Posts Tagged ‘Scotland setting’

The orange flames waved at the crowd as paper and print dissolved inside them. Burning words were torn from their sentences.”

~Markus Zusak, The Book Thief


Facebook, stung by accusations of allowing hate speech,  has taken the role of book burner. If a post shows “questionable” nudity…if the text “goes against community standards”…Zap! It’s removed, and the poster is put in purgagory for an arbitrary length of time.

In my case, it was an image of two men, their nether regions covered in a sheet, lying together on a bed. Naughty! Nudity! The text was the opening of my newest novella, still being written. And the whole nasty thing was shared with one private group of erotica writers.

That was enough to put me in FB jail, judged by the kangaroo court that writers of gay lit often find themselves facing and judged by, with no hope of defense.

Here’s the image, somewhat altered by a decorative art application, and the text. Brace yourself for a barrage of nasty filthy private words spoken by two men who favor each other…

The Morning After

Waking up with a landslide in his lap, Aidan could barely see his date by the glow of the kitchen night light. They were curled together on the tacky linoleum. Above his head hunkered the shadow of his heavy slat-backed chair, seat of recent passion.

His piss-hard was painful, and persistent. But he wanted to hang onto this man a while longer.

They’d known each other for—not months, or weeks, or days—for whole hours. But they shared a spark, an ember, that had smoldered and caught in the dry kindling of a stone hut. The flame had started in his cock, spread to his butt, then fired his gut and his tattered soul.

He would not easily let this one go.

In sleep, his frame collapsed to fit Aidan’s embrace, Logan was not so much a mountain as a boulder. His cheeks were stubbled by new growth, but the close beard was soft as angel hair. Aidan imagined rather than saw the curve of his dark lashes, the planes of his cheeks, the pouting sensitive mouth. And below, the swell of his arousal…

Why didn’t he even look at my bed? Maybe he could sense that another man had fucked me there. And sleeping on the bloody floor—a substitute for his own stone haven? Will he ever shout his honest need to me…or to any man?

in bed

He hoped the answers would come, in time.

“Logan.” He murmured in the man’s ear, then put his tongue inside for good measure. The response was immediate, a volcanic rumble.

“Little Fire. It must be time to leave.”

“Aye. Fast shower first?”

“How fast?”

“Just long enough. No time for your Deep Fury.” Logan and his magical gel had been, in a word, extraordinary.

A low laugh, a seeking of his mouth and tongue…the adamantium mountain was awake and ready.

At least my publisher…oh, that would be yours truly…New Dawn Press will publish this later. Right now, it’s one third complete. A mystery, BTW, not an erotic romp, or even a romance.  The bare beginnings of an interesting friendship.

The novella is tentatively titled Deep Fury and is the sequel to Where There’s Smoke.

Kindle US https://t2m.io/BH0DYkaZ

Kindle UK https://t2m.io/DfeqsJva

SeaToSky (pdf or epub) https://t2m.io/Pa6vV5Ri

Smashwords (epub) https://t2m.io/2BNba3Sp 

QueeRomance Ink (all links, excerpt, reviews, other info) https://t2m.io/qsZHJd7B  

Where they burn books, they will, in  the end, burn people.

~German poet Heinrich Heine





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Let me start by introducing Alex Dominguez and Rory Drummond by way of a couple of images. They’ll form in your imagination soon enough, I hope, as you read the opening words of Sleeping with Danger (all new, Nevada Highlander 4).

alex promo correx

rory promo SWD correx

~~~Chapter 1~~~
In the Arms of the North Sea

Montrose Promontory
Angus, Scotland
Friday, April 5, 2014

Alex slowed his mountain bike to a wobbly roll and finally braked to a complete stop. The worn leather seat jutted from his groin like a tired but still serviceable cock. He grinned down at it, thinking about this morning with Rory, and shifted his gaze to the shimmer and blur of blue where the waters of Montrose Harbor met the vast canopy of sky.

“Suck my balls, Alejo.”

He’d awakened to the musky smell and velvet fist of his lover’s sac thrust in his face. Still full of sleep, abruptly aroused, he’d groped for Rory’s ass cheeks and opened his mouth, letting the testicles invade the inside of his cheeks. Slobbering and spitting, he let them slide out, then sucked them inside again while his fingers found his lover’s asshole.

“Rory…let mmph…”

“Quiet, lad. Now the cock.”

A week ago, Spring had hit Scotland’s east coast in a rush of temperate days and cloudless skies. From what Alex read on the net and heard in the conversations around him, the only place in Scotland still ass-numbing cold was the only place he’d rather be—in the Highlands. In the highest and probably most beautiful spot in his adopted country. In the Cairngorms.

Almost six months ago, following Rory, he’d left his beloved Snake Range in Nevada’s high desert. Not that he’d spent a lot of time there since he was a kid. But those stark glacial peaks had a grip on his psyche that he now recognized. Only now, after leaving them far behind.

Using the pedal as a fulcrum, he jumped from the bike and flicked the kickstand, letting it sit like a good dog on the side of the narrow path while he ambled to the steep roadside and lost himself, as usual, in a flood of raw beauty.

hp-more solitudepizap.com14192189184881

These are actual pictures of Montrose Promontory with its iconic lighthouse, built back in the 1800s and saving ships from the arms of the North Sea ever since.

Montrose promontory lay before him like a thumb jutting into the North Sea, its tip punctuated by the lighthouse. Using the rocks as footholds, he walked a ways down the bluff, closer to the sea. Now, at low tide, Alex turned his gaze from the land and looked down at the foaming tide pools left by retreating waves. His eyes followed the seabirds sweeping in for their prize, shellfish left every twelve hours by the ocean’s circadian promise.

He stood erect, letting the wind buffet him, thinking about the odd fact of a Nevada highlander embracing the Scurdie Ness headland on Scotland’s eastern shore, five thousand miles from home. Correction: what used to be his home.

His mind flicked over the past few weeks, how a tide pool like one of these had led to a killer and his own near demise. And Rory… He’d put his own fiancé in a dangerous trap then, and on other occasions too.

Por diós. My fault, for being a cop. Anything and everything’s a clue. Every face might hide a criminal.

He wondered for the millionth time whether he was doing the right thing. Two months ago he’d agreed to marry the man he adored. But would marriage put Rory in the crosshairs again…and again, and again? Would the tough Scot end up being another victim of his lover’s relentless cop-heart?

The Scurdie Ness Mess. That’s what the local online newspapers called it. He and Rory had escaped with no more than a few scars—Rory on his muscled chest, where he’d crawled like a snake for a kilometer. And Alex? There was still a dull ache in his fingers and on his kneecaps too, still swollen and stiff from—

“Yo! Alex, right?”

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice behind him. As much as he craved solitude, he liked the man who’d spoken his name, and he turned with a smile. The bony youngish man had taken the incline like a pro. Hell, Alex hadn’t even heard his approach. Or I’m getting old before my time…

“Good to see you, Peter James. Or James Peter. Were you named after two favorite uncles?” He stretched out his hand and let the other man pump it.

“Hilarious. The kids in school had a blast with ‘Peter,’ but I outgrew them, and Nebraska too. How’ve you been, Alex? I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since the mess. Um, the Scurdie Ness case. Did I ever thank you for your role in tracking down a killer, Peter? I owe you a big one.”

Peter shook his head, letting a hank of straight brown hair fall across his lively eyes. “Fuck that, Alex. All I did was show you my photo files.”

The tall, lanky midwesterner had an infectious grin, and an easy way about himself that Alex liked.

“That was huge. Your photos cracked the case.”

Peter, thumbing back the fugitive lock with a bony thumb, laughed out loud. “Yeah, because you looked past the crap into the facts.”

“Anyway, Peter, how come you’re away from the Reserve this morning?”

The photographer, not paid by the Montrose Basin Wildlife Reserve, was actually their best wildographer, a term he’d learned from Peter himself. Alex had seen his work. The man could make his feathered subjects fly off the page. 

yellow-browed warbler

This photo of a yellow-browed warbler was taken in Scotland, photographer unknown.

“Day off, kinda. I should be home sleeping in, or sucking up java, or working on my computer files. But the warm weather and all… I thought today would be a good time to shoot some stuff for myself.”

Alex had already noticed a compact leather case slung over his shoulder with a long strap and figured it was a digital camera. Peter lived in a dump, but his equipment was top-notch.

“What about you, Alex? Here on police business, or…?”

“I come out here maybe three days out of seven. Four at the most. No set days. A Special Constable is not so special, Peter. But at least they let me set my own schedule.”

“And pay you a little more than I get paid—bird shit.”

They both cracked up. It was true. Peter worked for the love of wildlife, the hope that someday his tagline on the web would attract more than fleeting praise. And Alex was a former Nevada State Trooper, new to Scotland, who’d pretty much lucked into this rent-a-cop gig on the promontory. The money he got was minuscule, barely enough to cover the non-rent on his non-home. The thought made his mouth twitch a little, and he turned his head, pretending to gaze out at the harbor.

“Not trying to be too personal Alex. But I was wondering if you and Rory, um, if you guys have set a date.”

He turned his head and allowed his eyes to smile along with his mouth. “Paperwork. We’re drowning in paperwork. Just because the Parliament said it was okay to have same-sex marriages, that doesn’t mean Scotland is ready for us. They seem to have their heads up their asses. We have to register, then wait. Then fill out more forms, and wait some more. Hell, Peter, we’ve gotten word that no marriages at all will be granted until the end of the year.”

“Ouch. Because they’re stalling? Or because they just don’t know how to handle the rush?”

He grinned. This guy was straight, but he was cool. 

They stood in silence for awhile, soaking up the rare morning sun, allowing the salt wind to lift their hair in cartwheels and somersaults.

“Alex? Everything okay?”

“Absolutely, my friend. I was just thinking… One of these nights, I’d like you  to come over to the—to Castle Drummond for dinner. You’ll like Rory’s parents. And I promise to keep Thistle from devouring your shirt tail. Or worse. How ’bout it?”

“Damn. I’d love that. It’ll be good to see Rory again. I liked your wolfhound too. She’s a beauty.”

Hoping he wasn’t being too obvious about the brush-off, he offered his hand again. “Then I’ll give you a call after I check with Rory. Howzat?”

“Can I bring my girlfriend? Well, kind of. She’s a girl, and we’re friends…”

“I’m looking forward to it, Peter.” He meant it. But he had a job to do right now, and stuff he needed to sort out in his head before Rory’s sexy taunts sent him into helpless laughter and his strong arms pulled him again into a frenzy of lust. 

Alex walked ten feet up the embankment and rescued his bike, which had managed to stand upright in the stiff wind. Turning to wave at Peter, he smiled back at the man’s open grin and wave of farewell. He mounted Old Paint—his fond nickname for the cheap refurbished bike—and pedaled up the promontory toward “his” lighthouse.

Damn right Scurdie Ness was his lighthouse, the iron nautilus where he’d managed to trap a determined killer. The famous beacon was part of his beat, actually, a destination for tourists and so a possible target for vandals as well as sight-seers. It loomed ahead of him as he rose and bent forward on the mountain bike, trying to keep the salty sting out of his eyes. 

It was not lost on Alex, that the places he responded to most deeply were high ones. His mountain, Mariah. His lighthouse, the Scurdie Ness. And his personal aerie, Hunter’s Point—not so much high as aloof. Secluded.  He was still amused that he’d thought of Rory as a highlander, when in fact he was a flatlander from Arbroath. The real highlander was Alex Dominguez.

Again he thought of the Cairngorms, Scotland’s answer to his old turf.  As much as he and  his lover had day-tripped in the Scot’s vehicle of the moment, they were holding off a trip to those mountains. Alex thought he needed a good three days just to take it all in—half a week, three whole days in a row that he reckoned his Special Constable job would not allow.

Rory had teased the shit out of him. “Alejo, they don’t even pay you. You have every right to tell Finley she can stick it in her wrinkled—um, she can afford to be without you for two or three days. Och, am I going to marry an old lady, or a real cop?”

But Alex had a work ethic, a dedication to duty he couldn’t seem to shrug off. Even if the “duty” of the moment was helping a poor fisherman prepare smokies, or keeping this road clear of possible trouble-makers…both for pennies a day…once he’d made a promise, it was fossilized in granite, an ancient bristlecone at the treeline of Mt. Mariah.

His smile bit into the wind, and he tried to concentrate on the present. The lighthouse, looming in front of him, and his marriage too…

bike butt

The “special” in Special Constable. No, not Alex’s duty uniform.


green thumbtackDon’t stop now! A bit from chapter 2 is on this blog, here: https://bit.ly/2MJfmGT

And eight first-draft chapters (roughly one-third of the novel) are printed starting here:


I almost forgot the cardinal rule of blogging: leave em with a link! Here’s the book that precedes this one, a promo I ran on Facebook today:

The brass balls have become more vulnerable as Rory’s association with Alex proves unsafe at any speed. This is the third NEVADA HIGHLANDER title.

 Sexy and explosive! HUNTER’S POINT: A Scot, a cop, and a killer…at a point of no return.

 As Scotland is about to pass a same-sex marriage bill, two headstrong men have their own problems to solve: a case of murder, a coming to terms with a troubled past, and a possible long-term commitment to each other, even in the face of a third man who apparently would love to end their torrid affair.

 Rory and Alex follow murder clues from the lighthouse complex on Montrose Promontory to one of Scotland’s most prestigious prep schools … while a killer, not content with one victim, waits in a place none would suspect.

hp cosmic promo

~ What? You haven’t started the Nevada Highlander series? 😉

#gay #erotic #romance #action- #adventure




SLEEPING WITH DANGER—this one, now published!

All four novels on O’Quinn’s kindle series page:


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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)


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!


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 actionadventure

~The Nevada Highlander trilogy


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

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The Kilt ComplexHigh 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.


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.2 men tub

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— ”


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?”in tub copy

“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.”


“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?”kiss tongues

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.”


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


The Kilt Complex:

High crimes and sexy misdemeanors

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

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This is the first of a few blogs about my newest novel. THE KILT COMPLEX is the sequel to the very successful NEVADA HIGHLANDER.

NH in snow-pizap.com14196192788871

In the first book, castle laird Rory Drummond, a big man with huge sexual appetites, meets a quiet, shy man named Alex Dominguez. Alex is a Nevada State Trooper who, unknown to the Scot, has been assigned to stay on his tail while he’s playing at being a tourist. The inevitable happens—Rory falls arse-over-bollocks for the man who’s supposed to report on his every move. Oops!

Who’s tailing whom?

The sequel was released January 1. Here is the blurb from inside the cover:

Scottish high crimes and sexy misdemeanors …

killer-pizap.com14186745713861The Kilt Complex finds former state trooper Alex Dominguez out of his element—on the shore of a distant sea, far from the comfort of his Nevada mountains, guilt-plagued for rejecting the bed of his handsome lover. Castle laird Rory, whose life mantra has always been “cum and go,” is uncharacteristically flustered by his own deepening feelings for dark-eyed Alex.

The singular act of Alex’s moving out of the castle seems to spark both men to come to terms with their intense love affair. Can each of them overcome deep-seated guilt and build a solid relationship on the hot coals of desire?

Tracking the story of a lost dog, the men become enmeshed in a deadly chain of events. From the perilous cliffs on the North Sea to the grounds of the Scottish Parliament, and from the luxury of a millionaire’s digs to the rude oak barrels of a native fisherman, Rory and Alex find they must finally confront their complex feelings for each other in order to survive the trap of a killer.

Plain to see, this novel is both a love story and a mystery-thriller.


Below is an image of both covers, designed by Dreams2Media (Rebecca Poole).

dbl covers nh&hp-pizap.com14200568794101 copy


Nevada Highlander: Who’s on Whose Tail?

The Kilt Complex: High Crimes and Sexy Misdemeanors

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