Thursday, October 15, 2015

*~*~* Cover Reveal *~*~* Traded by Rebecca Brooke


Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000039_00004]

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I’m a pawn, a piece of chattel, a toy--used and forgotten.

When you’re done with me, you can walk away with no regrets. That’s how my husband sees me. I try to be the best wife possible for him. After all, he took me on when no one else would. Now--he’s in debt and owes more money to the loan shark than we can possibly repay.

But, don’t worry, he’s come up with a solution, it’s just not one I was expecting.

...I’ve been TRADED.

Traded Teaser

About the author
Author Image

Rebecca lives near the shore towns of New Jersey, with her husband and two kids. When she's not writing she loves reading and watching SOA and TrueBlood.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000039_00004]

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Friday, October 9, 2015

*~*~* Cover Reveal *~*~* Behind the Computer by FL Jacob



I’m Sawyer James, best-selling indie author.  There have been so many rumors going around about my model, Caleb Allen, and I that I can’t see straight.  So, instead of sitting back on my hands like I’m told I need to do, let it blow over, and kill everyone with kindness, I’m going to do what I do best, I’m going to write a book about our relationship. 

So here it is, our story.  The real story.

Now if you have anything to talk about, you can shove it because this is the truth. 

This is the story from behind the computer.

I am a mommy of two, wife to an amazing man, and full-time employee. Life is crazy and busy! I started writing again during a darker time in my life in a group write in a Facebook group. They brought back my passion for writing that I haven’t felt since high school and helped me through hard times. 

Starting this process was tedious and nerve-wracking, but my amazing ladies and my fabulous husband have inspired me to take my love for writing to the next step.

My current books are Have I Told You, I Won't Give Up on You, A Very Merry Black Hollywood Christmas, and Give Me All of You, all part of the Black Hollywood Series.  

Behind the Computer is a new standalone that is not part of the BH series.  It's a step outside of my comfort zone, but the story hit me like a ton of bricks so I went with it. 

Coming 2016, One in a Million. New Characters, New story, Standalone! More information coming soon.

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Tuesday, October 6, 2015

*~*~* Release Blitz & Review *~*~* Wicked for You by Shayla Black

Ever since he rescued her from a dangerous kidnapper, Mystery Mullins has wanted Axel Dillon. When he returned her to her Hollywood father and tabloid life, she was grateful…and a little in love. Mystery wasn’t ready to let Axel go, even after the soldier gently turned her away because, at nineteen, she was too young.
Now, six years later, Mystery is grown, with a flourishing career and a full life—but she’s still stuck on Axel. Disguised, she propositions him in a bar, and the night they spend together is beyond her wildest dreams. Mystery steels herself to walk away—except the sheets are barely cold when her past comes back to haunt her.
Once he realizes Mystery isn’t the stranger he thought, Axel is incensed and intrigued. But when it’s clear she’s in danger, he doesn’t hesitate to become her protector—and her lover—again. And as the two uncover a secret someone is willing to kill for, Axel is determined to claim Mystery’s heart before a murderer silences her for good.

This was not the typical Wicked Lovers story. What I mean by that is, it did not have all the characters involved in some way. However.... THAT DID NOT DISAPPOINT IN THE LEAST! HOLY CRAP!

This has always been my favorite series by Shayla Black! This is one of those, "I don't even need to read the synopsis kind of books. Just gimme!"

There were plenty of familiar names and places from previous books in this story and a wonderful part of Dominion club and Thorpe and Callie with Jaquin making an appearance as well. 

Mystery thought she knew her parents. Being in the limelight of childhood stardum since her father was a famous director and her deceased mother was a famous actress prior to her mysterious death several years back. 

But, one night out with friends.
A kidnapping that threw her right in the hands of a man she had no business falling for at her age.
A bodyguard who may or may not be taking his job to the literal extreme.
An aunt who has bordered on psycho
And you get one hell of a love story that leaves you guessing just where you thought you knew all along who was who.

Shayla Black (aka Shelley Bradley) is the the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of 40+ sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances for multiple print and electronic publishers. She lives in Texas with her husband, munchkin, and one very spoiled cat. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading and listening to an eclectic blend of music.

Shayla has won or placed in over a dozen writing contests, including Passionate Ink’s Passionate Plume, Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence, and the National Reader’s Choice Awards. Romantic Times has awarded her Top Picks, a KISS Hero Award and a nomination for Best Erotic Romance of 2007.

A writing risk-taker, Shayla enjoys tackling writing challenges with every book.

Follow me on Facebook!/S...

or Twitter @Shayla_Black

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*~*~* Blog Tour & Giveaway *~*~* Redemption Road by Katie Ashley

REDEMPTION ROAD (Vicious Cycle, #2)
Released: October 6, 2015

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The New York Times bestselling author of Vicious Cycle plunges readers into a world of danger and desire in her newest in the Vicious Cycle motorcycle club romance series.

Looking for a walk on the wild side, Annabel Percy, the daughter of a powerful politician, starts dating a biker she knows is completely wrong for her. But she finds herself living a nightmare when she’s kidnapped and transported into a hell on earth she never could have imagined.

Born and bred into the Hells Raiders MC, Nathaniel “Reverend” Malloy lives and dies for his brothers. But when he becomes the unexpected savior of a rival club’s captive, Rev makes it his personal mission to nurse Annabel back to health—and to shelter her from the nightmares that torment her.

Once Annabel heals, she’s stunned to realize she is falling for the seductive man who saved her. Faced with their impossible attraction, can she accept the life he leads, or will Rev walk away from the only life he’s ever known for the woman he was never supposed to love?

Kristen Ashley pulls out all stops with her next hit in the Vicious Cycle Series. Redemption Road is a novel about just that. How many paths does one take to find the redemption they feel they need to find peace?

Annabel just needed a change of pace. Something to spice her world up a bit. Big, bad biker? Sure why not. Doesn't really matter that she knows he's the wrong guy for her, she's just out for a bit of fun. Annabel never thought she'd end up where she did, in the trouble that she currently faces. And she never dreamed of being rescued by him.

Rev is the unlikely hero here. Not only is he Annabel's savior and her nurse, he's also her guide - he's been there. He understands what she's going through. An unlikely bond is formed and their attraction is magnetic. A beautiful, no longer innocent, politicians daughter & a newly appraised president of the MC. The question is how they will manage to stay together in a world tearing them a part.

Kristen Ashley needs no plug from me. She once again creates these beautifully dark, deep characters that can tear your heart out and make you sing all at the same time. Redemption Road will make you cry, but it will also make you wonder. A roller coaster of a ride. Can not wait for book 3.

The agonizing consequences to live a night on the wild side.
Annabell sees a hot biker and wants to take a ride she's never taken before.
She didn't know what was to come.

Rev, aka Reverend, has secrets he's only told 2 people in his life.
A past he was ashamed of.
When he is called up to help recover a brothers daughter, the past comes back to haunt him.

This is a dark and emotional read! Katie Ashley pulled at my heart strings through this
entire book. To see a man go through the horrible life Rev has lived and to show that
men do suffer the same, was as emotional and raw as it gets.

“What are you doing?”
“Getting you into the shower.” At what must’ve been my
skeptical expression, he added, “It’s the fastest way to get you warm.”
“I see,” I murmured.
He made quick work of turning on the water and testing it
with his fingers. When it seemed to his satisfaction, he turned back to me. I
still sat on the toilet, shivering and trembling.
We stared at each other for a moment. Rev jerked a hand
through his hair. “Yeah, uh, I guess I better let you get in now.”
When he started to go, I grabbed his arm. “Wait. I need help
getting out of this dress.”
His eyes flared at my request. It wasn’t a come-on in
disguise. I had needed the help of one of our maids earlier tonight to get it
zipped. Instead of asking me to stand up, Rev bent over my back, bringing his
hands to the zipper. Slowly, he tugged it down.
As the front gaped open, I didn’t bother trying to cover
Rev’s hands momentarily faltered, and when I looked up, I
met his gaze, which was staring at my bare breasts. I hadn’t needed to wear a
bra because of the tight-fitting bodice. He cleared his throat several times,
then tugged the zipper the rest of the way down.
There was not a doubt in my mind, heart, or body about how
much I wanted him. I knew he expected me to want to take things slow in the sex
department, but that’s not how I felt. Regardless of the ghosts of the past, I
wanted him more than I had ever wanted any man. I wanted him to be the one who
proved to me that sex was physically and emotionally safe. That it could be a
loving act between two consenting people.
But with the roller coaster of feelings rocketing through
me, it was more about an all-consuming lust and desire.
When Rev stepped back from me, I rose to my feet. The dress
slid down my body
and pooled at my feet, leaving me in only my panties. Both
empowerment and vulnerability raced through me.
“Rev, I want you to look at me.” He shook his head and kept
his gaze on the floor. “I said I want you to look at me,” I repeated.
“That’s not what this is about. It’s about you getting warm
before you catch pneumonia,” he countered.
“I could care less about getting sick. Right now what I care
about is seeing the man I love want me sexually. To look at me like he wants to
devour me.”
His eyes, which burned with lust and unfilled desire,
snapped to mine. “How can you ever doubt even for a second how I feel about
I threw my hands up. “Because I’m standing practically naked
before you and you won’t fucking look at me!”
“We’re both teetering at the edge of uncharted territory.
After everything you’ve been through, I would rather die than hurt you.” “You
hurt me more when you won’t look at me or touch me,” I protested.
With an agonized sigh, Rev finally allowed his gaze to rake
down my body. There was no feeling of embarrassment or inadequacy. Just the
look on his face warmed me from head to toe. “You’re so beautiful,” he
Tears stung my eyes from his adoration. “I am?” I
He smiled. “Every inch of you.”


Vicious Cycle (Book
(available now)

Redemption Road (Book
2) – (available now)

Last Mile (Book 3) -
Pre-order, releasing May 3, 2016

Katie Ashley is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon
Best-Selling author. She lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia with Olivia and her
two very spoiled dogs. She has a slight obsession with Pinterest, The Golden
Girls, Harry Potter, Shakespeare, Supernatural, Designing Women, and

With a BA in English, a BS in Secondary English Education, and a
Masters in Adolescent English Education, she spent 11 1/2 years educating the
Youth of America aka teaching MS and HS English until she left to write full
time in December 2012.

Amazon Page:


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*~*~* Blog Tour & Giveaway *~*~* Madame X by Jasinda Wilder

My name is Madame X.

I’m the best at what I do.
And you’d do well to follow my rules...

Hired to transform the uncultured, inept sons of the wealthy and powerful into decisive, confident men, Madame X is a master of the art of control. With a single glance she can cut you down to nothing, or make you feel like a king.
But there is only one man who can claim her body—and her soul.
Undone time and again by his exquisite dominance, X craves and fears his desire in equal measure. And while she longs for a different path, X has never known anything or anyone else—until now...

How do you write a review for a book that was so messed up that it took your brain on a trip, twirled your inhibitions around, left you wondering what the hell you just read, and wanting more all at the same time? Because that would be exactly where I'm at this very moment. Complete and utter mesmerized by what Jasinda Wilder did in this first book of her new series. 

Madame X is living off what she is told. From a man, Caleb, who "saved" her. 
Six years. But the color Indigo proves to mean more to her then just his last name. And as the secrets start to unfold, Madame X is steered in a direction that leads her to the unknowns. 

I have my suspicions about where this is going to go, but, I will not bank on those suspicions as I am quite sure there are bound to be total and complete mind trips to further leave me reeling and wondering where the next book came from. 

Ode to live in the mind of the amazing Jasinda Wilder for a day... 

A knock on the door, the silent swing of hinges, and then heat and hardness behind me, a faint but intoxicating hint of cologne, the creak of leather. Hands on my waist, lips at my neck. Breath on my skin.
I don’t dare tense, don’t dare suck in a sharp breath of fear. I don’t dare pull away.
Strong, hard, powerful hands twist me in place, and an index finger touches my chin, lifts my face, tilts my gaze. I cannot breathe, don’t dare, haven’t been given permission.
“You are lovelier than ever, X.” A deep, smooth, cultured voice, like the purr of a finely tuned engine.
“Thank you, Caleb.” My own voice is quiet, careful, my words chosen and precise.
“Scotch.” The command is a murmur, barely audible.
I know how to prepare it: a cut-crystal tumbler, a single ice cube, thick amber liquid an inch from the top. I offer the tumbler and wait, keep my eyes downcast, hands behind my back.
“You were too harsh on Jonathan.”
“I must respectfully disagree.”
“His father expects results.”
I bristle, and it does not go unnoticed. “Have I ever failed to produce results?”
“You sent him away after less than an hour.”
“He wasn’t ready. He needed to be shown his faults. He needs to understand how much he has to learn.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” Ice clinks, and I take the empty tumbler, set it aside, and force myself to remain in place, force myself to keep breathing and remind myself that I must obey. “I didn’t come here to discuss Jonathan Cartwright, however.”
“I suppose not.” I shouldn’t have said that. I regret it as soon as the words tumble free.
My wrist bones scrape together under a crushing grip. Hard dark eyes find mine, piercing and frightening. “You suppose not?”
I should beg forgiveness, but I know better. I lift my chin and meet those cold, cruel, intelligent dark eyes. “You know I will fulfill the contract. That’s all I meant.”
“No, that isn’t all you meant.” A hand passes through artfully messy black hair. “Tell me what you really meant, X.”
I swallow hard. “You’re here for what you always want when you visit me.”
“Which is?” A warm finger touches my breastbone, slides into the valley of my cleavage. “Tell me what I want.”
“Me.” I whisper it, so not even the walls can hear.
“All too true.” My skin burns where that strong finger with its manicured nail traces a cutting line up to my shoulder. “You test my patience, at times.”
I stand stock-still, not even breathing. Breath whispers across my neck, huffs hot on my nape, and fingers toy with the zipper of my dress.
“I know,” I say.
And then, just when I expect to feel the zipper slide down my spine, body heat recedes and that hot breath now laced with hints of scotch is gone, and a single word sears my soul:
My tongue scrapes over dry lips, and my lungs constrict, protesting my inability to breathe. My hands tremble. I know this is expected of me, and I cannot, dare not resist, or protest. And . . . part of me doesn’t want to. But I wish . . . I wish for the freedom to choose what I want.
I have hesitated too long.
“X. I said . . . strip.” The zipper slides down to between my shoulder blades. “Show me your skin.”
Reaching behind my back, I lower the zipper to its nesting place at the base of my spine. Hard, insistent hands assist me in brushing the sleeves from my shoulders, down my arms, and then the dress is floating to the floor at my feet. That’s all the help I’ll get. I know from long experience that I must make a show of what comes next.
I turn my head, and see tanned skin and the perpetual two-day stubble on a refined, powerful jawline, sharp cheekbones, firm, thin lips, black eyes like voids, eyes that drip desire. My hair drapes over one shoulder. I lift one knee so my now-bare toes touch the gleaming teak, curl my shoulders in, let my gaze show my vulnerability. With a deep breath, I unhook my bra, let the garment fall away.
I reach for my underwear.
“No,” comes the purr, “leave them. Let me.”
I let my fingers graze my thighs, wait. My underwear slides down slowly, and where fingers touch, so too do lips, hot and damp, touching my skin, and I cannot flinch, cannot pull away or express how badly I want only to be alone, to even once have the right to want something else.
But I do not have that right.
Hands blaze over my bared skin and ignite my desire against my will. I know all too well the heat of this touch, the fires of climax, the moments of afterglow when dark eyes drowse and powerful hands are stilled and I am allowed to let my guard down. I stand still, knees shaking, as lips scour and slide over trembling skin. My thighs are nosed open, and lightning strikes with the touch of a tongue to my slick skin.
I gasp, but a single look silences me.
“Don’t breathe, don’t speak, don’t make a sound.” I feel the whisper on my hip, feel the vibrations in my bones, and I nod my assent. “Don’t come until I tell you.”
I have no choice but to stand and accept silently the assault on my senses: down-soft hair against my belly, stubble on my thighs, hands cupping my backside, fury blooming within me. I hold it back, keep it tamped down, bite my tongue to silence the moans, fist my hands at my sides, because I haven’t been given permission to touch.
“Good. Let go now, X. Give me your voice.” A finger pierces me, curls, finds my need and sets it free, and I loose my voice, let moans and whimpers escape. “Good, very good. So beautiful, so sexy. Now show me your room.”
I lead the way to my bedroom, push open the door to reveal the white bedspread, plumped black pillows, all tucked and arranged, as required. I lie down, setting aside pillows, and wait. Eyes rake over my nude form, examine me, assess me.
“I think an extra twenty minutes in the gym would do you well.” This criticism is delivered clinically, meant to remind me of my place. “Trim down, just a touch.”
I hide the clutch in my gut, the ache in my heart, the burn in my eyes. Hide it, bury it, because it is not allowed. I blink, nod. “Of course, Caleb.”
“You are lovely, X. Don’t mistake me.”
“I know. And thank you.”
“It’s just that our clients expect perfection.” A lifted eyebrow indicates that I should finish the statement.
“And so do you.”
“Exactly. And you, X, I know you can deliver. You are perfect, or very nearly, at least.” A smile now, blazing and brilliant and blinding, excruciatingly beautiful, meant to soothe. A finger touches my lips and then traces favorite locations on my anatomy: lips, throat, breasts, hips. “Roll over.”
I move to my stomach.
“On your knees.”
I draw my knees beneath my stomach.
“Give me your hands.”
I reach back with both hands, and my wrists are pinioned in one large, brutally powerful hand. My shoulder blades touch each other as my arms are drawn together, and my face is pressed into the mattress. I swallow hard, brace, breathe.
Oh, the ache, the fierce throb as I’m penetrated. I’m rocked forward and my shoulders twinge and the grip on my wrists holds me in place.
I have no choice but to feel the burgeoning blaze, no choice but let it push through me and make me breathless, and I want to cry, want to cry, want to cry.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
I let myself go when I’m told to do so: “Come for me, X.”
And then it’s over, and I’m turned to lie on my back, gasping, and whispers bathe over me. “So good, X. So beautiful.” A finger to my chin, lifting my gaze. “Did you enjoy that?”
“Yes.” It’s not a lie. Not entirely, at least.
Physically, I am rocked to trembling. Physically, aftershocks still seize me and touch makes me shiver and I am breathless. Physically, yes, I enjoyed it. I cannot help but enjoy it.
Yet . . . there is a space within me, a deep, deep, deep well where truths I do not even dare think live hidden and always buried. Down there, where those truths reside, I know I crave . . . absolution, freedom, a breath taken in privacy, a word spoken without ulterior motive.
But I cannot let those thoughts bubble up. Cannot, and do not. I am a master of self-control, after all. I could hold off orgasm indefinitely. I could go without breathing until told to breathe or pass out. I could remain sitting motionless for hours, until told to move. I know I can do these things, because I have. I learned total control in the harshest of schools.
And so it is child’s play to let my body drape loosely in the guise of intimacy on a hard, taut, muscular body until a chime from discarded slacks demands attention.
“I have to take this.” A pause, a breath, a tap of finger on a cell phone screen. “This is Caleb. Yes. Yes. Sure, give me twenty minutes. Of course. No, don’t let him in until I get there.”
A kiss to my temple, a finger tracing my body from shoulder to hip to foot. “I have to go.”
“All right.” I don’t ask when to expect a return, because I don’t want to know, and because I wouldn’t get an answer.
“Will you miss me?”
“Of course.” This is a lie, and we both know it.
“Good. Your next client is in two hours, so you have time to shower, dress, and prepare. His name is William Colin Drake, and he’s the heir to a technology development company worth fifty billion. Usual terms and conditions apply. The file on William will arrive in the usual manner.”
“Should I expect as much trouble with William as with Jonathan?”
A quirk of a smile, amusement. “No, I should think not. William is a much different animal, from what I’ve observed.” A pause, and a speculative glance at me. “But, X?”
“Yes, Caleb?”
“Watch yourself with William. He’s got a mean streak.”
“Thank you for the warning.”
“He needs to learn to control it, so you’ll have to draw it out of him and make him aware of it. But be careful.”
Draw out his mean streak. Poke a snake, prod a sleeping bear. Risk injury. It won’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last. Hopefully I won’t need medical attention like I did last time. That’s not covered in the contract, of course, but it’s understood: Never, ever harm the property of Caleb Indigo; it’s just not smart business.
When the door closes behind a broad, suit-swathed back, I shower the sex-stink off. I scrub harder and longer than I have to and fight the boil of forbidden emotions. When my skin is rubbed raw, I force myself out of the shower and dress, apply makeup, remake the bed, prepare tea.
And then I seat myself on the couch and breathe, compose myself, push down the vulnerability, put away the fear and the desire. Once again, I am Madame X.    

Jasinda Wilder is a New York TimesUSA TodayWall Street Journal, and international bestselling author. She is a Michigan native and currently lives there with her family. Visit her official website at 

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Friday, October 2, 2015

**BT** blurred LINES ~ Bodies, Ink, & Steel ~ Scott Hildreth

Blog Tour for the #1 Best Seller, blurred LINES, Book 1 of Scott Hildreth’s NEW series, Bodies, Ink & Steel.

Book Information
Title: blurred LINES
Author: Scott Hildreth
Release Date: September 21st, 2015
Series: Bodies, Ink & Steel, Book 1
Cover Design: Jessica Hildreth

Blake West is the mysterious owner of Blurred Lines, a tattoo parlor that not only has provided him with a steady income, but has also supplied a steady stream of women into his life. Now, however, things for him are much different.

Riley Campbell just ended a relationship with an abusive man who enjoyed controlling her every move. Now free of his grasp, she feels the need for a celebratory tattoo, her first of what she expects to be many. Her expectations of the parlor, the artist, and the process were pretty weak when she walked in.

And then she meets Blake West.

Covered in tattoos, handsome, mysterious, and muscular, Blake West is not at all what Riley expected to find, but exactly what she feels she needs.

There’s one small problem.

Blake is a sex addict.

And he’s trying to quit.

Blurred Lines is a stand-alone erotic romance and the first book in the Bodies Ink and Steel series. It has an HEA, no cheating, no sex outside the relationship, and no sharing of partners.

I'm a little conflicted with this one. And it's not even really sunk in why. Scott Hildreth has done his usual and left me deep in thought. His characters as always are conflicted within their own rights. Each digging and finding their way.

Riley reminds me a bit of myself as I too tend to find myself sitting in the tattoo salon waiting for a tat when I am dealing with emotional things. She has just left a severely emotionally & physically abusive relationship and finds that she needs an outlet in the form of a new tattoo. Meeting Blake was a bonus. 

Blake West... sweet Jesus. What to say about this poor guy without giving away the book. He's a hot - HOT - mess. Add in an addictive personality and geez. Riley is the chick who brings him to a "holy shit" moment and makes him realize what he's been doing and how to make the changes he needs to continue on. 

As per usual, I'm left with questions. Why didn't Riley's ex make more of a stink about not only her leaving him, but her use of his money?  

The tie between Riley and Blake is almost kismet in its way. Destined to meet due to their pasts. Their connection unbreakable.  

Excerpt from Book 2

Stevie's Book  (title coming soon)

Dying wasn’t anything I was afraid of, in fact, my life had
been lived in quite the opposite manner. For as long as I could remember,
living was my biggest fear. Living in a world where I was not only allowed -
but required - to a make decisions that would affect me for a lifetime scared
the absolute shit out of me. My greatest fears were regarding my inability to
make good decisions always seemed to be related to men or relationships.

Maybe it was that I was all too eager to have what I was
surrounded by - women in seemingly healthy relationships.

The thought was laughable.

I caught the first glimpse of him as he walked out of the
bedroom. As I stirred my much needed coffee and peered toward him, he sauntered
into the living room like he didn’t have a worry in the world. Hell, maybe he
didn’t as far as he was concerned.

“Where’s your shirt?” I hollered.

His body swiveled toward my voice. Upon recognizing me, his
eyes went wide. “I didn’t know where you went.”

I glanced down at his bare feet, chuckled, and shifted my
eyes upward. “Well, now you know. Where’s your fucking boots?”

He tossed his head to the side. “There in your room.”

He had the body of a Greek God. Muscles on top of muscles,
no body fat, a ripped mid-section, and a prominent “V” at his waist – the “Fuck me V” I preferred men to have. Well, to be honest, I required it. He described
himself in the bar as being hung like a horse, and he didn’t lie in that


He had no sexual stamina.

I took a sip of coffee and shrugged my shoulders. “Well?”

“Well what?” he asked as he continued to walk in my

“Well, you aren’t going to want to ride home like that,” I
said as I nodded my head toward him. “Go get ‘em.”

“I ain’t plannin’ on leaving just yet. Thought we could go
at it again,” he said with a laugh.

I nodded my head and widened my eyes comically, like he’d
revealed one of the greatest ideas I had heard in the last decade. Although I
hadn’t originally intended to do so, as I lowered my coffee cup, I burst into

“What?” he shrugged as he stepped into the threshold of the

I suppose most women would have at least got a little more
dick from the guy. Hell, it wouldn’t have cost me anything.

Well, nothing but a little pride.

“Listen. Go grab your shit and hop on that HOG of yours and
go on home,” I said as I turned toward the sink.

“Something wrong?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen.

I placed my cup on the counter and turned to face him. “Other
than the fact you’re in my kitchen?
No. Listen, just go.”

And it was then that he grabbed my shoulder. And it wasn’t
the kind of grab that a girl likes. Not the one that makes her go weak in the
knees or feel butterflies. Hell, it wasn’t even the one where a guy forces his
woman to commit the act.

The way he grabbed me reminded me of my ex.
The “I’m getting what I came here for, regardless of what
you just said” grab.

I spun to the side, pulled open the kitchen cabinet, grabbed
my newly purchased .45 caliber Colt pistol and leveled it at his head.

“See, you could have
left. You really could have,” I said as he began to walk backward.

“What the fuck…”

“’What the fuck’ is right. What the fuck did you grab me
for? Huh?” I asked as I continued to force him closer to the door.

“I wanted to…”

“Shut up. Now you get to ride home barefoot. Get the fuck
out,” I fumed as I tilted my head toward the door.

“Hold on,” he said. “You uhhm. Fuck, you really need to…”

“You’re all fucked up on where you are,” I said. “I make the
rules in this house. You really need
to go.”

“I can’t ride without my boots,” he shrugged as he continued
to nervously eye the barrel of the pistol.

“You’d be surprised.
Get out,” I demanded. “And I’ll leave whatever you’ve left here at the door of
the bar where we met last night on my way to work.”

“You crazy little…”

“Bitch? Yeah. I am,” I said with a grin as he stumbled into
the door.

“Now reach around and open it. It’s unlocked,” I said as I
nodded my head toward the door.

“You’re really going to…”

“Yeah, really,” I said as I reached past him with my free
hand and opened the door.

“Crazy bitch,” he said over his shoulder as he walked to his

“You fuck like a girl,” I said as I slammed the door.

I set the pistol on the counter as I walked into the kitchen.
After warming my cold coffee in the microwave I made some toast, sat down, and
began to eat my light breakfast. Half a dozen beers, a few margaritas, and who
knows what afterward had led to a night that was a blur of a memory at best, and
now my stomach was in turmoil; anything more than toast and I’d yack for sure.

And I hated barfing just about as much as I hated men with
no stamina.

As the sound of his Harley faded into the distance, it was
almost as if a small part of my confidence went with him. A girl with my looks,
body, sexual appetite, and my attitude should be able to find a man compatible
with her.

But try as I might, I seemed to always choose losers.

I had decided after leaving Bart that the next man I settled
down with was going to treat me right, fuck me right, and be able to stand on
his own two feet without my income as a crutch.

And I really didn’t care how many men I had to force out of
my house at gunpoint to find him. 

About Scott Hildreth

Born in San Diego California, Scott now calls Wichita, Kansas home. Residing in Kansas with his wife, Jessica, and five children (and another on the way in November 2015), he somehow finds twelve hours a day to work on his writing.

Addicted to riding his Harley-Davidson, tattoos, and drinking coffee, Scott can generally be found in a tattoo shop, on his Harley, or in a local coffee house when not writing.

Loyal to the fans, fan girls, and faithful followers who allowed him to make writing a full-time career, Scott communicates with his followers on Facebook almost daily. He encourages his readers to follow him on Facebook and Twitter.

Twitter: @ScottDHildreth

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