Blurb:
Buy Link:
Giveaway Links:
https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/1e85cc8a121/
<a class="rcptr" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/1e85cc8a121/" rel="nofollow" data-raflid="1e85cc8a121" data-theme="classic" data-template="" id="rcwidget_x1qb89sf">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script>
About the Authors:
Elena M. Reyes
Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would.
As a small child, she was always intrigued with all forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E. Program and write an essay on what they’d learned.
Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure. It wasn’t until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and letting her characters grow.
N. Isabelle Blanco
N. Isabelle Blanco was born in Queens, NY (USA). At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.
An avid reader in her teens, her fascination with Japanese anime eventually led her to the universe of fan fiction, which became her on-again, off-again hobby for the next ten years. During that time she amassed a following of fans that, by her own admission, she would never be able to live without. It was those fans who encouraged her to step beyond the fan fiction realm and try her talent in the publishing world.
N. Isabelle Blanco spends her days working as an author, web programmer, marketer, and graphic designer. That is when she isn’t handling her “spawn”, as she calls her son, and brainstorming with him about his future career as a comic book illustrator.
K.I. Lynn
K.I. Lynn spent her life in the arts, everything from music to painting and ceramics, then to writing. Characters have always run around in her head, acting out their stories, but it wasn’t until later in life she would put them to pen. It would turn out to be the one thing she was really passionate about.
Since she began posting stories online, she’s garnered acclaim for her diverse stories and hard hitting writing style. Two stories and characters are never the same, her brain moving through different ideas faster than she can write them down as it also plots its quest for world domination…or cheese. Whichever is easier to obtain…Usually it’s cheese.
DIRTY WORDS EXCERPT
It had been exactly one year to the day since I fell for the words my girl created. A year where I’d spent numerous hours contemplating ways to make her mine. Three hundred and sixty-five days consumed by every book she wrote. With each line my need and hunger grew, my devotion running so deep that I’d lost my goddamned head over her.
Rationality was a novelty I no longer concerned myself with.
She always claimed to have the best inspirations while taking a bath or shower. Was it because she was thinking of me? Was she picturing us together under the hot stream of water? She was a fan, after all.
It was my face that my girl watched on the movie screen, and later confessed to being aroused by. I remember re-reading that one post on her wall over and over again. Discovering the effect I had on her was a high unlike any other.
I made her heart stutter.
I made her knees weak.
I caused the wetness to pool between her thighs.
Did she see those images as vividly as I did? Lucia had to have. No one could write such descriptive scenes without putting themselves within their words. My favorite, though, had to be the one time she had me fuck my counterpart in the shower.
Fuck, do I remember that scene:
“Jack, please,” Lesley begged as I continued to assault her neck with kisses, biting her hard enough to leave the imprint of my teeth embedded in her skin. I wanted—no, needed, to mark her as my own. The fucking world had to accept that she was taken. “Baby, I need you,” she whimpered, “need to feel you inside me. Goddamned delicious stretch and fullness only you can…oh, fuck!” Lesley hissed out as my long and calloused fingers found her drenched, bare lips. I’d begun a slow rhythm of in and out, my palm coming in contact with her engorged clit and rubbing twice before pulling away.
I was the one making the beautiful woman in my arms cry out in ecstasy one minute, and out in anger the next.
According to her, I was responsible for all the dirty thoughts and words that led to the ruin of her favorite panties. They were my favorites now, as well. Lacy boy shorts had ruined me for all other types. My head was filled with images of those round mounds barely covered by the flimsy fabric. How it molded onto her skin and rode high as she walked.
I wanted to tear them off with my teeth.
I’d pull them down while my tongue would come out to taste every inch of skin my mouth uncovered. I wondered what would hit my tongue as I lay between her parted thighs and lapped at her core.
She’d taste amazing too. Like an erotic mixture of fruits. Delicious.
“Don't tease me, baby. Fuck me. Make me yours.” Lesley slammed her hands on the tiled wall while I toyed with her. Broke her down. I wanted her to bend to my will, become insane with lust. When I was through with her, she’d only see me. Feel me. Want me.
SYSTEMATIC SIEGE EXCERPT
For years, I’d watched my old friend from afar, missing her. Knowing what my father had done to her family. I’d just wanted to have the right to talk to her again.
When that aforementioned opportunity popped up, no preternatural, Zeus-gifted willpower could have stopped me from taking it.
The door creaks open out in the hall. “Andrew?”
God—Nature—whatever the fuck is out there—what the hell did you do when you allowed that girl to come into existence?
Ungh, that voice. I freeze on the spot, eyes closing. Hating and savoring the heat that drums through my veins, pounding its way straight to my cock.
Her voice is how I imagine an ancient sex goddess’ voice would’ve been. If this is how the ancient Sumerians imagined that Inanna’s voice sounded, no wonder man eventually rose up and obliterated her legend.
No female, even a mythical one, should be allowed to have so much control over man.
It’s not an exaggeration, either. Every fucker at school goes glossy-eyed whenever Lexi so much as hums near them.
The perfect soft rasp; the epitome of the term “sex voice”. Every time she says my name, I die a little more inside.
“Andrew?”
Shit. I need to hear her moan for me—don’t care if it ends up being the death of me—and I can’t fucking have it.
One day I’m going to snap and take it anyway.
“Andrew, are you here?”
I clear my throat, sitting down on the sofa as fast as I can. My text book gets positioned just right, so that it covers my aching hard-on. “Yeah. I’m in here.”
Jesus, talk about rasps. My voice is straight up laden with sex.
I clear my throat again.
Three deep breaths, and I convince myself that I’m ready to face her. That, although my dick still throbs to the beat of her name, I’m well on my way to getting my reaction under control.
She stops in front of the door.
My entire world grinds to a halt.
Jesus.
Air . . . Can’t breathe . . . Motherfuck, this hurts.
My.
Fucking.
God.
Son of a bitch.
Shit, I think I’m wheezing.
Legs.
Those breasts.
That hair.
The eyes.
Red lips.
Lexi all dolled-up—no, fuck that, sexed-up.
Like I’ve never seen her before.
It’s the hardest blow of my life.
And, it’s the exact moment in time I realize that girl has to be mine.
Whatever it takes.
Whatever it ends up costing me.
Mine.
“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be begging for?” Her overly seductive tone makes my eyes fly open.
Stunned, I grab her hands without thinking, halting her movements, and pull her in front of me. Her bottom lip is trapped between her teeth. The demon is showing through, the little bit of naughty in my innocent looking temptation.
“Miss Lockley,” I begin, clearing my throat as I adjust my position to try and hide the bulge that she creates, “that sounded like a proposition of sorts. Do I need to remind you I’m not only fourteen years older than you, but also your boss?”
My hands are aching to grab hold of her. She doesn’t understand what she does to me, and her little show has me ready to push her up against the window so everyone who passes by can see my cock disappear between her thighs. Pink spreads across her cheeks and down her chest. I’m seconds away from pinning her down like a wild beast—an idea which excites me to no end.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sampson, I was just trying to lighten your mood,” she says, and for some reason her response rubs me the wrong way.
I stand, upset now that she’s played with me, and not in the way I want her to. Her body moves back to give me space, but my hand shoots out and grabs her arm, pulling her to me.
“It’s not nice to tease a man like that,” I say harshly. “We’re not like the boys you’re used to. It angers us, and many will go ahead and take what you’re offering.” I lean forward and run my nose up her neck, resisting the urge to taste her. My lips are so close to her ear as I whisper, “Don’t tempt me My tongue pushes into her mouth, tasting her. She’s fucking divine and I lose it, turning her and pushing her against the edge of my desk.
My hips rock against her, showing her just what she’s doing to me when my hard cock digs into her stomach.
I want her.
I have to have her.
A strong knock on my door make me freeze.
“Dean, you got a minute?” Cooper calls.
My blood runs cold. “Fuck.” In a frantic I-have-to-hide-her move, I grab Alyssa’s arm and push her down to the space under my desk. The click and thump of the door opening makes her eyes wide as she looks up at me, but she remains silent as I move the chair forward. anymore, Alyssa, or you may regret it.” To make sure she gets the point, I caress up and down her arms, my lips ghosting across the delicate curve of her neck.
A gasp escapes her plump lips while her hand clenches hold of my lapel. “Dean.”
Fuck, the way she says my name is torture. She feels so good in my arms that I don’t think I can stop myself, and I find my lips trailing along her jaw toward her luscious mouth.
I press my lips to hers, doing what I’ve wanted to for over a month, since she first sauntered in here.
“Come on in.” I smooth my hair with one hand while the other pulls open the file cabinet next to me in an attempt to look like I am doing something constructive. The open drawer also hides Alyssa’s form better.
No comments:
Post a Comment