Devon Alexander is a wealthy successful businessman. The world is his oyster. In his work life he is decisive and in control.

His private life is another matter.

There, he doesn’t know if he’s coming or going in his on-off relationship with Jesse Young, an unemployed aspiring model half his age.

Can Devon and Jesse overcome the obstacles and outside influences standing in their way? Can they leave behind their own fear and mistrust? Or will they be their own worst enemies?

Excerpt: (As on Wayward Ink website)

GRADUALLY the harsh sound of ragged breathing abated; heart rates slowed; sweat cooled on skin. Devon Alexander shifted beneath his lover, twisting his head so he could see the clock on the wall. Ten minutes to his next meeting. What would his clients think if they could see him now? The CEO of Alexander Industries—tremendously rich and powerful businessman, well-known public figure, feared and respected alike—bent over his desk, his trousers round his ankles, and a young Adonis buried balls-deep inside him. His clients knew he was gay, had no problem with it, but there was a limit to how much he could shove it in their faces.

Fucking in the office during work hours was risky at the best of times. Normally Devon was against it, but when Jesse showed up, looking all sexy and gorgeous, the temptation was too much. Once Jesse started whispering in his ear all the things he wanted to do, professional ethics went out the window. But, hey, Devon was the boss. If he couldn’t fuck in the office when he felt like it, what good was being in charge?

Reluctantly he pushed himself upward and back in an attempt to dislodge Jesse, who groaned and wrapped his arms tightly around Devon’s waist. Devon gasped in surprise, chuckling as Jesse began to harden again inside him.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said sharply, sliding out from underneath the other man with difficulty, given Jesse seemed reluctant to let him go. “I have a meeting.”

Devon pulled down his shirt and straightened his tie before bending to retrieve his underwear and trousers. Once dressed, he lifted his hands to his head, checking his hair. Vain, maybe, but he had an image to protect. All the while, he covertly watched Jesse tuck his rather impressive manhood into tight white boxer briefs and zip up the fly of his jeans. Jesse glanced up to catch Devon watching and a smug smile spread across his handsome face.

“Shit, did we even lock the door?” Devon asked suddenly, trying to remember if there had been time to turn the key in between Jesse walking into the office and them ending up sprawled half-naked across the desk. Emily, his personal assistant, was terribly efficient, but she was a shy, quiet girl and he hardly dared think what effect it would have on her if she saw Jesse in all his glory. “What if Emily had come in?”

“She wouldn’t have,” Jesse said confidently.

“Really? What makes you so sure?”

“I told her not to.”

Devon narrowed his eyes, not sure he liked the thought of Jesse giving orders to his staff. The last thing he needed was Jesse getting ideas above his station. Devon would be a laughingstock if his much-younger boyfriend started throwing his weight around like he was the one in charge. “What did you say to her exactly?”

“I told her not to come in because I was going to fuck you hard over your desk,” Jesse replied with a smirk.

“I sincerely hope that’s meant to be a joke.”

Jesse looked at him, assessing his change of mood. There was a sudden gleam in Jesse’s velvet-brown eyes and Devon smothered a sigh, knowing he was about to be lied to. Such were the consequences of taking a man twenty years his junior as a lover. Jesse was Young in name and young in nature. Fortunately for both of them, his good looks and sexual prowess generally outweighed his immaturity.

“Of course it was a joke,” Jesse said, flashing his most disarming smile, the one that made women and quite a lot of men melt whenever they saw it. “You know I wouldn’t do anything like that, Dev.”

Dev. Nobody had ever called Devon that before Jesse. In the press and business life, he was Devon Alexander. To family and friends, plain old Devon. Only Jesse got away with calling him by the abbreviated form. Privately, he quite liked it when Jesse called him Dev, although recently he had come to realise the shortened version of his name was used most when Jesse either wanted something or was trying to wheedle his way into Devon’s good books after doing something wrong.

Devon glanced at the clock again. Five minutes. His clients could arrive at any moment, meaning he didn’t have time for an argument now. Vowing to take it up with him later, he shooed Jesse out the door, wishing he didn’t look quite so much like a twenty-year-old who had just been well and truly fucked.

“Jesse, come over tonight. We’ll eat in.”

“You’re going to cook?” Jesse arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Not unless you want food poisoning.” Devon couldn’t help but smile at his lover’s alarmed expression. “I’ll order in. Now, get out of here before anyone sees you.”

“Why? Are you ashamed of me?” Jesse’s tone was light, making a joke of it, even though they both knew the truth.

Their relationship had been widely publicised, the press keen to make a big deal out of a forty-year-old high flyer hooking up with an unemployed twenty-year-old. Devon was often described by the media as a strikingly handsome man, as well as a wealthy one. He could have any man he wanted, yet he chose to be with Jesse, a nobody with nothing to offer except a handsome face, a good body, and a lot of expertise between the sheets. Devon’s family, friends, and colleagues had all warned against a relationship, certain Jesse was only after Devon’s money and whatever else he could get. Devon chose to ignore them all, but aware of their disapproval, he kept his time with Jesse and the rest of his life separate.

“Later,” Devon said with a subtle nod in Emily’s direction.

The girl might be quiet, but her eyes and ears worked just fine. For all Devon knew, she was the one running to the press with lurid stories about him and Jesse. Someone in the office was certainly doing so, but he had yet to find out who among his staff was prepared to stab him in the back in order to line their own pockets. When he found them, the culprit would be out of a job before they could draw breath, but until then, he had adopted a policy of trust no one.

Sauntering through the main office on his way to the lift, Jesse drew the eye of every woman in the room and one or two of the guys too. There was no denying he was the best-looking man in the building, with his tousled black hair, chocolate-brown eyes, and toned body. Most observers doubtless wondered what Jesse saw in an old man like Devon. Then they would probably answer their own question with one word: money. How many times had Devon been told Jesse was a user? Why should he work for a living when he had a sugar daddy to pay his way?

Despite the fact he should be preparing for his meeting, Devon stayed in the doorway to his office, watching Jesse until the lift doors opened and he stepped inside the car, looking back with his sexy smile and a brief wave before the doors closed. With a sigh, Devon turned away. There were so many reasons why this relationship could never work. Jesse was so young for a start. He was also unreliable, unpredictable, unemployed, and a whole list of other words beginning with un.

Available now at Wayward Ink Publishing, Amazon and ARe



One snowy night, Keith Brambles learns that appearances can be deceptive.


KEITH BRAMBLES shifted his brand new Audi TT Roadster into gear and drove out of the car park. He pressed his lips together in a thin line and scowled as he peered through the windscreen. It had begun to snow while he was in the pub, and he didn’t relish the idea of driving over thirty-five miles home in bad weather. He lived in the small market town of Alford, in the UK, and at that moment, he wondered what on earth had possessed him to travel all the way to Lincoln for a date with someone he’d met after a gig the week before. Gig hook-ups were always going to end the same way, but he continued to hope.

Keith’s date had turned out like so many others—a man who wanted to get close to him because of who he was so he could boast to his friends. This latest guy had been worse than most. The majority of their conversation had been about Keith’s music, and he’d quickly realized he was wasting his time. After two hours, he’d told the man it wasn’t going to happen, and left the pub, frustrated and angry.

Keith turned his car onto the A158 and accelerated away from Lincoln. Already the snow was coming down thickly, and his annoyance caused him to drive too fast for the conditions. The white stuff hadn’t begun to settle on the roads yet, and he thought he could probably get home before it became a problem. He turned the volume on the CD player up louder, and Adam Lambert’s voice filled the car. Lambert was an American singer whom Keith had loosely modeled himself on, and he sang along to the tune as he drove.

Keith covered twenty miles without incident. He passed only two vehicles coming the other way, both crawling along, with their windscreen wipers going at full speed. The snow was falling more thickly, and had settled on the tarmac. Rather than easing up on the accelerator, Keith maintained his speed, wanting to get home. He passed the small town of Wragby and continued for another few minutes, still singing along to Adam Lambert. He wondered if his hero had the same trouble with dates only wanting him because he was famous. Not that Keith was particularly famous. He doubted anyone outside the UK had heard of him. He had his face in a few music papers, and his first album was available for download, but the biggest show he’d done so far was Nottingham Rock City. Rock City was one of his favorite venues. He’d been there many times to see other bands before he started performing himself.

“Shit!” Keith came upon the bend much too fast, and did the worst thing he could do, given the conditions—he stomped on the brake pedal. The Audi lost what little traction it had and continued in a more-or-less straight line. He tried turning the wheel, but nothing happened. Keith could only watch in horror as the dark shape of a tree loomed out of the snowy cloud and headed for the bonnet of the car at frightening speed. He clutched the steering wheel, knuckles white, and yelled out again as the impact with the tree trunk killed the car.

ONE SNOWY NIGHT is also a part of the STRANDED Anthology

Available now at Wayward Ink Publishing,, and ARe



Chris and Andreas are opposites in character.

Both fear the other wants to move on.
Can being stranded on a mountainside resolve the doubt that is threatening to tear them apart?
Excerpt: (as on Wayward Ink website)
“THAT’S IT, babe. Look at me.” I raked my fingers through Andreas’s hair and yanked his head back. Still leaning over the sink, he obediently stared at me in the bathroom mirror. Our blue eyes connected, pupils fully dilated with arousal. He loved it when I treated him rough like this. I tilted forward over his back and nipped on Andreas’s ear lobe. “Keep your eyes on mine as I enter you,” I purred, my breath long and moist against his heated skin.
Andreas, as usual, complied. He loved eye contact when we made love. Pulling back slightly, I stroked my cock along his crease, poised and erect, ready to push into him. Lining up with his well-prepared hole, I returned my gaze to his and eased in gently. With each inch, his eyes widened a fraction, his jaw dropped lower, and he gasped louder.
I kissed along his shoulder. “Oh yes, babe. You feel so good.”
His eyes remained fixed on the mirror—on me—as I moved in and out of his warmth. Deep, slow thrusts, accompanied by my slaps to the smooth, pale skin on his ass, resulted in groans from deep within his chest.
“Yes, harder, Chris.”
I obeyed his wish, and made Andreas yelp with pleasure.
He wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked fast. “Gonna come soon!”
Grunting with each forceful push, I gripped his hair tighter, holding his head in place, and squeezed his now pink rump. Two more thrusts and I came hard inside him, moaning. My heart pounded against my ribcage, and waves of heated pleasure ebbed through me.

“Oh my God, I’m coming.” His voiced echoed around the small hotel bathroom.
I grinned. What must the people in the next room be thinking?
Andreas stood upright, his hand moving rapidly over his cock. He shot his load into the sink and squirted over the marble surround. The third and fourth jets sprayed up on the mirror and trickled down.
Despite panting loudly, we managed to giggle. “Oh babe, you’re so hot when you come like that.” I kissed his neck and eased out of him. “And being so noisy too—I love it.”
I dropped the condom into the bin and stepped into the bathtub. “Need to get a move on.” I turned on the shower and soaped myself down.
Andreas wiped the remaining lube off his crack, had a piss, and returned to the bedroom, wiggling his ass at me on his way out. I grinned at the red marks still evident on his naked butt.
I dried myself down with one of the fluffy white towels, and then joined Andreas. Now sporting a pair of shorts, he sat on the balcony with his feet perched on a chair, a book in his lap. I loved him dearly, but he seemed to have his nose in a book twenty-four seven these days. Every time I came home from work or back from one of my sports clubs, he’d be there reading. Either that or engrossed in his decoupage craft, or whatever his latest hobby was.
After dressing in my cycling gear, I packed up my rucksack with the provisions I needed for the day, and then went to join him on the balcony.
“Mmm… looks like it’s going to be another warm day.” I looked out across the hotel pool and gardens, to the mountainside beyond. The sky was clear and blue. Wispy clouds drifted around the snow-covered peaks in the distance. Lush green grass and woods filled the lower slopes near the resort. Cable cars, looking like dots in the distance, moved slowly upward. Summer season in an Alpine resort was my idea of heaven: outdoor physical activity, plenty of fresh air, and hot sex when I returned to the hotel in the evening. Pity Andreas didn’t share my passion—apart from the sex, that is.
Andreas glanced up from his book. “You should have a nice day for exploring.” He returned his gaze to the page, seemingly oblivious to the scenic view in front of us. “Rain is forecast later this evening, but you should miss that.”
A cool breeze blew around the damp hair at the base of my skull. “That’s good. Can you put some sunscreen on the back of my neck, hun? It’s stinging a little today.”
“Mmm… sure. It looks a little red.” Andreas leaned over and grabbed the tube from the patio table. He wiped the moisture from the back of my neck and applied the cream thoroughly.
I turned to face him, and he coated my face, neck, and the skin exposed above the vee of my T-shirt. A sad look crossed his eyes.
I stroked a wayward hair out of his sight. “You’ll be okay on your own?” I felt a little guilty, but he could have come with me if he wanted.
In the distance, cowbells chimed and a motorbike sped past the front of the hotel, spoiling the early morning peace and quiet.
Andreas sighed. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Got plenty to keep me occupied here all day. I’m used to keeping myself busy anyway.” His voice trailed off on the last sentence.
“I’ll see you later this afternoon, then.” I kissed him swiftly. “Have a good day.”
“Yeah, you too. Make sure you grab some breakfast on your way.” Andreas pulled me in for a hug. “Take care. Love you.”
“Love you too. Later.” I scooped up my rucksack, checked for my phone in my pocket, and marched out of the hotel room without a backward glance.
After retrieving my mountain bike from the hotel’s bike park and buying a meat-filled pastry from the local bakery, I cycled to the cable car station at the edge of Saalbach. Pleased I’d made it before the manic tourist rush, I managed to grab a gondola for myself with plenty of room for the bike.
I took out the still-warm pastry from its wrapping and wolfed it down. Most guests would be eating their breakfast in hotel dining rooms throughout the resort, as would Andreas soon—alone. I liked getting out and about early to avoid the crowds. Andreas preferred to take his time and stay in the hotel for most of the day. Sometimes I thought he might be agoraphobic, but then he’d go shopping for our food, and he’d spend time with the people in his craft and book clubs. He wasn’t particularly fond of sports. Our friends always commented on how different we were, personality-wise. Some even called him a wimp and a sissy. I responded with my clichéd science statement of opposites attract to shut them up. Andreas was perfect for me. We got along well, hardly ever argued, and the sex was always hot and steamy. Yum! Just like this morning’s session.
Spending time apart doing our own thing only added to our closeness when we were together. We didn’t get jealous or possessive, and didn’t push our interests down each other’s throats. He was happy doing his own thing while I got on with my adventurous pastimes. I’d never get him to paraglide or canoe, but then I wouldn’t knit or weed the garden.
Andreas was drop-dead gorgeous. People always asked if we were brothers, which I took as a compliment. We had the same dark hair coloring, were of similar height, and I was only more muscular because of all the physical activity I took part in. My sexy Andreas managed to keep in good shape: he was in charge of the food shopping and cooking in our house, and made sure we both ate healthily.
I brushed the greasy pastry crumbs off my T-shirt and grinned, knowing he’d scold me later when I told him what I’d eaten for breakfast.
The cable car moved swiftly up the mountainside, giving fabulous views of Austria’s Hinterglemm valley. I turned around and looked back toward the hotel and to the mountains behind, where I’d spent the previous day exploring. I spotted the hut where I’d stopped for lunch—a small speck of brown surrounded by shades of green—and the winding tracks I’d followed on my way down. I wished Andreas could share the fabulous views and enjoy the ride alongside me. I’d take photos from the top for him, but that wouldn’t be the same as experiencing it for himself.
As the gondola approached the highest cable car station, I positioned my bike. As soon as the doors opened, I shot out. I checked the time of the last returning gondola, noting I had over seven hours to explore—plenty of time.
The panoramic view from this height was breathtaking. I wheeled the bike with one hand and stood on the viewing platform, taking photos with my phone. I selected a selfie and sent it in a text to Andreas.
Spectacular views. Wish you were here. Later. Xx