Killian: I’m a well known singer in a famous indie band, but I’ve been alone for a century, living off others’ pain — until I meet my mates at a concert. Now I’ll have to do everything I can to convince them they are mine, or I’ll die.
Laura: Born and raised in Prenter’s Bottom, North Carolina, I watched the town wage war on homosexuality. As a straight white female, I’ve never been affected by their hatred — until I meet Killian. Now I’ll stand against the entire town — and my husband — to save him.
Barclay: I was raised in a strict religious household by emotionally detached parents. I thought being gay was a sin, until one night of shared passion with Killian and my wife. Now I’m struggling with my sexuality. I’m not sure I can go against the town even to save Killian — and my marriage.
The sensation of crashing back into my body forced me to sit up and take a deep breath. I gasped and tried to slow down my jolting heart. It wasn’t unusual for me to suddenly return to my body once I’d fed. But this… This time it had been almost violent.
I threw back the covers and swung my bare legs to the floor, letting the cold hardwood hit my feet, grounding me. I had been on the mortal plane for generations, but I’m not human. Not completely anyway. I survive by feeding off others. Yeah, I know, it sounds parasitic. Which I guess is accurate.
I moved from the bed and crossed the room to the pack of cigarettes lying on the desk. Nasty habit, smoking — one I didn’t need or particularly like. Since it couldn’t kill me, I used it to bring me back to full awareness after I returned from my astral travels. The scent of sulfur almost overpowered the smell of lit tobacco, and I inhaled the menthol deep into my lungs. Sitting on the edge of the dresser, I took a few more drags of the cigarette before I reached over to turn on the lamp.
Even though I didn’t need the light to see, it showed that my red nail polish was starting to chip. Bollocks. I shrugged and took another inhale of the acrid smoke and held it in while I tried to remember every moment of this last feeding. But my thoughts always strayed back to my first memories of him.
It had been close to a year since I walked through a portal and spied the gorgeous man standing outside a large house. I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve seen many good-looking humans, but something about him drew me. The connection was instant, and I flew toward him, unable to stop the need in my soul to touch him.
Though he wore a suit, I could see the outline of his muscular form. His hair wasn’t red or brown, but a perfect mixture of the two. His full beard and intense caramel eyes begged me to touch him. And I wanted to. I was pure energy at that point, but once I brushed him, there was a rush through my soul like touching a live wire. I threw back my head and let myself feel his innermost needs. They filed against every jagged edge of my cursed being, smoothing me out and filling parts of me that were missing.
I attached to him, not wanting to let him go, picking up bits and pieces of his thoughts and memories. His energy felt so pure and substantial, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to disengage. I looked past him to the small outdoor building where two men kissed and ground against each another, and felt this man’s energy rise steadily. It was almost like taking a shot of tequila. I felt the warmth of his sexual desire spread through me. Awareness of his name seeped into my brain, along with the lust energy I siphoned. Barclay. I wanted to climb inside Barclay’s body and bathe in his essence, but my energy reserve was filling faster than I wanted. I knew I’d unlock when I was full, whether I wanted to or not.
The redhead we watched turned his green eyes toward us. Barclay’s instant shame at his voyeurism pushed me from his aura. The most interesting thing was that I wasn’t sent back to my corporeal form straight away. This hadn’t happened to me before, so I knew it was because he was mine.
Later, when my anima geminae, — soul twin — went back to the house to retrieve an item he’d forgotten, I felt the spike in his desire again and moved behind him to see the men he’d just been meeting with. They were having the hottest sex I’d seen in fucking decades. My energy reserves filled so quickly that I was jerked back to my body. The change was so abrupt that I felt like part of me had been ripped away and left with him. It hurt in so many ways.
I kept going back to him, though. Once I feed on someone, I usually go on to the next person. Sometimes I can stay with one person for multiple feedings, but only if they have the energy to spare.
My vivid imagination combined with my love of reading and sci-fi. As a kid, I spent hours writing stories and poems while listening to my large collection of vinyl record albums.
My goal as an author is to tell stories that help others find enjoyment, or to escape life for a little while. I want the characters in my head to become as real to the reader as they are to me, and I hope they find another heart to settle into. I also want to interact with the people who read my books, because you never know where your next friend will come from.
One night, after a particularly frustrating loss at her favorite game, SexScape, Grace finds herself whooshed away into a cottage belonging to one of SexScape’s most infuriating characters — King Trickster. Only in the flesh, the king isn’t a squat little guy zipping around the game board on a toy motorcycle. He’s full-sized and eager to show her all the delights SexScape has to offer. He even drives a great big hog of a bike. Now she has to figure out how to get past League rules so she can stick around.
Trickster can feel in his bones that Grace is meant to be his partner, but first he has to convince her that everything here — including the delicious sex — is real. Then, she’ll have to prove herself worthy of entry into The League. Will they live sexily ever after?
Grace pounded her fist onto the tabletop hard enough to make her electronic tablet dance. Only one more move, and she could have gained entrance into the Seraglio of Studs — a place where she could review an entire room of hot guys, all ready and eager to fuck her. In her imagination, of course. This was a game, after all.
She’d used her last move, damn it. She needed two more green tiles to finish, and a triangle of three of them sat right in the corner of the screen. Blinking at her. Trolling her, the little bastards.
She glanced at the clock. It read eleven twenty-three. She had work tomorrow and should have been in bed an hour ago if she wanted eight full hours of sleep. But she’d come so close in the game. She’d spent weeks on this level, 1023, and it was going to drive her fucking nuts if she didn’t win it. At least, she only had one life left before SexScape shut her down. Then, she’d have to go to bed, frustrated as all hell. She probably wouldn’t doze off for another hour.
She started up the level again, selected all the weapons she had — a Screaming-O bomb, a vibrator, and a Tube-O-Lube that could slide tiles around without using a move. Then, she hit “play.”
As the tiles dropped down, she scanned the landscape and found lots and lots of green. She ought to get enough of them to win the level easily. To be sure of success, she sat and stared at the screen to spot the best moves.
Whoever had invented SexScape might have spied on her nighttime fantasy life. The artwork included lots of phallic images against a colorful background. Seriously, lots of them. Some were symbolic, requiring a bit of imagination to interpret. Others directly resembled… well… penises, and very nicely shaped ones. All arranged around soft, green grass where one could presumably lie comfortably to enjoy the sweet ministrations of said rigid cocks. Too bad you didn’t find that in the real world. She sighed. Maybe inside the Seraglio of Studs, all that satisfaction really existed, if she ever got there. Or maybe the game would get more graphic so she could at least witness an animated woman enjoying herself.
She mentally calculated where the most green tiles lurked, set her Screaming-O bomb off right in the middle of the cluster, and blasted away. The little suckers vaporized, getting her a third of the way toward her goal. Yes, she’d get it this time, and then she’d be able to sleep. Maybe one of those beautiful cocks would visit her in a dream.
With her fingertip, she slid tiles around, and the green ones fell like snowflakes. She’d found her rhythm, success zinging through her. This was why she’d downloaded SexScape — the feeling she could conquer the world. That and the phallic symbols. Really, who had put this out on the Internet where kids could find it? From time to time, she glanced at the scoreboard to check on how many moves she had left. Ten, then seven, then five, then two. She hit the Tube-O-Lube so she could down another four tiles without the move counting.
Then, she’d hit the last move. She still had the vibrator and only two green tiles to go. Sweet. Those things were toast. After aiming carefully, she fired.
Then, he showed up. The little bastard on his motorcycle — a squat guy with a cape and crown. The game called him King Trickster. She called him King Chaos because he’d ruined more levels for her than she could count. Sure enough, he zipped around the screen, scattering the green tiles to the corners where she’d never get them. At times like this, she could swear she heard him laugh. And he’d ruined everything… again!
“Gah,” she shouted as she gave the tabletop more punishment. “I don’t believe it.”
“You take this too seriously, don’t you think?” a male voice said.
She jumped nearly a foot. “Who are you?”
Only, no one was there. She glanced all around but found nothing but her apartment. The voice had come from right next to her. Or rather, above her. No, more like all around her, as if it lived in the air.
“Okay, now I’m really going nuts,” she said. “Making up voices.”
“You didn’t make me up. You heard me with your own ears,” the voice said.
Still no one there. She sat without moving for several seconds. Total silence answered. No footsteps. No one else even breathing. She could ask the guy to show himself, but did she really want to see him? Or did she want to grab her phone and call the police.
“Here, I’ll do it for you,” he said.
Her tablet lit up, more brightly than usual. And pieces started moving without her touching the board. The green tiles all disappeared from the display, and her score totaled up at the top. She’d not only finished the level, but she’d scored three stars. Or someone had.
“There,” the voice said. “SexScape is all yours.”
Suddenly, darkness swamped her. But she didn’t only lose her vision. She also couldn’t feel anything. She was just floating, as though she’d fallen into one of those sensory deprivation tanks, or at least the way she’d always imagined them. Too fucking weird. Was this the entrance to the Seraglio? Surely, she wasn’t supposed to go through it for real. It was supposed to live in her tablet.
“Don’t worry,” the voice said. “I have you.”
That was supposed to be reassuring? Some disembodied voice shows up in her living room, throws her into nothingness, and then tells her not to worry.
“Who in hell are you?” she asked. “And where am I?”
“As you guessed, this is the tunnel, the entrance to my world. We’re almost there.”
USA Today bestselling author Alice Gaines has published several sensuous and erotic works. She prefers stories that stretch the imagination, highlighting the power of love and sex. Alice has a Ph.D. in psychology from U. C. Berkeley and lives in Oakland, California, with her collection of orchids and her pet corn snake, Casper.
Warning: This title contains explicit sex scenes, BDSM, and anal sex
What’s a person to do when they discover everything they’ve believed is nothing but lies?
I grew up wealthy, a spoiled rich kid some would say, blessed with a natural athletic physique and erotic good looks that could get me into the panties of just about any girl I set my mind to.0
1I wanted … what I wanted.
And that meant one thing: the beautiful brunette from study hall—but she left me high and dry.
Today, I have a heart made of stone. I’m angry, a professed lifelong bachelor, and a sexual sadist.
My soul is a cold river.
Eight years later, she’s back in my life and holding secrets that are ruthless, unforgiveable.
I want to punish her, make her cry, watch her suffer. I want to hate her for what she’s done.
But I want my hands on her.
Mine. All mine.
I simply want … Ava Montgomery.
EXCERPT
I ached for him with such a depth that it was a visceral kind of pain. I wanted his hands on me, touching me everywhere, taking me to that place I’d fantasized about for years.
“It’s your decision, doll.”
“Are you going to tear up my butt? Leave bloody marks on my back? Ruin my nipples? Are you…” My voice faded into silence as I stared at his focused expression that was so sure, so certain, his eyes that sent shimmers down my spine, his body that made me cave with pleasure every time it came near me. Heat flowed through my veins. “Yes. God, yes. I want to know everything. I want you to…”
Before I finished the words that were caught in my throat, his lips were on mine, crushing his mouth against me with a scorching kiss that felt like he was ravenous. His hands twisted fiercely through my hair, my body arching into him as he licked into me, purging deep, kissing me for long minutes like he wanted me more than any one thing in his existence.
I wanted this so badly that it hurt.
His lips fell to the sweet spot just underneath my ear. “You wouldn’t happen to still have that blindfold by any chance?”
Another whimper rose up my throat as I collapsed into his chest, turning to soft liquid and ceding in submission.
Of course, I still had the blindfold. I’d stared at it a dozen times. Fantasized about what it would feel like being bound, in the dark, his hands on me, oblivious to his next move, and if all my daydreams were a reality … or a fool’s paradise.
“Yes,” I breathed, captivated.
“Grab it, kitten. And follow me.”
Blistering heat flooded my core as he trailed kisses across my neck.
“And, Ava,” he added in a hard tone, “before the night ends, my marks will be all over you.”
Lacee Hightower is an American writer and romance novelist, referring to her style as contemporary romance with a nice big pinch of kink. Living in the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex, she describes herself as a foodie that can’t cook, a large lover of fashion and shoes, and an enormous hopeless romantic. Since she was old enough to know what the word meant, she loved the whole concept of romance and happy endings. Even though she has always enjoyed writing, life got in the way and she never really thought of pursuing it seriously until she decided to write her first book after both her children were grown in 2017. Now with a nice glass of wine in hand, or not, she is learning to love bringing the characters in her head to life on paper for those who enjoy peeking into another world.
Almost a decade ago, Marcus Grimes worked as a bodyguard to a man who didn’t deserve the woman he’d had. When she finally left, Marcus vowed to eventually find her and make her his.
The time is now.
Marcus runs into Gabi at a BDSM club, indulging in a different partner every week but never really exploring beyond the mere superficial. She doesn’t remember him, and he convinces her to give him a chance.
All she has to do is open. After leaving an abusive relationship, Gabi moved cities and reinvented herself. Now, she’s confident and capable of playing with any Dom she sees fit without compromising herself or her emotions.
Until she meets Marcus Grimes.
There is something familiar about him, which should have stopped her, but instead spurs her on, and before she realizes it, Marcus is not only opening her body to his exploration, he’s also delving into her heart.
However, when their mutual past comes to light and everything she’s fought for during the last eight years is jeopardized, will she close herself off again or will she give love an opportunity?
Marcus stared at the old photograph on the computer screen. A lean man with cropped brown hair and a smug smile stood next to two women. One, young, with natural blonde hair and a million-dollar grin. She was dressed skimpily and clung to the man like a lifeline. Becky. She’d been drunk that day and wasn’t thoroughly aware of what was going on. After the raid, he’d heard she’d been sent to rehab several states away, but he wasn’t sure what had become of her. On the other side of the man, was a tall woman with a cute, reddish-gold bob. She was too thin and wore a short jean skirt and a crop top. The man held her wrist possessively. The smile on her lips was forced, and her eyes were downcast as if she were afraid to look up.
Gabi.
Marcus had taken the photograph himself, one month before she walked out on Antonio. By that time, he had already decided to do something to help her get out of there.
Her appearance had changed in the last eight years. Her features had softened. She’d gained weight, become curvier, gentler. Sexier. She’d allowed her hair to grow back to its natural color, a rich brown, and her eyes were vivid, sparkling with a desire to fight he’d rarely seen back then. Her nose piercing was gone, and he’d noticed she’d modified the tattoos on her back, but Gabi’s essence hadn’t changed. She was strong, had always been, or else she wouldn’t have withstood Antonio’s abuse. All she had needed back then was a little push to rediscover how wonderful she truly was. Now, she knew it, but she lived on the surface, afraid to dig deeper. He’d change that soon enough. Taking his phone, he reread her text message.
Good night, Sir.
Simple, yet full of meaning. There’d been hesitation on her part, but she’d taken the plunge. She was curious to see if he could deliver what he’d promised. He would. And when he did, he’d make sure she never called another man Sir.
Elyzabeth M. VaLey is a writer of sizzling, sexy romance who firmly believes in happy ever after. From paranormal to contemporary, fantasy, or historical, she enjoys exploring her characters’ darker side and writing stories about tortured heroes, strong heroines, and all that comes between them and their love.
When she’s not writing, she can be found walking in the Spanish countryside with her black Lab, exploring castles, or enjoying some tapas with her friends.
Ridley: My daddy was a biker, and I was definitely Daddy’s girl. When I found out my stepdad had something horrible planned for me, I ran. Straight to the Dixie Reapers. But it wasn’t my daddy’s arms I ended up in. Venom makes me feel safe, and his kisses make me ache for so much more. I want him — all of him — and damn the consequences.
Venom: I hadn’t risen to the rank of VP of the Dixie Reapers MC without getting my hands dirty. I’d been deep in blood and dirty money for over twenty years. But when an angel I hadn’t seen in fourteen years came back into my life, all it took was one look and I was a goner. Now she’s mine, and I’ll do anything to keep her, even if it means starting a war.
Torch (Dixie Reapers MC 2)
Isabella: I was seventeen when my daddy gave me to Torch. He inked me, then watched me walk away. Now I’m back, ready to face whatever fate awaits me. It never occurred to me he’d kiss me so deeply, so passionately I’d be begging for more. He’ll be my first, my last, my only… because I’m his, and he’s never going to let me forget it.
Torch: I’ve kept my distance, watching over the girl I claimed as my own. I know it’s only a matter of time before she comes home. There may be thirty years between us, but fuck if I care what people think. She’s mine, and I’m going take her any way I can, as often as I can, and when I’m done, she’ll never again think of walking out the door. Because she’s done the impossible… she’s claimed the heart of a man who didn’t think he had one. No one’s going to come between us, especially not the man who gave his daughter to me — not even if he has the entire cartel army on his ass.
My heart thundered in my chest as I locked myself in the bathroom off the foyer. The air duct over my head had always carried sounds from the dining room, and I listened in horror as my stepdad and Mr. Montoya discussed me like I was cattle.
“She’ll do,” Mr. Montoya said. “I’ll have fun breaking her in. Once she’s been properly trained, I’m sure she’ll fetch top dollar.”
My stomach pitched, and I nearly threw up.
“Of course, I’d prefer to see all the merchandise before paying our agreed upon price,” Mr. Montoya said. “After dinner, I’ll see exactly what I’m paying for and maybe take her for a test drive.”
“Whatever you need,” my mom said. “This deal is very important to us.”
Holy shit! My own mother was selling me? Shit like this just didn’t happen. Not to girls like me. Yeah, sure, you heard on the news about women being sold overseas to brothels, but to have it brought to own my front door… My hand shook as I slowly turned the knob and let myself out of the bathroom. I removed my heels so I wouldn’t make a sound.
Marta, the housekeeper we’d had since I first moved here, was quietly standing near the front door. Out of sight of the dining room. With a quick glance toward the door that led to where my fate awaited, I dashed to Marta’s side. She handed me my purse and car keys.
“Be safe,” she whispered. “Go straight to your father.”
“Marta, I…”
She shushed me and gave me a tight hug. “I love you like you were my own. I won’t stand by and let this happen to you. Now go, before they realize you’re not coming back.”
“Thank you,” I said fervently, then soundlessly opened the front door and made my escape.
My car, a Mercedes Richard and Mom had bought on my sixteenth birthday, was parked around the side of the house. The engine was quiet, and if I kept my headlights off, no one would even know I was leaving. I slipped behind the wheel and tossed my purse and shoes on the passenger seat. Fastening my seatbelt, I shut the door as softly as I could and started the engine.
The car crept around the fountain and down the driveway. The gate remained open from when Mr. Montoya had arrived, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Once my tires touched the road, I flicked on my headlights and headed for the highway. It was a long-ass drive to Alabama, but except for gas, I wasn’t fucking stopping until I saw my daddy. Mom might have done her best to separate us, but I would always be Daddy’s little girl.
When I’d been on the road for hours, my stomach began to cramp from hunger and my car was almost on empty. I pulled into a small town somewhere in North Florida. After filling my tank, I left the car parked at the gas station and walked across the street to a diner. But what I saw when I stepped through the doors froze me in my tracks. My face was plastered across the TV with a ticker running underneath. Ridley Johnson is reported as being unstable. If seen, contact the police immediately.
I tried to pull my hair forward as much as possible to hide my face and claimed a spot at the back of the diner, where the lighting wasn’t so great. My hands fumbled with my purse, and I quietly counted what was left of my cash. I’d seen enough crime shows to know my credit cards could be traced, so I’d paid cash at the gas station and I’d pay cash for my meal. An older waitress came over, looking dead on her feet.
“What can I get you, doll?”
“A burger and fries with a sweet tea.”
She nodded and scribbled my order down, not even looking at my face once. As she moved away to place my order with the kitchen, some of the tension eased from my shoulders. The place was nearly empty, but I had a close call when a sheriff’s deputy stepped inside. I sat frozen, scared to even breathe, until he picked up his to-go order and went back out to his cruiser.
My meal arrived a few minutes later, and I ate quickly, leaving enough money on the table to cover the bill and a tip. Gathering my purse, I headed back to my car, every nerve in my body on alert for any kind of trouble. I hit the road again and didn’t stop until I’d cleared the panhandle.
The town was shabby, the sidewalks cracked, and the buildings crumbling. I stuck out like a sore thumb, but it was time to change. I stopped to top off my tank at a gas station that was well lit, just in case I got stuck with the car a while longer, and grabbed my backpack from the trunk. In case my family had gotten nosy, I’d hidden it in the spare tire compartment, which meant if I had a flat I was shit out of luck because both the tire and my bag and boots hadn’t fit.
After filling up the car, I stepped into the grimy bathroom and stripped out of my dress and heels. I washed my face in the sink with the harsh soap provided in the dispenser and blotted it dry with the stiffest damn paper towels I’d ever touched. Pulling an elastic from my bag, I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, the long curling mass falling down the center of my back. After I had shimmied into a pair of tight, ripped jeans and put on a black tee with teal swirls and white skulls across the front, I slipped on some socks and the biker boots I’d picked up at a Harley Davidson store.
A smile flashed across my face as I studied my reflection in the cracked mirror. Aside from the golden curls, I didn’t even look like Ridley Johnson anymore. At least, not the Ridley Johnson Mom had molded me to be. I hated that girl and never wanted to be her again. I stuffed my dress and heels in the trash, picked up my bag, and went back out to my car. The guy behind the counter didn’t even look up from his magazine.
Now I just had one more problem. The damn car. There was no way my stepdad had put out that bulletin on me without also telling the cops what I was driving. It was a fucking miracle no one had pulled me over yet. I knew what I was about to do was risky as hell, but so was driving around in this damn Mercedes for another minute.
I’d hung around my dad long enough to know what I was searching for. Our visits might have been few, but he’d always made them count. Mom thought we were taking drives to the park or the beach, but he’d been teaching me about his way of life, and introducing me to some people she wouldn’t have approved of.
I pulled up to a garage on a darkened street corner. A light inside told me someone was around, even if the place wasn’t officially open. My palms were sweating again but I blew out a breath and braced myself. It was time to put the socialite behind me and be every inch my father’s daughter. I pulled the keys from the ignition and boldly walked inside.
“You can’t be here, bitch,” a voice said harshly from deep inside.
“I need to make a trade,” I said.
A man with a leather cut strolled out of the garage, the lighting just good enough that I could read Devil’s Boneyard MC — V.P. — Scratch.
I had no fucking clue if it was a rival club of Dixie Reapers or not and knew I needed to tread carefully. We studied one another, his gaze taking me in from head to toe. Not in an I want to fuck her kind of way, more like he was assessing if I was a threat.
“I have a problem,” I said. “I have a hot car and need someone to take it off my hands. All I need in return is something that will run well enough for me to get a few states away.”
Scratch rubbed his jaw and looked beyond me to the silver Mercedes.
“If you change out the VIN or strip it for parts, you can make a decent amount off it,” I said. “I don’t care what piece of shit you give me in return as long as it gets me where I’m going. I need reliable, not flashy.”
He took in my appearance again. “You know how to ride?”
His question momentarily startled me. “Ride?”
He tipped his head and sauntered back inside the garage. Against my better judgment, I followed. There was an older motorcycle sitting off to the side. The pewter gray tank and fenders had seen better days, but as I circled the bike I saw that it was in pretty decent condition. The Harley emblem, though tarnished, was a welcome surprise. I wasn’t a bike expert by any means, even though Dad had tried, but I thought it was a Harley Soft Tail, which meant it would be light enough for a woman like me to handle. Unlike the big monster my dad rode.
“How well does it run?” I asked.
Scratch walked over to a wall and pulled down a key, tossing it to me. I snatched it midair and straddled the bike. The key turned in the ignition easily enough and I twisted the throttle. The engine rumbled, and a smile spread across my face. God, I’d fucking missed that sound. The thrum of the bike between my legs made me feel like I was coming home. Dad had taught me to ride when I was fourteen, and he’d rented a bike for me every time he’d visited after that, even if I hadn’t been exactly been legal to drive the first few years.
“Even trade?” I asked.
The gaze Scratch gave me said he saw more than I liked, but he nodded.
“I just need to get my stuff from the Mercedes. It’s unlocked,” I said, handing him the car keys.
When I returned with my backpack strapped to me, my purse stuffed inside, he held out some papers to me. I glanced at them and saw it was everything I’d need to make the bike legal when I got to where I was going.
“I don’t know who you belong to, baby girl, or what you’re running from, but you don’t fucking stop until you reach your man.”
“You know who I am,” I said softly.
“Picture’s been all over the news tonight, statewide from what I hear. You don’t appear all that unstable to me, but that family you’re leaving… they’re bad news. Richard Benton III is not a nice man.”
“You know my stepdad?” I asked without thinking.
“Know of him. My crew won’t have anything to do with the shit he’s mixed up in.”
I straddled the bike again and nodded.
“Who taught you to ride? Socialites like you don’t know shit about bikes.”
“I’m not a socialite. I’m a biker’s daughter.” And that was as much as I was going to tell him.
Short. Erotic. Sweet. Harley’s other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place.
Frost Thaw. For werewolves, it’s the most sexually charged night of the year.
Charlie and Luis: Frost Thaw is pack alpha Charlie’s favorite holiday, but this year the ceremonies include incorporating the former Rowan Pack into the Tilthos. Pomp and circumstance. And responsibility — especially for Charlie, pack alpha. Which makes sneaking away just before the festivities begin to find Luis, his mate, all that much sweeter.
Ethan and Jeremy: Ethan’s greeting Jeremy’s ex-lover for the first time. Jeremy knows there’s only one way to convince Ethan he’s the only man Jeremy will ever love…
Garrett and Michael: It’s Garrett and Michael’s one year anniversary, and Garrett has bought Michael the perfect Frost Thaw/anniversary gift — a pair of shiny new handcuffs…
Charlie’s favorite holiday, werewolf-created or human made, was Frost Thaw. But this year’s iteration would be different. Tonight, he would be adding to his pack. The ceremony would be all about incorporating the former Rowan Pack into his pack, the Tilthos pack. Pomp and circumstance. And although there would be time for song and dance throughout the evening, there would be little chance for Charlie to do more than observe. As alpha of the newly increased Tilthos pack, it would be his responsibility to see to it that all the wolves behaved themselves.
So, knowing he wouldn’t be able to truly enjoy himself this evening, he went in search of his mate, Luis, at around one in the afternoon. Technically, both of them should have been at work. But Charlie had called off for “wolf business” and Luis had taken one of his infrequent vacation days for the same. Even though he was a psychic vampire, he was Charlie’s mate. That meant he could claim pack business.
Charlie discovered Luis in their bedroom, stripping.
“Reading my mind?” Charlie asked as he shut the door and locked it.
Luis turned on the stereo and turned it up so the few others in the house wouldn’t hear. “Maybe.” Luis unzipped his fly.
Charlie loved the sound of a zipper. He grinned and went down on his knees before his mate. “I’ve missed tasting you.” And he took almost all of Luis’s thick cock into his mouth.
Luis swayed and moaned, tangling his fingers in Charlie’s short, kinky black hair. “Mm.” He bucked his hips, though gently. “Claim me. Make me yours.”
Charlie smiled as he sat back on his heels. He gave Luis’s glans one last lick, savoring the taste of pre-cum even as the air filled with heady scent made of equal parts chocolate, dark, rich coffee, and Luis’s own scent. The first two aromas were part and parcel of all male psychic vampires, but the third was indescribable bliss.
“Are you just going to stare at me all day?”
“Not staring,” Charlie murmured. “Inhaling.” He grinned when Luis uttered an embarrassed-sounding laugh.
“I’ve never really thought of myself as smelling good. No matter how many times you tell me.”
Charlie stood. “Well, get used to it. You smell like my own private moon garden.” This was a werewolf saying, like “My own corner of heaven.” Charlie had slowly been introducing his mate to all the werewolf sayings. And he shared in Luis’s culture too. He spoke Spanish, specifically Puerto Rican Spanish, but there was so much more than language to share.
Charlie took Luis’s face between his hands and kissed his lover deeply and thoroughly, until they were both breathless and their cocks, Luis’s uncovered and Charlie’s still trapped, seemed to strain toward each other.
Then Charlie stepped back and smiled wolfishly. Hungrily. “Bend over.”
Emily Carrington has been writing m/m erotic romance (specializing in urban fantasy) since 2010. She is currently branching out into the other letters of the LGBTQ rainbow. She lives in Maryland with her guide dog. For short stories about the main and side characters in her books, please visit her website.
Gene Price, former teenage star, has been living the simple life. He’s cut himself off from anyone who knows about him and his former bad reputation. Out of the blue he begins to get death threats. He doesn’t want any part of his past nowadays, but the only one he trusts to find out what’s going on and protect him is Leo, his former bodyguard — the one he’d slept with before he fired him.
Will Leo be wiling to protect Gene? And could he ever be interested in the changed man Gene’s become?
“Been a long time, Leo.” The extra decade looked good on him. He had more muscle — more presence. He wore his suit easily, not like the nervous minder Lane had hired back in the day. There was just enough gray at the temples to make him look distinguished. He’d grown up looking fine.
I found myself rubbing the surgery scar underneath my hair. I thought I’d broken myself of that nervous habit. But I didn’t like the way he was assessing me. Yeah, we both knew the extra decade hadn’t done as much for me. I sure as hell wasn’t the pretty boy people had gone insane for when I was in my teens and early twenties. I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t impressed. It was no more than I expected, and better than the outright disappointment I sometimes got. But it stung a little.
“A long time? Yes.” His voice was deeper now, but he’d talked a little more back then. Smiled a little more.
He wanted to be here even less than I’d wanted to ask for him. My stomach clenched again. What else could I expect? I couldn’t think of anything I’d done then to make him want to see me now. It was too bad that I’d liked him back when I didn’t like anyone much. Since I remembered the way I worked during my glory days, it meant I’d been more of a dick to him than I normally was. And I was a pretty big dick to people.
“I probably should apologize for that long ago time.” My memory was a little spotty, but I remembered a few incidents with him hustling me out of trouble while I did my best to stay back in it. And of course the reason he’d quit.
He looked at me steadily and didn’t say anything.
So I kept talking. “I’m still kind of an asshole, but I like to think my time away from all the glitter has improved my behavior some. People don’t get nearly as pissed off at me now.”
“Death threats usually mean someone is pissed off,” he pointed out.
I took a deep breath. “Well. I suppose there’s that. I was hoping you would tell me not to worry so much about it.”
“Afraid that’s not in my best interest. You hired me and hauled me out here on the tail end of a blizzard because you’ve been worried, and now I’m being paid to worry about it. But whatever. I don’t care about how you feel about these notes as long as you realize I’m in charge of keeping you safe. I’ll do whatever seems necessary.”
“You aren’t much in favor of the customer is always right, are you?” I tried to smile. It wasn’t his words so much as his attitude that stung. I probably had picked the wrong guy for this job.
Strange how disappointing that thought was.
“May I see the originals?” He held out his hand as if I carried the notes next to my heart or something.
I stood up and fumbled in my desk drawer. I didn’t usually use my desk drawers for anything but dumping unwanted mail. I suppose these qualified.
Leo put on reading glasses and set his mouth in an even straighter, grimmer line if that was possible. He read the two of them three times before he looked up.
“They don’t mention why you deserve to die,” he said. “As you say, you’ve been out of the public eye for a decade at least. What have you stirred up recently?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. Seriously. I keep pretty much to routine here. Pay my bills, say hello as needed to the neighbors, feed the dog.”
Leo glanced over at Ozzy, who half-opened his eyes and thumped his tail agreeably. Everyone was Ozzy’s friend. It could be annoying.
“Anything at all?”
I frowned. “I have something in mind, but I haven’t done it yet.”
Leo didn’t say anything. He was good at that.
“Really, the only thing I’ve done recently is start to think about investing in some property near here. There’s talk about rebuilding the only hotel and restaurant within thirty miles. It went out of business a few years ago when the owners retired and sold to some New Yorker who promptly went bankrupt in the middle of trying to make the place look like New York. It could bring in some jobs and money, but I wouldn’t want it done stupidly with some new development company that goes bust. I only got as far as asking Lane to look into pulling out some principal from my savings if I thought it might pan out. But people around here want the hotel back. No one local would be threatening me. Actually, if they did, they’d probably just come after me with a shotgun. There’s plenty of those around here.”
“Nothing else?”
“Jesus. I live by myself and I keep things quiet. Haven’t done television or a movie in years, and paparazzi aren’t likely to track me out here to watch me buy my groceries or split firewood.” My head was starting to hurt. I took a deep breath. “I’m pretty inoffensive nowadays.”
The old landline phone with the loud ring made me jump. I didn’t get a lot of calls.
“Hello?” I relaxed. My most constant caller was Lane and even she kept it to once or twice a month usually. This must be one of those calls.
Yeah, it was her.
“You’re about to have a visitor.” She sounded a little tense.
“Leo is already here. No problem.” Or not much of one. I was already a little twitchy from his presence, but I’d get over it once I got used to someone around.
“I’m glad, but I don’t mean a bodyguard. I suppose I don’t mean a visitor, either.” Lane stopped.
“That clears that up.”
“Don’t take up being a smart-ass again. You don’t have time for it.”
“All right, all right. What the hell is going on?”
“You’re about to have family call on you.”
“What the hell?” I hadn’t spoken to my parents since I turned eighteen and took control of my own money — and sued the hell out of them for taking mine before that. “Head them off!”
“Can’t. Social workers are on your trail.” That’s when I heard the note of real concern. I was in trouble?
“What? I’m way too old for a child care agency and not old enough for senior services.” A little too late, I realized I should have asked Leo to step out of the room.
Treva Harte has always been an overachiever. She also collects things. First it was degrees. First a B.A. in English, then she decided to go back for a Master’s degree. Not content with that, she added a J.D. Since then she’s added a husband, also an attorney, and two children to her collection. She’s continuing her ways as an overachiever, writing her wonderfully offbeat tales of passion and possibilities — in her spare time.
One Woman’s Journey of Self-Discovery and Deliverance
Seeking financial salvation in a lucrative job at a paranormal BDSM club exposes Sadie to a whole new world. She’s at risk of baring her own supernatural secrets, but her back is against the wall. Desperate after her double dealing, low-down, ex-husband left her with a mountain of his debt and an ‘autistic’ son to provide for.
This forty year old, single mom is immediately drawn to the dark and mysterious Masters of Raven’s Keep, a sadistic vampire and voyeuristic spell weaver, but she stubbornly refuses to succumb to their otherworldly magnetism, despite the fact she’s found love and acceptance in their world.
Will Sadie embrace Fate’s plan for her and Masters Anton and Roi or will she use those sexy, Come-F*ck-Me heels to stubbornly walk away from it all?
Audra is a long time resident of the great state of Oklahoma. This fifty-something widow, Mom and Nana has been gifted with a naughty imagination and a driving need to create and share fantastical paranormal tales of action, suspense, adventure, and enough sexy romance to make your kindle sizzle in appreciation.
Luciana — All I’ve known is pain and suffering at the hands of men — even from my father, a man who was supposed to love and protect me. I’ve survived, nothing less and nothing more. When I’m dropped off with a club of bikers, I figure it’s more of the same. I’ll do as I’m told, make sure I please them, and hope one day I’ll find a way to escape. There is only one thing that could ever break me, and I’m scared of what will happen when the club learns my secret. Will they return me to my father? Or will I be used to broker yet another deal?
It never occurred to me the President of Hades Abyss would be my salvation, or that I would fall in love with him. I never knew men could be honorable and kind. He’s all gruff and domineering, but under that rough exterior I can see the heart of gold he tries to hide.
Spider — Assassin Casper VanHorne, Picasso of wet work and pain in my ass, has asked my club to take in two Colombian princesses. Well, he didn’t use the term princesses, but I have no doubt they’ll be spoiled little bitches. The first time I see Luciana and her sister, I think I’ve got them pegged just right — until I look in Luciana’s eyes and see the fear she’s trying to hide. Something isn’t right. I know it deep in my gut.
I never once thought a woman nearly forty years younger than me could ever captivate me, but the more I get to know her, the more Luciana holds me spellbound. I didn’t want to fall in love, didn’t want a woman in my life… but sometimes the Fates know better than a mere mortal man, and Luciana is exactly what I need. When her father demands her return, I vow to keep her safe. No fucking way I’ll let the sick bastards who hurt her get their hands on her again. Now that she’s mine, I’ll march into hell if need be in order to keep her by my side.
WARNING: This book contains bad language, graphic sex, violence, a heroine who has been physically and sexually abused, and an alpha male who will get vengeance at any cost.
“No. The younger one cried a lot. I’ve never questioned the club, or you, Pres, but this doesn’t feel right.”
“Something is strange with this deal for sure, but I don’t know what just yet. In the meantime, treat the girls like guests. Not like club whores. Spread the word to the other Prospects too. These two aren’t a damn thing like what I’d expected.”
He gave a quick nod, then rushed over to the SUV. Rocket led the way, and I sighed as I looked at my house. It had been a nice quiet sanctuary, and now there was a woman inside. A stranger. A girl I’d thought would be entitled and spoiled, but who seemed more scared than anything else. It made me wonder exactly what their father had told them. Or Casper for that matter. Did they have any idea why they were here?
I made my way inside and went straight to the kitchen. I shook my head as I looked at the damn fancy coffeemaker Laken had insisted on giving me this past Christmas. It had taken me weeks to figure the fucking thing out. If I hadn’t been worried about hurting her feelings, I’d have stashed it and just used my simple one with an on/off switch. Who needed all the bells and whistles on a coffeemaker? AlthoughI had to admit being able to set a timer was nice when I had a set schedule in the morning. I liked walking downstairs to a fresh pot of coffee.
I brewed a pot, then sat at the table to enjoy it. I had a feeling I might need something a lot stronger if I was going to tackle the issue of Luciana and Violeta. Had the third girl arrived at the Dixie Reapers’ compound yet? I wondered what Torch thought of all this. I could call and ask, or I could wait for Luciana and ask her myself what the fuck was going on. As fearful as Violeta seemed, and given her odd comment, it made me think things were about to go sideways with this deal.
I finished my cup and poured another. As I reclaimed my seat, Luciana came downstairs, her tread soft on the staircase. She froze in the kitchen doorway when she saw me. I waited, wondering if she’d run the other way or be brave enough to come closer. I had my answer a moment later when she came farther into the room and looked at the coffeepot with longing.
“You can have a cup. They’re in the cupboard over the coffeemaker. I don’t keep creamer, but there’s regular sugar in the canister on the counter and some milk in the fridge.”
She wordlessly walked to the coffeepot and got down a mug. She filled it, then opened the fridge and pulled out the milk, staring at it a moment. Her questioning gaze met mine. Had the kid never seen milk before? Or maybe it was the fact I had to use the watered-down shit.
“I’m an old man, darlin’. I can’t stomach whole milk anymore. Even the two percent is too rough, so I only stock one percent. If you’ll give me a list of things you need, I’ll have someone pick up a few groceries.”
She added the milk to her coffee and put the carton back in the fridge. After looking around the kitchen with confusion etched on her face, I pointed to the drawer next to the stove. She walked over and slid it open, pulling out a spoon. Luciana sat next to me and stirred her coffee.
“Guess it’s a little stressful and weird to leave your home and go somewhere new,” I said.
She just stared at her cup and didn’t say anything, but I noticed her lower lip trembled a bit.
“Your dad probably has a big mansion in Colombia. I know this place isn’t a palace, but hopefully you’ll be comfortable.”
I honestly hadn’t given a shit. Until now. The more I watched her, the more certain I became things weren’t as they seemed. That fucker! Casper hadn’t made a deal with Gomez for his own merit. He’d been trying to get these girls out of Colombia. I just didn’t know why, but I would. And soon. If shit was heading my way, I wanted to be ready.
Luciana sipped her at her coffee and still didn’t say a word. I noticed her body was tense, and her hand shook a little. The girl was scared. Was it because of being somewhere new? Leaving her only home? Or was it something else, something that would likely piss me the fuck off? I shouldn’t have offered to keep her here. Anyone else would have been a better option. Hell, the girls could have shared a room at Rocket’s place, or Luciana could have stayed with Shooter or Knox. Both were a fucking lot younger than me. Maybe she worried I’d try to take advantage? She’d likely be disgusted if I made a move on her, not that I planned on it.
“Luciana, I don’t know what you think of me, and I honestly don’t give a shit. But I can assure you that I don’t take unwilling women, so if you’re worried I’ll force myself on you while you’re here, you’d be wrong.”
She audibly swallowed, and the coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug and onto the table.
“You won’t have to force me. I know my place and what’s expected of me.”
What. The. Absolute. Fuck.
“Come again?” I asked.
She finally met my gaze and held it for longer than a few seconds. “I’ll do as you ask. Do you want me here?”
ABOUT HARLEY WYLDE…
When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place.
A Sure-Fire Cure: Betrayed by a former lover, veterinarian Dean Conlon knows how dangerous love can be. But his attraction to the handsome horse breeder, Scott Whittaker, is immediate and undeniable.
While Dean struggles against his own fears, Scott wages a tempting campaign of seduction. But someone else is in love with Dean and they’ll do whatever it takes, including murder, to claim Dean for their own.
New Year’s Fire: Unless Dean finds a way to mend the breach between his lover and himself, the start of their New Year is going to be anything but happy. Dean hopes to stir the banked embers of their passion and set this New Year’s Eve on fire.
Get it now at Changeling Press or Pre-Order for June 7th at Retailers
Dean woke to a thumping reverberation in his head. Groggily he sat up. A split second of confusion gave way to understanding when he realized he was hearing pounding at the front door instead of suffering some strange, mutant headache. Grabbing his jeans from the chair near the bed where he’d dropped them earlier, he pulled them on, not bothering with briefs. He buttoned a few of the lower buttons while stumbling to the entrance in the dark.
Switching on the living room lights, he unlocked and opened the door to find a tall, broad-shouldered man waiting. Piercing blue eyes captured his from a ruggedly handsome and tanned face that was framed by thick, wavy and swept back sun-bleached hair.
“Doctor Conlon?” The stranger’s voice was firm, deep and demanding.
“Yeah?”
“I’ve got a mare that needs attention. She’s about to drop her first foal, but she’s having trouble.”
“Why didn’t you just call?”
Dean was pinned by that brilliant blue-eyed gaze. “I wasn’t taking the chance that you might put me off. This mare’s valuable, Doc. I don’t want to lose her or the foal.”
“I never ignore calls for help,” Dean answered pointedly. “Let me get the rest of my clothes.” He strode back to the bedroom, quickly finished dressing, then returned to the living room to snatch his car keys out of the ashtray resting on a small side table.
“You won’t need those, I’ll drive.”
Dean glared at the man. “You’ll have to bring me home.”
“Not a problem.”
He saw the determination that sparkled in the man’s eyes and nodded. Wordlessly, he grabbed his medical bag and the pair of boots waiting near it. “Let’s go.”
Following the man out, he secured his door and pocketed his keys. In front of the house stood a fairly new truck, dark and shiny in the glare of the outside light. Dean walked around to the passenger side, climbed in and buckled his seat belt after settling his boots and bag on the floor. He leaned back, closing his eyes. His driver, already in place, started the truck and took off.
Dean took a deep breath, willing his nerves and stomach to calm down. It was disconcerting even under the best of circumstances to be pulled unceremoniously from a sound sleep; his head spun with the tiniest bit of disorientation that always seemed to cling for a few minutes whenever he was abruptly awakened. His body needed time to adjust.
Opening his eyes, his gaze was pulled to the motion of the driver’s hands on the steering wheel. In the glow of the dash lights, Dean watched every move. The hands were large and sinewy, the fingers long, broad and tapered; they looked strong and capable. Dean had a fleeting flash of his dream and felt his belly tighten while a tingle threaded its way down the length of his cock. For one unguarded, sleep-befuddled moment he wondered what it would be like to have those hands gliding over his skin.
He came to with a snap and took himself firmly to task. Dean suddenly realized that he had no idea in whose company he was, or where they were going. Clearing his throat, he managed to rasp out his question. “By the way, who are you?”
“Scott Whittaker. I live about five miles from here, on Westover Road. Don’t know if you’ve been by the place, but I’ve got a few acres and some horses.”
Dean stared. A few acres and some horses? The Whittaker place was large, to say the least. He had no idea exactly how big the spread was, but it was more than just a few acres. The property had rolling hills and flat pasture, all neatly fenced and well groomed. The Whittaker appaloosas were some of the most well known and sought after of the breed, both in the U. S. and abroad. When Dean had bought his veterinary practice from old Dr. Dennison a few months ago, he had read the files left behind, including the Whittaker’s. He had wondered if he’d hear from them, or if they’d take their business elsewhere.
“I’ve been by your place, Mr. Whittaker. You’ve got some beautiful acreage, and from what I’ve seen, some fine-looking horses.”
“Call me Scott.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Scott. You can call me Dean or Doc, I’ll answer to either one.”
“Glad to meet you, too, Dean. Sorry I had to drag you out of bed.”
The rich, low rumble of Scott’s voice traveled over Dean’s nerve endings and made his stomach do another twist. He took a deep, calming breath, only to find it flavored by a subtle scent that intrigued and tickled his nostrils. It was a full-bodied aroma that wove its way into Dean’s nostrils, wafting in to tickle his palate. It smelled faintly of horse, but mostly of man. There was warmth to it and a teasing, almost spicy musk that caused his groin to tighten yet again.
“Not a problem.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kate’s love of books started from the moment she read those fateful words: run, Spot, run! It took her awhile to discover that she didn’t have to just read and imagine, but that she could also write stories and so here she is writing romance and loving it. Like chocolate – her ultimate favorite food, with pizza running a close second – writing became addictive. Whether it’s paranormal, contemporary or science fiction about werewolves, otherworldly creatures or the average Joe, she can’t get enough.
As for the everyday details, Kate lives in a turn of the century house located in the midst of Indiana farm country, and is kept company by family, along with demanding dogs, contrary cats and a pair of occasionally sweet, and definitely noisy, lovebirds. When not writing, she reads, is an enthusiastic grower of iris, and a fanatic fan of Japanese manga and anime.
