Author Spotlight: Doris O’Connor #RomanceBooks #eroticromance #PNR #BDSM @mamaD8

I wanted to spotlight a very special lady today, Doris O’Connor. She’s written many series, as well as quite a few standalone books, in genres ranging from paranormal to scifi, contemporary and time travel, even BDSM, menage, F/F, and M/M romances. There was never a mountain Doris wasn’t ready to climb when it came to her writing, and she seemed to have that same determination and dedication in her personal life. While I only had the opportunity to speak with her online and via email, I consider myself blessed for having known her.

 

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Doris lost her battle with cancer this week, and she will be greatly missed. My heart is breaking for all who knew her, as well as her husband and nine children. Even those who never had the opportunity to meet Doris in person could see that she was always ready and willing to support those in the romance community, and she remained upbeat and optimistic, determined to conquer whatever obstacle lay in her path. She was one of the strongest women I’ve had the pleasure to know.

Doris was a prolific writer and has a large number of books available. If you’d like to check out all of the books written by Doris O’Connor, please visit her website.

I’ve selected a few of her titles to spotlight for this post, books I’ve read and enjoyed, but there are countless others if these aren’t quite what you’re looking for right now…

 

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It’s the choice of her life—submit or die.

When Susie Elliot stumbles into the middle of a clean-up, undertaken by none other than Ellis Reynolds, she expects her life to be over. No-one disturbs this ruthlessly efficient killer and lives to tell the tale.

The man they call Ren has no time for tender feelings, but there is something about the curvaceous redhead that calls to him. Rather than killing her he claims her as his prize.

One night should be more than enough time to get her out of his system. However, Susie’s unwilling submission means Ren has to confront emotions, completely alien to him.

Killing is easy. This relationship thing is fraught with problems.

When his criminal activities catch up with him, loyalties are tested to the max, and Susie has another choice to make. Walk away or stay, and accept the darkness within.

Available now at Amazon  Amazon UK  Bookstrand   B&N 

 

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A nice hot, forbidden fling with her boss…what can possibly go wrong?

Jolie Pierson has lusted after her hot as hades boss forever, so when he finally takes notice of her, she can’t help but melt at his dominance. Besides, it would be rude to not give him a present on his birthday.

Richard Tomlin never dates the women at his office. However, when he realizes the sinfully curvy red head he’s been struggling to keep his hands off for ages is submissive…the gloves are off. This woman makes him forget all the rules and brings out his primitive instincts—to take, to devour, to mark her as his until everyone knows she belongs to him.

Jolie was ready to accept just one night of hot kinky sex, but when Richard pulls the boss card the very next morning, everything changes—she’s finally his.
Be Warned: BDSM, anal sex, sex toys, spanking, rimming

Available now from Evernight  Amazon  Amazon UK  
Bookstrand  B&N

 

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When Animal conservationist Emmi Layne meets bad boy Cole Jackson there is no denying the instant lust between them. She has a thing for bears, after all.  However, you cannot build a relationship on awesome sex alone, especially when you live on different continents, and have nothing in common.

Everything changes, when Emmi discovers that their night of passion has left her with more than erotic memories. She has no means of contacting him, even if she wanted to, but she hasn’t counted on this bear shifter’s determination.

Cole is not what he seems, and he will stop at nothing to claim what’s his—even if that means breaking all the rules.

Can he trust the mating bond to deliver, or will it spell the end of an ancient blood line?

With the odds stacked against them, can this unlikely duo find happiness together?

Be Warned: rimming, spanking, anal sex, bondage

Available from Evernight  Amazon  Amazon UK  Bookstrand

 

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[Siren Classic: Erotic Paranormal Consensual BDSM Romance, shape-shifters, spanking, sex toys, HEA]

From the minute Ronan Bernhard roars into Tina Snowdon’s sleepy village on his Harley, he inhabits her thoughts and dreams. The inked mountain rescue biker is a sex-on-legs hunk, and her knickers aren’t the only ones that melt in a flash at his wicked smile.

Ronan, however, keeps his distance and simply becomes another client of her cleaning firm, until the morning she turns up and finds his cottage trashed, and her life is turned upside down.

Bear Shifter Ronan recognises his mate the minute he scents her. Having her clean for him means he can watch over her from afar, because to claim her as his mate and sub is out of the question.

As the village protector he has responsibilities he can’t ignore—duties that will place Tina in grave danger—even if she were able to accept not only his bear, but also his darker desires.

The morning she finds him injured, his bear takes over…          


Available at Bookstrand  Amazon  Amazon UK Barnes&Noble

 

If you would like to give your support to the O’Connor family during their time of sorrow, a multi-author anthology is being released on Valentine’s Day, with 100% of the proceeds going to Doris’ family.

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Ashton Grove MC is now on Audible! #audiobooks #shifters #romance #MCromance #bikerromance #PNR

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Available in Audiobook at:

Audible US / Audible UK / Audible FR / Audible DE / Amazon / iTunes 

 

Books one to four:  A motorcycle club has rolled into Ashton Grove, trying to make a place for themselves. For a motley crew of shifters, f—ing and fighting are just a way of life. But if there’s one thing they can’t stand, it’s anyone who abuses a woman.

Viper: When Viper sits down to a game of poker with the Red Devils MC, and their sergeant at arms tosses a woman in as his bet, Viper knows he has to win at all costs.

Axel: Axel Bloodmoon loves his life in the MC. Danger abounds and there’s lots of willing women to be had. But when he goes on a mission to rescue some abducted women, things don’t turn out quite as he’d planned. One sniff of Amelia and his cat is convinced she belongs to them. Stubborn beast!

Ghost: When Ghost realizes Shelly is being forced to sell her body, and that her pimp is a little too free with his fists, he realizes he can’t sit back and wait any longer. Charging in on his Harley, he swoops in, and rescues the damsel in distress. There’s only one problem. Who’s going to rescue him from her?

Crimson: When Crimson nearly loses Holly, he realizes that he will do anything to keep her by his side – and when a bear gets an idea in his head, he’ll stop at nothing to make it happen. What’s a love-struck shifter to do when his mate has cold feet?

 

Red Cloud Wolves by Kate Steele #interracial #WildWest #cowboyromance #PNR #werewolves @changelingpress @Kate27Steele

 

Lovers in the desert fight for their lives against legends,
wild men… and wolves.

 

Red Cloud Wolves (Red Cloud Wolves 4)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Paranormal, Wildest West,
Gay, Interracial, Werewolves
Length: Box Set

Almost a century ago Landon Jeffers was on the run from a posse determined to see him dance at the end of a noose when he made a discovery that would change his life forever. Landon’s dreams of desert’s riches morphed into images of moonlit nights, howling wolves and a man whose piercing black eyes turn to fire. A wild man who will tame his heart — a man named Dark.

Over the years legends have taken shape about wild men inhabiting the Grand Canyon — men who turn into wolves. Now Landon and Dark will need every bit of courage they possess to preserve the existence of the Moon Wolf. It’s up to them to stop a killer — one who’s been holding a grudge for a very, very long time…

Publisher’s Note: This box set contains the previously published novellas Silver Dreams, Night Gems, and Facets of Night.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

Also available in Paperback!

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Kate Steele
Excerpt from Silver Dreams

As was common in many saloons, the wall behind the bar shone with etched and polished mirror. Rows of glinting glass and bottles filled with whisky, rye, bourbon and the like marched along the low shelves built beside and beneath it. Lan sidled up to the bar and ordered a whiskey. With glass in hand he turned to admire the sight before him. Now this, he mused, feels just like home.

It wasn’t long before he was concentrating on the tables where card games were in progress. At one such table, a man rose. Tipping his hat at those assembled, he walked out of the bar. Another man seated there, at least part Spanish by the look of him, caught Lan’s eye and with a short move of his head indicated the empty seat. Lan sent him an answering nod and joined the other players. Seating himself with little fanfare, he bought into the game, was dealt his first hand and the play began.

For the first couple of hours the game went well. He won his share of hands and had a nice stack of chips in front of him. His fellow players were all obviously experienced but unaware of the fact that they were giving away their hands in subtle ways. As the game progressed Lan was learning their tells. One player would narrow his right eye just a bit when bluffing. Another would tug the corner of his mustache when he had a good hand. Ever so slowly, small bits of body language began to betray each players’ mood and if he held good cards or bad.

One of the bargirls had taken a shine to Lan and made frequent stops at his table. Susie waited on Lan before anyone else and gave him sweet come-hither smiles and meaningful looks from big brown eyes. She also managed to show him quite a bit of her bosom in the process. Lan gracefully bore her attention, not about to enlighten her in this roomful of strangers that he preferred his partners a hell of a lot more flat-chested. And male. This pretty girl was sporting all the wrong equipment to engage Lan’s interest, unlike the fresh-faced cowboy across the table. Lan could definitely see himself letting that beefy, blond-haired, young man ride his cock. Putting those thoughts aside, Lan kept his mind firmly on the game.

It was in the early hours of the morning that the trouble began. Lan had begun to suspect it for quite sometime but the last hand had proved it for sure. The duded up swell who acted like he owned the place was cheating. Lan threw his cards in before the hand began and started to gather his money in spite of the protests around him.

“I got nothing against losing, but I won’t play with a cheat,” he told them. His words brought a quiet hush to the table.

“Who are you accusing of cheating?” the dude asked.

“That’d be you.”

The man sat there bold as brass and slowly nodded his head. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Around the table chairs were pushed back. The tension quickly spread to the neighboring tables until they had an audience looking on with anticipation and dread.

“Would that make a difference?”

“The name’s Roger Coburn.”

“And that should mean what to me?”

“My brother is Daniel Coburn, Marshal of Calico. We own this town.”

Lan felt a slight frisson of dismay which he more than adequately hid behind his calm demeanor. Every nerve in his body was trying to dance with the rising stress that winged through his veins and tightened each muscle in tiny, nearly invisible increments. This situation was far from unfamiliar but he didn’t carry a gun for show. With composure only the best of his breed could exhibit, Lan put his life on the line.

“Do tell. Well, Mr. Coburn, where I come from a man wins at cards with luck and skill, not by intimidation and most definitely not by cheating. I don’t give a damn who you are. No double dealing braggart is lining his pockets with my money.” Lan rose to leave.

Across the table, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, Roger Coburn stood. His chair tipped back and fell. There were screams. Men and women scrambled to get out of the way. A gun appeared in Coburn’s hand as he drew it from his holster. Without stopping to think about it, Lan answered the threat. Two revolvers fired. One found its target, the other didn’t. Coburn gasped and grabbed his middle, blood blossoming and spreading against his shirt in a flood of red. With a look of astonished disbelief on his face, he fell to the side, dead before he hit the floor.

Landon didn’t need any encouragement to get moving. Smoking gun in hand, he grabbed his money up. Keeping a wary eye on those around him, he crossed the floor and was out the door and gone. He didn’t question the need for haste or the need to run. That Coburn had had the bald-faced gall to expect his cheating to be overlooked just because his brother was the town marshal boded ill. From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first such incident. Apparently the marshal backed his brother. More than likely he wouldn’t take kindly to someone killing the man, even if it had been a fair fight.

Walking swiftly to the hotel and entering, he took the stairs two at a time. Once in his room, he stuffed his belongings back in his saddlebags and was back outside in seconds flat heading for the livery stable.

Cursing the darkness, he fumbled in his saddlebags for matches and lit one just inside the stable doors. A lantern hung nearby and he lit the wick then made his way down the line of stalls, quickly finding his horse and tack. The roan gelding blew and stamped, disgruntled at being disturbed but he held steady while Lan got him saddled and bridled. Around him the other horses answered with low whickers. After adjusting his gear, reins in hand, Lan led his horse to the doors and replaced the lantern after carefully extinguishing the flame.

Heart pounding, he paused and listened. In the distance he could hear shouting. Without wasting another second, he was out the door, leading his horse. It was still dark and he wasn’t about to risk injury to the roan. Taking his bearings, he started in an easterly direction and was soon out of town. So far there was no sound of pursuit. The ground rose steadily as he went. Glancing back he could see lights flitting around town like fireflies. They were searching for him.

Grimly, Landon turned his back and kept walking. When the sun rose high enough to make the landscape visible, he mounted up and headed east, intending to put a lot of miles between himself and Calico.

 

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“I want to improve.” This has become my mantra. I think of my authorial skills as a work in progress. I began with no formal training and no degree, just a need to tell a story. I hope, as time goes by, my ability as a teller of tales will improve to the point where, from beginning to end, the reader can immerse her/himself in the world I’ve created, live, laugh and cry with the characters born of my imagination and emerge satisfied and hopefully even happy with the experience.

As for the boring details, I revel in the quiet life of rural Indiana with family and pets. When not writing I read, garden (battle with weeds) and on warm summer nights sit on the front porch to watch Mother Nature’s fireworks. I think fireflies are pretty and pretty amazing, don’t you?

Feel free to direct questions, complaints or compliments (fingers crossed) to katesteele27@yahoo.com or visit my website at www.katesteele.com.

 

PRET OPS by EmmaRay Garrett #SecondEdition #PNR #Vampires #Werewolves @changelingpress

Even on the toughest op, there’s always time for love.
If you don’t get killed first.

 

Pret Ops (Pret Ops 5)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Renee George
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Paranormal, Bisexual and More,
Shapeshifters, Werewolves, Vampires
Length: Box Set

This collection contains the previously released Pret Ops novellas FamiliarWarWolfInfiltrator, and Identity.

In a world where preternaturals work behind the scenes to keep men and supermen safe, the Recondite Corps is the CIA, FBI, and Armed Services all in one.

Familiar: In the wilderness of Siberia, the past will resurrect itself and secrets will be exposed. There’s only one way to defeat The Veil, but can Stas and Nat do it, alone?

WarWolf: All Jeremiah has to do is convince Joshua that in order to stop the mounting violence between the human mob and the Heteroclites, they’ll need the help of the only female the Ascendant vampire can’t forget.

Infiltrator: Brian O’Connor has been in the office too damn long. Rescuing the President’s daughter from guerillas sounds like the perfect op: a little action, a little fresh air, an exotic locale.

Identity: After building the newest branch of the Corps, Cyber Operations, John and Cole Marshall are ready for a real test of their new unit’s skills. Being called in to track down a stalker turned murderer targeting one of their own sounds right up Cy Ops’ alley.

 

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emma Ray Garrett
Excerpt from Pret Ops 3: Infiltrator

Charlie groaned, lifting a hand to her aching forehead. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?” The sickening pound in her skull didn’t provide an answer.

Charlene Thompson, First Daughter, was stuck in a shit hole, somewhere near the equator based on the oppressive heat, with no idea who’d cracked her on the skull and brought her to this place. It was safe to assume it had to do with her father and/or politics, but beyond that…

The acrid smell of wood smoke and the sickly sweet stench of decomposing plants clogged her nostrils. Her skin felt grimy, sticky, where sweat had partially dried and mixed with the dirt of the floor beneath her. Charlie ached for a hot bath for about a half a second. You can bathe when you’re free.

Weak sunlight drifted in through tiny, irregular holes cut high into the walls of the room. Her vision blurred and her stomach pitched, but Charlie choked down the bile. Blinking to clear her sight, she struggled to her feet. Her entire body protested each movement, but Charlie fought through the pain and staggered to the nearest wall.

She stood on weak legs, breathing slowly, and pressed her shoulder to the wall, completely focused on staying upright. She stayed there for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Finally, the thumping in her skull ebbed to a dull throb and the triple vision cleared to a muzzy, but coherent, single sight.

“Now what?” Charlie looked around the dimly lit space. A wooden door faced her, but she didn’t see any handle or knob. “Great.”

From outside she heard voices speaking, though she couldn’t make out the words. The rapidity of the speakers’ cadence reminded her of Spanish. Having grown up in New Mexico, and despite the situation she was in, the sound of the language comforted her.

The earthen room blocked out the dialogue. Thinking the door might offer better eavesdropping, Charlie straightened from the wall and made her way toward it. Getting there took all the strength she’d mustered and she slipped to the floor beside the rickety entrance. The voices outside weren’t much clearer, but the depth of the tones suggested the speakers were probably male. She caught a word here or there, but three she heard distinctly gave her hope. Rio Orinoco and transportamos. The first words signified the Orinoco River, in northeast Venezuela, and the second suggested they were transporting something.

“Probably me.” Knowing where she was gave Charlie a sense of control. She’d never been to continental Venezuela, but she’d enjoyed the islands off the coast more than once.

She forced her sore brain to think about her college geography. The Orinoco River was one of the longest in South America. Her memory wasn’t the best, but she hoped they were in the Lower Orinoco, near the delta and the Atlantic Ocean. Based on the humidity, it was quite likely. It was possible she was somewhere in the plentiful mangrove forests, the swamps, of the country.

Charlie held onto her hope. Even if she were in the middle of a swamp, she’d rather escape and take her chances with Mother Nature than stay here and wait. Tensions between the States and Venezuela hadn’t been the best for more than twenty years. However, a lot of the country was urbanized. If she could escape, and make her way out of the jungle, if that’s where she was, she had a good chance of getting home.

The voices outside grew louder, approaching footsteps launching her heart into her throat. She couldn’t afford to let her captors know she was awake. Without thinking, Charlie scrabbled away from the door, flopping onto the floor and closing her eyes. Something scraped against the wood and the door opened.

Though her blood pounded, Charlie stilled her breathing to soft, shallow expulsions and inhalations. She rolled her eyes beneath her lids, the action stilling any fluttering that might give away her cognizant state. The footsteps moved closer and she felt a hard, round object pressing into her back. She didn’t react and her visitor shoved at her deeper.

When she remained unresponsive, he must have been satisfied. With a grunt, he shuffled away, the sound of rubber soles on dirt sending relief surging through her body. The door closed with a squeak and a thump and Charlie had to stifle a sob. She had no doubt the man had nudged her with a gun.

“What have you done, Dad?” Anger at her father gave her strength, but Charlie couldn’t sustain it. She needed to formulate a plan of escape. Whether her father was involved or not, Charlie knew it was up to her to get free. Waiting on the US government for a rescue wasn’t an option.

She got up slowly and crawled back to the door. She pressed her ear to it, listening, learning. More and more words became clear, and Charlie felt the beginnings of a plan form.

 

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“…and I — I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

-The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost

The last line from award-winning author Emma Ray’s favorite poem pretty much sums up her life. Her tendency to do her own thing is what her friends and family love best, and least, about her. Chaos is a constant in the Garrett home, which currently houses her intelligent, energetic children, a devoted husband, a very large, very lazy, white tom-cat, a very crazy, very small black cat, and a very happy, very healthy rescue pooch — who’s black and white.

Other books by Emma Ray Garrett

 

HAVOC by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerromance #NewRelease #NewAdult #olderhero #MayDecember @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

I saw her and knew I couldn’t walk away.
I just didn’t realize I’d want to keep her. Forever.

 

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Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Action Adventure, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy,
MC Romance, New Adult, Silver Fox

Jordan — I spent a year in prison for a crime I admittedly did commit, but I had a good reason. I was supposed to serve a longer sentence, but a handsy guard and a pissed-off warden who wanted me to keep quiet meant I got out early. My brothers have abandoned me, and there’s nowhere for me to go. Until the hottest man I’ve ever met decides to be my knight on shining Harley. He only thinks he knows me though, and if he ever finds out I was locked up for a violent crime he might walk away. For some reason, the thought sends me into a panic. Havoc isn’t at all what I’m used to, but maybe he’s just what I need.

Havoc — No way the pretty blonde was doing hard time for anything bad. Just looking into her eyes, I can see how sweet she is. There’s a vulnerability there that makes me want to wrap her in my arms and never let her go. When I find out the same prison that nearly killed me was trying to cover up another incident, one involving the woman I can’t stop staring at — the goddess with the body of a porn star — fury flows through me. Whatever it takes, I’ll keep her safe, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that what happens in that prison doesn’t stay there. Whoever hurt her will be coming, and I’m going to be ready for them. No one touches what’s mine, and Jordan may not realize it but I’m not letting her go.

WARNING: Contains some violence, a lot of bad language, super hot scenes that may require cold showers, a sassy sarcastic heroine, and a badass biker who won’t stop until he has what he wants.

Get it Today at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Harley Wylde

While I’d been locked up my Nikes had mysteriously vanished. I’d been given prison issued flip-flops to wear home instead. Not only were they hideous, but I could feel every damn pebble in the road as I walked toward what I hoped was the nearest town.

The prison I’d been sentenced to wasn’t near my home area, and I honestly didn’t have a fucking clue how to get back without someone picking me up. My money wouldn’t buy me a bus ticket, or much else for that matter. I seriously doubted that motel rooms had dropped in price enough for me to get one, which meant I would be sleeping outside if I couldn’t find a way to reach one of my bonehead brothers, and hope the jackass actually came to get me. Unlike Dopey.

The sun beat down on me and sweat trickled down my spine. I could feel my hair sticking to my neck and wished I had a way to pull it up. I hadn’t gotten it cut while I was locked up and it was now nearly down to my waist. As I looked off in the distance, the road looked a little hazy and I wondered just how fucking hot it was today. Summer in Florida was no fucking joke. I paused when I heard a rustle off to my right and my gut clenched. Please don’t be a hungry gator.

A rabbit bounded out of the brush and darted across the road, making me sigh in relief that it wasn’t something about to make a snack out of me. I kept walking, but it felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the prison in the distance and figured I’d probably walked two or three miles. Nowhere near far enough, since I still didn’t see any sign of a town on the horizon.

The longer I walked, the drier my throat became. My legs felt like they would give out at any moment, but I trudged onward. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice. If I was lucky, Dopey would finally show up at the prison and someone would tell him which direction I took. I wasn’t entirely sure he’d come after me though. My brothers acted like it was entirely my fault I’d been in prison. And maybe I did need to control my temper better, but I’d been defending my family! That should have counted for something, right?

Apparently not.

I could feel my body swaying and dots were swimming across my vision. Had it gotten even hotter? My mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my limbs were getting heavier. The next step I took, I went down hard on the pavement. As much as I fought to get up, I just couldn’t do it. Instead, I fell forward and just lay there, panting and wondering if I was about to die after having survived a year in hell.

A roar filled my ears and made my eardrums vibrate. I wondered if it was a common sound to hear when you were dying. The sound came closer, got louder, then shut off. I heard someone say a string of bad words that would have a made a sailor proud, then heavy steps came toward me.

“Miss? Hey, you all right?”

Whoever he was, his voice was deep and rich. I struggled to open my eyes, but everything was a big blur. I got the impression of a rather massive man dressed in black, and that was about it. Before I could say or do anything, I could feel myself slipping away again. The man cursed once more, then I was lifted into his arms. I heard more bikes and what sounded like a loud truck or SUV. I tried to focus on the voices, but I couldn’t keep up with the conversation.

Something cool and wet was placed against my lips and I eagerly slurped the water.

“Easy,” someone said. “Don’t want to get sick.”

They took the bottle of water away and I whined, wanting more.

“Let’s get her into the truck. The AC has been running and we need to lower her body temp. She’s burning up,” said another voice.

“I didn’t see a vehicle broken down anywhere. You think some asshole kicked her out of their car?”

Now that voice I recognized. The man who had first stopped to help me. My savior. Well, I hoped that’s what he would be. If they had something nefarious planned for me, I honestly didn’t have the strength to fight them.

The icy air coasted over my skin as someone laid me across the seat of the truck. Eventually, I was able to open my eyes and focus a bit more. A group of big bikers were staring into the vehicle. One of them helped me sit up and drink some more water.

“How long you been out here, sweetheart?” a giant with red hair asked. It was the man who had stopped to help. The one with the voice I could listen to all day and never grow tired of.

“Don’t know. Since ten o’clock?” I said, my voice croaking a bit.

“Ten?” an Asian man asked, his eyebrows shooting upward. “Damn. That was five hours ago. Where the hell were you going on foot?”

“Town.”

“Sweetheart, town is another ten miles down the road,” the redhead said. “Why are you on the side of the road? Some asshole kick you out of the car?”

“My brother was supposed to give me a ride. He never showed.”

The men shared a look then the redhead’s gaze sharpened on me. “A ride? From where?”

I licked my lips and looked away, but he reached out and forced me to look him in the eye. Something about his gaze made me want to answer his question, like I needed to obey.

“The prison,” I said. “They released me today and my brother was supposed to pick me up.”

“Shit.” One of them stalked off then came back. “How long were you inside?”

“A year.” Which was the truth. It just hadn’t been the full sentence I was supposed to serve. I wasn’t about to volunteer that information, though. I hoped they didn’t ask why I’d been locked up. All I wanted was a ride to town, and maybe a way to call my brothers and see if one of them would come get me.

“Just a year?” the Asian man asked. “Drugs?”

“No. I’ve never taken or sold drugs.”

“Prostitution?” the redhead asked.

I stared at him. “Really? I look like a whore? Thanks.”

He shrugged then his gaze landed on my bare legs. I felt my cheeks warm, but my face was probably so red from the sun it wasn’t noticeable. Even if he wasn’t painting me in a flattering light, he was probably the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Not in that pretty boy kind of way, but in a rough, rugged, and manly type of way. His red hair gleamed in the sunlight and the full beard along his jaw made me wonder if it was as soft as it looked. When he lifted his blue gaze from my legs, I knew I’d remember that heated look of his for a long-ass time.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

 

WHERE TO FIND HARLEY…

harleywylde.com

Harley on Facebook

When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can’t deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you’ve come to the right place.

A Year and a Day by Willa Okati #GayRomance #NewRelease #PNR @changelingpress @willaokati

 

Three stories of heartbreak, passion, and magic in the mountains of Appalachia.

 

A Year and A Day (A Year and A Day 1)

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Paranormal, Gay, Second Chance

 

A Year and a Day: Nothing is going to stand in Slate’s way when it comes to getting his lover Ash back. He plans on using unfamiliar magics to call Ash back to his side — but magic always comes at a cost.

Unspoken: Once a famous vocalist, Ian has become mute for reasons no doctor can explain. At a low point, Ian encounters a strange man in his garden — a wandering musician, like the bards of old times. Andy teaches Ian love itself is one of the greatest forms of expression.

The Letter: It’s been hard, but Luke and Brandon have decided to part so Luke can follow his New York dreams. The lovers question that decision when they discover a chest of letters in their attic containing details of their relationship down to the last moment — except these letters were written in 1948. Should they reconsider their choices? The answer is in the final letter…

 

Get it at Changeling Press

also available in paperback

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Willa Okati
Excerpt from A Year and a Day

Six o’clock in the morning, and the sun was just beginning to glow over the horizon. Faint whispers of red and pink light crept through Slate’s bedroom window, painting stained-glass pictures on his ceiling. He lay awake on top of the covers, staring at them. “You know, there’s folk who say they see the face of the Virgin Mary in a squash,” he said out loud, to himself. “Wonder if I look hard enough, I’ll see my lover’s face in the sunlight?”

He snorted. Fool’s dreams. A year since Ash had died, and he still woke up every morning expecting to see that tousled dark head lying on the pillow next to his. Every night, he dreamed of the two of them in that same bed, arms and legs tangled around each other, limbs straining as they made love. Slate let his eyes flutter half-shut, imagining he could feel Ash’s strong young hands skating over his skin, laughing about measuring him by spans. He licked his lips, fancying he might be able to taste the salt.

No. Nothing. Just his own flavor, that of a man who’d brushed and swished before falling on top of his bed sometime around three a.m. Sterile, minty, lonely as hell. He’d trade any number of fresh morning breaths for one kiss from Ash, breaking apart to laugh about who ate what the night before.

No more kisses from Ash, anymore. No more anything.

The sunlight grew stronger, stretching across Slate’s ceiling. In times past, he’d have had a rooster out back, lord of the coops, standing on top of the henhouse and letting out a mighty crow. There were those who said that was an old wives’ tale, but they hadn’t met the ugly old beast he and Ash owned.

He’d sold that critter not long after… after… Well, mornings were hard enough to face. Almost as bad as the nights. Daylight meant another night without sleep, meant another day to get through without his lover.

Turning on his side, he stretched one arm across the smooth expanse of made-up covers beside him, not mussed in the least. Blankets tucked in smoothly, pillow plump and fat. Ash’s side of the bed. A year to the day, and he wasn’t able to bear sleeping in the middle, or even crossing sides of the bed. He had tried, once. Lain in Ash’s place, hoping he’d have a good dream.

Hadn’t worked. He’d seen that day in the barn over and over inside his mind, so crystal clear in his thoughts as if it were happening all over again. Ash, gasping for air. Ash, falling. Himself, down on the hard-packed dirt, Brown Sugar getting all agitated and kicking her stall. Finally remembering to call 911.

Firemen. Paramedics. His friend Marianne and her lover Zillah trying to draw him aside, and when he wouldn’t go, being muscled back by two big, strong men in yellow suits. Sinking down on a bale of feed and feeling their soft, womanly hands on his back, his shoulders, trying their damnedest to soothe. He hadn’t paid them a bit of mind. Everything in him had been focused on Ash, lying so still… so still…

Someone in a uniform had come to talk to him after a spell. He could still remember the man’s words, letter-perfect. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kincaid. Slate. He’s young, but best as we can tell he had a heart attack before he fell. It does happen to some men this young. Do you know if he had any congenital heart defects?”

Slate had shaken his head, baffled. “No… not Ash… he was fine. Never said a word about anything wrong with him.”

“He might not have,” the uniform allowed. “The fall did break his neck, though. There’ll have to be an autopsy –”

There Slate had lunged up from where he sat, raging at the man telling him this news in a voice schooled to be soft and sympathetic. Liar. He hadn’t felt a damn thing. “You’re not cuttin’ him up.”

Marianne and Zillah had managed to drag Slate back into a sitting position, and they’d held him there. Strong for women, they were. “I’m sorry for your loss,” was all the uniform had said, before he went back to the scene of the… where Ash lay, cooling off in the dirt.

Slate hadn’t cried then. He still hadn’t, one year later. His eyes burned with the need to, but no matter how many times his lady friends offered their shoulder, he hadn’t been able to coax out a single drop.

Grieve, they’d told him. You have to mourn him, Slate. Otherwise you’ll never be able to let go.

Damn them. He didn’t want to let go. And as long as he had reminders, he wouldn’t have to.

Rolling over again, he reached out to touch the leaves of a pretty plant on his bedside table. Glossy green leaves shaped like hearts, bell-like flowers. Foxglove. Digitalis. “You did have a heart problem,” he whispered. “And you didn’t tell me. I think I might just hate you a bit for that, Ash. Always had to be messin’ around with your herbal medicaments. So sure you had it under control.” His hand tightened into a fist. “Didn’t you know you can’t fix something like this without goin’ under the knife? Did you really think your herbs and your potions would fix it all? Damn you, lover. Why didn’t you tell me?”

But as when he’d asked those questions, every single morning as he rose out of his bed, there were no answers. There wouldn’t be, either. Dead men didn’t talk.
No matter how much one might want them to.

Ash’s radio kicked on as the time ticked over to six-fifteen. Dimly, Slate knew he should have been getting up, too, but damned if he could find the energy to rise. Still fondling a leaf of the foxglove between his fingers, he listened to good old Patsy Cline singing about how she was crazy, crazy for feeling so blue. He thought — not crazy at all. It’s hell to be by yourself when you were promised forever.

He closed his eyes and remembered a certain morning when Ash had been the first to wake. Slate had still been asleep, drowsing past the sunlight’s first peek into the sky. Normally he was the one to rise earliest, but not this time. He remembered Ash’s warm arms sliding across him, the man molding himself to Slate’s side. They’d been playing Elvis that morning. “Love me tender,” Ash had sung into Slate’s ear, following it up with a nip to the lobe, then soothing the sting with the tip of his tongue. “Love me true…”

“And I do,” Slate had said. “Come here and give me a kiss.”

Ash had folded gladly into his arms. They were young and horny; it hadn’t been long before they’d been writhing against one another, hard cocks bumping together. He’d come just from the feeling of his lover on top of him, so desperate for him that neither of them had been able to wait.

Now, he woke in the same clothes he’d laid down in, on top of the covers instead of beneath them. Woke, if he’d slept at all, which to be frank, he hadn’t. Is this grief? he wondered. Is this mourning? The women push, push, pushed at him. But he had to deal with things in his own time, at his own pace.

Besides, he had some secret, certain plans they didn’t know about…

 

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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.

 

 

Wanderer’s Rest by Emily Carrington #shifters #GayRomance #PNR #NewRelease @CarringtonEmily @changelingpress

 

When Michael mates with a lusty hawk shifter he knows it’s for life.
But Garrett has other plans……

 

Wanderer's Rest (A Pack of His Own 3)

 

Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Genres/Themes: Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Gay, Shapeshifters, Werewolves

 

When Michael has sex with a lusty hawk shifter, he thinks they’re mated for life. However Garrett isn’t one of Michael’s people, and he doesn’t understand the traditions — and very real consequences — that go with having a good time in bed.

Will their forced mating ruin their lustful desires, or feed the flames instead?

Publisher’s Note: This book is part of a series, and is best read in order.

 

Get it at Changeling Press

 

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All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2018 Emily Carrington

Michael stood in the doorway to the bedroom where the unmated wolves of the eros pack to which he belonged slept. An eros pack was different from a straight one. The latter was, traditionally, composed of straight wolves who were full citizens, and LGBTQ, psychic wolves who were not. Eros packs had originally been invented to establish a place where psychic werewolves could be equals.

Michael scowled down at the body. His mind was taken up with werewolf history — namely description of packs — because he didn’t want to think about the task ahead: finding the assassin. Outside, the second or third snow of January was falling, but in here it was hot and the heat boosted the stench of blood, shit, and urine.

The wolf lying on the floor hadn’t been killed here. The drag marks left in the carpet were all too evident. So, the question was: where had he been killed? And who had murdered him?

Michael found himself praying that the murderer was from outside the Rowan pack even though the placement of the body made that unlikely. If the culprit was from within the Rowan pack —

But Michael cut off the thought cleanly there. This wasn’t the Rowan eros pack any longer. Rowan Alec was just over six months dead. This pack had no leader besides Michael, Rowan Alec’s beta, and no name except “formerly known as the Rowan pack.”
The artist formerly known as Prince. In spite of the situation, Michael smiled. It wasn’t as if he’d liked the wolf who had died. A troublemaker and an upstart, Joseph had been a thorn in Michael’s side even when Rowan Alec still lived. Too submissive to be a serious threat to most of the dominant wolves, Joseph had always been starting fights with the wolves ahead of him and the ones just beneath him in the pecking order.

Well, now someone had ended his troublesome existence and Michael wasn’t sorry to see him gone. But death in the pack meant danger, and he would not see this pack — Alec’s pack — fall apart. And besides, he thought as he began to follow the drag trail toward the back of the Rowan pack’s large, single story house, someone deserved to pay for Joseph’s death.

The trail of blood and other bodily fluids led outside. Michael trudged, barefoot and uncaring, into the snow. About three dozen steps from the house, close to the fence at the back of the property, he found the killing ground. It was mashed snow and mud, blood and gore. Michael couldn’t fathom why those who had killed Joseph had bothered to move his body into the house. After all, this was just as good a place for a corpse as any.

Unless, he thought, they wanted me to find it when I came in to do my daily check on Henry. The most submissive of Michael’s wolves, Henry had been slipping away little by little over the past half a year. Spending as much time on four paws as on two feet, Henry had been fired from his job for missing too much work. He’d stopped bathing on a regular basis and there was an unhealthy dullness to his fur. Michael had taken it upon himself to check on Henry every day when getting home shortly after five, and he usually found the submissive in the bedroom shared by the five — well, now four — unmated wolves.

Actually, there were still five, Michael being the fifth. But he’d reluctantly taken over Rowan Alec’s bedroom. Not because he thought he deserved it but because it was the expected thing. Rowan Alec had been unmated, but as alpha it was his prerogative to have his own room. And since Michael had stepped into Rowan Alec’s place, it had made sense to take over his space as well.

Maybe —

“I love you.”

— unmated by choice. Michael was disturbed by the thought that his alpha had loved him. Maybe it shouldn’t bother him now that Rowan Alec was gone but it did. Not because Michael wasn’t attracted to male wolves; he was aroused by both genders. But because, frankly, Rowan Alec had been too dominant to be Michael’s type.

Forcing himself back to the present, Michael scented around the killing ground until he discovered the identities of the two wolves who had teamed up to kill Joseph. They were wolves in the Rowan — in Michael’s pack, and he sighed. He would have to deal with them. He needed to find out why they’d killed Joseph. They were just above him in the hierarchy. Surely no matter how offensive Joseph hadn’t deserved the ignoble fate of being set upon by two wolves more powerful than he. Any fight that had reached killing level should have been brought to Michael to settle.

I hope none of our neighbors saw the murder. Especially since Joseph was in human form when he was killed. Michael would have to call in professionals, SearchLight operatives, to clean up any loose ends, meaning humans who had seen too much. At least I know the right SearchLight agent to call.

Michael trudged back toward the house after considering the killing ground for another moment and deciding he’d have to ask the cleanup crew to take care of that as well. The only good thing was that the wolves who had killed Joseph weren’t in the house. Michael wouldn’t have to deal with them until they got home.

Assuming they come home. He sighed. That was a bit of food he wouldn’t chew until he had to.

He found himself wishing those specific wolves would do something stupid and force either SearchLight or Firos William, leader of all North American werewolves, to end their miserable existences. Just so I don’t have to kill two friends.

 

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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.

Website: emilycarrington.com/

Goodreads: goodreads.com/author/show/4619715.Emily_Carrington

Facebook: facebook.com/emily.carrington.370

Twitter twitter.com/CarringtonEmily