Sunday, November 26, 2017


You might have probably heard of Gabriel García Márquez “Love in the Time of Cholera,” but what you probably not know is that in Spanish “Cólera” (the original word in the title) also means anger. The book follows the characters within the context of the cholera epidemic at the time and the anger destroying their lives.

Now, I am glad I don’t usually write contemporary romance (and when I said “contemporary” I’m not talking about after WWII, I’m talking about from 2010 forward) because humans have become an angry species, and Social Media is the petri dish where all the festering things wrong with us today incubate.

How am I supposed to write about two (usually young) people who must certainly live glued to their gadgets and are offended by the silliest things while there are hunger, poverty, human trafficking and a thousand other ugly things really happening but are none of their concern? You’ll rarely see an instance of homophobia in my books; lots of people write about that and use it as the conflict for their stories. So, I don’t see a reason to add to that; there are other situations (especially internal situations) available to keep any story interesting. Bad things exist, homophobia, racism, bigotry, but instead of being victims of those things, we need to move forward, beyond them because there is a moment when those things turn into the only prism you use to analyze reality and you sink into that mess really fast and bitterly.

We have turned into fragile, selfish creatures, obsessed with image and immediate fame. We ask the other person’s role in bed even before knowing their full name or birthdate. We judge people based on what they let us see on Social Media. We condemn people for being human and making mistakes. We allow those in power to distract us with bullshit while they use all their cunning to rob us blind, selling their lies as benefits (but for whom, them or us?).

Fiction needs to be anchored in reality; today’s reality is a sad one, an angry one, a petty one. This is why I write about the past (we made mistakes but it’s done so we cannot fuck it more) and the future (hoping somehow it becomes something better than today) because many real people of today (of all sexual persuasions) are very, very hard to love, and don’t want to be loved either: they want to be admired.

Of course, there are exceptions, but that’s exactly my point “cases that do not conform to a rule or generalization.” Isn’t it sad that the angry, easily offended people aren’t the actual exceptions?
I’m not going to blame technology. Social Media has not turned us into monsters; we did, using anonymity, hiding behind a keyboard, to spew all the nasty things we did not have the balls to say face-to-face to other human beings. To spread our insecurity, our lack of hope in a comment section as if it could cure us instead of trying to dig inside for our reasons to be so fucking angry all the time. 

Every so often you’ll see a comment section of anything (a song, a sad story, a joke, a movie trailer, a suicide note, a news report) without some dismissal, hatred, or mockery. When the only thing you could share with the world is negativity, the world is not the problem, you are. It’s perfectly normal to go through a bad time, a bad season, a bad year, but if you rather drown in the bad than trying to kick up to the surface, seeking positivity = you are the problem.

So, yeah, I don’t expect; I hope.

And I honestly hope there is something better ahead; that those born in this century get tired of the angriness of their fathers and work to unite the human race, guiding it to a brighter future.

Monday, October 23, 2017


There’s no good story without conflict. There’s no conflict without antagonists. The Truman twins are the crazy baddies of ARZANALE. Ghyls owns Lugal Industries, a powerful conglomerate with tentacles all around the world. His brother has embraced the soul within him and now uses the name Kadan Merone, the reincarnation of a High Priest of the Assyrian god Ashur.

Hell-bent on complete a sacred ceremony interrupted by a war before the Great Pyramids were built, they would do all in their power to thwart our heroes Hugo, Kovak, Snyder in their mission to acquire (or destroy, mind you) the key to unleash unfathomable power and dominate humanity.

From Pennsylvania to Venice, from the Black Sea to Iraq’s desert— this is a race against time and destiny.

#comingsoon #fiction #mmromance #gay #men #gayromance #threesome #triad #gayfiction #ebook #paranormal #ancienthistory #contemporary #weapons #humanity #twins #mercenaries #authorsofinstagram #menofgabbo #villains #antagonists #baddies #gabbodelaparra

Sunday, October 15, 2017


Fall 1870
Minerva Academy
Chapel Town, Province of Maryland.

The floor to ceiling windows were open, and the tired whirring of the upper fans could not compete with the incessant drone of Red Cloud Hesper, second son of the Marquis of Sheshewa. It didn’t matter that his hair was dark and glossy, his eyes exotic and cat-like. He and his twin sister, White Feather, had gone to London for the summer and upon their return were more insufferable than ever.

“And, thus, the similar technology of the local peoples deterred the invasion agenda of the original settlers.” Red Cloud finally shut his pretty mouth.

Bosco pulled his cravat. History was the most boring subject ever, and what could have been a two minutes exposition turned into a twenty minutes pre-battle discourse in Red Cloud’s hands.

“Thank you, lord Hesper.” Mrs. Wellington’s tone was one of unnecessary praise. “Who wants to continue?” Her chubby cheeks moved upward as she smiled at Bosco’s twenty-four classmates.

Several hands shot up, waving for Mrs. Wellington’s attention. Bosco didn’t even try; their teacher usually dotted on the pupils belonging to the peerage. Bosco’s family was probably wealthier than many with a title, and he was a prince among his people, but his status wasn’t matter of public knowledge along with his kind promoting clandestine endeavors throughout the land.

On second thought, History wasn’t that boring, it was their teacher’s preference for some students what made it a drag; she wouldn’t have allowed any commoner such a lengthy expansion of a simple topic.

“Lady Seer, please pick up where Lord Hesper left.”

Helena stood up. Bosco liked her; she wasn’t stuffy like some of the others, and the pretty blond ringlets around her face made her look like a beautiful porcelain doll. She started reading her homework. “For a hundred years there was peace between the European settlers and the locals, but what technology kept in check was pushed forward by religion. Many of the settlers had come to this area of the New World to be able to worship their god in their own way, but, in time, they forgot they had been prosecuted and turned against those who didn’t worship their solitary deity.” Helena made a pause as if this part of New Englalonde’s history affected her the most. “The Massachusetts Witch Trials (1692-93) triggered The Sacred Conflict, a seven-year war. The English Crown, even if Polytheist itself, decided to leave the resolution of the conflict in its New World dominions to the residents because they didn’t want to deal with another Monotheist uprising, which was what prompted the original immigration wave. Luckily for New Englalonde, the Polytheists won.”

Bosco knew luck didn’t have anything to do with that outcome. His own family’s mills and factories had greatly helped to ensure the Polytheists’ success. Religious prosecution would have jeopardize the existence of his people in the New World; therefore, his family and all others of his kind had helped with resources (and in many cases their own powers) to guarantee a favorable outcome for the followers of the ancient ways.

“Excellent, Lady Seer,” Mrs. Wellington chirped. Bosco was expecting another round of shooting hands when their teacher unexpectedly said, “Mr. Rogers.”

Startled, Bosco thought she was calling him out because she saw his index finger on its way to his right nostril. His whole body shot upward like the pesky hands of those eager to ingratiate themselves with their teacher. He entwined his fingers behind his back, unconsciously putting away the almost offending digit. “Yes, Mrs. Wellington?”

“Would you care to tell us what happened after The Sacred Conflict?”

A lock of white hair had fallen over Bosco’s eye. This white section of his abundant hair had always been a source of amusement and intrigue among his fellow classmates. After all, Bosco was only fourteen years old. In his still startled state, he blew it instead of fix it with his hand. Giggles wafted around him. “Well, the Polytheists won,” he said, trying to gather his thoughts and forgetting his homework was right before him on his desk.

“That detail has been established already.”

“Um, there was no persecution of the Monotheists at the end of the war. Pretty sure that wouldn’t have been the case if they had won,” Bosco said, voicing a though frequently observed by his grandfather. The giggles became riotous laughter.

“Please focus, Mr. Rogers.” Her disapproval was clear after he had altered the rhythm of her class with his commoner’s views of a long-ended war.

“Well, many Monotheists started to sell their properties, and an almost twenty-five year exodus toward the Catholic-centered Spain dominions ensued.” Bosco scrunched his nose, trying to remember more of his homework. “Oh, and as those left, two northern chunks of New Spain seceded and joined New Englalonde. That’s how we got the Duchy of Texas in 1730 and the Principality of California in 1735!”

Bosco stood there stoically as the classroom crumbled around him. The guys were doubled forward, holding their bellies and cackling, while the girls— keeping a little more restrain, laughed loudly behind their unfolded fans.

“Such a crude summarization of fifty-year expanse of history.” Mrs. Wellington’s face had acquired a very unbecoming shade of purple. “Please, bring your homework forward, Mr. Rogers.”

Bosco hadn’t read from his homework. Nevertheless, he knew she was going to destroy him because he saw the red ink coming out of the upper drawer of her desk.

Bosco Rogers Senior, Alpha of the Central Pride and Ruler of the Prides Syndicate, usually started reprimands with “Your ancestors didn’t come from Italy and changed the illustrious Rogeri surname to Rogers to fit in a new world just to have their descendants fail their education!”

Oh boy.

You may get your copy of CLOCKWORK VENDETTA here:

Saturday, September 30, 2017


Heir to the Central Alpha (current Ruler of the New Englalonde Prides Syndicate), Bosco Rogers is destined to forfeit his legacy as Alpha to keep the peace among the lion shifters because he must let his intended, Sean Bracco from the East Pride, become the next Ruler.

But Sean dies in an accident, and an ancient law is unearthed. The heirs of the other Prides must compete for Bosco’s hand, and the choice is his. The thing is— one is Duncan, brother of his dead fiancé; and the other Heer Pyfus, the man who holds Duncan’s heart.

So, whoever wins (whether Duncan or Heer) still loses because he will not end up with the man he truly loves. Bosco doesn’t know this from the get-go, and when he discovers it, things turn messier than they were before. Nevertheless, political marriages have nothing to do with love.

Bosco will only marry one but is meant to break two hearts with his decision.

The arrival of a new Alpha from the other end of the world seems like a solution to their ordeal, but perhaps it is the exact opposite.

This story is more “steamfun” than steampunk, but it still contains airships, automatons, a guide to undressing nineteenth century gentlemen, naughty jewelry— also California Royals, a cheeky Seer, crazy BFFs, Argentinian mercenaries, no-fly zones in Uruguay, and way more claws and fangs than a battle between vampires and werewolves, but the only shifters you will see here are lion shifters— very hunky lion shifters. You just need to look at the cover. All characters portrayed in this book are age 18 or older. For adults only

*Get your copy here:

#mmromance #steampunk #threesome #triads #alternativehistory #bothhemispheres #BFFs #airships

Sunday, September 17, 2017


Ancient Evil waiting to be summoned: check
Power Hungry Secret Society: check
Undercover Mercenaries: check
Three Men trying to figure out what to do with their love: check
Big Ass Weapons (worldly and otherworldly): check
Naughty Gay BAR: check
Escort Spies: check
Handing Bad Guys their asses: check
Explosions and Shenanigans: check

#fiction #mmromance #threesome #triad #gay #menofgabbo #weapons #mercenaries #paranormal #contemporary #europe #authorsofinstagram #venice #bookstagrammers #ebooks #2017 #yearofthetriads #iamwriting #gabbodelaparra

Saturday, August 26, 2017


Snyder was not supposed to become part of Hugo's life; nonetheless, he did.

“Uh-huh. Nobody climbs the rope higher, aims better, or finishes a set faster. Our only problem with him seems to be, he can’t do a single one of those things quietly.”

Hugo chuckled.

“It’s not funny. Besides, there’s an ongoing wager to see who’s gonna pop his mercenary cherry.”


“Well, you know. After forty-five days with us, someone should have claimed that fine body already. Even the Amazons are on the wager— as much as everybody is aware of his preferences. Such a tasty, unclaimed morsel is driving my soldiers nuts.”

“He’s no virgin.”

“That’s not the point.  I’ve broken fights of guys vying for his attention. The last one was over who’d pay for his beer. It was such a monumental brawl—none of my men will be able to set foot on that fucking bar for at least a century.”

“He needs to forget a man. Would you do me a favor?”

“Whatever you ask, baby.”

Snyder’s adoration was starting to suffocated Hugo. He also needed to forget a man. It was always easier to give advice than to actually follow it, and not all the rage in the world would have been enough to make him let go completely. That dull ache still reverberated in those nights when the moon was a sliver. His time to move to new pastures had come. “Tell your men you did it, so they back the Hell off.”

“You want me to have sex with Angel?”

“That would be his decision, not mine. Right now, he needs to be angry ‘til his love fades away. I’ll tell him to go along with it so your boys can pursue other ways of entertainment.”

The big blond moved from his sideways position on the tangled sheets to loom over Hugo. “Is this a goodbye?”

“I thought we had a tacit understanding we were just fuck buddies, not lovers.”

“You’re right.” Snyder plopped on his back to take his face away from Hugo’s sight. “My mistake.” The voice wasn’t completely Snyder's.

“Just don’t force Angel.”

“I’ll never… I’ll lie to my men, but I have no intention of claiming the boy.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you. He’s a good asset. I hope he stays with us.”

“He probably will.”

And Hugo would lose his charge, his little brother, his almost son. He scooted until he was seated at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees and palms over his face. In two days, Snyder and a group that included Angel would set up camp in the Cantabrian Mountains, preparing the destruction of the gate located at Picos de Europa National Park.

Softly, Hugo padded to the open window. The night breeze blew the curtains, and he stood there naked, watching the half-mast crescent moon. He sensed Snyder moving behind him, most assuredly to escape the room without awkward farewells.

A thick finger traced a line from the back of his neck to his coccyx. Warm breath tickled his ear. “One last time,” Snyder sighed, “for the road?”

Why the fuck not?

Sunday, August 20, 2017


Deleted Scene. 

*Between Part One and Part Two, Bruno and Fabian, had an impromptu raunchy moment in a back alley. 

They had an hour to kill.

Not enough to catch a movie.

Food was out of the question because the kid would certainly want to eat something after his class.

“Let’s just walk for a bit,” Bruno said. “Maybe we’ll find an out of the way curio shop to pass the time.”

“I think there’s a bookstore ’round here somewhere.”

Bruno chuckled. “I don’t see you surrounded by books for only 30 minutes.”

His lover was right. Fabian would end up buying any book he started to read or carrying six to read them at home. At least they had ditched the bodyguards— as much as they could, since even when not visible, he knew they were close. Not having them breathing on his neck was good enough for now. They walked on a deserted street, so he pushed Bruno into an alley. It smelled reasonably right, just a musty reminder of home cooking lingered.

“What are you doing?” The flailing was in Bruno’s voice yet not in his actions. Fabian had never been able to understand how Bruno managed to do that.

“I’m taking us out of public view.”

“Whatever for?”

“We never have alone-time anymore. I adore the kid, but I miss my man.”

“Chief Acre, are you trying to ravish me in a dark alley as if I were a cheap trick?” Bruno did the expected token resistance, but the twinkle in his eyes was clear proof of his absolute approval.

“Why, commissioner, of course.” Fabian found a dimly lit corner where he could still inspect his lover with more than just his hands. “I haven’t spanked you in months, and I need my kinky fix.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Bruno’s sigh and the unzipping noise ran together as one.

Fabian covered Bruno’s mouth with his. From the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar bulk obstructing the entrance of the alley. Those mammoth shoulders and cock-shaped head belonged to Smith, Bruno’s head of security. Good boy. The man blocked the way but was respectfully looking toward the street, giving them privacy.

Bodyguards were a necessary evil; nevertheless, sometimes that evil was useful in its own way— they would not be interrupted now.

Fabian snorted softly, thinking what kind of reward Smith would tacitly request.

Bruno bit Fabian’s tongue. “Are you here, or planning the invasion of some distant planet?”

That swift pain went right to his cock, and Fabian moaned. “Oh, fuck. I’m here handsome. I am here.”

“Well, start acting accordingly and get on your knees.” Hands pushed Fabian’s shoulders down, tossing his thoughts of removing Bruno’s T-shirt into a not so distant garbage can.

Fabian squatted, not a hundred percent sure of the state of the alley floor; it was common knowledge that proper endeavors rarely left stains on your knees, so he decided not to risk it.

Bruno’s cock sprouted from its concealment, hard and proud, and Fabian inhaled, his nose glued to the shaft, forgetting all the mundane situations awaiting them outside this alley.

“Damn, I love when you do that,” Bruno sighed as he caressed Fabian’s close-cropped hair.

The answer was a healthy gulp, taking as much cock as he could in a single maneuver. Bruno hissed over him, the sound curling around Fabian’s entire body like a thick, long tentacle, squeezing and igniting every cell.

Fabian let the granite beast inch its way toward his willing throat, drinking in Bruno’s enraptured expression: eyes shut and mouth ajar. The scarce light of their little haven did wonderful things to the manly planes of that handsome face. Sweet Goddess, he was full of cock and full of love, and he didn’t know which fullness was better.

I swear it’s a total tie right now. 

The massive piece made love to Fabian’s uvula for a couple of minutes, accompanied by moans emanating from him and grunts and thrusts cascading from Bruno. Nevertheless, he needed one more thing to complete his fix.

Reluctantly, Fabian’s lips dragged over the expanse of the pole leaving his trap as he released it. He turned Bruno around. He pulled down the denim covering the furry hills with one hand and used the other to uncover the silky skin of Bruno’s lower back.

Fabian smacked the exposed cheeks until the silhouette of his hand glowed from both and Bruno’s moans had filled the alley. Satisfied by his handiwork, he burrowed his face between rocky globes, latching on his lover’s gauche ring.

Bruno squirmed and undulated, giving Fabian pure heaven.

A hand grabbed the back of Fabian’s head, pulling him deeper to attack his prey using nose, lips, and teeth. He assailed Bruno on both ends, taking care of the hidden gate ready to be breached and the (hot to the touch and dripping like a broken faucet) hardon.

“I’m so fucking close, babe,” Bruno grunted.

Fabian withdrew his face from his task enough to growl encouragingly, “C’mon, love, paint that wall.”

And with a shudder that rocked his entire body, Bruno complied.

Fabian’s hand got smeared as the sweet cock he held jettisoned rope after rope of thick cum. He went to his feet, turning Bruno around and slamming him against the wall. He opened his zipper with his clean hand and used the one covered in semen to finger his lover’s hole.

All sounds coming out of Bruno were swallowed by Fabian’s mouth as they devoured each other; his hands pistons in opposite directions, until he brought himself to completion with a cry that Bruno’s lips helpfully muffled. That particle of Fabian always in control gave him enough focus to aim for the alley and avoid messing his partner’s clothes.

“I needed that,” Fabian murmured, panting and letting his forehead rest on Bruno’s shoulder.

“Fuck yeah. Me too,” Bruno agreed. His chest heaved, undecided between a chuckle and a deep breath.

“Ahem.” Smith was almost in their personal space. He offered them two handkerchiefs.  “You can throw those away after you’re done.” His voice was grave and measured, but Fabian recognized a hint of amusement.

They looked anywhere but at Smith as they took the handkerchiefs. The one in Fabian’s hand had Smith’s initials monogrammed.

Embarrassing cannot begin to describe this moment.

Still, it was a good thing to have bodyguards after all.

#mmromance #daddies #piercings #fiction #nearfuture #maturemales