Showing posts with label Sara York. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sara York. Show all posts

Sunday, March 10, 2013

NOT THAT TYPE OF GUY by Sara York

NOT THAT TYPE OF GUY by Sara York

When CIA assassin Aiden Johnson is trapped between a bathroom wall and a hard man, he chooses the hard man, much to his surprise. Aiden doesn’t want to admit he’s gay, but his first stumble into man love leaves him disoriented, searching for answers and desperate to find the truth. He covers his real desires by dating an ultra hot girl, but it’s the guy sitting a few tables away that draws his attention.

Super nice and attractive Doctor Trace Williams is so special he seems like an angel to Aiden. Their first kiss blows Aiden away. That Trace sees into his soul, even when Aiden is trying to hide everything, pisses him off. Aiden needs Trace in his life, but once Trace finds out the truth about Aiden’s job, will they have any part of their relationship left?

What would you do if your lover ripped apart the very foundation of what you believed?

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This book deals with difficult subject matter, including abduction, abuse and murder. It also includes amazing sex between incredibly sexy men, masturbation and an engaging story. Enjoy!

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Excerpt:
Chapter One


Aiden Jackson took the disposable cell phone out of his pocket, plugged in his earpiece and answered the call. “Go.” Aiden spoke with his lips in a thin line, dark sunglasses covering his eyes as he searched the bustle of people waiting for their train at the Waterloo Station in London.

“They know someone’s here,” Chuck said, his voice whisper quiet.

“Shit, they on to me?” Aiden took off his shades and picked up a book. He leafed through the pages, acting the part of bored tourist on holiday.

“No, I can see you, and you’re good.”

Aiden put down the book and moved through the little shops, exploring the crap for sale, wishing he were anywhere else but here. Maybe on a beach, or playing golf even, though he hated the game.
This close to the end of a mission always made him jumpy. If he were on a beach, he would have the satisfaction of another successful operation notched on his belt.

“You’ve got someone tailing you now.” Chuck’s voice sent a shiver through Aiden.

An untrained person would turn to find their tail or they would run. Hell, even a semi-normal person would roll his shoulders, but Aiden did nothing. After flipping a few more pages in the book, he put it down and picked up another.

“Any ideas?”

“Yeah, but you’re not gonna like it,” Chuck said.

“Tell me.”

“Fuck no; just meet me in the men’s room two stores to your left. And go with whatever I do.”

Aiden dropped the book and headed out of the store. Chuck could start a fight or act like they were old friends. Twice before he’d worked with Chuck, and everything had gone according to plan. Of course Chuck wasn’t the guy’s name. Hell, none of them knew the real identities of the other operatives, too dangerous.

He passed a group of people and a few other travellers. The eyes of his watcher were on him. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he passed by a squat stocky guy of eastern descent. Pakistani?

Aiden pushed open the bathroom door, surprised when Chuck grabbed his hand and yanked him into the back stall. Chuck turned the flimsy lock on the door, closing them in the small space. Chuck’s hands were on Aiden’s chest, caressing his nipples through his shirt. Anger brewed deep in Aiden’s belly. His phone screeched and he turned it off, checking his watch for the time.

Chuck’s tongue teased Aiden’s nipple through the cloth. Aiden wanted to yank Chuck’s blond wig, pull him away and ask what the fuck he was doing, but the main bathroom door swung open, and the clip-clop of dress shoes echoed in the tiled room.

Was it the guy following them?

Chuck gazed into Aiden’s eyes, and a small smirk tilted his lips before he slanted his mouth across Aiden’s.

What the fuck?

Aiden froze. The extensive shit he’d suffered through in SEAL training, and then with the CIA, helped him keep his cool as the guy invaded his space, kissed him and touched his body like a girl would. Chuck’s tongue probed Aiden’s lips, demanding entrance. For a moment, Aiden wavered on accepting the kiss. He couldn’t do it. It went against everything he’d fought to keep hidden.

His darkest desires were playing out in this kiss. The lust he’d kept in check, the dreams that haunted him, all here, wrapped up in this one fleeting moment of joined lips that was a joke to Chuck, but a fulfillment of desires for Aiden. His breath came in halting gasps as Chuck licked at the slit of his lips. It felt so good. Aiden opened his mouth, admitting Chuck’s thick tongue.


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Sunday, March 3, 2013

FIRE AND ICE by Sara York

FIRE AND ICE by Sara York

How can an angel win the woman of his heart when he’s trapped in a demon’s body?

With Raphael’s soul ripped from his angelic body, he’s forced to inhabit the demon Lash’s ugly form until he can help Alexandria overcome her anger and forgive. Raphael’s been in love with Alexandria for decades and wants her, but he’s Lash now and despises his new body. How could anyone fall in love with him, much less the beautiful Alexandria?

Alexandria doesn’t know what’s gotten into her. Rafe is the man of her dreams but when she touches Lash a firestorm of desire is unleashed... She has to have him. Confusion about her desires leaves her vulnerable to the evil fate Rafe has planned for her.

Can the angel in demon form, Lash, fight off Rafe and save Alexandria from hell and himself from eternal punishment of living as a demon?

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Copyright © Sara York, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Total-E-Bound.

Excerpt From: Fire and Ice

Raphael had known he'd made a mistake the minute he'd reached down and touched Alexandria, bringing her back to life, but he hadn't thought the punishment would be this harsh. He loved the woman and hadn't been able to stop himself from interfering. All he'd needed was more time to get to know her, but if she'd died she would have been lost to him in the human afterlife.

Now he lay prostrate in the Court of Angels, his wings vibrating with fear and anger at himself. How could God have let this happen? He hadn't done anything that bad, just saved one girl.

"The sentence shall be read," Michael's voice boomed over the assembly.

Jophiel, the Angel of Judgment, banged the gavel and spoke. "The all—knowing, all—seeing God has decided, based on the crime described in the notes, that Raphael knowingly and willingly interfered in God's divine and perfect will. Thus his soul shall be taken from his body, denying him his angelic powers and form, and placed in the earthly body of Lahash, the Deceiver."

Raphael groaned, his wings collapsed over his outstretched arms, hiding his body from the court. He wasn't deceiving any of them, but he needed the comfort and security the thick wings provided. He hadn't been without his wings in forever, but now he would be stripped of his position and his rights. Why had he interfered?

The image of Alexandria filled his mind, the most perfect woman he'd ever seen. He hadn't been able to resist rescuing her.

Jophiel continued reading. "Raphael will be sent to Earth to redeem himself."

Raphael looked up, his eyes bright. He could redeem himself—at least he had hope, and he would do whatever it took to win back his wings.

"Raphael shall be known as Lash. Any reference to his true form as his own, the name Raphael as his own, or any part of his works as his own will result in Puriel's wrath striking against him, inflicting pain that will force Raphael to his knees."

Shit, Puriel loved to inflict pain and he would judge harshly. No way could Raphael trick him. He was stuck with the new body, but how bad could it be? Raphael closed his eyes and thought of the bodies he'd seen demons inhabit on Earth, and he cringed.

Jophiel's voice droned on, leaving Raphael depressed. "Henceforth, Raphael shall be known as Lash, the angel in the demon's body, until such time that he redeems himself. Lahash the Deceiver and Interferer in Divine Will shall take the form of Raphael on Earth. He shall be given the name Rafe. Both Raphael and Lahash will have the opportunity to redeem their souls. Whosoever completes the task first shall have the right to choose in whichever form they wish to live out the rest of eternity. Time is limited. After first contact with Alexandria, you will have seven days to accomplish your task. So be it."

The gavel crashed down, and Raphael's soul was ripped from his body and tossed through nothingness, before being stuffed into a scrawny form that felt cramped and smelt funny. He crawled to his knees and stood on wobbly legs. The gravitational forces of Earth felt strange to him, and he stumbled as he made his way across the room. He reached up and felt his face before he looked down and saw his pasty, white limbs. He pushed the door to the bathroom open, revealing a mirror.

He caught his reflection and horror filled him. Gone were the good looks, the great tan and the awesome body that had been his earthly host when he chose to walk among mortals. In its place was a plainness that was pitiful, bordering on ugly.

The name Lash was burned into his brain, giving him no choice but to call himself by the disgusting moniker. He tried to think of himself as Raphael, but dropped to his knees as pain slashed across his chest. Damn Puriel—he was tuned in not only to Lash's words, but also to his thoughts.

His soul shrank and his body ached from the switch. God had plans that Lash didn't understand fully, that much was evident. That he'd saved Alexandria didn't matter—instead, it had upset the Big Guy. The punishment might have been fitting, but the harshness of it sucked. He'd switched lives, tasks and holy appointments with Lahash, the Interferer in Divine Will, and Lahash had been given a chance to redeem himself as Raphael, the Shining One Who Heals.

He would win this challenge and have the right to his own body. Nothing could stop him. He had to win.

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Sunday, February 24, 2013

TORN TO SHREDS by Sara York

TORN TO SHREDS by Sara York

When Lucas Spires goes missing, his brother, Amos, turns to Brett Hutchings, an ex Marine, kicked out for being gay. After Amos betrayed him, forced him out of Lucas’s life and ended his career, Brett vowed to never to speak with, much less help Amos, until the end of eternity. But Brett can’t deny his need to save Lucas, the one guy he’s never been able to get out of his system, even if it means working for Amos.

The trail is cold, with Lucas missing for more than a month. The cops are clueless, unable to find even a hint that the young man was abducted instead of just wandering away. When Brett latches onto a trace of evidence, it looks like he’ll find Lucas, but the clue doesn’t pan out the way he thinks it should.

Lucas can’t take the abuse any longer. He’s at the end of his chain, literally. If he could escape into the mountains, he would, but the sick bastard attached a manacle to his leg, exerting his control physically. Lucas is desperate to escape his captor; all hope has vanished, crushing his spirit. Lucas dreams of a savior, but Brett walked away a long time ago, and he’s the only man strong enough to save Lucas.

Warning: This book contains material that some may find disturbing and is only suitable for mature readers. This book deals with difficult subject matter, including abduction, abuse and murder. While there is no consummation of sex shown in the story, this is a very sensual tale. Enjoy!

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~Excerpt~

The metal cuff dug into Lucas Spires’ ankle as he shuffled across the kitchen, trying to keep the chain dragging behind him quiet. Master would be up soon enough, and he didn’t need to wake the bastard early. Lucas paused and gazed up at the ceiling, searching for help, but knowing he’d find no answers there. Tears welled, threatening to spill down his cheeks; he swiped them away. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fist, willing himself to be strong.

Three weeks. The time in captivity seemed like forever. Three long weeks of hell and abuse at the idiot’s hands. He squared his shoulders and tamped down the pity party, vowing not to cave under the pressure.

Lucas took another step, the chain clanking against the floor. He stopped and almost crumpled to the linoleum, overwhelmed by misery. With gritted teeth, he willed himself to stay strong. The need for Master to secure the knives had passed with the desire to kill himself, and he couldn’t hurt Master. The fucker was too strong, and the zapper he carried delivered a hell of a volt.

The first week, Lucas had tried to escape. The second week, he’d lain on the little pallet Master had made for him and only moved when the beatings hurt too bad to stay still. This week he accepted his slave status; he had no choice in what happened to him. Serving Master was his only option in this new reality. Lucas fought the memories of his past threatening to race through his mind. He wouldn’t think of school or of rushing through the Student Union to meet with his friends over coffee. Letting his thoughts wander to those memories crushed him, making him want to end his pathetic excuse for a life. In some small part of his consciousness he hung onto the hope of making it out of here alive, where he wasn’t held prisoner, somewhere he had freedom.

Hunger clawed at his belly, but the fucker padlocked the refrigerator, only opening the appliance for him to cook. The asshole locked the pantry also. Lucas glanced down at his naked body. His stomach caved in, showing his ribs. His legs were too lean, like a scarecrow. Master fed him enough to keep him alive, but not nearly enough to sustain a healthy weight.

Master opened the bedroom door and Lucas flinched. He tried to keep his knees from shaking, but failed.

“I want eggs. You can have one.” Master opened the refrigerator, taking out the carton of eggs. “Three, scrambled. Don’t fuck ‘em up.”

Lucas stared at the open refrigerator, eyes burning with despair. So much food, and most of it would spoil before Master consumed half. If only...But it didn’t help to have if only thoughts. He ate what master gave him and didn’t complain.

Master watched as Lucas prepared the pan and cracked the eggs into a bowl. He whipped the eggs with a fork and poured them into the hot pan. The sound of the eggs sizzling reminded him of the zapper, and he flinched, his throat tight with emotion. Master hated when he broke down. He had to stay strong, at least until Master went off to work.

Lucas stirred the eggs, watching them grow thicker as the seconds ticked by. His belly hurt for food. One egg would be enough to take the pain away, but not enough to fill him. Never before had he been this hungry, this desperate for food, like all of him would splinter into little pieces if he didn’t eat.

Once Master’s eggs were done, Lucas put them on a plate and delivered them to the table where Master sat. He dismissed Lucas with a wave of his hand, the small reprieve almost caused Lucas to sigh, but he caught himself in time. Lucas went back to the stove and cracked his egg into the pan. He watched as the clear liquid boiled on the surface and turned white. He broke the yoke and flipped the egg, just like his mother had done before she passed away. When the egg turned white, and no yolk flowed from the cut in the center, he took the pan off the burner and ate the egg. No salt, no pepper. The bruises had faded, but the lesson remained; he received no extras.

Master ate the last of his eggs, placing his fork on the plate. Lucas swooped in, clearing the dishes. After rinsing the dirty dishes, he waited for his next set of instructions, hoping like crazy the jerk didn’t want sex. Master said nothing as he went to the bathroom. The sound of water running told him that his abductor had started his shower. Lucas relaxed a bit as he cleaned the kitchen, washed the plates and put them back in the cabinet. The asshole had never demanded sex after showering, Lucas got off easy today.

Since Master was still here, he didn’t even think about opening the refrigerator and sneaking a piece of meat, though his stomach ached as if he hadn’t eaten all week. He stood in the center of the kitchen waiting for Master to leave for work. The door to the bedroom opened and Master walked out dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Lucas had no idea what job Master held, and he didn’t care. All he wanted was for the jerk to leave for the day without asking for sex or touching him.

Without a word, Master fixed his lunch, locked the refrigerator and walked out the door. Lucas went to the window and watched the red truck drive away. No one ever came up the road except Master. They were somewhere in the mountains, that’s all he knew. The despair burning deep in Lucas’s belly came out in a piercing cry, rumbling through the rooms as he screamed and cursed at his situation.

He slumped against the wall, relieved that he was alone for the day. Part of him wished Master had him locked up anywhere but here. Truly alone in this piece of shit house, the isolation taunted him. After he stopped crying, Lucas wiped his eyes and checked out his food for the day.

Master had left a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the counter. Lucas paced himself, taking a small bite then waiting a long while for another, knowing he had all day to finish the meal. He lay on the blankets for a long time then swept and mopped the main room. He ate another bite of the sandwich, ignoring the clawing hunger. Boredom set in so he took a nap then checked the time, praying master wasn’t due back soon. He'd already eaten half the sandwich, but starvation hovered close, never leaving him alone. If he ate the rest now, he would get nothing else until Master returned home. Too long to go without any food.

Lucas turned on the tap and slurped down some water. The gross taste filled his mouth, but felt good when the liquid hit his belly. The temperature dropped even more last night, and he probably wouldn’t survive the winter unless Master gave him clothes. Already the house was a little chilly. At least he had a blanket.

He spent the day cleaning the house like Master demanded. Passing the time with the chores kept him from getting too bored. If only he found a way to communicate with someone and tell them he needed help. With no phone and no computer to hook up to the internet, he was at a loss.

After dusting the house again, Lucas realized he hadn’t eaten all of his sandwich and Master would return soon. He shuffled to the kitchen and heard Master’s tires crunch on the gravel outside. Fear pinged around his body. He stuffed the last two bites of sandwich into his mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing before Master came in. Master would be displeased if he didn’t eat what he was given and then Master would give him less tomorrow. Lucas had played that game earlier, and he hated the results. Master knew how to be cruel enough to motivate him to do whatever the bastard wanted.

Another quick slurp of water from the faucet washed the sandwich residue from his mouth. Lucas did a quick glance around the kitchen, noticing the napkin Master had set his sandwich on still on the countertop. He raced over and grabbed paper, tossing it into the trash before Master walked in.

The key slid into the first of the locks, and Lucas dropped to his knees, fighting back the tears. Another key in another lock, and Lucas settled his ass on his heals. The sharp clink of a padlock dropping to the ground sent fear racing through Lucas’s body. He shivered and bent forward, placing his forehead on the ground, his hands pushed in front of him as though he were bowing to Master.

The position, dictated by Master, left him totally defenseless against Master’s attacks and whims. Lucas choked back the sob threatening to erupt as the door swung open and Master stepped in.

“Slave, I’m home, and I’m feeling good.”

Welcome to hell.

Lucas shut down his mind, no longer allowing himself to think. He wouldn’t spend any more time permitting his emotions to rule. Soon enough, this place would be more than he could handle. When the time came, he’d have a plan. For now, he would exist and pray that somewhere, someone searched for him.

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Sunday, February 10, 2013

SELLING IT by Sara York

SELLING IT by Sara York

Love heals all scars.

Teens are dying and Blaine Wilson, a DC police detective, knows why. The scars on his right leg, left rib cage and
left collar bone are a brutal reminder of his past as a teen prostitute, and a key to solving this investigation.

Blaine’s trips to gay bars are reckless but he’s searching for solace for his wounds. When he meets Andy everything changes. Dating Andy forces him out of the closet at work and then he has to admit his past indiscretions to his captain.

Andy falls in love at the drop of a hat and he's promised his two best friends he won't fall so easily again. When he meets Blaine he's helpless to resist the instant attraction.

Andy and Blaine are dedicated to making their relationship work when the killer targets Andy and his two best friends. Can Blaine save his lover and Andy’s friends without losing himself?

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Copyright © Sara York, 2012
All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Total-E-Bound.

Excerpt From: Selling It

Blaine couldn’t have imagined a worse ending. Blood covered the floor of the shit motel room and sprayed up the walls, almost to the ceiling. He glanced down at the broken body and cringed. The neck wound had probably caused most of this mess. His heart squeezed and his eyes burned. Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose to stop any tears from falling. Hell, he was a seasoned detective and shouldn’t show weakness, plus if the others found out it would come back to haunt him. There’d be jokes around the station about him crying like a baby. He shivered. No emotion, and no weakness.

He’d seen this kind of injury before. He knew the boy had felt the pain, suffering in death just as he’d suffered in life. Unconsciously, Blaine’s right hand sought out his own scars. First the fingers of his right hand grazed his left collarbone, then his left ribs, finally coming to rest on his right hip. Then, realizing what he was doing, he covered his movements by cocking his hip to the side and resting his hand there, as if he were casually observing the scene. Casual was far from how he felt. His blood boiled and his head spun.

The boy must have been scared shitless. He’d seen the knife coming at him—had to have.

“Hey, Wilson, how come you always stand like that at murder scenes? Never mind, I’m sure ice water runs through your veins.” His partner, Lucy Abbot, sauntered into the room. She was short, sassy and quick to laugh. Eventually, after he’d worked with her for long enough, she would expect answers that he wouldn’t want to give. Why didn’t he date, what was his hang-up about girls? Ugh, maybe he should...but no, not yet.

“This is a mess,” Blaine said.

“People round here don’t know how to murder clean. Always is a mess.” Lucy pulled on a pair of gloves and flexed her fingers.

“He’s probably around fifteen, maybe sixteen.” Blaine knew the kid had to have been desperate. It was the only reason anyone would pick this life filled with skanky hook-ups, all for a little cash.

“Think he had family?” Lucy bent down to examine the body.

“Abbot, everyone has family. The question is why they didn’t give a rip shit about him.”

Her gaze connected with his. She looked hurt. “They might have cared and just didn’t know what to do.”

“No mother or father would ever want their little boy out here selling himself like this.”

“We don’t know he was a prostitute.”

Blaine looked away from the body, no longer able to stomach the scene. “The kid was a pro. Look at how skinny he was. His fingernails are black, his knees worn. Just look at the red marks. He spent his free time on his knees, either blowing or being screwed.”

“Poor kid.” Lucy’s voice was full of pity.

Blaine didn’t want to think about the life the kid had lived. Didn’t want to think about the desperation of not knowing where your next meal would come from. The self-loathing and hate that accompanied turning tricks, or the false bravado the kid would’ve had to have to keep up the life.

Flashes of desperate nights and lonely days played through his head. He blocked them out, focusing on the meticulous tasks of gathering evidence. The crime scene techs were doing their job, but he couldn’t sit still. He slid on gloves and began sorting through the boy’s clothes.

The kid'’s shoes were dirty and eaten through at the sole. Somehow the shoes had escaped the bloody mess. They must have been taken off before he was attacked.

Blaine carefully bagged each shoe. Next, he folded the shirt where it lay and slid the material into an evidence bag. He bunched the underwear and pants together so he didn’t drop any stray hairs or fibres, then placed them in a separate bag.

After labelling each bag he called the photographer over and had them take shots of the bagged clothes and the flooring underneath where the clothing had been flung.

Lucy finished her conversation with one of the crime scene techs and made her way towards him. For a moment he wondered what she would say if she knew the truth about him. No one in DC had any idea. Hell, no one in his life knew of his past.

“Did it look like the clothes had been removed before death?” Lucy asked.

“Probably so. The techies will need to have the final say on that. What about you? Any thoughts?”

“Whoever did this is a bastard.”

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Monday, August 13, 2012

TEXAS HARD by Sara York

TEXAS HARD by Sara York

Texas Soul Series - Welcome to Texas where men are rough, hard and twisted!

Spurned by his heart’s desire, Riley’s aching for a fight, and he finds one with Connor, a sexy Texas lawman. Attraction fires between them, but Riley walks away, ignoring the lust between he and Connor...Until weeks later he’s caught trespassing on Connor’s new property--Naked.

Connor’s tempted to arrest the audacious naked man in his watering hole until he realizes it’s Riley. Lust muddles Connor’s logic and soon he finds himself on a path rife with temptations. Passion twists Connor inside out leading him to share one of his deepest secrets. Still Riley’s hiding something and the lack of mutual trust may end their relationship.

Then there’s the Lane factor. Riley’s ex leaves Connor feeling threatened. Riley swears it’s over, but something doesn’t sit right and Connor needs resolve. Coming to terms with their attraction means submitting to the fears haunting Connor and Riley before they can grasp the love that brought them together.

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~Excerpt~

Thick, black smoke bellowed over the rise, belching behind the trees like a dragon gone bad. Riley punched the accelerator as he crested the hill, then skidded around the curve. His senses were on high alert, his foot off the gas as the car finished out the turn. Passing the stand of trees, Riley slowed as he arrived on the scene. Two cars came into view—one rolled with flames leaping to the sky, the other in good condition. Riley took it all in as he pulled close and slammed to a stop. One man was on the ground, the other standing over him. Fuck, this looked bad.

He threw the car into park and popped the trunk to grab his doctor’s bag. When he’d first glimpsed the scene he’d thought the guy on his knees was rendering aid to the person on the ground, but now he saw the situation more clearly, heard the yelling plain as day. What the hell?

Riley went into ER mode, assessing the condition of the patient as he came around the front of his car. Burn victim on the ground. Body had to be fifty percent burned if not more, maybe sixty. Face a mess. Broken nose for sure. Breathing rapid and jagged. Some blood, no arterial flow. In downtown Houston the dude might live if the paramedics rushed, out here with the burns covering his body and his face—no way.

“Tell me, you bastard. Tell me where he is.” The guy hanging over the burn victim yelled. He wasn’t touching the man on the ground, but he was close to him, his face up close to the victim, yelling as if the guy on the ground wasn’t dying.

Raw anger flew through Riley. The injured man wasn’t answering, couldn’t answer because shock held him mute. The massive trauma from the burns covering his body shorted out the man’s brain, lack of oxygen shut down everything, including the victim’s ability to think. The guy’s lungs were probably fried.

“I’m a doctor, move out of the way,” Riley commanded, expecting to be obeyed immediately.

“Fuck you,” the stranger said and kept yelling at the victim on the ground.

“Hey, he needs medical attention.” Riley dropped to the dirt opposite the other guy, the heat from the fire scorched his backside, but he had no choice of where to work. The burn victim’s eyes were glassed over; the lights were on, but nobody was home. Soon the lights would be fading, and fast. His respiration rate was off the charts. Fuck, his lungs had been deep fried, Riley would bet money on it.

“Where is he?” The stranger yelled in the burn victim’s face.

Riley had had enough. He grasped the stranger by the shirtfront and yanked. They were nose-to-nose, fury boiled over the big black man’s face, his eyes blazed, and his mouth twisted in a sneer.

“You need to move so I can work. He will die if I can’t help him,” Riley said through gritted teeth, holding the worst of his anger back by sheer will.

“I don’t give a fuck if this piece of shit dies. He knows where Erick is.” The stranger ripped out of Riley’s grip and looked down at the burned body.

The sound coming from the victim was different, quieter. Riley glanced down and his heart squeezed. Fuck, the guy wouldn’t live for the next two minutes. There wasn’t much Riley could do. He had no oxygen tank and no IV bag. Plus, where would he stick the needle? The burn victim’s face had been crushed then crisped, his lips pulled back in a grimace. No way for Riley to get enough suction to perform CPR.

Riley pulled out his stethoscope and listened for a heartbeat. There was nothing. He sat back on his heals, depression winding through him. Helpless, his shoulders slumped. The guy across from him cursed and threw Riley an angry grimace. Riley scowled right back, his anger rising with each second.

“Why the fuck were you yelling at him?” Riley had to know. Normally he would have walked away, stood down and not gotten in the guy's face, but since this happened today of all days, he reacted badly, letting his anger build. Today sucked. Normally he wouldn’t be in this part of the county. He would be hanging out at home, working with his cows or maybe taking a dip in the pond. But seeing the familiar things made his heart ache for what he could never have.

The guy across from him stood stiffly, his jaw jutted out, his hands clenched at his sides. Riley didn’t like being on his knees with an angry man above him. It reminded him of a darker time in his past when he first started exploring his sexuality. He rose quickly, bracing himself for whatever this asshole threw at him. Since college he’d packed on fifty pounds of muscle. No fucking big bear would ever throw him around. He was the bear now.

“You, I ought to take you in,” the guy growled.

The stranger stepped around the victim on the ground. Now they were face-to-face, chest-to-chest. Same height and about the same weight, Riley judged. Rage ran through his veins. He could take this dude if he swung. Riley started plotting ways to give pain with minimal injury to himself. There were nerves, ligament attachments, and other places where the body proved weak and vulnerable. A good kick to the balls would drop this guy.

“You could have helped him more,” Riley yelled.

“He had the information,” the stranger roared.

“Maybe got out of his face. He was in shock.”

“Fucking bastard.”

They yelled at each other, words rolled off Riley’s tongue, anger, rage and lust pumped through his veins. Why he was getting off from this argument baffled him. It had to be the anger and lack of sex, and the other thing--the thing that had him strung tight, ready to fly off the handle at the drop of a hat. And the fucking hat had dropped.

Any other day he would have backed off, apologized for the implied insult, and said sorry for his anger, that he lost his patients, blahblahblah—but not today. Today, right now in fact, Lane and Gresh were exchanging vows in a commitment ceremony that would bind them together in front of family and friends. Of course the state wouldn’t recognize their union as legal, but they did. He had no chance with Lane now, if he ever had.

The fight was brewing and it would be good. Blood pumped as he stood toe-to-toe with the big dude. His cock twitched with lust. What he really wanted to do was grab the guy’s shirt and kiss him until they both dropped to the ground, stripped off each other’s clothes and Riley topped him, claiming him like he should be claiming Lane.

The wail of sirens didn’t stop their argument, which had gone from specific complaints about the other to a general array of insults, curses and other wise negative statements.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the stranger yelled in his face.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Riley yelled right back. The situation was getting bad. They were about to start bumping chests when the volunteer fire brigade rolled in. The stranger had his finger touching Riley’s shoulder, yelling something about impeding an investigation. Riley seethed and clenched his fist, ready to throw a punch when two of the volunteer firemen grabbed them both and pulled them away from the burning car. Riley ripped his arm out of the fireman’s grip and bent down to retrieve his bag. He rushed away from the fire and the water spray, getting soaked from the mist as he moved to the other side of the fire truck.

The stranger was there, and his eyes flashed with anger when he saw Riley. They were at an impasse and it would probably be best if he ignored the dude, got in his car and left. Riley let his gaze travel over the stranger, lust making him want things he had no business wanting. Then he saw it. The burned shirt—the raw patch of skin underneath. He stalked forward and grabbed the stranger’s arm. The guy tried to rip it from Riley’s grasp but Riley held firm.

“Stop, you’ve got a bad burn.”

The guy looked down as though he had no idea he’d been hurt. Riley pushed him down so he was sitting on a low chrome platform on the fire truck. The man appeared shocked. Riley held the stranger’s arm, examining the raw spot. The burn was small, only three inches in diameter, but didn’t look good.

The cloth had been charred away at the injury site but the shirtsleeve would keep irritating the raw skin. Riley pulled out the trauma shears from his bag. The stranger shied away as Riley reached for his arm.

“I’m just cutting the shirt off.”

“Don’t, it’s my favorite one.”

Riley shook his head. “The shirt has burn holes in it.” He snipped the shirt at the elbow then in a line to the guy’s wrist. He stored the scissors in his pocket and concentrated on the burn. This needed attention. Riley could help a little bit out here on the side of the road, but the guy needed to go into the ER to get cleaned up and take some antibiotics.

Now that they weren’t about to rip each other’s throats out Riley took time to study the man. It was one of the things he did while working, study his patients. He’d taken a few drawing classes in college and had a good eye. He appreciated beauty, and this big hulk of a man had beauty enough to share. Dark, like mocha latte, his lips were full, though a bit pale, but that was probably shock setting in. His nose had been broken at least once, but the bump only added to the man’s appeal. The square jaw had a slight dusting of whiskers, like he’d shaved yesterday but not today. The stranger glanced up, and their gazes connected. The slight glassiness indicated shock, but Riley also saw desire in those eyes. They stared at each other far longer than was necessary. The stranger relaxed, his lips parted before Riley broke the connection and focused on the burn.

“You need to get this taken care of. I’ll call an ambulance for you,” Riley said.

“No, no I’m fine.”

“You’re about to go into shock. You’re eyes are glassy, your lips pale.”

“Not going to do it,” the stranger argued.

“What’s your name?”

“Connor Ellison.”

“That’s good, Connor. So where are we?”

“Are you trying to be funny? I know exactly where we are.”

Riley wanted to keep the big guy talking, force him to think and use his mind. Focusing on the pain would be the worst thing for Connor. About three by two inches of skin looked badly burned. Riley was a bit surprised such a big guy was so affected by the small burn, but it could be deep too. Maybe he was in more pain than he was letting on. The man had been angry and his adrenaline elevated. Pumping a heavy dose of hormones through his veins would change the man’s reaction.

“Come on, we need to get you to a hospital.” Riley pulled Connor up, supporting him on his uninjured side.

“I can’t leave my car here.” Connor balked.

“I’ll get one of the firemen to drive it into town.”

“No.” Connor pulled out of Riley’s grasp and teetered, almost falling.

“Hey buddy, you’re about to go into shock. I can’t have you driving.”

Connor stepped close, his chest up against Riley’s, his lips next to Riley’s ear. Riley’s dick throbbed as lust washed over him.

“I have a full arsenal in the trunk. I can’t allow anyone else to drive my car.”

Riley took a step back, measuring the man and trying to figure out what type of trouble Connor was into. He was always attracted to the wrong guys. Lane, now this dude with the guns. What kind of freak drove around with an arsenal in his truck? Hell, this was Texas, but Connor might also be a psychopath.

“Don’t look at me that way. I’m a Ranger on assignment.”

Riley cocked his eyebrow and shrugged.

Connor blew out a sigh in exacerbation. “Texas Rangers, not the baseball team but law enforcement,” Connor said.

“Ah, okay. I’ll get one of the firemen drive my car to the hospital, and you get to be passenger in your car.”

Connor gritted his teeth, but his resolve wasn’t too strong. The guy was fading fast and would most likely hit the dirt the next time he had to stand on his own. Riley led Connor to the passenger side of his car and eased him into the backseat. Now that all the excitement was over Riley noticed the effects of shock progressing.

“Lie down,” Riley said.

Connor shook his head and refused to comply. “No.”

“Hey, listen.” Riley held Connor’s head so he was forced to look in his eyes. “I can’t have you going into shock, passing out and cutting off your airways. It’s either you lay down in the backseat of your car where you have all of your guns safe and secure, or I pull out your cuffs and restrain your for your own good and stuff you in an ambulance. Understand?”

Connor turned his head to the side as though he were trying to determine if Riley could physically subdue him. He must have thought so because Connor lay back on the bench seat without complaint. Riley closed the car door and grabbed the nearest fireman.

“I’m doctor Riley from over at Saint Joseph’s in Caldwell. I need to take this patient in, he’s about to go into shock. Could one of your guys drive my car to the hospital and leave the keys with the nurses' desk?”

“Sure, it will take a while, but I’ll send someone trustworthy.” The fireman took Riley’s keys and went back to pulling hose.

Riley got into Connor’s car and started the engine. “Here’s the deal. You get to talk to me the whole way there.”

“Why, you lonely?”

A pang of melancholy hit Riley. He pushed the sadness aside and focused on the medical needs of his patient. “I need to know that you haven’t passed out or worse, died.”

“It’s just a little burn.”

“It’s deep and like I said—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Shock.”


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Friday, May 4, 2012

WORKING IT OUT by Sara York

WORKING IT OUT by Sara York

Passion and lust brings them together, what they don't expect is to fall in love.

Jake Grant is a sexy personal trainer not looking for anyone after his long-time partner passes away. He's ready to throw away his dreams by selling the gym just to get away from the ghost of his past. But once he meets Lance everything changes.

Lance Abbott is an orthopaedic surgeon who specialising in sports medicine and is completely in the closet. He is convinced that if his clients found out he was gay they would all leave his practice and he would have to abandon the work he loves. When he meets Jake, a man who is totally out, all of Lance’s perceptions about being “out” are challenged.

Passions and lust drive Lance and Jake together. But they soon find out their relationship is deeper than the physical heat between them. Can what they have last without anyone finding out? Or should Lance give up his insecurities and embrace Jake fully?

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If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.
Copyright © Sara York, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Total-E-Bound.
Excerpt From: Working It Out

Jake Grant dropped the eighty-pound weight to the floor, hid his face in his hands and cried. The gym was closed, had been for hours and that was the only reason he let the tears flow.

Six months had passed since Mark had been killed. The insurance company had settled early, and the money sat in an account he didn’t want to think about. The huge Victorian house they had bought together in downtown New Bern and refinished had sold last month.

All that was left for him in North Carolina was the gym.

It pained him to admit that the gym was the one thing he had always loved more than Mark. Even though Jake loved the gym and wouldn’t want to part with it for anything in the world, every corner of the place held memories of his lover. Hell, he’d changed the office, moving from the plush room they’d created together to a small storage space where the files used to be kept. It hadn’t helped.

The gym sat in a perfect location, only a few blocks from the Trent River where he and Mark used to end their jog every morning. They’d walk over to Port City Java for a quick fruit smoothie before crossing the street to work. All of their little habits were reminders of how good his life had been.

A train whistle blew mournfully in the distance, breaking the eerie silence of the early morning. In a few hours people would filter in, trying to get in a workout before their day started.

He’d been stupid to stay up so late. The old apparitions of Mark always came out when the place was empty.

Jake picked up a towel and scrubbed his face, angry at his reaction. Hot tears burned his eyes again as he remembered his late-night workouts with Mark when they were getting to know each other.

They’d both been jocks before they met. Fitness had been Jake’s life through college. Meeting Mark his junior year had opened up a world he hadn’t really expected to live in. Mark had been sure of his sexuality. Out but not a flaming fag. He’d taught Jake to feel comfortable with being gay. They’d become lovers slowly, coming together over the Christmas break. But Jake’s insecurities had kept them from being open about their relationship until after college.

After graduation they’d both worked double shifts, Mark dancing at the male strip club in front of rabid women and Jake waiting tables at a high-end restaurant. When they’d finally scraped together enough money to purchase the building and equipment for their gym they had no longer been hiding their relationship. No one who had come in made it a big deal, of course. Neither had he or Mark. No public displays on the gym floor, and that rule went for everyone, hetero or not.

The club members had been supportive since Mark’s death, but Jake could tell their well-wishing was wearing thin. Better to sell and get out from under the grind of putting on the happy face every morning for clients who didn’t understand, even if they were well- meaning.

Jake pulled a pillow out of the closet, tugged on a sweatshirt and lay down on a floor mat. He couldn’t face the apartment he’d rented another night. He was being stupid, and he knew it. It wasn’t fair to him, or to Mark’s memory, to be so totally screwed up, but what the hell else was he to do?
After tossing and turning for a few hours he heard the key in the lock then the annoying beep of the alarm. The lights flipped on, blinding him momentarily. He threw his arms over his face, blocking out the light.

“Jake, sorry. Didn’t realise you would be here.”

“Really?” Jake peeked out from behind his arm, spying Trixie looking all happy and bubbly.
“I guess I should have known. You’ve been sleeping here quite a bit lately. But it’s morning. The gym will open soon.”

Jake struggled to get to his feet. Not that he was out of shape, but too many nights on the floor was starting to wear on him. His attitude stank too. “Shit, I need something to kick-start me.”

“Coffee?”

“Sure. Anything will do.”

“Next time you think about sleeping here on this uncomfortable floor you should really think about coming home with me.”

“What?” Jake stuck his pinkie in his ear, not sure he’d heard the girl right. She had known Mark and knew he didn’t swing that way.

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