Posts Tagged ‘The Chase’

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Chase sat staring into his computer screen. He brought up a new document from his iMac “Pages” icon and set the title to boldface, centered.

Buffalo Ryder

He sensed Brew behind him, then felt his warm breath just behind his right ear. Without acknowledging the sudden stirring of his crotch, he began to write the words that had kept him awake half the night.

Crane Ryder felt a deep exhaustion between his shoulder blades, a pain that increased with every step of his horse. It finally curled in his lower back like a rattler, nestled on his raw nerves. The figure in front of him walked with a stiff back that belied his own fatigue. Ryder knew the half-breed Indian was at least as shit-ridden with pain as he was, because he’d walked a few steps ahead of his horse, hands lashed behind his back, the last two days.

He pushed his tattered Stetson forward to shield his eyes from the desert wind and the merciless sun. His horse, tired of carrying his weight, moved slowly through the cakes of shale and caliche.

The town of Noble, Nevada, seat of Sloane County, lay another day ahead. He’d been there before, tracked it over the lizard-back stretch of the Paiute Range to the west, eighteen hours of dust in his eyes and dirt in his mouth. And balls that cried for relief.

Between them hung a stiff-fibered rope, held by one man and biting into the flesh of the other man’s wrists. An hour ago, when he’d stopped to squat before a fire, eating a half-grown jackrabbit, the ’breed had stood defiantly apart, rejecting the scrawny half-cooked haunch he’d offered on the tip of his Bowie knife.

“Think I give a fuck?” He’d eaten it himself, then buried the bones. file0001073841038 rope flipn 500

Now, almost sunset, he spotted a copse of root-sharing mesquite trees, huddled like thin outlaws somehow clinging to the rocks. He dismounted. Reeling from desire to sleep, he drank deep of the ’skin that was strung across his belly, under his thin shirt.

His captive stood watching the sky, as though calling a scowling cloud to his rescue, or asking his gods to let him die. Ryder walked to the Indian and held out the ’skin.

The man jerked his head away, not meeting his eyes, moving his legs a fraction.

As he moved, Ryder caught a glimpse of his prick, heavy as a hatchet under the rag that clung to his loins,.

Shit. He turned and walked ten feet away, readjusting his crotch as he strode to the back side of the mesquite.

He thought about his prisoner. The man was tall, muscled, quiet. His eyes sought only the horizon, never his. His mouth seemed set in a line that never once moved—not in disgust, not in pain, not in supplication.

Ryder hadn’t had release for days. He thought about tying the sonofabitch with his feet and hands together in front, taking his ass in a torrent of greed. No. He might have ways of cutting my cock in half while I’m in him. Goddamn Indians, can’t trust a one of  ’em.

Even as he thought about it, then rejected it, Ryder’s cock began to weigh on him, a taut and heavy rope of flesh with nothing to snag and pull in. Standing hidden from the captive’s sight, he stroked himself with callus-roughened hands until his seed spat into the thin dirt. Then he walked back through the slender-leaved trees. Did he need to secure his prisoner even tighter so his captor could sleep tonight? He wondered again whether the bounty money was worth this pain and aggravation.

“Where you going with this, Chase?”

Chase turned his face to capture Brew’s mouth, biting down a little on his lower lip.

“Not sure. Ryder’s almost crazy with desire.”

“And yet he holds back.”

Chase turned back to the computer screen. “Yes.”

“Think you’ll put them in a bondage scene?”

“I never gave it much thought.”

“Well, it’s heading that way. White man over red. Submission, punishment. Is that what you want?”

“No, not one race over another.”

Brew’s breath blew closer, lips almost thrust into his ear.  “But you have him in ropes.”

“He has to be, Brew. He’s being taken to justice.”

“Whose justice? Some flea-bitten white sheriff?”

“It’s the wild west, Brew. Not much choice here.”

“Yeah, there is. For instance, the Indian could be the one taking in the bounty hunter. Ever thought of that? Make Ryder the bad guy, not a freaking kemo sabe.”

Chase turned all the way around in the swivel chair to face his lover, his large thighs open. The naked Brew, like a heedless jackrabbit, stepped into the trap. In a second, Brew’s taut ass was squirming between his knees as he bore the man lower with the strength of his legs, toward the floor.

Brew was laughing and struggling. “Come off it, man.  We’ve got to get dressed and join your dad in Quad Three. Goddamn you—”

“Don’t question my motives. Ryder has to take in the Indian.”

“I say you have bondage issues.”file0001704853842

“I’ll show you bondage.” In a flash, Chase was on top of the smaller man, holding his shoulders into the thin Navaho rug that lay between the bed and the computer desk.

He could fuck this man six ways from Sunday every night, and still want to ream his ass the next morning. So Brew’s struggling served only to stiffen his resolve to take him right there, on the goddamn floor. He saw an abandoned neck scarf near the bed leg, the one he’d been wearing last night before he and Brew had tumbled into their king sized bed.

In two quick motions, Chase had the scarf around his wrists, then wrapped around the stout wooden bed leg. He was straddling the man, sitting on his groin, looking down into coal black eyes and an unshaven face. He could feel Brew’s long cock nestled next to his crack, and he settled back to catch it between his own butt cheeks.

The former tight end for Sloane County High sat admiring the one he’d tackled. He was not really skinny, but Brew Lloyd was a lover, not a fighter. Chase Grayson knew the other man was not muscled enough to get loose, but he had the spirit of a goddamn maverick. Even now, he struggled in the makeshift manacles, daring Chase to eat into the hour they both knew should be spent on the ranch.

Chase had never taken a lover, nor even been fucked. Not until a few months ago when the experienced Brew had outright seduced him, right here in his own large bedroom. Since then, he’d let his inner sense of his own athlete’s body rule his actions. Their lovemaking, to him, was abandoned, daring, forbidden. Even Brew, experienced in the ways of men, swore he’d never been fucked by a man with his towering imagination. Not to mention size.

Not Brew, nor any man, had known that Chase was a writer. It was something he’d kept hidden for years, even from Pa. He’d finally confessed to Brew, the man he’d like to keep in his bed forever.

Grinning, Chase leaned into Brew’s chin. “Bondage issues, you say, Brew?”

“Hey, man. Let me go. I never bargained for this shit.”

He turned Brew belly down, twisting his wrists in the makeshift handcuffs.

Not for the first time, his eyes devoured slender buttocks and long thigh muscles. He sank to his knees and bent into Brew’s ass, sliding his fingers through the crack, then spitting on them and working them into his anus. Nice and slow. He watched his own fingers pull out of the soft flesh, the way Brew’s skin seemed to close around them, like a tender mouth on a nipple, as he withdrew.

His tongue found the rosebud. Suddenly his prick was twice as big as before, demanding entrance. Denying himself, he began to lap Brew’s anus with slow, wet strokes. He could feel his rigid cock beginning to leak, a soft weeping for satisfaction.

“Stop it, damn you.”

“Okay. I think I’ll let you lie right here while I finish my story.”

Deliberately, he stood with his legs on each side of Brew’s body. He was lying outstretched, with his hands bound over his head, his legs splayed. To Chase, his hip movements were the ebb and flow of a rip tide.

“I demand to be released, asshole.”

“Fuck you, Brew. Just lie there till I’m ready for you.”

He returned to the chair and bent again over the keyboard.This time he was wearing a massive hardon.

Ryder tried to sleep. The Mexican saddle under his head was hard, the night was cold. He lay curled away from his prisoner, listening for the man’s breath, a sound he began to crave. What if the bastard ups and dies on me? Just half the bounty money for a dead Indian.

He retraced his own moves an hour ago, the way he’d bound his prisoner to a mesquite trunk, hands and legs both. He knew the man would take the first opportunity to get loose, then slit his throat. Both within a split second.

If he was alive. Had he slipped to the happy hunting ground while Ryder lay fingering his own freaking cock? Or was he even now sliding out the hidden knife, slicing through his bonds, creeping toward his back?

Somehow the danger of it all made him hard again. His hand  began to find a rhythm. The more he stroked himself, the more he knew he had to hammer the man he’d bound to the fragrant desert tree, rip away that goddamn loincloth and savage him, like

Chase felt his own rodeo rope around his chest, then his arms, and Brew was lashing him to the freaking swivel chair.

“I say the Indian takes in the bounty hunter.” Brew was kneeling in front of him, prying his knees apart, then measuring his rearing prick with hands suddenly gentle.

file0001851238717Chase laughed. “All right, Brew. That’s enough, okay? How’d you get loose, anyway?”

“The same way the Indian did, Chase. You are a dead man.”

Brew leaned into him, and his long, resilient fingers moved behind his balls and began to test his asshole. “I can get ’em all in, Mr. Buffalo Ryder. And if you don’t hold still, I’ll ride your prick and then your back all the way to Noble.”

Chase let his head loll onto the back of the chair, allowing the wet heat of Brew’s mouth to devour him. The fingers in his ass seemed to reach past his rectum, into his very gut, and he started to jump and toss.

“Let me go.”


“Ah, God, Brew.” The sucking and thrusting, combined with his inability to move his arms and torso, brought Chase to a new high. He closed his eyes and imagined Buffalo Ryder being taken by his prisoner.

“Never your captive. Now you will know ways of the red man.” The Indian pushed him upright against the mesquite trunk and lashed him tight. His exposed ass felt the bite of the wind sweeping from the Paiute Range.

 “Spread legs. We ride all night.”

He rode Brew’s hungry mouth, bucking and thrusting, feeling the cum travel from his balls to the slit while his ass exploded and the story wrote itself.


TCFenceZonThe characters Chase Grayson and Brew Lloyd appear in my novel THE CHASE, recently re-published by my own New Dawn Press, and available widely.

Two young guys with smokin pistols in their Levi’s …

Start with a smartass gay man named Brew Lloyd, back home in the hick town of Noble, Nevada for a few weeks. Add a shy man a few years older named Chase Grayson, former high school football star, buried in work on his dad’s ranch 15 miles from town.

Now throw these two guys together, add a homophobic father and an unscrupulous federal agent … what do you get? An adventure, a mystery, and a very erotic trip to the “new old west” of Nevada.

gay romance action- #mystery

Series page:
~Noble Dimensions

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Oh, ouch! I have just realized that this “home” section of my blog should have fresh blogs every week or at least every month. I am quite far behind on it, so I’ll catch you up to speed on my writing since Noble, Nevada. If you go to the page headings at the top, though, you will see updates on my MM writing.

The Chase debuted end of January. It’s another in the “Noble Dimensions” series, this time starring two different guys.


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If  you like ranchers and small-town guys . . . if you like rugged landscapes and plain-spoken people . . . if you like your erotica on the phallic and anal side of extra-hot . . . I think you’re gonna like The Chase.

Two unlikely men are drawn to each other, even over the space of years:

Brew is openly and outspokenly gay. He’s been pursuing a half-assed college career in Los Angeles, letting his father pay the rent and tuition as “blood money” for detesting his gay lifestyle. Brew left the two-bit town of Noble, Nevada four years back. But he’s never forgotten his old high school hero, the god-in-a-muscle-tee named Chase.

Chase is shy, a man who used to be a high-school football player but who spends most of his time alone with his dad on a 2000-acre ranch. Since high school, Chase has hidden his fantasies of a good-looking, dark haired guy named Brew. He’s let the years dull his dreams, but he’s never forgotten a pair of deep flashing eyes and a sardonic lift of the mouth.

An outspoken gay and a quiet rancher are each pursuing a fantasy. Where will the chase lead them?

Brew Lloyd finds himself back in Noble, taking care of his parents’ home while they’re at the bedside of his dying uncle. His father has arranged for him to find part-time work during the day at a ranch outside of Noble called The Chase. Brew doesn’t fit the name with his old crush, until he goes to the ranch and sees the man from his long-ago fantasies, Chase Grayson.

For his part, Chase must suddenly confront a man whom he thought he’d forgotten, left under the blankets of his bed as he burrowed his needing flesh into a lonely cavern. But Brew is right there in his father’s living room, and his dad asks him to show this young man the ranch. And so Chase sets out to show this newbie how to sink a cedar fence post….

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He turned away and walked to where he’d left the cedar post, fighting a stubborn hard-on. By the time Brew joined him, his new helpmate had removed his shirt completely. His pale chest showed both lack of muscle and his aversion to sunlight. Maybe aversion to manual labor also. Too bad. That’s about to change.

Chase picked up the post and leaned it strategically over the swelling in his jeans.

“Okay, Brew, here’s what you’re gonna do. As soon as we set the post in the hole, you hold it tight and straight. Yes?”

“Tight. Okay. Straight. I’ll try.”

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Chase knew he could easily lift the post, but he waited until Brew was next to him. “On three, we put it in the hole.”

He watched in appreciation as Brew’s muscles seemed to strain and his breath came out a little harsh as they lifted. “Now hold it, while I fill the hole. Then we’ll make sure the wire’s taut on both sides. Good and straight, and tight. Got it?”

“Yeah. I got it straight and tight, Chase. Quit teasing me and do it.”

Then Chase couldn’t help it. He smiled and looked into Brew’s eyes. They were standing close, almost touching.


Still he didn’t move away, and Brew didn’t drop his eyes. Chase waited until he thought his prick would betray him if he stayed this close. He bent to pick up the shovel and began to fill the hole. He took his time, moving around the other man, quickly adjusting the crotch of his denims while watching the smooth back of Brew’s neck. He saw the muscles on the nape jump a little, and he almost tasted the thin film of sweat at the dark, lustrous hairline, trickling slowly down his shoulders.


After the post is up, Chase is still vicariously enjoying the closeness of his new help-mate.

He stood back a foot from Brew and lavished one last look at the vision of a slender, handsome man holding the erect fencepost as though he was part of it. “That’s enough. That’s good, Brew. You passed.”

As soon as he said it, Chase was pissed at himself. This guy Brew was way too smart—and smart-assed—to let a statement like that go by without challenge.

He walked a few feet away. Brew moved next to him.

“Passed. Passed what, Chase?”

He looked again into the other man’s eyes. “Never mind. That’s enough for the day.” He knew they needed to straighten a bunch of other posts, too, but something stopped him from mentioning it.

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“No. You were testing me. What grade did you give me?”

He shook his head and lied. “No grade.”

But Brew would not let go of his eyes. “Then let’s repair another post. Let’s brand a calf. Let’s…let’s do what ranchers do. And you test me on it.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

“I’m not pissed. I’m fucking turned on. Can’t you tell?”

His voice was low. Perfectly cadenced and…yes, sexy as hell. Brew moved to within six inches of him, and Chase began to sweat. How had he let this happen? He had never felt so aroused and he couldn’t understand it in the least. He was suddenly a little scared.

“Time to go.” He turned and walked to the security of his dusty midnight blue truck. When he got in and looked to the fence line, Brew was still standing there. Just standing, looking at him.


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Yeah, both men are turned on by each other. But Chase is unwilling—or unable—to admit the truth. And now he’ll have to spend the summer working next to a man who brings sweat to his palms and an unyielding timber to the crotch of his pants. Hell, how is he supposed to cope with a fantasy, when that dream is standing in front of him with a visible hard-on?chase  200 flip

The next time I post an excerpt, I’ll show you what happens a little later that day, after they get back to the ranch house and Chase’s dad leaves for town.

The Chase is available widely. The Zon link is http://amzn.to/VXyEq2
June 13, 2013
I promised an excerpt from the book, after Roy Grayson leaves for town with the two horny young guys watching him roll down the driveway. What in the world could happen, now that they have some time alone?

They left the dining room and went to the hall. Mr. Grayson pulled a grey Stetson off a battered hat rack, settled it over his straw-colored mat of hair, and left. Brew stood by the door, uncertain what to do next, watching Chase’s dad take off in a black Suburban.

“Wait a sec, Brew. Be right back.”

Chase left the hallway and disappeared through a side door. When he returned, he was carrying a tattered excuse for a cowboy hat, a singlet and some kind of denims rolled into a ball.

“These were mine, um, a few years back. They might fit you.”

“Thanks, dude. I’ll join you in the truck in a couple minutes. Okay?”

“Yes.” Chase stood in the hall, hands at his sides, quietly watching him.

Brew could feel a flush start in his neck and run up into his cheeks. “Where can I change?”

Chase gestured to the door he had just emerged from. “You can use my room.”

Now or never. “Come with me.”


The room was spacious, pine wood-paneled, hung with Navajo blankets and adorned with arrowhead display shadow boxes. A large desk, some kind of dark wood, held a Mac desktop computer and a stack of books. Brew noticed that the bed was over-sized, too. Big enough to fit a king, and his whole goddamn entourage besides.

Brew began to unbuckle his turquoise-studded belt. “Okay if I just drop my drawers?” He smiled into Chase’s eyes. They’d lost the paleness they had a while ago. A trick of the light. Now they seemed green as the mossy bottom of a wooded pond. Quiet, still, waiting.


Looking into Chase’s eyes, unbuttoning his jeans, knowing the huge bed was just behind him—all of it hit him at once, and his prick jammed into second gear, then third, heading for home. He had a hard time pushing the jeans down over his briefs, tangling them up on his crotch, watching Chase watch him.

Finally, Brew just let his jeans fall. Chase stepped a foot closer to him. He had to lift his head a little, and Chase lowered his own. They were so close now that he felt the man’s hot breath in his mouth, the soft cobwebs of his whiskers brushing his chin…

“Shit, Chase, I’ve wanted you since I was old enough to crave a man.” He began to lick Chase’s lower lip, then bite a little. Chase parted his lips, and Brew slipped his tongue inside.

Brew held Chase’s stubbly cheeks in both hands, slowly discovering his mouth, while the other man let him explore. His hands were still at his sides, as though he didn’t know where to put them. Their bodies by now were so close their groins rubbed and ground together, performing their own counter rhythm. “Kiss me,” he said against the tall man’s hot tongue. “Oh, fuck, Chase, kiss me. I want you.”leviskisswow 220

He began to suck on Chase’s tongue, softly, in rhythm with the hard pulse in his throat, and he put his hands up under the wife-beater. His fingers found the man’s erect nipples. He pulled on them a little as his tongue searched the inside of his mouth. Then Chase was in his own mouth, a sudden jab of molten heat, and his tongue seemed to reach the back of his throat. Now Chase’s hands were on his back, massaging, stroking, descending to his hips. His large hands seized his buttocks, then spread them, until Brew felt he was on the edge of a desperate climax.

The bed was behind him, close. Brew sat, bringing his mouth down Chase’s chest as he did, moving his hands around to grasp his butt cheeks. “Just stand there. Let me suck you.”

Chase fumbled with the top button of his raggedy denims, and Brew helped him. He pulled the zipper all the way down. “Let me. Let me.”

The cock that reared from his pants was almost frightening. Brew had never seen one so big, so marbled with veins. He took the time to edge Chase’s pants down over his hips, inch by inch, stroking the man’s flat-muscled ass cheeks. He held off putting the cock in his mouth. Let it be my reward, my all-day sucker. Oh God in heaven, I want this man.

He heard Chase’s tortured breathing and looked up into his face.

“Do it, Brew. I need you. Now.”

Brew started with his index finger in Chase’s asshole. He slid it in easily, wiggling and moving it as he entered and kept going. The other man jumped a little, not expecting the intrusion. “Hey.”

“Shhh, shush. Let me take you, big guy. Just relax.” He slid in the next finger. Chase had begun to let out small, inarticulate sounds, and he moved his legs apart farther as Brew searched his anus. Pushing in and then retreating, very slowly, Brew began to coordinate his fingers with his tongue. He started at the balls, pulling them almost entirely into his mouth before letting them spill out in gobs of spit.

That’s all for today, folks. Tune in to ths blog for more excerpts from Erin’s novels, historical and contemporary. Let me know what you think of the books.

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