Tuesday, December 18, 2018

What a widow wants....what a lady needs #giveaway #historicalromance @Jenna_Jaxon

What a Widow Wants cover

Widowed by the Battle of Waterloo, the ladies of Lyttlefield Park are returning to London society—with their futures in their own hands.

The widowed Lady Stephen Tarkington, Fanny to her friends, has finished mourning her cad of a husband and is ready to enjoy her freedom. The kind of freedom neither a gently bred miss nor a close-watched wife is permitted: dressing up as Aphrodite for a masquerade, drawing gentlemen away from the party, and hinting at late-night assignations with her dance partners. All is going pleasurably according to plan—until the Roman god Fanny kisses during a masquerade turns out to be Matthew, Lord Lathbury, whose proposal she refused years ago.

Lathbury is charming, passionate, inventive, everything Fanny wants in a lover—but unfortunately, he’s on the hunt for a wife. He’s more than willing to use all his wicked skills to persuade her back to the altar, but he can’t wait forever. And now Fanny’s position is more precarious than she once thought. If the tongues of the ton set to wagging, it’s possible no offer in the world will save her from ruin. But does she want to be saved?


Leaning into him, she whispered, “We can renew our acquaintance in all ways that count.”

So you’ll agree to bed me but not wed me?”

For the moment.” She tapped her fingers lightly on his chest. “Would that be such a hardship on you?”

Sighing, he pulled a face. “I suppose not.” A flash of his boyish grin made her stomach drop. “May I woo you properly, at least?”

Improperly would be more to my taste.” Fanny returned his smile with one of her own, as sultry and seductive as she could make it. “But I suppose some decorous behavior wouldn’t kill me either.”

Good.” He took her hands and raised them to his lips. “I leave for Brighton at the end of the week. I’d hoped you’d be accompanying me as my wife, but that—”

As your wife?” How arrogant of him to think she’d fall into his arms at the snap of his fingers.

Well? Will you meet me in Brighton?” Matthew’s eager voice brought her back to the dim room now filled with possibilities.

I will be happy to journey to Brighton, my lord. If I find you there, I do hope you will attend me most earnestly.” In a heart’s beat she slipped her hands from his, pulled his lips down to hers, and sealed the pact with a kiss so warm and sweet her resolve slipped a notch. “And now if you’ll excuse me?” Turning swiftly on her toes, Fanny raced for the door. As she grasped the handle, she glanced back at him.

The victorious grin on his face sent a shiver down her spine. She pulled the door open and fled into the corridor before she could change her mind.

About the Author

Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical romance in all time periods because, she says, “passion is timeless.” She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, Jenna has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements into her own stories. She’s a theatre director when she’s not writing and lives in Gloucester, Virginia with her family, including two very vocal cats and one silent one.

Jenna is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America as well as an active member of Chesapeake Romance Writers, her local chapter of RWA. She has four series currently available: The House of Pleasure, set in Georgian England, Handful of Hearts, set in Regency England, and Time Enough to Love, set in medieval England and France, and The Widows’ Club series, also set in Regency England and available from Kensington Publishing in both print and digital.

She currently writes to support her chocolate habit.

Find Jenna Jaxon online:

Buy the book at

Jenna will be giving away a $20 Amazon/BN GC to one lucky reader.

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Monday, December 17, 2018

Missing Winter - #snow #NewEngland #nostalgia #99cents

More than a decade ago, I moved from a rural town in New England (the region where I grew up) to a city in the tropics. For the most part, the relocation has been tremendously beneficial. I love my adopted country, my new profession, and the fact that I have more financial security than I ever had in the U.S. Urban life agrees with me. I much prefer to walk or take public transit than to use my own car. Although I didn’t move for the climate, I mostly enjoy the freedom of wearing relatively few clothes and sandals, even to work. Still there are times when I really do miss my original home—especially around the winter holidays.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t miss the hassle of preparing for winter: getting out the heavy sweaters, coats and boots; installing storm windows; arranging for the driveway to be plowed; installing snow tires and checking the anti-freeze. I’m grateful to be spared the nail-biting terror of trying to drive on an ice-slicked road. New England is famous for two particularly unpleasant kinds of winter weather, slush and freezing rain. I’ve had enough of both for one lifetime!

However, winter in New England sometimes has a unique, transcendent beauty that isn’t matched by anything here in my new home. After a snowfall, there’s a hush, a peace that comes over everything, soothing and freeing. I associate this tranquil feeling with the holidays, even though Christmas weather in New England is just as likely to involve leaden skies and bare ground, or chilly rain.

Being a writer, of course, I can indulge my nostalgia in my stories...

Suzanne had never seen stars so bright. The night sky was a black bowl above them, studded with blazing jewels. The snow blanketing the yard gleamed with some faint inner radiance. At the edges of the property, evergreens clustered in deeper shadow like silent sentinels.

She took a deep breath of the crystalline air, so cold and sharp it hurt her lungs. The tiny hairs inside her nose stood on end. Her earlobes felt like icicles. From the neck down, though, she was bathed in delicious warmth. The bizarre contrast almost made her giggle.

Smooth, hard muscle brushed her thigh. After a moment, roving fingers skittered across her lap and burrowed into her pubic fur. A fiery bolt of lust struck her core.

That’s a bit from my holiday MMF ménage tale Almost Home. There’s a lot more winter nostalgia in that tale (entwined with the romance and the sex) including a blizzard and a session of shovelling afterwards. If you crave a bit of winter warmth, why not pick up a copy? It’s only 99 cents, from the publisher and selected bookstores.

By the way, the photo at the top of this post was taken one long ago winter, from my living room window. This is part of what I do miss.

Saturday, December 15, 2018

Sizzling Sunday: Tomorrow's Gifts - #SizzlingSunday #MM #BDSM #99cents

Sizzling Sunday Banner

Welcome to another Sizzling Sunday. I am continuing to highlight my holiday books. Today I have a snippet from my MM BDSM holiday romance Tomorrow’s Gifts. This is one of the first gay romance stories I wrote. It features quite intense BDSM scenes. So if you’re looking for a soft-and-fuzzy MM holiday tale, this one probably isn’t for you. On the other hand, this story, which is definitely inspired by Dicken’s A Christmas Carol, deals with the very real issue of communication in a relationship, especially a D/s relationship.

Oh, by the way – this paranormal romance holiday tale is on sale for only 99 cents at most outlets, including the publisher and Amazon.

The ghost of Christmas future...

Michael loves his burly, powerful partner Neil, but he's too embarrassed to share his secret fantasies of submission and surrender. Frustrated and confused, he wonders whether he and Neil really belong together.

Then, on Christmas Eve, Michael receives a visit from a sexy Dom, Thorne Wilder, who claims to be his lover from the future. Thorne shows Michael scenes from a wild life of sexual excess that he claims they'll share if he breaks up with Neil.

Should Michael trust the ghost of Christmas future, or does his true future lie with Neil?


So, Michael. Have you been a good little boy?” Neil loomed over me, one hand against the wall on either side of my head. “Do you deserve the goodies that Santa’s brought for you?” Leaning forward, he trailed a wet tongue up my neck, from my open collar to just below my earlobe. When I squirmed in response, he flattened his pelvis against the lump growing in my jeans and fastened his mouth on mine. The fake beard got in the way. He ripped it off and resumed kissing me, while his hands slipped around me to cup my ass.

I loved the way Neil kissed, with his full body, investing his entire being into the process. I snuggled against his red felt jacket, allowing him to take possession of my mouth. His kisses were deep, wet, full of soul. They made me light-headed. They made me hard. I could taste the beer he had drunk at the party and the peppermint candy cane that we’d shared on the way home, but underneath there was the familiar flavour of Neil, my housemate, friend and lover.

I forced my hand between our bodies and fumbled at his zipper. “Oh, are you being a naughty little boy?” he breathed in my ear. “Santa will have to punish you.”

His words thrilled me. Oh, if only he would make good on his threats! I knew from experience that he was only teasing, though. But maybe tonight would be different. With the holiday high, the post-party buzz, maybe tonight he’d give me what I craved.

I wrenched his fly open and wriggled through the opening in his briefs until I had what I wanted – the silky sensation of his cock-skin under my fingers. My own cock throbbed as I stroked him, marvelling at the contrast between the rock-hard flesh underneath and the satin-smooth layer that enclosed it.

I wanted to sink to my knees and suck him, right there in the hallway. I wanted him to fuck my mouth until I gagged, then drown me in his come. Instead, he extricated my hand from his trousers and squeezed it affectionately. “Let’s go to bed, baby. Let’s get naked.”

I followed him down the corridor to the back of the flat. By the time I reached the bedroom, the Santa costume was a crumpled scarlet heap in one corner. Neil stood by the side of the bed, hands on his hips, his cock jutting proudly from the black tangle at his groin. He was a fearsome sight, a towering six foot four with thighs like tree trunks and arms that could crush you to a pulp. It’s true, his hairline had started to recede, and he had the barest beginnings of love handles. He was thirty six, after all. But he was still the powerful, bear-like guy I’d fallen in love with three years ago.

Before he knew what was happening, I was at his feet. I grabbed his cock and swallowed it whole, burying my nose in the fragrant, curly hair at its root. My balls tightened as I was washed in his scent. He moaned and jerked his hips, ramming the bulb against the back of my throat. My cock surged. When he heard me gag, though, Neil retreated, pulling halfway out of my mouth. I sucked him back in, swirling my tongue around his shaft, trying to make him lose control.

It didn’t work. He pumped in and out of my mouth with measured thrusts, careful not to plunge too deep. I reached between his legs, stroked his balls, brushed my finger across his sphincter, urged the tip inside. Neil groaned and clenched his cheeks together, trapping my hand. But he didn’t let go the way I wanted him to. He didn’t go crazy. He didn’t grab my hair and ram his cock down my throat, the way I’d imagined.

He felt wonderful. He tasted great. I knew that I was giving him pleasure. My own cock was huge, aching to be let out of my jeans. I felt his love, surrounding me. He was in touch with me – he could read my reactions. He knew when he was causing me pain. What he couldn’t sense, apparently, was the fact that I didn’t want him to stop.

Before long, he pulled out. Perhaps, at some level, he did feel my disappointment. “I’d much rather come in your tight little ass,” he told me with a grin as he undressed me, gleeful as a kid unwrapping a Christmas present. He ran his hand over my smooth pecs and down my belly. “God, Michael, you are one hot boy.” Grasping my cock in his fist, he smeared my pre-come over the bulb with his thumb. My hips jerked reflexively. “Yeah, that’s right. That’s a good little boy. Come for Santa.”

Friday, December 14, 2018

Sometimes being different is awesome - #MMRomance #HolidayRomance @ElodieParkes

Snowflake Wine banner
By Elodie Parkes (Guest Blogger)

Thank you for inviting me to your blog with new release, MM romance, Snowflake Wine.

The story is contemporary gay romance with an edge of fantasy, especially written as a sweet but sexy Christmas treat.
Jamie Snow and Nathan Bloom, my characters are as usual, dear to me.

Jamie has battled all his life with his strange, fantastic gift. His is the character that brings the element of fantasy to the story. The inspiration behind the creation of this character came, weirdly enough, in the summer, when I visited a ruined abbey. In the grounds were flowering shrubs that I’d never encountered before. From a distance, the flowers looked like frost, and as I drew close, into my mind came the idea of Jamie, a sprite who loves cold, ice, frost, and to comfort himself in the warm weather, he decorated the shrubs with frost flowers.

Nathan Bloom is the perfect partner for Jamie—gorgeous, calm, loving and open. He’s looking for love. He’s onto Jamie’s gifts long before he lets Jamie know it. This is a love story—romantic, sexy, hopeful.


Hunky Nathan Bloom works late for the company putting up the town Christmas lights and decorations.

Gorgeous, enigmatic, Jamie Snow works late forecasting the weather from his desk in the meteorology office.

Nathan sighs over the prospect of a holiday season with no one to love.

Jamie wonders if he’ll ever find a man to love who will accept his mysterious origins and talents.

One cold night, as Nathan finishes hoisting the wreath lights up the building where Jamie works, they meet.

The brilliant festive lights aren’t the only things to sparkle as the two men connect on a deep level.

Be delighted by a delicious, contemporary, gay romance with an edge of fantasy this season.

Sometimes being different is awesome.


On launch special price, all Amazon sites until Dec 14

Read a teaser:

Jamie Snow sat alongside Nathan. He glanced across at the man who stirred his frosty heart. He’s so attractive. Jamie hadn’t loved in a long time. He felt more than ready for it—longed for it on lonely nights. He wasn’t about to give up on the chance that this man might want a lover, that he was gay wasn’t in question. No straight guy looked the way he had at another man.

My name’s Jamie, Jamie Snow.” He softened his voice as he spoke. The man beside him inspired tenderness and he felt a little prick of guilt. Using the weather to flirt with him had been inspired but maybe a little naughty.

Nathan drove the truck into a wide car lot that Jamie hadn’t known existed behind the furniture store on the end of the main street. “Here we are. The store allows us to leave the bigger rigs here every year. Jamie Snow—that’s an interesting name for a meteorologist—mine’s Nathan Bloom.”

Jamie’s smile infused his tone. “Yes. People tease me sometimes at work, they’ll know we’ve forecast it and as I walk by they’ll say, ‘here comes the snow,’ but I don’t mind. I like this name.”

You’ve had others?” Nathan asked with a laugh.

Jamie didn’t want to reply. He waited. I won’t be lying to this lovely guy if I don’t answer.

Nathan turned off the truck engine and twisted to talk to Jamie. “It’s a cool name. Where do you live?”

It appeared he’d forgotten his question.
Happiness trickled into Jamie’s soul that the attractive man beside him liked his name, and used the word, cool. Eagerly, Jamie told Nathan his address on the outskirts of the town.

Nathan grinned, his eyes reflecting Jamie’s emotion. “I know it well. I live a couple of streets south from there.”

About Elodie

I’m a writer who is in love with happy endings, currently based in southern UK. I write for Evernight Publishing, Siren, Hot Ink Press, Encompass Ink, and eXtasy Books.

I love music, art, flowers, trees, the ocean. I work with antiques by day and words by night. Like a vampire, darkness is my friend, that’s when the silence is only broken by an occasional hoot of owls in the woodlands opposite my home, and I write.

Find Elodie online:

Thursday, December 13, 2018

Freebie Blitz—Shopping for an Heir @JKentAuthor #romanticcomedy #freebook


FREE for a limited time - SHOPPING FOR AN HEIR. A hilarious standalone in Julia Kent's bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series. Gerald Wright works for billionaires. He never imagined he’d become one. Get the Whispersync audio for $7.49 on Amazon or your favorite audiobook retailer.


Gerald Wright works for billionaires. He never imagined he’d become one.

The former Navy Seal is a chauffeur by day, artist by night, so when hotter-than-ever ex-fiancée Suzanne Dayton interrupts his nude model sculpting class to serve him with inheritance paperwork from a man he’s never heard of, he assumes it’s a joke.

Turns out the joke’s on him. There’s just one catch. A big one.

And it might be Suzanne — in more ways than he ever dreamed.

Shopping for an Heir is the 10th book in the New York Times bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series by Julia Kent.

Buy links:

Amazon Canada: http://amzn.to/29IQds1

Amazon Australia: http://amzn.to/29JqH84

Google Play: http://bit.ly/29MNgdk

Audiobook links:

Amazon Audio: http://amzn.to/2Bc3je0

Authors-Direct: http://bit.ly/2Rzi83n


A flash of movement under a streetlight in the distance, at the nearest light, caught Gerald’s eye.


Sprinting, he left Declan befuddled, calling out his name, until the light changed and he watched as Suzanne marched forward with that confident walk of hers, shoulders squared as if she were still in morning formation and wore a uniform, wiping her mouth with a tissue and muttering to herself. He knew how the curve of her spine felt under his palms when she stood like that, the supple feel of the paradox between soft skin and hard bone a delightful feast for his fingers.

Wait!” he called out, unsure and unbidden, moving on pure instinct. He needed to touch her. Would die without making that single, simple connection. Not just in an intimate sense. The need was more than that.

Suzanne got to the curb and stopped. She did not turn around, her body poised, waiting.

Panting with the burst of exertion, his brain firing on all cylinders, he caught up to her and slowed down at the last steps, moving to her, pulled by a force that drew him in. His front settled against her back, his tight cotton t-shirt brushing against the thin linen jacket she wore, the friction erotic and full, sensual.

As his palms touched her elbows, her arms at her side, he inhaled with precision, measuring her.

She did not move.

Suzanne,” he murmured, chin close to a stray hair that curled out from her updo, resting against the fine, creamy line of her neck. With longer hair, the sharp, jutting bones of her jaw stood out, giving her the look of a Viking princess. In heels, she was exactly his height, setting him off-kilter. He wasn’t a short man. In fatigues she was always four to five inches shorter. In service dress, her shoes gave her a two-inch lift.

He liked being equal. Liked it a lot.

Please,” she whispered, the word spiraling off into the dark night, as if the street lights beyond them were pulling her voice to them.

Taking her reaction as something other than rejection, he left his hands where they were, closing the inch gap between them. She was cool and regal, his hot, thick chest pressing into her back.

Please what?” he asked, knowing this could go either way, but not caring, because right now—as each second ticked by—he had more internal calm than he’d had in ten years.

Even as desire burned bright inside him.

Please don’t.”

He froze.

Don’t what?” Tempted to step back, he held strong. Her please carried a weight to it, a meaning he needed to discern before acting. All impulse and no analysis would end this in a flash. Time was his friend. Patience.


He had to go against instinct.

Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down

Social Media Links:

Freebie blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Tuesday, December 11, 2018

Review Tuesday: Taken by Selena Kitt - #ReviewTuesday #erotica #FFM

Taken cover

Taken by Selena Kitt

Lizzy is a college girl, working a summer job as a telemarketer. Although she has a boyfriend, she is fascinated by her stylish, competent boss Sarah. However, she has no idea what to do about this vague attraction to someone so far above her. Then Sarah takes the initiative, inviting Lizzy back to her place for a “girls’ night” that turns out to involve much more than the promised pizza and video. Sarah guides her young protogée, teaching her how women give and receive pleasure. Gradually, the older woman initiates her into the delights of dominance and submission, and Lizzy falls deeply in love.

Scarred by previous bad experiences, Sarah pretends to be married in order to discourage male attention, but Lizzy can tell she needs a man. Out of love as much as curiosity, she encourages her mistress to bring co-worked David into their sexual games. None of them foresees how the threesome will change them.

I received a copy of Taken at least a year ago, as a freebie for signing up on Selena Kitt’s newsletter. I duly copied it to my e-reader, but only opened it a few days ago. What an unexpected treat! Selena Kitt excels at bringing the erotic to life. Taken was one of the hottest things I’ve read in months.

What stood out for me especially was the complexity of emotion she managed to bring to the tale, particularly to the interactions in the ménage scene. Every one of the three participants has mixed motives and unvoiced expectations. There’s a lot more going on than just fucking. Indeed, in real life this is almost always true, but few authors can capture the ebb and flow of feelings in addition to the in and out of the flesh.

Here’s one of my favorite passages:

For a moment I was sure he didn’t know what to do with the both of us naked there in front of him. His eyes weren’t sure where to travel, distracted by the rise and fall of her breasts, by the wetness spreading to my thighs, until his eyes found hers and she slowly smiled at him. She was lightly stroking the top of my thigh, her hand warm and soft. Then his eyes found mine and I thought I would drown or be consumed by my own hunger, my ache and longing to be his. The world was spinning lazy circles around me and all I knew was David.

Everything he did, every movement he made, seemed full of purpose and intent. I gasped as his hands pressed my thighs open, his eyes never leaving mine. I thought he was just going to enter me immediately and I was braced for it, barely breathing, eyes wide, but his large, rough hands kneaded my flesh, digging deeply into my thighs, and I found myself opening wider, my thighs parting and parting like I couldn’t open enough. Sarah stroked my arm, my side, the underside of my breast, her tenderness a direct contrast to his force, her coaxing me at the same time as he was easing me more and more toward an edge of wildness where I found myself afraid to open my eyes.

But David made me open them, keep them open and focused on him, on his eyes, seeking to take me somewhere I’d never been, somewhere I ached to go, a place I was desperate for and at the same time terrified of. And when I looked over at Sarah, pleading with my eyes, I saw she knew, she understood, and I felt the shift in her, knowing suddenly she was allowing all of this because she wanted it for me, but more—it wasn’t in her control anymore. It was then that the trembling started, and I wanted to crawl away, hide. I felt too raw andbare, vulnerable and exposed before them both.

And I don’t know how he knew what to do, but David took my hands and raised them above my head and pressed his body weight against me, not completely, but enough, holding both of my wrists in his one hand, and he kissed me. It was like falling, like disappearing, like I’d found the edge of that precipice and leaped, or been pushed, and there was nowhere else to go but the bottomless depth that his mouth, the weight of him, the thick hardness resting against my thigh, all pressed me towards.

There’s a lot of intensity in this brief tale. Unfortunately, I found the ending a bit disappointing. I don’t require a HEA or even a HFN in my erotica, but it seemed that an experience as moving as this ménage would have more of an impact on Lizzy’s future life. I won’t say any more, though. Read the story yourself—it’s free, after all—and see what you think.

Meanwhile, I think I need to get hold of more erotica by Selena Kitt. I’ve known her for a long time online, but haven’t read much of her work. That really should change.

Monday, December 10, 2018

I can't tell anyone the truth -- False Memory by @meliraineauthor - #romanticsuspense #amnesia

False Memory Teaser

It all started with the bereavement flowers with my name on them.

Not the best way to wake up, right? I work in a flower shop. I know a funeral arrangement when I see one.

I know a killer when I see one, too. And one is standing in my hospital room right now, straight behind the man who saved my life.

I can’t tell anyone the truth, because that’s the fastest way to really die. So I do the next best thing. I “lose” my memory.

I fake my amnesia.

Pretending not to remember a brutal attempted murder has its perks. The killer is backing down, spending less time around me, loosening the noose.

The less I claim to recall, the more my rescuer, Duff, works to help me “remember.” I hate lying to him.

But he doesn’t understand that my memory is dangerous. To me. And to him.

Fooling everyone isn’t easy. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Except it’s starting to look like I’ve been fooling myself.

In more ways than one.

FALSE MEMORY (Book 1 of the False Series)

Release Date: 12.11.18


Release Date: 01/15/19

About the Author

Meli Raine writes romantic suspense with hot bikers, intense undercover DEA agents, bad boys turned good, and Special Ops heroes — and the women who love them. Meli rode her first motorcycle when she was five years old, but she played in the ocean long before that. She lives in New England with her family.

Social Media Links:

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.