Category Archives: Erotic Romance

Tainted Son by Emily Carrington #PNR #UrbanFantasy #LGBT #shifters #GayRomance #NewRelease @changelingpress @CarringtonEmily

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

Biting is central to werewolf society, from discipline to lovemaking, but David is unable to tolerate this most important cultural sharing. When he falls for a wolf who longs to bite him, he must overcome his past or spend the rest of his life alone.

Liam is a werewolf with the ability to change his human guise. He’s always been able to fool others… until he meets David, who not only sees who he really is but how he truly feels. But Liam has a deep craving, something he continually confuses with rage, and this just might drive David away.

 

Get it now at Changeling Press or Pre-Order for June 7th at retailers

 

SNEAK PEEK

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emily Carrington

Liam Abernathy volunteered at the medical clinic on the SearchLight Academy campus three days a week. He’d been given a special dispensation so that his required “work with humans” in his second year was modified. All students had to work with humans during their time at the academy, but Liam was allowed to serve magical creatures as well. This duty, however, was limited to six hours a week, and he’d discovered he really liked helping people. He was even considering changing his major from tracker or negotiator, to possibly medic. That would require extra schooling and he didn’t really like that notion, being filled with restless energy to do something with his life, but the idea of helping people tempted him.

He would have probably decided to pursue a medical career already if it wasn’t for his strange psychic ability. Patients and medics alike didn’t appreciate not knowing who exactly they were talking to and Liam’s ability to shift appearances was off-putting.

Today was Frost Thaw. This morning he had volunteered to work an extra shift because he hated this particular werewolf holiday. It happened every thirteenth of February, just a day before the humans’ Valentine’s Day, and in Liam’s opinion it served an equal purpose. If you were mated to someone, it was a time to exchange gifts and get laid. For everyone else, it was a reminder of what they didn’t have — either never possessed — or had had taken away.

For Liam, it was the latter. He’d moved to the US from England when he was nineteen. Two miserable years ago. His lover, who he’d met while the other werewolf was on holiday in London, had stayed with him a total of three months. Then he’d abandoned Liam. They hadn’t made love, knowing this would mean instant mating under the old laws, and Liam should have taken that as a sign that they weren’t meant to be together. Instead, he’d taken the resistance as the other werewolf’s ability to hold himself in check and show good sense.

As it turned out, he was needed today. He couldn’t quite get a sense of what had happened. The campus was locked down tighter than a drum and everyone was told, via text or over the computer in the case of employees, to stay where they were and not venture outside their buildings. If they were between buildings, they were to get to the security office as quickly as possible, where “your ID can be verified.”

Liam had been working since six that morning. Shortly after sunrise, another text message came to everyone: the threat has been neutralized. Only that.

Apparently, the higher-ups, who usually didn’t bother to explain what was going on, were keeping to their pattern. Maybe half an hour later, the casualties started arriving. Most were brought in on gurneys, but there weren’t enough of those and so wheelchairs were being used.

Assigned to comfort waiting victims or families of the same, Liam felt like he wasn’t much use while every medic on duty and those who could be called went to work.

So, he was hanging around, trying to stay out of the way, when the last of the victims were brought in. All of these were ambulatory, shock in their eyes but not too much damage done to their bodies. They were arranged in three rows of chairs and told to wait. Many of those who had been so unceremoniously seated began to talk among themselves. Some were grumbling about being required to sit when there was nothing wrong with them. Others were venting about not being able to keep comforting the ones who had been hurt.

Liam approached, thinking to soothe their nerves. Instead, he caught the scent of blood and followed his nose to where another werewolf sat sandwiched between a dragon of some sort and someone who smelled half Fae. The werewolf’s shirt was torn to expose one arm over the elbow joint. Like all the other walking victims, he’d been wearing something around his neck that left bruises.

Liam crouched in front of him. “Hi there,” he murmured, catching the werewolf’s gaze. “What’s your name?”

“David Holstein.” He looked away. “I’m fine.” He flushed, probably because he’d realized Liam was a werewolf too and could smell a lie. “Not badly hurt.”

That was true, but there were different kinds of hurt.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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.

More from Emily at Changeling Press…

Website: http://emilycarrington.com

Blog:http://goodreads.com/author/show/4619715.Emily_Carrington

 

Master of Fate by Angela Knight #DarkFantasy #PNR #interracial #shifters #vampires #NewRelease @changeilngpress

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight

ABOUT THE BOOK

Davon Fredericks is on a self-appointed mission to keep Mad Alys sane. And that job’s never been harder.

Alys Hawkwood is the most powerful seer among the witches of the Magekind. She’s seen a lot of horrors in her visions, but this is the worst: the destruction of the Magekind. The only way to prevent the deaths of everyone she cares about is to allow their worst enemy to kidnap her. Her only hope of rescue is her vampire partner, Davon — the man she loves — and the one she can never have.

To carry out her plan and save them all, Davon must pull off the impossible: take on a dragon and countless alien enemies alone. But his most deadly opponent is Alys herself…

 

Available now at Changeling Press or Pre-Order for June 7th at retailers

SNEAK PEEK

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Angela Knight

Davon Fredericks watched the rich crimson liquid swirl in the cut crystal glass as he rotated his wrist. The roots of his fangs ached.

He took a sip, and the taste exploded on his tongue, sending a jolt of magic lancing the length of his spine. Heat streamed into his groin at the flavor, the scent, the sheer, erotic essence of Alys Hawkwood’s blood.

His gaze slid over to her as she sat next to him on the dark tufted leather of the couch, watching Netflix on an enchanted tablet. Alys looked barely twenty — quite a trick for someone born when Shakespeare was writing Hamlet.

Twelve years ago, if someone had told Davon he’d be partners with an Elizabethan, he’d have put that idiot on a psych hold. He’d considered himself a thoroughly rational man, a believer in science and logic. He’d had to be. He was a twenty-first century African American trauma surgeon in Chicago, a city where it wasn’t easy to be either black or a doctor. He hadn’t had time for woo-woo crap — until a witch offered him the chance to become a vampire and save humanity.

Now here he was, immortal partner to another beautiful witch.

And Alys was beautiful.

Her skin was a couple of shades lighter than his own deep bronze, since she was the daughter of an African vampire father and a Caucasian witch. Her lean, muscled body was a product of centuries of fighting for the survival of humanity — and a tendency to forget to eat unless Davon nagged her.

A riot of gleaming midnight curls sprang from her elegant head, framing a delicate, angular face. Huge eyes of a deep cinnamon brown balanced the swoop of her wide nose and the lush curve of her mouth. Soft, vulnerable lips parted as she laughed at something on her screen, showing the white edges of her teeth.

God, Davon hungered for that mouth. He’d wanted to kiss her the first time he met her, and he still wanted it ten years later. And he wanted to taste a lot more than her mouth, starting with the smooth length of those golden thighs, only partially concealed by a tiny pair of yellow shorts. A matching silk shirt bloused over her pretty breasts, drawing his attention to the hard nipples tenting the thin fabric.

Davon’s fangs gave another throbbing pulse as his cock hardened. Yeah, no.
He dragged his gaze away by sheer force of will, focusing his attention on the oak wainscoting that ran around the house’s library. That section of paneling was intricately carved with magical symbols designed to amplify Alys’s magic. Though they’d shared the big Tudor-style mansion for ten years, he was still finding new flourishes in the decor.

Whenever Alys felt anxious, she conjured something beautiful. The unicorn tapestry that covered one of the library walls had appeared following the last battle with King Bres. Davon’s near death at the hands of a troll had resulted in a stained-glass portrait of Merlin. He suspected every statue, rug, and carved ceiling beam in the house owed its existence to post-battle anxiety.

The whole place was the three-dimensional equivalent of Pinterest page therapy — lovely, whimsical — and ever so slightly OCD.

Aaand his erection had finally deflated, thank God. He blew out a breath in relief. He and Alys didn’t have that kind of fuckbuddy partnership. Damn it.

Mostly to keep his mind off his dick, he asked, “Any word on what Bres is up to?” Nothing could kill an erotic mood quite like a magic-using psychotic who wanted all humans dead.

Alys looked up, intelligence burning like a flame in cinnamon eyes. “The Fomorians have gone quiet. I have a feeling he’s up to som…” Her voice trailed off.

What looked like a wave of ink flooded Alys’s sclera and irises, drowning her eyes in black. Points of light burst against the darkness, stars igniting in the eternal night. Oh, hell. She was having a vision.

Though his heart had begun to pound, Davon didn’t move, didn’t do anything to interrupt. Alys was the most powerful seer among the Magekind’s witches. They all got flashes of the future, but no one else saw as clearly. More importantly, she could often predict how to avoid a horrific future, a talent not even Morgana Le Fay had.

So no, you didn’t interrupt one of Alys’s visions.

Not that what she learned was always welcome. Sometimes preventing one ugly future would trigger something even worse, so they couldn’t do a damn thing.

Which didn’t do a lot for her mental state. There was a reason they called her Mad Alys. Davon’s mission in life was making sure that shitty nickname didn’t become a reality.

He watched her expression, trying to determine whether this one was going to be another one of those situations. At least there were no flickers of terror and despair on her face, though the tightening line of her jaw suggested growing anger.

A kid must be involved in this. Nothing pissed Alys off like some asshole hurting a child. Often the asshole in question ended up very, very dead by the time she and Davon finished teaching him the error of his ways.

The blackness drained from Alys’s eyes as if someone had pulled a stopper in her skull, revealing her normal irises. She blinked at him, her gaze a little confused.

“Alys?” he asked.

The vague air vanished as her eyes snapped into focus. “We’ve got a mission.” Surging off the couch as if she’d been launched from a catapult, the Maja flung her arms wide.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times best-selling author Angela Knight’s first book was written in pencil and illustrated in crayon; she was nine years old at the time. A few years later, she read The Wolf and the Dove and fell in love with romance. In addition to her fiction work, Angela’s publishing career includes a stint as a comic book writer and ten years as a newspaper reporter. Several of her stories have won South Carolina Press Association awards. Angela lives in South Carolina with her husband, Michael, a detective with the Spartanburg PD.

More from Angela at Changeling Press…

 

 

Soft Granite by Megan Slayer #PNR #GayRomance #LGBT #Fantasy #NewRelease @MeganSlayer @evernightpub

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Soft Granite by Megan Slayer

Contemporary Paranormal Gay Romance

From Evernight Publishing

 

Celestial Mates, 5

What happens when the curse goes wrong, but the outcome is all right?

Ryan Rourke wasn’t looking for love when he sat at the foot of the statue, Michael Emerging. The inanimate object listens and he could swear there’s someone beneath the granite. One night he gives into his desire and kisses the statue. It won’t hurt anything, right? It’s just a granite statue—except there’s a soul in the cold rock.

Indio fell in love with Ryan the moment the shy college junior spoke to him the first time. The tenderness, warmth, and sense of humor were everything Indio wanted—if he weren’t trapped in granite. The attraction is stronger than he ever thought possible. Can Ryan’s kiss free him forever? Or will the power of Zeus and the majesty of the curse be too much to overcome? If Indio has his way, he will get his man.

 

Available wherever ebooks are sold!

Evernight Publishing

Universal Link

Amazon US

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

 

 

Excerpt:

Ryan followed Indio into the building. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what had happened. Indio was real. He glanced back at the empty platform. He’d seen Indio walk off the stone slab and his skin turn from harsh gray to pale peach. If Ryan believed what he’d seen, then the curse story was possible.

He walked into the first life drawing room. Indio darted ahead and snagged one of the robes the models wore between stints posing nude.

Although he should be on his guard, Ryan swept his gaze over Indio’s nude form. For a man who’d spent time in stone, he was still toned. A bit pale, but if he’d been out of the sun, he would be pasty. His inky black hair curled over his forehead. When he glanced back at Ryan, his icy blue eyes sparkled. He strode with purpose, but not swagger. His velvety voice slid down Ryan’s spine and Ryan longed to grab his tight ass. Ryan wanted to gawk at Indio’s package, but also didn’t want to look too eager.

Indio covered his nudity in a robe. “Where do you want to start? I’ll explain everything.”

“I’d like to start by undressing you and licking my way all over your body,” Ryan blurted. Shit. He’d said that out loud.

“For a man who seemed afraid of me, you’re forward. I like it.” Indio sat on one of the drawing benches. “When I convince you I’m real, we will kiss again. You’re a good kisser.”

Convince? He could see a real man who’d stepped out of a statue. There was no need to prove what he’d seen. Still, he should apologize for what he’d said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”

“I don’t mind. I want to kiss and explore you, too.” Indio grinned. “I’ve learned if I want someone, I need to be honest and go for him.”

“You want me? Or someone else?” He needed to stop talking.

“I do.”

 

About Megan Slayer:

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library. Find out more about Megan and Wendi at: http://wendizwaduk.com/indexMegan.htm Sign up for the newsletter here: http://ymlp.com/xgjmjumygmgj

Website, Blog, Fan Page, Amazon Author Page, Bookbub, Instagram, Goodreads, and Twitter

 

 

Beautiful Disasters by Willa Okati #boxset #GayRomance #secondedition @changelingpress @willa_okati

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Two wrongs don’t usually make a right. But sometimes — if you’re lucky — against all odds, they do.

A Beautiful Disaster: After being betrayed and abused by an ex-lover, Sean has learned not to give his heart away. But he can’t help wishing he could trust gentle-hearted tattoo artist Riordan…

Enough To Let You Go: Paul loves his simple country life. Problem is he’s in love with Max, who’s got his nose pointed toward London. Paul loves Max enough to let Max go… Now they’ll have to love each other enough to find their way back.

Make a Right: Tuck would take care of the world if the world would let him. Even on the edge of a breakup with Cade he can’t give up hope for their future. Cade knows their one chance at a reconciliation is giving up his secrets, but can he find the courage to take the risk?

 

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Willa Okati
Excerpt from A Beautiful Disaster

The crowds didn’t part easily for Riordan. He’d been gone for far too long from a place he used to know well, and some wanted to talk, some wanted to stare, and some whispered behind their hands or in one another’s ears as he passed them by. Riordan let it all slide off his back. Either they knew and they were cool, or they didn’t and they would or wouldn’t be. As long as he didn’t lose track of the man in black, it worked for him.

“Rio.” Mare leaned over the bar for a kiss on the cheek. He knew better than to try anything like tousling her hair, or he’d draw back a bloody stump. “Everything good?”

Riordan was close enough to the slight dark man to get a sense of his aura and to see him sneaking — in the mirror when he thought Riordan wasn’t looking — glimpses and glances here and there, like an edgy cat creeping close to the demarcation of shadow between his hiding place and the rest of the world. One wrong word, and he’d bolt for sure.

Mare showed Riordan her wrist. “What do you think?” She’d had a watch tattooed on, the long and short hands set to five minutes past last call. “Yeah, it’s as subtle as a brick to the face. Whatever. Got it done when I was in Miami. What do you think? Decent work?”

He took Mare’s hand and turned it to and fro. “More than.” Her artist had used light and shadow to give the watch an almost three-dimensional look, and when she turned her wrist, it cast the illusion of moving time. “Give me the artist’s name later, would you?”

The man in black hunched his shoulders tighter, almost at his ears now. Riordan nodded once at the guy and raised an eyebrow at Mare. She met and matched him and held up both hands, palms out. “You want your usual?”

“Thanks.” Riordan could sense the tension gathering. Never mind a wrong word. If he didn’t take care, this one might break and run, hurrying out and away, and Riordan couldn’t let that happen again.

Riordan tapped his glass against the dark man’s. The dark man flinched, an exaggerated startle response. The corners of Riordan’s mouth crimped in an empathetic frown. Whoever this was, he didn’t need scars to tell his story. Life hadn’t treated him well, and this one needed handling with care.

That was the interesting part. People who came to the Blind Tiger knew what they wanted. Riordan didn’t think this man did.

Riordan had the man’s attention, though. That was something at least. He liked having that intense blue focus fixed on him, shining through the sweep of black hair. “I’m Riordan,” he said, leaving his glass kissing rims with its mate. “I’d ask if we’ve met before, but I already know the answer.” He held out his hand and waited to see if the man would take it, and if he’d hear the stranger’s name.

The dark man’s hand was dry and rough with scar tissue. “Sean,” he said, barely moving his lips. Still, it was a start, and Riordan had done more with less. “I’m Sean.”

* * *

Riordan. The name fit him. Different. Not outlandish. He wasn’t wearing his scrubs tonight, but a casual shirt and soft-washed jeans instead. His hand was long and firm. A few calluses. Only a few. Strong fingers. They were so gentle on his that Sean clenched his tighter, wanting to slap the blond.

Sean took his hand back and wrapped it around his almost untouched beer. The bitterly yeasty smell made him want to sneeze, but instead he closed his eyes and drank. The hops and barley were too strong for him by far, thick and sticky on his tongue.

He could feel Riordan watching.

He looks at me as if he likes what he sees. That’s not — I don’t — Sean drank again and wiped his mouth with his fingertips. “You don’t look like a nurse when you’re out of uniform.”

Riordan let out a small, surprised laugh.

Sean tensed. “What’s so funny?”

“I didn’t expect a baritone.”

Sean touched his throat. “Oh.” He’d forgotten. No one commented on his voice. “I can’t sing.”

“Neither can I.” Riordan eased onto the empty bar stool beside him. “I am a nurse, actually. A good one.”

“With those tattoos?” Sean drank. He flexed his empty hand. “I’ve seen enough hospital staff to — I’ve met a lot of nurses. They weren’t tattooed.”

“Maybe not where you could see the ink. I’ve met plenty of nurses with body art, and I am a nurse. I work every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and weekends if they need me. Other times too.” He shifted to show Sean a pager clipped to his belt. “See?” He had a lean waist and strong thighs. He moved with a sort of confidence, as if certain his body wouldn’t ever betray him. He probably hadn’t known a sick day in his life. “I have two jobs. One as a nurse and one as an artist. They go together better than you’d think.”

The itch between his shoulder blades would drive Sean mad. A drop of sweat rolled from below his nape to the small of his waist and down. He’d almost finished his glass. When had that happened?

“Hey.” Riordan’s hand settled on his. “Are you all right?”

Sean’s hand spasmed and flexed.

Riordan didn’t let go. He left his hand right where it was. Testing.

He wants me.

Sean’s ears rang in the echo of the thought. Him. He wants me.

“Sean.” He was about to let go. He was warm, so warm, so close. The bar stools weren’t spaced far apart. The lines of his arm, his torso, his thigh, all were inches from aligning with Sean’s.

He touched Sean’s back. Lightly. Over the deepest of the scars from Leo’s belt. Leo loved using the belt because he’d known Sean would cover himself from head to toe, and the marks wouldn’t show.

Can’t let him see. If he sees, he’ll know, and if he knows, he’ll —

“Okay.” Riordan held his hands up, palms out. No threat there. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I forget some people don’t like being touched.”

Don’t like being — Sean choked off a bark of laughter and swallowed the rest of his beer. The dregs went down almost too thick to swallow. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t stop.”

“Are you sure about that?” Riordan laid his hand on the bar, palm up, forming a cup. His nails were cut close and kept trimmed neatly. His hair curled at the ends where it brushed the tops of his shoulders. If he didn’t have a dusting of dark blond stubble, Sean could have described him as pretty too.

Or not. Pretty wasn’t a strong enough word. Riordan was beautiful up close, not just at a distance. His eyes were variegated hazel, mostly green until seen from inches away, and then they had starbursts of amber and brown surrounding the dilating pupils. His lips were just lips, not too firm or too full or too thin, but the marks at their sides showed he smiled more often than he didn’t. He couldn’t be older than Sean but had crow’s-feet starting at the corners of those eyes.

Sean couldn’t form words, but he made himself nod.

“Then what should I do?” Riordan asked after three beats, or more, of silence. He spoke carefully. Too much so. Treating Sean as if he were made of spun glass and he’d shatter if he were hit —

Sean’s grip tightened on his empty glass.

“Don’t be gentle,” he said. He sounded to himself as if he’d already cracked. Sharp edges and twisting points. “I know what I came here for. I know what you came here for. You can have it. Me. If you’re not gentle. If you are, I’ll walk away, I swear to God.”

He turned his head and tipped it back to drain the shot glass. His heart pounded in his ears. Why? He didn’t know why. Only that if Riordan was kind, kinder than this, Sean really would lose it and he’d never be able to try again, and —

Riordan watched him. He was one of those guys who took his time when Sean didn’t want time. At least he didn’t try to pet or pat him. He might pity Sean, but as long as he kept it on the inside that would be okay.

He swallowed his shot, motion fluid, and covered the top with a ten-dollar bill. “Okay,” he said. Sean couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Good. He didn’t want to. “Not here.” He slipped off the bar stool and didn’t offer Sean a hand down. Only waited for him to climb on his own. “I don’t live far. Will you come?”

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

or Pre-Order for May 31st at Online Retailers

   

Also available in Paperback

 

 

More books from Willa Okati at Changeling Press…

 

Willa Okati is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, and a lifelong love of storytelling. She is definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

You can reach Willa at willaokati@gmail.com.

Join Willa on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/willa.okati.

 

 

Without You by Ana Raine #BDSM #GayRomance #NewAdult @changelingpress

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

Maxwell is kind, hardworking, loyal… and six years older than Bennett. When they met, Bennett was just a kid with a childish infatuation for his mentor. But now Bennett’s an adult, with adult desires. And he’s waited long enough.

Bennett’s worked hard at becoming the man he is. He owes Max — Max is the reason he’s not just another spoiled rich kid. He’s the reason Bennett has a conscience, a sense of self-worth, and doesn’t slip every single thing he thinks he wants into his pockets without paying for it. But now Bennett must figure out what he’s given Max, if anything. And if he’s too late to try for the one thing he really wants — Max’s heart.

 

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Ana Raine

No one saw him the way I did. Fingers were more than just attached digits from his shapely hands, but instruments that drew pleasure with every movement. When he had nothing, absolutely nothing, he had those fingers. And I envied him.
For all my apparent wealth, I was not bestowed with what he possessed: talent.

How I longed for those fingers to touch my skin the way I knew he wanted to, the way I knew he’d imagined all those nights I had stayed over. But he was a good man, a patient man.

By some small miracle I had recorded his latest melody on my phone when he thought he was alone. The used upright piano his mother had left behind was far too memorable an image for his father to cope with. Maxwell had lovingly ditched his tools and half-worked-on cars to claim the garage space as the piano’s new home.

There was a padlock on the sliding double doors, but I knew he was more worried others would discover he played than that his piano would be vandalized. The kind of crowd he ran in was fiercely loyal, but proud and gritty to a fault.

Considering we lived in a district where some kids rolled in with new Audis when others couldn’t afford shoes, income really served as a divide. His crowd was fight or die. Mine was worried about where to vacation overseas.

It was unfair. It was wrong. And it was the exact reason he wouldn’t take me.
That, and the fact he was six years older, but considering we’d met years ago, when I was just a kid, I could have cared less.

A knock at the door to my en suite interrupted my thoughts and annoyed me because now I had to pause his song. I was careful, very careful, when it came to concealing my feelings, lest they blame a twenty-five-year-old man for diverting my interests. But sometimes, most times, all I wanted was to blow caution to the wind and confess my love for all to see.

“Mr. Hamel.” The knock was polite, ever so practiced with patience. “A package for you.”

I leapt off the bed and practically tore the door from its hinges in my haste. My father’s assistant, Joe, wasn’t the least fazed. He wore casual clothes, jeans and a T-shirt, because even though there were other wealthy families in the area, my parents weren’t overly ostentatious.

“Thanks, and we’ve gone over this. Just Bennett.”

He smiled, his yellowed teeth showing his age, although his eyes were youthful. How many times this man had kept my secrets, I couldn’t be sure, but it was enough that I considered him more of a friend than an employee. My mother felt the same.

My father… well, he didn’t even think kindly of me most days.

“Yes, but we can’t have anyone thinking we’re up to something.” He laughed, passing off the package and straightening the print tie on his black and white T-shirt as though it were detached. “I wasn’t aware you wore Vans?”

I didn’t. Just like I didn’t like “everything” bagels, obscure poetry, and pieces of music that took me so long to transcribe I felt like my hand was going to detach.

“I’m developing a liking.” When the package was in my hands, I felt a strange sense of excitement. Now I had a reason to go see Max. “Thanks.”

“Your mother is dining with the Goldbergs and your father is on his way there after work.”

“Perfect.”

The estate was so large that if I didn’t want to see them for days, I didn’t need to. But knowing they wouldn’t be home and question which friend I was seeing meant I could make it around the lake unnoticed.

Just past the gated community was a dirt road that circled around one of the larger lakes in our township. After I followed it for a few moments, I spilled out into a series of roads that took me either into the downtown area or to the part clouded with obvious disparity.

That’s where I’d find him.

I’d long gotten over the looks my Audi received when I passed the twin lakes to the bar and grill overlooking a small dock, but sometimes I still noticed. I checked my phone just to make sure, but at this time of day, Max was sure to be there. And as pathetic as it was, seeing him was all I cared about. Everyone else could bury their opinions the way they buried happiness and light. He was the one who had saved me, and that meant more than what would happen if my friends knew the truth.

Jean’s BBQ was quiet during the day, but at night during the summer, when the jazz band played outside, it was louder than anything in Twin Lakes. I parked my car and tucked the package in the crook of my arm, as good an excuse as any to be here. It wasn’t even two yet, so if I had any luck, then there wouldn’t be much of a crowd.

“Hey, Bennett, are you here to see Max?”

Josie was a sweetheart, but unfortunately she’d hated school with a passion. So while I’d prepped for the Ivy Leagues, she’d put in job applications. I always made sure to tip her well on nights when I sat and tried to stay out of his way.

“Yes, is he here?”

“In his office.”

Another patron came in at that moment. Finally, some luck. “I can get there.” I smiled, already headed to the stairs leading to a private small office and an outdoor patio overlooking the lake.

She looked like she wanted to stop me, but she was needed at the front and I wasn’t going to listen anyway. They called me his stalker, and sometimes I thought they were right. I knew Maxwell was fully aware of my following him and, had I really been a bother, all he’d have to do is tell me to stop.

So, happy with the knowledge I was going to be seeing him for the first time in days, I bound up the steps with my offering. I heard him talking and at first I thought he was on the phone, but then I heard his friend’s voice.

Logan was obnoxious to me, which drove me crazy because I knew when he was with their friends, he was kind. If he were nicer to me, maybe we wouldn’t divide Maxwell’s loyalty so often.

I didn’t want to interrupt, I really didn’t, but like the irritating insect I was, I wanted to buzz around Maxwell. I smoothed down my hair and knocked.

There was a pause and then, “Come in.”

Logan sighed heavily. “And here’s your bitch.”

“Logan,” Maxwell said in warning before turning to me. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

He never asked me why I was there; he already knew.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

or Pre-Order for May 31st at Online Retailers

   

 

 

More books from Ana Raine at Changeling Press…

 

Ana is still figuring out what she wants to do with her life, although social work seems to be the most likely. Her best friends are a box of chocolate and her kitten who always sit beside her while she writes. When Ana was in high school, she often wrote about the LGBT community, but now her work is less…innocent. Ana enjoys writing anything and everything, including BDSM, dragons, shifters, magic, and more.

 

 

 

Don’t Fear the Reaper by Dahlia Rose #DarkFantasy #PNR #interracial @changelingpress

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Calliope thought she knew death. She sees it every day in her job and feels it around her. Who knew when she called to that presence it would appear in the form of Arius?

The connection they make is almost instantaneous. She kisses him on impulse, but she falls in love with him because that’s how her heart works. Teaching a reaper about life might seem strange to others, but Calliope accepts the responsibility willingly. But at the end of their time, he will leave, and Calliope will be forever changed.

Arius’s destiny is to take the scythe of his father and become the Angel of Death. But the woman who can feel his presence piques his interest, and he gives in to curiosity. He thought he knew his purpose — that he was created to be a caretaker of the souls who cross over, and nothing more.

Being with Calliope changes everything and tips his world on its axis. Now he questions his destiny, especially when he longs to be with her. The short time they have together might not be enough, for when the bell tolls, the new Angel of Death must answer.

 

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Dahlia Rose

Calliope slept well knowing that she helped others on their journey, and she’d found her calling in life. She was intuitive, one of the gifts she’d honed growing up. She had gifts for empathy and healing, but nothing she knew could save her patients. When Calliope was at home, she knew in this world she was very alone.

But lately, she’d sensed something more, a change in the ether when one of her patients passed. There was a presence in the room, one she’d never felt before. It didn’t scare her. Far from it — Calliope was more curious than anything else.

That was, until she felt that same presence at her home. Now she was almost hesitant to open the door of her little flourmill house in McAddenville, Georgia. Usually when she got home she would eat and watch some television before taking care of her online class work. It was her way to de-stress and think about something other than death — and at night, she would sleep deeply until her sixth sense prodded her awake. That was when she knew something watched her in her house. Sage didn’t help, and neither did crystals at the door. None of the methods her aunt had taught her to keep her home cleansed did anything.

Either way, she followed her routine — shower, food, TV while her laptop sat in her lap — and tried not to think. Finally, the nightshift buzz wore down and she yawned. After setting things aside, she went to her bedroom and made sure no light would come through the shades. Thank God I’m off for the next two days, she thought as she climbed under her soft covers. Her weighted blanket was like a secure hug that made her feel comforted. From the time her head hit the pillow, Calliope was asleep.

And just like clockwork, a few hours later, her eyes popped open, sleep instantly gone. The presence was there. She could feel it ripple through the ether of the room. The air was thick with it, even as her central air ran silently.

Enough is enough, Calliope thought angrily, and she sat up in bed. “Show yourself. Why are you here?”

Silence. But still she felt it. Calliope closed her eyes, opened her senses and reached out. The quiet only irritated her more. Her sleep pattern was being affected and by God, she would have her answers.

“I feel you,” Calliope said as gently as possible as she got out of bed, hoping the new tactic would lead to results. “I don’t want to harm you. I just need to know why you’re here in my house.”

Zippo.

Calliope stomped her foot. “Answer me right now or I swear to all that is holy that I will get a herd of priests in here to exorcise your ass.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. The dimness of the room didn’t matter. It was there, close to the window. The air seemed to shimmer and fold in soft waves while Calliope held her breath. Did she really want to see what would appear in her bedroom? Her mind screamed run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She saw a body form from the feet to the shoulders, slowly. Calliope moved away and the backs of her knees hit the footboard of her bed. There was a head now and, hell, trying to run wasn’t an option for something that could appear at will. Instead, she scrambled back into bed until her back slammed against the headboard.

A man stood by her doorway now, and his dark eyes assessed her. He didn’t smile. His mouth was a firm line on a rugged jaw line that held a hint of stubble. He had dark curls that fell to the collar of his shirt. He wore all black down to the silk tie around his neck. Everything about him was dark including the look on his face, and her heart raced in fright and excitement all at once. She wasn’t crazy; there was someone… something there.

“Who are you?” Calliope asked.

“I thought you knew me. You sensed me, requested my presence, for your patients,” he answered. The tone was deep but soft and held a note of curiosity. “How is it that you can sense me?”

Calliope shrugged. “I can sense lots of things; it depends on who you are. I don’t recall you as a patient of mine.”

A small smile and then it was gone. “No, not a patient, but I have seen you with them.”

“A family member?” she asked.

“No.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Then who?” Calliope asked in frustration “And how are you dead and talking to me?”

“Because I am death itself,” he answered. “Or one of them.”

She furrowed her brow. “You’re… you’re a grim reaper?”

“A reaper is fine,” he answered. “I don’t understand why grim was ever added to the title. To some, death is a blessing.”

“Holy shit,” Calliope breathed out.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

or Pre-Order for May 31st at Online Retailers

   

 

 

Find more titles by Dahlia Rose at Changeling Press…

 

USA Today Best Selling author Dahlia Rose writes contemporary and paranormal romance with a hint of Caribbean spice. She was born and raised on a Caribbean island and now currently lives in Charlotte, NC with her five kids who she affectionately nicknamed “The children of the corn” and her biggest supporter/long time love. She has a love of erotica, dark fantasy, Sci-fi and the things that go bump in the night. Books and writing are her biggest passion and she hopes to open your imagination to the unknown between the pages of her books.

 

Through Roscoe’s Eyes by Kory Steed #GayRomance #NewRelease #Contemporary @KorySteed ‏ @evernightpub

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Through Roscoe’s Eyes

What people are saying about Through Roscoe’s Eyes:

“Kory Steed’s new book, Through Roscoe’s Eyes, is a tear-jerker with a very happy ending. If you love your pets, you’ll love this novel, because I think the animals stole the show in it.”

“You don’t want to miss this bestseller.”

“Check out this great title from this gifted author!”

Overview:

When Reggie sets out to continue his mother’s mission to feed the homeless, he never anticipated how much a chance encounter with an injured man, his small, gaunt dog, Roscoe, and sick, young cat, Cinders, would change the course of his life. With a winter storm approaching, Reggie makes a snap decision and brings the wary trio to his estate home to be cared for and nursed back to health.

Reggie learns the man’s name is Calvin, he was a quartermaster in the army, and he was dishonorably discharged prior to the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”. Taking pity on the man and in need of someone to help him run his mother’s foundation, Reggie offers Calvin a job. With few prospects in sight to find shelter for his small family during the peak of winter, Calvin reluctantly accepts Reggie’s offer on a trial basis, but it is only one of many trials both men will face.

Eventually, yearnings Reggie and Calvin had buried deep inside begin to fan the nearly extinguished embers of passion in both men. With Calvin drawing emotional support from Roscoe and Cinders, and Reggie discovering an ally in his beloved housekeeper, both men explore their newfound attraction, edging them toward the precipice of an ecstasy neither could have imagined.

Will the discovery of a past connection between the two men’s families be enough to bring them together? Or will sinister, outside forces and an unexpected loss of life shatter the bonds between both families and both men for good?

 

 

Reggie nodded and smiled as he closed the door behind them and then led Calvin to the foot of his bed. Placing both of his hands behind Calvin’s neck, he pulled him in and tenderly kissed his mouth. His hands slid down until he reached the top of Calvin’s shirt. He drew the shirttails from his pants and began to unbutton it.

“You’ll go slow, right?” Calvin asked as he pulled away, breaking the kiss.

“Whatever you want, Calvin. We don’t have to push this. We can just talk if you like.”

Calvin’s eyes began to twinkle.“The time fer talkin’s over.”

“I’ll be very gentle,” Reggie assured him, “It’s been a while for me as well, but you have been with a man before, right?

“Oh, yeah, but it’s been more ’n a couple o’ years.”

Calvin reached for Reggie’s shirt, but Reggie stopped him when he cupped his chin with his right hand and drew him toward him by the shoulder with his left. Calvin’s arms fell to his sides as a moan escaped his mouth when Reggie ran his tongue up his neck and ended behind his ear.

“God, you smell good,” Reggie whispered. “You taste even better, but there’s something I’ve wanted even more for days now.” Reggie dropped to his knees and frantically yanked at Calvin’s belt. He undid the top button, and slid down the fly of his pants, then pulled them to the floor in one fell swoop. His eyes began to flutter as he buried his face in Calvin’s groin and inhaled his scent through the boxers’ fabric.

As Calvin’s legs began to tremble, he grasped Reggie’s head, steadying himself. “You’re gonna make me buckle over if’n you keep that up.”

“Mmm,” Reggie moaned.

“So good … you [smell] so good,” Reggie moaned between breaths, not slowing down in the least.

“Reggie!” Calvin cried out as he stumbled forward.

As he fell toward the floor, Reggie’s grip was broken as Calvin caught himself against the footboard of the bed. “Damn, boy, you nearly pushed me over the edge. You got yourself one hell of an appetite there!”

“And then some,” Reggie said, with a leer.

Calvin sat down on the floor and held his hands out in front of him. “Please, can we slow this down a smidge? We got all night.”

“Yeah, we do,” Reggie answered with lust in his voice. “And I’m planning to dine on you several times before morning.”

“Then let’s do this right.” How ‘bout a shower, or a bath first?”

“Even better.”

“This here’s a different side of you I ain’t never seen, fer sure. I think I like it, Reggie, but it’s gonna take some gettin’ used t’.”

“Sorry,” Reggie said anxiously. “I’m just so worked up right now. I can’t believe this is really happening, not to me, not now, and I don’t want it to slip by.”

Calvin caressed Reggie’s face. “Me neither.”

“I was so sure I wasn’t going to let it happen. I was determined to not allow my desire for you to ruin the friendship that began to develop between us. And besides, you’re my employee.”

Calvin leaned forward and reached out to caress Reggie’s face. “I ain’t makin’ light of it, but I sure am glad you decided otherwise, ‘coz I’m gonna need help with this,” he said as he gazed into Reggie’s eyes and drew his hand to the bulge in his pants. Then he lowered his eyes to Reggie’s groin. “And I think you’re gonna need help, too.”

Calvin pushed Reggie back up and rose to his knees as he began to unfasten Reggie’s pants. As the belt came free, Reggie helped to shimmy them down.

Reggie moaned as Calvin caressed the bulge. “There’s only one thing that will relieve it, Calvin.”

“I know.” Calvin answered as he licked his lips and leaned forward. “And I’m gonna help you out with that right now, as best I can.”

 

Buy Links:

Amazon US –  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07R5QG53K?ref_=dbs_mng_calw_1&storeType=ebooks

Amazon UK – https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B07R5QG53K/ref=series_dp_rw_ca_2

Amazon CA – https://www.amazon.ca/Through-Roscoes-Eyes-Family-Book-ebook/dp/B07R5QG53K/ref=sr_1_1?qid=1557301433&refinements=p_27%3AKory+Steed&s=digital-text&sr=1-1&text=Kory+Steed

Evernight Publishing – https://www.evernightpublishing.com/through-roscoes-eyes-by-kory-steed/

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/936727

BookStrand – https://www.bookstrand.com/through-roscoes-eyes-mm

Barnes & Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/through-roscoes-eyes-kory-steed/1131443594?ean=2940163206629

iTunes – https://books.apple.com/us/book/through-roscoes-eyes/id1462198019

Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/through-roscoe-s-eyes

 

 

 

The Nature of the Beast by Ciarra Sims #PNR #DarkFantasy #BoxSet #NewRelease @changelingpress

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Sahara Kelly
Genres/Themes: Box Set, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Dark Desire,
Second editions, Single Parent/Pregnancy Romance

 

Demons from Hell are loose and among us. They shapeshift into handsome, virile forms and like everyone else they look for the perfect mate. But happily ever after isn’t in their criteria. Some unlucky woman will meet her Mr. Right and never guess the horror she’ll bear until it’s too late. But it doesn’t stop with demon spawn. Far worse, the women live through the nightmare only to find themselves raising little devils until the fathers come back to take them all to Hell. And they don’t take no for an answer.

A retreat in the forest becomes the battleground of good versus evil where there are no winners. Children born of darkness will spread through the world with strange powers and abilities, their purpose as shadowy as the woods where they were conceived. One child, born of love, holds the key. Her parents will go to Hell and back to save her from the demons that demand her blood.

 

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Ciarra Sims
Excerpt from HellGate

Carol turned on her side, settling in for a long night. She breathed deep and was about to exhale when the sound of scrabbling on the roof made her shoot upright. Rolling out of bed she padded to the door and hit the cabin’s lights.

Bea was sitting up on her cot, her single wool blanket grasped in tight fists. “What the hell was that?”

The light in the cabin made Carol feel foolish. “Probably raccoons on the roof. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Bea rubbed her eyes. “We have to be up in a few hours. This is going to be a bad week, I can feel it in my bones.”

Carol managed a smile. “I guess sleeping out in the woods will cure us of this silly jumpiness.”

“Yeah,” Bea agreed, “Cure us or kill us.”

Carol would ordinarily have laughed at the sardonically spoken words except somehow they didn’t seem so funny out here in the middle of nowhere. She turned off the lights, determined to brave it out when a creak on the porch made her wince. “That is no raccoon.”

A movement at the window made her gasp. Was it a bear? A face appeared and Carol almost screamed. When she recognized Alan, she breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s Alan, the camp instructor. I’ll go see what he wants.” Carol was glad to see someone who could lay her fears to rest.

The flannel P.J’s she wore were no threat to her modesty so she had no qualms about stepping out on the porch. She looked to where she’d seen Alan at the window but there was no one there. The short porch was empty.

“Alan?” Carol whispered. “Alan, where are you?”

A sound in the brush to her right made her think twice about leaving the porch. She sensed someone behind her and swung around. A shadow retreated off the porch, disappearing over the railing. A shadow with no human form to cast it.

Carol shivered. This was not funny! If the company thought this was a way to test their employees’ mettle, they’d have to come up with another plan. Carol wasn’t about to go into hysterics over some urban legend scenario set up by the camp. She backed to the cabin door, turning around quickly to twist the knob. A hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around.

Carol squealed as Alan’s tan face looked down at her.

“Carol? What are you doing out here? You do know you have to be up in a few hours? This isn’t going to be easy for any of you, believe me.”

Carol could only stare, blank-faced, her heart pounding. “That’s not funny!”

“What’s not funny?”

“Sneaking up on the cabin then hiding. You may get your kicks this way, but we’re not silly girls to scare into peeing our pants over some creaky noises.”

“What are you talking about? I saw your cabin light on and came to see if everything was okay. My cabin is across the meadow. It took me some time to get here.”

“Yeah sure. I saw you at the window then on the porch. Shadows don’t lie.”

“Hey. I’m telling you I wasn’t here. Jeez. Get a grip.”

Carol didn’t like his tone. She thought he was rather nice on her arrival at the camp, but now he was acting like a jerk. It was one thing to pull a stunt then enjoy a laugh over it, but to keep denying it was juvenile.

She backed toward the door. Alan’s hand came up, touching her cheek. “It’s okay, Carol. You’re in my group for the week and I won’t let anything happen to you. Scout’s honor.” He smiled at his lame-ass joke and Carol fought to keep from responding. He was darned cute and in this wilderness, it didn’t hurt to have a friend. She leaned into his hand as it cupped her jaw line.

She swore he was going to kiss her when the door swung open and Bea’s pale face emerged. “Everything okay out here, Carol?”

Flustered Carol replied, “Uh, yeah. Just ducky.”

“You’d better get some sleep,” Alan murmured. “Both of you. Rise and shine at oh-five-hundred for a brief orientation, then we pick up supplies and hit the woods. Janice hates slackers and will ride them the hardest of all. Just a tip from someone who has butted heads with her on more than one occasion. So get some shut-eye. That’s an order from your camp master. You’re under my thumb from now on and the only thing that will save you from the worst week of your life is me. So, my fair damsels, I’ll see you in a few hours. Night.”

Carol wasn’t sure if his tone was kidding or not. Bea was looking at her strangely. Carol shrugged. “What?”

“You and he… Maybe it’s my gambler’s instinct but I see you two having a wild, animalistic time in the forest. Just my luck, I get Hershey bars while you get a hunky man to warm your blood. The story of my life.”

Carol smiled. “Come on. I’m not sure at this point if a Hershey bar wouldn’t be the wisest choice. Something about our camp master gives me the willies.” As they went inside the cabin Carol knew who she’d seen at the window, just as she knew the shadow on the porch had been real. Just what was up with this Alan fellow?

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

or Pre-Order for May 24th at Online Retailers

   
Ciarra Sims is one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for. She lives a plain and simple life in Southern California with her pets, and tries to stay out of trouble. Her writing may be comedic or scary, depending on her mood… or it may sway toward a Regency or even a western… whatever tickles her fancy at the time. Ciarra’s writing philosophy is: “Not to fall into a rut. Keep the reader and yourself wondering, ‘What’s next?'”

Unknown Desires by Jax L. Kramer #BDSM #GayRomance #LGBT #NewAdult #secondeditions @changelingpress

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: BDSM, Contemporary, Gay, New Adult

 

The instant attraction Michael feels toward his new Dominant, Mr. Johns only grows stronger each day. Spending time together in the dungeon is always a fun, unique, and unpredictable experience. Only Mr. Johns can take him to places he’s never known existed. The pleasures of pain and the highs of sub-space were once unimaginable, but now Mr. Johns truly owns him body and soul.

For Michael the most startling emotion is the fear he feels when he’s earned a punishment. Although punishment is meant to be feared, Michael is more afraid of being dismissed. He’s certain each mistake is a step closer to being sent away. No punishment could ever hurt as much as Mr. Johns giving up on him.

Is it possible for Mr. Johns to have any real feelings for Michael, or is has Michael set himself up to be hurt worse than ever before?

 

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Jax L. Kramer

“Michael, come to me.”

Her voice has that silky tone that always sets my heart to pounding. Today is the day and I have no idea what to expect. I rise gracefully to my feet in one smooth motion as I’ve been taught. Standing straight with my shoulders back, my chest out and chin up, I walk directly to her, my eyes remaining straight ahead.

The man standing with her is taller than I am, about 6’3″. He’s built bigger than I am and I suspect he’s older than me though I’m nineteen so that isn’t a surprise. I can feel his eyes inspecting me.

My nerves are getting the best of me but I don’t move. I control my breathing and wait for my next command. Domme Shannon told me that she had found a male Dominate she believes I’m compatible to serve. I had been stunned and I’m not entirely comfortable with belonging to a man. My family wouldn’t ever accept it. But I’d requested that she find a Dominant she believes will be best for me, regardless of gender.

“Come, Michael,” Domme Shannon says, leading me from the small, sparsely decorated bedroom. She and the man walk casually in front of me, letting me get small glimpses of him. He’s muscular with dark brown hair the same shade as mine. He’s wearing an expensive suit but I can’t spend much time looking him over. I’m led into the office. They sit and I’m instructed to kneel on the floor beside the man.

“Michael Edwards, this is Mr. William Johns. He is looking for a long-term partner and I know that he can give you the guidance you need. Look him in the eyes and answer his questions,” she commands before turning the interview over to him.

Most Doms do not want eye contact. He’s different.

He is nice looking with a strong jaw line. His cologne is pleasant, smelling of some kind of spice. He looks over a folder in his hand, taking his time, letting me wait.

“Michael, most of your hard limits are things that I don’t do.” He pauses as he continues to read. “There are some things that you haven’t tried yet, you marked them as things you would be willing to have demanded of you. Is that correct?” He watches me closely.

“Yes, Sir,” I answer.

“If I demand something and you decide that you can’t tolerate it again, we can discuss changing it to a hard limit.”

This statement requires no reply but my stomach twists as I wonder what he’d like to demand from me. The room falls silent as he looks through the rest of my paperwork and places it back into my folder.

“You are looking for a full time placement and you are employed full time?” His voice is deep and gravelly. It has a sexy quality to it.

“Yes, Sir.”

“What type of work do you do?”

“I work for a construction company, Sir,” I reply. My nerves are increasing as this interview continues and I center myself again.

“If we decide to make this a long term partnership, will you be willing to quit your job?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” I answer, but I feel conflicted about it. It’s a great job for someone without an education.

“You’re nineteen?”

“Yes, Sir,” I reply.

“Would you be willing to attend college?”

“Yes, Sir.” This is a surprise. I’d given up the idea of going to college.

“Good,” he says. “If I take you on as my submissive, my rules are not up for debate. I am very strict and trouble will not be tolerated. Punishments will be as severe as required and you knowingly agree to that?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answer. I need this from him and hope fills me unexpectedly. Until now I hadn’t realized how much I needed this. Why do I like the idea of being punished by this man? The idea that something might be wrong with me grows spontaneously.

He looks to Domme Shannon and nods.

“Michael, go wait in the hallway,” she commands.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answer.

I take a place far enough from the door to allow private conversation. I stand at parade rest with my feet at shoulder width apart, my arms behind my back. They come out of the office half an hour later.

“Michael, gather your belongings. You’ve been accepted into the service of Mr. Johns. Do not disgrace me. You will not be accepted back here if you mess up this opportunity. Understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answer quickly. “Thank you.”

“You’ve done well and you deserve this. Don’t keep your Dominant waiting.”

I walk briskly to my room and grab my bags. I’ve had them packed since I was told I had an interview today. I hadn’t known what to expect. Another trainee stated that most males are taken by women. I don’t know if that was at their choosing or not. I hadn’t set any such parameters on mine. I wasn’t told until today that a man had been found for me. My feelings, though conflicted, are happy if I’m honest about it.

Carrying my bags, I find Mr. Johns waiting by the door. “Come,” he says simply.

I follow him to a black SUV. Another man waits by the car and he opens the door for Mr. Johns before taking my bags. I wait as he opens the trunk and puts them inside. He then opens the other door for me.

Once in the back seat beside Mr. Johns I sit straight as I’ve been taught. The silence stretches and I begin to inspect my fingernails. It’s an old nervous habit. Mr. Johns’ hand covers mine, stopping my fidgeting. Electricity shoots through me and my breath catches.

“Look at me, boy,” he says and there is a subtle difference in his tone now, strong and demanding. “I expect eye contact unless I tell you otherwise, and no fidgeting or I’ll punish you.”

I meet his eyes for the second time. They are a deep blue and his dark brown hair has a slight curl to it. At a guess he’s in his early thirties. He looks a little like Liam Hemsworth, only more muscular. He is a handsome man.

“You will call me Sir or Mr. Johns. I will not repeat an order. You are to obey any command given immediately. I will give you a copy of the household rules when we get home. Failure to follow them will result in punishment whether you are aware of the rule or not. I suggest learning them quickly. I will add rules specific to you as I get to know you better. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” he replies. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answer. My voice sounds nervous even to me as I concentrate on not picking at my fingers. “I was wondering how I’m to pay for college if you want me to quit working?”

“I will pay for you to go to college,” he answers. “I want you to be well educated and you’re still a young man.”

“I’m not sure I would be comfortable with that, Sir,” I answer.

He nods. “You don’t need to be.”

My head is swimming. “I feel like a prostitute.”

“No, you’re not being paid for sex. I want you at home and I want you educated. It’s a win-win for us both. Don’t over think it. I’ll go over the classes with you and decide what will benefit my schedule.” He watches me silently for a few minutes. “I will not waste my time or yours if I feel this isn’t going to work out. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” I wonder what else this arrangement will entail…

 

New Today at Changeling Press

or Pre-Order for May 24th at Online Retailers

           

 

 

Find more titles by Jax L. Kramer at Changeling Press…

 

Jax L. Kramer grew up listening to tales told around the campfire under the stars with the hooting of an owl piercing the night. Jax now lives in Oklahoma and has a daughter, mother and sister who are supportive of the stories crafted by her. Now you’re invited to join the campfire circle. Hurry…it’s not polite to make the Storyteller wait!

 

 

Austin’s Ward by Lynn Burke #MCromance #bikerbooks #RomanceBooks #NewRelease @AuthorLynnBurke @changelingpress

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: MC romance, Contemporary

 

As the Devil’s Outlaws Sergeant at Arms, Austin Butterbaugh has no intention of getting involved. A self-proclaimed bachelor for life, he’s endured a broken heart and refuses to suffer the same again. But the second Cadence Fraser crosses his path, with her long blonde hair and curves, she owns him.

Sleeping with a senator didn’t offer Cadence the ticket to a better life she’d hoped for. Instead, she’s on the run for her life, straight into a badass biker’s arms — as his ward, under the Outlaw’s protection. Although fire flares to life between them, and Austin satisfies her in ways she’d never known, fear has Cadence’s sights set on something more.

With the senator hell-bent on eliminating every trace of his indiscretions, bodies will fall in Austin’s determination to protect Cadence. Failure won’t be tolerated, even if saving her could mean losing her forever. Her happiness is all that matters, but can Cadence fight past her fears to see a future with Austin before it’s too late?

 

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Lynn Burke

Austin

I imagined the woman haunting my dreams danced on the stage to my right as music thumped in my ears and the scents of sex and booze filled my nose. Just another night at Devil’s Strip Club, guarding the door to the back office and girls’ rooms, but my mind refused to focus on my duties as head of security — and the Outlaw’s Sergeant at Arms.

I’d only ever seen Angel’s roommate once. Plump ass, tiny waist, big tits — and gorgeous blue eyes that didn’t even seem to take notice me as I’d followed Angel into their apartment after Angel and I had been attacked in the alley. Cadence Fraser had fucking ruined me for life.

Not that I ever held hope of finding an old lady of my own. I kept my goddamn heart under lock and key since the last person to own it ended up six feet under. Loving anyone outside of my Outlaws brothers was off-limits. Wasn’t in the goddamn cards for my future.

A ruckus at the front door drew my focus, and my dick jerked to attention as the blonde I wanted beneath me, tied to my bed, screaming my name, pushed past Brewer. He caught my gaze, and I nodded, letting our entrance guard know to let her in.

Cadence hurried into the club, but pulled up short, her gaze flitting around from bar to stage to me.

Fuck.

I groaned as her blue-eyed gaze landed on me, causing my dick to jerk inside my leathers. Fucking zipper pressed into my swollen length, but I didn’t shift or drop a hand to ease the discomfort.

She started toward me, but I kept my arms crossed, my face a mask while sliding my gaze down over her body. She hid her lush curves behind a dark coat, one she clutched to her middle, her knuckles white around the straps of an oversized purse. Tight-ass jeans clung to her thighs and calves, and pink heels the same color of her purse encased her feet.

All woman. Fucking hot as hell sashaying toward me like she owned the goddamn room and knew she drew attention left and right.

I glanced upward as she drew closer. Her pulse thrummed in her neck. Black-smudged tear tracks lined her cheeks, the rest of her mascara smeared beneath her wide eyes I hadn’t noticed when she’d first appeared across the lounge.

The fuck? I scowled, but otherwise held unmoving as she stepped right into my personal space.

“Where’s Angel?” she half-shouted to be heard over the thumping bass.

I tipped my head toward the door behind me.

“I need to see her.” Wetness welled in her eyes, turning them crystalline in the dimmed recess light overhead.

I didn’t move.

Cadence angled to step around me, but I shifted left. “No one’s allowed out back.”
Tears spilled over, and she stepped toward my right, but I moved with her, blocking her way.

“You fucking oaf!” She swung her purse, but I tightened my abs and let the leather bounce off me. “Let me past! I have to talk to her!”

As the protector of the Outlaws’ dancers, I wouldn’t be swayed into shirking my duties — by anyone, no matter how hot or frantic they appeared. Lips pressed tight, I stood like a mountain, uncaring of whatever she wished to dish out.

She shrieked and pummeled against me, her fists almost amusing, but my lips didn’t so much as twitch.

The pulsing music of the latest dancer faded, and Cadence’s curses drew attention.

She swung toward me again, and I closed my hand around her forearm. “Enough.”

Her lower lip trembled and tears dripped from her chin. “Please.”

Her whisper fucking ruined me — a pleading I’d imagined on her lips while jerking off every goddamn night since first seeing her.

“Fuck.” So much for no admittance. Scowling, I yanked open the door behind me and dragged her into the dim hallway beyond.

Gunner, our president, and his old lady, Shelby, moved toward us from the dressing room, Angel and Bowie on their heels, both couples hanging on one another with that lovey-dovey touching that twisted my stomach.

“Cadence?” Angel pushed around Gunner, and Cadence let out a sob as I let go of her arm and her roommate grabbed her in a hug.

“Someone found out,” Cadence sobbed. “Fucking hell, I’m done for!”

“Shit.” Angel glanced over her shoulder at Bowie, whose scowl mirrored my own.
He spewed a curse as though knowing exactly what Cadence had meant. The harshness of his tone, the glint in his eyes, raised the hairs on my neck.

“What the fuck is going on?” Gunner asked as I stepped back, hands fisted, my focus on the back of Cadence’s head as she cried against Angel’s shoulder.

“Cadence and Senator MacGillroy have been fucking for two months,” Bowie answered for both the girls.

Cadence jerked back from Angel’s arms, her shoulders wilting. “You told him?”

Angel shrugged although her brow furrowed. “No biggie.”

“No biggie?” Cadence jerked from Angel’s hold, stumbling backward into me.

I grasped her upper arms to keep her from falling over. “I told you not to tell anyone!” she half-sobbed, her body trembling. “He’ll kill me if word gets out!”

“No one will lay a goddamn hand on you.” Bowie spoke truth. Cadence didn’t belong to an Outlaw, but I wasn’t about to let anyone touch her. Threaten her. A rumble sounded in my chest at the feeling I hadn’t had for years, and Cadence tilted her head back and to the side, capturing my gaze.

Silence descended.

“Do what you have to do,” Gunner said a moment later, stepping past us, his hand wrapped around Shelby’s. “Oh, and Austin?”

My ears perked up to listen to whatever my president had to say behind me, but I couldn’t tear my gaze off Cadence’s wide eyes as she blinked up at me.

“Cadence is your responsibility.”

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Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of hot romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.