moon, before he loped up to the camera and away out of frame.

It was the first time Sonny had ever been enthusiastic about a project he was filming. The others were all 'work.' Each low budget job was shot in a week or two, usually using a warehouse in Anaheim as a 'stage,' and they were mostly about a group of great looking young guys having a lot of sex. Paul wrote them, as well as producing and directing -- and what sent the Take a Chance movies apart from the bulk of soft-core was that Paul could usually find a really good excuse for the sex scenes.

Sometimes there was a thread of unrequited love, or it might be a forfeit for unpayable gambling debts, or a joke being played on a straight dude who rapidly discovered that he was nowhere near as straight as he had thought he was. And when the guys got down to business, it was always shot with taste and style. That was Paul Jordan's magic.

Howl of the Black Wolf had just as much sex, but a whole lot more story, and Sonny was excited to be heading out on location Tuesday morning. The company would be in a flyspeck town in northern California called Weott, on the Redwood Highway east of Avenue of the Giants.

The scenery was guaranteed to be superb. Four trained horses were coming down by truck from Oregon. Jason would be filmed loping through the redwoods in shots processed later to look like moonlight. And Jeff and Sonny would get naked and make out in places that would render the video sex shiveringly exotic.

Mostly dry now, he threw the towel back in the general direction of the bathroom. He was still waiting for the phone -- it was on the chest by the bed, mocking him with silence. Not even a text. Sonny gave it a glare, but he was not surprised. He had left voicemail for Jeff an hour before, when he got home.

'Hey, man, you want to get out tonight? Thank God it's Friday, or whatever? I'm going to The Corral, if you're interested. Call me, okay?"

Three or four times a month, Fridays or Saturdays, Sonny went to The Corral. The nights all started like this, with the daylight faded to colors of twilight and the sounds of evening traffic coming in through the open windows with the view of rooftops and dusty palm trees. LA smog would be hanging over the horizon like a brown pall in the sunset. He would shave, shower, grab a snack, change into the kind of threads that would get him through the door at The Corral --

Get him into the basement, where it all happened, much later, when the dancers were drifting on out in couples and trios and quads. The bouncers would be on duty at the side door in the muck and dark of the alley, and the real action would be starting. The Corral was aptly named, and just thinking about it gave Sonny an icy-hot thrill, a shiver down his spine.

He was a mere spectator, but part of the thrill was knowing, he could be in it. He could be a player, in there with the rest of them. One day; one night. Not today, but one day.

Maybe Jeff knew about The Corral -- it was no secret -- and maybe it was not his scene. Sonny might have been disappointed, but he was not surprised. Jeff had a lover stashed someplace in Toronto, a real estate broker who was always texting, calling, emailing, as if he did not trust Jeff not to sleep around while he was out here. Sonny had never even heard the guy's name, but the guy need not have worried. Jeff Lucas got a lot of offers, but he never accepted them. Not yet, anyway. He was as faithful as John Black Wolf was to his on-screen lover, Matt Rigley.

Sonny played Matt Ridley with a drawl, skin-tight blue denims, a Winchester over one shoulder, and a mouth always hungry to go down on John ... and he envied Matt, who was a fictional character right out of the head of Paul Jordan. Matt had the one thing Sonny had never had.

The worst thing about being Sonny Goss? Not being able to connect. There was always plenty of sex -- never any shortage of offers and, unlike Jeff, he never hesitated to take them. But the next morning was all about Pop-Tarts and coffee like black paint, and a door closing behind a guy who never looked as good in the morning light as he had at midnight or two in the AM ... and who always walked away.

He sighed, and gave himself another look in the mirror. A hard look. Naked. He looked good, and he knew he did, with long legs, hard-worked muscles, dark brown hair and eyes, from his Italian grandmother, smooth chest that barely even needed to be shaved, and a cock that was thick and golden when it was resting, and stood s good eight inches when it was interested. His skin was tanned evenly, with just the pale strip around his hips of the Speedos line. His hair was thick and long -- Paul liked it that way; he knew what suited Sonny, and the character of Matt Ridley.

The reviewers on Dirtwater Duke had called him 'surreal as an evil angel, with innocent eyes and wicked mouth.' Sonny pouted at himself, examined his shave and shook out the still-wet hair. It was rapidly drying in the warm evening air. The breeze was still almost hot, and getting heavy with car fumes. He ought to close the window.

He ought to be going through the pages for tomorrow's shooting, as well, but the dialog was hardly essential to the plot. If Paul was on schedule, he would be humping Jeff on a hay bale in the barn set, before the stagehands took it all to pieces and rearranged it as the cave interior, with a bunch of Styrofoam slabs that looked convincingly like rock. Some of them were so old, Charlton Heston was probably acting in front of them, in the original Planet of the Apes.

He had eight lines of dialog tomorrow, and they were bad. Paul was not getting any better at putting words into actors' mouths. If he was as good at putting words there as he was at putting his dick here, he would have been brilliant. The script was lying on the chair, on the other side of the bed. Sonny picked it up on his way to the window.

INT. NIGHT -- The Barn. Matt and John meet for the first time in a week. John wants to tell Matt about the roughnecks who suspect him of being a shifter, and are in the woods, laying traps for the wolf. But Matt is too hungry for John's body to listen.

"Save it -- tell me later," Sonny said in Matt's drawl. "You know what I want. I didn't come here to talk."

And Jeff would say, in that deep voice with the rich accent hinting of other cultures, other worlds, But this is important, Matt. You have to listen to what I'm saying to you.

"So I guess I'll listen real good when you can tell me the whole story ... but later, much later, after I've had what I came for," Sonny/Matt would drawl as he opened the buckskin shirt wide, shoved it back over John's shoulders, trapping his arms in it to hold him.

Camera closes in tight on his face as he stoops to John's chest, takes his nipple between his teeth and bites down. John gives a cry of pain and then a groan of pleasure, he tosses his head, and we hear the wolf howl in his voice. His fingers clench into Matt's arms and they wrestle down on a bale of hay ...

"Jesus, Paul, that's shitty dialog, man," Sonny groaned, "you're getting worse."

More likely, Paul was getting just plain lazy, because he knew Sonny and other bright, smart young actors like Jeff Lucas could adlib when they hit their marks; and in any case, the jeans were off in the next half minute, and all the talking was done with hands, lips, cocks.

It was like that at The Corral, in the hours after the front doors closed and the bouncers took station at the side door. The unsuspecting public was never likely to wander in. Every guy in the basement knew the score and was there for the thrill of it. Actions spoke louder than words.

Nobody cared where a guy was from, where he went to school, what he drove, what he did for a job. It was all about the broncs in the corral, and the cowboys outside of it ... who was going to get roped and ridden, and by whom, and how.

The old familiar thrill raced up Sonny's spine again and he dropped the script. The beer he had left on the table by the door, with his wallet and keys, on his way to the bathroom, was still cool enough to wet his throat. He took it to the window, intending to let the hot night air finish drying his hair before he slid into the black jeans, put his feet into the tooled Lucchese leather.

He was reaching for the window, ready to pull it across, shut out the car fumes, lock up for the night, when he looked down into the street. The streetlights were on. The sky was orange, reflecting the city lights. No stars -- not in LA, not inside of Sonny's lifespan. And down below, on the sidewalk right opposite, standing just outside the pool of blue brightness cast by one of the big streetlights, was that face.

That man. Again.

Always the same man, the same face, looking at him with the wide eyes, not even blinking, just staring, as if he could shoot lasers into the middle of Sonny, cut out his guts, or perhaps his soul.

The beer was forgotten and warm on Sonny's tongue. He swallowed with an effort as he saw the face, locked eyes with the man. This made forty times he had seen that face, in two weeks. At first he had assumed the guy was paparazzi, but he never seemed to carry any visible camera. He did not even have a phone that would take the kind of crappy shots few magazines would buy -- these days, digital was all about high quality.

It was an older dude -- he had to be at least fifty, Sonny thought, dressed in jeans and teeshirt and windbreaker, even though it was hot tonight. He just stood there with his hands in the pockets of the jacket, like --

Suddenly Sonny's blood turned cold and he stepped back from the window. Maybe he had seen too many movies, but the way the guy had his hands in the pockets of a jacket, on a night light this --? Gun in the pocket?

His heart thumped as he sidled around, grabbed the cord and yanked it hard to close the drapes over, and then continued on, back to the chest by the bed, and picked up his phone.

Still no text from Jeff, and no missed calls. This time, Sonny hardly bothered to notice. His fingers went through the ritual by themselves. Paul was top of his contacts list, and in seconds the phone was calling. Who else did you call, when you were scared shitless, and right in the middle of a major production -- or the most major production Take a Chance had ever undertaken? You called your producer.

Calling, and getting an answer, were not the same thing. "You have reached Paul Jordan," Paul's nasal voice said in his best level, casual but 'don't mess with me' manner. "I'm busy right now, but leave a message and I'll get right back to you."

"Hey, Paulie, man, call me. Soon." Sonny swallowed hard. He knew he sounded weird. "I think I'm ... I might have a problem," he said, hating voicemail. "Make it fast, all right? Thanks, man."

He hung up but kept the phone in his hand as he returned to the window. He slid along and looked through the crack between the drapes and the window frame ... and swore. The guy was gone. Or had he stepped back away from the light? Was he standing in the deep shadows at the side of the apartment building across the way? "Fuck," Sonny whispered. "Come on, Paulie, call, goddamn it!"

Impasto (part of the 'Mine' anthology) by Lydia Nyx

Blurb: Alexander is a vampire and his human lover–and dearest possession–Laurent has finally agreed to be turned. While in London so Laurent can visit his mother one last time as a human, Alexander sits in the darkness of their hotel room contemplating Laurent’s beauty in post-coital slumber. Alexander endeavors to paint a portrait of him in words in his well-weathered notebook, but despite observing all the trappings of their lives together, and Laurent himself, he finds only one word can encapsulate him: mine.

Excerpt: Now came the centerpiece of the painting, the object that would tell the observer exactly what had happened here, if they hadn’t already guessed. Most likely they had, but were wondering with who, and why. The ‘who’ was simple enough, the ‘why’ a bit more complicated, and had been, for nearly two decades.

The sheets on the bed were white cotton. They were soft and had smelled of industrial detergent. They’d been wound around Alexander’s bare legs earlier, before he’d gotten up and pulled his pajama bottoms out of his suitcase. Atop the sheets was a cream-colored blanket, then a green and white comforter with pink flowers printed on it. Both were tangled, twisted. Pillows were scattered at the top of the bed, one on the right propped against the headboard and slumped toward the edge of the mattress. The smell of detergent had been replaced by the scent of sweat and sex, skin and musk, and just a little blood, that sweet, coppery odor. Alexander fancied he could smell it still, even over the damp air and lingering cigarette smoke.

On the left side of the bed, the fire behind his inspiration lie tangled up in the sheet. He was on his stomach, his bare shoulder blades angular and sleek, his arms sprawled out to either side and his right hand lost amongst the mounds of pillows. The left dangled off the bed, fingers curled against the box springs, swaying slightly with his breath. The comforter was draped over one leg and the other rested atop the blanket, long and muscled and bare, the light picking out downy hair on the back of his calf. Across the white pillow beneath his head, sable curls were flung scattered and wild, a few clinging to the back of his neck. One tumbled onto the smooth, pale skin of his back, a dark, tempting ringlet on a bed of creamy velvet. Alexander felt the urge to go over and pluck it up between his fingers, curl it around his knuckles, press it to his lips.

Beneath the sheet, the shape of his lover’s body was exquisite, long and slender, a sloping back and narrow hips, jutting hipbones and slim thighs. The swell of his ass was subtle, the sheet so far up his bare leg Alexander could just see the soft round beauty of one cheek peeking out.

How could anyone capture such glorious beauty on canvas? Michelangelo would have thrown his brushes into the Tiber upon seeing him, knowing he could never replicate such a thing in pigments and oils.

Buy the anthology at Torquere Press!

Lydia Nyx on GLBT Bookshelf

Merger by Lydia Nyx

Blurb: Paul Malkovich and Damon Trussel have just sealed a major deal: the merger of their respective companies, textile manufacturers on either side of the Big Pond. After the obligatory high-society celebration, Damon expresses to Paul he’d like to cement their business union with a more personal one. They take a steamy limo ride around London, during which Paul teaches Damon something even better than business politics.

Excerpt: Paul was twenty-four and had just started working under his father when he met Damon. Damon, several years older, worked under the head of his own company, and was a prodigy out of the London School of Economics and highly respected among his peers. Paul developed an instant fascination for the charming, sophisticated, and quite business-savvy Brit. Paul’s father told him to keep an eye on Damon, because he knew he would be in charge one day. Paul kept two eyes on him. Sometimes, Damon reminded Paul of his own mother: hardworking, sophisticated, smart, but also highly personable. Paul imagined his father had been most attracted to his mother because she could be a social and professional dynamo but also put people at ease with her charming, laid-back personality. Paul often heard men fell for women most like their mothers. But again, maybe a woman wasn’t what he needed to look for.

Over the years, he and Damon found themselves often in correspondence and physically together on multiple occasions. Paul’s fascination and appreciation for the man slowly turned to attraction. When their friendship took on a coyly flirty air—and then eventually a blatantly seductive tone—Paul nonetheless proceeded with caution. He personally preferred men over women, even if this fact took a while for him to accept, but he also knew Damon had a wife. Damon married young, and Paul heard people joke he did so to get the obligation out of the way.

“Where’s Ellie?” Paul asked.

“At the party.” Damon looked down at their hands. “She said to have a good time. She knows me better than I know myself.” Truthfully, Damon loved his wife and Paul knew this full well.

“So she’s all right with us being together tonight? No jealous wife trying to murder me in my sleep?” Paul chuckled, though he worried, really. He didn’t know Ellie as well as he did Damon, had in fact made a point not to get too close to her.

“Of course not.” Damon looked up, flashing a charming, squinty-eyed grin. “This isn’t the first time we’ve done this.” He paused. “I don’t mean that to be callous. I only meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Paul said gently. “You’re lucky to have such an open-minded wife.”

“Yeah, well.” Damon continued to smile. “I’ll tell her all about it later, and she’ll tell me about that photographer following her around tonight.”

“Never let things get boring, hmm?”

“That’s how a marriage lasts as long as ours has.” Damon’s focus seemed to be on their hands, still joined, his idle rubbing. “She’s a wonderful woman, and she makes me happy. But I’ve been curious for a long time. As a man gets older, his tastes broaden. I’m not as uptight as when I was younger. She wants me to go explore. And report back with my findings, of course.” He looked back up at Paul.

“So that’s what all this flirting all these years has been about.”

“I can’t recall you ever rebuffing it.”

Damon had him there. “Why me, Damon?” Paul had to ask the question. “And why tonight? I know we’ve had a connection in the past, but—”

Damon cut him off. “Why not you, Paul? I think you’re brilliant. Self-confident.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell your father, but I always thought you had a better head on your shoulders than he did.”

Paul smirked. “That isn’t a reason to want to sleep with someone.”

“It’s better than any other superficial reason.” The light glinted in Damon’s dark eyes. “Would you be happier if I said it’s because you have a tight arse and a good tailor?”

Paul laughed. “And you think this is the best night for it?”

“It’s a new beginning. New territories opening up for us. I think it’s the perfect night”

Paul mused they were being so very professional about the situation, hashing the details out as though they were making a fiscal plan—but then, they would hardly be inclined to behave any other way. He did have some concerns though, a list of cons to bring to the table. “If you think it might ruin our professional relationship,” Paul said haltingly, “I don’t want to risk that.”

“I don’t think this could ruin our relationship, only make it stronger. I want to. Now. Here.”

“In the car?”

“Yes.”

Buy it at Noble Romance Publishing!

Lydia Nyx on GLBT Bookshelf

Fire in the Desert by Lydia Nyx

Blurb: Garrett Thomas is one of the world’s leading cryptozoologists. When he gets a tip a dragon—the holy grail of his field—has been spotted in the Sahara desert, he jumps at the chance to locate and document this elusive creature. As further incentive, his old college friend—and lover—Keegan Richards is currently on an archeological dig in Egypt. Keegan possesses a powerful supernatural ability called the Mystic. When Garrett sees his old flame after a year of separation, he finds not only has Keegan’s power increased so he has full command of the element of fire but he’s grown a thousand times more beautiful and exotic. After Garrett has a strange and erotic dream about him, Keegan inexplicably grows cold and tries to send Garrett home with his mission unfulfilled. Garrett stays in Egypt, however, and when he finally enters the dragon’s lair, he finds what he’s looking for—but not the way he expected.

Excerpt: Two weeks before venturing to the desert, Garrett received an email from a colleague who told him a group of nomads saw what they claimed to be a dragon in the Egyptian Sahara. Garrett, one of the world's leading cryptozoologists—a title meaning little, according to his father—jumped at the opportunity to investigate such a claim. No known lizard-like creatures in deserts grew to the size described, so even if the animal wasn't a dragon it was certainly a new species. In a magnificent coincidence, he received a letter from Keegan a week before the email saying he was on his way to Egypt. Garrett hadn't seen him in nearly a year and hoped he could contact him when he arrived in Cairo. Contact him he did, and Keegan agreed to lead him into the desert with a band of nomads who had taken him on as a sort of shaman. Garrett was ecstatic at the news. His own adventures with strange creatures paled in comparison to Keegan's tales of the world—though, the strangest creature Garrett ever met, really, was Keegan.

By evening, Keegan had bathed, eaten, and spoken with the people, who'd gathered around him like children around a storyteller. As Garrett sorted through his pack—carefully examined for scorpions beforehand—in the tent he and Keegan shared, Keegan entered. Garrett wore a sweatshirt and jeans, as night in the desert could get very cold. Keegan seemed unaffected by the temperature. He wore linen pants, a pair of sandals, and nothing else. Garrett wondered if his power kept him warm.

"Cold?" Keegan asked with a smirk. He knelt by his own pack, his back to Garrett. A tattoo crawled down his spine, starting somewhere beneath his long, sun-bleached hair and extending downward to the top of his pants, the work exquisitely intricate, an interwoven design of many colors. A torch outside the tent flap cast flickering light on Keegan's skin, making the colors shine iridescent. The lines moved with the subtle flexing of Keegan's muscles.

"That's new," Garrett said.

Keegan looked over his shoulder. "Huh? Oh, my back?" He looked away. "Yeah."

"When did you get that done?"

"A few months ago." He rose and turned. He held a shirt but didn't immediately put it on. The torchlight twinkled off the twin rings through his nipples. Those were new too. Garrett tried not to focus on how attractive he was, even more so than when they were in school together. Garrett had a job to do, after all—even if he had come there hoping for a little something else.

"Still working on your canvas I see," Garrett said. "Every time I see you it's a new tattoo or piercing. You'll never get a job in the real world." He said the last bit with a mock-fatherly tone.

Keegan rubbed a hand over the snake around his arm. "I don't think I'm going back to the real world. As much as I love archeology, I'm leaving the field."

Garrett looked at him in disbelief. "You are?"

"There's much more to this world than we ever imagined at Cornell." Keegan pulled his shirt on, a plain white t-shirt, so tight it clung to the sculpted landscape of his chest and abs. "I think you know that better than anyone, Garrett. I can't work in a structured system anymore."

"What about your travels? Your adventures? You couldn't give those up; I know you! You want to see the world."

"The world is bigger than what I can see now, working under measly grants." Keegan grew stoic. "You shouldn't have come here, Garrett."

Garrett's bewilderment increased. "Why not? This is what I do. And besides, I get to see you. I haven't seen you in ages!"

"It's dangerous."

Garrett laughed sarcastically. "I've been handling dangerous creatures for a long time, Keegan. A dragon? That's the holy grail of my field! My grants come from people with "special interests," but if I found a dragon and could document it? The scientific community would come crawling back to me to apologize! I wouldn't need to beg on the doorsteps of eccentric millionaires."

Keegan shifted his jaw. His gaze met Garrett's, the gleaming blue depths of his eyes capturing the torchlight, and then he looked away. "I just don't want you to get hurt," he said.

"Keegan, I know what I'm doing." Garrett rose, smiling, and grasped his shoulders. Indeed, he felt warm. "Trust me."

Buy it at Noble Romance Publishing!

Lydia Nyx on GLBT Bookshelf

In Love and War by Lydia Nyx

I put this up as a free read on GLBT Bookshelf. When you're done reading the excerpt, click the links at the bottom to get the WHOLE thing for FREE!

This story takes place on the eve of advancement before the Greek-Roman battle of Heraclea in 280 BC. The main characters are Macedonian and part of the allied army of Macedonia who advance with King Pyrrhus of Epirus. I tried to be largely realistic pertaining to the sexual conventions of the time, which makes it a little less typical than most erotic fiction.

Blurb: On the eve of the Greek-Roman battle of Heraclea, General Karanos of the allied Macedonian army enjoys the hospitality of his old friend and once-lover Nikanor. Nostalgic for old dalliances, he quickly learns Nikanor has a new dalliance of his own: a beautiful, fierce young man named Amyntas. However, old passions are not so easily quelled--nor are new ones.

Excerpt:

Time passed and Karanos sunk deeper into the cushions of the couch, his limbs heavy with wine. The dancers sat upon the men’s laps and laughed, their voices tinkling with the music. A few tried to draw Nikanor’s attention but he waved them off. When Zeuxis finally rose and went to another couch Nikanor sprawled out, one foot on the cushions and the other on the stone floor. He wore a simple unadorned chiton without a cloak, no special dress for his farewell celebration. His feet were bare. Karanos felt a fondness deep inside him and smiled. Nikanor’s lack of convention made him ironically more appealing, to everyone. Nikanor stared at the ceiling, head reclined on the arm of the couch, his hands folded and resting upon his stomach.

One of the dancing girls came by, swaying her hips, and stopped beside Nikanor’s couch. She reached down and put a finger to his chest and Karanos heard her speaking lowly. Nikanor drew her down by the arm and whispered something in her ear.

Thetima spoke. “Women love my son, but he does not suffer them well.”

Karanos glanced at her, and then back at Nikanor. The girl suddenly stood upright, frowning petulantly, and moved away from him. Clearly, whatever Nikanor had said did not please her. Nikanor stared up at the ceiling again.

“He has no time for such pursuits,” Thetima said, never looking up. “Love for a woman is weakness. Do you love your wife, General Karanos?”

Karanos blinked, his cup hovering near his lips again. “I do. She has borne my son.”

“And does your wife understand your life? Your life of war and killing?”

“Of course not. But I do not ask her to. I would rather she not realize the truth of such things.”

“So I think Nikanor feels, that any wife he took would suffer.” Thetima gave a soft sigh. “He could not bear to expose her to it and yet he could not keep it from her. For it is who he is.”

Karanos thought on that. “I understand. But it is lonely without a wife. Even if they do not understand, at least they are there.”

“Is she here?” Thetima paused in her threading. She held a shell up to the light and examined it. “Is your wife here to ease the loneliness?”

Karanos did not speak.

“Of course she isn’t.” Thetima rested the shell on the cloth again. “She is not here because you would not expose her to it. And so you are lonely, when you sought not to be. This is the problem Nikanor knows full well. He could only ease his loneliness with one who understands his life. So it is with many men of Macedon. You lay with each other to share wisdom, but it is not only that. ”

Karanos was surprised to hear her speak so.

“Do not look so startled.” She glanced up at him, her eyes as calm as a windless sea. “Long have I been in the midst of men. Long have I heard tales and jests when they thought it did not matter if I heard, for I was only a woman. I do not fault you for it. You must take your peace where it is offered. I know of men and their ways.” She drew a small pouch from her side and from it, dumped a pile of glittering glass beads. “Loneliness must east itself where it may.”

Karanos wished for more wine in his cup.

“You desire my son,” she said.

It was bold of her to speak of such a thing and he had to restrain himself from chastising her, for she was not his mother and it was not his place. Nikanor sat up suddenly on his couch, placing both feet on the floor, and leaned down to retrieve his cup near the leg of the couch.

“I know men your age do not desire one so old as my son.” Thetima began stringing the beads with the shells. “I know this desire only arises from a need for understanding and companionship. But you have a past with him, one that you do not speak of.”

“Why do you say this!” Karanos was finally unable to withhold his outrage. “Do you seek to shame me?”

“No, my intention is not shame. It is a warning.”

Karanos frowned, studying her profile. “A warning?”

Suddenly, a draft passed through the hall. It made the lamps flicker and the fire burn brighter for an instant. Karanos felt a warm tingling on his arms and wondered how much wine he’d truly drank.

“How long has it been since you last saw Nikanor?” Thetima asked. “Five years? Six?”

“Too many.”

“Things have changed a bit since then.” She glanced up.

Karanos turned to see where she was looking and his gaze fell upon the doors. They had just opened, accounting for the draft. A young man entered the hall. He wore a deep blue chiton that fell to mid-thigh, pinned twice at the shoulders so they peeked through the resulting gaps, narrow and golden. His legs were long and lean, bronze as the rest of his skin, the laces of his sandals lashed to the knee. He wore his hair long like Nikanor’s, though it was darker and straighter. Around his neck hung a shelled necklace similar to the one Thetima wove. He was Amyntas, son of Timandros, and Karanos had known him as a boy. Thetima cared for him after his parents were stricken down by typhus and in letters to Karanos, she often spoke of his growth. He was going with them to see his first battle.

“Amyntas!” Karanos lifted his cup, though it was empty, to the youth in greeting. Amyntas nodded in return. The firelight on his skin and in his eyes made him glow like a bronze-cast sculpture.

“So potent he is,” Thetima murmured. “Do you not feel it?”

“What do you mean?” Karanos asked softly.

“He is young, and full of power. He is also as the lion that adamantly guards its territory. Beware, Karanos. Study well before you assume old dalliances. He was but a child when last you saw him. He is a child no more.”

The other men greeted Amyntas, and he them. Nikanor made no sound or move. He remained lounged on the couch, tugging idly at a lock of hair. Amyntas came near him and stopped. Karanos gazed upon Amyntas and wondered at Thetima’s words.

Clear they became when Amyntas fell elegantly upon the couch and draped his long, sleek legs decisively across Nikanor’s lap. He held his hand out for a cup from one of the serving girls. His eyes fell on Karanos, and though his smile was friendly, his gaze was fierce.

As fierce as a lion’s.

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The Game in Spain by Lydia Nyx

Blurb: In Madrid, Spain, during Carnival, gorgeous Spanish gymnast, Alejandro Salvador, leads his trainer, Gabriel, and his ex-boyfriend Sebastian on a wild and sexy chase through the streets. Promising the one who gets to him first gets him as their prize, he thinks he runs the game he's playing. Little does he know, the two men, both in desperate lust with him, will realize competition isn't necessary when they can have twice the fun working together.

Excerpt:

"Why did you come?" Sebastian asked accusingly.

"He left me a letter." Gabriel placed his hand defensively over his jacket pocket. "He kept talking about the Carnival. He told me to come."

"He left me one too." Sebastian put a hand on his hip pocket. "I'll be in Plaza Mayor—"

"Catch me if you can," Gabriel finished. "Get here first and I'm yours. I wondered what he meant by that. Then I saw you at the airport. I should have guessed."

Sebastian snorted. "He's certainly got some brass, doesn't he?" He looked up and down the alley again.

"Yes, he certainly does." Gabriel adjusted his mask from slipping down on his sweaty skin.

"Maybe we should go this way," Sebastian said, pointing to the opposite end of the alley. "He might be down there."

"He's probably laughing at us," Gabriel said. "With that sexy little laugh of his."

As if on cue, the exact sound Gabriel described issued from above, and they both looked up.

Alejandro stood on the balcony above them, leaning on the railing, smiling sweetly. "Are you tired?" he asked, turning something over in his fingers.

A key.

"Or did you get lost?" The blue eye mask rested atop his head, his dark hair pushed up in wild clumps. His eyes sparkled, his face glowed.

Gabriel eyed the key in his hand, flashing in the light.

"Alej!" Sebastian said beseechingly. "You got us here. Are you going to keep playing with us?"

Alejandro looked thoughtful, a smile on his lips. He stood up. "Sixteen," he said.

"What?" Sebastian asked.

Alejandro flung the key into the air; it fell, twinkling in the light, and Alejandro disappeared before it hit the ground.

Gabriel and Sebastian scrambled wildly and collided as they both tried to catch the prize. The key bounced off Gabriel's fingertips and tinkled on the stones. They both dove forward. A mad scuffle ensued, the two of them pushing at each other, Sebastian's elbow digging painfully into Gabriel's ribs as he tried to force him down. Gabriel yelped and pounded his fist between Sebastian's shoulder blades. Sebastian shoved him and knocked him off balance, and scrambled away a second later with the key in hand.

"Fuck you!" Sebastian laughed triumphantly. He raced to the door of the building.

Gabriel shot after him in a surge of fury. Sebastian fled through the door and slammed it behind him. Gabriel yanked the handle but the door had locked. He ripped off his mask, the cold air chilling his hot face, and looked wildly up at the balcony.

"Goddamn it!" He flung the mask down.

It wasn't over, though. He wouldn't concede so easily.

After a furious minute of pacing and calculating, he reasoned the balcony hovered about eight feet off the ground. Alejandro Salvador held the position of Olympic-bound Spanish gymnast, beguiling the world with his coy charm and impeccable skill, but Gabriel had trained him, at least, in the skill department. The bars of the wrought iron railing were spaced far enough apart to grab. Gabriel looked around and spotted a metal trashcan with a lid. He sat atop the lid to test the can's strength, and the metal didn't give. He pushed the can over beneath the balcony.

Gabriel walked backward, pushing his sleeves up. The alley wasn’t very wide, but he could get enough speed if he took off quickly. His back pressed against the wall opposite the balcony, he took a deep breath. His muscles were plenty warmed up from chasing Alejandro.

The trashcan lid buckled when his feet hit it with so much force, which didn't give him quite the height he wanted, but his momentum propelled him. He caught the bars with both hands, glad they were smooth so he had a strong grip. He swung a leg up and wedged his heel between two of the bars, applied all his upper body strength, and used his foot to push. Once successfully up, he had only to vault over the railing. He hadn't lost a bit of grace since his own days on the bars.

"You're about to get a big surprise," he muttered as he crossed the balcony, muscles burning, heart thudding. He stopped and took a moment to compose himself, pushing his sleeves down and running a hand through his hair. Then, with shoulders squared, he yanked open the balcony door.

On the other side was a hotel room—airy and lavish, with high, rounded windows and a marble-tiled floor. A huge bed sat in the middle of the room, with a dark oak headboard and posts without a canopy. Lamps in the corners chased shadows up to a cavernous, molded ceiling. The room possessed a lovely, old-world charm, but a different Spanish charm interested Gabriel.

Alejandro stood near the bed . . . with Sebastian. Sebastian had removed his mask and it dangled from his hand; his colorful hair hung around his face. He looked horrified when he saw Gabriel. Alejandro just smiled, his dark eyes twinkling.

"How the hell did you get in here?" Sebastian asked.

"Talent." Gabriel stared him down. "You're just his promoter. I'm still a gymnast. I didn't need to take the stairs."

"Well, well." Alejandro folded his arms, his voice a soft lilt. "This is interesting. What shall I do now?"

Gabriel and Sebastian glared at each other, gazes locked fiercely, but after a long moment they both softened with a knowing, shared frustration. They'd come all the way to Madrid, chased Alejandro through the streets, fought over the key to his room, and sacrificed their pride to get to him first. Both were tired and worked up. Both had a right to the prize.

"You know," Sebastian said, "he has put us through a lot."

"Quite a lot," Gabriel replied.

"It wasn't very nice of him."

"No, it wasn't."

Alejandro looked between them, wariness in his eyes. Gabriel and Sebastian moved in.

"What . . . ?" Alejandro looked from one to the other and gasped softly when Gabriel pulled the mask off his head. He tossed it to the floor. Sebastian ran his fingers through Alejandro's sparkling hair. The glitter showered down his back and fell like gentle rain to the tile.

"This is what you wanted," Gabriel whispered in Alejandro's ear. Alejandro smelled like the Carnival, like the cool evening air.

Sebastian caressed a finger beneath Alejandro's chin and turned his face to him. Gabriel grasped the opportunity to kiss the silken skin of the Spaniard's neck.

"You wanted both of us," Sebastian said. "You can't decide, can you Alej? That's why you played this game."

"And what a lovely game it was," Gabriel murmured against his neck. He nibbled at the tendon there. "But we're in charge now."

Alejandro seemed overwhelmed but not resistant. Sebastian slid an arm around Alejandro's slender waist and Gabriel gripped the bottom of his shirt. He tugged the fabric up over his smooth, flat belly and caressed him. Gabriel felt his abdominal muscles pull in, quivering.

"Don't," Alejandro said weakly. He turned his face to Gabriel as Sebastian nuzzled the other side of his neck.

Gabriel slid his hand up, gripped the collar of Alejandro's shirt, and tugged the fabric aside. He slid his teeth over his bare shoulder. Alejandro gasped.

"Don't?" Gabriel asked. "Are you sure that's the word you want?"

"I don't think it is," Sebastian said. He traced Alejandro's trembling, glistening lips with his fingertips. Alejandro opened his mouth, eyes slipping closed, his dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

Gabriel whispered, "I think the word you want is . . . ."

"Si," Alejandro gasped. He titled his chin up as their mouths explored his neck, his shoulders, his collarbone.

Buy it at Noble Romance Publishing!

Lydia Nyx on GLBT Bookshelf

Like a Father, by Shannon Pearce, Beau to Beau books

Blurb:
Todd’s sister had married a loser, and was now divorced from a loser. She and her stepson, always welcome in Todd’s enormous house, were now living with him. Todd was like a father to Kyle, the young man he had nicknamed Scout, and Kyle loved the man he had come to know as Uncle Todd. Having no idea that this young man, who would be in college soon, had feelings for his soon-to-be male roommate, Todd is surprised when Kyle shares with him his concerns about his own sexuality. Kyle knows that Todd his gay. Todd has never kept that a secret from anyone. When Kyle comes to Todd one afternoon while he is sunbathing in the nude by his pool, the only thing he can do is what he has always done, and be like a father to this young man. Neither Kyle nor Todd is certain, however, of the unspoken boundaries of their close relationship. At Amazon, All Romance ebooks, 1Romance ebooks.

Excerpt:
Kyle was good at everything he did. He was good in school, good at sports, and yet he was very humble. Deanna had raised him well, practically all by herself. Kyle, or Scout, had been on the swim team in high school and his abilities had earned him a scholarship which was paying for much of his college. He had a lean build from the sport, and had filled out nicely over the last couple of years. He looked like a man now. He carried himself with a great deal of confidence. Kyle was built like his dad, about the only good thing that had come of Todd’s sister’s marriage, according to Todd, and because of the bulge in his pants, Todd could tell that Kyle also carried a rather large tool, just like his dad.

Todd had had a very brief fling one night with Kyle’s father, when the two of them had gotten drunk together. He had bet Todd that he couldn’t get off on a man giving him a blowjob, and Todd had proven him wrong, very wrong. The man had enjoyed it, too much for his own taste, and had spent much of his married life sleeping with other women just to prove that he was straight. Deanna had never known about Todd’s one little tryst with her husband, and never would, if Todd had anything to say about it. He knew that her ex wouldn’t say anything. He had been far too embarrassed to admit that he had had the best orgasm of his life the night that Todd had sucked him off.

Fortunately, Kyle did not have the arrogance of his father, just the body. Todd only hoped that Kyle didn’t know about his father’s many indiscretions during his marriage to his sister. The man had had his share of women. That was for sure. Eventually, Deanna had had enough and asked for a divorce.

“Make yourselves at home,” Todd had said, showing them to their rooms. “You’ve got the entire upper floor to yourselves.” Todd looked at his sister’s somewhat sad eyes, and hoped that the kid would be all right, anyway.

***

“Your house is beautiful, Todd,” Kyle had said. “Thanks, Kyle. I didn’t expect you to notice something like that, but I like your taste,” Todd had teased. Todd made a pretty good living, and being single, he had no one to spend his money on, except of course is nephew, so the house he lived in was rather large and very tastefully decorated. One of his former lovers was a decorator, so the house was really quite a showplace by even the toughest standards. “A friend of mine decorated it,” he said, not wanting to say the word lover in front of Kyle, although Kyle knew about his Uncle Todd, of his homosexuality.

Being eighteen and very self confident, Kyle was not shy about asking questions or speaking his mind. “Todd, can I ask you some things?” he said one day while his mom was still at work. “Sure, Scout, sit down, take a load off.”

http://www.beautobeau.com

Secret Services, B.J. Scott, Beau to Beau books

Three erotically charged short stories

Intro:
Todd provides a service, or services rather, secret services, to men. Liam has wanted a night with Todd since he turned eighteen just two weeks ago, and if there is one thing that Todd can never get enough of, it is being the very first lover to the young men who are eager to be pleased. All Romance ebooks, 1Erotica ebooks, 1Romance ebooks.

Ray has fantasized about what it would be like to have sex with a man. Now that his wife is away for the weekend, he decides to cash in on a very special gift from his buddies for a night with Todd.

Luke has heard about Todd, but cannot imagine any man being better in bed than he is. Men and women have been more than satisfied with Luke. Todd loves a challenge, but more than that, Todd loves playing the master to the cocky young men who always become submissive to him, in one way or another.

A Younger Man, by Shannon Pearce

Intro:
David had hoped one day to fall in love, and to fall in love forever. He had never thought that this “forever love” could be found in a younger man. David avoided younger men for the most part, except for maybe a casual sexual fling.

When David meets Chris, an obviously much younger man, he can’t take his eyes off of him, and certainly wouldn’t mind having him in his bed. David is flattered by the obvious infatuation that Chris has for him, but certainly doesn’t consider him a possible lifetime partner. Something happens one day that changes the way David looks at this younger man who has been watching him. This younger man couldn’t possibly be the one, could he? At All Romance ebooks, 1Romance ebooks, Amazon.

Excerpt:
David had always loved the simpler way of life. He didn’t need a lot of money to be happy. He did hope one day to find someone to love and share his life with. He had met a few guys over the years, but at age thirty-nine he wondered if he would actually find someone who fit the description of a lifetime companion. That changed one summer day.

It was the summer that David moved to the area, and bought his first house. It was large and spacious and even though other homes might have been nicer, it was all his and he was proud of it. It had a pool, a deck with a hot tub, and a full walk-out basement with wet bar.

A couple of weeks after he had settled in, some friends at work decided to throw him a house-warming party. Everyone showed up, mostly to take advantage of his pool, but David was more than happy to share. He was well liked and had made many friends at work and in the community. He was very generous. David had told his friends to bring anyone who wanted to come to see his house, and he decided to make a day of it with a barbecue, swimming, and plenty of booze.

***

David had just gone inside and was fixing himself a drink after standing over the grill for a little too long, but loving it, when he turned to look out at his friends having fun, and he first saw Chris. Chris had one of the most handsome faces, and prettiest faces, that David had ever seen, and it took him a moment to focus on this man who he was pretty sure he did not know.

David asked, “Can I pour you a drink?” “No, I just came in to use the bathroom,” he said, and David motioned to the bathroom around the corner. David took a big gulp of his drink as he watched the cute little butt round the corner.

“I’m Chris,” he said, when he came back out. “Is there anything I can do to help you? You’ve been working hard all day.”

David tried not to stare, but the young man was so damn cute. “No, I’m fine, but thanks.” David fought the urge to pat him on the head. He looked that young.

Chris just smiled. “Sure you don’t want a drink?” David asked again. “I’m sure,” he said.

***

David went back outside and over to the pool. He stood mesmerized by the sight of Chris while he swam laps. Chris got out of the pool at the far end and walked over to David. His body was still wet and glistening in the sun. The water clung to him, and David watched the drops run down his smooth skin. The young man’s nipples jutted up so cute that David wanted to suck them off of his body. His stomach muscles were tight, and David could see the line of black hair that started at his navel and ran downward.

Chris had worn his shorts into the pool and the effect was stunning! The thin material clung tightly to his skin and was so see-through that David could now see his jockstrap distinctly. The wet shorts hugged his packed crotch, and David could clearly see the outline of his cock and balls. David knew he was staring, but couldn’t stop.

“Hey, David. Love your pool.” Without thinking, David offered, “Well, you are welcome to swim laps anytime.” Did that sound corny to this young beauty? David wondered.

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Spank Me Twice - Wins Best Erotic Book of 2009

Spank Me Twice recently won Best Erotic Book of 2009 at Love Romances Cafe. Here's an excerpt from the anthology written by Tara Nichols, Amber Skyze, Jude Mason and Keta Diablo.

More about Spank Me Twice here:  Noble Romance

And don't forget to read about Spank Me Twice on GLBT Bookshelf

Note: Keta Diablo's story "Lip Service" is a male/male contemporary.

Setup: Bryan is stuck out of town due to a mechanical problem with the plane. More than disappointed, Navarre figures out a way to go to Bryan, but is shocked to find another man in Bryan's room when he arrives.

* * *
Excerpt:

The table is set with our best china.Wedgewood, the Florentine pattern. My hands tremble when I remove the linen napkins from the hutch drawer and place them to the left of the plates. Now, if I can only remember to light the tapered candles.Ocean Breeze, Bryan’s favorite—before he comes through the door.

I so want everything to be perfect as we celebrate our fifth anniversary. Glancing around our condo, I smile. Picture perfect, the way Bryan likes it. Maybe he’s forgotten about our latest tiff in the two weeks he’s been gone. He’d called several times from Japan and didn’t mention the ugly debacle, but I can’t place much stock in that. As lead Fashion Designer at Arpel’s, the man lives and breathes his job, particularly when on assignment. The last thing he’d think about is our fragile relationship. But it hadn’t been fragile until our latest fight. That’s why it’s so important I get everything right tonight.

I pour a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon -- no two-buck-Chuck for Bryan -- and plop into the club chair near the hearth. I allow myself a brief journey into the past, the day I met the most magnificent man God ever breathed life into. I took a job as an intern at Arpel’s under Bryan, and I do mean literally under Bryan. Watching the empty air, I recall the first time we made love. His penetrating blue eyes, that’s what I remember most, and the length and breadth of his cock when I first laid eyes on it.

If I’d had a lick of sense, I should have run. But I didn’t, and something deep inside me screamed, “You know this is what you’ve been waiting for all your life.” I succumbed, and willingly, and have spent every day since wanting more and more. Bryan is like a disease I can’t rid my body of, a shameless, delicious illness for which there’s no cure.

My cell phone vibrates in my pants pocket and draws me from my reverie. Bryan’s number flashes before my eyes and like Pavlov’s dog, my cock responds.

“Hi,” I say, wanting to hear the sound of his voice, yet wondering why he’s calling.

“I’ve got some bad news.”

“What, tell me?”

His voice wheezes with frustration and anger. “My flight got cancelled, some fucking wing flap dysfunction.”

 “Can’t you catch another one?” I ask, trying to concentrate on his words and dispel the sudden image of his magnificent face floating behind my eyelids. Why would God create such a masterpiece? The aquiline nose and erotic mouth, the perfectly shaped brows above the azure-blue eyes that hold ageless mystery and soulful passion?

“Navarre, we’re talking La-fucking-Guardia here, and to make matters worse there’s a National Guard Convention going on with five thousand delegates trying to fly out to Jersey.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, there are no flights to Massachusetts for two days, and don’t bother asking about a rental car. I couldn’t rent a rickshaw right now.”

I pace my breathing and try to hide my disappointment. “No sense lighting the candles, I guess.”

“Look, I know it’s a special night, and I did my best to make it home, but . . . .”

“You remembered.”

In perfect sync with my shiver, he expels a long breath. How many times had I felt that warm, contented sigh against the nape of my neck?

“Yes, I remembered, and I’d give anything to be there . . . with you. “ The anger has left his voice, replaced by a seductive cadence that makes my cock pulsate with need. “That’s all I’ve thought about for two weeks, being inside you. I imagine you on the bed, on your hands and knees, and me plowing into you until we’re both mindless and spent.”

“Don’t, please. These past two weeks have been a storm of emotion for me. The fight . . . the nights alone, and I was so looking forward to.”

“And you think I’m not going through the same tangled feelings?” He pauses. “I’m sorry about getting on your ass about talking to Jay.”

“Jay means nothing to me; you should know that. It was casual conversation at a party, nothing more.”

“I’m such a dumb bastard, and I know it hurts you when I act like an idiot.”

“You do remember what you said, don’t you?”

“About Jay? Yeah, I said he couldn’t find his way in the dark with NVG’s on.”

“Night vision goggles, yes, you did.” I close my eyes and take my fill of his infectious laugh. “What else did you say?”

“Christ, I don’t remember, Navarre. Does it matter?”

“You said, ‘Two can play this game.’ What did you mean by that, Bry? I can’t get it out of my mind.”

“Listen, I say a lot of things when I’m pissed off, and don’t mean half of them, you know that.”

“That’s the problem; I’m trying to figure out if you meant it about the NVG’s or two playing this game.”

“Well, if I was there with you tonight, you wouldn’t have to wonder about which one I meant.”

My turn to sigh. “Did I hear a half-ass apology?”

A lengthy pause drones on and I imagine Bryan looking at the ceiling and then the floor. Finally, he speaks. “I’m sorry, Navarre, for the ugly words, but mostly, I’m sorry for not making it home tonight.”

“Half-ass apology accepted and I guess I’ll see you in two days then.”

Chapter Excerpt From Valentine's Vindication - Keta Diablo

Which . . . of course, you can find listed on the GLBT Bookshelf here: KETA'S PAGE ON GLBT BOOKSHELF 

About Valentine's Vindication, Keta Diablo 

The dreaded day had arrived. And this year, February 14^th had a dual meaning. Not only was it Valentine’s Day, but it was also Valentine’s day. Since his breakup with his boyfriend, Valentine Giovanni, a month ago, Deke’s life seemed meaningless. What had he expected? The moment Val found out he’d cheated on him, the shit hit the fan . . . and Deke’s shoes hit the pavement.

He didn’t have time to explain the why of it. Val wouldn’t believe him, and even Deke didn’t fully comprehend why he did it. He told himself Val deserved better, a submissive who completely trusted him, who’d commit wholly to his rough sex and demands. So rather than talk over his fears and insecurities, Deke forced a breakup by admitting he’d cheated.

It was a painful scene, an angry, gut-wrenching, debacle that ended in a screaming rage. Deke thought he’d feel relief when it was over, but every day was more dismal than the last, and all he felt was emptiness. He’d never loved anyone like he loved his former dom. He realized that now.

And tonight, he planned to prove his love to Val.

Special Content Alert: M/M, Light BDSM, Spanking

EXCERPT:

Deke nodded, walked over to the polished mahogany bar and plopped onto a stool. At the moment, Val was at the far end, filling two glasses with champagne. As if feeling Deke’s presence, Val looked in his direction. When their eyes met, Deke couldn’t help but notice the man’s body tense. A stab of jealousy pierced his heart as a tall, nice-looking man gave Val a familiar smile and took one of the champagne flutes from Val’s hand. Could he be his exdom’s new lover?

He pushed the thought from his mind and concentrated on the speech he’d been preparing for days. God, this was going to be much harder than he’d anticipated. Val oozed sexuality and strength. Never more so than now. Deke had an overwhelming urge to bolt from the stool and reach out and touch that long, sable hair, run his hands over the ridged muscles of his chest. His white cotton shirt was open at the neck, but Deke didn’t need it to be to remember the feel and scent of his skin. What a damn fool he had been.

He drew a deep breath and thought of his mother’s words that afternoon. Thank God, she accepted that he was gay. “You’re no longer a child, Deke. Be a man, tell Val you made a mistake and you want him back,” she had said. With that in mind, he commandeered his courage as Val walked toward him.

Deep, blue eyes looked into his. “How goes it, Deke?”
 

Val’s familiar, rich voice sent Deke’s heart into triple beats. The room stilled and Deke had the feeling everyone was watching them. “Good, fine.”
 

“I see you got my invitation. What are you drinking tonight?”
 

“Huh? Oh, nothing for me, thanks.” Deke ducked his head to avoid Val’s curious gaze. “Things aren’t good; I’m not fine. Can I talk to you . . . in private?” There was a long pause during which Deke held his breath.
 

“What would we have to talk about? It’s all been said.”
 

“No, it hasn’t. At least not on my part. Two minutes, Val, that’s all I ask.”
 

Val leaned back against a large wall mirror. Long minutes later, he walked out from behind the bar and stood in front of Deke. “Two minutes, outside.”

Thank goodness for the temperate weather in St. Louis this time of year. No snow, sleet or rain in the last month, and even the nights only required a lightweight jacket. By the time they walked outside, Deke’s courage wavered like the flickering lamplight in the front yard.

Val broke the ice. “How’s it going at the radio station?”

“Okay, we’ve been busy as usual. How are the restaurants doing?” All three of Val’s restaurants were located in St. Louis’ prestigious downtown neighborhood and every one financially lucrative.

“Busier than hell this week with Valentine’s Day reservations.”

Deke watched his lips move as he spoke and before he knew it, he closed the short distance between them and covered his mouth with his. In an instant, his cock grew hard. Val didn’t try to stop him, but he didn’t respond like he normally did either.
 

Moments later, Val pushed him back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Apologizing, trying to show you I made a mistake.”

Val’s brows drew together with a scowl. “You think it’s that easy. You just come waltzing into my restaurant after a month of not talking to me and kiss me?”

“I-I thought―”
 

“That you could fuck someone else and I’d be here waiting?”
 

“No, please, Val, I made a mistake. It wasn’t about him; it was about . . . about my fear.”
 

“Fear of me?”
 

Deke expelled a long sigh. “No, I didn’t realize it at the time, but now I know I did what I did because I was afraid I wasn’t good enough for you. I thought you deserved someone who willingly . . . .”
 

“Are you shitting me? You cheated because you believed you weren’t making me happy; you weren’t good enough for me?”

Deke nodded. He felt Val’s rage in the space that separated their bodies. This was going to be much harder than he’d imagined. Even if Val gave him another chance, which was doubtful, Deke would have to prove once and for all he could take whatever the man dished out.

Deke closed the distance between them again. “I’m asking for one more chance. I won’t ever hurt you again.”
 

Val stared at him and pushed a long lock of hair from his forehead. When his blue eyes narrowed, Deke almost dropped to his knees and begged. “Why should I believe you wouldn’t cheat again?”

Stammering like a school boy, he said, “I’ll prove it, do anything you ask.”
 

“Anything?”
 

“Yes.” His heart thudded. “Whatever it takes to have you back again.”
 

“Your punishment will be severe.”
 

Deke swallowed. Hard. “I expect it to be. I can take it; just let me come home with you.”
 

Val grabbed his shirt and sent the buttons flying as he ripped it apart.
 

“We’re meant for one another and you know it,” Deke whispered. “Let me show you it can work.”
 

“You trust me not to hurt you after everything that’s happened?”
 

“I trust you. If those old feelings of vulnerability surface, I’ll tell you right off, I promise.”

“One thing I don’t understand, Deke. You always had a safe word. If you were so afraid, why didn’t you use it?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re not a submissive, Val, you’re a dom, through and through. I felt weak, and I hated myself for being scared. I thought if I talked to you about it, you’d dump me in a heartbeat and find a more experienced sub.”
 

“Jesus, Deke. I could search the world over and not find another like you.”

Deke traced Val’s bottom lip with his thumb. “You mean it? You’re willing to work on this?”
 

“With two conditions.”
 

“Tell me. What?”
 

“If I ever find out you’ve cheated on me again, the rage you saw before will be minor in comparison.”
 

“What’s the second condition?”
 

“I don’t ever want to know his name, don’t want to know anything about him.”

Deke crossed his heart. “Agreed. Punish me and let’s be done with it, never talk about it again.”
 

“You sure?”
 

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

Val placed his hand on Deke’s crotch and rubbed his cock. “I’ll let Geoff know we won’t be returning to the party, and I have to find someone to take my place behind the bar.”

Deke nodded.
 

“Tonight, we find out if you can trust me completely. If so, I’ll do everything I can to keep you. If not, we agree that we both move on.”

BUY VALENTINE'S VINDICATION HERE:  Noble Romance

Switching Gears - Book 3 of the Solitary Knights of Pelham Bay

Excerpt:

“I don’t know, Jack.” Gordon shook his head, a concerned look on his face. “The butterfly bandages should keep the wounds closed, but you should probably get this checked out by a doctor.

Jack stared down at his bandaged hand. “Looks like you’ve got it wrapped up pretty good. I’ll wait a couple of days and see how it’s healing. I bet I’ll be good as new in a week.”

Gordon grinned. “Knowing you, you probably will be. You’re made of steel. Just don’t use it for a few days, if you can avoid it. And no slamming any more walls.” He eyed Jack. “I mean, what the hell was that all about, anyway? Did the wall offend you in some way?”

Jack shrugged, embarrassed. “I don’t know. I just get…edgy. You know? Savakis was in the shop and—”

“Ah, Marcos,” Gordon interrupted with a smirk. “That explains it. Every time the two of you get going at the pub, we just sit back and watch the fireworks.”

“Well, he’s annoying as hell. And who does he think he is—”

Gordon laughed, shaking his head. “Harris. You might as well just admit it. It’s obvious to anyone looking during those meetings. You are so into that guy it isn’t even funny.”

Jack frowned. He could feel his blood pressure rise, causing a sharp ache in his chest. He glared at Gordon. “Is that your idea of a joke, Flanders? You couldn’t pay me to get involved with that prick. Shit, I wouldn’t fuck him with your dick.”

“Uh huh.” Gordon continued to grin, which irritated the crap out of Jack. “Whatever you say.”

Seeking to deflect attention from himself, Jack shot back, “Yeah, what about you? Dennis sure seems to want to get into your pants. When’re you going to give it up for the guy?”

“Dennis?” Gordon looked genuinely puzzled. “Dennis Rutherford?”

“Yeah. To quote you, he’s so into you, it isn’t even funny. Why not take advantage of the situation?”

“You got that one all wrong.” Gordon shook his head. “Dennis and I are just friends. We work together. We’re both way too smart to get involved with a work partner. Kiss of death. ”

Jack couldn’t deny that was true. After a moment, Gordon added, “Back to you, Jack. I regard you as a friend, and I don’t like to see my friend hurting himself. No more of this wall bashing shit, okay? You’re really lucky you didn’t break something.”

Jack knew Gordon was right. “Hey, I really owe you one, man. Thanks for patching this up. Bring in your car next time you need work, or a tune up or whatever.”

“Yeah, sure.” Gordon laughed. “When I win the lottery and buy my Porsche, I’ll let you know.”

“Nah, don’t let the specialty sign fool you. I’ll always have time for my pals.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Gordon stood, hoisting his medical bag over his shoulder. “And Jack? Not that it’s my business, but you might want to get some help—you know, find a better way to deal with your anger. That kind of rage could end up killing someone.”

~*~

Gordon’s words kept echoing through Jack’s head that evening. That kind of rage could end up killing someone. His hand was pulsing like a beating heart, a constant, throbbing reminder of his rage.

Yeah, Savakis had pissed him off, as usual, but this wasn’t the first time he’d lost it, letting his anger get the better of him. It was almost like a physical thing—something that rose up like hot lava and burst through him, beyond his control, almost beyond his awareness.

Hitting something eased the pressure. Even when it hurt, maybe especially when it hurt, somehow it made him feel better, calmer. Lately he felt wound up all the time, full of nervous energy that had nowhere to go.

Sex was a good release, but he was forty-two—how much longer did he want to go on picking up guys at the bars, taking them home for a quickie and then sending them on their way? The morning after nearly always still found him edgy, restless, like a boxer in the ring, itching for a fight.

When was the last time he’d felt calm? At ease in his own skin? He closed his eyes, pondering. Man, was it really twenty years ago? He’d just gotten out of the service back then, still wet behind the ears when he’d discovered the scene and fallen in with Alexei. Back then, Alexei had been able to calm him, but Jack had washed his hands of the scene a long time ago.

That whole leather culture smacked too much of the military for his taste. Nobody dictated to Jack Harris who he could talk to and when, or what he should wear, and why it was significant. Alexei, one of the old guard leather daddies, used to coach him on the rules when he took him to scene events—a bottom should never initiate conversation, he should stare with respect at a Top’s boots during conversation, he should walk half a step behind his Top as a sign of respect. There were way too many damn rules—fuck that.

Jack Harris bowed down to nobody, not even Alexei Spiros. Still, he couldn’t deny Alexei had been the one person who could slow him down. When he was with Alexei, the jittery agitation that was such a constant in his life just seemed to slip away. He’d never experienced that level of peace before or since.

“I wonder how he’s doing?” Jack said aloud in the habit of people who live alone. “Maybe I should look him up.” He recalled Drew’s challenge at the last Solitary Knights meeting about looking up an old lover and seeing what had happened with them. Well, he wasn’t sure he’d categorize Alexei as a lover, not precisely. But he had been the one person who could get inside Jack’s head, and the one person who could calm him down.

Curious now if Alexei was still around, Jack went into the kitchen in search of his old address book. He hadn’t looked in the little black book for years. Maybe Alexei didn’t even live in Manhattan any more, but what the hell—it was worth a shot.

He punched the number into his cell phone. “Hello?” It was not the deep, gravelly voice of Alexei, but that of someone who sounded much younger. Shit, it was the wrong number. Jack was about to hang up when the person added, “Spiros residence.”

An employee? A sub boy? A lover?

“Hi. I was calling for Alexei. Is he around?”

“Who is this?”

Just answer the fucking question. Jack took a breath. Gordon was right. He really needed to get a grip. He let out a breath and said politely, “This is Jack Harris, an old friend of Alexei’s.”

“Hold on. I’ll see if he’s available.”

Jack waited. A few moments later the man returned to the phone. “He’s resting now. Can I take a message?”

Worry suddenly shot its way through Jack’s gut. Alexei must be nearing seventy. “Is he okay?”

“You—you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Alexei had a mild heart attack awhile back. I just brought him home from hospital a few days ago.”

Jack’s mind was whirling. Alexei Spiros was made of iron. Nothing could ever happen to him. Even though Jack had lost touch over the years, Alexei had always remained a quiet, steady constant in the back of his mind. He’d been not only Jack’s mentor and partner back when Jack had been active in the scene, he’d been a friend, and maybe the only person who could tell Jack what to do without pissing Jack off.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“He’s doing well. Full recovery expected. He just has to take it easy for a while. Did you want to leave a message for Alexei?”

“Yes. We—we haven’t been in touch in a long time.” The guy’s second sentence now penetrated Jack’s head—I just brought him home—whose home? A shared home? Curious, Jack asked, “You’re Alexei’s…friend?”

The man chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that. We’ve been together fourteen years. My name’s Rusty. Rusty Dougherty. You know Jack from where?”

“I knew him twenty years ago. Man, I can’t believe it’s been that long. He was my, uh, that is, he and I…” Jack hesitated, not sure how much this Rusty knew of Alexei’s background.

“You were his sub? One of his boys?”

So he did know. Jack snorted. “I was never anybody’s sub. But yeah, we were in the scene together, I guess you’d say. I think of him more as my mentor. But I walked away from all that years ago. Not really my thing.”

There was a brief pause, and then, “Would you like to leave your number? I’ll let Alexei know you called.”

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