Monday, March 8, 2021

How A Road Trip Inspired A Road Trip by Alexandra Alan

 In my novella ‘Going the Distance’ (out now!) the protagonists find love and understanding as they drive across the United States. The landscape is, in a way, a character of its own--the flatness of the Midwest inspires lighthearted conversation, a brilliant blue ocean is the backdrop for an emotional epiphany, and the chill of a Rocky Mountain evening drives the two leads to press close to each other for warmth.

In the summer of 2019, my partner and I took a road trip of our own. The route wasn’t nearly as long as the route in the book (instead of roughly 2,800 miles, we only managed about a thousand), yet as we snaked through deserts and over mountain passes, and with every long-haul semi-truck we passed, I felt the seeds of this story begin to grow.

Now, it should be stated for people who live outside of the US (and even for those who live in the smaller states): this country is enormous. The West, even more so. I’ve taken a four hour train ride from Edinburgh to London. In Europe, four hours can bring you from one country into another, while in the western United States, it’ll bring you about halfway across Colorado.

I’ve lived in either the Southwest or along the Rockies my entire life. The space is easy to get used to, and every time I travel to smaller states and far-off countries, I am struck by the openness of the landscapes when I return.

I’ll admit; part of the joy in writing a story about a road trip is writing about the scenery.

Road trips have always been a staple in my life. I have many well-loved memories of sitting in a hot car with my mother, a worn map draped over my lap. We’d travel to national parks and huge cities, monuments and museums. I was always the navigator, and had to figure out our route while also protecting the map from the dog’s drool whenever he’d stick his head over my shoulder.

So when I plotted out the road trip with my spouse last year, it felt as natural as anything.

We talked about points we wanted to reach, then made the reservations and checked the weather. Instead of the novella’s titular semi-truck, we were in my creaky Civic, the back seat of which was packed with our traditional road trip fare of beef jerky, cheese sticks, and chips. (There’s something immensely satisfying about crunching down onto MSG-laced fake cheese when you’re stuck in a car for six hours.)

Our first stop was an old mining town in the Rockies, where we stayed in a hotel from the late 1800s that looked like it had last been renovated in the late 1800s. It was the kind of hotel where you’re almost certain someone has died in every room, but it would have been a relaxing death, since the wallpaper is gorgeous. The claw-footed bathtub was just high enough and the bathroom floor was just slippery enough that when I emerged from my shower on the first night, I fell with a thud so loud it startled my partner into thinking I might have joined the ranks of ghosts the website claimed roamed the carpeted hallways.

We wandered over the next few days, hiking in the surrounding mountains and exploring museums with antiquities from the ‘Old West’ that, if they hadn’t been fascinating enough on their own, definitely made me want to dabble in historical fiction. I learned about Winchester rifles and Stetson hats and rules for schoolteachers in 1850. We saw signs behind plexiglass barriers that advertised arsenic medical treatments, old needles with gauges large enough to make me dizzy, and startlingly large ‘anal dilators’ that supposedly helped with piles. These re-branded dildos also eased constipation, if the matching box had anything to say about it.

I could have spent many more days in this little town, pretending to live in centuries past, and soaked in the hot springs until my fingers wrinkled off.

But the road called.

Well, the road, and our other reservations. But that doesn’t sound as romantic.

We drove along palpitation-inducing steep slopes without guardrails, passed over streams that had turned into waterfalls from the melting snow, saw fields of wildflowers and mountains scored by avalanche damage. The farther south we went, the drier the landscape became. Yucca and cholla replaced the ponderosa pines and the aspens. Sand blew across the road in pale clouds, and the weather reached temperatures that made us express our gratitude for the car’s working AC. The landscapes shifted outside of our bubble of metal and glass and it was easy to feel like we changed, too.

Somewhere along the road, we began to play the RV game mentioned in the novella. It is a real game; my partner shared it with me a few days before we left after hearing of it from a friend. In a nutshell, you put ‘anal’ in front of an RV name, read the new title out loud, and laugh. I have pages and pages of these names still saved in my phone. We’d pass a dealership, and whoever wasn’t driving at the time would name off as many as possible. (Some of the best ones have been inserted [heh heh] into the story.)

We listened to audiobooks and podcasts, the most memorable being Not Another D&D Podcast, My Dad Wrote A Porno, and, of course, the book alluded to in the novella, “Carsick: John Waters Hitchhikes Across America.” Hearing John Waters describe his adventures and hypothesize his potential misadventures made something click in my head. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but the chaos of his stories blended with the raspy twang of his voice and then suddenly, I knew what I had to write:

Smut, romance, and anal RVs.

Friday, March 5, 2021

Ink Between the Sheets with Claw by Ellen Mint @introvertedwife


Welcome to Ink Between The Sheets

Your favorite craven and charming creature fresh from the bowels of hell is here to answer all your burning questions…and give you a few of your own. Please welcome Ink, the world’s only advice-slinging incubus.

Letter # 1

I’m torn and hope you can help me. Long story short, I’d been having some issues with my stepmother. My dad is NO help just leaving us to fight it out. When everything came to a head I had to leave the house just to get away from her. Things were going pretty good, I found a house with these seven guys that are so sweet. They got me my own special yogurt fridge and take me on hikes through the forest.

My big problem started when my stepmom tried to make up with a fruit bouquet. I forgot about my allergy (I feel so stupid for that), and with one bite of that apple I wound up in a coma. I’m much better now, but along the way to the hospital I was resuscitated by an EMT who’s been blowing up my phone. I don’t even know how he got my number and he keeps asking me out.

Should I go for it? I mean, he did save my life. And that sounds really romantic.

Snowed Over In Georgia

Good morrow, Snow. I hope you do not mind me calling you Snow. Ah, I’m certain you don’t as you seem to be easily browbeaten by any passing person with a pulse.

First order of business, the EMT who, I assume, plucked a hair from your head and utilized witchcraft to discern your phone number. A man of such feral vulgarity is disclosing to you an inordinate lack of charm. Such levels are typically only seen in bottom-dwelling groupers or slime molds. You would do best to steer clear unless your kink is to assure a man after five thrusts that you quite enjoyed his performance.

I prescribe you give in to your real desires—roast a plump peacock, invite the seven men who took you in to join you for the dinner, and discuss the details of a proper orgy. Do not skimp on your wildest demands, debauchery knows no limits when seven men in the woods are involved. I imagine at least two of them would quite like to be chained to the wall and watch. The rest…well, I’m sure you have your favorites and I will leave it up to you to discover how deep that well goes.

By the by, your stepmother is a witch. Put a circle of salt around your house before she transforms into an eagle and plucks you through the window.

Ink, the Orgy Pushing Demon

Letter #2
While I’m uncertain if this is not all a waste of time, I shall proceed. Last year at a company function, which required black-tie and social-climbing socializing, I had the unfortunate experience of meeting a man who enrages me on every level. I would have written off his dismissive tongue and callow demeanor were it not for discovering that my beloved sister is madly in love with his best friend. And this bastard had the audacity to say my sister isn’t good enough for his friend.
To make matters even more infuriating, this man has hired my firm to assist in renovating his summer home by the lake. Every day, I am forced to grit my teeth and get through another eight hours of his curt words and antagonistic gestures. Because my life is one ending tragedy, he’s begun to insist we meet even after work hours to solidify the plans already marked as finalized.
Even when I am not near him, I can hear his grating, snooty voice in my ear and smell his expensive cologne on my clothing. What, short of any illegal activities, can I do to rid myself of this problem?
Not Too Prideful To Ask For Help

Well, Prideful, do you have a pen handy? First, when he no doubt once again dismisses your thoughts, I want you to march him to a private room. With the full length of your spine, unleash all the vitriol you’ve been building upon the man without letting him get a word in.

After the two of you have ravished each other in a pique of pent up passion liable to set his seventeenth century writing desk in flames, you would do well to check the lock on the door or adjourn to a boudoir. I’d suggest somewhere with access to bonds and anal beads.

Be warned, if the man becomes so smitten he dares to suggest a proposal, you must refuse. If he persists, the lake would provide a handy bath to cool his tempers. It is up to you if you want to continue the desk-breaking sex with a man who drives you mad, or if you’d prefer to put him out of his misery now.

Turtles can make for excellent body disposal.

Ink, the Enemies Can Make Debauched Lovers Incubus

Thank you for entrusting your problems to my claws. If you wish to learn more about me, my exploits can be discovered between the pages of Claw. I am forever at the whims of my bond, Layla as she studies witchcraft, but am happy to take a few moments to delight in your mortals.

Never forget, life is too short for mortals to ignore their endless desires.


He’s not your typical werewolf-next-door.

Layla didn’t count on a sex demon appearing in her living room. Nor did she expect to find she’s a witch, tasked with protecting the mortal realm. And now her friend, fellow nursing student and impossible crush could be a potential killer?

She’s silently lusted after Cal for a year, knowing a guy that hot, sweet, and kind wouldn’t look twice at her. All their flirting was innocent and went nowhere, until Ink—the incubus bound to her—ran into her life and bed. Next thing she knows, Cal’s growling at her while Ink flirts, and women are being ripped apart by wild animals. Couldn’t the murder monster mystery wait until after finals?

She wanted to be a nurse, not a paranormal investigator, but Layla has no choice. Apparently only witches can stop these creatures that she didn’t even know existed a month ago. But the deeper she digs, the more it looks like Cal’s deep in the middle of it all. How can she save her friend from the claws of a cult, keep her sex-craved demon happy and find a way to let both into her heart or bed?

Everyone who buys a copy of Claw will receive the short story Retail Hell free. Set between the events of Ink and Claw in the Coven of Desire series, Layla's workday from hell is interrupted by her personal sex demon.
Claw Link:

Monday, March 1, 2021

NBTM Parallax by Dixie Jackson

 It's a Name Before the Masses tour and there are prizes to be won, plus great books to see. Which one is being spotlighted today? Parallax by Dixie Jackson. I'm looking forward to this book. You should be, too. While you're here, there's a contest. What's up for grabs? Dixie Jackson will be awarding a $50 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. How cool is that? Want more chances to win? Then follow the tour. You can do that here:

Parallax by Dixie Jackson

Six years later, Trent Wayland still isn’t over his spring fling. Probably because he was convinced when he married Captain Leila O’Neil, their fling would go on a lifetime. Leila is his soul mate and Trent knows it. He might not admit it on a regular basis, but that doesn’t negate the raw emotion she draws out of him each and every time he thinks about her. Forget the fact his heart splits in two all over again when he’s afforded the luxury of hearing her voice. That doesn’t happen often, however. Leila only tosses a handful of words his way when she initiates the weekly video calls he’s allowed with the other love of his life, their daughter Lucy.

Once upon a time, Leila O’Neil wanted to be a Marine when she grew up. She worked hard, she landed a seat at the Academy, and she was the head of her class. Then her dream was destroyed and she traded it in for a new one at the nearest Coterie portal. She wears so many faces and so many hats, at some point she lost track of her soul. That didn’t really bother her until Trent Wayland came along and almost peeled her dressing room curtain back nearly exposing her innermost person. The real person, the real Leila, who once upon a time wanted to be a Marine when she grew up.

Leila misses the real person, and realizes it at the worst possible moment. With her daughter’s life on the line and Trent on the scene of the crime, Leila figures out she’s been using her hurt and anger to fuel all the wrong goals. In a daring move, she puts it all on the line, hoping it’s enough to gain her freedom from her handlers and her husband’s forgiveness.

Get your copy here:

Now for the guest post: 

“Inspiration is finding something that excites you.”-Connie Smith

I remember when I first began my journey to publication about eleven years ago, one piece of advice that kept floating through my space from various sources was, write what you know and if you don’t know it learn it. At that point, I’d been married to the Marine Corps for almost fifteen years. If there was one thing I knew, it was life as a Marine Corps bride. I knew the ups and downs and ins and outs, the sorrows, the heartaches, the joys, and the adventures. So, that’s where I started, with contemporary, military romances. They were pretty straight forward in their execution. Marine meets future spouse, conflicts happened, they fell madly in love, and there was a happily-ever-after. Also during that time, however, the war machine was in high-gear and deployments were frequent and long. And I began to meet and befriend quite a few female marines. And thus began a new vein of inspiration.

I’d written a couple of stand-alone titles during that and many of the characters from those two titles became the new character pool for the S3 series. You can actually get those two books as a boxed set, Flashpoint, at Amazon. I’ve recently republished them myself. However, it would be until about eighteen months ago before the S3 series would become a reality.

FET: Female Engagement Team. Military females sent out as a group to interact with their female counterparts in combat zones and collect intelligence.

Yes, it’s as dangerous as it sounds. While I never officially met one of these ladies, I heard much scuttle about them and was enthralled with their role in the Middle East situation. They worked primarily in the intelligence field and were tough as nails. Out of my research and endless questions about FETs, Leila O’Neil from Parallax was born. But she wasn’t just part of a FET, she was a Marine by day and a dark operator for a secret government agency by night. And once she was embedded firmly in my mind’s eye, her story grew, and grew, and grew. I discovered when I created my own world and stepped outside the box of strict contemporary romance thinking, I could create situations and consequences that might not otherwise seem reasonable or realistic in mainstream fiction. I loved the latitude that gave me insofar as creative space. And then Leila’s world expanded and before I knew it, I had a full-blown series on my hands filled with second-chances, redemptions, and kick-butt heroines who could hold their own in any situation.

As of today, I have six full-length novels planned for the S3 series. Book one, Parallax is available now. Book two, Recoil, is currently with my editor and book three, Residue, is nearly written. I’m toying with the idea of a novella featuring a side character that may need his story fleshed just a bit more but not enough to go full-length. I’m as excited today about writing these stories as I was when they first became a conceived idea.

Thank you, Wendi, for hosting me today! It’s been a pleasure being here.

Dixie Jackson


Here's an excerpt!

“Does your mother know?” Trent asked. “Does she at least know you’re alive?”

“No. No one in the real world does. Well, except you.” Leila waved one hand toward him then jerked it back and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Now you do.”

For a few bloated moments, Trent just stared at her with a look in his eyes which told Leila he was trying hard to wrap his head around what she’d just revealed, but was having a hard time making two ends meet.

“You need to pack.” Standing, Trent stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “We’re moving out of here within the hour.”

With his eyes to the floor, he shuffled away, left the room, and didn’t look back.

Leila pulled her hands down her face, growled, and flopped back onto the bed. Insufferable daddy issues. Why hadn’t she just sought the counsel of a good therapist instead of trying to be super daughter? But no. Absolutely not. She couldn’t let life be that easy. Leila had to take the hardest route she could map out. Except now she was lost along the road in a blinding snow storm with no GPS. Honestly, at this point, she didn’t even have a Cracker Jack box compass.

Easing back up, Leila palmed the top of her head and sighed. Pack? A half-chuckle popped out of her. When was the last time she’d been on assignment without Lucy and a situation presented itself requiring her to bug out?

She didn’t want to do this anymore.

About the Author:  

Born and raised in the heart of the Ozarks, Dixie Jackson learned a love of the written word at a young age. She remembers spinning tales before she could even write them down, but it was the encouragement of her sixth-grade creative writing teacher which would plant the idea that just never seemed to go away. She wanted to someday see her works in print.

Dixie makes her home in the Great Smoky Mountains with her retired Marine husband, two rescue dogs, and her beloved chickens. When she’s not writing, you can find her digging in the dirt and nurturing her plants while plotting the next step in one story line or another. She also loves experimenting in her kitchen, embroidering, quilting, crocheting, tracing her family’s twisted tree, and of course reading.

You can find Dixie at:

Facebook Group:
Instagram: @dixiejwriter

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Wednesday, February 24, 2021

Book Blast ~ Murder with Strings Attached by Mark Reutlinger


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Mark Reutlinger will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Sometimes even the most carefully conceived burglary can take an unexpected turn. Florence Palmer has her eye on concert violinist Aaron Levy's priceless violin. Unfortunately, she finds it's already been stolen. Her surprise doubles when the virtuoso she'd planned to burgle offers to hire her to help him steal it back. But they're not the only ones looking for the missing violin. When Flo inadvertently becomes the prime suspect in a case of murder, she and Aaron need to clear her name. Will they find the real killer and get the violin back to its rightful owner without anyone else, especially themselves, being killed?

Read an Excerpt

I was going to use my “one phone call” (assuming a person really gets one and that’s not just something they say in the movies) to call Aaron, but I didn’t have to bother. Almost as soon as I arrived at the police station, Aaron, who obviously had been watching developments and following the police car I was in, walked in and inquired how I might be released. Given the relatively minor nature of the charge, despite what they might actually suspect, and my clean record, despite all the burglaries they were thankfully unaware of, bail was set according to a standard schedule rather than my having to wait to see a judge the next day.

I don’t know how much it cost Aaron to bail me out, but of course whatever it was, he could well afford it; and besides, he owed it to me. After all, I was really just his employee, and surely posting bail is a standard employee benefit.

When all the necessary papers had been signed and funds transferred, Aaron and I walked out into the sunshine that I’d been afraid I wouldn’t be seeing for quite a while.

On the way to Aaron’s car, I gave him a hug and a little kiss on the cheek and thanked him for extricating me from the pokey and doing it so quickly. He looked a bit embarrassed by that, but he cleared his throat and said in his best businesslike manner:

“Okay, so why’d you shoot him, and where’d you put the violin?”

About the Author:
MARK REUTLINGER is an attorney and former law professor. He now writes novels in which the law is frequently broken, including his “Mrs. Kaplan” cozy mystery series (MRS. KAPLAN AND THE MATZOH BALL OF DEATH and A PAIN IN THE TUCHIS) and the political thrillers MADE IN CHINA and SISTER-IN-LAW: VIOLATION, SEDUCTION, AND THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES (under the pen name M. R. Morgan). MURDER WITH STRINGS ATTACHED is his latest novel. He is also a reviewer for the New York Journal of Books.

Mark and his wife Analee live in University Place, Washington, where in addition to reading and writing he plays clarinet with the Tacoma Concert Band and enjoys tennis, biking, exotic cars, model railroading, and various arts and crafts. He has no idea where he finds the time for it all.


Buy Links:

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Tuesday, February 23, 2021

Book Blast ~ His Marriage Gamble by Nancy Fraser

His Marriage Gamble by Nancy Fraser

Felicity Beaumont, the rebellious daughter of Louisiana elite devises a plan to move her father’s illegally owned slaves north to safety using the gambling river boat known as the Lucky Lady. Dressed as a young farm boy, she attempts to sell family heirlooms to raise the funds she needs. Short the full amount, she continues her ruse and bargains her way aboard the boat as their chaperone.

Charismatic owner of the Lucky Lady, Jake McAlister doesn’t trust women, and when he discovers Felicity’s subterfuge, he remembers exactly why.

While they find themselves in agreement about helping the free men and women, they are at odds over everything else, including their quickly escalating feelings for one another. When caught between Felicity’s powerful father and the ire of a local judge, they’re forced into a marriage neither wanted.

Can they make the best of a bad situation? And, will gambling on love be a bust or reap them both a happily ever after?


And now for an excerpt:

Jake McAlister lifted his foot to the railing above the Lucky Lady’s stern and lit a thin cheroot, its tip glowing bright red in the dark night sky. His cargo hadn’t yet arrived, and he felt the first stirring of concern. He’d asked permission to dock at this unfamiliar port under the guise of making some repairs. To overstay his welcome would draw attention he didn’t want or need. He’d give them twenty minutes and then…

“Excuse me, are you Jake McAlister?”

Jake raised his head. A young boy of no more than fifteen or sixteen stood before him. “Can I help you, kid?”

“I’m here to arrange passage for some of my friends.”

The boy coughed out his words, and Jake had to stifle a chuckle at the lad’s attempt to hide the obvious changes in his voice. “You’re the one who contacted me?” Jake asked.

“Yes.” The boy shuffled nervously from one foot to the other and kept his gaze narrowed on the ship’s deck.

“And, just where are these friends of yours?”

The boy let out a shrill whistle and a long line of blacks came out from behind a nearby building, first the men, then the women and, finally, the children. They arrived carrying their worldly belongings in a few large satchels, a handful of worn burlap sacks and, surprisingly, one rather expensive-looking steamer trunk. Jake counted heads as they came on board.

“I count four men, six women, and sixteen children. At fifty bucks a head for the adults and twenty for the children, that comes to eight hundred and twenty.”

“That’s right,” the boy confirmed, “how much extra for me?”

“I don’t take spectators on these runs, boy. The agreement is to take the blacks north to freedom. From the looks of them, they don’t need a caretaker, unless it’s to help them read.”

“My friends all know how to read, Mr. McAlister. And write.”

“Then they don’t need you, do they?”

“I’ve got the money.”

“Which you are going to give to me.”


About the Author:

Jumping Across Romance Genres with Gleeful Abandon—is an Amazon Top 100 and Award-Winning author who can’t seem to decide which romance genre suits her best. So, she writes them all.

Like most authors, Nancy began writing at an early age, usually on the walls and with crayons or, heaven forbid, permanent markers. Her love of writing often made her the English teacher’s pet which, of course, resulted in a whole lot of teasing. Still, it was worth it.

Nancy has published over thirty-five books in full-length, novella, and short format. 

When not writing (which is almost never), Nancy dotes on her five wonderful grandchildren and looks forward to traveling and reading when time permits. Nancy lives in Atlantic Canada where she enjoys the relaxed pace and colorful people.

Author Social Media:



Twitter:  @nfraserauthor 


Amazon Author Page: 





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Will doing the right thing be his first mistake? Or, his last?

He's the owner of a gambling riverboat. She's the willful daughter of a rich man, hoping to free his wrongfully indentured slaves.

Can he help her with her quest without consequence? Or, will he end up with a bride he didn't want?

Purchase Links:  The Book is on sale for $0.99 During the Tour.




Barnes & Noble:; 


Universal Link:

Custom Link: 

Print Link: 



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Thursday, February 18, 2021

OUT NOW—The Long Night by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #PNR #vampire #paranormal #reverseharem #whychoose #rhromance #reverseharemromance #military #uniform


Forever is a long time for a vampire… but is all that about to change for Lailah?

Lailah’s neighbour, Loulou, is well known for hosting wild, extravagant events, so as Lailah heads over there for the much-anticipated annual Halloween bash, she thinks she’s prepared for pretty much anything. Soon after arriving, though, she discovers Loulou has outdone herself—and presented Lailah, who, as well as being an actual vampire, has come in fancy dress as one, with the opportunity to have a little joke at her own expense.

What Lailah’s not prepared for, however, is the appearance of three gorgeous men in uniform. Their out-of-place getup piques Lailah’s curiosity, and as polite conversation turns to flirtation, Lailah gets the weirdest feeling nothing is ever going to be the same again.

But how will Luke, Leo and Jack react when they discover Lailah’s vampirism isn’t just for Halloween?

Note: This novella has been previously published as part of the Duty Bound with Bite anthology.

Available from:  


I’m prepared for pretty much anything on my way to my next-door neighbour’s house for her Halloween party. Loulou is well known across north London for her wild, extravagant events, a few of which I’ve had the good fortune to be a part of—they’re always good fun. So I’m expecting something spectacular—she wouldn’t let me help, or even have a sneak peek at the decorations, so whatever she’s gone for will be a complete surprise to me.

The nearest streetlamp to our houses is providing just enough light to show off her outdoor decorations. I smile as I push open her fake-cobweb-covered front gate, duck as a plastic bat swoops toward my head, then make my way up the garden path, which is lined with creatively carved pumpkins, the tealights nestled inside each helping to illuminate the way to the door.

For all intents and purposes, I’m walking through a graveyard. Headstones in varying states of decay litter the grass. Noises ring out periodically—the hoot of an owl, the howl of a wolf, the yowl of a cat. There’s even a dry ice machine secreted somewhere, as a sinister, low-lying fog hovers over the ground.

I jump and gasp as I pass a large tree to find a decrepit, bloodstained zombie grinning at me from behind its trunk. Tutting, then chuckling at my own silliness, I mount the three steps up to the porch, where more of the same greets me, as well as some macabre smiling skulls, blood dripping from their mouths and spiders crawling from their eye sockets. It’s great, it really is, but there’s nothing unusual about any of it. This is Loulou we’re talking about—I’m waiting for the ‘wow’ factor, that extra something she’s thrown in to make her party an event that’ll be talked about for weeks, maybe even months, to come.

A sign with Gothic blood-red print is fixed to the door.


Obviously, I dare. With a roll of my eyes, I depress the door handle—which has a large plastic spider hanging off it—and step inside. It’s only a few minutes past the official start time for the party, so it’s still pretty quiet. I’m fine with that—it gives me the opportunity to have a good look around at what Loulou has done with the décor before it gets too busy, too heaving with bodies. Live ones, that is. The dead ones dotted around the place don’t seem to care one way or the other.

I don’t bother announcing my presence to my neighbour—we’ll find each other before long. Instead, I immediately start exploring, exchanging the occasional polite nod with other early partygoers as we pass. The scent of pumpkin spice hangs in the air. So far, so typical—more cobwebs, spiders, pumpkins, skulls, bats, black cats, ghosts, witches, zombies, black floaty material draped everywhere, creepy music…

Then something catches my eye. Toward the back of what is usually Loulou’s enormous living room—the properties in this area, including mine, are huge—is a sectioned-off area. A partition, designed to look like an old stone wall. It’s dark, gloomy, spooky. I love it. And that’s before I notice the sign affixed to the arched doorway embedded in the wall.


A snort escapes me, and I quickly look around to make sure nobody noticed. I’m alone, thankfully—probably the others are diving into the drinks and snacks which are most likely laid out in the dining room, getting their hands on all the best stuff before other people arrive.

I open the door carefully, since I don’t know how sturdy this whole shebang is, and I don’t want to wreck it—Loulou’ll kill me—and enter, eager to find out exactly what Loulou thinks a vampire lair looks like.

You’d think she’d have an idea, really, given she lives next door to one. Not that she knows, of course—I don’t make a habit of announcing my true nature to people. It just results in disbelief, asking for proof, which then often leads to screaming and freaking out. I just can’t be doing with that kind of drama. Therefore I keep my supernatural status to myself, and move around just often enough to ensure people don’t start to notice I haven’t aged a day since they first met me.


Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight, and The Heiress’s Harem and The Dreadnoughts series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here: 

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.

Wednesday, February 17, 2021

OUT NOW—Magnificent Manlove by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #mm #gay #erotica #eroticromance

 If you enjoy testosterone-filled tales of men getting it on, then check out this collection from the pen of award-winning author Lucy Felthouse.

From stranded soldiers to submissive virgins, sexy firemen and second chances to shifters, and even some unexpected ménage, this book has variety galore. There’s something for everyone, and will have you eager to turn just one more page.

Enjoy six steamy stories, over 46,000 words of magnificent manlove.

Please note: The stories in this anthology have been previously published.

Available from: 


Nathan closed his book with a very final slap and put it on the coffee table in front of him, then leaned back in his chair. Stretching languidly, he said, “Bloody good, that was. Though, admittedly, I thought it’d last me all week. Wasn’t expecting to get through it on day one.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lee shot Nathan an amused glance. “Not far off myself. Fucking storm. Stupid us, eh, going on holiday in the UK in summertime—not like you can guarantee the sodding weather, is it? Should’ve gone to the Canaries.”

“No, we can’t guarantee the weather, but…” Nathan gave the window a sidelong glance, “I do have some good news.”


“Yeah. The torrential downpour has stopped.”

“Seriously?” Lee slammed his own book closed and scurried over to the window. “Oh, wow, it’s cleared right up, and I can see a rainbow. Wanna head out? Just a little wander down to that pond we saw on the way here, maybe? Get some fresh air. We’ve got loads of daylight left, haven’t we?”

Nathan checked his watch. “Plenty. Especially if we’re only nipping to the pond. It’s probably only a fifteen-minute walk.”

“Fantastic. I was going a bit stir crazy in here. I’ll grab our coats and shoes.”

Lee had disappeared into the hallway of their rented holiday cottage before Nathan had the chance to reply. Shaking his head with a smile, Nathan collected their empty mugs from the coffee table and took them into the kitchen, then got a bottle of water from the fridge. He doubted they’d need a drink during their short trek along the road, but he could just shove the bottle in his coat pocket and forget about it. At least it’d be there if they wanted it.

When he returned to the living room, Lee was just about to tie up his laces.

“I got water,” Nathan said, brandishing the bottle.

“Cool. Shoes are there.” He nodded to the chair Nathan had been sitting in. Sure enough, his trail shoes were waiting on the floor in front of it.


Within a few minutes, they were headed out of the door. Nathan locked up, pocketed the key, then checked the handle. He doubted very much the place would get broken into—they were in the middle of nowhere, after all. There were farms nearby, but the closest village was about a mile and a half away. So any thieves would have to make a considerable effort to get to the cottage in the first place, never mind attempt to break into it. Rolling his eyes at his own paranoia, he turned and followed Lee, who’d already started ambling along the road in the direction of the pond.

After falling into step beside Lee, Nathan pulled in some deep breaths, enjoying the fresh air after being cooped up in the cottage. It was beautiful, and cosy, but it was supposed to be a base for them to go walking—somewhere for them to eat, sleep and shower, not to be stuck in for hours on end, staring at the walls. Or climbing them.

He admired the rainbow as they walked, its vivid colours painted across the watery sky. It seemed the clouds had literally exhausted themselves—only occasional wispy streaks of white now interrupted the never-ending blue. The sun beamed down, heating up the ground and beginning to evaporate the huge puddles. It would take some doing—one such puddle stretched across the width of the road, and they had to skirt around its edge to avoid getting wet feet.

Nathan smiled. Though the storm itself had been grim, the washed-out aftermath made everything feel fresh, clean somehow.

“You look thoughtful,” Lee said, breaking into his reverie. “A penny for them?”

“Mmm. It’s one of those things that sounds better in your head than said out loud.”

“Try me.”

Shrugging, Nathan replied, “Nothing major. Just admiring the rainbow, the sky, the clouds… thinking how everything looks so fresh and clean after a good storm. Like it’s been purified or something… Ugh, it’s stupid.”

Lee stopped and reached for Nathan’s hand. His green eyes were wide and filled with wonder. “No, it isn’t. Not at all—I was thinking something similar myself. It’s kinda romantic, isn’t it? Purification, rebirth, and all that.”

“In a roundabout way, maybe. I dunno.” He shrugged again.

Lee’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curved into a wicked grin. “We could make it romantic.”

“How so?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.” Still gripping Nathan’s hand, Lee tugged him close and moved in for a kiss. Nathan went into the embrace willingly, the smile on his face soon smothered by Lee’s hot lips.


Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is the award-winning author of erotic romance novels Stately Pleasures (named in the top 5 of’s 100 Modern Erotic Classics That You’ve Never Heard Of), Eyes Wide Open (winner of the Love Romances Café’s Best Ménage Book 2015 award), The Persecution of the Wolves, Hiding in Plain Sight, and The Heiress’s Harem and The Dreadnoughts series. Including novels, short stories and novellas, she has over 170 publications to her name. Find out more about her writing at, or on Twitter or Facebook. Join her Facebook group for exclusive cover reveals, sneak peeks and more! Sign up for automatic updates on Amazon or BookBub. Subscribe to her newsletter here: 

Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.