Wednesday, January 17, 2018

An Excerpt from “Fireworks at the Lake” by Berengaria Brown

An Excerpt from “Fireworks at the Lake” by Berengaria Brown.
Part of the “Getting Naughty: Twenty Tantalizing Tales” anthology. Pre-order now!

Andrew goes to Lake Superior for the Fourth of July. A blond Viking arouses every craving inside him. But dare he risk rejection again?

Andrew had spent most of the afternoon trying not to stare at the blond Viking stretched out on a lawn chair with the ripples from the lake running up and over his toes. The blond had removed his T-shirt and placed his Stetson over his face, but not before Andrew had seen the intense blue of his eyes and the sharp ridge of his nose. Since then Andrew had spent his time appreciating the Viking’s muscled arms and shoulders, his ripped abs and the long, long line of his legs—right down to the toes currently buried under an inch of water. Long, narrow toes, a fitting ending to the long, lean legs that disappeared inside baggy, knee-length shorts.
Likely, his view of the Viking was going to be the most exciting part of his Fourth of July weekend this year. Still, life wasn’t too bad. In fact, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. A bunch of the people from the office had planned to spend the day at a cookout in a city park. Andrew didn’t mind working with them, but he wasn’t ready to spend his vacation days with them as well, which was why he’d decided to come here to the lake for the three-day Fourth of July weekend.
Originally he’d planned to stay on the shore until the nine o’clock “family” fireworks display, then head back into the small tourist town for a meal before the midnight lakeside fireworks. But now his plans were liable to change. If the Viking stayed here, he’d stay. If the Viking went off with friends, that would be the end of his happy thoughts of getting to know the man. The only problem was, he hadn’t quite worked out how to get to know the blond yet.
Part of Andrew wanted to just sit and wait. The Viking had been lying there for a couple of hours already, and unless he planned to get quite wet, he’d have to move his lawn chair soon, as the tide was coming in. Likely when he stood up, Andrew could catch his gaze and say hello. Or something. On the other hand, it seemed rude to keep staring—or pretending not to stare—and not speak. But then, perhaps it would be safer to do nothing at all and just wait and watch. So Andrew waited and watched and tried to make up his mind what to do. Part of the problem was that his relationship with Rory had damaged his self-confidence.
He’d loved Rory passionately, far more passionately than Rory had ever loved him. Andrew had wanted them to live together, to settle down, to be a real couple, but Rory had never agreed to that. Gradually Andrew had realized that they were drifting apart, no matter how hard he’d tried to keep them together. Finally he’d understood that although Rory had been the man for him, he couldn’t fulfill Rory. After that had come a time of intense pain and anguish. A time when he’d wondered if he’d ever be enough to make another man happy. But that was last year, and Andrew was ready to try again. But only with someone who at least thought he might be able to love Andrew back.
Andrew stared at the Viking. He knew nothing about this man except that the blond was delicious eye-candy. However, something strong and powerful drew him to the Viking. Could this be his chance at happiness? Or would it be just another Rory who couldn’t return his love?

Pre-Order links:

Google Play:

Sunday, January 14, 2018

An Excerpt from Silent Sky by Regina Kammer #ContemporaryRomance

Part of the Getting Naughty: Twenty Tantalizing Tales anthology

Pre-order Now! Only 99¢!
Price goes up to $2.99 on release day, January 23, 2018

Find it here:

I watched in horror as the twin towers collapsed, trying to remember if I’d told Scott I loved him before he left for New York.

Copyright © Regina Kammer, 2015

“Jennie?” said the gorgeous guy I’d been ogling surreptitiously since the second he’d walked through the front door. “Hi. I’m Scott. Happy Birthday.” He stuck out his hand.

I smiled and tried not to melt under the intensity of his olive-green gaze as I shook his hand. His grip was strong, assertive, and compelling.

It was my thirtieth birthday and my friend Daphne was throwing me a “bring a single man” party at her flat in San Francisco. All my girlfriends were partnered, but I was the black sheep of the bunch. Perennially single with a string of atrocious short-term boyfriends and one-night-stands.

I met a lot of random guys that night, some of them even gay. (“Well, he’s single!”) Scott arrived late, and I had turned at the sound of the doorbell in hopeful anticipation. He chatted with Daphne briefly before heading straight over to me, wending his way through the cliques of party guests. My heart pumped blood to flush my face, frustrating my attempts to maintain my cool.

Physically he was everything I had fantasized about—and more. Tall, but not too tall. Green eyes, but a shade I had never expected. Brown hair, longish and tousled. Athletic frame covered by a button-down shirt and black jeans. Which meant he actually thought about what to wear to a stranger’s birthday party. He posed gallantly before me with one hand behind his back, as if he were going to bow.

“Hi. Thanks,” I said, still a little dazzled by his perfection.

“I’m a friend of Dave’s—Daphne’s brother.” He glanced around at the noisy throng. “Sorry I’m late. I’m working on this big report. I had to get it done.”

“You’re not late. We haven’t even had cake yet.”

He beamed. “Seriously? That’s the best part.”

“It totally is, isn’t it?” I giggled, nervousness edging my mirth. “And now you’re here we can get the party started.”

Lines like that were usually how I got all those losers in bed.

Except Scott blushed. And pulled his hand from behind his back to present me with a beautiful bouquet: red carnations set off by orange dahlias and yellow sunflowers, splashed with a touch of baby’s breath.

I think I gasped. It was by far the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me.

After that, except for the few moments I was expected to blow out the candles on my cake, I found myself by Scott’s side the entire night.

About the Author

Regina Kammer is a librarian, an art historian, and an award-nominated, best-selling, multi-published writer of erotica and historical erotic romance. Her short stories and novels make history sexier, whether the era is Roman, Byzantine, Viking, American Revolution, or Victorian. She’s even sexed up contemporary settings, Steampunk, and Greco-Roman mythology. She has been published by Cleis Press, Go Deeper Press, Ellora’s Cave, House of Erotica, Story Ink, Loose Id, The Naughty Literati, and her own imprint, Viridium Press. She began writing historical fiction with romantic elements during National Novel Writing Month 2006, switching to erotica when all her characters suddenly demanded to have sex.

Subscribe to Kammerotica News
Keep up with Regina on her website
Follow her on Twitter @Kammerotica
Or on Pinterest
Like her on Facebook
Connect with her on Goodreads
See what’s new on her Amazon Author Page
Follow her on Bookbub

Saturday, January 13, 2018

An Excerpt from “Chocolate-Coated Reunion” by Berengaria Brown

An Excerpt from “Chocolate-Coated Reunion” by Berengaria Brown.
Part of the “Getting Naughty: Twenty Tantalizing Tales” anthology. Pre-order now!

Matt arranges to meet Jake for Christmas Eve drinks after work but after a series of disasters is very late. Jake refuses to talk to him. As Valentine’s Day approaches, Matt is determined to reconnect with Jake. But is Jake too hurt and disillusioned to forgive him?

“I need this finalized tonight. I know tomorrow’s Christmas, but the CEO expects me to have this data in a report for him on Thursday.” Clauson dropped a thick file folder onto Matt’s desk.
Matt looked up. He was just filling in his time sheet, ready to leave the moment it was five o’clock.
“But it’s four-thirty now.” Matt flicked a glance at the clock on his computer. “Four thirty-seven.”
“So what? You don’t have any kids. You don’t have to hurry home to do the whole Santa act. It should only take you about three hours. That’ll give you plenty of time to go to whatever holiday party you planned to attend.”
Matt opened his mouth to argue then shut it again. Not only didn’t he have kids, he wasn’t even in a steady relationship. He’d arranged to have drinks this evening with Jake and had hopes that their friendship would develop into a relationship, but that was all in the laps of the gods at this stage.
He opened the folder and glanced at the top few sheets. The data was clearly explained and would be easy to tabulate. Oh well, likely this wouldn’t even take him three hours. It wasn’t such a big deal after all.
Ten sheets into the file, the situation worsened dramatically. The data was no longer clear, there were pages and pages of handwritten notes that were scribbled over in different colored inks and it took him long minutes to decide whether that number was a three or an eight, and whether the next number was a one, a seven, or even possibly a two.
At six he texted Jake.
Sorry. Stuck @ work with project must finish. Hope to see you @ 8.
Almost immediately, his cell vibrated with a reply.
No problemo. I’ll work back too.
Relieved, Matt dug into the file with renewed energy, and a sigh of relief when the next few pages were much easier to decipher. It was only almost two hours later, when his columns didn’t add up, that he knew he’d guessed wrongly on some of the figures and had to go back and retry them. It took another hour to sort that mess out and by then, it was five to nine.
Really sorry. Still here. Another hour, he texted.
The answer came back, Sounds good.
Matt plowed on through the file, rejoicing when everything was straightforward, annoyed and frustrated when it wasn’t. At eleven he made the decision that he would hand in the work and catch the last bus home whether it was fully finished or not.
Catching last bus home. We’ll have midnight drinks together and toast the holiday season in style.
A brief OK was the response.

Pre-Order links:
Google Play:

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Naughty Spice Kindle Contest

To celebrate the release of Naughty Spice: Naughty is the New Nice!, the Naughty Literati are giving away a 7" Kindle Fire loaded with books by our fabulous authors including:

The Naughty Literati’s complete boxed-set collection
Abducted by Lynn LaFleur
Alpha vs Alpha by Francesca Hawley
Charming the Masters by Katherine Kingston
Chocolate Coated Reunion by Berengaria Brown
Desire in Tartan by Suz deMello
Double Down: The Complete Duo by Nicole Austin
Not Too Tall To Love by Berengaria Brown
The Pleasure Device by Regina Kammer

Find Naughty Spice here:

There are many ways to enter, including a daily bonus entry, so come back every day to increase your chances of winning. And be sure to check our website for other current contests. Good luck and happy reading!

An Excerpt From Dirty Princess by Nicole Austin

Part of the Getting Naughty: Twenty Tantalizing Tales anthology - Pre-order Now!

Find it here:

I’m sure there’s a rule in the friend code that makes lusting after your bestie forbidden. But if giving in to this off-the-charts chemistry is wrong, I don’t want to be right. 


Copyright © Nicole Austin, 2017

For more than three years I’ve been tortured by mile-long legs I want wrapped tight around my hips, hourglass curves I ache to run my fingers over, a lush rack with deep cleavage my dick needs to fuck. And those lips, Christ. Strawberry red and full, framing a wide mouth that stars in my spank bank. 

Then there’s her hair. Black and glossy as a raven’s wing, it falls in thick, long waves to the upper swell of her mouthwatering, heart-shaped ass. I want to feel the silken mass sliding over my body while she rides me. See it spread out on my pillow. Tangle my fingers in the gorgeous strands and pull while I fuck her from behind. 

And her expressive eyes. I could easily lose myself—drown in the sparkling blue pools. But I can’t. Hallie’s strictly off limits. The deceptively quiet girl I befriended on our first day of freshman year. The one I’ve coaxed and prodded into relaxing and enjoying life. The sweet, serious, cautious girl who astounded me with her depth and intelligence once I gained her trust. And the craziest thing is…she has no idea she’s smokin’ hot, which makes her even more incredible. 

My dad and her mom met during the first family weekend event and an instant connection formed. Our parents became close friends. The four of us have gone on vacations together and they even hang out when we’re not around. 

Early on her mom took me aside, asked me to watch out for Hallie, keep her naïve daughter from getting hurt by manipulative guys. I readily accepted the job, swore to protect my friend. Since then I’ve kept her close, chasing off any guy who would have asked her out. Those douches won’t get their hands on her. Hallie’s mine. My precious introvert who’s clueless to the fact she holds my heart and soul in her slender hands. 

But no more. Last night changed everything. Under the influence of tequila, Hallie shared erotic fantasies that got me so hot and hard I came in my pants without ever being touched. That hasn’t happened since puberty. But watching her palm her tits while telling me what she wants, fuck. It felt like she’d seen into my head and discovered all my sexual desires. 

You see, it turns out my little Princess is a dark side lurker who wants to be watched while having rough, no holds barred sex. She breathlessly admitted it all in vivid explicit detail. Right before she passed out. 

But that’s okay. It’s all good. I want Hallie sober and clearheaded, knowing who possess her, gives her everything she needs, when I take her for the first time. Then I’m never letting her go. 

So yeah, the restraints are gone. There’s nothing holding me back. Tonight I make her mine. And knowing my girl like I do, I didn’t give her time to stress over the party. I made the invite a last minute challenge, a way to prove she’s able to be spontaneous and conquer what she fears most—walking into a social event alone. 

But I’m waiting. Watching. Ghosting the halls of the antebellum mansion, a silent dark wraith. Not interacting or even noticing the other party-goers. Not until an electrical charge surges in the air, tingling over my skin. And I don’t have to be told. 

Hallie’s here. My wait is over.

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Enjoy NAUGHTY BALLS! by Suz deMello (#newadult #romance #sportsromance)

I tend to write all over the map, that is, in several subgenres. That tendency to explore all kinds of writing hasn't helped my career very much--the most successful writers find a niche and rarely venture out. They write similar books through the years, gathering a dedicated fan following of romantic suspense readers, SEAL fans, vampire lovers--whatever. Not me. I've written vamp novels, shapeshifter stories, a BDSM memoir, and a writing manual--among other works. 

Naughty Balls is my only foray into New Adult, the "now" name for stories featuring characters in the 18-25 age bracket. College students, essentially, and people who have just begun "adulting."

You can find this story in two (two!) places--in my short story collection, Six Steamy Shorties, and in the Naughty Literati's latest anthology, Getting Naughty. This short story is about two college basketball players who find themselves alone on V-Day evening. (M/F)

Here's what readers think about Naughty Balls:

A hot and steamy read!
--Tina Williams, Goodreads

4.5 out of 5
--Lisabet Tucker, Goodreads

Here's an excerpt to pique your interest:

“I tell you what.” He was already close, and shifted so he was even closer.

I stared at his chest to avoid getting trapped by his gaze again. Not the best idea to avoid distraction. 
His chest was ripped like the rest of him and shiny with sweat. Not gross sweat. Sexy sweat.

I wanted to lick it.

I blinked, startled by the thought.

I wanted to lick Orlando Havens’ chest.

Actually, I wanted to do a lot more than lick Orlando’s chest.

He put a finger under my chin and raised my head so I’d have to look him in the eyes. His gaze was curiously intense. He said, “If we’re gonna play, someone oughta pay.”

I scrunched my eyebrows together.

He went on, “Let’s make a bet. You win, you get my manager’s name and number. I win,”

“You...what?” I was so far out of my depth I was drowning.

He grinned at me.

I breathed, felt, thought, then breathed again. Heavily. “That’s not exactly Sophie’s choice,” I said slowly. “But it’s a tough one.”

“Yeah?” His smile was a little smug and a lot sexy.
OMG. I realized with more than a little surprise that he was really interested in me. Not only as an athlete, but as a person.

As a woman.

Who’da thunk it? Not me.

I found myself grinning. “This is great. I win either way.” I looked him in the eyes again and allowed my eyelashes to flutter. “Don’t I?”

“So do I. I reckon I already won.”

“How’s that?”

“I didn’t know you liked me.”

My mouth dropped open. “Of course I do. Who doesn’t?”

He humphed. “A lot of people. And a lot of folks just wanna use me. You better look out for that, too, girl.”

“If anyone’s using me, I haven’t noticed.”

“You just got here, l’il Ms. Freshman. Come March Madness, people ’round here are gonna notice you even if you don’t bother noticing them. You’re gonna get hit on like you’re a punching bag.”

“Hm.” Nerves twitched in my belly. Starting to sweat, I unzipped my hoodie. “What do I do about it?”

“I’ll watch your back if you watch mine. If you want.”

“Oh, I want.” I again looked him square in the eyes. “I definitely want.”

If you like what you read, find it here:

Sunday, January 7, 2018

Getting Naughty Excerpt: Chasing Flavorgasms by Francesca Hawley

An Excerpt From Chasing Flavorgasms by Francesca Hawley

Copyright © FRANCESCA HAWLEY, 2016

Chapter One

John “Doc” Holliday’s chair creaked as he leaned back after he’d finished reading the scathing review aloud. No other noise could be heard. He stared at the screen, somehow outside himself, frozen. He remembered intimate dinners with Taylor. Times when she’d moan in pleasure at the food he’d created for her. But this was the best she could do? Anger slowly bubbled up. Twisting his gut. Heating his face. He reread key phrases silently, clenching his hands to keep from pounding on things.

Hit by the kitchen door. Revenge. Pissing contest. Amateur. Disappointment. Snoozefest. Faked it.

She’d never faked it before! He boiled out of his office chair and spun around. Staff scattered. Hid.

Good, God damn it! They’d better.

“Who the fuck is Growler?” he shouted. No one spoke. “Where is the motherfucker’s nice ass? I’m going to rip a hole in it deep enough to shove an overpriced bottle of wine!”

He prowled from his office into the kitchen to vent his wrath on the defenseless china, hurling plates against the wall. They shattered in a satisfying crash.

“Chef, he’s gone.”

Doc whipped around and stalked toward his maître d’ and front of house manager, Chris Mitchell. Chris flinched but faced up to stalking lion.

“Gone?” He got in Chris’ face.

“I fired him as soon as I read the review.”


“He deserved it, didn’t he?”

“Damn straight.” Doc took a step off, turned and leaned on the counter.

“So it’s done.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. Front of house is my purview.”

“Damn it, Chris—”

“No, Doc.” He turned but Chris threw up his hands. “I don’t want to bail you out of jail ever again.”


Chris was right…as usual. Leaning against the counter, he dropped his head and crossed his arms over his chest as the rage dissipated.

“Never again,” Doc ordered.


Doc looked at Chris. “Never again. Take that table out.”

“We lose two seats.”

“Then we fucking lose two seats. No guest is going to be hit by the kitchen door ever again.”

“Where do we put the table?”

“Get rid of it. Give it to someone on staff. Donate it to charity. I don’t care. Lose the table.”

“The chairs?”

“Find a place to store the chairs but get rid of that damn table.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“This was last Wednesday, yes?”

“It was. How did you—?”

“You were out sick, which you never are, and the walk-in died. We had to throw everything out.”  He shook his head. “I went hunting for caviar but had to use salmon roe. The brine made it too salty.” He glared at his sous chef, Joni Michaels. She blanched but stood straight. “I ordered another rinse then it should have been iced.”

“Your orders were followed, Chef.”

“Then how the fuck did we serve warm overly salty caviar? A clear water bath would have leached out the extra salt then the roe should have been served on a bed of shaved ice.”

“It was. Perhaps she was overly sensitive to salt?”

“And perhaps monkeys might fly out my ass.”

“Or not?”

“Definitely not.” He eyed Joni. “Is it possible the roe went back into the brine rather than clear water?”

She frowned, thinking back. Her cheeks reddened then went deathly pale. “Yes, Chef,” she whispered. “Do you want my resignation?”

“Fuck no. Just don’t do it again.”


He shook his head, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s my responsibility. I should have tasted it before it left the kitchen. The food fuck-ups are on me.”

“Yes, Chef.”

It was his kitchen. His restaurant. All the damn fuck-ups were on him. He sat on the counter and eyed Chris.

“Is the Piece of Shit POS system fixed and the back-up book found?”

“The point of service system was repaired the following day.”

“And the book?”

“Found after service.”

He wracked his brain about how those problems might have happened. Growler had to have been Ted. He wasn’t here and he’d been the idiot who’d let “Billy the Kid”

McCarty in the employee entrance.

Billy. The epitome of a frenemy – best friend and worst enemy – and the owner of rival restaurant, Fucile da Caccia – Italian for “The Shotgun”.

“I think we can lay the computer problem and the book at Billy’s door. He wouldn’t fuck with the food, but the other? Oh yeah. I can see him messing that shit up.”

“Billy McCarty was here?”

“Ted let him in early in the afternoon.” He tilted his head. “Find out if Ted landed on his feet and is working at McCarty’s place.”


“Oh come on. We both know that Growler was Ted. Billy might have poached him while encouraging him to do a bit of damage on his way out. Or the incidental damage may have been Ted’s idea.”

“Ted was getting the idea that his shit didn’t stink,” Chris sighed.

“He also thought he was a better sommelier than you are.”

“He what?” Chris bristled, his eyes narrowing.

Doc laughed. “I thought that might piss you off. Don’t worry, bro. Ted sucks as a sommelier. You have nothing to worry about. You’re the best damn maître d’ I’ve had running any of the places I’ve worked in.”

“Fuckin’ A.”

They fist bumped and Doc laughed.

“Still it wouldn’t hurt to run the front of house staff through some additional training.”
Chris nodded, “Yes, Chef. That’s a good idea. I’ll call people to come in early for their shifts. They’ll want to be paid.”

“They will be. And let’s do regular training for a while. Include some practice on what to do if you’re not here and if we have problems during service.”

Doc frowned. That didn’t fix the current situation though. That review wouldn’t ruin him but it damn well wouldn’t help. The young and trendy foodies in San Francisco followed her blog so they knew he’d been dissed.

He could find a friendly newspaper and lie his ass off, claiming she was full of shit. It might even work. In the old days, that’s exactly what he would have done. But in the last few years he’d been attempting to grow up and take responsibility for himself. And the truth was he’d fucked up. He hadn’t been on his game lately. So how did he fix it?

He wanted a second chance with her, in more ways than one.

He rose and walked back into his office, dropping into his office chair. He logged in to the site so he could leave a message.

“Doc, what are you going to do?”

Pre-Order links:

Google Play: