SCORPION TAIL, NOW AVAILABLE AT GOOGLE PLAY
Hips swaying, she sashayed across the stage with her electric guitar, Venom, in tow. Her swarthy skin shimmered like dark diamonds under the spotlights. Strawberry blonde dreadlocks cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She swept a gaze over the eager crowd. The lights caught the spark in her haunting eyes, adding to her seductive allure.
A jeweled choker adorned her long neck. Fashioned from leather and lace, a crimson corset hugged her torso, and a short plaid skirt flared out over her bodacious hips. Completing her stage ensemble, skin-tight leather clung to her legs, and a pair of red, wedge-heeled sneakers sparkled on her feet.
This woman was a rock goddess haloed in lights. Wielding her mighty guitar, she ruled the stage and everyone beyond it.
Our mistress, Queen Sting.
Stirring with great anticipation, the crowd waited. Not one person shifted their attention from the stage.
A wicked smirk graced her face. Positioned at the microphone, she whirled Venom in front of her and teased the strings with her long, scarlet painted nails. Her glossy lips parted and her tongue slid out, revealing a sparkling guitar pick. She plucked it off her tongue and cooed in a husky timbre, “‘S’up, sexy bitches.”
A voluminous roar bounced off the club’s walls as the sea of people went into frenzy.
“Allow me to introduce my band of badasses!” With one hand wrapped around Venom’s neck, she ripped the pick across the taut strings. The electric guitar released a rebellious cry. It soared through the large speakers like a thunderous strike. “On bass is my Californian playboy… Chase.”
The bright eyed, floppy-haired kid to her left strummed the golden beauty hanging from his neck, drawing screams from the women in the audience.
“On keys, the sexiest man you’re ever gonna lay eyes on… Becca.”
With his lengthy hair draped over the sides of his face, the guy to her right flashed an enticing smile as he fingered the keys on his instrument. The crazed screams only grew louder.
“And on drums, my brotha from another motha… Slice! Hit it, baby!”
Surrounded by a shiny percussion set, the muscular man in the fedora whipped his stick from one drum to the other, delivering a brutal beating. A wild cadence resonated through the building.
“I’m MonaLisa and we are Scorpion Tail!” The band thundered into a hard-edged rhythm with their mistress leading the way. “Say your prayers, ‘cause we’re about to rock you ‘til death!” Her raspy voice surged into song, “It courses through your veins, my sweet, poisonous kiss… Take me again like that, fill me with your painful bliss… Let me thank you for your pretty lies and smiling deceit… I’ll remember you, only for the days of pain and nights of grief…”
Even though the lyrics she delivered were ominous in their nature, her voice was hypnotic. Spellbinding.
Struck in complete awe, Toshiro watched her strum her magnificent guitar, with her dreads swaying wildly about under the flashing lights.
Her gaze locked on him, a sultry smile followed. “Tell me you wanna die, baby, just for a taste… Give me your soul as you fall in my embrace…”
Can she see me through the blinding lights and sea of jerking bodies? The idea she could separate him from the mob was a fool’s fantasy, but the possibility sent an unrelenting shudder down his body. Even though the building was packed from wall to wall with people caught under her spell, he felt like he was the only one in the club.
She’s singing and playing just for me.
His bones vibrated with the heart-thumping pulse, his blood ran hot. The taste of her lips lingered in his memory. The thought of her poisonous kiss tightened his groin. He couldn’t rip his eyes away, no matter how hard he tried. From that moment on, he couldn’t deny it. He was enthralled, bound to her in body and spirit, and he would never be able to live without her.
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ROCK STAR LOVER, NOW AVAILABLE AT GOOGLE PLAY
Superstar, Ripp Collins had the crowd spellbound, enthralled by his beauty and raspy, haunting voice as he belted out a verse. “When you look at me, tease my desire with a mere gaze, it shreds the edges of my soul…”
The indie rock band Devil’s Avenue was under the spotlight tonight, and they had the club packed to capacity.
The pulse of the bass drum and the cry of the electric guitar whipped through the building like a harsh, metallic rock n’ roll storm. The music’s roar mingled with the fans’ zealous screams. Multicolored lights flashed over the performers, adding to the dark and mysterious ambiance they created.
But Ripp… He glistened under the fluorescent beams, like a divine being. Flicking his fingers across the guitar strings, he rocked his hips to the beat, threw his head back, and let out one of his gritty primal cries.
The crowd went wild.
An unwanted smile dared to cross my face. I sat rooted to the barstool at the back of the club, refusing to let his bad boy allure draw me under his spell, like everyone else. But damn, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, which meant, I was already enchanted. Now that I think about it, I’ve been spellbound for quite some time now.
Author Yvonne Nicolas © 2018
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A few days ago, Google extended an invitation for me to join Google Play. I’m excited about this because the more platforms my books are offered on, the better for the readers. Due to my tight writing schedule, I won’t be adding them all in one day. Instead, I’ll add one every other day. Then I’ll post it to let you know it’s available.
Thanks for being my motivation to write.
Josephine clutched her thighs together and shifted in the leather seat, hoping to God the feeling would go away, but the longer she sat there next to him, the worse it became.
Dammit, why didn’t I take a cab?
On every inhale, she couldn’t help but breathe him in. He smelled so damn good. His cologne, combined with his natural scent, enticed her senses, and made her mouth water for a taste of him.
She kept taking shifty glances at his masculine hands and long fingers as they gripped the steering wheel. Feverish, she wrung her hands together in her lap, fighting the need to slip her fingers between her thighs and heal the ache dangling on the edge of her clit.
Ahhh, this is torture!!!
“Uh-huh, sure, yeah I’m fine,” she murmured nervously, diverting her gaze out the window. “My first time riding in a Land Rover. I used to hate the exterior design of them, all boxy like. But uh, it’s nicer than I expected.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
She couldn’t even look at him. Best she didn’t. He had a wicked way of sucking her into the deep blue fantasy in his eyes. It was too dangerous of a place to be, a place where she could easily lose herself in a heat of passion. Damn him! It wasn’t fair he had this kind of effect on her, especially when she tried so hard to stay on the right path.
“Here we go.” The vehicle pulled to a stop at the entrance of the hotel.
“Thanks for the ride,” she uttered quickly.
She went for the handle in an attempt to make a run for it. Before she could escape, he latched onto her wrist, forcing her to turn and look at him.
Inky curls hung loosely over his forehead, enhancing his sex appeal. God, why?
“I know this goes against what we discussed, but I just… I want to spend a little time with you, get to know you. And where we go from there, I don’t know, let’s―let’s just leave it to fate. I like you a lot Josephine, and I truly hope you feel the same way about me.” His eyes were so sincere, so hopeful.
Dammit, she had almost made it out of the vehicle. She closed her eyes for a brief moment to steady her thoughts, to think of something to say that didn’t involve the words, fuck me, please.
“Don’t make this any harder than it already is. Like I said before, I’m in a relationship and this would only―I just can’t.” She gently twisted her wrist from his grip. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
She darted out of the vehicle, leaving his alluring scent behind. He called after her, but she didn’t dare turn around. The fever he engendered rolled down her body in waves, causing her to break out in a cold sweat.
Without hailing the doorman, she ran up the entrance steps and through the open glass doors. She hurried past the lounge area to the elevators. The sliding doors opened, welcoming her in, but she hesitated to enter.
She didn’t want to go back to her room all worked up like this. She needed to clear her head, to think of something, anything other than him. She needed… a stiff drink.
Scampering from the bank of elevators, she retraced her steps then made a sharp right turn to the bar. Neon lights haloed the handsome bartender like he was the God of Liquor and Spirits.
“Sapphire martini, no, two shots of Vanilla cognac, uhm, no wait… Better yet, hook me up with a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue, on the rocks. Josephine Burnett, room eight fourteen. Charge it please.”
“Yes ma’am!” The bartender flashed a megawatt smile as he prepared her drink.
Clutching the chilled glass, she rushed to an empty booth in the far right corner, away from the packed bar. No matter how hard she tried to slow her erratic breathing, it wouldn’t settle. She took a much-needed swallow of her chosen beverage. The burning liquid added fuel to the fire already blazing within her.
God, she wanted him so badly, more than she’d ever wanted anyone.
This was crazy. She loved Terry and would never cheat on him. Never! He was her first and only man. No one had ever touched her body but him, and no one else would!
Maybe if she called and heard his voice, it’d put an end to this crazy desire flooding her body. Doubtful, but she had to try something.
She looked to her side for her trusty handbag to seek out her phone. It wasn’t there! Where… Oh no. “Shit.” In her haste to get away from Devon, she’d left her bag sitting in the backseat.
Frantic, she slid to the edge of the booth, ready to make a mad dash through the bar, when all of a sudden her Louis Vuitton bag was placed on the table in front of her.
Reluctantly, she looked up to meet with those metallic blue eyes. His lids half-mast and chest heaving, he stared down at her. Everything blurred around him.
With her hand plastered across her rapid thumping heart, she dropped her eyes to his hand. He still had a tight hold on the handle of her purse. His fingers slowly unfurled. The same fingers she wanted stroking her skin, teasing her clit, thrusting deep inside of her dewy entrance. She bristled and shook her head. Too late, the images were lodged deep in her mind.
“Dammit, Devon,” she pushed out on a heavy sigh.
His audible gulp sliced through the clamor of the bar. “You’re welcome.”
He turned to leave. Without thought, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. As she tugged on him, his pulse raced beneath her fingers.
“Yes?” Hand braced on the edge of the table, he squatted to be eye level with her. “What is it, Josephine?”
Please, you beautiful sexy man, don’t make me say it, she begged with her eyes.
Somewhere along the way, she must have picked up telepathy because he simply nodded and raised his keys. “Let me turn my Rover over to the valet. I’ll be right back.”
Author Yvonne Nicolas © 2018
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Introducing My Fellow Author GO Partner, La Quette
LaQuette is an erotic, multicultural romance author of M/F and M/M love stories. Her writing style brings intellect to the drama. She often crafts emotionally epic, fantastical tales that are deeply pigmented by reality’s paintbrush. Her novels are filled with a unique mixture of savvy, sarcastic, brazen, and unapologetically sexy characters who are confident in their right to appear on the page.
This bestselling Erotic Romance Author is the 2016 Author of the Year Golden Apple Award Winner, 2015 Swirl Awards Bronze Winner in Romantic Suspense, and 2015 Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award Finalist in Erotic Romance. LaQuette—a native of Brooklyn, New York—spends her time catering to her three distinct personalities: Wife, Mother, and Educator.
Writing—her escape from everyday madness—has always been a friend and source of comfort. At the age of sixteen she read her first romance novel and realized the genre was missing something: people that looked and lived like her. As a result, her characters and settings are always designed to provide positive representations of people of color and various marginalized communities.
She loves hearing from readers and discussing the crazy characters that are running around in her head causing so much trouble. Contact her on Facebook, Twitter, her website, NovelsbyLaQuette.com, Amazon, her Facebook group, LaQuette’s Lounge, and via email at LaQuette@NovelsbyLaQuette.com.
A mob boss finding his dead lover alive six years after her death? Shocking. Learning they’ve got a five-year-old son? Deadly.
Six years ago Sanai Ward fled her home in Florida when her lover’s infidelity nearly brought her life to a fiery end. Devastated but determined to create a safe and happy life for the child she was carrying, Sanai started over from nothing.
Single parenthood isn’t easy. But the joys of watching her beloved Nazario thrive is more than enough motivation to ignore the ache in her heart for the man that shattered her soul.
Dante De Luca is a passionate man who’s had his life stolen from him. Six years ago he was in love and happy, until his woman was killed in a fire. There was nothing left in the ashes but the locket he’d placed around her neck. Too angry to deal with his loss, Dante sought to make the world pay for his broken heart by forming an unholy covenant with an unspeakable ally. He’d live to regret it, but signing away his humanity to the devil seemed meaningless when his soul was already gone.
When an accident involving a family member draws Dante to New York, it forces an unexpected meeting between him and Sanai. Then Dante has to decide what’s more important: his rage and revenge, or the safety of the woman he once loved and the health of his new-found son?
Lies You Tell
There was no mistaking that face; this was the woman he’d been looking for. He watched as she maneuvered the car out of the parking lot. When her car was a comfortable distance away, Dante slowly pulled out of his spot to follow.
He tracked her vehicle cautiously. There were always two to three cars between them at any given time. When she went through the electronic tag-holder lane to get to the Whitestone Bridge, he aimed his car at the cash lane.
He kept eyes on her all the way to Brooklyn, all the way to a familiar block. He’d been to Crescent Street several times over throughout his life. His right-hand man in Florida had a grandmother who lived on this block.
“It can’t be,” he whispered. “It’s just a coincidence.”
He watched her step out of her car and walk toward a house he could remember standing inside. When she reached the inside of the gate, he slipped inside behind her.
She stumbled at the sound of his voice. Her head snapped around, her gaze clashing with Dante’s. That was when he felt it: That sizzle, that spark of electricity they’d always shared. That fire that was constantly present when they were this close. This wasn’t a coincidence.
“My God, it’s you,” slipped from his lips just before he pulled her into his arms and sealed her lips with his. There was that perfect mix of fire, heat, and vanilla that was always there whenever he’d kissed her in the past. Familiar lips moved under his with a matched urgency. A routine so familiar neither of them had to think about it. Even after six years, their bodies still remembered.
He pulled away from the kiss only to take in the air his burning lungs were demanding. He looked down into the hickory-brown gaze staring back at him and saw the spark of fear there.
“Six years, Sanai. Six fucking years I thought you were dead. Care to explain to me how I managed to get that wrong?”
She tried to step away from him, but he placed a firm hand on her forearm to keep her where she stood.
“Why are you here, Dante? You shouldn’t be here.”
“No.” He shook his finger at her. “The question isn’t why am I here, but how the hell are you here? I saw them bring your body out of that burning building. The cops had to fucking cuff me to keep me from running in there to try to save you. How did we all get that wrong, Sanai? There was a body with your necklace on it. How the hell could you let me think you’d died in that damn fire?”
Romantic excerpt from Serenity King’s novel, A RACE FOR REDEMPTION (Interracial Romance, erotic romance)
*Winner’s Choice* for the Fall Into Romance Blog Hop. Don’t miss out on your chance to win this bestselling tale.
A powerful conglomerate, Powell Industries has entered the world of stock car racing. It isn’t too risky an endeavor since the CEOs daughter’s favorite things are driving fast and fast cars. As beautiful as she is driven, Tracey Powell is one of the most talented drivers on the circuit. However, a string of wrecks has caused her father to make a change. Now her former trainer is driving the Powell industries car. Determined to reclaim her place behind the wheel, Tracey battles her way back. Now Tracey’s not only looking to be the first African American woman to bring home the trophy—she’s also looking for Redemption.
Shane Westbrook has been the reigning champion five years running. His life is grand as a result. He has everything: money, respect, and all the women he could want. The trouble is that he doesn’t want just any woman. He wants the one woman who walked away—Tracey. With the last two races coming up he knows Tracey is thinking about winning. The race is on—the prize has yet to be determined.
“What happened on the track today? Are you okay?” He asked, as he walked over to her and took the towel from around her head. He tilted her jaw first to one side, then the other, looking into her eyes as if he were a doctor or something. “Why aren’t you answering me?”
“Probably, because you haven’t given me a chance to answer yet,” she said, finding her voice at last. “What are you doing here? And why are you angry with me?”
“Never mind that. Are you hurt?”
“No.” She wouldn’t tell him that she’d been scared out of her mind. She’d keep that bit of information to herself.
“Good. Come here.” Her supposed rival, Shane Westbrook, pulled her into the circle of his arms and brought his mouth down to hers. Her lips parted voluntarily, allowing his tongue access.
Tracey’s arms instantly encircled his neck, causing her towel to drop to the floor. She felt his groan of appreciation as he deepened the kiss, grasping her hips, lifting her up off the floor and more intimately into him. Without missing a beat, he walked with her over to the bed and placed her on it—with him on top of her—their lips still locked in a passionate kiss. His legs parted her naked thighs—his cock coming into contact with her center—her juices wetting the front of his jeans.
Tracey couldn’t believe this was happening. That it was real. Yet the thickness between her legs assured her that it was. Her hips gyrated against him. He growled his satisfaction into her mouth.
“I am definitely overdressed,” he whispered against her lips, before lifting up off of her. He removed his clothes swiftly, and joined her back on the bed before she could voice her objections.
She looked at him as he undressed, enjoying the view of his toned body, sun-streaked, short, brownish blond hair, and blue eyes. His long, thick erection, bobbed up and down amidst a triangle of short curls a shade darker than his hair. As much as she wanted all of him inside of her, in her heart of hearts, she knew it would be wrong.
“From the look in those beautiful dark eyes of yours, I can tell you are having second thoughts. Don’t,” he ordered. “This is going to happen, Tracey.”
“We can’t,” she murmured.
“We can and we will,” he said sternly, before taking her lips again in a mind-blowing kiss.