Chapter Reveal ~ Use Me ~ by ~ MJ Fields & Chelsea Camaron

Title: Use Me
Series: Caldwell Brothers
Author: MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron
Genre: Sports Romance 
Release Date: March 21, 2017
Use Me
Caldwell Brothers 4


Written By


MJ Fields






Chelsea Camaron



Copyright © MJ Fields and Chelsea Camaron 2017
This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. 


This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.


New York Times Bestselling author, Tatum Longley, is being forced out of her comfort zone. Her publisher needs her to change from hard-hitting nonfiction to romance.


But first, she must find a muse.


Angelo has no desire to form relationships, when a very persistent Tatum makes him an offer that nearly knocks this six-foot-five, long-haired, tattooed, dangerous-looking man on his ass.


Will he be able to resist the temptation? Or will he allow her to use him? 


*** This is a full-length, standalone romance. Although a spinoff book from the Caldwell Brothers Series, it is not necessary to read any other books before this one, though it is recommended. ***


Chapter One
Legacy Gym


Present day

I look around the gym. The walls are black and mirrored, the floor is black cement covered in red mats. The back wall, where all our daily equipment is stored, is covered floor to ceiling in black lockers. Hand wraps, gloves, medicine balls, headgear, nut cups, first-aid equipment, and clothing that have our logo on them. 


Our logo. I am a part of something. There was a time in the not so distant past when I wasn’t sure I would ever be anything. There are still days I couldn’t give a shit less if I do.


To the left are sparring mats and a few pieces of cardio equipment. To the right are free weights, a few high-end weight training machines, five heavy bags, seven speed bags, and five timing bags. In the middle is where I prefer to spend my time and energy. The cage.


I look at the large clock hanging above the doorway to our office. Nine-thirty at night. That means I have been here for thirteen and a half hours.


Eight hours would send a normal man my age running home to his family, to a hot meal, or to a bar where he could have a drink and relax with his friends. I am not a normal man.


Normal men don’t have blood on their hands, and if they do, they have it with remorse in their hearts, or the blood came from fighting a greater cause. The blood on my hands came from an anger that took control, from the rage within me, a rage that still controls me. 


“Put one foot in front of the other. Stand tall and proud. Make the decision that you are both of those things and never let them think any differently. You are a good man, a good kid. Your past doesn’t define you; your present and future do.”

Shaw, my father’s oldest and closest friend, words ring inside my head as I look at the picture of him, Jagger, and I hanging on the wall, illuminated by bright white up-lighting. 

If only putting one foot in front of the other wasn’t so hard. The weight of the world is heavy on my neck, making holding my head high almost impossible.

Shaw believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. Now Shaw is gone.

After killing the lights and locking the doors, I let out a breath and walk toward the door in the back left-hand corner of the gym that leads to my apartment upstairs. 

I stand in the apartment above Legacy, a gym that Jagger Caldwell and I inherited. A gym that trains people like me. It was willed to us when Shaw’s fight with cancer ended. 

I suppose he did it to make sure his promise to his best friend, my father, was kept. He made sure I had something, an income, a place to live—a piece of something tangible while I served out my parole sentence for a crime I committed eight years ago. 

Honestly, it feels more like a curse, a cage, a confined space, than a new beginning. 

My body aches. It’s bruised and sore, all feelings I not only accept, but embrace. The harder I push myself, the more men I get in the cage with to train, the more hits I take, the closer I get to controlling the fury that simmers just beneath a boiling point inside my soul.
I walk to the bathroom and stand in front of the distressed mirror above the small sink that is rust-stained from the constant drip of a faucet that I keep telling myself I will fix, but I have no intention or desire to do so. 


I strip off my sweat-drenched clothes and turn toward the shower to start the water. It takes a good five minutes for it to heat enough for my liking, and while I wait, I brush my teeth and open the cabinet. 


I stare at the last bottle of pain meds prescribed to Shaw. I pocketed them after he died when the rage became worse. It is a battle of wills to tame the beast inside me. Waking up and looking in the mirror, knowing what I did and why I did it.


I twist off the childproof cap and count as I dump the pills out into my hand. Twelve. I have twelve nights left to sleep, and then the nightmares will ensue. I make a mental note to space the pills out to every third day. I can do without sleep for that long, no more.


I let them fall one by one back into the bottle, except one, as I feel my exhausted body become tense again. Anxiety is starting to creep in, so I take the last pill in my hand, toss it in my mouth, and swallow it down.


Before the pill’s effects kick in, I get in the small shower and bend so the water falls over my head instead of hitting the middle of my shoulders. When the water starts to run cold and I feel a bit drowsy, I step out, towel my hair lightly, and then drop it to the floor, allowing my body to air dry. Then I look up at my reflection and see a man who looks much older than his twenty-five years.


My eyes, once bright green and alive, are now dead and unreflective of feeling. My hair, once cut close to my scalp by my father’s own hand, is now well past my shoulders and a mess of brown waves. It’s only down after a shower or bedtime; otherwise, it is always tied up in a knot on the back of my head. I don’t have any damn desire to go to the barber. That would mean I would have to talk to someone. I’m functioning just fine here without making those types of connections, and there is no appeal in changing that up.


I run my hand over my beard. It’s been three days since I last groomed. I shave every fourth or fifth day, but never down to the skin. 


I am six-foot, five-inches of intimidation. I weigh in at two hundred and forty-eight pounds of muscle, and my skin is covered in black prison ink. I have no desire for anyone to look at me and become confused as to who I am. No desire to have someone look at me and want to know more about me, or who I was. I have no desire for anything but the occasional release I can get anywhere. All I have to do is force a smile and say a word or two in order to get that need met.


My appearance is intimidating. It keeps people away. I’m not trying to give off the illusion that I’m unapproachable. Illusion would imply it wasn’t real. 


It is real. 


I am Michelangelo Mazzini. I was once called a saint by my peers, my teachers, and anyone who knew me. 


Not anymore.


Now I am known as Kid.


I lay on the king-sized mattress that sits in the middle of the floor and stare at the ceiling, waiting, waiting, waiting for sleep to take me. The numbness that is my life isn’t holding me back. Rather, it’s my mind that won’t turn off, waiting for the next move.


I try not to close my eyes on my own. I wait for exhaustion and the drugs to do the work for me. Otherwise, I will be fighting a losing battle. 



Chapter Two


“Tatum, this is not what’s selling anymore. We need something …” Melanie pauses as she sighs.


Melanie and I have been friends since I sat next to her in a Shakespearian literature class we both enrolled in as an elective while attending Columbia for our Masters’ programs. Hers was in the classics; mine was in religion and journalism.


She loved fiction,a story you could get lost in, and I loved nonfiction, a story that didn’t allow you to run from your boring life, but showed you a life that you could get lost in and know it was real. Fairy tales were never meant to be believed in. They are stories written to scare children into behaving or else, so why waste time on them? Show them how to cope, what to avoid, and maybe a story that inspires them to do the right thing of their own accord.


She is the yin to my yang, the spring to my fall, the day to my night. The point is, she’s the lost-in-her-head kind of daydreaming chick, whereas I am the one who wants to get lost in reality to avoid getting lost in my head, and worse yet, believing that shit is even possible.


I am sure she has no other writers like me on staff. I am sure of this because one night, over drinks at Hotel Empire, she told me so. She told me in the sweetest way she could that I was my own worst enemy. That I had talent in abundance and was just too stubborn for my own good, and that if I were anyone other than “the Tatum” that played her Romeo a couple years ago, gaining us both an A in that godforsaken class, she would have walked away a long time ago. 


We are opposites in our views on life, but who we are on the inside isn’t much different from the other. Both of us left our hometowns, knowing we were destined for greater things. And unlike most, we are willing to work our asses off to become. It landed us both in New York City, a city where we knew no one and no one knew us. A city that I swear wants to eat up young girls’ dreams and spit them back in your face.


Nothing about here is easy. What it is, though, is real. It’s gritty, it’s hard, and it’s all-consuming. If you can live here, you can live anywhere. Mark my words.


I know she could walk away at any moment, but Melanie would never. Even if she should run and not look back, that’s not who she is. It’s not who we are together.


We are forever friends, through thick and thin. The type of friends who you could talk to once every six months and pick up right where you left off. Though, in reality, we may go weeks without speaking due to work, but we have never gone more than a month at the most. She is my soul sister, and I am hers.

A few years ago, Melanie took an internship at a mid-sized literary agency, and I took off to write a story that would rock the world. I gave her, A View from Home, a novel about the foster care system in our country, and she went over the head of the man she worked for who said, “It wasn’t good enough” and emailed it to a company contact at Random House Publishing, where they not only bought the book, but hired her that day.
She became a junior editor at Random House, and I became a novelist. She became a senior editor when my first book put me on the New York Times Bestseller list. The subsequent three novels hit the list as well. Acclaimed awards, Wall Street Journal, and we were both riding a high of dreams coming true. 

I can hear as she taps her long fingernails on her glass top desk, and then I hear the bell go off inside her head. 


“I’m giving you raw. I’m giving you real. I am giving you what people go through every day,” I tell her, trying to keep my annoyance at bay. After all, she is trying to help me.

“The market has shifted, Tatum. What’s selling is not this.” 

I hear a thud and am certain it’s the manuscript I sent her. She prefers e-mail; I don’t. 

“Then I’ll self-publish,” I threaten, and she audibly hisses into the phone, saying nothing. 

This is new territory for us both. I love Melanie. I love working with her. Unlike the horror stories I hear about publishers washing out an author’s voice in edits, she doesn’t do that to my work.

“You still there?” I ask. 

“I am,” she says firmly then pauses. I hear a door shut, then her heels click across the floor before she sighs out, “Please, Tatum. Please give me something that will blow the roof off this place. I know you have it in you. I know you do. Just let it happen.”

“Do you need this, Melanie?” I ask, wondering why she suddenly wants to mold my work into a completely different realm than I have ever written.

“Yes. Yes, I do. We both do.”

I sigh, feeling the weight of her world and my own landing firmly on my shoulders. “Okay, give me two months.”

“One,” she says, her edge returning.

“You have to push, don’t you?” I half-laugh.

“You taught me how,” she returns with a smile in her voice. 

“Talk later.” I start to end the call.

“Wait! It has to be hot, Tatum. I need your voice, but bring the damn heat.”

“Melanie …” 

“You’re gonna need to put yourself out there.”

“Meaning?” I have no idea why I ask when I know damn well what she is getting at.

“When’s the last time you actually got your peach plucked?”

“That’s none of your business,” I say with no intention of answering her, especially when she uses words like “peach plucked.” That’s up there with “moist” in words I would rather not use or hear reference to in sexual situations.

“You need to go find yourself a sexy, suit-wearing mogul,” she suggests.

“I’m in Detroit, Mel.” I sigh. “Remember, I was going to show the times in Motor City. A whole look back and look forward.”

I hear her nails tapping her keyboard. I know damn well she’s googling where to find the perfect place for inspiration. 

“Get your ass to Texas.”

“I’m here for a month.” I stand with my phone in my hand, looking out the hotel window at what I know from pictures was once a beautiful city. 

The river is mucky, the boats decrepit, and the cracked sidewalks once were beautiful. Detroit was something a long time ago.

“Right,” she sighs. “You can’t change your plans for the eye candy and your best friend?”

I laugh. “Melanie, this is all set up. Money spent, timelines sorted. I’m willing to think outside the box and shift my focus, but I can’t uproot my plans and still feel like I’m not insane.”

“Okay, okay,” she concedes.

“Goodnight, Melanie.”

“Goodnight, Tatum,” she says with a softness in her tone that is without a doubt caused by the stress I just alleviated. 

Hers is gone, and mine has returned. Yin and yang. Night and day. We are never on the same page, but the balance is and always has been there.

I sit down on the chair next to the small table by the window, grab the glass of sweet red wine I had just poured, and take a drink. It’s sweet, crisp and, God willing, it will help me sleep tonight. 

I drink the entire glass, and then pour another before reaching across the table to grab the manila folder and drag it closer to me. I look through the pictures from the 1950s: the new buildings, the finely-dressed people on the streets, the cars. The streets were full of them, all shiny and new. Detroit used to be spectacular. I know it was; the proof is in the pictures. But it is not anymore.

All that glitters does not always remain gold. 

All that once was beautiful doesn’t remain so. 

All that was lost will not necessarily be found.

Time does not stand still.

I stand up and stretch my neck as I walk over and grab my laptop, carrying it back to the table and opening it up. Then I click on the new document and title it:Mommy Porn. 
“To new beginnings,” I toast the air then take a sip. 


There is a saying in the writing industry: “write drunk and edit sober.” I guess I will give it a try tonight.


Sweet Jesus, am I really going to do this?


For Melanie, I will.


New York Times best selling author, Tatum Longley, is being forced out of her comfort zone. Her publisher needs her to change from hard hitting nonfiction to romance writing. 
But first she must find a muse. 
Angelo has no desire to form relationships with anyone around him. But when a very persistent Tatum makes him an offer that nearly knocks this six foot five, long haired, tattooed, dangerous looking man, on his ass. 
Will he be able to resist the temptation, or will be allow her to use him. 

***This is a full length stand alone romance. Although a spinoff book from the Caldwell Brothers Series, it is not necessary to read any other books before this one, but it is recommended.***

USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.

                                                                                    USA Today bestselling author MJ Fields write books that scorch pages and melt hearts. 

Her style is raw, gritty and authentic.
Love an alpha and a strong heroine? She does too. 



Chapter Reveal ~ Coal ~ by ~ Chelsea Camaron & Jessie Lane

 Title: Coal
Series: Regulators MC #3
Author: Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane
Genre: MC Romance
Release Date: February 28, 2017
Cover Model is Jacob Wilson 
Cover Photographer is Furious Fotog
Cover Design by Mina Carter

Coal (Regulators MC 3)
Chapter Excerpt


Written by:


Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane 


Copyright © Chelsea Camaron and Jessie Lane 2017



This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.


This book is not meant to be an exact depiction of a motorcycle club but rather a work of fiction meant to entertain.
Please Note: The following excerpt is subject to change in final edits.




She is the everyday girl next-door.


He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.


Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.


Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.


Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.


In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.


Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal?




The pounding in my head continues to assault my ears. Chad’s party last night was epic, and my head is making sure to remind me of the good time I had.








Thump. Bang. Thump. Bang.


The rhythm is now unsteady.


“Trevor wake your ass us right the fuck now!” My dad yells in his Army Ranger voice that has me immediately up and at attention by my bed.


Shit, why is my dad yelling? This tone is reserved for the major fuck ups.


Making my way to the door, I don’t bother to put on clothes and exit in my boxers. Immediately, I’m met with the brick wall that is my dad. We’re about the same height and of similar build. Only my dad has seen war, has scars and quite honestly scares the shit out of me.


“Turn around and put some clothes on. Then you get downstairs and face the shit storm you’ve caused. Two minutes, or I drag you down and let them see you in your naked glory, I don’t give a damn.”


He gives me a slight shove back into my room while my vision blurs and the chalky taste in my mouth only makes me wish I had time to grab a glass of water. His instructions were clear and precise. I won’t press my luck with the Ranger. Quickly tossing on my sweats and a t-shirt I rush downstairs only to stop midway. There is no way I’m going to be any longer than necessary, not with the mood he is in this morning. No sir.


The sight in front of me is like a punch to my hungover already ready to puke gut.


My girlfriend, Amber, stands at the bottom of the stair case with tears in her eyes with her parents flanking her on either side. The girl I have spent every spare moment with for the last few months doesn’t look like the lively, beautiful young woman I’m used to seeing. No, she looks a mess, hurt, broken, and could it possibly be she’s ashamed. Her mother’s eyes are swollen from crying and her father …


His face is murderous. What the hell is going on?


I shake my head trying to sort out why they’re here. Why my girlfriend looks like the world has crumbled at her feet. More so, why she’s brought this to my doorstep.


“Trevor,” my father barks harshly making me jump while I complete my descent and hit the bottom step. “Ass – couch – now.” He commands me before looking to the other family. “Mr. and Mrs. Bridges, Amber, please head into the living room so we can address this matter.”


Matter? What could be wrong? I haven’t seen Amber in three days. She said she had the flu. We’ve been dating six months. Three weeks ago, she finally gave it up at a party at her best friend, Kiki’s house. Nothing has seemed out of the ordinary. We haven’t had much time together. I know I was drunk, she was drunk, so it wasn’t some romantic thing. In fact, once I got inside her tight pussy, I had to fight not to blow my load with the first thrust. I didn’t last long, but I told her next time would be better. I tried to make it good. I even held her afterward knowing it was her first time. 


I sit while my mind races.


“Trevor,” my mom says my name gently while I look up into her dark eyes and see pain. “Amber’s family tell us that something occurred a couple of weeks ago,” she starts only to be interrupted.


“You fucking piece of shit got my daughter drunk and raped her!” Mr. Bridges roars lunging at me only to be held back by my dad who easily towers a good six inches over the man.


My mother rushes to my side, her long black hair hitting me in the arm. She’s Native American and I get my dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin from her. My height of six feet seven inches comes from my beast of a father.


“We need to discuss this,” my mother says to the Bridges.


“Nothing to discuss,” Mrs. Bridges replies. “Graduation is in two weeks, we want to see Trevor gone. Amber will have enough of a reminder for the next nine months of what’s happened to her. After the kids graduate, Trevor gets out of town for school or the military, or we go to the police and press charges.”


“Press charges?” I scream and run my hands through my hair as sharp pains assault my head. “For what?”


“Rape!” Mr. Bridges yells back.


Tears hit me. I’m seventeen years old. One night at a party where I swear she said yes leaves me in this kind of mess.


“I didn’t,” I gasp and try to get out the words, only I make the mistake of looking into Amber’s eyes. The fear, the pain, the sadness, and the desolation are all writing in her features as she shakes her head at me. “I didn’t do that.” I can’t even say the word.


My mother grips my arm in support. “Let’s sit down and talk this through.”


We back up and sit on the couch where my father releases Mr. Bridges and paces behind us. The Bridges’ take their seats on the loveseat and chair. Amber refuses to make eye contact any further with me.


“Were you at a party two weekends ago with Amber?” Mr. Bridges starts his interrogation.


I nod.


“Were you drinking?”


I nod.


“Do you understand that the legal drinking age in the United States is twenty-one?” He continues to fire questions at me. “Do you understand that an underage girl being intoxicated is not of the right mind to give consent to sexual activities? Do you understand the pain you’ve caused our daughter? Do you understand the ramifications of your actions?”


“Sir,” I have to swallow the lump in my throat as I fight back emotions. “I understand the legal drinking age. I understand that while yes, I was intoxicated, your daughter was an equal participant. So no, sir, I do not understand the ramifications of my actions.” I fight back the urge to puke.


My father’s hand comes to the back of my head. “Since your mother and I failed to make a man out of you. The Army will.” He clips out. “Trevor will be signing enlistment papers today and be gone within thirty days time.”


Mr. Bridges rises to extend his hand to my father to shake. “We appreciate your attention to the matter and easing the burden for Amber. We’ll be in touch about the future.”


Amber stands with her mother never once looking at me as she exits, while I can’t help but fear what my future holds and my mind tries to grasp what they’re saying.


I didn’t do it. I didn’t take advantage of her.




Two years later, I finish selection to become a Green Beret. The badass of the badasses. One of the elite. I remember in the selection process, while trying to mentally survive one obstacle to the next, someone said, “Hell is a fictional place. When you’re done here it’ll seem like a fucking sanctuary.”


He was both right and wrong. Finishing selection was the most grueling thing I’ve ever done, but I had already seen hell. 


Hell was your girlfriend saying you raped her when she turned up pregnant. Hell was getting a letter she lost the baby before summer was over. Hell was knowing her life went on while I couldn’t figure out if my memories of that night were teenage fantasies or reality.


Hell was living day in and day out haunted by an event you aren’t sure really happened.



Chapter One




“Ropa Vieja,” I order my shredded beef while Ice looks over his menu beside me. Without having to watch him I know what Ice is doing – scanning the restaurant. Taking in the colorfully painted booths and wood stained stables while checking to make sure there is no threat in here to us. To men like us, it’s second nature to make sure your area is free of danger.


“Arroz con pollo,” he gives the waitress his chicken order.


With a nod, she takes off to the back, weaving in and out of the tables, leaving me with one of the few people who I consider family sitting in front of me.



“It’s been three years, brother.” Ice meets my stare and doesn’t back down. “Madyson is good. She’s working through it.”


I pause and give it to him honest, “you really think someone works through something like that?”


“Watching her, I know they do.”


His statement does nothing to ease my fears.


“You got a thing for my wife’s sister, Coal?” He asks the question everyone seems to wonder. “Look me in the eye and tell me. If you do, I’m not gonna judge. Not sayin’ I’ll be happy either, but you need to buck up, Coal.”


“Fuck no, I’m old enough to be her damn dad.” I am angry he can even think this. “You know me better than that.”


“Then why since the day we got her back, you’ve made it your mission to make sure she moves beyond this. Hell, Coal, you’ve paid for her college like she’s your fucking kid.”


I glare at him. “No one is supposed to know that. As far as she goes, Morgan goes, or the damn Pope goes, you pay her way through school. Drop the subject.”


“Easier said then done, brother.” He raises an eyebrow at me.


“Got ghosts,” I reply as the waitress drops our plates in front of us. 


It’s all I’m going to give him. My personal life, my hell, is not his business. I have the means now to find Amber. I don’t. I made a vow to my father the day I signed my enlistment papers to let the Army make a man out of me. I promised I would let Amber go and live her life free of me. Since the moment I took my oath, I haven’t looked into her. I won’t. The baby is gone. There is nothing for me to talk to her about without bringing up what is one bad fucking memory. 


When Madyson was found, I promised her I would be by her side to make sure she could move on in life. I made a vow to leave Amber alone, good or bad. I had to keep my word. I wouldn’t let Madyson be alone, though, no I gave her my word to be her support. 


And I have.


Ice raises his hands in surrender knowing I’m done talking about Madyson. “For now, I don’t have to kick your ass.”


“Forever,” I clip back meaning it. I do care about the well being of Madyson, but not in the way he thinks.


Three years ago Madyson was kidnapped, drugged and raped by men who were operating a sex slavery ring out of the Miami area. The Regulators had already taken notice of the number of women who were going missing, but it became personal when Ice’s daughter, Brooke’s best friend, Madyson, became one of those missing women.


Our club went in undercover, starting a business relationship with the man we thought was running the ring. I had to do some despicable shit to prove the Regulators were genuinely interested, such as fuck two of their drugged-up whores, but in the end it had been worth it because we got Madyson back. 


Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to help other people. I have no problem doing that. I also have no problem with the black strokes each offense leaves on my soul after doing them. I am coming to realize there isn’t much of a soul left in me anyways. The way I prove to myself that I actually am some sort of decent human being is by doing things such as putting Madyson through school. Giving one girl the chance that I had inadvertently taken from another so many years ago.


It’s one of those things I don’t need to explain to a single soul. It’s between me and whatever higher power I choose to believe in today.


With our meals in front of us, we eat and spend the rest of our time in companionable silence. Brett ‘Ice’ Grady is one of my long time friends. He’s also not one to press me for words. Even if he did, he wouldn’t get them. My past is my own and it’s not something anyone needs to know.


I left Trevor Blake behind the day I enlisted in the United States Army. My black heart is dark as coal they say and earned me my name in the Green Beret’s where I met, Ice, Shooter, and Hammer. I kill without question. I sleep without dreams. And even all these years later, I still wonder if no was yes or somehow yes was no. It eats at me. It’s my penance to pay. I won’t bother her, I won’t dredge up the history for Amber. I let it be the gray area in life and determined that my future would be black and white forever. I no longer leave anything to chance or a misunderstanding.


Our phones ping at the same time, the text is from Screech, our tech man, and it’s a simple one-word statement.




We have orders, time to finish up here and meet everyone at the club to see exactly what Uncle Sam has in store for our undercover group next.



Regulators Motorcycle Club, a brotherhood of military men with a job that is a special skillset. One that walks a line between right and wrong. We’re always one second away from going too far.


I have nothing to lose. I’m more than okay with it all. 


Some of the other men in our club, such as Ice and Hammer, have everything to lose. Ol’ ladies, families. That’s not me. I have nothing to tie me down and not one fucking thing to lose.


My father died ten years ago from a heart attack. Now my mom lives alone. I help her out when it comes to making sure her bills are paid, but I can’t make myself face her in person. I’m afraid all I’ll see is shame in her eyes from the things in my past.


As I walk out of the restaurant behind Ice I see a familiar face. She goes by the street name Precious and is one of the whores I use when I need to get off. I don’t do many repeats, but Precious is one of the few that I have gone to more than once because she’s always clean, pretty, and I know she has a kid she’s trying to support on her own.


Sauntering over to me she purrs, “Hey baby. Haven’t seen you in a while. Want to go get a room?”


I shake my head. “Got somewhere to be Precious. You hittin’ on me because you want my dick or because you need to pay a bill?”


Her eyes flash in humiliation and I know it’s the latter. Pulling out my wallet I take out a hundred dollar bill and put it in her hand. “Take this and I’ll see you when I can.”


I walk away, not wanting to hear her thanks. I’m not the sort of man anyone should thank for anything. Seeing her desperate like that makes me wonder about my mom. It makes me worry if she needs more money from me or not. She’s stubborn and doesn’t like to take the ‘handouts’ I give her. Instead she would rather earn it at the little garden shop she works at. I’ll have to have Screech hack into her bank account and check things out for me.


My parents might have believed that I was a disappointment of a son because of what happened. Since the day I left to join the Army I still remember all the lessons my father taught me. Taking care of your family was one of those lessons. Whether my mom likes it or not, I’m going to check in on her soon to make sure she’s got everything she needs. If that means paying her bills for her behind her back, then that’s what I’ll do.


Throwing my leg over my bike, I start her up and rev the engine. Ice is already moving so I head out after him. I have no idea what the mission is yet, but I’m ready for it.


I feel that familiar need to fight, get my hands bloody. Release some of the rage I hold inside of my body twenty-four hours a day. I’m just hoping this mission gives me the chance to make someone the mangled mess I am inside.




“Girl, you’re on fire!” I tell the air around me as I dance around my loft apartment getting ready for my day. Self-talk, it’s working wonders. “Dance, Paisley, dance, no one is here to see.” I shake my bootie and swirl around the kitchen making my morning smoothie. The space is open and airy, so I can twirl and shimmy my ass anywhere I please to go from the living room to the kitchen. For now, I stay in the kitchen as I start to drink my smoothie and bounce my hips from side to side.

In the last few years, I’ve changed my routine to start my day with as much pep as I can conjure. When everything is taken from you in a blink, it’s hard to rebalance.

Within thirty minutes, I’m at the gym for yoga. Walking through the front doors, I have my earbuds in and my music up, jamming in my mind. Looking down, I am stopped abruptly when I feel two firm hands grip my shoulders stopping me just inches from his chest.


While the man has muscles on top of muscles he’s an ego-maniac. I’m sure most women do swoon over him, but ‘man grunts’ and flexing don’t do it for me.

“Paisley, baby, gotta be careful.”

“Sorry,” I mutter knowing I need to pay attention.

“Make it up to me, take me to dinner tonight.” He sort of commands in the way Scotty does.

I reach up and pat his pectoral muscle to which he makes it jump in what I assume to be a way to impress me. “Scotty, at least twice a week you tell me to take you to dinner.” I sigh. “It’s getting old, buddy. Women want to be whisked away, swept off their feet, ya know,” I look up into his green eyes, “romance, buddy, romance.”

He cups my chin with his first finger and thumb, “Paisley, this ain’t no fairytale. You can have a night or two with a man like me, gotta take the leap, baby.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, “you really think that works?”

“You have no idea,” he smirks and I’ve had enough. Jerking my head back, I step to the side and around the behemoth.

“Not happening, Scotty, go have another protein shake.” I say without looking back at him.

I make my way front the front entrance of the gym, passing a few isolated exercise rooms to the door that leads into the women’s locker room. Desirae, who is one of my closest friends is already putting her stuff in a metal locker when I walk in.

We met when she came to Miami after the death of her sister. She still visits North Carolina regularly but for the most part her life is in South Beach with her man, Ethan ‘Hammer’ McCoy. They’re cute together in that ‘get a room’ kind of face sucking way.

Des is easy-going and doesn’t judge a soul. It’s why we get along so well.

She takes one look at my face before automatically speaking, “Scotty, again?”

“Yup. Des, is it really bad to think romance is dead?”

She laughs. “Honey, I live with a biker. Depends on your definition of romance.”

I sit on the bench rather than tuck my stuff away. “I want to be knocked on my butt. When cupid nails me with his arrow, I’m gonna be swept away. It’s not something I’ll find on a date, it’s something that’s going to spark and then go BOOM.” I raise my hands dramatically.

“You do realize it doesn’t necessarily work that way, right?”

“You and your logic. Okay so for most people it may not, but for me that’s how it’ll be. The stars will align and something will happen sending me barreling into the man of my dreams life and instantly there will be fireworks. I know it.”

She closes her locker before picking up my phone and towel to toss them in the locker beside hers.

“Fireworks, those can happen for a lot of reasons, Paisley.” She smiles and takes me by the hand to pull me from my perch on the bench. “I love you to death, but you are the craziest woman I know. Maybe a little meat in you would take the edge off?” She jokes to which I just sigh loudly.

“Meat in me, huh? That’s gonna solve all my problems.” We both laugh and make our way to class. Exiting through the other side of the women’s locker room, we walk through the heart of the gym filled with various exercise machines until we reach the yoga classroom in the back.

An hour session later, love, fireworks, romance, and all thoughts of my morning are gone. No, the meditation, the focus, the calm is all back in place. I’m balanced. Rejuvenated.

My shift at the grocery store begins on a register. Beep, beep, slide the cans with a smile, its my job. I count items or sing songs in my head to entertain myself as I ring up my customer.

“Paisley,” the produce manager calls my name getting my attention.

“Yes, sir.”

“Flip your light. Finish that one then you gotta work organic today, Paul called in.”

I nod my head and do as I’m told.

Bin by bin, I go through the vegetables and fruits making sure to discard any that are going bad and refill low stock.

“Can you believe they want over a dollar more for this organic crap?” A lady says to her friend.

“Half of it still has dirt on it,” her friend chimes in. I should probably mind my own business, but they are missing out on some good foods by their assumptions.

“While I can understand one’s aversion to the dirt, please understand that once rinsed in tap water the metal and mineral components in all water speed the process therefore the food rots at a faster rate. Organic does cost some more because the rate in which a store loses the produce is higher since they aren’t packed full of preservatives which settle in your gut and make for a slow moving digestive system. And the dirt you visibly see is simple the covering provided in nature to slow oxidation and keep the air off the fruit or vegetable.” Immediately, I regret speaking. I switched majors in college and finished with a degree in Horticulture. Plant life, studying it, exploring it, well it’s the only thing I could make sense of after facing loss of real people’s lives.

“Thanks for the science lesson,” the woman cuts me off and I draw back at her tone. My intention wasn’t to offend but to explain.

Shrugging my shoulders, I go back to work deciding not to press my luck.

I made a decision five years ago to live a simplified life as much as I can and be conscious of my decisions for both my body and my environment. I lost everything by being careless and I won’t do that again. The regrets kept me up at night for far too long. I try to remain focused and centered in my every thought, word, and action.

I even considered going off the grid living, but soon realized my fear of bugs and my height leave me at a strong disadvantage to making a go at it. Plus, living in South Beach there isn’t really a whole lot of possibilities for that lifestyle.

Instead, I live in a one room loft style apartment, drive a Prius, and eat a mostly natural diet. Like the women beside me, the life isn’t for everyone. Modern day conveniences come at a price to our bodies and environment, but it’s my choice and I can’t push it on everyone.

They push their carts on by without buying anything organic and I go about straightening up.

My shift ends and I find my mood to be lacking. Sadness, an emotion I was once all too familiar with encompasses me.


I remind myself I won’t go there again. I’ve cleaned up my life. No demons haunt me anymore. Today was not the best day, but it wasn’t the worst.

I have dealt with the worst. Now I have my crystals, my diet, and my lifestyle to keep my energies refocused to the positive and not into the darkness. I lost a lot, yes, but I haven’t lost it all.

Not everyone can understand me. I don’t take it personally. The choices I make are for me and me alone.

It’s hard to keep it in perspective. Living a clean life allows me to not lose sight of the blessings I have. For me, keeping my diet away from processed foods isn’t about being skinny, it’s about not clogging my heart, my pores, or my mind with junk. Yoga, balances both the mind and the body. It wasn’t until I immersed myself in this lifestyle that I found peace.

I gather my things from the break room and make my way to my car. Distractedly, I pull out into traffic trying to forget my past and stay in my current.

The alarm on my phone goes off reminding me it’s time for a snack. Reaching over to my passage seat cooler, I take out an apple. We eat for sustenance not for hunger. By maintaining a healthy glucose, I don’t feel the hunger pains and keep my body and my mind on a regimented schedule. My mind can’t become distracted and my emotions won’t run in a panic if I continually eat in small portions. Again, it’s about control for me.

The light ahead turns red and I take my foot off the gas and decompress the brake. Lifting the green fruit to my mouth, I bite, feeling the bitter of the granny smith apple hit my taste buds I close my eyes briefly in appreciation.

That’s when the bump happens.

Throwing the apple over my shoulder, I look up to see a huge man on a motorcycle look over his shoulder at me as my bumper has clearly pushed into his rear tire.

Oh heavens, what have I done?

He pushes the kick stand down as I throw the car in park, slap on my hazard lights and open my door.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry.” I say rushing to him. 

Before me stands a stunningly tall bald man whose aura screams sex. He has one of those seriously killer beards that you sort of want to pet because it’s so fabulous. It accentuates his strong face and tan skin. His long legs are covered in jeans that hug his tree trunk thighs, and his feet clad in some serious looking ass kicking boots. A black shirt covers his chest underneath his leather vest with patches all over it and the whole visual strikes me as an intimidating figure. His dark eyes stare right through me as I look at him. ‘Coal’ sits on the left side of his vest, over his heart. ‘Vice President’ lays opposite the name on his right side. The rest of his vest has a bunch of different patches with different cities and sayings. Is this a biker in the same club as Desirae’s man?

He shakes his head. “You okay?”

“Yes, I am, but are you?”

He nods. “I’m fine. Get in your car, pay attention and go home,” he dismisses me. “Don’t just stand there looking stupefied. Get in the car go home, it’s done.”

“I need to make this right,” I stammer as my mind spins and I feel like things are suddenly out of control.

“Nothing wrong so nothing to make right.” He studies me as cars rush past us. “Get in your car, can’t leave till I know you got back in the vehicle.”

“Don’t you need my information. I have insurance.”

“It was a bump.” He doesn’t hide his frustration. “Not a patient man, Pixie, so get in your pedal car and go on.”

Pixie? I want to ask, but I don’t. The man is clearly not wanting to do anything about our incident. So doing the only thing I can think of, I get back in my Prius, turning off the hazards and putting it in gear, I try to shake off my emotions. Anxiety, guilt, frustration, and sadness all toy with my carefully balanced core. I feel myself tipping, falling, and stumbling down into the darkness.

Next, I do what every respectable, twenty-six-year-old woman does when she is faced with a scarier than a horror movie biker, I follow him.


She is the everyday girl next-door.

He is shadowed by regret laced in broken memories.

Dark sins of the past have a way of taking hold of your heart and never letting go.

Paisley Asher is the average woman trying to get by in life. Happy and safe in her bubble of ease, she is not prepared to take on the black pit that is one man’s heart.

Trevor ‘Coal’ Blake has a past covered in black. Tainted. He is a dark soul.

In the moment, it is easy to lose sight of what is going on. Looking back, however, little cues were misread … or were they? He lives with more questions than answers.

Chance encounters bring these two together. Is she the angel to pull him from the depths of his personal hell, or is he destined to remain alone and as black as coal? 

USA Today Bestselling author Chelsea Camaron is a small town Carolina girl with a big imagination. She is a wife and mom chasing her dreams. She writes contemporary romance, erotic suspense, and psychological thrillers. She loves to write blue-collar men who have real problems with a fictional twist. From mechanics to bikers to oil riggers to smokejumpers, bar owners, and beyond, she loves a strong hero who works hard and plays harder.

Jessie Lane is a best-selling author of Paranormal and Contemporary Romance, as well as, Upper YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy.

She lives in Kentucky with her two little Rock Chicks in-the-making and her over protective alpha husband that she’s pretty sure is a latent grizzly bear shifter. She has a passionate love for reading and writing naughty romance, cliff hanging suspense, and out-of-this-world characters that demand your attention, or threaten to slap you around until you do pay attention to them.




Chapter Reveal ~ Hate Story ~ by ~ Nicole Williams



Coming December 26th
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Nina can’t let herself fall in love with the man she’s going to marry. Both of them have experienced the sting and sham of love and have no intentions of falling victim to it twice. Love is expensive—hate is free.

Three years. A million dollars. A solution to both of their problems. They planned it all, from the story of their first meeting to the date of their divorce. Nothing could go wrong.

But what they didn’t consider was chemistry, and Nina and Max have no shortage of it. After too many near-kisses, Nina convinces herself that hating Max is better than loving him, and the more she gets to know this soon-to-be-husband of hers, the more she discovers just how very much she truly, madly, and deeply . . . hates him.

This isn’t a love story. This is the other kind.




   Second thoughts. I was having them.
   Experiencing these any time before stepping into the lobby of the swanky hotel I was meeting him at would have been helpful.
   “Sure you’re ready for this?” my best friend, Kate, asked, surveying the lobby like he was going to be lurking there with a sign hanging above his head.
   “I’m sure.”
   It was a lie. I wasn’t sure I was ready, but I didn’t have a choice. The bills had gone from a pile to a pillar, and if I didn’t do something soon, I would lose the house. I couldn’t lose the house. Not ever. It was the only home I’d ever known.
   “You don’t have to do this, you know? There are other options. When I mentioned this a few months ago, it was just a far-off suggestion, not one I thought you’d actually run with.” Kate slowed down as we got closer to the hotel lounge where he was supposed to be waiting.
   “There are no other options that include me keeping the house. At least not ones that are any less illicit than this one.” I licked my lips out of nervousness. With the way things had been lately, it was a miracle they hadn’t turned into sandpaper.
   “You know you could go to jail, right?”
   My tongue touched my lips again. “Only if I get caught.”
   Kate shook her head, and her light hair whipped across her shoulders. She was everything I wasn’t. Tall, rail-thin, straight blond hair that cooperated, skin that looked like she’d been gilded in something ethereal, and dressed like life was one endless party. Our personalities were a stark contrast as well. She was effervescent, where I fell somewhere closer to the jaded end of the scale. She wrung the life out of each day, loved like she’d never been hurt, and laughed like she’d never known sorrow.
   What she saw in me that kept our friendship enduring, I didn’t know. I just hoped she hadn’t hung around when others bailed because she felt obligated. I didn’t want to be anyone’s pity penance.
   She snagged my arm when I walked in front of her, braking me to a stop when I was a few steps from the lounge’s entrance. “Do you know what he looks like?”
   I tempered my irritation before glancing at her. She was coming from a place of concern, but I was committed. I just needed to get this over with already. “No.”
   “About how old he is?”
    My armpits were starting to sweat. I hadn’t even seen him yet and I was already pitting out. “No,” I answered, lifting my arms a little for ventilation.
   “Do you know what he’s going to be wearing tonight?” Kate glanced over my shoulder, almost glaring into the lounge.
   “No.” I twisted from side to side to create as much of a breeze as I could. I so should have splurged for the clinical strength deodorant instead of this cheap dollar-store junk that was probably going to give me cancer one day. If my budget hadn’t been worked out to the last quarter, I would have.
   “Do you know anything about him?” Kate sighed, motioning at me like I was the lamb who’d just brayed as the first volunteer for the slaughter. “Other than, you know . . .” She swallowed. “What he wants?”
   My stomach rolled. I definitely knew what he wanted.
   “I know his name.”
    Kate waited a moment. “And his name is . . .?”
   Her nose wrinkled. “What kind of a name is that?”
   “Sturm’s his last name. I don’t know what his first is.”
   Kate’s nose went back to normal, but a high eyebrow took over its job of disapproving. She was especially expressive. That was another way we were different. Kate seemed to have no desire or inclination to hide what she felt, whereas I had every desire and inclination to hide.
   “So what is he expecting you to call him? Mister Sturm? Because this twenty-first-century feminist is so not okay with one of her best friends addressing this guy like that.”
   “Yeah, neither is this twenty-first-century feminist.” I flapped air in the direction of my armpits because they were only getting worse.
   “The same feminist agreeing to marry a man for money?” Kate drew her hand up to her hip and stretched into every inch of her nearly-six-foot frame.
   The word still sucked the air out of my lungs, but it had lost some of its potency. “Exactly—agreeing to marry him for money instead of lame reasons like love or feelings or to grow old together. How much more feminist does it get?”
   Kate looked down at me. “Eh, how about instead of marrying him for money, you could turn him into the authorities for trying to commit green card fraud?” She peeked over my shoulder and craned her neck to look into the lounge. “Besides, what is a million dollars really? That chick in that Indecent Proposal movie got a million and she only had to spend one night with him. Plus if you factor in inflation, since that movie’s almost as old as I am, you are getting the proverbial and literal shaft. In the ass.”
   I gave up the armpit sweat battle and hung my arms at my sides. Why did I care if this guy’s first impression of me was as a profuse sweater? I wasn’t asking for his approval or even expecting it. He was a business transaction to me. I was a means to an end to him.
   A case of two people embracing the capitalist spirit of America.
   “Yeah, but she had to sleep with the guy. That’s not part of our deal,” I argued. “But if it was part of the fine print, believe me, I’d ask for a hell of a lot more.”
   We had an agreement. Kind of. It was more a rough draft that had just as many amendments as it had bullet points, but I preferred having everything ironed out in advance. I wanted to know exactly what I was getting into before sinking up to my neck in it, which I was minutes away from doing.
   “So you’re saying you would sleep with him if the price was right?” Kate’s other hand flew to her hip.
   I gave her the most indifferent face I could. I might have been able to look the part, but I certainly didn’t feel the part. “Hey, Morality Police, I’m already agreeing to marry a guy so he can get a green card. Give me a break.”
   Kate’s phone chimed in her clutch. She’d wrangled up a couple of friends to meet her at this lounge tonight so she could keep an eye on me. I guessed she was worried the guy might not be on the up-and-up and might be using a green card as a cover for wanting to sell me off for internal organs or into the sex trade. I wasn’t worried about that, but I was thankful she was here for support if nothing else.
   After punching in a quick text, Kate circled her phone at me. “And what are you wearing? Did you think there was going to be a ribbon handed out at the end of the night for the most colorful outfit?”
   I glanced down at myself. I liked color. Lots of it. Living in a place like Portland, Oregon, a person had to find a way to fight off the perpetual gray. This was my chosen method.
   “I wanted to make sure he knew who I was,” I said, just barely peeking inside the lounge. Dozens of bodies, all of them different shapes, sizes, and colors, and all of them were dressed like they’d conspired to match. “If I’d known everyone would be in some shade of gray or blue, I wouldn’t have dressed in a green polka-dot dress, fuchsia shoes, and a blue checked scarf.”
   Kate bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You’re a fashion intervention begging to happen.”
   I stopped rubbing at a wrinkle in my dress. If an iron hadn’t been up to the challenge of smoothing it out, my thumb wasn’t going to do it. “I don’t care. I’m not here to impress him or earn his approval.”
   “Yeah, that’s obvious,” she mumbled just loud enough for me to hear. When I went to give her a little shove, she slid out of the way. “And if you’re not trying to impress him, why are you wearing the first dress I’ve seen you in since, god, probably when you wore that very one at spring fling of our senior year?” Kate was looking inside the lounge now, her gaze skimming the space like she was looking for something. Her friends must have already been there because she waved at someone before lifting her finger in a just-a-minute kind of way.
   “Because I didn’t think this place was a holey jeans and sneakers kind of place,” I argued, wondering why I was defending my wardrobe choices to someone who dressed by the less-is-more standard.
   “Let’s hope Mister Sturm is fashion blind.” The way she said it earned her another little shove.
   “He’s a single, foreign man who’s paying someone a hell of a lot of money to marry him.” I crossed my arms at her as she kept peeking into the lounge. “I think it’s safe to say I’m not about to come face-to-face with a guy who spends his nights flipping the pages of GQ. And if you call him Mister Sturm again, I’m going to pull your hair.”
   Kate winked at me. “My scalp’s a little sensitive from the hair pulling last night.”
   I rolled my eyes. “Alexander?” The last man du jour she’d mentioned to me.
   “Trenton.” She kind of sighed his name. Actually, it held the hint of a moan. God. I could never imagine sighing-slash-moaning some guy’s name. Ever. The closest I’d ever gotten to a sigh-moan was over the peanut butter pie my grandma had made for my last birthday.
    “Fine,” I said, interrupting the last notes of her moan.
   “Then I’ll slap your ass if you say it again.”
   She flashed a wicked smile my direction before giving her hips a shake. “Just as sensitive.”
   “God, fine,” I groaned. “Just stop. Your sex life nauseates me.”
   “Jealous is not a good look for you. Besides, someone needs to make up for your lack of it.” Kate waved at me like my sex life was visible for all to read.  
   “At your rate, you’re making up for the entire city’s lack of sex life.”
   She nodded solemnly. “You’re welcome.”
   “Besides, sex is not all it’s cracked up to be.” At this point, I was stalling, but I was nervous.
   “Believe me, with the right person who knows what they’re doing, it is all, and more, it’s cracked up to be.” Kate bounced her brows. “Some guys just know how to use their dick better than others.”
   I frowned. “Wow. I’m about to orgasm all over the place.”
   Kate laughed as she slid in front of me and teased my hair with her fingers.
   “Oww,” I whined as she ripped and pulled at my hair. “And I hope you washed your hands with bleach after the last dick you touched.”
   She responded by smearing her hands down the sides of my face. “Most action you’ve ever seen.” She scrubbed them down my face one more time. “You’re welcome.”
   I stepped out of the reach of her filthy little paws and waved her toward the lounge.  
   “I’ll be right there. Just give the signal if the guy turns out to be a serious creeper, okay?” She waited for me to nod, then she kissed the air in my direction. “Go get him, tomcat.”
   I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I went with an okay signal.
   I waited a minute after Kate had disappeared into the lounge. Then I waited one more before forcing my feet forward. It wasn’t like my dwindling courage was going to find its way back the longer I stalled.
   Taking in a slow breath, I pictured my house. The one I’d grown up in. The one that had housed a Burton for sixty years. The one that would probably be gutted or ripped down and replaced by whatever rich a-hole bought it at the foreclosure sale. I pictured relief from the stack of bills, the freedom to have choices, and a future that wasn’t already painted with bleak hues and dark strokes.
   Then I moved inside the lounge and took my first step toward my future husband.


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Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.
Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.



Chapter Reveal ~ Neighbor Dearest ~ by ~ Penelope Ward

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(A standalone)

Release date: 8/15/2016


A Contemporary Romance Novel


New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Penelope Ward









Copyright © 2016 by

Penelope Ward




My little sister is such a drama queen. Literally. Jade is an actress on Broadway.

She clapped her hands together, applauding the students who’d just bravely put themselves out there to try out for Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. “You all did such a great job today! Tomorrow we cast the roles and start our first rehearsal. This is gonna be epic!”

Jade had come out to the Bay Area to visit our family for the week and offered to volunteer at the youth center where I worked. Since there wasn’t enough time to produce an entire play, Jade decided to direct the kids in one key scene from the musical that would be performed later in the week.

I loved my job as director of the arts at the Mission Youth Center. It was just about the only thing going right in my life. The only downside was the fact that these walls were haunted by memories of my ex, Elec, who used to be a youth counselor here. That was how we met. He’d loved his job, too, until he quit so that he could move to New York after we broke up. He moved to be with her. I shook my head to shoo away thoughts of him and Greta.

Jade grabbed her purse. “I need to go back to your place to use the bathroom and have a quick bite.”

I’d just moved into a new apartment that was only a few blocks away from my job. The lease had finally run out on the place I’d been renting with Elec across town. Even though my ex sent me his half of the rent for the remainder of our lease after he’d moved out, I couldn’t wait to vacate that place; every corner of it reminded me of him and of the miserable months that followed our break up.

My place was right in the south central section of the Mission District. I loved the culture in my new neighborhood. Produce bins and a variety of cafes lined the streets. It was also a mecca for Latin culture, which was great, except for the fact that it reminded me of Elec, who was half Ecuadorian. Little reminders of the guy who broke my heart were everywhere.

Jade and I strolled down the sidewalk, stopping at a fruit stand so that she could buy some papayas for an afternoon smoothie she planned to make back at my apartment. We also ended up getting two coffees to go.

I bent back the opening on my coffee lid as we walked. “So, little sis, I never thought we would be in the same predicament at the same time.”

Jade had recently been dumped by her musician boyfriend.

“Yes. But the difference is, I feel like I have way more distractions in my life than you do. It’s not that I don’t think about Justin. It’s not that I don’t get sad, but my performances keep me so busy that it’s almost like I don’t have time to wallow in it, you know?”

“I told you I’ve been doing these phone therapy sessions, right?”

Jade took a sip then shook her head. “No.”

“Yeah. I found this psychologist who specializes in trauma from failed relationships, but she’s in Canada. Anyway, we do phone sessions one night a week.”

“Is it helping?”

“It always helps to talk things out.”

“Yeah. But no offense, you don’t seem any better for it. Anyway, you can talk things out with Claire or me. You don’t need to pay big bucks to talk to a stranger.”

“Nighttime is really my only time to talk to anyone. You’re performing at night, and Claire is too wrapped up in being a blissful newlywed. Besides, she’s never had her heart broken. She listens, but she doesn’t get it.”

Our older sister, Claire, married her high school sweetheart. Even though the three of us were close growing up in nearby Sausalito, I’d always felt more comfortable opening up to Jade.

When we arrived at my building, my sister stopped to sit on one of the benches in the corner of the fenced-in courtyard. “Let’s sit for a bit, finish our coffees.” Her gaze wandered across the grass to my shirtless neighbor. “Okay…who’s the hottie in the beanie defacing the property?”

“What is it with you and beanies?”

“Justin used to wear one. That’s why I love them. Isn’t that sad?”

“That is sad.”

“This from the girl who still sleeps in her ex’s shirt.”

“It’s comfortable. It has nothing to do with Elec,” I lied. It was the one thing I allowed myself from him. It made me sad, but I wore it anyway.

“So…who is that guy?”

I didn’t know my neighbor’s name, but I’d see him once in a while doing spray paint art along the wrap-around concrete wall that surrounded the property. It served as a vast canvas. His spray painting was true art, definitely not what would be considered simple graffiti. It was an elaborate mix of celestial and geographical images. This guy just kept adding different artwork to the wall gradually. It was a work in progress. I could only assume he planned to paint the entire circumference of the property, as much as the wall space would allow.

“He lives in the building, next door to me, actually.”

“What is he doing? They allow him to do that here?”

“I don’t know. The first time I saw him out here, I thought he was vandalizing the property. But no one seems to care or stop him. Every day, he adds to the mural. It’s actually quite beautiful. But it doesn’t match his personality.”

Jade blew on her coffee. “What do you mean?”

“He’s not very nice.”

“You’ve talked to him?”

“No. He’s just not friendly. I’ve tried to make eye contact, but he walks right by me. He has these two big dogs, and they’re pretty mean. They bark all of the time. He walks them every morning.”

“Maybe he’s like a savant. You know, really good with art. Or maybe he’s a genius but with limited social skills. What do they call that…Asperger’s?”

“No. He communicates just fine. I’ve seen him yelling at a few people. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have that. This guy is just not friendly. He doesn’t have Asperger’s. He’s just an ass.

Jade chuckled. “I think you should totally stop by his place with some warm muffins wrapped up in a basket. It’s the neighborly thing to do. Maybe he’ll loosen up…or loosen you up.”

“Muffins, huh? What’s that code for?”

“Muff…muffins. Same thing. If I lived here, I’d be all over that. But I don’t live here. You do. And you totally need a distraction. I say…he’s it.”

I admired the guy’s broad shoulders and tanned muscular back as his arm moved the spray can up and down. “God, doesn’t he remind you of Elec, though? Arm tattoo…dark hair. Artistic. Basically, that’s the last type of guy I’m going for at this point.”

“So, if someone looks like or seems similar to Elec, then they’re automatically disqualified? They’re destined to do the same thing Elec did? Is that how you think? That’s just stupid rationale.”

“Maybe that’s fucked-up. But the last thing I want is to be with someone who reminds me of him in the least.”

“Well, that’s a shame, because Elec was freaking hot, and this guy…is even hotter.”

“Can you remind me why we’re discussing this? The dude doesn’t even say hello to me. He’s not signing up to be on this delusional version of The Bachelorette. He’s not interested.”

Neighbor Dearest suddenly wiped the sweat from his forehead, took off the mask covering his nose and mouth, and dumped the spray cans into a black drawstring sack. He slung it over his shoulder and just when I thought he was going to walk away and out of the courtyard, he began to walk in our direction. Jade straightened in her seat, and I hated that my pulse raced a bit.

His eyes were focused on me. I wouldn’t call it an angry stare, but he wasn’t smiling. The sunlight beamed directly into his blue eyes, which glowed and really stood out against his tan skin. Jade was right; this guy was truly gorgeous.

“Blueberry are my favorite,” he said.




Jade snorted but stayed silent, letting me take the brunt of this humiliation.

“And I’m not anti-social or a savant. I’m just a good old-fashioned prick…with supersonic hearing.”

He smirked and walked away before I could say anything.

When he was safely out of earshot—for real this time—Jade sighed. “Angry guys are the best in bed.”

“You just can’t stop yourself, can you? Haven’t you done enough damage? I’ve always told you that you’re loud when you think you’re whispering. Now there’s proof…at my expense.”

“You’ll be thanking me later when you’re screaming out in orgasm as the angry artist is Van Goh-ing down on you.”

“You’re crazy.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“It is.”



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neighbor dearest


A STANDALONE NOVEL that does NOT need to be read in conjunction with any other book.


From New York Times bestselling author, Penelope Ward, comes a friends-to-lovers story with sexy new characters.


After getting dumped, the last thing I needed was to move next door to someone who reminded me of my ex-boyfriend, Elec.


Damien was a hotter version of my ex.


The neighbor I’d dubbed “Angry Artist” also had two massive dogs that kept me up with their barking.


He wanted nothing to do with me. Or so I thought until one night I heard laughter coming through an apparent hole in my bedroom wall.


Damien had been listening to all of my phone sessions with my therapist.


The sexy artist next door now knew all of my deepest secrets and insecurities.


We got to talking.


He set me straight with tips to get over my breakup.


He became a good friend, but Damien made it clear that he couldn’t be anything more.


Problem was, I was falling hard for him anyway. And as much as he pushed me away, I knew he felt the same…because his heartbeat didn’t lie.


I thought my heart had been broken by Elec, but it was alive and beating harder than ever for Damien.


I just hoped he wouldn’t shatter it for good.


Author’s note – Neighbor Dearest is a full-length standalone novel. Due to strong language and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.

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Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor, before switching to a more family-friendly career. She is the proud mother of a beautiful 11-year-old girl with autism and a 9-year-old boy. Penelope and her family reside in Rhode Island.

Connect with Penelope Ward:

Stalk Her: Facebook | Website | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Private Fan Group


Additional Books by Penelope Ward







Stuck-Up Suit: (co-written with Vi Keeland)







Cocky Bastard: (co-written with Vi Keeland)




Sins of Sevin:






Stepbrother Dearest:






Jake Undone (Jake #1):






My Skylar






Jake Understood (Jake #2):











Chapter Reveal ~ Luka ~ by ~ Jane Harvey-Berrick

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Coming June 16th


Pre-Order Links


Amazon US  Amazon UK  Amazon CA  


Add to your Goodreads shelf now.






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I’m not a good man.

I’m not a bad man.

But I’ve made some bad mistakes, made the wrong choices.

Who hasn’t? But the consequences are tearing us apart.


I love two people.

I love them differently.

The world tells me I have to choose. Why? Why do I have to choose?

Loving hurts. Dancing heals.


Love makes you soar, makes you fly and sets you free—and then it lets you freefall until you’re smashed and bleeding on the ground. Ultimately, love is the worst thing that can happen to a human being.


Im my opinion.

I love two people.

I love them differently.

One is a man.

One is a woman.

And they are brother and sister.


**** A stand alone novel in the best-selling Rhythm Series. ****


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I’m not a good man.

I’m not a bad man.

But I made some bad mistakes, made the wrong choices. Who hasn’t? But the consequences are tearing us apart.

I love two people.

I love them differently.

The world tells me I have to choose. Why?

Why do I have to choose?

Love makes you soar, makes you fly and sets you free—and then it lets you freefall until you’re smashed and bleeding on the ground.

Ultimately, love is the worst thing that can happen to a human being.

In my opinion.

I loved two people.

I loved them differently.

One was a man.

One was a woman.

And I never wanted to hurt anyone, least of all the two people who mean more to me than anyone else in the world.

Love isn’t supposed to be that hard.

It started with a note.


Thanks for last night. Kind of awkward. LOL But don’t worry about it. I have to go and catch my plane, so I’ll see you in three months!!

This is the address for the party I mentioned: 187b Bishops Avenue. You should go—Becky’s parties are always amazing.

Love ya!

Sarah x

There was no reason on earth for me to think that this simple message would change my life. Or fuck it up. Depending on your point of view.

But it did.

♫♪ ♫♪ ♫♪  ♫  ♫ ♪  ♫  ♫ ♪♫♪


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Jane is a writer of contemporary romance fiction, known for thoughtful stories, often touching on difficult subjects: disability (DANGEROUS TO KNOW & LOVE, SLAVE TO THE RHYTHM); mental illness (THE EDUCATION OF CAROLINE, SEMPER FI); life after prison (LIFERS); dyslexia (THE TRAVELING MAN, THE TRAVELING WOMAN).

She is also a campaigner for former military personnel to receive the support they need on leaving the services. She wrote the well-received play LATER, AFTER with former veteran Mike Speirs. ( )


Author Links

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Chapter Reveal ~ Cold Hearted ~ by ~ Toni Anderson

COLD HEARTED by Toni Anderson releases May 31st – but we didn’t want you to wait to get a peek at what’s in store for you! Take a look at the first chapter below and enter to win a $25 giftcard!


ColdHearted_ToniAnderson_FINALAbout COLD HEARTED

Hunting For A Killer…Who Doesn’t Play By The Rules.

Detective Erin Donovan expects life to quiet down after the arrest and conviction of a serial rapist who terrified her university town last summer. Then two young women are brutally slain and the murders bear all the hallmarks of the campus rapist. Did Erin arrest an innocent man? Now her job is at stake and tensions are high and just when it looks like things can’t get worse, her department gets the help it needs to solve the double homicide–in the form of a man Erin has never been able to forget.

FBI Agent Darsh Singh has no interest in reliving the past. Three years ago, his feelings for Erin Donovan had him breaking all his rules about getting involved. Now his only interest in the former NYPD detective is figuring out if she screwed up a rape investigation and helped send an innocent man to prison. But being forced to work together rekindles their old attraction, and as Darsh and Erin fall for each other, the campus predator fixates on Erin. The race is on to identify the ruthless killer before he makes Erin his final victim.

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Read the first chapter of COLD HEARTED now:

He spotted her across the street, blonde hair shining like polished gold in the sunlight, her lithe body tormenting every Y-chromosome in a hundred yard radius. He pulled out his cell and took a snapshot to immortalize the moment. He’d thought she said she was returning later in the week. Obviously he’d been mistaken. He dialed her number and watched her pull out her phone. He waited for the matching smile to form on her lips, for her eyes to light up. Instead, she checked caller ID, grimaced, and let the call go to voicemail.

Horror rushed through him as she re-pocketed the phone and turned back to her companion. What the fuck? He killed the connection and collapsed to a nearby bench, hidden from sight by a mass of tangled bushes.

He’d thought she loved him. That she wanted to be with him…

God! He’d given her everything she needed, laid it out like a feast on a platter with a fucking apple stuffed in its mouth. She played you, dumbass.

Fury flayed his skin. Rage so hot and pure that the blood coursing his body burned his bones. She thought she could dismiss him? Like he was nothing? Like he hadn’t risked everything for her? His hand strangled his phone as he imagined it squeezing her alabaster neck.

A noise brought him back to himself, and he drew in a long breath.

A laugh.

A giggle.

His head jerked up. Students milled around. They were relaxed and happy after winter break. The monster had been caught. They were safe. Life could go back to normal.


How could they think they were safe when the person they were having coffee with might be a predator dreaming about ripping into their soft, white underbelly? Why were they so willing to swallow bullshit as long as it was confidently labeled “truth”?

The system was broken. Bad guys walked free every single day. Good guys rotted. Innocents died.


A cute freshman smiled shyly at him from the bench opposite. He stretched his mouth into an answering curve that revealed nothing of the shock and disappointment that still rippled through him. Women liked him. So why the fuck did she think it was okay to ignore him?

A plan formed in his brain—a plan that buzzed along his nerves with the blistering speed of electricity.

Should he do it?

It might mess up things, and he didn’t want to go to prison, but it would certainly get her attention. His brain raced over the possibilities. He knew how to do this. He knew how not to get caught. And it might keep things interesting. Life had been pretty fucking boring lately and, as he’d found out last year, there was nothing quite as satisfying as revenge.

The student hiked her bag on her shoulder and got up to leave. He eyed the flirty plaid skirt she wore over opaque black tights and tall black boots, then jogged to catch up with her. Made a joke. Made her blush.

It was almost too easy.

He laughed and realized he was enjoying himself again. The excitement resurrected something inside him that was both heady and familiar. Something that scared him enough to keep it tightly leashed and under control. Something he’d denied himself for ten long months.

He reined in the thrill that fizzed through his bloodstream. He needed to be careful. The memory of the disgraced former quarterback reminded him he couldn’t afford to get cocky. No way in hell did he intend to share the asshole’s shame and degradation. But he knew the system. Knew the flaws. She was going to regret not taking that goddamned phone call for the rest of her life.

* * *

Cassie Bressinger smoothed out the single sheet of paper and read Drew’s small, cramped handwriting for the seventh time that day.


I was trying to figure out something interesting to tell you, but after only a month I’m already running out of material. I mean, there are only so many adjectives I can invent to describe the three shades of gray that make up the decor here—snot, Minnesota, and dead rabbit are my newest favorites. I probably wouldn’t win any prizes in English class, but as I got kicked out I guess it doesn’t matter.

Three shades of gray—hmm, there might be a book in there somewhere…

Fifty Shades this place is not. Not to say there isn’t plenty of banging going on from the grunts and groans I hear at night. Someone somewhere is enjoying the fuck out of somebody else.

I think it’s consensual…

An ironic concern for a convicted rapist but, hey, who wants to be predictable?

Honestly, Babe, I’m at the stage where protecting my own ass has become my #1 priority. Luckily, I’m a big motherfucker and spent years on the gridiron, staring down people desperate to drill me into the ground. I could do with my offensive line in here though…


I didn’t mean to talk about this shit and I’m running out of writing paper so I don’t want to start over. Plus, my fingers are getting cramps from holding a pen. Yeah, me, former star athlete whose hands were supposed to be his golden meal ticket. Getting cramps from writing a freaking letter! More irony J

Enough about me. How are you? What’s happening with your courses this semester? You said you were going to try and get into law school. Please don’t do that because of me!!! The last thing I want is for you to be stuck in a stuffy courtroom listening to god-awful testimony and watching people’s lives disintegrate. Run away and join the circus. Take a year off and travel the world.


And make sure you write and tell me all about your adventures, okay? I’m living vicariously. And if you want to have sex with other girls—that’s okay. Feel free to write and tell me all about that, too. Kidding! Well…kind of kidding and now kind of horny, which is a pain in the ass. Obviously the DA was right to classify me as a dangerous sex fiend.


Okay, gotta go. Time for me to go line up for sloppy mashed potatoes and sausages that look like severed fingers… Ugh, okay, just grossed myself out.

Don’t worry about me—I got this.

Love you. Miss you.

Drew. X

Someone knocked on the door and Cassie jumped. Tanya Whitehouse sauntered in before Cassie had a chance to hide the letter.

“That from Drew?” Tanya was wearing skinny jeans, her favorite strappy black top, and sparkly earrings. Her lips glowed in glittering magenta. Going out. Doing normal things like a normal person.

Cassie popped a shoulder and nodded.

“He okay?” asked Tanya.

“He’s incarcerated with rapists and murderers for crimes he didn’t commit,” she bit out. “What do you think?”

Tanya placed her perfectly manicured hand along Cassie’s forearm. “You know what I meant.”

Always patient. Always reasonable.

Cassie swallowed the anger. She wasn’t patient, and she wasn’t reasonable. But Tanya was only trying to help. All her friends had been nothing but supportive throughout this entire nightmare.

“He says he’s okay.” Cassie swallowed the knotted lump of grief that had taken up residence in her throat and tried to find her rationality. “I think he just says that to make me feel better.”

“You going to visit him?” Tanya asked gently.

Cassie nodded. “I’m driving over with his dad at the end of the month. Drew doesn’t want me to come, but I—”

“Maybe he’s right.”

Cassie sat up on the messy bed. She knew where this was going. “Please don’t tell me I’m wasting my life. Drew is my life.”

Tanya grabbed Cassie’s hand and squeezed hard enough to hurt. “I just don’t want you to be sad for the next thirty years.”

Her vision blurred, but they both pretended Cassie wasn’t crying. Even she was sick of the incessant tears. “I won’t be.” She was lying. “Anyway, he can still appeal.”

There was an awkward silence when Tanya didn’t say anything. Cassie’s gaze shifted to the image on the front of a magazine. Easier to look at some movie star complaining about her messed up childhood than dealing with the sort of truth that dug holes in your soul.

“Hey,” Tanya said brightly, “there’s a party over at Riddell Hall. Wanna come with?”

Cassie shook her head.

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” her friend urged.

Going to a party would remind her of all the times she and Drew had hung out. She didn’t want to acknowledge the aching void of his absence—especially not in public.

“I have an assignment due tomorrow. I really need to finish it.” She crawled over to her bedside table in search of a tissue.

Tanya lightly flicked the magazine, mockingly. “Well, you better get on with it then.”

Cassie slumped back to the bed, ashamed of how piteous she’d become. “I can’t face seeing people,” she admitted. “Not yet. Maybe coming back to school was a mistake.”

“You did great. Take it slowly. You’ll get there, and we’ll all be waiting for you on the other side of this.”

Cassie nodded. The problem was there was no ‘other side.’ Drew’s loss was like a rip in her chest that got bigger every day. “The world thinks he’s a monster.”

Tanya wrapped her arms around Cassie in a quick hug. “We love him. We know he’s a good guy and would never touch those lying bitches.”

“I don’t know how this could have happened.”

“You can’t lock yourself away forever, Cass.”

But she wanted to.

She didn’t know why she’d come back this term, but hanging around her parents’ house with nothing to do was worse. Christmas had sucked balls. Now she needed to figure out a way to move on without giving up on the man she loved.

She gripped her friend. “I love you, Tan. I’m sorry I’m such a bitch.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

She forced herself to pull away and wiped her eyes. “I really do have an assignment to finish.”

“Then get to it, slacker.” Tanya gave her arm a noogie.

Cassie forced a smile. She’d blown off cheerleading practice earlier today, and if she did it again, the coach would throw her off the squad. She didn’t care, except it would screw with her scholarship, and her parents weren’t wealthy. She couldn’t afford to get thrown out of the program, and she needed a good GPA to have a hope of getting into law school. But every time the football players ran onto the field in their black and gold jerseys, it was like someone was pouring acid in her eyes. Knowing everyone’s life went on while Drew sat locked up in a cell. Her throat constricted. Some days it felt like the pain would consume her whole.

She stood and pushed her friend toward the door. “Go. Have fun. Kiss some hot guys for me.”

“If I can find someone worthy enough, I intend to do a lot more than kiss him. So don’t worry if I don’t come home tonight. I’ll text you.” Tanya grinned. “Mandy’s studying in her room. Alicia is still at the library but said she’d be back just after ten as per usual. She might come to the party later, so if you change your mind…”

“Maybe,” Cassie lied. “You be careful out there. Guard your drink,” she warned. Because if those women had been raped, there was still a dangerous criminal on the loose, and no one knew it.

“I will, honey. Jillian’s going to be here any minute to give me a ride.”

“Go. Have fun.”

Tanya turned and smiled at her sadly, touching her arm. Cassie felt the punch of it near her heart. “You’ll get through this, Cass. You don’t have to forget Drew, but you need to keep living your life. He’d want you to do that.”

Cassie’s lip wobbled as she remembered what he’d said in his letter. She crossed her arms over her chest as she watched her friend jog down the stairs, grab her coat, and race out the front door. She had to believe a miracle was going to happen and that Drew would be freed, but it seemed futile. The judicial process was so slow it took months to even schedule a court hearing. In the meantime Drew was forced to live amongst killers and thieves. Getting raped in the showers wasn’t something anyone should have to worry about. Who could live like that?

That bitch Donovan had a lot to answer for. The blonde detective probably thought this was over.

It wasn’t. It would never be over.

Anger grounded her. Without it she’d be so damn lost.

Across the hall, Mandy turned her music on full blast. Cassie slipped on her noise-canceling headphones and stared at her computer and thought about the paper she needed to finish. Instead she pulled out a pen and notepad and started to write back to the man she loved, stopping only once to wipe away the tears that insisted on falling.


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About Toni Anderson

New York Times and USA Today international bestselling author, Toni Anderson, writes dark, gritty Romantic Suspense novels that have hit #1 in Barnes & Noble’s Nook store, the Top 10 in Amazon and Kobo stores, and the Top 50 in iBooks. Her novels have won many awards. A former Marine Biologist from Britain, she inexplicably ended up in the geographical center of North America, about as far from the ocean as it is possible to get. She now lives in the Canadian prairies with her Irish husband and two children and spends most of her time complaining about the weather.

Toni has no explanation for her oft-times dark imagination, and only hopes the romance makes up for it. She’s addicted to reading, dogs, tea, and chocolate.

If you want to know when Toni’s next book will be out, visit her website ( and sign up for her newsletter. If you want to read other fascinating stories about life in a city that, during winter, is sometimes colder than Mars, friend her on Facebook: (

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Chapter Reveal ~ Panty Whisperer ~ by ~ Sloane Howell

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Releasing May 19th


Add to your Goodreads shelf now




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I love women. I’m not ashamed to admit that making a beautiful woman come is my main goal in life—one that I accomplish night after night. Women are as drawn to me as I am to them. I don’t get turned down. It’s not a brag, just a fact. At least it was a fact. Until I met Quinn—the one woman who didn’t fall for my easy charm. Now, I have to have her. She may not want to get close, may not want to admit that I turn her on and can give her a night that she’ll never forget, but she was mine the first moment I saw her. Eventually, I’ll have her beneath me, my hands in her hair, and my name on her lips. It’s what I do. I’m the Panty Whisperer.
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THE MAJORITY OF men want sex just to get off. They blow their load, roll over, and fall asleep. That’s not my style. I want you to remember my face. I want you to remember every inch of me. And you will. I want to watch your eyes roll up in your head, your toes cramp up while curling under your feet, your thighs trembling around my face, begging for my stiff cock inside your hot, wet pussy. Every time you tease your clit, longing for your hair to be pulled, while squeezing those quivering pussy walls around your slippery fingers, you’ll be wishing it was me inside of you, drilling balls deep into that aching cunt while you dig your nails into the sheets. I want to own your mind for the rest of your life. The thought of me will be a thirst you can’t quench, a drug you can’t have, an itch that can’t be scratched, no matter how hard you try. Nobody will send a shock of neural ecstasy from your pulsating little cunt to the tips of your toes the way I will. Care to bet me?

Jessica Moore


MOST PEOPLE HAVE something they’re good at: math, sports, music, art. I wasn’t born with some common talent. I’m a master of making women come. I don’t know why, or how it happened, it’s just built into my DNA. I’ve always been able to talk to women and get them to do whatever I want. Ever since I was a teenager, if there was a girl nobody could bed, I got there first.

My name is Joel Hannover. Well, actually, that’s a bit of a lie. Joel is my middle name. My first name is Herbert. I hate that name. It’s like my parents were trying to cock block me from conception.

I work as an accounting software consultant. It sounds fancy like I should be good with math or computers. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m a salesman. My job, however, is perfect for my hobby. Most accounting departments are comprised of women. Women that most people think are boring or uneventful.

I meet these women every day. Insecure, dressed conservatively, hiding their beautiful bodies behind layers of clothing, afraid a few pounds of baby weight might still show. They’re ladies who work crossword puzzles, and process numbers and transactions. It’s all a façade though. These women are just like any others. Sexual creatures who want to have all of their desires met and all of their needs fulfilled.

They’re practically begging for someone to explore them, to bring them out of their shell, and release the sexual tension that has saturated their entire being, afraid to break free. They get their rocks off reading erotica, watching porn, or using the shower head in a manner it was not intended for. I can’t allow this. They need someone to open their mind, and release their fantasies into the wild. Someone to spread their thighs and take them to places they never knew possible, where all of their darkest fantasies reside. This is the environment where I thrive.


Meet Jessica Moore: mid-thirties, married with two kids, unhappy.

Fucking hot.

She’s a senior fixed asset analyst at a company that’s implementing my firm’s new software. She is amazingly sexy and wasting away in a bad marriage that is held together solely for the kids. We’ve been working together on this project for about two weeks now and have grown somewhat close.

She cracks a smile as I walk through the door to her office. “Good morning.”

“Jessica—” I pause for a moment and eye her curvy hips and round breasts. “—you look nice.” She looks hot as fuck, if I’m being honest.

Jessica bites her lip and smiles. I want to put my cock in that beautiful mouth so badly. I have to have her. I’ve been observing her for the last two weeks, processing every bit of information she provides. She loves Starbucks, romantic comedies, and has an adventurous side to her that she’s afraid to act on. Well, she didn’t exactly say that, but like I said before, I can sense these things. It’s an innate ability. “Did you have a good weekend?”

“Completely boring, didn’t do much of anything. Philip went hunting and left me with the kids. So we had a movie night on Saturday. You?”

I can’t really tell her I filmed myself banging two twenty-year-old co-eds, and then watched it while going a second round with them. “Oh, I had a movie night myself. New indie film, you wouldn’t have heard of it.”

Hey, you didn’t lie to her.

I can’t stop staring at her black, mid-length skirt hugging tight around her hips. I get the slightest peek at her tanned cleavage protruding through her low-cut red top as she reaches into the bottom of a file cabinet. She’s dressed up today, and it’s for me; we both know it. The first day I was here she wore mom jeans and a sweater.

Her wavy brunette hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her bright-blue eyes send my stomach churning in knots every time I catch a glimpse of them. It’s obvious that she works out and watches her figure, but she’s got these curves that send blood straight to my dick. I have to fuck this woman. No, I want to make this woman come harder than she ever has in her life, if she ever has at all. She deserves it. She works hard and is a good mother.

I’m going to plow her so hard she wants to scream but the words won’t come out. I can tell she wants it, constantly eyeing my six-foot-two frame, wondering what I’m packing in my slacks. It’s not ten inches, but it gets the job done. A massive cock is overrated anyway. I’m not trying to scar her for life.

I pull a caramel macchiato with no whipped cream out from behind my back and set it down on the desk in front of her. It’s all about paying attention to details.

“Oh my god. You’re my hero. Seriously.” She takes a sip. “I’m a slave to caffeine.”

“I know how it goes.”

Only my drug of choice is that yearning pussy that’s heating up for me in your panties while you eye fuck the shit out of me.


“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” She walks back behind her desk.

“Just a follow up consult, half a day. Make sure all the modules are functioning the way you like, and then I’m out of your hair.”

Her head drops a little and she stares down at the desk for a moment before looking back up at me. “Well, I’m taking you to lunch before you leave. On the company, if that’s okay?”

“I can’t say no to a free meal.” I laugh, knowing what I’ll be dining on. It’s under that skirt of hers. Today is a day she’ll remember for the rest of her life. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Most of the morning is uneventful, working out kinks in the software. Lunch can’t get here fast enough.

“Hey, can you take a look at this? I’m not sure this menu is exactly how we’d like it.” She turns back to me, then back to her screen.

I lean over her shoulder, perching up near her ear. God, she smells amazing. I try to look at the screen, but all I can focus on is a black lace bra corralling a pair of 38D breasts. She knows exactly what she’s doing, breaking out the sexy underwear for my last day here, longing for them to end up on the floor. “I think we should switch options three and four on this window.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” I don’t even look at the fucking screen. My eyes are busy, working down those creamy thighs with her knees pressed together, calves running down to a pair of black heels, legs crossed at the ankles.

I look up at the screen and try to buy myself some extra time. “Well, wait, what if we moved option two, and had a separate pop-up option for four?” I don’t even know if my words made sense or not, and I can tell she doesn’t care. She starts to speak and I exhale lightly across her neck.

“Hmm, I—” Her voice cracks a little as her eyes close, the tiny hairs on her neck standing at attention from my warm breath.

I interrupt her. “No, never mind. I think I like your idea better.” I breathe into her ear as I raise my head up.

I spy her brushing her hands across her legs and onto her knees as I walk away. She doesn’t think I notice, but I do. I can’t stop thinking about how wet her cunt is right now, her lips begging for my cock to drive into them. It’s going to be a long lunch.


I ride with her to the restaurant, but don’t make any moves. I want to tease her as long as possible. It’s a long-term investment for the eruption that will take place between her legs later, when I press the buttons in every erogenous zone in her brain. The clacking of her heels on the tile floor of the restaurant and her ass swaying back and forth in that skirt have my cock rock hard against the zipper of my pants. She knows she’s driving me crazy too. Jessica thinks she might know what’s coming, but there’s enough uncertainty to keep her wondering if she’ll merely be dreaming about fucking me when she rubs one out later.

I pull her chair out for her, to her surprise. “Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. My mom drilled the behavior into me since I was a boy.”

“Aww. A mama’s boy? I think it’s sweet that she taught you to be a gentleman.” She blushes.

“Yeah, she’s old school. Guys sometimes look at me funny, but it always seems to work in my favor with the ladies.” I flash her a devilish grin as I sit down.

The sexual tension is building, and for some reason seeing her wedding ring makes me want her more, as if it makes the game more of a challenge. I mean, I don’t go out seeking married women, but I don’t turn them down either. I didn’t make any promises to anyone to remain faithful, that’s their issue.

She’s staring at me with those seductive blue eyes again. Goddamn they drive me crazy. I’m a sucker for beautiful eyes. Her hair pulled back makes them pop even more. I want that red lipstick smeared all over my cock while I stare into them.

“So, what are you having?” she asks.

Definitely not the salad you will order. I can tell she’ll order one before the words leave her mouth. It’s a funny thing. Honestly, if she ordered a cheeseburger or steak it’d probably turn me on even more. I’ll order something decent, but not something that will make her feel bad for ordering salad. Grilled chicken or salmon is usually the go to.

“Oh, I think I’ll have the lemon pepper chicken.” I look over to see a guy tearing into a cheeseburger. Fucker. But it’s a price I’m willing to pay to get inside Jessica.

We laugh for a while, trading war stories about work, bad relationships, all the while flirting. Instinctively, I reach for the check when it comes.

“I told you it’s on the company.” She shoves my hand away, but not before holding on to it an extra split second.

“Sorry, it’s a force of habit.” Yeah right. I know exactly what I’m doing. She’s sharp, so I’m sure she’s caught on to some of the bullshit. It’s still worth it, as long as I don’t overdo it.


The drive back is the longest of my life. I can see her subtly squirming in her seat, anticipating what will come next, afraid that it’s going to end, and she’s going to be left with nothing but her hand and a cold shower. A memory of what might have been. I smile at the thought and glance over at her.

Don’t worry, Jessica. You’re going to get everything you want and then some. Just wait. Tension is building in my balls already as we pull into the parking garage. I’m on the verge of exploding in my pants. This is what I live for, the moments right before. All the anticipation, the sweaty palms, the stomach butterflies, my prick growing hard in my slacks, the animalistic instincts of wanting to drill the woman sitting two feet away, separated only by a console and some cup holders.

Finally, we pull into the parking space, staring at each other momentarily before opening our doors. I pretend to be a little upset that she opened the door for herself. “I’m so sorry. I’m not used to the royal treatment. My husband would have been inside the building by now.”

“Well, why don’t you make up for it and walk me to my car?”

That gets a giggle out of her. It’s cheesy as fuck, but she eats it up. Jessica holds out her arm to escort me, and I take it. I feel my forearm rub against her tight hard nipple and soft breast. It sends a warm sensation straight to my cock. The sound of her heels clacking on the concrete as we near my car has my pulse racing. I can see her biting her lip, knowing this is the moment for her. I can practically see everything she is thinking.

Is he really going to fuck me in his car, or in the dark corner of this busy parking garage? Why did he park all the way back here anyway? Did he plan this out?

You’re goddamn right I did, Jessica.

We approach my ’67 Fastback in the corner and she gasps. I’ve had it since I was 17 and restored it myself. Classic muscle cars are an aphrodisiac if there ever was one. She releases my arm to walk in front of me. Her ass is driving me wild in that skirt, I want to bite it and hear her squeal.

“Is that a ’67?”

Jesus Christ, she knows her cars. I’m now rock hard.

“Sure is.”

She’s walking faster, and I match her pace as she turns to the driver’s side door.

I have to check this out.” She runs her hand down the sleek metal in the sexiest way possible.

It’s time.

I walk up behind her and press my palm to the small of her back before smoothing it down to her ass. Her eyes close as she presses her tits up against the window, hands resting at the top of the car. I lean in close, next to her ear. “I have to check you out.” My voice is a whisper as I watch people get in and out of their cars, nothing between us and them but my Mustang. “I know you want this.” I whisper in her ear as I dig my fingers into her ass.

“But, I’m married.” Her words are a muttered gasp. She moans lightly as I run my hand up her skirt. She’s trying to tease me. She’ll find out who’s in control momentarily. “You sure? Last chance?” I exhale in her ear, and walk my fingers up her inner-thigh.

She won’t resist anymore. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

I rub my fingers back and forth on her hot, wet panties, circling around her clit. A shudder rips through her shoulders. I whisper in her ear again while breathing down her neck. “This is what you’ve wanted all week, isn’t it? Me, behind you, my hand up your skirt, playing with this pussy? Look at all these people. They have no idea I’m about to shove my fingers inside you.”

I lean forward and watch as she opens her eyes to see all the people in front of us who have no idea what we’re doing. I can see the spark in her eyes as the heat rushes through her veins like a strong narcotic. “You’ve been dreaming about my fingers inside this tight little cunt, knowing you could lose your job if you get caught. But you don’t care, do you? You want it too bad. You need me finger fucking this needy pussy, don’t you?”

I slip my thumb inside of her, two fingers swirling on her clit.

“Oh my fucking god, yes.” She coos, and spreads her thighs, giving me more access.

I roll one of her tight nipples between my fingers before running my hand over her breast. I can feel Jessica’s heartbeat on my thumb inside of her, panties cocked to the side. I focus on her clit, still running my fingers over it in small circles.

“Keep an eye out.” I drop to my knees slowly.

“What?” She glances back and down to me as I raise her skirt up, releasing her beautiful peach-shaped ass with black lace panties covering the upper half. She looks back up immediately before closing her eyes, finally giving in to the possibility of being discovered.

I massage her ass cheeks over her panties—I know she wore them specifically for this moment—before pulling them down around her knees, revealing her swollen, pink entrance, already wet and glistening between her thighs. I take my time, working up the back of her tan legs, teasing her slit with the tip of my tongue, before burying my nose in her ass, and darting my tongue into her.

Jessica lets out a slight squeal, and then covers her mouth, looking around to see if anyone noticed. A family of four is walking through the parking lot, oblivious to me tasting her sweet pussy a few cars down. I pick up the pace, flicking my tongue on her clit and probing her while she squirms against the car door, wanting to shout but knowing she can’t.

I grip her ass, and turn her around to face me, staring eye-level at her pink, freshly shaved cunt. I can see the lust in her eyes, and it fills me with a sense of power and satisfaction, knowing that she is going to finally open her mind and release all of the tension that’s been building for years in every bone in her body. I yank her pussy to my mouth, which sends her bending over me in surprise.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Her words are jumbled under her breath.

I start working my fingers up her inner thigh while teasing her bump with my tongue, licking her wetness that flows down onto my face. The closer my fingers get, the tighter she squeezes her legs together. I lean back and look up to her eyes. “Relax. You’re about to experience something you’ve never felt before.”

She loosens, and her legs slowly spread as I work my fingers in, still teasing my tongue on her clit and watching her paw at her breasts. Neither of us give a fuck about getting caught at this point. The attraction is too strong. Her eyes roll back as I take my two fingers to the hilt, curling them up to the ridge I find deep inside. Her walls squeeze tight around my fingers, and I imagine what they’ll feel like around my cock later.

Wow, this pussy is tight. She definitely hasn’t had it in a while.

The suctioning noise of my fingers pumping in and out of her echoes off the concrete walls surrounding us. My fingers are drenched as she grips the back of my scalp, the insides of her arms pressing those beautiful tits together. I snake my tongue over her and work it in circles as my fingers hammer away deep inside of her.

“Goddamn it, Joel, fuck!” Her words are a little too loud for comfort, but it doesn’t slow me down. She’s on the edge and doesn’t realize what’s on the other side. She’s always been too afraid to let go and take the plunge. I’m about to take her there.

I lift up my pinky finger. My entire hand and her thighs are shimmering, and covered in Jessica’s wetness. I slide my pinky finger between the crack of her ass with each thrust of my fingers, before teasing her tight little puckered asshole with it.

“Holy. Fuck.” She’s panting, barely able to breathe. Her hips fly back and try to push her ass through the car door, barely able to handle the intense nerve firings ripping to her core. I keep my head buried into her, my mouth latched onto her pussy, increasing the tempo of my tongue and fingers. I remove my head from between her legs for a brief second.

“Just let it happen,” I whisper, before diving back in, lashing my tongue across her pussy.

“Okay, okay. Oh my fucking god!” She covers her mouth, trying not to scream as my pinky slides slightly inside of her asshole, and I start rubbing over her g-spot in small circles, my fingers fully plunged into the depths of her.

She’s now bucking her hips into my face, fully engrossed in her fantasy. A shudder starts in her legs and shoots through her. Her entire body tenses as her thighs squeeze around my face, her nails digging into my scalp. Her pussy clamps around my fingers like a vise and she convulses against my face, before letting go and coming all over my lips, unable to make a sound. I savor every drop as time freezes for her, all of her sexual energy channeled into her pulsating clit, then shooting to her extremities. She finally relaxes a little, her beautiful breasts rising and falling with each deep breath.

I stand up slowly to meet her with a smile, running my fingers across her tight nipples just to see a shiver jolt through her torso. “You are a genius.” A huge smile spreads across her face. “Holy fuck!”

I’ve unleashed the beast. It’s inside of every woman, she just doesn’t know it.

She throws me up against the car, and my cock immediately rises to attention as she rubs her palm over it. Her eyes widen as she feels my length in her hand, growing more and more the tighter she squeezes. “I have a few things I want to do to you.”

“Do it then.”

I grin. She drops to her knees and unbuckles my belt, then pulls it apart with her teeth, one of my weaknesses that I find ridiculously hot. Her bright, blue eyes staring up at me have my balls roiling with tension, and I haven’t even been inside her yet.

She unzips my pants and pulls my briefs down with them in one quick motion, releasing my cock like a spring-loaded weapon. “Oh my.” She strokes the length of my prick slowly with one hand, the other rubbing on her beautiful tits over her shirt.

She teases my tip with her tongue. A tingling sensation shoots through my legs as soon as her warm tongue curls around the head of my cock. “You’ve wanted to suck that dick, haven’t you?” I stare down at her skirt that’s hiked up over her beautiful ass.

She nods, taking me a little farther into her mouth, those blue eyes locked on mine, logging away every reaction in her memory. The inside of her cheeks closing around the head of my cock sends my head flying backward. She’s surprisingly better than I thought she’d be. Accountants, they have a wild side to them.

She’s now hit her groove, stroking and sucking in one smooth, rhythmic motion. It feels amazing. I can’t stop staring at those ruby-red lips spread tight around my stiff prick, smearing her lipstick on the length of it. Suddenly, she lifts my cock and presses it to my stomach, before diving onto my balls and sucking on one and then the other, all the while stroking my cock with her palm.

“You like that, don’t you?” She pauses for a moment. I’m not going to lie; it feels fucking amazing. Apparently, I don’t answer her fast enough as she spits all over my balls, and takes one in her mouth, sucking forcefully on it.

Goddamn. I’m contemplating letting her have control of this whole ordeal. She might fuck even better than I thought.

“Hell yes, just like that.”

“I saw you staring at my tits in the office. You’ve been teasing me with this dick all week. You want to fuck them. Don’t you?”

I grin. What have I created? This woman is incredible, radiating sexual confidence. I’m going to change her life. “Thought you’d never ask.”

She looks around as if she’s suddenly worried about someone seeing her pull her tits out. Never mind the fact that she just smothered her face with my balls. Before I know it, she has her bra pulled out through her sleeve, and she’s lifted her shirt up, releasing a beautiful pair of natural tits that bounce slightly. I want to bury my face between them and never come out.

She squeezes them together and lets her spit slowly fall into her cleavage. “You like these?”

“They’re fucking perfect.”

“I can’t wait to watch you fuck them.” She spits on my cock, then scoops under her tits with one arm, her free hand palming my shaft. She slaps the head of my dick on each one, then teases at her nipples with it. I’m about to explode every time her tight pearls rub against my swollen head.

“You like it when I slap your cock on these big fucking tits?”

“Hell yes.”

Then she slaps it on her cheek and her tongue a few times, sucking the tip for a moment. Before I know it, she has those gorgeous breasts wrapped around the length of me, bobbing up and down.

God I love my dick between her tits.

She slides me back and forth between them, increasing and decreasing the tempo at will. I fist her ponytail in one hand, and cage her throat with the other. Her eyes grow wide as I thrust my cock back and forth between her tits.

I have to get inside of her. It’s uncontrollable.

I grab her under her arms and yank her to her feet. She lets out a slight squeal that turns to a moan as I flip her around and shove her up against the side of the car. Her legs spread, offering her ass to me. “You want my cock inside you?” I smack her ass and dig in with my fingers, as I lean in next to her ear.


I slap my dick on her ass from the side, watching the unsuspecting people come in and out of the building. “You’ve been dreaming about this all week haven’t you? This big fucking dick in your tight cunt. It’s been driving you crazy. Hasn’t it?”

“Mmhmm.” She nods.

“Ask me for it.”

“Can I have your cock?”

“How bad do you want it?” I grip her by the hair and she moans.

I rub my dick underneath her, back and forth between her soaking wet lips, coating it with her wetness.

“Give it to me. Please. I want to come on your cock.”

I pull back on her hair and her face tilts toward the ceiling. Her tits press against the car window as I tease my head around the edge of her pussy. I slowly push into her, watching my cock disappear an inch at a time.

Goddamn. She’s so fucking tight and wet.

She’s moaning and I haven’t even given it all to her yet. I can’t wait for her hot walls to spasm around me.

I work about three quarters into her and I start to speed up. Surprisingly, nobody has even turned a head in our direction. I lean in next to her ear. “You ready for me to fuck this pussy?”

“God yes!”

I grip her around the waist and go into jackhammer mode. She starts to scream and bites down on her forearm that is resting on the car. My pelvis is ramming into her ass cheeks, smacking into her as I plunge balls deep. Her tits shake against the glass.

“You like that shit?”

She can’t even respond. I grab her ponytail and smack her ass with my free hand, leaving a red hand print.

“You like that? You like being fucked like a naughty little slut?”

“Jesus, I’m going to come again.”

“Yeah, come all over this fucking dick you’ve been craving.”

Her hot cunt closes in on me. Her eager pussy clenching for more. She’s going to make me blow my load. I reach around and play with her clit, working tiny circles around it while ramming her full speed. Her thighs start to tremble. It’s all too familiar now. She knows what she’s capable of, and she needs it. I push her past the breaking point and her pussy clamps down on me, her ass and hips vibrating out of control as she bucks back into my cock.

I hear a moan and she pauses, unable to speak. Number two is a success. Her mouth opens to scream but no words come out, just a slight squeal and heavy, deep breaths. I flip her around and lift her against the car, working my cock back inside of her. The car is supporting most of her weight as her tits smash against me.

“Are you going to come for me?” She grips my tie in her right hand.


“I want it on my face.” She yanks me closer by the tie, those blue eyes locked on mine. I picture her on her knees, looking at me with those eyes, while I blast her face with my warm load. It sends me into a frenzy. I start pounding into her. The smacking sounds of me ramming her, coupled with my balls slapping up against her tight little asshole, have me in another world.

Tension builds inside me as I continue to fuck her as fast and as hard as possible. I can feel my load inching its way up my shaft as she starts convulsing on my prick with orgasm number three. When she squeezes that slick little cunt around me, it’s all over. “Get on your knees.” I slip my prick out into my palm and start stroking it furiously.

She kneels down and looks up at me, her mouth open wide with her tongue sticking out, those gorgeous blue eyes locked back on mine once more, begging for every ounce.

The head of my cock is expanding like a balloon. I can’t speak. I can only nod to give her a warning before thrusting and letting loose. I spray across her nose and up under one of her eyes, grunting with each thrust. Her eyes close as I explode all over her. Each stroke of my cock sends a new stream into her mouth and onto her forehead, some of it dripping down to her tits. The sight of her face covered in my hot come makes my balls ache as my pelvis and thighs quiver. Finally, I finish, releasing the last of it onto her soft, pink tongue.

I grab a tee shirt from inside the car. She cleans up the tip of my cock and shaft, before wiping the rest from her face and tits.

I can’t lie. I fuck all the time, but it never gets old. Every unique conquest is etched into my mind, a memory I’ll keep forever. Each orgasm is like a symphony, in a different location, with different instruments. I look back down into those huge, satisfied blue eyes. A huge grin spreads across her face.

“That was amazing.” My breath is labored as I admire her beautiful face.

“You think?” She giggles. “I didn’t even know that was fucking possible. Who are you?” The panty whisperer.  


AP new -about the author.jpg


Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.


Visit his web page to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.


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