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Thursday, July 7, 2016

New Release! COLOR ME KINKY ADULT COLORING BOOK!




►►►COLOR ME KINKY◄◄◄
||| ADULT COLORING BOOK ➝ http://amzn.to/29oVWnC |||

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ALL PROCEEDS WILL BE DONATED TO HELP STUDENTS BUY SCHOOL SUPPLIES.

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FORTY Authors have teamed up to bring you this NAUGHTY coloring book. Each author contributed a "DIRTY" quote from one of their novels.



▼▼▼ BLURB ▼▼▼
The perfect adult coloring book for avid romance readers. Forty kinky, romance authors have teamed together to bring you this DIRTY coloring book just in time for a back to school treat for moms. These sexy quotes will light up your world and leave you wanting more. Time to get flirty with your favorite book boyfriends. Get ready to color your world kinky.

Contributing Authors




EXCERPT REVEAL: Stoned by Mandi Beck

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PROLOGUE
STONE

Head swimming, hands clammy, and with cold sweat trickling down my spine, I stand on the stage with the lights beaming down on me, hotter than the fucking sun. With the music humming through my body, I let the deafening roar of the crowd wash over me like a balm to my toxic soul. I would kill for a fucking line of blow right now.

This should be more important than any high. Then again, so should she. I shake my head to rid myself of that shit and the world of hurt that goes along with it. There’s no time to waste on things I can’t change, not on this stage anyway.

I smile at them, raise my arms, and motion with my hands for them to give me more, and they do. I feed off their energy; the stadium is alive with it and I need it to breathe life back into me. Not that I fucking deserve it.

Reaching for my mic stand, I bring it to my mouth and give them my “rock star” smirk. The one that says I’m the guy your mama warned you about and the one that your daddy has dreaded since the day you were born.

“Hello New York!” I yell into the mic, making them go even crazier. “Are you guys ready to rock?” Behind the drums, I give Lawson the cue to start the countdown and the show begins despite the fact that my heart isn’t really in it tonight. She isn’t waiting in the wings for me.

Two hours later we head off stage toward the dressing rooms and the after parties that I love a little too much. Wiping the sweat from my face, I almost miss her standing there with her back against the wall, that sad damn look on her face that I put there. Willow was here. I was crazy to think she wouldn’t be. With new- found confidence I watch as she gives the guys a wave as they greet her. Knowing that something isn’t right with us, the boys are smart enough not to linger.

“Willow.” Her name leaves my mouth on a strained breath. I was sure that I would have to hunt her down and beg for forgiveness after the shit I said to her. The accusations I hurled all while tears streamed down her face. Shit I can barely remember because I was so fucking high. Words that I thought I’d said in a dream, only when I woke up to find her gone, I knew it wasn’t a dream. More like a goddamn nightmare, and I was living it.

“I need to get my things out of the hotel room, and I don’t have my key. My name isn’t on the reservation so they won’t give me one at the front desk. I wasn’t sure if you were planning to leave right after the show or not, so…” She trails off. “I won’t take long, and I’ll leave it at the front desk for you, for when you get back.”

All of this is said in a cold, detached ramble that I’m not used to hearing from my Wills. Her face looks drawn, her eyes red-rimmed. I broke her and that kills me. We’ve been together for years, and in one night, I threw it all away. And for what? I can’t even remember right now. No, that’s not true. It wasn’t just one night. I’ve been throwing her away every damn night for months. Chasing that high, letting the paranoia seep in where it didn’t belong.

“I just need to grab my stuff and then I have a flight to catch.” She’s so…empty. Void and despondent. It stabs at my insides. Bile churning with the knowledge that I snuffed out her light.

“You—you’re leaving Wills?” The pain I feel at that rocks me.

Shaking her head at me, I see the tears glistening in her hollowed out eyes.

“Don’t. Don’t call me that! The only reason that I’m even still here is because my purse is in the room with my phone and ID in it. Otherwise, I would be home by now.” There’s an underlying thread of hysteria and damning heard in her words.

It hits me then just how big of a bastard I really am. I hurt her, forced her to walk out on me last night, all because of my insecurities, my need to occupy that place of numbness, my heaven and her hell. And now she tells me that she had no phone, no money, no clothes. Nothing.

“Where did you stay last night, Wills? Where did you go without your purse?”

She flinches mildly and then shuts down again. “Don’t worry about it, Stone. I’m not your concern anymore. You don’t have to take care of my ‘needy ass.’ I can take care of myself.”

I can see the anger flaring, red creeping across her beautiful face, but I can also see her lip quivering as she recounts the hurtful things I said to her last night. Words meant to hurt but that were in no way true. I was a dick, I screwed up, and I know in my heart she won’t give me a chance to make it right. I pushed her too far for too long, and now she’s done.

“Willow, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it. I was drunk and stupid. Please, baby, let’s talk about it. As soon as the tour is over we can go away just you and me.” There’s desperation in my voice, fear lacing my words. I can’t lose her. I’m not me without her.

“I’m finished talking. I am sick of being accused of things I would never do. I am over walking on eggshells with you, afraid to upset you. Worrying that I’ll end up alone in our room again, in another strange city that I followed you to, wondering where you are and who you’re with and what you’re doing. Hoping this high won’t be the one that you take too far. I’m done with all of it. I love you and I have stood by you, putting up with all of it because I wanted to support you. To be there for you because I know that you are under a lot of pressure, but now I’m done. I’m going home. I see now that I never should have left.”

This is all said with such finality that I feel panic bubbling up inside me. I open my mouth to beg her to stay and talk when a trashy-looking blonde walks up and slides her hand up my arm.

“Stone, I thought you were going to call me,” she whines as she strokes her fingers back and forth over the tattoo on my arm, the willow tree that I got as a surprise for my girl long ago. I snatch my arm away from the blonde and look up at Wills, my eyes wild.

“Baby, it’s not what you think. I swear to you, Wills, it isn’t.” I have no clue if that’s the truth.

“Save it, Stone. I heard you loud and clear last night. You’re not made for one woman. I was stupid to think that you were. Can you please just give me the key so I don’t miss my flight?” Her voice is laced with the anger and pain that she’s feeling, that we’re both feeling.

“Will—”

“Please!” she cries out, stomping her foot. I’ve never seen her this way. So emotional yet detached at the same time.

The blonde still standing there, watching it all.

I shake my head, imploring her with my eyes, since my words don’t mean anything right now, begging for her to not do this. Taking in a painful breath, I pull out my wallet and take out the room key.

Handing it over to her, I try one more time.

“Willow, please don’t leave. Not like this,” I plead with her.

She takes the key card from me with a trembling hand, careful not to touch me when she does.

“I’ll be out of the house by the time you get back into town. I’ll leave my keys over at the studio with Addy,” she says, looking right through me.

She flicks a glance over at the girl who still hasn’t moved and then back to me.

“You got what you wanted, Stone. You’re single and free to do whatever and whoever you want without having to worry about sneaking around. Don’t keep her waiting — she looks like a sure thing.”

With that little parting remark, I watch the woman of my dreams walk away and out of my life. There isn’t enough music in the world that could make the pain of losing her go away. This isn’t where our song ends; I won’t let it. Only I’m not sure I have much of a choice. And just like that, my heart stops beating in rhythm.


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Come get Wrecked with Stone and Willow in this second chance Rock Star Romance releasing on July 13th!

Pre-order Stoned on iBooks here: http://apple.co/29uisyN

Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/1Yzm7wc

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Blurb

“A rock star with no rhythm is a man with no soul.” – Stone Lockhart

As the lead singer of one of the hottest bands to hit the rock scene, fucks are free, drugs come easy, and music is life.
For as long as Stone can remember, Willow has been his music – the notes that weave his soul together.
His rhythm.
Until he threw her away.
All he has left is a handful of pills and a few lines of powder to make him forget her.
And he tries, over and over.

Clean and ready to make things right, he’s faced with the fact that Willow’s moved on. She’s not the same girl he cast aside. Willow’s a woman sure about her purpose in life. Sure about who she’s meant to love.
Stone may be lost without his rhythm, but Willow has found so much more.

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About the Author
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Writer, wife, mom, student and avid reader.

Stalk Her:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Wednesday, July 6, 2016

RELEASE DAY BLITZ: Live Wire by Cristin Harber


Need a Titan fix? Us too! Luckily for us, Cristin Harber's LIVE WIRE is available today and you do not want to miss this jam packed novella that revisits some of your favourite characters!


ABOUT LIVE WIRE 

Where Are They Now? on iBooks!

Titan Group is expanding! New recruits mean Jared Westin has potential new hires to scrutinize. What he didn’t expect was his very pregnant wife Sugar to finagle her way onto the surveillance team as the prospects were assessed.

Her involvement in the simple observation goes dangerously wrong. She and best friend Lexi Black stumble into a problem with Russian mobsters. Sugar is forced to draw on her old ATF tricks, but weeks from her due date, she has no choice but to team up with Bishop O’Kane, a potential-new recruit and Parker Black, Lexi’s hacker husband, who must go undercover.

This is special ops novella is packed with high-stakes crime and intrigue, a baby story for Boss Man, and two steamy romances for two of Titan’s favorite couples!



GET A QUICK PEEK:

The rhythmic pounding of the man running for his life in between Sugar’s and Lexi’s treadmills was more than enough up-close proof that Bishop O’Kane was as physically fit as his profile said. This gym catered to professional bodybuilders but was empty with the exception of one other person and staff. It was elite and niche, and Sugar had basically used her pregnant stomach and her hormones to get them a day pass.

Not exactly Titan-level detective work, but this was more a girl’s trip than anything else… right? Her phone buzzed as she and Lexi walked lazily on either side of their unknowing target.

Lexi: What have we learned? I’m bored.

Sugar: I was bored at home. This was something to do.

Lexi: Right.

Lexi: I think he knows we know each other.

Lexi: Shoot! He’s looking at both of us.

Lexi: SUGAR!

Sugar got off her treadmill and walked calmly to the bathroom. The second she was out of sight, she pulled her phone back out.

Sugar: Do I have to teach you how to creep up on a dude!?!?

Lexi: Maybe…

She tittered to herself. Well, that was probably true. For as hot as Lexi was, she was clueless when it came to the art of flirting. Though they weren’t flirting. But still, spying on a guy took a certain level of finesse that Lexi didn’t have.

Sugar: We need a new game plan.

Sugar: Does he still look suspicious of us?

Sugar: Hello?

Sugar: Hey, Thelma, it’s Louise. Why’d you go radio silent?

Lexi: We have a problem

Sugar: On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 is we need to hit the pancake house again, and 10 is I have to hit up GUNS for the ammo Jared wouldn’t let me have, gimme a number.

She grabbed her bag from a locker and wrestled out of her exercise pants and back into leather pants, which—thank the Lord for maternity adaptation—were more comfortable.

Sugar’s screen blinked with the text.

Lexi: 10. 10. 10.

Sugar: Easy, killer. On my way.

But the text wouldn’t send. The little circle kept circling. No signal. Ugh. What the hell? She pushed out the door to find the hallway dark. A tickle of adrenaline crept up her neck, and she slowed her pace.

“Hello?” A Russian accent called into the bathroom where she had just been.

Training and instinct made Sugar drop to the floor, listening to the voice continue to call and the person go in and out of the locker rooms and whatever rooms were down the other hallway.

Her pulse picked up. She could feel the blood thumping in her neck and in her stomach, which was a change from the norm. But all in all, this was no different than creeping like a shadow on any other job. Except she didn’t know who or what she was dealing with, and she had to hide what felt like an additional few feet of her stomach from view while trying to figure out what the double deuces was happening.

She tried her cell phone again. Shoot. She got nothing but a spinning circle and a no service signal. Clearly, somewhere in the building was a cell-phone jammer, which meant this was more of a professional job than a slam-and-bam robbery.

Okay… what to do?

Slinking down the hallway, she heard no exercise equipment clinking and clanking. No men throwing heavy things. No people grunting as they lifted heavy objects for personal enjoyment. There was only the empty blare of music that, now that all was abandoned and quiet, played far too loud. Her phone continued to cycle without a signal, and Sugar’s eyes searched for signs of anyone in the building—most importantly, Lexi. And where had that searching Russian man gone? She needed a weapon. Fast.

She checked her phone again.

Nope. The hell with it. She tucked it in her back pocket. Across the open floor were hand weights. She could grab a few jump ropes or one of the calisthenics bars while she was there. But crossing the gym was too dangerous. With a view of nothing but treadmills, elliptical machines, and stair climbers, she had nothing but magazines to smack a bad dude with. Nothing deadly.

So the plan for the moment was to keep against the wall and head for the main desk. Surely there was a pair of scissors. A stapler. Hell, she could be deadly with a phone cord. All she needed was the right angle. But really, Sugar stressed about Lexi.

She crept around another corner of the main gym. No one was there.

No Lexi. No Bishop. No random meatheads. No guy with a Russian accent searching for rogue people hiding and creeping.

“What is going on?” Her pulse pounded in her neck, and confusion covered every thought. Only Emergency Exit signs illuminated the room, and the place was eerie.

Her quiet question went unanswered, and the baby took that moment to kick. “Easy, tater tot. I’ve got this.”



ABOUT CRISTIN HARBER

Cristin Harber is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling romance author. She writes sexy, steamy romantic suspense and military romance. Readers voted her onto Amazon’s Top Picks for Debut Romance Authors in 2013, and her debut Titan series was both a #1 romantic suspense and #1 military romance bestseller. 

BLOG TOUR & 4 STAR REVIEW: Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet #2) by Celia Aaron & Sloane Howell





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What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?

Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent--the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He's the one.

Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can't get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn't always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?


My Review

I received an advanced copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. 

The whole gang is back! Yay! Braden and Easton are still kicking ass on the field. Kyrie is still reading her Kindle at baseball games. Nikki is still yelling inappropriate things while watching baseball games. And Kasey is still Kasey. We were introduced to Nikki and Braden in Cleat Chaser and I was curious about their relationship. Nikki was a self proclaimed cleat chaser, but then she met Braden and it was all over. And let's be honest...these two are perfect for each other. 

This book finds Nikki and Braden living together and they are quite happy. But then real life happens and everything they have built is put in danger. I liked that they were given a few speed bumps to get over. Especially where Braden's career is concerned. Sure, it wasn't ideal and things got quite stressful at times, but it only made their relationship stronger. And luckily they have Kyrie and Easton to help them along the way as well. 

Just like the previous book, this one is sexy and full of LOL moments. Nikki and Braden's chemistry if off the charts and their sex scenes will have you reaching for new panties or the urge to take a cold shower. Or maybe even both. 


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“This is so not my color.” I spun in the dressing room mirrors, all three reflecting the pink confection of a dress my mother had picked.

Over the years, the Graves had suffered plenty of hardships—when the good caviar was out of season, when that one maid failed to do proper hospital corners when she made the beds, or even that time when Kerfuffles, Mom’s prized Dandie Dinmont Terrier, destroyed my father’s autographed baseball from the ’56 World Series where Don Larsen threw a perfect game. Each time there was a setback, the Graves rallied in the only way we knew how. We shopped.

I wasn’t into it like Mom, but if buying me new clothes got her off my back about Braden—and finally gave me some breathing room—I was all for it. I couldn’t go back to the apartment, not until I knew what my course of action would be. So, a day of shopping didn’t sound so bad while I mulled things over.

“I think you look lovely in it.” My mother walked around, her critical eye examining it from every angle.

“What will I wear it to? My quinceañera?”

“I’m sure you have plenty of weddings to attend next spring. In this, you’ll outshine the bride.” She smiled.

“Yes, Mom, because my goal is always to ruin the bride’s special day by flouncing around in a sherbet-colored dress and flashing my panties at all the boys, including the groom.” I stepped down from the modeling podium and walked into my separate changing area. I didn’t mention that I had, on plenty of occasions, bagged a groomsman or two at my friends’ weddings, often using similar tactics to what I just described.

Mom gave an over-dramatic sigh. “Stop being difficult, and try on the next dress.”

“This one is the newest from the Valentino line.” The snooty shopping assistant reassured my mother that she was, for certain, buying the most expensive shit in all of Saks. “I wish I could have been at the runway show. It was faboosh, beyond transcendentine, positively luxotic.”

“Those aren’t words,” I muttered and fought the zipper on my mother’s next selection. This one wasn’t so bad. It was a sky blue sheath that fell mid-thigh and had an interesting peasant-top ruffle at the bust line.

I walked out and stood on the podium as the assistant—a man wearing more makeup than I owned—flittered about and crowed about the fit.

Mom took a swig of the complimentary champagne. “Cyrano, she looks like a barmaid.”

I smiled at myself in the mirror. “It’s my favorite one so far. Tit-tastic.” If a dress made it look like I had actual breasts that were bigger than a teacup, then I was sold.

“An excellent choice. The bodice is ahead of its time. I have a feeling peasant will be in three years from now.” Cyrano—if that was actually his name—twirled one side of his too-thick mustache and affected a lisp that screamed “flamer.” But he wasn’t fooling me. I’d seen him checking out my tits and ass while I modeled my dresses. He was straight, but likely knew that pretending to like the dick was the surest way to get commissions in a Saks dressing room.

Let’s test this theory. I smirked and headed back into the changing area. After yanking my zipper halfway down, I called, “My zipper is stuck. Cyrano, a little help?”

He pushed through the white curtain and let it fall behind him. His eyes took in my bare back and bra strap.

“I can’t quite get it.” I smiled at him in the mirror.

“Allow me, mademoiselle.” He gripped the zipper and pulled it down easily. “There we are.”

I let the dress fall to the floor and turned to face him. His gaze froze on my tits, then lowered to the lace over my pussy.

I plucked at the edge of my panties, pulling them away from my hip. Then I looked at him through my lashes. “Do you think I’d have to go without panties in that dress. Did you see a line?”

He licked his lips. “I-I think—” His voice had lowered two octaves in the space of ten seconds.

When I saw his boner at war with the front of his skinny pants, I laughed. “So busted. Quit ogling my pussy, and go entertain my mom.”

“What?” He cleared his throat and raised his voice into a nasal pitch again. “Oh, vaginas are so icky. I would never—”

“Tell it to your boner.” I crossed my arms over my chest and gave his crotch a pointed stare.

He dropped the act. “Look, I make good money this way, okay? When I played it straight, women never took my style advice. Style is my life, and this is the only way I can be around it and make money at it. Please don’t say anything.”

Guilt filtered through me, and I dropped my arms. “I’m not judging. Well, I’m not now, anyway. I was just messing with you.”

He smiled a little. “What gave me away?”

“Your roving eye.”

“I’ve been trying to work on that, but when I see a beautiful woman.” He gestured at me. “I can’t help it sometimes.”

An idea struck me like a wild pitch. “You get the inside scoop on designer clothes and what the customers come in here looking for all the time, right?”

He ran his thumbs up and down his bright pink suspenders. “Yeah. It’s kind of my job.”

“I’ll tell you what—wait, what’s your name?”

“Cyrano.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, your real name.”

His shoulders drooped. “Cyrus.”

“Okay, Cyrus. You agree to let me interview you for my magazine, and I won’t tell everyone what a true pussy-fiend you are. Sound like a deal?”

“Magazine?” He twirled his mustache.

“I work for Style and Substance.”

His eyes lit up, and he grabbed my upper arms. “Are you shitting me?”

I shook my head. “Not even a little shitting. Not so much as a shart.”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted. Then he ran his hands down my arms. “Sorry about that. It’s just, that’s my favorite fashion mag. It’s so down-to-earth but also classy beyond belief.”

His enthusiasm had my mind whirling in all different directions, but first things first.

“Good.” I plucked one of his business cards from the front pocket of his plaid shirt. “I’ll be in touch, Cyrano.”



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Celia Aaron


Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.


Author Links


Sloane Howell

Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.

Visit his web page www.sloanehowell.com to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.


Author Links

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COVER REVEAL: Kicked by Celia Aaron

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Coming July 28th

Add to your Goodreads shelf now  

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Trent Carrington.

Trent Mr. Perfect-Has-Everyone-Fooled Carrington.

He’s the star quarterback, university scholar, and happens to be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. He shines at any angle, and especially under the Saturday night stadium lights where I watch him from the sidelines. But I know the real him, the one who broke my heart and pretended I didn’t exist for the past two years.

I’m the third-string kicker, the only woman on the team and nothing better than a mascot. Until I’m not. Until I get my chance to earn a full scholarship and join the team as first-string. The only way I'll make the cut is to accept help from the one man I swore to never trust again. The problem is, with each stolen glance and lingering touch, I begin to realizing that trusting Trent isn’t the problem. It’s that I can’t trust myself when I’m around him.

This is a full-length, standalone American football romance novel with hot guys in tight pants who really know how to handle their balls.


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Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. 

Thanks for reading.

Author Links




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