From east to west and north to south, these British boys are having a blast in and out of the bedroom with the men of their dreams. They’re topping and bottoming from London to Cardiff, living out fantasies in the wildest fells and hooking up while serving HRH Queen Elizabeth II.
With passion and lust the name of the game, nothing is off limits. Throw in honed muscles, high-strength testosterone and an accent to die for and there is nothing they can’t do and no one they can’t get in this world or another.
Don’t miss Brit Boys: On Boys—a smokin’ hot box set, containing 147,000 words/440 pages of unforgettable M/M erotic romance from eight popular British authors.
Bodywork by Ashe Barker
Alex is doing okay. His body repair shop makes enough to live on, he has a decent apartment, life is fine. That all changes when he runs into Graham in a supermarket car park - literally. He offers to fix the damage to Graham’s car free of charge. The sparks soon fly, and the heat between them has nothing to do with welding equipment.
Breaking the Marine by MK Elliott
Brandon Rosen hadn’t planned for his final night before enrolling in the Royal Marines to involve a hot stranger and a pub car park. And he certainly hadn’t planned for that same hot stranger to turn up at the barracks in the form of his Drill Instructor, Corporal Will Stewart. In the testosterone fuelled environment of the training camp, can Brandon and Will overcome past pains and face up to what they really want? Or will the Royal Marine Commando School break their relationship before it even gets started?
Love on Location by Lucy Felthouse
When Theo Samuels heads off to film on location in the village of Stoneydale, he's expecting drama to take place on camera, not off. But when he meets gorgeous local lad, Eddie Henderson, he struggles to ignore his attraction. A relationship between the two of them would be utterly impractical, yet they're drawn together nonetheless. Can they overcome the seemingly endless hurdles between them? Or is their fling destined to remain as just that?
Landscapes by KD Grace
Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’s life?
The Chase by Lily Harlem
Steve's killing time working in a comedy club. Why not? It makes him laugh and both the clientele and the comedians are not just fit but also great company. One stand up joker decides to create a wild goose chase for Steve and his ex Robert. Cavorting around Cardiff on a frosty night, however, does more than just show them the way to a threesome, it also reveals the reasons why they should give each other one more shot.
Dish of the Day by Clare London
Richie’s sunk all his hopes and savings into a new restaurant in south London promoting British ingredients and recipes. His best friends Craig and Ben should be around to help him celebrate the grand opening, but it looks like it’s all heading for disaster - until his friends step in to tell him some home truths. Then they’ll help him relax and enjoy their loving, intimate menu instead.
E2 by Sarah Masters
When Archie meets Dan after The Change, he realises there is no such thing as a random meeting of soul mates, it's all mapped out in the stars. Now all he's got to do is hope those orbiting planets stay in alignment and true love finds him again.
Locked Out by Josephine Myles
Getting accidentally locked out of his hotel room on Valentine's Day night is embarrassing enough for teacher Martin Cooper, but the fact he's stark naked makes it even worse. It doesn't help that the one person he runs into is Rod, the gorgeous man he'd been checking out earlier in the hotel pool. But when Rod offers Martin a refuge, the night heats up. Now if only Martin could get the hang of this seduction business...
Alex is doing okay. His body repair shop makes enough to live on, he has a decent apartment, life is fine. That all changes when he runs into Graham in a supermarket car park - literally. He offers to fix the damage to Graham’s car free of charge. The sparks soon fly, and the heat between them has nothing to do with welding equipment.
Breaking the Marine by MK Elliott
Brandon Rosen hadn’t planned for his final night before enrolling in the Royal Marines to involve a hot stranger and a pub car park. And he certainly hadn’t planned for that same hot stranger to turn up at the barracks in the form of his Drill Instructor, Corporal Will Stewart. In the testosterone fuelled environment of the training camp, can Brandon and Will overcome past pains and face up to what they really want? Or will the Royal Marine Commando School break their relationship before it even gets started?
Love on Location by Lucy Felthouse
When Theo Samuels heads off to film on location in the village of Stoneydale, he's expecting drama to take place on camera, not off. But when he meets gorgeous local lad, Eddie Henderson, he struggles to ignore his attraction. A relationship between the two of them would be utterly impractical, yet they're drawn together nonetheless. Can they overcome the seemingly endless hurdles between them? Or is their fling destined to remain as just that?
Landscapes by KD Grace
Alonso Darlington has a disturbing method of keeping landscaper, Reese Chambers, both safe from and oblivious to his dangerous lust for the man. But Reese isn’t easy to keep secrets from, and Alonso wants way more than to admire the man from afar. Can he risk a real relationship without risking Reese’s life?
The Chase by Lily Harlem
Steve's killing time working in a comedy club. Why not? It makes him laugh and both the clientele and the comedians are not just fit but also great company. One stand up joker decides to create a wild goose chase for Steve and his ex Robert. Cavorting around Cardiff on a frosty night, however, does more than just show them the way to a threesome, it also reveals the reasons why they should give each other one more shot.
Dish of the Day by Clare London
Richie’s sunk all his hopes and savings into a new restaurant in south London promoting British ingredients and recipes. His best friends Craig and Ben should be around to help him celebrate the grand opening, but it looks like it’s all heading for disaster - until his friends step in to tell him some home truths. Then they’ll help him relax and enjoy their loving, intimate menu instead.
E2 by Sarah Masters
When Archie meets Dan after The Change, he realises there is no such thing as a random meeting of soul mates, it's all mapped out in the stars. Now all he's got to do is hope those orbiting planets stay in alignment and true love finds him again.
Locked Out by Josephine Myles
Getting accidentally locked out of his hotel room on Valentine's Day night is embarrassing enough for teacher Martin Cooper, but the fact he's stark naked makes it even worse. It doesn't help that the one person he runs into is Rod, the gorgeous man he'd been checking out earlier in the hotel pool. But when Rod offers Martin a refuge, the night heats up. Now if only Martin could get the hang of this seduction business...
Bodywork by Ashe Barker
Graham’s bedroom is unfussy, but with just enough in the way of creature comforts to escape being utilitarian. A solid teak bed—very sturdy, with a matching double wardrobe and drawers. He has a huge television screen mounted on the wall facing the bed, and a door leads to the en suite bathroom. That’s all the detail I manage to take in before we come together in a frenzy of kissing and shedding of clothes. We roll across the bed, kicking off shoes, unfastening shirts. I tug my work T-shirt over my head at the same time as Graham unzips my jeans. He reaches for my cock, now fully erect, and squeezes it in his fist.
“Oh, God. Oh, fucking hell.” I let out the low moan as he draws his hand along the length of my dick, slow at first, then pumping faster. I manage to wriggle out of my jeans and shorts without causing him to break contact, and somehow toe off my socks as well. Now I’m naked, but Graham is still wearing his trousers,
Not good. Nowhere near good enough. I grab the waistband and pop the button.
Graham chuckles. “Wait, not so fast.”
“Yes, so fast.” I don’t want to seem over eager, but shit…!
“Condoms?”
“In my jeans.” I’m not given to bouts of religious fervour but I offer up thanks to any deity who might be listening that I am blessed with an innate sense of responsibility and self-preservation, which means I am never unprepared. Well, not entirely. I hope Graham can lay his hands on some lubricant, although I’m not against a little improvisation. I roll to the edge of the bed and rummage among my discarded clothes to retrieve three foil packets. Should be enough. I hope. For now.
“Give.” Graham holds out his free hand.
I’m grateful that he hasn’t seen fit to release his grip on my cock. I drop the condoms into his palm and return to my task of relieving him of his pants.
Graham glances at the condoms. His grin is lust-filled. I suspect my optimism is not misplaced. He tosses the sachets onto the pillow.
Breaking the Marine by MK Elliott
He entered the shower room and hung his stuff on the hooks provided, as the floor was still damp from earlier. He switched on the water and grabbed the soap, planning on stepping beneath the water long enough to soap himself and rinse off, and then get the hell out of there.
The water had barely had enough time to warm up, but he didn’t let a bit of cold water slow him down. He stepped beneath, the frigid spray quickly morphing to warm as he ran the bar over his hard body. Even though it had only been a couple of weeks, he could already see the effect the rigorous training schedule was having. The miles of running had started to whittle down what little body fat he had, his muscles growing more defined. Brandon wasn’t a vain man, but he could appreciate the changes happening to his physique.
Rinsing off, he turned to grab his towel.
He wasn’t alone.
Will stood in the entrance of the showers, holding Brandon’s towel. “What do you think you’re doing, Recruit Rosen?” he said softly. “Do you know what time it is?”
Brandon’s cheeks flushed hot. “Yes, Corporal. I…I had an accident, Corporal.”
Will stepped deeper into the room, closing the gap between them. Brandon was only too aware that Will still held his towel, and that he was standing completely naked, with water dripping down his legs and torso. It wasn’t as if Will hadn’t seen him naked before. After all, they were made to stand naked in front of the drill instructor every night. But this time there was no one else in the room. It was just the two of them again.
“An accident, huh? Don’t you know how to control yourself, Recruit Rosen?”
“I guess not.”
“You guess not? Is that a proper answer? I want a yes or no.” Will’s blue gaze drilled into him, and he felt the stirring in his groin again. Oh God, no. He needed to get a hold on himself. He couldn’t stand here with a full-blown erection in front of Will.
“No, Corporal,” Brandon said in the most direct voice he could manage without shouting. He didn’t want anyone else to hear something, and come and investigate. “I don’t know how to control myself, Corporal.”
Will took another step closer.
More blood rushed to Brandon’s cock, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to put the thoughts of how naked he was and Will’s proximity out of his head. But when he opened his eyes again, he found Will had moved even closer, and the other man’s gaze was travelling down Brandon’s body and had alighted on his rapidly hardening shaft.
“That’s right, Recruit Rosen. It doesn’t look like you can control yourself, does it?”
Will dropped Brandon’s towel to the floor and reached out, his hand circling Brandon’s cock. Involuntarily, he let out a groan. Will squeezed, and instantly Brandon’s erection was rock hard.
Will began to pump, slowly at first, but then picking up speed. “You disobeyed the rules, Recruit Rosen. You need to be punished.”
Brandon’s breath grew shallow.
Will leaned in closer and spoke in his ear. “Turn around.”
He let go of Brandon’s cock long enough to allow him to do as he was told. He faced the tiled wall, still wet. A shove in the back from Will pushed him forward until he was only inches from the wall. His erection nudged the cold tiles, the head swollen and almost purple in colour. The cold sent a little shock through him, making his balls tighten into his body.
“Spread your feet apart and lean forward, so your forearms are on the wall.”
Brandon obeyed orders and leaned his forehead against his forearms. Will’s hand reached back around his body and circled his cock again. He began to masturbate him, his hand sliding up and down his dick.
Brandon became aware of Will’s other hand smoothing down his back, getting lower until it reached the top of his buttocks. With a single finger, Will parted the top of Brandon’s arse cheeks and ran his finger down the crease until he met with the tight pucker of his anus. Brandon froze, his breath held in anticipation, his body tense with excitement. The hand removed, and he heard the click of a cap before cold gel slipped down the crack of his arse. He jerked at the contact, lifting his head up again.
What the fuck? He keeps lube in his gear? Who the hell was this guy? But Brandon was too far gone to question it. He needed Will to make him come more than anything else he’d ever needed.
He felt pressure against the pucker of his back passage again, and Will’s finger slipped inside him with a sharp sting of pain. Brandon moaned, his forehead falling forward to rest back on his forearms. This guy was killing him. Will applied just the right amount of pressure to Brandon’s cock as he matched the pace of the finger he thrust into his arse. Brandon’s hips jerked in time, and he wished Will was in front of him so he could bend him over and use the lube on him. He’d love to force his own cock up Will’s tight back passage, grab his hips and fuck him until he screamed.
The thought pushed Brandon over the edge, and he came hard and fast, white streams of cum spurting over the tiles. Will held him, his finger still in his arse, until the final spasms had shuddered through his body, and then he slipped his finger out of him and released his hold on his dick.
Will reached to the wall and turned on the shower, quickly stepping out of the way so his clothes didn’t get wet.
“Wash yourself off, Recruit Rosen,” he said, as he quickly rinsed his own hands under the stream of water. “You’re a mess. And don’t let me catch you out of bed again during lights out hours.”
Love on Location by Lucy Felthouse
Theodore Albert Samuels strode through Stoneydale Hall, barely giving the opulent furnishings, the priceless art or the stunning architecture a second glance. It belonged to him, after all. It was all his, his birthright, his inheritance.
He stopped suddenly. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, hoping none of the film crew were taking any notice of him. Looking over, it appeared they were still absorbed in figuring out lighting, props and where the actors should stand to get the best shots. Good—he wasn’t due to have a camera pointed at him for another two days; plenty of time to get his head around his role. And it was imperative he did—it was his biggest and highest profile part to date. If he got this right, it could truly launch his career. Maybe even into Oscar-winning territory.
Taking several deep breaths, he pulled himself up to his full height of 6ft 4” and adopted a haughty, disinterested manner—channelling Mr Darcy, perhaps? Either the one from Pride and Prejudice or Bridget Jones’ Diary would do.
I am William Arthur Stoneydale. And this property is mine.
They’d pretty much been given the run of the house—the real owners having gone to the south of France for the summer—so Theo continued marching around, upstairs and down, pulling in everything he could from his surroundings to make him truly feel like lord of the manor.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his mop of black curls and headed out into the gardens. They were beautiful; all manicured lawns, parterres, rose gardens, arches and perfectly placed shrubs. Despite the perfection, Theo felt more comfortable here—probably because he’d always been an outdoorsy sort, ever since he was a child. Only the strict yet loving influences of his parents had coaxed him inside to do his homework, study for his exams and eventually land himself a place at The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, better known as RADA.
The latter had been completely his choice—his mother and father had only wanted him to work hard and do his best. His career options had not been chosen by them, only supported.
Slumping onto a bench, Theo reminded himself of his parents’ wholehearted support and belief. That, and the fact he’d graduated from RADA with a first. Following that, he’d gone from strength to strength.
“Come on, Theo,” he muttered to himself. “You can do this. It’s just another role. A role you can play. Can be.”
His solo pep talk was interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel. Then, from behind a line of expertly done topiary appeared a young man, perhaps a few years Theo’s junior.
“Oh,” the other man said, slowing as he spotted Theo, “sorry. Didn’t know anyone would be out here. You’re not filming, are you?” He looked around for cameras. “I was told it wouldn’t be for a few days, give me time to finish—”
Theo cut him off. “Relax, mate, there’s no filming today. Not anywhere. The crew are still setting things up.”
The other man heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s all right then. Gave me a fright, that did. I need to make sure everything’s spot on in the gardens before they get rolling. So, what’s the star of the show doing out here by himself, anyway?”
Theo gave a wry grin. “Oh, I don’t know about star.”
The man made a scoffing sound. Then, “That’s not what I’ve heard. I’m Eddie, by the way. Eddie Henderson.”
Theo took the hand that was offered, and shook it. “Theodore Samuels. Theo. Nice to meet you.”
“You too. So, you never answered my question. Everything all right?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Theo said with a shrug. “Just nerves, I think. I’m struggling to get into the right mindset for this character. But I’ve got a couple of days—so I won’t panic just yet. Actually,” he paused as a bright idea illuminated his brain, “could I ask you something?”
Eddie took a seat beside Theo on the bench, and it was only when they were up close and personal that he realised just how handsome the younger man was. He had a lightly-muscled build, ginger hair, a riot of freckles on his face and forearms, blue-green eyes and a slight gap between his two front teeth. Cute and sexy all at once. Christ, he’s going to be trouble.
Landscapes by KD Grace
It was nearing dawn when Talia returned to our accommodations smelling of sex, as I knew she would if she were to obtain for me what I wanted. By then my blood burned in my veins, and my body felt too close to me, as though the flesh that I dwelt in suddenly conspired to crush me with its demands. And though I knew that Reese Chambers could not have refused her even if she had come to him as a toothless, foul-smelling hag, I hated her that he had poured himself into her body while I had been left with only my fantasies kindling my lust to an inferno.
Though my need was such that my flesh was fevered and my cock an insistent throb, until she returned, I held myself contained within skin that felt too thin. When she saw the state that I was in, she pulled the heavy drapes with an efficient tug, then with a nod of her head, motioned me to follow her down into the basement room that had been prepared for me. When she turned to me at the foot of the bed, before she could opened her kiss-bruised lips to speak, I took her mouth, starving for the first taste of him, the taste of his saliva, the taste of his blood, mixed with hers. She’d bitten him; he’d bitten her back. He was rough, and he liked to be treated rough, but he kept that to himself. He was embarrassed by it. His lips were slightly chapped from so much time in the sun and wind, and they’d slid against hers, suckling and stroking and pressing until her mouth opened to his. With ravenous laps of my tongue, I tasted him in her mouth, and she held back the moan of response, so I could hear the echoes of his groans, heavy with need he’d not satisfied in awhile, and I felt kinship in my own unsatisfied needs. Images of him flashed through my head. Christ, his eyes were green, dark green like the evergreen forests of the north, and he kept them open when he kissed her, taking her in with his eyes.
I shoved aside the silk of her low bodice exposing her breasts, breasts that his hands had cupped. My nipples peeked to sharp aching points at the feel of his calloused thumbs raking, pressing and releasing. I breathed in his scent on her breasts, burying my face in her cleavage, licking the taste of salty, slightly picante maleness, sniffing and tasting until I could stand it no more. In one violent jerk, I tore the dress all the way down and shoved it off her shoulders, away from the flesh he had licked and kissed and mounted. I cried out at the feel of him, weight on one elbow, knee spreading her thighs, fingers opening her heaviness, anxious to penetrate, anxious to relieve his need. And then, with Talia free of clothing, Reese Chambers’ essence filled the room. Talia’s panties were still wet with his semen mixed with her humid desire, and I tore them from her and forced her onto her stomach, onto her hands and knees, so that it was not her face I saw, but his that I imagined. With hands on her hips, I raised her bottom in the air and spread her still swollen, still slippery folds with fingers made awkward by my arousal, letting the scent of his hot bread and honey release intoxicate me. Then I buried my face in her snatch and, as I ate his lust from her, I knew him.
He was Cumbrian born and bred, and his accent was the soft lilting sound of the fells. He was a landscaper and a gardener by trade. His hands held the magic of the earth and his mind conceived ideas for beautiful outdoor spaces; those he liked best were patterned after Renaissance and medieval gardens. He was homesick and heartsick. He’d gone to Surrey to work with his father because the money was good. But his father had died recently and he had returned home to Cumbria. He didn’t care if he had to work in a pub or muck stables. He wanted to be home. He missed the people and he missed the fells. He missed the simpler, more honest rhythms of life. He was shy, even a bit reclusive. He read voraciously and widely, he liked astronomy and he was afraid of snakes, though it embarrassed him to admit it. He hadn’t had sex in a long time, and found it better to have a wank session than a meaningless encounter. The facts of him, the details of his life raced at me in a flood I consumed ravenously with each lap of my tongue.
As I ate Talia I felt the shape of his face, the curve of his chin, the rise and fall of his chest as he had done the same. I felt the soft tuft of bronze curls nestled between the hard rise of his pecs and the courser, deeper curls that caressed his testicles and his cock when it was at rest, but it hadn’t been at rest. How many times had he taken her? He was thick enough to fill her and the friction of him inside was delicious and maddening. The shape of him – I wanted to caress the shape of him, with my hands, with my mouth, and the taking of his essence from Talia was an act of ripping away something that should have been mine. As I bruised her arse with kneading fingers and, as I licked the last of his release from her, she managed a breathless moan. ‘Take the rest. God, Alonso, take the rest, and release me.’
The Chase by Lily Harlem
“I like proper museums, you know, like the ones in London, dinosaurs, fossils and stuff.”
“God, I haven’t been there for years.” Robert turned. “We should go.”
“Yeah, that would be fun.” Steve smiled. The thought of a trip to London appealed. Maybe they’d share a hotel room, drink too much and end up rolling into bed again. His cock thickened. Damn, what was it with him tonight? He was so horny. Any thought of sex had him preparing to hammer nails.
“I’ll have a look at hotels, see if I can get us a deal,” Robert said. “We’ll get the train.”
“Mmm...” Steve could picture it now—a dark, warm room, him bent over. Exactly how Robert had described earlier; spanked, prepared, trembling with need.
“You okay?” Robert stepped close, real close, and looked down at Steve.
Steve swallowed and longing grew in his belly as the image in his mind moved on to Robert sinking his glorious thick cock deep into his arsehole.
The blue-tinged lights from the sign on the museum shone down on Robert’s face, highlighting his strong features and the denseness of his black stubble. Heat from his breath and his body radiated towards him. He was so big; Steve had always felt engulfed by Robert, consumed by his physical strength. He loved that about him.
“Yeah, just been a long time since we had a weekend together, that’s all.”
“Too long.” Robert reached up and stroked the back of his index finger down Steve’s cheek.
The gesture was small but it weakened Steve’s knees. Every tiny patch of his skin that Robert touched felt on fire and his cock went from semi to full hardness.
“Too long since,” Steve repeated.
“Since?”
“Anything. Everything.”
Robert licked his lips, leaving a light sheen on them.
Steve stared at them and remembered when they were his lips to kiss—his lips to slide his cock between. “Fuck!” Robert said, his eyes flashing.
“What?” Steve felt like his heart was going to thump right out of his chest.
What was going on? Was Robert going to admit there was still something between them? Did he feel it too, this growing need and lust?
“I...” Robert shook his head.
“What?”
Robert frowned then took Steve’s face in his hands and hauled him closer.
Steve gasped and pressed his palms on Robert’s jacket, feeling the dense muscle beneath the cool leather.
Their toes touched. They were both breathing hard, the air misting between them.
“I need...” Robert whispered.
“What?” Steve asked again, knowing full well what Robert needed—and it was the same thing as him.
“I need to kiss you. So long...for so long I’ve wanted to kiss you again, Steve. Please.”
“Yes, kiss me, fuck...” Steve clenched his fists, bunching Robert’s jacket. “Kiss me now.”
Dish of the Day by Clare London
“We like things that are comfortable, don’t we, Ben?” Craig grinned and hugged Richie even more warmly. Richie wondered guiltily about personal space issues. But as his friends had made plenty of comments tonight about his reserve, he didn’t want to be the one to cause a fuss if they were now too close. And who was to say it was too close?
“Yes.” Ben agreed with Craig. “Those are the things that we like, indeed.” His eyes sparkled. “And we’d like to share them with you, Richie.”
“Share what?” Richie asked, rather rudely. He’d only just swallowed another mouthful of wine and was still enjoying the aftertaste on his tongue. But so was Ben, it seemed. He was sipping deeply from the same glass that he’d offered to Richie. His eyes shone at Richie over the rim as if they were sharing a secret, rather than a wine.
Richie sighed, leaning back in his chair. Craig’s arms tightened gently around him. It also felt as if Ben rested a hand at the back of his neck—an unusual place to comfort a friend, perhaps, even one facing bankruptcy and ruin.
“Got an investment to protect, eh, Ben?” Craig laughed softly. Richie could smell his warm, spicy cologne. Craig always smelled good—he exuded hot, sexy strength. Richie blinked, wondering where the hell that thought had come from. Or, even if he admitted he knew the answer to that, he didn’t know what had let it loose to frolic in the forefront of his mind. It must be the wine. Must be. His senses were in overload. Could he get drunk, just from a glass or so of quality wine? He’d never suspected his tolerance was that low. His shock must be much more severe than he imagined.
“I don’t need protection,” he said. His voice sounded rather weak.
Ben just smiled. “Sure, Richie. Craig still thinks you’re too skinny, though. Let’s eat first, then discuss anything else later, right?”
Richie was about to protest that there were no staff—that the soup was ruined—that the whole evening had collapsed into disaster and amazement around him—that Craig had already eaten most of the bread—
But his friends ignored him.
“So what do we have to tempt us?” Ben ran his eyes over the plate on the table beside him, full of the food Craig had brought out from the kitchen. Craig laughed softly, a lazy, sexy smile lighting up his face. He leant across Richie, and his long, slim fingers picked up a spear of asparagus, poached gently in butter. A drop of the warm, pale yellow coating dropped back into the dish with a plop.
Richie wriggled on his seat. He felt awkward, suddenly, squashed between them. Their bodies were both pressed against him and he could feel the two heartbeats, beating in different rhythms to his.
Craig pointed the asparagus across Richie and up towards Ben’s face, as if beckoning him. Their eyes met. Craig smiled and reached further forwards, the tip of the spear teasing at Ben’s mouth.
“Mmm.” Ben’s voice was like a purr. “My favourite.”
Richie watched the slim, green finger of food slide into Ben’s mouth. In fact, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Ben was the only thing he could focus on. The generous lips were round and moist around the asparagus. Ben sucked, and the tip slipped in smoothly. It was a very messy food. Of course it was. Richie stared as a generous dribble of melted butter ran down on to Ben’s chin. He reached out instinctively, and wiped it off with his fingertips.
“Thanks.” Ben’s voice was very soft, the tone amused.
Richie flushed and clumsily snatched his hand back. Ben’s skin had been soft and very warm, with barely the hint of an evening stubble. The small, still sane part of Richie’s mind was appalled at how intimate his gesture had been.
But Ben’s sigh was one of pleasure. He caught at Richie’s retreating hand, the fingers damp and glistening with the greasy traces of butter. “It’s very good,” he said. “You’re a brilliant chef. You produce the most perfect tastes. Is it surprising I want more?” He gently twisted Richie’s unresisting wrist, and brought Richie’s fingers back to his lips. Then he started to lick between the digits, slowly and lasciviously, lapping up the remains of the melted butter.
Oh good God. Richie’s mouth opened wide to protest, but no words came out. The caressing tongue was rough like a cat’s, yet smooth like the pure, slick muscle it was. He couldn’t believe how exciting this was. “English,” he said, the word popping out without any forethought. “It’s the best English asparagus I could afford.”
Ben nodded and smiled, and moved closer to him. His breath was now a seductive breeze against Richie’s cheek. “You should taste it yourself,” he murmured.
Richie watched Ben’s nimble fingers wipe the residue from the corners of his perfect mouth, and then those dampened fingertips were reaching for Richie’s mouth, and they were pressing firmly in, and Richie’s lips were closing around them, instinctively—hungrily.
“Suck them,” Ben whispered softly. “I want to see you lick them all.”
Richie was shocked into silence and surrender. The sensations running through his body were something he’d never known before. Christ, he’d never even imagined that a touch could be so erotic. Ben’s fingers were inside his mouth, teasing at the roof, stroking at the tongue; he tugged down Richie’s lower lip, mischievously. And all the while, he was watching Richie as he suckled, daringly, on the slender digits; as he licked the last trickle of butter into his mouth, and swallowed.
“Richie.” Ben sighed, rolling the word around in the back of his throat, like he was savouring more of the wine. “You are magnificent. I always knew you were.” His expression had turned from fascination to greed. He licked quickly at his own damp lips.
Richie gazed back at Ben. They each seemed fascinated by the other’s mouth. It’d be laughable, if it weren’t so thrilling. The issue here seemed to be something very much more than spilled butter. The uncomfortable sensation in his lap was beginning to hurt. What the hell was going on?
Not that he ever wanted it to stop.
Locked Out by Josephine Myles
I woke at some time in the small hours, to what sounded like an earthquake.
Oh, wait.
It was just Michelle, snoring.
She’d gone and stolen most of the duvet too.
Head pounding from all the bubbly we’d quaffed during our “romantic” Valentine’s dinner—a dinner that Speedos-bloke resolutely refused to materialise during—I dragged myself out of bed. The room was pitch black, but I didn’t want to turn on a light in case I woke Michelle. I stumbled towards the en suite, wondering why I wasn’t wearing my undies. I didn’t normally sleep with anything on, but you’d have thought I’d have been a bit more modest, what with sharing a bed with my sister. I suppose I’d have to blame the Prosecco. Bubbly wine always did go right to my head. And to my bladder.
The bathroom door was heavy to open and it took all my strength.
And then I was standing in the light.
In a corridor.
Stark bollock naked.
The door clicked shut behind me.
Oh bugger.
No, not just oh bugger.
Bloody bollocking buggeration!
I knocked on the door softly, not wanting to wake anyone. Well, okay, I wanted to wake Michelle, but I didn’t want to alert the whole corridor to the fact there was a naked man on the prowl outside.
“Chelle!” I hissed, but it was no use. Her snoring got even louder, if that was possible. “Bloody buggering bastards!”
Swearing wasn’t really helping me, but it was vaguely therapeutic, and at least it took my mind off my full bladder. I leaned back against the door, trying to figure out what to do. Perhaps there would be an unlocked broom cupboard somewhere with a handy pile of rags I could fashion into a loincloth or something. Sobering right up, I padded down the corridor. Every room seemed to have a number on the door, though. God, I wasn’t going to have to go down to reception, was I? The thought made my balls crawl up inside my body and my heart pound. I was so caught up in my fear, I didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until a figure rounded the bend in the corridor.
Speedos-bloke, to be precise. He stood there, looking utterly edible in what could only be described as pulling clothes—a leather jacket over a tight orange T-shirt and even tighter black jeans—just a few feet away. He had a room key card in his hand, but his big, dark eyes were on me.
I gaped, until his wide-eyed smirk reminded me I was in my Birthday Suit.
I clapped my hands over my groin. “Uh, hi.”
“Hi to you too.”
I was at a loss for words, so I introduced myself. “I’m Martin. Pleased to meet you.” I held out my hand, then realised where it had just been when he raised his eyebrows at it. “Oh, uh, sorry. I, umm, I seem to be a bit lost. Well, not lost, exactly, I mean, I know where I am…”
A slow smile spread down from his eyes to his mouth. “But you do seem to have lost your clothes.” He shook his head, still smiling. “And there was me, thinking maybe room service extended to delivering hot naked men.”
“Umm.” Was he flirting? He couldn’t be. Blokes this gorgeous never flirted with me. But he was looking at me expectantly, and I had to say something. I couldn’t let an opportunity like this pass me by. “I’ll happily be your room service if you could loan me some clothes. And let me use your toilet.”
Oh, smooth. Why did I have to let on I was busting for a piss?
Graham’s bedroom is unfussy, but with just enough in the way of creature comforts to escape being utilitarian. A solid teak bed—very sturdy, with a matching double wardrobe and drawers. He has a huge television screen mounted on the wall facing the bed, and a door leads to the en suite bathroom. That’s all the detail I manage to take in before we come together in a frenzy of kissing and shedding of clothes. We roll across the bed, kicking off shoes, unfastening shirts. I tug my work T-shirt over my head at the same time as Graham unzips my jeans. He reaches for my cock, now fully erect, and squeezes it in his fist.
“Oh, God. Oh, fucking hell.” I let out the low moan as he draws his hand along the length of my dick, slow at first, then pumping faster. I manage to wriggle out of my jeans and shorts without causing him to break contact, and somehow toe off my socks as well. Now I’m naked, but Graham is still wearing his trousers,
Not good. Nowhere near good enough. I grab the waistband and pop the button.
Graham chuckles. “Wait, not so fast.”
“Yes, so fast.” I don’t want to seem over eager, but shit…!
“Condoms?”
“In my jeans.” I’m not given to bouts of religious fervour but I offer up thanks to any deity who might be listening that I am blessed with an innate sense of responsibility and self-preservation, which means I am never unprepared. Well, not entirely. I hope Graham can lay his hands on some lubricant, although I’m not against a little improvisation. I roll to the edge of the bed and rummage among my discarded clothes to retrieve three foil packets. Should be enough. I hope. For now.
“Give.” Graham holds out his free hand.
I’m grateful that he hasn’t seen fit to release his grip on my cock. I drop the condoms into his palm and return to my task of relieving him of his pants.
Graham glances at the condoms. His grin is lust-filled. I suspect my optimism is not misplaced. He tosses the sachets onto the pillow.
Breaking the Marine by MK Elliott
He entered the shower room and hung his stuff on the hooks provided, as the floor was still damp from earlier. He switched on the water and grabbed the soap, planning on stepping beneath the water long enough to soap himself and rinse off, and then get the hell out of there.
The water had barely had enough time to warm up, but he didn’t let a bit of cold water slow him down. He stepped beneath, the frigid spray quickly morphing to warm as he ran the bar over his hard body. Even though it had only been a couple of weeks, he could already see the effect the rigorous training schedule was having. The miles of running had started to whittle down what little body fat he had, his muscles growing more defined. Brandon wasn’t a vain man, but he could appreciate the changes happening to his physique.
Rinsing off, he turned to grab his towel.
He wasn’t alone.
Will stood in the entrance of the showers, holding Brandon’s towel. “What do you think you’re doing, Recruit Rosen?” he said softly. “Do you know what time it is?”
Brandon’s cheeks flushed hot. “Yes, Corporal. I…I had an accident, Corporal.”
Will stepped deeper into the room, closing the gap between them. Brandon was only too aware that Will still held his towel, and that he was standing completely naked, with water dripping down his legs and torso. It wasn’t as if Will hadn’t seen him naked before. After all, they were made to stand naked in front of the drill instructor every night. But this time there was no one else in the room. It was just the two of them again.
“An accident, huh? Don’t you know how to control yourself, Recruit Rosen?”
“I guess not.”
“You guess not? Is that a proper answer? I want a yes or no.” Will’s blue gaze drilled into him, and he felt the stirring in his groin again. Oh God, no. He needed to get a hold on himself. He couldn’t stand here with a full-blown erection in front of Will.
“No, Corporal,” Brandon said in the most direct voice he could manage without shouting. He didn’t want anyone else to hear something, and come and investigate. “I don’t know how to control myself, Corporal.”
Will took another step closer.
More blood rushed to Brandon’s cock, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to put the thoughts of how naked he was and Will’s proximity out of his head. But when he opened his eyes again, he found Will had moved even closer, and the other man’s gaze was travelling down Brandon’s body and had alighted on his rapidly hardening shaft.
“That’s right, Recruit Rosen. It doesn’t look like you can control yourself, does it?”
Will dropped Brandon’s towel to the floor and reached out, his hand circling Brandon’s cock. Involuntarily, he let out a groan. Will squeezed, and instantly Brandon’s erection was rock hard.
Will began to pump, slowly at first, but then picking up speed. “You disobeyed the rules, Recruit Rosen. You need to be punished.”
Brandon’s breath grew shallow.
Will leaned in closer and spoke in his ear. “Turn around.”
He let go of Brandon’s cock long enough to allow him to do as he was told. He faced the tiled wall, still wet. A shove in the back from Will pushed him forward until he was only inches from the wall. His erection nudged the cold tiles, the head swollen and almost purple in colour. The cold sent a little shock through him, making his balls tighten into his body.
“Spread your feet apart and lean forward, so your forearms are on the wall.”
Brandon obeyed orders and leaned his forehead against his forearms. Will’s hand reached back around his body and circled his cock again. He began to masturbate him, his hand sliding up and down his dick.
Brandon became aware of Will’s other hand smoothing down his back, getting lower until it reached the top of his buttocks. With a single finger, Will parted the top of Brandon’s arse cheeks and ran his finger down the crease until he met with the tight pucker of his anus. Brandon froze, his breath held in anticipation, his body tense with excitement. The hand removed, and he heard the click of a cap before cold gel slipped down the crack of his arse. He jerked at the contact, lifting his head up again.
What the fuck? He keeps lube in his gear? Who the hell was this guy? But Brandon was too far gone to question it. He needed Will to make him come more than anything else he’d ever needed.
He felt pressure against the pucker of his back passage again, and Will’s finger slipped inside him with a sharp sting of pain. Brandon moaned, his forehead falling forward to rest back on his forearms. This guy was killing him. Will applied just the right amount of pressure to Brandon’s cock as he matched the pace of the finger he thrust into his arse. Brandon’s hips jerked in time, and he wished Will was in front of him so he could bend him over and use the lube on him. He’d love to force his own cock up Will’s tight back passage, grab his hips and fuck him until he screamed.
The thought pushed Brandon over the edge, and he came hard and fast, white streams of cum spurting over the tiles. Will held him, his finger still in his arse, until the final spasms had shuddered through his body, and then he slipped his finger out of him and released his hold on his dick.
Will reached to the wall and turned on the shower, quickly stepping out of the way so his clothes didn’t get wet.
“Wash yourself off, Recruit Rosen,” he said, as he quickly rinsed his own hands under the stream of water. “You’re a mess. And don’t let me catch you out of bed again during lights out hours.”
Love on Location by Lucy Felthouse
Theodore Albert Samuels strode through Stoneydale Hall, barely giving the opulent furnishings, the priceless art or the stunning architecture a second glance. It belonged to him, after all. It was all his, his birthright, his inheritance.
He stopped suddenly. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath, hoping none of the film crew were taking any notice of him. Looking over, it appeared they were still absorbed in figuring out lighting, props and where the actors should stand to get the best shots. Good—he wasn’t due to have a camera pointed at him for another two days; plenty of time to get his head around his role. And it was imperative he did—it was his biggest and highest profile part to date. If he got this right, it could truly launch his career. Maybe even into Oscar-winning territory.
Taking several deep breaths, he pulled himself up to his full height of 6ft 4” and adopted a haughty, disinterested manner—channelling Mr Darcy, perhaps? Either the one from Pride and Prejudice or Bridget Jones’ Diary would do.
I am William Arthur Stoneydale. And this property is mine.
They’d pretty much been given the run of the house—the real owners having gone to the south of France for the summer—so Theo continued marching around, upstairs and down, pulling in everything he could from his surroundings to make him truly feel like lord of the manor.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his mop of black curls and headed out into the gardens. They were beautiful; all manicured lawns, parterres, rose gardens, arches and perfectly placed shrubs. Despite the perfection, Theo felt more comfortable here—probably because he’d always been an outdoorsy sort, ever since he was a child. Only the strict yet loving influences of his parents had coaxed him inside to do his homework, study for his exams and eventually land himself a place at The Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, better known as RADA.
The latter had been completely his choice—his mother and father had only wanted him to work hard and do his best. His career options had not been chosen by them, only supported.
Slumping onto a bench, Theo reminded himself of his parents’ wholehearted support and belief. That, and the fact he’d graduated from RADA with a first. Following that, he’d gone from strength to strength.
“Come on, Theo,” he muttered to himself. “You can do this. It’s just another role. A role you can play. Can be.”
His solo pep talk was interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel. Then, from behind a line of expertly done topiary appeared a young man, perhaps a few years Theo’s junior.
“Oh,” the other man said, slowing as he spotted Theo, “sorry. Didn’t know anyone would be out here. You’re not filming, are you?” He looked around for cameras. “I was told it wouldn’t be for a few days, give me time to finish—”
Theo cut him off. “Relax, mate, there’s no filming today. Not anywhere. The crew are still setting things up.”
The other man heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, that’s all right then. Gave me a fright, that did. I need to make sure everything’s spot on in the gardens before they get rolling. So, what’s the star of the show doing out here by himself, anyway?”
Theo gave a wry grin. “Oh, I don’t know about star.”
The man made a scoffing sound. Then, “That’s not what I’ve heard. I’m Eddie, by the way. Eddie Henderson.”
Theo took the hand that was offered, and shook it. “Theodore Samuels. Theo. Nice to meet you.”
“You too. So, you never answered my question. Everything all right?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Theo said with a shrug. “Just nerves, I think. I’m struggling to get into the right mindset for this character. But I’ve got a couple of days—so I won’t panic just yet. Actually,” he paused as a bright idea illuminated his brain, “could I ask you something?”
Eddie took a seat beside Theo on the bench, and it was only when they were up close and personal that he realised just how handsome the younger man was. He had a lightly-muscled build, ginger hair, a riot of freckles on his face and forearms, blue-green eyes and a slight gap between his two front teeth. Cute and sexy all at once. Christ, he’s going to be trouble.
Landscapes by KD Grace
It was nearing dawn when Talia returned to our accommodations smelling of sex, as I knew she would if she were to obtain for me what I wanted. By then my blood burned in my veins, and my body felt too close to me, as though the flesh that I dwelt in suddenly conspired to crush me with its demands. And though I knew that Reese Chambers could not have refused her even if she had come to him as a toothless, foul-smelling hag, I hated her that he had poured himself into her body while I had been left with only my fantasies kindling my lust to an inferno.
Though my need was such that my flesh was fevered and my cock an insistent throb, until she returned, I held myself contained within skin that felt too thin. When she saw the state that I was in, she pulled the heavy drapes with an efficient tug, then with a nod of her head, motioned me to follow her down into the basement room that had been prepared for me. When she turned to me at the foot of the bed, before she could opened her kiss-bruised lips to speak, I took her mouth, starving for the first taste of him, the taste of his saliva, the taste of his blood, mixed with hers. She’d bitten him; he’d bitten her back. He was rough, and he liked to be treated rough, but he kept that to himself. He was embarrassed by it. His lips were slightly chapped from so much time in the sun and wind, and they’d slid against hers, suckling and stroking and pressing until her mouth opened to his. With ravenous laps of my tongue, I tasted him in her mouth, and she held back the moan of response, so I could hear the echoes of his groans, heavy with need he’d not satisfied in awhile, and I felt kinship in my own unsatisfied needs. Images of him flashed through my head. Christ, his eyes were green, dark green like the evergreen forests of the north, and he kept them open when he kissed her, taking her in with his eyes.
I shoved aside the silk of her low bodice exposing her breasts, breasts that his hands had cupped. My nipples peeked to sharp aching points at the feel of his calloused thumbs raking, pressing and releasing. I breathed in his scent on her breasts, burying my face in her cleavage, licking the taste of salty, slightly picante maleness, sniffing and tasting until I could stand it no more. In one violent jerk, I tore the dress all the way down and shoved it off her shoulders, away from the flesh he had licked and kissed and mounted. I cried out at the feel of him, weight on one elbow, knee spreading her thighs, fingers opening her heaviness, anxious to penetrate, anxious to relieve his need. And then, with Talia free of clothing, Reese Chambers’ essence filled the room. Talia’s panties were still wet with his semen mixed with her humid desire, and I tore them from her and forced her onto her stomach, onto her hands and knees, so that it was not her face I saw, but his that I imagined. With hands on her hips, I raised her bottom in the air and spread her still swollen, still slippery folds with fingers made awkward by my arousal, letting the scent of his hot bread and honey release intoxicate me. Then I buried my face in her snatch and, as I ate his lust from her, I knew him.
He was Cumbrian born and bred, and his accent was the soft lilting sound of the fells. He was a landscaper and a gardener by trade. His hands held the magic of the earth and his mind conceived ideas for beautiful outdoor spaces; those he liked best were patterned after Renaissance and medieval gardens. He was homesick and heartsick. He’d gone to Surrey to work with his father because the money was good. But his father had died recently and he had returned home to Cumbria. He didn’t care if he had to work in a pub or muck stables. He wanted to be home. He missed the people and he missed the fells. He missed the simpler, more honest rhythms of life. He was shy, even a bit reclusive. He read voraciously and widely, he liked astronomy and he was afraid of snakes, though it embarrassed him to admit it. He hadn’t had sex in a long time, and found it better to have a wank session than a meaningless encounter. The facts of him, the details of his life raced at me in a flood I consumed ravenously with each lap of my tongue.
As I ate Talia I felt the shape of his face, the curve of his chin, the rise and fall of his chest as he had done the same. I felt the soft tuft of bronze curls nestled between the hard rise of his pecs and the courser, deeper curls that caressed his testicles and his cock when it was at rest, but it hadn’t been at rest. How many times had he taken her? He was thick enough to fill her and the friction of him inside was delicious and maddening. The shape of him – I wanted to caress the shape of him, with my hands, with my mouth, and the taking of his essence from Talia was an act of ripping away something that should have been mine. As I bruised her arse with kneading fingers and, as I licked the last of his release from her, she managed a breathless moan. ‘Take the rest. God, Alonso, take the rest, and release me.’
The Chase by Lily Harlem
“I like proper museums, you know, like the ones in London, dinosaurs, fossils and stuff.”
“God, I haven’t been there for years.” Robert turned. “We should go.”
“Yeah, that would be fun.” Steve smiled. The thought of a trip to London appealed. Maybe they’d share a hotel room, drink too much and end up rolling into bed again. His cock thickened. Damn, what was it with him tonight? He was so horny. Any thought of sex had him preparing to hammer nails.
“I’ll have a look at hotels, see if I can get us a deal,” Robert said. “We’ll get the train.”
“Mmm...” Steve could picture it now—a dark, warm room, him bent over. Exactly how Robert had described earlier; spanked, prepared, trembling with need.
“You okay?” Robert stepped close, real close, and looked down at Steve.
Steve swallowed and longing grew in his belly as the image in his mind moved on to Robert sinking his glorious thick cock deep into his arsehole.
The blue-tinged lights from the sign on the museum shone down on Robert’s face, highlighting his strong features and the denseness of his black stubble. Heat from his breath and his body radiated towards him. He was so big; Steve had always felt engulfed by Robert, consumed by his physical strength. He loved that about him.
“Yeah, just been a long time since we had a weekend together, that’s all.”
“Too long.” Robert reached up and stroked the back of his index finger down Steve’s cheek.
The gesture was small but it weakened Steve’s knees. Every tiny patch of his skin that Robert touched felt on fire and his cock went from semi to full hardness.
“Too long since,” Steve repeated.
“Since?”
“Anything. Everything.”
Robert licked his lips, leaving a light sheen on them.
Steve stared at them and remembered when they were his lips to kiss—his lips to slide his cock between. “Fuck!” Robert said, his eyes flashing.
“What?” Steve felt like his heart was going to thump right out of his chest.
What was going on? Was Robert going to admit there was still something between them? Did he feel it too, this growing need and lust?
“I...” Robert shook his head.
“What?”
Robert frowned then took Steve’s face in his hands and hauled him closer.
Steve gasped and pressed his palms on Robert’s jacket, feeling the dense muscle beneath the cool leather.
Their toes touched. They were both breathing hard, the air misting between them.
“I need...” Robert whispered.
“What?” Steve asked again, knowing full well what Robert needed—and it was the same thing as him.
“I need to kiss you. So long...for so long I’ve wanted to kiss you again, Steve. Please.”
“Yes, kiss me, fuck...” Steve clenched his fists, bunching Robert’s jacket. “Kiss me now.”
Dish of the Day by Clare London
“We like things that are comfortable, don’t we, Ben?” Craig grinned and hugged Richie even more warmly. Richie wondered guiltily about personal space issues. But as his friends had made plenty of comments tonight about his reserve, he didn’t want to be the one to cause a fuss if they were now too close. And who was to say it was too close?
“Yes.” Ben agreed with Craig. “Those are the things that we like, indeed.” His eyes sparkled. “And we’d like to share them with you, Richie.”
“Share what?” Richie asked, rather rudely. He’d only just swallowed another mouthful of wine and was still enjoying the aftertaste on his tongue. But so was Ben, it seemed. He was sipping deeply from the same glass that he’d offered to Richie. His eyes shone at Richie over the rim as if they were sharing a secret, rather than a wine.
Richie sighed, leaning back in his chair. Craig’s arms tightened gently around him. It also felt as if Ben rested a hand at the back of his neck—an unusual place to comfort a friend, perhaps, even one facing bankruptcy and ruin.
“Got an investment to protect, eh, Ben?” Craig laughed softly. Richie could smell his warm, spicy cologne. Craig always smelled good—he exuded hot, sexy strength. Richie blinked, wondering where the hell that thought had come from. Or, even if he admitted he knew the answer to that, he didn’t know what had let it loose to frolic in the forefront of his mind. It must be the wine. Must be. His senses were in overload. Could he get drunk, just from a glass or so of quality wine? He’d never suspected his tolerance was that low. His shock must be much more severe than he imagined.
“I don’t need protection,” he said. His voice sounded rather weak.
Ben just smiled. “Sure, Richie. Craig still thinks you’re too skinny, though. Let’s eat first, then discuss anything else later, right?”
Richie was about to protest that there were no staff—that the soup was ruined—that the whole evening had collapsed into disaster and amazement around him—that Craig had already eaten most of the bread—
But his friends ignored him.
“So what do we have to tempt us?” Ben ran his eyes over the plate on the table beside him, full of the food Craig had brought out from the kitchen. Craig laughed softly, a lazy, sexy smile lighting up his face. He leant across Richie, and his long, slim fingers picked up a spear of asparagus, poached gently in butter. A drop of the warm, pale yellow coating dropped back into the dish with a plop.
Richie wriggled on his seat. He felt awkward, suddenly, squashed between them. Their bodies were both pressed against him and he could feel the two heartbeats, beating in different rhythms to his.
Craig pointed the asparagus across Richie and up towards Ben’s face, as if beckoning him. Their eyes met. Craig smiled and reached further forwards, the tip of the spear teasing at Ben’s mouth.
“Mmm.” Ben’s voice was like a purr. “My favourite.”
Richie watched the slim, green finger of food slide into Ben’s mouth. In fact, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Ben was the only thing he could focus on. The generous lips were round and moist around the asparagus. Ben sucked, and the tip slipped in smoothly. It was a very messy food. Of course it was. Richie stared as a generous dribble of melted butter ran down on to Ben’s chin. He reached out instinctively, and wiped it off with his fingertips.
“Thanks.” Ben’s voice was very soft, the tone amused.
Richie flushed and clumsily snatched his hand back. Ben’s skin had been soft and very warm, with barely the hint of an evening stubble. The small, still sane part of Richie’s mind was appalled at how intimate his gesture had been.
But Ben’s sigh was one of pleasure. He caught at Richie’s retreating hand, the fingers damp and glistening with the greasy traces of butter. “It’s very good,” he said. “You’re a brilliant chef. You produce the most perfect tastes. Is it surprising I want more?” He gently twisted Richie’s unresisting wrist, and brought Richie’s fingers back to his lips. Then he started to lick between the digits, slowly and lasciviously, lapping up the remains of the melted butter.
Oh good God. Richie’s mouth opened wide to protest, but no words came out. The caressing tongue was rough like a cat’s, yet smooth like the pure, slick muscle it was. He couldn’t believe how exciting this was. “English,” he said, the word popping out without any forethought. “It’s the best English asparagus I could afford.”
Ben nodded and smiled, and moved closer to him. His breath was now a seductive breeze against Richie’s cheek. “You should taste it yourself,” he murmured.
Richie watched Ben’s nimble fingers wipe the residue from the corners of his perfect mouth, and then those dampened fingertips were reaching for Richie’s mouth, and they were pressing firmly in, and Richie’s lips were closing around them, instinctively—hungrily.
“Suck them,” Ben whispered softly. “I want to see you lick them all.”
Richie was shocked into silence and surrender. The sensations running through his body were something he’d never known before. Christ, he’d never even imagined that a touch could be so erotic. Ben’s fingers were inside his mouth, teasing at the roof, stroking at the tongue; he tugged down Richie’s lower lip, mischievously. And all the while, he was watching Richie as he suckled, daringly, on the slender digits; as he licked the last trickle of butter into his mouth, and swallowed.
“Richie.” Ben sighed, rolling the word around in the back of his throat, like he was savouring more of the wine. “You are magnificent. I always knew you were.” His expression had turned from fascination to greed. He licked quickly at his own damp lips.
Richie gazed back at Ben. They each seemed fascinated by the other’s mouth. It’d be laughable, if it weren’t so thrilling. The issue here seemed to be something very much more than spilled butter. The uncomfortable sensation in his lap was beginning to hurt. What the hell was going on?
Not that he ever wanted it to stop.
Locked Out by Josephine Myles
I woke at some time in the small hours, to what sounded like an earthquake.
Oh, wait.
It was just Michelle, snoring.
She’d gone and stolen most of the duvet too.
Head pounding from all the bubbly we’d quaffed during our “romantic” Valentine’s dinner—a dinner that Speedos-bloke resolutely refused to materialise during—I dragged myself out of bed. The room was pitch black, but I didn’t want to turn on a light in case I woke Michelle. I stumbled towards the en suite, wondering why I wasn’t wearing my undies. I didn’t normally sleep with anything on, but you’d have thought I’d have been a bit more modest, what with sharing a bed with my sister. I suppose I’d have to blame the Prosecco. Bubbly wine always did go right to my head. And to my bladder.
The bathroom door was heavy to open and it took all my strength.
And then I was standing in the light.
In a corridor.
Stark bollock naked.
The door clicked shut behind me.
Oh bugger.
No, not just oh bugger.
Bloody bollocking buggeration!
I knocked on the door softly, not wanting to wake anyone. Well, okay, I wanted to wake Michelle, but I didn’t want to alert the whole corridor to the fact there was a naked man on the prowl outside.
“Chelle!” I hissed, but it was no use. Her snoring got even louder, if that was possible. “Bloody buggering bastards!”
Swearing wasn’t really helping me, but it was vaguely therapeutic, and at least it took my mind off my full bladder. I leaned back against the door, trying to figure out what to do. Perhaps there would be an unlocked broom cupboard somewhere with a handy pile of rags I could fashion into a loincloth or something. Sobering right up, I padded down the corridor. Every room seemed to have a number on the door, though. God, I wasn’t going to have to go down to reception, was I? The thought made my balls crawl up inside my body and my heart pound. I was so caught up in my fear, I didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until a figure rounded the bend in the corridor.
Speedos-bloke, to be precise. He stood there, looking utterly edible in what could only be described as pulling clothes—a leather jacket over a tight orange T-shirt and even tighter black jeans—just a few feet away. He had a room key card in his hand, but his big, dark eyes were on me.
I gaped, until his wide-eyed smirk reminded me I was in my Birthday Suit.
I clapped my hands over my groin. “Uh, hi.”
“Hi to you too.”
I was at a loss for words, so I introduced myself. “I’m Martin. Pleased to meet you.” I held out my hand, then realised where it had just been when he raised his eyebrows at it. “Oh, uh, sorry. I, umm, I seem to be a bit lost. Well, not lost, exactly, I mean, I know where I am…”
A slow smile spread down from his eyes to his mouth. “But you do seem to have lost your clothes.” He shook his head, still smiling. “And there was me, thinking maybe room service extended to delivering hot naked men.”
“Umm.” Was he flirting? He couldn’t be. Blokes this gorgeous never flirted with me. But he was looking at me expectantly, and I had to say something. I couldn’t let an opportunity like this pass me by. “I’ll happily be your room service if you could loan me some clothes. And let me use your toilet.”
Oh, smooth. Why did I have to let on I was busting for a piss?
Until 2010, Ashe was a director of a regeneration company before deciding there had to be more to life and leaving to pursue a lifetime goal of self-employment.
Ashe has been an avid reader of women’s fiction for many years—erotic, historical, contemporary, fantasy, romance—you name it. Now, at last in control of her own time and working from her home in rural West Yorkshire, she has been able to realise her dream of writing erotic romance herself.
She draws on settings and anecdotes from her previous and current experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters, but her stories of love, challenge, resilience and compassion are the conjurings of her own imagination. She loves to craft strong, enigmatic men and bright, sassy women to give them a hard time—in every sense of the word.
When she’s not writing, Ashe’s time is divided between her role as resident taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, rabbits, tortoises and a grumpy cockatiel.
M.K. Elliott is the author of the bestselling short story collection, Rescued. A British author, she was born in Devon, England, where she now lives with her husband, two young daughters, a crazy Spanish rescue dog and four hens. Though she has a degree in Zoology, her true love has always been writing and she now works as a full time author.
Since Rescued hit the number one spot, she’s also had several other titles hit the bestseller list, including another short story collection, Some Love it Hot, and her erotic vampire novella, Deadly Beauty.
M.K. writes everything from contemporary romance to steaming hot erotica, and her love of travel and adventure is her main influence in her stories.
Lucy Felthouse
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter.
Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, K D Grace believes Freud was right. In the end, it really IS all about sex, well sex and love. And nobody’s happier about that than she is, otherwise, what would she write about?
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening. When she’s not gardening, she’s walking. She walks her stories, and she’s serious about it. She and her husband have walked Coast to Coast across England, along with several other long-distance routes. For her, inspiration is directly proportionate to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She also enjoys martial arts, reading, watching the birds and anything that gets her outdoors.
K D has erotica published with SourceBooks, Xcite Books, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, Erotic Review, Ravenous Romance, Sweetmeats Press and others.
K D’s critically acclaimed erotic romance novels include, The Initiation of Ms Holly, Fulfilling the Contract, The Pet Shop. Her paranormal erotic novel, Body Temperature and Rising, the first book of her Lakeland Witches trilogy, was listed as honorable mention on Violet Blue’s Top 12 Sex Books for 2011. Books two and three, Riding the Ether, and Elemental Fire, are now also available.
K D Grace also writes hot romance as Grace Marshall. An Executive Decision, Identity Crisis, The Exhibition are all available.
Lily Harlem is a best-selling, award-winning author of erotic romance. She lives in the UK and writes for several publishing houses including HarperCollins, Totally Bound, Pride Publishing, Evernight, ARe and Sweetmeats Press. She also features in numerous UK and US anthologies, some of which all proceeds go to charity.
Her books are a mixture of full length novels and short stories, some are one offs, some are sequels or part of a series (all can be enjoyed as stand-alone reads). What they all have in common are colourful characters travelling on everyone’s favourite journey — falling in love. If the story isn’t deliciously romantic and down and dirty sexy, it won’t be written, at least not by this author. So with the bedroom door left well and truly open you are warned to hang on for a steamy, sensual ride - or rides as the case might be!
Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter 3 stage and plenty of other projects in mind . . . she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
All the details and free fiction are available at her website. Visit her today and say hello!
Sarah Masters is a multi-published author in three pen names writing several genres. She lives with her husband, youngest daughter, and a cat in England. She writes at weekends and is a cover artist/head of art in her day job. In another life she was an editor. Her other pen names are Natalie Dae and Geraldine O’Hara.
Sarah also co-authors with Jaime Samms, and as Natalie Dae she co-authors with Lily Harlem under the name Harlem Dae.
English through and through, Josephine Myles is addicted to tea and busy cultivating a reputation for eccentricity. She writes gay erotica and romance, but finds the erotica keeps cuddling up to the romance, and the romance keeps corrupting the erotica. Jo blames her rebellious muse but he never listens to her anyway, no matter how much she threatens him with a big stick. She’s beginning to suspect he enjoys it.
Jo’s novel Stuff won the 2014 Rainbow Award for Best Bisexual Romance, and her novella Merry Gentlemen won the 2014 Rainbow Award for Best Gay Romantic Comedy. She loves to be busy, and is currently having fun trying to work out how she is going to fit in her love of writing, dressmaking and attending cabaret shows in fabulous clothing around the demands of a preteen with special needs and an incessantly curious toddler.
Ashe Barker
EMAIL: ashe@ashebarker.com
MK Elliott
Lucy Felthouse
AMAZON / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: lucy@lucyfelthouse.co.uk
KD Grace
SMASHWORDS / B&N / AMAZON / GOODREADS
Lily Harlem
BLOG / GOOGLE PLAY / PINTEREST
KOBO / SMASHWORDS / GOOGLE+ / B&N
EMAIL: lilyharlem@googlemail.com
Clare London
KOBO / iTUNES / GOOGLE PLAY / JMS BOOKS
EMAIL: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk
Sarah Masters
FACEBOOK / BLOG / GOOGLE PLAY
KOBO / SMASHWORDS / AMAZON
EMAIL: emmyellis@live.co.uk
Josephine Myles
EMAIL: josephine_myles@yahoo.co.uk
B&N / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
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