Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Release Blitz Dirty Words by Elena M. Reyes


Title:  Dirty Words
Author:  Elena M. Reyes
Release Date: September 16


Devin Andrews had it all. Everything but the one woman he coveted.
He wanted her in the sickest of ways--yearned for those dirty words she used to entice him,
drive him mad with hunger...need.
Taken from his rib to create perfection, he found love and the one woman born to be his.
How far will he go to take ownership of what's always been his? To what cost?
Once with her, how do you seduce a woman you've never met?
You don't. You take.

Disclaimer:
***Mature Audience 18+ only***
Warning: This book is an erotic short at approximately 14,000 words. It is a sexy quick read with a slight dark undercurrent. In other words, if an alpha male with semi-stalker like tendencies bothers you...keep on moving. If a dirty mouthed man makes you uncomfortable, then please don't read. He makes no apologies for his behavior and neither will I.



Dirty Words by Elena M Reyes 

This is short read, guaranteed to leave you a little breathless. 
I loved Devin! He falls for Lucia an author, solely through her erotic tales. 
She becomes his obsession. This is great short read. I am a first time reader
from this author and I loved it. 



Excerpt:

One


My computer screen pinged inside the quiet space of my small trailer, and a shiver of excitement ran up my spine. The hours today had been brutal, long, and I was tired.
Cranky.
Fucking horny.
Reaching over, I pulled my laptop next to me on the small couch and opened the browser. I knew who it was. Not one motherfucking doubt in my mind. It was her. My girl. The woman who had, unbeknownst to her, consumed every goddamned minute of my days and nights.
Swiping my finger across the mouse pad, I opened my Facebook account—the one no one knew I kept—and smiled. Every day, at that time, she would send me the same greeting.
A simple hello.
Lucia: Hey babe!
What a dangerous greeting. Calling me that term of endearment when all I wanted—fucking yearned for—was a taste of her skin. For her to writhe beneath me while I took what her body would willingly give.
DevA: I’m up. Tired, but seeing your smiling face makes it all better.
And wasn’t that the truth; I was rock hard as I stared at her profile picture, my palm pushing down against my engorged flesh to alleviate some of the pain she’d created. Conjuring dirty thoughts of her, I released my cock and stroked my hands downward once.
Lucia: You’re too sweet!
Yeah, that’s me. One sweet motherfucker.
A bead of liquid seeped out from my tip, and my finger swiped across my slit to catch it—used it on my next downward stroke as lubrication.
“Fuck, yeah,” I grunted, tightening the hold I had on my cock while opening her pictures. There was one album I loved more than all the others. All her. No friends or family on the beach. Selfies taken of different body parts: her legs, chest…those swollen, bee-stung lips that caused me to push my hips up and fuck my hand.
I fucking abused myself for her. In her name.
DevA: Can’t wait to meet face to face. Only a few days left!
There, that should fucking hold her until I finished. My strokes became faster, angrier as I continued to flip through each picture. There’s nothing sexier to me than a woman with ink.
Lucia: You are coming, right?
“Fuck, yes.” My finger hovered over the screen. Over the picture of her tiny rabbit tattoo barely peeking out from beneath her bikini bottoms. “I’m going to fucking come all over that spot, you hot little…fuck!” I roared as spurt after spurt of hot come fell from my tip and onto my lower stomach.
Lucia: You there?
“I don’t give a fuck what you believe in, but you better pray hard. I’m going to fucking destroy you as you have done me. Not one single inch of you will remember any man before me.”
DevA: I’m here and baby girl, God himself couldn’t stop me from coming to see you.

From coming for you.







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Elena M. Reyes

 Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would. As a small child, she was always intrigued with all forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E. Program and write an essay on what they’d learned. Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure. It wasn't until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and letting her characters grow.  

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​ Dirty Words

Sale Blitz Unbroken by Melody Grace




Title: Unbroken
Series: Beachwood Bay #1
Author: Melody Grace
 Release Date: March 10, 2013


THE LOVE STORY THAT STARTED IT ALL



Blurb

"Mom always told me there are two kinds of love in this world: the steady breeze and the hurricane. Emerson Ray was my hurricane..."

Juliet McKenzie was an innocent eighteen-year old when she spent the summer in Beachwood Bay--and fell head over heels in love with Emerson. Complicated, intense Emerson, the local bad boy. His blue eyes hid dark secrets, and just one touch could set Juliet ablaze. Their love was demanding and all-consuming, but when summer ended, tragedy tore them apart. Juliet swore she'd never go back, and she's kept that promise... Until now.

Four years later, Juliet's done her best to rebuild the wreckage of her shattered life. She's got a great boyfriend, and a steady job planned after she graduates. Returning to Beachwood to pack up her family's beach house to prepare it for sale, Juliet is determined that nothing will stand in the way of her future. But one look from Emerson, and all her old desire comes flooding back. He let her go once, but this time, he's not giving up without a fight. And Emerson fights dirty.

A heartbreaking history. An unstoppable passion. Torn between her past and future, Juliet struggles to separate love from desire. But will they find a way to overcome their tragic secrets--together? And after so much damage has been done, can a love remain unbroken?







Purchase Links
Free

AMAZON US / UK
iBOOKS






Author Bio


Melody Grace is the New York Times bestselling author of the Beachwood Bay series. A small-town girl turned SoCal beach lover, after spending her life with her nose in a book, she decided it was time she wrote one herself. She loves steamy romance novels, happily-ever-afters, and lusting after fictional menfolk. She lives in LA with her two kittens, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers.




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Release Blitz Bastard: A Stepbrother Romance by Coco Cadence




Title: Bastard: A Stepbrother Romance
Author: Coco Cadence
Genre: Erotic Romance 
 Release Date: September 16, 2015


Blurb

I’m a f*cking bastard.
I f*ck girls to forget about her.
She’s the girl I’m not supposed to want … my step-sister.
She hates me for what I’ve done.
I ruined her life.

Now I’m a Motocross racer. A winner. A player. A bastard.
But being a bastard comes with bad press.
Lucky for me Emily is a PR agent.

When she comes to work for me, I’ll make her remember why she once wanted me too.
She can’t say no … she needs me to keep her job, and I need her to f*ck me.

One way or another, she will be mine again.






Purchase Links

99c

AMAZON US / UK



Excerpt

He leans back, his lips red from kissing me, and dear fucking god, they look suckable.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he rasps, making me blush. “Don’t hide from me, Em. I wanna feel your skin. See you without anything between us.” With his index finger, he tips up my chin. “I want all of you.” He leans in and presses a deep, toe-curling kiss on my lips. “Give me all of you, Em. Everything.”

Oh god, why’d he have to say such a thing? I don’t know how to respond.

“I—”

He places a finger on my lips. “Don’t say a word. I’ll show you how good it can be.”

He plants another kiss on my lips, eliciting my lips to move up with him as we separate. Damn, why do I want this so much? I’m addicted to his taste, his touch.

I let him sweep me off my feet, I admit. I have no defense anymore, all my barriers are down, and I live at the moment, clinging to his lips like it’s my source of energy. This isn’t me. I don’t let guys get close so quickly, but this is Chris, and he’s gotten me deep … deep in trouble.

My hardened nipples rub against his shirt as he lowers me onto the table, kissing his way down my chest. My breath hitches in my throat as he licks my nipple, circling around the crown, teasing the peak. His delicious kisses burn me to my core, and when his fingers travel down my body to my panties, they’re completely soaked.

“Like this?” he groans, taking my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.

My body arches to meet him, desperate for more. I dare not say the words that come to mind; fuck, yes. I feel ashamed to admit it, but I’m letting myself fall for his seduction. Hard.

“Don’t worry, babe. I’m going to give you everything you need.” He pops the button of my jeans, rips down my zipper, and takes it all off as if it comes easily to him. His mouth has my mind spinning, distracting me, but not enough for me not to notice his hand disappearing into my panties. When his fingers slide over my pussy, I gasp, my clit thumping with need.

“Did you ever fantasize about this, Em? Did you ever think about me taking you hard and fast on this table right here?”

I whimper as he rubs my clit, his fingers sliding down my wetness, coating me entirely.

He chuckles. “No need to answer … I already know.”

“What?” I mumble, lost in delirium.

“Your pussy is begging me to make it come,” he murmurs, and then he gently tugs my nipple with his teeth, causing me to moan out loud. “But maybe your pussy hasn’t deserved it after making me so jealous I almost punched a guy,” he growls, and then he rips down my panties in one go.

His smile is deviously sexy as I look down at him, and I’m still trying to decide whether to jab him in the face or let him fuck me until I’m drunk on love.

He grins, licking his upper lip agonizingly slow as if to show me how much he has my body under his control. “But I also know you and I want this too much.”

“You can get jealous all you want, but this pussy only belongs to one person and that’s me,” I retort.

“Oh … we’ll see about that.” His gruff voice drags, heating me up from the inside out.

Suddenly, his hands grip my waist and he lowers himself off the table, between my legs. My eyes widen as his nose dips close, sniffing my scent. After a second, he growls, “Mine.”






Author Bio

Coco Cadence is an erotic romance writer, who loves cocky heroes and smartass heroines. She adores happy ever after’s as much as her fans do, and she will never stop writing them. In her free time she enjoys reading a good book, playing with her cute dogs, and spending quality time with her soon-to-be husband, but you can always find her drifting off into her mind to think of new stories.



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Giveaway

Release Blitz of Pushing the Limits by Brooke Cumberland

PTL Banner PTL_FrontCover 
  Synopsis
He’s my art professor.
I’m his student.
With an electric connection and undeniable chemistry, I know it won’t be long until one of us cracks.
When the opportunity arises to pose naked for the entire art class, I can’t help the thrill of knowing he’ll be watching me.
While they all look past me with their eyes narrowed and concentrated, drawing only the lines and angles of my body, he sees right through me down to my vulnerability.
He sees more than just the physical aspects—he sees me.
That’s when I see the struggle in his features as he tries to stay in control.
How do we keep our distance when everything seems to be pulling us together?
What feels so right can only go wrong if we keep pushing the limits.
8-4 TEASER
Excerpt

PROLOGUE

ASPEN
I step inside the doorway, immediately hit with the mixed aroma of mildew and lavender from all the flower arrangements. I narrow my eyes, trying to adjust to the dim lighting. It’s eerily quiet, the service not due to begin for another hour. My mother was hysterical all night long, crying in her room. I heard her through the bedroom door, but I didn’t go to her. I couldn’t. I know she blames me. Mom hadn’t said a word to me all morning, so I asked my older brother, Aaron, to take me early. I want to see Ariel before everyone else starts arriving. See her one last time. I walk down the short hallway and into the room her service is being held in. Chairs are all lined up perfectly, row by row. The room will probably fill up quickly of family and friends, all coming to give their condolences. I swallow as I step closer, her casket already open. I notice faint music playing overhead through the speakers. It’s meant to sound soft and soothing, but I don’t know how anything can soothe away the ache burning in my chest. I glance around and notice the walls look as if they were painted a hundred years ago. The faded beige carpet is almost nonexistent. Flowers surround her on one side and a table of vanilla scented candles on the other. Nothing in this whole room represents her except the collage board of pictures she had hanging in our room. She made it two summers ago and had been adding pictures of her friends and us ever since. It captures every part of her personality. We lived on farmland with only fields surrounding us. No neighbors or friends to play with meant we’d learned to entertain ourselves. I remember the day she got a new camera for Christmas and immediately started taking pictures—of everything. We’d giggle and snap pictures of each other, torment Aaron and take his picture when his girlfriend was over, and take about a hundred pictures of our pets. I smile at the memories but at the same time feel like crying because now there won’t be anymore. The memories we’ve made the last fourteen years are all I have left of her. When Pastor Jay asked us to bring in our favorite pictures of her, I knew immediately she’d want these. I step closer and examine them, even though I’ve looked at it every single day for the past two years. Somehow today, it looks different. There’s the one of us standing in front of the middle school on our first day of seventh grade. We were assigned different homerooms and weren’t happy about being apart. Another one shows us with our dog, Fudge, the first day we brought him home from the shelter. We’ve only had him for six months now. He was a rescue and she said she knew he was the perfect fit for our family. After tracing the lines of each picture, I slowly walk to her casket. I pleaded with my mom to let her wear her favorite purple dress, but she refused. She said it was an ‘occasion’ dress, AKA—a happy occasion. Instead, she picked out a dark, navy blue dress that she absolutely loathed wearing. My lip curls up on one side thinking how much she’d hate wearing this dress right now. She hated wearing dresses in general, but now, oh she’d be so pissed. Part of me wants to laugh at the irony and the other part wants to rip it off her and sneak the purple dress on. I glance down at her, curling my fingers tightly around the edge of her casket. She looks flawless, almost like she’s just sleeping. Even looking at her right now, seeing that she isn’t breathing anymore, it hasn’t all sunk in. For the first time in days, I let myself cry. I cry harder than I ever have, I’ve held the tears in, trying to remain strong for Mom, but I can’t do it anymore. I release all the pain I’ve kept inside and apologize to her over and over. “I’m so sorry, Ari. God, I’m so, so sorry.” I blink, wiping my cheeks off. “You hated that nickname,” I say, letting out a short laugh. I exhale a deep sigh. “I’m going to miss you so much,” I whisper, reaching for her hand. “I’m going to miss you sneaking in my bed and sleeping with me every time a storm hit. I’m going to miss staying up late on weekends, gossiping about Brady Carmichael and all the guys on the basketball team. Or the girls who think purple lipstick is in.” I chuckle softly to myself. “I’m even going to miss arguing with you over who gets to use the shower first. It was like our little tradition, I guess.” My lips soften, curling up on both sides at the happy memories. “Truthfully, I’m going to miss everything about you.” I lean down and kiss the top of her forehead. “I love you.” I hear footsteps in the hall and take that as my cue to start heading out. People will be arriving soon, and I’m not quite sure I’m strong enough to deal with everyone. Half feel sorry for me and the other half blame me. I’m not sure which one is worse. “Aspen…” I hear my dad’s deep voice. I turn and face him, his lips set in a firm line, his eyes as empty as I feel right now. “Your mother wants to talk to you.” I swallow at his tense features, but nod and follow him out of the room. He’s barely speaks or looks at me now. I’m only a constant reminder of what happened—of who he’s lost—of how our lives are forever changed. He leads me to a small room on the other side of the hall where she’s sitting with her nose buried in a handkerchief. I stand in front of her and wait. I’m not sure what to say to my mom right now—or anyone for that matter. I’m not sure there’s anything I can say. “I need to hear the story one more time,” she chokes out. “I need to hear why my baby girl is dead.” Her head is low and she refuses to look at me. I’ve told her and the police the story several times already, but every day since the incident she’s demanded to hear it again. “Mom…” I begin, my eyes filling up again. “I can’t. Not again.” “Tell me!” She raises her voice, finally tilting her head to look up at me. Her face contorted in a mixture of grief and disgust. I do as she says. I repeat the story the same exact way I did the first dozen times. No matter how much it hurts to talk about, I explain what happened. “How could you let that happen?” she mumbles. “How could you be so careless? I just don’t understand!” “Mom, it’s not Aspen’s fault…” Aaron interrupts, stepping next to me. “Mama, I’m sorry,” I burst out through a new wave of tears. I’ve apologized to her and Daddy over and over. But I know they’ll never forgive me. I’ll never forgive me. Aaron wraps an arm around my shoulders and cradles me to his chest. I hear my mom huff in disapproval. I push against his chest, wiping the tears off my cheeks as I storm off. I’ll never forget the way her eyes widened in fear as she fell to her death. The way her body lay on the ground, motionless. The way her voice begged for my help as she screamed on the way down. I’ll never forget. I don’t tell Mom and Dad those things though. The images already haunt me in my sleep. The sound of her screaming has woken me up the past two nights. Every time I attempt to fall asleep, her dead eyes appear in my mind. It’s no use, I tell myself. There’s barely a difference between existing and sleeping now. Life without her is pointless. People start arriving, so Mom, Dad, Aaron, and I all stand in the front near her casket. I swallow my emotions down and refuse to cry. I shut down. I shut everything down. I let them hug me and say how sorry they are for our loss. I let them cradle my head as they press me against their chests. I let them squeeze my hands as they tell me how much she will be missed. I let them do whatever they need to express their feelings. But I don’t cry. I quietly thank them and look down at my feet. When the service is over, we gather at the cemetery to bury her. A large bouquet of white lilies rests on her closed casket. I step forward and pull one out for myself before they lower her in the ground. Mom and Dad do the same, but they don’t look at me. Dad wraps his arm around her shoulders, holding her close as she cries. I grip the obituary program tightly in my hand and stare down at her picture displayed on the cover. Mom used her most recent school photo from this past year, although it hadn’t been her favorite. I don’t know why though, she looked stunning as usual—bright smile, sparkling green eyes, and flowing golden blonde hair. Underneath it reads, Loving Daughter and Sister. Gone too soon, but never forgotten. 4-10-1995 to 4–10-2009. She died on our birthday. I swallow as I take it all in. April tenth was our favorite day. We’d wake up early to Mom making us our favorite breakfast—the only day of the year she’d make it—Belgian waffles with melted cream cheese frosting drizzled on top and then slathered in homemade maple syrup. She used fresh blueberries—instead of frozen—on top. She called it our special birthday breakfast and every year we looked forward to it. After breakfast, we’d rip our presents open from our parents and later on exchange the ones we made for each other. For the last few years, we’d talk Mom into letting us skip school for the day. She wouldn’t even bother arguing with us, knowing she’d eventually cave anyway. So when we woke up on our birthday five days ago, we’d done everything the exact same. We laughed all through breakfast. Mom was going on and on about how she couldn’t believe how grown up her baby girls were getting and how old that made her feel. Aaron was three years older than us, but apparently he was born out of wedlock and didn’t count in her aging process. After we finished eating, Mom handed us each a card and watched as we ripped them open. We both squealed when we saw the hundred-dollar bill tucked inside. As we wrapped our arms around her, she lectured us. “Don’t spend it all in one place, girls!” We then begged her to take us to the mall so we could of course spend it on clothes and makeup. “You’ll have to wait until your father gets back,” she said, piling the dishes into the sink. We ran upstairs and got dressed, setting our money down on the dresser and running back outside. It was warm for April, just a slight breeze in the air. It was perfect. I smile at the memory of our birthday traditions. It was something we’ve always shared. Should have shared forever. She’d always tease me about how she was older, granted it was only by three minutes, but now the day would be pointless. A painful reminder of what happened. Of what I lost.
8-23 PTL


giveaway
9-5 PTL

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About the author

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Brooke Cumberland is a USA Today Bestselling author who's a stay-at-home mom and writes full-time. She lives in the frozen tundra of Packer Nation with her husband, 4 year old wild child, and two teenage stepsons. When she's not writing, you can find her reading love stories, listening to music that inspires her, and laughing with her family. Brooke is addicted to Starbucks coffee, leggings, and anything sweet. She found her passion for telling stories during winter break one year in grad school and she hasn't stopped since.
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