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New #Biker Romance: SINNER’S STEEL (Sinner’s Tribe Motorcycle Club #3) by Sarah Castille [Excerpt & #Giveaway inside]

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SINNER’S STEEL
SINNER’S TRIBE MOTORCYCLE CLUB #3
by SARAH CASTILLE

 

He’s hell on wheels and she’s the one who got away.  Sinner’s Steel, the third novel in the Sinner’s Motorcycle Club series is a vivid and powerful MC romance from Sarah Castille.  Fans of Joanna Wylde and Kristen Ashley’s biker romances will love this intense, rough and raw addition to the Sinner’s Motorcycle Club series.

 

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Title: Sinner’s Steel
Author: Sarah Castille
Series: Sinner’s Tribe
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 6, 2015
Publisher: St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Print Length: 352 pages
Get More information at: Goodreads  | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes
synopsis (2)

HE’S HELL ON WHEELS.

Tall, dark, and dangerously handsome, Zane “Tracker” Colter is the strong, silent type of tattooed muscle biker who drives women wild. But as a master of strategy for the outlaw MC club, Sinner’s Tribe, he doesn’t have time to play around with groupies and biker chicks-especially when he can’t stop thinking about Evie, the girl who got away…

SHE’S PLAYING WITH FIRE.

Evie’s been in love with Zane ever since they were children-until he broke her heart and disappeared. Now he’s back in her life, bigger and badder than ever. Zane is stunned by how beautiful and confident Evie’s become, using her artistic talent to customize motorcycles. He wants her so bad, he’d ride through fire to win her back. There’s one problem: Evie is dating his deadliest rival-the leader of the Black Jacks-and if Evie and Zane hook up, there’ll be hell to pay…

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excerpt (2)

Sparky’s shop shook with the hard beat of metal music, the thud of the bass carrying up the stairs where Evie had just put Ty to bed before changing for the party. She had only one fancy outfit in her suitcase, a Scandinavian-style black dress in a crepe fabric with unique cut-outs on the sides and front, and a wide bandeau strip across her breasts. Not really her style, but Connie had convinced her to buy it one Saturday afternoon by feigning a collapse in the store dressing room when she tried it on.

Zane met her in the hallway at the foot of the stairs. He’d been out all day at the clubhouse dealing with the situation with T-Rex, and her gaze skittered from the tips of his heavy dust-covered biker boots, to his low riding jeans, snug in all the right places, and then over his muscle-hugging T-shirt to his tanned, frowning face. Memories of what they’d done last night sent a wave of heat through her body and her cheeks flushed.

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 “You’re showing a lot of skin.” His frown became a scowl as his gaze swept over her body. “Do you know what it does to a man when he gets a glimpse of something he’s not supposed to see?”

“Does that mean you like it?”

Zane splayed his hand under the back panel of the dress, his fingers skimming the edge of her panties as he pulled her against him. “It means I only got two hands, and there’s a lot of brothers who won’t be able to take their eyes off you since you’re showing more skin than dress.” He pulled his hand from beneath her dress, and slapped her ass. “Go change.”

Evie cried out in surprise. The slap was more of a sting than true pain, but the responding throb in her sex shocked her, made her wonder what would happen if he slapped her again. But the sudden thrill quickly turned to indignation.

 “Seriously?” Evie glared at him, her mouth agape. “You’re ordering me to go and change my clothes? I’ve seen some of the clothes the old ladies are wearing. I look like a nun compared to them.”

“You got a habit upstairs, I’ll be a happy man.”

“I’m not changing, Zane.” She leaned against the wall, folded her arms over her chest. “Even if we were together, which we’re not, I wouldn’t let you tell me what to wear. I went through that with Mark. He was insecure right from the start because he never felt he could measure up to you and Jagger. When he lost his job, he started drinking again and that just made it worse. And when we had to rely on my income, he couldn’t deal with it. He started following me around, trying to cut me off from my friends, checking my phone, showing up at work. He threw out some of my clothes, called me a slut . . .”

“Jesus Christ. Once we get T-Rex, I’m fucking going after him.” He leaned one elbow beside her and traced the cut out on the left side of her dress with his free hand, his finger warm against her skin. “What if I ask real nice?”

Evie bit back a smile at his sudden change in demeanor. “Jagger saw my dress. He didn’t have a problem.”

“Because you aren’t his.” He slid his hand beneath the front panel of her dress, his finger dipping down to her mound, sending a sizzle of erotic sensation straight to her core. “You’re mine.”

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Flustered by his possessiveness given that she’d pretty much booted him out of her room last night, she had no idea what to say. And when he pulled her in close and lowered his face until their noses were almost touching, she wanted nothing more than to run her tongue over his lips and forget about speech all together.

“You showing something that belongs to me, makes it my problem,” he murmured.

“I don’t belong to you, Zane.”

“Last night.” He feathered kisses along her throat, following her jugular to the hollow at the base of her throat. “Says you do.” His hands slid down to her ass and his fingers dug into her cheeks. “Way I feel now, thinking of the brothers lookin’ at you, touching you, and you showing off what you shared with me last night, says you do.”

Desire pulsed through her, a deep throb that intensified with every second. “It was just sex.”

“You and me, sweetheart . . . it’s never just anything.”

 

See where it all began with book 1 of the Sinner’s Tribe series, Rough Justice.


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Rough Justice also available at these retailers:
Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

Beyond the Cut also available at these retailers:
Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iTunes

 

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 Author BioSarah

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Sarah Castille, writes contemporary erotic romance and romantic suspense featuring blazingly hot alpha heroes and the women who tame them. A recovering lawyer and caffeine addict, she worked and traveled abroad before trading her briefcase and stilettos for a handful of magic beans and a home near the Canadian Rockies.  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon

 

BLOG TOUR with Excerpt & GIVEAWAY: Caly’s Game by Trinity presented by @Barclay_PR

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Caly’s Game is the new erotic romance by long-time BDSM veteran, Trinity, in which Caly Arling is used to being the hunter, but when she meets sexy Evan Morrell, she finds herself on the other side of the hunt.

Title: Caly’s Game
Author: Trinity
Genre: Erotic Romance, BDSM, BBW
Release Date: March 31, 2015
Publisher: Loose Id
Print Length: 55,000 words
Format: Digital
ISBN: 978-1-62300-887-1

 

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About the book -red

Caly Arling is a headstrong, independent attorney who has always been the hunter when it came to getting men into bed. As a fat chick, she learned a long time ago to grab her world by the horns. She doesn’t do relationships; she takes what she wants and sends the man on his way. When Caly meets sexy architect Evan Morrell, her world is thrown topsy-turvy. He doesn’t respond to her advances the way she’s used to men responding—yet he seems interested. Evan pulls her from her game of hunter/prey into his, which includes rope, blindfolds, and spanking benches. Can Caly break old habits in order to explore this world that she finds intriguing with this man who inspires the most staggering emotions she’s ever experienced?

Available at: Amazon | Loose Id | Goodreads

 excerpt (2)

You’re Beautiful in Rope

I moved as he asked and knelt in the middle of the throw. He came behind me and got to his knees also, his thighs outside mine. He must not have been kneeling down though, because he was still taller. His heat radiated onto my back, though he wasn’t quite close enough to touch me.

He touched a finger to the front of my temple. “Closed, please.”

I shut my eyes and took a long, deep breath. As I finished the breath, he leaned forward, against my back, and wrapped his arms around my torso, just below my breasts. Then he took a long, deep breath. His chest pushed into my back as he expanded his lungs. His chest hair raked along the skin of my back. As he released, I realized I was releasing a breath as well. He breathed in again. I breathed in. Out. Out. In. In. He held me tight as we breathed together. I found my anxiety slipping away as I breathed there, in the dark with him.

He took my left arm and raised it over and just behind my head, then put pressure on my forearm, urging toward my right shoulder. My muscle tightened with the movement. He held it for several seconds, then gently lowered my arm. He did the same with my right arm, angling it over my head and to the left. I felt the stretch in my triceps. Was that what he was doing? Stretching me? That seemed odd.

He slid his arm through my elbow toward my back and pulled my arm against his chest. My shoulder muscles stretched. And then he did the same on the other side. The whole while he continued to breath, pausing to press his chest against my back, which made me breath in time with him. He wrapped his arms around me again and hugged me tight to him. We rocked forward and back for a long moment. Everything—his movement, his scent, just his presence—soothed me, and I felt more relaxed than I had in a very long time.

He remained against me, but let his hands roam over my skin. His palms skimmed my arms and my belly—I tried hard not to be self-conscious. He rested his chin on my shoulder as he moved his hands down across the outsides of my thighs. His breath tickled along my neck and collarbone. Then he wrapped around me again, and we rocked for a few moments more.

One of his arms left me briefly and then returned. Rope, a little bit scratchy and smelling of grass, rubbed against my shoulder, across my chest and up my neck. He hadn’t uncoiled it. It felt like a big lump of rope. His arms moved again, and I heard the rustle of rope on rope. Then a strand—double strand?—fell across my thighs. He dragged it slowly and it tickled my skin as it moved. He drew the piece up over my breasts and over my shoulder, the whole thing trailing lightly over my skin.

My entire body woke up. My skin received every touch from the rope or from him with a jolt of electricity. As he ran the strand behind my neck and down my other shoulder, goose bumps broke out and I shivered. My breathing had quickened, and the low moan from my throat surprised me.

His hand trailed down my left arm and grasped my wrist. He brought it close to my body, and I felt rope being wrapped around it. I peeked from beneath my lashes and saw him anchoring the rope around my wrist. I closed my eyes again. I didn’t really need to see. I’d realized that this wasn’t about seeing.

Using the long end of the rope, he brought my wrist up to my right shoulder, positioning my arm across my chest. He pulled the rope down my back, across and around the left side of my torso. He made it tight, and the rope bit into my skin. It hurt, but didn’t, at the same time. He angled me back against him, and I leaned, letting my head roll back on his shoulder. His scent—cloves and sweetness—hit me again. I breathed deep.

He wrapped the rope around my arm and my belly from left to right. He pushed me forward with a hand in the middle of my back until I was leaning down, head almost to the floor. I felt him pull the free strand through the piece hugging my back, and then he pulled me up by the rope. It bit into my skin in the front, with painful little lines. I swayed into him again.

The rope came against the front of my neck, but gently, his thumb guiding it, brushing my skin back and forth. A little twinge of panic tried to overcome me, but I pushed it down. He was giving me sensation. He wasn’t even tightening the rope. I relaxed again.

After that, things just became fuzzy. He unwound the rope from me, leaving the anchor on my wrist. Then my arm was drawn behind my back, and he wrapped the rope around my torso, binding my upper arm to my side and my wrist and hand to my back. He never tied the rope off. His palms roamed over my skin, warm and earnest. He left trails of heat wherever he touched.

He shoved my body forward again and then covered me with his. The weight of him held me down. I didn’t feel fear, but rather comfort. His weight comforted me.

Surrounded. Cocooned. Safe.

My mind turned off, and I floated. His movements against me still registered, but only from a distance. I had no real concept of the order in which he did things. Nothing hurt. Everything felt good and right.

“You are beautiful in rope,” he whispered very close to my ear.

 

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Follow the tour and enter to win a $20 gift card for Amazon or Barnes & Noble!

 

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About the author-red

Trinity writes realistic kink! Trinity came up in the Atlanta BDSM scene in the mid-90s and has been an active BDSM and poly person for two decades. She’s a kink educator, having traveled the Southeast from the Carolinas to Louisiana, teaching classes about kink and D/s. Her particular passions are protocol, ritual, and rope, which readers will see reflected in her books. And, of course, hot sex!

She also loves to attend conventions and conferences, both vanilla writing conferences and kink events. Travel is one of her passions; she’s been to twenty of the fifty states and ten countries outside the United States. Otherwise, she can be found at home with her hubby, who doubles as her muse, and three often temperamental cats. Follow her on Twitter: @Trinity_writes.

Connect at her website | Facebook | Twitter | Fan Site | Tumblr