Serena Akeroyd's Blog: All Things Serena! , page 266
February 18, 2014
COVER REVEAL: Uncovering You by Scarlett Edwards
Book Title: Uncovering You
Author: Scarlet Edwards
Genre: Dark Romance
Release Date: March 27, 2014
Series Number: 1 - look for second book in April
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
When I wake up in a dark, unfamiliar room, I have no idea what’s waiting for me in the shadows. My imagination conjures up demons of the worst kind.
Reality is much worse:
A collar with no leash. A prison with no walls. And a life stripped of meaning.
I am presented with a vile contract and asked to sign. It outlines the terms of my servitude. The only information I have about my captor are the two small letters inked at the bottom:
J.S.
Armed with only my memories, I must do everything I can to avoid becoming ensnared in his twisted mind games. But in the end, it all comes down to one choice:
Resist and die.
Or submit, and sign my life away.
“Lilly.”
Oh God. It’s him. There’s no mistaking that rich, masculine treble.
What’s he doing down here?
“M-Mr. Stonehart,” I stutter, turning. I curse my inability to hide my surprise. He totally caught me off-guard. I have to look up to meet his eyes. Then up some more.
The face that I find is so striking it should belong to a Greek god.
He’s younger than I expected. Late thirties, maybe early forties.
That means he started his company when he was younger than me!
Dark scruff lines his angular cheeks. His jet-black hair is styled in long, natural waves. My fingers itch to run through it.
Totally inappropriate.
He has a prominent nose that might be too big on a less imposing man, but on him, it’s perfect.
In short, he’s a package of the purest masculinity I’ve ever seen.
And then there are his eyes. Oh my God. His eyes. They pierce into me like honing missiles. They are the deepest black I have ever seen. They would be frightening if they weren’t so beautiful. When the light reflects a certain way, you catch a glimpse of the purple underneath.
They are like midnight sapphires. His eyes reveal a cunning intellect. Those eyes do not miss a thing.
Add all that to his towering height, his wide shoulders, his confident-yet-at-ease posture… and Stonehart cuts an intimidating figure.
My gaze darts to his left hand before I can stop it. No ring. He’s unmarried.
He looks down at me, expectantly. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, and I feel like I’m being dissected, measured up, and tucked away in some small corner of his brain. I imagine this is what a gemstone feels like under the magnifying class of the most critical appraiser.
Stonehart clears his throat. I come to with a start, realizing I haven’t said anything in ages. I open my mouth, but the capacity for speech seems like a foreign concept to my brain. “I—”
Somebody bumps into me from behind. I stagger forward. I’m not used to these shoes, so my heel steps the wrong way. My ankle twists under me, and I start to fall.
I don’t fall far. The hand still on my elbow tightens, and Stonehart pulls me into him.
I plaster myself onto the solid steel wall the man has for a body. I catch a scent of his cologne. It’s a deep, musky smell with a hint of charred spruce that is all male. It scrambles my thoughts even more.
“Sorry!” a rushed voice calls out. From the corner of my eye, I see the postman giving a hurried, apologetic wave.
Although the sequence lasts less than a second, it feels like an eternity. Pressed up against him like that, I don’t want to move. I know that I couldn’t have made a worse first impression.
Stonehart eases me off him with a firm yet gentle grip. Our eyes meet. I flush the most vibrant red. His fingers graze my forehead as he brushes a lock of hair out of my face.
Any tenderness I may have imagined vanishes when Stonehart takes out his cell. He long dials a key and growls an order. “Steven. See the delivery boy leaving right now? Have his building pass revoked.”
I gape. Stonehart keeps speaking. “Wait. I thought of one better. Bar his company from accessing the building.” There’s a pause. “For how long? Indefinitely. FedEx can talk to me when they have an improved employee selection program in place.”
The phone call gives me just enough time to compose myself. My heart’s still beating out of my chest. But nobody has to know that.
I speak without thinking. “You’re going to restrict the entire company from serving this building because of that?”
Stonehart humors me with an answer. “A company’s employees are its most important asset. Their behavior reflects the organization as a whole. If FedEx decided that clown is good enough for them, it tells me they’re sloppy. I do not do business with sloppy organizations.”
“What about the other tenants in the building?” I ask. “Won’t that piss them off?”
When I hear myself and realize how improper my question is, my cheeks flame red again.
Stonehart’s eyes darken, as if he cannot believe I asked that question. I open my mouth to apologize for my imprudence, hating the way my professional skills have evaporated into thin air. I’m cut off by a short, barked laugh.
“Miss Ryder.” He sounds amused. “I believe that is the most direct and honest question anybody has dared ask me in weeks.” He takes my elbow again and leads me to the elevators. I have to take two quick steps to match one of his long strides.
“Yes,” he continues. “They will be ‘pissed off.’ But the perk of owning a building—” he hits the elevator call button, “—is that you get to make executive decisions.” He gives me an unreadable glance as the doors open. “That is, at the risk of being questioned by inexperienced interns.”
If that isn’t a loaded remark, I don’t know what is. I flush scarlet red for the third time since I’ve met him. I’ve never had a man throw me so off balance.
The elevator is packed, for which I’m infinitely thankful. The trip up will give me some time to properlycompose myself.
Gratitude turns to panic when the crowd files out, meek as mice, when Stonehart steps in. None of the people waiting in the lobby follow us.
The doors close. I’m alone in here with him. My heart’s beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.
He catches me staring. “Impressed?” he asks.
“They know you,” I manage.
His dark eyes flash with amusement. “Astute.”
I live near beautiful Seattle, Washington. I grew up reading all types of fantasy books before discovering the wonderful world of romances in high school. Now, I spend most of my time writing about sexy men and the women who love them. 
OPINIONS ON FALL INTO LOVE
“If erotica is something you enjoy,...
OPINIONS ON FALL INTO LOVE
“If erotica is something you enjoy, you will want to check out this new series.”
Julie at the Crew Review
“This is a short story, but there is a lot of action packed into the pages.”
Jaime at Kaina’s Book Blog
“I know the author has another couple of stories up her sleeve. I for one will read them to see if she can pull it off again with such story-telling skill.”
Ron Askew, Author of Watching Swifts
“I love the introspection Ms. Akeroyd entertains inside her heroine’s mind. Her analysis of the inner workings of the female psyche is dead on … so is all the pleasure we can derive from being women!
A great read. Would have loved for the story to go on. Will read this author again.”
Joss Landry, Author of Mirror Deep
”That (Fall Into Love’s) ending had to be one of the best endings I’ve read! My jaw literally dropped.”
Giselle (comment on Twitter)
Naughty Nookie series on:
Free Christmas Short - Mona - Deck The Halls With Handsome Hunks
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SIGNS YOU GREW UP AS AN ONLY CHILD
Being an only child makes you...
SIGNS YOU GREW UP AS AN ONLY CHILD
Being an only child makes you waaaay older than your years.
Personally, I’m glad I’m an only brat :D
Vid by BuzzFeedVideo
February 17, 2014
COVER REVEAL: WAITING FOR PRINCE HARRY by AVEN ELLIS
BOOK & AUTHOR INFO:
Waiting For Prince Harry by Aven Ellis
Publication date: Spring 2014
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Synopsis:
Twenty-four-year-old Kylie Reed has always been a rule follower. Organized and cautious to a fault, her dreams for life are often filed away for future use—when she has a house, when she meets her future husband, when she has been at her visual display job at a chic Dallas boutique longer…Kylie always has a reason for living her life in the future, not in the present, and not living her life to the fullest and reaching her dream of becoming a fashion designer.
The only exception to rules, of course, would be running away with Prince Harry—Kylie’s ideal man. A hot, fun ginger boy would be worth breaking all the rules for, of course. And Kylie is sure Harry just needs the right, centering woman to settle him down. But living in Dallas and not knowing Prince Harry make this a non-option.
Or does it?
Because when Kylie accidentally falls into the lap of a gorgeous ginger boy—yes, even more gorgeous than the real Prince Harry—all bets are off. Could this stranger be the one to show Kylie how to take a chance, to face her fears, and live in the present? And could this stranger be the Prince Harry she has been waiting for? Kylie’s life takes some unexpected twists and turns thanks to this chance encounter, and she knows her life will never be the same because of it…
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20652614-waiting-for-prince-harry
——
AUTHOR BIO
Aven Ellis has been writing fiction since she was sixteen. She studied communications at a large Midwestern university, and after graduation, Aven worked as a reporter for a community newspaper, followed by a stint at a public relations agency.
But writing about city council meetings and restaurant franchises was not as much fun as writing for young women trying to figure out their careers and potential boyfriends. So Aven got herself a job in television that allowed her to write at night. Connectivity is Aven’s debut novel; Waiting For Prince Harry and Chronicles of a Lincoln Park Fashionista (New Adult romantic comedy) will be published next year.
Aven lives in Dallas with her family. When she is not writing, Aven enjoys shopping, cooking, connecting with friends on social media, and watching any show that features Gordon Ramsay.
Author links:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7265661.Aven_Ellis
http://www.avenellis.com/
https://www.facebook.com/AvenEllis1
https://twitter.com/avenellis
“Oppressed Majority" was directed by Eléonore Pourriat and...
“Oppressed Majority" was directed by Eléonore Pourriat and it is a stunning short video. When I say absolutely eye-opening, it’s incredible. The switch of the sexes is done superbly. From the women running topless, to the NSFW sexual assault. Wow. Please, it’s worth watching for 11 mins.
Sexism does exist. How people can’t see it, I don’t know. I truly don’t.
Love's a Book: Just A Woman Naughty Nookie series #6 by Serena Akeroyd Review (LINK)
Awesome 5 star review for Just A Woman!
Check it out and maybe, just maybe, find the next series on your TBR pile :)
Naughty Nookie series on:
Free Christmas Short - Mona - Deck The Halls With Handsome Hunks
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Serena Akeroyd - Facebook Page
I sooooo need one of these!!!
Adventures… where would I...
I sooooo need one of these!!!
Adventures… where would I go?
Oooooh, everywhere!
I might just need a bigger pot.
This is me, well kind of, at the minute.
I’m on a real go...
This is me, well kind of, at the minute.
I’m on a real go slow. I’ve got to finish part four of Marina’s Naughty Nookie Tale and I can’t deny I’m flagging! In the last 8 months, I’ve written over 220,000 words. But even though I feel very self-righteous at how busy I’ve been, that doesn’t excuse my go-slow. I wish! Lol.
BOOK BLITZ: Her Master's Choice by Karen Mercury
Book Title: Her Master’s Choice Author: Karen Mercury Genre: Contemporary BDSM Romance Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
When Shannon Bloomfield hears a rumor that an influential, anonymous food critic is visiting her restaurant, she has no idea it’s the exotic, erotic bad boy Tate Gooding who holds her fate in his culinary hands. Tate, burned out on the club circuit life and traveling around the States for his guidebook company, wants a deeper, more meaningful relationship with the three-star chef.
Tate instructs Shannon in a thrilling new realm of private—and public—play, pushing her limits with every new scene. Shannon discovers that her inner “Force-Me Queen” is an expert tease, skilled at keeping Tate on the edge.
But a creepy stalker has photos and threatens to expose Tate’s cover and their back alley scenes. Tracking down the culprit brings the couple closer than ever in their power plays, and Shannon learns that breaking out of her comfort zone is an arousing adventure when it’s Her Master’s Choice.
Karen’s first three novels were historical fiction involving pre-colonial African explorers. Since she was always either accused or praised—depending on how you look at it—for writing overly steamy sex scenes, erotic romance was the natural next step.
She currently has over 20 ménages with Siren Publishing.
She lives near Napa, California where she shoots archery, collects minerals, plays with her not-so-little Newfoundland pup, and does other “guy” things.
And then his eyes met hers.
The guitarist’s smoky eyes held a glimmer of acknowledgment, as though they had known each other before. Shannon tried to only briefly engage diners’ glances because she didn’t want to get drawn into long, trivial conversations with them.
This time it was different. She met and held the musician’s warm, sly look. His eyes looked as though lined with kohl, his upper lip under the sparse Latin lover’s moustache full and bowed like a cherub’s. Women would kill for cheekbones like his, and he had a thoughtful, poetic aura as he slightly tilted his head and regarded her.
She had no choice. She had to go to his table and acknowledge that he’d engaged her.
Luckily he was sitting one table down from the commander in chief, who really seemed to be getting off on that hand-cut pasta. The President hadn’t even touched his water glass, he was so intent on rolling the slimy mushrooms around in his mouth. Good.
“Hi,” Shannon said experimentally. It wouldn’t hurt if Reagan saw her chatting it up with diners. In addition to handing out stars for excellence, Hamsun rated each restaurant in slightly lesser categories such as ambience and service. These were notated as one to four fourches, or forks, printed in bold pink if it was exceptional. Shannon had always had a bold pink fork for service. Ambience was never bolded, probably due to her sloppy chalkboard. “How is your meal? I see you selected a glass of Summerhawk cab. That’s my personal favorite, too.” It was. It really was.
He didn’t seem concerned about his meal or his wine. “Are you Shannon Bloomfield?” His voice was deeply resonant, and it occurred to Shannon he could be an actor, too. Actors dressed flamboyantly hip like that sometimes.
“Yes. I am.”
He grinned crookedly. “I was just wondering if I should order the flan.”
Shit! He was referring to that whole Hamsun debacle a year ago—and within earshot of the new rater! Instinctively, Shannon tried to stand between him and the Teflon President, who luckily didn’t seem to have heard. “Oh, that! I personally think we were just having an off day. Every other reviewer gave our flan top rating. We don’t even serve it anymore.”
“But you should keep serving it, to prove that rater wrong.”
Shannon changed the subject. “I see you’re having the grilled squid. That’s our special tonight—we change our menu weekly.” She wanted to make sure Reagan heard that, but he appeared to have his mouth and concentration buried in the lamb with roasted garlic sauce.
The musician disregarded her promotional skills. “Are you married, Shannon?”
What the fuck? What the hell does that have to do with anything? I like self-confident, but this guy is a bit too arrogant for his own good! However, she had to be gracious within earshot of the alleged rater. “No, I’m not. This restaurant is my life. I’d never have time to get married. You know, to some of us who are dedicated to pairing opposing flavors and using ingredients at their absolute peak—”
“You should.” The musician regarded her levelly, utterly fearless and confident. “You’re a stunning woman, but your inner glow would burst forth more freely if you just let loose and allowed yourself to get properly fucked once in awhile.”
Shannon was struck mute. The young couple at the next table were, too. They both swiveled their heads, their eyes widening in shock. And, naturally, The Gipper had heard the entire thing, too. Lamb actually fell from his mouth onto his plate, tumbling along with a few peas. His Superman hair gleamed in the romantic candlelight.
Once Shannon determined the musician had actually said what she thought he had, she had to respond politely. Maybe he was from a rival restaurant and wanted to ruin her second chance at regaining her star. She moved her mouth, hoping something halfway mannerly would come out. “Uh. Yes. That probably never hurts anything, now, does it? However, I do date someone. He’s very supportive of my free-form plating and my unique—ah, here he is now.”
Shannon for once bought a break when this guy she’d dated about three times breezed through the doorway. She hadn’t seen Tom Bukowski’s name on the reservation list, yet here he was, happily striding toward her with open arms. He was a chef at another no-starred Berkeley restaurant and he really did nothing for her. She was going to tell Tom she was too busy to date just because they had no chemistry. Tom was definitely “bro zoned.” Men were never interested in being only friends, but he sure did come in handy right now.
The musician looked at Tom with disgust, his upper lip trembling. “I said properly fucked, Shannon.”
Oh my God. Will nothing shut this man up?
February 16, 2014
submissivefeminist:
femmedommemadam:
thiscuntsays:
bitch-imamo...
bitch-imamotherfuckingprincess:
I went to the bathroom in a building on my campus and saw this on the back of the stall door. While I’m deeply upset that a young woman went through such a horrible ordeal, I’m also very touched that so many other girls wanted to help her and offered advice as well as ways to seek help. We are women hear us roar.
WOMEN HELPING OTHER WOMEN
WOMEN BEING GOOD TO OTHER WOMEN
THIS SHIT IS REVOLUTIONARY.
Not only is FSU an amazing school where my dad and Uncle went and where I almost went but apparently women there support each other like I wish they did everywhere. Awesome. Just awesome.
I wish everyone supported survivors like this.
Totally agree; we should embrace not denigrate survivors.
And to quote a poster from above:
‘We are women hear us roar!’
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