Friday, June 30, 2017

First Chapter Friday: ONLY HIM (An Obsessed Novella) by Jeanne St. James #BDSM #EroticRomance

Only Him (An Obsessed Novella)
By Jeanne St. James
Genre: Erotic Romance, Erotica, BDSM, Contemporary

Available NOW for 99¢ or FREE on Kindle Unlimited for a limited time!

This is not just a love story, it’s an obsession…


Never in my life did I think my high school obsession would move right next door. I’ve never wanted anyone but him. Reid Turner is my ultimate fantasy. And I still want him. Badly. When he watches me through my bedroom window taking matters into my own hands, things suddenly take a turn…

And now that I have him, I’m not letting him go.


I never knew she existed and now I can’t get enough of her. She consumes me. When this night ends, there may not be anything left of me, she may own me completely. She my master and I her slave. In one way or another I will atone for never noticing her all throughout high school. I will gladly grovel at her feet to make up for what a fool I was.

Besides, who can turn down that luscious body of hers? Curves in all the right places, a mouth that could make a grown man cry, super responsive during sex, and none of my twisted desires so far have made her bat an eye. And did I mention? She lives right next door. She may be the perfect woman for me.

Note: All books in the Obsessed series are standalone novellas. It is intended for audiences over 18 years of age since it includes explicit sexual situations, including BDSM.

Chapter One - Sydney
Holy fuck.
I peer around the curtain at the man carrying boxes from a rented box truck into the house next door.
My jaw shuts like a trap. What kind of fucking karma is this?
My fingers tremble as they grip the curtain. I must be dreaming. Never in my life did I think my high school crush would move… Right. Next. Door.
Right fucking next door!
My stomach churns and my pussy clenches.
I want to call someone. I want to run through the house screaming.
Reid Fucking Turner is moving next door!
Fucking pinch me.
I haven’t seen him in eons. Hell, not since graduation. And that was so, so long ago.
But I know it’s him. There's no doubt about it.
Every fiber of my being knows because I spent too many of my teenage years stalking­—err, watching—him. I would recognize him anywhere.
His gait. His hair (though, it’s cut much shorter now). His shoulders (much broader than high school—the boy has matured into a man). Those thick thighs (they’ve always been muscular, due to him being a jock).
It has to be him.
My heart stops as he glances toward my window. I drop the curtain like it’s on fire and pin my back against the wall. My heartbeat goes from zero to sixty in one second flat.
Holy crap, did he see me peeking?
The pulse in my neck throbs and it may jump right out of my throat at any moment. I clutch my hand to my chest while I try to slow my breathing.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
It’ll be okay.
The guy never knew I existed in high school, so he probably wouldn’t recognize me now anyway.
I’ve changed. Matured.
My thin, flat-chested body has definitely improved. My breasts might be bigger and heavier than I’d like and my hips curvy enough I can no longer squeeze into skinny jeans, but I’ve had no problem attracting men. No problem at all.
They seem to prefer something to grab onto when they’re pounding into me, sweating all over me, grunting and groaning, and unfortunately, most of the time, leaving me unsatisfied and wanting.
And, most of the time, I can’t wait for them to fucking put their clothes back on and leave.
Breakfast? No thanks. I’m on a diet.
But back to the subject at hand.
Reid Fucking Turner.
I peek out the front window again and wonder why he’s moving his stuff by himself. I should head over and offer to help, shouldn't I?
Then I see them. A whole slew of buff, hot guys marching in and out of the house in a line like an army of ants.
Where does he find his friends? Studs ‘R’ Us?
Maybe they’re all gay porn stars. I mean, our classmates did vote Reid most likely to succeed in high school. Porn stars are considered successful, right? They’re stars after all.
I swipe at the bit of saliva gathering at the corner of my lip. Fuck. Gay or not, that is one hell of a man buffet. But how disappointing would that be? To find out my teenage crush turned out to dislike women?
Not only disappointing, but devastating.
I glance up at the ceiling and ask any deity listening, “Oh please, don’t let that be true.”
Reid has been my ultimate fantasy, my constant masturbation material, since the ninth grade when I first laid eyes on him.
Well, more like the day I bumped into him. The first time it happened by accident. The other dozen or so times over the course of our high school years were not so accidental. And one time I even accidentally brushed against the front of his jeans.
He felt warm and soft. But that night, I fantasized about him being hot and hard. And all mine. That ended up being a good night and I might have sprained a finger.
But no matter how many times I threw myself in front of Reid Turner, he never seemed to notice me. I had no cleavage, no shape. And I certainly wasn’t a cheerleader, or even on the booster team or squad, or whatever the fuck it was called.
I was a nobody. Just another body moo-ving down a narrow, crowded hallway, going in and out of classrooms like herded cattle.
I’m not saying I never garnered any interest. Just not from Reid Turner and his ilk. Oh, I got kissed and fingered, and eventually my cherry popped, but none of it was worth writing home about.
And every time I found myself in some closet, the backseat of a car, the bedroom of some boy’s house whose parents went out to dinner, I’d close my eyes and picture Reid.
That’s how I had my first orgasm (one without doing it myself). If I’d squeeze my eyes shut really hard and pretend the guy was Reid, then I’d… Yeah. And the poor schmuck probably thought he had skills and most likely disappointed the next girl he fumble-fucked. And if he did, not my problem.
However, that ended up screwing me, too. Because no guy was ever good enough for me.
None of them were Reid Turner.
The fucker ruined me for any other man. And he never once even touched me.
Not. Once.
Whether he knows it or not (I’m pretty sure he doesn’t), the man owes me a mind-blowing orgasm.
I snort as I imagine stomping over to his house to demand he make me climax. Wouldn’t he shit a brick.
Though… Maybe I should give that some serious thought.
He may call the cops. Possibly apply for a restraining order. Damn.
I tap my finger on my chin as I contemplate all the ways I can approach him without getting myself arrested.
Then it hits me. He won't call the police. It’s not because he’s a criminal and wants to avoid the men in blue.
No, it’s because he is the police. I forgot he’s a cop. Hot damn. How could I forget that juicy piece of information?
I remember hearing about his career choice when I was at our lame five-year class reunion. The one I attended just to see him. Though, he never showed. And he never came to our tenth either. It was at that joyous occasion when I found out he had married his main squeeze in high school, Pamela Johnson. Head cheerleader, prom queen, voted most popular. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blech.
So, that meant he wasn’t gay. Or did that bitch turn him?
My eyes rake over the man meat carrying the heavy boxes and random pieces of furniture. No sign of her.
But that doesn’t mean they aren’t still together. Though, that might fuck with my fantasies.
Damn it.
And of course, his life choices are all about me. Right?
I pace my living room, wanting to know everything about his life right now. He leaves me no choice.
I’ll have to do some recon.
* * * *
I actually question my own life choices when I sneak around the outside of his house after dark. What have I been reduced to? I feel like I’m a high school stalker—err, student—all over again.
All those times I attended his wrestling matches, his baseball games, I’d sit in the bleachers and root him on. Not that he ever noticed, even though I was his biggest supporter. The ultimate fan.
But hell, at least he chose two sports where he wore tight outfits. Both, that snug onesie thing he wore in wrestling and those tight baseball stretchy pants. His round, muscular ass looked spectacular in both. But that unitard… No, I remember being scolded at one match by someone sitting nearby. It wasn’t called a unitard, they called it a singlet. Didn’t matter though, at least in that outfit he didn’t wear a cup. I think all the females, including the mothers, noticed the healthy-sized Kielbasa link in his singlet. You couldn’t miss it. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt a few of our classmates’ mothers hit on him. And possibly even scored. What teenage boy didn’t want to fuck a MILF?
Anyway, now fifteen years later (give or take a year), I’m skulking around my neighbor’s house like a freaking peeping Tom.
All because Reid Fucking Turner moved next door.
This isn’t high school anymore, though. No. At thirty-one years old, I’m now dead serious about getting a piece of Reid. Especially since he owes me.
When I step on a stick, it cracks loudly under my foot and my heart, once again, goes into warp speed. I slam myself against the side of his house.
Holy fuck, if any of my other neighbors see me…
Screw them. This is all about me.
And Reid, of course.
I blow out a breath when I realize I might be a good candidate for the loony bin. I shake my head to clear it. I’m a freaking adult. What the hell am I doing?
How can the sight of this man reduce me to this crazy-assed behavior?
I drag myself back into the house, my head hanging in disgrace. I should be ashamed of myself. Maybe I should go over, knock on the door, and apologize for my bad behavior. Welcome him to the neighborhood. Invite him over for some sweaty sex.
I lock my front door and sit in my dark living room totally sickened by my actions.
Then I run upstairs.

Author Bio:
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a Best-Selling erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.

She has a few new releases coming up in 2017. So keep an eye on her website at or sign up for her newsletter:

Author Links:

Thursday, June 29, 2017

3 Books for $3 It's Release Day! Here's Chapter 1 off Hot and Filthy! BJ in the back of a limo anyone?

Sex, Heat and Hunger: Part 1

Sex, Heat and Hunger: Part 2
Google Play:

Hot and Filthy

Chapter 1

“Are you nervous?” Alyssa asked as she placed the flower crown on top of my head. We were standing upstairs in the master bedroom, my mother and grandmother flitting around behind us, frantically trying to sew the frayed hem of my Aunt Eleanor’s dress.
I grinned at Alyssa in the mirror and bit my lip as I adjusted the flowers. “Not in the slightest. Giddy is more like it.”
Her eyes twinkled. “I’m not sure I’ve ever met a man more head-over-heels in love with someone than your groom. The man would walk over glass … hell, he’d walk over Lego for you.”
I smiled again, my cheeks burning from how mushy thoughts of my future husband made me. “I’d walk over Lego for him, too.”
“Everyone ready?” my mother asked, a rosy flush to her own high cheekbones as she stood up from the floor, the sewing needle and thread still between her lips. She was a beautiful woman, Anita Everly. With peaches and cream skin and a long slender neck, which she showed off with her short blonde pixie cut, she was the definition of a classic beauty.
I let out a big sigh and locked eyes with my mother in the mirror. We had the same hazel eyes, though hers held the kind of wisdom and compassion I only hoped to have one day. She gave me a teary-eyed smile.
“You bet!” I smiled back, emotion and the sudden realization of what I was about to go and do hitting me in the solar plexus like a swift kick.  “Let’s go and get me hitched!”
“There’s my baby girl,” my dad said, meeting my mother and I at the foot of the stairs, his own eyes starting to show signs of needing a tissue.
He looped his arm through mine, and my mother took up sentry on the other side, while I clutched the bouquet I’d made from my own garden flowers in my sweaty fist.
“You look beautiful, honey.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He glanced down at my feet, where my red painted toes just peeked out from beneath my flowy Grecian-style gown. “Still going with the no shoe thing, eh?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a backyard wedding. The grass is soft, and although we all know I love me some heels, I’d rather not trip on my wedding day. Besides, it goes with the whole Boho fairy princess thing I’m doing.”
I awkwardly gestured to my off-white halter dress and flower crown on top of my beachy, wavy hair. He just snorted a laugh and rolled his green eyes, smiling at me like only a father getting ready to give his only daughter away could, with heavily reined-in emotion and glowing pride.
I’m not a pomp and circumstance kind of girl, and James is certainly not a pomp and circumstance kind of guy. He’s not flashy, and neither of us was into the big church wedding with hundreds of people we hardly knew. We wanted simple, tasteful and, most of all, relaxing. James isn’t into big crowds, and he hates being the center of attention, so I took great care to make the day as minimally stressful and with the least amount of attention focused on him as possible, while still being fun for our guests. And what better way than a DIY, backyard BBQ wedding with just close friends and family? So, bare feet and a flower crown just seemed to fit the vibe we were jonesing for.
“Nervous?” my dad asked.
I swallowed. “Not at all. You?”
His jaw shook slightly, but he didn’t say anything; his expression was tangible.
Two tiny garden fairies in matching purple dresses and crowns of baby’s breath bounded down the aisle, sprinkling flower petals as they went. They might not be blood, but they were my nieces in every other way that mattered, and I was so happy they were sharing in our special day. Alyssa was next out the French doors, stopping at the edge of the patio and tossing her shoulders back. She glanced behind her and gave me a big wink and a smile before stepping down onto the soft grass towards the altar.
“I think you might have found someone who loves you more than we do,” my mum said as we made our way through the living room towards the open doors, the music in the back yard drawing us like the Pied Piper.
“As it should be,” my father said stoically.
He pulled me tighter against him and then turned his head and pecked me on the temple. He had to bend down a wee bit, though, as my dad is a tall drink of water and my head barely brushes his shoulders.
“We love you, baby girl,” he choked, taking a deep breath.
I squeezed both their arms and gave them each one final look before the daylight of the back yard dazzled my eyes.
“I love you guys, too.”
And then the big tall evergreens shielded the sun, and my groom finally came into view, standing handsome and regal next to his best friend, while his cobalt eyes twinkled and his mouth, that devilish, talented, delicious mouth of his, curled up into the most jaw-dropping — and panty-dropping — smile I’d ever seen.


“Well, Mrs. Shaw … God, I’m never going to grow tired of calling you that, you know that, right?” James growled, pulling me onto his lap in the back of the limo.
He nuzzled my neck while his hand made its way up my shirt, and he started pulling on the cup of my bra. I squeaked and squirmed when he tweaked the hard and achy bud, loving the bite of pain and the zing of need it sent to my core.
“Shall we consummate the marriage here and now? Or can you wait until we board the jet?”
I chuckled low and let my hand drift to the front of his shorts, unzipping him and worming my fingers in until I felt the hard column of flesh I just couldn’t get enough of.
“It’s not that long of a drive to the airport,” I purred. “And I certainly hope the consummation will take more than five minutes. So …” I dropped to my knees. “Let’s just do this until we get to the jet, where there is a big, beautiful bed, and you can fuck your new wife properly.” And then I pulled down his shorts, dipped my head low and took him into my mouth.
His fingers found their way into my hair, and he pulled on my scalp, setting the pace he wanted, hard and fast, just like our love. I’d loved this man almost instantly, craved him from our first kiss. He was my addiction, and I hungered for him constantly. There was no rehab or detox program in the world that could kick me of my James habit, not that I wanted one. The man was my everything, and now, finally, after almost two and a half years together, he was my husband. We’d been through hell and back both on our own and together. Fought past demons and weathered storms no couple or person should ever have to face. He’d torn down his walls for me. Let me inside, revealed his true self and the heavy weight and guilt he carried around on those impossibly broad shoulders of his. But now that guilt, those problems weren’t just his. We were in this together and even though I knew James would never truly forgive himself or let go entirely of his haunting past, at least now I could help carry the weight. Relieve him of the burden just a bit, and be there to rub out the knots and tired muscles at the end of the day.
“God, Emma … that fucking mouth …” he groaned, bucking his hips up off the leather of the seat. “Yes, you filthy girl. Suck it hard.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I took him to the back of my throat, my fist rhythmically pumping him root to tip; I loved the effect I had on him, loved how easily I could bring him to his knees while I pleasured him on mine. He was a bossy fucker, incapable of submitting, but when he was in my mouth, he was completely at my mercy. I could ask him for anything, and he’d never say “no.” Not that I asked for much, and not that he’d ever denied me. But when I was on my knees, the man was under my spell, and I was in control as much as he liked to think he was.
I flattened out my tongue and grazed the entire surface area up his shaft, feeling the thick roping veins and the silky, soft crown. He was perfect. Designed by the gods. Tall and muscular with a strong, chiseled jaw and dark, luscious, wavy hair that tumbled just over his forehead and ears. Not too long and unruly, but just roguish enough. I loved nothing more than burying my fingers in it, and pulling on the ends, especially when his head was bobbing up and down between my legs.
I snaked my other hand beneath him and cupped his balls, gently pulling and rolling them in my palm until I earned that extra moan I coveted, the moan that told me he loved it and he wanted more. The moan that told me he was getting close, barely holding on, pacing that narrow edge and about to tip over.
His cadence picked up, and he started to jerk on my head, really forcing me down hard onto his cock, until it knocked my tonsils and I fought to suppress my gag reflex. And fuck if I didn’t love it. I loved that I could drive him wild.
I sucked hard on the crown when I brought him back to my lips, flicking the tip, the small hole at the top with my tongue, wedging it in just enough to earn another moan, before I plunged him back to my throat again. In and out I fucked him with my mouth until his rhythm started to falter and I knew he was close.
I swallowed when he bottomed out in my throat again, knowing that the contraction of my muscles might just kick him over the cliff. I pulled down slightly on his balls with my one hand, and down on his shaft with the other, hummed slightly and deep throated as much as I could, swallowing again. And damn if that didn’t do the trick.
He snarled above me as his fingers loosened their death grip in my hair, his cock pulsing inside my mouth, filling me with his warm, salty semen. I swallowed again, letting it flow across my tongue and down my throat, reveling in his canticle of pleasure.
I licked him clean and then gently tucked him back into his shorts, taking great care not to snag him in his zipper. Then big, strong hands came up under my arms, and I was hauled off the floor and thrown onto my back on the cool leather. Growling low and deep in his throat, he pinned me beneath him, his mouth capturing mine.
He groaned against my lips as his fingers found a nipple again. “Oh, Mrs. Shaw. I’m not sure I can wait until the plane to fuck you.” 

Emma Everly didn’t know true love or happiness until she met enigmatic millionaire James Shaw. He turned her world upside down, all for the better, possessing her heart, body, and soul. He brought her over to the dark and dirty side and opened her eyes to the wild and kinky sex Emma didn’t even know she craved.
Now they’re married and ready to start their life together, and Emma realizes all her dreams are coming true. 

With a romantic honeymoon planned on a live-aboard boat in French Polynesia with nothing but her handsome husband and the fishes, Emma is positive James will take her body to newer and more extreme heights of pleasure. But James has other ideas, and even in the middle of their sexy sea adventure, their relationship is put to the test. Emma must find a way to come to terms with James’ demands or risk ruining their first holiday as husband and wife.

*A quick and funny story with nothing but sex, scuba diving, and newlywed bickering. Because these two deserve a chill honeymoon. It’s nothing but pure filth with the odd parrot fish sighting. Don’t expect the darkness and angst of the other books; this little story is meant to be light, fun, super dirty and give you all the happy feels.

***Warning, this book contains explicit sexual content, vulgar language, and BDSM***

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Unwrapping Me by Bre Meli

Here is the full description of the upcoming novel....

Just for you!!

What do you do when in an instant your perfect world is shattered?

Tyler Richards meet the man of her dreams, Charles Travers, in high school. Defying their parents, they ran away to marry and start the perfect life they had been planning for years.

When a freak accident takes Tyler's dreams and crumbles them she spends more days pondering suicide than rebuilding her life.

Charles sticks around mostly due to his own guilt. Twelve years they spend growing apart until finally Tyler sets him free. 

Her best friend Eve will not let her fall into the pits of despair. Forces her to come back and join the human race. Working her body, her mind and her soul. Standing by her through every moment, never letting her lose site of what can be.

The fear of another man seeing her, fearing her, keeps Tyler from wanting to find another man to love.

Attending a boring party, Tyler meets a woman that leads her into a world she never knew existed. But, can she handle the things she sees? Only having one man her entire life and now meeting all of these men that want to be near her, with her. Which man is true? Which man can handle what lies beneath her clothing?

The one that can is the one she least expected..... The one that will bring her back from the hell she has lived for far too long and into the light, showing her that beauty comes from the inside. She is desirable. She is magnificent and she is to become his.

Don't forget to join the cover reveal party on July 11th!!

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

In the Shadows - A Love and Justice Novella - Book 3

Rosie Hobbs is in trouble. Big trouble. The kind of trouble that has her scared to leave her apartment. When she first met Aaron he was a fun guy who liked to have a good time. Just the kind of man she prefers. But when he wants more, and she tells him she's not interested, he loses it. Continuous phone calls, showing up where she's at, vandalizing her property... She finds herself turning to an unexpected protector, her best friend's ridiculously sexy brother.

Conner Montgomery is a lawyer and he deals with this type of BS every day. However, something about Rosie has him crossing the professional line. Is it her gorgeous smile? Her charm? Or the fact that he can't even look at her without imagining her body wrapped around his? Whatever the case, when Aaron shows up at a get-together and scares Rosie half to death, Conner's determined to make sure he can't get anywhere near her again.

When the stakes get higher, and the threats more real, will Conner be able to keep Rosie protected, or will their soaring passion cloud their judgment?

Conner yanked off his shirt, then made haste removing his shoes, socks, and jeans. He walked toward Rosie but stopped when he got directly in front of her. He’d fantasized about this nonstop, and it was going to go his way. Rosie liked to feel in charge, and that was fine with him, but not when she was in his damn bed. “Take off my boxers.”

Rosie swallowed and then did as she was told. She had to drop down to her knees to get them all the way off, and he fought the urge to feel himself in her mouth again. When she was done, she stood and looked at him expectantly. yeah, something told him she loved being told what to do.

“Get on the bed and take off your dress.” Conner instructed through clenched teeth.

Rosie turned and walked to the bed, then bent over and crawled to the center on her hands and knees. Her ass swayed side to side in the air, her panty-clad pussy peeking out from beneath her dress. When she’d made it to the center, she turned to face him, still on her knees. She grabbed the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, discarding it on the floor. She looked like a fucking goddess, her face flushed, lips swollen from her killer blowjob, wearing a provocative lacy black bra and panty set that perfectly hugged her voluptuous body.

“Now the bra.” Conner fisted his erection and began to stroke it as he watched her hastily rid herself of the garment. He smiled and walked toward her. “It would seem someone is in a hurry.”

“Yes,” she panted.

“Why are your legs shaking, baby?”

“Because I want you. I need you.”

“Soon, baby; but first, lie down.”

She paused for a second, then did as he instructed.

“Spread your legs for me.” He hissed under his breath when her legs fell to the side. Her panties were wet in the center from her arousal, and he had to grip the base of his dick hard to keep from coming. “Show me how you touched yourself.”

Rosie squirmed against the bed, no doubt in as much agony as he was, if not more. She trembled as she slid her fingers underneath the elastic of her panties, then cried out when they came in contact with her clit.

He watched as she pleasured herself, her fingers dipping in and out of the fabric. When he couldn’t take another second of the exquisite torture, he bent down in front of her and sucked on her sex through her panties.

Author Info:
Erica Lynn lives in Houston, TX with her husband, daughters, and dogs. She's a self professed reality TV junkie, and loves to settle down with a glass of wine to watch The Real Housewives. She loves books in all sorts of genres, but erotic romance holds a special place in her heart.

Monday, June 26, 2017

At the Heart of the Stone Hot as Hell Excerpt and Exclusive Look

At the Heart of the Stone: What Dreams May Come

Hello, I’m Roxanne D. Howard, and I write erotic contemporary and paranormal romance novels. Today I’d like to share with you an exclusive. piping hot excerpt from my first romance novel with Loose Id, At the Heart of the Stone. Before I do, I'd like to talk about how locations can inspire writing. The novel has three major different settings; London, the dreamscape of Lark’s nightly fantasies, and her family’s ranch house in Forest Grove, Oregon.

Though the novel is purely fictional and not based on any person or circumstances, the settings were inspired by my real-life travels. My husband and I lived in England for three years before moving back to the states. He is originally from Kent, and I had the opportunity to see some of the back trails and more hidden, beautiful niches of the villages there, which served as a great inspiration for the more sensual dreamscape moments in the novel.

In the opening of the book, Lark lives with her fiancé, Charles, and works in a corporate high-rise in Central London. Their swanky flat is close to the Houses of Parliament, and she commutes past it each day on the way to work.

Lark’s vivid, erotic dreams involve lush settings and a thorough, mysterious Irish lover who knows what she wants and needs. This picture is one I took ten years ago of an English village in Kent called Loose. The whole village literally looks like a Thomas Kincade painting with tumbledown cottages and thatched roofs, and is one of the most beautiful villages I’ve ever visited. This photo of the local creek served as inspiration for the setting of one of the love scenes from Lark’s dreams.

Lark’s family’s ranch house is in Forest Grove, Oregon, nicely nestled among the conifers and pines. She grew up around horses, and after a whirlwind successful career in London, she is suddenly called back to return to the life she knew of Appaloosa horses, mountain trails, and a much slower pace than city life. It is here that she first encounters her dream lover, Niall O’Hagan, in the flesh, and her life is never the same again
What are some of your favorite places to visit that have inspired your creative side?

Enjoy this book trailer for At the Heart of the Stone, and a hot as hell excerpt below. Check out At the Heart of the Stone today!




Dreams are the perfect shelter for our fantasies, safe havens to step inside without changing our daily lives. For Lark Braithwaite, all that is about to change. During the last six months, Lark has dreamt of a mysterious Irish lover who knows what she wants and gives her exactly what she needs. In her waking life in busy London, things aren’t as ideal, as her long-term relationship with Charles, her controlling fiancé, has hit a dry spell.

When Lark is called home to Oregon for her father’s funeral right in the middle of a high-stakes corporate merger, she heads back to face the demons from her past. What she doesn’t expect is to meet her dream lover in the flesh. Niall O’Hagan steps straight out of her fantasies and right into her life, and the powerful connection they share rocks her foundation. Although she's dealing with the bitterness of being betrayed by Charles and his jealousy, Niall soon stirs Lark’s awareness of the superficiality of her existence and reawakens not only her sexuality, but her soul.

Excerpt (NSFW):

The abyss of sleep eventually overtook her, and she welcomed it, praying for escape…
* * * *
“Relax,” he said, his lips skimming the shell of her ear.
Needing this, she closed her eyes, trying to do as he bade. She had no idea where they were; it was different each time. This time, they were in a bright and airy white bedroom somewhere. She wore a sexy light sundress and sat at the edge of a soft bed. He slid his large, strong hands over her tense shoulders from behind and began to massage them. The stress practically lifted away as she melted into his touch.
She couldn’t recall the last time anyone had given her a massage. His hands were exquisite. He lifted her hair and twisted it over her shoulder, then worked his thumbs and fingers to draw out the tense knots of her upper back.
“That feels wonderful,” she whispered, leaning her head back as he pressed his lips against the side of her neck.
“You’re wonderful,” he murmured against her skin. “I need you, Lark.”
She sighed as he kissed a sensitive spot below her ear. His lips were full and warm as they moved down over her collarbone. He stopped massaging her altogether. He trailed his fingers along her shoulders, smoothing them over her skin as he stroked the taut muscles above her breasts.
Deep down, she knew she was dreaming again, that this wasn’t real, but it was heaven to be touched and attended to after so long.
“I wish I could stay here, with you. You make me feel so good.” She gasped as his hands slid down to cup and knead her sensitive breasts. She turned her head to the side and met the sweet warmth of his mouth. His tongue demanded entrance, and she met him eagerly, moving in tandem with the rhythm of his hands, caught up in the slow, steady rush flowing through her. She had the faint sense of awakening the more they kissed, and she pulled back. “Wait. This is… We shouldn’t be doing this.” The last thing she wanted was for him to stop.
“Don’t think about it.”
His Irish brogue trickled over the consonants like a gentle stream. He closed his mouth over her earlobe and began sucking on it, hard. A surge of hot energy shot through her straight to her core, which pulsed with demand.
“Just relax. You deserve this. You deserve to be loved.”
She gave herself over to him, letting the guilt wash away with the flow of his words. He continued using his lips, this time assaulting her neck, until finally his long, strong fingers turned her chin toward him. He captured her mouth again, pulling her back on the bed with him. Her heart pounded as he shifted position, and his arm encircled her midriff, laying her down beside him. He wore only black silk pants, his body well-built and coltish, and the coarse hair on his broad chest grazed her nipples as he loomed over her.
She slid her hands beneath the waistband of his pants and grasped his hard cock. He growled and paused to yank them down. His cock fully free now, he pressed into her, his stiff heat against her thigh. She opened her legs, cradling him with her hips.
His warm mouth enticed hers to yield to him, and soon they were exchanging long, drawn-out kisses. Lark closed her eyes, his kisses drugging her. He slid his hand beneath her back and ran his hand along her ass, while his other hand combed through her hair. Lark squirmed beneath him, bucking up, hoping he’d take the hint. She wanted to open her eyes, to see this man who had invaded her dreams, but his kisses became more ardent, more persuasive, and she felt like she was drowning. His tongue stroked hers, and she moaned at the taste of chocolate and oranges. While some part of her comprehended she was dreaming and she had another man, a real man in her waking life, this dream-lover’s kisses sent her over the edge into a delicious inferno.
He reached between them, holding his cock as he ran the tip slowly up her wet pussy. He pressed the tip inside, and she welcomed the weight of him, rubbing against him and arching up, unable to get him to come into her. She gasped as he continued to drug her lips with ardent kisses.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him into her aching need with a fever she’d never shown any man. He groaned and sank inside her.
Startled, she opened her eyes. His face was close to hers, and for the first time, she could make out how strikingly handsome he was, as if he were a real flesh-and-blood person. He had a full head of thick, dark curls, hawk-like green eyes framed by thick brows, dark olive skin that gave him an exotic air, a straight nose and full lips, and a look on his face that told her he was about to devour her.
He thrust deep, groaning as they became one. Lark held on to him as he began to pound into her. He drove so hard into her that her breasts bounced.
Trembling, she reached up and, with a shaky hand, touched his strong, smooth jawline.
“Y-you’re real!”

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