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Rage bubbles up inside me full force.

punching me on the inside.

pants.

A ripped rock star with attitude. An ex-girlfriend with a reckless plan.

Pandora assumed getting her heartbroken by her bad boy ex could only happen once–until Mackenna Jones comes back to town for the biggest concert of his career. They say girls are getting pregnant just thinking about the Crack Bikini tour and it’s destined to be a huge hit.

Oh, it’ll be a hit alright–when Pandora comes out swinging. She and her friend Melanie are determined to humiliate him onstage. But when they’re caught by security and her ex is summoned, Mackenna decides not to press charges if she’ll join him on tour and follow certain conditions–rules designed to give him the upper hand and keep her in close contact with him once again. Soon, the passion they once shared is reignited, and no matter how much Pandora wants to hate him, her hard exterior starts to crack.

And worse: Mackenna knows it, too. But he hasn’t uncovered all her secrets…

Hey! I’m Katy Evans and I love family, books, life, and love. I’m married with two children and three dogs and spend my time baking, walking, writing, reading, and taking care of my family. Thank you for spending your time with me and picking up my story. I hope you had an amazing time with it, like I did. If you’d like to know more about books in progress, look me up on the Internet, I’d love to hear from you!

Website: www.katyevans.net
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKatyEvans
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Email: authorkatyevans@gmail.com

I am going to marry a monster.
He is my everything.
He manipulates people for fun.
He takes over their lives, consuming them. He dominates and crushes, ruling them, claiming their souls.
No one has survived the games of Damon Hunt, so far.

Before now. Before me.

I am Ella Knight. I am corrupted.
My sister was a victim of Damon’s games.
It’s my turn to play now.
Damon Hunt has been my sole focus, my everything for three years, since my sister’s death.
I’ll manipulate him. I’ll take over his life, consuming and crushing him. I am going to take away his soul. Damon Hunt will not survive my games.

I will win.
I hope.

“Ella,” he rasps. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me. Sweet Jesus, baby.” He closes the distance between us in two strides. When he’s close enough, his hands grip on my hips and pull me into him. Our bodies clash, my blood ignites. Need washes through me. Damon’s scent envelopes me, he smells pure male. My chest heaves as I look up into his eyes, my breasts brushing against his chest with every inhale. “I can see everything, beauty. Every fucking thing. The rounded globes of your perfect arse, the mound of your pussy, the dimples at the back of your knees.” His hands move down to grip my arse cheeks. He squeezes roughly before pulling me into his hard cock. I moan as the move hits the perfect spot. “God, I need to keep you.”

I won’t be caught off guard again. I won’t let them win. They played the first round and won. Now it’s time for me to even the score. Damon and Leona will pay for their twisted games. Leona is first.

His touch repulses me.

His fake affection disgusts me.

He sickens me.

I need to get my head in the game. I need to be smart and break their bond to more easily crush them. Damon is clever. He knows what he’s doing. He’s been playing the game long enough.

He’s twisted.

I’m warped.

It’s time to finally end this.

Time to finally win

“I need you,” I say as my hands glide over the planes of his chest, each muscle tightening under my palms.

“I know what you need, beauty,” he growls.

Damon squeezes my arse before one of his hands slides down the back of my thigh. He grips the back of my knee and brings my leg up to hook around his hip. I cling to his shoulders and dig the heel of my foot into his firm arse cheek to steady myself.

His hard cock bobs against my stomach, making me desperate for him. Damon presses his chest to mine and claims my mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue collides with mine, and they battle together.

My blood heats to volcanic temperatures, my pussy clenching and dripping. I need him in me, filling me. Instead, Damon’s fingers make contact with my throbbing clit. He rubs around the hood in a soft circle before slipping down my wet folds to my entrance, where he slowly runs a fingertip around the outer rim before plunging two fingers inside. I cry out and my body clenches around his thick digits.

“You’re so fucking wet, Ella. Fuck, you unravel me, baby.”

Damon starts a steady rhythm with his fingers as he kisses down my neck. I throw my head back and moan as he nibbles at my pulse point. I don’t know what it is about his nibbles but they turn my insides to mush. Moans pour from me as he pulls his fingers out and rubs hard on my hooded pearl.

My body trembles in his hold. Damon releases his grip on my arse to grip my hip, and walks me back a step, until my back presses against the cold, tiled shower wall. His assault on my pussy doesn’t stop. He alternates between finger fucking me and caressing my clit.

His other hand slips from my hip to my back, and slowly strokes up my spine. Goosebumps break out across my skin and I whimper. My nails dig into his neck as my orgasm builds, ready to break and make me float.

“Damon,” I cry. I just need something more, it’s not enough. Damon seems to notice, and his hand leaves my back to grasp my hair. He tugs, pulling my head back, and my chin juts into the air. Damon’s lips travel up my neck to rest at the tip of my chin.

His hand cups my pussy, his palm presses into my clit, his finger hooks in me. He hits my secret bundle of nerves, making me scream. Fuck, it feels so good.

I grind into his palm as he closes his lips around my chin and gently bites, pulling my hair at the same time. A deep feral growl erupts from him, vibrating into me, tearing a moan from me.

“Damon… oh fuck…. Damon… I’m gonna… ohhhh,” I pant out.

My upper body erupts with chills as Damon pulls away from me slightly, only to latch on to my nipple, biting with enough sting to send me over the edge. I scream his name as wave after wave of pure bliss rolls through me.

Alicia Taylor was born and raised in the East Midlands town of Derby, England, where she lives with her family and mass of animals – she’s a huge family and animal lover.

Writing powerful love stories and creating Alpha males with a dash of darkness has become a passion of mine, and I have many stories and characters swirling in my head that I can’t wait to share with you all. Is it weird to have so many voices in my head? I’m not crazy, I promise… maybe a little bit.

Natalie Townson is 33, a mother of one beautiful little boy and lives in Gloucester in the UK with her Husband. Corrupted is her debut novel that is a book one of the manipulation trilogy, that she co writes with Alicia Taylor. Warped is book two in the manipulation series. She has had a love of reading since a young age and her favorite authors are Sophie Kinsella, J.S.Scott, Melody Anne and Stephanie Meyer to name a few.

They were the most unlikely pair to fall in love. . .

A golden boy with a dark past. A bi-racial girl with epic faith. These two weren’t supposed to survive the system, sketchy origins and all.

Trevor Kyle has loved Shanice Bailey forever—from the time they both landed in the Baptist Children’s Home until they were young adults raised by adoptive families that had no resemblance to the worlds from which they came. Trevor has always been her protector and champion even when he was busy pushing her away for her own good.

Shanice has always taken her faith in Trevor seriously. Her childhood oath is strengthened when she learns the true meaning of family. But After Trevor’s adoptive parents die tragically and his bachelor uncle takes him in, she finds that the boy she’s always looked up to has changed, and not for the better. Yet, she can’t bring herself to forget him as her pure childhood love for him blossoms into something more.

The most generous heart and truest faith does not travel an easy path. Just when Trevor thinks he’s found a way to keep his promise to be with Shanice forever, a specter from the past threatens their future plans.

Chapter 12 

“You want to be a doctor?” Trevor said.

“No, a nurse. I want to help people get over drug addiction and stuff, but I don’t want to go to school for all the years it takes to be a doctor.”

“That’s cool. Just don’t fall for some doctor and forget about me,” he teased.

“I’d never forget you, Trevor,” she said. “And I’ll never fall for some doctor.”

“How do you know?” he said. “You’ll go off to college and I’ll be as good as forgotten.”

“You’ll forget me first,” she said. “You already have. You’re the one who’s taking Emily Winters to the prom and everything.”

“It’s just another rite of passage.”

“A what?”

“It’s one of those things you’re expected to do at certain ages that transition you from one stage in life to another.”

“Oh, well. I’m not passing any rites with anyone but you,” She said.

“You’re too young to say that, Shanice. You’ve got a lot of growing up to do.”

“So do you.” She protested, just as he expected her to.

“Yeah, but I’m closer to twenty-one than you are, and I’ll be going off to college in a couple of years.”

“I know, but I won’t forget you,” Shanice said with conviction.

“How do you know this?” Trevor asked.

“Because I’m going to be like Amy March in Little Women.”

“Never heard of it,” Trevor said.

“Probably because boys think it’s stupid. But there is a Little Men, and Jo’s Boys and they’re about orphans and stuff. Anyway, they’re classics. Mom read the books when she was about my age, so she gave them to me for Christmas.”

“What does this have to do with you not forgetting me?”

“You’ll have to read Little Women to find out,” she said cryptically.

Bev Elle the author of sweet and spicy, contemporary romance. A lover of books–many already written, and those she harbors in her very active imagination. Writing is a passion she’s had for many years, but was unable to act upon. Until now. Bev Elle is the mother of three human children and two canines. She is also the lover of one husband 🙂 When Bev isn’t writing in her spare time after work, she is thinking of doing so.

Website • Blog • Twitter • Facebook • Goodreads

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Prologue:

“Then he came along, and like a twisted piece of metal that’s burned beyond recognition, I emerged from the fire. Different. Changed.” –from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

This wasn’t happening.

Clad in a pair of red lacy bikini underwear—his favorite—I sipped on tequila—not my favorite—and glared at Sebastian Tate, sexy rock star and billboard model. Wearing low-slung jeans and nothing else, he paced around my chair in tight circles, his tall frame blocking most of my vision, the lion tattoo on his back heaving as he took deep breaths. Blonde and sporting faint stubble on his chiseled jawline, he looked like the heartbreaker the tabloids said he was.

Bad, bad boy.

But, oh, so good.

He sent me a hard look. Pissed.

From my living room in the Hollywood Hills, I gazed out the window at the Santa Monica Mountains, my eyes everywhere except on the glossy nude photos he clutched in his hand.

Of me. Of him.

Of us.

He swiveled his ice-blue eyes at me. Earlier today they’d burned with another kind of fire, but things change fast in Tinseltown. “These will be in the papers. Get ready,” he said, tossing down the pictures on the table, making me cringe.

I gazed down at them, my eyes lingering over one of us on my patio, him on his knees with his mouth between my legs as my body arched in ecstasy. My skin burned at the memory, echoes of the passion we’d shared—and now everyone in the world would see. My family. The society people in New York. The board of directors for the orphanage. My stomach heaved at the thought, bile threatening to rise up.

Another caught my eye, this one a full color close-up of me crying black mascara tears as I played my violin. Nude. It looked depressing as hell although in truth it had been love that made me emotional.

“Remind me to pass on the make-up next time. And to not have sex outdoors. Obviously,” I said, forcing my shoulders to move in a nonchalant shrug like I didn’t care, but he knew the truth. I was devastated by these.

And so was he.

Because we weren’t supposed to be together.

He said my name in that husky voice of his, the one that made me crazy, the one that made me want to rip his clothes off. “Violet—”

“Stop,” I said, clenching my fists. Because whatever he had to say didn’t matter. These pictures ruined us, ensuring that he’d leave me for her, the beautiful Bubble named Blair. Bubble, bubble, bubble. I wanted to pop her.

Why did I always come last with him?

I stood and faced him, tossing back the last of my shot. “First off, I wish we’d never met.” I held my hand up. “No. Wait. I don’t wish that because then I wouldn’t know Spider or Mila. I—I wish I’d never fallen in love with you. Loving means losing. Always. And I was stupid to forget it. I may have to sell this house and move to another freaking country to get away from you, but I’ll do it. I’ve done it before.” I sucked in a breath. “I’ll be fine without you.”

Lie. I would likely end up drunk on Mexican tequila, nursing what was left of my heart.

He closed his eyes, a dazed expression on his face as if my words crushed him.

“We were doomed from the very start,” I reminded him. “You want to be a star, and all I want is you.”

He stopped his pacing, a muscle jerking in his cheek as he leaned down until his nose was level with mine. “Then this is goodbye, Violet? You’re giving up on us already?”

Did I hear a break in his voice? Impossible.

“If I don’t say goodbye first, then someone else will.” Truth.

He’d never be mine, simply because he didn’t belong with me. I was a washed-up freak who had nothing but a mansion and a Maserati; he belonged on the silver screen with a pretty starlet on his arm.

We were over. Kaput.

I smiled, a bitter thing, and sashayed past him, enjoying the hiss of breath when I let my hand drift over his crotch. “This moment is begging for a soundtrack, don’t you think?” I said, coming to stop by the stereo system and cranking up Kurt Kobain’s Smells Like Teen Spirit. Holding my hands up in the horns rocking out signal, I bobbed my head to the beat while he watched, anger flickering across his face. I danced and twirled around, closing my eyes, the music vibrating through my body, my fingers itching for my violin.

Bam!

My eyes flew open. He’d strode over to me and clicked the stereo off, chest still heaving.

He shoved his hands in my hair and dragged my face to his, and I groaned at the fire that blazed in my body. I felt the warm heat of his skin and pressed closer and inhaled. He smelled like bourbon and sex—a rock star’s diet—and I panted, cursing myself at the same time.

How would I ever get over him?

He pressed his thumbs across my mouth. Gentle. But his voice was cold. “You can’t wait to high-tail it back to Manhattan to your lawyer boyfriend, can you?”

“I plead the fifth,” I said, staring at his full lips. I licked my own. “But you can kiss me goodbye if you want. I don’t mind.”

We stared at each other until he exhaled heavily and put his back to me, his muscles as taut as the guitar strings he played. He verged on breaking.

Yeah, well, welcome to my world.

Yet at the same time, I reached my hand out to him. Stupid hand.

But of course, he didn’t see it.

“So long, V,” he said soft as a whisper, staring at the ground as if I was breaking his heart, when all along it was the other way around. He took a step from me, then another, then another, until finally, he was nothing but a speck.

I clutched my chest and wanted to fall to the ground and rail on it. Alone. Again.

But tough girls like me didn’t cry over black-hearted boys.

Although in his defense, I owed him a thank you for saving me.

To show you, I’d have to start at the beginning, the day I lost everything.

© Ilsa Madden-Mills, NYT and USA Today bestselling author

–Unedited and may change before publication

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She spends her days with two small kids, one neurotic cat, and one husband. She collects magnets and rarely cooks except to bake her own pretzels.

When she’s not crafting a story, you can find her drinking too much Diet Coke, jamming out to Pink, or checking on her carefully maintained chocolate stash.

She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors.

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Love is selfish…

My name is Blaire.
I’m the bad girl.
The other woman.
The one who never gets the guy in the end.

I’m the gold digger.
The bitch.
The one no one roots for.
The one you love to hate.

I hate myself too…

Everyone has a story. Are you ready for mine?

What is love?

I don’t know.

I’ve never had it.

Is it even real?

No, I don’t think so. I mean, how can I believe in love when I’ve never witnessed it? When it seems to only exist in books and films, or in the lives of more fortunate people than me? Trust me, I know.

Love is my personal chimera.

I am gazing at brown eyes, admiring the richness of the color, the beauty of the man to whom they belong to.

“You’re so beautiful, Blaire…so wet,” he murmurs, his hand going between my legs as he begins to rub me. His fingers spread me open to their soft invasion, tuning my body to his wants and needs, preparing me to be taken as the hot friction of his touch lights a wild fire within my body. It’s not the first time he has touched me like this, but each time feels better and better—the sensations all-consuming and heady.

One finger.

Two fingers.

One finger.

Two fingers.

Over and over again.

His invasion is fast and slow, deep and shallow. His touch is soiled heaven.

As I open my legs wider for him, I wonder if it feels this good because of him or because I’m taking something that doesn’t belong to me and making it mine.

“Oh God … I love you, Blaire. I love you … I love you …” he pants in my ear.

“Don’t stop …it feels so good,” I breathe.

Okay, maybe it’s because at this moment in time this man thinks he loves me and no one else but me, however false his proclamation may be.

I close my eyes as his lips land on mine. He kisses me softly as if I’m made out of gold, kissing me with that familiar mouth I’ve seen smile tenderly at me so many times before. The assault of his tongue debilitates me but doesn’t incapacitate me.

Yes, just like that.
The beige walls are spinning.

The clock is ticking.

The bedsprings creak as the moon cries outside the motel window.

And the man above me kisses me while he fingers me, preparing me for him. Gotta love such a thoughtful man.

I can taste his sweet saliva mixing with mine, and I love it.

“Please,” I beg against his lips, reaching for his hard cock and wrapping my fingers around it. “I’m ready.”

I feel his mouth leave mine as he begins to make his way down my partially dressed body. “Are you sure, Blaire? Are you sure you want to do this with me?”

I open my eyes to witness what I think I want him to do. No, what I’m sure I want him to do. I can’t help the smile I feel playing on my lips as I see him struggling with his conscience. He asks me if I’m sure when he has already fucked my mouth with his cock countless number of times, when his fingers have filled every orifice of my body. Should I laugh? No … I decide to take pity instead.

“I’m sure, so sure,” I say, letting my arms land like dead weight on the bed, the cheap fabric rough against my skin.

“All right.”

When I feel the bed dip between my legs, I instinctively open them for him and watch as he brings a condom package to his mouth. As he rips it open with his teeth, I admire his perfect full lips that emphasize how masculine he is.

I feel pleased with myself.

So fucking pleased because he wants me.

Mr. Callahan wants me. Me. Can you believe it? Chubby Blaire. Ugly and awkward Blaire.

Unlovable Blaire.

I guess I’m not that ugly anymore. My body? What was considered fat as a child is now called boobs and ass. Guys want it. They want me. They want to touch me, grope me, feel me … they want to screw me. And it feels good to be wanted … so good. It makes me feel powerful, and like a potent drug spreading inside your bloodstream, I want more.

I need more.

“Hurry up,” I say, not bothering to be shy or coy about it. I mean, he brought me here to have sex, right?

“Fuck, give me a second, Blaire. Trying to get the damn condom on my dick.”
As he rolls the rubber on his stiff dick, his eyes wonder over my bare chest, my face, my spread legs. Shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind, he mutters, “You’re so beautiful. I want you so much.”

That’s not the first time I have heard those words come out of a man’s mouth. Josh tells me all the time how beautiful I am, how perfect I am, how much he wants me, how much he loves me. But he’s my friend with benefits. The words kind of lose their meaning when it’s the same person saying them to you over and over again.

“Show me.”

Those two words are all it takes for him to spread my legs wider with his hands and finally enter me with his throbbing dick. Pain shoots through my body, and a groan escapes my mouth when he covers my body with his. I feel his whole length inside me in one deep thrust.

“Christ, you’re so tight.”

He lifts both my legs, wrapping them around his lean waist and starts to thrust. Hard. It hurts. But I like the pain. It sobers me.

And that’s when reality comes crashing down on me. It hits me with the speed and blinding power of a torpedo, making me realize what I’m doing. What I’m giving away and the man doesn’t even know it.

What the hell am I doing?

Proving that you are your mother’s daughter.

Making her proud.

The room is filled with the noises of the man grunting his pleasure and the wet slapping of our skin; it makes me want to gag. I want to throw up. Maybe it’s the alcohol I drank.

Maybe it’s self-disgust.

The initial pain is gone and now I just feel sore. And strange.

His beautiful face lowers, his lips about to connect with mine, and I feel the bile rise inside my throat. I turn my face to the side, his kiss landing on my cheek. My eyes watch the way the lights in the bathroom illuminate all its used and dirty ugliness.

“Oh God, I’m going to come … I’m going to come … I’m going to come,” he continues to pant in my ear, pumping in and out of my body. Before I know what’s happening, he half-screams and half groans, his body going tense on top of mine.

And just like that it’s over. In less than five minutes I’ve managed to kill a part of me.

Our breathing evens and he pulls out, moving to stand up. I push myself up on my elbows to see him inspect his condom. It still glistens. By the time he lifts his eyes, connecting with mine, I’ve already wrapped my body with the duvet cover.

Confusion, shock, and pleasure reflect in those brown eyes. “I-I didn’t know …I…” His hands go to his hair as we stare at each other. “I didn’t know you were a virgin.”

I shrug my shoulder carelessly, causing the duvet to slide down, exposing my bare breasts to him. His eyes immediately flare with lust. “It doesn’t matter … I wanted it to be you.”

And that’s the truth.

“But—”

“But nothing. If it bothers you, then forget it happened. I already did,” I say, ending the conversation.

This is my body. I will have the last word. Not him. Not anyone. This is my life. This is my decision.

Without giving myself a chance to doubt my next words, I turn to look at him in all his naked beauty, the gold wedding ring on his finger catching my attention. “Don’t worry, Mr. Callahan…I won’t tell your daughter that you fucked her classmate.”

And with that, I seal my destiny.

My name is Mia Asher.

I’m a writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer, a cynic, and a believer. And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy – but who isn’t?

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After another painful breakup, Laney Temple finally understands that love is a fairytale and sex rarely comes with a happy ending. She’s too busy for it right now anyway—she has a business to run, art to create, and candy to crush. Eventually she’ll be ready to switch from her plastic-or-silicon lover to a flesh-and-blood one. But before that happens, she needs to be sure she won’t feel any of those annoying emotions that make her heart do things it wasn’t meant to do…

Like break

Carson Bennett is completely upfront about what he wants, and it has nothing to do with Laney’s heart. Her lips? Hell yeah. Other parts of her body? You better f*cking believe it. But her heart? Nope, not even a little. Until it does…a lot. But having feelings for someone isn’t allowed. It’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to push down deep and cover up with one-night stands, sarcasm, and booze…

Like secrets

Two people want the same thing—a commitment to nothing more than great sex in a bunch of different positions. Simple. Enjoyable. A win-win. Problem is, those two people have families and fears and pain that spill into every moment of their lives, control what they do and who they are. And if either Carson or Laney can’t free themselves from the past, they’ll both be pulled under by it.

**DARKER WATER is a standalone contemporary romance (no cliffhanger)**

Lauren Stewart lives in Northern California with two of the most amazing children that the world has ever seen. She reads almost every genre so, naturally, her writing reflects that. With every book, every story, you’ll find elements of other genres–fantasy, mystery, romance, paranormal, suspense, YA, women’s literature, all with a touch of humor because what doesn’t kill us should make us laugh.

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