UPDATE: The winner is…Jennifer Beyer!
*~*~*

I’m making the finishing touches on Quincy before I upload the book tomorrow for its release next Tuesday! There’s nothing like waiting until the last minute, right? I can’t wait for you to read the rest of the story about Quincy and his beautician-in-the-bunker—the couple I introduced you to in the short story, “Quincy Down Under“! In the newest Montana Bounty Hunters installment, you’ll see all the characters you’ve loved along the way. We’re nearing the end of the stories in this series. I think I only have one more to write, and if you’ve been reading the stories, you know which wonderful man hasn’t yet found his true love. I’m hoping to have that story ready for you before the end of this year! In the meantime, catch up on the series and get ready enjoy Quincy and Tamara’s great adventure. A warning though, it’s very, very sexy. 🙂

If you haven’t already pre-ordered your copy of Quincy’s story, here’s the link: Quincy.

Enjoy reading an excerpt from another story in the series, Hook. I loved, loved, loved writing his story! He lost his arm in an explosion, and has been having a hard time adjusting to his new “normal”. But then he gets assigned to protect a woman with even bigger problems than his own…

Hook

Former Army Ranger, Dylan “Hook” Hoecker, has a new job along with a new prosthetic arm. Being a bounty hunter is the closest career field he could find as a civilian that gives him the adrenaline rush that is his addiction. So, when his first solo assignment is to keep an eye on a flight risk the boss bonded out of jail, he’s not thrilled. However, he soon discovers a fresh addiction–one mouthy, nerdy redhead, who resists his attempts to keep her out of trouble.

Felicity Gronkowski is grateful for the bone the head of Montana Bounty Hunter threw her. She didn’t have the money to pay for bail, but he has a soft spot for former military, and she bartered to install a new computer system in his satellite office in Bear Lodge. Being on the outside of jail was her first imperative because she has to figure out who framed her for a series of high-end robberies while she worked installing home security systems. However, her bounty-hunting babysitter isn’t giving her any slack. Every time she thinks she’s given him the slip, he’s one step ahead of her. Either she has to find the perfect method of distraction to escape him or she has to enlist his help to clear her name.

Contest

Comment below for a chance to win a copy of one of the MBH books shown below!

Are you all caught up with the bounty hunters?
Here’s what’s available so far (until next Tuesday)!

MONTANA BOUNTY HUNTERS
Authentic Men… Real Adventures…
Reaper: https://amzn.to/2NztLpv
Dagger: https://amzn.to/2zo6Dav
Reaper’s Ride: https://amzn.to/2KKkisI
Cochise: https://amzn.to/2zq4avV
Hook: https://amzn.to/2UrpyYh
Wolf: https://amzn.to/2yUTjr5
Animal: https://amzn.to/2H4Roob
Big Sky Wedding: https://amzn.to/33GprwK

Excerpt from Hook

Dylan “Hook” Hoecker had no problem keeping pace with Dagger and Cochise as they raced along the dark alleyway, following the skip they’d tracked to a gun shop in Libby. Scooter James had made the crew the moment Dagger entered the premise. Perhaps it was Dagger’s burly physique that had tipped him off, or maybe he was just nervous having three intense-looking dudes enter the store, but he’d run for the back exit.

No, Hook’s legs had never been an issue. He ran like the wind, easily leaping over a barrel Scooter dumped on its side, hoping to trip them. Beside him, Dagger cursed, and Hook couldn’t help smiling as the big guy went down. This skip was his. When he reached the end of the alley, Scooter veered left and ran through a stand of motorcycles, tipping over one, which sent the rest slowly falling like dominoes. Bikers sitting at outdoor café tables nearby rose and filled the street, shouting and moving toward their Harleys, forcing Cochise and Hook to push past them.

Cochise went down when one biker stuck out a foot, perhaps angry that their chase had scratched his ride.

Hook waved his prosthetic arm, which, sometimes, had even those who weren’t so tight with the law pausing and giving him a break. He didn’t mind one bit using his disability to give him an advantage. He shouted out a “Thanks, man,” when one biker rolled his bike forward to clear his path.

Now, it was just him following the slap of Scooter’s Adidas on the pavement. Hook paced himself, forcing himself to keep his breathing even so he’d outlast his target. He didn’t use every bit of his strength to close the gap, because he knew he’d need anything extra to take the fucker down once he began to slow.

In his mind, Hook thanked his physical therapist, who’d concentrated on helping him make the adjustment to his new circumstance, learning to use his prosthetic, but who also continued to meet him on the track three or four mornings a week to make sure he worked out the rest of his body to help, not only keep him toned for the work he did, but to keep his dark moods at bay. Raydeen Pickering was a hero in his mind, because she went the extra mile for every man and woman she accepted into her treatment program.

Ahead of him, Scooter ducked into another alley.

“He’s turned again,” he said, knowing the others could hear him through the radio in his earpiece. “Left, into an alley.”

“I’m behind you,” Cochise said. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“I’m cutting through another alley. Will try to get to the street before he does,” Dagger said in his ear.

Hook went left and entered an alley lit by a single golden bulb at the back door of a restaurant. He ran past rank-smelling trash bins and plastic bags but didn’t see his mark ahead. “Don’t see him,” he said, and then slowed and turned.

Something dark swung at his head, and he held up his right arm to deflect the blow from a two-by-four from a pallet, no doubt. But the board hit plastic and metal and bounced off. Hook swung under it with his left, catching Scooter in the chin. Their target dropped like a sack of rocks across a row of trash bags lined up on the dirty, smelly pavement.

Hook stood over Scooter, shaking his left hand because it hurt like hell. Then he noted that his prosthetic dangled kind of funny. He tried to open and close the claw, but apparently, Scooter’s blow had damaged the cable. “Fuck,” he said, and gave Scooter a light kick in the side. “Bastard.”

The sounds of two individuals converging on him from different directions forced him to contain his anger and tuck his prosthetic against his body to hide the damage. The last thing he ever wanted to have happen was for one of these guys to think he was less capable of mixing it up. For the most part, he thought of his arm as an advantage in a fight. Metal hit harder than flesh and bone, and, generally, it could sustain a punch much better, too.

Thankfully, he kept a spare in his vehicle. He just had to get there. But first things first.

Scooter moaned from the ground as Cochise then Dagger came to a halt beside him and stared downward.

“Like we tried to tell you before you ran like a scared rabbit,” Hook said to Scooter, “we’re fugitive recovery agents, and we’re taking you to jail.”

Scooter pushed up on an elbow. “What the hell is that smell?”

Dagger sniffed. “Don’t know, but now I’m hungry. Could be chili.”

“I think it’s stew,” Cochise dead-panned. “Benny’s Eats makes a mean beef stew.”

“Shit, it’s all the way up my shirt,” Scooter said as he sat, rubbing his jaw.

“Well, looks like you’ll have something to snack on during the drive back,” Dagger drawled.

Scooter let out a huff. “Goddamn. My car, man. I left it at the gun shop.”

“You’ll just have to pick it up from impound,” Dagger said, “if the judge is stupid enough to let someone bond you out again.”

Hook reached down his left hand to help Scooter to his feet.

Scooter frowned. “Damn, you wearing armor on your arm? My teeth about rattled out of my head when I hit you.” Then he glanced at Hook’s metal claw. “Well, shit. That explains a lot.”

Hook reached for his handcuffs from the pocket on the back of his web belt. When he pulled them forward, he realized he wasn’t going to be able to cuff him, not one-handed.

Cochise held out his hand. “Let me do the honors.”

Hook pressed his lips together and handed him his handcuffs. If he’d been on his own, he’d have managed, somehow, but he might have had to put Scooter back on the ground first. He hadn’t quite mastered the single-handed snap using his left hand. Everything was harder to master with his left. Maybe he should ask Raydeen to add handcuffing to the everyday tasks he worked on improving.

Once Cochise had Scooter restrained, he stood back and let Hook grip Scooter’s upper arm to take him back to their vehicles.

The walk back was interminable. They passed the bikers who shot them birds but otherwise stayed pretty mellow. Back at the gun shop, Lacey, Dagger’s partner, gave a wave to the shop owner and sauntered their way. She’d canvassed the businesses in Libby days ago, leaving cards. No doubt the middle-aged owner had been only too eager to snitch, because then she’d grace his shop again. Dressed in skin-tight jeans and a pink button-down blouse that she’d knotted at her midriff, Lacey looked like a sweet confection. All that was missing was the powdered sugar.

“Hey there, Scooter,” she said. Then she shook her head and held her nose. “Good Lord, he is not riding in our vehicle.”

Hook grunted. “You can ride with me. I’ll even let you drive.”

Lacey might have looked like a cupcake, but she was one sharp cookie. Her gaze went to the arm he’d tucked close to his body, and she gave him a broad smile. “Dagger, you don’t mind if I ride with Hook, do you? I’ve never had the chance to talk with him alone.”

Dagger narrowed his eyes.

Lacey gave him a blinding smile. “See you back in Bear Lodge! Only you’ll be way later than us,” she said, then held her nose again and gave him a wink.
Cochise chuckled. “Come on, Scooter. You’ve got a new date with a judge. Bet if you sweettalk your jailers, they’ll let you have a shower before they put you in your cell.”

After Cochise, Dagger, and Scooter left, Lacey turned back to Hook, her big blue eyes rounding in concern. “Oh my God, you’re hurt!”

Is reality television altering the way people think about or view romance?

Today’s post starts with a question that may have a frightening answer—at least, for me it may. Before I dive headfirst into this abyss of a rabbit blackhole, let me begin with a brief explanation of what brought this question to mind. Throughout the week, I’m busy with work, but on Sunday evenings, I have some time to relax. It is then that I enjoy engorging my mind on junk tv that doesn’t require me to think too much to get a good chuckle. Several years ago, my television watching began to change—first out of curiosity, then out of choice, and then because out of limited choice. The cable company changed and affordable cable came in a reduced package. Initially, I began watching reality tv to see what it was all about. What was the hype? I enjoyed the elimination challenge shows, the ones where individuals were given some outrageous (but accomplishable) task that needed to be solved by the end of short deadlines, the most. At the time, there still was a variety of sitcoms and dramas. But that began to change. Reality tv went from a novelty to the norm, with no genre being left unscathed until they saturated daytime and prime time.

Not that reality tv was ever a reality, I did enjoy that some elements seemed unscripted and genuine. I felt that I was gaining a sneak peek in someone else’s more exciting life. But the more I watched, the more draining and depressing they felt. Then one day, it dawned on me, this “reality” stuff is all (or the majority) of what millennials may know and respond and what older generations are being forced to adapt to.

I’m about to reveal my age when I say this next because I truly feel old now. I remember when computer dating held a stigma. Now, it’s the status quo. Young physically flawless women are lined on the tv in droves to compete for the affection of a single man and are destroyed to tears after an episode or two when he does not pick them from the liter. Are they truly convinced they are in love? And why would a woman do this? I asked a female friend this who pointed out something startling. She asked me if I’d been to any bars of clubs lately. My answer was no. Then, she asked me why. My jaw dropped as I began answering. In this area where I was sitting, there are no bars. The closest thing to a bar is a restaurant (e.g., Buffalo Wild Wings or Applebee’s) that serves alcohol. A group may go there just for drinks, but more likely, people go mainly for the food. As far as clubs, there are a few, but they are all geared towards the “don’t know I’m not twenty anymore” crowd. What I mean is the target audience is the local college scene. Who shows up are pervs and cougars hoping to pounce on young, tender, inexperienced meat and mothers squeezed into their teenage daughter’s clothes? Fights are almost a constant, and as a result, many of the venues look like Harpo’s place in The Color Purple. Mostly, the college students do not go there, preferring private house parties or fraternity/sorority soirees. However, even if they wanted to go clubbing, many could not afford the jacked-up admission fee that does not include the cost of drinks.

The business professional types largely stay at home, as in the Bible Belt, it is looked upon negatively to be seen in any establishment that serves alcohol, and many surrounding counties are dry. Their recreational excursions revolve around church events. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking church functions. However, the old adage, “meet a nice boy in church” appears mythical. Everyone in church is already coupled-up.

That leaves malls and grocery stores for meeting people. Gone are those days, too. Malls are the graveyards of dying retailers with the few that remain open having few venues and limited stock. It is a sad state that more people are not invested in keeping brick and mortars around and pumping breath into local communities. Let me stop and say that I am a huge supporter of mom and pop stores and buying local. I have been heavily criticized for my position with some citing it as being political. I see it as residents being able to support their families and a check and balance system against blatant monopolies. I do not view anything political about a person wanting to put food on the table, a roof over their head, and non-designer clothes on their backs. If this view upsets people, I do not make any apologies about holding it, but mom and pop stores are one of the cornerstones of this country, which appear to be fading out of existence. In my teen years, malls were booming and place for anyone who was anybody to be on the weekends. But a trip to the mall here is a very different experience.

Instead of stylish display windows, they are covered with paper. An occasional cellphone chime has replaced constant chatter, footsteps, and speaker music. Kiosks have been replaced by vending machines. One would have better luck panning for gold than finding a mate in a mall in this area. Outlet malls once were the diamonds. Now, even those are closing.

The state of grocery stores is similar. Few “grocers” are opened. Most are large chain supermarkets or mega department stores that sell food. Patrons who frequent them are nose-deep in text messaging and are interested in getting out as quickly as possible. Chitchat detains them, and they don’t like that. They are annoyed by the crowds, waits in line, and having to self-check.

In my desperate attempt to think of some hub for meeting, I considered parks, spas, and gyms. Well, there are no spas, so I can cross that off immediately. Gyms are a beast of a different nature. There are basically two kinds in the area—male and female. I don’t think it’s the owners’ intention that they are that way, though. I know that is not how they are advertised. However, if you look into the windows, it rare to see mixed crowds.

There are several parks, but they are all small. The largest one is surrounded by a small walk track (eight laps equals a mile). It gets a lot of traffic for all ages. However, most walkers have earbuds stuffed in their ears as they exercise, likely to drown out the screaming kids that dart across the path on the way to the swings. The thing about the parks is they seem to be all or nothing. Either they are crowded with barely enough room for people to exercise or desolate. There’s not much seating, and the park is divided into three sections. One section has no parking and no paths. The landscape is very uneven and few people go there.

Even when there are city-sponsored events, that area is unused, except for parking. The largest section has a sprinkle of benches and has what is called an “amphitheater” that runs along the outskirt. Even the newly developed dog park is utilized. Only two parks have lights. The first park is used for little league soccer. Those lights are only turned on for games. The other park, the largest one—the one with the three sections, only has one area with lights. In short, unless there is a hosted event, the park is not ideal for meeting new people. In fact, I’ve never heard anyone here claimed to have met their significant other at one of these parks.

After dissecting my current living area, it became clear to me: I’m not in Kansas (or in my case, Louisiana) anymore. My investigative nose got a bug, and I began to question how people found spouses/partners here. What I quickly learned is that most couples are natives to the area, meaning they’ve always known each other, or, at least, have known each other since grade school. A few stated that they met their love interest in college (and there are several colleges nearby) and have been married for years or they are currently enrolled in college. The single scene for adults really does not exist.

But wait. I bet you’re thinking about dating apps. Hmm. I remember when those used to be stereotyped. Now, they’re the norm. But even those are a letdown. In small regions, there are few compatible matches in close proximity. A potential love connection may be a hundred miles away, a.k.a., long-distance relationship.

And that leads to reality tv for people to get their romantic fix. Watching these as the only examples of romance, one begins to normalize it as dating reality. Patience is thrown out with the bathtub, baby, and all the diapers. Insta-love is the belief du jour. Actually, it’s not even insta-love. Forget dinner and a movie or even the three-date rule. There’s one reality tv program that participants meet each other at the altar (or wherever) seconds before getting married. Women wait in droves to get selected as the chosen one to be wined and dined on frozen television dinners by a pool. Not to knock anyone’s hustle, but what real woman (or man for that matter) would put up with that. Well, apparently a lot. However, it is being exposed frequently that many of the persons on reality tv are actors with scripts, which is fine. Or it would be fine. But how about calling a spade a spade as the old folks say? Instead of calling it reality tv where viewers expect some portions of dialogue and circumstances to be a quarter of a centimeter true, say it’s a drama, sitcom, or some work of fiction.

I know I never expected reality television to be “real,” but on some of these “dating” shows, I did hold out hope that what I was seeing was true love—that maybe the situation or setting may have been manipulated but the feelings were real. Now, even my faith in that is shook, as some networks are brassily supporting cheating and adulty. Lies and deceptions are being upheld as reality standards that should be accepted by some networks. Now, I say some and not all. And I’m not pinpointing or singling out any one particular television production.

In all fairness, anyone watching television should not be using television as their only source for a moral compass. However, it does cause one to wonder with the seeming evaporation of romance in many smaller communities and the use of the word “reality”, how are people defining romance?

What are your thoughts on romance? Do you feel that the definition of romance is changing? What do you think is romantic? Have your thoughts of romance changed? I’d like to hear your opinions. Please leave a comment and let me know your opinion. Also, let me know if you like this type of content and would like to see more of these kinds of posts.

*~*~*

Enjoy sports romance? Check out my new adult romance, Defending the Net, released on November 10. It is the second in my hockey series and guaranteed to melt the ice. It will be sold at Kindle, Apple Store, Nook, Kobo, !ndigo, Angus & Robertson, and Mondadori Store. It is the second in my hockey series and guaranteed to melt the ice. Order a copy now at www.books2read.com/defending. Crossing the line could cost the game.

Missed the first in my hockey romance series? Don’t worry. Out of the Penalty Box, an adult romance where it’s one minute in the box or a lifetime out is available at https://amzn.to/2Bhnngw. It also can be ordered on iTunes, Nook, or Kobo. For more links where to purchase or to read the blurb, please visit https://bit.ly/2i9SqpH.

Life’s Roux: Wrong Doors, my steamy romantic comedy, is available at Red Sage Publishing. To order, follow the link to https://bit.ly/2CtE7Ez or to Amazon at https://amzn.to/2lCQXpt.

Copies of all my books and stories are available in paper, eBook, and audio on Amazon, iTunes, Kobo, and Barnes & Noble. The links are listed in my Writing Projects page (https://bit.ly/2iDYRxU) along with descriptions of each of my novels or stories.

NEWSLETTER! Want to get the latest information and updates about my writing projects, giveaways, contests, and reveals first? Click https://genevivechambleeconnect.wordpress.com/newsletter/ and signup today.

Don’t forget to visit Creole Bayou again. New posts are made on Wednesdays. If you have any questions or suggestions about this post or any others, feel free to comment below or tweet me at @dolynesaidso. You also can follow me on Instagram at genevivechambleeauthor or search me on Goodreads or Amazon Authors.

Finally, if you or anyone you know are interested in joining a college Greek life organization, check out my special series posted each Monday for everything you wanted (and didn’t want) to know about college fraternities and sororities. Visit Sorority Bible Table of Contents to view any or all of these posts.

UPDATE: The winner is…Katherine Anderson!
*~*~*

I have a book to finish by the end of the week, so my head is down, my focus is razor-sharp, and I’m trying to stay away from social media, but I may need to find some sprinters to help keep my butt in the chair! And hey! Have you pre-ordered your copy of Quincy? It’s super-fun, very sexy, and if you’re looking for something that will make you laugh and squirm, well, this might do the trick! (Or so my beta readers are telling me! 🙂 ) Click on the cover below to reserve your copy! It’s coming out one week from today!

In the meantime, here’s a fun puzzle with an accompanying contest…

Contest

Tell me a story! Doesn’t have to be longer than one sentence, but have fun with it! What sort of story “goes” with this picture?
Enter to win a $5 Amazon gift card!

My main character in my short story, “An Awareness of Evil”, is Amanda McMasters, a psychic, living in the small town of Milford, Idaho. One day she senses a girl who is horribly frightened of something. As the days go by, the sensations increase and expand until full-blown visions assail her. Suddenly, there is no question in her mind that she knows the girl and finally, she knows where to find her.

I’ve always been drawn to psychics. When I was growing up in Virginia Beach, I made frequent visits to the Edgar Cayce’s Association for Research and Enlightenment. What a fascinating place! Through them I found a local psychic. She didn’t really tell me much that I found to be personal. But the experience of going was half the fun. When my dad was transferred to Florida my senior year of high school, I visited Cassadaga, a small town known for its psychic community. This visit was much more satisfying. The psychic there told me things about myself and about my boyfriend (and future husband), things no one could have known. I was hooked. And though I haven’t been back to other psychics, I have read about them, a lot. When I think of paranormal, a psychic is what comes to mind first.

An Awareness of Evil
inside Mystic Desire

Amanda McMasters is a psychic living in small town, Idaho. Far from the usual episodes where she can sense a person needing help, Amanda is suddenly thrown into full-blown visions of a little girl who feels threatened. She feels the girl’s terror, sees the poor state of her home, and smells strange and awful things—like the blood pooled around her mother and the faint whiff of a body beginning to decompose. With the help of her visions and Detective Brendan Gilchrist, Amanda races to save the little girl before she meets her mother’s fate.

Excerpt:

“There’s not much more frightening to a child than hearing a parent cry.” Amanda McMasters clutched her purse in her lap and tried to keep from twisting her hands. She stared at the nameplate on the front of the desk. Det. Donny Connor. He looked older than the other detective and probably had more experience but she wished she were speaking with the younger guy, doodling as he listened to her and his partner. He sat sideways to his desk with the chair pushed back onto two legs, looking as though he hadn’t a care in the world. But something told her that he heard every word.

“I can imagine,” Detective Connor said in a low voice. He seemed as though he were trying to sound soothing but a note of frustration hit between his words. “And so, you heard someone crying.”

“Not exactly.”

Detective Connor blew out a breath, laid his pen on the desk and then picked it up again. “Ms. McMasters, you’ve been trying to tell us what’s up for the past fifteen minutes. Why don’t you just say it and let us decide what’s important or not?” The detective looked to his partner sitting at the next desk. Detective Gilchrist gave him a bare nod. So far, that was the most interaction she’d seen from him.

Amanda took a deep breath and braced herself to tell the men what she’d been trying to avoid. “I don’t actually hear crying.”

“You don’t actually hear—”

“More like I sense it.”

The detective slowly placed the pen on his desk again. “You sense it.”

“Right.”

Detective Connor stretched his arms and folded his fingers behind his head. “So you don’t see the person crying. You don’t hear anyone crying. You don’t actually see a child.”

“That’s right.” She knew what was coming but knowing didn’t diminish the frustration. Or the pain in once again not being believed. “I’m something of a psychic.” She hadn’t meant to sound small, but that’s how it came out anyway.

Detective Connor dropped his hands to the desk and jerked the pen off the notepad. “You’re psychic.”

“Yes.”

“I see. And you’re sensing that this child you can’t see or hear is frightened.”

“I know it.”

“Okay, where is this child? We’ll be sure to check it out, won’t we Brendan?”

“Absolutely.”

Now Amanda didn’t bother trying to keep her hands still. She squeezed her fingers and released. Squeezed and released. “I don’t know.”

“Ms. McMasters, what exactly do you expect us to do? You don’t have any idea of who the kid is or how we can find it.”

“Her. I’m sure it’s a little girl crying.” She shook her head and narrowed her brows in worry. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d had a report of a domestic disturbance or something I might be able to draw on. I’ve been sensing her for two days now. It’s getting worse. She’s scared and I don’t know how to help her.” Her voice had risen to the point that people at desks around them had stopped to look. Amanda took another deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry. If I had more information, I’d tell you. But I can’t keep this to myself anymore.”

“Can’t keep what to yourself, miss? You haven’t told us anything.”

“Amanda McMasters,” murmured the other detective. “I think I’ve heard that name before. Have you been involved in another police case?

“Yes, last year in Spokane.” She had lived there until moving the eighty or so miles to Milford, Idaho. Once she had helped the Spokane police solve the murder case, she’d lost all privacy. People called morning, noon, and night asking for help in finding everything from lost dogs to lost keys. Or worse, more lost children. The stories had broken her heart and the constant requests had destroyed her peace. When her landlord told her she’d have to move or control the numbers of people banging on her door, she had little choice but to leave the Washington town. She’d chosen a smaller place in the more rural neighboring state. The last thing she needed now was to have the same problem start up again.

“I remember now. The boy lost in the state park. You located him just as he was on death’s door.”

“I am blessed with a gift, or maybe it’s a curse. But I’m not making anything up,” she said defensively.

“I believe you,” the younger detective said, meeting her gaze.

*~*~*

Buy links for Mystic Desire:
Amazon: https://amzn.to/322Ziq3
Universal link: https://books2read.com/u/4j1AD2

Mystic Desire, a supernatural anthology from Black Velvet Seductions is available for pre-order until October 1.

Authors included:
Dee S. Knight: An Awareness of Evil
Zia Westfield: Bewitching the Wolf
Lora Logan: Calling All Angels
Callie Carmen: Dream Catcher
Anne Krist: Life Saving
Patricia Elliott: Love from the Mist and also Love Knows No Apocalypse
Carol Schoenig: Love that Binds
R.M. Olivia: Love’s Ghost
Richard Savage: The Anniversary
Suzanne Smith: The Mortal Vampire
Alice Renaud: The Sweetest Magic of All
Jan Selbourne: Through the Veil
Breanna Hayes: Unconditional Lust

About the Author

A few years ago, Dee S. Knight began writing, making getting up in the morning fun. During the day, her characters killed people, fell in love, became drunk with power, or sober with responsibility. And they had sex, lots of sex. Writing was so much fun Dee decided to keep at it. That’s how she spends her days. Her nights? Well, she’s lucky that her dream man, childhood sweetheart, and long-time hubby are all the same guy, and nights are their secret. For romance ranging from sweet to historical, contemporary to paranormal and more join Dee on Nomad Authors. Contact Dee at dsknight@deesknight.com.

Author links:
Website: https://nomadauthors.com
Blog: https://nomadauthors.com/blog
Twitter: https://twitter.com/DeeSKnight
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/DeeSKnight2018
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/265222.Dee_S_Knight
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B079BGZNDN
Newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/h8t2y6
LinkedIn: https://linkedin.com/in/dee-s-knight-0500749

No doubt we all remember our ‘first time’, the night or day or whatever when we lost our virginity, but what about when we first became aware of ourselves as sexual creatures? I’m not sure why that question recently occurred to me, but I have the answer.

I was a pre-adolescent, playing with my collection of plastic horses, cowboys, and Indians (yes, I’m that old) pretending my plastic human had caught a wild horse and was trying out various ways to restrain the horse. I tied up a leg, roped two legs together, placed a rope around its neck and tied the poor creature to a plastic section of fence. As I studied the mare or stud I became aware of a tingling sensation between my legs. After looking around to make sure no one was watching, I started rubbing myself there. The tingling increased, became more and more pleasurable. For as long as I remained interested in plastic horses and humans, I continued to encourage the feelings I didn’t understand. Of course I explored other ways of arousing the sensations, but ropes often factored in.

Fast forward about a million years and capture/bondage fantasies still turn me on. I’ve written other kinds of erotica but the majority revolve around some kind of restraint. My publisher Stormy Nights specializes in spanking stories. Even though spanking as a turn on puzzles me somewhat, I’m having a great time using that umbrella to engage my characters in sexual worlds. My heroines find themselves restrained while my heroes focus on enhancing the experience. Equality be damned in this fictional world. It’s all about power vs. helplessness.

I took that dynamic with me while writing my latest release Mastering His Pet. Here’s part of the first spanking scene. To explain, Tanner is a powerful Elite in a world I call The Society while Carra is a lowly Other. No question who’s in charge…

Mastering His Pet

“You want to run,” he said. “You’re like a wild animal that has spotted a trap and is trying to decide what to do.”

He hadn’t asked a question, which she took as proof he knew her much better than he should have. She had to be careful around him, not reveal too much, not show weakness.

But how?

“Maybe you’re wondering whether you can outrun me so I’ll answer. Despite my size, I’m fast on my feet.” He paused. “Call it one more weapon in my survival arsenal. If you let instinct get the best of you, I’ll overtake you. Once I catch you things will get even worse than they’re about to become. For one, I’ll make sure you stay where I decide you belong.”

He was still making statements, maybe not interested in hearing anything from her. Feeling as if she’d fallen into a place and space she hadn’t known existed, she kept her attention locked on him.

“I will correct your behavior. Make sure you never forget this vital lesson.”

It took everything she had in her not to assure him she understood, but she didn’t dare completely give into him. If she did he might take everything from her.

“Unfasten your shorts. Pull them down to your knees. Do the same to your panties, if you’re wearing any.”

“I am.” What did he think? That she dressed so she was always ready to fuck? She’d heard enough about military life to know some women hung around the troops. Most were whores looking to make enough to keep themselves fed, clothed, and sheltered. Her understanding was they made more money with their legs spread than they could otherwise.

Nothing could ever make her do that. Could it?

With a start she realized she’d let her mind drift. Somewhere between embarrassment and curiosity, she did as he’d ordered. She was going to be spanked, no way out of it.

Feeling if she’d separated from her body, she straightened. Her sleeveless top was so long it reached her navel, not that she could take comfort in the pitiful protection. She’d exposed her belly, pelvis area, and upper legs. Mostly her bare ass was there, ready for his hand.

“You should have worn long pants. You’ve got scratches, red marks, and indentations on your knees and shins from kneeling on the roof. Not a smart move on your part.”

He leaned back with his arms crossed, looking slightly bored. Maybe he’d spanked so many women he saw the task as nothing more than a chore. In contrast, she couldn’t think beyond the next few minutes.

“You know what you’re supposed to do. Get into place.”

She was just out of his reach, which meant she still had time to bolt, to—no, she couldn’t. Not sure what she was feeling, she positioned herself close to his legs and carefully lowered herself onto his lap. Her bare skin touched a single layer of denim, trapping heat between them. Her belly rested on thighs that felt as if they’d been carved from stone. Most concerning, the sensitive area between her belly and legs pressed against him. It felt good. Wonderful in fact.

Dizzy from having her head low, she ran her fingers over the rough ground. She closed her eyes, held her breath. This wasn’t happening but it was.

“You don’t have any marks here,” he said, his fingers light on her ass. “Considering your behavior, my cousins never corrected you?”

“No.” Her voice was muffled.

“You better not be lying. It’ll only get worse if you are.”

He’d threatened her. She should take it to heart, but how could she when his hand now rested on her backside as if he had every right, which he did.

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“I’ll make that determination. You have an exquisite ass.” He rubbed it. Her head spun and her pussy tightened and twitched. “Knowing my cousins as I do, I’m well-aware of their mindset where women are concerned. Don’t try to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I do.”

“That isn’t enough.” The pressure increased, not painful but impossible to ignore. Arousing. “Tell me, in detail, what takes place during their parties in the rooms without windows and with sound-deadening capabilities.”

“I’ve never been part of it.”

“They’ve never required your presence?”

“No.”

“If that’s the truth it constitutes a serious lack of judgment on their parts. An ass as delectable as this one should be put to use.”

“I’m more than an ass! You have no right saying—”

“Whether I do or don’t isn’t the issue. Might always wins.”

She was still processing his declaration when he slapped her. She jerked. A second blow immediately followed the first. Eyes squeezed closed, she tried to ready herself. Instead of continuing, he left her draped over him. He wasn’t done. She was sure of it.

“Do it!” She clamped a hand over her mouth then let her arm dangle again. What did staying quiet matter? She’d already angered him. “Get it over with.”

“All in good time, or should I say in my time. One way or the other you’re going to learn who is in charge.”

You are. If at all possible she’d keep from admitting that.

Her ass stung from the two sharp blows, the sensation sliding throughout her backside and going deep. She opened her eyes in an attempt to stop thinking about her pussy’s reaction. Weeds covered nearly every inch of the dirt she was looking at.

“Your life’s important.” He struck her a third time, this blow even more intense. “I will not have you treating it lightly. Being careless. If I have to keep you under control to keep you alive I’ll do it.”

“Under control?”

He closed his hands around her neck. “Restrained. Collared.”

Did you read my mind? “You wouldn’t.”

*~*~*

Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07VJ97TS7/ref
Nook: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mastering-his-pet-vonna-harper/1132617789?
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About the Author

What a ride my imagination has taken me on!

Freud, if he hadn’t been so hung up on his belief that only damaged people fantasize, might have tried to understand dom/submissive dynamics. Looks like he left that up to me and other like-minded writers. My most recent releases, Mastering His Pet, Predator’s Pet, His Purchase and His Filly are all spanking stories, but my erotica has covered everything from spanking to shape-shifting, from primitive tribes to science fiction. I honestly don’t know how many sexy stories I’ve had published. It’d probably scare me if I tried to count them. I also write tamer stuff under another name and try to keep the two far, far apart. My free time is spent as a servant to two rescue dogs, hanging out with family and mostly writer friends, and, sadly, selling the family’s mountain cabin. The less I say about this year’s garden the better.

Vonna
www.VonnaHarper.com
https://www.amazon.com/Vonna-Harper/e/B00JAMWDCC/ref=dp_byline_cont_pop_ebooks_1
VonnaWriter@gmail.com

These contest are still open! Enter while you can!

1. Diana Cosby: Hawks – Character Talisman (Contest) — Win a pair of Celtic earrings & a tote!
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3. Desiree Holt: Protecting Amy (Contest & Excerpt) — Win a FREE download!

*~*~*

Are you ready for Quincy?

This one’s coming September 24th!

Pre-order your copy here!

Meet Quincy and Tamara! Hope you enjoy the opening! ~DD

Located in Amity, Montana, the Suds & Saddlebags, or “S&S” for short, was your typical seedy biker bar. The popular dive smelled of sour beer, stale sweat, and motor oil. From the looks of the patrons, there were more firearms worn on hips or hidden under leather vests and jackets than likely sat in the local Army National Guard armory.

Quincy James hid his irritation that this stakeout was taking so long. He was finally here. In Amity. Near enough to whistle at the object of his frustration—the sexy proprietor of an unusual beauty shop, who by this point in time would likely flip him off rather than welcome him with open arms should he ever find the time to seek her out.

Shoulders slumping, he let out a deep breath.

Nearly a month had passed since he’d seen her. Her business card remained tucked inside his wallet. After they’d spent a very amorous afternoon trapped inside her doomsday-bunker-beauty-shop, he hadn’t called. At first, he’d reasoned he sucked at telephone courting and wanted to surprise her, in person, but after he’d spent ten days tracking a skip from south of Bozeman all the way through the Glacier National forest, and then being tapped to be part of teams hunting two more serious offenders, he knew he’d waited too long to even make an awkward as fuck call.

Tamara likely thought he was a bastard—a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of guy, but she’d be wrong. He’d had all the best intentions. When he’d had two minutes to fly down the aisles of a hardware store in Whitefish, he’d bought a knew door lock and deadbolt to take care of the problem that had trapped him inside Tamara’s beauty shop to begin with. The last thing he’d wanted was for the wrong person to find himself in that same tempting situation, someone who wouldn’t be quite as concerned as he’d been that the sexy things they’d done were welcomed and consensual.

The hardware was still in a paper bag beneath the front seat of his SUV—better than flowers, he’d thought at the time, but if he worked up the courage to face her wrath, he figured he’d better bring her at least a couple of dozen roses, too. Just to emphasize the fact he didn’t consider the gift she’d given him something he didn’t value. He did.

So much about their romantic encounter had stuck with him over the weeks since he’d left her behind after being freed from the locked bunker by his teammates. He remembered how soft she was—everywhere—from her fluffy pale blonde hair with its cotton-candy pink streak to the lush curves of her pocket-sized body, and her pink pouting lips. Good Lord, remembering those lips closing around his dick had left him sleepless and horny nearly every night since.

Damn, if they could just nail Tommy Walton’s ass quickly, he could be at her doorstep tonight. He wasn’t good with words, but he hoped if he came bearing gifts and she let him have just one kiss, she’d remember how good they were together, and then maybe she’d give him a chance to mutter through his litany of excuses for why he hadn’t so much as picked up a phone to call her.

He let out a deep breath. Hell, he didn’t deserve a second chance. A girl like her had to have plenty of more attentive suitors. Ones who didn’t disappear for weeks on end. Or who didn’t have dangerous jobs where they sat on their asses in smelly bars waiting for a dirtbag to show up.

“Goddamn, Winnie said Tommy always slips in here when it gets busy,” Hook groused from his table situated close to the entrance of the bar. “Safety in numbers, she said. He knows his crew will have his back if anything goes down.”

After all this time working with the Montana Bounty Hunters, Quincy still wasn’t used to hearing them in his ear. They used state-of-the-art devices, nearly impossible to detect because they were so small. He picked up his beer to hide his lips as he replied, “Some girlfriend, selling him out for a hundred.”

“Winnie’s got her eye on the club’s number two,” Hook said softly, “but Tommy keeps escaping arrest. She knows she’d be in deep shit if she sleeps around on him before he goes to jail.”

“Sounds like a sweetheart,” Dagger murmured, then, “Shit, think I’ve been made.”

Quincy leaned back in his chair next to the window overlooking the street outside and glanced around. Sure enough, two men at a table nearer the bar were staring at Dagger, leaning close together and whispering between themselves.

“The ballcap didn’t cut it,” Hook said.

Dagger was one of the breakout stars of the reality TV show, Bounty Hunters of the Northwest, which featured most of the hunters in MBH. Dagger was a standout due in most part to the fact he was “Bounty Hunter Barbie’s” man. Most times, he had to wear intricate disguises when he wanted to remain unnoticed, but they’d been in a hurry to hustle to the S&S after hearing from Winnie.

“Sucks to be famous,” Hook said then chuckled.

Dagger grunted. “Your turn in the spotlight’s comin’.”

“Maybe they just want an autograph,” Quincy said, his lips twitching. No way in hell would he ever sign up for that gig. He liked his privacy, thank you very much.

From the corner of his eye, Quincy saw one of the men stand then glance around. The biker tipped his goatee at the bald dude behind the bar then turned his gaze to Dagger.

Nearly every gaze in the place moved to his teammate. Quincy turned in his seat, pretending not to know what was going on, and casting his gaze over the suddenly silent crowd, hoping to guess the direction from which trouble was most likely to come.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Tommy Walton stepped out of the hallway that led to the back of the club. “Well, fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

Instantly, tables emptied as men pushed up from their seats to crowd around him. Read the rest of this entry »

Could he be the one to save her?

Check out my newest release, PROTECTING AMY, part of Susan Stoker’s Special Forces. Leave a comment for a chance to win either Protecting Maddie or Protecting Cassie.

Protecting Amy

She thought her past was firmly behind her…

Amy Ressler was a vivacious, outgoing person, looking forward to her first job after graduating college. Until the night her stepbrother slaughtered her entire family, and thought she was dead, too. For ten years she’d been living under an assumed name in a house in Tampa with security guards and a security system. Her agoraphobia keeps her a prisoner in the house where she designs sought after video games.

Quinn Molloy couldn’t seem to find a place for himself when he left the SEALS…

He had been part of the teams for eighteen years and suddenly an injury left him with no place to go, except to visit his friends Melody and Tex Keenan. Where they introduce him online to KitCat, Amy in her online disguise, a terrified woman who needs a bodyguard.

The killer is loose…

When Matthew Baker escapes from jail the hunt is on, led by the US Marshals. But with Amy helpless in her self-imposed prison, Quinn accepts the job as her personal bodyguard, and they discover that what starts online can explode In the bedroom. As long as he can keep her alive.

*****

Excerpt…

Amy Ressler woke with a start, sweating and shaking, throat parched and dry and tight with fear. She sat up in bed, clicked on the nightstand light. Her bedroom looked the same as it had when she’d gone to sleep. Nothing disturbed. Nothing different.

Then the images slammed into her, and she realized it was the dream again, the nightmare. As vividly as if they were all here in her room, she saw the bodies on the family room floor, including hers. Felt the burning pain of the stab wounds. Heard the insane sound of Matthew’s voice. Would it never go away?

Realizing she was shaking, she wrapped her arms around herself. Blinked to clear the scene from her brain.

God. Ten years, and the details were just as vivid in her mind, the fear still as intense and suffocating. At last, when her breathing had evened out, she tossed back the covers and climbed unsteadily out of bed. In the bathroom, she filled a glass of water and looked at herself in the mirror while she drank it. The face that looked back at her was pale and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t looked this bad since, well, since it happened.

It.

What a small, innocuous word to describe the worst moment of her life. One minute she was happy and enjoying life, excited about her college graduation and her interview for a dream job. The next she was living a nightmare and changing every aspect of her life just to be able to stay alive. Even after all these years the nightmares still came with regularity and still frightened her to death. Ten years!

Was this what the rest of her life would be like? Would it never stop?

Get it here: https://amzn.to/2KZwCZn

*****

Be sure to drop in at Desiree’s Darlings September 10 for the all day release party.
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About the Author

USA Today best-selling and award-winning author Desiree Holt writes everything from romantic suspense and paranormal to erotic, a genre in which she is the oldest living author. She has been referred to by USA Today as the Nora Roberts of erotic romance, and is a winner of the EPIC E-Book Award, the Holt Medallion and a Romantic Times Reviewers Choice nominee. She has been featured on CBS Sunday Morning and in The Village Voice, The Daily Beast, USA Today, The (London) Daily Mail, The New Delhi Times and numerous other national and international publications.

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