WOUNDED HEROES ANTHOLOGY

WOUNDED HEROES ANTHOLOGY

by Pam Ackerson, Debra Parmley, Teri Riggs, Maggie Adams, and Nia Farrell

Cover design by Crystal Visions

Length: 6,627 words

Wounded Heroes Anthology

Amazon Universal Link e-book      Amazon US e-book     Goodreads TBR

Release Date November 7, 2019.

99¢ Special Pre-Order Price!

 

Five Degrees of heartwarming to melting stories ─ Five stand-alone love stories with swoon-worthy heroes that will leave you breathless from award-winning International, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling authors Pamela Ackerson, Debra Parmley, Teri Riggs, Maggie Adams, and Nia Farrell. The collection includes:

* A Rosa for Russell by Pamela Ackerson ~ Who in their right mind falls in love with the enemy?

** Two Step, New Steps by Debra Parmley ~ Wounded cop Len Yardley doesn’t expect to find love while he’s healing from a gunshot wound but the Air Force veteran can’t help falling for perky Leanne Bobbin who brings out his protective instincts and makes him laugh.

*** Bringing Her Home by Teri Riggs ~ Can Thomas Raintree bring home the woman he loves, but had to leave behind?

**** As Time Goes By by Maggie Adams ~ Blake’s determined to find out who killed his best friend, and his widow holds the key…not only to the murder but also to Blake’s heart.

***** Fallen by Nia Farrell ~ An Army chaplain priest’s faith is tested when he falls for his PTSD therapist. See Fallen teasers and read an excerpt here.

 

 

 

 

 

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DAMAGE CONTROL

Model Jenn R. Turnham Photographer Lori Stead Copyright 2019 Wet Silver LLC

Damage Control

by Ree L. Diehl

Length 18, 365 words.  A BBW/billionaire workplace romance (a contemporary novella with workplace bullying and body shaming) first appeared in Stand Your Ground antibullying anthology with Nia Farrell, Ree L. Diehl, Patient Lee, Jack Crosby, James Hartley, JA Lafrance, and Christine Monroe.

Amazon Universal Link ebook    Amazon US ebook    Goodreads reviews 

Damage Control blurb:

Curvy Isabella DeLorean knows what it’s like to be the butt of jokes but she has brains, talent, beauty, an irrepressible sense of humor, and a plus-size body that matches her big heart.  Tough as steel and built for comfort, this DeLorean would love nothing more than to take her new boss for a ride.

Nicholas Wentworth III is CEO of the Wentworth’s department store chain.  His newest sales clerk is so popular with customers, Bella wins Employee of the Month and all the perks that come with it—a sizeable bonus, a premium parking space, and dinner with CEO.  Bella’s hot Italian-American blood thinks that a boss with benefits might just be what she needs.  She’s already dealing with vicious coworkers, a shady manager, and office gossip.  Accepting the award from Nick puts an even bigger target on her back.  Someone’s aware of their mutual attraction.  Someone who’ll stop at nothing to keep her and Nick apart.  With Bella’s life in peril, can Nick find her stalker before it’s too late?

Damage Control is Ree L. Diehl’s first novella, her first BBW, and first romantic mystery. It’s a sizzling addition to the Stand Your Ground anti-bullying anthology. 

 

DAMAGE CONTROL excerpt:

Bella put the credit card printout with the cash register receipt and handed them to Lola.

The bride-to-be tucked them in her billfold.  “I’ll give these to Vito when I get home.  Thanks for all your help, doll.  You’re the best.”

“Thank you, Lola.  I wish you and Vito every joy.”

Glancing over, Bella saw Maria carrying Justinian on her hip.  The way that he was gnawing on a finger, she wondered if a tooth was coming in.

She was so focused on her nephew that she didn’t see Ms. Cohen coming from the back with a spray bottle of perfume in her hand.  “There,” she said, misting away.  “Much better!”

For Ms. Cohen maybe, but not for Bella.  One whiff and she felt her throat start to close.  She stumbled to the chair just outside the lingerie display room, gasping for air.

“Someone get a doctor!” Maria yelled.  Justinian burst into tears, wailing like a banshee.  Lola called 911.  “Bella, can you hear me?  Do you have one of those shot things for allergies?”

Bella shook her head weakly.  She had an inhaler if she started to wheeze.  A runny nose and sinus headache were the norm.  She’d never had a reaction this bad, with a fat tongue and dangerously constricted airways.  Dear God, what if her throat swelled shut before help came?  Not being able to breathe was the most frightening thing she’d ever experienced.

She felt dizzy.  She couldn’t get enough air, and she was losing consciousness.  Her eyelids closed, too heavy to keep open any longer.

“Hang in there, sweetie.  Help is on the way.  Stay with me, Bella.  Stay with me.  Come on, sweetheart.  Stay with me.”

Strange, but Maria’s voice had changed to Mr. Wentworth’s.

Try as she might, she couldn’t force open her eyes.  Couldn’t see him and couldn’t stay with him, as much as she wanted to.  How ironic was it, to win a date with the man of her dreams and die before dinner?

“I agree.  It is ironic.”

Bella stopped breathing again, but this time it wasn’t a medical emergency.  She felt the sting of an IV in the back of her hand and heard the blip of monitors even before she opened her eyes and saw Nicholas Wentworth sitting by her hospital bed.

He looked exhausted.

She was pretty sure that she looked worse.

“Hi,” she croaked.  “What are you doing here?”

He conjured a tired smile.  “Checking on my Employee of the Month.  Your mother tells me that you’re a fighter.  She swears that you’ll be out of here in time for the presentation tomorrow night.”

Tomorrow?

Good lord.  She’d lost a day?  A day’s pay.  No, two days.  Yesterday and today and maybe tomorrow, depending on how soon they would let her go.

Bella burst into tears.  “I’m s-sorry,” she keened.  “It’s just—I can’t afford to miss work.”

“Workmen’s Comp,” he said, waving a dismissive hand.  “Everything’s covered.  Your pay.  Your stay.  This is a result of an incident while you were on the clock.  Trust me when I say that everything will be taken care of.  All you need to do is relax and recover.  Lingerie will be waiting for you when the doctor releases you.  Ms. Cohen, however, will not.”

“Wait.  What?”

Bracing his elbows on the arms of his chair, he clasped his hands and leaned toward her.  “After your review yesterday morning, I started checking, comparing department profits and sales commissions paid.  The figures showed a disturbing pattern.  When I called Ms. Cohen to discuss my findings, I was told that she was busy with a medical emergency.  Yours.”

He rubbed a hand across his face and smiled grimly.  “Miss Chin—Qua—found your phone on the counter, still recording.  She had me listen to it.  Ms. Cohen was ready to let your sales go through another register.  But what she did next was worse.  Ms. Cohen knew that you had fragrance allergies.  That’s why we put you in lingerie, in a part of the store farthest from the makeup and perfume counters.  Yet she deliberately sprayed perfume without your permission, without bothering to ask if you were allergic to that brand.  It was an unconscionable act, and I fired her.  The search is on for a new lingerie department manager.  HR recommends the one from our Charleston, South Carolina, location.  Ms. Jackson—Evalynne—has an excellent record but she’s not fond of hurricanes and is looking to relocate.”

“Same job, new boss.  I can handle it.”  Truthfully, she was relieved to have a job to come back to, especially if it meant that she could catch a glimpse of Nicholas Wentworth III from time to time.

He smiled softly.  “I’m certain you can.”

“I’m a DeLorean,” she quipped.  “Tough as steel and built for comfort.”

It was one of her standing jokes when someone pointed out her weight.  Bella groaned when she heard what had flown out of her mouth.  “Forget I said that.  Jesus, take me now.”

Mr. Wentworth chuckled.  “Sorry, he’ll have to wait until I’m done with you.  We have a presentation tomorrow night, and there’s still your Employee of the Month dinner with me.  Your mother is looking forward to the first, and I,” he said, “am looking forward to the second.”

She looked for the signs, but he wasn’t joking.

Holy schneiky.

She needed to make a major fashion statement.  In her mind, she saw a basic black mermaid wrap with an asymmetrical draped bodice, crossing to one side and fastening at her waist.

“Two weeks,” she said.  If they were going to do this, she wanted enough time to make the perfect dress.

“Good,” he said.  “Good.  You’ll be out of here and back to work.  Speaking of which, I’d better get going.  I have a conference call in an hour.  I’m glad to see that you’re doing better, Miss DeLorean.”

That sounded so formal when she was sitting here with her ass hanging out of a hospital gown.  “My family and friends call me Bella, Mr. Wentworth.”

Standing, he smoothed the creases from his suit pants and draped his matching jacket over his arm.  “And my family and friends call me Nick.  I’ll see you soon, Bella.  Get some rest.”

She didn’t want to rest.  She wanted to watch that fine specimen of manhood leave her hospital room and memorize how his bubble butt looked in motion.  She wanted to bite it.  Lick it.  She wanted to bend over the bed and let the CEO of Wentworth’s own her every orifice.

God, what she wouldn’t give to have her vibrator right now.

SLOW BURN

Slow Burn 

by Nia Farrell

Length 22,103 words.

First appeared in Dominated by Desire : A BDSM Anthology by Elizabeth Knox, Crimson Syn, Linny Lawless, Courtney Lynn Rose, Brynn Burke, Eden Rose, Nia Farrell, Iris Sweetwater, Deliaria Davis, and AJ. Daniels

Anthology Release Date May 25, 2019

Amazon e-book     Amazon US e-book     Goodreads reviews 

 

Tagline: A publicist is tasked with turning a debut novelist from geek to gorgeous.

Slow Burn by Nia Farrell blurb:

The rights to Reuben James’s debut novel Slow Burn, a dark BDSM thriller, just sold for $1.5 million. His editor wants him cut, dressed, groomed, and coached and has given publicist Brooke Cavanaugh six month to do take him from geek to gorgeous.  The trouble is, the twenty-five-year-old boy-genius-turned-author isn’t just new to publishing.  He’s a natural Dominant with no BDSM experience, and he’s never been with a woman.

To be fully prepared for interviews, Reuben knows that he needs BDSM experience.  He yearns to get his cherry popped, and he wants to find a submissive.  Brooke deems his “to-do” list feasible.  Willing to take one for the team, she offers to help Reuben develop his Dominant skills, but turning him into a media dream proves to be her nightmare when she finds herself falling for the younger man.

Take an inexperienced geek.  Add one seasoned divorcee.  Throw them together in a haunted house, toss in a playroom, and watch the heat rise.

Written for Ages 18+.

#BDSM #agegap #youngerman #geek #firsttime #OperationGetSome

 

Excerpt 1 (418 words, PG13):

“I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been tasked to accomplish,” he said smoothly.  “Prepare me for the book tour and the interviews that I’ll be doing.  I know my strengths and I know where I’m weakest.  I’m intelligent and articulate but I’m inexperienced in the lifestyle that I write about.  I want to change that.  Now that you’re here, I’m hoping that you’ll help me.”

Brooke sat perfectly still, warning herself to not jump to conclusions.  Her imagination was running wild.  She needed to rein it in.  Hear his thoughts before she said something that she shouldn’t.

Keep things professional, Brooke.

“If I can honestly answer and say that I’ve done at least some of the kinks in Slow Burn, I’ll have the credibility that I’m lacking now.  And please, don’t point out that Agatha Christie never murdered anyone to write her stories.  We both know how brutal the press can be.”

Brooke felt her face flush pink.  She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, pressing her thighs together to ease the sudden ache between them.  Holy shit.  The thought of him… of them… together…, doing the things that she’d dreamed of…

Stop right there.

She realized that they were treading dangerous ground.  She was his personal assistant.  He needed a research assistant for kink.  If he wasn’t a Long Branch author, she’d be the first to volunteer.  But he was, and she couldn’t.

Not without putting her job—her career—in jeopardy.

Or would she?

She was already assigned to him.  Surely she could justify helping him research kink—

Assuming that’s what he was asking.

Maybe she was jumping the gun.  Maybe her imagination was taking her far from where he intended.  She wet her lips and swallowed before responding.  “What do you want from me, Sir?”

He nodded his approval at the honorific.  “I’ve been making connections online with people in the lifestyle who live in the St. Louis area.  Most of them are on the Missouri side of the river.  There are a couple of clubs, but I’d rather start with a private party.  Would you be willing to pose as my submissive?”

Her cheeks reddened.

“Or help me find one?”

What?

Brooke’s breath seized in her chest like an engine with a snapped timing chain.  What the fuck?!  She wanted to rewind, go back to where he asked her to pose as his submissive.  Why would she pimp for him when she was more than willing to take one for the team?

Excerpt 2 (1,173 words, NSFW):

The transformation to a playroom had already begun.  A massive, modern four-poster bed dominated one wall.  The black metal uprights sported rings for bondage.  The mattress was covered in a fitted black leather sheet.  A bench traversed the foot of the bed.  The only other piece of furniture was an antique prie-dieu with a rosary draped over the devotional’s red velvet top and a paddle propped against its side.  The bottom cushion’s matching fabric was worn thin from kneeling.

“Now I’m curious.  Are you Catholic?” she asked.

“No.  Just kinky.”  He cracked a grin, looking at once sheepish and unapologetically naughty.  He reminded her of a parochial student caught studying graffiti on a public restroom wall.  “It seemed the right height for…”

His words trailed off.  She waited until she was certain that he wasn’t going to finish his thoughts.

“For what?  Punishment?”

“Discipline.  Fellatio.  Coitus….”

Paddling.  Blowjobs.  Fucking.  She angled her head, trying to envision it.  “I don’t know,” she said slowly.  He’d made her wonder, though.  Setting her things on the bed, she crossed the room to where the devotional stood.  Curiosity made her kneel on the cushion.

She heard footsteps and looked to find him beside her.  Her nose was nearly even with his navel.

Well, I’ll be damned.

The height wasn’t perfect for a blowjob, but it could be done.  As for fucking…

Rising to her feet, she stepped onto the kneeler and braced her hands on the padded top.

“I was right,” he rumbled, moving behind her.  His voice sounded rougher than normal.

“You were,” she breathed, gasping when he narrowed the distance between them.  He stopped close enough for her to feel the heat of his body without actually touching her.

And she wanted him to touch her, dammit.  They’d spent hours talking, getting to know each other.  She liked him.  Really liked him.  Remembering the last picture that his personal trainer had sent to her, she could envision him covered in sweat, locked in the throes of passion.

Slowly, deliberately, she backed into him, not stopping until her ass was pressed against the hard column of flesh behind his fly.

“Such a naughty girl,” he said, slapping her ass with his hand.  “Teasing me.”  He teased her back, rubbing his erection on her seam.  “I think you need to be spanked.”

She did need a spanking.  She’d been dating vanilla for too damn long.

“I do,” Brooke whispered.  “I do need a spanking, Sir.  I shouldn’t be so forward, but you have no idea what you do to me.  I’m buying batteries in bulk,” she confessed.  “If I’ve ever seemed in a hurry to wrap up a conversation, it’s so I could finish what you started.  Sometimes, I take the edge off before your call so I don’t squirm in my seat while we’re talking.”

She hoped that he would do his own audiobooks.  His voice was perfect for it.  Low.  Slightly rumbly.  That evocative soft Texas drawl became panty-melting when it was supercharged with the passion of his writing.  He sounded hot as fuck when he shared scenes from his current work in progress.  Feeding the Fire promised to be every bit as good as Slow Burn.  Just as sensual and full of suspense.  Another killer with a penchant for kink.

He smacked her ass again.  “With me,” he growled, “or you’ll be adding to your count.  Twenty to start, then we’ll see.”

Jesus.  Was this the same guy that just confessed to being a twenty-five-year-old virgin?  The Dominant-wannabe without any real BDSM experience?  The way he sounded, the way he was acting, she’d never have guessed it.

“Take off your slacks, Brooke.  I want to see my marks on you.”

Oh, God.  They were really going to do this.

Brooke unhooked her waistband, opened the zipper, and pushed down her pants.  They fell to mid-calf, effectively hobbling her feet.

He pulled up the hem of her blouse.  Taking a step back, he looked at his handprint on her bottom—or the part that was exposed anyway.  Most of the heat was under her panties.  She’d thought about shucking them, too, but he hadn’t told her to take them off and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to add to the count. 

He had probably never spanked anyone.  She didn’t know how hard or how easy he’d go with her.

“Count,” he ordered, sounding all Domly, “and thank me.”

Smack!

S-Double H-I-T.  Good God Almighty, the man had a firm hand.

“One, Sir,” she bleated, still feeling the sting of his palm on her ass.  “Thank you, Sir.”

Smack!

He spanked her other cheek, making a matched set of marks.

“Two, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”

Smack!

“Three, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”  If he kept this up, she was going to feel it for days.

The blows kept coming, raining down on her sorry ass until he’d thoroughly blistered her bottom.  She tried not to moan, but near the end, she could feel the start of a delicious disconnect.  The pain transmuted into pleasure.  She found herself arching back to meet his hand.

On the count of twenty, he squeezed her cheeks, making her whimper.  She felt him push two fingers along her crotch and press against her panties.

“You’re wet,” he murmured, his voice full of awe.  Regardless of the scenes that he’d written, he sounded surprised that he’d made her that way.

“Yes, Sir.  I can’t help it.”

“You didn’t come, did you?”

“No, Sir.”

“Why not?” he asked.  New to this, he was naturally curious.

“I don’t know.”

“Was it because I hadn’t given you permission?”

She nearly smiled at that.  “I haven’t been trained in orgasm control.  If you’d kept going and hit me just right, I probably would have climaxed.  My clit’s really sensitive.”

“Do you squirt?”

This, with his fingers sliding farther along her seam until he was pressing against her clitoris.

“Yes.  Not often, but I have before.  It usually takes my magic wand and my nipples being clamped or tormented to get me off that hard.”

“Hmm.”  He pulled back his hand and slid his fingers up to press against her backdoor.  “What about anal?”

“It’s been part of either the best or the worst sex of my life, depending on my partner.  Here’s the thing.  Just because a woman’s soaking wet, that doesn’t mean her ass is ready to receive.  Anal takes preparation.  Most men don’t want to bother.”

“I’m not most men,” he reminded her, pressing against her pucker.  He pulled his hand away and stepped back, breaking contact and leaving her aching and needy.

“Jesus,” he breathed.  “I could almost come right now, just from seeing you like this.”

She looked over her shoulder at him and was singed by the heat in his eyes.

“Tell me, Brooke.  What do you want?”

She wanted to come.  She wanted him to tie her to his bed and fuck her like an animal.  But a good submissive wouldn’t tell him that.

A good submissive would show him.

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Scattered

SCATTERED

by Nia Farrell

Length 12,806 words

Part of the With Love from Dublin (Voyages of the Heart 3) Anthology with Allison LaFleur | Alyssa Drake | Amy Cecil | Amy McKinley | Ashlee Shades | Bella Emy |Brian Miller | Erin Lee | G. L. Finch | Gracie Wilson | Jade Royal | Katherine L.E. White Maria Vickers | Nia Farrell | Rosie Chapel | Roux Cantrell | Samatha Harris

 

Release Date September 26, 2019

Universal link https://books2read.com/u/4NQjk9

Teasers and Excerpt http://bit.ly/VOTHAnthologies

Fulfilling a deathbed promise, photographer Eve Spencer scatters her mother’s ashes on a journey that ends in Dublin.  She hopes to make peace with her past there and finds her future instead.

Conall Whelan is from a family of faoladh—Irish wolf shifters who provide protection and guidance.  He recognizes Eve as his fated mate but to claim her, he must keep her safe from an Unseelie Court fae who’s followed her from the Dark Hedges.

A paranormal shifter erotic romance, written for Ages 18+

Excerpt:

“Eve, I don’t care if ye hold a black belt in something and can defend yerself better than most.  I’m asking ye to do me a favor.  Stay until we’re done playing.  Please,” he begged, a note of pleading in the timbre of his voice.  “If worry gets hold, I fear that words will flee and meh tongue will fail.”

He was talking about singing, but thoughts of what else he could do with his tongue and those incredibly sensual hands of his made her squirm in her seat.  Damn it.  If she’d worn jeans, she might be able to get the seam just right and rock herself off when the music started again.

Conall grabbed his beer and drank deeply, throat muscles working while she watched in rapt fascination.

He caught her looking and leaned on the table, making his own interest known.  “Wait for me,” he crooned.  The tone of his voice and the panty-melting look he gave her made it easy to overlook his earlier attitude.  “I’ll make certain that ye get home safe and sound.”

She didn’t want “safe and sound”.  For once, she wanted to be as wild and reckless as her mother.

Trying to not think about stranger danger and horror stories of tourists going missing on vacation, she dared to meet his gaze.  His eyes were this fascinating mix of color—predominantly blue edging to gray with amber ringing the centers.  Laugh lines at the corners attested to his sense of humor.  He was polite, well-known, and well-liked, judging from his interactions with others.

All things considered, she decided that she could trust him.

When in Rome.

Or Dublin.

Eve was alone in a strange city, sitting with the most attractive man she’d ever met.  The air between them practically crackled with electricity.

He’d offered to walk her home.  He was clearly interested in her, but he hadn’t asked for more.

And she wanted more, dammit.

She could almost hear her mother’s voice in her head.  Fortune favors the bold.

Eve drew a breath and centered herself.  In her mind, she pictured the two of them together.  She looked at his lips and wondered how they would feel ravishing her mouth and feasting on her flesh.  She remembered his fingers weaving magic with his guitar and imagined his hands discovering her body.

What it would be like to have this gorgeous man surging inside her, filling her beyond measure?

When she spoke again, she barely recognized her voice, grown husky with arousal.

“My place or yours?” she asked.

Her question surprised him.  Hell, it surprised her.  Living with her mother, watching men and women come and go but never stay for long, she’d decided she was more like her father.  Patrick Doyle Spencer had been more passionate about screenwriting than anything else in his life, including his wife.

They’d divorced when Eve was four.

He angled his head, considering.  “Does it matter?”

It didn’t.  Not really.  She’d spent too many nights alone.  Her last boyfriend abandoned her when he graduated from college.  She’d learned it on social media after he’d unfriended and blocked her.

It was one more reason to hate the internet that her mother was forcing her to use.

Thankfully, Conall wasn’t Jacob.  He was a gorgeous Irish musician with Ed Sheeran’s voice and Eric Clapton’s hands.

She couldn’t wait to feel them on her.

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VOYAGES OF THE HEART ANTHOLOGIES…

Cities around the world have their own charming allure which pulls you in, allowing you to enjoy their secrets. They offer love, passion, laughter, healing, and even heartache.

The authors have penned these emotions and more into their stories one page at a time. Pack your luggage to join us on our voyage of the heart. Our next destination: Dublin!

WITH LOVE FROM DUBLIN

 

This voyage of love encompasses romance with an Irish twist that will have you kissing the Blarney Stone for a chance at true love. Being the perfect city to explore, each story is bound to bring you surprises along the journey. Ancient, present, and future combine when hearts mend together, forming their own traditions of song and dance. Known for its culture, power, and intelligence, Dublin will lure you into its magical grasp. Are you ready to risk your heart in Dublin?

 

LIST OF AUTHORS:

Allison LaFleur | Alyssa Drake | Amy Cecil | Amy McKinley | Ashlee Shades | Bella Emy  Brian Miller | Erin Lee | G. L. Finch | Gracie Wilson | Jade Royal | Katherine L.E. White Maria Vickers | Nia Farrell | Rosie Chapel | Roux Cantrell | Samatha Harris

 

BUY LINK:

https://books2read.com/u/4NQjk9

 

OTHER BOOKS IN THIS SERIES:

With Love From London. AVAILABLE IN KU!  https://books2read.com/b/389wPr

With Love From New Orleans. AVAILABLE IN KU! https://books2read.com/b/mKEkNL

 

 

ANTHOLOGY LINKS:

Page: http://bit.ly/VOTHFB

Readers Group: http://bit.ly/VOTHReaders

IG: http://bit.ly/VOTHIG

Website: http://bit.ly/VOTHAnthology

 

MORE (AVENGING ANGELS MC BOOK 5)

Handsome fit man posing wearing in jeans with tattoo. Sport and fashion concept isolated on black background.

MORE: AVENGING ANGELS MC BOOK 5

by Nia Farrell

More is a dark romance with the club assassin Iceman and Holly Webster, mother of Reaper’s three-year-old grandson Zachariah.  Desperate to provide for her asthmatic son, Holly borrows money from the cash drawer at Angel Ink but is caught before she can replace it.  The club assassin sent to take care of her doesn’t know what she has a child until the night he comes to kill her. 

Iceman finds himself with an instant family when he decided to keep Holly instead.

Here’s a bit of their first morning together with her precocious but health-challenged three-year-old son…

Unedited excerpt: 
Remembering this morning’s fiasco, he’d kept an eye on Zach while his mother took a fast shower to wash away the smell of tuna.
Kids.
Hers was bright. Flipping through pages, he recited books to his teddy bear from memory and entertained himself with games that she’d loaded on his reader. At one point, he’d brought his tablet over to Iceman, sat by his right arm, and studied his ink, fascinated by his stylized tribute to his favorite band, Guns and Roses.
Holly came back dressed in the same clothes but definitely smelling fresher. He realized that he’d forgotten to tell her to shave her cunt.
She slowed her steps when she saw his frown. “Is everything okay?” she asked hesitantly, afraid that one or both of them were in trouble.
“Yeah,” he said, scratching his chin. “I was gonna tell you to shave. Maybe tonight, once we get Little Bit here in bed.”
“Lidduw Bit?” This, from an affronted Zachariah. “I’m a big boy!” he declared, beating a tiny fist against his chest. “Mommy, teww him!”
“Zach, why don’t we ask Iceman where he came up with Little Bit? Maybe there’s a story.”
“There is,” he said, turning to her son. “This whole time your mommy was gone, anytime you asked me how long she’d be, what did I say?”
Zach stuck out his lower lip and furrowed his brow, trying to remember. “You said she’d be done in a lidduw bit.”
Iceman nodded. “In my club, everyone who joins gets a road name. But even prospects get called something.”
He nodded as if he understood, then stated, “I’m Zach and Mommy’s Lidduw Bit.”
Fuck if the kid wasn’t on to something. Iceman could hear himself. I want a Little Bit. I need a Little Bit. Give me a Little Bit.
He grinned unrepentantly at Holly. “You heard him. You’re Little Bit. But the boy here still needs a handle.”
Zach framed his face in his hands and thought about it hard.
“What does your mom call you,” Iceman asked him, “when she doesn’t call you Zachariah or Zach?”
“Big boy… and sweetie…,” he said. Wrinkling his nose, he rejected that from consideration. “And bucko….”
Iceman slapped his denim-covered thigh. “Well, there we go. Little Bit and Bucko. Congratulations. You both got club names.”
Holly shook her head, amused by her son.
Tossing his reader onto the seat, Zach launched himself at Iceman, throwing his arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely.
“Thank you, Iceman!” he chortled. “I’m Bucko!”
At least it was a name that he could say, no r’s or l’s to struggle through. Chances were, the sounds would come with age and practice. If not, they’d have to check into getting him speech therapy.
He didn’t stutter, so he had that much going for him.

girl-603157 AAMC5 Zachariah

This is my WIP. I’ll post links as soon as they’re available. Meanwhile, enjoy the teasers!

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CASEY – GUARDED HEARTS BOOK 2

 

CASEY: GUARDED HEARTS BOOK 2

by Claire Marta and Nia Farrell

Length: 81,000 words

Cover Reveal February 2, 2020. Release Date March 13, 2020.

Amazon Universal Link http://mybook.to/GH2Casey

Amazon US ebook     Amazon UK ebook     Goodreads reviews

Guarded Hearts Series Pinterest Board http://bit.ly/GHSPins

 

Malik Nassir and Iosefa Malvia are members of the Order of the Phoenix, an international cadre of shifters headquartered in a former military academy known as the Citadel. Charged with protecting the first fated mate of their brothers, the two become smitten with her roommate and best friend.

Casey Andersson is an ATF Special Agent who leads a double life. When Malik and Iosefa discover her secret—Casey is a submissive and a member of an exclusive club —they’re determined to learn how to master her. 

Trouble is, she’s already being dominated by Master S (aka Ivan Michalov). They don’t know that the Russian Dominant has a secret agenda to claim Casey and keep her. Promising to help find her brother’s killer, Ivan leads her on a dangerous path into the heart of a deadly organization. Can Malik and Iosefa save her from the dark fate that’s already been written out for her or will they be too late?

This second standalone book in the Guarded Hearts Series is a darker PNR shifter romance with potential triggers. MFM mènage written for Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt (NSFW):

“Clothes off,” he ordered, “then standing presentation pose.”

Nudity was something that Casey had had to get used to. She still wasn’t perfectly comfortable with it, but she did it anyway. It was required if she wanted to play with Master S, and she did with something akin to desperation. She craved the release that she knew he could give her.

He never failed to deliver.

Picking up a set of fur-lined leather cuffs from his collection, he turned to see her bared C-cup breasts and wet, swollen sex and nodded his approval. He fastened one cuff around each of her wrists and knelt to fasten them around her ankles. Done, he slid his fingers up the back of her legs as he rose, breathing in the scent of her arousal and stealing a taste of it as he passed.

That simple swipe of his tongue nearly undid her. It had been too long since she’d been fucked. Longer yet since a man had eaten her out and made her come. It wouldn’t take much to bathe his face with her juices.

Rising to his full commanding height, Master S fastened his gaze on the globes of her breasts and pinched her nipple. He tightened his fingers and used his grip to pull her into place facing the cross. Grasping her wrists, he raised her arms over her head and splayed them on the X-shaped cross, fastening one to the top of each side. He kicked her feet apart and fastened her ankles as well.

He left for a moment and returned with more things.  Her brow creased when she felt him press a handkerchief into her hand.  She shuddered to see a ball gag dangling from his other fingers.

Casey loathed gags with a passion that bordered on hatred. It was one of her near-limits, allowed only with prior negotiation and with someone she implicitly trusted. She’d played with Master S for three months now, public scenes only with orgasm control but no sex. He knew how she felt about ball gags. Was this a test, to see how much control she was willing to let him have? To judge how much power he’d gained over her?  Just how far would she let him go?

Before tonight, each time he invited her to his private room, she’d said no.

Tonight, she could feel her resolve weakening. Flog her just right, and she might just crumble.

Master S arched a brow.

Casey nodded her acquiescence, not having permission to speak.

His expressive mouth canted upward. If a ball gag earned her half a smile, what would it take to make him happy?

Fisting her hair, he held her head immobile with one hand and pushed the ball between her lips with his other. He let go of her hair long enough to fasten the gag, then took hold of it again and wrapped his fingers around her throat, tightening them just enough to remind her who called the shots in this scene. As a sub, the ultimate control rested with her, but during the scene, he was in command.

She welcomed surrender. She needed to empty her mind and let go of everything that she’d been carrying these past few weeks. Worry about Morgan. Suspicions about the Citadel. Concern for the growing illegal arms trade. Knowing that Malik and Iosefa had been in her room and uncovered her secret.

She needed this. Needed the release that he could give her.

He took off his tailored coat and hung it on a wall hook. Unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves, he rolled them halfway to his elbow, exposing colorful tattoos on his forearms.

Casey eyed the muscle definition and thought of all the times that she’d seen him flogging and whipping other submissives in the club. There was an artistry to his scenes, poetry in motion when he got in the zone. Tonight, she had the chance to experience it with him. After months of playing coy, she was ready for more.

Master S did not disappoint.

He spanked her with his hand. Put clothespins on her body and ripped them away. Added nipple clamps and sent her nearly into subspace with a flogging. The single-tail whip did it. The pain of its bite transformed into pleasure. Casey found that delicious disconnect and started to float away. Only Master S’s presence kept her there. Stepping closer, he pressed his hips against her sore behind and pushed his erection into her crack, letting her feel his arousal. Caging her ear in his teeth, he grazed the tips of her nipples with his fingernails and made her whimper past the drool that escaped to drip from her chin onto the floor.

“Kiska,” he murmured, sending a riot of gooseflesh cascading up her arm. “Would you like to come? Shall I give you the release you crave? Come to my room, and I will do more than that. Da?”

God, she was tempted. They were both vetted. There was nothing to stop her except her need for control that she had never quite fully surrendered.

He thrust a finger into her pussy and started fucking her with it. “I’d love to plug you,” he growled, pumping his hand. “Adorn you with a jewel and sink my prick into your cunt and spend myself inside you. I’ll use a condom this time, but I’d love to see your thighs dripping with my seed.”

Casey whimpered, so empty, she hurt.

 

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Fallen

Muscular man come back from army

FALLEN

by Nia Farrell

Part of the Wounded Heroes Anthology with Pam Ackerson, Debra Parmley, Teri Riggs, Maggie Adams, and Nia Farrell

Cover Reveal October 3, 2019

Release Date November 7, 2019

Tagline: An Army chaplain priest’s faith is tested when he falls for his PTSD therapist.

Blurb: Army chaplain Father Vincent Delaney survived ISIS captivity but now suffers from PTSD.  He didn’t break under torture, but his faith is tested again when he finds himself falling for his exotically beautiful therapist.

Psychologist Ilsa Fischer is a multiracial Army brat who resembles her Sikh grandfather.  As a medical professional, it’s illegal to get involved with a patient.  Falling for a priest is the ultimate taboo.

It doesn’t help when she knows that Father Vincent wants her, too.

A happy-for-now taboo romance with a heat level of five, written for Ages 18+.

 

Excerpt:

Ilsa Fischer was his obsession.

Father Andrew, the pastor of St. Margaret’s, had listened to his confession and assigned him penance.  Father Vincent found the feel of his rosary comforting.  The rounds of Hail, Mary’s were cathartic.  Knowing his situation, Father Andrew had encouraged him to linger longer, to find solace in the arms of the Church and see if he could bear to step into the other side of the confessional after he’d had to leave the door open on his.

It was one thing to be a penitent, seeking forgiveness and absolution.  But to be a confessor was to serve as God’s voice on earth.  It was a privilege and a responsibility that he did not feel worthy to perform with such stains upon his soul.  He’d strayed far enough in his mind to feel lost.  So far he hadn’t managed to find his way back home.  Instead, he’d been wandering like Moses in the Wilderness, helpless to help himself let alone those around him.

Father Vincent inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scents of incense, burned-out candles, and lemon oil wood polish rising from the rows of pews and the walnut confessional on one side of the nave.  Dating from the nineteenth century, the ornate cabinet had been designed and built to suit the patron who’d paid for much of the church’s construction.  Solid doors ensured privacy for those seeking absolution and allowed the priest to closet himself from the world and focus on the person on the other side of the screened partition.  He had used the padded kneeler when he confessed to Father Andrew, but a chair had been added for those who needed it.

God called him to notice the place of forgiveness.  Compelled to answer, he reached for the confessional door.

A time-worn bench spanned the back of the space, empty, beckoning, drawing him inside.  The walls started to close in.  He drew a steadying breath and recited the Twenty-Third Psalms.  Called to be a shepherd, he thought of his last flock and wondered how many survived.

He should pray for their souls.

And his.

Father Vincent closed his eyes and drew the door shut behind him.  With his thoughts turned inward, he was able to tolerate the small space of the confessional and lift up his unit in prayer.  He was asking for strength for himself when the sound of footsteps made him halt mid-thought.

The other door opened and closed, sealing the parishioner inside.

Panic gripped his chest, stealing his breath and squeezing his heart.  This wasn’t his parish.  This wasn’t his church.

He shouldn’t be here.  He was an imposter.  An interloper.  A sinner as in need of forgiveness as the other person who had come seeking it.

He’d been alone in the church when he’d entered the confessional.  Whoever had come in didn’t know that Father Andrew had gone.  He forced himself to stay silent.  If they thought that no one was here, they’d leave him alone.

If he pretended to be asleep, maybe they’d torture someone else.

Just that fast, he was back in his pit, starved, dehydrated, with flea bites and burn marks covering his skin like the plague.  He swallowed a whimper, choking on it, silently keening, praying to die.

The memory of Ilsa’s voice pulled him back from the hellhole of Iraq to awareness of where he was.  The walls started to close in on him again.  He reached for the door, intending to apologize and flee.

“Forgive me, Father.  I’m sorry.  I don’t know how this works.”

Father Vincent froze, recognizing the silken voice that had eased him from more than one episode and had slipped him into an altered state when she’d talked him into being hypnotized.  He thought that he had imagined it, but Ilsa was here, on the other side of the screen.

Ilsa was here.

 

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