SENSITIVE Yaoi Hentai Gay Erotica

 

Sensitive: Yaoi Hentai Gay Erotic Fantasy Available Now!  

Sen has no memory of the castle he’s in or the princess he’s about to marry. Things grow even more confusing when the handsome demon god Lilivite shows up to kidnap his bride.  He claims Sen was his lover, and if he wants to leave him for this woman he’ll have to go to his dark realm and rescue her.

Somehow, Sen knows it’s the truth.  Nothing makes sense except what he felt when he saw the demon Lilivite.  He’ll go to the dark realm, rumored to have energies so perverse men die of exhaustion when they dare enter, and find his answers from the demon who so compels him.

Loaded with yaoi hentai scenes, male/male loving, touching romance, and a mystery to be unraveled.  A full novel in one installment with a guaranteed HEA!

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Excerpt ~

The image in the mirror before him came forth through a haze that Sen knew was in his own mind.  He focused on his blue eyes, finding them dull and weary.  The rest of his face surfaced into view, then his shoulders and chest.

There was a balding male human next to him weaving paper flowers into the locks of his hair.  The oddness of that struck him first, then he realized he wore the white and lace tunic of a groom about to get married.

Panic, like a fist reaching into his chest and squeezing, overcame him.

*This is not where I’m supposed to be.*

Something snapped in his mind, clearing his vision all at once.  He bolted up from the ornate chair before the mirror.  His attendant floundered back.

“What am I doing here?  Where is Lilivite!”  He scanned the room while waiting for the answer.  Anguish uncorked in his chest.  His beloved demon wasn’t here—they’d been separated long enough for him to ache from missing him.

The cowering man kept as far from him as the small room would allow.  “Calm yourself, your majesty, please.  All is well.”

Sen lifted a hand and summoned the power of the light.  A ball of crackling blue energy appeared above his fingers.  “Where is Lilivite?  Is that who I’m marrying?”

The fear in the man’s face broke into momentary confusion.  “Of course not.”

“Damn it.”  He let the energy dissipate and stomped past him.  “This is my father’s doing, isn’t it?”

“Oh dear.”  The attendant sheepishly followed.  “But you can’t go, your majesty, you are to marry the princess.”

The room led outward into a dark stone corridor that smelled of must.  “I’m not marrying your fucking princess.”  He spied an exit to an arcade and strode for it.  “How did I get here?  The last thing I remember is—”

The arched door led to a courtyard crowded with humans assembled for a wedding.  They turned toward him in shock.
Sen scanned the throng.

*He’s not here.  Oh, gods—where are you Lilivite?*

The mortals were uniformly pale-skinned and dressed in layered finery.  Above them the sky was clogged with fat bruised clouds obscuring nearly all the daylight.  Sen glowered at them.

“What village is this?  Trumeldon?  Fayeton?”  He sneered.  Those were the only two villages of white-skinned humans he knew of.  “It doesn’t matter.”  His voice rose up in a shout.  “I’m leaving!  try to stop me and I’ll destroy you!  I’ll destroy this whole castle if I have to!”

His father, white-bearded, stout, and standing a head higher than the tallest human, shoved his way through the crowd, instantly knocking all the fierceness from Sen’s face.

“Oh, fuck!”

Terror launched him into a panicked sprint.  His thoughts raced.  How could his father be in a mortal village?  Standing among them as though he weren’t the very god they worshipped?

Sen crashed into his attendant.

“Out of my way!”

Before he could shove the harried man his feet dragged backwards on the ground.  Sen’s face clenched in a sob.

“No!”

Magic energies pulled him before his father and made his knees buckle.  A round steel cage crashed over him with enough force to crack the stones embedded in the walkway.

“Lilivite!”  He forced a scream past the anguish built in his throat.  “Save me!”

His father sneered down through the angled bars with his glowing yellow eyes narrowed.  “He doesn’t know you’re here.  Why do think I’ve put you in this pathetic excuse for a mortal village?  He’ll never find you!”

The cruel words seized his middle, making him crumble to the ground in anguish.  Then desperation asserted itself over his grief.  What was his father planning?  To exile him to some dreary mortal village for the rest of his existence?

He scrambled to the edge of the cage and sent up the largest blue bolt he could conjure.  It hurtled to the sky, breaking through the dark clouds.

“Lilivite!  Save me, damn you!”

A ball of yellow energy, segmented by the bars of the cage, crashed into his middle.  Sen’s body collided with the opposite side of the cell before he could finish his scream.  He fell limply forward onto the round area of floor the cage allowed him.  For long moments Sen could comprehend nothing except the blinding red pain from his father’s blast.  His chest and torso were now bare where he connected to the cooling flagstones.  The remainder of his groom’s tunic hung in tatters from his sleeves.

Already his flesh was knitting and the pain growing duller.  He could not yet open his eyes, but the throbbing between his temples quieted enough for him to make out voices, the first being a witches’ hiss.

“I buried his memories as deep as they would go, my lord.  Any deeper, and his mind would be damaged beyond repair.”
“So damage it.”  This was the angry voice of his father, low and bellowing without needing to be loud.  Sen could imagine the fragile pale humans he’d seen cringing away from him.  The presence of their god had to be more terrible than they could have ever imagined.

“I don’t care if you make him a simpleton,” his father continued.  “Eradicate Lilivite from his mind.  If you fail again, it will be your death.”

“I will not fail, my lord, but he shall never again be your son.  He shall know only this mortal life you’ve devised for him.  Is this truly your wish?”

“Yes!”

The immediate reply gave Sen a sting just as potent as the prior blast.  Oh gods, how could you do this!  He tried to lift himself but his strength hadn’t returned to his arms. 

“What good is a son if Lilivite has enchanted him?  He has been turned into a weapon against me.  For my own survival he must be vanquished!”

“So be it, my lord.”

Sen forced himself to lift his head.  He saw the witch who had green shimmery eyes like a fruit-fly’s filling most of her grey-skinned face.  Tendrils of black hair moved like snakes on her head, mesmerizing him, while the rest of her was concealed by a blue cloak of crushed velvet.

Loka.  His only friend in the fortress of the sun.  She wouldn’t really destroy his mind would she?

“Wait…”  His word sounded heavy in his throat.  “Father…”

“Save your breath,” the god Baldeer sneered down at him once more.  “It is only because you’re my son that I don’t kill you.”

“I was never going to bother you ever again!  You’re going too far!  I love him!”

Loka’s magic manifested as glowing red hands.  They floated into the cage as Sen scrambled back.  The hands dove through his white hair, clasping either side of his head, and making him still.

Then there was blackness.

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Possession 1

Possession 1

The demon possessed man Jonah has fallen under the dark authority of Priest Sabaste, patron of the four gods of Rainor.  Sabaste crosses boundaries that no priest should, forcing Jonah to confront the vulnerability of his condition.

He’s thrust into the intrigue of the Rainor court, while at the mercy of its diabolical priest.
    
The start of a dark sensual slow-burn series by the author of Maelstrom!

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Excerpt ~

1 The Sheriff and the Half-Sister

“You have to oversee things, brother.”  Valeria twisted her apron in both her fists as she beseeched Priest Sabaste in the stable.  “He’s possessed of a demon.  A holy man must be present or he’ll wreak havoc.” 

Her body language bespoke anxiety, but Sebaste knew it wasn’t due to the disturbed man in his church aspe.  His estranged half-sister fretted over asking him favors. 

“I wish not to get involved in pointless pursuits.”  He kept his gaze steady on her, forcing her to look at the floor to avoid the fire in his blue eyes.  Valeria, wide-faced beneath dark blond curls and with lines on the corners of her kind gray eyes, shrank before him.

“But it’s for Sabina,” she said, uttering Sabaste’s twin sister’s name in a cajoling way.  “She must be sick over this.  Her little one’s been missing so long.  If it could help—”

“I don’t believe she’s concerned.” 

This made Valeria gape at him.  Sheriff Edmont picked himself off the stable post he’d been leaning on behind her.  The man, whose face reminded Sebaste of a weasel, planted his skinny legs wide and crossed his arms.  The priest didn’t allow him the benefit of a glance.

“It was only a girl-child.  Sabina’s focus is on producing heirs.  She considers her a wasted pregnancy.” 

“Hey, now watch it,” Edmont said.  Sabaste eyed him while noting his vernacular had grown more like the peasantry.  “Juelet’s a niece to you and me both, a sweet little girl.  Don’t be saying her mother doesn’t love her.  The only one who’s cruel enough to hate an innocent lamb like that is you.”

Beside him the priest’s black stallion bristled at the raised voice.  His focus returned to the beautiful creature’s gleaming hide.  He worked his brush through its mane twice, forcing both Valeria and Edmont to endure an extended silence.

“You brought a charlatan to our keep, Sheriff.  Kindly engage him in his scam as your wont and then get him the hell out of my church.”

“He ain’t a charlatan, you pompous ass!”

“That’s what I was going to mention,” Valeria said.  Sabaste gave her the benefit of his attention since she was by no means as despicable as the sheriff.  “He didn’t come offering to help for a fee.  He was kidnapped and brung here.”

“Arrested,” Edmont corrected.

“Well, brought against his will in any case.  He’s truly possessed of this demon or spirit, and it sees things that none of us can.”

“You ought to let me tell it,” Edmont said, “if your brother will hear me for half a minute.”

Sabaste led his horse to its stall a few steps away.  “I’m listening.”  An arrested man was now worthy of his interest.  What might the pathetic fellow give to earn his freedom?    

“So Jonah’s his name, no surname given.”  Edmont paused to clear his throat, a cue for insecurity Sabaste recognized.  “He lives alone out in the moors in some wooden shack, goddess only knows how long.  Apparently he sells the coal out there, has some arrangement with a sheepherder, a grocer, and a rye farmer, what have you.”

“Get to the point.”

“That’s what I’m doing!  I’m saying he’s coming back late from the market one time and a man named Otho, a bootmaker well known in the county, sees that his eyes have gone red, his teeth have gone sharp, horns sprouted out of his head, claws on his fingers, and black marks about his face.  Otho runs at him with his pitchfork, but the demon makes him freeze with fear.  He tells him he ought to get home because his baby’s coming early and sideways.  Sure enough it’s true, and Otho is able to find the midwife in time to save both his wife and child.  Otho tells a few others, and they tell a few others, and so a woman goes to him about her young one who was carried off by a bird.  And she learns the girl wasn’t taken by a bird like her husband said, but she’d been hauled to a brothel.  She retrieves her before her virginity is sold.  There’s many more stories as this.  He helps some here and there, always saying never to trouble him again.  He says what has him possessed is evil and wants to do harm.  He tells all to stay away.”

Sabaste held back signs of his burgeoning excitement.  It was likely untrue.  Both Edmont and the peasants of their county were dullards.

But, oh if such a creature truly did exist.  

“I asked him to help with young Juelet.  He wouldn’t open his door to me—demanded I get off his property.  He knew full well I was the sheriff.  I had no choice but to come back with my men.”  He looked at Valeria.  “It was the right thing to do, taking him.  If he really is a demon, we can’t have him loose in the county.”

“You’ll talk to him, won’t you, brother?”  Valeria’s nerve had been reinvigorated.  “The men are all scared of him.”

Sabaste made a forthright stride past both of them.  “I’ll speak to him alone.”

“I need to be there!” Edmont said.  

He heard Valeria softly convincing him to let him have his way.  In such situations she proved invaluable.  The sheriff could yield to her without compromising his pride.  

The stable connected to the manor house, which was not quite a castle, but was still the second most impressive building in the county.  The thatched roof worked around windowed dormers.  A balcony stood on tall piers off the second story, with rolling views of the low meadows and village.  The concrete was immaculately shaped and whitewashed, with decorative shutters adorning numerous small windows.  

He continued to his church beyond this, the Temple of the Four Gods, which dwarfed the manor enough to keep it enclosed in its shadow three hours of every day.  His roofs were made of rounded clay slates, baked a hundred at a time in former church’s kiln.  Large stones comprised the main floor, as many as the county’s meager foundry had to provide.  Smaller rocks had to be used to create the walls of his spires and great tower.  

He entered through doors of colored glass to the nave of his church.  At the end of the central aisle he could see sheriff’s men, a half-dozen uncouth barbarians desecrating the sanctity of his apse.  He noticed their muddy boot prints on the polished wood of his floor.  It was peat and darkened soil from the moors.  

As he drew nearer, he saw a youth among them who was damp from his left shoulder to the soles of his boots.  He visualized how the arrested man must have tossed him in a desperate bid to flee.  The others, twice as thick as the youth, had subdued him without succumbing to the muck.

So he may not truly be possessed of a demon.  He was unable to summon its preternatural strength to escape them.

They clustered around the office of his high druid.  A few who’d been seated came to their feet as he approached.  They gave him questioning looks for an instance, then avoided his radiant eyes.  Sabaste said nothing to them, produced a key for the door, and went in.

2 The Prisoner

Seated on a carved wooden bench before the desk of his druid was a man of thirty, his brown shock of hair tussled, his worn hemp trousers and long-tunic caked in mud.  He sat huddled and holding himself like the personification of a trapped fawn.  The raising and lowering of his shoulders with each breath came faster than they should, as though he were still panicked.  Despite filth coating one side of his face, Sabaste saw beauty.  He had a narrow cleft chin beneath a wide pleasing jaw and large soulful eyes that matched in depth what his own had in fire.    

He fixed these wide eyes on Sabaste, and his breaths grew more rapid still.  The priest closed the door but made no move to sit.  He allowed the man to absorb him on his feet, where he could present the most intimidating impression.  He wore a black linen Cossack which started at his collared neck and draped with a skirt to the floor.  His thin cloak, also black as coal pitch, remained hooded over his dark locks of hair.  It shadowed his eyes, but in no way inhibited their brilliance.

“You’re Jonah,” Sabaste said, while moving to his druid’s desk, “the man possessed by a demon?”

Jonah’s voice came out in the full tenor of desperation.  “I’ve done nothing wrong.  If my presence offends the county I’ll take my leave at once and will never return.  I beg to plead before his lordship.”

Sabaste looked him over once more.  He hadn’t expected a cultured tongue to match the refinement of his face.  Now he was forced to wonder whom he was dealing with.

He entwined his fingers and tented his thumbs.  “The earl heeds my council on all matters, particularly those involving demonic spirits.  Plead before me, as you would him.”

Jonah swallowed, collecting himself before beginning once more.  “I beg you to let me leave.”

“What of the earl’s missing daughter?”

Genuine bewilderment formed on his face.  “His daughter is missing?”

Sabaste nodded.

“I knew nothing of this.  They…didn’t tell me anything.”

Of course not, the buffoons.

“So I’ve been brought here to give aid?”

The priest leaned back his head to look down his nose at the man.  “Can you find her?”

“Yes.”

His lack of hesitation made Sabaste’s brow twitch.

“He can—or he can tell you what’s become of her.”

“‘He’ being your demon?”

The man pursed his lips and nodded.  “And then I may go free?  Once I’ve assisted you, I can return to the moors?”

“I’ll make a determination on the matter after you produce the girl.”

“I won’t help you unless you promise to set me free.”

The bluff made Sabaste grin.  “I promise you absolutely nothing.  And you will help us.  You’d be wise not to test me.”

Jonah bowed his head, both angry and resigned.  The priest most enjoyed the anger, since it heralded an enticing conflict.  Were he too complaint Sabaste would get bored.

Proceed slowly, cautiously, estimate him fully before deciding which move to make.  He was so rarely at a disadvantage with his adversaries.  For the first time he knew nothing of his opponent’s powers.   

                               

The priest waited half a minute before moving, to be sure the man had yielded to his control.  Then he rose and tipped his chin at him.

“Come.  You may cleanse yourself of this mud in my quarters.  I’ll find you a fresh set of clothes.”

The soulful eyes looked upwards, absorbing the grain of kindness like succor.  He climbed to his feet, still huddling his arms around his body, and followed Sabaste out.

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