Shane Vaughn has it all. Well, almost. Fame, success, and money can only get her so far. After surviving a devastating heartbreak at the hands of the all-consuming Jacob Andrews, she’s demanding no-strings, uncomplicated liaisons from now on.
Where could she find a simple distraction from Jacob? The exclusive pleasure club, The Resort.
The masked Dom with the blue-eyed gaze could work. He was hypnotizing and mysterious, rendering her powerless. A seductively simple decision.
Unless the masked Dom is Gavin Mayne. A pompous, arrogant, and commanding man. A talent director determined to take Shane’s job. But how can he control an Alpha woman? Force her submission and have her kneeling at his feet.
That is until Jacob Andrews demands a second chance. He couldn’t let Shane go, especially into the arms of another man. She was the love of his life but will she forgive him for what he’s done?
A dangerous combination of betrayal and obsession will surface. But when secrets are revealed, who will be the last man standing?
The last place Lord Tristram Radcliffe ever expected to find himself was right hand to the Llangardian throne. His parentage should have seen him banished, but he managed to keep his draconic secret. Now, King Reynold is dead. Long live King Roland.
The boy ascends to rule a kingdom in chaos, and Tristram must undo the damage of the last king’s reign to save his people from lean winter and wolves in the palace itself. Reynold’s former shadow, Bet Kyston, is determined to root out King Roland’s enemies, but his version of help may cause as much harm as good.
There remains a traitor near to the throne, and when the king falls mysteriously ill, Tristram’s strongest ally is forced to leave court. As his enemies move closer, the strength of Tristram’s regency is more precarious than ever. Abandoned and friendless, Tristram must sacrifice everything to protect his homeland or risk not only Roland’s life, but his own.
Bet twirled the practice blade in his hand, passed it to the other, and did the same. It was the kind of thing Tris never bothered with. When most men did it, they were showing off. Bet wasn’t. He didn’t care that Tris’s eyes were riveted to his long, lithe fingers. The same fingers that had not so long ago been wrapped around his—
“Well, My Lord Regent?” Bet asked. He always said the damned title like it was important and like it was a joke, both at once. “Shall we?”
So Tris did.
“I thought you wanted me gone?”
Tris clamped his jaw shut so he didn’t say anything unwise, but then he realized that if he couldn’t be honest with Bet, there wasn’t a soul in all of Llangard he could be honest with. “I’ve never wanted you gone. I don’t want an assassin in Roland’s employ, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you there.”
Bet, still fully clothed, climbed atop him, running his hands over Tristram’s bare chest. “So all you wish is to change my nature?”
“I do not,” he denied. He put his hands atop Bet’s, but didn’t hold them in place. He let them roam over the planes of his chest, down the narrowing line of his waist, just barely dipping below the sheets to tease at the trail of hair leading farther down. He took a shaky breath and reminded himself that they were conversing. Or they had been.
“You are more than what Reynold asked of you, Bet. More than what I’ve asked.”
Bet’s smirk turned into a scowl for a second, but then he was changing the subject with his hands once again, slipping them both under the sheets.
Rhiannon sighed. “I would go anywhere with you.”
The smile Sidonie gave her at hearing that made Rhiannon’s heart jump in her chest. In her life, Rhiannon had made plenty of conquests. She preferred women, their soft skin and ample curves, the way their lips tasted. But her heart had never skipped just to see a woman’s smile the way it did for Sidonie.
With a soft purr, she leaned in and brushed her nose against her knight’s.
“You don’t have to,” Sidonie offered at once. “I can go on my—”
Rhiannon cut her off by slipping her finger between their lips. “I said I will accompany my lady, and I will accompany my lady. But I might ask you one thing first.”
Rhiannon could not help the grin that spread on her lips at Sidonie’s nervous question. She pulled Sidonie into her room and let her go. Her knight stepped farther inside as Rhiannon shut the door and held the handle with her back pressed to the wood.
“I would like to pretend,” she drawled, “for this one night, that we are not riding into war tomorrow. That there are no threats. That the most dangerous thing in this room is me.”
Rhiannon let go of the door as a charming flush crept up Sidonie’s neck. She stopped in front of her, tilting her head so that her lips were but a breath from Sidonie’s. “And the only danger I pose, my sweet knight, is to your virtue.”
W.M. Fawkes is an author of LGBTQ+ urban fantasy and paranormal romance. She lives with her partner in a house owned by three halloween-hued felines that dabble regularly in shadow walking.
Sam lives in the Midwest with husband and cat, which is even less exciting than it sounds, so she’s not sure why you’re still reading this.
She specializes in LGBTQIA+ fiction, usually with a romantic element. There’s sometimes intrigue and violence, usually a little sex, and almost always some swearing in her work. Her writing is light and happy, though, so if you’re looking for a dark gritty reality, you’ve come to the wrong author.
Christine Sullivan isn’t an easy person to love. She knows how the world sees her – aloof, standoffish, cold…perhaps even bitchy. After a lifetime in politics, including a stint with an expat government in exile, President Sullivan has taken her share of body blows, but now she’s back in Philadelphia…a widow, a recovering Republican, a former public servant seeking a quiet, private existence.
On her to-do list – rebuild her relationship with her estranged daughter and invent the rest of her life. She has her best friend Caroline, her brand spanking new condo, and her ever frustrating Secret Service detail to keep her company. That should be enough for anyone, right?
Until Alexander Guardiola comes along… liberal, emotionally unguarded, younger. A lot younger. Everything Christine isn’t. And isn’t ready for.
But opposites attract, don’t they? And hearts and minds can always be changed…
“Look, I’ve got a serious question for you.”
“Ask away, then.”
“Do you think I still, you know, have it?”
“It? What is it?”
“You know…” Was she really going to make me say it out loud?
“Chrissy, if you can’t define what it is, I’m not sure you should be using it for anything.”
Susannah wondered why I didn’t want to talk to her about intensely personal bits of my life. If my best friend was going to give me a hard time about my difficulties discussing… things, how would my own child react?
Fortunately, Caroline spoke again before I was forced to explain myself. “You want to know if you’re still sexy,” she said.
A bite of pie dropped rather inelegantly from my fork to the plate. Such timing. “I guess so.”
She started to get up. “We could ask Jack.”
Lord help me. “Please don’t.”
She flounced back on the couch. “You’re no fun. But… should I draw this out for effect?”
“Again, please don’t.”
“You’re super hot. Blazing. Like, blonde bombshell bordering on silver fox hot. On occasion you make me question my own sexuality.”
“Come on,” I said.
“Seriously. And your legs. Damn, Chrissy, you have the lower body physique of a thirty year old. Mine never looked that good. Ever.”
My bestie thought I had great gams. Lovely. “You’re teasing me.”
She licked some meringue off her fork before pointing it at me. “Wouldn’t you like to know, eh?”
I didn’t need her giving me a crash course on the lesbian continuum. “I mean it, Caroline. I need some reinforcement.”
“You’re fucking gorgeous and you know it. And you’ve never fished for flattery before. Why now?”
Revealing things to my best friend involved a delicate balance of timing and phrasing, lest the conversation devolve into chaos. But it seemed as good a time as any to dip my toe in the water. “I went out on a date last night.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
She slapped the couch cushion, making the connection immediately. “This is why you had me bring you a tiramisu yesterday. You never ask me for shit that fancy. You gave a man fraudulent baked goods.”
“Well, yes.” I didn’t bother justifying myself. She knew how to prepare yummy things. I didn’t. Was it so very wrong to tell a little white dessert lie to save face on a first date?
“I spent hours on that thing.”
Okay, now I felt a little guilty. “It was good, though. I believe said man proclaimed it remarkable.”
“Of course it was remarkable! I made it!” She smacked my arm. “You’re a charlatan, President Sullivan, and your schemes hurt me here,” she said, theatrically placing her hand over her heart. “But anyway, your deception is fine, I’m totally over it, please tell me more about the date you neglected to mention while asking me to expend considerable energy in making you a dish that I erroneously assumed was solely for your consumption.”
Caroline may have given up her career in public service, but she could still pivot back and forth between issues to the next like a champ. “It wasn’t something I planned on doing,” I said. “But then it just kind of happened so I went with it.”
Her feelings were hurt. I could tell. And it wasn’t really about the tiramisu. “I was going to tell you but…”
“Did you think I would talk you out of it?”
It had been so, so hard to keep my mouth shut. I told her almost everything I felt was worth sharing. “No, but I was afraid that talking to you would provide me with an excuse not to do it.”
“Ah,” she said. “The curse of the overthinker.”
Pretty much. Both of us had the annoying habit of analyzing everything to pieces. “I met him at Susannah’s office.”
She raised an eyebrow. “At that retirement party she forced you to go to?”
“Yes. You might say he was an unintentional bonus to a fairly uneventful evening.”
“Oh, my my my.” Caroline took another generous scoopful of meringue. “We have been busy, haven’t we?”
Dare I tell her the meatiest part? “Susannah was trying to set me up with the retiree and, well, I hit it off with his son.”
“No way.” She started laughing. “Some poor little man got cockblocked by his own flesh and blood. Harsh.”
“I would like to talk about where this relationship is going.” There. That sounded good.
“I think it’s going well, don’t you?”
“I meant, more specifically, where it might go tonight.”
“Oh.” He looked as if I’d genuinely caught him off guard. “I see.”
“I’m not being impulsive this time.”
“I can tell.”
“But I also think I need to… discuss expectations. I mean, neither of us are virgins but—” How could I possibly complete that sentence without dying of embarrassment?
“In a way, we are,” he said. “The first time you sleep with someone is a discovery, right?”
Oh, okay. That made sense. I could build on that. “I suppose so.”
“Much of a couple’s initial intimacy is about discovering likes and dislikes, don’t you think? Almost like sexual information gathering. The joy of discovery. Science but fun.”
“Are you comparing me to an archaeological dig?”
He kissed my neck. “I want to know everything about you. That might require some pretty intense studying. And I’m an eager student.”
“That might take a while. I’m much older than you.”
“I am a man of uncommon dedication.”
Didn’t hurt for me to make the journey a little easier for him. “All my internal organs are in the right places,” I said.
“I’m very sensitive so you don’t have to worry about getting a response out of me.”
“That’s consistent with my observations so far but thank you for sharing.”
“I like soft touching but sometimes a little harder.” In case he hadn’t picked up on during any of the times we’d crept toward home plate while spending lengthy periods of time at first and second base.
“Mmm-hmm.” He nuzzled my neck. Apparently he was eager to get to third as quickly as possible.
There went my plan of hiding my fears. I didn’t like that he could read me so well. “My body is not as springy as yours.” I gestured vaguely. “And my parts are not as, um—”
“I have lube,” he said. “And condoms. Even if pregnancy isn’t a possibility, I want us both to be comfortable.”
“I agree. Safe sex is important.”
“Good.” He mock wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Saves us that discussion.”
I was glad he brought it up first so I wouldn’t have to. Any man who wouldn’t insist on taking precautions was not a man I’d want in my bed. His proactivity was definitely a point in his favor. “If you call me ‘Madam President’during any of this, whether we are undressed or not, whether sensitive places are being touched, or whether parts are inside other parts, I am running out the door and never looking back.”
About the Author:
Cecilia London is the pen name of a native Illinoisan currently living in San Antonio, Texas. She’s filled several roles over the course of her adult life – licensed attorney, wrangler of small children, and obsessed baseball and footy fan, among others. An extroverted introvert with a serious social media addiction, she is the author of The Bellator Saga, an epic, genre-crossing romance series, and its spinoff, Songbird. You can most often find her causing trouble on Twitter or, less frequently, on Facebook.
Giveaway: Cecilia London is giving away 3 complete e-sets of the first 6 books of her Bellator Saga, Books 1 – 6, to celebrate her new release, SONGBIRD. You can enter below! Must be 18 to enter and win. Open Internationally.
Paperback — https://amzn.to/3dwws80 Sought-after social media influencer Sara Vance, in recovery for a serious health disorder, is coming into her own, with a potential career expansion on the horizon. Despite the good news, her successful siblings (and their perfect spouses) have a way of making her feel like the odd one out. So, when her unreliable boyfriend is a no-show for a Florida family vacation, Sara recruits Luis Navarro—a gorgeous firefighter paramedic and dive captain willing to play the part of her smitten fiancé . . .
Luis’s big Cuban familia has been in Key West for generations, and his quiet strength feeds off the island’s laidback style. Though guarded after a deep betrayal, he’ll always help someone in need—especially a spunky beauty with a surprising knowledge of Spanish curse words. Soon, he and Sara have memorized their “how we met” story and are immersed in family dinners, bike tours, private snorkeling trips . . . sharing secrets, and slow, melting kisses. But when it’s time for Sara to return home, will their island romance last or fade with the stunning sunset?
When four college friends formed the Brown Sugarettes Mastermind Group, they had very different goals—but matched each other in ambition. Yet ten years later they can’t help wondering what happened to the hopeful, confident, driven women they used to be—and how to get
them back . . .
Radio personality Raina, known as “the black Delilah,” hates the wholesome persona that’s made her a success. Doling out syrupy versions of her grandma’s wisdom feels worlds away from the sarcastic,
tell-it-like-it-is woman Raina really is.
Kara Jones was sure she’d be a master sommelier by thirty. Life and loss interfered with that plan. Now she has one more chance—but it’s taking a toll on her self-esteem and her marriage.
Nikki Grayson hardly recognizes the stay-at-home mom she’s become. When her band signed a record deal, she swapped the limelight for a minivan and a sensible ’do. Now she’s wishing she had followed her heart. Instead, she’s drowning her regret in alcohol.
Public defender Sienna Njeri willingly put her city council aspirations aside to support her fiancé’s bid for office—and now she’s wondering if her loyalty is misplaced.
Longing for the support, advice, and tough love they once shared, all four resolve to start meeting up again. After all, their dreams may still be within reach. But are they worth the price they’ll pay to achieve them?
Sharina Harris earned her Bachelor of Arts degree from Georgia State University. After college, she pursued a career in digital marketing and public relations. Although her profession required writing, she decided to pursue a career in writing in 2012.
Sharina’s contemporary romance series under the pen name, Rina Gray, was named Book Riot’s 100 Must-Read Romantic Comedies. When Sharina’s not writing, she can be found with her head stuck in a book, rooting for her favorite NBA teams, and spending time with friends and family.
BlurbThe mystery of Hadrian ni Agthon unsettles Caled to his core. He fears he will never learn the truth about the young sorcerer’s reasons for betraying him. Though there are an increasing number of hints that Hadrian was a victim of his father, Hadrian himself suggests that every step he took was taken deliberately. When their group is contacted by a sorcerer who not only knows Hadrian but claims to be his friend, Caled is hopeful for a chance to finally separate fact from fiction. Instead, he’s served a greater mystery: Hadrian appears to hate this supposed friend. Caled needs to learn more, but he worries that his quest for knowledge will come at the expense of their safety, for the road ahead looks to be riddled with traps not only physical, but emotional.ExcerptHadrian was certain he would go mad with the depth of his lust. He parted his lips and helplessly mouthed Caled’s shoulder as his own hips pushed forward against the mercenary’s backside. He wanted Caled’s bare flesh in his naked palm. He wanted to hold that velvety heat and stroke it. He wanted to taste it. Oh, gods, he wanted it inside him.“Please,” he groaned. “Easy,” Caled murmured, though his voice sounded deeper. “This is enough, Hades. This is more than I should.”Hadrian didn’t want him thinking about that. Caled was finally giving in. Caled was finally giving him what they both wanted and Hadrian wasn’t about to let the other man change his mind when Hadrian had waited so very long for this.They were at the back of their line, the others riding ahead, so Hadrian squeezed his thighs together and lifted himself high enough to put his lips on the sun-warmed skin of Caled’s nape. Caled flinched, but Hadrian persisted, moving his lips over that warm, golden skin and finally touching his tongue to it. The moment his tongue made contact, Caled’s entire body shivered and his hand crushed Hadrian’s against him.“Hades,” he groaned.Hadrian shut his eyes and savored the lust riding in waves through his body. Courage which he hadn’t known he possessed fueled his hands and his words. He leaned up and whispered, “What you did to me in that boat was not unwanted.”Caled’s entire body stiffened. Their horse bobbed its head, sensing the new tension. “Damn you, Hades.”“My body still aches from how you took me. It’s an ache I take into my dreams.”“We’re not doing this,” Caled panted, sounding almost angry as he continued to thrust into Hadrian’s hands. “Not here. Not now.”“You have become my master in torture,” Hadrian ground out. “Grant me relief.”“I would master you in many ways.” Caled shook his head. “But it’s not that easy. Not—for me.”
About the Author
Tricia Owens has been writing m/m fiction since 2000, after stumbling onto the term ‘slash’ and thinking it referred to horror stories. She is the author of the Sin City, A Pirate’s Life for Me, and Juxtapose City series, among several others. She lives in Las Vegas.
The present reckons with the past in Attraction, Ruby Porter’s atmospheric debut novel.
Three women are on a road trip, navigating the motorways of the North Island, their relationships with one another and New Zealand’s colonial history. Our narrator doesn’t know where she stands with Ilana, her not-quite girlfriend. She has a complex history with her best friend, Ashi. She’s haunted by the memory of her emotionally abusive ex-boyfriend. And her period’s now weeks late.
Attraction is a meditative novel of connection, inheritance and the stories we tell ourselves. In lyrical fragments, Porter explores what it means to be and to belong, to create and to destroy.
My mum buys her lotto tickets from that Mobil. She rings ten minutes after I leave to remind me to pick one up. —Somewhere lucky. Maybe Matamata, or Thornton. Get it where you feel the pull.
I say, —Okay, Helen, and hang up.
I’ve always called her that, because I have two mums. She met Chris not long after I was born, and Chris moved in when I was eighteen months old. They were together for ten years. My dad was never really on the scene.
My earliest memories don’t come in images, but in thoughts. Realising it was my third birthday. Wondering what to call my mums. Recognising Helen walking down the road, while in a car with Chris. I haven’t retained the picture of her, or the road, just that knowing. Maybe it shocked me that her life existed outside of our house. Maybe it shocked me that her life existed outside of mine.
I say, —What’s your first memory? No matter how vague.
—It’s not vague, Ilana says. —Falling into the bath. I don’t remember the feeling, but I remember the view of the ceiling.
Through the soft light of water.
—And I remember Mum, pulling me out. That was the scariest part, her being that frightened. You know, cos I was a kid.
Ruby Porter is a prose-writer, poet and artist. She tutors creative writing at the University of Auckland, and in high schools. Ruby was the winner of the Wallace Foundation Short Fiction Award in 2017, and the inaugural winner of the Michael Gifkins Prize in 2018, with her debut novel Attraction. Attraction was written during her Masters of Creative Writing at the University of Auckland under supervisor Paula Morris, and published in May by Melbourne-based Text Publishing. It is distributed throughout Australia and New Zealand.
Don’t bless us Father, for we came to sin.Through acts of kindness, our diligence will shine in the darkest of hours. With our chastity held in highest regard like a prize to be won, and the patience needed to persevere through these trying times, our humility will guide the way. And when our hearts have finally learned the importance of temperance, will we give back all we can through charity.So it is written, so it shall be done.
*Please note: Oblation is a part of the Bad Habits Anthology*
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I still my footsteps, mesmerized by the nude nun literally devouring a man on the altar, her pale skin illuminated by moonlight as she rocks atop him, strangling him with a leather belt and slicing his skin with a knife. The man’s hands fall limply after she’s done, and I feel a rush of fear. But my concern for him is outweighed by my reaction to her. She is utter perfection. A dark goddess in this holy place. Father Thomas stands watching the scene, praying? What is this place? What are they doing? I cringe when I watch him finger fuck the little minx while she’s splayed across the other man who still isn’t moving. Father Thomas lets her leave, dejected and devastated when he wouldn’t take it further. Her eyes widen when she sees me, her arms wrapping around her clothing which she holds close to her small frame. I duck farther into the shadows as Father Thomas exits the church.
Jo-Anne Joseph is a USA Today Bestselling Author of contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and psychological fiction. Along with a passion for writing, she is an avid reader, wine lover and foodie. Her lifelong love affair with words started at a young age. She’s a business professional, and lives in Johannesburg, South Africa with her husband, their son and fur babies.