The Subject was Rose by Karen Mercury

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[Siren Ménage Everlasting: Erotic Consensual BDSM Cowboy Ménage a Trois Romance, M/M/F, wax play, sex toys, HEA]
When three-star chef Rose Britton agrees to have her portrait painted by top designer Jesse Factor, she has no clue their sexy scenes will be so rudely interrupted by powerful billionaire cattle rancher Drake Stinson, who busts in like a Dominant house on fire. After having sworn off men, suddenly Rose has two of them and quite a mess on her hands.
Drake has led a shallow, jet-setting lifestyle for decades. Just as he decides to open up and allow a deeper relationship with Rose to form, he's confused by his heteroflexible passion for Jesse Factor, too. Drake initiates the couple into the intricacies of his sexual power structure, and they all want much more than a trivial hookup.
But Drake is haunted by a corrupt deal his father made fifteen years ago. Now greasy fed Burt Macklin is back demanding a multi-million-dollar payoff for a large chunk of his ranch, and his violent threats could spoil the perfect ménage.

http://www.bookstrand.com/the-subject-was-rose

STORY EXCERPT

 

That soup had been served hours ago. Earlier, Table Fourteen’s silver fox had been with a couple of business associates, but now he was alone, so he was her culprit. Rose had no choice but to suck it up and paste a grin on her face. Wiping her hands on her apron, she took a few deep breaths, reminding herself it was almost eleven and everyone would soon be gone.

Rose went obsequiously around the side of the table, even bending her knees a little to gain more eye contact with the gentleman. Oh, my. He was stunningly beautiful and not really a silver fox at all—could a man of only forty be classed as a silver fox? He must have just been barely grey and chose to let it go—another point in his stunningly beautiful favor. His straight, pointed nose led the eye to his perfectly sculpted, bowed lips. The lips were thin and stern, though, and his dark brown eyes seemed to have no pupil as he regarded her with disapproval. His cheekbones were so sharp you could skin a deer with them.

“Hi, I’m Rose Britton, executive chef. You found fault with the pepper pot soup?” She had a feeling she knew what the “fault” would be. She was attempting to reintroduce a 1950s comfort food kitsch item that not many people remembered, ironically or otherwise.

“Yes,” said the gentleman, sneering at a nonexistent soup bowl on the table. “What was that awful rubbery stuff in there?”

Once his eyes moved up Rose’s torso though, as expected, his eyes dilated with pleasure.

Rose knew she was pretty. She could always see the pleasure wash over men’s faces when they first viewed her. She had never lacked for dates or suitors, even though her nose was too wide and piggish and her eyes always looked puffy and tired. Her honey blonde hair could look delicious and whipped when it behaved—or tinged with a nauseous green from her high school swimming days in Florida.

But right now that didn’t matter. Rose was tired of men. Men were dogs, and it enraged her even more to think this cultured man would insult her soup even worse if she had been more overweight than her pleasantly curvy, or had her nose been even more piggish. She kept her hands folded in front of her filthy apron and said civilly, “You must mean the beef tripe. That’s an ingredient many people aren’t familiar with.”

He frowned. Rose knew his sort. They had to know everything, and the worst insult was to infer that they didn’t. “Of course I’m familiar with tripe,” he said imperiously. He had really broad shoulders. Rose mentally slapped herself for wondering if he worked out. Rose imagined she could see pectorals rippling under the suit jacket as he made a little pile of his linen napkin on the table top. “I was just wondering why it had to be so damned rubbery. So damned repellant.”

He had gone back to disliking her because she had questioned his know-how, and that was fine with Rose. She just wanted to get back into her kitchen, oversee the cleanup, schedule workers for tomorrow, and get the hell back to her room at the Searchlight Motel. She found herself eager to please him, and she told herself it was just to hurry things along.  She had a sneaking suspicion, though, that she might just sincerely want to please the asshole.  “Well, that’s kind of the nature of tripe, sir. Maybe next time the vichyssoise or turtle soup would be more to your palate.”

His eyes flashed with anger. He dropped his credit card on the table as though it was a turd. “Aren’t you a bit young to be an executive chef?”

“Well, this is a small establishment. I do a lot of the hands-on cooking here myself.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Including the pepper pot soup?”

Rose sighed. “Including the pepper pot soup.”

He snorted. “Well. If thereis a next time, I’ll definitely stay away from your soup.” He stabbed the credit card with his steely glance, giving Rose the unmistakable picture.

“Oh! I’ll take your bill to the cashier.” Rose gave a little bow, and got the hell out of there without having to endure another acerbic word from that asshat.

“Asshat,” she said under her breath as she handed the cashier the black billfold.

“Yeah,” said the other woman. “He’s gorge, but he’s sure got ’tude. He sent back his Clams Casino appetizer because it was too buttery.”

“It’s supposed to be buttery. Who is he, do you know?”

The hostess shrugged. “I’ve never seen him before. But they were talking about steers and registered cattle, so I guess he’s in the ranching business nearby.”

Rose looked at the man over her shoulder. He irritably slapped a cowboy hat against his knee, but he wasn’t tan enough to be the actual rancher. He must be the owner.

“Oh, whatever,” Rose said, irritable herself now, and sped off to the ladies’ room.

 

ADULT EXCERPT

 

“Do her forearms,” Drake instructed Jesse. “You did a good job with these knots.”

Jesse oiled Rose’s forearms, again relaxing her with his massaging skills. But when the men switched so Jesse could gently oil Rose’s naked pussy, Rose jumped and cried out at an unexpected stinging on her chest. She raised her head and saw that Drake stood at the side of the bed, cock proudly erect, bulging between the restrictive silver harness rings. He held a red candle at his shoulder level and was pooling it in the vicinity of her belly button. The sensation was difficult to describe. The hot wax splashed, jumping like drops of water in a hot pan of oil.

“Stroke your two fingers between her labia,” Drake instructed Jesse. “You’re good at that. But don’t get her too excited.”

Rose knew the intention was to keep her mind off the wax. She found herself waiting for each splash and drip. Drake wielded three different colored candles that he alternated, seemingly creating a pattern down the center of her torso. He dripped on her boobs, her nipples, and Rose hissed in air.

“Oh, too much, too much,” she whined, and Drake immediately moved to splatter wax on her ribcage.

Rose was torn between the stinging of the hot wax and the plunging of Jesse’s fingers between her pussy lips. She knew that was the intention, but the anticipation of each splash of wax was driving her over the edge. Jesse’s massaging fingers would softly arouse her, and then the sting of melted wax would make her gasp. “Oh, please, Drake! Stop!”

“Is it too hot? I can hold the candles up higher.”

“Yes. I mean no! It’s fine! I just can’t stand the anticipation anymore. Every time I’m waiting for a drip of wax to fall I tense up, then Jesse’s fingers relax me, then bam! Another drip of wax!”

Drake nodded at Jesse. “Let’s swap again.”

Rose protested. “No! Are you serious, Drake? Come on! You couldn’t possibly be such a sadist as to—ah!”Yes, he’s such a sadist. I should’ve expected that. Drake was dripping wax on her freshly shaved mound.

Jesse commented lightly, “You’re an artist with the wax. A regular Jackson Pollock.”

Drake said, “My dad used to have a Pollock in the library, and another in the main living room. Here, why don’t you try? You’re the artist.”

Jesse took two candles from Drake while Rose squirmed. “I’m not much of an abstract expressionist.”

“Yes!” Rose agreed fervently. “Jesse, you’re a photorealist, not an alcoholic drip painter!” She had studied some art at her culinary school, which was all about being artsy-fartsy, being near New York City.

“I know.” Jesse grinned. “But it’s fun.”

Drake bunched the pillow up underneath Rose’s head so she could watch Jesse. “Is it different when you can see?” he asked. “Then you’re not so tense and expectant.”

“Yes, it’s less tense,” she agreed. “But the constant bouncing around—I mean the contrast between pain and pleasure—is wearing on me. I feel like I’ve run a marathon. Oh!” Jesse dripped a stream of wax directly between her labia, and it dribbled down hotly over her clit before hardening up.

“Oh, God!” Jesse held the candle up high as though surrendering. “I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize!” ordered Drake. Kneeling on the bed, he took the candles from Jesse and replaced them in the metal tray. “We’ve got a good artist’s palette going here.” Drake spanked Rose’s pussy, and she could tell by the clammy slap against her labia that she was mushy and wet with arousal.

Rose huffed and puffed, every cell in her body on fire. The blistering wax had wakened every square inch of her body, thrown her into a permanent state of anticipation. What would be next? Cold ice? Drake’s brisk slapping over the cooled wax had her literally burning with a need she didn’t know how to fulfill. Drake was a true sadist, merely toying with her like a puppet master just to see her reaction. “Oh, God! Drake, you have to do something! I’m going to go out of my mind with frustration!”

“Jesse,” Drake commanded. “Sit on her hips.”

“I’ll ruin the wax painting. It’ll crack.”

Drake grabbed Jesse by a bicep and jammed him onto Rose’s hips. To his credit, Jesse sat lightly, his hard-on bulging obviously in his jeans.

Jesse spoke while twisting his torso to watch Drake behind him. “Drake, what are you—oh, fuck, not again, Drake! This is too, too fucking much!”

Rose strained to lift her torso off the mattress. “What’s he doing, Jesse? What’s ‘not again’? Look, I can’t take anymore of—ah!”

Rose saw the metal and leather cock harness fly through the air and clatter to the floor just as Drake slid his upper thighs under Rose’s ass. Instantly the mushroom head of his hot, naked cock was nestled at the entrance to her pussy, and Drake was saying, “Don’t worry, Jesse. I’m not leaving you out, buddy. Turn around. Face Rose. I want her to watch.”

--

Three For All, October 2103

The Subject Was Rose, August 2013

Three of a Perfect Pair, July 2013

The Sublime Miss Paige, June 2013

 

 

http://karenmercuryauthor.blogspot.com

Chain Me by Vicktor Alexander

Blurb:

When Etan Davidovsky and his partner Travis Caballero go to a BDSM club in Chicago they can only hope to find a Dom that will want to take them home to do a scene. Finding one that wants to keep them forever is a totally different story. So when their eyes lock on Ahijit Khan they do everything they can to get the Dom to choose them... even having sex in the middle of the club.

When Ahijit ventures out to the club in downtown Chicago one night he does so to find a sub or two to help train new Dom, Reidel Parthings, on the Lifestyle. He doesn't expect to find two subs that he wants to keep for himself. Nor does he expect to start fantasizing about the one thing he'd sworn to never even consider ever again: collaring a sub, or subs, for a lifetime contract. But Etan and Travis are special and Ahijit finds himself in a position he's never been in before, one where the Dom is being claimed by the subs.

But will Etan and Travis get Ahijit to collar them and claim them for his own or will his past prevent these three men from having their own happily-ever-after?

 

http://www.roosterandpigpublishing.com/coming-soon

http://www.bookstrand.com/chain-me

http://www.allromanceebooks.com/

Excerpt:

“Fuck baby, you feel good,” Etan whispered against his throat and Travis shivered, turning to press his back against his man’s chest. Travis trained his eyes on the hazel ones of the gorgeous tanned stranger who watched them intently and lowered his jeans until his ass was exposed to Etan, his cock still pressed deliciously against his zipper. He moaned when the Middle Eastern man licked his lips as he watched them and felt the press of Etan’s naked cock against the crease of his ass. The two of them had foregone using condoms after their first year together and Travis always looked forward to feeling of Etan’s bare cock sliding into his ass.

Etan’s finger pulling out the butt plug made him moan, the vibration of it hitting the club floor after bouncing off the back of his shoes made him shiver, but the press of his lover’s cock into his ass had Travis groaning in pleasure. He bent over slightly and hissed out a breath as Etan bottomed out inside of him. He dropped his head forward and closed his eyes as pleasure swamped his sense before lifting his head and finding his gaze trapped by the very man they were performing for.

He and Etan loved having sex in public and were true exhibitionists, but having sex in the middle of the dance floor, for the pleasure of a complete stranger was a first for them.

“God sweetheart, he’s touching his cock through his pants,” Travis panted as Etan slowly and deeply pushed and pulled his cock in and out of Travis’s channel.

“Fuck that’s hot,” Etan responded. Travis could do nothing but nod, all his powers of speech leaving him in a whoosh as Etan pegged his prostate again and again.

“I can’t hold on E,” Travis warned, the tingling at the base of his spine letting him know that he was on the verge of exploding all over the dance floor.

“Hold on baby, wait for me,” Etan pleaded.

Travis panted and shook his head, before nodding. “Okay.”

His breath caught in his lungs as the sexy Middle Eastern man, who was built like the love child of a soldier and a bodybuilder, stood to his feet and headed straight for them, a sexy tall, broad-shouldered, extremely muscled black man with long black hair followed him. Travis noticed the black man, but he only had eyes for the sexy Middle Eastern man with the curly, black hair, chiseled jaw and kissable lips. He watched the sexy man who came and stopped right in front of him. Travis looked up at him, licking his lips and moaning when the other man unzipped his pants without a word.

When the stranger pulled out his long, thick cock Travis and Etan groaned. Travis could almost feel Etan’s vibrate through his back.

“You boys are very bad, having sex on the dance floor. I think you need to be spanked,” the smooth, velvety voice said.

“W-who is going to be the one to spank us?” Travis stuttered. His fingers twitched with the urge to grab onto the other man’s trim waist and suck the tanned cock down his throat.

“Depends on how bad you are. If you’re just a little bad, it will be my friend Reidel here, but if you’re really bad then it will be me,” the stranger said.

Travis wanted his name, he was desperate for it, but he knew that they had to prove themselves worthy of receiving it.

“We’re really, really bad, Sir,” Etan responded when Travis remained silent, his gaze focused on the stranger’s leaking dick.

“Prove it,” the stranger said.

Without another thought, Travis lowered his head and pulled the man’s cock deep into his mouth.

 

Vic

Vicktor Alexander

Author of Erotic GLBTQ Romance

Where Naughty & Nice Boys Get Roped Into Romance Time and Again

Vicktor Alexander Yahoo Group: Home of the VSP

Website Blog Twitter Facebook Goodreads Tumblr

 

 

Wolf Born by Ann Gimpel

 

Wolf Born

Underground Heat, Book 2

By Ann Gimpel

Publisher: Liquid Silver Books

ISBN:  978-1-62210-030-9

Release Date: 9/2/13

Genre: Paranormal Romance

50,000 words

In a futuristic world where shifters keep their friends close and their enemies closer, passion flares hot and sweet.

Blurb:

In a futuristic California that’s almost out of resources, Max leads a double life. A Russian wolf-shifter, he heads up the State of California as its governor—and the shifter underground. He took on the governorship to help his people. Threatened with genocide, many shifters have gone into hiding. Some blame Max and the underground for their plight, rather than the governmental edict that’s meant death for so many.

Audrey works for Max. Unlike most humans with low levels of shifter blood who bless their lucky stars they avoided the purge, she wants to be a shifter. If she could find a way to finesse it, she’d quit her job in a heartbeat and go to work helping the shifter underground. The only sticking point is Max. She’s been half in love with him forever.

Against a dog-eat-dog political backdrop where no one knows who their allies are, Max and Audrey spar with one another. Max fears she’s part of the group trying to kill him. Audrey has no idea about Max’s double identity and worries she won’t be able to walk away from their fiery attraction to help the underground.

After a second attempt on his life, Max faces critical choices. Should he follow his head or his heart?

Excerpt:

…Loren double parked the electric car outside the restaurant and shadowed them inside, along with the redheaded guard. “Looks pretty good.” Loren eyed the private, sound-shielded room. “I’ll be right outside, and John will be here, too, just as soon as he takes care of the car.”

“Once reinforcements arrive, feel free to go hunt for your men,” Max said. “You must be worried about them.”

“Thanks, boss. I am. Go sit down. I’ll scare up a waiter to at least get you a bottle of wine or something. John’s going off-shift in an hour, so there will be two new guards outside when you’re done eating.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Max pulled the door shut and walked to the table. Audrey had already seated herself and was sorting through the stack of papers, arranging them into piles. “It’s all right if you don’t work for a few moments,” he said, taking a seat across from her.

“It’s better if I have something to, uh, take my mind off what happened. You asked if I’d gotten a chance to practice with the gun. The answer is yes. My brother sort of smuggled me into the cop shop gun range in the middle of the night a couple of times. But I’ve never been around anybody who was dead.” Her voice cracked. He saw her swallow hard. Max’s estimation of her edged up a few notches. Audrey was one tough cookie, even though she might not realize it. Most women would have dissolved into hysterics.

“You did fine. Good thinking to be in front of the elevator door with your gun.”

“Really?” She met his gaze with lovely hazel eyes that were shading toward green at the moment and rested her chin on an upraised hand. “I wasn’t certain what to do. I thought I should call the elevator back, but I didn’t want to subvert whatever you were doing. Then I wondered if I should take the stairs to a lower floor, but that wouldn’t have helped if you were still in the elevator… Ach.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind me. I’m babbling.”

“You did fine,” he repeated just as the door opened, and a waiter swooped in with a silver bucket holding a wine bottle and two glasses.

“Good evening, sir and madam.” The waiter bowed slightly. He was in his fifties with a bald head and merry blue eyes. “The gentleman outside thought you could do with a spot of something relaxing. How does a cabernet strike you? If you’d rather have something different, I haven’t opened it yet.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” Max held out a hand for the bottle and inspected the label. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

The waiter rattled off a series of dishes while he opened the wine. Max glanced at Audrey. “What sounds good to you?”

She smiled warmly. “I’m used to whatever my ration coupons will buy. If it’s not too expensive, I’d love to have a steak.”

“How would madam like it cooked?” the waiter inquired, arching a brow. He poured a jot of wine into a glass and handed it to Max.

“Rare.”

“Salad and rice or potatoes?”

“Salad and potatoes, please.”

“I’ll have the same,” Max cut in and took a sip of what was a very good wine. Rich and oaky, it had an enticing bouquet. “The wine is perfect,” he told the waiter, who immediately poured some into a glass for Audrey and added more to Max’s.

“This is really quite wonderful,” Audrey said once the waiter left. “Everything. Not just the wine. I can’t remember the last time I ate out at anything but one of those diners where I flash my wrist computer at the glass cases, and it debits credits from my account.”

“Enjoy it.” Max smiled. “You deserve to be pampered after what happened. I can still barely believe…” His voice trailed off. He needed to be careful not to say too much. “Um, what’s in those documents that’s so important?”

She leaned toward him. Her scent was even more intoxicating than the wine. He caught himself inhaling deeply and pulled away, aware of a pressure against his trousers where he was suddenly hard.

Audrey wriggled in her seat. She bit her lower lip and blew out a tense breath. Finally, she lowered her voice and murmured, “I probably shouldn’t do this, but I need to be honest with you. It’s all in my employment records anyway, but since I was here long before you were governor, well, you may not have looked at them… Cripes! I’m blathering like an idiot.”

“Whatever it is, just go ahead and tell me.” Max felt oddly protective toward her, though he didn’t understand quite why. Worse, the moment his cock had gotten hard, his wolf had begun a steady patter of lewd side remarks that made Max want to throttle him.

“There’s no easy way to do this,” she went on, her knuckles so white against the wineglass, Max hoped it wouldn’t shatter from the pressure. “If you decide I can’t work for you afterward, well…” she set down the stemware and spread her hands in front of her. “Not much I can do about it. I have shifter blood. Roughly 35 percent. Some of my relatives have been killed in this purge, so I’m not the most ardent supporter of the governmental edicts to round up shifters and imprison them.”

She sucked in a ragged breath and raised her gaze so she looked right at him. A combination of defiance and pleading etched fine lines around her eyes.

“Miss Westen. Audrey. I’m not going to fire you. It’s all right. Thank you, for trusting me.” Deep inside, Max felt the wolf push him to say more, to tell her about the serum. To offer it up, for God’s sake. He resisted. “You told me that for a reason. I assume it’s related to the documents. Could you walk me through what’s in them?”

She nodded. “Sure. It’s intel about something called the shifter underground.” Her eyes flashed. “Frankly, now that I know about them, I’m on their side, but don’t worry, I wouldn’t ever say that publicly.”

Max listened as she relayed the story he’d lived for the past couple of days. Everything was there, including the serum that pushed cops with a low percentage of shifter blood into full-blown shifters. Before the series of intravenous infusions that law enforcement had forced on their elite tracker task forces, a person needed 50 percent shifter blood to morph into their bond animal. After the infusions, 10 percent was sufficient. Max had gotten unutterably excited by the prospect of thousands of new shifters to swell their ranks and perhaps turn the tide of the war in their favor.

Another set of nationwide reports detailed those same cops betraying their oaths and going rogue. Predictions about anarchy ran wild. By the time Audrey was finished, Max was ecstatic, but he couldn’t let it show. Everything he’d assumed would happen was playing itself out like a well-oiled machine. He couldn’t wait to let the underground know.

“Well?” Audrey raised her gaze from the stack of papers and gathered them together.

“Interesting material. I understand why it was classified top secret.” Max tried for a neutral expression. Just because she’d confided in him was no reason to let his guard down.

The door to their private dining room opened. The waiter pushed a cart laden with wonderful smelling dishes. Max’s mouth watered. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was pushing nine at night. For the moment, his sexual hunger receded, and he tucked into a succulent, barely cooked piece of meat.

“Where do they get this?” she asked, cutting into her steak and chewing slowly. “None of the shops where I exchange my ration coupons ever have anything but ground or processed meat products.”

“There’s a black market,” he replied around a mouthful of salad.

Her brows drew together. “So it’s real,” she muttered. “I never paid much attention.” Her mouth curved into a smile. She set down her fork and knife. “It’s so good, I feel like I should save what’s left and take it home. I’ve already eaten far more than I usually do.”

“I can ask the waiter to box it up for you.”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” She glanced at him shyly through long, dusky lashes. “You’ve taken the worst day of my life and turned it into something special.”

He wanted to move to her side of the table and gather her into his arms. Not only was Audrey one of the most stunning women he’d ever seen, she was level-headed and seemingly oblivious to how gorgeous she was. Max put himself on a tight leash. He had bigger problems to attend to than his non-existent love life. At least so far, Audrey hadn’t asked about O’Hare’s accusations in the elevator. Christ! Maybe she thought he was tossing the shifter epithet at her.

Max nodded to himself. It made sense. Likely, that was why she’d fessed up about her shifter blood.

“Penny for your thoughts, boss?” She focused her alluring hazel gaze on him. In the low light, her eyes held a violet cast.

“Nothing. Are you about ready to head home?”

She nodded. “I suppose we should. Tomorrow morning will come around early.”

He laughed. “Right you are, Miss Westen. It always does. It’s all right with me if you take a few hours off—”

She waved him to silence. “Nothing happening at home. The neighborhood’s gone to hell. I can’t even go out for a walk anymore. All I do is sit barricaded behind a bunch of deadbolts.”

Part of him wanted to bring her home with him, to his uptown mansion where she’d have gated grounds to roam. He cleared his throat before something untoward slipped out. “Let me find the waiter.” He realized he was still hard and pulled his jacket around to shield the evidence as best he could.

As if the waiter had been waiting right outside and could read his mind, the door opened before Max had gotten up. “Would sir and madam like anything else? A touch of dessert perhaps?”

“You can box up the rest of the lady’s meal,” Max said. “You wouldn’t happen to have that delectable chocolate mousse?”

The waiter’s mouth formed an apologetic moue. “Not tonight, sir. We have lemon cheesecake, a cheese and fruit plate with brandy, or ice cream.”

“Does any of that sound good?” Max glanced at Audrey. Her eyes were wide with delight.

“Oooooh, it all sounds wonderful. I can’t even remember the last time I had real ice cream. That frozen crap they sell nowadays doesn’t even have any dairy products in it.”

“Could you bring us a sampler plate with a little of everything?” Max asked.

“Of course. Coming right up.” The waiter snatched their plates and left.

“Not that I wouldn’t love something sweet,” she said a bit wistfully, “but I thought we’d decided it was late and—”

Max kicked himself. They had decided that—sort of. He was enjoying himself, and he didn’t want the evening to end, but that wasn’t the sort of thing he could—or should—say to his secretary. He shrugged. “You seem to finally be relaxing. After what happened at the office, you deserve a little R and R. You really can come in an hour or two later tomorrow.”

Her gaze softened. “Thank you.”

 

www.anngimpel.com

http://anngimpel.blogspot.com

http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel

http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author

@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)

Knight Blindness by Chris Karlsen

Title:        Knight Blindness

Genre:     Paranormal romance (time travel)

Publisher: Books to Go Now

Released:  July 21, 2013

Author:     Chris Karlsen

Series:     Knights in Time (this is book 3 in the series)

 

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Ready for battle, Medieval English knight, Stephen Palmer, charges into the French enemy’s cavalry line. Heeding a warning given months before, he hesitates as he comes face-to-face with the knight in the warning. Struck down in the year 1356, he finds himself landing in the year 2013. Grievously wounded, he’s taken to a nearby hospital. Confused by the new world surrounding him, he attempts to convince the staff he’s from another time, only to find they think him mad.

Rescued by friends, who, to his surprise, have also come through time, he must find a way to function in this odd modern England. He is quickly enchanted by the kind Esme Crippen, the young woman hired to tutor him. She too is enchanted by him. Tempted to deepen the relationship, she hesitates thinking him adorable, but mad. He must discover the means for getting her to believe the truth, all the while, unknown to him, he didn’t come forward in time alone. The enemy knight has also traveled to 2013.

French noble, Roger Marchand, doesn’t question why the English knight who charged him hesitated. That fraction of a pause gave him the advantage needed and he brought his sword down upon the Englishman’s helmet hard, unhorsing the knight. He moved to finish the Englishman off when the world changed in a rush of sensations as he is ripped through time.

Seeking a reason for the terrible event, he enters a nearby chapel. There, thinking God has chosen him for a quest to turn French defeat that day in 1356 to victory, he sets out to find the English knight. The man he is convinced holds the key to time. If he returns to the day of the battle, he can warn his king of mistakes that snatched victory from them.

http://www.amazon.com/Knight-Blindness-Knights-Time-ebook/dp/B00E2QS488/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1377552888&sr=1-1&keywords=knight+blindness 

 

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Excerpt Two: Knight Blindness

She knocked and a short, compact man with grey, thinning hair, cloudy blue eyes, and the reddest lips she’d ever seen on a man answered. In a way, he reminded her of Rupert Bear. He wore a red sweater vest over an open-collared white shirt, unfashionable brown plaid cuffed trousers that looked a size too big, and well-worn brown, wing-tipped shoes.

“You must be Esme Crippen.” He gestured for her and Electra to come inside. He closed the door and extended his hand. “Will Davison.”

“I’m Esme,” she said, shaking his hand. “This is my sister, Electra.”

“Electra, a fine literary name,” Davison said as they shook hands.

Esme took a quick scan of the cluttered office, surprised a curator, even of a small museum, hadn’t a secretary.

“You said you’re looking for a drawing lent to us by the National Gallery in 1960. The Black Prince at Crecy, you said.”

“Yes. Does it sound familiar?”

“I was an apprentice here then. I believe I know the work you’re speaking of, an impressively detailed rendering considering the environment. It was done on vellum, we believe for the king, as colored inks were used, including gold, although no gold leaf was applied. We think the work was probably done by one of his priests. Unfortunately it was placed into storage back in the seventies and the facility burned to the ground in 1979.”

The news sucked every ounce of energy from her. She had so much hope. Why didn’t Davison tell her over the phone and save her the trip? The bloody drive took three hours. Bad enough to waste those hours not to mention they’d hit the London rush hour on the return. She’d like to wrap her hands around his scrawny neck and shake the fillings from his teeth.

“Fortunately,” he continued, “We had a copy made prior to the drawing going into storage. “The original was fragile, obviously. The curator and I worried it might deteriorate more if it stayed on display. As the Black Prince was the subject, and is such a big part of Canterbury’s history, we did want to keep a representation exhibited. We had it copied in oil. It hangs in the main room of the museum. Come, I’ll show you.”

He led them to a side door of his office that also served as a door to the rear of the museum proper. This section of the museum displayed artifacts and pictures from the Victorian period up to and including the hard fought air war, the Battle of Britain.

Through another archway to the next room, Davison led them to a painting. The gilded-framed oil was about a meter wide and a half meter high and hung in the center of one wall.

“Remarkable isn’t it?” he said. “It depicts the aftermath of the battle. This is where the young prince raised up so many young men who fought alongside him to knighthood.”

“Oh my God,” Esme whispered. Shocked, she stared unable to take her eyes from the painting. How could this be? Identical down to the wound on the chin. She’d seen the scar on Stephen’s chin up close.

Unlike the larger, more famous sister institutions, the simpler Museum of Canterbury didn’t employ infrared protective alarms that go off when a visitor gets too close to an exhibit.

Davison’s hand on her arm stopped Esme as she stepped forward, fingers inches from the canvas. “No touching allowed, Ms. Crippen,” he warned and removed his hand.

“Sorry,” she said, moving back to drop onto the bench in front of the painting.

“What is it?” Electra asked.

“Are you ill, my dear?” Davison asked.

She shook her head, too numb to speak.

Electra joined her on the bench. “You look like you’re going to faint. You’re white as a ghost.”

“Would you like some water, Miss Crippen?”

Finally, she found her voice. “No. Thank you but I’m fine,” she told Electra and Davison.

Esme turned from the painting to ask, “Is this an exact copy of the original?”

“Yes. The curator at the time was meticulous man and would not approve even the slightest deviation.”

“You’re positive?”

He nodded. “Very.”

“Esme—”

She held up her hand to stop Electra’s question. “Thank you, Mr. Davison. This is more than I expected when I asked about the drawing. If it’s all right, I’d like a few minutes more to appreciate the excellent artistry.”

“No worries, Miss Crippen. If you require no more of me, I’m going to return to my office. Take as much time as you like. The museum is open until five.” Davison gave each a polite tip of his head and left.

As soon as he was out of the room, Electra said, “Esme talk to me. There’s something up with you and this painting. I want to know what.”

“The young man kneeling, two over from the prince’s left, the one holding a bloody gauntleted hand under his chin.”

“What about him?”

“He looks just like Stephen.”

From Electra’s sour expression, she found the explanation anticlimactic. “That’s all? Jeez, I thought it was something really big.”

“You don’t understand. He could be Stephen’s double. That’s not all. The man standing behind him I’d swear is Alex Lancaster. A younger version but hand to heart, I think it’s him.”

“I’ve only seen pictures of Alex Lancaster when he’s been in the press. I agree. It does look like him. But it isn’t either Stephen or Alex since those men,” she tipped her chin toward the painting, “lived close to seven hundred years ago. Why are you weirding out?”

Esme ignored the question. Too many of her own occupied her thoughts. How had his face wound up on this medieval man: the narrow too long nose, the strong jaw, the broad forehead, even the shape of his eyes...his injury didn’t change the slight downward tip to the outside corners?

“Hello,” Electra waved her hand in front of Esme’s face.

“Stop it.” She dug her cell phone out. Conscious of how light and shadow might affect the shots, she took pictures of the painting from different angles.

Electra tugged on her arm, pulling the camera away from her face. “He’s not Stephen. Maybe he’s his ancestor, five-hundred times removed, but he’s not Stephen.” She let out a heavy sigh.

 

-->

Author Bio:

I was born and raised in Chicago. My father was a history professor and my mother was, and is, a voracious reader. I grew up with a love of history and books.

My parents also love traveling, a passion they passed onto me. I wanted to see the places I read about, see the land and monuments from the time periods that fascinated me. I’ve had the good fortune to travel extensively throughout Europe, the Near East, and North Africa.

I am a retired police detective. I spent twenty-five years in law enforcement with two different agencies. My desire to write came in my early teens. After I retired, I decided to pursue that dream. I write two different series. My paranormal romance series is called, Knights in Time. My romantic thriller series is, Dangerous Waters.

I currently live in the Pacific Northwest with my husband, four rescue dogs and a rescue horse.  

Website:   http://www.chriskarlsen.com/

Pinterest:  http://pinterest.com/chriskarlsen/

FB Page:   https://www.facebook.com/#!/chriskarlsenwriter

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4822048.Chris_Karlsen

trailer:       http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvxVhx404L8 (Preview)

--

Chris Karlsen - International Best-Selling Author
www.chriskarlsen.com
Amazon, Barnes and Noble, AllRomance, Overdrive,  www.bookstogonow.com

 

GIA PRESS IS OPENING SOON!

OPENING SOON!

We have the following positions open within our company:

·         Gia Press is now looking for a marketing person! If you have relevant experience in the GLBT industry, give us a shout.

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If you have experience in either one of the above positions, we’d love to hear from you! To apply, please contact us at jobs@giapress.com with the job title as the subject heading.

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Authors Needed!

OPENING SOON!

We have opened general submissions to all authors for a limited time only. Below please find our submission guidelines or visit our Submission Guidelines on our website at:

http://www.giapress.com/submissionguidelines.php

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SUBMISSION GUIDELINES:

What we accept and allow

Gia Press accepts gay male erotic fiction works from both aspiring and established authors.

We do accept previously published works with confirmation of release from the prior publisher.

GENRES:

•Contemporary

•Paranormal

•Science Fiction

•Fantasy

•Mystery/ Suspense/Thriller

•Military

•Westerns

•Historical

•Ménage

•BDSM & Fetish

•Holiday Stories

There are a few exclusions to consider.

Absolutely no:

•Pedophilia (sex between adult characters and underage characters)

•Salirophilia involving urine or excrement (aka golden showers or scat)

•Snuff

•Necrophilia (sex with a corpse; undead/zombies are acceptable)

•Bestiality (sex between a human and an animal non-shifter)

•Rape for titillation (forced seduction, capture and/or dubious consent are acceptable)

LENGTH:

•Manuscripts must be 15,000 words or more

•Manuscripts less than 15,000 words will only be considered if submitted as part of an anthology call

•Manuscripts over 50,000 words will automatically be considered for print. Other titles less than 50,000 words will be considered for print on a case-by-case basis.

Timeline you can expect:

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We ask that you please respect our consideration of your manuscript by not simultaneously submitting your work elsewhere until we have completed our review. If you do not receive confirmation of your submission within one week, please use our contact form to notify us of your submission so that we may check our system and confirm receipt.

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Manuscript Formatting:

•Accepted file types: docx, doc, rtf

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•NOTE: We do not accept partial manuscript submissions for consideration.

To submit your manuscript for consideration, please visit our submission page at http://www.giapress.com/submissionguidelines.php and follow the link at the bottom of the page.

Scent of a Mate by Stormy Glenn

Heart of a Mate (MMM)
Scent of a Mate 4

PRE-ORDER NOW!

AVAILABLE: Tuesday, August 27th

[Ménage Amour ManLove: Erotic Alternative Paranormal Ménage a Trois Romance, M/M/M, shape-shifters, HEA]

Patch Mason is content to sit back and watch his brother be the new Regal Elder until one of the men coming to see him turns out to be the mate that rejected him and sent men after him to destroy his life. Forgiveness isn’t something he has in him, not anymore.

Otto Marshall has been looking for his missing mate for months. He gave the man up once to save him from a fate worse than death only to find out that in giving him up, he nearly destroyed him. Forgiveness is not something he has the right to ask for, but neither is losing Patch a second time.

Sam Holloway is sent to warn the Marshall brothers that their father has escaped prison. He never dreamed that he would discover not one, but two mates, or that both of them would be the targets of an insane alpha bent on revenge. If he can’t get them to come to terms with each other then he might lose them both.

http://www.bookstrand.com/heart-of-a-mate

STORY EXCERPT

“Come on, Patch. Open the door.”

Patrick “Patch” Mason rolled his eyes as he turned away from the window to glare at his bedroom door. There was something about a locked, closed door that his twin brother just wasn’t getting. Patch didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even Jude.

He was pissed the hell off and had been for the last two days. He had every reason to be upset. If that meant locking himself in his room until he could figure a way out of his nightmare, then so be it.

“Please?” Jude whined. “There’s so much to do, and I really need your help. The council approved a sanctuary for us…” Patch smirked when he heard his brother pause. Jude was probably sucking in a lungful of air so he could continue talking. “The local alphas have donated the land for it. It’s going to be great, but I need you to help me plan it.”

Okay, that caught Patch’s interest. He and Jude had been searching for a very long time for a sanctuary where they could just live their lives peacefully without having to watch over their shoulders constantly. It seemed like they had been searching for just such a place since the day they were born.

Logically, Patch knew it had just been a few years, ever since the day they transitioned and discovered that they were not the big, fierce jaguars of the great Panthera Onca species, like every other member of their pride.

No, they were ocelots, dwarf leopards. When in shifted cat form, they were on average about thirty inches long and weighed thirty-five pounds. They had sleek, smooth fur and rounded ears. Granted, they were one of the largest of the generally dainty Leopardus wild cat species, but they were still dainty. There was just no getting around that fact.

Even in human form, Patch didn’t stand over five feet seven inches. He was small in every form—human and shifter. And that sucked on so many levels that Patch didn’t even want to think about it.

Life in general had sucked for the last four years. It wasn’t until Jude found his mate not long ago that things had started looking up. They had a roof over their heads, food in their stomachs, and they didn’t have to cringe in fear at every shadow.

Patch thought they were going to be just about perfect until he learned one horrible fact, and it had sucked out every ounce of joy he had felt over everything that had happened the last few days.

“Patch, please.”

Patch’s chest heaved as he sighed deeply. He could hear the desperate tone starting to fill Jude’s voice, making it tremble, and knew his brother was starting to lose it. Jude, bless his little heart, didn’t handle emotions too well.

Well, maybe it was that he handled them too well. He could be very emotional. And he was becoming upset, which meant that any moment, his mate would come running to his rescue and—

“Patch, damn it,” Tripp Van Buren shouted as he pounded on the door. “Open this fucking door before I break it down. You have Jude in tears.”

And there he was.

Patch shook his head as he unwound himself from his cocoon of blankets and walked across the room to the door. While the man generally drove him crazy, he was glad that Tripp cared about Jude so much. The man might be human, but he was just as fierce and protective as any shifter Patch had ever seen when it came to Jude.

Patch turned the lock and opened the door. Just as he suspected, Jude stood there, tears swimming in his cornflower-blue eyes. His lower lip was caught between his teeth as if he was chewing nervously on it.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” Tripp snapped, shaking a finger in Patch’s face. “Don’t upset your brother like that again.”

Eyes rolling again, Patch stood back and allowed Jude and Tripp to enter his room. The second they did, he closed and locked the door. He might be forced to talk with them, but he drew the line at anyone else in the house. Being in Hugh Marshall’s house, let alone his territory, was part of Patch’s problem.

“Look, guys, I’m sorry if I upset you.” When Patch spoke, his voice wavered. He felt like throwing his hands up in the air and asking the powers that be what else could go wrong in his life. He was starting to think it was just one bad joke after another. “That wasn’t my intention. I just needed some time.”

“Time for what?” Jude wrinkled his nose as he pushed his glasses back up.

“Why didn’t you say that then instead of freaking your brother out?” Tripp asked at the same time.

“Oh.” Jude turned to Tripp, his hand smoothing over the edge of Tripp’s jaw as he looked up at the taller man. “I wasn’t freaked out exactly. I was just worried and—”

“And you were freaked, angel.”

Patch smiled sadly as he watched the play between his brother and his mate. He wanted that, and he was never going to get it. That was why he locked himself in his room. Well, that was one of the reasons anyway.

He didn’t even want to think about the other reason, although that seemed to be all he had been doing for the last two days. He felt like his brain was stuck on autopilot. It seemed to just circle around and around through the same pattern of thoughts and emotions.

His mate was near.

Overwhelming joy.

His mate rejected him.

Heartache.

His mate tried to destroy him.

Intense burning anger.

The loop never seemed to stop. And Patch was at a loss of how to get off the fucking emotional merry-go-round he was riding on. He was going around in circles so fast his head was starting to spin.

At this point, he’d almost be grateful if the damn thing crashed.

ADULT EXCERPT

“Sam, do I seem like a reasonable person to you?”

Sam’s mouth dropped. Where in the hell was this line of questioning going, and how much trouble was he going to end up in? “Um, well, yeah, for the most part.”

“Then believe me when I say that I want you to claim me. Yes, I fear being rejected. After what I’ve been through, who wouldn’t? But more than that, I want to be connected to you. To have that bond that mates are supposed to have. I want to be a part of something, a part of you.”

Sam just had no words for that. Patch was saying everything that was inside of his own heart. His lion was snarling and pacing the cage of his mind, ready to pounce out and sniff at Patch. His lion was ready to claim their mate.

“Don’t break my heart, Patch.”

“Never.”

Instead of saying more, which would have been pointless since they both wanted the same thing, Sam leaned forward and brushed his lips across Patch’s. Knowing what Patch had been through, he wanted to take things slow. He didn’t want to scare him or do anything that would upset him.

He wasn’t in the least bit prepared for Patch to come on like a locomotive. Before Sam could do more than gently kiss Patch, he found himself pushed back onto the floor, his mate hovering over the top of him.

“I won’t break, Sam,” Patch growled right before his lips slammed down on Sam’s. In the blink of an eye, Sam was transformed from a man trying to go easy on his mate and take things slow to a predator ready to hunt.

Heart thudding so hard he could feel every vibration, Sam fisted his hand in Patch’s raven-black hair and took the kiss deeper, brushing lips together before forcing his tongue inside to explore and conquer.

Patch moaned and pressed closer.

Sam slid his hand down Patch’s back until he encountered the soft curve of his ass. He gently stroked his hand over the rounded globe, increasing the strength of his touch when Patch groaned and started to squirm.

“You like that, don’t you, sweetness,” Sam stated as he leaned back to watch Patch’s face. He wanted to see every reaction as he loved on his mate.

Patch was glorious.

Patch’s face was close. Sam could feel hot breath against his face as Patch panted. He sucked in his bottom lip and groaned when Sam slid a hand down the inside of his pants and cupped his bare ass cheek. When Sam found the crack of his ass and pressed a finger between them, Patch’s eyes fluttered close, small whimpers falling from his plush lips.

“Oh, yeah,” Sam murmured as he watched Patch’s face flush with pleasure, “you like that.”

Patch moved against Sam like cool silk against his skin. The man was made for sex. He was made to be touched, caressed, to have his body worshipped. Sam could already foresee hours upon hours spent just loving on Patch.

Hell, he might not let the man out of bed…ever!

Sam wrapped his arm around Patch’s waist and sat up. He chuckled when he saw Patch’s eyes flip open, surprise washing over his flushed face. Instead of explaining his actions, Sam simply lifted Patch in his arms and stood up.

Patch’s legs instantly wrapped around him like an octopus. Sam winked at his mate when his hard cock pressed between his legs. “I like this position, sweetness.”

The flush on Patch’s face deepened, and he ducked his head. “Me, too.”

Sam carried Patch over to the bed pushed up against the wall. It wasn’t a huge bed, no bigger than a full size from what Sam could tell. But it would do for what Sam needed. He gently leaned over it, laying Patch down on the colorful quilt.

“Time for show and tell, sweetness.”

Patch’s head cocked to one side as if he had no idea what Sam was talking about but more than willing to find out. Sam reached down and unbuttoned Patch’s pants then started pulling on the legs. Patch seemed to suddenly understand and lifted his hips.

“Sweet jesus.” Sam gulped. “Do you go commando all of the time?”

“Yeah, sort of.” Patch chewed on his lips for a brief moment. “Underwear makes me feel like I’m suffocating.”

“Hey, don’t change that on my account,” Sam quickly replied, not wanting Patch to get the wrong idea. He dropped Patch’s pants on the floor and reached for the cock standing up so proudly from his groin. “I love the idea that I have such easy access.”

Patch’s long, needy groan echoed through the bedroom, his hips shooting up, driving his cock through Sam’s fingers. Sam watched the pleasure play across Patch’s face as he stroked his hand up and down Patch’s long length.

“Oh, I am going to have such fun with you, sweetness.” Those hours Sam imagined they would spend in bed playing just turned into months, maybe years. Patch was the very image of everything Sam had ever fantasized about. He was perfection in the flesh.

Sam slowly pulled Patch’s shirt up over his head, wanting to torture himself just a bit by revealing every inch of flesh inch by inch. He wasn’t disappointed. Patch was a little thin, but he had good definition.

Sam had the strong urge to lick his satiny skin.

“Lay back, sweetness.”

Sam had trouble not swallowing his tongue when Patch stretched out on the bed, his arms extending up over his head. He had one leg slightly bent, and his torso arched up into the air as he moved.

“Sweet jesus,” Sam whispered as he hungrily ate up every sensual movement, every breath of air that moved Patch’s chest up and down. Hell, the pulse beating rapidly at the base of his throat was sexy.

Everything about Patch was sexy.