Release Blitz: Through the Tunnel by Daniel Mitton

 Buy Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Exstasy 

 Length: 79,777 words
 Blurb
 

What would you do if you rode into a mountain tunnel in North Carolina and then rode out into a different world? Adam Stephens is about to find out…

Adam Stephens is a man with a mission. It has been three years since they chopped that malignant brain tumor out of his head, and he is off on a solo motorcycle camping trip through the Appalachian Mountains.

When he rides into the Pine Mountain Tunnel in North Carolina and rides out into another realm—a realm that comes complete with a big sexy grizzly bear shifter, mages, and an evil sorcerer—he isn’t sure he isn’t lying in the tunnel after crashing his bike. Can such a world exist? Or is he dreaming? If he is dreaming…it sure is realistic.

Along the way, there will be some major hurdles to surpass including no indoor plumbing…and no coffee. A man needs some basic luxuries, correct?

Excerpt
 

“Fine, if it’ll get you off my damned back, I’ll take the cell phone. And you already know I’m taking my Kindle so I can read in those serene mountain campgrounds that I picked out along the way.” Adam roared, as he stomped down the hallway to get the phone from his bedroom.

“Oh, you mean those campgrounds in the bear infested forests, which you picked out without even seeing them?” George yelled down the hallway sarcastically. He had made it clear to Adam—repeatedly—that camping in a tent in the mountains, alone, was the dumbest idea he had ever heard of. “Oh, and don’t forget, you’re riding right by where they filmed Deliverance. Someone might just tell you that you have a pretty mouth.”


“I could get so lucky,” Adam said quietly as he walked back into the kitchen. “And as to the campgrounds, I’ve already got my sites picked out and pre-paid, so it will be an easy trip. Relax, I’ve already got my bike packed. I’ve double checked everything, and if there’s anything I forgot, it isn’t like there isn’t a Walmart store every twenty miles along the way. I can stop and buy extra supplies. I’m not going to be riding through the wilderness.

“For your part, Georgie…don’t forget to come over and feed my cat. Otherwise, poor Cooper will be dead before I get back. And this time don’t forget the cat box! When I went away for those few days last year, you didn’t scoop and it was practically liquefied when I got back. That was disgusting dude, disgusting.”


Twenty minutes later—George having been mollified—Adam climbed on his motorcycle to begin his epic journey from South Florida to the Quebec line in New Hampshire. He had his tent, his sleeping bag, and enough food for a few days. Now if didn’t rain, the trip would be fantastic.


Not quite three days into his trip, and Adam was riding through the mountains of North Carolina already, which was quite a feat on a motorcycle—if he did say so himself, especially on these back roads. In a car, he might have done the trip in one day, but on his bike, it was far more strenuous on his body. Better to ride safely than quickly, and besides the views were fantastic. The Blue Ridge Parkway was proving to be as beautiful as he’d heard, and at least, so far, he hadn’t seen any bears.


Camping the first night in Florida had almost been a washout, after riding through thunderstorms nearly the entire length of the state and having to set his tent up in the middle of a downpour. Then last night in that creepy deserted campground in Northern Georgia, with all its bear warning signs, was so cold. How it was possible to be in the thirties when it had been ninety when he left his house in Cape Coral was beyond his comprehension. He could only wonder what the coming night’s campsite would bring. He hoped they would at least have hot showers at this one. His shower that morning in Georgia, with only ice-cold water and a thirty-eight-fucking-degree breeze blowing in through a louvered stall wall, had almost killed him. His balls had retracted so far that he didn’t think they’d crawled back out of his body since. At least it had warmed up fast and was now somewhere pleasantly in the seventies with bright sunshine.


Sighting an exit sign ahead, Adam pulled off the Parkway and stopped at the combination rest area and information center. He needed to pee, and it would probably be smart to grab a physical Blue Ridge Parkway map. His map app on his smartphone kept trying to direct him off the Parkway to a much faster Interstate Highway option.


After using the rest room, Adam walked into the information center, picked up one of the free maps from the display by the door, and approached the cute bearded guy behind the counter. “Does this map show all the tunnels and campgrounds? I’m heading for Linville Falls tonight, and I’d like to keep track of where I am during the day.”


“It does, but man, I’m glad it’s you, not me. That’s a long way to go on this type of road in one day on a motorcycle. Good luck with that.”


Adam smiled and thanked him. Walking back outside, he took one last look around, decided he probably didn’t need to walk up the trail to the scenic overlook, and instead walked back to his bike. He put his helmet back on, climbed on the bike and headed back to the highway.


He had no idea that he wouldn’t be making the campground that day.


God, I love these. Adam’s spirit was flying as he roared into yet another of the stone tunnels along the route. This one, the Pine Mountain Tunnel, was supposedly the longest on the Parkway and it was even better than the previous ones. As he rode into the pitch-black darkness, his light glinted off the reflective lane markers along the center line. Just imagine how much stone is over my head right now…I wish this would go on for miles.


Adam pushed his acceleration up and zoomed through the darkness toward the light that he could now see at the other end. Within seconds he flew out…into a torrential rainstorm. What the fuck, it was just sunny!


Adam’s bike slammed into a huge mud puddle, splashing water up and all over him, effectively drenching him before the heavy rain even had time to get him wet. He slammed on his brakes and tried to come to a rapid stop. Instead, his large, heavy motorcycle slid sideways in the loose mud and the next thing he knew he was going down. His bike hit the ground on its right side and then stalled, leaving Adam lying on the ground with it. He groaned. Damn, that’s going to hurt later.

 
 Author Bio

Daniel Mitton is not a statistic. When the doctors broke the news to him that he would be dead by the end of 2013 from brain cancer, he scoffed at them. He has proven them incorrect, and continues to prove them more incorrect every day.


He is now pursuing his lifelong dream of telling other people his stories in writing. His overactive imagination used to get him in trouble. It will be interesting to see what happens this time.


My Name Was Karl is his first self-published work, but he already has two other books in a queue somewhere at a publisher.


Daniel was born and raised in northern New Hampshire, but now lives in sunny Southwest Florida with his husband of nearly twenty-eight years. He totally doesn’t get why some people complain it is too hot in Florida!

 

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Release Blitz: How to Domesticate a Russian Bear from CB Conwy

Title:  How to Domesticate a Russian Bear

Series: A Russian Bear III

Author: CB Conwy

Publisher: Self-Published

Release Date: October 26, 2017

Heat Level: 4 – Lots of Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 91,000

Genre: Romance, Erotica, ; MM, BDSM

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Synopsis

How to Domesticate a Russian bear
(A Russian Bear III)
CB Conwy

So, all Mischa really wanted was sex. Hot, kinky sex, and preferably lots of it.

But then he got a sub, and then the sub turned into a fiancé, and now apparently Mischa is supposed to settle down and be all domesticated. However, Mischa does not do tame.

Well, at least he didn’t use to. Now he’s beginning to think that yes, he does indeed do tame. Unfortunately, his sub doesn’t seem to get that.

Tom knew that Mischa was a handful. Hell, that’s basically what made Tom fall head over heals for him. But figuring out how to handle his postgraduate studies combined with a long-distance relationship is driving him nuts. And not in the great, Mischa-is-torturing-me-with-kinky-sex-toys way (even though that happens, too. A lot). More like in the this-is-killing-me-slowly-and-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-about-it way. Unfortunately, Mischa finds out and puts his foot down, and then suddenly Tom has some very hard choices to make.

Then there’s Mischa’s busybody bridezilla friend, karate practice with people who actually hit back, and the arrival of the inlaws. Because just what do you do with the finest privately owned dungeon in North America when your family turn up?

That’s when Tom realizes that domesticating a Russian bear may take more work than even he realized.

Warning: An unrepentantly grumpy Dom with an unrepentantly pain-loving sub, kink so hot that the reader will be in imminent danger of blushing, and two characters who do their very best to turn a perfectly nice romance into a porn movie every chance they get.

Excerpt

Tom was using all his willpower to keep his steps calm and measured as the cab drove off behind him; desperation was never a pretty sight, even though he most of all wanted to sprint up the driveway stretching in front of him.

Finally he stood in front of the door. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, and reached up to knock at the door.

Before his hand made contact with the dark wood, the door was flung open and he was pulled into an embrace so tight that he couldn’t breathe. For a moment, he was shocked; then his brain registered the scent of Mischa, and Mischa’s arms around him, and he gave up on any pretense of being stoic and mature and simply clung, breathing in deeply and finally, finally indulging in the feeling of being back in Mischa’s arms.

He’d envisioned this meeting pretty much every single day since they’d parted. He’d pictured Mischa kissing him, Mischa having kinky plans that started right on the doorstep, Mischa bossing him around.

He hadn’t imagined this desperate clinging. Mischa held on so tightly that it felt like Mischa’s arms and Mischa’s body were his entire world.

He hadn’t imagined, either, the way Mischa was hiding his head against Tom’s shoulder, and he certainly hadn’t imagined the labored breaths that sounded suspiciously moist. Tom gently let one hand slide through Mischa’s dark hair, rubbing softly, comforting.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay. We’re okay now.”

Then he realized why he was whispering and pulled a little harder on Mischa’s hair. “But you could consider letting me breathe sometime soon. It would probably be good for my health.”

Mischa mumbled something, and his arms loosened slightly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” Tom said, gently massaging Mischa’s neck.

Mischa finally lifted his head. His eyes were somewhat shiny, and Tom would bet that his shirt would be slightly damp where Mischa’s face had been. “I said, ‘you sarcastic little shit’.” 

Tom barked out a laughter. “Jesus, Mischa, you’re such an asshole. I had completely forgotten…” But then Mischa’s lips were on his, and any coherent thought promptly left his head.

He had imagined this meeting over and over. How kinky it would be. How forceful Mischa would be. However, Tom couldn’t, not in any way, have imagined this kiss.

Mischa’s lips were soft, almost searching at the beginning, the tip of his tongue gliding gently over Tom’s lower lip. Then, when Tom eagerly opened up – it was Mischa! – he embraced Tom tightly and took his mouth so thoroughly that Tom could do nothing but surrender to the feeling of finally, finally being this close to Mischa again.

He might have made a needy sound. He did know that he wasn’t just clinging anymore, he was crawling up Mischa until his legs were around Mischa’s body and Mischa was holding him tightly. They were moving, he thought, but he was tasting Mischa, surrendering to his tongue, opening his mouth to let Mischa plunder it however Mischa wanted to take him.

Then they were sitting somewhere, on a couch, Tom thought, and Mischa pulled back slightly, gently holding Tom’s head in his hands. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice sounding slightly gruff.

“I’ve missed you, too. God, Mischa, what were we thinking with the whole ‘Tom’s got to settle in so Mischa can’t visit’ thing? That was really, really stupid!”

Mischa nodded sagely. “It was stupid. Very.” Then he bent forward and kissed Tom again. Their lips met, and their tongues slowly explored what they hadn’t had for so long: The intimacy of two bodies being close, two breaths mingling and getting heavier, then slowing down when one of them pulled back. Mischa gently kissed Tom’s forehead at one point, and Tom closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of being cherished like this. Then Mischa’s lips were on his again, gently teasing the tender flesh, and Tom shuddered as his body responded to the slight soreness of his bitten and overused lips. He briefly registered Mischa’s grin; then he was being lowered onto the couch, and finally they were lying next to each other, stretched out and able to let their hands rove as much as they wanted.

In the beginning it was light, almost like exploring someone you didn’t know for the first time. Then their bodies seemed to recognize the feeling of each other, and impatience took over. Mischa none too gently opened Tom’s pants, and then his hands were finally on Tom.

Tom gasped into their kiss, and he could sense Mischa’s breathing quickening as well as the grip on Tom’s dick tightening. Whimpering, Tom fumbled with the opening of Mischa’s slacks, determined to have Mischa right there with him. It seemed to take forever, maybe because Mischa’s lips never left his, but then he finally held Mischa’s cock in his hand.

Mischa rewarded him with a groan and a firm stroke all the way from the root of his dick to the tip, the precome making everything slick.

It was so easy after that. Their lips met where they breathed each other in, Tom whimpering every time Mischa rubbed the sensitive head of his dick, Mischa growling when Tom sped up, demanding that Mischa be right next to him in his pleasure.

It was impossible to say how long it lasted, but the wave came inexorably, pulling them with it and crashing over them, making Tom shout in pleasure and joy and Mischa groaning, sounding almost pained, his teeth deep in Tom’s shoulder as they came together. 

***

“Did you actually bite me?” Tom’s voice was surprisingly mellow for someone asking that question. Mischa only grumbled and pulled him closer. He had managed to locate a blanket on the back of the couch, and now they were snug and warm and, most importantly, as close to each other as they could possibly get. He had no intention of moving for the foreseeable future.

Maybe forever, really. He stretched languidly, keeping a firm hold of Tom while doing so.

He felt more than heard the drowsy chuckle against his chest. “You’re not going to let me go any time soon, are you?” Tom didn’t sound terribly upset about that fact.

“I will if you keep up that racket,” Mischa muttered. God, he felt good. He had completely forgotten how it felt being like this, all fucked out with a sweet boy in his arms. He stubbornly ignored the fact that it had been a very long time since he had had any boy but Tom, and that he’d never really bothered to hold those boys, sweet or not. If being a badass Dom took a bit of self-delusion, he was all for it. Reputations had to be upheld, if only in your mind. He smirked.

“Are you making plans to take over the world again?” Tom raised his head and looked down at Mischa, expression half suspicious, half blissfully satisfied. He had a tuft of hair sticking up in front, and the general impression was one of a mussed and very happy man. Thoroughly mauled, in other words.

Okay, not as thoroughly mauled as he would be later, but still, Mischa considered it a job very well done.

“You are, aren’t you? You’re not listening at all.”

“I most certainly am making plans,” Mischa answered haughtily. Or, well, he aimed for haughty. His yawn might have ruined the impression somewhat.

At least it must have to Tom. He got this soft expression on his face, reaching down and gently moving a lock of Mischa’s hair away from his forehead.

“What do you say we postpone the ‘hanging Tom from the ceiling and torturing him’ scene and spend the evening on the couch? We could get some take-out.”

“I don’t hang you from the ceiling,” Mischa said, letting his hand slide lightly over Tom’s side.

“No, because you think that ropes are boring. Hey, should I worry about the fact that neither of us are protesting the torture part?”

“No, because I’m very good at torturing you,” Mischa said. In his opinion, a pretty good comeback. Unfortunately, his stomach chose that moment to make known that he had only had two bites of a decidedly sad airplane sandwich since this morning, and rumbled loudly.

“That settles it. There’s no way I’m having you starve to death before you torture me. After, sure, but I’ve been looking forward to this weekend for ages. Besides, bodies would be really hard to hide in this neighborhood.”

Mischa did try to smack his butt, but Tom was surprisingly quick for somebody being all mellowed out from sex. Or maybe Mischa didn’t try too hard.

Which was fully rewarded for the rest of the evening. They put on a film that they watched pretty much nothing of, stuffed themselves with Chinese food, and did something that was questionably close to snuggling for Mischa’s taste. Just to make up for it, he did make Tom scream before they went to bed. That boy really liked a blowjob.

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Meet the Author

Doing relatively sane and responsible things during the day, I’m always looking forward to coming home to see what my characters have been up to. It’s only very rarely what I want them to do, but there you go. I have no problems whatsoever reading both Flaubert and smut (although not at the same time), and the only thing I like more than chocolate is a good comfort read.

To me, the best thing about writing is the rush; it’s almost a physical high when you’re writing and it’s going well. As for the worst part: Nobody ever told me that fictional characters do exactly as they please! All that talk about ‘the author’s intention’? This author is running around, desperately trying to figure out what my heroes want to do and then coaxing everybody into something vaguely resembling a consistent plot. Sigh.

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