Feb 22

New Release Blitz ~ Till Death Do Us Wed by Jason Wrench (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Till Death Do Us Wed By Jason Wrench

General Release Date: 22nd February 2022

Word Count: 81,783
Book Length: SUPER NOVEL
Pages: 347

Genres:

ACTION AND ADVENTURE
CONTEMPORARY
CRIME
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
MEN IN UNIFORM
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE

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Book Description

 

Planning a wedding is hard enough without international politics, an assassin, your fiancé’s ex-boyfriend and your mother to deal with.

NYPD Detective Frank Schultt and his fiancé, FBI Agent Aaron Massey, have bought a new condo, adopted a dog and are planning their wedding. But when an international assassin starts killing people on the streets of New York City, Aaron and Frank must work together to find the killer before she strikes again.

Combine the assassin with the pressure of Frank’s jealousy when Aaron’s ex-boyfriend comes back to town, and can their relationship withstand the pressure? Will Aaron and Frank make it to the altar on time, or will the assassin and Frank’s destructive behavior stop their wedding before it ever heads down the aisle?

Publisher’s Note: This book is best read as the sequel to Twelve Days of Murder.

Excerpt

Frank stared around the pink office, wondering if a bottle of Pepto Bismol had accidentally spilled. He watched the perky blonde woman sitting in front of him, doing his best to pay attention. It wasn’t exactly how Frank liked to spend his Saturday mornings. But it was Aaron’s big day, so he’d promised to grin and bear it.

“With Central Park wedding locations, we are definitely somewhat limited. For example, the Bow Bridge only allows for ten guests and the Belvedere Castle Terrace only allows thirty. The North Garden, Southern Garden, Wisteria Pergola and Cherry Hill each allow for up to one hundred. What size are you two thinking?”

“Eloping,” Frank muttered.

“Twenty-five to fifty,” Aaron said, shooting Frank a sideways glance.

“I’m joking,” Frank reassured, patting Aaron’s leg and giving it a squeeze before turning to the woman. “Whatever Aaron wants, I want him to have.”

NYPD Detective Frank Schultt and FBI Special Agent Aaron Massey had met the previous year during a serial murder spree. The Twelve-Day Killer, as dubbed by the media, had terrorized NYC over the holidays. Aaron and Frank had put their lives and careers on the line hunting the bastard down. In the process, they had found each other.

Frank glanced over at the man he loved. God, where would I be without him? He reached up and rubbed the back of Aaron’s neck gently. From the top of Aaron’s head with his dark brown quaff haircut and his Caribbean ocean-blue eyes, to his lithe but fit body, Frank took in this man sitting beside him who was going to be his husband. Frank was still stunned at his good fortune in landing the affection of such an amazingly intelligent and gorgeous man.

Realizing his thoughts had drifted, Frank brought his attention back to the woman sitting in front of him, who was rattling on about Central Park weddings. He glanced down at her nameplate, ‘Amber Wethersfield’. The woman was in her late twenties. And judging by the giant diamond on her wedding ring, her husband was definitely wealthy. Frank glanced across the pink office looking for personal items and was surprised by the lack of photos. For a woman who sells marriage, where are the pictures of her happy day?

“So, do you have an officiant for your wedding lined up? If not, I have a list of great people who work with LGBTQIA+ people.”

“Huh?” Frank blurted before he could catch himself.

“Officiant…the person who will oversee the ceremony and the exchange of your vows,” Amber offered.

“No, you listed off a bunch of letters,” Frank said.

“Oh.” Amber perked up. “Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer-questioning, intersexed, asexual and others.”

Dear God, that sounds like a gay BLT. Frank was about to make the snide comment, but a quick glance from Aaron told him that he’d better hold his tongue. Instead, Frank just nodded his head and gave a thin-lipped smile.

“Actually, we have a few people in mind,” Aaron noted. “Frank knows a judge who volunteered her services, and we have a couple of other names in the hopper as well.”

“Oh, good,” Amber said. “You’d be amazed at how many people totally forget the officiant until the last minute. I even have a license I got from an online church because I’ve had to step in at the eleventh hour when something went horribly wrong. I just don’t enjoy being in the wedding party, because it makes it harder for me to run things behind the scenes.”

Frank leaned back in the chair and watched as Aaron and Amber discussed the wedding. This wasn’t Frank’s first. He’d been married, but his husband had been murdered in a liquor store robbery on Christmas Eve over six years ago. As much as Frank loved Aaron, there was still a vast hole in his heart that had been left by Adam’s death. But Frank loved Aaron and was going to make sure their wedding day was every bit of glitz and glamour that Aaron desired.

“Well, if you have questions,” Amber said, bringing Frank’s attention back once again, “just let me know. You have my email, cell phone, home phone and office phone numbers, so never hesitate to reach out. I look forward to working with both of you on your big day.”

Amber stood up from her desk to usher the couple out of her office. She pushed herself up, exposing her pregnant belly.

“When’s the due date?” Aaron asked.

“Mid-March. But I swear she’s ready to come out any day.”

Frank stared at her belly and just thought, Are you sure there’s only one in there? But once again, he held his tongue.

“Don’t worry. I won’t miss your big day. When I’m out on maternity leave, my assistant will take over the day-to-day preparations, and he’ll be in constant contact with me. When I had my first baby, we were texting right up until they told me to push.”

“Well, it was really was nice meeting you,” Frank said.

“Likewise. And I just have to say, you two make such a cute couple.”

“Thank you,” Aaron said. “I think he’s a keeper.” Aaron gave Amber a little wink before turning to leave.

As Frank followed suit, Aaron’s hand rested in the small of Frank’s back. Frank leaned into Aaron in response.

“Earth to Frank!” Aaron said as they exited onto the sidewalk. The February chill immediately caught Aaron off guard, and he lifted the collar on the trench coat to protect his neck.

“Huh, what?”

“I said, “Earth to Frank.” What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

“Overwhelmed, I guess.”

“How so?”

“The whole wedding planning is just bringing up some memories.”

Aaron squeezed Frank. “I hadn’t thought about that. I forget that you’ve done this before.”

“Yeah,” Frank said, scrunching his forehead. “It’s surreal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m excited to be marrying you. I hope you know that. It’s just that it brings up memories of Adam.”

“I get it,” Aaron said. “I would be surprised if it didn’t, to be honest.” Aaron hesitated for a second before adding, “Just know…I will never try to replace Adam. I know what you two had was special—”

“What we have is special too.”

“I know,” Aaron acknowledged. “I just want you to know that I love you and would never try to change you…warts and all.”

“God, I hope I don’t have any warts.”

“We all have warts. Some have them physically and others have them metaphorically.”

“Sure thing, professor,” Frank teased.

After dealing with the Twelve-Day Killer, Aaron had taken a teaching position part-time with the John Jay School of Criminal Justice. He was technically still on the FBI’s payroll, but his utility as an undercover agent had taken a hit after the amount of press the Twelve-Day Killer had received. And with the forthcoming publication of his new book about the case, Aaron and Frank both knew a fresh round of press attention was right around the corner.

“So, we didn’t have breakfast after the gym this morning,” Aaron said. “Shall we have a quick brunch before heading back to the apartment to get ready?”

“Do we have time?” Frank asked, glancing down at his watch. “It’s already ten a.m. What time is the car picking us up for the reading?”

“The reading’s at two o’clock, so the car is scheduled to pick us up about one-fifteen.”

“I guess we have plenty of time. Any suggestions on where we should eat?”

“How about 9Ten?” Aaron asked, referring to one of their favorite diners.

“Lead the way.”

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About the Author

Jason Wrench

Jason Wrench is a professor in the Department of Communication at SUNY New Paltz and has authored/edited 15+ books and over 35 academic research articles. He is also an avid reader and regularly reviews books for publishers in a wide number of genres. This book marks his first full-length work of fiction.

Find out more about Jason at his website.

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Feb 18

Book Blitz: Unbroken by Kira Stone (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Unbroken

Author: Kira Stone

Publisher: Razor’s Edge Erotica

Release Date: February 18

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 36 pages

Genre: Erotica

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Synopsis

Love, Worship, and Obey. Master demands nothing less. Mine’s devotion to Master is unwavering. Unbreakable.

But the Masters of The Place want something special to allow Master and slave to enter their elite ranks. They want Mine.

Master must choose. Initiation to this exclusive sect, or keeping Mine as he is — unbroken.

Publisher’s Note: Unbroken contains scenes involving BDSM club initiation that some readers may find disturbing.

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

Kira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira’s stories. Find out more on Kira’s Website.

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Feb 15

New Release Blitz: The Ballot Boy by Larry Mellman (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Ballot Boy

Author: Larry Mellman

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/15/2022

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 85300

Genre: Historical, LGBTQIA+, YA, historical, lit/genre fiction, gay, coming out, 14th century Venice, political rulers, political intrigue and plotting, wartime action and adventure, sexual longing, family drama, betrayal, bullying

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Description

Venice, 1368.

War hovers in the wings with the fate of the Republic at stake when the old doge dies. Fourteen-year-old Nico, a street urchin from the poorest Venetian parish, is chosen at random to tally votes in the upcoming election for a new leader. Uprooted from his old life and transplanted to the doge’s palace, Nico becomes an alienated outsider at the mercy of scheming nobles.

Andrea Contarini, sixtieth doge of Venice, wants the ducal throne less than Nico wants to be ballot boy. Both walk a golden tightrope over treachery and deceit. When he witnesses a court clerk burned at the stake for being gay, Nico despairs. His romantic attraction to men is as powerful as his fear of fiery death and an eternity in Hell.

Taking advantage of the fraught transition in the Doge’s Palace, the hostile duke of Austria pushes Trieste to rebel against Venetian domination, jeopardizing her mastery of the Adriatic Sea. The Venetian nobles split, trapping the doge between hawks rabid for war, and rich merchants desperate for peace. With his own life on the line, Andrea Contarini opts to attack decisively and end the crisis swiftly, but his gambit is sabotaged. Trusting only the boy at his side, Contarini sends Nico to Trieste to be his eyes and ears. As the Venetian commanders wrangle over tactics, Nico falls for Astolfo, the young, charismatic lord of Castle Moccò, an indispensable but unreliable ally.

Will Nico return to Venice a celebrated hero? Or will he be forever haunted, guilt-ridden, and still concealing his deepest secret?

Excerpt

I’m running as fast as I can, but I can’t catch the thief. If I don’t, Alex’s life is over. The necklace the thief snatched from my hand gives away the game. Alex will be exposed. Locked up. Maybe even killed because Alex’s father, Francesco Barbanegra, has the temper and manners of a pirate. Alex’s family is rich. Very, very rich. Richer than most nobles. But they are common, like my family, which consists of my mother, who takes in laundry. She gets paid in pennies. I understand why she wants me to be ballot boy, but that’s her dream not mine. I don’t want to be ballot boy. I want to be me, whoever that is.

Only heartbeats ago, Alex and I had moored our boat to the wharf and staggered ashore, covered with mud. When Alex took off the necklace to give me—the gold dolphin on its golden chain, ruby eye glinting in the early light—the thief burst from the shed, yanked it from my hand, and took off like a demon down the deserted embankment.

“Go home,” I shouted to Alex over my shoulder, “before it’s too late,” and I tore after the thief.

The dolphin is fatal. If the thief tries to sell it at a Rialto pawnshop, the whole world will know. I can’t risk it.

Our feet slap on the mud, startling a flock of ducks. They flap their wings, burst up from the salt marsh, and take to the icy winter sky.

The thief is taller than most Venetians, with long spindly legs, no shoes, and a striped turban. He doesn’t look down; he doesn’t look back. He barrels down the embankment in the direction of the Customs House. My legs are a foot shorter than his, his stride worth two of mine. I suck air like I’m drowning and exhale prayers like I’m dying.

Queen of Heaven, hear my pleas. St. Nicholas, grant me thine aid.

When I manage to close the gap between us, he speeds up. No matter how fast I’m going, he goes faster. He clutches the gold chain in his fist, the dolphin dangling free, its ruby eye sparkling.

That dolphin is a pledge of brotherhood between Alex and me, the seal on our secrets, and a promise that I won’t be selected ballot boy because if I am, last night was our final meeting, maybe forever.

“Please, Nico.” Alex’s eyes had implored me, and I could never refuse. “You’ve been on the sea many times. I’m thirteen years old, and my father owns great galleys, but I’ve never seen the sea. This could be my last chance.”

“It’s not your last chance.”

“If you’re selected, it is.”

“Look at me. Do you think Ruggiero Gradenigo would pick me? I look like a muddy clown.”

“Anything can happen.”

Alex’s pleading eyes broke me every time.

Stars filled the sky, and the moon, hovering high above the mountains beyond the lagoon, sprinkled diamonds over the water. I’d been explaining the lagoon to Alex, showing off, I guess, paying no attention to the tide. I didn’t notice the moon pulling the lagoon out from under us until stranded fish danced a desperate tarantella on the exposed sandbars. A mile of mud separated us from the beacon fire atop St. Mark’s campanile. We jumped from the boat and sank up to our knees. We couldn’t walk, nor could we reach the shore until the morning tide swept back in and filled the lagoon. Alex would never get home without being discovered; I would never be in St. Mark’s Square in time for the selection, and my mother would kill me.

I breathe in, out, in, out, in, out, pushing myself harder and harder until I hit a wall and explode and pick myself up and keep going until it happens all over again. The thief took one look at the stupid costume Mama had sewn me for selection day, all torn and wet and muddy, and he must have figured me for a drunk noble, a pushover. Mama is convinced the costume will make Ruggiero Gradenigo select me. She believes in magic. Her eye is on the prize.

He’s waiting for me to collapse, this thief. He’s making a big mistake. He doesn’t know that every day since I turned eight, six years now, I row across the lagoon and back before the midmorning bells, and I will kill him if I have to.

He makes a move to outrun me on the straightaway in front of the old shipyard. We pound over rough planks, wobbly pontoons, and a muddy bog tangled with bramble. I’m glad he’s barefoot. It must hurt like hell. He can hear my sandals slapping the ground.

The buildings crowd close along the levee. The bogs and brambles disappear under wooden docks and wharves. Merchant galleys and cogs are moored all the way to the Customs House. The ground tapers to a point where the Giudecca Canal meets the Grand Canal. Keeping running and your turban floats.

He hasn’t lost me, so he squeezes between buildings with barely a foot between them, and I follow, the mortar between the bricks shredding my tunic.

The big bell at St. Mark’s, the Marangona, starts tolling to summon the Great Council to pray for God’s grace on the election of the doge. All 1,200 nobles are members of the Great Council. Their names are inscribed in the Golden Book. After Mass, Ruggiero Gradenigo, the youngest member of the Great Council, will walk out of the church, onto St. Mark’s Square, and pick the first commoner he lays eyes on, age fifteen or less, to be the ballot boy. That’s the law. The old doge is dead, and we can’t elect a new one until a ballot boy is selected at random to count the votes and make sure the nobles don’t cheat.

I squeeze out of the crawlspace and glimpse the thief’s turban disappearing down a dark lane the sun never reaches. Several lanes lead into this small square; all but one dead end at the water. He doesn’t know where he’s going and probably doesn’t care as long as he stays ahead of me. He’s as desperate as I am. My heart beats a battle tocsin.

I struggle to master my breath as Abdul taught me. I’m dog-tired from fighting the moon, the tide, the mud. Sweat floods my face. The salt burns my eyes. I wipe them with my muddy sleeve, squeeze them shut, and listen. This quarter is silent. Everyone is at St. Mark’s for the selection.

The thief’s bare feet, bloodied from running the embankment, leave a trail winding through a labyrinth that will lead him back to me. That’s how Venice is. Outsiders always go in circles, even we do occasionally outside our home parish.

The old doge died last week. He didn’t last very long; he was eighty-two when they elected him back in 1365. That’s old even for a doge. I was twelve then. Mama knew I was going to be selected his ballot boy. She’d worked it all out with the Blessed Virgin and St. Mark. She took to bed for a week when I wasn’t selected, but she never gave up. She started praying for the new doge to die before my fifteenth birthday. I heard her, every night. First, she prayed forgiveness for wanting him dead. Then, she begged heaven for him to die. Now, she believes a miracle has happened. I’m going to be ballot boy. She knows. The Virgin interceded.

If I’m not in front of St. Mark’s when Ruggiero Gradenigo selects the ballot boy, I will be dead to her. She will curse me for spoiling her miracle.

The thief backs into the little square. He doesn’t see me. He sees a glint of sun on water at the end of a narrow chasm of brick. He takes off toward the water, and I get there first, waiting, as he staggers onto the wharf. On the opposite bank, mothers and their sons clog St. Mark’s Square, tricked out like piglets at the Ascension Day fair, each one praying for the job I don’t want.

The thief ducks between the pilings of the empty ferry dock. None of the ferries, trapped on the water, can move for all the other boats. Nobody is going anywhere. Every eye will remain on the Doge’s Palace until a new doge is elected. Venice is the richest city of all; the stakes are high. Mama says anything can happen.

I charge, pin the thief against a striped pole stuck in the Grand Canal, and grab for the dolphin in his hand. But he twists free and hurls himself off the dock, crashing into a boat below. The boat rocks wildly, the passengers scream, he steadies himself. Before anyone knows what’s happening, he leaps into the next boat, and the next, and the next. As fast as he can, he bounds across St. Mark’s Basin toward the twin columns at the water’s edge framing the Doge’s Palace, St. Mark’s Church, and the greatest square in the world. Executions and burnings take place between the columns, and walking between them brings a curse upon your head, which is why we call them the Columns of Doom. I saw a murderer executed there when I was seven. They chopped off his hand first, in San Barnaba Square, where he’d killed someone, strung his hand around his neck, and rowed him back here. They hung him, quartered him, and left the pieces out to dry here between the columns.

I jump from boat to boat to boat after the thief. People squawk, but I’m out as fast as I’m in, never stopping, my eye always on his bobbing turban. He scrambles up between the columns and pushes his way toward St. Mark’s Square through the bodies packing the Piazzetta.

The church doors aren’t open yet. The thief towers above the mothers and sons, his turban threading through the Piazzetta toward the church. Arsenal men in leather armor hold the crowd back, creating some space for Ruggiero Gradenigo to come out and pick. Mothers fight for places directly in front of the church.

The big bell tolls.

Mass is finished. The crowd surges forward, a wave of anticipation silencing them. The stones beneath our feet vibrate with the wild clangor of bells.

He made a big mistake, and now he sees just how big. Bodies block him on all sides. I elbow my way through the crush as the church doors swing open. The crowd gasps. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mama desperately looking for me. She’s furious I’m not up-front and center with her.

I leapfrog a tangled knot of eight-year-olds and their mothers, grasping for the thief’s throat. He panics and hurls the dolphin over the crowd. I vault, twist, and grab the dolphin out of the air by its chain. I can’t land on my feet. I come down sideways, rolling over bodies onto the cleared pavement. The guards can’t stop me.

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Meet the Author

Larry was born in Los Angeles and educated in literature, political science, and life at the University of California, Berkeley. He has worked as a printer and journalist in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, and St. Paul, Minnesota. Larry also worked with Andy Warhol and the Velvet Underground on the Exploding Plastic Inevitable in NY, Provincetown, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, was mentored by Dean Koontz, and shared a palazzo in Venice with international opera singers Erika Sunnegårdh and Mark Doss.”

While living in Venice for many years, Larry also taught English, led tours, and immersed himself in the history and art of the Venetian Republic. The Ballot Boy was born in Venice and completed in St. Paul.

Larry is a lifelong social activist and writer, a voracious reader and researcher, an opera fanatic, and devoted walker. He currently lives in St. Paul with his partner of twenty-one years and his ex-wife of twenty-five years. His son is a pianist devoted to blues and jazz.

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Feb 15

New Release Blitz ~ Uncovered by Noja Lina (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Uncovered by Noja Lina

General Release Date: 15th February 2022

Word Count:  32,008
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 123

Genres:

BISEXUAL
CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI

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Book Description


People keep themselves covered in many ways. But, sometimes, it’s not possible—and someone’s looking.

Jake postpones buying curtains for his new apartment. At one point, he notices that a man from the building across keeps watching him every morning. Jake then confronts the guy, whom he considers a stalker.

Thomas is not actually a stalker and is put off by Jake’s aggressive tendencies. Even so, they continue interacting and a bond starts forming. Jake develops romantic interest in Thomas but refuses to admit it and struggles with getting them to be closer. Along the way, he discovers that Thomas hates aggression because he had dealt with domestic violence in his past.

They both need to overcome their respective fears and change. Will they succeed—or fail and fall apart?

Reader advisory: This book contains discussion of stalking, mention of suicide, descriptions of physical, emotional and metal abuse, and discussion of a main character’s history of abuse.

Excerpt

Jake liked the new place he had rented at the start of his first year in the master’s program. It was a small, one-room apartment with a kitchen and a bathroom on the fourth floor of an old building on the eastern side of Thornburg. The neighborhood was packed with tall buildings, narrow streets and large supermarkets, but Jake was among the lucky residents whose view included a yard with a couple of trees among all the other concrete structures.

His new place was only five bus stops away from Thornburg’s center, where Jake would get off and walk an extra ten minutes to get to his college. Buses ran frequently in his new neighborhood and, even when Thornburg experienced the levels of traffic it was renowned for, it still wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes for Jake to get to the city center.

Thornburg was also famous for its high rent and housing prices, but Jake had managed to score a living space with a lower-than-average rent for the type of place it was. So, with his current budget and needs, the newly rented lodging was ideal for him.

Since he had lived in the student dorms up until that point, he didn’t have many things. Cleaning supplies and utensils, dishes, some appliances and other such things had been shared with his previous roommates in the dorm. As such, they were currently missing from his apartment. He really needed to go shopping.

Jake also didn’t have curtains, so he needed to add those to his shopping list, too. But, since buying all the stuff at once would leave him starving until his next paycheck and there wasn’t really any certainty when that would be, he prioritized buying only the things he really needed and only when he really needed them.

And so, one month after his university year had started, Jake still did not have curtains.

The building opposite from his was fifty meters away, separated by the yard where people walked their dogs and kids played hide and go seek. That building was positioned in such a way that Jake could easily see inside the homes on the third, fourth and fifth floors. Of course, the reverse was also true, and someone from the opposite building could see inside Jake’s apartment, especially with him not having any drapes or curtains.

This didn’t bother Jake, and he changed clothes in his room with complete disregard to the fact that someone might see him during this daily activity. Whenever the thought entered his mind, he immediately dismissed it, thinking that most people had better things to do than watch a random guy changing and doing stuff inside his own place.

That was, until one morning when he was proven wrong. Jake had just taken off the T-shirt he had slept in and gone over to the windowsill to get the camera he had left there. Looking out through the window, he saw a guy around his age, sitting on the threshold of his balcony on the fourth floor of the opposite building, smoking a cigarette and looking directly at Jake as he was doing so.

Jake challenged the other guy with his gaze, but the latter seemed completely unaffected as he continued to look at Jake, barely even blinking. If the other guy had shown some kind of aggravating reaction—or even any reaction at all—Jake was ready to shout, show the middle finger or do something else that would aggravate the other guy in return. But, as there was no reaction, Jake had nothing concrete to go on. For all he knew, the man could just be staring into space and it only seemed like he was looking at Jake. So, Jake stepped away from the window to finish his business, forgetting the incident had ever happened by the time he reached the bus stop.

The next morning, he remembered it and, out of curiosity, looked toward the opposite building to see if the guy who had been potentially staring at him was still doing it. He was.

Again, he was sitting on the threshold, smoking a cigarette and looking straight at Jake. Again, Jake itched to do something to make him back off, but he was running late, so he postponed doing anything about the matter.

On the third morning, the guy wasn’t there, and Jake thought he may have jumped to conclusions too soon. So, he made a mental note to better control his aggressive reactions until he was sure he had good reasons for having them.

The fourth morning came, and Jake saw the other guy again, staring at him with a blank expression. Jake forgot about the mental note he had made, went out on his balcony shirtless, crossed his arms and glared at the guy. He was confident in his ability to be intimidating and to keep it up until either the other person lost their nerve or until Jake lost his cool. However, the guy proved to be a considerable opponent, as he never once turned his gaze away or changed his expression. Three minutes passed like that, and the annoyance building up within Jake was going to soon make him drop the glaring for something more impactful. But, then, the other guy showed a faint smile, looked at his wristwatch, put out his finished cigarette, stood up and waved to Jake before entering his apartment.

That motherfucker!

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About the Authors

Noja Lina

New writer on the romance block, Noja Lina likes writing uplifting contemporary romance stories. These stories are centered around engaging male characters, usually dealing with personal struggles alongside love struggles.

Noja lives in Romania, specifically Transylvania. When she’s not working at her full-time job or working on one of her stories, she enjoys her one-sided love relationship with various forms of Asian media, enjoys adding another cooking fail to the collection and hanging out with friends over a cold beer.

Find Noja on her website, on Facebook and on Twitter.

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Feb 15

New Release Blitz ~ Six Weeks by Nan Comargue (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Six Weeks by Nan Comargue

General Release Date: 15th February 2022

Word Count: 37,154
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 158

Genres:

CONTEMPORARY
EROTIC ROMANCE
FAKE RELATIONSHIPS
FRIENDS TO LOVERS
MULTICULTURAL

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Book Description


Jaya’s relationships never last more than six weeks. Austen wants to be her forever.

Six weeks is the outer limit for one of Jaya’s relationships. When men find out there is no future with her, they tend not to stick around for long.

She’s gotten into the habit of leaning on her cousin Austen to get over each breakup. Who better? Austen is six feet three of solid sympathy. Both adopted into the same extended family at young ages, they’ve been friends their whole lives, with a mutual taste for good food and expensive whisky. But when Jaya takes her latest failed romance to him, Austen makes it clear his interest in her is far from cousinly.

“Think about me,” Austen tells her, and Jaya starts to do just that. No doubt, Austen is incredibly attractive, and she can’t say she’s not curious to find out what he’s like in bed, but can their bond survive this new test?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of light bondage.

Excerpt

Austen answered his phone on the first ring.

“What do you need, kiddo?”

Jaya paused, taken aback by the curt greeting. After a moment, she realised that he always answered his calls from her in the same way. “What do you need?” As if she could never just be calling for no reason at all.

“Is that any way to greet your favourite cousin?” she replied, forcing a bright note into her voice. “You’re my favourite, you know.”

“As far as you know, you might have any number of cousins,” Austen said coolly. “How could you possibly claim to know I would be the favourite?”

Because you’re the only one I’ve actually met, she wanted to tell him, although she understood the crude point he was trying to make. By blood, she was no cousin of his.

Jaya wished she owned one of those old-fashioned phones with the long curly cord so she could twine it between her fingers. Instead, she shifted her mobile from one sweaty hand to the other.

She wasn’t about to tell him that she couldn’t bear her own company tonight. She’d left work early, needing to get away from the high-energy actors she was constantly surrounded by, only to find that the so-called peace of her apartment was too oppressively quiet.

“I thought we might grab a drink tonight,” Jaya said, still striving to maintain her cheerful tone. “It’s been a while.”

“Six weeks,” Austen said. “Right on schedule.”

She remembered what he’d said the last time they’d met up. That she only called him when she broke up with someone. That, to her, he was no more than a shoulder attached to a man. A shoulder for her to cry on, presumably, although she never did cry. She merely got drunk.

“Ha ha. Do you want the drink or not?” Jaya demanded.

“I have to get up early tomorrow,” Austen told her, sounding uncharacteristically reluctant.

What is wrong with him? Jaya wondered, pulled out of her own problems for a brief moment. It had to be bad if he was turning down liquor. They both fancied themselves connoisseurs of the hard stuff. Neither of them drank wine or, shudder, beer.

“I’ll get you home early, granddad,” Jaya told him. “So how about it? Nine o’clock at The Cat’s Whiskey?”

“All right, kiddo.”

Shaking her head, Jaya hung up. He didn’t have to sound so bloody glum about the prospect.

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About the Author

Nan Comargue

Nan Comargue is a romance and erotic romance writer who has been reading romance novels all her life. She prefers sexy confident heroes who win over slightly introverted heroines (read: nerdish types) but she writes about everything from angel-warriors to cowboy ménage.

Nan blogs about her writing journey and other interesting topics (zombies!) here but lately she tweets more than she blogs (and sometimes more than she writes).

Nan is Canadian, eh?

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Feb 15

New Release Blitz: The Magic Between by Stephanie Hoyt (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Magic Between

Author: Stephanie Hoyt

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/15/2022

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 105400

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, celebrities, athlete, pop star, magic, magic users, musicians, sports, college, MM romance, sexual discovery, in the closet, coming out, bonded, slow burn, gender non-conforming, mental illness (OCD), #ownvoices

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Description

In a world where everyone has magic coursing through them, legend says magic itself craves a mate. Legend says those with opposite magics have the greatest chance of forming the unbreakable Bond it desires.

A.B. Cerise is an obsessive-compulsive pop star with the ability to turn invisible. He’s an out bisexual with absolutely no belief in Bonds. He has a love-bruised heart, thinks dating in the spotlight is a hassle at best and a nightmare at worst, and has no intention of going through it all over again.

Matthew Hellman-Levoie is the NHL’s number one goalie prospect, the youngest in a hockey dynasty, and one of the rare few who can see the unseeable. He’s a straight man who wears his heart on his sleeve, has grown up searching for a Bond, and dreams of finding the love of his life.

Their magic is magnetic. Their touch is electric. They’re the textbook case for Bonding. But legend never said anything about what to do when sparks fly between people opposite in more ways than magic.

Excerpt

The Magic Between
Stephanie Hoyt © 2021
All Rights Reserved

AB Cerise is a disaster. He’s an obsessive-compulsive ball of barely checked anxiety surrounding his Invisibility being discovered and used against him. He has no rational reason for it. None at all. The fear is annoying, unreasonable, absolutely nonsensical, considering the whole world is full of magic. Like, AB knows no one would care about him being a Concealer beyond him cracking after years of dodging the particularly bold interviewers’ questions of where he falls on the list of categories.

But the real kicker, what makes this obsession of AB’s so much worse, is the absolute lack of proof to support the possibility of someone being able to manipulate him and his Invisibility just by Knowing he is. In fact, his Invisibility has always been tied to his emotions, so the obsessive way he fixates on being controlled and the compulsive way he avoids ever turning Invisible only further destabilizes his magic. Again, AB knows this. He does.

When it comes to magic, AB is his own worst enemy, but he can’t stop. He’s spent nearly five years in therapy, and he’s still plagued by the same insidious hell his mind has created for optimal torture. His intrusive thoughts are a terrible inconvenience that AB has spent an inordinate amount of time wallowing over, but despite her best efforts, AB can’t accept what Dr. Barnes says. Her end goal, since the beginning, has always been for AB to publicly Divulge and rob his intrusive thoughts of their power. Unfortunately, AB can’t even think about Divulging without breaking out in a cold sweat.

But therapy hasn’t been a useless waste of time. He is trying and he is making progress. Sort of. He hasn’t made as much progress as he should, but he’s made enough. He can now stay present when he’s anxious, no longer getting lost in his emotions to the point he has to run off and hide before he Conceals in front of people he’s never Divulged to. Hell, AB even survived a strange, and frankly traumatic, case of the Frits from two years ago that resulted in him Concealing the moment he stepped on stage at a sold-out Madison Square Garden.

Sure, the whole ordeal led to a spike in anxiety, a tightening of the grip the fear of being Known and controlled had over him, but the very thought never got the best of him. He never turned Invisible because of it. Which, in AB’s opinion, is a significant achievement, considering how Displaying in front of tens of thousands of strangers would’ve been a catastrophic, debilitating event at the start of his therapy journey.

AB thinks about going Invisible often. Thinks about the only indication he even had the Frits was the split second of spontaneous Concealment. About the two full weeks he spent monitoring for other symptoms that never appeared. About his Invisibility always coming with a spark and how the sensation at the Garden was wild and electrifying. How much more exhilarated he was on stage—as if the dial had been turned all the way up, maxed out. But mostly, AB thinks about the random times the same sensation has prickled beneath his skin while he wanders New York City—fast and intense but never as substantial as the one at the concert, never enough to bring on the Frits, not even a tiny blip of Invisibility.

He’s at brunch, smiling awkwardly as people recognize him on his mimosa-soaked trek to the bathroom, when the same electricity makes another appearance. This time, the sensation is accompanied by a sharp tug at his heart, and AB knows, deep in his bones, Invisibility will be inevitable no matter how hard he tries. He speeds to the bathroom; thankful the sensation doesn’t reach its peak until after the door shuts; annoyed as he checks to find his hand the same transparent purple he always is while Concealed.

Personally, AB thinks a lap full of mimosas is enough inconvenience for the day, but the universe doesn’t seem to agree. Not only can he not push the Invisibility down, but when he leans against the door to stop anyone else from coming in, and lets out a soft, frustrated groan, something clatters to the ground in front of him.

Because of course someone was already in here. Of course, AB couldn’t be spontaneously Invisible in peace. Of course, he already ruined his chance of getting out of the way without making a noise. Of course, this guy is staring at AB with wide bewildered eyes.

Wait.

Back up.

No.

That’s not possible.

“What the fuck?”

Is AB shrieking? He’s definitely shrieking. But… “You can see me! You can see me? Can you see me?”

Not only can this absolutely beautiful man—no, this bro—see him, but he’s staring at AB with absolute wonder in his eyes. He opens his mouth but then shuts it with a click of his teeth; instead, he looks AB up and down with such a methodical intensity AB begins to fidget. AB wouldn’t consider himself a blusher, but every sweep of this guy’s eyes leaves AB burning. His gaze settles back on AB’s face before speaking, and when he does, AB thinks he must be hearing things—there’s no way.

No.

Possible.

Way.

“Uh, what?”

Mr. Omnivision over there—because what else could he be?—purses his lips, then repeats, “I know this sounds ridiculous, but I think you’re my future Bondmate.”

AB might be short-circuiting. What the actual fuck! This guy, this gorgeous guy with his ridiculous sweatpants and his ridiculous backwards snapback and his ridiculous smile, can’t possibly be standing in front of him claiming they’re Bondmates. At brunch. While AB is covered in mimosa. This has to be fake.

Did he make an enemy of an Illusionist who’s messing with him? Is he seeing things? He must be seeing things. This guy has to be an Illusion.

“I can assure you I’m real,” Mr. Omnivision says, looking at his pants with bemusement before stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “Hi, I’m Matthew.”

Oh, great. He’s been thinking out loud.

AB knows he’s being rude—can faintly hear his mother’s voice chastising him in the back of his mind—but he can’t stop staring. Despite his awful outfit, which AB has apparently insulted to his face, Matthew is stunning. He has dirty-blond hair and a ridiculously strong jaw and a dusting of freckles. Which really isn’t fair—freckles are his kryptonite. How could he not stare?

“This isn’t going the way I’ve always imagined.”

Matthew drops his hand and awkwardly rocks back on his heels. The downward slope of his mouth knocks AB’s brain back online.

He thrusts his hand out. “Shit. Sorry for staring. And insulting you. I’m AB.”

“You also called me gorgeous, so I’ve decided to think of it as balancing out,” Matthew says, his mouth quirking as he takes AB’s hand.

AB is making a fool of himself, and he’d absolutely die of embarrassment if shit didn’t get downright weird when he takes Matthew’s hand in his. Simultaneously, bright golden light bursts from where their palms meet, and AB pops back into view.

“What the fuck?” AB squawks, snatching his hand away.

Even after breaking contact, the heat of Matthew’s hand burns against AB’s skin, and while he’s no longer Concealed, none of the electricity produced by their touch has dissipated. Instead, they’re encased in an invisible crackling bubble of it, as if the light of their handshake shocked the air surrounding them.

“So, that was weird,” Matthew says, after AB fails to add anything constructive to their conversation. He bites his lip, an indecipherable emotion flickering across his face, and then adds, “Uh. I kind of have to go? But I’m serious about what I said. And considering all of this—” He motions between them, pointedly staring at AB’s hand. “—I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance to explain?”

“Wait, what?”

“Uh, like, can I…maybe get your number or…shit.”

Matthew fidgets with his hat, the tips of his ears burning. “Look, I don’t live under a rock. I know who you are and how this could…I don’t know, come off as some sort of ploy to get your attention? You mentioned this could be an Illusion, which I’m not, obviously, but I absolutely understand if you’re not comfortable giving me your number, but I’d really like to explain myself when we’re not in a bathroom and my impatient friends aren’t ten seconds away from storming in here to drag me out. Or maybe your email? Or—you have Twitter, right? Who doesn’t have Twitter? Well, I don’t have Twitter, but uh…Instagram? Or if you’re into face-to-face chats we could agree on a time and public place to meet up again? I’m running out of ideas here. What else is there?”

Matthew blushes, turning his sun-tanned skin an adorable shade of ruddy pink, and all AB can focus on are the freckles, darker on his nose than anywhere else. He’s staring again. Or maybe he never stopped staring, and really, AB should be mortified, but this has been such a strange encounter he doesn’t think Matthew can judge him. He’s running through all the ways entertaining Matthew’s declaration is a terrible idea, how he clearly caused the one thing AB is so obsessed with happening, how he should be running far, far away, when everything clicks into place.

“Were you, by any chance, at my concert when I played Madison Square Garden a couple years ago?”

Matthew furrows his brow. “Yes, but what does—wait. It wasn’t actually the Frits? You think I caused your Concealment? Or, well, our magics Reacting made you Invisible?”

“Wait, sorry… How can you possibly tell what type of Concealer I am?”

“A guy’s got to keep some secrets,” Matthew says with a slow, crooked smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”

The smile tips him over, and AB makes a decision Carson might actually murder him for.

“I’m not sure about Bondmates, but you’re certainly affecting my magic. Which intrigues me almost as much as it pisses me off. So yeah, give me your number.”

AB unlocks his phone and brings up a new contact page, then hands it to Matthew. “I’ll text you once I’ve decided whether or not meeting up with you is a dangerous idea or just recklessly irresponsible.”

Matthew snorts when he reads the name AB put him in as.

AB shrugs. “Well, aren’t you?”

Matthew’s face is dazzling when he smiles. “Yeah, you got me there.”

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Meet the Author

Thematically, Stephanie likes magic and spies and magical spies. Aesthetically, she likes glitter and gold and pineapples. She wants to put more soft, sweet bi representation into the world so that people like her teen-self can see themselves in their favorite genres and know that who they are is nothing to be ashamed of.

She currently lives in the Great White North (Wisconsin) with her husband, daughter, and three dogs. The only thing getting her through these Midwest winters is the soothing sound of Tim Riggins saying “Texas forever” and the prospect of one day moving back there.

She loves a good astrology twitter but ultimately only believes in it when her husband calls her stubborn and then her response is: “Well, I am a Taurus.”

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Feb 08

New Release Blitz ~ A Valentine to Die For by Aver Rigsly (Excerpt & Giveaway)

A Valentine to Die For by Aver Rigsly

Book 1 in the Noir Nights series

General Release Date: 8th February 2022

Word Count: 41,450
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 171

Genres:

CRIME
CRIME AND MYSTERY
EROTIC ROMANCE
GAY
GLBTQI
HISTORICAL
VALENTINES

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Book Description

Having a secret admirer can be deadly.

Ricky Morris, private investigator on New York’s elite Upper East Side, has forged a shady yet profitable life as a gumshoe for wealthy Manhattanites after burning the bridge to his law enforcement past. When women in the city are targeted by a sweet-toothed murderer in the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, the last thing Ricky expects is to be hired by the younger brother of the man who ruined his life.

Timothy Ward, young, fresh patrolman for the N.Y.P.D. who never thought he’d have to step outside the law, finds himself in desperate need of Ricky’s help when he fears his brother, James Ward, the Deputy Chief, could be behind the killing spree.

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, both men will have to work in the shadows, putting their careers and lives on the line to get to the bottom of the murderer’s sickly sweet and cruel plans. That is, if the burning heat of undeniable—and very forbidden—lust between them doesn’t consume them in the flames of reckless desire first…

Reader advisory: This book contains period-typical attitudes including slurs. There are mentions of on-page gunplay, and a slow-burn between the main characters over the course of the series.

Excerpt

February 1954. New York City.

“Mrs. Banks…this is going to be hard to hear.”

“What exactly are you telling me, Mr. Morris?”

Ricky’s head was pounding, right behind his eyes and down the back of his neck. A full-blown shit-show of a hangover. He took a last puff of his cigarette and smooshed the butt of it out in the ashtray.

“I’m sorry to say, but it’s what you were afraid of.”

“I knew it,” she snapped, her ruby-painted lips pursed tight. “I just knew it.”

“Unfortunately, I have photo evidence here of your husband, on multiple occasions, visiting, let’s say…some of the less savory parts of the city, ma’am.”

He reached into the top drawer of his desk, plucked out a glossy photograph and slid it across for Mrs. Banks to inspect.

“And who is she? Who is the whore?”

“Actually, there are three different broads here.” He pulled out a couple more photos, a short stack of four-by-five gelatin silver prints that he had developed himself in his makeshift darkroom. He laid the photos out, candid shots of Mr. Banks in his snazzy Buick Roadmaster, ladies hanging in through the passenger-side window, sitting beside him in the car, kissing the side of Mr. Banks’ thick neck—and those were just the photos that were considered decent compared to the others processing down the hall.

“I should have goddamn known. Theo is a fucking pig and always has been.”

Ricky raised his eyebrows but kept his cool, nodding to make her feel better. That was just Mrs. Banks—that sharp tongue of hers was very unladylike, no matter how expensive her silk pantyhose and real mink coat were, or how many strands of pearls she looped over her hand-tailored housedress.

Regardless, she wasn’t wrong about Mr. Banks. Ricky had spent the last week tailing Theodore Banks around the Financial District. Theo was a man who knew how to make dough. A pencil-pushing broker, Banks was the perfect example of a man whose money didn’t buy happiness. His wife was half his age—a stunning doll in her own right—and Ricky had noticed the moment they’d met how well she presented herself. She was a real looker of a dame, but Theo had a wandering eye and a penchant for not keeping his prick in his pants.

It was sort of pathetic how easy it had been to track him down and snap the photos of him getting a messy blow job in the front seat of his Buick. The fella had hardly lasted more than five minutes. Ricky did not envy Mrs. Banks, the poor woman, considering what she must deal with in the marital bed.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” she asked, digging into her handbag and rummaging around before pulling out a sleek chrome cigarette case. She popped the clasp and pulled out a menthol from the red velvet-lined inside. Her hands were shaking.

“Here, let me.” Ricky stood and leaned over the desk, offering her a light from his silver Zippo. Her red lips wrapped around the end of the cigarette and smoke curled up as she took the first few puffs.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course, and, Mrs. Banks? As for the…delicate predicament you find yourself in…”

“Yes?”

“As I see it, your best course of action would be to pursue a legal divorce.”

“Divorce? Like hire a lawyer?”

“That would be what I would do in your position, ma’am. You’ve suffered long and hard from a husband who is not only an adulterer, but who has also been recklessly spending your household income on lewd, and may I add, illegal activities.”

“Well, yes. Who knows how much money he’s thrown away on those filthy prostitutes?”

“Exactly, ma’am. May I ask, Mrs. Banks, is your name also on all your husband’s accounts?”

“Yes…”

“Well, I’m certain that if you ask a bank teller to show you all withdrawal statements for the past few months, you will see quite a bit of cash being removed. I could even give you the dates that all these photographs were taken, which I suspect would match the same dates of the withdrawals. On top of that,” Ricky said, hardly feeling the pounding headache as he played his role of charming confidant, “while these photos here might be argued against and possibly dismissed by the right defender in a court of law, I have in my possession downright illicit photographs that would be impossible to sweep under the rug. The more proof of the wrongdoing built against the accused, the better chance the court will grant you a larger portion of your husband’s estate.”

“Is that so?” Her cigarette smoldered forgotten between her fingers, her hands no longer shaking.

“Yes, indeed. Between the photos I have and any bank statements showing the frivolous spending, you could make out with quite a pretty penny, Mrs. Banks. More than enough, I’d say, to keep a lady such as yourself very comfortable.”

“At least until I find a second husband,” she quipped. “I can’t help but notice that you aren’t wearing a wedding band, Mr. Morris. Are you single? Or maybe that quiet blonde girl at the door is your girlfriend?”

“You mean Liz? No, she’s just my secretary and close friend. And I have never been interested in marriage. I’m a simple bachelor and I enjoy it that way.”

“Such a shame,” she said. “So, what do I owe you? For your services, and for those other photographs you mentioned. I would very much like to purchase those as well.”

“In my line of work as a private investigator, I am often the bearer of bad news, and I feel terrible for your hardship, ma’am, so I’ll give you a courtesy discount. It would be my honor. How about we call it…eight hundred and fifty for everything, and I’ll be happy to have done business with you, Mrs. Banks.”

“Do you accept traveler’s checks?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“Splendid.” She dug around in her handbag again, and Ricky leaned back in his chair. He lit a new cigarette, pleased with himself. Tonight, he was going to order a juicy steak dinner with all the fixings and a hefty glass of whiskey to go along with it. Jobs like these were perfect for milking desperate housewives. Show them a few pictures of their sleazy asshole husbands, and they turned to putty in his hands. Gold-diggers like Mrs. Banks were the best kind of all—all too eager to spend their husband’s money.

She handed over the checks, almost nine-hundred-bucks’ worth, and Ricky tucked them safely into his desk drawer.

“Much thanks indeed, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morris. I will be sure to mention your name if any of my friends need similar help.”

“That’s all I can ask for, ma’am. You know where to send them. My door is always open to those in need.”

If they had the green for it. Simple as that.

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About the Authors

Aver Rigsly

Aver Rigsly was born and raised in the Boston, Massachusetts area and spends her days working at a travel agency in Quincy. Some of her favourite places to visit are Washington D.C., Bangor, Maine, and most of all New York City. When she isn’t working a trip or writing LGBTQA+ romance obsessively, she spends her free time relaxing with knitting, needlepoint, video games, or marathoning horror movies with the family.

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Feb 08

New Release Blitz ~ Honor by January Bain (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Honor by January Bain

Book 3 in the Sin City Wolf series

General Release Date: 8th February 2022

Word Count: 66,315
Book Length: NOVEL
Pages: 255

Genres:

BILLIONAIRE
EROTIC ROMANCE
PARANORMAL
THRILLERS AND SUSPENSE
WERESHIFTERS

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Book Description

Never run from a wolf!

Isadora Champagne is a witch on a dangerous mission—to take down Lucius Luceres. That bad boy alpha billionaire doesn’t deserve to have it all his way. Thinks he can dump her baby sister and get away with it! But now that she’s met the shifter, keeping her heart safe from him is going to take more than the curse she laid on him…it just might cost her a pact with the devil himself.

Lucius of the House of Luceres is an alpha werewolf, secure in his bad-to-the-bone reputation. But when confronted by the beautiful Isadora one fateful night, even he can’t ignore the extreme attraction that instantly ignites between them. But what he hadn’t counted on was how useful her magic gifts can be to the House of Luceres when one of their own goes missing.

Will he be able to set aside the centuries of mistrust between witches and shifters and allow her special brand of courage and caring to heal even the most jaded heart?

Reader advisory: This book contains scenes of mild violence, fated mates and references to inadequate parenting.

Excerpt

Lucius

“Look! There’s a halo around the moon tonight, Lucius. You know what that means?” Veronica purred. Her mouth was coated in far too much red lipstick for my liking, though I more than appreciated her luscious body and adventurous spirit.

“What do you think it means?” I asked, not particularly interested in her take on it. I couldn’t imagine the notorious party girl having done much digging into mythology or history.

If I wanted facts, my twin brothers, Maximus and Alexandro, would be the ones I’d call on. One of the things I did like about Veronica’s type though—easy to forget. I didn’t need any complications as enforcer for the House of Luceres beyond those necessary to protect my pack.

“It means something momentous is on its way. Could be good. Or evil. It depends on the intentions of the spirit.” Veronica shivered for effect in a dress that barely covered essentials. She looked up at me, her eyes huge, reflecting not only the light of the roaring bonfire kept alight for the entirety of the Lupercalia festival, but I swear I caught a glimpse of myself.

Easy to look at, I’ve been told. Like all my pack brothers, I kept my GQ looks highlighted with exercise and good grooming. And all the Luceres were blessed with good genetics and lots of money.

The howling of a lone wolf in the distance cut short the woman’s unexpected announcement and I went on high alert. In the desert, on a clear night such as this, sound was deceptive. The interloper could be miles away…or nearby.

I glanced around the firepit, checking out the pack members milling about. Emily, one of the cousins, was dancing with wild abandon. I frowned. Wasn’t she a bit young for this? The festival was notorious for events that would curl a human’s hair. Rumors abounded and things that probably should not happen…happened.

Case in point, headed right toward me was a former one-night stand, her finger pointed at me like she had something to say. Something I was certain I would prefer not to hear. What was her name again? Serena, Simona, Sawyer…

Before it came to me, she was right up in my face. “Lucius Luceres, I got some…thing to say to you you’re not go…ing to like.” She poked at me with a sharp red fingernail, her words slurring and her body language suggesting something vastly different.

“Step back, if you know what’s good for you, cur!” Veronica yelled at her.

“What you go…ing to do about it?”

Right, Simone, one of the more jealous ones. Why was one night never enough for them? Not like I ever promised anything more. I stepped back. Let them have at it. A gorgeous female standing farther from the fire winked at me, her eyes taking in the foolish provocation with obvious interest. I gave her my patented cool-billionaire smile.

She replied with an air kiss, pulling me forward with all the magnetic pull of true north. Just the way I liked it. And man, those curves, highlighted in a tight dress that leaves nothing to the imagination.

“Hey, where are you going?” Veronica quickly noticed my mental desertion…soon to be followed by a physical one.

I turned back and sighed. The two women had each other by the hair. Soon they’d shift, by the look of things. I didn’t want the hassle, but after all, I had caused it, even though they’d both been warned that I never dated.

“Come on, ladies, the festival is almost over. Wouldn’t you rather be having fun than fighting?”

“This is fun! I’m going to beat her ass!” And with that Veronica shed her clothes and shifted, one second vanishing through the otherworldly portal in a shimmer of light, and in the next back again as a blue-eyed gray wolf. It had been explained to me by my scholarly brothers that the dimension was only one of the eleven that create the multiverse. Whatever. I was just satisfied it worked.

I mean, who doesn’t want to be wolf?

One second later, Simone followed Veronica, her leaner and meaner wolf appearing in a flash of light. Of course, she was the more perturbed of the two, giving her the edge. The pair squared off. Simone growled as she lowered her head to bully her opponent, the thick ruff on her spine fully erect.

Instantly, others picked up on the change of energy. Bodies began streaming in from everywhere, surrounding the two females in mere seconds. This was what the pack wanted. Craved. The music shifted, became a louder drumbeat that stirred the blood.

I gave a nonchalant shrug to the gorgeous female on the sidelines watching the antics as if to say, What can I do? Females will be females. She rolled her eyes.

Turning back to the action, I decided not to intervene in the fight, not unless they began to inflict real damage. These kinds of fights could be more about posturing than anything else, useful for ratcheting down minor disagreements and aggressions. Which was why this festival was held in the first place. It allowed pack members time to listen to their wolf, step away from the imposing limits of civilization. Freedom, baby.

But I had apparently misjudged the level of anger and animosity between the pair. Claws and fur flying, they lunged at each other, rolling in the desert sand and sending a blanket of dust into the air.

The crowd roared their approval. Someone had appointed themselves the holder of the bets and numbers were being tossed around the ring like confetti. Eager faces, alight with the excitement I’d imagine rather common to the Colosseum of ancient days, began to holler loudly for their favorite. Seemed that Simone was holding sway, her anger the most apparent to the catcalling crew. Hell, half of them were half undressed now, probably looking to take a turn.

Great, a bloom of blood had appeared on Veronica’s fur. Now I had to shift. Not really a bad thing, as I loved to be wolf. The power, the freedom, the pure sense of being removed from this world—it didn’t get any better.

I shucked my clothing, knowing I was being checked out by the new female. Have at it. I’m choice. I jumped into the fray and in seconds, had Veronica by the scruff of the neck, subjecting her to dominance, forcing her to give over to her alpha. She whined, then lay down. Simone stood on four stiffened paws, her tongue lolling, still defying me.

I flew at her, catching her by the throat, taking her down to the ground. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to inflict some pain. She needed to learn her place.

When she gave me proper respect, I let her slink away, then dusted myself off and redressed. The interested female was still watching, and I nodded at her. She sauntered over, her spectacular hips swaying to the rhythmic beat of the snare drum one of the pack members was pounding on, her smile coy.

The crowd clapped and stamped their feet loudly, naked breasts bouncing to the delight of the males who watched with approval, obviously having enjoyed the show. Money was paid out to the victors and backs were slapped. Just another night at the Lupercalia. And mild compared to some events I won’t get into.

“Nice moves,” she said, getting closer enough to pick an imaginary piece of lint from my jacket.

“I aim to please.”

“I take it you’re not worried that a rare witch moon is causing chaos this night?” The new female pointed at the night sky. A dark cloud was now creeping across the luminous surface, lending an even more eerie appearance to proceedings.

“Witch moon? Where did you hear that?” A cold finger traced my spine. I shook the odd sensation off. An old wives’ tale.

“Big strong wolf like you—you have nothing to fear.”

Never trust a witch.

The warning from an elderly Italian relative came to mind. Well, not like I had any in my pack or knew of any in my round of acquaintances. And I certainly wouldn’t bed one. Now, the wolf throwing herself at me at the moment, sure.

I’m partial to blondes and easy tail…

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About the Author

January Bain

January Bain has wished on every falling star, every blown-out birthday candle and every coin thrown in a fountain to be a storyteller. To share the tales of high adventure, mysteries, and full-blown thrillers she has dreamed of all her life. The story you now have in your hands is the compilation of a lot of things manifesting itself for this special series. Hundreds of hours spent researching the unusual and the mundane have come together to create a series that features strong women who don’t take life too seriously, wild adventures full of twists and unforeseen turns, and hot complicated men who aren’t afraid to take risks. She can only hope the stories of her beloved Brass Ringers will capture your imagination as much as they did hers when she wrote them.

If you are looking for January Bain, you can find her hard at work every morning without fail in her office with two furry babies trying to prove who does a better job of guarding the doorway. And, of course, she’s married to the most romantic man! Who once famously replied to her inquiry about buying fresh flowers for their home every week, “Give me one good reason why not?” Leaving her speechless and knocking her head against the proverbial wall for being so darn foolish. She loves flowers.

If you wish to connect in the virtual world, she is easily found on Facebook, Twitter and writes a weekly blog about her journey on Blogger. Oh, and she loves to talk books…

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Feb 08

New Release Blitz: Getting Off by J.R. Hart (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  Getting Off

Author: J.R. Hart

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: 02/08/2022

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 69300

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, romance, contemporary, new adult, family-drama, gay, bisexual, demisexual, questioning, college, sports team

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Description

JJ is certain he’s got everything figured out. He’s straight, right? He’s just not into the hookup culture prevalent on his college soccer team. But he’s trying to hide that to avoid getting on his team captain’s bad side.

Kade is anything but straight. Out and proud, he’s curious about how the “other half” lives… even as his best friends remind him there’s more to the LGBTQ+ community than just the “G.” Curious, Kade texts JJ a simple question: do straight guys ever get off together?

When JJ’s reply leads to a head-spinning sexual spark, he starts questioning everything he knows about his sexuality, both in terms of who he’s attracted to, and also why hookups have never been his thing. But when JJ endures trauma that confuses him more, he starts pushing Kade away. Kade has to learn how to be a supportive friend, and more than that, a supportive partner, or risk losing JJ altogether. And JJ? He has to fight for his team to be team players, even when they suspect he’s “playing for the other team.”

Excerpt

Getting Off
J.R. Hart © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Kade
I want to believe JJ when he tells me straight guys get off together. And I have no reason not to believe him. But still, the whole situation feels strange to me. Straight guys? Getting off together? Blame it on boredom, blame it on my complete willingness to run into a situation headfirst without knowing what I’m getting myself into, but I plan on going.

Because I want so badly to believe. I don’t know why, other than I’m just so damn curious about the whole situation. Call it anthropological. Or call it my intense need to believe some form of porn is actually true. Hell, blame it on an ill-fated crush on a straight jock I’d never have a chance with.

I’ve still got a seed of doubt.

I mean, the whole question came from a questionable situation in the first place: a hookup with someone who says he’s straight. That isn’t uncommon on hookup apps, the kind of guys who say, “It’s not gay to top,” while actively trying to get in a gay guy’s pants, but I don’t have time to unpack all their internalized homophobia or whatever. I’m not going to sit someone down and tell him, “Hey, bro, maybe you’re not straight if the person you’re topping is also a guy.” But my point stands. I had a hookup, he said he was straight, and he mentioned some offhand comment about how straight guys watch porn together.

Which, whatever. I brushed that off at the time. But now it’s been eating at me and worming its way through the back of my mind, and I’ve got two major questions about what he said.

One, how many of his friends are actually straight versus straight in the way he’s straight, and therefore what they’re doing would be an objectively non-straight activity?

And two, is there a chance there are straight guys in the world who watch porn together? Because I believe there are guys who share porn recommendations. I believe guys tell each other that such-and-such girl in such-and-such video is hot and they should check it out. Recommendations, I find entirely plausible. Watch parties? Not so much.

I’d ask my friends, but let’s be real. None of my friends are straight. A lone gay best friend in a pack of straights is the kind of Hollywood wildness that doesn’t seem to happen in real life. You watch movies, or read books, and you’ll see this one gay best friend in a group of a bunch of straight people and I sit there and think, Where’s the actual representation here? Gays clump together. We can’t help it. So, my friend group? Not a good starting point for finding out what The Straights do in their free time.

I have exactly one straight friend I can ask, outside of my roommate, and I’ve never seen my roommate invite anyone over for any reason, let alone to watch porn with them. Which narrows it down to the one straight friend: JJ. And I feel like I can trust JJ, trust what he’s saying is true, but there’s this part of me doubting the whole thing. I can’t picture the scene: a group of guys, watching porn, hands on their dicks…the whole concept is wild to me. From a sociological perspective, I’m absolutely fascinated.

And maybe I’m just being jerked around by my hookup. If I am, this is good information to have. If he’s lying, okay, maybe it won’t necessarily change my behavior, but it’ll make me feel the tiniest bit more satisfied if I know he was lying all along. And now that I’ve reached out to JJ I’m obsessed with the idea.

The thought of men actually doing this? Come on, that’s just the sort of bad porno aesthetic I’m into. It ranks right up there with, “let’s play strip pool before my mom gets home,” or, “I was out jogging in the woods and this hot guy just happened to catch up with me and offer me a bottle of water, and also his dick.” It makes me wonder, what will happen next? The muscular jock sucks the twink off? I’ve seen it a million times, just not in real life, and never with straight guys who would probably never even touch each other. Still, I want to witness it firsthand, or something. I’m craving confirmation.

Which is why I asked JJ. Because I can trust him, because he’s straight, and because he’s disposable. Which sounds really shitty but hear me out. JJ and I aren’t close. I mean, we’re close in that he hosts a good study group, and it’s nice to have a friend in class, but I don’t know him know him. We aren’t BFFs or anything. If this situation were to go horribly wrong, get super awkward, and he felt bad or weird about it after—not that I think anything is going to happen, but I’m not ruling out the possibility—then we don’t have to talk to each other anymore.

Plus, he lives in my building, and I am a slut for convenience. He’s right here, two floors down, and anyway, he’s hot. I mean, abs for days, long limbs, soccer body… I’m not into sports, but they’d almost be worth watching for the way the players strip their jerseys off after a game, mop the sweat off their brow…fuck. If I’m going to watch this kind of scene—from a purely sociological standpoint, mind you—it helps if the guys involved are, you know, aesthetically appealing.

And I can’t ask a stranger. How would I know if a stranger was bullshitting me? And JJ’s not bullshitting me. I don’t think so, anyway. JJ just gives off one of those vibes. Like, trustworthy. Honest. The kind of guy who tells the truth about everything. He doesn’t seem like someone who would fuck with me, you know? And he’s a throwaway. If he got offended by me asking, well, then I haven’t lost a whole lot. He’s a no-lose option. And besides, he didn’t say no. That gives me the confirmation I need: two straight guys—or rather, one straight guy and one guy who claims he’s straight but is on an app designed for gay hookups—have confirmed this for me now. Apparently, straight guys do jerk off together. And apparently, I’m going to get to witness it firsthand. I can’t say I’m not excited.

But confirmation, the words alone, aren’t enough. Not when he’s already offered to let me witness this ridiculous, beautiful event for myself. And I want to. I want to see it so bad. I’m not expecting personal gratification because these are straight guys and straight guys probably watch straight porn, and I also know to keep my hands to myself. But I’m there for sociological reasons. Or, anthropological ones, maybe. But I know JJ from sociology class, and from a sociological perspective…you know. So, I’m going. Art History be damned, because—this once—I can miss that class.

Which is why on Tuesday at two in the afternoon, I’m standing outside JJ’s dorm, knocking. I’ve been here before a couple of times, mostly for study groups, but this is different. There aren’t any textbooks this time, no crowding around his coffee table made out of splintering pallets and an unfinished sheet of plywood. So, I’m standing here, still knocking, wondering what this is going to be like. I’m not sure what to picture, how many guys might be here, or if I’ll even know what to do with myself. After all, I’m only here to observe, but if they’re all sitting there with their dicks out, I’m going to look like an asshole if I’m not doing the same thing. I’m starting to get cold feet about the whole situation, ready to turn around and leave, because am I really about to sit in on a group of straight guys watching porn? The whole situation screams an opportunity for me to basically get hate crimed, and I’m realizing the potential for this to go wrong…except it’s a little late to back out now the door’s opening, and JJ’s standing there in nothing but his boxers.

Also, he’s alone.

I’m not sure how to take that.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

J R Hart is a queer 30-something novelist passionate about telling romantic and erotic stories about LGBT+ characters. When J R isn’t writing, you can find her at the science museum with her son, cheering for her favorite soccer team, or at The Bean Coffee Co plotting her next work. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram as @jrhartauthor, or on her website at jrhartauthor.com.

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Feb 04

Book Blitz: The Devil’s Boyfriend by Alexa Piper (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Title:  The Devil’s Boyfriend

Series: Hellbound 2

Author: Alexa Piper

Publisher: Changeling Press

Release Date: February 4

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 153 pages

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Mystery, Thriller/Suspense, Action Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, Gay, Shapeshifters, Magical Creatures

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Synopsis

Lionel, necromancer and police consultant, finds himself closer to the Devil than he ever wanted to be. But even for a necromancer, life goes on, and murder happens. The next crime scene is just around the corner, and Lionel will do his job… ideally without Lucifer looking over his shoulder.

After a traumatic experience, Lucifer knows he has to protect his necromancer, mostly from the other man’s own stubbornness and ignorance. Lionel is not quite as human as he likes to think, and to Lucifer’s great annoyance, Lionel hasn’t given up on his bad habit of running into situations without thinking.

Lionel doesn’t know how he feels about the Devil, and he doesn’t know what he wants in his life. Lucifer knows what Lionel needs, but getting the necromancer to accept that is the difficult part. And of course, there is murder happening in town, and it is not the boring human-on-human kind of violence. This time around, it looks like immortals are involved. Solving the case will require Lionel to accept who he really is while Lucifer wants his boyfriend to embrace who he truly can be. Lives may depend on it.

Excerpt

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Alexa Piper

The Devil’s body on top of mine, his mouth stealing my breath, his woodfire smoke-and-spices scent all around me — that was not something I ever thought I’d get used to. Yet here I was, Lionel Hawkes, consultant for Brunswick PD and accomplished necromancer, my cock rubbing against Lucifer’s belly and his own erection as he was doing his damnedest to kiss me senseless. My lips were already tender, but the soft lighting dipped his bedroom in an amber glow, and that made me care less about the state of my lips somehow… as long as he kept coming back for more kisses. I wanted to bury my fingers in his baby-cat hair, but Lucifer had my wrists crossed over my head, his hand holding me there. I could struggle, but he wouldn’t let me go. I’d tried that before, and he’d kindly informed me that I got to move my hands when he wanted me to. He fucking owned me.

I bucked up to get more friction and heard his deep voice break into a chuckle that made my entire body tremble.

“Sweet Nelly, is there something that you want from me?” he said with laughter smoothing around his words like warmth around a fire.

That fucking asshole. He knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted to come. He’d put me on my back in his too-large and weirdly round bed with the super-soft cotton sheets about an hour ago, and then he’d started with kisses, with touch, with friction that was just never enough.

“I have work in the morning. I just want to come and go to sleep,” I said. I’d been off for three weeks after that thing with the crazed serial killer, a.k.a. No Longer Quite So Sexy Mitch, who’d drugged and abducted me. But tomorrow was my first day back. “And you seem to have one hand free, so if you would, Lucy?” I looked down to my leaking cock. Damn, my belly was slick from our combined precum.

I wiggled under him, feeling the soft sheets I was lying on. I tried looking away as if this whole lovemaking thing bored me. Lucifer had drawn the curtains, but I didn’t really think they were thick enough to hide what he was doing to me. Obscure it, yes, but if anyone with a daring heart got to his wilderness of a home on this cold-ass November night and peeked up, they’d know exactly what was going on in the Devil’s bed. I’d complained about it two weeks ago. Lucifer had smirked and said, <em>If anyone does dare to come here, they should be rewarded by getting a glimpse of your face, writhing in ecstasy because you have my cock deep inside you. It will serve them well to think of it while I punish them for the transgression</em>. So typical — boisterous Devil-speak.

And that was just so Lucifer, but since the room was partially lit, I saw him pull back and look down at me as if he were a cat and I a canary, caught between his claws with my wings splayed. He wanted to fucking torture me, I could see that in his sapphire eyes. Not actual torture, but he wanted me in a writhing puddle of need, so desperate I begged for his cock.

Heavens knew he’d fucking gotten me into that state before.

Before Lucifer could make another noise, before I could try to get a wrist free to jack myself after all, my phone rang. Lucifer’s eyes darkened. “I told you to turn that off,” he said. He didn’t raise his voice. Lucifer didn’t have to. He was the fucking Devil. His voice carried.

“And I told you I need to be reachable,” I said as the <em>Jaws</em> theme music grew louder. “Let me up, I need to go answer that.”

Of course, the Devil his own damn self didn’t move a fraction of an inch. “You do not need to be reachable when you are in my bed, when I have you and am in the middle of figuring out how exactly I will make you feel me — what exactly I will make you feel once my cock is buried deep in you.”

Oh, damn his stupid sex talk. It got me in entirely the wrong mindset to achieve my current objective — answering the phone. And I would bet a spell he’d stolen that line from one of the countless romance novels he read. There was currently a pile of them near his reading armchair by the window wall. He got up to two or three a day sometimes. That one weekend, when I’d told him I just needed quiet and hot cocoa after escaping the fucking basement a psycho killer had dragged me in to kill me, Lucifer had actually complied. He’d made me sit on the couch in his rich-people house where he let me stream just whatever sappy thing I wanted to watch without comment from him. In fact, Lucifer had refilled my mug with hot cocoa whenever it was empty, and sat there as close as I would allow it like some classical statue, reading through a stack of those damn novels. He had taken a reading break every couple of hours, and his breaks had only consisted of getting me off. If I allowed it.

I had allowed it. “You just read about that in your damn book?” I had asked after he was done with one of his breaks, my naked back pressed against his chest, my spent cock still in his sticky hand.

He bit my earlobe before he answered. “The things I want to do to you, Nelly… They aren’t in any of those books.”

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Meet the Author

Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. Alexa loves writing stories that make her readers laugh and fall in love with the characters in them. Connect with Alexa on Facebook or Instagram, follow her on Twitter or TikTok, and subscribe to her newsletter!

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