Friday, July 30, 2010

Dark Submission

Dark Submission
AJ Hardcourt
M/M BDSM Menage (erotic)
$2.00
Dark Submission

To Purchase through Digi Books Cake
To Purchase through All Romance Ebooks
To Purchase at 1Place for Romance eBooks
To Purchase through Rainbow Ebooks
To Purchase at Amazon Kindle
To Purchase at 1erotic eBook
To Purchase at BookStrand
To Purchase at Trapezium Books

Excerpt:

Kyler Paxton jackknifed into a sitting position. His pulse raced, instantly burning off the sleepiness. The sheet dropped to his groin. Fear chilled his flesh. Anxiety sent adrenaline to his heart. The frantic pounding had blood whooshing through his ears. He listened, trying to keep his breathing slow and shallow—and failing. The door handle turned. No time to get out. No time to call for help. His cell was downstairs. If he could gasp a deep breath, he would scream. Or he could feign sleep. He shifted back to lying prone the bed. Every muscle tensed. His palms bunched into fists…waiting…listening. Sweat trickled along his hairline.

The door opened. Kyler's eyes had adjusted to the darkness. There were two men at the threshold to his room. One carried a Duffel at his side. He was larger, more intimidating than the shorter man on his left. The men would need to turn on a light or strain to see into the darkened room. If Kyler held still, whoever they were might not notice him on the bed and move on. If not, he'd fight like hell.

The floor creaked as the intruders stepped closer. Another creak. Kyler could fight one. He was six three and one-seventy-five. But taking on two would be a challenge. He waited, poised to throw down because whoever was in the room wasn't turning around…they stood at the foot of the bed.

He could feel their eyes boring into his back. Pressure weighted his chest and a lump lodged in his throat. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. They moved closer. Their clothing rustled, clueing him on their location.

Fight or flee? No way in hell was he getting away if they took the advantage.

Kyler mentally started to count to three. He made it to one, lunged from the bed and swung at the first shadow on the right. Duffel. Kyler's fist cracked against the man's jaw. Pain shot up his arm, vibrating through him.

"Fuck!" The man grunted and lunged for Kyler. "You want to make this fun." They scrapped, fighting for position, but he easily pinned Kyler to the bed, knocking the breath from Kyler's lungs. "I know you want it rough," he whispered. They were chest to chest. The soft cotton of the man's T-shirt rubbed against Kyler's nipples. The denim of his jeans chafed against Kyler's groin as he pinned Kyler with his heavy thigh. His warm breath fanned Kyler's face.

Kyler gasped, his chest heaving as he struggled against the man's grip. But fuck, he was huge, solid and strong. "Fuck you! Get the fuck out of my house before I call the cops."

The man standing at the foot of the bed chuckled. The sound an eerie premonition. "We are law enforcement."

The big man glared into his face. "Come on, Kyler. Break a rule." He whistled low and menacing. "I would love to punish you."

Kyler couldn't breathe. Fear snaked along his spine and coiled in his gut. This was bad. Really bad. Duffel knew his name.

"Hold him," the other man commanded.

Hands roughly grasped his arms, the meaty fingers digging into his biceps.

Kyler thrashed. "You've made a mistake." He bucked, causing the sheet to slip from his bed. He was naked…and exposed. And this was a nightmare.

"No mistake, pleaser9966."

The other man, Short, knew his chat room profile. "Oh, god. Who are you?"

"God works," the brute man said as he flipped Kyler to his stomach. He straddled Kyler's hips, the bulge behind the fly of his jeans riding Kyler's asscrack. Duffel yanked Kyler's wrists together behind his back. Rope rasped against his flesh, tightly twisting around his wrists and weaving up his forearms. Then Duffel leveraged off and rolled Kyler over.

Kyler glimpsed the spark of lust and power in the man's eyes. Duffel grasped his jaw. A ball gag wedged into his mouth, a strap tightened to hold the gag in place. A black slave hood was forced over his head, plunging him into blackness. As the ties along the back of the mask were cinched against his skull, the sweet scent of leather assailed his senses. Finally the wide slit in the leather for his mouth was zipped closed. Spit pooled in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow, tried to breathe. Flaring his nostrils, he sucked in air through the only opening in the leather binding.

Without ability to see or speak, and with his arms pinned beneath him, there was little chance for escape.

Monday, July 19, 2010

The Business of Pleasure

The Business of Pleasure
Morgan Lee
Gay Contemporary
Demanding Romance
The Business of Pleasure
$2.00

Purchase from Digi Books Cafe
To Purchase at 1Place for Romance eBooks
To Purchase at Amazon Kindle
To Purchase at All Romance eBooks
To Purchase at Rainbow eBooks
To Purchase at 1erotic eBook
To Purchase at BookStrand
To Purchase at Trapezium Books

Kyle Beckett has just broken the first rule at Pendleton International. He contradicted his boss, financial mogul Drake Pendleton, during a meeting and in front of his colleagues. Afterward, Kyle is certain he’s about to be fired, but Drake has other business on his mind—the business of pleasure.

Excerpt:
COPYRIGHT Morgan Lee/2010

“Drink?”

Lifting his gaze from Drake’s Armani-covered ass, Kyle stared at the glossy black curls that brushed the edge of Drake’s collar. “No thanks. If I’m getting fired, I’ll need a clear head to negotiate a severance package.”

Drake paused, tongs hovering over the ice bucket at the end of the bar, and twisted at the waist to look at Kyle. His crisp white shirt pulled taut across broad shoulders. “Fired?”

“Isn’t that why I’m still here?”

“What makes you think I’m going to fire you?” Drake turned back, grabbed a decanter of bourbon and poured his drink. “You’re the only one with the balls to tell me I’d overlooked a problem that could potentially cost me millions over the next five years.”

“You don’t usually welcome opposing opinions.”

“That’s only when the opinion is wrong.” He topped the bottle, and leaned back against the bar. “I can’t abide stupid people.”

Kyle breathed in deep and exhaled slowly, feeling the tension drain from his muscles. Finding another job wouldn’t have been difficult, not with his credentials, but he liked this job, loved a challenge. Liked his boss...and the weekly meetings when Drake was in town.

Don’t go there.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “So, why am I here?”

Dark piercing eyes met his over the tumbler resting on full firm lips. “Sex.”



Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Pumping Iron

Pumping Iron
AJ Hardcourt
Gay Contemporary
$1.50
Demanding Romance

Pumping Iron

To Purchase from DigiBooks Cafe
To Purchase at 1Place for Romance eBooks
To Purchase at Amazon Kindle
To Purchase at All Romance eBooks
To Purchase at Rainbow eBooks
To Purchase at 1erotic eBook
To Purchase at BookStrand
To Purchase at Trapezium Books

Ren Vale has a thing for bodybuilders. Thick thighs, tight asses, corded abs and tapered torsos. Men with broad shoulders have total sex appeal. So when an afternoon in the gym becomes an erotic encounter in the steam room between Ren and the object of his obsession, Ren discovers Geoff Cage is more than a buff body…But is Geoff’s determination for muscle mass risking too much.

----------------------------------------------

Ren Vale had watched him for weeks, noted the hour he arrived at the gym, how long he stayed and what he drove when he left. Ren had even scheduled his workouts so that he could be a voyeur from across the room. He had to have his fix of sweat, flesh, muscle and man.

Did that make him a stalker?

Ren wasn’t a threat. They weren’t even in the same class of athletes. The man of his obsession was power, raw and primal. Ren was strong, cut and driven, but didn’t lift weights as the walking wet dream did. Cycling, swimming and running kept Ren primed for the next triathlon. Ren couldn’t come close to benching two-fifty or squatting four-hundred, but he could run twenty-six miles and just be reaching his stride.

But bodybuilders were his weakness. His compulsion. His obsession. Bulging biceps, rippled backs, thick and heavy thighs and corded abdominals weakened his knees and hardened his cock. The object of his attention laughed with his training partner. A wide smile broke his face and Ren melted. Ren tried to look away, but the draw was too great, the need to feed his lust too intense.

A weighted barbell rested on the floor in front of the man. Ren ran on a treadmill behind him, a perfect position to see the sculpted, masculine perfection of Mr. Olympia’s face in the mirror and still ogle his ass. An ass Ren wanted. The hard curves of his rounded glutes were encased in tight black shorts. Saliva moistened Ren’s mouth. That ass was so fucking fuckable. His cock tensed, like a slow stretch, swelling within his running shorts.

Always the same reaction. The same lust, but the fantasy changed with the days. Sometimes he imagined himself on the receiving end, held immobile by those bulging ripped muscles. His ass clenched with an unquenched ache. Oh yeah, he wanted to be held down and fucked.

Raking his gaze higher, he memorized every detail. A weight belt circled the man’s thick, but solid muscled waist and a clingy sweat-soaked tank top hugged his torso. He bent forward, wrapped his gloved hands around the metal barbell—Ren nearly groaned at the way he rubbed the bar, stroking it, caressing as he might hold Ren’s cock. Then he braced for the pressure of the dead lift.

With a growl that seeped straight into Ren’s balls, the man heaved the weight to his chest and bent his knees into a deep squat. Ren nearly lost his balance on the treadmill. With super strength, the man stood with the weight. Veins bulged in high relief on his arms, legs, and his reddening forehead. Lips pulled back in a snarl and his jaw clenched.

And in the mirror’s reflection, his eyes locked on Ren. Heat rushed into Ren’s face and into his groin. Sweat dripped from his brow and stung his eyes. Yeah, he’d been running hard, but the fire in his body had more to do with the fantasy playing out in his head.

Shit. For the second day in a row, Ren had been caught staring. Hell, his mouth was probably hanging open and drool dribbling from his chin. The man was sex, a fucking walking wet dream…and probably had Barbie blondes waiting on their knees.

I’m blond.