Now Available: Surviving Elite High by John H. Ames!

SurvivingEliteHS26Surviving Elite High
Author John H. Ames
Genre: M/M; Young Adult; GLBT
Length: Novel
Series: Surviving Elite High, Book One
eISBN: 978-1-937796-53-2
MSRP: 7.99
You Pay: 4.99

Print ISBN: 978-1-937796-43-3
MSRP: 15.99
You pay: 12.99

Cover art: Les Byerley

Buy from: Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play

John Henry Ames is a sixteen-year-old boy from a small New Jersey town. Humble, shy and studious, John lives as an outcast in the shadows of an elite high school where he is tormented by two psychopathic bullies. Just when he is on the verge of dropping out of school due to overdue payments, a teacher enrolls him as a tutor in a program where he meets the school’s star quarterback and hero, Nick Anthony Hawking.

Nick needs John’s help to pass and graduate high school. As John becomes closer to the jock, he develops a strong affection towards him even though Nick has a reputation for sleeping around with a lot of women. Nick becomes his friend and protector in school. Their growing friendship helps to bring out the best in each of them and as they grow closer, John begins to wonder…and hope…that maybe Nick’s studly activity is a front for something else. He hopes to get much closer to Nick.

When unspeakable tragedies threaten the school…and John’s life…John and Nick have a chance to discover what they really mean to each other. But high school is a hard place to be yourself. Will Nick and John follow their own hearts or return to the safety of their own shadows?
Surviving Elite High is a breathtaking saga that illustrates a flourishing same-sex love, family, and friendship.


Chapter One

My knees shook. I don’t really know why I was so nervous that morning. I had walked down these same corridors before, but this was my first time here as a junior. I stood looking down the main hallway as the world slowly passed me by, and feeling as if I was completely invisible to everyone. I hugged myself for comfort, then took my first step and froze again. With my heart pounding hard against my chest, a stupid knot developed inside my stomach. I hated the feeling of uncertainty and distress brought upon me by them. I glanced around, trying my best to spot Madison or Kitty, but I was completely alone among all the commotion happening around me. I lowered my head and continued with my excruciating journey toward class. Out of nowhere, two shadows blocked my way. I looked up and came face to face with my two tormentors, the reasons for my anxiety: Jacob Ashmore and Matthew Ward, better known as the basketball jocks.

“Hello, little guy,” Jacob drawled, leering down at me. He stood six inches taller than me and was strong as a bull. “Did you miss me?”

I stumbled backward, trying to put distance between us.

“Where are you going, bitch?” Matthew barked, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt. He pulled me in and lifted me into the air, making my feet swing from side to side. “Talk to me, old friend.”

“I…I was—”

“Shut the fuck up, fag!”

“Let’s give him the welcoming,” Jacob suggested with a grin.

Oh, no, not the welcoming. Anything but the welcoming. I knew what they wanted to do. They were going to throw me inside the huge trash can behind the school and make me face the humiliation.

“Put him down!” shouted a familiar voice. We all turned to look. It was one of my best friends, Kitty Scott, and, boy, was I happy to see her pointing at them. Her red hair was visible from a mile away, and her black eyes seemed demonic. I thanked God that I was safe now. Matthew gazed at her with a smirk, knowing that Kitty would explode and make a big scene out of the way he treated me. He unwillingly let me go, and I fell flat on my ass. There was no time to waste. I ran to Kitty’s side before they changed their minds.

“See you soon, pussy,” Matthew added. He and Jacob turned around and walked away down another hallway. When they were out of sight, I turned to Kitty, who was all steamed up. Her freckles seemed to have spread to an angry red. A scowl soon developed on her face. “Why do you let those assholes treat you like that?”

“Geez, Kitty. They’re bigger and stronger than me, you know. Plus, they’re jocks.”

“I thought they’d stopped bullying you.” Kitty led me down the crowded hallway.

“So did I. Besides, two against one is an unfair fight, especially against me. Have you looked at me lately?”

Kitty stopped in front of her locker and opened the small compartment before glancing at me from head to toe. I wasn’t small. Five feet and seven inches was a reasonable height. I was too skinny, though. I didn’t have any muscles, and she wanted me to fight those two giants. Was Kitty insane?

“I know, but you’ve got to stand up to them. Madison and I can’t be with you every single second of the day. They bullied you around for two whole years, and it has to stop now, Johnny Boy!” Kitty slammed the door closed.

“I know,” I murmured as I spotted Madison behind her. “Hello, Madison!”

“Hello, my two best friends in the whole wide world,” Madison answered, standing beside us and showing off her vibrant smile. Madison Adams’ black hair complemented her porcelain skin and sultry dark eyes. The chick was hot, and she was one of my best friends as well. After scanning our worried faces, her smile disappeared. “What happened? I thought you’d be excited to see this slut?”

That was Madison, all right. She knew how to sum things up in one sentence.

“Jacob and Matthew,” mumbled Kitty, walking down the hallway.

Madison embraced me with one arm, and we immediately dashed after Kitty. While we tried to catch up with her, Madison turned to me. “Are they still bullying you?”


“Yes, they are!” Kitty had stopped walking and was waiting for us a few feet away. When we reached her side, she began walking next to me. As usual, I was in the middle of the two. “Those good-for-nothing jerks.”

“I thought they’d stopped bothering you, Johnny Boy.” Madison added.

“Yes, for the summer.”

“Consider yourself lucky. Who wouldn’t want to get roughed up by two hot jocks?”

“Me, for one, Madison,” I answered. We walked into English class, and I sat in the first chair of the first row. Kitty sat beside me, and Madison sat behind her. This was our usual seating arrangement for all our classes.

They turned to me, and Madison continued. “Don’t worry, just stick with one of us and you’ll be fine.”

“I know, but we still have gym, and I’ve got to change with them.”

“That’s hot! Take some pictures for me.”

Kitty rolled her eyes when she heard Madison’s request. “Sorry, kiddo, we can only do so much. You’ve got to stand up to them.”

“I’m dead meat! Why does this school have to stress sports so much? Four years of mandatory physical education is just crazy. Why in the world would they do that?”

“Blame the Children Against Obesity Association. No more sugar in this school, as if we need to lose weight. We’re perfect,” Madison answered.

“Yeah, soon they’ll start to sell sugar like crack,” Kitty added, high-fiving Madison.

The girls giggled their little hearts out. I missed them so much. All of a sudden, the door opened and a young man stepped inside. It was Nicholas Anthony Hawking, also known as Nick Wild Hawk, captain of the Elite Hawks. Girls had nicknamed him Nick Wild Fuck because of his promiscuous nature. He was six feet tall with light tan skin, short dirty blond hair, and crystal baby blue eyes. The guy was dreamy or walking sex. Well, that’s what Madison always said. Nick was the most popular jock in school, the school’s star quarterback, and athlete extraordinaire. He was as perfect as they came.

“I want to have his babies.” Madison stated while Nick walked to the back of the class to sit down with his friends.

“Why does he always have to walk in like that? As if he’s some type of god or something? He wasn’t like that a few years ago,” Kitty replied.

“He is a god. Look at him, Kit. The guy’s hot,” Madison answered her question.
“And a stupid jock,” I added irritably.

“I know that you hate jocks, but Nick is F-I-N-E! Look at the package between his legs. It looks like the perfect Christmas present to me.”

“I agree with John. He’s a jock and a huge dick.”

“Yeah, I bet he is,” Madison smirked. Kitty and I rolled our eyes to the back of our heads. Madison was something else. “Don’t get me wrong, Johnny Boy, all jocks are assholes, but this one is fine.”

“Why don’t you say that in front of his girlfriend then?”

“Are they still dating?” Kitty asked us.

“Yes, they are, that lucky bitch,” Madison replied.

Everyone knew that Allison and Nick were a couple. They were crazy for each other, or so it seemed. Allison was the head cheerleader and last year’s student body vice-president. Nick was, not surprisingly, last year’s president. Everyone knew they had won because of their tremendous popularity and extreme wealth. They disgusted me.

“People like Nick and Allison make me sick.”

“Us, too,” Kitty answered with Madison nodding to her statement.

I took a deep breath. I was being unfair to Nick and Allison just because of Matthew and Jacob. “I just hate that I’ve got to endure two more years of mandatory physical education.”

“Stand up to those stupid pricks, then,” Madison told me. “We don’t want them to bully you anymore.”

I agreed with her. I needed to do something, but what could I do? It was my word against the word of two rich kids. I was doomed. That moment, the door opened once more, and Mrs. Carter, our new English teacher, walked in with a huge smile from cheek to cheek on her face. She quickly introduced herself, putting an end to our conversation and my conflicting thoughts.

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Disponible en español: Eternamente Audaz por Jeff Erno

Eternamente Audaz23Eternamente Audaz
Autor: Jeff Erno
Serie: Eternamente Vampiro
Libro anterior: Eternamente Joven
Género: Romance gay, Juvenil, M/M, Romance paranormal, Vampiros
Extensión: Novela
eISBN: 978-1-937796-93-8
Índice de clasificación: 3 Llamas
Precio: 4.99 USD

Portada: Les Byerley

Comprar de: Amazon US|Amazon ES|Amazon MX|AllRomance Ebooks|BN Nook|Google Play

La saga Eternamente Vampiro continúa…

A raíz de la indescriptible masacre, Robbie y Colt han escapado a las tierras salvajes de Alaska para hacer frente a su futuro inmortal. Las cosas no son tan seguras para sus enemigos jurados, Dylan e Issa, los soldados Matarianos juraron cazarles y matarlos.

Dylan está a punto de comenzar su primera cacería de vampiros y quiere que Issa sea su compañero, pero Issa está mucho más preocupado por encontrar a su hermano y rastrear al chico rubio que casi muere en el campo de batalla. Todo el elenco del primer libro se reúne en esta emocionante continuación de su historia, junto con una serie de nuevas caras —amigos y enemigos— cuyas vidas se entrelazan de alguna manera, y se cruzan en sus esfuerzos para luchar contra el mal y alcanzar su propia felicidad. Humanos, cambiaformas, caminantes diurnos y vampiros de sangre pura se enfrentan entre sí con la orientación de tres hermanas enigmáticas —una ménade, una nigromante, y una bruja humana la tercera—. Giros argumentales y sorpresas marcan los caminos de estos personajes diversos, siempre audaces en su afán por aferrarse a todo lo que aprecian.


Capítulo Uno

Se despertó gritando, como había hecho casi cada vez que intentaba dormir. Las vívidas imágenes se reproducían en su cabeza como un rollo de película. Implacables gráficas pesadillas, o más precisamente, flashbacks. La doctora dijo que sufría de estrés postraumático, pero ella no sabía ni la mitad.

Los medios locales habían cubierto la historia, etiquetándola como un extraño ataque de lobos en el que dieciocho campistas habían muerto y otras dos docenas resultaron heridos. Issa sabía la verdad. Todos la sabían, todos los testigos. Había habido un ataque de lobo, de acuerdo, pero esos no eran lobos ordinarios. Y a raíz de la confrontación, habían dejado una carnicería como nada que Issa pudiera haber imaginado. Había partes del cuerpo esparcidas por todas partes, de tal forma, que muchas de las víctimas no eran ni siquiera reconocibles.

Peor que estas imágenes horribles eran los recuerdos de Issa de los asesinatos de vampiros. Pensó que había estado preparado. Había aprendido todas las lecciones, había completado horas de prácticas de tiro al blanco, e incluso había visto vídeos gráficos. Claro, sabía que sería sangriento, y sabía que desgarrar el corazón de un vampiro de su pecho no era trabajo para aprensivos. Sin embargo, no había nada que pudiera haberlo preparado para verlo en vivo y en directo.

Si algo sabía con certeza, era el hecho de que él no estaba hecho para el trabajo. No tenía ningún deseo de ver otra vez lo que había presenciado esa noche, y definitivamente no era un asesino de vampiros.

La onda expansiva de conmoción se había trasmitido a través de la comunidad Matariana cuando el rumor de la tragedia se extendió rápidamente. Se había convocado una reunión de emergencia para evaluar las pérdidas y para discutir una adecuada respuesta. La devastación afectaba a todas las familias Matarianas, pero más significativamente a los que habían perdido a un ser querido joven.

Issa conocía a todas las víctimas. Habían sido sus compañeros de clase. Sus compañeros de clase de dieciséis años. El campamento de instrucción militar era un rito Matariano de iniciación, uno con el que cada niño Matariano estaba ilusionado. Esta coyuntura crucial proporcionaba la transición de las fantasías juveniles de asesinos de vampiros a la realidad del trabajo real de campo. La finalización de la formación militar culminaba con una ceremonia de graduación, seguida de las asignaciones de las primeras cacerías de los cadetes.

Pero no había habido ninguna ceremonia este año. En lugar de ello, toda la comunidad se reunió para un enorme servicio conmemorativo. Incluso los asesinatos de vampiros logrados con éxito, normalmente una causa de gran fiesta, no habían compensado las trágicas pérdidas.

—Es una guerra —dijo el padre de Issa con calma—, y la gente muere en las guerras.

—Niños, Ibrahim. No eran más que niños —señaló su madre.

Tristemente, Issa conocía a muchos en la comunidad que compartían los sentimientos de su padre. Más que hacerles vacilar e incitarles a contemplar los asesinatos sin sentido, la tragedia les había enfurecido y les hizo aún más sanguinarios. Hablar de venganza ya corría como la pólvora, y ahora un nuevo enemigo se había añadido a la lista. Los Matarianos no solo luchaban contra los vampiros, sino también con los hombres lobo.

Las muertes de los compañeros de hermandad de Issa pesaban sobre su corazón, sin embargo, él no anhelaba venganza. De hecho, no culpaba a los vampiros ni a los lobos. Sabía por qué habían venido. Se encontraban en una misión de rescate, estaban allí para liberar a los prisioneros que los Matarianos estaban cruelmente torturando. Cuando fueron asaltados por un ejército de cadetes listos para la batalla, ellos respondieron, y se perdieron muchas vidas.

Y la tragedia había acontecido en ambos sentidos. Al menos cuatro desde el otro lado habían sido heridos de muerte, un lobo, dos vampiros, y un humano. Issa había oído los jubilosos aplausos de sus compañeros guerreros Matarianos cuando los dos vampiros fueron eliminados, y el recuerdo le ponía enfermo. Brendan y Richard eran pareja, y se habían amado mucho. Habían permanecido juntos durante años —por lo menos décadas, si no siglos—.

Para Issa, su relación no parecía tan diferente a lo que él compartía con Dylan. De acuerdo con las enseñanzas Matarianas, los vampiros eran monstruos chupasangres, ni siquiera humanos, y la mayoría de las personas no pensaban que fueran en realidad ni siquiera capaces de amar. Impulsados únicamente por su hambre, las relaciones personales les eran secundarias. En la mayoría de los casos, eran criaturas solitarias que existían solo con el propósito de alimentarse. Máquinas de matar, y nada más.

Pero Issa descubrió lo contrario. Lo sabía por su conversación con Brendan, porque había visto cómo Richard había reaccionado cuando se reunió con su amante. Y había sido testigo de una conexión similar entre el vampiro de aspecto juvenil y el humano —el pequeño chico rubio—. Jesús, no parecía mayor que los cadetes. ¿Era Robbie?

El vampiro estaba enamorado del chico. Issa solo podía especular sobre lo que había sido de ellos. Tal vez habían llegado a un lugar seguro al final, pero si fuera así, eso implicaría que Robbie había sido convertido. Seguramente no habría sobrevivido a una flecha atravesada en el corazón.

Issa no quería saberlo. No podía soportar la posibilidad de que el chico, obviamente enamorado, se hubiera sacrificado por su amante. E incluso si de alguna manera se había salvado, no quería pensar en lo que eso significaría. Serían objetivos. Blancos fáciles. El ejército Matariano ya estaba planeando una guerra total, un ataque masivo y tajante como represalia. Estaban decididos a erradicar a todos los vampiros del mundo entero, de una vez por todas.

Pero los ancianos ni siquiera sabían toda la historia. Solo Dylan e Issa eran conscientes de todo lo que había sucedido esa noche. Eran los únicos Matarianos en ser testigos de la presencia de Raoul y Shadi.

—No puedes contarlo —había declarado Issa—. Si se enteran, les buscarán y matarán a mi hermano.

—Issa, él ya no es tu hermano. —Dylan trató de razonar con él—. Es un vampiro de sangre pura. Ni siquiera es humano, y no tiene ninguna lealtad a ti o a tu familia.

—¿Y si fuera tu hermano?

Dylan dio un paso atrás, y luego asintió lentamente. Issa sabía la intimidad que compartía Dylan con su hermano Taylor. Nunca le daría la espalda a su propia carne y sangre, sin importar las circunstancias. Por último, suspiró. —Está bien, no lo contaré. Pero esto tiene que terminar aquí. Desde este punto en adelante, Shadi ya no existe. Por lo que a nosotros respecta, se ha ido para siempre.

Issa estuvo de acuerdo, pero no verbalizó una respuesta. Nunca podría hacer tal promesa, ni siquiera a Dylan. Shadi era su hermano, e Issa no podía fingir que estaba muerto. Aunque tal vez no fuera posible de inmediato, un día encontraría a su hermano y tendrían su encuentro. Mientras tanto, tenía que hallar una manera de perdonarse a sí mismo por todo lo que había sucedido. De alguna manera tenía que hacer que las pesadillas se detuvieran para poder seguir con su vida, y para poder concentrarse en su futuro con Dylan.

Mientras yacía solo en su cuarto a oscuras, pensó en estas cosas y se quedó mirando fijamente al techo. —Te encontraré de nuevo, Shadi —susurró.

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Disponible en español: El Camino por A.J. Llewellyn

ElCamino23El Camino
Autor: AJ Llewellyn
Género: M/M, paranormal, demonios, ángeles
Extensión: Novela
eISBN13: 978-1-937796-82-2
MSRP: 5.99
Precio: 2.99

Portada: Les Byerley
Traducción: Traductores Anónimos

Comprar de: Amazon US|Amazon ES|Amazon MX|AllRomance Ebooks|BN Nook|Google Play

Un seminarista de California conoce al hombre de sus sueños durante un recorrido a pie en España. Antonio no tiene ni la menor idea… de que el apuesto Jeb es un demonio tormenta.

Cada año, miles de personas hacen un viaje espiritual llamado El Camino, una antigua travesía por Europa, cruzando Francia, Portugal y España. Cuando Antonio se embarca en El Camino, está a un paso de convertirse en diácono de transición, la fase final antes de ser sacerdote, pero siente que su nuevo deseo por otros hombres viola su vocación elegida. Incluso mientras se cuestiona su capacidad para entrar en la vida religiosa, sus sueños son perseguidos por un misterioso y guapo extraño que despierta sus pasiones. En el viaje conoce a un compañero peregrino, Jeb, quien está cuestionando su propia vida y busca respuestas. Jeb se parece al hombre de sus sueños…

No tiene ni la menor idea de las opciones que necesita para hacer que su corazón se encuentre en apuros… más de lo que jamás podría haber imaginado. ¿Cómo puede él, un hombre devoto de la obra de Dios, posiblemente amar a un hombre que ha vendido su alma al diablo?

Nota del Editor: Este libro ha sido publicado previamente, reeditado y reimpreso con Ai Press.


Antonio se arrodilló en el suelo a unos metros de distancia del hombre desnudo que se reclinaba en su silla de madera forrada de cuero, observándolo. El hombre se tocaba el pene con una mano lánguida. Sonrió, haciendo señas a Antonio, que estaba hipnotizado por los largos y afilados dedos del magnífico hombre, los blancos y parejos dientes y el pelo largo y suelto.

El deseo parecía llamear en los ojos del hombre, sus gestos de repente eran impacientes. Antonio sabía que sí, quería que le chupara. Había velas encendidas a su alrededor, el único sonido que Antonio podía oír eran sus respiraciones cada vez más cortas y agudas.

Antonio contuvo el aliento. Le encantaba el sonido de la pasión creciente del hombre.

—¿Quieres que te vende los ojos? —preguntó el hombre cuando Antonio se arrastró hacia él. Era difícil con las manos atadas detrás, pero lo único que le importaba era tener su boca alrededor del miembro que se balanceaba delante de él.

—No. Quiero mirarte.

El hombre sacudió su brillante pelo castaño, sus ojos se oscurecieron con lujuria mientras miraba a Antonio. Recorrió las últimas pulgadas restantes del suelo, ganándose una sonrisa del hombre que permanecía en la silla.

A solo una pulgada de distancia ahora, Antonio mantenía la boca abierta. Estaba lo suficientemente cerca como para empaparse de los detalles más nimios del pelo en el pecho del fantástico hombre. Este se deslizó un poco hacia adelante en su enorme y regia silla, ansioso por el contacto de la boca en su polla.

Antonio había pensado que podría querer estar con los ojos vendados, al ser tan tímido sobre la desnudez y con otro hombre, pero se sorprendió de encontrar que estar atado era suficiente. Quería poder ver la reacción del hombre mientras lo chupaba. Se lamió los labios. Se moría de ganas.

Llegó al borde del asiento, el olor del cuero y de piel cálida y varonil pasó directamente a Antonio y hacia su pene.

El hombre frente a él gimió, se mordió el labio, con su dura polla sobresaliendo hacia adelante hasta que tocó la ahora húmeda boca de Antonio. Permitió que su pene se deslizara a través de los gruesos y exuberantes labios. Se miraron profundamente a los ojos.

—Abre —susurró el hombre y Antonio hizo lo que se le ordenó, sorbiendo la polla más grande que había visto en su vida. Levantándose un poco más sobre sus rodillas, se esforzó duramente para aspirar tanta polla como pudo dentro de su boca. Parpadeó. Pensó que podría ahogarse, pero el hombre le susurró palabras de lujuria, dulces palabras de aliento.


Antonio pudo saborear el almíbar agridulce del pene del otro hombre. Era consciente del endurecimiento del suyo propio. Era una deliciosa tortura no poder tocarlo. No es que necesitara hacerlo. Siempre se corría, sobre todo cuando el hombre alejaba su polla de la boca Antonio y rogaba que le lamiera el culo. Nunca fallaba. Antonio cerraba los ojos, su boca descendía hacia el lugar especial y privado del otro hombre y…


Se corrió.

Antonio abrió los ojos. Una ola de tristeza se apoderó de él, incluso cuando experimentó el alivio salvaje de la masturbación. El miedo lo consumió momentáneamente mientras absorbía el desconocido entorno. ¿Dónde estaba? Oh, sí, en Monte Calvario, el monasterio benedictino y casa de retiro espiritual de Saint Mary.

Se aferró a su ablandado eje para prolongar la sensación de euforia, con cuidado de no rozar la sensible cabeza. Se recordó respirar, y luego sonrió. Guau. La fantasía del hombre en la silla siempre encendía sus pasiones. Tenía ganas de profundizar en el placer del amante sin nombre, sin rostro, pero nunca podía llegar tan lejos. La recién descubierta dicha de la autogratificación había venido con innumerables emociones. Estar atado a su fantasía, absolvía a Antonio de la responsabilidad por sus acciones, al menos en su mente. También encontró que esto alimentaba su excitación más y más.

Pensamientos y comportamientos completamente inapropiados para un hombre destinado al sacerdocio, Antonio se daba cuenta. Se había negado a sí mismo durante mucho tiempo, pero a la edad de veinticuatro años, había llegado como una sacudida, y una bendición. Soltó su polla y se dio la vuelta en la pequeña cama.

Su habitación era grande y en su mayoría contenía elementos funcionales pero confortables y sin embargo, todavía parecían mucho más lujosos que sus aposentos habituales en el Seminario de Saint John en Camarillo. El jarrón de gruesas ramas de romero entrelazadas con rosas lavanda que había en su escritorio ofrecía a la habitación un olor celestial, así como un toque de calidez.

Antonio estaba tumbado con el brazo bajo la cabeza, escuchando los sonidos del desconocido monasterio. Todo estaba en calma y tranquilo, como se suponía que fuera. Inquieto, balanceaba los pies sobre el borde de la cama y miró por la ventana de sus aposentos privados.

Se preguntó si alguien alguna vez había roto el voto de silencio de Monte Calvario. Eran casi las ocho de la tarde. Pronto sería la puesta del sol y el Gran Silencio oficial descendería sobre la propiedad como un pesado manto hasta la mañana siguiente. Ya le irritaba. ¡Silencio! Todo lo que siempre obtenía era silencio. Y austeridad. ¿Por qué Monseñor Loftus había sugerido un año sabático aquí cuando Antonio deseaba hablar y hablar y, en buena medida, hablar?

Miró fijamente los exuberantes terrenos con sus árboles poco comunes, los jardines bellamente cuidados y las magníficas montañas de Santa Bárbara que los rodeaban. Podía oír las olas del mar rompiendo al pie de los acantilados. Sí, era impresionante. Esto debería ser un breve respiro antes de volver al seminario de St. John, pero había sabido al instante en que había llegado aquí, que esta vida no era para él. El viejo Monseñor había sido inteligente en dirigirle a Monte Calvario. La vida de un sacerdote significaría mucho silencio. Una gran cantidad de contemplación.

Ya había dicho a Monseñor en una conversación telefónica por la mañana que necesitaba más tiempo. Monseñor había estado de acuerdo, sugiriendo que se tomara un mes de descanso. Incluso había lanzado al aire la idea de El Camino.

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Disponible en español: Eternamente Joven (vampiro, homoerotico) por Jeff Erno!

Eternamente Joven23Eternamente Joven
Autor: Jeff Erno
Género: Juvenil-M/M-Vampiros
Extensión: Novela
eISBN: 978-1-937796-79-2
MSRP: 7.99
Precio: 4.99

Enlaces de compra: Kindle Espana|Kindle Mexico|Kindle US|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play|Kobo

En menos de un verano, el tímido e introvertido Robbie Myers pasa de tener dieciocho años y no haber sido besado nunca a la apasionada intensidad del primer amor que podría durar eternamente. Literalmente…

Robbie Myers de dieciocho años de edad tiene dificultades para hablar con la gente. No solo es tímido, sino que parece decir algo equivocado cada vez que abre la boca, sobre todo al apuesto desconocido y misterioso que se presenta en su trabajo del supermercado, lo defiende de un compañero agresivo y luego le pide una cita. No puede creer que un atractivo y mundano chico malo de diecisiete años de edad, Colt Abernathy esté realmente interesado. Sin embargo, no puede negar que el fervor ardiente en los ojos oscuros de Colt es solo por él. En cuestión de un instante, Robbie es apartado de su plan de asistir a un colegio comunitario mientras que vive en casa con su madre y ahorra para un coche, hasta la tierna y ya apasionada exploración de un intenso primer amor. Poco sabe Robbie…

Convertido durante el apogeo de la Guerra Civil, Colt ha quedado atrapado en el cuerpo de un solitario chico de diecisiete años de edad. Cuando ve al joven delgado, de pelo rubio, y ojos azules, empujando una fila de carros de la compra al otro lado de un aparcamiento, Colt sabe al instante que están destinados el uno para el otro. Solo hay un problema mayor: si sobrevive a la batalla inminente entre los vampiros y los Matarianos –un ejército de brutales cazadores de vampiros– va a vivir para siempre. Robbie no es…


Cuando Robbie salió, decidió esperar un par de minutos para ver lo que pasaba con Jerry. Si realmente fuera despedido, Robbie le vería salir. Se quedó junto a la entrada, donde seguía teniendo una visión clara de las cajas a través de la ventana. Unos tres minutos más tarde, vio a Jerry regresar a su zona de trabajo. Comenzó a correr de acá para allá, reponiendo las bolsas para los suministros en los pasillos de las cajas. Robbie se sintió aliviado. Al parecer, a Jerry no le habían echado. Probablemente solo hubiera sido sermoneado y advertido con severidad por Wandrie.

A la mayoría de los chicos que trabajaban en la tienda no les gustaba el Sr. Wandrie. Todos se burlaban de él a sus espaldas, posiblemente solo porque era el jefe. En opinión de Robbie, el Sr. Wandrie era un tipo bastante decente. Había días en los que el hombre parecía un poco gruñón, pero eso era así para todos.

Robbie se preguntó por un momento si el Sr. Wandrie había oído a Jerry llamarle maricón. Bueno, debió haberlo oído. Eso había avergonzado a Robbie, y esperaba que el Sr. Wandrie no se formara una idea equivocada sobre él. Así es como los tipos como Jerry llamaban a los demás, especialmente cuando estaban furiosos. En realidad no significaba nada. Era como cuando la gente decía que algo era “gay” solo porque no les gustaba. Era una forma de hablar o algo así.

Para ser sincero, había herido sus sentimientos. No entendía por qué Jerry había dicho algo como eso. Era tan obvio que era…

—¿Todavía estás aquí?

Robbie dio un salto, sorprendido por la voz detrás de él. Se volvió para enfrentar al chico que había visto antes, el que tenía la chaqueta de cuero.

—Oh Dios mío, me has asustado.

—Lo siento, tío. —El chico de la chaqueta de cuero se rio—. No fue mi intención acercarme a ti sigilosamente.

—Pensé que Jerry iba a ser despedido —dijo Robbie—. Le llamaron a la oficina del gerente.

El chico asintió con la cabeza.

—Bueno. Ya era hora.

—Oh. Um, yo no quiero que se meta en problemas ni nada de eso. Definitivamente no quiero que, ya sabes, pierda su trabajo.

—¿Por qué no? Es perezoso.

Robbie se encogió de hombros.

—Dijo que no se sentía bien.

El chico de la chaqueta de cuero se rio de nuevo.

—Eres una… cómo debería decirlo… persona muy confiada, ¿no?

—Uh, no lo sé. Supongo que sí.

—Bien, Robbie, creo que deberías tener cuidado. Algunas personas no son muy dignas de confianza.

Robbie le miró. Sus ojos eran más oscuros que antes, ahora eran casi negros. Tal vez fuera debido a la tenue iluminación.

—¿Cómo sabes mi nombre?

—Llevabas una tarjeta de identificación. La leí antes, cuando estabas aquí fuera empujando los carritos.


—Mi nombre es Colt, por cierto.

—¿En serio? —Sonrió Robbie, pero se dio cuenta al instante de lo grosero que debió sonar—. Lo siento, nunca he oído hablar de nadie que se llamara así.

—Abreviatura de Colton. Es un nombre de familia. Y no lo sientas, es bastante inusual.

—Oh, bueno, me gusta. —Cuando su nuevo amigo le miró a los ojos, Robbie sintió que se sonrojaba—. Uh, quiero decir… bueno, es un nombre genial.

Colt se acercó más a él, invadiendo su espacio personal.

—Así que ¿ya has terminado tu turno?

Robbie asintió.

—Sí —susurró.

—¿Estás esperando a que alguien te lleve o algo así?

—Nah. Vivo a un par de bloques de aquí, en el camping.

—Estupendo. —Sonrió Colton—. Te acompañaré a casa.

—¡No tienes que hacerlo! —espetó Robbie—. Uh, quiero decir, es muy amable de tu parte, pero…

—Sé que no tengo que hacerlo, pero ¿y si quiero hacerlo?

¿Por qué querría acompañarme a casa? Robbie no estaba muy seguro de qué pasaba con este chico, pero realmente le gustaba. Tal vez fuera lo sexy que parecía con esa chaqueta de cuero. Tal vez fueran sus ojos, tan oscuros y misteriosos, o la profunda resonancia de su voz.

—Está bien. Es cosa tuya.

Colt se agachó y recogió la mochila que Robbie había colocado a su lado en la acera.

—Muéstrame el camino.

Robbie se echó a reír.

—No tienes que llevarla, ¿sabes? Puedo arreglármelas.

—Quiero llevarla —dijo Colt, su voz firme y confiada—. Ya no me cabe duda, realmente eres una buena persona, alguien a quien me gustaría tener como amigo.

—Gracias. —Robbie no podía creer que este chico estuviera siendo tan agradable, tales atenciones le hacían sentirse un poco abrumado. Era sexy y encantador, casi demasiado bueno para ser verdad—. Pero en realidad no sabes nada de mí. Por lo que sabes, podría ser un asesino o algo parecido.

Colt se echó a reír con un poco más de entusiasmo del que Robbie esperaba.

—Esa sí que es buena. —Palmeó a Robbie en el hombro, y luego le dio un cariñoso apretón. Robbie sintió que sus mejillas ardían.

Caminaron juntos un trecho, con Robbie a la cabeza. Robbie no estaba seguro de qué decirle a su nuevo amigo, cómo seguir la conversación.

—Supongo que estás diciendo que no parezco muy peligroso.

—Bueno, tío, para ser sincero, no, no lo pareces. Tienes el aspecto de ser un hombre tan bueno que la gente se aprovecha de ti en ocasiones.

Colt estaba empezando a sonar igual que su madre.

—Tal vez —asintió—. Pero creo que prefiero que la gente me considere demasiado bueno y no demasiado mezquino.

—Es cierto. Pero tienes que tener cuidado. Ser bueno no es lo mismo que ser crédulo. Aun con todo, tienes que defenderte y no dejar que la gente te utilice.

—Como Jerry. —Robbie sabía que lo que Colt decía era verdad, pero simplemente no estaba en su naturaleza discutir con la gente.

—Sí, como ese idiota. Era evidente que no estaba enfermo. Solo estaba tratando de acosarte para que trabajaras un tiempo extra para así poder irse a casa.

Robbie asintió y bajó la cabeza.

—Oye, ¿cómo sabes que Jerry dijo que estaba enfermo?

—Me lo dijiste cuando estábamos en la tienda.

—¿Te lo dije? —Robbie no lo recordaba—. ¿Eres nuevo aquí? ¿Vives también en el camping?

—No, no vivo en el camping, pero soy nuevo en Boyne. Me mudé la semana pasada.

—Oh, guau. Así que ¿irás al instituto o estás en la universidad?

Colt negó con la cabeza.

—No voy al instituto, ni a la universidad. Ya me gradué.

—Oh, pensé que tenías mi edad. Me gradué el mes pasado.

—Estudié en casa —dijo Colt—. A mis padres no les gustaban las escuelas públicas. ¿Qué edad crees que aparento?

—No lo sé. —No quería responder por miedo a equivocarse—. Diecisiete tal vez.
Colt se echó a reír.

—Te equivocas.

—Lo siento, no soy bueno adivinando la edad de la gente.

—Tengo bastante más de diecisiete años —dijo Colt, sin dejar de sonreír—. Bastante más. ¿Me creerías si te dijera que tengo ciento sesenta y siete?

Robbie se echó a reír.

—Guau, tienes buen aspecto para tu edad. Debes tener una dieta fantástica y un gran régimen de ejercicios.

—Oh, sí. —Le guiñó un ojo y luego pasó un brazo sobre el hombro de Robbie—. Principalmente una dieta líquida.

Robbie se volvió hacia él, inhalando cuando lo hizo, y de inmediato se dio cuenta de cuán tentador era el olor de Colt. Llevaba algún tipo de perfume de sándalo. Paró de caminar y miró a los ojos de su amigo. Parecían mucho más oscuros que antes, pero tal vez se debiera a la luz tenue de las farolas a su alrededor.

—¿Cuántos años tienes realmente? —susurró Robbie.

—Tenía diecisiete la última vez que lo comprobé. —La voz de Colt era ahora más suave y sensual.

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Meant For Him by D.H. Starr is available!

Meant for Him23Meant For Him
Author: D.H. Starr
Genre: Gay romance; M/M romance
Previous book: Meant For Each Other
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Super novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-76-1

Trade paperback
ISBN13: 978-1-937796-77-8
Price: 12.99 USD

Buy from Ai Press|Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks|Google Play

Flame rating: 4 flames- Stories have frequent love scenes that are explicit and described using graphic and direct language.

Another hot guy from Greenwich Village is about to meet his match. That is, if he doesn’t mess things up…this time.

After the failure of his relationship with Jeremy, Andrew Jamieson threw himself into the routine of his high powered job on Wall Street. After two years, however, he is unable to quell the longing in his heart, a place Jeremy once filled. That is, until he meets Peter, the local bartender in Jeremy’s favorite watering hole. Peter is hot, sweet, sensitive and…masterful. He brings out a side of Andrew he never knew he had and he can’t get enough. However, when the same issues arise that caused his relationship to fail with Jeremy, Andrew fears he’s destined to ruin his chances with Peter. Will Andrew love Peter enough to let himself have the one guy in the world who could be meant for him?


Chapter One

Andrew Jamieson pressed the handles of the weight machine away from his body, the strain on his muscles a welcome distraction from the day’s aggravation. Two promotions, managing an entire section of Goldman Sachs trading division, and paychecks to support the lifestyle of a king meant nothing. What good were they if none of them it could fill the void which settled in his heart after his split from Jeremy?

He’d spent two years pouring himself into work and into working out. Still, no amount of money and no extra definition to his already toned body could erase the fact he was alone. Well, maybe not alone since he had friends, but most definitely lonely. He’d taken his eight years with Jeremy for granted, pushing his own wants and needs on the man.

The truth they’d both been hiding from became too much to ignore when Craig, Jeremy’s childhood friend, came back into the picture. They’d wanted different things. At least Andrew kept telling himself they did. Otherwise he’d have to admit he’d fucked up the best thing in his life. And for what? A killer condo overlooking Central Park?

Counting out the final reps, Andrew focused on the muscle burn. It was easy enough to concentrate on the tremor in his bicep when he curled a weight or the creases of his stomach with each crunch, but having the arms of a Greek god was no use when there was no one to hold in his embrace. Washboard abs meant nothing if he couldn’t spoon a warm body against his skin.

He shut out the self-pitying thoughts, wiped down the seat of the weight machine and headed to the locker room. He made quick work of undressing and slipped an altogether too small towel around his waist. There were perhaps seven or eight guys changing and they made no effort to hide their sidelong glances at his powerful physique. Even the admiration of others, many of whom were impressively built, couldn’t lift his sense of isolation.

After a quick shower, he considered a long sit in the steam room and perhaps fifteen minutes in the sauna, areas renowned for locker room hook ups. He’d sworn off those after the first few months of being single. Instead of boosting his ego, the anonymous encounters only served to remind him what he’d had and lost.

Slipping into his regular clothing, Andrew ignored the several men assaulting him with their eyes, and worked his way out of the gym and to the street. The chill of late winter still carried on the air, but the promise of spring lingered beneath the vestiges of cold.

Birds chirped and the trees had begun to sprout buds. People had replaced woolen coats and scarves with lighter jackets. Several food vendors were set up along the sidewalks and the familiar smell of falafel and roasting franks wafted through the air. All signs of warmer weather and new beginnings.

But nothing seemed new. Trudging down Fifty-Ninth Street, the southern border of Central Park, toward his luxury apartment, he couldn’t help but resent the couples wandering along, hand in hand.

A young couple, about his age, stood at the entrance to the park holding one another in an embrace. The man leaned in and placed a tender kiss on the woman’s lips. When he’d initially found this place, he’d hoped he and Jeremy could take such strolls, simply enjoying each other’s company, or heading a few blocks West to Madison Avenue where they purchased a hi-def television or perhaps a Bluetooth surround system. Andrew found solitary use of the equipment far less enjoyable than he’d imagined.

To make matters worse, Jeremy finding everything he wanted in Craig only intensified Andrew’s sense of disconnectedness, a constant companion lately. As if reading his mind, his phone buzzed, Jeremy’s name emblazoned on the screen.

The typical responses of excitement and regret filled him each time Jeremy called, in that order. He pressed ‘Accept’ and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey you.” He mustered as much cheerfulness as he could and still sounded depressed.

“What’s wrong?” Jeremy’s concern was tangible. Yet he wasn’t there to sling an arm over Andrew’s shoulder or pull him into a comforting hug. No warmth, only the chill air of late winter.

“Nothing. Just worked out and I’m a little sore.” His lie probably fell on all too knowing ears, but he refused to wallow in his own misery.

“Oh. Okay.” Jeremy maintained a chipper bounce to his tone, although it didn’t fool Andrew. “We still on for dinner tonight?”

Shit. I totally forgot about that. He and Jeremy had managed to remain friends despite the circumstances breaking them apart. He liked Craig, but seeing the two of them together was still difficult. “Uh. I—”

“Don’t even! I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen for the past two hours.” The chastising tone helped to thaw some of the ice surrounding Andrew’s heart, even though the familiarity broke it just a bit more. “Besides, I haven’t seen you in two weeks.”

“Fine. Is there anything I can bring?”

“Just yourself.” A brief silence interrupted Jeremy’s usual talkative nature. The pause was long enough for the hairs on Andrew’s arms to stand on end. “We invited Pete over too.”

There it was. Another one of Jeremy’s dinners, code for hookup. Andrew dropped his head so his chin rested on his chest and he came to a dead halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “Jeremy. If you’re trying to—”

“I’m not trying to do anything, but you’ve been a working machine for the last two years. It’s not like you to cut yourself off from people. You deserve to find someone. I worry about you.”

Affection spread through Andrew like fingers of warmth comforting him from within. For eight years he’d come home to Jeremy’s nurturing. And for most of those years, they’d been happy. Until Andrew’s career took off. Once that happened, Andrew’d wanted more for the two of them. He’d pressured Jeremy about his choice of career and his complacency. He’d viewed Jeremy as unmotivated and thought it was his job to push the man to achieve his full potential. Yet Jeremy was still teaching, still making a pitiful salary, still living in the East Village in a small apartment, and still happier than Andrew had ever seen him.

“I’ll be there around six. Please don’t expect anything with Pete. When I’m ready, I’ll find someone.”

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En español: Señora de Dos Lairds por Sedonia Guillone

señoraLairdsLarge23Señora de Dos Lairds
Autor: Sedonia Guillone
Género: Menage a trois / histórico / Highlanders
Largo: Novela
eISBN: 978-1-937796-69-3
Precio: 5.49 USD

Calificación sensualidad: 4 llamas-Las historias tienen escenas de amor frecuentes que son explícitos y se describen utilizando el lenguaje gráfico y directo.

Compra e-book de: Ai Press|Amazon Kindle|AllRomance Ebooks

Arte de la cubierta: Les Byerley

Una mujer. Dos rudos y guapos highlanders. Ella los ama a los dos. Afortunadamente, ellos están dispuestos a compartirla…

Leda MacGregor ha albergado un amor secreto por el apuesto Laird Duncan desde que tenía dieciséis años. Cuando este la culpa de la muerte de su esposa, ella se vuelve hacia su hermano Ian para que este la consuele y encuentra que su corazón es capaz de amar a dos hombres.
Ian MacGregor sabe que su corazón pertenece a Leda, su amiga de la infancia. La desea con más fuerza que a cualquier otra mujer que ha conocido. Sin embargo, se debate entre el deseo de su corazón y el curso que su vida debe tomar. Cuando por fin es libre de amar a Leda, son separados por un cruel engaño.
Duncan MacGregor aprende cuan poderosa es fuerza del perdón de Leda y con el paso del tiempo, crece su amor y la desea de una manera que nunca creyó posible. Cuando su hermano le rompe el corazón, la toma para él. Entonces el destino trae a Ian de regreso, aún amando a Leda…
Una mujer. Dos rudos y guapos highlanders. Ella los ama a los dos. Afortunadamente, ellos están dispuestos a compartirla…


La poderosa presencia de Duncan llenó la habitación. Lo sintió escabullirse tras de ella. Las manos fuertes del Laird se cerraron con suavidad pero con firmeza en sus caderas. El calor de sus manos quemaba por debajo del fino algodón de su camisa de dormir, presionando en su suave carne con fervor posesivo.

El momento había estado anhelando durante años había llegado.

“Phyllida.” El aliento de Duncan acarició un lado de su cuello, haciendo que sus párpados cerrados revolotearan. Se puso de espaldas contra él, deslizando sus manos por sus caderas, a través de la suave redondez, femenina de su vientre. Sus manos se posaron en su pecho, los dedos índices de cada mano rozaban peligrosamente cerca de la parte inferior de sus senos.
Leda se permitió descansar contra él. Se deleitó con la dura protección masculina de su cuerpo presionado su espalda. Duncan la hacía sentir tan segura y cálida. Sus ojos se abrieron cuando la dureza de su erección empujó en la hendidura entre sus nalgas. Su respiración profunda y poso sus manos sobre él, permitiendo que sus dedos exploraran el calor de piel, las venas, y su oscuro cabello rizado de sus fuertes manos. Su aliento, ahora ronco y desigual, latía en sus oídos, convirtiéndose en promesas eróticas. “Duncan, te he fallado. Lo siento mucho.” Ella comenzó a llorar.

“Calla ahora”, le dijo.

En silencio, miró por la ventana abierta a los árboles y al césped. A lo lejos, colinas verdes bajaban por el lago Garmond en los confines de la cañada.

“Mi hermosa Leda”, susurró Duncan. “Te perdono.” El tenor de su ronca voz, más potente que el mejor whisky, envió acaloradas emociones a través de sus pechos, y su corazón le dolía con la liberación de su culpabilidad. Su perdón fue más dulce, más curativo que un bálsamo. Poco a poco, tentativamente, deslizó su palma hacia arriba, por su pecho, a las suaves ondas de sus pechos…

Leda se sentó de golpe, su pecho jadeaba. Hundió la palma de su mano en la frente, recuperándose. Había tenido sueños similares sobre Duncan en los últimos cinco años, y siempre la sacudían. Pero ninguno tan intenso como este.

La húmeda brisa del verano, flotaba por la ventana abierta, levantando suavemente las cortinas de gasa blanca. El temprano rosa de la salida del sol se mostraba por encima de las distantes colinas.

Su sexo seguía pulsándole con la locura del sueño y sus pezones hormigueaban en contra de su camisón. Las sensaciones la llenaban de culpa. A causa de su incompetencia, Duncan había enterrado a su amada Caitlynn y a su hijo muerto el día de hoy, y ella, Phyllida, ni siquiera tenía la decencia de parar sus románticos deseos— no, su lujuria— para el miembro del clan que había amado en secreto durante años. Especialmente cuando fue por su culpa que Caitlynn murió.

Leda exhaló y volvió a caer sobre las almohadas, con el corazón encogido dolorosamente. Empuñó sus manos para que dejaran de temblar. Por enésima vez, repaso todas las posibilidades en su mente, viéndose a sí misma detener el flujo de sangre que había escurrido la vida de Caitlynn. Había empleado hasta la última gota de los conocimientos de partera y de enfermería que su madre le enseñó. Sin embargo, la horrible sensación que podía haber hecho más la atormentaba, como una piedra bajo su piel.

Acomodándose más profundamente en la cama, se quedó mirando la salida del sol. La finca ya se sentía más oscura y sombría, sin Caitlynn, la hermosa mujer que había traído la luz y la risa al sobrecargado laird, lleno de responsabilidades. Cait fue un fuerte contraste a su marido, quien llevaba el peso de sus responsabilidades con un aire pesado. Duncan sorprendió a todos los que conocía durante su corto matrimonio, porque él había pasado esos cinco años llenos de las risas que ahora había perdido.

Ahora Caitlynn se había ido, y Leda tendría que vivir el resto de sus días sabiendo que la había matado.

De repente, Leda recordó que Ian, el hermano menor de Duncan, estaría en casa esa mañana para el funeral. Ella e Ian tenían la misma edad y habían crecido casi toda su vida juntos. La idea de verlo, a su compañero de juegos infantiles y su mejor amigo, fue lo que la hizo sobreponerse y forzarse a sí misma a levantarse de las profundidades de su suave colchón. Calzó sus zapatillas y cruzó la habitación a su guardarropa. Abriendo bien las puertas, pensando en que ponerse. No era que tuviera mucha elección. Había preferido siempre el uniforme de todos los días que era una blusa, pantalón, suéter, y botas, a las faldas y vestidos.

A pesar de su tristeza, Leda sonrió espontáneamente ante los recuerdos que le vinieron a la mente. Caitlynn, que había sido la encarnación de la feminidad, había intentado una y mil veces, sin éxito, romper con su atuendo masculino. A pesar de que Leda se había sentido siempre como una boba junto a la esposa de Duncan, la ropa masculina la había protegido, manteniéndola invisibles a los ojos de los hombres, especialmente de Duncan. Si no la notaba, era mucho más fácil ignorar el hecho de que nunca podría devolver el cariño que guardaba a su tutor. Además, nadie podía montar a caballo, escalar montañas y árboles, y explorar las orillas de un lago en un vestido de té.

Audrey asomó la cabeza por la puerta. “¿Necesita una mano, Señorita Leda?”

Leda sonrió a la mujer, de mediana edad, y que si se preocupa de la condición social. Antes de que su padre se perdiera en el mar, en su barco de pesca, Leda había pasado los primeros años de su vida en una cabaña rústica en las Orkneys, y nunca había sido una criada. Nunca creció acostumbrada realmente a ser atendida. “No lo creo, Audrey. Gracias.”

Audrey frunció el ceño e irrumpió en el cuarto de todos modos. “Yo no le creo, Señorita.” En un soplo de faldas almidonadas, se dirigió a una cómoda y sacó un corsé y medias de color oscuro de un cajón.

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Now Available: The Case of the Choirboy Killer (A Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. Mystery)

The Case of the Choirboy KillerFD23The Case of the Choirboy Killer (A Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. Mystery)
Author: L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella
Series: Mark Julian, Vampire P.I. Book One
Genre: Paranormal, M/M, Gay Romance, Gay Fiction, Mystery and Detective, Dark Urban Fantasy
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-68-6

Flame rating: 2 flames- Stories will have some love scenes. These will be more sensual then graphic and will mostly rely on euphemism.

Buy from: Amazon Kindle Available to download for Kindle Unlimited subscribers!

Cover design: Les Byerley
Cover photo courtesy of Christian Campbell
Cover model: Jacopo Rampini

Mark Julian is New York’s only private eye for the supernatural. He has a job to do, one that includes not getting romantically involved with humans. Until a feeding frenzy on gay men crosses his path with irresistible Detective Vincent Pasquale of the NYPD. The paranormal world is about to collide with the human world, in more ways than one…

The city is being hit by a wave of killings where the victims share two things in common: 1) they are gay and, 2) they have been drained of blood. The press is having a field day using a witness’ description to label him as “the choirboy killer” and the gay community is up in arms. Worse the local vampire council is convinced the killer one of their own who has gone rogue and is intentionally committing these activities as an affront the entire undead community. “I mean we just don’t act this way here,” sniffed the head of the council, “I mean this is New York City after all!”

The council goes to the only person from their community who they think can find the killer and end his reign. Mark Julian, a vampire like themselves and New York’s only private eye for the supernatural world. With the help of his secretary Jaime, an incubus-succubus changeling sex demon he begins the hunt. His only major problem is that one of New York’s finest is also on the trail of the fiend who is dispatching the city’s citizens. When hunky detective Vincent Pasquale and Julian cross paths the gay detective finds the well-built handsome law officer is not only impeding his quiet search but also, for the first time in centuries, getting him heated up as well. Will they join forces or will one of them fall victim to the sensational choirboy killer?

Bonus Feature: The Curious Case of the Runaway Incubus


“He looked like a damned choirboy,” Detective Vincenzo Pasquale swore as he reviewed his notes. “All I get from my only witness is that he looked like a choirboy!” The detective ran one of his hands through the dark hairs on his head in frustration. He needed more useful information, and he needed it fast. He thought about the murder. It had received extensive press coverage with it being pride week and, even more critically, with a gay victim! The media and the gay community were already screaming bias crime. It was clear the murderer had picked up his victim at a gay club. Now many, without any foundation, were insisting that the killer had to have been a straight man that had merely “posed” as gay to lure in his target. Worse yet, someone in the department, or more likely the mayor’s office, had leaked the suspect’s description to members of New York’s overheated press. Always ready to stir the pot to increase their circulation in an ever-diminishing market of print readers, the media had jumped in with both feet. The press’s headlines quickly dubbed him the choirboy killer. “That is just what this sicko needs, a freaking name that will stroke his ego,” the good-looking detective grumbled to himself.

“Damn,” he sighed as he shifted his toned and muscled body in his chair. At thirty years of age, the muscular, six foot one inch law officer was the very opposite of the stereotypical detective. In the minds of the public, detectives were a bunch of sedentary and overfed middle-aged cops who dressed in suits while getting fat sitting at their desks reading reports. In John Q. Public’s eyes they all were merely waiting for their pensions to fill out sufficiently, then retire.

Vinnie glanced at the picture of his fiancé that sat on his cluttered desk, looking for comfort from the image of the perky, fair-haired girl whom he had recently proposed to. Terry and Vinnie had met while he was a student at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice in Manhattan. She was a first year schoolteacher at the local high school that was just up the street from the college. One day after his classes he had literally bumped into her as he raced to answer a call from his precinct. They had dated off and on, but things had gotten serious between them in the last year. Vincenzo, known as Vinnie to everyone but his mother on Staten Island, had finally asked Terry to marry him. He had done so prompted not only by his mother but also by the fact he had now entered his thirties. As his mother kept telling him, it was that time of life when a man ought to settle down and bring a flock of new Pasquales into the world. Terry, being a Lutheran of Swedish descent and also three years older than Mrs. Pasquale’s “beloved Vincenzo,” had not initially endeared herself to Vinnie’s traditionally minded Roman Catholic, Italian mother. Over time, however, Terry had been accepted not only into the vast clan Vinnie referred to jokingly as la mia famiglia but also by his mother. Her future mother-in-law had instantly warmed up to their engagement when Terry confessed that secretly she wanted at least four and possibly five children. So things now were comfortably set for him. If Terry never inspired a grand passion in Vinnie, at least, as he figured it, they got along well.

Vinnie looked at his notes then sighed in disgust. He reached across his cluttered desk to pick up his phone. Grimacing, he held the phone, dreading Terry’s reaction when he cancelled yet again another dinner at her apartment. Though Terry tried to understand Vinnie’s job and its time demands, recently her frustration levels seemed to have grown. Vinnie, who was now considered one of the best in the squad, increasingly found himself being assigned the department’s most complex or sensitive cases. Finally he heard Terry pick up the phone.

“Don’t tell me you have to work,” Terry said without waiting for Vinnie to say anything first. “Again, right?” She continued using a tone of voice that reflected a mixture of both annoyance and dissatisfaction.

“How did you know it was me?” Vinnie asked in a casual tone, hoping to deflect the coming storm for just a minute more. Vinnie hated these scenes that seemed to be happening more often between them as the scope of his job assignments grew. Even their times together were affected by this tension over his long hours. As for the effects on his love life, sex with Terry had always been perfunctory, rather uninspired, and usually without any real heat.

“Caller ID, Vinnie. What else and why else would you call if not to cancel…yet again?” she answered sharply.

“Look, honey, I’m stuck on this new case, and the press guys are on my ass or soon will be. Plus…” he heard the clicking sound on the phone line and the familiar dial tone coming from his receiver. Terry had not only cut him off in mid-sentence, but her reaction spoke volumes on how “understanding” she had become about his current job predicament. “Son of a…” Vinnie groaned as he picked up the official autopsy report, hoping to discover something he’d missed that might provide a lead. Like all reports, this one blandly recited the bare facts of the “opening” (as autopsies were sometimes called by jokers in the law community). Labeling them in this way had the effect of dehumanizing someone who had once been a living human being. It gave the detectives the emotional distance to effectively do their work and, more importantly, to do it objectively. Like all autopsy reports, it’s facts, while valuable, were simply laid out in a terse manner.

Victim is a well-nourished white male, approximately late twenties to early thirties. The body had has bruising in each of the wrist areas, probably as a result of being bound tightly such as to render the victim incapable of using the limbs of his upper body. The impression marks on the surface skin would at first indicate that it was another pair of hands that held the victim’s wrists, but the depth of the underlying tissue damage in those areas was is massive. Injuries of this nature indicates immense pressure which is not consistent with human hands since they are not capable of such directed, powerful, and sustained restraints.

The victim’s back has a large, irregular bruise across the upper shoulder area that points to his being thrust up against some flat surface. It is impossible to ascertain what said surface was at this time.

Tearing around the carotid artery in the neck makes it certain that the victim died of exsanguination. The crime scene, however, showed no blood other than some residue stains consisting of droplets. It is therefore probable that another place may have been the location of the homicide. As a final observation, it should be noted that the body was expertly drained of blood in a manner impossible to determine at the present time.

“Sick bastard,” Vinnie thought as the phone rang on his desk. He picked it up hoping it was Terry but instead he heard the voice of his supervising lieutenant.

“Vinnie, it just came in on the radio. There was another homicide using the same M.O. as our choirboy killer. This time we have two, possibly three, victims done at the same place,” his gruff voice barked.

Posted in Available Books, L.G. Fabbo-Gonnella, Mystery/Romantic Suspense, Novel length, Vampire | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Now Available: A Wizard in Waikiki by A.J. Llewellyn!

Author: A.J. Llewellyn
Series: A Wizard in Waikiki
Genre: Gay Romance, M/M Romance, Paranormal
Imprint: Ai Press
Length: Novella
eISBN: 978-1-937796-65-5

Flame rating: 3 Flames

Cover art: Sid Love

Buy from: Amazon Kindle|AllRomance Ebooks|BN Nook|Google Play

Summoned from the past, Konu rises naked from the sea to reclaim his power for the freedom to live—and love. If the forces of evil don’t get to him first!

On a hot day in Waikiki, beachgoers are stunned when a tall, handsome man rises from the ocean. Striding naked to a small, ringed enclosure containing four huge stones most tourists never even notice, he becomes visibly upset. These are Wizard Stones, positioned between the beach and the foot traffic on Kalakaua Avenue. Konu, the naked man, is agitated by a young Asian girl draping her beach towel over the stones. He’s come a long way, from Tahiti, and is one of the ancient wizards whose power was infused into these sacred stones four hundred years ago.

With the invisible battle between good and evil raging, Konu has been dispatched to help balance the power. Landing in modern-day Waikiki, he’s stunned by the changes – and to find he is alone. A cop tries to arrest him for indecent exposure but the young girl’s grandfather – who thinks Konu’s a homeless lunatic offers him refuge. Will the ancient forces of evil beat this wizard in Waikiki? Or can Konu find his power again, and perhaps…even love?

Publisher’s note: This book was previously published. It has been edited and re-released with Ai Press.


He rose from the cold, dark depths of the ocean, pain and fear eating at him as his human form slowly molded and emerged, begging for air. Precious, sweet air. He needed to breathe. As he stumbled onto the hot sand at last, the heat seared his feet, but the pain in his body vanished as he took deep, gulping breaths. His human form was so astonishing, it struck him as being perfect, even though his feet hurt.

It wasn’t ego. He had been forbidden to enjoy his physical, earthly body for five hundred years.
I am alive. I am human. I am here!

He longed to stand and just… be, to absorb the moment he’d waited for, but Konu sensed the stares of people at the beach. His long, wet black hair clung to his face and shoulders as his gaze took in the mass of bodies… the colorful strips of fabric they wore. He had come a long way. Under cover of darkness, using only the stars for guidance, Konu arrived at the place they called Waikiki. Now, in the late afternoon light, his strength sapped, he’d been forced to leave the sanctity of the sea. He’d tried to wait for night, but he was tired… so tired.

For five hundred years, his soul and those of the four sorcerers he’d worked with, watched and waited.

In the distance, at the edges of the sand, he saw the flash of large beasts… loud sounds, flickering tiki torches, the flashes of smiles. He heard laughter and the jarring sound of a dozen different languages. Then he saw them. All of the sights and sounds stilled. His heart gave a lurch at the sight of the stones.

His stones.

Konu flushed with anger as a woman draped a thick, brightly colored towel over the iron gate and onto one of the four boulders representing the sacred mana of the ancient, fifteenth century wizards—Kapaemahu, Kahaloa, Kapuni and… Kinohi, Konu’s grandfather. Konu had been the fifth wizard, the sacred protector of the stones… until he’d been banished.

“Hey!” the woman shouted as he pulled her wet towel from the iron gate surrounding the stones and tossed it onto the ground.

The word Aloha flashed up at him from the pooled fabric.

Konu narrowed his eyes as his gaze shifted to the woman. Was she the sign he’d been seeking?

He reached in through the bars to touch the boulders. It wasn’t easy. The gate kept a distance between the stones and prying human hands. He glanced at the white pigeons sitting vigil on the rocks. The tiny bird heads turned in his direction. These miniature keepers of the fire looked as exhausted as he felt. They were dirty, unkempt, very sick birds. Konu read their energies. His mind flashed on mass, migratory deaths. These were the survivors. They had flocked to the stones as creatures in trouble always had. They needed his help.

The gate had a small lock that in his normal strength, he could have removed, but he was weakened by the journey. He was relieved that the four wizard stones seemed intact. His heart almost broke at the sight of one very scrawny bird that looked near death as it lay on his grandfather’s rock. The bird kept pecking at itself, biting at a raw wound in its wing. Konu held his hand near the bird, unable to reach it. The bird scuttled a little closer. It tucked its head under its wing and Konu worked his magic. He tried to sense if the bird wanted to live or die, but people were jostling him now, and he had to work fast.

He gave the creature life and with a flap of his hand, produced a few worms on top of the rock face. The bird gobbled quickly. The stone’s supernatural power would restore the bird’s fire-core. Konu grappled to touch the rock. He saw now that people had brought offerings. Purple orchid leis dangled along the gateposts. Somebody had left a shell lei, too. He gingerly stroked it. A recent addition.

Two bronze plaques stood before them. He scanned the writing. He recognized it as English. He had to retrain his mind to read the words.

The voices around him grew loud again as his hand crackled like lightning against the sensing power of the stones. Ah, magic still dwells here. He felt the separate, yet unified, energies of each wizard infused inside the stones. He took a deep breath as his hand came to the last stone, which represented his grandfather. Konu, long exiled from his family, yearned for this sincere connection with Kinohi. His hand neared the stone, but fell on a yellow lei. Ilima, flower of the gods.

He bent his head and wept.

They haven’t forgotten us.

So long he’d waited and now he was here, his emotions had gotten the better of him. He gripped the iron bars for a moment, blinking away the hot tears on his face. He reached out once again, this time touching his grandfather’s stone. A dim stirring from within. The mana was still there. Polluted, but it was there. Sleeping. The stone had sought to protect itself. He understood now why his family had sent him here.

The bird he’d healed stood on wobbly legs. Konu saw that one of them was broken. With another flick of his wrist, he restored the injured foot. The bird glanced at him with one beady eye, hopped to the tallest rock, and settled down to watch him.

“Fly,” Konu said, but the bird remained with its companions.

“He threw my towel down!” the woman beside him shouted. “Somebody get the police. This guy is lolo…he’s crazy!”

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Forever Fearless (Forever Vampire Book 2) by Jeff Erno!

ForeverFearless23Forever Fearless
Author: Jeff Erno
Series: Forever Vampire Book 2
Previous book: Forever Young
Genre: Gay Romance, YA, Young Adult, Paranormal Romance, Vampire
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-61-7
Flame Rating: 3 Flames

Cover art: Les Byerley

Buy from: Amazon Kindle|AllRomance Ebooks|BN Nook|Google Play

The Forever Vampire saga continues…

In the aftermath of unspeakable slaughter, Robbie and Colt have escaped to the wilds of Alaska to face their immortal future. Things aren’t so certain for their sworn enemies, Dylan and Issa, Matarian soldiers sworn to hunt them down and slaughter them.

Dylan is poised to begin his first vampire hunt and wants Issa as his partner, but Issa is far more concerned with finding his brother and tracking down the blond boy who nearly died on the battlefield. The entire cast from book one reunites in this thrilling continuation of their story, joined by a host of new faces–friends and foes–whose lives somehow weave together as they cross paths in their efforts to battle evil and attain their own happiness. Humans, Shifters, Daywalkers, and Purebloods confront each other with the guidance of three enigmatic sisters–one a Maenad, one a necromancer, and the other a human witch. Plot twists and surprises mark the paths of these diverse characters, forever fearless in their quest to cling to all they hold dear.


Chapter One

He woke up screaming, as he’d done nearly every time he tried to sleep. The vivid images played in his head like a movie reel. Relentless, graphic nightmares, or more accurately, flashbacks. The doctor said he was suffering from post-traumatic stress, but she didn’t know the half of it.

Local media had covered the story, labeling it a bizarre wolf attack in which eighteen campers had been killed and another two dozen injured. Issa knew the truth. They all knew, all of the witnesses. There’d been a wolf attack, all right, but those were not ordinary wolves. And in the wake of the confrontation, they’d left carnage unlike anything Issa could have imagined. Body parts strewn everywhere, so badly that many of the victims were not even recognizable.

Worse than these gruesome images were Issa’s memories of the vampire slayings. He thought he’d been prepared. He’d learned all his lessons, completed hours of target practice, and had even watched graphic videos. Sure, he knew it would be bloody, and he knew that ripping a vampire’s heart from its chest was no job for the squeamish. Yet, there was nothing that could have prepared him for seeing it all in living color.

If he knew anything with certainty, it was the fact that he wasn’t cut out for the job. He had no desire to ever again see what he’d witnessed that night, and he definitely was no vampire slayer.
Shockwaves had rippled through the Matarian community as word of the tragedy quickly spread. An emergency meeting had been called to assess the losses and to discuss an appropriate response. The devastation affected every Matarian family, but most significantly those who’d lost a young loved one.

Issa knew all of the victims. They’d been his classmates. His sixteen year old classmates. Boot camp was a Matarian rite of passage, one every Matarian child looked forward to. This pivotal juncture provided transition from youthful fantasies of vampire slaying to the reality of actual field work. Completion of boot camp culminated with a graduation ceremony followed by the assignments of the cadets’ first hunts.

But there’d been no ceremony this year. Instead, the entire community gathered for a massive memorial service. Even the successful vampire slayings, normally a cause for great celebration, hadn’t offset the tragic losses.

“It’s a war,” Issa’s father calmly stated, “and people die in wars.”

“Children, Ibrahim. They were but children,” his mother pointed out.

Sadly, Issa knew many in the community shared his father’s sentiments. Rather than giving them pause and leading them to contemplate the senseless killings, the tragedy had enraged them and made them even more bloodthirsty. Talk of revenge already ran rampant, and now a new enemy had been added to the list. Matarians not only fought the vampires, but also the werewolves.

The deaths of Issa’s brethren lay heavy on his heart, yet he did not yearn for revenge. In fact, he didn’t blame the vampires or the wolves. He knew why they’d come. They were on a rescue mission, there to free the prisoners the Matarians were heartlessly torturing. When stormed by an army of battle-ready cadets, they responded, and many lives were lost.

And the tragedy had cut both ways. At least four from the other side had been mortally wounded, a wolf, two vampires, and a human. Issa had heard the jubilant cheers from his fellow Matarian warriors as the vampires were felled, and the memory sickened him. Brendan and Richard were a couple, and they’d loved each other very much. They’d been together for years—at least decades, if not centuries.

To Issa, their relationship didn’t seem so different than what he shared with Dylan. According to the Matarian teachings, vampires were bloodsucking monsters, not even human, and most people didn’t think they were really even capable of love. Driven solely by their hunger, personal relationships were secondary to them. In most instances, they were solitary creatures who existed only for the purpose of feeding. Killing machines, and nothing more.

But Issa knew otherwise. He knew from his conversation with Brendan. He knew because he’d seen how Richard had reacted when reunited with his lover. And he’d witnessed a similar connection between the young-looking vampire and the human—the little blond kid. Christ, he didn’t look any older than the cadets. Robbie, was it?

The vampire was in love with the boy. Issa could only speculate as to what had become of them. Perhaps they’d made it to safety in time, but if so, that would imply Robbie had been converted. Surely, he wouldn’t have survived an arrow through his heart.

Issa didn’t want to know. He couldn’t bear the possibility that the kid, so obviously in love, had sacrificed himself for his lover. And even if he had somehow been saved, he didn’t want to think about what that would mean. They’d be targets. Sitting ducks. The Matarian army was already planning an all-out war, a massive and sweeping retaliatory strike. They were intent upon eradicating all vampires worldwide, once and for all.

But the elders didn’t even know the whole story. Only Dylan and Issa were aware of all that had transpired that night. They were the only Matarians to witness Raoul and Shadi.

“You can’t tell,” Issa had pleaded. “If they find out, they’ll hunt them down and kill my brother.”

“Issa, he’s no longer your brother.” Dylan tried to reason with him. “He’s a Pureblood vampire. He isn’t even human, and he has no loyalty to you or your family.”

“What if it were your brother?”

Dylan took a step back, then slowly nodded. Issa knew how close Dylan was to his brother Taylor. He’d never turn his back on his own flesh and blood, no matter the circumstances. Finally, he sighed. “All right, I won’t tell. But it has to end here. From this point forward, Shadi no longer exists. As far as we’re concerned, he’s gone forever.”

Issa nodded his agreement, but didn’t verbalize a response. He could never make such a promise, not even to Dylan. Shadi was his brother, and Issa couldn’t just pretend he was dead. Though it might not immediately be possible, one day he’d find his brother and they’d have their reunion. In the meantime, he had to find a way to forgive himself for all that had happened. He had to somehow make the nightmares stop so he could go on with his life, so he could concentrate on his future with Dylan.

As he lay alone in his dark room, he thought on these things and stared up at the ceiling. “I’ll find you again, Shadi,” he whispered.

Posted in Available Books, Jeff Erno, Novel length, Vampire, Young Adult | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Now available: Men of Tokyo: Sudden Bliss

MenofTokyo Desires23Men of Tokyo: Sudden Bliss
Author: Sedonia Guillone
Series: White Tigers – Book 1
Previous book: Men of Tokyo: Forbidden Cravings (Prequel)
Genre: Gay romance; Yaoi; M/M
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-57-0

Print ISBN: 978-1-937796-58-7

Buy from: Amazon and read free for Kindle Subscribers!

Cover art: Les Byerley

In a world where passion and spirit find union, there is no in between…

Desperately in need of a vacation, Koji spends the most deliciously erotic week of his life at the White Tiger, a luxurious love-hotel for gay men. Naoto, his personal attendant, is everything Koji has ever fantasised about: muscular, long-haired, ruggedly handsome, gentle yet commanding. Naoto is a White Tiger, after all, trained in the erotic arts, knowledgeable in every way to bring a man to bliss.

Naoto’s appreciative eye sees the honourable and sexy man Koji-san is under the work-driven shell. Little by little, his massages and more coax the real man, the passionate, artistic, sex-loving Koji, to the surface. Yet, the more time Naoto spends with Koji, the more he finds his own soul craving a partner again, the one thing he thought he’d never find after his lover was killed three years ago. He’s not sure he’s ready to get that close again. And even if he were ready, it doesn’t mean that Koji wants the same thing. In fact, Koji once mentioned that he was supposed to get married. Yet, when an agonising secret from Naoto’s past is revealed to him, Naoto wants only to turn to Koji.

When Naoto comes to him for help, Koji is suddenly faced with a harrowing decision: remain in his work-driven, soul-killing world or follow the path his body and heart have really chosen for him? And he must choose – for in a world where passion and spirit find union, there is no in between.


“This is your time to relax, Watanabe-san.” Naoto kept his voice a soft murmur as he let his protective desire to nurture another man in distress come out. That was one of the things he was good at. Otherwise, Kiku wouldn’t have given him what was appearing to be a hard case. “Everything you could want or need is here while you’re our guest. Everything.” With the last word, Naoto let his hand rest briefly on the other man’s chest.

Koji Watanabe didn’t answer but Naoto could see that his eyes, for the first time seemed to focus for more than a couple of seconds.

It was then that Naoto had a glimpse of what Watanabe might look like if he hadn’t been so haggard. Large dark eyes with thick lashes drew his gaze. He followed the straight bridge of his nose to the nostrils, which widened slightly at the end. The high cheekbones that looked a bit too sharp now would probably give him a kind of star quality when he’d put on a few pounds, as would the light gold of his complexion when less sallow.

The one thing that stood out, untarnished by stress, was his lips. Firm yet full, a dusky pink and beautifully shaped, like a slightly pulled back bow, there was one word for Koji Watanabe’s lips—kissable. Well, maybe lickable and suckable too. Naoto caught himself staring a moment longer than was appropriate.

Oh, and Watanabe’s hair, cut in a typically conventional office-guy style, short around the sides and barely longer on top, was also really beautiful. Just long enough to sift one’s fingers through, if given a chance.

Naoto’s heartbeat had kicked up a notch. He had always been a close observer and admirer of the male face and form, and it was clear this man was better looking than most of the men he serviced. Of course, there were good-looking guys that came in, but only once in a while did one have a certain something that gave him that…feeling…

Firmly putting his attention back on the task at hand, he dared to work open the top button at Watanabe’s collar. A small expanse of pale gold skin peeked through, making Naoto suddenly itch to see more. To see what the rest of Koji Watanabe looked like. “Is that better, Watanabe-san?”

Now he caught the other man looking directly into his eyes. Watanabe’s lips had parted slightly and his breathing sounded shallow. “You have long hair,” he said, then shook himself as if starting from a trance. “I—I’m sorry, I meant please, call me Koji.” Then he covered his face with both hands and slumped over. “I don’t know what I meant.”

Naoto stared at the top of Koji-san’s head, at the beautifully-shaped fingers peeking out from where they were buried in his hair. How he yearned to pull the man to him. But he held back, sensing Koji-san might not be ready. “You have no need to apologise. If you prefer a man with short hair we can—”

Koji-san’s head shot up, eyes wide. “No! I’m sorry. It wasn’t a complaint.” His breath started to come in short bursts and his pale face grew even paler.

Anxiety. Naoto recognised the signs. If Koji-san was as work-ridden as he appeared, he was probably in withdrawal. It wasn’t uncommon among the guests who came here, especially the Japanese men. “Koji-san,” he said, keeping his tone soothing. His hands came up and he rubbed the other man’s shoulders. Through the thin white shirt, Koji-san’s muscles were wiry, though also a bit too thin. “There is nothing to apologise for.”

“This was so wrong. So wrong. I should be there.” The words tumbled from Koji-san’s lips and his eyes were wide with that haunted look.

“It’s all right, Koji-san.” Without thinking, Naoto rose higher on his knees and embraced the slimmer man. Koji-san was trembling as if he’d been outside in snow without any clothing on and his breathing had that choked sound Naoto had heard men make in terrible circumstances…like when they actually were dying…from gunshot wounds.

He rubbed the man’s back in gentle circles and tilted his head aside so Koji-san’s forehead could rest on his shoulder, all the while trying to erase the image of his lover’s gunshot wound. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see, Koji-san. I know it will.” He kept rubbing, feeling the wiry muscles of the other man’s back flex as his body trembled and shook. The poor guy was a basket case. It was going to take much more than a massage with a happy ending to help him unwind.

Naoto held the other man for what seemed a long time, rubbing his back and just simply letting his anxiety attack run its course. Venturing one hand upward, he massaged the nape of Koji-san’s neck. The man had a gracefully curved neck. Naoto had noticed it when unbuttoning his collar, and the skin there was warm and smooth. Not only that, but he smelled good, like clean laundry and soap with just a hint of male musk.

Posted in Available Books, Novel length, Sedonia Guillone, Tokyo Beat (Yaoi) | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment