Thursday, February 23, 2017

Justin's Season by S.M. Sawyer


Title:  Justin's Season
Author: S. M. Sawyer
Publisher: Ninestar Press
Release Date: August 6, 2016 (print), February 29, 2016 (e-book)
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 101,300 words
Genre: New Adult, historical fiction, redemption, destiny, acceptance, sports, coming out, interconnected, small town, flashback, AIDS

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Synopsis

The year is 1988, and Justin Davis, a former nationally recruited football prep star, awakens from twelve years of masking his shame with drugs and alcohol to find he has been returned to his former self through what can only be described as a miracle. Triggered by the confirmation of his closely guarded sexual orientation, his fall from grace of over a decade before sets the stage for his redemption. The fulfillment of his destiny is prompted by Providence and the serendipitous deeds of those who are a part of his new life, as their intertwined lives are likewise impacted. Though his rapid evolvement and acceptance of his homosexuality is countered by setbacks, Justin perseveres and eventually triumphs as fate, he believes, has led him back to the sports arena to recapture past glories. In a stunning finale, however, he learns his destiny is not what he had envisioned. His calling has been thrust upon him by circumstances beyond his control. Can Justin embrace it and become the man he was always meant to be?

Excerpt

A sliver of light from the early morning sun came through an exposed slit of the basement window blind, creeping its way against the wall until it came to rest upon Justin’s eyes. He lay sleeping in a jumbled mass of musty blankets on an old steel-framed bed. After a few moments of the sun’s focused rays beckoning him to awaken, he flinched and turned his head away, and then rolled onto his left side toward a dark corner in a vain attempt to deny the day’s arrival. For Justin, it had been another long night, and the reminder of a new day came with a reluctant anticipation akin to that of a prisoner serving a life sentence without a chance for parole. He lay there motionless, holding the sheets close to his chin as he gazed upon an iconic black-and-white poster of James Dean. The actor walked down a puddled street with a cigarette between his lips, hands in his coat pockets, and his collar turned up to keep the cold and drizzle at bay. Marching down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams and into immortality. Though it had been hanging on the wall for fifteen years, Justin, enjoying a rare and lucid moment of circumspection, studied the poster in silence as if he were looking at it for the first time. You did it right, Mr. Dean, he thought. You died early…frozen in time. Leaving everyone wanting more. Never having to answer for life’s failings. The unwelcome light from the sun continued to fill the room, exposing the remnants of Justin’s life before the troubles. Dusty citations, press clippings, photographs, scholarship offer letters, and trophies from his high school years. Collected over a decade before, they now served as the remaining threads that connected to past glories. This is what happens, isn’t it? You peak early and get a little cocky that you’re in control, and instead of leaving on top, you live long enough to mutate into some bad apple that people use to warn their kids. “Don’t get too full of yourself or you’ll turn out like Justin Davis.” That’s right…I’m not remembered for what I was and what I should have been. It’s easier for voyeurs to whisper among themselves about the broken, washed-up, slow-motion train wreck I’ve become—how I let my charmed life slip away. Justin sat up and swung his legs over as if getting out of bed, but stayed sitting there to give his head time to clear from another all-night bender and to gain a semblance of balance before stepping onto the cold cement floor. His still imposing six-foot-four-inch body, an inch taller than in his high school days, was out of shape and bloated. It served as a metaphor for everything else his life had become, contrary to the Greek god physique he’d had when he was seemingly in total charge of his life and circumstances. His blond hair was long and greasy, and his face contorted by the miseries of daily self-flagellation through alcohol, drugs, and slovenly habits. His tongue felt thick and dry, and his eyes appeared as if seared on an iron skillet. He did his best to gather whatever strength remained to get up and to live what had become his own recurring Groundhog Day. He wanted water to quench his alcohol-induced thirst and to be bathed by a sympathetic and nonjudgmental geisha, washing away impurities and regret. But again he thought of sleep and of beckoning the dreams to reacquaint him with his previous life. He eased his head onto the pillow with hopes that sleep would allow him to wander back to his senior year in high school—to a time when he was admired by all and treated as the town’s favorite son. Justin Davis was the class hero and the most likely to succeed. He had excelled at everything—sports, scholastics, popularity—and as the top quarterback recruit in the nation he received offers from scores of college football powerhouses representing the Big Ten and other major conferences. Why then, he continually asked himself, had he let his guard down—putting everything on the line and seeking confirmation from strangers? Throughout his life he had felt that guardian angels were with him, but they’d abandoned him when he needed them most, so they could steward over someone more deserving…someone who wouldn’t risk all for a taste of what he had been brought up to consider the forbidden fruit. He couldn’t explain it, but life’s confusions made him feel that he no longer fit the role his angels had paved for him. That maybe he’d had a hand in sabotaging it before it went too far; a secret he kept hidden from himself and others with the aid of any mind-numbing substance he could get his hands on. With his room in the basement of his brother’s home now bathed in full light, Justin drifted back to sleep, and from his sleep he could hear the marching band and cheers from the packed stadium as he led his team, charging onto the field through the gauntlet of cheerleaders. In reliving the moment, he managed a slight smile as his dreams took him back twelve years to the fall of 1976 and the sound of the PA system announcing the starting teams for the state of Ohio’s high school football championship game. And as the dreams continued and the light of the sun streamed through the basement’s walk-out French door and remaining windows, Justin subconsciously felt a strange and unique sensation upon his dormant soul. The feeling of his angels returning to envelop his body like fresh snow on a blemished landscape—lovingly transforming his unkempt and damaged being. They had come to caress and heal his body and spirit, and renew his faith to trust what lay ahead.

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Meet the Author

S. M. Sawyer is a retired military officer. He has also served as a defense contractor and as President for a nationally accredited charity whose mission is to recognize exceptional maritime rescues and assist voluntary search and rescue organizations worldwide. He lives in Virginia with his wife, Natalie. They have five grown children. Justin’s Season is his debut literary effort. Find S.M. on Facebook or send him an eMail       Blog Button 2 Save Save Save Save Save

Monday, February 20, 2017

Unzipping 7D by J.C. Long


Title:  Unzipping 7D
Series: Unzipped Shorts 2
Author: J.C. Long
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: February 20
Heat Level: 5 - Erotica
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 10600
Genre: Erotica, Erotica, travel, exhibition, PWP, hook-up apps, sexting, businessmen

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Synopsis

Jordan Price is used to the boring wait in airports, given that he practically lives on business trips. He’s all set for this to be more of the same, until he meets a self-described power bottom on Unzipped—a guy who happens to be in the same airport. It seems like a perfectly good way to kill time until his flight, but soon Jordan realizes that Heath, his newfound friend on Unzipped, will be taking the same flight, and the wheels in his head get spinning. Jordan is determined to test Heath’s bottoming skills himself, and if he has his way, the flight will be anything but boring.

Excerpt

Unzipping 7D J.C. Long © 2017 All Rights Reserved Jordan didn’t bother formulating a reply; it would just be a waste of time. He sat around, catching up on his fantasy football team until they called for boarding. It was pure luck that Jordan spotted Heath going to join the boarding call, wearing a T-shirt and khaki shorts. Jordan had priority boarding—one of the few benefits his job actually provided on his work flights—but he decided to forgo the slightly quicker boarding in order to fall in line behind Heath. “Hello, 7-D,” Jordan said softly, enjoying the way Heath jumped a little before glancing back at him. “You’re pretty handsome in person—though you look better without your clothes on, if you don’t mind me saying.” The back of Heath’s neck turned pink, along with his ears, and Jordan felt a devilish grin coming on. It looked like his dirty app pen pal blushed easily. There were so many ways he could have fun with that, if only they were seated together. That same regret ran through his mind on repeat as the line slowly progressed. When it was his turn to present his ticket and photo ID to the attendant, he did so without taking his eyes off Heath’s ass as he went before him. It was a damn fine ass. Once Jordan entered the plane, he was greeted by the sole flight attendant, who, with a big fake smile plastered on her red-painted lips, said, “Thank you for flying Alliance Air.” Jordan languidly made his way down the aisle, gaze raking over Heath as he loaded his luggage into the overhead compartment above row seven. He didn’t know if it would work—didn’t even know if Heath would appreciate it or go along with it—but he decided to give it a try. The overweight businessman who had taken the bench next to him while waiting at the gate was currently seated in seat 7-E, the window seat. “Excuse me, sir,” Jordan said, leaning around Heath and ignoring the What the hell are you doing? look Heath shot him. “Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could persuade you to switch seats with me?” Jordan put his hand companionably on Heath’s shoulder. “My friend here and I are flying back home for his brother’s wedding—he’s the best man—and we were supposed to work on bachelor party plans, but we’re sitting apart. I know it’s inconvenient, but could we trade? I have an aisle seat.” Jordan showed the man his ticket. The man heaved a great sigh, like Jordan was asking him to do something truly inconvenient and not just move to a seat a few rows farther back in the plane. He was fully prepared for the guy to say no, but he didn’t. Instead he got up and shuffled past Jordan and Heath, reaching up and removing his carry-on from the overhead bin. “Enjoy your wedding,” he said in a wheezy voice before he took Jordan’s ticket and waddled back along the aisle. Excitement building, Jordan tossed his carry-on in the overhead compartment and took the window seat, grinning cheekily at Heath when he got situated. “You just going to stand there holding up traffic, buddy?” Blushing once more, Heath finished putting away his bags and took his seat, shifting uncomfortably as he buckled his seat belt. Jordan spread his legs a little and let his knee touch Heath’s, almost laughing when the other man nervously moved it away. “What are you doing?” Heath asked in a low voice. “Nothing,” Jordan said, face innocent even as he lowered his hand to his crotch, giving it an obvious squeeze. As he expected, Heath’s gaze followed his hand right to where he wanted it. “I figured it’s going to be a boring three-hour flight, so might as well make it more interesting.” Heath’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How?” “Oh, we’ll figure something out, I’m sure.”

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Meet the Author

J.C. Long is an American expat living in Japan, though he’s also lived stints in Seoul, South Korea—no, he’s not an army brat; he’s an English teacher. He is also quite passionate about Welsh corgis and is convinced that anyone who does not like them is evil incarnate. His dramatic streak comes from his life-long involvement in theater. After living in several countries aside from the United States J. C. is convinced that love is love, no matter where you are, and is determined to write stories that demonstrate exactly that. J. C. Long’s favorite things in the world are pictures of corgis, writing and Korean food (not in that order…okay, in that order). J. C. spends his time not writing thinking about writing, coming up with new characters, attending Big Bang concerts and wishing he was writing. The best way to get him to write faster is to motivate him with corgi pictures. Yes, that is a veiled hint.

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College Discipline by Caitlin Ricci


Title:  College Discipline
Author: Caitlin Ricci
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: February 20
Heat Level: 5 - Erotica
Pairing: Male/Female
Length: 20200
Genre: Erotica, Erotica, BDSM, age gap, college, businessmen, law enforcement, over 40

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Synopsis

Four stories of sex, romance, and college boys learning to kneel. Hitachi is a police officer reduced to being a glorified babysitter for a rich man’s son. He resents his assignment, but Gabriel isn’t the brat Hitachi believes he is. He’s a man who likes pain, and who wants Hitachi to let loose with him too. Leo fantasizes about having sex with a complete stranger, but when he gets his chance it isn’t nearly as wonderful as he imagined it to be. His dad’s boss tries to teach him a lesson about making stupid choices, but his education in submission doesn’t end there. Jensen is horrible at math, and now he’s in a calculus class that he’s barely getting through. His parents get him a tutor, but this tutor is interested in teaching Jensen about far more than just math. Timothy comes back home, to a tiny town he can’t stand, when his mother’s illness gets worse. He’s made a string of bad decisions, and his mother’s friend is determined to turn his life around before Timothy gets lost entirely.

Excerpt

College Discipline Caitlin Ricci © 2017 All Rights Reserved Jensen was ten minutes late for his initial tutoring session. It wasn’t the best way to make a great first impression, but he’d had a hard time getting up when his alarm sounded and then missed his bus. Who actually got up before ten on a Saturday morning anyway? Definitely not him. But he made it to Sam’s door anyway. His new college tutor, the one his parents had insisted Jensen get because he had such a good reputation, lived in a nice house on the outskirts of Denver. There was a new SUV in the driveway that still had the temporary plates on it. Something like that, with 4-wheel drive, was definitely fun to go off-roading in, and if he’d had a vehicle like that, Jensen would never have to sit on the bus again or deal with the driver being late or get hit on by drunk guys in the middle of the night while riding it either. He was still practically drooling over the SUV when a man opened the front door. “I assume you’re Jensen? I’m Sam.” He gave Sam his attention and quickly nodded. “Sorry I’m late. The buses and stuff.” Sam shrugged. “You’re here now at least. Come on in. Let’s get started.” Jensen kicked off his shoes as soon as he was inside and was glad to put his heavy backpack down for a while. “When your parents hired me, they said you were having trouble with calculus, right? Anything else I should know about?” Jensen stripped off his sweatshirt. The house was too warm, and Jensen was already dying in the heat. His T-shirt came up with his sweatshirt, like it always did, and he quickly pulled it back down. “Uh… Math in general, I guess. I have a hard time focusing since my mind goes all over the place and I get bored easily.” He dropped his sweatshirt on the back of the couch and grabbed up his backpack again. “So where do you want me?” Sam nodded toward the kitchen, where Jensen saw two glasses of water and some popcorn already spread out for them. His cheeks flamed. “You were waiting a long time for me, huh?” “A little bit,” Sam confirmed for him as he led the way into the kitchen. “We can get started now, though, and next time you’ll be here when you’re supposed to be. If the busses are an issue, I can come get you. Or we can do the sessions at your place.” Sam’s house was so neat and tidy compared to his apartment. Jensen definitely didn’t want him there. He had enough to be embarrassed about with how bad his grades were and how stupid he felt that he didn’t want to add how much of a slob he was to the list. He sat across from Sam and sipped his water. “How long have you been a tutor?” “Five years. Since I graduated college with my bachelor’s degree in education. How long have you been bad at math?” Sam smiled at him, and Jensen started to relax. “Pretty much forever. I just don’t get it.” Sam chuckled, and Jensen started pulling out his books. He didn’t want to delay any longer in case Sam started to get the idea he just didn’t care if he passed math this semester or not. He did care, but not because he wanted to be good in math or anything like that. He mostly just wanted his parents to get off his back about how he clearly wasn’t applying himself. “What part are you having trouble with?” Jensen waved vaguely to the entire textbook. “All of it. I can’t even do long division. I shouldn’t be in this class, but I got lucky on a few questions on the placement test, so now I’m there and I just want to pass.” Sam put the book down on a nearby chair. “We’ll get to that later then, since it sounds like you need some of the basics reworked first, and I don’t want to overload you on your first day here with me. When you’re having trouble concentrating, what’s normally going on?” Jensen had a hard time concentrating whenever his teacher was nearby. He pressed his lips together and tried to think of a better answer than that, but he didn’t have one, whenever he was struggling, it was normally because Professor Anderson was there with his tight khakis on. He’d be standing close to Jensen’s desk since he sat right in the front, and all Jensen could think about was leaning over and offering his professor a blow job.

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Meet the Author

Caitlin was fortunate growing up to be surrounded by family and teachers that encouraged her love of reading. She has always been a voracious reader, and that love of the written word easily morphed into a passion for writing. She comes from a military family, and the men and women of the armed forces are close to her heart. She also enjoys gardening and horseback riding in the Colorado Rockies where she calls home with her wonderful husband and their two dogs. Her belief that there is no one true path to happily ever after runs deeply through all of her stories.

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Friday, February 17, 2017

Learning to Want by Tami Veldura


Title:  Learning To Want
Author: Tami Veldura
Publisher: Nine Star Press
Release Date: November 21 2016
Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 30k words
Genre: Romance, Science Fiction, BDSM (spanking, dominance, denial)

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Synopsis

Khoram is an enforcer, a bodyguard, but his boss has just betrayed him. Now he's stranded on a desert planet he's never heard of, chained to the only other human around. Atash grew up in the cracks of Dulia's complex social structure, where dominance and submission are a man's worth. He's struggled for years on a lower caste but Khoram could be his ticket to a better life if they can find common ground. Atash wants to teach Khoram the art of submitting by choice and maybe make a name for himself along the way. Khoram, however, isn't here to play Atash's political games. He's going to escape, if his former employer doesn't see him killed first.

Excerpt

Learning to Want Tami Veldura © 2016 All Rights Reserved Khoram couldn’t help testing his bonds. The metal chain between his hands and feet rattled, laughing at his attempts. The line of slaves shuffled forward one space, and Khoram was dragged along whether he wanted it or not. A lot of things were happening whether he wanted them to or not. The food he ate, the beer he drank, the clothes they took, the hands that verified he was in working condition. He flinched at the memory. To distract himself he looked up and tried to count the days. Four behind bars on Elliot’s ship thanks to good-for-nothing Nik, six on the small space hopper, three in the holding cells while he and the Ohiri waited for another connection, two in the transport that left them here on Dulia, five—no, six now—at the auction house. Twenty-one days for Nik to cover his tracks. Almost a full cycle for the trail to go cold. Khoram grit his teeth. At the very least something different was happening. The slave line shuffled forward. Here, off stage, they kept the rooms mostly dim. It didn’t diminish Dulia’s oppressive heat in the slightest, but the closer Khoram was guided to the glowing roll-up door of the slave block, the more he longed for home. His fitful dreams tortured him with visions of Avois’s wet jungles and waterfalls. He hadn’t actually been home in over a decade, too busy making his fortune as an enforcer and bodyguard, but he was starting to see the error of his ways. Or at least the error of Nik’s. Khoram licked his lips. He pressed them together, already regretting it. They’d been chapped dry for days. His wrists and ankles chafed under the iron. These were better discomforts than the lingering slick between his legs and exactly what lay on the other side of that bright doorway. A Dulia lizardman flared the red frill around his neck as he walked the slave line, clicking orders in his native tongue and emphasizing them with a small electric prod. Khoram had tested the prod’s worth enough times to know it could knock him on his ass without much effort. He looked away from the mercenary and shuffled forward with the line. He wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. The group he was chained to consisted largely of Ohiri natives: light-skinned, five-foot average, and generally docile. They were just as likely to stay in line without the chains and prod. Khoram stood out among them: a tall, dark, massive human furious in his captivity. Khoram was highly trained and just waiting for a chance to show it. In a fair fight, the lizardmen would fold like paper and they knew it. He’d never been unchained, left alone, or handled by fewer than four, and they were always armed with their electric prods. Always on alert. Khoram grit his teeth. From capture to sale, he hadn’t managed a single successful bid for freedom, and he’d tried more than a few times. Now he took a breath and let his patience steady his hands, let the line of slaves tug him along. If the lizardmen couldn’t be overcome, whoever purchased him could be. Khoram wasn’t entirely familiar with Dulia’s customs, but if the easily dominated Ohiri were slaves of choice, Khoram wasn’t going to fetch much interest or profit. The slave in front of him was unleashed from the line and yanked out the bright door. A lizardman pointed at the vacated spot, and Khoram shuffled forward to occupy it. The heat pulsed through the door in bright waves, bringing scents of sand, sweat, and a light spice that was unfamiliar. He could hear voices, now: the auctioneer yelling in rapid Duliana, the crowd barking their bids in turn, the sound of rhythmic smacking, a chorus of cheers. Another winning bid. Then Khoram’s chains were unleashed and, flanked by two lizardmen with prods, he was led through the door. Hot metal rattled under his feet, and the blinding sun limited his view of more than the circular platform onto which he was pulled. A lizardman unhooked his wrists from his ankles, instead latching the chain to something that hoisted his arms suddenly overhead. His breath whooshed out. They tightened his ankle chains to the platform, and with a metal screech, it slowly began to rotate. They were showing him off. A tingle of awareness tripped over his skin and exposed groin—the attention of a hundred eyes. Khoram squinted. The auctioneer espoused in Duliana for several minutes, likely explaining why the hell this bear of a human was on the block instead of a lithe Ohiri, spinning his assets to garner the crowd’s favor. Khoram knew a snake-oil salesman when he saw one, even if he didn’t share their language. The platform turned him, and he faced the crowd. More of a species mix than he expected. Lizardmen were not the primary slave-owners if this was a decent selection. Mostly tall Frea, in fact, their black scales draped in white gossamer. They were members of Dulia’s refined upper caste, and other than video, this was the first he’d seen them. They weren’t known to ever leave Dulia, though they profited from the wider galaxy’s trade gladly. Pockets of Slone-dogs made the most noise in the crowd. They barked in their hybrid dialect, likely obscene things Khoram didn’t want translated. He curled his lip at the closest pack, and they yipped at each other.

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Meet the Author

Queer romance, sci­ence fic­tion, fan­tasy, steam­punk, and YA fiction author. I’m only here until I reach escape velocity. Artist. Gardener. Gamer. Raynauds. Asexual.

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Monday, February 13, 2017

The Start of Something New by Tamryn Eradani


Title:  The Start of Something New
Series: Daniel & Ryan, Book 2
Author: Tamryn Eradani
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: February 13th
Heat Level: 5 - Erotica
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 13100
Genre: Erotica, BDSM, businessmen, contemporary, friends to lovers

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Synopsis

After a successful first scene together, Daniel and Ryan explore the possibility of continuing their relationship. Negotiating likes and dislikes in BDSM play is one thing, but can Daniel, who likes to keep his life ordered and free of mess, loosen up enough to let the relaxed and uninhibited Ryan deeper into his life?

Excerpt

The Start of Something New Tamryn Eradani © 2017 All Rights Reserved   Daniel wakes up to the first chime of his alarm, and he gets it turned off and his feet swung over the side of his bed before he realizes something isn’t quite right. The mattress is too soft to be his, and the walls are the wrong color. There’s a half glass of orange juice on the bedside table, and that’s what gets last night trickling back to him in bits and pieces. He’s in Ryan’s apartment. Ryan-from-work’s apartment. At least he’s not in Ryan-from-work’s bed. Daniel eases out of the guest bed, glad that he’s not in yesterday’s work clothes, but he frowns when he sees them strewn haphazardly on the floor. He picks up his slacks and shakes them out, even though getting rid of wrinkles isn’t that easy. He’s going to have to take them to the dry cleaner. He has his overnight bag from the car so he changes into his running clothes. Ryan’s bedroom door is closed, and Daniel doesn’t hear any signs that he’s awake, so Daniel doesn’t feel bad for going for a run. He does leave a note saying where he’s gone in case Ryan wakes up and is alarmed to find either his houseguest or his keys missing. When Daniel comes back from his run there are still no signs that Ryan’s awake so Daniel takes him time in the shower. It’s more difficult to luxuriate in the shower than in a bath, but Daniel makes do, lathering up with the soap from his toiletry bag until he smells like sandalwood rather than sweat. His cock, half-hard since he woke up this morning, takes interest in in the smooth slide of skin against skin as he washes his calves and then his thighs. His scene with Ryan ended last night. Daniel’s body is fully his again. If he wanted to knock out a quick one, or even take his time, he could. He doesn’t want to, though. Either he and Ryan will do something before Daniel leaves this morning or he’s going to go home and think about last night. In either case, it’s too early for anything. He finishes his shower and changes into the pajamas from his overnight bag for lack of anything else better to wear. Then he goes to make breakfast. It figures that it’s the brewing coffee that finally lures Ryan from his room. He stumbles into the kitchen, covering a yawn with one hand and scratching his belly with the other. His hair is sleep tousled and his cheeks are pink from being under all his blankets. Daniel has a hard time reconciling this image with the man that put Daniel on his knees last night. “Breakfast?” Ryan asks, coming over to peer over Daniel’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with the eggs?” “I took out the yolks,” Daniel says. “Healthier for you that way.” He moves the eggs to one unused burner to cool and Ryan takes that as his cue to wrap an arm around Daniel’s waist and pulls him in for a brief hug. Well, a hug and— “Did you just sniff my hair?” Daniel asks. “Did you bring your own shampoo?” Ryan counters. “It was in my bag.” Daniel leans back into Ryan’s embrace, then adds, “If you want me to smell like you then you need to get better shampoo.” Ryan’s arm tightens briefly across Daniel’s waist, and Daniel allows himself a brief, triumphant smile.

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Meet the Author

Tamryn studied English and Creative Writing in school but has been writing since she could first hold a pencil. Recently, she’s turned her focus towards writing erotica. She enjoys writing stories where sex comes first, then feelings, because doing things out of order can be fun. Tamryn has spent the past few months writing the Daniel and Ryan series with a lovely view of mountains out her window, and she’s now searching for a new mountain range to serve as her backdrop as she begins her next project.

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Friday, February 10, 2017

Leaning into Love by Lane Hayes


Title:  Leaning Into Love
Series: Leaning Into Stories, #1
Author: Lane Hayes
Publisher: Self-Published
Release Date: February 10th
Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: Approximately 24K words
Genre: Romance, Erotica, Friends to lovers, surfer, white collar, San Francisco, bisexual

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Synopsis

Eric Schuster is a successful guy. He’s part owner of a highly successful tech firm, he has a supportive family and a great group of close friends. But something is missing. Or maybe he’s reacting to his business partner and ex’s wedding news. He knows his former lover is making a big mistake but he also knows it’s time to move on. And hopefully avoid falling for another friend. Zane Richards is an avid sailor and surfer with a laid-back approach to life. He firmly believes there’s a time and place for everything if you’re willing to take a chance. Like letting his best friend know he’s interested in being much more than friends. Eric has always been half in love with Zane but going from friends to lovers isn’t an easy sell for someone protecting his heart. Eric will have to decide if he’s willing to risk it all by leaning into love. INCLUDES BONUS CONTENT

Excerpt

Zane refilled my glass and returned it to me with a naughty smirk. “You get kinda corny when you’re tipsy, Schuster. It’s cute.” “Cute?” “Yeah. You get goofy. Your ears turn red and it makes the freckles on your nose stand out. Then you do that thing with your hair where you swipe your hand through it so many times that it looks like you just rolled out of bed.” “Uh…okay. That’s embarrassing.” I searched for a reflective surface as I attempted to pat my unruly brown hair into some semblance of order. “I was going for debonair and I got bar mitzvah kid chic,” I grumbled. Zane leaned forward and gave me an intense look I didn’t understand. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself with me, Eric. I like you just the way you are.” He sat back again and cocked his head. “So let’s talk about this stupid engagement party. What’s the dress code?” “Um… it’s probably dressy casual,” I replied with a furrowed brow. I wanted to back up a sentence or two and analyze his words and dissect the meaning of “I like you just the way you are”. “The usual oxymoron,” he snarked. “You are going with me, right?” “Sure. If you want.” “I want. It’ll save us both the trouble of finding some poor unsuspecting sucker to drag to a fancy shindig.” “True. Speaking of suckers, don’t you have a date tonight?” Zane glanced at his watch and then stretched his legs out on the bench so his shoe nudged my thigh. “I’ve got time. Talk to me. What else have you been up to lately? I noticed there’s a new exhibit at the Modern Museum. Have you gone? I think it’s a midcentury retrospective with Motherwell and de Kooning. I know you like the scribbly art and…” His conversation was easy. The gentrified version of his former surfer dude accent had a lilting quality I could have listened to for hours. I felt myself truly begin to relax and let go of the invisible hold I’d had on my emotions, like a swimmer grasping onto a ledge who finally realizes he can reach the bottom of the pool. Being with someone who knew quirky details about me and accepted them without judgment or reservation was a gift. I treasured all of my friends, but Zane was special. Our friendship was rooted in geography and history and now time. He wasn’t making a romantic advance when he asked me to attend Nick’s engagement party with him. That was latent wishful thinking on my part. Zane was simply being who he always was. My oldest and best friend.

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Meet the Author

Lane Hayes is grateful to finally be doing what she loves best. Writing full-time! It’s no secret Lane loves a good romance novel. An avid reader from an early age, she has always been drawn to well-told love story with beautifully written characters. These days she prefers the leading roles to both be men. Lane discovered the M/M genre a few years ago and was instantly hooked. Her debut novel was a 2013 Rainbow Award finalist and subsequent books have received Honorable Mentions, and were winners in the 2016 Rainbow Awards. She loves red wine, chocolate and travel (in no particular order). Lane lives in Southern California with her amazing husband in an almost empty nest.

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Thursday, February 9, 2017

The Gaia Protocol By Alec Nortan

Title:  The Gaia Protocol
Author: Alec Nortan
Publisher:  NineStar Press - SunFire Imprint
Release Date: February 6th
Heat Level: 1 - No Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 83700
Genre: Romance, Young Adult, Dystopian future; enemies to lovers; gods; mythical creatures

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Synopsis

Long ago, the Gods came back to earth and banished all science from Earth. When Prome finds an amulet in the ruins of an ancient city, he doesn’t expect it to take him and his friend Malia on a quest to discover the long forgotten secret of the Technologists, to meet someone who awakens feelings of love in him, nor to defy the Gods themselves.

Excerpt

The Gaia Protocol Alec Nortan © 2017 All Rights Reserved I’m crouching behind the wall of a half-collapsed building. I usually don’t taunt the Fates like this, but my hiding place seems safer than the arrows of my pursuers. I hear footsteps outside. I take a peek, just long enough to see a dozen hoplites marching down the street, their bows at the ready. They’re scanning, surrounding, searching. As they come nearer, my heart beats faster. I flatten myself on the ground. If I could sink into it, I would, but the only thing sinking is a painfully sharp stone into my ribs. The Goddess Tyche has blessed me with her luck: I hear them move away at a brisk pace. When I’m sure they’re far enough away, I sit, propping myself against the wall in a more comfortable position. I massage my ribs to ease the pain. Only then do I muster the courage to look at my leg. It’s still shuddering from the electric arrow, but luckily, the arrow missed, only grazing the flesh. Had the arrow really hit me, I would already be dead. I know how it works. I’ve seen it before. A few years ago, during a search, a Technologist hiding in our village tried to run away. The hoplite shot him in the arm. The man jerked but kept running. He snatched the arrow out of his limp arm. The hoplite then shot several arrows as fast as he could without even aiming. The arrows flew, veering toward the Technologist midflight. None missed. Though the arrow missed me, it still hurts like hell, from both the wound and the aftereffects of the jolt. I take off my neckerchief and improvise a bandage to stop the bleeding. Why did the legion attack me? Scavenging in the old city isn’t forbidden. I used to come here as a child and climb inside the deserted skyscrapers, looking for objects to trade on the market. Today, I’ve found some kind of amulet. It’s a small, flat, metallic rectangle with geometric signs on it. It’s probably not worth a bowl of soup, but it looks nice. I’ve put a leather string through a small hole and kept it around my neck to offer to Malia. She’ll like it. I look at the sky. The sun is already halfway down the horizon. I have to move if I want to make it home before nightfall. My leg doesn’t feel much better. I take a tentative step and wince at the pain. I won’t be able to run, but I can walk. Walking back should usually take me a couple of hours, but not today. I have to move carefully between the buildings, hiding at suspect sounds, checking for movement in every direction before crossing a road. Two hours walking only brings me to the outskirts of what used to be a great city. Here, the last remnants of houses are swallowed by the first trees of the forest. “Fuck!” My outburst sends a few scared birds flying away. It has taken me far too long. The sun is already sinking behind the highest ruins. Now I really have to hurry, despite my leg. I scrutinize the nearby trees. I don’t see anything moving. I walk to them and find a broken bough to use as a crutch. I come back swiftly to the safety of the road. During the day, traveling on the road is usually safe enough. But the forest… Only parties of adults enter it. Sometimes, one goes in alone. And sometimes, they don’t come back. During the night, forest or road, no one goes out. Too many things lurk in the dark.

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Meet the Author

Alec Nortan is a French social services worker. Though he learned English at school, he chooses this language to write in. His works are gay-related fictions, varying from young adult, science fiction or fantasy adventure, to romance.

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Tour Schedule

2/6 - Stories That Make You Smile
2/6 - MM Good Book Reviews
2/7 - Books,Dreams,Life
2/8 - Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents
2/8 - The Novel Approach
2/9 - Prism Book Alliance
2/9 - Sharing Links and Wisdom
2/10 - The Kimi-chan Experience

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Monday, February 6, 2017

The Captains Harvest by T.J. Land


Title:  The Captain's Harvest
Series: Adrift, Book 5
Author: T.J. Land
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: February 6th
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male Menage
Length: 15300
Genre: Romance, Gay, Bisexual, menage, sci fi, Adrift, LGBT, aliens, asexual, trans, age gap, polyamory

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Synopsis

The long-suffering crew of the Prayer have found a home. They’ve got a harvest. Now it’s time for a holiday. But while the captain was looking forward to a day spent lying on his back, he’d wanted it to be as a result of a prolonged food-and-sex coma, not arthritis…

Excerpt

The Captain’s Harvest T.J. Land © 2017 All Rights Reserved His hands trembling with anticipation, Thomas held the warm brown loaf up to his face and breathed in, sighing as the smell of real bread made with real flour flooded his nostrils. It’s slightly burnt on the underside, said Echo, who stood by the oven, watching his reaction closely. Do you want a knife? Shaking his head, Thomas set the loaf down and tore off a chunk from the corner, shivering at the sound of the crust cracking open. He stuffed it into his mouth and waited a second before he started to chew. As the warmth and flavour spread over his tongue, he made the sort of noise he generally reserved for when Khurshed hit his prostate dead-on. Bread had been one of the many, many things he’d taken for granted back on Earth, only eating it when it was so loaded down with strawberry jam and peanut butter he didn’t even notice its taste or texture. What a spoiled idiot he’d been. So? asked Echo. Swallowing and smacking his lips, he said, “I’m starting a new religion. We’re all going to worship this bread now.” Echo blushed, bowed, and allowed Thomas to kiss his forehead. It was a shade browner than it had been the last time Thomas’s lips had touched it; finally, after almost a year living on Yusra’s surface, Echo’s milk-white skin was beginning to tan. “Where’d you learn to make something like that, huh? Did you go to a fancy cooking school?” I wanted to when I was a teenager. The only culinary academy on the Moon was expensive, though. I learnt to bake while I was working as a waiter in a pastry cafĂ©; the manager let me experiment in the kitchen after-hours. “You’re so talented, babe. And cute. And smart. And nice.” No, you can’t have the whole loaf to yourself. It’s our first, and I promised everyone a slice. Thomas mewled disappointedly as Echo took it back and set it down on the tray before adding, I’m making more loaves for Thanksgiving. You can gorge yourself then. “We aren’t celebrating Thanksgiving,” Antoine huffed, striding into the kitchen. “Our first official holiday on this planet is not going to honour that tasteless American celebration of colonialism, gastronomic excess, and wanton cruelty to animals.” As he spoke, he washed his dirt-covered hands in the sink and then poured himself a glass of water. He was wearing a grimy shirt and shorts that exposed his legs and knobby knees to the world, so he’d probably spent the morning foraging for specimens or visiting the nearby ruins again. His legs were building up some decent calf muscles, Thomas noted, and his biceps were getting more defined from all the time he spent lugging his equipment around. He still wasn’t Thomas’s type―pretty face or not, men that skinny just didn’t do it for him―but Thomas was sure Zachery and Khurshed appreciated it. Thomas shrugged. “It makes sense, Ant. We’re celebrating food.” Specifically, they were celebrating Rick’s successful harvest and the resultant fact that bread was making its long-awaited re-entry into their diets. “There are plenty of harvest-related holidays that aren’t as thoroughly appalling as Thanksgiving,” Antoine said, his nostrils twitching as Echo passed him the still-warm loaf. He picked up a knife and cut himself a dainty slice. “The Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival, the Slavic Saviour of the Apple Feast Day, the Igbo New Yam Festival…” He paused to take a bite, and then another. “The… That other one… Dear God, Echo, this amazing.” I still think celebrating Halloween would be fun, said Echo, after prying the loaf from Antoine’s grasp before he could devour it whole. Everyone likes costumes and ghost stories. And it’s also historically related to the harvest, so it’s appropriate. “Echo, you just want an opportunity to use your morbid cookie cutter collection again. I’ve ingested enough decapitated gingerbread men for one lifetime, thank you. Besides, you know as well as I do that our captain would take it as an excuse to wear that lewd pirate costume of his, which would hardly be appropriate for a social gathering.” Nodding, Thomas added, “Yeah, plus Rick and Zachery would both want to be the pirate queen, and we’ve only got one skirt.” “Debates about the name of our celebration aside, how are preparations going?” Antoine asked, leaning on the table. “I know Mehtab and Khali are festooning the mess hall with hideous decorations.” “I’m helping Echo with the cooking, Zachery’s handling the music, and Rick said he was organizing ‘entertainment’.” “Weed.” “You don’t know that. It could be dodgeball. Or card games.” “It’s weed, Thomas.” The entertainer himself barrelled into the kitchen, almost knocking Antoine over. “Oops! Sorry. Hey, guys, guess what I found to make our Thanksgiving complete?” In response to their blank stares, Rick showed them what he’d been hiding behind his back. “A turkey!” “Gobble,” said Rux solemnly. “Oh good grief,” Antoine muttered as Thomas snickered into his hand. “Rick, you’re fucking twisted.” “I am pleased and honoured to have been invited to participate in your festivities,” said the enormous green bird, fluffing out its feathers. “Rick told me this form would be most appropriate.” Looking thoughtful, Echo signed, I don’t have a big enough pot. “I don’t understand, dear Echo?” Nothing. Try some bread.

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Get book one, The Captain's Encounter for free at NineStar Press & Smashwords!

Meet the Author

T.J. Land is a South African writer of queer spec fic, erotic romance and sometimes other things. She owns many cacti but few cactuses. She knows everything. Yes, even that. Especially that.

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