Thursday, 29 November 2018

Black Light: Fearless by Maren Smitn RELEASE BLITZ

Lost… Hurt… Broken…

Dark… Emotional… Beautiful…

Black Light: Fearless by Maren Smith

Now Available

Buy Now - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KK5S351/ or FREE on KU






He was the last thing she thought she needed, but she was everything he wanted.

Abused and alone, Kitty had no idea how far she’d have to flee after she finally got the courage to run. She never would have guessed she’d end up halfway around the world, or in the home — much less the arms — of dominant Australian whip-master, Noah Carver.

He knows she’s damaged, that she needs safety and time to heal, but the way her submission calls to him has Noah thinking more about what could be between them than her history.

The only question now is what she fears more: standing up to her abusive ex-dom, or staying with a man she’s afraid to love?
Buy Now - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KK5S351/ or FREE on KU
Hugging her towel, Kitty crept through the second kitchen archway, edging between the massive dining table and built-in china hutch, to peek out through the half-open drapes into the yard. She saw the radio first, sitting on the white-painted front porch rail, blaring its ‘80s music out into the yard where Noah was standing—no, not standing, dancing—step dancing, in form-fitting jeans, crocodile boots and worn tan hat, and a white t-shirt that fit him in a way that was at once loose and yet a second skin. She could see the ripple of muscle playing across his shoulders and back, bunching and flexing in his biceps as his arms moved to the beat, rising and falling, snapping out the rhythm with each of the whips he held, one in each hand. That was the source of the popping. Not one crack at a time, but two and three snaps to each fluid movement as he turned and stepped, and tapped his way through to the end of that Dire Straits song.

When it was over, the music paused long enough for him to reset himself. Head slightly bowed, he rolled his muscular shoulders, shook the whips out like long snakes in the dust around his feet, and then AC/DC started up. Thunderstruck. His foot started tapping. He found the beat, and then he began all over again. Fluid, graceful, line-dancing motions that he so effortlessly filled with a whole new accompaniment of tempo-keeping cracks from his whips.

She caught her breath, suddenly aware that her stomach was tightening and quivering right along with his punctuating music.

Abruptly retreating from the window, Kitty stood for a moment at the table, hands clutching and tightening and adjusting at her towel, feeling at once hot and flustered and confused and scared, and then stupid because she didn’t know why. Two tiny steps forward could have carried her back to the window for a second peek, but she made herself turn away.

The heavenly aroma of coffee drifted from the kitchen.

She hugged herself, knowing she ought to get dressed, but also knowing there was no way she was going back into her bedroom. Not now, possibly not ever.

She wandered as far as the living room, stopping again between the dark yawning maw of the hallway leading back to spider-infested doom — and the front door, with its multi-paneled glass windows that provided another peak at Noah out in the yard.

A sparkle of gold drew her eye into the living room. There wasn’t a lot of furniture to stumble around or useless decorations, but there were a lot of display boxes hanging on the walls. In each one, attached to a green-felt backcloth, was a coiled brown-plaited whip with a golden plaque the size of a business card. Noah’s name was engraved on each one, with the division of whip cracking that he’d won—most of which read simply ‘Mens’ Champion’—and the year. There were fifteen of them total, and they spanned nine years’ worth of achievements.

Scattered among them and along the fireplace mantel were pictures. Some of Noah at various ages; some of other people. Everybody had whips, and one was a newspaper clipping taken from the local paper in which the headline included both Noah’s name and the 2000 Sydney Olympics, where apparently he and others from the Australian Whipcrackers & Plaiters Association had put on the Opening Ceremony and, as the paper put it, opened the eyes of the world to the competitive sport of Australian whip cracking.

She was looking over his framed collection of Guinness World Record titles when the front door suddenly opened and Noah walked in. How she had missed hearing the music shut off, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he were trying to sneak up on her. The heavy tromp of his boots when he crossed the threshold, took one look at her in nothing but a towel, and abruptly stopped, was damn near deafening.

To his credit, he didn’t ogle her. He kept his eyes locked with hers and any hint of discernible expression locked tight behind a mask she could not read. It was probably disapproval. It had to be disapproval, though there wasn’t so much as a single censuring note in the way he finally said, “Rule Number Five, love. Admittedly, I did only specify shoes, but in my defense, I assumed you would know to put your clobbers on and not to go nuddy about.”

Both whips were in his hand, coiled and tied. But every experience she had in regards to whips had taught her how easy it was to make them ready for use again. It would have been so easy, especially with that thought running wild in her head, to be afraid of him. And yet, with his face void of expression, and his tone careful not to be too scolding, he made no move to come at her.

He smelled like sunshine, too, her brain supplied.

Like that should make a difference, she wanted the rest of her to argue, but in some weird way… it did make a difference. It was all she could smell, the sunshine, the dust and leather of his boots, the faint spice of his deodorant or soap, and the warm coffee spreading through the house. It made such a difference that, standing there, staring at him with those whips in his hand, her nipples budded into tight little peaks and a single thump of warm neglect pulsed between her tensing legs. She clutched her towel, tightening her thighs in an effort to kill the sensation, but like ripples on a still pond, that thump spread up through her belly, becoming a series of smaller pulses that she could feel steadily throbbing out through her sex and into her womb.
Buy Now - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KK5S351/ or FREE on KU
About Maren Smith
Fortunate enough to live with my Daddy Dom, I am a Little, coffee whore, pain slut, administrator at my local BDSM dungeon, resident of the wilds of freakin' Kansas (still don't know how I ended up here) and submissive to the love of my life. An International and USA Bestselling Author, I have penned more than 120 novels, novellas and short stories, and am the author of the Masters of the Castle series.
CONNECT WITH MAREN SMITH
Visit Maren Smith's blog here: http://badgirlscorner.blog

Friend me on Facebook here: http://facebook.com/Maren.Smith.10

Follow me on Twitter: @authmarensmith

Friend me on Instagram: maren_smith

Follow on Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/maren-smith

Visit me on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/authormarensmith

Wednesday, 28 November 2018

4th & Girl by Max Monroe BLOG TOUR

 

From the New York Times bestselling author of Tapping the Billionaire comes a hilarious and sexy standalone about fate, chance, and one heck of an epically awkward meet-cute.

4th & Girl, an all-new standalone romantic comedy in the Mavericks Tackle Love series from Max Monroe, is available now!

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I’m Leo Landry, one of the best shutdown cornerbacks in the nation, and the New York Mavericks’ first-round draft pick.
If James Bond spent his days running drills and his nights shutting out quarterbacks, he’d dream about being me. But professional football is on a whole other level from college, and as the new guy, I’ve got everything to prove.
No problem.
All I’ve got to do is focus, right?
Too bad life’s got other plans.
Blond hair, long lashes, and criminal blue eyes, there’s a pint-sized bombshell that I can’t stop thinking about.
I don’t even know her name, but she’s completely screwing up my game plan.
It’s too late to turn back now though. I have my eye on the prize, and I won’t settle for anything less.
4th down and only one goal in my sightsthis pretty little mystery girl.
Good thing I’m at my best when the pressure’s on.
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Download your copy today!
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2CS8kgb

Start the series of standalones today!

Wildcat
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/Wildcat
Google Play: http://bit.ly/2zZY6aI
Amazon Print: https://amzn.to/2RYPV5S
About Max Monroe:
A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads. Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. 
Favorite writing partners and longtime friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
Connect with Max Monroe:
Stay up to date with Max Monroe by joining their mailing list today: https://www.authormaxmonroe.com/newsletter
REVIEWED BY
Monique Cashmere for Jo&Isalovebooks Review Team

4th & Girl (Mavericks Tackle Love, #4)4th & Girl by Max Monroe
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is my first Max Monroe book, and it wont be my last. It was a quick, fun read told in dual POV and I had it finished in a day. It is light, little to no angst and plenty of sweet sweet romance.

The Mavericks Rookie is keen to get off the training field, do the random drug test and hit the showers. Little did he know that he was about to meet the quirky, buttered fingered nurse aid that will haunt his thoughts for the months to come. As fate would have it, he finds her again in the least likely of places. This time Leo will not let her out of his sight! As for Gemma, being Alma's assistant isn't life fulfilling but it is very interesting indeed! All she needs is a little push, or maybe a big one, to help her through her anxieties and live out her dreams.

This is a standalone novel in a series, and at no point did I feel left out not having read the others. Although, it did give us a little background of the other couples, and I am now interested to go back and read those too. There is a pleasing epilogue that brings the story to a very happy ending. Fans of Max Monroe and the Mavericks will be delighted with this one.


**Reviewed by Monique for JoandIsaLoveBooks Blog.

View all my reviews

Tuesday, 27 November 2018

Love with me by Kristen Proby RELEASE BLITZ

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Best friends from college. Plus-ones since med school. A chance for something new...
Love With Me, the latest in the beloved With Me In Seattle Series by New York Times Bestselling Author Kristen Proby is Live!
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Jace Crawford heals hearts for a living. More than that, medicine is his life. To become the leading cardiothoracic surgeon on the west coast, he’s made sacrifices. No social life. He barely has time to sleep. Love? Forget about it. But when everything goes horribly wrong on his table, and he unexpectedly loses a patient, Jace is suspended from work.
When a man has nothing but his job, what does he do when that’s gone?
Joy Thompson collects unwanted strays. A dog with one eye, a three-legged cat, a bird that swears like a sailor? All part and parcel of her veterinary business. It helps pass the time.
Until Jace calls out of the blue to ask her out on a real date. Spending extra time with him is dangerous. Her feelings for her best friend have always been stronger than simple companionship. If she gets attached, what happens when he goes back to work and leaves her behind?
But as the weeks progress, falling for each other is inevitable. This time, Jace’s heart is the one that will need fixing before both of them end up broken.
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Download your copy today!
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/LoveWithMe
Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2BZpGsT
Release Blitz Teaser.png
About Kristen:
Kristen was born and raised in a small resort town in her beloved Montana. In her mid-twenties, she decided to stretch her wings and move to the Pacific Northwest, where she made her home for more than a dozen years.
During that time, Kristen wrote many romance novels and joined organizations such as RWA and other small writing groups. She spent countless hours in workshops and more mornings than she can count up before the dawn so she could write before going to work. She submitted many manuscripts to agents and editors alike but was always told no. In the summer of 2012, the self-publishing scene was new and thriving, and Kristen had one goal: to publish just one book. It was something she longed to cross off of her bucket list.
Not only did she publish one book, she’s since published close to thirty titles, many of which have hit the USA Today, New York Times and Wall Street Journal Bestsellers lists. She continues to self-publish, best known for her With Me In Seattle and Boudreaux series, and is also proud to work with William Morrow, a division of HarperCollins, with the Fusion Series.
Kristen and her husband, John, make their home in her hometown of Whitefish, Montana with their two pugs and two cats.
Connect with Kristen:

Thursday, 22 November 2018

Black Light: Fearless



Title: Fearless
Series: Black Light, Book 10
Release Date:  Friday, November 16, 2018
Cover Reveal: Thursday, November 8, 2018
Cover Design by Eris Adderly
Go Live Price: $2.99 - Will move to $4.99 a week after release
Genre: Contemporary BDSM
Purchase Link: Preorder link not yet available





Blurb:

He was the last thing she thought she needed, but she was everything he wanted.

Abused and alone, Kitty had no idea how far she’d have to flee after she finally got the courage to run. She never would have guessed she’d end up halfway around the world, or in the home — much less the arms — of dominant Australian whip-master, Noah Carver.

He knows she’s damaged, that she needs safety and time to heal, but the way her submission calls to him has Noah thinking more about what could be between them than her history.

The only question now is what she fears more: standing up to her abusive ex-dom, or staying with a man she’s afraid to love?



Teasers:
  • For all that she might feel lost in the middle of nowhere right now, she was in the middle of his nowhere and he would keep her safe.

  • She wants me to hurt her, and I will. But first, she’ll have to ask for it.

  • Lost… Hurt… Broken…
  • Dark… Emotional… Beautiful…

  • She was so broken, so haunted… he was the last thing she needed, but she was all he wanted.

  • Hit me, hurt me. I deserve it. But don’t make me want you. It’s your kisses I can’t bear.

  • I’m supposed to protect her, hide her, keep her safe. I was never supposed to see her crawling naked, on hands and knees, before me. I’m not supposed to want her, but I can taste her already and my mouth keeps watering…

  • There are consequences for loving him, but for once—just once—I want to feel them without being afraid.


Excerpt 1:

Hugging her towel, Kitty crept through the second kitchen archway, edging between the massive dining table and built-in china hutch, to peek out through the half-open drapes into the yard. She saw the radio first, sitting on the white-painted front porch rail, blaring its ‘80s music out into the yard where Noah was standing—no, not standing, dancing—step dancing, in form-fitting jeans, crocodile boots and worn tan hat, and a white t-shirt that fit him in a way that was at once loose and yet a second skin. She could see the ripple of muscle playing across his shoulders and back, bunching and flexing in his biceps as his arms moved to the beat, rising and falling, snapping out the rhythm with each of the whips he held, one in each hand. That was the source of the popping. Not one crack at a time, but two and three snaps to each fluid movement as he turned and stepped, and tapped his way through to the end of that Dire Straits song.
When it was over, the music paused long enough for him to reset himself. Head slightly bowed, he rolled his muscular shoulders, shook the whips out like long snakes in the dust around his feet, and then AC/DC started up. Thunderstruck. His foot started tapping. He found the beat, and then he began all over again. Fluid, graceful, line-dancing motions that he so effortlessly filled with a whole new accompaniment of tempo-keeping cracks from his whips.
She caught her breath, suddenly aware that her stomach was tightening and quivering right along with his punctuating music.
Abruptly retreating from the window, Kitty stood for a moment at the table, hands clutching and tightening and adjusting at her towel, feeling at once hot and flustered and confused and scared, and then stupid because she didn’t know why. Two tiny steps forward could have carried her back to the window for a second peek, but she made herself turn away.
The heavenly aroma of coffee drifted from the kitchen.
She hugged herself, knowing she ought to get dressed, but also knowing there was no way she was going back into her bedroom. Not now, possibly not ever.
She wandered as far as the living room, stopping again between the dark yawning maw of the hallway leading back to spider-infested doom — and the front door, with its multi-paneled glass windows that provided another peak at Noah out in the yard.
A sparkle of gold drew her eye into the living room. There wasn’t a lot of furniture to stumble around or useless decorations, but there were a lot of display boxes hanging on the walls. In each one, attached to a green-felt backcloth, was a coiled brown-plaited whip with a golden plaque the size of a business card. Noah’s name was engraved on each one, with the division of whip cracking that he’d won—most of which read simply ‘Mens’ Champion’—and the year. There were fifteen of them total, and they spanned nine years’ worth of achievements.
Scattered among them and along the fireplace mantel were pictures. Some of Noah at various ages; some of other people. Everybody had whips, and one was a newspaper clipping taken from the local paper in which the headline included both Noah’s name and the 2000 Sydney Olympics, where apparently he and others from the Australian Whipcrackers & Plaiters Association had put on the Opening Ceremony and, as the paper put it, opened the eyes of the world to the competitive sport of Australian whip cracking.
She was looking over his framed collection of Guinness World Record titles when the front door suddenly opened and Noah walked in. How she had missed hearing the music shut off, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he were trying to sneak up on her. The heavy tromp of his boots when he crossed the threshold, took one look at her in nothing but a towel, and abruptly stopped, was damn near deafening.
To his credit, he didn’t ogle her. He kept his eyes locked with hers and any hint of discernible expression locked tight behind a mask she could not read. It was probably disapproval. It had to be disapproval, though there wasn’t so much as a single censuring note in the way he finally said, “Rule Number Five, love. Admittedly, I did only specify shoes, but in my defense, I assumed you would know to put your clobbers on and not to go nuddy about.”
Both whips were in his hand, coiled and tied. But every experience she had in regards to whips had taught her how easy it was to make them ready for use again. It would have been so easy, especially with that thought running wild in her head, to be afraid of him. And yet, with his face void of expression, and his tone careful not to be too scolding, he made no move to come at her.
He smelled like sunshine, too, her brain supplied.
Like that should make a difference, she wanted the rest of her to argue, but in some weird way… it did make a difference. It was all she could smell, the sunshine, the dust and leather of his boots, the faint spice of his deodorant or soap, and the warm coffee spreading through the house. It made such a difference that, standing there, staring at him with those whips in his hand, her nipples budded into tight little peaks and a single thump of warm neglect pulsed between her tensing legs. She clutched her towel, tightening her thighs in an effort to kill the sensation, but like ripples on a still pond, that thump spread up through her belly, becoming a series of smaller pulses that she could feel steadily throbbing out through her sex and into her womb.



Excerpt 2:

“The kitchen?” she echoed, a startled pang bursting in the pit of her stomach.
“For a start.” He took the last bite of his breakfast before pushing his plate aside in favor of nursing his coffee mug. He watched her, that incredibly relaxed and super personable smile on his face. The one that said he was nothing but trustworthy and would never hurt anyone, including her. She trembled, knowing better than to believe it.
And yet, where was the threat? She rubbed her hands against her hips. There was a trap waiting for her somewhere, but she couldn’t see it. What she could see was how unbearable it would be if she didn’t have something to do with her time. Like at Hadlee and Garreth’s house, where they’d all but jumped to assure her she didn’t have to help them every time she tried. As if she were too fragile to cook a meal or wash a load of clothes, or sweep a damn floor. After that first week, she couldn’t even lose herself in her job; Ethen had stolen that from her too. He’d left her with nothing to do but stand in front of a window all day, staring out… sometimes at him.
She shuddered.
“I can do that,” she finally agreed.
“Good.” His smile widened, even as he hid it behind another sip of his coffee. “Finish your breakfast, please, and we’ll move on to the next issue.”
She still had half an egg left and a lot of shredded toast on her plate. Shifting in her seat, she picked up her fork and tried to sop up loose breadcrumbs with her egg. “What other issue?”
“Rule Number Eight,” he said, taking another swig of coffee before lowering his cup to the table. His fingers remained hooked in the handle. He looked so relaxed, so calm, and yet the bomb he dropped was brutal enough to shake her. “In this house, submissives are allowed neither to discipline themselves, nor to pleasure themselves.”
He’d seen. Somehow last night, without her hearing him or knowing it, he’d seen her doing… oh God! Kitty shoved back from the table, vaulting up from her chair before she knew she was going to move.
“Sit down,” Noah ordered, the quiet thunder of his suddenly steely voice as sharp as the crack of his whip had been earlier. That sharpness snapped beneath her panic and the submissive in her reacted. As fast as she’d shot to her feet, Kitty was back in her chair.
“You’re not my submissive,” he said, that note of steel that had so completely bound her to his will melting once more into softness. “Sadly, right now you’re not anybody’s submissive and I think that might be a huge part of the problem.”
Now, here it came. The seedy order thinly disguised as an offer. A choice that wasn’t really one at all. Jesus, how stupid could she be?
He tipped his head, the corners of his mouth curling even as his eyes narrowed. “Do you think I’m going to offer you my dominance?”
Something on her face must have given away the direction her wildly churning thoughts had shot in. Despite that curl, he wasn’t smiling anymore. Although he hadn’t moved, he didn’t look quite as relaxed either.
“Aren’t you?” She locked her hands in her lap to quell their shaking, but it didn’t work.
“There is no way for me to do that right now without violating your consent.”
Tiny shivers danced through her, up the backs of her legs, across the flesh of her belly and her back, all the way up into her breasts. Her nipples peaked, at instant odds with nearly all the rest of her, including her mouth. “Why would you want to do that?”
She could have bit her own tongue off. Why would she say that? Why that of all things? Not, what makes you think I would give you consent? Or even, what makes you think I would welcome that? She didn’t know Noah. She wasn’t comfortable around him. He scared her, but then everything scared her. So really, that hardly ranked as an argument.
“I don’t believe you are in the right place mentally for me to do that,” he said bluntly. “I’m not comfortable at this point in entering into anything binding, not even as simple play partners. But that is what you need. Isn’t it?”
Her shivers grew shivers.
His thumb lightly tapped the table as he studied her. “It’s the reason you crawled into bed last night, clinging to my old strap, and cried yourself to sleep.”
Her heart fluttered, the vibrations of which she felt echoed all the way down through her stomach and in between her thighs. She squeezed her legs together. Hidden in her lap, her hands became fists. She fought to keep her breathing even and her expression properly masked, but inside, all she could think was: What else? Had he seen her touch herself? Had he seen her being Kitty-girl? Oh God, had he seen that?
“It’s the reason you crawled through the house in the middle of the night,” he said, sinking both her stomach and her arousal and, for a fraction of a second, making it impossible for her to breathe. “I think you washed the dishes I said could wait, because you couldn’t bear the thought of them sitting in the sink. What else can’t you bear, love?”
She couldn’t hold his unwavering stare and yet, she couldn’t make herself look away.
“Do you even know?” he wondered out loud.
Her chest felt so tight, it was strangling her heart. Her stomach was a nest of serpentine knots all flexing and tightening, and yet her nipples felt hard, swollen, aching to be touched. Pinched. Rolled, between the thumb and fingers he rested on the table when he could just as easily have reached out and caught her. Hurting her the way bad Kittys deserved to be hurt… needed to be hurt.
Her shallow breaths shook. Her pussy heated and throbbed. Unable to stop herself from asking, instead of a question, it came out a plea: “Do you know?”
He tipped his head, a single nod that made the shivers inside her go wild.
“What?” She was almost afraid of the answer.
“I know how to give you exactly what you need, and I will,” he promised. “But if you want it, you’re going to have to do one thing first.”
She struggled to swallow. “What?”
“You’re going to have to ask.”


Author Bio and Contact Info:
Maren Smith:
Fortunate enough to live with my Daddy Dom, I am a Little, coffee whore, pain slut, administrator at two of my local BDSM dungeons, resident of the wilds of freakin' Kansas (still don't know how I ended up here) and submissive to the love of my life. An International and USA Bestselling Author, I have penned more than 150 novels, novellas and short stories, and am the author of the Masters of the Castle series.

I also write under the names of Denise Hall, Darla Phelps, and Penny Alley.

Visit Maren Smith's blog here: http://badgirlscorner.blog
Friend me on Facebook here: http://facebook.com/Maren.Smith.10
Follow me on Twitter: @authmarensmith
Friend me on Instagram: maren_smith


Other titles by Maren Smith
Newest Releases:

The Red Petticoat Saloon Series:

Masters of the Castle Series:

Corbin’s Bend:

A Few Other Titles:

***SALE NOW ON***

Now readers have the perfect opportunity to start the Accidental Billionaires series.  The first two books, Ensnared and...