Excerpt Reveal: PENANCE

Title: Penance

Series: The Chicago Defiance MC Series Book 2

Author: K E Osborn

Genre: MC Romance

Release Date: July 26

I’m not sure how it happened.
The way the cord of life can splinter and snap without warning.

My family—in hiding from the Japanese Yakuza.
My club—at war with the very organization my family are hiding from.

Though, amidst the chaos, there is one shining light.
A Spanner in the works.
A woman who’s not only the complete opposite of me, and everything I stand for, but a woman who my parents should frown upon.
She’s brash, where I am guarded. We shouldn’t work.

This story isn’t about a dynasty reuniting and mending old wounds—it’s betrayal, deception, conflict and turmoil.

Bloodshed—it’s coming.

Who will pay the ultimate penance?

Sensei stands up from his seat bringing my attention back to him as he reaches out grabbing my arm. My skin ignites at his touch as his fingers lace around my wrist, and he looks into my eyes. “Come with me.” His voice is low, deep, seductive, and I really want to make a Terminator joke, say something like ‘If you want to live,’ but I don’t because my voice is stuck in my throat from the lustful look in his eyes. It’s making my chest heavy with tension as he pulls me, and I move easily.

“You leaving already?” Scratch calls out sounding like a needy teenager. I almost laugh, but I can’t find it in me as Sensei pulls me with him through the room, his hand tight on my wrist as he says nothing more but leads me toward a hall. I have no idea where we’re going, only that I hope like fuck when we get there, we’re alone.

The tension builds inside of me as we pass some of his brothers. They say nothing, just smirk at us as they watch him lead me down the hall which seems to have doors placed every few feet or so. It’s only when he stops at a door and opens it, I realize what this hall is—the sleeping quarters.

Opening my eyes wide, I don’t have time to think before he yanks me through the door, then slams it shut behind him with his foot and thrusts me up against it. His body pressed against mine as his hands push against my cheeks, holding me in position as his lips crash against mine so forcefully my head smacks against the door. Not painfully, just enough to shock me.

I’m stunned for a moment but soon forget as he’s kissing me again, and it feels so fucking good. His tongue enters my mouth, one of his hands on my face moves into the back of my hair, his fingers lacing through my ponytail. He yanks on it making me gasp into his mouth as his other hand moves to my hip pulling me to him so I can feel every part of him, even the bulge in his pants.

My hands smooth up his back under his shirt and cut against his skin. He’s so warm, his skin silky soft as I dig my nails into his flesh. He groans into my mouth and kisses me harder. I love the way we kiss, it’s so frenzied, so full of passion. His hands move down to my ass and under my thighs as he lifts me up, my legs wrapping around him as he pulls away from the door and walks me over to his bed. Swiftly, he lowers me onto the mattress. He doesn’t shift his weight from on top of me as he slides over me, our lips never detaching as his hard cock presses firmly against my pussy.

I moan into his mouth as he slowly breaks away from me, and I pout up at him as he grins looking into my eyes. He brings his hand up to his mouth and then pulls out my piece of bubblegum. I smirk and giggle as he places it on the bedside table and smiles at me.

“This makes you taste good,” he murmurs and then before I can answer, his lips are back on mine kissing me hard once more. He rocks his hips into me, his hard cock pressing in just the right place. A whimper escapes my mouth as my legs unwrap from around his body, and I use all my strength to spin us over. He moves with me, letting me turn the tide as I roll us over and straddle him on the bed.

He doesn’t completely let me have my way as he sits us up, all the while we kiss frantically. My hands run through his dreadlocks as he moves to my tank top, and his fingers skim the bottom of it then hoist it up. I don’t hesitate to let him take it off me. I know we’ve only known each other for all of two days, but the chemistry between us is scorching, and this itch we have needs to be tended to, then we can get to know each other better.

My top flies off and falls to the floor beside me leaving me in my denim shorts and my bra. His hands glide down my back, the warmth of his calloused fingers feel like heaven as his large hands pull me to him, needing me closer. Sliding my hands from his hair, I move to his cut and slide it over his shoulders. He shrugs out of it then places it carefully on the bedside table. My fingers fumble for the hem of his gray shirt. I yank it up to see his left side covered in tattoos, from his shaved scalp, down his neck, his arm, his torso and the intricate design delves into the waistband of his pants. I’m sure it

goes onto his hip and leg too. I take a second to just marvel at the complex designs, mostly Asian in pattern, but there are some neo-traditional pieces in there too. I also can’t help but notice the cross with wings pendant around his neck. It’s beautiful as he leans in and presses his lips to my collarbone, his teeth grazing along my bone making me clench my eyes shut in delight.

He suddenly shifts, picking me up and sliding off the edge of the bed. I watch his eyes as he carries me over to his desk, and I giggle, holding onto him tightly as he lowers my ass down onto the edge. He moves back from me and then grabs my foot taking off my combat boots, one by one. I smirk as he slides back in and unbuttons my shorts. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as his eyes bore into mine while I squirm on the edge of the desk, the tension building inside of me as he pops them one by one. Note to self, wear shorts with less buttons.

His hooded eyes becoming darker and darker as he takes in the sight before him. He yanks them down, leaving me in my white bra and a pair of aqua boyshorts with a pink trim. He smiles and raises his brow in an approving way.

I’m not a typical girl, I don’t wear sexy panties or thongs, or for that matter matching underwear most of the time, so I’m glad he seems impressed by what he’s seeing.

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

Letting out a chuckle, I run my hand down his flawlessly toned stomach. He has abs on abs on abs and even an amazing V that women go gaga over. I totally get it.

“Pot, kettle, much?”

He grins and raises his brow. “I think you thought I was… how did you word it … pretty?”

I try to hide my laugh and tilt my head. “Me? No! I would never say that.”

He stalks closer and nods, slowly making my stomach flip at the hooded look in his eyes. “Oh, yes, Alya, you called me pretty, and do you remember what I said I would do to you if you called me… pretty?”

My chest tightens as my clit begins to throb. My breath catches in my throat as I clench my thighs together looking up at him. “You would spank me?” My voice comes out as a breathy whisper while color blooms on my neck and moves up to my cheeks.

He takes a deep steadying breath. “Will you run if I did exactly that?”

I shake my head as a slow smile creeps up on my face.

“Stand up and pull down your panties… slowly,” he demands, and a sudden rush of something flows through me—excitement, a thrill of euphoria—I have no idea. I haven’t had a guy be experimental with me for a very long time, and I always enjoy the rush. So I do as he says. His dominant tone only striving to make my panties wetter as I stand from the desk and thread my fingers through the hem of my boyshorts. I look him dead in his eyes while I slide them down my legs. Standing, I kick them to the side as I hook my hands behind my back and take off my bra. His eyes wander over my naked body, in awe as the bulge against his pants is painfully clear. I love the fact I can do that to him.

He takes a step closer, the energy in the room is popping and sizzling as every hair on my body is standing on end. There’s a magnetism, a force in the room—it’s pulling me to him, it’s surging, it’s coursing—and making it damn near almost impossible for me to hold myself together. But somehow, I’m keeping focused as he stands half naked in front of me, his eyes so dark they’re almost black. He’s so fucking good looking it slays me as his eyes drink me in.

“Lay over the end of the desk. Hold on tight,” he instructs.

With a grin, I move to the end of the desk and lay on the edge, so my ass is on display. My chest is over the desk as I hold on waiting for my punishment, my pussy throbbing in delight.

I’m a twisted bitch.

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Australian author K E Osborn was born and raised in Adelaide, South Australia. With a background in graphic design and a flair for all things creative, she felt compelled to write the story brewing in her mind.

Writing gives her life purpose. It makes her feel, laugh, cry, and get completely enveloped with the characters and their story lines. She feels completely at home when writing and wouldn’t consider doing anything else.

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Release Blitz: GREYSON By J.m. Walker

Title: Greyson

Author: JM Walker

Genre: MC Romance

Release Date: July 19

Confusion. Lust. Fear. Passion.
It started the moment she passed out in my arms.
Seduction. Vile. Depraved. Desire.
She couldn’t remember her past but looked to me like I was her future.
My walls were built. My heart was cold. My emotions vacant.
After being alone for five years with only my motorcycle club at my side, she was who I had been searching for. The one I had needed all along to light up the darkness surrounding my life. Just when I thought I had her, just when I thought I could finally allow myself that happiness I didn’t think I deserved. She was ripped from my hands…

AMAZON * AMAZON UK

AMAZON AU * AMAZON CA

J.M. Walker is an Amazon bestselling author who loves all things books, pigs and lip gloss. She is happily married to the man who inspires all of her Heroes and continues to make her weak in the knees every single day.

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Promo Post: Alpha’s Mission By Renne Rose and Lee Savino

 

 

 

 

 

 


THE MONSTER WANTS HER. HE WON’T BE DENIED.

 

 

I’ve become a monster.

I hear blood moving in people’s veins. Scent their emotions.

I want to feed. To hunt. To mate…

I’m no longer a human–my life is over.

I’ve left everyone I love. I’ve gone rogue from the CIA.

My only hope is my handler.

Annabel gray is tough enough to face my monster. If I lose control, she won’t hesitate to take me out. But I’m not the only predator out there. Someone’s hunting Annabel.

She needs my protection.

But if I don’t get my animal under control,

I may be her biggest threat yet.

 

 

I let out a harsh laugh and walk toward her, backing her up until she hits the wall. I lean on one hand beside her head, caging her in. “There’s one thing I won’t accept from you, Annabel, and it’s lies.”

I swear to Christ her eyes dilate, like she’s turned on, rather than scared. I don’t know if turning her on was my intent before, but it sure as hell is now. I press forward even more, letting the heat of my body brush against hers.

“You’re the one in danger here, not me. You and your family. Don’t pretend I require protection, sweetheart. You want my help, all the cards go on the table. Otherwise, I’m walking out that door right now.”

It’s not true. There’s no way in hell I’d leave Annabel in trouble and unprotected, but hopefully she doesn’t know enough about me to be sure.

I’m a highly trained special agent. I speak twelve languages fluently, know fifty three ways to kill a man with my bare hands. But nothing in my training prepared me for Annabel yanking my mouth down to hers like her life depended on it.

“Hey.” His fingers tangle in the back of my hair and he uses it to lift my face to his. His lips brush across mine. “Sex with you was completely out of my control. I didn’t plan it, I don’t know it if was wise, but there was no helping it. What I feel for you is pure, raw animal magnetism. The only thing that would’ve stopped me was you. I’ll always respect your wishes. I hope you know that. It’s not a requirement for my help.”

Something rearranges in my chest. A warmth and lightness steals through me like rays of sun after rain. “Thanks,” I mumble and try to drop my head, but Charlie won’t allow it. He keeps me captive in his iron grip, the gentleness in his expression in direct opposition to the dominating hold.

“Believe it, Annabel.”

Tears pop into my eyes. “I do,” I whisper.

He claims my mouth with the passion, the fervor of before. His lips drag across mine, open and close over mine, devour me. “You’re like an addiction,” he murmurs when he’s thoroughly taught me a lesson in submission.

 

 

Renee Rose

 

 

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR RENEE ROSE is a naughty wordsmith who writes kinky BDSM novels. Named Eroticon USA’s Next Top Erotic Author in 2013, she has also won The Romance Reviews Best Historical Romance, and Spanking Romance Reviews’ Best Sci-fi, Paranormal, Historical, Erotic, Ageplay and favorite couple and author. She’s hit #1 on Amazon in multiple categories in the U.S. and U.K., is often found on the list of Amazon’s Top Author list. She also pens BDSM stories under the name Darling Adams.

Lee Savino

 

 

Lee Savino has grandiose goals but most days can’t find her wallet or her keys so she just stays at home and writes. While she was studying creative writing at Hollins University, her first manuscript won the Hollins Fiction Prize.

She lives in Richmond, Va with her awesome family> You can find her on Facebook in the Goddess Group (which you totally should join).

 

 

Release Day: The Promise of Everything By blaire broderick

 

 

 

 

She’s living for today…

Sophie is dying—probably. An aneurysm at the base of her brain is just waiting to burst, and though she tries to keep her mind off the inevitable by painting away the pain, she simply can’t forget that her days are numbered.

He’s yearning for tomorrow…

Jamison is stuck. His past is a mess he’d rather not revisit, and his present is so dull he can hardly stand it. He takes refuge in his nightly walks where he looks up from the silent New York streets and stares into the window of a tragically beautiful girl painting her masterpiece.

They were made for each other…

A near collision in the dead of night brings them together, and fate means to keep it that way. But when Jamison turns out to be Sophie’s surgeon—the best in the city and her only chance at survival—will she be forced to choose between the love of her life and life itself?

They’re perfect together. But will the curse of the Garner-Willoughby family tear them apart?

**This is a full-length standalone romance with a HEA and no cliff hanger.**

 

 

JAMISON

My boots crunched in the snow as my lungs filled with freezing cold air. Oversized snowflakes brushed my face melting on contact as moonlight spilled through barren trees.
I came alive at night, roaming the streets of Tribeca. Packed city streets became mostly deserted come ten o’clock. That was when I took my nightly walks. Crisp night air washed the day off me, cleared my mind, and brought a sort of otherworldly peace I could never fully put into words.
My nightly walks were also when I got to see her—the painter girl. Her loft apartment was directly across from mine on the other side of the street. Some nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d stare out my window and watch her paint. Leaning against my living room window, I’d watch as her wild, brown hair spilled down her shoulders, and her body moved in tandem with each stroke of her brush. Sometimes the canvas was bigger than her, and the colors seemed to swallow her whole.
I tried to imagine what kind of music she was listening to or what was going through her mind as she painted. I’d never seen her up close before. I only knew she had long, dark hair filled with loose waves and thick bangs that hung in her eyes.
I’d walk past her building each night hoping to catch a glimpse of her face just once, but it was always just her hair.
In a borough with over a million people, I thought I’d never be lonely. It turned out I’d never been so lonely in my life. I spent my days amongst hundreds of people, ten- or twelve-hour days sometimes packed full of people who needed me and pulled me in every direction. There was never enough of me to go around.
My quiet apartment perfectly juxtaposed itself against the chaos that consumed my days. No one ever needed me after six o’clock anymore, not since I’d realized that people like me were better off alone than in the company of those with less-than-genuine intentions.
I slipped past the painter girl’s apartment and glanced up. Her window was dark that night. I sighed, trekking on and slipping my gloved hands into the pockets of my gray woolen coat.
Maybe tomorrow.
The door to her building flew open just before I passed, and a girl bundled up in a puffy coat with a fur-lined hood ran out breezing past me. Her face was covered with a thick lavender scarf, and dark hair fell from her hood spilling down the front of her coat.
“Dammit!” she yelled a second later. “Ow. Ow.”
I spun around to see her lying on the ground, a gloved hand wrapped around her ankle.
“You okay?” I rushed to her side. “Sidewalks are slick tonight.”
She tugged her scarf down her face revealing full lips and a hint of deep dimples centered in her rosy cheeks. “I was trying to get to the art supply store before they close. I need more white paint.”
It was her. The painter girl.
A dried streak of blue paint graced her left cheek, and it took every ounce of my Type A personality not to try to wipe it off.
“I think I twisted my ankle,” she said, her sweet face flinching. She glanced at me, looking up through a splay of dark lashes, and immediately tried to toughen up. I studied her soft features in the moonlight. She was more beautiful than I’d ever imagined her to be. Her arms latched onto the park bench beside her attempting to hoist herself into a standing position. “Ouch…”
“Let me help you.” I lifted her up as if she were a rag doll and plunked her on the bench. “Can I look at it?”
Her body froze as our eyes met. Even in the dark of night, I could see her cheeks blush. She cleared her throat and nodded. I slipped her boot off and pulled her sock down enough to examine her ankle before I gently felt around.
“It’s just a light sprain,” I said. “Ice it for the next two to three days until the swelling goes down. Keep it elevated. Stay off it.”
I pulled the sock up and slipped her boot back on ensuring it was perfectly straight on her foot.
“You need help getting to your apartment?” I asked her.
She huffed, though her annoyance was more than likely directed toward her sprained ankle than anything else.
“Yeah. I live right there.” She pointed toward the door she’d burst from just minutes before. “Third floor.”
I slipped my arm under hers, and she gripped my shoulder as I raised her up. We hobbled, step by step, to the apartment building door.
“I don’t have an elevator,” she said apologetically as we made it inside the warm and cozy foyer.
“Not a problem.” I scooped my arm under her knees and lifted her petite body up the stairs one at a time until we’d arrived at the third floor. “Which apartment?”
“God, this is embarrassing,” she muttered, her hand flying to her reddened cheeks. “3B.”
I carried her to 3B and carefully helped her stand, my arm around her hips for support as she fished through her purse for her keys. A blast of warmth hit our faces the second her apartment door opened. In the corner, a space heater roared in the direction of a makeshift studio. Exposed brick walls, a drafting table, huge canvases, and a cart filled with paints, brushes, and palettes took center stage. A large canvas, still wet and half-completed, rested against a paint-covered easel.
“Where do you want me to put you?” I asked, watching as her eyes danced longingly toward her art studio. I glanced around at her place. It was a fraction of the size of my loft. It was wide open with no walls save for the bathroom. A vintage, industrial kitchen stood across from a makeshift living room, and a large bed covered with a million pillows rested against an empty wall. Her studio took pride of place next to the large floor-to-ceiling windows I’d watched her through so many times.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. She wanted to paint. It pained her not to. I could see it all over her pretty face.
“Here,” I said, directing her toward her sofa. “Sit here.”
Her careful gaze never left me as I walked to her studio and lifted her easel and canvas bringing them over to her along with a palette and brushes. I ran to her kitchen and stuffed a hand towel with ice cubes from her freezer, filled a glass with water, and grabbed some ibuprofen.
“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” she said with an amused half-smile.
“I wasn’t going to leave you out there,” I said, handing her the water and gel caps.
“I mean all this,” she said, her eyes dancing around the makeshift studio I’d set up for her. “It was very nice of you. Thank you.”
I shrugged and offered a reserved smile.
“I’m Sophie, by the way,” she said. “I’ve seen you around. You go walking at night.”
My heart leaped. She’d noticed me, too.
“Jamison,” I said. We stood, my eyes locked on her big, brown gaze for far too long as an awkward silence filled the space between us. I couldn’t get enough of her pretty face. There was something wildly innocent and free-spirited about her. Maybe it was the way her hair hung in her face or the way she didn’t notice the paint streak on her cheek. Maybe it was the way her apartment was decorated in a mish-mash of colors and styles as if she’d found random things at a flea market and decided to claim them. There was no rhyme or reason for any of it as far as I could tell.
“What time does your art store close?”
Her arched brows raised under her thick bangs. “You don’t have to do that.”
I glanced down at my watch. “How far away is it? You said you needed white, right? What do you paint with?”
“Oils,” she said. “But you don’t have to do that.”
“What’s it called?” I asked. “If I bring you white, will you promise to stay off your feet and let your sprain heal?”
Her lips twisted, amused again. “Beacon Art Supplies. They were staying open late for me tonight. It’s up the block on the left.”
I bolted out of her apartment, practically running down the two flights of stairs and out past the spot where she’d slipped and fallen ten minutes prior. Five minutes later, I’d arrived.
“Hello?” I called, poking my head inside. The ‘open’ sign was unlit, but the door was unlocked, and the lights were still on.
“Yes?” a woman’s voice called from the back.
“I’m here to pick up some paint for, uh, Sophie,” I said, realizing I didn’t yet know her last name.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Be right there.”
A blonde woman about Sophie’s age with a braided ponytail hanging over her left shoulder strutted to the front. She was wearing a paint-covered smock and holding a giant bottle of white paint in her hand.
“She slipped on the way here,” I said. “I told her I’d grab it for her.”
The woman’s nametag identified her as Mia. She rolled her eyes and laughed. “I told her I’d stay open late. Must’ve been in a big hurry.”
“Sidewalks are slick,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “Be careful out there tonight.”
Mia waved her hand. “It’s free.”
“Free?”
“She works for me.”
“Oh,” I said, slipping my wallet back into my left back pocket. “All right, then.”
I hurried back to Sophie’s knocking before letting myself in. She was still right where I left her, lying across the couch with her leg propped up on a pillow, half asleep.
“Here’s your paint,” I whispered, sitting it next to the easel on her coffee table. I clicked off the lamp that lit the space above her sofa and showed myself out, pausing to look at her one more time before locking the door from the inside and shutting it tight.
So that’s her.​​

 

Blaire Broderick is a modern-day Carrie Bradshaw—if Carrie Bradshaw had three small children, two dogs, a sitcom-dad of a husband, and lived in the suburbs far, far away from the romantic city streets of Manhattan. A daydream believer, Blaire is never without an idea in her heart or a song in her head. When she’s not busy tending to her little ones, she can be found working on her next book. And when she’s not working, you just might find her curling up with a good book or a really trashy reality show.

 

 

Cover Reveal: Doctor for hire

 

 

 

 

He might only be a fake boyfriend.
But he’s going to make sure she’s not faking… anything.

Tabitha Riley needs a date for her sister’s wedding … and fast.
It doesn’t matter that her sister is marrying her ex-boyfriend.
She could care less about that.
It’s showing up to the wedding single and alone, feeling her family’s pity and hearing their snide remarks about her lack of social life, that she can’t handle.

Enter Dr. Brody Miner.

He’s the man fantasies are made of, especially Tabitha’s.
Still, it is just a simple arrangement. No real relationship, nothing more than a date to a wedding.
One friend helping out another friend.
But Brody is used to getting what he wants and he definitely wants Tabitha Riley—
Over and over again.

 

 

 

 

Tory likes to write quick romantic stories that make her smile. She loves connecting with her readers and you can get in touch with her by writing to: torybakerbooks@gmail.com

 

 

Release Day: Wilde about Alec

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Alec Wilde wanted was to disappear.

Running from his past and the secrets that haunted him landed him in the chocolate box town of Bridgeport, Connecticut.

With nowhere else to go, Alec rents a room from local florist, Mia Lane. A witty and driven beauty who wastes no time capturing his heart – though she’d never know.

Alec keeps his cards close.

Not getting attached means not getting hurt – and not having to tell Mia the painful truth about exactly who he is.

 

 

 

I have been a romantic all my life; in books, movies, television, and anything that brings happiness into the world. Though I love reading and avoiding daily responsibilities, I am also an undergraduate at the University of Iowa, a flag ship university for writing and creative freedom. I love connecting with all my readers, and sharing the stories that dance around in my head.

 

 

Release Day: Until DADDY By Measha Stone

 

 

 

 

 

Carissa knows the score when it comes to relationships. They don’t last. Sure, they’re good for some fun in the short term, but that’s all. Fun. There shouldn’t be any exceptions, not even for Jamison Croft, but he’s not an easy man to shake. He blasts through every brick she lays.
He may look the gentleman in his expensive suit, but he’s anything but when it comes to Carissa.
But how can Carissa let herself ease into his dominating presence when she knows it has an expiration date?
Jamison is determined to break through her walls with his relentless care and patience. And when their bond is threatened, he will show her he’s in it for the long haul. No matter what barrier gets thrown up in his way.

 

 

 

 

 

Measha Stone is an international bestselling author of erotic romance. She’s had #1 top-selling books in BDSM, and suspense. She lives in the western suburbs of Chicago with her husband and children, who are just as creative and crazy as her. Her vanilla writing has been published in numerous literary magazines, but she’s found her passion in erotic romance. She loves reading it, writing it, and living it whenever possible.