Beautiful Storm - Just released from Ellora's Cave!


Beautiful Storm
Erotic Contemporary
Ellora's Cave
To Purchase
$1.49

Adrian Beck lost everything, including his passion for designing beautiful buildings, after 9/11. Self-imposed exile on Long Caye Island gives him the sanctuary he needs to live a simple, uncomplicated life.

Isabelle Clemet, of Clemet Hotels, is ready to rebuild after Katrina. She wants the best to design her new project on the coast in Biloxi, Mississippi. She wants Adrian.

Can an erotic late-night encounter on a secluded beach help a lonely architect rediscover his lost passion?

Excerpt:

"No. My first time to Belize Island. It's beautiful."

"So are you."

She smiled and dipped her head.

"It's late for a swim."

"I'm restless. The moon is full." She glanced into the sky then returned her gaze to his. "I didn't expect to see anyone." She kept her legs tucked beneath her and his shirt covered most of her nudity. "I should've worn a suit."

He grazed a finger over the fabric. "I'm glad you didn't. And I'm the only one who saw you. We're alone." With each beat of his heart, he felt the pull to crush her flush against him and kiss her trembling lips. "This is a private beach."

"Then we're both trespassing." Her whispered words hinted at seduction.

"I don't kiss and tell."

"Good."

He took her word as consent. He cupped her cheek and brushed his lips over hers. A soft whimper slipped from her. With a heated touch, she melted against him. Twining her arms around his neck, she clung to his shoulders. Adrian flicked his tongue against her lips. Her mouth opened and he relished in the cool fresh taste of her. He growled, parting the fabric and touching her. Smooth bronzed skin fluttered beneath his fingertips. This was crazy. Beautiful women didn't materialize from the sea, like an erotic dream come to life and make love on the beach.

He gripped her tighter, trailing his palm to her hip. She was warm, soft and pliant in his arms. Trekking higher, he widened his hands, feeling each of her ribs. Her breath was shallow and her pulse raced in the same frenzied rhythm as his.

Isabelle trembled. Strong hands warmed her chilled flesh and erotic heat scorched her from the inside out. Perhaps it had been crazy to slip into the soothing Caribbean waters for a midnight swim, but she was wound too tight and had to release some of the pent-up energy stressing her out. So much responsibility rested on her shoulders.

Perhaps the moon had drawn her to this distant shore. Or the enchanting tropical waters. Or the magic of this man.

The island dream kissed her with passion. She ached to feel the desire of a man who was interested in her—the woman. Oh, and with each wondrous glide of his tongue, she slipped a little more under his spell. She wanted more than kisses. Cream simmered in her pussy, hot and waiting for this man to fill her. She shouldn't be here. But who would know? His lips were tempting, his taste intoxicating. The moon, the ocean, the man all contributing to the madness in her mind.

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Iron Man - Book 2 in the Blood Slaves series is out!!


Iron Man
Copyright © KyAnn Waters, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

To Purchase http://www.jasminejade.com/pm-7833-400-iron-man.aspx

Iron Man

Book 2 in the Blood Slaves series

Rafe is a vampire and Adam is his human blood slave. But Rafe wants more—a blood bond. Adam is not willing to join the vampire world so he leaves it all behind and heads for DC and a new life.

Adam is back in town for the holidays. They rekindle their romance and head to the local fetish club, The Catacombs, where Adam is known as Iron Man because of his hardware—a steel cock plug and chain harness. They spend the week having wild, aggressive, kinky-as-hell sex. Anything goes.

When it’s time to return to the real world, Adam is torn. Rafe is more than a vampire, more than his lover. He’s his partner. Adam isn’t sure he can give up his humanity, even for the man he loves. He has to decide—a vampire blood bond or his lonely human life in DC?

Note: Two sexy men in a fetish club can get into a lot of kinky situations, so be prepared for anything, including all male, multiple-partner bondage sex and orgies in very public places.

Excerpt:

Rafe threw another log on the fire. Sparks exploded from the crackling wood and rose into the chimney. Outside the living room window, snow continued to pile up on cars, houses and shrubs. For the second time in an hour, a plow rumbled down the street with yellow lights flashing.

He went back to the sofa and sipped a beer, wishing for the mind-numbing intoxication that wouldn't come. He hadn't fed in days and without the warm elixir of blood surging through his veins, he was without human sensation. Yet, he didn't have the energy to feed and even less motivation for The Catacombs, the vampire club that would see to all his needs.

The neighbors had really outdone themselves this Christmas. Colorful lights dripped from the house. The shrubs twinkled under the blanket of white and the porch pillars were wrapped to look like candy canes. Rafe hadn't put up a single holiday decoration. He no longer considered himself religious--not for three years. Not since becoming vampire.

With a groan, he leaned into the cushions. He was twenty-six years old and a seasoned firefighter of five years. This week off work was going to be hell. Shit, his life was hell. He wasn't taking time off by choice. His captain had insisted that he needed to mourn. He worked the graveyard shift at the station. And while he trusted the humans he worked with in harried situations such as an out-of-control inferno, he didn't trust them enough to bring any of them into his personal life. He hadn't trusted anyone since Adam. And that relationship hadn't worked out as he'd hoped.

Adam had been more than a blood slave to sate his hunger. At least, Rafe had wanted more. Without forging a blood bond, he and Adam couldn't have eternity. For that Adam had to become vampire, had to exchange blood with Rafe. They would not only bind their lives, they would share thoughts and live as one.

"Love," he said into the empty room. Love hurt like hell. Rafe had pushed, obviously asking for more than Adam had been willing to give. Then he'd pushed Adam out of his life altogether because Rafe hadn't been willing to settle for less than forever.

Now, instead of the sweet taste of Adam's blood floating over his tongue and warming his body, he fed from slaves at The Catacombs. Men who served the sect, served vampires. Men who weren't like Adam. Adam hadn't fed any vampire except Rafe. They hadn't just been symbiotic. They'd been partners.

Rafe drove the maudlin thoughts from his mind and considered his current situation. Tonight he'd rather not be home. He'd rather be hanging out at the fire station or on a call. He didn't wish harm to anyone, especially this time of year, but nothing cleared the mind like focusing on something else. Fires were dangerous, explosive and unpredictable. Exactly the way he felt.

At some point, he'd need to think about feeding. Right now, he just couldn't summon the strength to move. The silence was deafening.

Rafe started at a knock on the door. The hour had grown late. He couldn't think of anyone who would bother him tonight—not after the funeral. At this hour, his friends would be at The Catacombs.

With a heavy sigh, he stood, strode over to the door and pulled it open.

"Hi, Rafe, I heard you had a bad day."

His gut clenched. Emotion choked his throat. Adam Cross was the last person he expected to see at his front door. "You could say it's been a bad year." And it hadn't improved when this man walked away.

"May I come in?"

Rafe stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He swallowed hard at the sight of his ex. Today had already left him drained. He wasn't sure he wanted to handle a conversation with Adam. But he stepped aside anyway. "Sure. Can't say I'm very good company."

Adam dusted snowflakes from his rakishly tousled hair and hunched his shoulders as he crossed the threshold. "I used to be able to cheer you up." He faced Rafe. Heavy silence hung between them. His full lips pulled into a somber line and were slightly reddened from the cold. "It's been a while. I had to see you, although I wish the circumstance were better."

Memories of them together still stung. The breakup hadn't been bitter or angry. Adam had the opportunity to take a position in Washington, DC, consulting for the government. Prestigious, lucrative and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to excel in his field. All excuses. Adam had left to get away from Rafe. He'd made his choice.

Adam's skin warmed. Rafe flared his nostrils, drawing in more of the coppery-sweet aroma of the thick blood flowing through Adam. His cock stirred. Time hadn't lessened his appetite for this man. His acute hunger intensified and bordered on painful. As much as he needed to feed and wanted to fuck, now wasn't the time to ravage his former lover. Emotions still ran too deep and Rafe still wanted more than Adam's blood. He still wanted more than Adam was willing to give.

Adam shared Rafe's sexual predilections for adventure. Their playground had been The Catacombs, a highly exclusive place that catered to men with Rafe's appetite and Adam's inclinations.

Rafe nodded toward the living room and started forward. "Would you care for a drink?"

"That would be great."

Rafe walked to the bar. He still stocked Adam's favorite Scotch whisky, Aberlour, and poured two inches of amber liquid into a tumbler.

Adam stood next to the crackling fire and shrugged out of his camelhair trench coat. Damn, he looked incredible. Evidently their breaking up had been good for him.

A casual crew-neck shirt hugged the contours of his muscular chest. Adam kept in shape--he enjoyed the attention of looking good. His belted Dockers fit his job but not his personality. Not the real man that Rafe knew. Business casual was fine for the office but Rafe preferred him in a studded codpiece and leather chaps to show off his long legs and calves carved from granite.

Slightly damp chestnut curls brushed against his collar. Rafe hadn't forgotten the piercing eyes and thick lashes but he'd forgotten the intensity of the vivid green color. Square forehead, hollow cheeks and a cleft in his clean-shaven face gave him a masculine appearance.

Rafe handed him the drink then sat on the couch. He wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't seen Adam in a couple of months. With his mother's illness, he doubted he would've been good company.

"I came home…for Christmas." Adam sat in the chair facing the couch and rested his forearms on his widespread thighs.

"That's good. So how's your family?"

Adam rolled the tumbler between his palms. "About the same."

"I guess not much changes."

Adam lifted his head and met Rafe's stare. "We both know that isn't true." He took a healthy swig of his drink. "But not everything does." His heated gaze raked over Rafe, lingering on his face. "You look good."

Rafe smiled along with a nervous chuckle then combed his straight brown bangs from his forehead with his fingers. He should've had a haircut, but then he hadn't expected company. Hadn't expected Adam to show up on his doorstep. "I was thinking the same thing about you." He stood and crossed to the hearth. After opening the metal screen, he knelt on one knee and picked up a split log.

"I had to come over…when I heard about your mom. I'm so sorry."

Rafe paused then tossed the log on the dying flames. "Yeah, me too."

"If I had known she was sick, I would've been here for both of you."

Rafe released an unsteady sigh. "You left, Adam." He glanced over his shoulder.

"Theron knew where to find me."

Of course he would. Theron was one of the surviving seven, a Master Vampire. He controlled every aspect of his sect, including blood slaves. "I know, but I've never asked him about you." He turned back to the flames. "We both made our choices. I appreciate that you're here, but I haven't fed, haven't slept. It might be best if you go."

"No." Strong fingers closed over his shoulder. "To offer condolences isn't the only reason I came over."

Desire flared in Rafe's groin and his cock stirred.

"Come here."

Rafe paused then slowly stood. Adam wrapped long fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss. A shiver skittered down his spine and his nipples tightened around the steel posts piercing them. Adam's lips were soft but insistent. Fuck, did Rafe really need this added complication? The man had a way of making him shed any inhibitions. They'd been wild and hungry for one another. Then Rafe's hunger had driven them apart. Adam hadn't thought Rafe could handle the limitations of their relationship. Adam had refused to bond with Rafe—refused to become vampire. He'd understood, but the rejection had still hurt like hell.

But the man could kiss. Rafe parted his lips and Adam's tongue delved into his mouth. Adam tasted good. A hint of mint blended with the essence of whisky and raw man. His grip tightened and he moaned low in his chest. Kissing back, his tongue swept into Adam's mouth, tasting, lightly sucking, then demanding.

Maybe Rafe needed this--to lose himself in his former lover, the man he still wanted, even if just for tonight. Inside, something snapped. A rush of need left him dizzy and his cock swelled against his jeans. Rafe became the aggressor, grasped Adam's buttocks and jerked him close. Adam groaned as Rafe pressed their erect cocks together.

"Is this what you came here for?" Rafe slithered his tongue against Adam's. He tasted better than he remembered. Intoxicatingly male. He threaded his hands through Adam's hair, holding his head as he deepened the kiss.

Adam ripped his mouth away and he gripped Rafe's shoulders. "I couldn't stay away." He shifted his hips, rubbing his groin into Rafe, pressing into the hard ridge of his shaft. "Is there another man in your life? A blood slave?"

He gave a low laugh. "Would you care?" Adam eased back and their gazes met. Rafe tugged on Adam's belt buckle. "Because I couldn't care less if there is anyone in yours." With fierce possessiveness, he cupped Adam's erect cock. "If you only stopped by for conversation, tell me now." He nipped at his lip, biting a little harder than he should. Part of him wanted to punish Adam for leaving but the bigger part was just damn glad he was there now.

"You always did want to fuck me."

With those words, Adam turned his head, laying open the flesh of his neck. Saliva pooled in Rafe's mouth, his tongue swelled and his canines lengthened. Control unfurled within him and the feral man, the part that wasn't human, took over. A growl rolled from his chest as his lips pulled back in a snarl.

Muscles throughout his body tensed.

"Now, Rafe. I feel as desperate as you."

Not possible. Rafe threaded his fingers into Adam's hair and angled his head. Opening wide, he hovered over his flesh, anticipating sinking his teeth into the sweet elixir coursing through Adam's veins--the drug that made Rafe human again.

Erotic Romance Author
www.KyAnnWaters.com

Ice Man: Blood Slaves

Available today!

Ice Man
Copyright © KyAnn Waters, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

To Purchase: http://www.jasminejade.com/p-7799-ice-man.aspx


Book 1 in the Blood Slaves series.

Feeding and sex go hand in hand when you're a blood slave to a vampire. It's like a drug and Rowan is hooked. With the vampire Theron, Rowan has never wanted for more than his next fix. Until he meets Brett. Brett is hot, the sex is incredible and he's human.

Brett is looking for kinky sex when he goes to the Catacombs, an exclusive fetish club for men. Flair bartender Rowan, also known as Ice Man, is sexy and mysterious. Brett isn't ready to complicate his life with a lover outside the Catacombs and Rowan isn't interested in club-scene sex but coming together and giving in never felt so good.

Rowan's dark secret could destroy everything. He must never allow Brett to learn of his symbiotic relationship with the vampire. He has to choose--tell Brett the truth or remain a blood slave. He can only hope that Brett will trust in love enough to forgive him.

An Excerpt From: ICE MAN

Another busy night and patrons crowded around the counter. Rowan stood behind the bar, flipping bottles and mixing drinks. His hands were steady as he focused on the turns, juggles and flash that brought him excellent tips and inquisitive stares. Blood slaves and vamps mingled with unsuspecting humans. All gay men and all heavy into fetish and the lifestyle. The Catacombs was a pleasure palace to those seeking high kink and anonymity.

Rowan fed on the erotic energy and adoration. However, he never participated in the sex play happening in public rooms, private rooms, or the open fuck fest occurring in the Pit, a large room with few rules and few limits. His habits in the bedroom weren't for public consumption.

He couldn't say the same of his vampire lover. Some looked at Rowan with loathing and contempt. He supposed that was to be expected, considering he was the blood slave to the ancient vampire. It wasn't a role he accepted easily.

Rowan didn't have family. In his early childhood, he'd bounced from foster family to foster family. Adolescence was worse. He'd always known he was gay. His lips curled into a snarl as he took a mental trip down memory lane. Getting caught giving the captain of the high school swim team a blowjob had gotten him kicked out of the last home. He'd taken to the streets and had been there about a year when he'd met a man named Tac.

Incredibly attractive, obviously wealthy, dressed in all black and screaming sex, he looked good and smelled better. Rowan hadn't been able to take his eyes off the bulge of his cock encased in black denim. He'd worn a long black coat. That night seven years ago, Tac had offered Rowan a ride in his BMW, had taken him out to dinner then back to his bed.

Seven years.

Rowan shook off the maudlin thoughts. Part of him did belong in the club, belonged to the vampires. But that didn't mean he didn't want a traditional relationship. A man, not a vampire, to share his life. He glanced at Theron's private table. He sat with friends, laughing, exuding a sexual aura that attracted men like moths to a fire. They knew him as Tac, the king of kink.

"You have beautiful eyes."

Rowan focused his attention on the man seated in front of him.

"Ah," he said. "So you can smile."

"What can I get you?" Rowan wiped the counter with a bar towel.

"A mojito, a private room and an hour with you."

Rowan took a tall glass from the stack. "I'm working." He tossed the rum bottle and caught it above the glass.

"You're very good at what you do."

"Thanks."

The man had piercing blue eyes fringed with thick feathery lashes. He wore a gentleman's haircut, trimmed close on the sides and a bit longer on top. Gray hairs weaved though the dark hair at his temples. Laugh lines creased the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Sharp angles created an interesting face. Ruggedly handsome, yet his deep voice spoke of refined elegance. A man who could sip champagne and still get dirty.

Rowan's cock stirred. The stranger intrigued him. Unlike many of the members of The Catacombs, this man wasn't blatant in his predilections. Men around them wore leather, PVC or bare oil-slicked skin, chains and collars. This man had on a silk shirt and trousers.

"I assume this is your first time here." Rowan knew everyone in the club. That was his job. He'd never seen this man before. He passed a pad of paper and pen to the stranger. "Member number." So he could put the drink charges to his tab.

Inside the club, anonymity was a priority. Men could spend an evening, fuck one person or participate in group sex. Or a man could slip into a private room, revel in any fetish and never share his name.

The man jotted his number on the paper. "Not my first time." He gathered sweat from the glass on his fingertip. "Though I did recently move to the area." He didn't elaborate.

Rowan focused on the way he traced patterns on the glass. Manicured nails capped long, thick fingers. Sparse dark hair swirled between his knuckles.

"It's a bit awkward," the man said. "We aren't supposed to ask for names and telling someone you want to fuck them isn't supposed to be uncomfortable here." He sipped his drink. His eyes raked over Rowan's T-shirt-clad chest. An answering warmth rushed into his shaft. His cock jerked. It felt good.

Men in the club didn't usually affect him. Perhaps he'd become desensitized to the tempting flesh on display throughout the club or maybe his lack of interest in others stemmed more from the fact that Theron fucked him hard and often.

"Rowan," he said without thinking about it too long. He extended his hand and the man enclosed it in the strong, solid warmth of his. Fingers tightened and held for just a moment.

"Brett Kirsch." He loosened his grip and they slowly let go. "A pleasure."

What the fuck? Rowan's pulse pounded and blood surged from his brain into his cock. His balls tingled and his skin was electrified. Desire simmered in his gut, turning hot. Sweat trickled down his back. A pleasure for sure. An unexpected one.

Not that he could do anything about the rush of blood into his shaft or the flash of desire warming his balls. Not without interference. He immediately scanned the area for Theron. The vampire, in the Zenith, would know the dangerous thoughts in Rowan's head.

"So we have names." Brett took a sip of his mojito. Now would they have sex?

"Your offer is tempting but I don't fuck in the club."

Brett raised an eyebrow and his mouth twisted with mirth. "You don't find the surroundings arousing?"

Rowan glanced at the men sipping beers, hooking up, determining who could best fulfill their darker desires. "No." He snapped his gaze back to Brett. "Not usually." He paused, took a chance on having his thoughts heard and then spoke. "That doesn't mean I'm not interested." Tension tightened his shoulders. "And I'm working."

"When do you get off?"

Rowan smiled.

"I meant, when do you stop working?"

Rowan worked at the club every night. His shift started after dark. Normally he stuck around until the crowds thinned but Brett could tempt him away. He leaned forward and whispered, "Would you be interested in getting together outside the club?"

Brett's smile faltered. "I wish I could." He took a hefty swallow of his drink. "I come to the club to avoid outside entanglements." He pushed the glass forward. "If you change your mind, I'll be around."

There won't be an after-hours party. Tell him not to go.

Rowan's stomach plummeted and his eyes slid closed. Whispered words couldn't keep his thoughts private—not from the mental link he shared with Theron. Usually he didn't care. With Theron, he'd held nothing sacred. Tonight he wanted a taste of something he'd never before considered. Chills broke along his arms. "Brett, wait." His heart pounded.

Brett turned. Rowan gave himself a lift by stepping onto the shelf behind the counter. In a leap, he lunged up and stood on the surface of the bar. Their eyes locked. He wanted one touch. Perhaps one kiss. He didn't know how Theron would react but he had to take the risk.

He stepped across the bar surface then placed his booted foot on the barstool. He jumped to the ground. He moved with determination. Nothing was going to stop him. Not even Theron.

What makes you think I want to stop you?

"Some choices are mine to make."

Rowan stood nearly the same height as Brett. His tight T-shirt, worn denim and combat boots contrasted the "business hot" Brett wore. He touched his tongue to his lower lip. Nerves sizzled. He didn't fuck members of the club. Nightly propositions were common. The heat firing through his system and hardening his cock wasn't.

"Does this mean you're on break?" Brett's smile cut deep dimples into his cheeks.

"I don't need a break to kiss you." He stared at Brett's mouth. Full lips, sensuous and soft.

"Then kiss me." He curled a finger into the waistband of Rowan's jeans where they rode low on his hips. A gentle tug brought their groins close together.

Rowan nipped at Brett's mouth, tempting his lips open with a flick of his tongue. His body felt alive. The man smelled incredible. Cloves and leather. He wrapped his hand around Brett's nape. The hair at his neck was silken against Rowan's fingertips and his skin warm. He opened his mouth and thrust his tongue inside. Sweet flavors of mint and rum mingled with the tempting demands of an aroused man. Brett groaned, grasped Rowan at the hips and crushed their erect cocks together.

A group near the bar erupted in cheers. "Ice Man. Ice Man. Ice Man." Ice Man wasn't just his bar name, it's how he lived. Rowan bantered and had fun while serving drinks but he had never savored the heady intoxication of a mysterious lover. Until now.

Rowan banded his arm around Brett and reveled in the play of taut muscles beneath his designer clothes. Shifting his head to the left, he deepened the kiss. He couldn't taste enough. Erotic swipes of his tongue glided against smooth inner tissues and teeth then dipped in again and sucked. Lips meshed. He hadn't realized how careful he'd had to be when kissing Theron. Brett didn't have razor-sharp teeth. He ate at Brett's mouth, demanding, hungry for more. He rolled his pelvis. Friction warmed his cock as it pulsed behind the fly of his jeans. Yeah, he wanted much, much more.

Brett grasped his buttocks. "Now do you want to fuck me?" Tongue rubbed tongue, slow then hard thrusts hinting at the intended promise of a night together weaving between them.

Take him to a private room. I'll join you there.

Rowan jerked his mouth away. He flinched, stepping away from Brett as if he'd been burned. "No!"

A dark shadow fell across Brett's face. "I wasn't insisting on anything. And you kissed me."

A lump like a boulder lodged in Rowan's gut. "You don't understand. It's not you."

Brett focused over Rowan's right shoulder.

Prickles tingled along Rowan's spine. He didn't have to turn around to know why the atmosphere around them charged with tension. Theron.

He stepped in close behind Rowan and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I see you've found someone to join us." Good choice. I can smell his musk. He's hot for you.

Brett's gaze shifted between them, recognition dawning. Members of The Catacombs had to go through Tac. To humans, he was a complex, secretive business owner who protected his establishment. He provided gay men a safe location to explore and be accepted in a dark sexual world of kink and fetishes.

"Rowan, I didn't realize you were involved."

Theron's grip tightened. Foolish and dangerous. You know better. No names.

"I'm only involved when my cock is," Rowan said.

Theron burst out laughing. "Well, I think your cock could be persuaded." I'm hard, hungry and need you, now.

"I'm working." He glanced over his shoulder. Members crowded around the bar. Two other bartenders handled drinks but without the flair and style he brought to the job. Flair bartending was the only show he gave. The scene playing out between the three of them held several vampires' rapt attention. Neither sex nor a situation with Theron was going to be the night's entertainment. Damn it. He knew better than to start what he was unwilling to finish. And he wasn't willing to play in Tac's playground. Their connection was personal and private. That vampires knew he was a blood slave was enough.

"I'm not opposed to joining the two of you." Brett smiled.

Will he let me fuck him just so he can fuck you? Interesting. I think we should put it to the test.

"No."

"Ah, no big deal." But it was and Rowan could see the disappointment in the downturn of Brett's smile and the shrug of his shoulders.

Rowan stepped forward and slammed his mouth over Brett's. He thrust his tongue between his lips in wild possession. Hot, sexy and full of erotic intention. He cupped Brett's cock and rubbed his palm over the erect length. Damn, the man was thick, long and hard. His mouth watered and his anus clenched.

You want him. Take him.

He ignored the voice in his head. "I do want to fuck you. Not here."

No.

Brett ran his fingers over Rowan's abdominals. Quivers rippled along his flesh. "I wish I could, but I can't." He turned his focus to Tac. "Another time, perhaps."

Tac grinned. "I certainly hope so."

It's a Hard Ride Home.

And it's finally here!
my first m/m erotic novel.
www.EllorasCave.com

After a seven-year absence, only a catastrophic event could bring Trace Tilton home to Farley Gulch — like his father having a heart attack. Once Bud's on the mend, Trace plans to leave the Triple T Ranch again. He's certain his gruff father will never accept his…lifestyle.

Triple T foreman Nash Stokes thinks Farley Gulch is the ideal place for a man to live a simple life — and keep his sexual preference a secret. A hot roll in the hay with his boss's gorgeous son is the last thing he expected.Before long, scorching passion and small-town rumor find both men taking a Hard Ride Home.

Excerpt:

What had possessed Trace to ask Nash to the bar?

If he tried, he could convince himself he'd made the invitation to provide a barrier between him, Colette and the rest of the town. He didn't want to rekindle past friendships. Maybe if he planned to stay, but realistically it wouldn't work. He enjoyed men, liked to work out at the gym with his friends, enjoyed a good meal at a nice restaurant. And if he went on a date and the night ended in bed, all the better.

Heading down the hall to his old room, he passed by the cracked-open bathroom door and froze. Steam clouded the mirror. Pipes rattled under the water pressure. There was no mistaking Nash on the other side of the glass shower door. His head tipped back, water and shampoo suds sluicing over his body.

Trace couldn't turn or walk away. Breathing became difficult. His heart hammered in his chest. The man was fucking gorgeous. Solid muscle, long legs with heavy thighs and dark whorls of hair on his pectorals. A thin ribbon of hair trailed down his stomach and surrounded a beautiful cock. Christ. Nash's balls hung heavy in a dark sac. He swallowed hard. Nash reached down and shut off the water.

Trace turned away and leaned against the hallway wall. He tried to quiet his labored breathing. But his heart raced and chills broke along his skin. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. The shower door opened and the creak of the towel rack gave Trace a perfect idea of what was happening on the other side of the wall.

The last thing he needed was for the rough cowboy to discover him with a hard-on in his pants. He quickly walked down the hall to his room.

Opening the door, he realized his hand shook.

Well, hell. Apparently, he didn't have a room anymore.

Trace glanced down the hall toward the bathroom. Nash stood a few feet away with a towel wrapped around his waist. Water dripped from his hair. Several strands clung to the bronzed skin of his neck.

"You moved into my old room?"

Nash approached. Trace liked the way the towel parted, teasing him with a glimpse of thigh. Black hair on his calves and shins also covered his upper legs. Trace liked manly men. Nothing feminine. He wanted aggression, testosterone and a big tool. Nash had it all in spades.

"Didn't know this was your room." Nash brushed past him and Trace caught a whiff of soap and male. He stopped just inside the room and turned to Trace. Their eyes locked.

A lump the size of a boulder lodged in Trace's throat. Normally he wasn't at a loss for words. Yet he stood at the threshold of his old room filled with Nash's belongings and tried to think of something to say—anything—because Nash waited there naked with the exception of the terrycloth towel. Clean-shaven, wet hair slicked back and his skin carrying a healthy flush from the hot water.

Awkward silence stretched between the two men. Trace couldn't help noticing the growing bulge behind the towel. Picking up guys in a gay bar or introductions made through friends didn't require a declaration of sexual preference. But shit if he could tell what rumbled around in Nash's head. Normal intuition failed. He wasn't getting the vibe. The one that expressed interest.

Yet, straight men didn't tend to make eye contact with other men when wearing a towel and sporting a boner.

"I'm getting dressed." Nash loosened the towel.

Trace forgot to breathe. His heart pounded and his cock jumped. Muscles in his ass clenched with need. Saliva filled his mouth with want of sucking Nash off. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth—hard.

Nash's eyebrow rose in question. "Did you need something?"





Leave me a comment, tell me who you think sounds yummier, Trace or Nash, tell me your plans for the Holidays or tell me what you want for Christmas. Any comment will do. :)

KyAnn

Rough Justice is here!!

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It is not Roxanne's night...but it soon will be.

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Five miles from home, she runs out of gas. Unable to reach her best friend Jay on his cell, she calls local sheriff — and current object of lust — Ivan Soto. On the dark and deserted country road, Ivan shocks Roxie by forcing her to assume the position — against her car with her legs spread.

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When Jay rushes to Roxie's to make sure she's made it home safely, he discovers her in the custody of Sheriff Soto, experiencing a little Rough Justice. Jay wants Roxie to have a good time, but if

Ivan wants to frisk her further, he'll have to learn to share.

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To Purchase

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What the reviewers are saying about Rough Justice.

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5 Stars from Sensual e-catanetwork

"Rough Justice is an absolutely sensuous and brilliant story. There is conflict and miscommunication, plus drama, sensuality and passion. Everything needed for a fantastic read is there in the pages of this story...This is a must read story.

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5 Cherries from Whipped Cream Reviews

"This story was so well written, and I enjoyed every word. I would have liked it to be a little longer, but only because I wasn't ready to say goodbye to these three yet, not because of any deficiency in the plot. Ms. Waters very happily brings this group of people together in a loving, sexy, rough-and-tumble, romantic way. This book is a must-read, and then a must-read again!"

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Excerpt:

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Copyright © KYANN WATERS,

2008 All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

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“Step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air.” The mechanical tone of the sheriff’s amplified voice sent a shiver down her spine.

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“What?”

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“Hands in the air!”

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Roxie stared. “Is this a joke?” she yelled.

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“Walk to the rear of your vehicle, face away from me, put your hands on your hot little sports car and spread your legs.”

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“Are you serious?”

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“Do it!”

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She was under arrest! “Asshole,” she muttered. To think she was about to masturbate to the man in order to pass the time and instead he had her assuming the position. She strode to the rear of the car, put her hands above the bumper and spread her legs.

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She heard the release of the handle as he opened the cruiser door. Gravel crunched under Sheriff Soto’s boots. Her heart hammered against her ribs with each step of his approach. Her breathing became shallow.

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He stopped behind her. “Normally I catch you hauling ass.”

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“I swear your radar gun has it out for me.”

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“Yeah, could be something like that. Also might have something to do with your car. Apparently it idles at eighty.”

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She gave a snort and glanced over her shoulder. Sheriff Soto stood, his eyes locked on her ass. With the bright spotlight she imagined he could see right through her skirt. That was an arousing thought. A rush of liquid heat flowed through her veins and a flicker of awareness pulsed in her core. A familiar effect whenever the sheriff was around. “My car isn’t even running.” She hitched a hip and tapped the toe of her boot. “I called you for a ride.” She glanced over her shoulder again. “Do you want to give me a ride, Sheriff Soto?”

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He closed the distance between them, standing close behind her. Hot breath fanned against her flesh. “Are you soliciting a police officer? Prostitution is a felony.”

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Her pulse jumped. “No! I didn’t say anything about paying for a ride.”“I can haul your ass in for that.”

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“And I could lodge a complaint for police harassment.” She straightened and flipped her hair. Her knees might be weak from his authoritarian presence, but she didn’t have to show it.

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“Is that a threat?” His voice deepened.

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“If you weren’t on duty, I’d ask if you were drunk.” She tried to turn but he leaned into her.

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“Technically I’m off duty as soon as I deal with a woman stranded on the side of the road.”

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“Deal with? I’ve always been nice to you.”

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“Oh Roxanne…I can be nice too.”

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“Then why are you giving me a hard time?”

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“I’m not—yet.” He nudged the side of her boot with his. “Now spread your legs.”

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“Not the first time I’ve heard that one.”

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He chuckled and she melted a little more. “As long as it’s the first time tonight.”

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Oh hell, there was definitely a double meaning in that. She shivered from the press of his utility belt in her back. Everything about him was hard, including what she knew to be his cock and not his gun. The rush of blood to her pussy had her clenching in want. “I need a ride home.” Yeah, she needed a lot more than that. She shifted slightly, arched just enough to brush against him. He pressed closer and cradled his erection in the crack of her ass. “I ran out of gas.”

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Ivan Soto had pulled her over for a speeding violation for the first time six months prior. Since then, he’d given her four tickets for speeding and more warnings than she could count. On each occasion she’d flirted shamelessly. But Sheriff Soto had always remained professional. He’d played along a bit but had never once crossed the line of professionalism. Had he given her more of an indication he was interested, she would’ve made a move weeks ago. Her panties had been wet for the hot cop since their first encounter.

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Sheriff Soto’s hands trailed over the silky smooth material of her miniskirt. “I’ll need to search you for weapons before I can allow you into my vehicle.” His lips feathered against the shell of her ear. “How badly do you need a ride?”