Book Title: Novas Got Nerve
Author: BL Jones
Cover Artist: Jaycee DeLorenzo
Release Date: June 14,
Genres: Sci-fi/paranormal/urban fantasy, action/romance thriller,
Tropes: Found family, slow burn romance, tragic past, orphan, emotional
scars, Best friends older brother, love triangle, antagonistic romance, love/hate relationship,
Themes: Emotional trauma. What makes a hero? Found family. Not being
defined by your parents’ actions/by your past.
Heat Rating: 2 flames
Length: 165 000 words/585
It is not a standalone book
and is part of a series (Liquid Onyx series)
The book ends on a
He has far too much
nerve. He can blow things up with his mind. He’s got anxiety. Yeah. The world should
probably brace itself for this one.
British superheroes, melodramatic Mages, snarky secret
agents, one hell of a found family, and a whole load of weird people.
Also, there’s a duck.
This is the painfully bizarre origin story of Rexley
When Rex was four years old, he became one of
the world’s first superhumans.
When Rex turns twenty, he feels the drive to use
his scientifically given abilities to protect the world. He leaves home to become a member of
the Secret Superhero Security unit, alongside three of his friends and Danger City’s own
Rex fights murderous Mages, evil organisations,
criminal mafias, his agency appointed psychiatrist, his own anxious brain, and the most
frightening of all, his attraction to a certain blue-eyed superhero.
“Come on, North,” I say, coaxing, spitting blood out of my
mouth. “Don’t be nice.” I get as close as he’ll let me. “Treat me like you’re paying for it.”
Damon’s nose flares, and his lips curl to form a jagged snarl. His
expression changing from robot to human in zero point five seconds flat. He makes a low
sound that’s just the right side of threatening to be a problem for me. And not in the way it
should be a problem for me.
Damon catches my arm at the right angle and twists me
around so my back is pressed against his front. He wraps an arm securely around my waist,
hauling me in even closer. A blaze of heat singes along my nerves when Damon runs his
hand under my T-shirt, his fingers dragging over the hot skin of my belly. I try to kill it dead,
the vulnerable quiver his intimate touch invokes, but that just makes it worse.
A full-on no-shit bonfire lights up inside my stomach. It sends a
fucked-up message to my head, which in turn sends an even more fucked-up message to my
cock. It’s like my body is playing telephone with itself.
You’re not supposed to want to get off with the bloke who’s
making you bruise and bleed. Not without a serious discussion about it beforehand,
Pretty sure Damon and I aren’t going to be doing anything that
sensible. Especially since the most sensible thing would be letting go and walking away
before we can make this situation any worse.
Damon wraps his other hand around my throat, fingers digging
in lightly, his thumb pressing against the edge of my jaw. He tilts my head to the side,
exposing more of my throat to him. I resist the urge to lean my head back on his shoulder.
Because I’m not mad.
My chest rapidly rises and falls as I struggle to breathe. It’s not
really because of all the hits I’ve taken. I’m having more trouble dealing with Damon’s
proximity than I am to what he’s done to me with his hands. A sign that maybe he was
pulling some of his punches.
“You,” I say, barely getting the words out through all the
tightness and the pain and the blood, “have got some serious control issues, North.” I shift
against him, and he tightens his hold in response. I smile, oddly charmed by it.
“Might want—” Another few unsteady breaths. “—to see
somebody about that.”
Damon feels like solid stone against my back, his body so tense
I’m worried he might shatter if I tap the wrong spot too hard. As if in response to my
thoughts, Damon’s arm around my waist changes from tight to crushing. His fingers press
into my neck with clear intention. Not enough to choke. Just a reminder. Or a warning. A
warning to be careful where I’m going with all of this.
My pale skin bruises easily. I can tell I’m going to have some on
my throat. I don’t hate that idea like I should. And something about it being Damon who
made them, whose fingers dug into my skin and left behind a mark, speaks to a primal part
of my brain.
Damon’s mouth skates along my jaw, either by accident or on
purpose, I’m not sure which. It doesn’t really matter. A short, bitten-off moan leaves my
throat in a rush. I clamp my lips together to try to contain the rest of it. But it’s too late.
Damon heard it. A shudder runs through him, a ripple of feeling and skin and warmth. An
answering wave rolls through me, my body set to quaking.
I need to stop.
Damon bends his neck to speak directly into my ear. Our height
and size difference aids him in making me feel completely taken over, enveloped, held in
place, swallowed up and overwhelmed by my temporary loss of autonomy.
“Is this a game?” Damon asks, and he sounds, it beggars belief,
genuinely upset by the idea.
About the Author
BL Jones is a
twentysomething British author who spends all her free time reading and writing and
taming her three little brothers. She lives in Bristol with a temperamental bunny named
Pepsi. She’s been writing stories since she was five, rarely sharing them with anyone except
her numerous stuffed animals. BL has had a difficult journey into discovering and accepting
her own queerness, and therefore believes that positive, honest, and authentic stories about
queer people are very important. She hopes to contribute her own stories for people to have
fun with and enjoy.
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