JUST WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED by J.M. Snyder

JUST WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED by J.M. Snyder

Curt, a college professor, lives with his lover of several years, a pediatrician of Chinese descent named Lee. Eager to write, he receives a grant to take the summer off and work on a novel. Then Lee's mother calls -- she wants to visit. Curt is eager to meet her but Lee isn't so sure ... she's of a different generation, a different culture even, and doesn’t speak much English. Still, Curt insists.

But when Mrs. Gui arrives, Curt finds himself struggling with writer’s block. He feels like an outsider in his own home when Lee and his mother converse in Cantonese, leaving him out of the conversation, and even his sex life suffers with her in the bedroom next to theirs. Can Curt and Mrs. Gui move past their cultural differences to see that they both love Lee and have his best interests at heart?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



By the time Lee returned I was already relaxing in the hot tub, head back, eyes closed, clothes gone, the water warm and welcome on my bare skin. The plates sat on a towel I had spread within reach, the steaks done to perfection, the shrimp still sizzling on the skewers. Red wine winked in our glasses, the champagne saved for later. I had no intention of leaving the water until absolutely necessary -- I planned on eating right where I was, leaning over the side of the tub if I had to.

When I heard the sliding door squeal faintly over the soothing sounds of Kenny G's soprano sax, I let myself sink a little further into the water, until the bubbles tickled my chin. "Well?" I asked with a slow smile. I heard the solid thud of a belt buckle hitting the floor and opened one eye to see my lover undressing by the side of the tub. "That your mom?"

"Yeah." His pants bunched at his ankles as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. In the last of the sunlight slipping through the blinds around us, his skin took on an olive tone, dark and exotic. His hair stood up in defiant clumps as if he had run his hands through it again and again while on the phone, something he always did when he was nervous or upset.

That bedraggled look told me more about the call than the forced smile on his face or the worried look in his eyes. "Everything alright?" I asked, concerned.

Kicking away his pants, he shrugged off his shirt and dropped it at his feet. The cuff of one sleeve brushed over the wine glasses before falling away. "Fine," he told me, but the way he didn't quite meet my gaze told me he knew I knew better. He hooked his thumbs into his briefs and, with the complete lack of modesty only a seasoned lover could feel, pushed them down his legs. He stepped out of them and into the hot tub, the steam beading on his body like sweat as he sank down until the water covered his slim shoulders. "She's fine," he murmured, gliding towards me.

Beneath the water, I felt his hand on my knee. It slid up my thigh as he closed the distance between us, but I caught it before it could tangle in the kinked hair at my crotch. "That's dessert," I told him. He laughed and let me reel him in, and I kissed his jaw as he sat down beside me. I wanted to take his mind off whatever his mother might have said and get it back where it belonged ... on me. So with a nod at the plates, I said, "Your dinner's getting cold."

"Yours too." He swam around me and pulled the towel with our plates on it a little closer to the tub. I watched his hands as he cut the steaks with sure movements, even and unhurried. In their calm I sensed a guarded wariness as if he had something on his mind and didn't want to ruin my evening with it. "So," he said, the knife working effortlessly. "Now when people ask what you do for a living, you can say you're a full-time writer. No, full-time author. By this time next year, Oprah will be knocking down our door to get a piece of you."

I laughed. Sidling up behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist and let my fingers play against his inner thighs. An inch or two higher and ... the steak he was so carefully cutting wasn't the only thing I wanted to swallow down. "She can't have me yet," I teased. Like two pieces of a complex puzzle, our bodies locked together perfectly, the cleft of his buttocks fitting nicely against my hardening shaft. I kissed the nape of his neck and tasted sweat and chlorine. "Tonight I'm all yours."

"Didn't you say this was dessert?" Lee asked, wiggling his hips back into me.

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OLD STONES AND NEW WINE

OLD STONES AND NEW WINE by Carolina Valdez

"A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou." Omar Khayyám

Victimized by the con man he'd been married to, and grieving the death of a beloved dog, internationally known mystery writer Alan Brynton plunges into complete writers block. Needing the income, and desperate to meet his publisher's deadline, he leaves Los Angeles and rents a house in a village in the south of France. Beside the blue Rhone River, among lush vineyards in wineproducing Provence, he struggles to overcome his anger and grief to break the hold the block has on him.

When rescuing an injured dog, he meets and finds himself falling for the irresistibly charming Frenchman, Jacques Marchand. But Jacques has the same easy charm his ex had, and having been burned in his marriage, Alan no longer trusts his ability to know who a person really is. He can't risk being victimized again, but can he risk losing the intoxicating "new wine" Jacques is to him?


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...Jacques was dressed in a lightweight charcoal suit, white shirt and a tie patterned in gray and black with subtle touches of red in the design. He had the body for it, and he looked so good Alan felt his gut clench. His eyes on Alan’s, Jacques loosened the knot on his tie and tugged it loose, then slid the top button of his shirt through its buttonhole.

Alan hadn’t realized how sexy and stirring that simple movement could be. It was as devastating as any seductive Chippendales dance. His heart sputtered, then broke into a race. It clogged his throat as he watched Jacques shrug out of his suit coat and hang it beside the raincoat. Jacques ran his hands through his wet hair, and Alan’s dick responded to sudden, electric sparks of desire shooting right through him.

“I’ll get a towel.” Did he really sound so lame? Alan’s tongue had trouble forming words. His cock had no trouble filling and rising. He turned away and hurried to the bath.

Alan handed a white towel to Jacques, who dropped it over his dark hair and blotted with one hand, while his other reached for Alan and pulled him close.

“You look very sexy in your nightwear, Alan Brynton.” His gaze fell on Alan’s crotch. “I see you’re feeling sexy, too. I hope that’s all for me.”

His hand teased as it brushed over Alan’s cock before he leaned in and tilted his head enough to capture Alan’s mouth. Alan opened to him, forgetting to breathe as sensations rolled over him. The smell of Jacques’s cologne and the lingering taste of the rich wine he must’ve had for dinner made the moment real. He closed his hands over the butt he’d ridden behind and ached to touch only hours ago. The cheeks were hard and firm, but just soft enough to be squeezed. He pulled this lover tight against his groin, reveling in the stiff cock he felt enclosed in suit pants as it pressed against his.

“I’m at a disadvantage. I’m not wearing a shirt, but you are,” Alan said. He reached up and tugged until the tie’s knot came completely undone and the silky fabric fell to the floor. His hands found the rest of the buttons, and Jacques watched as his fingers slipped the rest of them out of their holes.

Jacques undid the last buttons at his wrists. He shifted restlessly as Alan pulled the shirt out of his trousers and then off his shoulders.

Alan pressed his lips to the pounding pulse beat in Jacques’s neck and grazed his skin with his teeth as he ran his hands down the pelt of dark hair covering the wide chest. He felt for a belt.

“I left it in the car.” Desire made Jacques’s voice unsteady.

Alan stilled. The impact of the words settled in. “You planned this.”

“I did, mon amour.”

Alan found his zipper, and Jacques stopped his hand. “Be very careful…my underwear’s with my belt.”

Alan thought his knees would give way with the need to hurry before he exploded and stained his pajamas. “In that case…” He slid his other hand inside and covered Jacques’s warm and inviting package as the zipper whispered its way down and his palm grew slick with pre-cum.

The towel joined the forgotten tie on the floor, and Jacques gasped at Alan’s touch. He tugged Alan’s nightwear down and spanned the smooth skin between Alan’s hipbones with his hands.

“Don’t stop there.” Alan drew in a sharp breath when fingertips and a thumb closed around his swollen and throbbing cock. In turn, he let Jacques’s low-hanging sac rest in his hand. He thumbed the shaven skin, outlining each egg-shaped orb as he caressed them.

Jacques’s hand was firm and sure as he stroked and pulled Alan’s cock up and down, making it difficult to concentrate on pleasuring Jacques when so much excitement was building in his own body. He felt echoing tremors begin in Jacques just when they surged in Alan. He squeezed the sac, felt it tighten until it was snug up against his body, and knowing Jacques was on the verge of coming, he wrapped his hand around his lover’s hard cock and pumped faster and faster...

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BETWEEN STATES by J. M. Snyder

BETWEEN STATES by J.M. Snyder

The year is 1863.

Caleb Chilson is a private in the Confederate Army, currently camped in the Virginian woods.

Most of his time is spent on picket duty, on the lookout for a Yankee attack. But when the moon is full, he manages to slip away from the encampment and into the woods to become something a little less than human ...

Imagine his surprise when he meets another werecat like himself. The only difference? Brance Brenneman wears a Yankee uniform.


Contains the stories:
•Book 1: Under a Confederate Moon
•Book 2: Beneath a Yankee Sky
•Book 3: A More Perfect Union

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EXCERPT FROM "Beneath a Yankee Sky"
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Brance chased after Caleb, their feline bodies mere shadows racing among many in the night. His teeth were bared and Caleb’s scent filled his nostrils, enflamed his instincts. He wanted to mate and to eat, in that order. But his lover liked to run -- he liked to be caught, and kept just out of reach as they tore through the underbrush, scaring up mice and birds and any number of small creatures in their wake.

Ahead, the trees opened into a small thicket. Too late, Brance realized he was running headlong into an ambush; he skidded to a stop in the thick grass and turned as a bobcat’s battle cry filled the clearing. Before he could speak, Caleb tackled him, a ball of fur and strong hind legs. They rolled back into the grass, Brance’s jaws snapping for purchase, Caleb’s wet nose nuzzling into his ballocks as his tail tickled under Brance’s nose. The woods were alive with Caleb’s scent, a wild, rangy smell that Brance wanted to pin down beneath him and rub against until his senses exploded in orgasm. ::Fuck me,:: Caleb demanded, tongue licking below Brance’s tail to entice his penis to extend. ::What are we waiting for here? If you’re not going to --::

Brance’s growl cut him off. ::Can’t you ever be still?::

Chastised, Caleb rolled away from Brance. He sat on his haunches, eyes closed, as if he hadn’t just been cavorting like a kitten a moment ago. With feline dignity, he licked one forepaw, smoothed it back over his ear, repeated the gesture. ::Fine.::

Lying on his side, Brance watched his lover, wary. The grooming was a ploy, nothing more. He watched the large paw run back over the ear, turning it inside out until Caleb flicked it right again. Caleb kept his eyes closed, his whole body still except for the paw and the tip of his tail, which tamped down the grass. With an almost human-like sigh, Brance drew in a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. The last thing he wanted to admit was that it seemed too quiet now, with Caleb pretending to ignore him. His own tail slapped the grass in a quick, angry motion.

A ragged purring erupted from Caleb. He lowered his body down to the ground, stretched out his paws, and extended his claws to rake through the soft fur on Brance’s underbelly. When Brance didn’t move, Caleb dared to inch closer, nose wrinkling as he sniffed his way along his lover’s body. The second that wet nose touched his fur, Brance raised his hind leg and set his paw against Caleb’s forehead to hold him back.

::Please,:: Caleb said. He came closer still, widening the space between Brance’s legs, nose drawn once again to the other cat’s genitals. His rough tongue licked out to taste Brance’s tender ballocks. ::Just let me ...::

Brance’s growl raised his own hackles. ::Have I no say in the matter?::

Caleb huffed, his nose filled with Brance’s fur as he routed out the erect pink penis below Brance’s anus. When Caleb’s tongue licked it, an intense pleasure shot through Brance and he kneaded the ground with his forepaws, his growl dissipating into a loud purr. Amused, Caleb countered, ::I think this says it all.::

In one fluid motion, Brance extracted himself from Caleb’s ministrations and leapt to his feet. Before the other bobcat could react, he pounced -- his teeth sank into the thick fur at Caleb’s neck, holding him in place. A rowdy mrraow filled the night. Beneath him, Caleb arched his back, raising his rear haunches into the air to present himself. His claws tore up the grass in his need; as Brance’s underbelly rubbed over his backside, Caleb’s tongue darted out, lapping up the air. One word passed between them, over and over again, a litany of affirmation, acceptance, love. ::Please,:: Caleb begged as Brance’s body covered his. ::Please,:: as Brance’s penis rimmed Caleb’s flaring hole. ::Please, please, please.::

Then Brance entered him, and their mingled cries of lust drowned out all other sound.

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BEAUTIFUL DISASTER by J.M. Snyder

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER by J.M. Snyder

Twenty year old Corey Evans is one-half of 2ICE, the biggest duo on the radio at the moment. Pronounced twice, they're number one on the Billboard charts this week with their latest single. And number one in download sales, with two albums that have already gone platinum, to hear their manager tell it. And currently on their second U.S. tour, which has sold out stadiums across the nation.

Despite this, there's an emptiness inside him which Corey can't seem to fill, no matter how many groupies he takes to his bed. He sees this same emptiness mirrored in the eyes of his band-mate, Ian Coltraine, who drowns his evenings after each show with a bottle of whiskey. Ian's the one Corey turns to when he wakes beside an unknown fan, still asleep in his bed and needs help evicting her. He's Corey best friend, the only person on the tour he can confide in, who he really trusts ...

The one, Corey finally realizes, with whom he is madly, deeply, terribly in love. And he suspects Ian might feel the same.

But his recent string of one-night stands makes Ian cautious about Corey's true feelings. He's wanted Corey for so long, and has watched him go through countless fans in search of ... what? Ian doesn't know. And he doesn't yet believe Corey when he says Ian might be it. Ian hopes so, but can't bring himself to believe Corey's fickle desire won't be gone in the morning.

Can these two young men somehow move beyond Corey's past and Ian's pain to embrace a love they both so desperately desire?

NOTE: The paperback also contains the short stories Encore and Render, which feature the same characters.

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

Corey pulled back the comforter, exposing pristine white sheets that still looked ironed. Ian hadn't slept in the bed at all. As Corey eased between the covers, the sheets cool on his skin, he frowned and tried to forget about the girl in his own bed down the hall. What the fuck was he going to do about that in the morning?

He didn't know.

Leaning back against the pillow, he pulled the comforter up to his armpits and looked over at Ian, who sat in the chair watching him. Watching him. So he still existed. He was still real, still alive, still here. "The bed's big enough for two," he murmured.

"I'm fine," Ian replied, but suddenly he didn't look fine to Corey. He looked sad and old and alone, and not fine in the least.

With a sigh, Corey rolled his eyes and let a slight whine creep into his voice. "Ian. There's plenty of room." To emphasize his point, he patted the empty space beside him. When Ian didn't reply, Corey said, "This is your bed. I'll sleep on the floor if I have to. Is that what you want? It doesn't matter to me. Just as long as I don't have to go back --"

"Fine." Ian hoisted himself out of the chair and stumbled to the bed. Sitting on the edge farthest from Corey, he kicked off his shoes and glared at the floor. "You happy now? You got what you wanted, Corey. You fucking happy?"

"Jeez." Corey didn't say another word as Ian began to undress, slipping out of his shirt and tugging down his pants until he stood in just his boxers and undershirt. As he reached across the bed to cut off the lamp, his shadow fell over Corey, blocking the light from his eyes. Then the room plunged into darkness, and the bed shook as Ian climbed beneath the covers.

Corey lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, blinking to assure himself his eyes were still open. He waited until Ian settled into a comfortable position before he turned toward his friend, who was rolled on his side away from him. All Corey could see was the slump of Ian's shoulder outlined against the dim glow of the curtains. "Ian?"

"What?" His voice was muffled, his mouth probably buried in the pillow.

Clearing his throat, Corey asked, "Are you mad at me?"

For a moment he didn't think Ian would answer. Then Ian sighed. "No."

Corey released a shaky breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Good."

Now that the lights were out and Ian was just a shadow in the darkness, Corey's mind couldn't stop turning, and he didn't want the silence that surrounded them to get inside. He wanted to hear Ian's deep voice, soft and comforting and slurred, wrap around him and hold him close. He wanted to hear Ian's steady breath drown out the tick of the alarm clock and the sounds of the city beyond the drawn curtain. "Ian?" he asked again.

"What?" Ian replied, gentler this time.

"Talk to me." Talk to me and make me real. Make this real, so I'll be able to look back on it when I'm alone and scared again and know for a few moments at least I existed to someone as just Corey and not anything else. Please, Ian. Please give me that much.

Ian chuckled. "You wanted me to get into bed so we could sleep. Now you want me to talk to you? What do you want me to say?"

"Anything." When Ian didn't answer, Corey prompted, "What were you doing in the lounge?"

"Drinking," Ian said.

Corey grinned. "I know that. What were you thinking about?"

"You," came the soft reply.

"Really?" Corey frowned at Ian's back. "Me? Why?"

Ian sighed. "I don't feel like talking right now, Corey, okay? I just don't."

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TWELVE HOURS I by Drew Hunt

TWELVE HOURS I by Drew Hunt

High school quarterback Zack Pierce’s life is spiralling out of control.

To hide from his growing attraction to Sam, his best friend and team mate, Zack drinks, smokes dope, and has sex with any girl who will have him.

Things reach a crisis point when Zack’s girlfriend dumps him after she finds out he’s got another girl pregnant. Not knowing what else to do, Zack breaks out his father’s bourbon and calls Sam for help.

The call in the middle of the night scares Sam, who rushes to his friend’s side. Dare he risk everything by confessing what he feels for Zack? The next twelve hours will either make or break them.

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.


Zack paced the floor of the den. It was all such a fucking mess. For years, he’d tried to ignore his problems, drinking, smoking or fucking them out of his mind. But in recent weeks, no matter what he did, the scary thoughts kept creeping in. He couldn’t stop them.

Zack reached up and tugged at his hair. It was all over the place, but he didn’t give a shit. He would normally spend ages on his hair, combing, gelling, and styling it just right. Jill would joke he spent longer on his hair than she did on hers. When she’d found out Janet was pregnant, and that he was probably the father, she’d dumped his ass.

He’d been at her house. She’d screamed and stamped her feet. She’d picked up everything from a hairbrush to CD’s, to a little statue of a pony he’d bought her, and had thrown them at him. He’d tried to talk her down, but when he’d gotten close, she’d slashed his cheek with her nails.

Zack reached up to his face. At least it had stopped bleeding.

He’d gotten the hell out of there. Her high-pitched screams had still been audible from the sidewalk. Once home, he’d lost no time in getting wasted on a bottle of his dad’s bourbon. Then not really knowing why, he’d called Sam. He hadn’t known what to say, and, fuck, he hadn’t meant to start crying. What a fuckin’ pussy. But he couldn’t hold it in any more. He needed another drink.

Stumbling in the direction of his parents’ bar in the corner of the den, Zack tripped over the coffee table.

“Who the fuck put that there!”

As he tripped, the glass in his hand knocked against the table and broke, shards scattering over the carpet.

Recovering, he stepped around the broken glass, made it to the bar, splashed a healthy slug of bourbon into another tumbler, added some ice, and threw back the glass’s contents.

“Zack?”

Sam’s voice startled Zack. He jerked his arm, and some of the liquor splashed onto his cheek, stinging like a motherfucker.

“Sumbitch!”

“Zack?” The voice was closer. “What the fuck you been doin’, man?”

Sam’s fingers touched the edge of his cheek.

Zack found himself leaning into the touch. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he jerked backward and swung at Sam. “What the fuck! You a fag or something?”

Sam stepped back, his hands held up in a gesture of peace.

The momentum of Zack’s punch caused him to overbalance. He landed face first on the carpet, the glass landing next to him, its contents forming a puddle near his right ear. He could smell the alcohol as it soaked into the carpet. His mom would go ape shit! Suddenly, it all became too much. For close on six years, he had guarded the secret he’d held inside. But now, the break up with Jill, his shitty parents, the pain in his cheek, and now in his chest, were too big a burden for him to cope with any more. He curled into a ball and started to sob.

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CHOOSING LOVE by Winona Wilder

CHOOSING LOVE - Coming Out Book One by Winona Wilder

Cal has hidden his true feelings from Waylon for years, not willing to jeopardize their friendship. After a night of drunken passion, the truth finally comes out. While Cal learns to accept his true nature, Waylon is afraid to risk alienating his family. Will he live in denial or choose love?

With the help of their sexy history teacher, Evan, the three men learn that love has no boundaries. But are evenings filled with hot sex enough to forge a lasting ménage?

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Excerpt
ADULT EXCERPT

Fire sparked in Waylon’s eyes and, without warning, he kissed Cal—passionately. He nearly fell back against the closed door but caught his footing in time, and Waylon’s strong arms were around him in an instant. His cock pulsed and thickened knowing that Evan watched from his perch on the desk. He closed his eyes and surrendered to the advance, kissing back, nipping, tasting. Waylon reached between them, rubbing his hand over the bulge in Cal’s jeans.

“Use my desk, boys. I’d love to watch the both of you in action.” Evan’s voice faintly registered in Cal’s mind. Soon Waylon was escorting him toward the desk, barely breaking their kiss along the way. Every nerve in Cal’s body fired hot with erotic need when his boyfriend undid his pants, letting them drop to his knees. He grabbed Waylon’s cock, pumping it in his fist, enjoying the wide girth of hard flesh. Cal undid his own pants, eager to get fucked before he lost his mind. When he turned to face the desk, Waylon spun him back around.

“You’re gonna fuck me, Cal.”

“What?” He’d never entered Waylon. He’d lost his virginity, but in a sense, Waylon had not. Cal just assumed that his boyfriend wanted to dominate, didn’t want to be penetrated, and he was okay with that. The mere idea of fucking Waylon’s beautiful, firm round ass nearly made him come on the spot.

“Evan taught me about give and take. I want to do this, Cal. I have to do this.”

Cal turned his head and looked at Evan sitting beside them, less than a foot away. With both their cocks bare and bobbing with desire, they were in full view for a virtual stranger. Their teacher no less. The openness between them all made him so hot, so fucking horny, he’d die if he didn’t release his load soon.

Waylon leaned over the desk on his elbows, his bare ass ready and waiting. Cal rubbed the smooth, muscled mounds while looking Evan in the eye. The teacher opened a drawer beside him and held up a tube of lube.

“Here. Rub it in.” Evan squeezed some lube into Cal’s palm. He did as told, rubbing the salve along Waylon’s crack, making the man groan, and penetrated him with his finger to distribute the moisture. “Your cock, too.” Then Evan’s lube covered hand was around Cal’s shaft, rubbing and pumping. He closed his eyes, his head lolling back on his shoulders from the onslaught of wicked sensations. A new hand caressed him, and he was about to penetrate Waylon for the first time. How much stimulation could one man handle?

Waylon peered at them from the side, frowning as he watched Evan stroking Cal. “What about me?”

“Okay, Cal, go slow,” urged Evan. Evan aimed the head of Cal’s cock at Waylon’s tight rosette. Properly coated with moisture, he pressed in. His urge to thrust full force was difficult to rein in, but he managed to embed himself to the hilt with a firm, but gentle pressure. Once fully seated, he exhaled. Waylon’s breathing came in shallow gasps, but he took Cal’s cock like a man without wimping out.

“You okay, Waylon?”

“Yeah. This is good,” he muttered, a hint of hesitation in his words.

Cal felt him clench around his cock. Being connected with the man he loved was comparable to nothing in the world. It didn’t matter who did the fucking. It was the same bond between them. “I want to fuck you so bad,” Cal groaned. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Why don’t I help?” offered Evan, his eyes dark and flirty. Cal would agree to anything about now with his cock throbbing to the point of pain. Evan pulled off his T-shirt, his body toned and tanned an even golden hue. Then he unzipped and lost his pants. His cock was ripe for fucking, pre-cum slipping off the tip.

“You’re not fucking Cal,” ordered Waylon.

“Of course not. You get to be the meat in our sandwich.” Evan winked at Cal. “It’ll be easier on you if you get to fuck while being fucked—for your first time, anyway.”

“Whatever. Hurry up because I can’t hold back much longer.” Cal began to grind his hips, pushing deeper into Waylon, desperate to begin thrusting.

Evan passed Cal the lube and leaned over the desk beside Waylon.

“Put a condom on me, Cal.” Cal’s heart filled with love knowing that Waylon wanted him fucking his ass bareback, but insisted Evan use protection.

Cal was on cloud nine, raking his eyes over the two delicious men. With both hands free, his dick still embedded in Waylon’s ass, he reached down and pulled a condom from his pocket and sheathed Waylon. He then poured lube into one hand. He bent forward, reaching around to coat his friend’s hard cock and then directed him to mount their teacher. Once in position, they both aimed at Evan’s waiting asshole.

Evan groaned, an erotic sound that echoed in the small room. Waylon wasn’t gentle as he’d been for Cal’s first time. He thrust in, holding the man’s hips securely. Cal followed suit, pulling out and plunging back in. They worked as a team, a finely tuned mass of male muscle and strength with one united goal.

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IN FROM THE COLD by Carolina Valdez

IN FROM THE COLD by Carolina Valdez

East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet...

Jon and Wendell were fourteen when they first experimented with each other and discovered they were gay. Lovers and in love, they drifted apart after graduation when Jon left to follow his dream to rock 'n' roll stardom. A heartbroken Wendell recovered by earning an animal husbandry degree at a California university. He returned to the small Oregon town where they'd grown up to raise sheep with his father.

Ten years later, Wendell's contentment is shattered when Jon and his band arrive to play for their high school reunion. Love surprises both men by immediately flaring into liquid heat. Jon begs Wendell to give up his life in Oregon and live with him in New York City. Wendell refuses, however, asking Jon to move in with him instead. But Jon refuses to abandon his career and returns to Manhattan.

Will Wendell and Jon remain star-crossed lovers, or will they find a way to bridge the distance and discover the true meaning of "home"?

Note: IN FROM THE COLD is included in the five-story erotic gay WHERE THE HEART IS AmberPax 

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Excerpt:

...Wendell froze. He forgot to breathe. Warm lips touched the hollow just beneath his right ear and a tongue slowly tasted, savoring him. He closed his eyes as the tonguing changed to a wet mouth trailing kisses with agonizing slowness down his neck to where his sleep top began. Fingers slid beneath the neck and slid across his bare skin, following its line.

“I wore your gift tonight,” Jon said in a voice as rough as gravel.

Mesmerized by the touch of Jon’s mouth and hands, all Wendell could get out was, “I noticed.” When a lack of oxygen threatened to cause a blackout, he drew in a long breath through his nose. Not my soap, he thought. Not my shampoo. Only Jon’s scent. His soap, his shampoo, his arms strong and familiar around me.

His lips and tongue that I have missed so very much.

He crossed his arms over Jon’s and became aware of the rock-hard cock pressing against his buttocks and his dick growing long and big in response. That, too, was familiar. He didn’t want to move, to stop the mouth at his neck or destroy the pleasures rumbling inside him. He just wanted to stand there and feel Jon in the stillness, with the blazing fire shooting flickering shadows around them, and convince himself Jon was real and this wasn’t a dream.

Jon released his waist and turned Wendell to face him as his lips brushed over the corners of his closed eyes and his tongue lapped at the tip of his nose before zeroing in to devour Wendell’s mouth. As the kiss deepened and their tongues intertwined in an imitation of penetrating sex, Wendell wrapped his arms around Jon and ran his hands up and down the broad back. Jon thrust his pelvis against Wendell’s until they were so tight together he couldn’t tell Jon’s dick from his. It didn’t matter. Melding into him, becoming one with him was all that mattered as erotic sparks shot through him and lust caused his body to quiver.

Someone groaned, and Wendell realized it came from his throat.

Jon must’ve taken that as a signal to slip his hand beneath the band of Wendell’s sleep pants because he was there, and his hard knuckles stroked the tender flesh above Wendell’s bush.

“Lower. Go lower,” Wendell begged, hungry for and helpless against the sensual onslaught. He rocked his hips from side to side to increase the friction as the knuckles continued to rub.

Jon was trembling now. He slid Wendell’s sleep pants down and took his cock in hand.

“Not here,” Wendell warned, his voice thick and hoarse with what testosterone was doing to his vocal chords. “I’m on the verge.”

“Yes, here,” Jon insisted as he pulled down his own pants and wrapped Wendell’s hand around his tight erection. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long I’m not going to let you go. Besides, we have all night.”

Pleasure splintered Wendell, and he exhaled with a groan as he enjoyed those all too brief seconds when everything centered in his groin and drowned his entire body in feeling.

“Oh, God, Wendell. Wendell.” Jon moaned as he came, too.

Later, they wandered to bed, stripped, crawled under the covers and died to the world.

In the deepest part of the night, Wendell roused to the weight of someone, something on his butt, something hard and velvety gliding, sliding in and out of his crack. Something nipped at his shoulder. “Is that you, Jon?”

“Who else, lover?”

He started to turn, but hands captured his shoulders and kept him in place as Jon’s knees forced his thighs apart. Hands rubbed his back as Jon licked his skin, awakening nerve endings running the length of his body. Thinking he should only feel this in his groin, the sensations caused every nerve to spring to life. Awash in feeling, he decided to relax and enjoy it, not to miss even one little flicker of arousal...

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