Devil's Man by Kira Stone #LGBTQ+ #DarkRomantasy @ChangelingPress

LGBTQ+ Dark Romantasy

Date Published: April 10, 2026

Research at Loveland College has never been quite so productive...

Devil's Man: Roman vows to have Carter, a reclusive professor, one way or another. Roman's devilish scheme to seduce Carter succeeds, to the great pleasure of all involved, but their tryst ends with dire consequences. To stay alive, Roman and Carter will have to face their deepest fears.

Between the Covers: Leah has to discover why Loveland College students are obsessed with having sex in her section of the college library. Leah turns to Sam, a Campus Security Detective, for expert advice. Together they seek the truth... Between the Covers.

Mayan Destiny: Professor Patrice Valez dreams of Mayan ruins and gods of old. When she wins a grant to study an obscure Mayan temple, she's stunned, and not entirely happy, to discover her Mayan obsession has a purpose -- and a price.

Bump in the Night -- "Department of Paranormal Research." Wade's colleagues laugh at the title on his office door. But if he can debunk the ghosts of the famed Hoag Mansion, he'll finally start getting the recognition he deserves. What he finds instead are things that go bump in the night...

EXCERPT

"Over here."

There was an impatient huff before a woman said, "I thought you said you knew where it was."

Leah Spencer paused in the act of replacing a book into its proper Dewey decimal order on the shelf. She looked around but didn't see anyone. Still, the sounds of heavy breathing were coming from a nearby location.

"I do. It's right here." Teeth of a zipper were parted.

"That is not what I'm looking for." This time instead of sounding aggrieved, the female's voice dripped with amusement.

Oh, crap. Not again. Her section of the library had to be the hottest make out spot on campus lately.

"Suck me," a male voice hissed.

"Like this?"

"Oh, yeah. That's it."

He started to moan. Wet sounds slipped between the logically ordered tomes to reach Leah's ears. Her face heated, and so did her feminine core.

"Lick it."

Apparently his lover complied because inarticulate encouragement ensued. Leah considered peeking around the spines to catch a glimpse of their faces so she could give a description to campus security, but as soon as she moved, the book in her hands rasped against the ones on the shelf at her waist.

"What was that?" the woman asked, suspicious.

Leah froze, her heart beating frantically at the thought of being discovered. It would certainly get her fired if the administration learned she'd been listening to, rather than interrupting, the copulating couple. Assuming, of course, that she survived the humiliation of being labeled a sexual voyeur.

"It's nothing. Ignore it," her partner replied.

"I really think --"

He cut her off. "No one ever comes up here. No one except people like us. Might get crowded, but we're not going to get in trouble."

His partner seemed reassured by his explanation. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Safe for the moment, Leah carefully stepped out of her shoes so her feet wouldn't make a sound as she dashed down the main corridor, away from the action. Once she'd reached her miniscule office, she picked up the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.

"It's happening again," Leah said as soon as Campus Security Detective Samuel Zheng answered.

"Damn. That makes the fourth time today."

The husky tenor of his voice jumpstarted the lust already simmering in her veins. Leah wished she were brave enough to intimately touch herself during one of these conversations. So far, she hadn't dared. But to come to the sound of his voice, to be that close to him whether he knew it or not, would be... would be... pathetic.

"Leah?"

She sighed, dismissing the fantasy and zeroing in on reality. "Yeah, I'm here."

"I'm on my way. Don't let them leave."

Right, she thought as the dial tone echoed in her ear. Even if Sam ran the whole way, it would take him ten minutes to arrive. She was a five-foot-nothing couch potato. How was she supposed to restrain two healthy adults if they were determined to go? Keep them riveted with a discourse on the finer points of fellatio?

Assuming they hadn't already left, she'd have to stay where she could monitor them. Listening to their passionate directives. Picturing them...

Enough!

As quietly as she could, Leah tiptoed back to her hiding place. Again, somehow she betrayed her presence. Damn Sam for asking her to do his job!

"There's another noise," the woman hissed. "Someone's coming."

"No one is coming but me, baby. Suck me a little harder, would ya?"

The woman chuckled softly. "Mmm, you're such a big boy. Gonna have to find something special to do for you." In the quiet, close quarters, Leah detected the rustle of fabric, followed by the snick of a bra being undone. "How about this, stud? Does it do anything for you?"

"That... is so... hot."

Images of what they might be doing flickered through Leah's mind. She closed her eyes. Their out-of-sync heavy breathing fueled the white-hot lust pulsing between her legs. She envisioned a pair of plump breasts surrounding a hard shaft, the rosy head peeking up from the deep, lily-white valley.

"Gonna let me fuck you?" the guy panted out.

"No, I want you to come like this. All over my breasts."

"Oh, yeah."

The smell of sex permeated the air. Leah's clit throbbed. She didn't want to risk moving around too much for fear of scaring them off, but she had to do something to soothe the ache in her swollen clit. Using the only option that came to mind, Leah placed a heavy tome between her legs. As quietly as possible, she ground against it so the rigid spine rode over her pussy, sending ripples of pleasure through her body.

People often teased her about getting off on books, but this was the first time she'd actually attempted it. The thought almost made her giggle, but she choked it off.

"That's it. Fuck my tits, stud."

"Gonna come," he announced.

"Do it for me. Do it now."

Leah was near the edge herself. As he grunted through his climax, Leah rubbed the book between her legs. Given the volume's size, it took both hands although she badly wished one were free to pluck at her pebbled nipples.

She'd never felt so wanton in her life. She imagined semen coating the woman's breasts, his hands rubbing it in. Her mouth licking him clean. All the while, her BOB substitute stroked her into a frenzy of wet, hot need.

"Here, let me get that." Whatever the man's offer entailed, his partner seemed to enjoy it. Her cry of pleasure triggered Leah's release. It wasn't the best orgasm of her life, but her reaction was intensified by the fact that she'd made it happen at all. In the library. Where she could have been caught at any second.

What in the hell had she been thinking?

As she pondered the depths of her recent depravity, the lights overhead dimmed for a full ten seconds, then brightened again. It signaled the five-minute warning before the staff started herding students out of Loveland College Library. Shit! Where was Sam?

About the Author

Kira Stone has been around the block…the writer’s block, that is.

From vamps and witches to historical heroes, from futuristic scientists to paranormal corporate executives, from Canadian werewolves to off-world shifters, Kira has written about them all. Manlove has sparked hot and heavy in many of her plots, but Kira also finds a lucky lady to keep the sexy heroes company from time to time. While Scotland remains her favorite place in the world, Kira is constantly in search of new adventures to add to the creative primordial ooze where her best stories are born.

 

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Lila's Journey by Jane Coletti Perry #HistoricalFiction #Giveaway

Historical Fiction

Date Published: 05-19-2024

Publisher: Mustard Seed Press

It’s 1866 on the Santa Fe Trail. Sixteen-year-old Lila Bonner is forced to make a life-changing decision that leaves her frightened and alone. With help from a kindhearted stranger, Lila reaches Council Grove, Kansas, where she hopes to build a new life. Fortified with determination, and tapping into a strength she didn't know she had, Lila deals with basic survival, Indian unrest, and an epidemic. As she develops into a wise, capable young woman, an unspeakably evil plot threatens her life as well as a blossoming romance. Her fate hangs in the balance between the person who betrayed her, the man she loves, and the woman she's become.

Excerpt from Lila’s Journey

She kept up a brisk pace through the wooded path as the sun peaked in and out of the clouds, shifting the shadows of the trees. Some of the trees had shed their leaves, but the mighty oaks still clung to theirs, and they rattled in the breeze. She kept her arms under her cloak for warmth but slowed momentarily when the sound of the rattling changed. She did a quick turnaround but saw nothing. “Must have been some critter scampering about,” she said, and picked up her pace again.

It happened so fast it scarcely registered.

Large hands overpowered her and grabbed her from behind, one covered her mouth, the other circled her waist. A surge of adrenaline triggered a painful heartbeat in her chest. She screamed through the clamped hand, but the sound was choked off. Lila struggled to free her arms from inside her cloak while she wildly kicked backwards. The harder she fought, the fiercer the grip. Lila raised her leg and shot it backwards again, this time hitting a shin. A rough voice cursed in her ear.

She was lifted off her feet and shoved against a tree, snapping the side of her head against the trunk. Pain shot through her head. Dazed, she made a feeble attempt to grab the arms. A hand slapped hard against her face. Spots danced before her eyes with the disappearing daylight, then nothing.

 

When Lila came out of the fog of unconsciousness, she found herself in darkness. She was blindfolded. She was on a horse with someone sitting behind her, someone with unspeakable body odor whose breath reeked of whiskey. What was happening? Who has done this? She had a throbbing headache, made worse with each step of the horse over the uneven ground.

Reaching for her head, she realized her hands were bound together. Why am I tied up? This makes no sense. She was a captive and there was nothing she could do to give herself any advantage. The realization sent her into a frenzy of fear, and tears swelled under her blindfold. Dear God, what am I to do?

Now fully awake, her heart pounded as she tried to clear her head. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, no idea where she was, no idea who sat behind her in the saddle. She shuddered to think who her captor was and what he had in mind.

 

About the Author

Award winning author Jane Coletti Perry’s second novel, Lila’s Journey, will be released summer 2024. Her short story “Lila’s Song” won Women Writing the West LAURA Award (2021) and is the prequel to Lila’s Journey. Her previous historical fiction novel, Marcello’s Promise (2019), was inspired by her family’s immigrant story. She loves nothing more than digging into history and discovering unique stories unless it’s bringing those stories to life through writing. An English major, Perry graduated from Iowa State University and participates in writer’s workshops, conferences, and local writing groups.

When she’s not writing, Jane is singing in a choir, exercising in some fashion, or soaking up nature from a shady spot in the yard with a good book. She and her husband live in Kansas and have two children and six grandchildren. She treasures time spent with their far-flung family and still entertains the fantasy of appearing on Dancing with the Stars for Grandmas, although the clock is ticking. . .

Jane is a member of Women Writing the West, Western Writers of America, and Wyoming Writers, Inc.

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Cressida's Sacrifice by Mikala Ash #Steampink #Romance @ChangelingPress

Steampunk Romantic Suspense

Date Published: April 10, 2026

 

 

 Clara looks for love in an alien city of lust. Can Cressida’s passion save the love of her life?

Automaton engineers Clara Wheeler and Edmund Blake travel to the moon with spiritualist Cordelia and her automaton lover, Adam, along with Home Office Agent Harry Kincaid. Clara has a suspicion their chaperones, the lusty Lunarians Pamela and Burton, are not the beautiful technologically advanced benefactors they seem. Clara fears the pair are hideous monsters, killing humans to possess their bodies.

Cressida Troy, now the Empress of Space, Nil Ilson, has sacrificed her humanity to marry the Lunarian emperor, Mon Ilson -- perhaps the most powerful witch of them all. As their visit to the lusty city progresses, both in and out of bed, Clara learns more than she wanted. She fears the experiment to open a portal to the other side risks not only the destruction of the Lunarians, but of humanity as well.

 

EXCERPT

 

I am very old, sometimes new, and my changes are looked forward to.

I am mostly silver, and occasionally wear a ruddy hue, but I am hardly ever blue.

I am brightest at night, and control the oceans with all my might.

And bless toiling farmers with my pearly light.

What am I?

Embarrassingly childish doggerel I know, but I enjoy composing riddles. They also afford a distraction from troubling thoughts. The puzzles can be complex and obtuse which I relish, or simple and obvious. The former irritates Edmund, my fellow Lovelace Protocol engineer exceedingly. He accuses me of showing off.

In the circumstances this one was far too easy to solve, and Burton Sobel, my Lunarian guide who’d become my lover, didn’t even bother saying the solution. He condescended to give me a reassuring smile as he tightened the buckle of my seat belt.

In desperate need for a more substantial diversion, I looked up into his handsome face with an obvious invitation. Taking the hint his lips quickly claimed mine with a passionate kiss. I returned it with enthusiasm, and felt instantly guilty, for I was simply using him. I needed him on my side if I was to solve the Lunarian riddle.

“Don’t be concerned,” he said after a long moment. He had mint green eyes, and his unwavering regard was disconcerting. Did he know what I was up to, I wondered. “I will look after you. I promise.”

“Thank you,” I told him, and snatched another kiss. I had to be sure I’d won him back after my beastly accusations. Though I believed them to be true, for the moment I must deny them. “You’ve been very kind. I’m quite recovered. I apologise for my wild imaginings.”

“Don’t dwell on it,” he said, and kissed me again. “It’s been a difficult few days.” He gave my hand a squeeze before pushing himself away to check on my fellow passengers.

Difficult indeed. The two automatons, Jack and Jill, my colleague Edmund Blake had been ordered to take to the Moon had broken their Lovelace Protocols and tried to kill Miss Cordelia Warrington, one of our fellow passengers.

I watched Burton glide gracefully toward the others. Like all Lunarians he was preternaturally beautiful, and that observation made me rehash my fears about them. Why did they look like us? If, as the rumours went, they came from the planet Mars, how was it they resembled humans in every respect? If Mr. Darwin was correct, that species evolved over time by accidental mutation, and the successful alteration selected by nature, how could two species separated by the gulf of space be so alike?

Not only that. Why were they so good-looking? Every Lunarian I had met, and granted that was precious few, were striking in their attractiveness. The observation was not mine alone. Even The Times declared them “diamonds of the first water -- exquisite, flawless, and as radiant as the Koh-i-Noor that graces our Sovereign’s crown.”

What aspect of impartial nature could select so handsome a race? Was that selection natural at all? I thought not.

That was not the only aspect that caused me discomfort. It was their character. Noted again by newspaper columnists who had the opportunity to meet them, the people from the moon were always polite to extremis in private, their behaviour in public impeccable. To me they were just too perfect.

That they had first come to the attention of the general public with a dazzling display of raw power -- destroying hundreds of airships and navy vessels in an instant. That dramatic appearance had saved the empire from a sneak attack by our European foes. The Queen’s wholehearted embrace of them, natural enough I suppose as they had come to us in our hour of need, worried me. The officious manner in which Her Majesty’s agents had press-ganged Edmund and me into our current situation further deepened my suspicions.

If that wasn’t enough, what I had surmised in the last few days terrified me. It seemed their leader, Mon Ilson, was a powerful witch who had mastery over life and death. Apparently, Mon Ilson was immortal. Our mission was to bring automatons to the moon so he could experiment on transferring the soul of a dead man into a machine. This was impossible, I was certain, however it seemed he could harness his magical powers to make the transfer possible.

The dark conclusion of my fears and surmising was that I suspected that Mon Ilson was transferring the souls of Lunarians into the bodies of humans he had killed. Not that he should choose only ill-featured victims, but he selected only attractive people to kill. It seemed to make his crime more perverse, if that were possible. My thread of reasoning was absurdly simple, like my silly riddles. No wonder Edmund scoffed and thought me eligible for a darkened cell in Bedlam or Coney Hatch. He had pulled at each strand, and my surmises had unravelled -- at least in his estimation -- into a messy pile of yarn. He seemed unaware that his infatuation with his Lunarian lover may have biased his criticism.

Nevertheless, I had entertained the notion that I was the victim of a crazed delusion, but Mr. Frasier -- Cordelia’s contact in the spirit world -- had given me some hope. Discovering that there really was a spirit world was yet another assault on my scientific creed. That I now relied upon a dead man to seek out the souls of those foully murdered by Mon Ilson to prove my claim, made me further doubt my sanity.

Madness aside, my assertion that the Lunarians intended to subjugate all of humanity, employing the military and industrial might of our Empire to accomplish it, was as clear to me as water. What galled me most was the betrayal of our sovereign, Queen Victoria. Willing or unwilling, weak or wilful, it seemed to me she had become a partner in this most diabolical crime, and it saddened me deeply to think it.

So, what was I to do about this?

I looked about the cabin. We were a strange collection: three women, two men, and one automaton. First was Miss Cordelia Warrington, a spiritualist who was to play a crucial role in a bizarre and outlandish experiment. She and Mr. Frasier, who I must insist is real as all my hopes rely on him, were to contact the soul of one Fritz von Wellen, and by doing so allow the Lunarian emperor to magically conduct him into the brain of an automaton. It was ludicrous to be sure. To deposit an incorporeal soul into a head filled with copper and brass ratchets and gears is simply preposterous.

“Doesn’t your soul, an incorporeal entity, reside quite happily in a vessel of flesh and blood?” Burton had reminded me with a condescending smile. “How is brass any different?”

I had bitten my lip. “Touché,” I replied. I suspected the experiment was simply the camouflage of the real task -- the transfer of Fritz’s soul into the body of a recently murdered human being.

 

About the Author

Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!” Mikala can be found on Facebook and on Twitter.

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The Yellow Hair by Dwight Holing #Mystery #ContemporaryWestern

A Nick Drake Novel, Book 10

Mystery, Contemporary Western, Native American Literature

Date Published: 04-30-2026

Publisher: Jackdaw Press

New Badge. Old Blood.

Nick Drake traded his past for the Sheriff’s star, but Harney County doesn’t do election honeymoons. His tenure kicks off with a double homicide staged as a murder-suicide—a lie Nick isn't buying. As he digs into the crime’s rotting core, the rookie Sheriff finds himself fighting a war on two fronts: a lethal learning curve with unproven deputies and a political recall designed to bury him. In the high lonesome where secrets kill, Nick must strike first and strike hard. Because in this office, the only thing shorter than his term is his life expectancy.

 

Excerpt

Chapter 1

 

Potholes on a road I’d never traveled before grabbed at the wheels like a bad conscience seeking redemption. It led to a ranch east of Burns surrounded by withered hayfields scratched out of a dead sea of sage scrub. Tumbleweeds hung on rusty strands of sagging barbed wire. The wind-scoured house and barn looked ready to give up the ghost. If the call that brought me out proved true, the owners already had.

A brand new 1980 Cadillac Sedan de Ville was parked out front. The color made me think of the old saw about red skies in the morning. The driver’s door opened and released a cloud of cigar smoke followed by a big man wearing a pearl snap-button shirt and stockman boots. He set a summertime Stetson atop his crew cut and eyed the seven-point gold star on the door of my rig.

“I take it you’re the new sheriff,” he said. “I heard Harney County had a special election to fill the boots of the old one who got hisself killed.”

“Nick Drake,” I said. “And you are?”

“Red Caldera.” He chuckled. “Yup, I know, heckuva moniker. My folks idea at being clever. Pleased to make your acquaintance, though the situation inside is none too pleasing. Couple been dead a week, be my guess.”

When I didn’t make a move toward the house, he clicked his cheek. “I woulda thought you’d charge right in, but maybe you don’t know you’re s’posed to on account you’re new to sheriffing.”

“If they’re dead like you say, what I need to know first is why you went inside uninvited.”

The straw cowboy hat reared back as he aimed his double chin at me. “Now, hold it right there. I didn’t do nothing wrong. I’m the one called it in and I’m the one been cooling my heels on a hotter than a firecracker morning waiting for you to show up.”

 

 

About the Author

Dwight Holing is the award-winning author of twenty books, including the bestselling Nick Drake Mysteries and the popular Jack McCoul Capers. He is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and Western Writers of America. He lives beside a coastal river in California with his wife and two dogs who’d rather swim than walk.

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THE SNOB by Megan Slayer #Dark Romance @ChangelingPress

Dark Romance, Age Gap

Date Published: April 3, 2026

Carley Mathers isn’t just the “party girl” daughter of a congressman. She’s more. But these days, in a world of fake friends, she’s determined to keep only true ones close. Because she puts them at arm’s length, her classmates at college refer to her as “The Snob.” But she comes from wealth and means -- she shouldn’t be able to mix with her bodyguard, right?

Dacre Jennings has been given the job of protecting Carley while she’s off at college. The same classmates who make light of her silence also make fun of him, too. He doesn’t care that they think she lives with the old man. He’d rather she lived with him than alone. He sees the real woman, and he’s been in love with her for as long as he’s worked for the family.

With threats on her life, Dacre refuses to let Carley be used or abused. He’ll put his life on the line for her, as long as he knows he’s got her heart as well.

EXCERPT

Carley Mathers closed her notebook and put her pen back in the front pocket of her backpack. She wasn’t a fan of taking notes, but the only way she’d keep the dates for all the paintings straight was to write them down.

“Going home to Grandpa?” Selena, one of the girls Carley thought she might become friends with, asked. “Hang around people your own age. Do some gambling. Party or something else that’s normal?”

“Would it kill you to go to the frat party?” Missy snapped. “You like to drink. Guys like you. Might get us some action and we could win some money, since you’ve got tons. You can spare some. Any of that ring a bell?”

Carley rolled her eyes and zipped her backpack. She’d had enough of those vices. It was time to grow up and settle down -- or at least take her education seriously. Growing up the daughter of a politician and influencer was bad enough, but she’d exploited her position for years.

She grabbed her backpack and turned on her heel, ignoring the women. She hadn’t come to the University of Nevada to be sucked into a gambling situation. She’d wanted to further her education.

“God, she’s such a fucking snob,” Missy said. “Won’t talk to anyone.”

“That old man is her boyfriend,” Selena said. “Probably won’t let her go out. Has to keep her on a leash.”

If they only knew… Carley left the lecture hall and met Dacre in the lobby. “Hiya, Grandpa.”

“Grandpa?” Dacre left his post by the doorway and fell in step with her. “That’s a new one.”

“Not all that new.”

“Who said it?”

She stopped near the entrance doors to the art building and nodded over her shoulder. “The two brunettes over there. They wanted me to go to a frat party and make a damn fool of myself. I’ve had it with those days.”

He held the door for her as she stepped into the early October sunshine. “It’s warmer than I thought it would be.”

“I don’t mind. I like the warmth.” She elbowed him as they walked together. “They said I’m a snob.”

“You are.”

She jabbed him again. “Take that back.”

“Sorry, but no.” He kept walking. “You don’t talk to anyone, don’t mix with your peers, and keep to yourself.”

“That doesn’t make me a snob.”

“No,” he said. “But you come to class wearing expensive stuff and not talking much. It allows people to make up their own stories about you. They know what you’ve done and expect you’ll keep doing it.”

She sighed. She’d been such a bad girl in her younger days. Younger days… who was she kidding? She was only nineteen. But in her short years, she’d drunk most everyone under the table. She’d partied more than anyone her age should’ve been doing and tried too many things that should’ve been forbidden for someone underage. Being the child of wealth meant no one kept her in line -- certainly not her parents. As far as she was concerned, her parents used her bad behavior to further their own causes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I can hide my past. I can’t hide my name, either. Everyone thinks they know who I am, but no one takes the time to get to know the real me.”

“You don’t exactly open yourself up to it.” He joined her at the truck. “You’re a wonderful person and cute as a button, but no one sees it. All they see is you keeping tight-lipped and away from everyone.”

“Wouldn’t you?” She fell onto the passenger seat. She waited for him to do a quick search of the vehicle before he joined her in the cab. “All clear?”

“Clear.” He closed the driver’s side door. “I don’t blame you for being guarded. I told you, it’s perfectly fine. You’ve had a lot of attention, and I get why you don’t want it.”

She clicked her belt into place. “But?”

“But you’re not going to escape it. Unless you change your name or completely change your face, you’re going to have to put up with the attention.” He put the truck into gear. “The girls said you’re a snob?”

“And wanted me to go to a party to act the fool and get them guys.” She arranged her backpack between her feet, then withdrew her phone. The device buzzed, drawing her attention. “Sorry. I won’t be your circus animal.”

“I’d like to think that’s not the case, but I’m sure it is.” He drove across the student lot. “It doesn’t help that I’m following you around and trying to keep you safe. They see me around and think I’m some kind of old pervert.”

“My grandfather.” She swiped through the screens to her texts. “You don’t look that old.”

“Grandfather?” he asked. “I’m only twenty years older than you. Yes, I could be your father, but grandfather? I’m hurt.”

“You don’t look thirty-nine.”

“Forty, but who’s counting?”

“When did you turn forty?” She put her phone down and stared at him. “Why didn’t I know when you had your birthday?” She’d been oblivious for years, but this was inexcusable.

“Two months ago.” He shrugged and flexed his hands on the wheel. “It’s okay. I try not to remember it.”

“That’s not right. We should’ve had a party.”

“You were moving into school. I had better things to do and you didn’t need to be concerned with me.” He kept driving through campus to the condominiums.

“I don’t care. I would’ve liked to have known so we could’ve had a party, even if it was just you and me.” She would’ve done something nice for him and even bought a present.

“Your father told me to keep it quiet.”

“He’s a jackass.” She wasn’t the biggest fan of her famous father. “I hate that he said that.”

“It’s okay.”

“Stop saying that.” She picked her phone up again. “This stupid thing won’t stop buzzing. I don’t have anything due or reminders set.” She’d been careful to note when she had to turn in projects and if she had tests so she didn’t blow her grade point average. She refused to keep riding her parents’ coattails.

“What’s up?” He parked in the garage of the condo they shared. “Another test?”

“Nope.” She scrolled through the message, then swiped to her email where she read the rest of the information. “Fucking hell.”

“Watch your mouth.” He put the garage door down and took the key from the ignition. “What’s wrong?”

She sighed and scrolled through the mandate again. “It would appear my father is being considered for a role in the president’s cabinet and he -- my father -- has decided to have a party. He’s dictating I show up at said party and that I wear something slinky, he says, so I can attract a husband. The president’s son will be there, as well as the son of a diplomat and some dipshit who has an artificial intelligence startup. Why is he throwing me at these men? What if I don’t like them?”

“You don’t.”

“Duh.” She turned her phone over on her lap. “He’s sending the private jet to come get me.”

“Don’t you have a test on Monday?”

“I do. Art history.” She folded her hands on her phone. “I don’t want to go, but I can’t refuse him.”

“I know.” He opened the driver’s side door. “But it would’ve been nice if he’d have told me.” He rounded the hood to her side of the truck.

“You didn’t know?”

“Nope.” He slid his phone from his back pocket. “Not a word.”

“You’re coming with me.” She insisted on it. “I’m not going if you don’t.”

“I’m not leaving you to those wolves.” He opened her door for her. “Sweets, I’m stuck to you like glue.”

“You’re good glue.” She grasped his hand and squeezed his fingers. She’d had a crush on him for years but kept that to herself. He didn’t see her as a desirable woman. She was “cute as a button.” What young woman wanted to hear that? It was a kiss of death. Like telling her she was one of the guys. She allowed him to help her from the truck, then stumbled forward into his arms.

“Hi.” He crooked his brow. “You okay?”

She’d always felt a tingle when he touched her. Now, that tingle had turned into full electrical jolts. Her pussy throbbed and she longed to kiss him. He didn’t look forty. Hell, he barely looked thirty. What he did look like was sexy enough that she wanted to wrap herself around him. He was just her type -- older, tall, slightly graying at the temples, a weathered look around his eyes and just the right amount of stubble on his cheeks and chin to abrade her skin. Plus, he had killer blue eyes.

“Carley?” He tipped his head. He’d started wearing a baseball cap and zipped hoodie to blend in more with the college students. “You’re staring at me.”

“What’s not to stare at?” She stayed in his arms and sighed. “You’re…” She almost said dreamy, but that wasn’t right. He was dreamy, but he was more than that. With him, she felt safe. Respected. Heard.

“Not me,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be touching you.”

“Do you want to?” She stood and righted herself, trying to look less flustered. “Sorry. I should behave.” She grabbed her backpack before hurrying into the condo. She’d made a fool of herself and hated that she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable, even if only for a second.

“Carley.” He hurried after her. “Wait.”

 

About the Author

Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.

When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.

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