BELLA KEY by Scarlet Chastain

BELLA KEY by Scarlet Chastain

Maddie Jacobs must be crazy. At least that’s what her mother thinks. Professionally, she’s confident and secure; personally, she’s a hot mess. Not even a marriage proposal from a man who adores her can quell her search for something more.

In need of an escape, Maddie flees to Key West’s most southern island, Bella Key, to rest and recharge at Casa Bonita. She almost gives up on weekend retreat when the Bed & Breakfast is closed for repairs until Sunny Rojas, the inn owner, extends an offer of friendship, sweet tea and a room. Still reeling from a breakup with her longtime partner, Sunny is thankful for the diversion from her own broken heart.

The arrival of a fierce storm forces the women’s emotional journey to a head and leads them into each other’s arms. But can Maddie throw her hangups to the wind and go with her heart? The magic of Bella Key teaches her that passion cannot be placed neatly into boxes labeled right and wrong, because love knows no boundaries.

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Excerpt:

 

“Good shower?”

Maddie stopped in the doorway, holding the knot of her towel to her chest. Wet strands of hair produced rivulets of water streaming down her shoulders and chest. “Like a new woman. Although, my northern skin can’t handle the tropical sun. Look at my shoulders!” Sunny’s gaze moved from one shoulder to another. Maddie was right, she was more than sun-kissed. Her shoulders practically glowed. “Oh, chica. That’s an angry burn you have there. I have some aloe —” Sunny picked up and put down five different bottles from her dressing table. “—ah, here it is. This’ll ease the pain and cut down on the peeling, too.”

Sunny flipped the top and squeezed a quarter-sized dab of the green gel into her palm. She nodded toward her bed, signaling Maddie to sit. Rubbing the aloe between her palms, she rested one knee on the bed beside her. Maddie gathered her wet hair and flipped it over her shoulder to allow Sunny access to the other. Her body shivered under Sunny’s hands.

“Sorry, this stuff’s cold. I tried to warm it up a little.”

Maddie closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side. “It’s not that. It feels good on the burn. You have a gentle touch.”

Sunny chuckled. “Scooch over a little so I can get your other side.”

Maddie shifted, lifting her feet onto the bed and tucking them under her legs Indian style. Sunny guided her head forward and massaged the aloe along the base of her neck to her shoulder blades, and down to the edge of the fluffy towel. She bent her knee, providing an anchor for Maddie to lean upon. Her inner thighs grazed the thick towel. Sunny closed her eyes and focused not only on Maddie’s sunburned skin, but also on loosening the muscles along her shoulders and upper back.

“I have a confession to make,” Maddie said quietly.

“Other than this is the best massage you’ve ever received?” Sunny snorted.

“Mmm. That too. I-I watched you last night.” Maddie went a few seconds without taking a breath.

Sunny didn’t waver. “I know you did. You were outside of my door.”

“You knew? Why didn’t you stop or say something?” Maddie kept her eyes closed but turned her head toward Sunny as she spoke.

Sunny added another dab of aloe to her palm. “I liked that you were watching me. It turned me on that you enjoyed it too.”

“Never in my life had I thought I’d be attracted, you know, sexually to a woman. It’s different with you. Many things are different with you.” Maddie’s hand trembled as she touched Sunny’s leg, tracing an imaginary line up and down her calf. The rapid rise and fall of Maddie’s back matched the pounding in Sunny’s chest.

Silence filled the room. Sunny had decided against bringing up the episode from the night before unless Maddie did. Now that it was out in the open, Sunny could find out how Maddie felt for sure. “Different, how?”

“You make me feel so focused and honest and alive. I’ve never had that with anyone else before.” Maddie turned and kneeled in front of Sunny. “Would it be forward if I asked you to kiss me?”

Sunny swallowed hard. “Yes, but I like forward,” she whispered as she cupped Maddie’s face with her palms. Dragging her thumb over Maddie’s bottom lip she realized how many times she wanted to taste her lips and explore her mouth over the past two days. Sunny lowered her face and brushed her lips once over Maddie’s. She drew back to study Maddie’s reaction.

“Again,” Maddie whispered, her eyes remained closed.

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HOALEY INEXPLICABLE by Declan Sands

HOALEY INEXPLICABLE by Declan Sands

A Hoale Construction Mystery: Book 3

Bringing Bobby’s Gym into the twenty-first century should have been fun. But the dead guy draped over the weight machine definitely took the joy out of it!

The Hoale Construction gang has taken on the task of bringing Bobby’s Gym into the twenty-first century. But the dead guy hanging from the new lat machine is putting a serious crimp in their timeline.

When Bobby becomes the number one suspect for the murder, Adam and the gang are forced to try and clear him. But who is the guy? And was Bobby really the last one to see him alive?

Questions only seem to multiply the deeper they dig. Until they uncover a connection with a group of thugs who call themselves the Indiana Mobsters. Things just continue to spiral downward from there.

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Excerpt:

 

The guard behind him shoved him inside and the other guard slammed the door closed. He heard the sound of a key turning in the lock and ran to the door. The knob wouldn’t turn. He pounded on the door with his fists. “I want a lawyer!”

“That won’t be necessary, Señor Hoale.”

Adam whipped around, his heart in his throat. A man stood at the back of the room, half in the shadows. He wore an ugly dark blue uniform with a wide black belt around his waist. A black, military style hat dipped low over his face, showing only a square jaw and strong chin, which was decorated by a sexy little goatee. “Who the hell are you?”

The man pushed away from the wall and started toward him, his gloved hands coming into view. He held a short, black leather whip in one hand. “I’m your worst nightmare.”

The bad movie line was delivered with a decidedly Hispanic accent. Had Adam somehow gotten on the wrong side of the Mexican police? Not easy to do when you live in Indiana. He swallowed hard. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on…”

“Shut up, Señor Hoale.” The man’s gruff voice seemed somehow familiar and Adam tilted his head, trying to get a better look at him under the hat. The stranger walked with a slight limp, his right leg not bending as well as the left. Adam frowned. He didn’t know anybody with a limp.

The other man stopped in front of him and stuck the whip under Adam’s chin, forcing his gaze upward. “Nothing you can say right now will help and you’ll only piss me off so I’d advise you to keep your mouth closed and listen.”

Adam experienced a strong sense of déjà vu. He tried to lower his chin to get a look at the man again. The whip tightened against his chin. The man pressed closer, his lips stopping close enough to Adam’s ear that it tickled when he spoke. “You are a very sexy man, Señor Hoale.”

Adam blinked, frowned, and started to rebuke the other man. But when the stranger cupped his crotch in one, black-gloved hand, Adam coughed out a laugh, finally realizing why the words and the persona seemed so familiar. It was corrupt Police Commander Cristiano Inocente from Dirk’s last action film, Murder Especial.

Adam grinned. “I’m gonna kick your ass, Commander.”

Dirk’s tongue slipped out and tasted the rim of Adam’s ear. “I don’t think so, guapo. You will scream like a girl as I take you from behind.” The whip slipped down his throat and shoved past the buttons on his shirt, rubbing his nipples until they were rigid.


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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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By reading any further, you are stating that you are 18 years of age, or over.
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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I'LL BE YOUR LAST by Jane Leopold Quinn

I'LL BE YOUR LAST by Jane Leopold Quinn

Life dealt Mack Penchant a raw deal. He's hidden his sexuality, the secret he's carried since he was a teen, through the Marine Corps, and now as an undercover cop. The only relationship he believes possible for himself is the furry kind, with his dog Kiki. One young cop, though, drives him to a frenzy, and he fights his passions and needs every step of the way.

Woody Kane's gaydar spots Mack the moment they meet. And even though Mack rejects him, Woody lusts after the perfect masculine body and wants him in his bed. Woody believes in commitment. Mack makes it clear he does not. Can Woody prove to Mack that he's worthy of love? After all, he adopted a rescue dog. Isn't that a start?

What peril will it take for Mack to accept Woody's love and join him in a committed relationship?

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~Excerpt~

“Your partner…”

Mack sat back down with a thump. His eyes shifted from side to side, searching for a way out. “You don’t know—” But he must know something, or he couldn’t have brought it up. Just give the kid what he wants and get out of here. Panicked, he responded in a rusty, harsh voice, “Okay, here it is. I’m saying it just once and never again. Do you understand?” Narrowing his gaze, he tried to bore a hole through Woody in a mixture of agony for his former partner and himself and lewd desires about the kid, acts he had no business wanting.

“We were ambushed.” Mack felt his face freeze into the most cold-blooded, do-not-ask expression he could muster. He didn’t want to talk about this, but if it got Woody off his back, he’d give him an abbreviated version of that day. The kid’s waiting gaze frightened him. He never opened himself up to anything this personal. Why he was willing to do it now, with this guy, he wasn’t sure. Oh. Yeah. To shut him up.

Woody’s eyes softened, just a little. It wasn’t pity. The kid was young but still a cop. He would understand.

Mack tightened his jaw and, through clenched teeth, began. “Serving a warrant. I motioned my partner, Mitch—” His voice caught on the name. “I pointed to the rear of the house, thinking it would be safer.” Then his gaze was lost in the past, directed at the bottle of beer gripped tightly in his fist.

“Fuck it,” he snarled. “All it boils down to is that he stood right in front of the back door and took a round that nicked his spinal cord.”

“Nothing he could blame you for,” was Woody’s calm reply.

“But he did.” Mack made the mistake of glancing at Woody. Those dark eyes, sparkling in the dim lights of the bar, offering—offering what? Whatever it was, he didn’t want it. He’d been stupid enough to think he could work with another young guy, and look what had happened. “It was my responsibility to train him. My decision got him shot. Don’t look at me with pity.”

“I’m not,” Woody denied. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Mitch didn’t see it that way.”

“He doesn’t any longer.”

“How do you know so much about this, kid?” Mack snapped. “You been checking up on me?” His heart hurt. His stomach roiled with the familiar guilt. He couldn’t meet Woody’s eyes and turned his gaze toward the bar, at all the hazy dim reflections in the mirror behind the display bottles.

“I asked Fred.”

“I don’t like your going behind my back.”

“I had to ask someone why you seemed so hostile toward me. Fred gave me a very sketchy story. He said IAD cleared you, and that your partner doesn’t blame you any longer. He never should have in the first place.”

“I should have watched out better for him.” Mack’s voice dropped to a tormented whisper.

“Mack, this job is dangerous. Every day is a risk. We have the public to feel responsible for.”

“Don’t give me any lectures. You wanted to know what happened, and now you do. So just drop it.” Mack couldn’t meet Woody’s eyes.

“Okay, but don’t mistrust me because of what happened with someone else. I can take care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Yeah.”

“Mack, I can take care of myself,” Woody repeated. “I’m not a rookie like your partner.”

The next thing Mack knew was the heaviness of Woody’s hand around his wrist, the one still holding the bottle. He looked down. Jesus, the kid has big hands. The jukebox had been on since he’d walked into the bar, and the song playing at that moment was “Need You Now.” Lady Antebellum really knew how to grab a guy by the guts and shake him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t remove his hand from Woody’s, couldn’t get any spit in his mouth to say one more word. At that moment, he wanted things he shouldn’t.

He froze. Shit. His hand. On me. What the hell is he doing? Thoughts pinged madly around in his brain. His wrist, his forearm tingled, his face heated, sweat formed on his upper lip.

An unbearably painful desire forced him to look up. An electric charge flashed between them. There was an instinctive recognition of like sexualities. The possibility of hot, luscious sex, of lying replete with limbs entwined. All this in the seconds of silence.

God knew he was weary of hiding. He’d been doing it so long that sometimes he didn’t know who he was anymore. What if he just turned his hand over and met Woody’s, palm to palm? What if he allowed himself to accept what was being offered?

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CHRISTMAS RUM BALLS by Cherie Noel

CHRISTMAS RUM BALLS by Cherie Noel

Santa Neil in leather, elf Tony in a sock; Watch naughty Kevin, falling like a rock.

He's off the nice list--coal city's straight ahead, 'Til a miracle's made with wrist restraints, a bow and Rum Balls in their bed.

Santa Neil and Elf Tony have a problem. Their wayward boy Kevin, fallen off the nice list and headed straight for coal-in-the-stocking-city, is hauling around a truckload of unnecessary guilt.

Together, they mix up a brand new recipe for Christmas fun, complete with Santa Neil in leather, Elf Tony in a smile and a strategically placed sock, and of course, some delicious Christmas Rum Balls.

They're bringing the big day early, but one question still remains... Can they entice Naughty Kevin to release his burden and open his sweet self to the Christmas spirit all around him?

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~Excerpt~

"Neil, we'se got a problem."

Neil looked up from the freshman Art History term papers currently causing both his red marking pen and his eyes to bleed.

Tony stood just inside the door of Neil's home office, squarely in front of Neil's wide oak desk, naked from the waist up. Flecks of red in various shades dotted his torso. Neil smiled. The spatters of red paint on his lover's body were a damn sight easier to look at than the mutilations of both art and history most of this term's freshman class routinely handed over in lieu of well written papers.

"What's the problem Tony?"

Tony cast a worried frown over his shoulder.

"Would it be okay to shut the door, do youse think, Neil? 'Cause I don't wanna break none of the rules, but I don't want Kevin ta hear this part."

Neil's eyebrows crept toward his hairline. The open door policy was one he'd come up with. Tony seemed to be taking it quite literally today. Neil bit the inside of his cheek. Tony had come so far since his injury. Some days Neil had to remind himself that his lover had suffered a traumatic brain injury at the hands of a former boyfriend. Tony had come into the ER on a day Kevin picked up an extra shift to cover for a friend in need, and Tony had been his last patient of the day. Kevin still held on to guilt
over not doing more to help Tony that day, before the second beating happened. Everyone else, including Tony, believed the helpline numbers Kevin had given Tony during his exam had saved the big Italian's life.

Tony had been on the phone with the helpline when Robert broke into the room Tony was hiding in and beat the big gentle man into unconsciousness. The helpline worker had heard the breaking door, and placed an immediate call to 911. Tony had gotten help as fast as was humanly possible.

Neil thought the amazing recovery Tony had made could rightly be attributed to Kevin as well. Kevin had gone beyond the call of duty when Tony ended up on his regularly worked floor. He made sure that Tony got every rehabilitative therapy offered, and when it became clear that Tony would need additional assistance once he got out, the sweet nurse had taken Tony into his own home as first a house guest, then as he recovered enough to return to his art studies, a roommate, and finally, at Tony's insistence, as a lover.

Neil jiggled his legs.

Tony turned from the door, a crinkle marring the smooth olive expanse of his forehead. His big, melted chocolate eyes zeroed in on the marking pen Neil was tapping against the desk. Then Tony looked up. The pupils of his eyes were blown wide, turning them to dark fathomless pools. The corners of the big Italian's mouth pinched together, a line of white ringing his lips.

Neil stilled completely in his chair.

Tony had bad days though, days where he had mini seizures or was especially forgetful, days where he clung tothe "rules" Kevin had originally come up with, back when the two of them first lived together. On his difficult days, Tony sometimes treated those bloody rules like they were the only thing holding him steady, and he would even speak of feeling frightened one of his lovers would lash out at him in anger. Neil took a quick deep breath, struggling to unclench his jaw.

He hated Tony's bad days. Neil did everything he could to make them better, and fewer. The bad days took a toll on Tony, Neil, and, most especially, Kevin. Neil's anger had nothing to do with Kevin, the rules,or the gentle, lumbering oaf who became a surrealistic, graceful work of art in his own right when a smile lit his face or one of his passions consumed him.

Painting.

Kevin.

And lately—Neil fought to keep his grin of delight tucked inside lest Tony misinterpret the expression—Neil himself. The smile escaped. Tony gave a faint answering smile, and Neil’s heart clenched.

Neil thought the three of them would have found each other even if Tony hadn't needed a third partner to feel safe. The process would have likely taken longer and Neil had long since given up trying to decide if he were more happy they had found each other quickly or sad about the events leading to their finding one another.. Neil leaned back in his chair, carefully placing his pen down, and addressed Tony's question about the door.

"Sure Tony. You can shut the door."

Tony spun around, peered into the hall cautiously, and then eased the door shut. He strode back to the desk, leaned down and spoke in a hushed voice.

"Kevin thinks Santa's real, Neil. Santa. Do youse think maybe he's been dippin' into the medicine at work?"

Neil's eyes widened. He bit back a rueful laugh.

"Tony. Er, what makes you think Kevin believes in Santa?"

Tony stood up, put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side.

"We was fucking in the kitchen. On account of he came in to get his dinner together for work today looking especially good. Youse know how he rolls outta bed sometimes looking like he just got done real good? Yeah,so that's how he was looking. And he came in all slow and needing coffee and bent down over the table."

Tony paused there. He scrunched his nose up, and patted his chest.

"I'd been paintin' in the studio, cause if I don't get the oil paintin' I'm working on of the tree out back done before the leaves finish changing—well. Youse understand. The reds might not be the same next time."

Neil nodded.

Tony scratched at his cheek.

"So, anyways, I can just stand so much. I came in to get a cuppa joe, and there he was all sleepy an' fuckable." Tony shrugged, a dreamy little smile flitting across his face.

"Anyways, Neil, when we was done, he was all outta breath an' looked even better than when we'se started, an' I told him I knew just what I wanted from Santa." Tony shook his head. He waved one hand above his head.

Neil's smile grew broader. He loved the way Tony used his hands to talk.

"Kev got this real anty look on his face, Neil. Youse know, like he was carrying somethin' heavier than he is, like the time you and me saw the documentary 'bout ants on Animal Planet? So then he told me I'd been real good so Santa was sure to bring me what I was wantin'. He spoke all serious like, and then he took off for the shower."

Tony worried one corner of his bottom lip with his strong white teeth.

"I don't think this is good, Neil. Kevin's too old to believe in a real live actual Santa Claus."

Neil snorted.

Kevin kept getting tangled up in worrying so much about Tony's brain injury he treated the big Italian like a child.

A situation that did favors for none of them.

Tony continued to speak.

"Yeah, Neil, that's just what I thought, too. It don't make no kinda sense for a smarty like Kevin to still think Santa's real."

Tony's thick black brows rose as high as they could go.

Neil fought down the desire to find Kevin and ask what the hell he was thinking. Tony was a grown man, and Kevin was needlessly worrying the shit out of him. Neil cleared his throat.

"Tony, what do you think we should do about this situation?"

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LOVE THY NEIGHBOR by Steven Kerry

LOVE THY NEIGHBOR by Steven Kerry

Leaving gay-friendly San Francisco behind, Rick and John move into their first home together in Madison, Wisconsin.

As they begin their new life, everything seems perfect, their love never stronger.

Then they discover the “welcome wagon” isn't quite as welcoming as they’d hoped. The Houstons seem like a friendly couple at first, but the crust of the pie they bring over hides a sour aftertaste, and just below the veneer of good will lies a festering intolerance that ticks like a time bomb.

Soon Rick and John realize their idyllic, Norman Rockwell vision of the all American dream includes a darker side they didn’t expect.

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

There was awkward silence. Rick began to feel uncomfortable, as though Vic was looking at him with an air of condescension.

“I’ve got a son, you know,” he said, his expression even more grim now. He opened his hand and squeezed the hoe with a vice-like grip.

“I know,” Rick said, nodding. “How is he?”

“Fine, but make sure that if he crosses the hedge you tell him his daddy will whip him. He is to stay in his own yard.”

Rick flinched at the word “whip.” It sounded like parenting from some bygone era, like discipline that bordered on abuse.

Rick said nothing at first, his eyebrows raised as he looked at Vic. “Okay,” he replied, his voice devoid of conviction. “I’ll remind him. He’s a good kid. I only saw him in our yard once. He was playing with our cat one afternoon. Aunt Mabel’s kind of old, but he still likes to play.”

Rick had expected at least a weak smile from Vic after he said this, but he was as poker-faced as ever.

Vic lifted the blade as if to inspect it, turning it different angles.

“This is a man’s friend in the fields,” he said. “This baby can cut deep.”

Rick nodded, weary of Vic’s overwrought enthusiasm.

“It’s the symbol of harvest,” Vic continued,” and Lord knows this world needs its weeds removed to reap a good harvest.”

Now Rick was lost; the man had progressed from sounding like a boy admiring his first baseball bat to some ancient prophet who’d stepped out of the pages of the Old Testament.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Vic continued, looking at Rick with eyes of such dark intensity he nearly winced.

“Zeke is seven. Try to ... you know ... respect that. And cover if you can ...”

Rick blinked back at him, confounded. “Cover what?”

Vic grimaced and motioned toward Rick’s skimpy trunks. “This is a nice neighborhood. We’re not like the condo owners or the downtown folks. Nothing personal, but you know the saying: ‘children are watching.’ And, uh ... so are their parents.”

“Oh?” Rick replied. “We don’t mind that. We have nothing to hide. Do you?”

Vic glared at Rick with an expression of undisguised loathing.

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DANNY'S DAD by Drew Hunt

DANNY'S DAD by Drew Hunt

Gary Levinson is in love with his best friend’s dad. It’s as simple as that.

Danny doesn’t think it’s simple. He’s okay with his best friend being gay. He can cope with the idea -- in theory -- that his dad is gay. But Gary and his dad being gay together ...?

Neil “Raw” Rawlings doesn’t think it’s simple at all. He’s a well-known rugby league player and Gary is too young, too immature, and too star-struck. Besides, he could do better than an aging sportsman close to retirement.

Finally giving in to Gary’s pleas, Raw agrees to sleep with Gary on his eighteenth birthday. But what happens next? Is this a once-only birthday present, or a gift that keeps on giving?

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

He jogged round the table, through the living room and into the hall. As he took the stairs two at a time he could hardly believe what was about to happen. Finally, after years of suggesting, cajoling, and downright begging, Danny’s dad was going to make love to him.

It was the morning of Gary’s eighteenth birthday and the only gift he wanted was behind the closed door at the end of the landing. Reaching the top step he paused, suddenly nervous. He tried to calm his racing heart and slow his breathing. His stomach also felt funny, like a flock of doves -- or were they lovebirds -- flying around in there. Gary didn’t want Raw to see him like this, so he stepped into the bathroom. After washing his face and drying it on Raw’s towel -- taking a big sniff of the man’s unique scent -- Gary tried to do something with his unruly tangle of red hair. Frowning at the blackhead that was starting to sprout on his freckled, too-big-for-his-face nose, Gary thought about squeezing the zit, but that’d only make it look worse. He knew he was too thin, too gangly and uncoordinated, nothing like the strong, powerfully-muscled god who was waiting for him.

“Fuck!” he said under his breath, his hands nervously picking at the pockets of his jeans. He’d agonised that morning about what to wear. What did you put on when you were going to be made love to by the man of your dreams?

He’d quickly rejected one of the Leopards’ rugby shirts. Gary had narrow, rounded shoulders; the shirts just looked stupid on him, although that didn’t stop him from getting the replica kits -- both home and away -- each season. And of course they had Rawlings as well as 13 on the backs.

Eventually Gary had decided on his best -- and tightest -- pair of Wranglers and the white T-shirt with the broad blue horizontal stripe across the chest that Raw had gotten him the previous Christmas.

Realising he was wasting time, time he should be spending with Raw, Gary looked at the unopened box of Tums in the medicine chest, decided he could do without, and turned for the landing.

“For what I’m about to receive,” Gary mumbled, “may the Lord know I’m truly thankful.”

Crossing the landing, wincing at the creek of every floorboard, Gary knocked on the door to Raw’s bedroom, a room he’d only glimpsed the interior of once before.

“Come in.”

This is it, Gary thought, turning the handle. Taking a deep breath he pushed the door open. “Sorry I’m earlier than I said I’d ...” His mouth fell open at the vision standing in the centre of the room. “Oh, God.” He felt his knees weakening. Goddamn it, he’d wanted to prove to Raw he wasn’t the infatuated fanboy he suspected Raw saw him as. And what did he do the second he laid eyes on the man? “Fuck!” he added under his breath.

“You just gonna stand there?” Raw’s question was delivered in his usual deep -- and to Gary -- sexy timbre, but the man was smiling, the dimple in his chin in full ... dimple. This did nothing for the floppy feeling in Gary’s belly, but judging by the painful tightness a little further down, his dick was far from floppy. “Come in, if you’re staying.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Gary stepped inside and closed the door.

Raw’s room was awesome. All glass and chrome with dark wood flooring. In the far corner was the Nautilus machine Gary had advised Raw to buy a couple of seasons earlier to help the man stay in peak shape. A huge bed was against another wall, the sheets were black and to Gary’s untrained eye, satin. Gary swallowed, his mouth had gone dry. But what dominated the room, kept drawing his gaze, was Raw himself. Raw was decked out in the Littleborough Leopard’s 2008 black away strip with its classic two V’s -- one above the other -- in thin white piping across the chest. Although Raw looked awesome in whatever strip the team chose ... the black and white was Gary’s absolute favourite. He’d wanked off in his own copy several times, but that was a secret only known to him and the washing machine. It was around 2008 that he’d insisted to his mother he do his own laundry.

“God,” Gary said again. He remained rooted to the spot, just inside the room.

Raw smiled and held out his arms. “Not exactly, but I knew you liked this kit. I’m surprised I managed to fit into it.”

Gary shook his head. “You’re still the same size you were three years ago.”

Raw had remained a steady one hundred and ten kilograms for the past three seasons, and probably before that, too. Gary knew this because he’d built and still maintained Raw’s website which contained every possible statistic about Littleborough’s loose forward and goal kicker. Gary could quote every one of those statistics when asked, and tried hard not to when he wasn’t.

Raw tilted his head to one side and regarded Gary quizzically. “You’re quiet.”

Swallowing yet again -- maybe he should have had one of those Tums after all -- Gary said, “You’re ... you’re ...” He wanted to say ‘You’re a god, but for once he was shy. So he shut his mouth.

“Gar?” Raw approached the newly-minted eighteen-year-old and put a huge hand on his shoulder. “You okay? We don’t have to do this if you don’t --”

“Kiss me!” Now and again Gary had sneaked a kiss to Raw’s cheek, but Raw would never reciprocate, not even on birthdays or at Christmas, saying it wasn’t appropriate.

Raw smiled, showing off his dimple again. As soon as he cupped Gary’s face, Gary stopped breathing. When their faces grew to within centimetres of each other Gary found himself closing his eyes, even though he wanted to keep a visual record of every second of the encounter.

A waft of warm minty breath was almost immediately followed by soft but firm lips touching his. The kiss only lasted a second, but it was the most wonderful second of Gary’s short life.

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SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN by Stacey Kennedy

SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN by Stacey Kennedy

U.S. Marshal, Wyatt Tanning is in a race to catch a serial killer who has evaded the authorities. Just as the case hits a dead end, an unexpected email gives him a lead. As much as he wants to share the surprising message with his lover, Rye Daniels, he must hunt a killer first.

Darby Grant never expected that one night would change her life forever, but that's exactly what happened. Not only has she been abducted, but she is in a situation that nightmares are made of.

As she begins to lose all hope, fate steps in to offer her aid, but she’s well aware things will never be the same again. Soon, though, Darby begins to realize that might not be such a bad thing...

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~Excerpt~

U.S. Marshal Wyatt sprinted up the front porch, hearing the wood crack and groan under his weight. At the front door, he raised his foot and kicked it open with a crash. Holding his weapon at shoulder height, he placed the flashlight underneath to offer light in the dark space and entered cautiously.

“Spread out,” he ordered.

His team dispersed, each taking a room to search. Wyatt strode forward and kept his gun in his line of vision. He scoped out the living room; if he could even call it such. Old furniture situated around the room sat covered in dust—so much in fact, it itched his nose.

“Clear,” Taryn called from the kitchen.

He glanced around, looking behind the couch first then searched everyplace someone might hide. He found nothing. “Clear,” he replied. Each of the deputies issued the same response from upstairs to confirm the house lay empty.

Lowering his gun, he sighed. He’d hoped the lead Madame Eve gave would have brought them to Marcus. Apparently, she’d been wrong, and that not only confused, but irritated him. His hopes had risen only to plummet again.

He spun around to approach Taryn in the kitchen, and a light caught his eye. If he’d come in the daytime he never would’ve seen it, but being pitch black in the room, the light glowed through the dark space. A small hole, maybe the size of a pea, sat at the bottom of the far wall.

Wyatt raised his gun and approached. “I’ve got something here.” At the wall, he squatted and ran his finger over the light. He looked to Taryn when she stepped in next to him. “There’s something behind here.”

He stood, raised his leg, and after a few well-placed kicks, his foot went through the wall. He peered through the hole to see a set of stairs, and a wall lined with soundproofing. Turning his gun around, he used the butt end to bash in the wall.

The loud cracking of wood filled his ears, but the second he stopped, something else registered in the air—a loud scream for help. He jerked his head toward Taryn. “Did you hear that?”

“I heard it.” She pushed on his back. “Go.”


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FULL LOAD by Kate Early

Who knew a trip to the Laundromat could get this...interesting.

James found a little hole in the wall Laundromat to get his clothes clean in peace. That is until Fin walks through the door and the dryers aren't the only things heating up.

Genre Contemporary Romance/Male/Male
Length Super Short
Heat Level Extreme

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ROY'S LAUNDROMAT
West Hollywood Ca.

One load down. Two more to go. James reached over the washer to grab the plastic detergent bottle off the folding table. A cap full of soap went in with his dirty towels, another he poured over the load of whites in the next machine then he dropped the lids to trigger the water. There was no glass door to look through on the old metal boxes for entertainment. Without the suds and rolling clothes to watch there was just the rhythmic bump and swish of water from the laundry machines. James might have described it as peaceful, but basically the laundromat was as boring as humanly, globally, and universally possible. The place was perfect.

He wasn't surprised to be alone, just happy. Privacy was a nice change. No women sat in the corner gossiping, knitting, or silently reading a book to fill the time. There were no screaming babies or bored children throwing toys at their siblings, just him and some clunky, old machines. Moldy ceiling tiles and the backs of newspapers covering the window out to the street were about the only visible decorations to the place. There were no soda machines or video arcades here. Hell, he had walked past the place a dozen times before he realized that it wasn't abandoned. The bigger shock would have been walking in to find lines of people with wet clothes waiting for a dryer to be available.

The bell hanging over the door gave a lonely jingle, distracting James from his thoughts and bringing him back to the present. Thirty minutes in the dimly lit room, the door opening let in the bright sunlight and a tall shadow. The outline of the stranger left him blinking. He was about to lose his solitude.

James could clearly make out the shape of a yummy–looking muscular man, but that was all until the door swung shut. Waiting for his eyes to adjust added to the anticipation. What would the tall and mysterious stranger look like? His vision cleared bit by bit, allowing him to take in a few details at a time. The stranger stopped for a moment after coming out of the California sun. Compared to outside this place must look like a dimly lit laundry cave.

An amused smile tugged at the corner of James’s mouth. This laundromat was the best discovery he had made in months, maybe years. Clean clothes and a hot man to watch. This was a hard to beat combination. Speaking of what the man was showing off... James couldn't give the fashion displayed high marks, but the body underneath was a ten. If the man was gay, then this little meeting was a gift from above. He felt the odds were in his favor. They were in West Hollywood after all; forty percent of the population was made up of gay men. Since the other sixty included men, women, and children there was a better than fifty/fifty chance the stranger was gay. Placing a bet on the subject in West Hollywood had better odds than most places worldwide.

A manly grunt ended James's distraction. Tall, Strong, and Sexy held an overflowing laundry basket and another mesh bag of clothes dangling from one hand. James jumped forward reaching out to help when the basket slipped from the other man's arms. Lending a hand before the clothes hit the filthy tile floor was the perfect excuse to move closer. Sliding his hand around the back of the plastic container put them close. James saw every detail of the other man's face clearly. Lady luck was certainly on his side today. The strong nose and wide mouth caught his attention first, then their eyes met, and he couldn’t turn away.

James’s fascination grew with every breath he drew in. The mound of smelly socks in the basket pressed between their bodies mixed with the scent of soap and aftershave. Who knew that the combo could be an unbelievable turn on? The blond’s bemused expression as he eyed James gave him hope. Was that a spark of interest or wishful thinking? Maintaining his hold on the basket, and trapping James close, the stranger's dark eyes lit with interest, and a bit more. Bouncing up and down with excitement was hard to resist.

“Thanks,” the word whispered past the full lips inches away, and James nearly swooned. His cheeks heated, and his breath grew choppy. Oh boy, not only was the guy hot, blond, and built; he had a British accent, too! One word was enough to make a native Californian weak in the knees. His knowing look turned hot. There was no misunderstanding the desire there. If the yummy new comer was free and interested James was having a good day.

“My name is Fin.” He flashed impressively white teeth when he smiled. "It's nice to meet you."

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ROTC RON by Drew Hunt

ROTC RON by Drew Hunt

Joe Barnes is infatuated with fellow college freshman Ron Driscoll. Ron is in the ROTC program and Joe starts to dress in military clothing to emulate his idol. But apart from discussions in philosophy class, Joe is too shy to speak to Ron, and Ron doesn’t break away from his circle of admirers long enough to notice that Joe is alive.

Joe all but throws himself at Ron during a discussion of Kant’s views on beauty. But Ron remains unaware of Joe’s feelings.

One Friday after class Joe visits the bathroom and finds himself blindfolded and put in handcuffs. Having a secret kink for bondage Joe is by turns scared and aroused.

Ron has planned a romantic and kinky weekend with Joe in the Allegheny mountains where soft rope will be needed, but clothes will not.

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EXCERPT:

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



Gathering his books, Joe put them in his backpack and left the classroom, his mind still amazed at how he’d managed to daydream through an entire session. He’d have to see if he could get the notes from someone, but that would mean asking, initiating a conversation. Joe quailed at the thought.

As was his usual custom, Joe paid a visit to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. He was nothing if not consistent in his behavior, a fact that he would soon learn someone else had bargained upon.

Closing his eyes as his stream began, Joe felt someone take his hands and pull them behind his back. “What the ...!”

Joe felt cold metal surround his wrists and heard the snap of a lock being closed. This was immediately followed by a hand clamping itself over his mouth, muffling his further protests. Joe began to struggle, but the man’s other hand had a firm grip on him.

“Quiet,” a breathy voice said in his ear. “You won’t come to any harm if you do exactly what I tell you.”

Joe began to turn to see who was ambushing him.

“No, eyes front and center.”

“Hum, um.” Joe mumbled unintelligibly into the man’s palm, and recommenced his struggles.

“Quit wriggling, your piss is going everywhere.” The voice was calm, unhurried, strangely soothing.

But all his senses told Joe to fight, to run away.

“Joe, please don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.”

Somehow the words penetrated Joe’s feverishly racing brain, and much to his surprise he began to relax. The rest of his stream flowed into the urinal.

“Great, man. I’m gonna take my hand from your mouth now. Will you promise not to yell? I promise you won’t be harmed.”

Joe considered the question. There was a certain element of kinky enjoyment mixed in with his fear. He slowly nodded his assent and the hand was removed.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” Despite everything Joe remembered to talk quietly.

“It’s okay, little one. I know you have questions. All will be revealed soon. All I ask is that you trust me a bit longer. Can you do that?” The voice sounded odd, as if its owner was trying to disguise it by talking gruffly.

“Uh, yeah.” This was seven kinds of weird, but oddly Joe didn’t feel scared. He was miffed the guy called him little one though. Joe may have only been five feet even, but that didn’t give him the right to ...

“Thank you, little one.”

Joe ground his teeth. Where did this dude get off calling him that? He was about to say something when the guy’s next words froze the comment in his throat.

“I’m going to put a blindfold on you.”

Joe tried to turn around, but the hand went back to his mouth and held him still. An arm wrapped around him to prevent the rest of his body from moving.

“Joe, don’t fight me. I repeat what I said earlier. If you cooperate, you won’t be harmed.”

Joe’s struggles slowly began to lessen, and the man loosened his hold.

“You’re being very brave, and trust me, this will be rewarded.”

A strip of cloth fell over Joe’s eyes and was tightened at the back of his head.

“Doing great, bud. Really great.” The voice never lost any of its calm reassurance or its gruff disguise.

Joe’s mind, now it had had time to process things a little, began to wonder as to the identity of his attacker. The guy was certainly strong, but from what he could tell, wasn’t much taller than he was.

Joe felt a warm, dry, gentle hand take hold of his dick. The hand stroked it a few times, then after a couple of quick shakes, Joe felt his equipment being put away. Once his fly was buttoned up, he felt a tender pat on his bulge. All of this diverted Joe’s mind from its previous task of trying to identify his assailant.

“Now the adventure truly begins. I’m gonna lead you out of here and to the parking lot. Then we’re gonna go on a long ride to somewhere real special. Somewhere where we can spend the weekend together.”

Joe tensed.

“I don’t want you to worry about a thing. It’s all been taken care of. I’ve called the restaurant and told them you’ll be, uh, tied up all weekend,” the guy laughed softly at his joke.

Joe shivered; he’d long held secret bondage fantasies, of being bound with rope. Could, would this guy do that to him?

“I ...” How did this man know where he worked, and ...

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you, watching you real close. Oh, almost forgot.” Joe heard a zipper then rustling. He felt something being draped over his shoulders. “It’s to cover the handcuffs, we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves.”

Joe nodded uncertainly. And walking around with a strip of cloth over my eyes and being guided like a blind person wouldn’t draw people’s attention?

“Now we’re ready,” the voice said close to Joe’s ear. “Don’t make a fuss, and I promise you’ll have the most wonderful weekend you could ever imagine. Draw attention to us, and I’ll just release you and it’ll be over before it’s really begun. Capiche?”

“I’m scared, this is all --”

The rest of Joe’s words were cut off by a pair of lips closing over his. A hand cupped the back of his head and pulled him in closer, increasing the pressure of the kiss. After a moment the hand and the lips were removed, leaving Joe reeling and breathless.

“That’s just a taste of what’s ahead for you if you’re willing to cooperate.”

“I ... Uh.” Joe couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kissed so completely, so passionately, so ...

“You want this weekend to happen?”

“Uh,” Talk about being in the Twilight Zone. “You promise not to hurt me, or --”

“I promise, babe.”

Did he say ‘babe’?

Joe felt the guy wrap an arm around his shoulders in jock casual fashion.

“Okay, ready to do this?”

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NOT IN THE NFL by Terry O'Reilly

NOT IN THE NFL by Terry O'Reilly

Adam Davis isn’t gay! He can’t be -- he’s a super star NFL quarterback and gay men don’t survive in the NFL. But along comes Brendan Fletcher, an outstanding, Super Bowl-winning linebacker who awakens something in Adam, something Adam hadn’t known was there. And now it’s wakened, the quarterback will never be the same.

Despite the threat to their careers and their personal safety, Adam and Brendan find themselves irresistibly drawn to each other, starting something that grows from gratification of mutual needs to something more. Can these men of strength and power on the gridiron overcome the homophobia of their profession? Can they make what they have found stand for something more important than the fame and fortune of playing NFL football or even becoming Super Bowl champions?

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



Adam made his way to the john, went in and took a piss. Standing in front of the mirror, he splashed a little cool water on his face. The door opened behind him and Brendan walked in, locked the door and proceeded to the toilet where he unzipped his pants, took out his dick and began to urinate.

“Thanks for the privacy,” Adam said.

“Hey, you're the one who didn't lock the door,” Brendan chuckled.

Adam glanced down at Brendan's cock as it emitted its golden stream. He felt something akin to a swoop in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the man's impressive equipment. He raised his eyes and saw Brendan had caught him looking. He turned back to the mirror, blushed, and pretended to check his face by rubbing his chin.

Brendan walked up behind him. Adam turned to face him. Brendan was taller than Adam's six foot three by an inch or two and probably outweighed him by twenty pounds. Broad shouldered and deep-chested, Brendan was a beautiful specimen of manhood. Right now his handsome face, with its deep brown eyes and ready smile was inches from Adam's. Adam could smell the alcohol on his breath. He felt the swoop again.

Hang on, why am I thinking this? I’m straight!

“No harm in checking out what the competition’s got,” Brendan said in a low husky voice as he reached out and fondled Adam's hardening cock through his khakis. Putting his other hand behind Adam's head, Brendan pulled the quarterback toward him. Before Adam fully realized what was happening, Brendan was kissing him, Adam was opening his mouth, and allowing Brendan's tongue to caress his. At the same time as the men embraced, Brendan's hands slid down and pressed the flesh of Adam's firm, muscular ass.

“Whoa!” Adam cried out, breaking the connection, pushing Brendan back. “What the fuck are you doin'?”

“What I think you want me to do.” Brendan smiled, putting his hand back on Adam's shoulder.

“What the fuck gives you that idea?” Adam said, pushing the hand off of him.

Brendan merely smiled, turned to the mirror and brushed his thick, dark brown hair into place with his hand. “You'll figure that out one of these days.”

Adam was about to ask him what the hell he meant by that when there was a knock on the door.

“Hey, you gonna be in there all night? I gotta go,” a deep voice said that Adam recognized as coming from Ashanti Peters, one of the offensive tackles.

Adam felt a wave of panic sweep over him. This guy was one of the biggest homophobes on the team: always preaching about how faggots would burn in hell, and making disparaging remarks whenever he saw anyone he thought might be a homosexual.

“Keep your pants zipped!” Brendan called out. “It's gonna take as long as it's gonna take, man. Go use the can in the master bedroom.”

“Randy's in there with a couple a groupies, dude!”

“Then politely say 'excuse me' as you walk by,” Brendan told him.

“Fuck!” the lineman said. Adam could hear him retreating down the hall, cursing loudly.

Adam let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was trembling all over, half from the intense sexual arousal that still permeated his body and half from the fear of near exposure.

Brendan, still smiling, kissed him lightly on the cheek and walked to the door.

“Think about it, babe,” he said and left the room.

Adam raised his hand to the place where Brendan's kiss still lingered.

Think about it? What does that mean?

Adam took a steadying breath. After waiting long enough for his hard cock to relax and to make sure no one would see him come out so soon after Brendan, he left the bathroom.

* * * *

Adam lay on his back on the king-sized bed with its satin sheets in the master bedroom of his suite. As an all star QB he was entitled to private quarters. He had left the party shortly after the incident in the john with Brendan. He told everyone to have a good time and thanked them again for their great play. He was in no mood to party anymore after what had happened, and didn’t want to run into Brendan again.

Returning to his own room he had showered and gone to bed, all the while trying not to think about what had transpired in the penthouse bathroom. Was the thing he was trying to avoid thinking about the very thing Brendan had wanted him to think about? And why had he called him ‘babe’? Wasn’t that some sort of term of endearment among gay men?

“Fuck!” he said aloud as he tossed and turned.

He had thought about jacking off. That usually relieved the tension after a game if he didn’t have Brenda with him to get him off. But, as soon as he had started, the only images that came to mind were those of Brendan and what they had done.

Adam couldn’t let himself think of stuff like that. Gay guys didn’t survive -- not in the NFL.


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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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THE SOLDIER & THE STATE TROOPER by Cherie Noel

THE SOLDIER & THE STATE TROOPER by Cherie Noel

Career soldier Christie Collins figured out early that love could be lost in the blink of an eye, leaving an empty place that was just another pothole on life's rocky road. The detours of sudden single fatherhood and a nosy best friend who won't let even death stop her from interfering in every date leave Christie convinced that finding a partner is next to impossible.

State Trooper Robert Lindstrom catches Christie speeding along the stretch of highway he patrols and a routine traffic stop turns into love lights flashing and instant attraction for these two men in uniform. It looks like smooth sailing to their happily ever after until an unexpected deployment sends Christie into danger. Can their love survive both bombs and the betrayal of Christie by his closest comrade?

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Chapter One

Christie stretched his arms over his head, arching his back languorously. Mmmm. The sun on his face felt so good. It was warm and light like a gentle touch. It...

Sunlight. On his face.

Oh God. He was going to be late signing out on leave.

Christie flung himself off the bed toward his closet. He grabbed the first pair of jeans he could lay his hands on. Thank God he didn't need to be in uniform. There wasn't time to iron one. He'd already missed the 0630 Physical Training formation. If he made it to the base before the 0900 formation he might skate by with just dirty looks from First Sergeant Bartone.

If the first sergeant didn't decide to give him an article fifteen.

Crap. If Christie got that, he'd end up losing his leave as well. He could barely afford the gas to get to work now. An article fifteen would cut his pay in half for forty-five days.

Christie yanked a favorite soft green oversized sweater off the back of the closet door. First Sergeant Bartone was a stickler for his troops being on time. The last man to earn the first sergeant's ire over a lack of timeliness had been a big mechanic named Ingals. The poor guy had to wear a wall clock around his neck for a week as his "corrective action" for being thirty seconds late to Physical Training. Considering how late Christie was running, the first sergeant could easily give him extra duty.

A few months before, that would have just been something for his buddy Evans to kid him about afterwards. Now-

A sharp wail echoed from the other room.

Frankie.

Christie pulled on his jeans. If he got extra duty, he wouldn't be able to pick up Frankie from daycare before it closed. The daycare charged you a buck a minute for being late. After fifteen minutes they called social services on you, and your chain of command. Christie shuddered. That would suck big hairy donkey balls.

The first thing First Sergeant Bartone would ask would be why he hadn't activated his family care plan. Sure. Like Aunt Cate could just give up her life for forty-five days to come out here and hold his hand. Ha! Like he'd even ask her to after all she'd already given up to raise him after his parents died.

The first thing social services would ask would be if he had a history of abandoning his daughter.

So.

Yes.

Once.

But how was he supposed to know Evans's beater was going to break down on the way back from their errand in town? He'd run the two miles back to post in twelve minutes flat. Best time ever. Too bad it wasn't on a physical training test. At least it got him back before the worker called Child Protective Services.

Christie didn't go anywhere in Evans's car anymore. They took Christie's brand new, very reliable Neon if they had to run an errand in town for their squad leader or the platoon sergeant.

He threw his sweater over his head. Pulling socks up as he stumbled across the hallway, he fell through Frankie's door. Miss Kitty, a calico short hair that adopted his little family the day they moved into their new military housing, peeked at him through the slats of his daughter's crib.

"Good morning Miss Kitty...I have to grab Frankie and run honey, but I promise I'll be back in just a little while with your breakfast."

Great. Now he was talking to the cat. Christie really needed to find a sitter and get out of the house once in a while.

Scooping Frankie out of her crib, Christie took a moment to snuggle her warm sleep-sweet little body against his chest. He pressed his nose into her silky black curls and breathed in her baby smell. Nobody had ever told him he'd get addicted to the way she smelled. To be fair, Carolyn and Lisa hadn't had time.

Christie was supposed to be the happy go lucky poppa who visited once a year when he was on leave and sent lavish birthday presents. Caro and Liss knew how to be moms. What did he know?

Blinking rapidly, Christie hurried over to the changing table. He quickly stripped Frankie out of her sleeper and sopping-wet diaper. Once her little bottom was clean, dry, and again encased in a diaper, he popped her into a butter-yellow onesie. Tiny little matching pants followed by even smaller socks a moment later completed the outfit. Christie checked the diaper bag's contents against the list he'd gotten from his Aunt Cate to be sure it was stocked for emergencies. Everything was squared away like a baby first sergeant was coming to inspect. Christie gave himself a little pat on the back.

Frankie started to fuss, so he slid his hand under her to pick her up from the changing table. It slid in a warm gooey mush that coated the table's surface. Christie closed his eyes and prayed for strength. Today was laundry day. He dug around in the diaper bag. Coming up with a mismatched pair of red pants with yellow ducks on them and an orange shirt with big purple polka dots on it, he resigned himself to carting around the world's tiniest clown.

At least she wasn't wearing a big red clown nose.

Though that would have made Caro laugh till she peed on herself.

Christie didn't have time to hunt down another top, so he wiped off the edge of his goo-smeared cuff with a couple of baby wipes.

Missing Caro throbbed through him, feeling worse than the tooth that had needed a root canal last year. There were a thousand things he still wanted to do with her.

God. And that drunk who hit the car killing her and Liss was still around to do stuff with his family. It wasn't fair.

He squeezed Frankie into the slightly too small clothes. Her little Buddha belly peeping out at him stirred up memories of Liss rubbing Caro's pregnant belly. He swallowed the tightness in his throat and scooped up Frankie and the diaper bag. He grabbed his wallet and keys from where he'd thrown them on the kitchen counter the night before and they were headed to the car.

Christie buckled little Frankie into her car-seat, marveling at how much like her mother she looked, with her fair skin and bright blue eyes. She fought him every step of the way, wiggling, waving her little arms and even catching him on the chin with a well timed kick.

Caro, a little help here?

Caro? Hello, ghost girl, how is it you're able to be around to screw up every potential date I've run across lately, but not here when I need you?

"Geez Christie, you're a grouch this morning! Could you possibly think in a surlier tone of mind? No?"

Cut the crap Caro, and just work your magic.

"Fine, fine! Just be quiet and let me sing to her."

For Caro singing to the baby meant making up her own version of some lullaby. Today it was her special version of ‘Hush little baby'.

Hush little Frankie

Don't say a word

Your Poppa's gonna buy you

A mockin' bird

An' if that mockin' bird don't sing

Momma's gonna put you in the baby-swing

An' if that baby-swing don't soothe

Momma's gonna sing an' get you in the groove...

The jazzy swing to the music calmed Frankie, her little body relaxing into the car seat and her eyelids getting droopy as her kicks slowed until they seemed to keep time with the music. After Caro sang through it a few times, the baby was content with the bottle she was drinking from and the comforting presence of her favorite stuffed animal wedged in next to her as an impromptu pillow. Her little eyelids fell half shut.

Finally, they could get going. Christie closed her door quietly and then raced around to the driver's side. He blew out a frustrated breath as he slid behind the wheel.

Christ on a cracker. Frankie would know what Caro sounded like when she sang but she'd never really know Caro. She wouldn't know Liss either. Not as her moms.

Christie bit his top lip. If he got to post on time, and signed out on leave for the next month, he'd have time to get used to this slightly hollow and lopsided world without his best friend alive and sparkling in it somewhere, keeping it tilted at just the right angle.

*~*~*

Robert kept one eye on the scanner as he perused the morning's headlines. He couldn't believe they'd finally passed the LGBT Civil Rights Amendment. It tickled him to no end to know he now had as much right as anyone else to marry in the country that he spent every day keeping safe. He tipped his Sugar Creek to-go cup toward the paper as if toasting it. He thought about texting his youngest sister and asking her to pick up a couple extra copies of it...and then realized she would do that without any prompting from him. Nikki was a goddess, or at the very least a demigoddess. Robert had unabashedly worshipped at her feet since the day his mother brought her home from the hospital. Even when she was manipulating him into spending his entire annual vacation babysitting his niece for the second year in a row.

A silver car blew past him fast enough to rattle the pages of his paper through the open window. His scanner clocked the little Neon at seventy-two. Idiot. The speed limits were there to keep people safe.

Robert flipped his lights and siren on as he pulled onto the road.

The Neon quickly maneuvering to the shoulder of the road mollified him somewhat. He ran the car's plates through his computer, giving a cursory glance to ensure the driver had no outstanding warrants.

The car was registered in Gouveneur, NY to one Christie Collins, age twenty-six. Not reported stolen, no priors on the driver.

Robert unfolded himself from behind the wheel of his vehicle and placed his state trooper hat on his head. It was time to present Ms. Collins with the natural consequences of her actions. As he passed the rear of the car he saw a baby seat in the back of the car. Robert's temper spiked again. He rapped on the driver's side window, looking down as he finished filling out the handwritten portion of the idiot woman's ticket. The window whirred down, and then a faint sniffling sound came to his ears-if she thought a few tears were going to get her out of a justly deserved ticket she was dead wrong.

"Ms. Collins, I'm appalled that you would drive so far above the speed limit with an infant in your vehicle. I need your license, registration, and proof-"

The baby started wailing.

Robert knew he'd spoken sternly, but he hadn't intended it to be harsh enough to frighten the baby. The requested items were thrust at him even as she turned away toward the baby.

"I-I'm so-sorry officer. D-don't cry Frankie, it'll be okay. I promise it'll be o-okay honey. It's not the same as before. There w-wasn't an accident sweetie. Do you remember the flashing lights? I remember them too, baby. "

The voice wrapped around Robert as softly as the cashmere throws his Gran Olava used to put over him when he'd fallen asleep on her sofa. A warm heaviness invaded his groin.

Sweet Goddess, a woman was turning him on.

She had unbuckled her seat belt to twist her upper body thru the gap in the two front seats. In fact, she climbed half into the back seat, making shushing noises to her baby in between weepy sniffles and nonsensical babble. Her firm, round ass was in the air, wiggling back and forth until it ended up pointing straight at him as she bent over the driver's side seat. Robert's cock finished hardening in a rush. He whipped his trooper hat off to hold in front of his crotch.

"I-it's okay honey, don't cry. They can't fire me from the Army. And if the first sergeant takes my leave away for being late signing out I bet the daycare will let you come back e-early. Don't cry honey. I don't think they'll take you away b-because of o-one sp-speeding ticket...even if I can't pay it. I'll j-just get an article fifteen and..."

Robert felt about two inches tall. If she'd been in uniform he probably wouldn't have started writing the ticket, but it was too late now with the way everything was computerized and every printed ticket needing to be accounted for. He sighed. The least he could do for her was to give her a clear explanation of how she could get out of having to pay the fine. Hell, Judge Wallace was such a big supporter of the armed forces he'd probably completely wipe the ticket off her driving record.

"Look honey, I'm sorry you're late signing out on leave, but that's still no reason to speed, especially not with the precious cargo you're carrying. If you go to traffic court on the 17th, Judge Wallace has a rep for being extremely lenient with armed forces service members. Just explain to him what you were explaining to your baby there, and he'll most likely waive your ticket."

Robert walked back to his cruiser and printed the computerized section of the ticket off. After stapling it to the handwritten portion, he made sure to circle the part explaining how to contest the ticket. He highlighted the date and time of her court appearance. Satisfied he had done everything possible to help her, he walked back to stand next to her open window.

"Here's your ticket ma'am."

That got him a watery sounding chuckle. Robert looked up to assess whether she was becoming hysterical. What could end up being as much as a two hundred fifty dollar ticket, depending on the judge's ruling, was nothing to be laughing over. His gaze slid up from her lush pink mouth and honed in on mesmerizing blue-green eyes. He could easily imagine those gorgeous eyes looking up at him while the full lips were wrapped around his cock and all that sexy stubble...Robert's eyes flashed back to the stubble covered jaw.

Well.

Better than having to deal with finding himself suddenly bisexual at thirty-three years old. Robert knew he owed his dad a six pack of expensive German beer. It was stupid to bet against Robert Sr. when he started predicting how one of his kids would meet their ‘special' someone. He'd told Robert he would fall in love at first sight.

Christie Collins. But he had a kid. No ring though...divorced? Widowed? Sweet Goddess, Robert hoped he was at least a little bent. It would be a waste if that man was completely straight.

*~*~*

Christie laughed nervously at the stunned expression on the handsome trooper's face. It wasn't the first time someone had taken a glance at him and mistaken him for a woman. It likely wouldn't be the last. He made a valiant attempt to corral his careening thoughts.

His laughter trailed away when the state trooper resettled his uniform hat on his head. The action revealed the prominent bulge the man was sporting. Christie nervously licked his lips.

The trooper had obviously seen something he liked while Christie was bent over leaning into the back seat. Christie hoped he didn't get angry about it now that he knew the person he'd gotten turned on by was a man.

"It's okay officer. I get that a lot. I hated my name when I was younger. I was gonna change it, cause there's already enough confusion over how I look. My mom really loved it though. I promised her I wouldn't change it before she died."

Christie glanced up at the trooper again. The flashing lights of his patrol car shone in the edges of Christie's vision. He gestured in their direction.

"She was killed in a car wreck. Drunk driver. That's why I hate the lights. Flashing. Umm, I won't change my name. That's what I meant. I keep it even though it causes me trouble sometimes. Once a guy didn't believe I was a man until I actually showed him the goods...er, sorry. That's probably not appropriate. I-I talk too much when I'm nervous. Umm. Could I have my ticket now? I really need to get to post."

The man, Trooper Lindstrom according to his name badge, gave Christie what looked like a half-lustful/half-incredulous look as he handed over the ticket. He then briskly popped his mirrored shades back on, silently tipped the round brim of his beige hat and strode back to his car. Christie watched the man's powerful looking thigh muscles bunch and release as he strode away.

After the trooper pulled out and around him, Christie sat for a few minutes, resting his hands on the steering wheel as he took slow, calming breaths. He tried biting his lip, but the pain wasn't enough to put him back together this time. He let his mind wander to the gorgeous trooper who had just screwed any chance he had of getting to the base before 0900.

Christie must have mistaken that look.

It couldn't have been lust.

The gorgeous trooper was probably straight.

What a waste.

Christ on a cracker, he'd even tried to be nice about the whole thing.

Christie refastened his seat belt, put his car in gear, and eased back onto the black top. He held his speed down the whole way to the base, carefully staying at least four miles below the speed limit the whole way. There was no way he could handle being pulled over again.

Christie had seen what they did to Jackson after his wife left him. The one time the guy got drunk and passed out on his own patio, his bitch of a neighbor called his command. Those bastards put his kids in foster care, saying he was neglectful and he had to wait until he got done with his enlistment to get them back. People just didn't get it.

It was hard enough to have a family in the military with two parents in the family, and only one a soldier. It was a hundred times harder when the one parent is the soldier. If they said Jackson was neglectful for falling asleep after a few beers-with his kids already in bed asleep-Christie could just imagine what would happen to him for speeding with Frankie in the car.

Shit.

He couldn't think about that without losing it again. Instead he'd just think about Trooper Hardbody. That was worthy of at least a little smile.

It was too bad all that gorgeous hot maleness was probably two dates away from a wedding with some girl. Christie glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling when he saw Frankie was contentedly sucking on two of her little fingers.

"Well, my little mouse, it's not like I could really have asked him out while he was writing my ticket anyway. He might have thought I was trying to bribe him with my luscious self."

Frankie pulled her fingers out of her mouth and smiled at him. He didn't care if the lady in the grocery store last week had told him that it was only gas. He knew better. His girl was laughingly agreeing with her poppa. She was a smart girl after all. Blowing spit bubbles, slobbering food all over yourself, and wetting your pants didn't become a sign of mental deficiency until sometime after your third birthday.

Christie's smile was bittersweet. If not for Liss and Caro dying in such an untimely manner, he might have missed every one of those sweetly gummy smiles. Tears prickled at the edge of his eyes. Resolutely wiping the back of his hand across his eyes, Christie determined to live every moment as the gift it was. Caro and Liss had put so much off for later. When they had enough money saved they would do such and such. When the baby was old enough to remember, they'd travel. They hadn't gotten a later. It would be a fitting tribute to them to savor every moment he had with Frankie, and all the people in his life.


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