Wednesday, June 26, 2013

M/M BDSM Erotic Paranormal stories by H.C. Brown

Pride Master by H.C. Brown
Fairies & Fangs Book 1
 Dragged into a future realm Leo Marshal’s erotic dreams become a reality. Has he found his found his dream lover, and Master in Ashrin of Ecatnie Pride? Life is vastly different in this new sensual world of sex and discipline. The only problem is, Leo is afraid Ashrin will love him . . . to death.

"You belong to me, Leo."
The voice spilled over him like liquid silk; the man's face a dark shadow in the twilight. Leo lowered his head to nuzzle the hairless balls, to drink in the rich, hypnotic scent he craved. Under his palms, strong thigh muscles tensed, moving under sweat-soaked skin. Leo moved his mouth, pressing kisses up his lover's long, hard shaft. Strong fingers twisted in Leo's hair, dragging his mouth to the weeping slit.
"Open your mouth; suck me." The deep, sensual voice commanded.
Leo swiped his tongue across the tip, the familiar, rich, musky flavor bursting across his tongue. His heart clenched; he loved this man with a soul-destroying passion. This man completed him. His dream lover, his ultimate fantasy. Leo moaned in bliss. He couldn't wait to taste him again and lunged forward to slide his tongue across the velvet shaft.
I don't know your name. Tell me your name.
The bed began to lurch and roll. The dream faded and he awoke achingly hard and frustrated. Damn it. Why do I always have the same dream?
"Winds of up to one hundred and fifty miles an hour . . . ."
Leo Marshall lifted the baseball cap off his eyes and yawned. What was that?
Stretching, he eased out of the chair and pulled up his fishing rod. The balmy summer day had vanished, hidden behind a violent, black storm front. Clouds of every shade of grey charged across the sky. An icy wind cut through his t-shirt and whipped the once glassy, blue ocean into angry, white caps. In the distance, lightning brought flashes of the coastline, misshapen behind a wall of torrential rain.
Fuck. Leo secured his belongings and ducked inside the cabin. On the twoway, he could hear the Coastguard giving out warnings. He radioed in his details and position.
"You won't make it to Harper's Peak; didn't you hear the warnings?" came the response. "You will have to try and ride it out. We have your position. Do you have a satellite beacon?"
Leo ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, I do, thank God."
The Coastguard signed off and Leo stood transfixed, watching the sea join the inky blue of the sky and close in around him, plunging him into twilight. The Laura Jane rolled and dipped, huge waves crashing over her bow. Leo dragged on his life jacket and pulled his way to the stern to up anchor. Wind tore off his baseball cap, dragged his long hair from its binding and whipped it across his eyes. Brushing at his face, he looked up at the savage sky; his eyes widened. "Holy fuck."
Highlighted by blanket lightning, a funnel rose from the sea. The awesome beast swirled high into the clouds and danced across the ocean like a giant hydra. Long trails of water undulated from its twisting neck with gaping maws. The wind roared, lashing salty rain into his face and tearing at his clothes with icy fingers. Leo dropped the anchor on the deck and battled his way back to the cabin. I've got to get out of here. He depressed the start button on the engine, once, twice.
He ran his arm over his face, swiping at seawater stinging his eyes, and tried again. "Come on girl."
The motor caught and burst into life. Leo laughed in triumphant desperation and fought frantically to turn the craft around. A great surge of boiling water picked up the Laura Jane and dragged the small craft up to the crown of a gigantic wave. Leo clung to the wheel, water swirling in the cabin up to his knees. The boat hovered on the crest then surfed down the shimmering wall at world record speed. Leo looked down the face of the twenty-foot wave and gasped. I'll never out run it.
The boat crashed into the foaming water, bobbing like a cork. It lurched to one side and the crab basket and fishing tackle slammed against Leo's legs. In his hands, the slippery wheel fought against him, spinning one way and then the other. The bow dipped sharply and the propeller broke free of the waves, the engine screaming in protest. The sea roared its discontent, and before him, a whirlpool opened up, a giant vortex sucking everything to oblivion. Leo swallowed, fear closing his throat, ears deafened with the roar that sounded like a freight train. The Laura Jane lay on its side, dark, swirling water pinning it in its embrace. Whipped into a giant centrifuge in hell, Leo joined the speeding procession of marine debris. Above, a mountain of spinning, black water, below, a swirling orifice of black and green sank down to the depths of hell.
Leo clung to the cabin door, his legs floating in midair. The howl of a thousand devils shrieked in his head. The roof of the cabin ripped off in a whine of twisted metal. He looked up one last time, seeking the heavens. Within the madness, a strange calmness enclosed him. His fingers grew numb and slipped off the cabin door. Goodbye, Mom and Dad.
Pride Master’s Slave by H.C. Brown
Fairies & Fangs Book 2
At midnight on All Hallows Eve, the Gates between the realms are wide open. Good and evil in equal measure seek to slake their desire. Be careful for what you wish for Humans, once the Gates shut, there is no going back.
At midnight on All Hallows Eve, the Gates between the realms are wide open. Good and evil in equal measure seek to slake their desire. Be careful for what you wish for Humans, once the Gates shut, there is no going back.
Chase Drake curled his fingers tighter around the steering wheel. The sleek
Mercedes' headlights picked up the white line down the center of the road but little else. His ears still rang from the insipidly happy voice from the G.P.S. Damn, stupid woman had sent him into a field and told him he was at his destination. He had little choice but to keep heading north.
An hour later, the busy motorway and streams of traffic were a distant memory. The narrow road, flanked on each side by the odd, stark, trees was as quiet as a cemetery. Chase swore colorfully and pulled off the road. I'm fucking lost—great.
Leaving the engine running, he turned on the interior light, and then searched the glove box until he found the map. He spread it across the steering wheel. After turning it around several times, he traced a finger along the line that marked the highway. The directions from the helpful guy at the last gas station ran through his head.
"It's easy; take the M3 to Salisbury and just follow the signs for Stonehenge. There's accommodation available about two miles away in the town of Amesbury."
Chase switched off the light and peered into the darkness. "What damn signs?
I've been on this road for over an hour."
He folded up the map, stuffed it back into the glove box and sat back, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He glanced at the clock in the dashboard; hell, it was only 6:30 p.m. and already pitch black. What happened to the twilight? Isn't England world renowned for twilight . . . or was that Scotland? Beats me. He squared his shoulders.
Make a decision man; go back, or stay on this road.
This All Hallows was important to him; he had decided to come out and tell the world he was gay. The decision to travel from his home in California and begin his new life on Samhain had been an easy one. He had made his wish to Samhain at nightfall. Tomorrow morning, he would stand at Stonehenge with fellow Pagans. To watch the sun break over the horizon would finally free his mind of any lingering doubts. He would leave with a new resolve to follow his heart. Carrying the embarrassment of being a virgin at twenty-four would soon become a distant memory.
A flicker of light far in the distance caught his attention. Chase put the car into drive and with a crunch of gravel, headed slowly toward the light. The road wound through hills and valleys, diminishing until only a cart track remained. He drove on, confidant the remote light was a beacon to guide his way.
Without warning, the Mercedes groaned to a standstill, and then hissed like a giant reptile. In the headlights, steam rose and billowed out from under the hood, curling and twisting before the wind carried it way. Chase turned the key in the ignition—nothing. Damn rental cars; they're all the fucking same. What else can go wrong?
He reached in his shirt pocket for his cell phone and flipped it open. Chase stared at the message on the display in disbelief. "No signal—what do you mean, no signal?" He pushed the cell phone back into his pocket and grunted with disgust.
Chase shivered; the temperature inside the car had dropped considerably without the benefit of the heater. He reached into the back seat for his overcoat and turned back in time to see the headlights slowly fade and then blink out completely.
Shit, shit, shit.
Darkness suffocated him in a cloak of black velvet. Wind buffeted the car, showering it with dry grass and leaves, the noise like sharp talons clawing over metal.
Immediately, his mind tormented him with images of ghouls and demons, dragging him from the car to steal his soul. A loud bump sounded on the roof, and his heart missed a beat. He swallowed with visions of an axe murderer on the roof, swinging a bloody, dismembered head. He gave himself a mental shake. Stop acting like a girl.
Chase searched the darkness for the comfort of that elusive, single light—a torch, he'd imagined, as he'd driven toward it. There, at the top of the hill, the light paused as if waiting for him to follow. He had to make it to Stonehenge. Even if he had to walk. Taking a deep breath, Chase dragged on his coat, then grabbed his backpack and climbed out of the car. He glanced furtively at the roof and chuckled as he saw the low hanging branch above it, no doubt the cause of the earlier noise. "I gotta stop watching horror movies."
Under the full moon, the countryside, dressed in every shade of gray, appeared surreal. A line of trees in the distance snaked along a wide, black river dancing with a flotilla of ghostly boats formed by moonbeams. Above him, the ink-blue sky sparkled with a thousand diamond-like stars, not one cloud masking its beauty.
Chase pulled his coat around his body to fasten the buttons. Shivering, he reached into his pockets for his gloves. The wind buffeted him, sending icy fingers through every gap in his clothing. He took the flashlight from the backpack and surveyed the area. The river ran adjacent to the road to Stonehenge. He remembered reading somewhere how the builders of Stonehenge used it to carry pillars to the ancient site. If he walked toward the light and kept the river on his right, he should run into the monument eventually. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and followed the path. I wish I brought my iPod.
The cart track diminished with every step and finally disappeared beneath the thick tussocks of grass. Chase hugged his body. The icy chill had permeated every stitch of clothing. His teeth chattered like some bad castanet player. If I don't find shelter soon, I'll die of exposure.
He scanned the area. The moon sat high in the sky like an old-fashioned gas light, changing everything it touched to silver. Ahead of him loomed a group of trees, their late-autumn leaves rustling eerily in the wind. In the moonlight, the blackened trunks stood like sentries, dressed in shadow cloaks, guarding the entrance to a dark glade. They used to put crypts in the woods, or bury murderers in unconsecrated ground. This would be the perfect place for a vampire's lair.
Chase shuddered, tentative of his next step. Coward. He stared at a dark gap in the trees and turned his head from side to side, certain he could hear muttering. Before he could blink an eye, a colony of bats flew out from the trees and swirled around him. The flap of a hundred, featherless wings broke the silence of the night. He fell to the ground and covered his face, his heart pounding against his ribs.
"Are you injured?"
Chase raised his head and stared into the face of the cloaked man kneeling beside him. He reared back in shock. "Where the fuck did you come from?"
"I came from the woods. I'm sorry to startle you." The stranger helped Chase to his feet and stared at him in silence.
Growing uncomfortable beneath the man's steady gaze, Chase brushed the leaves off his clothes. He turned to face the man and offered his hand in greeting.
"Chase Drake."
"I'm called Si." He clasped Chase's arm. "I must say I'm happy that you've answered Dracu's summon this eve."
Chase shrugged to re-position his backpack. It was good to meet someone else in this God forbidden place, even if he spoke a load of nonsense."Dracu? I'm not familiar with that name."
"Dracu is our Master. Tonight, we celebrate All Hallows." He inclined his head.
"If you aren't here for the celebration, why are you here?"
Did his eyes glow red just then? Somewhere in the distance, a dog or perhaps a wolf, howled repeatedly, drawing Chase's attention. Ice-cold shivers slithered down Chase's spine. Bloody scenes from the Texas Chain Saw Massacre mixed with Alien's man-eating extraterrestrials played in his head. Facing Si, he stared into his eyes; his dark pools reflected only the moonlight. You're imagining things again.
He swallowed the instinct to run and forced a smile ."I'm here to celebrate All
Hallows too. I came from California. Tomorrow will be a new beginning for me."
 "How so?" Si walked toward the clump of trees.
Chase fell in step beside him. "I'm gay, and after I see the sunrise at Stonehenge, I'm shouting it to the world. I'm sick of living a lie. After tonight, I'll never be ashamed again. In fact, just thinking about coming out, here at Stonehenge, makes me damn proud to be gay."
"I'm happy too." Si chuckled. "Tonight, my Master may include me in his final selection."

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

New Releases by H.C. Brown

Vanilla Boy
by H.C. Brown
 Club Floggers Book 1

Blurb: When Nash Mage sees an innocent vanilla virgin in Floggers' charity auction , it's game on.
Nash leaned casually against the wrought iron railing beside the entrance to The Floggers’ Club. With rising disgust, he watched the retreating back of the disgruntled sub. His hand ached. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, and then stared at the red mark across the palm, an indentation from the flogger handle. Damn, he would have to remember to wear his gloves next time. He lifted his chin and gazed at the sub limping away in the distance. What is wrong with me?
Lately, no one could keep his interest. He missed Damien. Fuck, the man had left him cold, no note, no fucking reason. Nash sucked in a freezing breath. He needed new blood. One with trusting eyes and that smooth, porcelain skin that deserved to carry his marks.
Steam billowed from the drains in the gutter, in spasmodic, white clouds. It would be a white Christmas this year. The weather bureau forecast snow for the entire holidays. Nash took the toothpick from his mouth and flicked it into the road. Fuck, he needed a cigarette. Just one drag would sooth the craziness. Hell, he prided himself on his control. Nash snorted and turned to his friend. “His nose is out of joint because I didn’t want to fuck the weasel.” He rubbed his hands together.” I hate it when they beg for cock. If I’d had a smoke I’d have ground it out on his balls.”
“Giving up smoking is a bitch.” Rafe Connell pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He stared after the sub and grimaced. “And that bitch will be telling everyone you’re an edge player.”
With a shrug, Nash stared at the gray piles of snow banked up at the curb. He lifted his chin, met Rafe’s hazel eyes, and smiled. “I beat the crap out of the little do-me queen. Bitch thought he could Dominate me—fat chance.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe I am taking it to the edge. I’m looking for the same thrill I got from Damien. What I need is a sweet sub who appreciates my skill.” He sighed. “I gave that whining bastard what he asked for and more, but no way was I going to fuck him.”
“It was consensual. That house sub wasn’t an innocent; he should have expected a good flogging with your reputation.” Rafe slapped Nash on the back. “It’s freezing out here. Come downstairs, and I’ll buy you a drink.”
At the bottom of the steps, the comforting scent of wax and leather, laced with the enticing aroma of musky, male sweat, wafted over Nash. The owner of the club, Rio Knight, met them at the VIP section of the polished mahogany bar. Nash shrugged out of his long, leather coat and threw it to a house sub. He met Rio’s disgruntled gaze. “I’m not banned again, am I? Not when Rafe has just returned from overseas—we have some serious ass to claim.”
“Four house subs have fled in a week, Nash. At this rate, we’ll need to put adds in the newspapers for replacements.” Rio balled his fists on his hips. “I think it’s time you put a collar on your own sub.”
Nash took a toothpick from a jar on the bar and pushed it between his lips. He straightened his shoulders and glared at Rio. “Fuck, that’s worse than getting married.
I’ll flog and fuck who I chose when I chose.”
Nash’s face. He glared. “But keep your hands off the subs for the auction.”
With a grin, Nash met his gaze. Rio intimidated most members of Floggers but not him or Rafe. “I hope you’ve got some pretty boys this year.” He grimaced. “I’m getting bored with the ugly ass around here.”
“I put a notice up in Handcuffs and Whips two weeks ago.” Rio gave him a slow smile. “I’m looking for a new sub too. There’s a group giving us the once over tonight.”
He turned to go. “Try not to spoil Christmas again this year.”
With a sigh, Nash removed the toothpick and stabbed it into the ashtray. He reached for the bottle of bourbon on the bar and poured himself a drink. He threw it back and poured another. Yeah, yeah rave on. He turned to speak to Rafe. His friend was staring at a delicious sub, who was dancing slowly, obviously lost in a world of his own. He nudged his friend. “Nice but unobtainable.”
“I’m working on it.” Rafe turned back to the bar. “Fresh meat at two o’clock.”
Nash ran his gaze over the group of four men removing their coats in the foyer. Three were definitely subs—cropped hair and wearing plenty of metal. The group moved into the bar and paused as if undecided where to go. Nash’s gaze slid over the fourth man—young, barely legal, with a slight build—just the way he liked his subs. Brown hair with gold highlights curled around a cherubic face. A long, gold earring hung from one ear. Damn, the man had big, brown eyes and those long, Dominate me lashes. Nash whistled. “It must be Christmas. My sac’s full, and I just found Santa’s little helper.”
Turning around, Nash leaned his elbows on the bar to get a better view. The group moved to a table beside the dance floor. The sweet sub wore jeans low on his hips. He snorted. To wear jeans in Floggers was almost heresy. Two buttons undone at the fly showed the top of the man’s white boxers and a flat, smooth, hairless stomach.
Nice. “The young one is mine.”
The man’s black leather vest hung open to display an expanse of honey skin pulled tight over muscle. As the newcomer moved, Nash caught sight of his delicious, flat, bitable nipples. Nash groaned. His cock ached. I’ll fuck you till you scream. The man had that smooth, silken, tanned skin that drove Nash crazy. He wore no metal, no rings, nothing but the gold sparkling in his ear. The sub glanced around furtively. An innocent. Nash’s mouth watered. “I think just I blew in my fucking pants.”
With a snort, Nash pushed away from the bar and stared intently at the young man across the room. “That’s the idea.”

A Dom's Revenge
by H.C. Brown
Club Floggers Book 2
Everything is going well for badass Dom, Nash Mage, and his sweet sub, Paul, until Nash does a favor for Rio, the owner of Floggers’ BDSM Club.
Expecting Paul to trust him implicitly, Nash’s world falls apart when he finds his confused, innocent sub in the arms of his nemesis, Frank. Teetering on the edge of sanity and out of control, Nash is looking for revenge.
Nash Mage snuggled against Paul’s back. To think a couple of months ago, he would never have contemplated the idea of spooning a sub. He slipped his heavy shaft between Paul’s legs and buried his face in the soft skin of the man’s neck. He loved his sub’s scent, especially after a night of hard sex. He kissed his neck and licked a path to his ear, suckled the ear lobe. God, he could not get enough of the taste of Paul or of fucking his sweet, innocent sub until the man screamed out Nash’s name in ecstasy.
Running his hand down Paul’s arm, he reveled at the touch of his lover’s smooth skin against his palm. He cupped Paul’s small, muscular buttock and smiled. The sub’s ass carried the marks of his whip. His lover’s moans of delight still rang in his ears. Nash rolled away, took a conDom from the bedside table, and slipped it on. He put on his stern Dom face and rolled Paul onto his back. He pushed between the man’s legs, and took a firm grasp of both his sub’s nipple rings. “Wake up, slave.”
“You’re insatiable . . . Master.” Paul yawned and opened his eyes. “My ass is still tingling from our session at Floggers.” His mouth curled up at the corners. “You hurt me real good.”
“Lift your legs. I want to see your ass.” Nash rolled back on his knees. Taking Paul’s ankles, he pushed the man’s legs up to chest. “Higher . . . yeah, like that . . . . there’s a good boy. Now, that’s a sweet sight. Hold onto your knees, I wanna lick that cute ass all over.”
Nash gazed down at Paul’s tight star, still glossy with lube. The sight of his sweet sub, legs up and helpless, in the swing at Floggers flashed into his mind. Fuck, all that prime ass just hanging there waiting for his attention. Oh yeah, that image would keep him hard for a fucking week. He bent to lick the deep, red lines covering his sub’s smooth skin. His balls ached with the desperate desire to fill Paul. He pressed one last kiss on his sub’s balls, and then drew away. With a growl, he met Paul’s smoldering gaze. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you, Nash . . . fuck me ‘til I scream.”
“I think you need some manners, slave.” With one hard thrust of his hips, Nash sank to the balls inside Paul’s slippery hole. He gazed into Paul’s startled expression. “We’re going back to Floggers tonight, so I can continue your education.”
* * * * *
Paul gasped. His ass exploded into ecstasy. The studs on Nash’s cock grazed across his pleasure spot, making him cry out with the intensity. Hell, he craved Nash’s touch. His Master knew exactly what he needed and drove into him hard without mercy. The bond between them had grown into more than Master and slave. Paul loved Nash with a passion that frightened him. The man was complicated; he lived on the edge and carried a history of broken trust. Paul moaned and gazed into Nash’s midnight eyes. When his Master fucked him, the delicious man turned into a mythical god. All tense muscle and golden skin, long, silken, black hair framing his handsome face . . . the passion in the man’s eyes alone could bring Paul to climax. He could trust Nash with his body, why did he have trouble trusting him with his heart?
* * * * *
Nash lowered Paul’s legs and lay on his sub’s damp body. In the last couple of minutes, Paul’s demeanor had changed. Rocking his hips slowly, Nash bent to kiss his lover. Paul’s passionate response melted his heart. The first buzz of lust that hit him the day they met in Floggers had moved up to a new level. For the first time in his life, he considered making this a permanent relationship. Yeah, badass Dom, Nash Mage, needed this man in his life—go figure. He wanted Paul to feel the same way about him, but he had his doubts. This had not been the first time he’d noticed Paul’s sudden withdrawal during sex. Maybe Paul had tired of him and wanted to move on. The thought of anyone else touching his virgin made his blood boil. They needed to talk, but first, he would satisfy his lusty sub. Brushing a damp curl from Paul’s cheek, he met his sub’s gaze. “You okay . . . not too sore? I know I’ve been riding you all night.”
“I can never have enough of you.” Paul lifted his chin. “Ride me to hell, Master.”

Nash ran his hands down Paul’s delicious, smooth body, cupped his sub’s delectable ass, and drove in deep. So hot and so tight. Hell yeah, sex had always been this good with Paul; his little virgin knew how to please. His sweet sub’s lashes dropped over his beautiful, brown eyes. Fuck, he could see the man’s soul in those chocolate depths. His balls grew hot. When Paul made that small sound of delight and sprayed his belly with white strings of hot cum, Nash joined him, falling over the edge with head spinning pleasure.

by H.C. Brown
Club Floggers  Book 3
Seth Bannock is living a lie. Nothing in his life is working out. He likes women . . . he respects women . . . but when he tries to kiss a woman and she does that tongue thing, he wants to spew.

Confused by his body’s reaction to the men at his gym, Seth seeks help from the only gay club he knows—Floggers. Is the man crazy? Seeking answers, the innocent, vanilla virgin marches into the BDSM club to speak to the owner Rio Knight.

Realization that he has been on the wrong team all his life comes in the form of a six-foot-seven Adonis by the name of Matt Duffey. Instantly attracted to the leather-clad alpha male, Seth must leave his old life behind and embrace his newfound sexuality.

Seth thought his life had complications before he met Matt, but nothing comes close to the rollercoaster ride in the big Dom’s arms.
Seth Bannock stared at the front door. A yellow glow seeped thought the glass panels forming a pool of light at his feet. The street buzzed with the noise of a normal Saturday night. Teenagers spilled out from a loud party two doors up, and moved in small groups along the sidewalk in a constant stream of chatter. Cars spun their wheels and, horns blasting with young men hanging out of the windows, roared up the road.
With a sigh, Seth pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. What had just happened? His friend of the past six months, Rose McCarthy, had given him the finger, sworn colorfully, and slammed the front door in his face. He gazed at her neat two-story brick house, his mind frazzled. Okay, so he had tried to kiss her, he wanted to be nice, and she had asked him for the kiss—no, she’d pleaded for it. It wasn’t his fucking idea. In truth, he had no inclination to kiss anyone. Perhaps he could have handled a straight kiss, but then the woman stuck her tongue into his mouth. She tasted like stale beer, and he nearly spewed his guts out. Christ, she’d gone feral, insisting he wasn’t normal, that he kissed like a girl. How the fuck, did she know how girls kissed anyway?
He had—had being the operative word here—liked Rose. He’d met her at his gym. True, he appreciated her slim body, enjoyed their long chats, and her companionship. The trouble with Rose and all the other women he had dated over the past three years was moving beyond being friends. Not that he wanted to, but he always made things worse by rejecting their advances. He happened to prefer being friends. He liked women, well, at least until they did that thing with their eyes and expected him to fondle their tits. Hell, he even enjoyed going to the mall with them—but kissing them and the tongue thing—fuck, it made him uncomfortable. The eventuality of finding the right girl had become a personal nightmare.
Normal men like women to touch them—you move away. Do you look at girlie magazines to jerk off? Or are you thinking about the hot jocks sweating at the gym? The worse thing was, he hadn’t given her a reply—he had no excuse. In fact, he had never bought a girlie magazine in his life.
The look of disgust on her face burned into his mind, to join the list of other horror-date memories. Matt turned away from the house and walked to his car. The woman had a point. He had never dated during high school or college, keeping to himself or hanging out with the other jocks. In truth, he liked the smell of men, the gloss of sweat on hard muscle, damp hair curling on a broad, muscular neck. To admit this even to himself—fuck! His head throbbed with the implication.
Swinging into his car, Seth thought over the strange messages his body gave him whenever, he noticed men looking at him in that way. It happened all the time at the gym. As a personal trainer, he had clients of both sexes and kept things on a very professional level, but a couple of guys had brushed his leg and given him the look. His stomach had clenched as if in anticipation; his heart rate had quickened. Why? The thought of sliding his hands over a man’s hot, sweaty body did not repel him. Should it? Who would know? Hell, he couldn’t just walk up to someone and ask a question like that, he valued his teeth too much. What should he do? He had to discuss his problem with someone who would not laugh at him. I gotta know if watching two men together turns me on . . . yeah . . . I’ll pick up a couple of pornos. If the movies turn me on, I’ll need to discuss my problem with someone. I’ll go online, and do a search; there must be someone in this town I can speak to.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Wonderful Review for Take Me, Break Me

Well after a week that  was going all to hell up pops a wonderful review for Take Me Break Me.

Thank you so much Top To Bottom Reviews' Lydia, for this ego, I needed this.

Take Me, Break Me is an intense read that is sure to bring this author many new fans. I would love to see more of these two, and can’t wait to see what other stories the author has planned. I would strongly recommend this book as it is one that should not be missed. "

Read the full review here: