Posted in Books, Teasers

Featured Author Lea Bronsen

A Teaser Post to Brighten this Wednesday, featured authored Lea Bronsen. Lea is proudly sharing an excerpt and cover from her latest erotic work, Shade Addiction. Lea describes the book as having a ‘touch of love’, so enjoy what unfolds. Happy reading!

Ex-boxer Mike Logan struggles to put a brutal past behind and make ends meet as a bus driver. When a young runaway settles for an all-night ride, he seizes the chance to do a good deed—get her home safely. But first, they’ll drive around and talk.

What he doesn’t anticipate is that this broken night angel is also a sexy little minx needing a lot more…and not just the gentle kind.

**This is an expanded edition of the story previously featured in the anthology Passion, Pleasure, Pain in 2019**

#Dark #Erotic #Romance

‘Shade Addiction’ Excerpt:

She gives me a long, languorous look. I think I know what it means: She’s interested by my wild side. Dark attracts dark. She believes she’s found the same kind of fallen angel as she is, a soul mate.

Wrong, kiddo. What you need is someone good, not broken like me.

She reaches over the table to pat my chest. “So hard. Jesus. You definitely work out.”

Her touch sends electric sparks to my groin. My cock pulses. I push her hand away. “Don’t do that.”


“It’s inappropriate.”


I sigh. “I’m thirty-two, you’re what?”


“Nineteen, that’s very young. I could easily be accused of taking advantage of you. Did you see how the waitress treated me?”

She crosses her arms underneath her boobs. “But I’m an adult, and I have boyfriends.”

“You have boyfriends.”


“Like, many?”

“Yeah.” She holds my gaze.

I don’t know why I had to make a deal of that.

She continues, “So, it’s not like I’d let anybody touch me if I didn’t want them to.”

“Well, I don’t want you to touch me. Let’s go.”

Author, Lea Bronsen

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser–White Oak/Black Mahogany

Hello all:

For this Tuesday Teaser, I am excited to be sharing excerpts from my latest work, “White Oak, Black Mahogany”. Below you find the excerpts, as well as the book cover and buy links. Happy reading!


Excerpt from “Black Mahogany”:

Before whoever stood on the porch could ring the bell again, Mike yanked the door open. “Yeah? Do you have any idea what time it is?” His mouth dropped open at the half-naked spectacle waiting outside the door.

Aidan Kelly laughed as though he could see Mike’s expression. He resettled the quiver of arrows on his bare back. “Mind if I come in?” he asked sotto voce. “It’s damn cold out here.” He pinched one of his hard nipples as if for emphasis.

Mike stepped back. “Yeah… Damn! Did you walk here like that? Without your white cane?” He tweaked Aidan’s other chill-hardened nipple. “Not to mention without a coat?”

Aidan stooped and caught up a small bag that had been hidden by a convenient pile of snow. A winter coat peeked out of the top.

Mike’s father — or Mike in recent years — always kept the porch snow-free whenever possible. Mike snorted. “Come in, you sneaky pain in the ass.”

Once Aidan was inside with the door closed behind him, Mike took the backpack and set it out of the way. He spotted Aidan’s white cane tucked into a loop on the bag’s side, and his smile grew. “Do you want a blanket, Cupid? You’re going to freeze your diaper off.” He tugged at the sheet tied around Aidan’s waist and up between his legs. It would have been a passable costume, especially with the authentic bow and the crepe-paper-tipped arrows… if the pseudodiaper hadn’t featured a well-known superhero.

Excerpt from “White Oak”:

A deep voice shattered the serenity of the early afternoon. The rich, rolling baritone was like polished redwood, somehow a delight Mike could feel and see as well as hear.

The song wallowed at the beginning: “Oh man. Go home. Your husband, he is ill.”

Here the song leaped free of its muddy start and danced on marble in a falsetto so ridiculously high and thin that Mike stifled a laugh. “Is he ill? Well, give him a pill! Oh, my dear Franz, just one more dance! Then I’ll go home to my poor husband. Then I’ll go home to my old husband.”

The singer’s voice came from both ahead of him and above. Mike followed as the dialogue continued: the deep voice said the husband was worse; the falsetto replied that he wasn’t a nurse. So the first replied, “Your husband is dead!”

“Well,” returned the other, “then there’s no more to be said!”

Mike stood below a large oak. Between the ancient tree’s height and the eroding bank, he could just spot the singer a good eighteen feet above him. He stepped back, shaded his eyes, and listened to the final verse.

“Oh man, go home. Your husband’s will is to be read.

“Well, now that he’s dead, the Lord rest his head. No, my dear Franz, this is no time to dance. I must go home to my poor old man. I go to we-e-e-e-ep for my poor husband.”

Mike laughed outright, applauding. It wasn’t the raunchiest thing he’d ever heard sung or spoken, but definitely the crassest thing he’d heard at that volume. Whoever the singer was, he had balls.

“Thank you,” called the singer. The baritone was his natural speaking voice. “And who admires my talents?”

“Mike. And who are you?”

“Climb up here, if you can, and find out.”

If he could? He eyed the bank, spotted a root, and grabbed it. There wasn’t another close, but he caught hold of a stone, dug his heels in, and hoisted himself up until he was on what passed for solid ground again. Now the real work began. He could see the singer, a guy about his age, sitting about a quarter of the way up the tree, but there wasn’t a rope in evidence. How had he gotten up there?

Mike circled the tree. He wasn’t the tallest guy in town and had despaired of ever filling out like one of the linebackers. He’d been a running back in high school. A great player, quick and smart, but small compared to the rest of the team.

Someone had cut chinks into the wood on the far side of the tree. Grinning, he dug his fingers into the lowest one, which was almost out of his reach, and yanked himself up. With a grunt he settled on a branch roughly parallel to the singer’s.

“I see you made it,” the red-haired man said. He turned his head toward Mike and then away.

Holy fuck. It’s him. Aidan Kelly. How did the young man manage to look twenty-five at the board of education office and nineteen here? Besides that, the guy had to be only sixteen or seventeen if he was still in high school. Just how old was he? Where did he find the courage to sing about a couple of… Mike swallowed as Aidan shifted, muscles pushing at his dark T-shirt. His red hair, so neatly combed before, spilled down his neck and over his ears like frosting waiting to be lapped up.

What the hell am I thinking? Maybe he’s gay, singing a song like that, but I’m sure as hell not, and there’s no two ways about that. Frosting? Jeez!

Want more? Buy here:

Changeling Press:

Posted in Books, Teasers

Teaser Tuesday–Author BL Maxwell

For this edition of Teaser Tuesday, it is a pleasure to feature author is BL Maxwell, sharing a blurb and cover from their latest release, ‘Burning Addiction’. Happy reading all!

‘Burning Addiction’ Excerpt:

Benjamin and I spoke a while longer about what reasons the local vampires could be using addicts for other than to satisfy their curiosity, there really was no other reason for them to try to harvest humans this way. “Tell me more about the addict you treated, did he give you any information we could use?” Benjamin asked. I thought back again to earlier when I’d treated him.

“I only know what the paramedics told us when they brought him in. Which isn’t much, he refused to give us his last name.” He was more handsome than anyone I’d seen in years, and young, so young, too young to be so broken and so devoid of any hope. He tried to hide his emotions, but even though he was in a stupor from being on drugs and then having a seizure, his loneliness and desperation still felt palpable.

“Doesn’t seem like that’s all you know, seems like that’s all your willing to say,” Benjamin said, with an amused lift of his brow.

“I tried to speak with him, but he’s so defensive. He’s distrustful of anyone and everyone, I’m not sure he’d be much help to you.”

“He may know more than he realizes. If we could find out who he got his drugs from that would help.”

“I can ask him when I go back to work, he wasn’t talking much when I left. He’s lost all hope, and I think he was disappointed we revived him. He’s pretty far gone on the drugs.”

“I wonder if the drugs they’re giving out are different than the other street drugs,” Benjamin said.

“How do you mean?” I asked, the hair on my neck bristled at the idea of vampires working so hard to get humans addicted.

“Maybe they’re not only stronger to get them higher, but also more addictive. If they could somehow find humans who could survive the amount of drugs necessary for them to get high and still be able to pump them full of more, they’d have everything they need. Maybe they’re just putting feelers out there now in preparation for something else.”

“What could be worse than creating addicts only to bleed them dry and leave them for dead?” I asked.

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser: Huanita Maria, writing as HM Wolfe

Today, we are very happy to feature the work of Huanita Maria, writing as HM Wolf. Her latest release, written with El Nelson, is titled ‘Starlight, Star Bright.’ This is Book One of The Men of Dragons’ House series. Below, you will find a book cover, and excerpt for her latest novel, as well as a buy link from Amazon. Please Enjoy!

Ardan MacNamara finally has the life he didn’t even dare to dream about: happily married to his soulmate, Alasdair. The proud father of Lorcan. And he is surrounded by friends and family members whose respect and affection he’d won. Just when the man thinks all his obstacles are finally surpassed, the ghosts of the past come to haunt him.

Alasdair Stark is as happy as he can be, having Ardan’s endless love. The trust and affection of his husband’s son Lorcan and a stable career and professional reputation in spite of his very young age. Everything is perfect, until the fateful day Ardan’s past literally appears on their doorstep, threatening to destroy the harmony of their life.

As even more secrets are unearthed, Alasdair has to make some decisions that could alter more than one life. Is he ready to take the step and pay the price? And, when what he holds dearest, and nearest is threatened, what path will Ardan choose? Will, the love between the two men, stand the new trials, or will it go away?

‘Starlight, Star Bright’ Chapter 1 Excerpt:

“I have a confession to make.” Alasdair started in a low purring, seductive voice. ”I met this guy, and I fell for him. Hard.”

‘Well, same here.” Ardan smiled; his special smile meant only for his Spitfire. ”One day, about seven and a half years ago, I saw a little redhead who stole my heart and kept it. Truth be said, I never thought of asking him to give it back to me.”

”Lucky little brat! I hope he realizes what a great treasure you’ve trusted him with.” Alasdair mirrored the older man’s gesture from earlier, brushing his dirty-blond, damp hair from his forehead.

”I don’t know if the Spitfire realizes what his love meant and still means for me.” Ardan’s answer came in a nostalgic, sweet voice. ”He picked up the pieces of my shattered soul one by one and put them back together, making me whole again. I can’t even imagine how hard it must have been for him, to see the scars marring my body and soul, and love me in spite of them.” ‘

The guy I fell for was so sweet and patient with the douchebag I was back then. He believed so much in my potential and encouraged me to follow my dreams. He was with me every step of the way. I don’t know what I would have done without his constant support and enormous love.”

‘Well, since both of us love our men so much, I suggest we spend this night and the rest of our lives in their arms.” Ardan winked. ”What do you think?”

‘You are right, as always.” Alasdair closed the few inches of space between the two of them, burrowing his head, adorned by his wavy, bright-red hair, into the man’s shoulder.

Love it so far? Buy here:
Starlight Star Bright (The Men of Dragons’ House Book 1)

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser Featuring Jessica Coulter Smith a.k.a Harley Wylde

Welcome to another addition of Teaser Tuesday. Today, we have the pleasure of featuring best-selling author Jessica Colter Smith, a.k.a. Harley Wylde. Below, you will find an except from her latest work, ‘Ashes’, and the accompanying book cover. ‘Ashes’ is part of ‘The Devil’s Boneyard’ series. Should you find yourself needing more, please follow Jessica/Harley at these website links.

‘Ashes’ Excerpt:

“Tighter,” she said. “Hold me tighter.”
I shifted so I could put both her wrists in one hand, then gripped her throat with my other. She sighed and bit her lip. Jin fucked her harder, grunting as he came. When he pulled out, he removed the condom and tied it off before wrapping it in the foil package and shoving it into his pocket. I knew he wouldn’t chance leaving it where she could get to it.
“Your turn,” she said, smiling up at me.
“No, thanks. Not my type.”
I released her and stood up. Jin gave me a nod and I left, but not before I heard him command her to turn over, then the sound of his belt hitting her flesh. He definitely had a type, and they all kept coming back for more. Tonight’s choice was new, but I had no doubt I’d see her again. She seemed like the kind of woman to get off on being used.
When I rounded the clubhouse, I ran into some hang-around who apparently thought he was someone. I paused in the shadows and listened as he mouthed off to a club whore.
“Yeah, I’ll be patching in before you know it. These guys need my skills,” the punk said.
The woman ran her hand up and down his chest. “And what kind of skills are those?”
“Ran my own meth lab for a while, until the heat got to be too much. I’m the best around these parts when it comes to cutting drugs and selling shit.” He looked down her barely there top. “These assholes don’t know shit about the business.”
Oh, really? Not that we were into meth, but we had the pot sales locked down pretty tight. And we never sold to kids. There were some gangbangers around town who did that shit, and we got it off the streets as fast as we could. I had to wonder if this little asshole was one of the ones killing people with his fucked-up drugs. About six months back, there had been an epidemic of drug overdoses. Mostly meth.
“You’re smarter than them, huh?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. Won’t be long before I’m running this place. That old man will be stepping down or I’ll force him down.”
Now that I’d fucking pay to see. Cinder would flatten this dickhead without breaking a sweat. Enough was enough.
“So you can run things better?” I asked, stepping into the dim light off the porch. “Want to put your money where your mouth is?”
He looked me up and down. “You’re not an officer. Just a patched member.”
“Which is way above your pay grade since you aren’t even a Prospect. I suggest you leave and don’t come back.”
He barked out a laugh. “And who’s going to make me?”
I didn’t bother with words anymore. I wasn’t sure this idiot could understand what anyone said anyway. Hauling back my fist, I let it fly and nailed him right across the jaw. His head whipped to the side and he staggered back a step, but I wasn’t done. I whaled on him, blow after blow to his ribs, stomach, face. Someone needed to make an example so other little fucks like this one didn’t come around.
He dropped to the ground and I kicked him in the gut, then spat on him. “You are nothing. You’ve always been nothing, and you’ll remain nothing. No one would miss you if I ended your life right here and now.”
“You fucked up,” he said, then spat out blood at my feet. “I’ll end your sorry ass. You and all the others.”
“Finish it.” Havoc’s voice reached me from the darkness. He hadn’t been inside, but apparently had walked up in time to figure out what the hell was going on. “Now, Ashes. End this shit.”
I hauled the little shit stain up and hammered his temple until my hand throbbed. When he still wouldn’t fucking die, I snapped his neck and let him drop to the ground. Breathing hard, I glanced in the direction of Havoc’s voice and the Sergeant-at-Arms moved closer, coming into the light. He nudged the dickhead on the ground, then snapped his fingers. Two Prospects hurried over and hauled the body away. I didn’t care where they took it.
“You hear anyone else mouthing off like that, handle it. If you can’t take care of it, then let me know and I’ll step in. The last thing we need is a bunch of troublemakers trying to patch in.”
I gave him a nod and got on my bike, going straight home. This end of the compound was quiet, and dark. I went up the steps and flicked on the lights as I went inside. A cold beer sounded good and I grabbed one from the fridge, snatched a hand towel from the laundry room, then went into the living room and turned on the TV.
Adrenaline was coursing through me, and I needed sex as much as I needed air. The club sluts weren’t going to get the job done, though, and no way in hell would Renegade let me anywhere near his sister. So my hand had been getting the job done for a while now.
It sucked that my life had come to this, but meaningless sex just didn’t do it for me anymore. Hell, I couldn’t even get hard for the whores at the clubhouse. Those days were behind me. Keeping it from my brothers was going to get harder and harder though. For two years I’d walked that fine line, but a day would come when I couldn’t conceal my true feelings. They’d know something was up, but no fucking way could I ever let Renegade know I was a goner for his baby sister.
Flipping to one of the porn stations I streamed, I selected a movie and unfastened my pants. I downed half my beer before picking up the lube and slicking my palm. As the woman on the screen deep-throated the man, I started stroking. It wasn’t long before my eyes were closed, only focused on the sounds and picturing sweet little Nikki on her knees, sucking me off.
I tightened my grip, giving a slight twist on the downstroke. Faster. Harder. Everything in me grew taut as my balls drew up, then I was coming. I grunted as spurts of cum jetted over my hand, wishing like fuck I could do more than daydream about the only woman I’d ever wanted long-term.
Using the towel to clean myself off, I made sure I got everything off my hands, then tossed the towel to the side and picked up my beer again. I finished watching the movie, then called it a night after a quick shower.
Pathetic. That’s what I was… a pathetic excuse of a man, much less a biker.
If anyone ever found out I hadn’t fucked a woman in years, I’d never hear the end of it. I let them suck me off, sometimes. And I made sure they were satisfied, but my dick hadn’t been inside anyone since I’d fallen for Nik. I’d fooled around with my dates, but it never went all the way. My brothers wouldn’t understand. Especially since I couldn’t have the one I wanted. No way her brother would ever let her be with someone like me.
Copyright ©2020 Harley Wylde

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser Featured Author, Gale Stanley

Hello All,

Today’s teaser is courtesy of author, Gale Stanley. Gale is sharing an excerpt from her upcoming book, “Party Animal”, Book Six in the Roosters series. If you love what you’re reading, and want to know more, you’ll find media links below to the author website and a book cover for this release. Enjoy!

Party Animal Excerpt:

Chapter One

I stared at my reflection in the mirror and gave myself an eight out of ten. All those late nights were finally taking a toll. Would I give them up? Hell no! Life was a never-ending party, and the guest list changed every day. I liked it that way. Variety is the spice of life, after all.

But right now, I needed to do damage control. I read somewhere that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. If that was true then my soul must be puffy, wrinkled, and bloodshot. It wasn’t a good look. Thank God for eye drops. A few in each eye made my whites pop. I practiced my sultry green stare in the mirror. Not bad, but the bags had to go. I reached for the Preparation H and applied it liberally. My sister swears by the stuff.

I’d showered and shaved at home, but my hair needed a redo. My trademark look is a messy bedhead, black locks flying every which way. I don’t like to disappoint the fans and it’s easy enough to get the look. It’s all about a good haircut and a few styling tricks, like gel.

I stepped back from the mirror to check out my body. No problems there. Six feet, two inches of lean muscle thanks to an exercise routine that keeps me camera ready. No matter how late I go to bed, I wake up early and use the small gym in my apartment building. A good workout always makes me feel better. Today we were shooting early, so I did a short routine, just long enough to break a sweat and get my blood pumping. Then it was SSME, and I’m not talking kinky sex. Shower, shave, moisturize, enema. I like to be clean for the close-up shots.

Yeah, I bare it all, but it’s all for the sake of art. I’m not kidding. One of my first jobs when I came to LA was as an artist’s model. At first, because of my strict upbringing, I was uncomfortable posing nude, but eventually I realized that the human body is a beautiful thing. It was a liberating experience.

Today, I’ve convinced myself that filming is an art form. There are thousands, maybe millions of guys out there staring at my naked body. What I do prompts an emotional response and gives them pleasure, just like other art forms. Art is in the eye of the beholder, after all. It’s one hell of an ego trip.

Three raps on the door, a reminder that the crew was waiting. I let them wait. I’m the star and every porn director in town was frothing at the mouth to film me. I took my time, and then I slung a towel around my hips and swaggered into the studio.

The equipment was set up and the camera crew appeared ready to shoot my scene, the one that would make the video go viral. That thought kicked up my adrenaline.

“What the fuck do you do in there besides stare at yourself in the mirror?” The director beckoned me with a crooked finger and a scowl. “You’re keeping everybody waiting. Time is money.”

I walked over to Max and dropped the towel. My ten-inch prick slapped up hard against my six-pack. “You can’t put a time limit on perfection.”
Max’s beady eyes bored into mine. “Save it for your fan base, princess. I’m not interested.”

Liar! I felt my anger rising but tamped it down. No sense ruining my shoot. But the asshole knew I hate being called princess. He started that shit the day he hit on me and I gave him the cold shoulder. The creep told me he had a high-profile movie on the horizon, but I’d have to audition — a private audition at his house. Nobody loves to fuck more than me, but I’m discriminating. Fifty-something Max, with his beer belly and salt and pepper ponytail, doesn’t do it for me. Besides, I don’t need his help. I have a contract, and directors waiting in line for the day I decide to break that contract with Ramrod Pictures. “Suck me tender.”

“Hey dumbass, I’m the boss here. If you didn’t have a big shlong, you wouldn’t get any screen time.”

I picked up the towel and covered up my biggest asset. “Jealous much?”

Max looked like he was ready to blow steam but he clenched his jaw and nodded toward the king-sized bed. It was all decked out in white linen, the better to show off our tanned bodies. “I want you and Joey to do a fast run through, no sex, before we start filming.”

“Time is money,” I said, throwing his own words back at him. “I don’t need to rehearse.”

“Says you. Did you even read the script?”

“Course I did. Masturbate first, and then Joey walks in and gives me a hand. It’s not rocket science.” It was an easy scene. I could do it in my sleep. I never have a problem getting hard, especially when I know somebody’s watching.

“Okay Mr. Motherfucking-Know-It-All, do your thing.”

I sat on the bed and leaned back against the headboard.

Max spit out one word. “Action.”

I started rubbing my cock through the material of the towel. After a minute, I flung open the towel and let my dick take a bow. It was stiff and begging for attention but I ignored it. Slowly I ran my hands down my chest, tweaking my nipples until they were erect. It didn’t take long. My hot buttons are super sensitive. A delicious warmth spread through my groin. It was time to give my prick some attention. I gave it a few easy strokes, taking my time so I could show off my body. Occasionally I glanced at the camera with a smoldering gaze. Then I started jerking off in a steady rhythm. Nobody knows my hot spots like I do. It didn’t take long for my breathing to
speed up. My balls drew up tight and I knew I was close. Where the heck was Joey? He should have been here by now. I wanted to give him a cum shower. Max was a shit director. One day I’d direct my own films. I tried to hold off, but my cock was throbbing. Fuck it. I was too close. One more hard stroke and I hosed myself down with a massive cum load. White cream covered my chest, up to my neck and under my chin. I groaned, scooped some up with my fingers and licked them clean. I knew I looked hot as hell.

“Cut!” Max stood over me, hands on hips. “I tell you when to come.”

“You can’t hold back momentum, Max.” One of these days I’ll quit mouthing off,
but not today. “If you could get it up, you’d know that.”

If looks could kill I would have died right then, but Max couldn’t touch me. I was golden. Nobody made the studio more money than I did.

“Face it, Max. I know what my audience wants and I give it to them. That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

“Get over yourself, princess. You’re a fucking porn actor. There’s a thousand more waiting to take your place.”

As usual, Paul, the cameraman and peacemaker, tried to diffuse the situation. “This is good stuff, Max. The guys will eat it up.”

Max gave him a disgusted look and turned back to me. “You got anything left for Joey?”

“Does a tin man have a stainless steel cock?”

Everybody laughed except Max. Fuck him. He turned his back, but not before he took another long look at my chest. I smiled as I lay back against the pillows. Look all you want, Max, but you’ll never get your hands on this body. But I knew he’d take the film home and masturbate to it all night.

“Hey, Cox.”

My head jerked up at the sound of Joey’s voice. People tend to think that porn stars don’t have real lives. They think that, given the nature of what we do for a living, we must be emotionally detached and incapable of having a real relationship. That’s only partly true. While I don’t have, need, or want, a significant other, I have my sister, Julie, and my best friends, Joey and Paul.

Joey is not only a friend, he’s also a great costar. He’s a lean six feet, with short spiky blond hair and brown eyes. The dude is practically hairless while I sport a sexy trail of dark hair that leads to a well-manicured bush. The camera loves the contrasts between us, and so do the guys who buy our videos. We spend so much time together, it was only natural we’d become buddies.

Grinning, Joey sat on the bed. “You just can’t help yourself, can you, Casey?” He started wiping my chest with a warm, wet cloth.

I shrugged, enjoying the attention. “This is me, take it or leave it.”

Joey finished up and tossed the towel to a stagehand. “I get paid to take it.”

I frowned. His comment took me by surprise. Joey had never complained about my showboating before. I opened my mouth to comment —


Just as well. I was sure Joey was just ribbing me. He crawled up my body and started teasing my nipples with his magic fingers and I forgot all about it. Leaning close to my chest, he pursed his lips and blew on each nipple. Paul came closer and moved around the bed to get a better shot.
Joey lapped at one nipple as caressed the other with his hand. He switched it up after thirty seconds. Then he alternated the licking with sucking. I started moaning and Joey lifted his head. Leaning over, he brushed his lips over mine. He had a knee between my thighs and he pressed it against my crotch, while he deepened the kiss. Women watch our videos too and they like to see us kiss.

Joey settled his body on top of mine and we started grinding. It was nice, but nothing we hadn’t done before. No sparks, no butterflies, just well-choreographed sex. We whimpered and moaned while we ran our hands over each other. Then Joey started licking a trail down my body toward my cock. But when he got to my navel, he did not pass go. Instead, he started using my belly button as his own personal plaything — licking, kissing, and nipping at it until Max signaled him to go in for the kill.

“What do you think, Joey? Can you make me blow again?”

“Does a hobby horse have a wooden dick?”

Laughing, I pushed Joey’s head down until it was between my legs. He licked the head of my cock and gave my balls some attention, before taking me in and sucking my dick like a vacuum pump. Automatically I started a steady stream of dirty talk. “Take it all, Joey. Fuck, that feels good…”

In my head, I was wondering how much money I’d make on this movie. My agent had renegotiated my contract with the studio. I get a piece of the action every time they sell a video. I deserve it. Everybody in the industry and anyone who watches porn knows who Casey Cox is.
If only my parents could see me now. Not that they wanted to. Screw ‘em. I made good money. I had friends. And I had good sex — with men. I’d had girlfriends in school, but that was back when I was still pretending to be someone I wasn’t. There’s just something about a man’s body and his touch that does it for me, especially —

Just then, Joey slipped a finger in my ass and jerked me back to reality. Electricity skittered up my spine. Joey pulled off my cock and a thick white stream shot from my dick, spraying his face and neck. He licked his lips suggestively and Paul caught it all with the camera.


“Nice work,” Max said to Joey.

I muttered under my breath, “Fucking asshole.”

Somebody threw me a towel and I headed to the bathrooms to clean up for the next scene.

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Teaser Tuesday–Author Beth D. Carter

For this edition of Teaser Tuesday, we are pleased to have Beth D. Carter as the featured author. Below you will find a blurb and an excerpt of Beth’s current release, ‘Sleeping Beauty’, including a book cover and other author information. Enjoy the scintillating reading!

Ronan Hark and Noah Kabot are deep space salvagers, partners in business as well as in life. While investigating an old ship they discover a cryo chamber holding the frozen body of a beautiful woman who’s been asleep for thirty-one years. Against Ronan’s better judgment, they take the chamber and wake her up.

Alivia has spent her life living as a sheltered yet unloved princess, until the day she is forced into cryo stasis. It was only supposed to be for a short time, but somehow her ship crashed and she became nothing more than a memory.

But now everything has changed. A hunter is after her and killing anyone who knows she’s alive. As they race across the expanse of space, can Ronan and Noah keep her safe? And what happens when she finally returns home to confront a life that forgot about her?


Ronan moved cautiously through the ship. The thick view windows had cracked upon impact, allowing dirt and rocks to tumble inside. Everything was washed out, colorless. Lifeless. He made his way through the broken, silent ship, dreading to see the cockpit and the remains of the captain. But much to his surprise, the control room stood empty.

He moved to the engine console and wiped off the inches-thick dirt, baring the powerless control panels. He set his scanner on it and activated it. Seconds later the cockpit came to life as the wireless remote downloaded all the information available. It didn’t last long and as soon as all the data was collected he disconnected the console, shutting down the power surge. The small area fell silent and lifeless once again.

He activated the neural com link with Noah. “Where are you?”

“I’m next to a large clump of twisted metal.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “Well, that narrows it down.”

“Wait,” Noah’s distracted voice told him. “I think I found what was causing the power signature.”

Ronan hesitated, but when Noah didn’t contact him after a minute, he went after him, making his way carefully through the rubble into the back of the ship.


“Ronan, you won’t believe this.”

“Believe what?”

He pushed into the back of the ship, which was actually in much better shape than the front, and saw him standing next to a large steel box. Through his visor Ronan could see the surprise coving the younger man’s face.

“What is it?”

Noah shook his head. “It’s a cryo chamber. And it’s occupied.”


Ronan hurried over. The metal box, also known as a cold coffin, held a sleeping woman inside. He couldn’t see much of her because of all the tubes obscuring much of her face, but he could tell she was young, her flaming-red hair a glaring contrast to the paleness of her features.


Author Info & Social Media links:

I like writing about the very ordinary girl thrust into extraordinary circumstances, so my heroines will probably never be lawyers, doctors or corporate highrollers. I try to write characters who aren’t cookie cutters and push myself to write complicated situations that I have no idea how to resolve, forcing me to think outside the box. I love writing characters who are real, complex and full of flaws, heroes and heroines who find redemption through love.

Amazon author page:

Posted in Books, Teasers

Tuesday Teaser from Autumn Montague

Dear Readers and Fans:

For this Teaser Tuesday, I am featuring author, Autumn Montague, and a teaser from her latest work, ‘Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me’. Enjoy the excerpt below. Should you seek more of Autumn’s writing style: please see the list of available books from this author that follows the excerpt. Happy reading!

Autumn Montague Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me (Excerpt)

Chapter One
London, 1816

Blood. Sweet, sweet blood thickened with terror. The girl in his arms fought with weakening desperation, her life rushing away through the crimson tide pulsing from her with each frantic beat of her heart. Intoxicating copper heat coursed across his lips, suffusing him with its nourishing power.

Her moans grew fainter as his poison saturated her body. The exquisite torture of emptying his venom flooded his muscles with godlike power, and he tightened his hold, crushing her fragile, merely human form against him. Her gasp of pain drove a spike of lusty pleasure through him. He released her neck to watch her blood flood across her shoulders to stain her flimsy gown.

A waste perhaps, but he could find another. The silent, horrified plea in her dulling eyes spurred his lust, and he ripped the sodden dress open to bare her cotton stays. A hand batted feebly, a near-unconscious impulse to protect her vanished modesty.

Little whore. She’d no need for modesty with him. He had no interest in her person, not yet. Not until she was at the brink. Then he’d spread her legs and revel in her death throes.

Yes. Yes, that peak of ecstasy neared, her glazed eyes beginning to fade. She drew a hitching breath, and he dropped her limp body to the mud, reaching for the fastenings to his breeches.

The clatter of hooves and creak of heavy wheels broke his concentration, his anticipated pleasure vanishing.

Damn! With a frantic bound, he hurled himself into the velvet black shadow of the alley behind him. Frustrated desire boiled through him as he watched the carriage lurch to a halt. A murderous rage rose, urging him to attack the interlopers. He attempted to quash it, but the slavering beast of his hunger did not want to be assuaged. The girl was his rightful prey, and he would be damned if he would allow mere humans to drive him off. He readied himself, prepared to lunge when the correct moment presented.

The tiniest of breezes stirred the air as the passengers descended from the barouche. It carried the oh-so-faint scent of the intruders, driving him back into the shadows.

“Imbecile!” The word escaped him in a hiss. He peered around, forcing his eyes to see, his ears to hear. As if a veil had been drawn back, he realized he stood almost in the heart of London. How had he followed the girl so far without recognizing his danger?

At least one of the men in the carriage knew him by sight and scent. Worse, if they were to meet, his enemy was duty-bound to kill him without hesitation. He twitched, annoyed, uncertain—wanting his prize but unwilling to face his opponent at this moment.

His hunger stilled, replaced by an urgent need to flee. Later. The time would come, but that time was not now. With a last look at the shuddering girl behind him, he forced more venom to his muscles and shivered in delight as he fled into the night.

* * * *

Morgan Holland clenched his teeth against an impious curse as the carriage lurched to an unexpected halt, knocking his skull against the lacquered wooden panel behind his head. Inertial momentum pitched his companion face forward against the opposite seat with bruising abruptness. Morgan gave the trap door over his head a savage thump with his fist, even as he reached to help the Baron of Colbourne up off the floor.

“Blast it all, I’m fine, Holland,” Colbourne barked.

Morgan smothered a grin at his master’s temper over his bruised dignity. He gestured at the gaping tear across the knee of Colbourne’s superfine trousers. “Perhaps we should return home for a change of clothes before we continue to White’s.”

Colbourne scowled. “Damn. Weston just delivered these this week. I’ll have to commission a new pair.”

“As you say, my lord.” Amusement warred with Morgan’s ringing head as he fought to keep a smirk off his face. Colbourne’s penchant for fine clothes had been a constant source of humor between them.

“Don’t be smug, Holland. Just because you managed to maintain your seat is no reason for a swelled head.”

The dour tone proved too much, and a highly inappropriate snort evaded Morgan’s control. Jeremy Takeshi Yamakawa Colbourne, Fifth Baron of Colbourne, took great pains to appear neat and elegant for any evening revelry. Since his Japanese ancestry drew the derision of his peers, he always maintained a flawless nobleman’s appearance. Morgan felt privileged to be among those few who could jest about the habit without giving offense. Moreover, the unique circumstances of Morgan’s employment had built a bond between them, a bond closer to friendship than master and servant.

A sharp rap at the window halted Colbourne’s next salvo even as he drew breath for the words, undoubtedly to cast unmeant aspersions on Morgan’s ancestry. The words died at the sound of their driver’s frantic rap on the door.

It seemed the difficulty interrupting them was more than a mere rut in the road.

“This needs your attention, my lord,” Toby quavered, fear plain in his voice.

Morgan felt a chill worm its way down his spine, a chill having nothing to do with the damp air outside the carriage door. Colbourne’s handsome face tightened, his grave expression igniting an answering spark of alarm in Morgan. He followed his master into the dank night, and nearly choked.

“Plague of the ages!” Colbourne’s biting exclamation did not quite carry the weight of a bellow, but it might as well have been a shout.

The night air carried a familiar coppery tang, laced with the faint odor of bile. Morgan knew the smell, of tainted blood and death. When he’d first met Colbourne, the man had been covered in the same bloody aroma. Morgan could not see this poor soul, not yet, but the smell left no doubt.

“Nosferatu.” He’d never encountered one, only read in books what they were, what they did. Read, and seen what had happened to his master, the Baron of Colbourne, one of the preeminent nosferii nobles in England. Or anywhere else. The last nosferatu to hunt here had almost cost the country its most needed protector.

Colbourne cast a keen glance his way but said nothing, just stepped around the corner of the carriage for a look at what had bollixed their plans for the evening. Morgan followed, suppressing the urge to gag at the foulness of the air. He tried to keep his strides casual, as though he were walking into yet another evening entertainment, not around the carriage corner for a look at a shredded human being.

Colbourne quirked an eyebrow at Morgan’s calm facade. “No one would think twelve years ago you were a mere tenant farmer, untutored in such things.”

“Even a farmer faces death, my lord.” A true enough statement. After all, Morgan had tended to enough carrion when he was younger: dead livestock, headless chickens after foxes raided the coops. Yet none of his experience prepared him for the putrid aroma hovering over the slumped form in the road. The rank odor was fouler than the oldest carcass he’d ever cleared from his fields. With reluctance, he turned his full attention on the unfortunate victim.

“God!” The exclamation burst from him at the appalling sight that met his eyes.

The brown dirt of the road had turned to mud, glistening with the darkness of spilled blood. A young woman lay trembling in that crimson sludge, her neck savaged and raw. The gaping wounds reeked from the pungent slime coating them.

“Well, she lives, Morgan.” Colbourne sighed, as though the fact was unworthy of celebration. “At least for the present.”

“For the present? Is there nothing to be done?” Morgan could not tear his eyes from the girl. She couldn’t have seen more than sixteen, eighteen years at best.

“From the smell of things, the abomination emptied his venom into her.” Colbourne knelt in the mud, oblivious now to his appearance. “See?” He pointed to the ragged edges of the wounds on the girl’s neck. “There are multiple bites here, some more recent than others.” He laid a gentle, gloved finger near the deepest one. “This bite is hours old, and she is nearly exsanguinated. I am amazed she can still draw breath.”

“Is it too late for a turning?”

That caught Colbourne’s attention. His master stood, searching Morgan’s face for something. Then he sighed, perhaps finding no answer to what he sought.

“It is far too late. At this point, all we can do is ease her passing by treating the wound and dosing her liberally with laudanum. I doubt she’ll notice, but it should be done nonetheless.” He gave Morgan another cryptic glance. “I suppose it’s time to introduce you to the real meaning behind the existence of the Colbourne title. I’ll call you to my study after I have fed. In the meantime, you might want to do some research into turnings. The library has plenty of material for your reading.”

Research? Morgan felt the faintest flush of embarrassment warm his neck. It seemed he’d touched on a sensitive topic. He turned to the coachman. “Toby, get the lap blanket.” He considered for a moment. “And your long coat.” Between the blood, the sodden clothing, and the general mess, two layers should provide both warmth for the young woman and protection for the carriage.

Toby returned, and Morgan watched as Colbourne bundled the girl tightly in the coat, wrapping her head to toe in the blanket. When he lifted the fragile burden, Morgan attempted to assist him, only to receive a flat denial.

“This slime will eat through your hide,” Colbourne reminded. “Don’t forget your teachings, Holland.”

Morgan stepped back, feeling the Compulsion his master laid behind the words. He suppressed a sigh. When Colbourne used such a trick, it usually meant unpleasant instruction ahead.

They rode home at a rapid clip, carriage swaying on its springs at Toby’s urgent pace. Morgan could see the lax bundle in his master’s lap out of the corner of his eye, though he did his utmost not to stare. He focused instead on the adorning crest of the panel immediately behind Colbourne’s head, little good though it did him. Every time he relaxed his control, his eyes flew inexorably to the doomed girl. At some point, he glanced down again and discovered her hitching breaths had ceased.

Colbourne’s dark eyes were shuttered. Even in the dimness of their carriage, distress showed in the line between his brows and the bunched muscles of his jaw. Morgan reached across the gap separating them, called to soothe his master’s pain. Dark lashes lifted, revealing Colbourne’s grief at his failure.

Tonight’s enjoyments were meant to be a prelude in advance of Colbourne’s Contracted feeding; a bit of casual camaraderie to make amends for the awkward strain that had recently come between them. With this appalling discovery, the emotional toll on them both could hinder the process. Worse still, it might encourage Colbourne to postpone the feeding.

A tinge of red outlined those dark eyes. “Don’t worry, Holland. I’ll have myself under control by the appointed time.”

“I am certain you will, my lord,” Morgan answered, keeping his voice level. “I worry more for my control than for yours.”

A wistful smile touched Colbourne’s lips. “Your iron will? It will never waver, regardless of my desires.” The smile vanished. “Nonetheless, we will bury this poor child before we begin, Holland. I owe her that much, at least.”

* * * *

At the expected time, Morgan stood outside the sanguis cubiculum, irresolute. After a moment, he drew a deep breath and opened the heavy door enough to slip into the dim room. Hoping to recover his usual calm, he looked around at the comforts scattered about the feeding chamber. His master’s ancestry held full sway here, unlike any other room within Colbourne Manor. In the center, where the Contract always took place, a pile of soft bedding dominated. Oriental basins and water pitchers flanked the futon, with folded cloths of soft linen laid neatly alongside. Wax-paper lanterns lit the room with softened candlelight, casting shadows over the ornate screens and furnishings in the corners.

Colbourne waited on the futon, his white shirt open at the neck. Shadows from the flickering lanterns enhanced his Japanese ancestry, drawing attention to the faint epicanthic folds and the graceful arch of his brow. It presented a strong contrast to the British height and strong jaw, but Colbourne’s nosferii nature blended the two into pleasing harmony. Altogether attractive, sensual, and dangerous for Morgan’s heart, given what usually passed after a feeding.

Over the past twelve years, Morgan had gradually become accustomed to his master’s bisexuality, though with difficulty. It was a hallmark of the nosferii, but as Colbourne had said, Morgan had once been an untutored farmer. The Church of England considered such relationships unnatural and anathema to any God-fearing man. To be accused—worse, to be convicted—bore the potential for death. Earlier this year, Lord Byron himself had fled from England, fallen from his lauded pedestal and hounded by rumors of sodomy. Despite the political immunity granted by the kings of England to the nosferii, what a choice it proved: declare yourself attracted to the same sex, or declare yourself a vampire.

Yet for all the moralizing of his past, for all the strength he put into his denials, Morgan found himself continuously consumed by the desire for the sexual acts that followed a nosfera’s blood-feed. Though he could not prevent the upsurge of lust, he held it at bay, keeping his master at arm’s length and insisting another partner be ready once the feeding was done.

Despite knowing all this, despite his desires, the sight of Jeremy Colbourne’s demanding eyes and waiting lips had Morgan’s groin twitching in anticipation. It shamed him to know he couldn’t settle his feelings into the simplicity he’d known a dozen years earlier.

Colbourne’s strong hand pulled him to the down-filled bedding, sending a shiver through Morgan at the contact. Raw, sensual hunger rolled over him in waves, as the nosferii power of attraction shattered his determination with mere proximity. He swallowed, exerting as much control as he could over his physical reactions.

“You are as unyielding as ever, Holland.”

“Only in one matter, my lord. Is there someone near at hand for—after?”

A sad chuckle answered him. “Yes. My guest waits in my chambers.” Colbourne’s hand grazed Morgan’s neck, sliding sensuously along his throat. “Are you ready, Hostia Aeternus?”

The change in Colbourne’s voice indicated the time had come. Morgan looked at his master, seeing the reddened eyes, the widened pupils. A surge of desire flooded him, and he suppressed the unnatural lust. Still, the yearning to yield and be everything his master asked of him almost overpowered his sense.

Colbourne’s tongue touched his neck. Morgan shuddered, unable to prevent the involuntary reaction.

“I am hungry.” His master’s hot breath accompanied the words, while bared fangs grazed Morgan’s skin. “So hungry.”

The shivers increased tenfold. Morgan felt his control slipping and struggled to hold on to it long enough to complete the Contract. “Then please feed, my lord.” His voice had grown husky as anticipatory tremors took hold of him.

Another caress of Colbourne’s rough tongue drew an exquisite shudder. Such an intimate act, followed by an even more intimate one as the piercing bite of sharp fangs penetrated his neck and withdrew. Hot lips formed a seal around the twin wounds, and Morgan felt his groin tighten with the intense sensation of his master drawing deeply of the crimson flow.

It shouldn’t be this way, Morgan’s hazed brain insisted. Despite this, the lust bubbling up was the same as always, driving him to the brink of madness as he fought the desire. Every time he offered his blood, the yearning to succumb, to yield more than he gave—every time, it grew stronger. He wanted what he denied Lord Colbourne, wanted the carnal touch the Church deemed sinful, longed for what the courts condemned with death.

He trembled at the strengthening draw, fighting the spiraling temptation. The ache in his loins increased with every passing minute, inflamed by the chemicals hidden within the nosferii fangs. His stomach tightened against the feeling as he strove to suppress the exhilaration racing through him, starting with the fanged kiss at his neck.

Morgan shivered as Colbourne laid a hand between his thighs, stroking him, caressing the erection he couldn’t suppress. A groan escaped Morgan as the pleasure increased tenfold.

In a flash, he found himself pinned against the futon. He jerked at the feel of Colbourne’s hand fumbling with the buttons of his breeches. Heat flooded him, running straight from the hot contact to the ecstatic draw of blood from his neck. Hot, shaking with need, he pressed himself against that warm palm, his mind a blaze of passion. Colbourne moaned into Morgan’s neck, sucking harder.

“Touch me…touch me please, Morgan.”

The words slipped into his mind, jarring him from his lust. He shoved hard at the man above him, desperately building a wall in front of the invading thought.

“Get out of my mind!” Frantic, Morgan lunged upward, thrusting Colbourne away from him and wincing at the sudden, tearing sting at his neck. He stumbled forward, pressing his hands to the wounds, attempting to stanch the flow of blood.

He didn’t finish feeding, a portion of his mind whispered. He didn’t finish, and now I’m going to bleed to death.

“Makoto!” Colbourne’s panicked voice beat on Morgan’s ears with the force of a drum. “Makoto! Tasukete!”

Footsteps drummed across the floor as Colbourne’s retainer responded. The room started fading at the edges, and Morgan blinked at the bedding wound about his feet. Arms like steel trapped him, holding him up but keeping him hostage.

“You damn idiot!” Despite the angry hiss of the words, Colbourne’s voice shook. “Hold still.”

Morgan struggled against the iron grip holding him fast, while his hands were wrenched away from his neck. Colbourne’s unyielding grip held his head as the vampire leaned in to bite a second time. The pain shattered the last wall of Morgan’s consciousness, blackness overtaking him at the penetrating sting of his master’s fangs.

* * * *

Jeremy stared at Morgan’s sleeping face, the tremors of angry fear finally subsiding. He’d never before lost control during a feeding. Never. He’d been taking blood from normal humans for more than three centuries, and not once had he ever insinuated his thoughts into an unwilling Host’s mind.

Host. Hostia. The cruel irony of the title struck Jeremy more forcibly than it had ever done before. Hostia, the victim. Centuries before, it had been a word to deny the humanity of those used as nothing more than a food supply. Now, it stood as a title of respect, of importance. Hosts themselves had made it so.

When Morgan had fought Jeremy, rending his flesh beneath Jeremy’s fangs, the true meaning of Hostia had resonated in the terror shining in Morgan’s eyes. It had cut Jeremy to the quick, flaying him with the knowledge of his transgression.

But Morgan had allowed him liberties he’d denied for a dozen years. Jeremy had been pushed over the edge of reason, and he’d reached out, succumbing to a longing he’d thought he’d safely buried.

He stroked the bandages wound about Morgan’s neck. The man’s power of will never ceased to amaze him. The nosferii mind connection had originally been a means of prey control. For anyone to break free and physically pull away, as Morgan had, took strength of mind not commonly found.

A shadow shifted behind him as Makoto entered the room, a laden dinner tray in his hands. Fresh cuts of red meat predominated, lightly seared but rich with the coppery smell of blood.

“Time to eat, danshaku,” the samurai said, setting the tray on the small table by the chair. “You did not feed enough. Please replenish your strength with this.”

Jeremy ignored the dark look, though he did reach for the glass of brandy. “It was sufficient. I do not need to dine early.”

“I respectfully disagree.” Makoto plated a modest portion of beef and fruit. “Will you call for another Host?” Despite the words, Makoto’s voice carried no disapprobation. “It may be weeks before Holland-san is able to meet his Contracted terms.”

“I will be ready when he is, Makoto,” Jeremy answered, loath to consider anyone else. “I can wait.”

“That would be most unwise, danshaku.”

“Perhaps, but I will wait, nonetheless.”

“As you wish, danshaku.” Makoto bowed and left the room, shutting the door noiselessly behind him.

“I have no need of another Host, do I, Morgan?” Jeremy posed the question aloud, more for his own reassurance rather than expecting his Host to wake and answer. “After all, you are my Hostia Aeternus, my Eternal Host.”

Jeremy looked at the brandy in his glass, staring at the deep burgundy liquid. Sweet, yes, the thick fluid was sweet and restorative, but it was not Morgan’s blood, which had called to him from the moment they met.

“No, no need at all.”

Available now:

Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me
Bacchanal Moonlight Mating Cruises Ticket 1: Siren’s Daughter
Storm Called
An Unintended Seduction
Challenged by Love 1: Caliban
Challenged by Love 2: Narcissus
Challenged by Love 3: Vulcan
Challenged by Love e-Boxed set

Posted in Books

Beyond Justice–Spotlight on Bianca Sommerland and Tibby Armstrong

Today, features best-selling, author Bianca Sommerland, sharing her latest release, Beyond Justice, which has been co-authored by Tibby Armstrong. This is book 2 in The Asylum Fight Cub series. Please enjoy the excerpt below, and you ‘ll find a promo for what’s next in the series, and a link to Bianca’s website. Happy Holidays to all readers and fans!

Curtis’s expression darkened, flattening the peaks of his upper lip. He leaned in, to brush his thumb over Reed’s lower lip and examined the sticky residue. Brought it to his mouth and sucked it from his skin. Pushing away from the breakfast bar he went to flip his pancake onto his plate and returned. Tapped two fingers under Reed’s chin to close his mouth. “Eat up.”
Eat. Yeah. He should eat. Then his brain might start working again. He cut another big piece and focused on finishing his breakfast.
“So…” Considering his fork, Curtis chewed and swallowed. “You like the hardcore stuff, or you think it’s the only way to give up control?”
Blinking at the other man, Reed almost choked on the piece of pancake in his mouth. He ducked his head as his cheeks flamed. “Dude, me and you…we don’t talk about this stuff.”
Curtis frowned, head canted, seeming to rifle through his brain for some piece of information, then nodded when he found it. “No, I guess we haven’t. But if you want to, I don’t recall being told I’d be gelded for crossing that particular line.”
“I…” Reed set the tines of his fork against his lips, touching his tongue to it as he stared at the wall over Curtis’s shoulder. “I like letting the Dom decide. Once he does, the rest is easy. Never lasts long enough though.”
“Sounds like the headspace you’re after has very little to do with pain and everything to do with how long you’ve negotiated to give that control over.” Curtis met his stare, unflinching, pushed back his plate and leaned in on his forearm. “It’s not as easy as you’d think to maintain, but when done right it can be pretty amazing.”
Reed nodded slowly. “In case you missed it, I’m more trouble than any Dom wants to take on. But it’s better that way.” He shrugged, picked up his plate and Curtis’s, and brought them both to the sink. “I get to enjoy a bit of everything. And no one’s gotta deal with me being…too much.”
“Is that what’s rolling around in that pretty head of yours? That you’re either not enough or you’re too much?” Curtis had moved behind him. Close behind him. “From where I stand, you’re the Goldilocks of submissives, Reed, and anyone who makes you feel any less isn’t half the Dom you think they are.”
Curving his hands over the edge of the sink, Reed shook his head. He should not be having this conversation. Not with Curtis, of all people. He was still too messed up from the scene which had left him wide open and vulnerable. He’d gotten away from Kovit and Lawson without letting his issues bleed out all over them.
He had to find a way to do the same with Curtis.
His throat tightened as he let out a soft laugh. “I’m the perfect sub. For one night. That’s how I like it. You gotta stop seeing me as some poor…kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m a big boy, Curtis.”
Curtis’s hand encircled Reed’s upper arm, tugging him around. “You think that’s what I’m thinking about right now? That you’re a kid? If so, I need to go to jail.”
“For what? You’ve been the perfect ‘Daddy’.” Reed really needed to shut up, but he’d already stepped over the clear line Curtis had drawn long ago. He couldn’t seem to retreat back to the place he’d been assigned that night he’d been dragged home. Covered in glitter, still feeling the rush from the eyes of the crowd on him as he’d danced. The heat that spilled through him when Curtis gave him that look brought him even higher. As though Reed had given those strangers what belonged to him. Reed’s jaw tensed. “If you’re talking about that one time that shall-not-be-discussed, it was a punishment. One Noah should’ve probably given me so you didn’t have it hanging on your conscience.”
Curtis’s eyes had closed partway through Reed’s speech, but they opened now. “I assure you, the pleasure was all mine, brat. And if you had a lick of sense, you’d stop baiting me to do it again now—because I’m certain you’d like to be able to sit in the next decade.” He lowered his lips to Reed’s ear. “I suggest you rethink some things about me, and about you. Because the next time you come to me wanting to be taken in hand, I will gladly oblige.”
Pushing away from the counter, he stepped back, giving Reed room to breathe.
Damn it, why did Curtis have to go and say…all of that today? Today, when Reed had no idea what to do with the implication of his words. Eyes burning, he hugged himself. The very thing he’d wanted more than anything, right there, while the marks from another man still covered him.
“Shit.” Curtis swore softly, reached for him and pulled him in. Cheek resting on Reed’s head, he sighed. “I don’t know how it is I keep fucking up with you but trust me when I say that I don’t want to hurt you.” He laughed, a rough sound. “Not like that. I miss you and me. So, yeah. You name what you want—what you need—and I’ll try to be that for you. But…” Leaning back, he brushed Reed’s forehead with his lips. “Try to remember, I’m fighting with one hand tied behind my back.”
He really didn’t get it. But maybe that was Reed’s fault too.
Tracing his tongue over his bottom lip, he tipped his head back. Despite the pain, having Curtis’s arms around him felt good. Like all the broken pieces were being held together by the other man’s strength, so he didn’t have to cling to them alone.
His lips curved slightly. “You might wanna figure out how to untie it then, ‘cause I’m not gonna ask.” He met Curtis’s eyes. “You’ll know.”
Curtis’s gaze dipped, his attention fixating on Reed’s mouth. Unwrapping his arms from Reed’s body, he brought one hand to the lip of the counter and the other to cup Reed’s face. Lowered his mouth with excruciating care and whispered, “I’m going to hell” against Reed’s lips.
Reed grinned, flicking his tongue over Curtis’s bottom lip. “Not quite yet.”

Excited? Like what you’ve read? Here is the promo for the next novel in the series, Flawed Justice.

More from Bianca Sommerland:

Posted in Books

Coming Soon: Practical Difficulties (Lady Troubles 2)

For today, here is an excerpt from my upcoming novella, ‘Practical Difficulties’. This is installment two in the ‘Lady Troubles’ saga. Below is the novella description and an excerpt for readers to enjoy. When finished, my latest work will be available to buy on

Maxine, a trans male-to-female werewolf, is struggling to get beyond her grief over the losses she suffered in her past. Now her mate, Sonya, is pregnant. When Maxine’s ghosts rise to break the new lovers apart, they have more help than they need from her pack.

Sonya’s starting to wonder whether Maxine’s loyalties lie with the wolf pack she’s been with for decades, or with her new mate. It’s beginning to look like sabotage from all quarters. How can a new couple stay together, especially with pups on the way?


Practical Difficulties (Lady Troubles 2)
Emily Carrington
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2019 Emily Carrington

Sonya Johnson stared at her clean pad, scowling at its whiteness against the cocoa dark of her thigh and the pale mauve of her panties. Her period should have started four days ago. Granted, she’d stopped taking her birth control after she’d forgotten to take it for three days back in late September. But was it too much to ask that her slip wouldn’t bring on pregnancy? She was a damned doctoral student and working a full-time job.

“Please, God,” she whispered. “Let it just be late. I do not have time for this right now.”

She shivered as a blast of air conditioning rushed across the back of her neck. Maybe it was time to grow her hair out and screw the cuteness of her current kinky-haired bob.

I’m a medical technician. I know enough about the human body to get this message: either stress is delaying my menstrual cycle, or I’m pregnant.

She cursed her mate before she could stop herself.

Sonya sighed, flushed the toilet, and pulled up her panties and shorts. It wasn’t Maxine’s fault, even if she was a trans werewolf and still had a dick. They’d both thought Sonya’s pill would take care of things. They’d briefly discussed using condoms too, but Sonya privately thought at the time that that was overkill. Maxine liked teasing herself with a condom now and then, but as a form of birth control, they were weren’t all that reliable.

They only succeed sixty percent of the time… but maybe I should have banked on that extra sixty percent.

She made an exasperated noise, very quietly.

The only thing that is Maxine’s fault, partially at least, is how infrequently I see her.

She’d long ago stopped tripping over the idea of calling Maxine, a male-to-female transgender werewolf, “she.” Not even thinking of her mate’s cock, as she did often while masturbating, could cause her confusion. Maxine was so utterly female, mind and spirit, that male genitals couldn’t change her essential nature.

Sonya walked into the bedroom she and her mate shared and went to her side of the wall-length closet. She took off the striped shirt she’d been wearing and put on a sweater with a cowl neck. It was a soft orange that complemented her medium brown skin tone and had the added bonus of clinging to her curves in all the right places.

Too bad Maxine isn’t here to appreciate it. She sighed noisily and then covered her mouth and glanced around, almost expecting half a dozen werewolves to pop out of the woodwork and ask her what was wrong. She kept her SearchLight-won shields in place most of the time, and her lips shut almost as much, but she still felt as if the whole darn pack could read her like a book.

Those shields were something she’d picked up at the academy in DC, learning them from the parapsychology teacher. She didn’t use them much at work, at least not when she was relaxed and in her own domain — the medtech department. But with all the psychic powers boasted by the members of her new eros pack, she felt on edge if her mind wasn’t guarded.

Shaking her head, grimacing as she thought of how paranoid she’d gotten over the past two weeks, Sonya headed into the living room to sit at the desk Maxine had bought her as a mating ceremony present back in late September. It was now the first week of October and she did not need to be worrying about pregnancy when her first dissertation defense was happening in less than seven days and she hadn’t seen her mate for more than a few minutes at a time since they consummated their relationship.

And while that was the worst of it, not being with her mate, her third problem was almost as pressing: three of the werewolves in her new pack were openly hostile toward her. Oh, not where Maxine, who outranked all of them, could see, but whenever they caught Sonya alone…

Oh, stop thinking about it all in such negative terms. They’re just pests. And as for Maxine, she sleeps here every night she’s in town, doesn’t she? You’ve made love four times so far. That’s good for two weeks’ worth of living together, isn’t it?

Well, actually, no. Sonya had gotten the impression from listening to her friend, Luke, talk about his early relationship with his husband that sex every day wasn’t uncommon. In fact, the only time her genie and dragon friends hadn’t managed sex at least three or four times a week was when Mark, the dragon half of the pairing, was in crisis.

Was Maxine in crisis?