Dusty Calhoun, recovering from wounds from a train robbery gone wrong, must leave the Wind River Reservation and catch up to his gang of wild boys before it is too late to save them and the gold. A message of a traitor sets Dusty off to embark on a ride through the west with unexpected encounters and places; where he must decide who he can trust, who his pals really are, and finally put the haunting memories of the Blakely Gang to rest. Dusty knows he never should have let Jake Willowford go on without him after all the hell and high water they have been through together. The time has come to make it right, to see it through and to find his cowboy where the trails end.
Dusty’s eyes flutter and he cannot make out the words but he understands them inside, he sees them on her lips in the dim glow and smiles. The fire returns but it is cool, so cool, over his naked flesh. No one is inside the lodge now. He shivers, the sweat rolling off his skin as his muscles strain. The raw wounds have been covered with more powder and leaves. The warmth returns starting at his loins and slowly spreads throughout his body. Dusty can smell his own scent over the sage, a rich masculine scent of sex, and he is filled with thoughts of desire and of Jake’s touch. The dark hair slicked back, calm brown eyes showing lust and love and Jake’s lithe body so eager to please take Dusty to the limit. Jake is all that matters in Dusty’s mind’s eye. In the semi darkness he feels release without laying a hand on himself and he breathes heavy, feeling the hurt all over again.
The melancholy wail of the train whistle sounds off from down El Paso way where the border and the freedom of Mexico beyond its imaginary boundaries lie. An oasis has been created a few miles outside the Texas town by the recent plentiful rains. Jake Willowford and Frank Ward are skinny dipping in the newly formed watering hole, their clothes, boots and guns stowed away in the saddlebags of their horses. Jake’s bobbing body is tanned from the long ride to the south while Frank’s hide is more burned than brown especially on his shoulders and back. Jake’s dark eyes meet Frank’s lighter ones as both of them tread cool water in the deeper middle. A warm breeze gritty with sand strikes them from the desert surroundings complementing the coolness of the pond.
“Now this is something special.” Jake drifts and relaxes enjoying the cool calming sensation over his bare skin.
“It sure is.” Frank speaks his devious thoughts. “You want to….?”
Jake shakes his head, “Ain’t gonna happen.”
“Trail’s End” is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the U.S. link, click on the Cover Above.
Below are a few individual links to “Trail’s End” in the iBookstores, by country:
http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/trails-end/id564182582?mt=11 - Great Britain
Separated from the cowboy he loves, Jake must find his way back or die trying, but not alone. Together with the help of his new pal Frank Ward, a farm hand turned robber, they must endure all the dangers and desires of the rough and wild west to the end of the trail or to the end of a rope.
The moon is full overhead, illuminating the campsite with light and shadow from the surrounding trees. A splash and a lower octave voice lure Jake toward the origin of the sounds. Twigs snap underfoot as he walks out the cramps. Pulling back some brush by the shore, he watches as Frank and Cole skinny dip in the lake hidden from plain sight.
Cole grabs Frank and pushes him underwater. Frank lunges up, breaking free, tries to turn the tables and get a hold of Cole, but Cole is stronger and manhandles him into a headlock as he walks him to shore in control. The water drips off their nude bodies, their feet still submerged in the cool lake, and Cole wrestles Frank around in a new position maintaining the headlock but now from behind.
“What cha doin’, Cole?” Frank’s heart beats fast and the butterflies pound his stomach.
“Nothing you don’t want.” He pulls Frank closer, slightly loosening the headlock.
“What the hell is this? Jake stumbles, the dream dripping away, and he tries to cover his manhood with the thin blanket.
He lies in the bed, his shirt off and pants unbuttoned, with a hand holding the only gun he has. “I was only lying down with you, nothing else.” Jake stands up and lets his hand drop, showing off the bulge in his jeans. He finds his body reacting against his will. He drops the sheet in favor of his jeans and finds that they are hard to pull up over a bulge of his own.
“Frank, I can’t, you know that.”
Frank puts his arms around him from behind so he can see their reflection together in the mirror. “One of these days…” He kisses the sweat from Jake’s neck.
Jake exhales and leans back in the moment, lingering before pulling away. “You are trouble.”
“And you are one mighty fine looking man, Jake.”
Jake breathes deeply again and smiles. “Dusty is my world, you gotta understand.”
Jake’s Tale, a cowboy/western by David Sharp, is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the iBookstore U.S. link, click on the Cover Above.
Below are a few individual links to “Jake’s Tale” in the iBookstores, by country:
http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/jakes-tale/id551009738?mt=11 - Great Britain
Drill instructor Sergeant Clay Norris has his hands full. Between new recruits and a Senior Drill Sergeant with an attitude hanging over him, the last thing he needs is to develop a crush on one of his trainees, but Private Chevy “Banksy” Banks is an Adonis he is unable to resist. A natural leader, the young man draws the other troops in with his easy manner and warm-as-the-Sun smile, a combination that melts the trying-to-sound-tough young Drill Sergeant.
When the Senior Drill manages to tear the two men apart before anything beyond fantasies and longing glances can happen, Clay tries to move on and forget Banksy, throwing himself into his career, knowing that he may have to wait until he retires from the military to be able to partner up, while understanding the irony that he is defending a freedom he is not yet allowed, the freedom to be who he is and to pursue the person he loves.
Fate brings Clay and Banksy together again for a brief and joyous reunion when they are able to begin planning a future, that same fate cruelly ripping them apart once more, with each facing a trauma alone.
Dog Tagged is set post DADT (Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell) and pre the policy’s repeal; a time when being openly gay had seen many a lost career in the service. Sexually explicit in places, this story offers only a glimpse of how some men and women serving their country are not afforded the same rights as the heterosexuals with whom they fight side by side.
Incidents in Dog Tagged are based on true events.
Private Banks was at the top of the company in everything we did. When we climbed the rope lines in the obstacle course, he was like a coconut crab, scrambling down the line in record time. Crossing the parallel bars in front of the dining hall, he looked like a young ape swinging through the jungle. When the rest of the group was throwing up, sneezing and spitting after removing their gas masks in the gas chamber, Banksy managed to hold it together with only a few stinging tears tracking down his cheeks after giving his social security number to the sergeant in charge. When it came to learning rank and rules he was head and shoulders above the other guys; Bravo Company had a contender for trainee of the cycle, which meant top spot and an award given by the Brigade commander at graduation from basic.
There was only one thing Chevy Banks failed at and that was throwing a grenade.
By the time I had a couple of beers, I had a couple of guys lined up to come back to base with me. I had my uniform hanging in the backseat, which served as a kind of catnip come-on to the guys I had picked up, a hot blond and his even hotter dark haired friend. I couldn’t have Chevy and I needed an outlet, and since these guys were revved up and ready to go, why not take advantage?
When the civilians said they had no place for us to go, I got them in the car and after some hot ‘n heavy make-out, I took them back to the base. And there we were, having the time of our lives, windows fogged from our breath, rain tapping on the roof as lines of sweat streaked down over our mostly naked bodies. I think I still had a sock on, the blond still wore a thin shirt but it had been unbuttoned and was flapping on either side of him like spent wings, his smooth muscular chest exposed to me, while the other guy had managed to strip totally in the front seat.
As much fun as I was having, I would have traded everything we were doing for one closed mouth, both of us fully clothed, kiss with Chevy.
“Want some company, for chow?” I asked, drinking in Banksy’s face like it was water and I had been in the desert, which I had and was, but we had no problem importing water. The only thing I had been lacking was standing in front of me.
“I’m so damn glad to see you I wouldn’t mind if you showered with me, Sir.”
It was a joke, I knew, but it got me hard. I had just found him and I didn’t want to leave him, but his Captain arrived, there were other trucks that needed Banksy’s touch (not more than I needed that touch, but in a motor pool in a war zone was not the place to argue that), so we set a time and I went back to my quarters to, well, who would we be kidding if I didn’t just say it – dress for our date. I would have brought flowers if I thought it was acceptable.
Dog Tagged is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the iBookstore U.S. link, click on the Cover Above.
Below are a few individual links to “Dog Tagged” in the iBookstore, by country:
http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/dog-tagged/id547248010?mt=11 - Great Britain
Looks can be deceiving.
Hairstylist Aaron Turner doesn’t consider himself overweight, just under height.
As stylish as he is outgoing, he brings a Carrie Bradshaw like wardrobe in extra large and a fierce attitude to this adventure on the high seas, not knowing that a killer has come along for the week long cruise as well.
Friends Aaron Turner and Phillip Baxter have not yet settled in when the bodies begin piling up. The best pals begin to think the passengers of the Titanic booked better tickets when they find themselves linked to the dead bodies.
Becoming suspects, they must clear their names before the ship returns to Fort Lauderdale. Without a weapon, Aaron is left with only his wit to try and capture a killer before he becomes part of the body count.
Luckily, his tongue is as sharp as his styling razor, so he is up to the task with flair and bravado!
“Southern Dawn. Sounds like a drag queen from Memphis,” Aaron Turner said while looking up at the huge ship. His friend Phillip Baxter did not reply. “Swimming pools, luxury spa, two dining rooms, three bars and a rock climbing wall all spread over twelve decks,” the stout man adjusted a pair of vintage Chanel sunglasses perched on the end of his round nose. “Only three bars,” he mumbled, shaking his head while continuing to read the description of the ship. The cruise they were embarking on had been planned by Phillip as a holiday surprise for him and his now ex, a muscular young beauty who in the course of their relationship had done more tricks than Criss Angel. Betrayal was bad enough, but coupled with addictions so fierce they would have made a rock star say, “Now let’s stop and think about this,” Phillip had finally reached the end of his rope. By Christmas he had changed his locks and stopped listening to the long drug addled messages left in the middle of the night.
Phillip was going to cancel the cruise but Aaron, his best friend and one of Seattle’s leading hairstylists, begged, threatened, whined and cajoled until they found themselves on the gangway that bright February morning.
“You haven’t been on a vacation in six years and have already paid, so take me! It’ll be fun. If you don’t go now, when? Are you gonna wait until Streisand goes back to Broadway or the Pope begins performing gay weddings?”
With friends like Aaron, you did not need enemies. Aggression worked well for him. Like Tallulah Bankhead, he was the kind of guy who had “slept with men, women and the odd piece of furniture.” Along with five star travel accommodations, designer clothes and gourmet food were high on his priority list. Raised dirt poor in a trailer on the outskirts of Yakima, Aaron had worked his way to the top of Seattle’s fierce hairstyling scene and now pampered himself accordingly.
Humming, Aaron left the spacious cabin, moving down the long narrow corridor smiling and saying, “Hello darling!” to everyone he met, one of his standard greetings. The words worked especially well when he couldn’t remember a name attached to a face. His smile widened with each step as he ogled his fellow passengers.
This time out the great ship was not going to be filled with honeymooners, retirees or fish belly white business people looking for midwinter fun and sun. Southern Dawn had been chartered by a gay cruise company and was packed stem to stern with gay men of all vanilla, leather, twink, drag, bear and gymbot persuasion. The voyage would also include a sprinkling of female friends and lesbians who liked to party with their boys.
Near the end of the long hallway Aaron could not help stopping next to the partially open door of a balcony view cabin. A young shirtless blonde was sprawled in one of the club chairs, head back, rosebud shaped lips slightly parted. His radiant beauty caught Aaron’s breath. Stepping closer to the doorway, the hairstylist looked in for a moment before clearing his throat.
Aaron loved men: tall, blond, dark and lean; rough and tough and strong and mean. His feelings and instincts were as natural as his eye color, as natural as a celebrity needs attention or certain members of congress enjoy bathroom sex. He loved the way men smelled, looked, walked and talked. One would never have been enough and dating all of the men in the world would never have been too many for the somewhat round stylist. Early in life Aaron understood that he was not model handsome so he had cultivated charm and sexiness, using those tools to his best advantage. He broke men into three categories: those who were convinced they would always be in long term relationships; those who thought Mr. Right was never to be found; and those in his favorite category who knew how to flirt and enjoyed the buffet of men that life offered.
Getting no response from the young man in the chair, Aaron stretched out a hand and tapped on the open door.
“Helllooo,” he called a bit louder and getting no reply, he stepped into the sunlit cabin. “I hate to be a bother but I seem to be a little lost. Will this corridor lead me to the promenade deck?” While he and Phillip had flown all night from Seattle, this kid must have come in on a high from Thailand or Maui Wowie from the way he was zonked out. Reaching over to stroke a hand onto the bare, tan skin of the young man’s muscular shoulder, Aaron smiled, then recoiled his fingers.
The sun bronzed flesh was cold to his touch. Stepping in between the wide spread legs of the young blonde, Aaron chanced a further peek over into his face to find a pair of bright blue eyes open and staring back at him blankly.
Men Overboard! is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the U.S. link, click on the Picture Above.
Below are a few individual links to “Men Overboard!” in the iBookstores, by country:
http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/men-overboard/id545094427?mt=11 - Great Britain
Unjustly sent to rehab by his father, Dean is now out and he begins his search for the brother he left behind, the brother he tried to protect. A silver key holds the truth and a tattoo is the calling card of those to avoid, but both will lead him back to his brother. Facing his fears along the way, as well as facing those he knows he cannot trust, Dean wonders if he will ever find the way back to his past and to the brother he tried hard to protect from the same man who sent him away. If only he knew what happened to his brother. He will find him and make things right, one way or another.
Night descends on the Montrose. It is steamy and humid from the afternoon rain and sun. The streets change as different denizens come out of the woodwork. Rounding off Taft to turn left on Westheimer, Dean hesitantly passes a transsexual prostitute.
The imploring comment gives him the creeps. Ignoring it, he picks up his pace trying not to notice her manly self that is stuffed into a size six faux leather tube dress. A car pulls up to the curb and the heels click over to the driver’s side. At that moment a truck drives by with a couple of drunken rednecks. One of them yells, “Count your money and get in the car!” Dean is unsure whether to laugh or walk faster.
The parking lot is littered and grimy. Moisture glistens with a dull sheen off of the cement walls of the structure. Bulbs slowly chase around a marquee of upcoming shows. Seeing the short line to get in, Dean checks himself out. Pants dryer but passable, he runs his hand through his hair in an attempt to fix. Silently he stands at the end while Goth kids in front whisper. Nerves feeling jangled, the line inches closer. Long plastic flaps hang down in the doorway like a meat locker. The pale black clad teens disappear inside. Dean reaches out parting a way and the black interior engulfs him. A counter is walled in to the left with a black velvet rope and stanchions cutting a path.
“Six dollars,” an older once bleached blonde door guy demands monotone. Dean digs out a five and a one and is banded by a long hair goateed hippy type. Dean pulls his arm away and follows the bendy wall into the club. Lasers and flashing strobes go with the beat of the 80’s retro new wave blaring over the crowd. Punks, Goths, skinheads of all sorts commingle in a straight / gay whatever type environment. Scanning for Mark almost makes him feel epileptic and he averts his eyes from others that seek him out.
“Look, I just want to find Mark.”
“He left because of you.”
“No…he left because of our father.”
Matt introspects, “He didn’t mention him much.”
“I suppose he wouldn’t.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to see you.”
Dean is angry but a realization hits him and he looks Matt in the eye seeing the hurt for the first time.
“You don’t know where he is.”
Matt’s eyes harden. “Not lately.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“To see what you know ‘cause he owes us.”
Dean reluctantly takes a twenty, walks to the stage and raises it. Brim gives him an odd look and smiles, lowering down on his haunches.
“How you doing, baby?”
Dean smells the baby oil and looks into his green eyes. “I need to talk to you, later.”
“Oh yeah,” Brim smiles wider, getting ‘it’.
Dean adds, “About Mark.”
Brim’s demeanor changes and he reaches over, lightly touching Dean’s neck causing him to flinch.
Dean looks at him and half turns. “I’m not one of them. I’m his brother.”
Brim, satisfied, stands back part way, thumbs in the front of his t-back, and motions with his head. Dean bends the bill the way the other did when he observed. Brim pulls the Lycra material forward, giving a good view of what he knows Dean wants. Dean gulps and puts the twenty in. Brim grabs his hand, pushing it against his sex for a moment. Dean slowly pulls away, sweat on his palm. The t-back snaps back into place.
Brim mouths the words, “Wait for me.”
Dean slightly dazed and feeling more self conscious in the tight fitting jeans goes back to the bar. Another Jack and Coke in a tall glass slides across the bar to him free of charge.
“So…are you going to get a ‘Brim-job’ later?”
Where the Road Roams, a story of love, loss, sex and lies (GLBT fiction) by David Sharp, is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the iBookstore U.S. link, click on the Cover Above.
Below are a few individual links to “Where the Road Roams” in the iBookstores, by country:
Dark Lands is a collection of short stories including a supernatural tale of disease and revenge; a story of runaways leaving suburbia behind to find the terrors of twisted street kids in the Montrose; a story of a hitcher who takes a ride with some coeds into the woods and discovers the secrets of pleasure and pain; the tale of a feral boy who roams the back roads and is hunted by another; and the story of three goth teenagers opening the gates of hell with dark rites.
In the antiquated bedroom, Max and Sandy are getting hot and heavy on the freshly stripped bed. Max is bare-chested and Sandy sits on top grinding in her panties and a pullover shirt.
Sandy reaches down, “all the trouble to get away from this place,” she pulls, “and you bring me back here.”
“Ugh,” Max reels from her deft touch. “I always thought you were so hot.”
Why do I always find the confused ones?
Darrin walks out of the lake feeling self conscious of his nakedness. Sandy lies basking on a large rock with her eyes closed to the world at large. He dries off with a towel from the heap of scattered belongings and clothes, setting aside a black bra. He wants to say something to Sandy but cannot find the words since they have been failing him more and more lately. He admires the beauty of her breasts that slowly rise and fall with her steady breaths and wonders what is wrong with him. He wraps the towel around his torso and sits on the edge of her rock in time to see Daniel walk forward dripping wet and rough. A word is not spoken between them but in the moment Darrin half smiles and the favor is returned. Copping a look at Sandy, he returns his gaze to see Daniel pull his pants on commando style and with clothes bundled under an arm walk away along the path into the woods. Darrin exhales sharply and leans back, closing his eyes in the warmth of the day.
Bird sounds faintly echo across the lake and the sound of falling water is softer with distance. Alice takes in the soothing nature realizing that Max is gone. Turning this way and that, she cannot see him below the surface for the reflection of the sky. A different fear grips her, the fear of being watched by unseen eyes from the surrounding woods. Shivering, she knows they are not alone. Max playfully comes up from behind, startling her.
“Max, you scared me.”
“You are so cute, baby.”
“I saw something,” Alice says as she scans the trees.
“What did you see?” Max looks around trying not to catch her paranoia.
“Somebody is watching us.”
“There is,” Alice continues in a lower voice, “something out there.”
Max feels a little spooked. “Come on, let’s go back.”
Branches on the far shoreline move a little. Someone watches them swim back, following them in the darkness of the trees. The pine needles are soft and soundless underfoot and there is an uneasy quiet in the air. The sun, low in the sky, shines a fiery amber as the day grows late.
Dark Lands is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the iBookstore U.S. link, click on the Cover Above.
Below are a few individual links to “Dark Lands” in the iBookstores, by country:
http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/dark-lands/id537204980?mt=11 - Great Britain
Nightvine is an amuse bouche of short, dark stories including the tale of an elderly woman who goes shopping for cat food, an Army Company with a rash of AWOL’s, and the story of a nurse who shares a plant with special patients. These pieces are for fans of the macabre in this homage to The Twilight Zone, Tales of the Crypt, Night Gallery and the work of Charles Addams. The stories in this collection are for lovers of horror and horror surprise, every day people in situations that do not always have an every day ending.
Numerous stories are included in “Nightvine.” Following are excerpts from two of them.
“The Pride of Vera Lake”:
Today Vera was forced to leave the house. A winter storm had raged for almost a week, knocking out power and snowing everyone in. She wasn’t so concerned for herself, but the cats needed food. They were so hungry. How Herbert had loved those cats! They were such a comfort now that he was no longer there to watch over her.
Shoving a hand down into the left pocket of her winter coat, she pulled out a thick pair of gloves just as two cats the color of a well-worn basketball, emerald green eyes shot with streaks of silver and gold, appeared out of the now darkened parlor and began to brush up against her legs.
“There, there. It won’t be long and I will be back with something wonderful for you,” Vera whispered, the cats looking up at her, then moving quietly on down the long front hallway toward the kitchen in the back.
Stepping into a large old fashioned kitchen, the clerk set the bag on a table in the center of the room. Although there was plenty of afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, the room was just as spooky to the young woman as the much darker hallway had been.
She started to turn when she heard a soft noise in the hallway behind her. Whirling, she saw nothing. “Old lady, is that you?” she finally called out.
When there was no reply, the clerk took a step back, then froze as she heard a low growl, a deep, guttural noise coming from the darkness of a corner where she could see large eyes glistening, eyes the size of a man’s fist, deep emerald and shot with flecks of silver and gold.
“Lady…,” the clerk began as a cat stepped from the shadows, tufts of stiff orange fur sticking up in wild clumps from a lean muscular frame standing the size of a medium dog.
Under the window behind Sergeant Bloch was a table. At first Peter thought the table had been covered with a dark cloth, but as his eyes adjusted he could see that the table was actually covered with a mound of dirt. The earth had been carefully molded into a miniature complete with tunnels and miniature roadways, small plastic jeeps, tanks and GI figures made of molded green plastic like Peter had played with as a kid.
“Do you know where Arnie is?”
“When a soldier doesn’t obey the rules, he not only makes it hard on himself but on everyone else in the Company,” Bloch began.
Peter started to speak when Bloch held up his hand.
“Let me finish.” Stepping over to the table, Bloch reached down and began to aimlessly roll one of the small jeeps back and forth over the rutted roadway tracks. Leave it to stern and creepy Bloch to still be playing with Army men while actually in the Army, Peter thought.
“So that soldier needs reeducation, needs to get back to basics. He needs to learn to respect authority and discipline.”
“Cut the crap, Bloch. Where’s Arnie?” Peter said as he stepped to the table and grabbed the Sergeant’s arm.
“I believe we can all be good soldiers, Corporal Jenkins. Here.” Bloch picked up one of the tiny figures on the hillside of dirt and handed it to Peter. “Go on, look at it.” Peter stared at the tiny figure in his hand while Bloch lifted something else from the table.
Opening his palm, Peter looked at the piece of plastic colored Army green. It was just like any of the hundreds he had lost or melted in the sun with a magnifying glass. Closing his fingers around the toy, he lifted his arm to slam it back against Bloch’s chest but was stopped by the Sergeant shooting his hand out and grabbing Peter’s wrist, holding it tightly.
“Say,” he began in a low, harsh voice, “this private had a problem with drugs and I was his Commander. I would have to discipline him, make him know who was in charge.” Bloch’s voice dropped even lower as he stepped closer to Peter. “I suggest you take a close look before you throw him.”
Nightvine, a collection of deliciously dark stories of horror is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the iBookstore U.S., click on the Picture Above.
Below are a few individual links to “Nightvine” in the iBookstores, by country:
http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/nightvine/id535777631?mt=11 - Great Britain
Jake’s body is as cold as ice when Dusty finds him struggling to stay alive. He takes him to his camp, pulls him close, and soon the young body begins to stir. The young man turns toward the warmth and snuggles close, opens his eyes to see Dusty’s peaceful face, and feels the touch of naked skin to skin. In shock, he jumps back, stands, and trips in the tangled blanket. Dusty is up lightening quick, the sun placing his nude body in perfect silhouette. He soon learns that the young cowboy he saved from a sure death is in more trouble than even he knows, daring to cross one of the roughest gangs in the Southwest. Dusty knows the gang well. They take no prisoners. They took his friend, his lover, his soul mate years ago, and now they are after Jake. This young cowboy stirs up old feelings, good and bad, from Dusty’s past, a past he has come here to put behind him once and for all. But can he save Jake from the lawless, or will he lose another cowboy?
“If it feels right, it’s right. Don’t you get it? That’s just the way it is.”
Jake roughly grabbed Dusty and pulled him in, body to body. “Does this feel right?”
A twig snaps and Dusty draws his gun as Misty walks into the moonlight, scaring Jake.
“How long have you been there, girl?”
“Long enough to get an eyeful of you two.”
Chad turns to creep to safety and another bullet comes from the house splashing in the mud by his feet. Unsure of which way to go, he stops and a strong hand palming a hunting knife comes to his throat, stopping him.
“I guess you don’t like it when somebody takes you from behind,” Dusty meanly says in Chad’s ear.
“No, wait! I ain’t done you no harm.”
“That’s a lie. You’ve had this coming since what you did to Jimmy at the cabin.”
Chad’s eyes widened in sudden recognition. “It can’t be you…you burned…years ago.”
The Wild Boys is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the iBookstore U.S. link, click on the Picture Above.
Below are a few individual links to “The Wild Boys” in the iBookstores, by country:
http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/the-wild-boys/id531180616?mt=11 - Great Britain
One of James Brock’s finest works, LeatherWings is fast paced, humor laced, and over-the-top. Schemes mix with blood, gore, and lots of explicit gay sex in this tale of power struggle, acceptance of what and who you are, and holding onto love with everything you have once you find it.
Handsome Carter Ellis seems to have it all: a loving home, a very “out” and over-the-top Uncle, and more money than an internet titan. He also has a few secrets. Carter’s struggles, including his crush on the hot daddy next door, Ashford Tanner, are minor, however, compared to the hidden worlds that have been surrounding him his entire life. The secrets begin to give way when Carter learns that Ash and his young ward, Ty, are Vampires, creatures of the night who are working against an evil Vampiress and her honey sweet human “Renfrew” who is determined to help her employer take over the world, one bite at a time if need be!
While pining for Ash (and reeling at the news that the object of his lust is among the undead!), young Carter diverts himself with work, a hot fling (who has a dark and a little smelly secret of his own) as well as his usual bickering banter with hot-as-a-Marine-in-a-jockstrap Ty. Thrown together to defend themselves against forces of the dark, Carter and Ty discover they have more in common than they realized, a long simmering attraction that had been hidden beneath a veneer of jealousy and hate.
Here I am, a walking hormone, and next door is this quiet, handsome MAN. So I took to wearing the smallest Speedo suit I could find while making certain that the hedges and fence between the two estates were trimmed back juuuustt enough for me to be seen by the neighbor. It never occurred to me that I did not see him in the light of day.
Reaching out to the coffin and finding a small button recessed in the thick wood, I depressed the tiny knob and stepped back, watching as the top half of the custom made box rose, a bright white light radiating from inside as the lid opened revealing the body inside. Ashford Connor appeared to be in his late forties and looked like a movie star of that same era. His lean, athletic torso was clothed in a pair of neatly pressed khaki pants, a light pink Ralph Lauren polo shirt stretched over his muscular chest. His often unruly shock of thick auburn hair had been combed into submission, piercing blue eyes shielded by a pair of steel rim glasses which I knew were only for show. I smiled down at Ash while reaching into the coffin to pluck a pair of ear buds from his head.
“Thank Jupiter for the New York Times,” the handsome man in the casket said with a broad smile.
“Uh huh. I’m sure it wasn’t some trashy novel,” I returned, with a trace of sarcasm which, given that I was late and nearly naked, was NOT called for. I went about picking up the electronic reader that had been resting on his chest as if nothing were unusual. Modern life had made some parts of being undead easier. Turning the device off, I smoothed a hand back under the bier and depressed another button, this one smoothly lowering the side of the coffin, the side panel silently sliding down and slipping under the custom designed tube as Ash swung his legs out and pushed himself up out of the casket. As soon as he was up, I tucked the reading device along with the ear buds back into a sleeve on the inside of the lid, plugging it in to charge. Ash was worse than a kid with a comic book when it came to lights out.
Ty did a lot of things in my world: annoyed me, angered me, pushed my buttons, creeped me out (I had seen him feed. Shudder inducing, to say the least), bugged me, was a thorn in my side, but he DID NOT scare me. Oh, there were times he would make insinuations about what he could DO to me, yet no matter how Nosferatu he went on me, I just was not afraid of him. For one thing, he was too freaking cute to be afraid of. And besides, if he ever did try any funny business with me he would be on the receiving end of Ash’s wrath, and the Gods of old help him then! I am sorry to say that he also got me hot. As much as I disliked his SO MANY bad qualities, he was one sexy vampire.
LeatherWings (aka The Leatherwing Chronicles) is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the U.S. link, click on the Picture Above.
Below are a few individual links to “LeatherWings” in the iBookstores, by country:
Now a #1 Bestselling GLBT Fiction Book
Escaping life on a farm, sexy Wyatt Taylor runs to the nearest city after college where he finds and loses both love and employment. Down but not out, the handsome young man rebounds by landing the coveted position as assistant to powerful Portland, Oregon, business tycoon, William Bowen. Cold and precise, the mogul has a rarified life of privilege that leaves no room for error.
Thrust into a world of jet set travel and caviar, Wyatt is given little direction about his new career and is fitted with a designer wardrobe. Clothes may not make the man, but Wyatt loves the beautifully tailored suits, wearing them like modern armor without realizing a connection between the way he looks in his new work “uniform” and Bowen’s clients.
Aside from being handsome, William Bowen has everything: an estate, private plane, and clients worldwide. Only his taste in men is questionable. His astoundingly poor judgment in that area of his life confuses everyone around him, including his flippant, funny, and in-charge property manager who befriends Wyatt but has his own reason for not telling all of the secrets of Bowen Industries.
A sudden change in Wyatt’s personal life while on a business trip is followed by a bonding night for Wyatt and William Bowen, the long simmering feelings Wyatt has held toward the boss since the day of his interview nearing a boiling point. Wyatt is still blissfully unaware of his true role in the operation of Bowen Industries, however.
Can two men from opposite sides of the tracks find a level field for a relationship, or will the truth behind the façades keep them apart?
My office in Bowen tower was as good as a Mercedes when it came to pick ups. With the private bath, view of the city at night, intercom, and flat screen mounted on the wall, I was all but assured a romp on the (leather!) sofa with no one the wiser that I had been in after hours.
I had also come to really love those suits hanging like armor in a neat row in the closet. The tailor had fitted them to my body so that every crease fell perfectly and my crotch had, frankly, never been better showcased.
Life was good for a change. I had a nice umbrella of cash put aside, a secure if vague job at times with a hot if distant employer, a sex life that might not be the envy of anyone else, but it was certainly constant and keeping ME happy. But the umbrella I had carefully put together was not going to withstand the monsoon that swept in about then.
“Show us what you are made of, baby!” James encouraged. In his defense, he had put away a gallon or so of something distilled, so was not in the total control he usually was.
“Yeah, dance man, dance!” my ex shouted from the sofa where he was tangled with the former bestie.
So I danced. Meaning, I gyrated, rotated and started peeling off clothes. They were enjoying my show so noisily that none of them heard the front door open and close for someone just now joining our new early morning soirée.
Down to my underwear, a particularly tight and low cut pair of briefs, one arm lifted high above my head with the other shoved deep into my crotch, eyes closed and head thrown back, I was hot and I knew it. In my groove, I snapped my face down to the roar of the crowd while using my thumb to roll the band of my underwear down to expose my thick black pubic hair. Opening my eyes, focus being a challenge at that point, I found myself face to face with William Bowen.
Tailor Made is available in the 32 Apple iBookstores. For the iBookstore U.S. link, click on the Picture Above.
Below are a few individual links to “Tailor Made” in the iBookstores, by country:
http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/tailor-made/id521565232?mt=11 - Great Britain