Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Scars & Tats by Kristi Pelton




Title: Scars and Tats
Author: Kristi Pelton
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: February 21, 2017



Blurb


Scars are tattoos with better stories… 

A scarred, lonely woman
A curious little boy
One uninvited, tattooed guest
A nasty blizzard
One cabin
Two guns

A set of handcuffs 

What could possibly go wrong? 

Mela McKinley fled with her infant son and disappeared four years ago trying to heal the awful scars inside and out. Taking refuge in the mountains of Colorado, not one person had come near their secluded doorstep… though she was prepared for a fight. 

In the middle of a historic blizzard, little Beck points out the window to a figure approaching in the snow. After hiding Beck…and fully armed, Mela confronts Jackson Winslow and has zero reservations about shooting him, if necessary. 

Ultimately, saving him from the forces of nature, she takes the uninvited stranger prisoner in her home holding the upper hand. While cautiously tending to him, she realizes how much she has missed a man—though this scarred and tattooed man is not who he seems. Once he has invaded her thoughts in a delicious way, her guard is down and suddenly, the tables are turned and now…it’s his turn.

What she doesn’t know is who he really is and what he brings to her doorstep.








Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU





Trailer




Excerpt

If only it were still Christmas, I thought, in awe of the amount of snow that had fallen through the morning hours this spring. Beck in his newly four-year-old way pressed his forehead against the floor-to-ceiling window, watching in wonder as his breath formed a pillow of condensation that quickly disappeared. Over and over again.

The teakettle whistled, and I fingered through his hair as I walked past.

“Momma. Snow.”

I laughed. “Yes, buddy. Lots of snow.”

The whistle of the kettle faded when I pulled it from the heat, pouring Beck a hot chocolate and me my tea. The two ice cubes in his mug began to melt instantly.

“Momma, Layne.”

Stirring honey into my tea, I put one more ice cube in his cup and carried the miniature marshmallows over to him.

“No, buddy. We won’t see Layne today,” I explained, sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, which needed wood.

“Layne is right there,” he said, tapping the window.

A sudden chill shuddered up my spine as the hair on the back of my neck stood. In slow motion, my eyes moved to where Beck pointed. The figure stood a hundred yards away, thigh deep in snow. My heart began to pound. The pack on his back showed over his shoulders. I watched through the glass as the steps he tried to take led him in the direction of the cabin.

Sitting my mug on the end table, a jolt of panic shot through me but was quickly calmed by a wave of courage—of confidence.

“Beck. Come here. Now.” My words were terse, and he immediately padded over to me.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know who this is, and my job is what?”

“To protect me?” he asked.

“Yes.” I nodded. “To protect you. Always.”

He smiled.

“Go. Go now to your cubbyhole. You know where your food is. You know where the water bottles are. You don’t come out until Mommy comes to get you.”

“Or Layne!” he shouted.

“Yes. Or Layne. But you and Layne have a code word and no one else knows that word. So don’t come out unless you hear that word. Got it?” Tears started to sting my eyes, but I fought with every ounce of my being not let them win.

“Yes. Go now?”

“Yep! Go now, buddy. I love you.”

“I love you more!” he yelled as he ran to his hiding spot.

The moment he was gone from my view, I turned my sights on our visitor. Thank God the snow was causing him to struggle. I unhinged the loaded shotgun from the back of the front door, then retrieved the forty-caliber from behind the coffee mugs. Both guns were pumped and cocked with the chambers full in a matter of seconds. Without a coat, I stepped out onto the porch.

“Turn around right now and go back the way you came. Follow your tracks!” I yelled.

He stopped, held his hands out to the side and swayed a bit in the wind. “I need help.” His voice was muffled from the scarf covering his mouth.

“You won’t find that here. Move along,” I shouted, then tucked the pistol into my pants. Raising the shotgun to my shoulder, I nestled it tight, resting my cheek against the cold steel while I sighted him down the barrel. The pistol would be a better choice—but the shotgun may have more effect. Rock’s mom had taught me well.

“Please,” he said weakly, swaying again.

I watched as the snow cascaded. There was no wind.

“Mister. I’m warning you now. Don’t come closer.”

After another strenuous step in the near three-foot-deep snow, he stumbled backward—falling. He lay there for a minute. Hurriedly, I seized the opportunity to grab the binoculars—Beck’s toy, plastic ones, but they worked nonetheless.

Bursts of steam puffed from his mouth straight into the air. One hand rose weakly, then collapsed back down, disappearing into the powdery snow. Through the scratched-up binoculars, I watched as he mustered up enough energy to heave himself upright. Still sitting, he pulled the scarf away from his mouth exposing red, swollen lips. Quickly, I lowered the binoculars, taking him in more thoroughly. His shoes and legs were hidden in the snow. Chunks of snow clung to the North Face jacket he wore. His eyes were heavy…thick lids blinked deliberately and sluggishly.

Snow fell so heavily…a thin blanket covered him in the minute I stood frozen. Making a hasty decision, I dashed into the house once again and grabbed the handcuffs Rock’s mom had given me. From the time I darted inside to when I got back out, he hadn’t moved. Just inside the door, I clicked my snowshoes in place and threw my coat on. The pistol tucked tightly into my waistband, handcuffs in my coat pocket, and ski poles in hand…I began my trek toward him.

When I purchased the snowshoes, I had no real intention of wearing them too terribly much but they’d been on my feet more than I thought they would. Our unwanted visitor was still on his back with little to no movement. His breaths were visible in the puffs of steam in the air.

“Please don’t shoot me,” he begged albeit weakly.

“Why are you here?”

“I got caught in the storm.”

Frozen snot trailed over his upper lip.

“Why were you out here? I mean to begin with. What brought you here? There’re no trails this way.” My demanding questions spewed out quickly.

The puffs of air turned to short raspy pants.

“Lost. I…just…wanted—to get lost.”

I didn’t believe him. Anger consumed me as my hand trembled when I reached to touch him. Be strong always. The second my fingertips brushed his fiery skin; I sucked in a quick breath. He was burning up. Fever. Damn it!

Instantly, I turned around hoofing it back to the cabin and yanked Becks sled out of the corner of the front porch. Within a minute, I was back at his side. A low groan slid up his throat as I lifted him by the shoulders and scooted his upper body onto the sled. After I’d boosted his legs over, I began the trek back to the cabin remembering Beck was still in hiding. My quads and glutes burned from the haul.

Once I pulled him to the porch clearing the steps, I took a minute to breathe. Thank God, I’d trained enough to be able to heave his ass up there. He seemed to have lost consciousness at some point because as I cuffed him, he didn’t flinch. It wasn’t until I’d lugged him inside next to the fire that I exposed his hands—finding bluish tinted fingers. Instinctively, I blew on them as if they were Beck’s little fingers and I’d done that a hundred times when he’d gotten cold. How could this man’s fingers be so cold yet he was burning up with fever?

I tossed his gloves near the fire so they could dry out and warm up. The sooner I could get him out of here, the better. His fingers were swollen.

I hustled toward the hideout. “Beck!” I shouted with a whisper. “WOD. It’s ok. Come here. Mommy needs your help.”

When I pulled off the man’s stocking cap, I was captivated for a moment by his face. Though his cheeks appeared sunken in and dark rings circled his eyes, he was a beautifully, rugged man. His thick brows matched the overgrown beard. The tip of his nose was shiny and bright.

“Mommy. Who is that?”

Directing my attention toward Beck, I gave him a serious look.

“This man is sick. I need you to get me two of your cereal bowls of warm water. Not hot, ok?”

He nodded eagerly, and I watched him grab his stool and heave it into the kitchen. I felt awful keeping the man handcuffed, but I couldn’t take a chance with someone I didn’t know. I heard the water running in the kitchen and, in this moment, I was proud of the way I’d raised Beck. He needed to be independent if necessary—even if at barely four years old.

Hustling to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, I grabbed the lip butter and the ibuprofen. I darted to the kitchen and snagged a bottle of water from the fridge.

“How’s it going?”

“Good,” Beck said, walking slowly trying not to spill any water from his miniature cereal bowls—his tiny hands could barely manage.

We met near the visitor. I took the bowls from Beck.

“Nice job, buddy. Thank you.”

When Beck knelt next to him, my heart skipped a beat. Gripping Beck’s shoulders, I shook him just enough to keep his attention and for him to realize I meant business.

“We don’t know him, Beck. You must keep your distance from him. Deal?”

He nodded, backing up. “Pickle,” he whispered.

I shook my head. “You are so silly. It’s dill not deal.”

My beautiful son smiled, then found a seat on the sofa.

Kneeling next to the stranger, I balanced the bowls of water on his thighs, and then rested his fingers in the water. I tipped his head, angling his neck so his face pointed toward the ceiling. I attempted to pour some of the water through his parted lips. He instantly sputtered and choked—liquid coming back out, but thankfully his eyes opened.

“Mister,” I said.

His glossy eyes tried to focus.

“I need you to swallow this.” I kept his head upright, dropped three ibuprofen into his mouth and then tipped the bottle to his lips. When I saw his Adam’s apple jut out and back in, I knew he’d swallowed them. That was a start.

“Mommy. What’s his name?” Beck asked from the sofa.

His jeans were wet. Jeans? How ill prepared was this idiot for the storm? After I moved the bowls of water, I unfastened his jeans and began tugging them off. The elastic band of his underwear read Armani. Perfect…wealthy and dumb.

I fought looking at his crotch but the damn trunks hugged him tightly, and honestly, there was no ignoring the relaxed bulge. Once I had his jeans off, I laid them out in front of the fire, adding more wood, and then covered his lower half with a quilt. Out of sight, out of mind. And I certainly didn’t need Beck asking questions.

His lips were in pretty bad condition so I slathered a thick layer of the lip butter over them. His lower lip was full…plump. Jesus… narcolepsy really wasn’t my thing. But, hey, he was only unconscious not dead

“Mommy. What’s his name?”

“I’m sorry, Beck. I don’t know. Hold on a sec.”

I reached for his jeans, and, sure enough, the back pocket held a wallet. When I opened it, a Colorado driver’s license lay behind a thin piece of plastic.

“His name is Jackson,” I announced. “Jackson Winslow,” I whispered beneath my breath and stole a long glance at our bearded stranger.

For the first time, I noticed his hair was longer on one side. This man…this stranger was stunningly handsome. Ruggedly beautiful. I shook my head trying to erase any desire. It had been so long since I had felt the touch of a man. Yet, this man could have been sent here to find us…to hurt us…to take Beck. He was off limits.

Night was falling and the moon cast a beautiful reflection off the three-foot blanket of snow. Beck and I played checkers at the kitchen table. The flickering light of the fireplace flung shadows over the walls. Our stranger seemed to be resting peacefully.

Even though I felt bad for him being cuffed, my sole purpose for living sat across from me, and I had to do whatever was necessary to protect him.

“Buddy. Want to sleep in the hideout?”

Beck’s eyes about bulged out of his head.

“Can I?”

I stood up. “Yep. Let’s get you in there and situated.”

Beck hopped out of his chair, dashing up to his room. There wasn’t anything that could make me smile bigger than witnessing his enthusiasm for life. The boy was a spitting image of his father. Most days that was good.

There was no way of knowing or even speculating what the night could hold…so I told Beck he could come out if he needed.

Once he was hunkered down under his covers, inside his tent, with his night light on…I closed the door. I hustled to my bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face, threw on my comfy sweats to sleep in, then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before I stared blankly at the heap of man on my living room floor.

When my eyes finally adjusted to the glow from the fireplace, I noticed Jackson twitching. As I crept closer, I saw he wasn’t twitching; his body shook with tremors. Instinctively, the back of my fingers felt his forehead. Wow. He was burning up. Again.

Immediately, I ran to the kitchen, wetting a rag with cold water. Back in the living room, his eyes shot wide as the cold material made contact with his skin.

A small groan echoed up his throat, but as fast as his eyes opened, they closed. Without thinking, I yanked all the covers off of his body. I hated the ignorance of the—smother the fever philosophy. His body needed to cool down…quickly. Leaving him uncovered and with the cloth on his forehead, I got another bottle of water and snatched both the ibuprofen and the thermometer from the cupboard.

When I slid the digital thermometer between his lips, I realized some of the redness was gone. The lip butter was helping. Once again, his eyes opened. For the briefest of moments, our eyes met before his closed again.

At 104, the thermometer stopped blinking.

“Wow,” I whispered out loud, turning the cloth on his forehead to the cooler side.

“Wow,” he moaned or ow, I’m not sure which, but it caused me to sit back a bit, distancing myself. “Aaah.”

My stranger seemed delirious. The fever. It had to be the fever.

“Jackson. I need you to swallow these.” I lifted his head and slid my folded legs beneath him. I dropped four capsules in his mouth, then as gently as possible, I slapped his cheek…his beard was rough to my fingers, but regardless, his eyes opened.

I tipped the cold bottle of water to his lips. “Swallow,” I demanded, and he did. And once again, our eyes connected. Even though I stared down at him, and he was upside down to me, the force of whatever passed between us triggered me to drop his head and jerk away.

What the living hell? Did I know him? My left hand trembled as I set the water bottle next to him. Not that he could drink it. Both his hands were bound by metal. The clock read 10:15. The fever should be down within an hour. I’d check on him them. Other than that, I wanted nothing to do with him.

Sitting on the sofa, my eyes flickered back and forth between the fire and him. I heard Layne’s words in my ear. Information is good. Always find out what you can. I uncovered and picked up Jackson’s wallet from where I left it earlier.

Colorado drivers license. His picture was perfect. Who’s drivers license pic looked that good? Thirty-one years old. Six foot two. One hundred ninety pounds. Blue eyes. Organ donor. Ian was an organ donor and I had no idea if his organs were donated. If he was living inside someone else…

This man had no pictures of girls, family, kids, no pictures at all.

One Visa card.

One American Express card.

And some sort of ID. His picture—he looked younger but still strikingly handsome. United States Attorney. This man was an attorney. My mind raced in a thousand directions. I dropped his wallet at my feet. What brought this attorney in our direction? I couldn’t help but wonder if he came intentionally to my cabin or if this was some kind of fluke. But, if this man was looking for a fight…a war…he came to the right doorstep. I was ready.





Author Bio

Just the fact that someone may be reading my ‘bio’ thrills me. What does one say in an author bio? Well, I LOVE to write! Sometimes characters talk to me in my head (in a non-psychotic way) and I have to get what they are saying out on paper! So, here we are! 😊

I am a part-time juvenile probation officer and full time wife…but I spend the majority of the time helping my two favorite sons (only 2) navigate through life and hopefully become the best humans they can be.

I am a huge fan of the Kansas Jayhawks, the Oregon Ducks and the 2016 World Series Champs—the Chicago Cubs! (I have a dog named Wrigley)

I’m terribly addicted to music—ALLLLL kinds and driving in the car with the sunroof open and radio turned up helps the creative juices flow.

I am deliciously addicted to queso, Dr. Pepper, and cupcakes; but even with all that…I like to slowly kill my body with Crossfit.

People ask me ‘what has been your favorite book to write’—I would have to say my original series. (I think it sold 100 copies) 😊 Someday…I may have to tweak them a bit because my heart was poured into those books—but they need help! Slick was my Amazon best seller…but every one of them mean something to me.

In the end, I truly believe life is taken way too seriously by most…I say enjoy every moment, have an adult beverage and READ!! Cheers….



 Author Links

Damage Control by Lisa Renee Jones Release Blitz & Giveaway

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Damage Control (Dirty Money Book 2) by Lisa Renee Jones Release Date: February 21st Genre: Contemporary Romance

damagecontrol

Wall Street meets the Sons of Anarchy in Damage Control, the smoldering, scorching next novel in the explosively sexy Dirty Money series.

The only thing more dangerous than a dark secret is a damaged heart…
Shane Brandon has been pushed to the brink, torn between his corrupt family and his explosive, all-consuming desire for Emily Stevens, who he now knows is not who, and what, she seems. Has he trusted the wrong person? Will she, not his brother Derek, be the ultimate destruction of his family Empire?
Emily tries to run from Shane, but he will stop her, confront her, force her to reveal all — one hot touch and kiss at a time, under every intimate detail of who this woman is, and what she wants, is exposed. But as he tears away the dangers of the unknowns with the woman in his bed, and in his heart, The Martina Cartel has set their sights on his company, his family, and the one piece of leverage they believe he won’t gamble with: Emily.
an

Read Today!

Add to GoodReads: https://goo.gl/Cmv8pT

“You make me remember I need to be good and right in my choices.”
“Do you ever question doing what is good and right?”
“There have been times when I felt like my hand was forced.”
“When you were a lawyer?”
“No,” I say. “I manipulated the law, as does every attorney, but I never broke it. I’m talking about when I’m with my family.”
“Did you go where they lead?”
“Not so far.”
“That sounds like you might.”
“I don’t want to be them.”
“You aren’t them. You don’t have to be them.”
“I know that,” I say. “But you just keep telling me so I don’t forget.” Her legs hit the bed frame and she grips my arms.
I lean into a kiss and she pulls back, her hand pressing on my chest. “Wait. Now it’s my turn to say talk to me. Are you okay?”
“Death happened. The one thing I can’t control. It’s not the night to push me to stop protecting you. Not tonight. Can you do that?”
“Yes. We can.”
“We,” I repeat, “and that word sounds as good on my tongue as I know you’re going to taste. I’m going to make love to you properly. The way I plan to many times in our future.” I reach down and untie her robe, letting it fall open; my fingers sliding underneath just far enough to tease her nipples. They pucker beneath my touch, and her lashes flutter, settling on her cheeks. “But when it’s over, I’m going to fuck you hard and fast again.”
I tug gently on her nipples and she bites her lips. “Look at me,” I order gently.
She opens her eyes, and there is desire in their depths, but there are shadows there too,. I do not think she intends for me to see doubt or uncertainty that wasn’t there before. That I do not like or wish to know ever again. I want it gone. Now. Tomorrow. Forever. I reach up and rip the silk tie from her robe, wrapping it around my hand, before I reach up and caress the robe off her shoulder, letting it tumble to the ground.
“Give me your hands,” I order, but it’s really a question: Does she still trust me?
She studies me for several beats, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, and I do not know what she sees in mine, but she offers me her hands. I wrap the silk around her wrists then lean in close to her, my cheek against her cheek, my body touching her nowhere else. “Now you’re at my mercy.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “I am.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“Warm.”
My lips curve with the answer that is every bit the combination of sweet sexy honesty I’ve come to expect from her. “I’m going to make you warmer.”
“Promise?”
I go still with that question, which on the surface is innocent, but I wonder if it truly is or if it’s about those shadows in her eyes. “I promise,” I say. “And you know, I never—”
“Make a promise you don’t keep.”
“Exactly,” I say, and her reference to my previous words tells me that I am not the only one on a mission of trust, and I intend to deserve hers.
I bring my hands to just above her shoulders, letting them lightly touch her before beginning a slow caress downward. She makes a soft little sound that has my cock thickening and my blood running hot, but I won’t rush this. My lips follow, tracing a line down one of her arms, then the other. I lean and caress my lips over hers, a feather light touch that teases me, if not her.
I take her hands in mine, pressing them behind her head. “Hold them there, for me, so I can see all of you. Understand?”
“You intend to tease me incessantly,” she says, without so much as a hint of hesitation. “Yes. I understand.”
I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her naked body against me, my free hand on hers above her head, our mouths a breath apart. “I intend to lick every part of you, and then do it again, so yes. If that’s the definition of incessant teasing, then yes. I am going to tease you incessantly.” I close my mouth down on hers, my tongue licking into her mouth, a deep, hungry tasting I force myself to end far too quickly. “That was the beginning. Should I could continue?”
“Yes. Please.”

“Please,” I say. “I like that.”

power

Start the Series Today!

Hard Rules (Dirty Money 1)
Add to GoodReads: https://goo.gl/LZQ7OQ

Preorder for Bad Deeds (Dirty Money 3)

About the Author:

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series. Suzanne Todd (producer of Alice in Wonderland) on the INSIDE OUT series: Lisa has created a beautiful, complicated, and sensual world that is filled with intrigue and suspense. Sara’s character is strong, flawed, complex, and sexy - a modern girl we all can identify with. In addition to the success of Lisa's INSIDE OUT series, Lisa has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is presently working on a dark, edgy new series, Dirty Money, for St. Martin's Press. Prior to publishing Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women's Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine. Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at www.lisareneejones.com and she is active on Twitter and Facebook daily.
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Connect with the Author:

Twitter: @LisaReneeJones
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YALit Giveaway Giveaway Party!

YALit Giveaway Event!
A bunch of authors who got together to bring you a YOUNG ADULT Big Box of Paperbacks Giveaway! One lucky winner is going to win FIFTY (50) Young Adult Paperback Books! How’s that for an epic Book-Lover’s Prize?!
THIS BOX OF BOOKS IS VALUED AT OVER $500! And this giveaway is open worldwide! Our first giveaway went to a winner in ROMANIA–and yes, we’re willing to pay the insane shipping on this oversized, overweight package to get the prize to WHOEVER wins!
Here's a sneak peek from a couple of the sponsors:
Adrenaline Rush by Cindy M. Hogan
As I hurtled toward my destination at 500 miles an hour, I pulled out a notebook, placed it on the shiny mahogany table in front of me, and scribbled a quick to-do list. Pick out an outfit. Get folders and notebooks. Switch into fourth period drama. I chewed on the end of my pen. Oh yeah—just one more thing. Get kidnapped.
According to my pre-mission briefing, kidnappings were up in the States by five percent over the last five years. The significance of which didn’t hit me until I found that the statistics for kidnappings had remained static for a good thirty years. The spike caught the attention of the FBI, and they put their best men on it. The problem? Right when they thought they’d discovered the pattern of the kidnappers, it seemed to change.
We hit some turbulence, and the force of it pulled me out of my reverie. I sucked in a deep breath, my hands resting on the soft leather side arms of my big comfortable seat as the Gulfstream jet jumped. I let the rollercoaster feeling wash over me like a wave, forcing myself to enjoy every last tingle. I only had this flight and a few hours tonight to assume my new thrill-seeking alias—the one that would lure the kidnappers and save the day before the pattern changed again. I might as well make the most of it.
 
Chosen Wolf (Curse of the Moon #2) Excerpt
The full moon inched higher in the night sky, growing bigger and brighter by the moment. One by one, the members of the pack ran behind the Moonhaven mansion to remove their clothes before they tore to shreds as their bodies turned from men to wolves. Howls sounded in the distance.
Toby squeezed my hand, holding my gaze. “Maybe this will be the month you can finally shift again, Victoria.”
Sharp pains ran through my body. My right hip cracked. I bit my tongue, trying not to cry out in pain. My skin felt on fire as fur tried to poke through, but couldn’t.
His face tensed, a pained look in his eyes. “Are you shifting?”
I shook my head. There was nothing normal about this, and it was proving to be more difficult and painful than my other months of un-shifts. Each one grew worse than the last.
Toby scooped me up, carried me inside, and helped me onto my bed. “I can’t keep my wolf inside any longer. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I fought to keep my voice steady. Tears threatened.
He brushed hair from my face and kissed my forehead. “Ziamara’s upstairs sleeping. She said to wake her if you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine.” I grimaced, the pain nearly choking me.
Toby cried out and the sound of ripping fabric tore through the room. He spun around and dashed out the door. The back of his shirt had ripped, and fur poked through the split material.
I gripped a pillow, squeezing it as hard as I could to distract myself from the pain. It didn’t work, and the pillow exploded, filling the air with white feathers.
A loud pop sounded and then a horrific pain shot through my shoulders. I slumped down and screamed, unable to take the pain.
 


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Kinky As F*ck by Avery Aster Release Blitz & Giveaway


release day blitz

Book Title: Kinky As F*ck 
Author: Avery Aster 
Genre:  M/M Erotic Romance and M/M New Adult Note: features BDSM 
Release Date: February 21, 2017 
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions

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book blurb

Two bestselling novels at one low price!

XO, Blake: New Yorker Blake Morgan is gay, handsome, and kinky as f*ck. In this duet, you’ll join him on a naughty new adult adventure where he wakes up in a man's bed he’s been lusting after for as long as he can remember.

Unsaid: Lower East Side multimedia artist extraordinaire Miguel Santana may be known as the cocky Latin stud in the city, but all he’s wanted since college was Blake’s hand in marriage. He was livid when Blake walked down the aisle with the wrong guy. Miguel has his own list titled the Seven Needs, which are quite contrary to Blake’s dirty-boy deeds. They involve serious commitments, which may leave his new-to-the-singles-scene buddy sprinting for the door, destroying any hopes Miguel has for happiness.

excerpt

Blake looked up, not quite forgetting his friend’s beauty. His black pearl eyes raked over him, full lips and dimples received the gesture.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are the spitting image of Mario Lopez?”

“From Extra TV??”

“Ah-huh.” He always appreciated his friend’s sex appeal, but he’d never noticed how gentle and caring he was until that moment. He could be super sweet.

“Every day,” Miguel returned, the smile accentuating his dimples to further resemble the TV actor. He handed him a toothbrush topped with paste and instructed, “Brush.”

Scrubbing the toothbrush in his mouth, he cleaned over his top and bottom teeth, then his tongue back and forth, spat on the shower floor next to their feet, and rinsed his mouth in the shower.

A creamy shampoo was applied to his curls while standing under the showerhead. With a bristle brush, Miguel scrubbed his shoulders and back counterclockwise, followed by his chest, arms, legs, and feet clockwise.

He’d never had anyone wash his hair except at the salon. Overwhelmed by how the simplest gesture made him feel, he closed his eyes and tried to stand tall. In silence, he observed their closeness. You…treat me as a gift. Make me feel special.

This shower brought the intimacy between them to a newfound intensity.

Reaching down, Miguel grabbed him close, groin-to-groin. Their two cocks touched. “We’re about the same size.”

“Not quite,” he corrected, believing Miguel to be bigger. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d always felt so much smaller around him. Maybe it was his dominant personality, his confidence.

Miguel held onto his cock and rubbed his palm over the tip. He then circled his hand over his own. His dimpled grin increased.

He squirmed but stood his ground, looking his friend deep in his molten eyes. He wasn’t backing down. Not then.

The challenge must’ve motivated what came next for Miguel reached behind him and grabbed his ass.

His mouth leaned up to Blake’s right ear. “Tonight, I’m going to fist you. I want your ass clean.” He buried two fingers inside him.

“Mig!” He loved this.

“Understand?”

“Yes.” He was tempted to say, No. No way in Hell, but his friend seemed intent on fisting. He’d brought it up a few times. Who knew, he enjoyed his face fucking and golden shower, so maybe the pleasures would continue. “This morning was the hottest thing ever.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” After grabbing the shave cream canister, Miguel lathered his scruff.

“I am, very much so.”

Miguel popped off a new disposable razor lid from the shower caddy. Starting with Blake’s right cheek, he glided the blade down, top to bottom and said, “Such a pretty face, for a man.” He studied his eyes for confirmation.

“Oh, please…” He looked away knowing he wasn’t one for compliments, especially about his face.

“Why do you dismiss what I say?” With an owner’s grip, he turned his chin and shaved his upper neck.

“I wasn’t raised placing an emphasis on looks.” He felt the shower’s heat steal into his pores. It was hard to listen to the compliments. Ever since that plane crash, back in college, he never thought of himself as attractive.

“You’d never know with the way you carry yourself.”

“What do you mean?” He drew his upper lip down, enabling Miguel to shave under his nostrils.

“You take pride in the way you dress, the clothes, fit body, perfect teeth¾”

“Thanks. I work in advertising. It’s my job to look good.”

“It shows.”

Miguel pressed his lips against his mouth. He slid his tongue into his mouth and kissed him deeply, pulling his body in tight. The shave foam residue lubed their lips. Blake’s backside rested against the tile wall, his torso buried deep in his friend’s embrace.

“Why do you look away when I compliment you? Do I make you uncomfortable talking about how attractive you are?”

“No. I, ahhh…” God, how would he answer that? He tried to smile. “Mig, no one’s ever said that to me before is all.”

“Well, it’s true. You’re the most attractive guy I’ve ever met.” Dropping the razor onto the ledge, he wrapped his arms around him.

With relentless enjoyment, he pressed into Miguel’s rock-hard body. “Thank you.” He saw acceptance in his friend’s eyes. He’d never noticed it until then. Had he always looked at him that way and he’d just not seen it before?

The shower suddenly felt too small. He could barely breathe. “I better get dressed. I have some errands to run before work.”

Miguel squirted shampoo onto his own hair as he stepped out and toweled off.

“Blake…”

“Yeah?”

meet the author

New York Times bestselling author Avery Aster pens The Manhattanites, a contemporary erotic romance series of full-length, stand-alone novels, and the naughty new adult prequel companion series The Undergrad Years. Join Avery's newsletter eepurl.com/CQ665 and get a FREE ebook!
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