Monday, February 17, 2020

The Monster has Awakened!

The Monster has Awakened!

The first full-length novel in Sam Crescent's new trilogy is ready to #1click


In the Arms of Monsters Trilogy, 1

Love is not easy. It’s hard, painful, and this is how ours started, but it’s certainly not how it’s going to end.

For Preacher, taking care of his club is all he’s known. He fought for his position, and he’ll keep it at all costs. He may be a shit father to his son, Bishop, but he doesn’t need to be a father to run the club.

Robin is the daughter of the VP. She knows her place within the club is closely tied to Preacher’s son. They’ve been best friends forever, but she doesn’t want a future with Bishop. She doesn’t know what she does want, though.

When one of the club women is determined to ruin her life, Robin doesn’t see it coming. Now she’s pregnant, and the father—she doesn’t know how to tell him, because the truth could ruin the entire club.

When Preacher learns the truth of what happened, he has to handle it, even with a cop breathing down his neck, waiting for the perfect moment to take him out.

But nothing goes according to plan. Not with the pregnancy, not with Robin. He doesn’t believe in love, but Robin has awakened something within him, and he can’t stop it. He wants it, even if … love is never easy.

In the Arms of Monsters Trilogy

Book Two: Taken by a Monster (coming March 2020)

Book Three: A Monster's Beauty (coming April 2020)

Find all Sam Crescent's books HERE

Sunday, January 26, 2020


Coming February 6th...

by D.A. Maddox

Savannah Miles and Scott Lachance are the perfect college couple. They’re smart. They’re beautiful. They have common interests. At 21, both in their third year at Bridgemont University, they’ve nearly reached the end of the age of transition. And they’ve drawn the attention of Veronica Cruz and Malcolm Wiley, the two senior Skulls in a secret university society known only as The Select.

They have been chosen, invited to the Origins Fete, where their names will be entered into a lottery no one wants to win. Where Veronica has plans for them—just as Malcolm has plans for her, and as the world outside stands ready to punish any who dare to defy the Behavior Reformation Laws designed to keep young transitional adults safe from their own darkest desires.

Sneak Peek Excerpt:
Then, Malcolm stopped. “Almost forgot!” he said, his voice jovial and booming once more. He came back to his former position, centered in front of the sub line. He wagged a finger at the men and women who’d already started playing. They desisted at once. Ginger looked decidedly disgruntled.
“What now?” Melody fairly moaned, her small voice dangerously only half-stifled in her panic. But if anyone other than Savannah heard her, no one said anything about it.
“There isone way to exempt yourself from the lottery, if you feel so inclined. Taking advantage of this special clause in our unspoken but binding contract will also fast-track you to full Select membership tonight. Do I have your attention?”
Scott was staring at his feet, unimpressed, and Savannah could understand why. Unless she was wrong, he didn’t want permanent membership in this group any more than she did. One night of this, Savannah felt, would be all she could stand, if she could stand that much. And so, no, whatever clause this was held no interest for her.
“Present yourself in front of me right now, on your knees, as a willing submissive, and tonight you will enjoy the full benefits and torments of that role without ever having to stand in the Pen, without ever needing to hope you winthe lottery.”
Again, an absolute hush fell.
Is he joking?Savannah thought, silly as the thought was. Of course, he wasn’t joking. But that was … well, it was simply awful, almost evil. By doing this, he’d call out everyone who wanted to be a sub, and the only people left in the lottery would be those who didn’twant to be one—or … or those who weren’t sure, at any rate.
Melody let go of Savannah’s hand.
Savannah tried to take it again, but Melody wrenched free before she could fully grasp it.
She moved forward: one step, two steps, three. Savannah might have actually lunged for her, tackled her, but Scott took her by the shoulders and held her back. By then, Malcolm had already noted the girl, the freshman, the little locker room lamb who had no fucking ideawhat she was doing right now.
As if you do, Savannah, her inner voice said to her. Let her go. It’s already over.
“Come on, then,” Malcolm said, smiling reassurance. Waving her to him.
With her head bowed, shaking all over, Melody came to him.
“Closer,” Malcolm said.
She stood right in front of him now. If her head had been upturned, she’d be staring at his chest.
“What’s your name?”
“P-Pig,” she said, sobbing.
Laughter from the balcony.
“Your real name, honey. If you do this, you’re a pig no longer. You’re a submissive. That’s a whole different thing.”
“Melody,” she quietly said, still shivering but steadier in her voice.
“Melody, are you sure?” he said, running his hand through her golden hair in long, slow strokes. “You have to be sure. You can still say no. You can go to the Pen, same as everyone else.”
Almost inaudible: “Yes.”
“Get down on your knees, Melody.”
She dropped to them, arms hugging her chest, her body rocking in place.
“In your own words, tell me what you are—and from the moment you rise up, you will be that thing, that precious identity you’ve always hidden in your mind and in your heart.”
Melody, don’t, Savannah begged her from afar.
But she did. Savannah couldn’t make out the words anymore, not from here. But she spoke for half a minute at least, and at the end, she was no longer weeping. Her trembling, too, had somewhat abated.
Guarding his volume, Scott muttered, “My God, this is so fucked up.”
Malcolm reached down, almost eye level with Melody, and took her hands. “Up,” he said. “Stand up. Come on, girl. You can do it.”
With his help, she did.
“Kiss my skull,” he said, pointing to the badge on his vest.
She obeyed.
From the balcony, clapping—no voices, just clapping. It was a welcoming sound, almost respectful.
Melody dissolved into him, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him hard. Malcolm hugged her in return, running his hand over her back, soothing her, cooing kindness into her ear. Then, still holding her, he addressed the sub line behind him:
“Nathan, Maxwell…”
Two of the young, naked male subs sprang to their feet and came to him at once, one at either side, cocks bobbing.
Malcolm eased her off of him, then. Holding her by the upper arms, he turned Melody to face the pigs and the balcony. Then he let go of her arms and gathered her hair into a fist. He didn’t pull it, didn’t hurt her, just … secured her there by holding it tight.
He nodded to the subs. “Strip her.”
Savannah gasped. Scott made no sound. It seemed, in the moment before it happened, the only sound was Melody’s breathing, and it filled the entire world.
Melody blinked. Her mouth opened and closed several times but spoke no words.
Nathan and Maxwell didn’t hesitate. With one at either shoulder strap, they sheared the purity robe from her like tissue paper. With his free hand, ignoring the double knot Melody had tied tight, Malcolm wrenched off her panties and tossed them, ruined, to the side.
Nathan pulled her right hand from her breasts: big, pink nipples, the tips at maximum protrusion like pencil erasers. Maxwell eased her left hand from her sex: its blonde and furry thatch was the best and only cover she still had.
The subs kept hold of either wrist. She couldn’t even lower her head from the shame, not with Malcolm’s hand gripping her hair. She could only stand in place, displayed, eyes wide as she took in all the people who were taking in her.
Again, to the sub line: “Missy, Courtney…”
They hustled over, naked and giggling.
“Lift her. Spread her, face down.”
Melody managed a squeal when they went for her ankles. Malcolm released her hair, and the girls did as they’d been told. Straight off the ground they lifted her. With the boys still holding her by the wrists and arms, she might have been lying on an invisible bed, face down.
“Rotate,” Malcolm said, “let the boring-ass Neutrals on the balcony see that mint-condition freshman cunny of hers.”
And just like that Savannah found herself staring right at the gaping pussy lips of the girl she’d tried to comfort in the locker room. Melody was making actual mewling sounds now, her legs bucking, her arms trying to draw in—all futile, all pointless. But at no time did she ask anyone to stop.
The kids on the balcony were fairly losing their shit over all this. They jumped up and down, men and women both, drinking, celebrating, calling her name, staring.
Until Malcolm blocked their view. He strode right into the small V space between her legs. “I’m going to make you come right now,” he said, massaging her shoulders, her back, working lower, lower. “Later, you’ll return the favor for me—and whoever.” He cupped her breasts and kneaded them, flicked her tightened nipple tips, ran his hands over her ribcage. “The one thing I won’t do—what no one will do, unless you ask for it, is fuck you. But if you doask, and ask sweetly, I’ll fuck you like you won’t believe.”
They were all watching Melody. No one was watching her,Savannah, nor Scott.
And that thing under the front of Scott’s shirttail was no cucumber.
Savannah took a step back, leading Scott with her, letting the others close ranks in front of them.
“What?” he asked her.
She could still see Malcolm from the back. His hands ran the length of Melody’s bucking legs.
Savannah said, “I’m scared, Scott.”
“Me, too,” Scott answered.
Malcolm reached under the new sub. He massaged her between her legs. Savannah could only imagine it, but she was sure his long fingers were at work on her slit, her clit. “Oh, this freshman cunny is all wet. You poor, neglected thing. Do you want Master Malcolm to stop?”
Savannah could only see the top of Melody’s head, but she could hear the young woman perfectly fine now.
“N-n-no, Master … Please, don’t stop … My gosh, my gosh … Haaaa—aaa...”
Savannah wanted to ask Scott to touch her, here and now, while they had the cover of this ungodly spectacle to shield them from retribution and punishment. She wanted to. She didn’t dare.
“Oh, here she comes,” Malcolm said, working her over with even greater fervor. “Here she comes, here she comes.”
Savannah could actually hearthe wetness, the fingers working, squelching, over Melody’s seeping orgasm—until she screamed. After which she shuddered, a long tremor. And then Melody lay still, held by two men up front, two women from behind, and from the middle, Malcolm.
“Are you a dirty girl, sub-Melody?” he asked, licking her come from his glistening fingers.
She nodded, sobbing again.
“Say, ‘I’m a dirty girl, Master’.”
“I’m a … dirty girl, Master.”
“Yes, you are—yes, you are,” Malcolm agreed. “Has Master been generous with his new sub today? Is Master’s sub happy?”
“Y-yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”
“But,” Malcolm said, evacuating the place between her legs, ambling back around up front, “you’re such a dirty thing, Melody. On the inside. We’re going to purify you—but first, we need to show you how dirty you are by making you dirty on the outside.”
The heavy breathing again. Fresh anticipation.
“When they throw you in it, they do it nice and easy. Soon as they let you go, just cover your face with your hands and let yourself slide. You’ll be fine, Melody. Don’t be scared.”
Malcolm, Savannah decided, wasn’t nearly so horrible as Veronica.
There she still sat, Veronica, her man couch looking quite pained by this time, the man servicing her goddamned toes clearly weary, but continuing.
Veronica gave her a finger wave and a wink.
Savannah took Scott’s hand. “This was a mistake,” she said.
Scott didn’t answer until after Melody had been thrown, headfirst, into the pool of mud.
“Tell me about it,” he said.

Tuesday, January 7, 2020

Romance is in the air...

by David Masifon

Wines have always been linked to love or classified as a drink that intensifies romance. From romance stories to poems and simple quotes, wines have featured alongside romance or romantic lovers.

Did you know?

The French tradition of wine making is what led English speakers to adopt a French term for "grape plantation," although in South Africa it is called a "wine farm." Around 1300, the Old English term wingeard was replaced with the word vineyard. The trickiest thing about the word is its pronunciation — the first syllable doesn't actually sound like "vine," but instead is pronounced "vin."

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Can the attraction between Gemma and Jake outlast the grape-picking season in her vineyard?

Gemma has managed the family wine-making business ever since her husband died and left her alone with their daughter. But this fall, there’s something in the air that makes her moody and restless. It doesn’t help that the usual team of seasonal workers left her in the lurch.

Jake's life revolves around his sports career. When an injury forces him to rest, he becomes a mentor to a troubled teen, Tommy. Trying to reform him, he takes him on a working vacation to an old vineyard.

As Jake helps Gemma get the work done, they struggle to ignore the attraction they feel for each other. There is no point giving in when Jake will have to leave for France at the end of his vacation and Gemma can’t leave her vineyard.


He bent down and picked up her feet, still in her work boots. He propped them up on his knees and started unlacing the boots.

“What are you doing?” she asked, appalled, and placed her glass on the table.

“I’ll massage your feet. They must be killing you.”

She made a horrified sound. “They’re dirty. And smelly.” She swatted his hands away, but he didn’t relent.

“You’ve never smelled my socks after a game. You don’t know what smelly is.”

One boot thudded to the ground and the other one followed shortly after.

“Jake,” she tried again, but he had already pulled off her socks. She hid her face in her hands.

The first contact of his warm fingers on her sore feet had her rolling her eyes to the back of her head. A moan tore from her throat. Torn between mortification and pleasure, she didn’t open her eyes when she heard Jake chuckle.

“That good, huh? And I’m just warming up,” he teased.

Her mind wandered to other things he might be good at. Heat swamped her body. She wriggled on the sofa, tension wiring her body with a need she hadn’t felt in ages.

His fingers massaged and kneaded her feet and toes. She bit her lip to stop herself from making any more suggestive sounds. She laughed when he hit a ticklish spot.

“Oh, did I discover a chink in your armor?” Jake asked.

“You’re deluded. My armor is intact.” Gemma giggled when he tickled her again. “Stop! Please, stop!”

She laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe, but he wouldn’t stop tickling her.

“Admit it!” he demanded, a wicked grin splitting his face.

She shook her head, stubborn yet gasping for air, tears of laughter in her eyes. But then she couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay, okay. I admit.”

“Aha,” he said, victorious. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Her whole body hurt from the strain of trying to get her feet away from his wicked fingers, but the tiredness was heavy and pleasant. “You’re evil,” she complained, wiping her eyes, a silly grin on her lips. She couldn’t remember when she had last laughed like that. It was quite a change from the morose mood earlier. Everything in her felt alive and buzzing with a pleasant sort of tension.

“You don’t know the half of it. Now that I know there’s a crack in your defense, I’ll find others, bigger, wider ones.”

“Please don’t.” She said it as a joke, but the significance of her words struck her a second later.

Jake looked at her as if he too had heard more in her words than she’d planned to say. He pulled her feet back in his lap, so her legs were stretched out, and he rested his large hands on top, warming her skin. He gazed out over the grassy stretch of sloping land which separated the house from the sea. The ripples on the water looked gray and lazy in the late evening. The breeze off the sea tasted briny in Gemma’s mouth.

“Did it ever occur to you,” he said, pausing shortly before he continued, “that you don’t need it? Your armor?” He looked at her then. It was too dark for her to be able to decipher the look in his eyes. She tried to figure out what to say without sounding pathetic, when he added, “You don’t have to answer that. Just think about it.”

Gently, he lifted her feet and got up from the sofa. He placed her legs back down onto the cushion, holding them for a moment. When his hands let go, she felt a chill in the spot where he’d touched her skin.

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Friday, January 3, 2020

Curvy Women Wanted!

James Stork has been watching Emily Miller for over two years now. She’s twenty years his junior and has dealt with so much loss. Her life was thrown upside down, and staying in the background, he’s tried his hardest to help guide her. He gave her a job, made sure her apartment was paid for, and everyone knows to keep an eye on her, but not to get too close.

She belongs to him.

For Emily, she has a crush on her much older boss. He makes her ache and yearn for things she didn’t think she could ever want. When James makes it clear he wants the same things she does, falling into bed with him—falling for him—is all too easy.

But when she discovers how much James has done for her, she’s shocked, surprised, and a little scared. He’s not given her a chance to be free. Is she ungrateful? Mean? Is there really anything to forgive? He was taking care of her when she needed it most. Can she get past the manipulation to still love the man himself?