Looking for some awesome reads? Check out this fantastic Instafreebie event! A bunch of authors have gotten together to share teasers, sneak peeks and previews of their books, so if you want to stock up on reading material, just click the link below and start browsing.
Happy Reading!
Lucy x
Blurb
Travel brings out a strange recklessness in my wife, a hunger for extremes that I don’t see when we’re in New York. I would never have acted on my desire for male flesh if she hadn’t bullied me into my first homosexual encounter. Not that I regret it. I’ll never forget that incandescent night with the audacious young punk she bought for me in Amsterdam.
Now, she wants us to seduce the achingly beautiful Buddhist monk we’ve met in Luang Prabang. I try to reject her suggestions, to resist temptation. But I can’t banish the images of Souvannaphone— ripe lips curved in a half-smile, brown eyes sparkling with gentle challenge, smooth curves of golden flesh that cry out to be kissed. I yearn for his body—and his serenity.
Buy Links
Amazon US – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078LKFC9R/
Amazon UK – http://amzn.to/2A6O5ql
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/771439
Barnes and Noble – https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/vows-lisabet-sarai/1127731965?ean=2940155064060
Kobo – https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/vows-asian-adventures-book-3
Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/37751373-vows
*****
Excerpt
Dani was still stroking my penis surreptitiously as the boat pulled up to the public dock. “Why don’t we go back to the hotel? We can—talk—about our new friend.” She paid the boatman, and handed me my straw hat, which I used to hide my raging erection as we strolled the few blocks back to our guest house. I barely had time to close the door and slip out of my sandals before Dani was down on her knees in front of me, undoing my fly.
Here in the privacy of our room, I didn’t object. I was painfully hard; it seemed as though the taut skin sheathing my organ would burst at the slightest touch. Danielle squeezed. I could scarcely bear it. She gazed up at me, mischief in her hazel eyes. “Pretend that it’s him, sucking you,” she murmured. Then she swallowed me whole.
Her mouth was a steaming tropical jungle, her muscular tongue a snake twining around me. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to sink into pure sensation.
After five years with me, she knew how to give me what I liked—languorous strokes from base to tip alternating with energetic sucking that must have left her jaw sore, but which brought me to the edge again and again. I filled my mind with images of her: the ginger thatch of her pubis matching the fringe on her head; the slick folds hidden among those curls; her palm-sized breasts with their extravagant nipples; her lively, intelligent, sometimes mocking face. I imagined that she was stroking herself as she worked on me. That might well be true. I remembered her wild, almost inhuman expression when she came.
But as she brought me inexorably closer to orgasm, these images slipped away, though I tried to hold on to them. Instead, I saw a pair of ripe lips curved in a half-smile, brown eyes sparkling with gentle challenge, smooth curves of golden flesh that cried out to be kissed. I imagined bare feet, muscular buttocks, a slim cock rearing like a rod of ivory, hairless and pure. She was broadcasting these images to me, I knew it, but that didn’t help me to resist. My desperate moan was part guilt, part overwhelming arousal. I saw a cloud of saffron-hued fabric drifting down, covering twined limbs, white and honey-colored, and I spilled myself into Danielle’s greedy mouth.
*****
About Lisabet
Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter. Sign up for her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh
Hi everyone,
I’m delighted to let you know that my short erotica collection, Classic Felthouse is FREE on Amazon from today until the 9th January. So please do grab your copy today, and share the news far and wide so all your friends can take advantage of this sexy freebie.
Blurb:
Fancy a blast from the past? Then dip in to five short stories from the Lucy Felthouse archive. A handful of her earliest published tales have been polished up and presented to you in one seriously hot collection. Enjoy a sexy soldier, a buxom babe, erotic daydreams, filthy phone sex and a language barrier, and see where it all began for this prolific author of erotica and erotic romance.
Grab your copy here: http://mybook.to/classicfelthouse
Happy Reading!
Lucy x
Blurb:
Christine Gemberling doesn’t enjoy breaking hearts, but she has yet to find a man who knows how to handle the package between his legs well enough to satisfy her needs. No man has held her interest beyond a second date—much less her love. Until one sultry night with an Elite Escort rocks her world like never before.
Professional escort Jarod Zimmerman has a strict code when working with clients—no emotional attachments. But the beer-drinking, football loving Christine and her curves push beyond his control, until the guarded playboy finds himself craving another go-round with the only woman intriguing enough to make him break his own code.
With her defenses stronger than his favorite football team, it will take more than Jarod’s talents in bed to change her stance on relationships. He’ll have to sacrifice his heart when the unexpected circumstance thrown their way threatens to rip them apart forever.
*Warning: Exhibition, spanking, anal sex, sex toys
Purchase Links:
Evernight Publishing: http://www.evernightpublishing.com/second-go-round-by-lynn-burke/
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077ZMFSD8
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B077ZMFSD8
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/765647
*****
Excerpt:
Jarod lowered onto the limo seat beside me and pressed close, his large hand grasping the top of my thigh.
“Where to?” Ricky asked as he settled behind the wheel a moment later.
I spouted off my address quite a ways up Route 1, and with a nod, he shut the window between us, encasing Jarod and I in complete privacy. Soft music came to life, and seconds later, the limo pulled out into Boston’s nighttime traffic.
“For the first go-round, I’m going to fuck you against the front door of your house, but right now,” Jarod said, lowering to his knees in front of me, “I’m going to bury my nose between these thighs and lick your cunt until you squirm.”
“I like the way you think,” I said, my voice breathless, betraying my body’s need.
His hands slid up my thighs, pushing my skirt into a bunch. I wiggled, assisting in his plan, and he yanked me to the seat’s edge.
“Comfy?” he asked, trailing a fingertip against the soaked silk covering me.
“Comfy enough.”
Jarod hooked his fingers under the sides of my panties and pulled them down my legs, releasing my heeled feet one at a time. He tossed the panties aside, and grasping my knees, spread me wide.
“Bare.” He stared at the smooth skin between my thighs as he moved close. “I like that.” Palming my ass, he lifted me and buried his face in my pussy as promised, my moan and his groan colliding in the air between us.
My eyelids fluttered shut and head tipped back as he ate me out like a starving man. Tongue, nose, and teeth, he didn’t pussyfoot around, but tortured me with his need to taste every inch, fuck me deep with his long tongue, nibble my swollen lips … flick and suck my throbbing clit.
My fingers found purchase in his hair, and I ground myself against his face, chasing my orgasm. Bastard let off and dipped low to lick my ass and tongue me every time I neared the crest. I tried to force his head back up to my clit, but he held steady, denying me what I wanted.
“Goddamn it, Jarod!” I yanked on his hair as my clit popped from his mouth’s suction again and he roamed southward to my ass.
He snickered and caught my gaze as his tongue rimmed my puckered hole.
My hold tightened on his hair, my heart thundered in my chest. “Please. I need to come.”
Finally—finally—he pressed two fingers deep into my sopping wet core. “Is this what you need, Christine? My fingers fucking your cunt and my mouth on your clit?”
“Oh, fuck.” My head tipped back again as he latched onto my clit. “Don’t stop. Please … Christ, don’t stop!” You’d think I hadn’t climaxed in months the way my orgasm ripped through me.
Jarod’s fingers and tongue drew out every clench of my pussy, every shudder rippling down through me as I gasped for breath. He lapped up every trace of my cum and sucked his fingers clean, the noises in his throat barely reaching through the ringing in my ears.
I sagged into the leather seat, sucking wind. “Holy shit. It’s no wonder you get paid to please a woman.”
*****
Giveaway:
$25 Amazon Gift Card and Author Lynn Burke mug
Taking place Dec 8th – 22nd
*****
About Lynn Burke:
Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.
Links:
Website: https://www.authorlynnburke.com
Blog: http://authorlynnburke.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Author-Lynn-Burke-555282497937461
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorLynnBurke
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorlynnburke/
Blurb
When her lover severs their relationship just before a long-planned trip to Angkor Wat, Doa stubbornly decides to travel alone. The marvelous sights of the ancient Khmer empire do little to heal the rift in her heart. Che, the mercurial young tour guide, senses her loneliness and offers her comfort and passion. Their connection is far more than physical – but how can two people from such different worlds share a future?
Buy Links
Amazon US | Amazon UK | Smashwords | Barnes and Noble | Kobo
Goodreads – https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36672227-citadel-of-women
*****
Excerpt
A soft knocking at the door jolted me back to reality. I clutched at the sheet, my heart slamming against my ribs. Maybe whoever it was would go away. The knock came again, more insistent.
“Doa? Are you awake?”
I didn’t have to answer it. If I didn’t answer, he’d have to leave. Wouldn’t he? But was that what I wanted?
I grabbed the batik sarong I’d bought in Bangkok, wrapped it around my body and tied it over my breasts. Liquid trickled down the inside of my thighs as I padded to the door. Musk hovered in the sticky air.
I opened the door. Che stood there, barefoot, clad in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. His hair was tousled. His eyes burned.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmured. He stepped into the room. I closed the door behind him.
His arms snaked around me, pulling me to his chest. He was stronger than he looked. He nuzzled my neck, licked his way up to my ear lobe and flicked at it with his tongue. A bolt of pleasure shot through me, targeting my pussy. He silenced my moan with his mouth, capturing mine in a wet kiss. I tasted the beer we’d drunk, the chilies he’d eaten.
I let my arms clasp his slender body to my riper one, accepting what he offered. My rational self warned I’d regret this. When I grasped his rigid cock through the well-worn shorts, his groan drowned out the voice of caution.
As I stroked his hardness, he unknotted my sarong. His hands sought the weight of my breasts. He cradled them, kneading my ripe flesh and tracing voluptuous circles around my nipples. Warm honey flowed through my limbs. I pulled the threadbare boxers down over his lean hips so I could sample his nakedness. A musky funk rose from his privates. His cock was long like his fingers, slender and graceful as the rest of him, and harder than the stones of the ancient city. Wrapped in skin as soft and delicate as a baby’s, it pulsed in my hand, alive with need.
*****
About Lisabet
Lisabet Sarai has been addicted to words all her life. She began reading when she was four. She wrote her first story at five years old and her first poem at seven. Since then, she has written plays, tutorials, scholarly articles, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred page dissertation, and lots of erotica and erotic romance – nearly one hundred titles, and counting, in nearly every sub-genre—paranormal, scifi, ménage, BDSM, GLBT, and more. Regardless of the genre, every one of her stories illustrates her motto: Imagination is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
You’ll find information and excerpts from all Lisabet’s books on her website (http://www.lisabetsarai.com/books.html), along with more than fifty free stories and lots more. At her blog Beyond Romance (http://lisabetsarai.blogspot.com), she shares her philosophy and her news and hosts lots of other great authors. She’s also on Goodreads and finally, on Twitter. Sign up for her VIP email list here: https://btn.ymlp.com/xgjjhmhugmgh
When there’s a war in Heaven, on which side will you stand?
The Prison of the Angels is the new paranormal erotic romance by Janine Ashbless, and is the final novel in the Book of the Watchers trilogy.
“I thought I was a good girl. I thought that no matter what others did for my sake, I could stay innocent. I thought that as long as I acted out of love, I’d be blameless.
I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
Janine Ashbless is back with the third and final instalment of her Book of the Watchers trilogy, The Prison of the Angels. Unafraid to tackle the more complex issues surrounding good and evil in mainstream religion, Janine has created a thought-provoking and immersive trilogy which sets a new standard for paranormal erotic romance. The first in the series, Cover Him With Darkness, was released in 2014 by Cleis Press and received outstanding reviews. It was followed in March 2017 by In Bonds of the Earth, and finally The Prison of the Angels on 1st December 2017, both published by Sinful Press.
*****
Blurb:
Milja Petak’s world has fallen apart.
Her lover, the fallen angel Azazel, has cast her aside in rage and disgust. The other contender for her heart, the Catholic priest Egan Kansky, was surrendered back into the hands of the shadowy Vatican organization, Vidimus, after sustaining life-threatening injuries.
She has killed and she has betrayed. She is alone, homeless, and at the end of her tether – torn apart by guilt and the love she has lost.
But neither Heaven nor its terrifying representatives on Earth have finished with Milja.
Both her lovers need her in order to further their very different plans, and both passionately need her, though they may try to deny it.
Milja is once again forced into a series of choices as she uncovers the secrets Heaven has been guarding for centuries. But this time it is not just her heart at stake, or even the fate of a fallen angel.
This time, the choices she makes will change everything.
This time it’s the End of the World.
The Prison of the Angels is the third in the acclaimed Book of the Watchers trilogy, following on from Cover Him with Darkness, and In Bonds of the Earth.
*****
Excerpt:
The cold water flashed like white fire over every inch of my skin. It burnt my eyeballs and my lips and the inside of my throat, and beyond the white fire was a darkness so immense that it swallowed me whole.
I fell forever.
Something grabbed my wrist. Something so hot that it boiled away the darkness, so that there was suddenly light flashing in my eyes. I felt myself grabbed up bodily and lifted. I felt heat against my lips, blowing fire into my frozen lungs. I saw the wooden posts of a flight of steps, and then I pitched forward onto hands and knees in the shallow snow, choking up pond-water. In front of my blurred vision an inchoate swirl of darkness poured up the steps onto the lit porch and then disappeared. Unseen, something slammed against the door, a knock that made the house shake.
I was on the ground beneath the back porch of John’s house, I realized, shuddering.
Mama. Oh Mama. The thought seemed to come from nowhere.
Three times the knock sounded, and on the third the door burst open—outward, onto the porch—to reveal Egan in the lit room within; shaven, shirtless, and frozen mid-lunge for what I could only assume was a weapon of some sort.
He stared.
I tried to cry out.
“Milja?”
Grabbing his pistol he ran out barefoot onto the porch and looked around for enemies that were not there. Then he clattered down and pulled me up into his arms. I pressed my face to his neck and he carried me up the steps and over the threshold—not like a bride, but like a child he could hold tight against his torso, his wrists locked under my thighs. His skin blazed against mine. He hefted me into the kitchen and propped my ass on the table in front of the range.
“What the hell?” he demanded in a low fierce voice, sweeping locks of sodden hair back from my face. My hat seemed to have disappeared. “What happened, Milja? What were you doing out there?”
“Ice. I fell in the lake.” My jaw chattered. It was obvious I was telling the truth—I was soaked from head to toe, and after clasping me so close he wasn’t much drier himself.
“Feckssake, woman!” he growled. “What the hell were you thinking of?” He shucked off my coat, which lifted a sodden ton from my shoulders, then stooped to pull my boots off; ice-water spilt all over the floor.
I tried to strip off my gloves but my fingers weren’t capable of gripping anything.
“Come here, come here,” he said softly from where he knelt at my feet, grabbing my wrists and peeling away the useless gloves. He pressed my hands on either side of his warm neck, holding them there. They must have felt like ice-blocks to him, but he didn’t wince.
He looked like a knight kneeling before his queen, I thought. I could feel his pulse.
“I’ll go get towels, Milja. Are you going to be okay a sec?”
I nodded, though he probably couldn’t see it through the shuddering. He rose and hurried off, leaving me with the radiant warmth of the stove. I thought I should probably get the rest of my clothes off, but even after I struggled with my fly zipper my jeans seemed determined to cling to my bum-cheeks.
I heard the back door bang shut and I flinched.
Azazel?
Had he been gathering himself to come get Egan? Was he the one who had saved me from the black waters? Where was he now?
Egan came back in carrying armfuls of towels. “Alright?”
“I’m okay,” I told him, smiling through my shudders. He was still shirtless, and I could see the faint Ethiopian scars on his arm and chest.
He wrapped my hands one at a time in a towel, chaffed them dry, and then set them deliberately against the hard, hot wall of his torso.
Oh God.
Then he slipped all the buttons on my thick flannel shirt—the one I’d chosen this morning precisely because it wasn’t provocative or distracting—and he only slowed when he realized I was wearing just a bra-top underneath. My nipples stood in shamefully hard points under the stretch cotton. I tried to wriggle out of the long tartan sleeves of my shirt on my own, to spare his blushes, but everything clung like a freezing cold second skin and he had to help.
The shallow slash on my forearm wasn’t bleeding anymore, but each brush of his fingers felt like hot coals.
My wet garment made a slap as it struck the floor.
He draped a towel around my shoulders and another over my head. He started rubbing the water from my face and hair and scalp, his movements precise and gentle. For long moments I was buried in a soft darkness. I reached out, blind, to put my hands back on his bare ribs. I could feel his heart pounding beneath them, like a beast pacing a cage.
I have no idea when it all changed for him. When his grueling self-denial simply fell apart, like a garment worn and washed until the fabric was weakened beyond all use. All I knew was that he dropped the towel off my damp head, cupped my face in both his hands and—absolutely without warning—kissed me.
The Prison of the Angels is available to buy from all major online retailers including:
Amazon: http://smarturl.it/TPotAKindle
Kobo: http://smarturl.it/TPotAKobo
iTunes: http://smarturl.it/TPotAiTunes
Google Play: http://smarturl.it/TPotAGoogle
Barnes and Noble: http://smarturl.it/TPotABarnesandNoble
*****
Author bio:
Janine Ashbless is a writer of fantasy erotica and steamy romantic adventure. She likes to write about magic and myth and mystery, dangerous power dynamics, borderline terror, and the not-quite-human.
Buyer beware! If you like dark romance and a hard-won Happily Ever After, try “Cover Him with Darkness,” “Heart of Flame,” or “The King’s Viper.” If you prefer challenging erotica, go for “Red Grow the Roses” or “Named and Shamed” instead. All her other books lie somewhere on the spectrum between.
Janine has been seeing her books in print ever since 2000. She’s also had numerous short stories published by Black Lace, Nexus, Cleis Press, Ravenous Romance, Harlequin Spice, Storm Moon, Xcite, Mischief Books, and Ellora’s Cave among others. She is co-editor of the nerd erotica anthology ‘Geek Love’.
Born in Wales, Janine now lives in the North of England with her husband and two rescued greyhounds. She has worked as a cleaner, library assistant, computer programmer, local government tree officer, and – for five years of muddy feet and shouting – as a full-time costumed Viking. Janine loves goatee beards, ancient ruins, minotaurs, trees, mummies, having her cake and eating it, and holidaying in countries with really bad public sewerage.
Her work has been described as:
“Hardcore and literate” (Madeline Moore) and “Vivid and tempestuous and dangerous, and bursting with sacrifice, death and love.” (Portia Da Costa)
Author Links:
Janine Ashbless website: http://www.janineashbless.com/
Janine Ashbless on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/janineashbless
Sinful Press website: https://www.sinfulpress.co.uk
Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.
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