The Devil’s Damned Elbow

I’ve just published a new work, SLEEPING WITH DANGER, in which the native Nevadan Alex Dominguez finally goes back to the mountains…the famed Highlands of his new home.

The novel is fraught with danger. Both Alex and Rory almost lose their lives a few times. But no adventure in the series up to this point is as life-threatening as their headlong plummet down the double-hairpin called Devil’s Elbow, now bypassed, but a scourge to travelers in the Cairngorms for more than 200 years.

What follows is told from the point of view of Rory Drummond, the bigger-than-life Scot who would challenge the horns, the tail and the very prick of the Devil himself for the sake of his lover.

His head hit something hard…or was it the other way around? A gawdawful roar filled his ears. He opened his eyes and saw nothing at all.

Foog!

Something like mud caked his lashes, sealing his eyes, and he tried to grind it away with the knuckle of his right hand, but his hand was pinned under…something. The left hand would not respond to his brain’s command. He asked Alex where in bloody hell they were going, but he couldn’t hear his own words.

When he tried to move his head, a white-hot pain shot from the base of his neck to hisforehead. His stomach lurched. Vomitus filled his mouth.

And then he heard a beloved voice.

“Gang warily. I love you.”

An eternity passed while he thought about his rare good fortune. Finding a mate who thrived on danger. Fucking a man who loved his touch. Loving a bloody sodding fool who thought he could drive to hell and screw the devil.

In spite of his intense resolve to sit up and take the wheel, for some reason he decided to take a short nap. He’d do it later, when he could see and feel and…and think…

When sleep came, he welcomed it.

Someone was slapping his face. He lunged, bellowing like a wounded grizzly.

“Rory… Rory! Calm down, for fuck’s sake. I need you.”

“Al-Alex?”

His cheeks were being gentled by strong hands, and he stopped struggling. “Alex. I think I died a little while ago.”

“We both did. But wings grow back, corazón. Mi ángel. Let’s get out of here. We need to help Dandie.”

He felt Alex wiping the mud from his eyes, his fingers tender, loaded with something wet. Spit and tears. When he could make his eyelids open, he saw—what? A broken windshield, a steering wheel sitting in an odd place…or was that the outside world at a right angle to the Jeep?

Those who follow my writing know that my series novels all enjoy their own Kindle series page on Amazon. Here’s the link  for the NEVADA HIGHLANDER series:

https://tinyurl.com/y89ca2p9  

 

Read Full Post »

Inspiration, unbidden

Sometimes it’s a sentence or two. Sometimes an arresting image, the ragged edge of a dream, or even a random thought. No matter how it comes, I will usually seize it and shake the hell out of it until I bend it to my will, letting it become a promotion. In some cases, it can become a novel. That’s a story for another blog!

Here are a couple of ideas that arrived in the past few days. I hope they make you want to read the book(s).

One of the shining reviewer stars on Amazon and Goodreads is a man named simply “Bo.” He really should write for a living (if he does not already). The burning rose image at the top of this page was inspired by Bo, from a brief comment he left one day right here on my blog. Let this be my homage to a very fine and insightful reviewer, and of course if it sells a few books I will not complain!

Hot, taut, and Scot. A scorching series from Erin O’Quinn.

The Burns! Mysteries… In the space of six novellas and one novel, Thomas and Burns experience lust and love, crime and punishment as they swivel from the edge of death to the verge of ecstasy. And back again.

 

BURNS TOO DEEP: An undercover cop encounters a very desirable man who’s running from the law. What could go wrong?

THE DUNDEE LAW: The men step far too close to a shallow grave, on an ancient burial mound in Dundee.

RED, RED ROSE: Under the roof in a gabled Victorian house in Edinburgh lie old crimes and new desires.

THE DEVIL IN FALKIRK: The men spiral apart, felled by the devil of distrust and misunderstanding.

THE UNICORN’S SECRET: The Hunt for the Unicorn brings someone even closer to the edge of another shallow grave.

THE BURNS ENIGMA: Searching for a man he thought forever lost, Thomas finds that a new lover is even better—and more imperiled— than he could ever imagine.

COME AGAIN, MY LOVE: An old wynd in modern Edinburgh leads to the 18th century, where the two men try to save a man from the gallows. Along the way, they have to confront their own buried secrets…

gay erotic mystery romance some paranormal elements

Can be purchased singly here:

~Burns! Mysteries (6 novellas)

https://tinyurl.com/ya3555qy 

Heat level very high 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Not being a novella, COME AGAIN, MY LOVE is separate, here:

gay erotic romance mystery historical and contemporary timetravel action paranormal

Kindle US  http://ow.ly/TeG2307Bj6o

Look for the money-saving box sets too!

~oOo~

Just this morning, trolling through my “Pages” feed on Facebook, I saw the following photo of a twisty-limbed bristlecone pine. In a flash of memory, it brought me back to my days in Nevada…on the slopes of Mt. Moriah, gazing at the panorama of unique bristlecones there…the actual setting of my first Nevada Highlander novel.

The following promotion is one I’m using to remind readers, this book and its companions are fresh and compelling. I hope the image speaks volumes.

O’Quinn’s most-read series! The twisted bristlecone in Nevada’s highlands says it all!

gay erotic romance action– adventure

~The Nevada Highlander trilogy

http://amzn.to/2kZE8VU

Kudos to marvelous reviewer Susan Wylie Wilson for the Levi’s catch-phrase, and to talented cover artist Rebecca Poole.

Read Full Post »

Under the velvet

From the beginning, the wilding Oisean has learned to show only the velvet, and not the horn underneath…

Those who know deer, or who live in the country, know the meaning of  “velvet”—the soft, velvety covering on a rack of antlers which nature has provided for nourishment and protection during the growth cycle. So in a way, to drop the velvet is to announce the rut, the full sexual development of the stag.

In Stag Heart, the wise teacher Dub tries to keep apart the young men he’s training under his roof: Oisean, the innocent wilding from the forests of ancient Scotland…and Fergus, the man-loving, wine-drinking, morally challenged son of the high king.

But two attractive, sensuous men can hold out only so long. And when they do finally succumb to their craving for each other, the horns emerge from under the velvet…

Fergus’ point of view:

They walked hand in hand to his familiar bed chamber. Once inside, Fergus closed and latched the door.

“Dub say…not be back, long time.”

“Um, I know. But I would hate to have him look in on us and see my naked arse.”

“You let me…pleasure you?”

“Yes. I will teach you fuck. And afterwards, when Dub comes home, we will talk to him. All right?”

Oisean smiled and sat on the bed. “Teach me.”

“First I will take off my damned triús. Cow-herder britches. So you can see mo bhod.”

“What is that word bod?”

“My cock. What I fuck with. This.”

Without watching his own fingers, he loosened the cord around his waist and let the rude trousers collapse at his feet. 

Oisean’s eyes seemed over-bright in the low light from the oil lamp. “Your horn.”

His flesh, heavy as a bata, really did seem to jut from his groin like an antlered beast. 

I have to be careful. Can I try to make this fit in his tight little arse? No…do not frighten a fawn. Go slow…

“You may touch it, but not too much at first. I’m afraid this bad boy may cry too soon.”

His companion reached out a tentative hand and ran his finger down the length of it. In answer, his cock shuddered. Fascinated, he watched a pearl-drop form at the tip.

“That is enough, love. For now. Let me take off your bríste, as I did before.”

He knelt between Oisean’s legs and unfastened his breeches. His companion stood letting him work the deerskin off his thighs, while Fergus watched his lover’s massive horn rise. He thought of a bull deer in rut and tried to swallow the saliva surging in his mouth.

His words seemed choked.

“Now lie down. On your belly.”

~oOo~

Next time, I’ll excerpt the other man’s point of view. 

The novel Stag Heart, set in the Iron Warrior universe:

 

It’s all here at QRI: links, reviews, explicit excerpt, more: 

https://bit.ly/2HrD8HH

~and~

Kindle US https://amzn.to/2vaHD4d

Kindle UK https://amzn.to/2qACdKz

SeaToSky https://bit.ly/2HzsgVs  (pdf or epub)

Smashwords https://bit.ly/2vhucja (epub)

For those readers who’d like to start with the Iron Warrior trilogy, click here:

http://amzn.to/2n3sTgh  

Read Full Post »

Over the edge…The Burns Enigma

I’m posting this for the stalwart followers of Erin O’Quinn’s work and words. Here is a promo I am running on Facebook:

When Burns walks into that good night in THE UNICORN’S SECRET, how will Thomas cope with the rest of his bleak existence? Is there a way these two lost souls can still find each other and save each other?

A tough cop and a reclusive civilian discover that an old crime and a new murder are connected. Worse, the common denominator is one of them.

Thomas Fitzgerald and a “new” lover are in the shadow of a criminal, one who has set his mind on brutal revenge.

The first five Burns! Mysteries tiptoed to the brink of the paranormal and finally teetered over the edge. What will happen in this mystery, as then and now and tomorrow start to merge? The enigma begins with Burns…

Watch for THE BURNS ENIGMA, coming soon to an ebook store near you… And by that, my friends, I mean as soon as I can sell a few copies of that damned unicorn.
~

Find the first five in the series on one of O’Quinn’s author pages:

#gay #erotic #romance #mystery #paranormal #novellas
Kindle US http://goo.gl/aqc454
Kindle UK https://goo.gl/EvzdLd
ARe/OmniLit https://goo.gl/m3lUf4 (pdf and epub formats)
Smashwords https://goo.gl/80Tw3v (epub)
BURNS TOO DEEP / THE DUNDEE LAW / RED, RED ROSE / THE DEVIL IN FALKIRK / THE UNICORN’S SECRET
The Burns! Box Set (mysteries 1-4) saves 62%

Read Full Post »

A Holiday Short: Burns, Beasts, and Bollocks-Up

Today I celebrate the release of the fourth Burns-Fitzgerald romance/mystery.

The title is A Kilted Christmas. This one is a little different from the others.

First, it’s a short story (13K words), instead of the novella-length ones you’ve hopefully already read.

Second, it takes both the detective Thomas and his lover Burns away from their turf, to a part of Scotland that lies about halfway between Edinburgh and Glasgow. The city is Falkirk, rich in history and set in the gateway to the Highlands.

And third, this one is an attempt to come full circle and to bring closure to a couple of oddly-matched men. Only readers will decide whether the direction of this story is logical and fulfilling too.

When  you read the story, you may be curious about the giant horses of Falkirk called The Kelpies. Here is a photo, which to me shows both the immensity and the power of those beasts. I have to admit that I have always linked this sculpture in my mind to an event which took place about the same time it opened to the public: the Scottish Parliament’s passing of the same-sex marriage act.

Two raging beasts … an expression of freedom and power … a fitting tribute to GLBT marriage.

More about the story later. For now, I hope you’ll enjoy two unusual lovers as they put a climax to their passionate story.

The links are:

🎄A KILTED CHRISTMAS 🎄
Amazon http://amzn.to/1RjtNyV
Amazon UK http://amzn.to/1HDgO9a
OmniLit http://bit.ly/1jw7GaD
Smashwords http://bit.ly/1StcaLz

 

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

A man and his stallion

I realized today that many of my books are full of horses and ponies. All the early stuff, for sure—the YA series, and the Dawn of Ireland romances. The Iron Warriors. The cranky bachelor Flann O’Conall.

By the time I get to contemporary times, the men have pickups instead of ponies, sports cars instead of stallions.

I thought today I’d introduce you to a  young man named Wynn Talfryn, one of my Iron Warriors, by way of a spirited stallion.

To set the scene, from Book 2, Warrior, Stand Tall: Wynn is a 20-year-old Welshman, the lover of a 40-something former Roman soldier named Gristle. The men are on their way to Tara, the sacred home of the High King of Éire, so that Wynn can find some kind of retribution for what a couple of nasty-minded Druids have done to him in the first book. Once a trainer of ponies, Wynn finds that his lover may see him now through different eyes…

~oOo~

Wynn was enjoying the sensation of a new stallion between his legs. It was the handsome, star-marked horse that Bleddyn had purchased when he arrived in Éire so that he could ride to Derry…

The stallion was a bay, a deep chestnut-brown with a mane and tail so black that they seemed to glint blue in the sunlight. A few inches above his dangerous tawny eyes there rode a white star that shone bright-white against the velvet-russet forehead. He had decided this morning to call him Seren, his own native word for “star.”

The handsome bay had been waiting for them in the byre when they had finished their supper the night before. Gristle had said nothing about him but had curried the stallion along with his own before they sought their room together. And then this morning, before their trek to Tara began, he and Gristle were standing in the unsteady light of a torch in the rough covered enclosure attached to the tavern.

“What do you think of Bledd’s horse?”

“I think he could stare down most men.”

Gristle’s mouth had risen subtly. “Meaning you like him?”

“Ie. But he may be a one-man horse only.”

“I agree, Wynn. And that is why I hand you the reins.”

Wynn was dumbfounded. Bledd had given this handsome creature to his friend Gristle. And now Griss was clearly awarding the stallion to him.

He accepted the reins from Gristle and stood in front of the restive dark horse. Only a few shades lighter than Gristle’s own horse, Shadow, this beast was the same height—close to seventeen hands—and its eyes were even more shaded with peril, like those of his trainer.

“Griss, I, um, I cannot…”

Gristle stepped closer to him and looked deep into his eyes.

“Take him, damn it, Wynn. You have shown your mettle. You have proved that no stallion is a match for you. Take the damn creature, and let us find the road north.”

Gristle had turned from him then and lifted his saddle onto Shadow’s back. Wynn found the stallion’s saddle and blanket and stood near its flank, caressing and talking. “Beauty, beauty. What is your name? Will your star guide me to Tara? Seren…star.”

He felt the ripple of powerful muscles in the flanks and withers, and then he stroked the long sensitive nose. Seren’s head dipped and tossed, his eyes showing white.

Wynn decided that he liked this creature very much. The stallion had a certain controlled fury, a hooded menace that reminded him strongly of his lover. Was Gristle telling him something deeply personal? If so, Wynn would find out soon enough. He dressed the stallion with Bledd’s discarded blanket and saddle.

Now, close to midday on the well-marked road to Tara, Wynn reached out and stroked Seren’s powerful neck. His fingers felt the tremor of finely-toned muscles that somehow accepted his touch. His thighs felt the new sensation of a wide, strong back, and he felt his cock stir a little with the unaccustomed contact.

Later that night, in their rude tent … As Gristle often did to him, he lay on his lover’s back and sucked and bit a spot near his shoulder, where no casual eye would see it. He tasted the salty zest of blood …

“How do you feel, Wynn?”

“Like a stallion,” Wynn whispered into his flesh. And then again in his ear, “Like a goddamned fucking stallion.”

The Iron Warrior Series
Warrior, Ride Hard http://amzn.to/P2eRDO
In U.K. http://amzn.to/YxRtqv
Warrior, Stand Tall http://amzn.to/WoDkGS
In U.K. http://amzn.to/13WTTNF
On SirenBookStrand http://bit.ly/O7b5us

Read Full Post »

Warrior, Stand Tall: A Trainer and his Student

A forty-year-old veteran Roman soldier. A twenty-year-old Welsh pony trainer. The story of their meeting, their coupling, their loss and re-discovery of each other, are told in The Iron Warrior series of historical M/M romances Warrior, Ride Hard…Warrior, Stand Tall…Warrior, Come Again.

In WARRIOR, STAND TALL the older man has been held captive beneath a dolmen, a kind of megalithic tomb near holy Tara in ancient Ireland. Going back there with his lover Wynn, he remembers his captivity.

~oOo~

As soon as they had walked into the chamber of stone, Gristle felt an echoing stillness. This is where he had lain, almost accepting death. Here is where the sky, a massive lintel stone, had pressed into his chest and weighed on his mind, bringing him close to the calm of oblivion.

He felt again the mote of his inner strength that had escaped his weak flesh. He saw it again in the eye of his mind, watched it waft on the moving air of his own breath. Some remnant of memory persisted as he looked at the cracks and shafts of light overhead. He had risen to one of those fissures. He had clearly seen through to the sward and the trees beyond, into, and past the bruising rain.

Again he felt the keen joy of liberation, remembered hearing his own hoarse voice shout through the widening crack in the stone. “Fuck you! Fuck Fortuna!”

He turned to Wynn, the golden man who stood in a fawn-gold robe at his side. The red fox-fur trim at the neck picked up the brindled russet-and-blond of his flowing hair.

For a moment he was still speechless, as though crying to the implacable goddess had robbed him of his ability to speak, ever again. Finally, his voice escaped her grip.

“Wynn. This is perfect.”

Wynn had seen to it that this sepulcher became a warm, sheltering room. Their blankets, a source of light, his precious whetstone—all he really wanted were laid out as though in a wedding chamber, waiting for them to join in a new partnership.

Much later, when Wynn’s head was cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, Gristle marveled at how much this young man had brought him, in such a short period of time. Except for the scant eleven months with Tristus, he had spent forty years of his life in an empty room. It had been a room devoid of windows, harsh of floor, built of sharp angles and unyielding as flint.

He had known Wynn about six months. And out of that six months, he and Wynn had been physically together less than half that time. And yet even from the first hours after they had lain together, his world had begun to swell from the tiny, dark enclosure to this—this sun-raptured cosmos he called “love.”

… Wynn stirred in his arms.

“Gris.”

“I am here.”

“I need to take ye.”

Gristle’s throat erupted in a strange sound he barely recognized as a cough-like laugh. “You have already taken me. To a far, marvelous place. A place I never want to leave.”

“Nay. To take your alabaster ass.”

Before Gristle could react, Wynn became a maelstrom of flashing legs and strong, muscular arms, and Gristle found himself lying on his stomach on the tarred cloth. To his shame, he was breathing hard, while Wynn seemed fresh. Gristle inwardly cursed his recent wound.

He felt Wynn’s new, cobweb-soft beard on the curves of his ass, and then the wet velvet of his tongue sliding up and down the crack. “Damn it, Wynn! Stop!” But even as he said it, his prick swelled and hammered against the cloth underneath. He spread his legs then, giving in to the unaccustomed jolts of pleasure that traveled up his ass and into his very gut.

Soon he was moaning and arcing his ass high, seeking Wynn’s questing tongue, relishing the sensation of his lover’s mouth sucking on his anus. He was in danger of climaxing, he knew. “Fuck me!” His voice sounded strangled, thick with need.
As if in instant response to his pleas, he felt the broad dagger that was Wynn’s ready cock slide into his ass. It was a shock, and it was a hot-cool craving that took his breath again. How could he let this—this stripling, this inexperienced lad—take him as though he were a yielding maiden? He fought against it, he struggled, he loved every moment of Wynn’s adamant prick taking him, thrusting into a place so deep he lost all sense of time and place.

For 2018… The all-new re-releases are here:

http://amzn.to/2n3sTgh

 

The third in tbe trilogy is an all-new work, here:

Kindle US http://amzn.to/2n3ojQ7
Kindle UK http://amzn.to/2DAaJOs 
Sea to Sky (pdf or epub) http://bit.ly/2n1frcN
Smashwords (epub) http://bit.ly/2DDap0y

Read Full Post »

Excerpt: Shower sex with Rory and Alex

I think most of my books have a tub scene or a shower scene—even when the guys have nothing more than an old washtub in a shack. Even in my “Dawn of Ireland” books, when tubs were unheard of, one MC was able to cobble together a passable tub out of an old barrel. Another man diverted part of a nearby river to form a kind of indoor wash-place. More on Gristle later…

Yes, cleanliness is verrrrry important.

I put a douche scene in another book, The Chase. This one from The Kilt Complex is similar, except that Rory finds a way to use the device twice.

This small scene takes place before Rory Drummond and Alex Dominguez have to dress and leave to follow a clue in the case of the wandering wolfhound …

~oOo~

What Rory liked most about his olympic-sized bathroom was the tub—the eighth wonder of his world wrought in marble and brass. After Alex had found the collar, and they’d scanned the newspaper sites of every news outlet in Angus … after Iain had made an afternoon appointment with the vet … both of them had retreated wordlessly to the custom-made bathroom.

The tub was centered on marble tile which sloped gently to a drain underneath. With no need for a curtain or door, they could shower en plein air, as it were, their wet glistening bodies plastered together while they lathered each other. Or just about any other activity they decided to indulge in, from mutual douching to dedicated sucking and fondling—and everything in between.

“I loved it last night.” He had his mouth and tongue in Alex’s shapely ear while his lover playfully tried to wrestle out of his muscular embrace.

“Oh, yeah? Show me how much.”

“Stand still, then, and spread your legs for me.”

“And if I refuse your cave-man tactics?”

“Then, lad—” he strong-armed Alex until he stood with his tight young ass pointing at his own primed cannon—“then you’ll just have to take the punishment, until I bloody say ‘when.’ Dammit, stand still.”

“Douche me first.”

Alex stood with legs splayed, and Rory lifted the cock-shaped douche head from the cunning overhead fixture and soaped it first, and next the puckered mouth of the man’s anus. He knelt behind his lover. While one hand fondled his satin balls and cock, his other hand inserted a ballistic-plastic perforated dildo, inch by inch, into the long-memorized convolutions of his rectum, aiming for the sweetest spot of all.

He pushed and stroked, fondled and withdrew, almost at the point of orgasm just listening to Alejo’s words of encouragement, seeing the shivering movements of his ass, feeling the excited stiffness of his prick.

“Ah, Diós mio … Let it blow up my ass.”

“Say the word, Alejo.”

“Uh, unh unh, now!”

He flicked the release on the douche head, letting a stiff stream of water shoot into the recesses of his lover’s butt, feeling the man’s entire body shake and the thick cum ooze between his fingers.

“In me, Rory, quick.”

He pulled the cock’s-head device from Alex and soaped it again, then stuffed it up his own anus. It took only a few seconds to pile his blood-gorged prick into his lover’s ready hole and push, letting the warm water shoot up his asshole while he fucked, his butt cheeks clamping the spurting device, his balls glutted to the point of explosion.

As he came, he gripped the muscled planes of the world’s sexiest ass and bellowed to the high ceiling. “Och! Och, love!”

Afterwards … after each of them had lathered and rinsed every inch of the other’s flushed body, after they’d toweled each other, kissed and fondled and murmured … they lay together for a while, a stolen few minutes before they had to rise and dress.

“Alejo. It just gets better. How is that possible?”

“Shush. There’s a secret there, corazón. A mystery, maybe we both hold the key to. Just let it be, and who knows? The answer might come.”

The Kilt Complex: High crimes and sexy misdemeanors.

http://amzn.to/1toZgAS
Kindle UK: http://amzn.to/1EQn6Qq
omnilit http://bit.ly/1tvfx7E
An ARe and OmniLit Bestseller
Print: http://amzn.to/17Xs27N

Read Full Post »

The Kilt Complex: The Plot Thickens

The Kilt Complex … High crimes and sexy misdemeanors.

Yes, the characters are the same—horny, agressive, jackhammer-for-a-prick Rory Drummond; and “long-legged, raven-eyed, sweet-assed loner”** Alex Dominguez.

But in this sequel to Nevada Highlander, Alex has left the sanctuary of his mountains, finding himself near the coast of Scotland’s North Sea, festering in his role as boy-toy in Rory’s large castle bedchamber. For his part, Rory is increasingly bemused and confused by his growing attraction to the young man who’s so different from his previous lovers.

Here’s a scene I haven’t excerpted before, when the two men are together in Rory’s giant marble tub, and it’s becoming clear to Rory that his tub-mate wants to be alone for a while.

~oOo~

Rory eyed Alejo’s reclining form, his belly tightening as he pondered the man’s flat relaxed muscles and quiescent cock. Alex was sitting in the marble tub, his long legs crossed at the ankles, while Rory adjusted the water temperature and allowed the large tub to fill. It had been less than an hour since he’d shot his cum into his lover’s tight hot ass… yet he wanted him again, now.

With an effort, he remembered what Alan had said. About listening with more than his ears. Maybe that meant listening with more than his dick…

He deliberately held back, soaping his lover’s honey-brown skin then pointing the brass nozzle and rinsing, removing the pungent reminder of a hard morning’s labor. He worked his lathered palm under Alex’s armpit, hardening as he felt the silky hairs nestled in the warm hollow.

Och, I could foog this cave with my tongue while he jacks me off. We’ve not done that yet. Or ram my meat into it until I come all over his tits. He sought the other underarm, feeling the pre-cum seep through the slit of his dick.

“Tell me again, lad, about the … um, your new job.”

Alex waggled his brows at Rory’s rising interest and grinned. “Sit here with me. We’ll wash each other, and then I have a … something I need to do for the next hour or so. Okay?”

Rory let the nozzle slip into the soapy water and straddled his lover’s thighs. “Fine, corazón. But first— ”

“Rory.”

He’d begun to lean forward, seeking Alex’s mobile mouth. Something about the man’s voice stopped his single-minded intent.

“I’m serious. Let’s wait until later. I ate with Willie, so I’m not hungry. But you must be starved. Why don’t you catch a few bites to eat while I’m gone? I promise I’ll be back soon. We can talk then. Talk, and … catch up on each other’s day.”

“I’m beginning to think, lad, you want to be alone.” Rory heard the petulance in his own voice and attempted a smile, trying to belie his frustration.

Alex kept his eyes on his face, his expression never altering, as he took the bar of soap from his hand and briskly ran it over Rory’s shoulders and chest. “Alone, not necessarily. But right now, I have a task that’s better for me to take care of without …”

“Without interference?”

“Without my lover distracting me.” To underscore his meaning, he took Rory’s hand and guided it to his cock, beginning to rise like Moby Dick from the deep. “You see? Sometimes one head’s better than two.”

Feeling a bit mollified, Rory managed a grin and fondled the stiff velvet.

“Funny, Alejo. All right. I’ll let you dress, while I dash out a while.”

“Don’t forget to check on Thistle.”

“Thistle?”

“Our dog. Um, the new dog.”

Rory reluctantly loosed his hold on his tub-mate and soaped his own groin, not without a sour look at Alex; then after rinsing, he stepped from the tub, letting the water flow from his chest and testicles to the tiled floor and down the central drain. He walked to the brass rack and chose an oversized soft cotton towel then stood drying himself in brisk strokes, still admiring Rory’s trim, muscled body.

“Don’t get attached, lad. Remember, we’re seeking her owner. I don’t want to pry you two apart when the time comes to bid her a fare-thee-well.”

Alex regarded him with those deep set eyes, black depths kindled by some fire, like … like Vulcan’s forge in the bottom of a smoldering volcano. Those eyes had almost set him on his arse when they first met, thickening his tongue and his cock at the same bloody time.

“And you became my father … when?”

He loved it when his lover played the orphan card, letting his history without parents become a subtle weapon.

Walking close again, he leaned over Alex and nibbled his raspy chin, then let his tongue find the hidden dimple under his lower lip and finally his lover’s open mouth.

When he straightened with an effort, he played his part to the hilt. “When you hide your marbles, lad, and won’t let anyone else play. Go on, do what you need to do. I’ll be back when I get here.”

~oOo~

**So described by reviewer Alex A. Akira in Rainbow Book Reviews, here:

http://www.rainbowbookreviews.com/book-reviews/nevada-highlander-by-erin-oquinn

The Kilt Complex:

High crimes and sexy misdemeanors

http://amzn.to/1toZgAS
Kindle UK: http://amzn.to/1EQn6Qq
omnilit http://bit.ly/1tvfx7E
An ARe and OmniLit Bestseller
Print: http://amzn.to/17Xs27N

Read Full Post »

Cowboys, kilts and fun to come . . .

A rancher’s son goes to Scotland in search of his family roots. Fate brings him to the door of an oversized, cranky castle laird. After getting off on the wrong, er, boot…the men find something about each other to delve into more deeply. But fate can be a cruel matchmaker. 

Finding the Loch Ness monster…a contemporary #gay #romance- #fantasy novella.

Excerpt:

They were close as a whisker. So close Hugh felt a movement of his kilt, where the guardian sporran used to be. It was now pulled to the side, and the lump he felt was not the man’s purse.

That was his signal.

He cupped the chin and brought Guthrie’s face to within an inch of his own. He raised his head only a little. Only a touch at first, a brushing of lips, a tongue running along the wide mouth, still shut, seeming not to yield.

Another truth came to him in another moment of wonder. This man has never had a real kiss before.

So softly it seemed to be almost unspoken, Hugh finally broke their long silence. “It’s okay. Open for me.”

 

He found a small opening and breached it, sliding his tongue inside, and then his cock decided to try bursting from his suit pants. He moaned, and Guthrie opened his mouth wider. Hugh cupped the man’s jaws and entered his mouth, deep, his tongue searching the inside, slicking its way deeper. He pulled out a little, lingering on the bottom lip.

In a frenzy of need, he sank his teeth into the flesh of that lip, savoring the soft rush of blood, licking it clean.

He spoke into the wounded mouth. “Suck my tongue. Will you?”

The answering voice came low. “Call me Graeme.”

“Suck my tongue, Graeme.”

 

Kinde US: http://amzn.to/1SHlutk 

Kindle UK: http://amzn.to/23CzwIi 

Smashwords: http://bit.ly/1VujDiI

 

Following COWBOYS AND KILTS is another novel about a Scot and an American. But this time, the Scot is out of his element, and the American, a state trooper, is ironically the Highlander as both these guys meet and mate in Nevada’s highest mountain range. That book is NEVADA HIGHLANDER.

Read Full Post »