Day: March 11, 2015

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Caged Sanctuary-Tempest O’Riley

Published by Dreamspinner Press

Kaden Thorn, a dental surgeon who lives a quiet life, has no hope of finding the love he craves. A vicious gay bashing cost him the use of his legs and confined him to a wheelchair. He has given up hope of finding a Dom or even a non-kink partner to love him. When his best friend practically forces him to attend a dinner party, the last thing he expects is a strong Dom who can see beyond his wheels.

Deacon James is an architect and a demanding Dom, but he has spent the past couple of years without a sub or partner. When an employee invites him to a dinner party to meet his girlfriend, Deacon smells a setup but agrees anyway. He prides himself on being an excellent judge of character, and when he meets the younger dentist, he sees past the chair and finds a sweet submissive man who more than piques his interest.

Kade’s fears and demons continue to haunt him, challenging Deacon to use everything he’s learned as a Dom to earn Kade’s trust and submission. Deacon’s determined, though, willing to battle all of it to have Kade by his side and at his feet.

I really liked the direction the author took with the book, I truly did, but something about this story felt a little off to me. The characters were actually pretty good, the story was nice, but the feel of it felt a bit Harlequin-esque. The Dom was way too stuffy and formal. I can’t put my finger on it, but this story felt as if it should’ve been in a different time period almost like it should have been one of those Harlequin historical romances.   

I loved the idea that this author had a disabled sub. I think she did a really good job of showing that the wheelchair didn’t take anything away from his desirability.  

Okay, moving along…the book had quite a few nice sex scenes. The author did a lovely job of being creative with the sex with respect to Kade being in a wheelchair.

Now, these men and their relationship was sweet and perfect. Too perfect, in fact, and it moved way too fast for me. I’m not one to go for a snail’s pace, but I felt that the pace could’ve been a bit slower.  Everything fell into place way too quickly for me; there was no natural progression, if you will. I found it hard to believe that Kade would trust Deacon so quickly after meeting him, especially given his past.  Also, I felt that these men should’ve had more…flaws. They were just way too perfect! Almost…formal with each other. They were way too serious with each other. I know that BSDM isn’t that serious all the time, surely the Dom and his sub are playfully affectionate with each other?  They took themselves way too seriously, they were more focused on making the D/s relationship absolutely perfect and relationships are anything but. These men were definitely the poster guys for BSDM perfection.

In all, this book was good, but I felt it could’ve been better. The author’s writing style is nice, the characters well thought out and dialog neat. I just wish that the book would’ve been better if she got the characters to loosen up a bit.  The author should’ve…I don’t know, gone for it. I just felt like she was holding back just a bit with these characters and her writing. 

Would I recommend this story? Sure, I would. It was nice. I would definitely like to read more of her work. I just hope that she’s not as ‘buttoned up’ in her other books. This was a good read.

Rating:❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Better Than Chance Audiobook (Better Than Book 2) by Lane Hayes Narrated by Tyler Stevens

Dreamspinner Presents
http://www.audible.com/pd/Fiction/Better-Than-Chance-Audiobook/B00KQ313HK/ref=a_search_c4_1_3_srTtl?qid=1424491429&sr=1-3

better than chanceBlurb

Jay Reynolds has a crush on his project leader at work, but an office romance with Peter Morgan isn’t likely to happen since Peter is straight. Worse, Jay soon fears Peter is homophobic, and his initial infatuation turns to loathing. But one fateful night, Jay is forced to acknowledge things aren’t quite as they seem with Peter. Suddenly, his crush is back and unbelievably, Peter is interested too.
They begin a friends with benefits arrangement, which becomes difficult for Jay when he starts falling for his sexy boss. Peter’s past issues keep him from committing, and Jay has to decide if he can be satisfied with friendship if Peter isn’t ready to take a chance on anything more.

Review

In book one we meet Jay and Peter as they announce that after 5 years they are finally getting married. This is their “backstory”.
Jay and Peter worked together and Jay had a huge crush on Peter for a long time. At first Jay thinks Peter is straight, then he thinks he’s a jerk, then they become friends with benefits.

Jay is essentially all in, but Peter is commitment-phobic. When Peter does something to slow things down, Jay jumps all the way to “we’re breaking up!”.

Finally, they air their grievances and make a commitment.

**

I really loved book one. It felt real and authentic and genuine. This one was less good, but still very good. I liked the chemistry between the MCs but grew tired of the “hurdles”, especially when it felt like if they would just TALK to one another things would clear up.

 

Audio

Tyler Stevens makes this book go from good to great! He is an awesome narrator and I love listening to him. He really brings the story alive and (for me) elevated this book up at least one notch.

Writing/Editing 4
Romance 4
Sex/Heat 5
Storyline 3.5
World Building/Characterizations 4.5
Audio 5

Overall 4.3 of 5 hearts

4.5

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IM by Rick R. Reed Tour with Excerpt and Giveaway

IM-400x600Excerpt:
Lake Shore Drive at night has its own excitement, especially when one is hurtling toward a rendezvous with an unknown destiny. On one side of my car, Lake Michigan bears silent witness to the streams of traffic heading north and south, headlights like glowing insect eyes piercing the night. The other side of the highway is crowded with high-rises, their glass, chrome, and concrete rising into the sky, hives of activity within, quiet sentinels without.

I have a cold bottle of Samuel Adams between my legs, a Marlboro burning in the ashtray. Normally, beer and cigarettes are not my vices. I care about my health, you see. But these are props, the same as the deeper-pitched voice I use, same as my word choices, which are much less sophisticated than someone with an MA in English from the University of Chicago. The beer and cigarettes are part of my costume. Tonight I wear faded, ragged Levi’s 501s, the crotch faded, the buttons moving in an inverted question mark, emphasizing the bulge in my crotch.
When did gay men turn into no-charge prostitutes? Has it always been this way?
Whatever. I’m also wearing a Bulls T-shirt, the sleeves cut off raggedly, the neck cut low.
I take a swig of the beer, letting its cold bitterness snake down my throat, and turn up the tape player. Ironic. Leonard Cohen is singing, “Ain’t No Cure for Love.”

I press down on the gas; ahead is my exit: Irving Park Road.

When I arrive, I see the apartment is a red brick six flat, identical to others all over the city. I ring the buzzer, and the guy doesn’t even bother to ask who it is. No difference. We never exchanged names anyway.

Trudging up the stairs, waiting for the shotgun-cocking sound of a lock being turned, a chain sliding back into place. Someone waits to admit me. Someone I don’t even know.

What a friendly world this is.

A door opens above.

What waits upstairs?

I round the bend and I see him. Nothing like his description, but who expected different? I am nothing like what I told him. No matter. As long as you’re male and reasonably young and acceptable, you’re in.

The guy has a good body, and his lips curl into a grin as I head toward him, dragging on my Marlboro. He’s wearing a pair of black bikini briefs. His moment of glory, this is what he’s worked for all those long hours at the gym. Finally someone to appreciate the shaved and defined pecs, the smooth washboard belly, the bulging biceps I just know he will somehow maneuver to flex for me.

But he’s much older than what I had expected. Midforties probably. His reddish-brown hair is thinning, and the blue eyes are framed by crow’s feet. A bottle of “eye-revitalizing” cream is in his medicine cabinet, I bet. The goatee, a desperate ploy to make himself look younger and hip, is embarrassingly ineffective. A cougar tattoo snakes down one of his arms.

“How you doin’?” I exhale a cloud of smoke and pass him as he opens the door wider to admit me.

“Great. Now that you’re here.”

The apartment is small, crowded with “contemporary” furniture: a black leather grouping in the living room, chrome and glass tables, spare jagged-looking twig and dried flower arrangements. On the walls, Herb Ritts posters of absurdly pumped-up young men in various settings: a garage, on the seashore.

The guy leads me into the bedroom. Platform bed, comforter thrown back, striped sheets. The nightstand holds the tools of his true trade: a plastic cup full of condoms he probably never uses, a couple of little brown bottles filled with butyl nitrite, a leather cock ring, a metal cock ring, and a large pump bottle of Wet. On the lower shelf, a stack of neatly folded but ragged white towels.
A dresser faces the bed, and atop it, a color TV and DVD combination. On the screen, a wildly muscled dark-haired guy tries to sit on one of those orange traffic cones. Amazingly, he’s beginning to succeed.

I grin.

The guy drops the black briefs and sits on the bed. Hoarsely, “Why don’t you get undressed, man?”

“Why don’t you do it for me?”

Instantly supplicant, he’s on his knees before me, working the buttons on my jeans. I’m sure his eyes are glistening. Already his breath is coming faster.

I push his hand away. “Hold on.” I lift the goateed face up to my own and look in his blue eyes, where nothing but desire and trust mingle. “I want you to lie down on the bed. Lie on your stomach.”

He gets up and does as he’s told. The half moons of his ass practically glow in the darkness. A thin whiter line disappears in his crack, where his thong was. The definition in his arms shows up perfectly as he raises them above his head to clutch the pillow.

His legs are parted, waiting.

“I just need to do something real quick. You stay right there.” I look back at him as I exit the room. “You’re a good boy, right? Do what you’re told?”

“Yes, sir.”

In the kitchen, I go quickly through the drawers until I find the one with the knives. For the first time, I get hard, and I think of the blood pumping, filling the spongy cavities.

The blood. Essence of life.

I strip down, leaving my clothes in a pile on the kitchen floor. I hope I don’t bring any cockroaches home.

I hold the butcher knife I chose to my side, concealing it with my arm, and head back to the bedroom.

He still lies there, waiting and trustful, thinking he’s about to be penetrated.
And he is.

Sales Links:

DSP Publications ebook: http://www.dsppublications.com/books/im-by-rick-r-reed-58-b
Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/IM-Rick-R-Reed-ebook/dp/B00TZ8KD1E/

RR600x600Banner
About the author:

Rick R. Reed is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of gay men in contemporary, realistic settings. While his stories often contain elements of suspense, mystery and the paranormal, his focus ultimately returns to the power of love. He is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a three-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for Caregiver, Orientation and The Blue Moon Cafe). Raining Men and Caregiver have both won the Rainbow Award for gay fiction.  Lambda Literary Review has called him, “a writer that doesn’t disappoint.” Rick lives in Seattle with his husband and a very spoiled Boston terrier. He is forever”at work on another novel.”

Where to find the author:

Web: http://www.rickrreed.com
Blog: http://rickrreedreality.blogspot.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/rickrreedbooks
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/rickrreed.
E-mail: [email protected]

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1013435.IM?from_search=true
Publisher: DSP Publications
Cover Artist: Reese Dante
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Posted on

IM by Rick R. Reed Blog Tour With Excerpt and a Giveaway

IM-400x600Excerpt:
Lake Shore Drive at night has its own excitement, especially when one is hurtling toward a rendezvous with an unknown destiny. On one side of my car, Lake Michigan bears silent witness to the streams of traffic heading north and south, headlights like glowing insect eyes piercing the night. The other side of the highway is crowded with high-rises, their glass, chrome, and concrete rising into the sky, hives of activity within, quiet sentinels without.

I have a cold bottle of Samuel Adams between my legs, a Marlboro burning in the ashtray. Normally, beer and cigarettes are not my vices. I care about my health, you see. But these are props, the same as the deeper-pitched voice I use, same as my word choices, which are much less sophisticated than someone with an MA in English from the University of Chicago. The beer and cigarettes are part of my costume. Tonight I wear faded, ragged Levi’s 501s, the crotch faded, the buttons moving in an inverted question mark, emphasizing the bulge in my crotch.
When did gay men turn into no-charge prostitutes? Has it always been this way?
Whatever. I’m also wearing a Bulls T-shirt, the sleeves cut off raggedly, the neck cut low.
I take a swig of the beer, letting its cold bitterness snake down my throat, and turn up the tape player. Ironic. Leonard Cohen is singing, “Ain’t No Cure for Love.”

I press down on the gas; ahead is my exit: Irving Park Road.

When I arrive, I see the apartment is a red brick six flat, identical to others all over the city. I ring the buzzer, and the guy doesn’t even bother to ask who it is. No difference. We never exchanged names anyway.

Trudging up the stairs, waiting for the shotgun-cocking sound of a lock being turned, a chain sliding back into place. Someone waits to admit me. Someone I don’t even know.

What a friendly world this is.

A door opens above.

What waits upstairs?

I round the bend and I see him. Nothing like his description, but who expected different? I am nothing like what I told him. No matter. As long as you’re male and reasonably young and acceptable, you’re in.

The guy has a good body, and his lips curl into a grin as I head toward him, dragging on my Marlboro. He’s wearing a pair of black bikini briefs. His moment of glory, this is what he’s worked for all those long hours at the gym. Finally someone to appreciate the shaved and defined pecs, the smooth washboard belly, the bulging biceps I just know he will somehow maneuver to flex for me.

But he’s much older than what I had expected. Midforties probably. His reddish-brown hair is thinning, and the blue eyes are framed by crow’s feet. A bottle of “eye-revitalizing” cream is in his medicine cabinet, I bet. The goatee, a desperate ploy to make himself look younger and hip, is embarrassingly ineffective. A cougar tattoo snakes down one of his arms.

“How you doin’?” I exhale a cloud of smoke and pass him as he opens the door wider to admit me.

“Great. Now that you’re here.”

The apartment is small, crowded with “contemporary” furniture: a black leather grouping in the living room, chrome and glass tables, spare jagged-looking twig and dried flower arrangements. On the walls, Herb Ritts posters of absurdly pumped-up young men in various settings: a garage, on the seashore.

The guy leads me into the bedroom. Platform bed, comforter thrown back, striped sheets. The nightstand holds the tools of his true trade: a plastic cup full of condoms he probably never uses, a couple of little brown bottles filled with butyl nitrite, a leather cock ring, a metal cock ring, and a large pump bottle of Wet. On the lower shelf, a stack of neatly folded but ragged white towels.
A dresser faces the bed, and atop it, a color TV and DVD combination. On the screen, a wildly muscled dark-haired guy tries to sit on one of those orange traffic cones. Amazingly, he’s beginning to succeed.

I grin.

The guy drops the black briefs and sits on the bed. Hoarsely, “Why don’t you get undressed, man?”

“Why don’t you do it for me?”

Instantly supplicant, he’s on his knees before me, working the buttons on my jeans. I’m sure his eyes are glistening. Already his breath is coming faster.

I push his hand away. “Hold on.” I lift the goateed face up to my own and look in his blue eyes, where nothing but desire and trust mingle. “I want you to lie down on the bed. Lie on your stomach.”

He gets up and does as he’s told. The half moons of his ass practically glow in the darkness. A thin whiter line disappears in his crack, where his thong was. The definition in his arms shows up perfectly as he raises them above his head to clutch the pillow.

His legs are parted, waiting.

“I just need to do something real quick. You stay right there.” I look back at him as I exit the room. “You’re a good boy, right? Do what you’re told?”

“Yes, sir.”

In the kitchen, I go quickly through the drawers until I find the one with the knives. For the first time, I get hard, and I think of the blood pumping, filling the spongy cavities.

The blood. Essence of life.

I strip down, leaving my clothes in a pile on the kitchen floor. I hope I don’t bring any cockroaches home.

I hold the butcher knife I chose to my side, concealing it with my arm, and head back to the bedroom.

He still lies there, waiting and trustful, thinking he’s about to be penetrated.
And he is.

Sales Links:
DSP Publications ebook: http://www.dsppublications.com/books/im-by-rick-r-reed-58-b
Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/IM-Rick-R-Reed-ebook/dp/B00TZ8KD1E/

RR600x600BannerAbout the author:

Rick R. Reed is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of gay men in contemporary, realistic settings. While his stories often contain elements of suspense, mystery and the paranormal, his focus ultimately returns to the power of love. He is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a three-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for Caregiver, Orientation and The Blue Moon Cafe). Raining Men and Caregiver have both won the Rainbow Award for gay fiction.  Lambda Literary Review has called him, “a writer that doesn’t disappoint.” Rick lives in Seattle with his husband and a very spoiled Boston terrier. He is forever “at work on another novel.”

Where to find the author:

Web: http://www.rickrreed.com
Blog: http://rickrreedreality.blogspot.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/rickrreedbooks
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/rickrreed.
E-mail: [email protected]

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1013435.IM?from_search=true
a Rafflecopter giveaway