Erica Lynn's Blog

6 min read

Two years out from my diagnoses. Two years out from surgery. Two years and not much has changed. 

When I sat down to sum up the last year of my life and the lessons I’ve learned from my diagnosis on, I thought it was going to be really positive. I was proud of my progress, even before I pressed a single key. And then it was quiet. And I was still. And I had to admit things to myself. And I realized I’d been so very wrong. I guess that’s what I get for my arrogance. 

For the record, this will probably be full of mistakes and very not polished. The more I go over it, the more I’ll lose my nerve, and the less likely it’ll make it to my website. So please forgive any errors you come across. 

The truth is I’m no better off than I was last year. If I’m being super, gut wrenchingly honest, I’m worse. 

What’s so strange about it all is if you’d asked me how I was doing a few weeks ago I’d have gushed about my birthday trip. I’d have talked about good friends and fun nights, and my amazing family. And please, don’t misunderstand, all those things are true. 

I know, logically, I am so very fortunate to have the people I do in my life. Far more fortunate than I deserve, in fact. 

The problem isn’t them. The problem is me. 

When I was sick I’d lie down and visualize a small black cottage in ankle deep water. It was a mixture of the place Eleven goes in Stranger Things, and of the house Annie Nielsen lives in when she’s in Hell in What Dreams May Come. Yes, clearly I have a flair for the dramatic. However, it’s the most honest way I could paint a visual picture of the emptiness I physically felt. 

I thought I’d left that cottage behind a long time ago. Sure, every now and then I’d go back when I needed to let the coldness settle in and take a small nap, just for a bit, but then I’d leave again. Overall, though, I didn’t need it anymore. Not like I did when I was in treatment. 

What I realized about five minutes ago, is that I never actually left. All the wonderful moments, the times when I feel like I can actually breathe, I’m not out of the cottage at all. It’s just me managing to stick my head out of the attic window. Because in actuality, I now realize that my Stranger Things and What Dreams May Come black cottage has taken on a bit of a House of Leaves type structure. It looks the same on the outside, but it grows larger every second of everyday on the inside. And now it’s stretched so tall that I was fooled into thinking I could leave it behind. The truth is I don’t know if I’ll ever fully be able to leave it again. And that realization sucks.

And the point of all this isn’t to be poor, poor Erica. Or talk about how awful I’ve got it, because I don’t. I’ve got it good. Like I said before, I have great friends, family, and support. My remaining tumor is under control, prognoses is good and the future looks bright. Pointing all that out again isn’t repetitive, it’s simply so important it needs to be said more than once. I’ve got lots of time to hop in my Jeep and drive around with my wonderful husband, snuggle with my kids, hang out with friends and family, and bake and cook on the weekends while I listen to really loud music and sing at the top of my lungs into spatulas, and I promise you my singing voice is absolutely atrocious. When I ask my six-year-old if she’d like me to sing to her, she literally says, “No, thank you.” What’s the point of that little rant? It’s that I’m not some Sad Sally. I promise. 

The point of this post is to simply say I highly doubt I’m the only one with a black cottage. I think a lot of us have them, and we’re all in the same space. Our cottages might look different in design, the terrain altered, but there are many of us there. And maybe we can’t see each other through the fog. We all have something going on at some point or another, and maybe when we are at our lowest we can remember that we’re alone together. Maybe instead of judging each other’s journeys, we can forgive each other for our weaknesses. We can love each other for our strengths. We can offer each other grace. Even if we never meet.

And if we stick our heads out of the attic windows at the same time and I manage to see you, I promise to smile. To wave. If I’ve had a baking day I’ll offer you a cookie or slice of fresh baked bread. We can munch and chat until we’re exhausted again. Until we both retreat back to the bottom floor for much needed naps.

But above all, I promise you from the bottom of my heart , I won’t sing to you.  

The post My Year in the Black Cottage appeared first on Erica Lynn - Erotic Romance Author.

34 min read

The wood beneath her felt unusually hard. More so than last time. Or the time before. As if tonight, on this particular occasion, she had been carelessly dropped. Discarded. Like she was simply worthless. But she knew that wasn’t the case. They’d seen to her comfort. Taken the time to position her body just right. To shift her arms so her palms faced the sky, her fingers spread wide and ready to receive whatever special prize the stars, currently hidden behind immense clouds of black, would soon offer. Kind words showered down on her as busy fingers straightened her robe and brushed away uncooperative strands of copper hair, satisfied only once they were carefully tucked in place. Eyes full of admiration connected with hers as they made sure every single detail was to her liking. They respected her. Honored her.

Didn’t they?

Her temples pulsed as the line beside her finally began to still, save for those last few who scurried to their places, faces set. Stone-like. Their lack of expression wasn’t unusual by any means and didn’t shock her. The mood always changed in this way. In the beginning it had unnerved her. She’d been nervous that first night. So new to it all. Until then, she’d only been on the receiving end of this exquisite ceremony. A little girl waiting her turn with her small hand enveloped in her mother’s. But as each Feast came and went, she grew older. Her fresh-face eager to make a difference. Her smile still her own, not yet smudged in the corners from disappointment after disappointment. Suddenly, she was the one to give. She’d never felt such pride. And when the air had changed around her, she thought she’d done something wrong. Erred in some crucial way before the night’s events had even begun. She’d been incorrect. This was a positive sign, she’d realized after her first few times. The change in mood, the shift in energy as it morphed from excitement, to expectant, to primal.

She stole a glance from the corner of her eye, against the rules, she knew, but no consequences would be handed down. The faces beside her were heavy. Fixed. Almost…lustful. To say it was sexual would not be accurate. Sexual was far too…simple. And this night, everyone knew, was anything but simple.

She forced her gaze back to the starless sky. To the moon above her. So large, yet now dull, as it cast what was left of its light down on them, on this, their most sacred of nights. She heard footsteps make their way to her—one set heavy, the other two lighter and significantly slower. At this moment, even the earth was silent. Still. As if the air itself could not move. Now was the time. Now— when even the universe dared not to breathe—signaled the beginning of The Feast.

Her Husband and children approached first, as was custom. He pulled out two chairs, set beforehand for their children only, and they sat. And they waited. And He spoke.

“It is time.” His voice was deep and without inflection. It was one of the things she loved about Him most. That voice. She’d learned early in life men could make anything sound appealing when said in just the right way. A subtle change to the timber of their voice, the volume, their words perfectly arranged until whoever stood on the other end began to shift and mold and morph. Like putty. Family, lovers, friends… Deception and manipulation was a skill possessed by many. The true masters were the ones who weren’t necessarily aware of their doings. The ones who were careless with their gift. He was the first person she’d ever met who’d been practical. He was honest. He refused to decorate His sentences with fancy words and sexy whispers or calm reassurances. No. He said what He said, and He meant what He meant. Now this man—the man who’d chosen her—stood at the head of the table and stared down. She looked into His almost black eyes and pursed her lips in the tiniest of kisses. She would love Him forever. And tonight, tonight, she would make Him proud. And she was thankful.

He addressed the town. “Everyone should know the rules by now, but I feel it necessary to go over them again. Due to what happened last time, we know even the best of us can get…” The night remained quiet as He searched for the most accurate word. “…unruly.”

Tense chuckles vibrated through crowd at the mention of The Incident, and Lucinda inhaled as deeply as she could as the top right corner of her head—still tender even after a year—began to ache.

“In order to partake in tonight’s events, you must offer my love, our Lucinda, a secret. A shameful truth. For your body and soul to accept her selfless gift, you must give her a part of yourself. Must be willing to let go of your ugliness to truly embrace her beauty. Rest assured, only she will hear your words. With each revelation, you will be able to start the new year with a clean slate.”

She imagined what He saw in this moment. A crowd full of nods, clenched fists, and gritted teeth—many whose hunger so intense and painful, they wouldn’t hesitate to spill their guts. Inevitably, there’d be the resisters as well. They’d run their fingers through their dirty, tangled hair in frustration,  eager for her to fulfill their needs but reluctant to relinquish any part of themselves. Selfish to the end. Oh they’d do what was required, but they certainly wouldn’t like it. Wouldn’t feel it was fair. Wouldn’t be thankful. But her? Oh, yes. She was thankful.

“The ones from The Before couldn’t be honest. Not even with themselves. A truly pathetic species, and now they’re gone.” He looked them over, then continued, “You get one chance. Tell the truth, and you shall receive her blessing. Dare to lie, and you’ll be turned away. Not just from The Feast but from the town. You’ll have tonight to collect your things, and you’ll need to be far away come morning. Your family, if they are honest tonight, will not be punished for your deceit. They may leave with you or stay with us. The choice is theirs. Never have we had to banish someone, and I’d prefer we not break such an illustrious streak. Let’s get started. Happy Feasting.” He clapped His hands together, then looked down at her again. His full lips curled up at the corners as He set His hot palms on her collarbones and began to slide them down the length of her torso. She responded to his touch like she always did, goosebumps forming along her flesh, her nipples hardening when he parted her robe, her naked body now on display as the silk slipped over the sides of the table.

The last ceremony had taken until one hundred and thirty. She inhaled the nothingness around her and focused on the moon as she silently began to count. One, two, three…

She heard her children, her precious little ones, make their way to either side of her head. Heat radiated off their small bodies, and she had to quell the urge to reach out and pull them close. It took longer than usual for them to get settled. Her poor babies were depleted, after all. Earlier, when she’d kissed them before nap time, she noticed how pale their skin had become. So dull. So thin. As if she could poke a finger straight through them. Touch right down to their tiny, porous bones. Perhaps slide her fingers through the marrow within. Six, seven, eight…

“Mommy,” whispered her elder, Sarah, her breath against Lucinda’s ear, “I love Daddy more than I could ever love you.”

Lucinda had known this day would come; how could anyone, even her own child, possibly love her more than the being that was her Husband? Yes, she’d known for many months, but the words, when spoken out loud, even when whispered and for her ears alone, caused her more pain than anything else would tonight. They gutted her. A sharp, incessant sting from her core to her throat, but they were true. Her daughter, her sweet Sarah, had been honest. And she was thankful.

“Momma,” her littlest’s voice came to her other ear, followed by silence. Dalton was always so hesitant. So timid. The Land would destroy him if he wasn’t careful. “Yes?” she urged in her most gentle and reassuring tone. “Tell Momma your secret. Be a big boy, and tell me your truth.”

“Momma,” he said again, so quiet Lucinda strained to hear, “I heard Daddy say soon he would have to find someone new.”

Lucinda choked down the cry that threatened to tear its way out of her throat. It wasn’t unexpected, but why did everything have to be spoken about tonight? It took her longer to heal after every Feast. It would only be a matter of time before the next Feast became her last. “Baby,” she whispered, his soft cheek pressed against hers. This was against the rules, but something inside her had to know. “Did Daddy sound”—she paused, the word she searched for taking longer to arrive than expected—“sad?”

Her baby’s breath came again, then a small voice laced with confusion. “What’s sad?”

She ignored the question and granted them both permission to continue with the ceremony. Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two… She took in a surprised inhale as their sharp teeth bit into the soft flesh of her breasts. They were so much stronger this year and clearly in need of what only she could provide. They tore at her skin and soon the muscle beneath. Their teeth made a strange sound she’d never been able to get used to as they chewed. She clenched her jaw and found the moon again as the pain worsened. It bobbled in the sky while they jerked her body back and forth. An arm around her waist, a pull, then a bite to her right side. Another arm around her waist, a pull in the other direction, and then another bite. With a small whimper, she allowed herself a moment to remember them as infants. Their long, dark lashes and small fingers, pudgy, as baby fingers usually are, as they held the swell of her breast and nursed to their heart’s content. She had been all they needed. In this way, she supposed she still was. And she was thankful.

Her children were the only ones who got to eat as much as they wanted. Everyone else had a one bite rule because, truly, that was all that was necessary. The Feast wasn’t about gluttony. It was about nurturing the town. Its people. Her family and friends and those, especially those, who despised her. This was her sacrifice to give every year for as long as she could. And she was thankful.

Once her little ones were satiated, they wiped their mouths with the backs of their hands and ran off to play in the empty field. At the moment, it was nothing but dead grass, but soon…soon it would be—

The next voice interrupted Lucinda’s thoughts, and after that, the night became a blur of hurried whispers and pain and blood. Secret after secret, truth after truth was told in confidence, and then another mouth would tear into some part of her body. Her side, stomach, a thigh… They chomped and ripped and chewed; everything below her collarbone was available for their taking. That was the most important rule of all. Without her brain, she wouldn’t be able to heal correctly. The fact that they couldn’t enjoy her face was simply a kindness gifted to her by the elders of the town. And she was thankful.

By many people, The Feast was considered barbaric. Insane. Demonic, even. But those populations, the ones without a single woman willing to sacrifice some of herself for others, died out long ago. Now it was just them, and they’d thrived for many years and would continue to do so because their women were like none other. And she was thankful.

They’d tried before with men, her Husband had told her, but it hadn’t worked. This was before she had been born, but now, everyone knew men didn’t heal the same way women did. And even if they had, those who’d eaten from them didn’t stay satiated as long. The nutrients absorbed from a generous bite of a woman’s flesh would provide enough energy and strength to thrive for about a year’s time. From a man, though, the benefit would run out after a mere month. This meant men had to make the sacrifice more often with less than mediocre results. It became apparent early on the only way to ensure their people survived far into the future was for women to be the gifters. A woman could be fed on for approximately ten consecutive years before  she wouldn’t be able to recover anymore. Then someone else would have to be found. Lucinda met her Husband when He’d scouted her. He, the most powerful man in town, was in charge of selecting someone for The Feast. And He’d chosen her. Given her children. Honored her. Made her life worth living. And she was thankful.

Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty… Her eyelids fluttered, and she dug her fingernails into the table in a desperate attempt to stay conscious. The moon was a blurry disk at this point, but blessedly, she continued to stay lucid through the exquisite pain. And she was thankful.

“I can’t believe she’s still awake.”

“It’s because she’s so strong. Look at her.”

“Yes, so brave.”

“A true inspiration.”

“Momma, I want to be like her when I grow up.”

Her body convulsed now, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she concentrated on her breathing. Seventy-five, seventy-six… Not only did shock make the meat taste sour, but it also destroyed its nutritional value. Lucinda would be damned if she allowed herself to succumb to weakness. She was a warrior, everyone said so, so it had to be true. She was strong. Eighty-two, eighty-three, eighty-four… And most of all, she loved her Husband, and He loved her and trusted her to do this. And she was thankful.

The moon and sky and faces and voices swam before her as the rest of the town continued to feast. She floated in and out of time as she listened to their secrets. Some weren’t so bad. Silly. Superficial.

“I hate this place. I’m going to find a way to leave.”

“I think you’re stupid to sacrifice yourself for us.”

“No one really cares about you.”

“He only picked you because you’re pathetic.”

“You won’t be missed when you’re gone.”

Those made her sad, but she could handle sad. Soon she’d be healed and ready to hug her children, to kiss her Husband, to make love to Him. She could listen to silly secrets if it meant the rest was to follow. And she was thankful.

But the awful ones…those she’d never understand. The woman whose foul breath assaulted Lucinda as she whispered, “I think about what it would be like to drown my children. How would it feel? To hold their little bodies under the water while they writhe and kick until they finally give up and leave me be. Then I’d be free. Finally free.” A longing sigh. “Maybe when the lake isn’t dried up.” A bite to her shoulder.

The young man, Thomas, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen: “Old man Jeffers didn’t run away. I…uh…I strangled him. And I”—a smile—”I spit in his mouth as he died.” A bite to her hip.

“When my wife is asleep, I cut her with my knife. Not deep, just enough to where it bleeds real nice.” A drunken snort as he giggled. “She gets so mad when she wakes up. And you know what? She’d never admit it, but I think she likes it, too, because we fuck real good afterward. Hey, maybe that’ll be her secret.” Another snort, then a bite to the skin between her inner thigh and sex.

One-hundred twenty-six, one-hundred twenty-seven, one-hundred twenty-eight…

“You’ll make them pay.”

His voice was new and quickly gone, only to be followed by many others.

Then finally, thankfully, it was near the end. Her Husband was the only person who hadn’t eaten. Once He’d taken what was His, she’d fall asleep and He’d start her treatment She’d wake up fully healed, and there He’d be. He’d pull her to Him and run His hands along her renewed flesh. Slide His lips along each and every new scar. Pleasure her. Slip his tongue into her mouth and sink deep inside her. He’d make everything okay. One day, she knew, she wouldn’t wake up. But that day hadn’t come. Not yet. He told her He’d let her know before the time came. So she could hug her kids for an entire year. Really watch them play. Speak with them. Listen extra carefully to the sound of their voices. Breathe in their sweet scent. Truly take in every moment she had  left. Not all the women in the past had received this kindness, the gift of knowing when the time had come wasn’t guaranteed, but He promised her she’d be different. She’d been so selfless, and that deserved a reward. And she was thankful.

One-hundred forty-two, one-hundred forty-three, one hundred forty-four… She watched each number slowly dance behind her now closed eyelids, waiting for the final moment of the night. This night which already felt so terribly long, because she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. A glance down showed much of her skin and muscle gone. Her ribcage mostly bare, save for strings of…what? Flesh? Tendons? Like a long-forgotten carcass, picked clean by vultures and other sly scavengers.

He lay on top of her, His center between her shredded thighs, His upper body supported by His forearms. He pressed His lips against the still hairless scar on the top of her head, the permanent reminder of The Incident. When even He, her beloved Husband, had lost control. He gave featherlike kisses along her face which, apart from a few splatters of blood, remained smooth and untouched. “Open your eyes, my wife.”

Lucinda followed His request and watched as He held His hand over the chasm where her chest used to be. She wanted so desperately to hear the words, thank you for your sacrifice, but she quickly pushed the thought away. He hadn’t said it in a while, and that was okay. They all used to say the words, but somewhere along the line, they’d decided she didn’t need to hear them anymore. Or perhaps it was something different. Maybe they simply didn’t feel it. And she guessed that was okay as well. After all, she didn’t do this for simple thank-yous. This was her duty. Besides being a mother, this was why she was alive. And she was thankful.

He ran His tongue along the underside of her jaw, His frenzied groans the only thing to break through the haze of her pain. He’d once told her this was one of His favorite parts. When He got to taste her sweat and blood. “But never your tears,” He’d said.

She’d been confused by this. “Why would I cry? I’ve been of service.” And she was thankful.

“Lucinda, my darling Lucinda. I need you to hear me.” He flicked His tongue along the seam of her mouth, then pulled her bottom lip between His eager teeth. He sucked and nibbled, His breath coming out in short, excited bursts. “Tonight is your last Feast,” He whispered and then plunged His hand into her chest cavity and began to dig.

The pain was so excruciating and all-consuming she almost didn’t realize what He’d said. “Tonight is your last Feast.” She wasn’t going to be healed after tonight. He’d lied. She tried to move her arm, though she hadn’t the slightest idea what she’d do with it. Her fingers had been chewed down to their bones, and those bones were broken. It didn’t matter anyway. Her arm remained limp on the table as blood dripped from the remnants of her mangled body. She waited for unconsciousness. Begged for it. Pleaded for any kind of relief. She felt the moment He closed His fingers around His treasure and ripped it from her body. Her eyes connected with His. “Sarah is so proud of her momma. She told me she wants to be just like you when she’s old enough, which is only a few years away. I think she’ll make us proud. Don’t you?” He smiled down at her. “Yes, I think she will.” She watched as He tossed her heart up in the air and caught it again, a boyish smile on His beautiful face, then sank His teeth into her most precious muscle.

The town cheered as the ground beneath them began to vibrate. It’d been a year since they’d felt this alive, and they danced under the now vibrant moon. Their arms and legs flailed with newfound energy.

As Lucinda’s head fell to the side, she caught site of a rosy cheeked Sarah, and for a moment, she imagined Sarah in her place. Lying on the table. Devoured. Nothing left. She’d been wrong; she realized all too late. Sarah’s secret wasn’t the most painful thing she’d go through that night after all.

The field was now lush with green grass and flowers upon flowers upon flowers, their sweet smell intoxicating. Her blood, which had spilled over the table and seeped into the dirt, had done its job. It had revived The Land. Dalton sat to the side, his eyes fixed on hers, his lips and chin caked in her blood. His skin practically glowed with life as his gaze moved to his fingers in his lap. He knows.

“Not Sarah,” she choked out through the blood that continued to fill her throat.

“It’s been decided.”

“Don’t.”

“You have no say.”

“You used me.”

“I had to.”

“Why?”

He remained quiet for what felt like an eternity, but finally, she received an answer. “Because the way I feel for you, my darling, is the closest I’ve ever felt to Love. I swear, I really think I might Love you. And Love makes people weak.” He touched the tip of her nose with his forefinger. “I refuse to let my Love for you destroy me.”

“I Love…you…too.” A sob ripped from inside her as the tears began to slide down her face.

His brow wrinkled as He looked at her. He leaned in close and set His forehead against hers. “Why is it you cry now?” He asked while wiping her eyes.

Lucinda tried her best to swallow but was unable to do so. She coughed up more blood, spitting it out until she was able to croak out her next words, “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Forgive me, my sweet wife, for you are probably right. Please know, I truly thank you for your sacrifice and accept this final gift.” His long fingers found her cheeks, and He squeezed, forcing her lips apart. “You really are quite exquisite.” He shivered against her as he spoke, his breath hot on her skin. “Exceptional. Here.” He kissed her with a featherlight touch, then whispered as He continued to move His mouth across her lips. “You have to taste how utterly perfect you are…”

Her breath was quick and shallow, and she felt his length harden against her as He slipped His hot, wet tongue into her mouth. He ran it over hers, then offered her a tiny piece of meat. A tiny piece of herself.

Her teeth worked on the meat involuntarily. It was salty. Chewy. Slick. Delicious.

“I’m going to kill you,” she whispered. But he was already gone.

She saw more numbers. One-hundred fifty-seven, one-hundred… fif…

Her head rolled back and she found the sky. The stars shown with spectacular brightness, and despite of the horror of the night, she couldn’t help but be taken in by their beauty. The longer she looked, the more they began to blur into each other, and the fight which had helped her cling to life proved harder to hold onto. Her eyelids slowly began to close, and she knew the end had come for her. It was time. After everything, it was finally time to die. And she was thankful.

* * * *

Lucinda’s eyelids fluttered but were unable to open when Death slid its bare arms underneath her limp and torn body and lifted her from the table. Her limp body soon found comfort as she tilted to the side, her cheek coming to rest against something warm. The inaudible whisper from her lips, “Are you Death?”

The night air, cool and filled with the floral scents from the field invaded her senses. It helped to calm her burning skin. Her raw nerves. She felt her body begin to bounce against whatever she leaned on. She didn’t know how much time had passed, hours, maybe days. Did it matter? Everyone in town was most likely home, exhausted from the night’s events, asleep in their soft beds. All while Death carried her away. And then she heard it. A voice.

“We’ve got to hurry; she won’t make it much longer without help. Come on, stay with me, Lucinda.”

A man. Not Death. A human man carried her, and he was running. Fast. She wanted to open her eyes to see who had taken her, but she couldn’t. She could only lie there against the man’s chest.

He began to move quicker. The wind flew through her hair as his footsteps pounded against the dirt. The smell of flowers, which had been so intense moments before, now slowly started to drift away. The field where she’d last seen her children play, she knew, was behind them. They’d left the town.

One voice became two, two became more. She couldn’t tell how many people surrounded them. So many voices and still too much excruciating pain to concentrate. Blood pooled in her throat and, when she could hold no more, spilled out her mouth in a trail of coppery fire.

“Shit. Give me the pouch. Hurry up.”

The ground met her back with a soft thud, and then something thick and gritty was shoved between her lips. When she didn’t respond, she felt something warm and salty, maybe fingers, push the substance down her throat. She gagged then, but the man’s hand over her mouth stopped her from coughing it up. She tried to push her tongue against his hand, to spit it out, but that only caused him to use more force.

“Eat it. Trust me,” he insisted. “I know there’s no reason to but do it anyway.”

Angry tears slipped out the corners of her eyes as she choked down the filth which covered her tongue.

“You’re not done, yet. Come on.”

More sludge was pushed through her lips, but this time, her body took over and she welcomed it. She chewed and swallowed with newfound strength as she was picked up again, her body bouncing once more against the man who held her. She could tell from his breaths he ran as fast as he could, but he kept his fingers in her mouth so she could have every last bit of what he’d given her. Something familiar, the name so close… She swirled her tongue in a frenzied fit, desperate for more of whatever had been in the pouch. She licked and sucked, her teeth gnawing against his flesh, desperate for every last gritty bite. Only when she was finished did he remove his fingers.

“Good girl,” he said, his rushed breath against her forehead. “We’re almost there. Don’t you die on me. Do you hear me?”

“Yes…” The word barely made it past her lips before she was told to rest. She obeyed and listened to the sound of his feet below her. Clomp, clomp, clomp, snap. Twigs. She heard leaves and twigs crackle beneath him. We’re in The Forest. Panic shot through her body. She tried to move, to pull away or hit him, to do anything at all to save herself, but she was still too weak. Nothing good happened in The Forest.

“No, no, don’t move. We’re here to help. I promise.”

She heard more voices then.

“It’s ready.”

“Move! It needs to be done before the sun comes up.”

She strained to think of what they could be speaking of. What had to be completed? All she knew for sure was they should not be in The Forest. It was not allowed. Everyone knew that. It was the first rule of the town. Never, under any circumstances, was one supposed to go in The Forest. Open your eyes.

“It’s ready. Do it.”

Open your eyes.

Hands grabbed all over her, then. Her legs, her hips, her back and shoulders. “This will heal you, Lucinda.”

Open your eyes.

Her stomach dropped as they lowered her, then slid her into something hard and snug. Her arms close to her sides, her fingers rested on something crumbly underneath her, soft but thick and heavy. Earth. Roots began to curl themselves around her legs and waist, holding her in place. She knew what this was. They meant to bury her.

Open. Your. Eyes!

Something within her pooled hot in her belly. She dug her shaking fingers into the dirt.

Lucinda’s eyes popped open long enough to see her captor’s face, his green eyes alive, red hair streaked with muck.

“I promised you’d make them pay,” he said.

The man from The Feast.

“First, you’ll heal,” he panted as he poured more dirt over her. “Then, you’ll kill every last one of them.”

For a split second, in the early morning after The Feast, Lucinda’s scream filled the air before the last shovelful of dirt filled her throat.

The post The Feast appeared first on Erica Lynn - Erotic Romance Author.

8 min read

May 14, 2019 was the day my life stopped. It crept in and stole the person I was. It picked me up, ripped my body into pieces, and rearranged me in ways I still struggle to figure out.

My story is probably the same one you’ve heard countless times. An unspectacular day that turns into a nightmare… so I won’t bore you with too many details.

Until that evening the most exciting thing to happen that day was a haircut. My husband and I were eating dinner and laughing about something or other, and suddenly my entire left side began to tingle. It started in my fingertips and traveled up my arm, down my side and leg, then up my face and to the top of my scalp. I went to the ER fearing I’d had some sort of mini-stroke, but fully expected them to tell me I was fine. However, a CT scan showed a mass in the right side of my brain. I was transferred to Memorial Herman Hospital for further tests.

Long story short, it was a tumor. A week later, May 21st, I underwent a 7-8 hour awake craniotomy to remove as much of the tumor as they safely could.

I naively thought that was the hard part.

There’s a reason people say ignorance is bliss. In a time where we can look up any bit of information by simply pulling out a phone, I’m thankful I didn’t give into that urge. First of all every journey is different, so whatever I would have read might or might not have been my experience anyway.

But most importantly it allowed me to maintain this idea of who I was. This person who wouldn’t allow herself to be taken down by anything. This person who took her time and cried when needed, then wiped her face and got the fuck on with her life. That person had always served me well. From family issues to the hardships marriage can bring, even through the loss of our first baby who we’d wanted so very badly.

“That person” helped me move forward and choose the most aggressive treatment when two weeks later it was confirmed the mass was in fact a form of brain cancer. “That person” helped me get out and walk so I could get rid of the walker that, at 34 years old, I was so frustrated to need. And “that person” helped me make jokes about my ridiculously swollen face from the surgery, poke fun at my ugly incision, and even laugh at the way my kids reacted when they saw me for the first time. Crying and scared because they could barely recognize me.

The one problem with “that person” is she only exists when I have a modicum of physical strength. Because when that strength was gone, “that person” left as well. And then the emptiness set in.

My experience being sick was one of shame. I was ashamed to be in a position where I couldn’t take care of myself. Ashamed of needing so much help. Ashamed of people knowing what was going on. Ashamed of being 34 years old and my husband having to help me take a shower, to help me get into bed, and all too often to have to feed me because I didn’t have the energy to grab the fork, much less lift it. And all the progress I’d made when I was “that person” was gone. I needed the walker again because the radiation messed with my balance. And now instead of having to use the walker only when I was really tired, I had to use it full time. Halfway through radiation my hair began to fall out. I knew it was a possibility, but I still wasn’t prepared that first time I washed my hair and pulled out clumps of it. So just like that, I was back to looking sick. Walking around with these big signs with flashing arrows letting everyone know I wasn’t okay.

But it’s in those moments you see what people are really made of, yourself most importantly.

Through it all, I’ve learned that people can surprise you in the most beautiful ways. They can remind you you’re still alive and show you that not only can they can handle you at your worst, but they will gladly rise to that occasion. They bring food or groceries, watch your kids, or simply come visit and check on you. Take you to your radiation and physical therapy appointments. Send chocolate and fruit arrangements, cards, gift cards. Ultimately there’s no right or wrong thing to do. These are just examples of things done by the people in my life, some of whom I’ve never even met in person. Just those willing to be kind and show up even though I had nothing to offer in return.

I’ve been reminded that I have people in my life who I’m okay with falling apart in front of. The ones who held me as I cried. Who helped me walk when I was out of breath after treatment. The one who held my hand while I cried as the woman behind me shaved my hair. Both devastated and relieved because it was the one thing in my life I could control and do on my terms.

I’ve been reminded that people can disappoint you so deeply. See behind the curtain and tuck and run. I don’t know if that hurt will ever fully go away, but that’s okay. Everyone is different, and not everyone is made of the same stuff. Or maybe I’m just not as important to them as they are to me. And honestly that’s okay, too.

At my lowest point, my Sunday school teacher taught me how to be bold. I promise I’ll do my best to make you proud. To be bold in my faith. Bold in the way I love others. I’ll always owe a great debt to you because in that moment, I was so beyond lost. So if you ever read this, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Most importantly it reminded me how lucky I am to have my family. My parents and siblings showed me so much love during that time. When I had nothing left they picked up the pieces. My husband. *sigh* My husband… Billy, I love you more than anything in this world. It hasn’t always been easy, and I haven’t always been the wife you deserve. I’m sorry for that. I love you. I thank you. I love that I’ll be spending the rest of my life with you.

I don’t know what these next few months have in store for me emotionally. Probably like all the rest of this journey. Highs of feeling so very grateful. In those moments I’ll laugh at the time my mom left my walker in the driveway of my house and naturally we didn’t realize it until we’d gotten to the hospital. We really needed a laugh that day and the security footage of the walker in the driveway definitely provided it.

And then the lows will come and I’ll think about how I’m not ready to leave yet and how my girls, especially my 8 year old, saw way too much. I think that’s my biggest regret. On those days I’ll be filled with emptiness. But I’ve learned I can’t expect or predict anything, and that’s okay.

So for now I’ll just plan on slipping into my human costume every morning to disguise the scarecrow, and enjoy a good glass (or 20 glasses) of wine. Lucky for me, we stocked up on the good shit.

The post A Year in the Life of a Scarecrow appeared first on Erica Lynn - Erotic Romance Author.

7 min read

The Selkie Prince’s Forbidden Mate

The Royal Alphas, Book 4

Author: J.J. Masters

Cover Artist: Megan Parker of EmCat Designs

Genre/s: Contemporary Romance (PNR/Gay/mpreg)

Length: 60,400 words / 236 pages

A standalone book within a series

Add on Goodreads

Buy Links – Available on Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US

Amazon UK

Blurb

Secrets, lies and a forbidden bond that could change the fate of a kingdom.

Marlin, Selkie prince and fourth alpha-born son of the King of the North, desires someone he shouldn’t. While taking a human lover is not quite forbidden, the one who caught his eye happens to be his brother’s scorned former lover. Nevertheless, every time Marlin’s around the man, he finds Nic hard to resist, even though his attitude can be frustrating. However, Marlin likes a challenge, and Nic’s a challenge he’s willing to tackle.

Nic has been bitter ever since the firstborn prince, Kai, broke off their affair abruptly years ago. To become involved with Kai’s younger brother could be just as heartbreaking because Marlin, like Kai, is obligated to find his fated mate and produce heirs. Something Nic can’t do. However, neither can fight their mutual attraction.

When a traitor escapes, Marlin’s skin is stolen, and danger ensues, it’s Nic who becomes the prince’s hero. And it’s at that very moment that Marlin can’t deny their fate, whether it’s forbidden or not.

Note: A 60k-plus word m/m shifter mpreg story, this is the fourth book in the Royal Alpha series. Due to the “knotty” times in this book, it is recommended for mature readers only. While it can be read as a standalone, it’s recommended to read the series in order. And, like all of my books, it has an HEA.

Excerpt

Marlin, Selkie prince and fourth alpha-born son of King Solomon, and, not to mention, complete utter fool, stood staring up at the little cabin in the woods.

He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled the aroma of the forest surrounding him. That didn’t slow the runaway train that was his heartbeat.

Nor did it help his cock that flexed in his pants at the anticipation of doing something so wrong, but also so… desired.

It wasn’t necessarily wrong for a Selkie to find pleasure with a human… as long as that human was willing. But what made this feel iniquitous was that the man who lived in that little cabin in the woods was the former lover of his oldest brother, Kai.

His heartbeat went from racing to thumping loudly in his ears as the front screen door opened and the subject of his recent inappropriate dreams stood staring back at him while leaning against the door frame.

Dominic. Nic for short.

He was long and lean, his body built like a normal human. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow. Even from where Marlin stood, he could see Nic’s dark hair appeared to be a ruffled mess, which made him even more attractive.

Maybe Marlin had disturbed the man’s afternoon nap.

“You just going to stand there? Like a stalker?”

His voice was deep, smooth, and all that delicious goodness swirled around Marlin, pulling him forward like he was a marlin being reeled in on a fisherman’s line. He wanted to fight it, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t because he was exhausted from doing just that… resisting his desires. There was something about Nic…

Maybe it was his expressive brown eyes, and his attitude. Strong-willed, sometimes crass, but definitely sensual at other times.

Like that little bit of time Marlin spent with him the last time he was here. When his brother Zale was searching for his omega, when Nic had hid Finn in his home. While Zale was sneaking around inside the cabin searching for his mate, Marlin had kept the human occupied.

And it was then that he knew he was doomed. Knew he’d eventually show back up on the man’s doorstep no matter how many times he told himself it was wrong.

Plenty of other humans or betas were willing to take care of Marlin’s needs. But he didn’t want any of them.

He wanted Nic.

Even if it was just once. Just a simple taste. Maybe them spending a night together would exorcise the man from his system.

For the last few weeks, he couldn’t sleep through the night. No, he’d wake up in a sweat after dreaming about taking Nic, pleasuring him, making him come, then giving the human his knot.

Which never should happen.

Human males weren’t physically built to take Selkie knots. Not like an omega.

So, giving Nic his knot would only ever remain a fantasy. One that—when Marlin would wake up with a raging erection—would fuel his own release so he could go back to sleep.

But now it was happening every night. And, even worse, during the daylight hours thoughts of Nic would drift through his mind.

These thoughts of the male, the one standing on his porch and watching him intently, were interrupting his life and Marlin needed to get them to stop. Out of his brothers, he was the next prince in line to find his omega. His fated mate. Though he was in no rush, he knew the Presentation Ceremonies might begin at any time. Or at least as soon as the Selkie Seekers could find six appropriate omegas to present to him. So, he needed to concentrate on doing his duty and finding the right mate to produce pups, he should not give in to his base desires.

While Nic could never be Marlin’s mate, nor become pregnant with his heirs, he could be simply a temporary detour.

And the man did seem to show some interest the last time they were face to face.

“Marlin,” Nic called from the porch. “Why are you here? Is something wrong? Did you royals lose another omega?”

About the Author

J.J. Masters is the alter-ego of a USA Today bestselling author who writes hot, gay romance filled with heart, humor and heat. J.J. became fascinated with mpreg romance as soon as she figured out what mpreg stood for. She loves to write about “knotty” men!

You can join JJ’s FB Group here: https://www.facebook.com/JJMastersAuthor/ or her newsletter here: https://bit.ly/2E2zcaB to keep up with exclusive content and news.

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8 min read

Publisher: Covey Publishing

Release Date: 10/12/2018

Genre(s): Science Fiction, Sci-Fi Romance, First Contact, Space Opera, M/F, Futuristic Science Fiction, Action/Adventure, Alien Romance, Alien Intrigue, Hero is POC

 

Tagline:

His existence changes everything.

 

Blurb:

One pre-apocalyptic Earth. One desperate space mission to find a solution. One unexpected alien.

When Dr. Sakota Thorell signed onto the mission to scout out a new, habitable planet, she knew discovering extraterrestrial life was always a possibility. But she never expected to find an alien adrift in space, nor for that alien to be so intriguing. Sakota feels an instant and undeniable attraction to Astraeus, but he represents a million possibilities, and just as many threats.

There are others hunting Astraeus, and his rescue may cost Earth its last hope.

 

Astraeus buy links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07J42YGPN/

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/astraeus-haley-cavanagh/1129709119

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/astraeus-1

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42207961-astraeus

 

 

Excerpt:

“What are you called? What’s your name?”

He opened his mouth, and she moved closer, eager for his first words. Instead, he focused on her lips with obvious fascination. His intriguing eyes caught the light. Despite her disappointment that he couldn’t speak, a rush went through her. Alien or not, he was the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on, with the kind of ethereal elegance some upper-class, privileged men on Earth spent fortunes on plastic surgery trying to achieve.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk, or if you can’t. We’ll get there. Now, I’m going to check you.” She kept her voice gentle, as she might use with a child. She pressed the button to disengage the protective bubble over the med bed and shone the retinal scanner in her own eye to demonstrate. “I just need to look at your eyes with this.” She motioned with the scope to him. “It won’t hurt. I promise.”

Warm puffs of his breath blew on her neck as she leaned in. She paused, noting the remarkable eight-pointed star-shape of his pupils. The mutation was his one physical difference, and only if one looked closely. The pupils dilated when hit by the scope’s light. She’d never seen eyes as remarkable.

“You’re doing great,” she soothed. Her head burst with countless questions. Where are you from? How did you get here? What do you want?

He appeared to like the cadence of her voice. His posture relaxed, and his breath against her was steady. How long had she been staring into his eyes? Should she push her luck and try to examine his mouth?

Before she could try, his finger stroked her inner arm. He was still restrained at the wrists, but he could reach her.

She allowed it. He stroked a featherlight finger along her forearm. As he did so, his gaze never left hers. She offered a kind smile. “That’s right. Friend. Sakota. Sa-ko-ta.”

He opened his mouth and let out a chicken-like squawk. “-Ota,” he said in a throaty, deep voice.

She raised her eyebrows. “Good. Very good.”

He tilted his head, watching her lips. “Gooood.”

Excited, she lowered the retinal light. “Can you understand me?”

He looked confused. “Me…”

“Okay. That’s a no. Then let me take this opportunity to say, in no uncertain terms, you, my friend, are the stuff of dreams and legends. I’ve waited my whole life for this. Are you getting this, Alistair?” she called out.

He came in over the speakers. “I am. Amazing. I’ll get to work on a linguistics program. Our friend seems to want to communicate.”

She moved to pull away, but the man’s fingers closed over her wrist.

“Let me go.” She jerked her arm, but he wouldn’t release his grip. She gave him a cautionary look, and he loosened his fingers, though he still held her. Warning bells went off. What if he’s not here in peace? But his eyes sparkled impishly. He seemed to enjoy her skin pressed against his. Maybe he hadn’t been touched in a while. Or maybe he had a crush. Who knew.

Before she could extricate herself, the intercom chimed. “Sakota, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. He’s just being friendly—”

The man’s forefinger trailed along her arm again. She sucked in a breath and shut her eyes as a series of images flashed through her mind. A high wall made of stacked stones. A hand spread out to touch the tips of tall, golden wheat of a field. Multihued buildings in the distance under a purple sky. Children’s laughter and then screams. She jerked when the images changed. Strange rain, like metal. Black ships attacking from the sky, horrible screams which rent the air, death. A gentle brush against her hand again. She inhaled and opened her eyes. The man searched her, calm and patient. She struggled to see straight, but her mind spun.

“W-was that your—”

The isolation walls shot up. Rutledge burst into the room and advanced like an angry bear, brutish, immaculate, and combat ready in his black Oceanstone fatigues. “Let her go,” he snarled.

Rutledge yanked the man’s hand off her and pushed her aside. She fell to the floor on her back in a dizzy haze, reeling from the vision. She turned her head. The man bellowed and tore loose from his restraints. His and Rutledge’s images faded into one as they collided and fought. Rutledge’s weapon whirred as he strained to activate it. The rifle propelled over her head and hit the wall.

“Stop.” Her pleas fell on deaf ears. She closed her eyes.

The men barged into the room with heavy footfalls and angry shouts. She opened her eyes, but her vision swirled. The blurred image of the alien lifted Rutledge’s lieutenant like a kitchen chair and catapulted him in the same direction as the weapon. “Stop,” she hollered to the men. “Don’t shoot him. He wasn’t attacking me.”

Another soldier fell to the floor with a sick thud, holding his stomach. “Yeah? Well, he’s attacking me.”

The alien pounced over her, crouching low. He caged her with his body and made a guttural rumble in his throat, a warning to the men. She turned her head to the marines, who zeroed their weapons in on them.

 

 

Author Bio:

Haley Cavanagh is a military veteran, wife, and mother. She is an alumna of Columbia College, a musical theater nut, and she loves to dive into any book that crosses her path. Haley resides with her family in the United States and enjoys spending time with her husband and children when she’s not writing. She loves to hear from her readers, and encourages you to contact her via her website and social media.

 

 

Author social media links:

Website: www.haleycavanaghbooks.com

Newsletter: https://haleycavanaghbooks.com/vip-readers-group/

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/1769243778

Twitter: https://twitter.com/haley_cavanagh

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/haleycavanaghbooks/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/ambitioushales/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42207961-astraeus

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9 min read

 

 

 

IT’S LIVE!

 

BUY IT NOW

 

AMAZON AND KINDLE UNLIMITED

REVIEWS

 

This is one ride that I did not want to get off of. With a storyline that had me from the opening pages and the heartwarming characters you could not help but fall in love with them, this is a book you do not want to miss.  ~5 Stars – Nicki

 

Have you ever devoured a book and just wanted it to never end. Hard Hart is that book, you will fall in love with not only the characters but their story. This storyline will captivate you and will hold you locked to the words … Hard Hart deserves ten stars instead of the five I can give it. ~ 5 Stars – Kylee

 

Blurb

It’ll take a tough woman to win this Hard Hart…

Krista Matthews, a hard-headed, hard-fighting rookie cop, is determined to prove herself on the force. It’s not just a man’s world anymore and she’ll show them all she’s up to the challenge, even if it means putting up with the advances from her lecherous mentor, Myles Slade. However, Brock is even more stubborn than she is, he’s all male, all alpha—and whether she likes it or not he’s made keeping her safe his number one priority. He doesn’t realize she doesn’t need protection; she can take of herself and then some.

Brock Hart, bodyguard and retired special operative, has never known anyone like Krista. Ever since their first meeting, when she pulled him over for speeding, he’s been drawn to her. She infuriates him, challenges him, and has gotten under his skin in a way no woman ever has. He’s kept people at arm’s length all his life for good reason, but Krista won’t stand for it. She wants to know everything about him, and that puts him on edge. But one drunken night together changes everything. Their worlds are rocked, and Brock’s quiet, introverted life is threatened forever. Which may be exactly what he needs.

 

 

Fun and Flirty Excerpt

He watched in the mirror behind the bar as Krista chewed her food slowly, a small, sexy smile on her face. She closed her eyes and hummed softly. Jordy in the kitchen always made a killer burger. Brock’s taste buds were just as happy as Krista’s. And fuck what he would give to be that burger right now, rolling around on her tongue and in her hot little mouth.

“So, Brock Hart, if that’s your real name?” she finally asked on a swallow. “Where do you live?”

A smile jogged on his lips as he methodically chewed his fries. “Around here,” he finally said. “Walking distance.”

“Stumbling distance?” She snickered, digging into her own fries. “’Cause that’s what we’d do, stumble there. Or at least me. That tequila’s hit me hard. Good call on the food.”

Brock didn’t say anything. He simply studied her face. She had a tiny bit of mustard at the corner of her mouth that he wanted to wipe, lick, or suck off for her. Preference on the latter.

“You want to get out of here?” he finally asked.

“I … uh … ”

He lifted one shoulder cavalierly and then shoveled fries into his mouth before taking a healthy sip of his beer to wash it all down.

 She eyed him curiously before nodding at Mickey for yet another shot. “I had an awful day,” she said quietly. “I’m drinking to forget.”

“Did you have to stand out in the rain and issue tickets all day?” he asked, his volume matching hers. He drained his beer and lifted an eyebrow at Mickey for another.

She nodded but then shook her head. “I didn’t issue any citations. And then there was a fatal accident on the highway we had to deal with.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Those are never easy.”

She shook her head again. “No, they’re not.”

It seemed like she was avoiding his gaze on purpose now, swirling her last remaining fry around and around in a big puddle of ketchup until it was limp and covered in red. “I don’t want to be a traffic cop,” she finally managed to whisper. “I didn’t want to be out there. Besides you, I pulled over two little old ladies and didn’t have the heart to cite them.”

He snorted. “Yeah, my dad was a cop, said it was tough when he’d have to pull over a car for speeding only to find a wrinkled little blue hair behind the wheel. For the most part, they drive slow as fuck, but then once in a while you get an eighty-five-year-old Mario Andretti with a medical alert bracelet, going sixty in a school zone.”

To Brock’s surprise and delight—which also surprised him—she burst out laughing, nodded and then slammed back the shot in front of her. Damn, she was cute. And she smelled incredible.

He nodded, signaled Mickey and told him to put everything on his “tab.”

Krista finally finished that last fry and drained the water glass in front of her. She let out a loud and satisfying ah before lifting her head and batting her lashes at him.

“You look different from the picture on your license,” she said. “I like your hair longer. And your face has filled out.”

His skin prickled. He hoped to God she didn’t ask anything personal. Brock never got personal.

She leaned forward so their faces were only six inches apart. Her breath smelled of tequila and ketchup, but it was quickly overpowered by the most divine scent—floral and sweet with a hint of spice. It wrapped around him and he had to force himself not to shut his eyes and inhale deeply.

“Hmm?” he hummed, wondering what she was looking at.

She blinked those diamond blues at him and smiled coyly. “You have beautiful green eyes. And the scruff beard is hot, definitely better than the clean-shaved look of your picture.”

She’d remembered that much about him? Was she coming on to him? Was she always this forward, or was the tequila making her brazen? Either way he didn’t care. She was hot as fuck, and if she said the word, he’d have her home and clawing up his back before the clock struck twelve.

“You owe me, you know,” she said with only a slight slur to her words.

He decided to play along. “I do, do I? I bought you a burger and covered your tab. I’d say we’re square for whatever it is you think I owe you.”

With a sultry little lip bite and a head shake that tousled those untameable curls of hers, she said, “Nuh-uh.”

“Nuh-uh?”

“I let you off with a warning. And we both know you were speeding right up until you saw me. You tossed on the brakes at the perfect moment.”

Well, she had him there.

“So I owe you then?”

She nodded.

“I’m not sure you should be drinking anymore, and I’m not a fan of dessert. How do you propose I owe you … constable?”

Her pink tongue darted out between her lips and ran seductively along the seam. “Stumbling distance?”

 

A growl built at the back of his throat. He hadn’t gotten laid in ages, and this little sprite had him sporting a half-chub since earlier in the day. Did she have her handcuffs with her still? Maybe an officer’s hat?

 

BUY IT NOW

 

 

Website: WhitleyCox.com

Twitter: @WhitleyCoxBooks

Instagram: @CoxWhitley

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/CoxWhitley/

Blog: https://whitleycox.blogspot.ca/

Multi-Author Blog: https://romancewritersbehavingbadly.blogspot.com

Exclusive Facebook Reader Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/234716323653592/

Booksprout: https://booksprout.co/author/994/whitley-cox

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/whitley-cox

 

 

About the Author

A Canadian West Coast baby born and raised, Whitley is married to her high school sweetheart, and together they have two beautiful daughters and a fluffy dog. She spends her days making food that gets thrown on the floor, vacuuming Cheerios out from under the couch and making sure that the dog food doesn’t end up in the air conditioner. But when nap time comes, and it’s not quite wine o’clock, Whitley sits down, avoids the pile of laundry on the couch, and writes.

A lover of all things decadent; wine, cheese, chocolate and spicy erotic romance, Whitley brings the humorous side of sex, the ridiculous side of relationships and the suspense of everyday life into her stories. With mommy wars, body issues, threesomes, bondage and role-playing, these books have everything we need to satisfy the curious kink in all of us.

 

 

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6 min read

The Selkie Prince’s Fated Mate

The Royal Alphas, bk 1

 

A MM Mpreg Shifter Romance

by JJ Masters

ORDER NOW!

 

Add to your GoodReads TBR!

 

Blurb:

A Selkie prince forced to produce an heir. An omega destined to become a royal’s fated mate…

Prince Kai’s life as he knows it is now over. As the firstborn alpha to the Selkie King of the North, he’s required to produce an heir. Whether he wants to or not. When the Selkie Seekers finally present his fated mate, he dreads being tied to this stranger for the rest of his life. He can only hope his omega will be easy on the eyes and somewhat intelligent.

Raised in a family of good breeding, Luca always knew it was possible he’d end up the mate for an alpha of nobility. Only to whom, he never knew. Every time the Seekers summoned him for the humiliating presentation ceremony to royalty of all levels, he feared being stuck with some unbearable, abusive or very unattractive alpha. As an omega he doesn’t have the choice to say no. Not only is it his obligation, it’s the law. If he refuses, he and his family would become outcasts and banished from the Selkie community.

However, as soon as Kai enters the Great Hall of the North, it’s clear that the handsome prince is his alpha. Luca’s pleased with the choice the fates made until the king demands that not only he become pregnant within six months but produce an alpha pup with his son, otherwise he’ll be cast aside. And getting pregnant might be a problem…

Note: A 56k word m/m shifter mpreg story, this is the first book in the Royal Alpha series. Due to the “knotty” times in this book, it is recommended for mature readers only. It can be read as a standalone and, of course, has an HEA.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

The blood rushed to Kai’s cock as he took a long, deep inhale.

This Presentation Ceremony was unnecessary. As were all the last dozen or so. There was no reason to have six omegas from all over the country—and even some from Europe—presenting themselves to him each time.

All to find his fated mate.

No matter what, it was clear. The pater of his future pups was now present in the Great Hall. He was one of the six males naked on their hands and knees, their foreheads pressed to the cold stone floor, their asses high in the air.

The second Kai had entered the hall, his omega’s slick glands had started to express themselves. It was hard to deny the scent his future mate gave off.

His hatred for these presentation ceremonies burned within him like the heat of a thousand suns. How insulting to be an omega from a good family and be forced to be on display in front of many, many other males in the hall and postulating in front of the reigning King of the North.

His sire, King Solomon.

The ruling Selkie male loved this pomp and circumstance. Kai despised it.

His father sat on his throne at the head of the hall, wearing not only his damn crown, but holding his scepter.

His freaking scepter.

But like it’d been told to Kai countless times before, it was all for the good of the race.

Sure.

Being the oldest son of five, he was next in line for the throne.

Not that he wanted it, because he didn’t.

Not that he had a choice. He certainly didn’t.

Just like he wouldn’t have a choice in choosing his future mate. That would be chosen for him due to the fates. An omega he’d have to spend the rest of his life with, who would sit by his side if and when Kai ever reigned the kingdom, and who would bear his pups.

No, Kai’s body would decide that.

So, he had no choice. None. And neither did his omega.

Kai hoped he at least found his bonded mate easy on the eyes, and somewhat intelligent. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to tolerate being tied to a male Kai couldn’t bear to look at, breed with, or even have a decent conversation with.

That would seem like eternal torture.

Kai’s nostrils flared as the sweet, luring scent of his bonded mate became stronger. His cock was now more painful than ever.

He didn’t think he’d ever gotten this hard with any of his beta or human lovers.

“Son, come forward,” his father’s deep voice encouraged. Hell, demanded.

Kai frowned at all the formality. The Royal Guards lined both sides of the hall, leaving him a clear path to the throne, the “presentation,” and his four brothers. Two stood on one side of their father, two on the other.

They looked as uncomfortable as Kai felt and Zale was giving him an intense stare that read, “Hurry up and choose, so we all can get the bloody hell out of here.”

Kai understood that sentiment well.

With a sigh, Kai moved forward, his eyes traveling over the bare asses being presented for everyone to see.

Thanks be to Poseidon, he was grateful that he was not an omega.

About the Author:

J.J. Masters is the alter-ego of a USA Today bestselling author who writes hot, gay romance filled with heart, humor and heat. J.J. became fascinated with mpreg romance as soon as she figured out what mpreg stood for. She loves to write about “knotty” men!

You can join JJ’s FB Group HERE, or her newsletter HERE, to keep up with exclusive content and news.

 

 

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7 min read

 

 

 

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Blurb

Sam

Since the moment I laid eyes on her I’ve wanted her.

But I wasn’t ready.

The kids were my world and my wounds were still raw.

For six months, I watched her from afar. Dreamed of her, lusted after her, fantasized…

But all that’s about to change. I’m finally ready to take the plunge and start dating again. And now that I know she’s single, I’m going to do this right and win Harper. I want her mind, I want her body, I want her heart.

And when she gives me all access, no limits, I know she’s the one for me.

 

Harper

He’s the one we all call Hot Dad at playgroup. The one who makes my knees weak and my panties wet every time he walks through the door. We all eye-fuck the bejesus out of him, and dream of his tongue between our legs.

But my kid is my world, and I’m a frumpy mom with a hole in the bum of her yoga pants. What could he ever see in me? So when Sam calls out of the blue, I’m stunned.

Now if only the kids can stop cock-blocking us, and his psycho ex would go away.

He’s turned out to be a master Dom and I’m willing and eager to be taught how to be the perfect little submissive.

 

 

Dirty Excerpt


Sam

 

I grabbed her by the elbows and hauled her arms over her head, pinning her hands into the pillows with one of mine. I held her there and gazed down. Pink bloomed on her cheeks and hunger swirled in her eyes. One hard kiss on her lips, and I dipped my head again and tugged a nipple into my mouth. Gently, but not without pressure, I scissored my teeth back and forth across her flesh. She sucked in air as she wriggled beneath me. Soft and feminine whimpers escaped her as I continued on with my torture. I kept her in place and worshiped her body with my mouth. Kisses and nibbles, licks and pecks. I raked my teeth across her ribs and under the gentle swell of her breasts until she bowed her back, shut her eyes, clenched her jaw and let out a growl of frustration as her hips pressed up to meet mine. I pulled away, lingering just above her.

“Too slow and gentle for your liking?”

“Yes,” she panted. “Sam … we’ve been cock-blocked so much, don’t waste time. You never know when Carly is going to wake up.”

She had a point. But I didn’t want it to all be over, either.

“Please, sir … fuck me?” She fluttered those damn eyelashes at me like some sexy little schoolgirl, and my cock grew longer and thicker against my stomach. I glanced down between us, and a drop of pre-cum beaded on the head of my dick. She followed my gaze. “Can I lick it off?”

Oh hell yes. Releasing her hands, I pulled her up so she was sitting. I leaned back on my heels and grabbed the base of my shaft.

“Suck it, baby. Suck it hard. I’ve thought of nothing but your lips wrapped around my cock since our phone sex date. I want to feel the real thing.”

With big wide doll eyes, she parted her lips, taking me to the back of her throat. And then she started to hum.

Humming!

The woman was fucking humming.

Oh dear lord.

My hands moved of their own volition, and my fingers entwined with the short tendrils of her soft hair. I pulled on her scalp, tugging her harder and deeper onto me, loving the vibrations and the way my cock felt in her hot little mouth.

With one hand she stroked me, root to her lips, but she never took me out of her mouth. Never. I was always in that decadent heat. Whether it be the whole seven inches or just the tip, she never let me go. Her other hand came up as she squeezed and tugged on my sac, rolling my aching balls around in her palm, giving them a little yank every now and then just to keep me on my toes.

I was close in a matter of minutes, but I didn’t want it to end. Watching Harper’s head bob up and down in my lap was so damn hot. I’d go to bed every night for the coming week with the image emblazoned on the back of my eyelids. I tapped her head.

“I-I’m close, baby.”

The humming grew louder. She tugged down harder on my scrotum and picked up her pace. When she brought me out and just left in the tip, her tongue darted back and forth over the head before wedging its way into the little hole. Jesus fucking Christ, the woman was a sorceress. Her eyes were closed as she powered forward until I knocked her tonsils, but she didn’t gag, she just kept going. A beautiful lone tear slipped down the side of her cheek, and I wiped it away with my thumb.

“Look at me,” I demanded. I wanted her to watch me come. Even if I shut my eyes and tossed my head back, I wanted her to watch the kind of pleasure she wielded.

Her eyes flashed open, and she looked up at me. Fuck, she was beautiful, and with my cock in her mouth she was goddamn stunning.

“I’m going to come so hard, baby. You sure about this?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed.

Her tongue coiled around my length, and she let me bottom out. I exploded.

 

It’d been ages since I’d gotten a blow job, but even with the distant memories foggy in my brain, this one took the cake. It wasn’t that her mouth was just that talented, or her diligence endless and her tongue magical, it was those big brown bedroom eyes gazing up at me as I spilled myself inside her mouth and she swallowed me down. The convulsions of her throat swallowing, milking me, only heightened the pleasure. I squeezed my eyes shut, tossed my head back and groaned, pulling on the roots of her hair and bucking into her face. But she took it all. Watched it all.

 

 

 

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9 min read

Tempting Him (An Obsessed Novella)

By Jeanne St. James

Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance, BDSM

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Blurb:

It’s not just a love story, it’s an obsession…

Skylar:

Every time my neighbor jogs past my house, I do my best to tempt him. Washing my car, watering my lawn, doing yoga in the grass with all my assets in the air. I’m not sure if he notices me, but I sure can’t miss him.

Then one day he falls… into my arms and into my bed. Surprisingly, we’re better matched than I would’ve expected. But when he reveals who he is, my world comes crashing down around me because if he finds out my secret we’re finished before we’ve even begun.

Cade:

Three days a week, I put myself through hell by jogging through my neighborhood. I suffer through it simply to catch a glimpse of a woman I don’t know. Every time I pass her house she’s outside tempting me. Until one day I fall… over my feet, over my heart, over this woman and into her arms.

I know nothing about her, but I want to discover everything. Even her deepest, darkest secrets. However, little does she know, I have one, too. One that may sever the tie that binds us.

 

[image error]

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Skylar:

I watch as sweat drips one bead at a time onto my over-priced yoga mat. The sun is so freaking hot and here I am, like an idiot out in my yard, bent over in the downward facing dog pose for the past million years. Okay, not years… maybe more like a million seconds. But my body has decided it hates me (nothing new) and is

cramping while my head spins. Even better, my over-priced yoga pants have clawed their way up my crack (as well as one other place). And still…

No neighbor.

What the hell?

Despite my eyeballs’ attempt at bulging out of their sockets, I peek at my sports watch. He should’ve been by here two-point-five minutes ago.

Shit.

The man is usually like clockwork, jogging by my house on Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoons every week. For the most part, anyway. Though, thunderstorms seem to discourage him from his cardio. (Not sure why.)

On those days, I would be willing to recommend another type of cardio to get his heart pumping. And maybe get his hips pumping, too.

Anyway… look at me! Doing yoga on my front lawn, on the uneven grass, waiting like a desperate woman. (I’m not, really, I promise! It just looks that way.)

But, damn, the man is fine and when he jogs past shirtless, he’s shiny with sweat, which makes me want to drag him inside and give him a sponge bath with my tongue.

My thighs start shaking as I peek between my spread legs, because, of course, my ass has to be facing the street. I want him to get a good look at what I’m offering.

I may even wiggle it a little when he jogs by.

That is if I don’t pass out into a heap first.

I sigh.

Then sigh again a little louder just for good measure.

Maybe it would be easier if I just took up jogging. Wear one of those sexy sports bras, put my hair up in a cute little pony tail, plaster a smile on my face and follow him around the block at a perky pace.

I’ll die first.

****

Cade:

Why I ever started this shit, I’ll never know. No, I lie. I know. I thought, “Cade, dude, wouldn’t it be great to up your cardio game and start running?”

I answered myself with, “Yeah, man, that would be great and fun, too!” And then maybe I won’t get so winded when I play basketball with the guys. I’ll have more endurance, I’ll look and feel younger, and…

Fuck that.

Running sucks. And I don’t even think what I do can be considered as running. No, it’s more of a jog. Or a lope. Or trotting like a donkey with a lame hoof.

Inhell. Exhell.

My chest burns, my leg muscles spasm, my balls feel like they’re floating in a puddle of sweat, and the crack of my ass…

I’m not even going there. (Trust me, you don’t want to, either.)

So, why don’t I just stop the torture? (Good question!)

I’ve asked myself that for the past month.

And the answer has always been…

Her.

I sacrifice three days a week just to see a woman I don’t know.

Not sure why, but she always seems to be outside at the same time of the day. For that reason, I make sure that’s when I go running (jogging, trotting, limping) by.

Am I crazy to torture myself because I find someone attractive and I’d like to get her attention?

Eh. Maybe.

Why don’t I just knock on her door and ask her out? (Another good question.)

Maybe I want to impress her with my physique and athletic prowess.

But honestly, something has to give and it has to be soon. Because this running shit sucks balls and I’d rather stick razor blades under my fingernails.

At least my slow trot is the right speed to observe her without being creepy. Walking would be too slow and obvious. Driving too quick and useless, not to mention dangerous when she’s clearly a distraction.

And, of course, my pace always allows me enough time to enjoy the show she gives me.

On Wednesday, she was out washing her car, her top soaked, her nipples pushing through the thin fabric of her shirt, and when she bent over to scrub the hood of said car, my boner just about popped out of my shorts. You know, those little nylon running shorts. The ones with the mesh liner, clearly not made for sexual arousal.

But I digress.

The week before, she was out watering her lawn. And, once again, her top was wetter than her grass.

Here’s the thing, the entire neighborhood has built-in sprinklers.

Maybe hers are broken.

It’s possible.

I grunt as I turn the corner and try to push myself a little faster since I’m off my game today. I’m later than normal, and I want my running to look as effortless as possible. It needs to look as though I’ve got my shit together and I’m not secretly suffering.

My eyes swing to the left as I jog. She’s the fourth house up. The brick ranch home with the two-car garage.

Two houses to go yet.

One house.

My eyes widen as I see her ass in tight black yoga pants in the air. My step stutters but I can’t stop my momentum.

My mouth becomes an O, partly because I’m falling over my own two feet, the other because she’s dropped to her knees and is now arching backwards grabbing onto her heels, her generous tits straining against her top.

Last thing I see is her blinking upside down at me as her head hangs down her back.

Suddenly, I’m staring at nothing but pavement (and my loss of manhood). The little bit of oxygen I had sucked into my lungs is now gone.

Then, what seems like seconds later, bare, cute, red painted toes come into view.

I want to just die.

 

About the Author:

JEANNE ST. JAMES is a USA Today bestselling erotic romance author who loves an alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing. Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book HERE.

To keep up with her busy release schedule check her WEBSITE or sign up for her NEWSLETTER.

 

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5 min read

For the first time EVER, get Wicked Game on Amazon for ONLY 99¢ or FREE in KU!
Be sure to add to your TBR!

Blurb:



Kara Smith is stressed to the max. She’s close to losing the bar she inherited from her grandfather, she’s exhausted from taking care of her alcoholic father, and to top things off, she’s losing precious clientele to a new nightclub in Houston. She’s so desperate, she’s actually considering the insane proposition her best friend, Trevor Black, has made. Marry him, and he’ll make sure she keeps her bar.

William Richardson is the son of Carl Jones, as in the Carl Jones…the owner of many of the amazing nightclubs in Houston. Carl has come up with his best idea yet, if only he can get Kara to sell her bar. If William can make sure this happens, he’ll be handed over his father’s empire. And hey, William and Kara can’t stand each other, so it should be easy, right?

But after an intensely steamy night where they set aside their feud and bond in the most erotic of ways, will he still be able to convince her to let go of her bar? Will he even want to?

Excerpt:

William didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the invitation. He delved into her mouth, her tongue hot and wet, and he could barely contain a groan as it slid against his. He placed his hand in her hair and tilted her head back, deepening the kiss. his other hand fell just below her belly button, and as his fingers flirted with the top of her shorts, he knew he’d die if he didn’t’ get his mouth on what lay beneath them. “Can I taste you?”

Kara quickly nodded and began to fidget with her button and zipper.

He smiled against her mouth, then licked the seam of her lips before pulling the bottom one between his teeth. He walked her backward until she stood against the bar. He moved her shaking hands and unzipped her shorts, but before he could tug them down, she reached down and stopped him.

“Wait, I forgot something. We can’t do this right now.” Her face was flushed and her breathing ragged, her heaving chest pushing her breasts against her shirt.

“Why the fuck not?” he asked.

“I…” Kara looked around, clearly embarrassed about something. What could be so terrible they’d have to stop was beyond him. “I didn’t shave.”

William couldn’t help but chuckle; like a little hair would stop him from feasting on that gorgeous pussy. Her gorgeous pussy. He leaned in and kissed her again, swallowing her moan as he reached inside her shorts and panties and plunged his fingers deep inside her wet heat. “It feels perfect to me, baby. Do you usually shave it all?” Kara nodded as she rocked herself forward and backward against his hand. “Well…don’t. I like a little texture on my tongue.”

Kara clearly liked what she heard because she curled her fingers into his hair and kissed him, hard. Her lips smashed against his as she sucked his tongue into her mouth, twirling her own tongue around his.

He pulled away from her and ripped her shirt over her head, then pulled her bra cups down so her tits spilled out over the top. He leaned in and latched on to one nipple, biting into it with just enough pressure to have her gasping above him. He dropped to his knees and pulled her shorts and panties down her legs, quickly helped her step out of them, and then threw them to the side. He allowed his nose to travel up her leg and thigh, inhaling her decadent scent. Holy fuuuck. Her pussy was perfect. A small thatch of hair covered the top, and her musky arousal made his dick pule almost unbearably. When he couldn’t take another second of torture, he leaned in and took one long, slow, deep lick into her folds.

Kara moaned above him, her fingers curled in his hair, arching her back as she pushed her sex against his mouth. This wouldn’t work. He wanted more. He wanted to see her spread out for him. Above him, where he could watch every time she clenched her pussy in ecstasy.

She cried out when he pulled away from her. He tongued up her stomach, in between her breasts, then around her neck. “Stay there,” he instructed, panting from his own desire. He quickly grabbed one of the stepstools they’d used while painting and brought it next to her. “Turn around, put one foot on the stepstool, then place your other knee on top of the bar.”

Kara’s face was uncertain, but she did as he said, tentatively placing one foot on the stool, then after a quick glance over her shoulder at him, placed her knee on the bar.

“Now, put your hands on the bar and bend forward. And Kara…stick that perfect ass out for me. While I have you in front of me I was to see every single inch of you.”

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