Mandy's He-Man by Donna Gallagher

Can this rugged mountain of a man really protect her, teach her to trust and love again? Or will the choices she’s made in the past destroy her future?

Blurb

Having managed to break free from an abusive relationship with a cruel and dominating ex-boyfriend, Australian artist Mandy Magenta—a.k.a. Amanda Smith—should be terrified when she first meets the enormous bulk that is Jonathon ‘JT’ Thomson. He is fierce. Not only is JT the biggest, most muscular man Mandy has ever set eyes on, but he makes a living playing the brutal sport of Rugby League.

So why, then, does Mandy’s body go into lust overdrive at the mere sight of him? She doesn’t feel a hint of alarm as the colours that exist in her mind—created and inspired by her own emotions and her artistic talents—explode with vibrant and passionate intensity. Could JT be the man to remind her that she is still a sensual, amorous woman, a woman deserving of love and tenderness—and can he protect her from the threats her ex has promised to deliver on?

Excerpt


As they lay in each other’s arms, JT whispered to Mandy, “Happy birthday, Mags. Hope you’ve had a day to remember.” 
“Oh, He-Man, the best ever. But it’s still my birthday and I want another present. It amazes me how something so hard can feel so soft to touch…” Mandy gave a sultry purr as she wrapped her palm around JT’s erection. “My favourite part is this raised bit, just here,” Mandy teased as her finger rimmed the mushroom-shaped head of JT’s penis, stopping at the slight join of flesh at the top. JT could only moan and growl in response as she wrapped her soft hand around his steel-hard cock.
Mandy lowered her head and blew gently on the enormous length that stood erect before her, then ran the tip of her tongue slowly over the same path that her finger had taken before it, loving the way JT jerked in response. She took him into her mouth slowly, pressing her lips together tightly to create just enough friction as she sucked his warm cock all the way into her mouth, until the head bumped the back of her throat.
Mandy tried to relax her throat even more, so she could take all of him, moving her mouth up and down. She grazed her teeth gently along the rigid shaft as she pumped her hand in a complementary rhythm. 
She was enjoying herself, totally absorbed in her endeavours. She could feel the moisture building between her thighs and squeezed them together to try to ease the ache. Now she was so in tune with JT’s body, Mandy knew he was getting close. When he tried to pull her mouth away from his almost exploding cock, she shook her head and sucked harder.
“Woman, I’m coming in your mouth if you don’t let go. I can’t hold on any longer,” JT groaned. 

About the author

Sydney-born Donna Gallagher decided at an early age that life needed be tackled head on.

Leaving home at 15 she supported herself through her teen years. 

In her twenties she married a professional sportsman, her love of sport -- especially rugby league -- probably overriding her good sense. 

The seven-year marriage was an adventure. There were the emotional ups and downs of having a husband with a public profile in a sometimes glamorous but always high-pressure field. There were always interesting characters to meet and observe and even the opportunity to live for a time in the UK.

Eventually Donna returned home a single woman, but she never lost her passion for watching sport, as well as the people in and around it.

Now happily re-married and with three sons Donna loves coffee mornings with her female friends, sorting through problems from the personal to the international. But she's on even footing with the keenest man when it comes to watching and talking rugby league.

Donna considers herself something of a black sheep in a family of high achievers. Her brother has a doctorate in mathematics and her sister is a well-known sports journalist.

An avid reader, especially of romance, Donna finally found she couldn't stop the characters residing in her imagination from spilling onto paper. Naturally rugby league is the backdrop to her League of Love Series, published through UK publisher Total-E-Bound, spicy tales of hunky heroes and spunky heroines overcoming adversity to eventually find true love.

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Six Sentence Sunday - Good Cop, Bad Cop

Blurb

Fame and fortune is a blessing that, for me, has changed its taste from sumptuously sweet to murderously bitter. Leaving me no choice but to look over my shoulder at every turn and question the scruples of even my most faithful friends.

I would give up all the glowing adoration from my fans in a heartbeat in exchange for not running for my life. But fate doesn’t deal cards that way, and instead I find myself far out at sea and being bounced between two hot cops—one so chilly just his glance gives me frostbite, and the other showing a kindness that barely covers his own demons.

So with nowhere else to turn, quite literally, I have to trust two men I hardly know with my life and cope without the luxuries my status usually affords me. But it’s not long before I discover when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Turns out these cops are not only the wrong guys to mess with, they also have partnership skills above and beyond the requirements of their day job. And for once, while just being me without the frills, I get to discover that they are as sinfully bad as they are dreamily good in every department, and it seems, I am the one they want cuffed and controlled at the same time as they are protecting and serving.

SUNDAY SIX

   He yanked my arms above my head and I heard the sound of metal on metal.
   I twisted to see what he was doing.
  He’d looped the central part of the cuffs over one of the rope hooks, wedging it in tight so that my arms were held aloft and there was nothing I could do about it.
  I tugged and pulled, looked at his face, shadowed by the bimini overhead. The glint in his eyes and the slackness of his jaw told me something new about Dillon, something I really should have guessed—the damn cuffs got him off.
   Conniving bastard.

AMAZON US

AMAZON UK

Reviews for Good Cop, Bad Cop

"I Highly recommend this! It had a little mystery, a little excitement and a whole lot of steamy scenes! I thoroughly enjoyed the story. It was awesome!!"

"Great story about one lucky lady and two hunky guys. The story was really gripping and I really felt sorry for India as she was so frightened but she found luck when she found safety on a boat which just happened to be owned by two hunky cops who came to her rescue, but not after being handcuffed and treated a little roughly first, especially by Mr Moody cop Dillon."

"Didn't know what to expect, and I'll be honest, I don't tend to fantasise about some of the things described in this book, but damn! That was so hot!"

"I really enjoyed this story of a scared and lonely country singer who quite by accident drops into the lives of two sexy cops on vacation. Just when she needs them they are there for her. Such a sweet story with a perfect amount of suspense to keep you guessing til the end! Oh and the HEAT factor is off the charts!"

"If you are up for something different, try this. it is a very arousing read. Definitely not for the weak of spirit."

Well Colour Me Lustful and Give me a Laptop

A Guest Post by K D Grace

Picture Botticelli’s lovely painting of Venus and Mars. You know the one I’m talking about, the one that you just want to stand in front of all day staring and sighing and thinking romantic Renaissance thoughts.  Have you got that in your head? Good! Now picture the goddess in a black corset  and a bad-ass strap-on. And all those cherubs in the picture, well picture them as overworked servants of the goddess, whose job it is to hold the sex toys she’d not using at the moment and offer them to her with hot little hands … or wherever else she wants them to hold them.

Now then, as for Mars. Weeeell, picture Mars, or in this case Jack Calendar, dressed in a ratty track suit a pair of badly worn Nikes Add to that an aging Avengers t-shirt, and imagine Mars with a laptop instead of a sword and shield. Are you starting to get the idea?

Now then for the story that goes with our lovely Botticelli does DC Comics, think about a cross between The Big Bang Theory on steroids and The Corleones from The Godfather meet The Olympians from Greece – a truly dysfunctional family. The Olympians are moonlighting in London. Aphrodite has a head for business, and poor Jack Calendar has been caught peeking while the goddess of love does the nasty with …. well just about everyone! When Jack’s punishment for peeking is to be hired on as Aphrodite’s PA, he quickly discovers that his job demands special skills, Aphrodite is quick to offer on-the-job training. 

Aphrodite Gets a Piece of the Action can be downloaded as a stand-alone novella or it can be purchased with the other six sins in Sweetmeats Press’s fab new anthology, Seven Deadly Sins. This fabulous anthology contains stories by Lily Harlem, Sarah Masters, Victoria Blisse, Lucy Felthouse, Lexie Bay, and Rebecca Bond. It’s illustrated by John LaChatte and edited by KoJo Black.

Blurb for Aphrodite Gets a Piece of the Action:

There’s no place to go but down when, against all odds, sexually inexperienced, nerd’s nerd, JACK CALENDAR gets shanghaied into being APHRODITE’s PA. And she has him going down a lot! Who could have guessed that the moonlighting Goddess of Love had head for business? The hours are long, the work is difficult and the Goddess is demanding and insatiable. Then there’s her family, who make the Corleones look like the Brady Bunch.

A PA’s work is never done, and Jack wasn’t hired for his impressive organizational skills. Nerdy Jack is at Aphrodite’s beck-and-call, because he’s the only mortal she has ever known with a lust powerful enough to match her own. Jack’s never had so much sex. He didn’t even know one could have so much sex – with someone other than themselves, that is. Just when he’s starting to get the hang of serving the goddess, Jack meets the husband, whose jealous temper is volcanic to say the least. Can Jack survive a run-in with the original dysfunctional family, or will he end up just one more manipulated mortal fucked by the gods?

Excerpt

‘Hey you! Ass-wipe! Don’t make me come up after you.’

Coming up wasn’t necessary. Startled, Jack lost his balance on the limb and fell out of the tree backward, his fall being slowed by the hard thwack, thwack, thwack of a half a dozen smaller, more supple branches before he hit the manicured lawn flat on his back leaving him winded and stunned.

‘Izzee dead?’ A voice hissed from somewhere above Jack’s prone, breathless body.

‘Course ‘es not dead. His cock’s still hard. Sonovabitch! Hat’s off to ‘im, I say.’

‘Don’t matter. When her dad gets through with him, he’ll wish he was dead.’

‘Shut up, you two. No one asked your opinion,’ a third voice said. Then the owner of that voice grabbed Jack by the arm and hauled him to his feet nearly dislocating his shoulder in the process. He found himself nose to nose to a man with perfectly coifed hair that looked like it came straight from an eighties cop show. And the rest of him looked like a poster boy for a hard core muscle mag, right down to the bad-ass eagle tat rippling up his bulging right bicep. If that wasn’t crazy enough, the man was wearing a toga, for chrissake! 

His pecs bulged and his nipples looked like they’d been clamped within an inch of their lives. And who the hell noticed a man’s nipples, Jack wondered, especially when Blondie’s old man was about to make him wish he were dead.

‘Tuck it in, Bub,’ Toga Man nodded to Jack’s cock which, embarrassingly enough, still offered a full frontal salute. He shoved and shifted it back into his track suit, but even then it led the way as he fell into step behind Toga Man with two black-suit security types flanking him. What the hell was the matter with him? He could die or worse and he still had enough wood to start a bonfire.

‘Big Z ain’t gonna be happy you watching his daughter do the dirty,’ the suit to his left spoke out of one side of his mouth.

‘You shut your pie-hole,’ Toga Man said. ‘You dunno what makes Big Z happy. Besides, she ain’t his daughter.’

Big Z? What the hell was this, Jack wondered, some kind of Mafioso toga party? They made their way through the enormous marble foyer of the house Jack hadn’t noticed being anywhere nearly so huge from his perch in the oak tree. But then it wasn’t the house he’d been looking at, was it? At last, Toga Man dismissed the Mafia-thugs and fast marched Jack, both hands protectively folded across the bounce, bounce, bounce of his erection, to another set of double doors at the end of a long hallway. He threw them open and with a hand on Jack’s shoulder, half shoved him into an opulent study. There, Jack found himself face to face with the bare ass of a bloke doing the nasty up the bumhole of another, a situation that didn’t prevent Toga Man from announcing loudly. ‘We found this scumbag up the oak tree watching Aphrodite.’

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Love Thy Neighbour: Sweet Hell on Fire

Welcome to Love Thy Neighbour, where something that has affected us or we feel deserves a bigger mention is shouted about. As writers, Outrageous Girls like to pay it forward, to help other authors out on the quiet, and genuinely get emotional when someone else gets a good deal or progresses in their careers.

My Love Thy Neighbour today is about author Saranna DeWylde/Sara Lunsford. I first “met” her through my job as Head of Art for Total-E-Bound. I’d created a cover for Saranna and after that she submitted it to a contest. It won! I found her Facebook posts interesting, funny, poignant, and she soon became someone I “stalked”, for want of a better word. I have certain people I look forward to “seeing” on Fb every night when I lounge on the sofa and scroll through my feed. She is one of them.

My first taste of her writing came with Sweet Hell on Fire, a book that absolutely stole two of my evenings—I couldn’t put it down. It was one of those books that rang many bells for me. I related to how she felt. She was brutally honest, and I admired her for having the balls to say it exactly how it was, especially her feelings and actions regarding her mother and her children. It isn’t easy to admit our shortcomings, but she did, and in a book that so many people would read too. She risked having those who knew her as Saranna hating her after her revelations, and I hold her in the highest regard for still going ahead and telling it how it was. She needed to—from reading that book I knew she had to purge.

It struck me so hard that I created a piece of art, but I had to wait for a while afterwards because creating it was emotional. Everything she had been through came back while I worked, and I’ll admit I cried.

So then I created a cover for Johnny Angel, read the book and bloody loved it. So of course I went to find some more and bought the books available so far in her Darkyrie series—all great, by the way. There are other books I have yet to buy, but rest assured, I will.

Then I read the news that prompted this post. The digital rights to Sweet Hell on Fire have been bought. My God, did I cry (called a soppy sod by Hubby) because my word, Saranna deserves this success. The book came flooding back, her fears, her needs, her honesty, bravery and downright humanness, and I knew right then and there that there is a higher power that rewards those who go through hell and fight to come out the other side a better person—herself, who she really was underneath all that time.

If you haven’t read Sweet Hell on Fire, I recommend that you do, because it gives you a feeling of awe that wow, this woman has laid it all bare and she is so brave to do so. I couldn’t get over that.

I’m proud of her. She’s a down to earth, lovely person. I wish her all the success in the world, and I can’t WAIT to see that book on TV or as a movie. I will watch it, knowing what happens, knowing that I’ll cry all over again, but the best thing about it is this raven, who had tattered wings, a hoarse cry, and was lost in a stormy sky, is now sleek, feathers shining, her voice strong, and now those skies are summer all the way.

Bless you, Sara/Saranna. Your tale will remain with me for the rest of my days. Go forth and live the life you were meant to, writing, happy, and at peace with your past and yourself.

As a corrections officer at an all-male maximum security prison, Sara Lunsford worked with the worst of the worst, from serial killers to white supremacists. She knew that at the end of every day, she had to try and shed the memories of the horrors she had witnessed in order to live a happy existence. But the darkness invaded every part of her life. And dealing with a stressful divorce and a mother sucumbing to cancer led her to a complete immersion in her work and eventually the bottom of a liquor bottle. Sweet Hell on Fire takes the reader on a journey with the author, from hitting rock bottom to becoming a woman who understands the meaning of sacrifice, the joy of redemption and the quiet haven to be found in hope.

Purchase Link: Buy Now!

Saranna on Facebook: Stalk Now!

Under My Skin by Sommer Marsden

House bought for a steal online when it turns out there’s a damn good reason—check.

Malicious ghost with a body count to his name—check.

Sad, lingering female spirit pining for her still living (but currently dying) fiancé—check.

What’s a widowed medium to do when a departed soul asks to ride piggy back in her body?

To share her space and get under her skin? Juliet Bale does the only thing she can do—with her twin sister’s good counsel—she lets Lanie share her body to help her dying beloved Elijah cross over. The problem is that with all the reuniting, and sharing one body, things get seriously intimate and Juliet can’t help but see exactly why Elijah Rivers was so beloved.

It’s so wrong to sorta kinda fall for a dying man, and yet—check.

Excerpt from Under My Skin 

© Sommer Marsden

“I’m telling you, Minnie, it feels off.” I tucked the phone under my chin and tried not to trip on the damn thing. My brand new kitchen had a way-old phone. It actually had a cord, for goodness’ sake.

“Off how? Off is relative when it comes to you, twin sister, dear.”

I snorted, and Minnie made a high-pitched sound that said she was laughing at me. “Har har.”

I slipped my silverware—triple wrapped in plastic—into my freshly washed and tidied drawer. I had just spent three hours wiping down the room and cleaning everything. I wanted it as spic and span as possible for me and my own energy. Most people don’t realize when you move in a new home, along with other people’s dirt, you get other people’s emotions.

“I mean, what is off, Juliet? Is the paint too bright or the window too small or…what?” My sister was mocking me.

“The energy,” I said, pushing a stack of brightly colored cake plates into a small side cabinet. “Don’t play dumb, Min. You haven’t just met me. You know, your sister…the sensitive. Resident psychic medium,” I chuckled, making a joke at my own expense.

I swore I heard her smile over the phone line. I could picture my sister in my mind. Same long unruly dirty blond hair as mine. Same startling blue eyes that could turn gray with mood, weather or depending on what color we wore. But we weren’t identical, we were fraternal. She was shorter and curvier than me, her nose just a bit sharper. And her tongue.

“Juliet, let’s face it, any place is going to be off to you, right? Any place you go is going to be steeped in someone else’s emotions and past, yes?”

“Yes,” I agreed, wiping my hands on my shirttails and leaning against the giant butcher block island in the center of the room. “True story.”

“Well, then, just deal with it. There is no clean space for you, really. Unless you build a brand new home from scratch and not a single worker has a bad day or an illness or any of that.”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. She was right.

“So take this new home and treat it as your own. Smear your own energy all over the place.”

I snorted, eyeing my shirt. It had been Justin’s. My heart crimped up at seeing it. Three years had not dulled my loss, and despite being psychically sensitive and talking to spirits more often than not, I had yet to see or talk to him. I wondered if it were somehow taboo for us to speak or if he thought it would be too painful for me to see him.

“Hello?” my sister sighed.

“Sorry, I hear you. You’re right. Though I don’t know about smearing my energy all over the place. Kind of makes me sound like a monkey—”

“Juliet!” she snapped, knowing where I was going with that analogy. “Onto other things. How are you doing? I mean…how are you doing?”

She meant moving out of the former home that Justin and I had shared before he died. She meant on my own. She meant finally embracing the fact that I was single and maybe moving on with my new life. Montgomery House was that chance. I mean, how often do you get to buy a house with a name? And I’d gotten it for a song. Which worried me, but…

“I’m fine,” I lied. “No worries.”

“I’m coming to see you soon,” she threatened, and I smiled.

“You’d better.”

* * * *

He was big—big and looming. But he was also thin. The kind of build that made the mind pull up images of a praying mantis or some ungodly sea creature trapped in the darkness near the ocean floor. Just seeing him turn his muddy eyes to me made my heart thunder.

“You’re here,” he said and smiled.

The smile was the most frightening aspect of his appearance. It twisted his face in such a way that it reminded me of a molded rubber mask that had gone askew. Almost as if his skin didn’t quite fit on his bones the right way.

I turned to run, and when I did, his long arm shot out to plant a big, strong hand on my shoulder. Being touched by him was like experiencing the most sudden and all-consuming emptiness imaginable. A sob ripped out of me.

“I thought three was my lucky number,” he said, his voice gravel turned under a tire. Sand scraped across stainless steel. It made my head hurt, and my heart followed suit.

I pulled against his strength, knowing I’d never break free until I awoke. I knew by the energy I was trapped in a dream. Knew he couldn’t really hurt me…not yet. But I also knew that as long as I slept, I was his. This was the secret my new house held. This energy. And this was where I’d be until I could drag myself back up to my conscious mind.

“Three what?” I managed, stalling.

“Three girls before you came.” The cadence of his words stirred goose bumps along my skin. The fine hairs of my scalp prickled with dread.

“You killed them?”

“I consumed them,” he said. “Their essence.”

The urge to scream was overpowering. The urge to weep even stronger. Instead, I did the only thing I could do. I turned into his grip to face him. He looked surprised for a moment, his long rubbery face and his sick brown eyes showing shock. But then he smiled, and that hole seemed to open in my stomach again. I studied the face. The old-fashioned brown suit. The proper white buttoned-down shirt. Cufflinks, a tie clip, wingtip shoes and close-cropped hair.

Then I bit my tongue as hard as I possibly could and tasted blood. His face lit up when the coppery taste flooded my mouth. Maybe he could smell it. But then he realized what I’d done and frowned at me.

“You’ll be back,” he said. “I’m here all the time.”

I woke up.

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