Category Archives: Evernight Publishing
Wicked Wednesday Reads: Bomber’s Moon
Oh, look — it’s Wednesday, which means you need a little something extra to help you over Hump Day. Never fear, for today I’m here with Raven McAllan’s amazing new historical erotic romance Bomber’s Moon, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of erotic romance. Take it away, Raven!
I never thought, as a child and asking my mum, dad, gran (known as nan) and aunts to ‘tell me a story about the war’, that all these years later, I’d still remember those stories and use them as the basis for a book.
I’m so glad I did.
When I first had the idea for Bombers Moon, I just knew it would be set in Northamptonshire, where my mum as a teen was evacuated to, with her employment.
As much as the idea of a book set in London, in the blitz intrigued me, all mum ever said was ‘it was scary, noisy and as your granddad worked for the railways we got out own railway employees and families tube station to hide in’.
Then I remembered the tales of Northamptonshire. Of being locked out, getting stuck up a wall, although not knickerless—well I don’t think so *wink*. How they used charcoal or gravy browning to put ‘stocking seams’ up their legs, and bought wooden clogs and clacked around the draughty old stone-floored manor house they lived and worked in. The older ladies who worked with them, got so sick of the racket, they clubbed together and bought my mum and her friend a pair of slippers each.
My aunt went out with a Yank (as all American service men evidently were called), another relative fell off her bike and was rescued by a farmer, and evidently mum did dance with the local lord of the manor.
Thus, Bombers Moon was born.
Who gets caught by the man of her dreams bare-assed and halfway up a wall? Lady Chrissie Stride, of course.
It’s just her luck that she encounters Baronet Archie Duggan. On top of that, the house her London employers requisitioned to keep its staff safe from The Blitz is locked. Climbing the wall seemed like a good idea, until Archie turns up. At least he doesn’t seem to know it’s her.
Archie recognizes Chrissie almost immediately. He never expected to meet her again in deepest Northamptonshire. This time around he is determined to claim the woman he loved and lost. With the war on, priorities change, and love is too important to conform to niceties.
Will the star-crossed lovers finally find their happily ever after?
Story Excerpt
Chrissie gulped. He was big—everywhere. She looked downward, her vision drawn to his long thick cock, which stood out proudly from its nest of hair. She averted her eyes from the crisscross of scars on his leg and arm. Those she understood, he neither wanted to think or talk about just then.
And that’s going to fit in my daffodil? The euphemism used by so many of her friends seemed silly now, but there was no way she could use the words she heard bandied about so freely in the pub or by the older women at work.
Honey pot! That’s it. Merle’s expression came to her. My honey pot! Or Pussy. Okay I can live with that, but…cu… She couldn’t even think the word.
She looked at his body with frank regard. Who knew if she’d ever get a chance to see him like this again? Out of the corner of her eyes she saw the scars on his leg and arm were still red, angry-looking and pronounced. She bit her lips to stop her moan escaping and held back tears. It was hard not to cry for all he and thousands of others had been through and were still going through. But yet again, her eyes were drawn in one direction. His massive erection stood out stiff and proud. Chrissie gulped, her earlier fears resurfacing. That would really fit inside her? Oh, my.
Archie correctly read her expression. “Not only fit, but a perfect fit,” he assured her. “With room to move. Come and lie down here.” He walked to the bed and rolled back the sheet and blankets before kneeling awkwardly in front of her. “Hold on a sec, something needs doing first.”
It was on the tip of Chrissie’s tongue to tell him she’d do it, whatever it was, when it hit her that he didn’t want help or sympathy. He wanted to woo her. Her insides turned to mush. How perfect.
“Think we’ll have these off as well. Can’t ruin nylons, can we?” He rolled them down before putting one hand behind her, unhooking her brassiere, and putting the clothing on a chair. The pressure that moving the straps down had put on her chest immediately lifted, as Archie ran his thumbs over the swell of her breasts, and chuckled.
“God almighty, Chrissie you are so bloody receptive for a virgin. It’s marvelous. I’m going to enjoy showing you what we can do together.” He pinched each nipple in turn and kissed the nape of her neck as he kneaded her breasts.
She could tell he’d had plenty of practice. Her pussy clenched at the unwelcome thought of him doing all these things with someone else.
Grow up. He’s almost thirty, and there’s a war on.
“Now, let me see. What have we here?” Once again he kissed one nipple, then the other. “Time to itemize I think. Two breasts perfect to fit my hands. Two nipples to suckle.” He moved his hands to let his fingers play with her clitoris, teasing her hairs, and her navel. “One cunt all for me.”
Chrissie blushed. Why could he say that with such insouciance and she not even think it? It must be a man thing. However, emboldened, Chrissie licked her lips, heard him groan and then reached out to touch Archie’s manhood. His skin was warm and soft and he jolted and moaned as she feathered her fingers over him. One step further than she’d ever taken. Only once had she dared rub him through his trousers, and his groan had her moving her hand in a hurry.
She mimicked his movements, kissed his nipples, and then, heartened by his response, bent double to put the tip of his penis in her mouth and taste the juices there. They were salty and thick. Chrissie rolled them over her tongue as she remembered a leaflet one of the girls at school found in her brother’s room and brought to class to show them. Crudely written and badly produced, the drawings had them all giggling and blushing for weeks. She wondered just how many of her peers had tried what it suggested. Chrissie moved and circled Archie’s tip with her tongue again.
I could get used to this. The more I do this, the bigger he gets. A thought crossed her mind. Would he get too big for her? It wasn’t a question she felt she could ask.
Archie groaned, and she tried to pull back, scared she was doing something wrong. “Hell, Chrissie, that’s so damned good, I’ll come,” he said in a strangled tone. “For the Lord’s sake, get onto the bed and give me a chance to get inside you.” He moved over her, his tip barely touching her curls.
“Archie, what if I don’t want to, you know…” She didn’t know how to put her fears into words, and flapped her and in the air like a demented owl flapping its wing. It was lucky he understood her incoherent beseeching.
“No problem, darling. I’ll come like a gentleman.” He indicated the towel laid in readiness beside him. And moved again, nearer and nearer, and waited. “Yes?”
Chrissie held her breath. This was it. “Oh yes.”
His cock twitched, and without conscious thought, Chrissie opened her legs wide, ready to welcome him. This was it. Soon she, Chrissie Stride, would no longer be sweet and innocent but a woman of the world.
There was a loud hammering on the farmhouse door.
“What the bloody hell?” Archie stopped mid movement. His position looked precarious as he kneeled half on and half off her.
A voice, gruff and urgent, was shouting.
“Mr. Archie, Mr. Archie. Come quick. The rick’s on fire!”
Saved by the bell, she thought hysterically as she watched Archie scramble into his clothes, his cock being most reluctant to be treated in such a way. Not that she’d wanted saving. In fact, she felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t right. She’d at least climaxed. Goodness knows how Archie felt, still unreleased so to speak.
Where to Buy
Evernight Publishing
All Romance eBooks
Amazon UK
Amazon US
Bookstrand
About Raven McAllan
Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
Her very understanding, and long-suffering DH, is used to his questions unanswered, the dust bunnies greeting him as he walks through the door, and rescuing burned offerings from the Aga. (And passing her a glass of wine as she types furiously.)
Website | Blog | Facebook Personal Page | Facebook Author Page | Twitter
Nicola’s Progress Reports
Since I was poked by my buddy Peter on this:
Palace of Scoundrels (Empress sequel) – 1,645 words since I spent a fair amount of time outlining the thing. Nonetheless I’m hoping to have this done by RT — I would like to have it out and available, but that may not be possible. We’ll see.
Behind the Iron Cross – 76,039 words and I’m storming into Act Three as we speak. This one is gonna take mega editing, though.
Cross Current (Olympic Cove #4) – 3,538 words, and I came up with a refinement for my main character that is extremely organic and effective AND makes the story more diverse.
“Do No Harm” (Dark Captive antho entry for Evernight) – 1,520 words. This is the one I really have to focus on since the deadline is March 15th. It’s also the most difficult of the bunch because, well, here’s the antho description:
Dark Captive will be a collection of dark erotic romance stories featuring alpha men with fierce sexual appetites. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. And they have their sights on one man. Possessive and bold, these heroes give their conquests exactly what they crave—to be taken … to be owned. Any resistance offered will be tested, but in the end love rules.
So, dubcon with a romance and HEA/HFN. Kinda hard to do that effectively in less than 25K words, but I think I found a way to make it work.
I’m also trying to catch up on some desperately needed housework in my spare time, but I think I’m breaking down and paying for a professional spring cleaning of the place after I get back from RT. My blue collar South Side soul is screaming blue murder at this, but my professional writer brain is saying, “You can spend time cleaning or you can spend time writing. Which is more productive and satisfying to you? Plus if you hire a service you’re pumping money into the economy, and you can give them mega tips to shut up that screeching soul of yours.” Works for me.
Wicked Wednesday Reads: The Dragon In The Stone
Oh, look — it’s Wednesday, which means you need a little something extra to help you over Hump Day. Never fear, for today I’m here with Doris O’Connor’s delightfully naughty romance Dragon in the Stone, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of erotic romance. Take it away, Doris!
Thank you so much for having me on your blog with my Naughty Fairytale, The Dragon in the Stone, which is an erotic twist on Beauty and the Beast.
I always say I find inspiration in all sorts of places and this story is no exception.
The idea first came to me during a walk with my kids last summer. As we were meandering past the stream in one of our local parks, my ten year old daughter piped up.
“Look mummy, that’s the stone that looks like a dragon.”
She pointed toward a rock formation that made up one side. Now, I’ll be honest I didn’t see a dragon, just rock, lol, but she was adamant it was a dragon. As were the other kids, when they looked.
So, it got me thinking about this girl who sees the dragon in the stone. The idea was born, and when the lovely Rhonda in my reader Group, The RavDor Chicks asked me to write dragon story… the rest is history as they say. J
The Dragon in the Stone was my NaNoWriMo effort last year, and you know with the awesome Gary Taylor as my visual inspiration for Lord Drorgan, my fingers flew.
You can check out my Pinterest board for this story here: https://uk.pinterest.com/dorisoconnor/the-dragon-in-the-stone/
Not only did I win NaNoWriMo, but I had the story submitted and accepted by the end of November, something of a record for me, I tell you. And that was with me wanting to bash Dorgan’s and Rhonda’s heads together, at time. They’re as stubborn as each other, and I was beginning to despair that they ever would get it together. When they do… well, he’s a dragon and things get HAWT in an entirely different way.
*winks*
I loved writing these two, and I hope my readers will too.
Penance needs to be paid come what may…
Several Centuries ago Drorgan was cursed into stone. Every twenty five years he is given one night and one day to find the woman willing to accept him in both forms.
It’s the price to pay for his past behavior.
As a lost, lonely little girl Rhonda Butterbaugh was rescued by the dragon in the stone and she has never forgotten her fierce protector. It sparked her fascination with all things dragon. If only they were real. There are no such things as fairytales, however.
When she is attacked on her way home, and wakes up in a cursed magic castle, complete with a fierce dragon shifting lord, her life takes a turn for the surreal.
Determined to break the curse and rescue Drorgan and his kin, she hasn’t counted on Drorgan’s resistance.
Dragons aren’t supposed to be noble.
Story Excerpt
She’d have that cute crease between her brows, screw up her nose and stick her tongue out as she concentrated on her task. Thoughts of her tongue sweeping across her lips, and her teeth no doubt sinking into the soft flesh, made his morning wood turn to stone. Without even thinking about his actions he took his rock hard dick in hand and stroked lazily up and down the shaft, while his hungry gaze roamed over the curve of her ass. The fire flared to life, rendering her shift transparent, and he fisted his erection faster, seeing the darkened cleft of her ass cheeks.
His dragon roared to life with the need to claim his woman, and Rhonda gasped and whipped around to face him. While the action hid her far too enticing ass from his view, it exposed her heavy breasts. The nipples hardened under his intense stare, and he could clearly make out the darker color of the surrounding areola through the fabric covering. It made his mouth water with the need to taste, as did the restless way his girl shifted from foot to foot. The increasing wetness he sensed between her legs wrenched a growl from him, and the most delightful blush spread over Rhonda’s pale skin.
Her breathing sped up and her pupils dilated, and she’d taken several involuntary steps toward him before she realized what she was doing. Shaking her head she frowned as though surprised at her actions, and Drorgan grinned. The fact that she responded like that to him without any coercion on his part spoke volumes of their connection.
Magda’s instructions rang in his ears, and despite his misgivings he couldn’t have put a stop to what was happening between them, if his life depended on it. It might be utterly selfish of him, but he was tired of fighting what he felt for the woman in front of him. He was so damn tired of being alone, and Rhonda was a grown woman, not a child. She’d had countless opportunities to flee, to reject him, and not once had she done so, so maybe he just needed to accept this … whatever this would turn out to be and go with it.
The future was his for the taking again, and God help him, he wanted Rhonda in that future, as his mate, his wife, and God willing one day the mother of his children.
“You’re awake.”
Her whispered words shook him out his self-examining thoughts, and kicking the rest of the sheets off, he let go of his dick, and put his hands behind his head in a silent invitation.
“Very awake in more ways than one, my little dragon, and in need of your attention.”
He smirked when she gasped and let her gaze roam all over his naked body. The way she was eating him alive with her eyes, the way her breathing grew laborious, and her heart rate kicked into overdrive … it made his cock jerk. Her gaze snared on that body part, and she licked her lips. Right now in this moment it was the most erotic sight ever, and Drorgan wished with all his might that those lips were wrapped around his shaft.
“Don’t let me stop you. Keep on walking over here, little dragon, and take what you so clearly want.”
He held out his hand to her, and Rhonda gave one of those cock hardening little mewls, that told him how turned on she was.
“I thought we were going to talk about…” His dragon snarled his impatience, and she blanched, even as her sweet musk intensified. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, wrapped her arms around herself, and her toes curled under as her thighs flexed.
“We can talk if you want to, or I can take care of that ache in your cunt, while I fuck your mouth with my cock.” A strangled sound escaped his girl, and sitting up, Drorgan swung his legs off the side of the bed. He took a firm grasp of his cock and started to fist himself. Drops of his pre-cum appeared on the hugely swollen head of his dick, and he hissed his pleasure through his teeth as he swiped his thumb through the sticky evidence of his arousal and used the natural lubrication to slap his hand up and down his cock.
Pleasure built instantly from the base of his spine, and he grunted his approval when Rhonda’s hand strayed to her cunt.
“Yes, fuck yourself on your fingers for me. Take that blasted shift off, and let me see how wet you are. How much your cunt is aching for my cock, and if you’re a very good girl you might even get to taste it soon.”
“God, yes.” Her strangled whisper reached his hearing over the roaring of his own blood, and he increased the motion of his hand on his cock, as she fumbled with the ribbon holding her shift together.
“So fucking beautiful.” He grunted the words, as her shift fell to the floor, and leaned forward better to see the flushed skin on display for him. “Fondle your breasts and spread your legs, so that I can see my cunt. That’s my girl.”
Flames licked across his skin as his dragon went wild, seeing Rhonda comply with his wishes so beautifully. Breaths seesawing out of her lungs she tugged on the tips of her pink nipples, until they elongated and hardened further. Her pussy lips opened as she spread her legs, revealing the darker tissues contained within. Drenched in her juices, her inner lips quivered and her little hole clenched, pushing more of her arousal down the inside of her thighs.
“You’re so fucking wet for me, girl. Tell me do you still want to talk, or shall I show you what it means to be my mate?”
Where to Buy
Evernight Publishing
Amazon
Amazon UK
All Romance eBooks
Bookstrand
Barnes & Noble
About Doris O’Connor
Doris is a writer of sensual, sassy, and sexy tales involving alpha heroes to die for, and heroines who give as good as they get. From contemporary to paranormal, Time Travel, Sci-fi, BDSM, F/F, M/M, and Ménage, haunting love stories are guaranteed.
Happily married for the last twenty-five years, she lives with her husband and their brood of nine in a far too small house filled with love, laughter, and chaos.
Website | Reader Group | Tsu | Twitter | Facebook | Pinterest | Evernight Publishing
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Mid Week Tease: The No Frat Clause #MidWeekTease #MWTease
Happy Wednesday, folks! I’m running around like a headless chicken trying to get everything packed for Wild Wicked Weekend (more on that to follow in another post), so today I’m teasing you with a hot new romance from H.K. Carlton — enjoy this snippet from her delightful office romance The No Frat Clause.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Fresh out of college, Lexi Wideman lands an entry level job at a lucrative recruiting firm. Only six months into her tenure, she’s offered a major promotion—executive assistant to Roger Kent, the company’s coveted corporate headhunter. Older, irresistible, and ruggedly handsome, Roger Kent turns her into a liquid pool of need with just one smoldering glance. But the opportunity is just too good to pass up this early in her career. Lexi must find a way to remain professional while panting after her boss.
Roger Kent is thrown off guard when the company execs all of a sudden decide he needs an assistant. Perhaps he does, but Lexi Wideman is not the girl for him. She’s smart, young, and gorgeous. It’s hard enough trying to keep his eyes off her. Working in such close proximity, day after day, it would only be a matter of time before his hands followed.
So much for the No Frat Policy.
Excerpt
All of a sudden the lights flickered once again, and the lift jerked.
Lexi grabbed my thigh in panic. “Oh God!”
Oh God was right. Any higher and she was going to get a rock-hard handful.
I wound my arms around her, and we held on as the elevator came to shuddering halt. The lights went out entirely, plunging us into complete darkness. The hydraulic hum of the mechanics powering down droned. Then there was silence except for the clicking of the cables.
“Ohhh …” Lexi said in alarm.
“It’s okay. Take it easy,” I reassured her. “The auxiliary lights should come on in a second when the generators kick in.” But seconds ticked by and nothing happened.
“What’s happening?” she asked, her voice warbling.
“Power outage from the storm I’d say. Guess you were right, we should have taken the stairs.”
“Oh boy.” I felt her take a deep shuddering breath. She shifted, centering her back to my chest, and relaxed into me. I tried to maintain some distance, but there was no help for it, with her perfect little ass snugged right up against my upper thighs. There was no way she missed the massive bulge in my pants. She tensed, but she didn’t pull away either.
I inhaled her familiar scent. Another bad idea. It was just as arousing as the rest of her. She smelled fanfuckingtastic.
Her breathing became erratic. I was afraid she was about to panic.
“We’re okay. Relax.” I ran my hands up and down her arms.
She melted into me.
“Do you have your cell phone?” I asked in a tight voice. “We could use it for light. And-or call for help. At least let someone know we’re in here.”
“No, I left mine at the office. You?”
“I think I tossed mine in the briefcase. It’s down here by our feet somewhere.”
A ringing noise made us both jump.
I released her and groped in the dark until I found the little door containing the emergency phone. “Hello?” I answered in a clipped tone.
“What’s your name, and how many are with you?” a gruff voice barked.
“Roger Kent. There are two of us. Myself and my assistant.”
“We’re working on getting you down. Try not to panic.”
“All right, but can you do something about the auxiliary lighting?”
“The generators should engage anytime now. Sit tight.”
“Okay, we’ll sit tight. As if we have a choice,” I said as I hung up.
From the awkward way I’d been leaning, I straightened up slightly, rearranging my hips back into the corner. “We’re gonna be a while,” I said and reached for Lexi. It was pitch black. I couldn’t make out a goddamn thing. “Where’d ya go? Christ, it’s dark.”
“I’m searching for the cell.” Just then my palm made contact with a nicely rounded hip. Oh fuck, she was bent over in front of me. I followed the soft plump curve as she rooted through the briefcase. I closed my eyes and took long, slow inventory of her shapely backside. I stifled a groan, but it escaped as more of a grunt.
Slowly, she straightened and turned in my direction. The low light from my cell screen glowed, illuminating the space between us.
The tension between us was palpable. She stared at me. Her lips parted. I don’t know what she saw in my expression. One of us made a growling sound. I suspect it was me.
Simultaneously, she dropped the phone and reached for me as I grabbed for her. I sought her lips hungrily as the darkness enveloped us once more. She moaned something incoherent into my mouth.
In a wild frenzy, we nipped and sucked at each other’s mouths, our hands roamed free and greedily. My cock lengthened to painful proportions.
Lexi arched into me, her ample breasts pressing against my upper chest. She squirmed as I tried to gather her sweet backside in my greedy hands. Lifting her, I thrust my hips at her, leaving no doubt as to what I wanted.
In answer, she pressed her pelvis against me. The pressure felt amazing, but I wanted more.
“Yeah,” she cried softly. “Yeah …”
Fuck yeah!
Buy Links
Amazon
Evernight Publishing
All Romance eBooks
Bookstrand
About H.K. Carlton
H K Carlton is a multi-published Canadian author of romance and its varied sub-genres, including contemporary, paranormal, historical, family saga and erotica.
I enjoy writing in many different genres. I write where the muse takes me and make no apologies for it. By now, it’s quite safe to say I will never pick just one genre and stick to it. There are just too many possibilities and stories left to tell. Today time-travel, tomorrow sweet historical romance—the next release might be, down and dirty erotica or ménage. I hope you’ll join me for the ride.
Variety is creativity’s playground—It’s where you’ll find me.
Website/Blog | Twitter | Facebook Author Page | Facebook Timeline | Evernight Author Page
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Happy anniversary to me!
Facebook’s Memories function has just been kind enough to remind me that three years ago today I got my acceptance from Evernight on Storm Season. My exact post on the topic was:
So, yeah, uh, I just sold my first standalone novel, Storm Season, to Evernight Publishing. Um…I’m a novelist. So what do I do now?
The answer is, write another novel, of course. Which I did, and I thank each and every one of you out there who has been buying them and chivvying me to write more. Y’all rock.
Speaking of books, writing continues apace in the Cameron manse. I’ve started on Palace of Scoundrels (the Empress sequel) and I’m flipping back and forth between that, Iron Cross, and Cross Current depending on my mood. Hey, it works for a lot of bestselling authors so why not me? But three books (plus a short story, plus another project that I’ll announce here in due time) apparently isn’t enough for my sozzled slavedriver of a muse, since she’s been prodding me to write a MF contemporary standalone like you would not believe. Thing is, it has some really deep, relevant hooks for me so I think it’s got to go on the To Be Written list (which is now stretching to 2020 and beyond).
At least it means you have lots of reading material to look forward to, right? That’s what I keep telling myself.
In other news, I’ll be at Wild Wicked Weekend this weekend in San Antonio and I’ll have print copies of Storm Season, HIS: Manlove Edition, and Empress of Storms with me, so if you’re coming and want a copy please hunt me down. This is my first romance convention where I’m a signing author, so I’m both excited and a little nervous. I’m putting together a gift basket and bringing swag, but I still have to learn the lay of the land and what’s expected from an author at such events (e.g. this ISN’T a science fiction convention so the graphic t-shirts will probably be left at home).
And yes, there will be pictures. And I’ll give you a full report on our outing to the Lair (San Antonio’s premier BDSM club). Pity I can’t wear what I wore to the Rubber Ball in London, muwahahahahaha…
Fabulous Friday Reads: Waking the Lioness
TGIF! Let’s kick off the weekend with Amber Morgan’s purrfectly wonderful new novel Waking the Lioness, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of fine erotic romance. Take it away, Amber!
I’m a werewolf girl first and foremost, but my second-favourite shifter is definitely the werecat. Although the term “werecat” only really came about in the 1970s, there’s been myths and legends about humans turning into cats forever. In European folklore there are stories of witches turning into domestic cats. In Africa, leopard gods and goddesses would take human form and mate with mortals, and their offspring would be shapeshifters (hmm, now there’s a story idea…). In Asia, the ghosts of people killed by tigers could become evil beings called Chang, who made sure that tigers killed even more people!
And in America, where WAKING THE LIONESS is set, we have were-jaguars. In Mesoamerican cultures, priests and shamans would wear jaguar skins to become jaguars themselves. There are also stories of bipedal felines – kind of like Bigfoot, but, you know, cats. There doesn’t seem to be much about shapeshifting mountain lions, but that’s the beauty of being a writer – I can make it up! I’m hoping that WAKING THE LIONESS will be the first in a series of werecat stories, because there’s just so much to explore! In the mean time, I’m looking forward to you meeting Lara, Zane, and Tate, and getting to know my werecats very, very intimately.
Convinced she could never give her fiance what he truly wanted, cat-shifter Lara Carey walked away from her home and her engagement, and started fresh in New Orleans. One year on, she’s never stopped missing Zane Walker…but it’s too late to do anything about it, isn’t it?
Zane Walker hasn’t come to New Orleans to find Lara, but when chance throws them together, his passion for her is reignited. There’s just one problem. Zane’s new lover is missing somewhere in New Orleans, and even if Zane and Lara find him, can Lara accept him and Zane?
Story Excerpt
She smiled, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. “Is Tate the jealous type?” she asked, flexing her fingers. Zane let out a long sigh.
“Lara, this isn’t—”
She moved in front of him, sliding her hand down his torso until she cupped his balls. Another ragged sigh. Lara licked her lips and kissed his throat, nipping lightly. The smell of male arousal mingled with her own musk. She kept her eyes on Tate as she teased Zane, raking her nails over his balls and rubbing her thumb across that soft, sensitive stretch of flesh beneath, just the way he loved. If Tate was the jealous type, she could be making a major mistake here, one she’d never recover from.
But Tate didn’t look angry or jealous as the dull glaze faded from his eyes. He looked…curious.
Zane groaned as she encircled his hardening cock. He pulled her hard against him, crushing her breasts to him with just the right balance of pleasure-pain. She whimpered as he dug his fingers into her hips, silently urging her on.
She worked her hand slowly up and down his shaft, her other hand making lazy trails up and down his chest. It had been so long since she’d been with anyone. The slightest contact burned like wildfire, and this was Zane, the only man she’d ever loved. Breathless with desire, wound tight with need, it was impossible to pretend she did this only to force Tate into a shift. She was doing this all for her own selfish pleasure and she wasn’t going to stop. And if Zane’s reaction to her touch was anything to go by, he didn’t want her to.
On the bed, Tate raised his head and chirped at Zane. Zane raised his head, a little growl escaping his lips. “You know the rules. You want in, you shift,” he said in a voice thick and throaty with desire.
The words caught Lara off-guard. They implied so much with so little. So much history, past threesomes maybe. Her heart skipped. Did Zane think… Would she even…?
Her stomach filled with butterflies as she realized she would. Dammit, she was so starved for skin contact, so – yes, still so in love with Zane, that she would. She’d take both men. Excitement raced through her. She’d take them both and savor the thrill of it.
Tate shook his head and pushed himself up, his wounded back leg clearly hampering him. Lara’s hand faltered for a second, worried he’d hurt himself worse, but then Zane’s hand closed over hers. “Finish what you started,” he growled.
Where to Buy
Evernight
Amazon US
Amazon UK
AllRomance eBooks
About Amber Morgan
Amber is the secret identity of a writer who normally pens urban fantasy, but feels like stretching her wings. Amber loves darker romance, anti-heroes, good red wine, and expensive chocolate (sometimes all at once). She’s based in the UK and lives in an adorable cottage with her dream man and two stupid snakes.
Why, yes, I’m still alive
Sorry about the extended radio silence. I was in the Chicagos for the second half of January hanging out with Younger Nephew while his mom and dad went on a very well-deserved vacation, and then while I was there YN gave me a rather juicy cold that knocked me on my ass once I got home.
That being said, the enforced downtime in bed meant that I have binge-watched a goodly chunk of Downton Abbey, Series 1-3 (damn you, my good sister, for introducing me to this between-the-wars quicksand). And may I say that I would give a pretty for a lady’s maid right now? Someone who could brush my hair, fasten my shoes, lay out my clothing and run my bath for me, especially when I feel like I’ve been hit by a car, would be absolutely lovely. Granted, I’d also have to work on getting her martyr of a husband out of jail, but I feel that would be an acceptable compromise.
That being said, I have risen from my sickbed and am now clean, coiffed, and dressed so I feel it’s time to get back to work and continue to craft the cleverly saucy erotic romances that I am known for (do you know how HARD it is to stop talking like that? Crikey…). As February has begun I’ve started outlining the sequel to Empress of Storms (working title still to be determined, and suggestions are being accepted), with the idea of publishing it at the end of March. I’m also finishing (yes, still) Behind the Iron Cross (ironically DA may wind up informing a lot of the editing), and I had a whopper of a plot development while I was in Chicago that will require me to scrap the first chapters of Cross Current. That being said, this new plot point is kinda amazing and gives the main character some real issues to overcome while he figures out what he’s doing at Olympic Cove.
Back to Empress of Storms, I’ve crunched the numbers for its first quarter and I’m very pleased to announce that it has become my bestselling title for any given quarter. From November 7, 2015 to January 31, 2016 I sold 745 copies through assorted online retailers, and made $1525.38. After deducting promotion and production costs my net income for Empress was $1227.82. Not too shabby for the first book as Nicola M. Cameron in a subgenre I’ve never written in before, hey? Moreover, it confirms my determination to continue as a hybrid author because that is obviously where the money can be made, and while I love entertaining you all I do kinda need to help Ramón keep a roof over our heads and kibble in the cats’ bellies. The nice thing is that the upward selling trend is continuing, so hopefully I can ride that for the next two months while I get out the sequel.
Oh, and the moderately fevered bingewatch of Downtown Abbey may have spawned an idea for a dieselpunk M/M series about a great estate that secretly serves as His Majesty’s first line of defense against arcane, supernatural, and paranormal attacks on the Empire, and the wolf shifter who gets sucked into all this after a brief dalliance with a man who turns out to be the estate’s heir. I’ve been describing it as Downton Abbey meets Girl Genius with a heavy dollop of Harry Potter thrown in for flavoring. It’s going to be sexy and dangerous, but with huge lashings of humor as well.
So that’s me settled for the first half of 2016!
Mid Week Tease: Cross Current #MidWeekTease #MWTease
It’s Wednesday? Awesome! Because I have a little teaser for you from the beginning of Cross Current (Olympic Cove #4). No, it’s not very sexy but I haven’t gotten to that point. Yet. Muwahahahaha…
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
“If you’ll sign here, please.”
Matt Taber wrote his signature on the indicated line.
“And here.”
Another line, another signature.
“And one last time.”
The same slightly scrawled name, black ballpoint ink pressed into grooves. The lawyer’s office printed out their documents on the nice heavy paper made for laser printers, not the thin general purpose stuff.
Nothing but the best for the death of a marriage.
“That should do it,” his lawyer said. He exchanged a nod with the other lawyer, their steps done in this particular dance.
Across the table, Matt’s now-ex-wife Nancy sat with her hands neatly folded, a politely blank expression on her face. After ten years of living with her, he still couldn’t read it.
Then again, he didn’t have to try anymore. Giving her a brusque nod, he stood and followed his lawyer out of the conference room.
“That went pretty well, I’d say,” the lawyer said. “Although I still think we should have held out for community property.”
Matt shrugged. “I don’t want anything from her.”
That wasn’t quite true. But it was far too late in any case. And God knew the last thing he wanted from her was money.
He nodded through the rest of the lawyer’s litany, agreeing to stop by the office for the final payment. And then he was alone in the granite-clad hallway, surrounded by expensive air and time that was counted in billable hours.
“Matt.”
He turned. Nancy stood at the door of the conference room, elegant as always. Today she wore a cream tailored jacket and skirt over a champagne silk blouse that would go straight from a divorce lawyer to her VP office at a major bank without anyone batting an eye.
The regret washed over him again. I loved you, I really did.
I’m sorry.
She pursed her mouth as if hearing his thoughts. “I’m not going to give you some ridiculous platitude about how this is the best thing for both of us,” she said, kind and blunt at the same time. “I wasn’t happy and I wanted out, simple as that. But I also know you’re hurting right now, and I’m sorry about that. You’re a good person, Matt. You’ll be able to find someone who’s a better fit for you.”
Matt let a slow breath roll out. “I thought you weren’t going to give me some ridiculous platitude.”
One black eyebrow rose in an elegant curve, her equivalent of a laugh. “You have a point. I’ll be back from Hong Kong in a month. Will that be enough time for you?”
“Yeah, plenty.” The house on Chinook Lane had been hers before their marriage. He admired the building, but never felt at home there. It was like living in something out of an issue of Architectural Digest. “I can swing by and check the mail every couple of days if you like.”
“No, I already put a hold on it at the post office. But I appreciate the offer.”
“Okay.” He stared at the woman who, with a handful of signatures, had gone from his wife to a stranger. “Well. Have a good flight.”
“Thanks.” She leaned forward and brushed cool lips across his cheek, then turned and walked away.
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Wicked Wednesday Reads: Cupid #holiday #christmas #erotica #romance #shifter #paranormal #pnr
Whee, it’s Wednesday and Christmas is right around the corner! Let’s celebrate this with Lucy Felthouse and her delightful new holiday romance, Cupid, now available from Evernight Publishing and other online retailers of fine erotic romance. Take it away, Lucy!
As a postman by day, and one of Santa’s reindeer on a single very special night, Cassius Cupid eats, sleeps, and breathes deliveries. He doesn’t mind, but sometimes wishes that someone would send him something more exciting than bills and junk mail.
One cold January morning, Cassius gets his wish. A young woman arrives with a parcel. Turns out it’s for his housemate – but Cassius doesn’t care. All he’s interested in is Carina – the beautiful female courier.
Has Cupid finally met his match?
Story Excerpt
Cassius Cupid woke with a start, and then sat bolt upright in his bed. Shit, I’m going to be late! was his first thought.
Milliseconds later his brain switched on, and he remembered. He was on holiday. Flopping back onto the warm mattress and pillows with a contented sigh, he smiled. No work for fourteen whole days—it was going to be utter bliss. He stretched, relishing the feeling it created in his sleep-softened muscles. Ahhh…this is the life.
He knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep—hell, it was eight o’clock, which was practically the middle of the day for someone in his profession—so Cassius fell to thinking about how he was going to spend his day, not to mention the several others in front of him. God knew he deserved to relax and have some fun. He’d just emerged from the busiest part of his year, and he was more than ready to do some chilling out.
He enjoyed his job as a postman—he really did—but the Christmas period was a total killer. He idly wondered how many cards and presents he’d delivered over the past few weeks. It didn’t bear thinking about. Once you factored in the festive period itself, the weird few days between Christmas and New Year, and then the flurry of mail that got sent when everyone went back to work properly at the beginning of January, he’d racked up some serious deliveries. And that was before you even thought about his other job—which was for just one day a year, but was arguably more important than the other 364 put together.
Cassius—or Cupid, as he was known to his boss and colleagues in his second, but most important job—was not only a regular postman for the Royal Mail, but also a reindeer. For a single day of the year, Cassius had the supernatural power to transform into one of Santa’s faithful steeds and help pull that famous magical sleigh, delivering presents to excited children the world over.
Therefore, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Cassius really did eat, sleep and breathe deliveries, but not for the next fourteen days. All he planned to do was watch some TV, read some books, maybe go out hiking, meet some friends… basically anything that wasn’t delivering something to someone. Hey, he might even receive something through the post himself—preferably not the usual crap; bills and junk mail. He didn’t hold out much hope.
He lounged in bed for another ten minutes before realising he was lying there just for the sake of it. Being on holiday didn’t have to equal staying in bed all day—and certainly not for someone as active as him. He reached over to his bedside table, grabbed his glasses and put them on. Throwing off his thick duvet, he walked to his bedroom window and peeked out through the curtains, immediately glad of the effective central heating he and his housemate had forked out to have installed the previous year.
The outside world was covered in a thick layer of snow, and Cassius was mightily glad that he wasn’t out delivering letters and parcels. The stuff was treacherous enough without having to carry a heavy bag up and down driveways, paths, and pavements — most of which either hadn’t been cleared, or had been cleared badly, leaving incredibly slippery patches of ground for an unsuspecting postie to come across. God knows he’d gone down enough times, but, much to his relief, nobody had ever seen him do it. He’d always been relatively unharmed—excerpt for his pride, of course—and had been able to scramble back to his feet and carry on.
The eerie silence outside was broken by the rumble of an engine, and Cassius turned his head to look up the street—he lived in a cul-de-sac, so he knew that’s where the vehicle would come from—and watched as a delivery van made its way slowly and carefully down the road. He hoped the driver was sensible enough to try and steer over the thickest parts of the snow—the more people went over and over the same patches, packing it down, the more the road surface resembled an ice rink. And since the cul-de-sac was on a slight hill, it was easy enough to get stuck. He’d seen it so many times—even going outside one time last winter to suggest the driver go down to the bottom of the road, turn around and try reversing up the hill—an almost foolproof plan for vans with rear-wheel drive. He’d gotten a big thumbs-up for that suggestion as the driver finally got to the junction where the road became flat, and went on his merry way.
As the van drew closer to his house, he saw that the driver was a woman. That would explain her cautious driving—he’d never admit it to one of his drinking buddies, but women were far superior when it came to driving in adverse weather conditions. He even thought he’d seen some survey containing statistics that proved it.
Where to Buy
Evernight Publishing
Amazon
All Romance eBooks
Bookstrand
Goodreads
Abo
ut Lucy Felthouse
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 140 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women’s Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk. Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9.
Nicola’s Sunday Shoutout: Liv Rancourt
Today’s Sunday Shoutout goes to Liv Rancourt and her delicious new erotic romance The Secret of Obedience, now available from Evernight Publishing and other purveyors of fine erotic romance. Take it away, Liv!
Ronnie Durand is a country boy who transfers to the University of Washington after two years at Central. He’ll have to give up playing football, though finishing his education at a major university in Seattle – and being out and proud without having to look over his shoulder – makes the sacrifice worthwhile.
But finding friends at a huge school is tough, especially when the hottest guy Ronnie meets makes him doubt his own sanity.
Sang’s been on his own a long time. He’s only a couple steps away from living on the street, and he’s got dreams so big they don’t leave space for a steady boyfriend. Then he meets Ronnie, who just might be strong enough to break through his barriers….as long as Sang lets him in on one big secret.
Story Excerpt
Sang wants to spin, to expand into the space. He shows his desire in the way he raises his arms and sweeps the floor with his gaze. He’s wearing a simple white wife-beater over his jeans, but it’s topped with a long navy double-breasted coat with gold trim, the kind of thing worn by Union soldiers in the Civil War. It fits like it was made for him, and my palms burn to touch it.
I move deeper onto the dance floor. I’m broader, wider, and the crowd packs tightly around me. I get as close to Sang as he’ll let me, belly to belly. He’s only about 5’4″, and when he turns his back, he presses his ass against my thigh.
I take it as an invitation. Keeping one hand on his shoulder, I let the other wander. He reaches behind, grabbing handfuls of the denim wrapping my legs. I stroke his throat, bend down to tell him how pretty he is, chicken out and do nothing but breathe in his ear.
Bodies crush, sweaty and raw, shifting us to the center of the floor. My dick’s engaged in an argument with the fly of my jeans. I let my hand drift lower, across Sang’s chest. His small nub of a nipple hardens under my fingertips, but no softness surrounds it. If he’s really a girl, he totally got shortchanged. I sweep my fingers wider. Nah, these pecs belong on a man.
I move my hand lower, going slow, giving him time to stop me. I stick my thumb into a belt loop. He grabs my wrist, tight.
“What?” I ask. The bare, light toast skin of his neck is inches from my lips. I could taste him. I want to. Over the stink of sweat and too many colognes I smell him, some warm spice scent like the incense Mom used to burn.
He brings his mouth within kissing distance. “Don’t.”
“What you got under the hood, pretty? You packing a V6 or a V8?” I want to kiss him, to taste him, to admire this perfect jewel of a person.
“V6 or V8.” He grins, and it’s the curve of his lower lip when he smiles that I’ll remember, like his mouth is held by a chalice. “Does it really matter?” he asks.
It does, but not in the way he thinks. I leave off my search, but don’t move my hand from his belt. See, my stepdad threw me into football when I was eight. I was good at it, good enough nobody messed with me. The locker room’s not known for being a gay-friendly place, but being able to dead lift 280 pounds at age fifteen bought me some peace.
I’m still a guy, though, and I like lovers who are smaller and prettier than me. Call me a cave man. Whatever. Sang is my small-town boy’s fantasy, and the press of his body has me so turned on I’d think about doing him even if he’s actually a she.
My fingers are trembling with the need to touch, to know.
“Come on, Sugar Cookie. Does it matter?”
I lean in, drawn like his lips are the center of a flower and I’m one very horny bee.
“Oh no.” He jerks away, his gorgeous smile extinguished. “No kissing. I don’t kiss strangers.”
Puzzled, I reach out. He’s hemmed in by the crowd, so it’s nothing to loop my fingers under his shirt and draw him closer. “No kissing, then.” Some guys are like that. He rocks against me, straddling my thigh, giving me a taste of the hardness in his groin. Hell yeah.
“Is your ID legal?” Because somehow it matters that he’s at least 21. I can’t keep the grin off my face. His dick is going to be gorgeous, and I’m going to suck it, and he’s going to scream.
“Of course.” He’s not frowning anymore. He’s sly and shimmering and a little mean. “I do love a man in cowboy boots. The rest of it…” He brushes his hands down the sleeves of my plain white t-shirt. “Not so much. But I’ll do you for your boots.”
I get both hands around his waist and drag him further up my leg. He hangs onto a handful of my shirt. I’m not sure his feet are even on the floor. The song changes, or maybe it doesn’t. They all sound the same. My cock is pressed against him hard enough to make me grit my teeth. “Let’s go.”
His heavy eyelids drift down until he has to tip his head to maintain eye contact. “Bathroom?”
I guess it’s that or an alley. “Sure.”
He grabs my wrist roughly and leads me through the disorganized crowd. We go right past the men’s room to the women’s. “Less crowded,” he says over his shoulder.
The restroom smells like piss and semen and sweat. We find a stall, and I get down on my knees before he can argue. The floor is sticky, but I figure I can’t catch anything too scary through my knees, and from there I can nuzzle his belly.
“Are you always like this? I like a nice toppy guy, you know, but he’s gotta be able to—”
I don’t hear what he thinks a guy’s gotta do seeing as I’ve covered his mouth with my hand, smearing gritty sticky lipgloss with my fingers. The bossy little fuck has just dragged me in here like I’m some kind of prized bull, and now he’s gonna whine about me? There are crinkles of laughter at the corners of his eyes.
“Sang?” I’m not sure what the question is. The door to the stall is at my back, and I’m wrestling with the buttons on his very tight jeans. “Hey, I’m new in town. You should treat me like a guest and let me do what I want.”
He drags my hand away. “Now you just wait a minute. What do you think I’m going to let you do? Because if you do anything I don’t want, I’m going to scream.”
“You’ll scream, all right.”
Where To Buy
Evernight
Amazon
All Romance eBooks
Barnes & Noble
About Liv Rancourt
I write romance: m/f, m/m, and v/h, where the h is for human and the v is for vampire … or sometimes demon … I lean more towards funny than angst. When I’m not writing I take care of tiny premature babies or teenagers, depending on whether I’m at home or at work. My husband is a soul of patience, my dog’s cuteness is legendary, and we share the homestead with three ferrets. Who steal things. Because they’re brats.
I can be found on-line at all hours of the day and night at my website & blog (www.liv-rancourt.blogspot.com), on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/liv.rancourt), or on Twitter (http://www.twitter.com/LivRancourt). For sneak peeks and previews and other assorted freebies, go HERE to sign up for my mailing list.
Come find me. We’ll have fun!
Nicola Cameron Writes 