Ash (Native American Gay Vampire Romance)

Ash (Native American Gay Vampire Romance) Ash drank deeply of the blood of his enemies at Custer’s Last Stand. Now the beautiful Native American Vampire hunts in the gay bars of Seattle, where he will face an ancient Vampire far more deadly than the troops at Little Big Horn. Will he and his new human lover be able to use his powers of seduction and warrior skills to survive until dawn? (An erotic romance so scorching hot your Kindle may melt. This story is only for those 18 or older, and it features graphically explicit Vampire Threesome Sex and much, much more. This edition combines the three tales of Ash the Native American Gay Vampire that also appear in the collection of Supernatural Sex and the City, which features an additional three stories that are not available elsewhere. Excerpt Ash I had seen him here on more than one occasion. Even for someone who has been around as long as I have, he would be hard not to notice. Maybe it was also because there was something about him that reminded me of a soldier I had known before I had been Embraced. He looked like the cavalry officer I had killed at Little Big Horn. Yeah, I was that old. I was also on the winning side. Custer was an asshole. 1875 was when I discovered why in our language the slang for White man is “hairy ass.” He had been a soldier as well. Maybe I had a thing for men in uniform. It didn’t take me long to get the uniform off of him. “You’re more beautiful than any woman,” he told me, tracing his finger around my left nipple. In my family, all the men were beautiful, but not all of them were strong. All the women were strong, but not all of them were beautiful. In those days I only wore the name Ashutosh. In English, it roughly translated as “fulfillment of desire.” My parents had wished for a boy after they had had three girls. For a century and a half I’ve tried to live up to my name. His ass was not only hairy, but wonderfully round. I smelled of sweetgrass and he smelled of sweat and horses. He was curious about us. Over and over again, White men assumed we were somehow different, or that our women’s vaginas were set sideways instead of vertically. I suppose after a lifetime of growing up around hairy people, our smooth bodies must have been exotic to them. They always wanted to touch me. They always wanted to play with my hair. He was the same way. His own hair was coarse and curly. His name was Daniel. I remember that even now. I remembered how he had cried out when I fucked him.