BDSM Erotic Romance, Multicultural & Interracial

Date Published: August 7, 2026

Reeling from her ex-husband’s infidelity and buried in the mountain of
debts he left behind, Brandi needs to make money — a lot of money — fast, or
she’ll lose her home. When she applies for a job as a hostess at an
adult club, the last thing she expects is to come face to face with her high
school flame.

Greg has grown up a lot since high school, but he’s never forgotten the
woman who left him behind. No longer a quiet geek, the self-made
multi-millionaire intends to win Brandi back, and his first step is to make
her an offer she can’t refuse. He hires her as his escort for the
evening at an adult party in his mansion. Now he has one night to convince her
he’s matured into the masterful mate she needs.

EXCERPT

Brandi stared at her reflection in the mirror. The lush black velvet suited
her better than she’d expected, contrasting nicely with the soft brown
of her skin. She’d had her hair styled last month — the day before her
world fell apart — and it fell just below her shoulders in a shimmery dark
curtain. Definitely a good investment. She twisted sideways, wiggling her
butt. Yup. That skirt was short. Real short. Short enough she’d be
afraid to bend over. Then again, if she bent over her breasts would probably
spill right out of the low-cut top that formed the other half of the costume.
Did people really work in outfits like this?

She gave her head a mental shake. Of course they did. If you wanted the big
tips, you needed to show off a little of the merchandise.

Life wasn’t fair, and happily ever afters only happened on the pages of
those sappy romance novels. Losing her job and then watching her husband
desert her for a teenaged slut sure brought that one home in a hurry. She
needed this job, needed to pay off the huge stack of bills he’d left her
with before she lost her home as well, and in this labor market she
couldn’t afford to be picky.

When she’d seen the ad for a hostess at a local after-hours club,
she’d plastered what she hoped was a come-hither smile on her face and
applied for the position. If nothing else, it would give her some breathing
room while she figured out what she wanted to do. She’d be damned if
she’d let that lecherous excuse for a husband ruin her life.

Opening the front closet, Brandi perused the selection of winter coats. Since
she’d been reduced to using public transit, she’d better make sure
the skimpy costume didn’t get her mugged before she got to the
interview. The man who’d dropped off the costume had been very specific.
The interview for the job was at three sharp, and the manager did not expect
to be kept waiting.

Picking a thick wool coat that fell partway down her calves to hide the
scandalous outfit, she made sure she buttoned it all the way up to her chin.
Catching a chill and sneezing all over the manager would not improve her
chances of getting this job. She grabbed her purse off the side table and
locked the door behind her.

* * *

Oh, shit! Brandi folded her hands behind her back and tried not to stare. Greg
Bridger. With the way her luck had been going lately, why hadn’t she
realized it would be him doing the hiring when she desperately needed the job?
Greg Bridger was the guy she’d spent her entire high school career
dating. The guy everyone expected her to marry. The guy she’d walked out
on for the worthless piece of trash who’d just deserted her for the
pom-pom queen.

She hadn’t kept track of him for the past ten years, hadn’t really
given him much thought while she’d been so entranced with her scumbag of
a husband. Maybe she should have. He carried himself with a self assurance
that spoke volumes. He wore his dark hair short these days, in a cut that
flattered the rugged lines of his face. Six feet tall, he had the muscular
frame of someone who spent hours every week at the gym. That hadn’t
always been the case.

Although he’d been quiet in high school, more of a geek than a jock,
Greg had always had plans and dreams, big dreams. Somehow she never thought of
him settling for a safe job like manager of an adult club, even if it was the
most popular club on the east side of town. Maybe he’d decided to trade
in his dreams of corporate success for that fantastic body.

She had no idea if she had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting this
job. If Greg recognized her, he gave no sign. He circled her slowly, his eyes
impersonal as he made notes on the clipboard he was holding. Was it her
imagination, or did his eyes linger with just a hint of lust on her cleavage?
And should that upset her or give her hope?

Brandi made an effort to rein in her errant libido and tried not to fidget. It
wasn’t her fault. Seeing Greg again had been a shock, and reawakened
feelings she’d long forgotten. He’d been an enthusiastic, if
somewhat awkward lover in high school, and he’d matured impressively in
the last ten years. Sex appeal was stamped all over his rugged frame, and if
she were honest with herself, she had to admit that her husband had never
really satisfied her in the bedroom. She’d always longed for him to be a
bit more inventive, but he’d never really done more than give her a
quick slam-bam before he’d rolled over and commenced snoring.

After the first few disappointing months, she’d resigned herself to a
less than inspired sex life. She was surprised to feel the corner of her mouth
tugging upward as she wondered if the little tart he’d run off with was
getting bored with his insipid technique yet.

“Do you find this amusing? I was under the impression you wanted this
job.” Frost tinged Greg’s voice as he stopped in front of her, one
dark eyebrow raised in query.

“Not at all, sir.” It was fairly obvious he didn’t recognize
her, and personal history aside, she really did need this job. “I was
thinking of something else. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” His voice rang with disapproval.
“I expect my staff to pay close attention to my instructions at all
times.”

“Of course.” Damn. She really needed this job.

“Well, then.” His gaze swept over her in frank assessment before
he consulted the tablet. “I have to say, I don’t feel you are
suited for the position.”

Brandi felt her heart drop. She really needed this job. “You
don’t? I’ll work really hard, I promise.” She hated the
whining note in her voice. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just
give me a chance.”

A hint of a smile hovered at the corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid
not. We are looking for someone younger, someone the clients will keep buying
more drinks from in the hopes of getting lucky.” His gaze swept over her
briefly. “You are definitely not the cheerleader type. The clients would
take one look at you and know they were outclassed. I do, however, have
another opening that you might be interested in. If you would care to take a
seat out in the lobby while I finish up here?”

Crap! He’d as much as told her she was over the hill. Definitely not
something you want to hear from an ex-lover. Then again, he had mentioned
another position. She’d come looking for a job, not a lover. At least he
wasn’t holding their shared past against her, assuming he even
recognized her. He’d given no signs.

About the Author

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue
dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many
fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but
finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate
was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and
just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then
she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all
with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending
time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing
with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing
guitar, singing and of course, reading.

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Date Published: 02-26-2026

Publisher: Solander Press

On the ride, while A.J. daydreams, Lady Star sees the pond. A.J. learns that daydreaming, horseback riding, and ponds don’t go well together. In this book, Sherry Roberts continues to tell stories inspired by her father’s childhood during the 1930s and 1940s in Northeast Oklahoma. For those who enjoy stories of the American West, as well as history, Just Look at Those Boots is must-read. 

About the Author

 

 Sherry Roberts holds a Ph.D. from the University of Louisville in Curriculum and Instruction. She is an award-winning author and photographer of children’s picture books: ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas…A First for Gus; Hello, Can I Bug You?; Sonnet, Sonnet, What’s In Your Bonnet?, The Best Reading Buddy; What’s Wrong With Barnaby?, A Visit Through the Wetlands, and Amica Helps Zoe.

Dr. Roberts has a three-book middle grade series. Book one, The Galaxy According to Cece, began the series. Book two, The Galaxy According to Cece: The Mysterious Dr. Pruitt arrived next, followed by book three, The Galaxy According to Cece: The Stars Align.

Her debut chapter book series begins with Just Call Me Pardner. The second book, Just Look at Those Boots, launched March 2026 and book three, Just Don’t Give A Girl A Frog, is coming in 2027. Each book can stand alone in this series.

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Date Published: 07-15-2025

Publisher: Solander Press

One afternoon, A.J. returned home from school to find a surprise waiting for him in the barn – a beautiful little horse named Lady Star. She was now his to ride and care for. From that day on, A.J. spent all his free time learning how to ride Lady Star and caring for her. He dreamed of being skilled enough to ride alongside his grandfather, father, and Jon, the farm hand, during the cattle roundups.

Award-winning author Sherry Roberts weaves a heartfelt story about growing up in the 1930s and 1940s. Based on the tales passed down by her father, Just Call Me Pardner is a must-read for history lovers and those who enjoy stories of the American West.

About the Author

Dr. Roberts has a three-book middle grade series. Book one, The Galaxy According to Cece, began the series. Book two, The Galaxy According to Cece: The Mysterious Dr. Pruitt arrived next, followed by book three, The Galaxy According to Cece: The Stars Align.

Her debut chapter book series begins with Just Call Me Pardner. The second book, Just Look at Those Boots, launched March 2026 and book three, Just Don’t Give A Girl A Frog, is coming in 2027. Each book can stand alone in this series.

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Date Published: August 7, 2026

Marley — I built the model. Denton stole the credit, sabotaged my numbers,
and tried to bury me in front of the client. Then Lucan walks in. Three nights
ago, he was the Dom who bound my wrists, stripped away my control, and made me
scream inside Sanctum Black. Today, he’s the client who can save my
career — or destroy it. He demands I lead the account. Demands a direct line
to me. And when he orders me back to his private room, kneeling and waiting, I
know exactly what he wants. Worse, I know exactly how badly I want to give it
to him.

Lucan — Marley thinks she can hide behind sharp suits, sharper words, and
professional boundaries. She’s wrong. I saw what she needed the first
night I had her under my hands. I saw the hunger, the surrender, the beautiful
way she fought herself before giving in. Her boss tried to take what belonged
to her. I handled that. Now I’ll handle Marley. I won’t break her.
I’ll bind her, test her, praise her, punish her, and make her beg.
She’s mine. By the time I’m done, she’ll say it. More?
She’ll believe it.

EXCERPT

Marley

I sat at my desk, staring at my finished project. Three weeks of work stacked
into a clean PowerPoint. The numbers aligned. The previous projections had
been spot on, and I had worked to complete this project and move to the next
phase for over two years. Now waves had started in upper management. The
completed work would not be presented by me.

My boss, Denton, had made that clear in his email yesterday. He would lead. I
would attend as backup for any questions he couldn’t answer. The email
didn’t mention why he’d pulled the rug out from under me, but I
had a good idea.

My phone buzzed. A text from the front: Denton wanting me in the conference
room now. I’d already sent him my presentation for review so I
couldn’t imagine why he’d want me early. Even with him doing the
bulk of the meeting, I still had prep work to finish.

With a sigh, I shut my laptop and slipped it into my briefcase before leaving
my tiny cubicle. The open-plan office stretched around me. No one looked
up… which was the first warning. The conference room sat at the far end
of the floor, all glass walls and polished table. I could see two junior
associates already seated inside, their postures attentive, laptops open.
Denton stood at the head of the table with the room’s projection screen
pulled down. The navy suit he wore looked expensive and tailored, his tie
perfectly straight.

I stepped inside and the door closed behind me with a soft click. Denton did
not look up from his phone. “Marley. Thank you for joining us.” He
set his phone down and reached for the laptop in front of him.
“I’ve made a few adjustments to the presentation.”

He opened the file to the first slide. My name in the bottom corner was now
gone, replaced by his name in a large, bold font.

He glanced up at me. “Optics. I’m sure you understand.” His
curt explanation cut me off before I fully processed he’d actually taken
credit for my work. His voice stayed level. I opened my mouth to object but
heard how petty I’d sound in front of my colleagues. “The client
expects senior leadership on engagements of this size. It’s about
inserting confidence into the relationship between our companies.”

Neither of the other two men in the room spoke up. Instead, they both kept
their eyes on their own screens.

“This is an editorial decision, not a reflection on your work.”
Denton smiled, though there was nothing remotely friendly or pleasant about
the expression on his face. “You’ll be in the room. You’ll
have the opportunity to contribute during Q&A.”

My heart pounded in alarm. He was edging me out. Denton had every intention of
taking credit for the work we’d done on the first phase. He knew enough
about the next steps to make everything work, but I doubted he could explain
the finer points, or keep the project on track to meet the projections for
phase two which would mean a significant delay in phase three. Assuming the
assigned team made it to phase three.

“I understand the optics,” I said. My voice came out clipped,
precise. Anything louder would give him what he wanted. “But the
analysis is mine. The client should know who built it in case there are
adjustments leading into phase two.”

“Of course.” Denton nodded as if I had said something helpful.
Then he pulled up a slide with a page I had never seen. A figure chart with
numbers that did not match any data set I’d worked with.

“I did want to raise one concern.” He turned the slide toward the
juniors. “This figure. The correlation coefficient here is significantly
off from the rest of the model. I caught it during my review.”

The room went very quiet. I stared at the slide. The numbers were wrong. They
weren’t numbers I had generated and they definitely didn’t belong
in my analysis. Nor had I put them there. Suddenly, everything made sense. The
way he’d undercut me in the first meeting when he’d replaced my
topic without notice. The way he’d taken credit for my work. He wanted
point on this project and the prestige that went with it.

“This is exactly the kind of oversight that concerns me,” Denton
continued. His tone had shifted to something gentler, almost paternal.
“Attention to detail matters at this level. The client will have
questions. We need to be prepared with answers.”

My whole body broke out into a sweat, the visceral reaction to the way
I’d just been undercut. My jaw tightened. The furrow between my brows
deepened, a physical response I could not control.

“That slide isn’t mine,” I said. The words came out steady.
Barely.

Denton’s expression did not change. “The file was submitted to me
under your name.”

“I didn’t build that chart. The numbers are wrong.”

“Then we’ll correct it.” He set the slide down. “The
important thing is that we caught it before the client saw it. That’s
what a senior review process is for.” Could he sound more patronizing?

Through the glass walls, I could see heads turning toward the conference room.
Not staring directly. The careful, sidelong attention of people who understood
exactly what was happening without needing to hear the words. The shape of a
public correction. The unmistakable geometry of a superior establishing
dominance.

About the Author

Welcome to Wanda Violet O.’s world of bedtime fantasy, where you’ll find a
variety of sexy creatures ready to drink their fill. Wanda specializes in
extreme kink. Monsters, BDSM role play… she’s got it all. Come take a look
for yourself!

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Teen and YA, Westerns

Date Published: 03-03-2025

Publisher: Adventure & Quest, LLC

Excerpt

A week on the ranch had really transformed me. I looked the part, like I’d lived here all my life. Before jetting from Seattle, I had an expectation of riding a fast horse over a wide prairie, the wind whipping my hair. Never had I imagined myself in baggy-butt jeans with pockets that sunk to my knees. They were heavier than any I’d ever owned, and fastened high on my waist, as if pulled up with suspenders. The shirt tail draped my back, and I had to roll the sleeves five times.
But the boots! Oh, I loved how they made me taller. They fit like clamps, as if my feet were growing in bark.
I clomped to the large picture window, plunked the sombrero Sabion gave me on my head. “Eesh.”
I look like a mushroom.
If Mom had told me from the beginning that Pap didn’t have horses, maybe I wouldn’t have thought twice about coming. I had the idea of wearing the giddy-up home—I would walk right past her at the airport and she wouldn’t even know me. But then, what would’ve happened to Radar?
No. Destiny had brought me here.
Pap’s boots stammered on the porch. I couldn’t resist a cocky stroll past him—long, lanky strides that thunked my foot heel to toe. He sipped smugly from his coffee mug. Well, of course—nothing unusual to him. Just a set of sensible clothes.
Oh, well…as long as he’s happy—
* * *
Sabion’s smirk held a snicker. “Ah, si. You look…now you look right.”
I rolled my eyes. “Glug—”
Radar was pungent with horse sweat. Was it his timid nature that made me brave for him? A fearless front to give us both courage, like a parent protecting their child? Well, some parents. He sniffed my pant leg, and blew a snort that spewed junk on my knee. Now they’re broken in…
“How much time do I have today?” I asked. Sabion had honored his agreement to let me use Jennie half a day for training, but I’d already wasted a slip of his morning trying to make the blasted blue jeans work.
He looked at his watch. “None today. I am here too long already.”
“An hour?” I pleaded.
Sabion shook a finger. “Yesterday you say to me, ‘This day I will make repairs to the corral.’ You forget this? Now you say, ‘Este día voy a hacer reparaciones.’ Mas importante.”
I tried not to laugh. Sabion could never scold. Though he tried to sound tough, it only made him look leathery. It was kinda weird that I was beginning to understand him when I didn’t even speak the lingo.
“But you’re here already. I can make the repairs when you leave.” My plan today wasn’t to repair the corral; my plan was to string those blasted bells together while I had the workbench to myself. Then I’d reveal my fun training plan to Sabion when he returned.
His shoulders caved, the argument lost. “One hour okay is all.” His words netted altogether.

About the Author

Drawn to action and adventure that is grounded in real life, Katlyn finds inspiration in the wildness of the world around us. “Nature doesn’t care what we think. It’s wild and ferocious and unpredictable—a good reminder not to take ourselves too seriously. The downright ridiculous seems to call for a twist of humor. What I can’t see, I can imagine.” Juggling family, work, and life, over the years Katlyn grasped whatever time she had available for a writing class when she could—poetry, creative, a bit of journalism. What she discovered was that stories come from deep within us…a moment. A memory. An experience or impression or dream. Only when they surface, can you add texture and color.

A late-bloomer by her own description, Katlyn’s writing kicked off when she joined Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators (SCBWI), a community of like-minded people who selflessly share, uplift, and guide, one meeting at a time. “There’s so much to learn, just for the listening. Other writers energize me, challenge me to ‘say it better’. Everyone has a natural style, and it always amazes me how many ways there are to tell a story. From SCBWI to the Writers’ League of Texas (WLT)—where Nightflower of Comanche Mound was a 2022 Thriller/Action-Adventure Finalist in the Manuscript Contest—on to Western Writers of America and Women Writing the West (WWW), Katlyn has found that it’s networks of writers that encourage her “No matter what stage of writing skill, anyone, at any age, with a yearning to write should seek out others who love what you love. Don’t wait.”

A native Texan, Katlyn Bates lives near Dallas, TX, outside a small town that—like so many inter-connected communities, is quickly becoming absorbed by the sprawl. “As for me, it’s open skies and nature and landscape that frame a plot, and lend power to a story.”

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