Synopsis 

I should have freaking known.

How dense can one girl be?

If it’s too good to be true, then it is. 

If he’s too nice, smiles too perfectly, says all the right things, then he probably isn’t prince charming. Nope. Of course he’d be freaking married. And I didn’t see it. 

So here I am, in a city that I hate doing a shoot I don’t want to do. 

Suck it up, Jolene. 

That’s what I have to keep telling myself. 

It’s time to swear off smooth talking men and just focus on the only true loves in my life: photography and Dozer, my dog.

Excerpt

We walked through the marble infested lobby, got in the elevator and attacked.

Seth pressed me up against the mirrored wall, pulling my leg onto his hip. He lightly bit from my collar bone to my chin while I slowly rubbed his growing erection. He growled into my neck making my clit pulse with need.

“God, it’s been too long.” I huffed into his ear as he reached up my tank top and under my bra, tugging on my nipples just the way I loved it.

The elevator slowed, forcing us to pull away from each other, but just until we were behind the closed door of his suite.

I went right to the bed, slipped off my boots and stripped down to my bra and panties.

Seth groaned as he watched me slowly undress from the other side of the bed where he was standing already in his birthday suit stroking his erect member slowly. “Put your boots back on. Never leave them off, Jolene. Never.”

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You want to know more about me? Well, let's see...
I am just an average twenty-something following my dreams. I have a full time "day job" and by night I am author. I guess you could say that writing is like my super power (I always wanted one of those). I am the lover of wine, sushi, football and the ocean; that is when I am not wrapped up in the literary world. 
Please feel free to contact me to chat about my writing, books you think I'd like or just to shoot the, well you know.
A portion of all my royalties are donated to The Marcie Mazzola Foundation.

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Title: MILF: Wrong Kind of Love 

Author: Erin Noelle 

Genre: Erotic Romance

Photographer: FuriousFotog 

Model: Michael Federico 

Cover Design: Hang Le

 

 Wrong Kind of Love A story of forbidden love with a side of revenge... When my husband of nearly twenty years abruptly left me for another woman, I thought my life was over. But I was wrong... Wrong for thinking I was weak, wrong for assuming I couldn't go on, wrong for believing I wouldn't love again. No matter what anyone else thinks, Wrong never felt so right.

 

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She shuts the door and turns to face me, the pleasant expression from a few moments ago wiped away as she stands with one hand on her cocked hip. "You want to tell me what your problem is?"

"What are you talking about?" I reply coolly, knowing exactly what she's talking about.

"Earlier this afternoon. Just now. You were all but a jerk to Jonathan, who if you didn't notice is someone I kinda want to impress to get this painting thing started." She closes the distance between us and presses her fingertip in my chest, her bright blue eyes even more striking than normal as they glow with a fiery intensity. "I need this, Gray."

I'm not sure what inside me snaps, but something about the way she says the word ‘need’, combines with the passionate pleading look on her face, and suddenly, I have an overwhelming eagerness to show her exactly what she needs.

My lips slam down on hers as my hands cradle her jaw, tilting her face up to mine. Caught entirely off guard, she opens her mouth, probably to protest, but I quiet her immediately with my tongue, darting it in between her parted lips.

The sound of her purse and keys crashing to the wood floor echoes through the entryway as she raises her hands to my chest, palms splayed against my bare skin. But surprisingly, and much to my delight, instead of pushing me away, she uses my body as leverage to kiss me back.

My hands slide around behind her neck, tangling in the loose hairs that've fallen free from her twist thing, while her nails dig into my flesh, demanding more from my mouth. With urgent swipes of our tongues, our lips mold together in a claiming, lust-driven kiss neither of us can resist.

The soft whimper she elicits into my mouth as my hands fall down her back and lands just above her ass fuels me to push further. Backing her up against the front door, our mouths never losing contact, I reach up under her dress, grab ahold of her firm cheeks, and lift her up off the ground. Her legs instinctively wrap around my hips, causing her skirt to hike up around her waist, leaving the thin, lacy fabric of her panties the only barrier between her hot pussy and my lower abdomen she's pressed against.

And it's fucking on fire.

"Gray," she pants, her fingers twisting in my dark hair. "We can't—"

Her voice hitches as I boldly snake one hand around to her front and swipe my thumb lightly between her legs. At my faint touch, she arches back and squeezes her legs tightly around me, her body begging for more.

I drop my face into her neck and nuzzle the smooth skin below her ear. "We can't what?" I whisper hoarsely as I brush my fingers across her heat again, this time allowing it to linger a tiny bit longer. "Do this?" My rock-hard dick, which is barely harnessed by the thin sleep pants, is positioned perfectly under her ass, so I thrust upwards, making her gasp loudly. "Or this?"

She tugs roughly on my hair and forces my face back to hers, drawing my bottom lip between her teeth and sucking hard. My hand cups her sex, the flimsy material now soaked with her arousal, and she sucks in a ragged breath.

"Any of it," she murmurs while kissing across my jaw and shamelessly grinding down on my palm. "We can't do any of it, but I can't stop it either."

"Fuck, Mia. Me neither," I growl, dipping a finger under her panties and feeling her silky, slick skin against mine. "I need these off."

She nods without hesitation and I rip them from her body with one forceful tear, then toss them to the floor. My fingers return to her, tenderly caressing her swollen lower lips, but the smell of her excitement is too much for me to resist. I need more.

Lowering her feet to the floor, I kiss her hard before dropping to my knees, licking my lips as I take her all in. With one swipe of my tongue across her smoldering center, I realize I’m in more trouble than I initially thought. She fucking tastes even better than she smells, and I’m drowning in my desire.

The sound of a car engine pulling into the driveway forces us both to freeze in place, our eyes locked on one another as we both struggle to catch our breath. The subsequent closing of a car door and footsteps towards the front porch send us on a mad dash up the stairs and into our own rooms, just in time before the front door opens and my best friend makes his way inside.

   

       

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 Erin Noelle is a Texas native, where she lives with her husband and two young daughters. While earning her degree in History at the University of Houston, she rediscovered her love for reading that was first instilled by her grandmother when she was a young child. A lover of happily-ever-afters, both historical and current, Erin is an avid reader of all romance novels. In 2013, she published the Book Boyfriend Series, which included books Metamorphosis, Ambrosia, Euphoria, and Timeless, and recently published When the Sun Goes Down, a contemporary romance novel. Her books have been a part of the USA Today Bestselling list and the Amazon and Barnes & Noble overall Top 100.

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Photog: Golden Czermak @ FuriousFotog

Model: Darren Hitchcock

Fight.

It’s an action some encourage and others dissuade. Since the day I was born, fighting has been instilled into my mind. Regardless of your opinion, it’s something we all do. At some point in time, consciously or subconsciously—either emotionally, physically, or spiritually—we struggle. Many will strive to withstand their battles, but only those who were born to fight will overcome them.

A true fighter lacks weakness. They abstain from carelessness and refrain from trusting their opponents, but most importantly, they never accept defeat.

I am a true born fighter. Each second of every day, I fight. Rip the ones I love most away from me, I kill. If I’ve learned anything from this life, it’s to always expect the unexpected. As long as my heart continues to beat, and no matter the costs, I will be victorious.

Typical Southern Belle that's obsessed with chocolate, leg humps, arse slaps, and flogging. Always involve in inappropriate conversations, and I love writing mommy porn.....

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Title: Finding Laila
Author: T.K. Rapp
Release Date: Jan 13, 2015
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Joey, Cole, Haden and Braxton have been a constant in my life since I was five, and I have loved being one of the guys.
I’ve been cheerleader.
I’ve been study partner.
I’ve been listener.
When we’re young, we don’t realize the profound impact certain people will have on our lives. I had no idea twelve years ago I’d meet four boys who would turn out to be my best friends, my soul mates - my barmy.
Now school is almost done, our last summer together is drawing closer, and I’m trying to hold on to what we have while I still can. After this we’ll have to say goodbye to each other, as our choices will take our lives in different directions. But I don't know if our friendship can survive once secrets and surprises begin revealing themselves to us at every turn.
When it’s all said and done, will our friendships remain unbreakable? Or will our once strong bond prove to be weaker than we anticipated?
Letting go is harder than I thought, but some changes are necessary.
And finding Laila…finding myself…may be the greatest journey of all.

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“I guess we know the flavor of the week,” a female voice says from behind me, causing several others with her to laugh.
I know they’re talking about me. They’re always talking about me. It’s been this way since I was in seventh grade, but I’ve made it my mission to ignore it.
“She certainly gets around,” another voice chimes in.
Cole is sitting to my left, Haden to my right and both guys are staring at the field, but neither is paying attention to the game. I watch out of my peripheral as Haden’s forearm muscles tense and relax while Cole bites his lip. They are intently focused on the words being thrown at me, but keep quiet for the time being.
“She must be good because they all stick around,” a guy’s voice states in salacious tone that makes me nauseous.
I don’t wait for another barb to be hurled my way, even though I know it’s coming. I throw my arm around Haden and whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek then turning to do the same to Cole. I lean forward to see Joey, who is next to Cole and give him a wink, “I’ll get you later, Baby.”
He shakes his head and laughs, “Why must you stir the pot?”
Haden smiles - proud of my display - and it pushes me on.
I turn to look at the three classmates who have stopped chattering long enough to watch my little show, jaws hanging open. I shrug my shoulders, and answer Joey, “I’m just giving them what they want.”
One of the girls, Kasey, looks at me and raises a brow, “And what about Braxton?”
I glance over to Cole who’s listening to everything, but is still watching the game. He smirks, as if he knows what’s coming and a smile of my own begins to break.
They are gawking at me when I turn and wet my lips before winking at the girls.
“If he wins, we all win,” I say huskily.
“Touchdown!” The announcer yells and the crowd jumps to their feet to celebrate. All but the three jerks behind me.

T.K. Rapp is a Texas girl born and raised. She earned a B.A. in Journalism from Texas A&M and it was there that she met the love of her life. He had a contract with the U.S. Navy that would take them across both coasts, and ultimately land them back home in Texas.
Upon finally settling in Texas, T.K. worked as a graphic designer and photographer for the family business that her mom started years earlier. She was able to infuse her creativity and passion, into something she enjoyed, but something was still missing. There was a voice in the back of her head that told her to write, so write, she did. And, somewhere on an external hard drive, are several stories she started and never finished.
Now at home, raising her two daughters, T.K. has more time to do the things she loves, which includes photography and writing. When she’s not doing one of those, she can be found with her family, which keeps her busy. She enjoys watching her kids in their various sporting activities (i.e. doing the soccer mom thing), having Sunday breakfast at her parent’s house, singing out loud and out of key or dancing like a fool. She loves raunchy humor, gossip blogs and a good book.

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Revenge.

I race to finance it.

I evade to protect it.

I kill to attain it.

I planned everything.

Except her.

The alluring, curvaceous blonde at the finish line.

With sapphire eyes that cheat and lie.

Whose powerful family murdered mine.

I hate her.

I want her.

I know she’s hiding something.

But so am I.

Release Day → January 12th, 2015

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He knelt over my attacker, his strength visible in the stretch of the jacket over his back and shoulders. His helmet cocked, angled in my direction. “I had this.”

Oh my God, his voice. Okay, it was definitely synthesized, his timbre humming with an electronic overlay, but it was deep and gravelly and so goddamned sexy.

Pull yourself together, Kaci. He was far more dangerous than the man who just attacked me.

“Get out of here.” I nodded to the street behind me, and as if on cue, another squad car zoomed by. “I’ll hold him until you’re gone.”

What was I saying? I didn’t want him to leave.

I thought I heard a chuckle, but couldn’t be sure with the whine of sirens and exhaust pipes. He looked back at my attacker, swung an arm, and knocked him out. Damn. Okay, that worked too.

I lowered the gun. “You won the race?”

“Of course.” He rose and erased the distance between us in three strides.

My nerves shivered, overloaded and amped up, and oh God, he was just standing there, heating the air around me, staring at me. What did he want? I opened my mouth to spew a gushing thank you.

He snatched the gun from my hand.

What the? “Give that ba—”

He lifted my chin and stroked a gloved finger over the nicks on my throat. Each caress irritated the cuts, but I didn’t want him to stop. He raised the finger in front of my visor, blood soaking the leather tip. “Have you learned your lesson?”

His voice reverberated through me, and my knees weakened. Even with the electronic distortion, he sounded pissed.

My heart panted, and a throb swelled, hot and needy, between my legs. All because of a pissed-off synthesized voice? I might’ve just swallowed my self-respect, but I couldn't help it. My body had one mission, and that mission vibrated against me like he wanted to tear me in half. Damn me to hell, but my inner muscles clenched at the thought.

I touched my throat and flinched at the bite of pain. “It’s just a scratch.”

The reflection of my helmet in his visor wavered as he shook his head. He gazed down on me as if he were…considering something? God, I wished I could see his face, his eyes.

His finger returned to my throat, trailed a path beneath my chin, lifting it and catching on the edge of the helmet. He tugged it, like he wanted to rip off the shield and see my eyes, too. “Get on your bike, sweetheart.”

He flicked the safety on the gun and gripped my shoulders, turning my body to face the bike. Both bikes. His and mine side-by-side. Oh, how I loved the sight of that.

His fingers touched my hip, slipping beneath my jacket to stroke my bare skin. I trembled against the brush of his glove, until he opened his mouth. “This is your last race.”

The temperature in my helmet rose by ten degrees, and my cheeks inflamed. I glared at him over my shoulder. “Excuse me?”

Smack. A stinging jolt of fire rippled over my ass, and I shuffled forward. He fucking hit me! I placed my hands on the bike’s seat, and unbidden, a grin took hold of my face. He fucking spanked me.

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.

Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.

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