Category Archives: Release Publicity: LGBTQ+

Cover Reveal: Shameless Puckboy by Eden Finley & Saxon James

Shameless Puckboy | Eden Finley & Saxon James

Puckboys #3

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Cover Design: Story Styling Cover Designs

Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography

Model: Camden

Pre-Order: https://geni.us/puckboythree

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Shameless Puckboy

Blurb

OSKAR

After a little mishap in an alleyway with CCTV, my public image needs fixing. Oops?

It might have been a stunt to get the attention of Lane Pierce, San Jose’s new PR manager, but I didn’t realize what the consequences would be when I did it. I’ve got Lane’s sole focus now in all the wrong ways.

He has designated himself as my babysitter, and while it’s fun messing with him, being bound by curfews and rules has never worked for me.

The more I push back, the more I realize what’s really on the line. My career, my future, and maybe even my heart.

LANE

Being appointed head of San Jose’s PR department was a dream come true … until I met Oskar Voyjik.

He may be San Jose royalty, but with the stunts Oskar’s been pulling, the team owner is down to his last thread of patience. Which puts me in the firing line. If I can’t turn Oskar’s entitled party boy image around, we’ll both be shown the door.

I have free rein to do whatever it takes, and it turns out whatever it takes is Oskar.

Only, the more entangled our lives become, the more I see the Oskar he’s buried deep down. The one who hurts, the one who’s sensitive and kind, the one … the one I think I’m falling for.

I can’t have him and my career, and if rumors of the professional lines I’ve crossed get out, it’s not only my dream job I can kiss goodbye; I’ll be disgraced from professional sports completely.

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Excerpt

It’s not my fault I was left unsupervised. Or that Lane’s guys trusted me to do as I was told. Everyone from the PR department has been really slow to learn their lesson.

But Lane’s certainly figured it out. Or figured me out. I’m not sure which it is yet, but living with him is going to be fun. So fun.

Starting now.

When my doorbell rings, I drop my sweats to the floor so I’m completely naked and then run a hand through my hair to make it look messy in that I’ve been fucked six ways till Sunday kind of way.

Yet, when I answer the door, I don’t get the reaction I expect. Or want.

There’s no exasperation, no large sigh. In fact, Lane’s not even looking at me.

He’s looking up at the house, which is only a few years old. It’s boxy and modern but lacks all the frills of what people expect a professional hockey player to have. I’m only renting because I’m not dumb enough to think my antics will be tolerated forever; I assume San Jose is only a short stop on the ever-changing trades the NHL like to do. I’ve been with San Jose for almost three years now; before that, I was in Texas, and before that, I was with Columbus. I get passed around more times than a bottom in a gang bang. And hey, I will never complain about being that guy.

I don’t want to lay down roots. It’s not me. I get antsy if I’m in one place for too long. My talent as a hockey player keeps getting me contracts, but my PR nightmares are what get me traded.

After an insulting amount of time, Lane looks at me, and there’s the reaction I wanted: a loud sigh, a set jaw that’s unshaven and has speckles of gray filtered through the dark scruff, and his intense brown gaze locked on my face. As if he’s picked that one tiny, singular freckle I have on my cheek to stare at so he’s not tempted to look anywhere near my junk. Or my full chest of tattoos that’s a fucking work of art.

“Your house is unexpected,” he says.

“My house or my dick?”

“Definitely the house. The dick is … typical.”

I act offended. “Excuse me, there is nothing typical about my dick at all. It’s a phenomenal specimen of masculinity and pleasure.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Is that why you had to tattoo a phrase that translates to orgasm above it? To remind your partners of what they’re supposed to do?”

“I didn’t realize you’d taken that much notice of my tattoos.”

He does the grown-up version of rolling his eyes—directing a derisive, unimpressed look my way, gaze still firmly set on my face. “I’m your PR manager. You don’t think I had to approve those naked shots you did at the beginning of the season? We actually had issues finding one that hid that specific tattoo.”

“What’s wrong with my tattoo? It’s advertising what to expect.”

Outside, a neighbor walks by and glances up as Lane follows my gaze and turns. His shifting means I’m no longer blocked from view and ends up giving them an eyeful.

I wave. “Hi, Mrs. Huxley!”

“You might want to put some clothes on for once, Oskar. It’s a bit cold out here.”

My mouth drops, and I ask Lane, “Did she just say my dick is small? She obviously needs glasses. Poor old bat can’t see properly.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t even blink at you being naked.”

“Oh, they’re used to it. There’s one rule in my house, and that’s no clothes allowed. Welcome.” I step aside to let him in. “You may enter once you get rid of that awful sweater and suit pants.”

“Not going to happen.” Lane pushes past me. “And while I’m here, your rules are void. I make the rules from now on.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“Rule number one: no calling me daddy.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He already looks like he wants to kill me.

“Okay, fine, I won’t call you daddy. But I’m not calling you Mr. Pierce either.”

“Lane is fine. If you put some goddamn clothes on.”

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About The Authors

Eden Finley Logo

Eden Finley is an Amazon bestselling author who writes steamy contemporary romances that are full of snark and light-hearted fluff.

She doesn’t take anything too seriously and lives to create an escape from real life for her readers. The ideas always begin with a wackadoodle premise, and she does her best to turn them into romances with heart.

With a short attention span that rivals her son’s, she writes multiple different pairings: MM, MMF, and MF.

She’s also an Australian girl and apologises for her Australianisms that sometimes don’t make sense to anyone else.

Social Media

Website: https://edenfinley.com

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Amazon Author Page: https://amzn.to/3qkn0eP

BookBub: http://bit.ly/2ouhBDq

saxon-james-logo

Saxon James unapologetically writes happy endings for LGBT+ characters.

While not writing, SM is a readaholic and Netflix addict who regularly lives on a sustainable diet of chocolate and coffee.

Member of SCBWI.

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Facebook Author Page: http://bit.ly/2QSVCmS

Facebook Reader Group: http://bit.ly/36slT1W

Goodreads Author Page: http://bit.ly/2SYfPKU

Instagram: https://bit.ly/33m1XPb

Amazon Author Page: https://amzn.to/3gI3w0D

BookBub: https://bit.ly/3fKt5MC

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Blog Tour: Hostile Takeover by Cara Dee

Hostile Takeover | Cara Dee

The Game #8

Hostile-Takeover-Banner

Release Date: September 23rd

Universal Link: https://readerlinks.com/l/2593637

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61624833-hostile-takeover

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61624833

Blurb

 Buckle in for a liquid hot romance where a young man with a plan takes on his aunt’s ex-husband through a wild week of kinky fun and dreams of a happily ever after.

I was on the right path, at long last. The divorce proceedings were going well, we managed to keep things somewhat civil for the sake of our daughter, and I could finally be the man I’d suppressed for decades.

I was gay. And evidently very much into BDSM.

So this was the perfect time to explore, have fun, meet new people, make friends who were actually friends and not the husbands of my wife’s uppity circle of gossip peddlers. I was happy. I was off to a great start, distancing myself from the family I’d once married into.

Then my ex-wife’s favorite nephew came to town on a business trip and wanted to have dinner with me. Obviously, I should have declined. The young man had always put me on edge with his charisma and assertiveness. But surely, I could survive one dinner with Jackson Dune.

The day after was another matter. When we ended up going to the gym together and he showed his true colors. His true, filthy, dominant, addictive, inappropriate colors.

“Do you like to watch, Uncle Franklin?”

***

The Game Series is a BDSM series where romance meets the reality of kink. Sometimes we fall for someone we don’t match with, sometimes vanilla business gets in the way of kinky pleasure, and sometimes we have to compromise and push ourselves to overcome trauma and insecurities. No matter what, one thing is certain. This is not a perfect world—and maybe that’s why the happily ever after feels so good.

Catch up with the series here: https://readerlinks.com/l/1581265/55

Excerpt

“Flip the camera—let me see in the mirror,” Tate said.

I eyed the corner of the screen and pressed the right button, flipping the camera. The display suddenly showed a full picture of what I was wearing.

“You make Hugo Boss look next-level hot.” His voice was warm with approval, which eased a pinch of my nerves. “You’ve got this, Franklin. You have nothing to be nervous about. It’s your nephew, not the devil.”

I swallowed uncomfortably and adjusted my tie. “They may very well be the same individual.”

He chuckled and threw himself onto the couch—next to Kingsley, I noticed. They were dressed for an evening at home. Apparently they’d been hungover earlier today.

Kingsley leaned closer and smiled faintly. “Hey, pet. Lookin’ sharp.”

Heat bled onto my cheeks. “Thank you, Handler.”

They absolutely loved that I was forty-seven years old and still blushed like a schoolboy. They certainly took advantage of the trait often enough. Kingsley said he got off on the contrasts of a man who looked like he owned the world but submitted like a cock-hungry whore.

I was that cock-hungry whore.

I wasn’t sure I agreed with his assessment of how I looked, but I understood the draw of contrasts. Kingsley and Tate were full of those too. Kingsley, the Master who could make me fall to my knees with a single look, who always wore jeans and tees and hoodies, who didn’t feel the need to assert himself to others; he just was. Then Tate, his Master’s property. The love of Kingsley’s life. My daughter’s teacher, who’d fooled me for months by wearing preppy cashmere sweaters, gingham button-downs, chinos, and glasses. Never a hair out of place. But when all that came off, he was a tattooed masochist and switch.

Tate had introduced me to BDSM not that long ago. They’d granted me the privilege of joining them for occasional playtime. And Tate was…pure filth. A sadistic little Dominant who called me Daddy before rubbing my face in my own come.

Kingsley cleared his throat as I flipped the screen again. “So explain something to me. You see this kid once or twice a year, but now you’re suddenly nervous?”

To be fair, I was always uncomfortable when seeing Jack.

And Tate had no issue telling his Master just that.

“To this degree?” Kingsley pressed.

“Well, no,” I admitted. After flicking off the lights in the bedroom, I aimed for the living room, where I had liquid courage on a cart next to the couch. “Things have changed. I’m supposed to be Uncle Franklin, the boring, straitlaced, predictable man who’s married to his aunt.”

While Tate smirked, Kingsley scraped his teeth across his bottom lip and took on a pensive expression.

“Screw who you’re supposed to be to him,” he murmured. “Who’s he supposed to be to you?”

I frowned. “You lost me. He’s my nephew, of course.”

Believe me. He’s my nephew.

Kingsley cocked a brow.

Tate was highly entertained, and he crawled up on Kingsley’s lap and rested his elbow on Kingsley’s shoulder. “I mean, you kinda indicated something else last week when you told me about his visit.”

I scowled at him, then poured myself a whiskey. I had twenty minutes before my car service was due.

“I did nothing of the sort,” I insisted. “I merely pointed out that since the last time I saw him, I’ve stopped being in denial about who I am—about what I am—and I’m worried I’ll see him in a different light.”

“As I said…” Tate drawled. “So are you bringing condoms?”

“For heaven’s sake!” I stared at him in disbelief. He was not helpful.

Kingsley’s eyes flashed with amusement. “I take it he ticks all the Dom boxes, then?”

God, I shouldn’t have accepted Tate’s call in the first place. They were making things worse. Much, much worse. Because they were saying out loud what I dreaded the most. I didn’t want Jack and BDSM in the same sentence.

But…yes. That was my fear.

I took a generous sip of my drink and relished the burn as it slid down my throat.

“Is he gay?” Tate wondered.

I winced and inclined my head.

Jack had always been out, so to speak. When he’d reached the age most boys declared their love for girls, he’d said he’d liked boys “way more.” By fourteen, he’d had at least two boyfriends.

“I think I’ve envied him on some level,” I admitted. “I never knew why, but now…”

I could put two and two together.

Homosexuality hadn’t existed in my world, not until I started college. My parents had come from nothing in Nowhere, Kentucky. Then my father had managed to get through school while working two jobs, and he’d made a life for us. They’d moved to DC right before I was born. He’d started his own practice. Mother had been a housewife. Not particularly religious, but traditional, nonetheless. Not to mention very strict and demanding. They’d wanted their idea of a bright future for me. Scholarships, private school, a fine degree. Wife, children, a nice house.

I’d had my first intimate dream about another man when I was in high school, but it’d been about a teacher I hadn’t liked, so I’d chalked it up to a horrendous nightmare. I’d been so incredibly angry and embarrassed by my physical reactions.

Not long after, I’d asked Samantha out on a date.

“I’ve done so many things wrong,” I said.

That softened something in Tate’s eyes. “It gave you Lily.”

That was true. I certainly had no regrets, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t feel bitter and ashamed at times.

“It’s time to look forward, pet,” Kingsley murmured. “You’re building something new.”

I nodded once and took another sip of my drink. He was right. I was finally on the right path.

About The Author

cara dee image

I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex.

There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly.

Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve.

I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.

Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.

I’m a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, cooking, baking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and family, too. But mostly, I just love to write.

Find Cara on social media here:https://www.caradeewrites.com/cdwlandingpage

Release Blitz: The Impossible Childhood of my Desires

The Impossible Childhood of my Desires | Rick R. Reed

TIC BANNER

Release Date: September 24th, 2022

Publisher: JMS Books

Cover Artist: Written Ink Designs

Heat Rating: 2 flames

Length: 60 000 words

Buy Links

JMS Books | Amazon US | Amazon UK

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TICCOVER

Blurb

“Well, isn’t queer adulthood, if one is lucky, having the impossible childhood of your desires?”

― Joss Lake, Future Feeling

Carl Young’s biggest secret: he’s always felt like Cara Young. Through the years, he acknowledged his authentic female self in ways he kept hidden in the shadows. The makeup, the dresses, the shoes — all of them represented his most longed-for desires and his deepest shame.

When Carl’s husband Roberto comes home early from work to discover Cara in her wig, makeup, dress, and high heels, he’s shocked. Who is this person he married decades ago? He flees, leaving their home in Chicago for the obliviousness of the sunny skies of Southern California.

Cara begins making tentative steps into a world she imagined would always remain secret. She ventures out, dressing the only way she feels whole. Publicly claiming her identity, she’s terrified, but also filled with joy when she discovers there are others like her, people who will welcome her with open arms and support.

But for both Roberto and Cara, their long-term and love-filled marriage is now a challenge with which they both must reckon. Does her transition mean following separate paths? Or forging a new one … together?

TIC PROMO 1

Excerpt

He tried to hold his discomfort and shivering in abeyance as he climbed the boulders at the north end of the beach and sat down on the cold and wet rock. He wished he’d worn a warmer coat because he longed to stay here a while, in the quiet, the only sound the rhythmic pull and push of the waves against the shore. There was something mesmerizing about watching the flakes drift down, disappearing into the pewter-colored water. Visibility was nil, but he could see the sun above as a white orb, a glow amidst the overcast skies.

“You know, it’s all right.”

The voice came to him more through his head than his ears. He turned.

Sitting next to him was his mother. Carl wasn’t surprised.


She was as she appeared when he was a little boy — a beautiful woman whose Sicilian heritage endowed her with the most penetrating green eyes and the creamiest olive complexion. “And the biggest nose,” she’d probably add, laughing. Staring out at the waves, her face was unlined, her hair glossy, dark, curling around her face. She wore a mouton coat he’d remembered from his childhood. Once upon a time, he’d slip into her closet and don the coat; it was unbelievably soft and warm. Its satin lining was a wonderful contrast to the plushness of the fur. He could smell his mother’s perfume and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke on the coat.

It was almost like being given a hug from her.


“What’s all right?” he asked, almost as if talking to his younger — and dead — mother on a beach in the middle of a blizzard was the most normal thing in the world. “The fact that you lost your battle with cancer?” The tears welling in his eyes worried him because he feared they’d freeze. “Because, Mom, I can tell you, that is not all right.” He wiped wet snow from his cheeks. “What will I do without you? Who will I call on Sundays? Who will care about what happens to me? Who will listen now? How will I feel the hole left in your absence?”

He had a lot of questions.


She waved his concerns away. Her nails were long, blood red, just as they’d been when she was young. She stopped caring as she got older and kept them clipped short, no polish. “Don’t be so dramatic. You always were. I was old, honey. And the cancer they said they got all of?” She chuckled. “They were wrong.” She shrugged. “It happens. The big C stands for cancer, right?”

He nodded.


“Well, it also stands for cunning, because it is. It comes down to a fight for survival. I take comfort in the fact that even though the big C won the battle, I won the war.” She smiled, looking Carl in the eye. “No more host. That cancer just lost his job.”

They sat silently for a long time. Carl wondered if he’d died and now they were in some sort of afterlife. It was quiet enough. The still made it seem as though they were the only two people on the planet.

“Well, what did you mean then? What’s all right?”


She turned and reached out her hands, not quite reaching his cheeks. He wondered if she was capable of touch or if her hands would reach him as a cold gust. “You. You’re all right. Just as you are. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. I wish I had told you this when you were little and I caught you wearing my clothes or makeup.” She shrugged. “Hindsight. But Carl, you’re okay and you will be okay. Don’t let anyone stop you.”

“From what?”

“From being exactly who you are.”

Carl closed his eyes and that caused the tears to fall at last. They made him colder, but they made him human.

When he opened his eyes again, he was alone on the beach.

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About the Author

RickRReed2-wm

Rick R. Reed is an award-winning and bestselling author of more than fifty works of published fiction. He is a Lambda Literary Award finalist. Entertainment Weekly has described his work as “heartrending and sensitive.” Lambda Literary has called him: “A writer that doesn’t disappoint…”

Rick lives in Palm Springs, CA, with his husband, Bruce, and their two rescue dogs, Kodi and Joaquin.

Social Media

Facebook | Twitter | BlogAmazon Author | BookBub | Email: rickrreedbooks@gmail.com

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