RELEASE BLITZ: "Biker Daddy" by Gianni Holmes. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included! See entry below:

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Biker Daddy (The Grimm Tales of Smoky Vale Book 1)

Author: Gianni Holmes

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Black Jazz Designs

Release Date: January 3, 2020

Genre/s: Contemporary MM romance

Trope/s: May-December/age gap, best friend’s father, motorcycle club, size difference

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 115 000 words/385 pages

It is a standalone story.

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Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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A biker’s love is poison to the one who captures his heart

Blurb

Grimm

Thirteen years ago, he came into my life as my son’s best friend. Knobby knees and eyes wide with admiration. Six years ago, he exited my life, leaving Smoky Vale behind for good. Or at least so I thought. Now he’s back, and he’s made it clear what he’s after. Me. The President of the Grimm Reapers. His best friend’s father. Now his lover and his protector. But when my life is cloaked with uncertainty, death, and retaliation, how can I keep this beautiful brave boy knowing that my love is poison?

Jamie

My best friend doesn’t understand the way I feel about his dad. My father, the chief of police disapproves of the relationship. My supervisor cautions me against it—that it won’t be long before I end up in a body bag. But one day with Grimm is better than a lifetime without him. It’s a risk I am willing to take because the biker the world knows is not the Daddy Grimm who comes to my bed, ready to bare it all for his boy. Secrets must be confessed, lives must be taken, new paths must be forged. Can we survive the war that’s about to rage in Smoky Vale?

If you enjoy unconventional daddy/boy relationships, toppy twinks, and the high stakes of an outlaw MC romance, one-click today.

 

 

Excerpt

“Rise and shine, Jamie.” I gently patted the cheek of the sleeping beauty in my bed, nestled beneath the comforter, face pressed into the pillow. I was prepared for it to take some time to wake him up. Jamie wasn’t a morning person at all, and he would bitch and complain about getting up at the ass crack of dawn as he had for the past three days.

I was dead serious, though, about him learning to take care of himself if he planned to stick around, so there was no compromise.

He blinked sleepy eyes awake, took one look at my grin, and with a groan, ducked beneath the covers. He was so fucking cute, looking at him made my heart ache. I was tempted to let him get some more sleep. Just half an hour more.

I pushed away the thought before I could give in. Cuteness wouldn’t save his ass if he ever came face-to-face with someone who wanted to do him bodily harm.

“The alarm didn’t even go off,” he wailed under the sheet.

“You kidding me? You snoozed the alarm four times already. Now get up.”

“Just five more minutes,” he begged.

“We don’t have five more minutes. Zak’s waiting for us, and you still need to get to the bathroom.”

“But I’m so tired. You shouldn’t have kept me up last night.”

“You insisted on staying for the party at the clubhouse,” I reminded the lump in my bed. “I had to pry you away when you started dancing on the tabletop, remember?”

The sheet lowered a fraction, and he peered at me. “Zak challenged me.”

I grunted at him. “Jeez, to think a medical student can’t avoid dumb dares. What will the rest of us lesser educated men do?”

“But I’m no longer a medical student, so I can shake my ass from any tabletop.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him “No, you can’t. That’s the last party you’ll ever go to if you don’t get out of that bed.”

The sheet went back over his head. “I’ll sleep some more, thank you.”

When it became clear he wasn’t getting out of bed, I was left with no choice. I scooped him up in my arms, bedsheets and all. He squealed like a stuck pig and squirmed, but I didn’t let him loose. I marched him into the bathroom, then stripped away the covers, leaving him standing in the bathroom with a pillow in his arms, his face registering shock.

“Come on.” I pulled the pillow out of his arms and threw it back through the door into the bedroom. “You have to be disciplined about this. Your safety’s important to me.”

When his lips turned down in a pout, I gave him another inch. “You play nice, and I’ll suck your dick in the shower.”

His eyes widened, and he smiled. “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

 

 

About the Author

Gianni Holmes is a high school Spanish teacher by day and a naughty but nice writer by night. She loves to watch romantic comedies, especially old sitcoms such as Everybody Loves Raymond and The Andy Griffith Show. She spends much of her time writing or impersonating her characters. Apart from her love of superheroes, she also enjoys cartoons and watches them regularly. She is a single mother who lives with her five-year-old daughter in the Caribbean. Her mission is to write heat with heart, spinning compelling stories that will leave readers wanting more.

 

Author Links

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Giveaway

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Kiss Me at Midnight” by Gwen Martin

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Kiss Me at Midnight

Author: Gwen Martin

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: December 31, 2019

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance

Trope/s: Meet-Ugly, One-night stand

Heat Rating: 5 flames

Length: 7 000 words

It is a stand-alone book.

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Blurb

Aiden is sick and tired of being bombarded by love everywhere he looks. He begrudgingly attends a New Year’s Eve party and is most definitely ready to leave the glitz and glam of Instagram Influencer propaganda behind.

When a chance meeting leaves him covered in champagne by a handsome stranger named Blake, his night starts to brighten up. Blake’s warm smile, smooth talking and killer dance moves loosens Aiden’s bitterness to love and opens his heart to help Aiden ring his bell into the new year.

Kiss Me at Midnight is a steamy New Year’s Eve MM romance featuring midnight kisses, the spirit of the season, and a meet-ugly that turns into a sexy countdown to love. This 7,000-word stand-alone short story contains explicit sex and strong language intended for 18+ readers and is set within the same verse as What Happened in Vegas, but can be enjoyed as a stand-alone.

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link

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Excerpt

“The hotel I’m staying at isn’t far from here and it provided transportation,” Blake says, tilting his head towards a line of queuing limos.

Aiden holds back a sigh of relief.

It doesn’t occur to Aiden that they’re actually taking a limo to a hotel until they’re actually in the stretched out back, a privacy window sliding down with a bored driver waiting for instructions. Blake rattles off the name of a hotel, an Aiden does a mental check to figure out if it’s what he thinks it is.

Which is a super swanky hotel, is what.

“What the hell do youah, yesdo?” Aiden asks. He’s a bit breathless, because after the window clicked shut, Blake is on him immediately, pushing him down onto the bench leather seat, grinding his hips into Aiden, and driving him fucking wild.

“I work with high end entertainment clients,” Blake replies, his tone too smooth for someone literally dry humping another person. Aiden can feel his hard-on, and every time he does a swivel with his hips it makes Aiden light the fuck up. “It’s really a thankless job. Shall we keep talking shop or can I kiss you now?”

“Kiss,” Aiden demands, ragged and needy. He lifts his head up to meet Blake halfway, their mouths smashing together in desperation. It’s sloppy and searing, and Aiden wants to chase that taste that sends him shivering all over, makes him nearly come in his pants like a teenager.

About the Author

Gwen Martin lives in Florida where the sun is always shining, the humidity is always high, and Disney is just a hop skip away. When she’s not trying to write one of her million story ideas, she’s usually hanging out with her husband and four cats.

Gwen first started writing at a young age, coming up with stories in class instead of paying attention to the math lesson. Since then she has been exploring her love of writing in various fan communities where she has learned how to cultivate character development and romantic interactions.

She has a strong love affair with cold brew coffee, black cats, and nerding out in various fandoms. When she’s not writing, she’s reading everything she can get her hands on, listening to a lot of lo-fi and making playlists, chilling with her four gatos and obsessing about Pusheen. Because it’s always about Pusheen.

Keep In Touch With Gwen

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RELEASE BLITZ: “The Road Between” by Patick Benjamin.

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Road Between

Author: Patrick Benjamin

Publisher: Self-Published

Cover Artist: Rebecca Covers

Release Date: December 31, 2019

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, Family Drama

Trope/s: Friends to lovers, Dysfunctional Families

Themes: Forgiveness, self-discovery, secrets & lies

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 93 000 words/ 281 pages

It is a standalone story.

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA

Just because you can go home again, doesn’t mean you should.

Blurb

Television personality, Parker Houston has spent a lifetime following that motto: Running away at seventeen and vowing never to return to the small country town that made growing up gay, practically unbearable. But when the death of a loved one forces him home for the first time in twenty years, Parker has to reconcile the life and the people he left behind. Unearthing secrets and conflicts long buried.

While trying to mend the fractured relationships within his complicated family, Parker meets Bryce, a cocky rancher with a womanizing past. And although the friendship seems unlikely, neither man can deny the explosion they feel when their two worlds collide.

Excerpt

Prologue

Twenty years since I’d left.

Camouflaged by a thick perimeter of poplar trees, you would miss it if you blinked. Even travelling ten clicks under the speed limit. Buried at the bottom of a steep valley, River Bluff was accessible only by a narrow gravel road. So unremarkable and insignificant, that if you didn’t know it was there, you wouldn’t have found it. At the base of the way was a single sign, “Welcome to River Bluff, Home of The Grouch”.

Every August, the town held a contest. Townsfolk nominated the rudest, most inconsiderate and overall “grouchy” members of the community. They declared the person with the most nominations “The Grouch”. For the next year, the winner attended every community event, with an excuse to be rude to everyone in their path. The Grouch participated in every social event — everything from the annual chili cook-off to high school graduation. The title was quite a big deal. As a child, the message was completely lost on me. Now, as an adult, I recognize how bizarre it was for a town to take pride in their unpleasantness. In many ways, River Bluff was a strange place. On the surface, it and its residents seemed utterly safe. Underneath, things were perilous.

Everyone knew each other and each other’s business. Everyone loved each other, yet no one could stand each other. If you were struggling, people would arrive at your door to offer you small scraps of their wealth. If you were successful, even more people would arrive at your door, demanding their cut. The entire community walked a thin line between socialist and militant. If an outsider had a conflict with a resident, the town would band together. They would pick-up their pitchforks to drive away the unwelcome beast. The same was true for any resident who challenged traditional thinking or practices. One could best compare the town mentality to a cult. Either you were one of the faithful, or you were an unwanted skeptic.

In River Bluff, belonging or not belonging was a concept as basic as age. There were only a few roles in which to fit. Boys were football players and girls were cheerleaders. Men worked on farms or in the oil field. Women stayed at home or worked in the town’s restaurants and bakeries. Of course, there were a few exceptions. Educators and physicians could be either male or female, but those positions came with their own sets of challenges. They required a degree. Once you left River Bluff to pursue one, you were seldom welcomed back without scrutiny. In fact, to my recollection, not a single teacher from my youth had been an original resident. They had been transplants from larger cities. Fresh out of university, with no choice but to take a position in a town no tenured educator would accept. For most of us, only a few specific roles were acceptable. That left little room for individuality.

I was aware of this truth whenever I would play dolls with Tanya Caldwell from across the street. Or whenever my mother would catch me reading “Nancy Drew” rather than “The Hardy Boys”. Or whenever I skipped football tryouts to audition for a school play. Or when I received the awkward looks of judgment from children and adults alike. That felt constant. They realized early, as did I, that I was not one of them. I did not belong. I did not behave, think, speak or even walk like them. I was different. Alien. It was that simple.

I was six years old when people first began to see me in this way. I was eight years old when I started to notice for myself. I was in the third grade, and our teacher had given us all an easy assignment. We were to present to the class a report about what we wanted to be when we grew up. Most of the kids spoke about their parents or other members of their family who inspired them. Brandon Jones wanted to be a mechanic like his father. Stacey Zimmerman wished to use her grandmother’s pie recipes to open a bakery. Jonathan Wilkins planned to take over his grandfather’s farm. Tamara Lane’s greatest ambition was to be a mother. I wish my aspiration had been so simple. It wasn’t. When the teacher called my name, I skipped to the front of the room and proclaimed that I wanted to be Oprah Winfrey.

I realize now how absurd a life goal that must have been to a group of children, especially a group of children with such rational and regular goals. I also realize now, how hilarious it was for a skinny white boy to declare that he wanted to be a strong woman of colour. At the time, it had been the truth. Well, almost the truth. I didn’t want to be Oprah. Instead, I wanted to be like Oprah – which was a notion I could have articulated better. I wanted a job in television. Doing what, I wasn’t sure, but I knew I wanted to be somebody special. I wanted success and fame. I wanted love and admiration. I wanted to be a household name, and in 1989, there was no more prominent household name than Oprah Winfrey. So, in my eight-year-old mind, I wanted to be Oprah. This proclamation acted as the catalyst for the decade of torment that followed.

I soon realized that “different” meant unwelcome. It started naturally enough, with innocent pointing, stares and laughter. Other small torments evolved from there. One boy learned how to make ‘spitballs’ from his older brother. Soon all the boys in the class had hollowed-out pens and shredded pieces of paper. Walking the halls became like storming the beaches of Normandy. I endured whatever shots they fired at me. Some days I would get home from school only to discover that the back of my shirt looked like a papier-mâché project.

By Junior High, things had escalated to acts of violence and vandalism. Another, far more offensive term also replaced my name — Faggot. It was the early nineties, so few teachers took issue with the slur. Few of my teachers took issue with anything other students did to me. One January day, someone broke into my gym locker during Phys-Ed and defecated on my jeans and sweater. Nobody batted an eye. I spent the rest of that frigid day in my sweaty gym clothes and walked home with bare legs. When I arrived home, my father had been so furious with me for “allowing” myself “to be a victim” that he blackened my eye. Then he forced me to launder my soiled clothes by hand, in the bathroom sink.

Robert Houston was a proud man, strong and quick to anger. He despised weakness and strived to purge it from me thoroughly. By force if necessary. One summer, I had woke to find the word ‘Fag’ spray-painted, in several places, on my brand-new mountain bike. I didn’t want my father to know that I was a victim, once again. So, I spent my allowance on a can of black house paint and used it to cover the graffiti. House paint is not intended for aluminum. He saw it and raged.

“How could you destroy a two-hundred-dollar bicycle?!” He demanded, furiously removing his belt. He proceeded to lash me all over my body; across my arms, my back, my legs, even my face. He was often unpredictable in his anger. I never really knew what would set him off or if the severity of punishment would suit the crime committed. It was during those long, summer months at home that I counted the days until the fall semester would begin. I preferred the Devil I knew and could predict.

By senior year, I realized that I was not alone in my exile. Of course, there were others like me, whose differences made them easy targets. I could see them getting shoved into their lockers. I could hear the profanities being slung at them. And they, in turn, bore witness to my struggle. Even though we rarely spoke to each other, we were a brotherhood. We were bound together by our shared experiences and common enemies.

Most outsiders strived for a life of anonymity and blending in. I did not. I grew independent and opinionated. I knew that nothing I could say or do could put me lower on the social hierarchy, and that gave me strength. I decided that if I had to be on the bottom, I would make sure they could hear me at the top. I spoke up, and I spoke out. I drew attention to the town’s lack of gender-neutral youth programs. I rallied for the creation of a peer support presence in our school and a plethora of other causes. The protest against pickled beets in the cafeteria had been a personal victory for me. I argued often and hard and realized I was good at it. I served as captain of the debate team, which was where I felt my most authentic and brave.

I had planted in myself, a seed of success. If it had any hope of blossoming, I knew I had to get out of River Bluff. I had to nurture my individuality and empower my spirit. I was raring to experience the world beyond. So, two days after graduation, I loaded a single suitcase onto a Greyhound bus, Toronto bound. I didn’t leave a note, and I never looked back.

Until now.

Twenty years later.

About the Author

Patrick Benjamin has always had a passion for books. Growing up in rural Alberta, Canada, books were often the only escape he had from his simple small-town life. Patrick loves the way books can transport readers into different worlds and times, and expose them to experiences and types of people they wouldn’t normally encounter. His favourite stories, have always been those with strong, relatable characters. Stories that refrain from painting their characters with perfect brush strokes, and instead present their characters as fully rounded, real people — complete with their own imperfections, humours and motivations. Those are the types of Characters he aims to create, and its their stories he wants to tell. This is his first novel.

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Served with a Twist” by Jet Lupin

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Served with a Twist

Author: Jet Lupin

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: December 28, 2019

Genre/s: Sci-Fi D/s M/M Romance

Trope/s: Clash of Backgrounds, Opposites attract, Man in Peril, Meet My Dysfunctional Family, Size Difference

Themes: Kink, light BDSM, light D/s themes, collaring

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 74 000 words

It is a standalone story.

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The pretty ones were always trouble…

Blurb

Cut Jones knows Samson from his work, but not really. He knows he’s got money, that he likes his whiskey sours extra sweet, but that’s where his knowledge ends. Samson’s come into the bar every few days for a year but has hardly said more than five words at a time, but Cut didn’t mind. Samson was out of his league. So imagine his surprise when Samson asks for his help with a very personal issue.

The pressures of owning his own company and the expectations of his father had Samson Ba walking a razor’s edge. It was only a matter of time before he tried to find a release, but when he does it’s in the worst way. And he’s found by the last person he wanted to see him this way. But things aren’t all bad. Cut offers to help him relieve his stress, and Samson’s sure he’s just being nice, but some opportunities are too good to pass up.

Excerpt

Samson shifted his gaze to Cut, scanning him from boots to the dark blue locs on the crown of his head. Cut shifted, smoothing out invisible creases in his jeans before Samson said, “You look good to me.”

He seemed so sure; Cut felt he had to trust him on this. At least, if he was wrong, they’d get thrown out together. Nothing took the sting out of embarrassment quite like sharing it.

Samson stood aside and Cut preceded him into the restaurant, but then he scampered on ahead to talk to the host, making the whole exercise useless. They whispered among themselves, giving Cut ample time to verify that his ass was just as amazing in jeans as dress pants, before the host escorted them to a secluded corner meant for a party of six or more. The other patrons had enough class to pretend that their meals and conversations were more engrossing than the out of place strangers getting a whole section to themselves.

His anxiety subsiding as they took their seats allowed Cut to take things in properly. He saw the wire brush marks on the metal of the sconces that illuminated the room. When he flicked his gaze up, he saw the hand turned wires on the ornaments hanging from the chandeliers. On the glasses, the stems were so delicate and thin, yet when he picked up his to test that theory, it didn’t feel fragile in the hand. Everything was so refined and well-made in a way that made him feel small and cheap. But he’d push through it for now.

Cut claimed the bench against the wall, preferring to see anything coming his way, while Samson took the chair across from him, his back to the rest of the dining room. He shrugged out of his jacket and set it beside him. Cut took Samson’s when he divested himself of it and did the same. Samson picked up the thin tablet that served as the menu and swiped through it. Cut gave an appreciative glance to those wide shoulders and the bit of collarbone peeking out from the open neck of Samson’s shirt before turning his gaze down to his own menu.

“I recommend anything but the fish. Issues with the suppliers. The beef is very good, though.”

“You really know your stuff.” Of course someone like Samson came here regularly. A high class spot for a high class guy. Cut carefully sipped water from an elegant crystal glass.

Samson put down the tablet, grinned. “I should. I own the place.”

Water dribble down Cut’s chin when he nearly choked on it. He quickly mopped it up with his sleeve. It was better his stubble got a little wet than spraying Samson’s face.

“You own this whole place? By yourself?”

“I hope you don’t mind me showing off a little. Everything you get will be gratis, of course. So go nuts. I needed you to know that I really can pay whatever you ask. I’m serious about this.”

Cut moved to the edge of his seat. Just because no one was blatantly watching didn’t mean they weren’t listening. “Explain what you mean by this? I have an idea, but we’ve got to be on the same page.”

“O-of course.” Samson wet his own lips with a little water.

He seemed a little flustered. That was the last thing Cut wanted.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

“It’s a bit much to say over the table.” But it had to be said. If they didn’t have honest, open communication from the beginning, there was no point in starting at all.

But if Samson had concerns about being overheard, Cut had a simple solution. He scooted over on the bench. “Join me. There’s plenty of room on this side.”

Samson froze and swallowed so hard Cut swore he heard it. He thought that might have been a step too far, but Samson came around to his side of the table, and they sat hip-to-hip. The cushion was wide enough to accommodate both of them with room to spare. A server rushed over and repositioned Samson’s place setting before disappearing as quickly as they came.

There was that scent again, sweet and thickened by Samson’s natural aroma. Cut was suddenly aroused and uncomfortable. He shifted to adjust his cock into a more comfortable position, and his thigh brushed against Samson’s. The bigger man snapped his leg away for an instant before he relaxed again. Somehow, knowing he was nervous too helped Cut relax. Maybe too much.

He rested a hand on Samson’s knee and squeezed. When he realized what he’d done, Cut pulled away and set both his hands on the table.

“So,” he coughed. “Let’s start with the alley and why you were there.”

About the Author

Stories longing to have words put to them were in Jet’s heart from an early age. Jet enjoys exploring the connections and similarities between people whether they be shifters, vampires, or aliens, rendering the unknowable very knowable indeed.

Jet’s days are spent toiling away at a keyboard, slumped over a pen and paper hunting for those words, or playing around on twitter with a partner, and two rambunctious cats for company in the temperamental North Eastern US.

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RELEASE BLITZ: “What Works for Us” by Collette Davison

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: What Works For Us

Author: Colette Davison

Publisher: Independently published

Cover Artist: Colette Davison

Release Date: December 17, 2019

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance

Trope/s: Age-gap, role-playing, Daddy kink, out for you

Themes: Self-discovery; sexual awakening

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 57 000 words

It is a standalone story.

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Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

and only 99c until December 22

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An elf costume, a pair of lacy knickers, and a Christmas charity auction might make Sam’s Christmas wish come true.

Blurb

When sweet barista, Sam, agrees to be a ‘slave’ in a Christmas charity auction, he’s thrilled to be bought by the man he’s had a crush on for the last three months.

Theodore is everything Sam is looking for in a man: older, authoritative, and caring. Unfortunately, Sam isn’t the most forward person when it comes to telling men he likes them. Wearing a sexy costume allows him to be a much flirtier version of himself, but can a naughty elf tempt Theodore into bed?

As their relationship intensifies, Sam finds something in Theodore he didn’t realise he needed: a man he wants to call his Daddy.

But Theodore isn’t out of the closet, and whilst Sam is happy existing in a bubble over Christmas, he knows that can’t last forever.

Can Sam risk giving his heart to a Daddy who might not ever be able to hold his hand in public, let alone commit to him?

What Works For Us is a Christmas romance with an age-gap relationship, lacy underwear, role-play, Daddy kink, and a guaranteed happy ending.

Excerpt

He stood and opened the door, and his heart leapt into his throat. His whole body tingled as he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from what the young man was wearing.
Sam didn’t have the boxer shorts on. Instead, he wore a woman’s elf costume, which comprised of a short dress with a green lace-up bodice and bright red skirt. Due to Sam’s height, the skirt barely covered the top third of his thighs. The skirt was filled out with netting, like a tutu, making it even shorter. Sam was wearing candy cane-striped stockings. Theodore knew they were stockings because he could see the top of the suspenders peeking out beneath the white fake fur trim on the hem of the skirt. In his head, Sam wore a floppy hat—like the Santa ones that had been flooding the shops for the last three months—but in green to match the bodice. Theodore managed to drag his gaze down to Sam’s feet long enough to note that he was wearing black pumps.
“I didn’t think I’d be able to clean in high heels,” Sam said in a confidential whisper. He sounded and looked more confident than he had minutes before.
Theodore’s mind had turned to goo. He’d seen men in drag before, but this was different. Sam’s festive costume was tapping into desires that Theodore hadn’t realised he had. He could feel his blood pumping through his veins, racing to get to his dick rather than his heart. He had a sudden desire to pull Sam into his arms and kiss him. Hard.
Dear God, don’t let me get an erection.
Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, Sam did a slow twirl. At the back, the skirt barely covered his bottom, giving Theodore the tiniest glimpse of white lace. A shiver ran through him, and he let out a little gasp of desire.
“Do you like it?” Sam asked.

About the Author

Colette’s personal love story began at university, where she met her future husband. An evening of flirting, in the shadow of Lancaster castle, eventually led to a fairytale wedding. She’s enjoying her own ‘happy ever after’ in the north of England with her husband, two beautiful children and her writing.

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Inheritance” by Gail Z. Martin. $10.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included! See entry below:

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Inheritance

Author: Gail Z. Martin

Cover Artist: Lou Harper

Release Date: October 22, 2019

Genre/s: Urban fantasy with romantic elements.

(Note—Characters from my Morgan Brice (MM paranormal romance) books make several key appearances in this book.

Also, a long-time committed MM couple figure prominently in the plot).

Trope/s: Established relationships, strengthening commitment, supportive partners, protective partners

Themes: Friendship, found family, loyalty, family always has your back, trust

Heat Rating: 0 – 1 flame (No sex, kissing/hugging for MF and MM characters)

Length: 66 000 words/ 222 pages

It is the fourth book in the series but can be read as a standalone.

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Can Cassidy and her friends find the demon box, stop the killer ghosts, and break the Pendlewood curse before Beckford’s murderous cousins and the vengeful demon destroy them all?

Blurb

Cassidy Kincaide runs Trifles & Folly in modern-day Charleston, an antiques and curio shop with a dangerous secret. Cassidy can read the history of objects by touching them, and she teams up with friends and allies who use magic and paranormal abilities to get rid of cursed objects and keep Charleston and the world safe from supernatural threats.

Caribbean ghosts terrorize Charleston and start racking up a body count. Then Beckford Pendlewood, the heir to a powerful family of dark warlocks, shows up raving about a bound demon locked in a lost box and begs sanctuary. Can Cassidy and her friends find the demon box, stop the killer ghosts, and break the Pendlewood curse before Beckford’s murderous cousins and the vengeful demon destroy them all?

Buy Links – ebook and paperback

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Excerpt

From Chapter 1

“It’s a ‘sailor’s valentine,’” I said, recognizing the style. I leaned closer, careful not to touch. While the idea of an intricate design crafted from shells sounded like a kitschy souvenir, antique sailor’s valentines could be true works of folk art and fetch thousands of dollars. This one was particularly well done, with a floral rose inside a nautical wind rose, enclosed in a detailed decorative border, and all of it painstakingly pieced together from naturally-colored seashells.

“We can authenticate the original ownership,” Alfred asserted, probably hoping to regain my professional respect. “It’s old—the date on the back says 1845, and the appraiser confirmed that the materials are consistent with that period. The writing next to the date reads, ‘To my darling Millicent, undying love from Joseph.’”

“Do you have any idea who Joseph and Millicent were?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Alfred admitted. “The representative said that it had been given by a sailor to his fiancée when he returned to port.” He cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, it was a parting gift, because the sailor had already married someone else. After that, the piece passed through various hands until it was acquired a few decades later by the family of the late owner.”

I walked around the piece, which was secured on an easel. The mahogany frame appeared to be in good shape, and despite the age of the piece, the shells had not discolored or come loose from their glue, and the glass had no chips or breaks. The shell work itself was a wonder, using a variety of types—common cockles, beaded periwinkles, baby’s ears, bubbles, jingles, and more—in an array of colors and sizes. I could understand why it could catch someone’s eye.

Assuming they couldn’t feel the psychic reek of malevolent energy that made me recoil. If it has that much resonance when I’m a foot away, I really don’t want to know how it feels to pick it up.

When an item gave off vibes that were that strong, I could usually get a read without having to touch it. I closed my eyes, aware that Alfred was watching, and reached out with my psychometry, stretching my gift toward the piece but not getting any closer than necessary.

Hatred and vengefulness hit me like a punch to the face. After all this time, the resonance was so powerful that I caught my breath and took a defensive step back. I saw everything, like a movie in fast-forward. Millicent’s happiness that her beloved had returned from the sea, and her delight in the beautiful gift. Joseph’s admission of betrayal. Her shock, turning to grief and then cooling into anger. A heated argument, and the swing of a candlestick in rage, leaving Joseph in a pool of blood. Fear, remorse, loss, and guilt, and then a knife blade that Millicent used to open veins and let herself die beside her faithless lover.

The vision ended as abruptly as it had begun, leaving me breathless. I might have spared some sympathy for Millicent, despite her reaction, if I didn’t feel the temperature drop and know from the prickle on my skin that Millicent’s spirit still clung to the tragic gift.

“Get back!” I reached into the pocket of my jacket and grabbed a handful of the loose salt I kept there for situations just like this. As Millicent’s spirit began to take shape and the air around us grew freezing cold, I hurled a handful of salt at her ghostly outline, making her flicker and vanish.

“Run!” I grabbed Alfred by the arm and dragged him with me as I sprinted toward the storage room door. I’d disrupted Millicent’s manifestation, but it wouldn’t take a spirit that strong long to regroup.

About the Author

Gail Z. Martin writes epic fantasy, urban fantasy and steampunk for Solaris Books, Orbit Books, SOL Publishing, Darkwind Press, Worldbuilders Press and Falstaff Books. Recent books include Convicts and Exiles, Sellsword’s Oath, Inheritance, and Night Moves. With Larry N. Martin, she is the co-author of the Spells Salt & Steel, Wasteland Marshals, Joe Mack and Jake Desmet series. As Morgan Brice, she writes urban fantasy MM paranormal romance including the Witchbane, Badlands and Treasure Trail series. Recent books include The Rising, Flame and Ash.

Get a free complete short story, Catspaw here

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Sleigh Duty” by L.M. Brown.

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Book Title: Sleigh Duty

Author: L.M. Brown

Publisher: Self Published

Cover Artist: Studioenp

Release Date: December 7, 2019

Genre/s: Paranormal / Shifter M/M Romance

Themes: Family ties, Christmas

Heat Rating: 1 flame out of 5

Length: 13 974 words/ 44 pages

It is a standalone story.

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Can a reindeer shifter find love this Christmas?

Blurb

Being called upon to pull Santa’s sleigh is an honour for any reindeer shifter, but for Dashiel the timing couldn’t be worse.

Stuart was looking forward to his Christmas Eve date with Dashiel, only to have him cancel at the last minute. He puts his disappointment aside and instead focuses on making his younger brother’s Christmas as wonderful as it can be, despite the loss of their parents the previous winter.

While flying over his home town, Dashiel spots a young boy on the streets, and he knows he has to help. When the young runaway turns out to be his date’s little brother, he brings him on board the sleigh, determined to see him safely home to Stuart.

Can a reindeer shifter pull Santa’s sleigh, reunite two brothers, and find love this Christmas?

Excerpt

“Dashiel, you’re up next,” the elf in charge of fittings called. “Get your hooves moving, you’re holding everyone up.”

Dashiel wondered who had first depicted Santa’s elves as cheerful little toy makers. He had yet to see one smile. They seemed even more miserable than he was right now. Of course, he hadn’t met many, and it was the most stressful time of year for them. Not to mention they hadn’t seen daylight in three months. That would make him grumpy too. Still, there was no need for them to prod him in the rear quite so hard to get him moving.

The next few hours were spent being trained in how to respond to the reins. Dashiel didn’t mind learning how to pull the sleigh, he just wished they could leave off the bells until they were in the air. The constant jingling was driving him up the wall.

Then came the flying lessons. Yuri must have seen Dumbo recently, because he was giving them a loud rendition of the song about elephants flying, but substituting reindeer instead. Apparently teasing the first timers like Dashiel was the highlight of his night. There were three shifters who had never been summoned before, Dashiel being the youngest of the trio.

The first time Dashiel’s hooves left the ground he almost panicked. Thoughts of flying off into space nearly had him hyperventilating, even though the others assured him that no matter how hard he tried, he would never even reach the height of a plane.

Finally, they were as prepared as they could be. Dashiel took his place beside Fred. Yuri and wife were in front of them, the couple taking the lead.

Everyone went quiet when Santa arrived. He was just as Dashiel had pictured him, though he had never seen him in person. Unlike the couple in front of him, Dashiel’s parents had never been summoned on the same night, so he had never been brought to the North Pole with them.

As they took off into the sky, Dashiel glanced below and saw how large the toy factory truly was. It was so much more than a single building. There was an entire village, with every house decorated for Christmas.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he said to Fred.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Fred replied.

“You’re not scared of heights are you?”

“I’ll be fine as long as I don’t look down.”

Dashiel snorted. “I’d rather look down at the ground, than at Yuri’s arse all night.”

“I heard that,” Yuri replied. “I’ll have you know, my arse is the envy of reindeer the world over.”

Dashiel couldn’t laugh properly in his reindeer form, but he was starting to feel the Christmas spirit now. Chances were, he would be required to do sleigh duty again in the coming years, but there were those who were only summoned once in their life, and since he didn’t know if he would be called again, he intended to make the most of tonight.

About the Author

L.M. Brown is an English writer of gay romances. She believes mermen live in the undiscovered areas of the ocean. She believes life exists on other planets. She believes in fairy tales, magic, and dreams. Most of all, she believes in love.

When L.M. Brown isn’t bribing her fur babies for control of the laptop, she can usually be found with her nose in a book.

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Warrior’s Way” by MJ Calabrese. $10.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included! See entry below:

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Book Title: Warrior’s Way, Coulter & Woodard 1

Author: M.J. Calabrese

Publisher: Self-Published

Cover Artist: Reese Dante

Release Date: December 3, 2019

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romantic Suspense

Trope/s: Friends to lovers

Themes: Crime solving

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 55 771 words

It is a standalone story.

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Will Eagle and Adam be able to stop a murderer while navigating their changing relationship?

Blurb

‘Hello, tall, dark and handsome.’ Out and proud gay Albuquerque Homicide Detective Eagle Woodard studied Dr. Adam Coulter, criminal profiler, with a clinical eye. ‘Slender build…narrow waist, but nicely muscled underneath that Hugo Boss suit. People think you work out, Kemo, but you don’t.’ Eagle’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘You know I hate that day old beard look, but you were probably too wasted to bother. Nice eyes, green when they aren’t blood shot. Flawless tanned skin except for that tiny scar through your left eyebrow.’ The former Army Ranger grinned. ‘I gave that to you accidentally when we were 8 years old. When you stood up for this Navajo kid in an all white school. We both got our asses kicked.’ Eagle sighed and shook his head. That was the day he’d fallen in love with 4 times married, 4 times divorced, current roommate, Adam Coulter.

Eagle and Adam are faced with their toughest challenge yet. They must find an active serial killer before he strikes again. With the powers that be not cooperating and the killer proving to be elusive, will Eagle and Adam be able to stop the murderer while navigating their changing relationship?

Excerpt

The cool wind attacked Eagle Woodard’s body as he fell head over heels. He tumbled, body tightly tucked as he cleared the modified Cessna, momentarily catching sight of the blue, cloudless horizon before stretching out to embrace the air. Below him, the rust toned surrealist canvas of desert and mountains began to take shape as he allowed himself to freefall through the biting tempest. The winds transformed his tanned face, warping it into a mad, Joker-esque grin.

The former Army Ranger set his plan into motion. Pulling his muscular arms tightly against his torso, the angle of his descent began to change. ‘I feel the need, the need for speed.’ If the wind hadn’t been so brutal, he would’ve laughed. How many times had they used those iconic words in training? At 38, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Eagle tilted his head down. He pressed his legs together with toes pointed toward the heavens, becoming a human bullet streaking through the atmosphere. He could feel the friction heating his head and shoulders. His dark, goggle covered eyes flickered to the left, quickly gauging his altitude in relation to the horizon. One…, two…, three seconds passed.

With an agility reminiscent of his aviary namesake, he arched his back, catching the horrendous pounding of the wind squarely on his upper chest, making it difficult to breathe. Deliberately spreading his arms and sinewy legs, he succeeded in capturing the furious gale, harnessing it. Using calculated care, he began slowing his descent from Father Sky toward Amá ni’, Mother Earth.

Eagle reveled in the multitude of sensations inundating his body. The angry roar of the wind deafened him. The white noise of the rushing air blotted out all sound except for the popping of the black, nylon jumpsuit. The wind strained the cloth protecting him almost to its limit. The powerful, talon-like turbulence threatened to shred his clothes, leaving him bare and unprotected from the tempest. The bee sting lash of his long, raven ponytail as it whipped against his neck and face revitalized and reddened his brown skin.

Four…, five…, six…, seven…, eight.’ With an eerie calm, Woodard counted the seconds. As he drew closer and closer to terra firma, his confidence in his abilities never wavered. Here he was master. Here he was the great bird of his people’s folklore. He was the embodiment of Atsáh, the Eagle, swooping with deadly accuracy toward his prey on the ground.

The Albuquerque homicide Detective didn’t need to see his altimeter. He knew he only had a few more moments of precious freedom. Reluctantly, his right hand moved reflexively to the left side of his chest. Gripping the cold metal ring, he tugged.

A grunt of air was forced from his lungs. The nylon straps crisscrossing his body suddenly tightened, drawing him up. Eagle grimaced as pain seared up his back. The sudden opening of his parachute at this rate of speed aggravated more than one old injury. Gravity, the purveyor of his discomfort, pressed his chin to his chest for an instant before the strain of rapid deceleration eased.

With skill born of countless jumps, Eagle maneuvered the billowing canopy toward his destination. Calculating the high desert cross winds, he made a last-minute correction which allowed him to plant his right foot firmly onto the center of the large, white cross target. As his left foot touched down, he leaned back, encouraging his chute to take the rest of the breeze until it collapsed and fell impotent to the sand. Instantly, the tall man began to gather the yards of thin ripstop nylon and cord into his arms, beating down any last show of resistance from the exuberant ram-air parachute.

Turning, Eagle reached up and pulled his goggles from his face just as his cell phone rang. Pulling it from his zippered pocket, he grimaced at the sight of the familiar number.

“I thought I was supposed to have a day off, Captain.”

“You do, but I’ve got an FBI agent here that needs to talk with you. Says you knew his brother. Here, talk to him.”

“Detective Woodard, my name is Kessler. Rick Kessler. I think you served with my brother, Dean, in the Army.”

The voice and the name triggered unpleasant memories of a time he had tried to bury. He couldn’t tell if it was his Spanish or Navajo side sending a warning chill up his spine. Suddenly, Eagle realized the man on the other end of the line was waiting.

“Yeah, sorry. Yeah, I remember Dean. He died in Afghanistan, didn’t he? Sorry.”

What Woodard remembered was what a closeted bastard the guy had been and how he’d used the knowledge of Eagle’s own closeted sexuality against him. Threatening to report him and risking dishonorable discharge at best…, or death if members of their team found out. He didn’t mourn Dean Kessler’s passing when he got word that some insurgents finished him. “Captain said you were with the FBI?”

“Yes. Detective Woodard, I’ve heard a lot about you and Dr. Coulter. I was very impressed when you apprehended Martin Devoreaux. I read the case report. You and Dr. Coulter are quite the team. The good doctor’s a legend at the bureau. His book on Ritual Behaviorism Among Serial Killers is mandatory reading now at the academy.”

“Oh, Adam would love to hear that.” Eagle rolled his eyes. The last thing Adam Coulter needed was something to bolster his ego.

“If it’s alright, I really need to talk with both of you about a case I’m working. I think you might be able to help me.”

“Today?”

“No. I’m still putting some final touches on a plan I’ve got in motion. How about tomorrow morning at your home? I want to keep this as low key as possible. Strictly, on a need to know basis, so I’d prefer it if your Captain and I met with you and Coulter privately.”

Eagle unzipped his jumpsuit from chin to navel. “What time?”

“0900?”

“Sure. Tell Cap to bring the creamer.”

Pocketing his phone, Eagle gathered his parachute from the ground and slowly made his way to his truck. Stowing the chute away, he unzipped his jumpsuit the rest of the way. Dragging it down off his shoulders, he revealed a tan-colored work shirt and jeans. He pushed the loose-fitting black nylon from around his narrow waist. Wrestling the last couple of inches of fabric over his shoes, Eagle jerked the material free and tossed it behind the driver’s seat completing his impromptu striptease. He looked up toward the sun before glancing at his watch.

“Yeah…, I know, I’m late.” He said to no one, but the wind.

About the Author

My mother now regrets her fateful words she offered the day I came home from our small town library in Palm Springs, California (yes, I’m a Cali girl) complaining that there were no more books to read. “Then why don’t you write some.”
My father never saw his old Remington portable until I entered college and they gifted me an IBM Selectric. By then I had produced at least two dozen unpublishable novels which make me cringe when I read them today.

I found inspiration in innumerable odd jobs (from migrant work as a Date palm pollinator to the person who cleans the washing machines at the launderette to professional Dominatrix) for stories. After a stint in Rehab for Alcohol and Heroin abuse (so when I write those scenes, I know what I’m talking about), I cleaned up and have stayed that way for 29 years. (Me and Sir Elton, LOL). My gypsy lifestyle gave me a unique perspective on the different people who inhabited the Washington, Oregon, Arizona, California, and New Mexico areas where I have lived.

After 3 very bad marriages to men, I finally figured out what was wrong and fell in love with a woman when I lived in Portland, OR 23 years ago. We’ve been married since 2008 (yes, it was legal in California at that time). We now live in Asheville, NC and love the people in this liberal and accepting corner of the mountains of North Carolina.

To learn all about my upcoming releases, news, and specials, please follow or like me at any of my links!

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Waxing Poetic for Christmas” by Mara Townsend. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included! See entry below:

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Book Title: Waxing Poetic for Christmas

Author: Mara Townsend

Publisher: Self-published

Cover Artist: Mara Townsend

Release Date: November 29, 2019

Genre/s: Contemporary New Adult Holiday MM Romance

Trope/s: Established relationship, first time kink exploration/BDSM, holiday romance

Themes: Trust, love, balance, excitement, holiday, sexy

Heat Rating: 4.5 – 5 flames (BDSM play and multiple sex scenes)

Length: 10 – 12k words/ 60-70 pages

It is a standalone story.

Add on Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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Blurb

Casey loves sitting in Santa’s lap.

That is, his holiday-obsessed boyfriend Nick is wearing nothing but a Santa hat and wants to know what Casey wants for Christmas. There is one thing, but it’s something Casey’s been holding back on. Melting candle wax stirs a burning desire in him. All he wants for Christmas is to experience the hot drip on his body…if he can find the courage to finally ask for it. All the sugar cookie-scented candles are making it hard to resist adding a kinky request to his wish list of gifts from his sexy St. Nick.

With the holiday spirit driving him on, Casey asks Nick to give him a hot present he’ll never forget. It’s the season of giving, after all, and this will be a gift they can share. Will Nick become Casey’s personal naughty Santa and fulfill his secret fantasy?

Waxing Poetic for Christmas is a steamy holiday MM romance featuring kink discovery, wax play, holiday sweaters, and a sugary fireside HEA perfect for the holiday season.

Excerpt

Nick breaks out in laughter, pressing it to Casey’s temple in hot puffs that brush over his ear. Nick gives him a squeeze. He backs away from Casey and waves around a lone tube sock.

Casey raises an eyebrow. “Really, Nick?”

“What? The tube sock method is a tried and true classic.” Nick winks and flips the sock in the air once, catching it with a flourish. He’s so dramatic, but Casey loves it. “We don’t have to live on campus to utilize it.”

“I thought you just said we didn’t have to worry about your roommates,” Casey points out.

“I know. I did tell them we wanted some space for the night, but this is just a little extra precaution. Just in case they do end up coming up for air from their science project.”

Casey watches Nick dance down the hallway swinging the sock around.

“Grab the ice and the bowl of cold water, will you?” Nick calls.

Retrieving the last of their safety supplies, Casey trails after Nick into his bedroom. Nick admires his sock-hanging handy work like it’s a Michelangelo in a museum.

“Ohh, ahh,” Casey deadpans. He hoists the bowl of water. “Here.”

Nick takes it from him and sets it on the nightstand by a small fire extinguisher and pile of washcloths.

“Do you really think we’ll need that?” Casey gestures to the extinguisher.

Nick throws him a boyish grin. “Fire safety first. Boy Scouts, dude.”

The snowman monstrosity of a shower curtain is open and spread across the floor, the cheerful pattern winking up at Casey. He sets the bag of ice down.

“Okay, last checks,” Nick announces. He ticks off his fingers one by one. “Bathroom, protein bar, shaved?”

Casey nods along with each one. His stomach somersaults, but he’s ready.

“Did you pick a safeword?” Nick raises his eyebrows seriously.

“Just use stop lights.”

Nick nods in agreement. “Alright. We won’t make this too long, either. I want to feel out what your tolerance is slowly without tiring you out too much.”

“What about what I said? I want to take it.” Casey’s cheeks burn with the truth of that statement. “Whatever you want to give me.”

“And slow and steady is what I want to give you.” Nick reaches out and threads his fingers through Casey’s hair. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” Casey breathes.

“Get undressed. Leave your underwear on.”

It’s a command, not a request. Nick’s gaze heats with it, pupils going dark with desire. Casey’s stomach bottoms out and he exhales a shaking breath before yanking his t-shirt over his head and flinging it at the bed. His flannel pants follow. Nick picks up and toys with a bottle of oil.

As Casey strips, Nick grabs his fluffy Santa hat and sets it on his head so it sits askew. It pushes some of his wavy fringe into his eyes and he watches Casey as he waits for Nick’s command.

Nick waves to the shower curtain. “Kneel down in the middle. Hand on your thighs.”

Casey’s quick to follow directions, dropping to his knees. The plastic curtain crinkles and it sounds as loud in Casey’s ears as his breathing. A shiver ripples through his body. His nipples harden. It’s cold in the room, even with the building’s heat on.

While he waits, Nick lines up a few candles and a lighter.

“First things first,” Nick murmurs. “I want you to watch me.”

Nick doesn’t even have to ask for that. Casey’s gaze is already glued to him as he lights one candle and lets the wax pool once it begins to melt.

He holds the candle so it hovers over his exposed wrist. His gaze flickers to Casey.

“Are you watching, Case?”

“Yes,” Casey whispers, eyes wide.

“Good.”

Nick waits a beat, moving the candle just enough so the flame dances. Then he allows a drop of melted wax to fall onto his wrist. Nick inhales through his nose and hums. The wax skips down, hardening into a pearly line across Nick’s tan skin.

“Nice,” Nick murmurs. “Want me to do another test drop?”

In his head, Casey says yes.

What happens aloud is a sound that’s some approximation of an affirmative that half-lodges in Casey’s throat. He sucks his lips between his teeth, eyes trained on Nick’s wrist. They’ve barely started and already his chest is expanding, pulse thrumming beneath his skin in anticipation. Casey swallows thickly and resists the urge to shift on his knees, keeping still under Nick’s gaze.

About the Author

Mara Townsend is a bisexual indie author of LGBTQ+ romances. She loves to explore intimate relationship development of the feels-inducing variety to invoke the eternal just kiss plea from the reader, as well as crafting strong platonic friendships with heaps of heart and soul. Her stories showcase diverse representation, love stories with realistic emotions—never mindless fluff, a healthy dose of humor, and a side helping of her favorite tropes.

She hangs out in fan communities online and learned how to write the kind of stories that she’s passionate about through experimental character-driven fiction based in her favorite worlds. When not writing, she can be found soaking up sunshine at the beach, traveling the world to fill in her passport, perpetually collecting plants, and reading as many fake-dating romance books as she can find.

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RELEASE BLITZ: “Awakening” by JJ Harper. $20.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included!

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Book Title: Awakening (Wild Oak, Book 1)

Author: JJ Harper

Publisher: Self-Published

Cover Artist: Tammy Clarke

Release Date: November 26, 2019

Genre/s: Contemporary M/M Romance, MM shifter romance

Trope/s: Wolf shifter, mild fantasy, mention of Mpreg

Themes: Coming of age

Heat Rating: 3.5 flames

Length: 60 000 words/ 240 approx. pages

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Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

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Blurb

A prophecy, a True Alpha, and fates mates. Can accept Ascha that his life has changed forever?

At twenty-one, Ascha Stanton has it all: a wonderful family, great friends, a long-term girlfriend, and a promising career as an NFL star.

The appearance of three unknown men in his small town changes everything. Not only his life and future but also what he always thought himself to be: straight. Why then is he attracted to the handsome auburn-haired Thaddeus? How can Ascha hear his thoughts? And even more intriguing, what does the mark on both their chests mean?

Thaddeus explains a new path has been paved for him, one with the Wild Oak pack, who has been waiting for seventy years for the True Alpha to show himself and fulfill the prophecy.

Will Ascha accept that Thaddeus is the man he’s destined to be with, and will the rival pack accept him as their new leader?

Awakening is an MM wolf shifter book with elements of fantasy and mention of Mpreg. It includes some sexual content and is suitable for adult readers.

Excerpt

I stomp through the house, dodging my friends, and out to my truck. I slow down as I get closer. The dark-haired guy with the cold eyes I saw earlier is here, leaning against the side of the flatbed.

“Nice truck,” he says and rights himself. He’s taller than my six foot, but not by too much.

“Thanks. Do you mind moving away? I like to get going.” The guy gives me the creeps, and I remember Jared’s words. In my head, I try to reach out to Thaddeus, although I don’t why. Why would I trust him? I don’t even know if I can. “He’s here,” I tell him. I feel dumb, but it’s done. I reach for the handle of the cab.

“Hey, Ascha, you forgot your coat,” a voice behind me calls out. I look over my shoulder. Thaddeus is running toward me, holding a leather jacket I’ve never seen before. The dark-haired guy lets out a hiss and curses under his breath.

“Thanks, man.” As I take it from him, my fingers graze over his, and fireworks shoot up my arm. “Get out of here. I’ll get rid of him.”

“Sure, no problem. See you around,” Thaddeus says.

I drive straight home and park in my usual spot next to Dad’s BMW. Mom’s Prius is parked closer to the house. I climb out, but instead of hurrying inside, I stand still for a minute. I’m not alone. Someone is watching me. I can’t see anything in the pitch black surrounding me, but I know it, sense it. Tiny pinpricks are piercing my skin. The clammy feeling is all over me again. I’m burning up. I stagger inside and stumble through the kitchen. I need to get to my bedroom and my bed. If I lie down, I’ll feel better.

“Ascha? Are you okay?” It’s my dad, but I can’t see him properly. My vision is cloudy.

“No, it hurts. Every-fucking-thing hurts. I’m so hot.” I pant.

My mom lays her hand on me. I pull my arm away. Her touch is soft but still painful on my burning skin. “It’s happening, Tom. Dear lord, it’s happening to Ascha. I thought it was too late, that it had passed him by. What should we do?” Her voice is laced with worry, and tears fill her eyes. I wobble past them and make it to my bedroom, where I tear my clothes off. My T-shirt weighs too much on my skin, and I rip it from my chest. My jeans are next. They are too thick, too coarse, hurting me. Then another wave of pain overwhelms me. The pressure on my chest is like a branding iron, stamping marks on my skin, so hot, so deep, but it’s coming from inside me.

What’s happening? What the fuck is happening? I cry out, but it sounds more like a howl. My throat tightens. Too much pain, too much… my legs buckle, and I collapse, landing on my hands and knees. I cry out again. “Thaddeus.”

About the Author

You will normally find her in the living room—typing away—with her dogs, Maud and Siddiqi. As a hopeless romantic, JJ dives into her stories, always falling in love with her men, making sure they get the happy ever after they deserve, even if they do have to work hard for it.

As a bona fide bookaholic, coffee-addicted, wine-drinking and swear-like-a-sailor type of girl, she has yet to work out how to act her age!! LOL. And she has no intentions of growing up or growing old gracefully.

JJ lives in a small, very quiet, village in Lincolnshire, UK, with her husband and dogs, and spends all day dreaming up stories full of really hot men.

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