Jun 16

Book Blitz: Flash Daddy by Daddy X (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Flash Daddy

Author: Daddy X

Publisher: Excessica

Release Date: May 12, 2017

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

Pairing: Male/Female, Male/Female/Male (No Male/Male interaction), Male/Male/Female (Male/Male interaction), Female/Male/Female (No Female/Female interaction), Female/Female/Male (Female/Female interaction)

Length: approx. 18, 250

Genre: Romance, Erotica, #flashfiction #eroticromance #sextoys #exhibitionism #voyeurism #porn #sluts #prostitution #swinging #gangbang #analsex

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Synopsis

Fifty five X-tra hot quickies from the Master of Flash

Do you like your stories quick and kinky? Swift and sexy? Distilling the erotic energy of a romance novel into just a few hundred expertly chosen words?

Well, come a little closer. Daddy X has a story to tell you. It won’t take but a minute.

Daddy X’s flash fiction archive is brimming with tales of sudden satisfaction. From that trove he has chosen this premier collection, fifty five of his finest filthy reads.

Fast and furious romps abound, as do tender tales of loving sex. And since this is Daddy X, count on plenty of laughs along the road. Whatever your pleasure, you’ll find more than one gem that warms your cockles (or wets your cunnels!).

What’s up those little skirts he’s so fixated on? What, pray tell, is a Bowling Night Flasher? How can a gang bang be romantic? What’s the latest outrage from the horny, hapless Delbert? What’s live? What’s jive?

Don’t be shy. Take a chance. Life’s too short for regrets.

Excerpt

An Almost Legal Adult  

Bob awoke to a rustling in the kitchen. His daughter Beatrice was back from wherever she went at night. It had been a while since they’d had much contact, given the way their respective schedules conflicted.

He descended the stairs. “Don’t tell me you went out dressed like that.”

Beatrice turned from the cocktail she was assembling. “Dad, I’ve turned eighteen and I can wear what I want. I’m paying rent with what I make on my job. That makes me legally your tenant.”

“But sweetheart! Why go like that? All that tight leather. Your bare ass sticks out of those chaps. And when did you start drinking?”

“I didn’t. But there’s lots you don’t know about me, Dad. This is for someone in my room.”

“You have a boy in your room?”

“Well, not exactly..”

“Oh no! Not another woman!”

“No, Dad. A man. I have a man in my room.”

“Oh my god! Get him out of here! While you remain under my roof, you will be subject to my rules, no matter what you pay in rent. Now get him out of my house!”

“But Dad… He’s tied to the bed.”

“What?”

“Plus, he’s already paid.”

Purchase

Excessica | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

 

Daddy X always wanted to be a dirty old man.

He survived the 40’s, 50’s, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and George W. Bush. He maintained an (almost) steady trajectory through Catholic school, a paper route, muskrat trapping, a steel mill, Bucks County, the Haight Ashbury, North Beach, the SF bar business, drug addiction, alcoholism, a stroke, hep C, cancer, a liver transplant, a year of chemo, a stickup at his art gallery while tied to a desk (not as cool as it sounds), a triple bypass, heart attack…and George W. Bush.

Now he’s old, and it’s time to get dirty.

He’s been with Momma X (greatest editor on earth) for fifty years, but she thinks his stuff is too skeevy to deal with. They live in northern California with a ninety pound lop-eared hound (17” wingspan) and two cats. Some of Daddy’s dirtiest stories have been gathered in The Gonzo Collection and Brand X, also available from eXcessica. Daddy is also published in anthologies by Naughty Nights Press, House of Erotica and in Cleis Press’ Best Bondage 2015.

Goodreads | eMail | Amazon | Oh Get A Grip!

 

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Jun 12

Blog Tour: Taking a Chance by Emjay Haze (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Taking a Chance

Author: Emjay Haze

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 12, 2017

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 69200

Genre: Contemporary, romance, contemporary, businessmen, Bali

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Synopsis

Recent college graduate, Ethan Moore, flies to San Francisco for a job interview with an advertising firm. That evening, he goes to a gay club where meets a gorgeous man who seduces him, but leaves his hotel room in the morning with only a note. A few weeks later, Ethan begins his new job and discovers that the man he slept with is his boss, Chance Harlow. He’s fallen for the playboy, but wants to keep their relationship strictly professional. His efforts fail miserably as Ethan keeps succumbing to Chance’s advances.

Ethan is selected to accompany Chance to Bali for a huge account. He will be spending ten days at a luxurious resort with the man he’s fallen in love with. Chance has made his intentions known, and he won’t pressure him, but if Ethan doesn’t want him, there are plenty of men who will. Ethan struggles with this until one evening they are in the hot tub with two hot swingers who want to play. He flees after watching Chance make out with one of the men. Will Ethan finally give in to the playboy, or did his actions lose him the man he loves?

Excerpt

Taking a Chance
Emjay Haze © 2017
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

Ethan

A loud knock on his bedroom door startled Ethan. Expecting his mom or brother, he glanced up from his laptop. “Come in,” he shouted, looking past the scattered drawings on his bed and back at the screen, opened to a job website. He’d applied to advertising companies all over the country but hadn’t received any responses to his resume, so he kept searching online.

“Hey, buddy. Is this where you’ve been hiding?” His best friend poked his head in and opened the door fully before stepping inside. Realizing it was company, Ethan quickly gathered his drawings into a neat pile and sat up.

“Mark.” Ethan shut the screen. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “It’s kind of boring being back home. Thought I’d see what you’re up to.”

“Gee, thanks.” Ethan chuckled, not taking offense at all.

“You know what I mean.”

Ethan put the laptop down and lay back on his bed, his hands folded behind his head. He did. He’d been bored too. Ethan couldn’t wait to get out of this place, and he’d only been back for a few weeks.

“Have you started looking for a job yet?” They both had graduated from the University of Iowa in the spring. Ethan’s degree was in advertising and marketing with a minor in graphic design. He’d always been a doodler.

Mark shook his head. “I’m working with my dad again this summer. I was accepted into grad school in the fall.” Mark was the business major, and his dad was prepping him to take over the family business.

“Oh, right.” Ethan felt like a loser. All their other friends seemed to have everything already figured out. Maybe he should go to graduate school. “I’ve applied everywhere but haven’t heard from anyone yet.”

“Where?” Mark asked, interested. He took a seat next to Ethan on his bed.

“Boston and New York, mostly.”

“Those are big places, and far away.” Mark never shared Ethan’s aversion to their hometown. But then again, he wasn’t gay.

Ethan stood up and walked over to his door, peering out to make sure they were alone, and then he closed it and sat on the bed again. “I can’t wait to get out of here. I’m going crazy already.”

Mark looked at him and shrugged. “It’s not that bad.” They lived in a small town west of Omaha, just over the border into Iowa. Ratchet Falls, population 6200. Who the hell names a town that?

Ethan sat on the edge of his bed. “Are you kidding? There’s not even a gay bar here.”

Mark laughed. “You wouldn’t go even if there was one.”

True. Ethan was only sort of out. He’d been so afraid of anyone finding out in high school that he even had a girlfriend. She was cool though when she figured it out, and they became friends. She called herself his beard, but he never liked the sound of that. When Ethan went away to college, he met a few guys, but he didn’t like the weird feeling he got the next day after a hookup and had to face the guy on campus. That was never not awkward—for Ethan, at least.

“Maybe I would if you went with me?” They’d had this conversation many times. The closest gay club was thirty minutes away, in the city. It was far enough no one would recognize him, but he didn’t have anyone to go with, and he was too chicken to go alone.

“I love you man, but sorry. No way.”

“Afraid of a guy hitting on you? Girls go to those clubs too, you know.” He already knew his friend’s answer.

Mark patted him on the back. “Oh man, I forgot this was in my hand.” He handed Ethan a letter. “Your mom gave me your mail on my way up.”

Ethan snatched it, looking at the return address. “Oh shit,” he said, sitting up.

“What is it?” Mark leaned over to look at the envelope.

Ethan flipped it over. “Ashton Lake. One of the firms where I applied.” He felt his nerves rise. What if it was a rejection? What if it wasn’t?

“New York?” Mark asked.

Ethan ran his finger through the glued flap. “San Francisco.” He’d only applied there on a whim. He thought he had no chance of getting a reply from that place, so his heart sped up as he tore open the envelope.

“That’s really far, Ethan,” Mark sat next to Ethan and read the letter out loud while Ethan’s eyes scanned the words on the page. “Ethan Moore. That’s you.”

Ethan rolled his eyes.

Mark continued, “We have scheduled your interview for the junior account executive position at the Ashton Lake Advertising Agency for Monday, June sixteenth in our downtown San Francisco office. Please call to confirm…” He looked up from the letter. “Wow, Ethan, that’s great.”

Ethan grabbed the letter and finished reading. They were sending him an airline ticket and reserving a hotel room in his name for two nights. Ethan set the letter on the bed. “Hey, would you want to go with me?”

“I don’t think they’ll send you an extra plane ticket so you can bring a friend, Ethan.” Mark laughed, slapping him on the back.

“No, but we could drive. Maybe take a detour to the beach?”

Mark’s face lit up. “Doesn’t Curtis live out there? Montega—rey or something?”

“Is that far from San Francisco?” Ethan wondered.

Mark shrugged. “Let’s look it up.” He texted Curtis, who confirmed he lived in Monterey. Then he added, “Get your asses out here so we can party.”

Ethan reached for his laptop and Google-mapped directions from San Francisco to Monterey, California. Looking over his shoulder, Mark read, “Two and a half hours.”

“We could go there first, and then I’d drive to my interview the next day.”

“And hang out for a few days afterward?”

“Definitely.” Ethan stood up and paced his room. California. Could he do this?

Mark handed Ethan his phone. “Get it over with, so you don’t obsess about it all night.”

Mark knew him so well. Ethan overthought everything. He’d finished top ten in his class because he obsessed about his grades—well, that, and he heard his parents’ words in his ear saying “hard work will earn you respect.” His mom always worried he’d get picked on. Another reason he hid his sexuality at school. It was bad enough he was smaller than most of the guys in his high school. He’d grown a few inches his senior year, but topped out at five foot eight and could eat a pound of pasta and not gain an ounce.

He sighed and took the phone from Mark’s hand. “Here goes.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

Emjay Haze is a pen name for a wife, mother, and writer of gay romance. She resides in Northern Virginia with her husband, two teenagers, a new puppy, cat, gecko, and several fish. She always loved writing and fell in love with the genre seven years ago after discovering the world of fanfiction. She went back to school to pursue a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing from SNHU where she graduated in April, 2015, with a renewed desire of making her dreams of becoming a published author come true.

She has a wide and diverse work history in the fields of travel, hotel management, high-tech communications, web development, real estate, and the nonprofit health care industry where she has held positions such as travel agent, hotel concierge, web programmer, Realtor, account manager, and many, many others, giving her a varied and unique set of experiences that she draws upon in her stories and characters. Her interests include music and pop culture, and she is an advocate for the LGBT community.

Her stories delve into all types of romantic relationships, regardless of sexuality, with a focus on first times and new encounters in a lighthearted style with a goal to gain a diverse readership and broaden the minds of those who might not normally pick up an LGBTQ romance because it’s more about the person than the sexuality. She’ll take you on a roller-coaster journey, but you’ll always get a happy ending.

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Tour Schedule

6/12    Book Lovers 4Ever     

6/12    Happily Ever Chapter

6/13    Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews   

6/13    Making it Happen      

6/14    Divine Magazine        

6/14    Stories That Make You Smile 

6/15    MM Book Escape       

6/15    Erotica For All

6/16    Love Bytes      

6/16    Bayou Book Junkie    

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Jun 12

Blog Tour: Mai Tais and Murder by J.C. Long (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Mai Tais and Murder

Series: Gabe Maxfield Mysteries, Book 1

Author: J.C. Long

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 12, 2017

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 53000

Genre: Contemporary, contemporary, mystery, gay, romance, Hawaii

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Synopsis

Gabe Maxfield never wanted to be a detective or a policeman or anything of the sort. The closest he wanted to come to the law was writing legal briefs and doing research for a big-shot law firm. Nice and safe, and without all the stress. No unanswered questions, just well-defined legal precedents.

When he moves to Hawaii in the wake of a disastrous breakup and betrayal by an ex, a murder investigation is the last thing he expects to get wrapped up in, but he can’t help himself when a dead body, a hunky cop, and his best friend get involved.

So much for sipping Mai Tais on the beach and admiring the well-tanned bodies around him.

Excerpt

Mai Tais and Murder
J.C. Long © 2017
All Rights Reserved

The sound of banging drew me from the nap I’d fallen into on the uncomfortable, lumpy couch I’d inherited in my new condo. I looked around, confused until I realized someone was knocking at my front door rather impatiently.

I hurried across the room, threw open the door, and was greeted with the sight of a burly Islander pulling a dolly loaded up with boxes. The movers were there, finally. I glanced at the watch I wore on my wrist. It was nearly noon, so only, oh, two hours late.

“Aloha, we’re with the movers,” the man said unnecessarily.

“I thought you were going to be here by ten,” I said, stepping out of the door and allowing the man to wheel the dolly inside.

“Yo, you got choke boxes, braddah.” It sounded like it was meant to be an explanation, but if it was, I didn’t understand it. I’d been in Hawaii for two weeks, and I had not come close to catching on to the local pidgin. I understood what was being said around me about seventy percent of the time, and then suddenly I had no idea. Perhaps he saw the confusion on my face, because he added, not unkindly, “You got a lot of boxes.”

I nodded my understanding, deciding not to press the issue of the lateness; I’d learned in my brief time living on the island of Oahu that things in Hawaii ran differently, as if time followed different rules there. Things that would be done at a quick pace back in Seattle just happened slower here—the whole aloha, relaxed island attitude to blame, I supposed. It definitely wasn’t a bad thing—in fact, I found the lifestyle here to be worlds better than what I experienced on the mainland. It was just an adjustment. Grace assured me I’d get there eventually, and I was mildly successful already, becoming way more relaxed than I had been in Seattle, but when it came to things like this, I couldn’t help but get a little irate.

Didn’t people in Hawaii want their packages on time, too? At least pizza delivery still ran on time.

I stood back and allowed the man and his companion to wheel in more boxes. They were about halfway through unloading when the second man stopped and pulled the door down on the back of the truck, leaving the rest of my boxes inside.

“Hey, what are you doing? Those are my boxes!”

“Nevah mine, braddah. Try wait, yeah? We come back bumbye. We gone go grind.” The bigger guy came out of the condo behind me, patting my shoulder with a beefy hand.

I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand…”

“He said they’ll come back in a bit. They’re going to get lunch.”

I looked over and saw a tall, dark-skinned Islander, bulging muscles all but ripping out of the tight maroon V-neck T-shirt he was wearing. He was about an inch over six feet, with dazzling white teeth and short-cut, dark hair. His eyes were a surprisingly light shade of hazel that contrasted his skin.

“Oh, uh, yeah, okay. Thanks.” God, I sounded like a stammering idiot.

If the hunk of an Islander noticed, he didn’t say anything. “You’ve been here a few weeks, right? Why are you just getting boxes? Not that I’m stalking you or anything,” he added quickly, eyes widening a bit as he probably processed what he said. Saying you weren’t stalking someone made it sound like you were stalking someone. I hadn’t taken it that way, but when I thought about it, I could see how it could sound stalker-like. “I live in the condo next to yours.” He pointed over my shoulder at the door to his place.

I had my suspicions that he was blushing, but with his face as tan as it was, it was hard to tell. It did look like the skin on the exposed, smooth expanse of his chest and neck had reddened a bit, but was likely just wishful thinking.

That’s when I realized I was staring at his chest. Goddamn it, here I was, a twenty-nine-year-old man acting like a fifteen-year-old. “I’m Gabe Maxfield.” I introduced myself to establish that I was not,  in fact a bumbling idiot. “Nice to meet you.”

The guy took my hand and shook it firmly. His touch was surprisingly soft despite the few calluses I could feel, and a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the blazing sun. “I’m Maka Kekoa. Hauʻoli kēia hui ʻana o kāua. That’s nice to meet you in Ōlelo Hawaiʻi, the Hawaiian language.”

I tried to repeat it, and he smiled at the way I stumbled over the words. “To answer your question,” I said quickly, trying to move past the embarrassment of butchering the language, “I wasn’t in a rush to get everything since this place came mostly furnished. I shipped them from Seattle at the cheapest—and slowest—rate.”

“Oh, you need these guys back here at a certain time?” he asked, gesturing toward the movers, who still hadn’t driven off, much to my surprise. They were standing close together, watching our interaction with quite a bit of interest.

“I’m supposed to meet a friend today at three, so they need to be here and finished before then.”

Maka nodded and walked to the passenger door of the truck, rapping on it with his knuckles. The door opened and some words were exchanged that I didn’t hear—not that I was paying attention. My eyes were too busy traveling over the nice muscles of Maka’s arms and the very pleasing shape of his ass.

This was, I realized, the first inkling of physical attraction toward another man I’d felt since things had gone so bad with Trevor two months before. Since then I’d been living in a bit of a fog on many levels, including my libido. I just didn’t feel the drive—I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d jacked off. Seeing Maka seemed to have poked the bear, so to speak, and I felt myself begin to harden.

I was surprised when the two movers hopped out of their truck, rolled up the back door, and once again started moving boxes. One of them shot a glare at Maka as he went by and muttered something under his breath, but Maka didn’t seem to notice.

“How did you do that?” I demanded when he rejoined me

Maka shrugged, once again flashing those pearly whites. “I have a way with people.”

“Clearly. I need to get you to teach me.”

“Maybe that can be arranged sometime.” Was he flirting with me? Or had I been out of commission so long that I was misreading a simple conversational reply? Why was interacting with a man so complicated? My mind had to go running off in three directions at once, and I didn’t even know if this guy played for my team, so to speak. “It was nice to meet you, Gabe. I’ve got to get going. Tell Pako and his boy that if they have any trouble with anything, they should give me a call, okay?”

“Will do,” I said with an awkward chuckle. “Nice to meet you, Maka.”

“Aloha.”

“Aloha.” I waved at him as he left. He’d rounded the corner into a second section of the parking lot when I heard sniggering behind me.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

J.C. Long is an American expat living in Japan, though he’s also lived stints in Seoul, South Korea—no, he’s not an army brat; he’s an English teacher. He is also quite passionate about Welsh corgis and is convinced that anyone who does not like them is evil incarnate. His dramatic streak comes from his life-long involvement in theater. After living in several countries aside from the United States J. C. is convinced that love is love, no matter where you are, and is determined to write stories that demonstrate exactly that. J. C. Long’s favorite things in the world are pictures of corgis, writing and Korean food (not in that order…okay, in that order). J. C. spends his time not writing thinking about writing, coming up with new characters, attending Big Bang concerts and wishing he was writing. The best way to get him to write faster is to motivate him with corgi pictures. Yes, that is a veiled hint.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | eMail

Tour Schedule

6/12    Out Of My Head

6/13    Butterfly-o-Meter Books

6/14    Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews

6/14    Love Bytes Reviews

6/15    Sharing Links and Wisdom

6/15    MM Book Escape

6/16    Bayou Book Junkie

6/16    Happily Ever Chapter

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Jun 12

Blog Tour: Queer Magick by L.C. Davis (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Queer Magick

Series: Queer Magick Vol. 1

Author: L.C. Davis

Publisher:  Self-Published

Release Date: April 26, 2017

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male Menage

Length: 212 pages

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Horror, lgbt, polyamory, genderqueer, trans MC

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Synopsis

An LGBT+ fantasy of apocalyptic proportions.

Twenty-something Holden Adams never asked to be the harbinger of the apocalypse, or for the seven lovers who come with the job. All he wanted in Stillwater, Vermont was a fresh start, but his past as a preacher’s kid turned witch threatens any hope he has of a normal life in the idyllic town. A fateful encounter with a strange cat on the brink of death earns Holden a new enemy and some unlikely friends, but as Stillwater reveals itself not to be as conventional as it appears, the line between the two becomes irreparably blurred.

Daniel St. James is getting too old for this crap. The love of his life turned out to be a cold-blooded killer and while Dennis got away with murder thirteen years earlier, Daniel and the rest of the town are still reeling from the tragedy. Now some kid who claims to be a witch waltzes into town and all of a sudden, Daniel’s unflinchingly straight best friend is head over heels for Holden. Chaos has a way of following Holden, revealing a web of supernatural secrets around Daniel that makes him question everything he believes about the town he’s lived in his entire life–and everything he doesn’t.

Welcome to Stillwater. Things are a little queer here.

Excerpt

“Cute guys don’t just pick up and move across the country to live in the middle of nowhere with no connections unless there’s something they want to leave behind.”

Cute guys? The term didn’t make my skin crawl quite as much when it came from Nick, but maybe that was just because I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe. My lips parted as if his kiss was just something that was supposed to happen, something I had been programmed to respond to long before it ever crossed my mind. His lips were as warm as his hands, but much softer as they pressed mine, gentle at first as he gauged my reaction. His fingers played in my hair and I moved closer, drawn to him by some unseen force as his tongue slipped into my mouth.

When he finally pulled away, I was breathless and the look in his eyes wasn’t helping. Neither was the smile on his lips. It suited him, but I could think of far better things those lips could be doing…

“I can protect you, Holden,” he said, reaching for my hand in my lap, stroking the back of it as he looked into my eyes. I found myself incapable of blinking or looking away, my hearing focused on the rich sound of his voice to the exclusion of all else. It was so warm and soothing I felt like it was enveloping me as he spoke. Just like his eyes, that sound was tinged with gold. The difference between sight and touch and sound seemed negligible as he caressed my cheek, pulling me deeper into some hypnosis I was all too eager to succumb to. “Whatever you were running from, I believe something else brought you here to me, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you or take you away.”

I felt the urge to respond, to say whatever he needed to hear, but all I could do was nod.

“Who is it, Holden?” he asked gently, leaning in a little closer. “Who are you so scared of?”

“My father.” The words came out like a breath.

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully, still absently stroking my hair. “And he wants to hurt you?”

“No,” I murmured. “No, he…he wants to take me back.”

“Take you back where?”

“To Arkansas. To our church, to the basement…”

Something flickered in his eyes, only it wasn’t the reassuring adoration that made me feel like a puddle of happiness. There was murder in that gaze, and it lasted only an instant, but it was enough to make me aware of what he was doing. I had seen hypnotists at work before. My father was one of them, even though he liked to claim his “gift” came from God above. I knew Nick had me in some kind of a trance, but I was powerless to break it.

“Why does he want to bring you back?” His voice was slow and controlled, but rough. It wasn’t nearly as hypnotic as it had been, but his spell remained unbroken.

“I can do things,” I said, my own voice hoarse from straining against the words he was drawing from me with such ease. “I have power that he wants, that he uses for his ministry.”

Something else crossed his mind. I could feel it, like our thoughts were linked somehow even if the influence only went in one direction. This time, it was curiosity. “Power? But you’re human…”

I frowned, or at least I could feel the muscles in my face that would have shaped a frown twitch, breaking my mask of complacency. Human? “What else would I be?” I wanted to ask. Instead, he wound a strand of my hair around his finger and the touch lulled me in deeper. “Holden.” My name was a command, gentle yet insistent.

“I’m a witch.”

He cocked his head to one side. He seemed surprised, but it faded too fast. “And what kind of ‘things’ can you do?”

My throat was tight, but I couldn’t keep the words down. “Awful things.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of doing anything awful, Holden,” he said softly. How could someone who sounded so kind be capable of doing something so cruel?

“I killed them…” My eyes burned and the tears spilled over.

He frowned. “Who?”

Before I could answer, before he could force me to, flames interposed themselves on my vision, blocking him out completely. The fire, the church, the screams, it was all bubbling to the surface, everything I’d tried so hard not to allow access to my conscious mind. Someone else was watching me, from the inside of my mind, and at first, I thought it was Nick, but the silhouette was off. This man was taller, slimmer. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I could see a finger pressed against his lips. Light was coming from his eyes and soon it ate up the flames and made it impossible to see anything, either in the vision or in reality.

I cried out in pain as a shrill, mechanical scream merged itself with the blinding light and both were so piercing it felt like my mind would split in half. All I remembered after that was being caught in Nick’s strong arms, pressed close to his warm body as he whispered some apology I could only half understand. Then, everything was quiet.

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

L.C. Davis is a trans & nonbinary author of lgbt fantasy and romance with a passion for representation. His current series include Queer Magick, Kingdom of Night and The Mountain Shifters.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | eMail

Tour Schedule

6/12    Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews   

6/12    Happily Ever Chapter

6/13    Books,Dreams,Life           

6/14    MM Good Book Reviews       

6/15    Boy Meets Boy Reviews        

6/16    Stories That Make You Smile 

6/17    Sharing Links and Wisdom   

6/18    Divine Magazine        

6/19    Queer Sci Fi   

6/20    Love Bytes      

6/21    Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words           

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Jun 12

Blog Tour: Will to Live by M. Christine (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Will to Live

Author: M. Christine

Publisher:  Torrid Books

Release Date: March 16, 2017

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

Pairing: Male/Female, Male/Female/Male (No Male/Male interaction), Female/Male/Female (No Female/Female interaction), Female/Female/Male (Female/Female interaction)

Length: 29,509 words

Genre: Erotica, BDSM, Contemporary,Multi-Cultural,Friends-to-lovers

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Synopsis

The old adage learn by doing sure applies to Williamson “Will” Franco, a dominant prodigy at age 18. If it weren’t for an impromptu threeway encounter—with a sideshow of anilingus—this truly intercultural young man never would have dreamed of spanking, bondage, and role play. So he becomes an employee of a sex club.

When Will shows up, club revenues jump. Consensual kinky sex is not a required part of the job, but is optional. The club, however, ends up being much more than a sexual awakening. His coworkers embrace him as kin, while the proprietress and her submissive husband end up being Will’s benefactors, bankrolling his education and guiding him on a good path, despite a dire home life in the hood.

The experience matures him, equips him to cope with inevitable family problems and tragedy, and shows him how to live.

Excerpt

Once they arrived at Kendra’s sleek apartment, she got right to the point and explained the plan: although she and Yuri engaged in unprotected sex—they scheduled regular clinic visits to test for STIs—Will would need to use a condom.

Kendra had a special chair Yuri bought for her with Righteous Ding Dong proceeds. The chair let Kendra sit comfortably, but exposed and parted her ass crack and pussy for Yuri to service below.

“I’m not always a top,” she explained.

Will, though green with this lingo, understood.

“I’m very balanced. I like being top and bottom, often topping from the bottom—like now.”

Kendra espoused her philosophical ideal of sex while she settled herself on the chair. She wore stockings, a garter belt, and stilettos, as well as a half-cup bra to complete the look. She beckoned Will toward her, her face level with his fly, which she deftly undid. When he looked down at this brunette vixen, he detected some Asian ancestry.

Yuri was already set up under the chair, sighing at the sight of her slit. “While Yuri eats my ass, I’ll service your cock— with a rubber to be safe,” Kendra told Will. “Is that agreed?”

“Uh-huh,” agreed Yuri with a muffle, his mouth already planted in her heavenly cave as he stroked his full-to-bursting cock.

When Will’s hefty erection was wrangled out, Kendra was pleasantly enthused.

She smiled lustily and fondled it before opening a Magnum-brand condom to fit over his stiff meat.

“Gobble, gobble,” she said.

Will enjoyed that, as well as the power his prick had over her demeanor.

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Torrid Books | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Meet the Author

M. Christine is a SoCal writers whose work is infused with an extended tour of duty in adult-magazine publishing, melting-pot subcultures, and art school.

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Tour Schedule

6/12 – millsylovesbooks

6/13 – Divine Magazine

6/14 – Books,Dreams,Life

6/15 – A Book Lover’s Dream Book Blog

6/16 – Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

6/16 – Happily Ever Chapter

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Jun 05

Release Blitz: Painting Class by Suzanne Clay (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Painting Class

Series: Chiaroscuro, Book 1

Author: Suzanne Clay

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 5, 2017

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 10300

Genre: Contemporary, erotica, contemporary, lesbian, artist, teacher/student, age-gap, interracial, light D/s

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Synopsis

Ainsley’s first gallery showing is way out of her comfort zone. After teaching high school art for over a decade, she can’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be than the classroom, and especially not in front of a crowd of strangers ogling her paintings.

Salvation comes in the form of an insightful young woman who coaxes Ainsley to open up about her inspiration, her drive, and her sexuality. Sparks fly before Ainsley realizes that the young woman is her former student, Noma, freshly graduated from college. As Ainsley fights to reconcile her memories of Noma with the woman she’s become, they fall into a playful game of dominance and submission that will change their relationship forever.

Excerpt

Painting Class
Suzanne Clay © 2017
All Rights Reserved

“You look like you might need this.”

Ainsley looked at the glass of wine hovering in front of her and smiled at her deliverance. “Thank you, Brent,” she murmured, exhaling shakily as she lifted it to her lips. Sipping carefully, she let the bouquet bloom on her tongue and checked that she hadn’t left a lipstick stain on the glass. “No one told me it was going to feel like this.”

“What, success?” Brent chuckled as he fit against the wall beside her, his hand tucked into his pocket, his suit neatly tailored as always. “Yeah, I feel like you probably should’ve anticipated this.”

Ainsley shook her head. Her bangs fell in her eyes as she ducked behind the rim of her glass. “I wouldn’t call this success. It’s a gallery showing.”

“That happens to have an open bar, an excellent setting, and a room full of people analyzing your work.” He gave her a look. “Babe, please, you’ve got something in your hand here that not a whole lot of us get.”

“Jealous?” she asked as she met his eyes and quirked a brow, trying to hide the curve of her smile.

“Oh, miserable,” Brent said dryly. “No, yeah, I absolutely wish I’d gone this route and not the one that got me my giant house.”

“Ouch.” Ainsley elbowed him. “You know, some of us weren’t lucky enough to bag a rich husband right out of college.”

“And some of us weren’t lucky enough to have actual talent,” he shot right back. He tilted his glass toward one of Ainsley’s paintings. “You worked with what you had, and I worked with what I had. Turns out you had the drive, and I had a rockin’ bod. And y’know, I think it worked out pretty damn well for the both of us.”

Ainsley laughed as she leaned into him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but it got you smiling, didn’t it?”

It had. Ainsley was thankful for Brent, really. These little bursts of comedic cattiness were a mask he hadn’t worn around her since they were in college, but it made her feel young again, not like they were nearing forty and trying to figure out where their lives had gone.

“You’ve gotta get back out there, kid,” Brent murmured near her ear. “Schmooze with the best of them.”

“Can’t you do that for me?” she whispered back.

“Boy, I wish,” he drawled. He touched a hand to the small of her back and nudged her. “Go on; get yourself some exposure. Sell some of those paintings. I wanna see one of them hanging in Madonna’s house by the end of the year.”

“Or it’ll be a wasted year,” Ainsley quipped back. But she let Brent guide her onto the gallery floor anyway. It’d be easier to hide in the corner and let her batteries recharge, but it’d also be a shame to waste this opportunity, especially if this was going to be her only gallery showing ever.

Ainsley hadn’t regretted her time working as a teacher. She really hadn’t. If she had to choose between every one of her paintings on the walls here and the thousands of students who’d come through her door, she’d pick the students a million times over. In her younger days as an undergrad, when she would quietly set up in a studio, picking the perfect paints for her canvas and thrilling herself with the feel of a brush in her hands, she might’ve said she craved the life of a gallery artist. But she’d changed. It felt like too selfish a life.

Should she have believed her art would change the world? She valued beauty. She valued a high aesthetic. Her statements were softness, silence, and warmth. And she’d be a fool if she pretended these were anything unique or groundbreaking. No, Ainsley found it more important to empower the next generation to create whatever statements they chose in whatever medium they preferred.

Still, Ainsley liked scratching things off her bucket list as much as the next person. She never imagined this show happening when she’d reached out on a whim, but it had, and now that she was here, she might as well soak it all up.

She approached her favorite piece, a lush field of flowers and two couples having a picnic within it. The two men were dressed in soft bowlers and fine suits, and the women, on their separate blanket, were lovely with their parasols and lace. Each couple had their hands gently knitted together between them, and their backs were to the viewer as they sat considering the sunset.

Perhaps she made more of a statement than she believed.

“Man, that’s really something.”

Ainsley smiled at hearing the soft voice behind her, at how low it was, how warm. It sounded exactly like she wanted her paintings to feel. She wondered if the speaker knew she was the artist and decided to take the risk they didn’t. But when there was no immediate response, no one the speaker had been sharing their thoughts with, Ainsley turned to take a look. A young woman stood there in a bright sundress. Her hair was teased out in a dyed green afro that played off the hazel of her eyes beautifully.

She was lovely. Ainsley immediately felt the itch in her fingers to paint again. It felt like coming home, but she couldn’t place why.

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Meet the Author

Suzanne is an asexual woman with a great love for writing erotica and enjoys spending her time confusing people with that fact. She believes there is a need for heightened diversity in erotic fiction and strives to write enough stories so that everyone can see themselves mirrored in a protagonist. She lives with her husband and cat, and, when not writing, Suzanne enjoys reading, playing video games poorly, and refusing to interact outdoors with other human beings.

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Jun 05

Book Blitz: ON POINT by Annabeth Albert (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  ON POINT

Series: Out of Uniform, Book 3, but each book is a stand-alone HEA w/ a new couple in each book

Author: Annabeth Albert

Publisher: Carina Press

Release Date: June 5, 2017

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 78,000 words

Genre: Romance, contemporary romance, military romance, SEALS

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Synopsis

Never fall for your best friend…

Pushing thirty, with his reenlistment looming, decorated navy sniper Maddox Horvat is taking a long look at what he really wants in life. And what he wants is Ben Tovey. It isn’t smart, falling for his best friend and fellow SEAL, but ten years with Ben has forged a bond so intimate Maddox can’t ignore it. He needs Ben by his side forever—heart and soul.

Ben admits he likes what he’s seen—his friend’s full lower lip and the perfect muscles of his ass have proved distracting more than once. But Ben’s still reeling from a relationship gone to hell, and he’s not about to screw up his friendship with Maddox, too.

Until their next mission throws Ben and Maddox closer together than ever before, with only each other to depend on.

Now, in the lonely, desperate hours awaiting rescue, the real challenge—confronting themselves, their future and their desires—begins. Man to man, friend to friend, lover to lover.

Excerpt

The rain pelted down as he made his way up the ridge, thick sheets that obscured his vision and made the terrain slippery and treacherous. Overhead, a large black bird with a colorful beak swooped in, almost sending Ben skidding into a ravine.

He whistled low, a deliberate pattern, one of the team’s signals. He repeated the sound as he approached where Maddox was supposed to be. An answering signal came from a dense thicket of green vegetation.

“It’s me. Hold your fire,” Ben called as he slipped into the mass of trees and roots. The plants here were nothing like the ones back home—giant heart-shaped leaves and bright rubbery flowers that almost looked bird- or insect-like. The trees had massive, visible roots covered with moss, and were connected by thick vines that could easily be mistaken for a deadly snake.

Below him, he could see the encampment, SEALs scurrying around. The injured hostage and Issacson, their wounded radio man, were carried out, which had to mean the chopper was close. Time to haul ass. “Maddox?”

“Here.” Maddox slid out of the shadows, rifle at the ready, just as Ben had expected. “Com’s down for you guys too?”

“Yup. Chopper’s coming in. LT sent me to bring you in. No time to waste. Issacson took a bullet, but he’s stable, and one of the hostages is in bad shape. Possible hostiles escaped, but Rogers and company are hunting them down.”

“Got it. Lead the way.” Maddox let Ben take point as they made their way down the ridge. They had to skirt the edge of a steep drop, every muddy step cautious even as they needed to make haste.

Crack.

Whoosh.

Two things happened at the same instant—gunfire broke out above them and a chopper approached, engine noise making it hard to track the source of the shots. But Maddox was already on it, crouching low, rifle ready. Another shot whistled over their heads and Maddox returned fire. They both left the trail and headed into the brush, intent on finding the hostiles.

The chopper circled low, then went back up. Fuck. The chopper was struggling to land in the encampment clearing, which meant the next pass was critical. Still staying low and gun ready, he inched forward. No more gunfire had followed Maddox’s, but that didn’t mean he could let his guard down for a second.

The chopper circled again, but the terrain had shifted and Ben could no longer see the encampment beneath them.

Fuck.” Maddox never cursed, so Ben whipped his head around just in time to see Maddox slipping off the poor excuse for a trail.

Ben scrambled on his stomach, stretching out an arm, trying to catch Maddox. “Grab on.”

“No. Don’t—” Maddox didn’t get the sentence out before they were both tumbling down the muddy incline, heading straight for the ravine that lay between them and the encampment. Ben tried to slow their descent but his attempt to grab at some vines only resulted in the foliage following them down.

Maddox screamed, a legitimate yell that chilled Ben to his boots because Maddox never lost composure. Ever. Ben had once watched Wizard put sutures in Maddox’s scalp while Maddox hummed, never dropping his tune.

Ben grabbed for him again and— Pop. Ben’s arm pulled at an unnatural angle, caught up in a tree root and not Maddox’s strong grip as he’d intended. He wrenched loose but the damage was already done, and still he slid, mud carrying him faster, rocks and vegetation raining down after them.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Ben’s arm and shoulder were on fire and he was still moving, sliding, nothing working—

Boom. The bottom of the ravine arrived without warning, a muddy bog that sucked him down, but it was hardly a soft landing, rocks and plants poking at him. His arm had him cursing, eyes watering. He’d seen Rogers dislocate a shoulder last year in the grinder obstacle course, and at the time he’d rolled his eyes at how Rogers had carried on. He had a sick feeling that he’d done the same or worse to his shoulder, and he got the urge to cry and howl.

“Oh fuck.” His stomach heaved and he barely made it to his side before he threw up from the pain. He turned his head and almost lost his guts again. Maddox lay a few feet from him, leg at an unnatural angle, blood dripping from his head, helmet nowhere to be seen. Not talking or cursing.

Clawing at the rocks with his good arm, Ben pulled himself closer, looking for the telltale rise and fall of Maddox’s chest—and not seeing it.

“You are not fucking with me,” Ben growled. “Mad? Come on, man.”

Still nothing, not even a ghost of movement across Maddox’s pale lips. Terror, nothing Ben had ever known before, froze his veins, made him lightheaded from more than just the fall. He refused, utterly refused to live in a world where Maddox wasn’t okay.

“Maddox. Horvat.” He shook his shoulder, cursing under his breath. No, no, no.

Whoosh. A chopper—the chopper—flew overhead, much too far to spot them down this ravine, and heading away from them.

Sputter. Maddox let out a mighty cough. It might have been the most beautiful sound Ben had ever heard, because it meant Maddox was here, that he was fighting, and Ben started to laugh with relief until Maddox spoke. “Heck. They’re leaving us.”

Purchase

Carina Press | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Meet the Author

 

Annabeth Albert grew up sneaking romance novels under the bed covers. Now, she devours all subgenres of romance out in the open—no flashlights required! When she’s not adding to her keeper shelf, she’s a multi-published Pacific Northwest romance writer.

Emotionally complex, sexy, and funny stories are her favorites both to read and to write. Annabeth loves finding happy endings for a variety of pairings and is a passionate gay rights supporter. In between searching out dark heroes to redeem, she works a rewarding day job and wrangles two children.

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Jun 05

Blog Tour: Waiting for You by Megan Derr (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Waiting for You

Series: Lifesworn, Book 1

Author: Megan Derr

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 5, 2017

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male/Female (Male/Male interaction)

Length: 40000

Genre: Fantasy, fantasy, friends to lovers, reunited, royalty, bodyguard, established couple, political, spies

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Synopsis

Shanna has spent her whole life waiting—waiting to be old enough, waiting for the day she must pick a consort, waiting for a chance to finally overcome her despicable stepfather… and waiting for someone to finally banish the loneliness that comes with being a queen-in-waiting one step away from being murdered.

On the eve of the two-week event during which she must pick a consort from a bevy of suitors, two strangers arrive claiming to have been invited—though she knows full well they did not receive any such invitation. But the handsome, mischievous Prince Kallaar is too intriguing to resist, and his quiet bodyguard too compelling to ignore…

But she’s learned the hard way never to let anyone get too close, and on the verge of gaining true independence her stepfather will stop at nothing to see she never gets it.

Excerpt

Waiting for You
Megan Derr © 2017
All Rights Reserved

Prologue

Shanna sighed in the gloom of the stables, enjoying the dark and quiet, even the smell of horse, dragon, and manure.

Gingerly touching her sore cheek, the result of a stepfather who’d succumbed to a rare fit of temper and struck her, she went to get some treats for the animals.

After she’d given apples to the horses and hazelnuts to the dragons, she pulled out the small flask of wine she’d brought with her, upended a bucket to make a seat, and settled in front of her favorite dragon’s stall for a night of drinking.

She’d prefer to be making merry, a proper ceremony honoring her mother, two years dead now, but of course her worthless stepfather, Mercen, preferred a much smaller, quieter, and more somber affair. Just one more occasion for him to do what he needed to further his own goals while paying token respect to the woman who’d made him consort.

At least it was late enough she’d be left alone out here. Everyone else was asleep or on duty. The only person who’d be in the stable at that hour was Tikki, the stable boy, and even if he woke and realized she was there, he’d leave her alone.

All the problems of the day—week, month, past two years—tried to rise up, but Shanna had endured more than her fill of them for the present. They’d have to wait until tomorrow. Instead, she drank wine and tried to focus only on happy memories of her mother, the sorts of things her mother would tell her to think about.

She’d almost managed to achieve a good mood, or something close enough, when she heard voices outside. Voices that were not speaking Remnien. If she wasn’t mistaken, they were speaking Morentian, which was bizarre. Morentians didn’t travel this far north very often, and certainly not in the dead of a winter night.

Pushing to her feet, Shanna headed for the stable doors—and barely jumped back in time to avoid being whacked in the head by one.

Two figures, accompanied by horses, hurried into the stables and closed the doors behind them. The shorter of the two said something, and Shanna caught snatches of “finally” and “snow” and something she didn’t understand but suspected was a curse. Her mother had never taught her those words, though Shanna had tried to learn them.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

They spun toward her, going still a moment before removing the snow-crusted wrappings from their faces—which revealed extremely handsome men, tired and travel-worn though they were. Shanna swallowed, painfully aware suddenly of her own unkempt state: the old, ragged dress she’d thrown on, her hair only loosely knotted back, the bruise slowly forming on her cheek.

Oh, what did it matter? She was a princess—a queen in waiting—what did it matter if she looked good to a couple of travelers she’d never see again?

“I am sorry to disturb,” the shorter man said, mouth curving in a smile that reminded Shanna of the kitchen boy, Benni, who caused no end of trouble but always charmed his way out of it with smiles like that. “We are humble peddlers from Morentia and not accustomed to your wretched snow. We were hoping to reach the royal castle tonight, but I honestly have no idea where we are right now.”

Shanna laughed. “You’ll be relieved to know you’ve reached your destination, though you’ll have to wait until morning to peddle your wares. But come, there are places aplenty for you to stay the night, and the kitchens can give you a meal.”

“We’d be most grateful, Lady…”

“Shanna.”

Both men stilled again briefly before venturing farther into the stable, closer to Shanna. She moved backward a few paces and nearly collided with one of the two lanterns that lent the stables light.

The shorter man said something in Morentian she didn’t understand, the words spoken too low and fast to catch. “You are no lady, but the fine princess herself,” the man said, his wickedly charming smile returning. “We are most honored to make your acquaintance, my princess.”

Shanna shivered. My princess. She liked the way he said that.

“Shall we tend the horses before you attempt to flirt with someone too good for you, Kallaar?” the second man asked gruffly.

“Yes, Ahmla.” Kallaar glanced back at Shanna. “Where should we put our horses, Your Highness?”

“This way.”

Once the horses were tended, Kallaar returned to her side immediately, almost but not quite standing improperly close. “Now then, what brings a lovely princess to the stables so late at night? And all alone. Surely there are better places to be in this terrible weather? I should think anywhere else at all would be better.”

“It’s not that cold.”

Kallaar looked at her like she had lost her mind. “There is snow.”

Shanna laughed at his affronted tone. “Yes, but it’s early winter yet. Soon it will be so cold every breath feels like knives in your lungs, too cold even for snow, and everything that ventures outside unprotected freezes immediately.”

“How can it be too cold for snow?” Kallaar sounded affronted. “That sounds like a nightmare come to life.”

Ahmla made a noise that sounded like agreement.

“I’m certain many people say the same about the heat of Morentia. What brings you so far afield this time of year? Surely your wares could wait to be traded in weather you find more pleasing?”

“I come from a very bossy family, and there are things that must be done, and I am the one to do them,” Kallaar said, looking oddly intent for a man who probably traded in bobbles and knickknacks. “Not that I mind, of course. I am just as bossy and demanding as the rest of them—” He gave a snickering Ahmla a look. “Anyway, despite our grousing, we are happy to be here, my princess. Now, I do not suppose there is anywhere in this place where a couple of frozen strangers might thaw?”

“I think I can help with that,” Shanna said, smiling in a way she hadn’t since her mother had died two years ago. Hard to find anything to smile about when she was a prisoner in her own castle, constantly afraid she would join her mother in the afterlife while Mercen stole their kingdom.

“Splendid!” Once they were outside, Kallaar offered his arm.

Amused and charmed despite herself, Shanna made to accept—and slipped on a patch of ice, but even as she drew breath to scream, she was scooped up before she hit the cold, hard ground.

Shanna blinked at Ahmla, who held her like she weighed nothing, and was shockingly warm for a man who had seemed cold and miserable. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Um. Yes. Thank you, Master Ahmla. That would have been a nasty fall.”

“My honor to serve, princess.” Instead of setting her down, though, Ahmla carried her all the way to the castle and only put her on her feet once they reached the stones of the kitchen yard, which were kept clean by the staff so they could work safely.

“Thank you again,” Shanna said and hastened inside to hide her flushed face.

In the kitchen, she found the late-night cook in the pantry and requested she see about food and beds.

Returning to Kallaar and Ahmla, she said, “You’ll be taken care of quite well from here by the staff.”

“It’s most appreciated, my princess. You are even kinder and more gracious than rumors say.”

Shanna highly doubted any such rumors existed, but she smiled all the same. “It’s sweet of you to say so.”

“No, it’s not. Don’t encourage him,” Ahmla said. “He’s enough of a brat.”

“You wound me,” Kallaar said with a pout.

Shanna laughed. “I will leave you to charm sweets from the cook, for I must to bed. It was a pleasure to meet you both. Perhaps I’ll see you again before you continue your travels.”

“Count on it, my princess. I could never leave here without seeing your lovely face at least once more.”

Ahmla lifted his eyes to the ceiling, and even the cook snorted as she brought them bowls of the soup kept on the fire for staff and soldiers working through the night.

Smiling again, Shanna bowed her head as they bowed. “Goodnight, dear sirs. Sleep well.”

“And you, my princess,” Kallaar said. “Sweet dreams.”

As she headed off to her room, still smiling at Kallaar’s antics and how nice it had felt to be held so easily by Ahmla, Shanna thought maybe for the first time in a long time, her dreams just might be sweet.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo

Meet the Author

Megan is a long time resident of LGBTQ fiction, and keeps herself busy reading, writing, and publishing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. When she’s not involved in writing, she likes to cook, harass her cats, or watch movies. She loves to hear from readers, and can be found all over the internet.

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Tour Schedule

6/5 – Erotica For All

6/5 – Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Word            

6/6 – MM Good Book Reviews

6/6 – Sharing Links and Wisdom

6/7 – millsylovesbooks

6/7 – Divine Magazine

6/8 – A Book Lover’s Dream Book Blog

6/8 – Happily Ever Chapter

6/9 – Bonkers About Books

6/9 – Stories That Make You Smile

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Jun 05

Blog Tour: Conning Colin by Brad Vance, Elsa Winters (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Conning Colin

Author: Brad Vance, Elsa Winters

Publisher:  Zirconia Publishing, Inc.

Release Date: 6/2/17

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 60,000 words

Genre: Romance, LGBT

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Synopsis

Hamilton Dillon is a high class Manhattan escort, polished, well dressed, and cultured. Colin O’Neill is recently divorced, questioning his sexuality, and disappointed by his first fumbling gay hookups. So he figures, why not hire the best of the best to show him the ropes?

What he doesn’t know is that Hamilton Dillon is really Henry Davis, yet another New Yorker living on the financial edge, cobbling together several jobs to make a living. “Hamilton” has one great suit he can wear on an overnight date, but Henry’s got a good friend at GQ who makes a nice side income renting designer men’s wear for weddings, job interviews, and oh yeah, high end escorts on long weekend assignments. The “top agency” that represents “Hamilton” is really just a smartass lady in India with a Skype account, whose face Henry’s never seen. Oh, and Henry’s also the gruff and very unpolished New York Straight Man “Dillinger,” a solo porn star.

In other words, he’s not at all who Colin thinks he is. Which is just fine, until their relationship gets… complicated.

Excerpt

Colin O’Neill hung up the phone, dizzy with excitement and fear. He’d done it. He’d called the number, talked to the agency, and booked a “date” with Hamilton Dillon.

He’d looked at Hamilton’s Rentmen.com ad a hundred times, at least, over the last three months. He’d looked forward to new profile photos the way a kid keeps an ear cocked for the ice cream truck. Even though all the profile pictures had been beheaded for discretion, it didn’t matter. Hamilton Dillon had a way of posing that expressed more personality with his body than most other guys ever did with their faces.

The way he sat on a park bench in nothing but a pair of running shorts and Nikes, shirtless, manspread, his arms thrown over the back of the bench, his strong graceful neck taut, telling you that the face just out of frame was tilted up towards the Central Park sunshine, that the man was reveling in his easy beauty, the unique joy that comes from being young and hot and free in New York City…

Then the way he floated in the air in those same shorts and Nikes, leaping for a football, the camera capturing him from behind in the moment the ball touched his fingers, the imminence of his success apparent, ordained, the muscles in his back bunched, the mass of his shoulders gathered together, sweat flying off his brown hair, in the seconds before you knew he landed on the lawn, arms curled around the ball, surely to rise in triumph and be slapped on the back by all his equally hot and shirtless buddies…

The way he sat at a café table, in a slim fit navy blue polo shirt, one of his sculpted vascular arms holding open a well-worn copy of The Fortress of Solitude and the other just toying with a cup of espresso as if it was the back of another man’s hand…

Colin often did something that very few men did anymore, which was to masturbate furiously and successfully to a series of still photos. And with no penises in sight, to boot. He’d done it so often over the last three months that he’d stopped donating his old t-shirts, because he needed them for cleanup duty, at least until they became hopelessly stained.

He had been divorced for six months now, amicably, from a wife who’d pretty much always known he was gay but had decided to let him figure it out for himself. Elspeth was a career woman whose need for a husband was seasonal, from the company picnic in July to the company Christmas party in December, with various client dinners in between.

He was twenty seven years old, and had engaged in sexual intercourse with one woman and two men. Intercourse was pretty much the word for it, he thought. It sounded less like passion and more like, well, cars merging on the freeway, and all three partners had been just about that exciting. (Actually less so, since on the freeway there was always the thrilling risk of death at the hands of someone who’d rather kill you than let you merge.)

Then one night, half drunk and inhibitions lowered, he’d thought, Fuck it, let’s hire a professional and see how it feels when it’s done right.

He’d paged through the escort ads on Rentmen, hundreds of them in Manhattan alone. It was mind numbing, the diversity, and it was overwhelming, the number of choices. He knew he didn’t want to visit Master Bob in his safe and private play space, and he knew he didn’t want to party with Anaconda Joe. The ones who caught his eye were, well yeah, the ones who looked… classy. The one thing he knew he didn’t want was to get ripped off.

And he didn’t want it to feel… He didn’t want to feel like he’d got a burger in a fast food drive through. He wanted it to be special, if that was really possible with a paid companion and not just something that happened to teenage boys in Hollywood movies.

But even the upscale-looking ones, well, there was something about them that… He knew it was good business, to offer yourself up as “versatile,” and available for “mild to wild,” but… Well, the more he saw what he didn’t want, the more a picture began to form in his mind of what he did want. He didn’t want someone who looked like an investment banker but whose profile also said, “Hey I look classy but I can drop it if you just want a dirty pig fest and you’ve got the money for it.”

No. He wanted someone who was one thing. Who wasn’t whoever you wanted him to be. But who was what he said he was. Classy, for real. Not “up for anything.”

And then he found Harrison Dillon.

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Meet the Author

Brad Vance writes romance stories and novels, including the breakout hits “A Little Too Broken” and “Given the Circumstances.” Keep up with Brad at BradVanceAuthor.com, email him at BradVanceAuthor@gmail.com, and friend him on Facebook at facebook.com/brad.vance.10.

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May 31

New Release Blitz: Frank at Heart by Pat Henshaw (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Frank at Heart

Series: Foothills Pride series, #6

Author: Pat Henshaw

Publisher:  Dreamspinner Press

Release Date: May 31, 2017

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 30,236 words

Genre: Contemporary Gay Romance

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Synopsis

Everything about thirty-five-year-old Stone Acres hardware store owner Frank McCord is old-fashioned—from his bow tie and overalls to the way he happily makes house calls to his dreams of lasting romance, true love, and marriage. Frank’s predecessors have run the store and been mainstays in the small California town for over a century. While genial Frank upholds tradition and earns the respect of friends and neighbors, he fears he’s too dull and old to attract a husband.

Into his life comes handsome thirty-six-year-old electronic games designer Christopher Darling and his fifteen-year-old son, Henry. Christopher has everything Frank could want in a potential partner: charm, kindness, and compatibility. Also, he’s a terrific father to Henry. When their Stone Acres home turns out to be uninhabitable, Frank offers the Darlings temporary lodging in his ancestral farmhouse, where he and his tenant Emil reside. Since Emil thinks Frank is his, sparks fly. Suddenly, Frank’s monotonous life promises to explode with love and threatens to change him forever.

Excerpt

My procedure for hiring was pretty simple. In the identification section of the test, I gave applicants a common nail, a Phillips head screw, a paint stirrer, a tape measure, a claw hammer, a screwdriver, a crescent wrench, pliers, a putty knife, and a box cutter. I gave these objects one at a time to the teen and asked him to identify what the object was, when to use it, and how to use it.

Then I gave the applicant six pieces of precut plywood, eight corner angles, tools, and other supplies, and had him—it was usually a him—follow simple directions to make a box with a hinged flap. The whole test was either incredibly easy or horribly complex and frustrating.

My first applicant was a poster boy for the latter. He called both the nail and the screw a screw, then dissolved into a fit of adolescent giggles. I waited for his mirth to subside. He had no idea about any of the tools except the box cutter, which he simply called a wicked-ass knife.

As I walked into the back room with him for the second part of the test, I was appalled at how little he knew and wondered why he wanted to work at a hardware store. Was it just the money?

I stopped him after watching for five minutes as he tried to figure out how to make the box. When he looked at me with defeat in his eyes, I called a halt.

“Thank you for coming in, Seth. I think we both know this job wouldn’t be a good fit for you.” I looked over his application form. “I think working at one of the mall stores might be more your speed, don’t you?”

He nodded eagerly. “But my folks say that you’re more established and fairer than the mall stores. I wanted to work for the coffee shop or the movie theater.”

“Well, you can tell your parents I appreciate their support, but I’m voting for you to be a real success at either of those other two choices.”

He beamed. As we shook hands, I knew his dad would be in later this week to talk about his son.

Henry turned up alone at two o’clock, and I ran him through the first part of the test. We only hit one snag. We got along too well and ended up having side discussions about the items.

When I handed him the nail, for example, he took it between his fingers and caressed it.

“It’s a two-penny flat-head nail.” He rolled it around for a second. “You know, they used to keep nails in big casks like they do wine. Then they sold them by weighing them. They’d scoop them up out of the barrels.”

Well, I mean, what was I supposed to do? Ignore that? Of course not. I took him into the back room where we stored everything we’d removed when my father updated the store in the 1970s. I showed him the old scoop-shaped scale, and we weighed a few nails and other items hanging around.

“This is so cool, Frank. You should put it back on the counter. I’ll bet everyone would want to see it. It’d give the store an epic feel.”

I wasn’t sure I agreed about the epic part, but maybe it was time to give the store another more modern redesign.

We scurried out of the back room when the bell tinkled and we could hear someone walking around the front of the store talking to Riley. I tried to stop giving Henry the first part of the test, since he still had the box to build. But when we saw the customer was his father, who seemed to be fascinated by the wall of power tools, Henry took out the remaining items in the little bag.

He held them up one at a time and rattled off their names and purposes.

“There!” he crowed, smiling up at me. “Now what do you want me to make?”

I showed him the wood, tools, and directions and left him to the project. When I saw he was reading through the directions, I walked over to his dad. Riley’d already moved back behind the counter and seemed to be working on some inventory sheets.

“I’m not here to ask how he’s doing, so don’t think I am.” Christopher didn’t turn around when I got up behind him. He was staring at the power saws.

“He’s doing fine.” I didn’t step too close, but drat if I didn’t want to. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. Or if I was even bolder, I’d put my arm around his waist and snuggle his head back onto my shoulder.

Weren’t those counterproductive daydreams? Now I’d have to wait a moment before I could go back to check on Henry. Overalls worn in public, especially if I was in the vicinity of Christopher, were my groin’s personal enemy.

Christopher turned his head. We were close enough to kiss if I leaned in a little more. I didn’t. Instead I stepped back, although I did smile.

“Can I peek?” Christopher was whispering like we had secrets.

I leaned back and looked over my shoulder at his son. Henry was nearly finished with the box. He was studying the directions like they were a map to the El Dorado treasure.

“Sure. Go ahead and peek. He’s just about done.”

I sounded as stunned as I felt. First off, Christopher and I were standing too close and whispering. I felt his warmth, and my cheeks burned. As I tried to shake myself back to reality, the second reason I was a little stunned hit me. Henry was on the final step of building the box. How could he be done so quickly?

As I walked back toward him, he held the box at eye level in one hand and opened and closed the hinged door. Henry looked up as I entered the workroom.

“I don’t get it,” he said. The hinged door snapped shut as he let it go. “What’s it for?”

He seemed so puzzled that I started to chuckle. Then at his stricken look, I stopped.

“It’s not useful in itself. It’s just a test to see if you can follow directions and know how to use the tools.”

His face darkened as I explained.

“You use up all of this stuff for that? Anybody can make this.” He put the box down, acting a little disdainful and a lot put out.

“You’d be surprised.” I didn’t elaborate. Why tell him that another boy who was in the same grade couldn’t figure out the directions at all?

I picked up the box and studied it. He’d done a remarkable job in so little time. He’d even used the flush piano hinges instead of the more cumbersome butt hinge, even though the directions didn’t specify which would be better for the project. His box opened and closed easily, and the corners made perfect ninety-degree angles.

I started to put the box down, but Christopher reached for it. I passed it over and watched a moment as he held it up, a look of awe on his face.

“Henry, this is—” he started, but his son stopped him.

“Dad, I’m taking a test here.”

With a sheepish grin and an amused side-glance at me, Christopher put the box down, said a short “Sorry,” and returned to the front of the store.

Again, I hid my amusement at how well they interacted and shelved my amazement at how Christopher had shared the moment with me. I ran my hand over the top of the box. This one I’d keep.

As I was about to find out when Henry could start work, the bell tinkled. I looked over my shoulder to see a newcomer hurry in. His sneakers squeaked on the wood floor.

“Hi. You the owner?” he greeted me.

I looked around for Riley but couldn’t see him anywhere. Had he called it a day and gone home? I wouldn’t blame him. Except for the Darlings, it’d been slow.

When I nodded at the customer, he launched into a fairly typical request. He and his wife had bought some Ikea furniture, and now he couldn’t put it together. I told him what I told everyone, to bring it into the shop and we’d assemble it for him.

Then I told him the setup fee, said it would take a week or so, and took down his name and contact information as he started to thank me. After I told him the store was actually closing right now, he left reluctantly, looking at the merchandise around him as he shuffled to the door. This time I locked it and put out the Closed sign. Christopher had said he wanted me to visit the Adams-Scott House this afternoon, but first I had to hire Henry officially.

“So, Henry, when would you like to start?”

He was staring at the door and the escaping customer. I had to ask the question twice.

“Who puts together the Ikea stuff?” Henry responded instead of giving me a date.

“Riley and I do. When we get a chance. We do it between other things. Why?” The truth was we both hated assembling the furniture because it was tedious.

“May I do it?” The eagerness in his question caught me off guard.

“You want to put together Ikea furniture?” He didn’t mean it, did he?

“Yeah. Cool. I love Ikea!” Henry beamed at me as if to ask “Doesn’t everyone?”

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Meet the Author

Pat Henshaw has spent her life surrounded by words: teaching English composition at the junior college level; writing book reviews for newspapers, magazines, and websites; helping students find information as a librarian; and promoting PBS television programs.

Now retired, Pat, author of the Foothills Pride Stories, was born and raised in Nebraska and promptly left the cold and snow after college, living at various times in Texas, Colorado, Northern Virginia, and now Sacramento, California. Pat has found joy in visiting Mexico, Canada, Europe, Nicaragua, Thailand, and Egypt, and relishes trips to Stowe, Vermont, to see family.

Two of her fondest memories include touching time when she put her hands on the pyramids and experiencing pure whimsy when she interviewed Caroll Spinney (Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch). Her triumphs are raising two incredible daughters who daily amaze her with their power and compassion. Her supportive husband keeps her grounded in reality when she threatens to drift away while writing fiction.

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