Monday, May 11, 2020

Out now, #newrelease from author @BethDCarter Read a story #teaser #dystopian erotic #romance and we interview Beth @evernightpub




Those Who Survived Part One
      Lainey is one of the few that survived the virus that ravaged the human population. In order to remain safe, she stays away from people, preferring to live on her own. Not trusting anyone. Until one night she’s attacked and rescued by a stranger who insists that there’s still good in the world.
      Nolan has a fantastical story of a new civilization in Canada, and urges her to go with him. Lainey doesn’t know if she believes him or not, but the unknown is enough to scare her away. Yet day after day he slowly breaks down her walls, opening her up to the possibility that she might be strong enough to take a chance not only on him, but herself as well.

Read a story excerpt


“You’ve amassed quite a bit of provisions.”
“I scavenged the homes of people who left. I never went into the ones where the dead were.”
“Because the houses had become tombs?”
She sat down on the couch. “For a while, when the wind would blow a certain way, I would catch a whiff of the dead. It made me want to throw-up. I think the remaining people made an exodus out of here because of the smell.”
He sat down next to her. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“Didn’t really have anywhere to go,” she replied with a shrug. “I’ve thought about leaving for a long time but always wondered where would I go? What would I face out there? Without a solid plan, it just seemed too risky.”
“And you don’t take risks,” he concluded.
“No, I don’t.”
“I was a risk.” He tapped his chest. “Bringing a stranger into your sanctuary was a huge risk.”
“You had a dozen times you could’ve hurt me,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Something tells me I can trust you and my instincts are rarely wrong. You can help me put the fence up so I’ll be protected, and then you can continue on your journey.”
“There’s another option you know.”
She cocked her head. “What’s that?”
“You can come with me.”
This was the second time he’d mentioned that, and like the last time, she shook her head. “I’m not cut out for that type of unknown. Besides, I don’t know you.”
“You know me more than you think you do. Come on, name three things you know about me.”
“I don’t-”
“I bet you could quote just about every English lit novel ever written,” he said, interrupting her. “You don’t trust that easily, but when you do, your devotion is complete.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And your least favorite color is red because it reminds you of blood.”
She blinked, completely taken aback. “How could you possibly know all that?”
He shrugged. “Observation. Come on, say three things about me now.”
“You…used to be in the navy. And you’re from Arizona.”
He nodded. “And?”
“I, uh, don’t know your least favorite color. Or your favorite.”
“I like green and hate purple,” he said. “But you got two out of three. That’s a start.”
She admired his confidence but didn’t hold out much hope he’d be around long enough for her to learn anything else about him. All the while, ignoring a little voice that had been gaining volume in her head, pushing her to do that very thing. To run. Escape. Yet fear held her back.
“You’re wrong, you know,” he murmured. “The person who would bike ride all the way

from Malibu to Sherman Oaks is completely up for an unknown adventure.”

Let's hear from Beth now as she visits the blog

1.What was your inspiration behind this book?
I love writing about dystopian worlds because you can basically create your own version of the future. And since I happen to like writing about women who don’t know their own strength, this genre lets my imagination soar.
2. Do you ever find yourself slipping away and becoming so immersed in your  story it affects how you relate to others?
Yes.  I’m an introvert to begin with, but when my brain is filled with how to write the next scene I can go for days and forget to call my mom or put off grocery shopping until the next day, and then the next day after that.  Before I know it, a week has gone by without shaving my legs.  Gross.
3. Are you in any of your books?
There’s a little bit of me in every book, I think.  Maybe it’s just a random thought or a gesture, but something of me is in all my characters. 

4.  Are you a plotter or a pantser?
Total pantser, although in my mind I do have an idea of where the story is headed.  My characters always surprise me when they make a one eighty from where I thought the story was going.  But as a writer you should always listen to your characters, because they’re basically your muse talking to you.

5. What is your favorite line, or scene, that you wrote in Come With Me?

I had a difficult time coming up with a title for this story. I wanted something clever but one line kept jumping from the page: Come with me. Nolan says it several times to Lainey. I eventually reached a point where I realized that one phrase meant everything.

6. If you could choose, which published author would you like to brainstorm with and why?

Lisa Kleypas because I love how she paces her novels and I’d love to pick her brain on how she plots them out. Or Julia Quinn because she’s hilarious and I have a feeling she likes wine like I do.


7. When you were little, did you ever think you'd be a published author? What was your "dream" job as a child?

My dream job as a child was being Indiana Jones.  When that didn’t pan out, I became responsible by going into the medical field. Being an author was always in the world of fantasy. I grew up in the early Eighties in the backwoods of Missouri, so no, I never thought in a million years I’d be a published author.  Thank holy heck for modern technology!  Ebook publishing opened up doors to me, and to many talented authors, to make our dreams possible.


8. What was the worst job you ever had while working towards being a published author?

I worked one day as an assistant to a urologist. I thought seeing penises all day long would be cool but come to find out, there’s a big different between thirty year old penises and seventy year old ones. 


9. And last, do you have anything you would like to say to your current readers or to those that haven't yet read your work(s)?

First, I’m a really funny person but my humor is dry, bordering on sarcastic. I put a lot of that in my stories, usually in the form of a sidekick or secondary character. Second, I write stories because I want people to read them.  I write for the love of writing.  And I love feedback.  Yes, I’m trying to make a living but nothing makes me happier than to get an email from someone saying they liked something I wrote (or if you didn’t like it, please nicely tell me why it sucked).  So drop me a line anytime to say hi…you can find me on Facebook, Twitter & Instagram:


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Sunday, May 3, 2020

Book Six in @LisabetSarai 's #FF #BDSM #erotica out now. Read a story #teaser.

New Release!
D&S Duos Book6
By Lisabet Sarai

MF and MMF BDSM Erotica
Approximately 12,000 words
Smashwords and Amazon KDP
ISBN (Smashwords): 9780463666326
ASIN: B087HHF835



Two searing tales of erotic surrender

Blurb

Muse

Of course she’d dreamed of being a slave. That was obvious on a close reading of any of her romances. The passion leaked out, even in the tamest of her kinky scenes. Yet when the Master she’d craved appeared, at first she didn’t recognize him.

Détente

I don’t want to surrender, but I can’t help it. I’m dizzy with instantly kindled lust. He nips at my lips, probes me with his tongue. He drinks me in, consumes me. Between my thighs everything melts. The room begins to smell funky, as though he already had me naked and open before him.

Also includes an X-rated excerpt from Babes in Bondage: Vegas Babes Book 5.


Buy Links







Add on Goodreads: 


PG Excerpt – from “Détente”

I tried to choose, ten years ago. I married David, traveled the world with him, settled down, as much as I’m ever likely to. My ties to Eric wouldn’t let me rest.

I would dream of his voice commanding me, his hands alternately caressing and tormenting me. I craved the sensation of him ravaging me until I was too sore to walk. I yearned for the near-telepathic connection we shared when he called me to his dungeon and bound me to his service.

Give me your body – give me your mind,” he had whispered in my ear on that night long ago, when I was young and impressionable, before I’d ever met David. Malleable, he called me, gently mocking. Indeed, he molded my desires into strange and fearful shapes. Lust, obsession, love, whatever you want to call it, it flowed between us like currents of fire.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough to keep us together. His sensitivity could turn into irritability. His sense of power could dwindle to miserable inadequacy. He was intuitive, but didn’t always share his insights.

I was young, as I said. I reacted instinctively to his desire, but I didn’t really understand his heart. I thought that I was nothing more to him than his slut, and never would be.

Meanwhile David exploded into my life and swept me off my feet with his quirky gallantry. We skinny-dipped under the full moon, drank vodka and pondered philosophy until dawn, spent entire Sundays in bed feasting on each other’s bodies.

David wrote me poems and sang me the blues. He took me to the strip clubs in the seedier part of town, then later plowed me with long, slow strokes while we fantasized about the dancers. He recounted picaresque tales of his travels, bus trips through jungles in Sumatra, hurried couplings under the bridges of Paris, epiphanies in the mountains of Peru. He promised to take me with him on his next set of adventures.

I married David. Eric still hasn’t forgiven me.


About Lisabet

Lisabet Sarai became addicted to words at an early age. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – over one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genreparanormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Youll find information and excerpts from all Lisabets books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. Shes also on Goodreads, Pinterest, and  Twitter. Join her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh





Friday, April 24, 2020

He's a little more than mysterious #FirstChapterFriday from #PNR #vampire #romance @elodieparkes @evernightpub

From, A Little Mysterious

Chapter One

She’d seen him for the first time about eight weeks ago when he strolled into the bar, an hour or so after dark. Every night since, he’d come in and sit on a stool where he could talk with her as she served customers. Every night, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

The bar was on the high street and attracted an eclectic mix of clientele because of what was on offer there. Alcohol was served, as well as coffee and tea from a range of exotic sounding blends that appealed to the people who worked in the offices around that part of town. Food was available, cold, well-filled sandwiches on various breads, or hot bistro meals. Both excellent, and the place did a great trade at lunchtime as well as in the evening. The bar hummed with happy, satisfied people.

None of the staff minded that Daisy occasionally stopped to talk with the man, even though he occupied a central stool, never bought anything except a cup of coffee when he first arrived, and a Vodka cocktail about half an hour before he left.

Her boss, Ivor, joked. “Daisy, the guy obviously likes you, although, he’s a little mysterious. But hey, those two items he always buys add up, in the long run.”

Ivor knew Daisy worked hard, and now she had no family left, he looked upon her kindly, as if she was his own daughter.

It took four weeks for the customer to speak to Daisy, apart from giving his two orders. During those weeks, as usual, he watched her serve at the bar. She felt his eyes on her. When she was out at the tables clearing the used dishes, she would secretly look at him. She found him so attractive her heartbeat would speed up whenever she saw him push the smoked glass door open, and enter the bar.

He was unusually pale. His short, spiked, hair was blond and his eyes a shade of ice blue so that the overall impression of him was ethereal. When he first walked in eight weeks ago, he wore square, black sunglasses. His overcoat was heavy, and also black. His collar was turned up and the sleeves were so long they almost covered his hands. The weather had warmed considerably since then. He kept the sunglasses, but now wore a black jacket over his black jeans.

Daisy liked the way his eyes were fringed with long dark eyelashes. She thought he wore kohl until she was close to him, talking, when she saw his eyelash line was naturally dark. He was very good looking. His mouth was enticing. Daisy longed to run her fingertip over those perfectly shaped lips. He was tall and muscled. He wore a gray marl T-shirt under the jacket. He never wore anything different. Daisy wondered if it was a uniform of some kind.

In the past two weeks, she’d learned that his name was Dhruv. It added to his strangeness. Daisy had never heard the name before and found it exciting. He told her he was just passing through town, and she laughed, saying he’d been around a fair few weeks to be “passing through.” They hadn’t exchanged other personal information and only made small talk.

Tonight, it was past nine when he walked in.

Copyright Elodie Parkes, Evernight Publishing

 Buy the Book
 
5 stars on Readers' favorite

"A Little Mysterious is a steamy love story guaranteed to burn up the sheets and the story of how Dhruv came to find Daisy was fantastic. Although this is a short story, Parks packs it with all the right details to make us not only care about the characters, but about how their story turns out."




Wednesday, April 15, 2020

A new Gateway Ranch release from @CRMoss #romance #PNR #romanticsuspense Read a #teaser



Thank you for having me on your blog! I’m happy to share with you and your readers my latest release.

First is some information about the series and the book…
Nestled within the hills of central Texas is a special ranch. A place that defies the laws of physics—that of time, space, and dimensions. It’s a place where normal morphs with the paranormal and supernatural. A place that seems to know what a person’s true desires and needs are, and then allows the right circumstances to occur to fulfill those wishes.
Welcome to the Gateway Ranch.
Your gateway to all things possible…
About the Book
To Be His by C.R. Moss
I’m Professor Arianna Perez, and I’ve been asked if I’ll ever trust, let alone love, another man again. After dumping an abusive boyfriend, I doubted I would. At least, that’s how I felt until fate had sexy wrangler, Gavin Bishop, reappearing in my life in a way I never expected.
Against my better judgement, I fell hard for the cowboy, believing everything he said, including how he wanted to treat me like a queen and keep me safe. Little did I know, though, that the circumstances that brought us together could also tear us apart…
And possibly claim my life.


Now a peek into the story…
Read an Excerpt for To Be His by C.R. Moss


As Gavin made sure they were secured behind the gates with plenty of water and some hay and feed, I strolled down the center walkway. Two horses had been left behind from the morning’s rides, but they didn’t seem too upset. I cooed at them as I passed by. When I arrived at the end, I peeked down the left row and the right one, taking in all the tack and saddles hanging on the wall and lining the workbenches on either side of a few doorways.
“Ari? You okay?”
“Yes, just being nosy,” I replied and turned to head back over to Gavin, who happened to be leaning up against one of the empty stalls next to the horse, Ebony, I’d ridden. He’d hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans and had one booted foot up against the door. The tilt of his head and hat cast shadows, nicely shading the angles and planes of his face. Dust from the trail coated his boots and some of his clothes.
Perfectly rugged and sexy.
The artist in me wished I’d brought sketching materials along so I could capture the moment. Or better yet have kept my phone on me. I could have snapped a picture and then painted him later in the privacy of my own space where I could let my fantasies flow free.
A slight movement on his part revealed his eyes. The intense, direct stare of his gaze made me question my decision to roam the building. Unsure of the nearby exits, I glanced away from him and closed my eyes.
I had to fight the panic sprouting within me. Ever since childhood, when my friends and I almost couldn’t escape a theater during an emergency, not knowing escape routes tended to give me anxiety. Chad hadn’t helped either. When his treatment grew rougher, I always tried to make sure I had a way to leave. Not knowing if a doorway leading to the outside was behind me or not made me antsy.
Gavin’s not that lying cheater Chad. Gavin wouldn’t hurt me.
But did I really know that for sure?
Slowly, I turned my head and opened my eyes. An empty stall containing what looked to be fresh hay sitting in a pile in the back corner caught my attention. The ground appeared to have been cleaned.
Fighting the urge to run, I looked back at him.
His gaze had grown passionate, and his lips had curled into a rakish smile.
My heart fluttered. My knees went weak. The atmosphere seemed electrified.
Any hints of anxiety were swept away due to the sensual magnetism pulsating between us, and all my thoughts fled. Save for one.
What would it be like to have a roll in the hay?

Buy To Be His by C.R. Moss here…
Universal Buy Link for To Be His ~ https://books2read.com/ToBeHis  


About the author…
Author Bio
An eccentric and eclectic writer, C.R. Moss pens stories for the mainstream and erotic romance markets, giving readers a choice of sweet, savory or spicy reads, usually within a sub-genre or two — paranormal, sci-fi/fantasy, time travel, or western flare. She also has a passion for penning dark fiction. Writing as Casey Moss, she delves into the darker aspects of life in her work, sometimes basing the stories on reality, sometimes on myth. No matter the path, her stories will take you on a journey from the lighthearted paranormal to dark things unspeakable. What waits around the corner? Come explore… www.caseymscorner.com
Author Links
Blog/Website – https://caseymscorner.com/
More Gateway Ranch books can be found at: https://threeflamespublishing.com/series/


Thursday, April 9, 2020

SALE—Fluffy by Julia Kent (@jkentauthor) is Only 99c April 6-17! #sale #99c #romcom #romance #comedy


SALE—Fluffy by Julia Kent (@jkentauthor) is Only 99c April 6-17! #sale #99c #romcom #romance #comedy


FLUFFY
Author: Julia Kent
Release date:  April 30, 2019
Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance
Cover Designer:  Hang Le
Editor: Elisa Reed
Audiobook narrator: Erin Mallon

99¢ SALE – add audio with Whispersync and/or Audible Escape

Description:

It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it did.

I’m a professional fluffer. It’s NOT what you think. I stage homes for a living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits.

Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I’ll wait.

See? That’s the problem. My career has used the term “fluffer” for decades. I didn’t even know there was a more… lascivious definition of the term.

Until it was too late.

The ad for a “professional fluffer” on Craigslist seemed like divine intervention. My last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent was due. The ad said cash paid at the end of the day.

The perfect job!

Staging homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies in making a certain kind of movie. Turns out a “fluffer” doesn’t arrange decorative pillows on a couch.

They arrange other soft, round-ish objects.

The job isn’t hard. Er, I mean, it is — it’s about being hard. Or, well… helping other people to be hard.

Oh, man…

And that’s the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the movie set. Will Lotham – my high school crush. The owner of the house where we’re filming. Illegally. In a vacation rental.

By the time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house staging gig turned into a nightmare involving pictures of me with an undressed naked star, Will rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete.

My job turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know what’s easier than I ever imagined?

Having all my dreams come true.


Buy links:

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2COKLmQ

Amazon Audio:  https://amzn.to/2Vm0cdF

Print: mybook.to/fluffy

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2TjDjqS  

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down

Social Media Links:

Newsletter:  http://bit.ly/2PIBi9n

Read a teaser

It is time to DANCE! Find a partner and hold each other’s hands, facing one another.”

Five women start walking toward Will.

Mal?” Shyness infuses his question, sending chills up and down my arms and legs. They settle at the base of my neck, riding shotgun next to the arousal centers of my nervous system. He’s adorable, one hand out to me, eyebrows slightly up, blue-green eyes asking to dance with me but hinting at more.

Or... am I inventing that part?

Sure,” I say, instantly regretting my answer. Does it sound grudging? He doesn’t seem to think so as I take his hand and stand before him, tall in my high heels but he’s even taller. Looking at him from this height makes him even more human, more masculine, more real.

My heart skips a beat.

But the music sure doesn't.

Now, the ‘man,’” Philippe starts, using finger quotes because there are several female-only couples in the class, “puts one hand on the woman’s waist. The right hand.”

Will complies.

It’s like sticking my finger in a light socket and orgasming at the same time.

His left hand takes my right hand and he holds it, strong and firm, smiling at me with a boyish grin that makes me feel instant remorse for hurting him today.

I’m sorry I bashed your head in,” I whisper, moving near his ear, our mouths inches apart.

There is a gap between us. My lungs live there, in that space. They breathe. I don’t make a move. My autonomic nervous system works without intention. If it didn’t, I’d die.

Because I would hold my breath forever in Will’s arms.

Philippe is moving from couple to couple, adjusting positions, commenting and correcting.

Closer,” Philippe says right behind me, the press of his firm palm against my lower back a shock as he pushes me into Will, closing that gap.

My autonomic nervous system gives up entirely.

Look into each other’s eyes,” Philippe commands, his accent making this even sexier. “When you dance, you show your love with your hips, your eyes, your languid grace. You are making love in public with your bodies, fully clothed.”

Is Will holding his breath, too?

Your hand goes here, Mallory,” the teacher says, taking my left hand and putting it on Will’s shoulder. My breasts brush against his chest, our breathing ragged. I try to look away, but we’re too close. All I can do is look at his eyes or his mouth, and right now, both are so, so dangerous.

No one else in the room exists. The light that bounces off the polished floors is ours. The murmurs and giggles in the background are ours. The way he breathes my air and I inhale him is ours, too. We’re touching, my thigh against his, and every warm part of Will Lotham’s front half that is decent to display in public is rubbing against me.

Except his lips.

Now, take one step forward,” Philippe says. “Together.”

Will steps on my foot. Hard.

I make a very unfeminine sound and start to pitch backwards. Tightening his grip on my waist, his hand sliding, open and splayed, across the small of my back, he saves me from a complete wipeout.

But that save has its costs.

In an instant, all traces of that teenage girl in me are gone, disintegrating, turned to stardust that sweeps off me like a fine spring breeze. I am all woman now, mature and wanting.

All I want is this. Now. The man before me, his arms warm and assured, grasp confident and bold.

And very much wanting me back.


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