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Marius Payne is the kind of soldier who makes me go commando.

He’s the only man I’ve let invade my foxhole, but now he’s occupying my heart.

And that’s when he drops a bombshell.

Marius is arrogant. He’s broody. And he’s wounded in more ways than one. The only way he can secure a cushy job in DC is if he softens his image and transforms from a rogue Navy SEAL into a family man.

So, of course, I agree to have his baby.

Make love, not war.

Then make war.

A girl like Gretchen needed to be fucked and fucked often. I captured her in a kiss and drew her close. Just the brush of my lips set her on fire. She shivered, cooed, and made a dozen little incoherent noises that throbbed my cock and burned my blood.

I slipped my tongue over hers. Gretchen groaned, and I nearly lost my mind. Then again, nothing was left in that darkness worth saving.

It had been a long time since I’d felt anything as soft as this woman. Her lips. Her tongue. The dark, delicate skin hidden beneath her ridiculously yellow safety vest. The military didn’t afford us many opportunities for warmth or gentleness. I had to enjoy this.

The vest was first to go. Gretchen giggled as my fingers tucked under her shirt. I rolled it over her dark curves. A tight, flat stomach peeked at me, quivering with each harsh whimper.

I nearly dropped to my knees then and there.

All she needed to do was whisper and I’d be hers. A single word would have conquered me. No woman ever had the sort of control over me before. But Gretchen possessed me. Struck me. Stole my willpower and replaced it with an obedience the military couldn’t earn even after fifteen years of service.

And the sweet girl giggled. Actually giggled.

My fingers grazed her curves as I lifted the shirt over her head. Christ. I would’ve gnawed through her bra if she hadn’t already unhooked the back and let the crisp, white silk fall away. The bra revealed lovely cinnamon skin, tempting my restraint with dark nipples begging to be sucked.

This woman was made to be kissed, touched, devoured.

I seized her, but my hands were too rough for her sensitive breasts. She merely gasped as I palmed her with heavy, calloused fingers. I squeezed. She hummed. And I knew in that moment it would take every ounce of control and discipline to not thoroughly destroy this lovely creature.

It wasn’t just my cock that hardened—every muscle, every bone, every pump of my heart surged with a rush of unbridled testosterone.

I would take her. Hard. Rough. My darkest instincts demanded that I bite, scratch, rut this woman. I needed to come deep inside this beautiful, sweet girl again and again, until I was certain every ounce of my seed had filled the most vulnerable parts of her.

My kiss didn’t scare her, but it scared me.

I hadn’t had a connection with a woman for months. Not a touch. Not a kiss. I had no idea what I would do to her once I was given that permission.

It wasn’t just rage. Whatever conquered me was greater than need or desire.

I had no idea who I was anymore.

But this meant I could prove my virility to myself again. I’d only lost a leg, nothing else, and yet the excitement had bred something dark and frightening inside me. The urge was monstrous and dangerous and all-consuming.

I didn’t just want to fuck Gretchen. I needed to make her mine. Forever.

I wouldn’t stop until she belonged to me. Wouldn’t release her until people could see that she was mine, that I had marked her, claimed her, and taken her as my own.

That desire would not be alleviated with one night, one moment, one fuck.

The monster inside me demanded something more visceral. A masculine conquest.

The only way I’d ever feel alive again, whole again, was to take something she wouldn’t be willing to give.

A legacy. A name.

A creation.

Her womb.

I shivered.

That was a new desire. A dangerous desire. In that moment of utter confusion hardened me for something more powerful than sex.

Sosie Frost is no stranger to quirky, embarrassing, and wild situations, and she’s channeling all that new adult angst into fun romances.

From marching at the high school homecoming game without her trumpet (a punishment for forgetting the instrument on the band bus), to regretfully tucking her prom dress into the back of her tights before pictures, and even accidentally starting a chemical fire in the college chem lab, Sosie has the market cornered on crazy stories.

But hey, writing is a better outlet than therapy right? 😉

If you want funny, charming, and steamy romances, you’ve found the right author!

Sosie lives in Pittsburgh with her hubby, her two cats, and thrives on a near constant stream of gummy bears.

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Title: Brute

Author: SC Daiko 

Genre: Contemporary Romance /Romantic Suspense

Release Date: May 25, 2018

Cover Design: RBA Designs 

Photographer: Wander Aguilar

Daniel Collins… hunky single dad… and my neighbor.
Arrogant, bad-mannered, and reclusive.
They call him the Brute.

I should stay away from him…
except I can’t.

Not when he reveals his brokenness,
and I glimpse the pain in his eyes.
Not when his touch unravels me,
and the heat between us could set the oceans alight.

But play with fire, and you will get burned.

A fragile heart can easily be broken again.

**

A new standalone contemporary romance from award-winning international bestselling author SC Daiko… a beautiful love story with plenty of heat and angst.

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My cottage backs onto woodland, and there’s a path leading through it. Birdsong and the scent of blackberries fills the air. I let Toby off his leash and he immediately starts foraging for anything edible… wild fruit being his favourite snack.
I leave him to it and stride on ahead, knowing he’ll catch up in good time. Soon I come to a glade where the trees have been thinned out. Oh shit, standing in the middle of the clearing is Daniel. He’s bare-chested and dressed in running shorts, doing stretching exercises braced against a fallen tree trunk.
I slow my footsteps, treading quietly on mouldy old leaves, and rake my gaze over him. His thick almost-black hair is dripping sweat; it falls down his face and the back of his solid neck. His beard is unkept and wild-looking. But it’s his powerful body that mesmerises me and I study the tats on his muscular arms, tempted to get closer for a better look. God, he’s beautiful, I suddenly realise. Beautiful but freaking scary at the same time.
I release a slow breath. Stop it, Cat. You shouldn’t be looking at him that way. The man in front of you is a brute. You need to keep your distance from him.
Slowly, my heart pounding against my ribcage, I turn around and prepare to make my way back down the path. Except, Toby comes bounding up and starts to bark.
Dammit!
Daniel freezes on the spot. His eyes crash into mine, and if I was scared before now I’m practically peeing myself. He straightens himself to his full height, still glaring at me, not saying a word.
Toby keeps barking, but he’s also wagging his tail. I grab hold of his collar and fasten the lead. “Sorry to disturb you.” I bite at my lips. “We’ll get out of your way.”
He arches an eyebrow. “So, you weren’t following me?”
“Oh, God, no. We were just going for a walk.”
I’m still staring at his tats, trying to decipher the intricate patterns. He catches my gaze, and I feel my face burning up.
“Get on with your walk, then,” he says through gritted teeth. “Leave me alone.”
My fingernails dig into the palms of my hands. “No need to be bad-mannered.”
He crosses his arms in front of his broad chest and lets out an edgy laugh.
“You are a prick,” I spin around, “the rudest man I’ve ever met.”
He laughs again and keeps laughing mockingly as I stride off down the pathway, Toby at my heel

SC Daiko, aka Siobhan (pronounced Shivawn), is an award-winning, international bestselling contemporary romance author. Originally from the UK, she now lives in Italy with her husband and two cats.

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Danny O’Donaghue.
Indie rock god.
Lady killer.
The devil with midnight hair and blue-flame eyes.

After six years I thought the pain of what he’d done to me had faded.
Guess not.
Because I’m standing in this crowded lecture hall of the most prestigious music school in Ireland, staring at the person who healed me when I was broken. Right before he shattered me beyond repair.
And I still feel everything.

My ex-best friend.
My first love.
My tormentor.

…is now my professor.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I demanded. “We used to be…friends. Best friends.”
More than friends.
I swallowed as the tender memories rose up in my mind, pricking the backs of my eyelids. “Why pick on me?”
I thought I saw a flash of pain in his eyes before it was smothered by a smirk. “I like to watch you squirm. You go all red in the face like a tomato when you get mad.”
That’s why he called me Dearg. Because of the way I blushed with my body. The way my pale skin was like a mood ring, broadcasting my anger, my embarrassment, my arousal.
“Why start that rumor?”
“Hypothetically,” he continued, “even if I was the one who started that rumor, you should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you?” My eyes almost bulged out of my head. I shoved at his chest. The asshole barely moved. I barely made a dent in his rock-hard muscles.
I was going to punch him, right there in his precious rock star junk. He better not want kids one day.
“You are fucking delusional.” I shoved him again.
This time he caught my wrist and spun me around, slamming me up against one of the lockers. The air whooshed out of me and not just because he was crushing me between the lockers and his hard body.
“Yeah, Dearg, you should be on your fucking knees thanking me with that pretty little mouth of yours around my dick.”
God. The sheer crudeness of his words. It should make me cringe. To slap him across the face. Instead, everything in my lower belly ached, my lips parted and all I could do was blink up at him.
“The pool for your v-card has been cancelled,” he continued. “That cunt will leave you alone now instead of trying like a fucking chump to pretend to be a good boyfriend while just wanting to get in your panties for money and bragging rights. So, yeah, you should be fucking thanking me.”
“You’re trying to tell me that you told everyone I was a god damn lesbian to help me?”
His lip lifted up. “Yeah. Say thank you.”
He shifted back, just an inch of space, just enough to allow him to drop his towel. He dropped it. Right in front of me. No shame.
I glanced down before I could stop myself, half mortified, half curiosity raging like a storm.
His dick was hard. Long and thick and…perfect.
“Go on, Dearg. What are you going to do with it?” he taunted in a low voice.
“I…”
Grab it.
Lick it.
Suck it.
Pull it inside me.
His arms came up beside my head and he leaned in, trapping me, his hard cock hot and hard against my belly. Dear God. I was going to combust. Or pass out from lack of oxygen.
“Or,” his lips traced my cheekbone, sending hot and cold shivers throughout my body, “maybe you really are a lesbian.”
Rage flooded over me, temporarily overriding lust. I shoved him back with both hands and he stepped back laughing.
Bastard. He didn’t want me. He was taunting me. Teasing me. Pushing me to breaking point.
He almost won.
And I almost gave in.
Stupid me, I almost gave in.

Sienna Blake is a storyteller & inkslnger, wordspinner of love stories with grit, and alter ego of a USA Today Bestselling Author.

She loves all things that make her heart race — rollercoasters, thrillers and rowdy unrestrained sex. She likes to explore the darker side of human nature in her writing.

If she told you who she really was, she’d have to kill you. Because of her passion for crime and forensics, she’d totally get away with your murder.

Sign up for my newsletter and get Paper Dolls, a full-length romantic suspense as a thank you gift. You'll also be the first to hear about new releases, sales and giveaways - www.subscribepage.com/SiennaBlake

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I moved to the mountains to get away from everyone and everything. All I want is peace and quiet and it’s worked well for me over the last decade. But then she moves in next door and disrupts my solitude.

Kylie—my new neighbor—with her smartass mouth and destructive dog. It’s obvious she doesn’t belong here with her designer boots and city girl attitude but she’s stubborn and won’t listen to reason. Despite all that, there’s no denying I want her. Her sass and defiance get under my skin and admittingly turn me on. It’s a love/hate relationship in the most inconvenient way possible.

When a snowstorm comes barreling through, it’s Kylie who’s at my doorstep needing heat and food because she’s completely unprepared. Although I warned her, she finally admits I was right. Between my hatred for her dog and her distaste for me, things are bound to get complicated.

Secluded in my cabin together means the temperature rises, the gloves come off—but most of all—the arousal and chemistry moving between us reaches its breaking point.

The wind and snow slam against the windows and front door, sounding like it could break right through the glass. Rosie shivers and whimpers beside me, as Kozmo growls. He’s my protector, even if he doesn’t listen to me worth a shit.
“It’s okay, Kozmo.” I reach out and grab his collar, gently pulling him toward me. He lays down by my feet and I stroke his head, trying not to show that I’m pretty damn terrified of the storm raging outside. It’s not even about the weather per se, but the fact I’m so not prepared for this crap.
The fire crackles, and I turn and look at the hearth, the flames a lot less intense than what they were an hour ago. The firewood stacked up in the corner of the room makes me nervous, seeing as there are only a few logs left. They’d been here when I first moved in, and I hadn’t even thought about replenishing the stock so soon, not when I’d been busy unpacking and cleaning.
I grit my teeth as I think about Luke—Mr. Ruthless—next door and his warning. There’s no way in hell I was going to admit he’s right—that I’m unprepared and out of my element. Fuck him and his arrogant attitude.
I bring the blanket around me a little higher just as the lights start to flicker. Tilting my head back and looking up, I stare at the ceiling and say a silent prayer that the power doesn’t go out. I may have enough food stocked to weather out this bitch of a storm, but that doesn’t mean I can cook any of it without a fire or electricity.
The wind howls outside, and I curse the weatherman and his shitty forecast. “This weekend my ass,” I mutter. And then it’s like Mother Nature says a big “fuck you” as the lights go off. Rosie whimpers even louder, so I lift her into my lap, trying to calm her. She’s not used to this insane weather.
“Shh. It’s okay, girl. It’ll come back on, and everything will be okay. The storm will pass soon.” I know why I’m saying this—trying to reassure myself and feel better about the situation—but it’s grossly clear that I’m not at all prepared for a storm like this. I didn’t check the generator, and my wood stockpile is nonexistent.
The longer I sit here, the lower the flames get, and the colder it becomes. I set Rosie aside and get up to toss the remaining logs in, stoking them and walking over to grab a blanket. I move down in front of the fire to keep warm and call the dogs over.
“Come here,” I call for Kozmo and Rosie. Both of them shuffle over and lay beside me, curling around my body. I glance at the front window, the sheer curtains not hiding the pellets that are assaulting the glass like tiny bullets. I only hope it’s strong enough to withstand it and not break.
Mr. Ruthless was not right. He was not right.
He might be a little right.
An hour later and I’m still in front of the now dwindled fire, the embers the only thing alive in the damn hearth. The electricity shows no signs of coming back to life. The blanket is wrapped tightly around me, but it’s not helping keep the chill out of my bones. And the storm—the fucking storm is still going stronger than ever outside.
No way this is ending anytime soon.
I stand and head to the kitchen. Because I’m trying to stay positive, I check the stove. Nothing. I walk over to the fridge and open it. Nada. Because I have nothing better to do, I try the light switch. Zilch.
“Fuck.”
Dammit. When this storm is done, and the weather isn’t shitty, I’m investing in a crap load of fuel and a gas stove.
I glance at the front door, thinking over my options. No…no way in hell am I going to entertain the idea of asking him for help. Nope. No way in hell.
Another hour passes, and I’m visibly shaking, the cold too much for the pups and me to handle. I have no idea how long the storm is going to rage or when the power will come back. Thinking about my options, I could stay here and freeze to death, my dogs having to survive by eating my frozen body. I snort and shake my head at the ludicrous thought. Perhaps this is where I start going crazy, talking to myself and hallucinating.
Rosie burrows under the blanket farther, pressing against my body for heat. Kozmo is only halfway under the blanket, his head poking out as he stares at the front door, still on guard duty.
The fire has since died, the embers a distant memory.
“Fuck this,” I say and walk over to put my boots and jacket on. “If he wants to start shit or even have an ‘I told you so’ attitude, I’ll give him a piece of my mind,” I say to Rosie and Kozmo as if they can understand me. “Come on, guys. We aren’t staying here and freezing to death.”
Kozmo is by my side a second later, but Rosie takes a little coercing to get out from under the warmth of the blanket. She hobbles over to me, and I scoop her up but walk over and grab the blanket to wrap her up. I have no doubt Kozmo will be fine walking in this weather. He’s a tank on the best of days. Taking a deep breath, I reach for the handle.
I stay like that for a moment, afraid to open the door and no doubt get an onslaught from the weather. “Ready, boy?” I look down at Kozmo. He tips his head back and makes a whiny noise. Exhaling deeply, I pull it open.
Immediately the wind pushes back, the frigid air enough to take my breath away. I duck my head and step outside, Kozmo following right behind me. Once the door is shut, I haul ass down the porch, around the side, and make my way up the hill. The snow is violent as it slams against me, pushing me forward then back again. What pisses me off more than this weather is the fact I have to force myself to go ask him for help.
I slip more times than I want to admit, but I keep going until I’m finally standing at his front door and see his lights. He has power, which doesn’t surprise me when I hear his generator roaring. I know he’s going to rub that shit in my face. I bring my frozen knuckles down on the wood three times and take a small step back.
A moment later the door flies open, and Luke stands in front of me. His plaid flannel is unbuttoned and showing off the white T-shirt beneath that’s stretched across his hard chest. His broad shoulders block out everything behind him but I ignore the smug as hell smile he’s wearing, and instead focus on the heat seeping from the inside of the cabin and washing over me.
He says nothing as he steps aside and allows me and the dogs to enter. I’m biting my tongue fiercely right now, but I swear to everything that is holy, if he says one thing about being right, I’ll unleash the She-Bitch on his ass.

Jenika Snow

Jenika Snow, a USA Today bestselling author, lives in the northeast with her husband and their children.

She prefers gloomy days, eats the topping off of her pizza first, and prefers to wear socks year round.

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Kelsey King

Kelsey King loves hot coffee, wearing her hair up in a messy top knot, and writing possessive alpha males. Reading and writing has been apart of her life as long as she can remember. For the last few years, Kelsey has been writing short stories that have been stored away on her hard drive collecting dust. With a little courage and a push from friends to release them, she decided to finally share them with the world. She only writes happily-ever-afters with a good amount of humor and steam, so make sure to subscribe to her mailing list to stay updated on all upcoming releases!

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Piece of Work, an all-new sexy and hilarious romance from Staci Hart, is available NOW!

Marble isn’t the only thing that’s hard at this museum.

His body is as chiseled as Adonis. His lips are as sculpted as David. And his ego is the size of the Guggenheim.

You know the type—wolfish smile and the gravity of a black hole. The kind of man who sucks all the air from the room the second he enters it. My cocky boss thinks this internship was wasted on me, and he doesn’t hesitate to let me know.

But he’s wrong, and I’m going to prove it to him. If I can stay away from his devil lips, that is. Lips that cut me down and kiss me in the same breath, leaving me certain he’s on a mission to ruin my life.

And maybe my heart.

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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Excerpt:

He smirked and flipped up his sunglasses. Bastard. “You’re early,” I clipped. “I would have had my assistant text you, but she’s currently bedridden.” “You could have texted me.” “I didn’t have your number,” he said simply. “Oh.” His eyes shifted to look behind me, and I turned to find my friends standing me in a row with my suitcase in front of them, my messenger bag on top, and fake smiles on all their faces, lips together, their judgment about as quiet as a foghorn. “These your roommates?” “Yup,” was all I said as I turned and took my suitcase, hugging each of them down the line with promises to text when we landed. And then I turned to Court, rolling my suitcase in front of me like like a riot shield. I tried to pick it up to carry it over the threshold, but it was heavy, and before I could get far, he’d swept it out of my hands like it was a loaf of bread and not fifty pounds of mascara and shoes. I waved at my friends, who offered encouraging smiles and hand gestures, and I closed that door, immediately regretting every decision I’d made to bring me to the moment I turned around. He stood at the door to the backseat, holding it open for me like a gentleman, which I knew he was not. But the look on his face of regret and deference, under the hard shell of his brooding, was almost too much to bear. So I did the only thing I could. I ignored him. I ignored his gorgeous lips as they tilted and the sleek cut of his jaw as I walked past him. I ignored the sight of his long legs as he climbed in next to me and the smell of him that made me want to grab him by the lapels of his jacket and bury my nose in his chest. The driver took off, and I busied myself in my bag, looking for my headphones and book. His eyes were on me. I pretended like I didn’t notice. “You’re not wearing lipstick,” he stated. Headphones, headphones, headphones. “It’s an international flight, Court. Of course I’m not wearing red lipstick for a ten hour flight.” A pause. “Rin, I—” Aha! I popped in my earbuds the second they were in hand. His lips flattened, his face unamused. Rin, his lips said, but I smiled and shrugged, pointing to my ears. “Noise canceling,” I said way too loud. His chest rose and fell with a sigh I couldn’t hear—I’d already turned on music, a playlist we’d built the night before geared toward resisting douchery and unwanted-slash-totally-wanted advances—and he reached into his own bag, a leather affair at his feet, his hand disappearing into the bag and reappearing with a book, which he handed to me. He watched me with his expression shrouded as I paused, my eyes on the offered book. An image of Penitent Magdalene by Tintoretto filled the cover, and I met his eyes, pulling my earbuds out by the cord. “I thought you could use this. For your proposal,” he said, giving nothing away. “I…A colleague of mine wrote it, so if you have any questions, I can connect you. If you want.” I took it from his hand, surprised and disarmed. “Thank you,” was all I said. He opened his mouth as if to speak again, but closed it, and with a nod, he reached back into his bag for his own book. Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake. I put my earbuds back in place, trying not to bite my lip, but it found its way between my teeth despite the effort at the sight of him sitting there, dressed like that, reading Margaret Atwood. After giving me a thoughtful gift, a book he knew I would want, one I would need for my dissertation. Court Lyons made about as much sense to me as a scrambled up Rubik’s Cube. I leaned against the door as I flipped through his gift, doing my best to sort through the rush of questions and confusion as Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s sang about being cheated by the opposite of love. And I found I knew exactly the feeling.

About the Author

Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life -- a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can't forget that. She's also been a mom, with three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She's been a wife, though she's certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She's also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she's been drinking whiskey. From roots in Houston to a seven year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north, in Denver. They are new enough that snow is still magical. When she's not writing, she's reading, sleeping, gaming, or designing graphics.

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