Naughty Netherworld Press's Blog: Naughty Netherworld Press on Goodreads, page 27
April 3, 2025
Regrets Book Blitz #rabtbooktours
Romance
Date Published: March 19, 2025
Publisher: Wild Rose Press
Trauma surgeon, Rea Tasson, rescues Hollywood heartthrob Drew Foster after he crashes his Porsche into the beach by her house. To escape unwanted publicity, she allows him to stay the night.
After discovering Rea's fiancée died from an opioid overdose, Drew chooses to stay. Their friendship grows, as does their romance. But when Drew's next project takes him to Paris, Rea must reconcile with all the people who have abandoned her, if she ever wants a happily ever after.
About the Author
Caryn M. McGill has always been a storyteller. She often told tales to her children at bedtime in lieu of reading to them. A serious daydreamer, she used to think it the opposite of her education and work in the sciences, but now realizes scientists are the ultimate daydreamers. She's immersed herself in a lifelong study of religion, astrology, reincarnation, and past-life regressions. This otherworldly journey produced her debut novel, The Wives of Lucifer (2015), a trilogy. She also writes a romantic suspense series, Steel and Desire, under the name Kendra Greenwood. Her newest novel, Regrets, debuts in 2025 and her current work, His Daughter, is in pitch mode. Caryn grew up on the beaches of Long Island's East End. When she's not writing, you can find her in the kitchen whipping up something scrumptious or in the studio, painting and fusing glass into decorative dishes.
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The Break of Dawn New Release Blitz #IndiGo
Title: The Break of Dawn
Author: Eule Grey
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 04/01/2025
Heat Level: 1 - No Sex
Pairing: Female/Female
Length: 28400
Genre: Contemporary, British, Yorkshire, YSP, Art, Sculpture, Easter, Spring, second chances, new beginnings, first love, baby animals
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DescriptionCora ‘I am all that I need’ Richards has a prison reputation for being an ice queen. She exists via a strict code of survival: people equal pain—the end. Surprises lead to disappointment; therefore, Cora won’t tolerate the unexpected. Friends? No. Lovers? Never. A hollow nighttime ache in her chest is bothersome, true, but the issue certainly isn’t caused by loneliness. Cora knows who she is and what she isn’t. She gladly accepts a placement at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, not to meet the elusive artist, Sky Sunday, but to finish her prison sentence early. It’s work, nothing more.
But the breathtaking landscape, woolly lambs, fluffy ducklings, and friendly artists challenge a woman trying not to feel. Life at the Sculpture Park is vibrant, messy, and warm. Still, it would take someone extraordinary to melt an ice queen such as Cora—the end.
Sky Sunday wears dungarees and muddy yellow boots, talks in riddles, listens to Cora’s suggestions, and never belittles her. From the first awkward meeting, attraction sizzles between them. But Sky is rubbish at talking. So is Cora. How can two impenetrable women ever get close?
From dawn to dusk, the workers toil on a mysterious, humming sculpture, and nobody knows what it’s supposed to be. If they trust their instincts, Sky insists that something unique will happen on Easter Sunday. Cora abandons the last of her ice armour as dawn breaks, but is it too late to be vulnerable and take a second chance?
What happens when an ice queen and a fluffy chick kiss? Can Cora and Sky forget their past and begin a new life together? This story is not the end.ExcerptThe Break of DawnEule Grey © 2025All Rights Reserved
February 1
It started with a shout.
“Richards! Gov’s office.”
The yell left a deafening silence in the dining hall. Chatter ceased, the insistent bang-bang of doors stopped, and even the pitter-patter of rain on the windows faded as if it knew that a shout from Miss Holmes always signalled terrible news, and especially for me—my prison release date was mere months away.
Potential crimes flashed through my mind. Had I left a mess in the kitchen during my shift? Did I piss someone off? Had my sentence been lengthened due to a technical hitch?
It wouldn’t be the first time they’d messed up the dates. Three sentences ago, a fight led to six additional weeks on the wing. Gah. The incident hadn’t been my fault. When someone insulted me, I fought back. If you didn’t stand up for yourself, you’d end up on the floor with a broken nose.
When the yell settled, the women gleefully nudged one another, glad to see me in trouble—I wasn’t popular.
My roommate, Jenny, tugged insistently at my standard prison-grey sleeve. “Cora. You better go. She sounds pissed.”
We exchanged worried looks. I stood as if to head to the office but legged it to our room instead, my stomach clenching about the bottle of hooch brewing beneath my bed. Jenny and I had started the brew a few weeks before. I’d reckoned we could celebrate my release with a few drinks. After eight months of sharing a cell, we’d grown pretty close. As close as I allowed people, anyway, which meant a chasm the size of a planet crouched between us. We were very different. Jenny carelessly revealed every facet of her life as we lay in our beds, whereas I shared bare essentials, such as my favourite brand of chocolate. Stuffed animals covered her bed while mine was bare. Enough said.
The hooch was not the problem. Bubbling quietly and consistently, our concoction hadn’t been discovered. Hooch constituted a minor offence anyway. What the hell else had I done?
The officer shouted again, more aggressively. “Richards! Gov’s office.”
The tone of her voice pissed me off. I wouldn’t go without a fight. Yeah, I should’ve accepted defeat and walked to the office with a sorry expression. Only a spanner with a death wish as strong as the undead would have ignored a call from the governor. I didn’t say sorry or play nice. Thirty-two was too old to change the habits of a lifetime.
Jenny thundered into our cell, banging the door behind her. “Did someone snitch? You better go before you get a warning.” At forty, she was serving her first sentence, naïve as a baby. Jenny still believed the prison rules existed to protect us, bless her cotton socks.
I made myself comfy on the bed. “Nope. Miss Snotty Holmes will have to come and fetch me.”
Years of practice in front of a mirror hadn’t been wasted. I could steel my face into an impenetrable fortress without much effort. Nobody saw the real me, the kid who’d cried during beatings and hoped her momma would visit at the children’s home over Christmas time.
Needless to say, my weak years were a very long time ago.
Jenny adopted her melting-biscuit look. She was pretty, with an expressive face that hid nothing. My helpful lessons about concealing one’s feelings hadn’t done anything for her. She cried or shouted wilfully, drawing attention, revealing weaknesses and vulnerabilities she should’ve kept hidden. I’d probably have demanded a new cellmate months ago if she wasn’t so kind. Oh, I didn’t like her—god forbid. Jenny was inoffensive to live with. Like and dislike had become irrelevant feelings to me. But she never gave up trying to improve or save me, the poor woman.
Jenny hovered at my bedside, looking like the apocalypse was coming, bristling with kindness. “Go and see what Miss wants? Maybe it’s good news. You know they’ve been handing out certificates from education this week? You did well in your exams.” She nodded encouragingly as if I were a silly kid needing a hug rather than a tough bitch who could cope with any amount of trouble. Bring it on.
She lunged. I held my breath, willing her not to touch. Jenny had a crush on me. It wasn’t unusual. Most women inside welcomed a ‘special relationship’ with a roommate. Not me. Jenny had attempted many touchy-feely incidents over the months. Obviously, I’d ignored them all. Whether hand-holding or hair brushing, every contact was disgusting to me. Why would I welcome another woman’s baggage on top of my own? No. It was better to be alone than abandoned. Hugs equalled pain. The end.
Jenny attempted a sudden, unexpected hug. “Aww, babe.”
I held up a practised iron fist. “Don’t touch me and never call me babe.” It was laughable and sad how she shrank back, believing I would hurt her. I never would. Jenny might be a nuisance, but she didn’t deserve or need a slap, only a little reminder now and then about boundaries.
She abruptly drew her hand back. “I just wanted—” She sounded wounded, almost tearful.
The grief in her eyes was too much. I closed my eyes.
“Yeah, well, don’t tell me because I’m as interested as a cardboard box would be. I’m having a nap if anyone asks.”
It was a relief to shut her out. Why women wanted to be special, I’d never understand. Yuck.
I began silently counting. At six hundred, a stern voice broke my concentration.
“Didn’t you hear? The gov wants you in her office.”
I swung my legs off my bed and crammed cold feet into my shoes. “I didn’t hear, Miss. On my way.”
What had been gained from the extra few moments alone? Even I didn’t understand myself. Maybe it was part of my nature to rebel, or perhaps every victory, however tiny, kept me going. I was a narky cow. The end.
Jenny watched me silently and reproachfully. As I passed her, I stuck out my tongue. She rolled her eyes.PurchaseNineStar Press | Books2Read
Meet the AuthorEule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.Website | Facebook | TwitterGiveawayOne lucky winner will receive a $50.00 NineStar Press Gift Code! a Rafflecopter giveaway
April 2, 2025
The Victorian Locket Book Blitz #rabtbooktours
A Galveston Historical Mystery
Cozy Mystery
Sarah Anne Law, affectionately known to family and friends as Sam, was playing the stalking game with her cat when she inadvertently discovered a secret compartment in her haunted Victorian home. Not only did Sam find a hidden treasure, but she also realized that their playful game aroused a long-dormant spirit. Perhaps the newly awakened spirit and one of the more disturbing hauntings in her beautiful home were connected. Did a murder occur? As Sam followed clues to unravel the 125-year-old mysteries, she unveiled the true horrors of Galveston’s deadly and gruesome past.
About the Author
Elefair King, a native Texan, grew up in Houston. Retired, she now lives in The Woodlands, Texas. Married for 40 years, she has one son who lives nearby. Driven by her compassion to serve others, she founded several non-profit organizations as well as served on committees and boards of many local and regional charities. Elefair loves history, especially about her beloved Texas. She frequently stops along its country roads to read historical markers when seeking new adventures.
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Out-Houses New Release Blitz #IndiGo
Title: Out-Houses
Author: Kira Stone
Cover Art: Marteeka Karland
Genres: Contemporary Romance, New Releases, Romance
Themes: Age Gap (Older Man), LGBTQ+ Gay, Multicultural & Interracial, Multiple Partners /Polyamory, New Adult
Book Length: Novella
Page Count: 55
This book contains material suitable only for readers 18+.
SynopsisOut-Houses.com. The hottest gay-owned interior design business in Northern California.When Paul joins the owners of Out-Houses.com, Alex and Toby, at their secluded cabin, it’s supposed to be a chance for them to work away from the distractions of the office. Instead Paul finds himself more distracted than ever -- and wanting to join in the fun.
Andy is late for a very important date -- with Toby, one of the owners of Out-Houses. Toby doesn’t like to be kept waiting and decides to teach Andy a lesson by giving him a spanking. Not the traditional way to start an interview, but at Out-Houses, anything goes.
Alex and Toby are great fun, but Paul wants a man of his own. Not just any man -- he’s got his sights set on Andy. Which would be fine, except Andy’s not looking his way. Or is he?ExcerptOut-HousesKira StoneAll rights reserved.Copyright ©2025 Kira Stone
“Fuck me.” There was a startled gasp, then, “Harder!”
“You want it bad, don’t you?”
The sounds of slapping flesh accompanied the masculine voices emanating from the other side of the bedroom wall. Paul groaned and rolled over. His hard-on stabbed the mattress and he groaned again, this time from pain. It was gonna be a long, exhausting week if he had to listen to his bosses, the owners of Out-Houses -- the newest, hottest gay interior designer company in Northern California -- get it on in the living room every night.
Especially given his recent, secret aspiration of becoming the meat in their cum sandwich.
“Oh, yeah. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
Must be Alex doing the begging, the little slut. Paul pictured him on his knees, his fine caramel colored ass in the air. Desperate for what satisfaction only his partner could give him.
Toby’s deep bass rumbled in response. “Heh. No worries there.”
“Oh, fuck. More. More!”
Placing a pillow over his head didn’t help stifle the erotic noises coming from the nearby room. If he had to hear it, then Paul wanted to see it. Feel it. Be fully engaged in the action. Eavesdropping was a poor substitute for sating carnal lust. Last night he’d been jet-lagged enough to fall asleep. A drag queen in full voice wouldn’t have woken him. However, after spending the day shoulder to shoulder with his gorgeous employers, hunched over a work table studying a ream of concept drawings for a gay-oriented housing project, pinned between their two rock solid bodies…
Damn. Rock solid. Just like his cock.
He was never going to get to sleep as long as he had to listen to them fuck.
Paul tossed off the sheet covering him and slipped out through the sliding glass doors onto the balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean. He didn’t bother to dress. Dense shrubs on either side of the isolated beach house created a privacy screen from anyone walking along the cliffs. The only people he was likely to encounter were otherwise… engaged.
Two long flights of stairs descended from the deck to meet a short expanse of pristine white sand. Paul didn’t feel comfortable going near the water, in part because walking around in the dark in a strange, wild area had “potentially fatal” written all over it, but also because it took him farther away from where he really wanted to be. Inside. In the living room. On his knees. Sucking Alex’s cock while Toby pounded into him from behind.
Like that’s going to happen. Face it, Paulie, you may be ready, willing and able to bat for the home team, but that doesn’t mean you’ll get a chance to play in this ballpark.
Paul lifted his face to the ocean breeze, trying to clear his mind. He failed, miserably. No matter what lust-killing thoughts he injected into his brain, his libido returned him to the action inside. Toby’s large frame, black skin over corded muscle, wrapped around Alex’s lithe Latino body. Fucking like bunnies.
If it were just about the sex, he might have stood a chance at stemming this hormonal rampage, but Paul admired their internal qualities too. Both had high IQs and more ambition than a rookie Triple-A player after a spot on a major league bench. They were risk takers. Adrenaline junkies. And it was a good thing, because it would take as much guts as money to make their fledgling company, Out-Houses, a success.
But if anyone could do it, Toby and Alex were capable of pulling it off. Paul wasn’t sure how these two alpha males managed to work together so well, or how long their partnership, in and out of bed, could last. Meeting them through their website had been a fluke when Paul needed help with his bathroom plumbing. They’d needed an architect though, and he was ready for a change in jobs. However, the youth of their business and their relationship made signing on with them a gamble. If they broke up, chances were the company wouldn’t survive. Paul chose to take the risk with them. It was hard to walk away from a dream job.
And his dream of joining Alex and Toby during one of their lunchtime quickies.
Paul relaxed against the balcony rail. Moonlight spilled over his milk white skin, giving it a silvery sheen. He ran his hand down his chest, following the thin arrow of reddish-blond hair to his cock. In order to get any sleep at all, he’d have to appease his woodie sooner or later. Might as well be now.
But not quickly. Not something that would be over and forgotten in a minute like a quick jerk-off during a morning shower. Paul wanted to treat himself to something special. Something he’d remember for a long time to make up for the erotic ménage memories he’d have to live without.Purchase at Changeling
Meet the AuthorKira Stone lives in a warm cave tucked away in the remote Scottish Highlands, where a small band of ever-changing heroes serves as company. As they relax in front of a roaring fire, demons dance in leather pants and angels stroke tunes from the harp strings, while the Fae stop in to share tales from other worlds. Bound by pen and imagination, these are the folk who wait to greet you from the pages of Kira's stories. Visit Kira's Website.GiveawayOne lucky winner will receive a $10.00 Changeling Press Gift Code! a Rafflecopter giveaway
Fallen Preorder Blitz #rabtbooktours
Paranormal Romance
Date Published: April 4, 2025
He may be her salvation -- if she's willing to lose her wings all over again.
Livia was cast out of heaven for the crime of falling in love with a human. So what's a fallen angel to do when she meets the man of her dreams? Falling certainly has its perks.
Ty didn't expect the angel at his party to be fallen or to have a murky past. He also didn't expect her to end up in his arms. Now he's not about to let the past stand in the way of their future.
The following excerpt contains material suitable only for readers 18+.
EXCERPT
Parties are so lame.
Livia crossed her arms and stared at the people swaying before her. Hard rock blasted from the speakers and rumbled the floor. She flicked a lock of her hair over her shoulder. Dancing, laughing, and more than enough drinking. She sighed. When was the last time she'd danced and laughed? Hell. She couldn't remember.
She wanted to dance, to wrap her arms around a torso thick with muscle, to rest her head on a taut set of pecs and hear the heartbeat of a red-blooded male like the one she'd drooled over in her history course. He'd mentioned throwing an event. She wanted to see him, to see if he was actually like the persona she'd created for him in her mind.
She snorted. Meeting a guy was probably not the best reason to attend a costume party off campus, but who cared? It wasn't like she had anyone keeping tabs on her.
A young man dressed as a gladiator ambled toward her. "Hel-lo, beautiful." A wide grin curled his lips. His blond hair flopped over his brow as he winked and pointed to her with his sloshing cup. "You shouldn't stand in the corner alone. Might get your wings dirty."
Wings? She crooked one brow. She'd come as a Madonna look-alike, not an angel. When she glanced over her shoulder, sure enough, her wings were there -- translucent, but there. Odd. "They'll wash." Her wings had been ripped off over two thousand years prior. When - and how -- the hell had they come back?
"Yeah?" He wobbled on his feet. "Feathers work in a washing machine?" He burped and his dark eyes widened. "I made a funny." He swayed again and splashed beer onto her bustier.
Livia gritted her teeth. This wasn't the man she had in mind. Her dream man didn't slop alcohol on anyone -- as far as she knew. Was the man in her mind simply a figment of her imagination? An impossibility? Probably. She'd been around far too long and seen more than her share of good men fall by the wayside.
At least washing the beer stench out of her clothes wouldn't be too difficult.
"So, do ya wanna go make out?" He licked his lips. "I'm a great kisser, and I bet you do wonders with those tits."
"Go home, Brett."
Livia's blood turned to fire in her veins. The deep, gravelly voice set her nerves on edge. If the drunken fool would just blow, she could at least see the guy who'd come to her aid. If he was Tyler from history class, then even better.
"Butt out, Ty." Brett smacked his lips. "We were gonna have sex. Me and those lovelies." He reached out, hands hovering over her chest. "Come to Brett. Again."
Again? Who was this clown? "I wouldn't have sex with you if you were the last man alive," Livia snapped and slapped his hands away. "You spilled beer on me, and you're an ass."
"You'd know." He swayed into her personal space and murmured in a much less slurred tone, "I never forgot you."
Never forgot her? What the hell was this guy drinking? She stared at the drunken gladiator. Nothing about him really stood out. Still, at her age, everything looked a little familiar. He couldn't possibly be him. Isaiah was dead. She'd seen him die over three centuries ago.
"Okay, time for Brett to go home. I don't want shit on my carpet, and she's not interested." The owner of the deep voice stepped out from behind Livia and grabbed Brett's arms. Her jaw dropped. This man was the man. The man. Tyler Wilson embodied her innermost desires, and he was right there protecting her.
Lean muscle filled out Ty's tall frame. What would it feel like to have his hands on her body? To run her fingers through his thick, dark hair and listen to him murmur dirty things as they explored each other's bodies -- what would it be like? A flash of bodies moving together and the look of sheer lust in his blue eyes filled her mind. Oh, good God, it would be almost heaven. Her pussy clenched and liquid heat coated her panties.
If he felt the heat, too. She couldn't hope to be so lucky again. The run-in with Brett or whoever he was had served as a cold reminder of what she'd fallen for and couldn't have.
Both men moved through the throng of people and disappeared. She should stick around and find out if Ty was interested or if he was just keeping an eye on his property. Not that she could blame him. Dumped beer could be murder on a sound system. Not that her opinion mattered much. She was just a partygoer like everyone else there. She folded her arms. Every moment she waited, her conscience ate into her a little more. Waiting made her look weak. It made her look needy. Was she needy?
Maybe. Damn.
No. She'd waited long enough. If he really wanted to talk to her, he'd have come back. She turned and made her way to the apartment door and rummaged through the pile of coats, looking for hers. Guys like Ty had women chasing them in swarms. She'd been witness to that every time she walked out of the Saunders Building. She wasn't going to follow him around like a damned puppy. Coat in hand, she turned toward the door. She plowed into a scantily clad tiger giggling with a cowboy.
"Watch it," the tiger snapped. "Nice wings, though. Costume outlet, or did you get them online? I've been looking for some just like them. I want a set. Michael, buy me some like that."
Livia rolled her eyes. The truth was much too involved. Obscure always worked. "I don't remember."
The cowboy tipped his hat. "Wanna join in?" He bobbed his brows, and his gaze went straight to her chest. "We're always looking for more, and looking at those boobs, you'd be one hell of a third."
"Michael! You said I was the only one," she squealed. "No more thirds."
Michael shrugged. "Can't blame me for asking." He turned his attention back to Livia. "You in?"
If they only knew what she'd done during her lifetime. "I'm good. No thanks." Livia ducked her head and stepped out into the hallway. She didn't look up until she hit the stairwell door.
Finally. Freedom.
Livia stopped on the landing and stared up at the sky through the round stairwell window. Her heart ached. He was out there somewhere. The one man to complete her. Was he still alive? Had she'd only imagined his death? Or was she doomed to walk the Earth for the rest of eternity, alone?
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. It was foolish to pine for the assumed dead, especially when they'd parted so badly. Still, Isaiah held her heart and her life in his hands, just as he'd had for the last couple thousand years.
Footsteps thumped behind her, but she didn't bother to look up.
"Angel?"
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.
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
Dusty's Snack Shack New Release Blitz #GayBookPromotions
NEW RELEASE
Book Title: Dusty’s Snack Shack (Book One of the Short Orders Gay Romance Series)
Author: Dann Hazel
Publisher: The Original Press, LLC
Cover Artist: Joshua Fippen
Release Date: March 25, 2025
Tense/POV: Past Tense; 3rd person
Genres: Gay MM Romance
Tropes: Second Chance, Friends to Lovers, Vacation Encounters
Themes: Long-Distance Romance; Importance of Community; Romance Across Social Classes
Heat Rating: 4 flames
Length: 60 500 words/215 pages
It is part one of a new series, but can be read as a standalone
It does not end on a cliffhanger.
Buy Links - Available in Kindle Unlimited
At Dusty’s Snack Shack, desserts range from gooey to chewy.
But Ken finds the treats at Dusty’s shop aren’t necessarily as sweet as one tantalizing owner!
Blurb
Sand, sun, and a steamy summer fling.
That's all Dusty and Ken expected from their chance encounter at Myrtle Beach, when Ken purchases ice cream from Dusty’s Snack Shack.
But as their bodies entwine, so do their hearts, leading them on a journey of unexpected emotions.
With the bustling beach as their backdrop, and a sweet Saint Bernard that adores both men, they explore the depths of their passion and the pitfalls of falling in love.
Then, as the summer winds down, their romance takes a precarious turn, threatening to tear them apart.
Will their love withstand the crashing waves, or will it be washed away by the tide?
If you enjoyed the passionate romance and twists and turns of Nicholas Sparks' "The Notebook," you'll love this beachside love story with a gay twist.
Why wait? Grab your copy now before the tide changes!
Excerpt
“I won’t get to see you again before you leave?” The disappointment in Dusty’s voice was palpable.
“Here’s the deal with me, Dusty. I’m not up to driving. Not tonight. I’m far too tired to start the long trek home, only to stop at some fleabag hotel along the way when I get sleepy. Which will happen sooner rather than later. I already feel exhausted.”
“Then stay.” Dusty uttered the words before Ken finished his sentence. “Please. There’s no need for you to transfer to another hotel. I’d love for you to be my guest for as long as you wish.”
“You have a life to live, Dusty, and a business to run—” Ken began.
“That business will be closed for at least another day,” Dusty interrupted. “Probably longer. They’ve closed the entire block near my shop. Several other blocks have also been closed. Customers wouldn’t be allowed access to the Snack Shack even if I were allowed to open it. But I have to wait until city officials give the all-clear.”
For a moment, Ken didn't speak. Then, Dusty heard a heavy, resigned sigh. “Your offer is tempting, Dusty. Really, it is. But let me ask you. Are you fucking positive?”
Dusty laughed gently. “I’ve never been surer of anything else. Get your ass over here as quickly as you can.”
Ken began a hearty chuckle. His chuckle grew into a laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
“As you know, I wasn’t crazy about a Myrtle Beach vacation from the beginning. Now, I am adamant not to cut the damn thing short. I have four more days, for Christ’s sake! And I’m gonna take them.”
Dusty turned into his driveway, which he'd almost overshot. “The beach can have a seductive effect on people, that’s for sure.”
Dusty transferred the sound from the car’s audio system to his phone. He got out of his car, then headed to his front door. Benji, his tail wagging furiously, was waiting for him,.
“But Dusty? I don’t want you to think the ocean is the only temptation.” Ken’s voice sounded plaintive and sincere, hinting of a vulnerability that Dusty hadn't noticed before. “It’s you, too. You’re a great guy, even if we did get off on the wrong foot. Those four additional days I have left? I would rather spend them with you.”
Dusty was rendered speechless by Ken’s confession, delivered with great sincerity.
Maybe, Dusty thought, the man’s much more sensitive than he often comes across.
“Then it’s settled,” Dusty said. “I’m sitting on my sofa right now, caressing a big furry monster who would love to see you almost as much as I do. So get your ass over here as quickly as you can.”
Ken laughed. “I’m approaching the Bayview parking garage now. I have to get clearance to retrieve my car, then I’m on my way.” He cleared his throat. “I will have to make a quick stop at a convenience store to pick up a few toiletries. That shouldn’t take more than five or ten minutes.”
“Good idea. I don’t share my toothbrush with anyone.”
Suddenly, Dusty felt overcome with gratitude—gratitude that Ken was alive. “Hey, Ken?”
“Yes?”
Dusty inhaled deeply, as though to sequester some immense feeling. “Be safe. Please. I know you’re upset. That doesn’t always make for safe driving. But remember I’m here, waiting for you. Call me if you need anything.”
Ken swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “Thanks, Dusty. You’re the best.”
About the Author
As a Florida-based author of both fiction and nonfiction, Dann worked as an educator on both the secondary and post-secondary levels. But since high school, when he served as a reporter for the school newspaper, he’s always had a passion for both reading and writing. Dann lives in Lake Wales, FL, with his husband, Josh (also a writer) and their adorable Eskie (American Eskimo), Flurry. She's definitely part of the family, with boundless energy and appetite! Dann is passionate about scenic walks and jogs around a local lake, enjoying Walt Disney World, staying healthy, reading, streaming movies and provocative TV series (especially those based on novels!) and current events. His pronouns are he/him/his.
Social Media Links
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April 1, 2025
Warrior Queen Teaser #rabtbooktours
LGBTQ+ Steampunk Romance
Date Published: April 4, 2025
A volatile cauldron of magic, love, and the empire may be on the edge of a precipice, but witches, humans, and automatons indulge in pleasures of the flesh.
Victoria has been dubbed by her adoring public as their Warrior Queen. Destroying her Continental enemies is nothing to the challenge she faces now. For years, the Lunarians, goblins from the moon, led by the powerful witch Mon Ilson, have been murdering humans and stealing the bodies for his followers to “adopt.”
Beautiful witch Selena Whiteheart, Mon Ilson’s human agent on Earth, is closely watched by Home Office Agent Harry Kincaid, whose loyalty to the Queen suppresses his ability to show Selena his true feelings. Spiritualist Miss Cordelia Warrington has been exploring the carnal attributes and mechanical stamina of Adam, her automaton butler. Now Selena needs Cordelia’s help, and allows herself to be entertained by the amorous pair in a steamy ménage à trois.
Meanwhile, Agent of the Queen Rachel Clayton is instantly attracted to the hauntingly handsome Major Guy Tremayne, hero of the Coronation Island disaster. Can he be trusted? She throws all caution to the wind to find out. At a crucial moment the Queen is cruelly betrayed and threatened with assassination. Selena, Rachel, and Victoria all face difficult choices as love and lust compete with their duty to the Empire.
Author’s Note: Enjoy Warrior Queen as a standalone tale or as part of a continuing narrative.
This excerpt contains material suitable only for readers 18+.
EXCERPT
Thwack!
Thwack!
The sound of two cane sticks striking each other reminded me of how a scant two hours ago the Home Secretary had slapped my posterior as he ravaged me. Pressed for time he’d unceremoniously bent me over his Whitehall desk, pulled down my culottes and drawers, grabbed my shoulders for leverage, and drove his prodigious erection into me with frightful force. A few minutes later he flooded my quivering cunt with his lava hot seed. It had been a perfunctory fuck, short and sharp, and my climax perversely satisfying.
My cunny still retained a fair quantity of his ejaculation, and I shifted in my seat contriving to put pressure on my fleshy nether lips to keep it from escaping. My apparently not-so-subtle contortions did not escape the notice of the fine-looking man sitting opposite me. I’d quite forgotten about him as I relived the morning’s carnal adventure. He cleared his throat which brought me back to the here and now.
I was sitting in a Buckingham Palace anteroom, and I felt my cheeks warm under the scrutiny of this ruggedly handsome and smartly uniformed officer. When I’d first arrived, he’d introduced himself as Guy Tremayne. He was in fact the famous Major of the Southern Royal Air Corps who’d distinguished himself by leading the survivors of an airship crash on Coronation Island, a frozen rock midway between Tierra Del Fuego and Antarctica. Their inspirational struggle for survival on the barren island was a true Boys Own Adventure. I’d read his file during my recent convalescence and believed Major Tremayne to be a brave and resourceful officer, respected by his men and superiors alike.
He had given me an elegant bow, took my proffered hand, and lightly brushed his lips against my knuckles. To say I was instantly attracted would be an understatement. He was the epitome of masculinity: well over six feet tall, slim, and long legged. His hips were narrow, his chest deep, and his shoulders broad. His sharply chiselled face was suntanned, and above a thin black moustache his nose was pleasantly symmetrical. The palest of blue eyes gave his countenance a strikingly mysterious and yet desirable aspect.
My cunny throbbed.
He was sitting as if he was on parade with his back straight as a board. He’d started his career in the cavalry, and I couldn’t help but imagine him in the saddle riding into battle, his sabre held high, its razor edge glinting in the sun. He’d actually seen combat, and his curly hair disguised the missing left ear, lost during a bloody skirmish in the Punjab.
Thwack! Thwack!
“Do you singlestick?” I asked him, my mouth dry, and my voice husky.
Thwack! Thwack!
The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “Indeed, I do. The sabre is my weapon of choice.”
Singlestick fighting had been a feature of English martial life for centuries and cavalry men used it for practicing sabre strokes from horseback. Though the sport had become highly regimented, it required fast reflexes and strict discipline. I found it useful for developing forearm and wrist strength.
Thwack! Thwack!
“Perhaps we should have a bout?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Thwack! Thwack!
My cunt throbbed lustily, and inside my blouse, my nipples ached. I licked my bottom lip, slowly. “Are you residing in London?”
He threw up his hands. “Alas. I exist at the whim of the War Department.”
Thwack! Thwack!
“Then we should arrange a time soon.”
“I believe I am free tomorrow evening.”
“As it happens, so am I.”
Thwack! Thwack!
We’d just concluded arrangements to meet at a restaurant in Chelsea when the door to the anteroom opened, and a footman showed in a slim, elegantly dressed woman. She was about forty years of age, with an attractive oval face and perfect complexion accentuated by challenging hazel eyes and provocatively painted red lips. Her luxurious auburn hair was coiled expertly around her head in such a way that suggested considerable length. The bulk was held in place with gem-tipped pins which glinted in the harsh electric light. I imagined her standing naked, her hair cascading over her ample breasts, reaching and discreetly hiding her mound of Venus. I recognised her as the wife of a member of the House of Lords, and this sensual impression I’d constructed was at odds with her reputation. She was known as a straitlaced prude, active in charitable institutions and a fierce and passionate advocate for women’s suffrage. On one occasion she’d been seen at a rally striking a constable with a placard after she accused him of taking undisclosed liberties.
I curtsied. “Lady Fogerty, I’m Rachel Clayton.”
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.
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
Insecure Writers Support Group 2 April 2025: Fight, Quest, or Get Drunk?
Free use image by Oberholster Venita on Pixabay"Ready to begin our quest, Owl?""Oh, for sure, Leg O' Lamb. But don't you think it would be a good idea to stop at yonder tavern for a pint first?"
April2 question - What fantasy character would you like to fight, go on aquest with, or have a beer/glass of wine with?
Ifound a few fabulous fantasy villains on this website.
AmI stupid or crazy enough to fight any of them?
I’ma 60-year-old disabled woman. During my working life, I held suchjobs as bartender, waitress, nursing assistant, and nurse. I can’tcarry heavy trays (or wounded combatants) anymore, but I could stillpour drinks and help patch up the wounded.
Ican use magic, you say?
Well,that’s a little better, although I must admit, I’m a rankamateur. I’d summon Nyarlathotep and his daughter Yadira to helpme, except that I’d need a very compelling reason to do so, or itwouldn’t turn out nice.
Yadira and Nyarlathotep are compassionatetoward those who have a real need of their services. They aretrickster deities who play very nasty tricks on those who call uponthem for self-serving reasons. It was April Fool’s Day yesterday,so you know they were having a field day. They may have had such agood time of it that they see no reason not to keep the party goingone more day. I think I’d probably better stick to my own devices.
Idon’t think I’ll piss off Saruman. Even though I’m a big hossof a woman, those Uruk-Hai of his could easily pick me up and flingme into a pit. Also, he managed to imprison Gandalf. I don’t thinkI stand a chance in a fight against Saruman.
I’dbest forget the whole Sauron thing as well. He’d see me coming amile away with my weird way of walking. He’d probably hear mesnuffling and sneezing too. No doubt there’s some weird pollen inMiddle Earth that would set my allergies off.
Ohyeah, there’s that quest thing hanging over my head.
Walkingthe long walk with the Lord of the Rings boys is a little muchfor this old broad. Maybe I need to skip the Middle Earth thingaltogether and leave that mess to the hobbitses. I’ll head for theWizarding World and have a beer with Harry Potter. He’s a yearolder than my soon-to-be thirty-five-year-old son, so he can drinknow.
Free use image by Dmitry Abramov on PixabayIcan help Harry, Ron, and Hermione plot a few plots and scheme a fewschemes against the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange and He Who Is Not ToBe Named. I can concoct half-baked ideas and bake tasty treats withthe best of them. The Hogwarts gang would love me.
It’ssettled, then. I’m off to the Wizarding World. I may not be themost interesting side character, but I’m all in, at least as muchas someone in the shape I’m in can be. Maybe I’ll even learn alittle magic along the way.
Ornery Owl Has Spoken
Free use image from Pexels on PixabayOrnery Owl is outstanding in her field.
Visit the Insecure Writers Support Group
https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html
Pick up a copy of Nyarlathotep's Journey to learn more about the Son of Azathoth and his beloved daughter. This short story is a steal at just 99 cents.
The Real Beltane Anthology Cover Reveal
Hi Roosties! Yesterday's Beltane Anthology cover reveal was an April Fool's Day prank.
https://ornerybookemporium.blogspot.com/2025/04/beltane-anthology-cover-reveal.html
This is the real cover. I will put the purchase link up as soon as I receive it. All proceeds from the anthology support Quill Cottage Wildlife, a 501C3 nonprofit dedicated to rescuing orphaned wild animal babies.
In the meantime, enjoy a sample from my real anthology story. The prank post's story excerpt is just tarted-up notes for a potential future tale.
The Beltane Laundress
by C. L. Hart
Therain pounded down on a father and son walking through the tiny townof Honeycomb Grove, Colorado.
“Itwill be a good Mayday celebration this year, Pop,” said the lankyteenage boy. Tufts of gamboge-golden hair stuck out from his darkorchid baseball cap.
Theboy’s similarly built father had graying oxide-red hair and wore afaded red baseball cap. The weary expression on his face and the lookof hopelessness in sad eyes the color of a John Deere tractor matchedglum words spoken with a thick German accent.
“Idon’t want to dim the light in those hopeful hazel eyes. I wish Istill saw life with the eyes of a tiger conquering his jungle, buttoday, I view the world through the eyes of an undertaker.”
Theteenager was horrified to see a car barrel out of the fog as hisfather started across the county road.
“Pop,look out!”
Thepair lost their balance on the slippery grass as the son pulled hisfather out of the path of the speeding vehicle. The batteredcherry-red mini-SUV that pulled into the parking lot of the abandonedHoney Wash Laundromat had seen better days. A young woman no olderthan eighteen stepped out, regarding the pair with eyes like bluemarbles peering from behind a curtain of unkempt mouse-brown hairhaphazardly pulled back into a ponytail.
Want more stories supporting a good cause?
Pick up your copy of the Bog Hag Anthology today!
March 31, 2025
Steven F. Seagull and the Missing Chips Book Blitz #rabtbooktours
Children's Book
Date Published: 06-13-2024
Publisher: Magnetic Lion Productions
The chipocalypse is the greatest mystery to hit the seaside town of Fry Cove. Join Steven F Seagull on the adventure of a lifetime in this Pencraft Best Book engaging read about courage, friendship and teamwork, which reviewers hail as ‘an unexpected delight.’
Who stole the chips? Was it the Deny the Fry colony, who want all seagulls to quit eating chips? Or was it the seagull mafia boss, Stefano Giacomo, who has concocted a dastardly plot to convert all seagulls to pizza and pasta? As part of the newly formed CIA (Chips Investigation Agency), our reluctant hero, along with Charlie, Steven Colton, the karate chopping Bart, and Steven Rhys pit their wits to solve the mystery.
Whether you’re a fan of whimsical tales or simply in need of a feel-good read, this Readers' Favourite 5 Star ‘war of the best carbohydrates’ book is sure to leave you smiling.
Excerpt
Nervous, I flew alongside my dad, wondering what to expect. Fry Cove looked so peaceful and calm from the air, hiding the chip chaos. Dad took me to a rooftop on the edge of Fry Cove, where we found a hole and squeezed inside the lair of his ex-crime fighting friend.
It was dark inside, except for the light coming through the hole. A seagull emerged from a shadowy corner, smoke surrounding him in a cloudy haze.
“Who goes there?” he grumbled.
My dad held up his wings like he was surrendering.
“It’s okay, it’s me, Steven Petronius.”
A bedraggled seagull hopped forward, a twig drooping from the corner of his beak.
“Hmph, long time no see,” he said. “How long was it since we were both in the seagull police force?”
They slapped each other on the back, and began chuckling.
“This is Steven Sherlock,” my dad said. “He’s a very old friend.”
Both of them tipped their heads back and cackled, “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!”
“Remember the time we busted that American fries racket?” Steven Sherlock said.
“Oh yeah,” Dad said. “Our finest hour.” He beckoned to me. “This is my son, Steven Fitzgerald.”
The ex-detective’s eyes scanned me.
“A fine boy,” he commented. “What can I do for you? Is it anything to do with the chipocalypse?”
“Still as sharp as ever!” my dad said. “My boy just joined the newly formed CIA, or Chips Investigation Agency. Its mission is to solve the mystery of our missing chips, and restore order in Fry Cove.”
I gulped, my mind racing at the thought of the responsibility I had accepted.
“That’s brave of you,” said Steven Sherlock. “Pull this off, and you’ll be the hero of Fry Cove.”
I hung my head low, knowing I was far from heroic.
“Unfortunately, Steven Zeus put the Artful Dodger in charge of the CIA,” Dad said, shaking his head.
“That fool,” Steven Sherlock scoffed. “So, it means you need all the help you can get.”
He finished his twig, and stubbed it out on the floor.
My dad asked, “Have you got any old tools of the trade to get my boy started?”
Steven Sherlock lifted a wing tip in a lightbulb moment.
“I have something that could help.”
He waddled to the side of the room, which received light from the hole. Pulling out a drawer, he dipped in, lifting something out. It was shiny, but dusty. He dropped it on the floor with a clunk.
“You’ll find this useful when looking for clues,” he said. “It’s my old spy glass.”
He demonstrated by picking it up with one foot, peering through it.
“You can see many things not visible to the seagull eye. It makes tiny things bigger.”
“That’s…great,” I said, not sure how it would help.
“Hmmm,” Dad said. “What else do you have in your arsenal?”
Steven Sherlock rubbed his wings together with glee.
“Glad you asked! I have the full Chip Stealing Investigation tools here!”
He used his beak to pull a cord. A series of drawers and cupboards popped out, revealing a full range of crime fighting equipment. There was so much technology, it made my mind boggle.
“Here, we have a sophisticated tool for analysing wing tip prints.”
I stared at the equipment wide-eyed.
“While over here,” he added, “I have some special cement for making casts of footprints, chalk for drawing around dead gulls, and a poop splatter examination kit. It can also analyse ketchup, mayonnaise, and even barbeque sauce smears.”
“It’s so…hi-tech,” I said.
“You’re in the best of wings,” Dad said. Turning to Steven Sherlock, he added, “Where do you suggest my boy starts?”
He pulled the cord again, and the equipment rolled back into its secret location.
“Go to the places of previous chip sightings, and use the spy glass to find clues. Take samples of any ketchup smears or small items that you think are suspicious, then bring them back to me in these little bags.”
He passed me some empty chip bags.
“Okay,” I said, my voice quite shaky.
“You can do this,” Dad said. “I believe in you.”
It was time to show Fry Cove my capabilities, but could I live up to my dad’s expectations?
About the Author
Kitty May Gruchelska loves creating fantastical worlds for her readers, full of diverse and quirky characters. In a past life, she was probably a cat because she likes tuna, dislikes water, and frequently knocks things over, but luckily, she has nine lives. Kitty May teaches in a magical desert kingdom full of sunshine, camels, and rice dishes. She loves travelling, which also inspires her to write.
Contact Links
Instagram: @kittymaytales
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