xmlns:og='http://ogp.me/ns#' Kryssie Fortune: July 2017

Thursday, 27 July 2017

Submission at the Tower @Felicitybrandon #exerpt #18+ #BDSM


Blurb:
"This is not a love story. This is the story of the hunger inside of me which must be fed before it consumes me entirely…"

After a chance encounter with a handsome stranger introduces her to The Tower, an institution that trains women in submission, Janie McClusky is irresistibly drawn to the place. But admittance comes at a price, and soon enough Janie is utterly bare and fully on display, blushing crimson as the men at The Tower thoroughly explore her body, bringing her pain, pleasure, and shame as they see fit.

As Janie’s training begins, there is one man among the group who seems to know her own needs better than she does, and before long she finds herself yearning and even begging for his touch. But if she relinquishes control completely to this captivating stranger and allows him to break down her remaining defences, will there be any coming back at all?

Publisher’s Note: Submission at The Tower is an erotic novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, extensive BDSM content, exhibitionism, anal play, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Buy links:





Teasers:

Author Bio:
Amazon #1 international best-seller of the salacious, erotic & romantic.
Golden Flogger Finalist 2016, Spanking Romance Reviews runner-up.
#BDSM, #spanking, #submission.
Wicked Pen Writer with Mr. Blackthorne.
18+ My books contain explicit material and scenes of intense D/s sex.

Excerpt:
“Now remove those panties,” barks a voice from over my right shoulder.
This order is so much firmer than the previous, it almost takes me by surprise. Instinctively I turn my head to see its owner, but am met by the hard stare of Shaw.
“Now, number sixteen …”
Still unsure which man had made the request I wiggle slowly out of my black satin panties. Moving them down my thighs, I allow them to pool at my feet, before stepping out of them and bending carefully to collect them in my hand. I notice to my shame that the gusset is wet and sticky from my own arousal and I feel my face colour again.
“What have you seen?” asks Shaw, not missing a trick, “bring them here, number sixteen.”
Reluctantly I lower my head and take a small step towards him.
“Not like that!” snaps a voice from behind me – the same one which had ordered the removal of my panties. “Get down on your hands and knees!”
The flush in my face flames at the sound of his command. I suspect my embarrassment is more from being so publicly chastised then from the demand, but nonetheless the effect is the same. I am suddenly a ball of mortification in front of these men – my new masters. I take a deep breath and fall silently to my hands and knees.
As I assume this new, more vulnerable position, the atmosphere in the room changes perceptibly. The air is now charged with palpable energy. The nervous ball of arousal in me drives me on and I arch my back shamelessly, pushing my ass and wet pussy out for everyone behind me to see. I am no longer particularly young and even though I work to keep myself in shape, I am still wrecked with the type of body insecurities that plague most people. Strangely in this most exposed of moments, I feel powerful, even in my submission. I know that every pair of eyes is on me, every pair of hands wants to touch me and every cock is straining to fuck me. The result is the most incredible feeling of wanton depravity I have ever experienced.
I glance up at Shaw. I can clearly see his hard length visible through his pin-stripe trousers. The desire to take it in the mouth and taste him is strong and yet the desire to submit to his will is even more powerful. Without being told I dip my head to my right hand and pick up my panties in my teeth. A low hum of appreciation rattles around the circle. Then, panties hanging from my mouth, I crawl as seductively as I can across to where Shaw is waiting.
Two things strike me. The first is how much harder it is to crawl with grace than I’d imagined. The unforgiving wood under my knees cuts into my skin, making each movement a temporary agony and the progress feel awkward and clumsy. I hope in vain that it looks lither then it feels, and yet somehow I doubt it… As I move drawing in deep breaths through my nose, the second thing becomes apparent. The smell of my own arousal fills my senses. The panties in my teeth seem to radiate it. I’m sure that everyone else in the room can also get the scent. I would no doubt be blushing furiously about this new shame was it not for my already humiliating predicament! And yet this humiliation is exactly what I’ve been craving for so long, my drenched pussy a testament to how much I am enjoying the experience.
As my mind dwells on the depths I have already sunk into since my arrival less than an hour ago, I approach Shaw’s feet and legs. Unsure of how to proceed, but sure that looking up at him is not an acceptable response, I wait on all fours in front of him, like an untrained animal. I squirm at the prospect that he may be making the same comparison.
Author links:
Facebook profile: https://www.facebook.com/felicity.brandon.3
https://www.facebook.com/felicity.brandon.3

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Tuesday, 25 July 2017

The Duchess and the Highwayman by Beverly Oakley




By Beverley Oakley

Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate and an ebook The Mysterious Governess.to randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.

BLURB:

A duchess disguised as a lady’s maid; a gentleman parading as a highwayman.
She’s on the run from a murderer, he’s in pursuit of one…

In a remote Norfolk manor, Phoebe, Lady Cavanaugh is wrongfully accused by her servants of her brutal husband’s murder.

There’s little sympathy in the district for the duchess who’s taken a lover and made clear she despised her husband. The local magistrate has also vowed revenge since Lady Cavanaugh rebuffed his advances.

When Phoebe is discovered in the forest wearing only a chemise stained with the blood of her murdered husband, she persuades the noble ‘highwayman’ who rescues her that she is Lady Cavanaugh’s maidservant.
Hugh Redding has his own reasons for hunting down the man who would have Phoebe tried and hanged for murder. He plans to turn ‘the maidservant with aspirations above her station' into the 'lady' who might testify against the very villain who would see Phoebe dead.

But despite the fierce attraction between Phoebe and the 'highwayman', Phoebe is not in a position to admit she's the 'murderous duchess' hunted across the land.

Seizing an opportunity to strike at the social and financial standing of the man who has profited by her distress, Phoebe is drawn into a dangerous intrigue.

But when disaster strikes, she fears Hugh will lack the sympathy or understanding of her unusual predicament to even want to save her a second time.

Buy Links:
Amazon | All other buy links

~*~*~*~*~*~
Excerpt:

“Ma’am! Terrible news!” Her maid, Barbara, hurried into the room, squeaking when she saw Wentworth. She brought her apron up to her face as she continued in a rush, “Oh ma’am, His Lordship’s heir is dead!”
“My brother?”
Phoebe gasped and instinctively put her hand out towards Wentworth. “I’m so sorry.”
Ignoring her, Wentworth pulled on his breeches and shirt and pushed past Barbara. Phoebe ran after him as he strode down the corridor, down the stairs, his footsteps loud and determined before he burst into the drawing room.
Ulrick was hunched in his chair, his eyes slits from the reflection of the fire. “Terrible accident. Wenworth.” He was properly awake now and holding out a letter which Wentworth snatched from his grasp and scanned quickly.
Phoebe felt the tug of sympathy at the shock on his face and wished she’d not been so harsh, earlier. She took a step towards him but he avoided her outstretched hand, the shock on his face increasing as he jerked up his head.
“By God, both of them? Both my brothers are dead.” He stabbed at the letter. “The imbecile was driving. Why, the other’s as imbecilic to let him take the reins and now they’ve both plunged to their deaths.”
“A great shock, Wentworth,” Ulrick muttered. “Changes everything, of course.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened at the implication. She gasped. “You’re Ulrick’s heir, Wentworth.” She felt a wave of relief and nearly laughed aloud, so filled with joy was she that she need not have to suffer Wentworth’s attentions ever again.
Casting herself at her husband’s feet, she rested her cheek upon his knees. “Now you can rest in peace, Ulrick, though it’s a terrible thing to rejoice in another’s death.” She took his bony hands in hers and began to chafe their papery backs. “We will mourn as is proper, yet it’s the truth, my husband. Your worries about the succession are over.”
“Unless you are carrying my child.”
Phoebe glanced up, shocked at the blaze of anger that marred Wentworth’s expression. Unconsciously she put her hand to her belly. “I…I don’t believe so, Wentworth,” she said cautiously. And nor did she. She’d only suggested such might be the case to try and deflect his advances earlier this evening.
“But you may be now. As of five minutes ago, my angel.”
It was no endearment. Phoebe stared up at Ulrick to gauge his reaction but he was obviously in great pain, his eyes glazed with it.
“Then we’ve no choice but to wait and see,” she whispered, her mouth dry though she forced herself to hold his angry glare. “We shall make the best of whatever we have done.”
“We shall make the best of a badly done deal now.” Wentworth’s voice was frighteningly calm as he stepped forward.
Phoebe recoiled as she squeezed Ulrick’s hand. “Ulrick, can you hear me?” she pleaded. “You must reassure Wentworth if only for my sake.”
Her husband breathed heavily. It was often thus in the evenings when the pain came down strong and hard.
Wentworth gave a mirthless laugh. “He’s not long for this world, my dear. You can see it; the doctor says it. He’s suffering. See how he suffers.” And all the time Wentworth was moving closer while Phoebe drew further back against her husband who would not help her when he was in good health and would not help her now.
“A dutiful wife would put him out of his misery, wouldn’t she?” He’d picked up the paper knife from the escritoire settled in the enclave by the tasselled curtain. It was a slender, chiselled and elegant instrument. Deadly.
“No, Wentworth.” Her teeth chattered. She tried to get to her feet and run but Wentworth’s arm shot out and his hand gripped hers, forcing the paper knife into her grasp, forcing her forward. She tried to resist, tried to snatch her hand back, the sharp blade catching on the skin on the back of her hand, drawing a thin, instant incision that filled with blood.

~*~*~*~*~*~
Author Info:

Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.
Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.
Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.
Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.
You can get in contact with Beverley at:
website | Facebook | Pinterest | Twitter | Goodreads


a Rafflecopter giveaway



<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The Duchess and the Highwayman
By Beverley Oakley



Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate and an ebook The Mysterious Governess.to randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here. 

BLURB: 

A duchess disguised as a lady’s maid; a gentleman parading as a highwayman.
She’s on the run from a murderer, he’s in pursuit of one…

In a remote Norfolk manor, Phoebe, Lady Cavanaugh is wrongfully accused by her servants of her brutal husband’s murder.

There’s little sympathy in the district for the duchess who’s taken a lover and made clear she despised her husband. The local magistrate has also vowed revenge since Lady Cavanaugh rebuffed his advances.

When Phoebe is discovered in the forest wearing only a chemise stained with the blood of her murdered husband, she persuades the noble ‘highwayman’ who rescues her that she is Lady Cavanaugh’s maidservant.
Hugh Redding has his own reasons for hunting down the man who would have Phoebe tried and hanged for murder. He plans to turn ‘the maidservant with aspirations above her station' into the 'lady' who might testify against the very villain who would see Phoebe dead.

But despite the fierce attraction between Phoebe and the 'highwayman', Phoebe is not in a position to admit she's the 'murderous duchess' hunted across the land.

Seizing an opportunity to strike at the social and financial standing of the man who has profited by her distress, Phoebe is drawn into a dangerous intrigue.

But when disaster strikes, she fears Hugh will lack the sympathy or understanding of her unusual predicament to even want to save her a second time.


 Buy Links: 
Amazon | All other buy links



~*~*~*~*~*~
Excerpt:

“Ma’am! Terrible news!” Her maid, Barbara, hurried into the room, squeaking when she saw Wentworth. She brought her apron up to her face as she continued in a rush, “Oh ma’am, His Lordship’s heir is dead!”
“My brother?”
Phoebe gasped and instinctively put her hand out towards Wentworth. “I’m so sorry.”
Ignoring her, Wentworth pulled on his breeches and shirt and pushed past Barbara. Phoebe ran after him as he strode down the corridor, down the stairs, his footsteps loud and determined before he burst into the drawing room.
Ulrick was hunched in his chair, his eyes slits from the reflection of the fire. “Terrible accident. Wenworth.” He was properly awake now and holding out a letter which Wentworth snatched from his grasp and scanned quickly.
Phoebe felt the tug of sympathy at the shock on his face and wished she’d not been so harsh, earlier. She took a step towards him but he avoided her outstretched hand, the shock on his face increasing as he jerked up his head.
“By God, both of them? Both my brothers are dead.” He stabbed at the letter. “The imbecile was driving. Why, the other’s as imbecilic to let him take the reins and now they’ve both plunged to their deaths.”
“A great shock, Wentworth,” Ulrick muttered. “Changes everything, of course.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened at the implication. She gasped. “You’re Ulrick’s heir, Wentworth.” She felt a wave of relief and nearly laughed aloud, so filled with joy was she that she need not have to suffer Wentworth’s attentions ever again.
Casting herself at her husband’s feet, she rested her cheek upon his knees. “Now you can rest in peace, Ulrick, though it’s a terrible thing to rejoice in another’s death.” She took his bony hands in hers and began to chafe their papery backs. “We will mourn as is proper, yet it’s the truth, my husband. Your worries about the succession are over.”
“Unless you are carrying my child.”
Phoebe glanced up, shocked at the blaze of anger that marred Wentworth’s expression. Unconsciously she put her hand to her belly. “I…I don’t believe so, Wentworth,” she said cautiously. And nor did she. She’d only suggested such might be the case to try and deflect his advances earlier this evening.
“But you may be now. As of five minutes ago, my angel.”
It was no endearment. Phoebe stared up at Ulrick to gauge his reaction but he was obviously in great pain, his eyes glazed with it.
“Then we’ve no choice but to wait and see,” she whispered, her mouth dry though she forced herself to hold his angry glare. “We shall make the best of whatever we have done.”
“We shall make the best of a badly done deal now.” Wentworth’s voice was frighteningly calm as he stepped forward.
Phoebe recoiled as she squeezed Ulrick’s hand. “Ulrick, can you hear me?” she pleaded. “You must reassure Wentworth if only for my sake.”
Her husband breathed heavily. It was often thus in the evenings when the pain came down strong and hard.
Wentworth gave a mirthless laugh. “He’s not long for this world, my dear. You can see it; the doctor says it. He’s suffering. See how he suffers.” And all the time Wentworth was moving closer while Phoebe drew further back against her husband who would not help her when he was in good health and would not help her now.
“A dutiful wife would put him out of his misery, wouldn’t she?” He’d picked up the paper knife from the escritoire settled in the enclave by the tasselled curtain. It was a slender, chiselled and elegant instrument. Deadly.
“No, Wentworth.” Her teeth chattered. She tried to get to her feet and run but Wentworth’s arm shot out and his hand gripped hers, forcing the paper knife into her grasp, forcing her forward. She tried to resist, tried to snatch her hand back, the sharp blade catching on the skin on the back of her hand, drawing a thin, instant incision that filled with blood.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~
Author Info: 


Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.
Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.
Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.
Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.
You can get in contact with Beverley at:


a Rafflecopter giveaway




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Friday, 21 July 2017

Five Ways to Spoil a Wedding. #book #amreading


  • 1.     Stick your finger in the cake
  • 2.     Pour red wine on the bride’s dress
  • 3.    Turn up in a white dress
  • 4.     Have your pregnant friend turn up and ask the groom, “How could you.”
  • 5.     Have the PA play Take your Daughter to the Slaughter instead of the Wedding March.


Of course, there’s always the old chestnut,
Interrupt when the celebrant says “Speak now or forever hold your peace.

That’s what Sylvie plans to do when her fiancée’s marrying another. Not that she ever loved Giles, but their marriage brought peace between the Fae and the Lykae.

If he marries anyone else it means war.  Only the damned security guard won't let her in.


Blurb

Sylvie's more human librarian than half-blood Fae princess and she definitely prefers books to men. Then, she learns her unwanted Lykae fiancée is marrying someone else. If she doesn't stop the wedding, the Fae will resume the border war with the Werewolf nation. A high-handed Lykae security guard blocks her every move, and when her plans go awry, she's kidnapped, stripped, and bound for his pleasure.

Caleb the Cold, King of the Lykae, will do anything to make his younger brother's wedding special--even pretend he's a security guard and kidnap his brother's former fiancée. Punishing her is pure pleasure, until he realizes she's his mate. Now he needs to woo the woman he's tormented to the edge of madness, but is it too late to claim her heart, and make her his?

Buy Links

Loose id                           http://www.loose-id.com/to-wed-a-werewolf.html?___SID=U

Amazon USA                  http://amzn.to/1JwT6MA
Amazon UK                    http://amzn.to/1mIMW1s
Amazon Au                     http://bit.ly/1IT2nOR

Barnes and Noble            http://bit.ly/22NpOQb
All romance                     http://bit.ly/1DwqVWo

Excerpt


“I told you”—a huge hand landed on each of Sylvie’s shoulders—“you’re not welcome here.” 

The damn security guard had already turned her away twice, but he definitely looked good in a tux. She could get a neck ache staring up at his towering wall of muscle and menace, but she liked the way his blond hair curled over his collar. His broad shoulders and long, lean physique made her heart beat a machine-gun rhythm, but his clear gray eyes narrowed when he realized she’d sneaked back again. 

Although her breasts perked up and demanded his attention, the attraction certainly wasn’t mutual. Maybe she shouldn’t have crept in with the caterers, but he’d left her no choice. Why did he have to be huge, imposing, and so sexy he made her mouth water? Damn it, she was lusting after another Lykae, and people’s lives were at stake here. 

Desperate to speak to the bride or groom, she grabbed a tray of drinks from a side table and slammed it into his stomach. Wine splattered the walls. Glasses shattered as they crashed onto the marble floor. The Lykae growled in annoyance, but the tray bounced off him like it had hit a brick wall. 

“Violent little thing, aren’t you?” He never flinched. “But I’m definitely up for the fight.” 

He stalked toward her, his eyes—dirty ice diamonds—condemned her, and she quickly dropped her gaze. 

Great! Now I’m staring at his dick. But it’s definitely worth a second look. 

His brows drew together in a frown so fierce her courage shriveled inside her. Arms wrapped around her chest, she backed off, but there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. 

“Hey, lady,” one of the caterers called, “get back in the dining room and finish setting up your tables.” 

“She’s fired,” the security guard snarled. “And step up your security, or your firm won’t work here again.” 

His clenched jaw and angry glower sent the caterer running. That left Sylvie trapped and alone with a furious Lykae. God, what if he turned? Would he rip out her throat? So scared she could hardly breathe, she stared anywhere except at him; then he stepped closer and invaded her personal space. One swift, graceful move and she hung over his shoulder like captured prey. An inch or so lower and she could bite his spectacular butt. When he flashed them into the otherworld, she struggled not to barf all over it. 

The transition always made her stomach churn. Once her nausea settled, she screamed the high-pitched shriek only a fairy in distress could manage. 

“That”—he stroked one hand over her bottom as she squirmed and kicked—“hurt my ears.” 

“Good,” she snapped, and screamed again. 

Whack! The gentle pressure became a full-on slap that made her bottom burn. 

“Be quiet or I’ll spank you again. The wedding’s in two hours, and I don’t have time to deal with a troublesome bitch like you.” 

God, that slap made her ass throb—and there he went insulting her again. What was it that attracted her to arrogant Lykae men? And why did they treat her as a second-class citizen? Story of her life, really. 

Even her Fae father had walked away and left her human mother to work two jobs to keep Sylvie clothed and fed. Then the day she turned seventeen, her half brother had arrived on her doorstep and told her she was a Fae princess. She’d told him to get real, but he had been. He introduced her to the otherworld—a place so beautiful it made her gasp, but so violent it scared her witless. Ever since, she’d dreamed of someone strong and special, someone who’d always put her first. 

“You don’t understand.” She beat her fists on Mr. Arrogance’s back. “I have to speak to Giles.” 

“I just bet you do, but news flash, sweetness, you have to get past me first.” He shoved her into a bare room, empty but for a cast-iron bed. “Don’t worry, princess. I promise we’ll play later.” 

She tried to dodge around him, but he moved with Lykae swiftness, blocking her way and looking her over like she was a fine meal. 

What the hell happens if he bites me? Will I turn all wolfy too? 

He backed her against the wall, placed one hand on either side of her shoulders, and leaned in closer. His woodland-fresh essence hit her; then his gaze focused on her lips. He pressed his body against her, and she suddenly understood the expression “hung like a stallion.” 

His grin was all predatory wolf and playful masculinity. Her body tensed with excitement. Anticipation made her breath catch as he lowered his mouth toward hers. Eyes wide, heart racing, she parted her lips for his kiss. Then he spun her around, shoved her, aching breasts first, against the wall, and locked one arm around her neck in a sleeper hold. 

Damn it, she thought just before she lost consciousness. What do I need to do to get a Lykae to kiss me? 

* * * * 

Sylvie’s sore arms and aching head woke her. She forced her eyes open, but the world seemed blurry and unclear. She’d no idea where she was or how long she’d been unconscious. Gradually her vision refocused, and she realized she stood in a bleak room—medieval even—her wrists bound in thick rope that looped around the rafters. No wonder her arms throbbed, but if she stood tall, she could relieve the strain. 

The room was dirty and neglected, but clean sheets covered the bed. Spiderwebs hung like curtains over the windows. Something flapped sedately past, its golden scales a stark contrast to the green sky, bloodied prey dangling from its beak. A wyvern swooped from nowhere, its claws sinking into the carrion eater’s flesh, and they plummeted downward. Their battle screams echoed through her prison, then ended in a roar of triumph. The blue-scaled wyvern zoomed past the window as it shot off with its stolen prey. 

Her Lykae had left her alone and vulnerable, but even if she escaped her bonds, how could she survive out there? And why was her magic always just beyond her grasp? Then she remembered. Mr. Arrogance had brought her here. As she struggled to free her wrists, she prayed he came back after the wedding. 

Oh God, the wedding! The war! 

She’d failed, and now the entire Fae Nation would pay the price. How could she have been so stupid? 

She swung like an acrobat on the rope, but her bonds stayed intact and her wrists burned and bled. Desperate, more scared than she’d thought possible, she screamed that bloodcurdling banshee shriek that carried for miles—but no hero rushed to her rescue. 

She’d no idea how long she hung there. Eventually the door opened, and Mr. Arrogance swaggered back, his every movement making his muscles ripple beneath his tux. 

He was one breathtaking, blond he-man, the stuff of any girl’s fantasy, but he’d never look at a skinny thing like her. Her stick-thin body, coffee-colored hair, and clear green eyes could never compete with the curvaceous Lykae ladies she’d seen back at the wedding hotel. Better to forget this jaw-dropping piece of masculinity and creep back to her half brother’s court—not that he wanted her for more than a political pawn. 

Her dominant Lykae stared at her, eyes stern gray mirrors void of any emotion, and his wolfish grin made her wonder if she was his dinner. Then she remembered his promise to play later, and no matter how she much she wanted to fight him, a delicious tingle spread through her pussy. Damn it, this was no time to give in to her body’s cravings, not when she had a wedding to stop—or better yet, postpone—and an interspecies war to prevent. 

“Had time to reconsider?” He smirked. 

“Are they married,” she demanded, “or is there still time?” 

“Persistent little beggar, aren’t you?” 

“You don’t understand—” 

“Oh, sweetness,” he mocked, “I understand all too well, but if you’re determined to play your sex games, you should play them with me.” 


Copyright © Kryssie Fortune
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Wednesday, 19 July 2017

Summer of Seduction. #Anthology #giveaway #excerpts


Summer of Seduction
An Anthology
By Candi Fox, Louisa Bacio, Bobbi Romans, Monica Corwin, Audra Hart, Shakir Rashaan, AM Halford,
Sheri Velarde, Izzy Szyn

These fabulous authors are offering wonderful giveaways. There are Amazon Gift Cert's, ebooks, and a print book of Summer of Seduction up for Grabs. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. You may increase your chances of wining by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.

About the Book:
"Avoid the burn, but savor the heat of the season! Kick back in the shade with your copy of Nine Hot Authors – Nine Sexy Tales of Summer Sizzle!
“Sugar’s Salvation” by Candi Fox
☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆
“Dry Heat” by Louisa Bacio
☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆
“A Summer Tryst” by Bobbi Romans
☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆
Windows and Doors By Monica Corwin
☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆
“Primal Heat” by Audra Hart
☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆
“GFE Interrupted” by Shakir Rashaan
☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆
“Summer Fever in a Tent” by A.M. Halford
☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆
“Mikhail's American Adventure” by Sheri Velarde
☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆
“Kassie’s Seduction” by Izzy Szyn

Featuring an exotic array of genres to tempt even the pickiest of palates!  Come, join the erotic adventure of “A Summer of Seduction"

~*~*~*~*~*~
Summer Fever in a Tent Book Blurb:

Paul has loved Danny, his best friend's little brother, since they were kids. Not willing to risk his friendship, Paul has kept his feelings well hidden, at least until a camping trip provides the opportunity he's been waiting for.

Excerpt:

He watched as Danny tossed the football across the park, watching it spin in a perfect spiral before he caught it. The shorter man hooted and cheered himself on for his perfect form. Then again, considering how long Paul had been teaching Danny to throw a football, he’d better have perfect form by now.

Still, he couldn’t help but watch as the man jumped around, his ear length black hair bouncing around him. The sunlight glinted off it, reflecting with shades of red outward. His brown eyes were dancing happily as he turned to meet Paul’s gaze and held out his hands for the return throw.

Paul pulled his arm back, and let the ball fly, spinning beautifully and arcing across the summer sky as it came in for a landing right where he wanted it to. Danny’s arms. That radiant smile that met his own had Paul fighting with the same urge he’d had since he’d met the younger man ten years ago. Danny had been twelve then. Paul fourteen, and had just made friends with the man’s older brother Raymond. Ray was a cool guy, but Paul was completely certain the man would kill him if he ever got wind of the fact he held romantic, and sexual, desires for his “precious baby brother”.

The guy had a brother complex. Bad.

Danny jogged over to him and grabbed his water from the bag laying on the grass at his feet. In doing so he bent over, giving Paul the perfect few of the man’s small bubble butt and even a peek at his lower back as his shirt rode up just the tiniest amount.

“So, Ray says you guys are going to the mountains to camp,” Danny said after he stood and took a drink from his water bottle. “Where to?”

“We’re driving up to Oregon and hiking a place called Eight Dollar to Baby Foot Lake,” Paul shrugged. “Ray swears it’s beautiful.”

“Should be fun,” Danny packed up his water and grabbed his bag. “Can’t wait.”

“Wait, what?” Paul practically tripped over his own two feet as he tried to follow Danny. “You’re coming?”

“Something wrong with that?” Danny pouted.

Oh, gods! Not the pout. Every person alive was weak to that big lower lip and puppy dog look. Paul had seen Ray fold time and time again once it came out. Paul was no different.

“No, nothing’s wrong with it,” Paul found himself saying.

“Great!” Danny cheered before kissing Paul’s cheek and rushing back to their awaiting cars.

Paul let the feeling of another’s lips pressed against his skin linger for a moment before following him. Danny was overly affectionate with everyone. His kisses and hugs meant nothing special. He saw Paul as another big brother, and he hated it! How he wished sometimes he wasn’t Ray’s best friend and didn’t have that obstacle to contend with. Then maybe he could pursue his feelings for Danny more openly.

As it was though, these small stolen moments tossing a ball back and forth was the most he could hope for these days. Danny was a full-time student at the local college while Paul worked at his dad’s auto mechanic shop sixty hours a week, six days a week. Maybe having him come along on the camping trip would be a good thing? Perhaps if he saw a bit more of the energetic guy Paul could get his fill via osmosis or something.

He doubted that though. If that were possible then all the time they’d spent together prior to college and careers would’ve been enough.

Danny tossed his small bag in his car just as his phone rang. Paul tried not to glower at the sleek device. He knew who it was, and he wanted to pummel the guy with a tire iron.

~*~*~*~*~*~
About the Author:

A.M. Halford lives in Southern Oregon and enjoys spending as much time outside as she possibly can. Her partner and her often find themselves hiking with their two dogs when the weather permits it. Fishing, camping, and photography are also activities she greatly enjoy. If the weather doesn’t permit going outside she likes to curl up with a sketch book and draw whatever comes to mind.

A.M. Halford got into writing as an outlet for personal therapy and has since expanded that into a hobby and profession that she enjoys. She often writes down anything that comes to mind, combing through the ideas and expanding on plots that sound the most interesting. She likes to write believable relations between people overcoming unfair hardships set before them. She always loves a happy ending and no matter the hell her characters go through they’ll always get their forever person.

Social Links:
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Tumblr | Goodreads |Bookstrand | Amazon
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Summer of Seduction

An Anthology

By Candi Fox, Louisa Bacio, Bobbi Romans, Monica Corwin, Audra Hart, Shakir Rashaan, AM Halford, 
Sheri Velarde, Izzy Szyn


These fabulous authors are offering wonderful giveaways. There are Amazon Gift Cert's, ebooks, and a print book of Summer of Seduction up for Grabs. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. You may increase your chances of wining by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here. 
About the Book: 
"Avoid the burn, but savor the heat of the season! Kick back in the shade with your copy of Nine Hot Authors – Nine Sexy Tales of Summer Sizzle!

“Sugar’s Salvation” by Candi Fox 

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“Dry Heat” by Louisa Bacio

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“A Summer Tryst” by Bobbi Romans

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Windows and Doors By Monica Corwin

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“Primal Heat” by Audra Hart

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“GFE Interrupted” by Shakir Rashaan

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“Summer Fever in a Tent” by A.M. Halford

☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆

“Mikhail's American Adventure” by Sheri Velarde

☆。☆。☆ 。☆。☆

“Kassie’s Seduction” by Izzy Szyn 


Featuring an exotic array of genres to tempt even the pickiest of palates!  Come, join the erotic adventure of “A Summer of Seduction"
~*~*~*~*~*~


Summer Fever in a Tent Book Blurb:
Paul has loved Danny, his best friend's little brother, since they were kids. Not willing to risk his friendship, Paul has kept his feelings well hidden, at least until a camping trip provides the opportunity he's been waiting for.

Excerpt: 
He watched as Danny tossed the football across the park, watching it spin in a perfect spiral before he caught it. The shorter man hooted and cheered himself on for his perfect form. Then again, considering how long Paul had been teaching Danny to throw a football, he’d better have perfect form by now.
Still, he couldn’t help but watch as the man jumped around, his ear length black hair bouncing around him. The sunlight glinted off it, reflecting with shades of red outward. His brown eyes were dancing happily as he turned to meet Paul’s gaze and held out his hands for the return throw.
Paul pulled his arm back, and let the ball fly, spinning beautifully and arcing across the summer sky as it came in for a landing right where he wanted it to. Danny’s arms. That radiant smile that met his own had Paul fighting with the same urge he’d had since he’d met the younger man ten years ago. Danny had been twelve then. Paul fourteen, and had just made friends with the man’s older brother Raymond. Ray was a cool guy, but Paul was completely certain the man would kill him if he ever got wind of the fact he held romantic, and sexual, desires for his “precious baby brother”.
The guy had a brother complex. Bad.
Danny jogged over to him and grabbed his water from the bag laying on the grass at his feet. In doing so he bent over, giving Paul the perfect few of the man’s small bubble butt and even a peek at his lower back as his shirt rode up just the tiniest amount.
“So, Ray says you guys are going to the mountains to camp,” Danny said after he stood and took a drink from his water bottle. “Where to?”
“We’re driving up to Oregon and hiking a place called Eight Dollar to Baby Foot Lake,” Paul shrugged. “Ray swears it’s beautiful.”
“Should be fun,” Danny packed up his water and grabbed his bag. “Can’t wait.”
“Wait, what?” Paul practically tripped over his own two feet as he tried to follow Danny. “You’re coming?”
“Something wrong with that?” Danny pouted.
Oh, gods! Not the pout. Every person alive was weak to that big lower lip and puppy dog look. Paul had seen Ray fold time and time again once it came out. Paul was no different.
“No, nothing’s wrong with it,” Paul found himself saying.
“Great!” Danny cheered before kissing Paul’s cheek and rushing back to their awaiting cars.
Paul let the feeling of another’s lips pressed against his skin linger for a moment before following him. Danny was overly affectionate with everyone. His kisses and hugs meant nothing special. He saw Paul as another big brother, and he hated it! How he wished sometimes he wasn’t Ray’s best friend and didn’t have that obstacle to contend with. Then maybe he could pursue his feelings for Danny more openly.
As it was though, these small stolen moments tossing a ball back and forth was the most he could hope for these days. Danny was a full-time student at the local college while Paul worked at his dad’s auto mechanic shop sixty hours a week, six days a week. Maybe having him come along on the camping trip would be a good thing? Perhaps if he saw a bit more of the energetic guy Paul could get his fill via osmosis or something.
He doubted that though. If that were possible then all the time they’d spent together prior to college and careers would’ve been enough.
Danny tossed his small bag in his car just as his phone rang. Paul tried not to glower at the sleek device. He knew who it was, and he wanted to pummel the guy with a tire iron.
~*~*~*~*~*~
About the Author: 


A.M. Halford lives in Southern Oregon and enjoys spending as much time outside as she possibly can. Her partner and her often find themselves hiking with their two dogs when the weather permits it. Fishing, camping, and photography are also activities she greatly enjoy. If the weather doesn’t permit going outside she likes to curl up with a sketch book and draw whatever comes to mind.


A.M. Halford got into writing as an outlet for personal therapy and has since expanded that into a hobby and profession that she enjoys. She often writes down anything that comes to mind, combing through the ideas and expanding on plots that sound the most interesting. She likes to write believable relations between people overcoming unfair hardships set before them. She always loves a happy ending and no matter the hell her characters go through they’ll always get their forever person.


Social Links: 
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Tumblr | Goodreads |
Bookstrand | Amazon


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