Nov 15

New Release Blitz: God’s Gift by Auburn C. Piper (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  God’s Gift

Author: Auburn C. Piper

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/15/2022

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 55750

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, alpha males, athlete, coming of age, coming out, revenge, sports

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Description

Robert Lee, a high school football star, is treated like a god in his small town as long as he keeps winning and bringing championships.

Lee has his sights set on breaking a sacred football record and all systems are ‘go’ until a new student, Justin, moves into town and turns his world upside down.

A simple kiss has his once-perfect life shattered into a million pieces.

Excerpt

God’s Gift
Auburn C. Piper © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Gods and Monsters

I am a God.

My kingdom is Friday Night, and it spans fifty-by-one-hundred yards. In that space, I perform miracles and astound my following, who are legion. Game night fanatics awash in a sea of black-and-white streamers, pom-poms, and foam fingers. Zealots whose church is a stadium, who worship a scoreboard. They scream for points and lust for victory. They bring me offerings: free fill-ups at the Gas & Go, free food at the cafes and Dairy Queen, straight As on all my report cards. The followers of Friday Night tell me I’m strong and fast and smart. They say I’m the best they’ve ever seen, and there’s no limit to my talent. They worship me, want to be me, parents want their kids to grow up just like me. Their babies wear tiny football jerseys with my number on them. Lucky number 13. They video my games, post highlights on YouTube, Instagram, and Facebook. Thousands hit those vids, including college coaches from across the nation. It’s not arrogance. It’s fact. The God’s gospel.

I can part troubled seas and walk on water.

And to keep the faithful happy, all I have to do is win.

And that’s what I do. It’s all I know how to do.

Because I am a God.

A Friday Night God.

*

I never used to keep track of my stats during a game. It used to be all about the team. Eyeballin’ your numbers isn’t cool. But I know I have more than fifty pass attempts already and maybe close to five hundred yards, maybe more. Some may think that’s a good game. Some may think that’s a helluva game! But to the football learned, it means something is up; there’s a reason you’re throwing so many passes. Our reason? We have no defense, and my offensive line is worthless. Yeah, I know I got a lot of numbers up, but I’m bleeding and hurting like hell too. I look at the faces around me in the huddle. They’re young kids now, mostly freshman and sophomores, all of them wide-eyed and full of fear and fire, praying they won’t screw up too much. I look up at the scoreboard, 62–42. That’s a big score, and there’s only eighteen seconds left. No, they haven’t screwed it up too much. The blocking might have been better, maybe a lot better, but I guess these boys have done all right for themselves, at least offensively. Defensively, well, I don’t worry about that too much. I haven’t played on defense since my freshman year. Defense is the coach’s worry.

“All right! All right! Everybody pull it in! Pull it in close, time-out’s almost over!” I yell at them. The youngbloods gather close, surrounding me, waiting for the words that will inspire them, fill their hearts with fury.

“OK, now, y’all stand up straight while I do this.” I bend over in the center of the huddle and heave. Hot, frothy puke spews out of my mouth and through my face mask. I feel better.

Someone says, “Shee-itt!”

I’ve got liquid goo hanging from my face mask and oozing down the front of my bloodstained white jersey, and the faces looking at me now are full of wide-eyed terror. No worry. I always chunk at least once before or during a game. If I didn’t toss my guts, I’d worry.

“Jesus, guys. Don’t shit your pants. Remember, Gatorade is thirst aid. It’s for that deep-down body thirst,” I say.

No one laughs.

If Hollis were here, he would laugh. But Hollis isn’t here. Man-mountain Hollis Strahan—our 300-pound, all-world right tackle and my best friend—is on the sideline nursing a high-ankle sprain and didn’t even dress for the game. Big Hol, that’s what everybody calls him, is pure mean and loves to make people hurt on and off the field, more so off. In a street fight there are no refs and no rules, and Hol never plays by the rules. I’ve seen him make people bleed before, hammer a guy so hard blood spurts out of all his holes. I’ve seen him stand over ’em, too, laughing and smiling after he’d beat them down, then spit on ’em or call their momma a bad name. But Hollis is my boy, best friend since way before we were in school. He keeps me safe in the pocket. When Hol is playing, I never have to worry about getting blindsided and broken.

It’d been a game-time decision to hold Hollis out. Coach Steele told the reporters it wasn’t necessary for him to play, made a big deal about him resting up for the next game. Fine with me. The team we’re playing, the Paducah Dragons, are in a down year anyway. They’re 2–6 and at the bottom of our district. Going up against us, the mighty Plains Plainsmen, state champs three years running, they didn’t have a chance in hell on paper. But like I always say, the game ain’t played on paper, it’s played between the hash marks. To be honest with you, someone else said that. I just like repeating it.

The Drags are a small team but fast, and they came up with a good game plan. They’d let us score as much as we wanted, but they make us bleed for every point. That’s no lie. They’ve been blitzing all night and laying their D-backs off deep. Every damn play there’s been a linebacker or a safety in my face. And without Hollis watching my blind side, it’s been puredee hurtin’ hell. I’ve already been sacked more tonight than I have all season, and I’ve been pretty much on my ass after every throw. But I’m making them pay too. Our receivers are quick as shit and open on almost every play. I hit my boys on ropes. Up and down the field we go, scoring at will. After the first quarter, when Coach Steele understood what their game plan was, he didn’t even bother with trying to run the ball to keep ’em honest. He told me, “Robert Lee, light ’em up.” Again, I never keep stats, but I know I’m having a big night. Even if I hurt like a sum’bitch.

As bad as their defense is, their offense ain’t too shabby. They’re pretty fast, maybe as fast as us, and they have this short Mexican kid for a quarterback who can run rings around lightning and put a BB through a pinhole at fifty yards. Their receivers are beating our secondary almost as bad as we’re beating theirs, and “shorty” is having a career night. But I look up at the clock and see only eighteen seconds left. Speedy’s big night is almost over.

I look at my boys, shake my head. Too damn young!

I say, “How the hell that dumbass reporter picked us to win state after graduating six seniors is beyond me. You boys ain’t nothin’ but babies. Hell, we may be able to score a hundred points, but what good is it when the damn defense gives up two hundred? Eventually, somebody’s gonna come up with a defense that’ll stop us. If I know that for a fact, you know every coach in 3A ball knows it!”

I wonder if what I’m saying is even getting through or if they understand the forces at work here. Nah, ’course they don’t. They’re all dumb jocks, and this game, this season, well, it’s a tangled web, a battle of wills and wants. The Plainsmen machine I’d led for the last three years is gone. This squad, this version of the mighty, is nothing but a shadow of those teams. Those were teams of destiny—three state titles, no one even coming close to us. The perfect pieces and the perfect players that only come along once in a lifetime. No, this isn’t the same team, but I figure it can still be a team of destiny, only a different kind of destiny. A personal kind. This team is a machine, but it’s my machine. I mentioned I never kept stats, well, I didn’t, at least not until this year.

I know damn well there isn’t a chance in hell we’re going all the way. There’s not enough experience, not enough senior vets. Hell, that was obvious to me at the beginning of the season. No, this year is going to be all about me. It’s time to drop my pants and show people the shine on my ass. To show all those recruiters from those big schools this quarterback from a one-horse town can move and throw with the best of ’em. To do that, I’ve got to come up with a big one. I have to throw up a number so huge those big schools can’t possibly ignore me.

The national single-season passing record.

Yeah, that’s my big fish. My marlin. It’s what this season is all about.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Auburn Piper is an author from rural Paducah, Texas. His first novel is the self-published GOTHA.

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Nov 15

New Release Blitz ~ Repentance and Absolution by AE Lister (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Repentance and Absolution by AE Lister

Book 2 in the Northern Horizons series

General Release Date: 15th November 2022

Word Count:  79,930
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 299

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
BONDAGE AND BDSM
COWBOYS AND WESTERN
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
HISTORICAL

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Book Description


You can’t take back your sins. You can only hope for forgiveness.

Jimmy Downing traveled seven hundred sixty difficult and dangerous miles to bring Oscar Yates to Port Essington to find his uncle. When Jimmy saw the abandoned homestead Oscar had inherited, he envisioned a future for them there, as long as they could keep the true nature of their relationship a secret. But once the initial work is complete and they have a cozy living space and a stable for the livestock, Oscar and Jimmy face a long winter dealing with thoughts that have time and space to plague them.

Jimmy suffers nightmares of dark deeds committed in his past, while Oscar deals with trauma from his time in Dawson and his mistreatment at the hands of Spook. A new horse provides a distraction for Oscar and leads to new friendships and a break from their solitary existence, but a dangerous encounter exposes surprising truths about their nearest neighbors and a sense that their lives are being guided by forces outside their control.

Excerpt

Oscar was gone, and I couldn’t find him.

The brush surrounding the new homestead—if that’s what you could even call it—grew dense and completely impenetrable in some spots. A fella could easily get lost, especially a city fella who couldn’t tell an oak from a birch and fell o’er his own outsized feet on occasion. There were wolves in these parts that could kill a man Oscar’s size in an instant—not to mention the bears, coyotes and panthers.

I’d told him time and again not to go wandering around without me, to stay near the ramshackle rooms we were fixing up and not to go looking for whatever he thought he wanted to see.

The kid was trouble. Had been since I’d first laid eyes on him, back in Dawson City, and there wasn’t any way of taming him, much as I’d tried. I supposed, when it came down to it, I didn’t want to tame him any more than I’d wanted to smother the fire that kept us both warm at night and reared up inside me when he looked at me the way he did. He’d nigh burned me with a primal passion that I was still trying to control—or at least understand. It still didn’t make no sense how the two of us came together like we did. But there was no turning back now.

“Oscar!” I shouted into the trees, trying to see my way and take heed of any movement ahead of me. I’d searched all around the sorry excuse for a house that he’d inherited from his dead uncle, and he was nowhere to be found. So now, I headed into the brush toward the creek. I’d already checked the well and he wasn’t there, neither fallen into it nor trying to get water up for a drink. I didn’t know where he was, and I was beginning to panic.

“Oscar! D’you hear me? Get back here right now or I’m gonna tan your pretty hide so bad you won’t be going anywhere for a week!”

As I stepped past a big boulder, something caught my eye. T’was the peacock-blue frayed edge of a shawl, and I stopped in my tracks when I saw a familiar person standing there, looking off into the distance.

“Cal? Is that you?” I said.

But it couldn’t be Cal. Cal was back in Telegraph Creek, whispering scandalous things into the ears of men who paid for her time and attention. The person wearing the shawl turned with a languorous ease and smiled at me. T’was Cal sure enough, even though it couldn’t possibly be.

“Jimmy! My, I’d almost forgotten how handsome you were.”

I blushed, taking off my hat and giving her a puzzled look. “What’re you doing here? How did you get here?”

Cal simply smiled, the dimple in her cheek on the opposite side to Oscar’s. “Has that naughty boy wandered off again?”

She’d rouged and painted her face till there was no sign of the handsome boy underneath, the boy who was a girl for all intents and purposes, except for the tackle between her legs.

“Yes, he has,” I said. “And I’m gonna haul him o’er my knee when I find him.”

Cal laughed and pursed her lips. “Oh, I don’t think he minds that, do you?”

“He’ll mind it this time,” I promised. “And he’ll mind me.”

No matter what games we liked to play involving my hand on his behind, giving him a pretend walloping for being a brat, I’d give it to him this time—like I had once before when he’d wandered off and scared me half to death.

“You know which way he went?” I asked Cal, since I had nothing else to go by.

“There,” Cal said, pointing through the brush. “I heard a gunshot by the river.”

My blood went cold. Fuck. God only knew what he’d wandered into, and for a goddamn second, I almost fell to my knees.

In a moment I’d moved past Cal and I was running, tearing through the brush toward the river, terrified of what I’d find. The crack of a rifle pierced the silence, and it echoed for long minutes as my breaths ripped through my chest.

When I found him, if he hadn’t been shot or eaten by wolves, I was gonna kill him.

Just as I reached the edge of the brush, where it opened up onto the river, another shot echoed through the trees and I opened my eyes, gasping huge gulps of air and blinking at the darkness.

“Hey, hey, shhhh, it’s okay. It’s a nightmare. You’re dreamin’.”

Oscar’s shadow loomed above me in the darkness of the room that was barely a room—just a space with four walls and a fireplace, the fire banked now but the coals glowing red.

I grabbed him and pulled him down to me, hugging him so fierce that he squirmed and protested.

“Stop. You’re hurtin’ me. I can’t breathe.”

I loosened my hold a little so he wouldn’t try to get away, but t’was hard not to keep him in a death grip after that god-awful dream.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he said, clutching my shoulders.

“I couldn’t find you,” I whispered, my heart beating a drum in my chest. “I couldn’t find you.” I was breathless, even though I’d not left my bed.

“I was right here—right here in this bed beside you, all night long.”

I nodded against him, keeping him close to prove to myself he was here and he was all right—and so was I. His hair smelled of wood smoke and sweat, and I reckoned we could both use a wash.

“You need a bath,” I murmured, kissing him under his ear where it smelled of his own special musk that I loved.

He snorted. “So do you. I reckon we oughta change into fresh underwear, too, and wash these ones.”

I slid a hand under the blankets, popping the buttons of the flap of his union suit so’s I could skate my palm o’er the swell of his ass, making him squirm in a delicious way, his small, stiff cock pressing against me.

“Well, dammit, it sure is you, Oscar. No one else has a nubby so small and sweet what wants to pretend to be big enough to cause any mischief,” I said, teasing him the way he liked to be teased, so that he felt dainty and delicate and half the man I was. It had seemed strange at first and like he should be offended by that kind of talk. But he loved it, and that was a fact. And I didn’t question it at all no more.

Sure enough, he groaned and pressed his fingertips into my shoulders, rutting against me like a dog.

“Goddammit. What were you dreamin’ about? You were sayin’ my name then you said Cal. Was it scandalous?”

“No. T’was terrifyin’. You were lost, and I couldn’t find you.”

He pressed against me, his nubby rubbing against my thigh through the fabric of his union suit. We’d bought the sets of red flannel underwear when the weather turned right cold at the start of November. Guess we’d had enough of freezing our asses off on our journey and we wanted to be warm, even if it meant looking ridiculous. “Well, you did, didn’t you? You found me good, since I was right here all along.”

“That’s a fact. Thank the Lord,” I murmured, turning his face to mine and finding his lips in the darkness. He opened to me in that sweet way he had of assuring me there weren’t nothing I couldn’t do that he wouldn’t want, as far as any intimacy with his body went. We’d nigh explored every damned inch of each other by now, and I never could get enough of him. I wasn’t sure I ever would.

I pulled away from his mouth and nuzzled into his neck, just to sniff that scent of him I was so fond of. “I’m just so relieved you’re here and t’was all a dream.”

He relaxed into me and offered his long neck for my kisses and for me to run my nose along. The bit of stubble there did something to ignite me, and I lapped my tongue o’er his Adam’s apple, then bit it gently.

“Oh. Jimmy. Hell,” Oscar breathed. “It ain’t even dawn yet, and you wanna keep me awake?” He yawned.

“I’m sorry. Never mind. Just cuddle under these here covers with me. I need to know I got you.”

Oscar stifled another broad yawn. “You got me, all right, in every sense of that word. You prob’ly won’t want me after a few more months. I’m already a nuisance most of the time, ain’t I?”

I didn’t know if he was playing up being a brat or if he truly thought he was a nuisance.

“No, you’re just— My ma used to call it restlessness, when I couldn’t sit still. Said I’d grow out of it, and I guess I did.”

“Yeah? What if I never grow out of it, huh? What if I’ll always be like this?” Oscar said, snuggling into me, wiggling his ass, even though he’d just told me he wanted to sleep.

“Keep still. I’m tryin’ to go back to sleep, and you ain’t helpin’.”

“What if I’m always this restless?” he asked again in a whisper. “Will you still love me?”

I laughed. He was all that and more, this twenty-one-year-old man-child.

“I reckon I will. Can’t seem to help it,” I grumbled, as if me loving Oscar was an inconvenience rather than the miracle of a lifetime that had been wasted with broken men.

“Good,” he said, laying his head down on the feather pillow. “I reckon I’ll still love you, too.”

Choose Your Store
First For Romance

About the Author

AE Lister

AE Lister/Elizabeth Lister is a Canadian non-binary author with a vivid imagination and a head full of unique and interesting characters. They have published 10 books, one of which received an Honorable Mention from the National Leather Association – International for excellence in SM/Leather/Fetish writing.

“Sensual and visceral BDSM.” – Amazon.ca

Find out more about AE Lister at their website, and follow them on Instagram and Patreon.

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Nov 15

New Release Blitz: Moonlight and the Magician by Evelynn Carver (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Moonlight and the Magician

Series: The Moonlight Curse, Book One

Author: Evelynn Carver

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/15/2022

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 71800

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, gay, bisexual, fantasy/paranormal, mystery, magic/magic users, demons, enemies/rivals to lovers, road trip, action/adventure, family drama, shifters, HFN, cliffhanger

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Description

Spoiled pretty boy, Valentino, a revered fire mage of singular talent, finds himself pressured into a political marriage with a sadistic noblewoman he barely knows. He’s desperate to find a way out, even if it means leaving his gilded life in the spotlight behind.

Brand, a mysterious roguish vagabond, approaches Val and charms him into a deal: he will help him escape his problems in exchange for his assistance in breaking a vicious magical curse. What that curse entails is only revealed in the light of the full moon. Is Brand really who he says he is?

What begins as a romantic runaway adventure soon turns out to be much more than they bargained for. It seems that Valentino’s magic isn’t worth as much as he thought when it comes to dealing with a willful demon, gunslinging bounty hunters, and his own fickle heart. He might be falling in lust with a monster, but will he sell his very soul just to run away from responsibility?

Excerpt

Moonlight and the Magician
Evelynn Carver © 2022
All Rights Reserved

The only thing Brand hated more than the theater was the kind of people who attended it, and the Vicari family estate was currently swarming with actors and theatergoers alike. He was utterly and completely surrounded by the sort of people who liked to talk at you and be looked at rather than have a proper conversation, and it was taking all his willpower not to jump out the nearest window.

Instead, he took a deep breath and wove his way carefully through the buzzing crowd to the back of the ballroom to settle in to watch and wait, hoping his sour mood didn’t show clearly on his face. He relaxed his jaw and shoulders and smoothed his features into a placid, nonthreatening smile. He glanced around the room, taking in everything from the glittering mirrored ceiling tiles to the gilded flatware. One spoon from the set could probably be sold for a common fortune back home. He briefly considered pocketing one or a dozen but decided against it. He had bigger fish to fry tonight.

He watched the crowd, noting who was in attendance and who was absent. It was a bit like being inside a glittering, smothering hive. It smelled of strong perfume, sweat, and people with too much money. He suppressed a sneeze and clenched his teeth.

His annoyance was partially due to resentment, he knew. These were essentially well-paid liars, and while he did not draw a wage for a similar practice, it had kept him alive these past two years. Still, he would rather be caught red-handed in some scheme than sitting in an audience waiting for a bunch of fancy folk to flit about a stage. And yet, here he was, alive and well enough, though he could certainly use a sandwich.

Brand wasn’t here to watch the show, exactly, but he was here to watch the people. And there were plenty of people to watch. He was at the back of the large ballroom-turned-theater, and thanks to his substantial height, he could easily see over the heads of the teeming, mostly female attendees. He paid particular attention to the pair of stately women seated front and center, surrounded by servants and platters full of finger foods, tiny cakes, and wine glasses.

Marienne Bromende, the aging duchess of the Grand Duchy of Felidereaux, with her daughter, retinue, and many servants, had come to the Vicari barony for the first time in nearly ten years for this special performance by the famed Vicari siblings—a trio of exceptionally talented young fire elementalists. The performance would, purportedly, showcase the family’s magical prowess as thanks for her continued royal patronage.

At least, that was the official reason. Brand knew the real reason. Everyone did, if gossip among the common quarter held any scrap of truth (and it often did). The real, actual reason the duchess was parading her twice-bonded-and-bailed daughter around the countryside? The real reason she had traveled outside her prim and proper circle in the royal palace for the first time in over two decades?

Pure, undiluted desperation.

The duchess was on a manhunt. After two failed marriages, her daughter had yet to produce a child. There was quite a wealth of hearsay as to the reason for that predicament, some rumors more ridiculous than others, but Brand suspected a very simple explanation. In his experience, the virility of Feliderean men had certainly left something to be desired. Needless to say, the future of the continuation of the duchy’s royal line was in a bucketload of trouble.

Therefore, the noble families of Felidereaux were pulling out all the stops to put every one of their eligible young men on display for this very purpose, including the young, talented, and supposedly very eligible bachelor, Valentino Vicari.

This theater performance was a thinly veiled exhibition of availability—a marketplace set up to sell a single man. An auction block with an orchestra. Brand found it equal parts hilarious and uniquely upsetting. Yet, he was here on a manhunt of his own too.

The crowd of fluttering nobles and harried servants going in and out of the house all evening had made it easy to slip in relatively unnoticed. A couple of slicked palms, a borrowed uniform, a couple of well-placed nods and practiced grins, and he was inside the estate. He ducked into an alcove at the side of the cavernous room, just out of sight of the bored-looking guards placed at the doorway.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Evelynn lives with her partner, child, and dog in the Deep Dark South (also known as Atlanta, Georgia). She studied art in school and is somehow still deemed employable. In her free time, she reads genre fiction, plays video games, watches cartoons, and engages in other related unseemly behavior. She’s been writing and drawing stories since she was in grade school and would one day love to grow up to be a Real Author.

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Nov 15

New Release Blitz: Shy by Ashish Rastogi (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Shy

Author: Ashish Rastogi

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/15/2022

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 77600

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, athlete, interracial, sports, coming out, in the closet, rugby, badminton, gay, India

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Description

Two men struggle around the closet. One locked inside, shackled by his love of badminton, fearful of the world outside. The other is proud and out, a bull on the rugby pitch, tackling monsters of his past.

To find each other, Saaransh must accept his reality—a proud sports star who can become the symbol of dignity for the queer community in India. Brendon needs to bury the ghosts of his past and find a way to help Saaransh’s self-destruction.

Excerpt

Shy
Ashish Rastogi © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Of bees, Babita, and flights.

Saaransh:

“This is your craziest hare-brained idea. Ever.” Babita gives me another of her epic eye rolls. “I can’t believe what you are about to do.” She shakes her head in disbelief once again, “Saaransh, please tell me this is only a prank.”

Thank god the freaking out has settled. Babita is now speaking in manageable decibels. She launched a vocal assault when I told her my biggest secret, drawing startled stares from passers-by despite the shut car windows. We pushed and pulled at each other in a verbal fencing duel, interrupted by honks from passing cars. Eh, oh, and nah were the only counter-strikes I managed. But I clenched my teeth, stuffed my hands between my thighs, and anchored my feet to the car floor, not ready to be shouted out of my plan.

Babita huffs, waves her hands heavenwards, and stares at the cars parked in front. My cousin is a pint-size drama queen, but since I am an only child, Babita is more of a real sister. The label doesn’t matter, for in this wide world, she is my wall to lean on.

The thunderstorm of her vocal cords has passed. This brief reprieve is my chance to put together a reasonable sentence. Why did I choose the busiest place to open the door to the deepest part of my soul? In the last few days, ample opportunities were there. We were alone when Babita helped me pack yesterday. She accompanied me to the Krishna temple near my house before our ride here. Even on the drive, we were the only ones.

I kept deferring. Scared. Unsure if the bond with Babita would weather the implications of my words. We have been inseparable from the day in August almost eighteen years ago when she first tied the fancy thread on my wrist on Rakhi with her chubby six-year-old hands. A tether of friendship more robust than the shared genetics in the blood coursing through our veins. Except for my secret. Will this gash bleed our bond to death?

Gosh, the three words. I had worked myself up trying different combinations but found no other way to compose the truth I carry locked and hidden in an airtight iron box in my chest. But once we parked, the truth stared from the windowpane. You must say them now; my silhouette formed by the yellow glow of a lampshade on a pillar nearby screamed. In the dim lights of the parking lot at Terminal 3 of the Delhi International airport surrounded by empty cars, I blurted out, I am gay.

“Yeah, outing myself is a joke.” I scan the surroundings to make sure no one is in the vicinity.

Babita winces, “Sorry, I am not questioning your sexuality. I love you in any and every way. But, Saaransh, your plan?” She places her hand on my forearm and squeezes.

Before she goes on, I stop her. “I am not changing my mind. This is my only chance.” This is about me. A part of my existence gasping for air, drowning in the swamp of family expectations and social norms. She cannot bulldoze me.

“Bhai, I am sure Delhi has a decent gay crowd. Use a dating app. If not here, what about Mumbai? You can go on a date while Karan or I are on standby for a rescue,” she pleads.

“And risk everything? No way, B.”

The hum of the parking lot is broken by an airplane taking off. I glance at the time on my shiny new smartphone. Only ten more minutes before I need to walk through Gate 5 to enter the airport for my flight.

Babita taps my arm. “What about being thousands of kilometres’ away? Alone in a foreign city with no one to call for help. You are risking your safety.”

“Nah. Nothing will happen. I will stay out of trouble.”

Babita’s eyebrows shoot up, and her eyes narrow behind the red-rimmed glasses in the ‘I know you’ face she has perfected over the years. “You and staying out of trouble. Hah!”

My lips stay sealed. I am not engaging with Babita on the topic of my flings with trouble.

“Saaransh, I am two years younger than you, and for the eighteen-odd years I can remember, I have seen enough. We have been in so much trouble together right from the first time you pranked me into hitting a beehive.”

This time I cannot hide the smirk. How would an eight-year-old boy know? Okay, in my defense, I had warned her, but B insisted on playing Pooh to my Tigger, Piglet being too small and pink for her. When Pooh craved honey, what was a big brother supposed to do? Hand Pooh a stick and point her to a hive. After escaping with our lives, I never doubted her aim.

B is right, though. Like those bees years ago, I do attract trouble. No, I am not clumsy. Risk-agreeable is a better label. The risk I am about to take is by far my most ambitious. So damn the hound dogs of danger barking inside my head. Nothing will stop me from galloping down this unfamiliar path.

“B, I need to go. You must promise to keep all this talk a secret. If you tell anyone, it’s over between us.” I extend my pinkie finger to hook with hers and seal our sibling promise.

Babita does not move till I raise my eyebrows. She relents with a sigh and hooks my pinkie finger, pulling in the opposite direction to firm up our understanding. With the truce declared, Babita helps me load my bags on the trolley.

“Okay, wish me luck.” I hug her.

She squeezes. “Please keep sending messages. You don’t want me to lose weight worrying over you.”

“Your losing weight or not worrying has the same probability as us finding any living species in the universe.” I kiss her cheek and walk toward the entry gates to the airport.

“Best of luck and stay safe,” Babita calls as I wave her off.

Safe. Nope. Not in my dictionary. Trouble always finds me. I tap my chest with my fist and inhale. The upcoming two weeks in London will either be an exhilarating adventure or a walk in the fires of hell. Am I ready?

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Meet the Author

Ashish is a physician and medical research professional from India. He has self-published a thriller, ‘The Broken Code’ in 2018, and a sports rom-com ‘All the Lines to Cross’ in 2020. When Ashish is not busy managing his medical research company, he writes poems, stories, and dabbles in painting.

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Nov 15

New Release Blitz ~ Wild Cowboy by Gemma Snow (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Wild Cowboy by Gemma Snow

Book 2 in the The Sinclair Seven series

General Release Date: 15th November 2022

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

Genres:

BONDAGE AND BDSM
CONTEMPORARY
COWBOYS AND WESTERN
EROTIC ROMANCE

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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.

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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.

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Nov 11

New Release Blitz ~ Haint Nothin Like Me by Alyssa Rabil (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Haint Nothin Like Me

Series: Haints Misbehaving #3

Author: J Hali Steele

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: Nov 11

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 36 pages

Genre: Erotica – Male/Male

Synopsis

Warning: This is a Razor’s Edge Paranormal Erotica Story. Expect limited plot and character development, and lots of paranormal heat. If you’re looking for a lengthy plot driven erotic romance, this is not it!
Shane Taylor stares at the tiny, odd smelling box on his table — the same one he pocketed and sold a week earlier. Curious this time, he breaks it open. Smoke smelling of cedar circulates his room and when a shape steps through fog, Shane stares into eyes overflowing with…lust!

Bad Badgett craves the thief who stole the tiny wooden container housing his haint. When the scoundrel offers shelter, he has no qualms about climbing in the man’s bed and giving the bastard everything he could imagine. Promiscuous as hell, Bad can’t wait to satisfy other men before trying on their bodies and maybe, just maybe sharing them with his new lover.

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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

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Nov 11

Book Blitz: Blood & Fate by Alexa Piper (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Blood & Fate

Series: Monster Apocalypse 3

Author: Alexa Piper

Publisher: Changeling Press LLC

Release Date: Nov 11

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 138 pages

Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense, Science Fiction, Action Adventure, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Alien Encounters, Alternative Universe, Elves Dragons & Magical Creatures, Gay, Magic

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Synopsis

Rory has accepted love. So what if his lover is blue, horned, and very protective? Actually, a bagu mate suits Rory just fine, especially since Inkiri loves doting on Rory. But after the attack on Esaka, Rory once more finds himself frustrated with the magic he has access to, and he’d prefer to get rid of it. If that’s not an option, he’d prefer never to be in a situation where he has to use it.

Inkiri, ever the supportive mate, does his best to encourage Rory to learn about his magic, and new friends are more than happy to help Rory with that. Actually, Rory discovers that learning about magic isn’t all that bad, especially if no one wants to murder you or your friends. However, Rory’s power attracts those who would use him to their own ends, and escaping those forces forever is not possible. Which leaves Rory with a choice: hide and run, or fight.

Warning: Blood & Fate (Monster Apocalypse 3) ends on a cliffhanger which will be resolved in Monster Apocalypse 4. (As of this writing, the characters are still arguing with the author over the title… And Because I said so is a perfectly valid response).

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alexa Piper

The rain that had welcomed me back to Earth, back to Ireland, and back from being unconscious for days hadn’t let up. It beat down in sheets and slicked against the kitchen window to our left, but Inkiri’s body radiated warmth. There was a chicken on the kitchen table in Donna’s farmhouse, and it was looking at my bagu mate, the chicken’s beady eyes bright, her mottled gray feathers freckled with white.

Inkiri clicked — possibly at both me and the chicken — and ran his hand over me, double-checking that the blanket was drawn tight around me. Donna was at the counter between the large fridge and induction hub, filling an espresso maker with ground coffee, her head half-turned, her long brown hair braided over one shoulder.

“I’ll be honest with you, Rory. You looked like a corpse who’d foregone the beautifying appointment with the mortuary technician,” Donna said and glanced at me. The chicken clucked at Inkiri and lifted a clawed foot as if she were about to jump into Inkiri’s lap except, of course, I was in that lap.

“Yes, you were very pale, sadir,” my mate said and used the opportunity to lick over my neck.

My throat constricted. I remembered the streets of Esaka, the chaos, the Koa Esher… or maybe I could call them cola asshats now that Vergis’s dad had approved of my abuse of the Lugarran language. At any rate, I remembered the magic and how that voice in my head had said something about how that same magic that had saved Nokim and Vergis might hurt me so badly that some rest — well, a three days’ time-out in this case — wouldn’t make me better. I shuddered to think what the magic could have done to me. Could it have made me sleep forever?

I didn’t want to share that with Inkiri, so I swallowed the lump in my throat and wiggled around under my blankets.

“Yeah, but look.” I pointed at myself when I’d successfully extracted my hand from under the folds. The chicken followed my fingers with her black eyes. “I’m all better now. Uhm. Donna, do you think I could take a quick shower here?” The thing was, even if Inkiri had cleaned me up with a cloth back in the tent, he still produced a lot… just a lot. Of stuff. Well, cum was the stuff he produced a lot of, and it was still trickling out of me.

She looked back over her shoulder. “Sure, honey. There’s a bathroom upstairs with fresh towels in the cabinet.”

Inkiri huffed and clicked. “I will take care of you,” he said and stood. Still with me in his arms, which was excessive. I also maybe kind of liked it, because my mate’s nearness was such a huge comfort, but I was pretty sure I could stand and do stuff, never mind that I knew I needed more rest after the drain of the magic.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Put me down. I can shower by myself, Ink. I told you, that’s a human thing.”

“But, sadir –”

Donna turned to face the bagu, who was some two heads taller than her. “What have we been talking about when it comes to touching others and randomly carrying people?” she said to Inkiri and crossed her arms.

Inkiri made a purring noise with only a hint of a growl in there, but he ended in a soft click. “But Donna, this is my mate. He’s so frail. He –”

“Oh, put him on his feet, you overgrown blue goat,” she said.

Inkiri huffed, but slowly and with exceeding care, put me down. His touches lingered, indigo cat eyes searching my face for any hint that I’d forgotten how legs worked all of a sudden.

“I’m fine,” I told him. And me. The verbal confirmation was good.

“I brought fresh clothes for you,” Inkiri said and took a step toward a honey-brown kitchen cabinet and pulled open the bagu-made backpack that sat next to it on the floor. It was a pretty big backpack, the kind of size hikers would like, and it looked heavy. “It’s shibiya. You liked those before.”

“I did. I do. Thanks for packing for me.”

Inkiri frowned as he rifled through the backpack. “It’s a small thing, sadir.”

I curled my toes in my cat socks as I stood there and looked around the kitchen. The farm was an old building like so many in Ireland. Wooden beams in the ceiling showed their exposed ebony, and copper pots looked like they’d been here for no less than a century. There were four chairs around the generous kitchen table and a bench running underneath the window, which was framed by blue-and-white checkered curtains. Also, there was that chicken. She behaved like she belonged in this kitchen, eyeing all of us as if we were intruding on her day.

“Hey, where are the rest of the guys?” I asked.

“Good point,” Donna said. “And why did you only bring the acquired taste and his daddy?”

I smirked a little at Donna calling Vergis that. I was suspecting he wasn’t as bad as he pretended to be, maybe, even if he was still plenty murderous. After all, he’d used a bear as a weapon, so at the very least, he was happy to facilitate carnage. Also, he’d killed that bear.

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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!?)

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Nov 10

Book Blitz: Bête Noir by Mickie B. Ashling (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Bête Noir

Series: En Pointe, Book Two

Author: Mickie B. Ashling

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: November 10, 2022

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 263

Genre: Romance, New Adult, LGBT+ fiction, bisexual fiction, contemporary, family drama, ongoing series, sequel

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Synopsis

Misha Vergara had it all—a promising career as a principal dancer, a thriving stage partnership with Talia Baranova, and the unconditional support of his mentor—until he revealed his true feelings for Henri.

Crushed, and worried about her own reputation, Talia publicly denounced Misha and severed their intricate relationship. Now, thirsting for revenge, she vows to destroy the people he loves. Dating his alleged half brother is only the beginning.

Kazimir Lebedev has done everything he can for his illegitimate son, except acknowledge paternity. When Misha announces he’s bisexual, Kaz struggles to understand. With Talia behaving recklessly and making vicious threats, he can no longer guarantee a good outcome, for any of them.

Finally reunited after a six month separation, Misha and Henri enjoy every sublime moment of their New York vacation. Henri has secretly loved Misha since he was thirteen years old, so being out with him is a dream come true. Until news of an abduction propels them back to St. Petersburg, Russia. Will they weather this latest crisis and grow even closer or will Talia wreak havoc on their newfound bliss?

Bête Noir is a direct sequel to Torn, the first book in the En Pointe Series. The novels should be read in order to fully appreciate the dynamic of these complex characters.

Excerpt

Misha’s POV

As I stood at the back of the theater, enjoying what might be Henri’s last performance at the Mariinsky, I soaked in his arresting presence. Even in the White Rabbit costume, with heavy stage makeup masking his attractive features, he shined like the brightest star in the sky. When we were on stage together, I couldn’t take in the full measure of his talent, but from a distance, I was enchanted by his playful interpretation of the role. It was no surprise the audience was riveted whenever he appeared. His legs were encased in red tights, leaving nothing to the imagination, and I zeroed in on his scrumptious package. My body’s spontaneous reaction to Henri was predictable, and I reached down to adjust myself, looking forward to the lovemaking we would enjoy later in the evening.

After the performance, I waved my ID at the security guards, in lockstep with everyone else. Although they recognized me, I couldn’t deviate from the rules. I took the stairs down to the basement where Henri shared a dressing room with a bunch of other guys.

I received the usual perfunctory greetings, and waited for Henri to shed his rabbit persona. He creamed off the heavy makeup, while fixing his moss-green gaze on my image standing behind him. When his cinnamon complexion peeked through the guck, he smiled in response to my reaction.

I bent forward and whispered in his ear. “You are so hot.”

“Like what you see?”

“Very much.”

“I can’t wait to find out,” he breathed.

“Whenever you’re ready, my love.”

My endearment generated another dazzling smile and he pushed away from the changing table. I tracked his progress like a hawk eying his next meal. Standing in front of his open locker, Henri rolled off the sinful tights, removed his top, and reached for his street clothes. The elastic bands of the jockstrap encircled his waist and disappeared down his ass crack while the front pouch cradled his genitals. I might have drooled at this point, and if we didn’t get away soon I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. He cackled when he recognized the blatant desire on my face and hurried to cover up.

Grabbing his bag, he reached for my hand. “Ready?”

“Hell, yeah.”

We headed to his apartment to get a change of clothes for tomorrow. When the elevator door opened, there were three men in dark suits waiting outside his door. I pressed the down button before they could react, and we took off running when it dinged open.

“What’s going on?” Henri demanded when we slowed down several blocks later.

I gave him a quick synopsis of my earlier conversation with the minister and the French expletives pouring out of his mouth were jarring. His agitation was contagious, and my own fear rose significantly.

“Why are we going to the hotel?”

“To get my stuff.”

“I’m sure those bastards already know I’m registered.”

“How?” My naiveté  was still in place and Henri scowled at me.

“The all-seeing FSB has a list of every foreigner who’s flown into this country or rented a car, or checked into a hotel. I will stake my life on it.”

“I believe you,” I said. “Shall we try to catch the train home?”

“What about your things?”

“There’s nothing irreplaceable in my carryall. My wallet and ID are in my pocket. What about you?”

“Same. Let’s go,” he said with some urgency.

“Hold on a second.”

“Why?”

“There’s no turning back if you walk away. They’ll blackball you for sure.”

He gave me one of his typical Gallic shrugs. “And if I stick around, I might lose my actual balls.”

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Meet the Author

MICKIE B. ASHLING is the pseudonym of a multi-published author who resides in a suburb outside Chicago. She is a product of her upbringing in various cultures, having lived in Japan, the Philippines, Spain, and the Middle East. Fluent in three languages, she’s a citizen of the world and an interesting mixture of East and West.

Since 2009, Mickie has written several dozen novels in the LGBTQ+ genre—which have been translated into French, Italian, Spanish, and German. Some of her backlist is still “Under Construction” as she slowly transitions from traditional publishing to representing herself. Her goal is to have most of her novels back in the universe by the end of 2023. Audiobooks and foreign translations are still available at Amazon and Audible.

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Nov 08

New Release Blitz: Mosquito District by Leona Bentley (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Mosquito District

Author: Leona Bentley

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/08/2022

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 68900

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, paranormal, vampires, librarian, businessmen, jealousy

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Description

Lee, a librarian bored with his daily routine, knows better than to play nice with the mosquitos who rule his district. After mouthing off to one of these vampire flunkies, he loses the carefully crafted order of his life. Next thing he knows, there is Ira, a millennia-old vampire new to Lee’s side of the world with questions for which Lee has few answers.

From the moment Ira steps into Lee’s library, the delicate balance of Lee’s life is threatened. Following the rules and keeping his head down gives him a measure of safety that helping Ira challenges, but he can’t deny his unwelcome attraction to the ancient mosquito.

What game does Ira play? Lee’s curiosity, coupled with Ira’s irresisti-ble charms, promises an escape from routine Lee isn’t sure he is strong enough to deny.

He might be able to help Ira uncover the answers he seeks—if they can learn to trust.

Excerpt

Mosquito District
Leona Bentley © 2022
All Rights Reserved

I felt like a fly with nowhere to land, buzzing in ceaseless circles with no bright light to syphon me to a sudden end. The entire district was a cesspit where the dregs of the city huddled in vermin-ridden homes, cursing each salvaged day. Our ruling masters would bleed us dry eventually. When they moved on, the vermin and insects vying for what we’ve hollowed out would end up the victors.

Like survived best with like, after all, and we had a serious mosquito problem.

I clenched my free hand into a fist beneath my desk, pointedly refusing to acknowledge the mosquito looming impatiently across from me. As a night-shift librarian I was somewhat used to his type, but that didn’t endear them to me. Always so self-important, they all believed in their right to muck up our mandated schedule whenever it suited their fancy. Longevity was likely the culprit there.

Frigging vampires.

Ross quit—I jotted down, knuckles white around my pen. I tried to look busy, hoping to create the appearance that he was a minor inconvenience at best—I’m leaving his keys for Joan in the broken cupboard. I took my time dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s, delaying as best I could. Finally, I gave in to the inevitable and looked up again.

Yep. There and still seething.

“Is there something else?” I asked with faux politeness. An itty-bitty part of me really enjoyed the way his jaw twitched.

“Get me the documents.”

“No,” I repeated flatly. I’d told him the same thing when he first made his demand. He could likely hear my fear pumping through my veins, but hopefully he’d take that for anger. The last two years of practice, dealing with these insects had greatly improved my facial control. Plus, I honestly felt no sympathy for his impatience. “Like I said, we close in fifteen minutes. There isn’t time to get your list pulled. Leave it with me. If you come back tomorrow night, we should have everything set aside for you.”

And that would only be possible after our day staff put in several hours digging through the basement archives. Seriously, not even one of the books he requested sat amongst our regular stock.

My third repetition of the facts didn’t work much of a charm—imagine my shock—the vampire across my desk might be aggressively set on getting his way, but he’d find me just as stubborn. I wasn’t about to break the rules and stick my neck out for any reason, no matter how snarly and intimidating said reason presented itself.

The beast flashed his teeth at me, dark lips curling to show the elongated incisors framing his pointed front teeth. “Confident you won’t have time?” he demanded again.

Nice. Considering the smooth, crisp look of the suit practically molded to his dark skin, I doubted he had much experience with humans getting in his way. That was too bad. Tonight could be a first for him, and hopefully it wouldn’t be my last, but when did my mouth ever show any concern for my safety?

“Not if your boss is to have his way,” I answered anyway. “You really want to tell me to break curfew and stick around? This isn’t a restaurant or bar, you know.” Both of which granted select employees passes stating they were permitted outside during the hours between 4:00 and 6:00 a.m. “Get us some passes and maybe we’ll talk.”

Gooseflesh prickled up my arms at his answering snarl. I steeled my expression, focusing on the bridge of his nose—safe—and refusing to let the thudding of my heart show in my face or voice. He could likely tell anyway, what with those extra senses, but I’d be damned before I showed him my fear.

“I can point out the time you showed up here,” I added. His continued refusal to take my point wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “We have surveillance, and you walking corpses do show up on film, no matter what popular media says.”

The bastard snarled again before jerking his head sideways in a silent, sneering insult. Fine. I found him insulting, too. My hand curled over the pen, using it now as more of a stress ball than anything that hard and thin should ever be. I waited him out. One of us would have to give ground, and it wasn’t going to be me.

“Have the books pulled,” the mosquito finally snarled. “Hope, too, that my boss doesn’t take offense at the added wait.”

I shrugged, hiding behind more false bravado. “Come before closing next time,” I suggested. “If your boss wants them so badly then I doubt he meant for you to put off coming for them until this late.”

There, I’d hit a nerve.

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Meet the Author

Leona Bentley grew up in a small village in the Canadian Maritimes. Windy autumn days are her favourites, especially once summer’s heat takes off and the leaves start to change. If she isn’t holding a pen then she probably has either a book or a cup of tea. Visit Leona’s website.

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Nov 08

New Release Blitz: The Necromancer’s Heart by Robin Harper (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Necromancer’s Heart

Author: Robin Harper

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 11/16/2022

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 21300

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, fantasy, supernatural, gay, first love, HFN

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Description

Mortimer’s life is set in stone. That is until he takes the reins and rejects his crown and his namesake. Striking out on his own, he discovers a whole new world and a whole new him. But even with all of the newness, falling in love is still his greatest dream.

Then he meets Galen. He never planned on falling for a man who stands for everything he’s not. Now he just has to deal with the significance of his birthright.

Excerpt

The Necromancer’s Heart
Robin Harper © 2022
All Rights Reserved

I fell into a hole.

I know, stellar move there. I was such a graceful individual. So graceful that I’d not only fallen into a hole, but I managed to sprain my ankle. Hopefully. I couldn’t tell for sure, but based on how painful it was, and how I could literally put no weight on the joint, I was betting it was broken. Only a fool would fall into a hole and break his ankle and thus remove any hope he had of getting out of said hole.

“Help!? Anyone up there?” I called out again for what seemed like the hundredth time. The sun had gradually been crawling along the sky so I knew I had to have been here for some hours, thank the living dead that night hadn’t fallen yet.

Alas, with no sign of passers-by or any fellow travelers that might take a moment of their day to aid me, I might have to think about this pit with its dirt and worms as my bed for the night.

And hope no wolves come for a snack.

Perhaps I should have stayed home and done as I was told. Those fairy tale stories made running away from a great destiny seem simple, and easy. I guessed reality must ever grind down on the mortals of the world to remind them they are but prisoners to fate on its plane of existence.

“Please! Someone! Anyone–help!” I cried again, despair thick in my voice. No one would hear me; what was the point? I was about to slump back against the dirt walls of my pit when a shadow danced along the side–and did the wind rustle the grass? Or was that the stepping of light feet? I eagerly pressed myself up against the side of the hole where I saw the shadow milling about. “Hey! Hey down here! Please help me!”

My hopes were dashed when two furry ears and a face of white whiskers greeted me. The accompanying ‘Maow’ crushed my heart.

“Oh, hello, adorable.” The cat was striped, black and white contrasting in defined lines across its face. The white whiskers wiggled as it ‘maow’ed’ down at me again, and I smiled despite my despair.

Cats always had an affinity for death and those of us who worked with it.

“Hey, sweetie—do you have a master? Hm? Someone who can pull me out of this pit? Anyone nearby to hear your small meows?”

“Maow!” the critter called down while its striped tail swayed behind it.

I sighed, “No, I suppose you don’t…”

The cat gave a trill and wandered away. My shoulders slumped as I took in my earthy prison. I guess I’d better make myself comfortable for the night, and try to find a stick or something as a weapon… Maybe one of the tree roots was hard enough to use as a blunt force weapon…

While I was hopping over to the other side of my dirty sanctuary the cadence of someone yelling echoed down the pit. Faint—but most assuredly a human’s voice.

Oh, praise the Dead!

“Hello! Over here! Please help me!” I bellowed, attempting to make my voice go as far as possible.

“Blasted pet–what are you doing? Stop tripping me!” Did the cat find help? Was that something a cat could do?

Not possible. But despite possibilities and probabilities, a petite black and white striped head with whiskers and big fluffy ears popped up again and gave me a friendly “Maow,” while its tail swished. I smirked, awkwardly because now I heard heavier, human footsteps approaching. And while that should spell my freedom from this forsaken hole, it meant interacting with another person.

I wanted out of this pit, of course, but my social graces were rusty to say the least. The mere idea of speaking and interacting with another person was a daunting task now. Hopefully it was some old man who would offer me a ride in the back of his potato wagon so that we didn’t have to speak so much while he took me to the nearest town…

The figure that appeared beside the striped kitty was not that of an old man. Oh no, I would never be that lucky. No, my fate was cruel and instead of some crotchety old man with beady, pale grey eyes and scruff for hair, a pair of golden-brown eyes met mine, a solid frame, square jawline. Skin that had been kissed by a thousand suns, thick, dark hair…and a furrow formed between two fine eyebrows as he startled at seeing someone very much alive in this hole.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Robin Harper is a bisexual, polyamorous witch who lives with her husband and two sweet ginger cats in the cold northern state of Minnesota. She finds joy in creating stories about love, and healing, as well as weaving ghost tales and supernatural encounters. She is also an avid reader, an optician during the day, and a lover of coloring books.

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