When Lea heads off to Atlanta for a job interview, all she's thinking about is the work. Well, and Sean, her best friend's brother. Sean, the tall, muscular firefighter. With the gentle Southern drawl and the wicked smile. Whose couch she's going to be sleeping on.
Well, actually, whose couch she hopes very much shewon'tbe sleeping on. But it turns out that Andy, Sean's roommate, is another, equally hot Southern firefighter, and so when a visitor — or perhaps two — joins Lea on that couch, it sparks a series of events that none of them could possibly have foreseen.
But that none of them regrets. Not even a little bit.
This collection contains all seven installments in The Visitor Saga —plus the wild sequel!
1 — The Visitor
2 — The Visitor Comes Home
3 — The Visitor Comes Again
4 — The Visitor Goes to Work
5 — The Visitor Entertains
6 — The Visitor Takes a Trip
7 — The Visitor Has Company
Bonus — The Visitor's Wedding: Goddess
Extract (from "The Visitor"):
When she walked back up the stairs to the apartment a couple of hours later, she had in one hand an enormous bag full of barbecue chicken from the same joint she’d had lunch at, with orders of fried okra and corn bread. In the other hand, she swung a bottle of Maker’s Mark, with which she knocked on the door.
Just like the day before, a muffled voice called out, “C’me in! It’s unlocked.”
“Can’t!” she called back. “Hands full!”
“Hold on,” said a slightly closer voice, and the door swung open, revealing Sean, who was still wearing nothing but low-slung pajama bottoms.
Andy was sitting at the kitchen table, identically dressed.
“Haven’t you guys even gotten dressed all day?” Lea laughed and gave Sean a sound kiss on the lips.
He looked astonished, but Andy scowled.
“None of that!” burbled Lea, dancing into the kitchen and giving him an equally sound smooch. That seemed to cheer him up. “Tonight, we’re celebrating!” She held up the barbecue and the bourbon.
They were happy to go along with this plan, and were soon all stuffed and pleasantly buzzed. Between the warmth, the Southern humidity, the food, and the alcohol, Lea was getting sweaty, but she couldn’t have cared less. She was hoping to get a whole lot sweatier. Now which of you was my mystery man last night, she found herself wondering as she took off her jacket and tossed it in the general direction of the pullout. And am I going to get him to f—k me again, or am I going to try out the other one. Or...
She looked back at the two men, whiskey-wild thoughts bouncing through her head.
They were both staring at her. At her chest. Both licking their lips.
(MF, MMF ménage à trois. Bisexuality. FMF and MFF interracial. Reverse harem. Wedding orgy. Explicit language and scenes of sexuality between consenting adults. Adult readers only.)
What could be better than waking up next to a hot guy? Waking up sandwiched between two of them.
Quinn Preston, a financial analyst, is not happy when her friends dare her to pick up a handsome stranger at a wedding reception. What better reason to give up men when her previous long-term relationship had not only been lackluster in the bedroom but he had cheated?
Logan Reed, a successful business owner, can't believe that he's attracted to the woman in the ugly, Pepto-Bismol pink bridesmaid dress. And to boot, she's more than tipsy. After turning down her invitation for a one-night stand, he finds her in the parking lot too impaired to drive. He rescues her and takes her home. His home.
The next morning Quinn's conservative life turns on its ear when Logan introduces her to pleasures she never even considered before. And to make things more complicated, Logan already has a lover.
Tyson White, ex-pro football player, is completely in love with Logan. He has mixed emotions when Logan brings home Quinn. But the dares keep coming...
Note: This book in the series can be read as stand-alone. It includes an HEA ending. It is intended for audiences over 18 years of age since it includes light BDSM as well as explicit sexual scenes between all three characters.
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, LGBTQ, Sports, Football, MMF, Menage, Threesome, Alpha, interracial, multicultural, bisexual, polyamory
It's bad enough for a French aristocrat to have to spend one night a month as a loup garou. It's the Age of Enlightenment, for goodness sake.
When Rémy puts his wife and young son at risk, Shifting outside of his sanctuary/prison, however, he runs into the woods, wracked with shame, guilt — and blood lust.
As the moon sets and he regains his human form — and human regrets — a young witch offers to give him the atonement he urgently seeks.
All it will take is a lash or two... from her wand.
(8,000 word BDSM, paranormal/shifter erotic romance set in eighteenth-century France)
“You came seeking punishment,” muses Séléné. “You wished to atone for your sins.”
“Yes,” chokes Rémy.
“I see,” Séléné murmurs, and suddenly Rémy is lowered from his ridiculous vantage above the river to just above the humus-covered forest floor. Lowered, but not released, and instead of dangling by his ankle, he shifts to a prone position, facing the ground.
A witch. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth…’
He nearly passes out at the relief of his circulation returning to something like normal.
Naked flesh whispers down the old willow’s rough bark; naked feet slide along a smooth old root that passes just below Rémy’s head.
“Mademoiselle Bonamant — “
“It seems to me,” she says, interrupting in the mildest possible manner, “that what you are looking for is to be treated as a misbehaving student is treated. If I am to do this, it strikes me that you oughtn’t to call me ‘Mademoiselle Bonamant.’“
“Do — ?” Rémy shakes his still-muzzy head. “Look, Séléné, I — “
“I beg — ?”
“I think it would help you if you called me Madame Bonamant. Monsieur de Garoudin.” She moves again, walking by where he hangs, suspended, and he starts to turn his head, but catches sight of a vast and bright expanse of her skin, glowing pink and white, and lowers his gaze again.
He considers what she said. Part of him would happily deny it — he is no schoolboy, but a grown man. But part of him —
Séléné — Madame Bonamant — cries another word in that unknown, strangely familiar language, and Rémy flinches. But the curse is not aimed at him; something falls to the ground not far from him — something fairly light. “‘O slender as a willow wand,’” she sighs.
“M-Madame — ?”
THWACK. A sharp pain like nothing that Rémy has ever felt slices across his lower back — sharp and hot, but sweet and welcome, like the first taste of brandy, and he cries out.
“Monsieur de Garoudin?” Séléné’s voice still sounds as calm and distant as ever. “Was that enough? Do you feel purged?”