Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Demon Erotica Story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of paranormal heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!
Killed in a dirty back alley by a street whore. Such an ugly way to die. But my lessons in death have only just begun.
Hell is filthy. And cold. And as soon as I fell, I found a demon waiting for me. My new Master. From spanking to whipping to painful abuse, each new lesson gives me hope — the hope of oblivion. Surely I can’t survive this long.
But the longer I’m here, the more I learn about myself and the life I wasted. And the more I crave Master’s touch. Each lesson strips away another layer of my mortal flesh. I am everyman. I am no one. I am what my Master wishes me to be. A Demon’s whore for all eternity… Who said going to Hell didn’t have its rewards?
Extreme BDSM Warning: The actions portrayed in this story are well outside the accepted BDSM norm of “Safe, Sane, and Consensual” or even “Risk Aware Consensual Kink” and should not be reenacted by mere mortals. Unless you’re a demon, you will end up featured on “1000 Ways to Die.”
I fell into a rocky hole, so small I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t even crawl down the steep slope. Rolling from side to side got me inching down, but also got dirt up my ass. And whether exertion or something else caused the temperature to rise, I was getting much, much warmer.
Ingenuity kicked in, and I figured out by laying on my back, head first, I could use my feet on the craggy sides to push my way down the tunnel. The bottom had sides equally rough. No doubt I’d have bruises all over.
No biggie. Pain I could handle.
A deep voice rose up from the darkness. “You think so, eh? We’ll find out.”
Oh, goodie.
Without warning, I fell head first onto a dirt floor as lumpy as the tunnel. Even as I watched, rubbing my head, the hole closed. I tapped on the spot where the opening had been to see if it was solid. Yeah, they didn’t miss a trick, this bunch.
“Welcome to my home,” the deep voice said with obvious amusement.
I turned to find a well dressed man in a suit not unlike one I’d wear to the office, when I bothered to go in. His hair had been neatly styled, his shoes shined, and his body looked like he could give me a challenge on the handball court. In fact, as I gazed longer, he looked a lot like me.
“This is what you were. Now, I will show you the real me.”
First, his eyes turned red. That was enough to make me tremble. Something awful radiated from them, the promise of no sympathy, no compromise.
As covertly as I could, I looked for routes of escape. I should have kept my eyes on him, or better yet on the floor. Cages and torture devices and things I’d only seen on the Internet filled my vision. I wasn’t skilled at using them, as my extra marital lovers told me, and I doubted I’d be any better at having them used on me.
“See me, and know that I am your Lord and Master,” the deep voice ordered.
Despite emptying myself earlier, I again felt the need to pee when I looked upon the creature who spoke to me. With skin as red as his eyes, hair only a few shades darker that hung to his waist, and claws on both fingers and toes, just seeing him induced panic.
“You know, I’m not really into the D/s thing. Can we skip this part?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira’s stories.
The who and what of Kira in this more mundane world is not what turns you on, but the words sure do – so go discover the passion that awaits you between the covers of every Kira Stone book…
Haunted? Hunted? When you need a safe place from disaster, heartbreak, or gods trying to break you and drain your blood… come to Sanctuary. It’s New York’s most exclusive club for magical beings and the backdrop of three sexy stories from three award winning authors.
We Choose to Be by Megan Hart
Love is in the air…and the blood. When hemomancer Hadassah meets the woman of her dreams, she has no idea that Yael is actually a blood demon. Is it only the draw of Hadassah’s talents that brings Yael into her bed? Or is there something more. Something that could last. What is love, after all, unless it’s bound by blood?
Sanguine Faith by Brenda Murphy
After a messy break-up leaves Laurel homeless and unemployed, she accepts her great-uncle’s offer of a townhouse and a job. When a seductive spirit trapped in the town house offers Laurel a means of escaping the life her uncle has planned for her, she learns that free does not mean without cost.
Promises Made by Starlight by Fiona Zedde
Abandoned by her wife years before and left devastated, Izzy has recently lost nearly everything else. Her credit is abysmal, she’s underemployed, and her successful best friend treats her like a charity case. But when her wife reappears, breaking her heart all over again, Izzy finds that not everything is as it seems. Blood gods walk the earth, and the one she once welcomed into her bed is back—ready to reclaim what’s hers.
The rap on the car window rattled the glass. Laurel started and slammed her knee into the steering wheel. She cursed softly as she jabbed the window control button. The demon was dressed as a policeman. He wore dark glasses and his beefy hands rested on his thick duty belt nestled between the pepper spray canister and his pistol holster. A slight glow from a pouch near his hip was the only clue to his true identity. Huffing out her frustration at the window’s lack of response, Laurel shoved open the car door.
“You okay?” The officer leaned closer and peered into her face. His feet were squarely inside the circle of salt Laurel had spread around the car the night before.
“Yeah.” Laurel cleared her throat. “I’m okay.”
“You can’t sleep here.” He gestured to the street lined with ancient brownstone townhouses and graffiti covered buildings. “It’s not safe.”
“I’m sorry—” Laurel wiped her hand over her face and squinted at the officer’s name badge. “—Officer Sullivan, is it? I worked a late shift and didn’t feel safe driving anymore. I pulled over here to catch a nap.”
“Stow it. I passed this way last evening, and you were parked here. Your car hasn’t moved.” He leaned closer and removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his shirt pocket. “I know your uncle.”
“Great-uncle.” Laurel stared at his face and inhaled sharply. His eyes were light gray rimmed with red, her image mirrored in their shallow depths. His practiced glare was that of an experienced centurion. Laurel shivered under Sullivan’s gaze, unable to look away from the magical enforcer. He was bound to her clan, sworn to serve and protect. Loyal to a fault, willing to die for the family. Her great-uncle had a legion of centurions, all more than willing to aid and abet his less than legal business dealings.
“Is that so? Why are you here? What do you want?” Laurel pressed her lips together and rolled the hem of her shirt between her fingers.
Officer Sullivan leaned down and spoke softly. “You’re royalty in our world, Laurel. He know you’re sleeping in your car?” His melodious tones seeped into her body as he used the old language, the language of secrets, curses, spells, and death.
Laurel suppressed her shudder. “My roommate kicked me out.” She scrubbed her hand over her face in an attempt to hide the lie. “It was sudden.”
The centurion straightened and pursed his lips. He drummed the fingers of his hand on his holster. “All right, Laurel, if that’s how you want to play it. You need to discuss this with your great-uncle. If you don’t, I will. I don’t want to find you sleeping in your car again.” He tilted his head. “You may not have inherited your family’s abilities but you’re still family. We take care of our own. I can’t spend my nights watching you sleep, keeping watch for the Orions.”
Laurel gripped her keys tightly. Orions. The hunters. So many missing. So many gone in the blink of an eye, their bloodless and mutilated bodies found months or years later. Or worse found still smoldering, their mouths open in voiceless screams. She had taken a chance last night, but after walking in on her girlfriend eyebrows deep between their neighbor’s legs she had stuffed her car full of what it would hold and fled.
“I’ll be safe.” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall, straightening her posture before she settled her hands at nine and three on the steering wheel. “I’ll talk to him today.”
Officer Sullivan stepped back, smearing the salt of the circle she had spread around the car. He pointed at it, lifted his chin, and smirked. “Seriously? It doesn’t work unless you infuse it with energy.”
Laurel inserted the keys into the ignition. “I know.” She looked away from her feeble attempt to protect herself and his smirk. After snapping her seatbelt in place, she waved at him and closed the door. She banged her hand hard on the steering wheel when the telltale click-click-click of a dead battery echoed in the car. “Fuck me.”
Officer Sullivan opened her door. “Come on. I’ll give you a lift.”
Laurel chewed her lip as she looked down at her paint-stained black T-shirt and tatty jeans. “I can’t go like this.”
Officer Sullivan rapped on the top of the car. “Get out. Now. I don’t have all day to deal with you, Laurel. And it’s not worth my life to leave you here with a broken-down car.” He stepped back and crossed his thick arms. “Do I need to assist you in exiting the car?”
Laurel shivered. She had experienced a centurion’s assistance just once and the memory of it still woke her at night. She trembled and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. “Let me grab my backpack.”
“Good choice.”
Laurel gathered the few things she didn’t want to leave in the car. After jamming her sketchbook next to her ancient laptop in her bag, she zipped the top closed and grabbed her hooded sweatshirt from the backseat before she exited the car.
“You hungry?”
“I’d really like coffee. I can’t talk to Great-uncle Marcus without some caffeine on board.”
“Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast.”
“Why’d you let me sleep there last night if you were just going to take me to my uncle today?”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
Laurel glanced at Officer Sullivan walking beside her. “Thank you.”
“No problem. To serve and protect. Even if it’s from yourself.” He held the car door open, and she slid onto the cool leather seat. She settled her backpack between her feet and pulled on her black hooded sweatshirt. The car shifted to the side as Officer Sullivan entered and levered his bulk behind the wheel.
He waited until she had fastened her seatbelt before he started the car. Laurel’s gaze slid over the array of weapons lining the car. Magical weapons clipped into racks side by side with conventional firearms, their soft glow visible to Laurel.
Able to see magic, unable to wield her own power, the last female of a clan stretching back eons, unwilling to assume her role as clan leader and unwilling to produce an heir, Laurel chewed her lip as the car shot forward bringing her closer to her great-uncle’s house.
Laurel shifted in her seat and drummed her fingers on her knees. “You worked for my mom and dad, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
Laurel stared out of the window. A familiar ache settled in her chest. There were some things even magic couldn’t protect you from. The ratty buildings gave way to well-kept streets and high-rise buildings. The sidewalks were crowded with people scurrying to work and school.
“Do you think the humans ever get it? Like, do they know about us? Really get it? Other than the ones we make consorts?”
“Humans see what they want to see. If they ever understood how powerful supernaturals are, they would freak right the fuck out. And try to exterminate us. Again. All of us. Their unwillingness to see and believe is what keeps us safe.” He tapped the pistol on his belt. “And this.”
Laurel shuddered as the car slowed and stopped.
Officer Sullivan turned off the engine and preened in the rearview mirror a moment before he turned his head to face Laurel. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black. Unless it’s that dark roast crap. Then make it white as a virgin’s wedding dress.”
Officer Sullivan’s loud guffaw exploded in the quiet of the car. “You got it.” He left the car.
Laurel glanced at the tarnished Saint Christopher medal stuck to the car’s headliner and rolled her eyes. A group of humans rushed past, small children and their adults, animated and laughing, their voices muffled by the car window. The gentle ache in her heart blossomed into full-blown longing. Laurel blinked the grit of exhaustion from her eyes, leaned back against the headrest, and rehearsed the story she would spin for her great-uncle, hoping he would listen, knowing he would not.
Brenda Murphy (she/her) writes erotic romance. Her most recent novel, Double Six, is the 2020 Golden Crown Literary Society winner for Erotic Novels, and Knotted Legacy, the third book in the Rowan House series, made the 2018 The Lesbian Review’s Top 100 Vacation Reads list. You can catch her musings on writing, books, and living with wicked ADHD on her blog Writing While Distracted. She loves sideshows and tattoos and yes, those are her monkeys. When she is not loitering at her local library, she wrangles twins, one dog, and an unrepentant parrot
I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. For a free short story, information on book signings, appearances, work in progress snippets, previews and sneak-peeks, sign up for my email list at: http://www.brendalmurphy.com/
Megan Hart writes books. Some of them use bad words, but most of the other words are okay. Some of them hit bestseller lists and win awards and some don’t, but that’s the way it goes. She can’t live without music, the internet, or the ocean, but she and soda have achieved an amicable uncoupling. She loathes the feeling of corduroy or velvet, and modern art leaves her cold. She writes a little bit of everything from horror to romance, though she’s best known for writing steamy fiction that sometimes makes you cry.
Fiona Zedde was born under the Jamaican sun but now makes her home in Spain. Since getting the writing bug, she’s published around thirty books and short stories, mostly about black queer romance, including the Lambda Literary Award finalists, Bliss and Every Dark Desire. Her novel Dangerous Pleasures received a Publishers Weekly starred review and was winner of an About.com Readers’ Choice Award for Best Lesbian Novel or Memoir.
At this very second, she’s probably writing another book, and it has 100 percent chance of having queer romance and queer women in it. Her pseudo-healthy obsessions are French pastries, English cars, and Jamaican food.
It’s been six weeks since Halloween. Six weeks since Grace stumbled into the ER, almost dead and begging for help. Six weeks since she lost every single memory, including her own name.
Taken in by the mysterious Sisters of the Order of Saint Raphael the Healer, Grace’s wounds are dressed and she is assured her memories will return—in time. But does Grace want her memories back? Maybe she’s chosen to forget them, maybe there’s a reason. The sisters hide things from her. They whisper things about her.
When a demon forces its way into the convent, it declares that Grace is a demon too. Grace demands answers. Answers that may reveal not only who she is, but that the sisters might not be who they say they are, either.
Grace knelt on the kneeling bar, whatever it was the sisters called it, and folded her hands together behind the pew in front of her. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Sister Monica.”
The novice nun kneeling beside her shook her head a millimeter, her curls almost bursting through her headscarf, and clenched her hands tighter. Her lips moved over a prayer, her eyes squinched closed.
Grace grinned and scooted closer. She did close her eyes, though, making a clumsy sign of the cross over her shoulders. An approximation, at least. Her inability to get it right exasperated the sisters on a damn near hilarious level. “Are we doing your coming-of-age ceremony today?”
Monica’s lips stopped moving, and she pressed them together. They didn’t disappear into nothingness the way the mother made hers do, but by the time Mon was Mother Mary’s age, she’d be able to do it better. She leaned, her umber skin mellow in the low light of the sanctuary, and whispered so quiet Grace had to listen with all she had to catch it. “Either shut up and pray or leave and meet me in your room.”
Grace swallowed, the blood rushing to her cheeks. “Sorry, Mon. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to take communion with you, if you were going to take your vows.”
Mouth dropping open, Monica turned to her. “Why would you want to do that?” Her voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling, the walls, and the windows, including the lone stained-glass window in the sanctuary.
One of the other sisters, Eliana probably, shushed. The shush was so sharp it may have cut the air as it sped across the cavernous room.
Monica stood, stuffing her rosary under her robes, and grabbed Grace above the elbow. She tugged, not unkindly.
Grace held her abs with one hand and stood. The twinge as she did brought back her first memory with force. The splat-splat-splat of her own intestines as they hit the floor of the hospital emergency room. Everything before that moment, including how she’d been gutted, was a deep well of nothing.
Her next memory, which was much nicer, was of Monica, sitting next to her hospital bed and assuring her that her full memory would return in time.
As the sanctuary doors closed, the chilly hallway enveloped them. The morning sun hadn’t had a chance to penetrate it yet, and the walls radiated last night’s cold.
Grace shivered and shook her head to clear it of the slapping sound her guts had made when they hit the tile. For all the good it’d do. “Sorry. I thought you were going to get your habit today and stuff. Take your vows. All that.”
Monica shook her head with a frown. “Mother Mary told me I’m not ready yet. I guess I have more study to do.” Still walking, she looked Grace up and down. “How’re your wounds?”
“Healing.”
“You’re a fast healer.”
“Only because you help me.” She rubbed the scar below her stomach. “Glad we finally got the bandages off. How long have I been here again?”
“The Order took you in from the hospital about”—she drew out the u, squeezing her eyes closed—“six weeks ago?”
“Weird. I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than that.”
They turned a corner, bright sun flooding the next hallway—Grace’s favorite hallway—dust motes dancing along the shafts, and stopped before the only other stained-glass window in the place.
Raphael the Archangel stood outlined in pinks and blues, gold shining all around his head and shoulders, what the sisters called his halo. His glowing hands rested on the heads of two penitents who knelt before him, their eyes bleeding.
Monica smiled. “The feeling’s mutual.” Cheeks tinged red, she crossed herself, curtsied to Raphael, and continued down the hall.
Grace cast a glance at the window. Raphael’s face wore an out-of-place expression of serenity while blessing two people who cried tears of blood. Despite the eyes, she found peace in the scene.
She caught up to Monica, running her hand through the two inches of hair on her head, the healing scar a line slashed through it. “That library is the darkest room in this convent. You’d think they’d want windows so you could actually see the words in the books.”
“The books are old, Grace. They’d react badly to sunlight. We’ve had this conversation.” She stopped, one hand on an enormous door handle. “Did you want to keep me company today?”
“I was serious about the communion, Mon.” Grace bit her lip. Six weeks’ worth of changing bandages and chatting and following her around the convent made Grace feel close to Sister Monica. Like a real friend. This ceremony was a Big Deal to Mon, and Mon was a Big Deal to Grace. It only seemed right to do it with her, even if she wasn’t Catholic.
Monica eased the creaking door open. “I’ll speak to Mother Mary.” With the hand not holding the door, she brushed her fingertips along Grace’s cheek.
Grace’s heart tripped a beat. Something about the way her fingers moved like butterfly feet made Grace lose her breath.
“Thank you. You’re a good friend. I hope you’re still here when I take my vows.”
Brows knit, Grace peeked into the library. She lowered her voice. “Where would I go? I don’t even remember who I am, much less where home is.”
Monica shrugged, her robes shifting with a soft sigh. “If your memory comes back, you’ll probably want to leave.” She sucked a sharp breath over her teeth. “Not that I don’t want you to get your memory back. I just meant—”
“I know. I hope I’m still here too.” Grace smiled, lips stretched tight. “If I remember who I am before then, I’ll come back just to share your communion. Okay?”
Frowning, Monica lowered her eyes. “I’d like that.”
Bethany is a southern transplant in the west, where she’s made her home with her kids, partner, pets, and several hostages…er…houseplants she hasn’t killed yet. Poetry was her first love, and she’s been writing since she could hold a pencil. Horror is her sweet spot, but all things sci-fi and fantasy are also deeply entrenched in her heart.
See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. Sleep with no evil… If only it were that easy.
Between being kidnapped by a psycho dragon-shifter, influenced by ancient relics, and fighting for my freedom, I’d say my hands are full. But really, my troubles have just begun.
Cain, Dorian, and Elias are wickedly dangerous, scorching hot, and all too tempting. They’re devils in disguise. Literally.
I don’t know why they’re collecting these relics, but it looks like I’m not the only one with secrets. Despite all the risks, I might be falling for the three of them. But there’s a good chance this Hellish relationship ends up being the death of me.
To make matters worse, there may be something more to my shadow than I originally thought. Something evil that’s set on taking over me entirely if I let it. With each passing day, I find myself falling deeper into its darkness and further under the demons’ deadly charms.
There’s no other way around it… Things are quickly going to Hell in a handbasket.
Book two in this series starts off with a bang … there’s tons of action, super hot scenes, and the mystery surrounding Aria doubles.
Elias, Cain, and Dorian have never met anyone like Aria. They don’t understand the shadow living inside her any more than she does. In the mix of trying to figure where she came from or what she is, they’re also still on the hunt for the relics they need in order to return to Hell.
Dragons, kidnappings, and lots of hot sex make this a book I couldn’t put down. By the end, I’m still left wondering exactly who or what Aria is, and whether or not her demons will realize she’s more important than them returning to Hell. They’ve been around for centuries but still haven’t realized love is more important than anything else…. stubborn men!
While the book does end with a cliffhanger, and you definitely need to read book 1 before diving into this one, I found that I had to know what happened next. I flipped through the pages, gobbling up every scene, and now I’m eager to read the next installment. Hopefully, all my questions will be answered and Aria will get her happily ever after with her demon trio!
*Disclaimer: The authors did not request a review of this title. I purchased/borrowed it from Amazon. The review above is only mu opinion.
The devils aren’t in the details. They’re in my bed…
When my warlock foster father trades me to demons for his outstanding debts, I find myself in Hell on Earth. I’m thrust into a supernatural underground crime ring I can’t get out of, eternally bound in a contract I never made.
Three hot-as-hell demons stand in between me and my freedom.
A tattooed, brutish Hellhound shifter. An incubus with the power to bend wills on command. And the heir to Lucifer’s throne—the original sin demon, Pride, himself. I have to find a way out of the deal before they devour me, body and soul.
But I’m no angel. There’s something inside me, something that craves the chaotic darkness these demons possess.
Escaping may mean giving in to Hell’s more sinful temptations. But playing with fire only hurts if you get burned…
A fantasy reverse-harem romance that will pull you in and not let go…
I stumbled across this little gem as part of the suggested reads on my Kindle, and I’m glad I decided to check it out. If you like darker reverse harem romances, this one has it all… demons, magic, slavery, and more…
Aria is a strong heroine, who won’t stop until she gets what she wants. In this case, she wants to escape a deal with three demons. She didn’t agree to be sold to Cain, Elias, and Dorian, and she refuses to stay with monsters. One failed escape attempt after another ends up in heated encounters with each demon.
Cain, a Prince of Hell, doesn’t want Aria in his home. And yet, he can’t seem to let her go. Elias, the hellhound, finds himself drawn back to the house more and more now that Aria is in residence, and the incubus, Dorian, is mystified that she can ignore his sexual lures.
With a mystery of who – and what – is Aria, three demons determined to do whatever it takes to return to hell, and a woman who refuses to be a pawn in their games, the pages are filled with action, emotion, and sexual tension.
Be warned, it does end with a cliffhanger… so naturally I’m off to read book 2! I have to know what happens next.
*Disclaimer: The author did not request a review of this title. I purchased/borrowed through Amazon. The review above is only my opinion.
Joelle’s a mess. Nightmares about the end of the world keep her up at night, and lack of sleep has her losing job after job.
The only consistency to these dreams is the man she calls “The Watcher.” After another night of frustration, The Watcher arrives at her door, in the flesh. Luc, a demon Mare, is the source of all her problems.
I woke up from the dream that’s been plaguing me for months. The one where the world was burning. I watched the town I had grown up in crumble to dust around me, and the taste of death was thick in my mouth. People turned to ash as I reached out to save them and blew into the wind as if their bodies had never existed. As hard as I tried, I could never save them. Nothing I did made a difference. I would look for water, but a small bucketful seemed pitiful against the raging flames. I would offer myself up to some unseen god, hoping my sacrifice might save another. But as in most dreams, I was powerless.
Sometimes I doubted if these visions were dreams at all. When I woke up in the dead of night, damp with sweat and out of breath, I swore I could see the golden tones of a blaze outside my window. I would have put money on the fact I could feel the heat licking my face, gentle as a lover’s touch. The world I was seeing in front of me felt so real — so condemning. Less like a dream, and more like a warning.
But no matter what I did, as hard as I tried, the end was always the same. The small town burned to nothing, and the people disappeared. The same disaster, night after night. The only other constant was the man in my dreams. The one who stood on the other side of the flames, always staring at me. Watching carefully. But his perfect lips never uttered a word of advice, and he never moved his rugged hands to offer help. He seemed to exist outside of whatever was happening in my dreams, this figment of my imagination. He never burned, and I never got close enough to see if he would turn to ash with my touch. He just watched.
That’s what I called him when I described him to my therapist — the watcher. Overseeing me, my dreams, my nightmares, my failures. Handsome, but the kind of beautiful that could cut you like a knife. Like an artist forgot to soften the edges. Messy blond hair ruffled in the winds of the world burning around us. His dark, foreboding eyes felt like they were staring into my soul and evaluating every decision I made. The watcher was tall, and a formidable sight amongst the destruction. But I couldn’t figure out if he was watching me try to save the world, or watching me as I destroyed it.
He was the only person in my dreams I didn’t know, which made him stand out. I convinced myself it wasn’t his haunting beauty drawing me back time and time again. And like every other night, the watcher had been there. Watching as I tried to save a childhood friend, and the plump owner of the bakery down the road from my small apartment. What woke me up wasn’t the warmth of the flames that lingered in my memory. It was the slight downturn of his full lips as I screamed in frustration when everyone crumbled in my hands yet again. He never had any expression on his face before. But tonight was different. Tonight, the watcher had frowned.
I sighed heavily and rolled over in my bed to switch on my bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a gentle light. I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to remember if anything else had been different. If there was anything else I needed to write down for Dr. Tanya.
“Once you start to notice the differences in each dream, you’ll be able to take the control back,” she had told me at my last appointment. I wasn’t sure. Control was currently a limited commodity in my life. I swung my legs out of bed, watching the blinking clock on my table flash a time way too early to be awake. I flipped on lights as I made my way into the kitchen, pouring an ice-cold glass of water and forcing myself to drink the whole thing before I let the thoughts overwhelm me. The anxieties. The need to do more. I slammed the glass down next to a stack of bills, all angrily stamped with “Final Warning” in a shade of red that hurt my eyes.
This was what my life had come to. I had wanted more. Wanted adventure, to feel alive.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Torri Heat has always loved control. Her mind was blown when she discovered she could control entire worlds through story writing. Throw some steamy romance in there, and it was pretty close to perfection. Torri loves dark heroes who ride off into the sunset on their motorcycles, fierce heroines who can fend for themselves, and a sprinkle of the paranormal to keep things interesting. When she’s not creating alternate realities you can find her managing her three ring circus of kids and animals.
Winston chose to become an Incubus more than a century ago, but lately, dream sex has been boring and unfulfilling. A chance meeting with a geeky comic book lover could change everything. Winston’s always been straight, but now all he can think of is the soft lips and hazel eyes — of a man.
Seth is used to being alone. Even buff guys can be bullied, so, except for his kitten and best friend, he never socializes. After being dragged to a bar to see his favorite band, he bumps into the sexiest man he’s ever seen. Then Seth has the best sex of his life with Winston… in a dream.
Will the comic book geek wake up, overcome his fears, and go after the one man who makes him feel alive?
Winston had always thought the outside of the Gilded Lili unremarkable. The windows were darkened, with flood lights on the sidewalk to illuminate the crowd and a huge, muscular man guarding the door. A velvet rope snaked along, corralling the line of people wanting entry.
The inside, though, was bright, shiny, and modern. The inviting look helped humans to feel comfortable and relaxed.
Transition enhanced the natural attributes of all lili, both Incubi and Succubi. They looked like themselves, only much more attractive, their horns hidden from humans.
Their good looks made it easier to find lovers both physically and in their dreams. Technically, lili didn’t have to meet humans to form erotic connections, but skin-to-skin contact placed a mental tracker on mortals that made it easier to enter their dreams.
Winston glanced around in disinterest, though the dance floor teemed with sexy humans. They gyrated to loud music, their bodies grinding against each other. The resulting sexual haze covered his body in a fine mist of energy. Goddess, he missed being mortal and the thrill of knowing life was finite and fragile. The first one hundred years of being an incubus had snuffed that joy out.
He’d been an adrenaline junkie even before the term existed. Hot air balloons had been the height of technology when he was mortal. Nothing beat the adventure of getting in that basket and spying on enemy troops. Knowing he could die by crashing or getting shot gave him a natural high.
One reason he’d jumped at the chance at immortality was to seek new adventures. Since then, he’d had a long life filled with so many memories, good, bad, and sexy. But lately, knowing he was going to slip into a woman’s dreams to feed just wasn’t as stimulating. The last several interludes, he didn’t even come, just drank in her energy and moved on. That realization was slightly depressing. He needed to figure out how he was going to get past this ennui.
A sudden warm feeling poured over Winston, yanking him from his musings. The sensation was foreign, drawing him to a couple standing at the bar. A beautiful, curvy redhead stood next to a tall, powerfully built man. Oddly, Winston felt an attraction for the male rather than the woman.
The man was well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. His shirt stretched over a muscular back and arms, and when he turned to speak to his companion, his tight jeans revealed a round bubble butt. His thick hair was mahogany brown and wavy, barely reaching the nape of his neck.
Winston felt driven to meet the man. His heart and soul demanded it.
Winding through the large crowd, he slowly approached the couple. It didn’t matter to him if they were romantic partners, since Winston would only be a dream lover.
The big man looked confused as he gazed around the bar, maybe even a little scared. But why would he be afraid? Had he come into the bar to escape danger? Winston’s first instinct was to protect the human, wrap him in his arms and soothe his fears.
Win reached out, surprised to find his own hand trembling, and touched the shoulder of the human male. Unexpectedly, his own body lit up with awareness and deep arousal. When the man turned, Winston gazed into the most amazing honey-brown eyes. The male gasped slightly, his pupils widening.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I grew up in southern West Virginia, where I spent hours, drawing, watching television and reading. As a result, I combined my love of science fiction (unashamed Trekkie) and romance (thanks to mom’s Harlequin Romance Novels collection) to create my own Universe. I hope my books can transport you to faraway worlds where there’s always a happily ever after!
Release Date: November 18, 2020 Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Death isn’t the end for eighteen-year-old Avery Williams, and her final resting place isn’t beyond the Golden Gates. No, the Queen of the Damned has plans for her and, unbeknownst to Avery, fought hard to gain possession of her soul.
As Hell’s newest succubus, Avery is expected to siphon life from the living. It only takes a long, meaningful kiss, but for a virgin like Avery, kissing guys she barely knows isn’t something she’s comfortable doing. Avery focuses on the upside of her fate—she’ll be returning home, or so she thinks. When the Queen of the Damned cuts her off from her old life, Avery is determined to find a way back to her family and friends, even if it means facing Hell’s fury if she’s caught.
Demons, Nephilim, and so much more… If you’re looking for your next paranormal read, you can’t go wrong with Damned When I Didn’t!
They say not to judge a book by its cover, but I rather like the cover for Damned When I Didn’t. In fact, it’s a large part of what made me want to read this particular title. I saw it and needed to know more. But when it comes to people, what you see isn’t always what you get. It’s a lesson Avery has to learn, especially when it comes to her mentor, Cole. It never occurred to Avery that just as she didn’t earn her way to hell, and her new position as a succubus, that perhaps the super hot Cole didn’t earn his place there either.
I loved seeing the push and pull between Avery and Cole. Both drawn to one another, yet not willing to accept their attraction. Not only does their budding romance draw the reader in, but the banter between them, and the mix of other awesome characters, makes Damnmed When I Didn’t a page-turning read you won’t want to put down. A half-demon, a Nephilim, and another incubus are just some of the charming characters you’ll find in this intriguing, must-read book. I truly hope we’ll get to see more of them in the future.
Damned If I Didn’t is the perfect mix of romance, drama, and friendship. You won’t be disappointed!
*Disclaimer: I received an ARC via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. The review above is only my opinion.
According to the family curse, Tessa has until her next birthday to select her future husband. However, choosing would mean his premature death. Unwilling to condemn any man to that fate, Tessa searches for an explanation behind the curse and the rules that dictate her life. What she learns is more terrifying than she could have imagined.
A demon brokered a deal with her ancestor in exchange for a companion, and he’s come to collect. Tessa has a choice to make. Pay the debt or condemn a man to death. Her time to decide is running out, and as she’s learned, breaking the family rules always has consequences.
This was my first time reading anything by Melissa Haag, and I must say I was pleasantly surprised. Mystery. Suspense. Romance. All wrapped up in a paranormal package with demons. What’s not to love?
It was an intriguing tale that gripped me from the first page.
Tessa knows her family is far from what most would consider normal, although she doesn’t understand why she must abide by special rules. Like being home before nightfall. When she meets the being called Morik, she’s scared and reluctant to trust him. But he knows far more about her family than anyone else, and she’s ready to end the nightmarish cycle that’s befallen her family — cursed to lose the men they love at an early age. The question is WHY does it happen? Only Morik can answer that for her.
Watching the two of them learn about one another, grow closer as friends, and then as something more, kept me engaged and eager to flip the next page. Their relationship was a slow build, and I started to wonder if Tessa would ever realize she was in love with the demon. The more we got to know Morik, the more I wanted a hunky demon of my own.
The only downside to this story is that it’s a stand-alone, which means we don’t get to find out what happens with the other demons in the book. I hope one day Ms. Haag might sit down and write about the other two. I’d love to know more.
*Disclaimer: The author did not request a review of this title. I downloaded a free copy from Amazon and the review above is merely my opinion.
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Griff has been living with a terrible secret for centuries. He’s a high demon, but he has wild needs and desires to be a pleasure demon — to submit to another. Such things are forbidden in hell, but he finally breaks down and confesses his desires to his best friend Savilry, risking not just their friendship but his own safety.
He could never have dreamed Savilry’s response, and Griff will never be the same again.
or pre-order for February 14th at online retailers
For a super sexy, melt-your-ereader-it’s-so-hot sneak peek, be sure to check out the book on Changeling Press… CLICK HERE (excerpt only recommended for those 18+)
ABOUT SEAN MICHAEL
Writing under S. Michael for Het Ménage and Sean for signature M/M titles, Sean Michael leads a classic double life.
Often referred to as “Space Cowboy” and “Gangsta of Love” while still striving for the moniker of “Maurice,” Sean Michael spends days surfing, smutting, organizing an immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs.
While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and perusing the Kama Sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to “Chicago.”
A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? Sean’ll stick with writing stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
