Oct 01

Release Blitz: Power Surge by Sara Codair (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Power Surge

Series: The Evanstar Chronicles, Book One

Author: Sara Codair

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 1, 2018

Heat Level: 1 – No Sex

Pairing: No Romance

Length: 79700

Genre: Paranormal, fantasy, urban fantasy, Demon hunters, Angels, Demons, Elves, mental illness, non-binary, pan, YA/NA

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Synopsis

Erin has just realized that for the entirety of their life, their family has lied to them. Their Sight has been masked for years, so Erin thought the Pixies and Mermaids were hallucinations. Not only are the supernatural creatures they see daily real, but their grandmother is an Elf, meaning Erin isn’t fully human. On top of that, the dreams Erin thought were nightmares are actually prophecies.

While dealing with the anger they have over all of the lies, they are getting used to their new boyfriend, their boyfriend’s bullying ex, and the fact that they come from a family of Demon Hunters. As Erin struggles through everything weighing on them, they uncover a Demon plot to take over the world.

Erin just wants some time to work through it all on their own terms, but that’s going to have to wait until after they help save the world.

Excerpt

Power Surge
Sara Codair © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“They don’t like the sunlight, but that doesn’t mean they won’t venture out in it. Demons aren’t like Stoker’s vampires or anything else you read about in civilian novels. Even the Bible isn’t accurate when describing the denizens of Heaven and Hell.”

-A letter from Gertrude Bearclaw to Genevieve Evanstar, 21 Jan 1921, archived in the Vault under St. Patrick’s Church in South Portland, Maine

The cold March air burned my lungs and my legs itched as I sprinted by boarded-up beach houses. Mel may have turned our warm-up into a race, but she was not going to win it. Grinning, I ran harder in an attempt to close the space between us. Despite my efforts, her footsteps grew softer and the ones behind me grew louder.

I glanced over my shoulder. The man behind me was closer. Steam rose from his pale nose as it peeked out from under the black hoodie. I shuddered. It wasn’t unusual to see another runner follow us around two turns, but this one had followed me around five.

I sucked in the icy air as I crossed a bridge. The metal grates groaned under our feet. Water rushed below, blanketing brown muck with blue, breathing color and life into the field of dead marsh grass. Mel was so far down the winding road I could barely make out her short, muscular form.

I glanced at my phone. It was dead. Mel was too far ahead to hear me yell, and there was no one else around. I wasn’t exactly defenseless, but I was tired and hadn’t been in a real fight in almost two years.

Still, a small deplorable part of me hoped the man would catch up and he’d want to hurt me. I imagined myself ducking as he reached out to grab me. I’d jam my elbow up into his stomach and crush his face with my knee. I almost heard his jawbone crack, saw the shock in his eyes, and felt the pure bliss of adrenaline coursing through my body. I’d win. He’d end up hospitalized or worse, in the morgue. The last time I was forced to defend myself against someone who wanted to hurt me, Mel had to pull me off his unconscious body. The ghost of the rage, the rush and the guilt made my stomach churn.

I was a monster.

I couldn’t let this man catch up to me. It was too dangerous for him.

My calves cramped. My side felt like a knife was jabbing into it. Mel vanished around a bend. I growled. She was shorter than me and worked out more, but she was my cousin—the daughter of my late father’s twin sister—not some kind of professional athlete. If she could go that fast, then so could I. A few seconds later, I rounded the same bend. Our finish line, the gate for Foster Park, came into sight.

Picking up more speed, I closed the distance between me and the run-down guard shack. Mel got to it first and jogged in place, facing me until I arrived. I glanced over my shoulder and didn’t see the man. Relieved, I nearly toppled over, gasping for air with my hands on my knees.

“Erin, you need to cool down before you stop.” Mel wasn’t even out of breath, and she had a smug smile on her perfect pink lips. I didn’t see a drop of sweat on her face. Her gray spandex was dry; mine had soaked through my base layer to my baggy T-shirt.

I stood up straight, filling my aching lungs with big gulps of air as I looked around again. An iridescent blackbird leaped from a leafless maple with its wings slowly flapping as it flew across the path in front of us, but the man was nowhere in sight. “What was our time?”

“I didn’t have my timer on.” Mel walked down the dirt road.

“I really want to know how fast I went.” Every part of my body throbbed as I moved. The bare birch branches around us were filled with warbling blackbirds; their screeches needled my eardrums.

“Not fast enough,” snapped Mel. Her voice hurt more than the birds.

“Seriously?”

“You can do better. How is school going?”

“Mel, I don’t think I have ever run that fast in my life.”

“How is school going?”

I glared at her.

“How is school going?” she asked for the third time.

Shivering, I scratched my neck. “My teachers are determined to dispel the myth that senior year is easy by piling on hours and hours of homework. It takes forever without ADHD meds.”

Mel frowned. “You thinking of going back on them?”

“We’ll see how I do on my English test tomorrow. I don’t want any of my college acceptances getting revoked.”

“What does your mom think?” Mel’s frown made deep crevices in her usually smooth forehead.

“Mom and the doctors want me to try a different kind. I think they forgot I took that in middle school and it made me equally sick.”

“Both drugs stop your dreams,” muttered Mel, staring at the gravel.

“And how is that a bad thing?”

Heavy silence hung between us as we approached our Jeeps. Hers was an orange Wrangler with a soft top, a spotless paint job, and a lift kit. My ancient Cherokee resembled the offspring of hers and a station wagon, pockmarked with battle scars from shopping carts and telephone poles. She opened her door, took out two water bottles, and handed one to me. “Are you still dreaming every night?”

“Yeah.” I drank half my bottle in one long gulp.

“Did you try my suggestion?”

The Thursday before, Mel had told me to try focusing on one thing before I went to bed, so instead of dreaming of burning cities, gory battles, and apocalyptic storms, I would only dream about that one—hopefully more pleasant—thing.

“Did it work?”

“Sort of. Did you bring the sabers?” The whole purpose of the meeting wasn’t so much the run but the subsequent sparring match. Since I hadn’t found a good Kendo dojo in Portland, Mel was my only sparring partner.

“Of course.” She pulled two bamboo practice swords out of her Jeep and handed one to me. “What does ‘sort of’ mean?”

“I focused on a person. The dreams stayed chaotic, but that person was in all of them.”

Mel smirked as we walked across the grassy hill leading down to the pebble beach. “Which boy did you focus on?”

“I didn’t say boy.”

Mel arched her eyebrows. “I’m pretty confident we can rule out all the girls at St. Pat’s. Who was it?”

“José.” My cheeks burned.

Mel barked out a laugh that was simultaneously musical and abrupt as she stepped onto the beach. “And what did you dream about the boy who you won’t admit you’re in love with?”

“We’re friends. I’m not in love with him.” I stopped walking, leaned my sword against a rock, and stretched.

“Tell me what you dreamed.”

I watched rippled waves roll onto the black and gray stones. Once wet, they glistened in the afternoon sun. Two cormorants floated around the jetty while seagulls perched on the rocks. Looking up, I stared toward the sun without blinking and imagined my eyes drinking in its warmth. It made them water, but my face relaxed.

When I couldn’t take the light anymore, I turned my attention to a splashing at the end of the jetty. Minnows leaped out of the water followed by the stripers that were trying to eat them. Suddenly, a humanoid head covered in Irish moss burst from the surface, devouring a striper in one bite. I stumbled backward. A green tail flickered where the head had been, spraying water at the gulls. The head leaped back up and lunged toward the cormorant, sinking its fangs into black feathers and pulling the bird below the water.

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NineStar Press, LLC | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble

Meet the Author

Sara Codair lives in a world of words, writing fiction in every free moment, teaching writing at a community college and binge-reading fantasy novels. When not lost in words, Sara can often be found hiking, swimming, or gardening. Find Sara’s words in Alternative Truths, Helios Quarterly, and Secrets of the Goat People, at https://saracodair.com/

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Angels, Demon hunters, demons, Elves, Fantasy, mental illness, non-binary, pan, Urban Fantasy, YA/NA
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Oct 01

Release Blitz: Roam by Dez Schwartz (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Roam

Author: Dez Schwartz

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 1, 2018

Heat Level: 2 – Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 57800

Genre: Paranormal, paranormal, vampires, werewolves, ghosts

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Synopsis

Ethan Roam suffers from night terrors and vivid daydreams, which lead him to the doorstep of the eccentric Dr. Grady Hunter, who thrusts him into a world of supernatural misfits. Ethan quickly learns that there’s more reality to his dreams than he suspected.

As Ethan unravels the truth behind his nightmares and falls into his first experience with love, he also finds himself the target of a sinister plan.

Ethan’s trust in his new companions will be tested and he’ll have to decide who he can rely on and who he must defy in order to survive a fatal Halloween night.

Excerpt

Roam
Dez Schwartz © 2018
All Rights Reserved

One: Daydreams
“He’s here,” a voice whispered. Ethan Roam struggled to assess his surroundings, but his vision was blurry. All he could make out were a few trees around him. Only one thing was clear before him. The girl.

She was the same girl he had seen many times before in his dreams. She was slender and meek with fiery red hair and kind blue eyes. Subtle freckles accented her nose and her lips were the color of cherry blossoms. She wore strange clothes. Each time, they were different, which Ethan wondered if that was normal for a recurring dream. They were crafted from organic materials he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Hello?” she urged, as though trying to wake him; although, he wondered why since he was staring right at her. Her expression was dire, as though she was speaking at him instead of to him. She pursed her lips with a hint of anxiety and then tried again. “Hello? You have to hurry. He’s here!”

Ethan’s heart pounded. He wanted to greet her or ask who she was talking about. This was his fifth time to have the same dream. Each time, she tried to talk to him, and he could never say anything in response. He sluggishly tried to get the words to flow past his lips. He strained forward to be closer to her, and for a split second, her eyes widened as if she’d finally seen a reaction from him.

To his left, twigs snapped and a deep growl rumbled. He turned in time to see a massive wolf tearing toward them. He screamed as he moved to block the girl from the wolf, and then everything faded away…

Ethan sat up with a start, realizing he’d fallen asleep during Dr. Wallace’s history class. The professor, annoyed at having been interrupted during one of his favorite lectures, balled his hands into fists and placed them firmly on his hips as he stared disapprovingly at Ethan. The rest of the class was quick to stare, too, only they were less annoyed and more amused, much to Ethan’s embarrassment.

“So, yeah… Pretty sure I’m going to switch classes now. I can’t imagine going back there.” Ethan had finished recounting his literal and figurative nightmare to his good friend, Dr. Arthur Ellis.

Arthur let out a jolly laugh at the idea of Ethan screaming during Dr. Wallace’s lecture.

“I wish I could’ve seen the look on the old bulldog’s face.” He grinned, wiping a humored tear from his eye.

“Trust me, you don’t. I’m pretty sure he was imagining my gruesome demise since he was all hyped on Greek war talk. Nope, never going back there again.”

Arthur was an old friend of Ethan’s mother, Karen, and Ethan had known him for most of his life. Arthur, a portly and generally jovial man, was around so much Ethan thought of him like an unofficial uncle of sorts. Being a professor seemed to fit him perfectly as he had a studious look to him and felt the need to educate others on all matters he deemed himself an expert at, which was nearly everything. Ethan found his positivity both admirable and enviable. Talking to Arthur always seemed to help calm his nerves and so he found himself opening up to him constantly when he usually blocked the rest of the world out.

Recovering from the humor of the situation, Arthur scratched his graying beard as if asking it if he should pry. The beard seemed to concur, so he peered over his glasses and across his desk to where Ethan sat.

“Are your dreams becoming more frequent?”

Ethan sat up a little straighter as the tone of the conversation shifted. He glanced nervously at a dream catcher that was hanging near a bookcase cluttered with old tomes and artifacts. A feather appeared to flutter but then lay perfectly still against the wall.

Although an English professor, Dr. Arthur Ellis specialized in folklore. It was his favorite topic in the world and would talk about it at length, given the opportunity. His office was decorated appropriately. That is to say, he’d immersed himself in items his guests would find interesting, thus giving himself the opportunity to engage in discourse on the subject. And if his guests did not ask questions, then he would gladly inform them about the carefully curated decor anyway.

“Define more frequent,” Ethan answered coyly but then sighed and opened up. “You know I’ve always had dreams like that. Where I’m in strange places and being attacked by weird creatures. Nightmares, really.”

“The only dreams you ever have,” Arthur concurred.

Ethan tried to explain. For years, the girl with the fiery red hair had appeared in his dreams and nightmares as what he believed to be a symbol for something, but now that she was talking to him…it was kind of creeping him out. “You know the girl isn’t new. And…she’s interacting more with me now. She’s not just there, you know? She’s a character in my dream rather than a figure in the background.” Ethan tried to explain.

“And what about the wolf?”

“It was the same one.” Ethan stared into his palms as he tried to recall details. “Large, black fur, saliva dripping from his mouth…but when he ran at me, he ran standing up.” He frowned as he remembered the disgusting appearance of the creature.

Arthur cut in with enthusiasm. “Like a werewolf!”

“I guess…” Ethan considered the details more closely, but the more he thought about it, the harder it was for them to remain clear. “I’m not really sure. But here’s the thing, I’m dreaming during the day now. These all used to happen at night. Today during class wasn’t the first time it’s happened; just the first time anyone witnessed it. And I wasn’t even entirely asleep.”

Arthur seemed to listen with great interest, and when the last sentence rolled from Ethan’s lips, he leaned forward with a graceful and what appeared to be genuine curiosity only a well learned academic could pull off.

Ethan continued, “I remember everything Doctor Wallace was saying. It was like I was in two places at once. The dream overlapped onto reality until I woke up…screaming, apparently.”

Arthur provided the same considerate but serious suggestion he’d already offered a few times before. “Have you considered talking to anyone about this?”

“I’m talking to someone now,” Ethan quipped, but he knew what Arthur really meant. He’d been nudging Ethan to go to a doctor for years, but Ethan hated doctors. Especially, he hated the idea he might have some weird medical condition that would require him to go to a doctor.

“Someone more qualified than myself.” Arthur smiled patiently.

“Hey, you are Doctor Ellis.”

Arthur seemed to criticize him over his glasses with an impatient stare.

“I don’t like people,” Ethan retorted stubbornly, knowing he was losing the argument.

“Who does?” He pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to Ethan.

“I’ve been holding on to this for a while. Until I felt the time was right,” he explained as Ethan read the business card. “He’s an old friend of mine. I really think you should go and talk to him. I have reason to believe he might have a unique perspective on these dreams of yours.”

Maybe Arthur was right. If his sleep problems were finally getting in the way of his daily activities, then maybe it was time to be proactive about them.

“Aren’t all your friends, like your collectibles, unique?” Ethan teased, as he slipped the card into his pocket.

“You know me.” Arthur nodded, relaxing into his chair now he’d won their battle of wills. “I love a good backstory. Oh, and don’t tell your mother,” Arthur added. “She hates it when I meddle.”

Ethan smiled and rolled his eyes as he left the office. “We all do.”

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Meet the Author

Dez Schwartz writes mostly LGBTQ Paranormal and Gothic Historical Fiction about dapper occultists, scheming supernaturals, and ghost hunters. She currently resides in a haunted Edwardian era home in Texas and enjoys coffee, art, and Oscar Wilde.

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Oct 01

Release Blitz: The Journalist and the Dancer by Liam Livings (Excerpt & Giveaway)

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Title: The Journalist and the Dancer

Author: Liam Livings

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: October 1, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 49700{

Genre: Contemporary, Ibiza, contemporary, family drama, romance

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Synopsis

Christopher, a quiet, reserved, British journalist, reviews restaurants and night clubs in Ibiza. After a painful breakup and nervous breakdown in the UK, he aims to live a more spiritual possession-free life on the Mediterranean island.

Lucas flees an abusive ex in Madrid to live his dream of dancing in Ibiza’s large prestigious night clubs.

They meet at a night club and both feel an instant attraction which soon develops into an emotional connection neither of them feels ready for.

Sharing their painful pasts with each other brings them closer together, though neither of them planned on being in a proper relationship. But when a family crisis pulls Lucas back to Madrid and a painful encounter with his abusive ex, Christopher deals with painful experiences of his own.

Excerpt

The Journalist and the Dancer
Liam Livings © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
“What are you drinking?” the barman asked. He wore a low v-neck sleeveless T-shirt and looked far too skimpily dressed for what was purporting to be another straight bar.

“Gin and tonic. Large.” Christopher winked—it was always worth a try wherever he was, and Ibiza’s bars were very mixed anyway. Straights and gays shared most drinking establishments happily. A relationship of equals, was that too much to want?

He checked the invite, scanning down for anything unusual. Among the rubbish about it being the new place to be seen on the island and where all the it people hung out, whoever they were—Christopher had lived on Ibiza for a year or so and had yet to meet these so-called it people—were pictures of men and women laughing and drinking together, so probably aiming for the straight crowd.

“Excuse me. We’ve run out of soda water. Can I get you something else?” The barman shook the hose contraption and shrugged.

“Surprise me.” Because nothing else here is surprising. The red walls were covered in likenesses of the island’s shape, with large white skulls painted on either end, and the dark corners of the club were filled with silver chairs and tables. The latest Eurotrash track boomed from the stage on the far side of the room. Christopher stifled a yawn. Somehow, this wasn’t quite what he’d imagined looking for a less materialistic life would be like.

But he still had to eat.

The barman slid a tall, multicoloured cocktail adorned with a blue umbrella and red cherry along the bar. “Surprise!”

Christopher took a sip and was pleasantly shocked that he enjoyed the bitter sweetness. “When is the actual opening happening?”

“Eight, eight thirty.” The barman talked enthusiastically about the cannons, which were going to spurt white foam over the revellers on the dance floor.

“Foam cannons? Really?” I think the year 2000 called and it wants its nightclub back. Christopher rolled his eyes behind the tall cocktail glass.

“It’s not a club here without one—apparently.” The barman shrugged and his biceps rippled in the light. “Mind you, have you seen the cages hanging above the dance floor?”

“Where?”

The barman pointed through an archway to the source of the pulsing noise that passed as music here.

Bit tacky. How can I say it’s a bit tacky without actually saying it’s a bit tacky? How about fanciful? Or maybe enthusiastic? Christopher pondered the right words for a few moments.

The barman left to serve another customer, tiny white shorts about two sizes too small encased his tight arse cheeks—definitely a good seven or an eight—wiggling as he walked.

Christopher contemplated what a waste that arse was on a straight man, then pulled a white wafer-thin laptop from his bag and began writing his Ibiza Discovered review for yet another nightclub opening. If I ask the barman a few more questions, that, and a few words about the ambiance—always deathly dull at these things—I’ll be done and home to chill out with the TV and Sally within the hour. Maybe that’s why I’m still single. Or maybe it’s because I don’t think I’ll ever find a man who’s equal to me…

“The VIP area is ready when you are.” A slight man in a black suit with sweat on his brow appeared at Christopher’s shoulder.

With a sinking feeling that his leaving within the hour plan was looking less likely now, he followed the man to an area with a red velvet rope and clipboard-checking woman who flicked her long brown hair more often than she checked the guest list.

Christopher gave his name, waited as the woman checked it and was then shown to a table with other people talking and toasting with champagne.

People. And they’re talking. They’re going to want to talk to me and want to know who I…Damn!

“Who are you reviewing for?” a man at the table asked.

“Ibiza Discovered.” Different people asking the same questions, probably going to suggest the same bloody drinking game as the evening progressed. Being this standoffish was definitely not improving his chances of finding a date any time soon, he realised.

After introductions around the table—a few local papers, a website mag, and a clubbing scene mag—Christopher gritted his teeth as the first man suggested they play a drinking game, based on how many times the manager said certain words in his welcome address.

He checked his watch. With no sign of the manager announcing the formal opening, and already half an hour late, his quiet evening plans were gradually disappearing, drink by drink.

One of the journalists was talking about the last club opening he’d been to, something about a fire alarm and how they’d all ended up in the… Christopher’s attention drifted from the man’s story to a gentlemen who skipped and floated across the dance floor. Nothing too unusual so far, but the fact that he was wearing only a pair of tight gold trunks with glitter over his athletic hairless chest made Christopher sit up, his shorts tighten, and his stomach flutter.

The man shouted, “Me cago en tu puta madre!” and turned to face Christopher, staring for what seemed like a minute, smiling and not breaking eye contact.

Christopher couldn’t take his eyes off this exotic passionate creature, staring so intensely and deeply it felt as if he were staring into his soul. He knew that no man dressing like that would take himself too seriously. He felt sure that a man like that would humour his partner, was comfortable with himself fully without censoring, wouldn’t mock every decision of other people like… Christopher stopped that particular avenue of memories.

Then, as suddenly as he’d arrived, the man shook his head, clapped twice, and ran through a door to the side of the stage.

That arse in those trunks was at least a nine, possibly a ten. Who is he? What’s the English equivalent to that sweary Spanish phrase? Where is he going? And why aren’t I talking to him instead of this group of idiots?

Purchase

NineStar Press, LLC | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble

Meet the Author

Liam Livings lives where east London ends and becomes Essex. He shares his house with his boyfriend and cat. He enjoys baking, cooking, classic cars and socializing with friends. He has a sweet tooth for food and entertainment: loving to escape from real life with a romantic book; enjoying a good cry at a sad, funny and camp film; and listening to musical cheesy pop from the eighties to now. He tirelessly watches an awful lot of Gilmore Girls in the name of writing ‘research’.

Published since 2013 by a variety of British and American presses, his gay romance and gay fiction focuses on friendships, British humour, romance with plenty of sparkle. He’s a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association, and the Chartered Institute of Marketing. With a masters in creative writing from Kingston University, he teaches writing workshops with his partner in sarcasm and humour, Virginia Heath as www.realpeoplewritebooks.com and has also ghost written a client’s 5 Star reviewed autobiography.

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Oct 01

Book Blitz: Turbo charged by karen Botha (Excerpt & Giveaway)

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Title: Turbo charged

Series: Commitment Series, #5

Author: Karen Botha

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: 1st Oct

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 190 pages

Genre: Romance, mm romance

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Synopsis

Can we ever fully experience the good if you don’t suffer the evil?

Elliott and Kyle stand to lose everything. A treacherous traitor inside Judd Racing is leaking sensitive information that threatens both their personal and professional lives. The race car driver and the mechanic must find and expose the mole while they also convince their investors to take a leap of faith and trust in their business savvy to help make their dream a reality.

Will their goals be realized or will they go up in flames along with their hard earned cash?

Excerpt

My heart skips, bouncing around the space in my chest, performing a little dance of anticipation. The denim loosens as he peels down my zipper, the draft of the open air caressing my rapidly expanding length as the broad daylight casts over my exposed skin. Without warning, my gorgeous, depraved man lowers his hot lips down, encasing me in the dark, wet cavern of his mouth. The base of my spine zings with life as he sucks his cheeks hollow sending messages which curl my toes, tilt my head and send my heart rate into spasmodic convulsions.

The chance of being caught pushes us to speed up the process and he doesn’t let up the intensity of his mouth as his tongue whips over my swollen head, sweeping up the taste of my delicious excitement. He works fast and hard, not ceasing until the pressure builds in a rapid explosion of firepower which launches down the back of his throat. The force leaves me my vision blurred and my body limp, and I spend a moment trying to calm the manic beating in my chest.

“Consider that your starter,” he says flicking a finger over the corner of his mouth as I sigh and switch the car into drive.

“If that was the starter, I can’t wait to find out what the main course is.” I squeeze his hand as I pull down the winding drive and back onto the main highway.

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author

Karen Botha was born in Lincolnshire England where her father was in the royal air force. As a young girl she always had a passion for reading and writing. Working most of her adult life in digital marketing didn’t leave her much time to pursue her passion for stories. at the age of 36 She retrained for a reflexologist and started working for herself. This helped her free up more than enough time to enjoy a re-found passion for writing.

Her first novel was inspired by true life experiences and tales from clients. But don’t believe everything you read.

She enjoys traveling rugby and motor sport, this gives her inspiration and ideas for her books.
The first in the new lgbt series is a mm romance novel about a racecar driver and his mechanic.
She currently lives in London with her Husband and rescue dog called Shadow.

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Oct 01

Book Blitz: Oceans Apart by J.K. Hogan

Filed under Book Blitz

Title: Oceans Apart

Author: J.K. Hogan

Publisher: Euphoria Press

Release Date: October 1, 2018

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 85K words

Genre: Romance, Contemporary, (gay) virgin, first time, coming out

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Synopsis

Bored of with his mundane life, Leo Takahashi heads to the East Coast to find a new adventure. A series of unfortunate circumstances leave him in a potentially disastrous predicament: a gay man stranded in a backwater town of coastal North Carolina.

Sellars Hodge is a farmer from a long line of farmers who has never left his family’s land. He’s never even seen the ocean despite living less than ninety miles from the coast. In fact, he’s never done or seen anything interesting—he’s never even had a date.

When a stranded motorist stays at his house, Sellers gets a glimpse of everything he can never have. Though fear of his father’s reaction keeps him silent, Sellars’ two deepest secrets won’t stay hidden. The more time he spends with Leo, the less satisfied he is with the hand he’s been dealt and the choices he never had.

Leo wants to set up a quiet, independent life on the coast, but he feels pulled toward Sellars. He hates the idea of leaving such a vibrant, gentle giant behind to waste away on that farm.

Storms, both figurative and literal, brew in their lives, and they can only hope those storms clear the path to self-discovery and, most of all, love.

Excerpt

LEO DISAPPEARED UPSTAIRS TO HOPEFULLY FIND something suitable to wear. I had followed him into the foyer, but when I heard my parents’ voices, I returned to hover just outside the kitchen door. If Mama caught me eavesdropping, she’d smack me upside the head, but somehow, I knew they’d be talking about Leo, and I wanted to know what was said.

“. . . but he’s one of them,” Pop was saying.

My stomach clenched with anxiety.

“He’s wearing makeup, for Pete’s sake, Marla. What people do in the privacy of their own homes is one thing, but I don’t want my son spending too much time around that behavior.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ma said. “You are being ridiculous.”

“It isn’t. I just don’t want—”

“It’s not the damn flu. It ain’t catchin’.”

“Marla . . .”

“Jim . . .”

I knew that was the beginning of a stare-down that Mama would eventually win. She always did. At least I knew if they found out about me, I’d still have one parent on my side. Somehow that didn’t calm the storm raging in my gut. This was all hitting too close to home. All I wanted was to run out the back door, hop on my tractor, and get lost in the fields for the day, but Leo was bounding down the stairs looking pleased as Punch that he’d found himself some jeans—designer, probably—some Doc Martens—mint condition—and a T-shirt that said “Not Today, Satan” in bold letters on the front. I barely suppressed a put-upon sigh.

“Ready?” I asked, wondering if a man like him could ever be ready for a day on the farm.
He nodded but chewed nervously on the side of his fingernail.

“Nothin’ to be afraid of. It’s real quiet out there. Nothin’ will get you except maybe the honeybees, but as long as you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you,” I joked as I held the front door open for him to step out onto the wide porch.

He gave me a small smile. “Is it that obvious? I’m not very outdoorsy.”

“Only a little.” I grinned. I took him around the side of the main house, where Mama’s small garden was. We had a larger one on the east end of our land that fed our roadside stand, but this one was for our own consumption. “This is where my mother grows her stuff for cooking. It’s mainly got herbs and summer veggies right now.”

“Is everything she cooks grown here?”

“All the vegetables, for sure. There are a few fruit trees down the way, but we get a lot of our fruit and meats from the farmers market. Chances are if we don’t grow it or raise it, one of our neighbors or family members does.”
“That’s . . . incredible,” he said. “I mean, it’s not something I’m used to, being a born and bred city boy, but I bet the food tastes a lot better.”

“I don’t really have much to compare it to, but it works for us.” I led him past the garden, and we threaded our way through the boxy white columns that held the beehives and their honey. The bees’ dull buzzing filled the air, but they paid us no mind. I could tell they made Leo nervous, but he didn’t complain.

“Ever had fresh honey?” I asked. “Or . . . wait, can vegetarians have honey?”

“I think you’re thinking of vegan—that’s the one where they don’t eat any animal products. I’m not sure if they eat honey, but I’m only a vegetarian. So yes, I can eat honey, but no, I probably have never had fresh honey.”

I opened a small toolbox next to one of the bee boxes and pulled out a pair of beekeeping gloves. I opened the box and pulled out one of the frames crawling with bees. Taking my pocketknife off my belt, I cut out and pried off a tiny corner of honeycomb, then held it out to Leo. His eyes widened like he didn’t quite know what to do.

“Just take it. You can just suck the honey off if you want, but the comb is edible too.”

He turned red but kept his mouth shut and took the comb.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I slid the frame back in, replaced the lid, and put back the gloves. He didn’t try the honey. He wasn’t even looking at it. He was staring at me. “What? Don’t like honey?”

“No! I mean, honey’s okay I guess, b-but . . . you just stuck your hand in a beehive like it was nothing.

Who does that?”

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention. “I mean, beekeepers do . . . All the time.”

“You do have a point. Honey has to come from somewhere, I guess. Just warn a guy next time. Jesus.”

“Sorry,” I said with a smirk. I wasn’t actually feeling sorry at all. “Are you going to taste that or what?” He was staring at the comb like I might stare at a piece of sushi, something I was sure he’d had plenty of in San Francisco.

“After I take you around, I thought we might head to . . .” I trailed off as his pink tongue darted out to taste the honey, and he let out such a lewd moan, I lost my train of thought.

“Oh my god,” he said, his eyes rolling back. “I don’t even really like honey that much. But this—this isn’t honey. This is like . . . ambrosia or something.” He froze mid-lick when he caught sight of my face.

“What?”

I had to force my gaze away from his glistening lips, but then it landed on the hand that held the comb. I gulped as sticky honey slowly trickled down his long, elegant fingers. I would’ve given up my every possession for the chance to lick it off. The sun had barely risen, but already the humidity had settled on his skin, making it glow. I felt the fiery blush as it spread over my cheeks, so I attempted to distract him by handing him a bandana from my pocket for him to clean his hands with—though I’d happily watch him lick it off for the rest of my life. “N-nothing. Um . . . let’s keep walking.”

I kept quiet as I led him between the hog barn and the blackberry patch, because I couldn’t trust that the next words out of my mouth wouldn’t be “Please let me worship every inch of you with my tongue.” It would probably be hard to keep my preferences under wraps after blurting that out, and after hearing my father’s words that morning, I was even more wary of giving myself away.

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Meet the Author

J.K. Hogan has been telling stories for as long as she can remember, beginning with writing cast lists and storylines for her toys growing up. When she finally decided to put pen to paper, magic happened. She is greatly inspired by all kinds of music and often creates a “soundtrack” for her stories as she writes them. J.K. is hoping to one day have a little something for everyone, so she’s branched out from m/f paranormal romance and added m/m contemporary romance. Who knows what’s next?

J.K. resides in North Carolina, where she was born and raised. A true southern girl at heart, she lives in the country with her husband and two sons, a cat, and two champion agility dogs. If she isn’t on the agility field, J.K. can often be found chasing waterfalls in the mountains with her husband, or down in front at a blues concert. In addition to writing, she enjoys training and competing in dog sports, spending time with her large southern family, camping, boating and, of course, reading!

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Sep 28

Book Blitz: Sadistic Sherlock by Jocelynn Drake & Rinda Elliott (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Sadistic Sherlock

Series: Ward Security Series #4

Author: Jocelynn Drake & Rinda Elliott

Publisher: Drake and Elliott Publishing, LLC

Release Date: September 28, 2018

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 64k

Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense

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Synopsis

Ten years ago, Dominic Walsh faked his own death. With no true identity, it wasn’t hard. But if he’d stayed, he would have been drawn further into a life he’d never chosen. He has friends and family at Ward Security now and has managed to escape his dark past. There is only one thing he truly wants.

Abraham Stephens.

When Dom was first tasked with watching over his friend’s father, he didn’t expect to fall so hard for the gorgeous silver fox. But Abe is interested in friendship only. He’s at a point in his life where he wants something permanent, not a romp with the sexy redhead who happens to be the same age as his son.

But Abe finds himself drawn deeper into Dom’s life when cryptic messages start appearing—ones that frighten the skilled security specialist. The more Dom tries to hide what’s happening, the more Abe wants to help him.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll find a way to trust the strength of the bond Dom understood from the start.

Excerpt

Dom insisted on helping him clean the kitchen, and it took all Abe’s concentration to not attack the guy. He wanted to lift him up on the counter and—

“That’s it,” Dom announced. “I can’t handle the way you keep looking at me.” He threw the dishtowel he’d been using and backed Abe into a wall this time. He braced both hands on either side of shoulders and stared hard at him. “We’re doing this at a slow pace. I mean it.”

“Stop being so fucking bossy and come here.” Abe grabbed him and yanked him in for another kiss that rocked his world. The man kissed like he wanted to devour Abe, like he could pull air from Abe’s lungs to survive on that alone. He had a naughty tongue normally—Abe never knew what was going to come out of his mouth—but it was also playful and so damn sensual when he slid it into Abe’s mouth. He wanted that tongue all over his body.

They kissed until his lips became sensitive, to where every rasp of Dom’s lips sent nerves tingling like he was being zapped with tiny bursts of electricity.

Dom pulled back and he kept going until his back hit the island. “Take off your shirt.”

Abe didn’t even hesitate. He was too far gone to worry about his forty-nine-year-old body at this point. If Dom didn’t like him as he was, if he didn’t want to do this again, then Abe would take this one shot to see him, to touch him, and he’d love it. He stepped back and pulled off his Henley and stood there, letting Dom look. “Yours too.”

“In a minute,” Dom breathed as he leaned back against the island and leisurely ran that hot gaze over Abe.

It took all his control to stand still, because he wanted to maul Dom. There wasn’t another word to describe what he wanted to do. Grab him, throw him against the wall or on the couch and just…take him apart. Feel all that searing skin against his. Rub his cock against that taut body…

Dom grinned in that oh-so-wicked fashion of his and crooked a finger. “Come here.”

But Abe had a better idea. He grabbed him and pressed him back into the wall. Dom didn’t wait for him to take the final step close before his hands were on Abe’s chest and his fingers were combing through his chest hair. He ran one palm down Abe’s belly, which didn’t have the bumps and ridges of muscle that Dom’s had. But he couldn’t discount the complete desire he saw in those green eyes and the very hard dick showing in his jeans.

Abe slowly reached out and ran one finger down that hard ridge, and the back of Dom’s head thunked on the wall. “If I come in my pants, no comments about the age thing. I’m thirty-two damn years old and you have me so hot, I’m about to be humiliated for life.”

“Oh yeah?” He popped the top button and unzipped Dom’s jeans. He didn’t push them down—just left them open. “Spiderman? Really?”

“I didn’t think you’d be seeing my boxers tonight, or I would have worn the Batman ones. They’re way hotter.” Dom smirked.

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Meet the Authors

Who are Drake & Elliott?

Jocelynn Drake and Rinda Elliott have teamed up to combine their evil genius to create intense gay romantic suspense stories that have car chases, shoot outs, explosions, scorching hot love scenes, and tender, tear-jerking moments. Their first joint books are in the Unbreakable Bonds series.

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Sep 28

Book Blitz: TCS: The Studio by Mike E. Galloway

Filed under Book Blitz

Title: TCS: The Studio

Series: Tribal Culture Studio, #1

Author: Mike E. Galloway

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: 9/7/18

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 76133 Words

Genre: Romance, Erotica

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Synopsis

Jason Gelardi is a college dropout who wants the perfect life and the perfect boyfriend. With a knack for photography, he establishes Tribal Culture Studio, a modeling agency in San Diego, and hires several hot guys to be models for him. Over the course of his career, he works with a charming surfer, a mechanical engineering graduate student, and a rising water polo athlete, among others.

TCS: The Studio is a coming-of-age experience for Jason as he learns responsibility and self-reliance. Find out which of the lucky studs he ends up with, and how successful he becomes at not only love, but in business.

Excerpt

Now was my time to truly explore Noel, the epitome of muscle-bound perfection. He sat, eyes closed and relaxed, right next to me in the hot tub. Why he had to wear his swimsuit was beyond me, but at least he was here. I examined him once again, his bubbly pecs hanging just above the surface of the water. The frothy foam prevented seeing his toned abs from up on top, but If I really wanted to, I could try and touch them, and it was worth it to try. “Mind if I touch?” I asked, pointing towards his chest.

“I guess. I am feeling a little tense there right now.” Score! With no delay, I placed the palm of my left hand on his right pec muscle, turning my body so it faced his. With my knees planted on the fiberglass flooring, I let go of him with my palm and pressed hard, but gradually on his chest with my knuckles. I could see his facial expressions as I made circles with my hands to relieve the tension. His teeth clenched together, but I wasn’t sure if he was in any pain. I looked down into the water, and still couldn’t see anything down there. I did about twenty circles on his chest before patting each pec a couple of times and moving on down to his stomach.

As I placed my hand on his toned, rigid abs, he pushed me away, almost making me lose balance. “You suck at this,” he said. “Turn around and bend over.”

I turned myself around and felt a chill down my spine, thinking it would chill the soothing waters. Was he going to fuck me? I hoped so, but his stoic expression told me that wasn’t going to happen. After all, he was wearing a swimsuit. I tried taking a deep breath without inhaling the steam coming from the tub, but a little bit of it got in. I wanted to sneeze, and just as it was about to come out, I felt an iron grip on my right shoulder. It sucked out all the sneeze. I felt another iron grip clasping on my other shoulder as I looked towards my right. I guess Noel decided to give me a massage.

He started with just my right side, his hands beating into my shoulder with more pressure than I was giving him. It was agonizing to say the least. Tears began to form up in my eyes from the excruciating pain he gave me. I couldn’t say stop, because I wanted him to worship my body. Even though only around five minutes had passed, it seemed like an eternity before he stopped. It was only for a moment, but the pain continued on my left side, this time with twice the magnitude.

He gave me a beatdown of a lifetime, pounding my shoulders and back like I was his drum. The painful massage ended as he gently patted my neck afterwards. “Okay, Jason. Turn around again and sit down.”

I turned myself and sat in the seat I was originally facing. Noel towered over me; his abs right in front of my face and sprinkled with drops of spa water grouped up on each muscle. “Now I see why you became a model,” I said.

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Meet the Author

Raised in Central California, Mike E. Galloway grew up in a world filled with the expectations of heteronormativity and homophobia. He overcame these expectations by writing LGBT stories and vignettes ever since the age of 14 and has never turned back since.

Mike lives in Las Vegas, NV and is currently working on a 3-book series featuring a young gay photographer who is on a journey to find love and his way in the world. Find out more or join the community at www.tcsnovel.com.

Website | Facebook | Twitter Tribal Jason | Twitter Tribal Ryker | Twitter Tribal Noel |eMail | Instagram

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Sep 24

Release Blitz: Calling the Ball by CL Mustafic (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Calling the Ball

Author: CL Mustafic

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: September 24, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 74600

Genre: Contemporary, football, soccer, businessmen, athlete, in the closet, coming out

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Synopsis

A vacation to the sunny, seaside, resort city of Durres, Albania puts some space between Henrick Kohler and his closeted ex, Klaus, giving him time to get his life back together. While there a chance run-in with superstar footballer, Valentino ‘Tino’ Alessi, sends Henrick running in the other direction. With no intention of being either another notch in someone’s bedpost or their secret lover, he offers friendship but nothing more. He doesn’t want to risk his heart with what he sees as just another Klaus, but with the added ability to ruin his life on a much more spectacular level.

Tino can’t catch a break, even doing a nice thing for a fan lands him in hot water. When he’s suspended until his latest mess is straightened out, Tino does the only thing he can think of—he goes holiday home hunting in his favorite resort town. Tino falls hard and fast for the blond Austrian who wants nothing to do with him romantically, but he accepts the offer of friendship when his efforts to woo Henrick get him nowhere.

Friendship is what they agree to, but both men realize there’s just something there neither of them can deny. What will it take for them to overcome everything and realize there’s no time like the present to grab on to what they want?

Excerpt

Calling the Ball
CL Mustafic © 2018
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One
Strong hands gripped Henrick’s slim hips and lifted him, effectively breaking the connection between him and the man beneath. Henrick slumped forward to land on the broad chest of his current lover, Klaus, who easily rolled them to the side before completely disengaging and getting out of bed. Henrick sighed and rolled onto his stomach.

“Going to shower.” The way Klaus said it made clear there wasn’t an invitation for Henrick to join him hidden in the words—not that he’d expected Klaus to ask him to share the shower, but a change in routine wouldn’t hurt.

Henrick grunted in acknowledgment and folded his arms under his head as the shower started in the adjoining room. He was beginning to drift off just a little by the time Klaus emerged from the bathroom, vigorously rubbing his short brown hair with a towel. Klaus threw the used linen onto the bedroom floor before bending to retrieve his boxers. Henrick watched as the muscular man pulled them up over long, well-toned legs, but then to Henrick’s surprise, Klaus sat on the bed, stretched out, and leaned against the headboard near Henrick’s feet. He reached for the remote and turned on the television.

“Are you going to shower?” he asked, as he settled on a sports channel.

“Mmmm, probably, but don’t want to move yet.” Henrick almost purred when Klaus started stroking his thigh absentmindedly as he watched the sports news.

“Wore you out, did I?” Klaus couldn’t hide the hint of pride in his voice. Henrick snorted but nodded—never hurt to stroke a man’s ego a little. “Rest a bit then.”

Henrick was once again half-asleep when Klaus’s softly muttered “What’s the jackass done this time?” startled him awake.

“Who?” Henrick knew Klaus was passionate about his football and followed several of the players on his favorite teams.

“Alessi. That ass is in trouble again.”

Henrick studied his bed partner’s profile as the sports news anchor’s voice announced in the tone – of what Henrick thought was barely disguised glee—they reserved for bad news.

“Valentino Alessi, the bad boy of the Bundesliga, is at it again. This morning, headlines across Europe were accompanied by pictures of the league’s number-one striker entering a hotel room in Rome with two girls who, upon further investigation, turned out to be underaged. Articles in both the Sun Times of London and the Morning Press of Rome detailed the entire event from when Alessi met the girls in the hotel restaurant until he exited their hotel room over two hours later. The girls’ names haven’t been released, since they are minors, but so far the children’s parents have not responded to repeated requests from the media as to their awareness of the incident. Roman police chief, Antonio Scalari, said in a statement to press that the situation is being looked into, and if it is deemed necessary, the appropriate charges will be filed. This isn’t the first time Alessi’s come under fire for his indiscretions in the bedroom. It’s only been a year and a half since Paulo Gianotti stepped…”

“I hope that bastard gets what’s coming to him,” Klaus growled, drowning out the news anchor.

“I’m sure they need to wait until all the facts are in before they can hang the man.” Henrick pushed himself up and got out of bed. He was no fan of Valentino Alessi, but he wasn’t ready to pronounce guilt on the say-so of the media. “I’m going to shower now.” Klaus waved him away and turned his attention back to the TV after only one quick glance at Henrick’s ass.

After showering, Henrick was prepared to dress and leave since that was how his hookups with Klaus usually went, but he was surprised to find Klaus still lying on the bed in his underwear when he’d finished in the bathroom. Henrick stepped up to the side of the bed next to Klaus and looked down at him. “Aren’t we leaving?”

Klaus put a finger inside the towel cinched around Henrick’s waist and pulled him closer. “I thought maybe we could order some dinner from room service. We need to talk.” One hand wandered across Henrick’s hip and then back to squeeze one of his ass cheeks.

Henrick didn’t like the sound of that. Neither the getting a meal together after sex nor the “we need to talk” was anything Henrick wanted to hear out of Klaus’s mouth. They never spent any time out of the bed together after sex unless it was on the rare business trip they took together where they ended up sharing a room. The last time they’d needed to talk, Klaus told Henrick he was dating Lydia in accounting. So needing to talk never meant anything good. The two things combined caused a deep sense of foreboding to creep into Henrick’s body.

“You don’t have to buy me dinner to tell me it’s over.” Henrick tried not to sound upset at the prospect.

Klaus released Henrick’s ass and grabbed his hand instead as he tried to turn away. “Who said it was over?”

“Did you rent the room for the whole night?” Henrick asked as his breath quickened.

Klaus frowned. “I did because I thought it being Friday and all that we could make a night of it.” He made it sound as if it was something they did all the time.

Henrick shook his head. “No, the last time we spent an entire night together was when you convinced me that you dating Lydia was just for your public image so it wasn’t really cheating when we were together.” The sour taste in his mouth proved just how dirty it still made him feel to be fucking a man who was in a relationship—fake or not. If Henrick had been in Lydia’s place, he wouldn’t see it as any less than cheating on Klaus’s part.

Releasing Henrick’s hand, Klaus turned to sit on the side of the bed. “It’s not cheating. I’m not in love with her, and you know that. But I can’t get anywhere with the company if I’m not on track socially. Do you think I want to be stuck in this position forever? If I want to move up, I need to do something that will make it easier for me to do so.”

Henrick turned away from Klaus because he knew what they needed to talk about now, and he didn’t want Klaus to see the tears he knew would come after Klaus said the words. “Okay, so tell me what it is exactly you need to do to get that promotion you want so badly.”

Klaus cleared his throat, a nervous habit that meant bad news was on its way. It was one Henrick knew all too well. “I’ve asked Lydia to marry me.”

Henrick deflated, and his shoulders sagged under the weight of rejection. It was what he’d expected but had hoped wouldn’t happen. “So that’s it then. This was supposed to be some kind of last hurrah before you went off to find wedded bliss in the arms of a woman you claim to have no feelings for.” He couldn’t pretend that he didn’t care because he did—a lot.

Suddenly Klaus was behind him. Henrick tried to step away, but he was no match for the powerful arms holding him against a sturdy body almost twice his size. “Henrick, there’s no need to be so dramatic. Nothing has to change between us. I still want you, and I can always get away to meet up with you.” As if that was the answer to all the problems Henrick had with him marrying Lydia. Henrick realized Klaus just didn’t get it.

He struggled, but Klaus wouldn’t let him go free. “Klaus, let me go. If you marry Lydia, this is the last time you’ll be with me. I won’t fuck a married man. You know I had issues even when you were just dating her, but once you take vows I can’t in good conscience help you cheat on her.” Klaus finally released him with a little shove that made him stumble before he caught his balance.

“You can’t blackmail me into not marrying her. If it’s you or her, then I’ll choose her,” Klaus spat bitterly.

“I’m not trying to blackmail you. I knew this thing we had was just sex. You were never in it for anything other than getting off as often and as quickly as possible. You made that abundantly clear, but I’m still not going to be your something on the side when you’re a married man.” Each word that came out of his mouth stabbed him a little deeper because he’d hoped one day Klaus would change his mind and actually want a real relationship.

“You’re being unreasonable, Henrick. What difference do a few words and a couple of rings make?” Klaus rubbed at his stubbled jaw in obvious frustration.

Turning to look Klaus in the eyes, Henrick wanted to make sure his words were heard clearly and understood fully. “They make a world of difference to me.” They meant his dream of one day being the one Klaus chose to have a life with was over. He’d have to stop kidding himself about there being anything behind those occasional soft looks Klaus gave him. He needed to move on because now that Klaus had actually said he’d choose Lydia when push came to shove, he knew he would never come in first in Klaus’s life, and surely he deserved to be number one in someone’s life.

“You’re making this all about you. What about what I need? Do you ever think about how difficult this is for me?” Klaus sounded like a petulant child.

The anger rose hard and fast in Henrick’s chest. “Are you kidding me? All I ever do is think about what you want. You wanted to keep this on the down low, so I haven’t told a single soul about who I’m always sneaking out to see. For over two years now, I’ve kept your secret. You wanted to keep this thing between us just physical, no emotions, just meaningless sex, and I went along with that too. But you’ve crossed the line now by asking me to do something against my morals, so what—so that you can have the best of both worlds?” Henrick wanted to throw the question back in Klaus’s face and ask, What about me? What about what he wanted? But he didn’t because he knew Klaus didn’t care about anyone except himself.

He’d kept his voice low to avoid sounding shrill and hysterical, but he could feel himself balancing on the edge of a cliff. Bending to pick up his discarded clothes, he knew he needed to get out of the room before he said something that would reveal his feelings to Klaus. It didn’t matter how hard he’d tried to keep his emotions out of the bedroom, somewhere along the way he’d fallen in love with the big clueless oaf. If Henrick were being honest, Klaus’s obliviousness to his feelings hurt more than his finally choosing Lydia.

Klaus grabbed ahold of Henrick’s shirt as he tried to pull it over his head, making him scowl at the other man, but Klaus didn’t let go as he started talking. “Just stay for a bit. We can talk this through, and you’ll see that I’m not asking you to do anything more than what you have been doing. I like you, Henrick. I enjoy the time we’ve spent together. I realize I should have given you more to keep you happy with our arrangement. I’ve been selfish. I see that now, and I’m prepared to give you more of what you need. We can spend more time together, not just fucking; maybe we can catch a movie or a game, sort of like a date.”

Klaus’s voice had taken on a wheedling quality, which Henrick hated because he almost always gave in to it. Not this time, he told himself, as he ripped his shirt out of Klaus’s grasp. He wanted to scream that it was too little too late in Klaus’s face, but he held back. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What if someone starts questioning you hanging out with the gay guy from the office? What will your wife think of that?” Henrick sneered instead as he pulled the shirt on. After jamming his legs into his jeans, he buttoned them with trembling hands as he waited for Klaus to say something more.

“Maybe you should just think about my offer and get back to me.” Klaus crossed his beefy arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as if it was no big deal that he was breaking Henrick’s heart.

“Oh, I’ll think about it all right.” Henrick’s anger boiled over into rage, and he needed to get out of there, away from Klaus to somewhere he could let his emotions out. “I’ll think about it while I’m out cruising for a new cock.” He stuffed his socks into his jeans pockets and his bare feet into his shoes before turning on his heel and opening the door.

“You’ll regret leaving like this, Henrick. I know you have feelings for me—”

Stepping into the hallway, Henrick slammed the door on whatever else Klaus had been about to say. He was done hiding in the closet with someone who didn’t even love him enough to make it worth the hassle of keeping it a secret. After exiting the hotel, he flagged down a taxi, gave his address to the driver, and sat back in the seat to avoid conversation with the cabbie so he could think. He needed to fix his life. He had plenty of friends and friends-with-benefits all over Europe, but that wasn’t enough anymore. Henrick wanted someone who would put him first for once—someone who loved him more than everything else in their life. Was that asking too much, just to be the most important thing to one person? Henrick didn’t think it was and made a vow right there in the back of that cab. Henrick Kohler wasn’t going to settle for second best any longer.

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Meet the Author

CL Mustafic is a born and bred American mid-westerner who mysteriously ended up living in one of those countries nobody can ever find on the map of Europe. Left with too much time on her hands—let’s be honest here: it was the lack of television channels in her native language–and too many voices in her head trying to fill the silence, she decided to give her life-long dream of writing a novel a shot. So now, between shuttling kids back and forth from various activities and risking her life on the insanely narrow, busy streets of her new hometown, she loses herself in her own made-up world where love always wins.

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athlete, businessmen, coming out, football, in the closet, soccer
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Sep 24

Release Blitz: Siege Weapons by Harry F. Rey (Excerpt & Giveaway)

Filed under Book Blitz, Giveaways

Title: Siege Weapons

Series: The Galactic Captains, Book One

Author: Harry F. Rey

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: September 24, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 41300

Genre: Science Fiction, sci-fi, futuristic, war, space, multiple partners, BDSM

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Synopsis

Captain Ales is a lonely smuggler at the galaxy’s Outer Verge, and the last of his people. He’s been trying to move on from a life of drugs and meaningless sex, but finding love in this forgotten corner of the galaxy is difficult.

When he’s sent on a mysterious smuggling mission to a world under siege, he’s enticed by promises of the domination he craves. But soon Ales finds himself entwined in a galactic power struggle that could cost him everything.

Excerpt

Chapter One
Alone at the space station bar, I checked the screen on my wrist-tech for the hundredth time. The smooth silvery material as thin and flexible as a flower petal contoured perfectly to my bumps and scars. The device came alive, but still no message from him.

He wasn’t late anymore; he wasn’t coming. I sighed and pushed away the plate of imported meat I’d picked through for the last three hours. I didn’t know why I’d even wasted the money on it. When I’d arrived at Baldomar, this crummy little flank-yard station orbiting a dead star, I’d been horny, not hungry. As the hours went by, my anticipation had turned to anxiety, then nervousness, and finally, a dejected state of knowing I’d been right all along. He never was going to come, and I was stuck footing the bill for an expensive dinner I didn’t want and a shitty room I wouldn’t sleep in. Plus, I was at least eight hours away from where I needed to be.

The bar curved around the station’s front edge, the long window displaying a view of a black starless nothing. It was busy, but I happened to be the only homosapien here. Finding someone else to keep me occupied in this array of tentacles and translucent eyeballs was out of the question. Call me a racist, but I was only into humans. Besides, I doubted there would be any humans at all out here, let alone male ones interested in me. This was heterosapien space. They didn’t like that term, but with hundreds of thousands of sentient, space-faring, nonhuman species in the galaxy, there was no way anyone could remember, let alone pronounce most of their native names. So since forever they’d been lumped together as heterosapiens, hetero meaning different, as opposed to us homosapiens.

The dark expanse of the Outer Verge was the most isolated and sparsely populated place in the galaxy. But to be sure, I checked my wrist again. No messages. Again, I conducted a pointless scan of who might be around. As the wrist-tech searched for any homosapien male who’d registered at least a passing interest in the same sex, alerts flashed and danced around the screen. The more annoying ones swerved around the screen to the back of my wrist before I could swipe them away.

Free ship repairs with a room booking on Rastel Station. I saved that; my own one-person transport ship was older than me and held together with little more than hope.

Mineral ore prices continue to plummet. That would hurt those bastards over at Galactic Shipping Co., my ex-employer.

Trades Council rules against Jansen in galinium mining dispute. Jansen was a planet at the edge of the Verge, beyond the slipstream, and a place I couldn’t even pretend to be interested in.

There are no users matching your requirements on this station.

Same as five minutes ago. I dragged my fingers across the screen and expanded the search.

There are no users matching your requirements in this system.

Shit; not one dick in the whole damn system. I sighed again, harder, waving my wrist at the infra-ceptor for another drink of something strong and orange that burned my throat. I turned on my stool away from the crowd of ever-rowdier heteros. I’d entertained their squealing for hours and was beyond sick of it.

“Eat enough of that stuff and you’ll lose your hot body, mister.”

I immediately recognized the fake, sickly sweet voice of an AI. Rent a bot for one night and they’ll follow you around forever.

“Heard that line before,” I said without even turning.

“Well, with an ass like that you can have anything you want. Feel like buying me a drink, mister?”

It slid itself across the bar to get right in my face, flexing fake muscles under a poly casing and fluttering cheap plastic eyelashes over its visual receptors. It disguised itself as a hot young blond guy, pecs poking through a black mesh shirt, thick legs encased in tight shorts showing off a butt big enough to dock a ship in. All this happened to be pretty much my type—well, my conventional type at least. The other things I liked could only be provided by a select few, with Ukko being the only one in the whole damn Outer Verge I knew of right now.

“It’ll fry your circuits. Now buzz off before I shove an EMP up your ass.”

Its elbow lifted off the bar with a faint electronic snap and it slinked away. The bot scanned the rest of the place, no doubt after some leaky data to go code itself into the next unsuspecting soul’s metallic fantasy. Although there’s fat chance with this crowd of heteros. I didn’t even want to imagine what sick sexual thoughts went through their minds.

With a beep, a new message displayed on my wrist. Finally.

Hey Ales, couldn’t make it, had to jump. Something came up, you know how it is. I should be on Targuline next week; maybe we can get a room there instead? See you. Ukko

I waved for another drink and slammed my fist on the bar. Why did I believe him? We’d met once, totally random, in a system I couldn’t remember. We’d fucked in his ship, a security patrol vessel. It’d been everything I’d fantasized about, and the best thing to happen to me in a long, long time. I could get what I needed in any pleasure palace in any major world or even a decent-sized station. But, like renting a bot, it only gave the illusion of gratification. Ukko had given me what I wanted, what I craved.

We’d met, chatted. He’d made me laugh, bought me a drink. His job made it more exciting, more dangerous. We’ve got to use your ship, not mine, I’d told him, as he might’ve arrested me if he’d seen what I had stored in my hold. Of course, I hadn’t been joking. Ukko worked in security, or what passed for it here in the Outer Verge; the loose band of a few hundred self-ruled systems occupying the spiral “arm” that juts out from the rest of the galaxy. We were too insignificant and too isolated to attract the machinations of galactic power. Out here, we operated under our own rules.

Prospering meant being the smartest, quickest, or strongest, and I was none of those. Across the vast distances of the Outer Verge, to venture beyond the atmosphere of your own world was to wrestle with smugglers, gangs, and astronomical phenomenon that wasn’t found in any training manual or weather forecast.

The danger also gave rise to opportunity; no tolls, no tariffs, no taxes. Only Ukko flying around collecting bribe money in between his busy schedule of fucking everyone who wasn’t me, apparently.

I downed my drink, not caring about its cost anymore. As soon as my boss got his tentacles on me, I’d be in major shit. Enough time and fuel had been wasted to end up nowhere near the last delivery or the depot, so there was no reason for me not to get drunk.

All because what seemed to me a solid promise wasn’t even a second thought to Ukko. I meant nothing to him. Was nothing to him. And the worst part was I couldn’t even blame him. It was my fault, trying to turn a sly encounter into a lasting relationship. I considered my response. Sending a snarky message or even showing him what he’d missed, but what would be the point? Stuck somewhere between unrequited and unfulfilled, Ukko was the story of my love life over and over again. Never fulfilling enough to gain any real satisfaction, but never unrequited enough to be able to let it go.

My scalp suddenly itched, probably from this cup of orange engine fuel, which on second thought maybe wasn’t fit for homo consumption. My fingers dug through thick black curls, cursing the fact I kept any hair at all. The thought of shaving it all off frightened me. Perhaps the fear that someone from my distant past wouldn’t recognize me if I did. I shook my head at how ridiculous that was, and I caught the itch. Finally came the soothing sensation of nail on skin.

Where was he, my rescuer? The one who would fight through life with me, make the pain of past dissipate to mere atoms.

Out of the din of unfamiliar languages came a shriek at the other end of the bar. Followed by the sound of a wet and heavy thing hitting the floor. I tried to ignore it. Normally I’d love to watch a good hetero fight. Or even join in. But I couldn’t enjoy the spectacle in this depressed state.

I cracked my neck, the closest thing to satisfaction I’d get now, and it shot through me like a syringe full of Kri. Maybe there would be some of the bright blue drug on the station. I brought my wrist halfway up, thinking about searching for a vial, and ordered another drink by accident from the infra-ceptor. On second thought, Kri on my own was no fun. Without an orgy to go to, all that nano-induced energy went to waste. The bar-bot refilled my glass, and I knocked back the extra drink. I tried to stand. Drunk again. This time, I pushed myself against the bar and made it all the way up.

Shit. Guess I’d be using the room after all.

I stumbled along to the exit, almost holding it together. It was so much easier to fly drunk than walk. I glanced over to check out the fight’s aftermath. A gaggle of blobby and tentacled heteros were huddled around whichever one had gotten injured. I couldn’t figure out if it had lost a vital appendage, but it seemed like they were trying to scoop a blob off the floor and reattach it. Seriously, what was the big deal with losing one glutinous blob if your entire body was literally glutinous blobs? I didn’t know if they were crying or laughing. Damn heterosapiens.

Something beeped, another message. In the hazy moment before my eyes adjusted, a spark twitched in my trousers. Perhaps this trip wouldn’t go to waste.

Ales – get your scrawny black ass back to the depot nows. I gots a jobs for you.

Javer still hadn’t learned plurals. My boss, the dumb-fuck tentacle dick. How did he even know my skin was black if his globby-ass species had sniffers for eyes? There were certain places his type couldn’t even set a blob in, let alone order around a homo. Us skin bags might dominate most of the galaxy, but out here was cold, hard equality. Part of me so wanted to hit back at Javer. I reminded myself I’d come to the Outer Verge to get far away from that sort of oppression, any sort of oppression. Plus, I wasn’t exactly captain of the week. The last job dropped my punctuality rating to less than 50 percent, well below the firing threshold.

The truth was I didn’t want to go back. I was done, beyond done. I couldn’t take another yelling from him, or another job basically smuggling contraband. Javer didn’t even pretend the planetary import licenses had anything to do with the cargo anymore. He didn’t care about the moments of terror I faced while bribing or blagging my way through another delivery. The free-trading worlds of the Verge were his opportunity to sell anything and everything that would bring a profit.

A sudden stab of pain hit my lower back, the muscle memory of my last delivery gone wrong; twenty-four hours chained to a wall in a customs prison on Kerjan. All for what? Another planet; another lonely bar, another fruitless search for satisfaction at the lost edge of sentience. Another message.

Get backs nows.

The elevator took me to the right corridor, and my hands ran along either side of the fluorescent-lit wall, steadying myself while avoiding condensation drips from the ceiling. I tried to figure out how long I might reasonably expect to live if I ever decided to fuck it and run.

The room had a chill, the kind you only get in deep space. I stumbled, still couldn’t figure out how to get the lights on. Ukko wouldn’t have been impressed anyway. Probably a good thing he’d never showed after all. The promise of sex was usually better than the real thing, I’d come to learn. I pushed off my boots and, seconds before collapsing, carried out my nightly ritual.

“I believe in the continuity of existence, in the eternity of our people. That the glory of our past will never be forgotten and the greatness of our future will always be remembered. Oh victorious one, conqueror of the universe, restore us, your faithful army. Oh merciful one, mother of all, deliver us from exile. May your people grow strong and numerous, as in the days before. May we sweep across the stars, and may tomorrow herald the coming of your dominion over all worlds.”

I fell onto the bed, my mind full with the heavy despair of many years and the memory of many deaths, and I was the only one left alive in the galaxy who knew these words.

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Meet the Author

Harry F. Rey is an author and lover of gay themed stories with a powerful punch with influences ranging from Alan Hollinghurst to Isaac Asimov to George R.R. Martin. He loves all things sci-fi and supernatural, and always with a gay twist. Harry is originally from the UK but lives in Jerusalem, Israel with his husband.

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Sep 24

Release Blitz: Priest and Pariahs by J. Alan Veerkamp (Excerpt & Giveaway)

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Title: Priest and Pariahs

Series: Centauri Survivors Second Chance Chronicles, Book Three

Author: J. Alan Veerkamp

Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC

Release Date: September 24, 2018

Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 76500

Genre: Science Fiction, sci-fi, romance, space, gay, family drama

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Synopsis

Costa McQuillen has escaped from Earth, where being para-human—a Pariah—with tech empathic abilities is illegal, and marks him for extermination. Arrogant and standoffish, Costa is unable to trust anyone but is willing to risk everyone’s safety in his desperate effort to reach the planet Omoikane. His best solution, gaining passage on board the Santa Claus.

Arbor Kittering is the crew’s newest coding tech. Having spent a short time in prison for data hacking and falsifying government files, the Santa Claus is his last chance at a new start—if he can decipher the strange malfunctions plaguing the ship.

Eugene “Priest” Jones, the Santa Claus’s Head Pilot, is a bit of a scoundrel. Perpetually single, Priest is attracted to Costa and Arbor. In truth, he’d like to have both, but it’s clear even his grifting and gambling skills can’t make that happen.

Now as they all travel together, it appears Priest needs to make a choice before it’s too late as each of their lives intertwine with potentially dangerous and deadly consequences.

Excerpt

The darkness reminded him somehow of being an unborn child—as if one could remember such a thing—floating weightless, enveloped by warmth. What would anyone give to fall back into such a simple existence, removed of all need beyond instinctual thought? What a fortunate nine months it would be. A wonderful life, sleeping and cared for inside the womb, never requiring a voice. All before anyone could teach a soul to love or hate, or something or someone was unwanted.

Is that what was happening here? Had he somehow regressed back before his own infancy? The pangs of jealousy he was experiencing told him no. Sadly, no.

He felt like he’d been slumbering for such a long time, and very, very gradually he started to wake. Threads of logical coherence tickled his thoughts in the dark. It was not a welcome sensation, and he fought to avoid it. Why couldn’t he go back into the lovely silence?

Envy for the ignorance of the unborn rolled through him. How unfair it was to have the innocence of being sequestered and never hearing the taunts of children or comprehending the cries of the intolerant taken away from him. If only he had never heard slurs of hatred or understood what defined a second-class citizen.

What was that sound? Could it be a faint heartbeat in the distant void? It sounded brash and unnatural, refusing to lull him back to sleep like the soothing cadence of a mother’s pulse.

Like a child, he wanted nothing more than to stay safe and warm, but like in every instance, someone always forced a person into the painful light and cold of reality. The darkness parted above him with a soft mechanical hiss. The warmth bled away, making him want to cry.

Daring to open his foggy eyes, he squinted in the artificial light. A woman in a white coat hovered over him.

“Welcome back to the real world. Can you tell me your name?”

His voice was dry and raspy, and he had to concentrate to answer her correctly. “Costa…Costa McQuillen.”

“Good. Your stats are looking healthy.” A warm smile graced the young woman as she read over the flat scanner in her hand.

Focusing was becoming easier. He found himself undressed, lying back in comfort, some kind of foam bedding molded around him. It held him effortlessly, but its touch was delicate, tricking his senses into thinking he was floating. Several small pieces of equipment were attached to his body, taunting him with their hidden binary code. She touched one piece of technology and looked back to the miniature screen she carried.

“Are you a doctor?” Costa asked.

“Yes, I am.” A small frisson of panic lanced him. He wasn’t about to lie back and allow her to poke and prod him. The doctor placed a hand on Costa’s shoulder as he started to rise, holding him in place with little effort. “Hold on. Don’t sit up right away. You’ll be a little disoriented for a bit. That’s normal for a five-year hypersleep.”

Costa groaned, trying to sort himself as the doctor’s caring tone diffused his anxiety. “Where am I?”

“You’re on board the Mayflower Ark.”

“The Mayflower Ark?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. You booked passage from Earth to Alpha Centauri Prime.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Just like everyone else on board.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a little confused.”

The doctor’s smile was sweet with understanding. “It’s all right. I have this conversation with most of the passengers. We’ll be arriving on Alpha Centauri Prime within twenty-four hours. We’re in the process of waking all of the Earth immigrants.”

Costa looked around and found himself inside an enormous medical bay filled with mechanical wombs, just like the one in which he lay. Men and women in lab coats drifted from capsule to capsule, setting free the dazed people inside. Some were more awake than others, with men, women, and children milling about the vast room as they dressed. The more he saw, the more the cloud over his thoughts lifted.

“This is odd.” The doctor squinted at her handheld display.

“What?”

“There are a few anomalies in your bio-scan.”

“That’s ridiculous. Your tech must be faulty.” Costa granted the device in her hand a vicious stare. “Look again.”

The doctor’s forehead creased as she blinked in confusion. “Oh. Wait. It’s normal now. Must have been an error.”

“Yes, it must have been. May I get dressed now?”

With a simple touch, the doctor removed each of the devices attached to Costa’s arms and legs. “You seem coherent enough to move around safely. The muscle stimulators kept your body from atrophying during the long sleep, but you may still be a little weak. Be careful until you get settled. If you find yourself feeling lightheaded, I want you to sit down immediately.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

She might have been genuine and helpful, but she couldn’t go away fast enough for his tastes.

Once she left, Costa took on the slow task of sitting upright and retrieved his clothing from the bin alongside the bed. After he was dressed and found his footing, Costa wandered over to the observation decks located next to the hypersleep room. He couldn’t bear to keep looking at the rows of chambers. Even with all the living people inside, each capsule reminded him too much of a coffin, and with so many clustered together, the errant idea morphed itself into some kind of perverse morgue. He couldn’t bear to spend time entertaining the image. It sparked far too many horrific memories.

The view into space through the three-story-tall view ports lining the wall pushed back the recollections. Alpha Centauri Prime grew larger as they approached, looking similar to his homeworld with its land masses and blue waters, even if the continents didn’t match. He had to look more than once to convince himself the world before him was not actually Earth. Costa had no intention of ever setting foot on that planet again.

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Meet the Author

While spending years more focused on visual arts, J. Alan Veerkamp never let go of his innate passion for storytelling, wanting to write and draw comic books when he grew up. Once he discovered M/M fiction, a whole new world opened filled with possibilities. Why couldn’t you have fantastic and dynamic sexy tales with an M/M cast? He started reading the online tales of authors like, Night Tempest, Rob Colton, and Alicia Nordwell, which only fueled his need to create. Eventually he found GayAuthors.org, and with a little coercive nudge, started sharing his tales with an unexpected level of positive response. The experience and support gave him the courage to cross his fingers and aim for the world of M/M publishing.

Born and raised in Michigan, J. Alan continues to type away, wishing it was practical to use an noisy, old fashioned keyboard that clacks with each strike, if just to annoy his loving partner and spoiled miniature dachshund.

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