Month: February 2019

BOWIE’S ANGEL is now available! #MCRomance #MayDecember #Suspense

Bowie’s Angel
Devil’s Outlaws 1
By Lynn Burke
Publisher: Changeling Press

Keywords: MC Romance, May/December, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance, Suspense, Series, HEA
When a barely-legal blonde with a lithe, young body shows up at the Devil’s Outlaw MC strip joint to audition as a dancer, Ian “Bowie” Davies wants nothing more than to burrow between her long legs and claim her. She’s too young for his dominant side though, too innocent for the sharp edges of his darker desires. And way too hot to let another man touch her — a thought that has his hands itching to use his signature knives against any bastard who messes with his angel. 

Hannah Harris ran away from home at age eighteen, desperate to escape the prison of her strict parents. Determined to delight in the sins her father preaches against, she puts her ballet talents to work, using a stripper pole to make a living. Dancing for Bowie and his blade has her panting to explore some of the “firsts” she planned to save for her future husband. 

But when Bowie and his brothers attempt extortion beyond her parent’s ten-thousand dollar reward for Hannah’s safe return, she’s left with a difficult choice. Offer up the evidence to put the notorious biker gang behind bars, or protect Bowie and chalk the shit-show up as a lesson learned and begin her independent life anew — without the lying bastard who owns her heart. 

Can Bowie cut through the blindfold of lies on Hannah’s eyes and surrender the truth in his heart to win her back?

*Warning: Spanking, anal sex, knife play

​PURCHASE LINKS:
15% Sale at Changeling Press: https://www.changelingpress.com/bowie-s-angel-devil-s-outlaws-mc-1-b-2834
Amazon:https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07ND35X1F
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Bowies-Angel-Devils-Outlaws-MC-ebook/dp/B07ND35X1F
B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1130503668
Kobo:https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/bowie-s-angel
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1451714897

ADULT EXCERPT:
Too motherfucking young, but it was no wonder she’d gotten past Brewer. Mile-long legs, sexy-as-fuck flared hips, pert little breasts, all wrapped in leather that screamed sex but didn’t match what her pale green eyes revealed.

The young woman who had sauntered into my office like she had every intention of dropping to her knees if I told her to disappeared the second I’d crowded close. Close enough to drop her focus to my chest. Close enough her heartbeat thrummed beneath my thumb. Close enough I could feel the purity of her soul as though her body’s energy rippled across the inches separating us.

An inexperienced submissive for sure, and she had my dominant nature kicking and screaming for release — along with my dick strangling in my jeans. Fuck, yes.

“Look at me.”

Her eyelids snapped up, those pale eyes letting me see right into the depths of her.

“How old are you?” I asked, my smile long fucking gone.

“Twenty-one,” she whispered.

“Liar.”

She gulped again, but held my gaze.

“Name?”

“H-Hannah.” She swallowed again as I smoothed my thumb up and down over her thumping artery. “Hannah Morris.”

“Hannah. A pure-as-fuck name for a pure-as-fuck little girl who should be with her mommy and daddy rather than in the devil’s playground,” I murmured, and she straightened, tensing beneath my hold.

“I am not a little girl.” Fire shot from her narrowed eyes as she all but spit the words at me.

I pressed flush against her body, grinding my dick against her hip. “Sassy. I like a little backbone in my women.”

She gasped, her eyes going wide. “Get off me.”

To the point words, but nothing other than desire laced her voice. She made no move to escape either, her hands grasping at my shirt as though hanging on for the ride of her life.

“Twenty-one, hmm? Got proof of that?” She shook her head, and I leaned in closer, my lips a breath from hers, so fucking ready to give her that ride. “So you came in here thinking you could get a job baring your tight body and fucking that pole up on stage without an ID.”

“Yes,” she whispered even though I hadn’t asked a question, her sweet breath jerking my dick in its prison.

“Gonna cost you.”

“Wh-what?”

“Not sure yet.” My lips brushed hers like a feather, far from a kiss, and she moaned. “A kiss?” I suggested.

She swallowed, no longer tense but trembling.

“Mmm, I think so,” I murmured when she didn’t answer, lust and satisfaction simmering throughout my body. “But where?”

I pulled back, and her eyelids fluttered open, her pupils dominating the green of her eyes.

“Here?” I asked, smoothing my thumb over her plump, glossed lips.

“Here?” I brushed my knuckles down over the swell of her right tit, my dick jerking again at the hardness of her nipple beneath my grazing caress. “Or…”

I worked my hand between our bodies, down over the front of her leather skirt until I caressed the smooth, warm skin above her knee.

“Here?” I slid my palm up the inside of her thigh.

Another shudder rippled through her, and she fisted her hands in my shirt.

I rubbed my thumb in circles just shy of her pussy, need like I’d never known taking me to the edge of my self-control, a self-control I prided myself on.

“What’s it going to be, Hannah?” Ragged and low, my voice sent a shiver over her body.

“M-my lips.”

I took her mouth in a bruising kiss, tightening my hold on her neck, tilting her head and thrusting my tongue between her lips that tasted of strawberries and cream. Not just innocent, but fucking untried in every way — she didn’t have a clue what to do with her tongue, so I showed her, sliding alongside hers, tasting, taking until she got the hang of sucking face.

She whimpered, and beyond giving a fuck how old the little temptress was, I cupped her pussy.

Hot and soaked.

Fuck.

She tore her mouth from mine and whimpered.

I licked the sweet taste of her gloss from my lips and pressed the heel of my hand against her clit.

“Oh!” Lower lip between her teeth, she clenched her eyes shut, her brow furrowing as she bucked beneath my touch.

“You like my hand on you.”

She whimpered and ground against me even though she shook her head.

“You’ll like my tongue even more.” I dropped to my knees and shoved her skirt up around her tiny waist. Pink lacy panties — so fucking virginal, I groaned. Goose bumps pebbled her legs, and I lifted my gaze, sliding a finger along the edge of her panties and pushing them aside while grasping her ass cheek with my other hand.

Hannah still had her lower lip between her teeth, eyes clenched shut, hands fisted at her sides.

“Look at me.”

Like a good little girl, she obeyed, and I held her gaze, flicking my tongue out.

Sweeter than any fucking cotton candy I’d licked before. Addictive honey…

© Lynn Burke 2018

ABOUT LYNN BURKE:
Lynn Burke is a full time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of spicy romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

Website: https://www.authorlynnburke.com/
Blog: http://authorlynnburke.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Author-Lynn-Burke-555282497937461/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorLynnBurke
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorlynnburke/
BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/lynn-burke

Welcome Katherine. What would you like readers to take away from your story? Does it contain a message? 

I hope they get a glimpse of what it is like to be an artist, a poet, to have this obsessive creative drive, which is sometimes difficult to express, and even more difficult to control. It is a great gift, but it can also be destructive.

Where did you find your inspiration for the story? Was it a person, a current event, something you witnessed, or something else?

Well, the first spark for the story came from a dream I had, about a Victorian painter in love with his model who also happened to be a prostitute (yeah, I have some crazy dreams). But it became a lot more complex of course, especially when I decided to integrate the story in my loosely interconnected transgender trilogy. I ended up adding things that were inspired by anecdotes in various Pre Raphaelite painters’ lives, and also some autobiographical aspects.

Did you face any obstacles or challenges while writing the story and if so, what were they?

Writing historical fiction, especially your first historical fiction has a very steep learning curve, because you have to research everything, even the smallest things. How did people dress, what did they eat, how did they travel etc, how much did a barber charge for a shave? How do you wear a bustle? What the heck is a bustle for that matter? Luckily I have read almost exclusively historical fiction all my life, so I had a certain feel for the period, but even so, there was a lot of work to do in researching small details. 

The other great challenge was to turn the artist/muse dynamic into an actual love story between two real persons. Artists tend to see they muse as something powerful and almost supernatural, and to reconcile that with a more “human-to-flawed-human” relationship took some serious leap of imagination for me.

How much emphasis do you put on supporting characters to move the plot of your stories along? Have any of your supporting characters ever gotten their own story?

It depends from book to book, sometimes the cast is pretty numerous and vivid, sometimes I like to write characters that are distinctly alone, in a sort of personal and social void. This is the case with this story, since both main characters are very isolated. But there is a good friend that is essential to their story arc, and two rather remarkable landladies ?

What or who influences your writing?

The most obvious influence on this book is certainly Antonia Byatt. I love her prose, and the way she can describe works of art as well as everyday situations. 

What is your writing process? Are you a patnser or a plotter, or a little of both?

A pantser, a pantser forever! I consider myself lucky if I start a book with the smallest inkiling of what the story arc will be. Sometimes I really no idea where I am going at all. I don’t even write book in chronological order, but skipping back and forth in the plot quite at random, following the emotions that are more in needof expression at the moment. It is very exciting, but also a little scary!

What is important in your life and why?

Just like Nathaniel, the painter in A Muse to Live for (who is most definitely one of the closest alter egos I ever wrote), expressing my creativity is perhaps the strongest need I have. I can become terribly depressed if the “muse” (real or imaginary) is absent. 

Other than that I think the most important thing for me is to live a genuine life with the people I love, notably my husband and my pets. I don’t have any wish to waste energy and resources in anything “glamorous”, be it expensive holidays, restaurants, fashionable gadgets or what-nots. 

Blurb:

~Editor’s Pick~

“This is one of the most beautiful romances I’ve ever read.”

London, 1884

An artist lives to create. When Nathaniel’s urge to paint died, so did his will to live.

Until the night he meets Gabrielle.

Gabrielle may be just a poor prostitute, but she has the beauty of a Pre-Raphaelite stunner and the otherworldly aura of a fallen angel. She also has a secret. Gabrielle is Gabriel, and when Gabriel’s dark past comes knocking and Gabrielle must abandon her new career as an artist’s model, Nathaniel’s whole world comes crashing down again.

Better to die than living without her love, and the breathtaking creative drive she brought him. But it’s dead easy to die for a woman. Any fool can die for love. To live for it, that takes altogether more courage, doggedness, and imagination.

Be Warned: transgender romance, queer romance, cross-dressing, m/m sex, anal sex, rape

Excerpt:

I am not sure how to touch Nathaniel. I want him to kiss me again, I want him to hold me, I want him to look at me that way he does in his studio, when he watches every line of my body and sees a woman. And at the same time, I wish he would see me for what I am, all that I am, once and for all, so I don’t have to hide anymore. 

So I shed my jacket, and the blouse underneath. I shiver a little in the cold when my arms are bared, and he runs his warm palms on my goosebumps, soothing them.

Then I stand to unbutton my skirts and petticoat, and untie my bustle, and I let it all swish down around my knees, and I stand here naked, in my small chemise, and stockings and corset, and my boots. 

I am still silk-skinned and woman shaped. 

Except for that one thing.

I steal a glance at his face—I can hardly bear to look at his eyes, standing here so naked—thinking he will wince, or frown. Or scream, what do you know. You can never tell, with a sensitive artistic temperament. 

But he does none of these things.

Instead he goes to his knees on the floor, like a man about to propose in some play, and with a sort of mute reverence he strokes my thighs and my buttocks, and the back of my knees, through the stockings. When he lays a kiss and then his forehead on the hard of my hip, where the bone pokes sharply under my skin, I put my hands on his crazy hair, and hold him there, and with the barest, lightest touch of his fingertips he caresses the front of my corset, on my belly, and then down, down.

And to my acute embarrassment, the damn thing shivers to his touch, stiffening, rising.

Well. He has certainly seen me, now. He really has. 

He is not screaming.

I pull him to his feet and I step out of my puddled skirts, and gently I undress him. Jacket and shirt and trousers and drawers, socks, everything. 

He is as tall as I am, which I had never noticed, because he always stands with his head bent and his shoulders slumped. He’s not muscular, but there is no fat on him either. He has well-built bones under his lumpy clothes—he badly needs a good tailor—and he would be rather handsome if he held himself straight, with his chin up, and didn’t look so much at odds with himself. He’s pale, but not as pale as I am, and there is just the merest spray of hair on his chest. 

I caress his skin all over as I undress him, and he looks transfixed, as if it had never occurred to him that it takes two to dance this dance. Perhaps he thought I’d make him spend the night on his knees adoring me. 

The heat of his skin is like a deep current, and it draws me to him.

We stand here mute, the only sounds the drumming of the rain and the swish of falling clothes, and gently kissing lips. 

When I push him to lie on the bed, I have a moment of dread that he might want to do that to me. I cannot have it. I will not be taken that way ever again. 

I’ll make my living giving blowjobs for the rest of my days, I guess.

But I am not afraid of him. I do not believe he’d be capable of hurting a fly, let alone me. 

“So, do you fancy that blowjob, finally?” I whisper in his ear, smiling, but he holds me close, too close for me to slide down along his body.

“I love you,” he whispers, his lips on my ear, so that words are made into a caress, “I love you, I love you.”

“Hush,” I whisper back, bearing down on him, grinding my cock on his. “Don’t say such things. It cannot be. It can’t.”

“This night, this once, please, let me say it. I love you, I love you, I love you.” His body rises to meet mine, and I feel those tears spilling now, with joy, and grief, and pity. Pity for him, for me, for both of us, lost in this narrow garret under the drumming rain, orphans in this storm, desperately naked in this terrible iron city.

“Only this once, then,” I whisper. “Tomorrow, you must forget.” 

And before he can answer or kiss me again, I slip out of his arms, and down, along his chest and belly, so he cannot see me cry.

I have pleasured so many men this way, but never one I loved, and maybe it’s the same thing, and yet it’s something altogether different. He’s all silk and warmth and heaving life and fire pulsing, and his flesh matters to mine, so that my whole body loves his. 

“You—don’t—have—to do this,” he whispers at first, but then he surrenders finally, and lets the pleasure take him. 

I told him, the first time we met, that I’d do him for free. Who would have guessed, then, that I would end up doing him for love?

And I don’t know if he’s a virgin—but he is indeed quick. His cock grows even tauter on my tongue, and he breathes in short, hard gasps a few times. When his body arches and heaves and his hand fumbles at my cheek, I hold him, and hold him, and hold him… He comes with a broken moan, hotly. I swallow it all. 

On the street I never do. But here, now, with him, I could not bring myself to spit.

Buy Links:

Find A Muse to Live For at Evernight:

https://www.evernightpublishing.com/a-muse-to-live-for-by-katherine-wyvern/

Or on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07NPXLQNH/ref=sr_1_fkmrnull_1?keywords=A+Muse+to+Live+for+wyvern&qid=1550136673&s=gateway&sr=8-1-fkmrnull

Social Media Links:

Katherine’s Blog:

https://katherinewyvern.blogspot.fr/

Katherine’s Website:

http://meetingivory.wixsite.com/katherinewyvern

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/katherinewyvern

Facebook Author/artist Group:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/884796268383313/?ref=bookmarks

Twitter:

Tweets by KatherineWyvern

Or follow her on Instagram @katherinewyvern

Jonny

Fallen Gliders 5

By Lynn Burke

Publisher: Evernight Publishing

Cover Art: Jay Aheer, Simply Defined Art

Keywords: MC Romance, Rubenesque, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance, Suspense, Series, HEA

About Jonny

Jonny Hayes, president of the Fallen Gliders MC, can’t remember the last time a woman got him up or off. With the club under fire and an inside snitch spilling their secrets, the last thing he needs in his life is a curvy blonde on the run. Even if she does make his hands itch to redden her sweet ass.

The law refuses to protect Alexa Thorne from her ex, a Silent Demon who thinks she’s still his property. Bruised but not broken, she runs north in search of her friend—and a safe place to escape—but instead finds herself surrounded by a rival gang. Vouched for and under the Glider’s protection, Alexa refuses to let a man touch her again—even if their alpha president makes her body burn to submit to him.

Jonny vows to keep his hands to himself, but the undeniable pull between the two cannot be ignored. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if the consequences of his plan costs him his club, his brothers, and his freedom.

EXCERPT:

She sat on the edge of the bed, my white t-shirt hiding her perfect tits, her blonde hair a rumpled mess. Lips still swollen. Shoulders relaxed, and makeup smeared around her bright eyes.

“You’re gorgeous,” I muttered, fisting my cock.

She glanced down at the movement beneath the comforter, her cheeks tinging pink and nipples pebbling beneath my shirt. “Want some coffee?” she asked, her voice more breathless than a few seconds earlier.

I pushed the blankets down over my body, thrusting into my hand while baring my cock. “I’d rather have you ride me.”

She swallowed, her gaze flitting to my face as the pulse leapt in her neck.

“But coffee’s good,” I said when she didn’t speak or make a move.

“You held back last night.”

I nodded, still lazily stroking my cock.

Alexa licked her lower lip, glancing once more at my dick. “Do you … like to hurt women in a sexual way?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“Only if they want me to.”

“Spanking?”

I bit back my groan at the memory of her plump ass. “Yes.”

“Pulling hair? Biting?” She met my gaze once more, her eyes flitting from one of mine to the other as though hoping to read the truth of my answer.

“Yes, and yes,” I said, my hand stilling. “But not without consent or safewords,”

She nodded and climbed atop me, lifting my shirt so her bare pussy rested against the top of my hand and my cock.

“Christ.” I breathed out the word and released my hold on myself to grasp her bare hips lightly beneath the shirt.

She ground her pussy against my aching length, slickening me with her arousal. “I-I’d like to try all that with you,” she whispered, staring into my eyes, “but right now, I just want you to fuck me.”

So more than just one night. Fuck, yes. “Condom?”

“I want you bare—if that’s okay?”

“I fucking hate rubbers,” I muttered, my dick jumping at the thought of feeling her pussy against my skin. “Birth control?”

She nodded and shifted her hips, notching me against her opening. “Clean, too.”

“So am I.”

I flexed as she moved back, and we came together in one rocking motion.

“Fuck.” I clenched my jaw, the wetness of her heat clasping me. “Never gone without before,” I said between my teeth, fighting to keep from digging my fingers into her hips and taking what I wanted.

Alexa slid forward along my length and sank back down, her lower lip between her teeth.

“Take off the t-shirt,” I said. “Touch those beautiful tits for me.”

Red infused her cheeks, but she did as told, her small hands lifting the heaviness of her breasts.

With a heave of breath, I sat up and latched onto the pebbled nipple of one she held, breathing in her sweet, peach scent, the desire to bite rather than lick racing through my blood.

Her breath caught as she lifted and lowered over my cock, her wetness leaking down over my balls, pussy clenching with every gentle scrape of my teeth over her hardened nub.

“Harder,” she whispered, and I thrust up into her as she sank onto my shaft again. I went for a small nibble, and she moaned, her back arching, pressing her tit into my face. “Yes…”

Her whispered word fucking thrilled me, and I nibbled again, thrusting up into her as her pussy clamped down on me.

“Oh, God.” She whimpered and gasped while moving against me, her body a fucking vision of motion, swaying and grinding.

I slid a hand around her backside, my fingertips trailing up and down her ass crack while she moved on me. As she lifted, I gathered moisture off my dick and slid a fingertip over her asshole as she fucked down onto me again.

Her breath caught, and she stayed impaled, circling her hips in time with my finger rimming her ass. I released my mouth from her breast with a pop. “Like that?” I asked, pressing lightly.

She whimpered and nodded, eyes clenched shut, pulse thrumming in her neck as she ground against me.

I thrust with my hips and slid my finger past her ring of muscle.

“God.” Her breath left in a rush, and she tipped her head back, her neck an offering I couldn’t pass up.

I latched onto the softness of her skin at the base of her neck, and she began to rock on my lap. “More,” she whispered, her hands grabbing hold of my head to keep me close.

Teeth, or finger in her ass, I wasn’t sure which she meant, so I went with both, nipping her flesh with my teeth in open mouth kisses and finger sliding in and out of her tight hole while she rode me.

“God, yes.” She gasped and shuddered, her fingernails digging into my scalp. “Fuck, yes.” Her pussy spasmed. “Jonny!” She cried out my name a second time as her inner walls clamped down on my thrusting cock, and I captured her mouth, swallowing every whimper and moan of her climax while shooting my cum deep inside her.

Nothing fucking compared to erupting in a woman’s body without the strangling hold of a damn condom. Nothing. Fucking perfection, and I wasn’t about to give up what I’d just found—fuck the Demons, and fuck her ex. I just needed to show her I could be the man for her.

© Lynn Burke 2018

PURCHASE LINKS:
Books2Read: http://books2read.com/jonnyfg5
Evernight Publishing: https://www.evernightpublishing.com/jonny-by-lynn-burkeAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07N82TRCJAmazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07N82TRCJB&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1130356401Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/jonnyiTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/jonny/id1450576373?mt=11Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/919749

 Enter the RAFFLECOPTER for your chance to win!

Nab your Kindle ecopy of NICKYfor only .99 cents! 

 CHECK OUT THE OTHER FALLEN GLIDERS!

Nicky: https://books2read.com/nickyfg1

Hawk: https://books2read.com/hawkfg2

Digger:http://books2read.com/diggerfg3

Capone:https://books2read.com/caponefg4