TSRBR has a deep love of passion and suspense, seeking tall, dark and handsome and happily ever after endings through romance novels. Our mission is sharing our love of books and promoting the brilliant work of authors we read.
All my life I’ve been hiding, until there is no corner on this god-forsaken earth left for me to hide. I have to pay for the sins of my father. No one with Ellison blood in their veins is allowed to live, and I am the last of my bloodline.
I am kept in a container waiting for my death sentence to be carried out, when he comes. He is only known as ‘Predator’. No one knows who he works for, only that he leaves no one alive.
His every breath is filled with the last gasp of his dying prey.
But for some reason he doesn’t kill me.
I don’t know which is worse, the death sentence hanging over my head, or being at his mercy.
“Look at me, Cara,” and he waits until I do, “love is such a flawed thing. You can love someone but still leave them. What I feel for you goes way beyond that one word. I’m addicted to you. I feel protective of you. I breathe for you.” His eyes caress my face and follow the tears into my hair. “Love is really such a flawed word for what I feel. I live for you.”
Michelle Horst is from a small town in South Africa.
She's been in love with reading from an early age. She has a passion for books, quotes and animals.
She first tried her hand at writing in early 2009 and as the first words started to form into a book, she knew she was hooked.
Dreams spilled onto pages, and that was the beginning of a wonderful journey. A journey filled with joy, passion and heart stopping moments. Most of all, it's filled with such pride and peace as a story comes to life, and characters fill your life, living in the very walls of your mind, living in the minds of your readers.
Thank you to each and every reader and for choosing to escape in one of my books.
She succeeded in making him feel like a man. A normal functioning man when he hadn’t felt that way in years.
"Who're you f*cking?"
When my father, manager of the worldwide phenomenon Kinky Shine, asked me to come and help the band members appear more approachable I never thought my first meeting with Dex Bowers would start with such a question. Immediately, I wanted to strangle him, wipe the smirk off his face and force him to mutter more than three words. But there's something mysterious about him that was electrifying and the more he pushed me away and angered me, the more I wanted to know him and push through his hangups.
"Trust. That f*cking trust thing didn't come easily to me."
In the five years since my band became famous, not once had I been photographed with a woman. I knew it fed the supposed mystery surrounding me, but the real truth was far more humiliating than I was comfortable with. That was until Harley Floyd walked in and I was left with a mind numbing lust for her that scared me shitless. It should be easy to let go and trust her just enough to have fun, to be happy I could finally come up with new material for our next album. But nothing was easy and with a life made of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll I wasn't sure if anything could last. Not even my band.
"What twenty-five year old was f*cking lost when his cock was rock hard when close to a gorgeous woman? One answer to that; a man who hadn’t had sex in a really long time."
“Harley…’’ There was a fucking warning in her name, but she didn’t budge, didn’t bat an eye. But she did stop breathing for a second and her green eyes darkened again. My whole body shivered at her reaction. I inhaled and I didn’t smell the traffic exhaustion or other smells associated with LA. No, what I smelt was her vanilla perfume.
I pressed harder in the wall, the concrete biting into my back. I clenched my fists and kept my eyes locked with hers. I traced my lower lip with my tongue and her eyes went down to my mouth. My heart tripled in beat and a low growl escaped me. It couldn’t be heard with the bustling noise of the city, but it shocked me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had such a reaction.
When I thought she’d take a step toward me, she took one backward and away from me. Her eyes widened and she blushed. “I guess this time I should be the one leaving,’’ she said in a small voice, her words stumbling into each other's .
“No.’’ What the fuck was I saying?
“What? I mean,’’ she shook her head. “I’m leaving.’’
I grabbed her shoulders and crowded her space before I realized what I was doing. Her scent enveloped me, enticed me. The thin material of her top was soft under my fingers, almost like nothing was separating me from her body. If I took a half step toward her I would feel her perfect breasts against my chest. I clenched my jaw and tried to calm my labored breathing. After a few seconds without moving she tilted her head upward to look at me and I was fucked. I thought I had been before that, but now, now I was lost to the sensations she was awakening in me, sensations I thought were gone.
Her lips, lush and parted called out to me. Her cheeks coloring more and more into a deeper red had me ready to damn myself for this show of innocence. Her eyes, bright and yet getting glassier showed nothing akin to innocence and that made me ready to come in my fucking pants. She was a contradiction and I would have never thought it’d be so tantalizing.
“What are you doing?’’ she whispered and her breath brushed my neck. I closed my eyes, my lips parted on a low moan. Fuck. What was she doing to me?
“Push me away. Now.’’
I kept my eyes closed to better feel the brush of her breathing on my skin. My cock was pushing against my zipper and it was fucking painful. I wanted to squeeze myself and jerk off to find a release, but I couldn’t. We were on a street in broad daylight.
I waited and waited and nothing happened. She kept on breathing irregularly and didn’t push me away.
So I did the only thing I could; I opened my eyes.
Stephanie Witter is a dreamer. She started
learning English at three, and fell in love with the language. Always with a
book or two close by, she can't spend a day without reading (or writing).
An Alpha Billionaire Romance Inspired by a True Event
A steamy and suspenseful two-part series by New York Times Bestselling Author Nelle L’Amour, with both novel-length books releasing on the same day! Sarah: I’m an utter trainwreck. I can barely pay my rent. Mom’s sick and her insurance company won’t cover her experimental drug treatments. To make matters worse, I work for a total bitch, who makes the Devil Wears Prada look like Mother Theresa. Oh yeah, did I mention I’m probably the only twenty-five-year-old in Manhattan who’s never been laid? Then, I met him on a train. Ari Golden, New York’s most eligible and panty-melting bachelor. Don’t ask what happened. I’m ashamed to tell you, but the truth is it really happened to me. I made the biggest mistake of my life…because an unexpected discovery now threatens to destroy us. Ari: I’ve sworn off women. At least, having them in my bed. No woman is allowed there. I’ve been hurt both emotionally and physically and don’t want to go there again. And besides, I have someone way more important than myself to protect. Then, I saw her, and from the moment I set eyes on her, I knew there was something different about her. Something special. She sat next to me on the train and I couldn’t resist. I should have, and now I risk losing everything if I don’t stop…because my past has come back with a vengeance to haunt me. The last thing I need is another trainwreck. Hold on to your seats for the steamiest ride you’ll ever take! When the past and the present collide, will fate derail Ari and Sarah or will it bring them to their final destination before they crash and burn?
The next thing I knew, his lips were consuming mine, my face now cradled in his ample hands. My eyes closed, I could hear him softly moaning, as he pressed harder, deepening the kiss. My parted lips made an easy entry for his tongue; it instantly found mine and I couldn’t say no to the warm, velvety suitor. I had wanted his kiss ever since we’d met. Our tongues swirled together, his dancing across my palate and the hollows of my cheeks. Oh God, he tasted delicious. Sweet and minty and just a little salty. Oh what a kisser! Melting, I moaned into his mouth.
Still holding my keys, I wrapped my arms around his neck and raked the unencumbered fingers of my other hand through his thick, damp hair. His hands slithered down my neck to my chest, until they landed on my breasts. Squeezing and massaging them, he brushed his thumbs across my nipples. Desire was pooling between my legs at the speed of a locomotive.
With one arm, he drew me closer to him. I could feel my hard, erect nipples rub against his soaked cotton shirt. I folded my arms around his taut torso, pressing my body tighter against his.
Moving his hands to my waist, he forcefully shoved me against the hard wooden door, pinning me against it with his equally hard body. My groin ached as the hard wedge between his legs pressed against it. I dug my fingers into his narrow hips, clutching the tails of his tennis shirt. He was still kissing me passionately. The wildfire inside me kept spreading. I couldn’t believe this scene—straight out of a movie— was actually happening to me. With this gorgeous, gorgeous creature.
Slowly, he withdrew his tongue from my mouth. His breathing was heavy, his beautiful face with its hooded blue eyes only a palm’s width away from mine. His tongue flicked across my neck and then his warm breath blew in my ear. Clasping a large hand over mine, he expertly transferred my house keys into his possession.
“Saarah,” he whispered, “I need a shower.”
That made two of us. I was dripping wet. Soaked with his sweat and mine. I don’t know whose was whose. Our musky mists mingled.
With two simple twists, he managed to unbolt the double lock. After turning the doorknob, he kicked the door open and, in one smooth move, scooped me up in his arms. I brushed the sweat off his brow and then wrapped my arms around his neck, inhaling the sweet scent of his manly sweat mixed with mine.
Effortlessly, he carried me up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I ran my fingers through his hair and let myself just enjoy the ride. With every step, the throbbing inside me grew more intense. Along the way, we passed Mrs. Blumberg with her shopping cart. Her eyes grew wide. I simply waved at her, stifling a giggle. I knew what she must have been thinking. Oy! She’s going to let him touch her there.
Oh yes, I was!
Still holding me in his arms, Ari managed to unlock the door to my apartment, again easily with two quick passes of my key. I was beginning to think he had a special talent when it came to inserting things. Be it a key. His tongue. Or his dick. Just like before, he kicked the door open and then kicked it again, slamming it shut behind us.
Embarrassment crept over me. Here was this drop-dead gorgeous billionaire, who probably lived in some Park Avenue penthouse, in my rinky-dink one bedroom apartment. At least, it was clean and tidy. Trainman didn’t stop to notice a thing. Not even Jo-Jo who meowed loudly and brushed up against his legs. As if he’d been here a hundred times before, he carried me straight into the tiny bathroom down the hall. Given that my apartment was only 300 square feet, I guess it wasn’t too hard to find.
After gently setting me down, he yanked the shower curtains apart and turned on the water. A forceful steamy spray poured down from the showerhead. The one thing this apartment had was good water pressure.
“Take off my shirt,” he growled.
Like a stalwart soldier, I did what he asked, my fingers trembling as I lifted his damp shirt over his head. He brushed his taut bronzed chest against mine. A shudder ran through me, all the way down my spine.
“Now pull down my shorts.”
Nervously, I fumbled to undo the button and the fly. His monstrous cock shot through the fly even before I could finish unzipping it. It was aimed at me like it was a rifle and I was the target. As I stood there wordlessly, his white shorts fell to the tiled floor.
“Saarah, get undressed.”
I couldn’t move. I was shocked into paralysis by the magnificent body that stood before me. I had taken sculpting classes at RISD and had studied all the great Italian masters, but nothing compared to the golden-haired Adonis that was standing right here in my bathroom. The serrated muscles of his long legs bulged just the right amount in all the right places and connected seamlessly with those narrow hips and that perfect pelvic-V. My eyes traveled up his lean torso, lingering on his rippled abs, sculpted chest, and manly broad shoulders. And then, they closed in on that chiseled face with its parted lips and gemstone eyes that fixated on me. This man, this god, he belonged in a museum for the world to behold, not here in my hole-in-the-wall bathroom. Except there was no fig leaf in the world that would cover the hunk of hard flesh that jutted out between his legs.
He let out a long, breathy sigh. “Oh, Princess, must I do everything for you?”
I remained paralyzed as he lifted my tank top over my head and yanked down my running shorts. He stepped back and studied me, his lush lips tightening and his eyes narrowing as if they were scrutinizing every fine detail. While it was hot as hell in my un-air conditioned apartment, a chill ran through me as his eyes roamed up and down my body. Maybe he didn’t like what he saw. The impassive expression on his face was unreadable.
Then, that dazzling, dimpled smile broke loose. “Saarah, you’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”
Another shiver shot through me. Had he been fantasizing about what I looked like without my clothes on?
Before I could I build up the courage to ask him, he grabbed my hand and led me into the shower. The hot water poured down forcefully on both of us, soaking us to the bone. Facing me, he yanked the elastic off my ponytail, allowing my wavy chestnut hair to cascade down to the middle of my back. Finding my shampoo, he squirted a few drops on my head and started lathering my scalp as he flutter kissed my face. I closed my eyes and moaned. It felt good. So good. He let the pounding water wash off all the suds before applying the conditioner.
“Mmm, baby, you smell so good.” He nuzzled the nape of my neck while his hands cupped my buttocks. “And you’ve got a great ass too.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled as a hand moved between my inner thighs. I was soaking wet there too, though not exactly from the shower. He began to caress the tender folds with long even strokes. Breathy pants escaped my chest as the slit tucked between them ached for his entry.
With his other hand, he led my hand to his enormous erection, spreading my fingers around the hot, wet column of flesh. He moved my fist up and down, letting go once he knew I knew what to do. As I pumped him with vigor, he squeezed his eyes shut and hissed, “Oh baby, you’re doing it just right. It feels so fucking good.” My reward was the insane pleasure that pulsed between my legs as he began to rub my clit.
“Princess, your gorgeous clit is like a rosebud,” he murmured, his voice all breathy and filled with lust.
I moaned at his words. A beautiful orgasm was blossoming. I threw my head back, channeling my ecstasy into the pleasure I was giving him.
“Now wash my cock, baby. All over,” he ordered, slipping a bar of soap into my free hand.
Another command. Holding his heavy balls in my palm, I ran the bar of soap up and down his long thick shaft from the root to the crown, instinctively applying pressure. When I got to the bulbous tip, I circled the soap around its circumference and heard him blissfully hiss again.
“Now, just use your hand.”
Letting the soap fall to my feet, I did again as he asked and slid my hand along the slick, soapy shaft, surprised how easily it glided across his length. I picked up my pace, applying more pressure. I could feel his cock expanding in my palm, growing harder and bigger with each vigorous stroke. Down below between my thighs, his fingers pressed firmly against my bud, coaxing it to explode in full bloom.
As the shower stall steamed up, my breathing turned ragged and so did his. The tension between my legs was mounting, rapidly heading toward the unbearable.
“Do you want to come with my cock inside that tight little pussy of yours?” He rolled his tongue inside my ear, the strangely erotic sound bringing even more pleasure to where I felt it most.
“Please!” It was a cry of desperation. I wanted him terribly.
Nelle L’Amour is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Los Angeles with her Prince Charming-ish husband, twin teenage princesses, and a bevy of royal pain-in-the-butt pets. A former executive in the entertainment industry with a prestigious Humanatis Prize for promoting human dignity and freedom to her credit, she gave up playing with Barbies a long time ago, but still enjoys playing with toys…with her husband. While she writes in her PJ’s, she loves to get dressed up and pretend she’s Hollywood royalty. She aspires to write steamy stories with characters that will make you laugh, cry, and swoon and stay in your heart forever.
Her bestselling series include Unforgettable, THAT MAN, Gloria’s Secret, Seduced by the Park Avenue Millionaire and critically acclaimed Undying Love. Writing under another pen name, she is also the author of the bestselling fantasy romance series, Dewitched: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen.
To learn about her new releases, sales, and giveaways, please sign up for her newsletter and follow her on social media. Nelle loves to hear from her readers.
Aspiring guitarist Kinley Black is about to get her first big break—as a roadie for Viciöus, her favorite heavy metal band, and for the rock god she always dreamt might make her a woman. THE ROADIE At 15, aspiring guitarist Kinley Black wished she were a boy. At 16, after hearing Quinn Mayne sing, she wanted him to make her a woman. Now, at 22, her dreams have come true. Quinn’s band Viciöus needs someone to lug their amps around the country, to strive and sweat with the guys. She just has to act like one of them. AND THE ROCK GOD Quinn had to admit the new chick could pull her weight, but that didn’t mean his road manager made the right choice. Taking a hottie on a heavy metal music tour was like dangling meat in front of a pack of feral hounds—and Quinn could be part dog himself. But more surprising than her beautiful body are Kinley’s sweet licks, so that no man could help but demand a jam session. Quinn will soon do anything to possess her, and to put Kinley in the spotlight where she belongs. And to keep her safe and sound from the wolves.
“C’mon, baby, just let me feel ’em and I’ll let you through.” The leering roadie uncrossed his arms to reach forward. Kinley choked back a groan of revulsion and stepped away. Her pulse had been jacked up, her steps light with anticipation as she’d gone backstage to interview her favorite band. This interview would be her website’s biggest feature to date. And now this asshole roadie was ruining her elation with his disgusting come-ons. “It’s not the seventies anymore. Let me through.” She waved her laminated pass. “I have a scheduled interview.” There. That was as diplomatic as she could be. It wouldn’t do to piss off the crew if she wanted to talk to the band, but this Neanderthal made it hard to be nice. With any luck, he’d back off and badger someone else. But considering those piggy eyes and that “Female Body Inspector” shirt, a woman would have to be desperate to allow his grimy fingers near her. The fact that a band as awesome as Viciöus had such a prick in their employ was beyond depressing. She sighed. After she got her interview, it would all be worth it. Her ears still pounded from the glorious shredding guitar riffs, the throbbing bass, and the impossible speed of the drums. They had been gods on stage and now she was going to meet them. “Sorry, sugar. Rules are rules. I gotta make sure the band’s getting Grade A titties.” With speed belying his sluggish appearance, he shoved those sausage fingers forward, reaching for her breasts. She swatted his hand away. Fury boiled from her toes up. “If you touch me again, I’ll wipe the floor with your ass.” The roadie’s laughter, like from a cheesy sitcom, rang in her ears. “Sounds kinky.” The moron actually stepped closer. Kinley rolled her eyes. If it weren’t for this once-in-a-lifetime chance, she would have answered him with an uppercut. “A little help here?” she shouted, trying to salvage the situation. The mass of gawkers muttered and looked in all directions, avoiding her gaze. Some asshole in the crowd yelled, “Show your tits!” The roadie grinned and nodded in agreement. “Thanks,” she muttered, embittered but unsurprised. After what seemed like hours of dancing out of the caveman’s reach, a man approached. Her eyes widened. It was none other than Curtis Scrimm, lead guitarist of Viciöus. He pushed his dirty blond locks from his face and grinned. “What’s going on?” She struggled to meet his gaze while keeping one eye on the roadie. “I have a pass, but this guy’s molesting me and won’t let me through. Could you please tell him to stop?” Kinley waved her laminate in case he hadn’t noticed. He leaned forward and gazed at it with squinty, glazed eyes. Damn. If he was high, he’d be no help at all. The roadie gave him a pleading look. “C’mon, Curt, she won’t play the game.” Curt shrugged helplessly, eyes darting between Kinley and the roadie, then back at the swarm of groupies visibly panting after him. One already had her breasts bared. “I’m serious,” Kinley growled. “I’ll kick his ass if he touches me again.” Her harasser licked his lips. “Oooh. I like it when they fight.” The guitarist shook his head, blinking at the roadie. “Harry, are you drunk on the job again? I thought Gaffer warned you. Besides, she doesn’t look like she has much anyway…” He trailed off as the groupies slinked closer, eyes feral with curiosity. Kinley’s chest tightened with trepidation. Where were the other security guys? Where was the rest of the band? The roadie reached for her again. She jumped out of his way, stomach churning with anxiety. Then again, maybe it was a good thing the rest of the band wasn’t here to witness this disaster. The situation was quickly getting out of control. And it looked like she wouldn’t be getting her interview after all. “I’ll fuck him up,” she stammered, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “I swear!” Curtis chuckled, eyes roving over her body, visibly assessing her odds. Though she was tall and fit, she was lean, and the roadie outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. “Lady, if you can kick Harry’s ass, you can have his job.” Her breath left her lungs. Kinley had been prepared to just break the roadie’s nose and walk out, but now the proverbial carrot had been dangled. A chance to work for Viciöus? Hell, a chance to be back in music? A wave of longing rushed over her to once more be part of it all. For that pump of adrenaline, the roar of the crowd, the heat of the stage lights—the soul searing passion of the music. To return to that life, even if only on the fringes, Kinley would do anything. Beating this perverted scumbag to a pulp would be no hardship. She dropped into a fighting stance and slightly relaxed her fists, the better to do more damage. One last time, she tried for diplomacy. “As much as I’d love to work for you, it really would be better to call him off and let me—” Harry’s porcine hand gripped her breast. Kinley saw red. Her fist connected with the roadie’s nose and she felt the satisfying crunch. He bellowed like a boar and blindly swung a ham-like fist. Kinley easily ducked the punch and followed up with a knee to his gut. He doubled over with an agonized groan but surprised her with an uppercut that thankfully missed her jaw and instead struck the side of her head. Kinley stumbled back, one ear ringing from the blow, the other echoing from the noise of her audience. Are those cheers or jeers? Her mind struggled to unscramble. Another punch whistled past her head and she dodged it just in time. Her heel slammed into Harry’s kneecap and he went down shrieking. This time Kinley didn’t give him a chance to recover. Her fists pummeled his face like the punching bag she practiced on in her garage. Savage glee infused her with every strike. He collapsed after another blow to the jaw, but she wasn’t finished. Kinley raised her fist. A voice rang out: “What the fuck is going on here?” She froze. Quinn Mayne, lead singer of Viciöus, strode forward, his long black hair framing a chiseled, god-like face with green eyes foreboding as a hurricane sky. Reality crashed down upon her. Suddenly, she could see how insane she must appear.