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I smile a devious, deviant, I’m gonna make you sorry you ever started playing this game with me smile.
And then I take her hand.
I lead her to the elevator.
We go up to my apartment.
I tie her wrists together with rope.
Raise her arms above her head.
And chain her to the ceiling.
It’s my turn.
“Yeah,” Jordan says. His eyes are glued to the elevator doors, just waiting for her to come downstairs. “But it was sneaky, ya know?”
“What was sneaky about it?”
He shoots me a look that says, Come on.
“She gave in, Jordan. We didn’t make her do anything.”
“Right.” He sighs. “But you’re what, just pretending we didn’t have that conversation this morning? You know, the one where you said, ‘I’m gonna fuck with her head so bad, she’ll spin like The Exorcist?’”
“It was a joke.” I laugh. “All we did was make her feel good tonight. She loved every fucking minute of it. Even when I choked her with my cock. She couldn’t get enough.”
“That’s because she was drunk on your dick at the time, Bric. But that feeling is gonna wear off and she’s gonna run the entire night through her head, and then—”
“Then she’s gonna realize we know what the fuck we’re doing. That’s all.”
“No,” he says. “She’s gonna realize you’re just playing with her emotions. Like you do with every fucking woman you’ve ever been with.”
“So then she’s gonna up her game, Bric. And this is gonna turn into a mind-fuck shit-fest. I like her,” he says. “Maybe more than like her, OK? I don’t want her thinking I’m like you.”
“You are like me,” I say, getting pissed off. Why the fuck is he sharing her with me if he likes her so much?
But I don’t ask that question.
Because I like her too. Just not in the same way.
“See,” Jordan says.
“See what?” I ask
“That fucking evil grin you’ve got on your face. I know you well enough, Bricman. Well enough to see the Machiavellian wheels turning inside your head. Do not play with her emotions.”
“Why?” I ask, my temper rising. “Is she some kind of fragile flower?”
But then I realize this intrigues me.
“Stop it,” Jordan says. “She’s not a puzzle, OK?”
“Then why are we even playing?”
He huffs out some air. Runs his fingers through his still-wet hair. “Because she’s not…” He trails off.
“She’s not what?” I ask. What the fuck is wrong with him tonight?
“She’s not my type.”
“OK,” I say, not really understanding.
“I mean I’m not really her type.”
“Hmm,” I say. “Do you love her?”
“No,” he says. “Definitely not. But I like her. I could see myself playing with her for a long time. And if you fuck it up, that won’t happen. You, of all people, understand how fucking hard it is to get a girl you can trust in this game. One who just gets you, ya know? We get each other, Bric. I realize it’s only been a few weeks, but we know each other. I just like her. And we have an understanding. I get to boss her around and be a dick, but she knows I’m not a dick, right? She knows I’ll show up the next day and treat her nice and give her a gift. She knows I’m just playing. We’re playing.”
“It’s a game. Same as this,” I say.
“Dude, come on,” he says, almost fully exasperated now. “You are a sick motherfucker, OK? You know this, right?”
“Then why am I even here?”
“Because we’re good together, ya know. Not great. Yet,” he adds. “Not what you had with Smith and Quin, obviously. But we understand each other. We work well as a team. She liked that up there.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is you’re in a weird place right now and I’m afraid you’re gonna take it out on Nadia. Don’t do that, OK?” He stares at me. “Just be…”
“Just be your back-up?” I ask, huffing out a laugh.
He shrugs. But that’s it. That’s what he wants. Don’t overpower him. Don’t take her away from him. Don’t make her rethink her strategy. Just help him keep her.
It takes me a minute to decide if I’m angry or not.
I decide I’m not. I don’t give two fucks about this Nadia girl. And my goal really was to break her. So I shrug. “Fine,” I say. “You want a wingman. Fine. I’ll help you out, Jordan. But when I need a favor, I’ll expect the same in return.”
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Torrid by Nikki Sloane is NOW AVAILABLE!
The release week special edition features a BONUS BOOK of Sordid
(previously banned on Amazon)!
PRAISE FOR TORRID:
“Hold my gun because I need some alone time after reading this! Nikki Sloane creates yet another stirring romance full of heat and mayhem to stir your soul. Five dark and panting stars for Vasilije and Oksana!” – USA Today bestselling author, Sierra Simone
“Scorching hot, darkly complex, and deliciously dirty, Torrid is one of the best mafia books I’ve read all year!” – NYT Bestselling Author, Anna Zaires
“Dark, edgy, and so deliciously dirty. Torrid is insanely good!”- USA Today Bestselling Author, Natasha Knight
“Definitely judge a book by its cover on this one! Nikki Sloane delivered a story that lives up to the amazing cover and beyond. So sinfully hot that I couldn’t stop reading. Dark, dirty and delicious. I want more from this author now.” – USA Today Bestselling Author, Alta Hensley
Vasilije Markovic is the prince of the Serbian mafia and one of the most powerful men in Chicago. His smile may be razor sharp, but he’s crueler than the devil.
I’m playing a dangerous game and betting my life I’m going to win. I pretend to be his pawn. I do as he says and move where he tells me, letting him think he’s in control as I position myself for revenge.
Every turn brings us closer. His grin doesn’t seem as evil when we’re alone. Behind closed doors, I welcome his unrelenting and vicious personality. He’s confessed all his secrets, but I’m holding one back and it’s a game changer.
If I survive the board, this pawn turns into a queen. I become the most powerful player and send all the other pieces running. To get what I want, I must make sacrifices, but am I willing to draw the line at him?
About the Author:
Nikki Sloane landed in graphic design after her careers as a waitress, a screenwriter, and a ballroom dance instructor fell through. For eight years she worked for a design firm in that extremely tall, black, and tiered building in Chicago that went through an unfortunate name change during her time there. Now she lives in Kentucky and manages a team of graphic artists. She is a member of the Romance Writers of America, is married with two sons, writes dirty books, and couldn’t be any happier.
Author: Marni Mann & Gia Riley
Publication Date: June 8th, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Lover, a sexy all-new STANDALONE from Marni Mann & Gia Riley is now LIVE!!!
The attraction was undeniable.
I couldn’t escape him.
I didn’t want to.
I was his.
He was mine.
But he wasn’t my husband.
My once treasured marriage was now flawed and imperfect.
By the time the guilt set in, it was too late.
Reality was trying to keep me away from my obsession.
My husband was that reality.
My obsession was West.
But West was forbidden. Taken. Married.
We were swingers.
It was the perfect arrangement.
Until I fell in love…
(Free in Kindle Unlimited)
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2skCnZh
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2skegd8
Best-selling Author Marni Mann knew she was going to be a writer since middle school. While other girls her age were daydreaming about teenage pop stars, Mann was fantasizing about penning her first novel. She crafts sexy, titillating stories that weave together her love of darkness, mystery, passion, and human emotion. A New Englander at heart, she now lives in Sarasota, Florida with her husband and their two dogs who subsequently have been characters in her books. When she’s not nose deep in her laptop working on her next novel, she’s scouring for chocolate, sipping wine, traveling to new locations, and devouring fabulous books.
Connect with Marni:
Stay up to Date with Marni by signing up for her newsletter here: http://marnismann.com/about/
Author Gia Riley has been in love with writing romance since high school when she took her very first creative writing class. From the small but mighty state of Delaware, she’s a country girl at heart, traveling back to her roots in Pennsylvania as often as she can.
While New Adult and Contemporary romance have been her passion, she’s dabbled with more erotic plotlines lately, enjoying discovering the sexier side of love with each story she pens. After all, she’s a lover of all things romance – a firm believer that everyone deserves their
happily ever after no matter what it takes to get there.
When she’s not writing, you can find her roaming the aisles of Kirkland’s, up to her elbows in Play-doh, or trying to hunt down spoilers for her favorite reality television show.
Connect with Gia:
Stay up to date with Gia by signing up for her newsletter here:
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BOOK #6 IN THE GAME SERIES!
5 out of 5 ‘What the HELL is going on here?’ Stars
Growing up one of my favorite movies was Alice in Wonderland. I never could quite relate to Alice’s trip down the rabbit hole to dimensions unknown…….until now. I’m extremely invested in this novella series and after each one is completed I’m not sure what’s real anymore. Is the sky really blue? Am I real? I feel like I’m totally tripping out here!!! I mean, what in the actual fuck is going on!!!!
We are thrown right back into the mix of Ella, Tobias and Preston. So if you haven’t read previous novellas, you must. There is no way around it. You will be totally lost and besides that fact, you’ll miss out on the deliciousness that is Tobias and Preston in previous encounters. Don’t do it. Just don’t.
I continue! So back to the beautiful and scary world that Ella is thrust into, we continue on her one week contract to play the games of not only two players but Three. (It seems like we’ve been through so much more than just six days!!!! But I digress……) I am not, repeat, NOT a fan of THREE. He makes me feel sick in the pit of my stomach. Ugh, I hate him. But do I only hate him because of other’s opinions of him? Am I really giving Three a chance? None of the story is actually told from his point of view so am I wrong to try and give him any sort of redemption? Then I think back to the way he drugged Ella and tricked her into having sex with him and I’m like….fuck you Three.
Most of this power packed novella is told in Ella’s perspective (as are all previous ones) but we do get a small glimpse into Tobias’ head in the last chapter. Can I take a guess as to what is going to happen next? Sure I could. I could guess a gazillion different things. Would any of them be right? Or even remotely close? The answer is NO. A big fat NO. Because I have not been anywhere near what happens next on past predictions and can only conclude that I just buckle into this crazy train and brace myself for impact!! Something big is coming. I can feel it. These novellas are far more than just novellas. I’m not even sure what the correct term is; I just know that I’m addicted like a crack fiend and I want more!!! I feel myself unraveling at the prospect that Seven Days will not hit my kindle for another couple of days. Goddammit. I’m lost.
CATCH UP ON THE
REST OF THE SERIES
Book #1 in The Game Series
Book #2 in The Game Series
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06X6JNQPV
Book #3 in The Game Series
Book #4 in The Game Series
BOOK #5 IN THE GAME SERIES
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologise for
Stevie J. Cole
husband and two precious daughters. She studied Epidemiology concentrating on
cancer research but has always had a passion for writing. Some of her stories
will strip you bare, some will give you nightmares, but the one thing she can
promise is that she will always give you stories that make you feel.
Raw. Gritty. Love.
Because sometimes characters need to be flawed.
P.S. Stevie’s greatest fear is the impending zombie apocalypse. Think about it:
swarming armies of decaying, oozing corpses stumbling around with clicking
teeth, trying to eat your face. Nothing about that is good. NOTHING!
UP NEXT IN THE GAME SERIES
Forced to apply for a job he doesn’t want, Cosmo Rawlins has only one aim in mind: fail the interview and get back to making music. But his attempt to shock the sexy, sharp-suited Alasdair Grant has a very different result.
Instead of getting thrown out of the office for flaunting an interest in BDSM, Cosmo finds himself on his knees, apologizing to the most dominant man he’s ever met.
Alasdair has more important things on his mind than training a novice sub, especially a rebellious bad boy like Cosmo. But there’s something beneath the youngster’s bratty attitude that fascinates him.
As Alasdair takes Cosmo in hand—and for a wild ride on his Harley—he becomes obsessed with bending the young rocker to his will, both in and out of bed. But while Cosmo might enjoy the kink, he’s not up for becoming Alasdair’s household slave.
When Alasdair goes one demand too far, Cosmo is gone in a cloud of dust. Forcing Alasdair to admit that earning Cosmo’s loyalty—and love—will involve the toughest challenge he’s ever faced.
Warning: This title contains an overbearing Top with a less than glamorous job, a rebellious brat who refuses to call him sir, and a total lack of high-end BDSM clubs or playrooms. Expect floggings over the kitchen table instead. Written in Jo’s usual exceedingly “English” English.
Cosmo crossed his ankle over his knee and began humming. It wasn’t deliberately to annoy the blonde chick behind the reception desk. No, he’d had this tune buzzing around in his head ever since waking, but what with having to come along to this interview for a piece-of-shit job, he hadnít had a chance to get it down yet. That was why he couldn’t hold down regular employment, see? It wasn’t laziness or stupidity, no matter what his old teachers might have said. Nah, he was just one of those creative types. He’d told that to Irene—she was his advisor at the Jobcentre. He’d told her he was looking for jobs that would utilize his musical skills. She’d said, “In High Wycombe? Dream on, Cosmo,” and told him he had to put down a wider range of acceptable jobs or she’d bloody well do it for him.In the end, she had started to arrange interviews for him, which explained why he was sitting here, waiting to be interrogated about his suitability as a “sanitary disposal operative”—in other words, the poor sod who had to go around emptying bins in ladies toilets.
The skinny bloke who’d gone in before him loped out of the shuttered office and hightailed it across the lobby to freedom. Cosmo sighed and popped a stick of gum into his mouth. Fresh breath, see? It looked like he was making an effort so he’d get brownie points, but chewing gum during an interview was guaranteed to piss off pretty much every manager out there. As was asking how many cigarette breaks you got per hour.
“Mr. Rawlins?” the blonde chick called. “Mr. Grant will see you now.”
Cosmo stood and smoothed down his black drainpipe trousers. He even had a well-ironed shirt and tie on. Thing was, he’d discovered that on him, the smart clothes and grade-two haircut made him look less like a good little worker and more like a thug. He’d probably get a job as a bouncer if that was what he was going for—not that he had the intimidating build or anything, but he looked well hard, what with the couple of scars on his chin and the one across his eyebrow from fighting off angry closet cases, plus he could do a mean stare if he felt the need.
But he had other tricks up his sleeve too. Quite literally. Cosmo massaged his sore wrists and headed on into the boss manís office, giving Blondie a huge grin on the way. She smiled back, all coy-like. Barking up the wrong tree there, love.
Mr. Grant, on the other hand… There was a tree he wouldn’t mind barking up. Or climbing up, more like. He was huge and had to be old enough to be his dad, which wasn’t actually all that old, seeing as how his dad was only fifteen when he got his fourteen-year-old excuse for a mother up the duff. But this wasn’t some fat old geezer with white hair bristling out of his nostrils. Mr. Grant wasnít big like that. He was built like a bricklayer, all broad chest and shoulders bunched with powerful muscles. It was obvious, even with his body covered up by the fancy suit, he spent time down the gym.
“Cosmo Rawlins,” the boss-man said, holding out a huge hand, which swallowed up Cosmo’s in a warm and firm handshake. What a grip. Cosmo had all kinds of naughty thoughts about where else he’d like to feel a hand like that and wondered whether getting a boner in the interview would be something this Mr. Grant would report back to Irene. Best not take the chance. “I’m Alasdair Grant. Please take a seat.”
Usually these things were done across a desk, but Mr. Grant didn’t seem to need the prop to boost his ego and had a load of comfy chairs arranged around a giant coffee table at one end of his office. The man was clearly doing all right for himself. Cosmo could have fit the entire ground floor of his shared house in there and still had room to swing a cat in. Not that he believed in cruelty to animals or anything.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Cosmo said as he settled into the chair indicated.
“Thanks. It’s taken me a decade to build this company up, but we’re now the largest sanitary services operation in the South East.”
Cosmo tried not to look too impressed, but it was bloody difficult not to when faced with the sight of Alasdair Grant seated across from him, like a stern George Clooney with that handsome face, cropped salt-and-pepper hair and designer stubble so thick it was bordering on beard territory. He had these sharp grey eyes fixed on Cosmo. It was unnerving, sitting there with the bloke looking at him like that.
Was Boss-man checking him out? Yes, definitely, but Cosmo was buggered if he could tell if it was purely a professional assessment or if there was a more salacious interest lurking in his gaze. Alasdair Grant didnít have a wedding band, but Cosmo wasn’t going to read too much into that.
“So, Cosmo, has your advisor at the Jobcentre let you know exactly what the job entails?”
“Emptying rag bins in the ladies’ lavs, as I understand it.”
Boss-man gave this pained smile and leaned forward a little. Shit, it felt like he was looming over Cosmo, despite him being the other side of the coffee table. “That’s certainly an element of the work, but it’s a more responsible position than that. We provide a full replenishment service for all disposables, like paper towels and hand soap. We also empty and top-up the vending machines, so there’s a cash-handling element. You’d be in charge of one of our vehicles and acting as a frontline representative of Sanco Solutions at all times.”
Cosmo tuned out the words Boss-man was saying and just enjoyed the sound of his voice. There was this deep bass rumble to it that made him think those lungs must be huge, but that was overlaid with a melodic timbre not all that many speakers had, and there was a smooth, easy rhythm to his speech. Shit, he could listen to him for hours. Cosmo found himself tapping his foot and drumming his fingers along with his words. Gave him ideas for inserting a rap in the middle of the new song. Some UK Garage or Grime stylings, maybe. Would that work? The rest of the band would hate it. Rizzo especially, which made it doubly appealing.
“Mr. Rawlins. Am I boring you?”
That made him snap his head up. “What?”
“You looked like you were lost in music.” Boss-man stared pointedly down at his fingers.
“Oh, that. Sorry, it’s just habit. I’m a musician, see, and I can’t help it. I find inspiration everywhere.” Actually, this was good. Playing the flaky-musician card put off most employers, but he didn’t normally get a chance to until the bit at the end when they asked him if he had any questions.
“A musician? What do you play?”
“Guitar, and I sing too. I’m in a band. ScarDue, we’re called.” How much longer he’d be a member, he didn’t know. They were currently experiencing a bout of creative conflict. In other words, the rest of them were content playing cover versions of alt-metal hits in local pubs, whereas he wanted to experiment with crossing genres, come up with a completely original set and go places.
“Should I have heard of you?” he asked.
“I doubt it. Not unless you make a habit of hanging out down the White Horse on open-mic night.”
“Can’t say I do. The White Horse… Is that still a bikers’ pub?”
“Kind of. More emo and goth kids these days, but there’s a few bikers still hanging around. Freddie’s mates.”
“Freddie Henderson? Is he still the landlord?”
“Yeah, you know him?” Cosmo couldn’t imagine the two of them moving in the same social circles. For a start, Freddie had a shaved head, handlebar moustache, and the rest of his body was pretty much covered in tattoos and black leather. Alasdair Grant, on the other hand, was corporate establishment through and through.
Boss-man got this weird expression on his face. Fond? Yeah, it was that, but there was something more. Something kind of hot, like he was remembering sexy good times.
English through and through, Josephine Myles is addicted to tea and busy cultivating a reputation for eccentricity. She writes gay erotica and romance, but finds the erotica keeps cuddling up to the romance, and the romance keeps corrupting the erotica. Jo blames her rebellious muse but he never listens to her anyway, no matter how much she threatens him with a big stick. She’s beginning to suspect he enjoys it.
Jo’s novel Stuff won the 2014 Rainbow Award for Best Bisexual Romance, and her novella Merry Gentlemen won the 2014 Rainbow Award for Best Gay Romantic Comedy. She loves to be busy, and is currently having fun trying to work out how she is going to fit in her love of writing, dressmaking and attending cabaret shows in fabulous clothing around the demands of a preteen with special needs and an incessantly curious toddler.
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