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A gilded cage is still a cage.
From the womb, she was owned. Shula Kelley was signed away before her first breath, just like everyone else in secessionist Texas. She was called beautiful like it meant something important. Like it would get her a kind husband, or one less cruel. She hoped Jared Agnesson was kind.
And the devil you know is still the devil.
As punishment for his son’s rebellion, the patriarch of the Agnesson clan claimed Shula for his own. And she saw only one way out. Shula had a plan, but she didn’t realize it would require a savior.
Suffer not the sins of the father.
First acts of rebellion open doors that are best left closed. Until Jared walked through it. Her savior. But how can she truly love when she only knows obedience?
“I‒” She removed her hand from her knickers.
“Don’t do that, my love. Pretend I’m not here if you must, but I’m going to watch you, and you will continue.” His need was just at the surface, but he found he wanted to hold on to it, just a bit, no matter how unsettling it was to him. He was quite spoiled by his bride, and she tended to his every desire, whether she realized it or not.
But this was different. This was unexplored territory. He hadn’t realized desire could be on a spectrum and that revelation made him want to feel everything all at once. Do everything all at once. The thought of untapped desire was distressing. Intoxicating.
Oh God. He wanted to watch her? She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She arranged her night dress and sat up, deeply ashamed, but found herself quickly on her back with her husband over her, palm pressing the center of her chest. “No, Shula. I said you will continue.” He barely recognized his voice. He grabbed her right hand and pressed it to her damp panties. His zipper rubbed against the back of her hand, and she could feel he was hard.
He was going to make her. He’d never made her do anything she hadn’t wanted before, so why was he making her now? To punish her? Surely not. “I don’t think I can, Jared. I don’t want to displease you, but I’m terribly embarrassed, and I don’t want you to think‒” That you’re not enough, she thought miserably to herself.
“Think what, Shula? Tell me.” Her panties were moved to the side and his thumb a centimeter from her clitoris. It was maddeningly still. His mouth spoke into hers after a thorough kiss. “Tell me, and I might help you out.”
Shula was relieved. Not for the help, but because she hadn’t wanted him angry. “I’ve just done this since I was young, and I don’t know. I just enjoy it.”
“Well, then. Let me make it better for you.”
“You do‒Oh!” His face was between her legs, lapping fully at her labia. “Now. I want to watch very closely.” He circled her clitoris with his tongue before moving back out. “Do it.”
And she did. Her fingers moved rapidly, while his tongue and mouth tasted and explored everything else. His tongue would work its way in beside her fingers and she would buck against his face. He didn’t bother dissuading her.
He felt slight tremors against his face and decided he wanted to draw this out a bit more. “Stop.”
It took her a few seconds to comprehend it, but she did. She removed her hand and clutched it to her chest. She didn’t know what she was doing wrong. She was afraid she would cry if she spoke.
Jared saw. He saw how he scared her, and it was intolerable. “Shula, love. Slow down. That’s all.” He kissed the skin of her thigh closest to his mouth. “Slow, slow, slow,” he begged. He kissed her fingers once they found their way back.
He watched her. He saw how her body adapted to a slower pace. He saw how she would quicken, then slow again as she was getting closer.
He could watch this for hours.
Arden Aoide lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and three cats. Turn ons include men who cry during sex, long walks on the beach, and talking about herself in the third person. Turn offs include mean people and trying to figure out how to write an interesting author bio.
She doesn’t write about the typical men you normally read about in erotic romance novels. She likes her men brainy and just this side of manic.
She’s an introvert, she loves coffee, Internet, British television, and pot stickers. And pie. She loves pie.
$100 Amazon Gift Card & signed print copy Giveaway
Author: Tabatha Vargo
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Release Date: August 18, 2015
**WARNING** This book is NOT for the faint of heart. If you have issues reading about abuse (physical or mental) then please DO NOT read this book. 18+ for sexual content, language, and violence.
The last place Christopher Jacobs, aka X, thought he’d find himself was behind bars. Ten years later, the boy he used to be is gone. In his place is the shell of a man with murder under his belt. Any emotion he once had was left under the gavel when he was given life in prison. That is until the new nurse in the infirmary joins the block.
Putting your hands on a prison employee will get you the hole, but some things are worth their punishment, and something tells him Lyla will be worth more than he bargained for.
Lyla Evans isn’t sure about her new job at a maximum security prison, but showing uncertainty and weakness isn’t an option. Taking care of murders and rapist isn’t ideal, but survival is key. She’s warned ahead of time about a prisoner named X, but when she’s attacked, it’s the dangerous X that saves her. Fraternizing with the prisoners is forbidden, but sometimes the most forbidden things are the sweetest
“HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THINGS HOLY! What on earth did Tabatha do to my heart?! She ripped it out, stomped all over it, and shoved the broken thing back in… and I loved every minute of it. I think.” ~Heather, Give Me Books
“I just cannot put into words how much I loved Slammer!!! Be prepared for a ride of a lifetime with X and Lyla!” ~ Kara, Give Me Books
“A haunting, unconventional love story I will never forget.” ~Ella James, USA TODAY bestselling author of Sloth
“If you’re looking for a mushy sweet romance, this is not the book for you. If you want to read something that is unlike anything else out there and that will surprise you and leave you in complete shock, then READ THIS BOOK. Without a doubt the best book I’ve read in a long time. It’s dark, twisted, violent, but it’s unique and shocking and unpredictable.” ~ Author Amy McClung
“I hope you’re ready for the best mind fuck of your life, because this book is going to give it to you and give it good!” ~ Michele, Devilishly Delicious Book Reviews
Tabatha is a NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY bestselling author, but mostly she’s a sweet tea sippin’, front porch sittin’ kind of girl from South Carolina. She loves old, historical anything, wind chimes, and all things romantic. She’s the mother of an 9 y/o rockstar/princess and the wife of her very own Prince Charming.
When she isn’t writing, she’s texting book ideas to herself.
Tabatha is represented by Jane Dystel of Dystel & Goderich Literary Management.
Autumn Rising Blog Tour
Title: Autumn Rising
Author: Seth King
Autumn Mahal and Hank Basara know they should stay away from each other. Both recovering from the loss of a mutual friend, and each bearing scars of their own, they know their love would look like a worn cliché, a trite romance novel for teens, some crappy made-for-TV movie languishing on your great aunt’s DVR. But as summer gives way to September and flirtation leads to something deeper, they learn there are some types of love you cannot run from, no matter how hard you try to flee.
Hilarious, heartbreaking and hopeful, Autumn Rising is a novella about the happiness we ruin for ourselves, the truths we can’t hide with a filter, and that elusive and victorious moment when we let love rush in and carry us to the sky. In a world of constant TMI, prepare to feel a story worth sharing – a story that will stay with you long after the summer fades to autumn.
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1gRBgqa
:: REVIEW ::
:: Author Bio ::
Seth King is a twenty-six-year-old American author. He enjoys reading, writing, traveling, and spending time with his family.
:: Other Books by Seth King ::
::: Synopsis :::
The Summer Remains
Publication Date: February 14, 2015
*This is a full-length standalone romance*
Twenty-four-year-old Summer Johnson knows two things. The first is that due to a quickly worsening medical condition, she faces a risky surgery in three months’ time that may or may not end in her death. The second is that she would like to fall in love before then.
As spring sinks into her namesake season on the Florida coastline, Summer plays the odds and downloads a new dating app – and after one intriguing message from a beautiful surfer named Cooper Nichols, it becomes clear that the story of what may be her last few months under the sun is about to be completely revised. All she has to do now is write something worth reading.
Tender, honest, devastating and triumphant, The Summer Remains explores a very human battle being waged in a very digital age: the search for a love that will outlast this temporary borrowing of bones. In an era when many feel compelled to share and re-share anything about everything, prepare to feel a love so special, you will want to hug it close and make it yours forever.
:: Purchase Links ::
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1C8ih0M
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1CVUEfi
The Goode Fight
Publication Date: October 12, 2014
:: Synopsis ::
THE THRILLING, EXPLOSIVE, AND PROVOCATIVE DEBUT FROM NEW ADULT ROMANCE AUTHOR SETH KING
In a stage of life when everything seems daunting, the fight to find love can still be the scariest thing of all – but in college senior Taylor Haney’s case, it may have just become downright deadly.
I’m bad – but I don’t want to be bad anymore.
In fact, leaving my Nashville life behind and swearing off love forever was the only thing keeping me from falling back into my old ways and fucking up again, and I was doing pretty well at pretending to be good – until I met Taylor Haney, that is.
Now I can think of nothing but Taylor. Her shy smile…the way she fidgets with her hands when she gets nervous…the sounds she makes when I tie her to my bedposts and go to town on her…the way I get a glimpse of eternity when I look into her hazel eyes…
And that little lovey feeling is the worst thing of all, because it means I’m breaking all my old rules now – and that means nobody is safe. Especially Taylor.
Because the last girl I fell in love with is currently lying in Brentwood Cemetery.
:: Purchase Links ::
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1FTERNj
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1GeU6AM
Publication Date: November 24, 2014
::: Synopsis :::
How far would you go to save someone you love? And how far would you go to get revenge on a loved one who betrayed you?
Ben Bradley is a twenty-year-old student and aspiring MMA fighter with a dead-end day job and a desperate need for cash to help his disabled sister out of a tight spot. Grace Robinson is a lonely forty-something D.C. housewife who spends her time reading about red rooms of pain while her husband busies himself with the office interns. And with the arrival of a controversial new app called Hookd that matches attractive young men with powerful women willing to pay for their companionship, Ben and Grace soon find incredibly appealing – and risky – solutions to their problems.
With Hookd, Ben can easily make the money to save his beloved sister, while Grace can get back at her cheating husband and spice up her quiet nights with the kind of hot, anonymous sex she only reads about in books. All they have to do now is get over their moral hang-ups and press download…
And then hope Grace’s vindictive husband, Congressman Richard Robinson, stays in the dark once Mrs. Robinson’s affair explodes into something more passionate and erotic than she could have ever imagined.
:: Purchase Links ::
:: Stalker Links ::
The Summer Remains Support Group (for those who have already read TSR)
I Survived The Summer Remains: http://on.fb.me/1EEObjQ
IF I WERE YOU has a brand new cover and is in WALMART stores NATIONWIDE beginning TODAY! This is a limited edition mass market paperback and 99% of the paperback copies can only be found in WALMART stores.
**This is book 1 in the INSIDE OUT series, previously published with a different cover. The INSIDE OUT series, is currently in development for TV with Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland, Must Love Dogs, The Boiler Room, Austin Powers and more!). To read more about the show and to get ready for a BIG update soon, please visit the series page**.
If I Were You (bk 1) Special Edition Paperback
Get your copy $4.37 copy at: http://www.walmart.com/ip/44978692
**Shipping NOT included in price**
From New York Times Best Selling author Lisa Renee Jones, a story with the heat of 50 Shades and the mystery of Pretty Little Liars. Now in development for cable TV with acclaimed producer Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland w/Johnny Depp)
How It All Started…
One day I was a high school teacher on summer break, leading a relatively uneventful but happy life. Or so I told myself. Later, I’d question that, as I would question pretty much everything I knew about me, my relationships, and my desires. It all began when my neighbor thrust a key to a storage unit at me. She’d bought it to make extra money after watching some storage auction show. Now she was on her way to the airport to elope with a man she barely knew, and she needed me to clear out the unit before the lease expired.
Soon, I was standing inside a small room that held the intimate details of another woman’s life, feeling uncomfortable, as if I was invading her privacy. Why had she let these items so neatly packed, possessions that she clearly cared about deeply, be lost at an auction? Driven to find out by some unnamed force, I began to dig, to discover this woman’s life, and yes, read her journals–dark, erotic journals that I had no business reading. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I read on obsessively, living out fantasies through her words that I’d never dare experience on my own, compelled by the three men in her life, none of whom had names. I read onward until the last terrifying dark entry left me certain that something had happened to this woman. I had to find her and be sure she was okay.
Before long, I was taking her job for the summer at the art gallery, living her life, and she was nowhere to be found. I was becoming someone I didn’t know. I was becoming her.
The dark, passion it becomes…
Now, I am working at a prestigious gallery, where I have always dreamed of being, and I’ve been delivered to the doorstep of several men, all of which I envision as one I’ve read about in the journal. But there is one man that will call to me, that will awaken me in ways I never believed possible. That man is the ruggedly sexy artist, Chris Merit, who wants to paint me. He is rich and famous, and dark in ways I shouldn’t find intriguing, but I do. I so do. I don’t understand why his
dark side appeals to me, but the attraction between us is rich with velvety promises of satisfaction. Chris is dark, and so are his desires, but I cannot turn away. He is damaged beneath his confident good looks and need for control, and in some way, I feel he needs me. I need him.
All I know for certain is that he knows me like I don’t even know me, and he says I know him. Still, I keep asking myself — do I know him? Did he know her, the journal writer, and where is she? And why doesn’t it seem to matter anymore? There is just him and me, and the burn for more.
Chris maneuvers the 911 into the drive of a fancy high-rise building not more than four blocks from the gallery. Before I can question the fancy location being home to a pizza joint, as he’d called it, a valet is already opening my door.
“I’ll come around to get you,” Chris says with a touch on my arm. He doesn’t wait for a reply, climbing out of the vehicle and disappearing from full view.
I am both charmed and embarrassed at the prospect he believes the extra wine has made me a helpless lush. Worse, it wouldn’t be an assumption completely without merit, and this night is exactly why I never let myself lose control. It always backfires.
I unsnap the seat belt about the same moment Chris appears at my door. Holding my skirt down, I slide my legs to the ground, all too aware of his scorching gaze on my legs.
His hand appears in front of me, and I hold my breath, preparing for the impact of his touch, as I press my palm to his. He pulls me to my feet, onto the sidewalk beneath an awning, his hand settling possessively on my hip. The rich sensation of desire spreads through my limbs. I have never in my life reacted to a man this intensely.
Behind me, I hear the car door shut, and the engine rev, before the 911 pulls away. “This doesn’t look like a place that serves pizza,” I comment, but I am not looking at the building. It is Chris who has my full attention.
“Two blocks down,” he explains. “We can walk there if you want, or we can go upstairs to my apartment.”
Chris lives here, at least when he’s in the States. The implications of our location are clear.
His long fingers curl around my neck, under my hair, and he lowers his mouth to my ear. “Be warned, Sara. I’m no saint. If I take you upstairs, I’m going to strip you naked and fuck you the way I’ve wanted to since the moment we first met.”
The shockingly bold words ripple through me, and I am instantly aroused, squeezing my thighs together. He has wanted to fuck me since we first met. I want him to fuck me. I want to fuck him. Yes. Fuck. I want to give myself permission to forget good, proper behavior and fuck and be fucked. Wild, hot, uncontrollable passion, with no worries during and regrets in the aftermath. I’ve never let myself feel those things. When in my life have I ever experienced such a thing? When has any man ever made me think I could?
I press against his chest and lean back, my eyes seeking his. “If you’re trying to scare me off, it’s not working.”
“Not yet,” he says, dark certainty to his tone, to the lines etched in his handsome face. It is as if this is simply a seed already planted that cannot be stopped.
“Not at all,” I counter.
He doesn’t immediately respond, and his expression is a mask of hard lines, his jaw set, tense. Slowly, his fingers slide from my neck to caress a path down my arm until his fingers lace intimately with mine. “Never say never, Sara,” he murmurs, and starts walking, pulling me with him.
Anticipation sizzles through me as we walk toward the automatic doors to be greeted by a man in a dark suit with an earpiece and buzz cut.
“Evening, Mr. Merit,” he says, and glances at me. “Evening, miss.”
“Evening, Jacob,” Chris replies. “Pizza coming our way. Don’t frisk the delivery guy.”
“Not unless he’s a delivery woman, sir,” Jacob comments, and I get the sense these two are familiar beyond the casual exchange.
I lift a tentative hand at Jacob. “Hi.”
“Ma’am,” he replies, and there is a slight shift in his gaze I’m certain he doesn’t intend for me to notice, but I do. I read it as surprise at my presence, and I can only assume I am far from Chris’s normal choice in women. It isn’t hard for me to imagine Chris being a blond bombshell kind of man, and where I hadn’t felt insecure moments before, I suddenly do now. I am angry at myself for feeling such a thing when I’ve promised myself no more self-doubt. When I crave the escape, the freedom, I was so close to experiencing only moments before.
The elevator is right off the fancy lobby and past a security booth. Chris punches the button, and the doors open immediately. I follow him inside and watch as he keys in a code. The doors shut, and he pulls me hard against him.
My hands settle on his hard chest, inside the line of his jacket, and warmth spreads through me. “What just happened?” His hand brands my hip.
My breasts are heavy, my nipples aching. “I don’t know what you mean,”
“Yes. You do. Second thoughts, Sara?”
I scold myself for being so transparent. “Do you want me to have second thoughts?”
“No. What I want is to take you to my apartment and make you come and then do it all over again.”
Oh . . . yes, please. “Okay,” I whisper, “but I think you should feed me first.”
His lips curve into a smile, his eyes dancing with gold specks of pure fire. “Then you can feed me.”
The bell dings, and the doors begin to open. Chris wastes no time pulling me to the edge of the elevator, and I watch in surprise as a gorgeous living room appears before me, rather than a hallway. Chris has a private elevator, and I am entering his private world, a world very unlike my own.
Chris releases my hand, our eyes lock, and I read the silent message in his. Enter by choice, without pressure. On some level I sense that once I enter his apartment, the decision to do so is going to change me. He is going to change me in some profound way I cannot begin to comprehend fully. I think he might know this, and I wonder why he would be so certain, what is etched with such clarity to him beneath the surface.
He has misplaced doubts of me in this moment, as he’d doubted me at the gallery. I can see it in his eyes, sense it in the air. I refuse to allow his lack of confidence in me, or anyone else’s for that matter, to dictate what I can or cannot do ever again. I’ve been there, and I ended up on the sharp edge of a cliff, about to crash and burn. I’d recovered, and I am beginning to see that locking myself in a shell of an existence isn’t healing. It’s hiding. Regardless of what happens at the gallery, I’m done hiding.
My chin lifts, and I cut my gaze from Chris’s and exit the elevator.
My heels touch the pale perfection of glossy hardwood floors, and I stop and stare at the breathtaking sight before me. Beyond the expensive leather furniture adorning a sunken living room with a massive fireplace in the left corner is a spectacular sight. There is a floor-to-ceiling window, a live pictorial of our city, spanning the entire length of the room.
Spellbound, I walk forward, enchanted by the twinkling night lights and the haze surrounding the distant Golden Gate Bridge. I barely remember going down the few steps to the living area, or what the furniture I pass looks like. I drop my purse on the coffee table and stop at the window, resting my hands on the cool surface.
We are above the city, untouchable, in a palace in the sky. How amazing it must be to live here and wake up to this view every day. Lights twinkling, almost as if they are talking to one another, laughing at me as they creep open a door to the hollow place inside me I’ve rejected only moments before in the elevator.
I swallow hard as the song “Broken” from the band Lifehouse fills the room, because Chris doesn’t know how personality is to me. I’m falling apart. I’m barely breathing. I’m barely holding on to you.
This song, this place with the words, and I am raw and exposed, as if cut and bleeding. Who was I kidding with the refusal to hide anymore? This is why I’ve hidden. The past begins to pulse to life within me, and I am seconds from remembering why I feel this way. I refuse to process the lyrics and shove them aside. I don’t want to remember. I can’t go there. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to seal those old wounds, desperate to feel anything but their presence.
Suddenly, Chris is behind me, caressing my jacket from my shoulders. His touch is a welcome sensation, and when his arm slides around me, his body framing mine from behind, I am desperate to feel anything but what this song, no doubt aided by the wine, stirs inside me.
I lean into him and hard muscle absorbs me. There is a strength to Chris, a silent confidence I envy, and it calls to the woman in me.
His fingers, those talented, famous fingers, brush my hair away from my nape, and his lips press to the delicate area beneath, creating goose bumps on my skin. And still, I barely block out the words to the song and their meaning to me.
As if he senses my need for more—more something, anything, just more—he turns me around to face him, and his fingers tangle almost roughly into my hair. The tight pull is sweet, dragging me from other feelings, giving me a new focus.
“I am not the guy you take home to Mom and Dad, Sara.” His mouth is next to mine, his clean male scent all around me. “You need to know that right now. You need to know that won’t change.”
But the song does change, and this time to another track on what must be a Lifehouse CD. “Nerve Damage” begins to play. I see through your clothes, your nerve damage shows. Trying not to feel . . . anything that’s real.
I laugh bitterly at the words, and Chris pulls back to study me. And I am not blind to what I see in the depths of his green eyes, what I’ve missed until now but sensed. He is as damaged as I am. We have too many of the wrong things in common to be more than sex, and the realization is freedom to me.
I curve my fingers on the light stubble of his jaw, the rasp on my skin welcome, and I have no idea why I admit what I have never said out loud. “My mother is dead, and I hate my father, so don’t worry. You’re safe from family day and so am I. All I want is here and now, this piece of time. And please save the pillow talk for someone who wants it. Contrary to what you seem to think, I’m no delicate rose.”
A stunned look flashes on his face an instant before I press my lips to his. The answering moan I am rewarded with is white-hot fire in my blood that he answers with a deep, sizzling stroke of his tongue. He slants his mouth over mine, deepening the connection, kissing me with a fierceness no other man ever has, but then, Chris is like no other man I’ve ever known.
His tongue plays wickedly with mine, and I meet him stroke for stroke, arching into him, telling him I am here and present and I’m going nowhere. In reply to my silent declaration, his hand cups my ass and he pulls me solidly against his erection. Arching into him, I welcome the intimate connection, burn for the moment he will be inside me. My hand presses between us and I stroke the hard line of his shaft.
Chris tears his mouth from mine, pressing me hard against the window, and I know I’ve threatened his control. Me. Little schoolteacher Sara McMillan. Our eyes lock, hot flames dancing between us and some unidentifiable challenge.
Some part of me realizes the window behind me is glass, and all things glass can break. He knows this, too, it’s in the dark glint of his eyes, and he wants me to worry about it. He’s pushing me, testing me, trying to get me to break. Because I slid beneath his composure? Because he really believes I am out of my league? And maybe I am, but not tonight. Tonight, as the song has said, I am broken, and for the first time perhaps ever, I am not denying the truth of all of my cracks. I am living them.
I lift my chin and let him see my answering rebellion. His fingers curl at the top of my silk blouse and in a sharp pull, material rips and the buttons all the way down pop and clamor in all directions. I gasp, in unfamiliar territory, and burning alive with the ache I have for this man.
He turns me to the window, and my hands flatten on the glass. Wasting no time, Chris unhooks my bra, and it and my blouse are off my shoulders in moments. He is behind me again, his thick erection fit snugly to my backside.
“Hands over your head,” he orders, pressing my palms to the glass above me, his body shadowing mine. “Stay like that.”
My pulse jumps wildly and adrenaline surges. I’ve been ordered around during sex, but in a clinical, bend over and give me what I want kind of way I tried to convince myself was hot. It wasn’t. I hated every second, every instance, and I’d endured it. This is different though, erotic in a way I’ve never experienced, enticingly full of promise. My body is sensitized, pulsing with arousal. I am hot where Chris is touching me and cold where he isn’t.
When he seems satisfied I’ll comply with his orders, Chris slowly caresses a path down my arms, and then up and down my sides, brushing the curves of my breasts. He’s in no hurry, but I am. I am literally quivering by the time his hands cover my breasts, welcoming the way he squeezes them roughly, before tugging on my nipples. I gasp with the pinching sensation he repeats over and over, creating waves of pleasure verging on pain, and the music is fading away, and so is the past. There is pleasure in pain. The words come back to me, and this time they resonate.
His hands are suddenly gone, and I pant in desperation, trying to pull them back.
Chris captures my hands and forces them back to the glass above me, his breath warm by my ear, his hard body framing mine. “Move them again and I’ll stop what I’m doing, no matter how good it might feel.”
I quiver inside at the erotic command, surprised again by how enticed I am by this game we are playing. “Just remember,” I warn, still panting, still burning for his touch. “Payback is hell.”
His teeth scrape my shoulder. “Looking forward to it, baby,” he rasps. “More than you can possibly know.”
For More information on The INSIDE OUT series page including: buy links, and excerpts for the additional books in this series. Visit Lisa’s website here: http://bit.ly/1fWXnem
About the Author:
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT SERIES, and is now in development by Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland) for cable TV. In addition, her Tall, Dark and Deadly series and The Secret Life of Amy Bensen series, both spent several months on a combination of the NY Times and USA Today lists.
Watch the video on casting for the INSIDE TV Show HERE
Since beginning her publishing career in 2007, Lisa has published more than 40 books translated around the world. Booklist says that Jones suspense truly sizzles with an energy similar to FBI tales with a paranormal twist by Julie Garwood or Suzanne Brockmann.
Prior to publishing, Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by Dallas Women Magazine. In 1998 LRJ was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.
Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at on her website and she is active on twitter and facebook daily.
$500 gift card (winner’s choice!)
INSIDE OUT prize basket (full set of SIGNED INSIDE OUT books)
20 Chris Merit and Tote Bag sets
Title: THE EMANCIPATION OF LOVE (Monster, #2)
Author: Mary E. Palmerin
Genre: Dark Erotic Romance
Release Date: June 26, 2015
I am a monster. A sexual deviant. A gorger for pain. I am Worthless William Welch.
But I am hers…
Ten years since Welch has seen Gwendolyn he finds himself in Portland, the same city they were supposed to live together; just two bloody lovers against the ghastly ways of the world. But that isn’t how their story would pan out and Welch troubles himself everyday with memoirs of the only one that will have his heart.
His sweet, sweet girl. Fiery Gwendolyn is gone and he is alone with nothing to occupy him except memories.
As he tries to grasp onto the recollections while simultaneously forgetting the pain he was bathed in for so long, he searches for a woman that will give him the agony he so desperately craves. You know what they say… be careful what you wish for.
As Welch pushes an unlikely woman to the brink, he is surprised at her eagerness as she gives him what he longs for. Punishment, pain, and pleasure. He becomes enveloped by the demons of his past, the torment of his current, and the ghost in his mind that he refuses to part from.
Reverted back to the dysfunctional little boy who obeys, Welch finds himself in a disastrous cycle while the edge of goodness is within reach. Will it be too late for him to find love before he breaks himself down to a point of no return?
**Graphic content warning including sexual degradation, emotional abuse, adult situations, and unconventional sexual practices that are intended for mature audiences only. Not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen. Reader discretion is highly advised.***
Suddenly, that lump in my throat is tightening and it is getting harder and harder to breathe. The sunrise of joy that I also craved to see as I put the disgust and danger behind me is almost as frightening as the final farewell to the constant pain. The glutton who wants discomfort will never alter what he needs. That is me. It is embedded in my body, every cell of my being. The masochism that I love to loathe clings onto me forever. I am a dangerous man and my life is destined for bad things. I feel it in my stomach as it clenches.
My mind travels through time again as I stare Victoria in the face. All I want is one last smile while the face of her ghost haunts me, making my heart shatter into a trillion shards that will never be put back together, no matter how well Gwendolyn tries. I can certainly attempt to make her think that I am a changed man. She does make me feel more normal than I will ever be, but I must face that I am a player in the game that I hated so much. The last days of Victoria Matthews were filled with rape, torture, brutal violence, and sadness as I sit before a fucking picture box doting over the memories that I kept track of. Inside I hold the last known picture of her and I want to show it off. For what?
Being the boy who could never say no to the ultimate puppet master himself.
Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts (Monster, #1)
Monsters. They don’t hide in your nightmares. They steal you away from the good life and prevent you from living your dreams.
That’s where 17-year-old Gwendolyn Fitzpatrick found herself; surrounded by wicked fiends after everything she thought she had was gone in the blink of an eye. She was shuffled away with one bag of memories miles away to a pair of foster parents that hardly had her best interests at hand. Forced to obey and listen to her caregiver’s commands, Gwendolyn buries her old self and focuses on the pain to become one of them.
A monster herself to seek vengeance.
While yearning for her teeming point to come, Gwendolyn starts to connect with another 17-year-old foster boy living with her who calls himself Welch. Just when Gwendolyn starts to feel faith splice its way through the venom of pain, the connection she has with Welch is put in jeopardy as the harshness gets worse with each passing day.
Will the two tattered spirits make it out alive?
About the Author
She enjoys spending time with her family and friends, traveling, anything outdoors, relaxing by the pool with a good piece of literature, red wine, coffee, tattoos, and HEA!