On January 5, two hours before departure on a Panama Canal cruise, I dodged a speeding car during my morning walk and rammed into a cement barrier. I broke four toes, sprained my ankle, and bruised a lot of soft tissue. (All of which I discovered 6 hours later from the ship’s doctor’s x-rays).

The doctor assured me I still had time to jump ship and head back to California from Florida. His suggestion raised a dilemma. My son, DIL, husband, and I had planned this trip for a long, long time. What would I do at home in a wheelchair I couldn’t do sailing the ocean blue?

So, I accepted a soft boot, IBUPROFEN, an ice pack, and a wheelchair, agreeing to see an ortho doc in Colon, Colombia two days later. If I needed surgery on the toes, I’d decide to have it there (uh-huh!) or return to California.

The next two nights stretched into at least additional forty-eight hours. My foot looked and felt like an overfed whale. But . . . I stayed in the wheelchair provided by the cruise company, remembered two people I know who have sat in wheelchairs all day for the past twenty years, and dialed back on the whines. And my thoughts turned to murder.

Now, in full disclosure, I’d written my first and second psychological thrillers before leaving the States. I’d planned on reviewing the manuscripts on board. Didn’t happen. Visions of the multiple ways to torture the driver who’d nearly mowed me down hijacked my imagination.

Having written four romance novels (two comedies, two romantic suspense), I was a true believer in the transformative power of love. Forced to stay in a wheelchair from the moment I got up until I went to bed, I kept thinking about murder. I still believed in that transformative power of love, but I started to see where some characters never found true love. Or, they were too damaged to love and be loved.

That thin line between thinking about murder and committing murder niggled at my imagination. (Sort of ridiculous since I was being treated like a princess by my husband and kids and ship’s staff). In addition, many passengers wanted to know what had happened.

My story? I was skiing down Mount Everest blindfolded and hit a mogul. (Yep, that got a laugh). When I told “the truth,” many passengers commiserated with me about the jackass driver who never even slowed down. They agreed he’d escaped justice.

Misfits. Murderers. Justice.

The idea churned my brains while I sat on my balcony and contemplated passing through the Panama Canal. When I came out on the Atlantic side, I’d reached a decision. Writing romance had taught me a lot. Now, I thought I was ready to veer off to another path. (The jungle and heat and strange creatures fuel the imagination).

Back home, walking five miles a day again—though more slowly, trying to accept I have six more months according to my ortho surgeon before I can say I’ve recovered, I am writing the third novel in my trilogy, THE MISfIT. At this point in my life, I like being able to commit murder.

How about you? Are you a dyed-in-the-wool romance reader? Have you ever thought about that thin line between thinking and committing murder? Why do you read romance? Do you read other genres? Why/why not? I will get back to you.

Thanks to Delilah for this opportunity to travel a different path with you. Below is a brief description and excerpt from The Early Years.

OBTW, reading during my forty-five days of wheelchair-confinement, helped more than any medication.

AB Plum, author of THE MISfIT—The Early Years, a novella of psychological suspense
http://abplum.com/

*~*~*

THE MISfIT—The Early Years

You’ve known you were different forever.
Memories of standing on the outside flood your eleven-year-old brain.
Your own parents refuse to look you in the eye.
They refuse to touch you. Talk to you. Express affection.
They lavish your older brother with praise. With acceptance. With love.
He taunts you. Disrespects you. Underestimates you.
You have one friend—and he is different too.
He’s lucky though.
He doesn’t have cold, uncaring parents.
Or a despicable older brother.
Your friend’s happy to help you exact justice.

*****************

Chapter 1
A Deadly Accident

On January 15, 1976, the plan to kill my older brother came to me fully formed.

Everyone at Hovedbanegård (Copenhagen’s Central Train Station) wore fur-lined boots, coats, gloves, and hats. My brother, shorter than most of the god-tall Danes, stood out because of his squared off torso—an aberrant gene, most likely, from our Finnish mother. The sheer mass of the crowd made pushing him—too close to the edge of the platform—too easy.

BIO:  AB lives just off the fast-lane in Silicon Valley with her husband. Reading, hiking, aerobic dancing, and participating in debates about hot-button topics propel her imagination toward murder.

Ranae is the youngest of the Buckleys, and the only girl amongst three powerful male siblings. Her restlessness and dominant nature has affected every relationship within Willow Bend, not to mention testing the patience of her Alpha. Apprenticeship to the Hunters fed her desire for a purpose. When her Alpha and eldest brother ask her to undertake a mission to the Yukon territory, she’s thrilled at the opportunity for a real chance to be useful. Clashing with the Alpha was the last thing she expected on the dangerous assignment.

The oldest Alpha in the U.S. packs lives a gray existence. The loss of his mate so many decades before wears away at him, until he doesn’t give a damn about anything. The problems of the other packs are not his, and he prefers to be left to his isolation. The arrival of the Chief Enforcer annoys him, but it is the wolf traveling with him who wakes the predator in Diesel. The scent of mate clings to her, but she rejects his overtures and challenges him on every level.

War may be coming for the Yukon, but Diesel’s battle is very personal…

Find out more at: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks | ARe

Praise for the Wolves of Willow Bend series:

“ROGUE WOLF is a fast paced, intriguing look into the world of shifters. Salvatore is old world a bit stodgy and Margo is very much new world and on top of that a lone wolf and Enforcer. How is it possible that these two could be mates? In author Heather Long’s vivid and fun imagination it’s very easy.” — Fresh Fiction

“BAYOU WOLF is in a word … amazing. All the reader can do is hold on for the ride and enjoy the fireworks.” — Fresh Fiction

“If you love sexy wolf shifters, sweet love stories and action then you have to pick up UNTAMED WOLF by Heather Long”. — Annetta Sweetko, Fresh Fiction

“It is a great story about finding a place to belong and the love that can follow if you allow it.” – Hart’s Romance Pulse reviewing RIVER WOLF

Read an excerpt from SNOW WOLF:

Riding the high of her nearness, Diesel leaned into the force of her hand on his chest. “I know my mate’s scent. I searched for you all over Willow Bend. Why else would Mason send you?” The moment the words left his lips, he reconsidered the phrasing. Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.

“I’m a Hunter of Willow Bend. I am here to deliver a message from my Alpha—and I don’t care what century you were born in old man, but we don’t arrange matings. You don’t just get to walk in here, thump your chest and say mine.” The ferocious light in her eyes sent a quiet thrill through his bloodstream. His wolf roused to the hunt, every color and nuance sharpening under their study.

“No?” He didn’t want to miss a moment of her reaction. Her dilated pupils constricted even as her mouth tightened. Anger soured her scent and her nails bit into his muscle as he pressed into the contact. Despite a faint tremble, she didn’t shift her grip or attack him. Would she? If he provoked her enough? The idea intrigued the hell out of him. No Alpha wanted a weak mate.

“No.” She withdrew the contact then retreated one step. Crowding closer, he refused to let her abandon him. “Dude…get a grip. I came here to do a job.” A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Or maybe you are trying to prove you don’t hold the Yukon?”

Challenge wound through every syllable. Canting his head to the side, he raised one eyebrow and waited.

“What? Playing crazy, eccentric keeps the other packs at bay and allows you to dictate the terms of your interactions. You don’t want to talk; you walk away or slam a door. You want to shut me down; you declare I’m yours.” Folding her arms, Ranae raised her chin and, although the gold circle on around her gray-green irises faded, it didn’t diminish completely. “It won’t work and I’m really not interested in the games. We have serious issues to discuss with you, Alpha. You can get on board or be left behind to cope on your own should the Russian packs turn their gaze on your territory and your pack.”

Amusement curved through him. Passionate determination etched into her expression. “Our pack will be fine.”

“My pack will be, absolutely. Your pack is debatable.” The aggravation in her scent muted beneath the sting of frustration. “Now you’re baiting me.” Sidestepping him, she tried to put some distance between them. He allowed her three steps before intercepting her again. He wanted her gaze on him, nowhere else. “Seriously, you have a problem.”

“No, I have a mate, but continue telling me why our pack is in danger.”

Pausing, her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. The curl of her fingers into a fist telegraphed her next move. Would she do it? He pressed into her space, and she rewarded his effort with fresh contact in the form of a blow. It caught him square above his heart, and the second with her elbow connected with his jaw. He accepted both blows, but refused to retreat.

“Your training is incomplete.” Whatever response she’d been expecting, his comment surprised her. “Otherwise you’d understand that two hits will not take down an enraged male, if you want to escape you have to incapacitate or kill.”

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“Wonderful. I have no desire to fight you, but if you need to beat on me to make yourself feel better, go right ahead. I’m very sturdy.”

The corner of her mouth kicked into an involuntary smile, and his breath lodged in his throat, the single glimpse of sweetness a better reward than he could have imagined. “Are you insane?”

“Depends on your definition of sanity.” The tangle of her hair contrasted with the wool of her pullover. How soft would the strands be? When she failed to respond, he reached out to test his theory. She slapped his hand away, and the sting intrigued him.

“Stop.” Command reverberated through the single syllable. “I came here as a messenger, nothing else. Keep your teeth and your hands to yourself. Am I clear?”

In all things, an Alpha could command. He could take a life. He could grant it. Wolves who pledged to an Alpha could be sent into the heart of danger and forfeit all that they owned. The heart, however, could not be commanded nor could he take what she would not willingly give.

His wolf bucked at the rejection, but Diesel withdrew three steps to give her space. Clasping his hands behind his back, he studied the beautiful Hunter before him. She would not tumble easily, nor would she accept his direct pledge. Very well, if he had to learn to court, then he would find what enticed her. “Dress,” he ordered. “Several layers. We will be leaving the guest quarters.”

Expecting obedience, he turned to the entrance and pressed the code to allow Julian entry.

“Are you staying with her or leaving?” Her presence was non-negotiable.

“Since you asked so nicely…” The Chief Enforcer’s expression barely shifted, yet a smirk echoed beneath his words. “I’d be happy to stay.”

Uninterested in the old wolf’s games, Diesel spared his mate another studying look. Ranae gaped at him, and she hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Trust me when I say it will be more comfortable if you get dressed, but if you insist on testing my patience, I’ll happily take care of stripping you first then dressing you.”

The taunt did what the order would not. She moved.

His wolf rose, stretching and raking his claws. Yes, they had the scent of this hunt.

About Heather Long

National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

Connect with Heather: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon

I know I don’t need to convince any readers here to read erotica, but, believe it or not, some people need convincing, so I thought I’d share my recent experiences in trying to do just that.

I write and edit mostly lesbian erotica, often with elements of romance, but usually marketed as erotica, and usually for Cleis Press. My publisher’s promotional staff has lately been hooking me up with romance publications, resulting sometimes in rather puzzling interview questions (more on that later,) but I did get one request, for Romantic Times, that genuinely interested me: “Why Read Erotica?” I think they wanted an emphasis on lesbian/gay erotica, but in my experience lesbian readers’ reluctance to read anything labeled erotica is at least as great as that of straight folks. There’s some difference, but not all that much, so I chose to broaden my topic, while including specific benefits from lesbian erotica. Whether my piece will see print is still in question; I was told that they were aiming for an October publication, but I haven’t had any feedback. In any case, you can have a look right now! Here’s what I wrote.

__________

Why Read Erotica, Straight, Lesbian, Gay or Beyond?

Sacchi Green

Reading erotica is good exercise. Not quite as strenuous as actual sex when it comes to circulation and deep breathing, but with the added benefit of exercising the imagination. An erotic story that sweeps you along, draws you into the emotions and physical sensations of its characters, gives both mind and body a workout. We read for the sensations aroused, for emotional and sensual charges as well as mental ones. Pure romance can provide these, to some extent; the heart seems to swell, the pulse quickens, the face flushes, there might even be a hint of tears. No wonder we call something with emotional appeal “touching”. But taking it to the unabashedly erotic level builds on this physical response, accelerates it, intensifies it, racing toward an ultimate, overwhelming goal.

Good exercise.

Broadening your horizons is good exercise, too. A new perspective, as with erotica outside of your own orientation, has the entertainment value of novelty and variety, while revealing the ways in which erotic and romantic desire are universal. There’s an educational component, too. Men reading lesbian erotica can learn more about female eroticism from two (or more) women than from one, and women can widen their understanding of the range of pleasures they can experience—and fantasize about. The same applies, reversed, for gay erotica, and with transgender stories the whole variety benefit is amplified.

You may also discover excellent stories and writers. Erotica has a bad reputation, some of it deserved, but there’s nothing inherent in the genre that prevents good writing. Straight and LGBT erotica can be as well-written and stimulating to both mind and senses as any other branch of writing. Erotic interchanges are essential parts of character development, dealing with heightened emotions and, in some cases, heavily weighted baggage from past experience. Shyness or confidence, impulsiveness or self-control, tenderness, vulnerability, repression, unapologetic sensuality; these are only a few of the traits that can surface in the heat of a sexual encounter. When both characters share the same gender, they can have as wide a range of personalities and characteristics as any other pairing. Women are as multi-faceted, fierce, and passionate, as men, and often better at expressing their emotions; men can be as vulnerable, complex and empathetic with each other as women.

I edit lesbian erotica anthologies, looking for stories about more than sex, but with sex flowing naturally from the story as a whole. I want a variety of voices, fully developed characters, vividly drawn settings, intriguing plots or story arcs, and originality. The complexity inherent in the very nature of life for lesbians (and the whole LGBTQ+ spectrum) adds an edge of potential risk, whether overt or unspoken.

That complexity and risk in lesbian and gay lives makes reading erotica especially important for us. The reflection of our own desires, fantasies and identities is both validation and celebration, even more essential than the physical and emotional charge.

Tastes vary, and the best writing may be hard to find, but explore a bit. Exploration, too, is excellent exercise.
__________

Getting back to the matter of puzzling interview questions, in the context of an editor of lesbian erotica, I won’t bore you with the whole thing, but here’s a link to my recent appearance on Everafter Romance. I did my best to go along with it, and found some parts fun to work with; I did, for instance include Eowyn from Lord of the Rings in my list of “Book Boyfriends.” My publisher blurbed the link on Facebook, calling my answers “surprising and fascinating,” so I guess it worked out well enough. http://www.everafterromance.com/qa/

I do very occasionally write heterosexual erotic romance, under the name Connie Wilkins, which I used for my story “A Falcon in Flight” in Delilah’s fascinating anthology Hot Highlanders and Wild Warriors.

If you’d like a brief taste of the kind of anthology I edit, you could check out the Blog Tour I’m currently running with my writers for my latest anthology, Me and My Boi: Queer Erotica. Details, and some of the writers’ posts, are at www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com. You can even comment on any of the posts to be entered in a drawing for a free copy of the book.

My two most recent anthologies are shown below.

A quick whee and we’ll move onto the contest!
And thanks to everyone who bought a copy of With His Pack!

Whee!

Tell me a story!

I bought this little brainstorming tool years ago at some writers’ conference. I’ve used it only once—here! “Story Cubes” is (that looks wrong, but I promise it’s not) a brainstorming game. You roll the dice and whatever pictures appear face up are the ones you use to riff off a story.

Here’s the roll…

Do any of these symbols tell you anything? You can pick some or use all of them. Tell me a story, or just a glimmer of an idea, for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!  

Do you like alpha men? Hot, damaged heroes? Unlikely alliances? Yes? Then my novella, Locked and Loaded: Knights of War MC Book 1, just might be for you.

One more term paper and Holly Farris will have her graduate degree in journalism. When her research lands her in a seedy bar in Dallas, she crosses paths with an alluring ex-Army Ranger turned enforcer for an outlaw motorcycle club.

Hunter McKay doesn’t like reporters nosing around his club but he’s drawn to the petite blonde with the big attitude. When Holly’s inadvertent involvement in an FBI investigation provokes a prison gang to put a hit on her, Hunter must decide how far he’s willing to go to save her.

Just in time for Fourth of July, I’ve teamed up with some of the hottest NY Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling authors to offer 15 stories filled with love, romance, and smokin’ hot men sure to get your temperature rising.

Field Stripped!

Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances is available for preorder for just $0.99 and releases June 26!

Amazon US: http://tinyurl.com/zbbjc2k
Amazon UK: http://tinyurl.com/j79vcjs
Amazon CA: http://tinyurl.com/gnmppom
Barnes & Noble: http://tinyurl.com/hrtfm78
iTunes: http://tinyurl.com/jeg8wfl
Kobo: http://tinyurl.com/jleayfd

Contest

For a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card, subscribe to my newsletter here http://eepurl.com/bPAbOL and then tell me who your favorite alpha male character is! I’ll pick a random winner from the comments on June 30, 2016.

About the Author

Alyssa Breck is an award winning author of horror/urban fantasy, paranormal romance and erotic fiction. She grew up reading Stephen King and V.C. Andrews. The Shining changed her life and sparked a love of all things scary, spooky and spine-chilling. Add some romance to that and she found her niche weaving paranormal and erotic romance stories. Alyssa hangs her hat in the South with her family of humans and fur-babies.

You can learn more about Alyssa by visiting her website www.AlyssaBreck.com and by following her on Twitter @AlyssaBreck and Facebook.

UPDATE: Stepbrothers Stepping Out: With His Pack is live!
Get your copy at Amazon!

* * * * *

I dawdled posting this blog today because I was hoping I’d have a live link for the book, but it hasn’t happened yet. So, I’m going to let you peek inside the story now, and when the link is live, I’ll update this blog. If you leave a comment and click that little box that asks if you want to see responses to the blog, you’ll know when the link is live!

You know I’ve been writing a series of stepbrother/menage stories these past months, and they’v e been doing well. But I thought I might play with the concept and add one more trope/theme that I hope you’ll enjoy. Check it out!

Cammi didn’t realize when she dropped out of college that her pack alpha, her stepbrother Corbin, would demand she choose a mate.

Angry, she chose three…

Read an excerpt:

There’s nothing more unnerving than waking up naked on your hands and knees in the middle of your brother’s pack—unless it’s waking in the middle of all the single males of that pack.

I blew a lock of hair from my eyes, dusted my hands of leaves and dirt, and slowly moved to sit on my haunches, trying my best not to give in to the urge to slide a hand between my legs and an arm over my breasts. My embarrassment would only sharpen their still-feral, mirrored stares.

“You couldn’t have ended the run closer to our cars?” I asked, turning to glare at my stepbrother Corbin. He and his friends had somehow managed to cull me from the larger pack during our run—a deliberate move, I knew, because he never did anything without calculation.

“Wouldn’t have been as much fun,” he said, lifting his upper lip. His teeth were always slow to shorten, so his smile was especially wolfish.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you haven’t given me a name.” His gaze went to the males who formed a semi-circle around me. “Choose one. You’ve had time to get to know them. Weeks. You have a duty to fulfill.”

I licked my bottom lip, stalling for time, just as I had every day since I’d returned to the North Carolina mountains. If I’d known that dropping out of college in my sophomore year meant I had to immediately choose a mate, I might have gutted out the remainder of my degree—and then sought a place in a graduate program. I wasn’t ready to choose. Wolves mated for life. None of the men in front of me had held my interest during our supervised dates. How the hell was I supposed to shackle myself to one of them for the rest of my entire stinking life?

Although I had to admit that, naked, they looked a whole lot more interesting. All were young and well-built. Some lean, some burly. Dark and light.

Unwanted, desire stirred inside me. “Can I narrow my choices? Will that satisfy you for now?”

My brother’s jaw firmed. But then, he gave a curt nod. “Name them.”

I glanced around the circle, passing Scott, Doug, Jason, Mathias, Howie, and finally, I rested my gaze on Corbin, all the while thinking. This was just another stall tactic, and Corbin knew it, but he’d allowed me more time. Why? He didn’t have to. As the newly appointed alpha of our pack, he could simply make a decree and give me to one of his friends. As a breedable female, a rare commodity among werewolves, I understood my responsibility. Still, that didn’t mean I wasn’t resentful of my fate.

Since he was forcing me to narrow my field, I decided I wouldn’t let him see me as beaten, not even a bit. I pushed up from the ground. “Form a row,” I said to the handsome wolves surrounding me.

Scott glanced at Corbin. “You know you could just assign her a mate. She doesn’t understand her place.”

I stepped toward Scott and made sure he registered the fact I was as tall as he was. Our gazes collided. His pupils flared, nearly consuming the bright green irises. Brown shaggy hair tickled the tops of his shoulders. The days-old stubble framing his mouth gave him the look of a pirate, which fit given the fact we were all descended from Edward Teach’s crewmen, who had intermarried descendants of Jean Lafitte’s—all cursed by a Haitian witch, because they’d managed to steal her greatest treasure—her daughters.

Interestingly, Scott’s cock lengthened the longer I held his hard stare. It was lovely really. Long and thick, with a broad head. His balls were a little on the large side though. I almost passed him, but I liked the fact he was the most aggressive of the group. And one of my brother’s closest friends. The bitch inside me wanted to lick those big balls. My witchy DNA from my mother’s side wished Corbin would watch while I did it. I eyed his cock then arched a brow. “You,” I said softly.

He cupped himself and smiled.

An image flashed of those balls hitting my clit every time he stroked…

Maybe he read my mind, because his smile stretched, and his strut was especially cocky as he walked to stand beside Corbin.

I continued down the line.

Doug’s smile was open. Too honest. The last thing I wanted as a mate was a nice guy. I’d walk all over him and make his life a hell he didn’t deserve.

I moved to Jason. His smirk raised the hairs on my arms. I couldn’t stop myself, I growled deep in my throat and let him see my inner bitch, flashing him a glowing glare.

Next, I paused in front of Mathias. Quiet, watchful, golden-haired Mathias. Another of Corbin’s besties. Something about the way Mathias looked at me with his nearly purple eyes hinted at a sensual patience I found intriguing, right along with his arrow-tipped cock. Almost as intriguing as the plan building in my mind. “You,” I said.

Without a smile, his chin lifted, effectively cutting his gaze from mine because he was taller by a head. He strode to stand by Scott.

In front of Howie now, I sighed. Howie was a puppy. Playful. Happy. Ever eager to stick his nose where it wasn’t invited… I heard his sigh as I turned away.

I strode toward Corbin. My black-haired, burly brother. His expression was as hard as granite. Did it bother him to see my choices? Or was he bothered for another reason? I glanced at his cock, still flaccid. Was he truly uninterested or did he have that much control? Didn’t matter. He’d forced my hand. I’d give him back some of his own medicine.

I reached out and scraped a sharpened claw across his chest, watching as goose bumps lifted on his skin. A low warning sounded in the back of his throat. And his dark eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t.”

I shook back my hair and stood on my toes so that my lips were even with his. An inch apart. Close enough I felt his harshening breaths against my mouth. “You,” I whispered.

*~*~*

And in case you haven’t already sampled my previous SSO stories…click on the covers!

UPDATE: The winner is Shirley Long!

* * * * *

Once upon a time someone told me a story idea about a Gladiator style fight club that I just HAD to write. I said no. For a year and a half. He just kept saying what a good idea it was and how I could call it Gladi-Rapers. Yes, you read that right. Gladi-Rapers. Politically correct and I parted ways a while ago. I LOVED the name cause it was so filthy, but writing a historical **gag** book was just not something I want anything to do with so I said no again because it’s historical. My guy blinked and said, “It’s not historical. It’s modern day. Like MMA meets a super dirty underground sex club.”

Mind. Blown.

Within 24 hours Gladi-Rapers was outlined and ready to be written and a complete secret because I didn’t want to say anything about it until it was done and wrapped up like a dirty little present. I couldn’t write it fast enough. I definitely let my kink flag fly high on this one. Can you say filthy ladies???

Once it was written I could think of anyone one else I wanted to edit this story but Delilah Devlin. She was wonderful and gracious to fit me into her already crazy schedule. So thankful!!

And I started work on the cover with the amazing Syneca Featherstone. She created one cover with my female Gladi-Raper on it and I loved it. LOVED it!! Then I sent everything to my formatter to get it ready to go. Yea! Until he pulled the break on it with a huge warning that Amazon would more than likely NEVER let my book see the light of day because of the title and the tag line about consent. DAMN YOU AMAZON!!

So I changed the title to Her Creed, the series name to The Cage, the tagline and the cover and WHAMMO! I had something amazing that depicted the story perfectly and I couldn’t be happier with the finished product.

But you see I have a problem. I had a handful of eval print books made with the other cover so I was hoping somebody might want a copy to help me out. You know. Help me clean them out of my office. So the following bit of awesome is up for giveaway for the next couple days. And if I get a large enough response I’ll give away two prize packages to two different winners. The first prize pack has a print book, swag, a bag of dicks CAUSE WHO DOESN”T WANT A BAG OF DICKS and a dick bowl to put your bag of dicks in. WHERE ELSE WOULD YOU PUT THEM???? And I have an amazing bag from the Wild Wicked Weekend 2016. All of the signing authors are on there and the male hosts have all signed the back. So I need to find the goodies a good home. Want to help me out?? (Please note no one was harmed in collecting the bag of dicks, and I only have one bag, so comment early!!!)

To enter all you have to do is sign up for my newsletter which you can find here and comment below that you’ve signed up. Super simple!

http://jenniferkacey.us7.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=f09bd32b8c279cebcc930950e&id=2a45c210e8

And I’ll leave some deliciousness below to tempt your kinky appetite…..

Amazon – http://goo.gl/fnXfr7
Amazon Print – http://goo.gl/hPMMVJ
B&N – http://goo.gl/wfBf1Z
Createspace Print – https://goo.gl/YFnfCE
Kobo – https://goo.gl/u0Se7B
Smashwords – https://goo.gl/Lz3c88
Are Café – https://goo.gl/N0QTVs
Ibooks – https://goo.gl/ZNLrfH
Website – http://goo.gl/JKdSvO

Fighters take the ultimate prize for victory…

Underage KC snuck into the underground fight club called The Cage. But it was no ordinary fight club. The participants didn’t battle for titles or a useless belt to collect dust. The men and women brawled for only one thing. To be the victor and take the spoils of war they’d earned with their blood, sweat and tears. Not for money or jewels. They fought for the right to take the loser in any way—and any hole—of their choosing.

But KC was discovered by one of the bouncers and taken to a room with no way out. To the office of the owner, Creed, who held more than just her fate in his hands…

He’d seen hundreds of warriors find their way to his door with visions of grandeur and conquest. But it took a girl not yet a woman to remind him why he worked so tirelessly day in and day out. Her eyes. They would haunt him long after he threw her out of his arena and told her never to return.

Years later, they meet again, and KC is ready to take her place amongst his fighters. Creed wants nothing to do with the woman she’s become, but their fate has an interesting way of setting things right.

Consent has never seen this kind of fight club…

Decadently Yours,
Jennifer Kacey

About the Author

Jennifer Kacey is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.

Website – Newsletter – The Decadent Divas– Amazon Page
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