Danny Todd thought he had it all — the life, the job and the perfect partner in Eric. But every relationship has its struggles. Eric knows the dark spots in Danny’s past. He knows everything about him. Danny doesn’t want to split, but the romance has hit a rough stretch.
In the summer of 1980, the worst happens. Eric is the victim of a random shooting. He knows there’s one way he can to get back to Danny, but it’s risky. If he can return, as a robot, he knows he can fix their relationship and make it stronger.
Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.
Melaina Carey has a secret she’s desperate to keep hidden from her nest mates. Her life may have been saved when she was turned into a vampire, but it brought with it a whole new host of problems.
Her secret is about to be revealed and the two men she fears — and lusts after most — are about to put their centuries of experience to the test.
They aren’t going to let her hide anymore. Tristan and Dougal know there’s something wrong with her. When they discover what it is, they’re determined to help her.
There is no way that Melaina is going to submit easily. Tristan and Dougal are going to have to prove they are man — and vampire — enough to control her every move.
Warning: This book contains subjects not intended for the faint of heart, including blood play, rope bondage and erotic pain.
“They’re gonna be super pissed,” Malcolm observed, shrugging off the glare she sent him.
“Well, what the hell do you expect me to do, Colly?” she called him by his nickname. “I couldn’t stay there and go through a repeat of this morning. They’re gonna want to know what’s wrong with me.”
She shook her head, sliding off the picnic table to pace in front of it. A flash of blue and red caught her eye, the swing set beckoning her. Whispered promises of another time in her life, one where she wasn’t afraid. Back when she didn’t know anything about the monsters in the night. Back before she became one of them.
She could hear the sounds of children, screaming and laughing, flitting through her mind. The glorious, clean smell of summer. The exhilarating rush of running around the slide, desperate to be the next one to go down its heated metal length, wincing when it burned sensitive thighs under colorful shorts.
They would fight over who got to sit on the yellow, laughing duck. His orange beak a bright splash of color, a counterpoint to Mr. Frog with his red mouth on the other end of the teeter-totter. She and Malcolm had spent years here, always the same.
She sat down in one of the swings, the strip of blue rubber conforming to her hips. Pushing off with her feet, she swung back and forth slowly. “When did it change, Colly? When did it become so faded, so rusty?” she asked, contemplatively.
Malcolm shrugged, flicking his gaze around the playground.
“The paint is peeling on the metal. The fence is five different colors from continuously having to paint over the graffiti. Was it always like this and we just didn’t notice it?” she mused, kicking her feet up. Looking back at Malcolm, she saw him watching her, studying her.
“Things change, Mel.” He met her eyes. “What are you gonna tell them?”
Now it was her turn to shrug.
“You have to tell them something,” he said, a hint of impatience in his voice.
Cocking her head, she listened to the sounds of the night. The squeak of the chains as she pushed back and forth on the swing, the rustling of the trees, the slow inhale and exhale coming from her brother. “I can’t tell them the truth.”
“Why not?” he asked with a huff. Standing up, Malcolm placed both hands on his hips, glowering at her.
“Seriously? You seriously have to ask me that? Uh, maybe because I’m a fucking vampire and I can’t even do the whole vamp thing normally.”
“They’re gonna find out one way or another. It might be better if you just tell them. I mean, c’mon! You can’t be the only person to ever have this problem. It’s not like it isn’t treatable and –” Mel threw out her hand, startling her brother and cutting off his next words. She froze, breathing erratically. Ten seconds went by, incredibly slow.
“Well? Aren’t you going to finish your sentence, Malcolm? Pray tell, what exactly could Melaina have that is treatable?” Tristan growled, his normally calm voice ragged. His accent roughened, becoming more noticeable.
They appeared out of the night, separating from the shadows that had kept them hidden from view. Tristan glided forward, followed by the dark, stalking figure of Dougal.
The two men separated, surrounding her.
Dougal slid up behind her, grabbing the metal chains of the swing in his large hands, halting her movement when she tried to get up. Tristan blocked her front, staring down at her fiercely.
Crap, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She hadn’t had enough time to come up with an excuse. Stalling for time, she remained silent.
“Uh, guys…” Malcolm said, trailing off when Tristan threw him a smoldering glare.
“Leave us,” Dougal snarled.
“Yeah, I’ll just be going then. Right… I’ll just be…” Malcolm ignored her pleading eyes. Turning swiftly, he walked out of the park, leaving her with the two vampires.
“Now, we can do this the hard way, or we can do it the easy way. But when we walk out of this park, we are going to know what is wrong with you. Is that clear?” Dougal whispered, caressing the shell of her ear with his breath.
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.
“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.”
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.
When Marianne Windmere’s bakery customers begin complaining that her parking lot is always full, she assumes it must be customers for the new restaurant next door. She’s never met her neighbor, and with the parking lot situation, she has no interest in doing so. But when a snowstorm knocks out the power and traps both women in the building overnight, sparks fly—until the next morning, when the buried argument comes to a head.
Can they find a way to reclaim the magic of that night? And as decades-old secrets about the history of the town and Marianne’s family come to light, can they work together to save both their businesses?
The travel mug banged against the counter. Marianne jumped. “Jesus, Kevin! I didn’t hear you come in.”
“It’s full again.” Kevin crossed his arms and glared. “The parking lot back there.” He made a show of glancing around the nearly empty bakery, eyes pausing on Zeke in the corner, mug in his hands and laptop open as usual, big red headphones covering his ears. He crossed his arms. “Why do you pay that kid if all he does is ignore you? And the customers?”
“You’re in a mood this morning.” Marianne pushed herself off the stool and grabbed his aluminum coffee mug. Her ex-husband was still an attractive man fifteen years after their divorce, and she couldn’t work up the energy to be annoyed at him for it anymore. “If you want to go next door and complain about the cars, go ahead.” She filled his mug with hazelnut coffee, added an espresso shot, capped it, and handed it back. “It’s not like our customers are beating down the doors for spots right now.”
“I did go next door,” Kevin grumbled, taking the cup. “It wasn’t productive.” Now it was him avoiding her gaze.
The parking lot issue wasn’t a new one—it had been a problem for a few months—and on a busy day Marianne would be filled with a low-level simmering rage as customer after customer complained about it. Still, she wasn’t going to tell Kevin that. Their relationship had improved in the years since their divorce but not quite that much.
“Not productive?” she pressed.
He sipped his coffee to cover the slight flush in his pale cheeks and didn’t answer.
“She threw you out, didn’t she?” Marianne’s estimation of her neighbor and nemesis rose a notch. “You tried to yell at her, and she didn’t take it.”
“I was very polite!”
“Hm.” Marianne put her hands on her hips and considered the man she’d spent nearly twenty-five years married to. He could be charming when he wanted to be—the whole silver fox, sparkling blue eyes and white teeth politician thing—though he never tried it with her anymore. Many women had found him suave and attractive during their marriage and probably still did. But when he wanted something from someone with no interest in what he was peddling? Politeness wasn’t his style. Generally, once charm had failed, he whined worse than any of their three kids had as toddlers. She’d learned that plenty during their marriage, and again during the divorce. “I’m sure you were.”
“I can talk to Bruce and Andrea,” said Kevin. “Just because I’m retired—”
“No need to get the city council involved, Kevin. I’ll handle my own property, thanks.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, its tarnished brass pendulum swinging below the cracked glass. “Aren’t you going to be late for your train?” He was still showing up at transit meetings in the city every other week since he had been appointed to the regional transit board as community representative now that he wasn’t an elected official. Kevin had a habit of holding onto things too tightly and refusing to let them go.
Kevin glanced down at his watch and swore. “Yeah. Shit.” He took another long gulp of coffee and leaned over the counter to kiss Marianne’s cheek. “Thanks. Who knew retirement could be so busy?” He turned to hurry out the door and then stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. “You be good, all right? Don’t work too hard.”
Marianne rolled her eyes and shooed him out with a towel.
Valentine is a latecomer to writing, though she’s always been a passionate reader. Through fanfiction she found her way to an incredible community of writers who’ve taught her to love making stories.
When she isn’t writing, she’s making bad puns, yelling about television, or playing with her small child.
Her life’s ambition is to eat the cuisine of every single country. You can find Valentine on Twitter.
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.
In the aftermath of his father’s funeral, Dom Wesa, the new Alpha of Luxor City’s Central Empire, stumbles upon an Omega in desperate need of help. The Omega, Lin Vasiliev, wakes to find he’s been taken into Dom’s home to be rehabilitated. Dom thinks the young addict may have information about the illicit drug trade going on in his Empire. He gets Lin sober to question him only to discover that Lin is new in town and ignorant of Luxor’s laws.
Dom and Lin are both suspicious of each other at first for their own reasons, but as that wariness wears away a deep attraction develops between them. Dom dotes on Lin, leaving the once stone-broke Omega bathed in finery he never could have imagined. They start planning for Lin’s upcoming heat, when they will be driven together by their kindling bond and strong compatibility as an Alpha and Omega pair. However, in the midst of their swelling romance, Luxor’s most notorious Alpha reappears sparking a gang war that threatens to turn the entire city into a battleground.
There had never been fewer tears shed at a funeral.
It was strange. Crowds had wailed at funerals for worse men, but not a single soul in Luxor City wept for Malik Wesa, a business magnate who’d left behind a wife and two sons. They just stood there, all of them staring straight ahead with cold black eyes as the funeral director rolled the old man’s coffin into the crematory. Visible through a tiny char-stained window, the man who’d once been their leader burned down to ash and bone until there was nothing left of him but dust.
Shaking the image from his mind, Dom Wesa walked out through a wrought-iron fence and left the inner-city funeral home. He buried his hands deep in the pockets of his overcoat and made his way back across the busy city streets toward his office on the east side of town.
A chill rolled off the water near the docks as the year moved into fall. Dom originally drove to the funeral home with the rest of the family, but he couldn’t bear to spend another second with them even if it meant enduring the icy wind.
When a family member dies, all too often they are given a whole new life story. This was a universal truth Dom struggled to wrap his head around. There weren’t any tears at his father’s funeral, but there were enough artificial words of kindness to make him grit his teeth and bite his tongue until his eyes watered.
They all loved to mention how hard things would be for Dom with his father gone; how much weight would now fall on his shoulders.
Dom wanted to laugh. He’d been running this town without his old man’s help for ages. The death of the man he had stopped calling father a long time ago wouldn’t change a thing in his day-to-day life; it just made his position more official. Dom was now the eldest Alpha of the Wesa family, one of the great crime families in Luxor City, the capital of New America.
Decades back, when the government’s power over New America first started to crumble, the gangs of Luxor City went to war, fighting for control over the expansive city’s lucrative ports. As Dom walked through the streets, he passed the remnants of that conflict in the form of bullet holes etched into brick walls that lined the sidewalks and boulevards. Luxor hadn’t always been a haven of prosperity. These wounds were stark reminders that they should not let war tear their city apart again. They’d been preserved during reconstruction.
After years of brutality and gangland warfare, the dust finally settled over the metropolitan battleground. Only three factions were left in a city divided by chaos. They brokered a peace treaty, a deal that divided Luxor into three Empires, each ruled firmly by the Alpha heads of the surviving crime families: Wesa in the Center, Faraji in the North, and Sun in the South.
Dom Wesa was the sole Alpha heir to the Central Empire, a great strip of land stretching from the high-rises along the city’s eastern ports all the way to the cliffs on the western coast. Their portion of city was the smallest, but the Center also included the West Island, the final stretch of green pasture and woodland in Luxor, a place where only the wealthiest families could afford acreage.
Sila Wesa, the family’s Omega matriarch, still maintained an estate there. She would probably return home once the ladder-climbing mourners all left her in peace. As an Omega, she was expected to stay home and mourn her Alpha’s death for at least a year. Dom hated thinking of her returning to that vast hollow estate, but she wouldn’t be alone. She had his younger brother, Atsadi, with her.
Maybe they could be happy there now, but Dom couldn’t stand the place.
He made his way to his portside office, the private sanctuary where he conducted the family business, far removed from his father’s offices across from the luxury hotels and nightclubs downtown. It was an old-fashioned Deco-style building, relatively small compared to Luxor’s expansive high-rises, but taller than the nearby brownstone residences lining the old dock’s edge.
Dom entered through the public hall and took the stairs to his office instead of his private elevator. He couldn’t stand still, not even for a minute, not until he got a drink in him.
His office took up most of the fifth floor. A large window lined the street-facing wall, giving him a view of his docks and businesses as well as the swaying blue horizon of the Pacific Ocean.
Ships pulled in and out, always coming and going. The ports were the center of all business in Luxor. They had been around since the city’s foundation and wrapped around the entire coastline, enclosing Luxor in a circle of docks extending out into the water like a sea urchin’s spikes. It was a well-known fact that he who controlled the ports, controlled the trade, and he who controlled the trade, controlled the city.
Dom was fond of the old portside architecture. He had always been keen on the brutalist, Deco styles of ancient cities. He even decorated his office to match with polished wood and geometric patterns of gold emblazoned on black surfaces.
Inside the familiar space he’d made his own, he poured himself a glass of whisky from a decanter on his side table. He took a good long swig before taking a seat in the plush leather chair behind his mahogany desk.
Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes until a quiet thud on his desk drew them open again.
A thin newssheet folded down the middle sat in the center of his desk. Images flashed across its holographic surface. Dom recognized himself, his brother, and his mother in more than one. Fucking paparazzi.
The Luxor City Times headline read: Death of Malik Wesa leaves Central Empire in hands of son, Dominik.
Dom stared at the paper with a deadpan expression. Unblinking, he took another sip of his drink.
“Somehow I figured you’d be back in the office today.”
Dom’s gaze shifted in the direction of the voice.
His right-hand woman, Isa Saqui, stood over his desk smirking down at him.
Isa had been Dom’s eyes and ears ever since terminal illness took his old man out of power and put Dom in charge. She was an Alpha, a member of the dominant sex, like everyone in his inner circle. Isa stood tall, a muscular and imposing woman with angular bone structure casting dramatic shadows over her olive skin. Her long hair was tied in an intricate brunette braid that fell over one shoulder.
Dom turned away from her and picked up the newssheet. Without giving it another glance, he tossed it back across the desk toward her.
“The headline is hilarious,” he muttered before taking another drink.
Isa chuckled as she snatched the thin device back up.
“Isn’t it?” she said as she examined the article. “I mean, it’s not even news. Your old man hadn’t been running shit for years.”
Dom huffed.
It was true. Even before his father’s illness, Dom had been in charge, but Malik’s stint in the hospital had truly put him in power. In under a year, he’d earned the city’s respect and made vast alterations throughout the Central Empire to counter his father’s ineffective rule. Dom had always been in control; nothing would change now Malik Wesa was gone.
“We shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Dom said, smiling around the rim of his glass.
“Then let’s talk business.” Isa grinned like a shark. “Because I haven’t got anything good to say about the old bastard. How was his funeral, by the way?”
Dom simply shrugged in response. “Let’s talk business.”
With another snort of a laugh, Isa pulled out her phone and started going over a list of the day’s imports. The ships had come in on time, and their guys on the docks were already warehousing their “product,” storing it until it could be shipped throughout Luxor.
“So, we finally received those luxury cars we’ve been waiting for, two weeks late, but that’s the Southern trade route for you. Same shipment had a few crates of unprocessed opium—”
Dom cut in with gritted teeth, “Make sure that goes straight to the labs. Apart from heat suppressants, I don’t want to see that shit on my streets.”
“Already done.” Isa hardly even glanced up from her phone. “The independent Omegas of Luxor are already thanking you. You truly are a hero, Dom, providing them with suppressants and saving them from their dreaded heats. Less mating means more working. Off your backs and on your feet. That can be your campaign slogan.”
Dom eyed Isa, trying to gauge her level of sarcasm before gesturing for her to carry on with a short huff of amusement.
“What else?”
“Firearms from the mainland,” Isa said before listing off the models and manufacturers. “About half of this shipment is being sold to the Sun family in the south. They’ve got an underground trade problem on their hands.”
In the south of Luxor City, the Sun family controlled the majority of the city’s ports, but only imported from the Second Continent, across the western seas. This made them an excellent trading partner for Dom whose eastern ports shipped to and from New America. Whenever the Southern Empire wanted products from the New American mainland, Dom was their man, and when he needed Second Continent shipments, he knew just who to ask.
“All right.” Dom stood from his chair, rubbing his hands together. “The agent from the Sun family will want to see the guns before we truck them over. I’ll call—” Dom stopped abruptly when a terse shout erupted from the streets below, loud enough to resonate through the glass window and into his fifth-floor office.
“What the hell was that?” Isa asked with a furrowed brow.
Dom walked over to glare out of the window. They were right above the lobby, so a glance down offered a clear view of the ground below.
Across the street, a young man stumbled along the sidewalk. Even from the distance, Dom could tell there was something off about him. He swayed with each step, unable to keep to a straight line and using one hand to balance himself against the wall of the opposite building to keep from falling over.
He disappeared into an alleyway, followed closely by another man. This much larger man was the one shouting furiously as he marched into the narrow passage after the boy.
Dom turned from the window and grabbed his coat. Without a backward glance, he stormed out of his office.
“Dom? Hey! What the hell was that?” Isa repeated as he passed. She tried calling after him again, but he was already out of the door.
Sasha Hope is a lover of story, art and design based in Canada. As a writer and an artist, she enjoys having the opportunity to create new characters and build new worlds for readers to explore. Having studied linguistics and a myriad of languages from a young age, she is passionate about including characters of different backgrounds in her work. Whether the setting is fantasy or reality, she believes that a diverse cast with diverse languages and cultures is a wonderful thing.
Crafting stories that embrace MM romance and erotica is her modus operandi. When she is not creating new worlds she is travelling this one looking for inspiration or enjoying her career in the videogame industry.
Published by Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
Officer Corbin Richters has gone through more partners than he can count. They all claim he’s difficult to work with, but he knows better. They’re scared being gay might be something they can catch. Idiots. When he’s assigned yet another partner, his inner dragon perks up and takes notice. Josh is different from anyone he’s ever met. Unfortunately, he’s also human.
When the two are tasked with getting Christmas trees for families in need, they never count on growing close. The more time Corbin spends with Josh, the more certain he becomes the man is his mate.
*NOTE: This is a re-release that has been freshly edited and has a new cover.
Corbin Richters watched the sexy-as-hell man walking through the door of the precinct, his blue uniform fitted snugly to his shoulders and chest, silver badge gleaming under the fluorescent lights, his stride powerful and purposeful as he approached Captain Meeker. The dark hair on his head stood out in disarray but it was artfully done, the waves beckoning to be touched in an intimate caress. His eyes looked green from this distance, and they took everything in with a swift assessment that said he was ready for whatever danger that might be lurking within the precinct walls. Whoever he was, he wasn’t a rookie. No one got that hard-edged look, the look of a predator, the first day on the job.
Corbin’s heart kicked in his chest and his hands clenched on top of the desk. What he wouldn’t give to peel away that uniform and see what lay beneath the crisp, blue material. He unconsciously licked his lips as he thought about trailing kisses along those broad shoulders. Corbin’s skin heated and his cock twitched in his pants. He felt his scales ripple under his skin and fought for control. Hell, here he was fantasizing over the man, and he wasn’t even sure if the cop was into men or women. Or both. It had been a long time since he’d had such a reaction to someone on first sight, and he wanted to explore the feelings a bit more.
“Damn.” He sneaked a quick glance around. Had he said that out loud?
Corbin watched as the officer shook hands with the captain and then as Captain Meeker pointed at Corbin. Why on earth was the captain sending Mr. Sexy his way? Not that he was going to complain! Still, he had to admit to being curious. What did the man’s voice sound like? Would he offer to shake hands? Would that small contact arouse Corbin’s dragon even more? The beast was already more than a little intrigued.
The object of his desire strode across the room with panther-like grace, his movements fluid and beautiful, and stopped at the edge of Corbin’s desk. The officer flashed him a smile, one that had his dragon — lusty beast — perking up considerably, and held out his hand.
Corbin stood and shook it, an electrical current shooting up his arm, swirling down through his chest, and settling in his balls, making them draw up tight. His cock gave another jerk, but if the officer noticed — and something told Corbin that he had — he wasn’t commenting on it. Corbin had thought the man would pack a punch, but it still took him by surprise, this visceral reaction. He couldn’t remember the last time his dragon and he had been in total agreement on their choice of bed partners.
The man’s voice was crisp and clipped as he introduced himself. “Josh Myers.”
“Corbin Richters.” Corbin released Josh’s hand reluctantly before he did something stupid, like jerk him closer for a different sort of embrace. As it was, he wanted to bury his nose against the man’s neck and inhale that incredible scent that was teasing him.
“It seems I’m your new partner,” Josh said.
Partner? Corbin shot the captain a look. No one had said anything about a new partner. Corbin had only been part of the Blueberry Hill Police Department for a little over a month, having been lucky enough to land the job within a week of hitting town. And yet he’d already gone through two partners. The men had claimed Corbin was too rough and rude, but he knew the truth. They didn’t care that he was black. They hadn’t wanted to work with a gay officer. Probably afraid it would rub off on them or some stupid shit like that.
“I take it this is news to you,” Josh said, that gorgeous smile flirting around his lips again. Lips that looked full and soft, the kind of lips a man could kiss forever.
Corbin cleared his throat, hoping to get better control of himself. “Yeah, I hadn’t heard that I was getting a new partner today.” He met Josh’s gaze. “But I’m glad you’re here.” Too direct?
Josh’s smile broadened and there was something in his eyes, a warmth that told Corbin his advances might be welcome. He supposed time would tell. It was possible the guy was just being friendly and he was reading into things.
Corbin pointed to the desk butting up to his. “That will be your space. There should be some supplies in the drawer, but if not, we can ask the receptionist on our way out.”
“Hitting the streets early?”
“I thought we’d swing by Espress Yourself and grab some coffee. There’s no charge to officers for a regular brewed cup, and they usually have a few different flavors going. You have to pay for those fancy drinks though.”
Josh smiled again. “Sounds good. I can check out the desk when we get back.”
“The black SUV near the back is ours.”
Josh scanned him from head to toe. “I’m guessing your size has something to do with us getting the biggest vehicle. What are you? Six foot four?”
Corbin grinned. “Six-six.” Not that Josh was short. He had to be at least six-two.
They strolled out of the rear precinct door and headed to the SUV. Corbin popped the locks with the key fob and slid in.
“So…” Josh glanced his way as he snapped his seatbelt into place. “Your place or mine?”
MORE FROM DULCE AT CHANGELING PRESS …
With an overactive imagination and a penchant for making up stories, was it any wonder Dulce Dennison decided to be an author? From cowboys to shapeshifters, she has a story for them all, but her passion lies in writing m/m romances. Dulce believes in love in all shapes and sizes, and that everyone deserves a happily-ever-after.
Dulce Dennison is a pen name for erotic romance author Harley Wylde and award-winning science fiction/paranormal romance author Jessica Coulter Smith.
Ten tales of Seasonal Magic from your favorite Changeling authors!
Reindeer Sex Games by Lacey Savage: When a dead-ringer for Santa Claus barges into the room claiming Nikki has ruined Christmas, she’s got a lot of explaining to do…
Ribboned by Megan Slayer: Raven Elf has his sights set on Daria. The hard part is convincing her that their connection is meant to last.
Mistletoe Madness by Mikala Ash: An ancient tradition on a new world. Will it bring love or disaster?
Hearth and Home by Ayla Ruse: Will the sparks between the three be enough to create a happily ever after this Christmas Eve?
Valentine’s Vow by Willa Okati: True love comes where you’re least looking for it… and where it’s been, all along.
Ticket to Ride by Ana Raine: Addison never thought he’d be into kinky sex, but he’d do anything to please Taylor.
Cupid Gone Weird by Stephanie Burke: Cupid only wants a little revenge on Chris Cringle, but no one can really tell what will happen when Cupid Goes Weird.
Special Order by Sean Michael: Brad bakes some special cupcakes to spicing up his and Sandy’s love life. It just might be a very happy Christmas this year.
Ribbons and Lace by Anne Kane: All Leonardo wants for Christmas is a sexy little elf!
A Gift for Wulf by Marteeka Karland: To protect her beloved forest, can Nadia gift herself to Wulf the Feared?
Publisher’s Note: The novellas in A Changeling For All Seasons 7 (Box Set) have been previously published.
“…a seriously a very well written, fun romp for Christmas. Very hot. I wanted to go out and jump in a snow bank. That kind of hot and steamy.”
— 5 Stars from Shandy Jo, Dark Divas Reviews
Praise for Ribboned
“This is a fast-paced story that is filled with several sizzling sexual encounters between the two main characaters. I liked Daria. She is intelligent and very sassy.”
— Janie Esparza, The Romance Studio
Praise for Hearth and Home
“I thoroughly enjoyed reading about the sexual encounters between Nikki, Kobol and Braun and loved how adventurous Nikki is right from the beginning. There’s no shyness or discomfort in her sexual desires and I think that alone is something enviable.”
— 4.5 Blue Ribbons from Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies
Praise for Valentine’s Vow
“Ms. Okati created a relationship that was so typical of life that I just had to grin… A sensual tale of love, even if the men involved are too stubborn to admit it. Highly recommended.”
— Sara Sawyer, The Romance Studio
“…fun, sinfully erotic, unforgettable…hilarious. Hats off to Willa for getting Valentine’s Day started with a bang!”
— Ayden Delacroix, In the Library Review
Praise for Ticket to Ride
“…a wickedly delightful gay romance that somehow manages to instill a feeling of nervous anticipation for the reader. I know it’s marketed as a Christmas story but in reality it’s a fun title to read any time of year.”
— 4.5 Ribbons from Chrissy Dionne, Romance Junkies
Edition/Formats Available In: eBook & Print (1st
Edition)
Blurb/Synopsis:
He doesn’t know that home is where his heart will be….
Firefighter Tyler Banik has seen his share of adventure
while working disaster relief with the Red Cross. But now that he’s adopted
Abey, he’s ready to leave the danger behind and put down roots. That means
returning to his hometown—where the last thing he anticipates is falling for
his high school nemesis.
Alan Pettaprin isn’t the boy he used to be.As a business owner and council member, he’s
working hard to improve life in Scottville for everyone. Nobody is more
surprised than Alan when Tyler returns, but he’s glad. For him, it’s a chance
to set things right. Little does he guess he and Tyler will find the missing
pieces of themselves in each other. Old rivalries are left in the ashes,
passion burns bright, and the possibility for a future together stretches in
front of them….
But not everyone in town is glad to see Tyler return….
Vincent Franklin’s last mistake had a body count. Now, he’s back on the fireline with something to prove to his fellow firefighters and most of all to himself. But when a sexy Irishman with talent and a camera captures him in a weak moment, he puts Vince’s heart at risk.
Still, there’s something about Aidan that attracts Vince and stirs up feelings he would have preferred to leave locked up and untouched in a dark corner of his heart. Then, after he, and the world, believe Aidan is killed in a tragic accident, Vince struggles to find the courage to love again. His chief worry: Does a screw-up like him even deserve to love again?
Christmas Eve, 2019
Vince was breathing hard. Sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled downward, catching in his eyebrow as he groaned in pleasure and release.
“Holy shit, Mac,” he said as the twitching slowed, and he melted into the body under him. He nuzzled the ear of his partner and tenderly kissed the spot just below, where the neck melded into that beautiful head.
“Mmm,” his partner purred, hips moving languidly around his trapped member and drawing another gasp of pleasure before releasing him. “Merry Christmas, my darling.”
“Are you my night-before-Christmas present?” he asked. “Because I’m afraid that if I stir any creatures—even a mouse—I’ll find this sugarplum is a vision dancing in my head.” After the loss a year ago, and everything he’d been through since, this felt surreal.
Mac gave him a coy look—the one that tugged sexy-feel threads in his chest—then flipped over beneath him and wrapped arms around his neck, lacing fingers through Vince’s short, butterscotch hair. “Sugarplum, huh? Ah, you do know how to flatter the guy below you who is still slightly incoherent from recent…activities.” He pulled Vince down for a kiss, tongue snaking out to lick the sweat off his lips and making Vince groan a little at the image. He cocked his head, raised his eyebrows, and Vince could feel himself stirring again, hardening against the leg resting on him.
Vince looked down at him with wonder. “What did I do to deserve you? You’re so beautiful, and smart, and everything I’m not.”
“Don’t get it twisted, darling,” he drawled as he framed Vince’s face between his hands, “I’m the lucky guy who snagged the hot firefighter who defines straight-up sexy, pardon the hetero pun.” Mac softly placed his lips on Vince’s, starting at his forehead and working his way slowly, so agonizingly slowly, down.
In a flash of searing heat, Vince’s tenderness was replaced with hunger and need. Mac grinned wickedly at Vince’s growl of lust and flipped him over. He hovered above Vince, teasing, letting his breath fall on the sensitive places he’d found and wringing moans of frustration from the beautiful boy beneath him. When his tongue trailed over the bumps of Vince’s abs, the ticklish spot Mac found there caused him to squirm away. And when Mac’s lips engulfed his manhood, Vince lost the ability to form coherent thought.
Everything dissolved into a blur of touch and taste and pressure and pleasure and friction and feeling.
Jessi Noelle was born in South Mississippi, where she worked as a zookeeper and later as a firefighter. She is transgender with two sons, and currently lives in Nashville, TN.
Through the Inferno is her first novel. She is an alum of the inaugural #DVPit, a twitter event where marginalized authors pitch their books to agents. She is currently working on another book set in the The Inferno universe.
