Wednesday, July 1, 2020

Book Spotlight/Giveaway: Torn by Rick R. Reed




Title:  Torn

Author: Rick R. Reed

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 29, 2020

Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 63300

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, roommates, friends to lovers, road trip, United Kingdom, flamboyant characters, hurt/comfort, humorous 

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Ever been torn between two lovers? That’s Ricky Comparetto’s problem.

 

It’s 1995, and Ricky is making his very first trip across the pond with his best friend. Ricky, hungry for love and looking for it in all the wrong places, finds it in the beach city of Brighton. His new love has the curious name of Walt Whitman and is also an American, which only serves to make him sexier and more intriguing. By the time Walt and Ricky part, promises are made for a reunion in Boston.

 

But the course of true love never runs smoothly. In Chicago Ricky almost immediately falls in love again. Tom Green is a sexy blue-collar beast with the kindest heart Ricky has ever run across.

 

What’s he to do? With a visit to the East Coast on the horizon and a new love blossoming in Ricky’s home of Chicago, Ricky truly is torn.

 

Excerpt 

Torn

Rick R. Reed © 2020

All Rights Reserved

 

Chapter One

 

It was the cheapest flight we could find. Air India, round trip, O’Hare to Heathrow, around seven hundred bucks. We snatched up the fare because my best friend, Boutros BinBin, was homesick and wanted to show me his homeland, “the place that made me who I am.” If you know Boutros, you know this is a scary thought. And yet I still wanted to go.

 

We snatched up our tickets because we were both sick of Chicago, dreading the humid summer we knew was in store, and because I had done about every guy on the North Side.

 

Joke. Now Boutros, hush. And stop rolling your eyes!

 

We’d do London (and EuroPride). We’d do Brighton (Boutros called the seaside town the San Francisco of England because it was so gay—in a good way). We’d do Boutros’s ancient hometown, Bath. Honestly, one of us would do just about any attractive male within the age range of eighteen to, oh, sixty-five—but the latter part was always negotiable. In the dark, a hard dick is a hard dick.

 

Or maybe I’d find Mr. Right. “You’ll find a hundred Mr. Right Nows if I know you,” Boutros said. Boutros could always see through me like I was made from glass. It was this attribute that I both loved and hated about my best friend—and probably what drew us together when we’d met a couple of years before at a gay writers’ group called the Newtown Writers, in Chicago. I was drawn to his sense of humor, and he was appalled by the Daisy Dukes I wore to the first meeting.

 

Just a few short years later, we were both summarily thrown out of the writers’ group. Boutros said it was because we were the only two who’d been published, and I argued that it was because we appeared at a meeting at his house wearing nothing but a smile. Gay men! They’re always trying to get you naked, and then, when they succeed, they get offended!

 

We agreed to lick our wounds over coffee. Compounding the pain of being ousted from the writers’ group, I had recently ended a relationship. Boutros lent a sympathetic ear to my man troubles, which were then all about my indolent, smart, perpetually stoned, and job-challenged boyfriend, Henry, whose life revolved around marijuana—growing it and smoking it morning, noon, and night. I wondered what it was he needed to escape. When I asked Boutros, he told me, “Probably because he can’t stand waking up sober next to that face. And I can’t blame him.” Only Boutros could say such things to me, knowing I would somehow interpret them as demonstrations of love and caring. When we finally broke up after Henry had quit yet another job that was way beneath him, I cut ties.

 

And yet, I was devastated. Boutros led me through mourning the end of my first gay love with a firm hand, a lot of sarcasm, and a willingness to listen while I rambled on and on into the phone, wondering if I’d done the right thing. After all, Henry could be sweet, although he’d never admit it. On the day Henry moved out (while I was at work—a concept foreign to him), he left the CD player on and Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” playing on infinite loop. Even though I knew Boutros was probably appalled by the sappiness of this gesture, he listened as I choked out words of devastation through sobs, and demonstrated admirable restraint when he could have cut me down to pathetic size with a couple of bon mots. Support like his, coming at a crucial time, often cements two people together.

 

It did us.

 

So when Boutros proposed we jet off across the pond together, I was beyond thrilled. Even though I knew I couldn’t afford it on my catalog copywriter salary, which barely paid my rent, going to Europe, especially England, had always been my dream. I’d grown up with a pen pal from the West Midlands and had developed a keen interest in the place from her long letters describing Cannock Chase and the little Staffordshire village in which she lived. Perhaps I could see her, too, while I was there. It would be our first meeting in person.

 

Boutros convinced me to clean out my bank account for the trip by saying that once we got there, we could stay with friends and family wherever we went. All we’d have to pay for was food (fish and chips!) and drinks (Guinness!). We’d get around via the tube, and for longer distances, we’d take advantage of England’s very user-friendly trains that went just about everywhere.

 

I desperately needed a break from my boring job and from nursing my broken heart (even if I was the one who technically broke it), so I was on board.

 

Well, actually, I was on board right that very moment, Boutros next to me. We were on a double-decker plane that was enormous, much bigger than anything I’d ever flown on—not that I’d flown much, just a handful of flights between Chicago and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, which had the closest airport to my hometown of East Liverpool, Ohio.

 

The flight attendants, all women, wore saris. The plane was filled mostly with eastern Indians. Heathrow was a layover for them, not a destination, as this flight continued on to New Delhi.

 

“Ah, the sweet smell of curry is in the air,” Boutros whispered, leaning close to my ear.

 

“Hush.” I looked around, praying no one had heard him. I got his sense of humor—which involved saying a lot of things simply for their shock value—but I doubt that anyone else on the plane would.

 

I already felt as though I’d stepped into another world. I couldn’t wait to get to our destination and see what adventures were in store.

 

One of the flight attendants came around pushing a trolley. On it were small Styrofoam cups and full-size bottles of whiskey.

 

“Would you like?” The dark-haired woman smiled at Boutros and me, gesturing toward the bottles and cups.

 

Indian custom? I shrugged. What the hell? “Yes, please. One for me, and one for my friend here.” I leaned back a little so she could see Boutros in the middle seat. I doubted she could miss him, though, dressed as he was in palazzo pants with a yellow-and-purple paisley pattern, and a white muslin peasant shirt. His black hair stood up in a multitude of directions, and his mustache, waxed, stuck out so far, he could make the truthful claim that one could see the mustache from behind him. The goatee below the mustache was just beginning to gray. His earring and nose ring were connected by a dangling silver chain. He liked to say his face was “done up like a Christmas tree.”

 

Sometimes I wondered if people even saw me when I stood next to him.

 

“One?” Boutros scoffed. “Amateur. Could we have two?”

 

She nodded, smiling, and poured us each two shots of whiskey. She handed them over, and we both quickly downed the first and then handed the cups back to her. Boutros belched and said, “Check back on us, would you?”

 

The flight attendant’s smile didn’t waver. Serenely, she moved on to the next row to ply the whole plane, I presumed, with strong spirits.

 

Boutros reached for his leather backpack, which he’d stored under the seat in front of him. “Surprise! I’ve got a little something here that will help shorten the flight, if you know what I mean.” He grinned mischievously as he groped around in the bag’s outer compartment. He brought out a prescription bottle and shook it. A couple of pills rattled.

 

“Morphine, sweetie, from when I had that cyst out in hospital. Remember? I punched that nun when they started cutting before the anesthetic set in.” He leaned close, rubbing up against my shoulder. “I saved these two just for you and me, darling.”

 

“You’re too good to me. They say time is the most thoughtful gift, but I beg to differ. I say it’s drugs.” I returned the shoulder nudge, then held out my hand like a beggar.

 

We popped the morphine, washing it down with our second shot of whiskey. The unvoiced plan, of course, was that we would sleep on the overnight transatlantic flight, arriving in London the next morning refreshed and ready to begin our sightseeing after dropping our stuff off at Boutros’s friend Trevor’s place in Westminster.

 

Maybe I was too excited to sleep, but even after a third shot of whiskey and morphine, I was still wide-awake for the full eight-hour flight. And perhaps my excitement was contagious, because Boutros couldn’t catch a wink either. We watched our flight’s progress on a screen on the back of the seats in front of us. I thought, Hurry, hurry.

 

If anything, the drugs and alcohol had the curious effect of making us even more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than either of us usually were. After trying fitfully—and desperately—to sleep, fluffing the thin and starchy pillows our flight attendant had given us, we passed the night talking about what we’d see and do, following the vivid colors and subtitles of the inflight movie, Raja, which was, from what I could gather from the subtitles, a romance about a young man reuniting with the woman he was supposed to marry years earlier. We ate the meals the airline offered—chicken tikka masala and basmati rice for me and saag paneer and rice for him. Even though it was Indian food, which Boutros and I both adored, it was airline food…and thus barely edible. Fortunately, they brought out the complimentary whiskey cart again near the end of the flight.

 

And, at around 10:00 a.m. London time, we touched down on the runway at Heathrow International Airport.

 

Purchase Links 

NineStar Press | Amazon


Meet the Author 

Real Men. True Love.

 Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…” Find him at www.rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their fierce Chihuahua/Shiba Inu mix, Kodi.

 

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GIVEAWAY

One lucky winner will receive a $10.00 NineStar Press Gift Code!

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Tuesday, June 30, 2020

Discover Sacrifice of Darkness by Alexandra Ivy

Sacrifice of Darkness, a must-read novella in the A Guardians of Eternity series from New York Times bestselling author Alexandra Ivy, is available now!

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From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Alexandra Ivy comes a new story in her Guardians of Eternity series…

Javad has one rule. No fighting pits.

It doesn’t matter that the savage battles have been a tradition among demons for eons. As the manager of the Viper’s Nest in Vegas, his word is law. Period. Then he hears rumors that some fool has dared to create a fighting pit in the middle of the desert. He goes in search of the hidden location, only to realize too late it’s a trap by his former master Vynom. The powerful vampire is determined to force Javad to fight once again. This time to the death.

Terra is a rare fey creature known as a Seraf. Long ago she’d been captured by Vynom and forced to heal the fighters he used in his pits. Javad had rescued her, and she’d given him a medallion. If he ever needed her, all he had to do was to speak her name and the magic would lead her to him. When she hears his call she doesn’t hesitate to rush to his rescue. Even when it means returning to the dark violence that still haunts her dreams.

Can they escape the nightmare that nearly destroyed them in the past? And if they survive, are they willing to sacrifice the duties that have pulled them apart to battle for a future together?

**Every 1001 Dark Nights novella is a standalone story. For new readers, it’s an introduction to an author’s world. And for fans, it’s a bonus book in the author’s series. We hope you'll enjoy each one as much as we do.**

Sacrifice of Darkness ipad available now

Download your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2LSIXhO Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/sacrificedarkness Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2WSvGvO

Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2ZpK7cF

Meet Alexandra

Debbie Raleigh-2 (1)

Like most writers, I was born with an avid love for reading. Growing up in a small town in the Midwest, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have a book in my hand or wasn’t dreaming up wild stories in my head. And when I stepped into my local library for the first time I thought it was paradise. There were so many books on the shelves I didn’t know where to start!

Still, I didn’t plan to grow up and become a writer. I was much more interested in a glorious career as an actress on Broadway.

I followed my dream by acquiring a degree in theatre and performing for several years in summer-stock productions, but after I married my college sweetheart I decided to put the career on hold while we started a family. After the arrival of my two sons, Chance and Alex, I found myself seeking a new creative outlet and decided to turn my occasional scribblings into a genuine effort to get published.

I’d like to say that I was an overnight success, but the truth is that it took years before I finally got ‘the call’. The rejections were painful, but now I’m relieved. All those manuscripts that I thought were the next Great American Novel are now exactly where they belong…gathering dust under my bed.

They did, however, help me learn my craft, and just as importantly, they gave me the opportunity to enjoy writing in a wide variety of genres as I searched for my voice. Which no doubt explains why I started writing traditional regencies under the name Debbie Raleigh and then moved to steamy historicals under the name Deborah Raleigh before transforming into a contemporary paranormal writer as Alexandra Ivy. Now my career spans everything from erotica to romantic suspense.

When I’m not writing I love to travel, it doesn’t matter where I’m going as long as it doesn’t include any cooking or cleaning. I also love to spend time with my family who continue to be my greatest source of inspiration. And since some things never change…when I have a few minutes, you can still find me with a book in my hand!

Connect with Alexandra

Facebook: https://bit.ly/3eBCKDv Twitter: https://bit.ly/3i6fK1K Goodreads: https://bit.ly/384T5y8 Website: https://alexandraivy.com/

For More information about 1001 Dark Nights Visit Facebook: https://bit.ly/37fl0uT Instagram: https://bit.ly/2Y7uBQp Website: https://bit.ly/2AIIr3A Stay up to date on all 1001 Dark Nights releases, join their mailing list today! https://bit.ly/2zgxaHu

Book Spotlight/Giveaway: Shoot the Moon



Title: Shoot the Moon
Series: Suit of Harte's, Book Two
Author: Jacqueline Grey
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: June 29, 2020
Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 27700
Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, BDSM, romance, contemporary, gay, sex industry, prostitution, D/s

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Synopsis

All Adam Kern was looking for when his best friend dragged him to the club Harte was some good dancing and a little flirting to distract him from his troubles. He never anticipated meeting the club owner, Jesse Harte, and having a whole new world of experiences opened up to him. On an impulse, Adam follows Jesse to the upper, kinkier floors of the club where an informative tour ends in a steamy scene that both men are looking forward to repeating. The attraction between the two is scorching and over the next few weeks their adventures into kinky sex are nothing short of daring.

Adam loves the thrill of sex with Jesse but soon a gnawing fear sows doubt into his mind about the possibility of a relationship with the other man. Though he loves every moment he spends with Jesse, he fears what these sexual explorations may mean for him. Jesse is successful, an entrepreneur, and a well-known Dominant in the BDSM community, but Adam cannot see himself as a submissive. What sort of future could they have if he is unable to give his lover what he needs?

Excerpt


Shoot the Moon
Jacqueline Grey © 2020
All Rights Reserved

“We’re going to Harte.”

Ash said this as if Adam would know what the hell he was talking about.

“Where?”

Ash waved the question away with a flick of his wrist and an expression that clearly said it didn’t matter. “You’ll know when we get there. Now, come on.” He linked their arms and half dragged Adam out the door.

On the taxi ride to wherever they were going, Adam tried to get more details, but all Ash would tell him was that Harte was a local nightclub.

“You didn’t let me get dressed.”

“Why do you think I lent you that shirt to begin with? You look fantastic. Trust me.”

The crowd outside the club wrapped around the side of the building and back again. Thankfully, it wasn’t too cold out, or they would have frozen solid before getting inside.

“Is this place always so crowded?” Adam asked as they took their place at the end of the line.

“Packed like sardines,” Ash confirmed. “Best place in the city for good drinks and dancing.”

A man in skintight leather pants and what Adam guessed was a harness walked by. “Varied crowd,” he said.

Ash spotted the man and did that wrist-flick thing again. “He’s headed around back for the upper floors.”

“The upper floors?”

“Yeah, the nightclub is only on the first floor. It’s got three dance floors, each with their own bar, and a backroom, which was most likely meant to be a bathroom but is usually otherwise occupied. Upstairs is the kinky stuff. From what I hear, Harte has the best dungeon in the city, and he’s known to be top-notch on safety. It’s pretty well-known despite being members only up there. The entrance to the second floor is in the back, though, because there’s a difference between exhibitionism and indecent exposure.”

“Huh.” Adam had never been to a kink club. Granted, they didn’t have plans to head upstairs, but this was the closest he’d ever been to one.

Eventually, they made it inside. With the beat of the music and the press of sweaty bodies grinding around him, it was easy for Adam to be distracted from thoughts of the upper floors. It wasn’t long before he’d lost Ash to the throng as well. His friend tended to sidle toward the nearest hot guy before passing him up for the next one on the dance floor. It gave him more exercise than the dancing itself. When he wanted a break, he’d pop up next to Adam as if finding someone in a crowd was the simplest thing to do.

Tonight, Ash’s method fit Adam’s mood. He scanned the floor for someone to dance with. It didn’t take him long to find what he was searching for.

The man was dancing alone and, apparently, without a care in the world. He seemed lost to the music, his body moving with enviable grace and confidence. He was lean with boyish good looks and the kind of face that would still look thirty when he was fifty-five. His light-brown hair was just long enough to be spiky, and though his clothes were casual, he dressed stylishly.

When the dancer turned his head, he caught Adam staring. A jolt ran through Adam, but he couldn’t look away. Even from a distance, the man’s pale eyes had him trapped, and Adam found himself moving through the crowd as if pulled by an invisible string. When he was close enough, he reached for a seductively swaying hip. The touch of a hand on the back of his neck encouraged him to move even closer.

They moved together for a while, sliding their bodies against each other but in no hurry to make it anything more than dancing. They simply let the pleasure of touch build on itself. The feel of his partner’s body against his was electric.

Adam was about to ask if they should find the “bathroom” when the man asked, “Care to go upstairs?”

Adam hesitated. “Isn’t it members only?” He figured that was a simple way to change the subject without having to turn the guy down.

“I can bring a guest if I want to.”

There went his easiest excuse. His reluctance must have shown on his face because the man asked, “Not your thing?”

“Not really,” Adam admitted.

“Ah” was the only reply, but Adam heard the disappointment in the word.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Truthfully, Adam had never given kink much thought. He’d heard about it, read a little online, but he’d never considered putting what he’d read into practice.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon

Meet the Author


Jacqueline Grey currently lives on an island on the east coast of the United States. She spends her time outside her day job juggling her many interests which include reading, writing and drinking tea. She loves M/M romance, usually focusing on stories that include BDSM themes to one degree or another.

Jacqueline has always been driven by characters. She loves a good plot, but it’s the characters that pull her into a story. She loves romance and believes everyone has a right to be happy. She enjoys seeing her characters find that happiness for themselves.

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Book Spotlight/Giveaway: Torn by Rick R. Reed

Title :  Torn Author : Rick R. Reed Publisher :   NineStar Press Release Date : June 29, 2020 Heat Level : 3 - Some Sex Pairing : ...