Now Available: Men of Tokyo: Forbidden Cravings

MenofTokyo23Men of Tokyo: Forbidden Cravings
Author: Sedonia Guillone
Genre: M/M; Gay Romance; Twins
Series: White Tigers – Prequel
Series order: Men of Tokyo: Sudden Bliss|Men of Tokyo: Sudden Surrender|Yin Yang|Men of Phuket: Tongue-Thai’d|Men of Tokyo: Sudden Heat|Men of Phuket: Thai’ing the Knot (Visit here.
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-35-8
MSRP: 7.49
You pay: 4.49

Cover art: Les Byerley

**Content warning: If “twincest” makes you uncomfortable, don’t read this book.

Buy from: Amazon Kindle and read free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers!

Some cravings will not be denied, no matter how taboo…

Due to popular demand, Mod and Tatou, the hot identical twins who are an integral part of the White Tigers series finally have their own story told. On the surface, they’re mischievous and funny, good friends and a comfort to their fellow White Tigers when they go through life’s trials and pains. But there is more to these two underneath their gorgeous exteriors. They had their own path to the White Tiger, a path fraught with difficulty, self- criticism, challenges and struggles. After all, they couldn’t be in love with each other, want no other in every way possible and not feel conflicted right? So when the opportunity arose to practice the spiritually erotic path of the White Tiger in Tokyo, a place where they hoped to “cure” themselves of their problem, they jumped on it.

However, as they both learned, the heart loves who it loves and they will be faced with the ultimate decision: give the heart what it wants or face the possibility of an unfulfilled yet “normal” life where they are acceptable? Now that they’ve had a taste of heaven, they might just not be able to give it up!


Chapter One
London, England a few years back

“Mod, what the hell? You’ve got to be taking the piss!” The indecent proposal he’d just passed along could not be real. Not from Angie, who’d been their mate since third form and had followed them to Uni.

Mod laughed. “I swear, T, I’m not!”

Tatou stared at his brother. Like looking into a mirror really, except that their mother’s Thai features were more obvious on him. Mod’s dark eyes were a touch narrower. And the grin on his full, pouty lips was always slightly more mischievous. The way he always slicked his black hair up into a fauxhawk only emphasized his devilish appearance. At least Tatou thought so. “Then Angie’s taking the piss. These girls are mates.”

In the main room of the suite, the girls’ pajama party Angela had invited them to rang on. Some mates. Mild-mannered women by day, they’d transformed into ten horny college birds, giggling. An occasional cackle.

Mod took a swig of his beer and clapped him on the back. “Ask her yourself, T. She swears it wasn’t her idea. Someone who finds the two of us quite fit asked her to pass the offer along.” He hooked his arm so that Tatou’s neck rested in its crook, and pressed their cheeks together, giving Tatou a whiff of his cologne. Spicy. Too good. “Just think, T, a hundred quid for a few seconds’ snog.”

Tatou wrenched out of his brother’s loose hold, but not before a frisson went through parts of him it shouldn’t have, parts he’d worked bloody hard to keep under control for a long time. “There are so many reasons we shouldn’t do that.”

“Hey, guys!” Angie’s voice shot from the room followed by another shriek of laughter. The volume in the already incense and music-filled room rose. The natives were getting restless. And they wanted what a hundred quid would buy them.

That did nothing to wipe away Mod’s shit-eating grin. The barmy bugger. He was always up for anything. But this? Did he really mean to tempt fate this way? A terribly disturbing thought flashed into his mind and he prayed that Mod would be drunk enough not to play the one card that might get him to give in to Angie’s request.

“Name one reason, T.” Shit, Mod was determined to push him.

“Well, first of all, Moddie, taking money for sexual activity is prostitution.”

That pulled a throaty laugh from his heavily-buzzed brother. “The world’s oldest profession. Nothing to scoff at. Okay, T. And what are the other reasons?”

“Well, there’s one other, really.” Tatou stepped in closer. Gay they both were, but that didn’t mean you sucked face with your own brother. He had spent too much time and energy training himself to block that track in his thoughts since his mind tried ever so hard to go there and to bring his body with it. “In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re my brother? There’ve got to be a few injunctions in the Bible that tell us exactly where we’re going to end up if we snog. Especially for a room full of horny chicks.”

For the first time since Mod had pulled him out of the party room to tell him what Angie and her fellow suite mates wanted, his grin faded. “I don’t see the problem in that. We have our own forms of affection, or have you forgotten?” He leaned in and nuzzled Tatou’s cheek. His brother’s soft lips made his skin tingle. And other body parts that would remain nameless. He closed his eyes. They’d shared a room in their family’s tiny flat all their lives and often helped each other fall asleep by what they called “fitting.” It had only been here at Uni that they only occasionally practiced fitting which of course, required that one of them climb out of his own bed and get into the other’s. Truthfully, he missed the closeness. They were best friends. Didn’t go anywhere apart. Not even meals. Only once in a while they took a course for their majors that was different. Not even dating, limited though it had been so far in their twenty-two years. An occasional threesome in which the third guy was the focus, not each other. They really were two halves of one whole.

But now, it was time to be…normal. If he had anything to say about it, he and Mod would each find their own guy and settle down. In neighboring flats, perhaps, so they’d always be close by to each other, but not with each other. Being in school, so many people in the dorm all the time had kept them both…apart, you could say. Kissing was not going to help. Then Mod’s nuzzling lips feathered a trail toward his ear, toward the sensitive flesh of his earlobe…

With a hand on Mod’s chest, Tatou pushed him so that Mod was forced to take a step back. “Forget it.”

“There you guys are! What’s going on? The girls are going to come after you if you take any longer.” Angie, dressed in a pink silky nightgown and fuzzy slippers, danced her blonde-headed way over and put her arms around both their shoulders, swaying in time to the bass beat that made the floorboards vibrate. “I’ve got the collection going already. And…” She lifted her head up, a triumphant gleam in her hazel eyes, “There’s another fifty quid in it if you take your shirts off.”

Mod’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell!” He turned on Tatou. “T, if you don’t do this, you’re the bloodiest prat ever!” He narrowed his eyes. “Forget your stupid ideas of hell and damnation. We need this money for our trip!”

Dammit. Mod hadn’t been too drunk to play the trip card. Tatou exhaled. Their graduation present to themselves, partially funded by Mum and Dad after graduation. A whole summer in Japan. At that special place in Tokyo Mod had found on the Net. Honestly, they were headed for one of the most expensive cities in the world. They could use all the extra dosh they could get. That hundred and fifty quid would go right into their travel fund. He heaved a sigh. Mod wanted to go to this place more than he did but he never went anywhere without Mod. If he refused and made things more difficult, he’d hurt Mod’s dream and that was something he never wanted to do. Not to the person he loved and admired most in the whole world. Even if it meant…shattering what bit of self-control he’d been able to muster. Fuck’s sake. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Angie let out a girl squeal. “This is going to be so hot!” She hooked her arms through both of theirs and led them back into the crowded room.

Shite. The common room of Angie’s suite looked more like what Tatou imagined the inside of Chippendale’s looked like on a weekend night, except that the patrons were dressed in nightgowns, pajamas and slippers and were draped all over the sofas, chairs and floor of the suite’s common room, full of pillows and blankets. With a few stuffed animals thrown in. The shrieks of delight drowned out the music as Angie led them to the front of the room where there was a small space away from the heat generated by all those horny girls hungering to watch a guy kiss.

The sight made his heart pound and throat tighten. His mind fogged and his vision blurred. Up until this moment, he’d been as much the impish tease in their group of friends as Mod was, sometimes more so. Now, with all those pairs of female eyes on him and his brother, knowing what they wanted, were giving up fifteen quid apiece for, what was more nerve-racking? All this lustful attention and expectation, or the fact that he was about to break his personal taboo? Kissing…with their shirts off no less!

A hand clapped on his shoulder. He turned.

Mod was grinning at him, the corner of his full lips turned up. “C’mon, mate, let’s give ‘em their money’s worth, eh?” Before Tatou could answer, Mod released his shoulder. His hands went to the hem of his own T-shirt, lifted it off and flung it aside in one swoop. Eliciting, of course, another chorus of feminine catcalls.

Tatou glanced at his brother’s slim torso. Another shiver of electric heat travelled through him. Am I really so narcissistic that Mod turns me on?

Mod stepped up to him. “You’re taking too long,” he said and grasped two fistfuls of Tatou’s shirt. A sharp yank forced Tatou’s arms up and before he knew it, the air of the room hit his bare skin and another round of lusty girl cheers pounded through his head. These girls were mates but he swore he didn’t recognize them now, a feral lot of she-wolves in heat.

But then Mod’s hands closed around his upper arms and Mod’s dark eyes bore into his. The mischievous gleam he knew so well shone out of them, a direct reflection of his own, of course. But in private, they had their own world, a communication that didn’t need words. Whatever Mod really felt about what they were doing would surely come out later once they were back in their own room two floors below this one. Especially if he thought Tatou was mad at him for it. Cheeky as Mod was, his brother’s concerns were his and he cared. Always cared…

Tatou’s gaze fell on Mod’s lips. His consciousness registered that the room had grown quiet, except for the music, which had fallen to a slow dance kind of love ballad.

Wordlessly, Mod pulled him close. Their bare chests touched, then pressed. Warm skin grew warmer from their combined heat. The embrace forced Tatou’s arms out. At first he let them hang at his sides, but then the pressure was too much. This trip meant everything to Mod… The moment took over and he reached around…let his hands rest on the small of Mod’s back. The hard ridges of muscles along Mod’s spine met his fingertips. Tan-hued skin, smooth and perfect. Even though their dad was English, there were some Mediterranean ancestors mixed in so the golden hue and shiny, dark hair came from him as well as Mum.

Mod leaned in and pressed his lips on the side of Tatou’s neck. Tatou’s eyelids fluttered. That felt too good and he tilted his head. Mod feathered a small kiss there, right over the pulse, then licked. Tatou let out a breath and squeezed Mod’s back. Good thing their fronts were pressed together or all these women would get an eyeful of a hard-on growing in the front of his jeans. Their audience was getting well more than a hundred fifty quid’s worth as far as he was concerned.

Posted in Available Books, Novel length, Sedonia Guillone | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Ai Press – The Finest in Gay Romance Novels

HisBeautifulSamurai24Whether you love mystery, paranormal, contemporary, or YA, Ai Press offers heartfelt yet sizzling gay romances from some of today’s hottest authors. Sedonia Guillone, D.H. Starr, Mya to name a few.Embraced-Sun23

If you love YA gay romance, Ai Press offers a growing line of YA titles by popular authors Jeff Erno and John H. Ames.SurvivingEHSLJ23ForeverYoung23web

For fans of yaoi, we have something specialat Ai Press. Our Tokyo Beat line offers yaoi-inspired fiction, series with hot yaoi artwork as well as stories that will feed your craving for this style of gay romances.Big Deal Lesson in betrayal 23soysauceface Please come check out all Ai Press has to offer in gay romances – novels, novellas, series and short stories to feed your craving for the best in M/M erotic romance!

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Forever Young

ForeverYoung23webForever Young
Author: Jeff Erno
Genre: YA-M/M-Vampire
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-32-7
MSRP: 6.99
You Pay: 4.99

Cover art: Les Byerley

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

In less than a summer, shy and introverted Robbie Myers goes from eighteen and never been kissed to the passionate intensity of first love that could last forever. Literally…

Eighteen-year-old Robbie Myers has difficulty talking to people. Not only is he shy, but he seems to say the wrong thing every time he opens his mouth, especially to the mysterious, handsome stranger who shows up at his supermarket job, defends him from an aggressive colleague and then asks him on a date. He can’t believe a hot, worldly badboy like seventeen-year-old Colt Abernathy is actually interested. Yet he can’t deny that the ardor burning in Colt’s dark eyes is just for him. In the space of one breath, Robbie is launched from his plan to attend community college while living at home with his mom and saving up for a car to the tender yet passionate exploration of intense first love. Little does Robbie know…

Brought across during the height of the Civil War, Colt has remained trapped in the body of a lonely seventeen year old. When he spots the slim, blond-haired, blue eyed young man, pushing a line of shopping carts across a parking lot, Colt knows instantly they’re destined for each other. There’s just one major problem: if he survives the impending battle between vampires and the Matarians – an army of brutal vampire slayers – he’s going to live forever. Robbie isn’t…


As Robbie stepped outside, he decided to wait around a couple minutes to see what happened with Jerry. If he actually were to be fired, Robbie would see him come out. He stood by the entrance where he still had a clear view of the check stands through the window. About three minutes later, he saw Jerry return to his work area. He began scurrying about, replenishing the bag supply at each check lane. Robbie was relieved. Apparently Jerry hadn’t been canned. He probably just got a lecture and a stern warning from Wandrie.

Most of the other kids who worked at the store didn’t like Mr. Wandrie all that much. They all made fun of him behind his back, probably just because he was the boss. As far as Robbie was concerned, Mr. Wandrie was a pretty decent guy. There were days when the man seemed kind of grouchy, but that was true of everyone.

Robbie wondered for a moment if Mr. Wandrie had heard Jerry call him a faggot. Well, he must have heard. It made Robbie embarrassed, and he hoped Mr. Wandrie didn’t get the wrong idea about him. That’s what guys like Jerry called other people, especially when they were mad. It didn’t really mean anything. It was like when people said something was “gay” just because they didn’t like it. It was like a figure of speech or something.

To be honest, it kind of hurt his feelings. He didn’t understand why Jerry would say something like that to him. Was it that obvious that he was…
“You haven’t left yet?”

Robbie jumped, startled by the voice behind him. He turned to face the kid he saw earlier, the one with the leather jacket. “Oh gosh, you scared me.”

“Sorry, dude.” Leather jacket boy laughed. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya.”

“I thought Jerry was getting fired,” Robbie said. “He got called into the manager’s office.”

The kid nodded. “Good. It’s about time.”

“Oh. Um, I didn’t want him to get in trouble or anything. I definitely didn’t want him to, ya know, lose his job.”

“Why not? He’s lazy.”

Robbie shrugged. “He said he wasn’t feeling well.”

Leather jacket boy again laughed. “You’re a pretty…how should I say it…trusting person. Aren’t you?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I guess so.”

“Well, Robbie, I think you should be careful. Some people aren’t all that trustworthy.”
Robbie looked at him. His eyes were darker than before, now almost black. Perhaps it was due to the dim lighting. “How’d you know my name?”

“You were wearing a name badge. I read it before, when you were out here pushing the carts.”


“My name’s Colt, by the way.”

“Really?” Robbie smiled, then instantly realized how rude he must’ve sounded. “Sorry, I’ve never heard of anyone with that name.”

“Short for Colton. It’s a family name, and don’t be sorry. It is kinda unusual.”

“Oh, well I like it.” As his new friend looked him in the eye, Robbie felt himself flush.

“Uh, I mean…well, it’s a cool name.”

Colt stepped closer to him, now within Robbie’s personal space. “So you’re done with your shift now?”

Robbie nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered.

“You waitin’ for a ride or something?”

“Nah. I just live a couple blocks from here, over in the trailer park.”

“Cool.” Colton smiled. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to!” Robbie blurted out. “Uh, I mean, that’s nice of you, but—”

“I know I don’t have to, but what if I want to?”

Why would he want to walk me home? Robbie wasn’t exactly sure what it was about this guy, but he really liked him. Perhaps it was how sexy he looked in that leather jacket. Maybe it was his eyes, so dark and mysterious, or the deep resonance of his voice.

“Okay. It’s up to you.”

Colt reached down and scooped up the backpack Robbie had placed beside him on the pavement. “Lead the way.”

Robbie laughed. “You don’t have to carry that, ya know. I can manage.”

“I want to carry it,” Colt said, his voice firm with confidence. “I can tell already you’re a really good person, someone I’d like to have as a friend.”

“Thanks.” Robbie couldn’t believe this guy was being so nice, and the attention made him feel a bit overwhelmed. He was sexy and charming, almost too good to be true. “But you really know nothing about me. For all you know, I could be a murderer or something.”

Colt laughed a little more enthusiastically than Robbie expected. “That’s a good one.” He slapped his palm against Robbie’s shoulder, then squeezed it affectionately. Robbie felt his cheeks grow hot.

They walked together a ways, Robbie leading the way. Robbie wasn’t sure what to say to his new friend, how to keep the conversation going. “I guess you’re saying I don’t seem all that dangerous.”

“Well, dude, to be honest, no you don’t. And you seem like the kinda guy who’s so nice that people probably sometimes take advantage of you.”

Colt was beginning to sound like his mom. “Maybe.” He nodded. “But I guess I’d rather people considered me too nice than too mean.”

“True. But you gotta be careful. Being nice ain’t the same as being gullible. You still have to stand up for yourself and not let people use you.”

“Like Jerry.” Robbie knew what Colt was saying to be true, but it just wasn’t in his nature to argue with people.

“Yeah, like that jerk. He obviously wasn’t sick. He was just trying to bully you into working overtime so he could go home.”

Robbie nodded then hung his head. “Hey, how’d you know Jerry said he was sick?”

“You told me when we were back at the store.”

“I did?” Robbie didn’t remember. “Are you new here? Do you live in the park too?”

“Nah, don’t live in the park, but I’m new to Boyne. Just moved here last week.”

“Oh wow. So you’ll be going to school here, or are you in college?”

Colt shook his head. “I don’t go to school or college. I already graduated.”

“Oh, I thought you looked about my age. I just graduated last month.”

“I got home-schooled,” Colt said. “My folks didn’t like the public schools. How old do you think I look?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t want to answer for fear of guessing wrong. “Seventeen maybe.”

Colt laughed. “You’re way off.”

“Sorry, I’m not good at guessing people’s ages.”

“I’m way older than seventeen,” Colt said, still smiling. “Way older. Would you believe I’m a hundred sixty-seven?”

Robbie cracked up. “Wow, you look great for your age. You must have a fantastic diet and exercise regimen.”

“Oh, I do.” He winked then draped an arm over Robbie’s shoulder. “Mostly a liquid diet.”

Robbie turned to him, inhaling as he did so, and immediately noticed how enticing Colt smelled. He was wearing some sort of sandalwood fragrance. He stopped walking and looked into his friend’s eyes. They seemed much darker than before, but perhaps it was due to the dim lighting of the lampposts around them.

“How old are you really?” Robbie whispered.

“I was seventeen last time I checked.” Colt’s voice was now softer, sultry.

Posted in Available Books, Jeff Erno, Vampire, Young Adult | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

Beautiful Samurai, White Tiger

Bsamuraiweb23Beautiful Samurai, White Tiger
Author: Sedonia Guillone
Series: Genjin/Holmes Mysteries #2
Genre: M/M; Mystery; Romantic Suspense
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-33-4
MSRP: 7.99
You pay: 4.99

Cover art: Les Byerley

Buy from Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks

Publisher’s note: This book was previous published in 2008 by Torquere Press. It has been revised for re-release.

Japanese police inspector Toshi and his American partner John are back in this sequel to His Beautiful Samurai. Toshi and John are still reeling from their last adventure, dealing with family issues and trying to get ready for Toshi’s uncle’s funeral. Toshi’s uncle died with a secret that’s kept Toshi tied to his family, unable to fulfill his own life.

During the funeral preparations, his uncle’s dear friend and former lover, Tokuma comes to Toshi for help. Fearing his nephew Yuzo has been kidnapped by the Yakuza, Tokuma asks Toshi and John to look into the young man’s disappearance. Their investigation takes them into the murky underworld of the Japanese mob, and eventually leads them undercover to the temple of the White Tiger, a place of spirituality, love and danger. Learning the ways of the White Tiger opens John up to his psychic ability in unexpected ways, and brings the lovers closer than they ever thought possible. Through a series of unbelievably erotic encounters, John and Toshi learn the power of their love, and begin to believe that they can overcome anything, from Toshi’s disapproving family to the mystery of the missing nephew. Can they find Yuzo before it’s too late? Sedonia Guillone is the author of His Beautiful Samurai and My Hot Muse, stories that blend high eroticism with tender characters to create unique and powerful romances.



With his eyes still closed, Yuzo rolled over to snuggle against the warmth of his lover’s body. His arms met cool sheets and empty space.

He opened his eyes and threw back the covers. “What the—”

A hand clamped over his mouth. Iron strength gripped Yuzo from behind, pinning his arms to his body. Yuzo thrashed and twisted but the hand over his mouth had a cloth…smelled sharp. Must…get…away… Lead filled his body. So…hard…to move.

His eyelids shuttered and everything went black…

Agh… The pain in Yuzo’s head was blinding. No…he was blind! Something heavy pressed on his eyelids. He opened his mouth to yell but the same pressure filled his mouth. Seconds passed before he realized his tongue was resting against the fuzz of cloth. Blindfolded. Gagged. The reality slammed through the blackness.

Nande? What the hell was happening?

His heart began to race and sweat erupted on his skin, heating it and whatever he was lying on. He tried to shift his body, tried to get up. More restraints squeezed his wrists and ankles. Spread-eagled, bound, and…naked, except for what felt like a light sheet covering him. He was trussed up like a chicken for the slaughter. Kuso! Shit!

Think, Yuzo think. He heaved several breaths around the gag and forced himself to relax. After all, a calm mind in the midst of turmoil was what Kiku had been teaching him at the White Tiger, wasn’t it?

Kiku! He had to know by now that Yuzo was missing. He’d be searching for him. Just to wait and survive until then.

Yuzo listened for sounds. The occasional honk of a car horn punctuated the quiet. The low rumble of an airplane passing over. The air smelled like fish frying in oil.

Footsteps sounded from a small distance and he heard the click of a door being opened. He caught his breath, his body tensed like wires.

“Yuzo, I’m sorry.”

Yuzo’s blood froze. Was this possible? Was this fucking possible? He grunted and pulled against the bonds. Had his mouth been free he would have screamed.

“I had to do this, Yuzo. You need to learn not to talk.”

Chapter One

Tokuma knelt in seiza before a photograph of the man he’d loved. Seated on his heels, palms resting on his thighs, Tokuma raised his gaze to Musashi Genjin’s face. Tokuma’s heart still burned for Musashi, even though so many years had passed since they’d last lain in each other’s arms, since he’d last tasted Musashi’s kiss.

The photograph, taken in 1944 just before they’d gone into combat, showed Musashi at age twenty. He looked dashing, proud, and yet kind. His high cheekbones brought one’s gaze to his dark, soulful eyes. But it had been Musashi’s lips that Tokuma loved the most. Narrow yet full and soft, a shadow of beard around them.

A wave of longing and grief washed through Tokuma. He and Musashi had spent only brief moments together these past two years and yet, just knowing Musashi was alive, sharing the earth with him, had helped. Now, Musashi was gone, dead of a heart attack.

“I miss you so,” he whispered to the photograph. He gazed at the photograph, as if the handsome young man in the picture would answer him. “Musashi,” he continued after a long silence. “My nephew, Yuzo, is missing.”

Tokuma sighed. Before Yuzo was born, Tokuma hadn’t understood Musashi’s attachment to his nephew, Toshiro. Tokuma had held their bond responsible for damaging his and Musashi’s relationship, but after Yuzo was born Tokuma came to love his sister’s son fiercely, wanting to spoil and protect him the way Musashi did with Toshiro.

Tokuma glanced at the newspaper on the floor beside him. Tokyo Police Catch Ronin Killer the headline read. Six months ago, when the killings had begun in East Tokyo, Musashi had told him that his nephew, Toshiro, was the detective on the case.

It had been the last time Tokuma and Musashi had spoken, and Musashi had bragged of Toshiro’s great skill as a detective. Toshiro-san would be at his uncle’s funeral.

Tokuma’s chest tightened painfully. How disrespectful it was to ask Toshiro-san for his help at a time like this. Would that he had somewhere else to turn. But there was no one else.

He had visited the White Tiger himself when Yuzo did not make his regular weekly visit. The priest…or whatever he was…had told him that Yuzo had gone away on his own, not wanting anyone to know his whereabouts. Tokuma did not believe this man, Kikuchiya Fujimara. Fujimara hadn’t seemed very troubled by Yuzo’s absence and Tokuma felt in his bones the man had been lying. Tokuma’s deepest intuition told him that Fujimara knew exactly where Yuzo was. But Fujimara had once been a gnagster, a yakuza. His past was evidenced by the full body tattoos that had peeped out from under his clothing when the man had turned a certain angle. Having been an actor for years, Tokuma had become a keen observer of human beings and their body language. Only this kind of deceit and alarm could provoke Tokuma to bother Musashi’s nephew at a time of such grief. Something had happened to his beloved nephew. Maybe something terrible.

Tokuma’s heart squeezed. “Musashi, you are the only one who has known Yuzo’s secret. I believe that your nephew will not judge, if he is anything like you.” He hated revealing Yuzo’s secret, but how else could anyone search for him?

Yuzo’s parents didn’t even know their son was missing. Nor would they have cared, not having spoken with him in two years. Better that way. If his sister and brother-in-law had known about their son’s activities in the White Tiger, a gay men’s hotel that also served as some kind of spiritual community for its residents, they would have only been ashamed and locked him up somewhere so that head-doctors could poke around in his mind, heedless of the sensitive young man’s spirit.

Tokuma stared at Musashi’s photograph a moment longer. “How will I endure the remainder of my years without you, my beloved Musashi?” Speaking the question out loud made his heart ache again. He closed his eyes and bowed low, hands on the tatami, his forehead touching the floor. Words would never suffice to express all that Musashi had meant to him. Or erase the shame and pain over the way he had treated his first and only great love. How much time he had wasted because of his own selfish desires.

Tokuma straightened, resumed seiza. His gaze never left Musashi’s handsome face, his lover’s youth and beauty captured in the fading black and white photograph. Musashi would have helped him. And so, he could only hope that Musashi’s nephew would do the same.
* * * * *
The jeep ground along the sand. The endless, desert sunlight was blinding, making John’s eyeballs feel like they would melt out of his skull. Christmas in the Persian Gulf. What a joy. It was definitely time for some humor.

He turned to Private Ganz in the driver’s seat. “Hey, Ganz.”

“Yes, Sergeant?”

John smiled. “You heard this one? This guy’s wife has been begging him to change a light bulb for two weeks because she can’t reach it and he just keeps saying, ‘Who the hell do I look like, Thomas Edison?’”

Ganz glanced over and John grinned back at him.

“So one day he comes home and his wife tells him, ‘I told Joe next door that if he changed the light bulb for me, I’d either give him a blow job or bake him a cake.’ The husband says, ‘Holy shit, you baked him a cake, right?’ And the wife answers, ‘Who the hell do I look like, Betty Crocker?’”

Ganz laughed. “That was a good one, Sergeant. I’ll have to tell the wife—


Blinding lights.

Searing heat.

John felt his body sail through the air. He hit the sand with bone-jolting impact and rolled over. He recovered himself just in time to see the jeep encased in flames.

“Dan!” John scrambled to his feet, tried to get close enough to pull Ganz out, but couldn’t. He shielded his face from the blaze with a forearm, but not before he caught sight of the dark outline of a human body as flames devoured it.


“John, John, hey.” Hands on his arms shook him gently.

John opened his eyes.

Flames crackled. Orange heat blinded him, roared in his ears, devouring the jeep and his friend.
The touch on his arms remained; gradually let his mind know he’d been dreaming again.


The gentle voice began to drown out the flames. He wasn’t alone. Cool air replaced the sweltering heat.

He blinked. Each pass of his eyelids dispelled the dream a bit more. A beautiful face hovered in his vision.

Toshi. Thank God.

Toshi was sitting up with him and John could feel the other man’s hands on his biceps. In the next moment, he felt the mattress beneath him. Bed. They were in bed. He caught a glimpse of the magnificent blue silk kimono that hung on the wall opposite the bed. Toshi’s bedroom. Tokyo. Japan. Not the Gulf.

John looked at his new…lover, comforted immediately by those dark almond-shaped eyes, the high cheekbones and full, completely kissable lips. He slumped forward, sank against Toshi’s bare chest, soaking up the comfort of Toshi’s smooth skin and musky scent. Gradually Toshi’s touch chased away the hellish images of the dream.

Damn it. He’d had this dream a thousand times since the Gulf War, but that didn’t matter. It always felt too fucking real.

“It’s all right.” Toshi’s voice soothed him and John pressed his forehead on Toshi’s shoulder. Toshi embraced him.

The quiet act of resting in Toshi’s arms eased John’s mind and body fully into the present. Even though they’d barely known each other a week, the other man’s touch and voice had this healing effect on him, something he’d never experienced before in his life. He’d come to Tokyo to help the police catch a serial killer and had found more…much more. At least he hoped…

Guilt stabbed him. He lifted his head from Toshi’s shoulder and pulled away. The funeral for Toshi’s uncle was later today. Musashi Genjin had died helping his nephew solve a nearly six month serial killing spree. But because Musashi had a pre-existing heart condition, the absolutely unbelievable circumstances under which he’d died could never be revealed, leading everyone else who knew Musashi to believe that he’d simply passed away from his heart trouble.

“Toshi, I’m so sorry. I…have these dreams sometimes. It’s part of the whole aftershock thing.” He looked down, miserably aware of the way sweat covered his body, dampened his underarm hairs, beaded on the back of his neck and on his upper lip. “You don’t need this right now.”

Toshi didn’t answer. He passed a hand over John’s brow then eased him back against the pillows, covering John’s naked body with his own. Leaning his weight on his elbows, Toshi stared down into John’s face and caressed his hair with one hand.

John returned the other man’s gaze, caught as always by Toshi’s beauty, the way his ebony hair framed his angular face in sexy layers. His gaze moved downward, to the deliciously plump fullness of Toshi’s lower lip and flawless dusky gold of his skin. He stroked the hard, sinewy muscles of Toshi’s back, and delighted in the weight of Toshi’s body against his.

Toshi nudged John’s legs open with one knee and fit his body between them so that their cocks touched. His dark gaze took on a darker, hungrier look. “John, you are just what I need.”

“I meant—”

“Shut up, okay?” Toshi brushed a thumb across his cheek then lowered his face so that their lips almost touched.

John smiled in spite of himself. “I was just going to say that waking up next to you is the second best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Toshi stirred against him. The slide of Toshi’s bare cock sent sparks of delicious friction through John’s hardening erection. If it hadn’t been for the nightmare, he’d already have a full woody.

He skimmed his hands down Toshi’s back, dappled his fingertips along the smooth furrow of muscle along the other man’s spine.

Toshi grinned. His breath pulsed warmly onto John’s lips. “Oh, yeah? And what’s the best?”

John chuckled. “I’ll show you.” He slid his palms down to the smooth skin of Toshi’s ass and squeezed. Damn, nothing had ever felt better under his hands. He gave another small squeeze, earning a sigh from his lover.

“John,” Toshi whispered and slid against him again…and again, moving his hips in a slow, steady rhythm. John’s eyelids fluttered and his body melted, sank into the mattress, the nightmare forgotten. Toshi’s mouth covered his and he answered by parting his lips for the deep kiss, swirling his tongue in lazy strokes against Toshi’s.

Toshi’s groan vibrated into his mouth and his hips rocked faster against John’s. John felt Toshi’s energy deepen, grow more raw with the craving he let loose only when they were in bed.

I used Grammarly to grammar check this post, because time spent proofreading could be time spent writing.

Posted in Available Books, Mystery/Romantic Suspense, Sedonia Guillone | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Private Conversations (Choose Your Own Erotic Adventure)

cover image COMPLETE23Private Conversations
Author:N.C. East
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure/Contemporary
Length: Novelette
eISBN: 978-1-937796-31-0
MSRP: 4.49
You pay: 2.99

Cover art: Sue Swift

Buy from Amazon Kindle|BN Nook|AllRomance Ebooks

You are the hero and I am the heroine, willing to do whatever you ask. No small talk. No games. No strings. Just pure, hot sex.

Where do you want me? On the table? On the bar? I’m hot and willing and I’m yours. Sixteen different, luscious ways to satisfy that need. I’ll gives you just what you crave for those private moments. Are you going to the bar or is it a lazy day at home playing video games? What happens next is up to you.

My only desire is to see that you peak the wonderful mountain of ecstasy. I am the woman of your dreams, literally. I am whoever you want me tob e and I am doing whatever you want me to do. The next move is up to you – I’m waiting.


Chapter One A
A Night at the Bar

The small bar is packed. Most of the drunk patrons are in pairs, so you scoot onto a seat at the end of the bar. A couple is making out at the jukebox along the wall behind you and a group of people is playing darts across the room. One of the players, a young brunette with purple streaks in her hair, is jumping up and down celebrating her bull’s-eye. You watch her breasts bouncing around wildly. They might just jump out of her low-cut T-shirt but her boyfriend stops her. He grabs her and lifts her shirt back up over her shoulder and kisses her as their friends laugh.

After a long day you want a beer before the bar closes. But now that this dart-playing drunk girl has your mind on it, some pussy after a few cold ones would be a much-appreciated bonus. Too bad she’s with a guy because she would be a pretty easy pickup. She looks like the kind of girl who has some tattoos and piercings that she doesn’t want her father knowing about. A bad girl.

You scan the bar for easier prey. The only woman alone is the brunette sitting next to you. Her tits are pressing so tightly against her shirt that you find it hard not to stare.

They are screaming to be played with, begging you to show them some love.

The two of you exchange smiles and some basic chitchat on everything from the weather to sports. She’s clearly trying to impress you. Your hands are resting on the top of the bar with your fingers loosely wrapped around the base of your cold beer. She edges her hand closer to yours and gently runs her little finger across the back of one of yours. She’s not looking at you, but is gazing across the bar. She slinks her hand away with the same stealth, giving you a devious smile. You look away, playing the game she just initiated, and catch the attention of the bartender as she serves you a new drink. She’s attractive herself, blonde and tall with a tight black tank top sporting the bar’s logo in sparkling stones gripping her perky chest.

“You working alone tonight?” you ask.

“Yeah,” she says with an irritated sigh. “The other girl called in sick so I’ll have to close up all alone tonight.”

“That’s no fair,” you say with a pouty lip.

She giggles. “It’s last call,” she says, putting on her best femme fatale purr and wink.

Two women are hitting on you so you draw out the final sips of your drink, savoring the moment—you have your choice of two hot bitches tonight.

People start to trickle out of the bar—some stumbling out—and you watch couples drawn together by drunken lust as they leave hand in hand. Thoughts of what they are going to do tonight race through your mind and get you excited. The only thing that you know for certain is that you want one of these two women right now and they both want your sweet, sweet cock.

“No other man I’ve seen tonight caught my eye like you did, Big Boy.” The brunette next to you flirts. She bites her bottom lip and watches you take one last gulp of your drink. “My lips are jealous of the rim of your glass getting all the action.”

Thoughts of her lips on yours and your hands up her shirt are dominating your mind when the bartender sets another drink in front of you with an overly loud clank, getting your attention. She smiles and leans forward, resting her elbows on the bar and giving you a clear view down her tank top to her tanned, bulging breasts nested in a bra that seems to be a size too small.

“Your tab is on me tonight,” the bartender says as you stare down her shirt.

“C’mon.” The brunette runs her fingers across the back of your neck. “Let’s go back to my place. I live just a few blocks away.”

What do you do?

If you stay with the bartender, go to Chapter Two A: Bartender
If you leave with the brunette, go to Chapter Two B: Brunette

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His Beautiful Samurai

HisBeautifulSamurai24His Beautiful Samurai
Author: Sedonia Guillone
Series: Genjin/Holmes Mysteries
Genre: M/M; Mystery; Romantic Suspense
Length: Novel
eISBN: 9781937796013
MSRP: 8.99
You pay: 4.99

Cover Art: Les Byerley

Buy from Amazon Kindle | BN Nook | All Romance Ebooks

Publisher’s note: His Beautiful Samurai has been extensively revised for release with Ai Press. It is a VASTLY different story from the 2006 edition from Torquere Press.

Sex and murder don’t mix but Detective Toshiro Genjin and psychic John Holmes do…

John Holmes comes to Tokyo to help stop a killer. Through the use of his psychic abilities, he can help find out things that no one else sees. Toshi is a policeman who reluctantly accepts John’s help, but from their first touch, John knows he wants more than that. He wants all Toshi can give him, and the heat between them surprises, and delights him.

The modern killer, a historical murder of two samurai, and Toshi’s need to honor other commitments combine to make the blooming love between John and Toshi difficult. And dangerous. The more deeply they delve into the past, the more unsure the future looks. Could the heat between them be the only thing that can solve the mystery, despite all of the difficulties that stand in their way? Can they find a way to keep what is most precious to them? Haunting and powerful, His Beautiful Samurai is a murder mystery, a romance, and a study in the supernatural. Get your hands on it today!


Chapter One
Tokyo, Japan, Present day

Toshi stared down at the fresh corpses. Around him, the flashbulbs of the crime scene photographers went off like tiny fireworks. Shimatta! He’d failed again and now stood, helpless, staring at the victims’ grisly fate.

His hands already encased in latex gloves, he pressed his palms together, steepled in front of him, and bowed his respect to the dead. As did his partner, Natsuka Yamamoto, beside him.

The victims of this third killing in nearly six months, their naked, stiffening bodies still intertwined, had been skewered. The weapon, as with the other victims, a samurai’s katana, long sword.

His stomach churned, as it never failed to do when he found the Ronin Killer’s victims.
Natsuka delicately covered the victims with a white cloth then approached Toshi, shaking his head sadly. The katana tented the cloth in the most macabre way. “You ready for them to go?”

Toshi sighed. Forensics had already done the preliminary, time and cause of death. As if they didn’t already know the cause. His hand went into the inner pocket of his jacket, rummaging for the cigarettes he’d made the mistake of trying to quit the week before. Then stopped. No smoking on a crime scene. He’d have to wait. “Go ahead,” he murmured to his partner. Natsuka nodded and went to give the order.

With his mind ticking off the ways he’d failed to prevent yet another killing, Toshi surveyed the room while the Identification Division people finished up. He began to look around. Though he wasn’t sure why. Not one crime scene had turned up any useful leads. All they had so far in all this time was that the form of the murders was identical and that the victims were either married people having an illicit affair or a couple together whose relationship was rocky.

Natsuka had a theory that the killer’s motive was at least in part a sick desire to keep them together. As good a motive as any. But that still didn’t explain the fact that each time they got a trace on a suspect, that same suspect ended up dead two days later back in their own home, dead from a fatal coronary and the word “Naomasa” carved into the deceased’s forehead. Autopsies showed that the wounds were self-inflicted moments before death. Men and women, both in service jobs, both solitary types. Profiling had gotten them that far. And only that far. Where were they getting the damned swords?

The murder weapons turned out to be original swords smithed by one Koto Naomasa, one of the great sword smiths of nineteenth century Japan. However, they’d been unable to trace where the weapons were coming from, and the expert they’d questioned knew of only one other original Naomasa in a private collection in the United States. They seemed to be coming out of thin air. The case was nothing but dead ends, literally and figuratively. There had to be a cult of some kind they’d yet to find. Somewhere in the shadows, another Charles Manson was sending out his brainwashed minions to kill.
Natsuka went to round up the hotel staff and to have the manager contact off-duty employees to come in for questioning.

As always, the room yielded no clues. It seemed the killer did what he always did. Entered the room, unnoticed by the lovers engaged in the act, speared them together then turned around and left. There was nothing to do now except wait for forensic reports and to speak with the staff.

Toshi watched the sheet-covered stretcher being carried out of the room. He shook his head, fighting down a wave of nausea. The sick feeling was as much from frustration as from horror. How the hell was he supposed to prevent further murders if the killer continued to slip through their fingers like sand on the beach? If he and Natsuka had been the only ones working on this case, he might have understood the difficulty of turning up leads, but a team of twenty men and women working around the clock?
His cell phone rang. Toshi pulled off a glove and retrieved the phone from his pocket. One glance at the ID window showed the caller was his superior. He took a deep breath.

“Moshi moshi. Keishi-san.”

“Keibu Genjin. Same situation as always?” The superintendant spoke in his gravelly voice.

He exhaled. “Yes, Keishi-san. I’m sorry.”

The chief’s irritation radiated through the phone line. “Next Tuesday makes six months. We’re not doing anything to promote the citizens’ faith in Tokyo’s police force.”
Toshi gritted his teeth and raked a hand through his hair, badly in need of trimming. Hunting a serial killer did not allow one time for such trivialities as personal grooming. Or sleep. “This is not the first time a serial killer has eluded the police.” Jack the Ripper and the Zodiac Killer were famous instances, of course, but there were many others all over the world that often never made headlines for more than a few days, never mind history. Long ago back at Berkley, Michael, who was on the graduate track to profiling, had told him about many of them who’d managed never to get caught. It was a terrible response, but the only one he had in the moment. He, himself, lived in this area and had a vested interest in keeping it safe. He’d often wondered how long it would be before a victim would turn out to be one of his neighbors. “We won’t rest until we have results.”
Keishi Ito grunted. “You and Yamamoto-san finish up there. Leave the other teams to finish the inquiries and come in. I have something to tell you.”

Toshi sighed. “Yes, sir.” He flipped his phone shut, dropped it into his jacket pocket, then pulled off the other glove. With the crime scene now secured, he and Natsuka would have to come back in and search the place again in the morning. Which was really only a few hours away. Good thing there was a Starbucks right by the station. Green tea just didn’t cut it at times like these.

Natsuka was at the doorway of the room, looking at him. “Hayao and his partner are still speaking to everyone currently in the hotel. So far, no one here has seen or heard anything suspicious. I’m having a disc made of the security tapes now. They’ll send them over as soon as they’re ready. Management is still looking for all the off-duty employees.

They’ll have them here in a couple of hours, they said.”

Toshi thanked him and told him what the chief had said. Natsuka grumbled and clapped a friendly hand on Toshi’s shoulder. “Come, I’ll run interference for you with the press.” The press had been swarming around the entrance of each crime scene, ever since the Ronin Killer had begun his rampage through East Tokyo.

Toshi nodded. “Thanks,” he murmured and went again for his cigarettes. He followed the older man down the hall, into the elevator. His partner for the last four years had become a good friend, more like the father and well-meaning older brother he’d never had. His own father, a high-ranking diplomat, had always been stern and distant, demanding perfection. Mazao Genjin hated that his son was a policeman. Policing was a job for the son of blue collar men, as he had put it from his place across the table at dinner so many years ago. Not for the son of a diplomat and descendant of a samurai family. As if such social ranks still applied to modern day society.

Unfortunately, he’d still not shaken the effect of four years at Berkley in California. All that personal freedom and…well…Michael, had gotten into his blood. He’d tried to blame Michael for his complete inability to readjust all these years back in Japan, for having fed his inner drive. But honestly, it was his own doing. Or, rather his nature. Since he could remember, he’d suffered the soul-searing hunger to find answers, to get to the truth and get dangerous sickos off the street so they couldn’t hurt anyone else. In fact, were it not for his Uncle Musashi, the one person in his life who encouraged him, he wasn’t so sure he would ever have returned to Tokyo. He was beholden to his uncle, in spite of Musashi’s protests to the contrary. Musashi needed him in a way he couldn’t define, but which had had the power to drag him back from the States, and from Michael.

So, here he was.

Halfway down to the lobby, he realized his body had already begun to tense, bracing himself for what the chief would have to say. It couldn’t be good.
* * * * *
Boston, Massachusetts

“In other world news tonight, in Tokyo, Japan, a serial killer has been terrorizing the eastern portion of the city for the last six months.”

John reached out to switch off the set, but something held him back.

“The Ronin Killer, has been dubbed so by Tokyo Metropolitan Police because of the use of a samurai sword to spear his victims.”

John sat at full attention, uncertain whether it was the military man in him, or the empathic psychic. Old habits didn’t just die hard, they went kicking and screaming. He stared at the screen. Police were loading sheet-covered corpses, apparently two bodies together, into the medical van outside of what appeared to be a fancy hotel. The top of the sheet protruded upward, attesting to the sword. It was obvious the killer had skewered his victims together. Christ…

“The Ronin Killer, so named after the masterless samurai warriors of Japan,” the anchorwoman went on, “refers to the manner in which the killer chooses his victims, seemingly at random, and then murders them with a samurai weapon. Police have been frustrated in the efforts to capture the Ronin Killer before his next strike. Their only clue is the manner in which two victims are killed at once, either in an embrace or during sexual intercourse.”

“Damn,” John murmured, a sick feeling rising in his gut. He continued to watch the footage.

“Police Inspectors Natsuka Yamamoto and Toshiro Genjin of the Criminal Investigation Bureau have been on the case since the first victims appeared nearly six months ago. They refused to comment on the string of murders.”

The cameras zoomed in on the two men. They were leaving the building. A middle-aged, shorter man walked in front of the other detective, seeming to shield him, but the cameras managed to catch glimpses of the second detective. A few seconds sufficed for John to see that the younger man was slim and handsome. John’s heart sped up slightly. The detective’s ebony hair framed an angular face in sexy layers that curled over his collar.
John watched the screen, his gaze glued on the taller figure of the young detective until he was no longer visible. The segment ended and John switched off the set. He shook his head. There was a time when he would have immediately booked a flight to Tokyo and turned up at the police station, offering his services to catch the killer. Hell, that Japanese detective was almost good-looking enough to pull him from his rest cure. However, his nerves were still shot from the series of cases he’d worked on with police over the last few years. Four months hadn’t proved to be enough of a vacation. His hands had only stopped shaking in the last week.

He pushed the image of that guy from his mind, fighting back the nagging spirals of heat whispering about in his long-neglected groin area. John Holmes filled his days with walks in the park, counseling at the VA, and whatever leisure and athletic activities would keep him fit between reading trashy detective novels and staring into space. No antique stores for him, nor any other place where the lives of the dead could crash in on him. No touching other people so he could experience all their grief and anguish and learn their deepest secrets. He didn’t even take his reading material from the library or get it at used bookstores because he’d sense the lives of the people who’d touched the book before him. He was resting until his own soul told him he was ready again.

His cell phone rang. The private, unlisted number that only his agent, Dick Watson had, not even his own family. Even though he was pretty close with his folks and siblings, he’d needed to reduce the number of times the phone rang. It had also been worth his peace of mind to invest in an agent to run interference with police stations, press and general curiosity mongers and tire kickers.

John’s stomach fluttered with a touch of premonition. “Dick? Hey.”
“Sorry to make the phone ring, mate.” The Aussie’s cheerful voice gave John momentary relief. “How are you?”

John sighed and leaned back in his chair. He propped his bare feet up on the glass coffee table. “The same. How’s the wife?”

“Sandy’s fine. She wants you to come to dinner soon.”

Dick and his family were the only people John allowed himself to socialize with since Brett had left. The pressure of a post-traumatic stress disorder suffering psychic as a lover had been too much for the guy. Yet, physical contact with him hadn’t been a joy either. Brett had secrets that, when John touched him, were no longer secrets. This combination really didn’t do a relationship good.

“That would be great.” John stared up at the ceiling. He definitely appreciated when someone else did the cooking. Baked beans from a can got awfully tiresome after a while.

“Is that why you called?”

Pause. Dick cleared his throat. “Um…well…no.”

The flutter in John’s gut kicked up again. “Don’t tell me.”

Sigh. “John, I really debated hard on this one. It’s the first call I’ve contacted you about in four months.”

John could only imagine how many calls Dick had actually turned down for him, in spite of the intense guilt he suffered. How many cases could be solved if he just helped? He just had to trust that his agent wouldn’t allow something like that to happen. Dick was shrewd and prudent and John trusted him implicitly. “All right, shoot.”

“Good man. Have you started watching the news again?”

“A bit here and there.”

Dick cleared his throat again. This was going to be a doozy. “Maybe you’ve heard about the serial murders in Tokyo? They’re calling them the Ronin killings, after the samurai?”
John felt his pulse throb in his wrist. This was too damn weird. “I just saw the clip a second before you called.” I saw that hot detective who’s on the case.

“Yeah, well, the third murder just happened yesterday, taking into account the time difference. And about five minutes ago, I got a call from the superintendent of that district, asking, no pleading, for your services. They’re desperate to get this guy before he kills again.”

“Naturally.” John’s heartbeat quickened slightly.

“Of course the airfare, lodging, et cetera is all taken care of. I’ll take care of briefing the police on what you do and what to expect when you examine a crime scene, although the superintendent I spoke with says he’s read about you in their police journals.”

“How nice. I’m famous.”

Dick chuckled. “Better than infamous, I suppose, mate.”

John joined him in the laughter. “Yes, I suppose.”

The moment of humor passed and they were both silent. John sensed Dick’s hesitation on the other end.

“If you want to take some time to decide, mate…”

John sat up in his chair. He sighed. “No. I don’t need time on this one. I’m tired of refusing to help. I think I’ll be able to handle it.”

“You’re a good man, John. Are you sure?”

John nodded even though Dick couldn’t see him. “I’m sure.”

“Are you ready for the briefing?”


“Just the bare facts. The victims are found slain with the sword. Roughly twenty-four to forty-eight hours later, a man or woman is found, dead of a coronary after having carved the name ‘Naomasa’ on his or her own forehead. Their fingerprints match the fingerprints on the murder weapon each time.”

“Jesus.” The details of murder never failed to horrify.

“Tell me about it. So far the police have not been able to establish a connection. No cults or religious groups that would be engaged in such activities. Nothing.”
John sighed. “That’s where I come in.”

“That’s right. Anyway, I’ll have your ticket for you this evening when I pick you up for the airport.”

“Dick, you’re the best.” Seriously, John didn’t know how he’d cope without his agent’s help.

Dick chuckled. “So my wife is fond of telling me. See you tonight, mate.”

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Posted in Available Books, Mystery/Romantic Suspense, Novel length, Sedonia Guillone | 2 Comments

Now Available: It Was Always You

BestsellerIcon100X100perf5.000x8.000.inddIt Was Always You
Author: D.H. Starr
Genre: M/M; Contemporary
Length: Novella
eISBN: 9781937796280
MSRP: 5.49
You pay: 2.49

Cover art: Les Byerley

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A drama club geek and a consummate jock—hardly a formula for friendship. Yet Caleb Richards and Kevin O’Brien have been best friends since high school. Kevin’s free spirited ways brought Caleb out of his shell, and Caleb introduced Kevin to a world outside of sports. When Kevin came out to Caleb as gay, all the things he’d thought were wrong about himself suddenly seemed right…except for his inability to say the four words that could open the door to his ultimate happiness: I love you, Kevin. Years later, when Caleb finally faced his fear and plans to finally tell Kevin, “It was always you,” he’s a bit too late: Kevin tells him he’s found someone. How will a friendship ever become more now?

Publisher’s note: It Was Always You was originally published in the Friends to Lovers anthology.


Chapter One

Caleb Richards entered Sidewalk Café and was immediately blanketed by the warmth of the live fire at the end of the room. Folding his coat over his arm he scanned the throng of diners, immediately locating the man he’d come to meet: his best friend, Kevin O’Brien.

Making sure his head was raised high, he paced across the room, a mask of happiness firmly in place. Each Wednesday night, without fail, they met for dinner, and just as consistent were the tales of Kevin’s newest sexual conquest. It bewildered Caleb that Kevin could work his way through so many men and never fall for one of them.

Of course, despite Caleb’s attempts to convince himself he wanted Kevin to settle down, for someone to make an honest man of him, he couldn’t deny the relief flooding through him when, once again, Kevin remained single and available.

As Caleb approached their table, Kevin stood—his wide smile melting Caleb’s heart—and strode to meet him. As soon as familiar arms wrapped around him, Caleb settled into the welcoming smells and sensations. The fresh, clean scent of Acqua di Gio filled Caleb’s nose, causing his knees to wobble and his body to sink against Kevin’s. Kevin’s grip tightened, bringing Caleb’s body even closer to burly chest muscles. Suddenly held at arm’s length, Caleb found himself staring into two crystalline, blue eyes, the color of the sky on the clearest of spring days.

Kevin shook his head and one corner of his plump red lips pulled up into a lopsided grin. Caleb’s breath caught in his chest as he took in the prominent dimples accentuating the creamy white skin of Kevin’s face, and his black silken hair. Slightly mussed, Kevin’s hair portrayed a relaxed appearance, one which said, I just ran my fingers through it. It’s only hair.

Kevin held Caleb at arm’s length, a hint of concern revealed by the crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “Hey, C.” He pulled Caleb in for another hug and ran his hand vigorously along Caleb’s back. With breath carrying the slight hint of José Cuervo, Kevin whispered into Caleb’s ear. “You’re frigid.”

Caleb managed a chuckle. Kevin was the only person to use that nickname with him, and Caleb couldn’t help but melt each time he did. Reveling in the sensation of Kevin’s touch, he attempted to keep his rapidly hardening cock from brushing against Kevin’s leg. After another moment, Kevin slid to Caleb’s side and guided him to the table.

Once safely in his seat with a glass of water in hand, Caleb’s equilibrium returned. “So, who are you going to tell me about today?” He’d managed to infuse a casual air into his voice, but this moment, the part of the routine where Kevin talked about his latest conquest, was anything but.
Kevin stared at his hands, as if studying the tendons running along the smooth skin and disappearing at the juncture of long, slender fingers. When he raised his head to meet Caleb’s eyes once again, the sparkle which accompanied Kevin’s bright mood seemed different, more smoldering. Reaching across the table, he gathered Caleb’s hand in his, the warmth of Kevin’s palm radiating along sensitized nerve endings and causing the hairs of Caleb’s arm to stand on end. “Actually, he’s not a conquest. I think I’ve met the one.”

In an instant Caleb’s heart sank to his stomach. For years he’d expected this moment to come, the moment when Kevin would finally find someone he wanted for more than a night. As much as he loved his best friend, Caleb couldn’t help the jealousy that prickled up his spine and rang in his ears. Once again, it took all of his energy to maintain the mask of calmness. “Really? Tell me about him?”

Kevin stared at him, eyes darting back and forth as if searching for something. The intensity of Kevin’s gaze bore down on him, and for the briefest of moments, it seemed Kevin’s levity faltered. His shoulders slumped just a fraction of an inch. Then he was back to normal. “Well. His name is Jason. I met him at the gym the other day. He was running next to me on the treadmill and we began talking. Then we saw each other in the steam room and he was checking me out—”

“Let me guess. You saw him in the steam room and the next thing you know he’s on all fours in your bedroom.” As much as hearing about Kevin’s escapades rubbed salt into an open wound, Caleb so wanted this story to end the same way all the others had.

Kevin laughed a sort of breathy chuckle and his face took on a dreamy expression. After a moment, his focus returned and he continued. “No. I asked him if he wanted to grab a drink and we headed to The Boiler Room and spent three hours just talking.”

Caleb nodded and smiled, but Kevin’s words coalesced into a buzz that made Caleb’s heart beat feverishly. Kevin had never gushed about a guy. He’d talked about looks, hot sex, the way he let guys down. This was the first time Kevin had seemed excited about a conversation with a guy.

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Now Available: Skating For Gold

perf5.000x8.000.inddSkating For Gold
Author: D.H. Starr
Genre: M/M; Contemporary
Length: Novella
eISBN: 9781937796273
MSRP: 6.49
You pay: 3.49

Cover art: Les Byerley

Buy from Amazon Kindle | BN Nook | AllRomanceEbooks

Joined by sorrow, Olympic figure skating hopeful Devon Hayes met champion Lance Dawes at a time when both their worlds were falling apart. Devon lost his mother to cancer and Lance’s family rejected him for being gay. When Devon leaves for college, a door seems to close on any hopes for something more than friendship…until Fate provides a second chance. Devon returns home to train with Lance. As the Olympic trials draw closer and their love grows stronger, the tug-of-war between desire and ambition threatens to ruin everything. If they can’t discover what matters most, they might end up with nothing.

Publisher’s note: Skating For Gold was originally published in the Friends to Lovers anthology.


Chapter One

Lance Dawes watched Devon glide gracefully along the pond’s frozen surface. In all of the years he’d coached Devon, he’d never met a man more focused or driven. Devon’s concentration on the quadruple jump, the one move he’d failed to master, was laser sharp. Digging the pick of his skate into the ice, Devon pumped his powerful quads, generating speed. His body lifted, sailing through the air. Lance counted each spin. One, two, three, four. C’mon. Now the landing. Lance held his breath. Devon’s arms hugged his torso, his body blurring from the speed of his rotations as he drew closer to the ground until his skate touched the ice. A triumphant thrill shot through Lance, but the victory was short-lived. Devon’s ankle wobbled and he toppled over, landing heavily on the ice. Fuck! He’s gonna be pissed.

Lance skated over to Devon, extending his hand. Without accepting the help, Devon pushed himself into an upright position. Despite the sour expression on Devon’s face, heat radiated through Lance. Just three years earlier, the man sitting on the ice had been a boy of seventeen. A lost, scared kid who needed training, friendship and encouragement. Back then, their five-year age difference had placed them in two different worlds. Lance thought of Devon with affection, like a kid brother, but certainly not romantically.

But Devon wasn’t a kid anymore. At twenty, even hunched over and angry, he radiated masculine perfection. Each muscle ran smoothly into the next. Bulges and ripples gleamed off the sheen of his sweat-covered skin. The way his broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist drew Lance’s eyes like a magnet. He had to forcibly break his gaze when it scanned over that rounded ass only to rest on a generous swell pressing at the front of Devon’s skating pants. His legs, tree-trunks of muscle, were proportionate to the rest of his body. He has a perfect skater’s body.

“Damnit. Why the fuck can’t I land the jump?” Seemingly oblivious to Lance’s attention, Devon placed his hands on the ground and pushed himself to his feet. “I thought I had it.” He skated until only a few feet separated them, and took the towel Lance held for him.

Lance draped a woolen jacket over Devon’s shoulders, his hands brushing across the tense muscles. Even accidental touches sent currents of pleasure straight to his groin. “No one’s getting the quadruple jump consistently yet.” Although true, his words wouldn’t matter to Devon. Aside from Devon’s physical flawlessness, he also held himself to the highest of standards. It was just another item on the lengthy list of things Lance found irresistible about the man.

“I don’t give a fuck about other skaters. I generated enough speed, got great height, and even completed all four rotations with enough time to prepare for my landing.” With a final dab at his forehead, Devon tossed the towel back to Lance. “So what’s wrong?”

“It’s your landing. You aren’t coming around enough with your foot. You need to make a full rotation with your blade or your balance will be off and you won’t land with stability.”
Devon squared his body, standing at his full six-foot-two height as he faced Lance. Despite the impressiveness of his physique, there was still something innocent and vulnerable in him. “You think?” Devon placed one hand on Lance’s shoulder for balance while gripping his blade with the other and pulling his leg up stretching his muscles. “I do feel unstable on the landing.”

The contact where Devon’s hand gripped Lance’s shoulder sent a heated excitement through Lance, despite the frigid chill of the February air. Deep blue eyes filled Lance’s vision. Piercing sky-blue eyes, the same hue as the color reflecting off the ice. It took him a moment to realize he needed to respond. The trust and openness of that gaze had a power over him like no other.

“Absolutely. Once you bring your foot all the way around before you actually touch down, you’ll nail it each and every time.”

Devon pulled the coat around him, leaning in and playfully nudging Lance with his shoulder. “Thanks, Coach.”

Lance chuckled, but he couldn’t shake the way Devon had smirked after nudging him, and he swore Devon winked at him before turning away. Is he…Nooooo! It couldn’t have been. I’m just projecting. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done here.” Better to boss the kid around than contemplate what had been on his mind ever since Devon returned from college. “And how many times have I told you not to call me Coach? I’m not your coach, I’m your friend who’s been on the Olympic team and who’s helping you get ready for the trials in Seattle next month.”

Devon flashed Lance a dismissive glance. “Sheesh. Sensitive much?” He winced after the words came out as he caught his tone.

The comment had come across harshly, but three years ago, Lance could have easily passed it off as a bratty kid action. Now, even the tone of Devon’s voice cut straight through him. “It makes me feel old.” Lance kicked at the snow.

Devon laughed and placed an arm over Lance’s shoulder. “You’re not old. We’re practically the same age now.”

Ignoring the comment, which echoed something he had spent too much time thinking about himself lately, Lance redirected the conversation. “We still need to go over the routine.”

Devon rolled his eyes then settling his gaze on Lance. “I need to head back to the farm. There’s a ton of work to be done, and Dad will do all of it if I don’t get home soon.”

Lance knew better than to argue with Devon about helping his father on the farm. He’d learned long ago what a waste of time and energy that was. Instead, he waited as Devon removed his skates and replaced them with clunky Doc Martens. He’s right, at twenty and twenty-five, we’re both men.

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Young Adult Romance Launches at Ai Press!!!

SEHSseniorYear23Surviving Elite High: Senior Year
Author: John H. Ames
Series: Surviving Elite High (The previous book, Surviving Elite High is available from Budding Moon Press.)
Genre: YA, GLBT, Gay Romance
Length: Novel
eISBN: 978-1-937796-25-9
MSRP: 7.99
You pay: 4.99

Cover art: Les Byerley

And you thought last year was full of drama, suspense and romance? You ain’t seen nothing yet!

After a summer of love, hard work and…ahem…cohabitation, Nick and John are beginning their senior year. However, putting the memory of last year’s turbulent events at Elite High behind them proves harder than ever. Mysterious notes begin to appear inside John’s locker. Something is definitely wrong since the writer of the notes is none other than Matthew Ward, the homicidal student who nearly killed John. Is Matthew now free to finish what he started?

As if that weren’t bad enough, a new girl at school has an obsession with Nick that makes her do terrible things, things that threaten to tear Nick and John apart at every turn. Will Nick and John ever find happiness and stability together? Or will they end up going their separate ways?

All of these questions and more will be answered in part two of the Surviving Elite High saga!

Publisher’s note and advisory: Part one of the Surviving Elite High saga is available from Budding Moon Press. This novel contains a graphic rape scene (not between the romantic couple).

Read an excerpt|Buy e-book

SurvivingEHSLJ23Surviving Elite High: Loving James
Author: John H. Ames
Series: Surviving Elite High
Previous Books: Surviving Elite High (available at Budding Moon Press); Surviving Elite High: Senior Year
Genre: Young Adult; GLBT
eISBN: 978-1-937796-24-2
Length: Novella
MSRP: 5.49
You pay: 3.49

Cover art: Les Byerley

Surviving a normal high school is hard enough. Surviving Elite High? Close to impossible! Not until you learn the difference between love and obsession…

Sixteen year old James Gordon has it all. He’s rich, studious, and bears quite a strong resemblance to Justin Bieber. So, what’s stopping him from being a normal kid in high school? The deadly jocks. They torment anyone who’s gay or possibly closeted, even though Nick Wild Hawk, star of the football team and the love of his life, John, came out to the whole school in previous years and made being gay at Elite High just another walk of life.

However, even though the jocks have bullied James nonstop and made his life a living hell, he can’t help but fantasize about the king of the jocks, Nathan Parker. Nathan is rugged, straight and the most popular guy in school. When fate intercepts and places James and Nathan under the same roof, James’ torture really begins. And yet, through it all, James hopes that that his steadfast love for Nathan will change the jock into a lover rather than an abuser. Unless a certain hot, loyal, guy in the background can find a way to show James he is really, truly loved, and has been for a long time. Before it’s too late…

Surviving Elite High: Loving James is the third part of the Surviving Elite High Saga which features one the most famous and loved characters in the series, Jacob Ashmore. Book one of the series is available at Budding Moon Press.

Publisher advisory: This book contains scenes of graphic bullying and sexual abuse (not between the romantic couple).

Read excerpt|Buy e-book

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Now Available: Surviving Elite High: Loving James

SurvivingEHSLJ23Surviving Elite High: Loving James
Author: John H. Ames
Series: Surviving Elite High
Previous Books: Surviving Elite High (available at Budding Moon Press); Surviving Elite High: Senior Year
Genre: Young Adult; GLBT
eISBN: 978-1-937796-24-2
Length: Novella
MSRP: 5.49
You pay: 3.49

Cover art: Les Byerley

Buy from Amazon Kindle|AllRomanceEbooks|BN Nook

Surviving a normal high school is hard enough. Surviving Elite High? Close to impossible! Not until you learn the difference between love and obsession…

Sixteen year old James Gordon has it all. He’s rich, studious, and bears quite a strong resemblance to Justin Bieber. So, what’s stopping him from being a normal kid in high school? The deadly jocks. They torment anyone who’s gay or possibly closeted, even though Nick Wild Hawk, star of the football team and the love of his life, John, came out to the whole school in previous years and made being gay at Elite High just another walk of life.

However, even though the jocks have bullied James nonstop and made his life a living hell, he can’t help but fantasize about the king of the jocks, Nathan Parker. Nathan is rugged, straight and the most popular guy in school. When fate intercepts and places James and Nathan under the same roof, James’ torture really begins. And yet, through it all, James hopes that that his steadfast love for Nathan will change the jock into a lover rather than an abuser. Unless a certain hot, loyal, guy in the background can find a way to show James he is really, truly loved, and has been for a long time. Before it’s too late…

Surviving Elite High: Loving James is the third part of the Surviving Elite High Saga which features one the most famous and loved characters in the series, Jacob Ashmore. Book one of the series is available at Budding Moon Press.

Publisher advisory: This book contains scenes of graphic bullying and sexual abuse (not between the romantic couple).


Chapter One

“I’m getting married.”

Those were the first words out of my dad’s mouth as he parked our Escalade in front of Elite High.

I immediately turned to him. Now I knew why he’d had that apprehensive look on his face all week. Why he found it hard to look me in the eyes without seeming like he was about to cry. “What? I didn’t even know you were dating!”

He combed a shaky hand through his short brown hair. He looked so much like me, or I looked like him. He had always been so proud that I was his spitting image. “I know. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew it was serious.”

His honey brown eyes looked weary. I immediately searched them for the truth since they had never lied to me before. For a few seconds I found them hard to read, but when I did, they confirmed that he had found someone new. He was moving on and leaving my mother’s memory behind. Soon, there would be nothing left of her in our house and our hearts. A stranger sneaked in in the middle of the night and took her place without my consent. That usurper meant nothing good for us. “James—”

“Who is she?” I wanted to know the name of the woman I was going to loathe for the rest of my life. When he remained silent, I asked again. “Who is she?”

“Olivia Jones, my secretary.”

“How cliché.” I stormed out of the car and ran toward the main entrance of Elite High.

“James!” I heard Dad call.

I ignored him. All I wanted was to forget what he had just told me. I took a deep breath and looked around for my best friend, Madeline, but she was nowhere to be found. The hallway was bustling with students, heading to class or standing around in tiny cliques, gossiping about last year’s prom. My former tutor, John Ames, and his boyfriend, Nick Hawking, aka Nick Wild Hawk, had made that night unforgettable for everyone who had attended that night. And even those who hadn’t, for that matter. They went to prom as the first openly gay couple ever and Nick proposed to John by reenacting the day they met in front of everyone who was present. How romantic and thrilling that must have been for John! I would have died in Nick’s arms and got lost in them. Nick made that night legendary not only for everyone at Elite High, but especially for John, Nick’s great love.

Nick. Just thinking about him made me drool and my legs wobbly. The man was perfection to the extreme. I envied my ex-tutor, John, for having a man like him at his side, someone to love, cherish and protect him. Hell, everyone wanted Nick, but he only had eyes for John. They had left their mark in Elite High and a huge void in my heart. This school wouldn’t be the same if not for those two. Thanks to Nick’s crusading for equal rights at Elite High, and to his open, passionate love for John, being gay was actually acceptable now. Well, with most people. There’s always the homophobic asshole. Or assholes.

“Hey, fag!” someone shouted the moment I stopped in front of my locker. Like I said…

“Don’t ignore me, punk!”

My heart immediately began to pound hard against my chest, trying his best to set himself free from my captivity and runaway as far as possible. I wanted to run with him too, but my feet felt glued to the ground. I knew exactly who was calling me. Nathan Parker. He had become the most feared bully in school. For awhile after the deadly rampage of Matthew Ward who’d tried to shoot Nick and John and who’d killed a teacher and four students the year before last, bullying had basically stopped. Nick and his gang’s defense presence also kept bullying to a minimum. But, since Nick and his friends had graduated and we were now unprotected, bullying was on the rise again. I quickly glanced at Nathan, trying my best not to tremble. He was standing with his posse a few feet away from me. Aaron Evans, Daniel Murray, and Louis Goodwill rounded out his little gang. They were snickering behind him.

“Bitch! You want this, don’t you?” Nathan grabbed his crotch.

“I’d rather die, you crazy fuck!”

Aaron and Daniel’s mouth fell open while Louis turned to Nathan to see what he was going to do next. Nathan looked stupefied, like he couldn’t believe I’d had the courage to stand up to him. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I was still agitated after my dad’s revelation a few minutes earlier. When I looked around, I realized that the hallway was empty. I shouldn’t have been so careless. I was dead meat.

Unfortunately, Nathan got his wits back. “What did you say, homo?” He stalked over to me, his goons behind him. The four of them quickly walled me against the locker. “Answer me, bitch!”

“Is something wrong, James?” Mrs. Carter, my new English teacher, poked her head out of a nearby classroom. She had been John’s favorite teacher last year.

Nathan’s posse backed off. “Nothing, Mrs. Carter,” Aaron mumbled. “We were just asking James if he could help us with our homework since he’s really smart.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” she said. “Is everything okay, James?”

“Yes, ma’am. They were asking me for help.”

Mrs. Carter raised a suspicious eyebrow. “I don’t understand why four seniors would ask a sophomore for help, but if James says nothing’s wrong, then get to class. You’re all really late.”

At once, we scattered into every direction. Nathan and I headed down the same corridor but on opposite sides. At the doorway to his class, he bumped into me. “Thanks,” he murmured under his breath.

Posted in Available Books, John H. Ames, Young Adult | 4 Comments