Taken

Title: Taken
Series: Voyeur #1
Authors: Elena M. Reyes & N. Isabelle Blanco
Genre: Dark Erotic Romance
Release Date: May 24, 2017
Blurb
I was drugged.
Now, I’ve woken up in
a dark, luscious room.
A deviant playground.
I’m not alone.
The person that was
drugged and taken with me is here, too.
My confidant.
Someone that I had
come to see as a brother.
My best friend.
Suddenly, there’s a
voice coming through the speakers, telling us we’ve both been chosen to die.
The only way out? Do
everything we’re told to do.
This person wants to
watch us. They want to be entertained. As she says, “I want to see you
come.”
It’s simple: either
we f*ck, or die.

 

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Excerpt

 

Sweat beads at my brow as the breath whooshes out of me.  I’m bent over, arms dangling down. Beneath
me, the most delicious, hardest length I’ve ever felt presses into my mound. I
want to rock against it.
I can’t move.
He won’t let me.
He keeps me like this, draped over his lap, immobile.
The sound of a strike reverberates throughout the room, but
silence remains. No noise. It isn’t allowed.
Moisture drips from my every pore, and yet, I’m focused on
this one drop as it gathers at the center of my forehead. Becomes bigger.
Everything’s out of control.
Crazed.
Hyper-awareness consumes my every breath.
I count to ten and it falls to the ground.
A small splat no one will ever hear. And yet, I do. The
sound as it hits the floor causes my breathing to stutter and skin to prickle
with goose bumps.
“The last ten, love,” Noah whispers, his hand massaging the
heated flesh beneath his fingertips. It hurts, but the pain is replaced by a
yearning so strong that I whimper in his lap.
Like a bitch in heat I arch and ask for more.
His touch.
His desire.
To make this burning within my veins stop.
With one hand he gathers the hair at my nape and forces my
head back. A harsh tug—I’m in his control—forces my eyes to his. Hooded dark
blue eyes look at me with concern, but behind their depths I see another
emotion burning.
Lust.
His want mirrors my own. This perversion is awakening
something darker from within. It grows—chokes us, because behind it all we were
meant to end up like this. My body at his hands. In his control.
Those hungry eyes look at me. Silent communication. Are you
okay?
I blink back a please and the asshole smirks. Aware of what
I need even as my mind fights the sins I have laid bare to his eyes.
My release is so close. A fresh round of arousal drips from
my core and onto his boxers.
I’m positioned over his lap, ass up, and the very tip of his
cock is against my hip. He’s hard. Jerks against me when I gyrate against his
length.
“Please,” I beg aloud this time and his hold on my hair
tightens. The hand kneading my ass cheek spreads me open to look at my
depravity. At what his own hands have caused.
That thong, that minuscule piece of fabric, can’t hide what
this game is doing to me. The evidence, slick and inviting, is on his lap.
I shift against his cock and he hisses. “Be still!”
A crackle follows his command and we both shiver. Each time
it appears, things change, become more.
Dangerous.
Frantic.
Wicked.
“Very good my pets, but the audience wants more. Lose the
panties, but without her standing up. Be creative, and there will be a reward.”
I exhale shakily. “Do it.”
“Are you sure?” As the word leave his lips, those same
fingers that a minute ago exposed me to his eyes, now hold my panties in his
grip. He doesn’t wait for a reply.  A tug
follows his question, the sound of fabric stretching meets my ears, and I nod.
Another pull and I feel every welt that forms on my skin
from the rough treatment. The sole sounds in the room are his harsh breathing
and mine. Loud exertion, but at the same time desperate for more.
What else could I say? No. Please don’t?
It would’ve been a bullshit lie and we both know it. The
voice commands and we follow. It asks and we accept our fate.
There’s a sick part of me that relishes in this madness.
Craves him. My Noah.
We have been dealt our cards; there is no escape. We must
accept our fate. 

Either we fuck each other, or we die.

Elena M. Reyes

 

Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida. She is
the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she
would.
As a small child, she was always intrigued with all forms of
art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she
could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her during her fifth
grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the D. A. R. E.
Program and write an essay on what they’d learned.
Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with
hours of pleasure. It wasn’t until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst
to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with her
husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and
letting her characters grow.
N. Isabelle Blanco
N. Isabelle Blanco is the Amazon Bestselling Author of the
Allure Series, the Need Series with K.I. Lynn, and many others. At the age of
three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she
began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an
extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every
aspect of her life.
That is, until coffee came a long and took over everything
else.
Nowadays, N. spends most of her days surviving the crazy New
York rush and arguing with her characters every ten minutes or so, all in the
hopes of one day getting them under control.

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Reprogram Yourself for Unstoppable Self-Confidence

Self-Help / Motivational
Date Published: May 23, 2017
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Squash Self-Doubt and Worry
Self-doubt can hold you prisoner and leave you wondering if anyone can set you free. In reality, the only person who can unlock your self-doubt cell is you.
Of course this doesn’t mean you must go through the process alone. With Kristi Patrice Carter as your guide in her newest book, Reprogram Yourself for UNSTOPPABLE Self-Confidence, you can learn how to squash self-doubt and worry to become a more self-confident version of you.
 

 

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Reprogram Yourself for Unstoppable Self-Confidence by Kristi Patrice Carter

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About the Author

Kristi Patrice Carter’s mission is to help people live their best lives—one self-help book at a time. She is driven by her passion for sharing her knowledge and a hope for inspiring and empowering people around the world to achieve their life goals.
A force to be reckoned with, Kristi Patrice Carter has a BA in English from the University of Illinois at Chicago, a Juris Doctorate from Chicago-Kent College of Law, and over eighteen years of writing and marketing experience. She’s also a wife, mother, author, and serial entrepreneur.

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The Line

 

The Line, an all-new standalone from Amie Knight is now LIVE!

The Line Full Jacket

The Line by Amie Knight

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Publication Date: May 23rd

I was a thief.

The invisible girl only he could see.

The woman who wanted to be more.

He was the mark.

The extraordinary cowboy who stole my sixteen-year-old heart.

The damaged man who still owned it, even four years later.

The Line was where we began.

Where fates collided.

Where truths derailed.

The place where our love story ends.

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About the Author:

Amie Knight has been a reader for as long as she could remember and a romance lover since she could get her hands on her momma’s books. A dedicated wife and mother with a love of music and makeup, she won’t ever be seen leaving the house without her eyebrows and eyelashes done just right. When she isn’t reading and writing, you can catch her jamming out in the car with her two kids to ’90s R&B, country, and showtunes. Amie draws inspiration from her childhood in Columbia, South Carolina, and can’t imagine living anywhere other than the South.

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Facebook: www.facebook.com/authoramieknight

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Coming Home

 
Contemporary Romance

Date Published: 3-7-17

Publisher: self/ Carolina Blue Publishing

 

Dr. Elizabeth Abbott Fitzgerald has spent the last ten years of her life running; from tragedy, from family, from love. But now her mother’s failing health calls her home to Windsor Falls, North Carolina; to the place where her past awaits. Sam Bishop can’t believe his eyes when the love of his life returns after ten long years. All he wants is to clear his conscience and get back the family he lost when Connor, his best friend and Elizabeth’s husband died tragically. Could it really be true that time heals all wounds?

 

Review

 

This is a that has a lot of heart. I think that losing someone really just messes with everything you know. I also believe that leaning on someone and sharing in each others pain can lead to other emotions.
I liked that the author took on the Friends to more aspect. But not just that, it’s someone who you were used to being with someone else. I think that made it even harder and deeper.
There was something endearing about everything they overcame and the differences in their lives, heartaches, and loss to build something strong and new.
The secondary characters in this story also stole my heart!

 

Kimberley O’Malley is a recent transplant to Charlotte, North Carolina from the frozen North. She is learning to say y’all but draws the line at sweet tea. Sarcasm is an art form in her world. When not writing, she is a full-time nurse and part-time soccer Mom, but not necessarily in that order. She shares her life with an amazing husband of more than twenty years, two teenagers, and one very sweet Shetland Sheepdog, Molly.

 

 

Contact Information

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Facebook

Twitter: @K_OMalley67

 

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When the Sky Falls

Thriller / Espionage / Conspiracy / Historical
Date Published: March 24, 2017
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“What makes you believe a lie? I’m not asking how you know someone is lying. What makes you believe? Because if you don’t understand how that works, then you won’t know when you’re being manipulated.”
In 1938 the War of the Worlds hoax panicked millions of Americans, then in 1988 another fictional media broadcast convinced nearly half of Portugal that sea monsters had risen from the ocean to destroy their cities. A team of CIA agents was sent to study the aftermath of this 6th Skyfall Event in the hope that they could turn it into a weapon of war. When the team consultant turns up dead, everyone scrambles to be the last man standing: the one who will decide if or when the sky falls.

Excerpt
 “What makes you believe a lie? I’m not asking how you know someone is lying. What makes you believe? Because if you don’t understand how that works, then you won’t know when you’re being manipulated.”
William Stephenson, The Nature of Sky Fall Events
Porto, Portugal. October 30, 1988. 8:13 p.m.
            The lights flickered and went dark, that’s when it started. Luis reached up and adjusted the bulb with his fingers. The hot glass burned his skin. He gritted his teeth as the sensation grew stronger. He doubted the bulb was the problem. The TV, fan and even the street light outside the apartment all died in the same moment. “Is this normal for an earthquake?”
            Car headlights flashed through the windows reflecting off Renata’s long, dark hair. “It’s not an earthquake. They already said that.”
            Luis let go of the bulb. Only a moment ago, the emergency broadcast system had come on the air. It’s strobing red light, and high pitched siren blared through every apartment. It was followed by men in lab coats being interviewed. They warned everyone that something was coming, and before they could finish the power cut out, the one thing they had said was, “it’s not an earthquake.”
            The street outside the window was still lightless, and Luis went to check the fuse box. It wouldn’t do much good. If the entire neighborhood lost power, it clearly wasn’t a fuse, but at least it was something to do.
            Renata took his hand. Her fingers trembled. “It’s not the fuses; it’s not our lights. Let it go.” Behind her, the old cement walls were spidered with cracks. They had been like that when they moved in.
“I don’t know what else to do.” He pressed his lips together and looked out the window. Outside, a family loaded into a car; the trunk overflowed as the father kicked at it until the latch held. They piled in, each with a pack on their lap. The mother sat in the passenger seat. In her hands, she held a pistol. Her husband got in, and the car roared to life. A few people emerged onto the street carrying packs, or bags. They all headed east, away from the coast. That’s where the scientist said it would start, on the coast.
“The phone lines,” Renata’s voice wavered, “They use a different power source than the electrical grid, right?” She wiped at beads of sweat forming on her forehead. “For emergencies, right?” She swallowed hard. “I’ll try and call my mom,” She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. The lines in her face deepened the longer she held the phone. She frowned and jabbed at the disconnect lever several times. “The phones are dead.” Her skin paled. “The phones,” she licked her dry lips, “are dead.”
Luis was still for a long time. Strange muscles deep in his stomach twisted. Something terrible was happening, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He didn’t even know what it was. There was a worry in her soft brown eyes; he wanted to protect her, keep her from feeling this way. He walked over and put his hand on Renata’s cheek then kissed her. “We’re leaving.”
She nodded towards the bags they’d started to prepare midway through the broadcast. “Do you think this will be enough?” She rested her head on his chest.
The electricity surged back, lights blazing to life. The TV flashed it’s red warning again. After a moment, it changed to a camera feed from inside a helicopter. A reporter bobbed in and out of the frame. “We’re flying over the city of Vila de Conde, only a few kilometers from Porto.” He pointed to something off camera. “While it seems a much weaker force is headed this way, it will strike here first. That should give us some idea of what to prepare for.” The wind whipped his hair wildly and drowned his voice out. The camera focused in over the ocean. White edges of curling waves shifted as they crashed against the shore. City lights reflected on the water; then the whole city blinked out. “What the hell?” The camera jerked up over the blackened city. A loud guttural cry screeched through the TV speakers, and the reporter’s voice shouted, “What in God’s nam—” The image on the TV shook and rotated like someone dropped the camera, then the screen cut to static.
Every beat of Luis’ heart pounded in his chest, teeth, and fingers. He waited for the static to end, for someone to come back, to tell them what happened.
Renata grabbed his hand; her pulse was rapid; throbbing in the vein on her neck. When she spoke, the words sounded strange like her mouth was dry after hanging open for too long. “What’s happening?”
Through the window, they saw a car slam into the small market across the street. Glass shards toppled down and shattered on the hood. Two men got out and kicked at the remaining jagged edges. With sacks in their hands, they hustled inside and filled the bags with food and supplies. They tossed them into the backseat and doubled back for more. A box of spaghetti fell out of the passenger side and burst open. Noodles splayed out on the pavement, breaking under the boots of the men as they hurried back and forth.
“I need to get something.” Luis rushed to the bedroom and pulled a pistol from under the bed. He loaded it and placed several ammo boxes in a bag before returning to his pack in the living room.
The static on the screen finally ended. A news anchor sat at a desk; sweat dripped down his face. He wiped at his brow. “It’s clear now, from this footage.” A small image on the side of the screen grew larger. It was a distant shot of the city of Vila de Conde. The entire coastal edge was gone. The hotels, resorts, beach houses. All gone. Some bits of rubble smoldered in the darkness. “This has been some sort of attack.” He stopped, and his face became stern. He sprayed saliva as he shouted at someone, “I can’t … God damn it … I can’t say that on TV. No one will believe it!” He shoved the desk over and stood; then turned and walked a few steps towards the back of the set.
A husky male voice came from off screen. “Do you believe it?” There was a pause, but the anchor kept walking. The husky voice spoke again, pleading this time, “Someone has to tell them. They have to know.” He yelled with urgency in his voice, “We saw them!”
The newscaster stopped and looked over his shoulder at the camera. “Tell them to run.” He disappeared off camera, and the screen went to static.
The lights flickered a second time, then went dark. Luis held his hand over his mouth. He stopped breathing for a moment and counted his heartbeats. He waited, but the lights didn’t come back.
With heavy packs strapped to their backs, Luis and Renata staggered into the street towards their car. A traffic jam built up behind the vehicle that had crashed into the market. People dashed inside, stealing food. The narrow European street swelled with a growing mob as they disembarked their cars to investigate the problem.
A man got into the obstructing car and attempted to reverse out. The center of the frame teetered on the curb, and the wheels spun over the slick cobblestones.
A massive man with a thick beard exited his truck. “What’s wrong with you?” He thrust crude gestures with his hands, then stopped and summoned the other stalled drivers to the stranded car. He pantomimed his intention.
Seven men gathered around the small European car and tipped it onto its side, but the vehicle still blocked the road. They shoved and kicked, but the road wouldn’t clear. Thick-beard threw up his hands, gathered his gear from his car and started walking.
Luis’s eyes widened. “I don’t understand it.”
“Do you need to?” Renata gripped his shoulder, the tips of her nails bit into his skin. “They told us to run.”
Abandoning their car, Luis and Renata joined the panicked herd. They ran, shoved and bumped into each other as they maneuvered around the empty cars. The weight of the pack made Luis unstable as people jostled against him. As each person collided into him or reached out to stabilize themselves, his balance wavered. The straps dug deep into his shoulders. The heavy load labored his run. People were constantly pressing past. He made Renata go first so he could keep an eye on her.      
A tall man with wide shoulders shoved Luis into the side of a car. He stumbled and grabbed the mirror to keep from falling. Renata screamed. He turned as she plummeted to the ground a few feet away, disappearing into the mad swarm of human bodies.
Luis surged forward ramming people until he found her. He tried to help her stand, but the mob kept pressing forward, and Luis fell on top of her. A foot crunched down on his hand; then a knee jabbed into his ribs. Droves of people crashed against his body. His hair got caught on something, and it ripped a patch from his skull. A trickle of blood dripped from his scalp onto Renata’s face.
Luis pressed his lips to her ear. “The gun is in my pack. Fire the gun.” He didn’t feel her searching the bag, too many hands, knees, and elbows jabbed and thrust into him, but he heard the gunshot, next to his ear. It thundered, and his whole body tensed. The thundering didn’t end. His ear rang, and it felt like someone was trying to hammer a nail into his brain. He saw Renata’s face, she was shouting, but he couldn’t hear her anymore, couldn’t hear the crowd, the waves of pounding feet on stone, just a high-pitched pierce in his ears.
The crowd stopped pressing down on him. They’d backed away. He got to his feet. Renata still lay on the ground. Luis dragged her into the bed of a truck. She cried and kept trying to say something, but he couldn’t hear it. Her face flexed in pain. He scanned her body and saw the ankle. Human bodies, human feet don’t bend like that. The tibia seemed to be jabbing down through the foot, forming a large bulb at the bottom, and the ankle swelled thicker than her leg.
The crowd swarmed back. Luis slumped down beside her. His eyes lingered on her face, her eyes. She couldn’t walk, not on her own. Whatever was coming would catch them. How will you take care of her? Luis took the gun from her hands. He studied the pistol for a long time, its dark oily finish, the weight of it in his hand, a weapon. If he couldn’t run, then he would fight. He crawled out of the truck bed to the car just behind. He rested the pistol on the hood and stared out into the darkness. Luis saw the white curling waves. Whatever it was, came from the ocean, he knew that. He waited a moment, watching the water, trying to see it. Nothing, just darkness. He pulled the trigger then looked at Renata. Broken. Helpless. His eyes welled up with tears. Fight. Even if you can’t see it. Fight. He fired again, fired until the gun was empty.
——
            Pedro stood on a grassy hill overlooking the city of Porto. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Flashlights bobbed in the dark like swiveling dots, spreading away from the coast and into the countryside. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. It came away with a mixture of dirt, sweat, and mud. He’d marched his family through the dust cloud of the exodus. He and his wife, Beatriz, had fought with sticks to protect their young children as they ran through the streets. The blood streaks on Pedro’s knuckles were only partly his. He reached for the canteen around his neck and poured out a small handful of water to wash his hands.
            Beatriz slipped her fingers through Pedro’s gray-streaked hair. “Can I have a drink?” In her arms their two-year-old slumbered, dirt crusted snot clung to his nose. One arm hung loosely away from his body.
            Pedro lifted the canteen to his wife. “Anything new on radio?”
            She finished her drink. “Still just static.” She kissed her son on his forehead, and her wet lips came away powdered with dust. “I turned it off an hour ago. We should check again.”
            “Yeah.” Pedro nodded and headed towards the tents and campfire. His two older children were sprawled out next to the flames. On a tree stump sat a battery powered radio, its antenna tilted toward the city. He could make out the larger buildings by moonlight, but nothing electrical brightened the horizon. He flipped the radio on. Static buzzed through the speakers.
            “You have to help it.” Beatriz approached and placed her hand on the antenna. The static cleared, and a voice filled the camp.
            Pedro’s entire body stiffened at the familiar voice. The reporter who had refused to say what he had seen, the news anchor that had walked off the camera. The man who told everyone to run. His voice was heavy with emotion. He admitted he was an actor, and the entire scare had been a hoax. He took a deep breath and repeated the message.
            “Holy mother of God.” Pedro dropped his head into his hands. “It wasn’t real. None of it was real.” His voice trembled. “We left everything.”
            Beatriz stumbled and then lowered herself to the ground. Her eyes welled up. “We’re safe.” She kissed her son repeatedly. “We’re safe.”
            Pedro jerked up. “Safe?” He raised his voice, the tone sharp, “Safe?” He thrust his arm towards the city and pointed. “They lied to us.” He picked up a rock and lunged to his feet, running towards the distant city. He hurled the stone into the open plain below. “Why!”
            After a long moment, Beatriz pulled him close. “The power is still out. That was real. Something happened.”
            Pedro stared down at the city. The flashlight dots had changed direction, but the city remained dark. His body numb, he slumped down, never taking his eyes from the city. The message on the radio continued to repeat. It had been a hoax, a lie. The radio cut to static and a single light sparked in the city. It grew into a massive flame taller than any building. The fire burned brighter throughout the night but never spread. Something had happened, not the lie they told, but something.
——
The Old CIA Building, Langley Virginia. 10:09p.m.
Silas Cooper sat behind his desk reviewing surveillance reports. His black hair slicked with a heavy gel that reflected the light. He ran his hand through it and some collected along the edge of his finger. He rubbed it aggressively into his skin until only a sheen remained. Someone knocked at the door but opened it before Silas could respond.
Costly, in a vested suit, entered holding a stack of Portuguese Escudo bills bound with a rubber band. He swaggered over to Cooper’s desk and tossed the money down. “Guess what?”
“I don’t have time for your bullshit. What do you want?” Silas’ lips curled downward, and his chin tightened.
Costly flashed a crooked, toothy grin. “There’s been a Sky Fall Event in Portugal.”
The room went still and Silas chuckled. “Finally.” He let out a contented sigh. “How big?”
“Half the coast. Multiple cities.”
“Jesus.” Silas’ smile faded. “Where’s Stephenson?”
 “Shit, you’re not going to like it.” Costly hung his head. “As far as we know he’s in London —“
Silas cocked his head to one side, then back to the other. He pointed at his colleague with the file in his hand. “Now, I know you’re full of shit. I ought to break your teeth for this.”
Costly held up his hand apologetically. “No jokes. It happened, and he is that close, but,” he directed Silas to wait with an index finger. “He doesn’t have his plane with him. He’ll have to take the trains, and that should buy you some time.”
“Not enough.” Silas pocketed the money. “Get me Stephenson’s list. Cross out anyone not fluent in Portuguese or Spanish.”
“Already done.” Costly pulled a file from his briefcase. There were two columns of names; all but one were crossed out.
“Jay Nichols,” Silas read. “What’s his experience?”
“Two weeks here in Langley.”
“Are you God damn kidding me? You want to feed a puppy to the lion?”

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When the Sky Falls by Joseph Bendoski

When the Sky Falls

by Joseph Bendoski

Giveaway ends May 31, 2017.

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About the Author

Joe Bendoski study psychology in college and was fascinated by all the insights it provided into human behavior, only to realize most the information never reach people, and when it did, rarely was it in a form that allowed for practical application. He started writing non-fiction, but soon came to understand how few people read that genre and began the difficult transition into fiction writing. His non-fiction works include; the Chemistry of Attraction and the Language of Emotion. 
He worked as the head writer for the television show ‘Saved by Grace.’ After being frustrated with comments like “make this scene cheaper,” “What’s my motivation?”, and “Do we need this scene?” he deiced to go in to literature.
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Backhand by Elise Faber
For A Little While by Mary J. Williams
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