Backup Plan (Spaceport) by Shelby Morgen #scifiromance

Backup Plan (Spaceport Multi-Author 32)

Cover Art by Renee George

 

When Dr. Ruth Balise ran out of funding for her research, she had no idea the twisted path her work would take. Her psychiatric profile adjustment was supposed to be more humane — a way to render violent sociopaths and the criminally insane harmless to themselves and others.

But in a black-market society where medical miracles are for sale to the highest bidder, a death sentence is far too wasteful. Why settle for just one replacement body part, when you can own the whole thing? Prisoners are maintained in semi-stasis, their memories wiped, the cost of their physical care sponsored by aging aristocrats, hosts for future replacement organs.

After all, they’re just bodies — empty shells. Pod fuck-bunnies, their monitors call them, living in an endless loop of sex, drugged with their own endorphins into a constant state of euphoria, their bodies maintained in prime health. They’re not supposed to wake up — ever — and they’re certainly not supposed to escape.

Now Ruth is one of them, and only Panama Red, the space pirate turned bodyguard who’s out to rescue Ruth, can save her. But will he still be willing to trust her with his heart, once he knows she engineered this hell?

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Shelby Morgen

I’m coming! I wanted to scream. Those were the right words, that much I was sure of, but I knew better. No one screamed here. I held it all inside. Even as the orgasm ripped through me I wondered — somewhat cynically, I’ll admit — was it possible to get bored with sex?

I’d never had thoughts like these. Not until… hell, I realized I’d had no concept of time. That is, I did now, but before…

Something was happening to me. Something was changing.

No, not something. Me. I was changing. My mind was… waking up. The faceless body before me writhed, screaming soundlessly, and the final release tore through me, bathing me in the flood of pleasure that had always before brought these churning thoughts to a tumultuous end.

Release. Blissful sleep. The fulfillment of a promise…

Ha. Make that hard work. Hot, sweaty sex. A partner well pleasured. Then sleep. Then on to the next rotation.

The harder, heavier body of the other… whatever it was… groaned, wrapping itself around me, almost smothering with its weight and heat. I’d never minded before. That was the reward for a job well done. Release. Euphoria. Malaised contentment.

So why was I awake? Why was I fighting the urge to push the other off me?

I opened my… my eyes, yes. I opened my eyes and fought to focus, rapidly learning how to adjust for the closeness of the body before me. Saw the mouth. The mouth I had kissed. The lips I had bitten, now bruised and swollen from our passion. The contented smile. The…

Blankness.

Revulsion swept through me, stronger than any orgasm. The thing might as well have been an inflatable doll. No sign of intelligence. No sign of anything at all. It was — he was — just a mouth. And a cock.

Or maybe I’d had it right the first time. It.

And what made me any different? Other than my lack of a cock? Until two rotations ago, I’d been little more. A mouth and a cunt.

Cunt. Somehow I knew the word was coarse, crude. Beneath me. And I liked the sound of it. Forbidden fruit. I smiled, placed my hands on the cock’s shoulders, and pushed. Hard.

Arms tightened around me, clamping down like steel bands. “You’re awake!”

“Let go of me.”

“Keep your voice down. Don’t move. Shut your eyes. And smile!”

All right. He. A lunatic, but gods, he had gorgeous eyes. The color of precious minerals, deep cobalt, flecked with gold. Still. “Get the blyat off me.”

“Hush! You just had the best sex of your life. Smile!”

“Arrogant prick!”

“Do you want to get us killed? We’re not supposed to be awake, damn it.” He smothered my reply with his mouth, giving my rapidly emerging vocabulary time to catch up.

Killed. Past tense of kill.

Death.

Dead.

I understood the concept well enough to quit fighting. I tore his words apart like my guide to the mystery they were. We’re not supposed… Soooo. Wherever we were, whoever we were — both concepts seemed new, yet familiar — there were rules. We’d — I’d — been asleep, at least on some level. Now I was awake.

Awake was bad.

 

More from Shelby Morgen at Changeling Press …

Shelby Morgen loves writing offbeat tales that defy as many rules as possible.

She likes chocolate with her peanut butter, suspense with her romance, and kink with her sex, and she’s always had a hard time keeping science fiction, fantasy and paranormal from mixing with her kink.

Shelby shares her belief in electronic publishing with her longtime friend and partner, Bill, her husband of nearly four decades.

 

Conceivable by Willa Okati #mpreg #paranormalromance

Conceivable (Roanoke River Omegas 1)

Cover Art by Bryan Keller

 

Omega Jory’s in love with his best friend, Alpha Darius, and Darius has no idea. Darius’s in love with Jory, and Jory has no idea. But when Jory asks Darius to father his baby, everything’s about to explode. Jory’s body burns with the need to conceive. He’s so hot to be bred he’s insatiable, demanding everything Darius can give — and more. And the more Darius gives, the more Darius wants.

But it’s not all fun and games. Jory’s body wants all the sex it can take, but it isn’t cooperating with conception. And the fluctuating hormones are making Jory a little crazy. Darius’s got to figure out how to save the day and to tell his best friend he wants to be more than friends, for keeps.

What do you do with a drunken sailor? Take him home, build a nest, and get him pregnant… if you can.

 

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EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Willa Okati

What did you do with a drunken sailor?

Why, anything you wanted, that’s what. You could tie him up tight with a crimson ribbon, dip him in a pool of melted butter, run him through a room of screaming fire alarms, and when he got done with all that, then you could tuck him in bed with an Alpha’s lover. And every last bit of it sounded fine when sung at the top of three dozen-odd throats at Happy Hour on a Friday evening in MacInnes’s pub.

Better still when Darius could raise his mostly empty glass and swing it in time with the song. Best of all when tucked into a booth with his best friend beside him, warm as toast and smelling faintly of Omega and largely of burnt-sugar whiskey.

As weeknights went, this was a good one.

The last lines of the chorus were still echoing off the ceiling when someone who fancied himself a soloist stood on top of a table and started belting out a boozy version of “Danny Boy.” He got a few catcalls and the occasional coaster tossed at him, but he had a decent deep tenor and most of the rowdies settled down to listen. Darius included.

Still laughing, still warm, he slid back into the booth he shared with Jory and kicked his legs forward to tangle their feet together. Best friends — closer than blood since they’d met in another bar on weekend passes five years back — they’d always been in each other’s space ever since. Didn’t bother them any that Darius was an Alpha and Jory an Omega. Darius was Navy and Jory part of the Peace Corps, sure, but the military kept everyone on hormone suppressants to cut down on hanky-panky in the ranks, so what did it matter?

“Another round?” Darius asked when their impromptu soloist paused to drown his own thirst.

Redheaded and usually fair as cream, Jory’s cheeks were cherry pink tonight from the two whiskies and a pint of Guinness he’d already downed, but he gave Darius a blazing grin and raised his empty glass. “You’re on. And I mean it, you’re on. Last round was mine.”

Was it? Darius shrugged, not bothered either way. They always took turns. He halfway stood to wave at their waiter — a friendly Beta who could pull pints fast as lightning strikes — then thumped back down in a comfortable slouch. Jory, still grinning, made him laugh. Made him content. Being around him made something inside Darius feel… satisfied. Good.

“So,” he said, after tipping back his empty glass in search of just a few more drops. “You were saying, about the kids, before that racket started up?” Jory had gone into teaching kindergarten after getting out of the Reserves, and taken to it like a duck to water.

“That they’re adorable. Today I had to teach one of them not to lick the drinking fountain because that wasn’t how it worked. Also? ‘Racket’ my hindquarters, you love it.” Jory’s smile shone smile softer, warmer, teasing. “As if you weren’t singing along.”

Darius bent his head, only a little sheepish and only for half a second. He came up with a glint in his eye and clinked his glass against Jory’s. “Shut up.”

Jory clinked back. He knew this game. “You shut up.”

“Bite me.”

“Needs ketchup.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Jory laughed. “Bend over!”

Their pert, pretty little Beta waiter — what was his name, Adam? — rolled his eyes as he swung by their table with two full glasses. “Drown yourself in these, would you?” He softened his words with a gentle love tap on the back of Darius’s dark head and a rustle through Jory’s auburn tangle. “Drink up, boys, order some more, and leave a good tip. I’ve got bills to pay!”

“Good thing I have a steady job,” Darius remarked as Adam sped away. He’d left the Navy a year after Jory mustered out and would have settled where his best friend did regardless, but he thanked his lucky stars Jory had picked Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina. Made finding work on the water easy, and Darius had settled into a good hands-on position at the lake. Solid work that left him aching with sore muscles every day, but satisfied down to the bottom of his soul. “Or I wouldn’t be able to afford taking my best friend out for booze-ups at fancy joints like this.”

Jory wrinkled his nose. “Speaking of kids, how are the new hires you were talking about?”

“Eh, there’s a few bright stars,” Darius said with a shrug. “Some better than others. Time will tell. But they do already know how to use the water fountains. Probably.”

“They’re not as cute as a baker’s dozen of toddlers, though.”

Darius waggled one hand to and fro. “They probably think so, especially when they’re out looking to score some tail, but nope.”

Jory nodded in satisfaction, making him a pleasure to look at. Darius had always liked his friend’s face, not exactly handsome but friendly and open but with fine, well-shaped bones. Very dissimilar to himself, with his tall leanness, his longer features and darker complexion. His general attitude was sharper-edged, more serious. But whenever Darius got too stuck in his head, Jory pried him out, and whenever Jory’s warm heart got a little too bruised, Darius was there to pick him up and settle him down.

What he’d do without Jory in his life, Darius didn’t know. And he didn’t want to know.

Darius downed his drink and wiped the Guinness foam away with a sigh of satisfaction. “So did the kid wrap his head around how water fountains worked, in the end?”

“Hmm?”

Darius cocked his head. “I said…”

But Jory’s attention had drifted. He did that sometimes — wandered off in thought and lost himself in daydreams. Darius didn’t worry about it, as he always came back, but every now and again it was interesting to try and track what’d caught Jory’s fancy. He let his gaze go slightly out of focus, turned toward Jory’s line of sight, and…

Ah. There it was. Courting couples. Of which there were plenty, no matter where you went, but especially in MacInnes’s when the beer was flowing and the whiskey bit back. Darius followed Jory’s regard, jumping from pair to pair.

First an Omega couple — interesting, you didn’t see that too often — in their, hmm, mid sixties? Yes, and comfortable with each other in a way that said they’d been an odd couple for decades. Nice. From there, a couple of Betas who were plainly just friends, but with a few saucy benefits like the hands tucked in each others’ back pockets. A thirtyish Omega buying a jar of spicy brined pickles for a laughing Alpha who rode him piggyback and kissed his ear, and a widower Darius knew who always drank one Long Island iced tea with a picture of his mate on the table with him.

Humanity, in all its infinite variety.

And then, something Darius knew Jory would zero in on as special. An Alpha with an Omega on his arm, the two of them so in love it almost rang from the rooftop and echoed in everyone’s ears. Total hearts in their eyes, and eyes only for each other. Young, maybe on the uphill climb to twenty-five, but the Alpha had a toddler on one hip and the Omega’s stomach was proudly curved, maybe six months gone with a second cub. He rested one hand on the swell, an unconscious gesture but one that spoke of pleasure and pride. His Alpha glanced down and wrapped his free arm around the Omega’s shoulders, giving him a cuddle.

Darius shook his head, but with a lopsided smile. The whole effect was so sweet it’d give a man diabetes, but he wouldn’t complain too much about it. He glanced at Jory to see that Jory had noticed him in turn. “Busted?”

“Nosy,” Jory said, giving his shin a gentle nudge under the table.

“Look who’s talking.”

“But that’s all right,” Jory continued, undaunted. “You can buy the next round. Again.”

Darius snorted. “Anyone ever tell you you’re not a cheap date?”

“Every now and again.” Jory checked his watch. “Actually, make it a cup of coffee instead. It’s getting late, and I need to sober up.”

“Why? We’ve walked home three sheets to the wind before.”

“I have my reasons,” Jory said without further explanation, leaving Darius to wonder what he meant by that. It seemed to be something that made him a little nervous. He pushed his glass back and forth in the circle of condensation it’d left on the table, but didn’t drop any handy clues. “Did you see the couple with one in arms and one on the way?”

Darius nodded. Of course he had. Ah. Two plus two came together. “Is that the water fountain kid?”

Jory’s smile blossomed, warm and pleased. “It is. He’s adorable, huh? He wants to name his baby brother Mr. Ed.”

A swallow of beer almost went down the wrong way. Darius coughed. “He wants to what, now? How does he know Mr. Ed? I don’t even remember where I heard of Mr. Ed.”

“No telling.” Jory laughed too. “His parents are just hoping he’ll come around to plain old ‘Corey’ when he’s born.”

He fell quiet again, but Darius could tell he was still watching the couple. Darius had to admit they made entertaining viewing. The baby must have been awake, inside. The Omega patted his belly, trying to soothe him, and the Alpha tracked his movements with one palm, fascination written across his face. Little judo master, Darius thought the Alpha said at one point. He winced in imagined empathy, and — the strangest thing — a flicker of jealousy.

Jealousy? Darius frowned down at the remnants of his Guinness. He’d been a bachelor since he presented as Alpha, and hadn’t really minded. When he needed company or he went into rut he knew where to find what he needed. Aside from that, it didn’t seem so important. He had Jory, and they kept each other busy. Besides, Jory had decided to stay on military-grade suppressants when he went civilian to keep himself level and lower the risk of getting pregnant by accident, so it’d never been an issue. But now, Darius wondered.

No. He knew. He’d seen that look on Omega faces before, and it surprised him to see it on Jory’s, but then again it wasn’t a shock. It looked… natural. Nice. Darius tapped the back of Jory’s hand with one finger. “I see. You’ve been thinking about it.”

Jory, still captivated by the scene, raised his shoulder a fraction of an inch. “On and off.” He shook his head and focused, looking back at Darius. “No, that’s a lie of omission. I have been thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it. I want that, and I can’t stop wanting it.”

“A baby?”

“Enough that I stopped taking my suppressants,” Jory said, simple and clear. He settled his hands around his glass. “Three days ago. You know suppressants. They start working fast, and they stop just as fast. Should be gone by the weekend.”

Darius blinked. Jory really meant business, then. The thought fascinated him in a way that surprised Darius. The mental image of Jory as round and curved and full as that Omega gave him a jolt like electricity applied deep down inside, something that sparked too much heat to ignore.

He stamped that down carefully, tightly, and securely. Darius had never been immune to Jory’s charms. He’d had dreams, fantasies. Wishes. Desires. But he’d refused to let himself take one single step past plain and simple friendship. Nothing that’d start them down the road to a messy breakup. He’d seen it happen before — too many times — when friends hooked up. Hell, he’d encouraged Jory to date other people. He’d been glad that Jory was living with Alpha Whateverhisnamewas when he moved into town so the question of sharing an apartment couldn’t come up.

Darius realized he was staring. To cover his reaction, he cleared his throat and hurried on. “Fertile. No kidding. Who’re you going to get to be the father?”

“That’s the thing,” Jory said, his gaze fixed calmly on Darius. “I was hoping it would be you.”

 

More 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.

 

 

Trucker (Bones MC) by Marteeka Karland #contemporaryromance

Trucker (Bones MC 6)

Cover Art by Marteeka Karland

Helen — I’ve made some bad choices in my life. The worst was falling for a man who kidnapped me and held me hostage. He wants my baby. Why, I have no idea, but there’s no way he’s getting it without a fight. Once this is over, assuming I’m still alive, I’m going to need some serious help.

Trucker — The small redhead blows me away at first sight. And not only because of the knife sticking out of her very pregnant belly. She’s fierce as a tiger. Brave as any member of Bones. I know I have to protect her, no matter what kind of trouble she’s in. Once she’s healed, I know she’s going to be mine. I just have to convince her of it. Until then, I’ll protect her, and her kid, with my very life. Once the asshole who did this is dead, then I’ll prove to her why I’m the best choice to be her man.

WARNING: These men play for keeps, and they don’t tolerate men who hurt women and children. They protect their own to the death, and God help anyone who gets in their way. Don’t expect the warm and fuzzies, but you can always expect a HEA and a steamy good time.

 

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Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Marteeka Karland

“Trucker! You pussy! Where’s the fuckin’ cage?”

Trucker rolled his eyes and sighed. “Right where you fuckin’ left it, you bastard!” He had no idea who was calling out, but it didn’t much matter to Trucker. It was all pretty much the same every time a member of the club needed a vehicle other than their own bike. He’d long ago given up being really angry. Besides, it was all part of the camaraderie.

“Ain’t you in charge of all the vehicles around here?”

“Yep. Ain’t no Goddamned babysitter though. And I ain’t your Goddamned housekeeper! You take somethin’, you can damned well put it back where you found it.”

“Fucker!”

Trucker continued working on the bike in his shop, a grin tugging at his lips. The men of Bones could act like kids sometimes. It was all part of the fun. They’d had several close calls recently, and the whole of Bones needed to have a little fun.

That was the beauty of Bones. They’d started out as an MC club of men. Now, they were becoming a family complete with wives and children. Trucker was gratified to see Cain and Torpedo encouraging the change. Oh, they still sometimes skirted the edge of legality and wouldn’t hesitate to do what had to be done to protect their own people, but now they did more toward protecting their community. Their reputation was mostly enough to keep out the rabble who thought they’d just run roughshod through Somerset. The ones who weren’t as afraid as they should be soon learned to be.

Thirty minutes later, Torpedo, their vice-president, came into his shop. “Seriously, Trucker. Where’s the fuckin’ RV?”

Trucker didn’t look up from his task. “In the barn where I intend to service it when I get done servicing the bikes in here.”

“Not that RV, the other one.”

He looked up. “The ‘80 Winnebago?”

“Yeah. Couple of the prospects wanted to go huntin’. I told them they could take that one. Figured if they trashed it, you wouldn’t have to kill them over it.”

Trucker snorted but went back to work. “You know better. They take it out, they bring it back like they found it. With everything clean. Including the fuckin’ toilet.”

“Not a problem. Except, we can’t find it.”

“It’s in the other bay in the barn. Serviced it for Cheetah a couple weeks ago. She always puts things back where they belong. Must be the absence of the Y chromosome.”

“Cheetah?”

Trucker paused, looking up at Torpedo. “Yeah. Said she needed it. Didn’t see no reason not to let her have it. Didn’t think she was gonna be out this long, but ain’t none of my business. And I know I saw her just a few days ago.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s gone.”

Trucker shrugged. “Give her a call. See what she’s got goin’ on. She called first dibs though. Ain’t tellin’ her she’s got to come back, and neither are you or any of the others.”

“Hey. I had no intention. She may not be a patched member, but she’s done good by the club and ExFil.”

“Text her. Make sure she actually has it. I’d hate to have to start the fuckin’ day with a killin’ if that fucker Pig took it.”

“I thought Stunner took care of that little fuck?”

“He did. Boy seems to have responded to brute force more than all the fuckin’ talkin’ and smacks upside the head in the world.”

“Good thing Mama was able to patch him up. I was worried about the fucker for a while there.”

Trucker shrugged. “He’d been asking for it for a while. Guess him mouthin’ off to little Suzie wasn’t the worst thing he did, but maybe it will be the last.”

“Boy can’t even look at Stunner without shivering.” Torpedo laughed. “It’s funny as shit.”

“He got what he deserved. I just hope he learns from it.”

“Sent a text. Though, I don’t remember seeing Cheetah today. She’s probably got the thing parked at some community event. Wasn’t there a fun run today? She usually makes hot chocolate and coffee, or lemonade and iced tea for things like that.”

“Good point.” Trucker took out his phone and sent off a quick text to Cheetah behind Torpedo’s before shoving it back in his pocket. She might ignore one text for a few minutes, but not two.

“Bikes look good?” Torpedo nodded to the line of six bikes Trucker was servicing.

“Yep. Routine stuff.” Trucker pointed to Torpedo’s bike. “You could go a little easier on the brakes.”

Torpedo grinned at him. “Now, what fun would that be?”

“No fun if you end up on the pavement.”

“True that.”

Torpedo turned to go, but Trucker called to him. “Let me know when you find Cheetah and my RV.” He didn’t have to wait long. Trucker actually heard the old Winnebago long before he saw the thing.

Picking up a rag to wipe off the wrench he was using, Trucker walked outside his workshop into the brisk, February air. Off in the distance, screaming up the long driveway to the clubhouse, was the missing RV.

“What the everlasting fuck? Torpedo!”

“I see it, Trucker.” Torpedo was just outside the building talking with Bohannon, Sword, and Viper.

“Is that Cheetah?”

“Don’t know. Comin’ in hot though.”

“Look out!”

The Winnebago made a sharp turn and slid to a halt next to the clubhouse in the parking lot. Several men jumped out of the way. A few seconds later, the door to the back flew open. Cheetah stumbled out.

“We need Mama! Help!”

The men headed for the RV. Bohannon yelled for Luna, his woman, to go for Mama and Pops. Trucker ran for the RV along with the others. Something made him… uncomfortable. There was a tingle between his shoulder blades that always meant there was something wrong. What it could possibly be, Trucker couldn’t imagine. Not in their home territory. Cheetah had brought the RV into their clubhouse, so he doubted she’d brought danger to their door.

An ear-piercing shriek came from inside the Winnebago. A woman? The men looked at each other before Bohannon, who was closest, shoved Cheetah out of the way and entered the vehicle. Trucker was right behind him. What he saw froze his blood.

There was a table that folded down into a bed across from the stove and counter. On that bed lay a very pregnant woman who had been stabbed in the abdomen. He knew she’d been stabbed because the knife handle was still sticking out. The blade appeared to have been stabilized, probably by Cheetah, but the wound was steadily and persistently dripping blood onto the thin mattress and down to the floor.

Sweat beaded the young woman’s face, strands of dark auburn hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks. Her expression was one of pain, fear, and grief. Her gaze locked with Trucker’s, sea-green eyes sparkling like diamonds with her tears. “Help me. Please.” Her voice was tremulous. Her lips quivered as tears coursed from her eyes down her temples.

“What the fuck happened here?” Bohannon demanded as he checked the small area for anyone else.

“What’s it look like?” Cheetah bit out. “She’s been fucking stabbed! Get her to Mama!”

Trucker couldn’t seem to move. He was caught in some kind of web as he continued to stare into the young woman’s eyes. He couldn’t register much other than the brilliant green of her eyes and the red blood staining her clothing around the knife.

“Get her inside,” Bohannon ordered. “Luna’s gettin’ Mama, but she can’t do anything out here. Not enough room.”

When Bohannon moved to the girl, Trucker shouldered his way in front of his brother, carefully scooping her up into his arms. Her hands were covered in blood, one shaking horribly where it fluttered close to the knife. He could tell she wanted it out but knew better than to just yank.

“Easy,” he said, as he turned sideways to get them out of the small door. With his size and her advanced pregnancy, they barely fit, and he had to be careful not to jar her too much with that knife stuck in her abdomen. “Just relax if you can. We’ll get you taken care of.”

“No police,” she gasped.

Trucker looked up sharply at Cheetah as he got them in firm ground, out of the RV. She just shook her head before falling into step behind them. Later. He’d deal with that later. Getting the girl to Mama was the main concern at the moment.

“They call me Trucker,” he said as he strode up to the clubhouse in long, confident strides. “What’s your name, little miss?”

“Helen.”

More from Marteeka Karland at Changeling Press …

Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of.

 

 

The Adana Affair (Spaceport) by Mikala Ash #scifiromance #BDSM #AlienEncounters

The Adana Affair (Spaceport Multi-Author 23)

Cover Artist: Renee George

 

Breaking News — Who killed Nova Meridian?

The savage murder of a pleasure worker rocks the corridors of Spaceport Adana. Peri Barberossa and Fyche, her faithful AI, answer a call from her sister Holly to get to Adana posthaste. When they arrive, they find Holly gone and a case of mistaken identity allows Peri to make a big impression on the enigmatic private eye, Silas Archimedes, who finds that Holly’s sister is even more trouble than the ace reporter herself.

While Fyche discovers the joy of human sex, Holly’s old nemesis, Mischa, reaches out with her long and vicious right arm.

Stay tuned for further carnal developments in The Adana Affair, a Peri Barberossa Spaceport adventure.


Praise for The Adana Affair (Spaceport)

“The author writes well-described very hot sex scenes which also work to break up the suspense.”

— Snowdrop, Whipped Cream Reviews
Use Discount Code TGIF02-14-2020 for 15% off your entire order!
or Pre-Order for February 21st at online retailers
  
Aussie Mikala Ash lives a hectic double life, mild-mannered training & development consultant by day… wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. “For me, burning the candle at both ends is not such a terrible problem; I’m having too much fun!”

Bite (Spaceport) by Marteeka Karland #scifiromance #futuristic @marteekakarland

Bite (Spaceport Multi-Author 4)

Cover Artist: Renee George

The last thing Dryson expects when he takes his latest shipment of smuggled goods to Spaceport Adana is to end up with a Rajian sex slave, Sasha. Sure, he planned a little R & R, but the impulsive buy is proving to be more than he bargained for. Sasha is a force to be reckoned with, and her bite is definitely worse than her bark.

Something else Dryson doesn’t expect is to find himself face to face with an assassin sent to kill him. Belin, the large and very experienced killer, has other plans. Instead of killing Dryson, Belin wants to recruit him to smuggle much-needed goods to his home planet. Unfortunately, the Interplanetary Alliance Council has strong objections to letting Dryson live.

When Dryson is taken hostage, Belin and Sasha must keep their cool and use all their cunning if they’re going to rescue him. Keeping a level head is not something a Rajian is capable of when her mate is in danger.

Either of them.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press
Use Discount Code TGIF02-14-2020 for 15% off your entire order!

Pre-order for February 21st at online retailers

  

 

 

WHAT ARE REVIEWERS SAYING?

Spaceport: Bite was a deliciously wicked tale… Great characters, action packed sequences and hot romances made the story a very quick read. I love Ms. Karland and cannot wait for her next creation.”

4 1/2 Stars!– Suni Farrar, JERR

Spaceport: Bite is a wonderful story. The characters are realistic, the sex is phenomenal and the action is riveting. The humor shared amongst the three lovers made me laugh out loud a time or two.”

5 Nymphs! — Scandalous Minx, Literary Nymphs

 

 

More from Marteeka Karland at Changeling Press …

Erotic romance author by night, emergency room tech/clerk by day, Marteeka Karland works really hard to drive everyone in her life completely and totally nuts. She has been creating stories from her warped imagination since she was in the third grade. Her love of writing blossomed throughout her teenage years until it developed into the totally unorthodox and irreverent style her English teachers tried so hard to rid her of.

 

 

 

 

The Prince and the Painter (part 2) by Emily Carrington #LGBTQ #contemporaryromance @CarringtonEmily

The Prince and the Painter Part 2 (Prince and Painter 3)

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

As the tension mounts, Aaron and Jason must face their demons. But those demons never counted on the love between them growing from a single flame to a raging inferno. Now, just maybe their demons will have trouble with them.

Publisher’s Note: The Prince and the Painter Parts 1 & 2 are the prequel to Painter’s Pride (Prince and Painter 1). For everyone who asked Jason and Aaron’s history, thank you.

Warning: The Prince and the Painter Parts 1 & 2 deal with issues of PTSD, M/M rape, hate crimes, stalking, kidnapping, and torture. Jason and Aaron’s stories may be triggers.

 

Get it TODAY at Changeling Press
Use Discount Code TGIF02-14-2020 for 15% off your entire order!

Pre-Order for February 21st at online retailers

  

 

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2020 Emily Carrington

“If this is what a hangover’s like,” he muttered, grimacing at the taste in his mouth, “I’ll never get drunk again.”

Jason’s door opened and Griffin, wrapped in a towel and nothing else, trudged in. She looked much less glamorous first thing in the morning, but still managed to carry herself with a regal tilt to her head. “Morning,” she muttered as if finding Jason’s boyfriend in his bed was normal.

“Uh, hi. Do you know what time it is?”

“Ten-thirty.”

Halfway through his calculus class. Aaron sighed. “I guess I’ll go back to my dorm and change.”

“Probably for the best.” But Griffin was looking at Aaron, nailing him to the spot with her gaze.

Aaron swallowed. “What?”

“You’re a lost lamb. Jay loves lost lambs. But if you don’t bring anything to the table but heartache and horror, stay away from him.” Griffin turned her back on Aaron and dropped the towel as she reached for clothes already arranged on her bed. “He’s gentle and he’s loving, but that doesn’t give you permission to use his nature against him. Unless you have something to offer him, and I mean something good, leave him alone.” She sighed. “Aaron, that came out more harshly than I intended. It’s just… Jason’s nature is loving. I don’t want to see him hurt.”

Aaron stuffed his feet into his shoes. “I’m not asking anything of Jason.”

“No? What about asking him to listen to the confession you gave yesterday?”

“I told him the most horrible thing that’s happened to me.”

 

More from Emily Carrington at Changeling Press …

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender erotica. Seeking a world made of equality, she created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires.

 

 

Vaaden Captives & Warriors by Jessica Coulter Smith — now in paperback! #alienabduction #SciFiRomance

Vaaden Captives & Warriors (Print)

Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

 

When Vaaden warriors claim slaves from Earth they will face emotions they never knew they possessed.

Vaaden Captives: Captured on Earth, Sorcha, Enid and Susan are slaves, bound to owners who crave them for the pleasure they can bring, the women despair of ever finding happiness again. But then the unthinkable happens. Sorcha falls for her owner’s brother; Enid, despite her fears, falls for the man who claims her; Susan finds herself drawn to two men, but in the end, only one will claim her heart.

Vaaden Warriors: When three Vaaden warriors claim slaves procured from Earth, they will face emotions they never knew they possessed. Rheul doesn’t believe in love, until he meets his new slave; Randar must choose between his duty or his heart; Thale thought he was saving Moira, but in the end she saved him.

Publisher’s Note: Vaaden Captives & Vaaden Warriors contains scenes of slavery and forced consent some readers may find offensive.

 

Available at Amazon

 

Praise for Vaaden Captives (Collection) 

“The collection of stories in this book are intriguing in a lot of ways. I enjoyed reading about the world the author created… I do want to find out more about Vaaden society and what changes may be in the future based on the special permission given to the three warriors. I am looking forward to the next book.”

— 4 Nymphs from Amazon, Literary Nymphs Reviews