Friday, June 22, 2018

Out Now! Preacher (Dixie Reapers MC #4.5) by Harley Wylde @ChangelingPress

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My twin brother, Johnny, practically disappeared when he started prospecting for the Dixie Reapers, and if I wanted to see him, then it meant going to the compound. I’d never been inside the clubhouse, wasn’t supposed to go there, but sometimes the devil on my shoulder prods me into doing things I shouldn’t. Johnny made it sound like there were drugs being snorted left and right and orgies, but that wasn’t what I found that night.
I never expected to fall for a heartbroken man I could never have, a man much older than me. But that night, Preacher took me in his arms, claimed my virginity with a passion that left me seeing stars, and I knew that I’d made the right decision. Even if it did come back to bite me in the ass two months later. When I’d walked through the door that night, I’d never counted on being fucked by a super hot biker, and I definitely didn’t expect to end up pregnant!
When I lost my family, before even prospecting for the Dixie Reapers, I’d closed off my heart and vowed to never let another woman in. A quick fuck here and there with the club pussy kept me sane, but no one would ever mean anything to me. Then the most tempting woman I’ve ever met gave me a night I knew I’d always remember, right before she disappeared.
When she turns up two months later, I find her in the arms of one of the prospects. Fury hits me first, then she knocks me on my ass when she tells me she’s pregnant. With my kid. I turned away from god all those years ago, gave up being a minister and signed my life over to the Dixie Reapers. I don’t know that I believe in a higher power anymore, but maybe it’s time I start praying again. Because giving this woman everything she needs, being the man she deserves, is going to take one hell of a miracle.


Now available at:

Changeling Press, B&N, Amazon, iTunes, and Kobo

Read an Excerpt before buying...

I wasn’t supposed to be here. Johnny had warned me away, telling me that the compound was no place for a girl like me. I nearly snapped his head off and reminded him I was a grown-ass woman and not some child. He was all of two minutes older than me, but acted like he was thirty and not nineteen. My twin brother was a pain in the damn ass, but I missed him. We’d done everything together, until he’d decided to prospect for the Dixie Reapers, then overnight, he was gone. All of his time was tied up with club business, and he no longer came home to visit. He’d walked away from me, and it hurt like hell, especially since he damn well knew what life was like at home.
I didn’t have a car, and walking all the way to the compound hadn’t been fun, but as I approached the gates, I felt my stomach twist and turn. I’d met a few of the prospects from the times I’d shown up to see Johnny, but I’d never met the patched members, and Johnny wanted to keep it that way. He’d told me that what went on in the clubhouse wasn’t something I ever wanted to be a part of, and I’d avoided the place all this time, but as I heard the music blasting from inside I wondered if the temptation would be too great.
The hem of my denim skirt rode up and I tugged it back down as I neared the gate. The prospect on the other side was one I’d met once or twice. He always leered at me and gave me the creeps, but so far he’d kept his hands to himself. His gaze caressed me in a way that suggested he’d like to do far more than look, and I tried to hold back my shiver of revulsion at the mere thought of his hands on me. It wasn’t that he was bad looking, but he definitely gave off a creeper vibe.
“You here to see Johnny?” he asked.
“Yeah. Thought I’d surprise him.”
“Oh, he’ll be surprised all right. He’s inside,” the prospect said, tipping his head toward the clubhouse. “But then, you aren’t allowed in there are you? Too pristine for a place like that.”
“I’m not pristine,” I snapped.
I might be a virgin in the strictest sense, but I was far from angelic. I’d never technically had sex, even though I’d given a few blow jobs and fooled around, but I’d used my trusty vibrator to take care of my virginity. I’d heard it would hurt, and no way was I trusting a guy with something like that. Especially not since the guys I knew were selfish and fumbling. No finesse whatsoever.
“Just remember that you were warned.” The gate slid open and he motioned toward the clubhouse. “Enter at your own risk.”
That sounded like something the creepy guy in horror movies says right before the heroine does something incredibly stupid, like enter a house full of mass murderers, or choose the darkened pathway filled with deformed, dying trees instead of the brightly lit path. This was just a clubhouse full of bikers, one of which was my brother. How bad could it be?
I stepped through the gate and made my way across the lot to the building with Dixie Reapers across the top in neon, and slowly climbed the steps. The noise from inside was even louder now, and I pushed open the doors, not sure what to expect. The way my brother talked, I half-expected naked women and orgies going on out in the open. My gaze scanned the room, but I didn’t see my brother -- or any orgies. The place was packed wall to wall with men and women in leather cuts with Dixie Reapers stitched across the back. Other than some smoking and drinking, I didn’t see anything wild going on. Not that those things were wild, but to hear Johnny tell it, all kinds of shit went down in here. They just looked like your average group of adults having a nice time.
No one paid me any attention as I moved further into the room, but the fact I was the only one not sporting one of those leather cuts made me feel a little out of place. At least I’d worn my black top and not the red one I’d picked up first. Still, I didn’t exactly blend, even if some of the women present looked to be my age or close to it. I’d learned enough from Johnny to guess those were the old ladies. He seemed rather fond of the President’s woman, and I wondered if I’d ever get a chance to meet her. To hear Johnny tell it, the woman was up for sainthood. I didn’t think anyone could ever be that perfect.
At the end of the bar, a man sat alone, a line of shot glasses in front of him, and an old worn Bible nearby. I hadn’t taken the club for being religious, but then this man didn’t seem quite like the others. He wore the same cut as everyone else, but as I studied him, I realized he was more somber. There was almost a haunted look to him, as if he were trying to drown his demons in whiskey, or whatever he was drinking. I felt this pull, as if I were supposed to get closer to him.
Slowly, I made my way across the room and slid onto the stool next to his. He didn’t even so much as glance my way, but I could tell from the way his mouth tensed that he was more than aware of my presence, and didn’t seem to care for it. I didn’t know what he was trying to run from, and it was honestly none of my business, but I’d found that sometimes people just needed to be reminded they weren’t as alone as they thought. Despite the fact the room was full of people, not a single one had come to sit by him. Maybe he’d chased them off, or maybe they left him alone because of the vibe he was putting out. Neither was going to deter me. Someone as sexy as him shouldn’t be drowning their sorrows. Not alone anyway.
The guy behind the bar came over, a swagger to his step and a cocky smile on his face. His cut said Prospect, but thankfully he wasn’t someone I knew. The minute my brother found out I was here, he’d likely escort me back to the gate and send me home, which was the last place I wanted to be. The guy leaned on the bar, his arms folded so that his biceps bulged. I assumed I was supposed to be impressed, but he looked just like every other asshole in my neighborhood who wanted in my pants. Not happening, buddy.
“What can I get for you, beautiful?” he asked, his lips tipping up on one side that I supposed most would find sexy. It wasn’t making me drop my panties, that was for sure. I was completely immune to guys like this one.
“Rum and coke,” I said.
The guy next to me snorted.
“What?” I asked, turning my attention his way.
When his gaze clashed with mine, the breath in my lungs froze. Dark hair and a close-cropped beard were sexy enough, but damn… the man’s eyes were truly a thing of beauty. I saw blues, greens, golds. Maybe even a hint of gray. Those were the kind of eyes a woman could lost in, the kind of eyes that would make her do something really stupid.
“You ever actually had a rum and coke?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth.
He smiled a little. Not a full out smile, and not even a smirk. It was almost like his lips had turned up without his permission because it was gone almost as fast as it happened.
“Why don’t you give her a sex on the beach?” the guy next to me said.
The Prospect leered at me. “Oh, I’d be delighted.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Just the drink, thanks.”
I could tell he wanted to say something, but he refrained, walking off to fix my drink. I focused on the guy sitting next to me again, and noticed his cut said Preacher. Since he had a Bible nearby, I wondered if that’s how he’d gotten the name. I didn’t think an actual preacher would be sitting here drinking alcohol. But then, I didn’t really know any religious types.
“I’m Kayla,” I said.
He went back to looking at his shot glasses, which were empty now. Now that he’d spoken to me, no way was I letting him go back to his brooding silence. He was probably older than I’d first thought, but that only made me curious. I was used to guys my age, who didn’t know what the hell they were doing. But a guy like him? I was willing to bet that he knew exactly how to treat a woman, both in and out of the bedroom.
“Why aren’t you partying with everyone else?” I asked.
“Weddings aren’t really something I like to celebrate,” he said.
“Don’t believe in marriage?”
He held up his left hand, a gold band on his ring finger. “Already met my one and only. And someday I’ll get to see her again.”
See her again?
“Did she move?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He glanced my way. “To heaven.”
Way to put your foot in your mouth, Kayla.
About Harley Wylde...


When Harley is writing, her motto is the hotter the better. Off the charts sex, commanding men, and the women who can't deny them. If you want men who talk dirty, are sexy as hell, and take what they want, then you've come to the right place.
Harley Wylde is the "wilder" side of award-winning author Jessica Coulter Smith. Visit Jessica's website at or Harley's website at


Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Down and Dirty (Sanctuary 2) #CoverReveal #Gay #Shifters @SirenBookstrand

I’m excited to show off my new cover for Down and Dirty, coming in July from SirenBookstrand. Thank you Harris Channing for the awesome artwork.  

And here’s a snippet to whet your appetite.

Bear shifter, Luke Reed is still licking his wounds after a bad breakup. Ally would have made a perfect wife, but their relationship was missing the passion. Now Luke’s sex dreams are getting raunchier, and his costar is always a man. The man’s face is hidden, but when Sam Harper shows up in Sanctuary, there’s no mistaking his body. But Sam makes a play for Luke’s ex-girlfriend and Luke is consumed with jealousy. He can’t decide if he’s more jealous over Ally or Sam.

Happy Reading!


Monday, June 18, 2018

Out Now—Shopping for A Billionaire’s Baby (Book 13 in the Shopping series) by Julia Kent #Comedy #Romance


You know what's even better than marrying a billionaire? Having his baby.

We're ready. We've studied and planned, read all the birth and labor books, researched parenting classes, consulted our schedules, and it's time.

And by we I mean me.

Declan's just ready for the "have lots of sex" part. More than ready.

But there's just one problem: my husband and his brother have this little obsession with competition.

And by little, I mean stupid.

That's right.

We're not just about to try to bring a new human being into the world.

We have to do it better, Faster, Stronger.


McCormick men don't just have babies.

They engage in competitive billionaire Babythons.

I thought the hardest part about getting pregnant would be dealing with my grandchild-crazed mother, who will go nuts shopping for a billionaire's baby.


Between conception issues, my mother's desire to talk to the baby through a hoo-haw cam, a childbirth class led by a drill sergeant and a father-in-law determined to sign the kid up for prep school before Declan even pulls out, my pregnancy has turned out to be one ordeal after the other.

But it's nothing -- nothing -- compared to the actual birth.

Shopping for a Billionaire's Baby is the newest book in Julia Kent's New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series and is a 400+ page full-length novel.


“This conception stuff has you thinking. Philosophically, I mean,” Andrew notes, suddenly paying close attention to me.

“Of course. It’s powerful.”

“How? It’s just sex.”

I snort. “I thought so, too. Until I had sex where I tried to get her pregnant on purpose.”

Vince, Gerald, and Andrew all take a step closer to me.

“Bareback,” Vince whispers, like the word itself is holy.

Buy links:


Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.


Saturday, June 16, 2018

Capital Offense by J.R. Gray (Bound Series) #Gay #BDSM @EvernightPub

Title: Capital Offense

Series: Bound

All good things must come to an end.

George is trying to hold his world together, but it’s crumbling and he doesn’t know who he’s even fighting anymore. All the people he loves are suffering because of him.

Jesse is shattering because he can’t provide what George needs.

Elliot is broken perhaps beyond repair.

Zac is ruined by his own doing and isn’t fit to be what Elliot needs him to be.

There is no soothing light at the end of this tunnel. The reckoning is coming and not even George can protect them from the monster of his past. They are splintering, trying to avoid the flames, but they must come together or become ashes. 

George picked up the container of sterile needles he’d been saving so Jesse could see them. “This will be a little like a tattoo.”
“Oh God. You’re so close to my dick.”
“If you hold perfectly still there is a good chance none will even come close to your cock, unless of course you want me to pierce it for you.”
Jesse picked up his head. “Can you do that?”
He pursed his lips. “I’m going to think about that one.”
“Don’t think on it too long.”
“Why not?” Jesse laid his head back down and let his arms go limp.
“Because if I don’t get an answer, I’m going to assume you approve.”
Jesse’s eyes shot back open. “You know what they say about assuming?”
“That it’s a perfectly acceptable thing for a dominant to do when his submissive is gagged?”
“But I’m not gagged…”
“You easily can be.” George pulled the pink ball gag halfway out of his pocket so Jesse could see it.
“I think I’ll wait on the piercing until we both discuss the pros and cons, Sir,” Jesse said as politely as George had ever heard come out of his mouth.
“Acceptable,” George said as he pushed the first needle into the tender skin on Jesse’s inner thigh.
“Holy fuck. Getting a tattoo there would be a whole lot different than on my neck.”
“If you can make it to fifty needles there will be a reward.”
“God help me.”
“You’re going to need it.”

Author Bio: When not staying up all night writing, J.R. Gray can be found at the gym where it's half assumed he is a permanent resident to fulfill his self-inflicted masochism. A dominant and a pilot, Gray finds it hard to be in the passenger seat of any car. He frequently interrupts real life, including normal sleep patterns and conversations, to jot down notes or plot bunnies. Commas are the bane of his existence even though it's been fully acknowledged they are necessary, they continue to baffle and bewilder. If Gray wasn't writing…well, that's not possible. The buildup of untold stories would haunt Gray into an early grave, insanity or both. The idea of haunting has always appealed to him. J.R. Gray is genderqueer and prefers he/him pronouns.


Buy the book:


Friday, June 15, 2018

The Black Hand by Jonathan Dunne #Mystery @Tirgearr ‏

Thank you so much for inviting me on your blog. I’m happy to tell you a little of what I’ve been writing lately.

Time and time again we meet the burnout degenerate cop with a heart of gold. In my novel, Curtis Jackson is a perfectly loving husband with a penchant for junk food and a wife he adores. Is he perfect? Nope! He regularly assaults convicts, breaks their limbs and will resort to violence without a moment’s Blurred Lines of cops and criminals. The Black Hand at it’s heart is a mystery. However, intertwined in the story – as always – is the moral compass in the form of law enforcement.

Buckley is up against a tactical mastermind and a criminal genius. Where Jacob kills with stealth, Curtis uses a bulldozer. The Black Hand is a secretive mercenary with lairs of planning within every move and Curtis is a wrecking ball – smashing and maiming as he goes.

Believe me, anybody that thinks the police are ‘holier than thou’ is very much mistaken. The criminal environment can be all encompassing and to catch a criminal you must think like one. Buckley is from the streets as most of his prey. His back story is one of bullying and victimisation at the hands of local criminals. In some areas of Dublin, the very notion of a local joining the police force is heresy. Law enforcement are the enemy and Curtis Buckley embraces his stigma with glee.

It is the policeman’s tenacity that makes him formidable – he is the long-distance runner who will die before he stops. Curtis understands the violence. He has a sense of the streets and subtle shifts in power as the criminal’s fight for control. He even respects some of the killers because he understands they world they inhabit, and he is also desensitised to the violence of this dark world.

Here’s an extract from the book;
Excerpt from The Black Hand.
The house was empty when he arrived, and he poured himself a cold glass of coke before heading for the basement. His tools were there, and he needed to add a layer of sponge to the handles of his crutches.
Buckley was awkwardly cutting the tape with a blade when he heard the shuffle behind him. 
‘Are you looking for me?’ asked Jacob.
In a flash, Buckley had the blade at his throat. ‘My fucking home? You know the rules motherfucker!’
‘Your limp has deserted you,’ replied Jacob.
‘My home?’
‘You’re being tailed. I had no choice.’
‘You know what I do to criminals who break the rules,’ stated Buckley.
‘If it makes you feel better, go ahead.’
They were millimetres from each other. Neither man seemed perturbed when the blade drew blood. 
‘I should butcher you.’
‘I'll be butchered eventually. It’s all a question of timing, Buckley.’
There was nothing behind Jacob’s eyes. No fear, no joy, no warmth, and no consideration for the danger he faced. Buckley had his left hand wrapped around Jacob’s neck and his left pressed the blade against the jugular. He could feel Jacob’s pulse; it was steady.
‘I'm bringing you in, Jacob,’ he replied, as he dropped the blade.
‘Yes, you are…but not yet.’
‘I won't let you kill again.’
‘I've no intentions of killing again. I’m beaten,’ said Jacob. ‘Let me get my affairs in order and I’ll meet you here in three days.’
Buckley considered the response for several minutes before replying. ‘Do you want a sandwich?’ he asked.
‘I’d love one. Do you have coffee?’
‘I do. C’mon to the kitchen. We’ll have a proper chat.’
‘Do you want a hand up the stairs?’ offered Jacob.
‘Do you want a kick in the bollix?’
‘With the good or bad leg?’
‘You’re very chirpy for a man looking at life in prison.’
Buckley had known Jacob all his life. There were no games being played. It wasn’t his style. The man would lay out his plans and agree a timeframe. Most of the police force held a grudging respect for the criminal. He was never vulgar. Jacob always came quietly, and if they were straight with him, it was reciprocated. Not once had he skipped bail, and even though they had assaulted him many times, he always kept quiet.
At one time, it had got to the stage where police raids were carried out with a knock on the door and a quiet word. Jacob came along quietly every time, and his wife even put on a pot of tea for the officers when they arrived.
In Jacob’s mind, it paid to be civil. Most coppers didn’t want the hassle, and integrity – in a perverted way – could be maintained between both parties. Not once had they heard him raise his voice. Some prisoners fought, defecated, and hurled abuse at the coppers, but Jacob never saw the point of it.
So, when he arrived at Curtis Buckley’s house, they both knew a binding agreement was being struck.
Buckley put on a pot of coffee before cutting large slices of white bread and even larger slabs of ham. He covered the bread with mayonnaise and mustard as Jacob observed two magpies perched on a tree in Buckley’s back garden. They both ate in silence as Jacob devoured the small meal. Buckley cut another generous helping and passed it over to his guest, and Jacob thanked him with a nod.
Buckley let the silence linger for a second too long before he spoke. ‘Jacob, I know you’d never intentionally harm a man’s family. You are what you are, but know this, if you ever come within twenty feet of my family or my family home again, I’ll put a bullet in your heart. That’s a cast-iron promise.’
‘Understood,’ replied Jacob. ‘My options were limited.’


In the aftermath of Ireland’s most deadly gang war, Dublin’s ruling family has scattered to the wind.

Into the void steps a criminal genius known only as The Black Hand. His organisation’s powerful grip is ruthless, bloody and barbaric.

With Europe’s biggest crime in play, The Devil needs a distraction. And The Black Hand needs Jacob Boylan to return to Irish shores. He will stop at nothing to provoke Dublin’s most lethal criminal out of hiding.

But has the wily genius misstepped? As all eyes are on Jacob, the Dublin exile carefully plans a gangland wipeout, for he is nobody’s pawn.
Buy links:

Author Bio
Jonathan Dunne is a native of Dublin’s north inner city. The Black Hand is his second novel in the crime genre. The Takeover – his first crime novel went on to wide acclaim and regularly featured in Amazon’s bestseller lists.

He is also an avid MMA journalist who has penned articles for some of Ireland’s biggest publications. He holds a Degree from the Dublin Institute of Technology and is a strong advocate of lifelong learning and education. After returning to complete his leaving certificate as an adult in Jonathan has went on to have four novels published.


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