✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆ THE TRUTH IS HERE ✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆
Are you ready to know the truth??
#truthrevealed #twinduo #oneclick #nowlive
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✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆ THE TRUTH IS COMING ✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆
Are you ready to know the truth??
#truthrevealed #twinduo #November17
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✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆ THE TRUTH IS COMING ✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆
Are you ready to know the truth??
#truthrevealed #twinduo #November17
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✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆ THE TRUTH IS COMING ✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆
Are you ready to know the truth??
#truthrevealed #twinduo #November17
]]>
✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆ THE TRUTH IS COMING ✯ ☆҉‿➹⁀☆҉☆
Are you ready to know the truth??
#truthrevealed #twinduo #November17
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Reaper’s Fall is the newest standalone in the Reaper's MC Series. Painter & Melanie's story is FINALLY here!
Available at the following retailers:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1DsDyRt
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1yYt1Rn
Nook: http://tinyurl.com/pljucpa
iBooks: http://tinyurl.com/pwfxzyj
BLURB
The New York Times bestselling author of Reaper’s Stand is back in her “uber-alpha rough world of MCs”* as one woman’s future is rocked by the man whose hardcore past could destroy her…
He never meant to hurt her.
Levi “Painter” Brooks was nothing before he joined the Reapers motorcycle club. The day he patched in, they became his brothers and his life. All they asked in return was a strong arm and unconditional loyalty—a loyalty that’s tested when he’s caught and sentenced to prison for a crime committed on their behalf.
Melanie Tucker may have had a rough start, but along the way she’s learned to fight for her future. She’s escaped from hell and started a new life, yet every night she dreams of a biker whose touch she can’t forget. It all started out so innocently—just a series of letters to a lonely man in prison. Friendly. Harmless. Safe.
Now Painter Brooks is coming home… and Melanie’s about to learn that there’s no room for innocence in the Reapers MC.
EXCERPT #1
“You want to watch a movie or something?” she asked, nodding toward the TV. I had a decent one, too. Giant-ass flat-screen—homecoming present from the club.
“Sure,” I said, reaching for the remote. I didn’t have cable, but Ruger had set up some kind of box thingie for me so I could stream shit. “Whatcha in the mood for?”
“Not horror,” she said quickly, and I laughed again, remembering that first evening I’d spent with her at Pic’s house. She’d been so young and scared and vulnerable . . . I’d wanted to eat her up.
I still wanted to eat her.
“I can’t believe that you and Puck were supposed to be watching over me, and then you put in a slasher movie. That’s not how you make a girl feel safe.”
“No horror,” I agreed, although the thought of holding her for a couple hours while she was scared shitless appealed way more than it should. Watch it, asshole. “How about Star Wars?”
“You like Star Wars?”
I shrugged. “Everyone likes Star Wars. You know, I’m pretty damned sure Han Solo was a biker.”
She giggled. “You mean, like a space biker?”
“See, when you say it like that it sounds stupid.”
“I wanted to be Princess Leia. She’s badass,” she said, taking a deep drink of her beer. I watched as her lips wrapped around the neck, her throat swallowing. Oh fuck, that was good. She set the beer down on the coffee table with a clink, then let loose with the biggest burp I’d ever heard.
“Fucking hell,” I said, stunned. “I didn’t think girls could burp like that. Shit. Impressive, Mel. Very impressive.”
She grinned at me.
“We’re friends,” she told me. “And friends don’t need to worry about stuff like that. Let me guess—you’ve never had a female friend before?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I’m think I’m a little scared.”
Scared and turned on, which was weird.
“You should be. I can do the whole alphabet.”
Damn. I kinda wanted to see that.
EXCERPT #2
Mel,
You know, I write these fuckin’ letters to you, but they’re fake. I ask about your friends and your school and whether you’re meeting people. It’s bullshit, Mel.
Here’s my reality.
Yesterday I stabbed someone before he could stab me. Puck and I sold some shit to a bunch of white supremacists and we turned around and sold the same damned thing to some Mexicans. We had pudding with our dinner for dessert.
Then I jacked off three times thinking about you. Those are the highlights. Like a fairy tale, right? Remembering you keeps me going, which makes no fucking sense at all. I hardly touched you. I still think about what you smelled like when you sat next to me on the couch, though. You were just this little thing and you shivered under my arm. I know you were scared of the movie and I could’ve picked something else, but I wanted the excuse to hold you.
That’s when I started thinking seriously about us fucking.
I had this vision of shoving you into the cushions face- first, then ripping down your jeans and pushing so deep you’d feel it in the back of your throat. That’s the kind of guy I am, Mel, and that’s why you should stay the fuck away from me.
You give me the chance, I’ll pin you down and keep pumping no matter how hard you try to get away. I dream about it every night, I jerk off to it, and today I gave serious thought to killing a man because he has the same fantasies about you as me. That first night, I promised London I wouldn’t touch you, but my cock had already been hard for hours. Good thing she showed up when she did—saved your ass. How’s that for luck?
When I took you to dinner, I was going to be good. Tried to be good. I know you didn’t understand why I asked you out or what it meant. They needed you out of the way, Mel. That was my job—to keep you busy. And I promised London I wouldn’t pull shit on you but she’d been lying to us all along and I kept wondering if that meant my promise didn’t count anymore.
Pretty damned sure it hasn’t counted for a while now.
You were talking and smiling and blushing. My dick was so stiff it nearly snapped in half when I tried to stand up. Took everything I had not to throw you on my bike and ride off with you . . . I want to tie you up and come in your ass and shove my cock down your throat until you choke. I want your hair in little-girl pigtails so I can hold on tight while I fuck your face. I want you to cry and scream and give me everything. I want to fucking OWN you. How’s that for reality, Mel? You still want my advice about boys?
I’m coming home soon. You should run away while you still can, Mel. I’ll make you dirty, so dirty you’ll never be clean again. I’ll make you pay me back the hard way. You think you’re all grown up, but you’re not. There’s so much I could teach you . . . do to you. Jesus, if you only knew, you’d never write to me again.
You should move to Alaska. Change your name. Good luck, though, because I’ll find you and take you and—
Fucking hell.
I dropped my pencil, wondering why I’d thought this was a good idea. I wasn’t going to send it, of course. I’d send her some friendly little note and tell her she should be dating and having fun. But some part of me thought writing my real thoughts out might fix my obsession. Instead my dick was like a rock. Again.
Still.
Always.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Joanna Wylde is a New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.
Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
GIVEAWAY
$50 Amazon Gift Card
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Excerpt #1
Mel,
You know, I write these fuckin’ letters to you, but they’re fake. I ask about your friends and your school and whether you’re meeting people. It’s bullshit, Mel.
Here’s my reality.
Yesterday I stabbed someone before he could stab me. Puck and I sold some shit to a bunch of white supremacists and we turned around and sold the same damned thing to some Mexicans. We had pudding with our dinner for dessert.
Then I jacked off three times thinking about you. Those are the highlights. Like a fairy tale, right? Remembering you keeps me going, which makes no fucking sense at all. I hardly touched you. I still think about what you smelled like when you sat next to me on the couch, though. You were just this little thing and you shivered under my arm. I know you were scared of the movie and I could’ve picked something else, but I wanted the excuse to hold you.
That’s when I started thinking seriously about us fucking.
I had this vision of shoving you into the cushions face- first, then ripping down your jeans and pushing so deep you’d feel it in the back of your throat. That’s the kind of guy I am, Mel, and that’s why you should stay the fuck away from me.
You give me the chance, I’ll pin you down and keep pumping no matter how hard you try to get away. I dream about it every night, I jerk off to it, and today I gave serious thought to killing a man because he has the same fantasies about you as me. That first night, I promised London I wouldn’t touch you, but my cock had already been hard for hours. Good thing she showed up when she did—saved your ass. How’s that for luck?
When I took you to dinner, I was going to be good. Tried to be good. I know you didn’t understand why I asked you out or what it meant. They needed you out of the way, Mel. That was my job—to keep you busy. And I promised London I wouldn’t pull shit on you but she’d been lying to us all along and I kept wondering if that meant my promise didn’t count anymore.
Pretty damned sure it hasn’t counted for a while now.
You were talking and smiling and blushing. My dick was so stiff it nearly snapped in half when I tried to stand up. Took everything I had not to throw you on my bike and ride off with you . . . I want to tie you up and come in your ass and shove my cock down your throat until you choke. I want your hair in little-girl pigtails so I can hold on tight while I fuck your face. I want you to cry and scream and give me everything. I want to fucking OWN you. How’s that for reality, Mel? You still want my advice about boys?
I’m coming home soon. You should run away while you still can, Mel. I’ll make you dirty, so dirty you’ll never be clean again. I’ll make you pay me back the hard way. You think you’re all grown up, but you’re not. There’s so much I could teach you . . . do to you. Jesus, if you only knew, you’d never write to me again.
You should move to Alaska. Change your name. Good luck, though, because I’ll find you and take you and—
Fucking hell.
I dropped my pencil, wondering why I’d thought this was a good idea. I wasn’t going to send it, of course. I’d send her some friendly little note and tell her she should be dating and having fun. But some part of me thought writing my real thoughts out might fix my obsession. Instead my dick was like a rock. Again.
Still.
Always.
Excerpt #2
“You’re not going back to the party.”
She cocked her head, and I saw the confusion in her alcohol- glazed eyes as she wrinkled her nose at me. All cute, like a rabbit.
“You look like a bunny.”
“You look like an ax murder,” she said, frowning. “And I thought London was looking for me. Aren’t we going the wrong way?”
“I lied. I do that a lot,” I told her, staring at her lips. I reached out, catching her chin in my hand, running my thumb across her lips. Our eyes locked, and I don’t know if her pulse started to rise but mine sure as fuck did. What the hell had I been thinking, writing to this girl? She was so pretty and perfect and had this amazing, magical life just waiting for her and all I could think about was dragging her down into the dirt and shoving my cock into every hole she had.
She’d scream while I did it, too, the same sweet screams that played in my head every night while I jacked off.
I hated myself.
“Why did you lie?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“To get you away from Taz. It’s not safe with him.”
Mel’s forehead creased in confusion, her brain moving so slowly I could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes. She might be smart as fuck most of the time, but she’d transitioned to drunker than fuck tonight. Kit. Kit and Em. They’d done this to her.
I leaned in closer, catching her scent. For an instant I swayed, so tempted . . .
“They told me all about you,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“The other girls. Kit, Em. Jessica. I know how you operate,” she continued. One of her hands rose, touching my chest. Fire burst through me, because if I’d wanted her before I was desperate for her now. She was so soft, so sweet . . . so perfect.
Then her words sank in.
“What did you just say?”
“They told me all about you,” she said, eyes dropping to stare at my lips. “They told me you have a Madonna-whore complex.” I froze.
“A what?”
“A Madonna-whore complex,” she repeated, her voice earnest. “You like to screw dirty girls and you put clean girls on pedestals, where they can stay perfect and pure. That’s pretty messed up, Painter. There’s no such thing as Madonnas and whores. We’re all just people.”
The words stunned me. What the hell was she talking about? Just because I didn’t want her dragged down in the drama and bullshit of this life didn’t mean I had some sort of fucking complex. And who the hell were the Hayes sisters to have an opinion? I couldn’t tell what pissed me off more—the fact that they’d talked to Mel about me or that they hadn’t done a better job of scaring her off.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Kit and Em are crazy, and that friend of yours—Jessica? She’s like a car crash. You don’t belong here, Mel.”
“And where do I belong?”
“With some nice kid who’ll treat you like a queen and work his ass off to give you everything perfect for the rest of your life.” The words were practically a growl.
Her eyes widened.
“What if I don’t want perfect?”
“Too fucking bad, because that’s what you’re getting.”
Reaper’s Fall is the newest standalone in the Reaper's MC Series. Painter & Melanie's story will be available on November 10th and is currently up for Pre-order!
Available at the following retailers:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1DsDyRt
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1yYt1Rn
Nook: http://tinyurl.com/pljucpa
iBooks: http://tinyurl.com/pwfxzyj
Blurb
The New York Times bestselling author of Reaper’s Stand is back in her “uber-alpha rough world of MCs”* as one woman’s future is rocked by the man whose hardcore past could destroy her…
He never meant to hurt her.
Levi “Painter” Brooks was nothing before he joined the Reapers motorcycle club. The day he patched in, they became his brothers and his life. All they asked in return was a strong arm and unconditional loyalty—a loyalty that’s tested when he’s caught and sentenced to prison for a crime committed on their behalf.
Melanie Tucker may have had a rough start, but along the way she’s learned to fight for her future. She’s escaped from hell and started a new life, yet every night she dreams of a biker whose touch she can’t forget. It all started out so innocently—just a series of letters to a lonely man in prison. Friendly. Harmless. Safe.
Now Painter Brooks is coming home… and Melanie’s about to learn that there’s no room for innocence in the Reapers MC.
About the Author:
Joanna Wylde is a New York Times bestselling author and creator of the Reapers Motorcycle Club series. She currently lives in Idaho.
Stalk Her: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
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Maybe there’s only one direction to go when two people fall
in love at rock bottom—up.
NOW AVAILABLE!
I wanted to jump.
He made me fall.
As a celebrity, I lived in the public eye, but somewhere along the way, I’d lost myself in the spotlight.
Until he found me.
Sam Rivers was a gorgeous, tattooed stranger who saved my life with nothing more than a simple conversation.
But we were both standing on that bridge for a reason the night we met. The secrets of our pasts brought us together—and then tore us apart.
Could we find a reason to hold on as life constantly pulled us down?
Or maybe there’s only one direction to go when two people fall in love at rock bottom—up.
Excerpt One
“Thank fuck!” Sam said, swinging the door open before Devon even had the car in park.
“Oh, this isn’t my place. We’re just dropping Devon off. I’m about twenty minutes across town?” I tossed him a sugary smile then boldly shifted my hand into his lap, purposely brushing the bulge under his denim.
Grabbing my wrist, he narrowed his eyes and called out, “Devon, I’m gonna need to borrow a bedroom.”
I burst out laughing as Devon cursed loudly.
“Fine. This is my place. No smoking inside though,” I snipped as I climbed from the SUV.
“You better have some seriously exciting extracurricular activities to keep me distracted, then.”
“I have Ping-Pong!”
“Not exactly what I was thinking.” He mischievously cocked his head. “But I guess paddles and balls are as good a start as any.” Dipping down, he hoisted me over his shoulder. “Point me to the Ping-Pong table, my lady.”
I didn’t. I laughed hysterically as he carried me inside. Then I directed him to my bedroom instead.
I heard Devon locking up the house as Sam deposited me on the bed.
“Jesus. This view.” He pushed the curtains back. “Why the hell would you ever go up to the bridge when you have this here?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, pulling my earrings off and placing them on my nightstand.
Oh, but I knew. It might not have been what had originally sent me up that bridge, but it was why my feet carried me back every night. And that very reason was currently standing in front of me with entirely too much clothing on.
“You want a beer?” I asked, sliding my shoes off.
“Nah, I’m good.” He faced me, and I could tell something was off with his demeanor. He didn’t inch any closer. Instead, his lips were tight and his eyes uncomfortably flashed around the room.
It suddenly didn’t feel like Sam standing in front of me at all.
He felt like a stranger who had just come face-to-face with Levee Williams.
Damn it.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Are you about to freak out?” I whispered, nervously moistening my lips.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m not really sure yet. But I’m gonna need you to stop licking your lips long enough for me to figure it out.” His mouth cracked into a wide grin, and my shoulders relaxed.
Now that was a flash of my Sam.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked.
“It’s just… I think this is the first time I’ve realized that you’re some big-time celebrity. I might be in over my head here, Designer Shoes.”
“I just make music, Sam.” I returned his smile and very slowly prowled in his direction. “Imagine how I feel though. You’re Samuel Nathan Rivers. A tough, tattooed furniture designer who makes six figures a year but is too afraid to tell his mommy he votes democratic.” I giggled as he frowned humorously. Stopping in front of him, I dragged a fingernail down his chest then teased the waistband of his jeans. “Have you considered that maybe I’m the one who’s in over her head here?” I leaned forward to nip at his lips, but he spun us around.
“Excellent point. I’m going to need you to try really hard to keep it together, Levee. You haven’t even seen my six-pack and huge cock, yet.” He smirked and attempted to return my nip, but I stepped out of his reach.
“You brought beer and chicken?” I feigned excitement.
That one corny joke was all it took to bring my Sam back completely.
With a sexy smile and a coy shrug, he seductively backed me toward the bed. “What can I say? I like to be prepared.”
“Clearly,” I breathed.
He moved in close so his lips were only a centimeter away, but for as much as I wanted him, it was agonizing. “Clearly,” he repeated, his smoky yet sweet breath breezing across my mouth.
His strong arm looped around my waist, tugging me against his chest, while I stared into his hooded eyes, eagerly waiting for him to make a move.
Any move.
Every move.
Excerpt Two
“You’re overdoing it, Lev. I know this job isn’t exactly nine-to-five, but it’s not twenty-four-seven, either. You have to stop being Levee Williams all the time and just be you.”
“I know,” I responded.
I didn’t though. I felt like a robot parading around in a lost woman’s body.
Smile.
Pose.
Turn.
Toss in the occasional song.
Repeat.
What little time I did manage to carve out for myself was spent at various children’s hospitals across the country.
Smile.
Pose.
Turn.
Watch a child die.
Repeat.
With every day that passed, the smile became less and less genuine, the pose more and more forced, and the turn took me further and further away from who I really was.
My career was soaring while, personally, I was plummeting. Every single day felt like a terrifying free fall in no particular direction. I was stuck in the middle with no way up—or down.
“You remember that girl, right?” Henry asked, tucking a hair behind my ear.
I nodded.
I did remember her. She was fun and carefree. She loved going out and dancing at nightclubs until the very last song played. She slept until noon if she could. Then, fueled by coffee alone, she’d spend the day with a guitar strapped around her neck and a notepad at her side. She had a huge heart, but she knew her limitations.
Oh, I remembered that girl. I just couldn’t figure out how to get back to her.
About the Author:
Aly Martinez
Born and raised in Savannah, Georgia, Aly Martinez is a stay-at-home mom to four crazy kids under the age of five, including a set of twins. Currently living in South Carolina, she passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a glass of wine at her side.
After some encouragement from her friends, Aly decided to add “Author” to her ever-growing list of job titles. Five books later, she shows no signs of slowing. So grab a glass of Chardonnay, or a bottle if you’re hanging out with Aly, and join her aboard the crazy train she calls life.
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads
GIVEAWAY
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