Category Archives: Excerpt
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About Vegas Miracle by Liz Crowe
Ryan and Grace Sullivan have all the outward indications of a happy life: money, success, an undeniable physical attraction that quickly evolved from whirlwind relationship to marriage. But lately, Ryan’s become moody and distant. As their relationship starts to crumble, Ryan discovers something about himself he can’t admit just as Grace realizes the young man she encounters at an invitation only party, Henri Christophe, a celebrity chef with the most successful restaurant in Las Vegas, is her husband’s lover. But Henri holds a secret himself. He wants to be more to both of them.
As they attempt to make their unconventional arrangement work, Ryan’s deep-seated fear of relationship failure continues to thwart everyone’s happiness. When he finally walks away instead of confronting the emotional connection the trio shares, he returns to find their lives flipped inside out. A sought after hotel and resort consultant, Ryan has yet to meet a problem he couldn’t solve. But when it comes to his own heart, he may be too late.
Her skin prickled with exposure to the cool air as his strong hands moved slowly up both legs. Henri focused on her hips, kneading out tension she always held there. But the innocent nature of the moment was long gone. The sensation of his strong hands on her made her want to lift up and expose herself to him. If he didn’t watch it she was going to come right here against this silly massage table.
“Let’s turn you over,” he said as he held the blanket up modestly, which made her chuckle. He’d been close enough to finger her a few minutes ago and she wouldn’t have stopped him either so why the sudden propriety now?
She lay on her back as he sat next to her and took her arm on his lap, working through her shoulder tightness. When her fingers brushed up against what was an unmistakable hard on under his shorts, she gasped and pulled her hand away.
“Sorry,” she whispered, mortified.
Henri put her arm back in place so he could continue to work his way down to her hand, which he caressed finger by finger and into her palm in a way that caused her breathing to quicken.
When he closed his lips over her index finger and sucked, her entire body zinged in response. He paid the same careful attention to each digit and ended with a light lick to the center of her palm, nearly sending her over the edge.
She was panting by the time he switched over to her other arm. She left her hand in his lap and brushed her fingers ever so lightly across the silky fabric of his shorts, just to see how he’d react. He shifted closer to allow her more contact and she stroked his full length twice before he took that hand to give it the same thorough and firm caress. By the time he closed his lips over her finger again, nothing prepared her for the fire of emotion and pure need his lips and tongue ignited.
Henri placed her arms under the blanket and passed a very light hand over her nipples, now hard buds of flesh poking through the fabric. Her breath came in shaky gasps by the time he uncovered one leg and propped her foot against his naked chest. She gaped at his amazing muscle definition as he bent her knee to flex her hip. With each bend, his arm came in direct contact with her bare pussy.
Henri kneaded the flesh of her thigh before moving down to rub each toe, then the sole of her foot, which sent those same zinging, nerve rattling sensation straight up to the top her head. She stretched her hands over her head and allowed the blanket to fall away. Eyes closed, she reveled in the pure sensation of his touch. By the time he switched over to her other leg and placed her foot on his chest again, a low moaning sound had begun in in her throat and had to force herself not to grab him and pull him on top of her. He stretched her knee towards her chest.
“You’re very flexible, yes?” His voice was hoarse.
“Yes,” she breathed, tilting her hips up to make contact with his arm.
The last time he bent her knee she felt his tongue flick her nipple. She realized he was pulling the sheet off her completely and she gave no resistance. Raising her arms up over her head again, Grace stretched like a cat in the windowsill.
She heard him make a sound deep in his throat before he ran his strong hands from her shoulders down to her nipples and across her stomach. He stopped to knead her hips once more then kept moving down her thighs to her calves and then to her sensitized feet. She arched up and gasped as she felt his tongue again, this time right on her clit. He teased her flesh then sucked briefly before standing up.
Grace kept her eyes closed, her body was on fire, every nerve ending crying out for more. But he seemed to be done so she struggled up to a seated position.
“”Would you like a bit more? An internal massage, perhaps?”
“Yes,” she nearly yelled out then felt herself blush. “I mean…that’s sort of a lame line, though.”
He chuckled. “I’ll work on my lines a little, after this.” His low, accented voice made her shiver.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Amazon best-selling author, mom of three, Realtor, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, and soccer fan, Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse.
Her early forays into the publishing world led to a groundbreaking fiction hybrid, “Romance. Worth the Risk,” which has gained thousands of fans and followers interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”).
With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.
Don’t ever ask her for anything “like a Budweiser” or risk bodily injury.
Beer, Books, and More Blog: http://www.brewingpasssion.com/
Facebook Fan Page: http://www.facebook.com/lizcroweauthor
Facebook Chat Group: http://www.facebook.com/groups/lizcrowefans
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Liz-Crowe/e/B00573TC7M
Beer Blog: http://www.a2beerwench.com/
Sign up for Liz Newz: http://eepurl.com/JRue5
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Way to Go by Mandy Colton
Veronica Lane works in the travel industry in her dream job when she experiences a hellish travel day ending in the loss of her job and stranded far from home. To make the situation even worse, she drowns her sorrows in the hotel bar, and wakes the next morning to a big surprise.
Gathering up the remains of her dignity along with her travel bags, she returns to her hometown in Peachtree City, Georgia. A community similar to a progressive Mayberry, except with golf cart paths and carts. A lot of them. Her family is kooky. The parents are sexually free and liberal, her brother is a golf cart cop with more good looks and brawn than brains. Her grandparents, one from each side, live in the same retirement community and maintain a constant battle while entertaining the other senior citizens. The Grandmother on her dad’s side is stuck in the 1960’s, and the Grandfather on her mother’s side served in WWII and thinks that the Japanese are still trying to kill him.
She calls inquiring about a job in the newspaper, a group escort for a small tour company in Atlanta. She is hired immediately and leaves the next day with her first group to Jamaica. First, she meets a handsome pilot with the charter airline they use, and then there is one unusual group participant that doesn’t seem to belong. He leaves the group for periods of time and when things happen, he uses MacGyver like skills to get them out of the situations. She is aggravated and knows something is fishy and the bad thing is, the man is very charismatic and she’s not just a little attracted to him.
Upon their return, she finds out that the man is friends with her rather unconventional boss and after a second unusual group excursion to Puerto Rico; she knows for sure that the little tour company in Atlanta is not really what it seems on the outside. When the truth is revealed, she finds herself unintentionally dropped into a new career that she can’t exactly add to her resume.
Veronica finds herself in uncomfortable and hilarious situations, surrounded by crazy tour participants, family, friends, neighbors, and pets. After a long dry spell, she finds that there is suddenly an overabundance of romance, drama, and intrigue in her life. Her life is now a sometimes very bumpy, yet exciting ride.
I was dreaming about Gremlins, an old movie I’d watched years ago as a kid. The little critters in the movie were really cute, until they got wet and then multiplied and wreaked havoc. Somehow they’d gotten in my head and dragged a hot tub in with them, having some twisted version of a frat party. That’s when my dream turned into a nightmare—fur balls popped as the creatures multiplied, wiggling and wallering around squealing. All the bouncing around and commotion started to nauseate me. My subconscious pleaded with me to wake up and just make it stop.
When I finally opened one eye and turned to look at the clock, a line of drool followed me. I smacked at my lips, grimacing at the strange taste in my mouth, and looked down at my pillow. Yuck. I seriously slobbered in my sleep?
Nice, Lane. Can’t wait to look in the mirror.
I swiped my hand across my mouth and slowly opened the other eye. Looking down, I waited a few seconds for my vision to clear. No nightgown. Drooling and naked. Not good signs. Blinking a few times, I looked around the room.
I closed my eyes and declared in my head that I was still having a nightmare. I would open them again and just be curiously sitting here naked with a hangover. That’s all. One, two, three…
I opened one eye. Aww, fuck—I mean, fudge. What did I do? Uhn…probably did just that.
There was a man in my bed.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Mandy Colton is from Louisville, KY, and lives a very quiet life with her husband and teenage son. She’s a fan of romance, fun adventure stories, and some occasional sci-fi or paranormal thrown in. Veronica Lane and the idea for her adventures came from her own experiences and career working in the travel industry.
She claims that working in the travel business could be horribly stressful but was equally laugh-out-loud funny at times. She enjoyed many priceless and comical experiences with groups, friends, and peers. Even her clients shared humorous adventures of their own. Her opinion is that there just are no better stories than those that involve true life.
Subscribe for notifications on future new releases! http://www.mandycoltonfiction.com
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Story By Tess Cooper
Thirteen words in a want-ad turn Tess Cooper’s world upside down after she signs on as a paranormal research assistant to the mysterious Davin Egypt. He reveals a world of grave robbing, clockworks artifacts in blue amber, antique revolvers that fire strange ammo, and powerful forces beyond human comprehension.
As ancient occult energies threaten to destroy her city, Tess must use her journalistic instincts to stay one step ahead of the public works director, Drew Dawson, whose agenda seems bent on destruction rather than maintenance. And possibly murder, but will anyone believe her?
Yeah, right. When garbage trucks fly.
If Tess teams up with the hunky police lieutenant, Kirk Gunther, and the pale, oddball Mr. Egypt, they might be able to save the city in time. That is, if Egypt even wants to. And if Tess overcomes her phobias long enough to do battle in Granddad’s 1983 Subaru Brat.
Things are about to get icky.
I almost smiled. “I’m thinking I probably can’t take on this new job. I don’t think it’s for me. At the same time, I don’t know if I can work for a gutless newspaper even if they don’t fire me. There’s so much going on. I don’t know what to do. Hell, I don’t even know what I want to do anymore.”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about it after tonight.” He lifted a slip of paper from the table beside the window.
“That lotto ticket you bought. The drawing’s tonight.”
“I didn’t buy a lottery ticket.”
Granddad shrugged. “It was in the bag with the snuff and the coffee creamer. I asked for French vanilla, by the way, not that hazelnut crap.”
I’d forgotten about it. “Oh, that. I didn’t buy it. I found it.”
“Don’t matter. If you sign the back, the ticket’s yours.” Granddad put the slip back on the table and sank into the recliner. “Yep. We’ll be living it up, come tonight.”
“One less thing to worry about,” I agreed.
“Speaking of one less thing to worry about, you could do worse than that Davin Egypt.”
I searched for words for a second. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, I get why you wouldn’t want to work for some half-assed pet psychic. But the guy’s got dough. Plus, he’s tall, thin, a sharp dresser. I’m no homo, but I figure the gals probably like a guy like that.”
My own personal conception of Egypt was lanky, bony, and dressed like an undertaker, circa 1961. “You’re serious? And, please, don’t use the word homo in public, okay?”
“I got nothing against homos. Let people do whatever the hell they want. No skin off my nose. I’m just saying, the guy is well spoken; he’s polite, and you two seem to get along good. The way you’re talking, it sounds like you need to get a life. So go get one.”
“Okay, listen up, Granddad. Davin Egypt doesn’t own a car. As far as I can tell, he owns one suit. He lives in a church. He set up a Christmas tree in our kitchen, a tree that looks like a mental deficient on LSD decorated it. He doesn’t have a computer. Hell, he doesn’t have a phone. The guy is an absolute, total weirdo.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Newspaper founder, bookstore owner, artist, musician, and man-about-town Eric Turowski writes lots of mixed-genre books when he’s not too busy playing laser tag with Tiger the Cat and his fiancée Mimi deep in the Central Valley of California.
You can learn more about Eric at http://www.ericturowski.com.
Connect with Eric online
Out Now – The River’s Embrace by A. Silenus
With her blond tresses and blue eyes, London fabric retailer Margery “Margie” Tull is used to being admired. When she’s hired to decorate a riverside manor house though, she suspects ulterior motives.
Lord of the manor Percival Winstanley reveals a long ago love triangle leading to death and the bewitching of his son and heir Stephen. Margie’s cousin Shyan is supposed to protect her. But he’s lured away by Winstanley’s cougarish housekeeper, Mrs. DePlessey, leaving Margie in the dubious care of servant Kern.
Unsure whom to trust, Margie turns first to artist Raphael Watts, also working at the house. Meanwhile Stephen hovers in the background trying to draw her attention to a cottage across the river. Somehow the women who live there are a portent of Margie’s fate. If only Stephen can convince her of what lies in store Margie can give new hope to the manor and its heir.
Margie crept from the hall to the library and back again. It was the strangest thing how people either were not there when they were wanted or were breathing down your neck and scaring you out of your skin. There seemed no middle way in this house.
She would have to go upstairs. It was the obvious place to look. She started climbing steps, feeling like an intruder and unsure how she would explain why she was snooping around the house if she did find someone. A snigger told her she was on the right track. Tiptoeing across the landing and down a passage way, she homed in on the intertwined voices, Shyan’s wisecracks and Mrs. DePlessey’s purrs of appreciation.
Through the gap between an open bedroom door and the jamb, Margie watched unobserved. Shyan was standing on a foot stool wearing only underwear. Evidently measuring requirements had reached the upper thigh. A crouching Mrs. DePlessey’s glistening nails trailed a tape over the city boy’s pale flanks. Shyan’s muscles tensed as her fingers neared the straining material of his briefs.
“Am I tickling?” The question was made to sound guileless, like a dentist asking “Am I hurting you?”
“Well a bit,” Shyan said. “But it don’t bother me.”
I’ll bet it doesn’t, Margie thought. She was so mad at him. Had he forgotten why he had come? Not to dally with the housekeeper, that’s for sure.
The waistband was the next number on Mrs. DePlessey’s list, and as her arms circumnavigated Shyan’s midriff with the tape measure she could not refrain from rubbing the bangles on her wrists against his bare skin. The metal must have been cold, because Shyan jumped slightly at the touch.
“Oh, I am sorry. Did I do that?”
You calculating bitch, Margie wanted to shriek. She’d seen better acting on the soaps.
But there was nothing simulated about Shyan’s reaction once the tape made contact at the base of his spine. Margie didn’t have to see below his waistband to know his self-control was on the edge. It wouldn’t take much to unbalance him.
All it did take was another move in Mrs. DePlessey’s repertoire of suggestive contact. As her breasts prodded his stomach, ostensibly so she could complete the tape loop, Shyan’s hands descended onto her shoulders. Then the tape was forgotten as her lips came up to meet his. Her clasping arms steadied him on the wobbling stool. They moved to the bed in an uncoordinated tango, and toppled into a grinding embrace. Shyan tackled the buttons on her blouse. His hand groped for the bra clip at her back. He suckled on an inflamed turret of a nipple, with a gusto equal to Ainsworth’s effort during Margie’s previous spying escapade. Then the couple’s hands met and, steered by one or the other—or both—glided in unison down the crevasse between their bodies until they disappeared inside Shyan’s briefs.
Margie was mesmerized. Exasperated as she was by her cousin’s easy compliance, she couldn’t help being fascinated by this mesh of desires. That was why it was so startling when Mrs. DePlessey rolled Shyan to one side and, with a light kiss on the lips, told him, “We must save this.”
Shyan gaped and attempted to insert a hand between her closed thighs.
“For what?” he asked.
She smiled, not in the provocative way Margie half expected, but rather as if Shyan hadn’t understood.
“In time,” she said. “In time.”
- Silenus spent his early years in southern England and now lives in Arizona. He writes in various genres under different names. His erotica-oriented material includes three self-published sets of short stories, Fiends That Go Boink, which has otherworldly themes, Obsessions and Two Men And A Woman In A Boat.
Other stories have been published in anthologies, ezines and magazines, including Afternoon Delight (Cleis), The MILF Anthology (Blue Moon), Wicked Pleasures (Ravenous Romance), and Forum magazine in the UK.
For more about Silenus and his work, please go to his blog: Basic Writes: http://asilenus.blogspot.com/
Reconciled for Easter by Noelle Adams
Abigail has been separated from her husband for almost two years. After a marriage that brought her only insecurity, she seeks a life now of peace and independence with their six-year-old daughter. Thomas wants to put their marriage back together, because he liked the wife he used to have, but she never wants to be that person again.
She might need his help with their daughter and start to enjoy his company again, but she just can’t trust him with her heart. Even when she discovers that her heart still wants him for a husband.
She looked perfectly respectable for dinner and the symphony for a work function—and nothing like the plain, shy girl she used to be—so she grabbed her purse and headed to the living room.
“Ooh!” Mia squealed at her arrival. “Mommy looks beautiful!”
“Thank you, sweetie.” Abigail ran her hands down her skirt absently, feeling suddenly self-conscious at Thomas’s steady gaze. His face showed no expression, but she knew he missed no detail of her appearance.
“Just in time,” Thomas said, glancing at his watch. “Seven o’clock. I didn’t know you took such long showers.”
Abigail felt her cheeks burning, but she managed not to react in any other way. There was absolutely no way Thomas could know what she’d been thinking about in the shower. “Thanks for coming over early to sit with Mia while I got ready,” she said, pleased when her voice sounded natural.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but it will be late since we’re going to Dalton.” She glanced outside and saw headlights turning into the driveway of her little bungalow. “That’s Jim. He’s picking me up, and then we’ll pick up the Seymours.”
“I see.” Thomas’s voice was strange, but she didn’t know why.
“All right,” Abigail said in a rush, feeling anxious and self-conscious and at loose ends. “You be good, Mia. Obey your Daddy and go to bed when he says. Eight o’clock.” She said the words with a certain significance to remind Thomas of the girl’s bedtime. “And you can read until nine.”
“I know, Mommy.”
“There are snacks in the kitchen,” Abigail went on. “And I’ll have my phone on vibrate the whole time, so just call me any time if you need me.”
“I know, Abigail,” Thomas said, his mouth twitching up a little.
“Okay.” She glanced down at herself to make sure she had everything she needed. Then she told Mia, “I’ll give you your goodnight kiss now, since you’ll be asleep when I get back.”
She leaned down to kiss Mia, and she was about to leave when Mia said, “You didn’t give Baxter his kiss!”
Abigail hurried back over, flustered by the way Thomas’s eyes never left her face. She kissed Baxter. “All right. You be good and have fun.”
Then she kissed Mia again. “Mommy loves you.”
“I love you, Mommy.”
Rushed and thoughtless, Abigail moved to give Thomas a quick kiss on the lips in sequence. “I’ll be back after midnight probably.”
With a last wave, she left the living room. As she was reaching for the handle of the front door, she heard Mia’s giggle rippling out from the other room.
She paused, wondering what had prompted her daughter to laugh like that.
Then Abigail realized.
She’d just kissed Thomas. On the lips. Without even thinking about it.
With a gasp, Abigail whirled around and took a few steps back, with some sort of half-formed notion to try to explain.
But she caught sight of Thomas and Mia on the couch.
Mia was shaking with merriment, her hands covering her mouth. And Thomas had one finger to his lips as he smiled at his daughter, in the universal signal to keep quiet.
Overwhelmed with confusion, Abigail fled.
It was no big deal. She’d just been in a rush and hadn’t been thinking. Mia probably thought it was funny. She couldn’t let it bother her now.
It had been a really long time since kissing Thomas had been natural.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Noelle handwrote her first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia, where she teaches English, reads any book she can get her hands on, and offers tribute to a very spoiled cocker spaniel.
She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary romances.
It’s Halloween and Lucy’s husband Graham has once again disappeared with his red haired mistress. But, before Odessa’s rendezvous with her beloved, she does the unthinkable and takes her daughter–the child fathered by Graham– trick-or-treating at Lucy’s house.
Lucy is a distraught until she gets another unexpected knock on her door. It’s Mark Lewis, her husband’s co-worker and the one man she’s never been able to resist.
What’s the harm in just one more illicit night with Mark? Lucy deserves that much, or does she?
Excerpt: (general audience)
Lucy peeled the wrapper off another chocolate and decided she’d take off her stupid store bought witch’s costume, pour herself a good stiff drink, and call it a night after reading just one more chapter. No, on second thought why wait on that drink. She poured a gin and ginger and then plopped back down on the couch with her book.
The heroine’s breasts were heaving in excitement over finally seeing the hero’s steely shaft when Lucy was rudely interrupted by that damn doorbell.
She sighed and placed the open book on the side of the couch, quickly adjusting her pointy witch’s hat before opening the door.
“Trick-or-treat!” A chubby little butterfly grinned up at her.
“What a beautiful costume.” Lucy dropped one of the good chocolates in the little girl’s plastic pumpkin treat bag.
“My Daddy says I’m the prettiest butterfly ever.”
The child’s bedazzled butterfly wings and rhinestone studded leotard and tights definitely weren’t off the rack from the five and dime Halloween aisle. Someone had put a great deal of work into crafting the perfect little girl butterfly attire. Lucy dropped an extra candy in her pumpkin. “I believe he’s right.”
“Thank you,” the little girl chirped. “Are you Daddy’s maid?”
“Excuse me?” Lucy stammered.
The little girl tilted her head and looked up at Lucy as if she were harshly judging her store bought witch’s attire. “Mommy’s more pretty than you.”
“Prettier, I’m prettier.” A tall redhead stepped out of the shadows cackling like a witch. “That’s enough, Amalie. Thank the nice lady and go on to the car.”
“I already did thank her,” the little girl said, staring up at her mom.
Lucy’s smile evaporated as the redhead pulled off the mask and they locked eyes. This wasn’t just any redhead, this was her, Graham’s mistress from across the bay.
Standing there barefoot, Lucy guessed the woman to be even taller than Graham. If not for her height, she would have been nothing more than a wisp of a girl in an almost sheer chiffon buttercup yellow gown that clung to her lanky frame. She was all hair and long legs with her red curls falling every which way in swirls of crimson.
So, this was the infamous Odessa and Graham’s illegitimate daughter; the child born from an affair with her husband. Lucy searched the little girl for traces of Graham and her breath caught in her throat when she recognized the hawkish deep-set eyes behind the mask. The child wasn’t blond and she didn’t have Graham’s dimpled smile. But, there was no denying the fact that from what she could see the little one bore a striking resemblance to Graham’s mother. She had his mother’s muddy brown hair and half-hearted smile.
“Amalie, go to the car,” the redhead repeated.
Lucy watched the little girl turn and go to a car she recognized all too well. There was no mistaking the custom gold paint job of the Mercedes that had once been owned by her husband. The child hadn’t flitted like a butterfly and she didn’t slam the car door. She moved with the same self-conscious manner that often left Lucy feeling like she’d been tiptoeing over eggshells, never doing anything exactly quite right.
Odessa smiled as she brushed away a strand of red hair, and Lucy saw the platinum band on the other woman’s ring finger. That took some nerve, faking a bond that didn’t exist. Not when it was her name beside her husband’s –‑ Graham and Lucille Edwards –‑ on the marriage license and a gorgeous two-carat ring on her own finger.
A searing heat still crept across her chest all the way up to the tips of her ears. Why at this moment of all moments, when confronted by the little trollop, did she have to have a damn hot flash? Mother Nature’s nasty way of reminding her of the years she had on the much younger other woman.
Lucy took a deep shaky breath and looked right into the redhead’s too green eyes. “You’ve got some nerve.”
“I most certainly do.”
“Slow down,” she shrieked, and not from pleasure. “You’re hurting me.”
“What’s the matter? I thought you liked my big dick.” He stopped moving and grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look at him. “I’m sorry you’re used to Graham’s puny little wee wee.”
She pushed away his arms, barely moving until her pussy adjusted to the girth of his cock. “Let’s leave Graham’s dick out of this.”
“As tight as you are, I’d say he hasn’t gotten anywhere near your pussy since the last time I had it. Four years is a long time to go without getting any from the wifey.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s closer to four months than four years.”
“If I had a wife as hot as you I’d be hitting it every night I came home.”
His hand went to her sex and she started to relax as his fingers expertly maneuvered to just the right spot. She closed her eyes, rocking back and forth on his dick while his fingers rubbed away her inhibitions.
“I’m guessing he still couldn’t find your clit even if I drew him a map.”
Lucy slapped him across the face. She looked at her stinging hand, as surprised as he’d been by the blow.
Still working her clit, he used his other hand to pinch her nipple. “You want to play rough?” he asked, “I’ll gladly oblige.”
She tilted back her head, savoring the quick jolt of pain. That pinch unleashed something in her. She ground harder against him using his cock for her own satisfaction. His dick might have been a dildo for all she cared, and she used it as if it were. He seemed to approve, meeting her thrust for thrust, while still working over her clit with his finger.
Lucy leaned forward offering him her breast. He teased her at first, taking her right to the edge by lapping at her tits before biting down into the pale flesh of her left breast just below her heart. It was as if something snapped all the way to her very core. It wasn’t just an orgasm it was an awakening of sensations.
She froze for a moment, so in awe was she of how damn gorgeous he looked lying there beneath her. Their first time he’d been baby faced and handsome in a way that made young fans swoon as he battled her evil husband and his even nastier brother. By then she’d stopped going to the matches with Graham, but she’d occasionally watch the highlights on TV, drawn to the all American good looks of the man who fought her husband in the ring. She knew enough to know that outside the ring they all got along. She wasn’t that naïve after all, but she enjoyed that suspension of disbelief as much as any fan buying a ticket to the matches.
Mark smacked her ass, urging her to keep riding his cock. She gladly obliged, trailing a hand across the plain of his chiseled abs as she arched her back and subdued him with the strength of her sex. There wasn’t anything boyish about him anymore. As he’d matured into his thirties his body had taken on a harder edge and he’d bulked up with more muscle. It wasn’t just his body, Mark had a tough mysteriousness about him that Graham had never possessed.
It had to be that drink, she thought as she marveled over just how beautiful Mark had become. Sex with him had always been amazing. But this, this was sensation to the extreme. She could almost feel her lust for him pulsing through her veins. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Nothing. It was all so very real, yet totally unreal.
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About the Author:
Jezebel Jorge is a practicing witch, medium, and a Reiki light worker. She describes her genre as Witch Lit – Sizzle and spice and some things Not so Nice.
Unlike most authors, the Voices running amok inside her head are sometimes spirits reaching out to tell their stories from the other side. Ghosts like to embellish just as the living, but there is usually a bit of truth entwined within her fictional stories.
She lives in Nashville, TN with a spoiled rotten Golden Retriever / Great Pyrenees mix named Harry Potter and Odessa, a very vocal Spirit Guide with an affinity for snakes.
Hollywood Royalty by TS McKinney – Out Now! #bdsm #humor #contemporaryromance
Victoria thought that she would give anything for the role of Annabelle Hutchinson. She just didn’t realize what she would end up losing.
Victoria Winstead. My parents are the reigning King and Queen of Hollywood and since I am their only child, that clearly means I am a pampered princess who is accustomed to getting everything I want, when I want it, and how I want it…and right now, I want the most coveted role in Hollywood. Only one thing stands in my way.
Grayson Leman. This bastard is the only son of the reigning Prince and Princess of Hollywood and I hate everything about him, always have and always will. Our families have a history and it isn’t pretty. It’s ugly, Hollywood style. Oh yeah, he’s the one thing standing in my way.
Annabelle Hutchinson. She’s the creation of a writing trio that has managed to rock the entire female population with their erotica novel, Dark Lovers. They have single-handedly brought mommy porn front and center and made it not only acceptable but sexy as hell. A movie deal was made and I am literally (this is embarrassing to say) having to actually fight for something for the first time in my life.
Not to worry, though…I am Hollywood Royalty.
(Amazon link will not be available until release day)
“You leaving in the morning, Gabe? Or staying the day?” His band members got up and shook his hand as he started to leave. They didn’t tease him, but I could tell they wanted to. Badly.
“I’m staying. I’ll see you Sunday night.”
“Great. Okay. You guys have an…an exciting night.” He was stalling. I swear he was stalling.
Honestly folks, I didn’t want to say anything. It had been my vow to myself to give him the silent treatment all evening long. I had done so well. I should probably be nominated for an Oscar for my performance. Not one time did I lean in to sniff his intoxicating scent. Nope, I didn’t. Nor did I allow my gaze to stray toward that body that was made for nothing but pure undiluted sin. Nope, the only time I looked at him was to roll my eyes or glare. Ignoring him had been my only task for the evening. I had been an awesome bitch…up until now. For some reason, unknown to me, I couldn’t stop the word from slipping between my lips as he turned to walk away.
Memphis had to struggle to keep the full blown smile from covering her face. Gabe didn’t even try to hide his reaction. He slammed his fist on the table. The rest of the table just looked shocked and appalled by my outburst. I felt a blush start to stain my cheeks and I fought furiously to clamp down on the feeling. I didn’t need to feel bad for being mean to him or embarrassing him. He, my friends, is the enemy. Yet, I wasn’t really as proud of myself like I’d always imagined I would be in a situation like this.
He stopped walking and stood with his back to us for several long, intimidating seconds. From the way the muscles in his back quivered, I believe he was trying to control his temper. Oh, well. I wasn’t really worried. It isn’t like Mister Boy Scout would ever hit a girl, right? I felt myself start to fidget when he just stood there. We had also caught the attention of several of the patrons that were seated around us. In fact, I believe we were making quite the spectacle of ourselves.
“Just go, Grayson. Don’t do it,” Gabe pleaded. He glared at me in disgust. “You don’t have anything to prove, especially to her.”
Finally, Grayson slowly turned around and looked me dead in the face…hard. This time, I definitely started fidgeting in my seat. His intense stare was breathtaking with his bright blue eyes and girly lashes. God, did I mention how hot he was? “What did you say to me?” he asked quietly. When he’d been on stage singing, his voice had sounded like hot whiskey – now he sounded cold and furious. Well, he could just get over himself. I didn’t like him. I wasn’t trying to be his friend or suck up to him to get him to star in their movie. I, my dear friends, didn’t give a flying fuck what he thought about me.
“She called you a pussy, dude.” Gabe answered loudly when I failed to answer promptly enough to suit him. Of course, when Gabe said it, everyone within a ten mile radius heard him. I was seriously getting tired of dear ole Gabe, really fast.
Grayson’s jaw ticked and his mouth formed a frown that didn’t do a damned thing to make him unattractive. I guess this is why our families had always worked so hard to keep us apart from each other. He was hot enough that I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself and I was bitchy enough that my very touch would soil his pure skin.
“Yep, I called you a pussy, Grayson. Got a problem with that?” I sounded a lot tougher on the outside than I was feeling on the inside. It actually bothered me to be mean to him and I had no clue why.
“Yea, I guess I do,” he answered with a lazy shrug of his perfectly shaped shoulders—you know, not too much muscle but just enough to make a girl swoon? “Actually, I have a problem with how you’ve treated me all night long,” he explained as he closed the distance between us with a determined stride. Once he was close enough, he grabbed his vacated chair, swirled it around, slammed it right up against my knee, and straddled it. When we were practically eye to eye, he continued, “I’m pretty sure I’ve never done anything to offend you personally, but you still act like a bitch. Why is that, Vic? Are you afraid of me?” His voice was low enough that I was the only one that could hear him unless people rudely moved in closer. I knew they wanted to, but they didn’t. Actually, Memphis wouldn’t let them. It was a good thing Memphis could multi task because she was having to keep other patrons away from us and keep Gabe in line at the same time. Gabe was even more furious than Grayson was and that made about as much sense as the way I felt with Grayson being so close to me.
“Afraid of you? Mister Boy Scout? I seriously doubt that,” I answered smugly. “I just don’t like you.”
“You don’t know me.”
Well, he had me there, but I didn’t intend to back down. “I don’t have to know you to not like you. Don’t let it hurt your feelings, sweetie. Are you going to cry like your mommy did?”
Yea, I went there. The minute I did, I wished I hadn’t. Too late. I watched many emotions cross through those blue eyes—hurt, anger, surprise, lust…
He tilted his head to the side and studied me like I was some kind of sideshow freak. I could tell he was pondering something. Maybe punching me in the face and seeing if he could make me cry? Right when I was about to cave and apologize, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “You want to make me scream, don’t you, Vic? You want to hurt me?” I could feel his hot breath tickling my neck and sending waves of desire rushing through me. Actually, those waves had started the minute he had gotten close to me. It was his hot breath or the way his tongue almost touched my ear when he spoke. “You wanna do it on stage? How brave are you?”
TS McKinney lives in East Tennessee with her high school sweetheart/husband and all the countless dogs she picks up from deserted country roads. Her professional career has been in business but her heart has always belonged to the fantasy world found in books.
Creating wicked worlds where one can meet the perfect hero – and then do anything to him that you want – has been a hobby that has brought her plenty of hours of fun and naughty entertainment.
When not working, reading, or writing, she loves to spend her time with her family and forcing them (because they don’t really have another choice) to allow her to redecorate their house…and listen to her naughty…sometimes sadistic stories.
Author social media links:
Check out Passing the Torch by L.L. Sanders and remember to enter the contest at the end of the post for a chance to win a $10 Amazon/BN GC and a PDF ecopy of the book. The Book Blast is sponsored by Goddess Fish Promotions and you can find all the tour stops HERE
Now onto the book….
Deep in the Arizona desert live a girl and her dad, burying secrets–and bodies.
Mesa Kingston’s first memory of burying a corpse was at eight years old. Back then it had been the carcass of a large lizard her dad found that they buried in the backyard of their isolated cottage. At age fourteen, the body of a young lady accompanied the reptile’s remains, and ever since, an accumulation of female bodies began to grow. Now, the only way Mesa can stop the haunting screams of the dead is by drowning them out with flames. Or is there more to the blaze than even she can perceive?
Good girls do anything for their fathers, including rob, cheat, and kill, and I always considered myself a good girl. The time I first came to that conclusion will stay with me forever. Years later, here I am, still fulfilling my daughterly duty.
After wiping the sweat from my palm onto my jeans, I press the bulbous tip of the match against the strike strip on the side of the small carton. My hands shake worse than Grandma’s had when trying to slice her ninety-first birthday cake just a few hours ago, but I manage to run the match across it anyway. The flame comes alive at my fingertips, dancing merrily at the prospect of latching on to something and disintegrating it into smoldering embers. Although the light breeze causes the flame to flicker at the end of the matchstick, I’m aware of the control I have over it. I watch the glow change shape through a veil of tears and with that the decision was absolute.
The flame will get to perform its destructive duty.
I flick the match toward the pile of wooden planks that used to be the porch. Instantly the fire catches the fumes of the pooled liquid and expands so quickly a wall of gasoline-scented hot air rushes me before the blaze travels deeper into the house. I back away to a safe distance as the straw-like grass crunches beneath my feet. Nearing the homemade fence, which is nothing more than a double row of chicken wire, I hear the screams from the distance, cries of agony that meld with my memory like two spreading pools of melted wax. I can’t stop the waterworks. I don’t even make an attempt.
AMAZON BUY LINK: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TNTLTZY
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
But horror and thriller fiction is what I grew up on, what inspires me, and what began my pursuit to authorship. I’ve written many short scary stories since the 6th grade. Now they’re much more mature in general, thanks to the wide range of emotion and experience I’ve encountered over the years.
I’m a huge fan of horror and psychological thrillers in every fashion, including movies, books, art, campfire tales, etc. Some of my favorite stories are those that twist at the end or are ambiguous with deep societal or morality themes. This includes dystopias like Hugh Howey’s Wool, psychological thrillers like Shutter Island, and popular and classic horror/romances like V.C. Andrews’s Flowers in the Attic, my favorite.
All my ideas start with a twist, which is exactly how most of my stories end.
The Final Straight by Charlotte Howard (@shy_tiger)
April Miller works for her best friend, Max Knight on his livery and competition yard. Their friendship has withstood many turbulent times, and while April is deeply in love with Max, she is also aware of his womanising ways and has refused to succumb to his flirtatious charms. When her ex, AJ, suddenly comes back with a business proposal, April finds herself torn between the two men.
Kindle US: http://amzn.to/1Es09Cc
Kindle UK: http://amzn.to/1Dk0h2I
Coming soon to all other eBook retailers.
“You up there?” she called. The thud of footsteps grew louder as she made her way up the stairs. It wasn’t long before she was in the doorway, hands on hips, surrounded by a halo of curls the same colour as her temper.
The dog had followed and was panting by her leg. April batted her away, and Max rolled his eyes at the anger and frustration that exuded from her every pore, turning his back on her and dropping the towel.
“What the hell, Max?” she exclaimed, but it wasn’t because of his nudity. She’d seen him naked more times than any other woman.
He stepped into a pair of tight boxer shorts and turned around, preparing himself for the grief he had been hoping to avoid. “What have I done now?” he asked, walking towards the wardrobe and pulling out a pair of dark, shredded jeans.
“What’s the point? Do you even remember her name?”
He didn’t answer. She wasn’t expecting him to; she never did. Fastening the button on his waistband, he went to the chest of drawers and took out a clean T-shirt.
“Well, I’ll tell you what her name was,” April said, walking into the room. “Mellie Banks. Ring a bell?”
“It should,” she snapped. “Her father has three horses on this yard, or did until he turned up this morning and took them off.”
He moved behind her and started to massage at the knot of tension that had built at the base of her neck.
“Don’t try to appease me, Max,” she said, but he could tell that her anger was waning. He continued to press into her muscles, letting his thumbs make small circles either side of her spine. Bending his head to the curve of her shoulder, he placed his forehead on the sleeve of her polo T-shirt and took a deep breath, inhaling the dusty scent of straw and shavings.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her back.
She shrugged out of his touch and turned to face him. “You’re hopeless,” she sighed. The corners of her lips flickered into the smallest of smiles.
“We could just hide in bed all day,” he said, taking her hands and tugging her forwards. “Forget about Mellie Banks. Forget about the yard…”
“And who’s going to pay my bills when this place falls on its arse?”
The edge of the mattress connected with his knees and he fell backwards, pulling her with him. “You know I’ll always take care of you.”
She landed on top of him, inches away from his face. He lifted a hand and tucked a stray red curl behind her ear. With a frustrated groan, she rolled off of him and lay on her side.
“As much as I would like to be the next notch on your bedpost, we have a business to run.” She shoved herself up.
He watched as she straightened her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair.
“Anyway,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m not your type. I have a brain.” She flashed him a smile before bending down to pick up the towel and tossing it in his direction.
“Ouch.” He feigned a hurt expression before getting up to follow her. Bracken panted around his ankles.
“I’ll make you a coffee, and then if you need me I’ll be saving your business.”
Author Bio / Links:
Charlotte lives in Somerset with her husband, two children, and growing menagerie of pets and can always be found with a cup of tea in her hand. When she’s not writing or running around after small people and animals, she loves to eat curry and watch action films.
Charlotte is an active (and vocal) member of the Yeovil Creative Writers.
City Nights: One Night in Madrid by JD Martins
Danny left Dublin for Madrid two years ago, but still scans the crowd in the Irish pubs for the face of someone from home. Though doubtful he’ll ever recognise anybody, one evening he sees Aisling, a girl he’d known – or wished he’d known – at university. Beautiful but haughty, she’d always ignored Danny, and though he’d fantasised about making love to her, she’d never so much as smiled at him.
To his amazement, Aisling is extremely friendly when she meets him all these years later and away from home. She is still snobby and condescending, but Danny decides to make her night as enjoyable as he can, hoping for one last chance to impress her and make his teenage fantasies come true. As the sultry Madrid night progresses, mere lust grows into affection, and Danny begins to see her snobbery as something else entirely. Will Aisling see Danny as more than just a way to pass her night in Madrid?
Purchase links for all formats:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/15OOFtu
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/161xgxx
Amazon CA: http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00RY328RY
Draining the glass, Danny placed it on the bar, debating whether to have another pint, or stroll home and have a glass of wine while he prepared dinner. The plan was just one pint, but he needed to tell himself that twice; once when he went into the bar and again when he’d finished the drink.
And then he saw her.
She stood quite near, surrounded by a tight knot of people at the edge of the dance floor that had parted momentarily. She wore a cotton summer dress that showed the sweep of her shoulder blades and spine. The dress was floral, red with splashes of black and dark blue. She wore soft brown leather sandals that were almost invisible against her tanned feet. Her toenails were painted red but her fingernails were French polished. A silver or white-gold bracelet hung from her right wrist, and on her left she wore a silver wristwatch, which a discreet look later told him was a Patek Philippe. In her ears she had diamond stud earrings, and on the ring finger of her right hand was a silver ring with a blue stone he couldn’t identify.
He didn’t see her face straight away, yet something deep inside him said it had to be her.
In college, he’d often stared at this girl’s long blonde hair from a few seats behind in the lecture theatre, while far below them a maths professor droned on about matrices. He knew the shape of her head and neck, had observed her tie up that hair, amazed at the beauty of the fine, straight filaments, the way the strands slid like silk over one another, yet held as one tight rope. When she was an infant her mother had clearly decided ever cutting such hair would be a sin, and she’d concurred. She plaited it, put it in a ponytail, tied it up around a clip made of what seemed to Danny like a piece of wood and two chopsticks, or simply a spare pencil. Sometimes it splayed out across her shoulders like a cascade of spun gold. Now it was pulled up in a silver clasp, to reveal the nape of a long, fine neck, and soft-skinned shoulders.
Those shoulders had been bared before, in a hot September of their freshman year, and later, during the intense study month when the cherry blossoms bloomed and fell across the lawns of campus. Danny had fantasised about slipping off that shoulder strap, letting the silky string fall down along her arm, trailing his fingers along her collarbone and ribs and pushing aside the top to expose her breasts.
When she turned around in the bar and he saw her face, Danny instantly searched through his memory to match her visage, and see all six numbers of recognition. It came out a winner. She stared back at him, her brain no doubt doing the same. Although still early, and most—apart from the pre-marriage revellers—were only on their second or third drink, Danny thought she must have been fairly merry already, because as she recognised him she smiled.
She’d never smiled at him before—not in four years of college. Then again, they’d not interacted much. They’d never really talked, never attended the same classes after second year. He’d always told himself she’d never smiled at him because she didn’t know him. Once or twice, of course, she’d turned around, casually, and seen him. But she’d seen lots of others sitting behind her, too. The back rows of the lecture theatre were filled with Danny’s friends, who’d varying levels of interest in her hair and the maths lecture; from zero to all-absorbed.
The chance to get to know her had never come around. She’d majored in chemistry, Danny in computer science. He had taken a chemistry class in second year, but she’d always seemed to sit on the opposite side of the theatre then. His gaze had often paused upon her face as he searched through those assembled in a lecture the way he did through the throng of a bar.
She was stunning. Her frame was that of someone who was fit without effort. A swimmer or a gymnast at some point, she had a fine body, breasts the way Hemingway described, wide womanly hips and a behind that eyes or hands could never tire of. She had crystal blue eyes like deep Antarctic ice, and a button nose. Her mouth was perfect. Her teeth had had money spent on them, but her lips were natural; she had a dazzling smile. But before that moment in a Madrid bar, Danny had only received the coldness of those glacial eyes.
JD Martins has been called Spanish, Mexican, Chinese, Philippine and English and Australian. He is none of these.
He’s lived in four cities in three countries on two continents, but he doesn’t feel like he’s travelled very much. His life in each city was rather mundane and he didn’t get out much – tending to move his pen more than his body.
He still aspires to see much more of the world – probably when his wife becomes rich enough to let him retire from day jobs.
He would like to live like Ernest Hemmingway: periodically sending novel manuscripts to his publisher from various far-flung corners of the world, though he’s not sure the quality will be quite the same. Until then, he has contented himself with living like Robert Graves – in a pleasant part of Spain with a quiet life – and being able to do some things that Hemmingway did – trout fishing in Spain, game hunting in Africa, watching bullfights and running with the bulls, – and a few that he did not get to do – surfing, skydiving, bungee jumping, and getting erotic stories published.