Thought about suicide. Again.

Not of my own . . . not that the thought’s never crossed my mind, but no. I got news that my short story, Forsaken, was accepted by Untreed Reads Publishing. Naturally, I beamed but then recalled the story’s subject and again, I remembered the suicide of a young man barely out of his teenage years. When this youth’s untimely death came back to me all these years later, I fashioned a story from the memories. This was months ago.

The incident, actually, happened eleven and a half years ago. Such terrible loss . . .

Couldn’t help but think, maybe all it would’ve taken to change the course of history, to talk that boy off that high-rise ledge, to even know he was heading up there in the first place, may have been as simple as picking up the phone when you recognized the young man’s number on the caller I. D. Maybe. What ifs suck, sometimes.

Sadly, suicide is one of the most common issues GLBT youth deal with. I have a friend who, as a tender youth, discovered she was Lesbian . . . Being raised Southern Baptist and being Lesbian didn’t play out in her mind. Out came the pills, the razor blades, and the booze. If I recall correctly, she was stopped only by a vision of her younger sister crying in agony. Unfortunately, the young man, who I also knew, didn’t have anyone or anything to stop him from carrying out his most desperate plea.

He tried to reach out, seek help, seek some sort of comfort, after realizing he was gay. But he was shunned by family, friends, and even a few in the GLBT community he approached. “I-I thought he was coming on to–I didn’t realize, he just needed someone to listen, affirm. . .” That was the reasoning, I was told.

Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve–not trying to push the blame on anyone. Hell, I’m probably just as guilty for I too didn’t recognize the signs, when around him. We can’t change what’s done.

Wouldn’t it be awesome though, if each one of us had someone there, a guardian angel perhaps, to help us in such a time of need? But that’s wishful thinking. Though times have changed and people are far more accepting of the GLBT community, still, more often than not, GLBT youth succumb to suicidal thoughts. And more often than not, it is because they are forsaken by everyone around them . . . or at least, they feel as if they are.

In fiction, well, that’s a whole different story. Literally. Having the incident come back to me during the Winter holidays, I chose to tackle the issue . . . but from a different angle, through the eyes of a guardian angel; and as with fiction, I gave my story a fairytale ending. Forsaken will be out this month at Untreed Reads Publishing. I invite you to check it out.

This post is X-posted to Frothing Authors, The Rainbow Studio, and Defying Description.

Lisa @ Joyfully Reviewed liked my smutty little Val & Kendra tale. Here’s what she had to say, “Fast and fun plus horny and kinky, Ignited is a hot tale with an eye opening twist or two.” You can read her full review HERE.

And I was extremely happy to read this next review of the Western Anthology, Cocked & Fully Loaded. I was wondering how readers would take my M/M/T-girl menage in the midst of an anthology with M/F pairings, but so far, they’ve apparently loved it!

Congrats to my fellow authors, Rie McGaha and G.R. Bretz, also! I think each of our writing styles compliments one another’s nicely. Here’s the latest review of Cocked & Fully Loaded from Cheryl@Manic Readers, “This western anthology is almost too hot for words. The country song by Big and Rich sums this anthology up the best…“Save a horse, Ride a cowboy”! … My favorite thing about this anthology is that the men in these stories were real men. They were tall, buff, and knew how to handle themselves in the bedroom. Also the women were not shy wall flowers but strong and independent…” Read her full review HERE.

Found out today that my book, If I Were a Lady…, was nominated in the Best Contemporary of 2009 category at Love Romances Cafe.  Check out the announcement on my site for links to the complete lists of nominees and voting instructions.

There’s a new website where authors and readers can come together to share information about some of the wonderful GLBT books and short stories out there.

Gay Writing Today is the brainchild of author Dorien Grey and I believe it was built with help from talented authors and techies Leiland Dale and Lex Valentine. I think they did an awesome job and you can find me there, posting my latest news whenever possible.

I hope you’ll check it out!

Reposted with permission from Author Jenna Byrnes.

4.75 out of 5 stars!

Boys of the Bite is an Anthology that explores the gay male side of vampire mythology. Stories from R.R. Angell to Bryl R. Tyne give us a different and alluring aspect to the sexy and beautiful vampires we know and crave. From modern vampires to vampires in our history you will be locked into these stories feeling as if you are there with them. Each one has its own alluring taste of blood and flesh but with a sexy side that is sure to appease any vampire fan. — Zollyanna@Night Owl Reviews

Some tattoos are worn to symbolize the individual, some to boast, label, or revere individual characteristics, circumstances, or people in the person’s life. And I’d venture (though not speaking with expertise on the subject) some are even used by gangs.

But what is the allure? What do we find so intriguing about a faded anchor, entwined with a thorny rose, inscribed with the name, Lulu? Or any of the elaborate tribal bands that encircle biceps or calves, the Kanji symbols adorning the backs of necks, or the assortment of colorful spreads of flowery designs and mythical creatures spread shoulder-to-shoulder or hip-to-hip that we must inquire their origins from the owners?

In one of my current WIPS, my surfer turned P.I. sports quite a number of distinctive tats himself, because that is who he is, at least according to him. I never stopped to ask him why, though I know how and when, he got them. If I think about it, I’ve never inquired but simply admired quite a number of beautiful tattoos in my life, never questioning any owner . . . until now.

Now . . . well, last week to be more precise, when an eight year old little boy came crying off the school bus, rushed into the house—then into the bathroom to furiously scrub away at his face, neck, hands and arms with some funky concoction of rubbing alcohol and baby oil. When I inquired to the reason for his behavior, he simply replied through the tears that he didn’t want to get kicked out of school and . . . “I think we need more baby oil.”

Apparently, his four packages of child’s vanity tattoos that he so proudly pulled from his Christmas stocking and later splayed over and across nearly every inch of available skin, trying in vain to impersonate a number of characters at once from the Anime, Naruto, didn’t go over well with the teachers. He had violated “dress code,” his teacher had told him. The tats had to go or he’d be suspended.

Cut the kid some slack, I thought. For Christ’s sake, he’s a child—a little boy ecstatic about a simple (and cheap) gift, who wanted nothing more than to enjoy it. They’d gotten my attention. My hackles were raised. I couldn’t recall reading anything about tattoos in the school’s dress code. I sat down with David and we looked it up.

Never mind that tattoos of any kind are not addressed in the code, and never mind that the code does not apply to Third graders or younger, the disclaimers were obvious and clear. “An item of dress, article of clothing, or accessory should not be deemed ‘approved’ simply because it is not listed herein” . . . and “The administration reserves the right to address inappropriate clothing on an individual basis in all grades.”

According to the teacher, David was being disruptive, drawing attention to himself, distracting class.

Oh, the mystical allure of the tattoo . . . .

Such power to command every gaze in a room. I think next year, I’ll have Santa put ten packages of those “apply-with-a-damp-rag” tats inside the boys’ stockings.

Bryl R. Tyne is a wrangler by nature and a writer by choice, published with Noble Romance Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Dreamspinner Press, and STARbooks Press. You can find out more about Bryl at: bryltyne.com

This post is X-posted to The Rainbow Studio, Defying Description, and Bryl R. Tyne’s author blogs.

Remember by Bryl R. Tyne

Had the immortalized voice of John Lennon not been so compelling, I may not have remembered the moment. But how could I not, with thousands of voices blended in unison inside a square . . . that wasn’t really square. Besides, some outside the square were singing too if I recall. As those thousands in harmony forgot me but recanted, “Remember all the people . . . ,” I also recall the precise depth the steel reached–or maybe it was a letter opener . . . or a pick. My vision had blurred; but yeah, I’m thinking now, the song ended on an ice pick. Though I never actually saw my life’s intruder coming, a definite pang raced through me as the tip of whatever blade scraped a rib. And I remember seeing my pursuer mouth words to the song but can’t for the life of me recall his voice . “Living . . . .” I joined him in unison as his upper lip quirked a smidgen higher to one side and he grinned. Funny what one does remember.

* * * *

Okay, maybe a bit morbid, but I write them as they come. Watching the ball drop last night, this inspiration took hold. Whether or not it becomes anything more is anyone’s guess. However, if you missed my New Year’s Eve free read and need something more on the sunny-side, here’s a little brightness, just for you:  http://bryltyne.com/2009/12/free-holiday-read

* * * *

Amy says, “If you like the western genre with lots of spice, the this one will keep you hotter than a western sunrise! Even if you don’t like the western genre that much, you might be surprised to like this one!” Read the full review Here.

Thank you, Amy J at My Overstuffed Bookshelf for the awesome review! I’m happy you enjoyed it.

Better late than never, I always say. . .find myself saying that a lot lately, but anyhoo. Below is the holiday free read I promised you. Enjoy!   

Predictable by Bryl R. Tyne

Predictable©2009 Bryl R. Tyne

All Rights Reserved

December 31, 2009

Home by seven-thirty—in and out of the shower by eight—towel hanging slightly cocked, exposing enough of his left hip to drive a man wild. Ian Maroni, my roommate this year, drives me bat-shit crazy. It’s been a long first month of pure torture and I still don’t know if he’s gay or not; but I don’t care. He’s gorgeous. How many times have I dreamt of telepathic powers? Just once, I’d like to will that towel loose of those narrow hips. Frustrated as ever.

Martin Berman

Ian cocked a brow as he rounded the bathroom doorway and strolled to his side of the closet on the far side of the room. I closed my notebook. He eyed me over his right shoulder. “Didn’t know jocks kept journals.”

Smartass. “It’s not a journal.” I stuffed the notebook into my backpack. “Professor Perkins says—”

“Behavioral Psych Professor Perkins?”

Fuck.

“It’s a journal.”

I ignored the look he threw me as I passed behind him, heading for the bathroom. He’d have dressed and either gone to the library to study or parked on his bed combing over his latest violin ensem when I finished showering. Predictable torture . . .

. . . And there he was cross-legged, back against his headboard, chin to his violin, when I emerged from the bathroom towel-drying my mop. Funny though, no music lay open on the bed before him, he appeared lost in a simple melody. “Not studying tonight?”

Ouch. I fingered my sore ear. Could’ve done without the missed note.

“It’s New Year’s Eve, nimrod.” His glare cut deeper than his words.

Nothing unusual, though. I mean, look at him sitting there on his boney ass all proper-like. He envied me. I knew it. Who wouldn’t be jealous of this quarterback physique? He’d probably never stepped foot inside a gym. His anti-social behaviors weren’t my fault, though. If he wanted to live like a shut-in, he should’ve rented a place off-campus. Without another word, he laid his violin down softly then marched over to his dresser.

Oh great. Out came his Marlboros. He lit one up as he stalked to the sliding glass door then jerked it open. I shuddered as he stepped onto the balcony into an exhaled plume of smoke. Suddenly, that perfect ass concealed by those skin-tight jeans didn’t look so inviting.

I thumbed through my clothes, pulling the first black t-shirt I came to off its hanger. Jerkwad knew I hated smoking. Just the thought of kissing someone with smoker’s breath made me gag. Oh hell, who was I kidding. Like I’d ever get a taste of him. I finished tugging up my jeans. He’d told me before that he only smoked when he was stressed out. Fastening my pants, I wondered if this time, it was my fault he’d felt the need to light up. Barefoot, I padded across the room and stuck my head out the open door.

“Melanie should be here any minute. Change your mind about the party?” I asked, knowing his answer would be the same as always. He never went anywhere, unless it served a purpose. Social functions, according to him, were what slackers majored in.

He dragged deep on that cancer stick. I couldn’t help stare at the way his lips tightened around it so determined, wishing he’d use that same determination on me someday. Ashtray-breath or not, even in one of his moods, his stance beckoned me to give him the once-over . . . one more time. So damned sexy. “I’ll go,” he said, exhaling the stench-filled smoke through his nose.

* * * * *

Melanie and girlfriend, Sue, rented a house about three miles from campus. Not a long ride, but in the backseat of Melanie’s car, Ian toyed with the stitching of his jeans the entire time. Though she’d picked up a few others along the way, I’d made sure Ian got a window seat in case he needed to smoke. Crammed shoulder-to-shoulder in the backseat of her Hyundai, I knew he was Jonesing for one bad. He didn’t light up though. I found that abnormal—really strange, for him.

As soon as we were inside, he asked where the bathroom was. Whatever. Hungry as always, I snagged a glass of beer and headed for the kitchen.

“Hey, Marty. Does he know?”

Scanning behind me, I turned to find Melanie on my heels. Through the open doorway, I watched the swarm mingle about the living room. Still no sign of Ian. “Give it a rest. Will you?” I found an apple in a fruit bowl on the counter. “I told you. I don’t even know if he’s gay for chrissake.”

“Well, he showed up here, didn’t he? Surely he knows this party is exclusively for Lesbians and Gay—”

“I didn’t tell him.” I took a hearty bite of apple, hoping she’d shut up.

She did, and just in time as Ian hustled into the kitchen looking a bit unsettled. “Sorry,” he said, and turned around. “I didn’t mean to interrupt any—”

“Oh no, sweetie.” Melanie caught him by the arm. Squeezing past him in the doorway, she gave him a shove further into the kitchen. “I was just leaving.”

Ian pinned me with his stare, but it wasn’t his typical glare of distaste or envy. Breaking eye-contact, I lifted the lid on the cooler on the table. “Want a beer?” I handed him a bottle as I looked up to find him still staring. “What?”

As he grabbed the bottle from my hand and his fingers brushed over mine I could’ve sworn I caught him stifle a quick smile. “You didn’t tell me this was a gays only New Year’s Eve party.”

“Well, Melanie and Sue are friends . . . and they asked me.” I cracked open a bottle and held it out in exchange for his. He was still staring as I took the unopened bottle from his hand and replaced it with the one I’d just opened. But before I could open my beer, he was sucking his down. Damnit. Was there anything those lips couldn’t tackle to perfection? “Listen. If you’re uncomfortable—”

“No. I’m cool,” he said, lowering the bottle from slightly swollen lips.

Again, I tried hard not to fixate on that almost smile and turned away. Sipping my beer, I made my way past Ian and into the crowded living room. Catching the game on the big screen or shooting the bull with friends should keep my mind occupied. Anything but worrying about what that smile meant.

One of the reasons I liked hanging out with like-minded buds, at least “Star Quarterback Kisses Man” would be far from breaking New Year’s Eve gossip come Monday morning. Most professors could give a rats ass about who’s schtupping whom, but the students? As quarterback of the football team, I had an image to uphold. I gave Ian one last glance, before disappearing into the sea of people. Still staring, he nodded my direction then raised his bottle in salute sporting a now, huge grin. What had I done by asking him here?

* * * * *

Though I succeeded in avoiding Ian most of the night, he stumbled past me a few times—always on his way to the bathroom. Despite his reaction to my actions tonight, with the help of Melanie, I’d resolved that I was getting a midnight celebratory kiss come hell or high water. If he ratted me out to the entire student body, so be it.

I eyed the clock—three minutes until midnight. Looking around, I noticed most everyone had paired off and seemed particularly happy with their choices for the evening. Just as I was deciding between Emo Rogers lingering alone in a back corner or goofy Jim, who’d lost himself in table-top dancing all night, I was catapulted forward from a sudden jar to the back.

“Hey!” I caught myself seconds before careening over the back of a winged-back chair and whirled around. “Watch where the fu—”

“Sorry,” Ian said, steadying his balance with the assistance of my outstretched arm.

“You lush.”

“Am not.” With a hiccup, he wiped in vain at his beer-drenched t-shirt, before meeting my gaze.

My attention drifted behind him, and I shook my head. Melanie and Sue stood across the room, giggling.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said, eying the clock as the crowd began migrating closer the big screen behind me. Emo Rogers had disappeared and goofy Jim was down to nothing but his thong. So much for celebrating the New Year. “Come on. Let’s head out. I’ll get a cab.”

Ian’s eyes widened as another wave sent both of us closer to the television which now sported the count-down ball. The noisy room grew louder, trying to drown out the screaming crowd on the TV. With my back against the chair, any space on either side of me was filled with the next wave of partiers and the few remaining steps between Ian and I disappeared just the same.

“Ten!” The crowd reiterated the television’s blare as Ian inadvertently shared the moisture of his t-shirt with mine.

His half-finished bottle teetered as much as he did as he leaned to set it on an end table; I caught him before he made a fool of himself.

“Nine!”

“Hold on before you fall over!” I yelled above the crowd.

He wrapped both arms around my waist, but his gaze locked hard on mine as he found his footing. “I’m not drunk.”

“Eight!”

Yeah. Right. My straight roommate had a death grip on the back of my t-shirt and wasn’t as much as flinching at us being pressed junk-to-junk by the drunken mob. He was sober—my ass. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Seven!”

The intensity of his glare multiplied and if I didn’t know any better, I swore he pulled himself flush against me. “I need a cigarette,” he said.

“Six!”

Well, that was news to me. I’d figured he’d snatched a drag or two each time he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Five!”

“It’s a New Year’s resolution.” His glare softened into a different look, a look I’d never seen on him—a look of hunger. “For you,” he said, leaning closer, filling any remaining distance between us.

“Four!”

At that moment, I must’ve had that deer in the headlight look, but my predictable roommate had thrown me for one helluva loop. “For me?” I stammered as his stubbly jaw scraped across my neck and his hands wandered my back.

“Three!”

“I didn’t know you were gay, until you asked me to the party.”

“Not many people do. I got an image to uphold for chrissake.”

“Two!”

His warm breath rushed over my neck, sending heat coursing through me and pooling down below. He licked a wet trail to my ear, and my cock hardened accordingly as my mind rallied around the fact that my roommate was most likely gay. If it were the beer messing with me or his actions, I didn’t care. I reciprocated his hold, brushing over what could only be one fine boner as I ground against him. “Happy?”

With a chuckle, he adjusted himself. “That’s just my toothbrush and toothpaste, dork.”

“One!”

In that instant, as his lips covered mine, his reoccurring bathroom visits made sense. Wanting to ensure my first taste of him left a pleasant imprint, he had been brushing his teeth throughout the evening. And at that moment, when our tongues collided and I fondled his skinny ass beneath my palms, I realized, I didn’t really care if he tasted like an ashtray or not. My beer-soaked shirt clinging to my chest, Ian clinging to me, I’d happily trade one predictable torture for another.

* * * * *

January 1, 2010

Even the predictable is unpredictable. My New Year’s Resolution: Quit over thinking. Ian’s home—gotta run.

Martin Berman

Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just a writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

Just Released!

COCKED & FULLY LOADED

A Historical Western Anthology from Noble Romance Publishing

w/ Tengo una Pistola by Bryl R. Tyne

Excerpt:

My eyes recognized morning before my head did. I squinted into the rays escaping the muslin tacked over the small window. Blinking numerous times, however, failed to clear my vision or my mind. I rubbed my eyes . . . stretched . . . . Yep, it was morning.

Not that I dreaded mornings, no. Most mornings I hopped out a bed, eager for whatever the day may bring. But not today. Again, I stretched, my body reassuring me it had plenty a rest. And I had. But much like the residue adhering the hair and skin on my stomach to the sheet, my troubles glued me to the bed. She was still here, in my place.

Nothing were more aggravating than waking up without Mitch by my side. Guess he’d outgrown me. At twenty-six, he were well past prime settling-down age. Though, at the thought of him settling for the likes a Carmen as wife and mother, I laughed. My humor at the impending situation ended as easily as it had begun, as my worries shifted to Mitch leaving to make his own life with the wench.

Disrupting my thoughts, aromas of fresh eggs and fresher coffee wafted into the room; least he had breakfast going. I breathed the scents in deep as I climbed from the bed and threw on my clothes.

Maybe the she-devil were still laid up, fast asleep. If Mitch gave her a riding like only Mitch could give, wouldn’t surprise me if she slept well past noon. I shook the unsavory images from my mind as I tugged on my boots then crossed the den.

Wouldn’t do me a lick a good to start out the day on the ornery side a things. Besides, exactly when Mitch planned on leaving weighed heavy on how I approached the topic. Last thing I wanted were to piss him off, have him high-tail it out a here as fast as his horse would carry him. One day at a time, I reminded myself on a long inhale as I rounded into the kitchen.

First thing I noticed, Mitch weren’t at the stove. No, the polecat sat kicked back in his seat at the table. Grin plastered ear to ear, he hummed, fixated toward the stove, toward that shifty female looking to be cooking him breakfast.

She sure weren’t cooking for me, I made up my mind as I took a seat next to Mitch. I wouldn’t let her.

Two-timin’ bastard, humming . . . . I shook my head at his well-rested ass. Were only one reason he hummed. If Carmen had eyes in the back a her head, she’d a winced from the evil-intent cast her way.

“Sleep good, Denton?”

Mitch straightened in his chair. Coffee in hand, he turned to me. “Pretty good, I reckon. You?”

Funny what having a lady around can do to the size of a man’s balls. Though he put on an unusually tough front, I noticed the unsteadiness of his hands as he sipped his coffee. Score one for the old man.

“Buenas días, Senor Samms.” Carmen smiled at me, setting a piled-high plate before Mitch.

I could a done without seeing that kiss she so delicately placed on his cheek. She scurried back to the stove as, jaw set, I snubbed her greeting. Breakfast smelled damned good though. I eyed Mitch’s plate. “That an omelet?”

He washed his bite down with a swig of coffee. “And fried potatoes.”

“Potatoes? This time a year?”

“Pretty resourceful, ain’t she,” he said, matter-a-factly and with a wink.

My stomach rumbled as I looked toward those green and salmon colored skirts, ruffles swishing this way and that before the stove. All right, I’d concede, this one time, on account a the fact I needed a good meal to start the day. I picked up my fork, anticipating breakfast. Even afforded Carmen a slight grin as she set a plate on the table in front of me.

I weren’t going soft or anything; just showing my appreciation. Long as she stayed away from me and mine . . . . I shoveled in a heaping bite as Mitch busied himself eating. Guess I might have to accept he weren’t mine any longer.

Before realizing I hadn’t a cup, I grabbed for my coffee.

“Lo siento. Aquí.” Warm breath and soft lips brushed my left ear as Carmen handed me a steaming cup from over my shoulder.

I welcomed the drink but shied away. Damned perfume could knock a man silly. She settled in the seat opposite one grinning Mitch. Setting my cup on the table, I failed to see what was so damned funny between them and returned to my food as they commenced to chattering back and forth.

Last I knew, Mitch didn’t talk Spanish. He weren’t too bad though, I reckoned, but my attempts to ignore the banter tired. Being left out in my own place ate at me. They continued, until I shoved my plate ahead. Between them, it skidded to a stop. Senseless noise halted; two sets of eyes looked my way. Having garnered their attention, I addressed Mitch. “Since when did you start speakin’ her language?”

Carmen’s immediate giggle told me that may a been the wrong question to ask. Mitch held in another chuckle as he looked to Carmen. “Been practicing a while, I reckon.” With his head, he motioned my way. “Tell the man, Carmen.”

For a second, her eyes widened. She looked at Mitch as she spoke. “El es muy bien.”

I could see a pink tint coloring her cheeks as she used her fingertips to hide a glowing smile. Compared to yesterday evening, she appeared almost modest. Maybe she weren’t too bad, for a female. Or so I reckoned before she began batting those lashes again, and I felt what could be none other than womanly toes, in all their agility, making their way purposefully along the inside a one of my knees.

With a start, I got to my feet, stepping away from my overturned chair, which bounced once from the floor before settling into a slow rocking motion. Weren’t no way in hell I’d follow Mitch down that path.

I grabbed my hat and stormed outside. Plenty a work to be gotten to. Time didn’t wait. Not for me.

_______________________________________________________________________

Links to other Excerpt Monday writers

So, to kick it off, your hosts:

Alexia Reed, Urban Fantasy (R)

and

Bria Quinlan, Rom Com (PG13)

Joining us this week:

Danie Ford, Womens Fiction (PG13)
Kaige, Historical Romance (PG13)
Jeannie Lin, Contemporary (PG13)
RF Long, Fantasy Sword and Sorcery (PG13)
Shawntelle Madison, Paranormal Romance (PG13)
Debbie Mumford, Flash Fiction (PG13)
Jo Lynne Valerie, Paranormal Romance (PG 13)

Kendal Ashby, Erotic Contemporary (R)
KB Alan, Erotic Paranormal Romance (R)
Penny Dune, Romantic Suspense (R)
Cate Hart, YA Paranormal (R)
Inez Kelley, Contemporary Romance (R)
Jeannete Murray, RomCom (R)
Christa Page, Regency Paranormal (R)
Michelle Picard, Paranormal (R)
Jeanne St James, Erotic Rom M/M (R)
Danielle Yockman, Historical Romance (R)

Sara Brookes, Fantasy (NC17)
Emily Ryan Davis, Erotic Contemporary Romance (NC17)
Ella Drake, Erotic SciFi Romance (NC17)
Angeleque Ford, Erotic Contemporary Romance (NC17)
Jamal W Hankins, Dark Fiction/Fantasy (NC17)
Bryl R Tyne, Transgender M/M (NC17)

Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts. Please heed the ratings and be aware that the links may contain material that is not typical of my site.