SERIES BLAST : Hunter Dane and Camden Snow Series by Adira August (excerpts and giveaway)

Standard

 

BOOK 1 

On His Knees (#1 Cam & Hunter 4Ever)

Author: Adira August

Publisher: RedDeer

Length:  13k words/76 Kindle pages

Genres: Contemporary gay, BDSM, erotica

Blurb:

Sometimes it’s the cop who needs to hit the floor…

As a homicide cop, every blood-soaked crime scene settled in my bones and snaked around my spine. There was only one way to exorcise the images from my soul …

Inside the club, I stopped to scan the room. He was here, Camden Snow. A Norse sex god in the guise of unpretentious youth. Only his ice-blue eyes gave evidence of the Dom who took whomever he wished, whatever way he wanted, with a look and a nod. Merciless.

Cam found me watching him and fixed me with his arctic gaze. This time, I didn’t walk away. He cocked an eyebrow. Well?

The last thing I needed was mercy.

I dropped to my knees.

A frank exploration of the D/s dynamic between two powerful men. Consensual. Adult. Intense.

Buy Links

Amazon US  

Amazon UK  

Free on Instafreebie until Nov 24th

Excerpt

It was an early summer evening, the sun half set. I was making my way to the door with one of the club’s boozeless Bloody Marys to find a deck chair and keep an eye on whoever came up the stairs. Decide what I wanted after sunset.

The door opened before I could touch it. He paused, backlit by the setting sun. Golden. Glowing. Idealized male beauty wrapped in an invisible cloak of incredible power. He was so careless of it. He scanned me and grinned. As if the sight of me delighted him. No one grinned here. Not with genuine pleasure.

He passed close to me, still scanning. It was the kind of moment that called for locked gazes and hardening cocks. Instead, he happily looked me over like I was a pastry display and he was deciding which succulent treat to select.

Cam was fresh from deep powder and Olympic triumph. Exuding health and vitality and bonhomie and danger.

I wanted to give him everything, simply because he existed. And looked at me.

He reached out and put a hand on the side of my neck, his thumb skating lightly along my jawline and down, across my larynx. My insides turned to water.

Don’t pick me. Please.

His eyes narrowed a little as if he’d heard. His hand tightened – scarcely, definitely – and withdrew.

“Kneel for me when you’re ready,” he said. And was gone.

BOOK 2

Matchstick Men: Hunter Dane Investigation 1

(Book 2 of 3 in the HuntandCan4ever series)

Author: Adira August

Publisher: RedDeer

Genre/s: Police Procedural, Murder Mystery, Contemporary Gay Erotica, BDSM

Length:  48k words/ 274 pages

Blurb:

SEX, GAMES & MURDER Want to play?

It was munch night at the most elite underground BDSM club in the Rockies. Relaxed and informal, highlighted by the weekly Matchstick Challenge game. Detective Sergeant Hunter Dane, reigning champion, looked forward to a relaxing evening to start his 3 days off. A few beers on the deck. An interlude with a sweet sub. Stumping a challenger with a new puzzle. Home early for a decent night’s sleep.

Some people are SO deadly serious about their games.

Now Hunt has a fresh body and a new puzzle to solve in twenty-four hours if he wants to find a killer.

A 48k police procedural with a liberal dose of M/M hotness. Which means our fave full-metal Dom shows up to collect on Hunter’s offer of his … coffer. So to speak.

There are puzzles for the reader and mysteries to be solved. Based on characters introduced in the short story On His Knees. 

Buy Links

Amazon US

Amazon UK 

Excerpt

Cam looked out the window, leaving me to myself  while I drove us through the quiet dark of the Capitol Hill streets. I wondered why this killer wasn’t perfectly obvious to me. I wondered if it was impossible for me to see them, being so close that everything blurred at the edges and melded together.

“Did anyone ever tell you, you think too much?” Cam asked.

“Did anyone ever not?”

“Take the next alley,” he told me.

“What? Why?”

“You need to stop thinking.”

“Cam,” I put a warning in my voice. “There’s not much time-“

The bastard grabbed the wheel and cranked it hard right.

“Shit!”

“Steer!”

I lifted my foot off the gas, or tried to. He had his left hand on my thigh just above my knee, digging in, pressing down.

“Stop it, goddamn it!”

Pull into that parking lot.”

“Alright! Just let go, for Christ’s sake!”

He released me instantly and sat back. I managed to miss the light pole and the dumpster and slide into a parking space behind a converted Victorian housing psychologists’ offices. An appropriate place to stop when riding with a no limits lunatic.

The offices were dark, now, but the mosquito bulb over the back door and the security lights at the rear of the building illuminated the lot. And the car’s interior. Anyone walking by could see us. If they saw us in flagrante delicto, they’d call the cops.

Cam had gone too far. I shut off the engine but before I could turn and bust his ass, his fingers found my seat belt release and he launched himself up and over the console into my space, his big hands slid down my arms toward my wrists. I twisted sideways and we wrestled for control of my hands.

I was at a distinct disadvantage under the steering wheel. He bent me toward him and my head was on his thigh.

“Stop it, Cam! Not now, we are not playing!”

He fell back into his seat, taking me with him and manacled me with one hand. But we were sweaty from the struggle and I managed to break his grip, freeing my hands.

He didn’t try to regain them. He simply raised himself and laid his body over mine. My head pressed into his crotch, his weight forced me onto the hard lump of the console.

“You can always safeword you know,” he said. I heard the challenge. The taunting. He was having fun.

“Fuck you,” I grunted underneath him.

I’d never safe worded in my life. Not to “red,” anyway. “Yellow” a few times when I had a cramp or was on call and my cell went off with a dispatch tone.

Safewording might have been an option for me now, if his power and the idea of being at his mercy, of which he possessed none, hadn’t given me a blazing erection.

He’d been betting I wouldn’t go there—confident I wouldn’t safeword. He really was good at this.

I felt his hand at my belt in back. Handcuffs. A thrill of fear and excitement made me choke on air. I struggled again, just enough to feel my inability to stop him from doing exactly what he intended. Jesus, I was hard, weeping against my thigh, trapped by the elastic briefs.

My legs were twisted and caught under the steering wheel. His body locked my right arm against the seatback. He deftly handcuffed my left wrist and calmly found my right and ratcheted the other cuff around it.

This was not the infamous Dom of the club, calculatedly giving me what I needed. Not the sexual virtuoso of last night, expertly bringing me everything I never knew I wanted. Pleasures I never thought existed.

This was the sadist in his element. Loving what he did to me because of what it did for him.

Then, suddenly, I knew who the killer was.

 

BOOK 3

Book Title: Dancing Men: Hunter Dane Investigation 2

(Book 3 of 3—and counting—in the HuntandCam4ever series)

Author: Adira August

Publisher: RedDeer

Genre/s: Police Procedural, Murder Mystery, Gay erotica, BDSM

Length:  70k words/385 pages

Blurb:

You have to bury the past, or the past will bury you.

An ancient burial urn, empty for millennia, is suddenly not so empty.

When Detective Lieutenant Hunter Dane probes the murder at Natural History Museum, it’s his own past that haunts him. To solve the complex case, Hunter needs the talents of Camden Snow, the brilliant, beautiful, “no limits” Dom who’d helped him unravel a very peculiar, and very personal, murder.

But Cam’s ready to kill Hunt, himself! Their high-intensity D/s relationship that began in a playroom, ended in an emergency room.

“If you want to be with me, you’ll have to do more make some big re-entry gesture,” Cam said. “That’s just more drama. You’ll have to work for this, Hunter.”

“All right. What work would that be?” Hunter asked, eager to perform any penance Cam gave him.

“You’re the champion puzzle-solver and ace detective. Unravel a mystery.”

Hunter’s brows pulled together. “What mystery?”

“Me.”

For adults who love some mystery with their men. A 70k police procedural with a liberal dose of M/M heat. The 2nd of the Hunter Dane Investigations. Matchstick Men, their 1st case, also available on Amazon. Their next case, Psychic Men, will be out in spring of 2018

Excerpt

The Mystery

“You are familiar with the Tamil burial jars case I’m hearing?” the judge asked as she led him into her chambers.

“Enough to know the case exists,” he said, putting his professional face on. Why would they need a homicide investigator for an international property dispute? “I should mention I’m acquainted with Doctor St Clair who was appointed head of the research team.”

“I see,” she said, taking her chair but not inviting him to sit. “Do I have to go over confidentiality? I was informed with you it wouldn’t be necessary.”

“It isn’t,” he said.

“Good.” She sat forward and clasped her hands on the desk. “Expert testimony the Court finds to be compelling establishes the impossibility of determining the geographic origin of the jars or when they were created and sealed without extensive testing. There will be a problem of international relations if I award the urns to the Denver museum and later testing reveals clearly that the plaintiff did have standing.”

Hunter nodded. The judge cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him. “You understand the issue?”

“It will look as if we must have known all along and used a technicality in the law to keep the jars here. I imagine they have more than scientific value?” he said.

A slow and very small smile appeared. “Have a seat,” she told him. He did.

“At my request, Doctor St Clare sent a doctoral fellow to take air samples from the jars to determine how long ago they were sealed. That was ten days ago. I received the results on Friday. So did the attorneys. After which, I issued a gag order.”

Hunter waited for her to get to the point.

“I’m curious, detective, what you would guess the tests showed?”

“At least one of the air samples had a much higher level of carbon dioxide than would be present when the jars were made. And traces of methane, ammonia, hydrogen sulphide and nitrogen. Decomp gases.”

Her Honor nodded.

“There’s flesh rotting in one of those jars and it wasn’t put there a thousand years ago,” Hunter said.

Buy Links

Amazon US

Amazon UK

 

GIVEAWAY

November Rafflecopter Prize 1 x $25 Amazon gift card 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

SERIES BLAST AND REVIEW TOUR SCHEDULE

NOVEMBER

 

November 13

Millsy Loves Books    

Gay Book Promotions 

November 16  

Lily G Blunt   

November 21

Bayou Book Junkie 

Men & Men Midnightcafe.uk  

November 24

Gay Book Reviews 

November 30  

The Blogger Girls

Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words 

Stories That Make You Smile      

MORE POSTS TO FOLLOW IN DECEMBER

 

 

About the Author

TYPOS ARE MY TRADEMEARK

I write mostly BDSM EROTICA because I love exploring the power dynamics in terms of the love relationships. The work is explicit. It’s always consensual. If you have triggers about certain kinds of practices, use discretion. I do not make kink lists for my titles.

I went to school interminably, it seemed like. I studied anthropology and paleontology and genetics and literature and theology and ancient Greek. I chased down bad guys, raised children, climbed mountains, played poker, searched for dinosaurs and have had a rather large number of lovers. (I’m not giving up any numbers because TMI) Through it all, I wrote.

No wonder I’m so tired.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

You can read all my books stand-alone. There’s plenty of information about what happened previously in Hunt and Cam’s story for you to easily follow their relationship arc. The mysteries are always complete within the stories.

BUT if you’re a romance lover, the relationship story is not a romance. It is a love story. But it’s also the story of two independent Alpha males: one gay and one bisexual, one Dom and one switch with a preference for BDSM. And they aren’t simple, take it from someone who shares headspace with them.

I love these guys. They surprise me and challenge me and break my heart, sometimes. They inspire me.

(Just some FYI for the new readers. Hi. Welcome.)

Addi

Social Media Links

Blog/Website

Facebook Author Page

Addi’s Facebook Spoiler Group

Twitter

 

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Gay-book-promotions-logos-jayAheer2017-square2 copy 2

Release Day Blitz For The Love of Samuel by RP Andrews (excerpt)

Standard

Title:  For the Love of Samuel

Author: RP Andrews

Publisher:  Self-Published

Release Date: 11/20/2017

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

Pairing: Male/Male, Male/Male Menage

Length: 50,500

Genre: Romance, Erotica, Fantasy, eroic gay romance, erotic gay fiction

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

New Yorker and aging gay man Billy Veleber who abhors growing old has lost Jim, his former meth head lover, to his habit, and Gus, the older man in his life and mentor, to despair, when he is confronted with the chance to become 21 all over again, through the magical prowess of the dog tag of a long dead Civil War soldier, Samuel Evans. Young again, Billy abandons Manhattan for Fort Lauderdale where he meets Dare, the love of his life, whose clever quick rich venture first bonds them, then threatens to end their idyllic lives together forever. Billy also faces the reality of having to tell Dare the truth about himself.

Excerpt

Billy Veleber, a 51 year old aging gay mam living in Manhattan, after a number of heartbreaks, decides to put on the dog tag of a Civil soldier given to him by Travis, a clerk in a thrift shop in Boystown, Chicago, who tells him it will give him eternal youth if he has had or has love in his life.  The dog tag had been handed down for generations since it was given to Walt Whitman by a dying soldier he nursed in the Washington, D.C., Armory Hospital in 1862. Over the intervening weekend, Billy begins his transformation to 21, the same age as the soldier, Samuel Evans, whose dog tag he wears, died …

I leave the baths around five, and after a coma nap, a quick Smart Choice Fettuccini Alfredo 400 calorie dinner and a good hot shower – I notice with cocky satisfaction in the bedroom’s full length mirror that my love handles are history, my stomach is flatter, my receding hairline is unreceding, and most of the gray on my head and in my beard and and on  – yes! – my chest is going or gone, I head over in my leather vest, no shirt, and levis and boots for The New Eagle off Tenth Avenue. It’s almost one – a.m. – but as one of my fuck buddies before Gus and even Jim, said, “That’s when they stop window shopping.”

Now it’s called The New Eagle because the old Eagle, along with the Spike and the Lure, the leather triumvirate of my youth and my years with Gus, were gone. They had become the victims of the real estate boom at the turn of the millennium, and had been brutally and sacrilegiously torn down for shiny, gleaming condos and spankingly clean baby carriages.

In the crappy bathroom at the Spike they had stenciled on the black wall in cheap white paint, “Don’t flush for piss.” That said it all. I only hoped some gay historians had saved that piece of the wall before it too became history. Now all we have left is the hole on Tenth Avenue, what us hardcore leathermen sarcastically brand as Genuine “Vi-nel.”

I strut in, my goose-step no longer adopted but my own, and find the same Chatty Cathy cliques – different faces, same old shit – going on like the last time I was here with Gus just after we’d  gotten back from our first class holiday excursion to Athens and Rome and a few weeks before his stroke.

In between the groupies are some of the oldest members of our clan, The Old Guard, usually alone because most of their cronies are already dead, and usually with enough keys hanging from their belts to rival a night watchman at the Chrysler Building, the fucken handkerchiefs hanging from their pockets, so Twentieth Century, or the best of them in faded, stretched out jock straps that should be on Antiques Road Show along with their owners. Yea it’s true, the older some of these guys got, the less they wore. For attention I guess.

Admired or ridiculed, it doesn’t matter; the greatest sin is to be ignored.

I order my nine dollar screwdriver with fifteen cents of vodka in it, and head up the stairs to the second level where just a year before Gus and I had had our leather marriage ceremony.

As I’m going up the stairs some twink in a super short Tux jacket, Bermuda shorts and floppies and one of those Abe Lincoln top hats – I guess he thinks he’s in the Garment District because anywhere else he’d be tire-ironed – and his angelic girl friend, a vision in pink, dressed in a fluffy chiffon skirt, low cut blouse and sneakers, are waltzing down the stairs. They give a funny stare but I stare them right back.

“You,” say I, pointing to the bitch, “don’t belong here.”

“You can’t discriminate against us, fucker,” replies her boyfriend who sounds like he shoots up with estrogen in the morning.

I give him a frumpy look back. Yea, buddy you’re right. The days when a leather bar could stop you from coming in if you weren’t dressed “in code” are over. With the leather scene fading faster than an Atlantic City “Wish You Were Here” postcard, it’s all about selling the liquor.

Period.

There’s less people upstairs, the same Chatty Cathy shit going on or guys on their fucken phones GPSing you but never making a move beyond that, when I see HIM.

He’s tall but not too tall, hairy but not a gorilla like me, older but not old, with an open leather camouflage vest showing a tight, lightly furry chest and six pack out of one of Men’s Fitness cover stories, “Dynamite Abs in Just Six Weeks!”, a scrawny beard and face of a felon who did hard labor, and leather gloves and biker’s cap to complete the whole Neo-Nazi look.

Plus a pair of furry, honey melon buns deliciously hanging from his chaps begging to be tongued.

Fuck!

He’s standing at the other end of the bar, surrounded by clones though he is far and away the pick of the litter. I lock my eyes on him like a laser for a good ten minutes but I get hardly a glance.

Now in the old days before Jim and Gus when I was free as a bird but as timid as a spinster, I would have just moved on. Oh, but this was the new Billy, the ballsy Billy. I walk over and stand two feet away from Mr. Hot Shit and his court jesters and just keep staring.

Finally I get his attention.

“You got a problem, bud?” he says returning the stare of a killer. His cronies do the same.

“Well, I’ve been cruising you for at least ten minutes now and I didn’t even get a fart back.”

“And…”

“So what are you looking for, some fem, or fat boy, or maybe some tough guy with whips, chains and razors hanging from his belt?”

His buddies begin to little girl giggle, but not a muscle moves in Hotshit’s Stone Mountain face.

“I’m not into watching your pubic hairs grow in, buddy.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Thirty, thirty two maybe.”

Fuck, dude, I’d suck your dick all night just for that. But I continue to play it cool.

“So you get your kicks changing some old man’s Depends, I guess.”

Now Hotshit is the only one that’s laughing.

“Okay, smart ass, buy me a beer.”

He follows me to the bar and after collecting our beers, we move to the other side and sit down on the wood bleachers.

“I gotta tell you buddy -”

“Billy, name’s Billy.”

“Hank, in from LA. Hell, Billy, you’re the first guy I’ve met in a long time that’s got balls for real.”

“Hey, I know what I want, so why waste one another’s time?”

“And you want me?”

“If you can deal with all this.” I glide my hand over the fur on my chest and abs when Hank puts his hand over mine and pushes it further down to my crotch.

And squeezes.

“I dig the fur big time. And most younger guys are so used to deleting and blocking everybody, they don’t know how to talk, Christ, they don’t know how to fart in public. But you – you sound pretty mature for a kid old enough to be my son.”

“You don’t have to be old to have your shit together.”

Hank raises his razor chin. “So how old do you think I am, stud?”

Now with that hard core felon face, I took him for fifty but PR taught me to tell people what they wanna hear.

“Forty.”

“Good answer,” he replies. “I’m 46.”

“l just threw a guy out younger than you,” I say smugly.

“Oh?”

“High maintenance. Wanted it all the time. Hey, what do I look like, some fucking machine?”

“You must be pretty tough.” He smiles for the first time since we connected, a tough guy’s, controlled, but a smile nonetheless.

“Yea, I’m a trust fund baby, do what I wanna do, when I wanna do it, with whoever I wanna do it with.”

It’s refreshing to create whatever past the moment calls for when you know, chances are, you’ll never see the guy again.

“And you?” I ask. “You’re not one of these aging hotties who live off those of us with money are you?” This time I place my hand on his chest, rubbing it slowly back and forth from nipple to nipple. He’s got a nice succulent set.

“You know something,” with his own smart ass grin. “I’m going to really enjoy hearing you howl while I fuck you.”

I get up, pat my ass for his benefit, then sit down again.

“This ain’t yours yet.”

“Okay, fair enough.” He takes my hand, places it on his crotch, a respectable bulge at that. “I’m a set designer in Hollyweird, between gigs which is why I decided go visit New York and see some old buddies …”

“…who you’re free loading off of.”

“If you mean, I’m staying with one of them the answer is yes.”

“Current trans-coastal lover, present or former fuck buddy, auditioning sugar daddy, which is it?”

“None of the above. Just a buddy’s couch and a lumpy one at that.”

“Well then, that makes it easy.” I get down off the bleachers and wait for him to follow. He does.

“Remember.” He taps on the chrome and leather armband on his bulging left bicep.

“So two tops can have fun,” I say matter of factly, taping on my neoprene version, also on my not quite as bulging as his left bicep. “Who ends up on the bottom bunk is a matter of luck and timing.”

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

RP Andrews spent most of his life in New York City as a public relations executive before relocating to Fort Lauderdale in 2002, where he enjoyed a brief second career teaching writing at a local university.

All his works of erotic gay fiction and non-fiction are available at amazon.com.

His first work of erotic gay fiction, a collection of edgy short stories called “Basic Butch,” was originally published by San Francisco-based GLBT Publishers in 2008. Basic Butch features characters who go down life paths that, in the end, they wish they had never explored.

His latest works of serious gay fiction include:

“The Czar of Wilton Drive,” the story of Jonathan Antonucci, a twenty-one-year- old, barely-out-the-closet gay man from suburban New York who overnight finds himself a multimillionaire, thanks to a bequest by his late gay uncle. Uncle Charlie has unexpectedly died of a heart attack, leaving him the sole owner of several of the most successful bars in Wilton Manors, Fort Lauderdale’s gay ghetto, making Jonathan the Czar of Wilton Drive.

Flying down to Lauderdale to claim his bequest, Jon encounters Uncle Charlie’s dubious friends and business associates, and is immediately submerged in Lauderdale’s scene of unbridled sex and heavy drugs. He also discovers his great uncle’s memoirs which reveal truths not only about Jon’s own past but also what may have really happened to his uncle. In the end, Jon is torn between avenging Uncle Charlie’s death or loving the man responsible for it.

“Not In It For The Love,” set at the turn of the new millennium. Josh, a young street-smart Florida drifter is snatched from his dead-end existence as a male hustler in a cheap Key Largo motel by Bishop, a Wall Street power broker who sets him up as his trophy boy in Manhattan society. There, Josh, after leading a promiscuous lifestyle within New York City’s gay sub-culture, meets Hylan, a young, bi-racial, down-on-his luck, wheelchair-bound musician who awakens in Josh what love can be between two men. But their chance at happiness and the lives of those around them are forever changed by 9/11.

“Buy Guys,” published in 2015, is the story of Blaze and Pete, two handsome young drifters with nothing and nothing to lose. Blaze convinces Pete, who is falling in love with him, to leave dreary New Jersey and lead free and easy lives as male prostitutes in sunny Fort Lauderdale. Blaze, however, soon pulls Pete into a much larger, more dangerous scheme, a scheme that eventually threatens to destroy them both.

RP Andrews’ daily social commentary blog on gay life in America has been running since 2010 at str8gayconfessions.com, and a second edition collection of these commentaries is available as an e-book on amazon.com. Confessions of a Str8Gay Man is RP Andrews’ unvarnished, unorthodox views of Modern Gay America which are often counter to today’s political correct gay media.

In addition, there is “Furry Man’s Journal,” his erotic memoirs as a hirsute gay man as told through his experiences with the dozen iconic men in his life.

For more info, visit eroticgayromancebyrpandrews.com.

Website | Facebook | Twitter | eMail

 

 

Blog Button 2

Save

RELEASE DAY BLITZ: Figure Study by Suzanne Clay (excerpt and giveaway)

Standard

Title:  Figure Study

Series: Chiaroscuro, Book Two

Author: Suzanne Clay

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: September 25, 2017

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 19900

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT, erotica, contemporary, lesbian, artist, teacher/student, age-gap, interracial, light D/s, edging, spanking, rope bondage/shibari

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Ainsley and her former student Noma face the aftermath of their unexpected one-night stand in this second story of Chiaroscuro.

The night Ainsley spent gently dominating Noma was far more intimate than any scene she’d ever been in before. The intensity of playing with someone she’d taught and cared about was a completely different experience–and twice as intimidating. She’d had two options: turn Noma away and never see her again, or let her stay for a few hours more.

The years away from scenes have left Ainsley eager for play but unsteady in her role. And memories of a younger Noma, when their relationship was student and mentor, only add to the confusion. A return to familiar ropes and knots, an erotic bondage play, helps Ainsley regain a sense of control and face her vulnerabilities. She must learn to see Noma as an adult woman in every way, risking a dangerous power imbalance, even as her heart begins to yearn for intimacy she’s long hidden from.

As they delve into new scenes, Ainsley and Noma confront past pain and baggage. Only by facing their fear of opening up can they learn to trust each other and share something deeper.

Excerpt

Figure Study
Suzanne Clay © 2017
All Rights Reserved

 

The last time Ainsley made breakfast for someone she was procrastinating for her senior show. There had been paintings to finish, an artist statement to make foolproof, and a final defense to prepare, and ultimately, it had been too much for her. A warm body and a kind smile had helped for the night, but the morning after had been too soon for Ainsley to jump back into the fray. On that day fifteen years ago, her delaying tactic had been blueberry muffins. This morning, it was blueberry pancakes.

The fruit felt cool and firm in Ainsley’s hand as she poured them into the pale batter. She lingered for a moment, considering their fullness and the way they floated on the surface. There was a striking color contrast emphasized by the sunrise cutting through her kitchen’s picture window. It felt shameful to ruin it. But ruin she did. With one stir of her wooden spoon, she watched the berries disappear under the surface, leaving behind divots that rapidly filled with the batter again.

Moments like this struck her on a daily basis, and not for the first time, Ainsley wondered why. Was it from her artistic sensibilities, appreciating the difference of colors and the play of textures and the shifting of shapes? Or was it from yet another night of insomnia? Did her exhausted mind make everything feel a little more visceral, look a little more striking? She wasn’t sure. And while she found appreciation from these little things regardless, she also felt uncomfortable that maybe, just maybe, it was something she shouldn’t be pleased by.

She was making these pancakes to delay waking the girl in her room. She was making coffee to avoid sleeping so she wouldn’t risk sensual, aching dreams about the woman she still wasn’t sure she regretted touching.

Ainsley paused by the pantry with the syrup bottle loose in her grip. She sat at the breakfast table cradling the bottle safely in her hands.

Fifteen years ago, she made blueberry muffins to avoid her final university projects. And Noma, the girl dreaming so peacefully in her bed, had left kindergarten only a short time later. God, that puts things in perspective.

Ainsley sacrificed a pancake’s perfect golden-brown color to pour some coffee and drink it—too hot, too bitter, and too strong. The taste was enough to drown out the burgeoning worries in her head, and the burned edges of the pancake were enough penance to set Ainsley’s heart at ease again. Ainsley would eat it. She never much minded eating things everyone else wanted to throw away.

By the time Ainsley brought the tray full of pancakes and coffee and syrup into the bedroom, her mind was clear again. Noma looked like she hadn’t moved an inch in her sleep. She lay on her stomach, hands fisted by her face, and the pinks and purples that Ainsley had painted on her back were perfectly intact. She hadn’t stirred from the sounds of Ainsley moving pots around or the grinding of the coffee beans. She slept perfectly. Peacefully.

Ainsley envied that to the very depths of her soul.

After setting the tray on the end of the bed, she sat next to Noma and caressed her arm. The play of the color contrast between their skin—Ainsley’s blue-white paleness against Noma’s umber brown—stirred her imagination toward painting, but her thoughts silenced as Noma moved under her touch and made a low sound. Ainsley gently squeezed her arm and smiled. “Good morning.”

“Mmnh…” Noma squinted up at Ainsley, came up on her elbows, and rubbed her eyes. “Morning.” She froze, hand still in a fist, and grunted. “God, I’ve still got my makeup on. Did I really just pass out last night?”

“You did,” Ainsley said with a chuckle. “You must’ve been out of it.”

“Yeah, well…” Noma’s cheeks flushed a dark rose as she collapsed flat again. “I mean, y’know, I had a pretty good night and all.”

Ainsley tipped her head to the side. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” With her cheek resting on her bent forearms like a pillow, Noma peeked up at Ainsley, half her face still obscured. “You?”

Ainsley had spent a long night sitting at her breakfast table staring into the darkness and remembering over and over again what she’d done: crossing paths with Noma at Ainsley’s gallery showing, getting Noma’s safeword, painting her skin, tasting her sweet arousal—all without ever asking herself if it had been wise to move so fast. Ainsley considered her response. “I think it went rather well,” she finally said as she pushed her hair over her shoulder.

Noma stared at her intently. “You think so, huh?”

There was something Noma wasn’t saying—something Ainsley couldn’t pick up on as much as she wanted to. It was like Noma was hedging her bets until she knew exactly what Ainsley wasn’t saying. Ainsley narrowed her eyes, weighing her thoughts, and shook her head. “Didn’t I used to be able to read your face a lot better?”

“That was a long time ago,” Noma said, smiling. “I’m not quite the girl I used to be.”

“No, you’re not,” Ainsley murmured. “No, you’re a woman now.” She flicked her eyes down Noma’s body and took in the swell of her rear end, the stretch marks over her hips, and the smoothness of her skin. “Do you want to know a secret?”

Noma sat up on her elbows. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s part of why I didn’t sleep last night,” Ainsley said. “Just from trying to reconcile the idea of you as a woman instead of a student.”

The smile Noma gave was more tentative than anything, no doubt still trying to figure out her place in Ainsley’s bed. “Makes sense. Guess I gotta do that too. I keep seeing you as Miss Edwards.”

Ainsley smiled back. “Is that why you called me ‘ma’am’ just a second ago?”

Noma seemed flustered for a moment, her cheeks flushing even more. “No, that’s, uh…no, I think that’s from last night.”

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

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

Facebook | Twitter | eMail | Tumblr

 

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway
https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js

Blog Button 2

Save

Save

Save

On Tour with Forbidden Lust (Novocaine #1) by Grayson Knight (excerpt)

Standard

An MM Erotica Short Story by Grayson Knight.

forbidden lust novocaine book 1

 Title: Forbidden Lust: Novocaine Book One

Author: Grayson Knight

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Grayson Knight

Release Date: August 3 2017

Genre/s: Contemporary Gay MM, Stepfather, Taboo, Erotica,

Length:  11K Words/33 Pages

novocaine one promo two

Blurb:

Jackson has never felt anything from his mother. All his life she treated him badly and he thought he would never have anything good in his life. That is until Cole came on the scene. Cole was in his early forties, and he was kind, handsome and built from pure muscle. The only problem was he was about to marry Jackson’s mum, but he was all that Jackson could think about.

It was on the night of his eighteenth birthday when the only gift Jackson got was a pendant from Cole that he knew meant that there was something between them. Jackson’s innocence was something that he wanted to offer Cole, but he never knew if that chance would ever appear. For now, he would have to watch from afar and hope that his fantasies would be enough.

Maybe one day he would get a chance at a night with Cole, but a sexual relationship with his stepfather was surely off limits and taboo. Or was it?

An MM Erotica Short Story by Grayson Knight.

Buy Links:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

Goodreads Link

Untitled

Excerpt:

On the night of my eighteenth, my mum had gone out partying with her friends and I was alone in my room. I was wearing nothing but my boxers as I stood in front of the mirror lifting my free-weights in an attempt to exercise out my anger. As I watched myself, my green eyes looked back at me from my reflection with determination. I was determined to not let this get me down, and I would go on and eventually make something of myself. There was a knock on my door, and I carried on working out as I shouted.

“Come in.”

The door was already ajar and I watched as it opened and Cole came in and stood awkwardly by the door. He was tall and muscular, and as I watched him in the reflection of my mirror I could see his pecs tense, and his nipples were erect through his tight t-shirt. He was pretty fucking hot.

“Sorry to bother you Jackson, I just wanted to come and see how you were doing.’ He stepped forward and sat on my bed behind me.

I crouched and put my weights on the floor next to my mirror and stood up. I tried to wipe the sweat that was dripping from my blonde hair as I turned to face my future step-father. He looked me up and down and his eyes landed on my toned stomach as he quickly averted his eyes. I smiled at him then.

“It’s OK Cole, you’re not bothering me at all.” Our eyes met, and I swear I felt something spark between us. I licked my dry lips and Cole caught the action. He shifted where he sat as he signalled for me to sit beside him. As I did his weight on the bed made me feel a little flustered, I turned to face him and he was looking at me intensely. His eyes bore into me and my breath hitched in my chest. He was ridiculously sexy and I suddenly felt very exposed sat here in just my tight boxers.

novocaine one promo one

Author Bio:

Grayson Knight has always had a love of books, writing and beautiful men. So it seemed natural to combine these loves and create his own worlds in the form of erotic gay fiction. When not creating adventures of very sexy men, Grayson can be found spending time with his loving husband and two cats.

Follow Grayson Knight on  Twitter

Review Tour Schedule

FL3

August 18 –  Millsy Loves Books, Lily Adile Lamb, The Way She Reads

August 21 – Louise Lyons, Kylie the Bookaholick

August 22 –  Love Unchained Book Reviews, L M Somerton, BFD Book Blog

August 23 – Smokin’ Hot Reads Book Blog

August 24 – Books Laid Bare Boys, Kimmers’ Erotic Book Banter

August 26 – Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

August 27 – Bayou Book Junkie, Tangents and Tissues, We Like It Big Book Blog, Alpha Book Club, Love To Read Romance Books, Up Against A Wall

August  30 – The Novel Approach

September 6 – Top 2 Bottom Reviews

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Gay-book-promotions-logos-jayAheer2017-square2

Blog Tour for Different Dynamics by Tamir Drake (exclusive excerpt and giveaway)

Standard

Title:  Different Dynamics

Author: Tamir Drake

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 26

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male Menage

Length: 19300

Genre: Contemporary, paranormal, erotica, ABO, sports, hockey, MMM, knotting, hurt/comfort, dirty talk

Add to Goodreads

Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words is happy to host Tamir Drake today on the Different Dynamics tour.  Check out the exclusive excerpt before entering the giveaway! Enjoy!

Synopsis

Richard doesn’t mind being an omega; all he cares about is playing good hockey, even though it means ignoring the media that tries to rip him apart for it. They don’t think omegas should be allowed on the ice, but he gets along fine. He’s team captain. He can play with the best of them.

The one sticking point is his heats; Richard might be on suppressants, but he’s one of the unlucky ones who still gets a heat every four months or so. They suck to deal with, especially alone, but seeking out a heat partner isn’t an option. The PR nightmare alone keeps him from any kind of hook-up. He can’t risk it. Hockey is all he’s got.

When Richard’s heat comes early while his team is on a roadie, teammate and best friend James helps him out of a bad situation. Tired of hurting, Richard decides it’s better not to go it alone. And James is safe and warm; he’s a great alpha who knows just what Richard needs. When Richard also imprints on big, bad rival player, Dmitry Sokolov? There’s sweet comfort in a three-way with lots of knotting and dirty talk.

Richard might be on cloud nine.

Exclusive Excerpt

Different Dynamics
Tamir Drake © 2017
All Rights Reserved

Richard got home, dropped his bags, and said hello to his cat Marshmallow. After checking her puzzle feeder and changing the water in her drinking fountain, he went into the bedroom to collapse. He spared a thought to how he should be eating, or at least hydrating, but all he wanted to do was curl up in bed. There was another game tomorrow, and he needed to steel himself for it, to get to practice and be able to play. Once again, he’d have to prepare to hide all of himself, so he could do what he loved. Hockey was all he had.

It was this thought that finally got him out of bed. He needed to concentrate on hockey—more than that—on being a good captain. That meant pushing through his heat. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it; he usually had at least two heats during the season, even with the fairly regular onsets the implant gave him. Hiding himself meant downing painkillers and libido inhibitors, dousing his clothes in odor-blocker, keeping a constant supply of pads on hand, and playing through the discomfort. He’d gotten good at ignoring the battle of scents on the ice, the distraction of the other players. It was just hockey; as long as he kept his head in the game, it would be good enough.

He dragged himself to the kitchen and pulled a ready meal out of the freezer, not up to trying to cook or calling in. He did his best to drain a bottle of juice while he waited for his food to warm up, hunched over the kitchen island. His mouth felt so dry no matter how much he drank—another side effect of the inhibitors—and his head was pounding.

The microwave beeped and Richard took his food into the living room. Curling up on the couch to eat it, he smiled feebly at Marshmallow when she jumped up next to him. She’d always been able to tell when he was hurting, and her warmth was a small comfort.

His phone rang after a few mouthfuls, flashing James’s face on the screen.

“’Lo?”

“Hey, Packer,” James said easily. “How are you doing?”

“Uh. Fine?” Richard shifted on the couch. “Just, you know, trying to settle back in and shit.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Richard said, a little testily. He really didn’t feel well. “I just told you.”

“Can I come by?”

Richard didn’t exactly want company right now, but it was James. “I guess so. Why?”

“Because you went into heat yesterday, and I’m worried about you, fucker. What even happened, by the way? Did your implant malfunction or something? Are you getting it checked out?”

“Uh…”

“What?”

All in. “I might, uh, get heats regularly.”

“Richard!” Richard winced and pulled the phone away from his ear as James continued, “The fuck? Are you shitting me? You get heats on the regular, and you never thought to tell any of us?”

“What would it have mattered if I did?” Richard snapped, glad he was having this conversation over the phone and not in person. “The media can’t know; they already try to rip me apart because I’m an omega. If they thought I didn’t have a lid on my heats, it’d be a PR nightmare.”

“We’re not the media, you shithead. We’re your team. You think any of us would have blabbed your secret? You think we wouldn’t immediately crush anyone who tried?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

There was a lot of inarticulate growling, and then James sighed.

“Okay.” James sounded tired. “If you say it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. Still think you should tell the boys, but that’s your choice. Are—are you gonna be playing in the game?”

“’Course.”

“Right.” Richard could picture James rubbing a hand over his face. “Well? Can I come by? Do you want my help?”

It dawned on Richard that James was checking up on him. That he was offering to help with the heat again. “What, really?”

“Oh my god you little—yes. How long do yours usually last?”

“Um, like a week.”

“Okay. I’ll pack a bag and be over in a few.”

Richard stared at his phone.

“Richard?”

“You want to what?”

There was a pause. “Or I could…not,” James said eventually. “If you don’t want me to?”

“No! No, I…I’m just, uh, surprised.”

“You can’t honestly tell me you’ve never had someone take you through a heat before, Packer.”

Richard was silent.

“Oh my fucking god I will be there in half an hour.”

James hung up.

Richard stared at his phone again and wondered what had just happened.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Tamir has the tendency to write feelings into everything, no matter how filthy. He’s not all that sorry about it. Visit him on his Website.

Tour Schedule

6/26    Book Lovers 4Ever

6/27    Boy Meets Boy Reviews

6/27    Love Bytes Reviews 

6/28    Divine Magazine

6/28    Making it Happen

6/28    Liz’s Reading Life

6/29    Erotica For All

6/29    Happily Ever Chapter

6/29    Reviews for Book Lovers

6/30    Bonkers About Books

6/30    Hoards Jumble 

6/30    Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

 

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway
https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js

Blog Button 2

Save

Save

Save

Save

Blog Tour and Giveaway for Will to Live by M. Christine (special excerpt)

Standard

Title:  Will to Live

Author: M. Christine

Publisher:  Torrid Books

Release Date: March 16, 2017

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

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

Length: 29,509 words

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

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

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

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

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

Excerpt

Kendra then gave him a tour.

“There are so many fun things to do here,” she said. She walked demurely with Will, as if she were a debutante being courted by a gentleman. “For instance, if we detour into this big room, we find gloryhole action. There’s a big space over yonder where someone who’s really hungry for dick sits inside a cubicle, and the four walls around it have a bunch of holes for insertion. Then there’s a couple of smaller setups that accommodate a more intimate experience of one unknown cock, one unknown mouth.”

The more compact gloryhole structures reminded Will of confessionals, which made him feel uneasy. His grandmother was a devout Catholic, and he did not like thinking of his grandmother in connection to a gloryhole.

Kendra led him to another room. It was black-lit, and to enter it they were required to attach a bendable glow stick onto their bodies. Will could see a few glowing wrists groping frenetically at some dark mass of bodies; a few folks made illuminated cock rings or hooked their glow stick through nipple hoop piercings. A sweaty energy emitted from this grope center. Although Kendra longingly watched some of the action, Will stayed put. He let her get her eyeful as his arm remained linked to hers, but he did not budge toward that orgy.

There was a region of the club space to the side of the large main room, where rows of racks of varying heights were lined up against the walls. Bodies in various states of dress were fastened to most of them. Some racks were in an X-shape, others were like door jams with hooks on the outside, holding paddles and other toys.

“Are those whips?” inquired Will just before he heard a sharp crack. A hand flicking a blood-red bullwhip caught his eye. Will observed a big, pale set of anonymous butt cheeks receive a snap from the uncoiled object. The flesh flinched and wobbled hypnotically, though the biting blow appeared to draw blood, which jolted Will out of his dazed stare. He expanded his vision, noticing that the restrained female was wearing a cloth sack over her head.

Will noticed other people—men and women—clamped, locked, or roped onto the different racks. They were disciplined with paddles or riding crops, and Will became aware of the cacophony of slaps filling the space. There were a few attendees waiting in line for some of this action. One Bettie Page-type submissive apparently had her fill, calling out Uncle! as she squirmed inside her limb restraints. Her ebony-skinned female partner’s whole hand—gloved to the elbow—was inside her. G-spot liquid spilled out from her pussy as the dominatrix yanked out her fist. She wiped the wetness onto the bound female’s tits and stomach, dried her glove with a towel hanging nearby, and made a half-hearted effort to slacken the knots at the limp captive’s wrists. With one spiky stiletto, the domina tugged loose the sinew around her partner’s red and raw ankles. The released girl curled up on the floor, groveling at her top’s sexy high heels and long legs. Those legs kicked her aside while the fierce lady fetched a container of disinfectant wipes and threw it at her. The groveling one commenced to clean up the area and equipment they used. She gathered the trash and vacated the spot for those waiting their turn—which happened to be a threesome.

“I don’t see too many people smiling in this area,” Will said.

“Come this way,” Kendra responded with a tilt of her pretty head.

In one corner was a leather swing. Will once saw one like it on a porn site Yuri showed him. In the swing, which was hooked to the ceiling with industrial strength, was a fine Latina with her legs spread comfortably in the provided stirrups. She smiled and laughed as the swing rocked back and forth. Her pink labia was impaled on a rigid dick. The dude who the dick belonged to manipulated her swing to slush and stroke it over and over. The woman just giggled and sighed and grinned, speaking a few encouraging words like so thick, and oh, stud. When she spoke her voice was low and sexy, which made the guy push and pull her hips more intensely, and that made her squeal in delight.

“Hi, Evelyn,” cooed Kendra.

The swinger waved to Kendra and blew her a kiss, never breaking out of her state of pleasure.

.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

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

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | eMail | Simon & Schuster | Google Play

Tour Schedule

6/12 – millsylovesbooks

6/13 – Divine Magazine

6/14 – Books,Dreams,Life

6/15 – A Book Lover’s Dream Book Blog

6/16 – Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

6/16 – Happily Ever Chapter

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Release Day Blitz for Painting Class by Suzanne Clay (excerpt and giveaway)

Standard

Title:  Painting Class

Series: Chiaroscuro, Book 1

Author: Suzanne Clay

Publisher:  NineStar Press

Release Date: June 5, 2017

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Female/Female

Length: 10300

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

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

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

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

Excerpt

Painting Class
Suzanne Clay © 2017
All Rights Reserved

“You look like you might need this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps she made more of a statement than she believed.

“Man, that’s really something.”

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

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

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

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

Facebook | Twitter | eMail | Tumblr

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway
https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js

Blog Button 2

Save

An Alisa Review: Hot Wednesday #1 – English Edition (Hot Wednesday – English Edition) by Taylor Kinney and Kevan Houser (Translator)

Standard

Rating:  3.5 stars out of 5

 

Julian’s been an escort for nearly ten years, willingly for the last five. But from the moment Gabriel walked into his life, everything changed.

 

The man lives in anticipation of those weekly encounters when he can make Gabriel his slave. All he wants is to have Gabriel all to himself, but that’s something he’ll never have the courage to expect, so he has to make do with the crumbs Gabriel tosses him.

 

Erotic M/M story with BDSM content. Not suitable for those who don’t enjoy this genre.

 

This was an interesting story.  Julian is a former escort that longs for his one day a week with Gabriel, who he has continued to hide his true feeling from.  Gabriel likes how their sessions are uncomplicated and allow him to unwind.

 

Julian has kept Gabriel completely in the dark, about his feelings and his job.  While they are still continuing their weekly sessions, one of which we got to see in this story.  And was it seriously hot.  I am very interested to see how these sessions and their will continue.

 

The cover art is simple but perfect for this story.

 

Sales Links: Amazon

 

Book Details:

ebook, 7,000 words

Published: April 11, 2017

Edition Language: English

Series: Hot Wednesday

Release Blitz for Who I am When I’m with You by Tamryn Eradani (excerpt and giveaway)

Standard

Title:  Who I Am When I’m With You

Series: Daniel & Ryan, Book 3

Author: Tamryn Eradani

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: April 3

Heat Level: 5 – Erotica

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 13300

Genre: Erotica, BDSM, Businessmen, Friends to Lovers, gay, LGBT

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Daniel and Ryan have fallen into a routine, carefully keeping work and play separate. In the office, they’re co-workers, people who sometimes meet in the break room, but in the bedroom they’re different. Daniel likes being someone different. He likes being Ryan’s Daniel for a little bit every night.

Excerpt

Who I Am When I’m With You
Tamryn Eradani © 2017
All Rights Reserved

“Hey,” Ryan says, easily sidestepping Daniel. He doesn’t even spill his coffee. The full mug must be why he’s out of his office, and Daniel gets caught staring at it. He wishes a desire for caffeine was the only thing that could pull him from his office.

He adjusts his tie, loosening it just so he can tighten it again, and it’s when he looks back up that he sees Ryan’s lips moving. “Sorry,” Daniel says. “Can you say that again?”

Ryan puts a hand to the small of Daniel’s back and ushers him toward the break room. “I said you looked like you needed a cup of coffee.”

“I need a lot more than that,” Daniel says but he lets himself be led into the break room anyway.

He doesn’t, however, let Ryan pour him a cup of coffee. He settles for a mug of extra-hot water. He’s got a personal stash of tea in his office—non-caffeinated and much better quality than any of the beverages in this room.

Ryan eyes the mug of hot water with a critical eye. “That’s less than coffee.”

“I’ve got tea in my office.”

“Of course,” Ryan says. He leans against the counter, like he’s planning on staying here a while. “You want to talk about what’s going on?”

“Nothing major,” Daniel says. “Just got called down to HR to frighten some of the juniors.”

“Margot wasn’t up to doing it herself?” Ryan asks. “She was pretty terrifying the one time I met her, and I was just doing entry paperwork.”

Daniel shrugs. His watch tells him he now has twelve minutes before his next call. It should be enough time to make some tea and even get to drink some of it. “I’ve got to go. We still on for tonight?”

He fights the urge to look around, to make sure they’re alone in the break room even as he chastises himself for bringing up their…arrangement at work. He’s the one that wanted to keep their work selves and kink selves separate. Even though they’ve started to blur those lines—talking about their days, texting each other outside of a scene—he’s not sure he’s ready for a complete melding.

Of course, he might be overthinking again. He has a tendency to do that.

“I am,” Ryan says. “Want me to swing by at the end of the day? See where you’re at?”

Daniel’s watch tells him he has under ten minutes now. “Okay,” he says, because he can’t stay and talk about this. He shouldn’t have even brought it up. He needs to be focused. He needs—

“Go,” Ryan says. “Whatever you keep checking your watch for, you’re going to be great. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Thank you,” Daniel says. “Got a client call.” He picks up his cup of hot water. “If my door is closed—”

“Don’t come in,” Ryan says with a smile. “I know.”

“Actually, I was going to say you can,” Daniel says, and it’s his turn to smile, because Ryan looks shocked. “If I’m on the phone, obviously don’t start making a lot of noise, but you can come in.”

“Alright,” Ryan says. “And if Tracy comes after me?”

Daniel grins. “I’m sure you can hold your own. She’s not so tough. Unless she’s just got her nails done. Then watch out. She basically gets herself claws.”

He walks out, treasuring the frozen expression on Ryan’s face.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Tamryn studied English and Creative Writing in school but has been writing since she could first hold a pencil. Recently, she’s turned her focus towards writing erotica. She enjoys writing stories where sex comes first, then feelings, because doing things out of order can be fun.

Tamryn has spent the past few months writing the Daniel and Ryan series with a lovely view of mountains out her window, and she’s now searching for a new mountain range to serve as her backdrop as she begins her next project.

Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway
https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js

Blog Button 2

Save

Save

A Barb the Zany Old Lady Review: Leaning Into the Fall (Leaning Into #2) by Lane Hayes

Standard

Rating: 4.75 stars out of 5

Lane Hayes is one of my favorite authors, and this story proves why. Faced with a secondary character in a short story who was really the anti-hero—a bisexual guy who jilted his (female) fiancé and disappointed his best friend and business partner—Ms. Hayes decided to give him his own story, in which he demonstrates why he was such a letdown in book one, and then falls into deep and everlasting love with a handsome and sweet older man.

I was skeptical when we first saw Nick in this story—buried nose-deep in code in his and Eric’s IT security business—and seemingly clueless to what’s going on in the rest of the world. He keeps bugging his BFF friend Eric, who’s on a well-deserved honeymoon vacation in Bora Bora, so faced with penalty of death from Eric’s new husband, Zane, (Leaning Into Love) Nick decides to take a break from work and return the wine he purchased as a wedding favor for his own cancelled wedding months ago.

There he runs headlong into Wes Conrad, winery owner, who refuses to allow Nick to return the wine that was labelled with the personal information for Nick’s wedding. It’s company policy not to take it back, and Wes digs in his heels and outright refuses. And so begins the crappiest day of Nick’s life, but also one that turns out to be the day he went head-on with the man who would ultimately become the most important person in his life.

I love the way the author took the time to explain and explore Nick’s issues—issues with antisocial behavior, a constant side focus on the numbers in his head—mathematical equations—that needed to be addressed. She also gave Nick an older, more mature man—one who has lived through multiple life experiences, including the tragic loss of his business, his former lover, and a good friend. Wes has the maturity and the patience to handle Nick, and though wildly attracted to one another from early in the story, there’s no rush into deep and everlasting love. It evolves over time, and every moment and every step of the way is absolutely necessary for this couple. Business deals, takeover possibilities, poor decisions, partnership problems—this story has it all. But most of all? It has a young man who seemed to be irredeemable learn to face his issues and take responsibility for his own actions and then take the leap into falling head over heels with the man he most needs in this world.

That might sound a bit mushy and romantic, but that’s how I saw it. And I have a particular soft spot in my heart for older men who find romance in the MM genre. This one is terrific, and I highly recommend it. Why not a full 5 stars? I couldn’t shake all of the prejudice I had against Nick from the first book. Let’s just say he’s darn lucky he had such a great author to tell his story. And I can’t wait to see if Ms. Hayes has more in store for us in this series. I suspect maybe Nick and Eric’s friend Josh will be next. Can’t wait!

~~~~
Cover by Reese Dante is similar to the first cover in that it features a faceless male torso, with opened shirt, against a background of the San Francisco skyline and bay.

Sales Links

Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, iTunes 

 

Book Details:

ebook, 228 pages
Published March 15th 2017 by Self Pub
Edition LanguageEnglish
SeriesLeaning Into #2