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The Enchanted Earl (MM)

Elven Treasure 1

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: SCORCHING
Word Count: 20,106
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[Siren Classic ManLove: Erotic Alternative Fantasy Romance, M/M, elves]

Mark Rampling, an openly gay young Englishman with little interest in history or his own aristocratic background, is less than thrilled when he inherits an earldom from his elderly, childless uncle. Even worse, the estate itself is run-down and nearly bankrupt. It is, however, surrounded by a deep, lush forest.

To distract himself, Mark goes walking in the woods and encounters Dorian Fairchild, a strange but alluring man whose clothing and mannerisms seem more suited to another century. Though the attraction between them is instantaneous and their forest encounters are smoldering hot, Mark soon discovers that Dorian has a secret that may make their love impossible.

A Siren Erotic Romance


Professional Reviews

4 CUPS: "All he ever wanted was to live his life on his own terms, but Mark Rampling does not seem to be getting his wish. He certainly never wanted to be the heir to his uncle's title, and take over the responsibility of trying to keep an indebted English manor from falling into ruin. His people have lived in these woods for hundreds of generations, and it is the duty of Dorian Fairchild's to meet and greet the new earl. The symbiotic relationship with the Sidwell Earls has benefited both races for hundreds of years, and Dorian intends to keep it that way. The weight of responsibility is heavy upon Mark's shoulders, and for a short time he just needs to get away and breathe. Mark sets off into the surrounding forest, and what he encounters both stuns and thrills him. Dorian is exquisite, although Mark repeatedly finds himself wondering if what they are sharing is merely a figment of his imagination. There is something otherworldly about the beautiful blond that has Mark questioning his sanity and most certainly his heart. Fantasy and reality are blurred for Mark and the mysterious Dorian, and their trysts make for a very tantalizing visual. The subtle differences the author creates in Dorian only serves to entice the reader, and has you anxiously awaiting his next move. Each secret revealed only leads to more, and Mark is not the only one desperate to get to the truth. I am sure this Elven Treasure will spike your interest, and have you expectantly anticipating the next in line." -- Lototy, Coffee Time Romance

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“Who are you?” Mark asked, planting his feet in a way he hoped would command respect. When the man peered at him without responding, he sighed in exasperation. “Listen, mate, I want to know who you are and why you’re trespassing on my property. So speak up.”

The man tilted his head, causing flaxen strands of hair to brush his left shoulder. When his soft lips curved in a smile and his white teeth flashed in the sun, Mark felt an unexpected stirring between his legs. He struggled to keep his expression neutral. Until he knew what sort of trouble this fellow represented, he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

“Well? Are you going to answer me? You do speak English, I assume.”

The man laughed. “Yes, I speak your language. I have been called Dorian Fairchild for as long as I can remember. If I had another name before then, I no longer know what it was,” the stranger said. Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded like a smart-ass response. With him, though, it seemed to fit. Mark noticed his voice had an odd but pleasant lilting quality. Perhaps he really was some kind of actor. “As far as trespassing, this property belongs to the Earl of Sidwell.”

Mark couldn’t resist puffing a little. “Damn right. And that’s just who you’re looking at.”

The man’s delicate face registered surprise. Then, in a flash, a grimmer expression took its place. “Yes…I heard the old earl was dead, and another would soon take his place. Yet you are not his son.”

The statement was issued as a challenge—or a test, maybe.

“No. His nephew. Uncle Edwin died childless. My father would have inherited the title, but he died ten years ago. That leaves me.”

“The last of a long and illustrious line,” Dorian said wistfully. “You are younger than I expected. Yet you resemble your uncle. I can see the common features now.”

“You have no idea.” Mark bit back a smirk. “Did…ah…did you know him well?”

“I had not spoken with him in some time,” Dorian admitted. “Yet I always honored and respected him.”

“I see.” Mark began to get the picture. Obviously, his uncle had made some kind of arrangement with this guy, and possibly a bunch of other squatters, to hang out on his land in exchange for manual labor, or maybe just company. Anthony likely knew about the situation and thus had not wanted Mark to wander down here. Edwin had certainly been a strange old bird, he mused. What other secrets had his uncle and his eccentric servant shared? “Well, I’m glad to hear all of you got on, anyway.”

Dorian gave an odd half-bow. “Of course. Loyalty was his due as lord and protector of these woods. As it is now yours.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Look, if your hanging about the estate was all right with the old man, I won’t make things hard for you. Just try not to get into any trouble that can come back to haunt me. Are there more of you out here?”

“These woods have been our home for as long as we can remember. There are generations of us here...and generations to come, I hope.” He raised his eyes and scanned the treetops as though his future progeny floated among the branches.

“Oh.” Mark scrubbed a hand through his hair and exhaled. So Uncle Edwin had invited a whole city of hobos to camp on his land? This didn’t sound promising. “In that case, I guess I should warn you about something. My uncle left this place in serious debt. So far, I can’t see any possible way to make it profitable. I may have to sell it or turn it over to the government as some kind of land trust. The new owners probably won’t be so understanding about you and your friends staying here.”

The easy smile returned, and those sharp green eyes flashed in the sun. Mark noticed they were shot through with flecks of gold, perfectly matching the man’s luxurious mane. “I’m not worried about being driven off the land,” Dorian said. “I’ve lived here for a long, long time. That won’t change. But frankly, I am surprised you would consider relinquishing your ancestral home. You should take pride in your heritage.”

“Now you sound like my mother. Unfortunately, she’s not inclined to invest much but lip service in the estate’s future. She’d rather haul her share of the family to Monte Carlo and help my stepfather gamble it away.”

“Gambling doesn’t interest you?”

“No. I don’t think it interests my mother, either, except that it pleases my stepfather. He’s about half her age. She tends to give him anything he wants.” As soon as the words spilled out of his mouth, Mark reddened. Why had he blurted out such personal details to a complete stranger? That wasn’t like him at all—usually he was reticent to the point that people mistook him for a self-centered snob. With Dorian, though, his tongue and emotions alike felt completely unfettered. Something about those wide green-and-gold eyes had mesmerized him.

“I believe you are immune to the lure of easy gold,” Dorian said. “Yet I suspect you would have a much harder time resisting the temptation of a younger man’s admiration and affection.”

“Well…” Mark paused, momentarily taken aback. Then he relaxed and laughed. “I’d have to see the guy first. But it might.”

Just like that, the man was back on Mark’s side of the stream. He’d moved so quickly that Mark hadn’t seen him actually step across. Mark inhaled his fresh, woodsy scent and half-closed his eyes. The power of Dorian’s presence made him shiver.

“What if the man looked like me?” Dorian whispered. His lips were almost—not quite—touching Mark’s. His long fingers rested against Mark’s forearms, subtly tilting his body forward.

Mark’s breath came out in a hard, forced rush. “Then…I guess I’d be tempted.”




 Mark exhaled as Dorian’s cock came to rest fully inside him, embedded so deeply that his balls wedged between them. The heat at fever pitch now, burning a trail of pleasure from Dorian’s submerged cock straight up to Mark’s nipples. They were bulging, too, he noticed as he looked down across his chest, expanding at the same rate as his erection. And that particular appendage was swelling to a most impressive proportion.

Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed and force, Dorian began moving his hips up and down. The tingle from the oil intensified along with the friction of skin on skin. Dorian hadn’t been kidding about the potency of the stuff. Mark couldn’t resist grasping his own cock with both hands and pumping to the rhythm of Dorian’s thrusts.

In what seemed like no time at all, Mark found himself shuddering as Dorian drove in and out with determination. Twin rivers of perspiration ran down both their bodies and pooled in the space where their midsections joined. Was Dorian glowing again? The sweat in Mark’s eyes made it difficult to tell. Closing them, he tilted his head back and focused on what was happening inside him.

They found release together. Dorian moaned as he unleashed his body’s wet fury into Mark. A few well-timed jerks of his fists and Mark was also coming—profusely. Creamy white lava boiled up in his stalk and bubbled out over his wrists, splashing onto Dorian’s chest. Never had he come so hard, or spewed so much. Dorian, and perhaps his enchanted oil, had provided almost more inspiration than he could handle. He drained his balls until they ached.

Exhausted and drenched, Mark collapsed on the bed and lay panting while Dorian slid out of him. He expected they would rest for a few minutes, if not longer. Surely, he reasoned, Dorian had to be worn out after those acrobatics, too. But Dorian was ready for more. Before Mark uttered a word, he picked up the tiny bottle, dumped out another palmful, and greased up Mark’s cock.

Though Mark had worried about getting soft after such a spectacular orgasm, he soon realized his fears had been in vain. The oil sank into his flesh, reheating and restoring him. Seconds later, he was back at full mast and eager to go.

Rolling over, Dorian positioned himself on his hands and knees and angled his body so Mark could enter him. With a feeling of incredible strength and power flowing through him, Mark jumped up, pushed the hair away from his dripping forehead, and fitted his cock between Dorian’s buttocks.

This time, there was no question when the magic kicked in. As Mark slid inside and steered them to a second mutual climax, Dorian began to glow just the way he had in the forest. Light seemed to spill from his elven pores and envelop the two men in a misty radiance. It lifted Dorian’s long, flaxen hair and ruffled Mark’s short, dark locks as though a breeze had blown over the bed. And was the room itself trembling, or was Mark imagining that? With the enchanted wine coursing through his veins and Dorian’s miracle potion smearing them both, he couldn’t tell where the fantasy ended and the reality began. More to the point, he didn’t care.

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