Thursday, August 11, 2022

What flavour of awful did you want? -- #GayRomance #Humor #Giveaway

Horribly Harry cover

Book Description

Bad Boyfriend, Inc—when you can’t find a good boyfriend, why not hire a bad one instead?

To supplement his income while he’s completing his Early Education degree, Harry Townsend hires himself out as a terrible date—for a set fee, he’ll horrify parents and family members in all sorts of interesting ways. But when it comes to actual relationships—and sex—Harry doesn’t get the appeal. He doesn’t get the same tingly feelings everyone else seems to when they meet someone attractive, and he’s fine with that. He’d rather spend his evenings watching TV anyway.

Jack Windsor abandoned his uni degree to do an apprenticeship as a mechanic, much to his parents’ dismay. He’s happy with his choices, but leaving uni meant losing his accommodation, and now he’s crashing on his sister Mia’s couch. It isn’t ideal, but it’s only until he finds something else—which is proving difficult in Sydney’s brutal rental market.

When Jack almost kills Harry with a strawberry smoothie, he discovers that not only was Harry’s disastrous date with Mia a set up, but that Harry is looking for a roommate. Moving in with Harry is great, if only he wasn’t so distractingly cute—and totally uninterested in Jack. Except as they grow closer as friends, for the first time in his life, Harry tells Jack he’s developing feelings for him—tingly ones.

But how can Harry and Jack be together when Jack’s family thinks that Harry is the worst human being in the universe? And how can Jack convince them that his Bad Boyfriend is the best boyfriend he’s ever had, without admitting that Mia hired him to be terrible to them? When an approaching family event brings everything to a head, Jack’s going to have to step up to prove to Harry that he wants him in his life. And it might just take some bad timing, some good luck and the ugliest suit known to mankind.


Hello, Beryl,” Harry said through clenched teeth as he slid the garish Hawaiian shirt onto the counter.

Beryl narrowed her one good eye at him. “Mr Townsend. I believe you’re banned from this shop.”

Harry stared her down as he lifted his chin. “No. I spoke to Agnes, and she said that you’re not in charge so you can’t ban anyone. And she said, ‘looking at someone funny’ wasn’t grounds for a ban anyway.”

A flicker of fear passed through her good eye and, he thought, something almost like admiration, too. She clearly never would have thought he’d have the balls to go above her head to Agnes, but she’d underestimated him and his need for this incredibly ugly Hawaiian shirt. It was blue, with a typical background of islands and boats and palm trees and flowers, but what made it truly terrible was that, at one time, it had been someone’s custom gag gift. Harry had no idea whose grinning face it was that had been printed all over the fabric, but the second he’d seen it hanging in the slightly grimy front window of the Newtown Op Shop, he’d known he had to have it. The guy on the shirt had a combover. It was perfect!

Beryl’s mouth pressed into a thin, wrinkled line as she tugged the shirt over and inspected the tag. “Twenty dollars,” she announced.

It says five.”

Beryl reached up and adjusted her not-even-close-to-flesh-coloured eyepatch. She told people she’d recently had cataract surgery, but Harry suspected she was hiding an evil eye. The sort that would melt people’s faces off if she looked at them. “Agnes might be the manager, but I’m in charge of pricing, and this shirt is twenty dollars.”

She picked up a pen from the jar beside the cash register and changed the price.

I need that shirt!”

Her sour mouth turned up in a grin. “And you can have it, for twenty dollars.” She tapped the handwritten sign taped to the side of the register—No arguing with staff.

That sign wasn’t there last week.”

Beryl’s grin widened. “I wrote it when I saw you at the door.”

Harry gasped. “But I really need that shirt, Beryl! Please!”

She unpeeled the sign from the register, wrote Or begging on it, then stuck it back up.

Harry drew a deep breath, then wished he hadn’t, because, like all op shops, this one smelled musty and weird. He pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans. It was depressingly thin. He tugged out a twenty, watching Beryl’s eye light up with victory, then hummed and put it back. “Actually, I think I’ll save my money.”

Beryl glowered at him.

Yeah,” Harry said, even though she hadn’t asked him anything. “I came past the bakery on the way here, and they were just icing the coffee scrolls. I might have to buy a couple. They’re so good. They always sell out really quickly, don’t they? Like, there probably won’t be any left at all in about twenty minutes, once word gets out on the street.”

Beryl’s sweet tooth was legendary, and it was the only sweet thing about her. She looked at her watch.

Oh, well,” Harry said. “I guess I’ll just…browse some more. Maybe find something in my price range.”

He stared at her and she stared back at him.

He sighed. “It’ll probably take me a while. A good, long while.”

Beryl vibrated with murderous rage.

Four minutes later and five dollars poorer, he was stepping outside the op shop with the ugly Hawaiian shirt in his backpack.

When he wore it, it was going to feel like victory.

* * * *

Harry met Angie Lau outside the old geology building where she was sitting with a group of friends. She was short and button-nosed, and wearing a bright pink sweater with a cat on it. Harry was tempted to show her his amazingly ugly Hawaiian shirt, then thought he’d better not, just in case she wasn’t wearing the sweater ironically.

Hi, I’m Harry.”

Angie’s friends looked him up and down speculatively. Angie sighed and shoved her lunch containers into a tote bag before climbing to her feet. “I’m Angie. Let’s go talk over here.”

Harry walked with her to the shade of a large tree. “When we talked on the phone, you said you were interested in a lunch date? With your parents, right?”

Angie chewed on her bottom lip and bobbed her head in a nod.

Tell me about them,” he suggested. “What are you looking for out of this? Do you have a boyfriend they don’t approve of?”

Her eyes grew large. “No! I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend. I want to do my Master’s, but my dad is super old-fashioned and thinks that if I study any more my womb will shrivel up and fall out, and my mum agrees with him, and last week we were arguing and I said I was sick of them trying to set me up with every nice Chinese boy they meet, and Mum said that wasn’t true, and they’d be happy with literally any boy I dated, as long as I found one.” She stopped at last and drew a breath. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

It’s fine,” Harry assured her. “So you want to test that theory?”

Angie rolled her eyes. “It’s so stupid! But they’re driving me nuts, and my friend Anna said she knew this girl who hired this fake boyfriend who was a theatre kid, and…” She shrugged. “And here I am.”

That would be Ambrose,” he said. “I took over from him. Okay, so basically you want to turn up to lunch with a boyfriend who is so awful they’ll be happier you’re single, right?”

She flashed him an anxious smile. “Right.”

Okay,” he said. “So, the deal is, you pay for my lunch and also my fee on top of that. I have like a sliding scale thing, depending on how big you want me to go, or if I have to get anyone else involved.”

Her brow crinkled. “Anyone else?”

Yeah, for an extra fifty my housemate will turn up and say he’s my parole officer and remind me that I can’t be within two hundred metres of a school.”

Angie’s eyes grew even larger.

For an extra hundred, he’ll pretend to be a detective and arrest me on a warrant.”

Oh, wow. I don’t think any of that is necessary.”

Okay, then. What flavour of awful did you want? Ambrose specialised in ‘hot but an asshole’ but, well”—Harry gestured to his distinctly un-muscled physique—“I’m built in a way that lends itself more towards awkwardly terrible. Bad clothes, bad past, ‘society’s out to get me’ kind of thing. Would you prefer me to be unemployed, or working at something really questionable?”

Angie gave a grin that was ever so slightly evil. “Definitely unemployed. And if you could turn up late and drunk, that’d be ideal.”

Easy done.” Harry nodded. “I do a great sloppy drunk. Now, let’s talk rates.”

Buy Links

Book 2 in the Bad Boyfriends, Inc. series -

Choose Your Store:

First For Romance:

Add to Goodreads:

About the Authors 

Lisa Henry -

Lisa likes to tell stories, mostly with hot guys and happily ever afters.

Lisa lives in tropical North Queensland, Australia. She doesn’t know why, because she hates the heat, but she suspects she’s too lazy to move. She spends half her time slaving away as a government minion, and the other half plotting her escape.

She attended university at sixteen, not because she was a child prodigy or anything, but because of a mix-up between international school systems early in life. She studied History and English, neither of them very thoroughly.

Lisa has been published since 2012, and was a LAMBDA finalist for her quirky, awkward coming-of-age romance Adulting 101, and a Rainbow Awards finalist for 2019’s Anhaga.

Find out more at Lisa's website and blog. You can follow her on Bookbub and sign up to her newsletter.





Sarah Honey -

Sarah started life in New Zealand. She came to Australia for a working holiday, loved it, and never left. She lives in Western Australia with her partner, two cats, two dogs and a life-size replica TARDIS.

She spends half her time at a day job and the rest of her time reading and writing about clueless men falling in love.

Her proudest achievements include having adult kids who will still be seen with her in public, the ability to make a decent sourdough loaf, and knowing all the words to Bohemian Rhapsody.

Awfully Ambrose will be her fifth published novel in collaboration with Lisa Henry.


Enter for the chance to win a $50.00 First for Romance Gift Card! Competition hosted by Totally Entwined Group.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Wednesday, August 10, 2022

An Interview with Patricia Leavy – #WomensFiction #Romance #Giveaway

Celestial Bodies cover

Welcome to Beyond Romance, Patricia! I’m delighted to have you as my guest. So here’s a few questions for you, to introduce yourself to my readers.

What is the sweetest thing someone has done for you?

Enthusiastically reading my unpublished books and showering them with praise. I’m lucky that my husband, my father, and my closest friends are always eager to read my manuscripts as soon as I finish them. Giving their time is so generous and it means a lot to me.

How would you spend ten thousand bucks?

On vacation in New York City. Theater, restaurants, and shopping.

Where do you get your best ideas?

It’s always different, which is why I’m still so in love with writing. Sometimes I’m curled up on the couch watching a TV show or movie, other times I’m at a museum, other times I’m traveling, and other times I’m just trying to fall asleep.

What comes first, the plot or characters?


What does your main character do that makes him/her special?

Tess Lee is a world-famous novelist and generous philanthropist. But what really makes her extraordinary is her ability to see the humanity in each person, the grace and humor with which she treats her incredible group of friends, and the way she vulnerably and fully loves her beloved Jack.


Heart-warming and wonderfully romantic, written with the sharp wit of Candace Bushnell and the sensitivity of Meg Donahue, comes best-selling author Patricia Leavy’s tour de force about learning to balance darkness and light in our lives.

Celestial Bodies is a series of six novels that follow the epic romance of Tess and Jack: Shooting Stars, Twinkle, Constellations, Supernova, North Star, and Stardust. An exploration of the power of love, each novel focuses on love at the intersection of another topic: healing, doubt, intimacy, trust, commitment, and faith. While external threats occur in each book, this is ultimately a story about internal threats—the audio playing in our own heads.

Tess Lee is a world-famous novelist. Her inspirational books explore people’s innermost struggles and the human need to believe that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Despite her extraordinary success, she’s been unable to find happiness in her personal life. Jack Miller is a federal agent who specializes in counterterrorism. After spending decades immersed in a violent world, a residue remains. He’s dedicated everything to his job, leaving nothing for himself. The night Tess and Jack meet, their connection is palpable. She examines the scars on his body and says, “I’ve never seen anyone whose outsides match my insides.” The two embark on a beautiful love story that asks the questions: What happens when people truly see each other? Can unconditional love change the way we see ourselves? Their friends are along for the ride: Omar, Tess’s sarcastic best friend who calls her Butterfly; Joe, Jack’s friend from the Bureau who understands the sacrifices he’s made; and Bobby and Gina, Jack’s younger friends who never fail to lighten the mood. Along the way, others join their journey: the female president of the United States, with whom Tess bakes cookies and talks politics; the Millers, Jack’s childhood family; and many others. Celestial Bodies is about walking through our past traumas, moving from darkness to light, learning to live in color, and the ways in which love—from lovers, friends, or the art we experience—can heal us. Written as unfolding action, this collection moves fluidly between melancholy, humor, and joy. It can be read for pleasure or selected for book clubs.


At the end of the evening, they all bundled up and stumbled out of the bar.

A homeless man standing on the sidewalk asked, “Can you please spare anything?”

The group stood around awkwardly, but Tess walked right up to him. “Hi. I’m Tess, this is Jack, and these are our friends.”

Jack stepped directly behind Tess in a protective stance.

What’s your name?” Tess gently asked the man.

Henry,” he replied.

She smiled, pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of her pocket, and handed it to him. When he took the money, she held his hand. Surprised, he looked at her and said, “You’re very kind. Thank you.”

Getting kind of cold out,” she said, still holding his hand.

Sure is.”

She took off her cashmere scarf and held it out. “Here, please take this and try to stay warm.”

Wow,” Joe muttered.

Oh, I couldn’t,” Henry said.

Please, I insist.”

Thank you,” he said, taking the scarf. “Someone must have taught you to do unto others.”

No, someone taught me there are no others. Good night, Henry.”

She turned to her friends, their mouths agape.

Henry looked at Jack, who hadn’t moved, and quietly asked, “Is she some kind of angel?”

Yeah, something like that,” he muttered.

Tess walked over to Omar and hugged him. “Our usual breakfast on Thursday?”

Yes, Butterfly.”

Good night, guys,” she said to her friends.

They all said goodbye. Jack took Tess’s hand and walked her to his car. He opened her door and she got in. When he closed the door, he looked back at Henry, who was wrapping the scarf around his neck and smiling.

About the Author

Patricia Leavy, Ph.D., is a bestselling author. She was formerly Associate Professor of Sociology, Chair of Sociology and Criminology, and Founding Director of Gender Studies at Stonehill College in Massachusetts. She has published over thirty-five books, earning commercial and critical success in both fiction and nonfiction, and her work has been translated into many languages. Patricia has received dozens of accolades for her books. Recently, her novel Shooting Stars won the 2021 Independent Press Award Distinguished Favorite Contemporary Novel, her novel Film won the 2020 American Fiction Award for Inspirational Fiction, the 2021 NYC Big Book Award for Chick-Lit, and the 2021 Independent Press Award Distinguished Favorite Chick-Lit, her 3-novel set Candy Floss Collection won the 2020 American Fiction Award for Anthologies and the 2021 NYC Big Book Award for Anthology, and her novel Spark won the 2019 American Fiction Award for Inspirational Fiction, the 2019 Living Now Book Award for Adventure Fiction, and the 2021 National Indie Excellence Award for New Adult Fiction. She has also received career awards from the New England Sociological Association, the American Creativity Association, the American Educational Research Association, the International Congress of Qualitative Inquiry, and the National Art Education Association. In 2016 Mogul, a global women’s empowerment network, named her an “Influencer.” In 2018, she was honored by the National Women’s Hall of Fame and SUNY-New Paltz established the “Patricia Leavy Award for Art and Social Justice.” She lives in Maine with her husband, daughter (when she’s not away at college), and her dog. Patricia loves writing, reading, watching films, and traveling.




Buy Link

One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/ gift card.


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tuesday, August 9, 2022

Like sparks in a Leyden jar... #AmWriting #Steampunk #MFRWHooks

I’ve been slogging away at my WIP The Master’s Mark, the third and final book in my Toymakers Guild series. I’m making progress, but I’m frustrated by how slowly!

To cheer myself up and rekindle my inspiration, I went back to reread the start of the series. Here’s the first two pages of The Pornographer’s Apprentice, Book 1 in the series, in which we meet  precocious Victorian engineer Gillian Smith. Note that the series is steampunk erotica with romantic elements, but this bit is pure steampunk.



She wants to build sex toys... if they'll let her.

In prudish, patriarchal Victorian England, nineteen year old prodigy Gillian Smith finds a secret society dedicated to the erotic arts. She’ll need both her intellect and her physical charms to earn the permanent position she craves.

If you like steam punk erotica with a kinky feminist bent, you'll love The Pornographer's Apprentice.

Prologue (The Hook)

Only when faced with the stout oaken door to Randerley Hall did Gillian Smith’s considerable resolve fail her.

In the dead of night she had fled her Aunt Martha’s London townhouse, mere hours before her diabolical guardian planned to denounce her as a deviant and a thief. She had endured the seven-hour rail journey to Tavistock crammed into a reeking third class carriage, struggling to remain awake in order to guard her meagre possessions. Upon arrival, she’d been tempted to take a room at the inn and sleep for a few hours, but she didn’t want to deplete her limited savings. If the Guild rejected her, she knew she’d need every farthing to survive. So she had waved off the gig driver who’d accosted her and set out to walk the five miles to Randerley Hall.

In truth, the fresh breeze off the moors felt welcome after the stuffy misery of the train. Her spirits rose as she left the town behind, following the winding road that climbed and dipped among the grey-green hills. She reached the manor gates before the house itself was visible. Although vicious iron spikes marched along their top edges, they stood open, as if beckoning her to enter a new phase of her life.

She paused when she caught sight of Randerley’s grim bulk, huddling among tall poplars. With its dark turrets reaching toward the cloudy sky and its mullioned windows like blind eyes, the ancient building could hardly be called welcoming. Still, Gillian knew her future lay within those stern stone walls.

Her carpet bag on her shoulder and Uncle George’s precious catalogue clutched under her arm, she strode up the steps to the pillared porch and considered the massive door. It towered above her, easily eight feet high, a single, solid plank of age-blackened wood studded with iron rivets. Finding neither bell-pull nor knocker, Gillian rapped her knuckles against the oak.

Excuse me,” she called. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

The wind sighing in the trees was her only answer.

She knocked again, so hard that her fingers stung, to no effect. Losing patience, she banged upon it repeatedly with her fist. The door must be exceptionally thick; despite the force of her blows, she could discern no echoes of them from within.

Damn it to hell,” she muttered. “Now what?”

Stepping back, she scanned the façade of the building. She saw no light in the windows, no movement. Was her information obsolete? Could it be that the Guild no longer occupied Randerley?

The house didn’t appear derelict, despite its obvious antiquity, and the grounds were well-kept. She approached the door once more, searching for some hidden mechanism she might use to gain entry.

The door itself was featureless, but about two feet to the right she noticed a panel of brass. An exquisitely detailed image of a chambered nautilus decorated the top. Below this figure she found a column of seven brass tumblers, with a bevelled push button at the bottom. She rolled a fingertip across the surface of one cylinder. It turned smoothly, under the slightest pressure, exposing engraved digits from zero to nine.

An entry code! Gillian was impressed. This mechanism was far more effective than bolts or locks. Only those who knew the correct combination of digits could enter the Guild’s sanctum.

But how was she, an outsider, to gain access? Her heart sank as she automatically did the calculations. Seven tumblers, with ten options each, meant there were ten million possible codes. Impossible to guess. Nevertheless, she had to try.

She doubted the code was random. Seven random numbers would be too difficult to convey or remember. There had to be some pattern, some system. But what was it?

Feeling lost and desperate, she twirled the dials to the sequence 2, 4, 5, 1, 8, 1, 9. Everyone knew Her Majesty the Queen’s birth date. Holding her breath, she depressed the button.

The spiral design flashed red. “First error,” announced a mechanical voice. “Two attempts remaining.”

Tears pricked Gillian’s eyes. Her limbs felt leaden; she swayed and almost fell. Her long walk over the moors, her sleepless night, the fear that had driven her to escape, all combined to overwhelm her. Had it all been for nothing?

No. She would not give up, not while there was any chance at all. Perhaps the passcode was something deceptively simple. People were, after all, typically lazy.

She reset the tumblers: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Her finger hovered over the button for an instant, then gave a firm press.

Second error,” the irritating mechanism chided. “One attempt remaining.”

A hot surge of anger temporarily banished her exhaustion. Bloody engineers, she raged silently. They think they’re so clever. Well, she was clever, too. She would not let them best her.

She filled her lungs with the grass-scented air and willed her pulse to slow. As her father had taught her, so long ago, she raised an imaginary lens to her mind and focused on the problem at hand. The world became brighter, more sharply delineated. Her thoughts turned like well-oiled gears.

Gillian scrutinised the entry panel. There had to be a clue. A stray sunbeam broke through the clouds, making the nautilus gleam. The engraved spiral drew her gaze, pulling her into its centre…

Of course! Inspiration blazed like the sparks in a Leyden jar. Working with quick confidence, she set the values a third time: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8. Without hesitation she pushed the button to register her choice.

Sparkling green flooded the lines of the spiral. With a soft click, the lock released, and the heavy door swung open on silent hinges. “Welcome,” proclaimed the disembodied voice, “to the Toymakers Guild.”

Jubilant, Gillian gathered her bag and her book and stepped inside.

Ebook Buy Links

Kinky Literature

Amazon US

Amazon UK


Barnes and Noble


Apple Books -

Add on Goodreads:

Audio Buy Links

Be sure to visit the other authors joining today’s Book Hooks hop!

Monday, August 8, 2022

Let me help ease your pain ... #MMEroticRomance #Paranormal #Giveaway #MFRWsteam

At the Margins of Madness cover

For today’s MFRW Steam Hop, I am sharing a scene from my MM paranormal erotic romance At the Margins of Madness: A Tale of Power and Love. If you like it, leave me a comment. I’m giving away a free copy of this full-length novel to a randomly-selected commenter.


Both power and love can lead to madness

Nineteen year old Kyle sees visions of disasters, visions that tear his world apart. Everyone assumes that he is schizophrenic, but Rob, the cop who picks him up off the street, knows better.

Rob's own experience has taught him that psychic powers are real, and potentially devastating. Since his telepathic sister's brutal murder, Rob wants nothing to do with "gifted" individuals like Kyle. Yet he can't deny his attraction to the beautiful, tortured young man – an attraction that appears to be mutual.

When a brilliant, sadistic practitioner of the black arts lures Kyle into his clutches, Rob faces the possibility that once again he may lose the person he loves most to the forces of darkness.

Steamy Excerpt

Kyle and Rob sat across from one another in the booth at Eduardo’s Cantina. Empty plates smeared with refried beans and salsa littered the rough wooden table. With one blunt-fingered hand, Rob crushed fragments of left-over tortilla chips to yellow crumbs. He wouldn’t meet Kyle’s eyes. Kyle reached for his nervous hand and brought it to his lips. He licked the greasy, salty valleys between Rob’s fingers. Rob’s cheeks flushed red. Kyle’s balls tightened inside his jeans.

Tell me,” he ordered. “You can trust me, Rob.”

Rob’s eyes were deep wells of pain. “My little sister Mary,” he began. “She was like you.”

Kyle listened to the story of Mary’s trials and her murder. He felt a physical ache as the other man finally shared his anger and grief. No wonder Rob had panicked. Such a sad, tortured life the woman had endured, and such a horrible death. Kyle had believed in Rob’s public face, the strong, self-confident, uncomplicated cop. Now, he saw how vulnerable his new lover really was.

Maybe I can help,” Kyle offered as Rob concluded his tale. “Maybe I can see something that will give you a clue.”

But you only see the future, not the past.” Rob extricated his hand from Kyle’s grasp and brushed his hair back from his forehead with a sigh. “How can you help?”

Perhaps whoever killed her will try to kill again.” Kyle remembered the blond man from his last prescient attack and shuddered. Could there be a link? There had been some talk of cutting out his heart, though Kyle had been so bemused by lust he’d hardly noticed.

I really don’t want anything more to do with psychic powers,” Rob muttered.

But you want me, don’t you?” Kyle reached under the table and stroked Rob’s thigh. The man across from him started, then grinned.

Yeah, I do. Heaven help me, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

Well, then take me. And let me help ease your pain.” Kyle couldn’t reach Rob’s cock, but he could feel the heat coming from the man’s erection. His own trousers became tighter by the minute. “Or at least help you forget it for a while.”

Kyle found it difficult to walk out of the restaurant with his groin so swollen. Rob unlocked the passenger-side door of the Toyota sedan. Kyle slipped inside. As soon as Rob had settled into the driver’s seat, Kyle was on him, his tongue deep in Rob’s mouth and his hand on Rob’s zipper. The cop tasted of jalapeños and beer. Kyle nipped at Rob’s thin lips as he struggled to extricate the cock bulging inside Rob’s uniform.

Wait!” Rob gasped when Kyle let him come up for air. “Someone will see.” The parking lot behind the restaurant was pretty dark, but headlights swept by on the side road every few minutes.

I don’t care.” Kyle gripped Rob’s shaft in one hand, cupping the slippery head in the other. Rob groaned. Kyle bent over and slathered the knob with saliva. Rob’s hips bucked. Kyle captured the bulb between pursed lips. He sucked for a moment, then swirled his tongue over the taut skin at the tip, flicking at the sensitive underside. “I’ve got to have your cock.” He reached into Rob’s trousers and cradled the other man’s hairy balls. “If anyone interrupts us, you can tell them that I’m crazy and I forced you.”

Rob’s laugh turned to a moan as Kyle swallowed the whole rod, taking it deep into his throat. Kyle let Rob appreciate the heat and wetness for an instant, then turned on the suction, bobbing his head up and down in Rob’s lap. His mouth locked on Rob’s flesh. He loved the way the silky skin stretched impossibly tight over the hardness at Rob’s core. He tongued the little ridge under the cap. He loved the way Rob shivered and slammed his dick against Kyle’s palate in response.

Oh, Kyle…” Rob arched into Kyle’s mouth, all resistance apparently forgotten. Kyle sucked harder, reveling at the tension he sensed growing in the rigid stalk. He craved more, more of Rob’s succulent flesh. He wriggled his hands under Rob’s waistband and into his shorts, grabbing two handfuls of the other man’s butt. He felt Rob’s gluteal muscles contract under his palms as the cop ground his pelvis against Kyle’s jaw.

Rob grunted and surged forward, taking control. Kyle let his mouth go slack, overwhelmed by the man’s physicality. His own aching cock pressed against his zipper, screaming for release, but Kyle wanted to concentrate on Rob. This was more than a blow job; this was his chance to show Rob how much Kyle wanted him—and how much pleasure Kyle could provide, if only Rob would allow it. He kneaded the cop’s furry ass, inching his fingers closer to the crack.

Rob’s skin inside his trousers grew slick with sweat as he continued to hammer away at Kyle’s mouth. Saliva leaked from Kyle’s lips. Rob’s scent was all around him, rising from the coarse blond hair tickling his nose. Kyle slid one finger into the slippery crevice between the man’s butt cheeks and found the whorl of muscle hidden there. He pressed against the clenched entrance. Rob wailed and pushed himself farther down Kyle’s throat. Kyle worked a fingertip into the tight hole. The cock in his mouth shuddered, convulsed and spat gobs of bitter fluid onto his tongue.

Kyle swallowed triumphantly. Rob raised him up and pulled him into a fiery kiss that mingled the flavors of semen and salsa. Kyle’s hard-on pulsed in his jeans, a whisper away from climax. “Oh, Kyle baby,” the older man murmured, nibbling at the corners of Kyle’s battered mouth. “That was incredible. Nobody’s ever done me like that.” He licked a droplet of cum from Kyle’s chin, then continued, trailing his tongue along Kyle’s jaw then down to the hollow of his throat. Electric pleasure shot through Kyle’s trembling limbs. His cock trembled. “I can’t believe… I almost lost you…oh, Kyle!”

Rob held him tight, burying his face in the crook of Kyle’s neck. There was new wetness, not from Rob’s tongue but from his tears.

* * * *

You can buy At the Margins of Madness from your favorite bookseller, in ebook or audio form. Or leave me a comment. You might get lucky!

Buy Links

Kinky Literature:

Amazon US:

Amazon UK:

Barnes & Noble:



Apple Books:

Add on Goodreads:

Audio Book

Sunday, August 7, 2022

You are, in fact, not all alone – #LGBTQIA #Healing #Giveaway @Lena_S_May

The Signs We Missed cover


Welcome to Beyond Romance, Lena! I’m really delighted to host your tour for The Signs We Missed. I hope you’ll tell us this book came from. What stimulated you to write it? What do you want readers to take away from it?


It’s not an exaggeration when I say that The Signs We Missed comes from the bottom of my heart (it’s a metaphor).

I started writing about its main characters when I was fifteen or sixteen years old, as a teenager struggling with depression and an eating disorder and feeling like she was all alone in the world. You won’t be surprised to hear that Luke, the protagonist, is a teenager who struggles with depression and an eating disorder, and feels like he is all alone in the world. He is also addicted to narcotics, which is something I witnessed first-hand in a close family member when I was little.

At first, writing those stories was my way of coping, maybe even of creating the illusion that I am, in fact, not all alone. I have always wanted to be an author, but it took me some healing and a lot of time to realize that this was the story I wanted to tell, and a lot more time to figure out how to tell it.

Ultimately, I guess, I could have tried to make it with any other one of the stories continuously running through my mind, and it might have been easier to find an audience for a funny or happy story, but a happy or funny story was not what I felt I needed to write.

I needed to write a real story, to find a path that would lead to putting a book out in the world that might tell somebody out there what I would have needed to hear so desperately: You are not alone. The world is full of people like you. It might be a damn long tunnel, but they’re not lying when they say there’s light at the end of it.

The tunnel sucks, though, and sometimes it’s pitch black. I never had any intentions of sugar coating that. As I said, The Signs We Missed is a real story; not in that it happened exactly like this, but in that it could happen – and it does. I believe all of us have walked or even crawled through their own tunnel, and sometimes we’re tempted to think we’re all alone because all our tunnels look so different. Do they, though? In those moments when it’s pitch dark around us, they might just be the same. There might be dozens of people all around us, but we would never find them if we stopped in the darkest place.

So what I’m hoping readers will take away from The Signs We Missed is this: Do not stop. And if your tunnel has long opened to a pink sunrise, don’t forget to look behind you and reach out a hand.


Thrown out by his mother, 17-year-old Luke hopes to overcome his narcotic addiction and depression by changing his surroundings. At his new school, he quickly becomes friends with Sean, but finding that his developing feelings aren’t returned, Luke retreats into old habits. Determined to hide his self-injurious behavior and an advancing eating disorder, he soon risks much more than a broken heart.

When Sean meets Luke, the last thing on his mind is falling in love with a boy. Grappling with his own conflicting emotions and trying to keep them from his suspicious girlfriend, he brushes off Luke’s strange behavior. But when Luke suddenly cuts him off, Sean is forced to confront the truth and take action to save his best friend.


It's my fault.

I'm not sure how yet, but it's what the white blank hospital room walls keep hammering into my head as the pungent, antiseptic smell makes my eyes water when all I'm trying to do is keep my composure.

My fault.

It's what they're all trying to say – the half-dead, bled-out body of the boy lying in the bed beside me, his fingers slowly losing their grip on mine, the over-worked and under-paid nurse already rushing down the corridor, the non-specialist assistant doctor, paying half his attention to the arrhythmically beeping monitor, the other half to fumbling his phone to mute.

And then there's my brother, leaning against the wall in the corner, his crystal blue eyes asking not what I've done but when I'd planned on telling him that I was gay – which I'm really not. When I don't react, he looks down to the face resting on the pillow next to my elbow, and I do, too: empty whiteness staring back. I'm beginning to think it's burning into my retina, sucking every last speck of color out of the sky as I finally raise my glance to the window. I can't let myself get lost in the void that is now his face if I want to clear my head, but there isn't a single cloud drifting by to take hold of my attention, not a single leaf left in the trees, no bird, not even a gust of wind. It's just me and my trembling heart and my racing thoughts, and yet, my loneliness is nothing in the face of what I now know he has been going through.

About the Author

Lena S. May is a Germany-based author and student. Living with her dog, she enjoys long walks, ideally followed by a cup of tea and an equally long reading session. After graduating university with a degree in English and American and German Studies, she is working towards her Master of Education to become a secondary school teacher. With her writing, Lena hopes to raise more awareness for mental health and the importance of looking out for one another and oneself. Her debut novel will be published in August 2022.



Amazon Buy Link:

Lena S. May will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway