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Broken by Elise Faber

Broken is Available Now!
— A BRAND NEW HOCKEY SERIES from Elise Faber —
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He was forty years old.
He was single.
He had his dream job as GM of the Baltimore Breakers hockey franchise, and he was happy.


Because the woman he was in love with was married.

To a perfectly nice man who loved her and cared for her and treated her like the queen she was.

But then Lexi showed up at his house, tears in her eyes, Caleb out of the picture, and he finally had a shot.

A real shot.

At love.

The trouble was that Luc had spent almost the entirety of his adult life running from love. He didn’t do relationships, not any longer.

But . . . Lexi was hurt, absolutely devastated, and she needed care and gentleness and deserved all of the romance in the world.

So he needed to man up and find a way to convince her to give him that shot.

About the Author:

USA Today bestselling author, Elise Faber, loves chocolate, Star Wars, Harry Potter, and hockey (the order depending on the day and how well her team—the Sharks!—are playing). She and her husband also play as much hockey as they can squeeze into their schedules, so much so that their typical date night is spent on the ice. Elise changes her hair color more often than some people change their socks, loves sparkly things, and is the mom to two exuberant boys.

She lives in Northern California. Connect with her in her Facebook group, the Fabinators or email her at
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Release Blitz

To Hold a Hidden Pearl

Title: To Hold a Hidden Pearl

Series: Rossingley, Book One

Author: Fearne Hill

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: 05/24/2021

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 73500

Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, doctors, in the closet, coming out, cross dressing, sexual tension, grieving

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Dr Jay Sorrentino is getting married in ten days’ time to the girl of his dreams, so what the hell is he doing in a gay London club with a stupidly handsome stranger? As if calling off the wedding and alienating his friends and family isn’t enough, Jay also has to contend with starting a new job at a new hospital. So the last thing he needs is for the bloke from the club to be his prickly supervisor. Dr Lucien Avery is a difficult colleague. He’s also the unexpected and reluctant heir to the vast Rossingley estate. Reclusive and miserable, he hates most of his colleagues, people who eat packed lunches, and supervising junior doctors. That is, until the delectable Dr Sorrentino turns up on his doorstep. A light-hearted M/M contemporary romance, Rossingley takes place in Southern England and is centred around a fictional country house and estate by the same name. The first in the series, it can be read as a standalone.


To Hold a Hidden Pearl Fearne Hill © 2021 All Rights Reserved LUCIEN I don’t do nightclubs anymore. It’s not an age thing. Sure, I’m thirty-four, but there are plenty of men and women older than me in here seemingly having a blast. It’s…it’s just that I hoped I’d never need to, I suppose. I think I had this ridiculous notion I’d be happily settled with a great job, an even better loving partner, and a comfortable home. I have the job, and I certainly have the home, not that I particularly wanted it. But the loving partner? Not so much. To be fair, though, I’m quite difficult to love. So here I am, propping up the wall in Spangles, a club I haven’t visited in years, watching my pissed former work colleagues, Sam and Louis, make complete arses of themselves on the dance floor. There’s a whole gang of us here. I don’t know any of the others, and I don’t really want to become better acquainted with them either, but Sam has been begging me to come up to London for months and months. He’s been a decent friend since the accident, as much as I’ve let him, and joining him for his boyfriend Louis’s thirtieth birthday is the least I can do to show my appreciation. So I’d downed a few colourful cocktails, which seem to have had no effect on my mood whatsoever, put on my glad rags, done my eyes, and now pretend to be the sexy guy I used to be before my former existence was comprehensively annihilated. And tomorrow, when it’s thankfully all over, I’ll whizz back down the M4 to Allenmouth, and having seen how absolutely spiffily I’m coping, they’ll hopefully leave me alone for a while. I deserve an Oscar for tonight’s performance, but I’m starting to flag. Another ten minutes of hugging the wall and my Campari and soda, and I’ll be on my way. An enormously tall, Italian Stallion kind of guy gives me a blatant once-over, and my eyes skirt past him. Thanks, but no thanks. Curly black hair, eyes like pools of melted chocolate, bulging shoulder muscles, and a broad chest threatening to break out of his tight white T-shirt. As if at any minute, the T-shirt might rip open and his skin turn an ugly shade of green. As he is, with T-shirt intact, he’s what Americans refer to as a jock. Or an especially buff Danny Zuko. But I’m no simpering Pink Lady. He’s absolutely not my bag at all. My gaze settles on a little cutie chatting to his friends near the bar. Much more like it, exactly my type of guy. Perfect tight arse in the skinniest of black jeans, and he’s demonstrating the grace of a ballet dancer as he reaches upwards onto his toes to speak into a friend’s ear. Slight of build, and floppy, dirty-blond hair with pink frosted tips. Sensing my interest, he shyly smiles at me, and I look away. We all know the rules to this game, and a few seconds later, I glance back at him. He returns the look at precisely the moment that a protective, possessive arm comes to rest across his narrow shoulders, and the ruggedly handsome owner of that arm plants an adoring kiss on his cheek. With a regretful shrug, the cute guy turns to his companion and is pulled into a loving hug. A keeper for sure, only not my keeper unfortunately. Oh well, c’est la vie. Gloria Gaynor is belting out ‘I am what I am’ at the top of her lungs. Most definitely my cue to leave. I finish my drink and head to where I last saw Sam and Louis. With a bit of luck, they’ll be so engrossed in each other they’ll let me slip out unnoticed to find a taxi to take me home. As I begin to push through groups of sweaty clubbers, the Italian Stallion guy blocks my path. And I mean blocks—he’s broad and beefy. He’s giving me another once-over, this time anxious, through thick black lashes, and his liquid-brown eyes are strangely as skittish as a colt’s. I make to squeeze by. But his big hand reaches around, catching me unawares, settles firmly around my wrist, and I’m tugged towards a dark corner of the club. Granted, it’s an unconventional hook-up technique, but I’m pissed enough and curious enough to go with it—perhaps in the dim light, he’s mistaken me for my cousin Freddie; it wouldn’t be the first time. We both have rather striking features. So it seems that now he’s got me here, he’s not quite sure what it is he wants. He hovers in front of me, one hand resting lightly at my hip, and I can’t tell if he’s very nervous or very drunk. I’m happy to wait; I’ve nothing better to do. Anyway, I’m mildly intrigued as I have a feeling that, like me, he doesn’t really belong. He licks his lips once—yes, definitely nervous—and it draws attention to his fine mouth, a full Cupid’s bow, now glistening wetly. The sort of generous wide mouth made for laughing. Or cock sucking. I’m focusing on those lips now because the background thump of Ms Gaynor makes audible speech nigh on impossible. “Can I suck your cock?” he asks. Gosh, we must be acquainted after all, as this is one of my all-time favourite questions. Okay, so I’ve not had any sexual activity in any of its manifestations for approaching two years, and I can’t recall the last time I even bothered employing my own right hand. Months and months ago. So if there is a single man in the history of the universe in my current sexual desert who would answer his question in the negative, then I’d like to meet him and shake his hand. I contemplate replying with a sarcastic “Yes, if you can find it, darling” because, frankly, it’s most likely shrivelled up and died somewhere. But instead, I nod coolly and find myself mouthing, Be my guest, accompanied by a faintly ridiculous sweeping gesture of my arm as if inviting him in for afternoon tea. And that mouth is quite enticing, even if it is attached to a man built like Tarzan. Beautiful skin, too, a rich natural olive. I don’t know the extent of his lip-reading skills, but I think he gets the message. Still looks nervous as hell though. I’d go so far as to say bloody terrified. I’ve no idea why, as he’s the one leading on this, and it’s not like my cock is going to bite back. If he’s afraid we’ll be spotted and turfed out, then he need not be. This corner of Spangles might as well have a sign above it advertising Sloppy Blow Jobs Here, judging by the stickiness of the carpet and the blatant activities of the couples nearby. However, whatever internal battle he’s fighting, his desire to suck me bizarrely wins out, and he sinks to his knees rather gracefully for such a big bloke. All fingers and thumbs, he unfastens my belt, then wrestles with the buttons on my skinny Levi’s. If we weren’t in the situation we are, and if he hadn’t made his rather forwards suggestion, I’d assume he’d never done this before because he’s certainly making a hash of undoing my trousers. But eventually, they’re open, and I give him a helping hand by lowering them slightly around my hips. I’m treated to a rather lovely whiff of good old-fashioned Fahrenheit aftershave; it’s been years since I inhaled its woody, leathery aroma. With one last anxious glance up through his thick lashes, he slides his fingers inside the slit in my boxers and unceremoniously pulls out my cock. I think it’s that endearing last look up that gets my juices flowing, a vulnerable mixture of fear and need, and thankfully, my cock is half hard and getting harder. Which is infinitely preferable to watching him endeavouring to shape his lips around something akin to a clammy slug, even if he is a total stranger. And the blow job isn’t half bad, even for someone who I’m utterly convinced hasn’t ever done it before. There’s a bit too much toothiness at the start, and some overenthusiastic sucking that has me wincing and nearly pushing him away, but then he settles and finds a rhythm and mmm…really not bad at all. What he’s lacking in expertise, he’s more than making up for in enthusiasm. Should I have warned him against the perils of offering blow jobs to random strangers in dodgy Soho nightclubs? Probably. I am a doctor after all; surely it falls within the bounds of my Hippocratic oath. But I don’t. Because looking down, I find myself suddenly mesmerised by the sight of that big dark head bobbing up and down on my cock, not to mention the rather lovely sensations as his raspy tongue lathes along the length. As my orgasm builds, I bury my hands in the mop of dark curls, arch my hips up, and forcefully fuck his mouth, my cock reaching right into the back of his throat, and he takes it all, bless him, he gamely takes it all. And so for the first time in eighteen months, I’m transported out of myself to a place where Dr Lucien Avery, the reluctant sixteenth Earl of Rossingley, is reminded of what joy can feel like. To a place where he remembers what pleasure feels like, where he can smile, and his heart can briefly sing again. Because, finally, something good and pure and simple is happening, and he can believe just maybe there is a path leading out of this wretched sadness after all. And the boy who is making this all happen is some big lump of a creature, lacking in finesse, but with such soulful brown eyes and swollen red lips. A boy who even now is gazing up at me through his long lashes with such devotion to his task that my balls clench and my hips jerk, and without giving him the customary polite warning, I spurt again and again into his mouth until my legs wobble dangerously and I sink back against the damp wall. I eventually open my eyes to find him standing in front of me once more. Well-mannered boy that he is, he’s poking my cock back inside my boxers and putting my jeans back together, acts which seem somehow more intimate and sweeter than sucking my cock. After wiping a trail of my spunk off his cheek with a sweep of his hand, he gently smiles, and it’s the smile of a fairy-tale prince. Such a charming smile that it could launch ships and incite men to fight wars; it sparks sensations in me I’d forgotten existed but want to experience again. I decide, in a moment, when I’ve collected myself—when I’ve come down from my unexpected high—I’ll suggest we go back to my place so I can return the favour. I close my eyes briefly, wanting to hold on to this blissful forgotten feeling for as long as possible. And of course, as in all good fairy stories, when I open them again, he’s gone.


NineStar Press | Books2Read

Meet the Author

Fearne Hill lives deep in the southern British countryside with three untamed sons, varying numbers of hens, a few tortoises, and a beautiful cocker spaniel. When she is not overseeing her small menagerie, she enjoys writing contemporary romantic fiction. And when she is not doing either of those things, she works as an anaesthesiologist.

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Ethan’s Empire: Laying Down the Rules by R.V. Garner

Ethan’s Empire: Laying Down the Rules
R.V. Garner
Publication date: February 15th 2021
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Welcome to Ethan’s world, where the suspense is heart-gripping, and the romance will leave you desperate for more.

At an age when most girls have the world at their feet, Olivia Crosley is just trying to survive, bouncing from one borrowed bed to another to find a place to lay her head at night. With all the odds against her and strength beyond her years, she has managed to carve out a section of life she can call her own.

Then she meets Ethan Grant. The first time she laid eyes on him, he was a complete mystery, an unlikely hero in a perfectly tailored suit. His stoic demeanor told her to keep her guard up, but there is a reason he saved her, and she needs to find out why. From the moment he pulled her into his car, she became a prize to be hunted. She soon learns that his enemies are fully engaged in the game.

Olivia finds herself immersed in guards, guns, and more money than she could ever imagine. Each moment brings its own sense of danger as she struggles to determine whether her heart or life is on the line.

Goodreads / Amazon


That was one piece of information I would have preferred not to know. His lips on hers, his hands touching her body. The images replayed in my mind until I thought I would go insane. Pacing with a glass of bourbon in hand, I tried to calm myself while I waited for her to arrive. I thought she would have the courtesy to come and speak with me, but she avoided me like the plague and it did nothing but piss me off more.

I held my glass a little too tightly as I stared at the door to her room. My anger raged as I thought about them together. Not able to stand it any longer, I walked toward her, the sound of my footsteps filling the apartment. There was no hesitation, and when I reached her room, I barged right in, ready to confront her.

As soon as she came into view, she disarmed me. Seeing her standing there, barely dressed, stopped me in my tracks. I tried to avert my eyes, but it was an impossible feat. My gaze remained fixated on her and there was no controlling it. When she shouted at me, I didn’t even flinch.

There was a battle raging inside of me. My mind was screaming at me to stay away from her, but my heart was having none of it.

Author Bio:

R.V. Garner is an emerging author in the romance genre. She grew up on the border of Georgia and Florida, surrounded by sunshine and salt air. A hopeless romantic to her core, she gets lost creating worlds and letting them flow out of her in the form of a story. Dancing in the rain, the long-awaited kiss, a hand on the small of the back, she’s a sucker for them all. Epic love stories in any form are her kryptonite. Books, movies, and music all hold power over her, and she hopes to share a little bit of that magic with you. You can visit her at Be sure to sign up for updates, and be one of the first to know when new books are coming out.

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Crystal’s House of Queers by Brooke Skipstone

Crystal’s House of Queers
Brooke Skipstone
Publication date: May 24th 2021
Genres: Coming of Age, Contemporary, LGBTQ+

Three senior girls in rural Alaska escape their abusive pasts

by raising their dyke flag for themselves and their community.

Crystal Rose woke up at three in the morning today, drenched in sweat and breathless after another sex dream with Haley Carson. Later at school in the tiny town of Clear, Alaska, Crystal saves Haley from an assault by her abusive boyfriend.

The two girls renew a love started years ago that had to stay hidden until now. But with Crystal’s grandparents in the hospital with Covid and the possibility of her drug addict parents returning from a 14-year absence, Crystal needs Haley as much as she needs Crystal.

They connect with Payton Reed, a gun-toting artist who helps them feel proud to be gay and willing to stand up to anyone. Together they struggle to make Crystal’s house safe for those who are hated for their love.

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Crystal and JD are very happy to be back in school. They’d been online from mid-March through May and then from late August until Monday, two days ago. During that time, Crystal had seen virtually none of her classmates. She’d never been very social, but she had missed seeing her art teacher and especially Haley. They’d been close friends in the elementary grades but had drifted apart in high school.

Crystal unties her hair and shakes her head. “One reason we went back this week is that special needs students don’t learn as much in remote learning.”

“Who said that?” asks Summer.

“SPED teacher.” Crystal bends over the table to grab her computer and feels her grandmother’s eyes searching her, just like she felt the moose eyes earlier.

“Crystal, why aren’t you wearing a bra?”

She lifts her eyes to Summer, who signals to hold her shirt against her chest. “Why are you looking?” She stays bent as she shoves books and her computer into her bag. “No one cared about me wearing a bra before. What difference does it make now?”

“Crystal, we’ve talked about this. You developed over the summer. You can’t be flashing everyone.”

“Am I flashing, or are you making a special effort to look down my shirt?” She feels blood rushing to her face. Her eyes throb.

“Please stand up straight.”

Crystal finishes stuffing her pack without hurrying, drags the zipper closed then swings her pack onto her shoulder as she stands. “Better?”

“Please put on your bra.”

Mac coughs. “Just don’t bend over in front of the boys, Crystal, and keep your jacket zipped.”

Crystal cocks a brow. “Because it’d be my fault if they stared at my boobs?”

JD laughs. “Gena calls them boobs too. A lot of my friends call them tits.”

“JD!” Everyone flinches when Summer slaps the table. Crystal can remember only one or two other times when she screamed at JD. He now stands with his mouth open, breathing noisily. His eyes bulge. “There’s no need to be crude. Why are you and Gena talking about her . . . breasts?”

Because they’ve been having sex for the past six months, thinks Crystal so loud she wonders whether anyone hears her. “C’mon, JD. We need to go.” Crystal pushes a chair farther under the table and heads for the door.

Summer grabs her arm. “Why are you being so defiant about this?”

“I’ve gone my whole life without my chest being strangled and bound. No one cared. Now if I don’t crush my boobs all day and much of the night, there’s something wrong with me. Guys go shirtless at PE all the time. Why can’t the girls?”

“That’d be embarrassing,” laughs JD as he moves through the door. “Hope you feel better, Mac.”

Summer releases Crystal’s arm and wrings her hands. “Now you want to go topless? Where are you getting these ideas?”

“Why do I have to get them from somewhere besides my own head? Cause I’m too dumb?” Her heart pounds in her chest and lips tighten against her teeth. She wants to say much more but is afraid to start another argument. She tries to slow her breathing. “Hope you feel better, Mac.” She exits the house and heads toward her Honda 4-wheeler where JD sits sideways behind the seat.

“I think it’s my turn to drive,” he says, just like every morning.

Crystal straddles the seat and starts the motor. “It’s not your turn until you’re older than me.”

“And what day will that happen?”

“Exactly.” She zips up her jacket, shifts gears, and races away from the house down her long driveway, bordered by spruce and aspen.

Last weekend, Kato told her she needed to wear a bra when she returned to school. He said he didn’t want guys staring at her all day. They’d been best friends their whole lives and had never even kissed. Then her boobs grew over the summer, and he couldn’t keep his hands off her. He complained she was teasing him, being coy, making him think dirty thoughts. All during July and August, she’d felt excited and confused, sometimes angry. Before this past weekend, they’d only kissed, and honestly, she’d never wanted to do anything more.

But she finally relented. The experience wasn’t very exciting, certainly nothing like her dreams of girls. Or kissing Haley in fifth grade.

At first, the dreams bothered her. Could something more be wrong with her brain beyond what school told her? She’s never fantasized about a boy. After Saturday’s session with Kato, she believes she understands why, but doesn’t know what to do or who to tell.

Maybe Haley?

What’s the worst that could happen?

She could laugh. Walk away. Tell others.

What’s the best she could say?

Me too.

How amazing would that be?

When the best option offers so great a reward, Crystal always ignores the danger. Witness—her encounter with the moose this morning.

Maybe she’ll talk to Haley today.

Author Bio:

Brooke Skipstone is a multi-award winning author who lives in Alaska where she watches the mountains change colors with the seasons from her balcony. Where she feels the constant rush toward winter as the sunlight wanes for six months of the year, seven minutes each day, bringing crushing cold that lingers even as the sun climbs again. Where the burst of life during summer is urgent under twenty-four-hour daylight, lush and decadent. Where fish swim hundreds of miles up rivers past bear claws and nets and wheels and lines of rubber-clad combat fishers, arriving humped and ragged, dying as they spawn. Where danger from the land and its animals exhilarates the senses, forcing her to appreciate the difference between life and death. Where the edge between is sometimes too alluring.

Some Laneys Died is her second novel. Her first was Someone To Kiss My Scars, also available in French (Embrasser Mes Blessures) and Spanish (Alguien Que Bese Mis Heridas).

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Gambit by C.L. Denault

C.L. Denault
(The Prodigy Chronicles, #1)
Publication date: April 3rd 2021
Genres: Dystopian, Romance, Science Fiction, Young Adult

The Core wants her DNA. She wants her freedom. Let the game begin.

In Earth’s battle-ridden future, humans have evolved. Those with extraordinary skills rise to power and fame. Those without live in poverty.

Sixteen-year-old Willow Kent believed she was normal. But when a genetically-advanced military officer shows up in her village and questions her identity, long-buried secrets begin to emerge. With remarkable skills and a shocking genetic code the Core and its enemies will do anything to obtain, Willow suddenly finds the freedom she craves slipping through her fingers. Greed, corruption, and genetic tampering threaten every aspect of her existence as she’s thrust, unwilling, into the sophisticated culture of the elite Core city. To ensure peace, she must leave the past behind, marry a man she’s never met, and submit to the authority of a relentless officer with a hidden agenda of his own.

Her life has become a dangerous game. How much will she sacrifice in order to win?

Goodreads / Amazon


I stood at the hearth to warm myself. The heat felt good against the room’s deep chill, and the dancing flames intrigued me. My family couldn’t afford wood as a fuel source. Trees were a precious resource in the Outlying Lands. Burning them required a permit and cost a fortune. Given the heaping pile of logs stacked beside the fireplace, neither of those obstacles had been a problem for Reece.

He approached me with another strange device. “Turn and face me.”

I did as he asked, noting the way firelight flickered over his dark hair and reflected off his eyes. The effect was startling. Who was this man, that he gave the order for a bluster’s death one moment and shimmered like a cat the next?

The device he held began to glow. A warm ray of light extended above me and washed over my entire body. When it finished, an image in my shape hovered above his palm. A red dot blinked on the lower right half.

Exactly where my dagger was hidden.

“Well, look at that,” he said. “My little butterfly has a stinger.”

I took a step back, knowing what he was going to ask of me. But I wouldn’t give it up, not the gift Mum had given me long ago, the one valuable thing I owned.

“Hand it over, Morrigan.”

“Don’t call me that. My name is Willow.”

He shrugged. “If you prefer. Now do as I say.”

I hesitated, and his icy-blue eyes narrowed.

“We can handle this one of two ways. Either you give up your weapon willingly, or I take it from you. And I assure you, I won’t be gentle about it.”

“But this is my only protection,” I said slowly.

“You won’t need it. I’m all the security you require.”

I didn’t want his security. I had my own, and his silky arrogance was starting to get on my nerves, calling forth an unreasonable yet potent desire to challenge him. “My mum gave it to me. It’s mine, and you’re not taking it.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, yes, I am. I won’t risk your attacking me when my back is turned.”

“It’s not for attacking, it’s for defending,” I argued irritably. “Which is exactly what I’ll do if you come any closer.”

“You are no match for me,” he said, with a husky laugh. An infuriating smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Do yourself a favor, and cease this childish game before you get hurt.”

Something desperate slid through my belly, hot and unrecognizable. It shook me with its intensity, and I had no strength against its will. Retreating another step, I felt for the weapon through my skirt. Vibrations tingled across my palms, and the skill’s power rushed through my veins. When I pictured the flat, silver surface of the blade, it trembled inside the scabbard as if ready to leap into my hand.

Let him try for it. He would regret laughing at me.

“Keep your distance,” I warned him, “or we’ll see who gets hurt.”

Author Bio:

C.L. Denault is a speculative fiction writer who loves dreaming up tales of adventure and intrigue. A former systems analyst, she gave up her nerdy code-writing skills to care for her family (including a son with special needs) and currently lives among the vast stretches of cornfields in Illinois.

Writing and working out are her biggest passions, along with coffee and sci-fi. When she’s not hanging out with her husband and kids, she can usually be found at a library or tucked away in the shadowy corner of a hip coffeehouse. She’s also been glimpsed sneaking into her garage, late at night, to work on her time machine.

She enjoys connecting with people—especially those from other planets, nearby dimensions, and the future. To find her, just visit her website or social media pages. Or use a Stargate. Whichever is easiest.

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Do you remember your first? 

For a limited time, THE PERFECT FIRST by @mayahugheswrites is available for 99¢ 

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FREE with Kindle Unlimited


“How long do you last in bed?” Those were her first words to me, swiftly followed up with, “And how big would you say you are?”

Cue the record scratching, what?!

Persephone Alexander. Math genius. Lover of blazers. The only girl I know who can make Heidi braids look sexy as hell. And she’s on a mission. Lose her virginity by the end of the semester.

I walked in on her interview session for potential candidates (who even does that?) and saw straight through her brave front. She’s got a list of Firsts to accomplish like she’s only got months to live. I’ve decided to be her guide for all her firsts except one. Someone’s got to keep her out of trouble. I have one rule, no sex. We even shook on it.

I’ll help her find the right guy for the job. Someone like her doesn’t need someone like me and my massive…baggage for her first time.

Drinking at a bar. Check.

Partying all night. Double check.

Skinny dipping. Triple check.

She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. The walls I’d put up around my heart are slowly crumbling with each touch that sets fire to my soul.

I’m the first to bend the rules. One electrifying kiss changes everything and suddenly I don’t want to be her first, I want to be her only. But her plan was written before I came onto the scene and now I’m determined to get her to re-write her future with me.

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Royal Trouble by Jennifer Bonds

Royal Trouble
Jennifer Bonds
Published by: Entangled: Amara
Publication date: May 17th 2021
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

It’s time for everyone’s favorite bad boy, Prince Alexander Stanley, to clean up his act. Given the rare opportunity to lead a new royal program that aids veterans and their families, Xander can’t afford to be making scandalous headlines anymore. He has only two months until the program launches. No more overindulging. And definitely no more women.

Then halfway into it, his good behavior streak is threatened by a devil in a fuchsia dress.

Everly Wilson has kept a secret for years. She was the mastermind behind the celebrity dirt website Royals Gone Wild, which exposed some of her home country of Valeria’s juiciest secrets. But once she was out of school, she left the website and her past behind, moved to New York, and became a serious writer.

A seriously broke writer. If she doesn’t find a fresh story to earn her top dollar, she’ll be out on the street, with nothing but her laptop and a stack of unpaid medical bills to keep her warm at night.

But when a friend’s wedding brings her back home, it seems like the fates have aligned to deliver her the scoop of the year. Prince Alexander is suddenly on a mission to clean up his act, avoiding the escapades he once embraced—and she’s determined to be the one to catch his inevitable screwup. So when things between them start to heat up, and Xander’s walls start coming down, Everly might be the one royally in trouble this time…

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“Would you prefer I call security?”

“Grand idea,” he said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “I’m sure they’d be happy to escort you from the premises.”

“Escort me?” she asked, indignation coloring her words.

“Well, you are the one in the wrong loo.”

“No, that can’t be right…” She glanced around taking in the masculine colors of the restroom. Her eyes settled on the urinals even as a crimson flush spread over her chest and up her neck, disappearing into her hairline. “God, I hate weddings. First the dance, now this.”

She blew out a frustrated breath and began gathering the material of her dress—what little of it there was—doing her best to smooth it out over her hips.

Sticking around would be courting trouble Xander couldn’t afford, but his feet were cemented to the marble floor. She was obviously in some sort of bind and it was clear she was too prideful, or maybe too stubborn, to ask for help. He knew better than to offer it, though. She’d probably tell him to piss off.

“So if you didn’t come in here to try it on with me, what exactly are you doing?”

Everly glanced up at him, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She studied him for a moment, and seemingly coming to a decision, gave a curt nod. “You have to promise you won’t laugh.”

Oh, this was going to be brilliant. “I promise not to laugh. Much.”

She shot him a dirty look, the corners of her lips pursed in disapproval. “You’re an arrogant ass. Have I mentioned that yet?”

“I believe it was part of the initial greeting.” He shrugged and leaned against the vanity, crossing his ankles. He’d been called worse and he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when she was looking at him as if she couldn’t decide between throwing him up against the counter to fuck him and throwing him up against the counter to fuck him.

“So, funny story.” Everly inched closer, keeping her back facing away from him. “Actually, it’s not so funny,” she said, a small wrinkle forming between her brows. “I ordered the wrong size dress and I could barely zip this fuchsia nightmare, and Lucy made the bridal party do this hip hop dance to a Flo Rida song—he’s totally her hall pass—and then my dress split down the back and now everyone can see my ass because I’m not wearing any underwear, and I can’t possibly go back out there. So, yeah.”

Xander straightened, his pulse quickening. “You’re not wearing knickers?”

“Out of everything I just said, that’s the part you registered?” She grabbed the back of her dress, cinching the fabric together to cover herself. “Men.”


She was right. He had to get his head on straight, but how could he think of anything but her plump, round arse when she’d just told him she wasn’t wearing any fucking panties? He shifted his weight, hoping she wouldn’t notice the quickly growing bulge in his trousers.

“Why don’t I lend you my jacket?” He had at least eight inches on her. It would probably do the trick, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun with her first.

Everly sagged with relief. “That would be great, actually. Thank you.”

“Just one condition.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step toward him, forgetting all about the gaping hole in the back of her dress. “Seriously?”

He laughed, his gaze darting to the mirror where the firm globes of her arse were now on full display, then quickly averted his eyes. But it was too late. His cock stirred with desire, not understanding that her arse was off limits.

Sweet Jesus.

This was a terrible idea.

“So?” Everly asked. “What’s the condition?”

Author Bio:

Jennifer Bonds writes sizzling contemporary romance with sassy heroines, sexy alphas, and a whole lot of mischief. She’s a sucker for enemies-to-lovers stories, laugh-out-loud banter, and over-the-top grand gestures. Jennifer lives in Pennsylvania, where her overactive imagination and weakness for reality TV keep life interesting. She’s lucky enough to live with her own real-life hero, two adorable (and sometimes crazy) children, and one rambunctious K9. Loves Buffy, Mexican food, a solid Netflix binge, the Winchester brothers, cupcakes, and all things zombie. Sings off-key.

To connect with Jen online, visit or find her on Facebook and Instagram @jbondswrites.

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Razor Wire Wilderness

True crime/memoir

Date Published: June 1, 2021

Publisher: Kallisto Gaia Press

Perpetrator. Bystander. Victim. Krystal Riordan watched as her boyfriend beat a drunk teenager to death in a vermin-infested hotel room. Could she have stopped it? Could she be his next victim? She is serving the maximum 30-year sentence while the man who beat the young woman to death is about to be released. This is no anomaly. Studies show over 80% of women who fail to stop their partner from committing a violent crime serve more prison time than the perpetrator. What does it take to survive in a maximum-security lockdown for 30 years? Is it possible to thrive? The answers only lead to more questions.


Somehow, the angels’ wings kept me alive long enough

to find out I wasn’t doing 30 years, but sentenced to nine years.

Lucy Weems, Inmate #781192

Her father, alarmed by the Public Defender’s 30 years, manages to hire a real attorney, and then everything changes. The facts of the case become distortions. He examines the evidence and gets much of it thrown out—blurry video footage, tainted DNA exhibits. The plea deal’s 30 years gets dropped to 15 and then to 9. Lucy accepts the 9 years and will be transported to Edna Mahan Correctional Facility for Women to begin serving her time. Ramón, the hard-core dealer who bullied his customers and sold tainted dope, shows up at the sentencing and claims he’ll be traumatized for life.


In the doggie wagon van the sun has gone out, and Lucy sits with her head bowed. There’s no room to straighten up without hitting the van’s roof. Better to contemplate the shackles around her ankles and the handcuffs encircling her wrists. Soon she’ll add inmate to her list—a college graduate, a flutist, an artist, a mother, a wife, an accountant, a heroin addict, a prostitute, and an armed robber and kidnapper.

Maybe it rains only inside her or the doggie wagon. The same kind of van that Animal Control transports stray dogs in. All afternoon it’s been the gray overcast that makes you feel like you’re floating inside the steam that rises off a kettle. Yet she’s high on being out of Cell 1313. She’s interested in her neighbors, her fellow prisoners, and the noises of the interstate. Instead of how the jailed world sounded—the outside muffled and half drowned. After being in solitary confinement for a year, the breathing and shuffling of her neighbors being transported to prison is music.


You can feel the highway but not see it. One of the other prisoners says she’s from Newark and the other from Camden. The Newark girl violated her parole and she’s on her way back to EMCF. This is her return trip past the cliffs of Weehawken, past the sea-oats sloughs that once flourished and now are a toxic nothingness that ducks putter through.

So long, Newark, all dying cathedrals and abandoned factories. So long, tall clusters of trees, poplar and hickory. The Ironbound section—foreclosure storefronts, mosques, flu shots advertised $24.99. All the doggie wagon ladies have tasted the dark matter bubbling at the universe’s core, the trapdoor that leads to the street, the homeless shelter, or prison. Like Lucy, the other shackled women bow their heads and to God, glancing down from the clouds, it looks like they’re praying.

About the Author

Stephanie Dickinson, raised on an Iowa farm, now lives in New York City with the poet Rob Cook and their senior citizen feline, Vallejo. Her novels “Half Girl” and “Lust Series” are published by Spuyten Duyvil, as is her feminist noir “Love Highway.” Other books include “Heat: An Interview with Jean Seberg” (New Michigan Press); “Flashlight Girls Run” (New Meridian Arts Press); “The Emily Fables” (ELJ Press); and “Big-Headed Anna Imagines Herself” (Alien Buddha). She has published poetry and prose in literary journals including Cherry Tree, The Bitter Oleander, Mudfish, Another Chicago Magazine, Lit, The Chattahoochee Review, The Columbia Review, Orca and Gargoyle, among others. Her stories have been reprinted in New Stories from the South, New Stories from the Midwest, and Best American Nonrequired Reading. She received distinguished story citations in Best American Short Stories, Best American Essays and numerous Pushcart anthology citations. In 2020, she won the Bitter Oleander Poetry Book Prize with her “Blue Swan/Black Swan: The Trakl Diaries.” To support the holy flow, she has long labored as a word processor for a Fifth Avenue accounting firm.

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Good Lookin’


Mystery, Legal Thriller

Date Published: May 24, 2021

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press

From the gang-ravaged streets of inner-city Oakland to the rolling hills of Berkeley, California, attorney Joe Turner defends the most hardened criminals. Confronted with an unlikely murderer in a modern-day whodunnit, Turner’s latest case seems impossible to unravel. At its heart is a decade-old murder and a tangled web of family, loyalty, and devotion that has the trial hanging in the balance. Viewed through the prism of the unique bond of twins, Good Lookin’ asks how far each of us will go to protect the ones we love.

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