Love a Hurt/Comfort Story? Check Out the Book Blast with Excerpt for Damaged Hearts (The Boys of Venice Beach #1) by Jan St. Marcus

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BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Damaged Hearts: The Boys of Venice Beach, Book 1

Author: Jan St. Marcus

Publisher: SBPRA (Paperback), Blue Ascot Media (eBook)

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, LGBTQ Romance, LGBTQ Fiction

Trope/s: Hurt/Comfort, First Time Gay

Themes: Rescue Me, Romantic Thriller

Heat Rating: 4 flames      

Length: 138 000 words/ 466 pages

It is Book 1 of a planned Series

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Tragic Pasts. Unexpected Love. Unseen Danger.

Blurb

When 19-year-old military veteran Brandon Hawkins is attacked on Venice Beach by a gang of frat boys, he is saved by Michael Angelo Curtis, a passer-by. Michel Angelo was roaming the boardwalk grieving the death of his twin brother six months earlier. The two men’s unexpected encounter forges a strong bond between the damaged and lonely men.

Inviting the homeless Bran to his place for some food and a shower, 25-year-old Michel Angelo finds himself drawn to the younger man. Neither of the men is gay. But before long, their friendship morphs into something like love and takes them both by surprise.

And they have something else in common: The frat boys are out for revenge.

 

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Buy Links: 

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK  |  B&N 

 

Excerpt 

BRANDON

But a little ways down, the pizza joint is just closing down. They have those ridiculously big slices of pizza and most people who don’t weigh at least three hundred pounds can’t finish their slices. Fuck the hot dogs. Half of a giant slice of pizza will do me just fine. Besides, trying to remember to say “catsup” instead of “ketchup” would make my brain hurt. And if I’m being honest, I do see the frat boy douchebags laughing and being all loud and douchey, but I really want to see if they’ll leave some of their slices uneaten. So I hang back a little and pretend to be looking for something on the ground. After about a minute or so, they drop their slices on the counter and start walking away. Score! I walk towards where they left their pizzas with my head down, like I haven’t noticed what they left for me. They’re about twenty feet away when one of them turns back and clocks me checking out their pizza. The fat one grabs the other one’s arm and points to me. I look up and see them seeing me seeing their pizza. Did that make sense? Fuck it. So anyway, as soon as they notice me, I kind of figure that they are going to be douchebags about their pizza, but I hold out hope. The fat one doesn’t need any more pizza, that’s for sure, but my stomach is getting the better of me, so I speed up a little bit. They’re closer and they return to the counter, beating me there by three steps.

Then the fat one, who seems to be the leader of this fucked-up pack of douchebags, picks up what’s left of his slice and lifts it up in my direction, like he’s offering it to me. Really? Maybe they aren’t such douchebags after all. I lift my eyes and start to smile. I’m going to thank him. I’m actually going to say “Thank you.” I do manage to smile as I approach because I realize that I haven’t said two words to anyone all day. He looks me in the eye and when I start to reach out my hand, he hocks a big ol’ lugey and splats it right on the pizza. Then he holds it out like I still want it. Okay, I know it’s probably gross, but I do still want it. His aim was pretty good and the glob of spit and snot has landed pretty much in the middle of the slice. But I could tear the pizza around the gross part and still have a pretty good amount of food. So I reach for it and he must have seen my eyes studying the pizza because he hocks another one and it lands on one of the good sides. He starts laughing and then his friends start laughing and they’re staring at me and laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world. Assholes.

I turn around, about to say, “Fuck my life” again when one of the other guys apologizes and offers me his piece. It’s not as big as the fat guy’s, but it still looks good to my hungry young ass. And I can’t believe I am so hungry that I start to walk back over and take it, but I do. You can probably guess that he does the same thing his leader does and hocks a lugey and spits on his piece, too. My stomach growls with as much anger as I am feeling and I turn around and start walking back towards the boardwalk. It’s going to be a long night.

Their laughing stops and I hear a deep voice talking to them. “Why would you do something like that? What kind of asshole do you have to be to fuck with someone who is obviously hungry?”

As I turn around, I see the fat guy step in front of the other guy, who is six inches taller, and the frat-boy leader guy speaks in this bullshit little sing-song voice: “What business is it of yours, asshole?”

The guy just stands there, hands by his sides, not seeming to be bothered by the fact that there are three of them. Then he laughs. He looks right at the fat-assed guy and laughs.

 

 

About the Author 

Jan has been a professional writer since he 15 and got a job writing for a local paper in the Washington, D.C. area. Since that time, he has travelled the world and enjoyed a myriad of experiences, meeting interesting people and sharing epic experiences. He is currently a full-time professional photographer and completed his first novel, DAMAGED HEARTS, the first book in a series partially inspired by his experiences living and working in Venice Beach, California.

 

Author Links

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Don’t Miss Out on the New Release Tour for Love on the Spectrum by Alec Nortan (excerpt and giveaway)

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Title: Love on the Spectrum

Author: Alec Nortan

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: January 6, 2020

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 37900

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT Contemporary, romance, gay, Asperger syndrome, burns victim, France, Paris, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, therapist

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Synopsis

Hervé has Asperger’s, a specific kind of autism that makes him unable to interact with other people.

Luc has been severely scarred by fire and flees human presence to avert the way people glare and frown when they see him.

It was impossible for them to meet, but life sometimes likes to cheat the odds. Is it just a trick or a way to bring together two men who could be each other’s lifeline?

Excerpt

Love on the Spectrum
Alec Nortan © 2020
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
During their life, everyone meets thousands of people. Some of these encounters are fleeting, like the person you ask for directions in the street, and others last a lifetime. Each of them, as short or as long as it is, can change your life for the better or for the worse.

I’ve encountered maybe two hundred people. And that’s with a generous margin for error. A very generous margin. And yet I’m thirty-four and should have met a lot more. If I haven’t, it isn’t because I don’t want to, on the contrary. If I only consider the meaningful encounters, well, I’m down to a figure I can easily display with my fingers. The last one took place two years ago. His name is Pascal, and he made my life better. A whole lot better. We met through the Internet, the way of getting in touch with people I’m most comfortable with. Taking our time, we got to know each other, and he became an important part of my life. It wasn’t always easy for him, but he managed to accept my difficulties, and for the first time in my life I discovered what being in a relationship was really like. We weren’t quite ready yet to live together, but we were getting close.

And then, six months later, he dumped me. There was no fight, no argument, but it devastated me all the same. My problems had eventually gotten too tiresome for him. He simply couldn’t cope anymore, and I don’t think any less of him for that. Living with someone like me isn’t always easy. Quite the opposite. He had done all he could, but it hadn’t been enough.

My relationship with Pascal helped me understand one thing: I will spend my life alone. I’m not being dramatic; it’s just a simple observation. Even I can’t bear myself at times. If I can’t, who could?

What is my problem? To make it easy to understand, let’s say I am unable to interact with people. It probably sounds stupid put like this, but when sarcasm, irony, implied speech, and body language—well, all those elements that allow a conversation to take place—are completely foreign to you, a simple discussion with another human being can be quite hazardous to negotiate. And if on top of that you really cannot stand physical contact and noise, like me, you’re on a slippery slope toward the deepest pit of hell. I begin to slide as soon as I have to say hello…

When I say I have autism, in a desperate attempt to evade embarrassing situations, here are some of the answers I usually get:

“But it doesn’t show.”

Or

“Can it be cured?”

Or the most common reaction:

“That’s great! Can you count playing cards?”

No, I am not Rain Man, and most of the people who suffer from the same problem—Asperger syndrome—don’t have any kind of superhuman capabilities. And you can’t cure it. It would be like asking a one-legged man if he can be cured. No, it’s just a part of me. That and the fact you can’t see it when you look at me only makes it more difficult for people to understand. A one-legged man doesn’t have to explain that he only has one leg. A white cane or a service dog is usually enough for a blind person to be recognized as such.

I always have to justify myself.

Luckily for me, I’ve been going to a psychologist once a month for years. His specialty is autism, including Asperger syndrome. He helps me learn all those social rules that completely elude my grasp, and cope with my difficulties.

But it’s also because of him I’m standing here.

It’s a fine day. The weather is nice, the street is mostly empty. Although it’s almost noon, a few people pass by, and they walk purposefully, taking no notice of me except to avoid me. I’m standing still, almost stuck to the wall behind me, a white-stone building blackened by years of pollution. The sidewalk is barely wide enough for two people and gives way to a long line of parked cars and then a two-way street. On the other side is the same chain of cars, the same sidewalk, and the same dirty façades.

Despite all this, this part of the city welcomes lots of tourists, but this particular street is a little too far from the main avenues and the famous monuments to get their attention. If it were to be described by a saying, it would be “a secret life is a happy life.” Maybe that’s the reason why I like it. Because it likes to stay hidden. Just like I do. And this is definitely one of the reasons why I’m standing here right now.

The other reason is the small restaurant facing me. I’ve been looking at it for a little while now. The frontage isn’t very long, but a wide French window occupies almost all of it. Painted on the glass, blue letters spell out the words “The Scullion Restaurant–Traditional Cooking”. The text isn’t perfectly centered. It is about three inches too high for that, and the “C” and the “U” of Scullion are slightly too close to each other. The first “T” of Restaurant is also slightly tilted.

I am pretty certain no one else notices these imperfections, but they kind of jump out at me. I wonder if I shouldn’t have chosen another place.

But I’ve thought about this choice for a very long while, and I’ve even had to negotiate bitterly with my psychologist. The objective of the test is simple enough: having lunch at a restaurant. But he knows me too well to stop at such a simple goal. Without any further rules, I would have chosen the worst restaurant in the city, in a deserted part of town, to make sure there would be as few other clients as possible. I would even have gone in the early afternoon, when all the NTs have long since finished their meal—NT is short for Neurotypical, “normal” people as opposed to Aspies, the nickname for people like me with Asperger Syndrome—to have the greatest chance of seeing no one else other than the waiter, which is quite enough for me.

Knowing if he let the reins go I would choose an empty restaurant, which I have to admit would have rendered the exercise moot, my psychologist fought hard until we reached a compromise (more acceptable for him than for me) and chose a popular but small venue and a “normal” lunchtime.

This negotiation took place two days ago, and I’ve been anxious ever since. This morning, I woke up with my insides twisted. I almost broke into tears thinking about having breakfast alone at my place because it reminded me that my next meal would be a trial. When I was about to leave home to come here, instead of opening the door, I was sorely tempted to make sure it was safely locked and go hide in my bedroom under my blankets.

But here I am, in front of the restaurant. Inside, I feel like a gelatinous blob mounted on a drill. I still evaluate the chance of my running away before the time comes to enter at one in two.

I take a look at my watch.

12:58

My psychologist made the reservation—one of his dirty tricks to prevent me from bailing out—for one o’clock. He knows perfectly well I can’t stand lateness (or earliness) or an appointment cancellation without calling beforehand, and, as a consequence, I would never do that to someone else.

12:59

It’s too late to call the restaurant and cancel now. I stifle an emerging sob and move to the pedestrian crossing on my right. There are no cars passing, but I never cross a street elsewhere.

Just like every time I’m nervous, I’m tempted to embrace my old habits again. Right now, this means not stepping on the white paint of the crossing. I don’t know where I got that from, but it took me several sessions and a lot of training to be able to ignore the color of the ground I walk on.

I bite my bottom lip and stare straight in front of me so I can’t see my feet. I reach the other side of the street without further ado and walk the short distance to the entrance of the restaurant.

12:59

13:00

I open the door with a racing heart and step into my worst nightmare: a crowded public place.

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Alec Nortan is a French social services worker. Though he learned English at school, he chooses this language to write in. His works are gay-related fictions, varying from young adult, science fiction or fantasy adventure, to romance.

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Don’t Miss Out on the Blog Tour for Rise of Virginie by Katey Hawthorne (excerpt and giveaway)

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Rise of Virginie

Katey Hawthorne

Gay/Bi Romance, Contemporary, Rock Band, Small town, Hurt/Comfort

Release Date: 12.16.19

TheRiseofVirginie-f

Blurb

Stefan Holt left home at nineteen, guitar in hand, determined that couch-surfing would be better than staying with his mother. He finally lands with Megan, an old band-mate, and they decide to resurrect their rock n’ roll dreams to get them out of their opioid-riddled small town. Unfortunately, neither of them is much of a lyricist.

Han Westfall works at the local library, where he lives to rec poetry to the handsome, mysterious guy who brings in his guitar and stays all day. Han writes lines of his own, and when Stefan finally asks to see them, their musical chemistry clicks—and it brings them closer, faster than either of them imagined possible. They name their new band Virginie, ostensibly in honor of their Appalachian roots.

They’ll have to work through band in-fighting, revenge porn, homophobic taunts, family addictions, parental drama, and their own inner demons to make things work, both in love and in music. But if they can make it, maybe they won’t just get out of town. Maybe they’ll rise up and take everyone with them.

Buy Link: https://amzn.to/38wQexM

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Excerpt

“C’mere.” Han picked up a random guitar that was settled against the wall and handed it to me. It was a steel-string acoustic Alvarez like his, way more action than I was used to, but nice. “Use this. I’ve had a tune in my head all day.”

Then it hit me just how fucking brilliant he was. “A new song.”

“Why not?” Han shrugged like it was nothing.

I wanted to tell him I loved him, but it scared me, so I just sat down with the guitar. “Sing for me.”

“It’s just a little bit of a song right now. A first line.” And he sang, “We’ve got a little secret, baby… It’s just yours and mine…”

I found the chords he needed, picked out the melody, then wrapped a riff around the chords like we always did. It came in waves, kind of, the melody coming and going, washed-out and dreamy. I hummed the next line, even though I didn’t know what the words would be, running with it.

He nodded, eyes bright and serious, and added the words to bring it to life.

We’ve got a little secret, baby

It’s just yours and mine

It’s soft like skin and hard like you

Bathed in hot, sweet sighs

“Hot.” If I sounded enthusiastic, I was. As usual, the sound of his honey-warm voice diving through my music was doing all the good things to me. My blood always heated, my heart always pounded, and my dick… well, my dick was a fan, for sure. Hey, he was the poet.

It doesn’t matter if I win or lose

If there’s one death I could choose

I’d end it all for one more time

I’d end it all between your thighs

“Dude…” My voice cracked, and I stopped playing.

Han flushed, which was rare when he was in rock-star-songwriter mode anymore.

“How long have you had this one?” I asked.

“Since the other night. You were coming back from the bathroom, and I thought…” He gave a helpless little laugh that made me want to jump him even harder. He moved the stool he’d perched on closer to me, then reached out to settle a hand on my thigh. “You look good naked. And we’d just been doing that thing where you wrap your legs around me?”

“Oh yeah, frotting, like the almost-fuck.” I grinned. Loved rubbing my dick off on his—and his dick off on mine. Hell, I’d make him come any way he wanted, but there was something about getting my legs around him and then feeling his cum soak my cock and belly… Fuck, okay, now I was super hard. And we were supposed to be on a half-hour snack break.

Not enough time for everything I wanted to do to him right then. But enough for one or two, for sure.

“And I thought, I’d stay in bed all day if I could have those legs wrapped around me.” Han leaned in closer and kissed my ear.

I broke out in goosebumps and turned to catch his mouth. We kissed for a second, slow and hot, over that guitar that wasn’t mine.

Then Han pulled back, his voice lower and rougher than before. He squeezed my leg. “I thought of that old saying about Alexander the Great, you know? That the only battle he ever lost was to Hephaestion’s thighs.”

I snorted out a laugh. “I never heard that one, but it’s hilarious. That was his… boyfriend?”

“Lover, favored companion, general, boyfriend.” Han smiled softly, but his eyes still burned, dark and intense.

That look always meant I was gonna get laid. Hell, I’d do it right here, giant window to the empty booth or not, if he’d let me. How else could I show him… show him everything?

“You’re the only thing that could keep me away from everything else,” Han said. “And I thought, that’s worth writing a song about. At least that might get us out of bed.”

We laughed, then kissed again, this time a little longer. As we closed it off, I bit gently at his puffy bottom lip, and he gave a little moan that made my balls go tight.

“We have to finish the song,” he whispered.

“I know,” I admitted. “But I am gonna do some dirty, dirty shit to you tonight when we get home.”

“Please.” Another chuckle from Han. “Please, do.”

“What’s the song called?” I asked.

His smile almost went smirky when he said, “‘Hephaestion.’”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katey Hawthorne is an avid reader and writer of superpowered and paranormal romance, even though the only degree she holds is in the history of art. (Or, possibly, because the only degree she holds is in the history of art.) Originally from the Appalachian foothills of West Virginia, she currently lives in Ohio with her family, two cats, and two huge puppies. In her spare time she enjoys travel, comic books, B-movies, loud music, video games, Epiphones, and Bushmills. Her favorite causes include animal rescue and bisexual representation in media. She is an unashamed fangirl and collects nerdy tattoos like she’s trying to prove it.

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99c Book Blast with Excerpt for Little Red (Big Bad Wolves Book One) by Queenie Wise

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99c BOOK BLAST

Book Title: Little Red (Big Bad Wolves Book One)

 Author: Queenie Wise

Publisher: Self-Published

Cover Artist: Reese Dante

Genre/s: Paranormal M/M Romance 

Trope/s: Enemies to lovers, Hurt/Comfort 

Themes: Werewolves, Coming Out

Heat Rating: 2.5 flames

Length: 117 500 words/351 pages

This is the first book in a series.

It is on sale for $0.99 for a limited time (Dec 27 – 31)

to celebrate the release of its sequel on December 27, 2019

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Big, sexy werewolves + sassy, gay protagonist + fun worldbuilding = Little Red!

Blurb

Peter “Penis” Caldwell (nickname bestowed courtesy of popular jock, Jackson Davis) didn’t necessarily have a lot of things going for him.

  1. See “Penis”.
  2. He attended high school in a small town that was as bigoted as it was boring. (Having the audacity to stand out was considered a major character flaw.)
  3. He was maybe, sort of, a little bit (a lot) gay. Not that anyone knew that last one.

None of that meant, however, that Peter was prepared for the consequences when he is bitten by a giant wolf during a reckless night of teenage adventure.

Consequences that smack him right in the face when he is simultaneously saved and snatched by a (hugely-muscled, obscenely handsome)… mentally-imbalanced man who’s convinced that he’s a long-distance relation of Jacob Black. That’s right: werewolf.

Mr. Big and Bad claims Peter is one, too, now that he’s bitten him.

The only thing worse than being kidnapped by a crazy person? A crazy person who’s right.

Forced to adjust to pack life in a hidden society, Peter’s not sure what he longs to do more: throttle the man who’s bitten him and ruined his life so conclusively, or throw himself on Mr. Big and Bad’s ridiculously firmlap.

Yeah, lap

 

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited 

99c for a limited time (Dec 27 – 31)

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

 

Excerpt 

​For the first time in his life, Peter realized that people had ​scents​. He wasn’t referring to the funky smell that always followed around his history teacher, Mr. Herbert, or even the flowery perfumes that his mother often saturated herself in.

No, people had scents beneath all that.

Like his dad, who smelled a bit like worn leather, or his mom, whose natural fragrance more closely resembled lemons.

Not everyone had a pleasant aroma, however. Jackson’s smell, for example, was putrid – not unlike the stink of sour milk.

No one’s scent was overpowering, and Peter often only caught whiffs of people as they walked by – and that was only when he put his mind to doing so. It was when he spent a lot of time with people, like his parents, or even Scott, who smelled a little like freshly cut grass underneath his Axe body spray, that he really noticed it.

Peter sighed, forcefully pulling himself from his thoughts. He couldn’t be certain, of course, but none of the books his parents – mostly his mom – had bought for him and his older sister about puberty mentioned the strange ability to ​smell​ other people. (He knew because he’d wasted an entire half hour searching the section about body odor.)

Realizing that as he had daydreamed, the sun had risen (and the heat index along with it), Peter glanced down to discover he had sweat through his shirt. Yanking his ear buds out of his ears and stuffing them into his pocket along with his MP3 player, Peter began tugging his shirt off his head.

He probably should have stopped running to do it. But he didn’t.

Which was why, shirt blocking his vision, Peter completely missed the man who suddenly appeared in front of him. By the time he had yanked the shirt completely off, it was too late, and he collided full speed into him.

He didn’t even have time to brace himself. One second, he was running, and the next, he was practically ricocheting off the solid mass of the man’s chest, his body flying backwards. It was a battle to stay upright– a battle he was losing – until firm hands grasped his hips and righted him, allowing Peter’s equilibrium to return to him.

An embarrassed flush bursting across his cheeks, Peter quickly stepped out of the man’s grasp, finally getting a good look at him, and… ​oh.

Jesus.

He’d almost plowed down a god, or a half-god, or ​something,​ because there was no way it was possible to be that naturally good-looking without having a parent named Aphrodite.

The handsome stranger – the man was definitely a stranger, Peter would know if he had seen ​this particular face before – had perfectly symmetrical features. He had an attractive nose and strong jaw, and his face was framed by dark, disheveled hair, longer on the top than it was on the sides.

Not only was the man absurdly handsome, he was also tall (​well​ over six feet), and judging by the way his shirt-sleeves bulged, he was positively covered in lithe muscle.

Which you are very rudely staring at,​ a voice in the back of Peter’s head pointed out. Unfortunately, jerking his eyes away from the display of tanned muscle only served as a reminder that Peter’s less-muscled body was also on parade.

“I-I wasn’t,” Peter stuttered, clutching his shirt to his chest like an old lady holding a rosery in church, “I mean, I ​was​… and then you, and I… I’m really sorry!” he eventually managed to spit out.

Determined not to embarrass himself any further – because apparently people related to Greek gods made him a little tongue-tied – Peter directed his gaze to the ground.

“Are you alright?”

Half-expecting to have been ignored, or worse, laughed at, Peter was taken off-guard by the concern-laced question. (It didn’t help that it was asked in such a cultured timbre. Peter had no idea it was possible to be physically attracted to a voice until that very moment.)

Unable to resist, he allowed his gaze to flicker back up. And promptly froze.

Peter had been so preoccupied with the man’s handsome features earlier that he had somehow missed the most striking of them all: his eyes.

Framed by black lashes, they were an intense blue. Peter’s poetry-obsessed mother would have probably called them sapphire or cobalt or something equally fanciful. But their color wasn’t what had Peter’s entire body tensing.

No, that was due to the fact that the eyes were strangely familiar. Like Peter had seen them somewhere before.

Except Peter was completely certain he had never laid eyes on this man before.

For one hare-brained moment, he thought of the pair of eyes that had been haunting his dreams for over a week now. ​They’re the same​, his subconscious all but screamed at him, ​they’re the same!

But that was ridiculous.

The eyes in his dream were red. And they belonged to a wolf. They weren’t blue and set in the face of a Michelangelo statue come to life. A statue that was currently frowning at him, a troubled crease in his brow. “Well, are you?”

Peter blinked. “Am I…?” “Are you alright?”

Oh.

That’s right.

The man had asked Peter a question, and instead of answering it like a normal person, Peter had just stared rudely.

Face burning, he half-wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole. “Yeah! Fine. Great. Dandy, even.” ​Dandy? What. the. hell.​ “It’s not like I fell or anything.” Although Peter wasn’t so sure he hadn’t somehow concussed himself by running into the man’s chest of solid muscle, what with his mouth moving without consent from his brain and all. “I mean, you stopped me before I could. Fall, that is. Grabbed me by the waist, which would usually be sort of creepy, in a bad-touch way, but, I mean, you’re obviously not… you wouldn’t… you know what? I’m just going to shut up now.”

By the time Peter had finished inserting both his feet firmly in his mouth, the man’s frown had increased in severity. He seemed confused.

You and me both, buddy.

After a moment, he just shook his head. “You should really watch where you’re going,” he said somberly.

Yeah, can’t be smacking into god-like entities every time I take my shirt off,​ Peter thought sarcastically. What he actually said was: “I’ll do that.”

“See that you do. You never know when you might run into… someone dangerous.”

For some reason, a shiver tingled down Peter’s spine at the remark. It wasn’t a​ scared​ shiver. Sure, the statement could have been threatening – Peter had just run smack into ​this​ man, after all – but somehow, it was something… ​else.

Peter found himself staring again, almost involuntarily, into the man’s eyes. Dark blue drilled right back into muted green. It was a staring contest Peter was desperate not to lose for reasons beyond his grasp.

 

About the Author

 

Queenie Wise is a happily married mother of four. (Yes, that is four ​human ​children.)

When she is not busy wiping noses or magically kissing away “boo-boo”’s, she is obsessing over M/M romance. Original stories, fanfiction; she reads it all. She is especially fond of sassy protagonists and huge, burly love interests who have tough-as-nails exteriors, but are actually giant marshmallows on the inside. She loves all the tropes: hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, and May/December being some of her favorites.

Although Queenie began her writing career as a M/F author (under a different pen name), she has recently returned to her true passion: M/M.

While she has a penchant for torturing her favorite characters, all of her stories feature HEA’s. Just because there are not enough of them in the real world doesn’t mean the fictional world should be denied.

(In other words, Queenie is as soft and gooey on the inside as her giant, marshmallow men.)

 

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Join Us for the New Release Blitz for Wounded Martyr by Courtney Maguire (excerpt and giveaway)

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Title: Wounded Martyr

Author: Courtney Maguire

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: December 16, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 54300

Genre: Contemporary, LGBT Contemporary, gay, rock star, musicians, tour, drug/alcohol use, addiction, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort

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Synopsis

Ice is an asshole, but he’s working on it. He’s two years sober, no small feat when you front a heavy metal band facing waning popularity and dismal ticket sales. But the pieces of a life torn apart by alcoholism are finally coming back together. His band, Wounded Martyr, has written a great album with the potential to launch them back into relevancy. And Ricky, probably the biggest, most important piece, has finally forgiven him for the wreck he made of their relationship. There’s only one problem.

Ashton.

It was to be expected. As his best friend and bandmate for almost twenty years, it’s only natural they should find each other in the loneliness of the road. Ricky knows about their one night together, but he doesn’t know that Ice can’t stop thinking about it, about his long body and whiskey-flavored lips, and the guilt of it has him on the brink of backslide. Now that Wounded Martyr is poised for a long tour, Ice must find a way to resist temptation or risk blowing their last chance and destroying his relationship with the two most important men in his life.

Excerpt

Wounded Martyr
Courtney Maguire © 2019
All Rights Reserved

Everything hurt.

Hiding in our dingy dressing room toilet, back pressed against the wall between the sink and the urinal, I read wall graffiti to take my mind off my sore joints. Black Sharpie marker slander tucked between worn band stickers. Jake is a pussy. For a good time, call. Someone had scrawled SUX over a Wounded Martyr sticker in the corner. An old one. Apparently, we’d played here before. I couldn’t remember.

House music vibrated through the wall, and I pressed my shoulder blades into it. I gave a no-smoking sign the finger and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. This used to be my favorite part, the anticipation in the moments before we hit the stage. Now, I shook with a mix of adrenaline and dread that made me queasy.

“Ice!” A familiar voice cut through the din followed by a rapid knock on the door. “Dude, you in there?”

I popped a cigarette between my lips. “Fuck off, I’m taking a shit.”

The door opened anyway, and in slipped Ashton. Ash. Hair in his face and dark liner around his eyes. Deep lines framed his mouth, but his too-long limbs made him appear perpetually boyish. The way I would always see him. The sixteen-year-old kid playing bass in his garage.

“You can’t smoke in here.”

I scowled and shoved the cig back in the pack.

“Dante is going to lose his shit if you don’t get out there,” he said, closing the door behind him. Dante, our self-appointed fearless leader. If he wasn’t such a goddamned great guitarist, I’d kick him in the teeth.

“Dante can suck my cock.”

“Pretty sure he’s not into that.” We shared a laugh before his eyes pinched in concern. “How’s the voice?”

“Tired,” I answered on the tail end of an exhale.

“You can make it, man.” He stepped toward me. “Just three more shows, and we’re home.”

“Have you seen the house?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it full?”

He pressed his lips together, and those lines around his mouth deepened.

“Shit.”

“Don’t sweat it.” He squeezed my arm. “It’s a big house. It would be hard for anyone to fill. Besides, we’ve played smaller.”

I nodded, but my stomach dropped into my toes. Sure, we’d played smaller. I remembered playing crowds of twenty people, ten of whom hated us. But we were eighteen with nowhere to go but up, and nothing to lose. It felt different now.

Ash’s expression softened. “What do you need?”

A drink.

“A blow job from John Stamos.”

“You and me both.” He hooked his hand around the back of my neck and pressed our foreheads together. “You’ll be great,” he said. “You are great. Just another day at the office, man, you got this.”

I leaned into him and released a long breath. Just another day. Another day I got to play rock and roll. Living the dream, most would say. But even dreams didn’t last forever.

“What the fuck are you two doing in there? Put your dicks away, and let’s go,” Dante’s gruff voice shouted from the other side of the door. Ash shot me a mischievous grin and dropped to his knees just as the door swung open. “What the fu—”

“Be right out, Boss,” I said, but he’d already stomped off, spitting and cursing the whole way back to the dressing room, his bright copper skin dark with an angry flush. I gave Ash a kick with my heel, and he rolled over backward, tangled in his own legs and howling.

“Homophobes are fun,” he said between gasps.

“You’re a prick,” I said, but I was smiling, my earlier dread carried away in the stream of his laughter. Dante had left the door open, and the house music pounded through me, ringing the tuning fork inside. It was still there, thank God. I offered Ash a hand and hauled him up.

“Ready to go?” he asked, his hand still wrapped in mine.

“Let’s get to work.”

Purchase

NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble

Meet the Author

Courtney Maguire is a University of Texas graduate from Corpus Christi, Texas. Drawn to Austin by a voracious appetite for music, she spent most of her young adult life in dark, divey venues nursing a love for the sublimely weird. A self-proclaimed fangirl with a press pass, she combined her love of music and writing as the primary contributor for Japanese music and culture blog, Project: Lixx, interviewing Japanese rock and roll icons and providing live event coverage for appearances across the country. Her first novel, Wounded Martyr, is a 2019 RWA® Golden Heart® Finalist in the Contemporary Romance: Short Category.

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Check Out the Release Blitz with Excerpt for The Rise of Virginie by Katey Hawthorne

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Rise of Virginie

Katey Hawthorne

Gay/Bi Romance, Contemporary, Rock Band, Small town, Hurt/Comfort

Release Date: 12.16.19

TheRiseofVirginie-f

Blurb

Stefan Holt left home at nineteen, guitar in hand, determined that couch-surfing would be better than staying with his mother. He finally lands with Megan, an old band-mate, and they decide to resurrect their rock n’ roll dreams to get them out of their opioid-riddled small town. Unfortunately, neither of them is much of a lyricist.

Han Westfall works at the local library, where he lives to rec poetry to the handsome, mysterious guy who brings in his guitar and stays all day. Han writes lines of his own, and when Stefan finally asks to see them, their musical chemistry clicks—and it brings them closer, faster than either of them imagined possible. They name their new band Virginie, ostensibly in honor of their Appalachian roots.

They’ll have to work through band in-fighting, revenge porn, homophobic taunts, family addictions, parental drama, and their own inner demons to make things work, both in love and in music. But if they can make it, maybe they won’t just get out of town. Maybe they’ll rise up and take everyone with them.

Buy Link: https://amzn.to/38wQexM

Excerpt

“I get hard every time you sing something we wrote,” he said.

My breath hitched. I remembered the first time he’d come over, when I’d noticed his package after we worked on “Locker Room.” I’d just started to assume he had a big dick or was into freeballing, from the amount of peen outline he always had going on.

But not always, now he mentioned it. Only when…

He tilted his head, brushed his lips against my cheek, then my neck, and breathed into my ear. “That was so goddamn hot, watching them eat out of your hand like that. I’m so fucking horny right now.”

Yeah, and he’d passed it on to me. I couldn’t even think, let alone form words. I just nudged at him, experimentally ghosted my lips across his cheekbone, and pulled him tighter against me.

Stefan turned his head and pressed his lips against mine. I’d kissed people before, but it was always awkward and sometimes ended with me laughing. This was… something else. He parted my lips under his, licked at the back of my front teeth, and sucked my tongue into his mouth. He knew exactly what he was doing and exactly what he wanted, and whatever that was, I was sure I wanted it too.

He kissed me up against the wall for long, slow moments, his hips rocking like they did when he played, me trying to keep up, trying to give in, not sure what to do but letting him show me. I reached around and slipped my hand into his back pocket, and he pushed my legs apart and wedged between them, propping me up against the door. That put his cock against mine, rubbing hard through our jeans, making us gasp into each other’s mouths. He tugged at my hair, and I squeezed his ass, and then we started all over again.

He pushed his free hand up my shirt, and I suddenly wished I’d done more sit-ups. His finger snagged in my navel, and he smiled against my lips. For a second, I wondered if he was laughing at how squishy my middle was. Then I realized he was just having fun. When he pulled back, that glint was still in his eyes, and he asked, “Can I suck you off?”

I had never been asked this question before and definitely hadn’t expected it from Stefan. Stupidly, I said, “A-are you… you sure?”

“I’ve never been more fucking sure about anything.” He reached behind me, flipped the lock, and dragged me over to the raggedy love seat.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katey Hawthorne is an avid reader and writer of superpowered and paranormal romance, even though the only degree she holds is in the history of art. (Or, possibly, because the only degree she holds is in the history of art.) Originally from the Appalachian foothills of West Virginia, she currently lives in Ohio with her family, two cats, and two huge puppies. In her spare time she enjoys travel, comic books, B-movies, loud music, video games, Epiphones, and Bushmills. Her favorite causes include animal rescue and bisexual representation in media. She is an unashamed fangirl and collects nerdy tattoos like she’s trying to prove it.

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Join Us for the Blog Tour with Excerpt for We Still Live by Sara Dobie Bauer

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BLOG TOUR

Book Title: We Still Live

Author: Sara Dobie Bauer

Publisher: NineStar Press

Cover Artist: Natasha Snow

Release Date: December 9, 2019

Genre: Contemporary M/M Romance

Tropes: Friends to lovers, hurt/comfort

Themes: Coming out, depression, anxiety, PTSD/post-traumatic stress, mental illness

Heat Rating:  4 flames   

Length: 62 000 words

It is a standalone book.

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Buy Links

NineStar Press  |   Amazon UK  |  Amazon US  |  Paperback 

 

To escape the past, accept it.

Blurb 

Running from a scandal that ruined his life, Isaac Twain accepts a teaching position at Hambden University where, three months prior, Professor John Conlon stopped a campus nightmare by stepping in front of an active shooter.

When John and Isaac become faculty advisors for the school’s literary magazine, their professional relationship evolves. Despite the strict code of conduct forbidding faculty fraternization, they delve into a secret affair—until Simon arrives.

Isaac’s violent ex threatens not only their careers, but also John’s life. His PTSD triggered, John must come to terms with that bloody day on College Green while Isaac must accept the heartbreak his secrets have wrought.

***WE STILL LIVE is a standalone M/M friends-to-lovers romance featuring detailed adult content, graphic violence, hurt/comfort, and mental illness.***

 

 

Excerpt

Close as they were to the foyer, Isaac was the first to notice the front door opening. A student walked inside. The kid dragged a heavy-looking suitcase behind him. Dressed as he was in a slim-fitting button-down, Isaac immediately assumed preppy, although that assumption altered and changed when taking into account the tight black jeans, Converse sneakers, and shaggy hair the color of caramel and chocolate—a mass of waves and curls that fell down the back of his neck but not quite to his shoulders. 

The kid pushed his hair out of the way and looked up, eyes finding Isaac and flashing a moment of panicked nonrecognition before seeing Tommy.

“Um.” Isaac pointed toward the new arrival.

Tommy turned and shouted, “John! My man!”

Not a student, then.

Tommy wrapped John in a hug that actually lifted his feet off the ground. Isaac imagined it wouldn’t be difficult. The new guy might have been average height, but he was gangly, skin and bones. 

Tommy ruffled his hair. “Have you lost weight?”

John grumbled and scratched his face with his middle finger. “What are you freeloaders doing in my house?” His voice was surprisingly resonant for someone Isaac considered “pretty.” At John’s pronouncement, crows of approval rang from every direction.

“Come meet Isaac,” Tommy said.

John wiped his palms on his jeans before reaching out to shake, and Isaac’s large hand dwarfed his. 

“Isaac Twain is the newest addition to our special corner of Hambden hell. Isaac, this is John Conlon.”

John brushed more hair out of his face. “Nice to—”

“John Conlon?”

John and Tommy froze.

Isaac jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The books on the shelf. Those are yours?”

John’s face, immobile in what looked like dread a moment before, melted into relief, tinged with a bit of blush. “Oh, yeah. You’ve read?”

“No, but I should. You’ve published a lot of books. You must be good.”

John’s nose wrinkled, and he looked away. 

Tommy shook him by the shoulders. “John is an amazing writer. He had a story published in The New Yorker when he was, like, five. Are you working on anything right now?”

John glanced at the bookshelf. “Not lately.”

“You need a drink,” Tommy said.

John’s eyes widened on a big breath. “God, yes, I do.”

“Nice to meet you,” Isaac said, but John just nodded quickly, smile thin, before allowing himself to be herded farther into the house toward the sound of quiet laughter and clinking bottles.

Isaac felt it then—an outsider’s emptiness. He became a nervous-looking coat rack in the corner, a terrified tree waiting for the ax. As the party doubled in auditory volume, he bemoaned his spilled wine. Was it okay for him to leave? It wasn’t like he was supposed to make a speech. He was only there because he figured it was the easiest way to meet everyone before the first official faculty meeting, but he’d been standing around too long. He wanted to run.

Out of curiosity, he reopened John’s book from earlier and read the front flap. It was a coming-of-age story about a gay kid in the Midwest. He flipped to the back, and a picture of John stared back at him. He’d assumed the guy was tired when they first met, but no; apparently, John had perpetual bedroom eyes, and his hair was always an artful mess. He skimmed…creative writing professor at Hambden University…gay rights activist…Converse-wearer and “old-people music” enthusiast.

All arrows pointed to John’s probable sexual preference for men. A spark of interest flickered but quickly went out. True, John Conlon was what most people would consider beautiful, but he wasn’t Isaac’s type. John was the kind of man butch guys fought over in gay clubs, but he was too small for Isaac, too fragile-looking, girly. After all he’d been through, the last thing Isaac wanted was someone feminine.

A thin figure ducked into the library and literally hid against the doorframe. He took a long drink of something brown and leaned his head back. “It’s not good when you want to hide in your own house.”

“Library is the best place for it,” Isaac said.

John kicked away from the wall. “Tommy mentioned you just moved here? I’ve been in Lothos forever, so if you need anything…” He examined Isaac from his brown boat shoes to the top of his blond head. John’s large eyes, dark green, seemed bottomless—drowning pools of intellect and soul—only slightly overshadowed by his thick eyebrows.

 

About the Author  

Sara Dobie Bauer is a bestselling author, model, and mental health / LGBTQ advocate with a creative writing degree from Ohio University. She lives with her hottie husband and two precious pups in Northeast Ohio, although she’d really like to live in a Tim Burton film. She is author of the paranormal rom-com Bite Somebody series and Escape Trilogy.

 

Photo credit: Bill Thornhill

 

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Love SciFy Fantasy? Join in the Blog Tour for A Broken Winter by Kale Knight (Exclusive Excerpt and Giveaway)

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Title: A Broken Winter

Author: Kale Night

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 25, 2019

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 81000

Genre: Science Fiction/Fantasy, LGBT, Fantasy, futuristic, hurt/comfort, soul mates, re-incarnation, political terrorism, prison, religious extremism, scientist

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Synopsis

General Auryn Tyrus is tired of serving an emperor who turns political dissidents into expensive steak and claims to have swallowed Ankari’s sun. He is fed up with pretending not to know Emperor Haken is buying biological weapons and collecting taxes for a war that doesn’t exist. Auryn’s role in the entire mirage leads him to drastic choices, but unexpected news halts his plans. Seven-year-old Keita Kaneko, the son of a former lover, is captured by the emperor’s special forces. Auryn secretly intervenes and spares Keita from execution.

Keita changes everything. Instead of feeling helpless and oppressed by a self-proclaimed living god, Auryn works to expose the emperor as a fraud. But he knows exactly will happen if he’s discovered, and the extent of Emperor Haken’s lies is worse than anticipated. If Auryn expects anyone to believe the truth, he’s going to need proof. And a lot of help.

I’m sharing an exclusive excerpt of a deleted scene from A Broken Winter. The plot of A Broken Winter is rather complex and over the years I’ve spent working on the novel I’ve made a concentrated effort to reduce the complexity wherever possible. This scene got cut because I took out the idea of Tiernan being “tagged” (implanted with an enchanted chip of crystal) for the sake of simplicity. It’s unfortunate, because I like the interaction between Tiernan and Ari. Tiernan is a wounded paladin who’s traumatized by his previous mission and Ari is a Magus who takes an interest in helping him.

Excerpt

Exclusive Excerpt:

Tiernan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had company. He couldn’t think of anyone whose company was a favourable alternative to his own. Not since Cappa died.

  “You live here alone?” asked Ari, gazing around the large three story house. “My father’s a carpenter. He’d love this house.” It was constructed from wood rather than stone, unlike most other dwellings of comparable size; Tiernan’s mother liked the aesthetics of exposed wood grains and parallel beams. To her it felt warmer, more welcoming, and his father leapt at the opportunity to please her.

“It’s a lot of room for one person, but …” Tiernan shrugged. “I don’t know. It works.”

“You don’t get lonely?”

“No. I’m used to living alone. I don’t spend a lot of time around other people, unless I have to. Most people make me uncomfortable.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” asked Ari, hands delving into the depths of his pockets, the white fabric of his robes standing stark against the reddish brown undertone of his skin.

“No.”

Ari gestured towards a velvet-upholstered stool. “Have a seat. And take your shirt off, please.”

Tiernan sat. A look of brief confusion crossed his face in response to the latter part of the request, but he complied nonetheless. “Well, since you asked so nicely …”

“The most likely place for a tag is your upper back,” explained Ari, taking on a faint flush of embarrassment. 

He instinctively cringed when Ari touched him, shoulders hunching, retreating into an invisible shell.

“Sorry,” murmured Ari. His fingers curved around Tiernan’s shoulders, kneading.

Tiernan slowly withdrew from his shell, inhaling deeply. Ari’s fingers traced slow lines over his shoulders, barely grazing the surface of his skin, searching for anomalies. The movement was methodical, leaving a brief tingling sensation wherever Ari touched him.

Ari found what he was looking for close to Tiernan’s left shoulder blade. “Here. I can feel it underneath the skin.”

“Cut it out.”

“Do you have anesthetics and surgical tools lying around the house?”

“I have a sharp knife and a bottle of 80-year-old scotch.”

Ari sighed audibly. “We can go back to the hospital.”

“No, thanks. I’ve served my time there.”

Ari pressed close to him, long hair grazing his shoulder. “Stubborn,” murmured Ari. His fingers continuing to wander even with their objective accomplished, caressing Tiernan’s lower back.

Tiernan closed his eyes, envisioning Ari’s hand taking its exploration of his body elsewhere, invading his pants, capturing his cock and pumping it into submission.

Stop that. Ari doesn’t want you. You’re a source of curiosity, that’s all. Like a three-legged dog. How long do you think that’s going to last? He’ll get sick of you any day now, and he’ll disappear.

Tiernan slid off the stool with more force than expected, nearly toppling it. “I’ll be right back.” He left the room, returning with a cloth, a knife, iodine, cotton swabs, gloves, tweezers, and a bottle of scotch.

“What did you use to sterilize these?” asked Ari, eying the implements critically.

“They’re clean. Don’t worry. No need to close the wound. It’ll heal on its own.”

“What am I supposed to do, sit here and watch you bleed?”

“Sure. It would make an interesting side-show act.”

Ari put on the gloves and disinfected the site with iodine. When he went to make the incision, he hesitated.

“What’s the problem?” asked Tiernan.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Give me the knife. I’ll do it.”

“The angle is all wrong; you won’t be able to get at it. I’ll be faster, and I can dull some of the pain.”

Tiernan opened the bottle of scotch and took a long swig. “So can I.”

Get on with it. The sooner he leaves, the better. Even if he did want you, you should be atoning for what you’ve done, not letting a man who should be immortalized in marble play with your dick.

Ari sliced, using an enchantment to minimise the pain. A razor thin sliver of bluish crystal became visible. He held out his free hand, a flare of energy circling each fingertip, sensing the nature of the inscription. Ari lowered his hand hastily, applying pressure to the wound. “I can’t remove it.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll kill you. There’s another incantation woven into the tag. If I try to remove it, it’ll send a jolt of electricity straight to your heart.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” Tiernan brought the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.

 

 

A Broken Winter
Kale Night © 2019
All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

Purchase

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

Meet the Author

Kale currently resides outside a small town in northern Alberta, where she works in a library. She’s an avid reader with an English degree from the University of Calgary. In her spare time Kale loves playing video games, making chain maille, watching anime, and cultivating a steadily expanding bonsai collection.

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Tour Schedule

12/2 Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

12/3 The Blogger Girls

12/4 Love Bytes

12/5 Diverse Reader

12/6 MM Good Book Reviews

12/7 Mickie B. Ashling

12/8 I Love Books and Stuff Blog

12/9 Valerie Ullmer | Romance Author

12/10 Matt Doyle Media

12/11 MM Midnight Cafe

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Enjoy a Paranormal Romance? Check Out the Release Blitz for Against All Odds (Eternal Soulmates #2) by Elle W Silver (excerpt and giveaway)

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RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Against All Odds (Eternal Soulmates Series Book 2)

Author: Elle W Silver 

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: November 19, 2019

Genre/s: Paranormal M/M Romance

Trope/s: Hurt/comfort 

Themes: Overcoming adversity, finding lost love 

Heat Rating: 4 flames      

Length: about 80 000 words

It is a standalone story. 

Add on Goodreads

 

 

Buy Links

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK 

 

After 260 years apart, can their love survive the on-coming supernatural onslaught?

Blurb

Will he find them before it’s too late?

Jamie struggles with an illness no doctor can diagnose; one that keeps him from living a productive life. Until he meets a witch who promises him a cure for a price. But when his target says he knew him in a past life, Jamie is conflicted.

260 years after they lost their soul mate, Riley struggles to hold his imbalanced relationship with Ben together. He grows more powerful even as his reasons for living shrink. His immortality came at a steep price, but when Jamie shows up out of nowhere, he may have to pay it to keep him.

Ben knows Riley loves him, but Jamie was the glue that held them together. Without him, life is unbearable even for an immortal Vampire. Until Jamie shows up one day, the same but different and he realizes they will have to fight to keep him.

Can Jamie, Riley and Ben survive the new threat to their lives? Will Jamie survive the supernatural?

Against All Odds is the second book in the Eternal Soulmates Series; a sexy saga of stories about vampires, witches, werewolves and the humans unfortunate enough to cross their path. If you enjoy steamy, emotional and action-packed romantic adventures, this story is a must-have for you.

 

Excerpt 

Ben saw Riley’s office in his sightline as the elevator doors open. But the exhaustion that came with the Blood Ritual already took hold and he felt almost too tired to walk the tiny distance to the man he loved. Preparations for Festival Week didn’t help. He felt like he hadn’t seen Riley in a week, even though it couldn’t have been that long.

He pushed past Thom who may or may not have offered a greeting, only sighing in relief as soon as he found Riley’s comfortable couch. Riley was on the phone. The conversation was high energy, Riley yelling at whoever it is that was on the other end. Festival Week brought out the worst in everyone, even Riley.

Ben closed his eyes, letting his man’s voice soothe him. He didn’t look up when he heard Riley hung up the phone. He didn’t need to say or do anything; being close to Riley was all he needed. And when everything became too heavy to bear, he would come here when he knew Riley was alone, just to sit here and feel his protection, his love.

This week would be tough for all Vampires. Born-Vampires like his brothers would have it the hardest, their bodies growing weaker the longer they denied themselves the life-giving blood they needed. Made-Vampires like him lasted a little longer on the blood-bags, but eventually, they needed fresh blood from the vein.

This was the whole purpose of Festival Week. Humans saw it as the party of the century, limited tickets making it even more attractive. But to Vampires it was a once-a-year opportunity to get the fresh blood they needed to survive. Some were lucky enough to find a human soul mate who continued to provide the much needed nourishment. But Festival Week continued to become a necessity. It was also a lot of fun, when someone else was planning it.

Riley moved from his desk to the couch and Ben sighed when the familiar hand through his hair. His eyes remained closed, even as he turned his body towards his soul mate, “I’m so tired.” He hadn’t meant it for it to sound so whinny.

Riley kept the perfect pressure on his skull, rubbing with enough pressure to make his headache go away, “Of course you are. Festival Week sucks.”

Ben opened his eyes, “But you don’t look tired.”

Riley smiled before pulling Ben closer, “I run on magic and I have an endless supply.” He nodded towards the door, “Can’t say the same for poor Thom out there.”

“Send the guy home. He’s always here.”

Riley looked at his watch, “He should leave in a few minutes. How’s Bello Locus?”

Ben snuggled into his arms, “if you’re asking if we’re ready, I think so. But Adam keeps saying we don’t have enough alcohol.”

“He’s the expert.”

“There’s just so much to do. The stage guys at the ground had a mishap and they must work through the night to get it ready.”

Riley nudged him to look at him, “How are you doing?”

“I wish I didn’t have to take blood from a stranger. But other than that…”

Riley avoided talking about the subject and Ben couldn’t blame him. The Blood ritual was a very erotic affair, and no one wanted to see their man unable to control their urges in the arms of another. If only they could find Jamie.

They’d first come up with Festival Week two decades after Bastian had tried to usurp the Vampire throne in 1957; partly for the revenue the Festival brought to the island and also for the Vampires survival. Every year, the party grew bigger than the last, attracting more humans. But to Ben and Riley, this was just something else they had to do without Jamie.

“Are mother and Grandma coming?” Ben asked to keep himself and Riley from thinking of Jamie more than was healthy.

“She said they would try to make it by the last day. But Edie will be here.”

Riley’s hand was back in his hair and although he was exhausted, Ben was aroused by the proximity. When Riley pulled on his hair, he turned to him to find the same aroused look in his lover’s eyes.

Riley ran a finger over his lips, “Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you?” The finger passed across his lips, dipping inside his mouth as soon it was open.

“You hated me?” They’d had this conversation so many times over the years, and Ben loved where it was going.

Riley chuckled, his own heavy breaths betraying the state of his arousal, “I thought, you were the most beautiful person I had ever seen.” He pulled his finger out of Ben’s mouth, “But I was standing next to the most beautiful person in the world.” He placed a single kiss to Ben’s lips, “You confused me. I wanted you so much.”

Ben tried to chase his lips, moaning when Riley kissed his neck instead. He tilted his head, giving Riley room to continue his pleasurable assault, “So, you hated me?”

Riley’s hand reached under his shirt, pulling it away from his already heated body as he tried to reach for Ben’s sensitive nipples, “I had never wanted someone the way I wanted you, not even Jamie. I still want you so much.”

Riley captured his lips in an overpowering kiss before Ben could confess his own overwhelming need. Ben straddled his lap as the delicious kiss invaded all his senses. Riley’s hands grabbed his ass and pulled him even closer to his already aroused cock. Ben wanted to be naked, but he wanted this kiss, the tight embrace more than he needed Riley’s cock. That changed when Riley pulled on his belt, undoing his pants all in one move without breaking the kiss. He pushed pants and underwear out of the way and grabbed his bare ass, pulling him even closer.

Ben moaned into Riley’s mouth when his bare cock brushed against Riley’s clothed body. He wanted to be naked and when he started to undo his shirt, Riley relented long enough to allow him to undress.

He stood before Riley battling to get his clothes off, breathing hard. When his shoes, socks and pants were off, he noticed that Riley wasn’t too keen on getting naked. Instead, he leaned back on the couch, arms behind his head as he watched Ben undress.

Riley’s gaze moved up his body, making him shiver, “You are so beautiful.” When Ben attempted to move back on to his lap, Riley shook his head, “Touch yourself for me.”

 

 

About the Author 

Growing up Elle was the girl sitting in a corner with her nose in a book. For as long as she could remember, she would journey to different destinations around the world with the characters she met in the many books she read.

So when she turned fifteen, it was not surprising that she found herself ready to create her own world of characters. The Paranormal world was particularly intriguing, especially immortal vampires and the humans sharing their fascinating existence.

Her first book was not published and got lost somewhere in the midst of her life. Her love of stories- literature, Movies, and TV, only intensified as she got older, becoming a major part of her life.

Soon, she would find herself working as a freelance writer (a girl has to pay her bills) all the while sharing her life with voices in her head that screamed for an outlet. She saw an opportunity to give life to her characters when she stumbled on self-publishing and her first Paranormal romance series- The Eternal Flame Series was born.

A tea addict, Elle also has a powerful love for Music and her ever-expanding Family. She is overjoyed to share her love for Romance with all her readers and grateful for their unending support.

 

Social Media Links

Blog/Website  |  Facebook Group  |  Twitter  |  Newsletter Sign-up

 

Giveaway

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Love to Listen to Your Stories? Check Out the Review Tour for The Rising (Badlands #2) by Morgan Brice and Kale Williams (Narrator)

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AUDIOBOOK REVIEW TOUR

Book Title: The Rising (Badlands #2)

Author: Morgan Brice

Publisher: Darkwind Press

Narrator: Kale Williams

Release Date: June 18, 2019

Genre: Urban Fantasy, MM paranormal romance

Trope/s: Second chance, new established relationship, monster hunting, hurt/comfort

Themes: Learning to trust, growing into a relationship, partnership

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 6 hours and 48 minutes

It can be read on its own, but it is part of the Badlands series

Add on Goodreads

 

Vic and Simon race to stop the murders against an unholy deadline, but as they battle rising tides and risen ghosts, can they save the intended victims without getting trapped themselves? 

 

Blurb 

A big storm is brewing, there’s a killer on the loose, and the ghosts of Myrtle Beach are restless. Psychic medium Simon Kincaide and his sexy cop boyfriend, homicide detective Vic D’Amato have their hands full helping the Grand Strand brace for rough surf, driving rain, and high winds as a winter storm roars toward shore. 

Everyone’s on edge, and rumors are rampant about sightings of Blackcoat Benny, a ghostly omen of danger, and worse, the Gallows Nine, the spirits of nine infamous criminals hanged back in the 1700s, a harbinger of disaster. Rough tides wash the wreck of an old pirate ship into shallow waters, high winds threaten to damage an old mansion with a dark past, and the citizens of the beach town hunker down to ride out the storm. 

As the skies grow dark and the sea turns wild, several men from prominent local families end up dead under suspicious circumstances. Simon’s premonition confirms Vic’s gut feeling—the killing is just getting started. As Simon tries to reach out to the spirits of the murdered men to help the investigation, he’s attacked by malicious ghosts that don’t want anyone getting in the way of their long-overdue vengeance. 

With the storm hammering the coast, and new victims piling up, Simon is certain that the sins and secrets of the past are coming due, and that the murders have a supernatural link. Vic and Simon race to stop the murders against an unholy deadline, but as they battle rising tides and risen ghosts, can they save the intended victims without getting trapped themselves? 

The Rising is the second novel in the Badlands series. It is a MM romance intended for readers 18 years of age and older. The story contains mentions of suicide (not the main characters).

 

Buy Links

Audible US  |  Audible UK 

Amazon US  |  Amazon UK

 

About the Author 

Morgan Brice is the romance pen name of bestselling author Gail Z. Martin. Morgan writes urban fantasy male/male paranormal romance, with plenty of action, adventure and supernatural thrills to go with the happily ever after. Gail writes epic fantasy and urban fantasy, and together with co-author hubby Larry N. Martin, steampunk and comedic horror, all of which have less romance, more explosions. Characters from her Gail books make frequent appearances in secondary roles in her Morgan books, and vice versa.

Other books include Witchbane, Burn, Dark Rivers, and Badlands, Lucky Town, and The Rising, plus Treasure Trail. Watch for more in these series, plus new series coming soon!

I’ll be a Featured Author at GRL in October and also at Coastal Magic in February!

Join my Worlds of Morgan Brice Facebook Group! Get the early scoop on upcoming books and new series, see new covers first, enjoy insider news and special contests and giveaways! Plus it’s where I get my beta readers and launch team!

 

Author Links

Amazon

Facebook Group

Pinterest (for Morgan and Gail)

Twitter: @MorganBriceBook

Website

BookBub

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Follow the tour and check out the other blog posts and reviews here

 

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