Thursday, 7 June 2018

Lea Bronsen is raising the heat levels!

Happy Thursday! The weekend is in sight and I personally cannot wait. In case you missed it over on Facebook, Nero and I are moving to Amsterdam at the end of July, and we're currently trying to reorganise our entire lives to make it happen. NO PRESSURE. So I'm looking forward to some escapism, and Lea Bronsen has the perfect read! I fell in love with Morocco when we visited in 2016. Now seems like the ideal time to revisit it with her new erotic romance...

Hi, and thank you for hosting me on your blog! I got the idea for this story after watching a video of French “globe cooker” Fred Chesneau visiting nomads in the Moroccan desert. They generously shared their food, home, and wisdom with a stranger, and I thought it would be cool to write about a female rally driver having the same experience. A Thorned Rose in the Sand is set in the beautiful, quiet dunes of western Sahara where the sun is so hot you can’t walk barefooted and you could go miles and miles without seeing a single soul. In this story, you’ll meet a badass 450cc rally motorcycle, an opinionated but gentle dromedary, and two highly strong-willed young persons from opposite sides of the planet who get off to a bad start then can’t keep their hands off each other 😊  


A Thorned Rose_banner.jpg

When life in a big U.S. city becomes too much, Stevie Jones decides to live her wildest dream – compete against the tough guys in a motorcycle rally across Morocco. But the real excitement is found away from the race track, in the shifting sands of the desert.

After his studies in London, Ragab has returned to the nomadic lifestyle of his Bedouin family and the majestic silence of the Sahara. He dreams of the perfect wife, until a beautiful but feisty biker stuck in a sand dune turns his quiet world upside down.  

Available from

Add the book to your shelf on Goodreads

See photos that inspired me to write the book on Pinterest
A Thorned Rose in the Sand-3D-eReader
 

Excerpt

The girl screamed behind him. “Eeeeee!”

Too hard to resist. Until now, Ragab had had a difficult time respecting her privacy, but surely, a scream called for attention. What kind of a gentleman would he be if he didn’t check on a woman in distress?

He spun and found her kneeling on her jacket, nude and wet, arms outstretched in shock. He bit down a laugh. Yes, the deep well water was cold, but one got used to it, and in the extreme heat of the desert, it was a blessing.

She turned, caught him staring, and even though he couldn’t see anything inappropriate, she hurried to cover her breasts and pubic area. “Look away!” she shouted, voice panicky.

The laugh bubbled inside him, but he obediently turned back to the motorcycle—then stood in such a way he could see her reflection in one of the side mirrors.

Oh, it was like watching a porn scene. Her long, red curls hung wild over her back and round, white butt cheeks. Every time she moved, a portion of her breasts appeared in the space between her ribs and arms. Such perfect feminine curves, all over. Imagine if he saw the front…

Blood rushed to his groin. Stiffening, bothered, he tore from the sight, walked over to the well, and leaned against its waist-high wall, hoping the hardness of the bricks and coolness from the water below would temper his arousal before it became a full-blown erection.

So silent…

He strained to hear.

Splashes. Muffled squeals. More splashes.

He turned slowly and stole a glance from the corner of his eye.

She washed her panties and black top in the bucket and leaned forward to spread them in the sun. Her position exposed the dark pink lips of her sex, from the tiny hole in her butt to the end of her slit, where her clitoris hid.

Ooh!

Shocked to his core, he turned back and groaned low, his cock hardening again.

He closed his eyes, drew long, slow breaths to calm the painful throbbing and counted minutes, trying to think of something else.

His dromedary, for example. It would be cool to show her how to ride it. What if he rode another one, and they both galloped on the dunes together, she laughing, ecstatic…

Then they’d roll in the sand, and he would tease her thighs apart and slide his hungry hardness into her dark pink lips, to the wet bottom of her. Oh, yes.

She called, “Ready?”

He risked a glance in her direction.

Wearing one of his sisters’ dresses and looking divine with her red curls floating behind her—and her face white and clean—she strolled to the motorcycle, carrying a bag and her clothes. She stuffed everything on top of the fuel tanks, got up, lifted the dress to her knees, and started the motor. Not once looking at him.  

About the author

Lea Bronsen

 Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After venturing into dirty inner-city crime drama with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between psychological thriller, romantic suspense, and dark erotic romance.

Meet Lea Bronsen on
 

Tuesday, 29 May 2018

Time to Spice up your week with Kathrine Wyvern!

Happy Tuesday, folks! I'm off work today (extending that bank holiday weekend as far as possible), and although my main plan is writing, I'm also looking for a new book to read. I just finished a great one (The Castle of Earth and Embers), and I'm ready for something else. So it's perfect that Katherine Wyvern is here today with her latest release, SPICE AND VANILLA!

  
Dear Naomi,

Thanks for having me here today to talk about my new book!
 
When I began to write this story Raphael/Lucie was pretty well formed in my mind, but I was not very sure where the other two were going. They seemed to be accessory to Raphael’s complexity rather than fully fleshed out people. But the more I wrote of them, the more they came to life, sprouting their own personalities and opinions and back stories… it was surprising and slightly alarming, as I found myself dragged into a far bigger project than I had originally envisioned.
 
What is left of the original concept is that Di is vanilla and Hugh is the spice (oh dear, is he ever), and that these different flavors provide two very different, and equally necessary romances in Raphael’s life. I really wanted to write a story where three (four?) characters form a complex polyamorous relationship without closing the triangle, so to say, since Hugh and Di remain only friends. This is strangely unusual in Romance stories, but it seems a realistic and intriguing dynamic, worthy of exploring in fiction, as the negotiations and challenges involved are so much different and more delicate.


Blurb
 
Time was, when Di could dance all night. Time was, when she could ride any horse in the stable. Time was when she had a fiancΓ©e, a future and a home she loved. Until a silver SUV came out of nowhere and broke her life in half.

Well concealed under a sarcastic, spiny hide, Hugh has a darkly romantic, passionate soul. Torn between love and terror, he’s held the talented, elegant, magnetic Raphael carefully at arm’s length since the day they met.

Male or female, men or women, kinky or sweet, top or bottom? Angel or devil? Raphael’s life is a string of unanswered questions. And Lucie, his long-hidden female self, may bring it all together or destroy everything he has.

Be warned: cross-dressing, gender-queer, explicit M/M and M/F sex, anal sex, spanking, flogging, bondage, forced orgasm, sex toys



Excerpt

Hugh watched him stroking away with great contentment. He was totally worn out after a crazy day at work, and it was not always easy to find the energy to satisfy such an enthusiastic masochist. There were days when he wished Raphael were a bit less fond of being spanked and whipped, but he always did his best to oblige him. The thought of his Raphael going out there looking for release from God-only-knows-whom, and getting hurt for real by some less scrupulous or talented Dom was just unbearable. Still, tonight he would lie back and relax. Mostly. I will have to help him eventually, he thought with a slightly evil grin, but I can take a breather first
 
Raphael stroked in perfect tempo. He was one of the most technically exact musicians Hugh had ever played with, after all. Too exact, in fact. 
 
It would do him so much good to let go a bit, to just go with the flow, be wild and imprecise and purely passionate. Then he would not need so much of this
 
Tick—tock—tick—tock—tick—tock, went the metronome, and Raphael stroked and stroked. It was a good while before Hugh could tell, from a small furrow between those blond eyebrows, that the unchanging, slow rhythm was beginning to frustrate him. He smiled a bit wider and said nothing, devouring his beautiful quarry with his eyes. He watched, entranced the fluid play of flesh and skin as Raphael’s long pale cock, a nice ruddy purple by now, sank and reemerged into and from his fist, the velvet-like foreskin lapping beautifully over the shinier, silky glans, the testicles bouncing softly to the rhythm as the scrotum was pulled up and released. It was hard to resist the temptation to throw the whole scene to the devil and just take that cock in his mouth and suck it empty. 
 
This is without exception the best use a metronome was ever put to.

Raphael’s body was developing a number of small, charming tics and twitches. He briefly lifted his left knee from the mattress then relaxed again. His right wrist was pulling on the strap from time to time, and his breath was coming in slightly ragged bursts. 
 
Still it took a long time. Too much control, thought Hugh, smiling. Tsk-tsk.
 
Tick—tock—tick—tock.

He slowly unfolded his hands and moved to sit between Raphael’s legs. He spit on his middle finger and watched Raphael’s face, half hopeful, half anxious, as he slowly approached his anus. He didn’t hurry. He let Raphael wait for it. He would beg, in time, Hugh knew, but there was no need for that, not yet. He finally pressed his fingertip to the twitching, tight, live rose of flesh and felt it jolt and spasm. He massaged it in circles, with relish, and didn’t even try to penetrate it. Raphael was shaking all over, trying to press down on his finger, but there was just so far he could stretch, tied as he was. His belly muscles went taut. They were contracting in random, jerky convulsions. Hugh had never seen anything so beautiful.

Then Raphael missed a beat. His hand had picked up pace, ignoring all orders. Raphael whimpered, trying to compensate to get back in the right tempo. The double change of pace made him squirm all over. He swallowed twice and missed the beat again. This time Hugh slapped the inside of his thigh, very hard. Raphael could take a long regular series of well-spaced blows with relative ease, but a single hard slap coming down out of the blue like that drew a ragged cry from him.

You do know what tempo means, I asked?” Hugh said, in a plain chatty voice. He had never had any taste whatsoever for histrionics. He was not, he had never been, a theatrical Dom. He wasn’t in it for setting up a show. He just got the job done.

Yes. Yes!” said Raphael, a bit frantic. He managed to stick to the rhythm for a minute longer, until Hugh gently stuck his finger just within the ring of his anus. All of Raphael’s body twisted, and he lost all track of the cold, mechanical rhythm of the metronome. 
 
And that is exactly what you need, my love . Too much playing by the rules, too much fucking control. You need to find your own tempo, and just let go. 
 
Five or six fast hard strokes followed. Hugh slapped him twice, on his thigh, and, when he turned suddenly, on his butt. And then Raphael came, on the third slap, as he flopped flat on his back again, crying out in pleasure or pain, or both. It was hard to tell. Semen spurted out in beautiful, long, arched white streamers, splattering over Raphael’s belly, chest, and even his face.
 
It is difficult to aim while being spanked hard.
 
Hugh watched him coming, avidly.
 
He was so naked. So vulnerable, so unguarded. Hugh, who felt, every day, that he might shatter like glass, on Raphael’s unearthly, impossibly graceful, self-possessed beauty, lived for these moments, to watch him released of all self-consciousness and all bonds. Strange, how it took a bunch of leather straps to get him to do that.

Ah, oh, shit. That hurt,” Raphael whispered after a minute. “Not complaining, mind,” he added, with a small edgy laugh, wiping some drops of sperm from his lips and eyebrow.

Good,” said Hugh, quite composed, despite the erection straining in his pants. Watching Raphael twitching and jolting while covered in glistening semen was not a sight to leave him unmoved. He reached out for the metronome, stopped it and lowered the weight a tad, then started it again.
 
This was a faster, business-like tempo.

There you go, hot lips,” he said to Raphael, who was still breathing hard from his orgasm.

What? Wh—but…”
 
Hugh gave him a small devilish smile. Raphael was perfectly capable of coming two or three times in one night, but, like most men, he needed a while to recuperate in between. Well, tonight, he wasn’t getting it.

You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”




You can also find an exclusive excerpt on my website, here:


See what Katherine is up to on

Or follow her on Instagram @katherinewyvern


Monday, 21 May 2018

Shake the Monday blues with Peri Elizabeth Scott

Happy Monday! I hope everyone had a great weekend and is ready to start the week feeling refreshed and punchy! I'm not, because I had a terrible night's sleep, but I'm going to fake feeling refreshed and I probably won't have to fake feeling punchy...Anyway! I've got Peri Elizabeth Scott here this morning with her contemporary romance, A FAR CRY FROM HOME, so let's enjoy that and make Monday a good 'un!



Regan Ferguson knows little past running The Inn, her home since her adoption. Again orphaned, she’s dealt another blow. Her father never repaid a loan, the recipient being Maddox Ferguson, her newfound, sexy cousin.

Intrigued by the woman he never knew existed, Maddox is awed by her tenacity and determination to continue with The Inn. He makes her a loan to give her the opportunity to learn for herself how impossible the task, rather than personally destroying any chance to explore the connection between them. However, he quietly lines up potential buyers as a fallback plan.

Regan eventually has that epiphany, only to accidentally determine Maddox’s plan. Feeling betrayed and confused, she secretly signs the buyout and hits the road with her cat, Oscar.

Maddox follows, and without The Inn between them they find their happily ever after—Regan learns that home is wherever her heart is.





Excerpt:

She stuck out her hand, and he fancied she saw it as an olive branch. The hostility she’d initially projected was gone, and he took the opportunity to encroach into her space. Clasping her small, work-roughened hand in his much larger one, a frisson of energy sparked between them and he felt her quiver.


Fascinated, he watched as she strove to regain her composure, while he allowed his desire to show. Staring into her eyes, the pale-blue of her irises consumed by the dilation of her pupils, he read her need. He tugged her to his chest, the clean smell of soap and water, and something uniquely Regan, wafting from her.

Her head tipped back and he dropped his mouth down on hers, the immediate connection hardening his flesh to the point of pain. She relaxed into his hold and he tasted her with desperate intent. His fingers wove through the silky mass of her hair, holding her steady, and she moaned deep in her throat. She pressed closer, her arms wreathing around his neck.

He somehow brought it to a close, over long before he wanted it to be, but his conscience pricked hard. He’d promised her the time and money to bring The Inn up to snuff, somehow unable to resist. And now he’d honor his commitment, intuiting the importance of this woman determining her own destiny. Not a fling, not like with his other women.

His libido jeered and prodded at him but knew to allow nature to take its course. Wherever this connection with Regan was going, he wouldn’t hurry nor derail it.

As they both caught their breath, he gently set her away from him, his hands on her lithe waist, until she steadied on her stool. “I normally don’t seal business deals with a kiss,” he said, aware his tone held a certain rasp. Clearing his throat, he continued, “It’s been a … momentous day.”

Her slender throat working in a swallow, she said, “I’ve never sealed a business deal before.”

He knew she wasn’t experienced and doubted she kissed every man she’d just met with fervor and without meaning anything by it. Aching for her, he clamped down on his physical need and did his best to appear suave and unruffled. “We have a deal, Regan. I’ll bring my things in and get settled while you get organized. You’ll need a material list, among other things.”

Visibly drawing her composure around her like flexible armor, she slipped from the stool and turned her back on him, clearing away the dishes on the island. “Sounds good. I’ll just tidy up and then sit down with pen and paper. Lists are good.”

Holding hard on to his own equanimity, he nodded and headed out for his car. Some fresh air would clear his head and cool him down.


About the Author:

Peri Elizabeth Scott lives in Manitoba, Canada. She closed her private practice as a social worker and child play therapist and now pretends to work well with her husband in their seasonal business.

Writing for years, along with her alter ego and three co-authors, she has published over 50 novels and reads almost anything she can get her hands on.






Sunday, 13 May 2018

Author Interview with Megan Slayer

Happy Sunday, folks! Hope everyone's having a chilled-out weekend. I'm currently in isolation in the kitchen while Nero records a podcast episode, but I have a plentiful supply of tea, and I'm getting some words down for Chaos Songs, so it's all good. While I get Lola and Tris into trouble, how about an interview? Megan Slayer is here with her recent release, HER SIR. Let's find out what it's all about!



Hi, Megan! Tell us a little bit about your newest release.
Her Sir is a hot little story about two people who belong together, but don’t realize they do until it seems like it’s too late. It’s a realistic story. I guess that’s why I like it so much. The characters are people you might know. Andi is an artist and she has an ex who is a drip. Dean is a Dom and a member of the local city council. There’s bdsm heat and heart involved. Oh and a mention of vibrators.

Gotta get those vibrators in! (No pun intended). Do you have a favourite genre to write in?
I like to write contemporary because I like that the story could happen. I like to put myself, via the characters, in those situations. It’s fun.

Who are your biggest influences – they don't have to just be literary ones!
Oh golly… well… writing-wise, it would be Harper Lee. I loved To Kill a Mockingbird and Go Set a Watchman. She wrote well, even when she needed an editor. Plus, she lead such an interesting life. Another would be my third grade teacher, Mrs. Jason. She said I’d do something interesting and creative with my life. She encouraged me to think outside the box. When she found out I’d become a writer, she said she wasn’t surprised and thought that’s what I’d do with my life. That stuck with me.

Encouraging teachers are awesome - I definitely had a couple who pushed me to further my reading and writing, and it was invaluable. Changing directions a bit - if you could have dinner with any three writers, living or dead, who would they be?
Harper Lee, Truman Capote and John Lennon. Mostly because I’d love to hear Capote and Lennon argue. Lol!

Lol, definitely one to be a fly on the wall at! Are there any books you can just read over and over again and never get sick of?
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Regularly Scheduled Life by KA Mitchell
Anna Faris is Unqualified by Anna Faris

Okay, I have to confess I've never read To Kill A Mockingbird. Time to add it to my list, clearly. If you could recommend any book (beside your own) to everyone reading this, what would it be?
Regularly Scheduled Life by KA Mitchell. The book involves the aftermath of a school shooting and two men dealing with their feelings. It’s couple-y, sweet, tough and tender.

Sounds good, and highly relevant for modern life right now. Okay, the hard ball question. Tea or coffee?
Neither. I never acquired the taste for either. Makes coffee dates awkward. 😊

Gasp! How do you function without tea? Apart from writing, what are your great passions in life?
Being a mom to a tot, dogs and cats, being a partner and creating art. I love to draw. 😊

Sounds awesome :) And what else are you working on right now? What's up next from you?
I’m currently working on the story that follows Her Sir. It’ll be called His Girl. After that…I’m not sure. I’ve got notebooks full of stories I want to follow through with. I’ll pick one that speaks to me and away I go. 😊

Ah, the writer's notebook. It's a blessing and a curse! Okay, so that's Megan. Now, how about a look at HER SIR?

 


HER SIR by Megan Slayer
Evernight Publishing
Contemporary Erotic Romance
M/F, BDSM, Exhibitionism, Anal Sex, Toys, Spanking

There’s only one man for Andi—her Sir.

Andi McCarron knew the moment she met Sir’s gaze, he’d change her life forever. Despite other Doms wanting her as their sub, she only submits to him because he knows how to make her skin tingle. The pain delivered from his crop makes her spirit sing. She needs Sir but she wants more—except he’s not interested in taking the relationship outside of the club. What’s a girl to do when the man of her dreams, the one wielding the crop, won’t leave the club?

Dean Meyer craves his sweet sub, Andi. She fills his dreams and fantasies, but she wants a relationship. He’s not sure she can handle both his demons and secrets. Still, he can’t deny the attraction to her. When fate throws them together, he has to make a choice—give his sub what she needs or let her go for good. 

Available from these fine retailers:


Excerpt:

©2018 Megan Slayer, All Rights Reserved

“You control everything,” she blurted. Her cheeks reddened, and she bowed her head. “Sorry. But you do.”
“Actually, you do. When we play, you’re the one in control. You say stop or slow, and I follow. I push you, but you tell me when you’re done. I’ll encourage you to stretch your boundaries, but only because I want to make you fly.” He pushed the cooling coffee to the side. “If you say no, then I respect your decision.”
“You expect me to kneel.” She flattened her palms on the table. “Like that last time.”
“I wanted to show off my beautiful woman. If you’d have said no before we left the private area, I would’ve stayed out of the main room.” He leveled his gaze at her. “I expect a partner. You were my best partner.” He hadn’t taught her very well if she thought she was second rate. When they played again—and they would be—he’d show her what he meant.
“You have one. A partner. I saw the demonstration,” she said. “You replaced me.”
“Slow down.” He hadn’t known she was at the club when he’d done the demonstration or he would’ve plucked her from the audience. “Which demo?”
“There’s more than one?”
“I don’t have a permanent sub, so I’m expected to do demonstrations for visitors, for the videos … for people who want to play the voyeur. That’s part of my job at the club.” Not his favorite part and he couldn’t wait to pass the torch to someone else, but he’d tell her that later. She managed to aggravate him like no other. He wanted to stretch her ass across his lap and spank the sass out of her. Then he wanted to kiss her until she collapsed. He wasn’t one to settle down, but she made him think twice. In her own way, she’d broken him.
“I thought we had something.” She turned her cup around. “Now I understand I was just another client.”
“I never said that. Never thought it,” he said. She’d been special from the start. He loved the way she felt in his arms, the way she moaned during a scene, the flicker in her eyes just before she came…
“Then why replace me? Why not tell me how you felt?” she asked. “Or have you come to this realization now that we’re not at the club?”
“First, I didn’t replace you. I don’t have any one sub I play with. The girls in the video are one and done. No sex, just demonstration and go. I haven’t found anyone who can fill your place. I’ve had a couple offers, but they aren’t you.” They shouldn’t be having this conversation in public, but she needed reassurance. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”






Wednesday, 2 May 2018

May Accountability

Emerging out the other side of the depressive fog that's been hanging over me since last autumn, I made the mistake of thinking hard about myself. This is a mistake largely because I'm riddling with self-doubt at the best of times, and the past few months (with a few small exceptions) have not been the best of times. I started analyzing what I'm writing, how I'm writing, whether I can do more as an author, whether I should change my focus, change my habits, change my identity...

(Never let it be said that I am not privately deeply melodramatic).

The main reason for all the worry and overthinking (besides that just being how I roll) is that being a writer is the only thing I've ever wanted, the only ambition I've ever had, and I want to do it as well as I possibly can. I think that requires regular revisiting of where I am, where I want to be, and what I can do to keep moving forward.

And after a few anguished internal debates and a few more books on How To Be A Writer, I realised (late in the game, to be honest), that the best thing I can do for my writing career is what I'm already doing. Write. It sounds ridiculously simply, but sometimes I lose sight of the woods for the trees. That feeling that I need to be marketing myself and my books, that I need to be "on," that my social media needs to be the magical mystic blend of Self Promotion and Self Deprecation to lure people in and sell them my books, that can become all-consuming. And it takes time away from writing.

And frankly, I don't have enough time as it is.

So, May Accountability - I am narrowing my focus. I'm not disappearing from social media. You can still find me on Facebook and Twitter, and I've love to virtually hang out with you and hear about your cute pets. But I'm going to be blogging a lot less. I don't blog much anyway, but I constantly beat myself up about that, and the best way to cut that shit out is to just officially decide not to blog much. I'll still be hosting my fellow authors for their books and posting news about my own books as it comes, but that's about it.

Writing. I'm going slow on Chaos Songs because I've had edits for an Amber Morgan project, and because all that overthinking really interfered with my ability to sit down and write. But I'm really hoping I can finish it by the end of June at the latest (don't hold me to that though). After that, I'm not sure what I'll work on next, but I've decided not to worry about that until Chaos Songs is done anyway. I have more ideas that I know what to do with, and planning too far ahead never works for me.

And finally, I decided to start a newsletter. You can find the sign up link in the blog sidebar. Currently my plan is to use it for announcements and giveaways tied to new releases, but I may also include a serial story (it will have werewolves!) if the interest is there. So feel free to sign up if you're curious and want to stay up-to-date!

Thursday, 26 April 2018

An Impossible romance? Maybe not...

Welcome to Thursday! The end of the week is in sight, and hopefully everyone's having a good one. If so, fantastic! Keep it up. If not, don't worry - this too shall pass. Either way, Allyson Young is here to improve things with her latest release, IMPOSSIBLE. Let's dive in!




Blurb:


Both being extremely independent and familiar with rejection, Celeste Hill and Elliot Godwin have a short but intense time together, something very special.

She heads off to a coveted job, leaving him to puzzle out how he might pursue a connection he’d never dreamed of having. And, despite pursuing her dream, Celeste can’t stop thinking about Elliot and what might have been.

Returning home before he can follow her, she tells him they are pregnant. Impossible. Believing he’s sterile, the reason his wife left him, Elliot is devastated—and lashes out. Celeste flees his cruel words, putting distance between them, and now determined not to name him as the father of their child.

But miracles do happen and men can come to their senses. Elliot follows his heart and Celeste again opens hers for their happily ever after.


Buy Links:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07C1SWBFX
                    http://www.evernightpublishing.com/impossible-by-allyson-young/
                    https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/impossible-26
                    https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/impossible-allyson-young/1128491858?ean=2940155207184




Excerpt:


Knowing the majority of her response was hormone-fueled did nothing to mitigate the meltdown. How hard had she held herself against the news until now, sharing with no one but him? Forgoing the acceptance and excitement of her friends and family… Doing the right thing, notifying the father first. She sobbed and choked until she thought her throat would tear and her lungs collapse, her cheeks raw with the deluge. Her baby… She pressed a hand against her abdomen, whispering a heartfelt reassurance. Not about you, sweetheart. I love you.
It felt like hours but was, in reality, a few short minutes before she wrestled back her composure, albeit as a soggy wreck of exhaustion.
Impossible. She’d sorted out the reasoning—and ensuing rejection—behind his flat comment in short order. But it wasn’t impossible. He was capable regardless of what he believed. The tiny seed in her belly was living proof.
But it didn’t matter. He thought she’d come to him, pregnant with another man’s child, to cadge… She couldn’t bear to think of what he thought of her. His opinion didn’t matter either. Asshole.
Fumbling for a wad of tissues, she mopped up what remained of her makeup and took a shuddering breath, pushing any thought of Elliot Godwin from her head.
A tap on the window drew a muffled shriek as she started, turning to stare at his unwelcome bulk hunched over her little car, his handsome face only inches away. His silvery eyes were narrowed, cold and impenetrable, not at all like the turbulent wash of emotion when he’d been as deep inside her as any man could be in a woman. Planting their child.
As emotionally drained as she was, she couldn’t help the faint shiver of that arousing memory before dispatching it. Stupid hormones.
She eased the window down a notch. “What?”
His gaze took in her face and she knew what he saw. She never cried prettily, but then she rarely cried. Make that never. Tears were for the weak. He would know that.
“Are you all right?”
Like he cared. She was a slut, remember? Well, maybe not—Elliot didn’t judge, at least about consenting adults sexing things up. So, what then? What was a woman called who tried to stick a guy with a kid that wasn’t his? Something far worse in his eyes, for sure.
“I’m fine.” She whirred the window back up and threw the vehicle into gear.
With cautious regard to his proximity, she drove forward and then guided the car back onto the pavement, ignoring his tall form in the mirror.


Author Bio:

Allyson Young lives in cottage country, Manitoba, Canada with her husband and numerous pets. she has always enjoyed the written word, and after reading an erotic romance, quite by mistake, decided to try her hand at penning one.

A best selling Amazon author, a hybrid author, as of December 2017, along with her alter ego and three co-authors, she has published four series and several standalones in contemporary, sci fi, fantasy and suspense genres--50 books in total.

Allyson will write until whatever is inside is satisfied, until the heroes man up and the heroines get what they deserve. Love isn't always sweet, and she favours the darker side of romance.





Monday, 16 April 2018

Beat the Monday blues with Gale Stanley

Happy Monday! Hopefully everyone is fully rested after a great weekend and ready to fling themselves headfirst into the week. And if not, that doesn't matter! You can take it at your own pace, after all. Either way, you're probably looking for something to read, right? Well, Gale Stanley is always here to help!




OFF-LIMITS Sanctuary 1

Heat Rating: SCORCHING
Word Count: 21,584
[Siren Classic ManLove: Erotic Alternative Contemporary Paranormal Romance, shape-shifter, M/M, HEA]

Blurb

When Quinn Hart’s best friend died, he became guardian to the man’s ten-year- old son, Noah Stone. So far, Quinn has been able to conceal the growing attraction he feels for Noah, but now Noah is twenty-two and returning home from college. Honor still holds Quinn back from revealing his true feelings. Their community of bear shifters consider reproduction a priority, and Quinn fears they would never accept a homosexual relationship.

Noah has always hidden his romantic feelings for his guardian, but now he’s a man, and his desire is stronger than ever. Unable to handle his feelings, Noah leaves Oregon for a position in a research facility. But when Noah arrives in New York, he discovers his employer is harvesting bear bile and he’s the new source.

Quinn is determined to find Noah. But can he admit what he really wants before it’s too late?



Excerpt

Home. Noah had forgotten how much he missed the endless expanse of lush green landscape and the sparkling river. And the trees. Especially the trees. When the leaves whispered in the wind, it made Noah’s heart ache. Whoever had named their small town knew that trees were sanctuaries.

But for all that, home wasn’t a place, it was a person—Quinn. Noah could live anywhere with Quinn. But a life with Quinn was as likely as a sharknado ripping through Sanctuary.

Noah moved away from the window and gazed at his reflection. The mirror was wall mounted and speckled in places. The frame matched the wood dresser beneath it. A handknitted brown and tan spread covered the crude pine bed. The room had been decorated on a meager budget, but it was warm and comforting because Quinn had handcrafted all the furniture himself.

Noah’s bedroom hadn’t changed since he was a kid. Yesterday, when he’d first stepped through the door, he’d felt the walls close in on him. As a kid, this room seemed huge, but now that he was a man, he could see how small it really was. It felt surreal like turning back the clock, but not in a bad way. If only he could—

“Where’s the man of the hour?”

The sound of loud voices traveled up the stairs. More guests had arrived for the party. The community was small, but when everyone attended an event, it could be overwhelming. Noah checked his image in the mirror again. He’d already changed shirts several times, and he still wasn’t sure that he liked the blue chambray shirt he’d put on with his khakis. Why am I making such a big deal out of this? He felt like Marcus primping for one of those stupid frat parties. What difference did it make what color shirt he wore? Stop stalling, he told himself. You can’t stay in your room forever.

Noah stood at the top of the stairs. Below, friends and neighbors were chatting excitedly. Noah had nothing to say to them. He would disappoint them. Anxiety made his stomach churn.


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Author Bio and Links


Gale Stanley grew up in Philadelphia PA. She was the kid who always had her nose in a book, her head in the clouds, and her hands on a pad and pencil.
Some things never change.