Gilly. Big, beautiful, smart-mouthed, one hell of a lady and oh, yeah -- a werewolf who works on a faux-reality show. It's a living. Warren. Die-hard cynic with the attitude and build of a Navy SEAL. Does not believe in the supernatural. He's in for the surprise of his life. Dusty. A toned, muscled, devastatingly handsome teddy-bear of a guy. Loves to play games. Loves Gilly and Warren. He's not prepared for what's going to happen.
Together, the three of them are an unstoppable force. Sex, love and friendship rule the day and rock their world. That's the way it's always been. But they're about to be put to the test. One night at a dance club plus one stranger in a ridiculous vampire costume equals a whole lot of trouble. Especially when the stranger turns out to be a real vampire. One who has some really nasty plans for Gilly, Warren and Dusty.
The problem with his plan? Gilly doesn't take anything lying down, and she's ready to kick some ass…
Vampires Aren't Real by Willa Okati $4.49
Praise for Vampires Aren't Real
"This tale will get your body pumping, in more ways than one. Willa Okati's Vampires Aren't Real is a Class A read. It doesn't get any better... perfect Silver Star Award material!"
-- Elizabeth Marie, Just Erotic Romance Reviews
"A wonderfully funny read with a slightly dark edge. Willa Okati does a wonderfully job of balancing humor, sarcasm and lust to create characters that will have you glued to the screen."
-- Bella, TwoLips Reviews
"Willa Okati has an amazing gift for creating characters that are multi-dimensional. Her skill is truly awe inspiring.... The characters and their interactions made this story pop."
4 Stars! -- Kimberley Spinney, Ecataromance Sensual
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Vampires Aren't Real
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2007, 2014 Willa Okati
It's a pretty sweet life when you come home from a thanklessly hard eight hours in the gulags to find a free sex show going on in your living room. The sight of Warren and Dusty, my lovers, my fuckbuddies, my friends, going at it like rabid weasels, was enough to wash my cares away. Trust me, you've seen them. You know what I mean. Mmm-mmm.
I took a good long moment to appreciate the view. Might just be me, but there's nothing sexier than watching two men make the double-backed beast. Beaded sweat running down toned muscles, broad hands grabbing anything that could be grabbed and not being gentle at all, not to mention two cocks waving hello to each other.
Bet it makes the strongest of women, especially the ones with a taste for kink, go weak in the knees and/or damp at the pussy. I know for sure that watching Dusty and Warren maul each other, bringing sexy back in a big, big way, presses my personal hot buttons. Being a werewolf, which you'd better remember because it's going to be important later, the bouquet of male musk and sweat blasting my nose made this even better.
Simple, really: one man good. Two men better. Add me into the equation and it's enough to make me start reconsidering my darksome views on the suspiciously evil concept of mathematics.
Of course, I love them for many other reasons, not the least of which is the two cocks on display for my viewing pleasure. Yeah, yeah, I'm a Peeping Thomasina-ess. Whatever.
Hot, hard, ready to go, smart and/or good-natured, and don't -- completely -- have their heads up their asses (in the bad way) and they worship the ground I walk on. They's my boys, and I am one lucky, lucky lady.
Watching them together makes me want to zap some popcorn in the microwave and settle in for the show. Either that or cowabunga smack in the middle of all those flailing limbs.
At the moment, I felt more like perving. They don't mind. Besides, hey, the scene before me was definitely porn-worthy. Completely wrapped up in each other, neither one seemed to have heard the door open.
Don't you love the way guys get completely zeroed in on sex when they're horny? You can kind of read their thoughts: Must fuck now. Fuck good. Fuck now. More fuck. Uh-oh, coming!
When Warren groaned his extra-special unngh warning of imminent orgasm, my fingers slipped on the strap of my lumpy, frayed canvas duffle-bag-sized purse. Army-Navy Surplus special. That purse, covered in quirky, snarky and obscene buttons, is crammed with everything plus a toy model of a kitchen sink. When it drops, you hear the kaboom for blocks.
They didn't so much as flinch when my bag hit the linoleum. Dusty did, however, let Warren flip him onto his stomach and, ooh, hey, were they using a butt plug? Oy! They'd raided my toy box, the bastards, always swearing up and down kink wasn't their thing.
I decided to kick their asses later and enjoy watching Warren work Dusty's ass over first. The temptation to dive-bomb them got stronger and my pussy started creaming at the noises Dusty made. Some men, gay or straight, doesn't matter, do squeal like a piggy if you play them right. I didn't have a great view, but the key of prostate pegging in Dusty's wail clued me in to what Warren was doing with the plug.
Dusty struggled to his hands and knees, Warren not missing a beat. He looked halfway between stoned and orgasmic. His cock rose up to tickle the lower end of his six-pack. He half-turned to look over his shoulder, lips parted and eyes hooded. "Gilly. Hey."
I had to grin. "Yo, dollface. How long did you know I was here?"
Warren glanced around to give me his own evil I-Am-The-Sex-King leer. I let him get away with the smug because hey, he is more or less a potentate in the sack. "Since you walked in the door."
"Evil. You're both wicked, rotten pricks and I should hose you down."
"We don't have a hose."
"I know, Dusty."
Dusty isn't too bright, but you'll never find a sweeter heart simultaneously encased in a cover-model body. Golden-skinned by nature with a mix of Greek, Italian and Cherokee in his blood. Also, weirdly, Icelandic. Ripped fit to make Charles Atlas proud, long runner's legs, soft golden hair down to the middle of his back. The kind of hair you itch to pet, caress, run your fingers through while he's eating your pussy… and his face… Judas Priest, the man's face. Razor cheekbones, full lips, beautiful without being effeminate. Naturally sky-blue eyes.
Wherever he goes, men and women alike drop their jaws and would happily drop their trousers or skirts -- and Dusty doesn't have a clue, bless his heart.
I don't love him only for his looks, mind you. I mentioned his big ol' teddy-bear heart. He's cuddly, up for anything, and has the big-eyed wonder of a child whenever he discovers something new.
Warren? Dusty's polar opposite. Hair so darkly brown you might as well call it black, two inches shy of a military buzz and cut to stand up in spikes. Good-looking in a Marine sort of way, which is to say he's seriously hot shit. Built like a SEAL and carries himself like a five-star general.
Never has spent a single day in the armed forces. Go figure.
His glasses are the only clue to the quirkiness that lies within. Chunky black frames, a geek-chic sort of look. Ladies do make passes at men who wear glasses, thank you very much, or at least I do. Rawrrr.
Me, I'm nothing like either of the guys. Kind of a girl-next-door look, everyone's kid sister or best friend. I'm small, maybe five-foot-three, plump and rounded instead of bony, and my natural hair color is the shade of new pennies. Green eyes, Irish complexion. Generous mouth, pert nose.
Great ta-tas, or so I'm told.
"Dusty's camera is on the shelf."
"This would be your clever suggestion that I should take a picture, since it'll last longer?" I eyed their cocks, gorgeously dark and wet. Mmm, yummy. "How much longer do you think you've got before you pop?"
"You can't exactly time these things, Gilly."
"I can," Dusty put in. Scary thing is, he probably does have the ability. He's not much for book learning but he's uncanny about figuring out body language. He's also sweetly vicious on occasion. He grasped Warren's cock at the base, right above the man's balls, and squeezed.
Tough men also sometimes squeal like a piggy. "Hey! I was going to fuck you with that. Unless you want my dick to come off instead of come, how about letting go?"
"Dusty, keep him on lockdown."
"Gilly," Warren warned in a growl. He was in the kind of mood where if he didn't get to sink his cock into something hot, wet and slick in the next few seconds, he was going to explode. Possibly physically. "Either tell your doggie to let go of my bone or give me something better to play with."
Now how can a girl resist such sweet-talking?