Monday, February 17, 2014

NEW RELEASE! My Lover, My Dom by H.C. Brown


 My Lover, My Dom by H.C. Brown

H.C. Brown’s long awaited Club Whips Series takes the reader into the no holds barred Whips Gay BDSM Club. With cameo appearances from some of the more colorful characters of Club Floggers, H.C. Brown introduces more of the Doms and delicious subs from the exciting world of rock n roll and big business.

Brad Morrison is a sub pure and simple. He wants Jett Silver, manager of Cold Heat but their yearlong friendship is just that . . . friendship, until Brad’s arranged marriage of convenience ends.
Jett Silver has waited patiently for Brad to find himself. Being his gym buddy has been agony but now he plans to train this delectable pup and collar him. With Jett’s best friend Nash Mage and his sub Paul on hand to help, Brad’s life becomes a living fantasy.


The cold tiles pressed into Brad’s chest. The exquisite thrill of pain followed by his Master’s tender touch undone him. He hovered on the edge of tears, need seared through him, burning flames of desire caressed his balls and shot up his shaft. He opened his stance and pushed his ass toward his Master. He wanted more and his knees shook in expectation of Jett’s hot tongue on him. He longed to sink into the wet warmth of Jett’s mouth but he craved more of his Dom. What would Jett be like inside the dungeon? A shiver of delight licked his balls. I can’t wait. Jett slapped again and the sound of his large hand hitting flesh echoed in the small room. Pain sizzled and Brad’s cock scraped against the wall. He rocked his hips and heard Jett growl. Oh, Lord! His Dom slid inquisitive fingers down the cleft of Brad’s ass. Hot breath brushed his cheek. Brad swallowed the moan of delight. The next moment Jett spun him around. He gazed into his Dom’s eyes. “Oh, fuck, I’m losing my mind. I want your mouth on me so fucking bad... Sir.”

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Dreamspinner Press: Take Me, Break Me - H.C. Brown

Reno Rocket, bass player for the rock band Dazed, thinks he’s on the straight and narrow but is his girlfriend just a cover for his confused sexuality? When the new lead singer, Tanner Star, walks in, Reno's libido snaps to attention. His attraction to the famous rock star is immediate and disconcerting. Performing with Tanner every night blows Reno’s mind, and the moment Tanner grinds against him on stage, “curious” takes on a whole new meaning.

Tanner wants more than a lover. He wants a sub, and he’s willing to guide Reno into the world of BDSM. In turn, Reno wants to be everything to Tanner—lover, sub, and partner—but he fears the ghost of Tanner’s dead boyfriend will come between them.

At first they manage to find a balance and life is idyllic… until one rash action by Tanner plunges their new love affair into chaos. Will Reno admit to the world that he’s gay and face the media and his family’s wrath, or will he deny the love and exquisite attention Tanner’s world has brought him?

ISBN-13:     978-1-62380-427-5
Pages:     200
Cover Artist:     Paul Richmond

Visit H.C. Brown at her Website for more awesome reads.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

New Release: Colt's Obsession, HC Brown

H.C. Brown has done it again!  A new release! For lovers of hot M/M Romance, H.C.'s books are right on target.  Be sure and grab a copy.  You won't be disappointed!

Colt's Obsession

Buy link:

Time travel, mistaken identity, and intrigue will keep you reading H.C. Brown’s newest romance novel. Can two men, one a modern American hunk, the other living in the past, literally, come together to find a place, and more importantly, a time where love and happiness triumph? Colt’s Obsession is an explosive, must read.

Colt’s Obsession

H. C. Brown

Chapter 1

Colt Daniels lifted his bidder’s card. “Thirty thousand.”

“The bid is thirty thousand pounds. Come now, ladies and gentlemen, this portrait of Lord Alexander Swift by Benjamin West is dated 1775 and is in extraordinarily fine condition.” The auctioneer at Sotheby’s surveyed the silent crowd with a critical gaze.

Taking a casual pose, Colt flicked his gaze to the opposing bidder. The man in the slick Italian business suit met his gaze with a slow smile. Colt lifted his chin and stared at the painting. From the moment he had laid eyes on the portrait of the handsome young man in the Sotheby’s catalogue, he had wanted to buy the painting. Lord Alexander Swift’s troubled gaze held a distant loneliness, as if reaching out to Colt across the centuries.

A strange twist of fate had brought him to London in the form of an inheritance on his thirtieth birthday. A distant relative had bequeathed him the townhouse once owned by Lord Swift in Berkeley Square. The will came with explicit instructions on renovation and repair of the old building. Over the past year, he had restored the house to its former glory and now required this painting to complete the task. During the years Lord Swift had owned the property, the painting had hung at the top of the stairs, facing the front door. For some unexplained reason, Colt had a compelling desire to finish the house by restoring the painting to its original position, in time for the anniversary of Alexander’s death on June fourth.

“Forty thousand.” The man in the suit lifted his bidder’s card.

Colt sighed. With his fortune to back him and the prestige of being the owner of some of the most famous galleries around the world, he rarely had people bid against him for very long. They should know better. If Colt Daniels wanted a painting, Colt Daniels would go to any price to secure a purchase. He cleared his throat. “Seventy thousand pounds.” He shot the opposing bidder a cold stare.

After the usual pause, the hammer came down and Colt moved to the clerk to settle the account. “Have it shipped to 42 Berkeley Square, Mayfair.” He turned and strolled back to the painting to gaze at Alexander.

Warmth pooled around Colt’s heart. He touched the man’s pale cheeks, tracing a finger over the long, blond curls, tied back in a queue. The young man appeared to be about eighteen in the portrait, slight of build with delicate features, yet Colt’s research revealed West had completed the portrait on Swift’s twenty-fifth birthday, the day he had inherited great wealth and lands from his father. Colt rubbed his chin. One would think His Lordship should be overjoyed on such an occasion, and yet Alexander’s blue gaze followed him with heart-wrenching sadness.

“West has captured the essence of his subject, don’t you think?”

Colt turned to see Business Suit gazing at him with a friendly smile. “Essence?”

“My name is Jake Williams. You may have heard of me?” replied Business Suit in a cultured Boston accent.

“Can’t say that I have, sorry.”

“Ah—so you don’t know about the letters.” Jake Williams inclined his head toward the portrait. “The love letters between Alexander and the Honorable David Fitzhugh. In a time when the crime of sodomy held the death penalty, to write love letters to a man … my God, can you imagine the implications?”

Colt straightened his shoulders. “You have these letters?”

“I most certainly do! Copies of the original documents are in my book, The Gay Lords.” Jake took a card from his jacket and gave it to Colt. “I know you’re restoring Alexander’s house; perhaps we could meet over lunch and I’ll give you the details I didn’t put into print.”

In truth, Colt craved information about Alexander. Living in the young lord’s house and seeing each room as if through Alexander’s eyes, Swift had become his obsession. With a laugh, he met Jake’s hazel eyes. “I’m free now.”

“Great, how about having lunch at The Square? It’s a great restaurant.” Jake smiled. “We can walk from here.”

“Sure.” Colt followed him out of the foyer into the busy street, and they turned in the direction of Bruton Street. “So how did you come by the letters?”

“I bought them, along with a few other sundry items, at an auction—in Boston, of all places.” Jake fell into step beside Colt. “At first I thought they were written by a woman until I researched the names. Most of them begin with ‘my love’ or ‘my dearest’, so until I took note of the addressee … well, what a bombshell.”

“How did the letters end up in the States?”

“I believe, due to the anti-sodomite movement at the time, Fitzhugh took flight to America.” Jake sighed. “Of course, there is no proof he fled England under suspicion of sodomy. Nothing I researched points to him having a gay lover during his life. I do know he joined the colonists in the War of Independence and died in Boston in 1790.” He stopped outside a bookstore. “Look, I’ll grab a copy of my book. You must see the portrait of David Fitzhugh.”

Colt stared into the shop window, his gaze not focusing on any item. His mind reeled. Even in this enlightened world, homophobia caused misery and distrust. He reflected on his own youth. Sure, he had taken his share of beatings from the local thugs, but now at six-five and built like a linebacker, no one crossed him. On the contrary, the beatings and the snide remarks had made him more resolute to succeed in everything he did. He respected love in all forms. Gay, straight—who the fuck cared as long as that wonderful connection happened between two consenting adults? He almost felt sorry for people who could not see love if it hit them smack in the face. So many refused to recognize or understand that the sweet love between two men, or women for that matter, held the same deep emotion as straight love. Anger welled from deep inside fueled by the oppression he knew Alexander would have endured during his life. Those twisted sons-of-bitches would not have understood how cruel they were to deny the freedom to express love without prejudice.

In Alexander’s time, for a gentleman to touch a man’s arm or cast a suggestive look could lead to prosecution for sodomy, a hanging offense. God knows, in those days they used the sodomy accusation to destroy many people’s lives.

“You gotta see this.” Jake thrust a book into Colt’s hand. “Kinda spooky, don’t you think?”

Colt gazed at the glossy illustration. A trickle of ice slid down his spine. The portrait of the Honorable David Fitzhugh depicted a tall, muscular man with dark, flowing hair—and the royal blue eyes that stared back at him were his own.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Night Games (Game Play, Book 2) HC Brown & KevaD

 My good friends, H.C. Brown and KevaD, has the second book in their Game Play series out today!  Be sure and check it out! These two are some fantastic authors.   Drop by Liquid Silver and pick up your copy. You won't be disappointed.

Strand one stuffy executive and his prize-winning Chihuahua in the Brazilian jungle. Add a handsome, sexy roughneck, and watch the hilarious night games begin.

Joe Harrison’s attraction to the young, handsome part-owner of Bowers’ Beautiful Excursions has become an obsession. His purchase of a sailboat, and need for a skilled captain, gives him the opportunity to spend some time alone with the elusive Dazz.

Although sailing a brand-new schooner through pirate infested waters isn’t Dazz’s idea of fun, his desire to know Joe more intimately overrides his caution.

Hijacked by pirates and forced to flee into the jungle, they must overcome all obstacles and fight to recover the vessel. Will their fragile relationship survive the bittersweet trials to come?

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Golden Boys Free Oct 3-7

Check this out!!

Amber Green's M/M romance is going to be offered for free on Amazon October 3 through 7.

If you want an awesome read, you need to grab a copy!!

Golden Boys


With his easy laugh and knowing eyes, Jell grew up street, while I was raised to be a pillar of society. When the FBI asked me to betray him--the guy I've crushed on since ninth grade--I went straight to Jell. So he and I have one less secret between us. Which would be great if we didn't have to escape a psychiatric clinic in the middle of the night, half naked, with people shooting at us. The only refuge we can agree to head for is my crazy cousin Gator's retirement village.

Now we're lost. And I've never been so alive.

Amber's website:


My hackles rose as I came in through the garage door, though it took a minute to identify why: the crackle of the deep fryer and the aroma of onion rings. Mom fried grouper yesterday. With her fixation on Black Men’s Heart Disease, my mother does not countenance fried food twice in a week.

Terrific. Another we-still-love-you display to set the backdrop for another discussion of my sexual orientation. As if talking me out of being gay would be like talking me out of joining the navy.

My flunking out of med school had been bad enough. Nobody seemed sure whether to treat it more like my sister-in-law’s miscarriage or Cousin Wendy’s eloping with a known drunk. And—as of Monday—I’d topped that.

Maybe I should have come out when the fatal grade report arrived, killed all the family’s illusions at once, instead of waiting a few weeks to offer that twist to the knife.

"Ethan? Did you wipe your feet?"

I always wipe my feet. "Yes’m, but if I were an ax-murderer, wouldn’t this be a little bit late to ask?"

She smiled up at me. Not with her serene smile, but the careful one she’d worn since Monday. "I have a pot of boiling grease to throw."

Like you’d ever do that. I kissed her offered cheek.

She’d had her braids redone, meaning she’d taken the day off work. Normally the incense from the braiding parlor clung to her skin. Today, fried onion overrode the scent.

The oven dinged. She waved at it, her eyes on the fryer. "Would you get that, please?"

"That" was garlicky Cuban chicken with rice—yes!—and next to it a cheese-topped casserole with bits of broccoli and scorched triangles of sweet pepper peeking out.

My mood lightened as my mouth watered. Three hot dishes meant company, but no roast meant family only. Conversation would center on some cousin’s engagement or breakup, job or job prospects, or the ever-popular question of how to protect black youth from the invidious street culture. Topics besides my quite personal business, thankyouverymuch. "Who’s coming for supper?"

"Tonight it’s just Honey and Ron. Plus Dido, maybe."

Aunt Picky, Uncle Persnickety, and their Cousin Dyed-oh, who badly needed a husband to manage. I smothered a sigh. "I’ll give the front bathroom a quick polish."

"Your dad just finished it. He’s changing now."

Meaning I needed to wash up and change out of my scrubs quickly. My Student Nurse uniform. I’d bought this to wear as an intern, and wore it now as a symbol of my fall.

Her voice drifted after me. "Ron wants to talk to you after supper."

Terrific. They’d decided to sic the FBI on me.