Excerpt Reveal ~ A Veil of Vines ~ by ~ Tillie Cole

Amazon US

To most people, princes, princesses, counts and dukes are found only in the pages of the most famous of fairytales. Crowns, priceless jewels and gilded thrones belong only in childhood dreams.
But for some, these frivolous fancies are truth.
For some, they are real life.
On Manhattan’s Upper East Side, people have always treated me as someone special. All because of my ancestral name and legacy. All because of a connection I share to our home country’s most important family of all.
I am Caresa Acardi, the Duchessa di Parma. A blue blood of Italy. I was born to marry well. And now the marriage date is set.
I am to marry into House Savona. The family that would have been the royals had Italy not abolished the monarchy in 1946. But to the aristocrats of my home, the abolition means nothing at all.
The Savonas still hold power where it counts most.
In our tight-knit world of money, status and masked balls, they are everything and more.
And I am soon to become one of them.
I am soon to become Prince Zeno Savona’s wife…
… or at least I was, until I met Achille.
And everything changed.

Caresa

I closed my eyes as the music pounded through my body. The air was sticky from the mass of bodies on the dance floor. My body swayed to the beat, my feet ached from the five-inch Louboutin heels I was wearing, and my skin was flushed from the copious amounts of 1990 Dom Pérignon I had consumed.
“Caresa!” My name split through the harsh sound of drums and synthesized piano notes. I rolled my eyes open and looked across our cornered-off section of the club at my best friend.
Marietta was sitting on an oversized plush couch, waving a new bottle of champagne in my direction. Laughing, I followed my throbbing feet to where she sat and slumped down beside her. In seconds, a champagne flute was in my hand and the bubbly was flowing once more.
Marietta sat forward, swishing her long blond hair over her shoulder. She raised her glass as though she was going to make a toast. But instead, her bottom lip jutted out into a pathetic pout.
I tipped my head to one side, silently asking her what was wrong.
“I was going to make a toast to the Duchessa di Parma, my very best friend,” she shouted over a new but similar-to-the-last song. “To my best friend leaving me here in dull old New York to go marry a real-life godforsaken prince in Italy.” Marietta sighed and her shoulders slumped. “But I don’t want to. Because that would mean this night is almost over, and tomorrow I lose my partner-in-crime.” A sudden sadness bloomed in my chest at her words. Then, when her eyes filled with tears, those words became a punch in the gut.
Placing my glass on the table before us, I moved forward and put my hand on her arm. “Marietta, don’t get upset.”
She put down her own drink and grabbed my hand. “I just don’t want to lose you.”
My stomach rolled. “I know,” I said. Then I didn’t say anything else, but I could see Marietta register my unspoken words. I don’t want to go either.
Keeping my hand in hers, I slumped back against the couch and let my eyes drift over the busy dance floor below. I watched the throng of Upper East Siders losing themselves in the music. A pang of fear swept through me.
This really would be my last night in New York. In the morning, I would fly to Italy, where I would live from that day on.
Marietta shuffled closer to me and cast me a watery smile. “How are you doing?” she asked as she squeezed my hand.
“I’m okay. Just nervous, I guess.”
Marietta nodded her head. “And your papa?”
I sighed. “Ecstatic. Overjoyed that his precious daughter will be marrying the prince he chose for me as a child.” I felt a pang of guilt for speaking about him so negatively. “That was uncalled for,” I said. “You know as well as I do, Baroness von Todesco” —Marietta scowled playfully at my use of her title— “that we don’t really get a choice in whom we marry.” I leaned forward and picked up my champagne. I took a long swig, enjoying the feel of the bubbles traveling down my throat. I handed Marietta her glass and raised mine in the air. “To arranged marriages and duty over love!”
Marietta laughed and clinked her glass with mine. “But seriously,” Marietta said, “are you okay? Truly okay?”
I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know how to answer that, Etta. Am I okay with the arranged marriage? I suppose so. Am I okay with moving to Italy permanently? Not really. I love Italy—it’s my home, I was born there—but it’s not New York. Everyone I know is here in America.” Marietta’s eyes softened with sympathy. “And am I okay with marrying Zeno Savona? The infamous Playboy Prince of Toscana?” I took a deep breath. “I have no idea. I guess that will become apparent in the next three months.”
“In your ‘courting period,’” Marietta said using air quotes, and snorted with laughter. “What a joke. What twenty-three-year-old woman and twenty-six-year-old man need a courting period?”
I laughed at her sassy tone, but then soberly replied, “Ones who don’t know each other at all? Ones who have to see if they can stand each other’s company before sealing their marital fates forever?”
Marietta shuffled closer. “You know as well as I do that you could hate this so-called prince, detest everything he is—and he you—and I’d still be your maid of honor at your wedding on New Year’s Eve.” She sputtered a laugh. “The very fact that the date has been set says it all. This marriage is happening.” Marietta held up her glass, got to her feet and, with arms spread wide, shouted, “Welcome to the life of the European blue bloods of the Upper East Side! Drowning in Prada and Gucci, dripping in diamonds, but having no free will to call our own!”
I laughed, pulling her back down. She broke into hysterics as her ass hit the couch, spilling champagne all over the expensive upholstery. But our laughter waned as the house lights came on one by one. The last of the dance music drifted into silence, and the rich patrons of Manhattan’s most exclusive nightclub began making their way to their limos and town cars. It was three o’clock in the morning, and I had six hours left in the city I loved beyond measure.

Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.

Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ The Risk ~ by ~ S.T. Abby

**THE RISK (MindF*ck Series Book 1)**

RELEASING DECEMBER 1ST

by

S.T. Abby

Genre: Dark Romance

I didn’t expect him. I didn’t want to fall in love.
But I can’t let him go.
Logan Bennett makes the world a safer place.
He’s brilliant. He’s a hero.
He locks away the sick and depraved.
But while he’s saving lives, I’m taking them.
Collecting debts that are owed to me.
Then years ago, they took from me.
They left me for dead, They should have made sure I stayed dead.
Now I’m taking from them, one name at a time.
I’ve trained for too long. I’ve been patient. I can’t stop now.
Revenge is best served cold. They never see me coming. Until I paint their walls red.
Logan doesn’t know how they hurt me.
He doesn’t know about the screams they ignored.
He doesn’t know how twisted that town really is.
He just knows people are dying.
He doesn’t know he’s in love with their killer.
No one suspects a dead girl.
And Logan doesn’t suspect the girl in his bed.
They’re looking for a monster.
Not a girl who loves red. Not a girl in love.
I’m a faceless nightmare.
They took too much. Left too little.
I had nothing to lose. Until him.
But in the end, will he choose them?
Or will we watch them burn together?

So many names left to go…

Einstein said, “The weak revenge. The strong forgive. The intelligent ignore.”
Fuck that. Einstein wasn’t always right.

Revenge is a dish best served cold… Now that I agree with. It means they forget you’re coming for them, and their screams sound so much prettier when the time finally comes.

Chapter 1

I love humanity but I hate humans.
-Albert Einstein

LANA

“You look like you’ve been stood up,” a guy says as I peer up from my phone, discreetly clicking the lock screen into place so he can’t see what I’m watching.
I arch an eyebrow as I study him. Good looking, mid-twenties, arrogant smile, dominant posture… He’s definitely barking up the wrong tree though.
“Actually, I enjoy eating alone,” I tell him with a fuck-off, sweet smile.
He doesn’t take the hint, because his eyes narrow with determination. Alphas prefer a challenge. I should have known better.
“I’m Craig. You’re…” He lets his words trail off as he rakes his eyes over me, but I say nothing before sipping my coffee. “If you don’t give me your name, I’ll just call you Beauty.”
How original.
His attempt at flattery is overtly untrained and certainly underdeveloped. He’s obviously used to getting his way without much of a fuss, which means he never puts forth any effort after catching his prize either. Considering his expensive suit and visible appeal, I’m not surprised.
Plenty of women will overlook his arrogance, confusing it for cockiness, possibly even find it charming.
But I’m the wrong girl.
“How about calling me Not Interested? Because that’s the most apt depiction of me at the moment,” I tell him, leaning back in my chair, relaxed and fully in control.
“Apparently you haven’t gotten a good look,” he proceeds, leaning back and pretty much posing in a stance that gives me nothing more to look at than an arrogant ass.
“I’ve seen more than enough. Still not interested.”
His look darkens as he takes a step back.
“Fine. Fuck it. I don’t need frostbite on my dick anyway,” he says before turning and walking toward a table where another guy is sitting.
The sun is not bright today, considering the overcast. We’re just a few of the people who opted for the patio instead of the inside of the coffee house, because it looks like it’s going to rain. Even though they’re several tables away, I can still see his friend laughing and shaking his head as Mr. Arrogant plops down to his seat, surly and dejected.
I resume watching the footage on my phone, until I feel eyes on me. Mr. Arrogant’s friend doesn’t look away when I look up and catch him studying me. He’s not leering or even acting interested. I’d say he’s trying to read me, just the way I do people.
He’s also nice looking, but his suit is not as expensive as the other guy’s. My observation would lead me to believe they’re work mates, but why is one dressed better than the other if they do the same job? He doesn’t seem submissive or weighted, the way he would if he was working for Mr. Arrogant. Which means they’re equals, but not paid the same? Or maybe Mr. Arrogant comes from money, and this guy doesn’t?
Unconcerned, I return my eyes to my phone, pretending I don’t notice his intense scrutiny. After finishing my coffee and my D-day screening, I ask the waitress for the bill.
“It’s already been paid,” she says with a soft smile and bright eyes. “And you’ve already left a tip as well,” she adds, winking. “A nice one.”
My eyebrows go up, and she motions back with her head as Mr. Arrogant’s friend walks off the patio. Mr. Arrogant is nowhere to be found.
“He said to thank you for the entertainment,” she proceeds to tell me while fanning herself and watching him walk toward a dark SUV.
“Thanks,” I tell her, standing up and heading toward the exit as well.
No flirting, no leering looks of longing, and no waiting around to see if I would come to him after he paid for my food. I don’t like it when people are nice for no reason. Saying I was his entertainment isn’t enough.
My eyes trail after the silent guy, watching him as he lingers by the SUV, speaking over the phone too quietly for me to hear his words from this distance. I also spot Mr. Arrogant, who is chatting up a pretty girl near the store down the sidewalk. She seems far more interested than I was.
Deciding to appease my curiosity, I head over to the silent guy just as he ends his call. His eyes snap up to mine as I approach, and his eyebrows raise as I pull out a twenty.
“I don’t let strange men pay for my food. My mother taught me better,” I tell him, waving the twenty in front of him to take.
A slow grin crawls across his full lips, completely transforming his face. His dark blonde hair is tousled just enough to be sexy without being bedhead messy. His strong, chiseled jaw is a stark contrast to his soft, blue eyes. He looks fierce and gentle in the same breath, confusing me all the more. I really can’t get a read on him.
“I couldn’t get a more entertaining show for so cheap. Trust me, it was worth the small bill,” he says with a shrug, pocketing his hands and phone, making a stance that he won’t take my money, without using the actual words.
But I’m persistent, and I wave the twenty again. “I still have my rules. Thanks, but no thanks.”
His grin only grows. “You always so defensive?” he muses. “Are you constantly worried about the intentions of others? Or is it an extreme feminist position that keeps you on edge about a man doing something as mediocre as paying for your coffee and muffin?”
He is reading me. I knew it.
The cheap suit suddenly makes sense, along with the dark SUV. “You’re FBI,” I note, taking in the fact Quantico isn’t too far away.
His grin broadens. “What makes you think that?”
“You’re profiling me, for one, which would likely put you to be somewhere in that field, given the ride and attire. Your friend has an expensive suit that he wears to impress, but yours is less flashy. Your posture around him and good-natured ribbing towards him leads me to believe you’re equals, despite the financial difference. So I’m assuming he comes from money, and you’ve earned your own way. The SUV isn’t a standardized version. The blacked out windows are too dark to be legally tinted, but I know the FBI are given certain leniencies due to security risks. So am I right?”
I really hate the way he continues to smile, as though he’s only more intrigued instead of freaked out. I wanted to freak him out.
“You’re not a paid profiler, not FBI, and not affiliated with any military unit,” he says, confusing me. “Your outfit is bohemian chic, meaning you’re less worried about your outward appearance and more concerned with comfort. You sit alone by choice, and dismiss any attention sent your way. At first glance, you’re too feminist for your own good. At second glance, you’re someone who is hard to get close to because trust isn’t something you share too often. It keeps you from being hurt by people, but it also keeps you from having anyone in your life. At night, when you close your eyes and allow yourself to be vulnerable…that’s the only time you dare to wonder what it’d be like to be with someone.”
I swallow down the knot in my throat. He’s too dead-on. I shouldn’t be so easily readable. I’ve trained against it for years.
“No pets, given the fact there’s not any pet hair on you, unless you have those who won’t shed. However, I don’t see you allowing yourself to become attached to an animal, when you know you’ll most likely outlive it and have to deal with the heartbreak of losing said animal. You’re detached by necessity, most likely a painful past that pushed you into this direction. A loss, perhaps. Maybe more than one loss. Maybe pushed into solitude by life and staying there by choice?”
When my heart thumps in my chest and I take a shaky step back, his eyes soften even more.
“Sorry. I went too far. I apologize,” he tells me just as Mr. Arrogant returns.
“Haven’t lost my edge. That chick was just—”
His words die when he sees me in an eye-lock with Mr. Profiler. I feel exposed, vulnerable, and out of my element. I’m not used to that. I’ve worked so freaking hard to be a fortress of impossible reads.
He just unraveled my confidence with one pull on the right thread.
“Grab a few bottles of water. Long ride,” he tells Mr. Arrogant without looking away from me.
I don’t know if he leaves or not, because I’m too busy staring right into those gentle blue eyes that really do seem remorseful.
“Life sucks,” he says randomly. “Then you die. Might as well live while you’re still alive,” he adds, sounding completely less insightful than earlier.
It’s enough to break the tension, and an unexpected smile slips free from me. He winks as he leans over. “If you ever want help feeling alive, call me. I could use some life as well.”
When he draws back, I feel something in my hand, though I never felt him placing anything there. He walks around to the other side of the SUV, and I watch with rapt attention as he gets in.
My eyes finally fall down to the card in my hand as Mr. Arrogant returns to take the passenger side.
Logan Bennett…
His number is attached to his name, and sure enough, he’s FBI. When my gaze comes up again, he’s leaning on the steering wheel, watching me. Mr. Arrogant’s window is down, and he looks annoyed.
“Call me,” Logan says, grinning before pulling away from the curb.
Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a persistent one. Albert Einstein said that. My father always quoted Einstein as a way of explaining life when we struggled to understand it. I remember him quoting me that when our lives fell apart. He was hurting the worst, and trying his best to soothe me.
Einstein isn’t helping me understand how easily I was just read. Or how vulnerable and exposed I feel in this moment.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down, seeing the alert I set.
I have to be cold. I need to be cold. Anything less could fracture the shell in place that I need to execute the plan I’ve worked too hard on for too long.
Shaking off the residual weakness, I blow out a harsh breath and walk to my car. I drive fifteen miles, find the house I’m looking for, and drive on by. I wait until I’m parked in an abandoned barn before I put on my gloves, suit, and heavy men’s boots. I also strap on the backpacks weighted down with rocks… One on my back and one on my front.
Stealthily, I walk toward the house, slip open the door, and silently remove the backpacks, putting them down with careful ease to a chair.
My purse has everything I need in it, so I keep it on me. The heavy shoes come off next, and I silently place them on top of my backpack.
Movement upstairs draws my attention, and I slowly make my way to the staircase, careful to keep my steps light and silent. I’ve examined the floors for a month, finding every spot that creaks or groans.
I know his routine better than my own. Just like I know in five seconds, the water will come on.
Sure enough, the old pipes in the house clank as water shoots through them, and that’s when I make my way up the stairs, ignoring the way they creak, because he can’t hear a thing with that loud shower.
When I reach his room, my eyes dart to the bed. I know he’s single, but I always worry about stumbling across an unplanned woman. I watched the cameras from my phone, and they showed no woman here, but it’s still a thought that always plagues the back of my mind.
I breathe out in relief when I see no signs of an overnight guest. Just Ben and his usual messy home.
The shower cuts off, and I’m already in position, ready and waiting. Life would be simpler if I could use a Taser or sedatives. It really would.
Just as he walks through with a towel around his waist, my knife comes down, slicing hard against the Achilles heel. Screams pierce my ears, and I realize that moment of weakness with Mr. Profiler earlier doesn’t affect how pretty the screams sound.
I’ve worked too long, too hard, and too endlessly for this. I should have known one man couldn’t take away my edge.
Ben falls to the floor, crying out in agony, while clutching his foot. The towel flops off, exposing every naked inch of him to my eyes.
It makes my stomach roil.
But the terror in his eyes? That gets me high.
“What the fuck? Take whatever you want!” he shouts, sobbing as I approach, watching me with those wide, terrified eyes.
I get off on the terror. I want him to cry for much, much longer.
“What I want is for you to know my name,” I say quietly, eerily.
His eyes grow even wider, and he pales when I hold the bloody knife up and run my finger along the backside of it.
“Please don’t,” he begs, trying and failing to stand up.
He’ll hit me if he gets the chance. I’m not stupid enough to get that close just yet.
I pull the wire from my back pocket, and I watch him as he watches me.
“Don’t recognize me, Ben?” I ask mockingly, cocking my head. Ten surgeries ago, he might have recognized me immediately.
“No. No,” he cries. “I don’t know you. You have the wrong person!”
I squat down, noticing the way his gaze shifts. He’s preparing to attack me now that I’m in this position. He finds it a vulnerable mistake on my part.
If he only knew…
“I was a sixteen-year-old little girl the last time you saw me,” I say with a dark smile. “I’m all grown up now. Want to play?”
The last three words are what triggers recognition. I see it in the way his pupils dilate, his nostrils flare, and a sense of understanding washes over his features.
“You,” he whispers. “No. No. You look nothing like her. She died,” he adds in the same hushed tone.
“I survived,” I say back, watching as his fear slowly starts to fade, just as I knew it would.
Right now, he’s remembering just how weak I was as that horrified, terrified, sobbing little girl. He’s remembering how easily he overpowered me. His mind is playing tricks on him that he’s still the one in control, despite the precariously deadly situation.
“You took three turns,” I go on, staying poised and ready, but outwardly displaying a weakness I don’t truly have, allowing his mind to continue to revert back to that night ten years ago.
“That means three pounds of flesh over the next three days,” I go on.
I see it happening before he launches himself at me, screaming in pain as he tries to tackle me to the floor. My knife slams into his shoulder, and another bloodcurdling scream erupts through the air as I spin on my knees, sliding in behind him as his face plants into the floor.
My hand is still holding the knife, and I rip it away in less than a blink, almost simultaneously tossing the wire around his neck, winding it tightly. Then I choke him, reveling in the pained sounds, until he grows limp and unconscious, riding the line of life and death. With the blood loss, he’s too weak to fight back. It’d be so easy to kill him right now.
But death won’t come too soon.
I don’t believe in mercy.
Three pounds of flesh will be extracted while he’s awake.
He’ll beg and plead.
He’ll pray to pass out.
But he will feel it all.
Just like we did.

Email me when this goes live

S.T. Abby is typically a Rom Com author and has several best selling books under her name. She has chosen to branch out and embrace her dark side under the pen name S.T. Abby. Get it….. STABBY

The MindF*ck Series will be her first venture into the world of Dark Romance. They are not your typical dark reads. They have a twist !!

https://www.facebook.com/stabbyauthor/

Excerpt Reveal ~ Own ~ by ~ K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco

Own by K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco is the highly anticipated conclusion to the Need Series and releases on November 28th!

Pre-order your copy at:

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2ewafgy

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2em4sud

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2eIE8Gh

Excerpt

Why the fuck is Kira at this party?

Stupid question.

I have no right to begrudge her this. She should be here, having fun, experiencing college to the fullest.

It just burns that she came here without telling me. That she didn’t even think of inviting me.

That she’s pushing me away while making time to sit on the grass with Austin.

If Dana hadn’t told Ryan to call me, I wouldn’t have known Kira was here.

This party is taking place in one of the student’s homes—a mansion so fucking big, it’s bordering on ridiculous.

I’m never going to find Kira here, and according to what Dana told Ryan, Kira’s shitfaced. Drunk out of her mind.

And Dana lost her.

Growling under my breath, I push past the crowd, ignoring every drunk girl who tries to grope me.

Sometimes I wonder how I ever got high off this kind of attention. How my ego fed on it. It’s annoying as fuck.

I’ve already checked the large ass kitchen. Two of the sitting rooms. The foyer. The pool room. And almost every room upstairs.

I get a text from Dana. Marilyn just spotted her going into the movie theater on the first floor. OMW there now.

Of course this place has a movie theater, too.

Fucking ridiculous, as I said.

I about-face and practically fly down the stairs. I have no idea where the hell the movie theater is, so I grab a few people as I walk and ask them.

All of them are as clueless as I am.

They look at me as if I’m crazy.

To them, I probably look like I am.

Finally, I find one person who knows. Don’t know who he is, don’t care. He points me in the right direction, and I rush away without even thanking him.

The theater is all the way in the back of the house, in an area that’s actually empty. I get there in time to see Dana opening the door and rushing in.

Man, she’s an awesome girl. I could never thank her enough for caring for Kira the way she obviously does.

I go inside and find the small theater empty, except for Dana, Marilyn . . .

And Kira.

My breath whooshes out of me at the sight of her. I’m instantly hard, aching, furious, and possessive.

We haven’t fucked in days and I’d be lying if I said my balls aren’t full to bursting. I need sex right now like I need air and she’s the only person to give it to me.

But she came here, in that tiny, dark purple dress.

I have no right to tell her how to dress–but what the fuck is she doing coming to a party dressed like that without me?

Kira’s leaning against one of the chairs all the way at the front of the theater, refusing to move despite Marilyn urging her.

It’s obvious she really is drunk as a motherfucker.

“I just want to be alone, guys,” she says, almost whining.

I refuse to be amused. Now’s not the time. I’m too pissed at her.

But, fuck me. She’s sexy, adorable, and those lips are begging for my cock.

“I know, sweetie. But it’s not good for you to be alone right now.”

Kira swats Marilyn away. “Stop your shit, woman. You’re not my mother.”

Even Dana laughs at that one.

“She’s not. But I’m your man. And I say you’re not going to be alone.”

They all turn to stare at me as I walk down the short steps toward them.

Kira’s eyes flare with resentment.

With lust.

She rakes me with a cold stare that still manages to burn my entire body with how hungry it is.

Damn. If any of these girls just happen to look down a bit, they’re going to get an eyeful of how hard my dick is.

“I don’t want you here, either.” She swats me away like an imperious little queen.

“Girls. Leave us.”

Marilyn and Dana hesitate at my tone.

I don’t have time for this shit. “Now.”

Dana snaps to action first and leads Marilyn up the stairs and out of the theater.

Kira’s still looking at me with that rebellious hunger, a lust-filled sneer on her face.

I have no qualms about reaching down and palming my dick in front of her.

Her eyes flare hungrily.

“We’re leaving, Kitty. Now.” I can’t fuck her until she sobers up considering how angry at me she is, but I’m getting her home.

Kira steps toward me and stumbles at bit.

I rush forward and catch her, pulling her up against me.

Contact. Seering, torturous contact. I have my arms wrapped around her, my hands on her ass, before I realize what I’m doing. As always, it’s an instant reaction. Absolutely zero control over my own body.

Kira pushes at my chest and that sexy small growl she gives me turns me on so much. “Don’t touch me.”

My barely leashed temper snaps free. “Like hell. You’re mine.”

She struggles against me, her body sliding along mine. “Excuse me if I don’t want to go back to fucking the dick I’ve seen inside Jennifer two too many times.”

She’s hurting. I get it. Shit, I’d be even more feral in her shoes.

But I’ll be damned if I let her pretend she doesn’t want me anymore.

Fisting her hair, I slide my other hand under her dress and roughly shove her panties to side.

Kira lets out a broken gasp at the feel of my fingers slipping inside her.

I move them around on purpose so she can hear how wet she is. “Lie to me again. Tell me you don’t want me,” I growl in her face.

Her arms wind around my neck and she slams her lips against mine. Growling at me like she hates me and wants to eat me at the same time, she kisses me with everything she has.

Owning me.

Trying to control me.

I want nothing more than to show her who’s fucking in charge here, but she’s licking my tongue like it’s the tip of my dick, and her hips are thrusting up and down, fucking my fingers.

Using me for her pleasure.

Her body locks up, her plump pussy swelling around my fingers. A throb, a rush of liquid, and she’s squirting into my hand, her sexy moans echoing between our lips.

God damn.

I manhandle her, my mind cracking under the pressure of so much need. Spinning, I fall to my knees on the short steps and place her beneath me.

The steps are short but they’re huge. Enough to accommodate her lower body on one.

Kira leans back with her elbows on the step above her. Head thrown back, gorgeous throat exposed, she struggles to pull in air.

I lean back on my haunches and yank my belt open.

The sound makes her raise her head. By the time her eyes are on my crotch, I already have my glistening cock out in my hand.

She whispers my name like a prayer.

Finally.

This is what I need. No more distance. No more pain. Just her and her nearly demonic need to have me.

And I need this even more.

I grab her thighs and tug her toward me. Kira says my name again. Her hands land on my shoulders, fisting my shirt.

I spread her legs wide, wider than I probably should, and slide that juicy cunt right onto my dick.

Her body arches off the stairs like she’s being possessed.

She is.

If I haven’t left enough of me inside her for her to understand—for her to accept—that I own her and always will . . .

I’m going to remedy that.

And there’s nothing she can do about it.

I pull my hips back, slow, hissing at the slick feel of her pussy walls tightening. Trying to keep me in.

Kira whimpers, clenching me even harder.

Wanting to let me go and powerless to do anything but keep me.

Using all my strength, I slam back into her.

One hard, vicious thrust.

She cries out and comes all over me.

Again.

Just like that.

I crack my neck, a growl purring through my chest, and lay into her. No mercy. No thought.

I’m close. Just a few more pumps into that slick cunt.

Kira fists my hair, her moans bouncing off the walls around us. I lower myself down and brace my elbows on either side of her head.

She tries to tug me down and kiss me.

I slide one hand beneath her head, fisting that beautiful hair, and drag her up to me. “Who told you that you could come here dressed like that?”

She bites my lip hard enough to make my vision snap white. I think I taste blood. “Fuck you. You don’t own m—” She chokes on her words with my next thrust.

I can’t stop groaning, yet somehow I’m laughing in her face at the ridiculousness of her statement. “You want to keep fucking lying to yourself, Kitty?”

She hisses like the wild cat she is and leans up to lick across my bottom lip. When she pulls back, I see it.

Her lips are stained with the blood she drew from me.

I press my lips to her, our tongues dueling. We’re nothing but a mindless mass of sex, and I can feel the come rising up my shaft.

In the back of my head, it registers that I hear people speaking.

Drawing closer.

On the other side of the door.

“That bitch ruined my life!”

“First off, don’t ever call her a bitch in front of me. Got it? Secondly, you have no proof it was her that sent your parents that video. Third, back the fuck off, or I’m going to forget we were ever—”

The door opens.

I raise my head enough to look up. For a split second, the fact that we’ve been caught freezes me.

Then I see two pairs of familiar blue eyes locked on us.

Jennifer.

Austin.

Blurb

Kira’s finally mine.

Mine.

And nobody and nothing is going to take her from me. I’ll fight for her, to the death. Do anything for her.

There’s no more living without her. No more holding back my feelings.

If only it was enough.

We’re surrounded every day.

Watched.

Stalked.

Judged.

Everyone knows us. Now, they suspect. The odds are stacked against us more than before.

We live in the shadows, hiding our love from the entire world.

But not for long.

I refuse to live like this anymore.

I’ll do whatever it takes to own her. I’m waging a dark war against those that stand against us.

And I will win.

That girl is going to be mine forever, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

Haven’t read this series yet?

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K.I. Lynn is the USA Today Bestselling Author from The Bend Anthology and the Amazon Bestselling Series, Breach. She spent her life in the arts, everything from music to painting and ceramics, then to writing. Characters have always run around in her head, acting out their stories, but it wasn’t until later in life she would put them to pen. It would turn out to be the one thing she was really passionate about.

Since she began posting stories online, she’s garnered acclaim for her diverse stories and hard hitting writing style. Two stories and characters are never the same, her brain moving through different ideas faster than she can write them down as it also plots its quest for world domination…or cheese. Whichever is easier to obtain… Usually it’s cheese.

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Isabelle Blanco was born in Queens, NY (USA). At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.

Isabelle Blanco spends her days working as an author, web programmer, marketer, and graphic designer. That is when she isn’t handling her “spawn”, as she calls her son, and brainstorming with him about his future career as a comic book illustrator.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ After We Fall ~ by ~ Melanie Harlow

After We Fall by Melanie Harlow
Publication Date: November 28^th, 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis:

Jack Valentini isn’t my type.

Sexy, brooding cowboys are fine in the movies, but in real life, I prefer a suit and tie. Proper manners. A close shave.

Jack might be gorgeous, but he’s also scruffy, rugged, and rude. He wants nothing to do with a “rich city girl” like me, and he isn’t afraid to say so.

But I’ve got a PR job to do for his family’s farm, so he’s stuck with me for ten days, and I’m stuck with him. His glares. His moods. His tight jeans. His muscles.

His huge, hard muscles.

Pretty soon there’s a whole different kind of tension between us, the kind that has me misbehaving in barns, trees, and pickup trucks. I’ve never done anything so out of character—but it feels too good to stop.

And the more I learn about the grieving ex-Army sergeant, the better I understand him. Losing his wife three years ago left him broken and bitter and blaming himself. He doesn’t think he deserves a second chance at happiness.

But he’s wrong.

I don’t need to be his first love. If only he’d let me be his last.

“Second chances are not given to make things right, but are given to prove that we could be even better after we fall.” —Unknown

Excerpt:

“Wow,” she said, shutting the screen door behind her. “That was close. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” I crossed my arms, wishing I’d thought to grab a shirt. “Want to tell me what you were doing out there?”

Her cheeks colored. “Um, I was taking a run.”

“Up a tree?”

She laughed nervously. “No. Well, I didn’t start out in a tree. That happened later.”

I cocked my head, unable to resist giving her a hard time. Not so sure of yourself now, are you, Barbie? “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. See, I left the cottage I’m renting without using the bathroom by mistake,” she began, twisting her fingers together, “and I was planning on running a loop around the farm, but it’s bigger than I thought.”

“Ah. So you were looking for a bathroom in the woods?”

“Well, yes.” She swallowed. “Sort of. But then I heard a splash and saw you…” Her cheeks were practically purple now.

I played dumb. “Saw me what?”

“Saw you naked, OK?” she blurted, throwing her hands up. “I admit it—I saw you naked.”

I had no hangups about nudity, but I was damn serious about my privacy, and about people sneaking up on me. But her embarrassment was funny. The two times I’d seen her before, she’d been so polished and poised. It felt good to put her in her place a little. “So you climbed a tree for a better view, is that it?”

Bowing her head, she dragged the toe of one shoe across the wood planks of the porch floor. “Something like that.” Then she looked up at me. Took a breath. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I was—I mean, I got—I couldn’t—” She sighed, briefly closing her eyes. “I have no excuse. Will you accept my apology?”

She was prettier without makeup, I decided. And the way she wore her hair off her face emphasized the wideness of her eyes, the angle of her cheekbones, the arch of her brows. Her lips didn’t need all that glossy crap, either. They were a perfect rosy pink, and I wondered if they’d feel as soft as they looked.

Fuck. I hadn’t kissed anyone in three years.

Clearing my throat, I took a step back. “Yeah. It’s fine.” Now get out of here.

She didn’t move. “So you’re not going to fire me?”

“I never hired you.”

“I know. But I really want this job. I think I can help, Jack. I know I can.”

“Suit yourself. I want nothing to do with it.” My name on her lips was trouble. Needing some distance from her, I started walking toward the dock to get my shoes and socks, but she followed me. God, she was a pest. It reminded me of the way Steph used to tag along after the boys when we were kids, wanting to get in our games.

“Are you going to be like this the entire time I’m here?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“Moody and uncooperative?”

“Probably.”

“Why? Do you hate me that much?”

“I don’t hate anybody. I just don’t see why we should pay some city girl who’s never set foot on a farm to advise us.” We reached the dock, and I leaned down to get my stuff.

“I’m not even asking to be paid, so piss off!” she shouted, her voice carrying on the water.

I straightened. “Oh, you’re working for free?”

“Yes!”

“Then you’re an idiot. Or so rich you don’t need the money.”

“I’m not an idiot,” she said through clenched teeth.

“So you’re rich, then.” I don’t know why I was being such an asshole. But for some reason, I did not want to let her see another side of me, or see another side to her. “I should have guessed.”

She crossed her arms. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look like you’ve led a charmed life. Like you’ve had everything you’ve ever wanted handed to you. Like you’ve never gotten your hands dirty.”

“So get them dirty.”

I almost fell off the dock. “What?”

“Get them dirty. Teach me about working this farm. I want to learn.”

Was she serious? The last thing I needed was to drag her ass around all day, explaining things. Or stare at her ass all day, imagining things. But one look at her defiant face and I shook my head. “Why do I feel like if I say no, you’ll just keep bothering me?”

She smiled and clasped her hands behind her back, rocking forward on her toes. “Because I will. I don’t like being told no.”

“Of course you don’t.” Jesus, she was trouble. A bad apple—smooth and shiny on the outside, spoiled rotten on the inside. But for no good reason, I found myself giving in. “Fine. Go change your clothes.”

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About the Author:

Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her heels high, and her history with the naughty bits left in. When she’s not writing or reading, she gets her kicks from TV series like VEEP, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, and Homeland. She occasionally runs three miles, but only so she can have more gin and steak.

Melanie is the author of the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, the FRENCHED series, and the sexy historical SPEAK EASY duet, set in the 1920s. She lifts her glass to romance readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and pet rabbit.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Tough Luck ~ by ~ Liv Morris

Excerpt

Amelia and I move farther into my hotel room. She claims we need to go over something for tomorrow’s Beauty and The Baller show, but we said good night twenty minutes ago. If work is an excuse for her being here after hours, we’re in unchartered territory.

“You caught me just getting out of the shower.” Amelia’s gaze trails over my bare abs, then down to the towel wrapped around my hips. “Better turn around, unless you want an eyeful.” To my surprise, she moves closer instead of turning away.

“Seen one. Seen ’em all,” she singsongs, looking at me with a gleam in her eyes.

“Right,” I scoff, knowing she’ll be changing her mind about that soon. “Okay, you’ve been warned.” I drop the towel, letting it fall to the floor. When she gasps, I smile and shake my head. Just like I thought.

“Wow. You’re…” Amelia exclaims while staring at my dick with wide eyes.

“Like a horse.” I leave out the word “hung” as drool forms at the corner of her open mouth.

“I’ve seen bigger.” She narrows her eyes, but they travel downward, landing on my semi-hard salute. She licks her lips and bites down on the plump lower one.

“I bet parts of me are more than you can handle,” I tease, pointing downward to the goods.

“Don’t be silly, Bryce. I’m an overachiever.” Her chin tilts up in defiance, but it sounds like she wants to prove me wrong. After all, being an overachiever requires taking on a big task and completing it.

I watch the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Add her darkened green eyes, and it sums up to one thing: she wants me too, but will she admit it?

God knows I can’t fight what I feel for her anymore, especially with her standing before me in a tight black dress, her blond hair spreading over a killer rack. Yeah, the game’s over for me—and she won.

I don’t just want her. I crave her.

You loved Hard Luck…

Are you ready to meet another Luck brother?

From USA Today Bestselling author Liv Morris

comes a sexy standalone romcom

Tough Luck releases on December 8th!

Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/2f3cJz6

Blurb

There’s one rule in reporting: don’t ever fall in love…

When Amelia Adams tells everyone my days as Chicago’s quarterback are over, I vow never to give her another minute of my time—until the team owner sees an empty stadium, and forces us together on a reality show in hopes of filling the seats.

When Bryce Luck becomes my assignment, I swear his brown eyes and dimpled smile won’t make my knees weak—that I’ll keep a professional boundary. But I can’t fight this attraction, especially when he whispers sweet nothings in my ear and promises to do a million dirty things to me when the cameras stop rolling.

When the show is over, and the game’s been played, will our love become a reality? Or are we just out of luck?

Hard Luck (Book One) is NOW ON SALE for ONLY $0.99 & FREE ON Kindle Unlimited!

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USA Today bestselling author, Liv Morris, was raised in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri. She now resides on the rock known as St. Croix, USVI with her first and hopefully last husband. After relocating twelve times during his corporate career, she qualifies as a professional mover. Learning to bloom where she’s planted, Liv brings her moving and life experience to her writing.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Hit The Spot ~ by ~ J. Daniels

Is this love or just a game?

Tori Rivera thinks Jamie McCade is rude, arrogant, and worst of all . . . the sexiest man she’s ever laid eyes on. His reputation as a player is almost as legendary as his surfing skills. No matter how her body heats up when he’s around, she’s determined not to be another meaningless hookup.

Jamie McCade always gets what he wants. The sickest wave. The hottest women. And Tori, with her long legs and smart mouth, is definitely the hottest one. He knows Tori wants him-hell, most women do-but she won’t admit it. After months of chasing and one unforgettable kiss, it’s time for Jamie to raise the stakes.

Jamie promises that soon Tori won’t just want him in her bed, she’ll be begging for it-and he might be right. Somehow he’s found the spot in her heart that makes her open up like never before. But with all she knows about his past, can she really trust what’s happening between them? Is Jamie playing for keeps or just playing to win?

This book can be read as a stand-alone.

Book 1–Four Letter Word

AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | AMAZON AU | B&N | KOBO | KOBO UK | iBOOKS

iBOOKS UK | iBOOKS AU | Audio

EXCERPT

Tori froze a foot away, blinking at me. She didn’t speak. If she had a reason for coming in here, it looked like that reason just left her. She seemed lost.
“Legs,” I probed, when she kept with the staring and not speaking routine.
“Mm?”
“What are you doin’ in here, babe?”
I had no fucking idea what was going on, but unless Tori wanted to watch some chick grind all over me, she needed to get what she came for and step out.
She wet her lips. I watched her neck work with a swallow.
“You showed me your dick,” she stated.
I felt my mouth twitch. Fuck yeah. Breathing a laugh, I relaxed back onto the bench, arms spread behind me and hands gripping the black leather cushion. I tipped my head to the side. “See that impression is stickin’,” I said. “What’s that got to do with this?”
“You showed me your dick after I flashed you. That was your move.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. What the fuck was she getting at?
Tori smiled. Her sin-colored lips stretching slow. “This is mine,” she said, lifting her shoulders as if this shit she was declaring wasn’t a big deal, which it sure as fuck was.
This is hers…Oh, fuck me.
Fuck. Me.
Tori moved closer. Whatever smirk I was wearing pulled from my mouth. That pressure built again, in my chest and lower. I shifted on the bench.
“Legs,” I warned, my voice vibrating in my throat as I watched her walk toward me. “What’d I say about takin’ this shit places you can handle? Did you think this through?”
I was willing to bet she didn’t. If she had and knew how this could play out, with her bent over and me buried deep, she wouldn’t be back here.
“Shh.” Tori stopped in front of my knees. “If we talk, I won’t go through with this,” she admitted, sounding anxious. “And I doubt you’d be chattin’ up the girl who was supposed to be in here, so quit it. Just sit there. Shut up. And keep your hands to yourself.”
“You know what you’re doin’?” I asked, looking up at her. “’Cause in this room I’m allowed to touch, babe. Rules are out there.” I tipped my chin at the door, keeping her gaze. “Not in here. In here, I’m participatin’. You don’t like that deal, you better quit now and think of another move, ’cause the second you start takin’ shit off, Legs, I’m on you.”
“Then I guess I don’t need to worry,” Tori shot back, speaking with confidence and smiling again. The fuck did that mean? My brow tightened. “Say again?”
“I don’t need to worry ’cause I’m not taking anything off, meaning you won’t be on me. I’m just dancing.”
I stared at her for a beat. Then a laugh rumbled in my chest as I thought about how fucked she was.
“What?” she asked, tilting her head all cute. “This is a really good move.”
“Know it is. Not laughing ’cause of that.”
“Then why are you laughing?” She brought her hands to her hips and studied me, looking on the verge of an attitude. Her eyes narrowed. “If you think I need to take my clothes off to win this bet, then you are mistaken, Jamie McCade. I know how you feel about me in this uniform. This is gonna kill you.”
“Legs, hate to tell you this, but you’re wrong, babe. You gotta worry.”
“And why’s that?”
I dropped my arms and sat forward, elbows resting on my thighs. “You start dancin’ on me and I’m touching you,” I promised, watching her blink. “You start dancin’ anywhere in this room and I’m touching you. You don’t gotta strip, babe. I just threw that out there ’cause that’s where I thought this was headed. Telling me you’re makin’ a move and you’re makin’ it in a strip club, figured you’d be taking shit off, but honest to God, it don’t matter. Like I said before, rules are out there. Not in here. Only way I’m keeping my hands to myself is if I’m fuckin’ dead.”
“These are my rules,” Tori countered, bending down to get closer. “And unless you want me to holler out for my new friend with the gold tooth who looks like he eats narcissistic assholes for breakfast, I suggest you follow them, Jamie.”
I chuckled, knowing who she was talking about. Dude made sure I was clear on a few things before letting me back in here.
Something I wasn’t sharing with Legs. “And what are these rules, babe?” I asked.
She straightened and snapped, “I already told you. Sit there and shut up.” Tori put her hand on my shoulder and shoved, pushing me back until I was pressing against the bench again. Then keeping her grip there, she swung her knee up, braced it on the leather, and lowered herself onto my lap, lifting her other knee and boxing me in with it.
I pulled in breath through my nose and curled my hands into fists on the cushion. “And the touching?” I asked, voice strained as I stared at the shape of her tits.
They grew closer as she leaned forward, her hands shifting to hold on behind me, and my gaze snapped up to meet hers when her face got an inch away.
“Beg for it,” she whispered.
My eyes flickered wider. Hers brightened with impending victory.
No shit. Tori was gonna let me touch, but I had to call it. I had to let her win.
I had to fucking beg.
Jesus.
Why’d she have to be so good at this shit?
I steadied my gaze, telling her as my head tilted back, “Think I’ll just enjoy the ride.”

J.Daniels is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sweet Addiction series, the Alabama Summer series, and the Dirty Deeds series.

She would rather bake than cook, she listens to music entirely too loud, and loves writing stories her children will never read. Her husband and children are her greatest loves, with cupcakes coming in at a close second.

J grew up in Baltimore and resides in Maryland with her family.

Sign up to receive her newsletter and get special offers and exclusive release info: http://authorjdaniels.com/newsletter/

Excerpt Reveal ~ Disgraceful ~ by ~ Dee Palmer

Coming November 18th

After the dust settles on the most erotic night in her life, a fantasy-fulfilling experience that not only brought Sam back to life, but also laid her brutal demons to rest. Her lust for life returns with her irrepressible passion and she embraces the changes in her life, almost without reservation…almost.

Jason Sinclair is just the Dominant to take a woman like Sam on. She’s fearless and feisty, but when she lost herself, he nearly lost her all over again. By giving her that one night, he became more than her savior…he became her everything. Opening her up to what the future could hold with a potential life of hedonistic heaven together.

Or could one fantasy have been too far? Can the two super kinky souls really settle down together?

As much as Sam dreams of a happily ever after, she’s much too realistic and can’t seem to shake the dark clouds of doubt rolling in. Is the promise of domestic bliss bound to be cursed from day one or does the King of Kink have more tricks up his sleeve?

“Mmm.” She moans and arches her body into a decent stretch given the confines of the R8 interior. “Are we there yet?” She yawns and pulls her legs into a hold, wrapping her arms around her knees and shifting onto her side to face me.
“What are you…four?” I mock.
“I didn’t say…’Are we there yet Dad?’ She pouts and wrinkles her nose. She has soft pink lines on her face, crumpled skin from a heavy sleepy head against her shoulder. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and it’s all I can do to keep from swerving off the road. She looks edible.
“Oh beautiful, you can call me Daddy if you want, but I’m always gonna prefer Sir.” My voice drips with sensual meaning.
“I prefer Sir.” Her sultry, soft tone I feel, like a direct hit in my balls. I push my head back into the headrest and straighten my arms, my fingers tighten on the wheel. Subtle instant reactions that make her giggle. I try and shift in my seat to ease the painful ache from my now rock hard cock.
“Sorry.” She sucks in her lips and fails to look even vaguely apologetic.
“No you’re not.” I groan when her hand reaches over and rubs the material stretched taut over my shaft.
“Not remotely, but I am more than happy to help.” She slips the seatbelt, so it is only wrapped across her waist, and she slinks across the centre of the car, like a super sexy feline. I lift my left arm to make room. Christ my balls feel like they are ready to explode and she hasn’t even loosened my buckle. Oh now she has…shit!
“Sam…I don’t think this is a really good idea.” My voice catches and I try and swallow the sudden dryness in my mouth.
“Really? I think this is a great idea. Besides…” Her warm breath sears the fibres on my pants, her head hovers as she deftly releases my erection into her waiting hand. ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Holy. Fucking Shiiii…Ah! Oh yes that…do that again!” I swallow back a choking cough and let the most amazing feeling radiate through my body unchecked. She has her fist tight around the base but her mouth covers the engorged end and she swallows me down like I really am the best meal of the day. I can feel the muscles in her throat and I fight the urge to jerk my hips forward. The back of her head keeps nudging the bottom of the steering wheel as it is. Her tongue does this thing where she slides and wraps it around my , all the while drawing me deeper into her mouth, until I am touching the back of her throat. She pauses only to catch a breath before she swallows me further. God this feels fucking amazing. I know I’m not all in, her hand is taking over where her mouth is physically unable…at least at this angle.
I am counting backwards in Italian just to try and not think about losing control. But when she releases my cock and her lips instantly wrap around one of my balls, I swerve the car onto the hard shoulder and into the police only waiting area. I’d rather get arrested than die and she is fucking killing me here. Her head pops up and I slip from her swollen lips.
“Problem?” Her devious smile is all faux innocence.
“No problem.” I am impressed I maintain a level voice and a steady exhale. “There will be though if you don’t get your fucking jeans off and ride me till I come.” Her pink cheeks flush a little redder, her eyes darken with pure passion and her slim throat takes a deep slow swallow.
Now I’ve changed my mind.
“Wait… No time, just finish what you started Beautiful.” I thread my hand into what’s left of her messy bun and pull her back into position. Her eyes meet mine and flash with mirrored desire before bending over millimetres from my aching erection.
“Yes Sir.” She exhales a breathy sigh with her words. which scorch the wetness seeping from my tip. Her tongue is quick to take the moisture and her lips quickly follow. She sinks quickly onto my length and eager to please she almost swallows me whole.
“Fuuuuuck!” Every muscle in my backside tenses and I grip the steering wheel like it is my only anchor to Earth. One of her hands pumps the base of my cock that makes my spine tingle from top to tip, she palms my balls with her other hand, and her magic tongue is driving me insane tracing the pulsing vein from the very bottom of me to the sensitive top. She tilts her head to flash me a wicked grin and smiles wide pulling her lips free and exposing her bright white, straight, and from memory, surprisingly sharp, teeth. I suck in a sharp breath and brace myself. I fucking hate teeth.
But there are no teeth and I don’t know whether to sigh with relief, or growl with irritation. I do neither because her heavenly mouth takes me as far as her breath will allow, she swallows repeatedly and I explode down her eager throat. My stomach muscles spasm from the intensity of my release and I take a few moments to draw in enough air to compose myself. She softly licks me clean and even though I am not remotely soft she expertly tucks my cock back in its cotton cage. Crawling back to her seat, she faces me. Her eyes never leave mine, even as she slowly wipes her wet lips with the back of her hand and proceeds to lick that clean like a kitty. Damn that is the sexiest thing… next to what she has just done, that is.
I reach my hand out and cup the back of her head drawing her forcefully to my waiting kiss. I press hard, the taste of me fresh but faint on her lips, but her taste is intoxicating, and I can’t get enough. I twist my body and try to drag her from her seat when we both freeze. The car fills with a sudden bright blue light and a piercing siren screams a brief but effective interruption. Sam’s eyes, wide at first, transform into an impossibly huge grin once the initial shock has faded.
“Uh-oh someone’s in trouble.” She wiggles her brows playfully and I fire a scowl, with no anger intended at her. She starts to giggle.
“Oh someone’s in lots of trouble, but lets get out of this first shall we?” My tone is slightly reprimanding.
“We? You’re the one who pulled over into a police only wait zone.” She bites her lips to stop full blown hysterical laughter as a figure appears at my window.
“Because a ticket is better than death…although—” I muse and press the window to open. I greet the officer and catch a quick glance at Sam. Her mouth drops at my fluent French. I pulled the car over just south of the Belgium border with the Netherlands. This country is one of the few that are trilingual, speaking Dutch, German and lucky for me, French. The officer is stern and a series of explanations and questions later he gives me a warning but not a ticket I shut the window when he tries to take another peek inside at my flushed faced fiancée.
I pull smoothly back into the traffic but keep to a sensible speed as the police car has pulled out right behind and is currently tailing me.
“You speak French?” Her clipped tone makes her question sound more like an accusation.
“What can I say…I’m very good with my tongue.” She blurts out a loud laugh mixed with an uncontrolled snort that sends her into a fit of giggles. I adore that sound almost as much as the little moans and sighs.

Dee Palmer hates talking about herself in the third person so I won’t. My husband had my iPod engraved one Christmas with ‘sing like no-one’s listening’ and I know my family actually wish they weren’t listening because I am, in fact, tone deaf but it doesn’t stop me and this gentle support has enabled me to fulfil a dream. This has been a truly brilliant experience, I wrote The Choices Trilogy back to back and released them this year just one month apart…Don’t you hate waiting for the next book in a series? The entire process has undoubtedly been made possible by my incredibly supportive family. I know this is very much an acknowledgment but I know I wouldn’t be writing even this single paragraph if it wasn’t for them so this is about who I am, I am because they let me be.

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Excerpt Reveal ~ Love Addicts Anonymous ~ by ~ J.C. Reed & Jackie Steele

Excerpt

“What do you want?” I slump down on the couch, still eyeing her.

“A chat.”

“About what?”

“About ground rules.” She shrugs her shoulders. “It won’t take long,” she adds as she catches my alarmed glance. “Now that it’s clear we’re expected to share this apartment, we need to

discuss how—”

“The answer is no.” I jump to my feet again. “I didn’t come here to be told by a woman what I can or can’t do.”

“But—” She leans forward and her frown deepens. “—you haven’t heard me out yet.”

“True. But you see, I know what women want from me, and the answer is no. Are you done?” I make a point to take a step toward the door.

To be honest, I’m enjoying myself. I enjoy winding her up.

Her face distorts into anger, just as I expected. “That’s so sexist of you. You have no idea what I’ll ask of you.”

“Believe it or not, I do. You’ll want what all other women want.”

“Again, so sexist. But you’re wrong.”

No woman has ever called me a sexist. “What are you saying?”

“You got it all wrong,” she repeats.

I take a step toward her, my gaze buried in her blazing eyes. “Let me prove that I’m right. If I make a correct guess, I want you to go out with me.”

Shock crosses her features. I can see it in the way her eye widen the moment her mind processes the meaning of my words. At last, she leans back, the shock replaced with surprise. “You want to go out with me?”

Surprise and complete disbelief.

What’s so hard to believe that yes, I’d take her out to dinner and then I’d rock both the bed and her world?

“Yes,” I say slowly.

She frowns. “Why?”

“To get to know you better.” Among many things.

“We barely met half a hour ago.”

“That’s correct.” I’ve taken out women I knew for less than ten minutes, so half an hour is pretty long for me.

She frowns again, and her confusion deepens. “I don’t get it. Why would you ask me?”

“Because you’d like it.” Not just dinner, but everything else I have to offer.

“You don’t know me well enough to say that I’d like it or you.” She bites down on her lip. “I honestly don’t know why you’d ask me. Besides, there’s nowhere to go really. If you’re familiar with the renovation plans, you surely know that everything within a mile is closed.”

My smile turns into a grin. She hasn’t said no yet.

To be more precise, she’s absolutely not adverse to the idea, and she doesn’t seem to know about the “don’t fuck other patients” rule either.

“Is that the only thing you’re concerned about? That I won’t find a suitable place to take you out?”

“No.” She leans back and flips a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’ve got another one for you. How about: my boyfriend’s waiting for me at home.”

She’s playing the boyfriend card. Haven’t heard this one in a while.

“A boyfriend I really love and never want to hurt,” she adds, her eyes challenging me. “I appreciate the offer, though. I’m sure you mean well, but really, no, thanks, I can’t.”

My lips twitch. She eyes me with mistrust. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just playing with you,” I say. “Even if I wanted to, we couldn’t date. There are way too many rules here. Dating a fellow addict breaks a couple of them.”

She frowns as she processes my words. “Rules?”

“You didn’t know?” My smile widens at her alarmed expression.

Can Vicky stay away from the one man who seems so easy to get and so hard to keep?

Love Addicts Anonymous Releases November 7th!

Add to your TBR: http://bit.ly/2f63i0H

Blurb

Kade Wright is an expert in rocking any woman’s world.

Sexy, rich, and the type you don’t bring home to meet your mother, he has broken more hearts than he can remember, and there is no end in sight. Until one mistake lands him in boiling hot waters. When his company orders him to the LOVE ADDICTS ANONYMOUS Rehab Center, he better get his affairs in order or else he loses his seat on the company board.

Love isn’t supposed to be addictive. But for Vicky Sullivan it is.

A true romantic at heart, she comes with a bit of a stalking tendency, and is completely not adverse to commitment. But who’s Kade to judge? As someone who’s seeking commitment and afraid of never finding love, she’s the type of woman he wouldn’t usually hit on. Except, she’s hot and keeps avoiding him…yes, even after seeing his private parts naked in all their glory.

Kade isn’t known as the tall, dark and ruthless businessman for no reason. Romance isn’t in the air, more like wild between the sheets action with no expectations. Vicky’s convinced she can resist, but Kade has other plans for her.

Meet J.C. Reed

J.C. Reed is a New York Times, USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. She writes steamy contemporary romance with a touch of mystery and suspense. When she’s not typing away on her keyboard, forgetting the world around her, you can find her chatting with her readers on Facebook.

CONTACT J.C.:

GOODREADS / FACEBOOK / WEBSITE / PRIVATE FAN GROUP

Meet Jackie Steele

Jackie Steele is a USA Today Bestselling author and a true romantic at heart. By day she works a boring job as a scientist, at night she lets her creative side roam free. Whether reading or writing, Jackie loves dark, emotional stories that twist with your head and take you on a journey. As an ever romantic, she believes in happy endings and true love in all forms, which is reflected in all of her books.

FACEBOOK / WEBSITE

Excerpt Reveal ~ What Might Kill Us ~ by ~ M.N. Forgy

Excerpt

Walking toward my room I notice my bike propped up on two blue milk crates. I stop in my tracks, my hands balling in my palms so hard my nails cut the skin.

Bull is hunched down, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. No shirt on under his leather vest and grease all over him.

Music plays behind him as his dexterous hands make quick work at the guts of my Fixie. Panic races in my chest. He’s breaking her apart bolt by bolt!

What the fuck? Is he trying to destroy everything of mine?

“Oh I love that song.” I flinch, not noticing Jose standing behind me. “It’s Godsmack‘s Stay Away.” He informs.

“Jesus Christ, Jose, you can’t just sneak up on me like that!” I scorn, clutching my chest. “I could have just punched you in the throat, do you realize that?” He knows what goes on out here, I have to stay on my toes all the time.

“You going over there?” Jose ignores my rant, eyeing Bull over my shoulder. Biting my cheek I turn. My throat bobbing as I watch Bull toss bolts and shit over his shoulder.

My thighs clench on their own, defying the rage poisoning me. Sweat drips from his forehead, black grease streaked among his hard chest. I can’t help the hitch in my breathing.

“Can I have him?” Jose whispers. I blink away the sultry smog clouding my anger and stomp toward the sexy biker.

“Yeah, after I kill him!” I clip.

Bull stands and flicks his cigarette. His movements appearing in slow motion as smoke bellows from his lips. He turns, his back facing me and shrugs out of his cut, throwing it over on the patio. His muscular back inked with the same image that is on the vest.

I narrow my brows, trying to remind myself of the mission at hand.

Holding my hand out I hesitate on if I should touch him or turn around. I look over my shoulder and see Jose looking at me like I lost my mind.

Maybe I have.

Inhaling a large breath, I poke Bull in the shoulder as hard as I can.

His skin is slick with sweat and hot to the touch. The contact shooting warmth through my finger and through my body before igniting in my toes.

He looks over his shoulder, a hard look on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I snarl.

He lifts his chin and smiles. Fucking smiles.

What Might Kill Us by M.N. Forgy releases November 7th!

Now Available for Pre-order!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2elyL1U

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2dZ5Anq

iBooks: http://apple.co/2dNCvrW

Nook: http://bit.ly/2eXUyP2

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2eeizhF

Blurb

Brotherhood is what Bull bleeds and all that he knows.

Being the king of The Devil’s Dust and surrounded by easy women was his everyday… until having his heart broke rooted him to the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

Heartbroken, and drowning in lost memories he’s unsure of the direction of his life, when the answer – consisting of a terrified Mexican girl- nearly knocks him off his feet.

Determined to get his act together and rectify his club, he rides to Texas for answers, only to be confronted with the emotional ghosts he isn’t ready to deal with.

He sees Anahi, and he wants her.

But she may come with more baggage than Bull is ready for.

Anahi used to be prim and proper. She used to wear dresses and keep up appearances to impress people she didn’t know. I guess you could say she was a fucking lady.

But that was when she lived in Mexico with her parents.

Before her uncle turned on her.

Before, the only man she ever loved, her step-brother, betrayed her.

Before she was forced to be a drug mule for the Cartel.

Evening gowns a lost memory, expensive heels traded for boots, and a nine millimeter in her hand instead of a limited edition purse. Anahi sets aside everything she’s ever known including the fairytale stories her mother told her about America.

She’s angry, determined, and looking for a way out.

Haven’t read this series yet?

Now is your chance, grab books 1-4 for ONLY $0.99!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2eINe62

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2dZ5Anq

M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She’s a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn’t live with the “what if” anymore and finally took a chance on her character’s story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.

Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Excerpt Reveal ~ My Rogue, My Ruin ~ by ~ Amalie Howard & Angie Morgan

MY ROGUE, MY RUIN releases November 21st, but we couldn’t wait to share a sneak peek at what you can expect from this incredible historical romance! Sexy and fun with a bit of Robin Hood and a badass heroine, you do not want to miss the first book from writing duo Amalie Howard and Angie Morgan. Get your first look at MY ROGUE, MY RUIN below!

About MY ROGUE, MY RUIN

“Smart and fast-paced with plenty of steam! This writing duo is a powerhouse of talent!” – New York Times bestselling author Sophie Jordan

He stole their riches, she stole his heart

The Marquess of Hawksfield’s lineage is impeccable and his title coveted, but Archer Croft is as far from his indulgent peers as he can get. His loathing for the beau monde has driven him to don a secret identity and risk everything in order to steal their riches and distribute them to the less fortunate.

Lady Briannon Findlay embraces her encounter with the Masked Marauder, a gentleman thief waylaying carriages from London to Essex. The marauder has stirred Brynn’s craving for adventure, and she discovers an attraction deeper than the charming thief’s mask.

Brynn is a revelation, matching Archer in intelligence, wit, and passion. Stubborn and sensuous in equal measure, she astonishes him at every turn, but when someone sinister impersonates Archer’s secret personality, and a murder is committed, Archer begins to think he doesn’t stand a fighting chance without her.

MY ROGUE, MY RUIN releases November 21st – add it to your Goodreads list here!

Preorder MY ROGUE, MY RUIN now:

Amazon | iBooks | B&N | Kobo

Get your first look at MY ROGUE, MY RUIN:

“Why are you out here at this ungodly hour?” he asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied. “As well as why you are trespassing on private property.”

Archer smiled at her tone and leaned against a nearby tree, easing the weight of his injured ankle for the moment. There it was—the brief glimpse of the woman he’d met in Dinsmore’s carriage, not the quiet mouse he’d waltzed with. “Ah, but I believe this tree, right here,”—he slapped the trunk with a rakish grin—“marks the dividing line between my estate and yours. So technically, I’m on my property and you are on yours.”

Her eyes narrowed at his teasing before plucking up the tweed cap from where it lay on the ground and tugging it back into place upon her head. She then picked up the spent pistol and tucked it into the narrow, single holster gun belt looped around her waist. “No matter. It’s hardly any of your concern why I am out on my own land. Go on your way, and I’ll be on mine.”

His jaw dropped as she wound her fist into the horse’s bridle, loosely slung around its neck, and pulled herself deftly up onto the horse’s back. She sat astride in a way that made his pulse shorten. “Where is your saddle?” he managed.

She eyed him imperiously. “I don’t like them, not that it’s any of your business.”

“It isn’t safe,” he ground out, surprised by his sudden irritation.

“I’ve been riding without a saddle since I was a child,” she shot back. “I’m safer without one than I am with one.”

“As you were before you got thrown into the river?” Archer couldn’t resist taunting.

Her jaw jutted forward, a mutinous look in her eyes. She pressed her lips together, likely to stop herself from uttering something completely inappropriate. Perhaps one of the colorful words she’d been using while attempting to climb out of the gulch.

“And what if you were attacked by the masked bandit—again?” he continued. “Or haven’t you had enough danger for the time being?”

“I can protect myself,” she said.

“What with?” he asked before he thought of the clean hole in the boar’s forehead.

Briannon sighed dramatically. “Why, with my knitting needles, of course.”

Struck again by her lightning-quick wit, the short bark of laughter left his lips before he could contain it. “Pray, where was your pistol the other night when you were robbed?”

“In my knitting reticule, of course, where all ladies’ pistols are kept,” came her tart response. “I assure you, if I had my pistol, the outcome of that robbery would have been quite different.”

About Amalie Howard

AMALIE HOWARD grew up on a small Caribbean island where she spent most of her childhood with her nose buried in a book or being a tomboy running around barefoot, shimmying up mango trees and dreaming of adventure. 25 countries, surfing with sharks and several tattoos later, she has traded in bungee jumping in China for writing the adventures she imagines instead. She isn’t entirely convinced which takes more guts.

She is the award-winning author of several young adult novels critically acclaimed by Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, VOYA, and Booklist, including Waterfell, The Almost Girl, and Alpha Goddess, a Spring 2014 Kid’s INDIE NEXT title. Her debut novel, Bloodspell, was a #1 Amazon bestseller, and the sequel, Bloodcraft, was a national silver IPPY medalist. She is also the co-author of the adult historical romance series, THE LORDS OF ESSEX. As an author of color and a proud supporter of diversity in fiction, her articles on multicultural fiction have appeared in The Portland Book Review and on the popular Diversity in YA blog. She currently resides in Colorado with her husband and three children.

About Angie Morgan

Angie is the author of several critically acclaimed young adult and middle grade books written under two other names (Page Morgan and Angie Frazier), and is now thrilled to be taking a much-anticipated leap into the world of adult romance. My Rogue, My Ruin is the first of three books in her new Lords of Essex series, co-written with good friend and fellow author, Amalie Howard. Angie lives in New Hampshire with her husband, their three daughters, and a menagerie of pets.

THE RISK (MindF*ck Series Book 1)

RELEASING DECEMBER 1ST

by

S.T. Abby

Genre: Dark Romance

After We Fall by Melanie Harlow Publication Date: November 28th, 2016 Genre: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis:

Excerpt:

Pre-Order Links:

About the Author:

Connect with Melanie:

AMAZON US | AMAZON UK | AMAZON AU | B&N | KOBO | KOBO UK | iBOOKS

iBOOKS UK | iBOOKS AU | Audio

EXCERPT

About MY ROGUE, MY RUIN

Get your first look at MY ROGUE, MY RUIN:

About Amalie Howard

About Angie Morgan

**THE RISK (MindF*ck Series Book 1)**

After We Fall by Melanie Harlow
Publication Date: November 28^th, 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance