New Release!

American Icons - CowboyEverybody loves – or at least lusts after – the Alpha Male. And there are certain men who are more Alpha than others! Join journalist Ryker Shane as he explores the mystique of the Alpha Men who stir our imaginations (and libidos!) again and again. They are the American Icons: the embodiment of everything we crave in our beds.

Ryker’s journey begins at the Hasty K Ranch, where he meets the “quintessential cowboy”,  JT Reese.

Here’s the excerpt:

The interview goes well. He’s candid with his stories about buckle-bunnies, and the less than glamorous side of the rodeo. He talks about his injuries, but in a way that makes even the one that ended his rodeo career sound amusing. Yeah, JT is funny, which is crazy sexy.

It’s also crazy sexy watching him pose for Jamie. His jeans aren’t particularly tight, but they’re well worn and conform to his wiry frame in a way I can only describe as intimately, cupping a tight, flat ass and a sizable bulge in the triangle made by his chaps at his crotch.

He’s teasing me, and we both know it. From the way Jamie’s lips are pressed in a tight line, he knows it, too. I spare a second to wonder what’s got my photographer so tense. He knows I’m gay and it’s never been an issue. For that matter, I’ve seen him leave a bar with just as many hot guys as he has hot girls. Soon enough the pictures are all taken, his equipment is all packed up and, with one final, piercing look, Jamie’s on his way. Once he’s gone JT gives me a piercing look of his own, and offers me a tour. Something in the tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips tells me the ranch isn’t the only thing he’s inviting me to explore.

By the time our tour reaches the tack room, the tension that’s been sizzling between us since I first caught sight of JT’s ass outlined by those dusty leather chaps is almost unbearable. I look into his eyes, a look that I know is just asking to be fucked—or, if he’s straighter than he acts—fucked up. There’s heat lightning there, sparking in the blue, leaving it almost gray and glittery.

Yeah, I’m a writer. I get poetic once and awhile. Sue me.

I find myself herded back against the door, which has somehow become closed and locked behind me.

“Tell me no.”

I shake my head. Not “no, I don’t want this”, but “no, I’m not gonna tell you to stop”. Thankfully he seems to get it, and moves in closer.

He crowds me, bracing himself on his forearms on either side of my head. His body is hot, damp with the heat of the day. He smells of musk and man, a little dust, and the clean scent of soap from his hurried shower.

He’s hard against me. Not just his cock, which is digging into my hip like a burning poker, thank you very much, but his whole body. He presses against me, nipples to knees, and he’s a tactile feast of hard bone and ropy muscle. One knee works its way between my thighs, pressing up. Just. Enough. Enough to give my balls a little pressure, a little tease. Then he sets his other leg along my thigh and squeezes, bending his knees a little and then straightening in a long, slow, full body rub that has my nerves jumping, and my dick throbbing.

“If you don’t tell me to stop, I’m gonna fuck you, Shane.”

The words send a shudder through me. The pure statement of intent, no hint of a request. And the way he uses my last name. Somehow that’s just blazingly hot to me.

“Last chance.”

His mouth is against my neck, lips parted just enough for him to place light, sucking kisses along the length of it. Up, up, up, stopping at the ridiculously sensitive hollow behind my ear. Tiny, stinging kisses, not quite hard enough to leave a mark. But damn, I can feel them.

“Not saying no.” I force the words out, but even focusing all my concentration on forming actual syllables, that last one trails off into a moan because he’s sucking on my earlobe, and it seems to have a direct line to the tip of my cock.

“That’s good, Shane. Real good.”

Buy American Icons: The Cowboy exclusively HERE at Amazon for Kindle!

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