Tag Archives: dark romance

Cover Reveal: TABOO UNCHAINED by C.M. Stunich

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Title: Taboo Unchained
Author: C.M. Stunich
Stand-Alone Novel
Release Day: June 2014
Genre: dark romance erotica

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BLURB

The taboo turns me on.

The dirty.  The filthy.  The nasty.

The man your mother fucking warned you about – is me.

Hold onto your panties, ladies.

Lucas Carter is here to show you the dark side of the sheets.

***WARNING:  This is a dark romance erotica – meaning lots of violence, sex, and emotionally disturbing inner dialogue.  However, there is *NO* kidnapping, rape, or other forms of misogyny.  Lucas Carter is an anti-hero, but he doesn’t disrespect women.  The entire book is told in his point of view.

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CHAPTER ONE
IN THE NAME OF ALL THINGS UNHOLY

My name is Lucas Carter, and I am a fucking God.  I slide my hand down my cock, gripping the base of my shaft with sure fingers. A smirk lingers on my lips as I work my body like a machine. I know what gets me off – oh, who I am kidding? I know what gets everyone off – so it doesn’t take long to milk pre-cum onto my fingers.  The blonde lying across my bed watches me with hungry eyes, sliding her tongue across her full lips. They’re already swollen from my ministrations, bruised by my kisses. Marked. Sealed. Stamped with my name.
I smile.
“Tell me you want this,” I command, watching as her gaze rakes down my body, begging silently for me to fuck her, to slide my cock into her folds and own her. Little does she know, I already do. I don’t need to touch a woman to possess her; I can reel in souls with a simple look, a light touch, a well-timed smile. It’s not magic. This, this is simple biology.
“I want your penis,” she says, and I cringe, releasing my dick and stalking across the room towards her. She cowers back, but I don’t touch her. Lucas Carter never hits women – not unless they want him to. I do not believe Mrs. Braxton ordered that particular service. From the corner of the room, I hear her husband shift uncomfortably. I’ve already asked him twice to keep his mouth shut. I don’t do men, but I do allow them to watch, provided they keep quiet.
“My … penis?” I ask, trying not to grit my teeth. Mrs. Braxton has pushed me to the edge of my sanity today. She’s attractive, much more so than my other clients, but she has a bad habit of dulling my excitement with her squeaky clean little mouth. Not even the bright red of her lipstick is helping. “This is not a sexual education class, Clarice. This is not your mother’s living room. If you’re going to refer to my body, you’re going to use the words that I choose.” I pause and stand up straight, sliding my sticky fingers back down my shaft. Pleasure pricks my body, helping to soothe my ire.
“Now. Repeat after me.” I pause, watching as Clarice’s pink nipples stand at sharp attention. Her stomach muscles tighten as she sucks in a deep breath. “Dick.”
I take a step closer, letting my eyes soak in her rounded curves and the sweep of her pale hair across the white linens. Her blue eyes break from mine for just a split second, sliding over towards the corner where her husband sits. I reach my fingers out and grab her chin, guiding her attention back to my face. Make no mistake here: Mr. and Mrs. Braxton may be my clients, but I am the one in charge.
“Say. It.” If there’s one thing I hate more than the mollification of genitalia, it’s having to repeat myself. My hand tightens on my cock. Clarice swallows hard as her eyes flutter and her lips part softly.
“Dick,” she whimpers, and the smile returns to my face. I trail my fingertips down her throat, watching the jumping pulse of her heart as I drag my hand towards her full breasts.
“Cock.” The word jumps sharply off my tongue at the same moment I clamp my fingertips on Clarice’s taut, pink nipples. She groans deeply, relaxing back onto the bed and spreading her legs wide for me, opening up that pretty pink pussy like a flower in bloom. I ignore the slight murmur of Mr.
Braxton’s moans from the corner by gritting my teeth. We’re not even through the first course yet and already the buffoon is gasping and spilling his seed into his own hand. More than likely, he’ll retreat to one of the other nineteen bedrooms in this sprawling monstrosity of a home and fall asleep, leaving me to deal with his wife alone. Not that I’m complaining – I much prefer it that way – but I can only
imagine what kind of a man would be comfortable leaving his pride and joy to find solace in another man’s arms. More often than not, my clients’ husbands know nothing about what goes on behind closed doors. If anyone asks, I’m simply the ‘interior designer’.
“Cock,” Clarice moans, letting her head fall back and bending her legs at the knees. The head of my dick presses tight against her opening, sliding slick cum over her heat. But I don’t enter her. I’m not here to pummel her pussy and roll away satisfied. If Mrs. Braxton simply wanted a stallion to ride, there are a hundred other men in this city that she could’ve called for a fraction of the price. My phone only rings when there are darker desires to satisfy, cravings that delve much deeper than simple sex.
I pull away and let my smile morph into a grin.
“No, please,” Clarice whimpers, much like she always does. “I need it. Just … have sex with me, please.” My mouth twitches and my hands clench tight at my sides. She can’t even say fuck. After all these sessions, all these dirty romps, these forays into the depths of darkness, and she can’t say the Goddamn F-word.
“Fuck,” I snap, sliding my withering cock back into the confines of my slacks. Clarice sits up quickly, brushing her French tipped nails through her blonde hair. Trophy wife. The term was coined to describe this woman, this twenty-something beach bunny married to a fifty year old man.
Disgusting. I have had it for today. Clarice has had me over before – she knows better than to piss me off. “Fuck me, Clarice. We have had this discussion.” My dick is soft now, flaccid and useless. “So I’m going home.”
I turn around and grab my briefcase, laying my suit jacket over my arm. One quick glance at Mr. Braxton shows that he’s already asleep in the ostentatious wingback chair that sits near the window.
I try desperately not to roll my eyes.
“W-wait!” Clarice calls out, scrambling off of the bed and chasing after me. I ignore her when she tugs on my arm and tries to stop me from heading out the door of her bedroom. “I can say it. Fuck me. Fuck me, Lucas.” I slide easily from her grasp and manage to step into the hallway before she gloms onto me again. My scowl feels permanently etched into my skin at this point. I’m an artist whose medium is flesh and blood and sex.
“I am not a whore, Clarice,” I tell her as we move past the open door of a bedroom and the blasé stare of one of the Braxton’s many maids. They’ve seen it all and more, I’m sure. Not once have I ever seen a single one of them blink at my presence, not even when I’m ramming Mrs. Braxton in a sex swing dangling off the edge of the balcony overlooking the foyer. Heights. The danger of falling is one of the few things that really gets Clarice off. That, apparently, and my utter distaste for her personality.
“I know, and I’m sorry, please. Lucas, come on.” Clarice follows me halfway down the curving staircase before I stop and turn to her, her chest heaving, breasts full and admittedly quite tempting. I lean over and whisper in her ear.
“Stop begging like the desperate little slut that you are, and maybe I’ll consider fucking you next time.” I watch out of the corner of my eye as her lashes flutter and her breath comes quicker. Insults.
A fairly tame breed of naughty, but one that Mrs. Braxton likes all the same. I step back and continue down the stairs, debating on whether or not I’m going to stop in the gaudy gold and white marble bathroom near the front door. My hands are still sticky with my cum, and the sensation is making my teeth hurt. I’m a meticulous man, and I like to be clean.
“You’re seriously leaving?” Clarice wheedles as I hit the bottom stair and pause with one foot on the ugly travertine floor. I spare her a quick glance over my shoulder and find a frown plastered across those red, red lips. “The check cleared, didn’t it?” she snaps when she sees me make no move to turn around.
My scowl returns with a vengeance.
“I already told you: I am not a whore.” Fuck. I hate repeating myself. I continue towards the front door, pausing only when a vase smashes into the ground next to my feet, shattering into a million white and blue pieces. I don’t bother to look back when Clarice starts screeching at me.
“You are a whore. An overpriced one at that. Get over yourself, Lucas. You have sex for money!”
Okay, now that does give me pause. A smile replaces my scowl as I turn around and give Mrs. Braxton my most evil look.
“Then you and I, my darling, are one in the same. Next time Mr. Braxton is busy riding your ass, think of me to get through it. I’ll consider that a freebie.”
A small angel statue comes flying over the railing of the balcony, crashing into a gilded mirror not six feet from where I’m standing.

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Cover Reveal: PERFECTLY NORMAL (The Beast 1.5) by Jaden Wilkes

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AUTHOR: Jaden Wilkes
Release Date: July 8, 2014

Book Blurb:

Take a girl like Columbia, put her in a vastly different life with a man unlike anyone she’s ever known. Throw in Dimitri’s nightmares, the Concierge’s disdain for Dimitri’s new house guest and a few hundred people looking high and low for the both of them…and it makes for a very interesting read.

Picking up at the end of the last chapter, this novella covers the time until the Epilogue from the first bestselling novel in this series, The Beast.

Two twisted and imperfect beings must adjust to their new lives together while avoiding detection from authorities and an international crime ring.

***As with the first novel in this series, this story covers dark themes with graphic sex, murder and violence.

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21894398-perfectly-normal

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Excerpt:

“I don’t see how we can expect to travel around and not change my appearance,” Columbia said for the hundredth time since they returned from their horrible encounter.

“I will not have you destroying your hair because of that monster you killed,” he replied. His voice let her know he wasn’t in the mood for argument. “It’s bad enough he drove you to destroy your body and almost destroyed your soul.”

“I just think it would be better if I tried it for a year or two. I could cut it short and go blonde. Maybe get contact lenses?” she asked, trying to get him to think about this from a logical standpoint. She knew he loved her hair, but if she was going to be recognized then it made sense to change something. She thought about Eden’s pink locks and added, “I could go pink even,” and smiled.

He looked at her, smirked and said, “You would not look good in pink, little dove.” He reached for her and pulled her towards him on the chaise.

“How do you know?” she asked, “pink might be my colour.” She wiggled up to snuggled into the crook of his arm. She loved him more for standing up against the stranger earlier.

“I think red is your colour,” he said and ran his hand along her back. She shivered at his touch, still in awe of the effect he had on her.

“Red?” she asked. “I never wear red.”

“I was talking about your ass,” he replied and chuckled, a low mirthful noise that rumbled in his massive chest. “The stripes I lay on it with the crop. Or the marks I leave with my bare hands.”

“Oh…that,” she said and squirmed against him, thinking about the crazy sensation of being held down and punished. How pain, being her constant companion, had finally become her closest ally under his care. When she had been alone, pain had been a release from her misery, and escape from the anguish she carried with her at all times. With Dimitri it had become a way to lose control, let go of the misery and let pain guide her higher. It enhanced her pleasure in ways she never thought possible, so much so that she almost couldn’t remember what it felt like to loathe the pain she had once inflicted on her own body.

His hand trailed down to cup her ass; she tilted her pelvis and gave him a handful of flesh. She pressed against him and felt him bring up the hem of her dress. She closed her eyes and rested on his chest as he said, “Yes, that…your ass, your body, it’s mine. You belong to me. I will not have you cutting your hair or changing the colour, or did you already forget your place with me?”

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New Release: KALON (Take Over #2) by TL Smith

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KALON (Take Over #2)

By: TL Smith

Release Date: June 16, 2014

Genre: Dark Romance

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Take Over Series Book 2

Blog Synopsis

He wants me dead because I’m a threat to him. He tried to murder my Father. Little did he know that you don’t mess with my family?

I will get my revenge. Then I’ll take down anyone else who stands in my way and I will make them pay.

I’m not your average woman. I deal with thugs and murders. I’ve been broken and tortured. But don’t mistake this for weakness. I am far from weak. I should be feared and definitely not be messed with.

I have a Greek God by my side. His name is Stefanos and he worships the ground I walk on, and I adore him. He gives me the strength I need for the path I’ve chosen.

People in my business know me as Krinos, and I am not to be trifled with.

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Cover Reveal+GIVEAWAY: Mr. X by Clarissa Wild

Title: Mr. X
Author: Clarissa Wild
Publication Date: July 2014
Genre: Dark Romance (18+)
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21948425-mr-x

** Author Note: This is not your avarage romance. Some people will kill for love. **

He’s come to kill me.
I’m a user and abuser of my own body. In the darkest hour I sold my soul to the devil and now I must pay the price. With his gun to my head I have no choice but to listen and obey, but I refuse to go down easily. Nothing is stronger than the will to survive. My instincts kicked into full gear the second he stepped into my motel room.
Except when I look at him I see my own heart staring back at me. A history tainted by blood.
I don’t know his name, but I know he wants me. To save myself I’ll sacrifice my sanity. My body. My soul. Something tells me the x-shaped scar that marks his eye is the only escape I have. He is Mr. X; the man who comes to claim my life. Can I save myself before he demands my heart?

WARNING: This book contains very disturbing situations, dubious consent, strong language, drugs and alcohol, and graphic violence, which might be considered triggers.

Clarissa Wild is the Amazon Bestselling Romance author of FIERCE, a top
200 and top 15 New Adult Romance novel. She is also a writer of erotic
romance such as the Blissful Series, The Billionaire’s Bet series, the
Doing It Series and the Enflamed Series. She is an avid reader and
writer of sexy stories about hot men and feisty women. Her other loves
include her furry cat friend and learning about different cultures. In
her free time she enjoys watching all sorts of movies, reading tons of
books and cooking her favorite meals.


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COVER REVEAL+ GIVEAWAY: Irrevocable by Skye Callehan

Irrevocable

Title: Irrevocable

Author: Skye Callahan

Genre: Dark Erotic Romance

Release Date: July 14.2014

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Synopsis

Sometimes when you can’t go back, the only way out is to descend into the darkness.
my Captor
When I woke in that place, I just wanted to survive. But survival came at a cost, for which they demanded my will and body.
my Master
With pain came acceptance. Fully-dependent on the man who claimed me, I learned to appreciate what I had-life and relative safety.
my Protector
I watched him spill blood and tend my injuries. With betrayal came a revelation.
The only way out was to bring them all down or die trying.
Warning: This isn’t your rainbows and love sonnets kind of romance. This story explores topics of abduction and slavery, and contains explicit scenes of dubious consent, graphic violence and sex.

About The Author

Skye Callahan is an Ohio-girl who has spent a lifetime chained to the imaginary worlds of the characters who live in her head. Although it was her interest in paranormal that originally inspired her to pick up the pen, she has recently followed her interest in BDSM and dark romance to venture into other realms of fiction. She currently lives with her husband and two ferrets, who keep her plenty busy when she’s not writing or at the day job where she serves as a Jane-of-all-trades in a non-profit business outreach center.

Mailing List for releases and updates: http://eepurl.com/UW1ET

Blog | Facebook | Google+ | Twitter | Pinterest | Goodreads | Amazon

Excerpt

Through the haze of sleep, I felt hands on me. Cold and rough. I thought for a fleeting moment that it might have been Kyle.

Then, I remembered our break up.

It had happened weeks ago, but maybe that part was the dream. My memory was fucked and I couldn’t latch onto a thought long enough to ride it out of the fog.

Too many hands.

They groped and pulled—rough against my skin and digging into muscle and bone. I tried to retreat, my back pressed into a hard surface beneath me, and my nostrils filled with the smell of musk and damp stale air.

I had no idea where I was, or how I’d gotten there.

I kicked and gasped, trying to get back to the surface where reality lurked, shimmering in the distance, but just out of reach, like the sun on the surface of the water during a dive.

A hand latched onto my hair and held my head back. My eyelids were finally freed from the sticky muck that held me in semi-consciousness, and I opened them to find myself staring up into unfamiliar green eyes.

I only held his gaze for a few seconds—if that—but it seemed like it lasted for hours as my brain fought to categorize the details. Its useless attempt to understand what was going on.

The man clutching my hair had vivid green eyes, but they may as well have been black given the emotionless void they displayed. His hair was shaggy, brown with a mix of grey, the same colors that stood out in his unkempt stubble.

As if he needed any help looking rough.

He exhaled and his breath settled over my face, reeking of booze and cigarettes. The smell made me queasy, but I didn’t have time to dwell on that, as another set of hands tugged at my jeans.

My gaze traveled around the room, taking in the small crowd. At least half a dozen men surrounded the table where they had me spread out like a holiday feast. All dressed differently, from ragged tank tops to well-fitting dark button-down shirts, but they all projected an air of unchecked danger. Necks marked with tattoos, hands covered in callouses and scars. Scruffy faces accented their sneers and smirks, as they stood above me staring down with eyes starved of humanity and full of lust.

Apparently, they didn’t expect me to put up a fight, because aside from the hand tangled in my hair, no one seemed concerned with keeping a tight grip on me. Probably because they outnumbered me, and I assumed they would have no problem beating the crap out of me as I struggled.

They’d downright enjoy it.

Unfortunately, I didn’t fully consider how that scenario would play out. I bucked and managed to knee the one pulling on my waistband in the face. He grunted, but I can’t imagine I inflicted as much pain as his retaliatory blow to my ribs. I sucked in air and rolled, curling around the injury and gasping for each painful breath as the sickening throb exacerbated my confusion.

 

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