Challenged By Ryan Michele ♥ Cover Reveal

Release Date: 4.4.16

Challenged (Vipers Creed MC#1)

Cover Design by Pink Ink Designs

Lust, love, and second chances.

Growing up in the fast-paced and rough life of a motorcycle club wasn’t easy. Cleaning up the mess his father had made of Vipers Creed meant sacrifice. Cade ‘Spook’ Baker had given up everything to bring the club life back to what it was supposed to be: a family.

The choices he made were not what he wanted, but they were necessary for the club as a whole.

Second chances rarely came to Spook, so when his Trixie walked boldly into his clubhouse, the decision was made. Trixie would once again be his, this time for good.

Trix Lamasters was raised by a master—a master con. All grown up, she made her life solid by making it about her club, Sirens. But one bad business decision brought her to her knees, forcing her to call on the one person she had sworn she would never trust again.

Pasts have a way of not staying there. Things that were buried deep have a way of finding themselves in the light of a new day. Could something that had once crashed and burned for Spook and Trixie find a way out of the wreckage? With the odds against them, can they find a way to overcome the challenges, or will it all blow up in their faces?

**Due to content, mature audiences only.**

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Ryan Michele has a huge obsession with reading, which only came to life after her best friend said she had to read Twilight. After reading that series, her entire world changed in the blink of an eye. Not only was she sucked into new worlds and all of the wonderful words authors put down on paper, she felt the urge to begin to write down the characters that played inside of her head. In doing so, Safe was born. Then Wanting You and the Ravage MC series.

When she’s not reading or writing, she spends time taking care of her two children and her husband, enjoying the outdoors and laying in the sun.

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Curvy By Alexa Riley ♥ Cover Reveal

Release Day is Tuesday March 1st, but you can add it to your goodreads shelf now.

The first time Flynn Long sees her, she’s lying on a bed in lingerie. The picture is soft, just like her curves, and instantly he’s obsessed.

Cali Carr is at the end of her full-figure modeling career when she’s hired for a new campaign. But when the owner of the company steps out of the shadows and starts calling the shots, a job is the last thing it feels like.

Love at first sight isn’t supposed to be real. One touch isn’t supposed to ignite so much. A single picture isn’t supposed to drive a man insane. But luckily for us it’s happening in Curvy!

Warning: Over the top isn’t strong enough for what this short story is. It’s velvety sweetness coated in insta-love cheese, and it’s waiting for you to take a bite.

Chapter 1 *Flynn*

“You told me you had this under control. That was the only reason I agreed to invest in a women’s lingerie line.”

I look down at the sales charts of Curved Intimates, a company we invested in over six months ago. It’s bleeding money, and I’m close to just scrapping the whole project and be done with the headache. I have enough on my plate as it is.

When you invest in as many things as Breakstone Corp does, you can’t be surprised when not all of them work out. But I had agreed with Mark when he brought this proposal to me. It was supposed to be the next Victoria’s Secret. The pitch was good and the women’s market wasn’t one we had worked our way into yet. Mark said it was something he really wanted to take on, so we went for it.

I know shit about fashion. I pay someone to shop for me and pick out my clothes. I know even less about women’s undergarments. Fuck, I can’t even remember the last time I saw a real woman in her underwear.

I run my hands over my face, trying to relieve some of the tension headache that’s starting to build. It’s already six o’clock and it looks like I’m going to be here another four hours at least.

“Lynn from marketing is waiting outside. She seems to think she’s come up with something.” Mark shifts uncomfortably, probably scared I’m going to fire him. But this is the first time he’s ever missed the mark like this before. He’s eager and good at his job, but if I had a wife and three kids, I’d probably worry if I fucked up, too. You can’t win them all, and I can’t fault him for wanting to try to branch us out to something new. It showed enthusiasm, and it’s the very reason I’d hired him

I flip through the last marketing ads in the folder again. They look standard, but there’s nothing special about the pictures, nothing that draws attention. They look like every other ad for women’s underwear you’ve ever seen. There’s no clear branding and nothing that stands out about this line.

“I hope it’s better than this shit.” I toss the folder back across the desk at him.

“I’ve been working with marketing. They have a few ideas I really like and—”

I cut him off. I want to get this show on the road. “Mark, calm down. I’m not going to fire you over this. We’ll hear marketing’s ideas, and we either do them or we drop the whole fucking thing.”

Mark nods before heading over towards the door, letting Lynn into my office. She shuffles over to my desk clutching a pile of binders so high I can’t even see her face. The stack almost looks bigger than her. I’m not sure how she’s made it all the way up here with them.

“Sir, can I get you or anyone else a drink?” Sally, my assistant, asks as she stands in the doorway to my office. I know the only reason she’s offering is because other people are in here. She stopped getting me my coffee years ago, telling me she didn’t have a degree in business so she could waste it on fetching coffee. She’s an expensive pain in the ass I couldn’t live without. Luckily for me, her kids are off in college and her husband doesn’t seem to mind the long hours I often need her to work. I have a feeling she’s made me dependent on her on purpose. There’s no way I could fire her or her smart mouth.

“I’m good, Sally.” I look to Lynn and Mark, who both say, “No, thanks,” before Lynn goes back to trying to get her binders in the order she likes. One falls off the top, landing open, making my whole body go still at the image.

The woman in the photo is lying on a bed, her legs in the air and crossed at the ankles. She has on fishnet stockings that lead up her legs to her thick thighs. She’s wearing high-waisted black underwear that shows off her wide hips, giving her an old-school pinup feel, and a sexy bra that barely contains her full breasts, the material just covering the essentials. Every part of her is thick and luscious. All the blood in my body flows to my dick. I’ve never had a reaction like this to a woman. I’m too old to get a fucking hard-on from seeing a woman in a picture. She’s not even naked. Just the sight of her in her underwear has me nearly bursting in my slacks.

I see Mark out of the corner of my eye as he takes a step towards my desk to see what’s caught my attention. I slam the binder closed, not wanting him to see her. Possessiveness flows through me, and I look at Lynn, who’s still going through the binders. When I look at Mark, he has his eyebrows raised in question.

I pick the binder up and open it to show Lynn. When Mark takes another step to see what I’m showing her, I can’t hold back.

“Don’t,” I bite out, making him pause, the confusion on his face growing. “Who is this?” I demand, needing more information on her. Anything.

“Oh. Just an idea I was thinking about. Going a little old school with some of the looks and appealing to all body types.”

“Her name?” I push, and she reaches for the binder. I pull it back, not wanting it taken from me. Almost like a toddler with his favorite toy.

“If you flip a few pages, it should be in the front. Before her pictures start,” she says, seeing that I’m not going to give her back the binder.

I turn the book around to me and hurriedly flip through the pages until I get to the front.

Cali Carr.

Measurements: 40”/32”/48” (Bust/Waist/Hips)

Dress size: 14 Shoe Size: 8

I turn the page, hoping there’s another picture of her. The one on the bed made it hard to see her face. I flip to the next page, and I literally have to sit down in my chair. She’s smirking in the picture. Her full lips are just as lush as the rest of her. Her skin is flawless, a creamy white making the little freckles that sprinkle her upturned button nose even more noticeable.

But what really got me are her stunning eyes. They’re a deep green like nothing I’ve never seen before. In contrast with her red hair, they are unmissable.

“Sir,” I hear Lynn say, and I look up at her. I have no idea how long I’ve been staring at the picture.

“I want her.”

“Okay. I’ll put her on the list. I have a few more for you to look at.”

She tries to hand me another binder, but I have no desire to look at pictures of other women. What would be the point? They’d all pale in comparison. I’ve just seen perfection and I know nothing could beat it.

“No. I’ll leave it to you and Mark to handpick the rest of the girls for the shoot.” I stand up from my chair.

“Or course, sir. We’ll get it all worked out.”

“The shoot will be next week,” I tell them. I want to see her as soon as possible.

“I don’t think—”

“It will be next weekend. If the model’s photographer or something can’t make it, book someone else. But she,” I hold up the binder with her picture in it, “better be there. I don’t care what it costs.”

Standing up, I hold the binder in front of my crotch to hide my erection. I click the intercom.

“Sally, can you call my driver? I’m going down,” I inform her.

“Leaving already?” I can hear the shock in her voice.

“Yes.” I release the button. “Feel free to use my office until you’re done. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mark.” I head for the door with the binder still in front of me, hiding my very prominent arousal. I stop before I exit. “Send me any and all information you have on her, Lynn.”

“You’ll have it this evening,” she says, looking at me with big eyes.

I nod before exiting my office. I had better things to do tonight than spend it in my office. I have a binder half-full of pictures of my Cali.

Alexa Riley is two sassy friends who got together and wrote some dirty books. They are both married moms of two who love football, donuts, and obsessed book heroes.

They specialize in insta-love, over-the-top, sweet, and cheesy love stories that don’t take all year to read. If you want something SAFE, short, and always with a happily ever after, then Alexa Riley is for you!

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Slave To The Rythm By Jane Harvey-Berrick ♥ Prologue Reveal

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DANCE. Guns.

MUSIC. Bullets.

RHYTHM. Pain.

Music in my head, dance in my body, the rhythm of my heart.

How far can you fall in just one month? How quickly can the human spirit be broken? Where does evil hide in plain sight?

Ash wants to dance. Needs it. To leave behind a life of expectation and duty, to set his soul free.

But life is never that simple. Every step is a journey on a new road.

For every action, there is a reaction.

Every choice has a consequence.

And when you meet the wrong person, all bets are off.

Laney tolerates her limitations, pushing quietly at boundaries. But when Ash crashes into her world through rage and violence, it sets off a chain reaction that neither of them expected.

♫♪ ♫♪ ♫♪ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪♫♪

Prologue

Heat and noise.

The deep bass reverberated through the floor, through the table and chairs, the empty bottles on the table trembling as the music pulsed.

The dry, desert air was humid inside the sealed room, a room that never saw daylight.

The casino was alive 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Men and women with the bloodshot eyes of those who had been at the slot machines for too many hours were replaced with the young and young at heart who wanted to dance the night away, the sweat stains and smudged makeup hidden in the pockets of darkness among the strobing lights.

My friends were on the dance floor, lost in the music, rolling their hips, stroking the air above their heads with languid arms, grinding against each other to the determined, demanding music. I could see the eyes following their movements, the loose jaws, the wet lips.

A part of me envied them—the part that always envied people who could be so free, and if I’d loved them less, envy might have turned to resentment.

The reunion had been planned for eight months, and even though the timing had turned out to be a cosmic joke, I refused to miss out. Despite everything, it was good to see them. Old friends who had seen me at my best and worst.

I stared longingly at the bar, wishing that a Mimosa would materialize in front of me. But none of the scantily dressed waitresses even noticed me sitting by myself.

I was used to being alone. I worked from home and rarely saw the people I called colleagues, and that suited me just fine. But it’s one thing to choose to be by yourself; it’s completely different to be alone in a crowd.

I glanced back to the heaving dance floor, smiling as a cowboy with a large Stetson and no rhythm limbered up behind Vanessa, trying to attract her attention with his awkward but well-meaning gyrations.

My eyes skated away with embarrassment at his lumbering gait, and that’s when my gaze was drawn to another man. And this one caught and held my attention as surely as I caught and held my breath.

He was dressed in black, a snug shirt tucked into dress pants, an easy elegance that made him seem like a thoroughbred among carthorses.

His movements were sinuous with suggestive grace, one fluid action flowing into the next. His hips thrust and rolled, his long legs flexed and straightened, his arms moving rhythmically, fingers extended. He held himself erect, his chin dipping only slightly so his eyes could fix on his much shorter dance partner. Even from this distance I could see that he was focused, like a wild animal stalking his prey. His eyes were feline, too, slanting up slightly at the corners, emphasizing his sharp cheekbones.

His spiky dark hair was gelled at the front, but almost military at the back, showing off his long elegant neck and the broad muscles that writhed beneath his short-sleeved shirt, the shadow of a tattoo peeping out.

He was tall, and the black clothes he wore emphasized his slim silhouette. It was hard to tell his age, his unsmiling face clean shaven and intense, he could have been anything from twenty to thirty.

For a moment, he disappeared into the swirling mass, and I leaned forward to catch another glimpse.

The crowd parted and the illusive dancer reappeared. I saw his partner for the first time: a short, doughy woman with perspiration dripping down her face and too-tight dress.

They didn’t fit, the man and the woman. I sat back in my chair, watching, intrigued.

I suppose I’d spent a lot of time, on the sidelines. Life had made me an observer. So I’d made a study of male beauty in all its forms: the jock, the joker, the emo, the player, the hot and dangerous. I was a connoisseur, you might say, but only from a distance. Perhaps that made me a voyeur.

But this man—he was in a class of his own. I was mesmerized watching the strong, graceful lines he created, the perfect symmetry of his perfect body, his subtle strength and obvious talents. He was beautiful. And that made me sad.

His intense, serious gaze was utterly focused on his partner, and envy bubbled up inside me. I tried to push it away, but I couldn’t drag my eyes from the dancer. He rotated his hips, his body fluent and effortless, always in motion. The thought crossed my mind that if he fucked the way he danced, his partner was in for a night she’d never forget.

But then the woman’s steps faltered, and she edged her way from the dance floor, sucking in lungfuls of air, her fingers sinking into broad hips as she rested her hands.

The man followed, asking a question, and the woman shook her head, half laughing as she nervously backed away from him. When she retreated, he pressed closer, wrapping his long fingers around her wrist, his eyes narrowed.

I leaned forward again, then glanced around, wondering if anyone else had noticed the drama unfolding in front of me.

They seemed to be arguing, and the woman’s sweaty face was red and worried. But then the man held up his hands in surrender, releasing his prey.

I relaxed back into my chair, feeling almost as much relief as the short woman who was retreating in the direction of the bathroom.

The man stood, watching the woman leave, and I was surprised to see frustration on his face. Not disappointment, not annoyance. He wasn’t offended, his ego wasn’t dented. If anything, he seemed angry with himself.

It was odd. Nothing in their behavior hinted that they were close. It looked like a hookup, but why had he chosen someone who was so far below his own league?

It occurred to me that perhaps he was one of those men you read about in Vegas, a gigolo in all but name. It hurt my heart a little to think that such a beautiful man might use his perfect body in such a way. I didn’t want to be disappointed when everything else about him was just so … perfect.

The man ran his hands over his hair as he searched around the room, his eyes ticking off the women he saw, some internal checklist that remained hidden to all but him.

But then his eyes flickered to me, probably because I was still watching him, and a wide smile stretched his full lips. The smile, so totally unblemished from a distance, didn’t reach his eyes, and when he approached me, I was immediately on guard.

“Hi, I’m Ash. Are you by yourself?”

It was hard to be sure over the pounding music, but it sounded as if he had an accent. Something Eastern European, perhaps Russian? Polish?

I gave him a polite but closed smile, a cool smile that hid all warmth, a smile for slow servers and rude cab drivers. A smile for men I didn’t trust.

“No. I’m here with my friends.”

The man looked around him, then shrugged theatrically. “I don’t see them. Would you like to dance?”

And he held out his hand, obviously assuming that I would say yes.

I laughed.

“No, I’m not dancing.”

He frowned, his hand still suspended between us. “But you like to dance?”

I stopped laughing and stared, my gaze sinking into his, puzzled, annoyed.

“What makes you think I like to dance?”

He shrugged again and his hand fell to his side.

“You’re in a nightclub, and you’re not drinking. So you must be here to dance. Please, dance with me.”

He held out his hand again, but I shook my head impatiently. “Then go find someone who will dance with you.”

His eyes widened with surprise, and then he grinned as he leaned on the table, his perfect face inches from mine. “Maybe I want to dance with you.”

“Then you’ll be waiting a long time.”

He cocked his head to one side and I noticed a small beauty spot, shaped like a teardrop beneath his left eye—a perfect imperfection. Up close I could see that he was younger than I’d thought, younger than me perhaps, maybe early twenties. My eyes dropped to his lips and then to his throat. I could see a thin silver chain around his neck.

“I’m a good dancer,” he said, looking almost wounded at my continued refusal.

He wasn’t lying, but my anger, smoldering beneath the surface, ignited.

“I’m not dancing!”

“But everyone comes here to dance,” he insisted, his intense dark eyes so focused, it was unnerving.

“Not me,” I insisted.

He was making me anxious now and I glanced around for my friends.

“You’ll have a good time.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I snapped, losing patience. “Your last friend seemed to enjoy herself immensely.”

A dull red flooded his cheeks and he looked away.

His reaction surprised me. I’d hurt his feelings, but I wasn’t sure why.

“Maybe I’d like to dance with a pretty girl for a change,” he said softly, glancing up at me from beneath long dark lashes.

His intense stare and pleading eyes were hard to resist. Oh, he was good. Calling me ‘pretty’, pretending to be upset that I wouldn’t dance with him. But then I felt a little guilty, too. You can’t fake flushed cheeks. I would have guessed that it was simply the exertion from dancing, but when I met his gaze, his expression was almost desperate.

“You are missing out.”

My mouth tightened and the gates to my sympathy slammed shut.

“Laney, is this guy bothering you?”

I breathed a sigh of relief as Vanessa and Jo strode toward me, their lips pursed, eyes flashing dangerously.

Ash looked nervous, his glance flicking between my friends and the bouncers by the exit. He started backing away, his hands held out from his sides.

“I just asked her to dance, that’s all. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Jo threw him a disbelieving look and stood with her hands on her hips.

“Do you want to go back to your room now?” Vanessa asked.

Suddenly feeling emotional and overwhelmed, I nodded silently as Jo continued to glare.

Vanessa walked behind my chair and handed me the pashmina that had been hanging on the back. Then she unlocked the brakes on my wheelchair and pushed me away from the table.

Ash’s mouth dropped open.

“Still think I’m pretty?” I asked, as my eyes filled with tears.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to write. Perhaps it was growing up in a village well known for its mystery and folklore, which sparked my imagination as a child.

I enjoy writing in several different genres, and I’ve just published my first romcom, ‘Dazzled’.

All my books have a little me in them, and I’m inspired by the personal stories of those around me. It’s often from a simple discussion overheard in the train (‘Exposure’), in a café, or in the street, where ideas for characters or scenes come to me.

I fell in love with both Sam (‘The New Samurai’) and the eponymous Sebastian in ‘The Education of Sebastian’ and the sequel ‘The Education of Caroline’, and missed them desperately once I’d finished their stories. I love writing dialogue and always try to include touches of humour in the most poignant stories.

Whether you like adult romance novels, new or young adult writing, thrillers, or fantasy, I hope you’ll enjoy the journey through my stories.

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Booty Call By Ainsley Booth ♥ Release Blitz

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I know what I’m doing when I text Scott at four in the morning.

He knows what I’m doing, too.

That’s why he shows up twenty-three minutes later, freshly showered with a condom in his pocket and a barely dissolved breath mint on his tongue.

I smirk as he looms over me. “You are such a dirty old man.”

“We need to stop doing this.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re twenty-one and I’m not. Because I want to take you on a f***ing date and you won’t. Because we wind up yelling at each other half the time.”

“But the rest of the time you’re inside me and it feels so good, right?”

His eyes darken and I don’t need to look down to know he’s hard for me.

*** THIS IS A STANDALONE BOOK, CONNECTED TO THE HORUS GROUP SERIES ***

Scott

It’s obscene, this view of my cock sliding between her legs.

Beautiful, how wet she is for me. How slick her slit is, making me glide faster, rub harder.

That’s us. Beauty and the beast. My arms flex as I hold myself above her, surging our bodies together.

Almost fucking.

It’s even more perverted like this.

“See how much I’d fill you up,” I rasp, and she jerks her head up.

She was already watching, but now she’s looking right at me. Like she sees every twisted want in my head and they get her off. Blood pounds through my body. She licks her lips and the throb in my cock hurts so bad now.

“Yeah, I see,” she whispers. “You’re so big. You’ll never fit.”

That shouldn’t turn me on. It never has before, not like this. Not this fantasy. But it totally does. She writhes beneath me, taunting me to play, too. Fuck, yes. I press her legs wide and grind against her, my cock riding hard over her clit and onto her belly again. “I’d break you, Ali.”

“I want you to.” She reaches for me, winding her arms around my neck, and she tugs me down.

I could hold myself up. I could resist her. Make us both watch as her breath grows shallow, as her nipples tighten and her tits flush.

But if I let her bring me close for a kiss, if she wraps her legs around my hips, it’s going to feel…

“Oh,” she gasps, as the angle between us shifts, and suddenly, my cock is right there.

She’s so wet. It’s such a mindfuck, knowing that I can’t just slam into her.

My dick didn’t get the message. He’s drooling hard, a big fucking puppy dog barking at the park.

I don’t have a condom on. She’s never done this before.

We can’t.

She rolls her hips, and the tip—just the tip, holy fuck, it’s a wet dream come true—notches into place.

Yes. My mind scrambles with how good this feels.

“We can’t,” I mutter, and it’s so guttural I’m not even sure it’s English.

She kisses me, hot and frantic, her breath puffing against my mouth as she licks at me and looks down between us and then kisses me again.

“Come on,” she says. “Just a little bit. I just wanna feel you…” She whimpers as I press my hips. Just a little bit.

What she wants.

He’s not going in any further, not without one of us working hard for it. My balls pull tight, begging to blow their load in a virgin pussy, and she wants it. I want it. It’s the middle of the night and I can’t remember why this is a bad idea.

Two consenting adults.

A fucking shared craving that isn’t going anywhere, no matter what we do.

Heat and need are swirling around me now, binding me to her, but I can’t do this. I pull back, and this time I don’t let her hold me close. She growls beneath me, fierce and proud, and I haul her up and off the bed, holding her against me as I spin us so I’m sitting against her headboard and she’s on my lap.

My cock is safely wedged between us, his wet tip angrily slapping my belly.

“You want me inside you, Ali?”

She winds her hands into my hair. “You know I do. You got a virgin hang-up or something?”

I laugh, harsh and hollow. Or something. “You being a virgin isn’t a problem.”

She smirks. “I know it turns you on.” She licks her lips. “It turns me on, too. I wasn’t kidding when I said I want you to break me.”

“I’m not

doing that to you. That’s not what sex is, Ali.”

“You going to teach me? I want to know every last dirty thing you know.”

“You’ve got Tumblr. You don’t need me to teach you.” My dick disagrees, and Ali makes this hungry little sound in her throat as my erection throbs between her legs.

“Stop perving on my Tumblr account, old man.” She rocks down my length. Back up again. Then she stops and grabs my hands. She presses them to her hips, then slides them up to her breasts. I love her tits so much. They’re ripe and firm and surprisingly heavy.

They’re fucking womanly. She’s making a point. Has been making it, and I’ve been missing it, and it’s a miracle she hasn’t punched me for being stupid.

We’re both breathing hard, and she whispers my name. I jerk my attention from her nipples—can’t blame me, come on, they’re perfect—to her face.

“I’m not a kid,” she says softly.

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Mom by day and filthy romance writer by night, Ainsley is super grateful for caffeine, banana and blueberry muffins, and yoga pants.

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The Ground Rules Undone By Roya Carmen ♥ Release Blitz

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The Ground Rules #1

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The Ground Rules : Rewritten #2

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The Ground Rules were impossible to follow. It was hard not to become completely consumed by the beautiful and enigmatic Weston Hanson. The heart of a romantic was not fit for this kind of exchange. So, when it ended, I was shattered, but it was all for the better…or so we thought.

The Ground Rules were rewritten, and then bent. We lied to ourselves. We told ourselves we could handle this. Not a single one of us realized just how big this was…just how devastating it could become.

And now, there are no Rules.

Lust… infatuation…blinds you. It can tear everything apart. But sometimes, life needs to be completely torn apart before it can be mended – not just cracked at the edges, but utterly shattered, before you can truly see the mess you’ve become.

I love them both, but I can’t have them both. While one pulls me in, the other pushes me away. And when both eventually open their hearts, I must make the hardest decision of my life.

And now there are no Rules. We are Undone.

He stood back up to his full height, and leaned into me, tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear, the gesture so gentle, but in contrast, his words were harsh. “This didn’t mean anything,” he said, his eyes dark, as black as coal. And I knew this wasn’t him speaking. This was the man he became when he was angry. But still, the words still cut deep.

“This doesn’t change a thing,” he went on with that same dark blank expression. “We’re still done, Mirella.”

“How can you say that?” I asked, my words pleading. “We just made love.”

He jerked back. “That was just sex, Mirella,” he scoffed. “You made me hard. I wanted to fuck you…get one last taste of you. That’s all it was.” And with a turn of the handle, he added, “I’m sorry if you thought it was more.”

His words hit hard, a sharp blow to my stomach. But I wasn’t done fighting for us. I reached for the handle, my hand pressed hard over his and I slammed the door shut. “You’re lying. You’re being hurtful on purpose.” After all these years, I couldn’t believe he didn’t realize how well I know him. “You’re still mad at me,” I pointed out, not letting it go.

He wiped the heel of his hand against his forehead and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “You’re fucking right, I’m still mad,” he growled. “But I’m angry at myself more than I am at you right now.”

I pressed my hand against his stomach. “Why?”

He grabbed a hard hold of my wrist and pulled my hand away. “Because you do this to me and I can’t just turn my back and move on.” His beautiful eyes almost did me in, there was so much emotion in them.

“I can’t turn my back on you and the girls. And I still want you. I still want to fuck you… and you,” he added, not quite looking at me. “You know this. And you took advantage.”

He was right. I did. I knew he wanted me. And I took advantage of a moment of weakness. I spotted it, pounced and dug my teeth in. But I wanted him just as much as he did me.

“I’m sorry,” I told him. I knew it wasn’t much, but I was at a loss for words. My eyes were drowning in tears as I pressed my hand against him again. “I just miss you so much, Gabe. I wanted to be close to you again.”

He tore himself from me. “I should go.”

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Mom, writer, book junkie, doodle addict and hopeless romantic. I have been writing for over ten years, finding my passion for romance in 2008. When I’m not spending time with my family, I enjoy reading, painting, and writing – there is nothing I enjoy more than sitting down at my laptop and making up my own stories – and if those stories should include beautiful men, a little romance, and a few steamy scenes, all the better!

I write contemporary and erotic romance under the pen name Roya Carmen.

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Stripped Raw By Prescott Lane ♥ Cover Reveal

We are super excited to share the cover reveal of Prescott Lane’s next book Stripped Raw.

Kenzie

I’m a yes girl. Get your mind out of the gutter; I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about saying yes to whatever comes my way in life. So when I had the chance to move to Europe after college, I said, yes. When I had the chance to open my own lingerie line, I said, yes. And when my stepsister got diagnosed with cancer and needed me to come home and help her raise her daughter, I said, yes. That’s me, Kenzie — the yes girl! In every area of my life but one —Love. Always the first to leave a relationship. Will I be able to say yes to love — to Kane — to being happy? Or will I simply come undone and be stripped raw?

Kane

Don’t let Kenzie fool you! She’s a master at hiding behind a laugh and a smile. Being an attorney, I prefer the facts. This story isn’t as light and happy as my yes girl would have you believe. No laugh can sugar coat what we are facing: I’ve lost everything. I know what it’s like to be left raw. But sometimes that’s the only way to find love. To strip yourself down, let the other person see all your shit, and hope they love you anyway.

“I’m the good girl, very responsible, girl-next-door type.”

Should I tell her I took the virginity of the girl next door? Probably not. “I think you’re more than that,” I say, taking a step closer to her. That wasn’t a line. I really mean it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so.

I inch even closer, but she looks confused — a little like she wants me to kiss her, a little like she wants me to screw her, but mostly like she doesn’t want me to do anything more. I can’t blame her; we only met a few hours ago. Deacon is wrong about the one night stand thing. This woman isn’t looking for a hookup. I’m not, either. One night with her wouldn’t be enough. So I take a step back, my fists clenched at my sides to redirect my energy.

“That was my first catalog,” Kenzie says. “I plan on doing two a year.” She reaches for a sketchbook on her work table. “This is what I’m working on for the next line. I’ll be photographing them pretty soon. The line is inspired by men’s clothing, so pinstripes and. . . .”

She keeps talking about the different fabrics, colors, and textures she plans to use. I have no idea what she is saying, but marvel over what I’m seeing — corsets and bustiers, vests with garter belts, bras, and G-strings. I love that these ideas, these fantasies, came out of her mind. She is so much more than she thinks, so much more than the girl next door.

Kenzie flips to another sketch, this one of a navy bra and panty set with stockings and heels. That will look perfect on her — especially bent over my office desk. My cock throbbing, I take a deep breath and try to focus on what Kenzie is saying. My eyes search the catalog pages for anything to distract me. “What’s this?”

“Cuffs,” she says, “like on a man’s dress shirt. But these double as handcuffs.”

Okay, that’s it. The arts-and-crafts show is officially driving me crazy. My dick is rock hard now, and I can’t take it anymore.

Prescott Lane is the author of First Position, Perfectly Broken, and her new release, Quiet Angel. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College with a degree in sociology. She went on to receive her MSW from Tulane University, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life. Connect with Prescott Lane at http://www.pinterest.com/PrescottLane1/ and facebook.com/PrescottLane1 and http://www.twitter.com/prescottlane1 and http://instagram.com/prescottlane1 or at http://www.authorprescottlane.com

Happily Ever Afters Guaranteed

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Booty Call By Ainsley Booth ♥ Chapter Reveal

We are delighted to bring you an excerpt from Booty Call (Forbidden BodyGuards #2) by Ainsley Booth. Sit back and enjoy the hotness.

Pre-Order it now for a special price, only 99c!

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I know what I’m doing when I text Scott at four in the morning.

He knows what I’m doing, too.

That’s why he shows up twenty-three minutes later, freshly showered with a condom in his pocket and a barely dissolved breath mint on his tongue.

I smirk as he looms over me. “You are such a dirty old man.”

“We need to stop doing this.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re twenty and I’m not. Because I want to take you on a f***ing date and you won’t. Because we wind up yelling at each other half the time.”

“But the rest of the time you’re inside me and it feels so good, right?”

His eyes darken and I don’t need to look down to know he’s hard for me.

*** THIS IS A STANDALONE BOOK, CONNECTED TO THE HORUS GROUP SERIES ***

—one—

FEBRUARY

Alison

Happy birthday to me.

I’m supposed to be having an epic shop-a-thon with my sister in SoHo, but now we’re stuck at the Apple store because Hailey needs someone to fix her phone. Her fiancé Cole will have a fit if she’s off the grid.

God forbid. It’s not like she isn’t being shadowed everywhere by her bodyguard—big, brooding Scott Mayfair, of the dark, dirty looks and annoyingly consistent hands-off-Alison attitude—for our “girls weekend”. But her phone stopped working at lunch, so now Hailey’s waiting for a so-called genius to help her fix it.

Me?

I’m going to take advantage of the fact that Scott can’t leave Hailey’s side and go buy myself a present.

“I’m just heading around the corner,” I murmur to my sister. She knows where I’m going. Every time we come to the city, I visit the Mercer Street Agent Provocateur. It’s become my little ritual.

Alison Dashford Reid, all grown up and secretly wearing something naughty beneath her studious university student uniform of yoga pants and hoodies. Although that’s not what I’m wearing today—while it works for Washington…New York City, not so much. Not at the level that Hailey and I are playing at this weekend.

I’ve got my Jimmy Choo fuck-me boots zipped over my skinny Sevens, and a wool jacket over a silk camisole, because it’s February and there’s only so much cold my nipples can take in the name of fashion.

I sling the skinny strap of my purse across my body and join the flow of Saturday afternoon shoppers. New York is unlike any other city in the world, and SoHo might be my favorite neighborhood in my favorite city. Narrow shops and cobblestone streets. It brings out the girly girl in me, and I indulge that lucky bitch with pretty underwear.

Inside, Agent Provocateur is glossy black lacquer and sparkling crystal chandeliers. A sea of silk and lace. Black ribbons and satin cups. It oozes feminine power and celebrates all things sexy.

My private collection of lingerie is one step in the direction of claiming more of that attitude for myself.

One day soon, I’m going to be this woman.

I sigh. Maybe not soon. I have to keep my head down until I’m done school and can leave Washington. Leave the toxic world of my parents behind and just be myself.

Be Alison, girl with silk panties. Girl with an easy, breezy attitude toward sex and men and life.

“Can I help you?” A smiling salesgirl approaches, and I’m glad I dressed up. I look the part of the rich socialite, and all afternoon I’ve been getting that treatment. Not normally something I care about one way or the other—and if pushed, I lean toward other. Because seriously, being rich just gives people the excuse to be depraved fucks.

And then have children, and ruin their lives with the depravity.

I shudder inside.

But on the outside, I just smile at the salesgirl. “I’m going to look around a bit. First time in a while since I’ve been in the store.”

First time since all the weird shit went down with my sister last year. Now I can’t just get on the train and come to New York for the weekend. Now when I suggest a girls’ trip, it’s a full-on thing, complete with Scott tagging along if Cole is busy.

We made that mistake once in the fall. Ugh. Totally un-fun, although it did beat a totally awkward family Thanksgiving.

This trip wasn’t my idea, even though it’s my birthday weekend. But Hailey’s got a gleam in her eye about a wedding dress, which means Cole’s finally won their non-stop battle over whether or not to get married.

Well, not that there’s a battle over getting married. Just a battle over the actual “getting hitched” moment. As in, Hailey doesn’t want a wedding. Not one our mother can ruin.

So I bet they’ll elope, which is totally fine.

After all the shit she’s been through, Hailey deserves to be happy.

And if she wants to buy a non-wedding dress for a secret wedding that she’s not telling me about just yet, I’ll suck up a totally un-fun trip to the big city.

After all, when I get bored, I can always ditch the bodyguard and sneak into a lingerie shop.

I smirk to myself—which of course is when karma decides to punish me.

“Something funny, Miss Reid?”

Damn it. I sigh and roll my eyes to the sparkly chandelier, keeping my back to Scott. My sister’s bodyguard. My secret crush. My totally off-limits, no-fun babysitter for the weekend, apparently, since he’s followed me, and not for any fun, dirty reasons. “How did you find me? Do I have a tracking device implanted under my skin?”

Scott laughs quietly and circles around the display until I’ve got face full of cotton dress shirt and black suit jacket. Both fitted and stretched across strong shoulders.

A wide chest.

Probably a hard set of abs, but I’ve never gotten close enough to test that theory.

I don’t look up at his face. Instead, I pretend to look at the panties on the far side of the table, right in front of his hips.

His package is pretty substantial, too. Definitely stretching the fabric there.

I blush, but I don’t duck my head further.

I’m totally fine with Scott knowing that I’m thinking about his cock.

He’s not fine with it, but that’s his problem.

He clears his throat and crosses his arms, swinging a collection of our shopping bags in front of his body to hide what I hope is a monster reaction to me. “Your sister suggested I might find you in here.”

“And you left Hailey alone to come find me?”

“Cole showed up. Turns out he had business in the city after all.”

Of course he did. Which meant that our girls’ weekend just turned into me being a third-wheel on a romantic getaway.

Fuck.

“Then I might head back to D.C.” I say quietly. I’m not trying to hide the fact I’m disappointed. It’s my birthday. I can be fucking disappointed if I want.

I can swear like a fucking sailor and pretend I’m not a Dean’s List, finishing-school Good Girl, because it’s my twentieth birthday and I can’t even buy lingerie without my sister’s drama intruding.

And since that drama won’t let me check him out… yeah, I’m pouting.

“You can head home. If you want.” His voice is…is…

I jerk my eyes up to his face.

He’s mocking me.

Outrage surges through me, unexpectedly, at the barely contained laughter in his voice. I can feel my face turning red, twin dots of heat burning on my cheekbones. I pick up a complicated thong, with bonus straps that do nothing but torment the person looking at the wearer, probably, and I hold it up between us. “You don’t think I should do that, Scott?” I put my own mocking spin on his name. “What should I do instead? You think I should stay here in the big city, and buy these panties, maybe wear them out tonight under a little black dress? Knowing full well there’s not a chance in hell I’ll get peeled out of them at the end of the night by a hot guy? Happy birthday, Alison. Here’s to another year of bodyguard-enforced virginity.”

I’m being a whiny brat. I don’t care. It’s been months of this rock star treatment, and seriously, it’s overrated. We grew up in a wealthy family, so having private security isn’t totally out my realm of understanding, but Hailey’s relationship with one of Washington’s top crisis management guys—and getting tangled up in a human trafficking ring—has taken shit to a whole new level.

It actually doesn’t affect my everyday life. I go to school. I even have my own apartment now, having moved out of my parents’ estate at Christmas time because there’s only so much fucked-up drama one can handle and still stay on the Dean’s List.

But it does affect every “sister thing” I want to do with Hailey.

Including celebrating my birthday.

So I stare at Scott, daring him—fucking daring him—to tell me that I can do anything I want, of course I can.

Because I can’t.

He stares back, his face unreadable.

“I don’t think Cole is planning on going out for dinner with you two, if that’s your concern,” he finally says gruffly, but I’m still pissed off. Anger sizzles under my skin and now I’m just thinking shit that’s not fair and doesn’t really matter. But that’s the thing about feelings, right? Once you have them, you can’t just un-have them.

Tears prick at the back of my eyelids, and no, that is not happening. I pinch the inside of my palm with my fingers and slowly roll my eyes back to the ceiling, exhaling as I tell myself to pull it together.

Let him think I’m a haughty bitch. I don’t care.

“Miss Reid,” he starts, and I drop my gaze, staring past him as I twirl the panties on the tip of my finger.

“I’m not a child. You can call me Alison, or Ms. Reid. Or nothing at all. That would be my preference.” I swing past him and hold out the lace and ribbon scrap of nothing to the sales girl. “I’ll take these with a matching 32C bra, please.”

I shake my head when she asks if I’ll need to try anything on.

While the thought of making Scott sit outside a change room would usually make me achy and wet, right now I’m not in the mood to play the tease. Not when it’s not going to get me anywhere.

I’m not a child. I told him that. I told my parents the same thing when I moved into my own apartment.

One of these days, I’m going to start believing it for myself.

And until then, I’ll fake it.

I’ve been doing that my entire life. I’m a pro.

After I pay for my purchases, I head for the door. Scott stands back, letting me move past him, but even though he hasn’t said anything, I still feel unsettled. Like maybe I haven’t had the last word.

He doesn’t get to do that to me.

I am not a child. I won’t be handled.

I stop and meet his gaze head-on. “Call the restaurant and change our reservation. Cole can join us. And you can, too.”

“I’m fine at the bar…Ms. Reid.” His jaw clenches, but that’s the only reaction.

“I understand that.” I lift my bag and wave it in the air. “But since my future brother-in-law won’t let me wear this for anyone else, tonight I’m wearing these for you. Whether you like it or not.”

Watch the trailer : https://www.facebook.com/ainsleyboothwrites/videos/1724315431125771/

Sexy man and woman in a provocative embrace

ID:45056344

Mom by day and filthy romance writer by night, Ainsley is super grateful for caffeine, banana and blueberry muffins, and yoga pants.

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Absolution By Amanda Dick ♥ Sale Tour

Jack McKenna is a man with two very distinct pasts.

One ended with a car accident involving his girlfriend, Ally, and a split-second decision with horrific consequences. Desperate to escape the guilt, he carved out a new life for himself. Four years spent hiding in the shadows, punishing himself for not having the courage to go back to her. Then, out of the blue, a phone call forces him to face up to everything and everyone he left behind.

Ally Connor’s life was split in two – before the car accident that shattered her spine, and after Jack’s sudden disappearance. Abandoning her when she needed him most, she fought hard to make it back from the brink. The face she shows to the world is strong and courageous, but behind the mask, the pain is burrowing deeper.

But fate had more in store for these two broken souls than either could have imagined. A funeral, a homecoming and a journey of self-discovery that would change both their lives – if they let it.

Suddenly, the secrets they want to hide from each other are the very secrets that could make them whole again.

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Ally looked up to find Jack standing in the doorway. She froze. She had been lying to herself, she realised too late. She wasn’t ready for this, not by a long shot.

“Come inside,” he said, his desperate gaze holding hers. “Please?”

He had changed out of the torn shirt and jacket, and stood before her in jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. He looked very much the worse for wear, his eye swollen slightly, an angry-looking cut on his cheek.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage. She fought the impulse to turn and make her way back to the car. He moved aside and she maneuvered herself over the doorstep and into the hall. She wanted to cry. It felt wrong, like they were trespassing somehow. She wished like hell that Tom was there.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Jack said quietly, closing the door behind her. “But thank you, for coming.”

He stood facing her, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Had his eyes always been that shade of green? They seemed darker, heavier somehow. God, what was she doing here?

“Ally… ”

Her hands gripped the handles of her crutches even tighter. The questions bolted out of her before she could stop them.

“Why’d you do it? Why’d you leave like that?”

The silence seemed to buzz in her ears, seconds stretching out.

“Why do you think?” he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears.

“That’s not good enough,” she shot back, tilting her chin in defiance. “I need to hear you say it – you owe me that.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Look, I… this could take a while. Come through to the living room, I’ll get us something to drink.”

She frowned, afraid of losing her resolve if she moved any further into the house. Before she could answer though, he walked into the living room and she had no choice but to follow.

She had last been here two weeks ago, for dinner. The house looked exactly the same, except for the glaringly obvious fact that Tom was missing. Her heart ached for him. If he were here, he’d be the buffer she felt they desperately needed now. Without him, it was too raw.

Jack poured the drinks, his back to her. To his left, on the side table, was an almost-empty glass that he topped up. Clearly, it wasn’t his first drink today. She couldn’t blame him.

He turned back to her, holding a glass in each hand, indicating the couch. “Shall we sit down?”

She ignored the couch and headed for the small dining table at the end of the room instead. She wanted to put something solid between them, hoping it would help her concentrate. She could feel his eyes burning into her back as she lowered herself into a chair, leaning her crutches against the table beside her. He set the glasses down on the table and pulled out the chair opposite her. She cringed as the chair’s legs scraped against the hardwood floor. Silently begging her trembling hands not to betray her, she reached for her glass and took a quick sip.

Tom had been the one to teach her about whisky – the good, the bad, the difference between blended and single malts, when to have water with it and when to have it neat.

“What do you remember about the accident?” Jack asked quietly, dragging her back to the present.

A black void where her memories should be.

She stared into the glass she held with both hands on the table in front of her. “Nothing. I don’t remember a thing. Callum told me what happened, after.”

“What did he say?”

“That it wasn’t your fault.” Why did she sound so frightened? She cleared her throat, mustering up the courage to look across the table at him. “He said there was nothing you could have done, that the other car came out of nowhere.”

He nodded slightly, his expression guarded. She waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. She seized her chance, before she lost her nerve completely.

“I want to know why you left like that, if it wasn’t your fault. Was it because of what happened to me?”

He shook his head and she tried to distance herself from his obvious pain. She couldn’t afford empathy if she was to get through this. She needed answers.

“Was it? You were gone when I woke up from surgery, Jack. You knew what happened to me. Did you leave because of that, because you didn’t want to be with me? I want the truth. I can take it,” she lied.

He shook his head, swallowing back tears. “No.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not, I – “

“You’re lying!” she cried, anger bursting forth.

“No! I’m not lying, I swear to you,” he insisted desperately, leaning forward. “I left because of me, because of what I did!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Something was going on behind his eyes that she couldn’t read and she frowned, searching deeper.

“I was driving. It was my fault.”

“So you left because you felt guilty?”

“I left because I was scared.”

“I was scared too – I woke up and you were gone!”

Breaking it down like that, so simply, hurt much more than she expected. All the things she couldn’t say – the fear that had overwhelmed her and pulled her under and nearly destroyed her – manifested as tears, overflowing and running down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he said brokenly, staring at his hands on the table. “I thought you’d hate me… I thought you’d all hate me.”

“So you just decided to run away instead?”

He didn’t answer, and anger and betrayal overwhelmed her as his face blurred.

“I wish I could take it all back – I wish I could change everything,” he whispered.

“You can’t.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I should’ve stayed, I should’ve – “

“I’m not interested in hearing about what you should’ve done,” she snapped. “I know what you should’ve done, but you didn’t, did you?”

Jack looked devastated but she couldn’t help the words that came tumbling out.

“I lay in that hospital bed, counting the holes in the ceiling tiles, thinking about all the things that I would never be able to do again, and I kept thinking that if you were there, it would be okay – that you being there would mean that everything was going to be okay. But you weren’t.” She steadily held his gaze, binding him to her as surely as if she had used ropes or chains. “I hated you for that. I hated you for leaving, I hated you for not even saying goodbye – for not having the guts to talk to me before you left, for being such a coward.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks, but she wasn’t finished.

“Why didn’t you call? Or write or email – why didn’t you at least try? Did you even think about me at all?”

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he whispered, chin quivering.

It was on the tip of her tongue to call him a liar again, but something was wrong. He stared at her, and for an instant, she saw through the mask. Buried so deep it was barely visible, was the truth, and when she saw it, it took her breath away.

Abstract underwater background with sunbeams

Amanda Dick is a night-owl, coffee addict, movie buff and music lover. She loves to do DIY (if it’s not bolted down, she’ll probably paint it, re-cover it or otherwise decorate it) and has tried almost every craft known to man/womankind. She has two sewing machines and an over-locker she can’t remember how to thread. She crochets (but can’t follow a pattern), knits (badly) and refrains from both as a public service.

She believes in love at first sight, in women’s intuition and in following your heart. She is rather partial to dark chocolate and believes in the power of a good vanilla latte.

What lights her fire is writing stories about real people in trying situations. Her passion is finding characters who are forced to test their boundaries. She is insanely curious about how we, as human beings, react when pushed to the edge. Most of all, she enjoys writing about human behaviour – love, loss, joy, grief, friendship and the complexity of relationships in general.

After living in Scotland for five years, she has now settled back home in New Zealand, where she lives with her husband and two children.

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Blindsight The Series By Adriane Leigh ♥ Blog Tour

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All three books are included in this edition.

BLINDSIGHT (Part One)

I want her.

She thinks I need her.

What she doesn’t know is she needs me more.

I’m hiring her to protect her.

To save her life.

To make her beg.

Because her big brown eyes make my d-ck pound and the thought of leaving her to the wolves makes my heart bleed. But the past is colliding with an out of focus present that’s on course to a fatal future. Unless I can beat fate at its own game.

BLINDSIGHT (Part Two)

She and I were far from chance.

Our first meeting orchestrated.

Our forever ill-fated.

Because I’m her enemy.

I’m her savior.

I’m her nightmare Romeo.

She’ll thank me at the end of this, and if she doesn’t, I’ll force her to beg.

BLINDSIGHT (Part Three – only available in the complete bundled series )

The web of secrets surrounding Hunter and Erin begins to unravel in the gripping final installment of the Blindsight series…

The only woman I’ve ever loved: taken.

The only man I’ve ever called a father: wanted.

I was hired to watch her, tasked myself with protecting her, and now I have to save her.

I tried to be her Romeo, but despite everything the past crashed into our lives like wild thunder.

She begged me to run, I begged her to stay, until a force greater than both of us took over.

Betrayal comes in threes, and the other shoe’s about to drop.

*Blindsight is intended for a mature audience only due to graphic sex, violence, and language

“I have something to show you.”.

“I think I can feel it,” I teased and nipped at his lips when his hands threaded through my hair and he thrust his tongue into my mouth.

“Not that,” he finally replied when he pulled away with a rakish grin. “It’s downstairs.” He guided me out of bed and I trailed behind him, admiring the view of his boxers sitting low on his hips, the sharp dimples above his ass cheeks making my mouth water. “Here it is.” He nodded and I followed his gaze to land on a huge, narrow box propped against one wall. At least twelve feet tall and at least half as wide, I knew it could only be one thing. “I haven’t seen it yet, wanted to do it with you.” His eyes sparkled as his fingers tightened in mine.

I swallowed the insecurity that was crawling its way up my throat and nodded, too anxious for words. His hand dropped and he pulled a box cutter from a shelf and went to work. Within minutes the edge was sliced open and his deft hands were sliding a bubble-wrapped work of art from its confines. I sucked in a sharp breath when he pulled away the layers protecting the piece.

Staring back was a close up of my body, draped across dark leather, a strand of pearls coiled in my navel and trailing down between my naked thighs. A shudder raced through me at the memory of the cool pearls against my hot skin, sending pulsing lust through my bloodstream, then and now.

“Wow.” I finally blinked and looked at Hunter.

“It’s fucking perfect.” He mused as his finger trailed across the curve of my rib cage and danced across the delicate lace covering my round breasts. The faint outline of an erect nipple could be seen through the transparent fabric. His hand continued up the photo along the sharp angles of my collarbone, past my neck, stretched away from the camera, my lips slightly parted and eyes downcast in shadow. “Guys are coming to hang it tomorrow.”

“Really?” I gasped, eyes still riveted to the stunning erotic photo that was somehow…me.

“Puttin’ it right at the entrance.” His hand returned to mine and his body was invading my space. His breath washed across my skin. “Everyone that comes to the door will see your beautiful body.” He pulled me up the steps and into his entryway, indicating the wall where my picture would hang.

My legs turned to jelly and my brain fizzled as arousal flooded my senses. “I love when you say things like that,” I murmured, feeling more turned on than I’d ever been.

“Mmm, like when I put you on display like a little slut?” His lips were attacking my neck, his tongue laving up my ear and pulling at the lobe with his teeth.

“Jesus, I want to feel you inside me,” I begged, my hands already working his boxers down his waist. My palms grazed across his rigid ass cheeks and I squeezed, loving the feel of his hard body in contrast to my soft one.

“Maybe I should fuck you right here, in front of the window that looks right out over the street,” and before I could reply was planting my hands on the cool glass of his entryway and yanking down my panties. A groan radiated from my throat. If he fucked me here against the window anyone walking by could see us, see me.

“Oh God, Hunter…” I breathed, needing to be fucked right now. Hard and fast without a second thought of an audience. The thought of being watched while Hunter took every single inch of my body turned me on shamefully.

“You like the idea of people watching you, baby?” His words were followed by the loud click of a doorknob, then a slow whoosh of warm air danced across my skin.

Oh Jesus. He’d opened the fucking front door. Right here with his dick poised at my entrance, cars creeping by at twenty miles per hour admiring the finely landscaped city homes, and me. About to be fucked like a dirty whore.

“Mm, fuck yeah you like that. You’re so turned on, so wet. Say it, baby,” he urged as he fisted at my full ass cheeks. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need,” I gasped when his thick cock invaded. “Need you to fuck me, now.” I was nearly growling with desperate pleasure.

A soft groan sounded before he landed a swift smack at my ass, and then another right on the same spot. The stinging pleasure turned to a sharp burn and I yelped, pulling away reflexively before he yanked me back to him. “You need my belt around your neck to keep you still?”

His hand gripped around the root of his cock as he eased his thick girth inside me. A thumb grazed the hot, sensitive bud of my ass, a feral hiss escaping my lips when he eased one deft digit past the tight ring of muscle. His complete ownership of my body, his to show-off, his to play with, blasted my senses with waves of disgraceful desire. “Keep it quiet, Erin. Wouldn’t want anyone to see those pretty tits, your slutty cunt wrapped around my dick, begging me to take this sweet ass.” His sinewy form stretched across my back, his warm breath lighting fire across my nape and sending shivers through every nerve. “Shh.” One punishing palm, the same that’d just eased his cock into my soaked pussy, wrapped around my mouth, choking off words and heaving pants. Caging me from all else but him, his body, his hands, his words. “Anyone catches you, it’d be front page news. Maybe a video uploaded on the internet.” His words and his roughened digits grating against nerve-endings that pulsed with white hot lust. “Ah, here comes someone now.”

Adriane Leigh was born and raised in a snowbank in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and now lives among the sand dunes of the Lake Michigan lakeshore.

She graduated with a Literature degree but never particularly enjoyed reading Shakespeare or Chaucer.

She is married to a tall, dark, and handsome guy, and plays mama to two sweet baby girls. She is a voracious reader and wishes she had more time to knit scarves to keep her warm during the arctic Michigan winters.

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The Ground Rules Undone By Roya Carmen ♥ Excerpt Reveal

We are delighted to share with you the excerpt reveal from The Ground Rules:Undone, the anticipated conclusion to The Ground Rules Trilogy by Roya Carmen.

And now, there are no Rules.

I love them both, but I can’t have them both. While one pulls me in, the other pushes me away. And when both eventually open their hearts, I must make the hardest decision of my life.

And now there are no Rules. We are Undone.

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The Ground Rules #1

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The Ground Rules : Rewritten #2

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Gabe takes my hand in his. “We’ve had a great week, haven’t we,” he says. “I’m so glad we did this.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Me too,” I say, looking up at him. I sit up and press myself close against the length of his body, smothering him. I want to get as close as I can. I press my lips against his.

The sound of his laughter vibrates against my mouth. “You’re a frisky little bunny this week,” he breathes. “I like it when you can’t get enough of me.”

My hands are already working the tie of his checkered lounging pants. “I want to make love tonight,” I whisper against his ear. And as I explore further, I see he’s already willing and able.

He toys with the thin strap of my silk nightie. “What the Mrs. Keates wants… she gets.”

He trails his finger along the embroidered flowers lining the neckline of my slip. “This is nice,” he whispers. “It’s almost a shame to take it off.”

I smile. “But I want you to.”

He drags his hand to the hem and slides it up against my thigh. “Me too. I absolutely want you naked,” he says with a cheeky smirk.

He pulls the nightie over my head. The sensation of the smooth silk is heavenly against my skin. He pulls me to him and takes my breast in his mouth. He’s gentle tonight. I feel my body warm at the feel of his wet tongue on me. I close my eyes and bury my face in his soft hair.

Familiarity is a wicked bitch – it makes you forget what you really love. I’d forgotten how much I desire him. I’ve taken him for granted.

I had forgotten the feel of him, the soft curls wrapping around my fingers when I rake my hands through his hair, the soft hair on his forearms, the smoothness of his skin, the feel of his hips pressing against the inside of my thighs, the sheer size of him as his length fills me deep.

He pulls me under him in one swift move and stares straight into my eyes. But he can’t see what’s really there – all the secrets I’ve hidden from him. I pull him close, not wanting to look into his eyes. His mouth tugs at my ear softly, his hands slide up my legs… he’s being playful. I take in every detail of him with my hands… of this last time.

He tugs my panties down and plants a kiss just above my hip bone, where his name is etched on my skin.

When he makes his way back up to me, I reach again for his pants and free him.

Tucked in under the cozy quilt, his naked body finally presses against mine.

He kisses me as he sinks into me gently. The old rustic wrought-iron bed clanks against the wall and squeaks, despite the fact that he’s being very gentle. We smile at the sound, his grin pressed against mine.

I relish the feel of him against me, and I try not to think too much. This might be our last time. After all these years, my soul mate and I might be torn apart. I can’t imagine not seeing him every day, not waking up next to him, not being able to joke around with him like we do so often, and not being able to play…

I push his body away from mine gently, my hand pressed on his stomach. “I want to see you.” I want to see his beautiful body pressing against me. The contrast of his ink-covered dark olive skin against my ivory snow white flesh is so erotic.

I take a mental photograph of him, of every detail. Because I know this is the last time I’ll get a chance to appreciate this view.

He presses down against me again and stills. “I’m sorry… we need to stop,” he breathes against my ear. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight… you drive me crazy.”

“Please… don’t,” I breathe. I don’t need to climax. I don’t care about that tonight.

All I want is to make love to him one last time.

I write contemporary and erotic romance under the pen name Roya Carmen.

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