Gay Shifters Gone Wild: Shifter Romance Collections, #1

By Taylor Lake

A sizzlingly hot collection of three stories featuring wolf shifters, bear shifters, and dominant alphas, Gay Shifters Gone Wild is page after page of passionate, love-meets-lust thrills. Featuring... 

My Gay Lover Is A Werewolf Alpha Billionaire 

When American in London Sam Lorne loses his prized drawing pad after a theatre performance, he’s crestfallen - but disappointment soons turn to steamy intrigue when a handsome, incredibly rich stranger shows up at his place of work the next day with the pad in hand and an invitation to dinner. 

Julian Rathbone, lordly British billionaire with an arresting presence and a starkly dominant manner, has Sam wrapped around his little finger - but does Julian have a secret? Why does Sam feel strikingly compelled to obey his every word? And is that a flash of yellow he catches in his date’s dark eyes? 

A gay supernatural erotic romance story featuring an alpha wolf who’s lord of all that he surveys, a dominant/submissive relationship, and the explosive passion of a new-minted omega submitting to his alpha, My Gay Lover Is A Werewolf Alpha Billionaire is exquisite opulence and searing heat at every turn. 

My Gay Lover Is A Bear Shifter Alpha 

When a spirited young photographer's weekly journey into the woods is interrupted by a brush with danger, he's relieved to find himself rescued - and shocked by the passion he feels for his rescuer, Cole Stevens, a rugged, handsome man who gives off an animal heat. Recovering in Cole's luxurious cabin, he finds himself on the verge of a passionate tryst with the powerful, confident man - but does Cole have a supernatural secret? 

A gay supernatural erotic romance story featuring an intriguing first meeting, passionate sex, and the steamy heat of a bear shifter alpha's animal magnetism, My Gay Lover Is A Bear Shifter Alpha tells the story of two fated lovers coming together with explosive passion. 

My Gay Lover Is A Teen Wolf Shifter 

When eighteen year old Piper drives out to the forest, all he wants is to clear his head - but, when he finds himself followed in the woods by the enigmatic Mateo, a clever, handsome wolf shifter only a year older than he is, he's swept up in a whirlwind of desire, quickly growing close to the other boy, and soon unable to conceal his heated want for him. 

Even as they explore the first movements of their passionate attraction, Mateo reveals he was following Piper for a reason: he’s a dormant wolf shifter, ready to undergo his first transformation. To pass through the borders of the first change, Piper must be calm and focused...and that means he and Mateo need to work out their heat for each other at full, expressive length. 

A gay supernatural erotic romance story featuring a first crush, a first kiss, and a first explosive joining under the moonlight, My Gay Lover Is A Teen Wolf Shifter tells the story of two packmates finding their intimate bond in the climactic heat of each other’s bodies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Taylor Lake
• Release date: Sep 24, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516392896

Taylor Lake

Taylor Lake is a dreamy young woman who pens, from her home in Scotland, a bevy of adult fantasies sure to surprise and delight. Her speciality is the short story: steamy, layered with passion, but not lacking for interesting characters and a tart plot. If you'd like to ask about the process, the author, or any element of her stories, you can check out her writing blog, taylorlake-erotica.tumblr.com, contact her on Twitter @LakeErotica, or send her an email at [e-mail]. She's very receptive and loves discussing the work. She might even write something for you! For more steamy fantasies by Taylor Lake, you can watch her blog at taylorlake-erotica.tumblr.com, or follow @LakeErotica on Twitter. Happy reading! 

Book preview

My Gay Lover Is A Werewolf Alpha Billionaire

My pen drew down, mapping the long-lissome arc of the ballerina’s leg. I’d captured her face first, a fleeting turn on the stage that had travelled to my eyes, been captured there, and passed down out of the ink nib almost in one line. It had been such a captivating face, lost in the passion of movement and the supreme concentration of dance, small, drawn-in, intent only on the next two steps of the movement and then the next two steps after that, that I’d scrabbled for my pad, which had sat neglected on my lap, to freeze the instant of connection I’d felt with that woman on the stage, draw it immediately.

My fingers played across the leather backing of my drawing pad, loose leafs bound in sleek, brown leather, a gold insignia with my initials on the top-right corner - it’d been a graduation gift, and, silly as it was, carrying it with me in the rough first few weeks of my London internship had given me comfort. It was likely the most expensive thing I owned: it reassured me that, even as my nightmarish subway commute melded into making tea and rooting through an antiquated filing system at the offices of a major newspaper, I still had a space onto which I could work out all my inner thoughts, one that would be with me no matter where I went. 

It was filled with pen and pencil-drawn renderings of tube commuters, the tops of the buildings opposite our offices, a few images (though this was not my strong suit) that I’d pulled from my imagination. Art calmed me, but more than that, it heightened me, made me alert and lively with all the manifold potentials of the world. To carve this ballet’s people out onto the cool white paper, mark it, both cemented and for me elevated the moment. While she danced, up there on the stage, I drew: spectating became a union of activities. I was involved.

I was so involved that, several minutes after the ballet had ended and the curtains had fallen, I was still head-down in the warm light of the theatre, holding the moment of that perfect turn in my head, trying not to let its shape or its cadence slip away from me. Most people took the rising of the house lights as a cue to acknowledge the breaking of the spell, stand up, breath free, talk garrulously to their friends. Maybe it was just that I’d always been thoughtful and quiet, but that had never been me. I wanted to linger in the spell a little bit longer, let the magic wash out of me slowly, and hope that some of it would persist in my bones as I walked to the underground station that would take me home. The flicking of a light-switch couldn’t do it: I needed a moment or two in the emptying space, remembering how to breath now that the world was no longer a stage filled with beautiful people whose limbs moved as artfully as living clockwork.

Here, the urgency of my drawing, my pen moving over the delicate ellipse of the gone woman’s right leg, kept me sustained in that elegiac trance for even longer. When I looked up, putting the cover of my sketchbook to rest - still not quite right, but as close as I would get, and I was becoming conscious of the fact I would need to fix up something to eat once I got home - the only other occupant of the room was an usher who, noticing my arrival from dreamland, gave me a polite smile that I sensed concealed a deep well of put-upon-ness.

The theatre is closing soon, sir.  If you could?

I gave him a dopy grin. My cheeks were lightly touched with blonde stubble: I hoped it made me look masculine and rugged, rather than shoddy. Not shaving this morning certainly hadn’t been an aesthetic decision.

Sure. Of course. Very sorry. My American accent stuck out in London, but I guessed most people cut me some slack once they figured out I was a visitor. I hoped that, anyway. I think often it might have earned me the slack, but I could sometimes feel a wall go up, too - you’re different. It didn’t help that they could usually also tell I was gay.

It’s perfectly fine, sir. If you’ll just follow me to the cloakrooms...?

I was summarily guided from the establishment, my attempts at making small talk with the usher buffeted away with expert composure. Well. So that was how it was, then. I shrugged, still resonating with the good vibrations left over in me from the beauty of the ballet - along with the lovely fact that I’d been able to go at all. I’d gotten tickets because