Want Me
Neve Wilder
M/M New Adult Romance
Release Date: 05.08.19
BLURB
Two roommates. One calculus exam. A whole lot of extracurricular activity.
Nate
Living with four other guys, it’s bound to happen.
Every guy’s been caught taking care of business at least once, right?
It shouldn’t be a big deal.
But I don’t know Eric as well as my other roommates, and things are a little awkward now.
He’s a loner. A mystery. Quietly confident. Smart.
Sexy as hell.
I’ve been happily subsisting on the typical frat guy diet of booze and sorority girls.
But the way Eric looked at me that night?
There was something there.
Something that’s got me curious.
Something that’s stirring up feelings I thought I’d left behind for good.
Something that’s making me think I’m not as straight as I thought I was.
I can’t get him off of my mind.
I don’t think I want to.
So when he offers to help me study for a midterm I’m convinced I’m going to fail,
I take him up on it.
It’s innocent.
Probably. Maybe.
There’s no way I could’ve known what it’d start…
This is a super steamy standalone new adult/college mm romance with HEA that unfolds across six “episodes” following Nate and Eric. Now bundled up in one collection with a bonus episode for a seamless reading experience. 87,000 words.
Amazon US: http://bit.ly/WantMeNeveWilder
Amazon UK: http://bit.ly/WantMeNeveWilder_UK
EXCERPT
“You all right?”
“Yeah, stressed, as usual.”
“Calculus? I can help.”
“Nope, philosophy this time.”
He wrinkled his nose in sympathy, then laced his fingers behind his head. I turned my focus back to the page I was reading, then realized I’d read the same sentence three times in a row. I could feel him watching me, and when I turned my head to check, I was right. His gaze trickled down from the crown of my head to my lap, slow as a drop of water down the glass of the window behind me. My cock jumped in my pants, and I shifted my legs restlessly. The thing needed a leash.
“You want some stress relief?” he offered.
No. It was on the tip of my tongue to say it, because I was frustrated by the whole situation, but fuck, the way he was sitting there so casually, his legs sprawled, his thickening cock starting to push at his fly… I inhaled deeply through my nose, and as I exhaled, found myself saying, “Like what?”
“Not sure yet,” he mused, posture straightening. He moved to the edge of his seat, scooting his chair in closer so he was right next to me, and even though I kind of knew what was coming, I still flinched when he laid his hand over the top of my thigh.
“Not right here,” I said, lowering my voice. But fuck if I didn’t widen my legs in the same breath, a taboo thrill running through me at being in public. Shit, regardless of Eric, I was starting to think I really did have a thing for being watched—or the threat of getting caught, at least.
Eric palmed my crotch, spreading his fingers over the bulge in my gym shorts. His warmth seeped through the silky mesh fabric and woke my cock right the fuck up.
I glanced around. There was no one to either side of us, and behind me was just a bank of windows that looked over the main quad below. But there were a trio of heads in the carrels across from me. I could hear them when they whispered or turned a page in their books, and I had to muffle a growl when Eric tucked his hand behind the waistband of my shorts, grazing his fingertips over my swollen head.
“No?” It was practically a purr, and it rolled over my skin like warm oil and flooded me with furiously spreading heat that tightened my balls.
He took my silence for the assent it was, and I clamped my lower lip between my teeth as he wedged his hand deeper into my shorts and wrapped it around the base of my cock, giving it a sharp, pulsing squeeze that made me suck in a breath.
“Freeballing?”
“Yeah,” I stuttered out, my dick jumping in his hand as he squeezed again.
“Good deal.” He gave me a few light, feathery strokes that had my hips surging up into the contact, and then his hand tightened like a vice around my shaft, thumb tracing my head in a tantalizing sweep as he leaned in. His whisper washed over me like pure, searing desert heat, the ownership in it shooting straight to my core and making me dizzy. “I want that nut you’re working up right now.”
“Fuck,” I hissed so loud that when I glanced up, I could see the person in the carrel across from me trying to subtly peer over the divider.
I hunched over my desktop to conceal the view of Eric’s hand as it plunged deeper, scooping up my balls and kneading them.
“That sounded like a yes to me.”
“Not here,” I whispered again and yanked his hand from my pants. Even though by then, shit, I was definitely seeing the appeal in letting him get me off right there. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay quiet enough, and though the thrill of possibly getting caught was hot, the reality of a charge for public indecency was not. I needed some ninja skills for that, or a lot more experience, and the whole novelty of getting off with a dude who knew what the hell he was doing was still so keen-edged that I didn’t have a shot.
“Spoilsport. I was enjoying the challenge, but I guess you’re right.” Eric picked up his sucker again, stuffing the wrapper in his back pocket. “You’re a noisy fucker, so maybe a little more buffer is a good idea. Come on.”
Neve Wilder lives in the southern US, where the summers are hot and the winters are…sometimes cold. She is a mom to three rambunctious weebeasts who have joined forces in a mission to carpet the family home with toys and small items that really suck to step on at six in the morning.
She reads promiscuously across multiple genres, but her favorite stories always contain an element of romance. Incidentally, this is also what she likes to write. Slow-burners with delicious tension? Yes. Whiplash-inducing page-turners, also yes. Down and dirty scorchers? Yes. And every flavor in between.
She believes David Bowie was the sexiest musician to ever live, and she’s always game to nerd out on anything from music to writing.
And finally, she believes that love conquers all. Except the heat index in July. Nothing can conquer that bastard.
Web site: www.nevewilder.com
FB author page: www.facebook.com/nevewilderwrites
FB Reader Group: www.facebook.com/groups/WildersWildOnes
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Neve-Wilder/e/B07HY29JMG
Bookbub Author page: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/neve-wilder
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18429115.Neve_Wilder
Instagram: www.instagram.com/nevewilder
GIVEAWAY
a Rafflecopter giveaway
https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js
Top Shelf
A Seacroft Novel
Allison Temple
M/M Romance
Release Date: 05.20.19
Blurb
Martin is a ghost. Well, not really, but he might as well be. Job gone, home gone, self-respect gone, and no one even seems to notice. The only person who really sees him is Seb, the artist who lives above the used bookstore.
Seb haunts the edges of Seacroft in search of beauty. He knows how to excavate the hidden value in abandoned things—whether it’s in the pages of forgotten books or in Martin’s stuttering attempts to rebuild his life—and transform them into works of art.
Two lost souls, Seb and Martin discover the strength they need to face eccentric townies and their dysfunctional families together. But as friendship sparks toward something more, neither man wants to risk what they’ve only just found. It takes two to fall in love, but it will take the whole community to bring their beauty to life.
Top Shelf is an 81k slow burn friends-to-lovers MM romance. It features an anxious professor, a drama queen artist, a bookstore that might be haunted, and a full-blown heart-eyes HEA.
Amazon: http://bit.ly/Top-Shelf_
International: http://mybook.to/TopShelf
Excerpt
The distinct sound of footsteps had him freezing in place again. Martin’s breath went shallow, and he clutched at the phone. Was it inappropriate to call the police on his first day of work? There was someone in the store, and Martin was very sure he had not seen anyone come in since Cassidy had left.
He moved in between the shelves as his mind raced. What if someone had snuck in? Broken in?
Why would someone sneak in to steal used books?
Martin grabbed a cookbook off a shelf labeled ‘Everything is Better With Salt’ and hefted it, testing the weight. If someone was back there, and that someone was up to no good, Martin could use the book as a weapon.
There was a soft sound of someone humming, and it made the hairs on Martin’s neck prickle. He tripped at the edge of the next shelf.
“Cass, is that you?”
Martin froze with the cookbook half-raised to his shoulder. Every part of him went on alert at the sound of a man’s voice, much closer than he’d expected.
Another book dropped to the ground.
He peeked around a shelf. The first thing his brain registered was white, and it was almost enough to convince him that he was seeing a ghost. His fingers tightened around the cookbook.
A long pale arm reached up and lifted a book off the very top shelf.
It was a man.
He wore faded jeans and a gray T-shirt. His hair was bleached blond. If he was a thief, he was a terrible one, because he flipped through the book, then let it drop to the floor next to what must have been the other ones Martin had already heard fall.
He was a man though, whoever he was. Tall and solid. Not a ghost. Martin lowered the cookbook. Assaulting a customer on his first day would be a bad career move.
“Excuse me,” he said, but it was drowned out as the next book thumped to the floor. Martin hopped back a step, but gathered himself and tried again. “Excuse me. I’m closing up.”
“Sure thing,” the man said as he stretched up on his toes again, reaching for another book. His shirt lifted from the waist of his jeans, and the skin underneath was so pale it enhanced his ghostly appearance.
When Martin didn’t leave, the man glanced over his shoulder, and his face made Martin’s heart stop. He wasn’t a ghost or a thief, but whoever he was, he was handsome. Blue eyes flicked up and down once, like he was trying to decide the kind of threat Martin might pose.
As Martin inhaled to assert himself again, the man turned back to the shelf.
“You—” Martin swallowed hard, willing himself to stand firm. “You’ll have to go.”
Those blue eyes darted toward Martin again, like a wrist flicking at a fly. The man grinned, a slow sly grin that made Martin’s insides twist.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” the man said.
Martin’s ears burned. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.
“If—If there’s something you’d like to buy, I can help you cash out. Otherwise, we’ll be open again on Monday at—” What time did they open? It had been nine o’clock on Saturday. Was it the same time on weekdays?
The blond man frowned, and Martin’s heart lurched under the stranger’s scrutiny. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had really looked at him. For all his rising panic at the feeling of being alone in the store earlier, he very much wanted to return to that solitude right now. It was so much better than being the center of this man’s attention.
“How long have you worked here?” The strange man’s voice was soft and low, rippling through the space between them.
Martin shivered and had to focus to keep his feet planted. “We’re closing and—”
“Where’s Cass?” The man glanced over Martin’s shoulder, giving him a moment to breathe.
“Cassidy? She went home.”
“What’s your name?” Those eyes were on Martin again in an instant, making him light-headed.
“Martin.” Too late, he wondered if he shouldn’t have introduced himself, particularly when the other man made no effort to return the favor.
“Well then, Martin.” The man took a step forward. “It appears no one bothered to inform you—”
“I’ll call the owner.” Martin was losing ground and needed to fix this quickly. Calling Mrs. Green to resolve a grumpy customer was absolutely a bad idea, but he was on the verge of being run out of his own bookstore, so there weren’t many options left.
To illustrate that point, the blond man’s eyes widened and his lips formed into an ‘O’.
“No no. Please.” He held his hands wide, as his mouth pulled into another grin. Everything about it made Martin want to shrink into himself until he was nothing but a speck of dust on a bookshelf.
“I’m sorry,” he said, giving it one last go. “But we close at six and—”
The man didn’t appear to hear him. He toed through the pile of books at his feet.
Martin winced as pages bent under his shoes. “Please don’t—”
Thin fingers pinched the crumpled pages together and lifted them in the air, the book’s heavy covers flopping to the sides. There was the soft sound of paper tearing.
The man tucked the book under one arm. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll pay for it.” He put a hand in one of his pockets, then actually swaggered toward Martin, whose vision wavered as the man’s fingers brushed against his own. Martin gasped at the hard weight of something metal in his palm. The silence of the bookshop was broken by the sound of coins tumbling out of Martin’s frozen hand and onto the floor.
“That should cover it.” The man whispered it low. The feeling of his breath on Martin’s skin made him turn into a Martin-shaped statue, frozen in place as the other man slid past him.
“Nice to meet you,” the man said. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
It felt like hours, but it probably was only a matter of seconds before he trembled and broke out of his daze. The floorboards creaked as the man walked away. Martin knelt and collected the coins he’d dropped. They were all nickels and dimes, and they totaled up to just under two dollars.
A door closed and the shop fell quiet.
Martin wound his way back the way he’d come. Nerves boiled inside him, and he hesitated around every blind corner between shelves, half expecting the blond stranger to leap out at him like some deranged Jack in the Box. He stumbled into the open space at the front.
He was alone.
Martin went to the door. It surprised him that the hinges hadn’t made their booming wail as the man left.
His hand stopped as he reached for the deadbolt. It was still in position. The door was locked.
Where had the man come from? And where had he gone?
Allison Temple has been a writer since the second grade, when she wrote a short story about a girl and her horse. Her grandmother typed it out for her and said she’s never seen so many quotation marks from a seven-year-old before. Allison took that as a challenge and has gone on to try to break her previous record in all her subsequent works.
Allison lives in Toronto with her very patient husband and the world’s neediest cat. She splits her free time between writing, community theater stage management, and traveling anywhere that has good wine. Tragically, this leaves no time to clean her house.
Newsletter (get two free shorts right now): https://allisontemplebooks.com/newsletter
Facebook Reader group: https://facebook.com/groups/allisonsalist
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B07B7P5591
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/allison-temple
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17490635.Allison_Temple
Twitter: https://twitter.com/allitemplebooks
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/allisontemplebooks/
GIVEAWAY
a Rafflecopter giveaway
https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js
Rolling Thunder passes by my parents farm every year on their way into the District and my father, a veteran of the Korean war, goes outside and salutes them as they pass by. Our media here in the metropolitan area is full of pictures and videos marking the solemn day of remembrance as flags are put at every grave at Arlington and the crowds swell at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial as well as that of the World War II one nearby. If you have never visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, then you have not experienced the power and overwhelming sense of loss that pervades that site. The Wall itself a marker of the high cost of valor and service to our country in the names of the men and women lost reflected back to us. In that black stone reflection, we see the list of names in chronological order and our own reflections, the recipients of their sacrifice. For me, never has a memorial to our dead felt so alive, awash in grief, and sorrow and gratitude.
WELCOME TO THE LAST OF THE GREAT FLYING CITIES
They were raised to hate each other, but love has other plans.
Take one former bully, unable to forgive himself for the sins of his past…
Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words 