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Wednesday, May 11, 2016

HETCH by RIVER SAVAGE Release Day Blitz




Title: HETCH (Men of S.W.A.T. #1)
Author: River Savage
Release Date: May 11, 2016
Add to your TBR: Goodreads




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Synopsis



Save 
verb \ˈsāv\ 

1 a: Keep safe or rescue (someone or something) from harm or danger.

Synonyms: rescue, come to someone's rescue, save someone's life, set free, liberate, deliver, extricate.

Saving lives is the end goal.
It's a responsibility I live with every day, the reason I wear the badge.
Built on a brotherhood that runs deeper than blood, this way of life has become my very existence...

Until Liberty.

I thought I was saving her.

I never expected her to be the one saving me.




Excerpt


They say moments of clarity hit you hard. Like suddenly a deep understanding smacks you in the face. Your vision becomes unclouded, and a truth that’s been out of your reach rushes at you. It’s in that second your perception of reality becomes so clear you can’t begin to describe it.



Some call it beautiful, some say it can be saddening, some even compare it to the moment your drug of choice washes over you, offering a moment of escape.



I wish I could I say my moment of clarity is an epiphany or some kind of life-defining moment that showed me where my messed-up life is going.



No, my moment hits me as the first wave of the orgasm I’ve been chasing the last few minutes washes over me.



“Fuck, woman, wait for me this time.” His voice pulls me from my haze first, reminding me how messed up I am.



Heat covers my body, not from the life-altering orgasm, but from embarrassment.



Without thinking rationally, I throw my vibrator to the floor and freeze, afraid to move, as a low moan pauses on my lips. The thump of my beating heart, almost syncing in perfect rhythm to the throb drumming between my legs.



Jesus, please tell me he didn’t hear me.



“Don’t go shy on me now, babe.” He half chuckles, half growls, and even though there is a wall between us, the words wash over me; Goose bumps prickle my skin as if his warm breath whispered over me.



Shit.



Shit.



Shit.



Slowly, as if by some freak of nature, apartment nine can see me through the wall, I roll off the bed and find myself on all fours.



Really, Liberty?



Fully committed to my actions, I slowly army crawl my way to the nearest exit.



A strong tap on the wall halts my escape followed by, “You still there?” Another wave of humiliation crashes over me when I take stock of my predicament.



If I don’t get out of here fast, I’ll be drowning in so much embarrassment, nothing will resuscitate me.



Unable to form a coherent thought, and not willing to engage with the pervert, I continue to low crawl my way out of my bedroom and into my bathroom. Closing the door, I stand, and quickly walk to the shower. After turning the faucet on, I strip the rest of my clothes off, then step under the spray of the water.



Jesus, that was close.



I have no idea what I was thinking. In fact, I know I wasn’t. Which scares me even more.



I, Liberty Jenson, would never take risks like this. If asked what prompted this change in me, I’d answer with two things.



Apartment nine.



And a self-appointed sex sabbatical.



It all started when I moved into my new apartment. At first, I was excited, ready for a fresh start. After a messy break-up, which included dealing with a douche ex who didn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants, I needed a new place. Somewhere closer to town this time, secure, and most importantly, affordable. However, finding a place close to the city, which was secure enough to make me feel safe and would still leave me enough money left over from my program director’s wage, proved to be a feat. After searching for five weeks, I was about to give up, accept defeat and move in with my mom and dad again. I mean it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a single thirty-year-old woman.



Right?



Luckily for me, I didn’t have to resort to such desperate measures when this place came up two weeks ago. After a quick walk through, I fell in love with the two bedrooms, one bath, and open kitchen living area. I filled out the paperwork, paid my deposit, a month’s rent in advance, and moved in five days later.



Everything seemed perfect.



That was until I realized how paper-thin the walls were between apartments.



It started out subtle, a sneeze in the early evening on my first night here as I settled into bed. A soft murmur of a man’s voice the third night.



But then came the sex.



The hot, wild, filthy sex.



The fourth night in my new apartment, I was woken to the low moans of what I assumed to be a needy woman.



My face heats up remembering the screams, the grunts. The deep baritone of apartment nine’s voice as he told the ‘bitch’ to keep it quiet.



Unsure what to do, I laid silent, listening to my new neighbor fuck some lucky woman into submission.



I’m not going to lie; I wasn’t turned on by it. I was set alight.



I never thought I would be that kind of person, the kind who got off from listening in on someone get off, but something in the way he spoke to her, something in the way he spoke to all the other women since, stirred a new want in me. Soon I found myself seeking out my room for a chance to hear him.



It was wrong.



So wrong.



But it didn’t stop me from wanting it.



The screams.



The deep grunts of pleasure.



I wanted it all.



I wanted it to be me.



“I’m officially going to hell.” I groan under the water, trying to wash the stupidity off me. Stupid would be the nice way of calling me a fucking idiot. And an idiot is what I am. Especially after tonight.



Purchase Links: 
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*****
About the Author


River Savage is the Author of the Knights Rebels MC Series. She released her debut novel, Incandescent, in August 2014. 


An avid reader of romance and erotic novels, her love for books and reading fueled her passion for writing. Reading no longer sated her addiction, so she started writing in secret. She never imagined that her dream of publishing a novel would ever be achievable. 


With a soft spot for an alpha male and a snarky sassy woman, Kadence and Nix were born. 


River would love to hear from you. You can contact and/or follow her via...
Facebook  |  Twitter ( @RiverS_Author )  |  Pinterest  |  Website 
Email: riversavageauthor@gmail.com

*****
Giveaway
ULTIMATE RIVER SAVAGE GIFT & SWAG PACK
Signed Paperback of your choice.
River Savage Tee, Mug & Notebook

$20 Amazon Giftcard
Swag & more!


Release: CHIMERA by Stephie Walls

Title: chimera

Author: Stephie Walls

Genre: Adult, Dark Romance

Published: May 11, 2016
I couldn’t be anything other than a romantic at heart — it’s my nature, it’s who I am. But this isn’t a typical story of traditional love. It isn’t a fairy tale. No happily ever after neatly tied up with a shiny bow. It’s a memoir of the reality left behind in the wake of grief — the desolation, the resurrection, and final culmination life offers to the fallen.



This is a journey through love…the love of self, love of a friend, and sometimes love is ugly, messy —destructive.



My name is Bastian Thames…and this is my story.




CHIMERA Excerpt © Stephie Walls 2016


When Sylvie died, it left a hole in my being that seemed prodigious. I adorn my face with the plastic appearance people anticipate from me, but internally, I weep. Continuing through the monotonous motion of my daily life, I increasingly find myself lost in what my friends—well, those who remain—refer to as a fictional world: novels, authors, artists, musicians, and the illusion of relationships on social media. The more time I spend on Facebook, the more entrenched I become in the fiction that exists on the screen. I believe these “friends” are truly concerned for me; they’re what relationships are in reality. Sadly, these seem to be the only things keeping me hanging on, but the thread threatens to break daily, frayed from top to bottom. The tightly woven fabric that was once my life has deteriorated beyond recognition.

That’s the crux of my juxtaposition. My life had value, it had meaning. It was everything I had ever imagined it could be. But without Sylvie, black clouds roll through my mind, hindering my ability to think, eliminating productivity, and stifling my creativity. My art is as dead as I am. But online…online I can be anything I want to be, whatever version of myself I decide to show to the world. I don’t have to be the pathetic artist who lost his muse. I don’t have to be the sweet, sensitive man Sylvie loved. I don’t know whom I want to reinvent myself as, but the idea of being whatever still exists in my soul doesn’t appeal to me. My craft has become recreating my persona, anything to escape the pain, the desolation, and the solitude. Surely there’s art in recreating an identity.

Most days, I find it difficult to even get out of bed. The colder it gets outside, the shorter the days are, the deeper I sink—sometimes only escaping the protection of my covers to take a piss or get something to eat or drink. Although frequently, I let those things go in favor of marinating in my misery. My laptop calls to me from my nightstand when the loneliness becomes too much to bear, the darkness too black to see through.

That recognizable blue-and-white screen brings me comfort, the newsfeed seemingly a link to real conversation, touching base with the people I’ve known for years—but it always introduces the possibility of newcomers. The “friend recommendation” is the online equivalent to a friend introducing you to someone new; at least it is in my mind. I always check out the recommendations. They’re often other painters or singers that might have known Sylvie—or people I barely recognize from high school or college. But every once in a while, some totally random person surfaces with no tie to my past.

Those are the connections I find most interesting, most appealing.

They also seem to be the safest, having no knowledge of the person I once was, or how all that remains of me is a fragmented shell. I have made several “friends” this way, people I would say I’m close to—even though we’ve never met and likely never will. Herein lies my fictional world, the one my real friends don’t understand and believe to be emotionally damaging to me. I’m not processing my grief…blah, blah, blah. If I hear that shit one more time, I may scream.

As soon as I log in, the familiar recommendations bombard me as if the universe is playing some cruel joke. There she is, my Sylvie…only her name is Sera Martin. She’s a perfect duplicate with the same striking green eyes, long chestnut-colored hair, high cheekbones, and luscious, pouty lips.

I realize I haven’t inhaled or exhaled.

I gasp and hold my breath until my lungs burn. I haven’t seen her in years. The day she died, I came home and stripped our house of any reminder—every picture, every video, every stitch of clothing, anything she loved. It all had to leave. I couldn’t bear the weight of what the world took from me. I imagined if I discarded everything, she wouldn’t haunt me, and maybe, somehow, I would manage to learn to live again if reminders of her didn’t surround me.

Yet, her loss possesses me daily.

This girl. This Sera. Could this be Mother Nature returning my Sylvie to me in a strange twist of fate? The notion there’s a doppelganger roaming the world has always been a thought I believe in. It’s possible after years of suffering, dying inside, barely hanging on, that my savior has come. Without hesitation, I click “add friend.”
I've lived all over the country but have made Greenville, South Carolina my home for the last 20 of my 37 years. I have a serious addiction to anything Coach and would live on Starbucks if I could get away with it. If you follow me on Facebook you'll also find that I'm slightly enamored with Charlie Hunnam. I'm an avid reader (literary whore to be more precise) averaging around 300 novels a year. I have a penchant for great love stories, sensual poetry and am a romantic at heart.



I currently work full-time in the Greenville area and fill my "extra" time with writing contemporary romance novels with a hint of erotica. I couldn't do it without the support of my family and friends who push me to keep going when I don't have the confidence or patience.

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Bound to Passion (Bound #3) by Kiru Taye

Title: Bound to Passion

Series: Bound #3

Author: Kiru Taye

Genre: Adult, Suspense Romance

Published: April 5, 2016
Bound To Passion is the prequel to the Bound Series. It has been previously published as Island Bound.
When Christy Inemi-Spiff discovers that the man she vowed to love and honour has no such feelings for her, she’s determined to cut her losses and move on with her life. A quick, quiet divorce is all she wishes for Christmas.



However, Joshua has other ideas. He’s not ready to walk away yet, especially when he doesn’t understand why Christy wants out of their marriage. So he demands she agree to spend a quiet Christmas on a remote African Island with him, hoping they can salvage their relationship. If she still wants a divorce after these two weeks, he will let her go. But not before he’s had his fill of her.



But with the sparking tension between them, and the secrets behind the disintegration of their marriage threatening to explode, will either of them get their wish? Or will this season of good will show them what really lies at the bottom of their hearts?




Bound to Passion Excerpt © Kiru Taye 2012


“Why are you doing this?” she challenged. Her emotions rolled, making her feel unbalanced. It had been a long three months. And it seemed like today was only going to get worse.

“Christy, you know the reason. If you stopped long enough and thought about it hard, in your heart, you’ll know.”

“You can stop this.” She struggled to contain her anger. “You started this; you can end it.”

“I know, but I won’t.”

“You, you—” Enraged, she lifted a hand to slap him.

Joshua caught her hand midair, held it tight. Before she could react, he pushed her back against the wall, pinning her to it with his rigid body. Christy felt every bit of him, his strength, and his physical nature that he never bothered to hide.

“I think I have the perfect answer for all your bottled-up rage,” he said as he parted her thighs with his leg.

“Move,” she ordered, her throat dry and croaky, betraying her increasing apprehension.

Joshua had it easy. He was a man at home with his masculinity. She had never been able to resist him. He could have any woman he wanted. Sometimes, she wondered if he had, especially during their separation. She shouldn’t care if he’d been with anyone else. After all, her goal was a divorce. Still, she couldn’t suppress the intensity of her feelings. Perhaps her anger and hatred drove the concentration of her emotions.

“We have to get a few things sorted out first,” he replied.

He moved closer, his body flush against hers; his chest crushed her breasts, his thighs pressed against hers. Though she wore cotton trousers and a tank top, all of him stroked her.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she pushed against him.

He didn’t budge. “Just trying to relieve some of your frustration. That’s what all your aggression has been about, isn’t it?”

“Rubbish!”

“Such vehement denial, when the evidence is so obvious.”

Her face stung with revealing heat as warm blood rose in her body. Mortified, she tried to move to shake him off, but only managed to get her body even more entangled with his.

Her breathing came in short snatches. She became more aware of Joshua, his hardness and heat.

“I hate you.” Her voice sounded strangled. Blistering white rage swept through her.

“You lie, sweetheart.”

He lowered his head, trailing his lips against her cheeks in a tormenting caress.

“You love me.”




Kiru is the award winning author of His Treasure. She writes sensual and passionate multicultural romance stories set mostly in Africa. When she's not writing you can find her either immersed in a good book or catching up with friends and family. She currently lives in the South of England with her husband and three children.
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