Showing posts with label #bdsm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #bdsm. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 31, 2023

New Release Spotlight/Giveaway: Unbounded

Unbounded by C. Tyler

Word Count: 69,991
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 287

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
BILLIONAIRE
BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
MAFIA/GANGS
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

Sometimes, a little pain can lead to the greatest pleasure.

Bay Hurst had given up on relationships, content to ‘play’ instead. So when she found the perfect partner at a BDSM club, she knew what to expect—here for a moment, gone the next.

Six years later, that philosophy doesn’t hold as true.

When handsome stranger Michele Sacchi boards the yacht she works on, Bay is suddenly thrust head first into an unexpected situation. They’ve met before and, more than that, he was her perfect playmate.

Now the two must struggle with their desires as well as maintain a professional appearance, but there’s much more bubbling beneath the surface than even she realizes—and once they reach land, her world may erupt into chaos.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of violence and attempted murder.

Excerpt

Whenever I found myself in London, one place called to me, chanted my name over and over, enticing me to its belly.

Labyrinth was an establishment where membership was exclusive, and patrons had to fully trust one another. It catered to a specific clientele, to the people who enjoyed another side to eroticism, many of whom chose to remain anonymous.

Dress code consisted of whatever cocktail attire one owned and a mask. Whether made of lace, metal, cloth, or resin, a mask had remained mandatory since the beginning of Labyrinth’s reign.

I was not a member in the official sense. I couldn’t afford the fees, but the owner allowed me a free visit whenever I was in town, so long as I sang for my supper. And sing I would.

Music had been a passion of mine since childhood. The genre changed often, but my love for it never would. Music had the power to alter people’s moods, be it uplifting or heartbreaking. It could trigger memories or help create new ones. It meant the world to me, and singing in Labyrinth was the closest I’d ever get to being a part of that world.

When I’d finished my short set to a room filled with mysterious men and women, I left the small stage, met an instant later by a man in a suit with a black resin mask. Intense eyes stared at me, so dark that they blended effortlessly with the rest of his attire.

He offered me his hand, which I accepted and used to descend the rest of the stairs. My leather dress, fitted enough to have been painted on, creaked and groaned with each step. It clung so tightly to my legs that I welcomed his help.

The stranger brought me to him, our chests together. We each remained silent, even as he hooked his index finger beneath the lime-green bracelet I wore. Raising it high enough for us both to see, there’d been a hint of green peeking out from beneath the cuff of his suit jacket as well. We were a match, something that made my heart race.

Labyrinth had a system in which members could wear a paper bracelet, not unlike those at concerts, of varying colors. Different colors meant the wearer was into different things and cut out needless chit-chat.

“Interested?” he asked.

Hmm-mm, European, but not English. What is that?

His deep, alluring accent tickled something within me, a desire I hadn’t realized I’d had. I liked it and wanted more.

“Lead the way.”

He smiled at me, his full lips curling at the corner and begging to be nibbled on.

The stranger took my hand and together we retreated down a long hall of doors. Some were open, revealing their scintillating secrets to the world.

In one room stood a man with a hand braced against a piece of furniture, the other entwined in a woman’s hair while she bobbed up and down the length of his cock. The joy on his face told me all I needed to know.

In another room, a large, burly and hirsute gentleman donning a pair of impressive heels stood over a young man much thinner in frame, who placed multiple happy kisses to the toes of the stilettos.

Other doors had been shut, closing everyone out so that those inside could have the privacy they desired.

After a few moments, we came to an unoccupied room. He stood aside and motioned for me to enter before him, which I did.

Deep-colored walls surrounded me, lit by dim sconces. Each wall had been lined with racks of toys tastefully displayed and illuminated by beams of light as though they were modern pieces of art.

To the left rested a bed with cuffs in each corner to hold the player down, and not far from that sat a chaise lounge, a prime place for someone to sit while another individual groveled. But the suspension rack near the center of the room held my attention.

Cuffs and chains hung from each corner, but I had become more interested in the pair that dangled from the center beam, the wrist restraints that would bind one’s hands together above the head.

When I was situated far enough from the wall that nothing would impede whatever hung from it, I stood within the frame and turned to the stranger. He remained near the door, hands in his pockets while he sported a wicked grin. With my gaze locked to his, I gripped the restraints and lifted myself off the ground. They were very sturdy.

His smile broadened and, with the unspoken understanding that I’d found what I wanted, he closed the door to give us much-needed privacy. Hearing the latch engage caused my skin to prickle with excitement.

The stranger removed his jacket and laid it across the chaise. His cufflinks were next, which allowed him to roll the sleeves of his white button-up shirt, revealing thick, strong forearms beneath. Tattoos dotted his caramel-colored skin, though I didn’t bother identifying what they were.

As he prepared himself, I turned my attention to the walls of toys. One rack held whips, some with tips so thin they would break skin. Another held floggers like cat-o’-nine-tails. One held paddles, another slappers and from the last hung multiple riding crops.

Labyrinth catered to many preferences and, had I known the stranger better, I might have gone for something more adventurous. Seeing as I didn’t, I went with a selection that would be fun, but safer.

I returned to the stranger with a riding crop in one hand and a three-strip slapper in the other. One would offer a more concentrated snap while the second created a slightly duller thud. His eyes sparkled as he looked them over.

“Hmm.”

After a moment of consideration, he chose the slapper. My eagerness intensified. I quite liked slappers.

My stranger set the instrument aside and stepped behind me. Slowly but surely, he tugged the dress’s zipper down, loosening it around my body. When it reached the end, he slid his hands beneath the garment and proceeded to peel it away.

He dug his fingers into my body, along the curve of my waist and the slope of my hips while he pushed the dress down.

Within seconds, it rested in a pool of fabric at my feet, leaving me in nothing more than my lacy lingerie and four-inch heels.

He took my hand and guided me to the rack where he promptly secured my wrists, staring deep into my eyes as he did. My heart raced, lodging itself in my throat. The anticipation coursed through every inch of me, priming my nerves for what was to come.

In spite of how it appeared, I didn’t feel in danger. There was plenty of slack in the chains that would’ve allowed me to uncuff my wrists myself, and Labyrinth had a rigorous vetting process for their clientele. Regardless of how it may have appeared to someone on the outside, I was safe with the stranger.

“Bellisima,” he said.

Oh. So this sexy bastard is Italian. Even better.

My core ached.

Smirking, he draped my dress over the chaise with his jacket, took hold of the slapper and stepped behind me.

The first moment it touched my skin, I flinched. The cool leather and shock of it caused me to gasp. He chuckled.

He teased me for a while, running the slapper over the curve of my ass, along my spine and even down the backs of my thighs. He’d been tender, delicate, allowing each passing second to heighten the tension, and just before I could speak, before I had the chance to urge the stranger along, it happened.

A loud crack echoed through the room, shortly followed by my lustful gasp. He left the slapper in place for a breath, as though allowing the welt beneath it to form on my ass. The pain radiated through the whole of my body, infecting the smallest atom and causing me to vibrate.

It was just the beginning.

For what had to be nearly an hour, the stranger played with me. He would lull me into a sense of calm before bringing the slapper hard against my ass or the backs of my thighs. He knew what to do, how to tease every iota of pleasure out of me.

At one point, he stepped in front of me, looming tall. His eyes had turned black, any hint of brown choked out of existence with growing lust. I dared a glance down. His erection strained against his slacks. Their dark color helped hide it, but I wasn’t blind, more than able to see the line of his cock struggle to break free of the fabric. He was impressively sized, and images of me on my knees taking him into my mouth or him bending me over something and thrusting coursed through my head on an endless loop.

Sweeping my tongue across my upper lip, I stared at him through my lashes. He arched a thick brow. I doubted my intent had been unclear.

By that time in our play, my nipples had become painfully hard, rubbing against my bra and more wanting than before, while my clit throbbed and ached. I had no doubt that, if he chose to remove my panties, my excitement would’ve been visible. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had turned me on like that from nothing more than some paddling.

My stranger stared down at me. His jaw tightened, the muscles rolling beneath his olive skin. His chest heaved with each breath, and I knew I looked the same. Fire burned in my cheeks and between my legs. I wanted so badly for him to take me.

The image of him wrapping my legs around his waist and fucking me while I hung from the beam filled my mind. There was no hiding the shiver or the gasp that parted my lips. Sex wasn’t part of the deal with a green bracelet, but God save me, I wanted it.

He looked me over, and while I was desperate to come through my skin, he reached forward. My stranger ran the back of his curled index finger over my nipple. Pleasure tore through me, intensified when he pinched the sensitive bud. He groaned, running his full bottom lip through his teeth while he massaged my breast.

“If only we had more time.” He turned his attention to my other breast and gave it the same adoration. “I am certain we could have a lot of fun.”

I have no doubt.

He shifted his grip, running his hands up my arms and massaging my biceps. He met my gaze, his eyes burning black.

“This would be perfect for it, yes?” His hands trailed back down, over my breasts, along the curve of my waist and my hips.

“Yes.” The word had been little more than a whisper.

He bent forward, encompassing my ass with his hands. The softness of them did nothing to soothe the pain of his whipping.

My stranger lifted me with ease, guiding my legs around his hips and holding me close. I’d gasped at the suddenness of it, gripping my cuffs as best I could for better support.

He ground against my clit, keeping me at the perfect angle to feel the bulge of his cock millimeters from where I wanted it most. I chewed on my bottom lip, struggling to steady my breathing while my heart raced. He was giving me my fantasy, giving me what I’d begun to long for without me having to ask.

Jesus, was he made just for me?

“If given the chance,” he said, breath gliding across my lips while the spicy scent of his cologne filled my nose, “I could spend the night inside you.”

My pussy clenched on reflex, seemingly desperate to be given the opportunity, but I kept my exterior as calm as possible.

“You shouldn’t tease. It’s not very nice.”

A dark, wicked smirk curled his lips. In it, I sensed he’d made a promise, not an empty offer. Delightful thought, to be sure.

Digging his fingers into my ass harder than before, he began the slow, deliberate action of guiding me up the length of his shaft. I held my chains, desperate for the aid of them while he continued.

“I could spend the night making you shake.” His voice had grown as dark as the color of his eyes, a fathomless void that caressed me, called to me.

What’d begun slow and deliberate, as a teasing gesture meant to heighten the sex-filled atmosphere of our private room, had quickly devolved into something more. Within seconds, he worked harder, faster, eliciting sparks of joy each time my clit scraped along his shaft. It pushed me toward an end I hadn’t expected that night, an end that I had become desperate for.

“Yes,” I said on a breath.

My stranger leaned in, our bodies tight. The muscles in my arms burned. I’d been struggling to reach out for him, to wrap them around his thick shoulders, but the cuffs kept me in place. It remained my favorite part of being bound, the inability to touch my partner when I wanted to most.

He continued to bounce me in place, relentlessly rolling my hips into his unyielding cock. Dipping into the crook of my neck allowed his sweltering growls to glide across my exposed flesh, adding yet another layer to the moment.

The coil in my gut twisted more and more with each passing second. It wouldn’t be long.

“I would worship you,” he rasped, “just to hear your screams.”

His words were fading, drowned out by the thundering pulse in my ears.

“Don’t stop.” The mewling words had somehow managed to escape me.

My stranger drew back. I struggled to keep his gaze, to stare into his beautiful face, but he’d become determined in his action, fucking me like a wild man without penetration, and it was more than enough.

A string of Italian words left his lips, their encouraging tone the only thing that I could discern.

His gaze never left mine, tempting me further into the abyss. In spite of the mask that concealed so much of his face, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“Come for me, bella,” he said in a deep, rough voice. “I want to hear it.”

I nodded and his efforts increased. I was swallowed up a second later.

When the coil sprang, I didn’t hold back. I cried out, filling our chamber with the sounds of my elation, allowing it to wash over me and release all the glorious tension he’d spent an hour building.

From somewhere in the back of my mind, I might have heard a similar sound leave him, though I was too lost to notice.

My stranger held my ass in one hand while his free arm encircled me. I quivered and shook against him, struggling to draw air into my lungs. He kept me secured to him, engulfing me with little effort and helping to pull my shattered body back together.

I had finally given out, my muscles jellied from the orgasm.

Letting out a stiff breath, my stranger loosened his grip and allowed my legs to slide from his hips until I could stand on my own once more. It’d been difficult to manage, but the cuffs weren’t suspended so high that they took me off my feet. Instead, they allowed me a bit of support.

His eyelids were heavy while a flash of pink swathed his cheeks. His full lips, perfect for biting, were parted with each huffing breath.

“I’m afraid this is the end of our play, my dear.” Genuine disappointment saturated his voice. He reached up to unlatch my wrists, standing so close that the heat of him infected me further. “Truly regrettable.”

I found his accent delicious, the way it affected each syllable and curled the consonants. He had the sort of rich voice that I could listen to for hours.

“Pity,” I said. Regardless of what’d transpired, how exhausted I’d become, I wanted more.

He smiled.

When my wrists had been freed, he retrieved my dress and offered it to me. I put it on while he righted himself, and soon it appeared as though nothing had happened.

My welts brought me back to reality, however. Each scrape of my dress across the raw skin helped remind me that it’d been real, which only served to breathe new life into those smoldering embers.

Out of curiosity, I peered at his groin. A slick sheen had overtaken the dark fabric and I knew not all the dampness had been mine.

“Will there be another performance tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” I replied, stomach fluttering at the prospect of spending more time with him. “I actually have to leave Lon—”

My gaze drifted to the clock hanging near the door and my heart dropped. I’d been so invested in our play that I hadn’t been paying attention to the time. At nearly one in the morning, I’d stayed much longer than I’d intended.

“Oh, shit,” I said in shock. “I-I have to go.” I raced for the door and threw it open. “I had fun!” I shouted over my shoulder while I ran down the hall as best as my tight dress and shoes would allow.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

C. Tyler

A fan of any genre, C. Tyler enjoys writing a wide array of stories, from fantasy and paranormal, to contemporary. Whether it’s a bad boy biker, or a burly shifter, there’s a little something for almost everyone.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group. 


Friday, January 27, 2023

Discover J. Hali Steele's Perishable/Enter the Giveaway

Title:  Perishable

Series: Sanguine Blood Seekers 4

Author: J Hali Steele

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: January 27

Heat Level: 5 - Erotica

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 79 pages

Genre: Erotica, Action Adventure, BDSM, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Age Gap (Older Man), Dark Desire, Gay, Vampires, Voyeurism and Exhibitionism

Synopsis

Snatched from his single mother by the wealthy family of the man he’s forced to call father, Rafe Gorman soon learns the greedy bastard has no desire to raise a child, which leaves Rafe bearing the brunt of his scorn. As soon as he comes of age to receive his trust, Rafe flaunts his disdain for his father’s regard by opening New Leaf, a gay club. It’s in New Leaf Rafe meets a being who haunts him day and night.

A vampire from the 17th century, Christopher Wren’s seen enough evil perpetrated by human men to last many lifetimes. Born a bastard below stairs, he’s witnessing nobility take what they fancied without a care -- that made him a monster, not being turned. Now Wren makes sure those who flaunt such character pay for their misdeeds. Their day of reckoning is never without pain. Then he meets Rafe, and Wren swears no one will ever hurt his lover again.

Rafe vows to give Wren nothing of himself. Instead he finds he must give the vampire everything -- including his life!
Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 J. Hali Steele

Nodding was the best way to handle this conversation. Christopher Wren had learned enough to know when Sten Majkovic, the vampire king, had a bug up his ass you waited until he quit speaking. Pretending composure he didn’t feel, he listened. When Sten finished, Christopher spoke. “Maybe he’s antsy being in one place too long.”

“Who knows what fantastical information he laps from the minds of those he invades. After killing a dealer he disliked for selling close to a school, the crazy ass sat in my office and lit a joint. Can you believe that?” Sitting at the counter in Christopher’s kitchen, Sten used his finger to draw circles in the condensation puddled beneath his beer bottle. “Liam needs to be more responsible, Wren.”

They’d all taken to calling him Wren. Christopher often thought of himself that way now. “Good luck. He’ll require a babysitter.”

“And I have the perfect person in mind.” Sten eyeballed him.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“Joshua is the only other vampire who can keep Liam from going off the deep end, but he and Mace are tied up on the west coast, and Kam’s away on some island with Matthias. There is no one else.”

“Come on, Sten. I’ve got enough on my plate. Let Drew do something aside from decorate.” He had done a nice job inside Christopher’s house. Looked like a showplace now, but still homey enough to enjoy and relax in. “Goddamn it, Drew’s always stuck up under your ass.”

Sten’s gaze narrowed. “Your barkeep has made you blasphemous.”

Time skidded to a halt and Christopher found himself propelled across the room along with the chair he occupied. “What the fuck was that for?” Picking himself up, Wren sent the broken chair up in flames and scattered the ashes, glaring at his king. “This isn’t about Rafe. It’s about…” Shit. He’d best not say the real issue was that Drew was becoming way too powerful. The king’s lover skirted being out of control.

“Because he’s befriended your mate?” Sten stood. “What is it with you guys not wanting your lovers to associate with each other? Afraid they’ll want to do more than watch you get it on or something?”

The or something had Christopher’s lips curving. He imagined smacking Drew or Mace’s ass. Could get deadly, as neither man showed predilection for sexual behavior involving spanking or restraints. Christopher got off on that idea. A handprint on his lover’s buttocks excited the hell out of him. A man struggling against ties because he wished to use his hands on a partner made Wren’s cock hard every time. His mind went off on a tangent as he pictured Rafe tied to his headboard, his cute little ass spread eagle, face down and begging for penetration, his butt cheeks pumping up and down on the mattress.

“For fuck’s sake. Now I must find Drew.”

Laughing, Christopher said, “You’re thinking about it.”

“Liam’s yours. Just keep an eye on him, Christopher, until I can find something to occupy his rowdy ass.” The vampire king was the only one who could dematerialize without leaving a visible trail of light or frost. Hell, the bastard could creep up on any vamp. He never radiated cold unless he chose to.

“Bollocks.” Sitting on a bar stool, Wren manufactured a beer. He had a growing affection for the local lager.

Sten’s voice leached into Christopher’s psyche. Keep calm and carry on.

“Bastard.” Christopher had been born and raised in England. The statement evoked memories of World War II, a time of great human suffering and death for European nations. Christopher had decided to try soldiering. Lieutenant colonel of a large battalion, he was idolized by his men for fair-mindedness, peacekeeping and, when all else failed, ferocity on the battlefield. The aftermath of his cruelty went unreported due to his capability to control hundreds of minds at once -- a skill which had placed him on a collision course with the vampire king. That and Christopher exhibiting the adoration of too many troops with his dick. His charges tended to trail him around the country mindlessly causing disturbances with blatant and uncontrolled orgies, which Wren sometimes failed to extinguish before moving on.

He truly wanted to lavish Rafe Gorman, proprietor of New Leaf, with his cock. The man had been stand-offish on each of Christopher’s visits since the incident months ago with his maker’s relative, Soris -- an ancient pharaoh and vampire who, along with his followers, attempted to harm Matthias. That incident had sent Kam, who carried some of the wayward pharaoh’s familial blood, into an uncontrollable rage. During the fallout, Rafe had been incarcerated with Drew and Mace for his own safety. That’s when Rafe had become aware vampires existed, and that he had spent the evening in a nest of undead monsters.

Liam, for the most part, managed to control the newly turned creatures Soris had left behind to care for his homeland but Christopher wasn’t happy having a handful migrate to the area. Philadelphia was large but the young vamps moved to western suburbia where Christopher resided in a house near others Sten favored. The king maintained an enclave in Exton, Pennsylvania, where the deadliest immortals roaming earth had set up homes for themselves.

Kam had hit the nail on the head when he said Wren didn’t like vamps of Soris’ ilk hanging out at New Leaf.  He’d caught one or two eyeing Rafe. That behavior was going to get someone’s heart ripped out. Christopher had helped himself to their youthful lifeforce to make sure they stayed away from what belonged to him. Getting new undead to understand about mates and boundaries was no easy task. To them, anything on two legs showing one iota of interest was fair game. Didn’t surprise Wren, really, considering Soris’ repugnant lifeforce continued to run through their veins.

Then there was Liam. The biggest manwhore strolling the face of the earth. “You guys are jealous I don’t have a mate to contend with.”

Talk about the devil…
Purchase

Changeling Press LLC | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Meet the Author

J. Hali Steele wishes she could grow fur, wings, or fangs, so she can stay warm, fly, or just plain bite the crap out of… Well, she can’t do those things but she wishes she could!

J. Hali's a multi-published and Amazon bestselling author of Romance in Paranormal, Fantasy, and Contemporary worlds which include ReligErotica and LGBTQ stories where humans, vampyres, shapeshifters and angels collide -- they collide a lot! When J. Hali’s not writing or reading, she can be found snuggled in front of the TV with a cat in her lap and a cup of coffee.

Growl and roar -- it's okay to let the beast out. -- J. Hali Steele

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway 

Blog Button 2

Tuesday, December 27, 2022

New Release Spotlight/Giveaway: The Start of Something by Tanith Davenport

The Start of Something by Tanith Davenport

General Release Date: 27th December 2022

Word Count: 17,306
Book Length:  NOVELLA
Pages: 79

Genres:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CELEBRITIES
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

He dominates the charts, but can he dominate her heart?

Pop-rock singer Tamsin Keller likes to dominate, but when she breaks up with her cheating ex-boyfriend, she visits BDSM club Dante’s for another reason—to submit.

Her experience is heightened when she locks eyes with a mysterious stranger, who turns out to be rock star and Dominant Aspen LaRoche. Fascinated by Tamsin, he invites her to his holiday home for the weekend and Tamsin accepts, hoping to discover more about her submissive side.

Aspen proves to be an expert tutor, and Tamsin finds herself addicted to the pleasures he shows her. When Aspen also discovers she is a singer, he offers her band an audition with his recording company, and Tamsin jumps at the chance, knowing he can provide opportunities that she has never had before.

But when Tamsin’s jealous ex reappears in her life, will Tamsin’s career and happiness be over, or will this be the start of something for both her and Aspen?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of stalking and harrassment, as well as infidelity.

Excerpt

She could hear the phone ringing from the bedroom, hear its shrill call as she stripped off her daywear. Skirt—on the floor. T-shirt—thrown over the back of a chair. Socks—slung under the bed.

Click. The answering machine had kicked in.

“Tamsin. Look, I know you’re there. Pick up.”

Him. She yanked a drawer open, pulled out the components of her outfit, her movements jerky and uncontrolled.

“Look, baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I know you’re angry, I know I’ve hurt you, but please, just talk to me. Tell me what to do to make it right.”

Stockings—on. Suspenders—attached. Her fingers were shaking, and she cursed herself. So stupid. So fucking stupid.

“I swear I don’t love her. I was just saying that. I didn’t mean it. She’s nothing compared to you.”

The ache in her chest made her want to scream. Want to punish him for doing this to her, want to punish herself for letting him. Should have known better. Fucking idiot.

“I’ve broken it off with her. I’ll never see her again.”

Now fully dressed, she pushed her feet into six-inch-heeled black sandals and made her way hastily downstairs, picking up the long coat that hung over the banister. She buttoned it up all the way as she crossed the hall to where her handbag lay by the front door.

“Please, just talk to me. Please.”

Fuck you, you cheating bastard.

Tamsin Keller directed one vicious scowl at the machine, its light flashing with untouched messages, before leaving, slamming the door behind her.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Tanith Davenport

I first started writing seriously when my tutor on a creative writing course pointed me towards the Romantic Novelists' Association and their New Writers' Scheme. Thanks to them, my debut novel "The Hand He Dealt" was accepted by Totally Bound in 2011 and was nominated for the Joan Hessayon Award for 2012. I haven't stopped writing since.

Last year my short "Spiritwalker" was released as part of the "Some Like It Haunted" collection by Totally Bound. This year I'm working on two new shorts plus the upcoming release of my back collection as audiobooks.

When I'm not writing, I love to read historical fiction and non-fiction as well as anything paranormal. I love to sing, watch horror movies and go to rock concerts. I also have two cats who like to hide all day and then destroy the house at night.

Find out more about Tanith at her blog and follow her on Twitter and Facebook.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group. 


Thursday, December 22, 2022

New Release Spotlight/Giveaway: Stone and Chains by Aurelia T. Evans

Stone & Chains by Aurelia T. Evans

Book 1 in the Meridian series

Word Count: 86,428
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 313

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
ANGELS AND DEMONS
BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
FANTASY
PARANORMAL

Add to Goodreads

Book Description


The fates of an angel’s daughter, a reformed gargoyle and an unrepentant incubus are bound together in a city where a deadly demon is rising.

Abby Stone, a night-shift nurse with healing powers and a secret demon-hunting habit, has been saving victims of demons and their cults ever since she left home to search for her father—an angel turned to stone and trapped in the mystical hotspot of Meridian.

As Abby starts making an unwelcome name for herself in all the local demon haunts, she crosses paths with earnest ex-demon Zekiel, a gargoyle who fights against evil for his redemption, and charming incubus Charles, who calls her nephil offspring—daughter of an angel who has fallen.

Charles’ attempts to convince her that she’s meant to be a demon confuse and infuriate her, but now that an incubus has set his sights on Abby, there’s no denying how tempting he is—and how dangerous.

In the meantime, with a demon prince’s ascension rattling the city of stone and chains, Abby could stand for things to be a little less interesting.

Reader advisory: This book contains BDSM sessions with beating and humiliation, MM interaction, child endangerment, scenes of bloody violence, and sexual coercion.

Excerpt

Abby closed the book, glancing between her two charges. “I think that’s all for now. I’ll be back on Wednesday for chapter four. That’ll be exciting, won’t it?”

There wasn’t enough tea in the world to get her through reading aloud another two chapters, although she loved the young adult fantasy series and wished she could read it forever. Her charges, about the same age as Abby herself, never complained that they were too old for the reading material.

Abby smiled and patted the two hospital beds on either side of her. Two young women—one of them quite pregnant—reclined supine, their monitors beeping softly in a steady rhythm. Neither of them could tell her if they enjoyed the books, but it wasn’t about the stories so much as the women knowing someone was there to do more than give them sponge baths and prevent bed sores.

The pregnant woman’s baby was getting more human care than the woman herself, out of the belief that Maggie wasn’t really there anymore after the car accident that had put her in the extended care ward. Then there was Kara on Abby’s right, who had simply lost consciousness one day and never awakened, cause unknown.

Coma patients still experienced the world around them, just not in the same way that they did when conscious or even when asleep. Like infants in the womb, the lost sometimes remembered it like the shadow of a dream, but it was still something. They knew the difference between caring and concern versus the cold, clinical indifference and abandonment they often experienced in a hospital environment. Just as most people didn’t like the reminder of mortality from the elderly, they didn’t like the stark blankness of the comatose.

But Abby felt their presence in the way some sensed the passing of a ghost—except she experienced it as warmth on the back of her neck instead of a chill. And that warmth was the reason she came to the hospital several times a week in the middle of the night to read to her two friends, although they’d never formally met.

No handsome doctor was going to wake them up with a kiss. All they could really depend on within the mortal realm was divine intervention and an overworked, underpaid woman who wanted to give them some kind of connection, even though she couldn’t help them any more than that.

Abby was tired, always tired, pulled between day life and the night shift, making money and helping people. There weren’t nearly enough hours in the day for everything she needed to do, so she depended far too often on free coffee refills in twenty-four-hour restaurants. There were other things more important to her than sleep, and it was easier to get out of the house more often when her bedroom—which was actually just the storage closet under the stairs—barely held the bed, and she shared living space with two other girls who didn’t share her hours.

Still, life could be so much worse. She could be trapped in her own head like Kara and Maggie. Abby tried never to forget what she’d been blessed with. She’d been born with so many gifts, gifts she couldn’t keep to herself, even if she tried. Volunteer hours and night shifts meant she didn’t have much of a life, but Abby could live with that if she could give other people the life she didn’t allow herself.

And here in Meridian, she felt like she could finally put down some roots after these last two years of seemingly aimless wandering from city to city.

She felt like she might have finally found what she’d been looking for.

“Life could be worse,” Abby whispered into Kara’s ear before kissing her cheek. Kara’s skin was cold from the hospital air, but underneath the surface was the heat of life, and within that life, there was still hope.

She sent that hope to Maggie as well, and to Maggie’s eight-month pregnant belly and the baby within. “Stay safe.”

Abby carried mace and a switchblade in her purse to go to and from her night shift at the Cemetery Grove clinic downtown, but just because Kara and Maggie were in a bright hospital ward and supervised by security cameras didn’t mean that they were safe, even if the only thing they weren’t safe from was their own minds—what dreams and nightmares haunted them, the kind of horrors that machines couldn’t measure.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Aurelia T. Evans

Aurelia T. Evans is an up-and-coming erotica author with a penchant for horror and the supernatural.

She’s the twisted mind behind the werewolf/shifter Sanctuary trilogy, demonic circus series Arcanium, and vampire serial Bloodbound. She’s also had short stories featured in various erotic anthologies.

Aurelia presently lives in Dallas, Texas (although she doesn’t ride horses or wear hats). She loves cats and enjoys baking as much as she dislikes cooking. She’s a walker, not a runner, and she writes outside as often as possible.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group. 


Saturday, December 10, 2022

New Release Spotlight/Giveaway: The Devil's Saturnalia

Title:  The Devil's Saturnalia

Series: Hellbound 6

Author: Alexa Piper

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: December 9

Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 149 pages

Genre: Romance, Action Adventure, BDSM, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Romantic Comedy, Urban Fantasy , Christmas, Dark Desire, Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Magic, Murder Mystery

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

While in Scotland for Lionel’s magic training with Hades, a murder case compels the Devil and his necromancer to stick around a little longer. Lionel, who still cannot control his demigod magic properly, doesn’t mind a murder investigation, because that is something a necromantic police consultant like himself knows how to handle.

Except, the investigation doesn’t go at all as Lionel thought it would. And when he decides he wants to open up to Lucifer, finally, that doesn’t go exactly as Lionel had feared either, but some surprises are good surprises, especially when Saturnalia is just around the corner.

Lucifer is delighted. He has his boyfriend, who finally opens up, and his boyfriend is all his, at least through the holidays. That much attention is exactly what Lucifer loves, and the holiday season would be entirely perfect -- if it weren’t for an old enemy who is out for vengeance.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alexa Piper

Demigod magic was different from human magic. I understood that. Why my half-human status and my limited grasp on the not-human magic in me required me to be dropped into either an oubliette or a dried-out well like today, I had no fucking clue. But Hades, god of the underworld, brewer of whiskeys, and also my mostly cryptic magic teacher, had declared it necessary, and so here I was.

The oubliette back in November, some three weeks ago now, hadn’t been so bad, actually. I’d freaked out at first, but my Awesome Demi-Human Sled Dog Magic™ had just been there and ready, as if the breaking of the minotaur’s labyrinth a few days before had excited the magic. As if it hadn’t quite settled down yet and was still there to please. The rocks making up the walls of the oubliette had shifted easily to give me handholds, and I’d simply climbed back up, leaving the cold, damp darkness behind.

But the well was just a hole I was stuck in. It was fucking dark down in this well shaft, and since it was the middle of December, it was also fucking cold. “I’m a skilled necromancer,” I mumbled into the grayish semi-darkness. “I am a competent police consultant, and I can raise and kill zombies with my mind. How in the fuck did I get here?”

I smelled woodfire and spices on the air, and my heart picked up a beat. “Babe. You can’t kill a zombie. They’re already dead as a prerequisite. You de-animate them.”

Lucifer, my teleporting boyfriend and also the Devil, was standing on the frozen ground of the well’s bottom right next to me. I felt his body heat. I was sure he looked amazing with his kitty-cat fur hair just perfect, though I couldn’t really see that. Night fell early in the harsh Scottish winter, and Hades had dropped me into the well around noon. I mean, he’d gently lowered me down, but still. I’d been starting to feel like that creepy girl from that Japanese movie. I could barely see anything in this dry and frozen hole in the ground, and I’d started contemplating a future in which I got to haunt people by crawling out of their TV at them.

“What are you doing down here?” I asked the devilish boyfriend unit, my teeth chattering slightly. I actually wanted to melt into him and seek his warmth against his chest, but I didn’t want him to think I was needy. No, that was wrong. I didn’t want to think I was needy. I did need him. I knew that, deep down inside, but it was scary. Most of my feelings for Lucifer scared me these days, and most of the time, I wasn’t sure how to handle myself and my needy ass around him.

Sometimes, he tied me to his bed and took all control and power away from me, handling my ass for me, and then, it didn’t matter, and everything became easy. When he got to do to me what he wanted and wouldn’t take any objection, he also gave me just what I needed but didn’t know to ask for. I had come to that truly freaky realization while tied to one of the bed posts of the four-poster bed in the guest room we shared in Persephone’s castle, Lucifer’s dick in my mouth, and I would have liked to call the realization mind-shattering. It hadn’t been. It had just come, and then Lucifer had, and I had swallowed, and he’d taken care of me after, kissed me and rubbed me down like a horse fresh off the track, and it had felt so good.

So, consequently, shit had gotten only scarier with him.

“I am here to get you, babe. Unless you are getting yourself out?”

I scoffed and kicked the wall of the well. “I would have by now if I could. Being stuck in a well sucks. Why the fuck would you think I’d stay down here if I could get out by myself?”

Lucifer came closer, cupped my cheek. “The chthonic side of your heritage should drive you to enjoy this. Being below the earth.”

“Ah,” I said, because what the fuck. “Hades hasn’t mentioned that. He was talking about Kringle again.”

Lucifer was caressing the side of my mouth with the pad of his thumb, not quite stroking my lips. If I turned my head, I could suck his thumb. It would be that simple.

“Who’s Kringle?” the Devil asked.

Purchase

Changeling Press LLC | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

For one week only, get book #1 in the Hellbound series, The Devil's Necromancer for only 99 cents! Purchase at Changeling Press and all other major ebook retailers.

Meet the Author

Alexa (she/her) has a lot of characters living in her head and wanting their stories told. Many of these people get snarky and won’t stop complaining if Alexa is too slow writing them, which means that for this author, sleep is a luxury. Consequently, Alexa is a coffee addict, but she is sure she has it under control (six cups of coffee are normal in a morning, right? Right!?)

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | BookBub

Giveaway

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

Blog Button 2

Thursday, November 17, 2022

Discover Wild Cowboy by Gemma Snow/Giveaway

Wild Cowboy by Gemma Snow

Book 2 in the The Sinclair Seven series

Word Count: 86,886
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 317

Genres:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
COWBOYS AND WESTERN
EROTIC ROMANCE

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

 

Submitting to this wild cowboy is one hell of an adventure…

Environmental journalist Reece Prescott never expected to see the mysterious woman from the Turkish marketplace again, so to meet Morgan Tempest in the middle of a summer storm at the top of the Blackleaf Mountains knocks him sideways.

Their instant connection blows him away…and makes him want to return to The Ranch, the secret club he owns with six of his friends. It’s the closest thing he has to home and the place he always finds himself avoiding when the anniversary of the worst day of his life rolls around. For Morgan Tempest, though, he might just be able to handle it.

Morgan has spent the last year reclaiming her independence and rebuilding her business. She’s in control and saying yes to life now. That includes the wild cowboy she meets in the mountains…and The Ranch, a place where everything she thought she knew about her boundaries—and desires—is challenged.

But before Reece and Morgan can explore everything the other has to offer, the real world comes crashing in, bringing with it climate disasters, armed mercenaries, corrupt politicians and their own troublesome pasts.

If they can survive all that, then maybe, just maybe, they’ll be ready for that next great adventure—falling in love.

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of anal sex and outdoor sex. There are scenes of on-page violence including a gunshot wound, and mentions of emotionally abusive relationship.

Excerpt

Pain sizzled through her hand as acutely as if she had high-fived a skillet on the fire, and Morgan pulled back and shook out her palm. Montana got hot. She was a California girl, tried and true, and shame on her, but she’d been expecting something of a nip in the air, not the scorching hundred-degree weather that made the limestone rock face almost too hot to touch.

She glanced up, the sun partially obscured by the brim of her hat under her climbing helmet. It was midday, and her skin was coated in layers of sweat and dust and…

And she wasn’t going to give up, damn it. She was on this mission not because she loved the burning ache in her shoulders, not because she could actually sleep out under the stars without the claustrophobic ceiling boxing her in overhead. She was out here for all those reasons and so many more. Because she deserved a life without fear or boundaries holding her back. Out here in the open air, she was good enough just as she was. Morgan Tempest, not afraid of anything.

Yeah, right.

That part, the not jumping at the sound of a glass tumbling off a tray in a busy restaurant, the not clenching her fists until her fingernails dug into the flesh at her palms when she heard a man yell in the park, that was going to have to come. The not being afraid didn’t happen overnight, didn’t happen in a year. The only thing she could do was to keep climbing, and right now that was to be taken literally.

She swung her arm up and grabbed the next hold with ease. One arm, one foot, hand, leg. All her muscles burned and sweat slid down her back, sticking her tank top to her skin, skin she knew was catching too much sun in the late afternoon.

Easy-access sunscreen.

She added it to her list—the list in her mind, at least, because she hadn’t come up with easy-access notebooks just yet.

Practically speaking, this trip was a way to take the company—her company—to the next level. She was supposed to be making every note she could about what the modern woman wanted on her next trip around the world. How could she stay safe, engaged, and fully herself, while also tackling the tall, distant mountains?

It was a hell of a question to try to answer, and not just for the business. But if the last six months—hell, the last nine years—had taught Morgan anything, it was that staying at the bottom of the mountain wasn’t necessarily safer just because it was easier.

One step. One foot. One hand. One arm.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a flash of white, brighter than the limestone, and she realized there was another climber resting on a small ledge maybe fifty feet above her, his feet hanging off the edge like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Wouldn’t that be something? To be carefree again.

Soon enough, the sun still beating against her skin, her muscles burning, her hands calloused and rough against the even rougher stone, she made it to that small ledge. She found her water bottle first, downing a few large gulps of water, then leaned back against the cool, shaded rock and looked out over the edge.

Fancy that, she could just sit on a mountain’s edge and watch the world around her.

So, Morgan did. She watched the clouds, watched the tips of her toes, watched the little ants climbing along the rock like they weren’t nearly three hundred feet in the air.

As she was watching the ants, Morgan noticed something tucked away in the shadow of the rock. A small black notebook. She picked it up. The spine was thick and the pages had clearly gotten wet at some point. There were small stickers on the bottom, from different campsites across the country, and the familiar campfire logo she recognized as One Leap Magazine. Whatever was in the notebook, it was clearly loved, and she tucked it into her backpack, hoping for the chance to run into the man who had been climbing here before her. Perhaps she would even make a friend on this trip if she did.

I’m seeing things.

It must have been the glare overhead, the bright summer sun bouncing off the limestone and frying his brain. Or maybe he’d been abducted by aliens in his sleep and discarded in the wilds of Montana without his memories. Whatever it was, Reece knew it was something because there was no reasonable, logical, or rational explanation for why he was seeing the woman from the marketplace here, three years after his trip to Istanbul, three years and nearly six thousand miles.

He grabbed for a hold and secured his grip on the stone. At least that was real. He could always count on the sensation of stone in his hand, of dirt below his feet, of the wide-open sky high above. No matter how many cities he had lived in, no matter how many trains, planes, and automobiles he had taken over the course of his career, it always came back to him and the great wild wilderness.

All that explained why he was out climbing, this week of all weeks. But it didn’t explain why he hadn’t just picked up his damned phone and texted Caleb and Dante and Van when he had flown back into Bozeman or why he hadn’t dropped them a line in the three days he’d been adventuring around the state. And it sure as shit didn’t explain why he was seeing the woman from the marketplace here, of all goddamned places on earth.

It wasn’t the first time. In the years since that first trip, she had become something of a talisman. He knew it was probably creepy as hell, but when the sight of something beautiful and safe—the sight of a woman he would never see again—kept his panic attacks at bay, then he didn’t ask questions. All he knew was that when his skin got itchy and his neck got hot, as it had done so much more that first year, he could think of the stranger’s smile in the market, and he could feel the ground under his feet again.

Even though he had caught sight of her in his dreams as well, weaving in and out of marketplaces in Morocco and Santiago, showing up in the maze of places he had spent his life exploring, the sight of her had never precipitated a panic attack. She always came after, and she always grounded him before things got worse.

Back to the beginning, what the hell is she doing here?

Reece chanced a look down the mountain’s edge. The climb wasn’t the hardest he’d ever been on, but it pushed him enough to forget about the date on the calendar and it was sufficiently challenging to keep most other climbers away.

Not her.

It was probably some innocent brunette woman who was just trying to get her climb in for the day and he had gone ahead and projected a boatload of issues onto her. Thinking about her meant not thinking about other things and so he placed his foot in the next hold and picked up speed. Icarus, reaching for the sun.

The sun that was, unfortunately, starting to settle itself on the far end of the mountain range. He probably had another hour of good light and he wanted to get to some of the hiking trails to set up camp before it got dark.

The shadow of a cloud fell over the canyon and for a brief moment, Reece wondered if his dark mood had summoned it into existence. But when he glanced up, he realized that the near-white summer sunshine was suddenly nowhere to be found, and that dark and, admittedly, very ominous looking cloud wasn’t the only one in the sky.

Stay focused.

If he knew one thing about survival, it was that it didn’t do a guy any favors to be caught thinking about something else when he was six hundred feet in the air on a five-point-eight climb. Above him, a crack of lightning shot across the sky, illuminating the valley below in sharp, jagged shadows that struck like predator’s teeth.

And that was his cue to very much get back on the ground. He glanced up, only to get smacked in the face with a sheet of rain, then he glanced back down. Up was only another twenty feet or so. While traveling had taken him to the edges of the world, to cities and villages he couldn’t have pointed out on a map in high school, he knew the Montana weather. He’d been a ranch kid, after all, and had been caught in more than one deluge brought on by the land of Big Sky. He knew how to weather this.

More lightning, and with it, the top of the mountain came into his view, just ten feet more, just five. The holds on the rock were already growing nearly too slippery to grip and his expensive climbing shoes didn’t have the same traction on the limestone surface as they had just a few minutes earlier. He was going to have to hustle his ass to get to the top without falling down the sheer cliff face and hoping someone caught him in time.

Which only served to remind him that he wasn’t the only person on the mountain.

Fuck. Fuck. He should have just gone straight to the Sinclair Ranch and left his demons to fend for themselves, but he hadn’t. He’d come out adventuring, and now he was going to have to look the woman in the face who bore too striking a resemblance to his one safehold during panic attacks. That was cool and normal and definitely not the stuff that scared women away from weird guys in the mountains.

One more hand hold. One more foot hold. Then he was pulling himself the last few slippery feet, grasping onto the permanent bolts wedged in the rock and sliding along on his belly until he was able to crawl away from the edge and finally come to a standing position. The rain was coming down harder now and the entire sky was cloaked in those rough dark clouds that looked like an encroaching dark sea tide. He reached for the flashlight at his belt and shone the light down the canyon, looking for any sign of the woman who had been climbing below him.

She wasn’t there. Either she had decided it would be a safer bet to rappel down the mountain or she hadn’t existed at all, and Reece was truly and officially manifesting his fear into reality and definitely not handling things as well as he had thought he was.

A few feet down the rockface, he heard a noise, and he turned the flashlight to see hands popping up over the mountain’s edge. He moved as quickly and safely as he could, until he was able to kneel at the mountaintop.

“Do you need help?” he asked, shouting to be heard over the roar of the storm. When he had first caught sight of her, he’d been more than impressed by the skill and speed with which she had been traversing the mountainside, but the rules of the game changed during a Montana storm.

“Just a hand up,” she called back. “It’s hard to get a grip.”

That was an understatement. The entire rockface where he kneeled was beginning to catch water and pour over the edge into the canyon below. He reached out and she gripped his hand, their connection slippery as they maneuvered up to the flat surface at the edge.

“I’ve got a quick-up tent,” he called. “We can both fit.” It was nearly impossible to see more than her silhouette in the storm, the rounded head of her helmet and the ridges of her backpack, but he could catch the nod.

“There’s a clearing up ahead.”

Thankfully, she was right. The short walk was difficult against the rain, but they were soon in a clearing of trees and dirt that would make it possible to secure the tent. The large branches took some of the brunt of the wind, as well, and made it easier to set the tent up, despite the howling sound that reverberated through the canyons like an angry echo.

And through it all, through the grabbing for the tent bag and the frenzied movements as they both grasped the edge and began to secure it down with ropes and bungees between the trees, he couldn’t help but lean into the adrenaline. Sure, there’d been a fair amount of running away in his life, but he loved adventure for adventure’s sake, and there was nothing more heart-pounding or invigorating than setting up an emergency camp during a breakthrough storm on a mountaintop with a stranger.

He tossed his pack into the tent to keep it from getting wetter then checked the cords securing it again. With two of them inside, it wouldn’t blow away, but there was an incline to the ground, and he didn’t want to risk anything pulling or tearing or tugging. The half-dozen stakes and the two extra ropes were a necessary precaution.

“It’s safe,” he called to this strange woman who had somehow entered his path right in the middle of the scene. “You can get inside.”

She hesitated, as if only just realizing that she had no idea who he was or whether this was a good idea. Because of course she hesitated. He had more than half a foot on her and, though it was clear she was one hell of an athlete, he was a big guy. He would fucking hesitate too if he was in her shoes—natural disaster be damned.

“I promise I’m not a serial killer,” he shouted.

“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say,” she shouted back. Above them, thunder rolled across the sky, a booming, cracking sound that truly seemed as if it would shatter the world below. That seemed to help her make up her mind. “But if you promise.”

She disappeared into the tent, and with one more look to the mountain’s edge beyond, Reece followed.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store First For Romance

About the Author

Gemma Snow

 

Gemma Snow loves high heat, high adventures and high expectations for her heroes! Her stories are set in the past and present, from the glittering streets of Paris to cowboy-rich Triple Diamond Ranch in Wolf Creek, Montana.

In her free time, she loves to travel, and spent several months living in a fourteenth-century castle in the Netherlands. When not exploring the world, she likes dreaming up stories, eating spicy food, driving fast cars and talking to strangers. She recently moved to Nashville with a cute redheaded cat and a cute redheaded boy.

You can take a look at Gemma's website and blog and also follow her on Facebook and Instagram.

Giveaway

Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group. 

 a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Sunday, October 9, 2022

New Release Spotlight/Giveaway: Bradley Bradford's Destined Prize

Destined Prize by Bailey Bradford

Book 3 in the Wild Ones series

Word Count: 45,576
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 183

Genres:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
COWBOYS AND WESTERN
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
PARANORMAL
WERESHIFTERS

Add to Goodreads

Book Description

Sam’s imagination was never this wild.

Coywolf shifter Emil Akers is still trying to find his own place in their world, with his dominant tendencies making him butt heads with his big brother and alpha, Casey. After trying to strike out on his own, Emil’s back, farming his own ranch, the Lone Pine, and taking care of his sexual needs with one-nighters, usually far from the small town his pack lives in.

Sensing a story in the accounts of unearthly wild creatures in a small Wyoming town, aspiring reporter Sam Brannigan comes to Britton to research, not have a one-night stand. But after a few drinks and a dark promise from tall, dark and buff in cowboy boots, he happily submits. Submits totally, in fact.

The problem is that the one-nighter proves the two of them are destined mates. Another snag is that both Emil and Sam, two men from two very different backgrounds, are keeping secrets—and Emil’s could shatter Sam’s world.

And when someone seems determined to make the existence of shifters known, Emil and Sam are caught in the crossfire. All hell’s breaking loose, and what they both have to do to ensure the other survives could make their relationship one of the casualties.

All his life, people told Sam he was too imaginative. But he could never have imagined anything this wild…

General Release Date: 4th October 2022

Excerpt

“What do I think? I think all this X-Files crap’s nothing more than jerk-off fodder for teenage weirdos who never step foot out of their mommas’ basements into the light of day. That’s what I think. Oh, and I also think that you’ve gone from having a hard-on over it to getting your balls in a twist about it.” Frank Bueller poked Sam Brannigan in the chest to punctuate his words.

Frank wasn’t from much farther south than Casper, Wyoming, where he lived and worked, but he threw colorful ‘southern’ expressions around the Herald’s newsroom like X-rated confetti. Sam’s theory was that Frank felt it was something a newsman had to do, and with the man dating from pre-internet days, no one had been able to check up on his background and call him out on it originally. Having gotten away with it, once he’d made editor, he’d run with it more.

“Capisce, Brannigan?” Frank, also not of Italian background, added.

“Versteht.” Having a German grandfather meant Sam could cobble bits of other languages together too. “Well, thanks for that.”

Still staring hard at Sam, Frank blew air down his nostrils in true Frank ‘The Bull’ Bueller style. He turned to rap on the glass of his office window, signaling something to someone out into the bullpen, finishing his message by tapping on his wristwatch and holding up four fingers. “Look, Brannigan,” he said.

“Don’t tell me. Walk with you to the break room,” Sam muttered and stood aside for Frank to lead the way.

He’d been prepared for this tactic even before he took up the job here almost two years ago. If Frank was pitched an idea that didn’t grab him right away, he’d get the writer to go through it again while walking to the staff break room with him. A Casper Herald journalist had to be really fired up about his idea to sell it bigger and louder in public like that, which would convince Frank. If the journalist didn’t want to make a public pitch, he’d drop it, which would save Frank the work of rejecting it.

“And if it’s a yelling-down, explain and apologize for your screw-up and take your lumps right then and there in his office. Not the bullpen,” Sam’s father had also told him, having known Frank from their cub reporter days. Sam agreed with that. A public sales pitch was one thing, a public crucifixion another. Frank’s approach to staff development and mentoring was old-school.

Which was why him not shoving open his office door and barreling through into the public arena surprised Sam. Instead, Frank took a quick solo walk around his office, coming to a stop before the Herald’s wall of fame and its photo of award-winning journalist A.L. Brannigan, in all his late-eighties high hair and oversized-eyeglasses glory.

At least Frank didn’t cast a glance back at Sam, comparing and contrasting father and son. Sam’s strawberry-blond hair, while longer on top than at the sides, was more messy from running his fingers through it than piled high with product, and his glasses more nerd-hipster—the jury was still out—than the red statement frames his father wore in the photo.

“You ain’t totally happy here.” Frank spun around to accuse Sam. “Is it business news in particular or the Oil City in general?”

Hell. Sam glanced down at the carpet, half expecting to see he was standing in a black circle—he’d been put on the spot. “I’m grateful you gave me a chance after I graduated,” he started, wishing they had gone to the break room. He could use a glass of water right about now.

He knew he was lucky—not many grads went from college to a state’s largest print newspaper, whose daily and Sunday circulation was over twenty thousand and to which the Wyoming Press Association annually awarded the cup for best large newspaper in the state.

“And true, settling in Wyoming was never on my wish-list growing up, but I’m fine here in Casper.” It was a big enough city for him. “But while Casper’s a regional center of banking and commerce, I don’t intend to report business news forever, no.”

“Hey, I already started you working on energy-related stories,” Frank reminded him. He took another look at Alexander Brannigan. His photo didn’t show the Pulitzer Prize for Excellence in Public Service Journalism he’d won for his investigation into a Wyoming utility company whose shady cartel practice had allowed them to overcharge their natural gas customers for years, but Frank’s smile smacked of reminiscence for his former co-worker.

“We couldn’t keep him here after that,” he commented.

“So you got me. Hoping I’m a chip off the old block.” Sam regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

“Yeah.” Frank had probably never sugar-coated anything in his life. “Took you on as a favor. A legacy.” He gave a bull-like snort at the idea. “And you’re proving yourself. Your work ain’t all bad. It needs less ripping to shreds every story.”

“I— Thanks.” Sam meant it. That was praise indeed. And true. He was learning a lot here. More than he’d learned at Syracuse, in many ways. Frank’s dark-brown stare pinned him, demanding a fuller answer, so Sam tried to provide one. “Journalism…it’s more than a family thing, a legacy, to me. I wouldn’t have studied it if not.” Well, he’d double majored in Creative Writing too, but there was no point bringing that up. He’d only get accused of having an ‘itchy pen’.

Frank studied him for a few more seconds, then grunted. “So this is all about this cyber chatroom stuff you’re nuts-deep in?”

“ShareAlike? It’s a social news aggregation and discussion website network—” Sam started. Again. Only for Frank’s upraised hand to cut him off. Again.

“You don’t get enough of that virtual stuff with the computer edition?” Frank’s scowl lowered his brows right down to his flared nostrils.

Sam did work a lot on the Herald’s online paper, pushing for more frequent updates and integrated video and other multimedia content. Someone had to. Maybe that could be his legacy to the Herald. Well, it wasn’t as though he had a lot else to do. He was hardly out on a date every night. That scene had lacked any interest for him for a while now.

“These weirdo forums, with rednecks sighting Bigfoot and the wolfman, or whatever the latest craze is, after they get slung out of the bar…” Frank looked like he did when he ate spicy food. Sam expected him to rub his stomach to go along with the wince.

“So are the users heavy drinkers in rural communities who think they’ve seen something when they stagger out of the bar drunk, or teenage shut-ins who live in their mothers’ basements?” Sam looped back to Frank’s earlier pronouncement.

“Who the hell cares!” Frank sucked in a breath. “Nah, kid. You’re doing okay work in this uranium mine story. I think it’s gonna go big. Keep on that and keep pumping that environmentalist contact. Not these nutballs in chatrooms. You—”

“Sam!”

Both Sam and Frank whirled around at Tony LeDoux’s urgent call from outside…at the same time as a tall, heavy-set guy shouldered Frank’s door open and barged in, more furious than even Frank on a Monday morning. He stopped on seeing Sam.

“Just the lying piece of crap I’m here to complain to your boss about!” he barked, squaring up to Sam.

“Frank Bueller, John Keef from Cheyenne, CEO of Logistics Transportation Inc.,” Sam said over his shoulder to Frank. Stubborn, he didn’t step aside for Keef, and so staggered a little when the guy shoved him aside to round on Frank.

“And he’s hella mad and hella strong,” Sam’s partner, Tony, added from the doorway.

“What’s this about, Keef?” Frank didn’t back down either. He also didn’t look in the least bit fazed.

“This piece of shit here wrote that bunch of lies about my drivers taking goddamn pills to stay awake and that I knew about it!” Keef yelled, gesticulating at Sam. “That I was okay with it—that I fucking encouraged it!”

“Mr. Keef’s logistics firm transports overweight and outsized components used in the wind power industry, you remember,” Sam filled Frank in. Not that there was any need, with the boss’ memory for details of stories, current and past. Frank regularly forgot his wife’s and kids’ birthdays and his own wedding anniversary, but never any specifics of stories.

“Oh yeah. They take the windmill blades to the landfill.” Frank nodded.

“Bueller, I’m here to tell you that if one of my employees—”

“Several,” Sam interrupted the CEO, using a fake cough to do so.

“—pops pills, I don’t know anything about it. That’s what I’m here about—I don’t give a crap about the blades,” Keef snarled.

“You don’t? Then why are you cutting corners to meet the disposal targets?” Frank snapped back. “Like making your drivers work double shifts because you’re not hiring enough men or got enough trucks?”

“What?” gasped Keef.

“What we ain’t figured out yet is if it’s because your business is in trouble or because you got greedy,” Frank continued, the verbal equivalent of a one-two punch. “But we’ll find out.”

He raised his voice over Keef’s strangled-sounding protests, his insistence that the lying bag of shit who wrote this garbage be fired before Logistics Transportation sued him, the editor and the paper if it dared print the story.

“Shout the odds all you like, big guy. I stand by my men. Which, heh, is more than you do. We gave you a chance by sending you the copy and requesting an interview—the story runs tomorrow,” Frank announced.

Shouting “The hell it does!” Keef charged at Frank, who absorbed the impact and grabbed Keef in turn.

“See this? This is more like it!” Frank, mid-grapple, called over to Sam and Tony who were backing out of the door. “More like the old days! Proves this is the sort of stuff you should cover!” He paused to block a punch from his enraged opponent and land one in Keef’s stomach. Both Sam and Tony winced. “This is the kind of story to get your nuts in a knot about!”

The two men’s struggle had Keef knocking into the door, hard enough to slam it shut.

“Should we…?” Sam started to ask but subsided. No one else looked concerned, and Frank certainly hadn’t.

“Guess we got Keef where it hurts.” Tony cocked his head at the office. He raised his hand for a high-five, but when Sam didn’t raise his, folded his arms instead. “You okay? Oh, The Bull shoot you down in flames?”

Sam didn’t bother replying.

“Funny. You’d think he’d be more into it when all that UFO and crop circles shit is so retro.” Tony cast a final look at Frank’s office and made for his desk. “Guess you should move on, then. You know what it means when a guy gets obsessed with something that crazy to this degree?” He waited until a couple of their co-workers looked up. “Means he needs to get laid!”

“Like I told you, you’re not really my type.” Sam spoke even louder than Tony had. “But keep trying, and I might get desperate enough to take you up on it one day.” He blew his partner a kiss.

“In your dreams.” Tony blew him a raspberry in reply.

“Oh, you are. Wanna hear what I did to you?” Sam would never back down and usually wanted the last word. “It involved scented body oil, furry pink handcuffs and a rolled-up copy of the Casper Herald…”

“Oh, Jesus,” Tony whimpered as Sam sat.

There was no malice in the exchanges he had with Tony, or any of the other writers, just a sense of familiarity, of having slipped into a role and playing it out, as if Sam had been there longer than two years. Most of the others had. Was he bored? He tried to follow the thought through. He liked the job, yeah. He enjoyed investigative journalism…but he liked features, and long pieces too.

A tiny beep sounded—the new message alert Sam had set up for the ShareAlike forum he visited. Okay, haunted. Maybe he was in a rut, and this was escapism—it had his heart beating quicker than the stories he chased for the Herald. He took discreet glances around and clicked onto the forum. Inaspectus had posted again! Sam scanned it. The guy, or woman, not only believed all the stories about the sightings in that one area but reiterated his own, the details the same.

Sam took off his glasses to rub his eyes. Did he really believe there was a wolfman—a beast on two legs, bipedal, as Inaspectus swore he’d seen it—loose in a small Wyoming town? Inaspectus claimed he’d been clawed by the mutant, and another user had a similar tale of a lucky escape from a ‘were’. Sam didn’t know why he was so into this crazy story…any more than he knew why he opened a map of the state to see where this place was. All he knew was that he was drawn there.

He looked up at two of the building’s security guards hurrying onto the floor, just as Frank kicked his door open and elbowed his visitor out.

“Thanks, guys. Take out the trash,” Frank instructed them. He handed the spluttering Keef over and pointed at Tony then Sam. “Write up the heated denial from the subject of the story, could ya? The piece is taking shape!”

“Sure, boss.” Tony grinned.

Sam spoke before he knew he was going to. “Oh, hey, could I have a couple of days off?”

“Sure!” Spreading his hands, Frank went to set his office to rights. Tony followed, glaring at Sam for having gotten in first.

Sam looked down at his mouse mat. A gag gift from a friend when he’d been packing to head to Wyoming, it said SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY. Well, the big cities didn’t have many of the latter, but he knew where there’d be some.

Out in ranching country, where all these weird sightings had been…and where he was planning to go for the long weekend he was taking.

To the small town of Britton, Fallon County.

Buy Links

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

Bailey Bradford

A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are reserved for pounding away at the keyboard, as are early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn't happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey's brain demanding to be let out. 

Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey's office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey's presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances.

Giveaway

Enter for your chance to win a $50.00 First For Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group 

 a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Check out Carrie Ann Ryan's Pretend It's Forever today!

  Pretend It's Forever by Carrie Ann Ryan Cage Family Series, Book 5 All Buy Links HERE Contemporary Romance Sophia Cage doesn’t need a ...