#NewRelease PREACHER (Dixie Reapers MC) by @HarleyW_Writer #bikerromance #mcromance #newadult #olderhero #eroticromance

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Kayla:

My twin brother, Johnny, practically disappeared when he started prospecting for the Dixie Reapers, and if I wanted to see him, then it meant going to the compound. I’d never been inside the clubhouse, wasn’t supposed to go there, but sometimes the devil on my shoulder prods me into doing things I shouldn’t.  Johnny made it sound like there were drugs being snorted left and right and orgies, but that wasn’t what I found that night.

I never expected to fall for a heartbroken man I could never have, a man much older than me. But that night, Preacher took me in his arms, claimed my virginity with a passion that left me seeing stars, and I knew that I’d made the right decision. Even if it did come back to bite me in the ass two months later. When I’d walked through the door that night, I’d never counted on being fucked by a super hot biker, and I definitely didn’t expect to end up pregnant!

Preacher:

When I lost my family, before even prospecting for the Dixie Reapers, I’d closed off my heart and vowed to never let another woman in. A quick fuck here and there with the club pussy kept me sane, but no one would ever mean anything to me. Then the most tempting woman I’ve ever met gave me a night I knew I’d always remember, right before she disappeared.

When she turns up two months later, I find her in the arms of one of the prospects. Fury hits me first, then she knocks me on my ass when she tells me she’s pregnant. With my kid. I turned away from god all those years ago, gave up being a minister and signed my life over to the Dixie Reapers. I don’t know that I believe in a higher power anymore, but maybe it’s time I start praying again. Because giving this woman everything she needs, being the man she deserves, is going to take one hell of a miracle.

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Read an Excerpt before buying…

Kayla

I wasn’t supposed to be here. Johnny had warned me away, telling me that the compound was no place for a girl like me. I nearly snapped his head off and reminded him I was a grown-ass woman and not some child. He was all of two minutes older than me, but acted like he was thirty and not nineteen. My twin brother was a pain in the damn ass, but I missed him. We’d done everything together, until he’d decided to prospect for the Dixie Reapers, then overnight, he was gone. All of his time was tied up with club business, and he no longer came home to visit. He’d walked away from me, and it hurt like hell, especially since he damn well knew what life was like at home.

I didn’t have a car, and walking all the way to the compound hadn’t been fun, but as I approached the gates, I felt my stomach twist and turn. I’d met a few of the prospects from the times I’d shown up to see Johnny, but I’d never met the patched members, and Johnny wanted to keep it that way. He’d told me that what went on in the clubhouse wasn’t something I ever wanted to be a part of, and I’d avoided the place all this time, but as I heard the music blasting from inside I wondered if the temptation would be too great.

The hem of my denim skirt rode up and I tugged it back down as I neared the gate. The prospect on the other side was one I’d met once or twice. He always leered at me and gave me the creeps, but so far he’d kept his hands to himself. His gaze caressed me in a way that suggested he’d like to do far more than look, and I tried to hold back my shiver of revulsion at the mere thought of his hands on me. It wasn’t that he was bad looking, but he definitely gave off a creeper vibe.

“You here to see Johnny?” he asked.

“Yeah. Thought I’d surprise him.”

“Oh, he’ll be surprised all right. He’s inside,” the prospect said, tipping his head toward the clubhouse. “But then, you aren’t allowed in there are you? Too pristine for a place like that.”

“I’m not pristine,” I snapped.

I might be a virgin in the strictest sense, but I was far from angelic. I’d never technically had sex, even though I’d given a few blow jobs and fooled around, but I’d used my trusty vibrator to take care of my virginity. I’d heard it would hurt, and no way was I trusting a guy with something like that. Especially not since the guys I knew were selfish and fumbling. No finesse whatsoever.

“Just remember that you were warned.” The gate slid open and he motioned toward the clubhouse. “Enter at your own risk.”

That sounded like something the creepy guy in horror movies says right before the heroine does something incredibly stupid, like enter a house full of mass murderers, or choose the darkened pathway filled with deformed, dying trees instead of the brightly lit path. This was just a clubhouse full of bikers, one of which was my brother. How bad could it be?

I stepped through the gate and made my way across the lot to the building with Dixie Reapers across the top in neon, and slowly climbed the steps. The noise from inside was even louder now, and I pushed open the doors, not sure what to expect. The way my brother talked, I half-expected naked women and orgies going on out in the open. My gaze scanned the room, but I didn’t see my brother — or any orgies. The place was packed wall to wall with men and women in leather cuts with Dixie Reapers stitched across the back. Other than some smoking and drinking, I didn’t see anything wild going on. Not that those things were wild, but to hear Johnny tell it, all kinds of shit went down in here. They just looked like your average group of adults having a nice time.

No one paid me any attention as I moved further into the room, but the fact I was the only one not sporting one of those leather cuts made me feel a little out of place. At least I’d worn my black top and not the red one I’d picked up first. Still, I didn’t exactly blend, even if some of the women present looked to be my age or close to it. I’d learned enough from Johnny to guess those were the old ladies. He seemed rather fond of the President’s woman, and I wondered if I’d ever get a chance to meet her. To hear Johnny tell it, the woman was up for sainthood. I didn’t think anyone could ever be that perfect.

At the end of the bar, a man sat alone, a line of shot glasses in front of him, and an old worn Bible nearby. I hadn’t taken the club for being religious, but then this man didn’t seem quite like the others. He wore the same cut as everyone else, but as I studied him, I realized he was more somber. There was almost a haunted look to him, as if he were trying to drown his demons in whiskey, or whatever he was drinking. I felt this pull, as if I were supposed to get closer to him.

Slowly, I made my way across the room and slid onto the stool next to his. He didn’t even so much as glance my way, but I could tell from the way his mouth tensed that he was more than aware of my presence, and didn’t seem to care for it. I didn’t know what he was trying to run from, and it was honestly none of my business, but I’d found that sometimes people just needed to be reminded they weren’t as alone as they thought. Despite the fact the room was full of people, not a single one had come to sit by him. Maybe he’d chased them off, or maybe they left him alone because of the vibe he was putting out. Neither was going to deter me. Someone as sexy as him shouldn’t be drowning their sorrows. Not alone anyway.

The guy behind the bar came over, a swagger to his step and a cocky smile on his face. His cut said Prospect, but thankfully he wasn’t someone I knew. The minute my brother found out I was here, he’d likely escort me back to the gate and send me home, which was the last place I wanted to be. The guy leaned on the bar, his arms folded so that his biceps bulged. I assumed I was supposed to be impressed, but he looked just like every other asshole in my neighborhood who wanted in my pants. Not happening, buddy.

“What can I get for you, beautiful?” he asked, his lips tipping up on one side that I supposed most would find sexy. It wasn’t making me drop my panties, that was for sure. I was completely immune to guys like this one.

“Rum and coke,” I said.

The guy next to me snorted.

“What?” I asked, turning my attention his way.

When his gaze clashed with mine, the breath in my lungs froze. Dark hair and a close-cropped beard were sexy enough, but damn… the man’s eyes were truly a thing of beauty. I saw blues, greens, golds. Maybe even a hint of gray. Those were the kind of eyes a woman could lost in, the kind of eyes that would make her do something really stupid.

“You ever actually had a rum and coke?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

“Maybe.”

He smiled a little. Not a full out smile, and not even a smirk. It was almost like his lips had turned up without his permission because it was gone almost as fast as it happened.

“Why don’t you give her a sex on the beach?” the guy next to me said.

The Prospect leered at me. “Oh, I’d be delighted.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Just the drink, thanks.”

I could tell he wanted to say something, but he refrained, walking off to fix my drink. I focused on the guy sitting next to me again, and noticed his cut said Preacher. Since he had a Bible nearby, I wondered if that’s how he’d gotten the name. I didn’t think an actual preacher would be sitting here drinking alcohol. But then, I didn’t really know any religious types.

“I’m Kayla,” I said.

“Preacher.”

He went back to looking at his shot glasses, which were empty now. Now that he’d spoken to me, no way was I letting him go back to his brooding silence. He was probably older than I’d first thought, but that only made me curious. I was used to guys my age, who didn’t know what the hell they were doing. But a guy like him? I was willing to bet that he knew exactly how to treat a woman, both in and out of the bedroom.

“Why aren’t you partying with everyone else?” I asked.

“Weddings aren’t really something I like to celebrate,” he said.

“Don’t believe in marriage?”

He held up his left hand, a gold band on his ring finger. “Already met my one and only. And someday I’ll get to see her again.”

See her again?

“Did she move?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He glanced my way. “To heaven.”

Way to put your foot in your mouth, Kayla.

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COVER REVEAL – Ryker (Roosters series) #CoverReveal #Contemporary #EroticRomance #bikerromance #pregnancyromance @changelingpress

I always get what I want, and for now, Laken is mine!

 

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Roosters is the new multi-author series with Changeling Press. My story, Ryker, can be read as a stand-alone. However, you’ll see familiar characters from the Dixie Reapers MC series, as well as some new people.

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Ryker:

After 20 years in the military, I find myself doing my dad’s dirty work. But as the “prince” of the Hades Abyss MC, it’s expected of me. Doing a little recon in a small Alabama town should have been boring as shit, until the hot little minx I met at a bar turned my life upside down. Women always fall at my feet, but this one was different. If I’d known she was a virgin, I may have backed away, but now that I’ve had a taste I just want to keep coming back for more. Little did I realize that I’d just fucked the sister of a Dixie Reaper, and my life was about to become all kinds of complicated. I had to wonder…had she fucked me because she wanted me? Or was it all some kind of setup?

Laken:

My big brother Flicker is always ruining my fun, keeping the guys away from me, so when I finally get a chance for a hot guy to get rid of my V-card, I’m all for it. Ryker’s hot and has that alpha vibe, and the fact he’s ex-military just made me wetter. It never occurred to me that he was a biker, or that I might have just screwed up a big deal for the Dixie Reapers. It seems my sexy Ryker isn’t just some hot military guy. No, he’s the son of the President of the Hades Abyss MC. So I hide like big brother asks me to. Just one problem…Ryker doesn’t leave, and now I’m late. How am I supposed to tell Ryker that I’m carrying his child? When life fucks me over, it does it royally.

Ryker will release in July 2018!

 

Want to be notified when this story releases? You can either sign-up for the Jessica Coulter Smith/Harley Wylde newsletter or follow me on Amazon! Readers in the U.S. can also receive new release notifications by following me on BookBub!

Open Call for Submissions — ROOSTERS multi-author series! #opensubmissions #submissions #romancepublishing #eroticromance @changelingpress

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Authors: Does your contemporary hero have a bad attitude and a complete inability to follow the rules?

Pair him up with a kick ass heroine (Or hero – or two – or three — whatever) and bring him to Changeling!

Rules — there aren’t many!

1) No politics

1) Have fun!

Submissions guidelines:

15K to 30K novella

Contemporary Erotic Romance

Send us your completed manuscript along with a cover letter telling us why we should fall in love with your bad-ass hero. We’ll get back to you faster than a Gooney Bird… (Hmm, well, cargo planes weren’t all that fast, but hey, we’re reading as quick as we can.)

Full Submissions Guidelines available at https://www.changelingpress.com/submissions.php

Roosters: https://www.changelingpress.com/catalog.php?upt=book&ufilter=search&keywords=Roosters

Margaret Riley 
Publisher
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#preorder PREACHER (Dixie Reapers MC) by Harley Wylde #MCromance #bikerromance #newadult #olderhero #EroticRomance @HarleyW_Writer @changelingpress

Preacher

Series: Dixie Reapers MC #4.5 (bonus story)
Publisher: Changeling Press
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
Release Date: June 15, 2018

PreacherCover

Kayla:

My twin brother, Johnny, practically disappeared when he started prospecting for the Dixie Reapers, and if I wanted to see him, then it meant going to the compound. I’d never been inside the clubhouse, wasn’t supposed to go there, but sometimes the devil on my shoulder prods me into doing things I shouldn’t.  Johnny made it sound like there were drugs being snorted left and right and orgies, but that wasn’t what I found that night. I never expected to fall for a heartbroken man I could never have, a man much older than me. But that night, Preacher took me in his arms, claimed my virginity with a passion that left me seeing stars, and I knew that I’d made the right decision. Even if it did come back to bite me in the ass two months later. When I’d walked through the door that night, I’d never counted on being fucked by a super hot biker, and I definitely didn’t expect to end up pregnant!

Preacher:

When I lost my family, before even prospecting for the Dixie Reapers, I’d closed off my heart and vowed to never let another woman in. A quick fuck here and there with the club pussy kept me sane, but no one would ever mean anything to me. Then the most tempting woman I’ve ever met gave me a night I knew I’d always remember, right before she disappeared. When she turns up two months later, I find her in the arms of one of the prospects. Fury hits me first, then she knocks me on my ass when she tells me she’s pregnant. With my kid. I turned away from god all those years ago, gave up being a minister and signed my life over to the Dixie Reapers. I don’t know that I believe in a higher power anymore, but maybe it’s time I start praying again. Because giving this woman everything she needs, being the man she deserves, is going to take one hell of a miracle.

Pre-Order at B&N, Amazon, iTunes, and Kobo

 

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EXCERPT:

“You here to see Johnny?” he asked.

“Yeah. Thought I’d surprise him.”

“Oh, he’ll be surprised all right. He’s inside,” the prospect said, tipping his head toward the clubhouse. “But then, you aren’t allowed in there are you? Too pristine for a place like that.”

“I’m not pristine,” I snapped.

I might be a virgin in the strictest sense, but I was far from angelic. I’d never technically had sex, even though I’d given a few blow jobs and fooled around, but I’d used my trusty vibrator to take care of my virginity. I’d heard it would hurt, and no way was I trusting a guy with something like that. Especially not since the guys I knew were selfish and fumbling. No finesse whatsoever.

“Just remember that you were warned.” The gate slid open, and he motioned toward the clubhouse. “Enter at your own risk.”

That sounded like something the creepy guy in horror movies says right before the heroine does something incredibly stupid, like enter a house full of mass murderers, or choose the darkened pathway filled with deformed, dying trees instead of the brightly lit path. This was just a clubhouse full of bikers, one of whom was my brother. How bad could it be?

I stepped through the gate and made my way across the lot to the building with Dixie Reapers across the top in neon, and slowly climbed the steps. The noise from inside was even louder now, and I pushed open the doors, not sure what to expect. The way my brother talked, I half-expected naked women and orgies going on out in the open. My gaze scanned the room, but I didn’t see my brother — or any orgies. The place was packed wall-to-wall with men and women in leather cuts with Dixie Reapers stitched across the back. Other than some smoking and drinking, I didn’t see anything wild going on. Not that those things were wild, but to hear Johnny tell it, all kinds of shit went down in here. They just looked like your average group of adults having a nice time.

No one paid me any attention as I moved farther into the room, but the fact I was the only one not sporting one of those leather cuts made me feel a little out of place. At least I’d worn my black top and not the red one I’d picked up first. Still, I didn’t exactly blend, even if some of the women present looked to be my age or close to it. I’d learned enough from Johnny to guess those were the old ladies. He seemed rather fond of the President’s woman, and I wondered if I’d ever get a chance to meet her. To hear Johnny tell it, the woman was up for sainthood. I didn’t think anyone could ever be that perfect.

At the end of the bar, a man sat alone, a line of shot glasses in front of him, and an old worn Bible nearby. I hadn’t taken the club for being religious, but then this man didn’t seem quite like the others. He wore the same cut as everyone else, but as I studied him, I realized he was more somber. There was almost a haunted look to him, as if he were trying to drown his demons in whiskey, or whatever he was drinking. I felt this pull, as if I were supposed to get closer to him.

Slowly, I made my way across the room and slid onto the stool next to his. He didn’t even so much as glance my way, but I could tell from the way his mouth tensed that he was more than aware of my presence, and didn’t seem to care for it. I didn’t know what he was trying to run from, and it was honestly none of my business, but I’d found that sometimes people just needed to be reminded they weren’t as alone as they thought. Despite the fact the room was full of people, not a single one had come to sit by him. Maybe he’d chased them off, or maybe they left him alone because of the vibe he was putting out. Neither was going to deter me. Someone as sexy as he shouldn’t be drowning their sorrows. Not alone anyway.

The guy behind the bar came over, a swagger to his step and a cocky smile on his face. His cut said Prospect, but thankfully he wasn’t someone I knew. The minute my brother found out I was here, he’d likely escort me back to the gate and send me home, which was the last place I wanted to be.

The guy leaned on the bar, his arms folded so that his biceps bulged. I assumed I was supposed to be impressed, but he looked just like every other asshole in my neighborhood who wanted in my pants. Not happening, buddy.

“What can I get for you, beautiful?” he asked, his lips tipping up on one side in a way I supposed most would find sexy. It wasn’t making me drop my panties, that was for sure. I was completely immune to guys like this one.

“Rum and Coke,” I said.

The guy next to me snorted.

“What?” I asked, turning my attention his way.

When his gaze clashed with mine, the breath in my lungs froze. Dark hair and a close-cropped beard were sexy enough, but damn… The man’s eyes were truly things of beauty. I saw blues, greens, golds. Maybe even a hint of gray. Those were the kind of eyes a woman could get lost in, the kind of eyes that would make her do something really stupid.

“You ever actually had a rum and Coke?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth.

“Maybe.”

He smiled a little. Not a full-out smile, and not even a smirk. It was almost like his lips had turned up without his permission because it was gone almost as fast as it happened.

“Why don’t you give her a Sex on the Beach?” the guy next to me said.

The Prospect leered at me. “Oh, I’d be delighted.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Just the drink, thanks.”

I could tell he wanted to say something, but he refrained, walking off to fix my drink. I focused on the guy sitting next to me again, and noticed his cut said Preacher…

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

HarleyWyldeAuthor

Short. Erotic. Sweet.

Harley’s other half would probably say those words describe her, but they also describe her books. 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.

You can follow Harley on AmazonTwitter, or Facebook. Get New Release notifications (for US readers) by following Harley on BookBub!

Harley Wylde is the “wilder” side of award-winning author Jessica Coulter Smith. She also writes gay erotic romance (M/M and M/M/M) as Dulce Dennison.

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To My Muse by Nicola M. Cameron #RomanceBooks #RomCom @YesItsNicolaC

Ever do something really, really dumb?

When too much tequila and an enabling BFF put Lily Nayar’s romance novel Feast of Lovers into the hands of its inspiration, sexy British actor Tom Morrison, Lily is horrified. Now she’s determined to get her book back, even if that means breaking into Tom’s hotel room to do it.

With the help of a strategic lie and a charismatic knight, Lily’s screwball plan catapults her into the middle of her very own Cinderella story, Hollywood style. But will a vengeful actress ruin Lily’s shot at a real life HEA with Tom?

Excerpt available here.

  • Contemporary romance, romantic comedy, MF
  • Word Count: 67,000
  • Heat Level 2
  • Published By: Belaurient Press

Excerpt

Giving Theresa a thumbs up, I closed the door and turned my attention to the hotel room. It had already been cleaned and the bed was neatly made. A suitcase sat on the valet stand next to the TV, and the dresser and desk held various pieces of paper, notes, and a couple of plastic shopping bags, all the usual stuff when you’re stuck in a hotel room for a couple of weeks.

Of course, the fangirl part of my brain was screeching like a gibbon at me that I was in Tom Morrison’s hotel room. He’d slept in that very bed last night. Sat at that desk to check his email and Facebook. Took a dump behind the closed door of what I assumed was the bathroom. The prosaic nature of that last bit helped me regain some self-control, and I tiptoed (why, I don’t know, I’m an idiot) over to the desk. There was what looked like a script for GearShifter on it, as well as a MacBook Pro, but no Feast of Lovers. Bad Tom, no leaving your expensive computer equipment out where people can steal it.

I wanted to leaf through the script so badly, but I ignored it and kept looking for Feast. Not on the desk top, not on the dresser, not on the TV. I was starting to worry that he’d taken it with him to the location when I noticed the suitcase. I truly, honestly hated the idea of going through his personal stuff, but he might have stuck it in there. I could just lift the lid, take a peek, maybe it was in plain sight—

I had the lid in hand when the bathroom door swung open and a tall, beautiful blonde in a towel strutted out. “I thought I heard you—” she purred, before she saw me. Both face and tone iced over. “Who the hell are you?”

I let out a noise that could have been used as a sound effect for a creaking vault door. The blonde stalked closer, looming over me. Up close, I could see some fine lines around her eyes, but she was still ridiculously gorgeous. “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

Oh. Oh, shit. My brain informed me that I was currently sharing a room with Claudine Ellery, the actress playing Tom’s antagonist/love interest on the show. What the hell was she doing in his bathroom? Were they dating in real life? Why was I asking stupid questions when I should be turning and running for my freaking life?

And then Fate decided that she needed an even bigger chuckle because the room door opened and Tom Morrison walked in. I caught a glimpse of an apologetic Theresa hovering in the hallway before she was eclipsed by Tom, who was staring at Claudine and me.

Oh, God. He was even better looking in person. Not all actors are, but Tom—he was edible. Curly black hair, eyes the color of dark chocolate, and lips that I’d wanted to kiss since the first time I saw him on screen. With faded jeans that fit him perfectly, a dusty white button-down with rolled up sleeves, just the right amount of chest hair peeping out of his collar, and the cutest smudge of dust across one laser-sharp cheekbone, he was every one of my fantasies come to warm, tall life right in front of me.

And I had broken into his hotel room.

That was it. I was going to jail, assuming that the cops didn’t just see “brown person” and shoot me when they got here. At the very least I’d get fired from Golden State. Mom and Dad would disown me, Dada and Dadi would die of shame, and Derek would probably take out an ad in the LA Times saying that I was adopted. My only hope was that Theresa had gotten the hell out of here. There was no reason for both of us to go down for my stupidity—

“Lilian, darling, what are you doing here?”

My brain skidded to a halt. Words had come out of Tom Morrison’s mouth. Friendly words. While he was staring directly at me. Looking, if I may say so, as if he was talking to someone he knew. Which he didn’t, because I may not have remembered sending him my book but I would definitely remember meeting him.

“Um. Hi?” I waved weakly.

“I thought you decided not to come out this weekend.” He crossed to me, slipping an arm around my shoulders as he stared at Claudine. He squeezed my shoulder once, kind of hard, then did it again.

Even with my brain in fangirl vapor lock I can take a hint. I had no idea how he knew who I was, but he wanted me to play along. Plastering a grin on my face, I slipped my arm around his waist and squeezed back. His torso felt like warm rock, and he smelled so good.

“Well, I figured I needed a road trip,” I extemporized, giving him a bright smile. “And I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Not at all, angel,” he purred. Up close, I could see a hint of relief in his eyes. It disappeared as he turned to Claudine. “Claud, why are you in my room wearing a towel?” he asked politely.

She planted hands on slim hips, cocking her head to the side. “Seriously? You have to ask why?”

“Yes, because if I remember correctly, I told you that I had no interest in going to bed with you. In fact, I’m quite sure I informed you of this on numerous occasions. And when I walk into my hotel room and see you wearing nothing but terrycloth while my girlfriend,” this time his squeeze was gentle, “is standing there looking gobsmacked, I have to wonder what the actual fuck you’re up to.”

My face went rigid as it tried to hold onto my smile. Girlfriend? Eeeeeeeee…


Where to Buy

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords | iTunes | Print


About the Author

Nicola Cameron is an expatriate Chicagoan who has lived in England, Canada, Holland, and Sweden, and keeps a confusing amalgamation of languages in her head as a result. Currently located in the clavicle of Texas, she has finally mastered the proper use of “y’all,” much to her Chicago family’s dismay.

Despite a healthy interest in romance and sex since puberty, it wasn’t until 2012 that Nicola decided to try writing about it. As it turned out, the skills she picked up during her SF writing career transferred rather nicely to speculative romance. When not writing, she wrangles cats, smooches her husband, makes dolls of dubious and questionable identity, and thanks almighty Cthulhu that she doesn’t have to work for a major telecommunications company any more (because there’s BDSM, and then there’s just plain torture…).

 

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads

 

SPOTLIGHT: Spice & Vanilla by Katherine Wyvern #BDSM #GayRomance #LGBT @KatherineWyvern @evernightpub

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Hello, and thank you so much for hosting me today and letting me talk a little about my new book, Spice & Vanilla!

Spice and Vanilla came about as a sum of two different story-lines that screamed to be put into words.

One was a spill-over from my previous release, Woman as a Foreign Language. In that story there was a male-to-female cross-dresser whose painful past of disclosure and rejection was alluded to only briefly. I wanted to expand on that element, and explore the tremendous emotional rollercoaster that all parties involved in such a coming-out will go through.

The second story line was sparked in one millisecond when a dear, dear friend of mine described himself as an angel with a bit of a devil inside. That immediately made me want to write this character that is constantly on the fence of… anything, really. He’s gender-fluid, bisexual, a really sweet man with a seriously dark side, and a switch on top of everything…

That was supposed to be a light and hot short story, but when it collided with the first story-line, it became a full length novel and an incredible emotional journey, with one of the most complex characters I ever wrote… there were times when I thought I’d lose my sanity trying to keep up with Raphael’s twists and turns.

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ABOUT THE BOOK:

Time was, when Di could dance all night. Time was, when she could ride any horse in the stable. Time was when she had a fiancée, a future and a home she loved. Until a silver SUV came out of nowhere and broke her life in half.

Well concealed under a sarcastic, spiny hide, Hugh has a darkly romantic, passionate soul. Torn between love and terror, he’s held the talented, elegant, magnetic Raphael carefully at arm’s length since the day they met.

Male or female, men or women, kinky or sweet, top or bottom? Angel or devil? Raphael’s life is a string of unanswered questions. And Lucie, his long-hidden female self, may bring it all together or destroy everything he has.

Be warned: cross-dressing, gender-queer, explicit M/M and M/F sex, anal sex, spanking, flogging, bondage, forced orgasm, sex toys

Spice-vanilla-editor review

ADULT EXCERPT (18+ Only):

Hugh watched him stroking away with great contentment. He was totally worn out after a crazy day at work, and it was not always easy to find the energy to satisfy such an enthusiastic masochist. There were days when he wished Raphael were a bit less fond of being spanked and whipped, but he always did his best to oblige him. The thought of his Raphael going out there looking for release from God-only-knows-whom, and getting hurt for real by some less scrupulous or talented Dom was just unbearable. Still, tonight he would lie back and relax. Mostly. I will have to help him eventually, he thought with a slightly evil grin, but I can take a breather first.

Raphael stroked in perfect tempo. He was one of the most technically exact musicians Hugh had ever played with, after all. Too exact, in fact.

It would do him so much good to let go a bit, to just go with the flow, be wild and imprecise and purely passionate. Then he would not need so much of this.

Tick—tock—tick—tock—tick—tock, went the metronome, and Raphael stroked and stroked. It was a good while before Hugh could tell, from a small furrow between those blond eyebrows, that the unchanging, slow rhythm was beginning to frustrate him. He smiled a bit wider and said nothing, devouring his beautiful quarry with his eyes. He watched, entranced the fluid play of flesh and skin as Raphael’s long pale cock, a nice ruddy purple by now, sank and reemerged into and from his fist, the velvet-like foreskin lapping beautifully over the shinier, silky glans, the testicles bouncing softly to the rhythm as the scrotum was pulled up and released. It was hard to resist the temptation to throw the whole scene to the devil and just take that cock in his mouth and suck it empty.

This is without exception the best use a metronome was ever put to.

Raphael’s body was developing a number of small, charming tics and twitches. He briefly lifted his left knee from the mattress then relaxed again. His right wrist was pulling on the strap from time to time, and his breath was coming in slightly ragged bursts.

Still it took a long time. Too much control, thought Hugh, smiling. Tsk-tsk.

Tick—tock—tick—tock.

He slowly unfolded his hands and moved to sit between Raphael’s legs. He spit on his middle finger and watched Raphael’s face, half hopeful, half anxious, as he slowly approached his anus. He didn’t hurry. He let Raphael wait for it. He would beg, in time, Hugh knew, but there was no need for that, not yet. He finally pressed his fingertip to the twitching, tight, live rose of flesh and felt it jolt and spasm. He massaged it in circles, with relish, and didn’t even try to penetrate it. Raphael was shaking all over, trying to press down on his finger, but there was just so far he could stretch, tied as he was. His belly muscles went taut. They were contracting in random, jerky convulsions. Hugh had never seen anything so beautiful.

Then Raphael missed a beat. His hand had picked up pace, ignoring all orders. Raphael whimpered, trying to compensate to get back in the right tempo. The double change of pace made him squirm all over. He swallowed twice and missed the beat again. This time Hugh slapped the inside of his thigh, very hard. Raphael could take a long regular series of well-spaced blows with relative ease, but a single hard slap coming down out of the blue like that drew a ragged cry from him.

“You do know what tempo means, I asked?” Hugh said, in a plain chatty voice. He had never had any taste whatsoever for histrionics. He was not, he had never been, a theatrical Dom. He wasn’t in it for setting up a show. He just got the job done.

“Yes. Yes!” said Raphael, a bit frantic. He managed to stick to the rhythm for a minute longer, until Hugh gently stuck his finger just within the ring of his anus. All of Raphael’s body twisted, and he lost all track of the cold, mechanical rhythm of the metronome.

And that is exactly what you need, my love . Too much playing by the rules, too much fucking control. You need to find your own tempo, and just let go.

Five or six fast hard strokes followed. Hugh slapped him twice, on his thigh, and, when he turned suddenly, on his butt. And then Raphael came, on the third slap, as he flopped flat on his back again, crying out in pleasure or pain, or both. It was hard to tell. Semen spurted out in beautiful, long, arched white streamers, splattering over Raphael’s belly, chest, and even his face.

It is difficult to aim while being spanked hard.

Hugh watched him coming, avidly.

He was so naked. So vulnerable, so unguarded. Hugh, who felt, every day, that he might shatter like glass, on Raphael’s unearthly, impossibly graceful, self-possessed beauty, lived for these moments, to watch him released of all self-consciousness and all bonds. Strange, how it took a bunch of leather straps to get him to do that.

“Ah, oh, shit. That hurt,” Raphael whispered after a minute. “Not complaining, mind,” he added, with a small edgy laugh, wiping some drops of sperm from his lips and eyebrow.

“Good,” said Hugh, quite composed, despite the erection straining in his pants. Watching Raphael twitching and jolting while covered in glistening semen was not a sight to leave him unmoved. He reached out for the metronome, stopped it and lowered the weight a tad, then started it again.

This was a faster, business-like tempo.

“There you go, hot lips,” he said to Raphael, who was still breathing hard from his orgasm.

“What? Wh—but…”

Hugh gave him a small devilish smile. Raphael was perfectly capable of coming two or three times in one night, but, like most men, he needed a while to recuperate in between. Well, tonight, he wasn’t getting it.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

You can also find an exclusive excerpt on my website, here:

http://meetingivory.wixsite.com/katherinewyvern/spice-and-vanilla-excerpt

WHERE TO BUY:

Find Spice & Vanilla at Evernight: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/spice-vanilla-by-katherine-wyvern/

Or on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Spice-Vanilla-Katherine-Wyvern-ebook/dp/B07CWFZYFS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1525683799&sr=8-1&keywords=spice+Vanilla+Katherine+wyvern

 

Spice-vanilla-miniteaser

 

AUTHOR SOCIAL LINKS:

See what Katherine is up to on:

Katherine’s Blog: https://katherinewyvern.blogspot.fr/

Katherine’s Website: http://meetingivory.wixsite.com/katherinewyvern

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/katherinewyvern

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KatherineWyvern

Or follow her on Instagram @katherinewyvern

 

Spotlight: A Thorned Rose in the Sand by Lea Bronsen #NewRelease #RomanceBooks @LeaBronsen @evernightpub

Hi, and thank you for hosting me on your blog!

I got the idea for this story after watching a video of French “globe cooker” Fred Chesneau visiting nomads in the Moroccan desert. They generously shared their food, home, and wisdom with a stranger, and I thought it would be cool to write about a female rally driver having the same experience.

A Thorned Rose in the Sand is set in the beautiful, quiet dunes of western Sahara where the sun is so hot you can’t walk barefooted and you could go miles and miles without seeing a single soul. In this story, you’ll meet a badass 450cc rally motorcycle, an opiniated but gentle dromedary, and two highly strong-willed young persons from opposite sides of the planet who get off to a bad start then can’t keep their hands off each other 😊

 

A Thorned Rose_banner.jpg

 

When life in a big U.S. city becomes too much, Stevie Jones decides to live her wildest dream – compete against the tough guys in a motorcycle rally across Morocco. But the real excitement is found away from the race track, in the shifting sands of the desert.

After his studies in London, Ragab has returned to the nomadic lifestyle of his Bedouin family and the majestic silence of the Sahara. He dreams of the perfect wife, until a beautiful but feisty biker stuck in a sand dune turns his quiet world upside down.

 

Available from

Evernight / Amazon.com / Amazon.uk / Barnes & Noble / Bookstrand / iTunes / Kobo / Smashwords

Add the book to your shelf on Goodreads

See photos that inspired me to write the book on Pinterest

A Thorned Rose in the Sand-3D-eReader

 

Excerpt

The girl screamed behind him. “Eeeeee!”

Too hard to resist. Until now, Ragab had had a difficult time respecting her privacy, but surely, a scream called for attention. What kind of a gentleman would he be if he didn’t check on a woman in distress?

He spun and found her kneeling on her jacket, nude and wet, arms outstretched in shock. He bit down a laugh. Yes, the deep well water was cold, but one got used to it, and in the extreme heat of the desert, it was a blessing.

She turned, caught him staring, and even though he couldn’t see anything inappropriate, she hurried to cover her breasts and pubic area. “Look away!” she shouted, voice panicky.

The laugh bubbled inside him, but he obediently turned back to the motorcycle—then stood in such a way he could see her reflection in one of the side mirrors.

Oh, it was like watching a porn scene. Her long, red curls hung wild over her back and round, white butt cheeks. Every time she moved, a portion of her breasts appeared in the space between her ribs and arms. Such perfect feminine curves, all over. Imagine if he saw the front…

Blood rushed to his groin. Stiffening, bothered, he tore from the sight, walked over to the well, and leaned against its waist-high wall, hoping the hardness of the bricks and coolness from the water below would temper his arousal before it became a full-blown erection.

So silent…

He strained to hear.

Splashes. Muffled squeals. More splashes.

He turned slowly and stole a glance from the corner of his eye.

She washed her panties and black top in the bucket and leaned forward to spread them in the sun. Her position exposed the dark pink lips of her sex, from the tiny hole in her butt to the end of her slit, where her clitoris hid.

Ooh!

Shocked to his core, he turned back and groaned low, his cock hardening again.

He closed his eyes, drew long, slow breaths to calm the painful throbbing and counted minutes, trying to think of something else.

His dromedary, for example. It would be cool to show her how to ride it. What if he rode another one, and they both galloped on the dunes together, she laughing, ecstatic…

Then they’d roll in the sand, and he would tease her thighs apart and slide his hungry hardness into her dark pink lips, to the wet bottom of her. Oh, yes.

She called, “Ready?”

He risked a glance in her direction.

Wearing one of his sisters’ dresses and looking divine with her red curls floating behind her—and her face white and clean—she strolled to the motorcycle, carrying a bag and her clothes. She stuffed everything on top of the fuel tanks, got up, lifted the dress to her knees, and started the motor.

Not once looking at him.

 

About the author

Lea Bronsen

Lea Bronsen likes her reads hot, fast, and edgy, and strives to give her own stories the same intensity. After venturing into dirty inner-city crime drama with her debut novel Wild Hearted, she divides her writing time between psychological thriller, romantic suspense, and dark erotic romance.

Meet Lea Bronsen on

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